#to heal part 2

[shouyuus]

counting stars

violet; 4,988 words; hurt/comfort, fluff, slightly suggestive moments, no "y/n", wlw (duh), self-indulgent to the point of lunacy, lots of kissing, mentions of bodily harm (not self-inflicted), teeth-rotting fluff mostly, popstar!reader x vi au

summary: when vi shows up at your door, what to do but to let her in?

a/n: bc nothing bad is allowed to happen to vi in my fictional world(s). and also im literally cackling ofc the fic that ppl r the least interested in posted first is the one that i post first; i guess i just like to be contrary but also i want to spoil vi and this is the only way i know how

─── Ⅵ SHE SHOWS UP UNANNOUNCED, split lip and bloody knuckles, leaning against your doorframe on a thursday night; you answer the door in your sheer pink nightgown and fluffy slippers, a bottle of rose chilling in a bucket on the table.

“vi?”

“hey princess —” she clears her throat, her smirk going lopsided as she tries to hide a clear wince. a bead of blood seeps out the corner of her mouth as she sucks in a shaky breath, “miss me?”

your lashes flutter with worry as you step aside to let her through — there’s a distinct limp to her gait that she can’t quite hide with her usual swagger.

“what happened?” you ask, letting the door click shut, following half a step behind her as she drags herself into your penthouse flat, letting out a low whistle as she looks around.

“nice place you got here. fits though, pretty castle for a pretty princess —”

“violet…”

you reach out with delicate fingers, taking slow steps forward; she hisses out a breath, her eyes sharp and wild as a wounded lion’s, her mouth a blunt-edged slash as she swallows, gaze flickering between your fingertips and your face as if she’s unsure what you might do.

she winces as you rub a light thumb along her cheek; your finger pulls away red.

“sorry —” the word rips from her at your touch. her eyes drop, her whole body shakes. “i — i didn’t know where else to go — and i — i remembered seeing that stupid 100 questions video you did here for —”

“for the fashion magazine, yeah,” you say, your voice soft as a baby’s breath. your hand lingers, a palm against her cheek. she leans into your touch, the movement small as heartbreak, but just as heavy.

“c’mon, lets get you cleaned up.”

you let your hand trail down her arm till your fingers link, and you lead her to you expansive couch, pressing her down firmly even as she frowns at her grime-covered clothes against your pristine white sofa.

“i’d offer to pay for dry cleaning but —”

you cut her off with a sharp look.

“don’t you dare. and plus, i’ve been meaning to change up the upholstery forever.”

you grab a bottle of vodka from the top shelf and a box of cotton balls, plopping down across from her on the couch in a flurry of pink-colored satin, inching forward till you’re nearly parked in her lap.

vi’s eyebrows hike as you pop the top off the vodka bottle, a grin twitching at her lips.

you roll your eyes.

“it’s not for drinking —” you soak a few cotton balls in the vodka even as vi’s expression falls. you lean in; vi’s hands find their way to bend of your waist, settling there as you daub gingerly at the blotches of drying blood on her face.

“ouch —” vi winces dramatically as you press down on a particularly deep cut, her lips pushing up into a pout, “not even a little bit? might help dull out the pain —”

she cuts off as you swipe a thumb along her bottom lip, breath hitching as you frown slightly, making to tug away for a fresh cotton ball.

“don’t — don’t leave —” her voice comes out harsh, desperate. you still, expression softening impossibly.

“i’m not,” you say, patient. she finds her fingers digging into your hips but you only smile. “i’m not going anywhere. promise. but i do need another cotton ball.”

she worries at her bottom lip, and already, you can see the fresh blood collecting in at the corner of her mouth. you press back into her space, wiping the blood away. her entire body slants towards you, her shoulders tight, her arms flexed, as if she’s bracing for a punch or a kiss.

you nudge her nose with yours, lifting up ever so slightly to press your lips to her forehead.

the dam breaks — all the pieces falling, her head tipping forward onto your shoulder, her hands wrapping around you tight, and then tighter. you feel yourself being hauled into her lap as she buries her face in the crook of your neck, a sound caught halfway between a gasp and a sob wrenching from her throat.

“f-fuck — shit —”

there’s heat to her skin, the roughness of her bandages, fraying at the edges, the worn-in material of her pants, the damp streaks of her hair tickling your cheek. her breath is uneven as it splays out against your collarbones, and when she finally tugs away to wipe at her face with the back of her hand, looking anywhere but at you, her lashes blink away wet.

“sorry — god this must be real sexy, right? mm — fuck —” she sniffles, shaking out her hand, her other one coming up to caress your cheek. her gaze is unfocused even as she skims her fingers over your skin. “god, you’re so soft. it’s like you’re made of — of marshmallows or something —”

you catch her hand with a tiny sigh, letting your gaze flicker over the bloodied bandages before you rub a thumb along an unmarred patch of skin.

“and you can be too. if you ever wanted to learn.”

she goes quiet then, the bravado bleeding from her as you continue your quiet work of cleaning all her varied injuries, disinfecting the cuts and bandaging the bruises. for the most part, she stays quiet, offering up the bloodied parts of herself for your perusal without resistance. it’s only when you shift back or make to tug away for a second that she jerks forward, resolute in her all-consuming need to keep you close.

“there. that’s about as much as i can do right now,” you say, heaving a sigh as you brush away several strands of black-pink hair from her face, letting your thumb skim over the tattoo on her cheek.

“thanks.” her voice comes out slightly hoarse, her eyes cutting away from you for a second before flickering back.

“i’d say it’s nothing but…” you let your thumb trail down the line of her jaw, tracing over her fluttering pulse as you work your slow way down her neck, “i mean —” you let out a soft laugh, hiccupping slightly as she takes the chance to tug you even closer, pressing you to her, chest to chest, so that you have to brace both your palms against her shoulders just to keep steady. neither of you mentions the fact that her arms are shaking.

“it was a bad night,” she says. and it’s all she offers for a few minutes, but you don’t push her, content to rest against her, let her run circles into your skin with her fingers against the small of your back, her breaths evening out till she looks back up at you with a wry grin.

“let me guess,” you say, linking your fingers behind her neck, “you should see the other guy though, right?” you drop your voice in a mocking imitation; it sounds nothing like her but it manages to draw out a laugh, the sound ricocheting between the pair of you like an echo till it dissipates, leaving the air somehow slightly warmer than before.

