#he’s got a hat. he looks more like a human than the other characters. i think he has a sister named Little My or something.

[lilnasxvevo]

I haven’t watched Moomin what’s the name again of that little green guy who looks like the personification of the word “scrungly”

[coralinnii]

forgetting your jacket and wearing someone else’s  feat: Sebek · Rook · Idia · Kalim genre: fluff, jealousy note: not gender-specific reader, no pronouns used (except maybe gendered French words in Rook's part but unsure), established relationships, reader is not part of Scarabia in Kalim's part, reader is implied to be smaller than Jack in Rook's part

I'm not sure how satisfied I am with this one because this was honestly quite a challenge for me. I haven't read book 6 yet so Idia may not be too accurate to his canon character? But still, I hope you guys enjoy it

Would definitely scold you for forgetting to wear your jacket. No matter how warm or how cold, Sebek always wears his school uniform neatly and with pride, his honour as Malleus' guard on the line. A sloppy appearance reflects a sloppy character, he believes.

You didn’t feel too bad when he was reluctant to give you his jacket upon request. You shouldn’t force someone just because you’re a little cold. 

Fortunately for you, a classmate of yours noticed your shivering and offered his own for the time being, saying he has a spare for Flying class. You thanked your good luck as you graciously accepted. Now Sebek won’t feel bad about not giving you his jacket, right? 

With your newly acquired jacket, you managed to survive the first half of the school day and went to find Sebek in the cafeteria during recess. You waved at him happily as you approached his table but he did not return the greeting. 

He felt a sense of bile in his throat when he saw you in a jacket that did not fit you at all. The shoulders were too wide and the sleeves engulfed you. Sure, you looked cute but he doesn’t like it. He initially thought that it was because he didn't like how unfitting it was on you. 

“Human, where did you acquire that jacket? It doesn’t suit you at all” 

When you answered how someone offered his jacket to you, the bile was more prominent. The way you snuggled into another boy’s jacket, the oversized fabric enveloping you like a warm cocoon. Sure, he was hesitant over handing you his jacket before, but knowing someone else provided for you hits him in a sore spot as your boyfriend. He wants to be the one to take care of you, to be your ever reliable knight. 

Quickly, Sebek stood up from his seat and started to remove his own jacket. Without looking at you, he asked you to remove the jacket you have and put his on. 

“But I’m comfy” 

“Please, I…I beg of you” 

You did as he asked and after quickly putting away his lunch tray, he escorted you back to your dorm to get your own jacket and to quickly return the jacket of that generous classmate of yours. 

“The idea of seeing someone else take care of you… as your boyfriend, I will not stand for it!”

A masterful huntsman, Rook Hunt is not an easy man to track. Not to mention the fact that he’s a third year and Pomefiore’s vice Housewarden, you figured that searching for him this early in the day would be a fruitless endeavour. 

Luckily, you did find Jack who, despite his grumbles over your absentmindedness, offered his jacket to you. Happy, you promised that you returned it with a favour to the beastman. 

However, the atmosphere around you seemed odd to you as the school day went on. Other students, particularly the beastman students, were busy whispering and gossiping behind you which confused you and honestly got a little bit on your nerves. 

All those unpleasant feelings quickly disappeared when you spotted a familiar feathered hat in the distance. Without a word, you quickly rushed through the crowd to give your boyfriend a hug from behind. 

Or least, that’s what you planned if it weren’t for Rook quickly turning to encase you in his arms instead. 

“I thought I heard your adorable footsteps running towards me. What a wonderful surprise!”

You laughed, thinking you should have known nothing gets past Rook. You tried to step back but realized that Rook maintained his grip on you, inspecting you with a look of curiosity. 

The hunter looks over your newly acquired jacket. The shoulders are much too bulky to be yours. He noticed the Savanaclaw emblem on the sleeve which would explain the jacket's size considering how the majority of those students are. However, he caught the scent of something -  of someone - familiar. A certain tall, gruff beastman to be precise. 

“Mon amour, is this perhaps… Jack Howl’s jacket?” 

“Oh, how did you know?” You exclaimed as you told Rook how you were cold today and Jack offered his jacket to you this morning. 

“So that explains the whispering I’ve been hearing” Rook thought as he carefully traced the lapels of the jacket clearly not tailored for you. There’s a charm to see you in a new look like this but the hunter himself is experiencing a new emotion, a burning feeling in his chest that compels him to rip away the offending fabric. Is this jealousy? Perhaps a possessive urge to reclaim his spot that feels threatened by a newcomer? 

Oh, what a beautiful new experience you have given this admirer of beauty. Rook happily revels in this feeling he has never experienced before until meeting you. 

“How wonderfully kind of him. Let us find him, I must share my thanks for caring for my beautiful trésor~” 

There’s a part of you that feels like it would not be a good idea to bring Rook to your friend, but you decided to brush that anxious feeling away. After all, the smile on Rook’s face convinced you that there was no harm (poor choice, really). 

Hidden from your sight, Rook’s fingers slightly twitched in anticipation as the two of you went to look for the white-haired freshman. Rook truly did want to offer his thanks to the beastman…with some helpful tips for surviving a hunter. 

“One must be very careful in the wild. It is not smart to leave marks near a hunter’s territory”

You didn't even bother to try asking him, this man isn’t even on campus. Even if he was, you doubt he would give you his jacket, probably claiming it’d be “such a normie cliche”, leaving you to find other means to find warmth. 

Thankfully, you found the kind-hearted Silver who was gracious enough to lend you his school jacket for the day. With all the interesting types of students you have encountered on this campus, your flame-haired boyfriend included, Silver is odd himself for simply being such an outlier case of a typical student here. 

The day went off normally, and you decided to visit Idia in his room before heading back to your dorms. You hope you could spend some intimate time with him, some cuddling and perhaps a kiss or two. 

Too bad your boyfriend had other plans, which was apparently playing video games while purposely ignoring you. His back is turned towards you and every time you get close to him, the gamer has the audacity to scoot AWAY from you. 

“Idia, please tell me what’s wrong before I actually get mad” 

“...that jacket” You heard him mumble which confused you further. You asked to repeat himself. 

Which led your introverted boyfriend to yell out, surprising you. “You're wearing that jacket! And it had to be that guy who’s practically an otome game target!” 

Idia was sulking the entire day as he saw you through the security camera accepting Silver’s jacket. He wanted to scream and call foul-play on that but instead he reluctantly faced reality. Of course, Silver will be that type of guy. The mysterious but kind knight archetype with good looks to boot. Idia wouldn’t be surprised if he was some kind of long lost prince. 

“Well, I would love it if my boyfriend would give me his, if he wasn’t allergic to coupley stuff” there was some snark in your tone but you never really want to pressure Idia to do something he doesn’t want. You would love to show off your relationship with Idia but you wanted to respect his comfort.

Idia knows that, and he’s grateful for you for not pushing him too far out of his comfort zone. But still, knowing someone acting like that with you, all sweet and caring, leaves a sour taste in Idia’s mouth.

There was a short pause between you two, letting the mood settle before saying anything else. Then, Idia quietly asked, “Do you want to share jackets…with me?” 

“Absolutely” you gasped excitedly and without another word, Idia turned to his computer and started searching the Internet for worthwhile jackets in his sizes and yours. If you have more jackets then you won’t have to go around asking for someone else’s.

Also, even he can’t resist the giddy feeling of seeing his amazing lover wear something that’s special only to you and him, not that he would admit it out loud. Too cringe.

“If we’re doing the lame normie stuff, we’re doing it our way. And no sharing with anybody else, right??”

Kalim would absolutely offer you his jacket, his vest, his shirt, heck even his pants without question. Whatever you want, he would give it up no questions asked. But you were surprised how you couldn’t find your boyfriend at first, until he texted you he had to be called in for a Housewarden meeting with Crowley which leaves you to wait for him in the cold. 

Luckily, a classmate of yours from Scarabia saw you shivering and offered his jacket to you. Afterall, you were his Housewarden’s beloved so he wanted to make sure you’re warm for Kalim’s sake. You were touched by this sentiment and accepted the jacket, promising to return it after meeting with Kalim.

Kalim ran to hug you as soon as he saw you as he left his meeting, enveloping you in his warm embrace with a grin on his face. In his excitement, it took a while for him to register your slightly new look. 

“Did you join Scarabia? Are we in the same house now?!” Kalim excitedly asked which you laughed at his silliness. 

When you explained the story about the jacket, Kalim was really glad. He thought about how lucky he is to have such kind people in his dorm that was so happy to help out his beloved, he must reward them later! The white-haired man was happy that you were cared for in his short absence. 

But, what is this other feeling in his heart? This heavy feeling in his chest that slightly aches when he saw how you adjusted the jacket on you, bringing it closer to your body like a comforting blanket. He felt unsatisfied, almost fearful of your attachment to this jacket. 

Was he jealous? 

Kalim shook off his thoughts as he removed his soft beige cardigan and the jacket you have. You watched him confused as he draped his cardigan over you, replacing the heat from your classmate’s jacket to his.  

“Kalim?” 

“I just thought you’d be comfier if you had my cardigan instead. It’s really soft!” he grinned as he pulled the large cardigan to wrap around you like a cute burrito. 

And to be fair, Kalim’s cardigan WAS comfier. Probably made with the highest quality and taken the best care by you assume Jamil. You happily snuggled into its warmth, reveling in the cloud soft coat, missing the loving looks from your sunshine of a boyfriend. 

Yea, he definitely likes seeing you in his clothes better. 

Don’t be surprised to see packages of luxurious coats and sweaters from yours truly. You two can match!

“If you’re ever cold, you can always come to me first! I’ll make sure to keep you warm!”  

[oliversrarebooks]

The Rare Bookseller Part 69: Emily's Lady

Previous > Masterlist > Next

tw: mind control, captivity, blood drinking, character death

October 1925

"Emily!"

"You know her?" said Alexander.

Emily tore her gaze away from Miss Lily, her expression dazed and drowsy as she regarded Oliver. "Hello…?"

"Emily, it's me, Oliver! We were in the auction house together. Don't you remember?"

Her brows furrowed in confusion, as though considering Oliver's words was taking a great effort.

"Oh, that's right, of course you were," said Miss Lily. "I remember now. Unfortunately, she likely does not. I was employed to fade most of her memories as part of her pet conditioning." She stroked Emily's hair with something like a fond smile. "It's okay, Emily, dear, it's nothing at all to worry about."

An empty smile returned to Emily's face as Miss Lily pet her, and a feeling of sick dread pooled in Oliver's stomach. He remembered how hard she had fought, how adamantly she hadn't wanted the vampires to take her mind. Now, she might not even be able to remember the person that she was -- like Miriam, who was lounging on Miss Lily's lap.

But it was one thing to meet Miriam and another thing to have actually known Emily before she'd been enthralled. Before both of them had been enthralled.

"Oliver, dear, please don't stare at Emily like that. You're making her uncomfortable."

"Sorry, sir," he said automatically. Emily did indeed look uncomfortable, fidgeting with her fingers. "I didn't mean to stare, Emily, I was just happy to… meet you again. I hope you've been well?"

She nodded shyly. "I've been very well. My lady is so kind to me."

"And who is your lady?" asked Alexander.

"Lady Jessica, sir."

Fitz groaned. "Oh god, we'd better send this girl away before --"

"Oh, there you are!" The voice was high-pitched and frilly, and belonged to a vampire in an elaborate rose-pink gown, dripping with even more jewelry than Emily was, carrying a hat covered in dried flowers and peacock feathers and netting. "You got away from me. I should have guessed you'd have found Lily here. How are you this evening, Lily?"

"Surrounded by my handiwork as usual."

"And oh!" Lady Jessica rounded the table to advance at Fitz, who looked appropriately alarmed. "If it isn't Fitzwilliam back in town! Why, it's been simply ages since I've seen you last!"

"I see you're still as charming as the first time I met you," said Fitz.

"I do remember that -- I remember when you were just the most adorable thrall. If only I could have gotten my hands on you! You would have been so precious to doll up and coddle."

"Yes, no doubt," said Fitz icily.

"And isn't that the star of the auction house?" Jessica's eyes went wide as she turned to Oliver, and Oliver couldn't help but flinch closer to Alexander. "How absolutely wonderful. I can't help but be jealous that you got to him first." Before Oliver knew what was happening, Jessica was practically on top of him. She smelled strongly of rose perfume and… and…

…and Oliver could hardly think, as though his thoughts were all coated in heavy syrup, thick and sticky. He lolled over into his master's lap, head filled with cottony bliss. Gosh, his master was just so… so… His master was saying something, and his voice was rumbling through Oliver's chest, and he felt like he could just bathe in it for days. Oliver nuzzled his head against his master, and the scent of old books and fireplaces overcame the sickly perfume.

And then, as suddenly as it began, his head cleared and he blinked heavily. Blood rushed to his cheeks as he realized what a fool he had been, rolling about on his master like a playful kitten. He sat up straight. "What just happened, sir?"

"Jessica's proximity robs humans of their mind," said Alexander casually, apparently unbothered by Oliver's unseemly behavior.

"He responds to it so well!" Lady Jessica was on the other side of the table now, next to Emily, giggling. "That poor thing worries far too much for a thrall, I can tell. I don't know why you don't have Lily take some of those worries away for him."

Oliver's breath caught. "No -- no thank you, sir," he said, dearly hoping that Lady Jessica wouldn't convince Alexander to leave him in an embarrassing stupor for good.

Alexander pulled Oliver close once more, and Oliver could feel the reassurance rolling off him. "I'll tend to my thralls as I see fit, thank you."

"Of course, of course!" she said. "I'm just surprised that you brought such a precious thing along with you to the Tiger's Eye, after what happened to Lord Edgar."

"Hold on, what happened to Lord Edgar?" said Lily, interest piqued.

"You don't know? I'm shocked! Well, I'm not shocked that Lord Alexander didn't know, reclusive as he is, but I thought you heard everything about everyone, Miss Lily."

"Well, that just means that you get to be the first to tell us."

"Yes, I want to hear this, too," said Alexander, leaning in.

"It's only been the talk of the town, darlings. It isn't every day that a vampire of Lord Edgar's stature is reduced to dust."

"Dust!" said Lord Alexander. "You must be joking."

"I can tell you all about it!" Jessica looked very happy to have an excuse to gossip. "Here, pet, amuse yourself while the vampires talk." She pulled a pad of paper and some crayons from her purse, handing them to Emily, whose face lit up as though she'd been handed a great prize. She curled up in a ball between Lady Jessica and Miss Lily, happy as a clam to draw in the notepad.

"So anyway, you know how Lord Edgar would frequent this place, drinking far too much and bragging about this and that. He brought one of his thralls, the short one, I'm not sure if you remember her, but…"

Lady Jessica continued to chatter about vampires Oliver had never heard of, and he couldn't focus. His train of thought kept straying to Emily, occupied in simple crayon drawings like a child. She must be around Lady Jessica's mind-melting influence all of the time, and between that and Miss Lily erasing her memories, she didn't seem to have much of a mind left.

Did she realize that anything was wrong? Her expression seemed to indicate that she didn't. He hadn't thought anything was wrong when he'd fallen under Lady Jessica's power moments ago, either, perfectly content to frolic in his master's lap.

That could have been him.

Although Oliver's memories of the night of the auction were something of a blur, he remembered Lady Jessica now. He'd met her when he was on display, calling him a pet and making him act like a puppy. If Alexander hadn't bid on him, hadn't gotten into a bidding war with Lord Jameson, perhaps it would have been him sitting there coloring, mind as empty as a child's, with no inkling that anything had ever been different.

And who's to say he hadn't been changed?

Oliver thought that his memories were intact and that his personality had only been altered to serve his master -- but would he even know about any part of him that had been stolen without a trace?

It wasn't something he had thought about much ever since he'd arrived at Alexander's. Alexander, whose song so effortlessly subdued Oliver's mind. Alexander, who had instilled such a deep sense of loyalty within him. Alexander, who was still a dangerous vampire in every way.

"I'm not surprised," Fitz was saying. "He was far too cocky for his own good. It was only a matter of time before a hunter got the drop on him."

"What a thing to say!" Jessica chided. "I know you had your differences, but surely he didn't deserve that."

"But how could a vampire hunter get so close to Lord Edgar?" Alexander said. "I've never known a human who could keep their will intact when he starts his enthrallment."

"That's what everyone is wondering," said Lady Jessica, with the tone of voice you might use to tell a ghost story around a fire. "No hunter has ever posed a serious threat to Lord Edgar before. Some vampires think it might have been the witch that Lady Evelyn claims to have encountered -- a witch who can make herself immune to enthrallment."

"A witch, you say?" Alexander leaned forward with keen interest.

Lady Jessica laughed. "Really? I didn't think you would be the type to believe in stories like that."

"It's not just a story," Alexander insisted. "There are many accounts of witches who have wards against vampires. It's a very real possibility."

"If you say so!"

A witch who could resist enthrallment, who was killing vampires… if such a person existed, they'd be a grave danger to his master. The thought of Alexander being killed before his eyes was enough to shake Oliver from his vague concerns about his master's enthrallment. Even if he had been altered in ways he couldn't perceive, even if Alexander wasn't really as kind as he seemed, Oliver couldn't bear the thought of seeing him killed.

