#to which i was brutally honest and said no i just nearly fainted

[vogelmeister]

yea nearly fainted at work (which i have slight trauma regarding) and now i realised i just cant open up to anyone so geen slay

[tameodesza]

Home’s Where the Hart Is Pt.2 (BretShawn)

<< Part 1 | AO3 Link | masterlist

Bret and Shawn take turns caring for each other

a/n: Wasn’t planning on writing a part 2, but the idea was thrown out there, so I decided what the hay! As a warning: fluff turned to smut…oop, lol 🤭

The silence of the living room was filled with the faint sound of the television playing some random tv show that the couple wasn’t interested in. Shawn sat on the couch comfortably with his feet propped up on the coffee table, stroking Bret’s head absentmindedly as the older man laid his head on Shawn’s lap, holding a bag of ice to his nose.

It had been a couple of hours since Bret returned home and, more than anything, Shawn really wanted to jump his bones. Going three months without having sex with his husband should have been a crime.

However, at the moment, Bret’s health was more important.

Shawn was pulled from his thoughts when Bret shifted below him. “Do you need a new bag, honey?”

Bret nodded. “Yeah, this one’s basically water now. Who knew ice could melt so fast,” he said grumpily, not wanting to move his head from the comfortable position on Shawn’s lap.

Shawn leaned down, giving Bret a brief kiss and taking the bag from his hand before heading to the kitchen.

He figured Bret would stay on the couch and wait for him to return like he’d done previously when Shawn left for more ice.

However, Shawn nearly jumped from his skin, freezing in place when he made it to the fridge and felt Bret’s arms sliver around him from behind, arms wrapping tightly around Shawn’s waist as he placed a chin on one of Shawn’s shoulders.

He kissed Shawn’s neck asking, “Why’d you stop?”

A sly smile made its way onto Shawn’s face. “It’s kind of hard to refill an ice bag with my husband pressed up against me.”

“Sorry, I’ll give you some space-”

“No!” Bret grinned at the reaction he was hoping he’d get out of Shawn. Shawn put the ice bag down on the counter and turned in Bret’s arms to face him, looping his arms around his neck. “Don’t you dare let me go.”

Bret’s smile deepened, as well as his dimples. “Of course not.”  

Shawn desperately wanted to give an Eskimo kiss but couldn’t for obvious reasons. ���Is your nose feeling  any better?”

“It still stings, but I think the swelling’s going down. What do you think,” he asked as he leaned closer to give Shawn a better look.

He’d inadvertently just given Shawn easy access to his lips, which the blond eagerly claimed. “You look handsome, baby.”

“Not me. My nose, silly.”

“Oh, yeah. Right, that. Um,” Shawn pondered as he took a good look at his husband’s nose. “It still looks a little discolored, but it does look like the swelling’s going down.”

“Good. I need to be able to kiss you without worrying about hurting myself.”

“Yeah, that would be nice.” He sighed, switching topics as a thought came to mind. “What do you want for dinner?”

“You.”

Shawn raised a brow in interest. “I like the sound of that. But seriously. You haven’t eaten since you’ve gotten home, and I know you didn’t eat anything at the airport.”

Bret cleared his throat. “Actually, I was thinking that maybe I could cook dinner for us instead. You deserve a break, Shawn.”

Shawn gave a hesitant look, causing Bret to ask “What?”

Shawn smiled awkwardly. “You know I appreciate you, baby. You’re so sweet to me. But I think the cooking should be left to me.”

Bret put on a frown. “Why? I can cook!”

“And I’m sure you believe that. Confidence is key, sweetheart.”

Bret gave Shawn’s ass a playful smack, “Hey! No being mean to your injured husband.”

Shawn laughed, kissing Bret’s cheek as an apology. “I’m not being mean. I’m just being honest.”

“Brutally.”

“And that’s why you love me.”

“But I’m being serious. I want to do something special for you to let you know how much I appreciate you.”

“Bret, you just being here is enough for me. You really underestimate how much of a gift you are to me. The fact that you haven’t divorced me yet is a miracle.”

“Hey, don’t say that.” Bret would never think to divorce Shawn, and he definitely didn’t want to  manifest it.  

He rested his forehead against Shawn’s, closing his eyes as he took in the moment – the moment ruined by his growling stomach.  

Shawn chuckled, “Someone’s hungry~”.  

Bret eventually convinced Shawn to give him a chance at cooking for them. ‘I’ve got this,’ he’d told Shawn confidently.

Bret most certainly didn’t have it.

Shawn ended up having to help out with the steak, and he had to completely remake the rice for Bret. He was amazed that the older man was even able to mess up something as simple as rice.  

In Bret’s defense, he initially started off well, but was distracted by Shawn standing behind him, watching him cook over his shoulder as he rubbed his crotch against his leg.

Not one to pass up his husband’s advances, Bret turned around and lifted Shawn to sit on the kitchen island behind them, getting in between his legs to kiss him as best as he could with his injured nose in the way.

The couple got carried away, rubbing and kissing on each other, unable to resist temptation. However, they were pulled from their stupor at the sound of the pot boiling over on the stove.

“Bret, the rice!”

Dinner was spent with the couple catching up with each other – Bret mainly telling stories from the road, and Shawn mainly asking about Hunter. As much as he was still pissed at his friend for hurting Bret, he still wanted to know if he was ok.

After dinner, Bret took both of their plates and scraped the excess food into the trashcan before putting the plates in the dishwasher.

Upon closing the dishwasher, Bret stood up to find Shawn standing giddily beside him. Shawn tugged on his arm saying, “I’ve got to show you something.”

“What is it?”

“It’s a surprise.”

That could either be really good or really bad. There was no in-between when it came to Shawn.

Shawn took the lead as he tugged Bret upstairs to their master bedroom. Once in the room, he guided Bret to sit on the edge of the bed.  

Shawn stood in front of him, saying nothing as he tugged off his shirt and threw it across the room. “Sooo, what do you think?”

Bret swears his mouth went dry as he looked on in awe.

In the months that Bret was gone, Shawn had found the time to get his belly button pierced, or at least that’s what Bret concluded from the jewelry shining in Shawn’s navel.  

Shawn started feeling a little self-conscious from Bret’s silence. “Do you like it?”

“Come here,” Bret commanded.

Shawn walked forward, thinking that Bret just wanted to get a closer look, but Bret’s hands met him halfway, reaching out towards his hips and yanking him forward towards his lap. Shawn took it as a good sign, straddling Bret before the man kissed him in the heat of the moment  

“I take it that you like it,” Shawn panted between their kisses.  

“I love it. You look so sexy.”

Shawn responded by grinding his hips down onto Bret’s lap, causing both men to let out a sharp breath. Shawn pressed his forehead against Bret’s whispering, “It’s been so long, Bret.”

“I know,” he whispered in return. “Tell me what you want.”

“I want you. I need you. Right now.” He’d been holding off all evening. He couldn’t take the wait any longer.

Shawn’s heart rate picked up in excitement as Bret switched their positions, Shawn on his back with Bret hovering over him. Bret wasted no time to dive down and attack Shawn’s lips with no remorse.

However, he realized too late that he probably should have been more careful.  

“Shit!” He screamed in pain as he’d bumped his nose against Shawn’s again. Shawn was pulled back to reality, watching his husband cup his nose yet again.  

He smiled in amusement. “When will you learn? Here, let me take care of you.”

Bret thought Shawn meant that he would go back downstairs to grab more ice. However, the younger man changed their positions, Bret on his back with Shawn now hovering over him.  

“Lift your arms.” Bret did as he was told, the throbbing in his nose slowly worsening.

Shawn pulled Bret’s shirt off then worked on taking off his pants and underwear. Shawn removed his own as well before joining his husband back on the bed.  

Shawn hadn’t given Bret room to breathe before his mouth was on his cock, licking and sucking in a way that only Shawn knew how to. Shawn moaned in pleasure around Bret as he reached a hand back to  stretch himself as well, not wanting to waste any time. He’d been fantasizing about Bret for three months, so the time for waiting was over.

Once he felt that he was stretched enough, Shawn let up with a pop from his lips before positioning himself over Bret’s cock.

Bret panted, “Shawn.”

Whatever he was about to say flew out the window as Shawn sank down onto him slowly. Both men were breathless, mouths open in silent pleasure as they each felt their bodies reuniting once again.  

Shawn let out the breath he was holding once he’d finally taken in all of Bret, breathing heavily as he allowed himself to adjust. Since it’d been so long, his body needed to get used to Bret’s size again.  

Bret was also going through his own internal battle, gripping Shawn’s hips as he forced himself not to thrust into the man that was still adjusting around him. That was extremely hard to do when he could perfectly see Shawn’s belly ring from this angle, tempting him to plow into the man above him.  

He was relieved when Shawn finally began to move. It was painstakingly slow at first,  the younger man still adjusting to Bret.

Bret wasn’t a selfish man. He’d let Shawn take as long as he needed to feel comfortable. His only concern was him possibly cumming before they’d even gotten started.

Shawn’s groans of discomfort eventually turned into pleasured moans as he quickened his pace. Bret kept his hands on Shawn’s hips, lightly guiding the man as he rode up and down his shaft. It was when Shawn began slamming himself down onto Bret that the older man lost it.  

He pulled Shawn down, wrapping his arms tightly around his upper body before digging the heels of his feet into the mattress as leverage to pound into Shawn. Shawn was a moaning mess, and he knew he wouldn’t last long.

“Cum for me, baby,” Bret coaxed. “Go ahead. Do it for me.”

And Shawn did just that, streams of white shooting between him and Bret as he rode out his orgasm. Bret was not too far behind, his thrusts coming to a halt as he came into Shawn.  

Both men lay there spent from their activities, breathing heavily as their hearts pounded from their chest.

“God, I’ve missed that,” Shawn panted, coming down from his high.

“Yeah, me too.” Bret gave a loving kiss on Shawn’s head. “I love you so much.”

“Me too.”

Bret smiled, “You love yourself so much or you love me?”

Shawn looked up, smiling lazily at Bret, “I love you, in case that wasn’t clear.” Bret kissed Shawn’s cheek in appreciation.

“How’s your nose?” Shawn felt like he’d asked that question a million times that evening, but he just wanted to make sure Bret was ok.

Bret had long forgotten about the pain of his nose while they were having sex. Now that his endorphins were wearing off, he was starting to feel the slight throb of his nose again. But Shawn was more important at the moment.

“I’m alright.” He lightly tapped Shawn’s back before saying, “Come on. It’s time for me to take care of you now.”

Bret was particularly gentle with Shawn, more than usually, especially with the young man still being sensitive from their recent activities.

Shawn clung onto Bret like a koala in the tub as the man washed the both of them as best as he could with their compromised position. Bret shifted Shawn so that the blond’s back was pressed to his chest, his head leaning back over Bret’s shoulder to allow Bret to wash his hair. Shawn closed his eyes in content as he let Bret take care of him.

It wasn’t until Shawn was clean, dried off, and tucked into bed snoozing away that Bret finally went downstairs to re-ice his nose.

[pookiepoodle]

Finding out you’re a Little ft. Inarizaki

I don’t own any art (except the lovely swirly thing). Please check out my masterlist and send in requests. This is an age-regression piece, so expect that kind of content (all non-sexual). Aran’s involves diapers as a medical need. 

Suna

You wanna watch cartoons after a long day of studying for your upcoming university exams.  

Suna smirks a little but doesn’t say anything, shrugging as he pulls you up against his chest, the screen flashing with bright colors. 

You don’t even notice the smirk and you can feel yourself growing smaller, your eyes shining as you giggle at the silly antics of the characters.

 Now, Suna has a faint idea of what’s happening. He’s always on his phone so he sees a lot of different communities and right now, you’re reminding him of something. 

“Ya know Princess, you’re acting really cute right now,” he begins, his hands wrapped around your waist as you stare at the TV. You feel rather small and you can’t help but giggle, snuggling back into his chest. Suna always makes you feel so safe, especially when you feel like this. Though, you don’t tend to regress in front of your boyfriend as he (at least in your mind) doesn’t know anything about your tendencies to do so. 

“You feeling small?”

That question makes you sit up straight, the cartoons forgotten as you realise what Suna said. Suna knew. He knew you were an age regressor. There was no way he asked that and didn’t understand the implications of it. But… he wasn’t freaking out. He wasn’t grossed out or asking her to stop. So shyly, you nod, holding your breath as you wait for his response.

“Alright, how about we order some pizza for dinner and we just cuddle, keep watching your show?” he hums, making you smile brightly at the thought of having delicious pizza. But, even more so at the fact that your boyfriend knows you so well. 

You’ll talk to him more about your age regression tomorrow, when you’re feeling bigger, but for now? 

You simply cuddle him, watching your show with a happy heart.

Kita

You can’t stop staring at the coloring books during your weekly shopping trip at the grocery store. 

Kita doesn’t say anything, letting you look over them all. He notices you keep going back to a specific one and will suddenly grab it, putting it into the cart.

You jump a little, blushing brightly when you realise that a) he caught you staring at children’s coloring books and b) he’s put it in the shopping cart, clearly intending to buy it for you.

Kita isn’t aware of what age regression is per say, so he simply thinks that you want to color. 

“They also do adult coloring books, Y/N,” Kita says, pointing at some of the other ones, but you shake your head no. Those ones are too detailed, too finicky for when you’re little. You’ll only get frustrated and cry, so instead you prefer to use the ones meant for kids.

“That’s alright, do you need crayons or anything?” he continued, acting as if his girlfriend/boyfriend/partner wanting a kids coloring book was normal (AN: totally is). 

“Kita, don’t you think it’s… weird?” you finally said, your voice small as you met his eyes. Kita was a straight-forward man and you expected him to be brutally honest with you. 

“Why would it be weird?”

“Well… it’s a kids coloring book and I’m supposed to be Big-” you began, cutting yourself off at the last word. You’d meant to say adult.

“Big? Y/N, is everything alright?” Kita asks calmly, moving closer to you. You can feel his hand against the small of your back, a comforting gesture.

“Can… can we talk about it in the car?” you ask, trying to keep yourself calm. You knew it was time to tell Kita (you’d been dating for years now) but even so, it was a scary thought. 

“Of course, we’re nearly done with the shopping,” Kita nodded, taking your hand as he led you to get the last few items. Throughout the process of paying and leaving the shop, you didn’t say a word to him, trying to figure out how to best tell him the truth.

“Just sit in the car, darling, I’ll load the shopping,” Kita insists, leaving you to twiddle your thumbs in the front seat, until you hear him get in next to you.

“Y/N, I don’t want to force you to tell me what’s going on, but I want to let you know that you can trust me.”

And with those words, you began to tell him everything about your little side, how you love to color and drink apple juice from your sippy. As you speak, he will ask questions as a lot of the terms you use are unfamiliar to him, but once you’re done, he gives you a small smile, reaching across to grab your hand.

“Y/N, when we get home, may I color with you?”

With a bright smile, you nod, relieved at how accepting your wonderful boyfriend is.

Aran

He finds your “protection” when he’s in your room. 

He was really confused and tried to act like he didn’t see it, simply nudging the packaging further under the bed.

But you saw his eyes widen, his face grow red and you know that he knows. 

With tears filling your eyes, you push him out your way as you run into the bathroom, locking the door as you sink to the ground, sobbing. 

Immediately, he panics, trying the door handle but to no avail.

He has no idea what’s going on, but all he knows is that his beloved girlfriend/boyfriend/partner is upset and he just wants to comfort you. 

You were a mess behind the door, sobbing your heart out as the events just kept replaying in your mind. He saw your “adult protection” which, let’s be honest, were just diapers. The fancy name always made you feel a little bit better when buying them, but now, it was just that. A fancy name for a humiliating product. There was no way that Aran wasn’t going to dump you.

“Y/N, please let me in!”

“No! J-Just g-go…”

“I’m not leaving until we talk about this, okay?”

Aran could be stubborn when he wanted to be and you realised that this was going to be one of those times. He wouldn’t leave until you talked to him, even if it took hours.

“C-Can we talk through the d-door?” 

“Of course, sweetheart,” you heard him say, his tone gentle and reassuring as you try to pull yourself together.

You then proceeded to very shakily explain about your little space. Aran had his phone out and if he didn’t recognise a word, he quickly googled it as to not have to make you answer his questions. In little space, you sometimes had problems controlling your bladder at night and after waking up with wet sheets far too often, you’d decided it was best to get some form of protection. Once you’d finished speaking, there was a silence.

“I-It’s okay if y-you don’t w-want this, I g-get it…” you whispered, tears filling your eyes once more as you waited for Aran to agree.

“Why would I not want you?”

You immediately sit up, shocked.

“Y/N, I love you, a lot. I think it’s amazing that you’re able to find a way to relax and be happy, not everyone can do that. I think you’re adorable already, I can’t imagine how cute you are when you’re little. I’m so lucky, shoot, I’ve got the cutest girlfriend ever…”

“But what about… ya know…”

“The protection? Sweetheart, that’s not your fault. You’re so brave and smart and kind and amazing and I would be a jerk if I dumped you because of something as silly as that. Heck, I used to change my little sister’s diapers all the time, I’m not bothered by it.”

“I-I’m not asking for your help!”

“Ah, wait, I didn’t mean- like if you wanted or needed it, I’d love to take care of you, even if you need help with that, but only if you want to,” he panicked, bright red as he realised that he was probably being a bit too forward.

There was another pause before the bathroom lock clicked and the door opened. 

“L-Let’s t-take it slow… but I’d l-like to watch a movie with you.”

Osamu

You were crying because your mom said she thought she accidentally tossed out your lovie/stuffie.

He was really confused because you were at Miya Onigiri and you just kept crying, so he immediately pulls you into the back room, glaring at the staff to keep them out as he just hugs you. You know that you’re regressing but you’re just in such a panic that you can’t really care, clinging to him as you babble, tears streaming down your face.

 Instinctively, he wraps his arms around you, gently bouncing you on his knee as he pats your back, mumbling that,” Everything’s gonna be alright, Y/N, okay? Yer alright, just take a deep breath…” 

After a while, you manage to calm down, though you’re still trembling in his arms as you catch your breath. Of course, Osamu isn’t the type to just let things like this slip and he will immediately ask if he can talk to you about it.

“Alright, we need to talk about what happened, Angel,” he sighs, shifting you on his lap so that you’re facing him properly, though he refuses to let you go. 

“It’s not that big of a deal…” you mumble, your face now pink and tear-stained as you look away from him. You’d always tried to keep this side of yourself private but hearing that your Mom might have tossed out Bunny… Even thinking about it again was enough to make you tear up, which your boyfriend noticed immediately.

“It seems like a big deal to me,” he replied, moving to wipe away the fresh tears,” C’mon, Y/N, you know I don’t care if it’s embarrassing or something. Remember when I had to call ye because I got food poisoning and that bastard used all the toilet paper?”

You couldn’t help but laugh at the memory, nodding as you let his thumb rub against your cheeks lovingly. 

“So, please, I just wanna know,” he finished, giving you a pleading look.

So, you told him everything. He obviously had questions, interrupting you when you used terms he was unfamiliar with and when he just needed something clarified. You grew sadder when you started talking about your rabbit plushie, explaining what had happened and he hugged you to his chest gently.

“That’s awful, Angel, I’m real sorry,” he mumbled,” Listen though. I’m gonna learn more about this and if ya let me, I wanna be a part of it. I like taking care of ye already, so if yer willing to give me a chance, let me try, m’kay?”

You were so happy, you nearly started crying again as you nodded.

“How about helping me look for Bunny after work?”

And with a nod from Osamu, that’s how he became your Daddy.

(afternote: Bunny had fallen behind the bed and was found!)

Atsumu

You accidentally open the door with your paci in your mouth. 

He notices it and smiles, wrapping his arms around you without even saying something, though he makes sure to close the door quickly so other people don’t see. 

You don’t even realise that you’re wearing your paci until you move to give him a kiss, his hand moving to pull it out before giving you a small peck.

 Immediately, you pull back, eyes widened as you try and grab the mouth piece back, humiliated. 

Atsumu knows that look in your eyes and immediately gives it back, but not before grabbing your hand and dragging you to the living room, where he pulls you onto his lap for snuggles.

“So… nice paci,” he begins, watching you blush adorably as you hide it in your pockets.

“Thanks,” you mumble, unable to meet his eyes as you wish you could disappear right now or that a coconut would fall from the ceiling and hit Atsumu in the head. Just hard enough to wipe his memory of the last 10 minutes. 

“Do ye use it a lot or just sometimes?” he asked. He wasn’t teasing you (as you had expected), seeming to be genuinely curious about your little habit.

“Umm… just sometimes, when I feel like it,” you continue, blushing, nervously playing with your hair as you try to keep calm. 

“If ye wanna keep using it, go ahead,” he smiles, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“You don’t think I’m a freak?”

“What? Has someone said something to you about it?!” Atsumu suddenly exclaimed, his eyes filled with fire. If anyone had teased you about this, he was ready to kick their ass.

“No, no! I was just wondering, most people think stuff like this is weird for an adult…” you mumbled, feeling self conscious. You were so caught up in your thoughts that you didn’t even feel Atsumu reaching into your pocket and grabbing your paci. At least, not until he gently pushed it into your mouth, making your eyes widen. You went to pull it out, but he stopped you gently holding it in place as he spoke.

“I think yer adorable, Y/N. I’m gonna do some more research n stuff, since I think I’ve heard about this, but only if ye want me to.”

You pause, thinking it over before gently nodding, making him smile brightly.

“Alright baby, lets just relax for now.”

[turtle-steverogers]

Team Bonding

fr when was the last time i posted like,,, a fic on here. like a tumblr fic. damn. anyway. ummmmmmmm this is just your.... typical steve freaks out and the avengers are awesome um yah ok ok 

warnings: panic attack, vomiting (basically steve watches the titanic and doesnt have a very fun time)

word count: 2575

-

If Steve was being brutally honest with himself, he was fucking tired of hearing about “the classics”. Irrelevant people butting their noses into his business, tipping him off to what movies were, “the best of the best!” and “absolute must sees!” He appreciated what they were trying to do, but after a while, it felt like people were more or less just trying to garner a slice of his 21st century experience, and quite frankly, he liked doing things better by himself. It was much more appealing to park himself in front of his laptop, nothing but his own quietude to keep him company as he combed through different wikipedia rabbit holes and caught up on movies and TV shows that were apparently crucial to his very existence.

Most were subpar and honestly, he preferred the copious amounts of popcorn he treated himself to on these solo date nights, but some things surprised him. Like Indiana Jones. He liked Indiana Jones. He was neat, and Marion reminded him vaguely of Peggy. 

Still, he supposed he should have seen it coming when Clint came to collect him from his floor one evening, that sort of eager-puppy energy he carried around with him vaguely prickling the back of Steve’s neck.

“C’mon, man,” he was saying. Steve leaned against the door jamb, tired. He was going to concede, but Clint was rambling and Steve knew better than to interrupt him. “It’s, like, certifiably the best love story ever. You need to watch it--”

And there it was again. That fucking claim. You need to watch this! You haven’t seen that? 

No. He hadn’t. He’d been a little busy, you know, being dead.

“--And the acting is all so raw and it’s just-- Leo DiCaprio-- you know who that--”

“--Yes. I saw Blood Diamond--”

“--Oh, you did? Well, anyway, he rocks in this and--”

“Clint,” Steve cut him off smoothly. “I’ll come, don’t sweat it too hard.”

Clint looked positively elated. “You will?” he exclaimed. “Awesome, yeah, it’s gonna be the whole team. I mean, that’s good right? You’re cool with that? You gotta be, you’re the one who mentioned team bonding that one time--”

“Yes,” Steve cut in again. “I’m alright with that. Give me a minute to change, and I’ll be right down?” He was still in his gym clothes from two hours ago. He meant to take a shower, but he’d sort of… ran out of energy. The sweat had cooled by now anyway. He smelled fine.

“Oh! Yeah, no problem.”

Which was how Steve found himself in a pair of sweatpants and an old SHIELD t-shirt, squashed in between Natasha and Bruce on the communal couch. Someone had handed him a huge bowl of popcorn and Steve was pleasantly surprised to find that it was flavored with some sort of cheese powder.

“White cheddar,” Bruce said, holding up a little blue shaker bottle when he heard Steve’s appreciative hum. “They’re, uh, sort of like seasoning, but for popcorn specifically. They come in all different kinds of flavors.”

“Oh, neat,” Steve said, around another handful of popcorn. He liked Bruce. He seemed to get Steve in that quiet, brutally raw sort of way. A quiet kinship. They didn’t talk about it, but he never made him feel condescended, so Steve decided that was okay.

“I think I fixed it!” Tony said, stepping out from behind the ginormous movie screen where, presumably, he’d been fixing a volume problem. The screen had been frozen on the first frame of the movie for nearly ten minutes. “Okay, okay, let’s see…” he pressed play. Music poured through the speakers on either side of the TV, loud enough so that everyone cringed and Steve nearly dropped the popcorn bowl in his haste to cover his ears. He always managed to forget how damn loud the world could be when he let himself get comfortable.

“Sorry, sorry!” Tony hissed, turning the volume down to a much more tolerable level. “Okay, there. Okay, shh everyone. Gotta let Capsicle--”

“--Just Steve, Tony--”

“--Gotta let Just Steve get the full experience.”

Steve rolled his eyes, but settled in to watch.

The film was honestly better than Steve had been expecting, if not a little… itchy in that way period films tended to be for him. The themes of poverty and love were pretty well-rounded, but they hit just close enough that he almost cringed at the far-fetch’d beauty of it. 

Still, his fingers itched for a pencil as Jack guided a pencil over the worn sheaf of paper. The dim light, the faint scratch of the pencil, the forbidden love. It was familiar. Steve could almost smell the salty City air, afternoons spent under the dim lights of candles so they could see even with the curtains drawn-- a semblance of privacy amongst the compact vulnerability of his and Bucky’s shitty little tenement. 

Draw me like one of your french girls, Rose had said, and Steve’s eyes drifted towards the wall, Bucky’s voice echoing through his head.

“‘Course I want you to draw me. I ain’t denying my vanity, Stevie,” he teased, but his eyes were soft. “Pal, you could draw a stick of butter and I’d still wanna watch. It ain’t about me here.”

There was a soft touch to his arm and Steve blinked out of his reverie. Natasha was watching him, a neutral look on her face that Steve had finally learned to recognize as concern. He shook his head minutely, offering her a smile. She nodded and looked back at the TV.

The rest of the movie passed without much excitement. The acting was pretty good and Steve had even gotten to a point where he could recognize the filmmaking as something like revolutionary for the time it came out. He was quicker on the cultural uptake than people gave him credit for, but that was neither here nor there. He laughed with everyone else, let himself grow somber when the atmosphere lent that mood, and generally, it was a nice time. He hadn’t gone to any movie nights before this, but he thought maybe he’d start going to more.

And then the ship hit the iceberg.

Steve wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting. Obviously, he knew of the Titanic-- he knew, historically, what happened to it. But for some reason, it hadn’t quite hit him while watching the movie that he was going to have to see the catastrophe go down.