“yeah. somethin’ like that,” she murmurs, leaning forward to nudge your nose with hers, eyes going dark.

you cup her cheeks and let her kiss you, lips on lips and gasping breaths, till her fingers are inching up the thin material of your night dress, bunching it up, her thumbs tracing the ridges of your ribs, the weight of her body pressing you back into the plush couch, far too big for the pair of you —

“v-vi — wait —” you gasp away from her, fingers tangled in her oil slick hair, her mouth trailing hot and wet down the side of your neck. she makes a grumbling sound, nipping at your collarbones before resting her chin on your sternum, her hands still grazing further and further up your nightgown.

“c’mon princess — you got to play doctor, so now lemme pay you back proper —“

“vi.” the sharpness to your voice jolts her, and a frown creases her forehead as she blinks up at you with her gunpowder eyes, her fingers now still against your skin. you puff out a breath, pushing yourself back up to cup her cheeks, squeezing them slightly between your palms.

“i don’t want you to ‘pay me back’ for anything.”

hurt and confusion chase each other in a butterfly-wing flutter of emotions across her eyes before she pulls back.

“you don’t want this?”

you fight back the urge the roll your eyes as you sigh, reaching out to tug her back, this time, it’s you crowding into her personal space, leaning in to kiss her solidly on the lips. you feel her go soft against you, her hands cupping the ridges of your ribs once more.

“of course i want this,” you murmur against her lips, “but i — i don’t want it as ‘payback’ for anything. i…” your breath catches as vi leans in to nip at your bottom lip, heat pluming up the back of your neck, cresting into your chest as you blink at her, “i want this… if you want to give it. and — and i want it because — because i want you.”

she makes a strange, pitched noise in the back of her throat as she crushes you to her, her mouth slotting over yours so desperately that your teeth clack, but when she pulls back, she’s shaking her head, resting her forehead against yours with a sigh.

“shit princess — you can’t say shit like that and not expect me to lose my fuckin’ mind — fuck —“

you let out a tinkling laugh, fingers now massaging the cords of muscle at the nape of her neck. a shiver runs through her, her lashes a sweep of ink and shadow.

“relax… i’m not going anywhere. promise,” you remind her even as she tips into you once more, a whine working from her throat into yours as her fingers dig into the supple skin of your waist, dragging you down the length of the couch till you’re pinned beneath her thighs.

she pulls away panting, your own chest a staccato rise and fall. but your eyes are steady when she finds them again and you reach up to trace her cheek.

“when’s the last time you’ve had a bath?”

the question catches her off-guard, making her jerk back slightly, a frown ticking down between her brows.

“what?”

you giggle, “a bath. like, a proper one.”

one of her eyebrows kick up, “you sayin’ i smell or something?”

you sigh, yet again fighting the urge to roll your eyes as you push yourself up onto your elbows, your pink nightgown rucked up to your thighs, your hair falling out of the messy bun you’d twisted it up into earlier that evening.

“no,” you let your voice linger on the word, pinning vi with a look, “but you do taste like the inside of a paint can so.”

her eyes narrow but she lets you wiggle out from beneath her, your fingers trailing down her arm to tug her behind you as you lead her into the master bathroom. the light clicks on and vi scoffs.

“wow.”

“pick a bubble-bath, any bubble-bath — my favorite’s the —”

“rose one?” she finishes, lifting up the nearly empty bottle of light pink bubbly water displayed on a white marble shelf full of multi-colored liquids.

you allow yourself a blush as you shrug, twisting on the taps and testing the temperature, drying off your hand before turning back towards her.

“so i know what i like. sue me.”

vi smirks in honest this time, uncapping the bottle and wafting it beneath her nose.

“mm, delicious.”

you don’t miss the licentious lilt to her voice, nor the flicker of dark, hungry light in her eyes.

you turn away, leaning across the vast bathtub to grab a white can.

“if you think that’s delicious — wait till you see the sugar scrub — oh!”

a pair of arms snakes around your middle, pulling you back against abs and a bandaged up chest. vi’s voice is hot by your ear as she noses into the side of your cheek.

“yeah? is it gonna make me taste less like the inside of a paint can?”

“mhm,” you say, letting your free hand rest naturally over both of hers, the other hand dipping into the sugar scrub to swipe a dollop of sticky white crystals onto her nose. she gasps, jerking back for just a second, going slightly cross-eyed before a mischievous expression eclipses her features and she hoists you up into her arms, holding you suspended over the slowly filling bathtub.

“don’t play this game with me, princess — there’s only one way it’ll end.”

you let out a bright peal of laughter that echoes around the soft marble walls, looping both your arms around her neck.

“try me.”

for a second, she makes as if to drop you, but she pulls you back into her chest at the last second, cradling you against her.

“alright princess, let’s see how good this bath is,” she says, her voice soft as she sets you back down on your feet. you lean up to give her a quick peck before taking the rose-scented bubble bath and pouring it into the swirling water.

by the time the tub is filled, the room is filled with a thin gauze of steam, and when you turn, you find vi standing awkwardly behind you, watching with one hand on her opposite elbow, rocking on the balls of her feet.

“in general,” you say, pushing to your feet, “people take baths with their clothes off.”

vi’s cheeks go blotchy, and her eyes skitter about the room.

“what, i’m just supposed to strip here and —”

her words cut off abruptly as you turn your back on her and tug your night gown from your body, stepping into the bubble-filled water, glancing over your shoulder.

“you coming?”

vi nearly trips out of her tight-fitting pants, tugging haphazardly at the bandages wrapped around her torso. when she finally steps into the water opposite you, she drops down with a soft splash, a loud groan rolling from her as her eyes flutter shut.

when she forces them open again, it’s to find you watching her with your round doe eyes, a sweet, knowing smile perched over your very kissable lips. she wonders at the heat in her cheeks, at the way it prickles at her skin, thinks to herself that it must be the steam, must be the hot water currently melting away at the knots that had braided themselves into her muscles the past few weeks, but she when she feels your calf nudging against her’s she can’t help the way her breath skids inside her chest.

“c’mere,” you motion, and vi blinks at you for a second before shifting till you’re face to face, her hovering uncertainly between your legs before you jerk your chin for her to turn around.

the bathtub is more than big enough to fit the both of you, and for a while, a comfortable quiet settles as she leans her back against your chest, your fingers dancing up the length of her arms, trailing warm water along her shoulders, tangling in the rapidly lightening tips of her hair.

the dark dye runs off her, pluming in the water like spilled ink. you steadily work your fingers through her tresses, smoothing out the knots, occasionally letting your nails scrape against her scalp.

“holy fuck that feels nice…”

you smile, washing as much the dye out as you can before rubbing your thumbs into her shoulders, feeling the tightness coiled there like springs. she grunts, shifting beneath your touch.