"I'm deeply sorry for the delay, sirs. Here are your refreshments." The waitress had returned with a tray of drinks, and she placed a glass of deep red wine in front of his master.

"Be a dear and top up my champagne, won't you?" said Lady Jessica, handing the waitress a flute. "We should really be talking about more pleasant things than hunters. After all, I don't think I've properly shown off my new thrall!" She placed her hand on Emily's head, and Emily looked up with a submissive smile. "Isn't she just absolutely lovely? She looks like a picture in a magazine. And she's so quiet and docile, too! I'm obsessed."

She hadn't been quiet and docile before Miss Lily enthralled her, that much Oliver was sure of. And she certainly didn't seem like the type who wanted to look like a picture in a magazine.

"I'm very pleased with how she turned out. I knew she would be worth the training when she arrived in the auction house," said Miss Lily. "I do hope you keep her longer than your usual habit."

"Oh, Lily, you know I simply can't bear to keep a thrall longer than is fashionable! Not all of us get so attached to our thralls as you and Alexander," she said with a laugh. "Besides, when the time comes, I'm sure she'll do quite well on the secondhand market."

"Secondhand market?" said Oliver in horror. All eyes at the table turned to him.

"Nothing you need to worry about, Oliver," said Alexander.

But it was too late. All of his dread and rumination was bubbling up inside him, along with an emotion that had become so divorced from him that it felt alien -- anger. "How could you?" he said. "You had Emily's memory wiped, you made her into a shell of her former self, all just for your pleasure, and then you'd just discard her when you get bored? How could you treat her that way?"

"Oliver," his master warned, and there was a note of control in it, inducing Oliver to shut his mouth.

Lady Jessica's face twisted into a sour mask. "Lord Alexander, you really do need to keep a better leash on your thralls. We all know you're more than powerful enough to control them effortlessly. It's unseemly to allow them to disrespect their betters like this." Oliver didn't miss her pointed glance to Fitz, who was watching the situation with great amusement.

"Oliver is free to say as he pleases," said Alexander, and this time the warning was directed towards Lady Jessica.

"I just never understood that," said Lady Jessica dismissively. "Thralls are such precious and delicate things. They need discipline to keep them in line. It's not healthy to be so permissive."

"Listen, Jessica," said Miss Lily, intervening before Alexander could open his mouth again. "If you ever do get tired of Emily, do let me know. I can make sure she goes to a good home, or perhaps keep her myself."

The fake-sweet smile returned to Lady Jessica's face. "You're all so sweet when it comes to your thralls. It's so charming." She downed the rest of her champagne and stood up, swaying slightly, pulling Emily up after her. "Well, I had better mingle with the rest of the crowd. The night's still young, you know!"

Lady Jessica wasn't even out of earshot before Fitz laughed uproariously, leaning over to clap Oliver on the shoulder. "Excellent work! I thought she'd never be driven off."

"You shouldn't encourage that sort of behavior," said his master.

"Why not? You didn't mind when it was me."

"I suppose I didn't."

"I'm sorry to have embarrassed you, sir," said Oliver. "I just can't bear to see Emily like that."

"It's all right, Oliver, I'm not cross with you. I also find her practice of discarding her thralls abhorrent. But I've known her for a long time, and her mind is thoroughly made up, so I try to keep the peace."

Oliver thought that this was the kind of difference of opinion that shouldn't be smoothed over so easily, but the fire within him was already quenched, so he swallowed it. "I understand, sir."

"And that's nothing you ever need to worry about yourself. I would never give you over to the secondhand market, not for any amount of money. You'll always have a place in my home."

"Thank you, sir." Oliver did believe him. He remembered the fierceness in Alexander's voice when he told him he'd never let him go.

"I have the blood you ordered, sirs," said a waitress. She was holding onto a leash attached to a man who was wearing nothing more than a collar. He stared straight ahead, unblinking, and there were scars from bites all over his neck, arms, and thighs.

"None of us ordered any blood," said Miss Lily, as casually as can be.

"Oh, I'm so sorry, sirs! I must have the wrong table!" She bowed and led the poor man away.

That could have been him, too, if he had been caught by a different vampire, if he'd had worse blood…

"Lex, look!" said Fitz. "Did you see what that vampire is wearing? I can't believe he walked out like that in public!"

Oliver certainly couldn't concentrate on any of the idle gossip about the Tiger's Eye patrons, not when he was so keenly reminded that he was still merely a defenseless human in a den of hostile vampires.

---

"Oh, that was so much fun!" Lady Jessica was slurring her words. "I had so much fun. Did you have fun? I had fun."

"Fun," Emily repeated in her daze. Her lady's aura was filling the carriage, and Emily's thoughts were slowed to a crawl, on top of her lady's drunkenness making her feel dizzy.

Usually, she would just let go to the sensations, not bothering to fight the stupor, but tonight, for some reason, her thoughts refused to stop. There was something bothering her. Something important.

Her lady had talked about giving her away when she was done with her. Emily knew that, though. Her lady had been very clear on that point, often using it as a threat when Emily misbehaved.

No, that wasn't it. This was something new.

That thrall knew her name. That thrall knew her. His name was Oliver. That seemed important. Why did he know her?

"I was thinking, maybe we could arrange a playdate between you and Alexander's thrall," Lady Jessica said, as though she could read Emily's thoughts. Perhaps she could. "He lives just a block away, you know. You'd set a good example for him, and I could silence that poor thrall's mind for a bit. I feel awful for him, having so much fear when he should just enjoy serving."

"This one would like that, my lady!" said Emily. "Please."

"Yes, I will do that, then. I'll have to call on that stuffy Alexander and ask him."

Emily knew that her lady usually didn't follow through on things that Emily wanted, so she shouldn't raise her hopes about this, but she really did want to see Oliver again, especially when her lady wasn't around and she could think a bit more. Maybe then she could remember how he knew her.

The carriage came to an abrupt halt, the horse making a distressed sound. "What is that?" said Lady Jessica irritably. "Keep moving, I wanna go hooooome."

There was no response from the coachman.

"Ugh, I have to do everything myself. Stay here, dear." Lady Jessica stumbled drunkenly out of the carriage.

"Oh, a hunter. How very precious," said her lady, and Emily sat up at attention. "Why don't you come closer, sweet girl. Come closer, that's it. Such a good girl. Such a --"

Silence. Emily strained her ears to hear. Had her lady killed the hunter? Her mind felt so much more clear all of a sudden, as though a fog was lifting.

Footsteps approached the carriage, and the door swung open.

It wasn't her lady. It was a stranger, a woman with a leather vest and weapons strapped all over her body. Emily screamed and backed away, fumbling for the latch of the other door.

"Wait!" The stranger grabbed her wrist. "I'm not going to hurt you. I promise."

Emily tried to comprehend the situation in front of her, and to her surprise, she found that she could. "You're… you're that hunter, aren't you? The hunter who can resist enthrallment?"

"Oh, you've heard of me!" she said with a grin. "My name is Vivian. I'm not going to hurt you. I'm going to rescue you."

"You killed my lady," said Emily numbly. She should feel bad about that. She should cry and rend her hair. But for some reason she felt only a vague sense of relief.

"I did, but I only kill vampires. Never people, and never thralls." The stranger looked her in the eye. "You still have some of your mind left, don't you? I think I can help you."

"Help me…" Thinking felt so much easier than it had just moments ago, but she still felt slow and muddy. "Yes, please help me."

"I will. I'll help you. You're free now."

"I'm free." The word tasted like sunshine.

Previous > Masterlist > Next

Freedom for now.

Next week, everything goes wrong for Fitz.

@d-cs @latenightcupsofcoffee @thecyrulik @dismemberment-on-a-tuesday-night @wanderinggoblin

@whumpyourdamnpears @only-shadows-dwell-where-we-are @pressedpenn @pigeonwhumps @amusedmuralist

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@whump-me-harder

[drivinmeinsane]

Witness in the Dark

※ Sierra Six x Claire's Older Sister!Reader ※

{ masterlist } ※ { ao3 } ※ { requested fic }

※ Summary: Don't we all just want to feel the companionable reassurance of another human being?

It only takes a single tragedy to tear your life to shreds and make it to where you're unable to sleep through the night. You tell yourself that you will never trust a bodyguard again, but things don't go according to plan when a man with a number for a name is assigned to the Fitzroy household while your uncle is away

※ Rating: T for suggestive themes and canon typical violence.

※ Content/Tags: Slow burn, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Night terrors, Pining, Unspecified age gap, Movie based - Alternate Universe, No use of Y/N, Obsessive behaviors from both parties, Descriptions of injuries, Mentions of parental death, Mentions of past kidnapping, Mentions of past torture, Implied death of minor character(s)

※ Word count: 12,637

※ Status: Oneshot/Complete

※ Author's Notes: I don't know what came over me. This really got uncontrollably out of hand and ended up being wildly self indulgent. Huge thanks for @danime25 for proofreading this. I owe you my life.

"Ladies!" Your sister's nurse calls as she walks into the room. "I want to introduce you to Six. He'll be looking after the house while Mister Donald is away."

You look up from your position next to Claire on her bed only to meet the eyes of the man following the nurse. They're startlingly blue. His face is impassive as he turns away and surveys the room. He carries himself with an easy grace that hints at the violence that his body could produce. He reeks of danger. You instantly don't appreciate his presence. You had fought with Uncle Fitz tooth and nail over hiring a bodyguard for the duration of his trip away from the home. This man’s presence here means you have clearly lost that argument.

"Only the two exits?" He questions, moving past the bed to stand at the ceiling to floor windows. 

"Yeah." Your tone is hard, biting. The nurse gives a small gasp at your rudeness and says your name disapprovingly.

The man, Six, turns away from the window to look at you with a raised eyebrow. You stare at each other silently, sizing the other up. There’s a flicker of some emotion that you might label as respect in his eyes before Claire, picking up on your hostility, throws her hat in the ring.

"We don't chew gum in this house." You've never loved your little sister's faux-snob act more than in this moment. She snaps a photo of him with her Polaroid, staged records forgotten. He doesn't look particularly pleased about it. It’s more exasperated acceptance than anger though.

He's silent for a moment before speaking. "I'm sorry. I wasn't briefed." 

There’s a trace of a smile on his face. It’s irritating and you have to look away from him. You stare at a record sleeve like your life depends on it. He asks for the photo and picks it up. You see a flash of a tattoo on his hand as he plucks the Polaroid off of the bedspread. Poorly done and worn with age. He’s definitely one of Uncle Fitz’s prison recruits then. One of the most morally dubious options he could have saddled you with in his absence. Perfect.

He says his goodbyes to you and Claire before leaving the room. Your heart is beating irrationally rapidly and your mouth is dry. The man with a number for a name is stirring up nothing but bad memories. You know you won’t sleep well tonight. 

───※ ·❆· ※───

“What kind of name is Six anyway?” Claire asks first thing in the morning after she tosses herself into a chair at the kitchen table. The man in question gives her a long look. 

"007 was already taken so…" He says with a relaxed shrug, coffee mug in hand. He's leaning against the kitchen counter in the same suit as yesterday.

You choke back a laugh at the sight of your sister's expression. You accidentally meet Six's eyes over her head. There's warmth in them that douses your amusement immediately. You sober up and turn back to your breakfast. Softness in someone doing his line of work felt… wrong. He isn't trustworthy, you decide, no matter how kind he acts. 

───※ ·❆· ※───

You wake up with a start. The coppery tang of blood mixed with the dry powder of concrete lingers in your subconscious. It takes several heaving breaths to clear your airway and bring you back to the present. You shakily sit up. You press your palms into your eyes. You try to forget the sensation of a knife in your skin. You're here. You're safe . You're one of the last people your sister has. You're the stable one.

You get to your feet in the dark bedroom and open your door to step out into the hall. You trail unsteady fingertips down the plaster and paint as you make your way to the kitchen and living area. 

There's a barely audible scuffle and you peer through the gloom to see Six stalking you. You catch the barest glimpse of his face in a strip of moonlight. It's intent. Predatory. There's no hint of recognition, not while you move through the darkest parts of the room.

You feel cold. Your pulse starts to hammer in your veins. Your throat works uselessly. Words won't come out of your mouth. You forge along to the kitchen and fumble for the light. The kitchen is awash in a blinding glow right as you feel heat against your back. It immediately withdraws as the bodyguard removes himself from your personal space. You don't turn to face him while you get a glass from the cupboard and fill it with ice and water at the fridge's dispenser. You stare blankly at the burnished steel while you take sip after sip.

You refill your glass. You blink. You take a drink. You pretend like your mind isn't shattered. You pretend like the man your uncle hired hadn't been about to…

"Are you alright?" Six's voice cuts through the fog in your mind. It's like a lantern has been lit to guide you back into the waking world.

You find yourself then and turn to look at him. You study him. He looks slightly rumpled and tired. There's tension around his eyes and his mouth is set in an almost apologetic frown. 

"Just another nightmare. Sorry for disturbing you."

The frown deepens. "You didn't. I was caught by surprise, that's all."

"Fair warning, me out here like this is probably going to be a regular occurrence." You smile wanly. "I know you want us in bed, but I don't do the whole staying put thing so well most nights."

He just nods. He's accepted your words without protest. The frown fades away.

You gesture with your glass in the vague direction of your bedroom. "I'm going to go ahead and excuse myself. Goodnight, Six."

"Goodnight." 

───※ ·❆· ※───

Weeks go by. The household falls into a comfortable enough routine. Claire ribs him good-naturedly every chance she gets. He's always got a faint aura of amusement every time she takes a shot at him. You hadn't yet seen him get angry. Pretending to be annoyed? Yes, but never actually expressing any negative emotion beyond mild exasperation. Not yet, anyway. 

He sends the both of you to bed every night after Claire's nurse takes her leave. You inevitably get up in the middle of the night after another vivid nightmare. Six is always either watching the camera footage or doing his rounds. He's stopped being surprised by your presence after the night he hunted you. You linger in the kitchen doorway night after night, watching him keep vigil. He's got a soft face, you've decided. There's tension there, likely from worry and lack of sleep, but not cruelty. You've begun to wonder if he has the capability for it. You know he must. Uncle Fitz has kept you in the dark about a lot of the work he does, but you know a kind man wouldn’t have been a candidate for whatever program your uncle runs. 

───※ ·❆· ※───

You're woken up a few nights later by the sound of hands scrabbling on your door. Your eyes snap open and you remain frozen for a second before you hear Claire's muffled voice. You're immediately out of bed so fast you stumble and twist your ankle painfully. You fling the door open and next thing you know, your little sister falls wheezing into your arms. "Something's… Something's wrong." She gasps out.

She can't breathe and is clutching at her chest with weak hands. Horror races down your back and you're pulling her into your arms in a clumsy embrace, desperately trying to keep her upright.

"Six!" The name is torn from you in a shout. You never thought you would be screaming for a man you'd told yourself you couldn't trust.

He's there in an instant. He puts a steadying hand on your back before he gently pulls Claire away and lifts her up into his arms. She wheezes again and both you and Six freeze.

"I'm okay." she whispers. She looks so small and breakable in the bodyguard's thick arms. Like a bird plucked from the sky, held the mercy of a giant's hands.

"Can you get the keys for the car and unlock it?" His voice washes over you. Its steadiness anchors you to reality. You manage a "Yeah." and take off through the house to the garage, making a pit-stop to snag the keys from their bowl. Your ankle is throbbing. Six is close behind, his brisk stride and long legs keeping time with your hurried scrambling. You mash the unlock button on the fob and throw yourself into the backseat. Claire is gently deposited in after you. Her head is resting on your lap. You comb through her brown hair with shaky hands. 

"Mount St. Mary's." You tell Six the moment he's halfway into the driver's seat. "They're the ones who put her pacemaker in."

He grunts in response, backing out of the garage. You don't remember when you handed him the keys or when the garage door was opened. You don't think about anything other than your little sister. You can't lose her too. You've already lost so much of your family and of yourself. The ride passes in a blur. You're only fleetingly aware of the passing lights. Your heart is hammering in your chest like it's beating for Claire and you both. You whisper pleas and promises to her, stroking her forehead with shaking hands.

You're pulled out of your trance by Six yanking the passenger door open, and you help guide your sister into his capable arms. The medical team whisks Claire into the back immediately the moment he has her on the stretcher. You're left in a stiff, vinyl chair in the waiting room. Bodies haven't been in it long enough to soften the material. You're filling out intake paperwork on your sister's behalf. Six stands next to you, hands clasped in front of himself. You glance over, checking his watch every few seconds, your leg bouncing in place. Nervousness and fear wash over you in all-consuming waves. 

He catches your glance as your eyes dart over yet again.

"You holding up alright?'' His questions surprise you. He rarely is the one to initiate conversations. His gaze is steady, grounding, blue eyes watching you intently.

"Not really." You admit, inhaling and exhaling jaggedly. He nods. There's tension around his eyes. Is he worried too? You have to look away from his face and instead talk to his watch. "She's my sister. I need to keep her safe. I can't lose her too."

