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strawberrysoup · 5 years ago

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Let’s Review || Chapter 3

Peter Parker knew that his big sister would do anything for him to be safe and happy. She’d given up everything for him twice over already and would do it again in a heartbeat. And that’s why, when the criminal mastermind Tony Stark started inextricably following him around, he didn’t say a word. Because he knew without a doubt Penny would do whatever she had to if it meant keeping Peter safe. He had to protect her, just like she always protected him. He never considered what would happen if Stark decided both Parker siblings were worth taking. Never considered who else in Stark’s inner circle would agree. He just wanted to protect her and yet somehow, they both ended up with needles in their necks.

relationship: Steve Rogers/Original Female Character/Bucky Barnes, background Peter Parker/Tony Stark

rating: Explicit

warnings: Dark Steve Rogers, Dark Bucky Barnes, Dark Tony Stark, Dark Avengers, kidnapping, non-con/dub-con elements, underage Peter Parker, emotional and psychological abuse, very dark

Penny had sent Peter off to bed before allowing herself to cry for a solid two hours until she passed out on the couch in her work clothes. Waking up was a trial, her head was pounding and she hadn’t pulled the curtains over the living room window closed before falling asleep so it was ten times brighter than it needed to be. She hadn’t set an alarm, but she could hear Peter moving around in the bedroom so it was around 6 AM.

“Peter, you good?” She called out absently, the usual morning greeting that meant ‘are you moving fast enough to make it to school on time?’

“I’m good,” his voice was quieter than usual, dejected in a way that broke a piece of her heart.

She sat up on the couch and put her face in her hands, elbows digging sharply into her thighs. Everything felt off, like the earth had shifted on its axis but only by a few degrees. There had been several times in her life when everything had changed in the blink of an eye. Her entire world stopped spinning, first when her mom and dad died, then again with uncle Ben, and again with aunt May. Every time it had eventually started back again, but she’d always had an anchor.

She’d always had Peter, when everything went wrong. Having to start from scratch, to rebuild her entire life, was always possible because she had Peter. He was her rock, her reason for pushing forward to fix everything that went wrong. To restabilize.

When she’d been date raped in a club in Queens half a year ago, it had been traumatic. Brock had been sniffing around for ages before she finally agreed to go out with him and then he turned into a fucking monster at the drop of a hat, the piece of shit. She hadn’t meant to let Peter find out about any of it. She’d called a friend to get her from the club, to help her home. She’d been traumatized and angry, half drugged by the time they got to the apartment and screaming about the injustice.

Peter had helped her into the shower, sent her friend off for food, and held her while she screamed and cried and otherwise lost her fucking mind. By the next morning she’d gotten a note slipped under the door, essentially telling her to fuck off and keep her mouth shut or else. As if she’d even considered going to the police— what would she have said? ‘This dude I talked to for months slipped me drugs and raped me in the back of a club. No, there were no witnesses. No, I didn’t call the police. No, I didn’t go to the hospital.’ Stupid. She’d been stupid, as always.

Getting into such a stupid situation had spiraled into a rabbit hole of almost inconceivable bad luck. If she hadn’t let herself get duped in that stupid club, Peter never would’ve gone to Stark Tower. Never would’ve gotten spotted by the man himself. And now, she wouldn’t have Peter with her when she rebuilt after this most recent, life altering tragedy.

But he would be safe. There wasn’t anything else that she needed, or could hope for, other than Peter’s safety. Besides, prison might be a nice reprieve from the 108 hour work weeks she currently endured. And they had hospitals in prison, maybe they had dentists? She hadn’t been to the dentist since before aunt May died. Would she go to prison or jail? Penny didn’t know the difference between the two, honestly.

Standing up from the couch, her eyes landed on her laptop. It was sitting open on the dining room table, plugged in because it was so old it never held a charge. She should make a to-do list for the day, starting with calling into all three of her jobs and making Peter breakfast before he had to leave for school. There was a lot she had to get done before her brother got home from school today.

“Hey Pen, have you seen my biology textbook?”

“No babe, check the table by the front door,” she stretched her arms over her head and yawned, trying to work some of the kinks out of her body from sleeping on the couch, “do you have enough time to stick around for breakfast?”

Peter stopped on the other side of the couch, watching his sister act like it was a normal day, a frown on his face. They always joked that he was the smart one. Peter could recite pi to the 40th digit, explain thermodynamics, and had gotten into a super prestigious science academy on scholarship. Usually, he’d call himself the logical sibling, the one who could see the best course of action and follow it.