“y-you don’t have to do this y’know —” she tries to pull away, only to have you click your tongue impatiently and tug her right back.

“lemme know if i’m hurting you, okay?” is the only thing you say as you continue to massage her shoulders.

she softens, letting out a long sigh and a small chuckle.

“you’d have to try real hard to manage that, sweetcheeks.”

you puff out a tiny breath before digging your thumb into a particularly tender knot, her entire body buckling away from you.

“ow!” she twists around, eyes wide, even as you cast her a look that has her turning back again, but not before she flicks a bit of water at you, her other hand resting easy on your knee, bent next to her hip as she leans against you once more.

“this is the first thing they teach you how to do in a brothel,” you say, your voice light as you slowly work the tightness from each of vi’s muscles, applying gentle pressure, using the bubbles as lubricant.

“wait what?” she tries to turn around again, only for you to pinch lightly at one of her loosening knots, tutting.

“stay still and i’ll tell you the story.”

she stills, though her breath is still short, and the hand that had so recently been lolling against your knee is now stiff, her fingers wrapped around your limb as if to brace herself for what you’re about to say next.

“most people don’t know this, but i’m actually from the undercity — all my earliest memories are of the brothel, the girls there braiding my hair, or letting me sit on their vanities, smearing bits of lipstick on my cheeks as rouge. i think my mother must’ve been one of those girls once but… i never knew her. and it didn’t really matter anyway — i think… i was one of the lucky ones. at least i always had water and a hot bath when i wanted it.”

vi’s fingers tighten on your thigh before she lets up her grip, sighing as she presses her back more firmly against you.

“i’m sorry.”

you shrug, shifting a bit of hair from one shoulder to the other as you continue to dig your meticulous fingers into her weary muscles.

“don’t be. like i said, i was one of the lucky ones. but… i always knew that we were living a hard life. sometimes, one of the girls would vanish and… we’d never know where she went. sometimes, a guest would get a bit too rough and —” you let out a tiny laugh, “well i got pretty good at patching up cuts and bruises.”

you flatten your palms against her skin, running them along the expanse of her shoulders before pushing down her arms to squeeze at her firm biceps.

“there. how’s that feel?”

vi sits up, rolling her neck and shoulders with a loud groan.

“damn. that feels amazing but —” her expression softens as she reaches for you, running tender thumbs along the bend of your cheek.

“you — you don’t have to tell me this if you don’t want to.”

“i know.” you catch her hand in yours, fingers curling in. all around you, perfumed mist hangs light in the air, hazing out the already diffused lighting. “but i want to.”

vi smiles, nodding.

you take another breath. your interlaced fingers sink into the murky water.

“when i turned thirteen, they started teaching me the ropes — massages first —”

“thirteen,” vi’s voice is harsh in the mist-hung room, the syllables cracking as they reverberate against the slick tiles.

you lilt your head, “how old were you when you ran your first job?”

vi stares, her mouth agape, “b-but — that’s — that’s different!”

“is it?”

she sputters for a few more seconds before deflating, shaking her head, tugging her hand from your grasp to splash water into her face, running both hands over her eyes with a groan.

somehow, she could picture it perfectly, you with your sweet smile and darling eyes, running deft fingers over the shoulders and necks of the unnamed girls at babette’s as they talk you through how to press just so, how to lull someone into your lap, and later, into your bed.

“but like i said… i was one of the lucky ones. really, really lucky — because one day, while i was refilling the water and tidying up the rooms, a guest heard me singing and… he offered me a gig topside.” you let yourself sink into the slowly cooling water, your hair flowing in a soft halo around your shoulders.

vi watches you with an inexplicable expression on her face — half-sadness, half-wonder.

“and the rest, well —” you flick a bit of water towards her; she blinks it away before pulling you into her chest, “you know the rest. or, i mean, i don’t know if you watched that entire 100-questions video —”

“i did.”

vi loops her arms around you, hooking her chin over your shoulder.

and once again, the quiet settles around you both, hanging solid in the air like so much dissipating steam.

“all that to say…” you murmur, turning slightly to face her, searching her eyes with your own, “you don’t have to pretend with me. not with me. not when it’s just the two of us.”

you watch her eyes widen ever so slightly, watch as her lips part and she hesitates over the words hanging at the tip of her tongue.

“thanks,” she finally manages, “for… for telling me this.”

you smile, pulling back to reach for the white can, unscrewing the top.

“okay. sugar-scrub time.”

by the time the pair of you leave the bath, the water’s cooled to a tepid chill at best. you offer vi a fluffy towel, wrapping one around yourself as you pad from the room in search for some clean loungewear.

you return with a large t-shirt and some shorts, which vi eyes for a second before pulling on, her cheeks darkening as she sees you watching her.

“quit looking at me like that…” she huffs as you tug on a loose shirt yourself, pulling on a pair of pink, lace-trimmed panties.

“like what? like you deserve to be looked at?” you ask, voice even as you run a towel over your damp hair. vi crinkles her nose, frowning down at her dirty clothes, piled in a lump on your bathroom floor. you shrug.

“leave it. that’s a tomorrow-problem. c’mon, bed-time.”

vi sighs, ruffling at her hair with the white towel, staring at the gray streaks she leaves behind. she glances up to find you standing by the bathroom door, a hand outstretched behind you, waiting.

she licks her lips before tossing the towel over her pile of clothes and reaching out to take your hand.

your bedroom is dark, lit only by the scatter of city lights from beyond your windows. through it, the city is a pulsing maze of tiny lights and spectral towers. you pause, glancing towards the skyline with a sigh.

“it’s a beautiful view,” vi says, coming up to stand behind you, looping an arm around your waist. you lean into her touch, her warmth, turning slightly to find her eyes just as faraway.

“yeah,” you grin, reaching up to touch her cheek, “you are.”

she turns, blinking at you for a second before your words register. she groans even as you laugh, the sound fizzling through her till her skin prickles with warmth and goosepimples.

“c’mon. bed.” she says, and you grin, allowing yourself to be led to your own bed, pulling back the silken covers, slipping beneath and watching as vi inches in next to you, pillowing her cheek on her arm. you angle your body towards hers, letting out a long, steadying breath.

she mirrors you — one breath, then another, then another.

“thanks, princess,” she says, after a few long moments.

you shuffle forward beneath the blankets, reaching out to wrap an arm around her waist. she closes her eyes, bending her head till you’re nose to nose.

“for what?”

vi lets out a puffed laugh, her lashes fluttering open again.

