#because I’m not dealing with trying to peroxide the stain out. I don’t have the energy. it’s just trash at this point.

[bondagebimbo]

heads up: (TW blood/blood loss mention from accidental injury in post and tags)

probs not gonna stream tonight because I feel so dead and I actually just physically hurt myself really fucking badly, not purposely—don’t think I did this intentionally, and have to clean up a giant bloody fucking mess now so I’m just 🫠 ugh. I hate being inconvenienced with shit like this due to my own fucking issues with my coordination and a lack of reaction time because I feel weird right now in general and I’m struggling to feel like an actual person mentally so like … it definitely fucked me up today when I was distracted and unfocused and managed to hurt myself.

I’ll see how I feel tomorrow night after dealing all this, but if I do stream tomorrow then it’ll likely start around 7pm (east coast US time) as that’s the most common time I’ve been recommended. a post will be made beforehand on whether I plan to or not to, along with the twitch link.

but right now I just REALLY need to clean up this fucking mess and lay down. I got myself BAD and I think I need to try and nap after I clean this up because fucking hell, it hurt, and it made me feel sick at the same time so 🙃

[hotshotsxyz]

8x01 coda

(buddie adjacent) (784 words) spoilers ahead, read at your own risk!

A little peroxide, a little elbow grease, and the engine bay should be good as new. Five minutes, ten max, except Buck’s been scrubbing for twenty and the fucking stain won’t come up. He kind of wants to scream.

There’s blood soaked into the concrete and blood on his hands and it’s ugly and red and Buck needs it to be gone. He pours more peroxide and watches it foam.

It’s too goddamn quiet in here. The construction’s stopped, obviously, and Hen took the station out of service so no alarm will take its place. No one’s yelling, no one’s commiserating, no one’s vacuuming the fucking upholstery.

Nausea wraps itself around Buck’s organs. A hand lands on his shoulder and he jumps.

“Buck,” Eddie says, quiet, too fucking quiet.

Buck scrubs at the stain.

“Look at me,” Eddie says, kneeling beside him.

He can’t. He fucking can’t because the stain is still there.

Eddie grabs his wrist. “Buck,” he says again, forceful and a little loud.

Buck drops the sponge and whips around. “What?” he asks. It comes out flatter than he thought it would, drenched in something like apathy.

“You can stop,” Eddie says.

“No,” Buck says, shaking his head. “You know what he’ll do if this is here when he gets back?” He gestures at the stain. He can’t even say his name.

Eddie’s hand tightens around his wrist. “Let someone else give it a try,” he says gently.

Buck knows when he’s being fucking handled. He wrenches his wrist from Eddie’s grasp. Eddie grabs his shoulder instead.

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” he says quietly.

A humorless bark of laughter escapes Buck’s throat. “Yeah, no, I just killed a guy. Totally fine.”

“He’s not dead,” Eddie argues.

“Yet.”

Eddie takes a long breath. “He’s not dead,” he repeats. “And even if that changes—”

“What,” Buck interrupts. “It won’t be my fault? It kind of fucking is.”

Eddie shakes his head minutely. “If that changes it’ll be the universe or whatever.”

Buck rolls his eyes. “You don’t believe in the universe,” he says.

“No,” Eddie acknowledges. “But I believe in what I can see. And what I saw was you risking your life to save his. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Buck swallows harshly and rocks back on his heels. “For—for a second I—”

“What?” Eddie prompts.

“I was—I wasn’t happy, but I—Eddie, I didn’t care,” Buck says finally. He drops the rest of the way to the floor and pulls his knees to his chest.

Eddie blows out a short puff of air and settles next to Buck. “I’m still not sure I do,” he says, tilting his head to catch Buck’s eyes.

“You don’t have to care,” Buck says. “He’s awful to you, and you’re not the one who killed him.”

“Still not dead,” Eddie reminds him. “And he’s awful to you too. He was in the middle of yelling at you when you saved his life.”

“It’s not the same.”

“It’s not,” Eddie agrees.

Buck bites his lip. “Have you…” he trails off.

“Ever killed someone?” Eddie guesses.

“You don’t—I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—” Buck stammers.

Eddie presses his knee against Buck’s. “I don’t know,” he says, “not for sure.”

Buck frowns.

“I’ve shot at people,” Eddie continues. “Hit a few. I don’t know if any of them died. I’ll never know.”

“How do you deal with that?”

Eddie levels him with a flat gaze. “Buck. I’m in so much therapy.”

It startles a laugh out of him. “Eds I’m serious,” Buck says.

“I am too,” Eddie replies. “And either way, it’s different. You didn’t kill him.”

“He still might—”

“Buck.” Eddie looks away slightly and shakes his head. “Even if he dies, all you did was change what killed him. You gave him a fighting chance, it’s more than he would’ve given you.”

Buck scrubs at his eyes as they begin to sting. “I don’t know what to do with that.”

“You talk to me,” Eddie says, nudging his shoulder. “You’re a good person, I’ll tell you as many times as you need to hear it.”

A single tear escapes Buck’s lash line. “Yeah?” he asks, watery and rough.

“Yeah.” After a moment, he stands and holds a hand out to Buck. “Come on,” he says. “Brass says we can go home. You’re coming with me.”

Buck takes Eddie’s hand and allows him to pull him to his feet, leaving the sponge and the stain exactly where they are. “Okay,” he says quietly.

“Okay,” Eddie repeats.

There’s blood on Buck’s hands. Eddie takes him to the shower room to wash it off.

[miniwheat77]

141 + König finding out reader has had long term struggles with Self Harm.

This was a request, you can find the ask here.

!CW! Self harm, talk of attempted suicide, (sorry if I missed any.)

König:

Tears stream down your face, you’re looking desperately for anything. Any kind of Razor or sharp object. It’s late at night, you can’t find anything. Usually you would just break a mirror, or anything glass around you. But this isn’t your house. This mirror isn’t yours to break. You’ve done so good but recently, it’s been hard. You’re struggling every day. You managed to cover up the scars to enter the military and hid them very well with your uniforms. You’re sitting on the edge of the bathtub in the bathroom you’re in, trying to calm yourself. You don’t hear the bathroom door open because you’re in your own head. You don’t notice anything until large hands are grasping your wrists. “It’s okay, liebling.” His deep accented voice pulls you out of your thoughts. He sees the old scars that litter your wrists, holding onto them tightly. “You’ve made it so far, done so good. Why ruin that now?” He mumbles. His hood covers his face but you can see the sadness in his eyes. “I’m just struggling lately.” You sniffle. “It’s okay. We all struggle.” He breathes. He holds onto you tightly, he’s trying to ground you, bring you back down to earth. “Look at me. Take a deep breath with me.” He breathes. “You’re okay.” He takes in a deep breath, and you follow him. Taking in a deep breath. “Why didn’t you tell me?” He lifts your hand up so that he could get a better look. There’s clearly years of scars littering your wrists. Tears stream down your face. “I didn’t think that you would like me.”

König laughs bitterly behind his hood. “Sweetheart.. nothing is going to change the way that I feel about. Especially not scars. Scars mean you’re healing. Heilung ist alles” he lifts your chin up to look at him. “When you feel like this, you tell me. Verstanden?” He is stern. “Understood..” you look down. “Now, time for bed. I got you.” He scoops you up, carrying you back to your bed.

Ghost:

Your hands tremble, blood pooling at the bottom of your wrist before dripping onto the linoleum flooring. Your right hand holds a razor, now coated in your own blood. It’s a curse. The way that you relied on the shiny metal to ground you. Bring you back to earth. Your eyes are bloodshot, tears stain your cheeks. You should have been better about locking the door, because the handle twists, and Ghost steps inside. You scramble up, throwing your wrists behind your back. “Shit- sorry.” He mumbles, voice deafening as he notices the blood on the ground. “Are you hurt? What happened?” He takes a step toward you. “I.. I just scratched myself earlier. No big deal.” You lie.

He narrows his eyes, eyeing the way you’re holding not just one of your hands behind your back, but both. “Let me see them.” He demands, taking another step forward. “There’s no need for that, I’m okay.” You laugh. He grasps hold of your arms, pulling hard on you. A cry leaves your lips and he forces you to show him what you’ve done. Not only are there fresh cuts, but there’s more. There are some faded, clearly from years of self harm. He swallows hard, choosing not to say anything. He pulls on your arms, forcing you toward the sink, running the fresh wounds under the water. “Deep breath.” He mumbles, reaching into the medicine cabinet and pouring peroxide over the wounds. You hiss and try to pull away but he keeps you there. He helps you bandage up, not saying anything and you worry about what he’s going to say. He doesn’t say anything, instead, pulling you into him and hugging you tightly. “No more. I mean it. I will chain you up to a pipe and you will suffer if you do this ever again.” He grumbles. Hearing you laugh. “I mean it Y/N. No more of this. You’re too good to be doing this to yourself.” He hides the fact that he has tears in his eyes.

Captain Price:

His eyes catch a single glimpse by accident during a meeting. He often wondered why you only ever wore long sleeves but now, it all made sense. “Y/N, my office.” He nods. You nod your head, following behind him. He opens the door, closing it after you walk in. “What did you need?” You ask. “What did you need me for, John?” You ask. He grasps hold of your wrist, pushing your sleeve up. You try to pull your hand away but he has a tight hold on you. They’re old, none are new. “Why didn’t you tell me you had a past with this?” He asks. You swallow hard. “I don’t know.. it was just something really dumb that I did as a teenager. I stopped right before I joined the military.” You mumble. “Do you still feel this way?” He asks. “I’ll always feel that little devil on my shoulder, but I can control it now.” You shrug. He nods. He grasps your hips, pulling you into him. Kissing you a little harder than he usually would, pressing his forehead to yours once he pulls away. “You come to me whenever you feel like hurting yourself. Okay?” He is stern. You nod your head. “I love you. And I need you here with me.” He lifts your hand up, kissing your wrists. You weren’t sure how you ended up being with someone so kind, someone so gentle with you. But you needed it. You almost never felt like hurting yourself when he was around you. He was too supportive and reassuring. He did his best to keep you safe and that’s everything to you. “I love you too John.” You smile. Kissing him again.

He lifts you up by your thighs, setting you on top of his desk and cupping the sides of your head to kiss you even harder. “I’ve got you now, we all do. And I’m proud of you for doing so good. So fucking proud of you for overcoming this.” He breathes.

Soap:

You only ever wore shorts when you were alone. Because you had scars on the tops of your thighs. They were easier to hide. You forget to set your alarm one night, so Soap makes his way into your room to wake you, catching a glimpse of one of your exposed thighs. Seeing the small white lines. They’re old, but the meaning behind them breaks his heart immediately. He swallows hard, sitting down on the side of your bed, running his fingers along them. When he leans down and kisses them, you stir in your sleep just a little, eyes opening. “Johnny? What are you doing?” You mumble. “You didn’t tell me.” He mumbles, you realize he’s running the pad of his thumb over the raised lines. Your lips part slightly and you can’t explain yourself. “I’m sorry…” you breath. He looks up at you. “Do you do it anymore?” He asks. “Not for a couple weeks.” You breathe. He nods his head. “Every time you do this to yourself, I’ll do it to my own thigh.” He looks at you, what he says is toxic. He knows it.

“What?” You ask. “Every little bit of damage you do to yourself, I will do to myself. You cut yourself, I cut myself. And I’ll look, everyday if I have to.” He mumbles. “Johnny.” You sigh. “No. Your skin is too fucking beautiful for this. You’re better than this.” He breathes. He leans down. Kissing your forehead. “I’m here now. I’m here to talk to, vent to. Anything. I’ll keep you safe. But you have to promise me you’ll never do this again.” He raises his pinky up, like you taught him. “Promise?” He swallows hard. You smile, eyes filling with tears. “Okay Johnny.” You link your pinky with his. “I promise.” He leans down, pressing his lips to yours. Hand cupping your scars. He didn’t want to draw his hand away from you. He hated that you’d do this to yourself. You were so perfect. Too good for this.

Gaz:

Gaz is who found you. It was an accident, but he didn’t know it. You had cut too deep. He found you a few minutes later.

He sits beside your hospital bed, eyes burning and bloodshot. He’d almost lost the love of his life. And not even at the hands of a terrorist. It burns him inside, how he didn’t know sooner. It stings even more that you hid it from him. He went through your entire house, finding razors taped under the sink. He threw everything out. He was mad, sure. But he was heartbroken. Shattered by the fact that you were struggling so hard but chose to keep it to yourself. When your eyes flutter open and he sees you, you’re confused at first. “Kyle? What happened?” You ask. He nods to your wrists, and you move them to look at yourself. Blood running cold. “You barely made it.” He mumbles. “I.. I didn’t mean to.” You mumble. “Why?” He asks. It’s the one question he almost never got to ask you. “I.. I don’t know.” Tears stream from your eyes. “I almost lost you. You would’ve left me. With unanswered questions. With nothing.” He sighs. “I’m sorry Kyle.” You cry. He lowers his head. Tears spilling from his eyes. He sniffles, trying to force them back. But he can’t. “I didn’t mean to, I swear. I just.. I get so angry at myself. I was just trying to take my anger out. I didn’t mean to.. to..” you can’t even say it. He sighs. “You come to me. No more of this Y/N. If I lose you…” he can’t finish his sentence without his voice breaking. “I’m here. I have you now. No more of this. We’re getting you the help you need. And I’ll be right there with you along the way.” He stares at you. You nod your head. “Okay.. okay Kyle.” You breathe. He was right.

[yourdeepestfathoms]

so a few nights ago, i discovered that i’m actually highly allergic to borax when i broke out into hives all over my body in the middle of the night SO

after committing yet another atrocious crime against her will, Vanessa goes back to her apartment and cleans off the Vanny suit. except she’s still under the control of Glitchtrap at this time, so he’s maneuvering her like a puppet. so he goes to find the hydrogen peroxide to soak the blood-stained fur down, but can’t find any. in fact, a lot of the cleaning chemicals seem to be out.

useless shit, he thinks to himself.

finally, he finds a box of borax and settles for it. he may be a serial killer, but he won’t tolerate the smell of old blood. not after having to ferment in it for 30 years.

so, he cleans the suit in the bathtub because putting it in the washing machine will just turn the fur pink and he refuses to be a pink bunny.

anyway, Vanessa’s night shift arrives. she’s still reeling from killing another person, but is trying to stay in denial because denial is easier than acceptance with this sort of stuff.

and then her back starts to itch.

and then her arms.

and then her legs.

until it feels like she rolled around in a fire ant hill. when she goes to the bathroom and checks under her clothes, she finds that her skin is swollen with angry red hives. and they itch horribly.

she begins to panic. she’s never had an allergic reaction before and thinks she’s dying. she worries that she’ll go into anaphylaxis, and if she does, she’ll never get an epipen on time. she can’t even get out of the building for god’s sake!

what makes it worse, Glitchtrap and her get into an argument, which just adds degradation and a headache to the mix.

“what did you do?!”

what did I DO?! you’re the lazy bitch who didn’t get groceries! i had to resort to using the crap at the back of your laundry cabinet!

“i told you that i was going to go the next day! don’t call me lazy, you jerk! also what did you use?”

borax or some shit.

“borax? oh god. i think that’s it. i think i’m fucking allergic to borax!”

who the fuck is allergic to borax?

“me, apparently, you British prick! now look at me! i probably look like a dog with goddamn fleas! all because YOU couldn’t wait a little bit longer to clean the suit off! or, better yet: because YOU want to go out and hurt people!”

don’t give me that crap again, Vanessa. no matter how many times you try to reason with me, i tune you out every time you go on about morals. nobody wants to hear you talk, anyway, so it would best if you save your breath. and i wasn’t going to let that blood soak into the fur! it’ll start to reek and i’ve had to deal with the smell of rot enough!

“it would have been ONE DAY!”

don’t take that tone with me, little girl. i can mark your body with things worse than hives. do not test me.

Vanessa just isn’t having a good time. her body hurts and burns and itches, AND she has a serial killer griping at her. and y’all know she won’t go get help with her hives because she’s embarrassed so she just tries to power through them for the whole night until she can go home in the morning.

[rattyarts]

Another non-art ask dump!

Figured it’s about time for another one of these! I don’t like clogging this blog up with too much non-art stuff (new art that is, I’ll copy paste in old stuff if needed), so I tend to save up asks so I can get them all answered in one go.

Here goes!

twerkyvulture asked:

is Knytt pronounced "nit", "night" or "neat"?

“Knit” with a hard k!

Anonymous asked:

I am ashamed that i thought the big scar under unlucky vampire's eyes was her mouth and she had a really huge chin

... Oh no.

Anonymous asked:

"Titania and Oberon’s unusual appearances appear to be unique to them" I wonder if they also have unique powers as well?

I’ll be honest, I think it’s way funnier if there’s nothing special about them whatsoever.

Anonymous asked:

Is the rubber/latex elf stretchy?

Not my character, but I’d assume so?

Anonymous asked:

“ Cheesed Burger” cheeseburger copyrat/Minotaur?

Also not my character, but if I remember right, she’s a copyrat/merson. You’re half right!

lot-of-malarkey asked:

Gee Pixie, how come Ratty let’s you have THREE moms!?!

When you got an abundance of worm babies, sometimes it’s easier to find a bunch of other moms, put the kids in a big pile and raise them all together.

Anonymous asked:

Has there been a dragon Leo yet? There should be a dragon Leo.

There has!

Anonymous asked:

Would you ever reveal Ramos’ backstory? Like, why is he single? Why is he dying?

Eeeeeh, maybe. I’m TRYING not to go too dark with this blog, and there’s a couple of characters who approach subjects that are a little too real. I may keep it to DMs only, or at least skip over a couple of details.

Ramos is obviously no longer single, but if this is referring to Hank, he was an oops baby after a brief encounter with a mystery vampire lady.

Anonymous asked:

is there any way to stop him from dying? magic or necromancy or something?

I’m going to go with no, because of the above thing I feel like that would be in really bad taste.

Anonymous asked:

I’m imagining an evil mosquito vampire hybrid that wants to do classic non vegetarian vampire things. But the area they live in only has elves, so they are stuck with vegetables and fruit (at least until tourist season)

If that’s a character you wanna make, go for it! You’re actually the second person who’s realized out you can build yourself a classic vampire by combining buggiemen and my silly fruit creatures.

As a side note, I’m surprised no one’s made a bunnicula yet.

ari-nemera submitted:

Saw this while driving and immediately thought of you.

The real question is: is this a buggieman-owned business that deals with bugs? Or a normal pest control business that deals specifically with buggiemen? 😂

I’m sending this straight to Leo’s house.

Anonymous asked:

Use peroxide for blood stains. Both safe and affective; works on dried blood as well. You're Welcome Good Doctor, enjoy being a bit cleaner XD (Actually, Question, Blood can contain a fair amount of Iron; Doesn't that at least sting?)

Doc appreciates this tip!

.... Also, don’t worry about it.

Anonymous asked:

"They were gonna have pockets and buttons too, but I decided they weren’t really the body mod type." what about the stick-on pockets? no sewing involved?

They don’t seem like the body mod type, really.

lot-of-malarkey asked:

In Edgeworld ‘casual Friday’ is coming to work as your distance model

Everyone also seems to get dot eyes at random. No one questions this.

Anonymous asked:

"What the hell is Edgeworld" Cool, thats what!

&

Anonymous asked:

just wanted to say that your setting and characters are cool.

No anon, you’re cool!

therandomringmaster asked:

There's one question I have about Beeple,do Beeple owners buy those road play mats and let said Beeples drive around for enrichment?,in the same way hamster may get enjoyment out of wheels,and such?

&

Anonymous asked:

Quick beeple question: if I want to keep a few in a tank would they be more comfortable with foliage and logs and stuff (like a beetle) or something more like a roadway (for the car aspect)? Maybe a bit of both?

