#no wonder knives goes off the deep end after this. that poor kid so desperate for humans' approval

[orcelito]

hahahaha. you dont say.

in any case i just read chapter 40 of trimax and i am. not the same.

[avian-writes]

The day we found solitude

The Days: Part 2

Content warnings: anxiety

words: 2,026

You would think after what happened last time, Darian and I would never open that damn Randonautica app again. That we would delete it from his phone, block any website with articles on it, turn off app location completely. That we would suppress that memory deep, deep down until brought up years later in therapy. You would also think wrong.

    Did we want something similar to happen? Proof that what we experienced was real and not just a dual hallucination? Or maybe we wanted a normal experience as proof that it wasn’t real. Or maybe we were just idiots with not enough time on our hands and desperate for something more stimulating than sleeping all day.

    We chose attractor this time. A more dense area should mean not in the middle of the woods again which was honestly our main priority. What could go wrong in a more localized place?

    Well, what could go worse?

    Manifest what you want

What did we want this time? We glanced at each other and didn’t say a word. I don’t even believe I thought of anything. Just complete blankness, manifesting the void dwelling over our space.

Before we could react, it dinged and a map pulled up. A red flag pinpointed a location neither of us recognized. We took the coordinates to Google maps and waited.

  One of the local high schools. Thankfully the nearest one. As much as I loved driving normally, lately all it did was tire me out. But Darian did it last time so it was my turn. We grabbed our bags, now more fully stocked than normal complete with pocket knives and pepper spray, and jumped into my debilitating car.

   The sun started to set during the 20 minute drive there, casting an orange glow across the dashboard where Darian laid his head. Just like I wanted to, but I kept my eyes on the road and ears open for any suspicious sounds my car made, a constant and nerve wracking weight on my chest.

   “What do you think we’ll find?” Darian asked, eyes moving from staring out the window at the dwindling sun to me.

   I shrugged. “This time? Hopefully not a dead animal on school grounds.”

   “I’m not the one calling the police if we do.”

   “Eh, we can just leave it for the seniors to find in the morning.”   Darian chuckled but there was something heavy behind it. I waited a moment but when he didn’t elaborate on his undertoning misery, I reached over and poked his arm. “Hey, talk to me. What’s wrong?”

   He was quiet for a few more seconds, staring down at his lap. “Should we have a plan? Or...something grounding? Just in case something happens again?”

   I looked over at him. His small eyes were now wide with what I recognized as potential worry and fear. Did I feel it as well? It was hard to tell past all the nerves running me down. “We do have something grounding: each other.” I held the gruff of his sleeve and shook it, not taking my own eyes off the road. “We’ll be fine as long as we don’t lose track of each other again.”

   Darian smiled weakly and laughed. “Sappy but yeah, alright. Whatever you say.”

  The gate into the parking lot was left open, probably by a school cop who wasn’t paid enough to care. We easily drove in and around the cracked, gray top pavement to the senior lot. Neither of us went to that school; we were both from out of town. But the lot was fairly easy to navigate.

   After parking where we hoped was out of sight of the cameras, we got out and stared down at my phone where the map blinked back up at us. We looked at each other and he gestured for me to go first. Traitor.

   Following the small dot on the screen, we vultured out of the lot and down the grassy hill towards the stadium. It was completely surrounded by a chain link fence. I looped my frail fingers through the metal bearings and pushed myself up, vaulting over the top and carefully avoiding the circlets at the top. Darian, a known climber of school buildings, easily got up and over. We dropped down on the other side and continued skirting around the hill.

   We ended up at the top, hoping over the knee-high bar that was poorly meant to keep kids off the grass during games. The ticket entrances were just holes in the cement walls for people to come and go. The snack bar was in the middle of them. We wandered over and Darian said nothing as I hoisted myself up onto the counter.

   I leaned back so I could look at the inside in all its upside down glory. Nothing there. Why would there be in Spring?

   I heaved back up, grunting as I did so. “Wanna see if there’s anything in the storage room?”

  But Darian wasn’t paying attention to me. He was staring towards a concrete box standing above the seats, two doors leading no doubt to stairs going up. The announcer’s box.

   “Darian?” I lightly kicked his leg and he jumped. “You okay there?”

   He waved me off. “Yeah, just fazed out there for a moment. What’s back there?”

   I swiveled around and hopped off the counter. “Nothing at all. They must’ve cleared it out once football season was over.”

   “Were you hoping for some months old candy or something?”

  “Candy never goes bad, Darian! We’ve been over this!” We started to laugh but it quickly dimmed to light huffs of breath. The atmosphere was something odd, breaking it seemed like hammering down a barrier to somewhere we didn’t know. Like we were doing something incredibly wrong by even speaking, much less laughing.

   We headed down towards the football field, taking the large stone steps two at a time. Jumping down and giving the illusion of shattering our ankles in the process. We ended up at the 50 yard line. Right in the middle.

   I turned in circles, gazing in confused wonder at the empty concrete seats on one side and the bleachers on the other, designated home and visitor sides respectfully. I had never gone there before, but I felt a strange sense of nostalgia nevertheless. It was like any other high school stadium.

  I would always sit with my family at football games, subtly curling up against the nearest family member as we were surrounded by hundreds of strangers yelling, either cheering happily or screaming in anger.

  Either way, it was overwhelming. I could still feel the cold breath of every surrounding person dragging down my back, their eyes darting to me with every small movement I made. Scrutinizing and judging a life they didn’t know and motives they couldn’t understand.

   That’s when a high-pitched shriek broke through the air.

  The sound pierced my eardrums, shaking my head, brain, mind, everything. I collapsed to my knees and held my hands over my ears in a poor attempt to block out the skull shattering screeching. Nails dug into my hair follicles to rip them from my bare head to overrun the pain searing through my body right then.

   My chest didn’t hurt. It was burning. Fire was trekking its way down my throat, chest cavity, all the way until its journey ended in my legs that were tucked underneath me in a tight ball.

   Then started the roaring sounds, a rumbling scan over the field and steamrolling right over me into the freshly mowed grass. All the wind was knocked out of me and I coughed and choked on purely nothing. My throat hurt but I didn’t dare remove my hands in favor of holding it. I forced myself to look up and nearly passed out.

The previously empty stands were filled with spectators. I turned around, still pressing my hands over my ears as the piercing sound was gradually replaced with roaring voices. Thunderous speaking over one another as if every person was right next to me, each attempting to be heard over everyone else.

   Something covered my hands and I jumped before realizing they were just Darian. I turned my head to see him staring at me confused but alarmed. “Don’t you hear them?” I shouted.

   He shook his head and pressed his hands tighter to my head. My cheeks were hot, my face was hot, every muscle in my body was heat running over deep coals. It was agonizing and all I wanted was for it to stop.

   “Jake!” Darian moved his hands to my face and forced me to look at him. “Just focus on me, okay?”

  I could feel something wet running down my cheeks and I shut my eyes. Shaking my head back and forth, side to side, trying to shake out the spectators’ voice drilling their way into me. The shrieking merged with theirs and everything became a bubble of sound, bouncing off the outside and growing louder.

   Darian suddenly took hold of my hand and started running. I was forced to take it off my ear and the sounds grew louder in my head as they took advantage of the entryway into my mind. We ran across the grass and up the concrete steps amongst the spectators. As we climbed past, they reached out almost skeletal like arms at us, grabbing at our legs.

   One successfully nabbed my ankle and I tripped on the stairs, banging my knee into the solid stone. Sharp pain erupted in my shin and more tears threatened to prick at my eyes. The hand tugged on my ankle and I started to slide down towards the sourced man.

   “Jake!” Darian pulled on my hand but it did little to nothing as I slid down the step, harshly scraping my knee against the concrete. He leapt down next to me and wrapped an arm behind and under my shoulders. “Let him go!”

