#silence series

[0perfectimperfections0]

Silence: Part 5

It wasn't a new nightmare, by any means. The same thing happened at first. He would be in the shed or cleaning, minding his own business when a group of dolls that had existed under his authority would walk up to him. Saunter. That's what they did. Their walks were slow but with purpose. Like they owned the place.

They'd start off with a few names. Insults. Their favorite was cyborg. Like a robot. Prototype would be the next on their list. As if he wasn't reminded of that fact daily.

After they exhausted their list of names, they'd edge closer to him. His blazer was usually left behind at the shed, across the mattress on the floor. That was all that had been left of the splintered bed. A mattress. The frame had splintered away not long after the Uglies had stayed there.

His white dress shirt would be ripped off of him and no sooner were the words 'prototype' and 'ugly' scribbled in black marker across his chest. Another reminder. The ink wouldn't wash off that easily. It would be just another excuse for them to throw him in the wash. They had to keep their martyr clean for tomorrow's assault.

Then the nightmare began to veer away from its original storyline. Lou would slide his shirt back on with shaking hands as the dolls continued to laugh and shove him around. However, the laughter was cut short and it was quickly silent. Lou looked up to see them gone. Everyone gone. The Institute was now barren and empty of any life.

This was new.

What may have been just minutes in reality passed by as hours within the dream. Hours of him walking around in search of anyone. Anyone at all. His footsteps led him to the portal. It still glowed. But no one was walking through or coming out.

Despite having seen nothing, his dream provided him with an answer as if he had witnessed everything unfold. They had left. All the dolls left for the Big World and decided they were never coming back. And while the absence of assault was a relief, there had been at least a little comfort in knowing he was still surrounded by people. Now there was no one.

Lou didn't remember walking up onto the stage, but there he was. His hand was flat against the portal as ripples danced to its circumference. He wasn't able to go through it. He knew that already, but this was a dream. He had at least hoped that in the dream he could fulfill his wishes.

No new dolls came. The old ones never returned--

"Do we have to do this?" Lou muttered, arms wrapped around himself as he sat, cross-legged, on the edge of the sofa.

"You're doing great," Nolan spoke softly, a hand going up and down Lou's back. "Keep going. I'm listening."

Lou wanted to whine. He wanted to pout or cry or all of the above if it meant pulling at Nolan's heartstrings to abandon this whole idea. Still, he let out a slow breath and reigned in his emotions.

The old ones never returned. The dream sped time to go by for years. All Lou had were his thoughts. He watched the robot dog and baby gradually shut down and die right before his eyes. Now he was truly alone.

And then he got desperate.

He rammed himself over and over into the portal. He screamed. Begged. Pleaded. Cried. Anything in hopes that someone could hear him from the other side and it would pull at their heartstrings. That they would have pity on him and come back and give him a hug. He punched at the portal. Kicked. It got to the point where he became his own victim. Arms wrapped around himself, nails digging into his felt. He got lightheaded the more he clawed at himself. He was trying to die. It was the only way out. The baby and dog did it. They were free now.

He wanted to be free, too.

Stuffing circled him. It came out of his arms first in fist-fulls. Then he unbuttoned his shirt shakily to see those words still scribbled on his chest. He dug his nails into the felt and began tearing. Ripping ink-stained felt off of him. He forced himself to stay conscious. The dream did. He was laying on the ground, on his side, struggling to breathe with the gaping hole he'd formed in his torso.

That wasn't how you kill a prototype.

Lou would have stayed conscious, hanging onto life, maybe blacked out into a coma but would nonetheless return to this world. The only way to kill a prototype was to get to the life source.

A weak, pale hand reached up to the chip in his neck. The lack of air was already impairing his vision and his judgment. His judgment had been impaired long before this moment. Nails dug into his neck and he screamed. He cried through it because his body told him to. He smiled on the inside because he wanted to. He would be free. Something cold and metallic reached his fingertips and without another thought, he yanked it out.

"A-And then it ended." Lou finished. He sniffed, wiping his nose with his sleeve and eyes still trained forward while he hunched forward.

Nolan didn't say anything. His eyes looked over toward the room Lucky was in. The bat sat with his back against the door frame, a wing over his mouth and eyes looking ahead in contemplation over Lou's nightmare.