“for… letting me in.”

you press you lips, your eyes searching her’s. and here, in the dim moon-lit night, her eyes shone like twin stars, bright as firelights. you inch just a bit closer, letting your foreheads press as she shifts an arm to slip around your waist as well.

you hook your ankle over hers, shimmying till you’re hip to hip, your bodies arched into each other, bend for bend. she bites down on her lip, if only to stop it from quivering. you graze your hand up her arm to rest on her cheek.

“you know you’re always welcome here.”

vi laughs, the sound strangely watery as she blinks away the hot prickle biting up the back of her throat. it’s been so long since she’s had anywhere to come back to. and here you are, offering it up to her on a gold-gilded platter.

“yeah?” she says, even though her voice shakes and she has to swallow hard over the lump in her throat as she coaxes your chin up, angling your lips towards hers, “careful… i might actually take you up on that.”

“whatever’s mine is —” your breath hitches high as vi tugs you into her, crushing your lips to hers, a thick groan working it’s way through her chest. you taste salt on your tongue, even as she trails her mouth along your jawline to suck a dark, blossoming hickey into the side of your throat.

“— yours.” you finish, spearing your fingers through her hair to pull her back, your eyes soft in the gathering darkness. vi lets out a tiny, pitched whine as she buries her face in your chest, her body curling in on itself. you rock her against you, letting her grapple her fingers into your nightshirt, clutching you to her even as you sooth your palms over her head and neck, shushing her gently.

“fuck, princess…” she says, her voice slightly muffled, “you’re tryna spoil me rotten, huh.”

you smile, letting her pull back just far enough to catch a glimpse of your face.

“well, someone’s gotta do it.”

vi chuckles, the sound rumbling from her chest to yours.

“yeah well… i’m glad you’re the one angling for the job, sweets.”

you hum, letting your eyes fall shut as vi’s grip on you loosens, and the pair of you sink into the liquid warmth of each others bodies.

vi shifts, tucking you deeper into her arms as you content yourself with sighing into her skin, and it’s an almost automatic spin-click of both your bodies, your limbs settling into and against each other, your torsos turning to just the right spot, just the right angles to fit against one another.

you settle, and feel the world settle around you — time itself seems to breathe and slacken, the evening-shaped seconds and minutes ticking each into its own place, like the teeth on a set of cogs, catching one rung into another, spinning one after the other till everything starts to hum into place.

sleep slips its gossamer gauze over your eyes and vi shifts, her lips ghosting your forehead.

“whatever gods up there that put you in my life…” she whispers, her voice tight, you make a soft noise, like a question, or perhaps a confirmation, leaning up to level your faces once more. your eyes open and vi finds her own reflection staring back at her, the shape somehow softened by your gaze, and she wonders, not for the first time, what you see in her, what you’ve always seen in her, that makes you so…

“there’s already a shrine set up for them in the living room,” you murmur, and for a second, vi stares, her own mind quiet for the first time in a long while. you smile sleepily at her confusion, nuzzling her nose with yours, “what, you didn’t know? i’d been thanking them for you since the first day we met.”

vi makes a sound like a hiccup, shaking her head as warmth bubbles through her, a champagne-colored shake-fizzle-pop of emotions welling up behind her eyes, making her head spin.

“well shit —” she grins, tugging you ever closer, “you’re always one step ahead of me, aren’t you princess?”

you hum, carding your fingers through her hair as she settles against you once more.

“mhm,” a tired little yawn, “and maybe tomorrow morning, if you’re feeling up to it —”

“yeah?” vi’s voice is soft, is sweet, is almost reverent as she kisses the skin of your sternum, her lips lingering right beneath your collarbones.

“i could show you some of the other things i picked up at the brothel.”

vi groans, her fingers digging into your hips at the tantalizing thought.

“mm, you mean other than giving people amazing shoulder massages?”

you laugh, and outside, a large neon sign flickers off, tossing the room into a deeper, richer dark.

“yep. but for now…”

“sleep?” vi asks.

you nod, watching as her eyelids flutter shut, and you let yours do the same. your fingers find hers beneath the blankets; your palms press and she gives you a tiny squeeze. you squeeze back and smile.

“sleep.”

[buumbaby]

" one fabulous kiss and we're good "

[stagefoureddiediaz]

Something something about all the firefam being infected and needing to cure a part of themselves before they can move forward on their journey and this 2 parter is to get them to that place.

Something about buck being trapped outside - separated from his team and it representing how he’s felt his whole life - separate - the odd one out - on the outside of things - abandoned - nothing he does being enough.

Athena fighting against the system - and trying to do so from within a part of it but it pushes back against her but she hasn’t realised it yet.

Hen - always under pressure - needing to justify her existence because of who she is - a black lesbian - but her team that’s around her help to relieve that pressure.

Chim - the person who takes himself out of the equation in acts of selflessness - unable to save Kevin from afar in the past but can help save Hen here and now - even while infected.

Bobby - the leader but from the sidelines - instructing and guiding but never truly part of things - being the one to perform hens surgery to save her life and sacrificing’ himself to get the antivirus is him getting to be a part of things and have someone lead him for a change - all playing into his doubts about his abilities and skills as a captain - and proving him to be the best captain

Maddie - always having to listen and support from the sidelines - like with Daniel - listening to her parents decision to pretend he didn’t exist and having to support Buck because they wouldn’t/couldnt. She’s just rediscovered her voice and now she’s going to use that power to help save Chim.

Eddie - being absent - a metaphor for who Eddie truly is being absent from his life - not getting to be a child because he was forced into a parental role by Helena and Ramon meaning he was absent from his childhood - when you figure out who you are - not present in this episode - but now he is figuring out what is important to him - Chris and the family he built in LA - and that will lead him to return to LA

[cheebuss]

artblock lowkey goated

[bylrndgm]

JULIE AND THE PHANTOMS (2020) // JULIE E OS FANTASMAS (2011) 1.01 - Wake Up // 1.01 - Enfrentando Fantasmas -> Julie meets the Band.

[the-sin-hole]

blowing off steam

stanxreader, 1.2k words NSFW 18+ it’s smut baby!!!

fem!reader, PIV sex

+++

You’re so filled with adrenaline it doesn’t even hurt when Stan grabs a fistful of your hair and pulls.

You were both standing in the woods, covered in sweat, scratches, bruises, and dirt after fending off an attack from a horde of projectile marmots. Ford asked for your assistance in acquiring one of their eggs for the purposes of some sort of reinforcement ritual for the anti-Bill barrier— and now you see why he passed the job off to you two. They proved to be very territorial. And very eager to use their own little furry bodies as a weapon. But you and Stan worked well together, forcing your way through repeated small hirsute attacks until you nabbed an egg and they scampered away in defeat. You both stood your ground, not letting your guard down until the last one was out of sight. Stan then looked at you, sweating and pissed and panting, and the adrenaline still coursing through his veins drove him to step to you, grab your jaw with both hands, and forcefully pull you into a rough kiss.

