#banger prompt
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GIVE ME ALL THE ANGST!!!
i cannot be your friend, so i pay the price of what i lost. and what it cost now that we don't talk.
because pushing her away was easier than having to stomach seeing her be with someone else.
author's note/s: 1k words. this is part one of a series. close friends to sad strangers to surprise college roommates is a trope, right?
Ignoring Hazel for the rest of the year wasnât an easy decision or any easy thing to do. You two werenât attached at the hip but you were such good friends that even the people who didnât really talk to either of you eventually asked if you two had a falling out. Weâre both just pretty busy at this time of senior year, youâd tell them; you had no idea what Hazelâs answer was to that, and you didnât wanna know. It hurt you to ice her out but after what happened at the game, you just couldnât be around her. Not when it was clear that PJ was in the picture like that.
Really, you shouldâve been happy for her. You were one of the first people she came out to and even though she never explicitly said it, you knew she wanted to experience one relationship, or even a sort of fling, before high school ended. But your wishful thinking that it couldâve been the two of you in the end like some cliche really was just that â wishful thinking. That kiss and the way she and PJ acted around each other after said it all.
So you blocked it all out. Joined some clubs to fill up your schedule and actually make you as busy as you said you were, focused on academics like never before, got closer to other friends (for obvious reasons but also, why the hell not? It was senior year and you might not see some of them again). Overall, there were pros to what you decided to do about your crush on Hazel Callahan. You were making the most out of a sucky situation.
What you werenât proud of was deciding to go out with the baseball teamâs captain on a whim, and then agreeing to really date him after. He was nice and was a pretty good boyfriend, but you werenât as into him as he was into you. But that was the least of your concerns throughout that relationship that inevitably came to an end as graduation neared.
Youâll never forget the complicated look on her face the day he greeted you with a kiss on the cheek at your locker. Youâll never forget the âCan we talk now? Please?â text she sent that night, her last attempt at reaching out before she took to ignoring you too.
And that was it. Hazel wasnât part of your senior year until its end and you assumed it would be the same for the rest of your life, or at least for a long, long time.
But the universe just loved playing cruel tricks sometimes.
âOkay, youâre sure youâve got everything? Those new notebooks, your writing materials, enough bras and paââ
âOkay, mom!â You cut her off with a nervous laugh, silently thanking god that your roommate and whoever was helping her move in hadnât arrived yet. âIâve got it all, I promise. Itâs okay for you to go now.â
Your mother sighs as she reaches out to give your arm a squeeze, and after a few more pointers for your first day and about five âyou can always give us a call for anythingâ reminders, you were alone. You smile to yourself as you look at your fixed up side of the dorm, jittery in a good sense. Everyone said college was different from high school in the best way and you were determined to make it so. Even though you knew how much busier and hectic life would get with university level academics.
Youâre so lost in your own thoughts that you donât hear the door open. Itâs only when that painfully familiar voice says your name that you snap out of it.
Hazel Callahan, practically the same as ever, standing in the doorway with her luggages and a duffel bag across her body. She manages a smile, small and hesitant. To your surprise, all you can say is, âYouâre my roommate?â
Her face twitches in disappointment, smile faltering noticeably. You didnât mean for that to come off the way it clearly did but the question escaped you before you could think. Of all the people in the world â or even just of all the people in high school, it just had to be her? You were over Hazel. Youâd tried so hard and honestly havenât thought about her much at all since graduation.
Only for all that effort to feel like it was undone within seconds. Fantastic.
âTrust me, I⌠I didnât know this would be the arrangement. My momâs got an old friend here who could probably do a room switch for one of us â I mean, for me I guess, youâve already got your side of the room fixed up while Iâm still all packed, soââ
You put a hand up to stop her. âHazel, itâs fine. We can share this room. All that stuff fromâŚâ You let the sentence trail off and clear your throat. âI mean, it doesnât matter anymore, it never really has.â
Though expecting her to brighten even slightly at your attempt at an olive branch, her expression stays the same. Complicated actually, like the one she had upon seeing you and your (short-lived) senior year boyfriend for the first time in school. You try not to think about it.
âAnyway, Iâve got some things to go check with the registrarâs office, so Iâll get out of your hair so you can unpack and all that.â There was nothing to check with at the registrarâs office, but you needed to find some place that wasnât your dorm to pull yourself together. Or maybe scream.
Thereâs a look of understanding on her face but shakes her head at you. âYou wouldnât be in the way. We could use this time to catch up. Itâs been a long while, you know?â
Well, you certainly werenât ready for that, so you just say something about wanting to get to the office while it wasnât too busy yet. You cast her a side glance with a smile that you really hoped didnât look forced or fake as you watch her bring in her things, then make a beeline for the door.Â
But you stop when she asks, âHey, um, maybe we can sit with each other at the orientation tomorrow?â
âUh⌠yeah, sure.â And you knew that didnât sound forced or fake with the way Hazel almost grins at you.
Yeah, you really needed to find a place to scream somewhere on campus.
