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love-pyramus · 2 years

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Spot Conlon

So- here we are- nearly been a year but- lets get it yuhhhhh-

WC: 1528

Warnings: Just like- the generic ghosty shit and death

@joshkatz @thatsmycigarbutyoucanborrowit @awstenthegreatest @logic-cat @christian-sings-the-eulogy @mushe-room

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Evening of April 19th

The evening breeze was cool as Shane and Ryan walked to the Brooklyn lodge. They were back in New York for a shoot, investigating St Marks Church, and decided to visit the two ghosts they had become fond of. The edited video they’d posted about the two had gained more attention than usual, with so much evidence that comments were flooding in, asking for a reinvestigation.

With the two having never actually investigated the Brooklyn lodge, it couldn’t hurt to map out the site and see if there was enough here to record a video with more evidence, as most of the interactions in the Manhattan lodge, while having been supernatural, would’ve tugged on Ryan’s conscience. He’d never expected to meet ghosts with such a personality, and according to Shane, such a sadness. Showing that on camera wouldn't have felt right, no matter how many views it got.

If Mouse and King didn’t appear, the lodge may actually make for a good video. Spot Conlon was faint, even to Shane, so the cameras wouldn’t be able to pick him up. And if they got a small apparition on the static cam, that would be alright too.

As they walked through the lodge, Shane sighed as he could feel the projection of anger. He couldn’t pinpoint if it was Mouse or King around, all he could tell, or so he thought, was that it wasn’t both.

“Mouse? King? Who’s there?” He called, looking around. It was possible one of the spirits had just left and their feeling was lingering in the air. As far as Shane knew, Mouse and King tried avoiding the Brooklyn lodge. So why would they be here?

“Leave.”

The command was hissed, though the voice didn’t have King’s rasp, nor was it deep enough. So Mouse, then.

“Mouse? You in here?” Shane called again, scanning around. Behind him, Ryan was looking around wildly. Shane didn’t blame him, the atmosphere in the lodge was so tense that he wouldn’t be shocked if Ryan could feel it.

“Leave!”

The hiss came again, angrier this time, leaving Ryan about to bolt. The spirit here was angry, and part of him still feared, despite Shane’s insistence otherwise, that the two kids were possibly demons.

Shane stayed where he was, looking around the empty lobby. “Are you up by the beds shortstack?”

“Dude-!” “Shut up and watch-”

Shanes taunt caused a figure to appear on the stairs, sat halfway up, glaring at the two men through the wooden slats. Her form was clearer than usual, the edges of the apparition clear and crisp.

“Why’re you here Mouse? Why in this lodge?”

Ryan’s question was genuine, it was short, and it only made the glare on Mouse’s face grow as she responded.

“King wanted to come here.”

King, Shane guessed, was probably not on the mortal plane at the moment. His spirit could be here, but he couldn’t feel the usual feelings the two ghosts put out. They were both angry, and when their spirits combined, hatred rated from them in waves. Another thing he wouldn’t be shocked if Ryan could sense.

But the more he thought about it, the more the lonely feeling hanging around didn’t feel like Spot. It felt different, like hatred that had finally given up.

The figure on the stairs stood up, beginning to walk to the bunk room. Shane tilted his head, before beginning to follow, Ryan making a small protest before hesitantly following.

In the bunks, King was sitting on an old bunk in the corner, Mouse sitting next to him, though still giving distance. He was forlornly staring at the bunk across from him, like he was waiting for someone who may never arrive.

And truly, the former inhabitant may never arrive. He used to sleep on that bunk, and on sleepless nights, King would watch Bruiser's face. The way it changed if he was having a different type of dream, the way his hair would fall in front of his face, only to be blown back up by his exhale.

But now the bunk sat empty and cold, each gust of warm wind sending creaks through the house.

Looking through all the documented information on the two, Ryan realized, possibly at a very untimely moment, that there was nothing on how the two had met. Yet they were so close, and there was hardly anything documenting how long they had known each other.

“King? Mouse?”

He could swear that he felt his heart stop as both of the ghosts put their full focus on him, taking a breath as the warm air chilled.

“How did you two meet?”

The question was innocent, at least in Ryans mind, but Mouse’s glare only deepened, and King’s look only got sadder.

From behind him, Shane could feel another ghost appear, that melancholy loneliness he’d learned was attributed to Spot Conlon. Maybe he had something to do with it.

Mouse sighed as Jack dragged her along to the Brooklyn docks. She didn’t want to be here. She’d much rather be in the bunk house, or out selling, but apparently getting into her third fight that week meant that she had to stay at Jack’s side. Absolute bullshit if you asked her.

As Jack spoke with Spot, Mouse took a seat on one of the boxes. As she did, she heard some laughter behind her, turning to see a boy, much taller than her, but probably not much older. He was chuckling as he looked at her, so Mouse stood on her box facing him, a slight glare on her face as she landed a quick punch into the boys eye.

She heard her name from Jack, a reprimand, before rolling her eyes and taking her seat on the box again.

“You alright King?” Someone shouted, and Mouse sighed. Must be the boys name. King. Fitting for the ego he seemed to have.

Spot had been the one who had called his name. And now Spot was standing behind the ghost hunters, staring at the two as they sat on the bed.

It seemed the ghosts on the bed could feel it too, or maybe see Spot through Shane, as King looked at his hands as if they were the most interesting things to have existed, and Mouse was glaring right through Shane.