   He yanked and this time, the skeletal hand let go. He got me to my feet and we ran the rest of the way to the top. As soon as we hit the flat landing, the cheering for our demise got louder.

   I staggered to my knees under the sheer weight of their chaos, but Darian shook his head. “Nope, nope. It’s not doing this again!” He pulled me back up and looked around feverishly. Eyes landing on the announcer’s box, he dragged me along to one of the doors and threw it open.

   He shoved me through and the door slammed shut behind us. The sound dulled but the ringing didn’t. It throbbed my brain cells to smithereens, sending them to combustion inside my small skull.

   “How are you feeling? Can you still hear...whatever it is?”

  He couldn’t hear them. He wasn’t in extreme mental pain from the phantom spectators. But he did believe me and that was all I needed to know. “I can hear them, but not as bad. It just hurts, so much.” I groaned and held my head in my hands, closing my eyes and trying to block out my own pain receptors.

   Darian nodded but judging from his face, he far from understood what was happening. I knew him well enough to know that he wasn’t really registering anything going on, just going through the motions to get out on the other side somewhat intact.

   Diluted and weak, we trudged up the stairs further into the actual announcer’s box. It was a small room with a board nailed to either side up against the far wall to act as a desk. Windows were on all the other three walls and I could see clearly through them that the stands were completely empty.

   My sore knees buckled underneath me and I collapsed to the ground. Darian was at my side instantly and instead of forcing me to stand up again, he helped me lean against the wall and sat down next to me. “Let’s just, stay here for a little while. Then we’ll get out of here.”

   I nodded. “Sounds like a good idea….wanna play sticks?”

   “Sure.”

[tansypoisoning]

(Un)Conditional - Part 2

I Came Out to Have a Good Time and I’m Honestly Feeling So Attacked Right Now

You didn’t remember how or why you found yourself in Ransom’s bed in the first place, but now, poor, pregnant and desperate, you had your reasons for putting up with him, and they weren’t noble. His reasons for staying with you weren’t noble either.

Hey, long time no see... This took me longer than it should because I wasn’t sure about the dialogue. Still not sure about it. Some of you might have missed the polls I posted so you could help me decide the future of this series, so here they go: Whether or not I should redeem Ransom and What gender the baby (or babies, damn) should be. Democracy is important :)

Anyway: Reader meets the Thrombeys...

Story warnings:  Smut, abusive relationships, mentions of past sexual assault, talk of abortion, daddy kink, drinking, mention of drug use (Will add more as the story goes on)

Chapter 1 - Truce

Chapter 3 

Fandoms: Knives Out

Ships: Ransom Drysdale x Reader

Word Count: 6k

Chapter warnings: The reader and Ransom joke about incest and Ransom jokes about selling the baby to pay his grandfather back for all the money he lend him; people drink wine; there’s mention of drugs and people doing them; The Thrombeys are being particularly shitty.

You were off to the clinic to get an urine exam the next day. Ransom had encouraged you to get a more reliable test to make sure you were pregnant, but he wouldn’t accompany you. He was busy, he said, but he didn’t say with what. Probably begging his granddaddy for more money or chasing after another pair of legs.

The clinic would call you in a couple of days to let you know the results. The wait was killing you. The longer you waited, the harder it would be for you to get an abortion. At some point the pill would stop being an option, and you would have to go under the… knife? Scalpel? Coat hanger? Whatever the procedure entailed, it was bound to be more stressful than just taking some meds.

What was most concerning, though, was the possibility of you becoming attached to the fetus. Your misgivings originated from a fear that you might be doing something you shouldn’t, but you had no particular regard for the thing growing inside you. You might as well be carrying a rock – it certainly tired you like one. Some day that could change, though, and the moment it did you knew it would be game over.

The first thing you did when you got home was take off your coat, kick off your shoes and fall face-first on the couch. That was also the only thing you did. According to the sources you checked, fatigue was an early pregnancy symptom, but you weren’t sure it was meant to be this bad. Good thing you weren’t behind on your freelance work; you didn’t think you could handle doing anything that evening. You were hungry, but didn’t have the energy to even go to the kitchen. Your cellphone started ringing at some point, but you had dropped your bag by the entrance. Maybe something else happened too; you didn’t know, you fell asleep soon after.

You were roused from your nap by a cacophony of car honks right outside your window.

You jumped from the couch and stumbled to see what the commotion was about. You expected to find a car crash in front of your building, but all that was there was a familiar vehicle.

You stepped into your slippers and left your apartment. Ransom was still abusing the horn of his BMW when you came out onto the lawn.

“What are you doing?” You cried out, jogging to his car.

He put his head out through the window. “You don’t pick up your phone anymore?” He complained.

“I was sleeping.” The reason why you didn’t answer didn’t matter. This was a distraction. “Why are you here?”

“I came to pick you up, what else?” He seemed to notice you confusion and explained himself “I’m going to introduce you to my family. They’re having a dinner party tonight at my grandfather’s house. If I show up there with a kid before they even know the mother, my mother’s gonna kill me.”

That gave you pause. Introduce you to his family? That had never been in the cards before. Ransom had always been against anything that could hint to intimacy that went beyond sex, because intimacy entailed responsibility, and he was allergic to that. Your relationship was more of an arrangement, one in which he was the one with the most to gain.

Perhaps this would be your chance to really get something for yourself, something other than the occasional orgasm. Although Ransom’s charms and your proclivities were the biggest reason behind the start of your odd relationship, you’d be lying if you said his grandfather’s accomplishments didn’t affect your interest in him. Having been an avid reader of Harlan’s books back in high school (when you still had time and motivation to read) and now working as an assistant editor in the mystery fiction imprint of a large publishing company, you had hoped that maybe being involved with Ransom would give you the chance to meet him.

Even when it became clear Ransom didn’t like you like that, you still stuck around. He was inflexible when it came to your relationship’s dynamics, but you still had a sliver of hope that one day you’d get to meet his family. In the end you were right, and all you had to do to get your wish was let your idol’s grandson raw you after a couple of beers.

“I’m not even sure if I’m pregnant yet.”

“After five tests? Come on.”

“Well, I don’t know if I’m gonna keep it.”

“If you don’t, you don’t. Just let me introduce you before you decide. It’ll be awkward otherwise.”

You couldn’t argue with his logic. Ransom’s family wasn’t likely to think well of you if he introduced you as “the chick I knocked up by accident”. Your family wouldn’t be happy about it either, and yet you had to find a way to convince him to meet them at some point. You knew they weren’t going to like him, but it was better than trying to pretend it was a case of Immaculate Conception. They wouldn't fall for it anyway.

“Go get ready so we can go.” He said.

You nodded and ran back inside. He looked like he was in a rush, so all you felt comfortable doing was retouching your make up and putting on a different pair of pants. When you came back down, Ransom was pouting at his wheel.

“About time,” he said “I thought you weren’t coming.”

“I took like five minutes.”

“Eight.” He tapped the watch in his wrist.

You decided humoring him wasn’t worth it, so you got into the passenger seat without a word. Ransom took off, his tires squealing as he did a u-turn on your sidewalk. He always drove like a madman, most of all when he was in a hurry.

“How long ‘til we get there?” You asked.

“I can make it in half an hour.”

“I mean safely.”

“In that case, thirty minutes.”

Shame on you, forgetting Ransom was convinced he was immortal.

“Is there anything I have to know about your family before I get there?” You asked, trying to take your mind off the traffic lights flashing by at an alarming speed.

“I could never do them justice,” he snickered.

“At least give me something to work with.”

“You are going to have talk to my parents at least,” he mused “Just nod and agree with whatever my father says. You gotta be smarter with my mother, but avoid challenging her. Joni and Meg are annoying, Walt’s creepy, and there’s no point in talking to Donna and Jacob; they’re gonna hate you no matter what.”