You were stunned to find your face suddenly mashed against his but you quickly reciprocated, kissing him back as hard as he was kissing you. You didn’t hesitate when he lapped at your lips— you met his tongue eagerly. He guided you a few steps backwards, pushing you up against a large oak tree. As soon as he had you pinned his hands started wandering. He wasn’t gentle, grabbing at your waist, your hips, your chest greedily. One finally traveled up to your head, running his fingers through your hair before gripping it and pulling, breaking the kiss so he could start laying kisses and small bites down your jaw to your neck.

And now here you are, red hot, throbbing against him, mind dizzy and racing from the post-fight adrenaline compounding with pre-fuck adrenaline.

You let out soft moans as he nips at your flesh, not wanting to make too much noise and potentially attract more creatures. You wrap a leg around his and he moves his hips so he can slide a knee between your thighs. His lips travel back up and he thrusts his tongue back into your moaning mouth, slowly grinding his thigh against your crotch. He can hear the low hums you’re making in your throat at the blunt contact, and he immediately wants more.

He moves his thigh away so one of his hands can undo the button on your shorts, pull down the zipper. He wants to shove his fingers inside of you, feel you from the inside, but he keeps his dirty hands on the other side of your underwear, settling for rubbing vigorously until he can feel your wetness seeping through the thin fabric. You’re squirming under his rough fingers, the hums in your throat escalating the longer he goes without stopping. After you let out a small high moan into his mouth he removes his hand. Your throbbing pussy immediately misses the sensation. Both of his hands find your hips, hook fingers under your waistband and pull down. You wriggle to allow the shorts to fall to the ground and step out of one of the leg openings. Before you can do the same with your other leg his impatient hands grab your ass and hoists you up.

You immediately wrap your legs around him as he lifts you so your pussy is right against the erection trying to escape his zipper. Your arms grab his shoulders as he pins you against the tree, a little harder this time to help keep you in place, the bark digging into your back. His tongue leaves yours and one of his hands leaves your ass. He pulls his hips away from yours just enough to undo his pants and pull his cock out. You’re both panting hard and he hastily positions it against your entrance. You look down, trying to catch a glimpse of it but it’s obscured by his torso— the hand goes back to your ass and squeezes, giving you just a second to mentally prepare before he pushes inside you.

It’s not enough time to prepare. His head enters you and your whole body reacts— your eyes widen, a hot pulse runs through you, making your muscles seize, making your nerves flare up. A thoughtless yelp escapes you and Stan quickly removes one of the hands holding your ass again to slap it over your mouth, stifling the moans you can’t bring yourself to hinder as his thick cock continues to push inside you. Your eyes meet his. He’s watching you intently, drinking in the sight of you struggling to take his cock, relishing the stifled whines against his hand. His hips meet yours and he takes a few second’s pause, basking in the sight of your increasingly flushed face and hazy eyes above his hand. Each quick and labored breath you take is accompanied by a brief high moan as you struggle to adjust to his girth. He pins you harder against the tree, sinking just a little deeper, making the bark dig into your skin. The discomfort combined with the pleasure combined with the adrenaline is almost making you lightheaded.

Stan doesn’t give you more than those few seconds before he pulls away from you, eliciting another stifled moan, and slamming back into you. Your eyes widen again at the intense sensation. He does it again, and again, and again, fucking you almost aggressively. The hand still on your ass grips it hard. He’s still watching you like something bearing down on its prey, red starting to flush from his neck upwards. You’re still making moans and whines under his hand, looking and sounding desperate. The heat within you is starting to become intolerable. His cock is pounding you ruthlessly and you feel almost feverish as your arousal mounts, deep and hot. Your hands gripping his shoulders start to squeeze, your face screws up, your eyelids lower and your gaze becomes hazy again. He keeps his merciless pace. He’s single-minded now, not even caring about his own pleasure, only wanting to watch you come, feel you seize around his cock, hear your thoughtless noises. And after only a few more thrusts he gets his wish. He sees your eyes roll upwards and immediately removes his hand from your mouth.

The orgasm strikes through you quickly, every muscle tense as it wracks your body. Strangled urgent moans fall from your throat as each throb of pleasure rolls through you hot and fierce. Stan keeps fucking you, his cock not letting the heat subside as you come down. It’s almost too much. Your eyes find his face and refocus, and you’re about to tell him between gasping whines that you need a moment to recover when he slams into you one final time with a deep groan. You take it, cunt still throbbing from your climax, lower half on fire as he comes inside you. He leans forward, pressing his forehead against the bark of the tree next to your head and breathing hard, your chests heaving against each other’s as you both struggle to regain your breath.

After a few stabilizing pants he turns his head. His lips travel to your neck and start lazily pressing kisses against it, traveling up to your jaw, then your face, then your mouth, his lips now far more tender as they meet yours. He releases the pressure on your body, still holding you in place but no longer pinning you against the tree. You smile against his kiss, and make a mental note to ask Ford to send you both on another annoying quest as soon as possible.

[shroomerr]

Wham bam bam! Couple of Agent stuff!! I was initially just going to post the two images but then it felt a bit empty, so I decided to doodle an interaction between Agent and Mysterion.

More process drawings under the cut for those interested!!

[fukirvana]

Oh my Clematis, hope bloomed from the abyss.

Oh my Clematis, always be by my side.

[iridescentscarecrow]

i'm going to be sick. hard as fuck panel and -- the horror of this, the grim absurdity of it, the way denji leans into that feeling, wants that feeling, he's grinning, don't you see, under the metal of the chainsaw:

this is the karaoke scene echoing outwards but this time the Violence emanates from denji. thinking about how the weapon hybrids' bodies smear the pages, limbs and sharp lines and the chainsaw man: chaotic and primal within it. the previous chapters where's he's not at all a participant in this Violence as the hybrids tear themselves apart on their own, and now: he tears through them. the house burns, and so does his attempt at a normal life, at what pochita let him want and so told him to want, it ends and it all makes sense now, doesn't it?

and he tells nayuta to leave. she's the only human resembling face focused on in the last few pages, she's the unwitting creation of all of makima's twisted love, the subversive product of part one's otherwise obvious nightmare, the sort of Moral of the story. and she's told to leave.

god. genuinely, there's something so visceral and real about fujimoto writes victimhood, about how it builds itself around denji. about how he inhabits it. i'm going to be sick.