“Leave!”

Mouse’s voice was less of a hiss this time, and no longer directed at the two ghost hunters. It was a barked command, like she was giving the person she was speaking to no choice.

The word didn’t seem to have any effect though, and Ryan was able to see Spot as he walked towards the bunk.

Ryan had always feared ghosts would become violent if something from their past was brought up, or if an object brought to them triggered a strong enough memory to create a surge of emotion. What he had never expected was that when ghosts attack each other, it could look so terrifying.

Mouse had gotten up from her place on the bunk, pushing Spot away, actually making solid contact with him instead of passing through him, like her form did for many solid things. She began to fight like he had heard she used to when alive.

Her form, that was probably the most terrifying thing to Ryan. The edges of the apparition were hazy, like he was watching a bad projection, and her shirt was covered with a steadily spreading bloodstain, blood began to drip out of her mouth as she screamed.

From the bed, hacking coughs came from King, flower petals made of plasma dropping onto the floor as Mouse continued her screaming. Shane rushed to pull Ryan farther away from the fight, although he didn’t have to. Seconds after he did, Spot’s form vanished, Mouse finding her way back to the bed. Her form was flickering, King’s coughs still hacking, but he reached to hold onto Mouse as she sat.

So when she slipped off the bed, laying on the ground with blood splattering out of her mouth, King went with her, seeming as though he was holding his breath to keep the flowers back as he tried to comfort her.

“Shortie-? No, don’t- please- don’t-”

King’s voice was desperate as Mouse continued to choke, before the apparition went still and began to fade. King’s coughs and own choking only got worse as he tried shaking the faint ghost, flowers and petals beginning to fall to the floor through the ghost.

King collapsed next to her soon after, still attempting to shake the ghost next to him. But soon his apparition fell still as well, both of them fading, Mouse vanishing a few minutes before King.

As they did, Spot reappeared before kneeling by the pooling plasma, bowing his head. His voice was too soft for Shane and Ryan to hear, which shocked Shane. He strained to hear, only picking up what he believed to be an “I’m sorry.”

“Spot?”

The ghost didn’t turn to look at Shane, only bowing his head further before vanishing.

Shane sighed.

“If you want to shoot a video here, go ahead. Those three aren’t showing up again tonight.”

#BFU AU #Mouse #King #Newsies OCs #Pls gimme feedback-

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simonrriley · 2 years

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@thatsmycigarbutyoucanborrowit, @badfloweranthony, @verosiika, @love-pyramus, @christian-sings-the-eulogy, @awstenthegreatest

warnings: gore, cannibalism, christianity, vague ed thoughts, vague rape allusions

sequel to: lights go down

Hands shaking, clutching the porcelain like it was a lifeline, a holy cross. The light above him, buzzing, flickering with each shuddering breath, a defunct halo.

What was it to be holy anyway?

A feeling? A notion? Something you were called, something you were inherently? Something they doused you with and begged for you to stay until you couldn’t take it anymore?

And what did it mean to be unholy? To be unclean? To sin?

Was there any other choice for him anymore?

Bruiser’s stomach churned, from what, he wasn’t sure. The food he ate? Or lack thereof in the past few days? The realization? The pounding in his head and the throbbing in his rib cage, like his heart was about to come loose and explode. Was this what dying felt like?

Maybe death would be a better fate.

He looked up, finally facing the form in the mirror as he took in another breath, feeling it rattle in his lungs. The same yellow eyes hung over his shoulder, leaning over him and those pearly white, catlike teeth grinned down at him and a bony finger prodded him in the cheek, as if coaxing him into putting on a smile. More like forcing, as if someone had pulled wire through his lips and pulled, curving his face into a grin that matched the figure behind him.

“You’ve got the devil on your shoulder.”

The wire loosened from around Bruiser’s lips and he dropped into a snarl, turning his head back to look at the figure, who only laughed. “You better shut your mouth just like I told ya,” he growled back, unable to keep his thoughts clear for longer than a moment. It was horrible and quite impossible to get anything done with him hanging over his shoulder like an impenetrable dark cloud.

The laughter echoed around the bathroom, bouncing off the walls and through Bruiser’s skull, only worsening his headache and his vision blurring. He’d been fighting him off, fighting it off for the past few days and it proved to no avail.

In the reflection of the mirror, he could see her face, standing behind him. Her nails reached out, taking his chin in her hands and turning his face towards her.

‘No, no, no, no,’ he thought, freezing in place as she leaned forward, ice cold lips against his. He wanted to be anywhere but there, with her, again. ‘Get me out of here,’ he begged, to whatever was above. If there was anything above. If anything above even wanted him, after everything. After he’d danced with sin and invited it in, invited this creature into his life, almost willingly letting him take hold. Would anyone save him? Would anyone even know?

He gasped, shaking his head as the ghostly cold lips dissipated into the air like droplets of rain and the icy grip that was around his heart and throat faded. Bruiser stumbled backwards, taking in heaving breaths as the world faded back to reality around him.

Pulling himself back together, brows furrowed, he spoke to the air again. “You’ve been controlling me through fiction.”

Another laugh echoed from the walls, almost bouncing out from Bruiser’s mind to the walls around him, surrounding him like vultures circling their prey.

“It’s obvious.” Came the dark reply, the form taking shape in front of him.

