#how to fight write

[howtofightwrite]

How much would a broken rib debilitate an inexperienced person in a life or death fight?

I’m trying to write my character’s (a 15-year-old, untrained librarian) first experience with serious violence (not his first time getting hit ever though, his travelling companion plays rough with him but obviously not with the intention to seriously hurt him) and being on the receiving end of a bandit attack. He gets grabbed by his hair and after he stomps on and breaking a couple of the bandit’s toes, the bandit gets angry and knees him in the stomach, breaking his rib and knocking the wind out of him while keeping his grip on his hair so he can’t double over properly.

Afterwards he’s slammed onto his back a couple times, which I imagine would send him into further pain as it jostles his injured rib. My question is, especially considering he’s completely untrained and this is his first experience with a broken bone and being attacked by someone with the intention to injure him, would the pain be great enough that he shouldn’t be able to fight back at all, or would the adrenaline of the life or death situation be enough that he could at least put up a struggle? I’ve personally only sprained my ankle, so I don’t know how incapacitating a broken bone would be, and with how vulnerable I want my character to come across, I really wanna make sure I get it right.

So, not speaking from personal experience, but no matter how much training you have, you can't “power through” a broken bone.

In the case of your ribs, don't worry, it will only cause debilitating problems if you want to do unimportant things, like breathing, or getting hit anywhere in the torso, or moving parts of your body that are connected to your torso. Again, you really can't power through that. In a situation like the one described, it's not a guaranteed death sentence, but, it's close enough.

I should probably add, this isn't because, of the broken rib per se, but, that rib is not doing them any favors. What it will ensure is that your character cannot defend themselves against their attackers. Given the attackers want to cause harm, they're going to be able to do that pretty effectively.

And it gets worse. Normally your ribs protect your internal organs from being damaged. When one of those ribs is broken, it becomes a bone shard perfectly positioned for puncturing internal organs. So taking blows to a broken rib can easily result in serious internal bleeding, and death.

To paraphrase an old joke, broken ribs are nature's way of telling you to slow down. They're not going to be able to fight back (or, really, engage in many physically intensive activities.) If someone wants to make them hurt, the hard part is living through the attack at all.

If you want a superficial break that you can (sort of) power through, a broken nose is one of the best options. It will bleed like crazy, but outside of a freak accident, it's very survivable, and looks a lot worse than it actually is. Broken fingers are another legitimate option, and there's a lot of ways that can happen. It will make it harder for them to handle a book afterwards, meaning it's the kind of damage that will stick with them throughout the rest of the story (and their lives, if they're not properly set.) Breaking a rib? That's going to need medical attention, and they're not doing anything meaningful while it heals. It can work if someone else pulls their attacker off of them, but they're not digging themselves out of this one on their own.

-Starke

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[bluerosefox]

Siblings Behavior

It's shenanigans time guys

So have this DpxDc idea.

So, the Justice League and the Light (OR villains in general) have two newish members, they've both been around for about a year and they're from the same plane of existence (a place called the Infinite Realms according to those who dabble in the occult)

And the two seem to have some serious beef with each other.

Wisp and Wrath are basicly feral cats hissing and hekles raised when they spot the other and their fights normally ends in draws. They're evenly matched and sometimes the two even fight to the point they are out of steam and just fist fight.

Needless to say everyone believes they totally hate each other and might one day kill (or end?) One of them.

So everything gets turned upside down when suddenly both factions of heros and villains are suddenly summoned to the Infinite Realms.

In a throne room.

In front of the Infinite King (or most commonly known as the Ghost King)

A King who looks very, very much like Wisp and Wrath (like yeah the two do sometimes look alike, like when they grin with sharp teeth and their hair color, but one has blue skin and red eyes for crying out loud!)

He's staring at them, glowing green eyes that seemed to just... know.

"Welcome to the Infinite Realms. I am King Phantom." His voice echoing in the throne room and seemed to rattle them deeply, like a sudden chill in the early morning.

"I have summoned you all here for a single reason." He continued to say "Tell me..."

Here he paused, closed his eyes before leaning back on the chair then he smiled big and cheerfully asked.

"How are my kids doing in your world? Dan and Ellie aren't causing too much chaos in their wake are they? They tend to go a tiny bit overboard sometimes but what siblings don't when they rough house you know. Tell me everything."

[unboundprompts]

Hii!! I came across your blog and immediately followed since I thought I might needed some help with my fanfics, and if there's one thing I'm bad at is describing fight scenes with like guns or magic, I've been struggling to write it and did some practices and didn't like how they came out, I'm hoping if you can do some fighting prompts, I hope this isn't too much!!

