#there’s a bandaid on the bottom where he cracked it falling down the stairs

[maybe-a-dinosaur]

BABY IWA WITH ONE OF THESE

mud caked under fingernails four (4) bandaids on his person shorts on backwards he carries it around with him Everywhere won’t leave the house without it he’s like a little buisness man with a brief case but he swings his arms like a madman when he walks so if there’s anything alive in there it won’t be for long. he takes his job very seriously anytime he sees a Critter he bolts after it to catch it, contain it, and study it for science. he’s very adamantly a catch and release kinda guy, but sometimes the Critter is just Too cool and he carries around for a little while to show other people (his mom and oikawa).

tooru absolutely REFUSES to go within five feet of the Critter Cage after an unfortunate incident involving a loose door and a flying beetle and lots of screaming. if iwa is carrying it tooru has no choice but to walk an uncomfortable distance away no matter how much he’s cajoled and reassured that it is in fact empty. hajime chases him around with it and tooru YELLS “IWA-CHAAAANNN” it’s like magnets repelling each other they Can’t Get Close. oikawa finds it years later snooping around in iwaizumi’s house and trips over himself trying to get away he shrieks and hajime comes running and fucking loses it when he finds out he’s still scared of it.

anyway the Critter Catcher™️ is an extension of baby iwa’s arm for an entire year of his young life he covers it in stickers and mud and the paint is almost completely chipped off the wire is dented irreparably from the time he caught a squirrel and put it in there even when he goes to restaurants it sits on the table next to him.

[heyitsyn]

Keeping Up With Seijoh Ep. 5

a/n: ong this is going to be a bit of a crack episode w a tiny dash of flirty manager

for more seijoh content, check this masterlist out!

anon:

-Watch the boys be all dramatic when yn misses a few days of school and suddenly show up with a broken arm😭✊🏻😔

- Dunno if this is a dream or not but i think you mentioned that yn is clumsy. Just imagine her carrying those cute band aids around for when she gets hurt. But what if she uses them on the boys when they get hurt

tumblr moot:

- She is looking down at the boy who is checking her scrap on her knee, when she smiles all cutely and shit "I fell for you" And cue the boy having a heart attack because she is way to cute

im totally not running out of seijoh gifs or anything

anyways!!

lets start!!

okay as mentioned before and as read above,,

you are quite clumsy

like there is a normal level of clumsy

but you are just on another level

like in manager part 2, your mom ltr was not shocked when you said you fell up the stairs like ‘oh okay. the weathers nice today’

lmao what

and youre also the type to not even know you got hurt like youd just be scratching your arm and youd find a bruise 

‘how did that get there?’

so it was common to find you with band-aids on you and bruises all over

like you entered the gym for practice and you were just doing your normal manager tingz when our meme bois saw you and zoomed towards you

‘y/n-chan!!! we missed you!!!!

makki screeched which scared you so you dropped the crate of bottles onto your feet

‘owie’

you mumbled, the pain settling in at an overwhelmingly quick pace so there were tiny tears in your eyes

the duo gasped and quickly kicked the crate to the side like they were angry at it for hurting you

uwu omg thats so cute

or the one time you were wiping the sweat from kyo’s forehead

he had a small soft smile that could only be seen by you as you got rid of the sweat 

but that smile turned into a frown when he got a glimpse at the discoloration on certain parts of your arms

‘y/n’

he whispered

you blinked up and he gently grabbed your arm, fingertips ghosting over the bruises

‘how could you do this to your beautiful skin’

he mumbles and you shrugged

‘hmm,,, i didnt even know they were there’

kyo shook his head with an amused chuckle and iwa, who was drinking water at the side, noticed you two

then he noticed more at your other arm and baby boi hurriedly ran over to you

next thing you know, you got best bois fussing over you always hurting yourself and kyo gently headbutts you to tell you off while iwa flicks your nose

‘honestly, we cant trust you by yourself’

you just giggled at them which caused them to stumble and fluster

THESE BOYS ARE SO SOFT LIKE PLEASE

its quite normal for you to look like you just fell down the stairs and be so surprised whenever the boys point it out

like youd have this confused pout  and tilt your head ‘hm? hello. how did you get here’

its kinda cute

and ofc you would naturally have your ointments for bruises or a first aid kit at all times bc you never really know when it happens and you need to treat it quickly

the boys always count on you for medical tape when their fingers bleed or whenever watari gets bruises all over his legs bc of too many flying dives

the bench was a common place for you to treat the others and our libero babie was sitting there at one practice

you were kneeled on the floor and gently applying ointment on the growing colors on his skin 

‘hmm,,, wata-san, be careful next time, okay? your skin is really soft and pretty. its a shame to ruin it’

he wanted to scoff at the irony and the hypocritical comment but your worried and concerned eyes made him softly smile and nod

‘mhm. i will’

even though it was uneeded on reddened places, you would dig in your bag and fish out a gudetama bandaid on it

it was like a doctor’s signature for you and it makes the boys ltr fall in love with you all over again

ororororor that one time where kindaichi accidentally got a papercut during your study sessions and he was tearing up slightly at the pain

LMAO YALL REALLY OUT HERE TOUGHING OUT PAPERCUTS LIKE ITS NOTHING BUT I ACT LIKE I GOT STABBED 10 TIMES 

you grinned at him to show that it was going to be okay and he let you sit on his lap so you could treat it

he still had a pout and you were giving him forehead kisses to calm him down

‘see? its going to be okay. nurse y/n-chan is the best out there and she’ll take care of you!’

he laughed slightly and you victoriously smiled

once it was all wrapped up, you placed a kiss on it

‘ya gotta kiss it to make it better’

not saying im doing a kindaichi route or anything but he may or may not tackled you with kisses with that comment

but sometimes, they would have to be the one to put that bandaid on you

like one day, you were walking down the stairs to go to the changing rooms for practice and humming softly when you caught sight of the tall volleyball player mattsun at the bottom of the stairs

he was just passing by and you noticed him, waving your hand and shouting his name

‘mattsun-san!’

you greeted and he turned and he smiled brightly at you

you excitedly increased your pace going down the stairs, not noticing that you stepped on the edge of the step and caused your foot to slip

unfortunately, mattsun was too far away for him to catch you so you tripped and scraped your knee

he flashnyoomed over to you and kneeled in front of you to examine it

ofc it hurt like hell but you put up a brave front

‘its okay, mattsun-san’

his adorable eyebrows scrunched in concern and he quickly shook his head and gently picked you up to sit 2 steps up

you watched silently as he grabbed ahold of the familiar blue first aid kit from your bag and he opened it to take out alcohol and other treatment things

his fingers worked to open the bottle and pour a little bit of alcohol before he gently reached out to grab your leg

but before that, our babie mattsun is a gentleman and looked up for a permission to help you

‘its okay, mattsun-san’

you giggled and you booped his nose

he was slowly cleaning the wound and you could still tell he was worried with how his brows were still furrowed

‘mattsun-san’

you called out and he looked up

you smiled cutely and looked down, flustered, then met his eyes again

‘i fell for you’

mattsun.exe stopped working

like deadass he blanked for a second then his brain processed what you said and when he did, he dropped the cotton ball and his face blew up red

this babie grimaced, eyes shutting tightly and head leaning on your thigh

you giggled at him and ran your hands through his hair

‘i swear, y/n, i swear’

he kept mumbling and his heartbeat quickened to the point he felt faint and he felt light-headed

you were just too cute

too damn cute for his heart

too damn cute for this world

just too cute

and thats not good

mattsun quickly regained his senses and hurriedly placed the ointment and the bandaid on to finish the job

you reached out with your hands for a hug and mattsun gladly leaned in and you clung to him like a koala which made him hold you tightly against his chest

‘hmm~~~~ thank you, mattsun-san’

you appreciated and gave him a kiss on his cheek in gratitude which made him hide his face in your neck

‘im going to get a heart attack, y/n. take responsibility’

he mumbled, nipping your neck 

you chuckled and played with the hair on his neck

‘hm~ okay~ i take responsibility~’

I SWEAR MY MATTSUN SIMP IS NOW PEAKING THROUGH

that was only one of the accidents the seijoh boys went through with you and i swear those boys have superior intelligence in medical care just because you get hurt so much

until that one faithful day

you werent there

you werent at school or at practice

ofc you texted the coaches and the team that you werent going to be at school for a while and they spammed you asking what happened or if you were okay

but you didnt want to worry them so you just said that you were okay and it was just something that happened

ONG OIKAWA ACTUALLY CAME TO YOUR HOUSE BUT YOU TOLD YOUR PARENTS AND NATSU TO TELL HIM TO GO AWAY BC IF HE FINDS OUT WHAT HAPPENED, THE CHILE WILL STORM INTO YOUR ROOM AND LECTURE YOU 

HE ONLY WENT AWAY WHEN YOUR DAD CAME OUT WITH A BROOM AND THREATENED TO HIT HIM IF HE CONTINUES TO BOTHER YOU

UKAI VIBES HONESTLY

IS UKAI YOUR FATHER?

CONSPIRACY THEORY?

BUZZFEED UNSOLVED COME SOLVE THIS

then you finally appeared

dear god 

kunimi saw you enter the classroom and he almost shot up to saturn when he saw your cast

‘y/n!’

he shouted and kindaichi heard it from his classroom beside yours and he also usain bolted towards your classroom to your desk

the boi texted the team you were here and they all raced to your classroom 

EVERYONE WAS HAVING A FIELD DAY WITH THE APPEARANCE OF THE BEAUTIFUL VOLLEYBALL TEAM LIKE THE BOYS + YOU?! GODSEND

oikawa screeched at the sight of your arm and everyone was firing questions at you but you couldnt focus on one so you just sat there sheepishly smiling

‘Y/N! WHAT DID-’

‘I SWEAR ITS LIKE WE HAVE TO-’

‘MY HEART ALMOST DIED!! I THOUGHT YOU DIED-’

thank god your professor entered the shooed them out with a large textbook but your teacher smiled at you

‘l/n, good to have you back’

at lunch, dear god there was a riot

kunimi strong man kunimi hoisted you in his arms and walked over to the hidden team stairwell where everyone was waiting

they all had narrowed eyes and crossed arms, with iwakyo tapping their foot

you did the 🥺👉👈 and their eyes softened at that sight alone

‘you see,,,, i had a,,, concert,,, in the shower,,, and slipped’

they blinked, confusion swirling over everyone’s head

‘excuse me? you said you slipped in the bath?’

‘for a concert?’

‘you sing?’

the team facepalmed at the reason you came in with a broken arm and you pouted at them

‘sorry, captain, everyone. i didnt mean to’

you mumbled but the others couldnt blame you so they pulled you to a group hug

‘i swear, y/n-chan, you will get yourself killed one day’

‘sorry’

you apologized again but oikawa flicked your nose

‘no dont apologize. we’ll just have to be there for you constantly to look out for you’

and he stuck to that word

like oikawa came over to your house early in the morning to pick you up from school and your dad thought it was just him bothering again

so he sighed, placed his newspaper down, took a sip of tea, then stood up to go to the closet for his broom

this mans took a deep breath before opening his door and shouting and waving his broom around maniacally

‘SHUT UP!!! YOURE DISTURBING THE NEIGHBORS!! I WILL BEAT YOUR LOUD CRUSTY DUSTY-’

that woke up everyone in the house and you bolted down the stairs, terrified yet chuckling at the sight

then something happened for everyone in the neighborhood-or Japan- to wake up

yanno the drill ladies and gents

oikawa screamed

a/n: sorry i disappeared for a HOT SEC but im back!! and we finally going back to the groove!!! and uwu thanks for sticking by and waiting for another update and the next one might be my first not-seijoh work in a LONG WHILE so look forward to that!!! 

[whump-town]

High School AU: Emily tossing a rope out her window for Hotch to climb up so she can clean him up after his father’s been drinking

Warnings for abuse and violent language

The first time Emily Prentiss met the Hotchners she was struck by the dark features of the eldest boy. A sharp jawline accented by the purpling bruise on his cheek. Her eyes never leave him as his mother makes a sheepish but ultimately flat lie on his behalf-- or rather, his father’s. 

The youngest shows none of the same hawk like features as his elder brother. Aaron and Sean, she learns their names to be, don’t seem to have a lot in common at all. On the surface, that is. Her mother wraps an arm around her shoulder as she introduces them both, smiling as she places that Aaron is only a year ahead of Emily in school. They might make good friends. 

Emily sincerely doubts this. 

It turns out she’s cruelly mistaken.

“Would you get your big ass--” she’s found herself in an odd tangle of arms and torso. The two of them gripping one another tightly as he teeters on the edge of her window seal. “Why are you so long?!” He falls through the clearing with a huff, Emily landing on the bottom of their dog pile.

He rolls off of her a second later-- smelling of the woods and damp clothing. His breathing is disrupted by pants. Whether it be from the pain of injuries she’s yet to take stock of or from running through the dense woods this late at night. True to his nature, always the perfect gentleman, he’s the first to sit up offering her not only his hand in aid but an apology.

She takes his hand and rises to her own feet. Over the course of the last few months, she’s learned her fair share about this small town in Virginia. The humidity, on the right day, is a punch to the face. The rain, which should cool things off, makes this worse. Unless, of course, the rain brings showers. The kind that do not relent for the upwards of a week, perhaps more. 

They are currently in the midst of a never ending shower. Thunder shakes the earth and strikes fear in her heart as it cracks across the sky. Aaron never seems to be bothered by these noises. If anything, he loves the rain and yearns for it when it’s gone.  Which explains why his already ill fitting clothes are twisted on his long body, dripping water on her floor.

They do this enough that all she needs to do is step to her dresser.

“Are you staying the night,” she asks, pulling open her sock drawer and retrieving the men’s pajama bottoms out from under a layer of bras. The only place she’s can be certain her mother won’t go snooping. She tosses them on her bed and waits for his reply.

He’s too busy fumbling to get himself out his wet jeans. 

That’s the difference in their families and even just the two of them. 

Where Aaron is a soft-spoken, easily flustered straight A student, Emily is a rebel on the mend. She wears fishnets and skirts that push the dress code. A parallel to Aaron’s old army green jacket with the large breast pocket where he keeps the cigarettes they smoke on her roof. He pushes her to be a better person and a better student and she helps him hide the bruises. 

Speaking of, she stands as she sees a nasty abrasion on his back. He’s turned away from her, struggling to get his wet shoe laces untied. When her hands meet his cold flesh they both shiver. She flinches when he jerks, catching her wrist in his much larger hand. 

There’s a flash of something in his eyes, something she doesn’t recognize, before he releases her hand just as quickly as he’d caught it. She watches as he clenches his fist, forcing the knuckles white with the force. “Sorry,” he rasps.

She pulls her wrist to her chest. “I shouldn’t have snuck up on you,” she excuses. “It was my fault.” She knows better than to do something like that. He has a very short list of unspoken rules: no sneaking up, no announced touches, don’t talk about the nightmares, and never mention the bruises. 

He rises to his feet, cheeks burning as he finally steps out of his jeans and stands in nothing but an old pair of blue boxers. Emily knows better than to look for too long. She’s not certain if it’s the scars that mark most of his body or just the self-imagery problems that all teens have but he doesn’t like to be looked at. 

No matter how many times she reassures him that he’s a very attractive man.

“He’s dying,” Aaron finally announces after a baited moment.

Emily looks up from her lap and finds him sitting on the edge of her bed, the pajama pants on. His chest is bare, allowing her the chance to clean him up some. But his comment has distracted her. Her mind takes a moment to process exactly what he means. 

When Emily settles on the bed beside him, her first-aid kit in hand, he’s crying. She’d given up a long time ago trying to understand what emotions she should feel towards his father-- the man accused of hurting her best friend. She also understands that she’ll never know how to feel about him because Aaron doesn’t know how he feels. 

She reaches up and cups the back of his head, scooting closer so she can pull his bigger frame to hers. “I’m so sorry, Aaron.”

He sobs into her shoulder, his arms wrapping around her. 

She’d like to pretend this the first time she’s held him together after his father’s gotten a hold of him but that’s simply not true. Tonight, the bruises on his body can’t be fixed chain smoking on the roof. How can it? His father is dying. Where does that leave Aaron? A senior in high school, meant to leave in three months for college, and leave behind a dying father, a helpless mother, and a nine-year-old Sean. 

“I hate him,” Aaron gasps but she knows him too well. He’s never hated his father, not even at his lowest. “I’ll be glad when he dies,” but there is no conviction in his words. There can’t be, not at the rate tears pour down his eyes. “He’s a bastard. I hate him.”

She rubs his back, nodding her understanding as he works through his grief. 

“Emily?”

She hums.

“I’m supposed to hate him, aren’t I?” 

The Aaron she knows is the strongest person she’s ever met. He’s brave and smart. Calculus may not come to him easily but his emotional intelligence is scary. He can call a bluff from anyone and it makes him crazy good at poker. Mostly, Aaron is a kind hearted softy. He showers his baby brother in gifts whenever he can afford it and remembers every little thing about her no matter how silly. 

Because he’s loving and caring and kind. He’s nothing like his father.

“Aaron,” she has no idea what he’s supposed to feel. Her own father is distant and the only person she’s known who died was her grandfather when she was ten. “No one can tell you how to feel. There is no right answer.”

This seems to sober him and he pulls himself back away from her. He curls himself forward, hunching over. 

She patches him up. 