[1v31182m5]

Lest/Salo deep analysises because I am at rock bottom with my 5 minute contents

Warning for I might look delusional to you I am having fun though don't ruin my fun xhxfsg(⁠｡⁠ﾉ⁠ω⁠＼⁠｡⁠)

Despite being hired by Mel herself to spy on Salo, Lest refuses to give information about what they talked about and lies for not hearing anything, takes Mel to persuade and explain the seriousness of the situation to get her talking.

She says that he is not a problem but Mel's mother is the one who creeps her out and is the reason she doesn't wanna do this anymore because of her.

She gives Mel the shimmer to "take down Salo" because they thought he was gonna be the commander in this new upcoming war, proven wrong later. But despite given this and the current situation that they're both trying to avoid for both Zaun and Piltover Lest didn't gave it right away and it took her persuation to convince about they should take care of Salo if he becomes what they're afraid he might be. Lest didn't wanted to harm Salo, but she was scared of the future and him becoming a war leader. Just like how conflict Vi and Cait's relationship was with both of them loving eachother but the war situation making it complicated ın every way.

Salo talks about his past, his life. So the sessions they're having isn't just "seeing a doctor" they chat during it and it's different than getting a vitamin check from the family doctor.

Salo mentions how he picker her. Meaning she wasn't given forcefully by Mel but probably rather just advices to have her for his medical care.

When Salo tells her that the effects are not working as good anymore she advices him to a healer from the undercity for him to at least take a look.

Despite being his spy, and if he did found the care he needed he wouldn't be seeing her anymore because he wouldn't need to. She's "ruining" her own plan of getting messages from his side by leading him to a more promising healer.

[miriadalia]

People out there saying it's impossible that Tory beats Zara at the end...

Oh ho ho honeeeey

Don't you know THIS QUEEN COBRA?

[zombiecowboy65]

Wdym jerejean enable the “worst parts” of each other

[sunnynwanda]

Trouble of Mind: Part 2

Part 1

Warnings: failed brainwashing, mental exhaustion, tormented Villain (and Hero)

When the door creaks open in front of them, Hero is still deep in thought, frantically searching for whatever to say, which Villain seems to understand because they nod, gesturing for them to come inside. Without a word, they walk down the corridor, leading Hero to their bedroom.

It's dark inside, heavy curtains blocking any remnants of light outside - another thing physically painful to them in the current state. It takes a few moments for Hero's vision to adjust, but once it does, they notice a couch across from Villain's bed, already prepared for them. "How did you..?"

"Know you'd come?" Villain finishes for them, rubbing a hand over their eyebrows with a sympathetic sigh. "I know how it feels when it's your first time dealing with this."

"Is it bad again?" Hero asks carefully. There's another question lingering on the tip of their tongue; Villain can sense it. "It's because of me, isn't it? My interference?" Hero finally gathers the courage, their heart and mind racing as if in a competition as they wait for Villain's answer.

Villain nods shortly, turning away to search for the essential oils, to keep their hands busy and mind occupied. They don't blame Hero, not really. In fact, they are grateful that Hero hadn't read their mind in all their years of battling. That's more respect for their privacy than they received in the dungeons of the ministry.

"I'm sorry," Hero mutters, their voice dripping with guilt. They fail to come up with words after everything they have witnessed in Villain's twisted mind. All Hero knows is that they are relieved a large part of it has been suppressed by Villain's defense mechanisms.

Villain sighs, fully aware of their nemesis' regret over the situation. They allow their gaze to linger on Hero's troubled expression before speaking. "I don't blame you."

"You should," Hero states simply, leaning back against the back of the sofa. Their head drops against the headrest, eyes falling shut. No wonder Villain prefers to attack at night, they think. Who would have thought, light could be a vicious type of torture?

For several moments, they remain silent, heavy breathing being the only noise in the room. Villain moves to sit on their bed, contemplating whether they want to know the answer to the question that has formed in their ragged mind.

"How deep did you get?" They finally whisper, not wanting to startle Hero. They wonder if their phrasing made sense and are about to clarify when Hero's faint voice cuts the air.

"Unconscious."

Villain almost smiles, leaning back against the mattress and allowing their eyes to fall shut. "I know. How deep?"

"All of it," Hero lifts their head, glancing in the general direction of the bed. They can barely make out Villain's shape on it.

"Tell me," Villain interrupts their thoughts again. When Hero hums in apparent confusion, they clarify. "Tell me what you saw."

Hero almost chokes on the air, sitting upright despite the heavy pounding in their temples. "W-why?" They stutter out, already regretting their visit.

"I want to know what's in there." It's a simple sentence, but it claws at Villain's throat, unwilling to be uttered. They force the words out, turning their head to look at Hero's form on their sofa.

Hero's voice is guarded when they finally respond. "You had repressed it for a reason, Villain."

"Hero, you, of all people, know it's going to haunt me forever unless I deal with it," Villain counters, earning a quiet grunt from their nemesis.

"You can't deal with what's in there," they mutter, rubbing a hand over their face. A part of them knows Villain is right - the same one that is spurring them to try and undo some of the damage, to give Villain a chance of a clear mind. But there is another one. One that is scared of making it worse, both for Villain and themself. One that is terrified of even the thought of going through the darkness behind Villain's gaze again. One that cannot bear the pain that comes with it.

"Please," Villain speaks again, causing Hero to flinch at their selfishness as they are dragged out of their mind. How dare they be scared for their own well-being when Villain is... "Please," Villain whispers, the pleading tone cutting through Hero's chest.

"Villain, I-" They cut off, springing to their feet in a rush of anxiety. "Okay, if you want to do it, I can, um... try to unearth those things and undo some of the damage, but.."

"But what?" Villain asks, getting up as well. They are acting equal parts excited and reckless, and they know it.

"Some things might be too much," Hero starts, pacing through the bedroom in broad strides. "It might not work, or go wrong, or..."

Villain reaches out, stopping their panicked race from the door to the window and back, "I don't care."

They try to reassure Hero with a slight curve of their lips. But that only makes Hero explode. "I do! I don't want to cause more damage than there already is!"

It's a fair concern, Villain admits to themself. But they are far past the point of no return. "Hero, I was brainwashed, but it failed. The things done to my head are much worse than you taking a peak or even a walk."

"It's not- Christ, you don't understand!" Hero exclaims in utter frustration. They are scared, Villain understands. With a soft exhale, they place a hand on Hero's forearm, drawing them closer.