How to Write Fight Scenes

-> check out @howtofightwrite , they are an excellent resource for writing realistic fight scenes.

Set the Stakes Early

Why are they fighting? Establish the stakes of the fight clearly before it begins. If the reader understands what’s at risk, they’ll feel more invested. Stakes could be personal (revenge, survival), emotional (protecting a loved one), or strategic (achieving a mission).

Use the Environment

Incorporate the setting to add depth and realism. Are they fighting in a cramped alley, an open field, or a crowded city street? Describe how the environment affects movement, line of sight, or weapon use.

Vary Sentence Length for Pacing

Short sentences create tension and speed, while longer sentences allow for brief moments of reflection or description.

Incorporate Sensory Details

Highlight the senses beyond sight to ground the reader in the fight. Describe the smell of sweat, the metallic taste of blood, the weight of a sword, or the deafening roar of a gun.

Example: “Her ears rang as the blast reverberated around the alley. Smoke filled her nose, thick and choking, but she ignored it, tightening her grip on her weapon.”

Focus on Key Moments, Not Every Movement

Avoid blow-by-blow descriptions. Instead, highlight critical moves, reactions, and turning points to keep the scene flowing and avoid overwhelming the reader.

Show Physical Strain and Fatigue

Fights take a toll, especially over time. Show characters struggling to keep up, panting, sweating, or even stumbling as exhaustion sets in.

Example: “Her arms ached, each swing feeling heavier than the last. Her breathing came fast, ragged, but she couldn’t stop now.”

Capture Emotions and Mindset

Mix action with glimpses of your characters’ thoughts and emotions. This adds depth and reminds readers why the fight matters.

Describe Injuries Believably

Injuries impact the pace and intensity of a fight. Showing injuries realistically adds tension and makes victories feel hard-won.

Example: “She hissed as pain flared in her side where his blade had grazed her. Her vision blurred, but she forced herself to stand, one hand pressed to the wound.”

Build Up to a Climax

As the fight progresses, increase the stakes and bring tension to a peak. This could be a devastating blow, a risky last-minute decision, or a surprising twist.

Example: “He was backed against the wall, nowhere left to run. She raised her hand, a final spell crackling in her palm, the light casting a fierce glow in her eyes.”

Conclude with a Realistic Aftermath

Show the immediate aftermath of the fight: physical exhaustion, injuries, and the character’s emotional response. If they won, are they triumphant, relieved, or traumatized? If they lost, what happens next?

Fight Scene Prompts (with Magic)

-> feel free to edit and adjust pronouns as you see fit.

As they crept down the dim hallway, the flash of gunfire exploded from behind, forcing them to dive to the ground, bullets ricocheting off the walls around them. She barely had time to pull her weapon, pressing her back to the wall as footsteps drew closer. With a steadying breath, she waited for the right moment, then spun, firing off two rounds that hit their marks with surgical precision. The hall fell silent, the smell of gunpowder hanging in the air.

Electricity crackled around his hands as he stalked toward his opponent, energy building in his fingertips. She mirrored his stance, blue flames licking up her wrists as her gaze narrowed. He made the first move, sending a bolt of lightning in her direction, but she countered with a quick flick of her wrist, sending the flames forward like a living shield. Sparks flew as their magic collided, the force of it rattling the metal beams around them.

He ducked behind the dumpster as gunfire erupted, bullets pinging off the conjured barrier that surrounded him. He gritted his teeth, feeling the strain as his shield flickered with each impact. His opponent advanced, shouting taunts over the noise, but he focused, raising one hand to push the barrier outwards, turning it from defense to offense. With a growl, he flung the shield forward like a battering ram, the force slamming his opponent back against the alley wall.

They ascended into the night sky, wind whipping around them as spells flew between them like streaks of fire. He could barely keep up, dodging her relentless attacks as the city lights twinkled below. Finally, he unleashed a burst of energy from his hands, the force spiraling outward in a shockwave. She managed to deflect it just in time, retaliating with a beam of light that sliced through the night like a comet, forcing him into a desperate mid-air roll to avoid it.

[23z567]

Robots are hard to draw...mer..fish..people not as much (from @keferon 's au)

[ninja-knox-ur-sox-off]

Chronic Sonic pt 14

Tails has Ivo saved on his phone as “tool guy”

[ghostwritergirl]

DP x DC Prompt: Old Friends And Trust

The moment Sam and Tim saw each other at their first gala when they were seven, they were fast friends.