Consider: road plants.

lot-of-malarkey asked:

Now I’m imagining a buggieman falling down the stairs like a slinky

Please refrain from pushing people down stairs. No matter how funny it may be.

Anonymous asked:

" I WILL DIE ON THIS HILL" one part of me wants to say "then perish", and the other part would rather you didn't

You perish! I WILL NEVER GIVE IN, GOOFY DOES NOT F-

tromacom asked:

I've gotta get it off my chest but Margaret gives me STRONG Ab Fab Joanna Lumley sweetie darling vibes and I adore her for it

Honestly, you’re not far off.

twerkyvulture asked:

what is death like away from the Edgelands? i imagine that even "kid-friendly" media deals with the subject of loss and death sometimes. do elderly people pass away peacefully "offscreen"? are there funerals? does their body disappear? are they simply referred to in the past tense from a certain point onwards?

The offscreen thing usually, unless it’s a character of plot importance, or maybe a villain falling off a cliff.

When it comes to dealing with the subject itself... you know that thing they do in cartoons where they briefly mention a dead person and then very quickly move on? That.

Anonymous asked:

You said you got some of your basis for design off of Cool World- is it just that movie, or did you get inspiration from any of Bakshi's other stuff?

To be honest, I’m not a huge Bakshi fan and haven’t really seen a ton of his stuff. Mostly I’ve been using the background art from Cool World as inspo!

Anonymous asked:

i wonder how many Chicken Nuggets your Sona could Safely eat at once?

Yes.

chickencat8 asked:

Just really quick and really random. I had a dream where you offered Antbulbs as treats to everyone, and they even came in flavors. I wanted the pink raspberry but there weren't any left, so I had a yellow one instead. It tasted like sour lemon candy. Just felt like telling you

The fact that people have been having Edgeworld dreams is so cool. Also very unfair, I wanna dream about my setting too!

I do not recommend eating lightbulbs, but I guess I can’t stop you.

ossy-p asked:

Margaret: gatekeep gaslight girlboss

George: manipulate mansplain malewife

Anonymous asked:

Hiya! So i dunno if this is gonna sound silly but the fact that Kris’ full name is Kristina spelled that way exactly has brought so much joy to me. Its just ive never seen the way my name is spelled in any sort content like ever. I guess I just wanted to thank you for it cause its really made my day!

Oh, that’s really cool! I’m glad I could make your day! (Uh. Five months ago. Look, I haven’t made one of these ask posts in a while.)

Anonymous asked:

Is Kris trans? I ask cause she looks like a mallard and to my knowledge only "male" mallards have green heads.

Yep!

Anonymous asked:

You have very good art

Thank you! I appreciate these messages a lot.

Also this is getting really long, so I’m gonna say I’m done for now. I’ll put together another one of these in the future.

[girlmeetsliv3]

Where Three Stars Meet

Sope x Reader ; PolyBTS

“We’re meant to be it’s written in the stars...”

Rating: M

Word Count: 6,046

Release Date: July 22nd, 2020 @ 9 p.m. (GMT-4)

Warning: The following contains material not suitable for all audiences. Includes murder, recreational drug use, homophobic slurs, smut, and toxic relationships.  This is a work of fiction and doesn’t represent the character of bangtan sonyeondan. Enjoy ~~~

           YN awoke to the sight of Min Yoongi staring down at her sleeping figure, that in itself would’ve been concerning if it weren’t for the fact that Yoongi’s clothes were covered in blood. “What happened?” YN threw the covers off her body and rushed to Yoongi, who simply stared at her with dead eyes before shrugging. “Shush, calm down.” The smile he gave her barely graced his cheeks. “Some homophobic pigs tried to attack Hobi and me. We defended ourselves, but things got kind of messy.” Even in the dark of night, YN could see there was far too much blood on Yoongi for it to have been from a normal fight. Perhaps Yoongi could see the furrow between her brows and the doubt that hung heavy on her tongue. For the second she parted her lips, he interrupted.

“I’m tired, YN. I just want to rest.” With no further warning, he began to strip off his soiled clothing. Letting it drop to the floor.

YN immediately jumps out of bed, gathering the clothing into her arms and heading into her bathroom. Thankfully her mother ran a late shift tonight, for the sound of the washing machine starting up would have roused her from sleep. Though YN’s mother was more understanding than most - even she wouldn’t tolerate a man in her daughter’s bed this late at night. In the silence surrounding her, YN wonders why Yoongi came to her of all people. Sure, they were friends but things had been different lately. There were plenty of other people who could provide better comfort to Yoongi in a time of need. He has Hoseok after all.

Warm strong arms wrapped around YN’s torso causing her to let out a shriek. A large palm covered her mouth muffling her screams. “It’s just me.” Hoseok’s dulcet voice whispered into her ear. YN huffed, as if that makes things any better, then pushed against the arms encaging her. Though the space in her bathroom was limited, YN sought to put as much room between her and the dark figure. Once her eyes adjusted to him, YN saw that Hoseok’s clothes were in a much worse state.

“What happened?” She rushed forward, hands gripping the bloody material of the shirt and jacket. YN couldn’t see any wounds on Hoseok’s body given the low lighting but considering he wasn’t flinching she took that as a positive sign. “Calm down, star.” YN glared at his use of the nickname. “We got jumped ‘took care of it.” He shrugged as if it was no big deal. As if the amount of blood on their clothes didn’t lean more towards a massacre than a petty fight. YN sighs, frustrated by the lack of answers she was receiving. “What are you even doing out so late?”

“It’s two am, YN. It’s not that late.” YN tugs at the end of Hoseok’s shirt and he proceeds to strip, handing everything to her. Just from holding it, she could tell the blood had dried. Great. That meant the stains were going to be harder to take off. YN reached into her bathroom cabinet and took out some peroxide spraying it messily on the clothes before dumping them into the washer too. Now that YN was facing away from the man, she asked what was really on her mind.

“Are you hurt?”

The only response she received was scoff and the small 'click' of the door closing behind him.

Hoseok and Yoongi had never been in YN's room before this moment, but they had already made themselves comfortable in her bed. The two of them snuggled up in their boxers while YN realized that though she might have been comfortable sleeping in a shirt and underwear with her best friend before - things had changed. "What are you doing?" Yoongi asks, right when she was about to turn the door handle to go downstairs. Surely it was obvious enough. "I'm going to crash downstairs." YN shrugged, though she felt uncomfortable with the stare both of them were giving her. “Don’t be ridiculous.” Yoongi looked almost upset that YN had tried to leave.

“Come here.” He held his hand out, inviting her to join them. When YN hesitated for a second the glare directed her way, had her practically running to the bed. Hoseok adjusted the sheets so that she could crawl in while Yoongi, always the tiny spoon, decided to switch roles today. Forcing YN to be sandwiched between him and Hoseok. Yoongi’s hand rested on YN’s hip bone while he finally made himself comfortable. YN could feel the softness of his skin brushing against hers. Not to mention the body heat that radiated off of Hoseok. Speaking of the man, when YN’s eyes finally met his dark ones, he winked. Suddenly leaning over her to peck Yoongi on the lips. Not wanting to see the smug look on his face, YN closed her eyes once more.

She was going to have to skip work, it was inevitable. YN couldn’t function without a full night’s sleep and here she was being awakened again. Hoseok and Yoongi stood at the foot of her bed now dressed in their clean clothes. It made YN wonder just how much time had passed, it couldn’t possibly be more than an hour. Maybe two? Hoseok looked at his leather watch before muttering a “We have to go” to Yoongi under his breath. The latter of which seemed to finally notice YN had woken up. “Come with us.” Though that suggestion was more of an order, considering Yoongi was pulling on her arm and dragging her out of bed. Figuring there was no way out of it, YN looked for a pair of jeans.

“Pack a bag,” Hoseok mutters without sparing a glance her way. YN wasn’t wearing a bra and wasn’t going to bother changing into one. Already aware of the eyes on her as she bent over to pull up her pants. Quickly she shoves her uniform shirt, toothbrush, clean underwear, and a phone charger in an old messenger bag. Yoongi thankfully offered to carry it and the three of them headed out.

The cruiser wasn’t as fast as Hoseok’s gsxr750, but it had the space needed to carry three people. Though it caught eyes, it wasn’t so flashy that law enforcement would notice it, something Hoseok thought of when purchasing it. The light blue c90t had been hidden on the side of YN’s garage where it blended into the bushes. YN remained quiet while the two of them fastened their helmets and silently prayed to not die as she settled between the two of them. The ride wasn’t a long one, though Hoseok lived on the other side of town, they were blessed with many green lights.

With the exception of the one positioned right in front of Chang’s Choppers. It was right in the center of downtown and it was a bit odd that it be so vacant. The lack of sunlight or anything similar supported YN’s theory that it was still fairly early in the morning. Chan’s regulars didn’t leave until the sun forced them too unless they were willing to face a walk of shame. Or be busted by the cops. They usually waited out by the alleyway, the one right next door which was a dead-end because of the ten-foot-tall locked gate installed in the back. YN stared at this alleyway while waiting for the light to turn, noticing a figure lying on the ground. Unmoving. YN assumed it was likely some drunkard, but the longer she stared at it the more unnerved she became. When her vision was starting to become adjusted, noticing details in the man’s clothing, the bike sped away.

“Are you guys hungry?” Hoseok asks, voice devoid of any emotion. YN shrugs not particularly caring, while Yoongi speaks up. “I could go for some.”

Nearing a twenty-four hours convenience store, YN expects Hoseok to pull up to the front of the store but doesn’t say anything when he pulls up to the side instead. Yoongi doesn’t comment on it either and YN notices that some feet away by the side door a tall man smoking a cigarette is watching them. Hoseok takes off his helmet, turning around and placing it on YN’s head without saying a word. Then he marches up to the strange man and begins to chat. Far too casual for it to be serious.

“Hey look at me.” Yoongi’s fingers slightly turn YN towards him. A signature gummy smile adorning his features which makes all of YN’s worries melt away. His sudden embrace catches her off guard as Min Yoongi is not one for public displays of affection. Then again he has been acting out of sorts recently. “I’ve missed you.” Yoongi tightened his hold on her. YN was so close that she could smell his and Hoseok’s cologne on his skin. “Why have you been ignoring me?” She could hear the pout in his voice and though she wanted so badly to be honest with Yoongi, the lie rolled off her tongue before she could even think about it.

“I haven’t been ignoring you, Yoongi.”

Of course, she had, it was the only option she saw. Yoongi had embarrassed her in front of everyone and damaged her pride. Though it was likely nothing more than a sick joke to the men, they couldn't be that ignorant of her feelings. Even YN's mother was aware of them and she could barely remember her own daughter's birthday. Looking into the man's sharp cat eyes YN could see the emotion hiding behind them and decided that no: Yoongi knew. He wouldn't be here if he didn't.

“You know why, Yoons.” Instead of giving her the response she so desperately wanted Yoongi only chuckled in response. By then Hoseok had come back, hands stuffed into his pocket. YN cleared her throat trying to push down the emotion threatening to spill. “Where’s the food?” Hoseok looked at her humorously, as if there were some kind of inside joke she missed. “At home. Where else?”

The building the pair called home was your standard apartment complex, the only difference was the side of town it resided on and the hidden fourth floor that Yoongi and Hoseok called home. It wasn't explicitly hidden, but the structure would make anyone believe it was merely a maintenance floor on the roof. It housed fewer units and currently, only two of them were occupied. One by an elderly woman in the corner and Hoseok's right in the middle. When YN had first visited, when Yoongi had moved in, she found it a bit eerie that he'd chosen one right in between two abandoned ones, but later found out the choice had been purposeful.

The apartment wasn't that nice, a standard studio, that Yoongi helped maintain clean. There were a couple of things here and there, but nothing that displayed exuberant wealth. Not the kind that YN knew Hoseok possessed. The second the door opened YN headed for the couch, limbs weary and mentally exhausted. Only to be stopped by Yoongi once more. "Relax YN." His fingers interlaced with hers as he dragged her over to the large king bed in the corner of the room. "You're far too tense." YN sighed, something had triggered Yoongi's neediness and unfortunately it was centered on her tonight.

Hoseok remained silent rummaging through the cabinets trying to find food. YN wondered what he thought of his boyfriend’s sudden change in attitude. Does it have something to do with the fight? Yoongi wasn't one to be scared by a little blood - or a lot in this case - YN had been around long enough to know that though Yoongi never instigated the conflict, he didn't flee from it either. "Finally." Hoseok pulled out snacks, drinks, and a bong. Should’ve known. That was likely what he had purchased from the sketchy guy. Hoseok stripped down to his boxers, throwing the clothes into the dirty clothes bin, and pulling out a pair of sweats laying on a chair.

“Do you smoke YN?” They know she doesn’t. The three of them have been together at enough parties to know that though she doesn’t mind being around people when they do it. YN would never actively participate. Yoongi takes off his shirt too, likely not wanting the smell to get on it, proceeds to lay on the bed. His long nimble fingers played with hers, toying them to a specific rhythm resembling a piano. When was the last time he played?

"C'mon Star, you're safe with us. Just try it once." How could YN say that she doesn't feel safe? That ever since the two of them showed up in her bedroom, bloody, and evading her questions at every turn, she had felt everything but safe. Yoongi and Hoseok were always strange, but today felt off. Still, whenever Yoongi's lips turned into an adorable pout and Hoseok's charcoal eyes darkened some more she was putty in their hands.

YN had already become accustomed to the smell - years of exposure does that to you. Plus Hoseok and Yoongi seemed to be in their little world, the latter laying across Hoseok drawing little stars into his abs. If Yoongi was lean then Hoseok was fit, but not in a way that made his body too hard. YN had never really seen him work out but knew he often did with Namjoon. Imagining Hoseok joining Namjoon in a pilates class caused her to crack a smile. Hoseok caught onto her and smiled back as if he knew what she was thinking.

"Here," he said, holding out the pipe for her to grab. YN takes a deep breath and takes a hit, barely managing to take it all in - at least she doesn't cough. Though YN was sure she didn't even get a proper hit, it seemed enough for the men who observed her with smiles on their faces. YN passes back the bong, thinking she's in the clear. She is until Hoseok takes a hit and blows all the smoke into YN's face. YN coughs, waving the cloud away, while Yoongi is rolling on the ground in laughter.

“I need to go to the bathroom.” YN stands up waiting until she’s turned around to roll her eyes.  Before she can even take two steps, Hoseok’s hand latches onto her wrist. “Don’t take too long.” YN nods and heads for the bathroom, not hesitating to lock the door once inside.

“What the fuck was that YN?!” Wendy whisper-yelled, YN could barely pick it up over the blaring loud music outside the bathroom door. Unconsciously YN shrugged, her mind still reeling as she tried to make sense of what had just happened. Yoongi kissed me. “Holy shit.” YN gasped, her hands gripping the countertop so tightly the tips of her fingers were turning white. While she was on the brink of going into shock Wendy was at the complete opposite of the spectrum: she was raging.

“All those bangtan boys are assholes!” YN couldn’t help but agree with her on that. “I mean why would he kiss you in front of his boyfriend?! Not to mention your date.”

YN froze, her head slowly lifting to look at herself in the mirror, her cheeks were red and eyes wide. If she focused hard enough she could feel the racing of her heartbeat in her ears. “What?” She turned to look at Wendy. Her friend seemed to have misunderstood exactly what YN was questioning. “Youngjae was right there watching the whole thing. He followed you after Yoongi dragged you to the smoke room.” Truthfully YN couldn’t give a damn about a Youngjae. How could she have forgotten that Hoseok was right there? In front of them!

“Oh my god,” YN moaned, her hands running through her hair. This night had been the worst and now YN would have to deal with the fallout that was sure to come from the kiss.

“They always do this YN. Every time you get a date or a new friend the two of them pull some stunt. It isn’t healthy!”

YN turned towards Wendy who in her right arm held both their bags. Thank god. "Look, Wendy, I'm far too drunk for this conversation. I think I'll just head home." Wendy looked like she was about to say something, but was interrupted by the banging on the door.

YN opens the door to Hoseok leaning on the banister. "Everything alright?" YN nods, thankful that the red from her cheeks has finally gone down. "Good because I have to pee." Hoseok shoves her away and begins to pull down his pants, causing YN to bolt out the door. Back in the main room, Yoongi is scrolling through his phone, "Change into that." He states without even looking at her. The shirt is rather large on her frame: the entirety of her neck and some areas of her shoulder being exposed. It does reach mid-thigh though which is preferable to what she's wearing now. Quickly she changes into the shirt and out of her jeans, by the time she's done Hoseok is out of the bathroom.

"Get in." He motions toward the bed, knowing there's no point in arguing YN does so. This time facing Yoongi and cradling into his chest. Hoseok gets in soon after turning off the lights, his hand comes to rest right above YN's thigh. She looks up at Yoongi, but the man has already closed his eyes and she opts to do the same. Hoping to rest this time.

"My head is killing me. Shit." YN had to smile awkwardly at a couple of customers who turned to look at them in indignation. "Sooyoung, quiet please." The brunette turned to YN and sent her a reproachful look. YN ignored it knowing it didn't mean anything. Sooyoung leaned against the counter, her upper half resting over the register.

“I’m going to quit.”

YN chuckles, “Don’t you always say that.”

“I know,” Sooyoung huffs glancing around the store seemingly bored by her surroundings. It isn’t until she glances outside that a question pops into her head. “Doesn’t your mom usually drop you off?”

“So?”

“I didn’t know your mom had a bike.” The look Sooyoung sent her could best be described as mischievous. YN ignored her in favor of switching the topic. She glanced around and saw someone that went to her college, raking over the vintage magazine so violently he was sure to break them. “Have you heard from Wendy?” Sooyoung groaned, the two of them weren’t exactly on the best terms. “Last I saw from her was at yesterday’s party. Clinging onto your scraps.” That caught YN’s attention, “What do you mean?” Wendy had been ignoring her, but that wasn’t exactly out of character for her.

“She was all over Youngjae like a bitch in heat. It was uber pathetic especially when everyone knew she was doing it to piss you off.” Sooyoung laughed, “Should’ve seen the look on her face when you didn’t show up.”

YN frowned, Yoongi's distrust of Wendy popping into her head. "I didn't even know there was a party." Still, she found it weird that Sooyoung, Wendy, and Youngjae would be at a party without YN knowing about it. Unless… “Were Yoongi and Hoseok there?"  The look Sooyoung sent her was enough of an answer, "Duh. Do they ever miss a party? Especially not when Seokjin throws it." Of course, they would purposefully exclude her. Whenever something occurred between them and YN, she would be treated as an outcast. A sick punishment they had devised as if her social anxiety wasn’t shit already.

Sooyoung glanced up towards the clock, "Oh your shift it up." YN raised her eyebrow, "I thought I had a six-hour shift today." Sooyoung nods, "You did, but I needed the hours so I told Park I'd cover for you." YN shook her head disapprovingly. "Oh come on, it isn't like you need it. Please, I'm behind on rent." YN relents and heads towards the office to clock out. At least this means I get to go home and sleep. Though there was that to look forward to, YN didn't enjoy the thirty-minute walk home she would have to endure. She waved goodbye to Sooyoung and hoisted her bag around her body, thanking god for the clear weather.

The walk home gave YN the much-needed solace she needed, time to dwell on everything that had happened. Something had shifted in her relationship with the men. Though their relationship was never conventional it wasn't anything that could justify what had happened last night. Though YN had a crush on Yoongi since she had met him freshman year, and though he had always been a bit possessive of her, it wasn't until he began dating Hoseok that things took a turn. Hoseok had always been a part of the group, but he never really made an effort to get to know her like the rest of them had. When the two of them began dating it was like Hoseok skipped all the steps and getting to know each other and went right into calling YN a friend - though he'd never say it out loud.