The bruises will have to wait for tomorrow but for now she can apply a butterfly bandage to his bleeding eyebrow. If she sneaks downstairs she can get him some ice for his lip but she redirects her energy to cleaning the cut on his side. She’s not sure what it came from. The wound is jaggard and it looks like some dirt got into it, so if she had to guess he was pushed in the driveway. Rocks leaving this wound. 

She places a bandaid over it and no matter how much she has to dig into the wound he does not flinch. 

He never flinches. 

Placing the first aid kit back under her bed, she cuts the lights out. Pulling the comforter back she takes his hand and guides him under the covers. 

“He--” his voice has lowered to a whisper. His body shakes as much as his voice. “He put a knife to my throat once,” he tells her. The darkness has provided him a cover and unable to see her reactions he feels safe to tell her the truth. “Told my mother he was going to slit my throat in front of her so that she would have to watch as--” he swallows thickly. 

Emily presses her face into his side, squeezing his hand.

“She didn’t do anything,” Aaron’s hot tears slide over his face. “She never did anything.” But that’s not true. When Emily wasn’t here she used to hold him. In the long hours after the booze knocked his father out, his mother would climb the stairs to his room with whatever food his father wouldn’t notice was missing. She’d patch up the worst of the bruises and hold him into the early hours of the morning.

Emily rubs her thumb over his knuckles. “She loves you,” she reassures him. “He does too, in a sick twisted way.” The words are forced and they both know it. She can’t be bothered to lie to him right now. Not while her mind is tainted with the sight of his dead body. Her best friend… dead.

“I don’t think…” he feels a deep pang in his chest. His heart is aching. “I don’t think they ever did,” he admits. “Not really, not the right way.”

Emily sits up and presses a kiss to his cheek. She cups his cheek in her hand, squinting in the dark to see his eyes. “Sean loves you,” she tells him firmly. This they both know to be true. Sean worships the ground on which Aaron walks. After a moment she adds, “I love you.”

Neither are sure of the full depth of which she means the statement but that doesn’t matter.

Aaron nods his understanding and she settles back down beside him. He stares at the ceiling, her head on his shoulder. 

Too long passes before he hesitantly asks, “Emily?” Her breathing has evened out, she’s asleep. He squeezes her hand, their fingers still interlocked. “I love you too.”

Contrary to what both teens thing. Elizabeth is very aware of the rope hanging out of her fifteen-year-olds window. The horrid contraption the only way Emily could think to get that Hotchner boy from down the street up into their house. Never mind their perfectly good front door. 

In her daughter’s doorway, Elizabeth opens the door to a sight that has greeted her many times over the course of the last year. The teens are asleep, Aaron under the covers while Emily lays atop them, her head rests on his shoulder. He still has enough skin exposed for her to see the latest damage his father has done to him. 

With any luck, Emily will help him down the rope in the morning and he’ll knock on the front door. Elizabeth will demand he stay for breakfast and he’ll sheepishly comply. That’s the least she can do for him. He’ll hide here for the day and at night fall, Elizabeth will hear Emily’s soft sobs as Aaron makes the long walk back to his own home. 

To a condemned beating. 

Maybe, he’ll be back in the morning or next week but  he will be back and Emily will be waiting. 

A lifetime from now she’ll walk into his office and for a moment they’ll be these kids again. He’ll be reeling with loss, shaky but still that boy from Virginia who likes to stand in the rain. She’ll have a box of her belongings and take his deliberate incorrect recalling of her alma mater as an insult because she’s still the girl from all over the world who's too loud for her own good.

He’ll risk his career for her and she’ll hold his hand as the world caves in around him. 

They’ll always be the kids that Elizabeth sees right now. So close, yet worlds apart. Fighters.

[atlas-tries]

Shatter Me Chapter 3: Shatter Me

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Summary: Patton finds a painful memory and Janus has a vision. Will it be enough to thwart the outcomes that await?

Notes: Redundant, no? Not gonna lie, fam, it's about to get to the darkest point. Trigger warnings for character death.

“Patton, are you sure you aren’t a hoarder?” Virgil asked, pushing aside a mountain of plushies where he had been unfortunate enough to land. This was the first time the anxious side had been in Patton’s room since he moved to their part of the Mindscape (also the first time he had ever been to Patton’s room) and Patton was beside himself to have him here.

“Absolutely! I just like to keep a few sentimental things around to look at when I’m feeling down,” Patton replied. “But I guess it uh, wouldn’t hurt to clean up a little. Gotta make room for more memories, right? I actually have the energy to do it now!”

Virgil looked at Patton with a lopsided grin. “Wait, what? You, not having the energy to do something? How’d that happen?”

“Ah right, you weren’t here for uh … all of that. Let’s just say I was recovering from an injury I got several months ago,” Patton said, instantly noting the worried change in Virgil’s expression. “Hold on, it’s alright, I’m alright now, see?” He lifted his shirt to showcase the few tiny cracks that remained. “I’m almost completely healed. Logan even gave me his seal of approval!” He pulled out a little medallion with Logan’s bespectacled brain signet on it. “See?”

Virgil breathed out a visible sigh of relief. He shook a finger at Patton. “Awesome,” he said, his voice cracking a little at the end.

“Alright, so you said you were looking for …” Patton started.

“… this one angsty poem Thomas wrote in high school. I thought I’d uh, spice the ruminating up a little when Thomas heads to bed tonight,” Virgil replied. “No better way to fall asleep than thinking about everything that’s gone wrong or that will go wrong, am I right?”

Patton smiled. “Sure, kiddo, as long as they’re balanced with happier thoughts during the daytime! Let’s see, I think what you’re looking for is over here.” He ran toward his version of the staircase that was piled high with boxes and other larger memorabilia that wouldn’t fit on the bookshelf. He glanced through a few of them, perking up a little when he came to the box on the fourth stair. “I think this is it!” He grabbed the box and ran back to Virgil.

“Keep them as long as you need them,” Patton said with a smile. He handed it over to Virgil, who nearly doubled over from the weight of the things inside. Virgil choked out a thanks and quickly sank out.

“Well, that’s one box temporarily dealt with. Now, about the rest of this marvelous mountain of memories …” Patton, though he would never outrightly admit it, didn’t like moving things around very much. It filled him with dread just thinking about moving something somewhere he would inevitably forget about it. Maybe it would be better to start smaller? He looked around for somewhere less cluttered to start. Finally, his eyes landed on the overflowing box labeled New Memories. “That’ll do for now.” He took the box carefully upstairs to his bedroom and got to work sorting its contents.

In around half an hour, everything was categorized into neat little piles that could be easily transferred to other more fitting storage spaces. Patton began collecting everything from the Friends and Coworkers pile and carried them to his dresser. The top drawer was for everything related to Joan. Admittedly, this one was getting a little bloated from all the fun stuff they and Thomas had ever done together. Still, Patton managed to find space for the newer memories in the crevices that remained. The rest made their way into their respective drawers, packed in tightly with all the rest of them.

Patton closed the drawers, smiled, and put his hands on his hips. “Perfect!” he said. Now all that was left was to take the box back to his version of the living room. He picked the box up and startled when it hissed at him. Something was still in there. He peeked into the box at the thing that had just slid toward him, an upside-down picture frame from the looks of it. Steadying the box with one hand, he reached in and flipped it over.

The last memory he had of Thomas’s now ex-boyfriend stared up at him from the bottom of the box.

His hands trembled a little as he stared at this frighteningly still image. “Nope nope nope, not today,” he said, closing the box and walking as quickly as he could to put it back where it belonged. Despite ridding himself of the visual, this memory was still going to make itself heard in the only way it knew how. Patton clutched at his chest hard and the box crashed to the living room floor. “N-not again …”

He sat down on the stairs a moment to regain control of his breathing. Searing lines thrummed in time with his heartbeat, dulled but not forgotten. This was another reason why he never bothered to clean up: too much of a chance to reopen old wounds. Patton rose with a wince to get that recording of the Rainforest Rap. That song always helped cheer him up. He kept the song on repeat until he felt some semblance of normalcy again.

For the rest of the week, Patton lay awake during the nights, praying that the darkness would somehow take away the memories that hurt him so. It, as many spectral entities do, provided no such reprieve. Certainly not enough to quell the ache settling further into his core as the days passed. Taking liberties in his duties here and there made things far more manageable. Just yesterday, Patton suggested Thomas indulge in a half a pack of Oreos and he listened. The day before, he had come thiiiiiis close to getting an actual bouncy castle! And today, Patton had one little plan he thought everyone would jump for (but not in a bouncy castle).

If everything went according to Patton’s plan, they would spend the next 48 hours rewatching The Office in a blanket fort with Thomas’s closest friends. They could all use a break right about now, what with Roman steamrolling through coming up with new concepts, Logan pulling all-nighters researching for new videos, and Virgil making sure everyone was staying on time with Logan’s schedule. He couldn’t wait to see how everyone else liked this idea! He was already out the door and nearly to the stairs when he heard muffled shouting coming from the living room below.

“—not seriously thinking of going along with this latest plan, are you? I have far too much to plan if we’re to keep this project at its utmost quality!”

Patton stopped dead in his tracks at the top of the stairs.

“I know, Roman, I’m concerned about this, too. We’re woefully behind schedule as it is,” Logan added. “If we don’t do something about this, my carefully constructed calendar will collapse under the weight of his impulse decisions.”

“But how are we even supposed to bring that up to him? He’s been acting weird all week, I know,” Virgil bit, “but you know how Pat takes these things, L.” Patton bit his lip to keep from making noise as the cracks grew once more.

“The best way to do that is to do like you said earlier Virgil, rip it off like a metaphorical Bandaid. This isn’t the first time we’ve had to do this.”

So. Patton had gone overboard these past few days with his contributions.

How many other times had he put the other sides in this exact same situation? They were all supposed to be in this together. Weren’t they …?

There was only one way to fix this. Fixing his cardigan and his expression, Patton plodded heavily down the stairs to announce his arrival. “Hey kiddos! Oh, good, you’re all here together, that’ll save me a few trips back upstairs,” he said cheerily.

“Don’t tell us, Padre, you have another idea?” Roman asked. His smile looked so forced.

“Kinda! So I was just thinking that since we are so behind schedule, a 2 day binge-fest might not be the greatest idea I’ve come up with. So instead of that, how about we work on this next concept together tonight?”

Jaws all around the room dropped. “Wait, what? I thought …” said Virgil, looking to the others.

Roman picked up where Virgil left off, “Patton, I believe that’s the best idea you’ve had all week!” He stepped closer. “How shall we go about it? At the dumb boring regular table here, or at the Round Table in the Imagination to help stimulate all the best thoughts?”

“Hmm, that’s intriguing, Roman. It would certainly be easier than trying to keep track of all our thoughts on paper,” Logan added.

“Hey Logan, I guess you say it’s a …” Patton started.

Logan’s eyes widened. “No.”

“Oh, this’ll be good,” Virgil snickered.

“… well-Round-ed idea,” said Patton.

Virgil and Roman couldn’t help smiling watching this play out. Logan groaned. “I will ignore that this one time because you made a worthwhile effort to get us back on schedule, but I do hope that you’ll spend a little more time thinking about what words you want to arrange in a sentence. And make them less … pun-filled.”

“I’ll try not to have too much pun, but I can’t make any promises!” Patton said.

Logan said nothing further, opting instead to vacate the premises as quickly as possible. “I’ll uh, go with him and we’ll get everything set up in the Imagination,” said Roman, running after him.

“Well, I guess that just leaves you and me, kiddo! Whaddaya say we make some snacks for everyone? We’ve got a lot of work ahead of us today!”

Virgil nodded. “As long as I can spit on something meant for Roman,” he said.

“I’ll let you have the cookie batter bowl,” Patton replied.

“Deal.”

Between the two of them, Patton and Virgil were able to make somewhat quick work of a heaping plate of hot cookies and several plates of sandwiches for everyone to enjoy. Sure, they may have gotten more flour and other assorted foodstuffs on them than into the finished products on the counter, but it was the fun they had doing it that mattered. Both of them decided that it would be best to change out of their dirty clothes before carrying everything into the Imagination.

Patton sunk into his version of the kitchen, which was considerably more cluttered than the common area kitchen. He stepped over a few stray memories before making it into the clearer living room. That was when he noticed Deceit sitting on his couch worrying his gloved hands. Softly, Patton called out, “Dee?”

Deceit startled and turned quickly to see Patton. “Um,” he said, clearing his throat and brushing down the front of his cloak, “you certainly didn’t sneak up on me.”

“What brings you back to my neck of the ‘burbs?” asked Patton.

Deceit stood from the couch. “We’re just getting so well acquainted that I thought I’d stop by for tea— and to give a warning. I know they’ve been growing again.”

Patton smiled sadly. “I guess I can’t really hide this from you. But you should know, this time—”

“It’s not their fault, I’m well aware. But doesn’t this make it the best time to tell them? The pressure is off. You don’t even have to tell them in a direct way!” Deceit said, taking Patton’s hands in his own. His eyes were alight with worry. “You just need to tell them.”

“I know I need to, but … it’s so hard to do. I’d be hurting them, I know I would.”

Deceit looked down and sighed. He brought his gaze quickly back up to Patton’s, staring with an intensity that Patton had never seen from him before. “You need to tell them,” he whispered slowly. “I saw something on the horizon. Something bad. As much as it pains me to say it, I don’t want that vision to be about you.”

That was a bit startling. Patton knew it wouldn’t get that far, but … could it? “Okay,” he said. “I’ll tell them.” That earned him a split-second smile from Deceit.

“That’ll do, Patton. That’ll do. What in the world is on my gloves?” Deceit said, sinking out.

“Cookie dough!” Patton called after him. “And probably some mayo. Oh, he probably didn’t hear me. Now what was I doing again? Oh yeah, clothes, brainstorming, Imagination!” He quickly ran upstairs to the bathroom to get changed and emerged from his room less than a minute later and grabbed what food Virgil hadn’t. Maybe if he busied himself enough, he would be able to forget Deceit’s visit. He wouldn’t think about the panic behind his crumbling facade, or the thinly veiled pleas he made.

But that would all be a lie. Something had him deeply troubled, and when Deceit was the one giving out a warning in earnest, it bode better to listen. But how to go about it? Patton sighed. “Alright, Patton, let’s just focus on getting to the others right now,” he said to himself. He closed his eyes and thought about the others, and about castles, knights, and everything that made Roman happy.

When he opened them again, he was in the Imagination.

Or rather, he was in a field in the Imagination, right in front of Roman’s towering castle. It was a perfect amalgamation of Gothic architecture and pure Disney magic that made Patton’s nostalgia meter burst through the roof. He ran through the front gates with appropriate gusto and was thrilled to see the others there around the table already, quietly chatting amongst themselves. “Ah, Patton, we were starting to think you forgot how to get here again. Come, let us formally begin this brainstorming bash!” Roman said cheerily.

“That’s the spirit!” Patton squealed, trying to sound as normal as possible. He set down the cookie platter and took a seat in the high-backed chair with his new symbol on it.

“First things first, let’s make sure we’re all on the same page before we begin,” Logan said, summoning papers for all of them. “In order to maximize our output, Roman, Virgil, and I have decided to remove some of the thought filters from the castle for this session. This means that any particular thought, if it’s focused enough, will manifest in here for all of us to review. According to my own independent research, this should boost our productivity by 42% with a .03% margin of error.”

Patton’s eyes widened a little. He really didn’t want to interrupt their work, but this new system would definitely cause problems if he didn’t come clean now. So, Patton gathered every last bit of gumption that he had and shouted, “I have a confession to make!”

The others backed up a little, startled that Patton could be so loud, but quickly recomposed themselves. “Go ahead, Patton,” said Logan, straightening his tie.

Patton thanked him, doing his best to not squirm in his seat. He knew they wouldn’t react well, but maybe saying it now would keep thoughts about it from popping up later. “I uh, wanted to get this out of the way before we get down to business. But um … I think I might be breaking again.”

“Come again?” Virgil asked.

Patton slid the collar of his shirt down enough to reveal several deep fissures. “These things. They’re growing again,” he said. “Started earlier this week. I just didn’t want that popping up without warning and ruining our work. Anyways, um, what ideas are we working with here, Roman?”

“Wait, breaking? Like, breaking breaking? Oh God, Patton, are you dying? You’re dying, aren’t you? Oh God, no! What stops death?! Logan?!” Virgil cried frantically.

Patton quickly said, “Virgil, Virgil, breathe, I’m not dying. In for four seconds, there you go, hold it for seven seconds. You’re doing great. Just listen to the sound of my voice. Out for eight. Good job, keep it up.”

Logan got out a pen and notepad. “Again? And you say they started earlier this week? Do you remember which day it was?” he asked.

“The day I started cleaning up my room. Uh, what day was that again?” Patton said, still doing his best to softly coach Virgil back down to a calmer state.

“Padre … I thought there weren’t going to be any more secrets about this,” said Roman. The hurt look he gave to Patton about killed him where he sat.

“It wasn’t so much a secret as it was an ‘I-got-a-little-busy-and-kept-forgetting’ kind of thing. I never meant to keep it from you, any of you,” Patton replied. A tiny, glowing orb dripped from Patton’s chest. A thought. He pushed it down between his hand and the seat to trap it, knowing that it would unveil his lie. For good measure, he slung a leg over his hand.