The two, who’d been bored and miserable, clocked each other and hid out before deciding to cause a little chaos. When the gala ended, Sam and Tim were friends and inseparable, sharing each other’s numbers. The Mansons were greatly encouraging of this, seeing an opportunity for their daughter to marry into the Drake family fortune (though Sam and Tim never felt romantic feelings for each other and only ever see each other as friends)

They continued to see each other at galas and talked over the phone, growing closer, close enough to confide in each other—Tim told Sam about his parents’ neglect and that he stalked Batman and Robin and Sam told Tim about her growing dysfunctional relationship with her parents as she grew older and wasn’t the daughter they wanted and about her friends, Danny and Tucker. Even though they seemed absolute opposites, the two just clicked.

They remained close friends for years… until they were thirteen and Sam’s parents told her that she wouldn’t join them in the galas at Gotham after the death of Jason Todd, fearing for their only daughter’s safety even though Jason didn’t die in Gotham. Sam was pissed and let Tim know, and they promised each other they would try to stay in contact.

It worked for a couple of years, but over the course of time and Tim becoming Robin and Red Robin and co-CEO of W.E, losing his parents and becoming part of the Wayne family and Sam helping Danny with ghost fighting along with Tucker and eventually Jazz and keeping his secret from literally everyone BUT the ghosts, especially his parents and the GIW, and the media blackout the GIW placed on Amity Park after the ghosts started attacking, they fell out of touch. But Sam always kept up to date with what was happening to Tim, that if the worst should happen, then she had someone who could help Danny, that she trusted Tim to help Danny, to help keep him safe. But that was only when the worst happened, when they had no other choices and no other options.

And then it did.

Tim was working in the Batcave when he had heard over the intercom someone was at the front door, asking for him. Expecting it to be his boyfriend, team or anyone else, Tim went to answer it.

Never had he expected to see his old childhood friend standing on the other side of the door, bedraggled and with dark lines of makeup running down her face, an equally roughed-up boy next to her, a practiced wince hiding an injury.

And between them was another boy, who looked to be a prime candidate for adoption, covered in blood and smears of what looked to be Lazarus water, bandaged injuries covering his arms and peeking out from beneath his clothes… and a disturbing injury in the shape of a Y on his chest shadowed underneath his shirt.

Sam had looked at him then, new tears filling her eyes, and said, “Danny’s parents… they hurt him. Bad. And now he’s being hunted and he can’t go to a hospital because he’ll be taken or… or worse. You’re the only person I know who could keep him safe, who could help. Tim, please, help us, help Danny. Please.”

In the face of his childhood friend’s pleading, at seeing the look on his face, how injured the boy was, Tim pushed back all the questions screaming at his mind and did the only thing he could.

He let them in and promised he would help, that Danny would receive medical help. That he was safe—that all of them were safe.

He promised that as he comprised a new case, to figure out what had happened to Danny and what was going on in their hometown—and to make the ones that did that to Danny face justice.

Meanwhile, Bruce’s adoption senses are tingling as the rest of the Batfam feel a disturbance in the force that could mean a new sibling, burning down a governmental organisation… or both.

[vngful]

This wretched show is making me want a lobotomy

[pipedreame]

I am such a slut for Danny having supernatural strength and being able to kill someone with a single slap because he’s used to fighting ghosts who are built Sturdy (and literally can’t die, that is very helpful in a sparing partner) so he has to learn such meticulous control when he moves to Gotham where he starts regularly getting into scuffles with humans who think he’s an easy target (he looks like he has the sturdiness of a wet newspaper) and the whole time he’s more stressed about not drawing the Bats attention by being too good or accidentally killing someone so he has to walk that fine line of acting like a scrawny loser and dipping out at his first chance without being clocked as a meta.

Danny, laying on the ground and getting kicked repeatedly by a thug: *tries to angle himself so the guy can kick out a knot in his back*

Danny: *deadpan* oh, ow, stop that hurts, oof

Robin, watching from the rooftop and recognizing the dramatics from the Supers: father there is a meta

Batman, also watching and having flashbacks to Clark’s earlier days: *so so tired and already mentally getting the adoption paperwork ready*

[koipudding]

being with kaiser means having to dissect your own heart while stitching up his.

chewing on him jn the tags and etc. don’t mind me

he’d be pretty mean at first. he’s gauging your reactions; would you run if you saw everything that haunted him? how he haunts himself? Kaiser does nothing but spit and snarl at you, like a stray cat that’s only been kicked to the curb.

but you don’t leave him alone. not like every other one-night stand he’s had—no, you’ve made him breakfast—a traditional german faire—and brushed and put oil in his hair (his favorite scent too; you tell him it’s been your favorite for a few years. something in him softens).