The three of them were always together and she was smart enough to know what most people in town thought about their strange relationship. YN knew what she thought about it. Min Yoongi and Jung Hoseok’s insight, though, was something she severely lacked. It's all because of that stupid kiss. YN adjusted her ponytail behind her, pulling at it to tighten the band.

As she was nearing home, the loud siren and flashing lights drew her attention. The patrol car dashed through the street and kept going straight, presumably headed downtown. Most of the trouble that occurred came from that area of town, which YN found ironic considering Kim Seokjin lived nowhere near.

The house was yet again empty and YN knew her mom had yet to arrive from her shift. Poor woman. The least YN could do was cook her a meal. She set her dirty clothes in the bin and headed straight for the kitchen, making the rice and seasoning the beef so that all her mother would have to do is fry it. She had been alone, all of thirty minutes when the banging on the door commenced. It was so loud it made YN jump in surprise. Quickly she walked over to the window trying to see who was at her front door, only to see an angry Hoseok and Yoongi. A sigh she didn't even know she was holding in left her as she braced herself.

“Didn’t you say your shift ended at six?”

Well hello to you to Hoseok. “It did, but they changed it without telling me.” She held the door open so the men could walk in. It felt strange having them back in her home - not drenched in blood that is.

Yoongi was quiet, but from how the veins bulged in his arms she could see how tense he was. She tentatively touched his arm and felt the muscles relax beneath the skin. “I booked a room for the weekend, Star. You should join us.” YN turned to face Hoseok, the expression on his face was unreadable. Even though this was her home YN felt the men wielded all the power. “When was the last time it was just us?” Yoongi’s arms wrapped around her torso embracing her from behind. His chin resting on her shoulder. “I’m not sure.”

"Do you have anything better to do?" Yoongi asked as if the only thing that would possibly make her hesitate was a previous engagement.

“No.”

"Then that settles it," Hoseok states walking further into the house and sitting on the couch, making himself comfortable.

YN turns her head slightly to look at Yoongi, her voice was hushed. "When are we leaving."

When Yoongi turns to look at her they are mere millimeters away. "Right now," YN asks for at least an hour to get ready which Hoseok grants as she races to finish the food and get prepared. In forty-five minutes YN showers, shaves, and packs her clothes. She decides to bring along a bikini since the weather has been warm as of late. When she exits her bedroom Hoseok is standing there with her phone in hand. "It kept ringing. Think it was an alarm." She grabs her phone but finds it weird that there are no notifications or missed calls. Not dwelling on it for too long she shoots her mom a text:

'Staying with a friend for the weekend. Left the food in the microwave and there's lasagna for tomorrow. Love ya'

The beach house belonged to Seokjin, as did most things the group utilized, but the area the three of them were staying in was a closed-off room. More like efficiency than an actual studio. Which meant YN was likely to be sharing a bed with the men again. Now far away from everything YN was able to think some things through. Particularly her relationship with Yoongi and Hoseok. She never enjoyed confrontation but figured this was one sleeping dog that could be awakened.

The sun had yet to set when they arrived, so while they couldn't use the beach, the pool was free-range. "I fucking hate the water." Yoongi groans, clinging onto the pool's wall like his life depended on it. YN giggled, which caused the pout on Yoongi's lips to grow exponentially. "Don't you know how to swim?" He looked offended by the question. "Of course, I fucking do. Doesn't mean I like to." YN playfully rolled her eyes. The complete opposite of Yoongi, Hoseok was currently swimming laps around the pool. "He's a fucking dog," muttered Yoongi. A strange thought popped into YN's head that had her going underwater just so Yoongi wouldn't see her embarrassment.

She almost swallowed water when Hoseok pulled her even lower, putting a finger to his lips while going behind Yoongi. YN went up for air, gasping slightly which caused Yoongi to frown. "You okay?" YN nodded, "Perfectly fine." If Yoongi didn't believe her, he didn't have a chance to voice his doubts as Hoseok pulled him underwater. YN couldn't contain her laughter as she saw Yoongi fight against his boyfriend like an angry feline. "What the fuck Hoseok!" Yoongi screamed once the two of them finally emerged. Hoseok only smiled teasingly, sending a flying kiss to his angry lover.

YN only laughed more, the bell-like sound drawing the attention of the men. Twilight surrounded them all around, the purple sky reflecting off the clear water doing a nice contrast with the hue of the skins. "What is it?" YN asked, once her laughter died down. Not understanding why the two of them gaped at her like that. All YN did was blink and suddenly Yoongi's lips were on hers. Pressing urgently, passionately, as if she contained the oxygen he needed to breathe. YN stood frozen eyes wide open until she made eye contact with Hoseok who didn't look the least bit upset. Instead, he gazed at them with fascination, then he nodded. The action so curt YN would've missed it if she wasn't paying attention.

YN closed her eyes, giving in to her desires. Yoongi's lips were much harsher than she remembered, but they were sweet. Intoxicatingly so. YN wondered if this was all a dream. If she'd hit her head or perhaps swallowed too much pool water. Her previous idea had proved to be right, Yoongi was robbing her of her breath. But despite the numbness, YN was beginning to feel the two of them continued the kiss until they were forced apart by their need for air.

"I think it's getting late. We should head in," stated Hoseok, looking in between the two of them before heading towards the stairs. Yoongi followed after him and YN remained alone for just a couple of seconds. What just happened? It wasn’t until Yoongi climbed out of the pool that YN began to swim, unsure of what this meant for the night. Hoseok had allowed for the kiss to happen. So does that mean that the previous kiss - "Hurry up, star? You'll freeze to death." Hoseok stood near the edge of the pool holding a towel open. YN attempted to grab it once she had gotten out, but the man didn't let go. Wrapping her in it instead while Yoongi walked toward their room.

“We should shower to get the bleach out of our hair.”

“Wouldn’t have to do that if you didn’t pull me under Seok.”

“You loved it, babe.”

YN trailed behind them silently observing the night sky and noticing how Orion’s belt loomed over them.

"The boys are coming over later," Yoongi said, as you gathered some of your clothes in your hands ready to hit the showers. "Don't worry though they won't be staying the night." YN's thankful for that. She enjoyed the guy's company, but she wasn't necessarily in the right state of mind. YN opened the bathroom door to see Hoseok in there peeling of his trunks. "Sorry, my bad." He chuckled, "Hey Yoongi, why don't we save water?" All the blood in YN's body rushed towards her ears at what she had just heard. A silent 'what' left her lips which caused Hoseok to smirk as he pulled her in.

"You don't mind, do you Star? Didn't you and Yoongi use to take baths when you were kids? So did we." The context was incredibly different from back then, but YN was smart enough to read between the lines. In a bold move, she said, "As long as you keep your hands to yourself." Hoseok laughed, leaning in. "Where's the fun in that?" His eyes trailed slowly all across her body before he turned around and dropped his trunks.

Yoongi came in just then, "Hoseok has a bit of an exhibitionist streak in him." He too then began to take off his shirt and fiddle with the strings holding up his trunks. They were eyeing her - waiting for an acceptance or a rejection. Good thing YN had decided to be valiant this weekend. She reached behind her back and undid the laces, sliding the top off before walking towards the shower. Despite the size of the room the bathroom was fairly large with the shower fitting the three of them comfortably, of course, that didn't mean she wasn't sandwiched between them. It seems they were keeping their word, mainly focusing on rinsing themselves off and using the soap on themselves. Then came YN's turn.

"Can I?" Yoongi asked as he held the lavender-scented soap bar in his hands. His hands were just a hair away right near her navel if YN breathed too deeply their skins were sure to touch. "Yes." Yoongi placed soap on her skin and proceeded to lather it in, moving all across her torso. It was only ever the sides of his palm, his fingertips, his knuckles that brushed against her skin but it left goosebumps in its wake. Hoseok was too busy ringing the soap off his body, but eventually, he did turn around. The other soap in hand, "Can I help?" YN could swear he even batted his eyelashes though that might've been the water getting into his eyes.

Hoseok dropped to his knees with little hesitation using the same technique as Yoongi to cleanse her legs and thighs. He always avoided touching her pelvis directly by millimeters, YN thanked hindsight for keeping her bottoms on. Though that might've been so the men couldn't see the absolute state of arousal she was in. Eventually, Yoongi reached her breasts, lathering up his hands before gently massaging them. YN gasped as a soft mewl escaped her, she leaned back against Yoongi's chest. He didn't comment simply continuing the motions despite YN feeling the effect she was having on him on her backside.

"Take them off," Hoseok spoke as he rose to his full height, soap still in hand. YN hooked her fingers at the side and dragged them down slowly, allowing them to slide down her soap-ridden legs before kicking them to the side. Hoseok kissed her cheek as a reward. Then he cleaned the areas he hadn't been able to before, being extra careful with the inside of her thighs and hips while entirely avoiding her core. The water was beginning to get too hot, the fog filling up the bathroom warming YN.

“Guys.” Hoseok’s hands reached towards her back gripping her ass tightly, before beginning to massage it as well. It's too much. Far too much, but she couldn't get them to stop. Didn't want to. The heat was making YN disoriented and she blinked several times to clear her vision. Finally, she felt it: the pressure and then the release. Her body slackened slightly and Hoseok and Yoongi held her up. Before the former unclipped the showerhead from the wall and rinsed YN off. They helped her get dressed, YN assumed her sudden exhaustion must have been from the long day.

Thankfully she was able to walk to bed all on her own. Laying under the sheets, while the two of them finished getting dressed. "We're going to get food. We'll be right back." Hoseok stated, before leaning over and planting a peck on her lips. That would've been enough to wake her up, was she not already half-asleep.

“You’re the brightest thing in this town YN. You shine like a star and deserve so much more.”

Loud blaring had YN jumping out the bed as she looked around the room for the source of the noise. She saw her phone vibrating violently against the countertop and ran to get it, worried it might be her mother calling. Instead, it was an unfamiliar number. Hesitantly she picked up and put it against her ear.

“Hello?”

“YN!” Wendy’s loud voice caused her to wince. “Why...you….calls-”

"Hold on Wendy," YN checked her signal and sure enough only she only saw one little bar. "Let me go outside because you're cutting off." She walked towards the door unlocking it but leaving it propped open. Outside the summer air was cool - a strong distinction from this afternoon. "What's going on?"

“Why have you been dodging my calls? I’ve been trying to get into contact with you since this morning.”

“I swear this is the first time I’ve gotten a call all day.” YN paused to look at the number, “Why aren’t you calling me from yours?”

“Cause the calls aren’t going through. Are you mad at me? Did you block me?”

YN shook her head, “What? Of course not Wendy!”

“Well whatever,” Wendy sounded anxious. Though she was typically loud, YN had never heard her like this. Scared. “Youngjae is dead.”

She felt her phone slipping her hand and tightened her grip. “What?” Instead of Youngjae’s face popping into her head, an image of bloody Hoseok and Yoongi did.

“They found his body this morning beside Chan’s place. All cut up and disfigured like in the movies.”

YN was finding it difficult to breathe. T-the body in the alleyway. It wasn’t a drunkard sleeping. It was Youngjae. YN had seen his body in the alleyway and -

“...he left the party last night pretty early after the fight. I don’t even know why he would be near Chan’s since he lives nowhere near.”

That piqued her interest, “Fight? What fight?”

Now it was Wendy’s turn to be silent. “YN…”

"Goddammit, Wendy just tell me." She didn't want it to be true. It couldn't be true. They wouldn’t. Would they?

“When you left the party the other day Youngjae got upset that Yoongi kissed you and called Hoseok and him freaks and fags. They ignored him but yesterday at the party…”

YN recalled Yoongi’s words: “Some homophobic pigs tried to attack Hobi and me.”

“YN. Hoseok and Yoongi are the prime suspects.”

YN could hear the motor of the bike being turned off and the steps climbing up the stairs. “Star?”

[bytheangell]

Delightful Friendships

Flufftober Day 12: White (Read on AO3)

Maia wonders if she should cut Magnus off. She’s reluctant to, not only because he’s her best tipper and she could definitely use the extra cash this month, but because he insists that he’s fine, and not in that self-deprecating way that implies he knows he isn’t and doesn’t care. He seems happy enough, laughing and joking around with a few of her other regulars, just far tipsier than she’s ever seen him before.

He’s also the most relaxed she’s ever seen him. Magnus’ voice is rising and falling animatedly with exaggerated gestures to accompany his stories. He even challenges one of the newer werewolves from her pack to a game of pool that he loses spectacularly after he jumps the cue ball over the edge of the table and directly into the lap of an older werewolf who, thankfully, is good-natured about the whole thing instead of using it as an excuse to pick a fight.

She watches him for a while, keeping an eye out just in case, before deciding to pry a little bit when he asks for another bottle of wine.

“Are we drinking for any special occasion today?” After bartending for this long Maia’s gotten pretty good at casual, leading questions to get answers when she wants to.

“I helped an old friend finish perfecting a set of protection spells today that we’d been working on for… the better part of three decades, I believe,” Magnus says, beaming. He isn’t one to brag, not about the things that truly matter, but she’s heard enough rumors to know that this isn’t the first time he’s been involved in creating new magic.

“Congratulations!” she offers.

“Thank you, Maia. Sadly, Alexander has a late patrol and Catarina is at the clinic tonight, so I’m celebrating by myself until they’re free,” Magnus continues. And yes, that makes sense for the strange combination of his good mood and lack of company.

“Well, you’re not by yourself when you’re here,” she points out, grabbing a glass from behind the bar and pouring herself a shot, raising it to cheers Magnus with. They do this two more times before Magnus moves his glass, which is a bit too full, back towards himself too quickly, spilling the dark red liquid over the edge and onto the white shirt he’s wearing.

Magnus curses.

“I suppose my outfit needed a bit more color anyway?” Magnus jokes but still looks upset despite the deflection.

“Can’t you just-” Maia starts, then trails off making little swirling motions with her hands.

Magnus rolls his eyes. “You’ve been spending too much time with Biscuit,” he says. “I do not look like that.”

Maia is about to point out that he sort of does when he continues.

“And no, I can’t just use magic because I depleted most of it finishing that spell earlier. The portal back to New York was all I had left in me,” he admits, frowning at the effort it takes to not slur his words beyond recognition the longer he speaks. “...and perhaps the reason I’m a bit more drunk than intended, in retrospect.”

Maia can tell that he’s embarrassed, as if inebriated patrons spilling drinks - on themselves or elsewhere - isn’t something she deals with on the daily.

“Well then, let’s get that stain out the old-fashioned way,” Maia says, motioning for Magnus to follow her behind the counter of the bar, which he does without question.

“Give me the shirt,” she says once they’re in the back office, holding a hand out expectantly. Magnus looks down at his shirt and then back up at her warily.

“Please,” she says with a laugh. “As if half of New York hasn’t seen you at Pandemonium practically topless in those sheer shirts.”

Magnus considers this for a moment. “Fair,” he admits, before taking off the stained shirt and handing it to her, crossing his arms over his now-bare chest.

Maia takes it and clears a spot on the desk to spread it out, rusting around a shelf on the side of the room for a moment before coming back with a spray bottle and two white cloths. First, she blots out the worst of the excess liquid with one cloth before spraying what’s left with the mixture from the bottle.

“Hydrogen peroxide and liquid soap,” she explains as she does it. “Works like magic,” she adds with a wink, using small motions with the second cloth to agitate the fabric and work out the wine. It takes a bit of work, some extra baking soda, and a second round of spray, before the only sign there was ever a stain is the damp spot left behind.

“We have those fancy new hand-dryers in the bathroom if you want to try and dry it,” Maia suggests, handing the shirt back. “I’ve seen girls drying rain-soaked hair in there, so this wouldn’t be the weirdest thing they’ve been used for.”

“You, my dear, are a lifesaver,” he says in awe, turning the shirt around in his hands like he can’t believe that actually worked.

“I, my dear, am a bartender,” she corrects. “And getting drink stains out of my clothing is half of my job.”

“Thank you,” he says anyway, tone full of sincerity. “I’m normally not this...” he struggles for a word, but Maia knows where this is going.

“Magnus, don’t you dare apologize for relaxing and having a good time. Do you know how many belligerent Downworlders I have to kick out of here every week? You’re a delight, trust me. And if anyone deserves a night off it’s you.”

It’s nice to see Magnus comfortable enough to let his guard down around her, to be able to make jokes about things and put each other at ease, to be in a position to offer a bit of help in what little ways she can, whether it’s getting a stain out of a shirt or making sure he knows she’s always got his back.

Magnus considers her for a second, and nods. “I can’t argue that,” he says finally. “I am a delight.”

They both share a look for a moment before they’re bursting into laughter. Magnus heads straight for the bathroom to use the hand dryer after they leave the office and Alec arrives shortly after, giving Maia a questioning look when he doesn’t see Magnus anywhere.

“Little warlock’s room,” she says, nodding towards the back and sliding a drink across the bar to Alec. “You’ve got some celebrating to catch up on.”

“Hope I didn’t miss too much fun,” Alec says, just as Magnus makes his way back to the bar greets him with a kiss.

“Not at all. Right, Maia?” Magnus says, giving Maia a wink over Alec’s shoulder and bringing his finger up to his lips in a ‘shh’ motion.

Maia returns the wink before Alec turns around to face her. “Right.”

[ateezmakemeweep]

boxer!mingi 

word count: 2k

angst, fluff 

12:52 a.m.

you feel yourself about to succumb to sleep, eyes heavy and breaths even and the worry that plagues your mind every wednesday night finally withering away.

he'll be okay. 

he always comes back okay. 

he's alive.

the sound of your apartment door slamming shut echoes from the hallway, rousing you from your sleepy state. you feel a sense of relief flood through you because he's here but it does nothing to mend the knots in your stomach because a part of you knows he's probably not okay.

heavy footsteps make their way into your room, a face peaking in and surveying your figure in the dark before making their way into the bathroom. you sit up in bed and sigh, raking your hands through your knotty hair before following mingi into the bathroom.

you heart drops when you see him, already shirtless and hunched over the porcelain sink full of red water. each of his knuckles are busted and swollen, the dried blood on them making you feel queasy. he hears you come in but keeps his head down, knowing his face is really gonna make you lose it tonight.

you lean your head against the doorframe, watching him silently as he cleans off his knuckles with just water.

"you should use the peroxide under the sink," you suggest quietly, as if he hasn't been tending to cuts and bruises his whole life.

his only response is a shake of the head and you bite your lip so you don't pester him again to clean them properly. you watch as he roughly wipes the other hand, the white washcloth now stained red and you feel yourself grimace at the pain he's probably in.

he shuts the faucet, draining the pink water out of the towel before turning around to throw it in the hamper. he stares blankly at the wall for five-seconds, not ready to face you and your reaction because he knows it's gonna break him.

he finally turns and tears well up in your eyes almost immediately at the sight of his face. his left eye is nearly swollen shut, discolored and bloody with a bruise already forming on his right cheek. 

your teary gaze surveys the cut on his eyebrow and it definitely could use a stitch or two.

he looks down at you and swallows the lump in his throat at the sight of you already on the verge of crying.

"hi," he says simply, quietly, uttering his first words to you tonight.

you can only look up at him and laugh humorlessly, your gaze drifting away from him because you can't stomach how fucked up he looks right now.

he must know because he opens his mouth to speak again.

"i'm okay," he says reassuringly, resting his hand on your exposed shoulder and rubbing his thumb across your skin.

"you're not, mingi" you squeak, voice breaking as your gaze meets his again, "look at your face...look at your knuckles," you say quietly, taking his hand off your shoulder and rubbing your own thumb across it.

he hopes you don't notice when he winces at the pain of your touch over his broken skin.

"it'll heal in a few days, baby," he says softly, like he's trying to brush off his injuries as a little cut. he draws his hand back from your touch, putting it on your waist and pressing his lips against the top of your head.