But looking at his sister he was realizing there was a level of maturity missing from his logical thinking. He might’ve been the smarter one, but Penny was the one who was going to get them through this hellscape. She was calm, he could see in her eyes that the wheels were turning and that she was in so much pain, but she was calm and collected and was going to work through the day to make sure her batshit crazy plan worked out so that he would be safe.

“Yeah, I’ve got time.”

“Sounds good,” she stripped her socks off clumsily while walking into the kitchen, dropping them on the floor as she went, “hey, open up all of the bills on the counter and leave them scattered around while I cook. I want it to look like I’ve been ignoring them and they’re covered in crap.”

Peter dropped his head back, staring up at the ceiling blankly. Penny was pretty good at covering up her emotions but the level of dissociation she was currently displaying was impressive. He retrieved all of the bills from the basket on the kitchen counter and brought them into the living room, dropping them onto the laptop’s keyboard and kicking his feet up on the table before he began ripping them open. He tossed the empty envelopes over his shoulder absently as he went while arranging the bills into a pile to be thrown strategically around later.

“Maybe I should see if Flash will beat me up today at school,” he cringed at the $95 electric bill, knowing that was pretty high for them, “some bruises and cuts might help us when the social workers show up.”

“Don’t get yourself beat up, bud, you don’t have enough padding on your bones to keep everything from snapping under pressure.”

“Well maybe if you actually fed me sometimes, you neglectful monster.”

“Savage, Peter!” Penny’s gasp from the kitchen was full of laughter despite the painful conversation, “keep that up for the social worker.”

“So aside from trashing my things, throwing out anything edible in the kitchen, and destroying the apartment, have anything fun planned today?”

The sound of Penny cursing, followed by the loud clang of a pan hitting the floor had Peter shifting in his seat, angling around to see through the doorway to the kitchen. She hadn’t hurt herself and there was no mess, so he didn’t bother getting up to go help.

“Actually,” she made a pathetic sound upon realizing the milk in the fridge was expired, “fuck. Oh, actually I’m gonna go get my hair and nails done. So it looks like I blow our money on frivolous things instead of like, food and clothes for you.”

“Nice, you should get one of those stupid expensive coffees from those hipster places on your way back. Just for emphasis.”

Once Penny actually managed to cook, she was pretty good at it. She usually cooked what she could for all major Jewish holidays when their budget could stretch to accommodate it. Otherwise she didn’t get around to it all that often, except on her days off, so Peter considered it a treat when she made breakfast for him before school. She shoved the laptop back on the table and put a plate down in its place, revealing a heaping egg scramble and toast.

“I think we have some major issues,” Peter stated casually as they ate, avoiding the chunks of turkey bacon to save for the end, “I’m pretty sure we shouldn’t be joking about today. Or tomorrow. Or any of it.”

“I figure we’ve got two options,” Penny kicked her feet up next to his, balancing her plate in her lap, “Cry about it or laugh about it. We cried about it last night and it gave me a headache. So, might as well try laughing.”

Peter shrugged but nodded in agreement, “So I think I’m gonna become a supervillain.”

“Oh? Why?”

“I could break you out of jail, bring down Tony Stark and all his minions, steal a whole bunch of money and then we could abscond off to some private island and live the rest of our lives in peace.”

“Except for when you have to go be a supervillain?”

“Yeah, exactly.”

Penny gave a barking laugh and leaned over to shuffle a hand annoyingly through his hair, letting him slap her away like usual. The casual, relaxed attitude they shared was obviously forced, their eyes were full of despair, but they could at least pretend for a while. Pretending that everything was okay would at least get them through the next few days.

“Alright you dope, head to school. I’ll see you when you get home.”

Peter stood up from the table and pulled Penny up after him, wrapping her into a tight hug. He’d grown over the last year and stood several inches taller than her now. Sometimes, hugging her now felt weird because for so long he’d been smaller than her. He vividly remembered being engulfed in her arms, being surrounded by her scent and warmth and how safe it always made him feel. He hoped that she felt the same way he used to, that his hugs made her feel warm and fuzzy.

“See you after school,” he choked out after a moment, pulling away and darting out of the room without looking at her too closely.

It would hurt too much.

***

Nobody had left the living room, other than Rhodey, in over 12 hours now. Steve and Bucky were still in the recliner together, eyes glued to the TV screen showing the Parker’s living room. Peter had left for school about 20 minutes ago and Penelope Actual Angel Parker had disappeared into the bathroom.