It’s so domestic he almost vomits after that, but on his first night away from your apartment, he can’t sleep. Practice is shit and he’s not performing well, to the point where he initiates a facetime call (kaiser hates initiating. it feels like begging for your attention, when yours should be solely on him anyway.) and you pick up instantly.

the time difference makes something shatter in him. You’re just waking up… hair messy and eyes bleary. You can hardly speak or hold up the phone…

“Mihya…? You okay?” you’re slumped in bed, wearing his sweater. He might combust (when did Michael become so attached to you? He doesn’t know, but he whispers your name like a prayer, like you’re his guiding light).

“I’m better now, dear. Let me tell you what that idiot of a striker did at practice—“ he rambled on, and watches you nod along. You him and agree with him, and a weight falls off of his shoulders. Kaiser can love you. Perhaps he already does…

[starry-bi-sky]

im dedicating this to @detectivedarling. i felt inspired after seeing their little ficlet yesterday sadhjfl 🫶

-

Danny's grip on his cane tightens.

"What—"

His voice cracks. He stops, clears it, then tries again in spite of the nausea twisting in his gut. "What are — you, uh, watching, Bruce?" He sounds horribly far away.

Bruce doesn't look at him, his attention laser-focused on the screen. Which is— fine. It's usually not a problem, Bruce gets like that when he hyper-focuses on a case, and unless it's urgent — or he's been at it for hours — Danny sees no need to pull him away from it. He likes the quiet camaraderie they have, it's companionable and unique to the two of them.

He wishes he was right now though. Looking at him, that is.

That way he wasn't watching what was clearly one of Danny's ghost fights. One of the nastier ones, if the collateral damage and rubble on the street is of any indication.

Danny tries to remember which one that is. He shuffles a little closer to the desk, ignoring the rock in his stomach or the ugly weightlessness in his arms. It's not the blood blossoms, that much he knows. He just recently had an injection so it shouldn't be bothering him this soon—

So it's just nerves. Perfect.

Most footage of his fights are— messy, at best. Unusable at worst. Amity Park was obsessed with appearing 'normal' when they first started happening, and typical news stations censor the worst of the fights anyways for publishing, since they can get pretty gory at times. And ghosts move too fast to be caught on regular standard cameras, not including distance and light and—

That is to say— finding usable ghost fight videos is hard.

Danny wonders how Bruce got his hands on this one, and then stops wondering.

The audio is muted, which is - good. Good, because the fight is ugly and chaotic and clearly this was taken on someone's phone. Fuck, he can't remember if he ever saw that before — clearly not. They're hiding behind an overturned car, and Danny grits his teeth so he doesn't tell that idiot to run.

The camera turns up, and focuses on two figures in the air. It takes a few seconds, but when it does, Danny gets hit with a wave of vertigo. His grip tightens and he leans heavily on his cane, he waits for the black dots to disappear.

He- uh, he remembers this fight now. Uh, sort of.

He remembers being twelve at the time, and he remembers some of the injuries he got out of it. His eyelid spasms abruptly. This ghost wasn't one of his regulars, so he doesn't remember whatever name they had, barely remembered what they looked like up until- uh. Now.

Was he always that small? Well— Phantom's never been particularly big, perks of being a dead kid, but— it's - different. Seeing it from an outsider perspective. Was he that small? Or is it just because he's wearing a jumpsuit clearly too big for him that casts the illusion of being small?

Doesn't really - matter. Now. He can't access his ghost form, and he already knows the answers to his appearance.

Phantom is clearly bleeding, viscous and violently green like the bubbles of a lava lamp, clutching onto a limp shoulder that's missing an arm from the elbow down. Half his face is drenched in similar blood, the eye on the drenched side is closed — not because he can't see through the ectoplasm.

Danny's memories of that fight slowly come in a bit clearer. Right. He took a pole to the eye in that one. That had - hurt. A lot. Getting an eye gouged out usually does. It and the missing arm took hours to grow back.

He rubs his eye with his palm for no other reason than it itches.

The other ghost isn't untouched of any injury either, but he's not in a state of dismemberment like Phantom is.

