#injury tending

[gh0ul1sh-gr1m]

I actually wrote something

An Unexpected Reunion - For Serennedy Week 2023

[cozylittleartblog]

8th annual nick valentine post! fallout 4 npcs Love sitting. they'll see a chair and ask "is anyone gonna sit here" and not wait for an answer. its like nick is on a personal quest to sit in every chair in the commonwealth. if he sees a chair its on sight

its because his joints are bad, obviously. he's like 140

[longm]

There were a LOT of sparks flying after that punch :DDD Soundwave had to make sure the wiring wasn't mangled.

For the sake of this drawing, please imagine that Cybertron has some mega powerful handheld soldering/welding tool. Also - how in the world do you people DRAW TF:One designs?? You all are too powerful...

Plain text under the cut:

- Later - tending to the injury

Shockwave:

CAN YOU BELIEVE THIS?! SHE PUNCHED ME RIGHT IN THE OPTIC! THE OPTIC!

Soundwave:

Soundwave: saw it.

Soundwave: was there.

Request: move arm cannon out of the way

[boxofoxberry]

THE SIBLINGS EVER

[wis-art]

evil goat woman

[bansenshukai]

1.17.23 - returning to my original purest reason for art making (to draw shirtless anime men)

[prolibytherium]

Would kill to read animal POV fiction that has the animal POV’s interaction with humans be like, semi realistic to the level of caution most predators take with large prey and/or competitors (including humans).

Like instead of the usual - “the human is such a weak, pathetic creature... so slow, no claws, blunt teeth… completely helpless without its 'Fire Sticks'. how is it the master of the earth?” type crap it’s like, the bear protagonist or whatever approaches some dude who spreads their arms and yells and the bear is like “FUUUUUUUUCK THAT THING JUST GOT HUGE. IT'S LARGE AND MAKING NOISES. HOLY FUCK.”

[hufflepuffwritingstuff2]

Whumptober 2024 No. 31- Asking for Help

Since today is Halloween, I thought I would make my last Whumptober fill a little festive! I can't believe I completed all 31 days!!

Villain sat by the door, a bowl of candy on the side table. The doorbell rang. Finally! They wondered where all the little trick-or-treaters had gotten to.

They opened the door, but instead of a tiny pirate or a witch…

“Hero!?” Villain exclaimed.

“Trick or treat?” Hero slurred.

“Woah!”

Villain dove to catch Hero as they lurched forward. Villain got a good look at them. They were covered in blood and bruises.

“What happened to you!?”

Villain carried Hero inside and laid them down on the couch.

“Sorry to bug you like this,” Hero mumbled, “ow. I know it’s a holiday and everything, but- mm…”

Villain gave Hero a gentle slap to the face.

“No sleeping,” they said, “talk to me. Who did this to you?”

“Dunno, they were in costume…”

“Hero,” Villain warned.

“Can’t you give me some ibuprofen before you interrogate me?”

Hero needed more than over the counter pain meds. They needed stitches, bandages, and probably a hospital visit if they were smart. Hero’s eyes started to droop closed. Another slap.

“Stay here. And don’t you dare go to sleep.”

Villain ran from the living room to get the med kit. When they got back, Hero was trying- and failing- to sit up.

“Hey! I said stay awake, not ‘get up and jostle your injuries’!”

“Sorry…”

Villain handed Hero some painkillers, which they took and swallowed dry. They grimaced as they went down. They started to clean their wounds.

“Now talk, or I will turn this into a kidnapping,” Villain said.

“Do you believe in monsters, Villain?”

“Come again?”

“You know, vampires, zombies, ghosts, those sorts of things.”

“I believe in politicians,” Villain stated, “as for the other monsters… where are you going with this?”

“Pretty sure I just met one… a vampire that is.”

“Okay, you’re delirious,” Villain sighed, moving on to stitching Hero up, “vampires aren’t real.”

Just then, the doorbell rang again. Villain sighed, they had left the outside light on when Hero showed up. They’d see to the one trick-or-treater, then turn it off.

Villain opened the door, and their eyes went wide.

“Greetings,” a pale, cloaked figure said, “I think you have something of mine… may I come in?”

“Who are you?” Villain asked.

The figure shed their cloak, and great bat wings sprouted out from their back. Their red eyes seemed to glow in the night, and they grinned widely.

“Who I am doesn’t matter, but I’m sure you’d agree that what I am certainly does.”

“Get lost, Vincent Price,” Villain ordered.

“Oh, I would reconsider,” the figure said, fangs glinting in the warm light of Villain’s porch, “you see, when I want something, I always get it.”

“Cute, you’re entitled,” Villain said, “scram, before I break this wooden table leg and plunge it into your heart.”