Bruiser’s brows furrowed, glaring back at King. Why him? What had he done to deserve such things? Was it his reckoning? His karma for all those years ago. Leaving him to bleed the snow red… And if he were being honest, it was his fault she’d done that. He needed to prove himself. He wasn’t enough of a man for her, of course he ran. Like a fucking coward.

That’s all he was.

Jaw setting firmly, he let the breath he was holding go, the anger seething out between his teeth. He turned, swiveling out from the bathroom and back to the rest of his apartment. He wasn’t going to let him dictate his life. If he could just prove himself, and fight back, just for once, he could get rid of King. If that was even his name.

B had plans with Syd anyway. Maybe if he just focused, it would leave his mind. He would leave his mind.

“I’ve got to break you like a bad addiction,” he muttered, glancing over his shoulder as he made his way to the door, hearing the knock from it resonate throughout the home. Bruiser made his way over to the door and pulled the handle open, mouth moving up into a smile to greet Syd who was standing behind the door.

Perfectly manicured nails gripped his chin and suddenly Bruiser found himself stumbling back through his apartment, tripping over furniture and his own feet. His back hit the couch cushion and fear flooded his system, blue eyes going wide.

‘I can’t say no, I’m losing control—‘

A steady weight found itself placed across Bruiser’s lap and a giggle sounded, the undertones of the laugh sounding like the one he’d heard from the mirror moments before.

‘Let me go, let me go, let me go,’ he pleaded silently, looking anywhere but up, anywhere but her face. Even the cracks in the ceiling had to be more interesting right now, they had to be, for his sake. The cracks in the plaster stared down at him, forming a smile and then came the voice, her voice…. But his as well?

“What do you think you’re doing Michael?”

That wasn’t his name. Not anymore.

“Michael!”

Not anymore.

“Michael!”

Not anymore.

“Mikhail!”

Not anymore.

Down, down, down, the pit in his stomach went.

“Mikhail Morozov you get your ass up right now or so help me god!”

Cold water filled his lungs, flooding his senses and kicking panic awake in his mind. Bruiser rose up, vision blurry and throat croaking.

Above him stood Syd, brandishing their now empty bowl, which was dripping the remains of the ice water onto the comforter.

He blinked a few times, trying to calm himself as he took in gasping breaths of air and water, feeling it gurgle in his lungs.

Where was he? How did he…? What did she do to him? Was he even safe anymore? A year or two of running and rebuilding just for this to happen? Why did she come back? She couldn’t be back. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t right. All this running all his life and for what?

Then a soft head nuzzled into Bruiser’s dangling arm.

A small kitten. His cat… he remembered him, but the name seemed to slip him. A lot of things were.

He was… home…?

He was home.

“B!” Syd shouted. “I’ve been trying to walk you for the past ten minutes,” they said, snapping their fingers in front of his face. “The hell happened to you?”

B sputtered, water falling out from his mouth as he looked up at Syd, hesitantly moving his face upwards, afraid of what he might see.

“I uh…” he muttered.

“You were like shouting and mumbling and rolling around, it’s like you were possessed, seriously.”

Bruiser just nodded, pulling himself out of bed, reaching up to his chin and rubbing his fingers along it confusedly. No marks, or pain… It was like nothing was even there. But he’d felt it. He’d seen her. She’d grabbed him. He could feel her, everywhere.

God, he needed a shower.

He made his way out of bed and dragged his sopping wet blanket along with him towards his bathroom, glad he’d decided to go with the more expensive apartment if it meant his bathroom was connected to the bedroom.

“Bruiser! What’s going on with you?” Syd called, their feet following after him as he went to grab the door.

Their hands both grabbed it at the same time, Syd’s grip almost stronger than his as his own hand shook as he held onto the door, almost using it for support to keep himself upright.

“B, would you stop ignoring me?!”

Anger boiled up inside of him, something animalistic crawling its way up from his stomach and through his throat, the claws tearing as his esophagus and scraping his vocal chords into shreds. He couldn’t control it, despite feeling the creature move inside him, razorlike claws dug tightly into the inner flesh of his body. And then it escaped.

“I’m having bad dreams!” The shout echoed, rattling the door on the hinges as it left his mouth. Bruiser turned, hand now gripping the door tightly. He couldn’t see it, but his nails dug into the wood and it was beginning to splinter under the pressure. Teeth bared, he glared down at Syd. “And nothing you can do will keep the bad things away from me until I fall asleep!”

“Bad dreams?” Syd echoed, confused as they stared back up at him, recoiling from their spot beside Bruiser as his shout still echoed. It felt like staring down a rabid animal, lacking the equipment you’d use to to lasso its neck and bring it into containment to be treated. With the way things were looking, maybe Syd was next to be brought into containment and treated… Although was it really treating someone if you were only passing on the infection?

Bruiser nodded with a huff. “Despite your good intentions, that boy is like an architect and I am just a new invention.”

“New invention?” Syd questioned, taking a step towards Bruiser, hands raised warily, as if they may have to fend off an attack. “Bruiser you’re talking crazy, you just need to—“

“Relax, let me take care of you.”

Nails trailed up Bruiser’s spine and he could feel his body stiffen, like ice spreading through his veins and hardening, freezing him to the spot. The ice was even spreading to his heart.

For a moment, Syd’s hair, curly and light brown, hanging over their grey eyes, morphed into something else completely, straight and blonde, evenly parted and tucked behind an ear, exposing those blue eyes. Chipped black nail polish into long red nails, like talons that would tear him limb to limb.