"but it's so-“

he puts his finger to your lips softly, silencing your words and you have half the mind to bite it.

"how 'bout we just go to bed now? please?” he mumbles against your hair, smelling the lingering scent of your shampoo. 

you let him guide you back to the bedroom silently before you crawl in to bed, feeling the mattress dip behind you. his long arms wrap around your waist seconds later, the back of your head against his chest as he hums contently against you.

"i missed you," he says quietly, drowsiness already evident in his deep voice but his words do little to calm you. you can only keep thinking about the bruises littering his body, thinking about how someone slapped and punched and kicked them into him on a dirty, fighting ring floor.

"why do you do it?" you ask.

“y/n..."

you turn around to face him, his arms falling from your waist as you look up at him, your head resting on a pillow. 

"why do you do it, mingi?" you ask again quietly, wet eyes pleading with him to give you something, anything.

"you know why," he says shortly and it's the same answer you've gotten every other time you've asked him.

"there...there are other ways to make money," you say softly, "other ways that won't make this happen.”

your finger comes out to trail it across his bruised cheekbone, the sight threatening to make a fresh tear fall from your eye.

"we go through this every week, baby," he says, words and tone soft but his patience wearing thin.

because even with his face looking like this, he lost the fight tonight. meaning he made no money off the illegal bets.

and usually, he can deal with your questioning and attempt at persuasion because your heart's in the right place. it hurts you to see him like this just as much as it hurts him to see you sad about it.

but…

"you know that when i win, i bring in a lot of money. a lot more than if i did stupid little side jobs.”

"but my co-worker said that her boyfriend does construction jobs and-“

"please, y/n, enough," he says, cutting you off because he knows where this is going. and he doesn't wanna hear it tonight, especially after losing.

but you're not having it either. you can't keep seeing him come home like this.

"and depending on the day, he could make a lot of money. i can ask her to see if there's something you can do and-“

"i said enough!" his deep voice scolds, loud and booming and causing you to jump away from him on instinct.

he watches you cower into the wall, tears gathering in your eyes again as you look at him in disappointment and he feels anger swirling in his chest at himself.

"why the fuck can't you just drop it," he growls, "why do you wait until i get loud?”

"why can't you just hear out my ideas," you say timidly, voice threatening to break as you try to hold your shit together, "you don't even try to listen. i'm...i'm just trying to help you.”

"because this is what i'm always gonna do," he says, "this is what i have to do, y/n, you've always known this. i don't need your fucking help, i just need you to accept it.”

"but you're getting more and more hurt, mingi," you say, an almost pathetic whine in your tone as you try not to think about how much his words are hurting your feelings, "look at your face.”

"i'm well aware, i can feel it," he snaps and you feel yourself recoil from the onslaught of harsh words and snippy tones.

even with the room only lit by the light-post outside your window, you can see the anger building behind his swollen eyes. you stare back with tears in your own before dropping them after a few tense seconds. 

"okay," you finally say, timidly, before you turn around so your back is to him.

you expect him to do something or at least say something. but you only feel him get out of bed and walk down the hallway.

you lay there quietly, praying he's not walking out the front door and a part of you calms when you hear him moving around in the kitchen.

you're not surprised when you feel the tears come streaming down your face, quiet cries leaving your body. 

because every wednesday, your boyfriend's still gonna be coming home bloody and bruised. because he's not even trying to hear you out and understand how shitty it is that you have to sit here with the knowledge that other men are beating the shit out of him for money.

you silence the sobs leaving you into your pillow, feeling the tears soak through it and you just really fucking hate this. you hate crying and fighting with him and staining your pillowcase.

you're not sure how long you lay there and cry, it could've been two minutes or twenty, before mingi comes back in, padding his way over to the bed.

"y/n, stop crying," he says, his own pain now evident in his deep voice.

you hesitantly turn around and see him kneeling next to the bed, arms resting atop the sheets.

"come here," he demands quietly and you just stare at him, unable to gauge his mood right now.

"please, baby, come here," he repeats, his voice sweet and soft and desperate causing you to scoot over until you're only an arms length away. 

he pulls you closer with one hand, wiping the wetness off your cheeks as his eyes roam over your blotchy face.

he feels his heart pang at the fact it's his fault you look like that.

"i hate when you cry," he says quietly, his hand moving to stroke your hair, "i'm sorry.”

you lick at your lips, tasting the salt from your tears and you shake your head. "it's okay.”

"it's not, y/n," he says, "i...i know you're only trying to help.”

you roll onto to your stomach, crossing your arms in front of you to rest your chin as look up at him. "i just don't like seeing you hurt," you say softly, "i don't like thinking that... one night, you might not come home," you confess your fears quietly.

"baby, i'm not gonna die fighting down there," he says, the slightest hint of amusement in his voice and you scrunch your eyebrows at him in anger.

"you don't know that!" you squeak, feeling the heat from your slight embarrassment rush to your cheeks.

he smiles, his eyes looking down at you with such a soft expression. because this all means you care about him. even if you're dramatic and overbearing and a little annoying, it's because you care.

"you're cute.”

you huff in annoyance, shaking your head and rolling your eyes at him.

"fine, whatever. keep getting beat up then," you say sarcastically, the pain still in your chest looking at his battered face.

his eyebrow raises mischievously at you, "keep crying for two hours about it," he counters, his thumb softly rubbing over your red, tear-stained cheek again as if he's trying to wipe it all away.

you hide the smirk on your lips at your teasing back and forth, knowing this conversation isn't over but for tonight accepting it.

you move away and shimmy back to your spot closest to the wall.

"are you coming back up?”

a smile appears on his lips and he nods, crawling back in next to you and laying on his back, extending his arm out for you.

you lay your head on his chest, listening to his steady heartbeat as your legs tangle into one another. he presses a kiss to the top of your head, down to your temple, then to your cheek until you're pulling your face away in a fit of giggles.

"stop," you whine tiredly and he smiles against you, watching as a big yawn interrupts your laughs and you burrow yourself further into chest.

he hums against you for a few minutes causing your body to relax and eyes to grow heavy. the smallest smile makes its way back onto his face when you go slack against him, face burrowed into his bare chest.

you feel him tighten his hold around you, his deep voice whispering, "goodnight baby" just as sleep takes you.

[owletstarlet]

prompt: tanunatsu + tanuma pines, natsume gets hurt somehow... hurt/comfort + fluff?

(That I can do, friend. cw for vague wound stuff--

“…sorry I woke you.”

“‘S okay,” Kaname mutters, automatically, groggily, disentangling himself from the duvet. 3:28 AM, reads the alarm clock he has to squint to see without his contacts in. It sits over in the corner where Nishimura and Kitamoto lie sprawled half on top of one another, snoring softly, the sliver of light from the bathroom illuminating their slack faces.

Kaname rubs his eyes. “Wha’s th’matter?” The words catch on a yawn as he pushes himself upright. Natsume’s kneeling beside him, hair damp, clad in pajama pants, bare shoulders hunched around the borrowed yukata he’s clutching to his chest. His eyes are too wide, face bloodless in the scant light.

“Do you know where a first aid kit would be?”

That is enough to vault Kaname into complete, unsettled alertness. He leans forward. “Why?”

Natsume hugs the yukata a little tighter. “Just, um. I don’t want to stain any more of your aunt’s towels.”

Kaname blinks. “What?”

 “Sorry,” he repeats, in lieu of any explanation, eyes on the floor.  It’s then that Kaname notices the fine tremor in Natsume’s shoulders, and he feels icy pinpricks down his spine.

“Come on,” he says, on his feet in the span of a breath and holding out both hands. Natsume only takes one offered hand, still gripping the yukata like a lifeline, and makes his own shaky way to his feet. Oddly, when they head to the bathroom, he waits for Kaname to go in first, and trails along behind.

And the sight that meets him in the bathroom is…alarming, to say the least. A mess of old gauze and tape litters the sink, some crusted with blackened blood, others tinged a sickly yellow color. Wadded up bits of toilet paper lying nearby are splotched with brighter, newer blood, as is the rumpled white towel draped over the edge of the tub. Presiding over the whole grim scene is Ponta, perched on lid of the toilet seat, face inscrutable as ever as he regards Kaname.

“Thought you were meant to be getting more bandages, brat,” he says, though his voice lacks a bit of its usual bite.

“I am,” Kaname tells him, hoping his voice doesn’t sound as faint as he suddenly feels. “Just needed to see—” He rounds on Natsume. “What happened?”

“I—” he begins, and falters, gaze casting about the mess he’d made of the bathroom before finally landing on the dark open space of the room past the door. It’s when he turns to close it, presumably to keep from waking the others, that Kaname does see.

Four ragged tears in the skin midway up his back, puckered, angry red and weeping in places. The shortest of them has to be at least as long as Kaname’s hand. He feels his breath catch, and Natsume wheels back around, looking rather caught in the headlights.

“It’s not that bad,” he says, quickly. “Or, um,” he amends, when Sensei snorts. “It wasn’t, until earlier today, I guess.”

Kaname shakes his head. “Must’ve been some really nasty stairs you fell down,” he hears himself murmur, through lips gone numb.

That’s what Natsume had told them, earlier, as to why he’d been moving so gingerly, why he’d opted for sitting on a boulder and watching while the rest of them had gone splashing around in a nearby sun-dappled stream that afternoon. The lie was transparent, and not just to Kaname; it had been all Kitamoto could do to keep Nishimura from staging a hostile intervention in favor of letting Natsume sleep when he’d dozed off before the rest of them had headed for the bath after dinner.

He doesn’t even have the time to look properly ashamed of himself before Kaname’s stepping forward, gripping his skinny shoulder with one hand and sliding the other up beneath his damp fringe. He needn’t have bothered, he can feel the heat coming off Natsume’s skin before he even touches, can feel him trembling. Natsume’s chewing his lip a little under the scrutiny, but his gaze has gone a little wide, something adrift and glassy in his eyes. Kaname takes his other shoulder, more than a little worried that his knees will give out.

“The room across the hall is empty.” He forces out an even tone. “You can wait there while I get the kit.”

***

Kaname really wishes he knew what he was doing. He’s got half the kit’s contents pulled out and strewn around by his knees, along with a basin of water, a stack of hand towels, and a bottle of peroxide. He’d had no idea if peroxide was the right thing to use when he’d grabbed it, but rubbing alcohol had seemed like it would be too painful. Natsume’s huddled before him on a fresh futon with his back fully bared, a pillow squashed between his face and his knees. Ponta’s curled up by Natsume’s hip, impassively watching Kaname work.

“What did this?” he whispers. The wounds don’t look phenomenally deep—though Kaname’s not certain he would know—but it’s clear that Natsume had needed, and failed, to get prompt medical attention. Natsume’s holding himself rigid, barely breathing as the peroxide sizzles and hisses. If there’s a better way to flush out the wounds than to just pour the peroxide directly over them, Kaname doesn’t know it, but he can smell the infection, acrid and stomach-churning, and see the red and yellow spilling from the edges of the torn flesh and into the towel in Kaname’s hand.

“Some great ugly bear-faced brute,” Ponta grouses, in response to the question Kaname nearly forgot he asked. “I could’ve taken care of him easily, but this moron wouldn’t let me.”

“He wasn’t so bad.” The words are soft, nearly lost in the pillow.

“Here, lie down.” Kaname helps ease Natsume onto his stomach on the futon, realizing he’s probably emptied just as much of the peroxide bottle straight onto the sheets as onto the wounds. Could’ve easily just been because his fingers won’t stop trembling. “If he wasn’t so bad, then why’d he tear your back open?”

It’s the wrong thing to say, Kaname realizes it immediately. Natsume goes very still, under his hands. The long pause before his answer is like a door slamming shut. Kaname thinks he hates it.

“There’s not always a reason,” Natsume says, finally, diplomatically. “They act on whim, most of the time. It’d be more odd to come across a large one like that that didn’t at least try to take a bite out of you, anyhow.”

That’s reassuring, Kaname thinks, dryly, though he realizes it may not have meant to be. Natsume had obviously helped the creature, sensed some kind of distress in it and shown it kindness even when it had hurt him so badly, because of course he had. Kaname knows if he presses for the whys and hows that Natsume will just hedge and evade and it aches, to be stuck on this side of a wall he just can’t scale.

It’s not the time right now, though, to pry further. Not when Natsume’s gripping the edge of the futon with pale fingers, breathing hard through his nose while Kaname uses a soaked wad of gauze to press the peroxide into any sickly corners of the wounds he may have missed, hoping he’s doing the right thing and not causing unnecessary pain. Natsume needs a doctor, if not now then the instant his aunt wakes up and can call for one.

“When did this happen?” Kaname asks. “The Fujiwaras left on, what, Thursday morning?”

They’d gone up to Osaka, the two of them, for a conference for Shigeru’s work. They’d wanted very much for Natsume to accompany them, apparently, to get the chance to explore the faraway city with Touko. But there had been a round of exams on Thursday and Friday that Natsume couldn’t be excused from, though the Fujiwaras had been relieved to know that Natsume would be going down with Kaname, Nishimura and Kitamoto to Aunt Satomi’s inn for the four-day holiday that followed. They’d all arrived Saturday morning, and it’s Saturday night—or Sunday morning, now, Kaname supposes.

“Um…” Natsume’s pause now feels less like hesitancy and more like he’s genuinely trying to remember. “Thursday evening?”

“You sat a whole day of exams like this?”

“It wasn’t infected, then,” Natsume replies, simply, and Kaname doesn’t know if he wants to laugh or cry. “And I think I did okay on my History test, at least.”

“Why would you not go to the hospital? Any of us would’ve gone with you. Dad could’ve driven you.” He’s trying really hard not to sound accusatory, or hysterical, but the sight of any one of these gashes is enough to make the bile rise in Kaname’s throat.

“They’d have come back,” Natsume says, softly. “The Fujiwaras. I didn’t want that. I thought it’d be fine if I just kept them clean and wrapped up…it usually is fine when I do that…and it was mostly okay until yesterday morning, but. I really did want to come here.”

It usually is fine when I do that.

“They’ll have to find out, anyhow. You need help.”  

He thinks his voice must shake or something when he says it, because then Natsume lifts his head and cranes his neck enough to look back over his shoulder at Kaname, face ashen where it’s not fever-flushed. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.” It’s not okay, obviously, but he thinks Natsume must be worried Kaname’s mad at him, or at least irritated for having to deal with all this. And he’s not mad at Natsume, may be half out of his mind with worry but not mad. Or he is, sort of, that Natsume wouldn’t value himself enough to speak up when badly hurt for fear of being a nuisance. But that’s not fair, is it, not when it’s clearly a learned behavior to keep his head down and his mouth shut.

“There’s a doctor from the clinic in town who makes house calls here sometimes if a guest needs it,” he tells Natsume, now. “A lot of the guests here are elderly and there’s not any major hospitals very close-by, so. He’s nice, he saw me sometimes when I was little. That’s probably who Aunt Satomi will call first.”

He doesn’t leave it up for negotiation as to if the doctor will be called, and Natsume doesn’t argue. He just turns his face back down and into the futon, sighs. “I have no idea what to tell him about this.”

“You tell him you got jumped by a damned bear. That’s mostly true,” Ponta says, as though this ought to be obvious. Kaname starts when he speaks, when his eyes had closed a few minutes ago Kaname had thought he’d gone to sleep.  

Kaname’s “no” comes at the same time as Natsume’s “I’m not telling him that,” and it might’ve made Kaname smile if he didn’t still feel so sick to his stomach. They lapse into silence after that, and it’s not until Kaname’s begun taping gauze over the wounds—he hopes he’s got enough of it here—that he finally says, “You know that old iron fence, at the edge of the park by the school? The one by the walking paths that’s all rusted out and falling apart in places.”

Natsume’s only response is a tight “mhm”—he’s clutching the futon again and Kaname makes a mental note to see if his aunt has any Bufferin tablets stashed away where he can find them, for the pain and to bring that fever down.

“You could say that you wrecked your bike there, or something. That the bars gave way and you went through it. I think someone in my class mentioned that happening to a boy from the junior high, that he’d hurt his leg and his mom’s been lobbying for the city to fix it. I don’t really know if the doctor will believe that, but the Fujiwaras might?”

Or they won’t. Nishimura and Kitamoto might not, either, and it feels both different and worse to need to lie to them directly even if it’s on Natsume’s behalf. But he thinks Kitamoto at least will have the good graces to not give Natsume the third degree when he’s hurt this badly. If Nishimura does, it’ll only be because he’s worried and panicking, but Kaname does not have the energy to fret about that tonight. And who knows, maybe they would buy it after all— they’re all too aware that Natsume’s still only about as coordinated as a kindergartener at times on his bicycle, despite their best efforts.

A slight pause. Then, “Thank you.” Something about the way he says it, quiet and so grateful, makes Kaname’s chest hurt.

“Of course.” He manages a smile, even though Natsume’s not looking. “I’m almost finished. Let me find something for the pain, then you can sleep.”

***

Kaname wakes with an aching neck and his cheek squashed against the futon. It takes a good ten seconds for him to realize why he’s slumped over like this, or that the thing pressing against the top of his head is Natsume’s duvet-covered leg. When he does remember, he shoots up so fast he almost falls backwards.

And Natsume’s watching him, head resting on his folded arms.

“I’m sorry,” Kaname blurts. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep, are you okay?”

He doesn’t look it; he looks like death barely warmed over, honestly, bloodshot eyes rimmed by bruisy circles. Kaname wonders if that fever’s budged at all.

“Relax, brat. I kept an eye on him.” Ponta’s nestled up neatly on the corner of the futon by Natsume’s elbow.

“What time is it?” Kaname scrubs a hand over his face. A dumb question; he’d realized last night that this room didn’t have a clock.

“Still early,” Natsume says. Even his voice sounds rough, like there’s pebbles caught in his throat. “Haven’t heard anyone else get up yet.”

“That Nishimura kid would’ve kicked in the door by now if he’d woken up and realized you’d both gone, I’m sure,” Sensei scoffs.

Natsume’s eyes drift over Kaname’s shoulder to the door behind them, something sheepish in the set of his mouth. “Yeah.”

“I’m sorry,” Kaname tells him again. When he’d gone to get the painkillers he’d meant to grab a coffee or two from the vending machine his aunt had had installed in the downstairs lobby to keep himself alert. But going back into the room where his friends were sleeping to fetch his wallet hadn’t seemed worth the risk of waking them.

“It’s okay.” Natsume studies his face for a moment. “I think I wore you out.”

Kaname’s sure Natsume won’t buy it if he denies that, so instead he asks, “Did you sleep at all?”

“Um.”

His heart sinks. “It hurt too much?”

Natsume nods. “I did try.”

Kaname puts a hand on his shoulder. He’s too exhausted to wonder if this is an appropriate gesture in this situation, but Natsume doesn’t tense up or anything, so he leaves it there. It’s as much for his own sake as it is for Natsume’s, really. “I’m sure everyone would rather let you rest today than try to make you answer too many questions, so at least there’s that.”

Natsume’s eyes cloud right over at the prospect of having to field any questions at all. “Hope so.”

Kaname gives him a sympathetic smile. “I’m sure the doctor will want to hear the details from you directly, but I’ll try to fill in the gaps if I can. I’ll ask if he’ll let me stay in the room when he’s here…uh.” He trails off, as it belatedly occurs to him that, despite him having had no real choice but to go to Kaname for help the night before, Natsume might not want more eyes on him than strictly necessary when he’s hurt like this. “I mean. Only if you wanted.”

Natsume doesn’t answer him immediately, takes long enough that Kaname begins to wonder if he should have even offered. But then he says, “Thank you.” 