“And Harlan?”

The question put a grimace on his face.

“Be honest. He’s gonna like you.” There was a minute pause before he added “We just celebrated his eighty-fifth birthday, so if you can bring up how good he looks for his age without being obnoxious, he’s gonna love it.”

“Eighty-five? When was that?” You liked Harlan’s work, but you didn’t like it enough to bother learning his birth year. You expected him to be younger, what with all the books he was still pumping out on a yearly basis.

“Last week.”

“Your family is big on get-togethers, then?”

He grimaced. “Unfortunately.”

“Familiarity breeds contempt,” you offered. You weren’t sure you’d get along with your parents as well as you did if they didn’t live in another state.

“Sucking does too.”

“But I thought you liked people who suck?”

That was a twelve year old boy joke, but it got you a chuckle.

“Already know what I’ll be trying today: Hey, Joni, blow me.”

“That’s your aunt right?” You asked and received a nod in response “I can’t wait to see you asking her for a blow job.” You didn’t really think he would go that far, so you weren’t worried you were goading him on. If he did it anyway, it would be because he decided the amusement he would get from pissing his aunt off would be worth whatever she could do to get back at him.

“Fuck, I’d accept one from my grandfather at this point.” You two had had sex just yesterday, but that was fine, you supposed.

“I think I’m going to regret this, but since we’re already in too deep and none of us knows when to stop, where are your parents in the Joni-Harlan blowjob scale?” This question might’ve offended anyone else, but Ransom was made of sterner, more horrible stuff.

He replied without missing a beat. “Oh, my dad wins easy. I don’t fancy getting bit.”

The throwaway line about his mother killing him if he just announced your pregnancy out of the blue came to mind. You wondered if she was as terrible as he made her out to be. You wondered if any of his relatives were as horrible as he made teem out to be.

“Hard to think you’d be scared of anyone in your family with all the money they lend you and you never pay back.”

He snorted. “I’m not scared of any of them. Wouldn’t be going if I were. I already owe Harlan more ‘one-pounds of flesh’ than I weigh.”

“Good thing he doesn’t charge interest.”

“Who says he doesn’t?” His eyes flicked to you for a moment, comically wide “What do you think I want the baby for?”

“You- you want the baby?” You knew he meant to jest about selling your child, and perhaps the bit about wanting it was said in the spirit of the joke, but you couldn’t help but hope it was a Freudian slip. Why did you hope that?

His Adam’s Apple bobbed as he considered your question for a few seconds. “I said I would help you with it.”

“No, you said that at first, but now you said you want it. I didn’t even ask for help, I just thought I should tell you. Why did you offer to help in the first place?”

He shrugged. Something about the gesture felt off, less cocksure than his usual self. “Because it felt right.”

“But do you want to do it? Do you even know what raising a child means?”

“Do you?”

No, you didn’t. You might have even less knowledge of the subject than Ransom, weird as that seemed. You hadn’t said you wanted to have the baby, though. You weren’t sure what you wanted.

“Do you want me to drop you off at a clinic? Because we can end this now.” Something about the way he’d said it made it seem as if he was talking about more than just the pregnancy.

“That’s not what I meant.” You whispered.

Edifices were replaced by trees as Ransom drove on. It was easy to focus on the changing view, now that he wasn’t talking to you anymore. You had broken one of his unspoken rules: never get emotional around him. You knew he wasn’t in it for something as trivial as feelings, but now with the pregnancy thing you thought… Well, you weren’t sure what you thought.

The rest of the trip went by in silence, seeming to take forever in spite of the scenery flying by. By the time you arrived at your destination you were disheartened – lucky you that the house Ransom parked in front of was the stuff murder mystery fiction dreams were made of.

Harlan’s mansion had been plucked from one of his books, it had to have been. With its red bricks and the Gothic Revival style, it looked like it’d been taken straight out of “Around the Corner and Down the Lane”. It was a magnificent, giant, mysterious house you could easily imagine multiple murders happening inside.

It was the most beautiful thing you’d ever seen.

Ransom left the car, slamming the door shut on his way out. You had to hurry after him to get to the porch as he was knocking on the door.

You didn’t have to wait long to hear sounds coming from the other side. There were footsteps against a wooden floor and the shuffling of keys, and then time seemed to slow down. When you woke up that morning, you’d never have thought you would end up meeting Ransom’s family by the end of the day. Were they anything like him? What would they think of you? And what would they think about the thing? You weren’t going to talk about it today, but still…

The door opened, revealing a slim woman with an old fashioned bob-cut. She looked confused when she saw Ransom, and even more when she spotted you. She opened her mouth, but didn’t get the chance to say anything.

“Hey, Frannie,” Ransom greeted. If you didn’t know him better, you’d assume he was being friendly. “Take this for me, would you?”

He removed his coat with the speed you’d come to expect from him when it came to taking off his clothes and shoved the mass of fabric into her arms. He walked inside, brushing past her, ignoring the outraged look on her face. You followed after, and her expression was no kinder towards you. It wasn’t the first time someone got mad at you for something Ransom did, but what were you to do? It wasn’t as if you could control him.

As Ransom walked through an arch on the left and the woman scurried through a door to the right, you stood on the spot right in front of the entrance. The gargoyles sculpted in the wood of the stair railing paralyzed you, the lights from the ornate chandelier blinded you, and the memories of books read long ago, hiding under the blankets with a flashlight when you were supposed to be sleeping came rushing back to you. This was much more than you had been expecting.

The inside of the house was dark and sinister like the outside, but there was a sense of warmth you hadn’t anticipated. The soft lights, the lavish rugs, and the numerous trinkets scattered about gave it a lived in feeling. The decoration somehow split the difference between “home” and “haunted house” right down the middle.

Why was it that Ransom didn’t like visiting his grandfather again?

“What are you standing around for?”

Speak of the devil…

Your forced your feet to move and followed him deeper into the house. Something inside you screamed at you to just ditch Ransom and this stupid dinner party to explore by yourself, because you got the feeling he would end up dragging you to a place that looked much more boring. You needn’t have worried – the living room was adorned in much the same way as the hall, cluttered and discordant and fascinating. Every piece of decor seemed to selected based on its own merits rather than any common theme or style, but it somehow all worked together.

You had started making your way to a windowsill, from where a model of a carousel with fish instead of horses called to you, when a voice stopped you in your tracks – a voice you had never heard before.

“Who’s that?”

You whirled around to see a man standing just a few feet away from Ransom. The age was about right, and with the two standing so close together, it was hard to deny the similarities between them.

“That’s my date,” Ransom said with a shrug.

“Date? You brought a date?”

“Nice, Richard. We don’t want to make her feel too welcome.”

At that, the older man looked back at you with a grin that would be charming if not for the utter shock reflected in his eyes.

“Hey, there,” he greeted, extending a hand “Richard Drysdale, father of this,” he glanced behind himself to look at Ransom, who was busy messing with a figurine in the mantelpiece “rascal.”

You offered your hand to him (his handshake was strong, professional) and introduced yourself.

“I gotta say, this is really something else,” Richard said “Ransom hasn’t brought any girls home since high school.”

“I bring girls home all the time, I just don’t live with you anymore.”

The meaning of his words didn’t go unnoticed. You already knew he fucked other women on the side – or rather, there was no “side”; you guys weren’t a thing, and it wasn’t as if you only put out for him – but Richard understood him as well.

“Is that the kind of thing you say in front of your date? I thought we taught you better than this.”

“No, Richard. We really didn’t.”

You looked to the source of the voice, and spotted the woman who had to be Ransom’s other progenitor.

“Linda,” she extended her hand to you, but not a smile. Her handshake was even stronger than her husband’s.

Richard joined his son by the fireplace to fiddle with a pewter box, looking downright chastised. Ransom, for his part, seemed to be fighting the urge to laugh.