A hand went to either side of Lou's legs, turning and pulling them onto the sofa until Lou was facing the brunette with red eyes. Nolan didn't say anything as his hands brushed back Lou's drying hair and he looked at the spot on his neck that had been revealed. Lou tensed, trying not to breathe too quickly and give away his panic.

There were scratch marks there, too. The felt was wearing thin and it was obvious Lou had either consciously or unconsciously made an attempt to get it out.

Nolan's phone lit up with a notification. A text from Lucky.

Ask him why he's afraid to show you the marks.

Lou's hair continued to be brushed back by Nolan. It settled some of his nerves. "Why are you afraid to show me these marks?"

"Why would I?" Lou countered, growing defensive out of fear. A fight or flight response.

"So I can help you."

Lou's eyes fluttered and his lip quivered as fresh tears formed. He looked down at his lap. "Your definition of help...and mine...are two different things. You want me to get through this...this--all of this."

"And what's your definition?"

Blue eyes disappeared beneath tightly shut eyelids. Lou's teeth bared in pain and a strangled sob escaped him, tears falling to his lap. "I-I want it to be over."

[mo-mode]

Okay, but has anyone mentioned yet that Grover is also a vegetarian so when he says “Thanks for the emotional abuse and the cheeseburgers,” he’s like doubling down on Ares’ shittiness?? Ares even mentions how practically all satyrs are vegetarian or vegan when he said all they do is eat tofu. I bet when Grover said that at the end, he was cursing him out so thoroughly on his head, Ares could hear it. “Thanks for the emotional abuse and cheeseburgers you @&!$ing $!@? and you didn’t even get a %£#!ing salad. Oooo you got a big &$%! plate of fries? Whoop-dee &!#@ing doo!! What kind of #&*!ing god are you? A piss poor @#!$ing !%@$ one. Athena’s owl my €@%#.” That’s probably why Ares didn’t bother with the paper towels.

[platoapproved]

It was an outrageous request.

[rythyme]

is anyone gonna tell f1 tumblr that the first ever live action omegaverse show is a sports drama about gay racecar drivers. because that feels like something they'd want to know.

[sherrymagic]

Ciize Rutricha as PANG in the official trailer for PLUTO

[zoeflake]

From the Sound of Silence project by Martin Rak Photography

[definitelynotshouting]

MAJOR SPOILERS FOR THE FINALE OF SECRET LIFE!!!!!

so i sped-wrote this as soon as i learned who the winner was this morning, tried to post it twice, tumblr mobile deleted it BOTH TIMES... but i will not be silenced ive finally gone to desktop /silly

this will go up on my rough draft pseud soon, but until then please enjoy the results of me being EXTREMELY unwell about the secret life finale. WOOOOOO WE ARE POPPING THE BIGGEST OF BOTTLES TODAY FR!!!!!!!!!!!

Grian barricades himself at the top of the highest tower of Tango's citadel the moment he wakes up. It's a calculated move, admittedly. There are a precious few places one might still find him if he truly wants to hide, but the Deep Frost Citadel isn't one of them— and with the second Decked Out coming to a ceremonious close, foot traffic here is perilously low. Dawn is a swift-approaching knife on the horizon, and Grian soars above it all, face numb with chill wind, wings brazen and feathers strewn across an empty sky.

He doesn't want to be near when Scar wakes. And he doesn't want to be found just yet, either. Oh, Scar will track him down. Of that, he has no doubt— but for now, Grian takes solace in the snow crunching underfoot as he locks himself inside this barren tower.

It's dark here, which suits Grian just fine. He doesn't bother lighting a lantern; instead, he huddles right on the floor, letting the ice seep through him. From here, he can just make out the sky as it lightens, bringing with it the dawn of a new victor. Nausea boils in his throat. With that victory comes a price, and Scar— And Grian— Well. Grian hasn't treated him very well throughout the games, now, has he?

He curls in on himself even further, feathers brushing along the length of his chilled arms. Each hair stands at attention, in some vain effort to pull warmth from the surrounding freeze— when he scrubs a hand along his arm, his fingers shake, and the gooseflesh remains stark and raised against his skin.

