#got the call I’ve been waiting for

[rosicheeks]

😬

[unknownarmageddon]

Bathroom Sink

kross drabble thing, i didn’t do as much editing as i usually do but im happy enough with it as is i think

rental suits belongs to me and @psycho-chair

Cross was startled awake four hours before his alarm to the scraping of a window in his living room being forced open.

Sloppily forced open, and closed again, with a struggle, like whoever it was was hurrying. Hurrying desperately, erratically. He can’t remember being woken up like this before. Killer was too smooth, too undetectable. Too quiet. 

        The storm of a single person’s footsteps stumbled heavily through his apartment. The bathroom door was jerked open, and then slammed closed. 

        Cross laid there a minute. His chest rose and fell, rose and fell, shuddering with his quick breathing. Nothing about this sit right.

    The bathroom sink turned on suddenly. And if he could hear it this clearly from here, it was on strong. 

        He ripped sheets off of him and slid off his bed. He stormed, rushed, the short way through the apartment to the bathroom. There was blood on the floor.

There was blood on the floor.

    Red spots dotted a lazy, haphazard trail to the bathroom. 

That fucking idiot. 

     What was wrong with him, why did he keep doing this. Why did he keep doing this to Cross. 

      Cross didn’t stop. Before he could think about what he would find on the other side, he jerked the bathroom door open like he was trying to pull it off its hinges.

       All he saw was blood. There was blood on the counter, in the sink, on the floor, soaked into the small rectangular rug under the sink, slathered on the sink’s knobs. God, it was allover the counter. The swirl of water in the sink bowl ran red, and the crimson on the counter puddled with the liquid. A single messy handprint of blood was pressed and half smeared into the mirror. Some of it was even on the fucking walls, streaked in even messier handprints. 

          It was everywhere. In crevices Cross didn’t want to even think about.

         Killer hunched over the sink. He was propped against the wall on his shoulder, leaning and almost sliding down it. He held that arm wrapped around his torso to grip at his side. 

         Much like the state of the bathroom, he was bad, and bloody. It flowed from his nose, his mouth, dirtied his partially torn jacket. It was splattered on every article of clothing he wore. The void-like tar from his sockets was practically pouring out of his eyes, dripping down his chin and leaking out of his nose, mingling with blood. His face was busted to hell and back. His ribs probably were, too, with the way he was holding himself. Either that or he’d been stabbed. 

        He looked like a crime scene, a gruesome one. He coughed and hung directly over the sink’s bowl. A string of red dripped into it from his lips like syrup. His breathing was ragged, and his soul was like an unstable supernova; it fizzled and spun uncharacteristically rapidly. 

      It was something straight out of a overdramatic horror film, and Cross almost wanted to laugh just as much as he wanted to vomit. 

Again.

He inhaled, then exhaled, shakily.

    Maybe it wasn’t as bad as the last time he did this, but in that moment Cross didn’t even fucking care. There was still blood coating his bathroom that he’d have to clean up, and it was too late for this again. 

At least Killer was actually awake this time. 

“Killer,” Cross breathed. His right hand clenched.

    Killer turned to look at him and grinned his stupid grin when they met eyes. Though, this one was more of an ironic sneer. 

“Most of it’s not mine.” Killer rasped.

“What the hell did-“

“Ran into some trouble at work,” Killer replied. He winced as he said it, and spat another string of blood into the sink. 

“‘m fine.” 

“No, you’re not.” Cross argued, stepping farther into the room toward the sink, and him. 

“I said most of it isn’t mine.” 

“You still look like shit.” 

Killer grimaced. “Thanks.” 

      Killer fumbled to quickly pry off one of his fingerless gloves and it came away with sticky red strings. It sounded wet when it hit the counter. He started on the other, and struggled, slipped against the counter, fought with his shifting conscious state.  

      Cross immediately went to him, grabbing his wrist and roughly pulling, ripping, the glove off for him. Like he was tearing fabric, or flesh. He absently threw it onto the counter with the other, and started stripping Killer of his jacket. He was firm, and deliberate. Like a wolf taking its packmate’s prey. He gripped Killer’s arms maybe too tight, forced them out of the way, held his wrists in place. Killer staggered when he was pulled away from the wall.

      Cross didn’t aim to hurt, far from it, but he was tired and fed up and he knew if he didn’t just do it himself Killer would make this difficult. 

“Woah, woah! Don’t get too excited, I’m kinda in the middle of somethin’ here.” Killer drawled, stepping backward away from Cross and grinning that lopsided grin. 

“Shhh, shut up.” Cross hissed. 

     By the time he got the jacket off, his hands were already coated in a layer of blood, as was the ends of his sleeves. He wondered whose it was, if most of it truly wasn’t Killer’s. Whose blood did he have on his hands, whose blood was smeared all over his bathroom. It made his soul twist to think that he didn’t know, could’t ever know.