No problem, he’s about to say, but Natsume isn’t finished. He’s flagging already from the effort of holding a conversation, his gaze gone half-mast, but soft as the words are they’re still clear. “For, um. All of this. Really. I know I scared you.”

“Yes, you did.” He slides his hand from Natsume’s blanket-covered shoulder to the bony base of his neck, as good a place as any to feel for the still very present and alarming heat rolling off his skin. Kaname needs to check the bandages.

“Just,” he finds himself saying, a moment later, while he’s slowly peeling back a corner of gauze. “Tell someone, next time? Don’t be hurt on your own. If you don’t know how to tell an adult, you can tell me. I won’t ask what happened, if you don’t want to say, but. I’ll come.”

Kaname wonders, briefly, if he’s crossed a line by saying all that. But then he finishes lifting away the gauze, and he promptly stops caring about being presumptive. He can’t really say if they’ve gotten better or worse in the handful of hours since he’d first seen to them—he doesn’t really know how to tell, when it’s all discolored and swollen up around the torn flesh—but it’s no less horrific in the daylight. He’ll have scars here.

Kaname’s not sure if he should try to flush the wounds out again, or just wait for his aunt to wake. He opts for the latter, seeing Natsume’s shoulders go rigid from just the feeling of the air across his back. He replaces the gauze. “Just think about it? Please?”

“He could do with a bit more thinking before letting himself get roped into so many stupid situations in the first place,” Ponta grouses, poking the side of Natsume’s head with a paw. “Any at all, really.”

Natsume reaches out to rest his hand on the top of Ponta’s head. He huffs, rolls his eyes, but submits to the ensuing ear scritches nonetheless.

When Natsume angles his face back toward Kaname, his smile is a small, gentle thing. “Okay,” he says.

Kaname reaches over towards Ponta too, his little finger brushing the back of Natsume’s hand somewhere near Ponta’s left ear. “Thanks.”

And Kaname’s not entirely sure if that okay was an okay, I will or an okay, thanks but let’s change the subject. But he feels lighter, now, a little boneless, now that he’s said what he had to and Natsume heard it. And there is something quietly considering in Natsume’s eyes, peering at him from across Ponta’s back, unless he’s imagining it. Considering what, exactly, Kaname can’t say.

But maybe it’s a start.

[firewoodfigs]

we might be made of scars, but we’ll be alright

read on ao3 | song: miho fukuhara, let it out 

For @royaiweek day 3: old wounds - thank you mods!! 💕 y’all are amazing ✨ 

(a/n: it’s my first time trying out the “5+1 things” tag, and I thought I’d experiment with another writing style again xD feedback, as always, is greatly appreciated! <3) 

“This one had it coming, this one found a vein This one was an accident, but never gave me pain This one was my father's, and this one you can't see This one had me scared to death But I guess I should be glad I'm not dead” - Stone Sour, Made of Scars

i.

Lieutenant Hawkeye traces the long scar on the back of her calf idly as she changes out of her military uniform. It’s coloured a faded, nostalgic pink, and it reminds her of the innocent childhood that she shares with the Colonel.

She’d gotten it from a bad fall when she was only twelve, and her father’s apprentice had been terribly worried when he witnessed her limping back home. He had rushed over immediately with a first aid kit in hand, before propping her gently on the couch as he pleaded with her to let him take care of it.

It was hard to say no to such an earnest face like his. Having already suffered enough from the long walk back home, Riza wanted nothing more than to rest at that point. Eventually, she relented, though with a hint of distrust.  

Because they weren’t even friends then, and what business did he have being so nice -?

“It might hurt,” Roy whispered before dabbing the damp gauze pad on her wound.

Hydrogen peroxide on open wounds, of course, stung like hell. But for every wince, every grimace, he’d responded with a soft apology, whispering soothing platitudes as he worked on the gaping wound meticulously to avoid causing her further pain.

It was the first time Riza had felt a touch so tender and kind.

Even then, his compassion hadn’t stopped there. After he was done with the bandages he had practically ordered her to bed and appointed himself as head chef despite her objections.

“You can’t be moving around like that,” he said, ushering her into her room while lending his shoulder for support. He had helped her - much to her abashment, and much to his amusement - onto her bed, before commanding her to stay put while he prepared dinner. She obliged reluctantly, fiddling with her blanket while waiting for him.

Not too long after, he came back with a bowl of hot stew and a delighted, affable smile.

“Thank you, Mister Mustang,” she said shyly.

Roy frowned. “Please don’t call me that. Just… just call me Roy?”

She politely refused, telling him that it would be terribly inappropriate to do so, but something between them had changed. Any tension that might have existed previously was beginning to dissolve, and Riza was starting to treat him less like the plague.

Sensing this, Roy continued to stay by her side despite her proverbial disinclination for small talk, hoping to finally befriend the introverted blonde.

Over dinner, then, he’d regaled her with tales of his unfortunate misadventures with alchemy when he first started out and silly jokes that he often made with his sisters. In turn, she had reciprocated with reserved laughters and hunting mishaps of her own and a budding trust.

In the end, the injury became an insignia of when her loneliness ended, and when their friendship started.

ii.

Then, of course, there were the scars on her back that contained deadly secrets, prolix poems and meaningless apologies. To an alchemist, the intricate, complex array might have been beautiful. A transfiguration of sorts, even.  

To Riza, though, it was nothing but disfiguration in its purest, most unadulterated form. Engraved within were memories of pain and abuse and estrangement, and she would have honestly appreciated being able to live without a daily reminder of those.

He had known he was dying, even before Roy returned from the military, and had called this his parting gift. To her, to an apprentice worthy of its power, to the world. Donatio mortis causa.  

Riza thought it was the furthest thing from a present - it was her father’s curse to her, and it would haunt her even after his death.

And when he’d finally passed… Riza had been terrified to show it to Roy.

It wasn’t so much that she didn’t trust him, but - would anger consume him at the realisation that her father had done this to her? God forbid - would he think of her as ugly, marred? Would he still think of her as desirable?

But he was the chosen one; the one that her father had deemed worthy of learning flame alchemy. Ultimately, her desire to assist his goals, his wonderful dreams and ambitions for the future and for the country had outweighed whatever trivialities that might have deterred her from doing so.

With trembling hands, thus, she had unbuttoned her cardigan to reveal the array to him. He’d been speechless. There was a silence that lingered in the thin, dusty air of the Hawkeye manor, but before it could persist he had crossed the distance between them in two long strides.

“Riza,” he whispered. Her hands weren’t the only ones trembling - his hands were, too. She felt it when he rested them on the planes on her back, tracing the grooves of her spine reverently, affectionately.

The trembling hadn’t stopped even when he circled his arms around her waist to bring her into a warm embrace. He had whispered apologies onto her shoulder, then. Blamed himself for not being there to stop his teacher, her father, from doing this to her, for leaving her alone to deal with this. It was a sincere apology, unlike the ones inscribed onto her skin.

Suddenly, the weight on her back had felt a little lighter - perhaps from a burden shared, or from his sweet reassurances.

Either way, Riza remembers it as the night where her trust in him had developed into full bloom.

iii.

Eventually, though, Riza comes to learn that psychological wounds ached more than physical ones. The latter was temporary, but the former - hell, they were indelible, inescapable. This much was heavily reinforced, at least, by the horrors of war that they had encountered during their time in Ishval.

She’d told her superior officer that a gun was good, because it didn’t leave the feeling of a person dying in her hands. It was a partial lie. One that she was willing to let slip from her mouth placidly if it meant that she could be by his side and utilise her gun as a tool for protection, rather than murder and war and genocide.

Because no matter how much she scrubbed her hands after in the sink, she realised that she could never wash away the red on her hands. While the distance between her and her unfortunate victims meant that blood had never fallen on her hands, the entire experience had stained her soul a deep crimson.

It warped her heart; her conscience and morality, and it was a burden that she - no, they - would carry to their graves.

Nonetheless, Riza finds herself sending a short prayer of thanks to any god willing to hear from a wretched sinner like her as she stares at Roy’s peaceful sleeping form. Dreamless slumbers like these were uncommon for the Flame Alchemist, the Hero of Ishval, but it seemed like they were getting increasingly frequent as they progressed along further with the project after the Promised Day.

(Of course, neither of them had come to forgive themselves entirely. They probably never would - for their burdens and sins and iniquities still remained, and would linger on to their very last breaths.)

But their work of atonement and reparation had assuaged their consciences somewhat, even if only marginally. Roy, most of all, deserved this brief respite. He’d been working himself to the bone ever since he regained his vision, and she found herself having to play the role of babysitter less and less.

Riza allows a subtle smile to cross her stern features as she drapes his coat over his tired frame before returning to her paperwork.

iv.

After the war came the burns on her back. They’re splattered across her upper back in irregular splotches of pink; etched with guilt and reluctance and self-reproach.

To say that asking Roy to burn her back was difficult would be a gross understatement. He had already endured enough, and to ask him to use the power bestowed upon him to burn even more skin was akin to putting him through another round of purgatory.

Riza was disinclined to repeat his suffering, but she needed it. Desperately. She couldn’t bear the thought of creating another Flame Alchemist, and the array was literally a back-breaking burden. She’d begged him once, twice before he relented. Very unwillingly.

They’d gone back together to Tobha to do it, back to the now-decrepit Hawkeye estate that held an eerie resemblance to a haunted mansion. In some ways, it was poetically fitting - ending it where it had first begun. The estate bore apparitions of their innocence, their childhood memories, but now it would bear the ghost of flame alchemy as well.

Riza came to learn, then, that whatever she’d conceived of as pain from having hydrogen peroxide dab at an open wound paled in comparison to fire searing her skin. It took all of her willpower to not scream, but she withheld the urge to do so. Even if it meant biting her lips, digging her nails into her palms until they bled.

Like he had once done when they were children, Roy was quick to come to her aid. He came with water ice-cold and embraces lovingly-warm; painkillers and repeated apologies and constant reassurances.

Riza manages to respond to all of this with reminders of forgiveness through her pain. Because for the first time since the needle had met her skin, since the war, she’d felt free. Liberated.

Libera me.  

Roy had allowed her to be Riza Hawkeye - her own person, her own being - instead of just the bearer of a lethal, fatal secret that could kill thousands. Despite how much it pained them both to burn her back, she's never been more grateful.

Had she murmured her thanks, her apologies? Riza’s not quite sure. The memories after are a blur. She only remembers passing out in Roy’s arms and the tender, apologetic kiss on her forehead before unconsciousness had dawned upon her like a comforting blanket to stave away the unbearable pain.

The cold water falling on her skin in the shower reminds her of his warmth after the flames had died down. Riza can’t help but laugh slightly at the distant memory.

It’s ironic - Roy lives up to his moniker for reasons more than one.

v. / vi.

But none of the scars she’s sustained throughout her life can compare to the ones they’d gotten from The Promised Day.

The only comfort through all the hell they had endured was probably the fact that they were now lumped together in the same hospital room. Nonetheless, the quiet solitude of night-time is filled with unspoken apologies and unshed tears. It’s unbearable. Roy can feel the guilt radiating off every fibre of her being despite his blindness, despite the distance separating them -

- and so he orders his subordinate to come over.

Hesitantly, Riza complies. She crawls into his bed cautiously, careful not to jostle the wounds on his hands. They mark her failure. Roy was nearly killed before her very eyes, and she’d been powerless to stop it as the sword pierced through his palms. She wants to cry, wants to wail out loud and mourn for his loss of sight, for how useless she had been in the face of it all -

- but her vocal cords are strained. The only thing that escapes her throat is a soundless sob. Riza forces herself to hold in her tears - you don’t deserve to cry, no, stop - but Roy knows. He knows her like the back of his hand, and so even if she’s temporarily mute he can already hear what she’s going to say; even if he’s blind he can see the tears beginning to glimmer in her ochre eyes.

With a bandaged hand he carefully finds her face and caresses it tenderly. “It’s not your fault, Riza,” he whispers.

There’s a wetness to her cheeks now, like it’s raining. “Please don’t blame yourself,” he murmurs. “If anything, all the fault’s mine.”

As if to reinforce his point, his fingers make their way down - to her jaw, and then to the dressing on her neck. A sigh escapes his lips as he traces the scar underneath, remorse and regret dripping from his fingertips. 

“No -” Riza croaks. Not your fault, Roy.  

“If it’s not my fault, then how could it ever be yours?”

She’s silent again. There’s so much she wants to say - I’m so sorry, Roy, I should have been there, should have done something, can you ever forgive me, I was so afraid to lose you - but the wound renders it impossible.

Regardless, they’ve always had a knack for understanding each other, even without words or eye signals.

He searches for her face again, using it to guide his lips to her forehead. “Not your fault,” Roy says once more for added emphasis. His voice is louder than a whisper this time. It’s filled with conviction and relief and affection, and in their close proximity he can’t help but press a chaste kiss on her messy fringe.

“I was so afraid of losing you, Riza. Nothing scared me more than seeing you bleed on the ground, watching you almost… almost dying.”

They’re both crying uncontrollably now.

“But you’re alive, and that’s all that matters. I might never get my sight back, but I have the Hawk’s Eye with me,” he manages to quip through his sobs. “With you by my side, I’ll be fine. We’ll be fine, Riza. As long as we’re together.”

Riza manages a slight nod under his chapped lips, before reaching for his hand to place a gentle kiss on it. It’s a soothing salve to the dull ache underneath and a promise, a vow. I’ll always be with you, Roy.  

Roy retracts his hand to wrap his arms around her, pulling her body to his chest in a tight, haphazard embrace. Riza feels his heart beating against hers, all life and strength and fervor, and she thinks he’s right.

“We’ll be alright, Riza. I promise.”

[withbloodiedfingertips]

in loving memory -  a screenplay

as with most things i’ve been writing lately, this was an assignment for my creative writing class that i never got around to sharing! i posted some of it on my main account but i did wind up finishing it and, while it’s not the best and i may or may not have based it off of a certain pair of twins, it was still fun to write. it is a bit sad so i’m warning you in advance but i hope you enjoy!

side note: i know the formatting’s messed up so if anyone wants the link to the actual doc to read it, let me know!

INT. - JULIAN'S OPERATION ROOM - DAY

The inside of the operating room is practically empty, save for a singular operating table and cart stocked full of various medicines, atop which rests a metal tray holding a slew of bloodied medical tools. Julian - a 25 year old man who looks far more disheveled than most others his age - stands beside the cart, scalpel in hand, staining the towel in his hands crimson as the chrome color returns to its blade. A knock startles him out of his cleaning, metal clanking against the floor, swearing under his breath as he bends down to retrieve the instrument. He sighs bitterly, fixing the door with a scathing glare.

JULIAN

(calling out to the person behind the door, frustrated)

Come in!

In steps Zachary - a near mirror image of Julian, though with far more scars and tattoos, dressed in far shabbier clothing than his brother - a smug grin on his face. A pack of cigarettes bursts out of the right front pocket of his jeans, in the left, the shiny metallic handle of a gun glinting beneath the bright overhead lights of the operating room. 

ZACHARY

(tauntingly)

How'd the operation go, little brother?

Julian shoots him a glare, one that Zachary responds to with only a nonchalant shrug, clearly still expecting him to answer.

JULIAN

(through gritted teeth)

Asks the man who was supposed to be here to help me hours ago.

Zachary winces under the heat of his brother's words, fussing with the zipper of his leather jacket. There's a beat of silence before he musters up the courage to respond.

ZACHARY

Sorry. I ran into a bit of trouble on the way over here.

Julian raises a skeptic brow.

JULIAN

What kind of trouble?

Zachary doesn't hesitate with his response, voice dipping into a far more serious tone than the joking one he used earlier.

ZACHARY

Nothing you need to worry about. I took care of it.

Another beat of silence passes. Julian takes this moment to return his attention back to the scalpel in his hand, not before he notices Zachary's narrowed eyes at the other tools on the tray, still coated in a thick layer of blood.

JULIAN

(impatiently)

What?

Zachary shakes his head as if he's snapping himself out of a daze.

ZACHARY

Sorry. It's just...

JULIAN

Just?

He hesitates for a second, almost as if he doesn't want to say the words out loud, before speaking again.

ZACHARY

You're usually faster at cleaning up.

Zachary watches as his brother's lips curl into a grim smile, nodding in understanding at what the fate of the patient he'd seen that day must've been.

JULIAN

(musing)

He was young, you know. Just a few days shy of his twenty-fourth birthday.

ZACHARY

You know how much I wish I could've been here to help.

Julian's gaze becomes stone cold, the words that come from his mouth sharp and succinct, meant to impart the severity of the situation of his naive twin.

JULIAN

That's the third time this month alone that you've said that.

Zachary looks physically wounded by his brother's coldness. His pointer finger drifts instinctively to the trigger of his gun, tapping it lightly in a frantic rhythm, in a feeble attempt to calm his nerves. He swallows, struggles to find an excuse, but comes up with nothing but the dryness in his throat.

ZACHARY

I'm trying, alright? Things are getting dangerous out there, Julian. I can't-

JULIAN

(with more than a bit of venom)

Can't what, Zachary? Spare even a second out of your busy day, dealing drugs and gambling in crappy bars, to help save someone's life?

Julian doesn't even acknowledge his brother's silence - simply fills the void of sound with the sound of metal clanging against glass, liquid pouring into glass, the quiet hiss of peroxide bubbling as any remaining germs are cleaned straight off the surface of the scalpel. Zachary tenses, looks at the wheels on the cart as if he's contemplating kicking one of them, before deciding against it with a shake of his head.

ZACHARY

(under his breath)

I thought you trusted me.

For a minute, Zachary simply stares at him, both transfixed by his brother's swift movements as he moves on now to a pair of forceps and anxious as to whether or not he heard his words at all. Once Julian has finished cleaning the forceps, his demeanor seems to have shifted, the aura he emits no longer one of disappointment but of sadness, regret. Some feeling that Zachary has a hard time placing, until he speaks again.

JULIAN

(in a whisper)

I used to trust you.

Julian looks pained to even hear the words leave his mouth, brown eyes holding such deep melancholy that Zachary doesn't even have the time to be offended by his words. Instead he rests a hand on his twin's shoulder, turning Julian to face him,

ZACHARY

(devastated, almost as if he were trying to hold back tears)

Then why don't you now? What changed, Julian?

Julian remains silent, unable to meet Zachary's gaze, no matter how desperately his brother might want him to. Zachary looks as if he might break, as if any sudden movement Julian might make would shatter him like glass, irreparable.

ZACHARY (CONT’D)

What do I have to do to earn it back?

Julian nods down towards the pack of cigarettes in Zachary's pocket, who lets go of his twin to wrap his fingers around the carton. His grip on them is almost possessive, as if they are one of the few things in this world that still brings him some joy, fearful of what Julian might do if he lets them go.

JULIAN

Getting rid of those would be a good place to start.

Zachary's biting the inside of his cheek now, and it's clear by the way his jaw is set that he's beyond displeased with Julian's suggestion.

ZACHARY

(indignantly)

I'm down to a pack a week, alright? I can't exactly quit cold turkey.

Julian nods understandably. The gesture comes so naturally to him, almost on instinct, but it relieves some of the conversation's tension all the same.

JULIAN

I know. I would never expect you to do that.

Zachary lets out a sigh of relief, a relief that's short-lived, once he realizes that his brother hasn't finished speaking yet. The right side of Julian's mouth quirks up into a knowing smile, while Zachary's remains neutral, as undisturbed of an expression as he can muster.

JULIAN (CONT’D)

But last time I saw you, there were two cigarettes in that box. Now there looks to be about, hm, eight?

Zachary doesn't even fight the accusation, opting instead to change the subject as quickly as he possibly can.

ZACHARY

What about you?

Julian tries to not let the question affect him, to mirror that practiced calm Zachary currently has so deeply etched into his features, but it's clear his brother caught him off-guard.

JULIAN

What about me?