The stranger huffed.

“Be careful, human,” they said, “your abode might protect you now, but it will quickly become your prison if you don’t indulge me.”

“Entitled and melodramatic. Leave. Or just stand there until the sun comes up and turns you to dust, I really don’t care.”

With that, Villain slammed the door in the stranger’s face. Their brave façade cracked at once, and they stumbled over to Hero’s side.

“So,” they said, their voice going up an octave, “vampires, huh?”

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Tags:

@mythixmagic @infinityshadows @fishtale88 @thelazywitchphotographer @the-beasts-have-arrived @princessofonwardsworld @surplus-of-sarcasm @memepsychowhowantsuperpower-blog

@electrons2006 @just-a-space-rabbit

[steddieas-shegoes]

uh. what?

for @steddielovemonth prompt 'love is healing wounds'

rated m | 1,782 words | cw: injury recovery, mild blood, recreational drug use | tags: post s4, hurt/comfort, getting together, fade to black

💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖

The stitches pulled and he couldn't get comfortable. He almost wished Robin hadn't made him get checked over, but anything that required this many stitches probably would've killed him if he hadn't. At least that's what Nancy said when he complained to her about it.

But now, Steve couldn't sleep, and sleep was apparently very important for healing.

The alarm clock next to his bed said 2:07 am, so calling someone was out. Going somewhere was also out, unless he wanted to go to the 24 hour diner alone.

Fresh air sounded good until he realized he'd have to either go for a walk in the middle of the night alone or sit by the pool alone.

He didn't want to be alone.

His phone started to ring just when he was considering taking a shower out of boredom.

"Harrington residence, this is Steve."

"So formal for two in the morning, Stevie," Eddie's laugh rang through the line and Steve couldn't help smiling. Something about Eddie's energy was contagious, a beacon of light when all he had was the darkness of his room.

"Didn't know if it was an international business partner for my parents. Happens sometimes when they forget time zones." Steve moved to the edge of his bed so the cord didn't have to stretch as far. "What are you doing up?"

"Had a dream about being eaten alive again. This time they managed to eat both of my nipples." Eddie scoffed. "Isn't one enough?"

Steve chuckled. "And you can't go back to sleep because you're scared they'll come take your other nipple?"

"It's a genuine concern, Steve! I have big dreams of piercing this thing and if they take it from me, what do I have left?"

"I think you'd probably just find something else to pierce," Steve shook thoughts of what that might be out of his head before they could take over. "So you can't sleep. You thought you'd call and wake me up to suffer with you?"

Eddie was silent for a moment before responding. "Did I wake you up?"

"No," Steve said quickly, not wanting Eddie to feel bad. "I was awake."

"Nightmare?"

"No, stitches are bothering me."

"You wanna come over? I found my hidden stash. Might help with the stitches," Eddie offered.

Steve probably shouldn't. He was on some pain meds already and if he got too fucked up, he'd probably cry. That's what happened last time he had some of whatever Eddie was selling.

"I'll come over, but probably shouldn't have anything. Robin would kill me if I end up in the hospital," Steve gave a half-truth.

"Yeah, she's terrifying. I'll leave the door unlocked."

Before Steve could tell him that was a bad idea, he hung up.

********

When Steve got to Eddie's, he let out the breath he'd been holding the entire drive. Eddie was sitting on the porch, alone, his guitar by his side.

Maybe he'd been playing already, or maybe he planned to play to help distract Steve from the way his skin felt like it was too much.

He got out of the car and waved when Eddie looked over at him with a smile.

"Didn't think you'd get here so quick," Eddie didn't bother standing up, Steve just knew to go sit by him.

But the steps on the Munson's porch were rickety at best, "temporary" according to the government officials who had stuck them here because they didn't think it was worth putting them in a home across town, and Steve's eyes hadn't quite adjusted to the dull glow of the light by the front door. He missed the top step and immediately fell, barely catching himself on the wood of the porch.

Eddie was helping him up immediately, doing his best not to make his own injuries worse.

"Shit, you okay? Wayne tried fixing it, but it just keeps getting loose."

Steve felt a stinging pain on his side, and when his hand grazed over the worst of his bites, he felt something warm and wet on his fingers.

"Shit," without looking, he knew he'd torn his stitches. "Eddie, I need a towel or something."

"Shit, that's a lot of blood. That's a lot of blood. It shouldn't be that much, right? Like even tearing your stitches, it shouldn't be-"

"Eddie." Steve poked his arm, stayed as calm as he could. He bled easy, so sometimes even small things looked worse than they were. "Towel."

"Right, yeah. Should you come with me?" Eddie shook his head. "I mean can you move? Should you stay here?"