“You were cleaning that day…” Logan mused. “I may have some theories that explain this phenomenon, though it is currently up to speculation. Allow me to elaborate. Patton, it seems that stressing yourself beyond your limits could potentially be the cause of this. You have certainly been going out of your way with your work this week. I believe we all recall the … bouncy castle idea. This could be leading to a lack of self-care needed to perform adequately.”

Patton nodded slowly with as real a smile as he could muster. “Yyyyyeah, that could be it,” he said, shoving down another treacherous thought as it popped out. It brought up memories of all the passing comments Logan made about his character.

“Uh, Pops? Whatcha … doin’ over there?” Virgil asked.

Patton stiffened. “Nothing, just, uh … Practicing a new kind of exercise?” Another one flitted out, pointing to being too overbearing with Virgil. “Hey, is that a dragon coming up to the castle?”

Everyone turned to look while Patton conjured a slingshot, flung that icky thought out the other window. and recaptured the one that had come out from beneath his leg.

“No, that’s a tapestry, Padre. It literally couldn’t hurt you if it wanted to,” Roman said. “Not that I would ever let it!”

Patton smiled. “You’re my hero, Roman,” he said.

Roman blushed a little to that. “Aw, Pat,” he gushed.

Another thought came up, a memory of a time Roman had taken him on one of his adventures. He had wanted to tend to a little wounded animal they came across and nearly got them killed because of it. Patton clapped his hand painfully over his heart to keep that one from surfacing. With a whimper and a slight grimace, he replied, “I mean it, Ro.”

Virgil was getting extremely antsy where he sat. “Okay, um … This is weird, right? Like, this just feels wrong.”

“Virgil has a point, you are behaving rather strangely, Patton,” said Logan. “Do you have something you’d like to add?”

With the focus being on what started this, another memory surfaced. The one that had started it again. Patton tried to bite that one as it meandered past. Curse these full hands! He missed by a mile, leaving it to float effortlessly to the center of the table.

“A thought?” Logan said. “Unconventional, but it’s an intriguing choice.”

It began to play. Patton was in his room, sorting through the new memories box. The last few were being tucked away. It skipped to him looking back in the box to see what was left. It showed him, holding the picture. Him, clutching his chest. Him, stumbling to the floor. As if on cue, the cracks thrummed in recognition. Thank goodness he already had a hand over them because it almost took his breath away. The memory evaporated, leaving the others to simply look with jaws slightly agape.

Patton could only look down at the table. These old wounds were reopening in the worst of ways, and now his closest friends would find out the truth. Logan finally broke the silence. “So, that’s how it happened.”

Patton nodded wordlessly.

“This was months ago,” Logan said.

“It was a busy time for me,” Virgil added. “Switching from everything Thomas did wrong to worrying that Thomas will never find love again got to be so exhausting.”

“I admit even I became a bit disheveled by his absence,” Logan said, looking down.

“I nearly ducked out over this. I can’t imagine what that must’ve been like for you, Patton,” said Roman.

Patton still couldn’t bring himself to look up. He knew there were pent up tears threatening to fall if he did. “It … it was hard … and seeing a reminder of it …” he whispered.

Logan sighed. “I believe your best course of action is clear,” he said. “You simply need to let the past be the past.”

“But … what about all of the good times we had with him? I don’t want to leave them behind,” Patton said softly.

“Patton, these memories are physically hurting you. I can’t understand why you would rather suffer endlessly instead of just letting one person go.”

You’re too sentimental to save yourself from dying.

Patton’s face contorted and a small whine escaped his throat. Those insidious cracks lengthened once more, each one feeling like a knife tracing its way through his skin.

Roman stood abruptly. “Now look what you’ve done, Quantum of Soulless!” Roman cried, motioning to Patton. Logan rose from his seat, trying to get a better look from across the table.

“Roman …” Patton lightly scolded. “Pl-please be nice.”

Roman huffed. “Sorry. What I mean is this situation needs a bit more delicacy than Logan’s robotic demeanor could ever hope to provide.” Roman walked over to Patton and put a hand gently on his arm. Logan was making his way over, too, notepad in hand. “Now Padre, you know how much I came to you when this was all fresh. We did our best to hold each other up, but even now, I still feel lost. I can’t tell you how much I yearn to have our beloved return, or how much I want to call him after all this time.”

Patton sniffled a little, putting his hand over Roman’s and leaning his head against his arm. “I know, I want him back too,” he said.

“I think we all do. But I think it might also be time to start boxing up some of those old memories. We can even help you start!” Roman said. Virgil shook his head. Logan rolled his eyes. “Okay, I can help you start.”

“But I don’t want to forget … I wouldn’t even know where, or how, to start. We had so many good memories together that I don’t want to lose,” Patton blubbered.

“I know it’s difficult, but we aren’t children anymore, Padre. I know the relationship ending was for the best and I’ve been striving every day to remain strong. I also know that you wouldn’t be leaving everything behind if you do the adult thing and let the ghosts of the past go.”

You’re too naive to understand what needs to be done.

Patton doubled over, groaning as the cracks split further down his limbs and up his neck. Bile burned at the back of his throat, and he could taste the coppery twang of essence. He felt another wary hand on him. “P-Pops?” came Virgil’s wavering voice. “I… Thomas was being too overbearing. That wasn’t your fault!”

YOU were being too overbearing. YOU were what drove him away.

Patton cried out in agony as his skin split down to his fingertips and over his face to the top of his head. Small chips of skin were beginning to fall away with tiny tinks as they hit the floor, displaying the bright blue beneath. He could feel the front of his shirt begin to dampen.

“I don’t get it! We’re trying to help, why isn’t this working?” Virgil cried. “Why are they getting worse?!”

Logan came up to Patton, attempting to lean him back with utmost care. “Perhaps just talking about the subject of his pain is what’s causing them to worsen,” he said. As soon as he looked at the frail fatherly side, his demeanor changed. “Virgil, get a first aid kit. Roman, help me lay him on the table. Now!”

The others, at first too stunned to move, burst into action as quickly as they could. Patton screamed as they repositioned him on the table, hyperventilating from the pain. “Hang in there, Padre, please hang in there!” came Roman’s muffled voice. Logan was reaching for the hem of his shirt. He mouthed something to him. Patton felt something glide across his skin from his navel to his neck. Wait, when did Logan get scissors? And where was his shirt? And why did the others look so horrified? Those questions seemed inconsequential to the truth staring down at Patton, demanding he tell it.

“It w-was my fault,” Patton croaked.

Logan started threading a needle. Virgil was carding his fingers through Patton’s hair anxiously. Roman looked at him with incredulous eyes. “What are you talking about?” asked Roman.

“Th-the breakup,” Patton replied. Warmth was trickling down over his ribcage and soaking his back. “A-and everything e-else.” Logan tried his best to stick the needle through solid skin, but it just chipped further. Patton coughed, a bit of blue making its way past his lips.

“Everything else? Patton, you’re not making sense,” Logan said, trying the same thing again with the same result.

Patton whimpered, “I-I know that I’m always … messing th-things up. I forget s-so much … I kn-know that you think I’m t-too sentimental t-to do my job. Th-that I’m too … naive t-to see the truth right in … front of me. That I’m s-so over … o-overbearing that I drove him away. If it w-weren’t for … all of you t-to rein me in … I-I’d make Thomas into a… w-worthless mass of a man.”

You are worthless.

“C-Compression. Let’s try compression,” Logan said.

“Pat … is this … is this what caused all of this?” Roman asked. His eyes shimmered.

“You can’t seriously think that,” Virgil said, his hands becoming shaky.

Patton cried as Logan pressed firmly in the center of his chest. More fragments broke free and with them, Logan’s hands went straight through into Patton’s chest. Patton nearly passed out. Logan quickly withdrew his hands.

“Ohhhh my God, oh my God, Logan, what did you do?!” shouted Virgil. “What do we do now?!”

Patton coughed violently, essence spluttering from his lips in a steady stream.

Logan could only stand there, frozen in horror, staring at his blue hands.

“Logan?!” Roman cried.

“I … I don’t know …” came Logan’s voice, barely above a whisper. Silent tears streamed down his cheeks.

“You can’t die on us, Patton, please, we need you!” Virgil sobbed.

Roman grasped Patton’s hand delicately. It began to shatter like porcelain barely held together. Despite the jagged edges, Roman still lifted it to his cheek, holding on like it was the only anchor in a violent sea. “Y-you’ll … all be … alright … without me … Just … p-promise me … y-you won’t … blame yourselves …” Patton gasped.

He couldn’t hold it together when bigger pieces of him began breaking away from the rest of his body. He couldn’t scream. He couldn’t hear.

He couldn’t see. But still, his mouth made the words.

“I… l-love… you.”

With a final shuddering breath, he was gone.

---

Janus knew that meddling with what his foresight told him never aided the outcome.

He knew this, but he tried anyway.

It wasn’t that he particularly liked Patton. He found him to be overly saccharine and ridiculously optimistic in the face of surefire doom, not to mention he stood by socks and sandals as a fashion choice. However, things always seemed to run smoother in the Mindscape with the fatherly side around. Someone had to be there to tend to the others and moderate their senseless bickering, he supposed. How would anyone get any sleep otherwise? And Patton wasn’t one to pass judgement when he was caught alone. Perhaps his near-blind acceptance was what endeared Janus to him in the first place.

Whatever the case, he didn’t want whatever was going to happen to go through like it wanted to. He could never determine much from these visions. Just … feelings. Notions. The occasional coherent thought. This most recent one should’ve been par for the course. Nothing could’ve prepared him for what came. He couldn’t breathe. He felt like he was being ripped apart. And there was nothing else around but the pain, searing a fiery blue, and those three intrepid words.

I love you.

A swan song if there ever was one. And now, standing here amongst the shadows outside Roman’s castle, he knew the swan had sung.

Taglist: @celeste-tyrrell @taxicabinmemphis @angeldiaries @somehow-i-got-an-account

[kirishwima]

If requests are still open, could I ask for how the RFA+V and Saeran act with a clumsy S/O? Like they trip over nothing and always run into stuff. Thank you!

oh, hello fellow clumsy person!! i can absoloutely relate to this lol, this should be fun~

YOOSUNG:

*He’s...he’s also SO freaking clumsy

*Both of them just fall flat on their faces with nothing to have tripped over-and no, as much as Seven insists, it’s not because of invisible aliens

*He never worries over himself and his own clumsiness-induced injuries however-instead he’s always looking out for MC, running after them with bandaids and antiseptic to treat their wounds whenever they fall.

*For this silly couple, holding hands when walking down the street isn’t just something done out of affection-no, it’s a necessity so neither of them can wander off and hit their face on a lamp post or anything like that

* When preparing for the RFA party, their friends all know not to have either Yoosung or MC carry anything fragile or do any detail-focused work-the last time MC held scissors they snapped a clunk of their finger right off, and surprisingly, it was Yoosung that was the calmest at the sight of all that blood-he took a towel, pressed it down onto their finger and called an ambulance like a pro.

* And yet that very same person tripped when climbing into the back of the ambulance to take MC to the hospital, effectively falling down and breaking his nose on the stepping step of the ambulance

* (Well at least the two clumsy love-birds could share a hospital room for a while)

*Jaehee unironically calls them both a hazard to society-she’d love to put each of them in bubble foil so they can at least stop bruising over everytime they hit onto something lol

* It’s fine with them though-Yoosung likes to tease MC about it, and they often compare scars and bruises, comparing who has the silliest story behind it

ZEN:

*He’s honestly really shocked at MC’s clumsiness, and panics everytime they trip or hit their hip onto a hard corner-this poor boy’s heart can’t take another one of MC’s stunts really

*He’s now learnt to always carry bandaids with him, and to hold MC by the waist when they’re out together, fearing for their safety. No beloved of his will be hurt today, no sir!

*If MC receives an injury due to their clumsiness, he’ll always without fail kiss it to make it better, tending to their wounds with the utmost of care, like a prince to his royalty.

* That being said, he often forgets...just how clumsy MC is. He once left them alone while cooking to put some ravioli in the pot of boiling water, just for a few minutes-only to run back to the kitchen when he heard them hiss in pain; they’d managed to splash the hot water onto their hand and clutched to it as it reddened.

* Zen froze for a moment before diving into action, pulling MC by the wrist and brinigng their hand under the faucet, turning it to freezing cold water before grabbing an ice pack from the freezer and placing it atop their injury.

* “Baby please..please, for my heart’s sake, try and be more careful? I can’t stand to see you hurt this often” he asks one day with a pout, his bottom lip trembling. MC can do little else but nod and promise, even though they aren’t sure how to be more careful per say. It’s worth it though to see Zen’s relieved smile.

JAEHEE:

* I already picture her as the kind of mom-person who always has every necessary thing in her bag, so MC is more than lucky to have a capable girlfriend like her.

* MC tripped and scraped her knee? Baehee’s already pulling out antiseptic wipes and a mini gauze. MC bumped her shoulder onto the door and now it’s sore? Baehee’s got muscle relaxing cream ready to rub onto their sore muscles. Whatever you want, Baehee’s got.

*That being said, it doesn’t make her feel any less worried whenever she sees MC trip or hurt themselves due to their clumsiness. She begs them to be more careful, but knows it’s not something they can really help. So instead she always has a watchful eye on them, trying to prevent danger from coming their way.

* Their clumsiness is a big issue in the coffee shop, even though Jaehee’s never made a fuss about it-they kept dropping cups and plates, burning themselves with warm espresso, accidentantly pouring the beans out of the grinder...eventually Jaehee asked them to work more on the front desk, and let her prepare and serve the drinks, for both their safeties.

* She’ll never be mad at MC for their clumsiness though-she finds it endearing in a way, and she loves all of MC, the good and the bad. She’ll just have to be twice as careful for the both of them.

JUMIN:

* He seems like such a poised and elegant man..but he can, in fact, also be very clumsy.

* It’s not often that he is-the man has an impeccably steady hand, and he’s always aware of his surroundings, but when he gets flustered or tired-hoo boy.

* Once he saw MC wearing a gorgeous new outfit and he tripped whilst walking down the stairs towards them and sprained his ankle-Zen refuses to let him live it down to this day.

* That being said though, after taking note of how clumsy MC is, he makes sure to always be doubly aware of his surroundings, and asks their bodyguards to always have one person walk a little further ahead than MC, so they can redirect them if there’s any cracks in the pavement or lamposts ahead as they walk, especially when Jumin isn’t around to hold them near him and watch out for these himself.

* MC’s always worried at fancy dinner parties, which actually...makes them clumsier. The amount of times they’ve nearly tripped while walking on those marble floors is remarkable, but Jumin has been there every single time to wrap his arms around their middle and hoist them up before they could fall, and will make sure to have his arms around them for the rest of the night.

* Once however, MC was talking with some of Jumin’s colleagues, when a waiter passed by offering glasses of champagne. MC took one, but with slippery hands, it slid from their hands and fell right onto their foot where it shattered, shards getting stuck onto their skin and some even sliding under their shoe, so every step would cause more of them to push into the soles of their feet, blood pooling in their shoe.

* Jumin was there in an instant-across the room he saw the incident and ran over, pulling MC up in a princess carry so they wouldn’t apply any pressure to their injured leg. He turned and left with MC in tow without a word, only telling driver Kim to take them to the nearest hospital.

* MC was worried as he silently brooded, thinking he was mad at them...he wasn’t.

* He turned to them, helping them hoist their legs onto his lap as he gently took off their shoes, looking them over for any visible shards he could help remove. “You’re not mad?” MC asked, and Jumin sighed, leaning his head to rest on their knees.

* “No darling, I could never be mad at you. I was just...seeing you injured terrifies me.”

* From then on MC vowed to be as careful as possible! ....whatever that meant. Either way they’d try to, for Jumin!!

SEVEN:

* As clumsy as he seems he might be, he’s absoloutely not-he’s a trained spy, he’s always aware of his surroundings, and he’s learnt to mind his every step, being able to walk as silently as a cat in the night as to not alert any enemies of his presence.

* So to meet the clumsiest person of all, MC, was...quite funny to him really, and a refreshing breath of fresh air-finally, someone he doesn’t have to walk on eggshells with.

* He’s the kind of jerk that would absoloutely make fun of MC everytime they hit their hip on the counter or slide or trip over nothing-but he’d still be there every time to hoist them back up, quickly looking them over for any injuries whilst trying to play it cool.

* He actually thought of baby-proofing the house for their sake; but MC quickly shot down that idea, saying they’d be fine and there’s no need for him to worry (because yes, he actually was serious-a trickster as he might be, he worries over MC constantly lol)

* Once though, once MC’s clumsiness really made him terrified, made him fall to his knees and cry.

* They were on a date, the first proper date in quite some time, walking down the streets on a quiet evening. 

* They were about to cross the street, though the light hadn’t yet turned green for pedestrians-but it was about to, they could see the road traffic light already turning orange, so MC nonchalantly laughed as they made to walk across-only a car had been dashing to pass before the light turned red.

* MC saw it coming, but as they made to turn and run back, they tripped, falling in the middle of the street.

* Seven didn’t, couldn’t think at that moment-he dashed into the street, grabbing MC and literally pulling them like a dragged doll out of the way.

* The car had screeched to a stop regardless when they saw the two pedestrians, even rolling down the window to ask if they were okay. Seven had already helped MC stand up on shaky legs, holding them close by the waist, their head resting in the crook of his neck.