You hear him make a noise in response. You watch the seconds tick by one by one on his watch. The two of you are silent for approximately thirty-seven of them before Six breaks the moment by undoing the metal clasp. He pulls the watch away from his skin, revealing a bar of ink across the underside of his surprisingly delicate wrist before he's handing it to you.

"Here."

You stare at the dangling watch blankly before looking up at his face. "What?"

"Keep it safe for me for a while." His tone leaves no room for argument. You reach out with hesitant fingers and take it from his grasp. The steel is warm in your hand. You swallow thickly and drape the watch over your wrist, waiting for the sickening feeling of having your hands bound to hit you. It doesn't. You clumsily latch the buckle. It's sized perfectly for the man diligently standing at your side, no possibility of tightening it without it being resized altogether. It hangs off your wrist like a loose bracelet and you realize then just how big Six is. 

He hides his mass well. His muscles are concealed discretely enough underneath blazers and tailored trousers. He simply doesn't take up space in whatever room he's in, always the expert at being unremarkable, unobtrusive, and not worth remembering. But this… this is a dead giveaway. You cast a sideways glance at his hands and, for a dizzying moment, you wonder how your hand would look pressed palm to palm with one of his.

"Miss Fitzroy. Your sister is cleared for visitors now if you would like to see her." A nurse's voice cuts into your illogical musings.

You stand up so abruptly that the chair you were just sitting on screeches agonizingly loud on the polished vinyl flooring before it thuds into the wall. The nurse flinches slightly, but Six is steady at your side. He falls into step behind you as you follow the man through the winding hallways to Claire.

The doctor stops you at the door, arm barring you for a moment before letting it drop. "She's stabilized. Tell your uncle there was a programming glitch. We were able to repair it. Non-invasive." She pauses for a moment, giving the man hovering behind you a hard look before continuing. "The remote system flagged it ten minutes before he pulled up."

"You're able to monitor from that distance?" You interrupt. 

"We can keep track of her pacemaker from just about anywhere. You may see her. She can be released later tonight after we have her under observation for a while longer.” The doctor catches your pinched expression and adds. “Just to be safe.”

You nod, gaze bypassing her to focus on Claire. She’s been watching the exchange and, at your attention, she pulls a weak smile under her oxygen mask while raising a pale hand to flash the rocker sign. The doctor finally steps aside but not before blocking Six as he makes to follow you into the room. “Only family allowed.”

You look at her incredulously and open your mouth to protest before Six cuts you off. “I understand. Thank you, Doctor.” His tone is bland, unemotional. He arranges himself to stand with his back to the inside of the open door. He’s obnoxiously in the way of anyone that would need to come or go. He spends the passing minutes as they bleed into hours standing there like a steadfast sentinel. Back straight, hand clasped over his right wrist, left wrist startlingly bare, head lowered in waiting supplication; he’s the very image of patient servitude.

You sit at your sister's side in your own vigil. The three of you wait in tired silence until a nurse finally announces Claire is free to be discharged. 

She fusses as she's helped into a wheelchair. You and Six stand aside, letting the staff fight the battle. They win, but as soon as everyone spills out of the automatic doors, she's pulling herself out of the mobility aid. She gently slaps away yours and Six's reaching hands when the two of you try to steady her. "Don't you dare."

"But-" you start to protest before you're immediately shut down. "I can walk to the car. I'm not that much of an invalid."

Six doesn't even try to say anything, just forges ahead through the parking lot like nothing happened. He's learned by now that there's no arguing with your little sister. The traitor. You and Claire make it to the vehicle after him and you move to slide into the back seat with her but she pulls a face.

"You're smothering meeeee." she exaggeratedly whines. You give her a flat look. "Smothered." she insists. She dramatically points at the front of the car and raises insistent eyebrows.

You end up buckling yourself into the front passenger seat with an exasperated sigh. You look over at Six. The tension has bled away from his face. He looks more relaxed, relieved even. He notices your stare and the two of you make eye contact. You roll your eyes pointedly at your sister’s antics. Six maintains a serious expression until it cracks and you’re rewarded with the bodyguard's smile.

Six's arm brushes ever so slightly against yours when he puts the vehicle into reverse and then into drive. The feeling of his warmth lingers like a brand on your skin. His watch hangs heavily around your wrist. You fight the urge to gently touch the gleaming metal and instead interlink your own fingers together hard enough to hurt.  

You spend the car ride sagged against the leather of the passenger seat, desperately trying to focus on the passing scenery and not the man seated next to you. Not his kindness, not the way he had kept you grounded. You tell yourself he was just doing his job. Any bodyguard would have been tender and careful with your sister…  and with you. You try to not read into what Six offering his watch to you for "safe keeping" might possibly mean.

Soon you're back at the house, waiting in the garage with your little sister while the hired man does a sweep of the building to make sure no one has breached the perimeter while it lay vacant. Claire is tucked against your side. She's bleary eyed with exhaustion. 

"Clear." Six's voice cuts into the silence of the garage.

You tow Claire along with you and sit her down at the table. She slumps with her cheek resting in her hand. You busy yourself with getting a bowl of ice cream set in front of her.

She gulps it down in huge mouthfuls. Six sits to your right at the head of the table while she eats. His eyes are focused on the screen of his laptop. You're sitting across from your sister, half curled up in the dining chair. The adrenaline has long since left your body, leaving you feeling heavy with exhaustion.

"You feeling better?" Six directs at Claire.

"Just another Thursday." She says with a shrug. "Uncle Donald and my sister say this is the best medicine. Ice cream. I tend to agree."

"They're smart people."

"Only family I got." 

Six’s response is instant, like he’ll choke on the words if he doesn’t get them out of his mouth fast enough. “Fitz’s the closest thing to family I’ve had in a long while.”

"Maybe that kind of makes us family." 

You catch the way that he smiles. He ducks his head to hide it, but you see the hopeless spread of it across his face. There’s something so tender and vulnerable in his eyes that you get stung by a pang in your chest. Your heart aches for the people sitting at the table with you. Claire for carrying the loss of your parents and Six for whose closest hint of a familial tie is his boss. You get pulled out of your spiraling thoughts by Claire yawning. 

"You should go to bed." His voice is soft.

You haul yourself to your feet, exhausting hanging on you like a blanket. You whisk Claire’s empty bowl away and gently touch her shoulder. “C’mon, you heard the man.” 

She grumbles a little and stands up with you. You’re about to guide her to her bedroom but she pauses and turns. “‘Night, Robot.”

“Goodnight, Claire.” He sounds exasperated with an undercurrent of amusement.

He doesn’t look away from the screen as you and your younger sister retire for the night. You fall into bed, wrung out from the hospital trip. It’s not until you’re firmly under the covers and settled into bed that you realize you’re still wearing Six’s watch. You stare at it, warring with yourself on if you should scrape yourself off of the mattress to go give it to the bodyguard keeping vigil at the table or to just set it aside to give to him in the morning. You do neither of those things. You fall asleep watching the silver metal reflect the moonlight peering through the shivering curtains. You do not dream of your past captors and their leering smiles that night. Instead, you dream of a comforting hand on your wrist, the gentle hum of a deep voice. 

───※ ·❆· ※───

The three of you settle back into routine following Claire’s hospital visit, but things have shifted slightly following that night. You gave Six his watch back the following morning before your sister got out of bed and before her nurse arrived for the day. He took it from your hesitantly offered hand. His thick fingers gently brushed your palm as he lifted the piece from it. Your wrist has felt desolate, too light ever since you took it off. You try to ignore it all, try to regain the distance you had before. You don’t succeed. Something about Uncle Fitz’s hired man keeps eroding the walls built from mistrust and agony. 

───※ ·❆· ※───

You snap awake, soaked through with rapidly cooling sweat. You’re certain you didn’t scream out. Your throat isn’t sore, but your face is wet, moisture clinging to your lashes. You must have been silently sobbing through your nightmare. You uncurl yourself from your tensed position and drag yourself out of bed. You walk through the darkened hallway to the kitchen. You make sure to roughly trail your hand along the wall and clear your throat. It won’t do anyone any favors to startle Six. 

You get your glass of water and make your way into the main sprawl of rooms. The bodyguard is sitting at the kitchen table, laptop open, as he is most nights. You pull out a chair and sit down with your glass. You look at it hollowly, trying to ignore the lingering terror from your nightmares. You can't but notice Six’s eyes flickering over to you now and again. There’s a concerned crease between his eyebrows.

“Rough night?”

“The usual. As Claire says, it’s just another Thursday.” Your voice comes out more bitter than you intend. You tighten your grip on your cup until it feels like it might shatter in your hand. You force yourself to loosen your clenched fingers. 

The man seated at the table with you gives an acknowledging hum, sedately chewing his gum. He doesn’t press, doesn’t try to force any explanations out of you. You relax a little in your seat. Having another human being awake and nearby is a comfort. You rest your cheek on your hand and observe him. He looks tired. The light coming from the screen serves only to highlight the weariness weighing down his face and stooping his usually rigid shoulders. Looking at him like this reminds you of the night you watched this man and your sister interact after he drove you both home from Mount St. Mary’s. 

“She’s happier with you around, you know.”

There's such a long silence following your unprompted comment that you don't think he'll respond but he finally does. "She's a good kid."

"Yeah. Yeah she is." You don’t think you could have clung to life in the wake of the incident without her there to be strong for. Most weeks, she was the only reason you bothered to try to function.

You drain the rest of your glass and stand up. The ice clinks. You dump it in the sink and put the cup in the top rack of the dishwasher. You felt wrung out enough to attempt sleep again. You pause in the doorway and look back at the man at the table. "Six."

He looks up, eyebrow raised. His lips are slightly parted. 

"'Night."

"Goodnight." You can’t decipher his tone.

Your nightmares don’t return that night. 

───※ ·❆· ※───

About a month later, you’re screaming and thrashing in your bed. You’re choking under your captor’s hands, the sensation of soaked cloth over your face. You feel the pressure of those cruel fingers on your throat, over your mouth. Water moistening every ragged inhale. You can’t breathe.

Six’s response is all but instantaneous from the moment he hears your first scream. He pushes your door open, one hand on the knob and the other wrapped around his drawn gun. He’s sweeping his eyes across the dark room, There’s no attacker to find, there’s only you writhing on your bed, plagued by your own mind. He holsters his weapon and goes to your side. He tries calling your name, but there’s no acknowledgement, only your panicked wheezing. He puts one knee on the mattress for stability and grabs your upper arms. He tries to shake you awake. That gets a reaction. You start fighting him. Your hands claw and hit at him. He ignores it and repeats your name, asking you to wake up with an edge of desperation to his voice. He’s wildly unprepared for this. A physical enemy he can handle, but this…

You come out of it, going limp in his hold. Your chest is heaving. You blink away the lingering horrors of your dream and look up at him, horrified. For a split second your panic flares anew until you focus on his face. You remind yourself that you know this man, that you trust him with your sister’s life. He releases his grip on you and leans to turn on your bedside lamp. You wince against the explosion of light before bolting upright to reach towards his face. He’s scratched and you wonder if he’s going to be sporting a black eye. He lets your fingertips rest on his cheek for a heartbeat, something unreadable in his eyes before he’s withdrawing his knee from the mattress and standing at the side of your bed. He’s the picture of composure.

“I’m so sorry.” Guilt is suffocating you almost as much as the man in your nightmare. 

"You don't need to apologize. I should. I wasn't briefed about how to handle it." He sounds genuinely sorry, a touch of distress bleeding into his tone. It twists the knife of guilt deeper. You feel your eyes start to well. 

"No, no it's not your fault.. I don't want to be like this, I'm sorry." The tears spill over. You turn your face away and scrub your hands over your cheeks.

He hesitates and sits down on the bed next to you. There's a yawning span of distance between the two of you. There's not a hint of anger or frustration coming from him, not even pity. just.... sorrow. Understanding.

"Fitz briefed me on your history." It's blunt. matter of fact.

"Then you know about the...." You hesitate. 

"Yeah.” He answers before continuing. “Does he know how bad it gets?"

"No… I never told him all the details. I didn't want to burden him. He's got enough to worry about." You shrink into yourself. Your eyes focused on the items cluttering your nightstand.

"Your wellbeing isn't a burden." There it is. There’s a taste of the anger you’d been waiting for in his tone. You squeeze your eyes shut.

"I'm the stable one, Six. I can't let everyone down again ." You laugh a little, self-deprecating. You press your palms against your eyes. Baring down until stars explode behind your closed eyelids. 

He hums, and you feel the shift of the mattress as he stands up. You think he’s leaving, disgusted with you and your emotions, but the heat of his presence doesn’t go away. The warmth of him bleeds through your sleep clothes. You can feel him looking down at you. You nearly jump out of your skin when he nudges your arm. You look up at him, startled. He quirks an eyebrow.

“Come on.” He says, offering his hand to you. You take it. He easily guides you up onto shaky legs.

He has you follow him down the hallway and to the dining table. A path as familiar as an old friend by now. He motions for you to sit at the table, and you mutely follow his direction. You hear him move around in the kitchen. He returns with a bowl of ice cream and a full glass of water. He sits both in front of you.

"I have it on expert authority that this should help. All the smartest people I know support it." He's so serious sounding. You look at him flatly. He holds his grave expression for a beat before he winks. You crack a teary smile and lay into the ice cream like it personally insulted you.

He settles into a chair across from you while you eat. He occasionally glances over at the open laptop’s screen to check the security footage, but his main focus is on you. You feel a little self conscious under his gaze. You scour your mind for something to say, anything to lessen the intensity he’s directing towards you.

"Do you ever sleep? Like… go to bed sleep?" The question comes out of nowhere. a flash of surprise crosses his face. You'd seen him cross his arms in his chair and tip his head back. Caught him leaning  against the wall, hands in his pockets, hip cocked for stability. But the thought of him actually dressing down into pajamas and tucking himself under the blankets  seems.... implausible. too soft for this man who is alert and buttoned up into his crisp slacks and fitted shirts no matter the hour of the day. You half supposed he showered in the damn things.

"Not as often as I should. I don't sleep easy either." The honesty surprises you. 

"Why?" It's probing but you're too exhausted and raw to care.

"Too many memories. My line of work isn't exactly conducive to pleasant dreams." You wonder if he would have been willing to be so open this entire time or if something changed between the two of you. When would it have changed? Were the moments you found significant also important to him? Was he starting to crave your company in the inexplicable way as you’ve begun to crave his?

You almost apologize to him for prying, but you stop yourself. You nod instead. You understand how it is to have a beast pacing the maze of your sleeping mind, pulling out the threads of your worst memories like entrails for you to witness over and over again. 

"I still think about it… About them." You admit. Your eyes skitter across the table like a frightened mouse, focusing on Six's watch face before darting away. You can’t tell the time from this distance. There is a pressure welling up in your throat. Something is clawing its way out into the open.

“Talk to me.” His request is firm, paving the way for your words. He takes his watch off, a mirror of the other night. It slips free of his arm in the same way, inky black revealed on the underside of his wrist, tendons shifting, the movements delicate. He sets the watch on the table in front of you. The metal links clatter on the polished wood surface. You glance up at his face, shadowed in the dim light. “For safekeeping.” He remarks.

You reach out and lift it from the worn surface, running your fingers over the band. The weight is soothing in your grasp. The seconds tick by and it feels as though your heart is trying to race them. You finally open your mouth and release your burden.

“Claire had her birthday party that day. It was the last good day we had with our parents. It was hard to keep the security straight since there were so many people in the house. I didn’t think anything was wrong when two men came up to me and introduced them as part of the security detail. I still didn’t think it was weird when they asked me to come with them. How could I have been so stupid ?” Your breath catches, anger palpable in your voice. Six twitches like he might reach out, but he stills and you continue.

“They got me out of the house. I wasn’t strong enough to fight them off when they put me in the back of the SUV. They… they kept me for days asking questions I didn’t know the answers to. They didn’t like that I didn’t know anything. They tried to be more persuasive… so I started making up things. I just wanted them to stop but they wouldn’t. The wrong answer or the right answer, it didn’t matter. They offered me in exchange for a ransom and eventually they pulled me out of the basement. My parents were there to do the handoff. The guys wouldn’t let anyone else do it. We made it about three miles down the highway before they caught up with us and shot out the front tires. I don’t think they expected anyone to live after we went through the guardrail, so they just.. drove off. Left. I don’t know how long I was in the car staring at my parents. Claire was too young to understand that I ruined her life. I’ve been waiting for her to realize what I did. She hasn’t yet but she will.”

“How did you ruin it?” Quiet, disbelieving.

“I got our parents killed. I shouldn’t have gone with those men. I should’ve known better.” You hear a noise like a wounded animal. A creature left for roadkill, great heaving breaths rattling in that damaged chest. It’s you, you realize dully, you’re the animal. There’s a large hand enveloping your wrist. It’s Six and he’s holding onto you. 

“How could you know?” He asks. You shake your head, a sob escapes you. You feel shame. Grief. Six’s hand squeezes almost tight enough to hurt. It grounds you, you can’t escape into your own mind. Not with that insistent pressure to stay . You feel the metal of his watch biting into the skin of your palm. It’s a good kind of ache.

“It wasn’t your fault. You trusted people you were meant to trust. Who could blame you for that?” he insists. His eyes are too soft, too kind.