"I'll sit here until I have a towel. Don't wanna get blood on the carpet."

"Got it."

Eddie still seemed unsure about leaving him, but must have noticed how much blood was soaking through Steve's shirt and rushed inside. He was back in less than a minute, a black towel in his hand.

"It's clean. It's the one I usually use for my hair, but I didn't get to fold it from the dryer yet. Um, just put pressure on it."

Steve knew what to do, was used to putting pressure on wounds, but appreciated Eddie trying to triage it anyway.

"You got a needle and thread, right?" Steve asked once he took his shirt off and put pressure on the bite. It was already bleeding much less, a positive sign that maybe it wouldn't be too bad.

"I mean, I do. I don't have medical tools that have been sanitized properly."

"You have water to boil and vodka?"

"Steve. I'm not fucking performing a medical procedure on your stomach," Eddie shook his head. "Do you have a death wish or something?"

"I trust you."

The words hung heavy between them, despite the fact it wasn't exactly news to either of them. They'd been through it all together, why wouldn't he trust him?

"Okay, let's get inside and I'll get everything ready."

Getting inside was easier said than done. The bleeding had mostly stopped, but the pain had really started to set in and every breath felt like knives stabbing into him.

"Deep breath, Stevie," Eddie said as he sat him down on the couch and helped him lay back. "I'll get you something for the pain."

"Something" was an edible, and Eddie seemed hesitant to give it to him, but all reservations Steve previously had went out the window as he felt his hands shaking from the pain.

Eddie prepared everything while the edible kicked in, checking in with Steve every few minutes to make sure he hadn't passed out or started bleeding again.

When the room started to feel blurry and his head felt light, Steve smiled over at Eddie, who looked nervous.

"Ready for your magic hands," Steve wiggled his brows.

Eddie made a strangled sound before leaning over the wound and wiping some of the blood away gently so he could see where to stitch him back up.

He worked as quickly as possible, humming softly to distract himself and Steve from what was happening.

Steve was high.

He was high and he was feeling good despite the needle in his skin.

He drifted for a bit, couldn't be sure how long, but eventually, Eddie was touching his cheek and making him open his eyes.

"Think you should stand up so I can wrap a bandage on it. Then you can try to shower off some of the blood if you want. Wayne got one of those removable showerheads. Feels fancy," Eddie said as he moved the hair off of Steve's face.

"Help?" Steve managed to ask.

"Yeah, I can help you with the wrap and start the shower for you," Eddie nodded.

"In the shower?" Steve asked.

Eddie paused. "I can keep us dressed?"

"But." Steve huffed. "Blood."

Eddie couldn't help but laugh at his confusion, Steve's lips pouting out and his eyes squinting. "Okay, okay. If you're okay with it, I'm okay with it. You're high as shit, man."

"I'm standing right on the ground," Steve waved his arms around him. "Or is the ground standing on me but the other way?"

"God, this is the best. Okay, let's go."

"Wait!" Steve grabbed Eddie's arms. "You should know something."

Eddie raised his brows in question. "Go on."

"I'm very in love with you. And also kinda hard."

Eddie blinked, not processing. Now he felt high.

"Uh. What?"

"I have an erection." Steve made a disgusted face. "Hate that word. Sounds so middle school sex ed."

"It is." Eddie shook his head. "I guess I meant more like, how and why and what the hell do you mean by it."

Steve giggled. "I said you had magic hands and I was right."

"Dude, I was literally giving you stitches. I am failing to see why that would make you hard."

"It's cuz you're so gentle and your tongue sticks out when you're trying to focus. And also I started thinking about what you'd do if I couldn't move," Steve sighed dreamily. "You have handcuffs."

"Okay. Let's pause." Eddie let out a small hysterical laugh. "You want me to help you in the shower because you love me? Do you even need help?"

"Probably. But I also want help. And also you're a helper for me."

"What does that even mean? Where's Robin when you need her to decode what the hell you're talking about?"

"You're a helper for me! Because you help me be better about asking for help! And then you help!"

"Okay, that's. Good. I'm still not sure what's happening."

"You're gonna help me shower. I'm gonna try very hard not to come. We sleep?" Steve looked around Eddie out the window, like he was checking if it was still night time. "And then in the morning I wake up and get yelled at by Robin."

"Why would she-"

"The stitches. And the telling you I love you thing. She's gonna be real mad about that."

"Why?" Eddie felt like he was losing it. What was even happening anymore? How had he completely lost control of the night?

"She wanted to help me do a speech thing."

This was just getting more wild.

Steve needed a shower, and he needed sleep. Eddie needed a minute to gather his own thoughts.

"Shower. Sleep. Talk in the morning." Eddie raised his hand to cup Steve's neck. "Robin murders you after we talk."