* He nodded to the driver and watched him drive off, his hands holding MC bruisingly tight.

* He couldn’t control his emotions, couldn’t think-he pushed them away from him, but still held their shoulders tight, his fingers digging into their muscles.

* “You-how could you fucking-be more careful! Just look around you, look at your freaking surroundings just-” his eyes filled with tears as he leaned his head down, hiding onto MC’s shoulder, leaving wet puffs of air on their skin.

* “Just-don’t let me lose you, not you, please...”

* They stood there, holding one another for a long time. “You won’t. I’ll be careful, I promise. I’m sorry” they whispered into his ear, and it was true. They’d always be as careful as possible, Seven’s scared expression always snapping them back to reality without fail.

V/JIHYUN:

* Look...before he gets his eye surgery....he’ll also be extremely freaking clumsy lol

* After getting the surgery, his eyesight would never be 100% the same again-so it’d still take some getting used to before his perception returned to a normal healthy state.

* He’ll always try and watch out for MC, fearing their clumsiness and fussing over their injuries, but him worrying over MC only did more harm than good, for both of them.

* Cue the two walking down the street, when MC trips. In an attempt to help them, V reaches out for them...but he also just stumbles down and falls with them, a bruised but laughing heap on cement floor.

* They always tend to each other’s injuries, and at least one of them has to carry band-aids at all times. It’s like an inside joke, how they bump over every stool and every table corner, their hips eternally a purple blue bruise. V loves to lay his head on MC’s lap, oftentimes turning to give a smooch to their bruises when they’re visible. 

* He actually feels responsible sometimes, thinks of how if he could protect MC more he’d be a better boyfriend. One time, whilst MC was changing into pyjamas, he saw a nasty scar on their thigh, remembering the incident that caused it-they were both together in the kitchen, talking about one thing or another, boiling some water for tea; only when MC tried to hold the kettle, it fell right into their lap, hot water falling across their thigh before V could rush over to them to grab it and put it back on the counter.

* He remembers grabbing MC by the wrist and rushing them to the shower where he set the water to the coldest it could get, tripping over his feet and falling to his knees as he pulled both MC and himself into the shower, taking the shower head and holding it over MC’s burnt thigh; he remembers them crying and it still makes his heart ache, and that scar is a reminder of that.

* MC could see the frown on V’s face, and approached him as he sat on the bed, placing themselves between his thights as they tilted his chin up to look to them. “What’s wrong?”

* V bit his lip, wondering if he should say anything at all. “Just-I’m sorry. I’m never able to protect you where it matters.”

* MC frowned too at that. It’s been so long and V had gotten so much more confident, why was he bringing himself down now? They kissed his forehead before leaning away to continue getting dressed.

* “I’m not dating you to protect me, I’m dating you because I love you. And besides-I’m the clumsiest person there is. I should be trying to protect myself instead!” MC laughed.

* They did however promise to try and be more careful-both for their sake, but for V’s too.

-Send me mysme headcanons/scenarios for characters reactions!-

[peterthepark]

Oh my gosh could you maybe do a Steve harrington x teen mom reader please and thank you

yes ofc! thanks for requesting!

Crazy For You

steve harrington x teen mom! reader

Steve Harrington was nothing but supportive. His heart was made out of gold, handcrafted by the very finest material. You knew he didn’t have a single bad bone in his body, unless someone were to mess with the people he loved. You were hopelessly in love with him. He and his perfect hair had swooned you the first time you had seen him, slinging ice cream scoops onto waffle cones. Steve knew everything about you - except one thing.

You had a kid. Aiden was the secret that you hated keeping from him. You didn’t know why you were fearful of Steve’s reaction. Then again, you had been hiding Aiden from him for months on end. It wasn’t that you were ashamed of your 4-year old son, but it was out of fear - fear that Steve would leave you. Being a teen mom was far from easy. So, when Steve Harrington had showed up to your house unexpectedly one Saturday morning, you were not happy.

“Steve?” You breathe out. No, why was he here? You keep the door closed at an angle, your body blocking him from seeing anything inside. “W-what are you doing here?” You tap your foot anxiously.

Steve takes in your frazzled and panicked state. “I... do you not remember?” He chuckles nervously. “You invited me over. Yesterday. You said come over for breakfast tomorrow.”

“I did not.” You laugh, shaking your head as you glance back inside your house.

“You did.” Steve tries to push past you, but you push the door into him. “Ow!” He winces, rubbing his shoulder with a pout.

“I did not invite you, Harrington!” You huffed at him. Steve raises his eyebrows at you accusingly, but a loving smile rests among the corners of his lips. “Or did I?”

“Y/N!” He booms out into hysteric laughter. His hand trails down the side of his face before he gestures at you. “Okay, okay, you know what? I’ll even cook breakfast for the both of us-“

“Nope! Nope! The house is a mess! And my parents are still asleep and I don’t want to wake them up! Let’s just do this another day, bubs.” You frown at him. He really wasn’t buying it.

Steve’s shoulders slump over. He puckers his bottom lip at you. You mock him, copying his actions. He leans his arm against the doorframe and leans over to kiss you. But that was your mistake.

Steve easily pushes past you, and your eyes are nearly bulging out of your skull as he takes in the state of your home. It’s a warzone: colorful toys are scattered everywhere, fairytale books sit in piles by the kitchen, and stuffed animals litter the rug of your living room.

“Wha... you never told me you were babysitting?” Steve turned to look at you, hands on his hips.

“Ma!” A little voice from the top of the stairs croaked out. You’re going to piss yourself. You stand frozen, watching as the little boy - that resembles you a little too much - run down the stairs, stumbling as he throws himself at your leg. “G’morning, ma.” He blinks up at you, mouth covered in dry toothpaste.

“Morning, my baby.” You say, but you’re staring at Steve with watery eyes. Your boyfriend, being the dork with one braincell, looks utterly confused. His brows are furrowed and his eyes are narrowed in thought.

“Ma?” Steve repeats. His finger points from Aiden to you, then back again. He starts to stutter, “So - he - that’s... but like - Ma?” Steve pulls and tugs at his brown locks, starting to pace around the room in quiet thought.

This is the part. This is the part where Steve leaves. This is the part where Steve starts to despise you.

“Hi, mister.” Aiden perks up, tugging at Steve’s jacket. “I’m Aiden.” Your son is still clutching at your leg, shyly looking up. You can’t look at Steve, so your eyes remain trained on the stain of chocolate milk on your carpet. Tears fall from your cheeks and you sniffle as Steve calls your name.

“Y/N?” He places a hand on your cheek, thumb swiping away the stray tears. You close your eyes at his touch. His voice is so gentle and calm that you sob into his hand. “Hey. Hey. It’s okay. Shhh...” He soothes you, rubbing his back. Aiden runs off into the kitchen, which gives you time to explain the situation to Steve. You might as well rip the bandaid. You could only hope that it would be painless.

“Steve, that’s Aiden.” He’s nodding, leaning you up against the back of your leather couch. “He’s my son.” You crack a smile through your sadness. Steve lets out a long exhale, nodding his head with wide eyes. “I-I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. It’s selfish and stupid and I was terrified that you would leave. Everyone leaves.”

Steve locks eyes with you. He presses his lips to your forehead, whispering against your soft skin, “It’s alright. I don’t care that you didn’t tell me sooner. I’m just...” He sighs. “I’m glad you told me at all.”

“You’re... you aren’t mad?” Steve shakes his head, glancing at Aiden in the kitchen with an awestruck smile. “I get if you wanna go, though. If it’s too much.” You wipe your eyes, biting your lip out of nerves.

“It’s not a problem for me, angel. I love you. I think you’re so brave for telling me. I’m... yeah, I’m a little shocked. Well, I guess that’s the understatement of the century, but I’m really shocked. But - but it’s a good shock, yeah? It’s nothing bad-“ You giggle at his rambling, nuzzling your head into his shoulder. Steve breaks the short silence. “Y/N?”

“Hm?”

“I love you, okay? I’ve loved you more than anyone. I’m literally crazy for you. And - and Aiden is part of your life. And I’ll love him, too. I can already tell how much of a good kid he is.” He states, peppering you with kisses. “And you know what else? I’m a pretty good damn babysitter so if anything, I got you covered, Y/N. Like seriously.” He traces your jaw with his finger, looking at you lovingly. “You need anything, and I’m here. One hundred percent of me.”

“Thank you, Steve. You’re perfect.” You kiss him. “I love you, too.” Aiden pops back into the room, a juice box in hand and a cookie in the other.

“Mister! Mister! Do you wanna play airplane with me?” He grins at your boyfriend with excitement.

Steve looks over to you for approval, and you nod rapidly. He crouches down, resting his arms on top of his kneecaps. “You can call me Steve, Aiden. I’m a friend of your mommy.” He boops Aiden’s nose, exchanging bubbly laughter. “And why yes! We can certainly play airplane!”

Aiden hoots in playful joy, passing you his cookie and juice box as he hops onto Steve’s back. You watch with adoration as Steve zooms all over your living room with arms outstretched as your son hangs onto him - airplane sounds and everything. Steve meets your gaze, winking at you as he slings Aiden over his shoulder and plops him gently onto the couch. He tickles him mercilessly, shouting as Aiden tackles him softly to the floor.

Steve really did love you. And he was starting to love your son even more.

[novantinuum]

A Tale of Two Trollhunters (Ch. 1)

AO3

Fandoms: Gravity Falls, Trollhunters

Rating: T

Words: ~2800

Summary: Glass Shard Beach, 1967. When the trollhunter Kanjigar perishes years before he was supposed to, the amulet of daylight finds its next champion in a seventeen year old Stanley Pines. Now essential in the destiny of both the trolls' subterranean world and the human one above, Stan, along with his twin brother and girlfriend, must fight to protect both worlds from the dark forces creeping in at the edges.

But destiny has a way of being unpredictable.

A Gravity Falls/Trollhunters fusion AU. Kind of a drabble series?

Note: Little to no knowledge of Trollhunters is required to understand this, I think, since Stan is going to discover this world for himself.

Next chapter

It all started a lifetime ago... in a place called Glass Shard Beach, New Jersey. The beachside town’s name preceded its reputation, its shorelines covered in the razor sharp, glittering remains of broken beer bottles. Scattered among the glass, a diligent child might occasionally find a shard of quartz or another translucent mineral, but regardless it’s recommended that one doesn’t dare romp along the shore barefooted, least they slice the bottoms of their feet raw. This was the warning delivered to a young Stanley Pines every time he and his twin brother left their apartment to spend the day at the beach. Predictably, he ignored his mother’s words entirely. He liked feeling the rough gristle of sand between his toes, and a little glass wasn’t about to scare him away from that pleasure. Since, wasn’t glass just superheated crushed rock anyways? He wiggled his bare toes in the wet sand, watching as the horizon over the ocean became darker and darker, the sun setting behind him. “Hey Stan, come here,” his brother called, waving at him from the underside of the docks, right where they jutted out from the busy boardwalk. “Have you seen this?” He pulled himself to his feet with a grunt, and traversed the perilous dunes with a studied precision, nimbly hopping from one safe spot to the next. Tonight he hadn’t stepped on any glass at all, at least not yet. Finally, he reached his brother, who stood next to a large pile of rubble. Rubble. Oh boy, he knew where this conversation was going. He crossed his arms, feeling a chuckle bubbling up inside him. “That’s a pile of rocks,” he stated glibly, watching his brother’s face closely. “Yes, and there’s markings, perhaps even runes on them,” Ford exclaimed, picking up a chunk of rock and running his fingers across its smooth surface. “Ford, come on, I know you like your spooky conspiracy theories and everythin’, but,” he said with a heavy sigh, picking up a split piece and bouncing it in the palm of his hand, “we all know there’s no such thing as rock people.” His twin shook his head, winds of denial stirring around him in the air. He knelt next to the odd crumbled formation, squinting at the rubble through thick lenses. He splayed his fingers, all six, across an unusually smooth section of the rock, and deep down Stan knew this was indeed why Ford found himself so invested in the theory of unusual creatures and anomalies in the first place. “No, no, no, look, really look at the curvature of this,” he said. “It looks like part of a shoulder. It’s buffed too smooth to be a mere coincidence of nature.” “Okay, so,” Stan shrugged, “maybe it’s just a statue, y’know? Somethin’ from town. Kids steal stuff and smash it on the beach all the time.” Ford rose to his feet, desperation reflected in the width of his eyes. He held the broad shoulder piece to his chest, mouth pressed into a thin line. “I know what I saw this morning, Stan! There were two of them, fighting near these docks-“ “And I’m tellin’ ya’, it was still pretty dark. I’m sure what you saw was just two large guys duking it out, all right?” Stan grabbed the edge of the dock, used a stray nail sticking out of the post as a foothold, and boosted himself up. He swung his other leg onto the wooden deck. “Listen, Sixer, I think your theories are real interesting, okay? They’d make really good stories, I honestly think that.” With a grunt, he used his hands to push his full body weight onto the dock, letting out a breath of relief when he was settled. “But you can’t just yell it to everyone you see, else they all gonna think you’re crazy.” He offered a hand to his brother. With a huff Ford declined, opting to climb up the stairs a few feet to their left. When he met up with Stan on the dock, the teen was cradling his foot, prodding at callused skin. “Youch,” he muttered, and as he took his finger away Ford could see a small spot of blood. “Should’ve known the nail was a bad idea. Welp, I’ll patch it up when we get home. You ready?” Ford nodded, still carrying the chunk of rock. “I’m not crazy,” he said quietly, taking one last glance at the stony formation on the shore. “I know I’m not crazy.”