#bottoms 2023#hazel callahan#my silly little goodreads#hazel callahan x reader#fic recs#iâm so excited for this one#banger prompt#masterclass in writing#december#2023
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for the DTIYS hosted by tumblr's one and only @blitzbittz
(Feb 26th: edited img because i forgot blitzø's face scars >:/)
#blitzbittz1kDTIYS#i'm SO EXCITED to see a DTIYS on tumblr dot com !!! that i can join !!!#saw the banger of a prompt and IMMEDIATELY knew what must be done#congrats on 1k and happy drawing my liege đŤĄ#i guess i should tag this properly too hmmmmmmmm#blitzø#stolas goetia#helluva boss#helluvaboss#fancomic
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20. Weight of the World â Battle Tapes
You showed up haunted with a fist full of dynamite Curated provocateur Ooh, the funny thing about a life that's so civilized Is when the lines start to blur Delusional, until we fold Buried under the weight of the world
This songs hits ten times harder if you imagine that the instrumental dropping out to the slowly rising bass at ~2:28 is the moment Tango respawns after Bdubs' boogeyman kill and starts to spiral into rage.
#never rushed to do a piece so fast after being prompted to rewatch Etho's 6th episode of Last Life. I feel crazy#dbhc#spotify wrapped doodle challenge#dbhc tango#dbhc etho#dbhc last life#dbhc art#ask#dbhc ask#anon#the scattered dialogue would be. erm. all of the teasing from etho and bdubs (mostly etho) after the fact :) so i'm#normal#tangotek#tango#ethoslab#etho#art escapades#last life smp#llsmp#last life#trafficblr#hermitcraft au#hermitcraft#ill reblog this tomorrow at a more normal time good grief#AT LAST#THE TANGO LAST LIFE SONG#definitely recommend you listen to the whole song though. what a banger#Tw eye strain#Tw glitch
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crazy seeing rightwing people calling the barbie movie anti-men considering iâm pretty sure the âiâm just kenâ song did more good for menâs mental health than any number of their shitty little incel forums combined
#not su /#genuine banger telling men not to define their worth by having a gf or trying to dominate others#and they still canât handle the movie quipping about the state of gender relations by saying kens will one day be as important in society#as women today (which is an excellent prompt for people to realize how unequal the world still is and be unsettled but people still donât#get it) and itâs just. So revealing that you canât handle being treated like youâre not the center of the world for 5 seconds#barbie movie#barbie#barbie 2023
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Please donât go

Iâll eat you whole

I love you so,

I love you so,

I love you soâ

Please break my heartâŚ
#arcane#jinx arcane#arcane season two spoilers#mylo arcane#claggor arcane#vi arcane#ekko arcane#arcane silco#arcane vander#powder arcane#vander and jinx#jinx and vi#jinx and silco#timebomb#ekkojinx#powder and vi#powder and mylo#powder and claggor#isha arcane#isha and jinx#jinx and isha#this is shitty#i just wanted to prompt someone to make a edit of jinxâs trauma to breezeblocks#imagine someone asks jinx âwhy are you like thisâ and she just rolls out a fucking montage#i highkey want her to fully reconcile with vi and ekko but Iâd worry for them bc. well. her track record with loved ones isâŚ#yknow#not good#anygays go listen to alt-j or smt they make bangers#Spotify
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Wade, while watching Logan do the chores: Let's pretend I'm your interviewer. Now, where do you see yourself in 6 months?
Logan: In your chair, asking way better questions and not wasting an hour to interview just one person instead of doing the chores.
#their domestic banger is the greatest entertainment#althea thinks its better than the shitty shows wade watches#logan definitely enjoys their banter#deadpool and wolverine#deadpool 3#wade wilson#james logan howlett#poolverine#deadclaws#peanutbub#old man yaoi#imagine your otp#otp prompts#writing promt#marvel memes#mcu avengers edits#ryan reynolds#hugh jackman#deadpool x wolverine#mischievous thunder
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Day 1: You are who you eat
#cult of the lamb#cotl#cotltober#starting off the month with a banger!#saw the cotltober prompt list and thought it looked fun#doubt i can do all of the prompts but ill try to draw a few#somewhat inspired by the volume covers of dungeon meshi for this one
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List of âand no matter where I go, Iâm always gonna want you back (I know, you know, I will never get over you)â promptsÂ
Want You Back - 5SOSÂ
âWhat if I tell you I never truly got over you?â âWell⌠That doesnât change anything, does it?â
âSo youâll always love them?â ââŚIâm afraid so.â
âTheyâre just not someone you can get over. The thought of them lingers; their presence always felt.â Â
âI thought you moved on.â âUnfortunately for me, Iâm still very much in love with them.âÂ
âI⌠I wish they were still mine, but I fucked things up so bad, and now things will never go back to the way they were before.âÂ
âThey really were irreplaceable. I physically cannot stomach being with someone else. It has to be them, but it also canât be them. Not anymore.âÂ
âDo you actually love [insert character Aâs name] or are you still thinking about [insert Character Bâs name].â ââŚNext question, please.â
âYouâre someone I canât move on from.â âMaybe you just arenât trying hard enough.â âNo⌠No itâs notâ You were it for me. And I somehow fucked it up.âÂ
âApparently, time doesnât make you miss somebody less, even after youâve broken up. It actually makes you miss them more.â ââŚYeah, I donât think thatâs the usual experience.âÂ
âI canât help but wish I did things differently. Maybe Iâd still have them in my life, you know?â
Join my Discord server:Â Steaming Dumplings Nation
#title from want you back by 5sos#a banger song but it throws me back to certain people iâm not very fond of#because songs for me hold memories and itâs just the way it is#writing prompts#prompts#otp prompts#dialogue prompts#angst prompts
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Donât get me wrong, I *love* âassumes theyâre together after losing memoriesâ fics.