"Deal." Steve's face sank, but he quickly perked back up. "But shower?"

"Yes, shower. Go, horndog."

Steve laughed as he half-limped to the bathroom, clearly feeling some pain even with the drugs in his system. Eddie followed and resisted touching Steve as much as possible.

Which ended up being about two minutes.

[stagefoureddiediaz]

If this scene shows me Medic Eddie tending Bucks wounds whilst standing between his legs - I will promptly expire

[fallenclan]

hailpaw :((( i never drew it (bc she wasn't scarred or killed by it) but at the start of her apprenticeship she broke a bone, and was in the medicine den for MONTHS. and now she's healed, but she's the only one of her siblings that hasn't become a warrior yet, even though she's 15 moons old now. hopefully she will get there soon.

ON A HAPPIER NOTE. look how fucking cool jaggedstripe looks. and her kits are so cute,,, im so glad we've got some new young blood in the clan :D

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[justaz]

s1ep13 merlin, believing he will be dead by morning, goes to say goodbye to arthur and he leans against the door of arthur’s chambers and watches the glow of the fire light his skin golden, full of color and life that it had been sorely lacking while the prince was injured. he stares at the softness of arthur’s features and pressed the line of his profile into memory for while he passes he will wish for nothing more than to see arthur one last time, his smile and blue eyes one last comfort before he passes on to the otherworld. arthur turns to stare at him and frowns at whatever expression merlin is making. the prince kicks a weak foot out at the chair next to him and motions for merlin to join him. merlin slowly shuffles over but ignores the chair completely. he stops in front of arthur who watches him with wary confusion. the tug of his lips and the furrow of his brow sickeningly endearing and merlin allows himself to be selfish and leans down to press his lips to arthur’s.

the prince is sat frozen under merlin’s touch but he can’t find himself to care much about that, not when he finally knows what it feels like to kiss arthur. he hopes that will be his last sensation before the ever consuming nothing, he hopes he will close his eyes one last time only to find arthur grinning at him and calling him an idiot before leading him into paradise where he can watch arthur smile, hear him laugh, and feel his touch for all eternity. he pulls away and leaves before arthur can gather himself to form a response, dropping the letter explaining everything on the table as he passes. so he allows himself to be selfish twice - to take from arthur and to give, to let himself know what is feels to kiss the man, to embrace his feelings for him, and to have the man know him for who he truly is. he wishes to pass peacefully with no regrets. somehow that revolves entirely around arthur.

only…he survives the whole ordeal and yeah has a gnarly scar on his chest but is otherwise fit to return to his duties. which include taking care of the prince. of arthur. who he kissed. and who most definitely know about his magic by now. yeesh.

[sp0o0kylights]

obsessed with your latest steddie au! steve’s relationship with his parents is so emotionally abusive and manipulative and my heart is breaking that nobody seems to recognise that

Thank you!!

I really wanted to focus on how Steve's parents are abusive in a way that is a lot harder to clock.

They're not out there screaming and kicking him out of the house. These people want you to like them, and they lie like they breath.

These are the adults who downplay serious issues, who make you doubt yourself, who smooth things over or even apologize on your behalf as a way to control and isolate you.

If everyone thinks you're terrible, and your amazing, doting, angelic parents are once again swooping in to save you, then your escape routes close up rapidly--which is of course, the whole point. They want their victims to rely on them and them alone.

For a lot of the Party, that's just not an evil they've encountered yet.

Throw in the fact that Steve does in fact, have a head injury, and things get muddy FAST.

It makes for delicious, angst-ridden scenarios and I am delighted everyone's happy to come along for the ride.

[cementcornfield]

a series of tweets i found helpful and informative today re: joe's performance

so in summary: he wasn't throwing deep balls and it's hard to know why. he said in the presser that the patriots D "took the deep options away" and maybe that's true. but in that first tweet you can see that both ja'marr and yoshi are in single man coverage and breaking free. but joe doesn't even try to hit them. it's tempting to blame pass protection (as it has so often been the issue) but the pass protection was actually pretty good, some of the best of joe's professional career. but he honestly just looked spooked?! which i wouldn't blame him for, psychologically overcoming injuries is just as important and probably just as tedious as overcoming them physically. i imagine that can only improve with more reps.

saw a lot of people also blaming the wrist itself, and maybe that's true! he wouldn't say he was 100% last week and said he still has good and bad days. but it also doesn't seem like it really was affecting his throws at all, shallow intermediate or deep. the announcers certainly pointed out that he was fiddling with his wrist/shaking it around (and GASP wearing a glove!), but he's been doing that all training camp. what they showed on the broadcast was likely just him breaking up scar tissue.

so who knows! a lot went wrong in this game. play calling and scheme, run defense (although i also saw some tweets about how our D-line did well, our secondary still can't tackle though!), sloppy and undisciplined plays from everyone, along with some of joe's decision making (he also had some great plays! listed above!) we start slow, it just seems to be a given at this point. and i hope we can fix it. we have a track record of doing so, and you know the boys are pissed and watching the tape to see how they can improve. maybe they can fix it by the time we get to KC?