Clint had ordered food from the kitchens about an hour ago and was waiting by the elevator for the chefs to drop it off. They’d all lamented the fact they couldn’t eat the breakfast Penny made with the Parker siblings but had satisfied themselves by listening in on their conversation with stalkerish intensity. Usually Penny didn’t leave the laptop sitting open when she wasn’t using it, so it had been another shocking revelation into their lives.

“Peter’s face while he was opening those bills makes me wonder if she usually hides them from him,” Bruce commented absently, cheek resting in his hand as he scrolled through the files on his laptop.

Instead of the lab reports from the previous night, he was looking through Penny and Peter’s medical histories—HIPAA be damned. Peter got regular physicals each year, was up to date on all of his vaccinations, had minor asthma but no other chronic issues. Penny’s medical history stopped around when her uncle Ben died and she dropped out of high school. She had all her vaccinations and was in the 2nd year of a 3 year birth control implant, no known conditions except for possible anemia. She hadn’t gone to the hospital after the rape, so he would need to run an STD panel just in case. A diet meant to promote weight gain might also be a good idea.

“I’m sure she didn’t want them to know how dire their situation was,” Wanda stated, “If given the chance, I would’ve hidden things like that from Pietro.”

“So they’re Jewish like y’all, right?” Sam squinted at the screen, pointing to a wall decoration in the apartment, “or is that a Buddhist thing?”

“A Hamsa,” she didn’t look up from her phone, having seen the wall decoration next to the window the first time she’d watched the webcam stream nearly a month ago, “they have it because they’re Jewish but it’s used in other cultures too.”

“Do we need to make sure we have anything… particularly Jew-y for them?”

Wanda finally looked up from her phone, eyebrow raised derisively, “did you get anything particularly Jew-y for me when I moved in?”

“I’m going to learn to make Challah,” Bucky intervened in the conversation before it could become a fight, having been looking up traditional Israeli and Jewish dishes for several hours now, “do you have any recipes Wanda?”

The two devolved into a conversation about homemade breads and the nuances of kosher foods, all the while Wanda scrolled through Peter and Penny’s bank statements. She was looking for their overall spending habits, what was bought for Peter and how often and when and what Penny bought for herself. The former list included the amount of clothing one would assume necessary for a growing teenage boy, along with an above average amount of groceries. There was far less fun stuff, like video games and extensive Lego sets (which they knew Peter loved). Usually those were bought around Peter’s birthday or near Hanukkah. Penny’s spending on herself was generally relegated to work clothes and toiletries, with the occasional splurge on nail polish.

“We had a Jewish neighbor growing up, you remember Buck? Ms. Goldstein made that soup,” Steve scratched his head, trying to remember the name of it but failing.

“Matzah ball soup,” Bucky supplied, glancing at the screen of Steve’s phone from his position in the man’s lap.

He’d started going through the Parker sibling’s social media accounts early in the morning, wondering who was going to put up a fuss over their potential disappearances and how much it was going to interfere with business. Not that it mattered, business was business and home and family came first but it still would be good to have a plan for any fallout.

Peter had all the social media accounts a teenager could want; Twitter, Facebook, Instagram, Tumblr, Snapchat, TikTok, everything. He overshared on the internet just as much as any other Gen Z kid, although he seemed to favour Twitter and Instagram over the others. Instagram was updated almost daily with pictures of his friends, from school and clubs, pictures of scenery taken around New York. It was actually pretty cute and a touch artistic. He had a decent amount of followers on it too.

Penny on the other hand only had an Instagram page and a Pinterest. The former wasn’t updated much since their aunt May passed away, the recent pictures were mostly of food she’d made or of her and Peter on holidays. He wasn’t sure if the followers on her Pinterest were friends or strangers. There were a whole slew of cute pictures on her ‘Memories’ board, several of which Bucky watched Steve save to his phone. One in particular, of Penny squeezing Peter’s face close to hers while both stuck their tongues out at the camera, was saved as his new home screen.

It would be difficult to spirit either of the siblings away without some repercussions. Peter had some very close friends, MJ and Ned in particular, and was involved in tons of extracurricular activities. If he disappeared, an AMBER alert would go out within a day. Penny wasn’t particularly close to anyone, but she did have several coworkers who would notice very quickly if she went missing. She had been working in the same three places for 3 years and was a well-established and liked staff member.

“We may need to stage some sort of accident,” Steve rubbed a hand over his mouth as he scrolled through Peter’s Snapchat memories, “Peter’s friends are very close and Penny’s barely ever missed a day of work. People are going to cause a stink if they just disappear.”

“Car accident? Fire? Carbon monoxide?”