Zachary rolls his eyes, scoffing at Julian's pathetic attempt to feign innocence.

ZACHARY

Don't play dumb, Julian. I've seen the empty bottles of whiskey piling up around our place.

Julian readjusts the cuffs of his white lab coat, stalling for enough time to form a proper response.

JULIAN

That's different.

ZACHARY

How?

JULIAN

I'm doing it in moderation.

ZACHARY

(sarcastically)

Because drinking an entire bottle of whiskey and passing out on the bathroom floor every weekend is definitely 'in moderation'.

Julian stays silent, the only noises in the room are the near silent sounds of their breathing and the clink of a metal chain. From beneath his shirt he pulls out a locket, a motion that Zachary mirrors with the one around his own neck. They're matching, each engraved with the other's name on it and as they each pry them open, inside lies a picture of both of them when they were young with their mother, her arms wrapped around them and the proudest smile on her face.

JULIAN

(looking down at the locket wistfully)

You remember what mom made us promise, before she died?

ZACHARY

To ask the nurse what kind of perfume she wore so she could buy some for herself?

This earns him a chuckle from Julian, who shakes his head, the melancholy from before back and more evident than ever in his warm brown irises, which fix Zachary with a knowing glance.

JULIAN

That, no matter what, we'd keep each other from dying of anything other than old age.

Zachary sighs. A happy sigh, one that tugs at the edges of his lips, pulling them into that goofy grin that never fails to bring a smile to Julian's own face. Zachary pulls the cigarettes out of his pocket, holding them out to Julian, whose brows furrow, his expression growing puzzled.

ZACHARY

I can't promise you that I won't buy more but... it's a start.

Julian takes the pack and tucks it into his own coat pocket, clearly grateful that his brother's willing to make such a sacrifice, even if it is a small one.

He pauses to think for a moment before pulling a flask out of his back pocket and shoving it in Zachary's hands, as if the flask were coated in acid that threatened to eat straight through his skin, if he didn't let go of it fast enough.

JULIAN

I have five backups at home, so it won't stop me from drinking, but it's the biggest, so...

Zachary tucks the flask into the inner pocket of his leather jacket. Julian, believing they're done with this conversation, starts to reach out for the next tool he needs to clean, only to be crushed in a hug by his brother. He freezes in Zachary's strong grip for a moment, unsure of what to do, before finally deciding to wrap his arms around him.

ZACHARY

(in a whisper)

Thank you, Julian.

Julian tears up at the desperation in Zachary's voice, at how he's begun to shake ever so slightly in his arms. He holds on tighter to his brother - with such strength that it nearly knocks the wind out of him. But Julian doesn't notice, simply keeps holding onto him.

JULIAN

I should be the one thanking you. Without that money of yours, I wouldn't be here right now.

The scene ends with Zachary finally worming his way out of Julian's grip, taking one of the tools up from the tray and beginning to clean it. Julian rolls his eyes and snatches it up from him, choosing not to scold him for sanitizing it incorrectly but teaching him the proper way, nodding towards another towel so he can mirror his movements. And, with a final shared bit of laughter between the two of them at Zachary making yet another mistake, everything fades to black.

[the-walking-memelords]

A2 - Chapter 3: The Deal

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2

Series is rated M

Word Count: 4030

Clementine and crew arrive at the Caravan's camp, but their reunion isn't as sweet as originally hoped.

Not when something so bitter lurks beyond the forest.

Read it on Ao3!

Read it on Wattpad!

The fenced-in play area of an old elementary school was brimming with the chatter of a rather large group setting up camp. Faded paint was barely visible on the ground, drawing out hopscotch sets and basketball courts. Rusted poles with off-white boards sticking out of the ground, nets long worn away from the hoops. Guards watched the gate leading to the parking lot while others patrolled the field where horses rested from the long journey.

The sharp sting of the peroxide reminded Clementine of where she was. Lost in her own head for so long, the remainder of the trip was more of a blur. She couldn’t remember the things they talked about on the way, or being escorted to the medical station. 

“It’s shallow, doesn’t need stitches.” The olive-skinned woman said, brushing a lock of her short, sleek black hair behind her ear.

“Just keep it clean and it shouldn’t even scar.”

Scars were never something Clementine ever paid attention to, but some had rather loud memories attached that she tried to ignore. 

She let out a sigh as she shifted on the crate she sat on, nails scratching into the water-stained wood. This woman was a stranger to her. Another new member of Layla’s crew. She acted friendly but there was an air of skepticism around her as if she was evaluating Clementine.

“You the new doctor around here?” Clementine questioned, not seeing the older gentlemen who usually greeted them, eager to help treat any injuries.

“I was... enrolled in a med school at some point, yes, but no.” She chuckled, crow’s feet appearing next to her eyes.

“Doc took Paige inside the second it was secured so she could get some real sleep away from the noise. I swear she’s such a light sleeper a walker could step on a twig a mile away and she would bolt upright.”

“Pretty useful for a traveller.” Clementine commented. She’d met Paige a few times, her and her two younger brothers. Her blond hair and fair skin were quite the contrast with the two younger boys, who were closer to resembling the woman in front of Clem.

“Is she alright?”

The woman paused for a moment, hands hovering over the first-aid kit she had been packing.

“She got bit almost a month ago.” She said quietly.

“The walker took off a few of her fingers, and Doc had to take off the rest of her hand.”

“Shit.” 

“No kidding…” She sighed.

“To make things worse it got infected like a week later. She’ll live but she’s still a little unsteady. Doc feels guilty about it I guess, he cares about her and those boys like his own family. Boss was talkin’ about convincing her and the boys to stay at Alexandria on our next rotation but it’d be hard to get them and Doc to say goodbye.”

Clementine shifted her left leg, her prosthetic feeling like dead weight tied to her body. All this time and she wasn’t quite used to it. There were some days she woke up, pulling back the covers with a shock to realize it was really gone. Even still she had some bad nights spent with her face buried into the crook of Louis’ neck quietly sobbing as he held her, aches and cramps shooting through a part of her that didn’t exist anymore.

“CLEMENTIIINNNEEEE!” An extremely worried voice rushing towards her made Clem look up just in time to catch the young woman who practically flew into her arms. 

“I missed you so much and Louis told me you were in the med bay and I was so worried and ohmygodareyouokay?” 

“Layla please I can’t breathe.” Clementine begged her friend to release the crushing grip on her ribcage.

Layla was a young Persian woman about the same age and height as Clementine, but their personalities were quite opposite. If you hung around her for long enough you wouldn’t think the world had ended. She was bright and cheery not out of naivety but perhaps just to spite the horror of everything else. 

“Oh my god yeah I’m so sorry I just wanted to make sure you were okay and ADDIE!” Layla’s curly black ponytail whipped around as she faced the woman.

“You made sure she isn’t dying, right?”

“Relax, boss, it was just a scratch.” Addie replied exhaustedly as she casually put up her arms defensively.

“Yeah but it’s the Clementine! She’s a hero!” 

“Please stop calling me that.” Clem sighed. Clementine hardly thought anything she did was heroic. It was just… war. Nothing to be glorified.

“Hun, the Delta fell because of you! Maybe not directly… but it was a huge blow.” Layla reassured her.

“Either way, you made our jobs a lot easier. Y’know how hard it is to keep up like five trade deals when people try to rob you every other day? You’re late a lot.”

“Things seem to be settling down now.” Addie said, stretching back in her chair.

“Saviors are gone. Delta’s gone. The Whisperers are gone. Hell, even the Pack seems to have dropped off the face of the Earth. Probably fucked with Hilltop or something and got demolished by the alliance.”

Clementine’s blood ran cold at that last one. She scratched at her hands, trying to pick away the blood that would never truly wash away. 

Two wrongs don’t make a right, Lilly.

We were never the good guys.

“The lesser of two evils.” Was how that vile woman justified it. How everyone justified it. How Clementine tried to justify it to herself as she stood by, watching the people she tricked suffer her fate over and over. 

There was nothing just about any of it.

“Clem?” Layla’s voice called to her a lot softer and calmer than it had been. Her dark brown eyes seemed to see the storm inside of her.

“Are you alright?”

I thought I was.

“I’m fine.” Clementine hoped to convince her.

“It’s just not a time I like to think about.”

The two of them nodded in understanding. Layla pursed her lips as if thinking of a way to change the subject.

“Clem! C’mon, let’s go get Connor to look at that leg of yours.” Layla said as she grabbed Clementine’s hand, tugging her out of her seat and dragging her into the crowd.

“You better have been keeping up maintenance or you’re in for a lecture. That guy is worse than my old dentist when I forgot to floss.”

---

Louis and AJ wrapped the jars of preserved fruits in cloths as he placed them in Louis’ duffle bag, keeping in mind not to jostle it too much on the way home. Across the table from him, a brown-haired man with striking green eyes examined each fish a second time before placing them in an ice-filled cooler.

“Thanks, man.” Eric said.

“God, it feels like forever since we were last at Oceanside. It’s hard to get decent amounts of fish anywhere else.”

“We get lots from the river.” AJ stated with a wide grin.

“I help fish all the time!”

“Well, you’re doing us a favour. This is our farthest stop from Oceanside so we don’t get a lot of fish trades around here.” Eric smiled at AJ, leaning on his elbows on the fold-out table.

“You ever seen the ocean?”

“No.” AJ’s eyes filled with wonder and intrigue.

“It’s a giant body of water so big you can’t see where it ends. Filled with colourful fish big and small, some friendly and some deadly and so deep, even before the dead, we never figured out what lived at the bottom. For all we know, it could have been some great beast from ancient times, hidden forever from our mortal eyes.” Eric dramatized, speaking in a hushed whisper as if sharing the secrets of the universe.

“Woah.” AJ whispered back, his eyes as wide as they could possibly be.

“Louis, will we ever get to go to the ocean?”

“Maybe someday, little dude.” Louis pushed the brim of his hat down over his eyes as he turned to leave.

“Wait! One more thing...” Eric stopped them as he dug through his coat pockets.

“Here it is. Think fast, kid.”

Eric tossed a small pouch in the air towards the boy, who barely caught it. He untied the string, pulling out a marble-sized ball wrapped in wax paper.

“What are these?” AJ questioned as he unwrapped the paper, revealing a sticky dark gold ball that smelled sweeter than anything he’d ever eaten.

“Honey candies Raha cooked up a while ago.” He explained.

“Where the hell did you guys get good honey?”

“That shit never goes bad, dude.” Eric cheered.

“As long as it’s sealed right, that is. Hey, no one’s gotten sick yet! They were a hit with the kids at the last few communities. She asked me to give some to AJ since you’d probably be hiding from her again.”

“Louis!” 

Speak of the devil, and she shall appear.

The bellowing voice of the small woman rang from halfway across the yard. She wore an immaculately white blouse in contrast to her knee-length black skirt, boots, and headscarf. Her brows were knit together in frustration as she approached the freckled man.

“Well if it isn’t the fashion police.” Louis teased, sighing as he knew what he was in for.

“That coat of yours looks sadder every time I see it.” Raha frowned, the older woman ignoring his comment in her own disappointment. Thumb on her lips, she squinted at him behind the black frames of her glasses, flicking an old piece of tape stuck to one of his sleeves.

“At this point, I might just give you a new one for free if you’ll let me put that old one out of its misery.”

Louis rolled his eyes and sent AJ to check on Clem as she dragged him over to her collection of textiles and jewelry. She sifted through neatly sorted boxes until she found the one she was looking for.

“I saved this one just for you!” She said excitedly, holding up the jacket.

It was a deep brown leather jacket lined with creamy white fur. It was waist length, a lot shorter than the one he’d been wearing all this time. But winter was coming, and it did look pretty warm, not to mention clean.

“Hmm... I don’t know.” Louis pretended to closely examine it, rubbing his thumb over the material and deciding to ruffle her feathers a bit more as payback for all of her nagging.

“Not sure it really suits my taste.”

“Sorry I don’t have anything as filthy as you prefer.” Raha tsked.

“Ugh! Just take it! In return, it’ll give me a little hope I may be able to save you from dressing like the dead.”

Raha threw the coat at him as she defeatedly closed the lid on her box of jackets. Louis could almost see the lightbulb appearing above her head as she gained a sly smirk, pulling out a wooden jewelry box.

“If you can’t find anything here that fits your style, perhaps you could find something that fits Clementines?” Raha sang as she showed Louis a selection of rings.

Raha’s collection was nothing narrow. Some were simple and cheaper designs while others would’ve fetched a pretty penny. Silver bands to gold ones all with varying gemstones and settings, all evenly displayed in the box’s green velvet interior. 

“Where the hell do you find this stuff?” Louis gave a slightly nervous laugh.

“From a lot of people who weren’t using them anymore.”

“No thanks.” Louis couldn’t bring himself to take a closer look at any of the shining stones. It was as if his hand preferred to retract farther away from the box, his fingers instead tracing a circle near the collar of his shirt, feeling the band of his mother’s ring that hung from a chain around his neck.

I’ve already got one.

“Oh, c’mon.” She groaned.

“I know a lot of people don’t care about that crap anymore but don’t you think it would be romantic? I mean you two and that kid are already a family, don’t you think it would be a romantic way to show your undying devotion.”

And people say I’m dramatic.

“If you’re so much of a love guru then why am I the one with the girlfriend.” Louis teased.

“I-” Raha’s mouth hung open as she tried to think of a retort.

“Listen here you little shit.”

Laughter roared from a few meters away from where Eric had been eavesdropping. Raha immediately followed after him, hurling a string of something in Arabic he couldn’t understand.

The freckled man smiled at the idea. Marry Clementine? He couldn’t picture himself marrying anyone else, but getting married in this world? Would she even want to? 

That’s a thought for a different day.

---

The young woman sat awkwardly in her seat inside the patchwork thin tent. Its purpose more to offer privacy than protection from the weather. Crates of tools and materials scattered the ground is just enough array to be quickly packed if the situation arose. Clementine pulled the hem of her dark teal jeans over the scarred stump of her left leg, hanging over the empty boot she wore over the wooden prosthetic which sat a few feet away laying on Connor’s work table. She rubbed the skin of her thigh over her pants, never realizing how much the straps dug until she took them off.

“Any malfunctions since the last time I looked at it?” The old Nigerian man stroked his salt and pepper goatee as he surveyed its condition.

“No, it’s been steady” Clementine scratched the dirt around her nails nervously. She hated doctor’s appointments when she was a kid and this was… almost the same thing? Kinda similar? Something about it made her uneasy at least.

“It’s cracked.” Connor stated flatly.

“What?” Clem sat up straight with a jolt. How could she have missed something like that? If it were to break in the wrong situation, that could be it. 

“Look.” Connor pointed to around the joint of the ankle. Tiny splinters poked out like lightning bolts from under the screws holding it together. It wasn’t a completely worrying amount of damage, but wear and tear would only make those cracks grow.

“I could fill these with resin now and then have a new one ready for this time next month, or your group could stick around and I could have one ready by tomorrow. Although, one is more pricey than the other.”

Clementine didn’t want to risk her mobility if she didn’t have to.

“How much for an express order?” 

“Bones and antlers are very good materials for making strong joints, and rumour has it your boy shot a deer recently.” He raised an eyebrow.

“Plus Layla is very good at finding work for people to do, surely she’d appreciate the help of you or a few of your friends.”

“Clem?” AJ peaked past the tent flap.

“C’mon in, kiddo.” Connor said in a friendly voice.

“You still got those deer bones?”

“Aasim has them.” He said, eyes glued forward as if he was trying not to stare at Clementine’s stump.

She knew he didn’t like being here, in this tent. A lot of guilt clung to him, and Clem feared it always would. She knows he doesn’t regret it, but sometimes the gravity is enough to weigh him down.

“I saved you, but at the same time now we’ll always be paying for it.” Was how he always described it.

“It still hurts you. You can’t move like before. And you always worry about your fake leg breaking.”

Clementine gave him a small smile when he did glance her way.

“Let’s go find him.” Clem said, cheerfulness slightly exaggerated as Connor helped reattach the prothetic before slipping her boot back on.

---

Clementine found Aasim in what appeared to be a mildly heated conversation between himself and Mitch, with Brody looking exasperated as she tried to referee it while Louis seemed to watch in amusement.

“It’s a stupid idea.”

“One stupid idea is still one more idea than you have, Aasim.”

“Oh thank god.” Brody whispered under her breath and Clementine and AJ approached with puzzled faces.

“What the hell are you up to now?” Clementine raised an eyebrow at them, which Louis shrugged off. “This moron wants to trade the last of the deer skeleton for a goddamn medieval battleaxe.” Aasim huffed in disbelief of his own sentence.

“...Seriously?” Her disbelief mirroring Aasim’s.

“I tried to make him at least pick something more practical.” Brody sighed.

“It sounds stupid but they have a shit ton of badass weapons and they’re not willing to trade most of them!” Mitch pleaded with their leader.

“C’mon Clem, you know it’d be cool.”

Clem stared at the freckled man, his sincerity surprising and unsurprising at the same time, to a very exhausted redhead and finally to Louis, who had been struggling to contain his laughter for a while.

“Sorry Mitch, but I need a new leg.” Clementine said, crushing Mitch’s dreams.

“Aasim, can you drop off what’s left at Connor’s tent?”

Clementine explained the rest of the deal to them, Louis and AJ agreeing to stay behind while the others brought their haul back to the school. 

As the day dragged on, the rock that had formed in Clementine’s stomach only grew and no amount of manual labour seemed to distract her enough. A chill settled on her skin as the sky began to darken. She needed to talk to Layla. And Louis. 

The Pack.

The Delta.

Saying their names was like poison on her tongue.

When will they ever let me go?

Clementine lost time as she sunk into her own thoughts. She jumped when she felt a firm hand on her shoulder, whipping around to see the smiling face of her boyfriend.

“Layla wants to talk to us.” He said as he held out his hand to help her stand and once she reached for it, she didn’t let go as they walked into the school building.

Water-stained papers laid practically cemented to the floor, coloured green and brown not by the gleeful hands of children, but the cruel hands of time and neglect. Lockers caked in chipped blue paint lined each side of the hall, some frozen shut with rust while others hung slightly ajar and some with no doors at all. The contents revealing long-abandoned backpacks of kids who had little time to escape or never made it out at all. The mental image was enough for her to walk a little closer to AJ.

The end of the hallway was heavily sectioned off by neatly stacked piles of desks and chairs from floor to ceiling ensuring nothing got through and if it did, it would certainly cause a scene. 

“Come in.” Layla’s voice called from the last room of the hallway just as they approached.

Layla sat at the teacher’s desk, a detailed map of every community on her route laid before her. She chewed on the end of her pen as she scanned the elegantly written notes jotted around each indicated area. Ink of many colours traced streets and pathways between each plotted point, some older routes more faded than others. As Clementine got closer, she could see a dark spot on the map where something had been crossed out with a black marker, all of the newer routes avoiding this area. Just barely, she could make out the name written next to it.

The Kingdom.

“Thanks for helping out today, guys.” Layla said as she folded up her map, sliding it into an inner pocket of her jacket.

“Every set of hands helps, though I heard it was because of Conner driving a rather hard bargain.”

“We owe you guys a lot.” Louis acknowledged, giving Clem’s hand a squeeze.

“Plus, it’s probably fair payback for all the haggling ‘Sim puts your merchants through.”

“Ain’t that the truth.” Layla laughed with a snort.

“Anyways, you guys can sleep in room 303. It should be easy to find, since it’s the only room with a number still on it.”

Louis and Aj began to move towards the door, but Lou’s hand ended up pulling on a non-budging Clementine as she decided there was one more thing she needed to discuss.

“Clem?”

“What ever happened to The Pack?” Her question came out in a flurry of words and suppressed emotions.

“Addie said they ‘Dropped off the face of the Earth.’ but what happened?”

