nothing like a big bad bridge to go burning through

independent multi-muse, written by lou.

[skingames]

i feel like i’m just not going to go back on my comic multi besides whenever martha logs in so, i’m going to add my favorite kids as a tag drop here  (  reminder that i have luke cage over @harlemed & bullseye @nohitters even if i haven’t been able to do too much on them for the past week !  )

CLAIRE TEMPLE  #sutured MISTY KNIGHT  #plainclothed TILDA JOHNSON  #deadlys TALIA AL GHUL  #leviathain DINAH MADANI  #flagpoles MYSTIQUE #femmemystique

[beaulesbian]

Indya Moore as Angel Evangelista in Pose 2x1

[skingames]

REMUS LUPIN & KATNISS EVERDEEN TAG DROP. 

[skingames]

raudrakos‌.

“ WORTH is intrinsic.  It cannot be measured – and it hasn’t been taken from you just because trauma says it has. “  He leans back and observes her.  “ Have you been to therapy before, Allyson ?  I know it can be DAUNTING … I certainly think seeing someone outside of Haddonfield was a good idea. “ 

Hannibal doesn’t know every detail – but he has an innate sense of her DARKNESS.  He can’t place the exact SOURCE but he intends to root it out. 

" my mom’s a therapist, actually.  a school counselor so ---- not the same as you,  but she always tries to use the tactics on me.  and she’s my mother,  so it’s not effective. ”  something about dr. lecter is inherently trustworthy,  and she can’t quite place her tongue on as to why.  a small smile tugs at her features,  genuine rather than wrought from nerves,  and offers,  “ i think it was a good idea too.  i’d like to leave haddonfield for good someday,  but i feel like it’s got claws.  that i can’t leave.  i know that sounds crazy. ”

[cleonxxiv]

[skingames]

    molly hasn’t tried to do anything like this in ---- years.  not since wally was a baby,  before he could even form coherent words.  it’d been shortly after his dad died and then molly realized that the dating scene wasn’t for her.  years of ignoring her mother’s urging,  her friends’ insistence ---- she guesses it culminates to this.  maybe some part of her wants to,  too,  after years of being convinced she does.  

she’s seen him come around a few times.  he looks like the type ---- it’s an outdoor shop and it’s new hampshire,  and she’s cocky enough to know that her items are on par with and maybe even better than any high-end brand.  she’d never do this in the shop itself,  professionalism and all,  but molly guesses being off the clock is fair game.  half-day at work and with wally at his grandparents’ place,  she’s left to her own devices for once.  finds him when she’s grabbing coffee.  

approaches him with two cups of coffee,  styrofoam because it’s new hampshire,  and offers him one over whatever he happens to be reading.  clears her throat and offers a small smile.  “ ---- accidentally messed up my order and you kind of strike me as the black coffee type,  so i figured you’d want it,  y’know ---- if you haven’t drank anything yet. ”

  ↪ @behaviorisms  :   plotted starter !

[juspeczykdraws]

when you have an english test on friday but you gotta babysit your murder hobo uncle on thursday :/ big shoutout to @h-ozier and @hnnbal for commissioning this and also screaming about the myers family with me

[skingames]

boogeymens‌.

there’s only an exhale of breath , and then the tearing of flesh and the fresh warmth of blood that begins to coat his hands ; drip through his fingers until they’re sticky and he has to tighten the hold of the blade within his grasp . the shape watches curiously as the life flickers in and out of the boy within his grasp – the pain of living drawn out just for him , just for the boy that decided to play with the boogeyman . if one were to look close , they would dare state that the shape looked bored – for his lack of being verbal – at the task at hand ; almost as if , instead of taking a life , he was simply chastising . he needn’t glance over at his niece to know that she’s cowering – her fear practically palpable from where he stands in gore . most would run at the sight of him , at what he’s doing , but she hasn’t anywhere to go now , does she ? no mommy to hold her hand and tell her everything is going to be okay , and no grandmother to reassure her of that fact ; no , SHE ONLY HAS THE BOOGEYMAN NOW .

the shape’s mouth twitches — call it a smile .