There was a loud creaking of ice on metal as the collision occurred on screen and Steve felt himself go still-- body rigid and tense as the deafening noise played through the speakers. His heart slammed in his chest and he felt his palms start to sweat. He knew that sound-- he knew that--

--He blinked, shaking his head. Movie. Watch the movie. There was a panicked scramble on screen. Characters rushing to amend the situation, more metal creaking and groaning and breaking as dark, foamy water broke through the sides of the ship and Steve could taste it, he could taste the water flooding into the cabin, hitting him from the left as it took the plane down in a harsh--

--He twitched, shaking his head. He was being silly. There were moments of reconciliation as the scenes rapidly flashed between water flooding the ships cabins and peaceful moments of civility. A calm before the storm. A final dance before death.

I’m gonna need a raincheck on that dance…

There was a sudden crash as water blasted through into the work quarters and Steve jumped, watching transfixed as unforgiving torrents pushed workers over, flooding them, drowning them, and they were falling, slipping, sliding, panicking as certain death met them at the halfway point, and Steve knew it must be cold. So cold. Suffocating and unforgiving as it flooded their lungs, saltier than they probably imagined, heavy and awful and--

“Stark, turn the movie off.”

The room went abruptly silent. Steve realized his eyes were closed, chest heaving as he sat, hunched over his lap, hands fisted in his hair.

The popcorn wasn’t on his lap anymore. When had he moved? He couldn’t breathe and he was so cold and someone needed to save those guys, someone needed to--

“Steve,” a gentle voice cut into the roaring waves crashing in his head. Bruce. That was Bruce speaking. “Can you hear me, Steve?” 

Steve nodded, pulling his hair harder. He couldn’t breathe. Was he drowning again? Surely that was impossible. If Bruce was talking to him, he couldn’t be drowning again, but-- but the water-- and-- and the cold--

“Good, that’s good, Steve,” Bruce. Bruce again. It was Bruce. “Can I touch you?”

Touch. Touch. No touch. He was so cold. He wanted to stop being cold, but he was certain if someone touched him right now, he would lose his goddamn mind. More so than he already had.

“That’s alright,” Bruce sounded steady. Calm. So calm. Why couldn’t Steve calm down? “That’s okay. You think you can do something for me?”

Something… for Bruce? Could he? Could he do anything right then? If he couldn’t breathe, how could he do anything-- and he-- he felt sick--

He opened his mouth to answer and vomited between his feet, straight onto the carpet. Someone in the room hissed sympathetically. Steve wanted to crawl somewhere and die.

“Oh, Steve,” Bruce seemed to be talking mostly to himself, but Steve felt his shoulders climb higher towards his ears. “Okay, Steve, I need you to listen to my voice. Just listen. I’m going to count and you’re going to breathe in time with my instruction, okay? Can you do that for me?”

Steve shook his head, choking on a sob. His chest hurt. Like someone had taken all of his ribs and replaced them with weights, flooding his lungs with-- with water-- and fuck, now he was thinking about the plane again. He felt his breathing tick up higher.

“I want you to try,” Bruce said. “With me. In,” he sucked in a breath. “One… two… three… four…”

Steve tried to suck in a breath, but all he managed to do was send himself into a coughing fit. Bruce kept counting. Steve wanted to tell him to wait-- slow down-- shut up--

He braced a hand over his chest. 

Bruce was still counting.

He wasn’t sure how much time passed, but eventually he found himself matching Bruce’s counts, eyes closed and the heels of his palms braced on his temples as he sucked in greedy, measured breaths. His heart was still slamming hard enough to make him tremble and he could smell his own sick wafting up from the ground, but at least he was breathing on his own.

Bruce trailed off. Silence hung thick in the air, the only noise Steve’s slow, shaking breaths. Shame burned around his ears. He didn’t dare look up.

Tony, predictably, was the one to break the silence. “I’m sorry, Steve,” he said, and Steve was surprised to hear honest regret in his voice. “I was the one who suggested we watch Titanic. I should have thought for more than two seconds about that…”

Steve shrugged. Embarrassment climbed from his stomach to his throat, threatening to choke him. 

Natasha spoke next. “Why don’t you go wash up?” It was an escape-- a way out-- and Steve took it graciously, keeping his head ducked down as he stood on shaking legs and rushed to the communal bathroom.

Inside, he locked the door and braced himself over the sink, splashing warm water on his face. He drank greedily from the tap. His reflection looked like shit-- he’d burst some blood vessels in his eyes, probably while vomiting, and his skin looked sallow and pale. He was trembling, sweat matting his hair to his forehead. He looked how he looked after a nightmare. This, he supposed, had kind of been like a nightmare. Though, he hadn’t been asleep.

Nightmares, he was finding, weren’t strictly exclusive to the nighttime. 

He supposed he’d always known that, though. 

He closed his eyes, bowing his head again. 

His emotions had been fucked to high hell since waking up from the ice. This hadn’t been the first of those awful… fits, and he was certain it wouldn’t be the last, but to have something like that happen in front of the team was a whole new level of mortifying. Fuck. He’d gotten sick. And he’d left it.

He felt the ceramic counter straining under his grip. Scowling, he let go.

He could slip off to his room, lock himself away until he could find some way to sneak out of the Tower and never talk to any of the others ever again. Even in this state, Steve knew that wasn’t viable in any sense. He sighed. Besides, he couldn’t just damn the others to clean up his mess. 

Stowing his pride, he dug some spare mouthwash out from behind the mirror and chugged some straight down, keeping a mouthful and swishing it around before spitting it in the sink. He still felt and looked like shit, but at least his breath would smell like wintergreen. 

The others were still gathered in the communal living room, watching what looked like a kid’s cartoon on TV. There was a distinct smell of cleaner in the air and Steve’s eyes landed on the ground where he’d gotten sick. It was clean. He let his eyes drop to the ground, ashamed.

“I’m sorry,” he said. The cartoon paused. He didn’t look at any of them. “I was going to clean up.”

“Nah, man, the only thing worse than freaking out is having to clean up after yourself while you still feel shitty,” Clint said, and Steve looked up. There was no pity in his gaze, only understanding. 

“Yeah, we’ve all been there,” Tony said. “Sucks, but hey, least we know now that Titanic is a no-no for you.”

Steve flushed, swallowing a few times. “Um, I guess,” he looked at Bruce. “Thank you.”

Bruce smiled. “No problem,” he said gently. “We’re watching Phineas and Ferb if you’d like to join us, but we understand if you’d like to go rest.”

“Phineas and Ferb?” Steve asked, guilt replaced with genuine confusion.

“Yeah,” Clint said, shoving a handful of popcorn in his mouth. “It’s my go-to when I have a bad day. Nothing like some good old platypus drama to cure life’s woes.”

Steve blinked. “I genuinely don’t know what to say to that.”

Clint barked out a laugh. “Join us, man! Don’t gotta talk if you’re not feeling it, but being alone after shit like that sucks.”

And Steve hadn’t had someone there for him after a breakdown-- not since the war. Not since Bucky. Every ounce of him wanted to run. Hide. Smooth out his face and slip on that mask of stoicism. But maybe… maybe he didn’t have to. Maybe he could let himself have this, if only this once.

“Sure,” he said, voice a little hoarse. He awkwardly sat back in between Natasha and Bruce.

Tony pressed play again and Steve smoothed his hands over his thighs, feeling out of place and a little cramped and--

Natasha settled, casually letting her feet rest on his lap. On his other side, Bruce leaned into his shoulder, a subtle, grounding pressure. Clint caught his eye and offered him some more popcorn.

Steve relaxed.

Yeah. He could let himself have this.

-

thanks for reading, chiefs

yeah this was chatted about in one of the awesome discord groups im in so thanks guyysss lol

[harrypotterthehufflepuff]

Bludger

This was requested by: Anon !

Request: hi! can i request a reader x george where the reader is playing quidditch and falls or gets hit and ends up with a concussion or other tbi and gets comforted by george?xx

*

I’ve written something familiar to this, but with Cedric (you can read it here if you want) So I tried to chnage it up a little. Hope you’re happy with it !

*

Warnings: Swearing.

Pairing: George Weasley x reader.

Words: 1.2 k

If you’d like to request something please head over to my other blog, https://www.tumblr.com/blog/ronaldandremuslover and I’ll try and fix it for you !

~ ~ ~ ~

"Gahh!"

Your head is aching, causing your vision to go blurry. You can hear faint voices, yelling out for you as you lose control over your broom. Butterflies forms in your stomach as you soar down to the ground, quickly. It was all happening in a daze but still, you knew that the landing would not be very mild. But just as you're supposed to crash to the lawn, you feel your body stop, as if you've landed on a cushion.

"Everybody get down to ground level!" Even though you couldn't see it, you knew it was Madam Hooch.

Your back landed softly onto the grass. Footsteps surrounded you but your head hurt too much to even open your eyes.

"What the fuck was that about!"

"Are you mad?"

"Fucking bastard!"

Angry voices called out, some seemed familiar.

"Alright, watch your language!" It was Madam Hooch. "Crabbe, that was such a lousy thing to do! What has gotten into your mind!"

It felt as though your head was about to pop. But you managed to open your eyes just a little.

"Y/N's awake! Look!"

The sunlight felt brighter than ever before, causing your eyes to immediately shut again.

"We need to get her a pain-reducing potion as soon as possible. Merlin knows how long Y/N is going to stay awake." Hooch said in a rush.

And it was as though it was all planned; the pain seemed lighter and the sun less bright. Then the voices became even more distant, and your thoughts travelled miles away. Everything blackened.

~ ~ ~ ~  

"Shit..."

The hospital wing was quiet, Madam Pomfrey was nowhere in sight. The pain was still there, but not nearly as bad as it had been... since how long ago?

You reached up to scratch an itchy spot on your head and was shocked to find that your head was bandaged. Had it all been that bad?

You had been on your broomstick, soaring towards the hoops of the opposite team - Slytherin - while holding the quaffle. Crabbe and Goyle had been on each side of you, but you had been too close to the hoops that you didn't want to risk passing the quaffle over to a fellow teammate. But just as you had been about to throw the quaffle to score a point, your head had been brutally hit, not by a bludger, but by the bat the beaters use. That's when you had dropped the quaffle and reached for the back of your head instinctively. But that was short-lived as nearly a second later you felt another hit straight in your face, this time by the actual bludger.

It had been a nightmare filled with pain. It was like lis-

"How's your head feeling?"

Snapping your head to the direction the voice came from, you saw a tall, ginger boy standing by the drapes that secluded you from the rest of the room.

"You scared me." You sighed, feeling your heartbeat slow down from the sudden scare.

He sat down on the bed by your feet, apologising.

"I must look like crap." You touched the top of your head, grimacing as you felt around the bandage.

"More than normal, you mean?"

Kicking him softly with your foot, you smiled weakly.

"Hooch is seriously pissed. I understand though, Crabbe and Goyle shouldn't be allowed to play anymore after this."

"George, could you grab me a glass of water?" You ignored his comment, the thirst couldn't be dealt with any longer. But George seemed oblivious to your request.

"...The way Crabbe grinned after Goyle finished you up with that bludger!"

"George-"

"Crabbe literally beat you with his bat! Can you believe that! You could've died! Dumbledore must be so fuc-"

"George, please! Can you get me a glass of water, my throat is as dry as Percy's humour at the moment." You groaned, pointing at your throat.

He looked apologetic but transfigured an empty potion bottle into a goblet and used the aguamenti charm to fill it with clear, refreshing water which you gulped down in a haste.

"Mmm, that really hit the spot. Thanks." George took the goblet from you to place it on the bedside table.

"Fred lost his shit, you know. He was about to give Huey and Duey a real beat up if Harry and Oliver hadn't stopped him." He said, looking at you with worried eyes.

You smiled and reached out a hand for him, which he grabbed cautiously as if he was afraid of causing more pain to you. "I'm very thankful for all of you."

"Do you know when you'll get outta here? I mean, it's almost been a full day."

"No idea, I haven't even seen Madam Pomfrey. But I hope I'll get out soon, I can't stand being here." You really wished you could leave right this second, but knew that it was more than impossible to get Madam Pomfrey to let you leave the hospital wing.

George squeezed your hand. "When you get out, I'll take you up to the common room. Make sure you don't get hit by anything else, you know."

"Like Peeves throwing water balloons at me?" You chuckled.

"Or worse," he said, "dung bombs."

You exaggerated your reaction, gasping and widening your eyes. "Nooo, not dung bombs!"

He nodded solemnly, playing along. "Yes, I'm afraid so. So you'll need this handsome young chap to escort you through the madness that Peeves can create."

"Can't wait."

~ ~ ~ ~

It had been three days and Madam Pomfrey had just given you permission to leave. You had gotten the bandage around your head removed, leaving you feeling slightly cold. A big bump had grown at the back of your head, a big bruise and another bump from where the bat had crashed.

George, as he had said, was waiting by the big doors of the hospital wing to escort you. He looked very happy to see you up and about. He had admitted to have being incredibly worried for you, saying that 'he hates seeing his weird friends turn even weirder.'

"Ready?" He said, tangling his arm in yours. You leaned slightly on him, still feeling a little blue. But he didn't seem to mind.

"As ready as one can be."

~ ~ ~ ~

You made it to the Gryffindor common room which was empty besides for a couple of second years who had a break. He led you to an empty armchair by the fireplace, helping you sit down and wrapping you with a red and golden blanket.

"Will you be okay while I'm at divination?" He asked, studying to see if he could detect any more bruises or cuts.

You nodded, smiling broadly as you appreciated his concern for you. "I'll be great here. I already feel better."

"Liar." He said, shaking his head.

"Fine, I still feel like shit, but I'll be more than fine in this chair."

George looked you up and down, seemingly to decided whether or not your statement was honest enough to satisfy him. But in the end, he said, "Right, I'll be back in an hour. Don't die on me, that's my only request."

"I promise I won't die."

"Don't know if I should believe you or not."

"Guess you'll just have to trust me."

"That's a very bad idea."

You shrugged, "If it's a bad idea, it's usually good."

He narrowed his eyes, then a smile crept on to his thin lips. "You're absolutely right."

"As per usual."

"Mmm, don't get too cocky, now. I'll be back soon."

As he scurried off, you gazed into the fire. Feeling your mind go blank, you closed your eyes just a little. But you couldn't help it; sleep took over you.

[mykastlenevercame]

A kiss with a fist is better than none

1.1k, fix-it. For @superrpowerlesshuman 💕

“I don’t want to.”

Karen stares at Frank in disbelief. After everything they’ve been through together, everything they’ve done for each other — after years of being brutally honest with each other, now is when he decides to lie?

He stares up at her, as if daring her to call him out, and she snaps. Her impulse control is normally pretty good, she’s had years of practice from dealing with Matt, but she’s also in the middle of getting her heart broken by an idiot, so she thinks she can be forgiven for what she does next.

Which is sucker punch Frank Castle.

Her fist flies out and his eyes widen in surprise in the split second before she hits him directly in the nose, snapping his head back into the pillow.

“Fuck!” She cradles her hand against her stomach as she turns away from Frank’s shocked stare. That fucking hurt.

“The hell was that for?” Frank demands, the bed creaking as he struggles out of it. She glares at him over her shoulder, blinking when he’s a lot closer than she expected.

“For lying,” she snaps, and feels a surge of vindication when he flinches. Still, when he touches her, gently turning her toward him and examining her already-bruising knuckles, she lets him. It’s rare that she’s this close to him. She can see the faint smattering of freckles across the bridge of his nose, the sunspot under his left eye. Every bruise and cut standing out in high definition. He’s a wreck, he’s always a wreck.

“Looks like it hurts,” he murmurs, running a thumb over her knuckles and pulling her fingers out straight to test her mobility. She hisses a little, grabbing his shoulder with her free hand.

“Feels like I punched a dumbass.”

He glances up at her and away, so quick she almost misses it, and nods slowly.

“How’s your nose?” She asks dryly, and is rewarded by the slight curve of his smile. He looks up at her under his eyelashes, almost shyly.

“I’ve had worse,” he says. He’s still gently caressing her fingers, and her heart is pounding in her ears, and she doesn’t care that he lied or how mad she is, she loves him. He’s difficult and stubborn and honorable and when he walks out of here it could be the last time she ever sees him.

So she kisses him.

She leans in, slowly enough that he could stop her if he wanted to, but he stays where he is and she presses her lips to his. She feels the tremor run through him under her palm, and she pulls away slightly before kissing him again softly. He whispers her name like a prayer against her lips, and then his arm curls around her waist and his hand is cupping her jaw. He kisses the same way he does everything else: with a single-minded intensity, careful and thorough and passionate. She nearly sobs with relief, wrapping her arms around his shoulders, holding onto him as hard as she can.

The door opens and closes, but neither of them notice. Frank’s hands are hot on her skin, and his mouth fits perfectly against hers, and she doesn’t want this to end.

“Well, this is adorable,” Amy says, making them both jump.

Karen turns to look at her, and Frank drops his forehead against her temple, his breath tickling her jaw.

“We need to go,” Amy adds, and Karen nods, Frank’s arm tightening on her waist.

“I’ll be out in a minute, kid,” he says, and the girl rolls her eyes and leaves the room again — but not before Karen catches the girl’s smug smile.

Karen turns back to Frank, and he rests his forehead against hers, and this is how she knows he loves her. No matter what his mouth says, his body can’t lie.

“I gotta finish this,” he whispers. “Please. Just let me finish this.” She’s not sure what he means — the war, now, or whatever they’ve just started, later — but she knows he’s begging for her to walk away, at least for now. She opens her eyes, holding his gaze for an eternity that lasts only a moment, and nods.

His shoulders slump. “Karen... it means a lot to me that you came here, that you stayed with me.”

“So make it mean something, Frank.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He nods, and lets her go, and she tries not to feel like her world is ending. He doesn’t look at her while she shrugs into her jacket and gathers up her bag. He doesn’t ask her what happened to her shoes. Neither of them speaks again — they’ve said what there was to be said. She nods at Amy as they pass in the doorway, wishes Dinah good luck. She pulls the fire alarm to give them some cover, and then she goes home.

She doesn’t wait for him. She tells herself she’s not waiting for him, even as she counts the days that turn into weeks without any word from Frank.

She’s not dating, but that’s because she never dates — she’s too busy with work, and with her friends. She spends her days at the law firm or chasing down leads, and her nights with the avocados at Josie’s or in Trish’s apartment with her and Jess.

It takes him forty three days to reach out, not that she’s counting.

She’s been carefully monitoring crime in Hell’s Kitchen, and she’s pretty sure Frank has not been murdering criminals. When he shows up on her doorstep, bruise-free and holding flowers and a bag of takeout, a look on his face like he’s about to face a firing squad, she snaps again. She punches him hard enough that he rocks back on his heels, and she’d never admit it but she’s impressed that he doesn’t drop anything.

“I deserved that,” he says while she stands there, glaring at him and shaking out her sore hand. Apparently she learned nothing from the last time she punched him, because she’d forgotten how much it hurts.

“Ow,” she replies, but she lets him in. He puts the takeout on the table and digs around in her freezer for a bag of peas.

“I’m sorry,” he starts, but suddenly Karen realizes she doesn’t need to hear it.

“Are you going to ghost me again?”

“Never,” he says, that earnest Frank look on his face, and she drops the peas.

“That’s all I need to know,” she says, and kisses him.

The food has long gone cold by the time they come back to it, but it’s still the best lo mein she’s ever eaten.

—

AO3

Based on tags from this post and this ask.

[weclassygirl]

𝐓𝐮𝐮𝐦 𝐞𝐬𝐭

Word count: +5.8k

Pairing: santino d’antonio x f!reader

Summary: “You’ll fit right in, I promise.”

Warnings: none i think, triggering? (if i got it wrong please tell me! i don't want to offend anyone)

Author’s note: hello, i’m back! as mentioned above if i got something wrong, please tell me! as always give me your most brutal honest opinion so i can improve. english is not my first language so beware. 

dulce periculum series: 01 / 02 / ... / 04

Gif credits (x) 

You wake up with a gasp, your hand immediately rising up to your neck, holding it gently. Another nightmare. Your whole body is shaking lightly, your hand releases your neck slowly and drops onto your lap. 

It's sunrise. The faint light of the morning raises up directly in front of you but you see some dark clouds forming in the distance. You wonder what time it is and look towards the nightstand. The clock reads 7:30 am. You sigh, running your hands through your hair. You rub your eyes in means to wake up when you hear a distant voice coming from the hallway. 

You get out of the bed and grab the white robe you left laying on the couches under the windows. You reach the door knob and turn it slowly as to not make much of a noise. 

The voice that you've heard is beginning to grow more louder with every step you make. You stop by the kitchen and hear Santino talking on the phone in Italian.

You're not really surprised, it's his mother language after all, but you can hear him switch to French every now and then. Probably talking to more than one person. You hear him speaking more quietly, in a harsh tone. 

You peak your head slightly from behind the wall and see him turned away from you, he paces back and forth, his hair adorned by a few curly strands that hang above his forehead. 

"I think you forget your place here. You answer to me now and when I say that you have to comply to my order than you do so without hesitation, is that clear?" he says in Italian. "I am aware of what happened last night, I was there, no? Sooner or later people all over the world will take an interest in her, don't you think that-" he stops mid sentence noticing you in the doorway. You can't really read his expression, you see him showing surprise and that hint of seriousness disappears from his face. 

"We'll talk about it when I'm back." he ends the call before the person on the other side can respond. Santino's gaze is focused on you. 

"Good morning, slept well?" he asks as he moves towards on of the cabinets, pulling out two mugs and placing them under the coffee machine. 

You move closer and sit at the chair beside the marble island. "Like a baby." you lie. You haven't slept all night due to the nightmares, it's always the same, it's always that same basement, nothing really changes in it. You move in your seat and feel pain growing up your body. You hang your head down and grit your teeth. 

Santino’s expression softens but you don’t see it. He knows that there isn't much that he could do to help you ease your pain. Instead he places a cup of fresh coffee in front of you. You took some of the painkillers the doctor gave you but they still haven’t kicked in. You wrap your hands the mug and immediately take a sip of the warm liquid. Santino does the same. The morning sun has already rose up and is now casting a gold light in the kitchen. You look up from your mug at the man in front of you. 

He's wearing only a dark gray shirt without a tie. His Camorra ring gleams in the golden light. 

"News travel fast in this world, don't they?" you point out suddenly. You sip on your coffee, the liquid warming you up inside. 

"It would appear so. The events of last night are spreading worldwide, people know who you are, where you've came from. Some choose not to believe it." 

"Do you believe it?" you asks with curiosity. 

"Call me crazy, but I guess I do." he puts his finished coffee back on the table and plays with his ring. Your eyes snap to it. It's golden with a red ruby inside of it. 

You chuckle under your breath. "You are crazy, you called a contract on John Wick." 

"Which you made me call off."

"You're welcome, by the way. If it weren't for me you'd be lying cold in the Continental's basement." you say a matter of factly. You saw it with your own eyes… well through a screen. Him laying on the metal table while the Adjudicator leans over him and examining the damage that John caused. 

The cuts on his face seem to be fading away. Yours do to. The bruises are still there but not nearly as visible as before. 

"What happens now?" you wonder out loud. " I heard your conversation and I'm guessing it was someone from Camorra. Do I have some kind of bounty on my head?" 

His eyebrows draw in confusion. "Bounty? Why would you think that, bella?" 

"I don't know.” you shrug. You can feel a sensation of anxiety building up in your body. “Maybe… maybe Winston told the High Table of what happened at the Continental and now they've decided that it would be easier to eliminate the threat." you feel yourself slightly starting to panic. "I know what happened after your death” you point to him “what if some of the events won't change?"

It's hasn't been even 24 hours and the reality of the situation finally starts to get to you. You are not entirely safe here, Santino could grant you protection, but will it be enough? One wrong move and you could be as good as dead. 

Santino notices your uneasiness and stands up. "Hey, look at me." he says softly, which is surprising to hear from him. You do as he asks, staring at his emerald eyes, the sunlight falling into them from the side. "Winston will not tell the High Table of what happened there, he doesn't have any reason to. No blood was shed on its grounds." he tries to calm you down, your breathing slowly becomes more uneven. You feel like you can't breathe. 

Santino sees that movement and you move away from him, your back hitting the cabinets behind you. You slide down on the floor. Your breathing is even more rapid now and you feel tears starting to gather in your eyes. You try to calm down but nothing works. You don't hear Santino sitting beside you, his arm stretched out, palm face up. You look at it, consider taking it, to ground yourself somehow. 

You carefully place your shaky hand in his. He doesn't say anything just runs his thumb over your knuckles. It's a soothing gesture and you feel your heart rate calm down as you hear him speak.

"I can't even imagine how you feel. Being trapped in this world." you can tell that this isn't a thing he is used to doing. Comforting someone, a complete stranger at that. But he tries and you're grateful. "When my father told me of who I will become in the future I was terrified. I was always aware of this world, but when he said it, it felt like a new door has been opened. My sister and I were always here, but we never had a choice in it. She always wanted the seat and so did I. But the only reason she got it was because my father favored her more than me." your breathing starts to calm down as you listen to his story. 

"To be able to take up one of the seats at the High Table is a great honor. Camorra is one of the most powerful at that table. One of us taking that seat was a big deal, no one knew who it would be and even we didn't know it." your eyes move to him, he keeps his vision on your entangled hands. Still running soft circles over your knuckles. "No one expected our father's decision, especially me." he sighs and brings his eyes up to yours. "But that's just the course of life, isn't it, bella?" he smiles sadly. You grip his hand a little tighter. 

"If- if I can be honest, your father was kind of a dick." you say softly, still trying to calm your beating heart. Santino grins. "Yes, well, he wasn't particularly liked by people. They always saw him as someone that should be respected but mostly feared." 

You look at the window, the sun has already risen up. The day has officially started. You begin to slowly stand up from the floor, Santino follows your lead. Your hand still hold his and you release it from his grip.

"There are clothes prepared for you in your room." he informs you. Clothes? You don't remember seeing them in the room. You draw your eyebrows together.

You exit the kitchen area and head towards your temporary bedroom to see a fresh set of clothes and shoes sitting on the couch beneath the window. You take them in your hands. 

A classic black jeans, dark blue shirt and a pair of semi high boots. It's casual but also an elegant set. There's also a black coat next to the neat pile. It reaches your calves, the material of it is soft, firm and flexible. You quickly get dressed and look at yourself in the bathroom mirror. The clothes lay perfectly on you and you wonder if maybe Santino somehow found out your measurements throughout the night. 

You step out of the bedroom and go straight to the living room. Santino is not in it but you see him from the corner of your eye, standing on the small terrace connected to the room. You gently open the door and stand beside him.

New York is beautiful at this time of day. You can hear honks of the cars from here, see people walking by in the far distance. Where are they going? Do they know of this hidden world? 

"So… what now?" you lean against the railing.

"We’re going to Italy." he responds shortly still looking ahead. 

Italy. His country. The place where his family rules with an iron hand. Or ruled, you have no idea how it functions now with his father and sister dead.