He had said his family was a mess, and that he found it all terribly fun. Up until now, you weren’t really sure you believed him.

“Whatever this” Linda pointed from her son to you, then back to him again “is about, I hope it ends soon, for your sake.” The last bit, she’d said while looking at you, then she left through a different archway than she’d entered from.

It seemed Ransom had inherited the charm from his father, but the ability to put the fear of God in those who crossed him came from his mother.

“Who else is here?” Ransom asked once Linda was out of earshot.

“Mostly everyone is in the library,” Richard replied, pinching the bridge of his nose, all the former friendliness leaving him like a deflating balloon “your grandfather locked himself in his office with the nurse, and who knows where they put Wanetta. Meg’s not coming.”

“What excuse did Joni come up with?”

“Schoolwork. Essays, whatever. I mean, it’s a Friday, it could wait.”

“She’s going to spend at least half of the evening doing drugs with a friend, easy.”

“Dope.”

Ransom snorted “Like she’s shooting up.”

Richard fixed his son with a disbelieving look. “No. Dope is weed. Dope was weed just yesterday.”

“It used to be.” Upon seeing the defeated expression on his father’s face, Ransom shrugged “World’s passing you by, man.”

That didn’t help. Richard looked back to the pewter box, turning it on his fingers like he was trying to find the best angle to see his reflection. Ransom stared at him for a second longer, then stepped away from the fireplace and exited through the same way his mother had.

He didn’t call you, so you assumed you weren’t needed at the moment, but then, what were you going to do with yourself – watch a man have an existential crisis?

You didn’t have to wait long to find out. You had been standing there, watching Richard sigh to himself for maybe a minute when three other people entered the room. The first was the woman who had opened the door for you; the second, a younger woman, with something almost doe-like about her, and the third…

Well, Harlan Thrombey didn’t need introductions – at least, not to you.

He was the first to speak, looking at the woman Ransom had called Frannie. “Seems like you aren’t going mad, Fran. Unless we all are, which is possible. Can you see her too?” And at that he turned to the other woman, who smiled at him. It was hard to tell whether her smile was fond or embarrassed.

Then, his eyes landed on you.

“Since you’re just standing around with this idiot,” He said. Richard gave a tight smile and tapped his fingers against the mantelpiece “I’m going to guess idiot number two left you to fend for yourself?”

This wasn’t the kind of welcome you’d expect when meeting your not-boyfriend’s family, but Ransom was eccentric, so maybe his relatives were as well. Maybe it was a rich people thing.

“I’m used to it, when it comes to Ransom” you offered.

Harlan grinned at you, but then again, he had been smiling since he entered the room. There was something very Ransom-like about both expressions.

He ambled to you, extending a hand which you rushed to grasp. His smile grew, but maybe that wasn’t good.

“I’m Harlan, the proprietor of this” he gestured to the room with both hands “little menagerie of horrors. And these,” he turned to the women “are Fran, my housekeeper, the only one who can keep this mess in order,” the woman who’d opened the door smiled and raised her hand in greeting, but she still seemed suspicious of you “and Marta, my caretaker. Heaven sent, I would already be dead if not for her.”

Marta had smiled at you as she was introduced, but frowned at the last comment.

“Don’t say that,” she admonished “you’re strong like a horse, you’re going to live for a million years, I’m sure.”

Harlan whimpered theatrically and extended a hand as if trying to grasp at something.

“Marta, is that you? It’s so dark, I can’t see. Oh, is that a light at the end of the tunnel?”

“Really? You’re impossible.” Marta huffed, and Harlan laughed.

They seemed close. Close enough that they’d forgotten all about you in their banter.

Once he was done with his joke Harlan turned back to you.

“I promise you I don’t get any more charming, but you get used to it with time.”

Time. Did he think you’d get to be around long enough to get used to anything there?

“Let’s... get this party started,” he said with a wink “I don’t ask you your name because I’m dying to see how my grandson will introduce you, and I don’t want to get attached.”

That answered that question.

You followed the party of three into another living room(parlor?), then another(fainting room? How many rooms for sitting could one person need?), then finally to what you presumed was the library (that could easily double as a living room), given the floor to ceiling bookcases in every wall that wasn’t occupied by a window. The room was large, large than any room in a house needed or had a right to be, and there were so many books on so many shelves there was no way Harlan would’ve been able to read them all, even accounting for his age.

Despite the exorbitance, the place was cozy and interesting, not at all a monochromatic art installation behemoth the likes of the Kardashian-West mansion (Which you didn’t care about in the slightest… one of your coworkers had shown you the pictures, it was all), the sort of thing you expected from people with too much money and no sense of comfort. The library was furbished with plush seats, nooks where one could hide in to read in peace, even a mezzanine, and– was that a sculpture inspired by “A Thousand Knives”?! Excessive, very excessive, and somehow also really cool. You were sure you could spend hours perusing books and examining baubles, but there were other people already in the room, and you had been raised too well to just ignore them when it was obvious you had already seen them.

Linda leaned against an open window, balancing an unlit cigarette between two fingers, and looking out, as if debating whether or not to have a smoke and whether or not doing so inside. There were a man and a woman on a pair of matching high-backed chairs, looking nervous and annoyed respectively as another woman talked at them, and a teenager speaking to Ransom in between typing things on his phone. He was the first to notice you’d entered the room and he directed a brief glare to you before his eyes landed on Marta.

“Well, no need to stand up or anything,” Harlan spoke from behind you, waving his hand as he passed.

“Dad, plea-” the sitting man began, but he stopped once he saw you. After a moment of confused staring by both parties, he looked back to Harlan “Is that-”

“Don’t know; she came with your nephew.”

All eyes were now on Ransom. He was enjoying the attention, if the stupid smug grin on his face was any indication.

“I brought a date. I figured I had to be the first to do it, since Meg thinks all sex is rape and Jacob’s an incel,” that earned him an elbow in the gut, which he barely reacted to.

“A date? Boohoo,” Harlan spoke, and you almost winced “I expected something more exciting from you.”

“Would you rather she was a notorious diamond thief and I brought her here to steal every red penny you own, old man?”

“That would be more on brand.”

“That’s it,” Marta said, placing her hands on his shoulders and directing him to an armchair in front of the knife sculpture “I’m putting you to bed earlier, abuelo.”

“Not without me throwing a tantrum, you’re not.”

Ransom’s uncle looked back and forth from his father, then to you, then to his nephew, before settling on you and standing up. He picked up a cane that was resting beside the armchair and wobbled toward you, smiling.

“Hello. I’m Walt, it’s a pleasure to meet you…”

You gave him your name, exchanged proper greetings, shook hands; his fingers were trembling slightly, but the length of the hand shake was very appropriate.

“I hope you like it here so far. Any friend of Ransom’s is welcome here.”

“You say that because you never met any of my friends.”

“You know what Ransom,” Walt turned gave him a sarcastic smile “I’m surprised you have any friends at all. You sure you not paying her to be here?”

You didn’t know exactly what it was that Walt had said, but something had set Ransom off.

“Why, you want a round with her? Don’t think you could afford it right now, pal.”

Walt’s lips were still pulled up into a smile, but his pupils were darting from side to side like he was searching for escape routes. That was fair, so were you.

“Don’t speak to my husband that way,” the woman who hadn’t said a single word to or even acknowledged your presence so far, gripped the seat’s armrest as she seethed at Ransom “it’s not his fault that-”

At that she fell silent and turned to Harlan, who was looking at everything with mild interest.

“Actually, you don’t have a job either, do you Donna?” Ransom continued. You knew that look; he was getting steam and you didn’t want to know what would come next.