“Something that won’t leave behind a body,” Natasha drummed her fingers against her leg, humming in thought as the elevator opened and Clint retrieved the cart of food that had been sent up, “probably a fire. Or we could stage a kidnapping and blame it on someone else.”

“Both,” Clint had half of a croissant stuffed in his mouth, spitting out pieces as he spoke, “set up a kidnapping, burn some bodies, set it up to look like Penny and Peter.”

“Who’s the kidnapper?”

“How about this dumb mother fucker.”

Rhodey’s voice came from the stairwell, the man himself emerging while shoving a heavily beaten and gagged Brock Rumlow through the door. His arms were bound from the elbow down and he lost his balance, landing with a heavy thud only to be kicked hard in the side by the very angry James Rhodes and forced back to his feet.

“He confess?” Tony’s back was to them as Rhodey pushed him farther into the room, making himself a cup of coffee from the French press that had been sent up on the cart.

“More or less.”

One of the things Tony had learned over his long career was that anticipation was almost worse than a beating. Adrenaline was a devastating drug when applied as a method of torture. He could almost feel Rumlow’s heart beating faster, the sweat dripping down his brow. He hummed quietly, taking a sip of his coffee before nodding to himself and turning around.

Rhodey had the man on his knees near the coffee table, head bowed in a mixture of panic and fear. He was bleeding from the head, from his nose, dark bruises were beginning to bloom across the bridge of his nose and around his neck. Rhodes had done a number on the man in the last couple of hours.

“Did you send a letter to Penelope Parker, threatening her younger brother if she went to the police?” His voice was low and he crossed the living room in with an unhurried stride, coming to sit on the couch just inches away from where the man knelt.

The reply was muffled but obviously not a yes or no answer. Tony was well versed in what begging sounded like through a gag, how ‘please’ and ‘don’t hurt me’ came out when one’s tongue was held down by fabric. Brock Rumlow might’ve been a big bastard, but when confronted with his own mortality he became a simpering baby just like all the rest. In all honesty, Tony had a thing for begging anyway.

“Now that didn’t sound like the answer to the question I asked you.”

From his position in Steve’s lap Bucky pitched an empty wine glass at Rumlow’s face. The stem snapped off, the bowl of the glass breaking against his brow bone and leaving a jagged cut in its wake. Bruce rolled his neck at the sound of the rest of the glass hitting the ground and shattering, the sharp noise irritating his always present headache.

“You’re making us upset Brucie here, my man,” Tony stated with a flippant wave of his hand in the scientist’s direction, still taking small, satisfying sips of coffee, “which is a huge mistake. He gets pretty dangerous when you make him mad.”

The exact state of being of most of Tony’s close associates was more… fantastical, than most of the population. Mad scientists had been around for centuries and so had horrible things, like eugenics and human experimentation. He had a tendency to pick up strays at the best of times and the exciting strays, the ones who were really special, he fought to keep. It had started with Rhodey and Clint. They weren’t genetically altered, just insane at the best of times.

He’d met Rhodey in university. At the time, the man was being paid to watch Tony by his father and report back on his activities. Tony had paid better and overtime gained Rhodey’s loyalty as well as friendship. They’d been inseparable and Rhodey had been the one who thwarted Clint’s assassination attempt on Tony. It hadn’t been anything personal, of course, Clint was a world-renowned assassin and was one of the best—if you could pay him the right amount, he was willing to take out anyone. Then he’d been waylaid by a Very Angry Colonel Rhodes. Clint was easily persuaded to switch targets for the correct amount of money and soon Tony had come to see him as less of an employee and more of a friend.

Natasha and the Old Men had come next. From a situation similar to Clint’s, Natasha had been sent to off Tony. Not only had he offered her a better deal, but also protection from the Red Room, a branch of the former KGB that specialized in stealing little girls and genetically altering them. She didn’t hate the violence or the killing, she hated being controlled.

The freezer burned boyfriends had come along looking for Howard Stark, who had apparently betrayed them (and the United States as a whole, actually) in the 40’s in a whole bunch of exciting and horrible ways. Bucky had been traumatized, a veritable murder machine and Steve hadn’t been much better off. Tony had kept them out of the public eye so they could live in relative peace and in turn had become emotionally attached. Especially upon realizing that Bucky was likely his father’s unknowing murderer, which was endearing.

Bruce had been Tony’s next acquisition and the only deliberate one. There had been reports of some sort of monster raging across the globe. It had taken ages and lots of illegal activity in the form of JARVIS hacking satellites and cameras all over the world but they’d found Bruce hiding away in India, providing illicit medical attention to the poor. He’d been attempting to copy the Super Soldier Serum used on The Olds and turned himself into a monster in the process. Tony adored the man.