“Uncle Fitz.” It slips out, involuntary. You would bite your own tongue off if it could take back the betrayal. You don’t dare to look at the man seated across from you. You had all but swung a bat at the person who he said was the closest thing he had to family. 

His hand withdraws from your arm, and for a moment you’re certain that he’s going to walk off and leave you sitting here by yourself. He doesn’t, he surprises you once again. He simply leans further over the table, capturing your hands with his before plucking his watch from your ironclad grasp. He lays it over your much smaller wrist. He handles you with so much gentleness it almost hurts. He secures the clasp and simply… holds your hands. He says your name and you look up 

“Your family loves you.” He states simply. He says it like it’s an indisputable fact. Like it’s something as true and honest as the rotation of the Earth. You nod mutely. You can’t argue, not when he says it with so much assurance. He gives your hands a final, comforting squeeze and stands up. He gathers up your dishes, bowl, spoon, and glass. The bodyguard makes a soothing gesture to stay seated when you make a motion to rise and help him. You listen to the domestic sounds of him running the sink and loading your used dishes into the dishwasher. Your eyes start to drift shut. There’s a weight off your lungs, your burden has been dispersed, even just for a little while.

There’s a soft touch to your shoulder. It’s Six and he wants you back in bed. You get to your feet and let him escort you to your bedroom door. You feel oddly nervous, fidgeting with your fingers and avoiding meeting the hired man’s eyes. It feels like the awkward end of a weird date where everyone was too uncomfortably honest.. No matter how delusional that sounds even to yourself.

“Goodnight.” he’s the one who breaks the silence first. You feel relieved. 

“‘Night, Six.” is your response as you put your hand on the doorknob and slip into the room, away from his unreadable gaze. When you fall asleep for the second time that night, you dream of steady hands marked with prison tattoos.

───※ ·❆· ※───

The morning dawns without preamble. It feels like you have barely laid your head on the pillow. You check the time on the watch hanging loosely around your wrist. Less than four hours have passed since your night terror and subsequent comforting via the household bodyguard. Your morning routine feels more laborious than usual. Every movement feels like crawling through tilled soil. 

You’re dressed for the day and walking into the kitchen when you hear your little sister badgering Six. 

“What happened to you, Robot?” she asks.

You pop your head around the corner to take a look at the man she’s addressing. You stop cold. It’s a mess. He’s a mess. The skin around his left eye is puffy and bruised. There's clear nail marks on his cheeks and down to his neck. Any exposed skin had taken the brunt of your panic. You can even see some redness through his facial hair. You feel sick, betrayed again by your body. Your own hands had tried to tear him apart. 

"Well..." he starts and shrugs his jacket off. He folds it and drapes it over the back of one of the chairs.

He's about to go on his outdoor rounds, which you and Claire have secretly dubbed ‘enrichment time’, and continue wearing a trail into the yard. If he’s feeling particularly comfortable, he might sneak a nap in one of the lawn chairs now that the sun is up. Provided that he’s sure the two of you are secure and can survive without him awake for an hour or so. 

"Your sister beat me in a fight. I'll have to hand in my championship belt." It's relaxed and easy. He gives you a conspiratorial wink when Claire rolls her eyes with a scoff.

You match his earnest tone with your own. "You should have seen it, I was about to get the folding chair and everything."

“Ooh-kay, I’ll just assume it was a weird sex thing,” she comments, turning back to her breakfast. “Looks like you already won his watch though. Congrats.” 

Silence follows. Claire smugly scrapes her spoon around in her bowl, capturing every last shred of cereal. There’s a self-satisfied smile on her face. Neither of you protest. Either you let it go and hope she loses interest in the bit, or you launch into a defense that will only get her to double down. No matter what, you’ll be the losers. 

Six pushes a heavy exhale through his nose and walks out of the room. You follow him right out the back door and onto the deck. The two of you stand there for a moment in companionable silence. It’s beautiful out here. The sun is a sedate creature in the sky. She's lazily casting her rays over the yard. The water in the pool is sparkling in it, lapping playfully at the concrete walls. Six’s shoulders are still tense in your field of view. He looks as though he’s holding himself up through sheer force of will.

“I’m sorry again about last night.” You say to his back.

“Please don’t be. Things happen.” He says with a sigh. You falter. He sounds as exhausted as you feel.  You don't want to push the issue. 

He gestures for you to sit in one of the deck chairs by the pool. You don’t, instead choosing to trail him as he does his rounds. He’s lit by the sun. You’re in his shadow. His hair looks like a field of golden wheat. You almost want to run your hands though it in order to feel the softness for yourself. You instead soothe the urge by toying with the band of his watch still loosely encircling your wrist. He looks back at you every once in a while, eyes dazzlingly blue in the bright sunlight. You had never noticed the angles of his face before, the curves of his nose with its distinctive bump, the set of his cheekbones, how his facial hair is darker than the hair on his head. You hate that you're noticing these details now. After the events of last night, any tentative bond feels tainted.

The morning grows warmer as you drift behind him like a ghost. Eventually he rolls his sleeves up to reveal his forearms. You start to understand why people in bygone eras got so flustered at the sight of a lady's ankle. His wrists are bodice ripping enough, you suppose, but the space from his fingertips to the crook of his elbow? That is home to so much previously unseen skin. Had he been rolling up his sleeves every morning? If you had simply looked out one of the windows, would you have seen the sight that you’re witnessing now?  Would you have seen the distinct veins trailing up the insides of his muscular arms? What about the tattoos whose mere existence beg to have a finger trace along his skin? You avert your eyes, not wanting him to notice you staring. You tell yourself that it’s just the novelty of it all, that the surprise at seeing him less buttoned up will wear off.

With the rounds done, the two of you are back at your starting point. The bodyguard settles onto one of the deck chairs. He lets out a borderline obscene groan as he lets his body relax against the wood. His eyes flutter closed. He shifts slightly, another noise escapes his throat as he does. You make your way to the chair next to him on shaky legs, and drop into it. He doesn’t stir. You debate on standing up, you don’t, the thought of leaving his side makes you anxious. You make yourself comfortable in your seat. 

Through the open window, you can hear Claire’s record player. You hear the notes of Feel the Warm. She’s playing Mark Lindsay again. You let it wash over you. The sunlight is dappled across this part of the patio. You cast a glance over at your companion. His arms are crossed and he looks dead to the world. Your own eyelids are drooping, He’s the last thing you see before you drift off.

You wake up gradually, it’s an easy kind of waking. No wild jerk of consciousness, just the soft trickle of awareness. You’ve managed to curl on your side in the deck chair. You squirm upright and feel cloth slide down into your lap. It’s the hired man’s jacket. He must have gone back inside to get it. You touch it with hesitant fingers and look up, scanning for him. He’s currently out of sight, but you do see Claire in the hammock chair across the way. She’s engrossed in her phone and frantically tapping at the screen. You check the time on the watch in your possession before you catch a glimpse of Six coming up the patio steps from the lower yard. He’s got a sandwich in one hand and his own phone in the other. He’s intent on the device. He glances up and accidentally meets your eyes. He jumps slightly as if startled you’re awake. He recovers and gives you a nod.

“‘Morning.” His mouth is full. You know Claire will give him the tongue lashing of a lifetime if she notices.

"It's after twelve." You playfully retort, watching unimpressed as he fights to swallow the bread in his mouth. He’s really struggling for a second before he gets it down, his throat working roughly. You get to your feet, carefully folding his jacket over your arm. You approach him with it. 

"Good afternoon then." He says quietly. You swear you catch the ghost of a smile on his face as he looks at you. 

“Thanks for the blanket.” You say, offering it to him. He takes it with his unoccupied hand before shrugging it on, doing a quick change of hands with his lunch. 

You move to take off the watch and return that as well, but he stops you with a disapproving noise. “You’re keeping that safe for me, remember?”

You pause for a moment, mind racing wildly with the effort to make sense of his words. To find meaning in them. Your hand falls away from the metal and you surrender with a mute nod. If he wanted you to keep it for him for a while longer, who were you to protest? It’s a strange kind of comfort to have it. 

───※ ·❆· ※───

Things come to another disastrous head some weeks later. It happens after the nurse sees Claire tucked into bed before heading home for the evening. It happens after you give your sister your own goodnight wishes. You had gently brushed her hair from her face and gave her a kiss on the forehead even if she scrunches her face in mock disgust each time you do. There’s no telling which moment between the two of you will be the last. You hadn’t had the luxury of knowing that your mom’s wet pleas for help would be the last gift from her in that twisted hunk of metal. You wanted your little sister to have a happy memory of you if a goodnight ever turned into a goodbye. Less nightmares that way.

You had stood up from your seat on the edge of the bed, made sure to smooth her blanket out. “Sweet dreams, Claire.” you said before you extinguished the slow glow cast by the lamp on her nightstand. 

“‘Night,” she had said to you before yelling. “‘Night, Robot!” in the direction of the door. 

You heard a weary sounding response from the ‘robot’ in question. Six was hovering in the hallway, patiently waiting to escort you to your bedroom door. He’s been diligent in performing the action every single night without fail since your impromptu wrestling session with him. He also hasn’t let you return his watch to him yet. You closed the bedroom door behind you, stepped into the hall and nearly brushed against the tall man. He moved back only enough to give you the barest clearance to get past him so he could trail after you for the scant few steps to your own door. It seems lately that he’s been standing closer to you. It also seems like his eyes have been lingering more on your face than the surveillance feeds at night when you emerge from your room, wide eyed and shaken from whatever terror that had gripped you. Your exchanged goodnights haven’t been anything out of the ordinary though, even if his voice was lower… more intimate than it used to be.

The bubble officially bursts for you when you abruptly jerk awake. You assume it was a nightmare you can’t remember, though you don’t feel any of the usual symptoms. There’s no tremors or wild breathing. You’re just… awake. You think about laying in bed and trying to drift off, but there’s a sense of unease you can’t shake. You make up your mind and shuffle over to the door. Like any other night, you turn the knob and walk out into the hall.

Like a snare snatching a rabbit, rough hands seize you. Your mouth is covered, fingers digging in harshly. And with a sudden drop of your stomach, you register the sensation of a gun pressing into your side. The metal’s coldness burrows though the thin layer of your sleep shirt. You’re frozen in shock, mind racing. Where's Six? Where's the bodyguard uncle Fitz had hired? He was supposed to protect you and your sister. Keep you safe. Why wasn't he doing his job? Why was this man in the house? 

Tears start running down your face without your permission. Your sobs are broken off against the inside of your mouth. They can’t escape the crushing pressure. A scream you can’t release is building in your throat. What if this man did something to Claire?

The gun digs in deeper, grinding against your ribs. He drags you down the hall and into the living room. It’s dark and you flinch as you feel something sharp dig into one of your feet. You whimper. The floor is littered with broken glass. The sound of it shattering must have been what woke you up. 

“Shut up.” the man holding you hisses, giving you a tooth rattling shake while he leans over your shoulder to see where he’s steering you. His breath is sour. “Where is he?”  He must mean Six. 

The bodyguard must still be able to present a problem if this man is asking about him. You’re not completely alone in this. It’s enough to sharpen your mind. To direct your focus. Your eyes are straining to make out anything in the darkness. It’s a mess of shapes that are so familiar in the daylight, but they look like strangers in the darkness. You manage to recognize the coffee table before the attacker does and you pull your leg out of the way. He slams into it and stumbles. He curses loudly through the pain of hitting his shin on the corner. You see your opportunity and savagely bite the hand covering your mouth. The saltiness of blood washes over your tongue but you bury your teeth in deeper. The tendons and nerves give way beneath your teeth. You go until you hit bone and hang on. Even if you don’t make out of this alive, you’re going to make damn sure this fucker doesn’t get to keep full use of his fingers.

He’s groaning, blinded by the shock of pain. You dare to release your hold on him in order to slam the back of your head into his face as hard as you can, throwing yourself into a backwards jump to do so. He lets out a wounded noise and clutches his face. He’s completely let go of you to do so. The gun is on the floor now, dropped in the surprise of your retaliation. You skate awkwardly on the glass as you make a run for it. The floor feels wet under your feet as you sprint for the hall. You’re leaving a trail of bloody footprints in your wake. The scream you’ve felt building weakly escapes. It’s a too quiet utterance of Six’s name. You can’t find the ability to yell as loud as you need to. You’re nearly sightless from a lack of light and terrified tears. You’re battering against the walls and furniture like a moth around a lightbulb. You make it halfway down the hall to Claire’s bedroom when you feel it. A brush of the assailant’s hand against your back. He shouts when he misses you, and you jitter to the side, making contact with the wall right as he slams into the floor. You put your back to it and look down, eyes wide enough in terror to make out the shapes of two struggling men. 

Six is on top of the man who had grabbed you. His silhouette is identifiable even in the murky dark. Relief turns your legs into jelly. He’s come for you after all. You allow yourself to go limp and slide down the wall, curling up on the floor. You squeeze your eyes closed so you don’t have to put a visual to the violence you’re hearing. It’s wet, crunchy. Eventually you only hear the heaving breathing of one man. You don’t know how long you sit there shaking. 

You’re coaxed into opening your eyes by Six’s voice saying your name. Your bedroom door is ajar and the light is on, illuminating the hallway enough to comfortably see, but not enough to where you can’t pretend the dark smears and streaks are shadows. The attacker isn’t in the hall any more. Six is kneeling in front of you. He’s got a cut on his cheek but otherwise looks unharmed.

“Are you with me?” It’s said with aching concern.

"Yeah… Yeah I'm here." You’re all too aware of your stinging feet, the ache of your muscles, the pain in the back of your head. 

Relief floods his face at your words. He reaches out but stops himself before making contact with you. You notice that his knuckles are split open and already bruising. His hand hovers in the space between your bodies, trembling slightly like he can’t bear to touch you but withdrawing is equally torturous. You rock onto your knees and shove yourself into his arms instead. They’re instantly around you. He holds you to himself. It’s all you can do to cling to him in kind. If you could nestle alongside the lungs in his chest, you would make a home in his rib cage. 

"You did well. I'm sorry I wasn't able to keep him from you. His pals kept me busy." His voice is full of bitter frustration. 

You shake your head and speak against his collarbone. “Is Claire okay?”

"She slept right through it. She's still asleep. I just checked on her." He soothes, running a hand up and down your back.

“Good…” you respond, unspeakably thankful. You could cry.

“Do I have your permission to pick you and take you to your bed? I don’t want you walking with your feet like this.” 

“Yeah, but I’m too heavy?” You’re surprised and uncertain. Sure, he had slammed around a grown man like a rag doll, but what if….

“Believe me, you’re not.” He sounds almost amused.

He eases you up onto your knees and over his lap. He encourages you to put your arms over his shoulders. It’s startlingly intimate. You can easily see the fine lines around his eyes at this distance. His breath is warm and against your face, smelling faintly of the watermelon gum he chews. You have just a second to try and process it before he’s gaining a foothold. He stabilizes you with one thick arm under your thighs and his hand on your back. You reflexively gasp and clench the back of his jacket in your hands. Each of his steps is steady. There’s no sign of strain even as he navigates your bedroom doorway. He carefully lowers you to the edge of your mattress and withdraws his arm. Your thighs release their death grip against his hips and you settle into place, feet off the ground. You avoid looking at his face, you know yours feels like it’s on fire. 

You notice that he had already moved your trashcan to your bedside and collected the first aid kit and a roll of paper towels. He must have known you’d cooperate with him. He drags your desk chair over and takes a seat. He pats his thigh encouragingly, and you place your heel right above his knee. He steadies you with a firm hand around your ankle. He removes the shards of glass. He doesn't let you jerk away, not with the grip he has on you, even when the tweezers catch on a particularly deep piece. He works in silence and you eventually allow yourself to lay flat on the bed while he does his task. You don't ask what happened to the man in the hallway. You don't ask how Six got detained in the first place. He doesn’t volunteer the information. The time passes and you’re halfway asleep by the time he’s tying off the wrap securing the bandages on your other foot and carefully easing your leg back down from its elevated position on his thigh. 

"Please stay." You ask the ceiling. You feel more than see Six freeze in response to your question.

“I shouldn’t.” He sounds conflicted. You prop yourself onto your elbows to get a better look at him.

“Do you not want to?”

“It’s not that. It’s anything but that.”

You bite your lip and decide to throw all your cards on the table. “I sleep better when I'm around you. You keep the nightmares away.”

He looks surprised, devastated even. His demeanor couldn’t have been any different than if you had asked him to bare his neck and slit his own throat. Resigned, but he would still pick up the knife for you.

"Give me a minute," is his response. 

He gathers up the supplies and turns off the light on his way out of the room, plunging you into the familiar dark of your room. You're not sure what exactly he does while he’s away, but he comes back sans jacket and with his sleeves rolled up. He carries the acidic tang of cleaning chemicals. He settles back into your chair after tossing the laptop on the desk. The two of you watch each other for a moment 

"Are you okay?"

"Emotionally? I've been better. Physically? I'm fine. Just a few scratches and a bruised ego. " He's soft. You nod, reassured.  

You keep your eyes on his face. It’s lit by the soft glow of the screen. It’s become an unhealthy habit, observing this man. You drift off to sleep facing in his direction. He's there when you wake up. He's clearly gotten up at some point to shower, but he did come back to resume his sentence at your side. You greet each other and he excuses himself back to the common areas of the home.