"Before you ask, let me explain few things." he offers, in exchange you nod your head. "Your appearance here is noticeable and it's starts to turn a lot of heads. You under Camorra's protection is the only good option for you now. I suggest you take it." he narrows his eyes at you and you quickly draw your eyebrows.

"And if I don't?" you lift your chin up and raise your eyebrow at him. He grins. "Then you end up dead in some of the alleys of this city." he confesses with a seriousness drawing on his face. You press your lips together in a thin line. 

You consider his option. You already agreed to go with him so what's the difference? He may use you to his advantage but who says that it can't be used against him. You don't have to comply with whatever he would want. You just need to survive here, that's all. And if that happens because of him and his offer, you might as well take it. 

"Fine. When do we leave?" you ask. 

His lips draw upwards. "In 2 hours, but we need stop somewhere first." He says and turns to leave the terrace. You look one last time at the skyline of the city. Thinking it may be your last time. "There's a package waiting for me on the other side of the city." 

"What is it?" you question. 

"Now that would be unwise for me to tell you, no?"

"Well seeing as you would be taking me with you then I might as well know."

"It's something my father left." he says after a beat.

You don't question further. If it's from his father then it must be important, even if he wasn't the favorite child. But for him to leave Santino something and receiving it after his death… you can only guess what it is.

Both of you quickly ride down the elevator to the lobby. Santino returns the keys to the concierge and you head towards the car waiting outside. 

"Don't you think that it would be faster to get your package by metro?" you turn to him. He raises his eyebrow at you as if you've just told the most ridiculous idea. "What? I might have never been in New York, but I know that the metro is the fastest way to go around. You rather just sit in traffic? Like yesterday?" 

Last night the drive from the Continental to the penthouse took over 30 minutes. The distance from the hotel to the penthouse was short, but the traffic made it seem too long.

You can feel the tiny drops of rain falling onto your face and look up, the bright sun has began to hide behind gray clouds. 

The Italian considers your option. "Very well." Both of you start walking towards the nearest subway and Santino takes out the metro card from his wallet and presses it to the scanner. 

You're surprised that he even has one. You stand at the station, awaiting for your train when you notice something from the corner of your eye. A homeless man in baggy clothes. There isn't many people around, only few on the other side of the station. 

"I think we have a company." you say looking up at Santino. His face expresses confusion. "What makes you say that, cara?" he questions. 

"The guy in the corner has been watching us since we got here… and I know who he is." you glance towards the homeless man as he stands up, definitely hearing your last sentence. He starts walking towards you and Santino starts to gently place you behind him, but you stop him before he can finish that action.

He looks down on you, questions filling his head. But as soon as the man comes closer, Santino realizes who he might be and for who he works. 

"The Bowery King wants to talk with you." he says in a scruffy voice. His clothes are dirty and worn out but you catch a glimpse of a shiny watch on his wrist. 

The three of you hear an announcement of the train coming from the speakers and feel the rush of air behind you as the train passes by and stops. People slowly start to exit the train, the three of you don’t move. The Bowery King himself wants to speak with you. You shouldn’t be surprised, after all he has every eye in the city, or at least he would be one of the people that do.  

“We’ll go with you.” you respond. 

“He wants to speak with you alone.” he insists, glancing towards Santino and throwing him a dirty look. You look between both men and smile mischievously.

“No,” you step closer to the man “either we both go or you can just go back to your boss and tell him to fuck off.” the homeless man stares at you with wide eyes. 

"He won't accept this, people don't refuse him." 

"Well, first time for everything right?" you say raising an eyebrow. "Either we both go or none of us do."

The little morning breakdown is now sitting deep in the back of your mind, you can't afford being seen as a vulnerable girl from another world. Santino stands beside you, his lips twitching to smile. 

The man looks between you too and considers taking the option at hand. "Follow me." he says through gritted teeth. 

You miss the train and Santino doesn't gather his package in time. 

Both of you arrive at the Bowery King's domain. People scattered all around the shelter, wearing dirty and worn out clothes. A facade. You know that all of this is just a cover up for the whole industry inside. Money flows here as well as it flows in the hands of rich people. 

You walk down the rusty, metal staircase with a torn umbrella over your head, Santino trailing behind you and the King's man ahead, leading you to his boss. 

The boss himself is standing on an open platform almost beneath the Manhattan Bridge. He’s holding one of the pigeons in his hands, petting it carefully.  The New York air hits you with chilly wind. Your coat flatters lightly from it. Santino stands beside you, his shoulders tense. None of you know why the Bowery King would want to speak with you. 

"As I live and breath, miss Jade." exclaims the dark skinned man. "I must admit it is an honor to meet you and you" he turns his sight to Santino "the man who offered 7 million dollars for the life of John Wick. Spare pocket change perhaps? We would gladly accept it." the Bowery King grins at Earl who’s standing behind you alongside four other men.

"What do you want?" you ask with an icy cold voice. 

"Ah, straight to the point, I like it." he puts the bird gently back in his cage and turns to you, a transparent red umbrella over above his head and spreading his arms lightly. "You are the talk of the city. The girl who stopped the Boogeyman. To save him?" he glances in Santino's way. "And for what?"

You side eye the Italian, he doesn't say a word, only silently watches your conversation with the King.

"You’re all seeing and all knowing, shouldn’t you know that by now?" you squint your eyes at him, the left of the morning sun hitting you in the face, you hear raindrops bouncing off your umbrella.

"Hmm, your right," he hums, deep in thought. "I assume you’ve told him your explanation in a more private setting.” the King smiles, it's a pleasant smile but it holds that cold attitude. “But you know a lot too, don't you?" he steps in closer, Santino moves a bit closer to you too. "You are from a world where all of this is a movie." he gestures around himself. "A movie, Earl! Can you believe it? We are stars." 

The New York traffic on the bridge is starting to get louder with every passing minute. You and Santino stand close to each other, listening, awaiting for the Bowery King's next move. The Italian decides to speak up.

"You might want to speed up your little speech, we have more important things to do than talk with rodents like you." he comments and the King grins. 

"Well, no one likes to waste time, but on you," he turns to you with a mischief in his eyes "everyone in this damn city would do so in a blink of an eye." 

The word does travel fast in this world. Maybe Winston did inform the High Table. You look towards the stairs from where you came from, expecting an Adjudicator to come in at any second. You feel relieved when that doesn't happen. 

"Why? How many people know? No one was at the lounge yesterday." you slide your eyesight to the King. 

"Well you do seem to be missing those few guests that were there before you interrupted their lovely night." 

The guests. There were a few of them before you crashed into the railing of the stairs at the Continental. Few heads turned your way, and all of them left the venue when Winston told them to. What if one of them stayed in the shadows? 

"Let me guess, one of them was working for you." you acknowledge.

"Indeed she was." the man says it slowly with a smile playing on his lips. "Quite a scene you've made, placing yourself in front of a gun, shielding the Camorra prince. You have some guts on you, baby." he directs his eye on the Italian beside you.

"And to answer your rude request Mr. D'Antonio, I am here to offer a deal to your lovely saviour." 

You furrow your eyebrows as the Camorra head places his arm on the low of your back. 

"No, we're going." Santino says coldly. 

Both of you turn to walk back but before you can do that the Bowery's men stop right in front of you, hands placed on the guns hidden inside their torn jackets. 

You hear a small chuckle from the King. "So quick to refuse when you haven't even heard my offer." you keep your eyes on Earl and a few other men before you turn your sight to the man standing behind you. 

"Work for me." he simply says. You look towards Santino, looking for his reaction. "You supposedly considered going here in the first place, why not making it true?" your eyes slide from Santino's and go in the direction of the Bowery King. 

"I'm afraid that I have already beaten you to it, she's going with me." the Italian cuts in, his eyes still focused on your frame before they move to the man.

The King stares at the prince with hooded eyes, his gaze piercing into Italian's. One leader versus another. 

"I was speaking to our guest and not you, Mr. D'Antonio. So what do you say?" he takes slow steps in your direction  "We could teach you everything you need to know about this world, teach you how to blend in with shadows, be unnoticeable."

You think about it and feel conflicted. On one hand staying with the Bowery could help you blend in this world, on the other you could go with Santino and see where that leads you. He owes you, that much you know, you did save him. You could use that favor in the future.

"Thanks for the offer, but... I think that going with Santino will be somewhat a better option."

The Italian stares at you in disbelief, he thought that you might take up on the man's offer. 

"Call me surprised," he says slowly "do tell me one thing before we depart. Why do you think you're safer with him than with us?"

You look towards the man in question, right into his emerald eyes. The sun is not hitting them anymore, hiding behind the clouds but they still hold that bright look in them, his hair wave slightly at the feeling of the wind flowing on the platform. The birds faintly chirp in the background. 

"He's Camorra and a member of the High Table. I saw how easily it is to take your bowery down. Your people, even trained , don't stand a chance against professional killers." you step closer to the King and you hear shuffling of feet behind you and soft clicks of guns.

"Careful now, it's dangerous saying things in that tone here, baby." he smiles widely but there is nothing sweet about it. "You've seen it? In this movie?" he wonders. 

The King heads to one of the cages and you slowly walk towards him. The people behind you are still ready to attack if it comes to it. He pets on of the birds with his gloves hands. 

"Yes and I also saw that you gave John seven bullets. But don't worry, I don't think that you're endangered now that I saved him." he knows you're talking about Santino, but he shows surprise at your mention of the bullets. It reminds you of the same surprise on John's face when you told him his real name. 

The Bowery King sighs and closes the birdcage. "Well, it was a pleasure to meet you, miss Jade. Our doors are always open for you, we could really use your knowledge." your shoulder loose their build up tension just a bit. "I do hope we meet each other again."

You keep your sight on him, your eyes burning into his. 

"Don't hold your breath."

He hums. "Hmm, definitely a fighter soul. I'm sure we'll hear about you again.” the man smiles and nods towards the man who brought you here. “Earl will guide you on your way out."

You turn to leave and look at Santino, his expression blank. As you head up the stairs you can hear a faint laugh of the man. 

Outside there's a car waiting for you and the driver from last night. He was probably informed by Santino of your location. When he did that though, you don't know. Maybe on your way here? 

Both of you enter the car and head towards the airport. The rain keeps falling onto the car and makes a tapping sound against it. You follow a single drop that slides on the window and see it connecting with the others. After a brief moment of tranquility you speak up.

"Why didn't you say anything?"

Santino responds. "You've seemed to be handling the situation pretty well. You didn't need my help."

You feel a sense of pride coursing through you. You refused the Bowery King, one of the most powerful people in New York. How many refused his offers and lived to see another day? You don't ponder about it for too long. 

"He's a cool character, you know," the Italian raises an eyebrow "in the movie. The actor that played him was working with Keanu on a previous massive movie trilogy."

"Keanu?" he asks with curiosity lacing his question.

"Ah, right, you don't know, that's how John's actor is called, Keanu Reeves." you quickly inform him. 

"Unusual name." he says as you pass the river. 

"Yeah, it is, but it falls in memory." you stare at the water, some small boats float above it, fishermans sitting on the shore. "Just like John now that I think about it." you smile at the thought.

Santino glances at you, at your shy smile. The tranquility fills up the small space of the car. You hear the faint sound of the tires, moving on the pavement, the passing cars and a quiet sound of the flowing river.  

"What about your package?” you turn to him, your face filled with concern. “We wasted a lot of time there, don't you wanna know what your father left you?" you question with furrowed eyebrows. 

"He's dead anyway, I don't think that it would be something useful." he only answers. You wonder what would his father leave him? What if it was something to show that he cared about him? Or maybe something to make him hurt even more? 

You don’t respond to his answer, but don’t want for the silence to fill up the atmosphere again. 

"So… Italy. We're going to Naples?" you question, he looks at you as if he just acknowledged your question.  "Camorra exists in my world too. They're placed in Naples and have people working for them worldwide, many of them fear them and are the second most active Italian mob." you inform the Italian. 

"You just described the Camorra working here." he says with an amused smile. 

You say nothing, he observes you as your coat falls delicately on the car seat, your hands clasped together in front of you. Your face is turned to the direction of the window, admiring the view of the New York. You're not in the middle of the city but it doesn't stop you from marvelling at the scenery next to you. 

"Would you be taking up on the bowery's offer if I weren't there?" the Italian breaks the silence with a sudden question. You answer him without even thinking about it. 

"No." you tell him the truth. You wouldn't, over the course of last events you realized that maybe being in the presence of the new Head of the High Table would be more efficient than staying with the Bowery. 

"Why?" he questions further. He's curious, you did propose that offer in the first place as a suggestion, but even suggestions could be your true intention. Why changing your mind then? 

"You owe me," you smirk "and I could really use a decent protection. If the bowery knows about me then it would be turning a lot of heads in my direction." you say as a matter of fact. 

Last night's events may have already reach some dangerous people, maybe even the High Table itself. You don't want to risk meeting face to face with one of their servants. "I know things that some don't, that's an advantage." 

"It could get you killed here." he leans in closer, his whole expression flashes with softness and seriousness all in one second. You decide to lean in too, narrowing your eyes. 

"That's why I stayed with you.” you exclaim as you study him. His expression doesn’t change. You slowly start to smirk. “ You're welcome... again, you may find out one thing or two from me and my knowledge of this world." you lean back in your seat and cross your arms on your chest. "And you still haven't thanked me for that." you point out. Santino says nothing but you can see from the corner of your eyes that he tries to hide a smile. 

Both of you arrive at the private airport. It’s empty, the only thing standing in the center of the open space is a pearly white plane. You step out of the car and look towards the beautiful machine. The sun has already started to peak out from the clouds, giving away to the stormy weather. 

"Of course it’s a private jet.” you mumble under your breath. Santino seems to have heard that cause there's a smirk on his face as he turns to you. 

“Come on.” he urges you. You walk towards the stairs leading to the plane and are met with one of the Camorra guards. He's dressed in a grey three piece suit with his hands clasped in front of him. 

“Welcome back boss.” he says to Santino and the man nods his head. The Italian starts to enter the plane but the guard stops you before you can do the same. Santino notices your absence by his side and turns to the guard. 

“It’s alright, she’s going with us.” you hold your gaze with the guard as he still holds your arm. He releases the grip on your arm and takes a step back. You look towards Santino and he only tilts his head as if to say Come on. 

The interior of the plane is simple but still shows that state of luxury that comes with everyone flying on private planes. 

“Take a seat anywhere you want. The flight is over 8 hours long.” Santino tells you as he sits down in one of the comfy chairs. You sit across from him. The only people in the small space are both of you and a hostess that comes up to you with a smile on her face. You suggest that she also works for Camorra and is probably trained in how to defend herself.  

“Welcome aboard, can I get you anything to drink?” she asks politely. Her head turns from you to Santino. The Italian shakes his head, not wanting anything at this moment. You look up at the woman. 

“Um… water is fine.” you say softly and return the smile. The hostess disappears and you look outside of the small window. The sun is high up in the sky, by the time you arrive in Italy it will be already night. You stare at the New York far in the distance, the high skyscrapers gleaming with light reflecting on them. 

You wonder if you made a right decision. Yes, going to Camorra is a safer option but you are still not sure if they would even accept you, an outsider, one that doesn't belong in this world. 

All this time that you've been here you haven't even thought of a way to get back home. Or even a way of how you really got here in the first place. Do you want to go back home? Is it worth it, to go back to a place where you were not fully acknowledged by others? You feel like the questions won't end for a long time. You break your thoughts with one question that has been bugging you since the Lounge. 

“Do you think it’s a good idea taking me with you?” you ask the man sitting across from you. He glances towards you and his green eyes shine in the afternoon light. 

"How many times will you ask this before we get there?" he asks with a hint of that Italian accent of his. You smirk his way, mirroring his own, faint grin. 

"As many as it takes, I just… need to be sure." you hesitate with the last part. You see from the corner of your eye the sun peaking out from the leftover clouds, some of its rays fall on the side of your face. 

Santino keeps his eyes on you and slowly turns his gaze towards the window. Everything is already prepared for the departure. You can hear the engines of the plane becoming alive. They roar faintly in you ear. 

“You’ll fit right in, I promise.” you hear Santino say. His gaze still focused on the window, the plane begins to move and it slowly takes off.�� “You’ll be safe there.” 

New York starts to become a small point in the distance now that you're in the air. The city is even more beautiful from above, you can still see cars moving and even the platform below the Manhattan Bridge, but you don't see any of the Bower King's men or even the King himself. 

“I hope you’re right," you say quietly, he narrows his eyes at you. "cause I don’t really wanna end up six feet under, especially in this world.” 

You look at your reflection in the small window, the bruises started to fade and don’t hurt as much as before. The painkillers helped but you will still have to take them in the evening, just to ease the rest of the pain as you’ll fall asleep.

It hasn't been even full 24 hours and you feel a big change coming. You don't know if it will affect the world around but you're sure that it will get to you. You sitting on that plane proves it, in a few hours you'll be in the center of the underground world or at least a big part of it. 

You wonder if Camorra will be the only organization you meet during your time here. You've met the Bowery, but you know that there's so much more underneath this world. 

The tranquility filling the air of the small space is deafening. Over 8 hour flight, might as well get comfortable. You lean back in your chair and lean on the side of the plane. The soft trembling of the walls lulls you to sleep, before you can fully submerge yourself into the dream land you feel a soft material being placed on your body. 

[kingreywrites]

Of Captains and Change

Words count: 2705

Eugene Appreciation Week Day One: Captain

Summary: The day when Eugene Fitzherbert became Captain of the Guard was the worst day of Henry's life, hands down - and that was saying something, considering he had spent the last twenty-five years serving as a guard, and had lived through the Princess' kidnapping. That was a hard event to top, but Fitzherbert was a man of many talents, apparently.

Read it on ao3

My first contribution to the EAW! Thank you @fishskiin for organizing it :)

The day when Eugene Fitzherbert became Captain of the Guard was the worst day of Henry's life, hands down - and that was saying something, considering he had spent the last twenty-five years serving as a guard, and had lived through the Princess' kidnapping. That was a hard event to top, but Fitzherbert was a man of many talents, apparently.

"Captain-"

"Not your Captain anymore," the Captain- Henry's best friend- James answered, still packing his clothes quietly, looking smaller than Henry had ever seen him.

"You'll always be my Captain, I- James, please," Henry pressed, as he took hold of his arm and stopped him in his movement.

"I can't fight Cassandra, Henry, I can't," James said, trying his hardest to hide the tremors in his voice.

Henry didn't answer, because he didn't have any good responses to this. Of course, his friend wouldn't be able to fight his own daughter and even if Henry wanted to argue, he couldn't really stay Captain of the Guard if he couldn't face the biggest threat to Corona. Henry himself was uneasy at the idea, his thoughts always going back to the little adventurous girl that loved to dress up as a guard when she was ten - Cassandra was part of their family, because the Captain was. Well, James, not the Captain anymore, now the one who held the title was-

"Why Rider?"

"Fitzherbert," the ex-Captain corrected sternly, "and he is the leader Corona's Guard needs."

"Is he though? Because I seem to remember you firing him as a guard in one day! Listen, I like Fitzherbert, but as the Princess' friend, not my Captain-"

"Henry." James' look was serious and dark; Henry gulped, knowing already that this was his 'you fucked up' eyes. "Eugene Fitzherbert is Captain of the Guard and, as such, he deserves your respect. He has proved time and time again that he was much more than the Princess' friend, and if you can't trust him, trust me: he will be a good Captain."

And that was that. James left, Fitzherbert accepted his Captain's position after chasing after another Flynn Rider, and Henry stayed quiet, because he wasn't an idiot - most of the guards liked Fitzherbert and were eager to please him, and that was… good. He had to admit it. With Maximus' help, Fitzherbert helped shape up Corona's defenders and Henry, as sceptical as he had been, could accept that he was great at his job. Which didn't mean he liked the situation any better.

After the whole Cassandra's mess had been resolved - and yes, Fitzherbert had been primordial in that, Henry knew thank you - he went back to see James.

And, apparently, in his twenty-five years of service, Henry had become predictable, because his friend was waiting for him with a full meal prepared, looking more relaxed than ever. James even laughed at his confused look, much more playful now that he wasn't his superior.

Henry sat down, and they started to eat.

"And- he's so careless! He's our Captain but he keeps playing pranks on us, as if we were little kids," Henry kept ranting, stabbing his pasta vengefully, "just last time, he jumped out of a closet and startled Pete so bad he fainted!"

James hummed noncommittally, when Henry knew that a year ago, he would have been red with anger. "Well, what if he had been an assassin?"

"What?" Henry paused his fork.

"I mean, Fitzherbert scared Pete so bad he fainted so, what if it had been an assassin? What if Pete fainted then, and let the way open to the King and Queen's chambers?" There was nothing more frustrating than someone trying to use reason when you wanted to be angry, Henry realised, especially when they had a point.

"Isn't there a more normal way to do this?" Henry grumbled anyway.

"I used the normal way with Pete for the last ten years, and he never changed. At least, he won't forget the lesson this time."

God, Henry hated it when James was right. They finished their meal talking about sports, because it was easier this way.

Henry's life kept its rhythm. He was a great and experienced guard so Fitzherbert often consulted him on different strategies and- well, they had very divergent opinions. Henry had respect for the title, so he didn't yell, but he nearly smashed his head on the table in frustration numerous times, while Fitzherbert seemed relatively calm about the whole situation.

"Thanks Henry!" He always shouted as he left, a bright grin on his face, and Henry struggled every time to not grimace too much.

Nonetheless, calling Fitzherbert Captain was almost natural now. Sometimes, thinking back on his Flynn Rider's days left Henry reeling at the changes the kingdom had went through in barely five years - but it also made the fact the he trusted Fitzherbert all the more obvious.

Yes, as annoying, unconventional, and all around infuriating as he thought his Captain to be, Henry trusted him, with both his and his friends' lives - the highest honour there was in his eyes.

"He's so childish," he still moaned over a drink.

"But?" James asked serenely, now used to Henry's constant rants about the Captain.

"But he's so gooood," was the morose answer. "The guards are the best we've had in years, and we keep learning with him!"

"So there's no problem?" James laughed. "You like him, don't you?"

"... Shut up."

Henry should really stop talking to James - he was getting way too smug with time.

He was overjoyed, however, when James came back to act as Captain for the Princess' wedding - even if it was because he didn't want their current Captain to worry too much about it, since he was getting married. Their planning sessions were delightful, and Henry fully remembered what he loved about James' command - he was straightforward and concise, with everyone given a clear designated role.

That's what he told James after the wedding went on without a hitch - implying not too subtly that maybe, just maybe, he could come back? James was quick to shot this down, however.

"Henry, why do you think this strategy worked?"

"Because it was a good one?" he answered, unsure since he could smell the trap question.

"Yes, it was, as were all my strategies before this one. I'm a great Captain, and I know it, but if this worked when so many other plans failed, it's because it was Eugene Fitzherbert's guards acting under my command."

"That's…"

"True, don't deny it." James smiled and put a hand on Henry's shoulder. "Even you, old friend, you're way quicker on your feet than you used to be!"

"James, you were a great Captain," Henry protested.

"I know! Don't worry, I'm not saying I was bad at my job, I'm trying to make you understand that Fitzherbert is way better with people than I ever was. He inspires the guards, he inspires you to be better, even when you don't realise it."

"But…" Henry sighed, knowing that he didn't have anything to contradict this statement.

"Henry," James insisted softly, "I may have left my position because of the situation I was in, but I am happy. I don't want to be a guard anymore and I never regretted naming Eugene as Captain."

Well, what could one answer to that? Henry bit his tongue, and they changed the topic. Honestly, at this point, he wasn't sure what it was that he didn't like about his Captain - and, perhaps, there wasn't anything. Perhaps he only liked ranting about him, even when there wasn't any fire in his words anymore. Henry's ways were old school, and his Captain's certainly were not, but the Captain was great listener, and he knew how to exploit his team's capacities to their best. The Captain even told Henry once that he liked his brutal honesty.

"I know," Fitzherbert had said, "that you always have Corona's interests at heart when you contradict me. And I also know that, however much you disagree with my solution, you'll never question my orders once they are given so… Thank you for that."

Henry had honest to god blushed under the praise, even if he only answered with a gruff "you're welcome". (He forgot, sometimes, just how much younger his Captain was - his talent overshadowed his lack of experience in certain fields, without mentioning that he was a quick learner - but when Fitzherbert smiled so genuinely, it was impossible to ignore.) And, despite his doubts, Henry had to be fair: none of his Captain's strategy had failed yet.

Well, until now. He probably jinxed them himself with this thought.

"Snow," Fitzherbert groaned feebly, "why is it always snow?"

"Captain?" Henry exclaimed, immediately kneeling at his side, ignoring the snow soaking further his already wet clothes. Henry pushed Fitzherbert back down when he tried to raise himself up on shaking arms. "No, no, don't get up, you fell pretty hard-"

"I- I seem to remember us both falling," the Captain laughed, but he stayed down and that was all Henry wanted. "You okay?"

"I'm- yeah, the others are coming back for us but they didn't have enough rope."

The guards had been trying to find a group of bandits hiding out in the mountains, since they had been taking advantage of the isolation to rob people blind. The Captain had only taken five people with him and, at first, everything went as expected. The Captain sniffed out the bandits by having Henry pretend to be a merchant in a hurry who refused to go around the mountains. They others all hid in the carriage and when he got attacked, they all managed to arrest the three guys - it would all have been perfect, if one of them didn't try to throw Henry off a crack in the mountain, and if his Captain didn't have the bright idea to jump with him in desperate attempt to catch him.

They fell, and Henry had been dazed but that dissipated quickly once he saw his Captain still form not too far from him. Scrambling to his side was the worst five seconds of Henry's life (yes, it topped the day Fitzherbert became Captain. And yes, it wasn't only because he dreaded the mere idea of telling the Princess that her husband was dead, but because… he liked him, alright.)

Thankfully, his Captain was unconscious, but breathing. Henry had to yell at the others to stop yelling because they would bring the mountain down on them, and then they realised the rope they packed wasn't enough, so they made their way back to the kingdom with the three thieves, promising to come back as soon as possible.

"Well, that's between twenty and fifty minutes," the Captain mused quietly, when Henry told him, "depending on if they tell Rapunzel or not."

"It's a fifteen minutes walk to Corona, I don't see how the Princess could make it to us in five."

"She'll find a way," Fitzherbert laughed, and Henry noticed that he was already shivering hard. "You didn't tell me you were fine by the way, don't think I didn't notice."

"I- I'm fine," Henry coughed awkwardly. "I… You saved my life, Captain. Thank you."

Fitzherbert didn't answer right away, and Henry thought that was it - he thanked him and now they were back to manly ignoring their feelings again, as they should. That was why he startled when his Captain's quiet voice interrupted his thoughts.

"You shouldn't have been in any danger."

"... Well, you couldn't predict-"

"I should have!" Fitzherbert exclaimed, sitting up despite Henry's protest. He swayed a little, obviously concussed, but kept talking. "I- Your life, everyone's lives are mine to protect and I should have known- I should have played the merchant part, and you wouldn't have been isolated and unprotected, I-"

"Captain," Henry stopped him, putting a hand on his shoulder to calm him, like James had done to him so many times before. Now that he was closer, he could see how unfocused Fitzherbert's eyes were, and there was an impressive bruise starting to form on the right side of his head. "Captain, you did everything right. You couldn't have been the merchant because too many people know your face and you know it! Your strategy was flawless and this accident was just that, an accident."