Danny drops his gaze down at Bruce, whose sitting in his chair with his hands threaded together, looking so tense that Danny half expects to meet solid steel if he were to touch his back. His face is - blank. Terribly blank, with an intensity in his eyes that Danny doesn't see often.

He looks terribly distressed.

He opens his mouth, and finds that nothing comes out. His throat is thick with an ugly, tar-like feeling that makes his eyes sting. Kinda reminds him of when someone wraps their hands around your throat and presses. He closes his mouth, then tries again.

"B—" hhhhhh, "Buzz."

Finally Bruce looks at him, one hand slaps the space button on the keyboard, and the video pauses. His expression doesn't shift, but there's a weight in the lines of his face that reminds Danny of a set of weights sagging.

He looks quite like he's grieving something.

Bruce opens his mouth, his voice comes out terribly soft and heartbroken: "He looks like you."

Which is— a terrifying sentence in and of itself. One that makes Danny's legs shake and ignite his ragged, poison-chewed nerves alight with the need to run. An instinctive urge to deny, deny, deny.

How could he? He could say, that's a ghost, Bruce. I'm not a ghost. He could crack a joke, and ask, 'do I look dead to you?' or say something about how he knows that his parents studied ghosts, but that didn't make him one.

He could say that, and he could say it knowing full well that Bruce would see right through it. He'd probably let Danny too.

Danny closes his eyes. They sting, you see? So does his nose, right in the back like someone popped him in the face. And his throat is thick and gross and like someone stuck a spider, the big fat tarantula kind, right down into his esophagus.

He breathes in — through his mouth, because his nose stings and so it'd be best not to irritate it further with air — and it's terribly shaky and uneven. But it clears a pathway to his lungs big enough for him to say — whisper, really:

"You know, I think you're the first person to notice that."

[howtofightwrite]

So. There is no safe place (in the body) to be shot. There are places that are slightly safer than others to be stabbed (i.e. being stabbed in the meat of your calf is less likely to be lethal than your torso). For the purposes of an arrow wound, which feels like a combination of shot+stab for a swords n sorcery world, is there a “less lethal” place to take an arrow? My character is traveling with companions and gets into a fun little goblin skirmish. I need her to catch an arrow somewhere that will be concerning, but not immediately fatal. Magic Bullshit™️ will keep the wound from healing properly for a few days, but I’ve accounted for field wound care (cleaning and bandaging and such) as she’s being taken on horseback to get proper treatment.

Not deeply.

So, the problem with all of these is tissue disruption. If the injury gets deep enough, the chances that it will hit something vital (especially on the torso) increase dramatically. So, getting stabbed and having the blade catch bone, instead of getting in deeper is “relatively” safe. Similarly, getting stabbed (or shot) in the hand or foot is unlikely to kill you (though, those injuries are likely to result in permanent damage impairing the use of injured appendage.)

Arrows are a little different, in a couple of ways. First, if you get shot, you do not want to pull that off (nor break it off and push it through.) That will increase the risk of bleeding out. Arrows make fairly large holes in people, but if the arrow sticks in the wound (which, it should) it will actually limit the amount of bleeding. Effectively the wound has a partial plug in it. Pulling out the arrow means that plug is no longer there, and they can happily bleed to death on the spot.

The second thing about arrows is that they actually pin muscle together. Think of it a bit like holding two pieces of meat together with a toothpick. If the toothpick isn't there, the pieces can slide across each other without issue, but that's not possible when there's a wooden shaft running through them. Your muscles are a complex web of meat, that slide over each other as you move. Pinning those together means that part of your body will actually lock up. For example, if you're shot in the shoulder, you won't be able to adjust the position of your arm. It's been toothpicked, and it's not going anywhere.

Arrowheads can get wedged in bone. If it's a broad head, or hunting tip, that will be obnoxious to get out.

At the risk of reading too much into your setting, goblins often means poisons, or other nastiness. Though, really, even just getting a tetanus infection (it used to be called “lock jaw”) from their blades is a pretty horrific potential fate. Even if the wounds themselves were relatively minor (cuts and scrapes, maybe a graze or two), a couple days might still result in some pretty horrific harm after the fact.

Also, remember, it's unlikely that bacteria will be understood by the medical science of your setting. So, first aid would still run a real risk of secondary infections.

Depending on their skill in first aid, anything outside of a severed artery or catastrophic organ damage should be (technically) survivable, though the wounds could easily result in permanent impairments, depending on exactly what was hit. A punctured lung might not kill her, but it could result in permanent respiratory issues, such as a cough, and chronic pain while breathing heavily from then on. It could also result in pneumonia and death, which is also, usually, pretty permanent.