“I think we’re all just a little stressed with everything that’s been going on,” the woman who had been silent so far – Ransom’s other aunt, you presumed, the one he wanted to suck his dick – mercifully cut in before he could get anything else out “I think we need to roll things back, maybe start over? I can go back to the car and get my crystals so we can do a-”

As if on cue, Fran entered again, a tray with a wine bottle and glasses in hand. She left everything on a coffee table, then walked by Marta, whispering something that convinced the younger woman to move to a more secluded corner of the room with her.

Donna perked up when the drink touched the table, and, smiling the well practiced smile of a hostess who did her duty with no joy, she started pouring drinks and handing them around. When one of the glasses was placed in your hands, you weren’t sure what to do. You rolled the stem in your fingers, pondering as the other adults drank and Jacob sulked.

“So,” Joni began, giving you an easy grin “you and Ransom have known each other for…”

As she trailed off, Linda chuckled, but she wasn’t looking at you.

“Eight months, give or take.” You answered.

The answer seemed to surprise her “Eight months? And how long have you been dating?”

“Oh, I’m not...” you turned to Ransom for help, but he was looking at his nails as if they were the most fascinating thing in the World or as if he really didn’t want to take part in this conversation “I’m not sure. We haven’t exactly made things official.”

It looked like she was fighting to keep her smile in place “And you met-”

“What do you do?” Linda interrupted, still looking out the window “Do you actually have a job or are you just expecting to scam someone here?”

You turned to Ransom; he had placed a hand over his heart and was looking at his mother as if he found her comment deeply offensive.

You hadn’t thought about what you would say if Ransom’s family decided to grill you, deciding it would be best not to overthink things as he’d suggested. A question about your job was expected – it was just harder to process it when it had been asked in such a manner.

“No, I- I’m an assistant editor at Little, Brown and Company.”

There was a splashing sound, and you looked just in time to see Walt trying to rub off a stain from his sweater with one hand, while holding his wine glass with trembling fingers. When he noticed you looking at him, he offered a stiff smile.

That was the wrong answer, it seemed. It was the truth, of course, but the reactions around you were discouraging. Linda huffed, Harlan chuckled, Joni nodded mechanically, Donna seethed as she wiped at her husband’s clothes with a napkin, Walt trembled, Jacob’s scowl deepened, the sound coming from Fran and Marta’s corner of the room ceased, and Ransom’s grin was the widest you had ever seen on his face.

“Really?” Linda asked, now focused on her son “Where do you find those people?”

He laughed. “What? I’m very charming.”

“I need to use the restroom,” you squawked. You didn’t really need the restroom, just any place other than there.

“I’ll show you where it is,” Marta said, as quickly as you had. Her eyes told you everything: she was also dying to get out.

You handed your drink over to Ransom and followed Marta out of the room, the two of you almost running down the hallway.

She led you to a lavatory, where you turned on the faucets to cover the sound of you whimpering and heaving inside. After splashing your face with some water, you exited the room to find her still waiting for you outside. She offered an apologetic smile.

“So…” you started, not sure of how to best broach the subject. Good thing she already knew what you wanted to get at.

“They aren’t always like this,” she said “they’re all good people, but things have been a little… you know how it can be with family, right?”

You nodded. “Yeah, it’s just a little… seems kind of a bad time for me to be showing up.”

“No, I think it helps. They are better behaved when there’s company.”

But that’s true of everyone.

“Ransom didn’t tell you about…? Anything?” She asked.

“No. He said it’d be fine.”

Marta’s expression was of doubt, but she didn’t say anything to discredit him.

“Are you okay to go back?”

“Yeah, I’ll be okay.”

She nodded and stared leading you back to the room.

“They’re good people, but can be a little much sometimes. You get used to it with time.”

“You- I’m sorry if I’m overstepping, but you don’t look that used to them yourself.”

She shrugged “I guess I just… haven’t been around long enough.”

The scene you returned to was different from the one you had run from. Linda had abandoned the window and reclined on one of the armchairs. Richard had made his appearance, leaning against a bookcase behind Linda; He kept a respectful (perhaps even safe) distance between the two. Walt, Jacob and Donna were squeezed in on a single couch, looking like they’d just been plucked from a stuffy family portrait. Joni lounged on a window seat, leaning her chin on one hand and swirling her wine with the other. Fran was nowhere to be found. Harlan, sat atop the chair in front of the halo of knives, looking every bit the magnanimous patriarch. Ransom had taken his place on an armchair, just beside another empty one. On his other side was a small table with two empty wineglasses. His legs were crossed and he had a wide, satisfied smile that you knew well – so you knew it couldn’t mean anything good.

You sat beside him and angled your body in a way you felt would rend a pretty picture, because that seemed to be the game they were playing, while Marta made her way to a corner and stood there, doing the most not to draw attention to herself. Smart.

“So,” Harlan began as you settled into your spot “I think you were telling us about your career?”

“Yes, but there really isn’t much else to say.” Unless they wanted to be bored, that is. You had more tales of spotting typos than of interesting literary works.

“You said you worked at Little, Brown and Co?” He asked and you nodded “How long have you been there?”

“Two years. It’s about all the experience I have working in the field, other than internships in college.”

“Ah, College.” He grinned, but didn’t explain what he found so amusing “What did you major in?”

“English literature, with a minor in communications.”

“Good, good. Topical. You two bonded over books, then?”

You turned to Ransom, who was looking at you with a lazy smile. You had never told him about your job, let alone what you had studied in college.

“Yep,” he said. You two talked about books sometimes, but you didn’t think those conversations had helped with any bonding.

“You know, I think it’s so good to see Ransom has found a positive influence,” Joni said. The affectation in her voice and mannerisms was suddenly much more noticeable, and it felt like an omen.

You turned to Ransom. His lips were pressed together into a thin line and his chest was swelling like he was gathering oxygen for a screaming match or something worse. The longer you spent around these people, the more you were convinced he wasn’t the only one who liked to needle others.

“Honestly, I-” the words tumbled out of your mouth and you could only hope they were the right ones “I’m not sure if he’s influenceable.”

Ransom was still scowling and for a moment you were afraid you had only made things worse, but then his mouth opened and he let out the air in his lungs with a low chuckle. Much better than being in the middle of another argument.

Fran walked back into the room before anyone else could start a scene and announced that dinner was ready. Apparently Harlan hadn’t been exaggerating when he said she was the only one who kept his house in order – all around you tense shoulders relaxed and frowning brows smoothed with the promise of a meal. You must’ve looked happy as well, given you hadn’t eaten a thing since lunch and your stomach was starting to hurt. There was also (and you wished the thought hadn’t run through your mind, but it did) the chance that Ransom and his family would be much less likely to speak if their mouths were stuffed with meatloaf.

You wished you didn’t have those sort of intrusive thoughts about people you had just met, but they weren’t making it easy for you. Marta had alluded to a “family situation” that had left them on edge, but you had never seen people react this badly to strangers. This was the stuff or nightmares, or at least of “Florida Man” news reports. They were supposedly worse when there wasn’t company? How much worse could they get?

Ransom had told you not to worry about dining with his family. Maybe he was so used to them he didn’t think the way they acted was all that strange; maybe he knew his family would behave the way they had but he decided not to warn you for purposes of fuckery; it didn’t matter all that much. The worst thing was knowing that they sucked as hard as he liked to say they did. If you chose to go on with your pregnancy, this is what you would be bringing your child into.

[phoebonicawrites]

Can you write a cute U-4989 X Red Blood Cell! Reader oneshot, where U-4989 comforts Reader after a germ attack?

I hope you’re still reading this, Anon! Really sorry this took so long, but I hope you like it. There’s a little cameo apprearance by Senpai!RBC and PO1076.

It happens without any warning. One moment you’re taking in the scenery, beginning the long walk back to the heart and lungs after dropping off your latest delivery – the next, you’re thrown off your feet as the ground quakes, a loud boom echoing around you.