As he was talking, Henry realised that it wasn't just words - he wasn't only trying to comfort and calm a wounded man down, until help could come. He genuinely believed that the Captain - his Captain had made the best plan he could have given the circumstances, and that it was a damn good plan because Eugene Fitzherbert was a damn good leader.

"I think I've never heard you say so many nice things about me in a single sentence," the Captain breathed out, before grinning like an idiot. "Aw, Henry, you do care!

Henry groaned, putting his head in his hands, suddenly conscious that he would not be able to stand another Captain teasing him relentlessly. James was bad enough.

"I think that you're not bad overall, Captain" he answered finally.

"That's as good as a standing ovation, coming for you," Fitzherbert laughed, "and you can call me Eugene, you know, shared near death experience and what not."

"I'd rather stick with Captain, Captain."

"I know in your head you're not calling me Captain everytime," Eugene insisted and… yeah, perhaps he was right, Eugene was easier than Fitzherbert. But he would stay Captain out loud. Before he could say it, Eugene flopped back down and closed his eyes, making every alarm in Henry's head go crazy.

"Captain?!"

"I'm not taking a nap, don't worry," Eugene sighed, looking much too pale for comfort as he opened his eyes back up. "Too cold for that, anyway."

"... You have to stay healthy, Captain, because I'm not telling the Princess you're dead."

Eugene barked a laugh, obviously surprised at Henry's joke. "Is that the only reason you're all protecting me? The threat of Rapunzel?"

"Not the only reason… I'm also not telling Mr. Strongbow."

"Lance scares you?"

"No, the Princess scares me, Mr. Strongbow would cry and I'm not equipped for that."

They exchanged a glance and both laughed. Well, Henry laughed, but he kept a careful eye on his Captain, because he was not really kidding, in the end. Who would he rant about to James without him?

He didn't have to wonder any longer, because he heard the worried voice of the Princess calling their names above him.

"How the hell did she manage to get here so fast?" He said after calling back.

"Told you," Eugene answered cheekily.

The rescue went pretty well, all things considered, the Princess' orders clear and accepting no contradiction. If she ever decided to abdicate the throne, she would make a great Captain, Henry thought bemused. In barely two minutes they had both been lifted up, bundled up in warmer clothing and evacuated in a hot air balloon. Henry was more than surprised to that James was part of the rescue party since, apparently, he had decided to visit right when the other guards came back (and, at this point, Henry half-suspected his friend had psychic powers, he could never hide anything from him for more than one hour).

"You okay?" James asked, and Henry nodded absently, his gaze automatically straying to his Captain as he was being fussed over by the Princess.

He looked still quite dazed and pale, but his smile was warm as he tried to reassure his wife. He was sitting down while she was kneeling at his side. The Princess was carding her fingers through his hair slowly and, at some point, he whispered something and she finally sat down fully next to him, before they snuggled closer.

"So?"

"So what?" Henry startled, his eyes going back to James'.

"Still not convinced by my choice?" James smiled smugly.

Henry groaned, his face a picture perfect of exasperation if one forgot the lift of his lips he couldn't conceal. That was an unfair question to ask when said choice was being all young and cute and heroic right beside them.

"You win," Henry admitted softly, "Eugene Fitzherbert is a damn good Captain."

[when-they-write-stuff]

Soooooo, I was going to ask you if you could write something about one of the prompts from the list. I was going for #1 but then I realised I misread it.... Instead of "dodgy", I read "doggy" (🙈). But then I was curious.... Could you write Sterek and “He’s respectable, but, ya’ know, a little bit doggy.” ???? It's okay if not ;) 💕

Of course, I can do that! It’ll be even more fun ;)

- -

There were rumors about Stiles Stilinski.

Yeah, that’s what they could be called. Rumors. Not the truth, not actually real— or that’s what a lot of kids liked to say, at least. Because Stiles Stilinski was, well… Stiles Stilinski. 

He was the spastic, sarcastic, and eventually sardonic son of the local country Sheriff.

Stiles Stilinski was the kid who could pass every single math test without studying and then accidentally skip out on finals because he forgot they existed. He ran around in clothes that were too big for him and stumbled over his own feet when going at a normal pace. 

Stiles was… well, he was Stiles. And that was the easiest way to describe him.

Things started changing around sophomore year of high school.

Miguel knew he wasn’t the only one who noticed it. Stiles started acting different and that would be putting it mildly. A lot of people at Beacon Hills started acting different, if Miguel was being honest, and that might’ve been when the rumors started spreading.

It began with the arrival of the new Argent girl. And by the time sophomore year was winding down to an end, Stiles Stilinski just wasn’t Stiles Stilinski anymore.

It made more sense in Miguel’s head.

He watched as the circles underneath Stiles’s eyes slowly started growing darker. The boy was laughing less and smirking more. There was this curl to his lips that could make Miguel’s heart stutter and he had never considered himself one to fall for a simple look, but he knew he wasn’t the only one recognizing the changes in Stilinski.

And then there were his bodyguards.

That’s the only thing they could be considered, at least. The three kids who had once been the outcasts of Beacon Hills and suddenly became irresistible overnight. Miguel might have believed it was witchcraft if he didn’t believe in things like that.

The point was, the three kids gravitated to Stiles like he was the only thing in the world that mattered.

“They’re part of a gang,” some kids said.

“They’ve killed a man,” claimed others. Miguel didn’t believe any of it.

Then Isaac Lahey’s dad showed up dead.

A lot of things added fire to the rumors, but that one was the greatest. In a matter of one day, the Stilinski gang went from possible criminals to full-blown murders and that really shouldn’t have been as sexy as Miguel considered it. 

The boy’s dad was the Sheriff. Some kids like to say he covered for them; in whatever the hell went on in Beacon Hills.

Then Jackson Whittemore and Lydia Martin started hanging out with Stilinski too. And the rumors went wild from there.

More time passed. The Stilinski group was dubiously named ‘biker jeans and leather jackets’ and went on to get more unruly. Darker circles formed underneath Stiles’s eyes. By the time junior year rolled around, everyone knew not to mess with Stilinski and his friends.

They’d acquired a few more individuals. Two of the new girls. A younger underclassman who looked like a puppy but was rumored to have a hell of a delinquent background.

Erica had been suspended from school three times for threatening to disembowel anyone that looked at Stilinski wrong. There was this one time a lacrosse player rammed into Stiles a little too hard during practice and Lahey threw him into the nearest goal like he weighed nothing more than a lacrosse ball. But Miguel thought the middle guard was the scariest. Vernon Boyd, who had never been given a second glance until he came to school one day with Erica at his side and a leather jacket on his shoulders. And suddenly, everyone in school avoided him like the plague.

When he smirked, it was terrifying.

The Stilinski gang wore leather jackets. Those around them radiated an air of ‘I will cut you’. Not a single one wasn’t drop-dead gorgeous. Miguel thought it was a required necessity to join the group or something.

Strange things came and went with their group. It was the little things at first; there would be a couple of hikers reported to have gone missing. Stiles and his group would disappear for a few days, the school would get quiet, and when they came back, everything was fine. It was like there had never been a disturbance at all.

Then there were the big things. 

A massacre of headless corpses or a pattern of brutal killings. Stiles’s face would grow paler, the shadows under his eyes would grow longer, and by the time the news reports had gone quiet, his smirk would have a sharper edge than ever before.

Kids claimed he kept a barbed baseball bat in the back of his jeep. Miguel didn’t believe it.

Around the end of senior year, though, people had decided maybe the Stilinski gang wasn’t a bunch of murderers. Maybe they were a secret group of vigilantes that kept Beacon Hills safe instead.

For some reason, Miguel couldn’t disregard that one as easily.

The rumors grew and branched out from there. Miguel was pretty sure there was a ‘Stilinski Gang’ conspiracy theorist group that met every other Friday and discussed things at the local library. Last he heard, people were thinking that Stiles was the leader of a group of supernatural beings. Which he thought was ridiculous, personally.

Because it was ridiculous, right? It had to be.

But then there was this one time Miguel’s best friend came to school with a picture of a figure in a red hoodie holding a bloody baseball bat, saying he’d taken it out in the woods. It took about three days for everyone to quiet down.

Miguel might have believed that one for a day or so.

There were rumors about Stiles Stilinski, yes. Miguel grew up in Beacon Hills and watched it go from strange to stranger. Even so, he steered clear of Stilinski and his gang. His father had always told him to keep his head down and Miguel did just that.

He didn’t mean to run into Stiles in the parking lot.

When the boy wanted to, he could look as charming as the devil. He’d grown his hair out over the years, his once gangly frame had bulked up and widened out, and his smile was infectious.

Miguel couldn’t be blamed for the way his heart skipped a few beats when he nearly bowled Stiles over while heading to his car.

“Oh my god,” Stiles said, stumbling. Miguel went stock-still and glanced around the parking lot, waiting for one of Stilinski’s guards to come over and take him out. But nothing happened.

“I’m so sorry,” Miguel said, the words spilling out before he could stop them. “I was in a hurry and I wasn’t looking where I was going and—”

“Hey, dude,” Stiles said, raising his hands. “It’s cool! Trust me, I know what it’s like to have literally no control over your own feet. There was this one time I was running away from a rogue wendigo and—”

Suddenly, there was a giant, looming figure standing behind Stiles. Miguel barely smothered a very unmanly noise and stumbled back a few steps and Stiles straightened too, whirling around.

But then he abruptly went lax.

“Derek, you giant asshole, we talked about this! The stalk-walk is how you get the cops called. And then you won’t be allowed to pick me up anymore!”

Derek only grunted and kept his eyes fixed on Miguel. He looked terrifyingly murderous.

“Anyway,” Stiles said, turning back around. “As I was saying… well, actually, I probably shouldn’t finish that story. But you get the gist, right?”

Wordlessly, Miguel nodded. He could’ve sworn Derek’s eyes flashed red for a moment. Stiles gave the man a sideways look and rolled his eyes, before turning back forward.

“Ignore Derek, he’s a bit of a fluff ball. I mean, the serial killer eyebrows tend to put most people off, but don’t be fooled. He’s not a serial killer! Or… usually. He’s respectable but, ya’ know, a little big doggy on certain days. Or full moons, I guess.”

“Stiles,” Derek growled. Terror coiled in Miguel’s gut but Stiles only chuckled.

“Okay, okay, let’s move along, big guy. Hey, it was nice running into you! Miguel, right?”

Derek’s eyes seemed to flash red again. Miguel could’ve sworn he missed something because Stiles’s smirk seemed to widen even more when he nodded. Turning away he heard the faint hiss of ‘that’s where it came from?’ and ‘yeah dude, I panicked.’ 

Miguel was still trembling when he pulled himself into his car.

Four years, a dozen accounts of murder, and one terrifying looking serial killer later, and Miguel decided when he graduated, he was leaving Beacon Hills forever. This place was ridiculous; and he didn’t think it was run by anyone other than Stiles Stilinski and his gang.

That shouldn’t have been as sexy as it was terrifying. Miguel had to get out of here.

Whether they were all rumors or not.

- -

Okay, I had too much fun with this one. Outsider!POV always gets me and I couldn’t resist with the name... I mean, leave it to Stiles to pull a random name from one of his classmates. That might be a new head-canon.

(if you enjoy my writing, consider supporting your underpaid student writer? You can also request a prompt if you’d like!). https://ko-fi.com/rh27writer

[jeminy3]

The Things We Carry.

One of many old drabbles I’m finally getting around to finishing. Expect more Blind!Roy in the future.

In this one, Roy visits the Hughes house a few months after the Promised Day. He refused Marcoh’s offer to heal his eyes.

Features: Blind Character PoV, implied self-loathing, depression, character death and the repercussions on their spouse and child, discussions of death and violence with a child.

Read on AO3

Read on Google Docs

Twitter Post

Cool art by Manalfedz

–

"Can you see this, Mister Mustang?"

Roy stares, aiming slightly down and to his side where Elicia's voice is coming from, but he sees nothing besides the usual darkness.

"No, I can't," he says.

He hears the girl huff softly, then the clicking and clacking of plastic as she retrieves another toy.

"What about this? The light's really bright, can you see?"

Roy knows it's pointless, but he strains his eyes anyway. He thinks he can see the tiniest spot of grey flickering in the darkness of his vision,  maybe, but it's so faint he can hardly tell.

Well, he can't bear to dash the girl's hopes. So he says, "Just a little bit."

Elicia gasps softly. "Really? Yay!" Her little voice beams with excitement, and she claps her hands vigorously. It warms him, and Roy can't help smiling.

Suddenly there's the sound of her mother, Gracia, entering the room, telegraphed by footsteps on the dining room carpet and the shifting of her clothes.

"Look, mommy! It's so bright, even Mister Mustang can see it!" Elicia says, probably waving the light-up toy around for her mother to see.

"That's nice dear, but I think Mustang's had enough for now," her mother replies, somewhat curtly. There's the soft 'thunk' of dinner plates, heavy with food, being laid upon the table Roy's currently sitting at.

"Can you pick up your toys and play in the living room? We're having dinner now."

"Okay..." Elicia says, not hiding her dejection.

There's more click-clacking as she retrieves her toys, and the sound comes and goes as Gracia joins him at the table and begins to speak. Roy can imagine her carting her toys to the other room one armful at a time - she must have brought more toys than he first thought.

"I'm so sorry if she bothered you, Mustang," Gracia says quietly, slightly strained.

Roy lightens his voice, waving a hand dismissively. "Oh no, no, it's fine. She's just curious is all. Perfectly natural at her age."

Gracia sighs, a bit long-sufferingly. "I suppose. I can't imagine what it's like myself."

"Not many can," Roy says casually.

By now he's felt around for his fork on the table, which he uses to explore his dinner via holding it by the base of its tines instead of the handle, using his fingertips to discreetly touch at the food. Feels like meatloaf slices, with sides of peas and mashed potatoes. Very humble, as Gracia had warned him before he came over, but nonetheless appetizing as the smell wafts up to his nose. It's warm, homely, like the Hughes' household always is. Thank God that hasn't changed.

Roy tries the peas first, enjoying the way the soft seeds gently burst into mush between his teeth, tasting mildly sweet and buttery.

Gracia speaks up again after a soft clinking of metal-on-dinnerware from her direction. "I don't mean to pry, but- how are you, lately? I'm sure it hasn't been easy, at work or otherwise."

Roy pauses to swallow the peas. "...Like I've said, we have a system now, and it works. I should be asking how you've been, Gracia. It's been a while."

Gracia stutters a bit. "Oh- Me? There's not much to tell, really. Just more of the same."

Roy blinks uselessly in her direction, halfway though lifting a piece of meatloaf to his lips. "...Even after the eclipse?"

Gracia laughs uncomfortably. "Ah- Well yes, that was quite the scare, but we're alright now. And very glad that we are!"

His guilt stings at him again at the word, the memory of that day. In all his nerve-fraying preparation for that event, he'd arranged safe passage for his own family out of Central, but not the family of his closest friend. Another wound to pick at himself with until the end of his days.

...And by now Roy thinks he's hearing a pause in Elicia's toy-handling that line up perfectly with every other line of their conversation, but... Eh. He elects to ignore it. Not like she'll understand what they're talking about anyway

Roy clears his throat lightly. "...I'm happy to hear that, but- I worry about you, Gracia. You know I do. And I'm sorry again that I couldn't visit sooner."

He can hear the shifting of Gracia shaking her head. "Roy, please. I'm alright, really! Major Armstrong has been kind enough with electing to watch Elicia for me when I'm out. He's such a great help, you know."

Roy smiles around his mouthful of meatloaf, both at her statement and the juicy texture of the meat. Gracia always was a great cook.

After swallowing, he says, "So I've heard. Working out well, I imagine?"

"Oh yes, Elicia adores him. Says she talks his ear off all the time."

She chuckles lightly. Roy can’t help laughing as well, imagining the tiny girl pestering the relatively massive Strong Arm Alchemist with a deluge of comments and questions, not unlike what she was doing earlier with Roy himself.

But the lightness is short-lasting, falling into an uncomfortable silence as they returned to their food. Roy fills his mouth with a spoonful of mashed potatoes, doing his best to ignore the emptiness that occupies the third seat at the table now - even without eyes, he can still feel it there.

Gracia gives a small sigh, suddenly. "...Still...."

"Mm?" Roy grunts through his mouthful of potatoes.

"...Are... Are you sure you're alright?" she asks, in this strange, almost desperate tone of voice. "I know at work you are, but- what about your personal life?"

Roy swallows thickly, partly because of the potatoes, partly because this conversation was making him uncomfortable now. He clears his throat and forces a chuckle.

"What personal life? I practically live at the office, you know this, Gracia," he says, half-laughing.

Gracia doesn't lighten her tone, though, cutting deeper instead. "...I'm serious, Roy. After what you've gone through, what happened in-"

"The explosion, yes. It was terrible," Roy cuts in, more curtly than intended.

He jerks his head in the direction of the living room, because by now he's confident that Elicia is quietly listening in on them. An explosion had taken his sight - that's the public statement they'd released, among many, many others, to explain what'd happened on the Promised Day.

Gracia catches his hint with a small cough. "Ah- of course. Sorry..."

Roy straightens, clears his throat again. "...It's fine. I'm coping as best I can, like I always do." His tone leaves another sentence hanging between them, unspoken - So please, don't worry about me.

"...That's what I'm afraid of," Gracia says quietly, more to herself, really

Roy can't think of a response - and soon silence falls again, this time pressing down like a great, crushing weight, a sensation of drowning.

There's another clinking of dinnerware - Gracia seems to have stopped eating. She sighs again, this time with an air of finality. "Just... don't run yourself too hard, Roy. You've been through a lot."

"I'm-"

"I would know," she adds quietly, cutting off Roy's response. This time, he swallows nothing. Or perhaps the sentence he attempted to say.

He's not liking this trend of everyone around him worrying excessively for his personal well-being, lately. But it can't be helped, he supposes, with the severity of his condition and the position he's still holding despite it. It's been nearly two months now, and his superiors are still shocked that he's refusing to retire, but at least Grumman's been willing to work with him. He'll admit that it's been anything but easy, but he'll be damned if he stops pursuing his goal and lets himself become a burden to everyone. He simply can't give up now - he's done too much, come too far, and couldn't live with himself if he did.

...Besides, he can hardly live with himself as it is.

He hears Gracia shift, and suddenly feels a warm hand grasping his own from across the table, gentle but firm.

"If you ever need to talk, I'm right here" she says, full of warmth and sincerity like she always is.

...Like Maes was, too.

Roy swallows at nothing again. "...Thank you," he whispers, trying his best to sound sincere.

Because to be brutally honest, he can't see himself taking up that offer very often, if at all.

---

The tension at dinner never quite went away, even into dessert. Sweet slices of pumpkin pie gained a bitter aftertaste on Roy's tongue, and he decided to take this as his cue to take his leave and head back home to his apartment.

“Thank you for the food, Gracia,” he says, somewhat tersely, rising from his chair. “Delicious as always.”

“Thank you, Roy,” she responds, a little stiffly. She shifts and takes his hand to shake it - hangs there for a few moments, awkward, leans closer as if wanting to offer him a hug instead. But she doesn’t, probably sensing Roy’s tension at the idea.

Still, he bows politely, retrieves his cane and makes his way to the living room and the front door beyond it – then finds himself stopped by a small hand tugging on his pant leg.

“Mister Mustang! You’re not leaving, are you?” Elicia chirps at his side.

Roy lowers his head in the direction her voice is coming from (or as best as he can guess). “I’m afraid so, dear. I’m sorry, but it’s getting late-”

“But I wanted to show you somethin’!”

“Ah- Oh. You did?”

“Mommy, can I take Mister Mustang to my room before he goes? Pleeeease?”

“Yes dear, but don’t keep him long,” Gracia calls out from the kitchen over the soft sound of running water, probably starting to wash the dishes.

“Okay!” Elicia bounces against him, and he feels her small fingers reaching up to grasp his own. Roy flusters slightly, caught between his own awkwardness and the whims of this precocious little girl. The girl, of course, wins out, and he submits to being tugged along by the arm across the house and into a bedroom down the hall.

Roy feels for obstacles with his cane instinctively as Elicia leads him inside, helping him around her furniture and scattered toys on the floor. He finds himself lead to her bed near the back.

“You can sit on my bed, Mister Mustang,” she says. Strangely, it sounds more like a command than an offer.

Roy ponders this as he seats himself on the little bed’s soft comforter, along with the silence that’s suddenly settled around him. Elicia doesn’t say a word as he hears her walk across the room, close her bedroom door, then return to the bed. Neither does she stop to retrieve a toy, or a book, or anything.

Roy feels the mattress sink and rise as her small form takes a seat next to him, still saying nothing. He feels very nervous, suddenly.

After a beat, she finally speaks, and in this strange, solemn sort of way. "Mister Mustang, can I ask you something?"

Roy turns in her direction, not sure what she's implying... but he gives her a smile anyway. "Of course, dear. Ask me anything."

"Who really took your eyes?"

Roy is... caught off-guard, to say the least. His smile vanishes in an instant, and he stammers out his response, his eyes blinking uselessly. "My... W- What?"

Elicia pauses for a moment, then speaks again, still in that odd tone of voice. "...It was the monsters, wasn't it. The ones who killed my daddy."

She knows. And she sounds far, far too serious about it. It's frightening.

...But then, Roy thinks, should he really be surprised? This poor girl lost her father when she'd barely turned three years old. She's been living with a grieving mother ever since, and the entirety of her short life in a violent, war-mongering country that's just gone through an earth-shattering upheaval within the past few months. He can't imagine what she's gone through, at such a tender age.

Obviously quite a bit, as she already has the presence of mind to keep up appearances in front of him and her mother while they discuss sensitive topics, and the intelligence to corner him for sensitive information in privacy.

Ah... she's already so much like her father, Roy realizes. Too stubborn to accept anything but the truth. He sees no point in not being honest with her.

He clears his throat to compose himself. "...Yes, it was them."

Elicia grunts. "I knew it."

Now, Roy could ask a sensitive question. "And how did you know, Elicia? Who told you about the monsters? Not your mother, I hope."

Elicia shifts, her hair-ties clinking softly as she shakes her head. "No, not mommy. She gets too sad. Mister Armstrong told me. I asked him over and over and over, 'till he told me all about the monsters living under the ground, hurting people and making them die. They made all that bad stuff happen during the ee-clips."

Oh, Alex... His heart is so soft. And Elicia is so cunning, now.

"They're all gone now, right Mister Mustang? You guys killed them all?" she asks expectantly.

"...Yes, we did. Even the one who killed your daddy. I fought him myself," Roy says, but not with any air of triumph.

Elicia doesn't seem to notice that, though. She gasps with excitement. "You did?! You used your fire, right?"

Roy nods, the memory not being pleasant. "Yes... I burned him a hundred times. Maybe more."

Elicia's hair-ties clink again, nodding her head. "That's good. I hope he hurt before he died."

This voice of cruelty and vengeance has no place coming from the mouth of a four-year-old. Roy frowns, poised to nip it in the bud here and now.

"Well, I don't, Elicia. Not anymore."

"Huh?" Her hair-ties clink again as she turns to face him, probably wearing a puzzled look on her little face.

Roy takes a deep breath, releases it. "Elicia, listen... I know how you must feel about this. I felt it too, when I was burning that monster. But it's not a good thing. I almost lost myself back there."

Elicia makes an odd, confused little sound. "Lost...? Like a maze? Mazes are easy, you just follow the walls 'till you find the way out."

Roy can only chuckle. She's thinking of her puzzle books... Perhaps her innocence isn't completely lost after all. But ah, how to explain this...

"It's... a different kind of maze," Roy says, grasping for the words even as he speaks. "It's more like... a maze that's inside you. With no walls."

Elicia makes another confused sound,  shifting and scratching her head. He can imagine her small face scrunched up with exasperation.

"...You're weird, Mister Mustang," she says finally.

"Hah, I know," he chuckles. "But it is like a maze."

He reaches out to touch her little shoulder, patting lightly when he finds purchase. "Listen... have you ever felt so sad, or so angry, that you forgot about everything else? Even who you are?"

Elicia makes thoughtful sounds at that."Um... I dunno. Maybe when Daddy died. Mommy was so sad she forgot to eat sometimes."

"Mm..." Roy scoots closer to her on the bed, draws her in with the arm at her back, hugging her against his side as she leans into him.

"Well, that's how I felt," he continues. "When I found that monster, and he told me he killed your daddy... I was angry. So, so angry. Like it was filling me up, all the way from my feet to the top of my head."

Elicia hums sadly.

"I forgot about everything. I forgot who I was, who my friends were. All I wanted to do was just... be angry, forever, and burn that monster over and over for what he did to your daddy."

Elicia pulls away slightly. "But- you can't just be angry. Not for forever."

Good, she understands. "That's right," Roy nods, "I couldn't. I thought I could, but my friends knew better. They stopped me, before I was lost for good."

Elicia makes a sound like something between awe and sadness.

"It was like... Like I was a completely different person back there," Roy says, getting a bit lost in the memory himself, now. He could almost laugh at it now, in this terrible sort of way. "...Can you even imagine? Being so angry that you're not even yourself anymore?"

"No... That's scary," Elicia says, matter-of-fact.

"Yes, it was," Roy says thoughtfully. "I was pretty scared back then. And I don't scare easily."

Elicia sighs, then wraps her small arms around his waist in a hug. "It's okay, Mister Mustang," she says, as if he were still upset about it now.

...Well he does sound a bit watery in his voice, Roy realizes belatedly. Remembered too much of his emotions back then, perhaps. He chuckles again, but welcomes her comfort, wrapping his arm around her small shoulders.

"I'm fine now, dear, I just don't want that to happen to you."

"Mm..." Elicia hums, snuggling closer to him. Roy leans against her in turn, the warmth a small but welcome comfort.

There’s a beat of silence. Eventually, Roy breathes another long sigh. "Well... it's over now. Hopefully there won't be monsters like that ever again.”

"Yeah," Elicia mumbles, her face half-buried against his torso.

They stay like that, holding each other, for a long while. At least, long enough for Roy to fight back down the tears threatening to well up in his chest. No need for that, now.

Suddenly, Elicia leans away from him and speaks up again. "Mister Mustang... Can I tell you a secret?"

"Of course," he says.

"Don't tell Mommy. Promise."

"I promise."

"No, you gotta pinky promise. Like this."

She takes his hand in her two small ones and carefully splays out his fingers, then hooks one of her little pinky fingers with his own. Chuckling a little, he bends his finger, sealing the gesture.

"Alright, alright, I'm doing it. Will you tell me now?"

Elicia giggles slightly, and he can hear her smiling now. "Yeah, yeah! Um-"

She pauses for a moment, as if steeling herself.

Then she says, "I wanna be like you when I grow up. An Alchemist."