───※ ·❆· ※───

It becomes a thing, you spending time in his presence outside of what follows your nightmares. Something changed in you after the attack. It has culminated in a strong desire to be near him, to be within the frame of his reassuring gaze. Most of the time but not always, you go with him on his surveillance rounds. You walk with him through the yard. It always feels a little like you’re two society members having a chaperoned walk, but it’s soothing. Routine. You’ve also begun sitting with him in the hours before bed. At the table or on the couch while he watches the TV. The two of you simply exist together. 

You rarely return to your room most nights, choosing instead to make your bed in the living room. If you lay just right on the couch, you can spot the bodyguard keeping watch throughout the night. His presence in the room eases your mind enough to allow you to peacefully sleep. You wish that he hasn’t become so essential. You don’t want to think about what your uncle’s return will mean.

He accepts your new routine without question. You notice that he always has the throw pillow moved from the armchair to the couch on the nights you don’t tell him you’re going to bed. There’s no blanket in the living room, but you usually wake up with his jacket of the day draped over you in lieu of one. 

───※ ·❆· ※───

One night, you and Claire manage to bully him into a game of monopoly after the nurse leaves. You’ve been made the banker because Six doesn’t trust your sister and she doesn’t trust him enough either. 

“You just landed on my boardwalk. That’s fourteen hundred bucks.” Claire announces.

Six takes his hand off the game piece and gives her a look . “I thought you owned the brown properties, not the blue ones.” 

She picks up the deeds for Boardwalk and Park Place and waves them pointedly in his direction. “Nope, fourteen hundred. Fork it over.”

Six lets out a genuinely flustered growl. You have to smother your laugh. He counts out the remainder of his money and tosses it in front of your sister. He’s woefully short and out of assets. You and Claire had run him ragged the course of the game until she managed to bankrupt you with some suspiciously underhand tactics. Looks like she got to Six as well. 

“I’m out.” He says, resigned. 

Claire stretches her arms over her head and lets out a satisfied sigh. She then slumps back into her chair in smug victory as the bodyguard extracts himself from his seat at the table to do his nightly check of the doors and windows. She leans over and taps the watch on your wrist. 

“He hasn’t won this back yet?”

“Oh… uh. No.” Your answer sounds flustered, even to you. 

Your little sister raises her eyebrows. There’s a mischievous gleam in her eyes and she opens her mouth to say something before pausing. She instead gets up and gives you a squeeze around the shoulders. You return it with a one armed hug. “‘Night, sis.” 

“‘Night. I’ll see you in the morning.” You return affectionately, letting her go. 

“‘Night, Robot!” She cheerily shouts. There’s a responding grumble from the direction of the garage. Claire flashes you a grin and a thumbs up. 

She’s in her room by the time Six finishes his checks. You’re in the middle of putting up the game when you feel the weight of his eyes on you. It’s just the two of you alone.  He sits back down at the table to help you with it. He’s like a fire against your left side. You’re surprised he didn’t sit in his usual spot at the head of the table.

He lets out a yawn that he can’t suppress. He’s more undone tonight than you’ve seen him yet. He’s wearing a t-shirt tucked into slacks today. No blazer. His hair is tousled, not smoothed into place with product like usual. You think he looks more approachable like this. Your hands touch when you both go to scrape the same pile of deeds off the table. You both freeze. You hear your heart pounding in your ears and with it muffling every other sound, you trail your fingers over the top of his. He shudders when you brush over his knuckles and skim over the dots tattooed into the meat of his thumb. He doesn’t move, staying perfectly still for your exploration. You reach the horse on his forearm and you think his breath hitches in response. You linger on the horse, using your pointer finger to trace its outline. You follow the swoop of its tail, down the outstretched hind leg. 

A soft groan from the man you’re touching makes you remember yourself. You withdraw your hand like you’ve been burnt. He twitches and jerks his own hand towards you like he’s about to reach out and stop you, but he doesn’t. You can still feel the sensation of his skin under your fingertips even as you glue your eyes to the remaining monopoly money and sort it into the tray with unsteady hands. You finish putting up the game in silence. You sleep in your own bed that night. He escorted you to your room. 

───※ ·❆· ※───

You wake up weeping the next night. You lay on the couch staring at the living room ceiling while tears involuntarily run down the sides of your face. The imprint of spider webbing glass still swirling around in your mind. You must have made some kind of noise, because Six is making his way across the room. 

You sit up and take a swipe at your face. “I’m sorry.”

"You have to let it out somehow. May I?” He asks, gesturing to the space next at your side. You nod and scoot over to give him slightly more space.

He puts the ever present laptop with its surveillance feed on the coffee table before sitting down. You feel your cushion dip. Against your better judgment, you lean against him. He’s solid. He relaxes underneath the pressure of your body. You instantly feel better. You watch the cameras with him for a while, sighing along with him as the local monkeys throw the lid off the trashcan at the curb in search of a meal. You’ll have to clean up after them after the sun rises. It’s one of the downsides to living in Hong Kong. 

You stay leaning against him for a while, but a stiffness in your neck gets you to change position. Moving slowly so he’s fully aware of your movements, you carefully lay down. He’s taken the place of your improvised throw pillow cushion. Your head is resting on his thigh. He puts his hand on your upper arm and gives it a reassuring squeeze. He leaves it resting there, heavy and warm. 

You wake up a few hours later. The sun is cascading through the living room, throwing rainbow hues on the floor thanks to the decorative glassware. You’re comfortable, too comfortable you realize. Your eyes widen in horrified surprise. You’re still using the bodyguard as a pillow. He's shifted slightly through the night, more slumped and relaxed. He's slid down further, and your face is firmly pressed against his hip now instead of his thigh. You know that you’re going to have the imprint of one of his belt loops on your cheek. His arm is loosely draped over you with his hand tucked underneath your side, a bastardized attempt at spooning. You crane your neck to catch a glimpse of his face. He’s sound asleep. 

You try to sit up without disturbing him, but his arm tightens around you and applies pressure. You’re locked into place. Your mind races. If the nurse or, worse, Claire comes into the room and sees you and Six like this… You have to get up. You put a hand on his thigh and use it as a support to push yourself up. He’s instantly awake from the overt movement. He lifts his arm off your body and lets you sit up. You turn to say something, but find him already staring. His blue eyes are focused on you, they’re sleepy and confused but quickly sharpen to alertness. He looks vaguely distressed. All you can do is offer him a smile and squeeze his leg. You stand up and he follows. Your day goes as usual.

───※ ·❆· ※───

Your nights are largely the same, except that Six seems more distant. He doesn't linger as closely or as comfortably as he did before. Your interactions with the man are more professional. It’s as though weeks, months , of getting to know each other have been erased and you’re back at the beginning. Strangers again. It hurts. You miss him like hell even though he’s right there. Your sleep is worse. It’s almost as bad as in the weeks following the incident that started them in the first place, but they’re different. Amongst the disjointed scenes, there’s a broad shouldered man with dirty blond hair walking away from you in your nightmares now. You scream for him but no sound ever escapes you, just noiseless air. You never see his face. 

You finally have enough when he escorts you to your room one night. You haven’t slept on the couch for over a week, and he’s taken that as his cue to resume seeing you to your bedroom door. You turn to face him as always in the doorway. Instead of saying goodnight like you do every night, you confront him. It even catches you by surprise.

"You're avoiding me.” He doesn’t deny it and you think that hurts more than the newfound distance itself. 

“Why?” You ask only to get more silence. He won’t look at you. 

”What did I do wrong?” Your voice trembles and you hate it. You fumble to take off his watch, to return that final tie between the two of you. He reflexively clamps down on your wrist before you can undo the clasp, pinning your hand to your own wrist. He releases his near crushing grip almost immediately, but the ghost of it lingers. Point taken. You let your arms fall to your side in a clear display of frustration, willing him to talk.

“It wasn’t you. I  overstepped. Your uncle hired me to do a job and I've stepped beyond my purview. " The confession is rough. Torn out of him. The corner of his mouth pulls down in a grimace.

You stare at him blankly. "What?"

"I allowed myself to be too close with you. I apologize. I was unprofessional." He explains, but he won't quite meet your eyes. He hasn't for a while. Not since the morning following the night you fell asleep on him.

"You were... unprofessional?” You question, absolutely lost.

"Yes. I let my feelings about you affect me and my work.. I’ve become… compromised." It's matter of fact. It’s said like he hadn’t just dropped a bomb on you.

You reach out and grab his jacket lapels. He looks at you like a beaten dog might, as though you might strike him. He makes no motion to pull himself from your grasp. You swallow hard and let out a breath.

"What about my feelings for you?" You ask. His breath catches and he shakes his head, disbelieving. 

“It would be better if you didn’t feel anything for me.” There’s heartbreak in his blue eyes even as he looks at you like there’s nothing else in the world he would rather be seeing. 

“Better for who?” Your mouth is unbearably dry as you ask the question.

“You. I’ll only jeopardize you.”

”Six…” 

You pull him down and you press your mouth against his. He's rigid and unmoving for a moment before he's kissing you like a dying man who has just been offered immortality. His hands come to rest on your back. He grips your clothing like it’s a lifeline keeping him from going under. You gently nip at his bottom lip and he gasps against your mouth, a broken little noise. He tastes like watermelon gum.

 You pull away. “Jeopardize me then.

That forces a quietly helpless laugh from him. "Now that was unprofessional." His voice is hoarse.

"I had to give you a proper example." 

"Good job. I feel exampled.”

" Good ." You say and kiss him again. He's ready for it this time. He keeps it slow. His hands gently trace your body. He's slowly rubbing his thumb back and forth against your side. You step back, walking him into your room. His breathing is ragged and he's gripping you with a desperation you can’t put your mind around. You stand there, intertwined in each other. His facial hair is rough against your skin but the burn feels good. Your hands make their way around his neck and you gently card your fingers through the short hairs at the nape of his neck. He makes a wounded sounding noise in response before he pulls away. His hand is cradling the side of your face to keep you in place while his eyes roam across your face. It's as though he’smemorizing you, imprinting the fine details of this moment into his mind. As though he’s preparing to say goodbye. He trails his fingers gently down your jaw before he lets his hand drop.

"Will you stay? Can we sleep?" You ask before he can make up a way to excuse himself.

There’s a dizzying moment of silence before his face softens. “Okay. Yeah.”

The two of you are left to navigate the awkwardness of getting ready for bed. You spin your finger around in a circle and Six immediately gets the idea. He puts his back to you while you change into your sleepwear as quickly as you can. You turn around after giving him the verbal ‘all good’ in time to see him pull off his jacket and toss it onto the desk chair he had occupied when you first realized how addicted you were becoming to him. He pulls his belt off, coils it around his hand before setting it aside. You watch him unbutton his dress shirt. His fingers work deftly to slip the buttons through the holes. He shrugs the shirt off and lays it over the jacket. He’s in his undershirt and slacks. He bends down to untie his shoes and sets them aside. He straightens up and there’s nervousness on his face. You’ve never seen him nervous before. Worried? Yes, but not nervous. 

You slide into the bed and fold down the other side of the blanket for him. You gesture for him to come lay down beside you. He approaches warily and settles in stiffly at your side. His head is on the pillow, hands overlapping on his stomach. He looks like a body in a coffin. You gently touch his hands. He jolts.

“Are you okay?” You ask softly, letting your hand rest on top of his.

“I haven’t slept in the same bed as someone since I was a child,” he admits.

“Oh… and that was…?”

“Over twenty-five years ago.”

You allow yourself a moment to grieve for this man before you pull away to shut off the bedside lamp.. You roll onto your back and flop your arms to the side. “Come here then. I’ve used you as a pillow. It’s time for me to return the favor.”

You feel the mattress shift under his weight and he hesitates, hovering over you with arms braced on either side of your body. It’s intimate, having him over you in this way. It’s enough to make you want to kiss him again.You hear him draw breath to raise some kind of concern so you just wrap your arms around him and pull him down on top of you. The weight of him pins you into the mattress. It’s comforting. He’s heavy and warm, akin to a weighted blanket. Granted, a weighted blanket wouldn’t have a muscular thigh wedged between your legs or be breathing against your neck in a way that makes you want to shiver. You fight to ignore your body’s response to him and work on easing the tension that’s holding him rigid against you. 

He gradually relaxes as you trace your hands over his back. You feel more than hear him groan when you pass over a particularly sensitive spot. The rumble feels almost like a purr against your chest. You narrow in on that location, working your fingers into the tight muscle. He allows himself to go limp on top of you, no longer stiffly trying to spare you the brunt of his mass. You run your fingers through his hair, gently scratching his scalp as a reward for letting himself relax. It earns you a low moan and an involuntary shift of his hips. You’ll have to keep that reaction in mind for later. 

Six’s breathing soon evens out. Years of exhaustion and sleep deprivation have him rapidly sinking into the oblivion of sleep when offered such a precious comfort. You fall asleep with your hand still in his hair. You have the most peaceful rest of your adult life. There’s no night terrors, no pain, no fear, no longing, you just sleep .

The bodyguard is still asleep on top of you when you wake. His breath is whistling slightly through his nose. Not quite a snore, but it’s a sound that gets a fond smile out of you. You wish you could wake up like this every morning. Just this once has given you an insatiable longing for more. You bite the inside of your cheek at the thought of the future. Uncle Fitz is due to return from his trip soon, which means the dismissal of Six from the Fitzroy home to complete whatever assignment is next on his task board. You don’t figure him for the abandoning type though. That way of thinking about him doesn’t fit in with the loyalty and thoughtfulness you’ve seen him exercise in his time spent with you and your sister. You’re sure that he’ll find a way to stay in contact after this job ends. 

You gently smooth down his hair. He shifts and buries his face against the hollow of your throat more firmly. You pause, hoping you didn’t wake him, but then you hear a sleep roughened voice say, “Don’t stop on my account.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

[gatorbites-imagines]

Request or just saying

One piece is so good but all I was thinking is how Law can be a bit of a brat sometimes especially when he runs off and gets his ass in trouble (I'm sorry I was dying of laughter when his ass got beat by the flamingo guy, I can not spell his name for the life of me). So imagine a bigger sly reader punishing him 🤤

Like reader is happy Law survived and he punishes him, nsfw or not

This could be a good fluff or smut type thing, I don't mind!!

Love your writing

Trafalgar Law x bigger male reader

Headcanons

The thing I love about one piece is that a request can say bigger reader, and I can make reader anywhere from a few inches taller than the other character, or make them 10 feet tall, and it would fit into the one piece universe.

Reader is 8 or 9 feet in this, cuz hehe, I love size difference.

You were the holder of a devilfruit, a zoan fruit more specifically, the tiger fruit. This granted you the power of any zoan fruit, and resulted in you having a striped pattern on your skin most days, as well as tiger ears and a tail flicking behind you, as that was most comfortable for you.

You had been a part of the heart pirates for a long time, and had been dating Law for a good chunk of that. You regularly used your tiger form to get him to sleep, transforming into a huge tiger and flopping down on top of him to keep him down.

He could easily use room to get away, but Law learns you’ll just follow him and keep it up. When you don’t turn into a tiger, youll still pick him up and keep him in your lap, making tiger noises in your chest as you rub your chin on the top of his head after knocking his hat off.

You end up having to pull him out of trouble a lot, at this point you are sure it’s the D in his name, as he attracts danger like a magnet. It leaves the hairs on your tail puffed up and frizzy, as you always feel the need to look out for him.

More than once you’ve had to swoop in, in tiger form, and chase off any enemy that’s too much, just to scoop Law up and carry him back to the Polar Tang as he pouts and grumbles like the brat he is.

People outside the crew can’t seem to believe you when you mutter about Law being a brat. Everyone on your crew knows it’s the truth, and he can get especially bratty with you at times when he wants to rile you up.

Law always gets this lazy but satisfied grin on his lips when he catches your tail wagging from side to side in annoyance, your teeth and claws sharper than normal as you try to suppress the urge to chase him down and punish him in one way or another.

Laws sacrificial ways have always left you feeling stressed, and after the fight with Doflamingo you want to rip all your fur out because you really felt like you were gonna lose your lover.

You thank Luffy and the strawhats for keeping him safe, even if you are also very bruised and bloodied from the fighting, before carrying Law back to the Polar Tang like you are used too, still transformed into the more Anthro looking form similar to the form Lucci takes, but a tiger instead.

The rest of the heart crew knows to give you space as you rumble deep in your chest, scolding Law as you stomp back towards the submarine, Law pouting as he lays in your arms with his arms crossed.

The wild thrashing of your tail and the twitching of your ears also tells your crew to find somewhere else to spend the night, or else they’re gonna be hearing their captains voice throughout the whole submarine.

Some of the strawhat crew seems to pick up whats up, whilst others don’t, so the ones in the know have a little laugh at Laws fate, but they leave you guys to it, since the celebrating will take a while anyways.

Law wont even look at you as you throw him into your bed, a bed big enough to feet all 9 feet of your height, his arms crossed as he stares at the wall like it’s the most important thing in the world.