There was a sand-drenched point when the concept of warmth was all he could register— scorching wind scraping the cut on his cheek, the scarlet splatter of blood across split knuckles. And like the steady drain of life from a corpse, that warmth has drawn away, poison from a putrid wound— it leaves him compacting this cold, this loneliness, to mold it into four high walls around his heart; a fitting tribute to every grain of trust he's rightfully lost. Grian huffs the barest traces of a bitter laugh as his breath mists in the air. A better man would meet Scar at his base, extend his support, no matter how icily it might be met.

But Grian is selfish, and a coward, and will always be a coward— and so instead he sits, marrow freezing, with only the thin garrotte of paltry sunlight wrapping itself around his tender throat to keep him company.

And there he stays, motionless, for long enough that the chill makes a home in him— the glistening, pale yolk of the sun warns him of the passing time, a watery heat that counts down the seconds to minutes to hours until Scar finds him. Grian curls his wings around himself, a pitiful embrace, and waits.

Two hours later, the whistle of rocket-propelled elytra warn him of incoming company. Grian doesn't bother fleeing; he knows Scar, and Scar knows him, and with this last, missing puzzle piece finally slotting into place between them, he's under no illusions that staying hidden for long is feasible. Grian's eyes skitter to a crack on the far wall as clumsy footsteps scatter the snow outside, scrabbling for balance before the muted click of a cane joins them. Footsteps; another, louder click— the door's latch gives way, and a brief, blinding wave of light crashes over Grian's face, obscuring everything but the outline of a painfully familiar silhouette.

Grian has to look away. The door shuts, and for a small moment, neither of them so much as breathe.

Then Scar's sighs— one great, resigned gust. "Grian...."

He says nothing else. He doesn't have to. Grian draws his legs up to his chest in response anyway, heart a frozen pump bleeding ice into his very veins. What can he say? An apology? They're past apologies, now— if Scar wanted to disavow him forever, take the crumpled remains of their friendship and throw it at his feet, he'd be right to do so.

But Scar doesn't shout; neither does he leave. Instead, his cane taps forward, boots sliding into Grian's line of vision— and, with a grunt of effort, Scar eases himself down, until he's sitting at a safe diagonal from Grian's hunched form.

Neither of them say anything for a while.

Eventually, Grian licks his lips. They're chapped from cold, thin and ready to split. "Hi, Scar," he says softly. It comes out weak, thready— a barely-there declaration. Whatever Scar wants here... he can take it. It's the very least Grian can do at this point.

From the corner of his eye, he watches Scar settle, shifting his weight before he lands on something approximating comfort. He takes his time with it, blind— or uncaring— to the erratic snarl of Grian's pulse. His voice is just as quiet when he responds. "So... that's it, then, huh."

Grian glances over properly before he can stop himself, stomach churning; Scar's gaze has slipped to the cutout acting as a window, middle-distant and lost. Locked on something only he can see. Then Scar shakes himself, an abrupt jerk of his head and shoulders, and that glassy look turns to pin Grian directly to the wall behind him instead. "Just like that?"

Grian's fingers tighten around his knees. "Just like that," he agrees, hollow.

Scar mulls that over for a moment. His sigh is a wisp of white in front of them, crystallizing in the glacial atmosphere. "Jeez," he says finally, scrubbing one hand through the tangled bird's nest of his hair. He must have flown across half the server as soon as he... remembered, Grian realizes with a visceral pang. "I didn't... that's a lot of memories to just, um, gain back on a dime, huh?"

Grian darts a sidelong glance at him. Shifts his wings until their primaries lower, sweeping the ground around his feet like a feathered cat's cradle. "I wouldn't know," he says, a quirk of black humor dancing around the edges of his mouth. He swallows. "Since. Well...."

He trails off. Imagines, briefly, that he is a black hole— a quasar. A neutron star. Something so tight and compact it can string him out, erase him; a ball of grief and misery dense enough that it contains its own event horizon.

Scar hums a little shakily into the blooming silence. "Yeah. I guess that would complicate things, wouldn't it." A pause. "Does it always feel—?"

Grian shrugs. "Don’t know that either, Scar."