     Cross began doing the same as he did for the jacket for Killer’s shirt, just as rough, but only got halfway before he paused, and lingered. There was a slash along the top of his pelvis that grazed spine and a few bottom-most ribs. It was bleeding steadily. Cross’s grip tightened on fabric, then he let go and pushed past him in favor of the tub.

“I’m running a bath.” Cross said.

     And he did. Despite himself, despite everything in him screaming that he didn’t owe Killer this much trouble, or anything, he ran a bath. He heard shuffling as Killer managed to pull his shirt over his head, and he glanced back.

“All of it. Nothing’s coming off otherwise.” He said. “And we’ll have to wash them.”

“Fuck, pretty boy, didn’t know you had it in you.” Killer quipped from the other side of the room with mock surprise. Everything he said was tinged with fatigue.

Cross gripped the side of the tub.

    Regardless, Killer still discarded the rest of it, as well as kicked off his shoes, and his clothes became a pile on the floor. Sticky wet footsteps padded unevenly over tile, then he was beside Cross. 

      Cross didn’t look at him, not fully, not enough to see him. He grabbed him by the shoulders and half-pushed, half-lowered him into the tub. 

        Then he started scrubbing, face screwed up and brows furrowed with focus. He’d sponge off a limb, then plunge it back into the water. It was fresh, so it came off easily, at least. 

It was fresh…

     It smelled practically smotheringly metallic this close to Killer. 

      The bath quickly became red-tinted as blood seeped and washed off of Killer’s body, and the soap suds on Cross’s sponge turned pink.

“You keep doing this.” Cross murmured.

“Sorry about your carpet.” Killer replied, quietly, but still with that stupid hint of amusement. 

Cross kept his eyes on his sponge. He gradually scrubbed harder, like he was going to scrub Killer’s bones raw. “It’s always me.”

“You expect me to go anywhere else?” Killer replied sarcastically.

Cross exhaled through his nose. 

    He saw Killer’s body recoil, saw him wince almost weakly, at how hard he was scrubbing now. Cross immediately was tanged by faint guilt, despite how much part of him thought Killer deserved it for fucking up his bathroom. Cross paused to roll up his sleeves, and when he started scrubbing again, he wasn’t as rough. 

       The knuckles on Killer’s left hand were busted and bruised, but other than that the shear amount of blood on his hands wasn’t his. He was bruised what felt like everywhere, especially his face and his side. They weren’t bad. He might get a black eye, but they weren’t bad. 

     Some ribs were cracked, and he had other numerous minor cuts, but the worst injury he appeared to have was the gash on his torso. 

The gash. Cross had to do something about that.

     He emptied and refilled the tub once, and quickly, thoroughly, finished ridding Killer’s bones of the grime.

      He found himself getting surprised at how quiet Killer had gotten. Normally he’d expect more from him than this. It was like he had receded into his own mind, or like he didn’t have the energy to keep up his facade. 

“…Does it hurt?” Cross asked quietly. “To talk, I mean.”

“I’ll live.” Killer replied, which Cross took as a yes.

     Eventually Cross decided he’d done what he could, so he drained the tub a final time, and gripped Killer’s arm to assist him to his feet.

      They passed the dark, bloody pile that was Killer’s clothes, and Cross glanced at them. He’d deal with the rest of it eventually. 

        Killer leaned against Cross and staggered beside him as Cross took him to the living room. He was light; it hardly felt like Cross was even supporting anyone at all. And he was cold, even after a warm bath. He’d always ran cold, though, Cross knew that. 

        He sat Killer on the couch and left to hunt down the first aid kit. He managed to find it, detoured to quickly wash at least some of the blood off his hands in the kitchen sink, then he returned to Killer.

          He ripped the kit open, found what he needed, and his vision tunneled. He dealt with the gash first. After an inspection he decided it wasn’t that deep, thankfully. Swiftly, he pressed a wad of gauze into it and wrapped it. He relaxed, glad to have that done with. He didn’t realize he’d been that tensed. 

         He started with the rest. He wrapped cracks, applied disinfectant ointment. He kept finding new wounds; some fresh, but most were old and scarred. While he worked he didn’t fully see Killer, like when you’re so focused on a drawing you can’t see the full picture, only the stroke right in front of you. 

     But when he was wrapping the knuckles of Killer’s left hand he looked up, and saw him. He was holding a handful of now-bloody gauze to his nose with his free hand. His eyes felt more vacant than usual, and he was staring directly at Cross with an expression that he couldn’t read as any specific emotion in particular. 

     He looked better now, at least. Less like some maddened, bloody monster. That part had just receded for the time being. 

     Cross let his eyes linger on him a moment. His soul tugged. He could feel how startlingly cold Killer’s hands were in his, hear the fast whirring of his soul. His bones were still too thin.

     Cross wondered what he used to do before he knew him. Who else has had their apartment broken into in the ungodly hours of the night, who else has had their bathroom turned red. Who did he go to. Was there even anyone? Or did he just ride it out in some dark corner in an alley somewhere, like an animal looking for a hidden place to die?

This was all so absurd, Cross realized.