"You've seen what the nightmares are like," Villain's voice is low and pained; their fingers cold against Hero's skin. "That's every day for me. Every damn day. For six years now. I can't take it anymore, so if there's a way for you to fix it, I'll take the risk."

"I could damage you permanently," Hero protests, but it's weak. They know the hell that Villain lives in - they've seen it firsthand.

"I don't care," Villain shrugs with annoying nonchalance. "I'd rather lose my mind than keep going through this."

"Fine," Hero growls, sure that they will come to regret this decision. "Alright, fine."

As soon as they agree, Villain's demeanour changes. "What do you want me to do?"

"Lie down," Hero mutters, solemn. They wait for them to get onto the bed before sitting by their side and cradling their face with both hands.

"I want you to look into my eyes and think of the last thing you remember before the, um... experiment on you," they instruct, the internal battle still raging within them. But there is no way back now. Not after they gave Villain hope.

"Okay," Villain nods, meeting Hero's gaze with their tormented one.

"I'll get you through this," Hero continues to hold their head, and, as tender as they can, they delve into Villain's mind, only this time it's more intentional and slow. Layer by layer, they go deeper, diving into Villain's mind with gentle determination. They live through every day Villain spent in the dungeons, watching the light bulb spin around, circling them until they are reduced into hypnosis. Then come the sedatives, the withdrawal delirium, electricity, waterboarding, the light bulb again, sedatives, water...

Villain blacks out by the time Hero reaches the end of their torment - the day they escaped from the ground floor of the ministry six years ago, with a broken mind and unabashed rage against everything that place represented. Hero falls against the mattress, their entire being pierced by a phantom ache. They bury their face into the pillow, muffling the shuddering sobs ripping out from their throat.

Villain knows something is off the moment they gain some sort of awareness in the morning. They aren't entirely awake yet, but they can tell. They can feel it. Something feels off. Or better yet, it feels right. Right, and light, and clear... Gods, their head feels clear. Their blood stills at the thought, eyes flying open like they've been burnt. They glance around in agitated disbelief, only to freeze again, this time from the sight of Hero by their side. On their bed, curled into a ball. In any other situation, Villain would raise a brow and possibly tease Hero for the fetal position, but not today. They shift, leaning over their nemesis and cupping Hero's cheek. There are wet patches on their pillow - from crying themselves to sleep, Villain deduces, letting out a shaky exhale before pulling the covers up. They tuck Hero in, then lower themself back onto the bed, allowing their fingers to gently trace Hero's features.

They know their mind is not fully dealt with. They know there will be lingering nightmares for both them and Hero. They know it's far from over. But they also know that they won't be going through it alone. Not anymore.

Part 1

Masterlist

Taglist: @marvellousdaisy@alltimelowing@lateuplight@surplus-of-sarcasm@betwist @excusemeasibangmyheadonawall @enemies-to-idiots-to-lovers @miaowmelodie @thatonerandomauthor @hhabaddon @burningoutlikeicarus @daemonvatis @weepingcowboywolfbat @thelazywitchphotographer @kaiwewi @soul-of-a-local-bard @pigeonwhumps @aflyingsheepnamedrose @thatneptune @ohwellthatslifesstuff @worldsfromhoney @thiefofthecrowns @crow-with-a-typewriter @qualityrabbitsoup @stargeode @villain-life @villainsblood @whumpifi @glassthedumbass @silviathebard @misskowe @ayeshaturnedtoashes4444 @m4iloblu3 @silky-worm @doctorsawyer @philosophershroomie

Special tags: @m4iloblu3 @silky-worm @doctorsawyer @philosophershroomie

[tennessoui]

“Kiaree is pregnant,” Obi-Wan says, as if Anakin is supposed to care about this woman and her baby. “If her name is drawn from the victor‘s pool, I will take her place.” “Like hell you will,” Anakin snarls. “There are other victors.”

“Magdeline is old,” Obi-Wan’s eyes cut away, fall to the space between their hands. Good, Anakin thinks viciously, he should find it hard to look at him. “She should not have to go back to Coruscant. Not ever again in her lifetime. If her name is drawn—” “Then you will let it be!” Anakin rounds the corners of the counter, unthinkingly fast. He clasps his hand around Obi-Wan’s shoulder, squeezing the fine fabric that Coruscant has dressed him in tightly. “Why would you volunteer for them, Obi-Wan? They have never volunteered for you.”

“The actions of others do not control my own, Anakin,” Obi-Wan snaps, pushing him away, freeing himself from his grasp. “I will volunteer to serve as master and mentor, as I am the most suitable to be victor—” Anakin grinds his teeth together, pushing himself back into Obi-Wan’s space, pinning him against the counter. “You would do that to me?” he asks, low, voice a dark growl in his throat. Obi-Wan has styled his hair carefully, slicked it back and trimmed his beard. Anakin touches the lines of his beard, ghosts over the glossy locks before shoving his fingers into it, messing up the tidy strands. “You would take yourself away from me, for months more?”

“The Games will last no more than a fortnight,” Obi-Wan murmurs, keeping his back straight, unwilling to melt into Anakin’s touch. “I will be back on Stewjoni soil before the leaves turn gold.”

“You will be parsecs away from me until the spring,” Anakin replies, and he gentles his hold, smooths over the mess of Obi-Wan’s bangs and slots himself up against him. Not fighting, not pushing. Pressing, coaxing. “Your body will be here, but your mind will not. Do not pretend as if you do not know what I am talking about.”

Obi-Wan’s mouth falls open, a flash of red as he wets his bottom lip and looks away. Of course he knows what Anakin means. The years that he must go to Coruscant, the years that he is made master of two children who are destined to die bloody and screaming, those years haunt him in his eyes. It is the price he pays as a victor—it is not just his Games that haunts him. It is every Game he has ever been made to watch, to participate in even from the sidelines.

And he may be willing to pay that price so that his other victors may live without it, but Anakin will not allow the same.

[jessicas-pi]

The Time Heals 'verse meta, part one: take two!

First, some explanation. A few days ago, I decided to spontaneously post a meta about my fic. Then I overthought it, decided it was Absolute Garbage and erased it from the face of the earth. What was I thinking? Beats me! I slept for like three hours the night before, I don't take responsibility for those actions. Anyway, three days ago someone mentioned to me that they were actually interested in it! So, last night, with my ego boosted and my hubris restored, I hunted down the reblog the post got before I deleted it, and I reread it, expecting to cringe. And I was like "Hey, wait a second! This isn't garbage! In fact, this is fairly mediocre!" And so I copied it into a document and edited it up just a bit it make it even mediocre-er and now I'm reposting it. Because I can. And because cringe isn't dead, but I persevere nonetheless.