"Oh." Scar's still looking at him, the searchlight of his gaze burning pockmarks into Grian's skin. "Cool, okay... so...." He hesitates, teeth worrying his lower lip, before finally forging on: "So what now?"

Grian sucks in his own shuddery breath. "Whatever you want, Scar," he says, blank and dull. Every inch of him frozen stiff, awaiting the tipped scales of Scar’s judgement. "There's no going back, after this." The quicksilver flash of a grimace tugs his lips back to reveal sharp, white teeth. "Welcome to the club, I guess."

"It sure is a warm welcome," Scar says weakly. "Got— uh, got your complimentary balloons, and— and um, a whole gift basket of... of...."

He trails off too, the fragile ley lines of his humor peeling off, cracking at the seams. Impossibly, Grian curls around himself tighter.

An apology is nothing but wasted air now, but it dredges from his throat anyway. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry, Scar. I—" He breaks off, jaw tight. "I'm... I'm not sure what else to say, honestly. I never thought...."

I never thought you'd win. It's a cruel phrase that haunts the air between them, hanging like a smoky pall across their shoulders.

Scar says nothing against it; he only watches.

An uneasy prickle crawls up Grian's spine. "You don't—" He stops himself before he can finish that thought. "Are you— Scar, why are you here?"

"'Cause Pearl's not talking to me yet," Scar says quietly, prompt. "And— and because I remembered. Us."

Grian's throat closes around the word. "Us," he echoes, a rough rasp that ricochets against the deepslate walls surrounding them. The word tears through his ears, distorting with each pass. "Look, alright— I-I don't know if you got the memo, exactly, but— I'm not—"

He breaks off again, lungs jarring, hitching in his chest. Hot prickles sear behind his eyes, but nothing drops— he’s too tired for crying. "I've hurt you a lot, Scar," Grian says at last, lips numb around the words. "I'm not sure if there's much of an 'us' left, at this point."

"I know," Scar says. His eyes reflect the snow-glitter outside.

"And— I wouldn't blame you, if you left right now." 

"I know," Scar says again, softer.

"I—” Grian stares at him, helpless. "Okay, then why are you here, Scar?" He gestures between them, an aimless motion that somehow encompasses the breadth of everything that's rotted at their foundations. "If you know all that, then what—?"

Scar regards him with enviable poise. His throat bobs as he speaks. "Maybe, I just— now that I remember— maybe I just want your company, Grian. Is that really so bad?"

Grian stares at him, at a loss. "I don't understand," he says finally, and it comes out plaintive even to his own ears. "I thought you'd be— angry. After everything I've done, after all that's happened.... What's your play here, Scar? If you want to yell at me, be my guest. I think by now I've more than earned it."

But Scar doesn't take the bait. Instead, he shuffles closer— just by an inch. A careful, cautious inch. "Y'know," he says, apropos of nothing, "and correct me if I'm wrong, here— but I seem to remember something about you wanting an alliance before all of... that crazy stuff happened. Is that right?"

Something in Grian's chest spasms. Whatever expression it spreads across his face must spur Scar on, because he scoots closer again, just enough to bring their calves together. The brief shock of warmth explodes through Grian's skin, worming its way underneath the subcutaneous tissue to flood his veins and gnaw at the lingering ice.

After a moment, Scar's lips tilt up— a subtle, fragile smile. "Is it too late to cash in on that?" he asks.

Grian's mind goes blank, white and buzzing, the thin hiss of a creeper drifting through it like smoke. Unfiltered shock threads through his voice. "You want t— what?"

Scar's smile tempers further around its edges, stretching into something softer, knowing. Rounded out. With solemn motions, he reaches into the pocket of his utterly ridiculous safety vest, and delicately pulls something out.

It's a sunflower.

In the frigid gloom of Tango's citadel, Grian gapes, the brilliant yellow petals incongruous with this grim, grit, darkened room. When he looks up, Scar's eyes are overbright, painfully earnest— brimming with a desperate urgency that tucks itself away in the depths of his pupils.

"Can we try again?" Scar says, soft as the new-fallen snow beyond this isolated cell of misery. "Start over? I— I kind of hurt you too, you know. And— for the record, being without you sucks. I don't—" He falters. "I know it's gonna be all weird, y’know, between us… but I don't want to do that anymore. I just... want you here, Grian. That's all. I just want you to stick around."