But, I think the reverse could be neat.
Geralt wakes up without memories and is taken care of by a beautiful, kind, talented bard.
When Geralt works up the courage to ask how they know each other, Jaskier claims theyâre lovers.
And Geralt refuses to believe him.
âNo, really, how do we know each other?â
He just refuses to believe Jaskier would settle for him and is convinced that the bardâs claims stem from pity.
"Darling, really." The beautiful man says with exasperation. "Just end the joke. What are we?" "We're lovers, Geralt! Lovers! We love each other!" "There's just no way!" Geralt repeats. Every time he reiterates this fact, the strange man claiming to be his beloved looks more sad. Because the joke isn't working? Or his.. His evil scheme isn't working? Because it's just not possible that this beautiful perfect bard loves HIM. There's no way. Nothing as good as him could love something like Geralt. Geralt doesn't remember him. That's- That's fine. It's fine. They could've figured it out. But Geralt is just so insistent on the principle that they could never be in love with each other. Jaskier begins to worry that Geralt truly hates everything Jaskier does, and the only way they ended up together is because Jaskier wore him down. That's not what happened, right? Surely not...
#I LOVE THISSSSS#bakeywake with another banger#geraskier#geralt x jaskier#geralt x dandelion#the witcher#geralt loves his bard!#witcher fanfiction#fanfiction prompts#writing prompts#friends to lovers#requited unrequited love#established relationship#memory loss#memory#amnesia#temporary amnesia#angst and humor#angst#whump#geralt whump#jaskier whump#misunderstandings
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AnS Rare Pair Scramble @ans-arcade
KikiYuki ︹Understanding
the way i need ans yuri needs to be studied
!click for better quality!
#akagami no shirayukihime#snow white with the red hair#ans#shirayuki#kiki seiran#kikiyuki#had a diff wip for them with a kiss but mom found the yuri#jk i just suck at drawing kisses#rarepair#ans event#ans rare pair scramble#myart#so i actually kinda hate this#tried recreating my banger zenyuki yuri but i lost the brush heelp#anyway just girlies sneaking away from the soiree to have some quality time together#dw about the prompt too much
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all of my writer mutuals are the most talented people ever and their work shld get 48284288482 kudos immediately
#nyxi cant stfu#i am surrounded by geniuses#banger draft past me not sure what prompted it but real asf
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[đŚ / october 2023 ] reward for @dragongirldeity !! đĽ (it/its)
[ID: a digital drawing with rough linework of an avian anthro, various browns in color, with a small hair tuft on its head and four arms. it wears a hood, a fishnet top, fingerless gloves, shorts, a cape, and several belts. the inside of its cape is decorated with golden sigils and runes, as are its arms. it stands with its lower set of arms held clasped across its waist, and its upper set of arms is dabbing. the further arm ends in the "gottem" hand gesture. the background is various blues. /end ID]
#batnoise art#avian#bird furry#weirdfur#anthro#furry#cleanfur#sketch#a:bel#2023#i love. getting to draw sillier prompts like this i had a blast#banger design too
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Just had a very stupid idea that is not getting fleshed out by me anytime soon but something something Music Meister makes Danny perform Phantom of the Opera solely for the pun Danny Phantom of the Opera
#dpxdc#dp x dc#im not calling this a prompt or anything#its just me rotating my favorite guy (Music Meister) like a rotisserie#chizelkreq original banger#music meister#phantom of the opera but not in the main tag#danny phantom but not in the main tag
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"Loki with black painted nails on the couch a gecko in a living room of a trailer home watching tv with a glass of wine. (what ifâŚloki was worthy reference)"
@mcuthoraction's Thor Gotcha for Gaza for an anonymous donator đđŚ
#thorgotchaforgaza#loki#thor#what if#this prompt made me read the book#thank u anon for bringing this absolute banger to my attention#completed
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How About A Picnic?
Heâs like this often. Mostly when he doesnât get what he wants, like: when the weather isnât a perfect ninety degrees sunny without a cloud; when his bike creates that rattling noise during that time of the month again; when his toast isnât crispy all the way to the edges; when he wakes up and Ice isnât there with him.