So here we are, right back where we started!

Let’s try this again, shall we?

(Warning: this post will Massively Spoil plot points from the Time Heals 'verse.)

So this meta has been brewing in my brain because, in writing the Time Heals 'verse, I had to think a lot about the relationship dynamic between two characters who will never ever sit down and talk about their feelings until something absolutely forces them to. And having all these things thought out, but knowing that they'll mostly just be subtext and that I'll never be able to outright explain the nuance behind their relationship in the narrative, is absolutely killing me.

It's also been circulating in my thoughts because it occurred to me as I was writing this, just how fundamentally different this fic is from all my other published Sabezra fics. Because in those fics, it either picks up at a point in time where the Feelings Realization has already happened for Sabine, or where the realization happens midway through, and she's doing the Feelings What Feelings thing before then. But the Time Heals 'verse is a slowburn. The Feelings aren’t THERE when we start off. Their relationship is complicated and deep and changing and full of messy feelings that they Will Not Discuss…

…and it all starts with The Line.

You know. The Line. From The Scene. The Line That Was Never Quite Revealed. THE Line.

That one? You know the one? 

No?

Well, then. Let's talk about it!

(Hold on tight, folks. I'm about to go absolutely feral.)

He said something she couldn’t or maybe didn’t want to understand, and she held on tighter, trying to memorize the sound of his voice.

she doesn't want to understand it!! the Feelings Realization moment, the Feelings What Feelings denial phase---neither of those exist in this AU, because for Sabine, right now, those Feelings aren't there. And that's why she can't, why she doesn't want to understand it. because until that moment, he didn't want her to understand it either. it was unspoken and it was ignored. And that was the way it was supposed to be always. He would hide it and she would ignore it and it would fade and go away (it would, it has to) and when that happened, some day in the future, they could forget it ever existed and be happy as friends.

But Ezra is dying.

There is no future.

So there's nothing to hide anymore. And he tells her. And in the kindest world, she could say it back to him. Maybe, somewhere inside, she wants to say it back to him (it's all she can do, he's dying and she can't save him, and he is so very dear to her, the least she could say is me, too) but she doesn't (he is so very dear, but in a way just different enough that me, too would be a lie, and he is too dear to lie to) because she can't.

But he didn't tell her, expecting her to say it back. He's not asking for a “me, too.” Ezra knows there's no me, too. He tells her because he's dying, and to Sabine, it is her dearest friend slipping away in her arms, but to Ezra, the one holding him is more than dear, so terribly much more (You don't know. You're holding me to your heart and you don't know. You might not hold me if you did.) so he tells her because he has to. (I'm sorry. Please don't let me go.)

Sabine holds him tighter, and does the only thing she can do for him.

“Yeah,” she murmured. “I know.”

(But I do know. I knew it before I took you in my arms, you see? It won't make me let you go. It never could.)

Four words from him.

Three words from her.

That's all.

But they say so much more than that. Because he loves her (there! I said it! Because maybe Sabine can't even bring herself to think about it, but I can, and I do!) and she loves him (she does, you know. painfully so.) but it's a different kind of love (and that matters) but it doesn't matter because he is dying in her arms, and in that moment, they realize that they will never know how they would have loved. Maybe he'd have gotten over it and loved her as a dear friend. Maybe she'd have fallen just as in love with him as he is with her. They won't know what the future could have brought for them, so it stops mattering. And Sabine loves him. (But she doesn't.) But she does, and she tells him so in the only way she can. And they say so little. But they say everything.

Sabine? I love you.

Yeah. I know.

She loves him. And she holds him. When he offers his fading heart, she takes the fragile thing and cradles it close, and she kisses his bloody fingers good-bye. She holds him so tightly that when she is yanked away from him and out of the dream-place, she pulls his red-stained orange jacket with her. She never lets him go.

So Ezra dies with a smile, because he loves her.

And Sabine screams, because she loved him.

[shortbcofkoffee]

CW: Self-harm and suicidal ideation (?)

Tim had his arm wrapped around his pillow. His hand rested by his chin and his wrist hovered by his mouth. He couldn't help but drag his lips across the raised scars that lived there.

Tim didn't cut himself, not anymore, not in a long time. But the scars were still there and they felt good against his lips. They felt like desire. He wouldn't, not again, but there were nights like this. Nights where he wanted nothing more grab a blade and satisfy the thing in his brain.

It was so casual, it always had been. Tim never really understood the big deal around it. He understood it was unfortunate when people died, but why would God put such a prominent vein in such a tempting place if it wasn't meant to be cut open?

Tim dragged his lips over his wrist again.

Alfred had cried when he found out. Back when Tim was still cutting he'd gotten hurt on patrol. Alfred was patching him up and had seen the bandages on his shoulder were bleeding through. At first, he'd admonished Tim for hiding injuries, but he'd quieted when he unwrapped Tim's arm. He just stared, cried, and quietly finished patching Tim up. Tim didn't say anything either. He couldn't even meet Alfred's eyes.

Tim nipped at his skin.

He thinks Alfred told Bruce because Bruce had asked him about it. Tim didn't deny anything. He supposed there should be shame in it, with the way people always reacted. And he'd been embarrassed when Alfred found out, but that was because he was the first to know. He didn't know what he felt when Bruce confronted him, but he didn't want to talk about it.

Tim sighed.

Bruce tried to get to the bottom of it. He assumed Tim had a reason because he was a detective and everything had a reason. He asked Tim invasive questions about his home life, his school life, if being Robin was too much. Tim was fine, he told Bruce as much. If he had a reason before it was long gone now. It was casual; a hobby just as much as photography was.

Tim rolled over in bed, letting his hand trail down to run the bumpy lines on his thighs.

Bruce didn't like that answer. He made Tim stop, checked him every other day. Tim hated it, but it worked. He didn't cut himself anymore. Of course it took a couple weeks of Bruce whining and complaining, but he did stop eventually. It made him antsy. His blood felt like it was burning in his veins, like it needed to get out. He wanted to let it out, but he couldn't. Honestly, Tim felt like he was holding onto Robin by a string. It was the last semi-good thing left in his life.

Tim stared at his ceiling, contemplating.

By the time Tim was 17, Jason was back, Damian was Robin, he was a CEO, and Alfred was dead. If he ever had a reason before he definitely had one now. Besides, Bruce didn't even check him anymore. No one would know. He still didn't see the huge problem.

If there was one it wasn't stopping Tim from going to his desk.

It didn't stop him from grabbing the boxcutter.

It didn't stop him from taking it to his wrist for the first time in years.