Panic flared in Bruiser’s chest, the same place he could feel those tails dig into the skin there, piercing through his heart. His steps began to retreat as Syd’s — no, her — her hand drew closer to him and he stumbled back into the tiled bathroom, door slamming shut behind him before he could even reach out to shut it himself.

Heaving gasps shook in Bruiser’s ribcage as he stumbled back, just barely catching himself on the seat of the toilet before slumping against the bathtub, tears prickling in his eyes. He just wanted to hide.

His hands gripped the side of the tub as he tried to suck in breaths of air as if he were drowning, drowning in the ice that was flooding his veins, taking hold and control, freezing his heart and mind.

A raw sob choked up his throat and it came out steadily, his palms sweating as he began to cry, coughing up all of the emotions he’d been feeling the past few days. He was scared. He was so fucking scared. Why did he have to be the one who had to be possessed? Or whatever this was. Maybe it was his psychosis. If that was the case that meant a lot more trouble for him when it faded. If it faded. And if it wasn’t….? What would become of him?

Another cough racked his lungs and it tore up his esophagus as it came up and he nearly choked it back down from the pain. It finally came out and splattered across the bottom of the tub was blood, blood…. So much blood and then a mass of black goop and a decaying pile of spongy flesh.

Before Bruiser could even process what the fuck had just happened, another wave of nausea slammed him, a mix of of a reaction from what he’d seen and the other some force inside of him, forcing his insides out.

For the next ten minutes, Bruiser spent his time, hunched over the edge of the tub, coughing and gagging as mass of flesh and mass of flesh spat out from between his teeth, blood gurgling out in the occasional gasps of air he could take in the gaps between each heaving cough.

As Bruiser tried to pull air through his throat and into his lungs, he sputtered, choking on something lodged in his throat. He could just barely feel it approaching his tongue and he gasped, mixing between gagging and choking as he gripped onto the tub. He was going to die like this, wasn’t he? He felt hollow in his stomach and his mind, a fog settling over his brain. Did it even matter if he died here?

Tears slipped down his cheeks as he began to think about it all. There was so much here that he still wanted to do. Hell, he had an audition on Friday and after that he and Syd were going to get sushi to celebrate. And he was going to go on a date on Saturday and maybe go to another dance class. He had dreams, hopes, ambitions. Yet here he was, coughing himself up on the bathroom floor while the monster that haunted his nightmares stood outside the door, eagerly awaiting him.

B sniffled and it was then that he was reminded of the lump in his throat and tentatively, he brought a hand up to his mouth and reached past his tongue, trying not to gag at the intrusion which brought more tears to his eyes and tremors to his hands. Another cough racked him and just barely did he grasp something between his thumb and index finger, the texture squishy and coated heavily with a liquid. He tried to not recoil or cry at just feeling the object and instead forced himself to cough again as he began to pull it from his throat.

Then he really began to choke, blocking off his airways as he tried to cough it out. Tears stung his eyes again and again and he tried to blink them away, his face now coated in both salty tears and blood. Why did it have to be him?

A painful cough that could have only come from the bottom of his blood-soaked lungs, enhanced by whatever was left of his diaphragm, did the rest of it come out. Long and barely separated, lay before him on the tub, covered in blood and decaying like the rest of him, both inside and out, was a set of intestines.

Intestines.

His intestines.

He’d been coughing up his own organs this entire time?

A smile graced his lips for a moment, sticky maroon blood spilling out from between his teeth and down his chin. If that was really all it took to puke his guts up….

Then fear gripped what was left of Bruiser’s frozen heart and he immediately stood up, rushing over to the sink and grabbing it with his bloodied hands, staring back at himself in the mirror.

‘What’s wrong with me?’ He thought, watching as his reflection blinked at him, waving with red eyes. He was cursed, haunted, possessed, he was something broken. Something unholy.

“Bruiser!” Came the call from outside.

B glanced at the door and then to the bloody tub and choked back another sob, afraid of what would come out this time. His heart?

He looked back at himself in the mirror, brown hair hanging a mess on his hand, plenty of strands plastered to his forehead with sweat while his face was a mural of blood, sweat and tears.

Behind him was the perpetrator, curiously studying him. “You’ve got to choose between your faces.” Watching Bruiser’s surprise as every time he blinked, he changed from his messy state to a rather cleaned up one, hair combed back and face completely clean, dressed in formal wear, the only difference was his eyes - not the normal storm blue-grey but a fierce red staring him back down in the mirror.

A broken prayer slipped from Bruiser’s lips as he fell hunched over the sink, bloody hands clasped together and he tried to pray away whatever was going on with him. It wasn’t just some bad dream, but a living, breathing nightmare. One that was breathing down his neck and latching its claws into his shoulders. It wouldn’t be too long before it made its final strike on him. The killing blow.

“Feels like you’re running out of holy places,” King spoke again, gaze traveling from Bruiser’s broken form to the mess of a tub that looked more like a morgue than a place of bathing, of renewal.

A few knocks sounded upon the door. “Bruiser! Are you alright?”

The knocks reverberated around his skull, irritating him further and the illusion of cleanliness vanished from the mirror, taunting Bruiser with the truth. He was a mess. A bloody and sick mess. Some rabid animal.

“Bruiser!”

Each knock and yell made the walls close in tighter on Bruiser, the wood pressing into his skin and he could feel what was left of him close in on itself to conserve space. He couldn’t fucking stand this anymore.