____

“Hey, Dad,” Stan greeted with a hesitant grin as he edged through the side door of the pawn shop. “Just, uh- just gettin’ a bandaid, so-“ “Haven’t we warned you about walking over the glass without shoes?” he father muttered, surely leveling him the look from behind his tinted glasses. “Yeah, well it wasn’t glass this time, it was a nail on the docks,” he said, opening the nearest drawer and rummaging through its contents. “Don’t be a smart ass. You know what we mean.” His dad picked up a weathered cardboard box from the floor, filled to the brim with old artifacts and jewelry. The shelves were bare, items carefully placed on a side table. He must be taking time to organize and dust the pawn shop, which he only really did when he obtained something special and new. Stan found the box of bandages, and unwrapped one for his foot. “D’ya get anything cool in today? Anything worth a buck?” he asked, plastering it over his wound. “Actually, yes,” his dad nodded, and walked over to the table of goods. His hand wrapped around a circular object, a metallic disk. “Someone came by and sold this just this morning. I’ve never seen anything quite like it, or the kind of symbols written along the side.” Stan squinted at the writing on the disk his father displayed to him. “Is that some sorta... Russian?” “Cyrillic, son,” he corrected him with a frown. “And no. I’ve appraised enough old family heirlooms to recognize most forms of writing. I don’t recognize this at all. In that case, it might be an artifact rare enough to actually be worth something.” “Huh,” Stan muttered, appraising the object himself. It was fashioned from a shiny, blemish-less metal, with the unknown script carved all the way along the rim. Some sort of shimmering blue crystal was inset in the middle, along with a series of metal dials and rings. It reminded him a little of the gears in his great aunt’s grandfather clock. The blue crystal softly glowed as he grasped it in his palm. “Stanley Pines,” a gruff, commanding voice whispered. “Yeah, Dad?” he asked, swinging around. His father blinked in confusion. “I- didn’t say anything.” “But, you called my name? I just heard you.” “Wasn’t me,” he shrugged, pulling down the brim of his hat. “Perhaps it was your mother. In fact, go bother her instead, Stan. I’ve got work to take care of before I close.” “Fine,” he said hollowly, retreating up the steps and into the apartment. He kicked at the doorpost, bottom lip jutted out. He saw how it was. After all, it’s not like his father was particularly affectionate or agreeable in manner. Least, not with him. Now seventeen years old, Stan sometimes feared his dad would never see him as anything else than a directionless bum. And the worst part? Maybe he was right. ____ Stan lay in his bed buried in the folds of his blanket, back ramrod straight. On this fateful night, he straddled that dreadful line between complete exhaustion and yet inability to rest. The reasoning? Far too much was on his mind- from his conversation by the docks with Ford earlier, to the date he had later this week with Carla, to his father’s hurtful dismissal, and now… “Stanley... Stanley Pines...” That weird glowy amulet thing. Stan pressed his hands flush against his face, and groaned in frustration. Oh, who was he kidding? There was no way he was getting any sleep tonight. At least, not with that creepy, low voice constantly calling out his name. He rolled over, further tangling himself in his sea of blankets until he was comfortable, and drank in the sound of his brother’s quiet snoring from the bunk above.   “Stanley Pines...” A strange sense of connection- of belonging- strummed in his heart like the discovery of a harmonious chord. No matter what distractions he fed himself all he could think about was that amulet, about its warmth when he held it yesterday evening, its blue, pulsing glow. Somehow it felt as if... something within it was reaching out towards him, electrifying his nerves and latching onto his very core of being. He scratched at his armpit. The thought made him kinda itchy, to be honest. What on earth was he even thinking? Was this the first sign he’d truly and finally cracked? Or perhaps it was just the memory of Ford’s fairytales eating away at his mind, siphoning his imagination, making him see and feel things that couldn’t truly exist. “Stanley Pines!” the call tugged at him. “Okay, okay, I’m listening!” he hissed under his breath. “What d’ya want?” Stan knew what it wanted. Or at least, he knew what he wanted, deep down. He could practically see its location, down to the very space on the shelf Dad had relocated it to last night. He felt driven to... to hold it. He breathed in deeply. “What’s gotten into you, Stan?” he muttered to himself, wrestling his way out of his soft cottony bindings.  Finally free, he swung his feet to the floor and stood up. The bed posts creaked at his movement. He froze, holding his breath. His heart thrummed a warrior’s beat in his chest. Seconds of his life stretched into centuries. His brother didn’t wake, however- instead merely letting out a sleepy sigh and rolling over. Relief filled his chest. Taking the edges of the floorboards to avoid the particularly squeaky sections, Stan crept through the apartment, swiping the key to the pawn shop off the kitchen counter. This was perhaps the stupidest thing he’d ever done. If Dad found out he’d been in the shop at three in the morning he’d whoop at his ass, but- he had to know. He couldn’t bear the thought of lying still another moment without understanding what this amulet was, and why it called to him so fervently. With a flick of his wrist, he unlocked the door to the shop. He wrapped his palm around the knob, twisted it. The rusty hinge gave a sour note, Stan cringing as he pushed the door ajar. His line of sight immediately locked on the amulet located across the room, glowing blue with a vibrant intensity. “Stanley Pines,” the voice said once more, this time almost in greeting. “Okay, geeze, I’m here,” he huffed, pacing across the pawn shop to the far shelf where the disk perched on its stand. Standing on his tiptoes, he wrapped his fingers around the amulet and pulled it off the shelf. Its glow pulsed as he came into contact. He gently rubbed his finger against the metal, peering at the strange object. What was the point of all this? What did it want? “You’re crazy,” he whispered to himself, clutching the thing in clammy fingers. “You’ve officially lost it, congrats. ____ The teen took the strange amulet to the beach so he could puzzle over it in privacy, without worrying about his dad waking up. He lay relaxed on the deck of Ford and his’ boat, the one they’d been refurbishing over the last five or so years with their spare pocket cash. Dawn was fast approaching. The sun lapped at the edge of the horizon, beginning to overpower and diminish the pinpricked light of the stars. A gentle ocean breeze dusted his cheeks. “What are you?” he muttered, turning the amulet in his hands. Suddenly, the strange runic writing around the rim flickered, changing to what he recognized as Chinese characters. His eyes widened. It changed again to a few other written scripts, before eventually settling in English. As dumb as it sounded, magic or aliens were the only rational explanations he could think of to explain the amulet’s behavior. Well then, maybe some of Ford’s kooky theories were closer to the truth than he originally gave him credit for. He peered closely at the readable script around the edge of the casing. “For the glory of Merlin,” he read to himself quietly, brow furrowing, “daylight is mine to command.” All was still for a moment. The winds ceased. The first direct rays of sun broke out over the horizon, framing Stan’s features in tones of red and gold. Then, some glowing spherical body shot out of the disk, startling him to attention. He shot to his feet, holding the amulet up to the sun so he could see what on earth was going on. His hand nearly shook, current mood locked somewhere on the spectrum between slack faced shock and curiosity fueled exhilaration. After all, what was one supposed to feel when some glowing blue speck- yes, that’s what he’d refer to it as from now on- decided to float through his chest, making its home within him? He gasped at the intrusion, splaying his hand over his heart where they entered. Another slurry of glowing specks released themselves from the amulet, and suddenly Stan found his toes leaving the deck. Whatever exclamation he felt compelled to make as this strange magic pulled him skyward was lost in the confusion of what happened next. Silver metal materialized in the air around his limbs, fashioning itself into armor. He hung there a moment longer in the wake of iridescent blue, sections of armor weaving into solid plates and gauntlets around him. The amulet floated out of his hand and fastened into place over his heart. Then just as quickly as he was lifted, his rebellion against gravity ended and Stan fell back to deck. He stumbled backwards, trying not to tip over from the imbalance of the bulky armor. Just as he was about to question the ungainly size of this armor’s chest-plate, (not to mention the existence of this armor in the first place), the amulet’s crystal pulsed brightly, and the armor shrank to fit his body. “Holy shit,” he exclaimed, holding his arms out to admire the intricate decorative grooves carved into the arm brace and wrist guard. He flexed his fingers, clinking the metal fingertips together. This was... this was wild. Unbelievable, really. Man, Ford was going to flip when he showed him what he found! His palm glowed a dazzling white, and from this point grew- as if fashioned from the very morning light he was illuminated by- the hilt and blade of a long, mighty sword. His jaw dropped. This was literally the coolest thing that’s ever happened to him, better than winning the boxing class final match, or even when he and Ford found the bones of their ship as kids. It was the likes of which a younger him might have daydreamed about. His lips stretched into a grin. Paired with an experimental lunge in his armor, he tried to swing his new weapon. Unfortunately however, the sword was far, far, too heavy. Stanley grimaced, wrapping his other hand around the hilt to try and stabilize it. There always had to be a catch to these wish fulfillment sort of things, didn’t there? Or maybe the last guy to use this magic-y object was just a pretty bulky, strong guy. “Come on, shrink like the rest of it,” he begged quietly, scraping the point against the wood. Either his words were well timed, or the whole warrior’s ensemble listened to his very desire, because the sword did just that. He held it up to the air, finding his grinning reflection in the polished surface. Confidently, he gave the blade a wide test swing... ...and promptly lodged it into the mast. “Whoops,” he said sheepishly. ____ In the far distance, a tall, six-eyed figure watched intently from the mouth of a cave. He witnessed everything, from the moment the boy took the amulet from the shop, to when he read the inscription and successfully activated it for the first time. There was no doubt about it- the amulet didn’t make mistakes. It belonged to the boy now. He nervously clasped both sets of hands together, determining what actions he might take next. “By Deya’s grace,” the troll exclaimed, peering towards the wide world beyond the shadows. “The next trollhunter... is a human!”

[legendofzeldaalinktothepast]

Pathetic, Clinging Poetry - Chapter 7 (of 25)

Previous Chapter // Next Chapter 

Though the sun casts on my back, I cannot feel its warmth. I can only feel it tearing at my skin Until it blisters, burns, bleeds. I remember the flames beneath the earth. 

*

Pearl woke with her head in her arms and a sore back. It took her a moment to realize where she was; realizing she was not asleep on the couch, she bolted upright in panic, only to realize that she'd merely fallen asleep at Amethyst's desk.

'Goodness, I'm a mess! I don't even remember falling asleep...' she thought as she wiped drool from her face. 'Gross.' She felt a light blanket slide down as she sat up to stretch her arms. Her heart fluttered as she realized Amethyst must have draped it over her shoulders last night. 'How sweet of her...'

She glanced over to Amethyst's bed, smiling at the sight of her sprawled out on top of the blankets. Her hair was a mess, and she looked like she'd fallen asleep in her clothes. Pearl then turned her gaze over to the area of the floor where Amethyst had done her painting, brightening up as she saw the finished piece of artwork; trying to make as little noise as possible, Pearl slipped out of the chair and tiptoed across the carpet, seating herself down in front of the canvas. 

The paint still looked a little bit wet, leading Pearl to assume Amethyst must have finished it and passed out on the bed within the past hour or so. She looked around the room, but Amethyst seemed to own everything except a clock; however, the minimal sunlight casting through the curtains made it safe to assume it was early in the morning. She turned back to the painting and carefully grasped it by the edges, tilting it up towards the window so she could get a better view.

The background was a bright, sunny yellow with splotches of orange and white, and in the very center of the painting was a jagged black shape that reminded Pearl of a broken window. Red dripped down from the black shape as if it were leaking blood, dripping into a puddle at the bottom of the canvas.

'Of all poems, of course she'd choose the most depressing one to paint...' Pearl thought with a huff of amusement. She glanced towards Amethyst once more, grabbing the blanket from the chair and draping it over her sleeping body before carefully making her way out of the room.

She tiptoed down the stairs; still unaware of what time it was, she didn't want to risk waking up Jasper. Her throat was feeling rather dry, so Pearl made her way towards the kitchen and opened up the cupboard to grab a cup. As she turned to head towards the sink, she spotted a figure sitting at the table and let out an embarrassing squeak as she dropped her (thankfully, plastic) cup on the floor.

Jasper, however, didn't react to Pearl's presence; with one hand on her phone, and the other hand stirring a cup of coffee, she acted as if Pearl wasn't even there.

Once she regained her composure, Pearl straightened out her skirt -- she cringed in disgust as she was reminded of how she'd slept in her clothes -- and crouched down to pick up the cup she'd dropped on the floor. "Didn't expect to see you down here..." Her voice was raspy from sleep and thirst, and she turned on the faucet to fill up her cup. As she did this, she caught a quick glimpse of the time on the stove; 6:32. Jasper was probably just about to leave.

No response. Pearl took a few sips of water and set the half full cup down on the counter. "Do you want to say anything?" she asked, glancing over her shoulder at Jasper.

After a few more moments of silence, Pearl found herself growing impatient. "Hello? Am I a ghost?"

Jasper finally turned her gaze up from her phone, locking her screen and pushing it aside. "I don't have anything to say."

Pearl narrowed her eyes. "Not a single word about what happened last night?"

"No." Jasper took a sip of her coffee and turned her gaze away from Pearl.

"Listen." Pearl began, taking a deep breath. "I... may have been a little bit harsh last night. But I need you to understand that I came here to escape from an abusive home, and--"

"I know what I did wrong, you don't have to explain it to me like I'm a fucking moron." Jasper huffed.

Pearl's expression dropped. "Then... Why aren't you-"

"I'm not apologizing because I know it won't mean shit." Jasper said. She pulled herself to her feet, bringing her breakfast dishes over to the sink and rinsing them off. "And before you ask -- no, I'm not going to kick you out. I'm an asshole but I'm not a fucking monster."

"I..." Pearl wrung her hands, gazing down at her feet. "Okay. Thank you." she finally said, relieved that she wasn't going to be homeless again, but still unsure what to make of everything else. After Jasper placed her dishes in the dishwasher, she paused for a moment as if she wanted to say something else -- but she decided against it, and made her way out of the room without another word. 

* 

"...And as it rolled it sang this song: 'Oh I'm lookin' for my missin' piece, I'm lookin' for my missin' piece, Hi-dee-ho, here I go, Lookin' for my missin' piece..."

Pearl wiped down the tables with a washcloth as Mrs. Fluorite read to the circle of kids on the carpet, her soft, slow voice cracking slightly as she sang. Pearl listened with soft smile on her face; it was a book she'd read many times as a kid, so she knew the song by heart and couldn't help but hum along just under her breath.

Once the tables were all cleaned up and the snacks were passed out, the story came to its end; 'Perfect timing.' Pearl thought as the kids scrambled to their feet and made their way over to the tables. Pearl felt a little tug on her shirt, turning down and meeting a familiar pair of dark eyes.

"Sit with me!" Steven begged, tugging Pearl over to one of the tables.

"Oh -- alright!" Pearl chuckled once she realized she didn't have much of a choice. She sat down at one of the too-small chairs, her knees just barely fitting under the table. Steven handed Pearl his juice box. "Can you open? Please?" he asked.

"Sure thing." Pearl said, unwrapping the straw and using it to puncture the foil on the juice box, handing it back over to Steven.

"Thank you!" Steven eagerly took it back and took a long sip. He pointed over at Connie, who was bouncing in her chair and chewing on her fingers. "Do you know Connie?"

"I have met her, yes." Pearl responded.

"She's my best friend! She come over to my house to play sometimes." Steven said. "And I goed to her house before too!"

"That sounds like fun!" Pearl remarked, half-listening to the conversation, half-looking around the room to make sure Mrs. Fluorite didn't need help with anything else; once she saw the older woman give her a little nod of reassurance, Pearl turned her focus back towards Steven. "What kind of games do you like to play with Connie?"

"Hide and go seek, freeze tag, puppies and kitties -- she's the puppy, I'm the kitty -- oh, and one time her dad took us to the park to play ball! I falled and hurt my knee." Steven said, gesturing to a Hello Kitty bandaid on his knee. "Wanna see?" he asked, reaching to peel it off.

"No no, you should definitely keep the bandaid on!" Pearl urged with a nervous laugh, grasping Steven's hand before he could show her. "W-wouldn't want to get any germs on it, after all."

"Woof!" Connie blurted out, catching both Pearl and Steven by surprise. "I'm puppy!"

"Meow!" Steven meowed back.

"Woof!" Connie stuck her tongue out.

"Meow!"

"Woof!"

As the two went back and forth, Pearl saw this as an opportunity to leave them be. She slowly rose from her chair and pushed it back in, making her way towards Mrs. Fluorite.

"Aren't they just the most adorable little things?" Mrs. Fluorite said once Pearl approached her. 

Pearl watched as Connie and Steven continued to go back and forth, their faces moving closer with each "woof" and "meow" until their foreheads were touching. "They sure are silly, that's for certain." she remarked, amused. 

Soon enough, the kids had finished up their snacks and coloring pages, and their parents arrived one by one to pick them up. Priyanka was the first to arrive -- as usual -- and her daughter skipped over to her and leaped into her arms.

"Did you have fun today, honey?" Priyanka asked as she brushed a strand of hair behind Connie's ear.

"Yes! Also, I'm puppy!" Connie giggled.

Priyanka raised an eyebrow at her. "A puppy again, huh?" she said with a huff of amusement. "Can you show us how a puppy says goodbye?"

Connie nodded and waved a little chubby hand at everyone. "Woof woof!" she said, and Pearl returned the wave with a soft smile on her face as Priyanka carried her daughter out into the hallway.

Once a good amount of kids had been picked up, Pearl began to wipe down the tables again; she was amazed -- and somewhat disgusted -- at how little kids managed to make such a huge mess simply eating granola bars.

"Peeearl!" Steven called, approaching Pearl and dragging along a rather tall woman. "Wanna say hi to mommy before I go?"

"Ah, of course!" Pearl responded, finishing up wiping the table and setting the wash cloth aside. She extended a hand towards the tall woman and greeted, "Nice to meet you, I'm Pearl!" But as soon as she made contact with a pair of familiar dark brown eyes, her heart nearly leaped out of her chest. "...Rose?"

The woman's expression turned brighter than the sun, and she pulled Pearl into a tight hug that knocked the air right out of her. "Pearl! Oh my goodness, this is the last place I'd ever expect to see you!"

"I could say the same for you!" Pearl said once Rose released her snake-like grip. She gave her a good look up and down; her hair was still as pink as ever, but she'd grown it out to the length of her hips. Her arms were covered in tattoos, mostly of flowers and stars, but she spotted a rainbow flag among them, as well as "Steven" written in cursive inside a pink heart. She was also slightly chubbier than Pearl had recalled from the last time she'd seen her, and she had a wedding band on her left ring finger. "Goodness, this is a surprise... How have you been? I've missed you!" Pearl gasped.

"I've missed you too!" Rose said. “I’d thought you'd dropped off the face of the earth when your mother pulled you out of school... I tried calling you, contacting you online, everything." She smiled warmly, and Pearl could see tears forming in her eyes. Rose quickly brushed them away, however, and reached for Steven's hand. "Could we try and... keep in touch?" she asked. "I'd love to stay and chat for longer, but my husband's waiting for us in the car, and we were gonna do some shopping..."

"Yes, of course! I should probably stay here and finish cleaning up, anyway..." Pearl said; she couldn't help but feel a twinge of jealousy at the mention of a husband, but immediately shook it off once she realized how ridiculous that was. "I-I don't have a phone, but perhaps we could find each other on Facebook?"

"Perfect!" Rose gave Pearl a thumbs up. "My last name is Universe now. I don't think there's many Rose Universes on Facebook, so it should be easy to find me." she added with a wink.

'Of course she'd marry someone with a last name like that.' Pearl thought with a little smile. "Alright, I'll be sure to find you there when I get home!"

"Thanks a bunch! See you later!" Rose waved, and Steven gave Pearl a little wave as well, which she happily returned. 

* 

Amethyst ran her fingers through her hair as she made her way down the stairs; she heard the faint sound of clacking keys, and as she passed the living room, she saw Pearl curled up with her laptop on her lap.

"Hey girlie, how was your library thing?"

Pearl looked up at Amethyst with an eager expression that seemed to say 'you'll never guess what happened today'. "It was wonderful! Well, the storytime itself was the same as always, mostly relaxing with a little bit of chaos, but -- guess who I saw at the library!"

"Was it me astral projecting from my dreams?" Amethyst teased.

"Good guess, but nope. It was Rose." Pearl said, placing her laptop aside and flapping her hands.

"Whoa, for real?"

"Yes!" Pearl giggled with excitement and jumped to her feet. "She was coming to pick up her son -- who is an absolute angel, I must add -- and as soon as she saw me, she gave me a great big hug! She was so happy to see me, what a relief..." Pearl sighed happily. "And I found her on Facebook -- she hasn't accepted my friend request yet, but when she does, I'm going to have so much to talk about!"

"I bet." Amethyst said, still rubbing the sleep from her eyes. "You think you're gonna give her that notebook?"

Pearl's heart sank at the mention of that, remembering the deal she'd previously made with Jasper. She shook off any remaining guilt, however, and reminded herself of what had happened the previous night. "I think so, yes." she said after a few moments of hesitation. "If it won't be awkward, that is. Some of that poetry is romantic, and she has a husband, so I'm not sure that'd be crossing a boundary..."