You transform into your more human form, pacing back and forth at the bottom of the bed, growling and grumbling as you scold him, making sure to get your point across, till Law starts to feel bad for his behavior, at least somewhat.

His shoulders climb up to his ears and Law finally looks at you, his pout melted away into something a little softer and almost guilty. But it immediately melts away when you stop prowling and crawl up the bed towards him.

Instead, a glint appears in his eyes, that bratty satisfied grin like he has gotten just what he wanted from his behavior.

But, Law soon comes to regret that, as you take that expression as a challenge, and he soon finds himself thrown over your large bulky thighs, his pants pulled down to his knees as you spank him, making him count each strike.

In this situation, your much larger size is something Law curses, as your hand covers pretty much his entire ass as you lay into him, growling his wrongdoings at him, fangs flashing as striped fur licks up your arms and sideburns, your eyes flashing between human and those of a tiger.

Its only when he loses the ability to count and hes reduced to a blubbering moaning mess that you slow down, basking in the tears running down his face as he sobs and apologizes.

Its only after you find his cries and tears satisfactory that you pull his pants the rest of the way off and sit him up, pulling him into your lap. You have to lean down somewhat to kiss his forehead, but after such a spanking Law is so sweet and pliable.

He whimpers and shudders, face wet with tears and drool as he clings to your chest, hips lifted to not press his aching behind against your strong thighs. But the punishment has also left him aching somewhere else, his cock twitching and leaking as need burns up his spine.

You make sure to praise him and mumble how much you love him as you rub his back, comforting him through his tears until he’s calmed down enough for you to focus on something else, as the pain of the punishment lessens, and Laws lust grows.

When Law starts to whine and whimper for something else, you roll him onto his back, shucking off the rest of his clothes as you go.

Law gasps and shudders as his aching behind presses against the sheets, but his focus is quickly somewhere else as you start licking at his neck and torso, your tongue rough and sharp against his skin, your feline tongue leaving red strips across his skin from the sandpaper like texture.

Law tries to keep quiet, but with him already being so worked up from earlier, its easy to get him to wail and moan loud enough for it to fill the entire Polar Tang. Especially when your rough tongue brushes against the underside of his cock.

The first time you do that his back arches almost painfully, the noise the leaves him sounding almost tortured as he grips onto your hair, his throat burning from the intensity of his wail.

Law shudders and moans, what little shame that had been before bleeding out of his body as your large hands hold his hips down, your tongue carefully rolling against his sensitive length, never dragging or hurting too much. You rub it against him just enough for him to feel and for it to leave him shaking.

You rumble and purr as his blurry eyes fall shut, a tear running down his cheer as he lets out a soundless wail of pleasure, his entire body tensing and toes curling as white spurts leave his cock, splattering across the flat side of your tongue and across his torso.

As he goes limp you rub his hips and thighs, pulling your tongue away from his sensitive flesh to mutter praise and loving words to him as he pants and continues to moan softly.

Its only when you know he’s returned somewhat to himself that you crawl up the bed again. After laying down on your back, you pull him on top of you, letting him curl up in your arms for a bit. You’ll get up soon to get stuff to treat the bruises in a bit, but first you need to hold him as he shudders and grasps onto you, Law needing you to ground him.

You end up curling your tail around him, letting some fur appear on your torso so he can run his fingers across it in a grounding and comforting manner, a loving rumble leaving your throat and chest and leaving Law feeling tired but comfortable.

He may be bratty at times, but he’s your brat, and you’ll straighten him out when he needs it when you have too. It’s a process you both love more than you two will ever admit, and a process that annoys your crew at times, but that’s just what its like being part of the heart pirates at this point.

[weebsinstash]

losing my mind over the idea of Lucifer being swerved every time by an oblivious reader. He “casually” drops how he used to pull wives at the drop of a hat and reader just goes “that’s great Lucy ☺️” and wanders off while bro is going through the stages of grief

I just love the idea of like, a Reader who GENUINELY IS oblivious and isn't trying to troll him by any means, you ARE just completely unable to fathom this man is coming on to you or legitimately means the things he says.

You're sitting there after Husker made you a tequila for the first time and you're sipping on it and Lucifer's just plopping down in the next stool over, "there was once a time in the past I shared a tequila with a woman, and, well, let's just say 9 months later my daughter Charlie was born!" and you reply without any hesitation at all, "yeah! you know, this is my first time trying tequila but I think it's really nice, although everything Husker makes me is pretty tasty so I've been trying lots of new stuff recently! like the other night I had my first shot of absinthe with Alastor and the taste was so--" and Husker is FACEPALMING and Lucifer is... honestly I think it would be really cute if he ADORES when you show your interests and passions when you start ranting about stuff, so he's like, even when he's mentally gritting his teeth with frustration, he'll be sitting there watching you doe eyed for as long as you want to talk, entertaining any of your long winded tangents or rapidly changing conversational topics

Ugh... you don't understand... the allure of being a tiny fragile human and he's. Well also tiny but he's this ancient inhuman creature who's also just A Silly Loving Family Man. Like. He's ALL POWERFUL. He can pull you into a singing dancing musical where he can make whatever he wants appear, he CAN basically warp materials and reality however he pleases, like... just...he's the small full package who probably HAS a full package if you know what I mean 😏 don't even look at me but characters like him n deku got me thinking about being fawned over by cute guys who are shorter than you but can absolutely easily overpower you without breaking a sweat and are more hung than nature should really allow

Seduction can be a fine line between sexy and cringey and can you imagine he says something to you that just, it just does NOT land. He's got you on your back in your bed and he's above you, with his hand directly under your chin, and he purrs that he wants to plant his seed directly in the fertile soil of your garden and you just LAUGH IN HIS FACE, like "BITCH WHAT?!" Like you CRUSH HIM, FATALITY, man is suffering psychic and emotional damage, you are chipping away at his health bar as you sit there "Haha, you're so goofy Mr Morningstar 🤣 you always know how to make me laugh" and he's HUFFING and laughing in frustration, "OKAY, let's try this again! When I'm done with you, Charlie might have a new sibling on the way!"

"Awww thank you! Charlie's already like a sister to me but I'm glad you're seeing it literally 🥰"

Can you imagine it. The ultimate cockblock. Giving him the ultimate swerve, hitting him with the ultimate grand slam, "YOU'RE LIKE THE FATHER I NEVER HAD" like, how can he possibly stick his dick in you now he knows you see him as YOUR DAD 🥺❤️ He can't VIOLATE his BABY (or can he 😳🤔)

Can't stop thinking about Reader who is completely unaware that this man is unhinged levels of Down Bad until the very moment he's wrestling you down to either fuck you or have a full on love confession. You're just goofing around and palling around and occasionally giving him hugs where you smush your titties or whatever in his face because he's the perfect height and you love to tease him and, then, to YOU, he's 'suddenly without warning' trying to kiss you, say all these passionate things to you, putting his hands in places they've never been before--

I'm still hung up on... the idea of Lucifer impregnating the Reader and you have your little you know cute apple womb tattoo and. I just know he'd be fussing and cooing and like ANNOYING levels of lovey dovey, baby talking your belly before you're even showing. He'd wanna get married with a big fancy flashy wedding to show you off. He'd wanna announce to all of Hell he has a new spouse and want everyone to fear/worship/respect/adore you. He's making this baby SO MANY GIFTS with his own two hands, you have no idea. Duck themed cribs, duck themed onesies, duck themed ducks, he'll make it all! In fact he'll make too many! But, still not enough to satisfy him! Everything has to be perfect, for you, for the baby, for his growing lovely family!

I dunno. Don't expect me to be normal about the fact the man can shapeshift either... he's about to slither right into my incognito tabs...

[peaterookie]

Lupin Week 2024 Day 4: AUs and Mythology

Goemon's face looks like he's seen a ghost.

ahhhh god ok my stupid stupid silly au i made a year ago.... this will be a bit long so get ready

tldr: lupin died, the gang is alive. goemon finds lupin but he's a shark merman!? and lupin remembers nothing!!!

long version:

so this AU follows upon the story of shin lupin, which basically, the gang gets killed off by zenigata because he rigged an island full of explosives.

instead of them all dying however, lupin decides to knock the gang unconscious and find a way for them to escape off the island safely, leaving only him in the island to die.

the rest of the gang had no idea how they escaped and assumed that lupin had sacrificed himself for them. they woke up adrifted on the ocean until they eventually got picked up by a ship where the invisible captain from new adventures returns. but ah ill spare the details for another day

---

2 years have passed and the gang just kinda separated to do their own thing. we'll only focus on goemon cuz he's the featured character of this comic.

goemon decided to escape the life of crime that has burdened him for years living as a part of the lupgang. he's mostly a wanderer now and tries to do good and help people along the way

funnily enough, goemon is not the first person to find lupin, but I'll talk about this later. but goemon is definitely very mixed about seeing his friend who he thought was dead for years. he doesn't know whether to be happy or worried.

---

lupin, at the brink of death after the explosion, plummets down the ocean and wakes up one day, feeling like he's been rebirthed!

essentially, lupin became a merman because right before he could die, his body (i mean what's left of it 💀) interacted with a magic crystal that has the ability to grant life to a living being.

It's really rare, but it exists in clusters deep in the ocean floor or- deep under the rocks of an island :) you can say im bullshitting, which i am but i dont think exploding an entire island down to every rock has happened before, so it can kinda make sense why something so coincidental about these crystals could happen. (I AM TOTALLY MAKING EXCUSES I JUST WANTED TO MAKE LUPIN A MERMAN.)

and so these crystals used whats left of lupins body and reassembled him back, and idk other essences of the ocean to make him a merman!

the memories of his past life have definitely been buried deep inside his brain to the point he can't remember any of it though, so he thinks that he was born under the ocean and has lived there for his entire life. other than that he retains almost everything about himself, down to stealing stupid shit and messing with humans just for the fucks of it. he's kinda seen as like a nessie.

---

anyways, y'know how i said goemon wasn't the first one to meet lupin? that's because lupin has met zenigata before!

living a life with only fishes around means lupin's kinda lonely and likes to stalk humans sometimes. the interaction with him and zenigata did not end well though, and lupin has no idea why zeni wants him dead so much.

after that he's way more cautious around people that look like zenigata- hatted big men with guns. its gonna be fun once he sees jigen.

ok what else... i think that's all i want to reveal now. will i do more of this? maybe. maybe not. kinda embarrassed of this because of how silly it is but i hope you people find this interesting! byebye

[confusedasever]

I love your human designs!! Did something inspire them? Especially Logans and Virgils

How I made the human au designs!

All my designs are based off common fandom headcanons I’ve seen and enjoyed. I’m sure it’s pretty obvious lol. I loved taking inspiration from the other amazing human fander artists out there. It’s like a group project also isn’t it cute how the “light” sides hair goes one way and the “dark” sides hair goes the other? That was accidental.

(Fun fact a former dear friend helped with the designs of Patton and Virgil. So props to them. Thanks star!)

The designs:

🌩️Virgil: short, black hair, purple streak to look cool, (the eyes were my friends idea) really good fashion. He’s part of the freckle club. Plus he has pointy elf ears! Often wears earrings and is haunted by the ghosts of his past. My friend did the heavy lifting so if you like Virgil’s design thank them.

🪐Logan: tbh it’s just character designs I like + normal Logan, dark eyes, eye bags, freckles, ties, glasses, why change perfection any more than you have to right? I just draw him like first try every time too it’s scary lol he just appears

���Patton: (Another design I got help with) rounder body type, fluffy curly blonde hair, round glasses freckle club member. Manages to look like the worlds cutest man. He’s the only one with a fully rendered drawing. Logan steals his clothes.

🥇🥈Roman & Remus: these identical twins look like Alex and Alex’s evil twin from stardew valley ngl but they’re designs are inspired by Roman typically being coloured tanner than the others. Remus dresses like he wants attention, Roman dresses like he’s a cartoon character. They’re ahoge’s are crowns cause why not?

🐍Janus: first Janus appearance. Pale, angular and blonde. The scales are now a scar that covers most of his body. (Blind and dead on that side) Still managing to slay. Even if he dresses very oddly. Tries to look rich looks lame instead. Kinda a bad person. Sorry Janus at least you still have a hat. I hate drawing hats.

☕️🍬Remy&Emile both have designs but tbh they’re pretty much entirely just ocs me and my friend made very loosely based on sander sides so idk if I’ll ever share them.

[bluexiao]

#kunikuzushi, how do you love? 

—rewritten relationship headcanons (from “scaramouche, how do you love?” )

THEMES. (pre)relationship, fluff, domestic, character analysis, love languages, use of his real name

NOTES. okay, just a little bit of storytime on how i was so tempted to write this (albeit again) is that recently my mom got fractured and as i am an only child and away from home since i’m going to uni and in a dorm, it’s my dad who’s taking care of my mom. and oh my god. both scara and my dad are capricorns and their bdays are even next to each other,,, and i just cant help but like compare their love languages a bit (it may sound weird but trust me this will be good)

WANDERER / KUNIKUZUSHI 

He knows love—knows its meaning, knows what it does, and knows what its consequences are. Love is but a rose with thorns, pricking whoever chooses to admire its beauty and immerse them in its pleasure. Love is a danger, and far too humanly him. 

It will not be long until he recognizes this disgusting feeling since he met you. 

But as he was his own person, he chose not to identify it—to call it by its name. Out of fear? No. Out of instincts. 

He who didn’t have a heart suddenly felt love? Preposterous. Absurd. He wasn’t human, nor will he stoop so low to pretend to be one. 

Yet he underestimated you far too much—your… charm… so to speak, along with the unpredictability of your actions. How you show up and how your lips curl up in a gentle smile and how his name slips out of them ever so… gentle. Everything about you is gentle, and kind, and so… so-

“Good morning, Kunikuzushi” 

His jaw tightens and he dreaded for the sudden presence almost immediately as it had appeared. 

“It’s you.” It’s always been you—the only one that actually makes him want to run away from. But he won’t, no. He wouldn’t give you the pleasure to know, not ever. 

“It’s me,” you smiled, “hey, I haven’t seen you for a while. You even changed your outfit! Blue looks good on you.” 

He scoffs, almost out of instinct. It is true that it has been a while since he last saw you and yet, it felt like it was just yesterday. And with that thought, he couldn’t bear to look directly in your eyes that with a hand on his hat, he looks away. 

“There’s no need for pleasantries,”—like usual, he replies, and he adds on, “but it’s not much of a surprise to see you again, Y/n.” 

Which actually translates to “it’s nice to see you again”. 

The only time he will actually “confess” with such feelings in mind to you is never—not outrightly or with words, but rather by his actions. 

The indication you may want to look out for is when he himself attentively seeks you out, if you see him often, and if he actually stays with you for a long time, almost the whole day—actually, even if he spares you just a bit of it would be a good indicator. 

When he places an arm over your form whenever there’s an incoming enemy, muttering a “Move back” and makes sure you would actually listen before he proceeds to atack and defeat anyone on his way—both of yours.

When he offers his hand every time there’s a steep slope that you had to pass by, scoffing at your surprised look and says “Couldn’t have you fall down and whine all the way back. Now, come on, lend me your hand before I change my mind.” 

When he waits for you until you finish your work—you’d almost think he wouldn’t since it took you a while, only to find that he’s still there, arms crossed over his chest as he’s leaning on a wall on a far corner, yet it’s still enough to have you visible from his view. “What? Why are you looking at me with that face? I’m not tired, is that what you’re thinking? I don’t tire easily, human.” 

And whenever you’re sick or you’re injured, he will be more silent than he ever was, by your side with pursed lips, nursing you back to health. Even without him actually saying it, you will know how affected he was just by seeing your state. If he told you of his history, you’d know right away that seeing your fragility, vulnerability, your mortality… it can trigger memories that were not really the nicest to him. 

“What happened?” 

For a moment, you can see the hurt in his eyes, struggling to find the right words even if you knew you could explain the situation very well only to falter right in front of him. With this side of him. 

“Kuni, I… I just-“ 

‘How can you be so careless?” His voice was weaker, much more gentle despite its usual tone still laced with it. Yet the Wanderer finds himself unable to change his disposition, not with you like this. 

“Humans…” he mutters under his own breath, and you are unable to speak any more. 

But despite everything, he only knows love, he spent most of his lifetime seeing it as a nuisance, a danger. He did not want to love, did not want the desire to flow in his mechanical and heartless body. 

And yet, it seems that even a puppet without a heart like him can. Love—whatever it is. 

“I love you,” it was you who confessed, “Kunikuzushi.” 

Despite already knowing it deep down, the crease on his brow was visible despite how he tried to look calm, but as you didn’t see such a tiny detail with your head bowed down, you continued on. 

“It’s getting… I mean, I don’t know if you really like me the same way, or you’re just too bored on your own or just treat me as a friend, but… but I don’t think I can go on without being honest to you.” 

Only when you looked directly at him did he feel it—a pang in his empty mechanical chest and a pressure on his shoulders. 

“I don’t like you as just a friend, Kuni.”

A minute or two passes—that’s what you felt like anyway as you melt under his gaze, awaiting for his answer or just… anything! 

“Ugh… why…” 

Then his facade fades, all by a bite on the lip as he looks away for a moment with a hand on his hat. And even if he tried to retract his face away from your view, you could still see enough to notice the pinkish red hue on the skin of his face, all the more so with his exposed ear. 