Living with Maverick means seeing him pout every ten minutes. Like what heâs doing now. Bottom lip jutting out, eyes wide and slightly teary, shoulders defeated. The man is fifty-nine years old.Â
Itâs all for show, of course. If Maverick Mitchell is anything but, itâs easily offended. His heart is locked away in solid steel and guarded with spiked iron. Heâs just looking for a reaction. Which Ice, for all of his reputation, canât help but react anyway.
âWhatâs wrong?â Ice asks, coaxing Maverick to turn around and face him.
Maverickâs not giving in easily. His backâs turned, hands on his hips like a sulking toddler whoâs been refused a second cookie. âArenât you the so-called âMaverick Whispererâ? Canât you tell?â
âIâm not a mind reader,â Ice says for the hundredth time. âCâmon. Tell me. Is it the kids? Are they teasing you again?â
âNo,â Maverick hisses and dodges Ice. âGo away. I hate you.â
No, you donât. Ice resists saying it in fear of Maverick shutting him out even more. When heâs in a fussy mood, Maverick canât handle too much ribbing.Â
âIâm sorry,â he says instead. âIs it something I did? Did I forget an anniversary?â
âYouâre a shitty husband if you have to ask that.â
âWell, better late than never.â
âHmph.â Maverick scowls and pouts even more.Â
Ice considers him, then gets an idea. Maverick narrows his eyes at him as if he can see the lightbulb on top of his head.Â
He takes Maverickâs arms and yanks so theyâre flush chest to chest, trapping his arms underneath so Maverick canât escape.Â
Ice drops a kiss on Maverickâs nose. âTell me.â Another to his right eyebrow. âCâmon.â To the right eyebrow. âTell me. You know you want to.â To the high of his cheekbone. âTell me.â To his forehead, lips, jaw, neck, ears. Then all over again.
Maverickâs tense shoulders drop little by little, and by the twentieth kiss, heâs giggling and squirming, trying to get away from Iceâs wet lips.Â
âStop!â Maverick lets out.
âOnly if you tell me.â
âFine, you asshole!â Maverick glares, fierce as a kitten. âI wanted to go on a picnic but itâs going to rain later today.â
Ice canât help but throw his head back and laugh. Oh, Mav. âIs that it?â
Maverick flushes. âI knew youâd laugh.â He slaps Iceâs chest, though the sting of it is chased away by a gentle rub.Â
âIâm sorry,â Ice says through chuckles. âItâs justâyouâre so goddamn cute, you know?â
âIâm not cute!â Maverick protests cutely.Â
âYou are.â Ice smiles. âThe cutest.â
Maverickâs pout appears again, Ice kisses it away.Â
âWe can just go on that picnic now,â Ice suggests.
âNow? But itâs eleven in the afternoon.â
âSo?â
âSo? The sunâs way too high for that!â
Ice shrugs. âSo what? You want to go, right?â
Maverick stares at him in quiet amazement, probably thinking about how his usually fussy boyfriend is suggesting to go on a picnic with the sun at its peak. Probably wondering what happened to him.
Love. Love happened to him. Ice will do anything for Maverick if he asks.
âAlright,â Maverick says. âBut youâre making the sandwiches.â
âSandwiches?â
âItâs the tradition! And youâreâbetter at cooking than I am,â Maverick struggles to say those last few words.Â
Ice smirks. âYou could just slap on some peanut butter and jelly and call it a day.â
âA perfect sandwich requires ham, a sunny-side-up egg, cheese, and slightly burnt toast!â
âFine, fine.â Ice rolls his eyes like making a sandwich for his husband is that much of a burden. âIâll get to cooking.â
âAtta boy.â Maverick smirks, and slaps Iceâs butt.Â
#another one from the kisses prompts#first post of the year!#still getting back to the flow of writing!#old men in love#can't believe my last post was a banger#who knew so many people loved hangster!#icemav#pete maverick mitchell#tom iceman kazansky#iceman x maverick#top gun
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a/n; I have to say, Iâve been fleshing out this little universe of mine for years & years and I genuinely forget how much content I have or what half of it is LIKE THIS ONE !!!!!!!!! I FORGOT ALL ABOUT THIS ONE & this is such a good one they were just little babies :â) awww my little babies
more early stuff & @ chi finally some caretaking đ better late than never đ
word count: 4k, itâs long as hell
tw/cw: mentions of vivisection, grievous bodily harm, accidental grievous self harm, canon typical gore
living weapon whumpee, caretaking, the sort of blood and guts that come w taking care of a living weapon
Something Wren is starting to find almost helplessly endearing about Silas is just how intimidated he seems to be by the rest of them.
He cuts the figure of an old Hollywood movie monster, something that brings the word fearsome to mind. He has to turn sideways to fit through doorways because of the bulk of him, and all of it is muscle, genetically engineered or otherwise. Hal insists he has to be ten feet tall; Wren thinks, practically, heâs probably somewhere between eight and nine. His hair is long, almost unnaturally inky in colour, and thereâs something sort of feral about the way he always lets it hang in his face, limp. His voice is just unnatural in pitch, a rumble, bass, but he doesnât speak all that much, instead angling his head, grunting on a good day. He isnât very expressive, but he makes a lot of eye contact. An intimidating amount of eye contact.