Amethyst shrugged. "I dunno either; maybe you could make it clear that it's just supposed to be a nostalgic thing?"

"Maybe..." Pearl hummed in thought, sitting back down on the couch. She glanced back at her computer screen; still no response from Rose. 'Give her time. She said she was going shopping...' Then, Pearl remembered something that snapped her right out of her moping. "Oh! I can't believe I forgot -- I saw your painting from last night!" Pearl clasped her hands together and smiled again. "It was very lovely! A-and I'm sorry I didn't quite finish my part of the collaboration..."

"Eh, no biggie. I needed some inspiration for a painting, so I had a lot of fun with it." Amethyst grinned. "But thanks! I was kinda worried you'd wanted me to choose a happier poem, but that one just really jumped out at me -- so I didn't have much of a choice, heh. But I'm glad you liked it."

"It's perfectly alright, you did a wonderful job!" Pearl said.

"Thanks, girlie." Amethyst sat down on the recliner across from Pearl, reaching for the T.V. remote. "Speaking of that, uh... Hope this isn't douchey of me to ask, but what's the poem about?"

Pearl turned her gaze away from Amethyst. "Ah, well... I wrote that when I got outed to my mother." she said, fidgeting with her hands in her lap.

"Oh, shit..." Amethyst said, feeling a little guilty for asking about it now. "I'm sorry. You don't gotta go into any more detail if you don't want, I was just curious is all."

"No, no, it's alright!" Pearl's expression brightened up again, but only slightly. "It's in the past. I'm alright now, and I'll never see her again -- that's what matters. I've got enough problems in the present to be focusing on, after all."

"Yeah, that's true." Amethyst said. She pressed the power button on the T.V., but turned the volume down just so there was just enough to give a little background noise.

Now that the conversation had trailed off and Amethyst had turned her focus towards playing a game on her phone, Pearl decided she could go back to refreshing her Facebook feed. Uncertainty still bubbled up in her chest as her mind began to wander towards the whole situation with Rose and Jasper, but before she could start to over-analyze anything, she heard a little "ping!" come from her computer.

"Rose Quartz Universe has accepted your friend request!"

[haechan-haedamn]

Eris - Sicheng

*You thank your Father for what he had taught you when you were young, otherwise the bleeding man who leaned against your apartment door would’ve left stains.

Characters: Sicheng, Reader

Pairing: Sicheng/Reader

Genre: Angst // Hurt/Comfort // FightClub!AU

Word Count: 6.2K

Warnings: Descriptions of Injury // Language

“Holy Shit.”

Your keys dropped back into the plethora of tissues and spare change that inhabited your purse, their usual chiming dulled by the cushion of cloth beneath them. Your eyes widened slightly as you stared at the floor directly in front of your front door, your grip on your bag’s strap tightening ever so. Frozen in place, you dug the soles of your sneakers heavily into the croaking wooden slats that led down the apartment complex’s hallways, your gaze fixated directly on the figure slumped over your mail slip.

The first thing you saw was the excess of red tracing over his white t-shirt, then the way his head lolled forward on his broad chest, then finally his hands- both propped limply on his risen knees, the palms facing downwards towards the floor with bruised and blistered knuckles seeking the ceiling. It was safe to say you didn’t recognize him. It was also safe to say you weren’t used to bleeding strangers greeting you after a dead-shift. You took a shuffled step closer, releasing your bag and letting it swing on your shoulder.

He didn’t seem conscious, and you realized you didn’t want to file any police reports that night, so you continued to scoot towards him slowly like a tamer to the lion. One of his fingers twitched and you jumped, your feet slamming backwards into the wood, a stray aglet pushing through the sole of your shoe. You breathed a sigh of relief, knowing in your shaking heart that it meant he was still breathing at least- still alive.

You were now standing directly before him, your hands not knowing where to station themselves, your eyes flickering over him in worry and panic. What were you supposed to do? You toed him slightly, figuring you should at least attempt to see if he was aware of anything happening around him, your shoe pressing into his thigh like a prodding stick. The only movement was his hand falling from his knee, the flesh hitting the ground with a quiet thump. His head moved to the left some in an opposite reaction, giving view to his closed eyes and slightly opened lips- of which the bottom one was spilt and crusted over with dried blood.

You looked around hopelessly, as if someone would see the plot unfolding before them and offer help to you, but you were left standing alone with a mystery man at four a.m. on a Sunday morning. A slight groan dripped from the gap of his mouth, one filled with pain and exhaustion.

You jumped back again, now standing a few feet away from his slowly shifting form, watching as his hands pushed into the bottom crack of your door and his back arched slightly in a timid stretch, his breath catching with a wince. You worried your bottom lip between your teeth at his movements, begging that he just wouldn’t see you, that maybe he wasn’t there at all.

A thought sprung to you then, your hand rushing to the back of your faded black jeans, your hands finding the cool metal of your phone in relief. You pulled it out, letting the faint LED light derange your pupils briefly before typing in your pass-code and dragging your thumb towards the dial pad.

“P-please,” the voice croaked from before you, his body shuddering with effort, “you can’t call the police.”

He coughed, his back straightening before collapsing into himself again, his hand rushing to his side delicately as he moaned in residual agony. You stared at his now hung-again head, your hands going white around the cracked casing of your cell. This seemed like the exact type of moment you should call the police.

“Uh, why?” you asked, clearing the confusion from your throat as you stayed backed into the wallpaper behind you.

He glanced upwards to you, his dark eyes holding no glint- no wrath. He looked lost, desperate, the softness of his features contrasting heavily against the split in his cheek and lip, and the yellowed bruise framing his eye lashes. He was beautiful- dangerously so. “The events that led me here weren’t exactly legal-“ he coughed again “-and I’m not looking to sit in an uncomfortably plastic chair inside a police station right now.”

“Oh…” you muttered, not exactly sure where your mind was, or why you decided to come closer to him.

He took another shallow breath, trying to crane his neck up to look at you. “I’m really sorry I ended up at your door- I, uh, I couldn’t walk any farther.”

You scrunched your brows together, coming to his right and crouching slightly, evening the plane of your interaction. “Where were you trying to go?”

“Next floor up,” he breathed, his head pushing against the chipped white of your hollow door, “the elevator is broken.”

“I know, I just walked three flights of stairs,” you murmured, your hand gently coming to rest on his shoulder to try and regain his attention. He seemed to be slipping away, his eyes fluttering slowly, the wisps of his lashes gracing his cheeks with each struggled rouse.

“You live here?” you asked, attempting to reawaken his mind by forcing him to speak, to search for answers in his haze of strain.

He coughed again, his lip splitting slightly more under the force, a new stripe of crimson escaping the organic patch. “For almost a year, yeah.”

“Look,” he stuttered, “I would really appreciate if you could just help me to my apartment- and then I can promise you won’t see me again, and I can pretend this never happened.”

He added the last bit on in a rush, a strangled promise as his hand rested on his side in effort to alleviate his pain, his eyes dropping shut again as his face screwed up. You shook your head quickly, barely following your own train of thought as you pushed against his shoulder again. His eyes cracked open slightly, the dark pupils righting to lock with yours.

“There’s no way in hell I’m getting you up those steps,” you argued, making a brash decision as you hooked you arm under his, “and you aren’t in any condition to be alone.”

He seemed to be fighting to stay alert, trying to formulate a response as you shoulder his weight and forced him up against your door. “N-no really, I can’t involve you- I just need to-“

“Shut up, and work with me here,” you interrupted in a grunt, pressing his back into the doorway molding with one hand and searching for your keys with the other. A chill pushed against the exposed stripe of your stomach from the opened window at the end of the hallway, your tank-top riding upwards as you maneuvered him and yourself.

You exclaimed lowly in victory when your fingers came to clasp around your key ring, pulling them out of your purse along with a stray tissue that floated to the ground. A minuet gasp sounded above you from the boy’s slumped position, his hand balanced roughly on the silver of your handle as he shuddered.

“You don’t understand,” he coughed, “I really don’t need help, I just need to get to- “

“Your apartment, yeah,” you said, rolling your eyes, “I understand that, Honey, but you were just passed out in front of my door ten minutes ago, and I don’t want the scent of decay and mothballs in my apartment.”

He seemed to realize then, that you weren’t going to hobble with him up the next flight of stairs and leave him to his own devices, but he was still hesitant to move when you unlocked your door. You pulled him inside with you, your arm wrapped around his slender waist, hand pressuring his hip. The door kicked closed behind you, and you dropped your keys in the ashtray beside your entrance, discarding your bag nearby. You ignored the growing distaste of dust pooling in your mouth as you pulled him onto your couch, leaving him to slink into the cushions while you moved towards your bathroom.

Flickering yellow light filtered onto the white tile of the room as your finger pushed the switch upwards, your feet stumbling on the peeling linoleum. You fidgeted towards your mirrored medicine cabinet, gripping the stained glass and tugging. The tact was old and molded, releasing with a suctioned noise as the door swung open loosely, pressuring on the top hinge heavily. A sigh filtered from your lips as you pushed aside cosmetics and gag-worthy facial products in search for the scattered first aid products you owned.

A thick roll of white gauze, a pair of small, silver scissors, some adhesive tape, butterfly stitches, and bandaids of various sizes filled the empty space your hands once held as you rushed back towards to living room. The contents rolled across the coffee table as you checked on the man fleetingly before rushing to your kitchenette and digging through one of the lower cabinets. The bottle you pulled out was a heavy square weight of tinted glass and sloshing amber liquid, the scotch’s scent pulling through the cap like steam. You decided it was the best you could do without proper antiseptic on hand, scolding yourself for your lack of preparedness. Even though you weren’t exactly supposed to be prepared for a stranger to show up heavily battered on your doorstep in the early morning wake. You shook your head as you fumbled inside a drawer you filled with various contents over the year you’d lived there, pricking your thumb on the needle you had been searching for.

You muttered a curse at the sting as a bead of red blossomed on the pad of your digit, sucking the offending wound into your mouth as you moved back to the man- now hopefully having the tools necessary to ease some of his ailments. He hadn’t moved from his slouched position on your couch, his hand still pushed on his ribs, his mouth still panting for release. You sighed and sat on the coffee table across from him, leaning forward as you scooted the furniture towards him. His eyes cracked open as the noise, pupils dilated and saturated in the faint glow of the lamp standing in the corner of the room.

“What d’you got there?” he slurred, plump lips practically closed as he tried to sit forward.

You steadied him against the broken fabric of your couch, letting his weight lean forward onto you carefully. “Some things you probably will protest,” you said, taking the gauze and ripping small sections off before popping the top off the scotch bottle. The scent of alcohol flooded into the air around you.

He seemed to recognize that scent over his own blood for a moment. “I promise you I won’t protest scotch, right now,” he hummed, letting his eyes drift in and out of focus.

You shook your head. “Usually before I start sticking people with needles I wouldn’t refuse them a pull, but I’m almost certain you have a concussion,” you told him, watching his face formulate into a slow pout. It would be more endearing if he didn’t look like a horse had reared back and sent him an unpleasant message with its hooves.

“I don’t have a very high pain tolerance,” he complained, hand searching out blindly for the bottle as you sat it behind you, the jagged cloths now fully soaked into a yellowed aroma.

You pointedly eyed the lacerations defacing his body. “For some reason I don’t believe you.”

He whimpered but stopped his hand from crawling in the air, letting it drop down, unanimated onto the awaiting couch cushion. You hummed in mock-pity, swiping a cloth over the needle repeatedly before declaring it sanitary enough to begin threading his cheek.

You threaded the needle quickly, shifting forward until your knee was pressed between his, your elbow propping on his unsteady shoulder as you leaned in. “This isn’t gonna feel good,” you muttered as you picked up another sodden gauze square and immediately pressed it into his cheek, his teeth ripping into the skin of his lower lip as a hiss escaped him.

“I warned you,” you said as you wiped the remnants of blood away with the pad, folding it twice before tossing it to the side and straightening his head with your hand on his jaw.

“Barely,” he whined, “I would have been better prepared if someone told me the stove was still hot when my hand was completely flat against it.”

You scoffed as his dramatics as you checked the loop of your thread before bringing your hand to his head again. “Well, maybe you shouldn’t show up half-dead outside my door, and then I wouldn’t have to warn you about anything.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t insist on dragging me in your apartment, and then I wouldn’t have to complain about your ‘warning’.”

“Would you rather still be bleeding on the third floor of our rat-infested, New York apartment complex?” you asked, raising your brow before you braced yourself steady on the arm of the couch.

He prepared himself with closed eyes, his hand gripping his knee and his knuckles digging into your thigh. “At least I wouldn’t be getting pricked by a strange girl who lived on said third floor,” he huffed as you began pressing into his skin, his wince slight as you pulled the flesh together with the smooth white thread.

“How else were you planning on getting this stitched?” you asked, trying to distract him with a low murmured conversation. A clock ticked closer to the half hour mark somewhere behind you, his light breath fanning across your face with the musk of your college-paid living quarters.

He grunted slightly when you pulled faster than necessary, your whispered apology falling deafly in the stilled room, the outward face of his hand fitting the seam of your jeans uncomfortably.

“I had no plan to get it stitched,” he responded after some paused minutes, “I was planning on letting it scar to help with the ladies.”

You looked away from your handiwork to catch the flickered smirk of his lips, the blood-tinged flesh falling into the cracks of his lips like water in a drain. You caught his eyes before resuming pulling through his skin in small stabs, ignoring his amused eyes as he observed the crease in your brows. “Scars are only interesting if they have a story to go with them,” you said, nearing the end of the stretch to his wound in the wake of forced-closed flesh.

“Is that your way of asking why I look like a human punching bag?” he countered as you turned to pick up your surgical scissors.

The scissors cut the thread with a muffled shink, leaving a small knot to rest against the skin below his eye. “You can’t blame me for being curious,” you explained, hoping he would tell you a feasible excuse to his state. He didn’t look right to be propped against your door, not someone so quiet to the world to be left to bleed alone, his eyes too melted in complacency to have hardened against a fist.

He leaned back into the couch, sinking between the plump, tanned bolsters. His hand retracted from the grip on his leg, the tips of his fingers grazing your knee slowly with its pull, coming to rest against his stomach in low defeat. “This is where I tell you that you should see the other guy, right?”

“So you didn’t just run into a steel pole multiple times until you tasted blood?” you deadpanned, leaning with him and brushing over a small cut on his forehead with another gauze, watching his eyes close gently under the bite.

He hummed lowly, the sound guttural as you placed a thin butterfly suture across the cut, your thumb pressing over it to smooth the plastic down. “No, it was a combination of hand and foot that led me to this state.”

“Is there a reason behind said fight?” you asked him, moving to stand so you could search for a clean rag to clean away the blood from his lip.

“Nothing worth the extreme soreness of my ribs- no,” he called after you as you dragged yourself towards your small, basin shaped sink to soak a towel in cold water.

You came back and stood before him, using your other hand to lift his chin towards you. You left your hand on the curve of his jaw, your thumb pressing into his chin as your fingers wrapped towards his slender neck. You ignored a spark on your fingertips, the hollow-fill of your stomach as your heart thrummed against your wanton chest. He let his mouth slacken slightly as you brought the towel the split, the red giving way to his blushed lips as the cloth stained, your pressure light and gentle. The soft under-flesh appeared as you pulled against it, removing the stains from his heat, removing your breath from your lungs. You finished quickly after his eyes locked yours, your gaze dropping intensely to your endeavor.

“So it was over something stupid, then?” you returned to his previous comment, dropping the rag on your cluttered table, stepping away from him and your thrashing heartbeat.

“Huh?” he blinked.

You raised an eyebrow at him, sitting back down as you willed his gaze to leave your mouth. You couldn’t handle the sudden warmth of the room, the New York fall suddenly leaving the air of your un-heated home, the sensation clogging in your chest.

You cleared your throat. “The fight- it was something stupid, yeah?”

“Yeah,” he breathed out, his dark hair falling into his eyes as he looked down to his hands.

You racked your head for a way to remove yourself from the stagnant awkwardness that now enveloped you like an old lover, your hands hovering over the roll of gauze as you remembered a comment from him. “You mentioned your ribs were bothering you?”

“Oh, yeah,” he stuttered, “I think they’re bruised.”

You nodded in confirmation, grabbing the gauze and slowly unraveling a section of it to start. “You need to wrap them.”

“I can do it later,” he protested, and your mind for some reason didn’t clue into his slight-panic at first, or why it was there. You just needed to do something with your hands.

You shook your head and pointed at him. “You shouldn’t wait to do it. Besides, I’m not sure how you plan to execute that when you can barely breathe in without shaking.”

“Fine,” he rumbled, sitting up and grasping the edge of his shirt, “I’m going to need help with this part, though.”

Oh.

That’s why he was reluctant.

You really should have thought this through.

“Y-yeah, of course,” you blanched, rushing to his side, trying the fake nonchalance. You were sure he could hear your organs thumping, that he could see the newly born perspiration on your brow.

Your hands slipped quickly under the edge of his stained shirt, your thumb hooking against a spot of marooned blood as you began to pull upwards. You couldn’t keep from grazing the flesh of his stomach, feeling the shift of his abdominal muscles as he flinched slightly, the lean pressure moving forward into the skin of your hands. You tried your best not to pause, not to whine under the thought of having him like this- unbruised and unbroken, flesh bare to your wandering hands. You shook your mind clear, pulling away from the temptation.