“Enough!” He shouted back, the shout coming out as some demonic howl, the door in front of him blowing to bits as the lights above the mirror sparked out, a crack splitting down the mirror as well.

His chest rose and fell with each heavy breath he took, the room falling quiet and there was suddenly no more calling for him, no more energy in the room. All he could feel was his own anger, tail lashing and teeth bared like a cornered dog.

Just the thrumming of what was left of his heart and snarl posed in his throat.

Where was Syd?

He remained standing, posed like a predator waiting to hear a sound from his prey, ears straining to catch a sign of life.

“And now the room is getting quiet,” King’s voice came from over his shoulder, the man was halfway suspended in the air, floating on it as if it were just a pool. His pointed devil tail had wrapped around Bruiser’s shoulder, pulling him close as if they were friends. If they could ever be friends.

Bruiser glared at King. “Shhh!” He couldn’t think with King’s stupid taunting, especially not when trying to make sure his younger sibling was still alive.

Hesitantly, his feet began to crunch over the splintered wood on the floor as he made his way over towards where Syd had been standing before he’d… gone nuclear? Whatever that was.

As he stepped over the wood where he could, he placed his foot down and a sickening squelch came from the pile beneath him. Retreating backwards, a now sticky sock held high in the air in disgust.

‘The fuck was that?’

Stepping back, he saw the source of the sound, now halfway flattened under him.

An eyeball.

Bruiser dropped to his knees immediately and much to his own internal disgust and dismay, he picked it up between his already bloody fingers and rolled it over until he could see the iris. A bloody cry crept up his lips and escaped with ease.

Syd.

Bruiser pushed the wooden rubble to the side, digging through it until he came across the limp remainder of Syd’s body, a sizeable chunk taken out from the right side of their face, eye socket onwards caved in towards their lips, bloody splinters sticking out through the mass of flesh.

Syd.

His best friend. His only real family ever since the mess that had brought him to America. He’d practically raised the kid, his little sibling. They gave him something to keep going, to keep trying for. He wanted to achieve greater things to make Syd proud and make sure they both made it, as a family.

And this was how he repaid them?

With a chunk of their face missing, like a shotgun shell blew through them. Part of his heart, his soul, blown to bits.

A heavy sob dropped from Bruiser as he hung over Syd’s body, only able to stammer out apologies and curses between his hiccups and sobs.

The floor creaked behind Bruiser. “Oh what a shame.”

‘Yeah, what a fucking shame,’ he thought, shaking his head bitterly. ‘It’s all his fucking fault anyway.’

‘Or is it mine?’

It was him, who snapped, wasn’t it? It was him who bared his teeth and fought back upon seeing the opportunity of love. It was him who was drawn to the manor and the both with the cheshire cat smile. It was him who longed for danger and it was him alone who stared down death with a knowing grin. He knew all its secrets, anyway. A much less terrifying thing when you got used to it.

No, it wasn’t King’s fault.

It was his.

He’d always been this way, hadn’t he?

When he sinned with Sasha and then left him there to bleed out in the snow.

What a fool he was, to think he could ever cleanse himself of what he’d done.

It wasn’t King’s fault, no, King had only activated what was already there.

Like they always said, broken from the start.

“Nobody taught you how to read a riot,” came the broken, half laugh from the pile of rubble and Bruiser looked back down, astonished to see Syd’s mouth moving slowly.

Their voice was something different now, more akin to the way King had been taunting him, gravelly yet sharp, piercing through his heart and ears like ice, but decayed enough to know that wasn’t right.

Bruiser let out a cry of relief and grabbed Syd, pulling them into his chest and into a tight hug, ignoring the gross feeling of the gore that was their face pressing into his shirt. “Oh bless my soul,” he wept, almost begging to whatever was above. Change this. Fix him. Fix Syd. Save him. “I’m losing control.”

“Been having bad dreams,” Bruiser repeated to them like he had before, still clutching them like a lifeline. “And nothing you can do will keep the bad things away from me… until I fall asleep.”

“Bad dreams…” Syd echoed back to him, glancing up at him through their one good eye as they peeled away from his chest, chunks of flesh stuck to the shirt still.

Bruiser nodded again, gaze flickering over Syd’s skin. “Despite your good intentions…” It was dead, clearly, decaying and graying. But something about it was still so alive.

Alive. What he wouldn’t give to feel alive at that moment, instead of the cold thing he could feel himself turning into, his only emotions being turmoil and anger. To be alive like that again. Maybe that was all King wanted. It was all he wanted too, really. He glanced down at Syd again, pondering it as he looked over their half alive form. The image before him flashed into the blonde girl once more and his lips pulled back into an animalistic snarl. “That boy is like an architect…” Bruiser felt a pull in his hand, a ghostly claw taking his hand and dragging it forwards. And somehow, Bruiser was okay with it, letting it be dragged. His hand found its home clamped around her throat, the claws digging into the flesh there. It felt like it was meant to be there. Like this was what he was meant to be doing all along. Sharpening his teeth and fighting back.

He’d forgotten how to fight back. Bruiser leaned forward, watching as the once gray eyes widened into blue oceans of terror. Teeth sharp, canines all around as if he was made for destruction, his only purpose to ruin what was already created. “Mikhail don’t!” The shout fell on deaf ears. Any shout would be – over the sound of incisors crunching through a windpipe. Blood flooded Bruiser’s mouth and it was delicious. It was everything he’d wanted and more. It tasted like happiness, like being alive again. Maybe that was something he could achieve, with enough destruction. Perhaps that was her reasoning too.