Frightful. And not just in bulk, but in what heâs capable of; if Silas decided he wanted to use the unit as his personal slaughterhouse, there isnât a thing any or all of them could do to stop him. Heâs frightful. But some reason, frightful as he may be, it really seems like the rest of them make him nervous. After weeks of trying to coerce him, like trying to befriend a stray dog, heâd started joining them in the common room but heâd never get too close, only ever just watching them. Wrenâs always found something really wary about the way heâll watch them, something nervous. It makes it hard to be frightened by him.
Robinâs the exception. For whatever reason, Silas is properly shit scared of Robin, and Wren canât even begin to guess why but it makes him laugh. He tries not to, he doesnât want to embarrass Silas, not when heâs already so skittish, but watching him full body react to something as innocuous as Robin turning his head is amusing in an almost painfully endearing way, and he just canât help it, try as he might. The first thing thatâs made him laugh, actually, since he got here.
The second is that Robin is weirded out by it. It creeps him out that Silas is creeped out by him. Their relationship is built on a foundation of very tense symbiosis and Wren couldnât say what it is about it that tugs so firmly at his chest, but it does. It makes him smile if he thinks about it too hard.
He would dare say heâs charmed by it, but he has a sneaking suspicion itâs why Silas isnât more tempted to spend time in the common room, time around the rest of them. Usually, though, he lurks more than he doesnât, and heâs becoming a somewhat comforting fixture, so Wren notices, pretty immediately, that Silas isnât his usual shadow in the common room. Even if he always just sits outside, watching, he always sits outside. Wren notices pretty immediately that he isnât there; Silas is kind of a hard guy to miss. And Wren would be lying again if he said that, selfishly, he didnât prefer having Silas around. Wren feels better in his company, even if heâs just a shadow. The soldiers are all afraid of him, so afraid of him, and they have less attention to focus on Wren when theyâre scared.
June and Robin are having some kind of heated competition â push ups â and Hal is lying on the floor beside them, arms folded behind his head, eyes closed. He looks like heâs napping.
Wren doesnât even bother to ask them. He crosses through the common room, mostly unnoticed, and peeks first into Silasâ room, where heâs usually hiding, where Wren has to track him down before coercing him out. Except Silas isnât there, and his bedroom is empty.
And Wren is pretty certain Silas doesnât have any of his field tests or his treatments, because it was always pretty obvious when Silas was being taken away for a field test or treatment â Wren got left alone, because Silas needed an escort of just about every armed soldier in the place. But Wren had been with Point, and Point had been his usual, deranged self, not the tense, colder version that impending Silas exposure seems to bring out in him.
He checks the common room again, just in case, but he isnât there. He isnât in the kitchen, either. The door to the bathrooms is closed. It usually isnât.
Wren cracks it open, and he doesnât know what he was expecting.
The smell is so overwhelming that for a second, he goes blind. Itâs bitter, a sharp pain in his sinuses he hadnât anticipated, the tang of raw meat. It makes him dizzy.
He takes two steps into the bathroom and has to brace a hand on the wall to keep himself from slipping. Looking down, the red mist had cleared from his vision but he doesnât realize it for a second, because everything is still red. Redness is pooling on the floor.
Blood.
Thereâs so much blood.
He thinks first, stricken, that Silas must have died in the bathroom because heâs smeared on every wall and pooling on the floor. Itâs an impossible amount of blood, so much of it in some spots it doesnât even look like blood, but black paint.
But Wren rounds the corner, and the bathroom has been flooded, blood soaking through the canvas of his shoes, but Silas, somehow, is still alive, and heâs still standing. Heâs shirtless, standing over a drain, and heâs been vivisected. His chest and his stomach had both been opened, a Y of a wound that yawns open, pulled wider with each of Silasâ breaths. It looks like it had been stitched together at some point, staples that tear chunks out of the already frayed tissue as theyâre pulled, threads that tear ribbons out of his flesh.
Wren can really see it in him then, the widowmaker, the juggernaut. He can see why the soldiers are all so scared, so edgy around him; why they talk about him the way they do; why Point, in particular, is so weird about him. The rest of the unit, until Silas, save for Wren, had all been super soldiers â Silas is their weapon. Wren can really see it in him for the very first time.
But thereâs something in the way he looks up, caught, the closest heâs ever looked to embarrassed, and the absurdity of it makes Wren forget to be scared of him at all.
âWhat?â is what he says. He doesnât mean to. He feels lightheaded, like heâs started losing blood, too. Like the blood loss is contagious. âAre you okay?â
Itâs a stupid question, because of course heâs not. Silas lifts his chin, sort of a nod, anyway.
âUm,â Wren says, because heâs is lying. Heâs very visibly not okay. âWhat. Um,â he says, and even heâs surprised by how normal his voice sounds. A side effect of blood loss by proxy. âWhat happened?â
Silas just barely angles his head at him, dismissive. Nothing.