You ignored your scattered mind as the shirt slipped above his head, his arms barely leaving his side as you pulled them through the designated holes, trying to keep him from lifting too far, trying to keep his pain bottled against his spine. He whined lowly against the shifting of his ribs, the bruised skin standing out autumn leaves on new pavement. The mottled hues were splashed across the upper portion of his stomach in waves, leaving hints of red to seep between the greens and yellows, a wave of purple standing speckled on his upper ribs. A grimace took over your features, matching your imagined discomfort as you helped him lean forward.

He looked at you and your furrowed brow, his dark eyes glazed over in a numb pain as he traced your features- from the way your teeth cut into your bottom lip as you secured the wrap around his torso, your eyes narrowed in focus, your hands cold with every accidental touch. He was mesmerized. He blamed it on the early morning.

“I feel like I should know your name,” you told him as you cut the end of the gauze, securing it near his side. He nodded slowly, letting a full breath draw out of his nose as he leaned away from you again, resting the soreness that had crawled inside his legs and bones. His eyes swept across your face once more before dropping back to his lap, his earlier, dazed bravery gone.

“Sicheng,” he muttered, eye contact held for a second then gone, “I assume you have a name too?”

You laughed quietly, more out of nature than amusement, bobbing your head as you rubbed at the blood on your hands. “I had to put something on the lease for this dump, didn’t I?” you returned, introducing yourself soon after with an outstretched hand.

He accepted it, the pale litheness of his bruised fingers interlocking with the red stains that coated your own, and the gentleness of his grasp was unexpected for a boy that harbored split knuckles like they were his next of kin. When you pulled away his fingertips were tinged pink.

You cleared your throat, standing from the coffee table and beginning to gather the items strewn across. “You can sleep on the couch tonight, if you need. I doubt you’re going to be able to make pace up the steps,” you offered, your head ducked as you walked to your kitchen to throw away the red-drenched gauze pads. He didn’t respond at first, and you worried briefly that you had made an overstep on your already across-the-line intrusions of his comfort that night, but as you walked back into the living room you saw Sicheng with his head leaned against the back of the couch, eyes closed and mouth gapped.

Breathing a sigh of awkward relief, you pulled the knitted blanket that was thrown over the back of the couch farther down so that it covered the damage of his torso and hands, watching as his soft exhales ruffled the frayed edges of the fabric. You shook your head and disposed of the remaining biohazards before wiping down the table and putting back your makeshift suture devices. The bathroom was now restocked to its previous capacity, the light flicked off and white tiles lost in the darkness, the smell of metallic blood still mixing with the bite of your near-empty scotch.

The coffee table was clear save a glass of water and a bottle of ibuprophen, but your mind was plagued with the thought of bruised boys with balmy eyes that held too much meeting in a stranger. He had avoided your questioning gaze for the last hour, his answers short and created a certain cryptic flow to his hidden reality. Sicheng wasn’t in shock; he wasn’t worried or scared of the injuries that wrapped around him like an old lover. He seemed comfortable with them, like his home was in the taste of blood in his mouth, as if his daily greeting was a broken his to a jaw. You found yourself worried, but a burning curiosity muddled the deep dive of sleep you craved and your eyes laid open to the ticking of your clock as you felt his hand in yours still, phantom warmth against your palm.

When you woke to your alarm and pulled yourself from bed at next daylight to go to your ten o’clock class you had forgotten about Sicheng. The only thought burning holes in your mind was the concentration you were suffering to utilize as you fumbled with the buttons of your shorts, the gold disc refusing to slip through the hole. You groaned in frustration before it slipped past like butter on a grittle, your annoyance now folding into itself triply as you grumbled about unfairness in the world and your lack of morning coordination.

When you exited the bathroom twenty minutes later looking presentable to the world you were greeted to the fresh smell of weak alcohol and warm coffee, the two scents clashing in principle. Your memory flashed back.

The couch was empty, now sporting your folded blanket. The small table before it balanced an empty glass and a half-screwed bottle of painkillers, a folded slip of paper stuck underneath the houseware. You walked towards it and picked it up gingerly, noting the circular stain of perspiring water that flooded a section of ink.

           Thank you for helping me last night, I’m sorry I passed out in front of your door. I left coffee in the pot (I’m not sure how you like it but I hope the thought counts). I’ll see if I can make it up to you.

-Sicheng

You left it beside the bottle of scotch still sitting beside your kitchen sink and then went to class, your eyes lingering on the staircase entrance to the left of your apartment.

The second time it happened you didn’t bother to waste time hearing his excuses and pleas to simply help him upstairs and let him wither. You rolled your eyes and let him hook his good arm around your waist as you stumbled inside, your hand locked on his wrist. He led himself to the couch, sitting down in a way that made you worry that this would become a habitual experience.

“Now I’m starting to get curious,” you called from your bathroom as your fingers flew towards the first aid tools.

“About?” he returned, the tone of his voice letting you know he knew exactly what you were asking. You came back to his side without a needle this time, not seeing any injuries begging for stitches as you ran your fingers across the bruise on his jaw and the reopened split on his lip.

The newly bought antiseptic stung the torn flesh on the back of his hands as you wiped them. You didn’t look up when you spoke to him. “I would understand you getting beat to a pulp once, but twice? That’s less than probable.”

“I don’t really have a good explanation,” he shrugged, staring at you as you moved on from cleaning to wrapping his hands.

“I’ll take a bad one.”

Sicheng nodded and pouted gently, teeth appearing and disappearing on the dark red skin. “A wise man once said that the first rule of fight club was to never talk about fight club,” he muttered wistfully, his smirk barely exposed behind the sting of his lips, “So I’m afraid you’re going to left without ‘talk’.”

You snorted, standing to retrieve a rag from the kitchen. “That’s a horrible excuse,” you came back to finish cleaning him up, “I won’t judge you if you tell me you’re getting beat up for lunch money.”

“It’s not an excuse,” he said, staring into your eyes with each word, the serious tone of his voice throwing you for a loop.

You stopped your work, your hands freezing against temple where a scabbed split irritated against his skin. “Then it’s a joke then?” you asked, hopeful.

Sicheng shook his head, the overgrown edges of his chestnut hair falling against his forehead in tufts. He took the rag from your hand as it stayed pressed to his forehead, unmoving, using it to clean off the palms of his hands slightly. You furrowed your eyebrows at him, your eyes flickering to the time on the clock as you considered the fact that you might be dreaming right now- that you were simply reliving the last encounter through your REM cycles.

“It’s the closest thing to the truth,” he told you, laying down the rag and placing his forearms on his knees, forcing himself to edge into your space.

You finally pried your eyes from the clock after you decided time was moving normally and that no, you weren’t dreaming. It only felt like it when you looked at that boy across from you and rolled the idea that he fought people around your head like a yarn ball, its ends unfurling with each lateral pass before your eyes. Sicheng stared at you still, his eyes pleading for some level of understanding, his hand wrapping around themselves like the roots of an old oak tree. You could only gap back to him.

“So you’re telling me the reason you keep walking past my door looking like you got hit by a small car is that you’re fighting people?” you stressed at him, your head cocking to the side in question, “You know how stupid and avoidable that is?”

He frowned at that, his dark eyes melting into a more defensive consistency, his soft features suddenly folding themselves into intimidation. “I have my reasons.”

“Does that list of reason include good health insurance because you’re going to need it.”

“Hilarious.”

“Realistic,” you fired back, a flicker of anger pivoting somewhere deep in your stomach.

He hummed and closed his eyes for a second, forcing you to realize he had to be exhausted at this point. The early morning was punishing enough without bruises riddling your body, and you sighed dejectedly, standing up and walking to your bathroom to put away the night’s materials. “Can you make it back upstairs or do you need to stay here again?” you asked from behind him. He craned his neck to look you in the eyes before standing shakily, his legs leaning against the sofa for support as he breathed in shallowly. That was enough answer for you.

“You can have my bed,” you told him as you began tugging his arm, ignoring the reverse pull as he tried to stutter an argument for you to let him go back to the grim hallway and into his own apartment.

“Where will you sleep?” he asked after you had forced him to sit down on the edge of your mattress, the radiance of his skin highlighting the demure color of your comforter.

You turned from the top end of your bed where you were turning down the sheets, raising an eyebrow you tossed your phone to him.

“Tell me what time it is,” you said, pointing towards the on button of your phone. He complied, though you could tell he was confused, his large hands dwarfing the smooth plastic of your phone case.

“5:26,” he muttered, phrasing it with the tilted lilt of a question, his eyes rising to look at you.

“I have a morning shift for Daylight Café,” you said, watching his frown form against his plump lips. You ignored your urge to make it disappear, threading your fingers against the sheets for restraint, “Meaning I need to leave soon.”

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, now fidgeting with your phone as he curled slightly into himself- you could practically taste his guilt.

You shook your head and sat beside Sicheng carefully, leaving enough space so that you weren’t touching but close enough that you could feel the heat radiating from his chest. “Don’t apologize, Sicheng- I’m used to working off of coffee and pure determination.”

“You should’ve let me take care of myself,” his pointed out, his hand reaching to scratch the back of his neck, “I’ve been doing it just fine for as long as I can remember.”

“Seriously,” you argued, “it’s fine. I barely sleep as it is and you’re giving me something to do other than stare blankly at the ceiling.”

“You need to sleep,” he kept pressing, his palm wrapping around your forearm to grab your attention, his eyes dominating your locked gazes.

You rolled your eyes aversely, avoiding the weight of his palm as it inflicted your hairs to stand on end, your mind weakly tugging you back to his lips as they pursed. You forced yourself to look away. “And you need to stop picking fights when you’re obviously getting the bad-end of things, but here we both are.”

“I’m not losing,” he interrupted you suddenly, his grip contracting on your arm.

“Tell that to the hour I spent tending to your cuts and bruises, Sicheng.”

“I’ll tell it to the guy passed out on the floor tonight,” he snapped, “I think he’d rather hear it, hm?”

You flinched back at his tone, the sensitive film that had watered down his eyes now gone; leaving the distinct clash of anthracite and heat to pool against the sleepless circles that outlined his glare. He retracted at your sudden movement, his hand falling away and into the sheets. “I’m sorry,” he whispered again.

“Go to sleep,” you told him, standing up and rubbing absently against the ache of your arm, noticing that he couldn’t look anywhere else, “I need to go.”

You exited the room with your hand still holding your other arm worriedly, your eyes casted over your shoulder once to see Sicheng against the dim light of your bedroom, his hands shivering as he stared at them, turning them before his vision as if he was observing a foreign entity. He looked ashamed. He looked scared of himself.

You tore away from him, not bothering to change out of the clothes you were already wearing as you grabbed a jacket and your keys. The door clicked shut behind you softly and you left for work, not knowing when the next time you would see Sicheng would be, and not knowing if the next time would be without blood staining your hands.

Sicheng never went to sleep; he kept seeing the man from earlier on the floor, his eyes rolled back into his head. He kept seeing you flinch away from him like a child too close to boiling water, his words pouring out like steam. He kept feeling Doyoung’s hands as they pulled him away from the man on the floor, feeling your arm under his as he hurt you. He kept hearing Yuta’s voice like an echo on repeat, calling for him to stop kicking, he’s already down Sicheng. He kept hearing you leaving; he kept thinking that that’s why everyone kept leaving.

When you came back that afternoon you didn’t find a note and your covers were tucked back into their place like Sicheng was never there. You didn’t wake up until the next morning, sleeping through the sound of Yuta and Sicheng stumbling through your hallway towards the staircase as Yuta tried to keep him awake. You didn’t hear the muttered curses as they slipped under the doors that riddled the third floor’s hollowed walls.

It took two weeks for him to show up at your disposal again, a faint yellow bruise still lingering on your forearm as you opened the door to his whimpered pleas. He found home against your countertops, blood spilling from beside his eye and across the laminate. You didn’t ask any questions that time, only let your fingers remember what your Father had taught you when you were six years old and he came home with a black eye and gash across his bicep. Sicheng was steady by four a.m. and you watched the door close behind him without thinking about his lips.

Or at least you tried not to.

You didn’t speak after that night, letting the scars on his skin narrate your encounters in a way words couldn’t. You kept your mouth shut- away from his. He kept his eyes trained on your hands and on your jawline when the witching hour spilled insult against your hands in the color of his blood, your fingers tying off sutures and his knuckles brushing against the salt that imbedded in your cheeks. Sometimes you couldn’t help it when this boy- this boy with dangerous hands and tender grins, with muted hair that hid the jagged white line on his temple that the pads of your fingers begged to trace- showed up at your doorstep with a concoction of injuries and someone else’s gore splattered on his skin like distant stars. You couldn’t stop your cheeks from becoming damp when he smiled with red on his teeth, fresh blood flowing in the cracks of his lips like creeks into the oceans.

The meetings went undocumented in the space of your mind. They were a surreal experience of time displacement and matted memories, of crimson touches and shy glances. You couldn’t remember the last time you slept for more than three hours a night. For some reason you couldn’t care for the fatigue that drowned you, your senses already dulled from the scent of rubbing alcohol and stale pills to the point you couldn’t feel the water as it filled your lungs. It was like breathing in smoke, a cigarette pull that finally made you understand addiction.

You couldn’t quit opening your door when his knock came. You couldn’t quit yourself from letting him lay beside you as the sun rose, his hand tracing your arm where he bruised it once- his silent question of forgiveness still exposed and unanswered. The words would never form in your mouth.

Sicheng didn’t appear except when he was vulnerable and crippled, when the streets ran quiet except the sound of drunk, stumbling girls on their way to make mistakes. Sometimes you wondered if this was a mistake. You left that question unanswered, too.

You left a lot of things unanswered.

FIN.

[brokenbarnes]