Roy's grip relaxes at the revelation, his breath escaping him slightly with bewilderment. An alchemist… like him? Despite the still-cynical part of his mind, he can feel his heart swell in his chest. He can only hope that by the time Elicia reaches adulthood, the State Alchemists will be reformed into something she can be proud to be a part of. Servants of the people and paragons of science, no longer living instruments of war and death. Hopefully...

Elicia releases his hand and makes a worried sound at his tension. "Um- Girls can be Alchemists too, right?"

"O- of course," Roy says, trying and failing to recover. "Just... do your studies and work hard. That's all you need to do, really." Setting aside everything else, he isn't wrong.

"Okay! I will, I promise!" she says, all but bouncing against him on the bed by now.

Roy tries to laugh through the tightness in his chest. "Hey now - I hope you don't want to burn things like me, too?"

She stops bouncing. "Huh? No, not that. I wanna help people. Make no more bad things happen."

And this… gives Roy great pause. Her desires are so pure, so simple - so much like his own, when he was young and innocent and only knew he wanted to learn, to fight, to protect people.

Yes, he definitely wants to cry now. "Oh- Oh?"

"I dunno what I'll do,” Elicia continues. “But- I just wanna help people. Like Daddy did, but with Alchemy. You can do that, right?"

Roy swallows, losing the battle with his emotions. "Of... of course you can. We're supposed to, in fact. It's one of our rules: 'Alchemist, be thou for the people.'“

God, let it be true when this girl grows up.

"'Alchemist, be thou for the people'..." she repeats, slowly. After a beat, she says, "...I like that."

"...I'm glad you do." Roy smiles, now feeling tears gathering in his blind eyes, spilling from their corners.

Elicia startles at him. "-You're crying! What's wrong, Mister Mustang?"

Roy wipes at his eyes with one hand, sniffling. "Sorry, Elicia, I... I-it's happy tears, really."

She throws her little arms around him in a desperate hug, burying her face in his chest. "Please don't cry Mister Mustang! You're gonna make me cry!"

He holds her against him, laughing and pressing small kisses into her hair. "I'm sorry, I'm just- I'm so proud of you, dear.”

When he senses her lift her head to look at him, he adds, “...Your daddy would be, too."

He hears her start to sniffle, and she buries her head against him again, turning her head slightly.

"I hope he watches me,” she says softly. “I wanna be the best Alchemist ever."

"...And I'm sure you will," Roy whispers to her.

And he hopes Maes is watching him, too.

END.

[yandere-daydreams]

The Sun And Moon (And Anonymous Submission)

It was a monumental day for the Kingdom of Blessings, Halcyon. The kingdom was known for its magical blessing that was passed on through generations. A brand-new princess had received the blessing of tides from her mother, although the new heir’s blessing would be different. The blessing of tides ensured safe trade and would curse any pirates who would attempt to pillage the kingdom. Calling the blessing powerful is an understatement.

The new heir, Princess Lyria Astra Halcyon, was given the blessing of the sun. It would ensure that every harvest was massively successful, and that her people would never know famine or hunger. The people rejoiced, or almost all of them did.

Young Nox, born into the house Canis, Halcyon’s loyal wolves, was not at all thrilled about the situation. He had a perfect seat to view the princess’ squishy and pink face. ‘I am to be this tiny thing’s thrall? What a joke.’ House Canis raised the strongest knights in the entire continent, and they had been serving the royal family since its inception. Each member of the royal Halcyon family was assigned a personal guard. Nox’s father was within eyeshot of the queen at this very moment, eyeing suspiciously for threats.

Nox was only five, but the brutal training regimen had already begun. By the end of it, his stamina would allow him to give up sleep entirely in favor of light meditation so he could be on guard 24/7. His bones would be as strong as forged steel, and he’d be able to wield the iconic Canis zweihander one-handed. The impressive blades were nearly as long as the users were tall. It was perfect for the monsters in house Canis who could all singlehandedly mow down entire invading battalions. It would take years before Nox could get to that point, however.

And years had indeed passed. A lot of things had changed since that faithful day, mainly Nox’s opinion on the princess. Nox was expecting his life of duty to be an unpleasant one – one filled with the endless whining of a spoiled princess. In truth, it was the opposite. Princess Lyria was warm like the very sun. She stopped crying almost as soon as she could communicate her feelings. Tripping would prompt a laugh, or so Nox recalled between long days of training.

When he finally finished the brutal process, the Princess was thirteen, and it was then that he never left her side as dictated by tradition. He was there for her lectures, her meals, and as she slept. He was barely seen and even less heard. For all intents and purposes he was furniture.

It was the Princess’ thirteenth birthday. All of her gifts had been sent to her room in the middle of her meal. It was his duty to open all of them first to make sure there were no traps. The Princess never complained even though it was most certainly more fun to open your own presents. She made a note of all of them, and made a list of all the people she needed to thank, but then she turned to him.

“Nox,” he lowered himself to one knee. She had addressed him before to make light conversation, but he kept his distance due to his lack of warm upbringing and his lingering skepticism. “Why do you always do that? You don’t have to kneel before me.”

He rose to his feet. It wasn’t exactly an order, but he didn’t mind listening to the tiny heir. “I don’t know when your birthday is.”

“I don’t have one.” It was the truth. House Canis didn’t do trivial things like celebrate one’s birth. Their entire duty was to serve. He honestly didn’t know what day it would fall on.

“I figured you’d say that.” The princess was always observant of her surroundings, and she was pretty sharp regarding social situations. She was smart enough to avoid getting involved in anything political at this early age. There were plenty of nobles who would want to get their claws into the princess early, but Nox hadn’t needed to council her on that front. She was good enough at taking care of this herself despite her age.

“So, I figured now was as good a time as any to give you this. I’ve known you for so long, and we’re always together now. I wish to be good friends with you.” She headed to a corner of her room looking for something.

“I am but your faithful servant.” He replied. To be honest he was shocked, but his face remained unmoved like a marble sculpture. Years of training and his upbringing made him really apathetic and cold. But he never expected anything like this. Nox never received presents from others and he wasn’t sure what to expect from the princess. 

She approached Nox with a dagger of immaculate steel. It was patterned, made from meteorite. It was expensive but also practical. Daggers from meteorite were top of their class even if they looked ornate.

“You should know by now that I don’t even treat the other servants like servants.” It was true. She treated the common people like they were kin. “We’re going to spend the rest of our lives together, so try and smile every once in a while.”

“You wish to see me smile?” The warmth swelled within him threatening to consume him. This was the first request she had ever made of him. Princess Lyria extended the gift to him, and his first instinct was to drop to one knee. He remembered the princess’ words.

“More than anything.” Nox accepted the gift and braced himself. The warmth had come to a head, and he best convey what he was feeling internally for his first request. He gave her a faint but unmistakable smile. 

He would definitely enjoy protecting this one.

More than five years had passed since then. Princess Lyria had come of age and she was on her first trip outside of the kingdom. She was to spend a month in a neighboring kingdom to make acquaintance with a potential suitor. Nox was in full armor accompanying a squad of five other Halcyon knights as entourage.

True to her word, he became the princess’ closest friend and confidant. She would share all of her insecurities and fears with him, and he would advise her as best as he could. Every once in a while, she would call him into her room and they’d spend the nights talking until the sun came up. Princess Lyria would, of course, feign illness the next day, too exhausted to fulfill her duties.

By this point, Nox had fallen hopelessly in love with the princess. He had also come to terms with the fact that he’d never have her. She was the sun, and she blessed everything she touched with warmth and prosperity. He was the moon, barren and cold. They were from different worlds, destined to never share the same sky.

He glanced at the princess who seemed not to notice his gaze. She was riding alongside him in her most extravagant dress. Stars, she was beautiful, like no one else. His heart rate rose and she noticed he was looking at her. She smiled warmly, and he had smiled back until he could no longer keep his composure. He looked forward. They’d be in the neighboring kingdom by nightfall.

Or so Nox thought before a flurry of arrows fired from the forests around. His horse had fallen, as did the lesser knights. He had managed to catch three arrows in one hand, and a fourth in his other – ones that would have hit their mark. In the very same instant, he jumped from his horse so he wouldn’t be caught beneath it when it fell. Bandits on horseback leapt on to the road and grabbed the princess’ reigns before swatting the horse. The horse took off, with the princess unable to escape.

How could he have been so distracted that he didn’t notice them walking into such an obvious trap? The king would pay a hefty ransom to have his daughter back, and this was probably what the bandits were aiming for. The other bandits had fled. No one was dumb enough to attack someone from house Canis even if they outnumbered him 100 to 1. Nox took off after them on foot, but he’d lose sight of them shortly superhuman strength and speed or not.

He didn’t see any distinguishing markings so he wouldn’t be able to discern which troupe they belonged to, but it didn’t matter. House Canis had one ace in the hole that he had spent these last years preparing for. Royal family Halcyon wasn’t the only family with a blessing. As a member of House Canis, he had the blessing of wolves. This would allow him to sense the location of the person he spent the most time with. Without stopping to think, he ran after the princess.

He ran for countless miles. They were definitely off the beaten path, and without his blessing he would have never found princess Lyria. He charged right into the cave, and drew his sword. He could hear the echoes of voices from within.

“So, we only need to get her back to the king alive?” A voice said.

“Yeah doesn’t matter what we do as long as she lives.” Another voice replied.

His grip around his sword tightened. It looks like he made it just in time. He entered the main hall. “Princess Lyria, close your eyes!” He yelled.

There was clamoring, and then confusion. Countless men filled the cave, at least 80. He charged straight past the ones at the very entrance and aimed for the ones who had their filthy hands on his precious princess.

“How the fuck did he find this place? And this fast? He doesn’t even have a horse.” A voice yelled

“He must have ran all the way here. He’s probably exhausted. Kill him, it’s just one man!”

Nox was surrounded before he could reach the two he was really aiming for. With a whirl of his sword he cut the lot who surrounded him in half. Another group took their place, and another swing knocked them down. Attacking in groups was futile, but so was attacking one at a time. The morale of the group plummeted, and the rest was hesitant about approaching.

One of the bandits with his hands on the princess spoke up. “Whoever brings me his head gets the first go at the princess. Don’t any of you want to deflower the fucking princess of Halcyon” That one’s the leader, he assumed. He narrowed his eyes. The remaining bandits’ morale spiked and they all attacked in a flurry. He’d cut one down, and then crush the skull of the next. He’d kick the one after that so hard their neck broke. It didn’t matter how many came at him, he’d just kill them all.

Leaving a trail of corpses in his wake, he had almost arrived at the back of the cave. The bandit leader looked on in horror as half of his men had been massacred, and the rest had fled. Now? It was just him, the wolf, and the princess.

The bandit leader drew his knife. His hands shook so much that he could barely hold it. This man was barely worth killing – or so he’d say if he were dueling him. He was the mastermind who took the princess from him. He took a good look at her. He wasn’t worried about what the bandit would do.

The princess’ wrists were bound in rope. Her wrists were red, and her face had the faint wetness of freshly shed tears.

She cried?

She was so scared she cried?

The first time she had cried was because Nox had failed to protect her.

Nox’s eyes narrowed into a look of absolute rage, and he directed it at the bandit leader who squealed in fear.

“Don’t come any closer!” He flailed the knife wildly in the air.

Nox was considering all kinds of execution methods. Before he could settle on one the bandit leader had buckled. He stabbed himself in the throat, ending his own life.

Well bleeding out is definitely not an amazing way to go.

Nox picked up the princess who yelped in surprise.

“Fear not princess Lyria, I have rescued you. Oh, but keep your eyes closed. This isn’t something you should see.”

“Nox! I knew you’d come!” They walked in silence until they were out of the cave. Nox undid her bindings and gingerly inspected her wrists.

“I’ll put something on that when we’re home.” Princess Lyria threw her arms around him.

“I was so scared.” Yes, she was. She was scared enough to cry. Remembering this Nox bit into his lip. He felt the princess shake. Why? Was she okay?  He pulled her back to see that she was crying again with the biggest smile on her face.

“I knew you wouldn’t let anything bad happen to me. I’m so happy you’re okay. That was really dangerous.” She was crying?  She was crying because she was happy to see him.

Suddenly Nox could feel his heart hammering in his throat. And he slowly began to spiral.

The princess cried tears of happiness for him. This was a face only he had seen… He would make sure he was the only one who’d ever see this face. This was a feeling beyond simple love and devotion. It was something deeper. What would he do to keep it? Well… He’d burn the entire castle down and kill everyone in it if it meant he could be the one at her side.

Yes. That’s right. He was the one meant to be at her side. It was him and no one else.

“Nox?” The princess asked worried. He had been lost in thought. He picked her up.

“We don’t have a horse. The sun’s setting, but we’ll be back at the crack of dawn. I’ll carry you.”

“What about you?” She asked. Of course, she was more concerned about him than herself. He suppressed a shudder. Oh, how sweet she was. He took a deep breath and inhaled her scent. It was part sweat from being out in the sun for most of the day and part flowery perfume so she could be presentable. To the princess it would look like a sigh.

“I could walk for…. Hmmmm.” He playfully mulled it over. “A week perhaps without sleeping?” He flashed her a smile.

“Wow Nox you’re amazing!” Princess Lyria ran her hand through his hair. Her dainty fingers were his reward for his slaughter. She could never know about this darkness swirling deep inside of him. She would never know.

They had arrived at the castle. Princess Lyria had been returned to her room. She was sleeping on the way back, but she was very tired after her ordeal. Nox left her side for the first time since he could remember.

He was summoned by his father and grandfather.

“How could you let this happen, worthless boy? You have only one job to do, so do it right. You’re a disgrace!” It was the usual punishment, a whipping. Nox zoned out. The whips weren’t reaching him in his stupor. His mind was on the princess – her weight and form that he held for the first time. The cracking of whips filled the dungeon.

More suitors would come… probably to Halcyon to avoid a disaster like this happening again.

Should he kill them discreetly? Make it look like an accident?

That would only work so many times.

How?

Was there an answer to the question he was looking for?

Could they ever be happy together?

Do they even need to be happy?

These thoughts rang inside Nox’s head through out the duration of the whipping. There was one climactic, dark conclusion he came to.

If he can’t have her… no one could.

[jocazep]

In the Whole Wide Train | Chapter 4

Pairing: Curtis Everett x Reader (Jo, OFC), slight Edgar x Reader

Warnings: Major spoilers for SNOWPIERCER, dystopian society and its countless problems, mentions of forced abortions, language, violence, deaths, slow burn, eventual smut

Synopsis: Having grown up in the Front Sections of the Snowpiercer, you venture down the train when a rare opportunity presents itself, but the excursion quickly changes flavor when you arrive in the Tail Section.

Taglist: Open until further notice!

Series Masterlist

Chapter Four - Going Back

STOMP STOMP STOMP--the sound of heavy boots woke you from your slumber.

“Miss Jo, we’ve got food up front if you want any.”

“Hmmm,” you replied, still keeping your eyes shut. Against your red eyelids in the sunlight, Curtis’s face was fading quickly, and you wanted to cling on with everything you had.

His eyes were all that’s left in your head. The way they took you in when you stepped out of the wash room. The way they went wide after you told him that you were actually a surveyor sent down to conduct a census. The way they became cold after he realized you had been lying to him all this time.

“Curtis, listen to me. What I’ve seen in these past two weeks...” You pulled at Curtis’s arm from behind, straining to keep up with his broad stride.

Curtis spun back. You crashed into him, his heaving chest colliding with the hands you held up out of instinct. Curtis’s torso was warm, but the look on his face was anything but. He clasped his hands on your arms, pushed you away from his body and let go, all in one fluid motion.

“Oh I’m sure you’ve see a lot, so you can take everything you know about the revolt and Namgoong all back to the...” Curtis lowered his voice, “the front!”

“I’m not going back.”

Curtis took a beat.

“I meant what I said. I’ve seen enough to know that change is overdue.”

It was yet another long beat before he said,“Did you have anything to do with Timmy?”

“What?” Your heart jumped to your throat.

“You heard me. Did you have anything to do with Timmy.“

“Would you believe me if I said I didn’t?“

“Try me.“

There you had to make a decision. Did you want to stay with your newly made friends, or did you want them to really trust you?

You chose the latter.

Which reminded you. You sat up, eyes open and wide awake, and dug out your notebook from under your pillow.

The guard’s quarters had only two desk, since most of the men don’t do much reading and writing. But today you found both occupied.

“Oh, I can come back later.”

“No, no, Miss Jo you can take mine,” A guard offered up his spot.

“Thank you,” you recognize him as the same guard that broke Doris’s nose, but made no fuss about it.

You’ve gotta take care of the grand scheme of things.

You were a bit shocked to find Wilford’s voice creeping into your head.

The grand scheme of things. That’s probably his favorite phrase. You thought as you wrote in your notebook, remembering the meeting you had before setting off on this surveyor trip down the train. Well, meeting is a big word... It would probably qualify as a casual chat at best.

“There will be a lot of shocks to your system. The rigid work, the poverty, the human suffering, all of that. You will wonder, if what you are doing is right. You will ask yourself if you should be on the side that aims to destroy the status quo. In those times, just remember, on this train, just as it used to be out there,“ his pajamaed arm pointed to the world subsumed in snow, through the solid walls of his own section, the very head of the train, the locomotive, and opined over the rhythmic humming of the engine, “these things have to exist within the grand scheme of things. They are necessary for a true, everlasting balance.”

You were, just a few weeks ago, innocent to just how different everything could be beyond the first few sections of the Snowpiercer, so you nodded along.

How wrong you were. Thinking back, if you had been living in the Tail Section for 17 years and discovered a front-sectioner in your midst, you wouldn’t have let them leave. You shook your head as the final note was wrapping itself up.

“All done, Miss Jo?” The nose-breaker returned, “your food, real food, is still on the dining table if you’d like to eat it. Just thought I’d let you know since me and the boys are going to do a head check in the Tail.”

You looked up at him. Real food did sound temping...But you had more pressing matters at hand. The grand scheme of things.

“Actually, do you think I could join you? For my report. I was in a hurry on my way down, so I skipped your section completely.”

---

The same tedious buzz called everyone in the Tail Section for a head check.

“What do you mean, she just left? She was exiled here, wasn’t she? Where could she have gone?” Edgar walked backwards in line, pestering Curtis with questions about Jo.

“I don’t know what to tell you.“

“You don’t think those bastards took her? ” Edgar tilted his head towards the guard handing out the protein blocks.

“If she really left voluntarily, if that is even possible, she would have said goodbye to us, right?” Now Tanya has a say in this too. Great.

“Look, we should be talking about more important things, all right? She’s just one person.” Curtis pushed through, whipped his protein block from the guard’s hand, and walked off.

“What’s gotten into him?“ Edgar said as he took a bite of the protein block.

It didn’t take long for Curtis to discover the little paper note hidden at the center of his protein block. He was checking for a red letter under the light, but found a much larger piece of paper instead.

The initial excitement faded as he soon realized that this was not a communique from the secret helper up front. The letter read:

Dear Curtis,

You’ll probably want to throw this away. Please don’t. I will make this short.

Once you get to the prison section, you will need to take out the prison guard. I met him on my way down--he’s a fucking giant. Grey needs to be prepared. Namgoong you can bribe with Kronole--he’s an addict. I saw his cell tag on my way down. I saved up some protein blocks between the planks of the bed above mine. A small way towards my penance. I wrote to Tanya and Edgar too, explaining what happened, so they will lay off your back.

You probably want nothing to do with me ever again, as is your right. but I really did mean it. I want to help. So this is me helping.

Jo

P.S. If you’re worried about the guards having read this... I delivered it myself--yes that was me in the guard uniform.

The words made Curtis’s head spin. He rushed back to the front of the section, hoping to check if it really was Jo with the guards, but they had already left.

He looked down at the carefully written “Curtis” on the little twice-folded paper, and thought back to their argument just the night before. And a strange feeling started rising within him, a feeling he hadn’t felt since Jo told the abortion story when they first met. That must have been a damn lie, too. So how can he trust her now? But if she was telling the truth, she just handed him the key to the front...

Curtis decided to try his luck one small step at a time. He ambled to the bed that used to be Jo’s bunk. Surprisingly it hadn’t been taken yet. He climbed up. The space between two bunks was too tight, so Curtis had to lie down. As he did, he caught a faint scent of blood and soap from the tread-bare quilt. It was what Jo smelled like last night too...

Focusing his mind, Curtis swallowed and looked up to see strips of torn yellow fabric woven with the wooden planks of the bunk above, holding nearly a dozen of protein blocks in place in between the planks. Jo wasn’t lying.

As Curtis gingerly retrieved each protein block, he ran some numbers in his head. Two weeks, that’s fourteen days, and Jo had managed to save eleven protein blocks. That means she only ate three. For fourteen days?

Before he could realize that he was worried for Jo’s well-being, Tanya’s voice rang in his ear.

“Curtis, is any of this true?“ She waved her letter in his face.

Curtis pulled off his hat, bagged all eleven protein bars with it, and climbed off the bunk.

“Can I see it?”

To Curtis’s surprise, the two letters to Tanya and Edgar were honest, even brutally so. Jo owned up to everything, the surveyor assignment, her fake Mason story, her involvement in the taking of Timmy. She also said that she had no idea what Timmy was taken for, and for some reason, both Curtis and Tanya tended to believe her.

Edgar, however, was a completely different story. He all but went through the five stages of grief--after claiming this was a intricate mind game by the front-sectioners, and cursing out Jo, he asked Curtis, “Do you think we can write back?“

Curtis looked at Edgar as if he asked if it was warm outside. But to be fair, Jo was still not far off.

“I just figured...”

“Do what you want.” Curtis walked off with the can of fresh uncut Kronole he procured with Jo’s protein blocks.

---

As you straightened yourself back up for the hundredth time after laying a line of protein blocks neatly into the push car, you had a new found respect for the guards.

“Why wasn’t this cart made taller?” You couldn’t help but wonder out loud.

“Oh this is already an improvement from the one we had before,” the nose-breaker grunted as he pushed the cart past the steel gate.

“Yeah, how long ago was that?”

“Five years ago I think. Thank god this one’s steady at least. Gotta make this one last at least another five.”

You made a note in your head as you walked with the guards into the Tail Section. After the harsh buzz stopped, you raised the visor on your helmet and proceeded to hand out the protein blocks, hoping your eyes would be able to catch Curtis, Edgar, and maybe even Tanya as they came up--you were unsure how you felt about Tanya. She was very kind to you when you first arrived in the Tail Section, but now that she knew about your involvement in Timmy being taken away, it wouldn’t be surprising if she sucker punched you where you stood.

Edgar was the first. As he walked up, he tilted his head to search for your eyes. And when he found them, he had to fight to contain his smile. You handed him a protein block, and as his hand took it, you felt a small prick through your glove--a letter. Your fingers extended over and slid the note into your palm, and you gave him the most imperceptible nod.

Tanya walked up, whisked the block from you and walked away without giving you a second look. You were somehow a bit relieved. That leaves Curtis.

You spot his grey hat and wide shoulders from far off, inching slowly towards you, your heart rate slowly rising. As his features came into focus, you noticed that he had washed his face, possibly even with soap. What gives? You mused as you stretched out your arm, holding the warm brownish sustenance.

Curtis took the other end of the block. For a second you waited for the prickly corner of paper to hit your fingertips. But nothing came.

Your eyes flicked up to search his face--it was unreadable. Give me something, did you read the letter? Did you throw it away? What happened?! It was nearly impossible to convey all this through your eyes, but you were thinking it all the same.

If Curtis had noticed your subtle signs, he did nothing to show for it. After a prolonged moment, he gave the protein block a nudge, and you let it slide out of your hand.

After the head check, you returned with the guards to their section. Having changed out of the guard uniform, you sat down at one of the desk and unfurled the crumpled note from Edgar:

Dear Jo:

We were shocked when Curtis said you left. We didn’t know where you would go to. I still don’t know if I should believe your letter, but I think I know you, and I remember you helping Tanya when they came to take Timmy, so I think you’re alright.

I don’t know what’s wrong with Curtis. He’s pretty moody lately, but he’s figured out a way to get Namgoong to cooperate, so I heard through the curtain at Gilliam’s. So hopefully we will be able to pick you up on our way to the front. He’s also building a long door stop out of barrels--he says the idea came from a story you told about me Shit I am running out of space. Write me back so I have more paper to tell you things!

Edgar

You folded the piece of paper and hid them in your notebook. A smile crept up your face. He did read the letter. And better yet, he believed you, he listened to you, and he didn’t expose you. And the wheels of change are in motion.

Taglist: @emmalbg @ajosieface @torntaltos

[iya5rt]

Kalopsia Project [Bakugo Katsuki x Reader – Tokyo Ghoul AU]

Chapter 2 – How to Find a Part-Time Job

Chapter Summary: You awaken in an unfamiliar place, only to immediately face the threat of being killed for all you’ve learned. Or so you’re told…

Kalopsia Project Masterpost

***

Glossary:

Ukaku – one of the four types (each with their unique set of strengths and weaknesses), into which kagune can be separated. An ukaku kagune is spread out like feathers and is released from the shoulder area, it specializes in high speed attacks, most of the users seeming to have highly enhanced speed.

(excerpts taken from the Tokyo Ghoul Wiki)

***

It was a chilly night, though not untypical for the early fall weather. A handful of street lamps were casting their dim light on the narrow sidewalks, while most had long stopped working, as if whoever was responsible for them had given up on fixing them.

Aside from a handful of convenience stores and the occasional lively bar, all the windows in the area were dark as well. After all, few places remained open for so long.

This applied for the small cafe at the corner of the street too. Due to an unexpected visit by some special customers (the manager had offered them their help, whenever they would struggle finding food by themselves), its working hours had run a little late tonight.

Fortunately, it was already a Friday anyway, and the single student employee that had stayed behind to help his boss had no classes to attend the next day. He was even making up for his tardy childhood friend who, despite promising to come in and help out today, hadn’t shown up all evening. Though it was already passing 9PM, the two were finally almost finished with the clean-up after the long day.

They were so ready to go home.

That was until a wild banging on the door echoed throughout the cafe.

The two exchanged suspicious looks, but the manager moved in to open. His eyes went wide when he found a bruised and scraped up Bakugo panting at the doorway.

Not to mention the unconscious bleeding girl in his arms…

***

Midoriya let out a deep sigh, as he walked into the lounge room, plopping down on a chair and massaging his temple. He had not anticipated the day ending with him having to take care of a wounded human in the middle of the night. At least he was finally putting that first year of med school to use. He couldn’t help but wonder what the other two would have done, had he not volunteered to stay after closing tonight.

Speaking of the other two, he finally opened his eyes to find them looking at him expectedly. He shrugged, clearing his throat.

“She’ll live. Kacchan brought her just in time, since she had lost a lot of blood. Thank god we had some stored in here, since I kinda doubt that’s common for other cafes.” He shifted in his seat, and took to looking somewhere to the side. Gosh, he was tired. “By some miracle, whoever attacked her missed any tricky spots. So I’m guessing she will make a quick recovery, though it’s going to leave a nasty scar. That’s about it, to be honest. But...”