only when the shape’s satisfied with his work does he drop the boy’s body , head tilting and admiring his work . the shape exhales , straightens up and the tension releases from his body . a quiet shuffle , then allyson is practically plastered near his side ; her fear of being in close proximity to him slowly dissipating . monsters have to stick together . he pays no mind to the fingers that lace with his own , or the hesitant tug towards the exit . haddonfield cop’s are all but useless – their presence a nuisance at best – but the girl’s afraid of being caught red handed , literally . to be branded a murderer , oh , it would break the little bird’s heart ! the shape allows the bird boned girl to lead him away from his crime , their crime . wiping the knife off on his pant leg , its tucked safely back into his pocket . there’s no use leaving a perfectly good weapon . sighing , it’s the closest he’s gotten to acknowledging her words , instead allowing her to drag him along . what a skittish girl ! they’re encased in darkness , still she acts as if they’ll be spotted any second – they might with the rate she’s shaking , looking around as if someone’s out to get them . well , maybe , but typically it’s he that’s out to get them . 

he slows his pace ; almost wants to laugh at the state the girl is in with her insistent tugging on his hand , as if that’s really going to change his pace . the shape stops just to see how the girl will react , and he doesn’t have to wait long to be amused . she tugs , tugs , and pleads at him , but he just cocks his head in response . allyson’s limping , and she has the nerve to think he’s the one slowing them down . releasing her fingers , he gestures to her leg . you’re injured , his look states , and slow .

stepping closer , the lighting all but obscuring his figure , he brings his hands up . carry . one word signed , but he doesn’t give her a choice before bloodied hands find themselves lifting her up . fidget and protest all you want , the shape’s patience is thin . tug him here , tug him there ; implore a monster and run him around like you’re his puppeteer , but in the end he’s still his own and the best bet is to leave him be . after all , the shape is not the one that lied where he was going – let the boy live he did , until tonight , but all she had to do was ignore him . it was for her own good , and now look at where they’re at . a blubbering mess , and he had to clean up after her .

no matter how much she struggles , she’s just like him — the inevitable cannot be ignored .

allyson’s so exhausted that she has no more struggle left in her when michael hefts her up into his arms,  all of the energy used to fight before completely drained.  her eyelids feel heavy and she feels woozy,  like she’s left her body and she’s gone somewhere else far,  far away.  lithe fingers find their way to michael’s lapels as she clings onto him,  eyes burning but no tears falling,  all out of tears to cry somehow,  and she sighs against him.  there is no safety in the boogeyman’s arms but she can delude herself into thinking so,  somehow,  because michael came to save her instead of killing her and he hasn’t left her to die yet.  there’s something there,  there must be something there,  and she won’t allow her thoughts to stray elsewhere about that because she doesn’t know what she’ll do if he leaves her.  her mother and laurie were so faithful to her,  so loyal,  but she knows somehow that if they knew about this ------ she can’t even bare the thought of that,  not at all,  not of them knowing of this awful, ugly force inside of her. only he understands,  somehow. 

there’s a long time where she blacks out,  doesn’t see anything at all,  and comes to once michael takes her up the back steps of the apartment building and into the door she seldom uses for her bedroom.  she steps onto the carpeted floor and braces herself against the wall to dig blindly through her drawer to find underwear and pajamas,  flicking the switch on to the bathroom to be blinded by the harsh light above.  she peels off her blood soaked scrubs and lets the tub fill up with scorching hot water.  closes the door behind her belatedly before she steps into the tub and starts scrubbing and scrubbing,  scrubbing until the water is pink with her blood and red when she scrubs at her scalp.  the brush rips strands out of her hair when she forces it through,  even when she basks her scalp and hair in conditioner and oil.  she leaves the shower with her long hair braided,  a haddonfield university sweater,  and worn sweatpants.  even the smell of jojoba oil and dates and sea salt from her favorite lush scrub doesn’t help get rid of the smell of blood from her nose.  she looks at herself for a long time in the mirror after she brushes her teeth,  wetting a cloth and coating it with honey-scented soap.

she steps out into the living room and finding him there,  the chill from an open window making her shiver.  with a towel spread on the loveseat for michael to sit on,  she gestures to the spot,  not touching him as if she’ll relive it all with more blood on her hands.  as if cleaning herself raw cleansed her beyond her skin ---- as if she’s cleansed her core,  her very soul,  when she knows she’s as damned as him. 