Safe

Title: Safe Pairing: Carl Grimes x reader Request: Can I request something with Carl grimes? Where the reader runs away from Alexandria because of dad abusing her, and everyone think she is dead, then Carl finds her when he was sneaking out, and then she breaks down and tells him everything and they bond over both their moms being gone and both fall for eachother. Then Carl tells Rick about it and he gets in a fight with her dad and kicks him out or something? Idk, it's a pretty dumb idea I know. Just a thought if u want to. Warnings: Mentions of abuse, minor language A/N: There are no dumb ideas! I love this one! Thank you so much for requesting, I enjoyed writing this. Hope you like it! You couldn't take it anymore. His hurtful words, he's constant abuse, the alcohol, the absence of your mother... So you left. He drank enough alcohol for everyone in Alexandria, as soon as a supply came in he drink it right back up. You hadn't seen him sober since your mother died and that was too far back for you to count. So many times he left you with a black eye, laying on the ground whimpering in pain, cheeks stinging, ribs cracked and bruises that were begining to become hard to hide. So you just left. Over the walls, running until you ran out of breath and your legs gave out. Well, with the shape you were in that wasn't that far. But you could no longer see the walls so that was a plus. Right before you left, Dad had just finished going another round on your body before passing out drunk on the couch. You left a blood smear on the linelium of the kitchen, you should of cleaned it up but you didn't care. It didn't matter anymore. So you walked until you came across an abandoned car, after checking for walkers you got inside and locked the doors. Night was begining to fall, you watched the sun sink from the backseat where you were stretched out. It smelled slightly of air freshener and stale chips, but you weren't complaining. When it got dark, it was pitch black. A few stray walkers kept you on alert all night, but you couldn't see them; only hear them, so when morning came you were exhausted. You stumbled ahead, only getting so far when you ran into him. You recognized him from Alexandria. His dad was the big hot shot that stumbled in looking like a pack of savages. The boy's eye was shot out by Ron, you remember that his name is Carl. "Y/N!" He said from behind you, he ran up to you, grabbing your shoulder; you winced openly. "We thought you were dead!" "Might as well be." "What is that supposed to mean?" His remaining eye was filled with curiousity, his hand continued to grip your shoulder tight. "Why did you leave?" "Please Carl, just let me... Just let me go," your voice grew weary and you had no strength to pull away. "Y/N," he dropped his voice. "What happened?" He helped you move to sit down on a fallen rotten log. You were silent as he pulled out a first aid kit to help with the cuts on your face. "These aren't from walkers," he observed. You shook your head, "they aren't." "What happened?" He asked, pressing a butterfly bandaid to your temple. "It-it was my dad," you started slowly as he started on the other cuts, moving to the other side. He froze, his fingers frozen on the rubbing alcohol. "What?" You started to explain the alcohol, the beatings and how you just left but broke down. Tears streamed from your eyes, dripping onto your jeans and hands folded in your lap. "Y/N..." Carl slid his arm around you, tugging you closer. "I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry. Why is he doing this?" "My-my mom's death, it's my fault," you sobbed. "He blames me for it." "Your mom's dead?" He asked softly, curling his fingers around your arm gently. "She twisted her ankle and a herd got her, she couldn't get away," you twisted your hands in your lap. "That doesn't sound like your fault," Carl voiced. "I was the only one with her, he blames me for it." "My mom's dead too," he looked up at the trees and the sunlight streaming through. "I shot her." "What? Why?" You wiped your nose on your hoodie. "She gave birth to my sister Judith," Carl started. "It had to be a C-section, we didn't have a doctor. I shot her before she turned." "I'm sorry," you whispered. "Is there anyway I can convince you to come back? Everyone thinks you're dead," Carl moved to squat in front of you, placing his hands on your knees. "Why does everyone think your dead?" "There was blood on your kitchen floor and your dad said he didn't know why. Everybody was looking for your walker, I just left," Carl traced soft circles in your knee with his thumb. "If I go back I'm not going back to him," you closed your eyes and shuddered. "You don't have too, you can stay with us. My dad will understand," he smiled. "Please come back." You kept your eyes closed, debating on wether or not to open them again. But, a small part of you whispered "okay. I'll go." "Really?" He asked, you opened your eyes. "I don't want to see him," your voice turned hard and edgy. "Okay?" He nodded and held out his hand to help you up, you took it and then the both of you were walking. His hand slipped into yours, palm pressed against palm and fingers intwined. You didn't talk, nothing was new there. But he filled the silence with small talk, about a comic book he was reading, something his sister did or what someone said. When you aproached the gates, your heart leapt into your throat and stuck. Your grip subconciously tightened on Carl's hand, he noticed your pale face. "Hey it's okay," he whispered. "You're not going to see him okay. You can go straight to our house and shower as long as you like." That sounded promising, so you set your face and both of you went over the walls again. Carl led you to his house and to the nearest bathroom. As you showered, he thumped down the stairs to find his dad, rocking Judith to sleep in a reclinor. "Hey, who was that?" Rick raised an eyebrow but kept his voice low. "Uh, Y/N," he started. "Dad, I need your help." "You found her?" "She ran away because her dad was abusing her," Carl said seriously, Rick sat forward. "I'm putting her down and then we'll talk," he nodded to Judith in his arms. He walked up the stairs, laid Judith down and then thumped back down them. "Where did you find her?" He started off with a question, sitting back down in his chair. "In the woods," Carl explained. "She was so beaten up dad, I could tell right away it wasn't a walker. God, she was so weak she didn't have the energy to talk. She doesn't want to see him, I told her she could stay here." "That's absolutely fine, who's her dad?" Rick's voice turned hard. He named your dad and Rick was on his feet, rushing out the door and calling a response over his shoulder. Carl found you, perched on the stairs; in a pair of his sweatpants, his t-shirt and your hair damp. "What is he going to do?" You asked in a soft voice, fingering the bottom of the t-shirt nervously. "I don't know," Carl led you back up the stairs. "Here, you can sleep in the spare bedroom." You laid down under the soft covers, feeling finally clean. As Carl started to leave, your heart raced. "Carl?" He turned around, his lip between his teeth. "Yeah?" "I'm safe here, right?" He smiled, "of course. Do you want me to stay?" You nodded shyly, Carl kicked off his boots as you opened the covers. He dropped his hat on the bedside table as well his holster. He dropped into bed beside you, you could smell him and it made you woozy. He smelled of the shampoo the pantry gave out, trees and Old Spice after shave. You didn't know he shaved. You turned into him, breathing in the smell. Your eyes drifted closed, but Carl tucked a lock of your damp hair behind your ear. "I'm glad you're not dead." * * * * The next morning, you woke up to Rick calmly eating breakfast in the kitchen. He smiled when he saw you, Carl was dishing up his plate at the stove. Carol was feeding Judith in her high chair while trying to eat her own breakfast as well. "Goodmorning," Rick said and sipped his coffee. "'morning," you said and slowly pulled out a chair. "Here, go dish up," Carol nodded to the stack of plates on the counter. "Thank you," you mumbled and rounded the counter for the plates. The four of you ate breakfast in silence, Carl sat next to you and Judith in her high chair on the other side. When Rick stood up to put his plate in the sink, you finally spoke up. "What happened to my dad?" Rick paused, then continued rinisng his plate then putting it in the dishwasher. "He left." "Where?" "I gave him the choice of leaving or me killing him. He left last night," Rick recited calmly. You digested his words, pushing back your plate and nodding. "Where am I staying?" "Here," Rick said and closed the dishwasher. "Really?" "Of course, you're getting the spare room." "Thank you," you said and wiped a stray tear that snuck loose from your eye. Once break was over, Carl found you on the backporch in a chair, knees pulled up to your chest and eyes red. "You okay?" He asked, sitting down beside you. You nodded and rested your chin on your knees. "Yeah, just a lot to take in." Carl tucked his arm around your shoulders, pulling you into his side. "Promise me you're okay." "I am," you said and looked up at him. "I promise." And then he pressed his forehead against yours, "I'm gonna kiss you now." "What's holdin' you back?" His lips touched the bridge of your nose, sliding down to your lips. They were rougher, probably from bitting them. They tasted like toothpaste and hashbrowns. "You're safe here," he mumbled when he pulled away. "I promise."

[luci-in-trenchcoats]

Welcome To The End Of The World (Part 1)

Summary: The reader wakes up one day after an accident and finds herself in a nightmare scenario...

Masterlist

Pairing: AU!Dean x reader (eventual)

Word Count: 2,800ish

Warnings: language, zombie apocalypse, mentions of blood & death

A/N: If you’ve seen the show you might have noticed I used the start of TWD as a basis for exposing reader into this world...

“Keep it together, Y/N,” you told yourself, nearly tripping down your front porch steps as you went backwards. You stumbled from the shake in your body, absolutely positive you were stuck in some hellish nightmare. 

Some really vivid, lifelike, you couldn’t wake yourself up nightmare.

“Calm down, just calm down,” you said to yourself, making it onto firm ground and just sitting down on the last step before you fell on your own two feet. “There’s a perfectly reasonable explanation.”

You had weird dreams all the time right? This...this was just one of them. Then why the fuck hadn’t you woken up screaming in your bed yet? Why hadn’t your dog given you the stink eye for disturbing his sleep? Why hadn’t one of your parents cracked open your door to see your still living at home after college ass to check that you were okay?

Why did the inside of your house look like a horror movie that made you throw up in the kitchen sink? Why were you wearing some sort of medical gown? Why was there a nasty looking scar and stitches on your arm? Why did you feel like a scared little kid waiting for something bad to happen?

You rubbed your eyes with the back of your hand, ready to wake up now. You’d never cried in a dream before which made that pit in you grow. Maybe...maybe this was somehow real?

You stood up and walked down the short little path to the sidewalk, looking up and down your street before over at the corner stop sign. You could read it and the street name, clear as day. The For Sale sign was still in the Jones’ yard after they decided to downsize. But you couldn’t read in dreams, you just couldn’t.

“Fuck,” you said, dropping your head down low, fighting back all the tears that wanted to run free. Apparently the world had ended while you were in that hospital. And you were alone in it.

You didn’t have time to comprehend that in the slightest before you heard a quick movement of air behind you and your head felt like it was going to explode as you hit the ground.

Oh yeah, the car accident. You’d smacked your head before. You quickly felt yourself lose the battle with consciousness, even with closed eyes. The air shifted around you and made you wonder if whatever had hit you was coming back for seconds. Maybe it’d put you out of your misery. But you were out before you ever got the chance to think about if you’d wake up again.

Your head was killing you when you eventually did. You were in a small dark bedroom, lit by only a few candles that had boarded up windows. You struggled to sit up but managed. There was a pitcher of water on a table against the opposite wall by a door and you realized just how thirsty you were. You crawled down the end of the bed and swung one leg over, taking a step as you dragged the other one off.

Only it didn’t come off as you hit the ground hard. Fuck, someone had tied your ankle to the end of the bed.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” you muttered, your following groan loud as the water was still out of reach and now your knees were throbbing. You were about to try and push yourself up when you saw the bottom of the door swing open and a pair of boots step into view.

“Good, you’re awake,” said a deep voice, your eyes traveling upwards to see a too handsome face staring back. His hands were on you, lifting you up and tossing you back on the bed before you knew what hit you. “Stay.”

You whined, your head accidentally connecting with the headboard and your hands shooting up to protect it from any further harm. Those strong hands were on you again, pulling your arms away like you were nothing. You shut your eyes and waited for him to do whatever it was he had planned.

“You need stitches,” he said, running his thumb near a spot on your forehead that throbbed. He left the room and was back twenty seconds later. He didn’t talk as he cleaned it, running a needle and thread through like it was second nature to him before eventually sticking a bandaid over it.

You stared up blankly at him when he pulled away and saw a hard smirk. 

“What’s your name?” he asked, dragging a chair from the side of the room and spinning it around before taking a seat. You’d never seen green eyes like his before. They were bright and subtle all at once and he growled when you didn’t respond. “We can do this the hard way if you like.”

“Y-Y/N,” you said. He smiled to himself.

“Y/N Y/L/N,” he said. You opened your mouth when he pointed at the bracelet from the hospital you’d yet to remove. “Where’s your group?”

“My what?” you asked. He sighed and you looked over to the water again. “Can I have-”

“When you answer my questions,” he said. You frowned and shook your head.

“I don’t have a group. What is going on?” you asked, licking your chapped and broken lips. He was stoic before suddenly standing and pouring you a glass, handing it over. You drank it down fast and he quickly got you another one, this one going down slower. 

“What day do you think it is?” he asked, tilting his head at you. You glanced around, trying to get your memory to work for you but it hurt and you found yourself getting a headache instead. “Kid, work with me.”

“I don’t know, okay? I don’t know,” you said, taking a deep breath to calm down. He watched you carefully for a moment, eyes landing on the mass of stitches in your arm. 

“Did one of them bite you?” he asked, pointing at the wound and you shook your head.

“Why would anyone bite me?” you asked. He ran a hand through his hair and undid the cuff on your ankle, your body pulling it in tight. 

“Do you have a group, Y/N?” he asked slowly, a little more gentleness in his words.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about so the answer isn’t going to change jackass,” you said, starting to get tired of being treated like a criminal. 

“Are you...fuck...you’re either an incredible actress or the luckiest son of a bitch on this planet,” he said, standing and moving to grab your wrist. 

“Let go,” you said, watching him turn it over and look at the bracelet again.

“This says you were admitted in May,” he said, his voice quiet. 

“I was in a car accident...I think. It just hurt a lot. Today I woke up...” you said, his thumb running small circles into the back of your hand.

“Wait, did...were you in a coma?” he asked, something about the way he viewed you changing in front of your eyes. Not an enemy anymore.

“Maybe. I was in a room by myself. No one came when I pressed that nurse button thing. I got out of bed after a little bit and...no one was in the hall. It was weird,” you said, rubbing your other hand against your head. “Am I insane?”

“No more than I am. Just tell me what happened next kid. Did you see anything?” he asked. His words didn’t exactly ease your nerves but you started to feel less trapped here and more...safe. Safe from what was a whole other question you didn’t want the answer to yet.

“No. There was only a few boarded up rooms and...noises. Bad noises,” you said, those spine chilling growls and grunts and sickly sounds echoing in your brain. “I went down the stairs since it looked like most of the power was out. I started seeing...blood.”

“Then what, Y/N? How’d you end up at that house?” he asked, his gaze looking over your old injury, squinting at it.

“I...I went outside and...there were army trucks and body bags and I told myself I was in a nightmare. I walked home and saw that no one was around, no cars, no barking dogs, nothing. It was all just a really bad dream. This is just a bad dream right?” you asked him, hoping you were just crazy. But he looked too sad, too angry and scared to lie.

“It’s July, Y/N. You slept through the start of the apocalypse,” he said. He was obviously waiting for you to freak out, have a meltdown, cry, to do something. But you’d already gone home and seen what was left of your family. There wasn’t much that was more traumatizing than that.

“Why did you hit me?” you asked. He leaned back, not expecting that. He glanced around, deciding how to phrase this. “Can I at least know your name?”

“Dean. Dean Winchester,” he said, the words flowing easily from his lips, a tiny smile on them. “Fuck, how do I tell you this? It’s...it’s a shit world out there, Y/N.”

“I got that much. Please Dean, I need you to tell me this stuff or I’m...I’m going to end up like the people I saw,” you said. You put a hand on his arm and he jerked back a little before understanding it was okay. Was human contact not a thing anymore?

“Something...no one knows what...but something happened. All of a sudden back in May, probably not long after you were injured, these...things showed up. People. Undead people,” said Dean. You couldn’t help but start laughing at him.

“Oh, I needed that. Thanks Dean. Now seriously, what...” you trailed off, your smile quickly fading as you read his face. “No, y-you’re joking. You’re playing a mean joke.”

“You saw your family? In your house?” asked Dean. You started shaking. “I was scavenging in the neighborhood and saw them. You explain to me what could have done that to them.”

“Zombies? You’re saying fucking zombies are real?” you said, wrapping your arms around yourself, trying to keep from falling apart. Dean gave you a soft smile and reached out a hand before stopping, like comforting would mean getting attached. But the thought must have faded away when he put a hand on your head and cupped your cheek.

“Sorry kid. I told you. It’s a shitty world,” he said. Screw trying to be tough in front of him, you needed to cry and soon you weren’t sure if you were trembling from fear or your sobbing. 

Dean allowed you be that way for a moment, mourning for everything you lost, everything everyone lost. Until he decided it’d gone on too long and he was pulling you off his chest you hadn’t realized you’d burrowed yourself into in the first place.

“Y/N, look at me,” he said, wiping away a stray tear from your cheek, using his sleeve to wipe your face dry. You blinked a few times and wondered how he wasn’t a mess, hadn’t curled up in a hole somewhere. “Take a breath sweetheart.”

You inhaled deeply, following his movements as he nodded eagerly.

“Good. I wish I could let you take all the time you need, the time we all need to process this stuff properly but that’s not how it works now. You got me?” he asked. You nodded knowing he was already aware you were going to be a burden to him.

“I can go,” you said quietly. He raised his eyebrows and scoffed before throwing you a bitter glare.

“Where the fuck are you going to go? You won’t last two seconds out there kid. You don’t even know how to kill one of them,” he said. 

“I don’t need a babysitter, Dean,” you said, shrugging his hands off your shoulders even if his touch was the only thing giving you any peace right now.

“Well you might as well let me kill you right now then,” he said, your turn to glare hard.

“I’ll find a way,” you said. He smiled and you were beyond confused.

“Good, you still want to live,” he said, standing up and grabbing the medical kit again.

“Do people not want to live anymore?” you asked, Dean turning around with an all too knowing nod.

“If you’ve made it this far, then yeah, you probably aren’t going down without a fight,” he said, sitting down and inspecting your old stitches. “But me...my group was wiped out ten days ago Y/N. My parents are gone too.”

“I’m sorry,” you said, Dean picking up a pair of scissors and snipping off one of the thread’s ends. He didn’t speak as he use a pair of tweezers to pull the string out, trying to cause you little discomfort. You didn’t realize how much it’d been bothering you until he removed it.

“Ten days ago...I got real close to giving up. Real close,” he said, scooting back on the bed. “But I made a promise to myself. Ten days. If I didn’t find anyone in ten days, I could give up. Kid, I was about three minutes away from thinking there was nothing good left in this world when I saw you. I thought you were one of them, how pale and slow you moved. I thought there’s another one...one more person that didn’t make it. But you’re alive and now...I got something again, so I can’t quit. I need you. You need me just as bad. It’s as simple as that.”

“What did you...why didn’t you...who...” you said, not sure how to even remotely respond to an omission like that.

“Ya know, I’ve got a brother. A dorky, sweet, incredible little brother going to school in Stanford. He’s probably a year younger than you and honestly, he’s all I have left. If he’s alive that is. I know he’ll find a way though and you know why?” asked Dean. You shook your head. “He’s the kind of guy that would wake up from a coma in the middle of the freaking zombie apocalypse and when he gets attacked, he’d be smart and steal my knife from my jacket pocket when he didn’t think I was looking and then put it back when he decided he could trust me. I know someone who did that and she just told me with the most conviction I’ve ever heard in my life that she’d find a way. So I got to believe he’s still out there.”

Dean Winchester was something else. Five minutes ago you thought he was some deranged mad man the way he barely said a word and when he did it was all anger and demands. But boy had he let the walls down just now.

“Then let’s go get him,” you said, taking his hand and giving it a light squeeze. Dean looked at you curiously. You were in the middle of Kansas over a thousand miles from his brother, an impossible task even if you knew what you were doing. “You said it yourself, you need me. You need him too so I guess that means I do.”

“Y/N, no. It’s too far and you don’t even know how to kill one of these things let alone find food or water,” said Dean, moving to stand but your hand pulling him back down.

“Teach me. Then we’ll find your dorky, sweet, incredible little brother. It’s not like I have to go to work in the morning or anything,” you said. Truth be told, you needed a goal right now and this was the perfect opportunity to focus on something good.

Dean sighed and slipped out of your grasp, moving to pace around the room. He looked at you every once in a while before he stopped and ran his hands over his face. 

“You do exactly what I tell you, understand? Exactly. You don’t question any decision, you run and hide when I say, got it?” he said. You smiled, knowing you’d won.

“I got it Dean,” you said, standing up and taking a step, your headache better than you thought it’d be. 

“There’s a bedroom upstairs with some women’s clothes. We’ll go through it in the morning and pick out what’s best for you,” said Dean, walking out of the room to what looked like a very dark kitchen with a lone flame coming from the stove top. Dean took the two cans off the top of it and blew out the flame before retreating back into the bedroom, closing the door and taking off his boots for the night. “I hope you like beans.”

“I hate them actually,” you said, receiving a can full of beans and spoon from him. “This is dinner? Awesome.”

“Welcome to the end of the world, kid.”

A/N: Read part 2 here!

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