His eyes moved to Bakugo, who seemed to stiffen in response. He wasn’t acting like his usual self and Midoriya was a little concerned.

“Correct me if I’m wrong, Kacchan but… that wound – it was inflicted by a ghoul, wasn’t it? With how clean it was, it probably wasn’t your ukaku either. Not to mention how you suspiciously didn’t show up today, despite promising Aizawa-san you would. What… happened?”

The third man in the room cleared his throat, reminding the others of his presence.

“What Midoriya just said. I’m not sure if you really understand this but you brought a human here. You saved her life too. I don’t plan to discuss whether this was the right choice or not but the fact is, it’s not the kind of choice you would make, Bakugo.” Aizawa crossed his arms and waited.

Bakugo meanwhile let out a small ‘tch’ and looked to the side.

“Who cares? I know her from some classes at school. Some sloppy binge-eater transferred and asked her out on a date or whatever. I don’t know, the guy just got on my nerves all the time. What does it matter, I kicked his ass and he ran away with his tail between his legs. He just so happened to be attacking her. I didn’t mean to save anybody.”

“Keep telling yourself that,” Aizawa muttered and sighed when Bakugo shot him a glare. “That still doesn’t answer our first question – why did you bring her here? What were you thinking? You could’ve just left her there, you know? Someone would have called an ambulance sooner or later.”

Both pairs of eyes were now locked onto Bakugo, as if piercing numerous holes in his already shaky reasoning. He opened his mouth to answer but his words got caught in his throat. Or rather, he had nothing to say in the first place. He was still trying to figure out that answer himself. Instead, he growled as he pushed himself off the wall he was leaning against.

“I told you – who cares!? I brought her here – what of it, dammit!?” With that, he stormed off, slamming the door behind him.

Though their gazes remained locked where Bakugo had just been standing, Midoriya and Aizawa came to the silent agreement not to push it any further. For now.

***

Though it was a slow process, you were becoming vaguely aware of your consciousness. One by one, your senses were returning to you.

The smell of freshly-washed sheets, the muffled sound of voices and the faint ringing in your ears. You couldn’t quite see anything yet, as you were still too tired to force your eyes open. The pillow you had drowsed off on was soft and all you wanted right now was to snuggle yourself against it.

When you made a small move to readjust one of your arms that was going numb due to your odd sleeping position, a sharp pain coursed through your shoulder, spreading to the rest of your arm, effectively numbing it further. You winced at the sudden feeling.

What was this all about?

The pain, which still had yet to fully subside, had awoken you completely, and you opened your eyes to try and figure out what was wrong with your shoulder.

You quickly forgot about that when you noticed you were on an unfamiliar bed in an unfamiliar room.

You furrowed your brows, trying to adjust to the sudden light hitting your eyes and just as you glanced at the door, a head of curly green hair seemed to peak in. The freckled boy noticed you were now awake and jumped.

“Kacchan – she’s- she’s up!” he called out, before disappearing somewhere beyond the door.

Your heart sank. You’d never seen this person in your life. And this Kacchan he was speaking of? Surely you would have remembered if you’d met someone with a peculiar name like that.

You were most certainly not at home. And you feared something bad had happened to you.

Gritting your teeth through the rest of the pain, you somehow pushed yourself to sit up in the bed, only now realizing your right shoulder was neatly bandaged. You also noticed some more band-aids all across your body, as if you had been in a brutal fight and had been covered in cuts and bruises.

Though that certainly would have explained your awful backache and how heavy your head felt.

But knowing yourself, you would have never gotten in a fight in the first place. Nor would you have let yourself get so drunk so as to forget what could have happened to leave you in such a sorry state.

What was I even doing all day today…?

Let’s see, I had my morning classes. Then I went straight home to… uh… Ah, that’s right – I had a date with Monoma-kun tonight! So I went out, ran into Bakugo-kun, met up with Monoma-kun after which…

After which I…

You grasped a hand over your mouth. Your eyes seemed to water at just the thought.

It all came flooding back in a matter of seconds. All the images and all the terror.

You had… almost gotten yourself killed.

No, not just killed – eaten. Monoma had been the binge-eater you had been hearing about on TV in the recent weeks, and you had been chosen as his next victim.

Your breathing quickened, as the air in your lungs wasn’t nearly enough anymore. You became increasingly aware of the pain in your shoulder and your head was already spinning.

You were hyperventilating.

The boy who’d peeked in the room a minute or so earlier, returned just in time to bring you back to earth. Upon noticing your shaking form, he’d dropped the towels he’d been carrying and had rushed over to your side, hesitantly placing a hand on your back.

“Hey, hey, [L/N]-san, please calm down. Everything is okay, you’re safe now. Safe, okay? I’m here to help you, please don’t worry...” he spoke gently, rubbing circles in your back. Before long, he had helped you steady your breathing once again, stepping back from you with a relieved sigh. “See? I told you – there’s no reason to worry!” he smiled as he went to retrieve the towels he had dropped at the door.

He started folding them again, only to realize he would need new ones anyway, and discarded them on the sofa instead.

“Where… am I?” you muttered weakly, still a bit afraid to hear the answer. What if you had gotten kidnapped? If you were being held captive!? All the bad options were running through your head.

“Yuuei. I thought I told you that already.” Another person appeared at the door. You jumped at the unexpected voice but this time you easily recognized its owner.

Bakugo Katsuki. The ghoul who had…

You gasped. Your first instinct was to crawl back and as far away from him as you could, though your back had hit the wall before you could get very far. You cursed whoever had placed this bed beside it.

Bakugo looked shocked at your immediate fear and his crossed arms fell by his sides. Had that… hurt him?

A new memory surfaced in your mind, and with it, your eyes lit up with recognition once again.

“You… you saved me?” Though it was a question, Bakugo neither confirmed, nor denied it. Instead he only walked into the room and lazily threw himself onto the couch, besides Midoriya’s now useless towels. You decided to take that as a ‘yes’. But then… “Why…?”

He snapped.

“Why is everybody asking me this goddamn question today!?” he raised his voice and you flinched. Bakugo however noticed this, and lowered his voice. “It doesn’t matter – what’s done is done. If anything, you should be thanking me.”

“She might not be thanking you for long though.” A new pair of footsteps entered the room.

Jeez, your head hurt enough already. You weren’t sure how many more unfamiliar faces you could deal with tonight. The man who had just entered had unruly black hair and impressive bags under his equally as tired eyes. He did however seem to speak with a sense of authority, despite the monotonous tone of his voice.

“My name is Aizawa Shota. I’m the manager of this place. That right there,” he motioned towards the green-head who had taken a seat in the chair beside your bed. “Is Midoriya. He and Bakugo work here. And now, the less fun part.”

Midoriya looked down, as if already knowing what his manager was going to say. Bakugo on the other hand, insisted on staring off somewhere into the distance.

“Since Bakugo has slipped up and let out his little secret, it wouldn’t take a genius to take that to its logical conclusion, considering that the two of us are helping him right now. Naturally, this means you’ve been let in on a few touchy subjects you should probably be killed for.”

You paled. Was… was this guy for real…? He didn’t even give the tears enough time to form in the corners of your eyes, before he continued.

“However, Bakugo here seems awfully insistent on letting you live for whatever reason.” Your gaze briefly wondered to him, though he caught you staring and frowned. All the while, you were slowly putting all the pieces of the puzzle together.

“So you… you two are also ghouls, like Bakugo-kun...” You looked to Midoriya, who nodded hesitantly. “And this… this ‘Yuuei’ place is a cafe run by ghouls, for ghouls…? Is that right?”

“We serve humans too, of course,” Aizawa corrected, while you nodded.

“So, I, a human, now know all about this… After being saved by you nonetheless.” You looked down at your lap. You weren’t sure if you felt bad for having those three help you so selflessly, or whether you were afraid this Aizawa person was going to ignore Bakugo and have you killed regardless.

“A lot of effort was put into keeping you alive these past few hours, between Bakugo rescuing you and Midoriya treating your wounds. It would be a waste to throw it all away.” Your eyes widened. “But you have to realize that your only choice now is to take this secret to your grave.”

Aizawa turned away and walked towards the door, only to stop right before opening it.

“Of course, if you think that will be too much for you, you could save us the trouble of having to hunt you down later and just let us know right away. We’ll make it quick for you.”

For the next few seconds the only sound in the room was that of the door creaking open (they really had to fix it, huh?), while you thought.

The choice was obvious – you were not about to get yourself killed right after being saved. It’s almost as if you had just been given a second chance and you did not intend to blow it. Because here was the thing about second chances – they didn’t come around all that often.

All of Monoma’s previous victims? They hadn’t been given a second chance. No, they had been mercilessly slaughtered right there and then.

Why were you of all people different then? Why did you get to alive? You weren’t sure. But… but you wanted to find out. To give your second chance at life a purpose and a meaning.

“I...” you spoke before Aizawa could fully close the door behind him. As such, he stopped to listen. You mentally slapped yourself when you realized you hadn’t thought how to continue. So you did the same thing you had done when you had put the clues together to discover what Monoma was – run your mouth without thinking. Because that had ended well for you last time.

“I really am grateful for everything you have done for me.” You bowed your head. “In fact, I feel like I have to repay you somehow. Ghouls or not, you saved my life and I will forever owe you for this. If… if there is a way...” You lifted up your head and returned a confident look at Aizawa. “If there is anything that I can do for you, please let me know right away.”

No one dared to utter another word.

Until Midoriya broke the silence, that is.

“E-eeeeh!?”

***

An hour later, an agreement had been made.

Aizawa had offhandedly mentioned that they needed a new waitress anyway, leaving the three kids in a stunned silence, as he shut the door in their faces.

Bakugo had been instructed to stay with the girl until she fell asleep again, just to make sure she was not reopening her wounds. Midoriya had promised to stay overnight as well, in case further complications were to arise.

He had taken to cleaning up the room where they had first treated [F/N], as it had been left a mess of medical tools, bloody bandages, and even a few stains on the floor. One could’ve even thought it looked a little like a murder scene. Good thing they had moved [F/N] to a cleaner, less traumatic-looking room.

That’s when his manager had walked in.

“Midoriya?”

“Y-yes, sir?”

“What is it? You seemed to have a question on your mind earlier.” He must have been referring to how shocked he’d looked when Aizawa had announced that he did not plan on getting rid of [F/N] quite yet. Midoriya nodded and spoke, as he returned to sweeping the floor

“Well, uh… How do I put this… It’s not that I’m disagreeing with your decision, sir. I was just surprised – this is the first time we’ve ever let a human know about Yuuei, let alone join us here. And umm, this one might be a little strange but...” Midoriya recalled when Bakugo had first brought [F/N] to them. There had been something very peculiar about the girl. “She has this… weird scent. I’ve never met a human like this before. Though it’s not that of a ghoul either. It’s just… odd?”

“Right. I forgot you and Bakugo had a keener sense of smell. I didn’t really notice anything but I will take your word for it. I’ll have to ask Bakugo about it later too.” Aizawa seemed to consider for a second. “For now, you should call him in the morning. Explain the situation and let’s see what he has to say about this. If he decides it’s fine, we’ll have her stay with us. And if not...” His eyes darkened.

“Let’s… let’s hope it doesn’t come to that… I’m sure he wouldn’t mind – he’s always been so open-minded when it came to humans. Then again, if I were him, I’d surely feel the same.”

Throwing the last of the bloody bandages into the trash, Midoriya finally straightened up, looking off into the distance with a hopeful smile.

“Plus, Kacchan seems to trust her. And if I have learned anything in the years that I’ve known him, it’s that his judgment's always on the mark.”

It had been a long day, a long evening, which had then stretched into a long night. For you, for Bakugo, for Yuuei’s Midoriya and Aizawa too.

But it was the beginning of an even longer story. The story of how you found yourself surrounded by those you had been taught to fear all your life and accepted as a part of their second home.

This was the story of how you – [L/N] [F/N], first met the ghouls that would forever change your life.

***

[CLASSIFIED INFORMATION]

Protocol K78152112

Subject #11

Real Name: N/A

Background: Unknown; presumed to have run away from home.

Results: Body mutations; accelerated muscle tissue development; loss of sight.

Changes were successful but short-lived; subject died of internal injuries.

(scribbled in pen) The closest to success we’ve gotten so far, I guess.

***

Author’s Note: And here we get into the new stuff. As you might have noticed, I decided to replace the original “Anteiku” with “Yuuei”, since I thought it would be fitting. I personally prefer the spelling UA but this just works, you know?

We got to meet Aizawa and Midoriya this week, and we’ll certainly encounter a handful of other characters next week! Fair warning – not everyone from the original BNHA cast is here, but a handful of them will show up! Hope you’re looking forward to it!

Anyway, thank you so much for reading – it would mean the world to me if you left a comment too!! Have a nice week and I’ll be back next Wednesday!

[southernwolf16]

Downtime Chapter 2

Chapter 1    AO3    ff.net

Finally posting this after 1,000 years. Also, I’ve decided that Downtime will be three chapters instead of two for reasons I cited here.

To @o-c-o-c-o,  @madameazzure, @thedreaminus, @silverwolf8940, @noblesselover99, @shanhei322, @pandora-twists, @galaxysilver and @icylook and everyone else who might be interested, here’s my contribution to the fandom.

WARNING: VERY LONG CHAPTER. I just realized that my stories are getting longer. This is 11.4K words.

Frankenstein returned to M-21′s room after wrapping up his work in the lab. He took a moment to observe the other RK members then decided to send them off to bed, to their dismay.

“It’s almost midnight and we have a busy day tomorrow,” he said. “M-21 will probably wake up by then.” 

Nobody moved from their positions. Frankenstein repressed a sigh. Of all the time to be stubborn. “You know the last thing we need is for M-21’s caregivers to fall asleep on him.”

Seira was first to comply, patting M-21’s right hand before pushing her chair back. Tao set down the hand towels he fetched. Regis checked if M-21 was sufficiently covered with his blanket and stepped away as well. 

“Are you sure you don’t want one of us to stay?” Takeo confirmed.

“Yes, I’m sure. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Everyone filed out of the room at the clear dismissal and soon enough, Frankenstein was alone with M-21. 

Raizel arrived and found Frankenstein studying data on the monitors. He padded to a chair on the bed’s right side, saving the one closest to M-21 for Frankenstein. There was a fine sheen of sweat on M-21’s face so he went about securing a towel to dab it off when Frankenstein beat him to it. 

Done with the task, Frankenstein sat down and with his head bowed murmured, “I’m sorry, Master, my behavior a while ago was totally uncalled for.” 

“We both know who you really owe an apology to,” was Raizel’s astute response.

No words were further exchanged between them as Frankenstein focused on M-21, whose temperature was already close to dropping to forty degrees Celsius. 

A few more hours flew by. M-21’s fever was nearly down to thirty-nine degrees Celsius. Frankenstein and Raizel saw his right hand curling into a loose fist.

M-21 let out a groan and sluggishly opened his eyes. 

Frankenstein released the pent-up breath he did not even know he was holding.

Raizel leaned forward in his seat, all the better to confirm what his eyes were seeing. “M-21…” 

M-21 moved his head in search of the voices and recognized the blurred figures to his right as his vision cleared. No sound came out as he tried to call them by name, his too dry and painful throat an impediment.

“Don’t try to talk yet.” Frankenstein headed to the kitchenette and came back with a glass of water that included a bendy straw. Before long, M-21 drained the whole glass and was looking expectantly at him so he went to get a refill. 

M-21 drank half of the water until his thirst was satiated. Sinking back on his pillow, he fixed his gaze on the pair by his bedside.

“Rai. Fra—why’s your name so long?” M-21 mumbled in a voice faint and rough from lack of use. 

Frankenstein almost laughed at the complaint. His Master’s name was longer by far. “Calling me ‘Boss’ works fine with me.”

“That’s not your name. That’s your job,” M-21 said. 

It will be best for you to find a nickname.

Frankenstein could imagine the delicate wrinkling of Raizel’s eyes by the subtle amusement in his tone. 

Perhaps we can ask M-21 for suggestions?

Frankenstein practically spluttered but kept a straight face after remembering the advice from Muzaka. “Point taken.” Switching to doctor mode he asked M-21, “Anyway, how are you feeling?” 

At that, M-21 knitted his brows. “It’s cold and everything hurts.”

Raizel reached out to pat M-21 on the hand. “It will be over soon. Frankenstein here is doing everything he can for you to get well.” 

“Your medicine’s already working, so it won’t be long and the pain will be gone.” Frankenstein dabbed a fresh towel on M-21’s forehead and his sweat-soaked hair. Next, he dipped the towel he removed in the nearby basin, wrung it out and restored it to its previous location.

M-21 heaved a sigh as the cool towel somewhat eased the throbbing in his head. He returned to staring at Frankenstein and Raizel. “I had a strange dream…” 

Raizel and Frankenstein waited with bated breath for M-21 to tell them more.

“There was purple…and black…and screaming…” 

Raizel glanced at Frankenstein then ventured, “Were you frightened?”

“Yes.” M-21 was quick to affirm. “But there was a sound. Then it was warm….and safe.” 

“The purple and black,” Frankenstein began, his voice laced with remorse, “that was me.”

“No, I’m sure that’s Dark Spear…being noisy and all,” M-21 declared. 

Frankenstein conceded with a sigh. “Still, that wouldn’t have happened if I controlled myself better—”

M-21 was outright frowning at him. “Did you do it on purpose?” 

“Did I what?” Frankenstein faltered at the question. “I—wait, I don’t think that makes—”

“It’s an accident,” M-21 pressed. “Will you do it again?” 

Frankenstein wanted to argue his case, wanted M-21 to find fault in his actions. But his self-deprecating thoughts petered out at how unhappy M-21 looked. “Very well, I’ll try not to.” This he could promise at least.

“That’s good enough for me.” M-21 patted Frankenstein on his left cuff. “We’re good.” 

Frankenstein broke into a small smile as something inside him lifted. “You should go back to sleep. It’ll help with your recovery.”

M-21 frowned again and tried to tug at Frankenstein’s sleeve. “But I have to tell you something. I just forgot what.” 

“It’s alright,” Frankenstein replied as he freed his sleeve from M-21’s grasp, “you can tell me when you’re all better—”

“No, I really…have to tell you now.” M-21 turned silent, his eyes going half-mast that Raizel and Frankenstein assumed he was going to fall asleep in the next few minutes. 

“Cockroaches…” M-21 piped up, baffling Raizel and Frankenstein in the process, “are very hard to kill…right? I might have…cockroach genes somewhere.” He had to blink several times to drive the sleepiness away. “Can you check?”

Frankenstein’s tone was gentler as he answered, “I don’t need to check. You don’t have a shred of cockroach genes, I assure you.” 

“Really?” M-21 was scarcely able to stifle his yawn.

“Yes, really. Why would I lie to you about that?” Frankenstein gave in and carded his fingers through M-21’s hair. “Go back to sleep. When you wake up everything will be better.” 

“Okay.” M-21 shifted a little to find a more comfortable position. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, M-21,” Raizel and Frankenstein responded, though they were both aware it was almost 3:00 a.m. 

At last, M-21’s breathing evened out. Frankenstein withdrew his hand and sat back.

Really, this child. Not even twenty-five minutes awake and already making people go through a myriad of emotions. 

Frankenstein, what are cockroaches and why is M-21 comparing himself to them?

Ah, of course, Master doesn’t know what cockroaches are, Frankenstein realized. It’d be a shame if he encountered one of those abominations in the house or at school. 

So Frankenstein went into a lengthy talk about what cockroaches were, browsing the Net on his phone for some pictures and a video or two for Raizel to see. He even touched on their chances of survival in a nuclear holocaust.

We must have been remiss if he still views himself as small, dirty and insignificant. Whether due to delirious rambling, a brutally honest self-assessment or both, Raizel was not pleased M-21 referred to himself as such. 

Old habits die hard, especially if they’d been drilled into him for years, Frankenstein observed. I think M-21’s improved, though he’s bound to slip on occasion.

I would rather he forget about this. 

Master? There was an alarmed undercurrent in Frankenstein’s voice.

Do not fret, I have no intention of wiping M-21’s memory. Much has already been taken from him. I only wish he will not remember the bad parts. 

No mirror was required for Frankenstein to tell he was red as a tomato at the implication.

We really must find you a nickname, Raizel solemnly decreed. 

Master…

---------------------------------------------------------------- 

It took two more hours for M-21’s fever to completely break, and another hour for him to open his eyes for a second time that day.

Several details caught M-21’s attention once he was free from his sleepy haze. There was the rhythmic yet unobtrusive beeping of a machine. There were things attached to his left hand and his chest. And he was not in his room because the ceiling had a very nice shade of green to it— 

“Master, you were right about that color,” someone spoke, to which another voice hummed in reply.

The voices were very familiar. M-21 turned his gaze to the persons in his peripheral vision. “Raizel-nim…Boss…” he rasped before his throat acted up and he started coughing. 

Frankenstein poured a glass of water from the pitcher on the side table, added a straw and instructed M-21 to take slow sips.

“Where am I?” M-21 managed to ask afterwards in a frail voice. 

“In the lab,” Frankenstein replied. “The hospital wing, to be precise.”

“You finished it?” M-21 regarded the room appreciatively. They just finalized the blueprints for the area last time. “It looks great.” 

“Well, there was a very urgent need for it.” Frankenstein had to point out.

M-21 recalled the excruciating pain that overwhelmed him as everything went black. “How long was I out?” 

“It has been seven days since we rescued you,” Raizel answered.

“Seven days?” M-21 began to squirm in an attempt to push himself up from the bed, to Frankenstein and Raizel’s horror. 

“You shouldn’t do that.” Frankenstein placed a hand on M-21’s chest to halt his movements. “I’m going to raise your bed, alright?” He adjusted the head of the bed’s angle from fifteen degrees to thirty degrees and made sure M-21 was comfortable in the more elevated position.

Meanwhile, Raizel busied himself with pulling up and smoothing out M-21’s blanket. 

In the midst of this activity, they did not notice the door unlocking and the rest of the household spilling into the room.

“M-21!” Until Tao’s exclamation, that is. 

“Not so loud, please.” Tao’s voice rang over and over in his head and made M-21 wince.

“Sorry,” Tao apologized in a near-whisper while he and the others drew closer. “I mean, you’re awake…” 

“Yeah, took me a while, though.”

“Welcome back, nevertheless,” Takeo said the perfect words to describe the household’s sentiment. 

All eyes fell on Seira as she reached forward and brushed M-21’s hair to the side. “How are you feeling?”

M-21 blinked at the action. “Like I’ve been mauled by werewolves then thrown off a skyscraper at least four times,” he responded without a second thought. 

Tao and Takeo tried hard not to laugh and ended up snorting instead. Someone who sounded like Karias also chuckled.

M-21 gave the question a more serious consideration. “I’m mostly tired and sore. A little cold too. I’ll live.” 

“Hmph, as if you’d get taken down that easily,” Rael uttered, earning stares from the room’s occupants.

M-21 could feel his lips curling into a smirk. “Did you just compliment me?” 

“Don’t delude yourself, I’m merely stating a fact.” The lack of enmity in Rael’s words belied his crossed arms and arched eyebrow.

“If you say so.” M-21 did not push the subject. There was something else he had to find out, anyway. “What day is it? Raizel-nim says it’s been seven days since I got rescued.” 

So Regis told M-21 the exact day and date, and they could almost see the cogs turning in his head.

Then it clicked. “It’s exam week, aren’t you supposed to be at Ye Ran?” The question was addressed to everyone yet M-21’s eyes were set on Seira and Regis. 

“It’s still early so they all came to see you,” Frankenstein was quick to say before anyone could get a word in edgewise. A glance to the left and he saw the time.

“But they have to go now because the clock’s ticking.” He started herding the others out, leaving M-21 alone with Raizel. 

“I will be taking my exams next week,” was Raizel’s succinct explanation after spotting how puzzled M-21 appeared.

M-21 was well aware Raizel could do whatever pleased him. And he was likely still recovering from his injuries too. A pang of guilt began to bloom in M-21 at the reminder. 

Something touched his hand, disrupting his train of thought. Or rather someone.

“It is good to have you back.” Raizel continued to pat M-21 until Tao sauntered inside. 

Tao gave M-21 a jaunty salute. “Your nurse for the day reporting for duty.” He walked over to the chair beside Raizel and sat there. “Is there anything I can do for you or anything you need?”

M-21’s brows wrinkled at the niggling suspicion he was forgetting something important. It came to him when his eyes strayed to his hands. “My nails…” 

Nowadays, M-21 had to file his supposedly blunt, human nails whenever he changed back from his werewolf transformation because they retained sharpness akin to his claws. It was a recent development they discovered the hard way following an incident involving Frankenstein’s favorite vintage curtains, the sofa and Takeo’s newly-bought dress shirt.

“I filed them as soon as I got the chance.” Tao held M-21’s right hand and pressed his palm against M-21’s fingernails. He showed his uninjured palm. “See, all blunt. So no worries, you’re not gonna rip anything or poke anyone by accident.” 

“Thanks.” M-21 was relieved at having one less thing to be concerned about. “There’s a bathroom here, right?” After Tao confirmed this he went on, “Maybe I can at least wash my face—”

“Actually, there’s something we’ve been doing that’ll be easier now you’re awake.” Frankenstein joined the conversation. 

Raizel presumed this as his cue and left so Frankenstein had leeway to explain his plan.

M-21 was hesitant at first but granted his consent in the end. Knowing Frankenstein, Tao and Takeo were in charge of the more sensitive aspects of his care made matters less discomfiting. 

That and he really wanted a bath, never mind if it had to be done while he was in bed.

M-21 had a check-up as Tao carried out the preparations for his bath, and learned he ran a fever yesterday that broke only this early morning. Frankenstein declined to give further details and told him to focus on getting as much rest as possible. Although quite perturbed by the evasive response, M-21 chose to heed Frankenstein’s advice for now. 

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Baths could surely do wonders, of this M-21 was convinced. He was still exhausted and achy everywhere, yet it felt like all was right in the world after his bath. 

Anyone’s mood will improve if they didn’t feel so grimy, M-21 mused as he watched Tao and Frankenstein make swift work of changing the bed sheet, blanket and pillows from his position on the sofa.

Tao asked if he was okay. “I’m fine,” M-21 replied before a yawn overtook him. He just woke up and he was already drowsy? 

M-21 did not protest when Frankenstein lifted him again. Tao was also close by and took charge of guiding his IV stand. Once he was settled in bed, Frankenstein extracted his blood and brought it to the lab for testing.

At M-21’s request, Tao readjusted the head of the bed’s angle to forty-five degrees like Frankenstein taught them. “You’re still cold?” He just finished putting a pillow behind M-21 and caught him shivering a little. 

M-21 nestled in his blanket. “Unfortunately, yes.”

“I have just the thing for you.” Tao went to the built-in closet and got what M-21 assumed was a blue gray shirt. Unfolding it revealed that it was a button-up shawl collar cardigan. 