Then came Thor and his adopted brother Loki, who had been experimented on by their father from a very young age. They’d lost an older sister to a process of attempted Berserker serums and they themselves were forever genetically altered. Thor was in slightly better control of his rages than Loki, but both came to Tony seeking asylum when their father had decided to end his experiments and terminate all test subjects. They were strong and brutal and Thor’s loyalty was unwavering, which was nice because Loki’s only loyalty was to his brother. It was a compromise Tony could live with.

Sam and Wanda and Pietro had been picked up by Steve and Clint respectively, the former a veteran and counselor who turned to murder for hire after being honorably discharged from service and the latter a pair of genetic experiments who’d accidentally stumbled upon Clint after escaping imprisonment. All three had been brought back to the Tower and into the fold.

Pepper and Happy had been picked up along the way of course, his right and left hands for all intents and purposes. Pepper had helped him build the legitimate face of his business and Happy had run interference in all illegal aspects, as well as literally putting himself between Tony and danger.

A short whimper of sheer terror escaped Rumlow before he seemed to almost crumple in front of them, folding in half and hitting the ground. Tony raised an eyebrow as the man landed just a few inches from his foot and groaned in annoyance before dumping the rest of his coffee on the man.

“Don’t pass out on me now, Rumlow, we’ve got— Oh, would you look at that.”

Tony drew the attention of the whole room to the TV screen, where Penelope Precious Parker had emerged from the bathroom in clean clothes. Her long hair was dripping down her back, dampening her white t-shirt just enough that Tony sent Clint a look that said Watch Yourself, Pervert. The same look was not given to Steve or Bucky, although with the way their eyes followed the woman, it should’ve been.

Rhodey bent over and hauled Rumlow back to his knees, turning him to face the TV and yanking his head back, “You see her, Rumlow? You remember her?”

Another whimper, this one with enough inflection to mean ‘yes’. Tony nodded and let out a deliberate, disappointed sigh.

“Yeah, I thought you might say that. You see, that precious little thing has just become one of the most important people in the world. In my world. Her little brother, who you threatened after hurting her in such a despicable way? He is my world,” Tony rolled his shoulders and stood up, walking around the table to get a closer look at the TV.

Penny had sat down on the couch, still well within view of the webcam, and was pulling on a pair of socks. A pair of beat up tennis shoes were on the floor next to her, having been fished out of the trunk that doubled as an end table. Bucky shifted out of the corner of his eye, watching as her shorts rode up higher on her shapely thighs as she contorted to pull on her sneakers. She continued on to gather all of her wet hair into her hands, tying it into a big messy bun on the top of her head.

“I can’t imagine what you’re feeling right now,” he continued after a moment, “being confronted with your mistakes like this. You see, I go out of my way to not make mistakes. Or mistakes that could come back to haunt me, at least. I tie up my lose ends, I like pretty packages.”

“She’s a real pretty package,” Steve fucking sighed like a swooning school girl as Penny stood up and started shifting through some things on the table in front of her, bent over enough to offer an excellent view of her ass.

Tony snorted along with Sam and waved a dismissive hand in the blond’s direction. Steve and Bucky had been half infatuated with Penny when they thought she was a cruel, neglectful monster; now that they knew the truth, that Penny was precious and kind, they were falling in love just watching her through a screen.

“Now the point of this whole thing, unfortunately for you, is that you hurt Penny and you threatened Peter and by extension, you hurt and threatened me.”

There was a muffled ‘I didn’t know!’ through the gag and Tony Stark once again Did Not Roll His Eyes, because he was above that sort of thing.

“Of course not, that’s why this has to sting. You see, maybe if you just didn’t rape anyone this never would’ve happened. You never would’ve been in this situation. But instead you had to go and drug some poor girl and stick your disgusting dick in her and hurt her,” Tony rolled his head to the side and cracked his neck, “And once again, unfortunately for you, everything just kind of got more complicated from there. Because I’m not sure what to do with you at the moment.”

“Tones?” Rhodey’s eyebrows were furrowed, his hand still keeping Rumlow’s head in place.

“Right, right, let me explain to the room at large,” a flamboyant wave of Tony’s hand made everyone sit slightly straighter, “we have a couple of options going forward. The first, is take Peter and Penny, frame and kill Rumlow and be done with it,” several noises of agreement followed the sentence but Tony shook his hands again to quiet them, “Or, we could take the babies, frame Rumlow, but not kill him.”

“Why not kill him?”