Grian sucks in a sharp, daggered breath. "You're joking," he breathes, but his heart leaps, tumbling from his throat and onto the floor for Scar to stomp at his leisure. "You're actually— this isn't funny."

"Hey, do you see me laughing?” Scar presses forward once more, a calculated attack, but still slow enough for Grian to track each move, to stop him if he cared enough to. Gently, Scar unwinds one of Grian's hands from his knees, cupping it between his own and brushing the lightest of kisses against his knuckles before turning over Grian’s palm and pressing the flower into it. Grian's fingers curl around it of their own accord, silky petals burning against his fingers.

"So." Scar smiles, tremulous, eyes suspiciously red-rimmed. "Can we still be friends?"

And Grian has always been a raw creature, a tangled wreck of his own selfish greed— he’s craved the honeyed umber of Scar's love since he first cradled it, tentatively, in his palms all that time ago. In the depths of his heart, there will always be that sandstone cliff, the crack of his bones against hard-packed sand, and wings too clipped to fly freely. There will always be that calloused fist around his heart, and beyond his own scrabbling fear, there will always, always be that fervent need to bring Scar close even as he pushes him away.

And where before, Scar had been playing blind, a game with no true rules… now, his eyes trap Grian against the wall, clear as glass— diamond sharp and just as steady. From a winning game, there is no turning back. There’s nothing left to lose here, except this porcelain trust, this shred of hope Scar offers him once more in the form of a flower.

Even after everything, all the memories flooding back— Scar is still here, holding Grian’s heart, and offering up his own in return.

Grian slowly presses it to his chest with trembling, vulnerable motions. "You're sure you want this."

"I'm sure I want you," Scar says, unwavering.

Grian breathes in. Breathes out. Inhale and exhale, both a heavy drag in his lungs. Already, the sun is beginning to strengthen, casting thick rays through the window and splaying them across Grian’s lap. The advent of gilded noon weaves around them, perfuming the air with light and heat.

"Okay," Grian says at last, and it drops from his lips with the weight of a confession; a relinquishment; a solemn vow. "Okay."

This time, when Scar reaches for his hand again, Grian meets him halfway, and the tangle of their fingers nets the sunflower in a promise neatly between them.

[morii-moth]

if i had a nickel for everytime a man who was just rejected an alliance by cleo decided to build a floating heart island as a base, id have two nickels, which isnt a lot, but its weird its happened twice.

[0perfectimperfections0]

I read your "Silence" fic and it was so good!! Please continue on this fic, I can't wait for what happens next!!

Seconds turned to minutes. Minutes turned to hours. It was silent the whole time. Nolan simply relaxed his head against the wall, eyes closed and arms around his legs. It wasn't an uncomfortable silence by any means. Lou still stayed in the same position beside him. Arms also around his legs, except his head was buried in his arms.

He was about ready to fall asleep like this. And then tapping aroused him from the drowsiness.

tap-tap-tap-tap...tap-tap

Nolan smiled small, eyes closing again. "Hey," he responded. "Your neck is gonna be sore sitting hunched over like that." He commented off-handedly. After a moment, Lou straightened his back against the wall and copied the position Nolan was sitting in. "Better."

Another half hour went by without any tapping and certainly no talking. That was one thing Lou hadn't done in...gosh, Nolan couldn't remember the last time he'd heard Lou speak. If it weren't for the back-to-back lessons a month ago, he would have forgotten what Lou's voice even sounded like.

Nolan stared ahead at the far wall. "I miss hearing your voice."

Still silence. It was expected. Nolan turned his head against the wall to look at Lou. Blue eyes were glued ahead. Streaks of dirt still stained his face. So did the opaque streaks of tears that could be seen crusted over his cheeks.

Nolan removed one of his arms to tap against the floor.

tap-tap-tap-tap...tap-tap

And for a split second -- even less than half a second -- he saw the faintest smile on Lou's lips. The blond reached a hand down, eyes not looking into the mismatched ones, and repeated the same Morse code. Nolan looked down at Lou's hand as it lay on the floor. There was a precise movement made to place his hand over Lou's.

If Lou had glanced down, Nolan pretended not to notice.