“Up you go.” Tao slid his right arm behind M-21 to assist him in sitting. The cardigan was laid on M-21’s shoulders. “I hope this helps.” His eyes wandered to M-21’s left hand. “Ah, wait, I have to get your IV—”

“It’s alright, I probably shouldn’t wear the sleeves in case Boss needs to do something.” M-21 drew the cardigan closer. “I don’t remember owning anything like this.” 

“Well, now you do.” Tao smoothed the cardigan down M-21’s back.

M-21 held one of the sleeves and admired the complex patterns on it. The cardigan seemed handmade so it must be expensive. “Who am I supposed to pay for buying me this?” 

Tao laughed. “You’re not supposed to pay for your gift, silly.” He helped M-21 lie back and was now occupied with fixing his blanket.

M-21’s eyebrows rose. Was it just him or was there a bashful undertone to Tao’s statement? “You made this?” he hazarded a guess. 

“Well, yeah, so how is it?” Tao asked. “I used your uniform measurements as reference so the fit should be just right. And the color, I actually had several options but I think you look—”

“It’s warm.” M-21 was moved by the kind gesture. “Thanks.” 

“Don’t mention it.” Tao grinned from ear to ear. Choosing to create the garment rather than dwelling on his anxious thoughts on those nights sleep was elusive was all worth it. He dropped his voice. “Hey, just between you and me, I’m gonna knit something for everybody in time for winter.”

M-21 wore a conspiratorial expression. “My lips are sealed.” 

Just then, the door opened and everyone aside from Raizel and Frankenstein trooped in the room.

“Fresh from the garden.” Karias set a glass vase of colorful blooms on the console table in M-21’s view. 

Rael placed an olive green pillow with bamboo leaf patterns beside M-21. “Here, in case you need another one.” He pushed on before M-21 could say something. “It’s cheap, you don’t need to pay me. Not that you have to in the first place.”

“Uh, okay?” was the only response M-21 could think of. 

Tao prodded at the pillow to test its softness. “This is a nice looking pillow you got here. Where’d you buy it?”

“I was out on patrol and found it in a sale.” Rael’s chest puffed at his accomplishment. “The store staff said it’s a memory pillow. And it’s the last piece.” 

Tao deflated at that. “Aw, bummer, I was gonna buy one for me.” 

Takeo came pushing a food trolley and announced, “Seira and Regis prepared something good.” 

M-21 remembered the last meal he had was when he gave a burger to Kentas. No doubt, Ignes was sorely lacking in hospitality.

“We’re heading to Ye Ran now,” Seira declared on behalf of everyone. 

“See you later,” M-21 responded, Regis’ intense stare not escaping his notice.

“This time I will not get a mere passing grade on that subject,” Regis promised. 

M-21 smirked back. “I expect nothing less from you.”

Tao uncovered the bowl with M-21’s name once everybody left, and the scent of chicken soup wafted in the air. The eager look on M-21’s face made him smile. “I think breakfast is in order.” 

Which turned out to be easier said than done because M-21 could barely hold his hand up, much less feed himself. It only lasted for a split second, yet Tao did not miss his disappointed pout.

“Now don’t be hard on yourself, you just woke up after all.” Tao ladled out some of the soup into a smaller bowl and stirred it with a spoon. 

“Boss figured those bastards probably didn’t feed you anything and you’ve been asleep for quite some time so we oughta start off with something light.” Tao took hold of the bowl in one hand. “And I’m supposed to help you with this sort of thing—”

“You’re not going to say or do something ridiculous?” M-21 had to make sure for his sanity. 

“I have a self-imposed ban on strange ideas,” Tao replied then winked impishly. “So, nope, nothing about airplanes, I swear.”

In the lab, Frankenstein was immersed in organizing his tasks. Tests and data required careful study. Samples must be processed. Medications had to be formulated— 

“Are your tasks so urgent you cannot spare time for rest?” Raizel finally asked after watching him in silence for the last several minutes.

Frankenstein paused and offered what he thought was a reassuring but was actually a thin smile. “I can still last a few more hours, Master.” 

Raizel beheld Frankenstein’s weary countenance. “Just because you can does not mean that you should,” he echoed an adage he heard from Takeo not long ago. “M-21 is not in immediate danger, correct?”

At Frankenstein’s confirmatory nod Raizel continued, “I know there is much to do, but you need to take a break.” 

The dull pain at the back of Frankenstein’s head spiked for a moment, an affirmation he was in need of a respite. He sighed in defeat and did not put up a resistance when he was shepherded out of the lab. Raizel clasped his shoulder just as the elevator arrived.

“You did well. We would have lost M-21 if not for you.” 

A hint of trepidation slipped into their Link before Frankenstein cut off the connection.

Raizel contemplated Frankenstein’s reaction while making his way back to M-21 and Tao. Frankenstein had not been forthcoming about some details on M-21’s status, that much he knew. However, there was an appropriate time and place for that conversation. Right now, the soundest course of action would be to let Frankenstein have his well-earned rest. 

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M-21 spent most of the day sleeping. And he could not apologize enough for it. 

“You’re tired. You rest when you’re tired. Sleep is a great form of rest,” Tao justified not for the first time. “And we’re not here for you to entertain.”

Raizel hummed in agreement while patting M-21’s IV-free left hand. 

M-21 assumed dinner would be a quiet affair with just Takeo to keep him company. At least he would not be much of a bother now he could already eat on his own. Besides, the others would probably drop by after they were done having dinner.

Regis and Seira came with food, and right behind them were Tao, Karias and Rael with a long folding table and a trolley of chinaware, glasses and cutlery. Dinner was set within minutes. Raizel and Frankenstein made their appearance not long after. 

Seira arranged M-21’s overbed table and deposited a steaming bowl of vegetable soup on it. Meanwhile, Frankenstein finished serving Raizel his ramyeon.

Raizel surveyed everyone and satisfied with what he saw remarked, “It has been so long since we all had dinner together.” There were nods and sounds of agreement from the table. 

M-21 sat there in stunned silence.

Frankenstein caught his dumbfounded expression. “M-21, that soup’s best eaten while hot.” 

Seira paused with unfolding her napkin, her attention shifting to M-21. “Is there something wrong with the food?”

Takeo was already moving from his seat. “Do you need help?”

“No, it’s fine.” M-21 ignored the lump in his throat. “The food’s fine. I’m fine.” He grasped the spoon laid out for him. “I’m fine so let’s eat.” 

No one made a comment on how shaky his voice was.

After dinner, M-21 got ready for bed with Takeo’s aid while the others tidied up. Then he opted to sit and lean on the overbed table seeing he had no intention of sleeping anytime soon. 

Seira and Regis returned with their books and writing materials. Raizel also arrived with Tao carrying his school items. Earlier, Regis and Seira admitted they still needed to go over some subjects when M-21 asked how prepared they were for their exams. Raizel likewise let it slip that he was yet to do any studying.

“Are you sure we can do this here?” Regis confirmed as soon as he set his things on the round four-seater table a few steps away from the foot of M-21’s bed. “You’re supposed to be resting.” 

“It’s early and I’ve been resting almost all day,” M-21 said. “Don’t mind me.”

The Nobles decided to review on their own first for other subjects then go over their math lessons as a group afterwards. Tao and Takeo, and to some extent M-21, offered their assistance. 

The individual study session finished an hour later. Tao cracked open a math workbook and read one of the algebra problems aloud for Raizel, Seira and Regis to solve.

“The answer’s twenty-eight.” M-21 realized his slip-up as soon as the words left his mouth. “Oops.” 

Takeo flipped through the pages of another workbook until he found the answer key at the back. “Yeah, that’s correct.”

“As to why that’s the right answer…” Tao and everyone else waited for M-21 to explain, the Nobles even had their pens ready to jot down the solution. They only received a tired blink in reply. 

“Well, that’s for you to find out,” Takeo concluded and snapped the workbook closed.

“Let’s see.” Tao scanned the workbook in his hand. “Maybe you can also answer the rest of the problems on page eighteen?” 

M-21 dropped his chin on his arms and observed Seira, Regis and Raizel work with a tenacity fit for their worst enemies. The sounds of pens gliding on paper and pages turning were soothing to his ears.

“Then M-21 can help check your answers after you’re done. Right, M?” Tao set his sight on M-21. “Okaay, on second thought, maybe not…” 

The others looked towards M-21 and found him already asleep on the overbed table.

“M-21, you’re going to hurt your back sleeping like that,” Takeo warned. There was no reaction. He was about to walk over when M-21 stirred and raised his head. 

“I’m awake, I just closed my eyes a bit.” M-21’s bleary mien made his claim quite unconvincing.

Takeo came to M-21’s bedside and guided him so he was reclining on the bed. “Okay, but you should lie down now.” 

“I heard something about checking answers.” M-21 held the edge of his blanket after Takeo draped it on him.

Tao waved him off. “Never mind that, you should go ahead and sleep.” 

“Or I can wait for you to finish.” M-21 pulled the blanket down and made himself more alert.

There were glances exchanged among the household and a silent consensus to let M-21 have his way. 

Takeo stayed close by and witnessed how hard M-21 fought to remain awake. He stepped in after M-21 roused from nodding off for the fourth time. “That’s enough, M-21, you should really go to sleep—”

“I don’t want to sleep,” M-21 replied then corrected, “I can’t sleep, I’m not supposed to sleep.” 

Raizel and the others broke off from their task, sensing they were not talking about checking answers anymore.

“What do you mean?” Takeo kept his voice level and demeanor calm. “Is there a problem? Are you not feeling well?” He laid a palm on M-21’s forehead to check if he was coming down again with a fever, only to find he was cool to the touch. 

M-21 spoke not a single word. The fear that began to suffuse his features was loud enough.

“Come on, M, you gotta tell us what’s wrong,” Tao persuaded. They all gathered around M-21’s bed. “We have to know so we can help—” 

“What if this is just a very elaborate dream I cooked up and sleeping means I’ll wake and find myself still with the werewolves?” M-21 curled his hands on the blanket. “I got lucky before, but what if next time…” He struggled to keep from trembling. “No, I’d rather stay asleep and be here—”

Raizel closed the distance and enveloped M-21’s right hand with his left hand. “M-21, look at me, please.” 

M-21 did as asked, and Raizel was almost overwhelmed by how painfully young and afraid he was.

Raizel held M-21’s gaze and attested with quiet conviction, “You are home and you are safe.” 

M-21 continued to stare. Raizel wanted to assure him all the more that he was now out of harm’s way. “This is not a dream.” His grip on M-21 grew a little tighter. “You are home.”

After what seemed to be forever, M-21 blinked and dropped his eyes. The hand warmed by Raizel’s touch looked so interesting. “I’m sorry I got scared over nothing.” 

“If it frightens you this much then it is something.” Raizel squeezed M-21’s hand a little, coaxing him to let go of the blanket. Once M-21 slackened his hold, Raizel pulled the blanket to his chest and made sure he was snug under it.

“Sorry I doubted you,” M-21 whispered. 

“There is no need to apologize.” Raizel caressed M-21 on the head to brush his hair. “It is not even an entire day since you woke up. You are still healing. We will just have to make you remember should you ever get confused again.”

M-21 meant to point out that Raizel was in a rather talkative mood, but his mind kept coming back to how the hand running through his hair was firm and gentle all at once. It further anchored him, drew him into the moment and the truth it represented. 

“Sleep, M-21,” Raizel encouraged. “Tomorrow when you wake up, you will still be here. Home and safe.”

M-21 gave in at last to the exhaustion that seemed to have settled deep in his bones. Just as he was about to slip into oblivion, a stray thought came to him—or a memory perhaps—of someone reminding him there were people who care for him very much. 

Frankenstein was so engrossed with work and nearly lost track of time if not for the alarm on his phone. His hurried pace slowed as he moved closer to M-21’s room. After relaxing his shoulders and checking his hair did not resemble a bird’s nest, Frankenstein opened the door only to be met by a melancholic atmosphere.

That was strange. Dinner ended on an optimistic note and the study session should have progressed without a hitch as well. Though the way everyone sat close around M-21 as if to shield him from an unseen enemy, schoolwork forgotten… 

I will explain later, he deciphered as his questioning gaze connected with Raizel’s.

Frankenstein took extra care in examining M-21 so as not to disturb his slumber, and was pleased to find he showed no signs of relapse. 

“Alright, you know the drill, visiting hours are over,” Frankenstein declared while collecting Raizel’s things. “Takeo, Seira—”

“Boss,” Tao cut in, “can’t we stay here for the night?” 

“Tao,” Raizel spoke up, “it has been a long day. You and Regis should get some sleep.” For a final time he stroked M-21’s hair then walked away from his bedside.

“But…” Tao’s eyes sought help from the other RK members. 

There was an imperceptible shake of Seira’s head along with Regis’ resigned expression. Takeo was apologetic yet stayed mum.

“Right, it’s Seira and Takeo’s turn to stay tonight,” Tao conceded. “Sorry about that.” 

Regis and Tao excused themselves once they reached the ground floor. Raizel sauntered into the living room and Frankenstein followed suit. Several moments passed as they stood in front of the floor to ceiling windows, watching the night march on until Raizel recounted the incident with M-21.

“I would like to have a word with you about him,” Raizel disclosed afterwards. 

There was a subtle flinch then a nod of acquiescence from Frankenstein. “Of course, Master—”

“Tomorrow, that is.” Raizel turned to face Frankenstein. “As I said, it has been a long day. Yours might even be longer than ours.” He retrieved his books and papers then clasped Frankenstein on the arm, to the latter’s surprise. 

“Knowledge is a heavy burden. I do not mind you sharing the burden with me.” Raizel withdrew from Frankenstein’s personal space. “I shall see you tomorrow. Rest for now.”

“Yes, Master.” Yet Frankenstein lingered there, listening until the sound of Raizel’s footsteps vanished. His sigh was loud the instant he was certain no one was there to hear. 

Seems it’s time to let the proverbial cat out of the bag. Frankenstein sighed once more as he trudged his way to his room. Then so be it.

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M-21 was not sure what time it was, only that he should probably wake up right then.

So he cracked his eyes open and saw his bed was at an angle— 

Wait, not his bed. The ceiling was not his either. M-21 sat up, rubbing the drowsiness away as he tried to recall why he was at the hospital wing. The one that was just blueprints and not an actual fully furnished room as far as he knew—

The memories crashed down like a ton of bricks and then some. And the more M-21 remembered, the more his face became unbearably hot. 

Seira and Takeo were at the side observing M-21 stir and later grow red as the grogginess left him.

“Hey there”—Takeo flashed a reassuring smile at M-21— “good mor—” 

M-21 threw a look at Takeo and Seira, blushed even harder before mumbling, “Excuse me, I need to get my feelings in order.” He laid down again, dragging his blanket over his head as he did so. 

Takeo regained enough wits to reply, “Ah, sure, take your time.” 

What the hell did I just say? M-21 groaned inwardly. His brain-to-mouth filter was definitely still not up and running this early in the day, but damn this was a little too much.

You’re an adult, quit acting like a big baby, M-21 scolded. He drew deep, calming breaths and counted to ten and back in his head. 

“You okay in there, M?” Takeo queried. 

A minute passed, then another. Two hands snuck out from under the blanket and peeled it down until M-21 was back in view. 

“I said some weird things last night, didn’t I?” He sported a rosy tinge on his cheeks and refused to set his gaze on Takeo and Seira.

So that was it. Takeo met Seira’s eyes. “Something weird? I don’t remember anything like that.” 

Seira caught on fast. “I recall nothing of the sort either.”

M-21 did not budge, though it seemed his flush was already receding. 

“So, as I was saying, good morning,” Takeo repeated. Seira echoed a quiet greeting as well.

M-21 peeked at the pair. “Good morning.” Then he was up and moving to leave the bed because he wanted to go to the bathroom. Takeo was by his side in an instant. 

“I think I can manage.” M-21 got to his feet. The absurd amount of rest he had yesterday proved useful since his legs were no longer doing an impersonation of a jelly. He released his grip on the bed’s side rail and did not lose balance when he stepped forward. “Yeah, I can do this.”

Nevertheless, Seira and Takeo were within arm’s reach. M-21 eventually made it to the bathroom without incident. It was probably not even thirty steps, yet it was as if he won a prize to kick Crombel where it hurt. Takeo and Seira clapping at his small victory only cemented the notion. 

M-21 freshened up and concluded his routine with another splash of cold water on his face. That ought to reduce the chances of him making a scene again. Outside, there was muffled conversation. He finished toweling off and exited the area.

Takeo and Seira ended their report at the sound of the bathroom doorknob turning. M-21 emerged and froze in his tracks. 

“Good morning, M-21,” Raizel said. Apparently, M-21 was quite self-conscious about what happened the previous night, so he and Frankenstein agreed it was to M-21’s best interest that everybody carry on as normal.

M-21 resisted the urge to go back where he came from. Mustering all his confidence he responded, “Good morning.” His ears were burning, though. 

“Need help?” Frankenstein asked.

M-21 shook his head. “I got here on my own, I can get back there too.” And did just that to prove his point. 

“Good work.” Frankenstein was beaming as he handed M-21 a small plastic cup once he was seated on the bed. At M-21’s probing look he explained, “You’re supposed to take that at this time.”

M-21 spared a few seconds to watch a blue softgel capsule roll inside the cup as he tilted it from side to side. Finally, he popped the capsule in his mouth and drank the glass of water Frankenstein provided. 

The rest of the household paid their visit and came by again prior to leaving for Ye Ran.

Raizel and Frankenstein joined Takeo and M-21 for breakfast later that morning. Takeo just dried the last of the dishes they used when Frankenstein announced M-21 would be undergoing a check-up at the lab. 

“Might as well be on my way.” M-21 shed his blanket and dangled his legs off the bed. Given the distance and how sluggish he was, it would take him a while to turn up at the main lab.

“Hold that thought” —Frankenstein did not bother hiding how appalled he was by the idea— “who said you’re going to walk your way there?” He instructed Takeo to bring M-21 to the lab in half an hour then set off to make preparations. Raizel silently trailed after him. 

The thirty-minute mark soon drew close. “It’s almost time for your appointment. Wait here.” Takeo left the room and returned with a wheelchair.

“Your carriage has arrived, Sir,” was his solemn declaration that had M-21 snort in amusement. 

Once he confirmed M-21 was secure in the wheelchair Takeo disclosed, “I don’t think I’ve ever handled one of these.”

M-21 looked at him dead in the eye. 

Takeo smiled as confidently as possible. “But I did practice runs so we’re all set.”  

“Just don’t go be a speed demon on me. Wait” —M-21 started turning this way and that— “does this thing have a seatbelt?” 

“No, it doesn’t.” Takeo fake scowled at M-21. “And what do you take me for, a reckless driver?” Walking to the back, he held the wheelchair handles and gave a slight push. “Ready? Let’s head out, shall we?”

M-21’s grip on the armrests was tight as he braced himself. 

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“—I didn’t take you for a reckless passenger.” Were the words Frankenstein and Raizel heard the moment the main lab’s automatic door swished open to grant Takeo and M-21 entry. 

“Of course not, you were going way below the speed limit.” M-21’s answer had a rare, playful undertone to it.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t know there’s a minimum speed required for wheelchair pushing,” Takeo quipped back. 

“Maybe I should do the driving next time—”

Frankenstein cleared his throat and the pair ceased with their banter. 

“We’re not late, are we?” M-21 inquired.

“You’re just in time.” Frankenstein tapped the examination table at his side. “Come, I need to get your vital signs before I do your scans.” 

The check-up was over in less than an hour. Frankenstein gathered the printouts he made and compared them to the ones in M-21’s file. He even opened several documents on his computer and looked over those as well.

In the meantime, M-21 sat waiting on the examination table. His file was not that thick, he pretty was sure of it. But then again, his stay in the Werewolf Island was no picnic and not painless. M-21 drew his eyes off Frankenstein and let them roam around the lab. 

Nothing was out of place. The room was spotless and—was that a crack on the ceiling? M-21 squinted a bit. It seemed part of the ceiling a few paces from where they were got chipped off after something hit it with great force.

There was a nudge on his arm, pulling M-21 from further contemplating on what caused the ceiling to sustain such damage. 

Takeo, sitting to M-21’s left, nudged him with his elbow a second time and murmured, “You okay?”

Raizel was likewise gazing at M-21 with concern from his seat across them. 

It was then M-21 noticed he had been fiddling with a button on his cardigan all the while. Anymore and he could have ripped it off.

“Yeah, I’m okay, I guess.” He smoothed the cardigan’s front and rested his right hand down the table. 

Takeo shifted a little, close enough for M-21 to lean on his shoulder if he wanted to.

“Alright.” Frankenstein brought the clipboard with the latest printouts as he strode over to M-21. “Two things. One, you haven’t suffered a relapse, which is good.” 

A relapse from what? However, it appeared Frankenstein was still not inclined to offer information and did not further elaborate his statement. M-21 restrained a huff. “And the other thing?”

“You’re well enough to be discharged, but under certain conditions.” Frankenstein hoped this news was enough to appease M-21 for the moment. He mentioned the conditions, emphasizing they must be strictly adhered to. “How are you feeling now?” 

Very confused, M-21 was close to blurting out. Instead, he did a brief assessment and reported, “A little tired, a little cold, a little sore and in dire need of a bath.”

A long soak in the bath would really be useful right now, what with all the things he needed to ponder on. Alas, M-21’s hopes were dashed after Frankenstein said he could only take a fifteen-minute shower at the most. 

“One more thing and we’re done.” Frankenstein entered the drug storeroom and came out with a plastic cup. He also made a quick stop at the refrigerator just outside the storeroom and grabbed a bottle of water. “Here you go.” Frankenstein held them out to M-21.

M-21 accepted the proffered items. Inside the cup was an oblong, light orange pill. “And this is?” 

“You’re supposed to take that after breakfast.”

Again, with the vague answer. M-21 stared long and hard at Frankenstein, who merely flashed another calming smile. He bit back his exasperated sigh and downed the pill. 

“And with that you’re free to go.” Frankenstein wrote something on the papers on his clipboard while M-21 transferred to his wheelchair. “Don’t forget what I told you. I’ll come by later to check on you, alright?”

Takeo was maneuvering the wheelchair to the door when M-21 requested that he pause. 

“Oh, by the way…” M-21 began.

Frankenstein would never admit even under duress how his blood ran cold at M-21’s nonchalant yet foreboding tone. 

M-21 extended his left pointer finger in the direction of the ceiling right above them, compelling Raizel, Takeo and Frankenstein to raise their eyes as well. “What happened to the ceiling?”

The three just about did a collective wince at not spotting earlier that the ceiling was damaged. 

“A minor accident,” was Frankenstein’s unruffled response. “I’m sure it won’t jeopardize the lab’s structural integrity, but we’ll do an inspection to be on the safe side.” He motioned for Takeo to move along. “Now off you go, you still need to pack.”

The last thing Raizel and Frankenstein heard as the door was closing was M-21 worrying they might take too long to pack, and Takeo guaranteeing they would not. 

The smile disappeared from Frankenstein’s face. He removed the printouts from the clipboard and retrieved M-21’s folder to add them there, only to find there was no more space. Rummaging in his supply cabinet, he obtained a new folder and filed the printouts page by page. After that, he organized the files in his computer and tidied around the lab. He even dedicated several minutes to examining the ceiling.

Raizel could have called out Frankenstein for dawdling, but chose to wait until he was no longer occupied with his tasks. 

To say Frankenstein was stalling would not be a lie. And his excuses were running out fast. Casting a look at the security monitor, he caught sight of M-21 and Takeo as they were boarding the elevator.

And there went his last excuse. Frankenstein pressed one of the buttons on the console to activate the door’s lock mechanism. 

Had he been a lesser man he would have poured himself a stiff drink to get through with what he was about to do. But Frankenstein was no such person, so he sat on his chair with all the grace of one carrying too heavy a burden.

Then he proceeded to let the proverbial cat out of the bag. 

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“Can you remind me again why the elevator’s just up to the ground floor?” Takeo requested. They were staring at the seemingly endless flight of stairs that would take them to the second floor. 

“Because normal houses aren’t supposed to have elevators?” M-21 replied.

“Guess there’s no helping it.” Takeo slipped off the duffle bag slung on his back and deposited it on the floor by the stairs. Digging in his pants pocket, he pulled out a black ribbon and gathered his ponytail into a bun atop his head. Takeo gestured for M-21 to hand over his pillow and it joined the duffle bag. 

M-21, catching drift of what Takeo had in mind, locked the brake on the wheelchair and stood. To his astonishment, Takeo knelt with his back towards him.

“Hop on.” 

“You’re kidding, right?” M-21 could not decide whether he was mortified or fascinated by the offer. Not once did M-24 make an attempt at something like this when he was alive.

“It’s this or I’m helping with your shower—” Takeo felt M-21’s arms go around his shoulders. The rest of M-21’s weight transferred to his back. 

“Let’s go before I change my mind.”

“Okay, just give me a minute.” Takeo interlocked his fingers under M-21’s legs and carefully rose to his full height. The urge to sock a certain Noble in the face came over him all of a sudden. Someone of M-21’s build and stature should not weigh this little. Shoving the feeling aside, Takeo plastered a smile and in a cheerful voice announced, “This noble steed will take you to your bedchamber at your behest, Sir.” 

“What,” M-21 asked between chuckles, “am I supposed to say ‘giddy-up’ or something?”

“Aha, there’s my cue.” Takeo started climbing the stairs and reached the second floor in no time. He continued down the hallway to their left after adjusting his hold on M-21. “How’s the view up there?” 

“It’s not so bad.” Some escaped strands from Takeo’s messy hair bun were tickling M-21 on the cheek. “I get to be taller than you just this once. There’s just a lot of magenta.” This back-riding business was not bad M-21 had to acknowledge, but he was nowhere near the size of Regis and not that light. “Are you sure you’re okay with this?”

“I wouldn’t have offered if I wasn’t fine with it.” Takeo smiled again for M-21, vowing never to breathe a word that no, carrying him was not so hard now because he probably had the same weight as Tao or at worse Rael. “We’re here.” 

They entered another hallway a moment ago and were approaching the nearest of the four doors there. Takeo lowered to a crouch to allow M-21 to alight then moved to the side.

M-21 blinked at the door and tried to recall what state he left his room in. Should he and Takeo go inside? The place must be covered by a layer of dust with how long he was gone. 

“Trust me, the door won’t bite you,” Takeo opined as he unbound the ribbon in his hair.

Well then, they would just have to do a bit of cleaning. M-21 grasped the doorknob and pushed, the door giving way with nary a sound. Stepping further inside, he held his breath against the dust and musty odor he was expecting. 

Sunlight shone through the open window. The curtains swaying in the breeze were different from what he remembered, as were his sheets, pillowcases and blanket. M-21 headed to the oak desk beside the window, trailed a finger on its surface and confirmed it was free of dust. The bottle of home-made reed diffuser on the mini cabinet on top of the desk had been replenished, spreading a touch of lavender scent in the space.

M-21 blinked again, the idea someone found time to clean his room finally sinking in. “Who?” 

“Definitely not me.” It was a story Takeo would rather leave for the concerned person to tell. “Maybe the Cleaning Fairy did it,” he added in jest before exiting the room.