Some of this depends more on where you want to land on a spectrum between dark fantasy and swords & sorcery. The genres are similar (and potentially overlapping), but can scatter out into dramatically different works. But, you do have some options on how you want to proceed.

-Starke

This blog is supported through Patreon. Patrons get access to new posts three days early, and direct access to us through Discord. If you’re already a Patron, thank you. If you’d like to support us, please consider becoming a Patron.

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

MDZS Severance AU: Get me out of here.

[ay4tou]

when the fandom is so niche and small you see your own fanfic while scrolling through x reader

[iguessthisisanewobsession]

Jason’s massage therapist deserves a fucking pay raise.

He has no idea how the fuck the dude gives back massages that quiet the goddam pit but you bet your ass Jason is recommending Danny to anyone who looks like they need a massage.

[ghostbsuter]

It's not.like he wanted to be here, Jesus.

Not that he'd leave either knowing where they are right now— mind you.

"And who is this, Cap?" Shazam screaming child gives a strained smile, back straight and answers.

"My colleague–"

Danny interrupts, face finally away from the glass that separates him and space. "Shazam over here got grounded by mom, and since he had a JL meeting, I was to come along as supervision."

Batman is eerily still, staring at them.

Poor Billy, he's gonna deal with this alone next time.

[atoltia]

imagine how traumatizing it is to suddenly be intelligent enough to process and verbalize that you don't like that the woman that raised you calls you her bodyguard rather than her child. you confront her about it, and you yourself are confronted by an onslaught of painful emotions that might not have been as painful back when you still had an INT of 6. you're not used to these emotions, to this articulation, because all your life all you needed to do was to follow, to listen to your boss, to protect. it was easy back then, you know that.

but right now you know better and it hurts so fucking much because you just want a mom. you just want your mom. you deserve your mom and yet you got a boss. you love her so much and you know she loves you so, so much. but still it wasn't enough because she never really made it known, not in the ways you needed.

you tell her. in the middle of a street where tensions are high because the gods a lot of these people worship are going away one by one and they don't know how to handle themselves, how to process it. the war is still ongoing. you're hunting some fucking asshole that stabbed the hand of his own child. a child that has your mother so worked up and want to save. and why? why that kid but never you? she's had you for years. she hatched you. did she ever do the same for you? was there urgency in her voice, fear in her eyes, when you got hurt? or were you just incapable of seeing it?

(or maybe, you thought bitterly to yourself, maybe it was never there in the first place)

so you leave. you walk away. turn your back on the woman who raised you, on the woman whose eyes were blown so wide as if you just slapped her with a hand rather than a simple truth of what you truly felt. it should be better this way, shouldn't it? you're strong. you're capable. you've been taught how to survive in the wilderness and you know your ways in the city. you'll be fine. you don't need her. you don't need your mother.

but you do. you really do. you need your mom because you love her so much that the thought of fighting with her makes you sick. you just want to be held by her, to feel the things you should have felt when you were a child. you need your mom. you want your mom.

so you turn back but she's not there. she's not there and you can't find her. you look and look and look but you can't fucking find her. something deep is burning inside of you, burning so hard and yet it's ice that coats your veins as you tear through the streets to find her. but you can't find her goddammit mama where the fuck are you?

you see an open window and there's something in your gut that tells you to look. so you look. because you can't find her and you need to find her.

she's dying.

bleeding out on the floor as that bastard stands over her with her own goddamned knife. you confronted her and left her. you left her. she now she lies, bleeding and dying on the floor minutes after you walked away because you weren't there to protect her. you left her you left her you left her.

(was the floor cold? or was it getting warmed up by the blood that's flowing out of her body?)

you want to kill him. rip out his fucking throat and tear him limb from limb because he fucking dared to hurt your mother. you'll kill him, you'll kill him, you'll fucking kill him.

he waves his hands and mutters a few words and suddenly- wait, why do you want to kill him? he raises his hands, takes the child, and you let him go.

he tried to kill your mom and you let him go.

you snap out of it, the ice that froze your veins is now at the deepest pit in your stomach, dragging your heart down to the depths of hell as you tried to stabilize her. your boss. your mom. your mom whose blood is now smeared all over your hands, her eyes fluttering against her frighteningly cold cheeks, because you left her alone. minutes. you left her alone for mere minutes and she almost ended up dead in a random room and on the cold fucking floor.

you're her bodyguard and you left her alone.

now how fucked up is that?