“I wish I could tell you.” Layla’s face softened.

“I’ve asked around and they just… disappeared. If I were to guess they moved on to another area looking for someplace more divided to pick apart.”

Layla scowled at the grain of the wooden desk as Clementine stood with just as many questions as she started with. So much uncertainty in the situation. How does a group that large and malicious just… vanish? At first, it was a relief, knowing they had nothing to fear in the aftermath of the war. But now it was beyond frustrating. Fang-marked walkers appearing after all these years… It left her with an overwhelming beg of “Why?” 

“Why are you bringing this up now all of a sudden?” The caravan leader asked with a tone of deepening worry.

“We’ve been finding his walkers.” 

Clementine watched the colour drain from the young woman’s face. Louis must have seen it too, because he finally spoke up with panic edging into his voice.

“What the hell are you talking about?” His voice begged to be let into the loop.

“What the hell is ‘The Pack?’”

“They’re the reason I was sent to recruit you.” Clementine’s voice fell flat, hand letting go of Louis’ as her fingernails dug into her crossed arms. Her heart raced a mile a minute as the realization sunk into everyone in the room.

“A-Are you sure it was them?” Layla got up from her chair, biting her thumb as she began to pace.

“What if it was just some of their walkers that got loose.”

“Dead walkers don’t disappear on their own.” Clementine looked at AJ.

“I saw the symbol.” AJ spoke up, very confused about what was happening.

“Fangs. But the walkers weren’t there anymore when we went back. I know I killed them I aimed for the head.”

AJ bit his lip before taking a deep breath.

“The Delta tried hurt us, and they lost. If these guys want to hurt us, they’ll lose too.” 

A heavy silence fell over them as Layla appeared to fight an internal battle, trying to cling to any reason to deny what was beginning to look obvious.

“I’ll send a patrol out tomorrow.” She decided, facing away from them and looking through the parts in the boarded-up window.

“Get some sleep, we’ll talk about it in the morning.” 

Feeling defeated physically and emotionally, Clementine turned to leave, loosely tugging on her boys to follow her to the room Layla had mentioned earlier.

Most of the debris had been piled in one corner of the room to make the tiled floor somehow more comfortable. A light-haired woman handed them a few blankets and pillows from the pile before the three of them picked a spot on the floor amongst the other sleeping people. Clementine elected to wear her prosthetic that night, not feeling anywhere safe enough to take it off. Even with the thick faux-wool blanket beneath them, she felt as if the broken tile sapped whatever bit of warmth she had left in her. She cuddled closer, AJ laying between her and Louis. Her boy wasn’t as small as he used to be, but getting to grow up was something Clem was overjoyed about.

Is that something I can still guarantee?

“I love you both.” Clementine said in a choked whisper, attempting to make determination replace her overwhelming sense of dread.

“We love you too.” Louis hugged the both of them close, placing a soft kiss on Clem’s forehead and a ruffle of AJ’s hair as the three of them dozed off.

[flopity-flips]

Idk if requests are still open but if they are could I get a thing where its the ot4 + reader and reader is like the healer/medic of the group and lectures all 4 of the chocobros about getting hurt because boy oh boy do I want to yell at them all the time in my game for being so reCKLESS. LIKE C HRIST THEY MAKE ME SO DISTRAUGHT. STOP GETTING POISONED ALL THE TIME OR PETRIFIED FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THST IS HOLY. If they're closed please ignore this!! I just really really love your writing 💛💛💛

YESYESYES!!!! I have other requests in my inbox but hhh OT4 + 1 FLUFF AAAA!!!!!!!!

You sighed and looked at the mess the four boys left before you. It wasn’t a mess in the traditional sense, rather, they were the mess and you had to clean them up.

After a difficult battle against a Malboro, the boys had all gotten sprayed with the deadly poison. Lucky for you, you didn’t have to walk far to get to the closest camp, their injuries were near minimal, minor fractures, a few cuts, and a couple of ailments, but it was still a lot to deal with.

Noctis was still poisoned, Prompto was confused, Gladiolus had some deep cuts that the poison seeped into, and Ignis had a twisted wrist and was really sluggish. You sighed, remembering how difficult it was to try and herd them to the camp as you walked into the tent with some curatives.

“Noctis? Are you up?” You questioned, removing the cold towel from his forehead that was keeping him from getting worse.

He muttered an incomprehensible phrase, trying to sit up, before hacking and coughing up a storm. You looked at him worriedly and quickly rest his head in your lap, shushing him.

“Noct, sweetie, relax, if you move too much that poison will hurt you worse. Here, take this,” You ordered gently, putting the Antidote against his lips and watching him sip it gently.

You smiled softly at your sleepy prince and kissed his forehead, replacing the cold rag on his forehead and kissing the tip of his nose.

He scrunched up his nose before coughing again, gently laying his head down.

You smiled at his sleeping face and turned around to be met with large, blue puppy dog eyes.

“Babe! Pay attention to me! My head hurts!” He whined, laying on Gladio’s chest, believing it to be you in his confused state.

You chuckled before you saw Gladio begin to inhale sharply as Prompto rubbed his head against the strong man’s already infected room.

“Prompto! Nonono! You’ll hurt Gladdy!” You chided, moving his head from Gladio’s chest to yours, continuing to nuzzled in your cleavage.

You rolled your eyes and lifted his head, pulling out a remedy and trying to get him to sip it.

“No!” He whined, turning his head away from the drink.

“Prompto, please? Your headache won’t feel better if you don’t,” You tried to coax him into drinking the thick drink.

“No,” He whined once more, this time softer.

You sighed.

“I’ll kiss you if you do, honey,” You tried to get him to drink it.

“Hm… no thank you,” He whispered, happily snuggling into your chest.

You thought for a moment before, smiling to yourself, looking down at him.

“How about I just kiss you to feel better?” You asked.

He gave you a dazed smile and puckered his lips comically to get you to kiss him. You quickly downed the Remedy and kept it in your mouth, smashing your lips against his and forcing the curative into his mouth.

He whined against your mouth and you kept his head trapped against yours until he swallowed the curative.

You pulled away with a pop and he immediately began whining and babbling incoherently about how mean you were for that. You rolled your eyes and set him down.

“Get some rest, chocobean. You’ll feel better if you do,” you whispered a silent order, which he followed.

Next was the big guy. That nasty cut of his could wait no longer. You sighed and grabbed some bandaging, some peroxide, and an antidote.

“This is gonna sting, Gladdy. But you’re a big boy, you can handle a bit of pain, yeah?” You asked, smiling at him.

He gave you a signature flirty smile and put his hand up to your cheek.

“For you baby, I would go through a world of hurt,” He said, inhaling sharply as his open cut began to sting.

You rolled your eyes and smacked his hand away lightly.

“You ready? On three. One-” You began counting, but were cut off by Gladio pinching your thigh.

“Whoops, my hand slipped,” He grinned wolfishly.

You huffed and just pressed the rag stained with the antidote on his poison filled scar suddenly in retaliation, which caused him to growl.

“Son of a bitch!” He exclaims.

“Sorry sweetie,” you said sweetly, lacing your voice with spite, “my hand slipped.”

He looked at you with a playful glare.

“Gods, I love it when you get all feisty,” he chucked.

You rolled your eyes once more, beginning to gently dab the antidote in and around the large cut. Next was the peroxide, which you dabbed even more gently so it wouldn’t hurt as bad. You sighed when the worst of it was cleaned up and helped him sit up, pulling out the bandages and beginning to wrap them around his body.

“You know,” you spoke up, loud enough so they could hear you, “You boys are so reckless. Why can’t you be more careful? I might not always be around to care for you guys,” you noted.

Just as you were wrapping your arms around Gladio’s body to catch the bandage, his strong arms wrapped around you, holding you tightly.

“You’ll be here. As long as we’re around to keep you safe,” he said, a note of confidence in his voice.

You sighed and pulled from his hug, feeling warm in the face from the sudden embrace. You caught the bandage in your hand and wrapped it around once more, securing it and laying his body back down.

“Don’t move it too much, Gladdy,” you ordered.

He simply gave you a thumbs up.

You scanned the tent for your other, bespectacled, boyfriend but were unable to find him. Worried, you stepped out of the tent for a moment to find him, not before hearing a soft murmur from Noctis.

“Yeah Gladdy, don’t move it too much,” he silently teased.

You chuckled at your sleepy boyfriend’s antics and moved to pull Ignis from the portable stove.

“Iggy, sweetie, I’m more than capable of making a nice meal for us. You need to rest your hand.

“Dearest, I’m fi-!” he quickly let out a cry of pain and cradled his fractured wrist.

You looked over his shoulder and saw that he also burned his bad hand due to his poor reflexes at the moment.

“Oh, Iggy. Stop. I’ll finish it for you. You’re in no condition to cook,” You said, sitting him down in one of the chairs.

He let out a deep sigh and showed you his wrist, knowing you would be the one tending to it.

You held his wrist gingerly and undid the temporary splint you did earlier before arriving at the camp, digging into your first aid kit for some proper materials for a splint.

“I already popped it into place, so it won’t hurt too much this time. You should stretch it when the bones set further,” You explained, wrapping the gauze around the splint.

He let out a hum in response and sighed when you finished wrapping it up.

“Get some rest. You’ll feel better when you get up,” You told him, leading him to the tent.

You sighed, following Ignis into the tent and sitting amongst your boys, resting Prompto’s and Gladio’s heads on your lap, stroking Prompto’s hair and twirling Gladio’s between your fingers.

These boys were all a mess, but you would never stop loving them, and they you.

[myaekingheart]

53: Cuts and Scrapes

read the scarecrow and the bell on ao3

index | from the beginning | < previous | next >

TW: SELF HARM 

              Kakashi knocked on Rei’s door, fighting the smile behind his mask. Everything had been so hectic lately with the Akatsuki an ever-looming threat. Thanks to them, neither Rei nor Kakashi’s schedules had allowed time together for the past two weeks. His arms ached to hold her again, his ears desperate to hear her voice and eyes to see that smile. He heard some clamoring inside before finally the door swung open and there she was. She leapt into his arms with a killer smile, hugging him tightly, then pulled him inside.

               The first thing he noticed was that she looked exhausted. Dark circles lined her eyes and a sickly pallor tinged her face. Her apartment was messier than usual—which was really saying something.

               “I’ve missed you so much” she said, grinning up at him as she took his hands in hers.

               “I’ve missed you, too” he replied. He caressed her cheek and just enjoyed her presence for a moment, taking advantage of every minute he was with her. As he did so, however, he sensed something lurking behind her eyes. They seemed duller, quieter, as if some of the life had disappeared. His heart skipped a beat and he tried not to think too much about it. They had been busy, she was just tired. That was all.

               She broke free of his allure, then, and walked over to the fridge, pulling two cans of orange soda. She tossed the one to Kakashi, who caught it without hesitation and then maneuvered his way toward the unmade bed. He swiped away some dirty clothes and then took a seat on the edge as she pulled her desk chair over and straddled the back.  

               “So how was your last mission?” he asked as he tugged his mask down, then popped the tab and took a sip. Apparently, so long as it was orange, it was the only kind of soda Kakashi really cared to drink, but he only ever cared to drink it when he was with her. It was a crisp reminder of summers in the sun as children, spraying one another with soda foam and running barefoot until sticky in the sun.

               Rei took a dark swig of her own drink and shook her head. “Just another lame cat and mouse game, nothing worth talking about” she said, glancing out the window. He followed her gaze to the streets below, the people passing by, and there was a sort of wistfulness in her expression. Her fingers twitched against the aluminum. “I can’t wait for the hokage to give me another assignment” she added. She seemed almost jittery, desperate to constantly keep moving. As she lifted the can to her lips, however, Kakashi noticed something else.

               “Rei, what’s that?” he asked, gently pulling her arm down to get a better look. Scrapes and scratches covered her forearm, relatively fresh. She blinked a few times, then jerked her arm away and tugged her sleeve down.

               “Don’t be stupid, Kakashi” she snapped. “They’re just battle wounds. Occupational hazard. Nothing to worry about.” Kakashi nodded slowly, though her response still didn’t feel entirely sufficient. Rei knocked back another gulp of soda and began toying with the metal tab until it broke off.

               “Is something on your mind?” he then asked.

               Rei gazed back at him abruptly, harshly. “Dammit, Kakashi! What’s with the third degree?” she shouted, leaping up so fast she knocked her chair over. “I’m fine. I just want to get back to work, alright?” she continued. By now she was pacing the room, gesturing frantically with her free hand. “I hate sitting around cooped up in this fucking apartment. There’s no fucking room, and it’s always a damn mess but there’s no use cleaning because it’s a total pit. I need to get out of here, I-I need to do something. I need fresh air and a fresh start and a fresh view. Somewhere far, far away from here. I don’t want to deal with any of it anymore.”

               “Strong words from a Konoha kunoichi” Kakashi commented, cocking a brow. For so long she had been such a strong proponent of lazing around, so the sudden change was concerningly uncharacteristic. She shook her head as if he wouldn’t understand and truly, he didn’t. He couldn’t wrap his head around what had gotten into her and was even mildly scared of receiving an answer.

               Finally calming down, she sighed and set her drink on the desk. “I just need a night away” she said quietly, not looking at anyone or anything in particular. Kakashi rose and put his soda beside hers, then brushed her bangs out of her face and kissed her forehead.

               “Then spend the night at my place” he offered softly. A sly smile tugged at the corner of her lips as she looked up at him, a silent agreement, then watched him depart. It disappeared the moment he shut the door.

               Kakashi pulled her into his apartment the moment she arrived, closing the door behind her and tugging his mask down to kiss her. He couldn’t help but note a touch of resistance on her end, however, so he pulled away and asked again if she was alright.

               Scoffing, she flopped back on his bed and assured him tiredly, “I’m fine. Stop asking.” He defiantly agreed, though he remained uneasy.

               He cooked her a simple dinner and opened the windows for a fresh breeze. They ate against a sunset backdrop, but she didn’t show much interest in her food. She poked at her chicken with her chopstick, moved her noodles around boredly. Try as he might, any attempt at conversation was shut down by blunt, one-word answers. It hurt his heart to see Rei so distant, but Kakashi didn’t know what else to do. He didn’t want to press her for answers for fear of pushing her further away, but he knew something was definitely wrong. He needed to know what so he could make things right. So he could fix her.

               When they climbed into bed, she made sure all the lights were off before stripping. His hands ran across her silhouette and his shadow loomed over in her bed. When they fucked, she seemed like she was just going through the motions but when Kakashi asked if she wanted to stop, she assured him to keep going. She fell asleep with her back to him, curled up, her hair a tangled mess. He scooted closer and wrapped his arms around her and she didn’t protest, but she didn’t give him any indication that she was pleased with it, either. It took him a long while to fall asleep and when he did, all he saw was her.

               Kakashi awoke to complete darkness and, for a second, was outrageously disoriented. He squinted at the clock, the time reading 3:07am. His hand glided across the bed in search of Rei, but she was nowhere to be found. He immediately leapt to his feet and flicked the light on. The room was empty save for himself. His heart began pounding faster and faster as he tugged his mask on and checked the hallway, but still nothing. His breathing picked up, fists clenched at his sides. His eyes darted to the staircase and a sudden horrific image filled his head. He refused to believe it was a possibility, but he had to be sure. Just as he was about to dart upstairs, however, something caught his attention. Soft grunts and cries reached his ears from inside his apartment. He turned slowly, catching a flickering light from beneath the bathroom door.

               “R-Rei…is that you?” he asked, knocking lightly. “Are you alright?”

               The grunting and crying immediately cut off, but there was no answer. Kakashi waited another minute or so, his anxiety escalating, before deciding this had gone way too far. He tried the doorknob, but it was locked. He insisted she let him inside, but there was no reply. If he wanted to get in, he would just have to bust the door down. Sucking in a deep breath, he jammed his shoulder against the door once, twice, three times before finally stumbling inside. He met Rei’s eyes for only a moment, and his heart sank.

               His girlfriend’s tiny figure was hunched in the corner, almost primal and strange. She held a kunai tight in her hands, patches of blood staining her arms and smeared onto her bare legs. She stared straight ahead with wide eyes, her chest rising and falling rapidly. Her long bngs covered most of her face.

               “Re, what do you think you’re doing?” Kakashi shouted, surging forward. He ripped the kunai from her hands and lifted her to her feet, flicking the light on. Of course that made everything worse. At least in the darkness, it was harder to see the damage she had done to herself. Hefty sobs racked her entire body as she wrapped her bloody arms around her waist and stared at the ground. “Rei, look at me” he insisted, tilting her chin upward. He brushed her bangs out of her face but she wouldn’t look him in eye. She couldn’t. “What is this all about?” he asked, but the inquiry only made her cry harder. He sighed and rubbed his tired eyes, pulling her arm away to check the injuries. His stomach churned. “Rei, why did you do this to yourself?" he asked. “Tell me. Now. What is going on?” Once again, the inquiry only led to more sobs.

               Unfortunately, Kakashi soon realized there was no way he would get an answer out of her now. Not like this. Still firmly clutching her arm, he opened the cabinet and pulled out a washcloth and peroxide and began cleaning her wounds. He counted them as they revealed themselves from beneath the mess. One, two, three, four…sickening. Fortunately, they weren’t very deep but that meant nothing. Self harm is self harm, no matter what the degree. As he wiped away the blood and applied pressure to stop the flow, all he could think was why? Why would she do this to herself? And what the everliving hell was going on?

               Once cleaned, he grabbed a roll of bandages and began wrapping her forearms. All the while, she stood there staring straight ahead sobbing quietly, her entire body trembling. He scooped her up and carried her bridal style back to bed, laying her down gently. She immediately curled up into a ball and buried her face in the pillow. With a sigh, he climbed over her and rubbed her back until she calmed down.

               “Now are you going to tell me what the hell is going on?” he asked, voice quiet but commanding. Another sob shook her body. A few minutes of silence passed.

               “Are you mad at me?” she finally croaked.

               “I’m upset, but I’m not mad at you” he replied. “I don’t understand. Why are you doing this to yourself?” he asked. Rei shook her head and curled up even tighter. “Rei, you have to tell me. What is going on?” Kakashi insisted. He rested his hand gently on the small of her back, a silent sign of comfort. He had no intention of yelling at her, but he also wasn’t sure if she truly understood the weight of what she had done. And for what? He needed solid answers.

               And then a horrifying prospect popped into his head. He recounted the past month, their limited time together. Their anniversary, his still-steady plans to propose. He scrutinized his every action, searching for flaws. Then, finally, he asked, “Is it something I’ve done?”

               Finally, Rei answered. “N-no…not at all” she whispered. A wave of relief swept over Kakashi. Sighing, Rei slowly turned onto her other side to face him. Her boyfriend’s eyes were filled with sorrow and fear. The soft flesh of her arms stung.

               “Then what is this about?” Kakashi then asked once more. She looked like she was about to speak but merely hesitated with mouth ajar before tears streamed down her cheeks again. “Come here” he whispered, pulling her into his lap. He wrapped his arms around her tightly.

               Sniffling, Rei whimpered, “Kakashi…I’ve made a terrible mistake.”

               “Oh?” he asked. “What do you mean?”

               “I’m a fucking piece of shit” she replied. “I shouldn’t be a shinobi. I’ve done something so horrible…I can’t even say it.”

               She could feel his heart rate picking up speed, which only made her that much more terrified of admitting her transgressions. “Is this about your last mission?” he asked softly. Rei gave a small nod.

               “It was so…so bad, ‘Kashi” she whispered. She buried her face in his chest and he petted her hair comfortingly. “We were ambushed and…and I made a terrible mistake” she continued. He waited patiently for her to find the strength to continue, her body riding a rollercoaster of emotion that varied the degree to which she trembled. Her voice was weak and quiet, forced, but she managed a simple yet horrifying sentence: “I made the wrong decision and…and it cost someone their life.”