“Scrape wound!” someone shouts. You’ve heard this area near the right elbow sees a lot of them. “Everyone, run!”

You scramble to your feet, grabbing your cart again, and take that advice. Wind rushes past you, the pull of the open wound dragging at your feet, but you’re in luck. It’s far enough away that you don’t get swept out, joining the fleeing crowd of your fellow red blood cells, all of you trying not to think about what happened to anyone unfortunate enough to be closer.

But not falling out of the injury seems to be the furthest your luck will hold, today. You turn a corner to find the next passageway filled with a panicking crowd of cells, beneath a sign reading ‘VENOUS VALVE’ and a sign lit up above that showing vasoconstriction in progress.

You sigh, leaning against your cart and preparing for a long wait. Blood vessels constrict to slow down blood flow when there’s an injury resulting in bleeding, you remember from training. They won’t start letting everyone through as normal until the wound’s dealt with.

You’re wondering how long that’s likely to take, exactly, and hoping you don’t get dragged into serving as part of the scab – you’ve met the platelets, they’re adorable, but you were really hoping to relax and grab some black cherry glucose ice cream after this run, not be stuck to a fibrin net for three days straight. And then you frown, wrinkling your nose as a cloying scent fills the air. It smells kind of like grapes, you think.

And that’s when the screaming starts. And the laughing.

“Ohohoho, what have we here?”

You turn and look up, way up, at what you know right away has to be a bacterium. It’s a huge blobby thing, green and translucent, with one big bulging eye and a mouthful of nasty-looking teeth. You scream right along with the others and try to get away, but there’s no more room to run. The thing looms over you all, waving its tentacles in delight.

“So many helpless red blood cells to play with! It’s my lucky day…”

Nobody dares to move. You cling to your cart, holding your breath just like everyone else because maybe if you’re really, really still it won’t notice you. But you know it won’t do much good.

The germ doesn’t exactly have a chin, but it holds a tentacle below its mouth where one would be, as if it’s deep in thought. “Now, who should I torment first? Hmm… eenie, meenie, minie…”

You don’t see who it’s pointing to. You stare at your hands on the handle of your cart, willing them not to shake. Don’t move, don’t move, don’t move, it won’t notice me if I don’t –

“…you!”

A green tentacle lashes around your arm, dragging you into the air. Everyone screams. You scream, kicking helplessly at it, your flailing legs unable to make contact. The bacterium cackles, holding you up in front of its massive leering eye.

“Congratulations! You get to be the first to entertain me!”

“P-please…” You babble, trying to pull your hand loose, but it doesn’t achieve anything except hurting your shoulder more. “I – I don’t have any oxygen or anything, look…” You desperately show it your jacket, the dark red deoxygenated side facing outwards.

“Oh, so you’d rather I picked one of your little friends instead?” The germ clucks its tongue at you, and flicks you with the tip of a tentacle, sending you swaying back and forth. “How selfish.”

“Th-that’s not what I meant!” Below you, the crowd of red blood cells watches in terror.

The bacterium frowns, tilting its head in mock-confusion. “It’s not? So you do want to die first?”

“No!” Your voice cracks, and the corridor goes blurry as your eyes fill with tears. “I don’t – I mean – please!”

“Please what?” The germ flicks you into the air with a flip of its arm, and you scream again as you flail there unsupported, just beginning to fall toward the hard ground when it snatches you back out of the air, grasping your legs this time so you’re left hanging upside down. Your hat falls from your head, and you wail in despair as it slips through your desperately reaching hands. You need that hat! That’s the sign of your position as a red blood cell! You need your hat and you need to deliver your cargo and you need to not be here –

“P-please –” For a horrible moment you don’t know what to say – you don’t want to die, you don’t want anyone else to die either, you just – “Just – just leave us alone!”

“Now, why would I do that?” A cold, slimy tentacle runs through your hair, and you shudder. “When you’re so much fun to play with –”

“Back off, you stinking germ!”

You don’t recognise that voice. A few cells in the crowd below you gasp.

The germ turns round to look behind itself, swinging you carelessly through the air, and then you can see who it was who yelled. It’s a white blood cell, of course. The look on his face, wild eyes and bared teeth, would make you shudder, if you weren’t already as terrified as you could possibly be. There’s germ blood all over him, splattering his uniform and dripping from his messy white hair. And you’ve never been happier to see anyone in your life.

And he’s holding something long and thin, in his right hand. You blink, trying to clear your vision. That’s not a neutrophil weapon, you’ve only ever seen them with knives. It looks like a broom handle. Was he trying to clean up the mess?

“Well, well. If it isn’t a white blood cell here to spoil the party.” The germ sneers, holding you up high and waggling you back and forth like a kid playing keep-away. You bite your lip, feeling nauseated. “I wouldn’t try coming any closer, unless you want to see this poor innocent cell torn limb from limb.”

Oh, no. Now you’re a hostage? A chill creeps along your spine. You give the white blood cell a pleading look, as best you can upside down, though you don’t really expect it to matter. It’s his job to protect the body from invading germs, no matter what. He wouldn’t hesitate to do his duty just for one cell, would he?

Still, you look at him and you think please, help, as though you could beam the words into his mind. His expression shifts, the snarl and manic eyes gone in a heartbeat. And he looks back at you, catches your eye and, stunningly, winks.

“Okay!” He takes a step back, holding up his left hand in a calming gesture. “You got it! I won’t take another step…”

You watch, bewildered. From what you can see of the germ’s expression, it’s confused, too, clearly not expecting things to be this easy.

And then the neutrophil raises his right hand, twirls the pole in his fingers, a bright flash of metal arcing through the air at the end of it –

“…but you can take this!”

It flashes past your head. Everything happens at once. The germ screams, hot blood spatters all over you, the grip on your ankles loosens and you’re falling, screaming yourself. Someone catches you before you hit the ground, sets you carefully on your feet.

“You okay?” He’s a red blood cell you don’t know, tall, well-built. PO something, you can’t make out his number for the germ blood and goop in your eyes and you realise when you go to wipe it away that you’re crying again, too.

Another red blood cell, with long brown hair and a concerned frown, gently touches your arm. “Here, I got your hat.”

You stutter out a thanks, taking it from her and pulling it down onto your head, even though you know all the gunk in your hair is going to ruin it. You feel a little better with it on, anyway. More yourself again.

A tentacle thrashes toward you and the three of you jump back. The germ’s flailing blindly, its one giant eye impaled by the neutrophil’s weapon. “You’ll pay for that, you wretched white blood cell!” it shrieks. “Where are you?”

“Right here!” The white blood cell runs at it, a knife in each hand, rolls to dodge a slimy green limb and comes up to slash at the bacterium’s face, one blade then another flashing bright through the air. “Die, you creep!”

With a final, high-pitched cry, the germ arches backward and collapses at your feet. You stare at it in shock. So do PO-something and his friend, and most of the rest of the crowd. One or two people start applauding.

The white blood cell stands hunched over the body for a moment, panting from exhaustion, before reaching for his belt and unclipping a walkie-talkie.

“This is White Blood Cell U-4989, Neutrophil Division. Just took down the last of the invading bacteria...”

The silence breaks, everyone talking at once now that the danger’s over. You stammer another thank you to the red blood cells who’d helped you, brushing off their worried questions as you make your way back through the crowd to your cart. You find it, gripping the handle tight. Your hands are shaking. Around you, red blood cells start to move as normal blood flow resumes. The problem must be taken care of. You should get going.

You take a step forward, and your knees buckle. You’re on the floor. There’s a rushing in your ears and everything around you is too bright and too loud and too much. People are watching you. You cover your head with your hands.

Someone’s kneeling beside you. A hand touches your arm. “Hey, are you okay?”