Wrenâs a little irritated by it. Deflecting, probably, but heâs irritated nonetheless. âWhat happened?â He repeats firmly.
Silas heaves a broad shoulder, and Wren doesnât mean to, but he watches as it pulls at his skin and the staple of a stitch tears a chunk out of his sternum. âSâfine.â
âFine?â Wren says, and it comes out a little weak. He looks up â up, up, up â into Silasâ face. âYouâre bleeding to death.â
Silas finally lifts his head, looks at him properly, and he looks for a long time. When he speaks, his voice is its usual, flat bass, a rumble Wren would swear he can feel in his chest. âI wonât die.â
âWhat?â He repeats. Itâs a little surreal, this whole thing. âSilas,â he tries. âWhat did you do?â
âPulled my stitches,â Silas says.
âYeah,â Wren agrees. He tries not to look at Silasâ chest, at the way flesh had been pulled back over meat and was starting to come apart again, like frayed ribbon. âWhy?â
Silas rubs the back of his head and Wren doesnât think heâs going to answer him. But he admits, after a beat of silence, âI didnât mean to.â Another beat, and his voice is a little more tense when he says, âI was trying to change my bandages.â
Wren blinks, and then heâs overcome with a wave of sadness so heavy it almost knocks him on his ass. He was just trying to change his bandages. He was trying to change the bandages from his autopsy by himself, and he was going to bleed to death in the bathroom by himself.
Wren takes a step forward and Silas eyes him suspiciously. âDo you need a hand?â He offers softly. He shouldnât have to bleed to death alone, not a few feet from a unit full of people that would help him.
Silas looks at him blankly. âMy hands are fine.â
Wren cracks a smile, despite himself. Despite the blood loss. âWould you like some help?â He tries again.
Silas looks at him again, and he hesitates. He looks at him for another long time. Finally, he says, âno.â
Wren tilts his head. âI donât mind.â
Itâs impossible to tell what Silas is thinking. âWhy?â
âWhy donât I mind?â Wren asks, angling his head again, curious. âBecause you need help, Silas. Youâre bleeding. A lot.â
Silas studies him intently. âYouâd touch me?â
He says it with a skepticism that tugs at Wrenâs heartstrings. âOf course.â
Silas looks at him with that same flat sort of skepticism, but he doesnât say anything else.
Wren offers him a smile and holds a hand, expectant.
Silas angles his head, towards a bench mounted into the far wall. There are grey towels piled on top, knocked askew, blackened with blood splatter and a single handprint. Beside the towels, industrial rolls of gauze and strip bandages. On the cracked linoleum in front of the bench, an unwound pile of fraying, blood soaked bandages and gauze with chunks of meat woven through the mesh. Wren actually canât look at them as he steps over them, and it has nothing to do with the gore â it makes him sad in a way he canât articulate, in a way that makes him feel heavy.
He considers asking Silas to the bench but Silas is standing over the drain and thatâs probably the best â the safest â place for him to be. The water in the district doesnât run hot, but it runs lukewarm, so Wren wets a towel with lukewarm water and sidles into Silasâ personal space. He smells like a butcher shop, but Wren had expected that. The skin of his opened autopsy wound is threadbare, ruined, like whoever had cut him open had taken a cheese grater to the incision to keep him from ever being stitched back together again. It looks raw, and it looks so painful that it actually makes Wrenâs skin hurt, which he hadnât expected.
Exhaling softly, he twists his hair up tightly, out of the way, and tries his very best not to hurt Silas worse than heâs already been hurt. He can feel Silasâ eyes on him the whole time, watching him with a kind of intensity that Wren can handle from beneath his eyelashes all of one time, and then he canât look at him again.
Soon enough, anyway, he forgets all about it, almost forgets that Silas is there with him at all. Heâs meticulous, so careful that he keeps finding himself holding his breath, so focused he forgets about anything else. He picks all the most damaging staples and pulls all the most mutilating threads.
It isnât easy work, by any means. Itâs gory and itâs slippery and Wrenâs always had a pretty strong stomach. Heâd grown up in the south, and heâd done his time on a farm. His brother had been a cowboy once. There isnât a lot Wren canât handle, but thereâs a lot of raw, bleeding meat before he covers it with bandages, and every so often his brain likes to remind him that itâs Silas, and it makes him sort of squeamish.
He cleans the wound as best, as gently as he can, and Silas is still bleeding when he finally starts to wrap his bandages. He isnât quite sure how it was bandaged before, but he thinks mummifying most of his torso is probably the way to go, right?
Silas doesnât complain or even twitch the whole time. Wren chances a look up at him as he winds a bandage around his waist; heâd forgotten how intently Silas was watching him, and it almost makes him jump. âIâm not hurting you?â
One of Silasâ eyebrows twitches. âYou couldnât hurt me.â
âGiven my vantage point, I probably could,â Wren points out.