[mad-serotonin]

Late night sketches of this boy who totally has serious bruising that requires medical attention AND soft kisses and care from his bff

[astrobei]

byler + 35 for touch prompt asks: kissing their bruises and scars  (+ some bonus injury tending!)

“I can’t believe you.”

“Oh, come on. It’s not that bad.”

Mike tries for a grin, a last-ditch attempt at lightening the mood, at playing it off cool, at proving that he’s not hurt half as bad as Will’s convinced himself he is. That backfires at once, though, as he winces involuntarily with his next step, and Will’s frown immediately deepens. 

“Mike,” Will chides, wholly unamused. He’s not smiling. Mike wants to tell him to lighten up, that it’s only a scratch, that it’s superficial and Mike’s faced worse after tripping and falling on the Hawkins Elementary playground. He doesn’t think it’ll matter, though, because Will is looking at him with equal parts concern and exasperation and the kind of irritatingly steadfast stubbornness that makes Mike want to grab him by the shoulders and shake. Hard. 

“It’s not that bad,” he repeats anyway, fighting back a second wince with everything he has as they clear the top few steps of the stairs. “Really.”

“Your leg,” Will points out, reaching a hand out as Mike lets out a slow exhale, “is bleeding. A lot.”

Mike takes his hand and lets himself be hauled up over the last stair. He glances down, sees the red seeping slowly through the rough denim of his jeans, cut open from his ankle up his shin and the back of his calf. “It’s not a lot,” he insists, because it’s really not. “It’s just a little scratch.”

Will stares at him, still holding loosely onto his hand. They’re standing in the upstairs hallway, and they’re tracking mud and dirt and, yes, okay, just a little bit of blood all over the carpet but honestly? Mike can’t find it in himself to care. “I can’t believe you,” Will says at last, but he looks like he’s trying his hardest not to smile. His eyes are giving it away, just like always– sparkling, going creased at the corners like they do whenever he thinks Mike is being funny but won’t give him the satisfaction of saying so. “You went and got yourself all cut up–”

“I got scraped by a vine,” Mike grunts, limping gently as Will hauls him into the bathroom. “That’s not cut up.”

“It is in my books,” Will says, and then Mike is lifting himself up into the counter by the sink and Will is digging through the drawers for a clean towel. “Because there’s you, and there’s a cut, and the rest is pretty self-explanatory.”

Mike watches him move, grabbing the soap from under the sink, brows furrowed and jaw set in quiet determination, the same way it is every time he’s upset. “You’re being dramatic,” he says quietly.

Will doesn’t look up. “I’m not.”

“You are,” Mike presses, as Will turns the faucet on. “Will–”

“I’m being perfectly reasonable,” Will says coolly, then sticks the towel underneath. “Go get yourself all cut up then. See if I care.”

He does care. The front isn’t even an attempt at authenticity, and Mike reaches out to still Will’s wrist as he turns off the water. “Will. Hey. Just– can you look at me?”

Will looks up. His eyes are a bit watery, and he blinks once, twice, glancing between Mike’s own eyes before looking away. “What?”

Mike immediately feels the sour rush of guilt wash over him, even in the warm lighting of the bathroom and the heady, steadying safety of Will standing in front of him, bracketed by his legs. “Hey,” he whispers, tugging him closer by the wrist. Will catches himself on the counter with the other hand, towel still clutched tightly, and looks back at him. “Are you okay?”

“Am I–” Will stares at him, blinking again. He shakes his head, laughing a little incredulously. “Yeah, I’m fine, Mike. You’re the one that’s hurt.”

“I didn’t mean to worry you,” Mike says earnestly. “I swear, it came out of nowhere and I just didn’t react fast enough.”

Will’s hand comes to rest gently just above his knee. They’re face to face like this, the low counter making up for the few inches Mike still has on him. Up close, Mike can see the shadows his eyelashes are casting across his cheek, stark in the bright overhead light. He could count them all, if he wanted, and the sparse smattering of freckles across his nose. 

“I know,” Will sighs at last, those dark lashes fluttering closed. “I just–”

“Hey, it’s okay.” Mike reaches out, cups Will’s jaw with one hand. “Just– look at me, okay? I’m fine. It’s just a scratch. And you can patch me up and I’ll be good as new and also I’ll know to jump out of the way when the vines start moving next time.”