If Lou had turned his hand over to entwine their fingers, Nolan pretended not to notice. Nolan took the pointer finger of his laced hand and tapped that same code against the back of Lou's. The gesture was reciprocated.

tap-tap-tap...tap...tap...tap...tap...tap

That was a new one. Nolan lowered his brows in confusion but maintained his sights before him. Using his other hand, he pulled out his phone to see if he could translate it. The only problem was that no sound was accompanying the taps since they had been against his hand. Maybe he could reciprocate it against the floor--

"Sorry."

It was faint. Hoarse. Entirely unused and weak. Nolan corrected himself early enough in the midst of whipping his head around at the word. He forced himself to keep looking in the opposite direction. Nolan glanced down at the phone where he had been halfway through typing the cryptic language. S...o...r-- Lou had spoken it aloud for him, anyway.

"It's okay," Nolan whispered. Heterochromatic eyes stayed trained on the opposite corner of the room. Lou's hand tightened. "I'm sorry, too."

"I...hurt you." As scratchy as Lou's voice sounded, the anger could still be heard. "I don't deserve your apology."

Nolan didn't look. For that, Lou was grateful as he kept his own eyes set in front of him. "You'll hurt me more by not accepting it."

"I can't." The voice was strained now from emotion.

"Then I can't accept your apology."

Lou finally closed his eyes. The corner of his lip raised in frustration. "Stupid doll."

"And hard-headed, too. Try me. I won't accept your apology until you accept mine."

"Why can't you hate me like everyone else?" Lou spat out the question. Still, their hands never separated nor made any attempt to.

"Like I said: hard-headed." Lou remained silent. "Maybe it hurts worse seeing you like this than it ever did hearing you call me ugly. Cause when I thought about it, during the Gauntlet, me being ugly didn't change the fact that I was racing for a chance to go to the Big World. Me being ugly didn't take away my chances of having a kid. I literally had nothing to lose, regardless of what you said to me."

Nolan finally turned to look at Lou. He could see the red tinting Lou's eyes and the puffiness beginning to surround them. Lou's nose had turned red, too. Red had to be the one color Nolan didn't think looked good on him. Not in this way. "All you ever had was your words. When you taught, when you spoke to us, when you talked about yourself. You couldn't do anything else but talk. Like a dog with all bark and no bite. And now you've lost your bark, too."

Lou still remained silent. And it honestly ticked Nolan off. He let go of the blond's hand and moved to sit in front of him, legs tucked under him while leaning forward in Lou's face. "Talk." Lou narrowed his eyes. "Do it. Get your bark back, Lou, if that's all you get to have. Insult me. Yell at me. Something."

"Get out."

"Make me," Nolan challenged. "You're not a pathetic doll, Lou. You don't need those stupid robots or the Spy Girls to do the dirty work for you. Instead of telling me what to do, do it yourself. You're tougher than that. I saw it in the Gauntlet. If you won't get your bark back, then bite--"

Lou bared his teeth and pushed his feet out to kick Nolan, but the brunette held him by the shins. "What's the point if I'm gonna be stuck here anyway!? You said it yourself! It doesn't matter what I say or what I do! You get to leave and I can't!"

"And that makes you mad, doesn't it? You feel cheated and robbed." Nolan spurred him on, flipping the doll around so that Nolan held both of Lou's hands, back to his front, as Lou clenched his jaw and slammed his feet against the wall. Pieces of splintered wood fell to the floor with every kick.

"I don't want to be the bad guy!" Lou screamed. His fingers curled around Nolan's hands tightly. "I'm just doing what this stupid factory told me! I'm doing my job! And now I don't even have that! I have nothing! You stupid! Dolls! Ruined! Everything!" He emphasized each word with a powerful kick to the wall.

When it seemed Lou had exhausted all his anger, he was left panting and glaring daggers at the wall. Hands were still held up and back by Nolan. The brunette spoke quietly into Lou's ear. "There's the bark and bite I wanted to see."

Lou swallowed before speaking between shallow breaths. "That's what got me into this mess."

"Cause you bottled it up for so many years. It feels better to let it out. I can't blame you for destroying the portal. It made you feel better, right?" Lou didn't say anything, but he didn't have to. "Kicking the wall made you feel better. I just want you to let it out instead of bottling it up in silence and doing something you'll regret later on when it finally comes out."