“ um, ”  she says articulately when they’re sitting and she’s cleaning his hands of blood,  the fingers of her other hand tentatively moving up the clean place on his chest to touch along his mask,  tentative and slow and making sure he can see every move she makes.  with a shaky hand,  she touches her own eye. can’t fathom looking into his eyes like this,  can’t stand it.  wants to see him,  or what she thinks is him,   because the shape is different than her uncle beneath.  or something like that.

soft,  pleading,  hearing her voice crack before she realizes her eyes are burning again.  no tears,  but she feels them anyway. 

 “ let me see.  please. ”

[skingames]

* 𝐃𝐑. 𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐌 !

“i think, very astute special agent starling, that you’ve accidentally come upon the understanding that insects are my favorite. –noble’s an intriguing young man.” you touch it, then, giving her your softest and most honest smile as you speak. she deserves it. “atlas moth? gorgeous. this is a gorgeous specimen. thank you. so much. i’ll have to find a good place for something this well-preserved. –so. did you ask my company to pawn off well-made taxidermy? i’m sure it couldn’t be for the sparkling nature of my company.”

  𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐒 𝐀 𝐒𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐄 ------  she’s glad alana likes the gift,  genuinely glad for it,  and she thinks this is the first time she’s really smiled since killing drumgo,  since krendler sold her out to the tattler,  since all of it.  she appreciates that about alana the most,  even after it all.  a huff of a laugh escapes and she holds up a bottle of wine,  pinot noir and fairly heftily priced,  also from the bag at her hip.  

    ❝  as it so happens,  i’m actually very much here for your company,  alana.  i probably should’ve called ahead but you were on my route home.  ❞  

[benbarnxs]

A gifset for episode • Dinah Madani

2x08 - My Brother’s Keeper

[skingames]

      ❝  i don’t suppose you collect BUG TAXIDERMY, alana ?  ❞   clarice holds up an atlas moth,  beautifully preserved in a cube,  from the chanel bag at her hip.   god, what a conversation starter,  especially over drinks,  but she’s going to forget and she’ll be damned if she has this thing sitting around with the others in her collection.  doesn’t want to think of who she would’ve gifted it to,  instead.   ❝  noble’s always giving them to me and you strike me as someone who’d appreciate this more than i do.  ❞  /  @cruelonlytobekind

[skingames]

MOLLY FOSTER-GRAHAM TAG DROP.

[skingames]

* 𝐃𝐑. 𝐋𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑 !

@skingames / sc. ↳ the devil within  /  digital daggers

“ I will be here, when you think you’re all alone. “ 

   ❝  i do appreciate that a lot,  doctor,  ❞   𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍 𝐈𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐒𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐇𝐎𝐖 𝐒𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐒 𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐎 𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐒,  but that’s just the cynical part of her brain that’s been further instilled with the events of the past few months.  it’s still nice,  having an influence independent of anything having to do with her family or its daunting,  hereditary curse.  

she sighs,  running her fingers through her long hair,  feeling tears burn her eyes when she remembers what she’s done.  for him,  and sighs.

              ❝  i -- i just don’t think i’m worth it.  ❞  

[filmscores]

Visit Original Link

The Shape Returns - John Carpenter (Halloween 2018 OST) 🎃

[skingames]

* 𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐋  !

@skingames​ | honorsocietys

“—You in medical school?”

She’s got her textbook tucked up against her knees, curled up on the opposite end of the couch like she’s trying to make herself smaller, take up less space. He has to crane to look at her book beyond a split second glance, and even with his arm in a sling the movement tugs at the still-fresh stitches in his god-forsaken shoulder—another bullet, and maybe this’ll be the one he doesn’t recover from, especially without Hannibal to try and force him through the painful rehab process—but he’s curious.

Seeing how someone else copes with a monster at their heels, maybe. A lot closer at hand than Abigail’s.

Well. A lot closer than hand than Hannibal.

“Nursing?” he offers—amends, really—after another moment looking at her. She has the temperament to be a nurse. A good one, not like the ones that never outgrew being schoolyard bullies. “—You don’t have to talk to me. I wouldn’t want to talk to me.”

𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐀𝐁𝐁𝐘 𝐆𝐎𝐍𝐄, 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄'𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐓𝐎 𝐂𝐔𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐑𝐎𝐎𝐌 𝐁𝐄𝐓𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌.  with michael ------ it always comes back to him,  really,  with every interaction with everyone in her life measured up in comparison to him ------ the tension’s easy to ignore or break because he speaks in breaths and occasional sign language.  she can talk at him most of the time and he either listens or he doesn’t,  but judging from his level of attachment to her,  he must be listening somewhere in there.  will is different.  abigail is the only person in the world whose situation could compare to her own,  but will graham could not be anymore different than her uncle and she knows it.

his intensity makes her nervous,  palms clammy,  and she doesn’t know how to handle him at all.  she doesn’t talk to too many people and she’s relied on abigail for all of their interactions to the point where she freezes up around him.  so,  her technique’s pretty much been to ignore him and act like she’s paying attention to her organic chemistry homework when her thoughts can’t stop racing ------ and she can’t stop looking from the window to will to the words on the page because she knows michael knows she’s not at school or work.  she dreads him. 

will’s words break her out of it,  make her heart race stupidly enough,  and she sets the book down to look him in the eye as her own cheeks heat up at the sudden attention.

“  uh ---- yeah,  i’m in my second year,  actually ------ i used to be pre-med but i became a CNA and decided this was better for me.  ”  allyson shakes her head,  setting both feet on the floor carefully to avoid jostling her braced knee too much and her textbook on the coffee table,  brushing long hair out of her face as she laughs nervously.    “  i’m sorry,  mr. graham,  i ------ just don’t know how to approach you.  or didn’t.   i’m not ------ the best with meeting new people,  i guess,  or i guess maybe i’m afraid to,  all things considered.  i don’t know.  but you’ve been nice and kind to me,  so i appreciate it.  ”

her face burns even more with her stumbled words,  and she exhales,  laughing once more.  

“  but yeah,  orgo is a bitch and i hate it,  and i’ve been putting it off ‘cause it’s hard to actually focus in my apartment with michael around,  i guess,  so i figure i should probably take a go at it now before i go home.  ”

[skingames]

* 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐄  !

fate is a fickle thing ; a nuisance that the shape doesn’t care nor actively believe in . yet life in haddonfield proves to become more interesting with each passing year , each passing second . how was the shape to figure that gouging out another’s eyes all those years ago would bring them full circle once again . oh , fate is a fickle thing , the shape knows that now . knew ever since his eyes fell upon the elam boy , the ilk of another but he’s still too close in that bloodline for comfort , with his obnoxious presence hovering around his niece’s . almost akin to a puppy , following at the heels of another until it grows up , and learns how to bite — 

he hates dogs .

toleration is the only word he’d use when explaining the boy’s continued breathing ; the shape is many things , but merciful has never been any of them . try as hard as she might , allyson’s insistence on the boy’s survival wore his patience thin , but he relented — once . the shape is not merciful .. until he was for a brief moment . ( isn’t it unnatural how she’s able to control the shape – like a puppeteer . it reminds him of days long past . cults and promises , and an unhealthy obsession with the supernatural . ) her bird bones would break eventually , the shape remarked , and it would prove fatal due to her stubbornness . bird boned with a bad taste in company , whether he’s speaking of himself or the elam boy , well — her blind trust in people will be her downfall . this he knew , this he saw as the elam boy presumed to do his niece harm . where the girl goes , the shape follows , and follow he did . a shadow that watched the procession of men ; those assuredly out to get him , revenge can be a dirty business . this is why the shape doesn’t tolerate nor act as if he has some type of empathetic bone in his body . all the shape knows is the end , and allyson’s attempt to curb it due to some sense of duty because she’s of his blood — look where it’s gotten her .

so he followed and he watched , knife poised in a white knuckled grip . bird bones , bird bones , bird bones . how they’ll break eventually . revenge is a dangerous proposition that can be successful , yet how foolish of them to think that they’d get far with him . michael myers , the boogeyman of haddonfield – to seek death so readily … if he had any emotions he would pity them . pity the fact that they’re so easy to gut .