Will cracks a smile, and then huffs out a laugh, dropping his head to Mike’s shoulder. “You’re insane,” he says, a little muffled. “You’re the one that’s hurt, you shouldn’t be comforting me.”

“Did it work?”

“Maybe a little,” Will admits, pushing himself up and away, pressing a fleeting kiss to Mike’s cheek on his way to. The contact is light, brief, but Mike feels himself grow warm at the gesture anyway.

“And,” he gets out, trying his hardest to make sure his voice does not give out on him in the middle of a sentence. “You can kiss me all better afterwards.”

“I’m starting to think you did this on purpose,” Will murmurs, but he’s grinning now, so he can’t be all that mad. “We’ll see. Stick your leg out.”

Mike does. “Going to patch me up now?”

Will rolls the tattered remnants of denim out of the way. “I’ll try,” he says, studying the wound. “It doesn’t look deep, but– you know, what do I know?”

“Reassuring,” Mike mutters.

“It might scar,” Will warns him. “I feel like this kind of thing always scars. And, uh, this might sting,” he adds, holding up the towel.

“That’s cool. Scars are cool,” Mike says, “and I can deal if it– ow, holy shit!”

—

It does scar, obviously, because at some point along the way, the universe decided that Mike can’t have nice things. It’s cool, though. It’s pretty neat, and Will’s a good doctor, and it was shallow and blessedly not-infected and now he’s got a pretty gnarly pink line of a scar winding its way up the back of his calf. 

“Wow,” Will says simply, when Mike pulls the leg of his pants up to show him. “That’s cool.”

“It’s awesome,” Mike grins, then flops back down onto the bed. Will is still hovering over him, Mike’s leg propped up on his lap, the leg of his sweatpants rolled up to his knee. “Isn’t it?”

“It’s a scar,” Will laughs. “How cool can it be?”

“Very. If anyone asks, I got knifed.”

Will runs one hand down the side of Mike’s calf, palm flat to the skin and his expression contemplative. Soft. “In the leg?”

Mike shrugs. “It could happen!”

“Right,” Will laughs again. “Is that cooler than a supernatural interdimensional vine?”

“Getting knifed is a story I can tell to people who are not from Hawkins, Indiana,” Mike says matter-of-factly. He pushes himself up onto his elbows to see Will better– the sloping width of his shoulders in Mike’s borrowed tee, the way his hair is still a little wet around his neck from the shower. The easy, languid way he’s sitting, curled up on Mike’s bed with one hand splayed across Mike’s ankle. Appreciative. Absentminded, like these are all things he’s doing without really being aware of them.

Will hums softly, then trails a gentle finger up Mike’s ankle, around his shin, up his calf. He stops right below the back of his knee, right where the skin starts to get soft and ticklish. Mike jerks in a full-body twitch. “Will!”

“Sorry,” Will grins, not looking even a little bit sorry. “You’re right. It’s a cool scar.”

“Thank you,” Mike says, then pulls Will down onto him the rest of the way. Will lets out a small, startled little noise before catching himself, one hand on either side of Mike’s head.

“One of these days, you’re going to kill me,” he grumbles, easing himself down onto his side next to Mike, who gravitates towards the alluring warmth of his body like it’s a magnetic thing.

“If I knife you, you can also have a cool scar,” Mike mumbles, tucking his face into the hollow of Will’s throat. “We can match.”

“Are you going to get me in the leg too?”

“Nah,” Mike whispers. “It’s a cool scar, but it’s ugly. I wouldn’t want that on you.”

“It’s not an ugly scar on you,” Will says immediately. The sound reverberates through Mike’s body from where his ear is pressed up against Will’s sternum. “You wear it well.”

“What, like an accessory?” Mike laughs, turning and pressing a light kiss below Will’s Adam’s apple. 

Will hums appreciatively. “Sure,” he laughs. “You could make it work.”

“Not all of them,” Mike says, too distracted by the all-encompassing warmth of Will’s body to really be paying too much attention to what he’s saying.

Will pauses. He cranes his neck so he can see Mike, and says, “What?”

“My scars, I mean,” Mike yawns. It’s not that late– barely eleven– but it’s been a long day. He’s had a warm shower. He’s lying in bed with a very warm, very comfortable, very pretty boy, and things are starting to go a little hazy around the edges. “They’re not all that nice looking.”

Will doesn’t say anything for a moment. Mike listens to the faint, rhythmic sound of his pulse, eyes almost fluttering closed, when–

“Show me,” Will says.

Mike’s eyes fly open again. He frowns. “What?”