“You likin’ something you see?” Killer managed after Cross had apparently been staring for long enough, and for a moment he looked a bit more like how Cross was used to. 

“You’re helping me clean the bathroom.” Cross said matter-of-factly, and looked back down at Killer’s hand. 

[lunar-years]

Recently discovered “Secrets From a Girl (Who’s Seen it All)” by Lorde and haven’t been the same person since

[figofswords]

I want to know which octopath developer woke up and chose violence

[disengaged]

i have been diagnosed with “rather severe” fibromyalgia

[theshadowrealmitself]

Human: Y’know, being “logical” isn’t always the best option! Sometimes the correct thing to do is to follow what your heart says! And in my opinion, that’s the most logical thing to do, to be true to yourself >:(

Tired Vulcan Doctor using the last bit of their strength to keep their voice flat while they’re patching up the Human: You let a creature known for being aggressive specifically against Humans into the base. Because it “looked cold.” Despite its only appearance being that it resembles a Terran whale. A creature that lives in cold water. And you just let it inside.

[look-at-the-stars-tonight]

Called my aunt to wish her a happy birthday and we spent an hour discussing what I was doing with my life 😭

[weezerlvr228]

flippin boobahs!

[kayzero]

holy fuck holy fuck holy fuck

[floral-hex]

Hey, do you got doctors appointments you need to schedule but haven’t for whatever dumb reason (for me, laziness. probably. no no, complacency. That sounds better)? Well, go do it! Now! or soon! You need to just hurry up and schedule that shit! I’m sorry! Make the call! You gotta! You’re probably gonna have to wait multiple weeks for the appointment anyway, so if you wait until the problem is really bad, then you’re just condemning yourself to waiting extra long to get checked out. Jeez!

[illbedancingwithmyself]

The fucked up thing about folk magic is that it often works

[what-even-is-sleep]

Can’t wait for my drivers license to arrive so I can be driving legally again for the first time in 1.5 years!

[arionawrites]

1. it’s my 24th birthday today, so my goal of being published by the time i’m 25 is now a one year looming monster, but i never specified what kind of published and am currently looking in various literary magazines that are recommended for writers who have yet to be published, so i’m surprisingly confident that i can make it work? and tbh even if whatever i write isn’t officially published before my 25th birthday, if i have someone in the process of being published then i’ll be happy!! no matter what though, i’m gonna try to be proud of myself for at least giving it my best shot!!

2. i honestly love that my birthday is on the ides of march because the ides of march meme shitposting is only a thing on tumblr but it also being my birthday makes it easier to like. be excited about the ides of march outside of tumblr. like even in person i can be like “it’s my birthday! i’m an ides of march babe (:” and if someone is like oh what’s that? or if they say something along the lines of oh like julius caesar? i can be like yep!! and even if it’s a small thing outside of tumblr it brings me immense enjoyment and amusement being able to bring it up off of tumblr

3. transportation situation has been very rough since june 2023 when i totalled my car, my gap insurance are being assholes and i ended up putting my foot down on the phone with them yesterday which i’m pretty proud of because i am NOT a confrontational person (something i’ve been working on this past year, so seeing some improvement with my ability to hold my ground and not be a pushover yesterday was very cool!!) i was told i’d get a response from them by friday next week no matter what, and if i don’t then friday of next week i will continue to wreak havoc upon them. but my moms car which i’ve been using since my accident broke down yesterday, hopefully it’s fixable but my parents were saying it might be done for, so trying to think of how i’m gonna get to work next week is kind of stressing me out lmao, but for now i’m just gonna focus on enjoying my birthday the best i can because i don’t want to start off being 24 with an overwhelming anxiety for something that won’t be a potential issue until monday. plus i already messaged my boss today to let her know that i’m going to do everything i can to make it work out but just so she’s in the loop and knows of the potential of me not being able to make my morning shifts (one of my coworkers said she’s more than happy to give me a ride for our afternoon shifts which does help relieve some of the stress!) and i told her i’d let her know for sure sunday so that if necessary she can have time to figure out someone to fill in for me in the mornings!

overall: life is weird and i ended being 23 yesterday with a shitty situation but a positive outlook and i am going to enjoy my first day of being 24 no matter what because honestly i fucking earned it. happy friday everyone, i hope it’s a good day for you and me both!

[steviescrystals]

i am experiencing emotions rn and idk what they are :)

[a-hopeless-individual]

y’all playing project sekai when you’re about to start your period is a recipe for disaster especially if one of the ingredients is an inclination to bite things when angry because glass screens and human teeth do not mix very well and so I’m sure you can imagine the sudden dread that hit me and snapped me out of my blind rage when I heard a little “pop” upon failing to just bite the case and accidentally straight-up giving the screen the hydraulic press treatment with my pearly whites, leaving a hearty crack at the bottom that branches out across half of the screen like a banyan tree with a little circular portion at the site of the assault where the colors are all distorted

[theonlythingimfuckingisstupid]

Oh hey I’m getting a new phone today