blood slick on his fingers , the shape takes cover once more in the shadows . where they heard his entrance and the squeals and screams of carnage , the shape cocks his head at the stumble of feet , of a voice that makes his shoulders stiffen . duke never was cautious . the next moments are a blur : a bird boned girl relieved , the splatter of his own blood soon comforted by the presence of the floor against his back . the shape feels no pain and has no end . there’s a gentle touch , a gasp and the knife that lie dormant near him finds its way into flesh once more . the shape would know the sound of death anywhere . it is the clattering of steel , the pressure of a body next to his that jostles him out of his stupor ; bloodied fingers finding themselves atop a brown head , brushing through once before dropping his hand to his side . her gaze catches the glint of light behind his mask ; she cannot see him , but his look is almost chastising . allyson knows better than to think him gone so easily . she remains a child with her teary hiccups , with the way she clings to a murderer’s side . he exhales , raises to see duke’s body sporting oozing knife wounds . his gaze travels back to his niece , cocking his head as if to say you killed him , are you satisfied ?

with a fluidity that belies his countenance , the shape takes to his feet … gazes down at his niece – stretches out a hand to bring her to her feet . bloodied knife finds its home in his hand once more , and the other found pressed against her cheek . it’s obvious she hates the stench and feel of blood . his look is piercing – you’re just like me . 

the shape moves , brings bloodied hands to the walls . a childishly written ’ cameron ’  in bloody strokes finding its place amongst the myers’ walls . there is no saving the boy now , for fate is a fickle thing . and so , the shape hunts .

        𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐈𝐑 𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐓 𝐌𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐒, 𝐏𝐄𝐎𝐏𝐋𝐄 𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐖 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐖𝐇𝐎 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐘 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐘 𝐀𝐑𝐄.  allyson had always thought that was something she’d heard in a movie,  that it couldn’t possibly be real,  but it’s proven true so far.  it’s proven true for sartain,  begging desperately for michael to say something before ultimately meeting his fate ------ it’s proven true for duke elam,  who was too distracted by his desire to see the boogeyman responsible for his disfigurement wiped out to notice the REAL THREAT literally under his nose.  and it’s true for cameron elam,  who finds his name written in blood on the wall and simply stands there,  staring with wide eyes frozen in the threshold at the sight of them.  allyson can only imagine what she looks like ------ covered head to toe in blood that is and isn’t her own,  with only the whites of her eyes and whatever inches of her bright blue work scrubs aren’t covered in blood ---- and she knows michael’s terrifying.  even with the way she leans into the palm over her cheek,  she trembles in fear of him,  in fear of what she’s done ------  in fear of what he plans to do,  especially when he pulls away from her.  her gaze flicks quickly to the curly haired boy in the threshold and she knows there’s no stopping the shape,  not with all of the blood and carnage around them that only serves to make her sick ------ so she backs up against the wall and crowds herself against it,  closing her eyes and covering her ears.

even then,  his screams are something not from this world.  she’s never heard a noise like it before,  and she feels her body wracking with sobs as her nails claw at her scalp.  she leans against the window pane to make sure she doesn’t fall and hurt her fucked up knee anymore,  or her torn rotator’s cuff.  he screams,  and screams,  and screams ------ over the sound of flesh tearing,  over the sound of blood and intestines,  until he’s gurgling with nothing left in him.   she only opens her eyes when she hears his body fall to the floor.

it takes a few blinks,  to get the sting of tears out of her eyes enough to see from the dismal yellow streetlights that bask the living room,  and she covers her mouth when she sees cameron ------ so mutilated that she doesn’t recognize him.  she inhales sharply,  smelling only blood and metal,  which only serves to make her even more sick with that white hot pain from where she’d  been hit ------ and chances a step toward the shape.  he is a shape in this light,  somethng more than human,  something out of this world that makes her tremble and wrack with sobs.  still,  that same pull that’s gravitated her toward him since they were trapped in the back of that police cruiser a year ago ------ it’s still there,  stronger than ever,  and she steps toward him with shaky knees like a doe.  sniffling,  tasting blood in the back of her throat with her post-nasal drip ------ she reaches for one of his hands and ignores the blood there. 

looking between her battered ex-boyfriend and michael,  allyson is quick to make her choice.

“   michael.   ”    allyson breathes,  entwining big coarse fingers with lithe digits,  pulling him gently.  nothing behind it.  god,  she’s going to faint,  thinking of the sounds,  of knives entering flesh,  of screams.  in that way,  they’re both the same,  and that fact will follow her to sleep tonight and beyond that.   she’d never thought she would beg him to stay,  to come with her,  but she doesn’t know what she’s going to do when she steps out of that door so she knows she needs him with her more than ever before because how else is she going to do this   ?    how else is she going to get through this,   besides with the only person who understands.