As Bruiser pulled away, flesh ripping and stringing along from Syd’s throat as they began to gasp and gargle on blood and fleeting air, he threw them to the floor, their even more decaying form sliding into the mirror at the edge of the room, tilting it to look up at Bruiser. With every step Bruiser took towards the mirror, he could feel his bones clicking, reworking themselves around the space that used to harbor intestines, now harboring the armor for his sins. His shoulders felt hunched over his form and maybe it was only his thinking, but he felt as though his arms had gotten longer or at least bonier. He was changing with every step and with every step, the beast inside him grew in strength. He finally stopped a few feet from the mirror, catching a glimpse of the flash of red from his irises. What caught him even more off guard was not the blood splattered across his face or the flesh dangling from his now elongated and fucked up jaws, nor was it the horns curling up from the top of his head, hair parted around it nicely – no, what had shocked him was the figure behind him, grinning widely. White hair and cheshire cat smirk.

The beast had found a home. The infection had taken hold. The virus had found a host. “I am just a new invention.”

#marked monarchs #oc king #oc bruiser #oc syd #oc katie

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joelmorricone · 6 months

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seeing the url “thatsmycigarbutyoucanborrowit” come up in my notifications was not something i had on my bingo card this year

#beef.irl #hi guys what’s up

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usermoreid · 3 years

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A fellow Brit?! Finally-

I love my American friends here but it feels so lonely sometimes :(

i say all of us non-americans unite to run the americans off of here😌

#/j #finn answers #thatsmycigarbutyoucanborrowit

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lumberjackloverboy-moved · 3 years

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Hey, I’ve been getting a lot of terfs coming after me for no reason whatsoever, and I’m fucking sick of the abuse. It’s been literally constant all day, and with my Funky Brain (it’s the mental illness innit) it’s making me spiral into an angry/depressive episode. I’m sorry for coming to you but I really look up to you, is there anything I can do?

I’m blocking anyone who interacts with the post, but it’s getting overwhelming. I don’t want to delete it bc that means they’ve won.

Sorry to disturb you

oh, i can relate, i feel like every other week i’ve got radfems in my notes. okay first

1. don’t interact, don’t acknowledge. it just eggs them on and makes them want to be more aggressive.

2. block them if you want, but don’t be afraid to just shut off your notifications or dont click on notifications for a few days. they’ll get bored and leave if they get no interaction, and it’ll help your health not to look.

3. turn off replies, anon, or asks.

4. it is okay to delete it. it doesn’t mean they ‘won’, it means you need to respect your mental health.

5. i know it’s easier said than done, but their feelings and opinions mean nothing. they’re just bullies and pathetic ones at that.

6. dont be afraid to reach out to friends if you need to.

7. worst case, just log off for a week

#terf tw #transphobia tw #thatsmycigarbutyoucanborrowit

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lovingtheanimal · 3 years

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No idea why my acc unfollowed you, sorry about that my guy :( only just realised

OH don’t worry about it !!!!!!! i only unfollowed u back because i wasn’t sure if you unfollowed me for your own comfort and i felt bad continuing to follow you— if that makes sense AGDHDJNFJF—

but i’m glad to have you back!!!!!!

#asks #thatsmycigarbutyoucanborrowit

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jeremy-knox · 3 years

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Hi! I saw your Instagram edit, it’s gorgeous!! I’ve been trying to make some myself today and can’t find any good websites. I was wondering how you made it?

hi! thank you so much. i'm pretty sure there aren't really any websites that can be used for these kinds of edits. i used this instagram photoshop template by @/templatepsds, which you can edit in photoshop or in photopea, a free photoshop alternative. maybe you can make that work!

#asks #thatsmycigarbutyoucanborrowit

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prettyinlimegreenboots · 4 years

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43? Bc I want to get absolutely emotionally wrecked??

Warnings: Arguments, minor cussing, and trauma related to an accident.

This is a LONG one - 2,505 words. Buckle in guys, this is a doozy!

“Are you leaving? Even without a goodbye?” His voice cut through the silence.

He looked up, even in the dark he was gorgeous and his heart stopped, but after what was said, he had to get out. “Haven’t we said enough tonight?”

“Yes but never did I think you’d leave.” Race crossed his arms looking at Spot. “You’re just going to quit when things get hard?”

Spot’s bag dropped to the ground, the sound echoing in the hallway. “Well you accused me of cheating on you so what else is there to say?”

“Nothing. But don’t leave. Stay in the other room or the couch. Just don’t walk out. We can talk in the morning, just stay here tonight.” Race stood his ground, heart conflicted with reaching out to him or being pissed off. Currently, he was a mix of the two.

Spot swallowed, not moving. “Give me one reason I should stay and not walk out that door and be gone forever.”

The silence hung in the air. The two looked at one another - they had been together for a little over 9 months and this was their first major fight. The honeymoon period was officially over.

“One reason is because I love you, despite what you may or may not have done.” Race swallowed the knot that was in his throat. “And I know you love me. Don’t walk out that door, Spot.”

Spot sighed. “I shouldn’t give into you, Race. You hurt me and I actually don’t care what you think at the moment. I do love you but right now I can’t stay here.”

“Spot, Sean, don't leave. Where are you going to go? It’s midnight and it’s raining.” Race took two steps forward, stopping suddenly.