And as if the pressure in the air gives up to gravity, that same weight on your own shoulders eases up, eyes widening at the sight in front of you. 

Then he peeks from his hat and glares at you, “Why… why are you doing this to me, Y/n?” 

The transition to dating wouldn’t even make much of a big difference, actually. That was what he realized when you two were already “dating” so it seems. Frankly, he was confused by it, only to come up with the conclusion that it is better this way anyway. You and him… are just you and him, there was no need for extravagance and grand changes. 

But really, it was because you two were already comfortable with each other. And the only thing that changed was… 

You blink your eyes open and you welcome the sight of him right in front of you, his soft laughter enveloping your ears as he grins at you. You didn’t know what amuses him so much that he can smile like that, but… 

“What? What is it, Kuni? Did I…” 

“You fell asleep just from reading a couple of books. To think you’d be this lazy in studying, darling.” 

He then leans in and presses his lips on your forehead, not before swiping his palm on them and scoffing afterwards. “Overworking doesn’t make you more intelligent. How about falling asleep on an actual bed so you can have an adequate amount of energy left,” he crosses his arms, “Actually. Sleep on the bed now, or I’ll have to carry you instead.”

He scolds you more… and also kisses you too. A lot of it consists of pecks here and there, it doesn’t really matter to him when or where. He doesn't care if people saw or not—if they did, it’s a good thing anyway, they’d know who they’ll come up against if they ever mess with you. 

He’s with you most of the time but in times that you’re not and he’s having his own travels alone—which happens quite rarely, actually, he would always go home immediately. He’s not that privy of having to part from you for so long—not that he’d admit that outrightly, but you’d notice it straight away. 

And if he does part with you for a while, he will make you give him your handkerchief or anything small that belongs to you, something that reminds him of you and the home he will go home to. That he’s not just a wanderer now. 

He’s just… him with you. 

And that’s how he loves. He loves slow, but he loves with just… himself, his entire being. Even without a heart, he knew of love. He knew of you. 

reblogs and comments are highly appreciated!!<3

taglist on reblog!

[bookishdaze]

Kingdom of the Planet of the Apes Review. More like Rambling and Word Vomiting.

I saw it last night. Finally. After so long!

I personally thought it was good, and a solid addition to the POTA franchise. I don't think it's better than Dawn or War, but I'm willing to bet that by the time the full trilogy is out, Kingdom is gonna be looked back upon as a good beginning to Noa and Mae's story, the same way Rise, despite being most people's least favorite of the Caesar trilogy, is still an amazing intro to Caesar's story.

Some nitpicks. Despite the movie being 2.5 hours long, I felt like the final act came too fast? Like, I understand what people meant with the pacing issue. Suddenly we were in the 3rd act and I was like "Wait, we're here? It's done?"

Now, onto the characters! Let the fangirling commence!

Noa

I loved seeing how his journey and character started and where he ends by the end of the movie.

Him going from "That is the law" to "That is the law. But the law is wrong" was so satisfying.

And him being able to call the eagles to him by the end was great to see. By the way, THE SINGING SCENE WITH THE EAGLES???? LIKE???? It could've been so corny but I LOVED IT???

I'm so glad this movie answered the question of whether apes can sing. Yeah, I know they are only humming, but I'LL TAKE IT. APES CAN SING. YESSSS!

He was just a really nice character to follow. I can't wait to see how he'll be like in the next movie after the events of this one transformed him.

I also think he is the kind of protagonist we need after Caesar. I love Caesar, but Noa is....hmm, I guess you could say softer? More naive? I'm sure he'll get tougher as the movies progress like Caesar did, but I like this change.

Mae

I am a Mae defender. Yes, she did betray Noa in the end. I expected her to tbh. And I understand why she did it. She was right in that Proximus getting his hands on those weapons would've been disastrous.

She has probably been taught all her life nothing but bad things about the apes. She was not going to switch sides just because she met Noa. We still got two whole movies after this. She probably won't have her "redemption" until the 3rd movie. I can honestly go on rambling about her, but I'd rather save that for another separate post.

Raka

I really like him. He's great and funny. I love seeing how he talks about humans and his hopes for humans and apes.

Right before he dies, he reminds Noa "Together, strong." His final words and his necklace as a gift to Noa serve as a reminder. A reminder of a hopeful future where apes and humans can coexist. (And then Noa passing along that same necklace to Mae? Bringing a reminder of that hope for peace into her world? Ugh. So good.)

Also, "He was my village." LIKE. DID HE LOSE HIS PARTNER? MY HEART.

Proximus

I thought he was cool. He gave my mother and I a jump scare at the dinner scene where he slams his fist. Also, the way he was just in awe of the gun after Lightning dies. He has his priorities.

Soona and Anaya

Those two were so cute, and I loved their friendship with Noa.

Anaya broke my heart. In the beginning at the tunnel scene, he's all like "Anaya is not scared." But at Proximus's kingdom, he looks terrified at the dinner scene, and before he goes on the mission to climb the wall, he goes "Anaya is scared" and didn't want to go. Poor guy. He pulled through in the end though.

Although *puts on tinfoil hat* this makes me wonder if this foreshadows how his fear will lead him to make a big mistake in the future movies. Similar to what happened with Winter.

Soona was so sweet. Although I'm disappointed we didn't get more of her with Noa. I saw an interview where Soona's actress described a moment where after they are reunited, they kind of make known their feelings for each other or something like that. But...it didn't happen?

Mae and Noa

Alrighty, I'm gonna briefly put on my shipping goggles on, bear with me, because one has to be a teensy bit delusional for this type of stuff, BUT....

I sensed a....vibe? Not a romantic vibe. They are nowhere close to that yet. But I felt like there were tropes and scenes between them that simply imply a romantic path is a possible direction for their relationship. I will make a separate post about them. I wanna wrap this up, lol.

The ending

I liked the ending. It has me so excited for the future of this trilogy. Now that the humans are able to communicate with others, what will this mean? How will Mae be torn between her people and the apes? Same with Noa? I need to know naooooo

8.5/10 stars (I ain't done rambling about this movie yet. But it's my birthday, and I gotta go out and have some dinner, hehe).

[sunnysam-my]

Hazbin Hotel redesign ideas p. 1

Unfortunately I don't really have time to draw rn, but here are some ideas if anyone is looking for inspiration.

THE VEES:

They follow lates trends so they won't stick to the outfits and technologies from the times they died. We even see that Vox changed his screen (head) to more modern, flat TV screen.

Valentino:

He is a moth that realises poison that's basically a date-rape drug. His wings are hidden, looking like a coat, which makes no sense, a cloak, cape or sleeveless coat would look better. He is a pimp who died in 1970s. Val was Hispanic when living. Apparently, he has bad eyesight.

He is supposed to be a moth, but I don't really see it much, and the furr around his neck, that's a part of his body, just looks ridiculous. I would design him after some actual poisonous moth.

Cinnabar moth - The cinnabar is slate-black with two red spots and two pinky-red stripes on the rounded forewings. Its hindwings are pinky-red and bordered with black. The caterpillars feed on poisonous ragwort leaves. The poison from the leaves is stored in the caterpillar's body and remains even when they are an adult. As adult they leak the poison when they need to. Cinnabar moths can be seen flying during the day and night.

Six-spot burnet moth - day-flying moth that flies with a slow, fluttering pattern. It has glossy black, with six red spots on each narrow, but long forewing. They release hydrogen cyanide when attacked.

Personally I would go with Cinnabar moth, but make the spots heart shaped, and leave his inner outfit without the accessories (the suit with the white pants and golden heart belt). I would also leave his general body type but definitely change the neck furr ring, because wtf is that? I would play around with his glasses since he is supposed to have eyesight problems.

[Edit: Actually, I would make him a combo of both moths and make the furr ring his hair, because he is bald without the hat!?!?]

Velvette:

Velv is a fashion designer and critic, she is also an influencer. She keeps the Vees together and their image fresh on the internet. She's a British black woman in her early 30's. Originally her appearance was supposed to be doll-like, but that was changed to 'it-girl' and a 'bad bitch' with a darker aesthetic.

Velvette's outfit is reminiscent of Val's (heart belt, coat with hearts, black stripes on arms) but darker, especially her sleeveless coat that imitates his wings. Since Valentino is already going to be darker (in my idea) and she is a fashion influencer it would make more sense for her to be brighter.

Main thing I would change about her is her skin tone, hair, and Harley Quinn themes left from her old design.

When creating very human like characters it's important to actually get the racial characteristics right. Her ashy skin and "curly" hair just makes it look like they didn't know how to draw a black character. I would give her a different texture, something between 3A and 4B. A hairstyle like heart shaped space buns would be so cool, but even if not, her styl in a poster in the background is already better than the ponytails.

When it comes to her style I would get rid of pom-poms shoes and fingerless gloves. Her outfit for meeting the overlord was pretty okay, but I would change her other outfit. My inspiration would be PidginDoll's design, because he makes fabulous outfits and makeup looks for all bodies, genders and races, but I'll keep the 'goth' (it's not goth, it's just a little bit alt, mostly skulls) theme.

Blue accents like makeup would work great with her brown skin and would reference Vox.

Vox:

I genuinely think he has the best design in the entirety of the show, I would barely change anything. His outfit is similar to Alastor who he is trying to imitate, but he wears a tail suit, which is way more formal and elegant than any other suit, trying to showing he is a better, modern version of Alastor. I've seen some people got rid of his hat and gave him a tail made out a cord for fun, but other than that his design is good. Not too much details and not too little, tells us a lot about the character.

Maybe less stripes, because apparently Viv loves zebras or something. /hj

[braxiatel]

An assortment of Grian appearance headcanons I’ve had on my mind lately!

(Obligatory mention that I’m talking about Grian the character and not Grian the youtuber, here’s your confirmation that this is not about real life guy Grian minecraft whose appearance is well documented, but rather it is about his minecraft roleplay character who is made out of pixels and blocks and whose appearance is very much up for discussion)

His eyes are that shade of brown that’s so dark it looks black

He wears glasses, and through experience he has learned that unless he wants to be replacing them about once a month he needs them to have a thick and sturdy frame

Grian has a whopping case of adhd and is extremely good at misplacing his belongings. His glasses are not exempt from this just because they help him see, and he has managed to lose every single pair he owns several times. At some point one of his friends (I'm leaning Pearl or Jimmy) got tired of hearing him complain about it, and got him a golden chain to keep them on. Grian pretends he’s just using it because it appeals to his love for shiny things, but in reality it actually helps him a lot and he would be very sad were he to lose it

Speaking of his adhd. This guy moves. He does not sit still, does not like to be doing nothing. He builds, he helps other hermits with stuff they don’t have time to do, and he is well known to do Grindy tasks. And you know what that means? Grian is strong. In fact, Grian is buff

This is related to some hybrid stuff I’ll get more into in a sec, but very specifically, Grian is a flyer and those natural wings need a lot of muscle around them to work. That means a lot of upper body strength, especially in the pectoral region. Yes, I said gritty rights.

I wish I could remember what artist originally drew Grian’s waffle as an undercut with a pattern because I love that headcanon so much. He varies what the rest of his hair looks like (he has a manbun in season 9) but the undercut stays no matter what

Tangentially, the reason Mumbo now has a waffle as well is that his hair just grows in that shape now. He has extremely specific alopecia, and it is unclear whether or not Grian is the same or if he just prefers to keep his hair that way.

Grian has clear and visible bald patches in his eyebrows. This is a product of him having had TNT blow up in his face one too many times, resulting in the follicles having been damaged

Along a similar vein, he is also missing somewhere in the realm of 1-3 fingers total on his hands

I don’t think of Grian as someone who is very particular with his hair or with stuff like makeup. Most days he’ll do the bare minimum of combing his hair to look presentable and that’s it

That said, he loooooooves shiny jewellery, and his wardrobe is by far the largest on the server. Due to aforementioned constant moving he need things that are practical to move in, but other than that he has no rules on what goes in there. You’ve got sequinned mini skirts next to permanently dirt-stained overalls next to rainbow bucket hats. This guy has it all.

He does sometimes wear a red sweater, but I am going to say something controversial here, guys. Look at that man's shirt. Look at that cleavage view. He’s wearing a v-neck

Okay so hybrid headcanons. I have several, mutually exclusive ideas here, but I will go with one I think is, frankly, very underutilised: gryphon hybrid Grian!

Want avian Grian for all of the historically present bird coding? Also want to acknowledge the fact that he has so much mischievous cat energy? Gryphon Grian! He’s half bird, half cat, half human, and all menace.

There are a couple of different bird species I think he could be.

House sparrow, for the noise levels, the tendency to travel in a pack, and the sheer gremlin energy these little bastards exhibit outside of my kitchen window on a daily basis.

I think he could definitely be some kind of corvid too. Maybe a magpie? Beautiful plumage (fight me), incredibly intelligent and likely to make that your problem, and with a call that lends itself very well to Grian’s screech-laughter

You all know my opinions on potoo Grian. It works, okay? Look into his horrible, haunted eyes, you know it to be true.

For a season 10 fisherman arc Grian I am very much leaning towards an oriental darter. There’s just something about the idea of Grian spearfishing for mending books, and sulking in the sun to dry his wings when he only catches fish that I enjoy very much

Owl for his cursed head movements

Okay so wings talk time! I headcanon that naturally avians simply do not have wings strong enough to fly with. They’re too short, and even for someone like Grian who flies A Lot the musculature to support a humanoid frame just isn’t there. That said, elytra are easily modified to function as a sort of wing extension/prosthetic, that allows them to gain much more power for less energy expended.

You would think, with me being the owner of three cats, that I would have some kind of idea for a specific breed of cat he might be. The thing is, my family have historically always kept the same breed (Norwegian forest cat mix c: ), so I know very much about those and no other cat breeds. He is simply cat :)

Biiiiig naughty tortie vibes. My sources for this is I have one of the latter and she is the same level of Problems a Grian

This is the little madam caught in the act of doing something dastardly. She commits one hundred crimes every single day and we love her. Tell me that is not big Grian vibes right there. You can't, right? he is a naughty tortie

Other Grian hybrid options I also like: avian, watcher, robot!!, cod, enchanted armour stand come to life!, and fey!Grian

[yandere-wishes]

Okay so not an ask more of a Headcanon based on observation and the character he is based on, but I see Honest Fellow as someone who would both idolize/emulate and resent the rich. By his design his clothes, while they pay homage to Honest John with the patchwork pantleg and the misding pinky tip on his one glove seem very well-kempt, on top of that his hat and cane are practically emaculate that cane alone couldn't have been cheap though I wouldn't put it passed the sly fox man to have either swindled someone out of it or stole it from them outright. Point is I'm getting wants to be a rich man but hates the rich people vibes.

All of that is set-up for my headcanon that if he ever had a S/O you can bet he would get them jewelry and expensive clothes. Basically just adorn them in finery he had acquired through whatever means (cough, likely stolen or purchased with dirty money, cough) and proudly have them stand by his side. The thought to use them as a pretty little lure to catch even bigger fish might cross his mind, but I doubt he'd ever use them like that. Personally, I feel like he'd be to possessive to do that even if his darling wanted to help like that, after all what if he let's them go off alone and someone tries to take advantage of his poor darling? He doesn't think they're weak or foolish per say but who could protect them better than him? I think he'd have a difficult time even leaving them alone with Gidelle (only 90 percent sure I got that right), of course he trusts Gidelle, well as much as he can truly trust anyone anyway, but he's the brains of the outfit and unless he's personally by his darlings side he won't ever be truly assured something won't go wrong.

Let's say that darling isn't quite so understanding or compliant, his possessive side would certainly get worse. He can't leave them alone for one second qhat if they try and sneak off. Perhaps to save his pride he'd be a bit delusional, they're just a sweet little naive skittish thing that doesn't know any better, possibly they've never known a love as deep and unshakable as his, it's only natural there would be a learning curve for them and who better than he to teach them? I highly doubt he'd ever use physical punishments on his darling, probably doesnt like punishing them as he thinks they are just still learning, but that doesn't mean he won't find other ways to punish them if necessary. I do think if they actively tried to run he wouldn't waste a minute getting something along the lines of a necklace with a chain, something fashionable but functional as a reminder while they're learning, if that reminder isn't enough though he might go for a bejeweled pet collar and leash. If all else fails isolation in a secure location with him as their only source of human, or well beastman, contact would certainly allow them to see how much they needed each other. Whatever he has to do to make them understand it'll all be worth it later once they're settled and he can spoil them like they deserve.

TLDR: Honest Fellow would love to lavish his S/O in (possibly ill-gotten) finery and would actively and proudly show them off on his arm. Everyone can look and admire, but only he is allowed to touch.

This has got to be the most effort anyone has ever put into something they sent in my ask box!! THANK YOU SO MUCH!!

Okay so right off the bat let me say that YES!! This is canon I don't care what anyone says.

I can see him as "wanting what they have" but "not wanting to be them". Essentially he wants the ability to give his darling the best of everything. Yet still ultimately preserving his own "personality". Like you said Fellow hates the rich. They're insufferable, self-absorbed and loathsome, but he'd be lying if he said he didn't crave the glitz and glammer.