Will’s arms tighten around Mike’s shoulders. “You should show me,” he repeats. “If you want. I’d– I want to see.”

Mike is confused, a little. “What?” he says again. “Why?”

Will looks thoroughly baffled by the question. “Because they’re you,” he says, like this is obvious. “I don’t think there’s any part of you that’s not all that nice-looking.”

If Mike were even ten percent more awake, he’d try to protest. As it is, it’s taking most of his brainpower to even understand what Will is saying, but his brain-to-muscle communication must be better than he thought, because he’s tilting his face up before he can even register the action.

“Here,” he says, tapping at his chin with one hand. “Troy pushed me over at school. I hit my chin on a rock.”

The mark is mostly faded now, he knows, but it’s there if you squint, if you lean in and look real close. Will’s eyes dart down, then he hooks a careful finger around Mike’s chin, tilting his face upwards before pressing a kiss there, to the underside of his jaw. It’s light. Gentle. It sends Mike’s heart soaring anyway.

“You’re a sap,” Mike says, trying and failing to hide the violent red that his face is probably turning. “What was that?”

“You asked me to kiss it better,” Will says. “There you go.”

Mike rolls his eyes. “You’re about four years too late, okay?”

Will ignores him. “I like that one,” he smiles. “It’s cute. I can’t imagine your face without it.”

“It’s–! Okay,” Mike splutters, and Will laughs quietly. “Moving on.”

“Next one,” Will coaxes, but Mike shakes his head.

“Your turn.”

“What?”

“I can’t be the only one embarrassed here,” Mike says. He taps a finger against Will’s cheek. “Go on. Tell me your secrets.”

“Mike,” Will tries, but Mike fixes him with his best patented Mike Wheeler Look, and Will gives in. “You’re impossible,” he groans. “Anyone ever told you that?”

“Yeah,” Mike laughs, “you. Now come on! Tell me things about you!”

Will huffs and says, “You know everything about me,” which maybe is a little true, but it doesn’t mean Mike doesn’t like finding out stuff about him anyway. “And, uh, here,” Will is saying, tapping above his left eyebrow. “I ran into the doorway when I was six. My mom lost her shit. It wasn’t a lot of blood but I was a small kid so it looked a lot worse than it was.”

Mike’s first instinct is to laugh, which he does. He’s surprised at how it comes out– sharp, delighted. Happy, because this is one thing he hadn’t known about Will before that he does now. He can see the scar; it’s small and it’s faint, especially now that Will’s lost any vestige of a summer tan he might have had, but it’s there.

“It’s cute!” Mike runs the pad of his thumb along it, palm pressed up against Will’s cheek, then leans in, brushing his lips over the warm skin there before pulling it away. “There you go.”

If nothing else, at least Will is also turning a very entertaining shade of pink. “Who’s the sap now?”

“It was your idea,” Mike shrugs happily. He kisses Will there again, just because he can, more firmly this time. A proper forehead kiss, stroking one thumb gently under Will’s eyes. “Ta-da.”

“Idiot,” Will whispers fondly, but he holds loosely onto Mike’s wrist anyway, his own thumb rubbing loose circles on Mike’s knuckles. “Okay. Now you.”

“This feels like show and tell,” Mike says. “Like when we were in elementary school.”

“Sure,” Will giggles. “Okay. What did you bring to class today?”

Mike grins. “Um. Here.” He rolls up the sleeve of his t-shirt, points to a spot halfway between his shoulder and elbow. “From the mall. There was broken glass everywhere, so I’m honestly surprised this was it.”

Will is silent for a moment. He brings his hand up to Mike’s arm, runs his thumb back and forth over the small white line there. It’s not big, and Mike hadn’t even noticed it until his parents arrived, too hopped up on adrenaline to feel it. His mom had seen the blood and promptly freaked out. Privately, Mike had thought about Billy Hargrove and figured he should count his blessings.

“I wish you hadn’t gotten anything,” Will says. It’s quiet. Sad.

”Just cuts and scrapes,” Mike says, watching Will watch him. They’ve been through some shit. Cute and scrapes are unavoidable.

“It doesn’t mean I have to like it,” Will sniffs, leaning forward to press a kiss there too. His lips are warm against the cool skin of Mike’s arm, and he lingers for a moment, his hair brushing against Mike’s chin. He kisses him again, quick. “There.”

Mike wants to say something– anything– but he can’t be sure that whatever comes out of his mouth right now won’t be the most embarrassing thing he’s ever said out loud. Will has plenty of ammunition on him already, and Mike’s voice cracking in the middle of a sentence after Will kissed him– and not even on the mouth!– does not need to be added to the list. “Hey,” he whispers instead, and Will looks up. “It’s barely a scratch.”