Holding up a hand, Spot grabbed his bag, shaking his head. “You’ve said enough, Race. I’m leaving. I’ll text you when I get to Hotshot’s.” And with that, the door creaked open, before Spot stepped out. “I do love you but I just can’t be here right now.”

The door shut with a gentle bang, leaving Race all alone in the apartment. Only then did the tears start and didn’t stop until the phone rang an hour later.

“Is this Antonio Higgins?” A nasally voice asked on the other line.

Swallowing the knot in his throat, he nodded before realizing she couldn’t see him. “Y-yes.”

“Sean Conlon was just brought into Rush Memorial Hospital’s Emergency Department and you were listed as his emergency contact.” She sighed. “You might want to get down here.”

He didn’t acknowledge her, just hung up the phone, shoved his feet into whatever shoes he could find, grabbed his keys before leaving the apartment. He took several deep breaths before getting into his car and making his way through the sleepy streets of the city.

Pulling up to the hospital, he haphazardly parked before making his way inside. He always hated hospitals, many years of being in the system and accidents. Usually Spot was by his side whenever he had anything medical done.

Walking up to the nurse’s desk, he cleared his throat, bouncing between his feet. “Can I help you?”

“I, uh, got a call about Sean Conlon.” He sighed, looking at the nurse with worried eyes.

She moved the computer mouse, checking her records. “What’s your relationship to him?”

“I’m his boyfriend and emergency contact.”

She nodded. “Okay. He’s currently in surgery. You can go up to the fifth floor waiting room. Just check in with the nurse at the front desk and she’ll let the surgeon know.”

“Do you have any indication of his injuries?” His eyes pleaded with her to give him any information.

She smiled sadly. “All the records say is internal bleeding, thus why he’s in surgery, and a broken arm. The surgeon will be able to tell you more in a bit.”

He thanked her before shuffling over to the elevators. He tapped his toes waiting. It finally came, slowly crawling to the fifth floor, every second feeling like an hour had passed. Checking in with the nurse, she directed him to the waiting room, telling him it shouldn’t be too much longer.

He fiddles with his phone, glancing up at the clock every few seconds, wishing time would pass more quickly. It was 3am so he couldn’t call any of their friends so that would have to wait.

Shitty infomercials were on the TV in the room, and even shittier magazines were laid out across the tables. Putting his head in his hands, he scolded himself. He should’ve done more to stop him from leaving the apartment. He grew up knowing that you should never drive when you’re angry. But he just let Spot leave. If the last words he would hear from Spot were that he loved him but couldn’t be around him ….. no, he couldn’t think like that. He would be groveling to get Spot’s forgiveness for a long time but he was willing to do whatever it took.

He wasn’t a religious person but he prayed to whoever was listening. “Just make sure he makes it. He’s got too much life yet to live.”

Tapping his toes, he sighed, leaning his head against the wall, eyes starting to count the number of ceiling tiles. He got to 52 before the door opened and a middle aged woman walked in, giving him a sad smile. “Antonio?”

“Yes? How is he?” Race stood quickly, giving her a look.

She motioned for him to sit, sitting across from him. “I'm Dr. Stone and I performed the surgery. He’s stable. He made it fine through surgery. He had a lot of internal bleeding from where the steering wheel hit his chest. It’s going to be touch and go for the next few hours but if he makes it through that, I would say he’ll be alright.”

Nodding, Race bit his lip. “Can I see him?”

“He’s being moved to his room now, but a nurse will come get you in a few minutes to show you to his room. We’re not expecting him to wake up until at least midday but you’re more than welcome to sit with him.” She smiled softly, standing. “Do you have any other questions?”

Race shook his head, watching her take her leave. He sighed, finally feeling a sense of relief since he got the phone call. The time, 3:45am, would be burned into his mind as he looked around the small waiting room. Taking a couple of deep breaths, he let himself calm down, not wanting to be a mess when he finally got in Spot’s room.

The door opened once more, a new nurse propping it open with her hip. “Antonio, I can take you back to Sean’s room now if you’d like.”

He stood, nodding, as he followed the nurse through the bleak colored hallway. She paused at the door and gave him a smile. “He’s sedated. Dr Stone told you that he won’t be awake until midday but you can talk to him and he’s comfortable.”

“Thank you.” He mumbled, as she left him alone outside the door. Putting his hand on the handle, he hesitated for a moment before pushing open the door.

His breath was taken away by how still Spot was in the bed. Normally he was all over the place, never stopped moving, much like himself. But the blanket was tucked under his arms, a pale white cast on his left hand, and a white bandage on his forehead.

Dropping in the seat beside the bed, Race picked up his hand and laced their fingers together. “Oh Spot.”

The anxiety, frustrations, worry, and pain had all built up to the tears spilling down his face. Laying his head on the bed beside Spot, Race cried silently as not to disturb the sleeping patient. “I’m so sorry for everything - the accusation, not doing more to keep you at the apartment, for flying off the handle - I’m just so sorry.”

More tears fell until he fell asleep, comforted by the steady beats of the heart monitor keeping tabs on Spot’s vitals.

The next thing he knew, something was touching his head. It was more of a twitch than an actual poke but his eyes flew open, quickly remembering where he had fallen asleep. The sun was just peaking through the blinds as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes. Starting around the room, his blue eyes landed on Spot, who was still sleeping peacefully.