Silas doesnât say anything, and it makes Wren just a tad uneasy. He knows his silence means itâs cute that you think so, and thatâs a little unsettling. But when Wren says, âcan you come down here?â, because Silas is pretty big and Wren canât wrap all the way to his shoulders without contortion and strain, Silas kneels in front of him willingly, easy. Heâs still taller than him.
It makes Wren smile. âThank you.â
Silas bows his head, kind of a nod, and angles his head to watch him again as Wren more or less mummifies him in gauze and a wasteful number of bandages.
He swaddles him until blood stops seeping through the gauze and then he swaddles him still. He canât look at him again, not as Silas watches him, not with so much less distance between them. Up close, he has really black eyes, the same unnatural inky colour as his hair, not dark, not really, but an absence of colour or light at all. Wren accidentally catches his eye and holds it for a beat too long, hands on Silasâ slick, bare skin.
When he looks away again, he can feel heat in his face and he isnât quite sure what to do with that. Flustered, he flattens a bandage against Silasâ sternum and asks, softer than he means to, âwhat happened to you?â
Silas doesnât answer him for such a long time that Wren has no choice but to look at him again, curious. Silas is still watching him, and when Wren looks up he raises his eyebrows, curious.
âWhat happened?â Wren repeats, trying to meet his eye. âWhat did they do to you?â He knows there are treatments and therapies and medications the super soldiers needed and need to make them and keep them super soldiers. Itâs nothing like this. Itâs never anything like this.
But Silas heaves his massive shoulders, a tense sort of shrug. âSurgery.â
He says it with a simplicity that makes Wren all too aware of the thickest, most raised scars â the inside of his arms, armpit to wrist; down his sides, from armpit to hip; the Y shaped scar of his torso, shoulders to groin. âSurgery,â he repeats softly. âDo you have a lot of surgeries?â
âYes,â Silas says.
âWhy?â
âImprovement,â he says flatly.
âImprovement,â Wren repeats.
âMm,â he agrees.
Hidden behind the oil spill of his hair, thereâs a ridged scar along the bit of Silasâ hairline that Wren can see and he canât help but wonder how much of Silasâ hairline it spans. How much of himself he was allowed to keep and how much the district has taken away.
It kind of stuns him into silence, and he finds himself looking really hard at Silasâ bandages.
Silence stretches and Wren isnât sure how to break it. He keeps busy; once his torso is mummified, Wren takes the lukewarm towel to the cover of gore on his skin. Tries to, anyway â Silas catches him quickly around the wrist. His hand spans most of Wrenâs forearm.
He looks up at Silas, who looks back and doesnât say anything, dark and intense. They look at each other so long Wren is kind of startled out of it. He says, âdid I hurt you?â
His eyebrow twitches. Amusement, maybe? âNo.â
âThen let me clean you up,â Wren chides gently.
Silas looks down at Wrenâs hand, caught in his own. âYou donât have to do this,â he says.
He tilts his head. âDo what?â
âTouch me,â Silas says.
Wren frowns and gently pulls his hand from Silasâ grip. Silas doesnât stop him, so Wren takes the towel to his skin again, carefully, carefully, carefully wiping away the carnage. Heâs as gentle as he can with the burlap they get for towels, and heâs careful not to pull too hard at Silasâ skin. He cleans his shoulders, his arms, hands, under his nails. His throat and his collarbones. The line of his jaw before he finally asks, âwhy do you think I wouldnât want to touch you?â
Silas answers him like it should be obvious. âIâm a freak.â Iâm disgusting.
Wren stills. The flippancy of it actually upsets him, probably a bit more than it should. He looks up with a frown and says, âyouâre not a freak.â
Silas angles his head down towards him slowly. It would probably be intimidating if Wren werenât a little irritated with him, even if he doesnât quite know why heâs irritated with him. Then Silas gives him this look, and he doesnât say anything, but he doesnât need to â itâs the most expressive Wrenâs ever seen him, and his expression says youâre an idiot.
He breathes out a laugh, despite himself. âDonât look at me like that. Youâre not a freak, Silas.â
Silas raises his eyebrows and doesnât say anything.
Wren raises his eyebrows right back. âYouâre not a freak.â
Silas angles his head, relenting, but thereâs something Wren finds kind of condescending about it. Washcloth to Silasâ cheek, he uses it to tilt Silasâ face so heâll look at him. âStop it. Youâre not a freak.â His eyebrow twitches and Wrenâs starting to think itâs definitely amusement. âYou should be kinder to you,â he tells him.
Silas snorts and thereâs nothing amused in it at all. âI donât deserve kindness.â
Wren canât keep himself from recoiling. âThatâs a horrible thing to say,â he tells him, and heâs mad at Silas on Silasâ behalf. The guy could stand to be a lot kinder to somebody that was bleeding to death in a dirty bathroom by himself. âWhy not?â
Silas looks at him critically. âWhat do you think I am?â
âI donât know,â Wren says. âWhat are you?â
âIâm a weapon,â he tells him.