“Because then we could let Peter do it. Or Penny,” Tony tapped chin and began to pace, “or, because they’re both going to be very upset in the first few months, we could use him as… incentive, to be good.”

“Hm, killing him in front of them is ballsy,” Sam stood over next to the cart of food, making himself a plate and a cup of coffee, “You want to induce Stockholm Syndrome, but the shock might be too much.”

“Are you worried about them reacting to a murder in general or like, feeling bad he was killed because of them?”

“Both, either,” Sam shrugged, “pick your favourite.”

“Why don’t we keep him around for a bit, we don’t necessarily have to make the decision today,” Steve suggested, shifting Bucky off of his lap and standing up.

The imposing man made his way towards Rumlow with his usual level of heavy swagger, natural as a result of his musculature and dimensions. Rhodey took several steps back at the approach, recognizing the glint of near ferality in the former Captain’s eyes. Getting in the blond’s way was in no one’s best interest and besides, Rhodey trusted the man implicitly. The man’s hand came down on Rumlow’s head almost gently, his fingers carding through his hair and tilting his head back to look him in the eyes. His face was swollen from Rhodey’s heavy hits already, but he could still see.

“Besides, me and Bucky are gonna need a playmate for a while. All that pent-up aggression—it’s gotta go somewhere, right, Brock?”

#steve rogers x oc x bucky barnes #steve rogers x oc #bucky barnes x oc #dark!steve rogers #dark!bucky barnes #dark!tony stark #dark!mcu #let's review #let's review chapter 3

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starrlightwolf · 4 years ago

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looksforleaders · 2 years ago

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anadytop · 5 years ago

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suspendrs · 5 years ago

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42. “You can’t expect me to stay behind.”

“i do, and you will,” louis says, throwing the covers in harry’s face to slow him down as he rolls out of bed. “stay there. if i’m not back in 5 minutes, call the police.”

“louis,” harry says, pulling the covers up over his naked chest as he sits up. “lou, you’re tiny, let me-“

“fuck off, first of all,” louis says sharply. he sticks his hand behind his dresser and comes back with a metal bat, his knuckles white around the grip. “i’m serious, stay here.”

with that, he’s gone, slipping out the bedroom door and pulling it shut behind himself. harry silently slides out of bed and finds his pants where they’re crumpled on the floor, pulling them on and then digging his phone out of the pocket of his jeans, which are crumpled in a separate ball about a foot to the left. he sits back down on the foot of the bed, listening intently for a cue to call the cops.

it’s definitely one of the weirder one night stands he’s had recently. he only met this guy about six hours ago in the toilets of a crowded bar, and now harry’s sitting in his bed, heart pumping in his chest, trembling thumb poised over the ‘9’ on his keypad.

he really hopes they don’t both get murdered tonight. he actually likes this guy kind of a lot; he was planning on asking for his number and permission to call him again soon in the morning, and he had a good feeling that louis might agree. they just seemed to click really well, is all, and it’s been a while since harry’s been able to say that about a date, let alone a quick fuck.

something about louis is just so lovely, not really harry’s usual type, but still perfect. he’s sweet, kind of sassy, quick witted and funny as anything. he’s also a great fuck. like, really great. like, harry’s ass is still smarting a little bit. like, wow.

he’s so lost in his thoughts that the sound of louis screaming in the distance takes a minute to register in his mind. he jumps so hard he drops the phone and covers his face, repressing the urge to scream himself at the sound of louis’s bat clanging loudly off of something hard, like an intruder’s head, or something.

he throws himself off of the bed, scooping up his phone and tripping all the way into louis’s en-suite. he locks the door and stumbles into the shower, pulling the curtain closed and curling up in the corner. he’s shaking so hard it takes him a solid 30 seconds to dial 999, and when the operator answers, he doesn’t even know what to say.

“i’m, i think someone’s broken in,” he whispers to the very calm woman on the other end of the line, squeezing his eyes shut.

“alright, sir, remain calm,” the woman says, even though harry can hear louis still yelling in the distance. “what is the address of your current location?”

“um,” harry panics, opening his eyes to look at the ceiling, like louis’s address might be written there. “fuck, i don’t know. uh. it’s- somewhere in south london.”

“hold on, sir, i’ll trace your call,” the woman says. “i’m dispatching someone now. would you like to stay on the line with me until they get there?”

“yes,” harry breathes, closing his eyes again and listening for louis’s voice. he can’t hear louis anymore, but he can hear footsteps quickly approaching the bedroom, and he holds his breath. “oh god, i think he’s coming.”