“Yeah, right, and maybe the Tooth Fairy’s real,” M-21 retorted as he stripped off his cardigan to hang it on the back of his desk swivel chair. After that, he walked over to his bed and sat down— 

—and straight away regretted it, as the desire to roll around while wrapped in his blanket invaded his thoughts like that earworm of a song Tao kept singing a few weeks ago.

What. The. Hell. He needed that shower, stat, or else he would next be thinking about bouncing on the b— 

M-21 was the picture of calm as he got up and made a beeline for the walk-in closet section of the bathroom. Apparently, they had a Laundry Fairy as well, if the vacant laundry hamper by the corner was an indication.

Takeo returned from downstairs and emptied the duffle bag of various articles of clothing to stow them in the cabinets. M-21 finished assembling his change of clothes and found Takeo puttering around in the wash area arranging toiletries on the sink. 

“I’m going to have my shower now,” M-21 clarified to avoid any misunderstanding.

“Okay.” Takeo took long strides to the shower enclosure at the other end of the room and waited outside. 

M-21 was positive his ears were turning red. Was Takeo serious about helping him shower? “Alone? As in all by myself—”

“Oh, yeah, of course.” Takeo slid open the enclosure’s door to check if everything was in order before going on his way out at last. Sticking his head around the bathroom door he told M-21, “I won’t lock this so just holler if you need anything.” 

“Right, just don’t come barging in,” M-21 reminded just in case. He did a loud exhale once the door closed behind Takeo. Seriously, sometimes the guy was too helpful for his own good.

M-21 stepped under the shower, letting the warm cascade of water soothe and invigorate him. He set about laying down the facts he gathered so far. 

For one, people were acting a little unusual, though not in a bad sort of way. They were kinder, more tolerant.

If the fray with the werewolves occurred when he was still part of the Union he would have been left for dead, useless throwaway he was to them. 

And these people he was currently with, who he thought were only housemates, went out of their way to rescue him. Like he was someone worth all the trouble. Like he was someone important.

Maybe this was what it meant to be part of a family. 

The water was definitely not the reason why his face was scalding now.

And then there was Frankenstein. M-21 sobered at the man’s confounding behavior of late. 

Frankenstein usually made time to explain things to him without being prompted. Heck, he even asked for M-21’s consent and opinion. This norm was a far cry from the Union’s modus operandi of doing whatever the hell they wanted because M-21 and his comrades were trash and therefore not entitled to anything.

Maybe Frankenstein was too busy to talk. Maybe he needed more information and was waiting until he had everything so he could tell M-21 in one go. Maybe he deemed M-21 not ready. 

M-21 raised a hand. Could it be there was still something wrong with him? He was telling the truth when he said he was a little tired, sore and cold. These complaints aside, he felt fine. Although his fingers and wrist did seem a little too thin upon closer inspection.

Anyone who was out of commission for an entire week would be the same, right? 

So maybe there was nothing to worry about and he was just overthinking.

If that’s the case then why won’t Frankenstein— 

There were several knocks on the door, followed by Takeo telling him he only had seven minutes to go.

M-21 puffed out a breath before running his hands through his hair to start rinsing off. 

What to do, what to do…

For now, he would let the unusual treatment from everyone else slide seeing it mostly involved harmless acts. Unless someone decided to outclass Rael’s odd gift giving stunt. M-21’s eyes grew wide then he caught himself and dismissed the idea. No one would absolutely try to kiss him. Why would anyone even want to do that in the first place? 

Okay, time to stop with the weird, off tangent thoughts. M-21 ended his shower and left the enclosure. The rest of the bathroom was a little chilly, so he toweled off and dressed as fast as he could in his typical attire of a white T-shirt and black pants.

What about Frankenstein? M-21 draped a towel on his head, rubbing his hair with one hand while he retrieved his dirty clothes from the basket where he placed them. After dropping the clothes in the laundry hamper, he moved to the bench in the middle of the walk-in closet to resume working on his hair and his options. 

He could try asking the others. But if Frankenstein covered his bases, which he probably did if he was this tight-lipped, then they were most likely instructed not to tell him anything.

Waiting was his best choice. Frankenstein probably had reasons for not yet giving him a proper explanation. Besides, it was still early. Maybe he would tell M-21 later in the day. 

After all, M-21 had the right to know what was going on with him.

Or maybe he did not and he was too demanding— 

M-21 gave his hair a too vigorous rub. This was not the Union—

Two knocks on the door. “M, are you done?” Takeo called out from the other side. “Can I come in?” 

“Yeah, go ahead.” M-21 sighed and dropped his arms, already worn out from holding them up for a quite some time. It was in this state that Takeo found him.

A worried expression crossed Takeo’s face. “What’s wrong?” Already he was checking M-21 for signs of illness or injury. 

“Nothing much, just my arms deciding to quit a job midway,” was the rueful answer from M-21.

Takeo removed the towel on M-21’s head. “Your hair’s still dripping. Let me.” He commenced gently patting M-21’s hair and once satisfied it was dry enough inquired, “Think you can tolerate a little bit of noise?” 

“Probably,” M-21 answered. “My ears aren’t sensitive anymore. Why?”

“Be right back.” Takeo laid the towel next to M-21 then hurried off. He returned soon after wielding a hair dryer that he plugged into the power outlet on the floor beside the bench. 

“Uh, where did that come from?” M-21 stared at the hair dryer in Takeo’s hand like it was some kind of alien contraption for torture purposes.

“It’s mine, why do you look so surprised?” Switching on the device Takeo explained, “This doesn’t make so much noise like the others and it’ll dry your hair really quick. Want to give it a try?” 

M-21 had his misgivings but if there was one thing he was sure of, it was Takeo would not subject him to needless pain. “Okay.”

That and he could just add this to the growing list of novel experiences he had been having so far. 

“Don’t worry, this won’t hurt at all. But” —Takeo paused for emphasis— “do tell me if it gets uncomfortable, okay?” He adjusted the hair dryer’s setting to medium before raking his fingers through a section of M-21’s locks and raising it to begin his task.

And as promised, the procedure ended in a few minutes. Takeo kept moving M-21’s hair this way and that, nonetheless. 

Finally figuring out what he was doing, M-21 pointed out, “I have a comb, you know.”

Takeo beamed at M-21. “It’s fine. Your hair’s manageable enough not to need one.” That aside, he was mulling over if telling M-21 his hair was ridiculously soft would count as offensive.  

“And we’re done,” Takeo announced after deftly arranging said hair into its usual side swept style. Then he disappeared into the bath area to hang M-21’s towel on the heated towel rail mounted on the wall. 

Meanwhile, M-21 drew near the sink and studied his reflection on the mirror. The person who gazed back had dark circles under his eyes and a rather pasty complexion.

Yup, definitely looked the part of someone who’d gone through the wringer. 

Takeo showed up and clapped M-21 on the shoulders. “See, no need for a comb to fix your hair. Now come on” —he made M-21 face left and started to mock push him towards the open door— “you’re supposed to be on bed rest.”

“Alright, I’m going already.” M-21 allowed himself to be led and crossed the threshold to his bedroom. 

No sooner than he released M-21 that a chill swept through Takeo, freezing him where he stood—

“Don’t hold him down.” Frankenstein ordered. 

Takeo let go.

Blood was everywhere. On his shirt. The operating table. On the floor. 

M-21 kept bleeding even as he was racked with seizures.

Then he went still. 

A shrill beep filled the room.

Takeo bit the inside of his cheek— 

—and reeled from the onslaught. He gripped the doorframe to get his bearings and drove the memory far away into the dark recesses of his mind. Takeo somehow quietly shut the door after him, eyes going frantic in his search until he found his target.

M-21, standing in front of the window, had his back to him and appeared to be holding something aloft. 

He’s right there. Takeo could feel his nerves steadying at the sight as he moved closer.

M-21 lifted his cardigan, gave it a shake before slipping it on. The garment was an instant source of warmth and he made a mental note to consider buying a spare once he was allowed to leave the house. 

And very much alive. Takeo let out a slow, inaudible breath. He reached out with his left hand—

M-21 finished buttoning the cardigan and began running his hands down the sleeves to straighten them, wondering why Tao designed them in a way that only his fingers were visible if he did not fold over the cuffs at least once. Not that he minded since his hands would get warm too— 

Something dropped on M-21’s head and started mussing his hair. M-21 pressed his lips into a thin line as he turned to scowl at the culprit.

The somewhat annoyed expression M-21 wore almost had Takeo bursting into laughter. To his delight, there was even a pout thrown in the mix. He ruffled M-21’s tresses once more before restoring them to their proper arrangement.  

“There, there, it’s already fixed so don’t get mad, okay?” Takeo was very grateful his voice did not tremble in the slightest. Turning away from the window, he went over to M-21’s bed and peeled back the comforter. 

“Now, I really hate to burst your bubble, but bed rest involves actually getting in bed.” Takeo stopped as a thought occurred to him. “Unless you need me to—”

M-21 raised a hand. “Don’t finish that sentence.” Call him paranoid, but he had a hunch Takeo was planning to carry him like some princess in distress. “I’m perfectly capable of getting myself there.” 

He padded the rest of the way and plopped down the bed. After stretching his legs out M-21 asked, “I don’t have to lie down for this right?”

“I think lying back’s good enough.” Takeo stacked three pillows against the headboard and completed the pile by adding the one from Rael on top. “Here you go.” 

M-21 scooted backwards and settled on the pillows, his gaze following Takeo’s movements as he pulled the comforter into place.

“Is there a problem?” The question was very hypocritical coming from him, and Takeo could only hope his momentary shift in disposition would go unnoticed. 

“That’s my line.” It was fleeting, but M-21 was certain Takeo’s haunted eyes were not a figment of his imagination. How could he fail to recognize the visage he and his comrades wore more often than not?

Takeo deposited the pillow he set aside on M-21’s lap and sat on the mattress, angling slightly so he was facing him. 

“I’ve never been better.” A smile sprang from Takeo’s lips, small yet sincere. He flattened a rumple on the blanket and kept running his hand over the spot even though it was already smooth. “But there is a small…favor I’d like to ask.”

M-21 tilted his head to the side. A favor? “Go on.” 

Takeo gathered his thoughts for a few seconds then got down to it in the most benign tone he could manage. “I know it’s part and parcel of our lifestyle, but can you please try not to scare us too much?”

M-21 jerked back. “Excuse me?” 

Dead set on getting his point across Takeo continued, “What I’m trying to say is if you feel like you’re about to pass out, give us some kind of signal so we can do something.”

There were quite a few reasons why M-21 acted the way he did at the Werewolf Island. Now they seemed trivial against the fact he caused people undue worry. So he kept the words to himself. 

“I’m not telling you this because I’m mad.” Takeo hastened to add at M-21’s downcast eyes. “I don’t think anyone is. We’re just worried—”

M-21 flinched and reflexively pinned his arms against his stomach. 

“—and that’s part of the territory.” Casting aside the sinking feeling in his heart, Takeo began to pat the area on the blanket where M-21’s knee was. “We’re supposed to be concerned about you.”

Why was it so hard for M-21 to believe there were people outside of the M-Series who also care for him? 

M-21 raised his eyes and met Takeo’s earnest stare. “I…I’m really not sure if I can make that kind of promise.”

“The operative word is ‘try’.” Takeo reached further so he was now patting M-21 on the head. “Tao said it last night and I think it’s worth repeating. You have to tell us if there’s a problem so we can help. Because we might miss the signs and it might be too late.” 

“And if I have to carry you around on my back then I will.” Takeo meant every word of it.

“Okay, I’ll try,” M-21 agreed at last. It was a really small thing considering all the trouble he already caused. 

“Great, then we have ourselves a deal.” Takeo was almost tempted to pull M-21 in a headlock so he could ruffle his hair again. Maybe he would do it once M-21 was fully recovered.

There was a lull in conversation, so Takeo took the chance to grab M-21’s swivel chair and bring it by the bed. He remembered something just as he sank down the cushion. “By the way, your editor called last Monday.” 

The news had M-21’s wandering mind come to a screeching halt, only for it to begin racing as he scrambled to recall his progress on a certain task.

“Now calm down, I already explained things to her so you don’t have to worry about your deadline,” Takeo said before M-21 could go into full panic mode. “Told me you should just focus on getting well.” 

That M-21 had been moonlighting as a writer for an online magazine for about eight weeks now was one of three things only Takeo and Tao had the privilege of knowing.

M-21 sagged against the pillows at hearing he was granted a reprieve. “Okay, but I should at least send an email—” 

“Nah-ah, Boss said no gadgets for you. Bed rest, remember?” Takeo stood his ground despite the frown that appeared on M-21’s face. Instead, he narrowed his eyes at M-21 like he was sizing him up.

“So…apparently you’re writing for that magazine Tao likes to read.” M-21 had yet to reveal exactly what sort of writing he did and for whom. Having his name listed as M-21’s emergency contact person had its perks. 

“What a coincidence.” M-21 just deadpanned. What the hell.

“Too bad you guys are using pen names.”  

“That’s for security purposes. Wouldn’t want people coming over or sending stuff to houses,” M-21 stressed. Never mind there was not a snowball’s chance in hell of those happening to a newbie like him. 

“And there’s this writer he’s been following. He’ll probably ask if you know that person’s real name.” Takeo gave the pen name Tao mentioned.

M-21 kept his expression neutral. “I’m not allowed to say. We have a non-disclosure clause.” 

And there was nothing to tell because he did not know his real name either.

“Right.” Takeo folded his hands on his lap or else he would be ruffling M-21’s hair again. “Anyway, your secret is safe with me.” 

“Thanks. So, about that email—”

Takeo leveled a look of reproach at M-21. “What part of ‘No’ didn’t you understand? You’re supposed to be resting, you can do something else that’s not tiring or stressful.” 

“Fine, I’ll just do some light reading.” M-21 faced forward and squinted at the contents of the floor to ceiling bookshelf on the other side of the room.

“So, what will it be?” Takeo was already out of his seat and standing beside the bookshelf. 

“The one at the leftmost corner, third shelf.”

The book Takeo extracted from said location was rather hefty. “I don’t think ‘War and Peace’ is light reading, M. And I mean that in the figurative and literal sense.” He rapped on the hardbound’s front cover. 

“You hit someone over the head with this and that person will end up with a concussion. Sorry, but I’m going to veto you on this one.” Takeo returned the book and with a hand on his chin inspected the rest of M-21’s collection.

“You’re really building yourself a library here.” He started running a finger along the spines of each book. “Hugo isn’t light reading, either. And you only have ‘Macbeth’ from Shakespeare. Now’s not a good time for Poe as well. Ah, here’s one.” Takeo pulled out a paperback and held it for M-21 to see. “’Aesop’s Fables’.” 

“I read that three times already.”

“Oh, okay.” The book was stowed again and Takeo went on with his hunt until a red and black tome made him pause. 

“What do we have here?” His brows wrinkled as he recited, “’Grimm’s Fairy Tales’? Just the name already sounds stressful.”

M-21 was shaking his head. “I didn’t know ‘Cinderella’ could be so morbid until I read that.” 

“Then it’s definitely a ‘no’ for this one.” Takeo crouched so he could check the lower shelves. A title near the middle of the second shelf caught his attention.  

“Wait a sec, is this a tankobon?” He took the item in question and skimmed through random pages. “Isn’t this about the kid with a fox demon?” 

“Yeah,” M-21 replied, “but I don’t feel like reading about ninjas right now.”

“Nothing you want to read down here?” Takeo found another tankobon for a different title. “Not even this one about death gods in kimono?” He got out a third tankobon. “Or this story about an armored alchemist?” 

At M-21’s negative response, Takeo straightened and zeroed in on the higher shelves. Something in the fourth shelf made him do a double take. “Whoa, you have ‘Genji Monogatari’?”

“I haven’t read that yet because my Kanji is atrocious.” M-21 said. “You can borrow that if you want.” 

Takeo had a glow in his eyes as he laid hold of the first of the two volumes that comprised the book. “Are you sure? I mean, I’ll be the first to read this instead of you.”

“I’m sure. Just no spoilers, please. Can I have the fifth book from the right on the fourth shelf?” M-21 was looking forward to reading that one, but then Kentas and the rest of the werewolves and that crazy Ignes happened. 

Takeo found and examined the book M-21 requested. “Hmm, a collection of Korean myths and legends. And it’s got illustrations, too. I guess this is safe.”

He went back to M-21’s bedside and placed the hardcover in his outstretched hands, which the latter began to read straight away. Takeo smiled to himself as he settled once more in his seat and opened his own book, likewise keen on immersing himself in a good read.

[musicallisto]

🥺🥺 I love that your doing the ship thingys so I’d love to make a request preferably with Rdr2 since I love the characters. I am female, and straight to start off. I’m rather tall, 5’10”, 135lbs, and somewhat slender. I have green eyes and short nearly chin length hair (like a shag or a bob) I’m pretty expressive with my emotions and sometimes cynical, it’s very hard for me to be around/interact with people sometimes, I am artistic, and love listening to stories and writin, culture interests me

I Ship You With…

John Marston

Well, isn’t it nice that you compliment each other so easily, when you’re not headbutting and being terribly stubborn with your respective emotional expressions. To be perfectly honest, he desperately wishes he were just as good as you are with expressing his feelings and thoughts - it comes so easily to you, in accurate and precise and touching words that carry the weight of whatever you’re profoundly feeling, whether it is joy or grief or love. But words and feelings don’t come easily to him, a consequence of bottling it all up in such a brutal life. He just asks you (once again, not with sentences, but with his longing gaze, with his gentle touch more and more frequent even when you didn’t ask) to be patient with him, because he’s really trying to be a better man for you. He knows you can wait for him, he knows you will be here for him, because you were not carved out of the same proud and wrathful wood as the others.

You don’t really like being around a lot of people, nor interacting with huge groups? Fear not! Neither does John. You were both widely comfortable with the gang when you ran with them, because you had known them all for a long time and they were basically family to you both, but you still got uncomfortable with large crowds. And the best place to get away from crowds, alone in your thoughts and the wideness of nature spreading around you in all directions, is Beecher’s Hope. You spend your most peaceful days there, with the faint smell of pines brought by the wind from Tall Trees, the gleaming sky everywhere you look, the twittering of birds in the distance and the lazy smokes of Blackwater chimneys.

When you feel particularly daring, or when you had to go to town to run errands anyway, you stop by the water, just for a few moments, you tell yourself, and the stillness of the water calms you. Before you know it, you’ve whipped out your notebook and have been drawing the landscape before you for the past hour… until John comes to find you, rests a hand on your shoulder, kisses your cheek, and remains by your side. He probably won’t sit - that man has always been restless, old habits don’t die at all -, but he’ll look at the horizon with you, and steal a glance over your shoulder to see what you’re sketching. It’s always marvelous, and at that moment he can’t help remembering how Arthur would sketch everything around him, from the most vulnerable flower to the bridge they blew up together a little before he died, and he wishes he could capture your face forever with nothing but a piece of coal. He’s a terrible artist, though. His eyes, his smile, his heart will have to do.

He has many other things to offer you, though, so he doesn’t doubt himself that much. Yes, occasionnally he still believes he’s a fool, but as I said, old habits never die. He gives you love, and comfort, and stability in a world that tears every last semblance of happiness apart. In the serene bubble of Beecher’s Hope, he gives you what you lost so long ago, when you ran from your shattering family - faith. Faith in the future, faith in the world, faith in the goodness and kindness of men, and faith, if not in all that, at least in him.

He’s also, surprisingly, a great storyteller. He’s never quite liked talking about himself or his exploits - which he rather calls fooleries, but that’s a remnant of Arthur that he, deep down, does not want to let go -, but after living on the run for so many years, he’s grown accustomed to telling lies, inventing cover stories, and imagining the most enthralling tales. This doesn’t go to say that he’s a good liar - the Geddes at Pronghorn Ranch would beg to differ -, but when it’s one of those summer nights on the porch of your house, reminiscing the old days and telling stories of the early years of the gang, Dutch, Hosea, Arthur and him and no one else to tell them how to rob and con, and he runs out of stories to fuel your captivated, loving eyes, he finds a way to make one up on the spot, embellish an ancient tale. It’s not that big of a lie, not so much that you’d resent him if you knew the truth anyway, and you love stories so much… he owes it to you at least. After putting you through the most unbelievable of fables, he believes you deserve everything he can provide for you, especially if that is a soft epilogue.

[karaliswrites]

Prom

This is really stupid and really gay

~~~~~

Armin sighed into the half-empty cup of punch clutched in his hand, watching the way his reflection quivered.  Prom wasn’t nearly as magical as everyone had said it would be.  It was a time for dancing, smiling, laughing, an arm wrapped around your date.  Not a time for sulking alone in the corner with a red solo cup full of punch and wishing to be like the couples on the dance floor.  Armin at that moment was a perfect example of his worst expectations.

It wasn’t as if he was completely alone, he had his friends (however limited in quantity and resilience), but he hadn’t managed to work up the means or the courage to ask a girl to be his date.  No one was really his type.

Or at least that’s what he told his small group of close friends, Eren and Mikasa.  But this wasn’t entirely true.  It wasn’t that he hadn’t found his type, he most certainly had, but who had caused him to figure that out wasn’t anywhere near female.  And his heart still raced at the sight of chestnut hair and emerald eyes.

So that was why he was standing there.  

Alone.  

In the corner.

Nobody had asked him to dance thus far and he hadn’t been able to spot Mikasa nor the oblivious object of his affections.  But just as the thought crossed his mind, his eyes swept the gym and there, at the opposite end of the room stood Mikasa and Eren and their gazes met.  Eren smiled and Armin really didn’t want to be here right now.  They made their way over with hurried steps, as if they were rushing to welcome someone back from an especially long business trip.  “Hey,” was all the boy said when they finally reached him.  Mikasa offered a small wave and Armin an equally small smile.  “Hi.”

He then looked them up and down, seeing what they were wearing and, if he was brutally honest, to see if he was underdressed.  Mikasa was wearing a thigh-length burgundy dress, finally ditching the old scarf Eren had given her for her birthday for one second.  It was strapless and decorated at the collar and along the skirt with beautiful shimmering silver sparkles.  His eyes flitted to Eren next and he swallowed the growing lump in his throat.  He wasn’t dressed particularly glamorously, at least not for prom, but the tux he wore fit him in a way that had Armin blushing intensely.  He felt like his words were choking him, but cleared his throat and managed to say,  “You — you guys look nice.”

They both grinned.  “Thanks,” Mikasa said, opening her mouth as if to say something more, but Eren cut her off.  “You clean up nice yourself.”

Armin blushed and squirmed self-consciously, twisting the hem of his suit jacket between his fingers.  “Th-thanks.”

They talked for awhile, about random things.  How long Armin had been there, if he had a date, what they were going to do for the rest of their lives, things like that.  They managed to find somewhere to sit and gladly did, resting their already exhausted feet for a moment.  Someone cleared their throat and the three looked to see Annie Leonhart, possibly the school’s biggest badass, stood there blushing like a rose.  She glanced at Mikasa, her face almost angry before turning away.  “Do you wanna dance with me?” she asked bluntly and for a moment Armin didn’t know to whom she was talking.  He felt his stomach twist at the thought of her possibly asking Eren.  But where her eyes then focused made everything clear.  Mikasa’s face went from mild surprise to her usual calm self.  “Alright,” she said smoothly, almost sassily, but Armin could tell there was something else behind her tone.  Something like nervousness that she was desperately trying to push down.  

Looking out at the crowd, Armin realized that maybe this whole fear over a stupid crush was just paranoia.  He saw a number of couples who didn’t seem to give a damn about whether they were seen as “normal” or not.  Ymir and Christa, Jean and Marco, Reiner and Bertholdt, Levi and Erwin.  Well, Levi seemed to be dancing with anyone who asked, but still.  And now Mikasa and Annie.

He cast a sideways glance at Eren, who seemed to be watching his adopted sister with a tiny smile on his face.  Maybe it was time.  Maybe he should finally face the two biggest fears in his teenage life thus far: honesty and rejection.

His lips quivered, the words aching to be spoken, but not quite being able to form on his tongue.  He thought of ways to go about it, hoping that maybe one way might be easier than the next.  They were all equally terrifying.  

Armin had just begun to consider what he was going to say, his face flushing and heart pounding furiously in his chest, when Eren turned to face him.  “Dance with me, Min?”

He did a mental double-take.  “Wh-What?” he asked though he’d heard him quite well.  “Dance with me?”

There was a strange look in Eren’s eyes — a spark of hope and maybe fear and maybe nerves combined into one.  Armin felt about ready to burst into flames, he was blushing so profusely, but somehow his head was nodding even though he didn’t really know how to dance.  Eren smiled and held out his hand with a bow, which the blond took hesitantly.  If it were another situation, he might’ve laughed at the cheesy gesture, but he couldn’t bring himself to.  His world was spinning around him and he was sure the punch wasn’t spiked.  He led him to the dance floor where a relatively upbeat song was blasting from the speakers.  Eren began doing some type of movement that resembled dance and though he wasn’t the best, he wasn’t bad either.  Armin just did some stupid movement with his arms and legs, but judging by the smile on Eren’s face, he must’ve been doing something right.

The songs continued and eventually a slow song was bound to play.  Armin had been dreading that moment and had been planning his best escape route for when it happened.  So when the track switched to a far slower one, Armin turned to leave.  A hand clasped his wrist and he turned back to face Eren who was giving him an almost pleading look.  “Please?” was all he said and Armin just stared.  This was a song you danced to with your date.  It was a song you danced to with your arms wrapped around someone else.  It was a song you danced to and finally kissed the person you’ve wanted to for years.  This was not a song for best friends, especially not when half was falling quickly in love with the other.

But still, Armin found himself staying, drifting closer to Eren, his cheeks ablaze as the boy’s hands met his hips.  He put his own hands on Eren’s shoulders, trying to ignore the touch, the eye contact, and the proximity.  But he failed for all three.

His skin burned where Eren’s fingers brushed and he wondered if this was what it felt like to be in love.  His head spun as they did, moving softly, gently, like a breeze in the summertime.  It was then that Armin’s mouth got a mind of its own.

“I think I’m gay,” he said bluntly and immediately he panicked, his heart stopping before starting again at a million miles per hour.  Eren just grinned.  “Good.”

And then they were kissing and Armin’s heart leapt into his throat, butterflies dancing the tango in his stomach.  He felt suddenly faint, everything around him disappearing until there was nothing left to focus on except Eren and the way their lips fit together — like pieces of a puzzle.  Armin’s eyes slipped shut and he kissed back, gripping Eren’s shoulders like he would fade away if he let go.  Like this was all a dream.  Time stopped and suddenly started again as he pulled away and Armin was left with a swelling happiness, but at the same time wanting more.  He leaned their foreheads together and still he thought he was imagining this.  It couldn’t be real.  He kept his eyes closed, fearing that when he opened them, he’d be in bed having just woke up from the best dream of his entire life.

“I guess I’m a little gay too,” Eren said softly and Armin could help the giggle that escaped him.  Now with an air of confidence, Armin replied, “I’m glad,” before bringing their lips together once more.