You look up. It’s the white blood cell, number 4989. He takes his hand away now that he’s got your attention. Now that he’s not in killing mode, he really doesn’t look fearsome at all. You’d even say he’s… cute. Babyfaced, with that fluffy white hair. The germ blood all over him kind of spoils the effect, though. Behind him a few of your fellow red blood cells are lingering, hesitant, nobody sure what to do.

You smell the germ’s slime again, and gag. Trying to breathe through it, you feel your eyes well up with tears again. No, you’re really not okay.

U-4989’s face falls. “Oh man, I didn’t hit you, did I?”

“N…” You shake your head, stammering until you have the strength to catch your breath and find a few words. “No, y-you… you, you saved my life…” The words trail off into a sob.

“Just doing my job.” U-4989 smiles, but his eyes are still worried. “Do you, uh… you want someone to stay with you?”

“I’m…” You try to stand up, but your legs won’t cooperate. “Got to deliver,” you mumble, hopelessly. “I don’t want… to hold anyone up…”

“…okay. Well, I’m done here and I need to wash up, so – want me to show you to the nearest cleaning station? It’s no trouble, I promise! Uh, but also you don’t have to say yes if you don’t want. You just look kind of, uh…”

You make a weird gasping sound, half laughing, half crying. “A mess,” you finish for him. You know what kind of a state you’re in, right now. You must look pathetic.

“Well, I didn’t wanna say that…” He rubs the back of his head self-consciously with one hand, making his hair even messier.

You laugh again, despite yourself. “…all right,” you decide, because you really, really do want to get all this slime and dirt off you and you don’t want to have to wait until you’ve circulated round to the kidneys. And you also really don’t want to go anywhere on your own, just now.

U-4989 offers his hand again, palm up, and after a moment’s hesitation you take it and let him help you to your feet. You grip your cart again for support once you’re standing, though a part of you would have liked to keep holding on to him. His hand was warm, and didn’t grip you hard but you could feel the strength in it, all the same.

But you don’t want to make things more awkward than they already are, so you let go.

U-4989 stays close beside you as you make your way through the crowd. He takes back his weapon from the dead germ as you pass it, and you look away, wincing at the squishing noise it makes as it pulls free. You let him guide you to the wash station. It’s clearly meant for immune cells, with mosaic pictures of neutrophils and macrophages in the tiles decorating it. But it must be okay for you to use if he brought you here, you remind yourself, switching on the shower.

You squeal a little as the cold water hits you. U-4989 gives an apologetic grimace. “Sorry. It’s gotta be cold for washing, or the stains won’t come out.” He turns another shower hose on himself, and you watch with some surprise as all the red stains on his uniform and hair and skin wash away almost immediately down the drain. What are neutrophil uniforms even made out of?

You scrub yourself and your uniform hard under the freezing shower, lathering the all-purpose cleaning solution into your hair. Eventually, the water running down the drain turns clear, but you’re not sure you can trust that. Did you really get it all off? Are you clean now? You don’t feel clean. So you just keep on scrubbing, until you feel a hand rest lightly on your shoulder.

“I think you’re done,” U-4989 tells you, gently. “You can use the warm water to rinse, the dial’s just here.” He points it out to you, then pauses briefly before breaking into a grin. “Or you can do it the fun way.”

You’re about to ask what he means when he shows you by diving backward into the stream flowing past the wash station, water splashing high into the air. You laugh in surprise, spluttering a little as some of the water gets you in the face.

“The fun way, huh?” You wring out your hat, and do your best to press the fabric back into shape before putting it back on your head.

“Yeah, come on in!” He gestures, beckoning you toward the water. You hesitate for a moment, but he does make it look inviting. You get in a little more sedately than he did, sitting down on the bank and hanging your legs over the side before jumping down. The water is pleasantly warm, a relief after the chill of the shower, and you dunk your head under for a second just to warm yourself up all over.

U-4989 grins. “See, I told you. It’s not exactly the nasal cavities, but it’s still a great way to relax.” He rests his arms up on the bank behind him, lying back to let himself float without getting swept away by the current. You do the same next to him, copying his position.

For a little while, the two of you just lie there, letting the stream flow over and around and beneath you.

You try to relax. You don’t really succeed. The warm water soothes your body, but your insides are still all knotted up. You gaze up at the sky above you, not really focusing on anything. The germ’s mocking voice comes back to you, and you shiver suddenly, curling your legs up where nothing can get them.

“Hey.” U-4989 turns to face you, concern in his eyes. “Are you okay?”

You nod, but your breath catches and you have to look away so he doesn’t see that not all the water on your face is from bathing. You hear the water ripple as he stands and moves closer.

“You don’t look okay.” You think he might be about to touch your arm again, but he holds back, obviously not sure you’d appreciate it. “If you don’t wanna talk about it that’s fine, but if you do, then, you can. I don’t mind.”

You don’t know what you want to do. You wipe your eyes and turn to look at him, still sniffling, wet hair stuck to your face. Your lip trembles.

U-4989 takes in the look on your face, and opens his arms a little. “Oh, man... do you want a hug?”

That’s when you break. You lurch toward him and cling with your arms around his shoulders, a loud heaving sob finally escaping from your throat. U-4989 pulls you close as you sniffle into his shoulder. He’s warm and solid enough to hold on to in a world where you’re cold and drifting, and the strength in his arms reassures you. However young and sweet-faced he looks, this is someone who can take on monsters, keep you safe.

He rocks you gently as you cry, one hand resting on your hair, the water swirling around you. “It’s okay, shh, I got you,” you hear him murmur. “You’re gonna be okay, shh.”

You try to say something, thank him, apologise, but you’re too choked up to do anything more than stammer something incoherent. You’re shivering now, more even than you did standing under the icy water earlier.

U-4989 notices, obviously. He pulls back a little, looking at you with concern as he moves a strand of damp hair away from your eyes. “Are you cold? Need to towel off?”

“N… nnn…” You shake your head, words failing you, and cling tightly against his chest again. “’m sorry,” you manage, feeling your face flush.

“Hey, don’t say that. It’s okay.”

He moves to sit down on the bank of the stream and brings you with him. The two of you sit trailing your legs in the water, with his arms still wrapped around you and your head resting on his shoulder.

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” he tells you, one hand rubbing slow circles on your back, soothing a little of the tension away. Some part of you that’s not still mid-breakdown notes that he’s a pretty tactile person, now that he knows you’re okay with it. “You know that, right? None of that was your fault. If that Pseudomonas creep said different, he was just messing with your head.”

“Ps – pseudomonas?” You sniffle, wiping your eyes with the back of one hand, even though it doesn’t help much since your gloves are still damp. You don’t know much about which bacteria are which, that kind of thing’s not in your training. All you know is to run if they spot you.

U-4989 nods. “Pseudomonas aeruginosa. They show up a lot when there’s an injury and they’re some of the biggest jerks when they do. They don’t even come to steal oxygen or nutrients from us, because they don’t need that stuff. They’re just in it to bully helpless cells.”

“That…” You swallow, insides clenching a little as you remember everything the germ said to you. “Y-yeah, that fits. He said he wanted to play with me.” You feel sick again, thinking about it.

U-4989’s jaw tightens, a little. You remember how he’d looked when you first saw him, murder in his eyes. “He won’t touch you again,” he says, and the coldness in his voice makes you shiver, but it’s not in fear this time.

“…I know,” you say, quietly. “I – I can’t thank you enough.”

His smile comes back, gentle and sweet, brightening his face. “You don’t need to thank me at all. I mean, it’s nice that you don’t think I’m a scary knife-wielding maniac, but I wouldn’t be mad if you did. I meant it when I said I’m just doing my job.”

You frown. “Do people call you that?”