“stay calm, sir,” the woman says, voice low, too. “the police are approximately 3 minutes away.”

harry whimpers quietly, the bedroom door opening outside. he holds his breath again, curling up tight on the shower floor.

the footsteps stop once inside the bedroom, and then immediately start coming for the en-suite. the door knob rattles, and then someone knocks gently. “harry?”

harry startles, pulling the phone away from his ear an inch. “louis?”

“yeah,” louis says through the door. “sorry, it was just my stupid flatmate. he’s not robbing me, he’s just drunk off his arse.”

harry’s blood goes cold, and he glances down at the phone in his hand. “hi, um, are you still there?”

“i am,” the operator says. “is everything okay, sir?”

“um, turns out no one broke in,” harry says, picking himself up off the floor slowly. his ass is wet. he hates himself.

“are you sure, sir?” the operator says. “the police will still want to come in and take a look around.”

“fucking hell,” harry groans.

“who are you talking to?” louis asks through the door. “are you okay in there?”

“yeah,” harry calls to louis, rubbing harshly at his eyes. “okay, well, thanks anyway. sorry for the trouble,” he tells the operator.

“no trouble at all, sir,” the operator says, but it sounds like she’s trying not to laugh. “i’m glad you’re safe.”

“yeah, thanks,” harry mutters, hanging up the phone and then pulling open the door. louis looks worried, chewing on his lip.

“i’m so sorry,” he gushes. “i really didn’t think niall was going to be home tonight, i probably freaked you out so bad, oh my god-“

they both startle when someone pounds on the door, and harry’s eyes go wide.

“who the hell is that?” louis asks under his breath, grabbing his dressing gown off the back of the en-suite door to pull on over his pants as he rushes out of the bedroom and down the hall to the front door.

harry follows sheepishly, pinching at the skin on his wrist. “i may have called the cops,” he says quietly. he thinks he deserves the glare louis whips around to give him.

“what?”

“i thought you were being attacked!” harry says, but the police officer outside bangs loudly on the door again, and louis rushes to answer them before they knock the door down.

harry sits down on the sofa while louis explains the situation to the police, putting his head in his hands. there’s no way he’s getting louis’s number now. he doesn’t even know if he can ask, he can hardly even meet louis’s eyes when louis sends the cops away and comes back to plop down next to him on the sofa.

“i’m so sorry,” harry mutters, rubbing at his face to distract himself so he won’t do something silly, like cry.

“why are you sorry?” louis asks, sounding bewildered. “i’m the one who should be sorry, i made you think i got fucking murdered while you were hiding in my bathroom.”

harry chuckles lowly, glancing up at him. “i’m happy you didn’t get murdered,” he says, shy.

“me too,” louis grins, moving an inch closer to him. “i, uh, i was actually hoping that maybe we could do this again sometime? maybe at yours next time,” he says, glaring at his flatmate’s closed bedroom door.

“really?” harry asks. “you wanna see me again after all this?”

“yeah,” louis says, blushing. “i mean, if you don’t want to-“

“i do!” harry says quickly. “i really do. um.”

louis touches the outside of his thigh, and harry looks up, finally meeting his eyes for the first time since they woke up.

“maybe we could, like, i don’t know, grab dinner sometime?” louis says, blushing a little harder.

“how about breakfast?” harry asks cheekily. “tomorrow, maybe?”

louis grins, surging in to kiss him like he can’t help himself. they make their way back to the bedroom before long, and thus goes the rest of their night, and the entirety of the next morning, and the early afternoon, and even some of the evening. harry might’ve found himself a keeper.

send me a number between 1 & 108 for a drabble

#this got long im so sorry #the ending is rushed bc i realized how long it was getting skdhdhd #but uhh this was fun #shouts out to the guy who came in for takeout while i was writing this #i have about 9 more to do now bye #drabble

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thatboomerkid · 6 years ago

Text

Pocket Creek Limited Exotics Corporation, Product Number 13

Pocket Creek Limited Exotics Corporation, Product Number 13 -- Pathfinder Time Thief Magical Item

Aura Strong conjuration (conjuration & summoning, [water]); CL 17th

Slot –; Price 4,000 gold; Weight 1 lbs.

Product Number 13 appears to be a lavishly-crafted, high-quality Victorian-era iron & porcelain pocket-watch of baroque & alien construction; it is clearly not machinery constructed under these stars nor as part of this timeline. Although many of the various markings on Product Number 13 fail to match any known language, alphabet or numerical-system, other parts of the curious device are very clearly labeled in modern-era, conversational Common.

Brought to you absolutely free to enjoy, to test & to share – as always – by the fine folks of my Patreon.