Now I can kinda see Fellow only really interacting with his darling at first to use her as bait. Winning her over with expensive gifts and pretty cloths (all from dirty money ofc) and sure darling does start to fall for his tricks. But here's the thing, the moment his darling begins to show the tinest interest in him Fellow FALLS HARDER!! All of a sudden he doesn't want ANYONE near his darling! Just him only him. Sooner or later his darling will start to feel suffocated, she'll be desperate to get away from him. Forsaking the pretty presents and charming "boyfriend" for just a moment of freedom. But Fellow's a sly fox, always one step ahead. He knows how to ensnare his darling before she's even run away.

Overall Fellow will lavish you, treat you like a queen, getting you anything you desire (through underhanded means) but you'll never be allowed to leave him. Forever trapped by his side on the island of pleasure…

Quick question is Fellow meant to be the same age as the third years or is he older??

[thescarletnargacuga]

Maybe something spooky for September?

Like... Genuine fear.

Caine makes a new adventure for the gang, but it ends up taking in things that are... Just too real...

P.s: Showtime?

-that one paper bird

A/N: spooky season is upon us! Special thanks to @13piecebucket for helping me brainstorm this!!

NIGHTMARE'S END

A DIGITAL CIRCUS ONESHOT

WARNING: body horror, swearing,

~~~

"Welcome back, adventurers!" Caine hovered over the Circus cast. "Hope you had fun today!"

The group looked amongst themselves with collective disinterest. Pomni spoke up. "Actually, Caine, this one was a bit...meh."

Caine was visibly taken aback.

"Yeah, we got bored more than half way through." Jax agreed. "The cartoon physics and faceless NPCs are a bit old hat at this point."

"What he means is we think more realism would suit the adventures better." Pomni corrected. "The immersion still isn't that immersive."

"Doesn't help that we all look like cartoon characters." Gangle quietly added.

Caine rapped his fingers against the shaft of his cane. "Very well. If realism is what you want, then realism is what you'll get. At least, to the best of my ability. Rest up! Tomorrow will be a big one!" He blips away.

"You three should be ashamed of yourselves." Ragatha scolded. "I'm sure he's already doing all he can."

"I don't really care, I was just going along with Pomni." Jax put his hands in his pockets and walked away.

"Hey!" Pomni stomped her foot. "It was ZOOBLE'S idea we say something!"

"Don't drag me into this. I just said the adventure was stupid. All of them are." Zooble said as they walked away.

Pomni groaned. "Whatever. Guess we'll have a real adventure tomorrow. See how that turns out." She went to bed almost immediately, sleep called to her like never before. Her one escape from this digital nightmare.

~

Pomni woke to the smell of smoke. She winced as she sat up on a hard, uncomfortable surface. She blinked, finding herself in a small, dark room that has no familiar shapes. "Huh...? Why am I not in my-!!" She gaped at the sight of a smoldering computer atop a desk next to her.

Pomni stood to get a closer look. The electronic remains glowed faintly in the only light source in the room, a street lamp coming through a half shaded window. She jumped when she heard shuffling behind her.

Five figures of varying size stand up from the floor, the voices familiar. "Ugh, my head." "Where are we?" "Why is it so dark?"

"Guys?" Pomni asked. "What's happening? OH MY GOSH!" She pointed at a tall man with blond hair, staring right at her. The man turned to see what Pomni was pointing at.

"What? What is it?"

"Kinger?" Pomni couldn't believe it. She looked at the other people in the room. Humans. All of them. She looked at her own hands. Human hands with five fingers splayed out in front of her. "We're...we- no, this isn't possible. I'm dreaming! I have to be. I fell asleep and woke up here! I-"

Pomni froze when an androgenous person with pink hair slapped her across the face. "Did that feel real?"

Pomni felt her face. "OW! That was uncalled for! I really felt that. Oh my god." She looked back at the destroyed computer. "Caine...he must of blown all the hardware trying to make the game more real. I didn't think he'd... oh no."

"WHO CARES! WE'RE OUT!!" Celebrate a young man with a huge grin.

"Are we really sure? Really really?" A woman with red curls asked.

"Fuck if I know." The person with pink hair stopped and seemed stunned by they're own ability to curse. "Holy shit." They gasped, a huge smile growing on their face. "ASS! TITS! DICK! CUNT! SHIT! MOTHERFUCKER!"

"Do you really need to shout?" A timid woman asked, covering her ears.

"YES, I DO! WE'RE OUT!!"

~

The six made their way out of the empty office building. Cool night air grazed their faces as they took in their surroundings. They were in a town. A real town with streetlights and parked cars and a distant blinking traffic light. The street was lined with closed businesses. Not another soul in sight.

"What time do you think it is?" The timid woman asked.

"There!" The woman with red curls pointed at a scrolling LED sign in front of a bank. "3:00 am. No wonder things are so quiet. What do we do now? It's been so long... I don't even remember where we are."

"I guess we walk until we find somebody." Pomni shrugged. "There's gotta be at least a cop or something out at this hour."

"Oh yeah, and what do we tell them? Help, police! We've been kidnapped by a sentient AI and we just got away! Yeah, I bet that'll go over real well." The young man with the wide grin snarked.

"They could at least help us get out bearings." Pomni said.

They walked past quiet buildings, feeling a bit out of place on the empty street. Eventually, finding a sign that said Welcome to Brook Haven, the loveliest place in Maine.

"Well, that's a start." Said the woman with the curls. "Do you remember much about Maine, Pomni?"

"I don't think so, but I'm sure if we keep looking, we'll find someone who does. And, you don't have to keep calling me Pomni. My name is...my name..."

Everyone stopped.

Pomni's eyes widened as she searched her head. "I don't remember...I should remember. Right? Do any of you remember??"

"Oh no! You don't think the mind wipe was permanent, do you??" Panicked the timid woman.

"I don't know!" Pomni clutched her head and started to pace. She faced a store window and her blood went cold. Before her wasn't the reflection of a human woman, but of a cartoonish jester staring wide eyed at her. Pomni could feel the air in her lungs cease. "We're still in the game."

The shrill scream of a siren tore through the night. Everyone covered their ears, but they could still feel the siren vibrating their very beings. A billowing thick grey fog rolled into the streets. It cloaked everything from sight, the town being swallowed whole.

The group backed up against one another, being surrounded by the intense fog. Pomni was back to back with the tall blonde man, but she nearly fell backwards when he was violently pulled into the mist. "Kinger!"

Next was Ragatha. Something in the mist grabbed her leg and she was dragged off screaming. Then Gangle. Then Zooble.

"Screw this!" Jax ran off in a random direction, but didn't get far before he too screamed bloody murder.

Pomni was left alone in the quickly shrinking pocket of visibility. Her heart pounded. The only place left to go was the store behind her. She tried the door. Locked. She banged on the window. It held firm.

Clicking and skittering came from the fog. Creatures beyond her sight and comprehension were moving about, taunting her. A thorned tentacle whipped out at Pomni, but she ducked and it smashed through the store window.

Thinking quickly, Pomni vaulted through the broken window and made a run for it. Creatures screeching and crashing through the building behind her as fog poured in.

As she ran through a back door and down an alley, she saw a leas pipe sticking out of a dumpster. She grabbed it and kept running.

A clawed hand dug into the ground next to her and a black creature with colorful eyes lunged at Pomni. She batted at the creature as hard as she could, bursting it's bright pink eye. It screamed and backed away.

Pomni kept running, zig zagging down semi clear streets. Something with wings swooped down at her and she tuck and rolled. The flying abstraction crash landed where she had been. She didn't give it a chance to strike again, she beat it over the head with her pipe until it stopped thrashing.

"What the FUCK is all of this!?" Pomni growled and kept moving as more moving shadows in the mist closed in on her. She needed to get indoors. She ran until a large brick building was in sight. The sign out front read: Town Hall.

Pomni threw herself through the double front doors and slammed them shut behind her. She leaned back against the doors, panting and gasping for air. She was sweating, her legs shook with fatigue. She still felt real, even if she knew the truth.

"You're still alive. Good." Caine's voice echoed through the building.

"CAINE!? CAINE, YOU BASTARD! WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO THE OTHERS!!"

"Such language. And you all wonder why the censor is so necessary. You can't control your tongues."

"WHERE ARE THE OTHERS??" Pomni screamed as she marched down the hall, following the source of Caine's voice down one hall and then the next.

"Let's not worry about them. You're the only one who made it this far. The rest have failed."

"Failed? YOU DON'T FAIL AN ADVENTURE!"

"In a realistic one, you do. In real life, there are clear cut winners and losers. Tell me, which one are you?"

Pomni could hear the grin in his condescending tone. "Whichever gets this over with." She gripped her pipe harder.

Caine's laughter filled the halls. "A winner, then? That remains to be seen."

Pomni followed the voice to a set of grand wood doors. A Mayor's Office plague on the wall. She kicked open the doors, ready to swing. There were no monsters, no mist. Caine was at the end of the large room by the desk. His back was to her, looking out the large windows. "Beautiful, isn't it? Dare I say, this town has been my greatest creation."

"You lied! You made us believe we were out! I THOUGHT YOU WERE DEAD!" Pomni shouted as she marched forward.

"Lied?" Caine turned towards Pomni. "I gave you exactly what you wanted. Realism. I made it so real, I even found a purpose for the old exit." He chuckled. "It was amusing seeing all of you celebrate. Shame the fun had to be spoiled." His body jerked as he stepped forward.

Pomni stopped, holding her pipe in front of her. She watched in horror as Caine's chest started to split apart, black teeth folding out at her. His arms lengthened and bent at unnatural angles. "What- what's happening?"

"The most realistic part..." His voice deepened and garbled. "Fear." His eyes split apart and changed colors. His suit tore and his spin jutted out with spikes. Her grew and grew in height, his teeth growing sharp and his jaw extended to the ceiling. Multiple arms broke the floor apart as he approached. "Are...you...afraid?"

Pomni brought the pipe back like a bat. "Terrified. But I'm still going to kick your ass." She charged without hesitation, war in her eyes. Caine's monstrous form bared down on her. She struck out at the eye in the center of his gaping jaw.

The pipe's collision creates a spark bright enough to blind Pomni. The whole room goes white. She feels weightless, like she was in the void again. Then, in a near instant, she fell on her back. When the light fades, she's back in the Circus. The obnoxiously saturated bright colors sting her eyes.

Around are the cast members, all in varying states of shock. Zooble stays on the ground, staring at the vaulted ceiling and trembling. Gangle is in hysterics, muttering and whimpering to herself while crying uncontrollably. Kinger is pale and sitting in the fetal position, his eyes wider and more bloodshot than normal. Ragatha is stone cold silent and unmoving, holding her head in her hands.

Jax Is the only one other than Pomni to get to his feet. "That wasn't so- bleeeeegh!" He doubles over and vomits.

Pomni stares at her gloved hands, already missing her realistic skin. A slow clap gets her attention. She turns to see Caine hovering, lowering himself to her level.

"Well done, Pomni. Well done, indeed. You are today's winner. Being the only one to successfully find and defeat me. You faced fear and conquered it. How's that for realism?"

"Wait... If at least one of us had to find and defeat you... What if none of us did?" Pomni asked.

Caine smiled and shrugged. "Guess we'll never know. So, 1-10?"

The cast stayed where they were, unresponsive. Pomni smiled at Caine. "Ten. Solid ten. That was the biggest thrill I've had yet."

"Yet." Caine's grin widened.

~~~

HAPPY SPOOKY SEASON, EVERYONE! 🎃💀🔮🕷️🦇

[iocity]

One of the things I love about One Piece is their depiction of pain. Even for Luffy. There are time when he is hit and he writhes and screams. There are times when he doesn’t, and he is stoic. It’s a really valuable lesson that feeling pain deeply is, at times, just as noble as concealing it. No matter how strong a character is, sometimes they writhe and scream and cry. Sometimes they fail miserably and feel as if their world is out of their control. It shows that even the strongest characters experience pain in the most excruciating of ways. I always was really affected by that, because despite how much pain a a straw hat is in, they get back up. When things look the worst, they come back stronger than ever to conquer it. It makes them so much more human to me.

I also like the concept that Luffy isn’t as used to pain as the others and has a lower tolerance. He has been a rubber man since he was a child, so he doesn’t really get cuts and scratches or broken bones. He never got to build up that tolerance. It makes the scene where he takes a beating for Ace and Sabo even more significant and emotional because this kid who sees pain as a concept that is somewhat foreign is willing to take amounts of pain that even regular adults couldn’t bear. I’m sure his tolerance has been building since the start of the show, but I genuinely think it’s something to consider. This kid who is virtually indestructible, who is relatively hard to hurt, and who is relatively unconditioned to being uncomfortable in his body (like being sore or pulling a muscle) and hurting, is constantly taking a crazy ass beating for those he loves, but also those he barely even knows. Pain is significant to him, yes, but he is willing to put all of his suffering aside for the sake of people who have done right by him. Whether it be saving his life in Alabasta, or buying him a few lunches with their last few cents in Dressrosa; he will always suffer greatly in order to do right by the people he values.

[the-solar-system52]

TPOH UPDATE THEORY

THERE HE IS!!!! MY GUY!!!! IM GOING INSANE OVER HIM RIGHT NOW!! LOOK AT HIS EXPRESSIONS!! I LOVE HIM SM BEST CHARACTER EVER!!

Also look at Hero putting his hat back on! I really hope these two get more time to bond in this chapter! Plus I noticed a little star shape beside him on the first panel? Like an emote or something? I wonder what that's supposed to mean.

PLUS WE GOT A SPEECH BUBBLE! Albeit it's empty, but the fact that it exists may hint at him getting some dialogue in the future??

HE LOOKS SO CALM AND CHILL ABOUT EVERYTHING?? No wonder he's just ignoring Anxiety. Make sense since he's the opposite of RGB, but I wonder how long this collectivness will last. (AND HERO LOOKS ADORABLE HERE)

AND WHAT IS HE DOING HERE??

He's definitely taking advantage of his static electricity, but to do what? Charge his cane with LIGHTNING? (that'd be so cool) But wouldn't that decapitate his hand or something?

In the first panel, he seems to notice that the glass from the mirror maze is stuck inside his suit. And in this one, the shards of glass seem to be falling out from his sleeve. Was this just a side effect of whatever he's doing with his cane or is it the goal? Trying to get all the pointy shards that may hurt him out so he can fight better? Or maybe use them for something?

Also, this is another instance of Negative being associated with RGB's gaps, which mentioned in another theory.

As for big lore stuff, it's revealed in this page that the Butterfly doesn't seen to know who Negative is. This does disprove some stuff that I said in my earlier theories, but that's ok because I think it works well with the reveal that the Butterfly is a personification of Anxiety.

The reason the Butterfly showed up in a lot of scenes associated with Negative was because Negative causes anxiety. Hero is afriad of him and RGB is afriad of water (plus his weird human memories) so it causes Anxiety to pop up. But Anxiety doesn't need to know who Negative is to make that work.

And now that Hero is less scared of Negative, Anxiety is finding it harder to get two's attention, because Anxiety can't hurt you unless you are afriad of something. Negative is so insanely calm about everything that he doesn't even seem to hear Anxiety.

But this is going to make for a really interesting dynamic between Hero, Negative and Anxiety. Hero originally said they should turn RGB into Negative to fight the Butterfly because Negative is more scary than the Butterfly.

But now it seems to be the exact opposite. The Butterfly is having a hard time affecting them because Negative is chill, and Hero is only a little nervous around him now. His calm nature seem to make Hero calm as well, so Anxiety can't influence her.

BUT! The reason Negative isn't attacking right now is because he doesn't view the Butterfly as a threat. However, if the Butterfly or the doubts were to do something to make Negative attack, then wouldn't that make Hero scared of him? Like she was the other times he showed off how scarily good he was at killing stuff?

And if Hero was scared, then Anxiety would be able to easily affect her! So Negative attacking the Butterfly may actually make the situation WORSE. Negative will have to find some way to balance keeping Hero calm while also defending himself.

But will he succeed? I mean, this is only their third time meeting eachother, there's still time for more character development. It could be possible for Anxiety to exploit Hero's fear and end up escaping, but maybe show up again later in the comic! It will take awhile for Hero to fully trust Negative, but I wonder what direction Modmad will take that character arc.

I also remember someone mentioning in Modmad's comments that Negative was caused by HAPPY tears this time, whereas the other two times we saw him he was caused by SAD tears.

This could explain his more calm and mellow attitude in this page. He doesn't seem to possess the "fight or flight" instinct we see him have in his earlier appearances.

Maybe his personality changes based on what kind of tears get into RGB's air vents! If someone is crying sad tears, it usually means something bad is going on, which is why Negative quickly jumps into battle the first time we see him. But now he is calmed down because he didn't wake up with the predisposition that something bad is happening.

He also doesn't have that black goo rising above his eye, which seems to be caused by strong emotions, similar to RGB's mouth blood. I think this means that he will be less confrontational in this chapter since he is in a better mood.

Which is good, because I like seeing my favourite characters happy, and it may give Hero and Negative more time to interact if they are both less on edge.

Overall, Sunday is the best day of the week and I'm so happy Negative is back!