Wren already knew that. âAnd?â
Silas looks only just barely baffled, but itâs obvious on his otherwise marble face. âYouâre a soldier. You donât know what weapons do?â
Thereâs something incredibly condescending in his tone but thatâs not why Wren prickles. âIâm not a soldier.â
Silas angles his head back to look down at him, and Wren can see it in his face, that heâs really looking at him for the very first time. How much smaller he is than Silas, how much smaller he is than all the rest of them. âWhat are you?â He asks.
Wrenâs shoulders tense. âThatâs none of your business.â Silas studies him closely, all dark and intense, but he doesnât say anything else, he doesnât push, he doesnât pry. Wren tries to roll the tension out of his shoulders and huffs out a breath, wiping the last of the blood splatter from his face.
âWren?â Silas says.
Wren almost wrings out the towel, then thinks better of it. He looks at Silas, very close to eye level. âSilas?â
âThank you,â he says, and thereâs something sort of awkward about how he says it, tense, out of practice.
Like a surprising number of other things about Silas, Wren finds himself kind of endeared by it. He takes a hand to his chin and tips his face down. It surprises him again, how willingly Silas moves, and Wren smiles against the ridged scar of his hairline as he presses a kiss there. âYouâre welcome.â
Silas looks at him, and heâs as unexpressive as he usually is but he touches his hand to his forehead, to the spot Wren had kissed. âWhat was that?â
âWhat?â Wren says, because itâs not what he was expecting. He has to stop expecting things from Silas, he thinks. âA kiss?â
âA kiss?â Silas repeats, and Wren canât tell if itâs another question or if heâs just mimicking his inflection. He says it with Wrenâs accent.
It kind of feels like a lightbulb going off, like a bunch of odd puzzle pieces finally forming a bigger, odd picture. Maybe Silas isnât what Wren thought he was at all.
âSilas,â he says slowly. âWhere were you before this? Before you were here.â
âI wasnât,â Silas says.
And that canât possibly be true, but it opens this yawning chasm in Wrenâs chest that sucks all the air from his lungs. He feels so guilty for ever likening Silas to a stray dog that it actually might make him flush. It isnât that heâs intimidated by them, itâs that he doesnât understand them. Silas is their only weapon â has he known anything before this but violence? Is that all he can remember?
âYou werenât,â Wren says softly.
The corner of Silasâ mouth lifts and itâs the very first time Wren has ever seen him smile. It makes him smile, despite himself. âFreak,â he explains, and thereâs something almost challenging in the way he says it.
âStop that,â Wren tells him, and it makes Silas smile properly.
Silas has a very handsome smile.
Silas has dimples.
It almost makes Wren recoil again, but that would be rude, so he doesnât. Itâs close, though. Thereâs a particular scar on Silasâ face, thin and shiny, angled across his jaw and the corner of his mouth so when he smiles, itâs lopsided. Itâs uncomfortably charming, and the dimples that carve out of his cheeks make it almost overwhelming. He also has great teeth, which is jarring, a stark contrast to all the rest of him, raised scars and messy stitches. He thinks Silas might actually be really handsome, and that feels jarring, too.
He smiles anyway. He canât help it and he doesnât know why.
Silas looks away, but he still has a dimple carved out of his cheek on one side and Wren presses the washcloth to it, an impulse he canât quite control. âThere you go,â he tells him. âGood as new.â
âThank you,â he says again, and itâs still awkward, and he still wonât still look at him.
Wren smiles a bit wider. âAnytime,â he says, and Silas grunts. âIâm serious. Anytime. Youâre gonna start being kinder to yourself and youâre gonna start by asking for help.â Silas grunts again and he adds, âdonât be shy. I donât bite.â
âI do,â Silas says, and he doesnât say it like a joke but he says it like a warning and Wren doesnât think heâs kidding.
He isnât quite sure why it makes him smile again. âI donât mind.â
Silas looks at him, angling his head. Wren canât tell what heâs thinking and it should be intimidating, daunting, but Wrenâs been having a really hard time being afraid of him. His full body fear of Robin had started it, but having him kneel patiently in front of him while Wren swaddled him in bandages may have been the thing to cement it. âOkay,â he says finally.
Wren surprises himself with how pleased he is. His smile is bright. âOkay,â he agrees. âGood.â
Silas dimples on one side, just barely, and angles his head down towards Wren.
For a second, Wren doesnât get it. Then he breathes out a laugh and leans up to press another obedient kiss to Silasâ hairline.
When they get back to the common room, Silas sits beside him, and a mountain has been moved. Wren isnât sure why it feels so much like a win, but he preens, anyway.
#i said before a lot of wren stuff is like third act late stage stuff but i LIED#ITS ALSO VERY BEGINNING VERY EARLY PREQUEL STUFF & ITS A BANGER#wren & silas#whump#whump community#whump scenario#whump scenes#whump story#whump stuff#whump writing#whumpblr#whumpee#caretaker and whumpee#whump things#whump prompt#whump blog#whump series#whump tag#emotional whump#soft whump#whump snippet#whump drabble
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