Inspired by – and with hugest of thanks to – Owen KC Stephens; created by Justin Sluder & Clinton J. Boomer

image from here

DESCRIPTION

Product Number 13 functions as a pocket-watch: accurately keeping the time in days, hours, minutes & seconds. The watch must be wound and set once per week to continue this function; winding the watch in this way takes about a minute, and this can be accomplished by turning the pale crown of the watch in either direction. Winding the pocket-watch in this way is time-intensive and requires the use of two hands, but does not otherwise require concentration and may be done during downtime. A user can always choose to look away or to focus on another task while winding her watch.

Careful observation of Product Number 13 while it is functioning as a pocket-watch can confirm that the machine often “glitches” as the dream-logic of its internal engine grinds against our misaligned reality: blurring-out, skipping seconds, clipping through itself briefly as it rotates, briefly doubling and then collapsing back into a single object, shifting upwards along the visual spectrum and back again, dripping warm water or playing off-key calliope music, etc. Every full minute that a user focuses exclusively on the operation of Product Number 13 in pocket-watch mode, there is a 1% cumulative chance that she briefly goes mad, suffering from confusion (no save) for 2d100 minutes. Looking away from the object for a full minute resets this cumulative chance of losing one’s mind.

Once per day upon command as a full-round action, while the pocket-watch is fully wound, Product Number 13 may unfold itself into a massive claw-footed cast-iron bathtub: five feet long, thirty inches wide, and twenty-four inches deep. This bathtub has a tall, iron shower-head attachment and a thin curtain suspended from a ring, which may be drawn closed. While this curtain is so drawn, the interior of the tub is lit, as per a dancing lights effect.

This bathtub is then filled with warm, lightly-scented bathwater as per the create water spell. While empty, the cast-iron tub weighs 400 pounds; with its water added, the weight increases to 900 pounds. A dial on the back of Product Number 13 allows the user to choose either a lavender-vanilla scent or a ginger-orange scent for her bathwater, as well as to adjust the temperate of the conjured bathwater from 70 to 108 degrees Fahrenheit. Bathwater created in this way is not potable, and any living creature with a normal anatomy who drinks more than a mouthful of the milky, chemical solution is sickened for ten minutes (no save).

The tub automatically refills with fresh bathwater of the appropriate temperature and scent if emptied or if the internal water temperature changes, and conjured bathwater remains in the tub for one full hour. At the end of one full hour, all bathwater conjured by Product Number 13 instantly evaporates -- potentially drying the user -- and the tub automatically folds back down into a dry pocket-watch. The pocket-watch must, at this time, be re-wound.

While the tub is in use, a single occupant may “swim” in the tub, causing it to function as a sort of treadmill: this causes the tub to fill from one end rapidly, while simultaneously draining from the other end. During this time, a gramophone cunningly hidden inside the mechanism of the tub plays light, jovial parlor-music for use in calisthenics.

In addition, while the pocket-watch is fully wound, Product Number 13 may be used -- once -- as a special scroll of summon monster IX; when the object is used in this way, it immediately shatters into rust & porcelain dust. This special use of the summon monster spell may only be used to summon Quantis the Watch, and the range of the spell is zero feet: Quantis emerges directly from Product Number 13 and obeys the commands of the summoner as best he is able. The owner of Product Number 13 may choose to fling the pocket-watch as per a thrown splash weapon as part of activating the item.

Although only one Quantis the Watch is known to exist, multiple copies of Quantis the Watch may be summoned in this way simultaneously. Such creatures may even be commanded to fight one another.

If the owner of Product Number 13 chooses to expend one mote of time when Product Number 13 is activated in this way, she may automatically activate the spell without making any type of check.

CONSTRUCTION REQUIREMENTS

Craft Wondrous Item, create water, dancing lights, prestidigitation, summon monster, creator must possess some ability to manipulate time (such as levels in Time Thief or the Chronothurge Adept feat) or an ability to contact alternate time-streams; Cost 2,000 gp.

Campaign Note: These items are most-often seen in the possession of those who have dealt directly with Shyka the Many or one of his favored servants, and they are commonly traded as gifts -- or as currency -- by high-ranking devotees of that Eldest and those witches with a Patron of Time who serve the House of Eternity unknowingly. Worshipers of Yhidothrus, conversely, tend to give such bizarre & dangerous objects a wide berth; from the philosophical position of such a self-interested creature, after all, dabbling in fractured timelines and playing with broken universes for such limited, temporary payoff represents the only true sin: ignorant shortsightedness.

———

NOTE:

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#pathfinder #time thief #mind screw #Magical Item #first world

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