He sighed, scratching the back of his neck as his eyes found the clock on the wall. It was 7am. He sighed again, knowing he should let the family and friends know where they were and what had happened. A text was sent in the group chat before he locked his phone, not wanting to deal with it.

Just as he went to pocket his phone, the ringtone caught his attention, a special ringtone just for her. “Hello?”

“Got your text. How are you holding up?” Kat’s quiet voice came over the phone.

He shrugged. “I’m alright. Worried. It’s my fault he’s in here.”

“Race … I doubt that.” She said, as he walked over to the window to look out.

Race sighed, leaning his head against the window. “We had a fight at midnight, I didn’t try hard enough to get him to stay and he was in the accident. My fault.”

“Bam Bam it’s not your fault. Please don’t blame yourself.” Kat wished she could hug him through the phone. “Do you want me to come sit with you? Do you need anything?”

He cleared his throat, glancing over at Spot’s still body. “If you want to come up, you can. I don’t need anything.”

“We’ll be up when Jack wakes. I’ll bring you some food, okay?” Her calm voice calmed him down.

Walking back to the side of the bed, he sat in the chair. “Alright, pebbles. See you later.”

“Love you Bam Bam. I’ll text when we’re heading up in case you need anything.”

“Love you too. Hey pebbles?” Race paused, thankful his sister was looking out for him. “Can you run damage control for a bit? Let the group know that he’s not really up for visitors?”

Her heart broke hearing him ask that. “Sure, I’ll let them know. Text me if you need anything.”

Dropping the phone onto the bedside table, he sighed, picking up Spot’s hand once more. He pressed a kiss to the top of his hand, before laying his head down on the bed. “Love you Spottie.”

His eyes closed, the rhythmic beeping, luring him to sleep once more.

The next time he woke up, it was the sunshine glaring through the window that woke him. The clock read 10:23. He sat up, stretching his back before looking at Spot. His face was scrunched up as if he was in pain. Grabbing his hand, Race stood over him. “Hey Spot, it’s alright buddy. You’re okay. Can you open your eyes for me?”

It took a minute but his eyes blinked a couple of times, before Race saw the warm brown eyes he had fallen in love with. “Hey, hey. You’re okay. You’re in the hospital but you’re alright.”

Race reached over and pressed the nurse’s button before running a hand through Spot’s hair. “Stay with me, Spot. That’s it.”

“What happened?” Spot asked, groggily, blinking his eyes due to the brightness.

Race pressed a kiss to his forehead, sighing. “We had a fight last night, you left the apartment and got into a car accident. You had some internal bleeding, broke your arm and did something to your forehead.”

The opening of the door caught their attention as the nurse walked in. “It’s good to see you awake, Mr. Conlon. Do you mind if I check your injuries?”

Race held back his eye roll at the stupid question - what was Spot going to say, no? Spot locked eyes with him and rolled his. “I’ll let Dr. Stone know you’re awake and she’ll be in shortly. Do you need something for the pain?”

Spot nodded his approval as the nurse pulled out a syringe and put something in his IV. She also adjusted his bed so that he was sitting up more and not flat on his back. “That should help with the pain but not put you back to sleep. Dr. Stone will be in shortly then we can get you some lunch.”

She took her leave as Race laced his fingers with Spot’s. He squeezed them before looking at Spot. “I’m sorry for the fight, accusations, all of it. I’m sorry for not stopping you from leaving the apartment. It’s my fault you’re in here.”

“Hey snookums, it’s my fault I’m in here.” Spot reached over and ran his hands through Race’s head. “I was the one driving the car, my fault, not yours. And I’m sorry for not staying. You were right, I was quitting when things got hard and I’m sorry.”

Race was quiet, processing the words Spot had said. He bit his lip. “What do we do now?”

“Let me heal and talk.” Spot squeezed their hands. “Let’s take it one day at a time and just communicate before accusations and everything gets out of hand, alright?”

Race nodded, a smile crossing his face for the first time since yesterday evening. “Sounds like a plan. I love you, Spot.”

“I love you too, Race.”

Spot looking over at him with a small smile. “Relax - everything is okay right now. We’re good, I’m about to get some food and you probably should too. Snookums?”

Race sighed, sitting back in the chair, a weight lifted from his chest. “What?”

“Why do you have two different color shoes on?” Spot chuckled, immediately reaching up to hold his side. “Shit that hurts.”

Race stood, dropping a kiss on his cheek before looking down at the blue Converse and the green Nike he was wearing. “You did just have major surgery. Of course it’s going to hurt. As for my shoes, when I got the call about you being here, I was just focused on finding shoes and getting here. I didn’t even notice they were different.”

“You’re a dork, Race but you’re my dork and I love you for it.”

Race leaned forward, putting his forehead against Spot. “Love you too Spottie. Get some rest. Kat and Jack will be up soon so if there’s anything you want, let me know and they can bring it.”

Spot’s eyes closed, a sigh escaping his mouth before he fell back asleep. Race sat down, glad that all was well for the time being and Spot would be okay.

Thanks to @thatsmycigarbutyoucanborrowit for sending in that prompt. So that was a doozy! Sorry for the emotional rollercoaster!!!

What did you think? Feedback and comments are always appreciated!!

#newsies #newsies fan fiction #writing #prompt #newsies drabble #drabble requests #drabble prompt #thatsmycigarbutyoucanborrowit #racetrack higgins #spot conlon x racetrack higgins #spot conlon

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