“Not to my face, but…” He shrugs. “It doesn’t bother me. I get it. My whole job is killing things, I’m covered in germ guts half the time… I can see how us neutrophils come off a little intense, to non-immune cells.” He says it airily enough, but you wonder if it bothers him more than he’s admitting. Maybe you just think that because it would bother you, having other cells think badly about you for your job. Even if he’s accepted it, you feel a little sorry for him anyway.

“You’re not scary,” you tell him. “Not at all.”

“Hey, sometimes I’m trying to be!” he protests, pouting a little, but you can tell he isn’t seriously upset. He throws up a hand in mock despair. “Don’t tell me I’m doomed to be the team babyface forever.”

You laugh. “Okay, sorry! You’re absolutely terrifying. Any sensible bacterium would flee at the sight of you.” The knot in your insides is smaller now, relaxing as he distracts your attention from it, and you sit up straighter so you can look him in the face. “Seriously, though, you looked pretty menacing when I first saw you, all ready for battle. It might even be scarier because you’re so cute. The contrast is –”

He blinks, and you realise what you just said and press both hands over your mouth, holding in an embarrassed squeak. You can feel your face growing hot, and see U-4989’s cheeks are turning pink, a brighter shade than you would have thought possible for someone as pale as him. “Um, I mean, uh, because you – your face is – it’s…” You bury your own face in both hands. “Aaaagh.”

“Cute, huh?” You feel him lean closer, and you don’t have to look up to guess at the kind of expression he’s wearing. You’re pretty sure he’d be waggling his eyebrows at you, if neutrophils had any.

“Augh, stop it…!” You scoop up water in one hand and splash it at his face. He shakes it off, laughing, his wet hair spraying droplets everywhere.

“Alright, alright, sorry!” He holds up his hands in surrender. “You didn’t say anything.”

“That’s right.” You point your finger at him, faking sternness. Really, though, now the embarrassment of saying that out loud has worn off… you don’t think you mind him knowing that you think he’s cute. You don’t think you mind at all.

“We should, uh… probably dry off now,” you point out. You are starting to feel cold in the normal, physical sense now, even as the chill of fear inside you starts to melt.

“Okay!” He runs to fetch you a towel before you can ask whereabouts they are, and the two of you quickly dry yourselves. U-4989’s hair ends up even fluffier than before, and you can’t help but giggle as he tries to smooth it down and contain it under his hat.

Your gaze falls on the weapon he left propped up by the shower station, and you furrow your brow a little. “Uh, can I ask you a question?”

“Sure, what is it?”

You gesture to the weapon. “Why did you tie your knife to the end of a stick?”

“Oh, that?” He picks it up, twirling it like a baton in his hands. “That’s the Ultimate Neutrophil Secret Technique.”

“A knife on a stick is –”

“Nah, not really.” He grins. “I just wanted to see if it’d work. I mean, not when I killed that guy just now!” he adds hastily, seeing your unsettled expression. “I’ve tried it before. Had a hard time balancing it at first, but I figured it out. Mostly I just wanted a ranged weapon besides these things.”

He pulls a small throwing knife from its holder near his waist, twirling it around his finger before holding it up to show you. “They’re risky to use unless you’ve got a clear shot with no bystanders around to get hit. And how often does that happen in a real fight?”

“I’m guessing not a lot.” You weren’t even aware that neutrophils had those.

“Right! And they’re small, too, so unless you aim just right all you’re gonna do is make the germ mad. Works if you want to distract it, or pull a 1146 and have it chase after you instead of someone else, but it’s hard to make a kill with them.”

“A 1146?” you ask. “Is that like… you have codes for different strategies, or…”

He laughs. “Nah, sorry, 1146 is my friend, we fight together all the time. There was this one time he… shoot.” He breaks off, grabbing his walkie-talkie. “That reminds me, I should check in with my team.” He presses a button, and the machine crackles to life. “4989 here,” he says into it, before turning back to you with one hand raised. “Give me a second.”

He takes a few steps away, lowering his voice. You busy yourself with putting the towels away and straightening up your cart. You’re not trying to listen in on his conversation, but while you can’t make out the voice or voices on the other end and he’s doing his best not to be overheard, you still make out a few words.

“…no, we’re good… not injured, but she was really shaken up. I’m gonna stay with her until… oh, man, okay, see you in three days. Yeah, I will…”

“You don’t have to stay with me,” you tell him, once he’s finished with the call and come back to join you.

He looks a little sheepish. “You heard that, huh. It’s not that I think you can’t handle yourself or anything! I just – didn’t think you’d wanna be alone for a while.”

You look down at your cart. You wrap your fingers round the handle. You don’t actually move. “Thank you for everything, so much, but I’ll be okay from here.”

You mean it, you think. You can manage, on the relatively short trip back to the heart and lungs and heart again and out to the rest of the world. It’s your job, after all. You have to get back to it sooner or later.

He pauses for a second before answering, and you look up just in time to catch the look of disappointment on his face, before it changes to his bright, easy smile. “Oh, sure! Whatever you’re comfortable with. Just – take care of yourself, you know?”

I will, you ought to say, and you too, but you hesitate. You can manage on your own. You’re sure you can. But…

…why do you have to?

“I-I mean… if you want to walk with me, I wouldn’t say no.” You laugh nervously, running your fingers through your hair. “I never got to hear that story about your friend.”

His face lights up, and you feel yourself smile in return. “Oh, yeah – so a bunch of Vibrio parahaemolyticus invaded the stomach…”

---

The two of you make your way back to the heart, U-4989 chatting animatedly as you go. He has all kinds of stories about his friends, battles they’ve fought, trouble they’ve found themselves in. When he tells you about the time his team fooled a gang of Campylobacter into walking straight into an ambush, you have to sit down for a while from laughing so hard.

It barely seems like any time before you’re approaching the heart.

U-4989 glances over at the row of vending machines. “Man, I could go for some ice cream. Think you’ve got time for a glucose break?”

You smile. “After today, I think I need one.”

You pick the black cherry flavour, remembering how you’d been thinking of getting some right before the germ attack. It feels like that was weeks ago, now. U-4989 takes a little longer deciding, before going for vanilla cheesecake.

A few of your fellow red blood cells give you odd looks as you find a place to sit and eat together. You frown, remembering what U-4989 said about other cells mistrusting him, but if he notices, he doesn’t acknowledge it, seeming focused on his ice cream. He bites off too much from the end of the stick at once and grimaces, clutching his head. You can’t help a stifled giggle.

“Hey, that hurt!” he protests, but he’s laughing himself as he says it. “Not my fault I’m used to eating germs.”

“You really do that?” you ask, curious. You hadn’t noticed him eating any of the bacterium earlier, but you’d been too busy breaking down at the time.

He bares his teeth, proudly. They do look sharp, his canines almost like fangs. Cute, little fangs, but still. “Professional phagocyte, right here.”

“Wow.” You wonder if the macrophage who raised you had teeth like that, and you just never realised. It’s not like you pay a lot of attention to anyone’s teeth. She was always so elegant, though. It’s hard to imagine her tearing into a germ. And now you can’t help but wonder…

“…what are they like?”

He pulls a face. “Honestly, kind of an acquired taste even for us. This is way better.” He gestures with the ice cream stick, before hurriedly licking up a melted patch that’s threatening to drip onto his uniform. “You know what’s really great, though? Those steamed buns you can get at the nasal cavities. Ever tried those?”

You shake your head. “I’ve been there on deliveries before, but I’ve never stayed long.”

“Oh, you totally should! I can show you the best place to get them from, and you can check out the hot springs, too! It’ll be –” He pauses, seeming to catch himself. “It would – be fun. If you wanted to do that. Maybe with me, to, uh, show you around.”

You blink a little at his sudden shyness. It already doesn’t seem like him, to be shy, and your stomach flips when you realise why.

Your cheeks flush as you focus on your own ice cream. “That… does sound good.”