Will rests his forehead against Mike’s. “Shut up,” he says, but there’s no bite to it. “I’ll worry if I want to worry.”

“It was years ago,” Mike protests. “It basically healed by the time we got home.”

“Don’t care.”

Mike sighs. He’s stubborn, but his boyfriend is almost more so, and one thing he knows now that he didn’t before is to cut his losses while he can. “Your turn,” he says instead, dropping a placating kiss on Will’s cheek.

Will makes a small, happy noise. “Um. I don’t know. I have this one here,” he points to the back of his hand, “from when Jonathan and I built Castle Byers. One of the branches was really sharp and– well, you know. It’s not even big. I don’t know why it left a scar.”

The funny thing is that Mike has seen these before, but it’s not really something he notices. Little marks, littered over Will’s body– maybe it’s a testament to how long Mike spends just looking at him, but in his head, these are all just Will. He’s so used to them that it rarely occurs to ask where they’d come from. They’re just Will.

“I think it’s charming,” Mike decides, and Will lets out a small snort of laughter. 

“Charming? Really?”

“Yes,” Mike says, “because then I can do this.” He brings Will’s hand up to his face, brushes his lips across the back of his knuckles, and bites back a laugh at the way Will immediately turns extremely pink.

“You are so, so ridiculous,” Will gets out. “Charming? Seriously?”

“Yes,” Mike says again. “You heard me.”

He’s still holding Will’s hand, and he’s not very inclined to let go, so he slots their fingers together and squeezes, once.

“Ridiculous,” Will repeats, but it’s weaker this time. “Now you.”

“Um,” Mike balks. Any semblance of brainpower he gathered up for their conversation so far is rapidly being washed away, every second he spends with Will pressed up against him like this rendering him even more incoherent. He fights back a yawn, and is mostly successful when he says, “I can’t remember.”

“You can’t– okay,” Will laughs. He kisses Mike on top of his head. “Go to sleep, then.”

Mike shakes his head. “Go again. I want to hear.”

“You just want to kiss me,” Will mutters. “You have an agenda.”

Mike grins shamelessly, despite himself. “Maybe.”

“I don’t know,” Will admits. He runs a hand down Mike’s back and then pulls him in until their bodies are flush. “I don’t know what else there is.”

Mike yawns again. “I do,” he whispers, then taps a cautious hand against Will’s side, right against his ribs. “Here.”

Will stops. Takes in a soft, sharp breath. “Right.”

“Sorry,” Mike backtracks immediately, pulling his hand away. “You don’t have to talk about that one, I was just–”

But Will just shakes his head. “No, it’s okay,” he says, lips moving gently over the top of Mike’s hair as he talks. “I just– you already know about that one. And I thought we were talking about the cute little scars, you know. Like, the silly ones.”

“I’m glad my chin got all banged up just for you to think it’s cute and silly,” Mike huffs. And then, “Seriously. You don’t have to.”

“Well, there’s nothing I can say that you don’t know,” Will says, twitching slightly as Mike’s fingers dip under the hem of his borrowed t-shirt. The scar there isn’t big at all, but Mike can feel where the skin goes smooth under his fingertips. He’s seen it– he wasn’t there when it happened but he knows what it looks like. Will hadn’t said anything until they’d gone swimming at the lake that summer– tugging his shirt off and not giving it a second thought until Mike’s eyes had nearly popped right out of his head.

“I’m sorry,” he says, instead of bringing up any of that. “That it happened to you.”

“Don’t be,” Will says immediately. Mike tucks his face further into the curve of Will’s neck. “I’m glad she got it out.”

Mike hums in unsatisfied relent. “Still. I’m sorry.”

“Okay,” Will whispers. “Thank you.”

“I’d kiss it better but that requires a lot of moving,” Mike says, punctuating his point with yet another yawn. Will makes a quiet noise of amusement above him. “But it’s cool. I can be flexible.”

“What are you–” Will starts, before Mike cuts him off, leaning up and off the pillow to catch his lips in a kiss.

“See,” Mike whispers, smiling. “I can make do.”

“With every passing second, I become more convinced that this was a scheme,” Will sighs.

“So no kiss?”

“I didn’t say that,” Will says, then leans back in, tilting Mike’s head back until he’s lying against the pillow again, hand still splayed across his lower back. It’s warm, and it’s soft, and it’s–

“Wow,” Will says. “I’m sorry, Mike, am I boring you?”

“No,” Mike says, around yet another yawn. “I’m not even–”

“You are so even,” Will laughs, then pulls away. “Sleep. I’m not going anywhere.”

“I know,” Mike hums, then kisses Will again. Just for the hell of it. “I know you’re not.”