               Kakashi’s heart sank. Flashes of his past flickered though his mind: his father’s vilification, his broken promises, his best friend’s eye, his hand plunging through the chest of a girl who only ever loved him. Any mission involving the death of a comrade was always difficult to recover from, especially when you felt as if you were at fault. The more he thought about it, the more he began to realize the hints he missed that further enforced the situation. Tenshi had been retrieving her mail when he entered the building but did not greet him with her usual voracious enthusiasm. Instead, she glanced at him with a quiet, somber expression. He assumed it had just been the aftermath of the sleepover incident, but now he understood that was not the case at all. He overheard talk of many brutal casualties from the hokage’s office that morning but thought nothing of it until now. “I understand your pain” he then said, leaning back so as to look her in the eyes, “but that’s no excuse to hurt yourself.”  

               Rei shook her head and pulled back, wiping her nose on the back of her hand. “You don’t get it” she insisted. “I’m at fault for someone’s death! My own teammate! And not just that, but my best fucking friend!”

               Kakashi blinked a few times. His entire body flooded with panic, as if he was trapped in a dream and about to fall over the edge of a cliff. Deep down, he understood perfectly but at the same time, there was still a sliver of hope that perhaps he was wrong. He didn’t want to jump to conclusions. “W-what do you mean…?”

               Rei kicked him away and violently tossed her pillow across the room with a shrill battle cry. “Naru is dead!” she shouted, tears pouring down her face. “My best friend...she’s dead and…and it’s all my fault!”

               Kakashi was completely paralyzed. It didn’t make sense. Naru was one of the liveliest people he knew, second only to Guy. The thought of her being dead just didn’t compute. He watched Rei fall apart, the entire world turning in slow motion, then cautiously scooted nearer. He was almost afraid his proximity would make her hysterics even worse but took the risk anyway and pulled her into his arms. She collapsed against him, wailing like an abandoned infant as she pounded her fist against his chest. He tangled his fingers in her hair, rocked her back and forth, anything to help ease the pain at least slightly. His strong arms only provided mild comfort.

               “She was my best friend…” Rei sobbed. “Sh-she died in my arms…all because of me. Because I didn’t think…and now she’s gone and…and I can never get her back. What am I going to do without her, Kakashi? She was my best fucking friend…”

               “I know, Rei…I know” Kakashi whispered. He couldn’t find the words to express how much he truly understood her pain. He didn’t know if it was even appropriate. All he knew was that Rei was suffering and he needed to be there for her. “Why did you feel the need to hurt yourself?” he asked after a few moments.

               Rei groaned and pushed him away, collapsing in on herself again. “What part of this don’t you understand?” she shouted. “Naru is dead because of me! Don’t you think I deserve some sort of punishment?”

               “No, I don’t” Kakashi said bluntly. “What good is hurting yourself going to do? What is a kunai to the wrist going to solve?”

               “I can’t believe I ever thought you’d understand” Rei snapped, clenching her fists as she rose from the bed and gathered her things. She didn’t need this right now. Kakashi was all she had and even he lacked the sympathy she needed. “Naru died” she repeated, resting her hand on the doorknob. “Hurting myself is the least I could do.” She thought back to when they were kids, to the pact she and Naru had made in their academy days. This is a blood pact! The strongest there is. Once we do this, there’s no turning back, understand? We’re tied together forever and ever. If I go down, Rei, you’re going down with me, got it?

               Rei pressed her hand hard against her chest, feeling that taunting heartbeat. She should’ve died instead. She should’ve been on the receiving end of that fatal blow. It wasn’t fair. Nothing about this was fair.

               Before Rei could leave, Kakashi’s breath suddenly pulsed at the back of her neck. “I really don’t want you alone tonight” he whispered. A shiver ran down Rei’s spine, her eyes widening.

               “You don’t know what you’re talking about” she replied, tightening her grip on the handle. He gently placed his hand atop hers and she could feel his eyes burning holes into her back. She sucked in a deep breath. “You think you know what’s best for me, Kakashi, but you don’t. You don’t understand a damn thing.”

               “I understand more than you think I do” he replied. “My father, my teammates, my sensei…they’re all gone. My own jutsu killed Rin. I live with the guilt every single day.” Rei’s heart leapt into her throat. Kakashi wrapped his fingers around her unsteady hand, gently pulling it away from the doorknob. “I don’t trust what you’re going to do to yourself if I leave you alone.”

               “Quit worrying about me, Kakashi” Rei whispered. “Just let me deal with this the way I see fit.”

               “I’m not going to let you get away with hurting yourself” Kakashi growled.

               “Why not?” Rei snapped, whipping around to face him. “Why can’t you just leave me alone? You think you understand but you have no idea! I fucked up and someone is dead because of me! I deserve every ounce of pain I give myself!”

               “No, you don’t” Kakashi said sternly. His voice remained level but had a certain power to it that almost scared Rei, though she would never admit it. “And if you keep this up, you’re going to end up dead, too.”

               “How do you know that’s not what I want?” Rei asked. Kakashi’s stomach flipped and for a moment he was positive he was going to be sick. He refused to believe what he was hearing. “How do you know that’s not what I deserve? Naru and I had an agreement. She goes down, I go down with her!”

               “I refuse to let you do this” Kakashi insisted, looking her dead in the eyes. Sharp, intimidating, desperate. “Everyone else I ever cared about has already been killed. I refuse to let the same happen to you, especially by your own hand.”

               He thought back to the promise he had made so long ago, when Rei was just a baby. He promised to be her protector, to never let any harm come to her. He hadn’t done a very great job of that over the years. He accepted his failure long ago. But now she was here before him, the love of his life, the last of spark of light he had left, and he’d be damned if he didn’t make good on his promise. She was his entire world and he had to protect her, even from herself.  

               She stared back at him for a long while, at first defiant but then her gaze began to soften. She thought of those many years apart, when she thought he had stopped caring about her. When he was distant and depressed. She thought of the things people said about him behind his back after Rin died. Friend-Killer Kakashi. Of him all alone in the house just next door, every day forced to walk past the spot where he found his father’s dead body. And yet she still couldn’t fathom the idea that he truly understood. She had put everyone in danger. She was given authority only to prove that she didn’t deserve it. She had caused her best friend’s death. She had made a huge mistake and now she was suffering the consequences. She couldn’t get the image out of her head, ripping Naru’s mask off to find her ghostly face. Her blue eyes had grown so dull. She smiled up at Rei weakly, tears rolling down her cheeks, blood spurting from her chapped lips with each cough. Her weakening grip on Rei’s hand.

               “I-I think I’m a little banged up” she had whispered, forcing an airy laugh. Rei shook her head, opening her mouth to speak but no words came out. “I-I just want you to know…y-you’re going to get everything you ever wanted, Rei. I-I p-promise…a-and when you finally w-walk down that aisle, I want you to know th-that I’m going to be there…m-maybe not physically but…but I’ll b-be there. I wouldn’t—” here, she coughed so hard her entire body could’ve collapsed, and blood poured out of her mouth and onto her uniform— “I wouldn’t m-miss it for the world.”

               “N-Naru, stop” Rei insisted through her own tears. “Don’t say shit like that! You’re going to be fine. You go down, I go down with you, remember? We made a blood pact.”

               Naru shook her head, resting a hand on her chest and dipping it in her own blood before reaching up and pressing a shaky finger to Rei’s cheek. “W-well here’s a new one…d-don’t give up what you have…for me…” she croaked. Rei was about to protest, then thought better of herself. She refused to let Naru’s last moments be filled with arguing. Her body began to convulse and her grip tightened on Rei’s hand, squeezing her eyes shut tight as she struggled to breathe. “A-and tell Sekkachi…” she added weakly, “th-that I know…a-and I…f-feel the…same.” And then that was the end of that.

               The image haunted her. Standing now in front of Kakashi, Rei closed her eyes and saw it all play out as freshly in her head as if it was live. She thought of Naru’s final, desperate breaths, of that vacant expression when her soul finally departed. Her limp body, her disgustingly warm skin growing colder by the second. She was like a mannequin, a shell of her former self. A corpse. Her best fucking friend. Tears welled up in Rei’s eyes, gaze still locked on Kakashi. Her hands began to shake and her knees grew weak. She opened her mouth, choked on her words. Then, finally, a whisper. “It should’ve been me.”

               A sob broke past her lips as her legs gave out and she stumbled to the floor. Kakashi lunged forward and caught her just in time. He wrapped his arms around her tightly and carried her back to bed. She buried her face in his chest and Kakashi rubbed her back and whispered comforting words in her ear as she wailed herself to sleep.

[relatablyreid]

Important Notice - SR & LA

This should have been said such a long time ago, Spencer had felt incredibly stupid at this point. Even if it possibly was something so clear, that you could visibly catch onto. It was proper to warn your partner of these issues before you delve into a passionate relationship, and last for more than three months, right? You try to get the bad out of the way, so there isn’t much to scare him away at a later date? Now was sadly the later date, and Spencer had never regretted his cowardly decision to misinform Luke of his stimulation issues and sensory issues.

“Spence? Querida mia, eh, dónde estás? ¡Necesito que te dé mi sorpresa! No puedo dar un regalo sin mi querida cerca.” Luke rang, placing his bag beside the doorway and slipping both shoes off near the front door as well but to the left. Where all the other shoes were. Only Luke had much diversity in shoe choice, and that was clear to see beside the door. A pair of black and white splattered pool slides, a pair of nice faux fur covered slide on boat shoes, two different pairs of running sneakers with one more tattered than the other and then a pair of proper attire fitting sneakers for work. Then, sat Spencer’s two pairs of shoes he adored. His converse, and his nice work shoes with their brown twine laces and white stich thread leather. Besides that, there were no other pairs of shoes that showed further residents to the Reid and Alvez home.

“Spence! I’m not kidding, quierdo, I want to see your handsome face, it’s been a long day. Where are you?” Luke continued on, hoping that if Spencer had fallen asleep that he’d have been awoken by the calling. By now, Spencer likely would have woken up so Luke had no other real option than to assume he was in danger or in harm. “Spence!?” Luke shouted, walking through the kitchen and into the hallway to the right exit of the little kitchen. There was no way he had left, without the car or a note. Strict rule that the two had made considering the jobs they worked was that if anyone left the home without being able to text or verbally inform the other of it that they were to leave one another a note. Where, when, and when they’d return and a proper signiture on the front with a tiny star on the back. The tiny star was what let them know it was the real deal, only they knew about that little code detail. Instead of screaming for Spencer once more, he silenced himself and froze. Maybe he’d hear shuffling or crying, to find where he would be in the home. Hoping he was in the home, so to speak. There it was, and Luke thankfully traced the whimpering to the bedroom they shared. Much like that of a freshly scolded child, the whimpering was persistent and seemed to match pace to the male’s rocking.

“Spence, hey, are you okay?” Luke asked, and he bent down besides Spencer. There had to be a trigger, but nothing was in the room. The window was open, the candle was burning as it seemed to have been for a while and the cell phone that belonged to him was laying on the bed with the screen on and bright, too. This didn’t seem like a regular panic attack due to the way Reid had been balled up this time, or the rocking.

Spencer shook his head as much as he could manage from right to left as if to try to say no, and he gripped his nails as hard as he could into the back of his calves that held close to his chest. He had his knees directly to his chest, and he was so tense and tight that it visually was painful to even see. The head tucked in as much as it was physically able to hide, without the neck snapping and dislodging the head from the spine and shoulders it was bound to. His rocking was fast, and his balls of his feet were doing all the pushing and he seemed so stiff with these motions.

“Spence, can you let go of your legs, please? You’re hurting yourself, Spencer.” Luke kindly asked, whispering. This was now piecing together like something he’d seen before. Much earlier, as in his beginning of his college days was when he saw something similar to this. Yes, Mr. Luke Alvez had a brief passion for daycare and babysitting. He had always went to this one house at the end of the block towards the start of the next one onto the main street of his little town which he resided in. The boy was a maniac for music, he even walked and talked to a tempo consistently kept with his fingers, and he lived by it. Self titled, a two one one tempo. He’d tap his fingers twice, then once and then one more time. He stepped twice and then once and then once but if he was going fast enough it seemed so normal. To mimick it was so near impossible due to the natural tempo you set yourself to. This boy one afternoon had all his toys scattered and unorganized, thrown around the room as if they were worthless. Besides that unusual mess, the boy was beating at himself in his tempo pattern. There was constuction going on outside of the house, and music playing inside of the house. After a panicked call to the mother, he’d been told to shut all windows and turn off all music. ‘Try to make it as quiet as you can so he can breathe easy again. He’s overstimulated.’ As instructed, he even turned the lights down low. Slowly, the boys breathing evened and he stopped hurting himself. Luke waited for a little to give him an ice pack or two in hopes to avoid setting him off, again. It was something he figured he’d have to copy the process to and apply to Spencer but more specific and gentle to his situation. Maybe he wasn’t so stupid and blank in the brain after all.

“Querido, please, you can loosen your hands.” Luke whispered, getting up and blowing the candle out and fanning away the smoke. Then, slowly and smoothly shut the window to prevent the outdoor commotion of the rainy streets and cars from interrupting the genius mind that Spencer had from calming down, and on that same note, he put their phones both on silent so no one from the outside world would be able to stop the soothing process that was leading Spencer back to stability. After closing off all sources of noise he could, he sat back beside Spencer but left plenty of room so he could feel like he would be able to breathe. “There’s plenty of air around you, you are okay, Spencer.” Luke tried to further verbally encourage some sort of calm because he didn’t like seeing Spencer in pain, or in fear. It was a pair of emotions that he didn’t think Spencer had deserved to suffer with any longer, really. The boy had seen and been through so much, he figured that all he really did earn at this point was a warm and comfortable home to come back to at the end of a stressful day and some nice loving arms or a sweet and protective chest to lay beside and curl into when the world was making him tense. A pair of gentle hands looking to massage out all the kinks in his back, and to smooth out all the stressors sitting on his brain. That was what Luke wanted to give Spencer properly so, because the turmoil he’d already slid through was so excessive and he truly had better things in store with Luke by his side.

Spencer’s bony hands shook with such a strong tremble, but only were lifted in order for him to bring his hands together for a moment or two to make a heart out of them, and then press a finger to his lip. It was an; ‘I love you and your words, but please not now.’ Not in a rude way at all, it was just a lot for him to think about and it put more pressure on his threatening to pop brain. Luke signalled back his affection, and with the same little heart. Sitting there, he waited patiently as Spencer rocked out and squeezed out each and every little ounce of overwhelming feeling he’d processed, and he eventually fell somewhat limp. Looked much like someone who’d performed an soulfully draining surgery, and needed to sleep. He loosened his tight fingers off of his calves and he let his khaki covered legs leave the console of his chest, and loosen to lay flat on the wooden floor, plopping so. His hands and arms lay loose, still across his chest and his head leaned back, hanging at the seams basically. It was a pose of pure exhaustion, and that was how Spencer felt. Tears that had fallen had now left brief stains of previous existence on his face, his pants with ripples and bents in them where they’d been pulled up, and his fingers so red and sore looking from the consistent pressure he had them forcing on his calves. Speaking of his calves themselves, they were all pale except the ten spots where Spencer dug his nails into them. Each fingernail left a prominent mark, and about four of them were bleeding. With the rocking, it moved the nails so slightly with each shift and that scraped some of the skin with it and it bled, quite literally tearing the skin apart. His breathing had taken the time to slow and regulate, and Luke decided it was go time.

Now was the clean up crew, or well— really just Luke’s time to shine. Shine with all his love and compassion he had for his boyfriend and to demonstrate with caring for him. Standing up and taking his time doing so, he made his way into the bathroom linked to their room and reached for the drawer under the sink. The sink was hooked to a series of drawers and the plumbing system had gone through the wall behind the drawers, and the mirror covered the entire gap between the two. The first aid kit, barely touched was taken from the drawer with the bottle of peroxide and sterile gauze, prepackaged and separately packaged. New gauze for each use, nice and clean. Luke was highly considerate to Spencer’s germaphobia, and always tried to make things comfortable for the man he loved. “I’m going to try to be slow, so I don’t do anything that will be offputting.” Luke said softly, nearing a soft tone of talking but it was still a whisper. Easy to say, Luke was really awful at whispering but right now, he sure as hell was going to try his hardest. Silently his hands moved, taking the plastic wrapping around the gauze off and dousing the tabs of it in peroxide, pressing them into the four wounds. It was hard to stay calm when he was still worried internally for Spencer. He wanted to know what set him off, if it was something specific or not. He pulled out a large bandage, and he placed it over two of the cuts that were closer together, then a second large bandage over the other two wounds to protect them for a day or two until they would need to be uncovered. He then slid Spencer’s pant leg down, as with the other one. The poor man in front of him was exhausted. Drained like a case had never done to him, he looked like all his energy had been sucked out of him like air from a balloon. Lids to his beautiful eyes were shut, but he was awake. It seemed hard for him to currently put forth much energy into regaining his control or organization, and he didn’t seem like he was planning on moving much for the rest of the evening. His loose hands, once squeezed tightly around his calves to push out the pressure of his brain were now laying palm up and relaxed, none of the tendons in his hand currently tense. His fingertips had been red and furious, moments ago and now were soothed by the time given to calm down. Nails of his finger tips were clean for the most part minus the four with glimpses of blood, which would have to be scrubbed off at a later date. Hair disheveled, and a loose strand brought over his right eye and laid over his lip a bit too. Finally at peace, but at such a high cost that it didn’t seem too worth it for Luke. It lit a little bulb in Luke’s head, so he could comfort Spencer in a simple and non-problematic way.

“Hey, querido. Open your eyes for a moment, okay? I’d like to show you something, alright?” Luke asked, making sure Spencer was awake and would be okay with this. He didn’t want to spring something massive and intense on his partner, because he’d just released all these massive and intense feelings. It wouldn’t make sense to clean him up and then break him down. Unintentionally or not, it would be rude.

A small nod from his boyfriend would do plenty for him, and to see his eyes helped add to the assurance of his plan. Although the beautiful eyes of his partner were seemingly empty, and lacking much energy as the rest of him was, it soothed Luke to see them. The emotion— lack thereof in Spencer’s eyes instilled a minor fear in him, and he hoped he wasn’t annoying him inadvertently so. Still, Luke got up to retrieve the gift he’d purchased for Spencer. It was a small stuffed animal, a tiny little sea otter. No bigger than the size of a regular roll of black electrical tape. Something minor for Spencer to hold onto, or pet as need be and comfort himself with if Luke were not around in case of occasional sadness, or a possible meltdown. Maybe even if he needed to have something to fidget with, to internally soothe him beneath his surface. It didn’t have to have a specific singular purpose, Luke just bought it for Spencer because he loved it, and he loves Spencer and decided to combine both. Making his way back and beside his boyfriend of whom he loves so much, he tapped Spencer’s hand to get him to open it. He does, and Luke places the small stuffed animal there for Spencer to observe.

The eyes once not filled with any other emotion besides exhausted were not lightly brimmed with gratitude and appreciation, for Luke. The action may have been small, and seemed awfully childish but it filled Spencer’s heart to know he was cared for, and thought about through Luke’s day. It set a tone that reminded him just how considerate and compassionate his boyfriend Luke was, and it cracked a smile on his once plain countenance. Laying his right leg down against the floor, he’d placed the tiny otter on his thigh, and he put his hands together again to make the heart for Luke.

“I love you, really. I mean it. Thick and thin as blood will run, I’ll be here as well.” Luke promised, picking one of Spencer’s hands to give a gentle kiss to. They had a code. Kissing the back of one another’s hands gently was a signal of everything being okay. Right now, it was.

[ultrafastketoboost-blog]

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