I KILLED HIM.  I KILLED HIM.  I KILLED HIM.  

“  we have to ------ we have to go.  the ---- the police are coming.  we have to go.  please.   ”

[skingames]

              * @boogeymens​    :   PLOTTED STARTER    !

    𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐀 𝐁𝐄𝐄𝐑 𝐇𝐀𝐃 𝐆𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐀𝐖𝐑𝐘 𝐒𝐎 𝐐𝐔𝐈𝐂𝐊𝐋𝐘.  allyson should’ve known better,  in retrospect ---- remembered a vague story told over a plastic cafeteria table about his uncle duke’s eyes being gauged out or something equally horrific by a young michael myers,  and it’d earned a nervous laugh from her at the time.  she never expected it would’ve ended up with her here,  taken by force from cameron’s place and dragged forcibly to the upstairs bedroom of the half-renovated myers house,  sat trembling at a vanity with a brush clutched in her clammy hand.  she’s terrified of the reputed men of cameron’s family standing around her,  keeping watch and holding guns ---- but she’s even more scared of what she knows is inevitable.   wherever she goes,  the shape follows.  it’s like fate. 

duke,  cameron’s uncle, tries to talk to her but she doesn’t listen to him,  breathing shakily and darting her gaze between her reflection and the sidewalk outside.  a long time passes,  and she’s staring into nothing when she hears telltale bangs and gunshots and shouts downstairs.  duke drags her bodily by her arm and she nearly falls down the stairs, struggling against his grasp until he hits her,  breath smelling like vodka and cigarettes.   blood trickles down her nose as she gets her nails into his face,  aiming for his eyes where michael had already scarred him long ago,  before he hits her with the blunt end of the gun and sends her down the steps.  allyson groans when she crashed into the landing with her breath knocked out of her,  and barely has time to register duke coming down the steps before she’s standing and running on her freshly irritated ACL  she has no real idea where michael is in the dark house,  with construction tarps and drywall everywhere,  and doesn’t know the layout well enough to run out of an exit while she’s so dazed from being hit in the head. she hears duke yelling obscenities at her while her blood pumps through her ears. 

she enters what must be the living room when duke finally grabs her by the hair, earning a groan when she registers she’s bleeding from wherever a splinter had stuck into her scalp on her tumble down the stairs,  and her shoulder throbs when she tries to reach to dig into his hair.  he twists her arm until she lets up,  and it’s not until then that she registers the shape,  mask stark white in the iron dark of the room.

“ michael ---- ”   she sounds relieved and feels it,  almost,  until duke shoots him and laughs about it.  she screams when michael falls and he shoves her down onto him,  making her land harshly on the concrete floor on her shoulder.  she moans as she rolls onto her back beside her uncle,  where her finger touches along the handle of his knife.  duke must think she’s harmless,  just some kind of pawn,  and maybe that’s all she is ------ to michael,  to everyone,  but she grips the knife and barely registers running toward him with it when he raises the gun to shoot again,  registers only the gun going off and her landing on top of him and stabbing,  again and again,  until he’s coughing up blood and she’s wheezing too,  dropping the knife and rolling to the floor.  his blood,  the blood of everyone in the room including her own,  is pungent and metallic,  and she feels even more lightheaded with it. 

crawling,  just barely,  she ends up at michael’s side,  grasping at the front of the coveralls,   where she finds a bullethole.  knows she looks even worse than she feels as she cries. 

“ michael ------ ”   she wheezes again,  lying her head against his chest,  blood matted hair and all.  hears his heart,  she thinks,  or that’s her own heartbeat between her ears.  she doesn’t know.  sirens wail in the distance and she knows,  innately,  that they’re for them.. feeling even more pathetic,  wishing she could call her mom to get her out of this situation but she can’t because this is all she has ------ she curls up to him with her long legs and arms,  pleading softly.   she killed him.  she killed someone.  and she’d done it for him.   what does that make her  ? 

 “ please,  michael,  i ------ i need you,  i need you to wake up.  please. ”