Lou swallowed again in between shallow breaths. "Can I do it again?"

"Go for it."

More splinters fell to the floor with another hefty kick to the wall.

"I'm right here to hold you back if you wanna keep doing it. I'm only here to keep your anger concentrated on a better target." There was a second of silence before Lou swung his foot out again to the wall. It was a few minutes later when Nolan finally felt Lou's body relax against him. Blond hair splayed over Nolan's shoulder as Lou leaned his head back to catch his breath. Nolan slowly lowered Lou's arms to his lap, fingers sliding apart. "It's easier to breathe now that you're not holding anything in, I bet." Lou hummed in agreement.

"I don't want you taking your anger out on anything other than this wall, got it?" Nolan spoke softly into his ear again. "And I'm gonna be here, holding you back like I was doing before. Cause I don't wanna see stuffing on this floor again." Lou tensed, breath hitching. Nolan slid one of Lou's sleeves up before he could be stopped. Lines of torn felt were littered across his arm. Stuffing poked out and small bits of fuzz fell down onto the floor. There were nail marks all along the arm where there had been failed attempts at penetrating through the felt. Lou had been successful most of the time.

"This," Nolan held Lou's wrist tightly, "is not okay. I'm gonna stitch this up and it will be the only time I ever have to do that, got it?" Lou never looked at the brunette, but there was a very discreet nod. "You have a lot bottled up. And that's okay. But you will not take it out on yourself. Only this wall. And if that's too hard for you, then I'm tying your hands behind you and you'll wait until I come here to help you let your anger out."

There was a long stretch of silence that Nolan wasn't intending to break. "Okay." Lou finally responded. Nolan assumed he'd be compliant. Instead, Lou lifted his arms up, wrists facing upward, as he squeezed his eyes shut with tears dripping down. "Tie me."

"You really won't stop hurting yourself?" It was asked in a strange mix of a statement and a question.

"No," Lou answered shakily. "I can't."

Nolan stared at that arm. Beaten. Worn. Mauled. Not even from someone else but from its owner. He eased the sleeve back down and let his hands glide the rest of the way until they entwined with Lou's again. "Then I'm not letting you stay here by yourself."

[jodians]

will graham could not meet fox mulder in the same way that clarice starling could meet dana scully, because everything would be fine and dandy if clarice and dana met, but if will met mulder, mulder would be asking him if he ever considered the possibility of being abducted by aliens and will would start tweaking

[shapersmind]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐀𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐓𝐈𝐂 𝐎𝐅 : 𝐄𝐍𝐉𝐎𝐘 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐈𝐋𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 , depeche mode (1990) | gif series

[plush4bunny]

#cold hands with warm hearts

[marril96]

Chucky 3.05 | Death Becomes Her

[7s3ven]

HE’S MY MAN. luvcat

I have an idea but I don’t know who to do it with 😞. So help me out, LOL.

IN WHICH… you are fatally obsessed with your husband/boyfriend to the point where you start to slip poison into his food and drinks in an attempt to keep him with you.

“He’s my man, we’re hand in hand. To Hell and back, and I love him like nobody else can.”

You wished he didn’t have to go to work. He could stay in the house with you so you could admire his peaceful sleeping form. You needed him so much that it hurt.

You make him dinner yet he keeps getting thinner. He complains about his blurring vision, his feverish dreams, his throbbing head, and the funny taste to his tea. You do well to hide the vials from him.

After all, he’s happiest with you. He’s gone quite mad but no one wants him now. It’s just you and your man.

Potential warnings: fem! reader, possessive love, toxic love, unstable! reader (sort of yandere in a way ig) poison, mental illness, obsession, mentions of death/killing, maybe gore, cussing, a whole lot of toxic tbh

[mrmeepsmadmind]

soundwave having to be co leader of the decepticons with shockwave while megatron is fucking frozen somewhere & he's forced to keep giving out commands to crazy people he doesn't like bcs they aren't just his cassettes

oh he's so upset ...

[buckmink]

For the 1st anniversary of Mole Interest, here is my mole shelf with The Book of Silence trilogy.