#I am but one weak man to the thought of a dashing and only vaguely put-together X’rhun as howl

[coffeeangelinabox]

Whumpril #13: Angry Tears

Lee’s been alone in the dark for however long it’s been. No contact, no stimulation. He can smell himself, rank and unwashed. Rot and death. 

The door cracks open revealing a thin wedge of light that may as well be a blunt knife to the eyes, inciting white hot tingling pain all down the neglected optic nerve and driving ice pick tendrils into his brain. He slams his lids shut, but still the red hot burst of light kaleidoscopes through his memory like sparks and fireworks. 

He senses the shadowy presence that steps up close. It doesn’t speak. A hand clenches around his upper arm, dragging him to standing with a jerk that almost takes him off his feet and his arm from the socket. He’s pulled along at a stride half again his own that almost takes him to the ground, feet tripping over one another as he struggles to keep up. His muscles are just as unused as his eyes and feel weak and noodly. He realises he’s shaking. His bare soles slap against the cool metal plates of the flooring and Lee feels a vague sense of shame at the filthy marks he must be leaving, at the stench that will be in his wake. 

His escort still doesn’t speak, not even to insult him. Lee’s not even sure if it’s a man or a woman, though he’d guess man simply from the strength and bult of him. Not that Jemma couldn’t twist him into a pretzel if she took a mind to. 

His heart clenches at the thought of Jemma. He’s been forcibly keeping memories of the Valjean at bay, knowing what he’s done to them. He hadn’t meant to…He just-

He just wanted to live. 

He flutters his eyelashes trying to accustomed them to the light, receiving in return brief flashes of white and chrome and humming lighting as he’s dragged through the base. Everything is blurry, but he’s starting to be able to keep them open for longer and longer when he’s finally pushed unceremoniously into what he recognises as the Lieutenant’s ready room. 

The man (it is a man) lets go of him and takes up a hulking presence in the doorway. Not that Lee would try to escape, what’s the point. 

He can’t look at the Lieutenant for more than a moment: scrubbed and pressed and shaved, his uniform looks fresh on mere moments ago, every inch the Domain official. Lee wilts under his gaze, a scruffy child, a criminal. 

“Darrow is coming aboard now.”

He wilts further, can’t repress the flinch, but doesn’t otherwise respond. He supposes this is where they’ll part ways as agreed, and thank the stars for that, means he won’t have to-

The Lieutenant is still speaking, apparently not here to gloat in his discomfort after all. “...Captain of this vessel, you are to be executed for crimes against the Domain.”

“What?” Lee gasps out, jerks his head up, meeting those cold eyes. He takes another stumbling step backwards and the guard wraps a meaty arm around him, an unbreakable restraint of muscle and bone even if Lee had somewhere to run and somewhere to flee. “But…we agreed. You-”

The Lieutenant smiles coldly. “I am not required to hold to oaths made to traitors.”

Tears spring to Lee’s eyes and he wishes he could get a hand free to dash them away, humiliated as they roll down his cheeks, hot with rage and salty with spite. He’d given this man everything and this is how he was repaid. “But…” and he can only fall back on the argument of a child. “You promised!” His eyes glitter with more tears, fury straightening his spine where a will to survive had not. 

The Lieutenant runs a thumb along Lee’s cheekbone, collecting the wetness there and regards Lee with something approaching amusement. “It’s simple justice,” he says gently. “You have committed any number of crimes and I’m sure you promised not to do to Darrow exactly what you did.”

When the Lieutenant smiles, he has dimples, under other circumstances he’d be Lee’s type. He flushes hotly and the blurring in his eyes is water not sensory recovery now. “You’re a bastard,” he says cold and clear.

[bacon-sandwich-of-dionysus]

Bloodhound. (A Ghost x AFAB!reader fic)

Act One, Chapter Three: Encapture

Literally had to re-upload this because I made such a dumb grammar mistake! Ugh! Anyways, if there are any more, I am so sorry... with the poll added, I can't edit posts and there is so much text to wade through :(.

Also, what the actual heck am I doing with Ghost?! Like, this poor, poor man. This is just turning into 'how far can we push Ghost before he breaks'? This is supposed to be an 'x reader' lmaoo. I mean, 'x reader'?! More like, 'x life-ruiner'.

As for Graves' side... well, uh... Graves has um... a mishap. I really hope these Arcadian Sons come across as scary to you- I'm trying to go for that!

Word count: 11, 570 (the length of this chapter should be a warning)

Warnings: Strong language, violence, gore, mentions of trauma, the sheer length of this chapter and uh... kicks to the groin. (I hate myself.)

You were frozen on the spot, looking at him, one foot ready to take a step forward into the barracks and the other fervent in remaining on the other side of the threshold. Your blood had turned to ice, heat concentrating in your cheeks as you desperately tried to wrack your brain for ideas on how to proceed. However, you had turned to stone under his gaze, thoughts coming to a standstill, unable to form sentences you could understand. This was mortifying, no… this was beyond mortifying. It had been five minutes since your last encounter with Ghost and the image was still fairly fresh in your brain. Your nose wrinkled a little as you cringed slightly, the mere allusion to what you had seen making your stomach twist itself into knots. 

Ghost was paralysed too, staring at you. Oh, how you wanted him to pretend you weren’t even there! Although, you could have sworn you saw a bit of yourself in him, that same frazzled expression in his eyes. You were both locked in a stalemate, only electing to act once the other had moved. The two of you could be here for a while… or you couldn’t- provided that one of you would decide to bite the bullet and do something. 

As Ghost opened his mouth to speak, he watched you let out a noise which sounded vaguely like distress. Then, like you were never here, you spun on your heel and left, quick footsteps sounding your frantic dash away from the barracks and away from him. 

SIghing, the man brought a hand to his masked face. 

Yeah, he was positively kicking himself, I should have locked the door. 

Once you had gained enough distance, you turned and leaned against the brick wall, digging your hands into your face as you let out an exasperated groan. You should have knocked on the door. Whilst this base wasn’t brimming with personnel, it was still fairly busy. People could be found everywhere, taking advantage of every facility they could get their hands on. Moreover, judging by what Laswell had told you about 141’s ‘great big misadventure’, these guys would most likely pounce on any opportunity to have a hot shower. 

Picking your heavy, reluctant feet off the floor, you turn to continue your trek down the corridor, only to be suddenly confronted with Gaz. 

You almost jumped out of your skin. 

“AHHHH!” 

That scream was borderline bloodcurdling.

 “Gaaaz…?” 

A weak smile crept onto your face as you tried to appear as casual as humanly possible, resting some of your weight on the wall by leaning against it on your side as you stuck up a pair of finger guns.

Smooth. Very smooth. 

His brows furrowed together. 

“Are you okay, Y/N?” He asked, “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“Pffft!” You brushed the question aside with the wave of your hands, “I’m fine, I just got a bit spooked. “

“I can tell. You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” He remarked, chuckling.

You laughed… a little too hard.

Gaz was a little taken aback by your slightly unnerved skittishness but knew at the same time that, if Laswell was to be believed, you had gone through a lot. He didn’t know the details but then again, he didn’t need to know. He got the idea: Y/N was a typical runaway. Almost cartoonishly typical. He had noticed that you had been constantly looking over your shoulder last night, hurrying to places within the base like you were being chased by someone watching you from the shadows and dark crevices. If he was honest, he felt a little sorry for you. It was clear you had been shaken by something. Something that had dealt a heavy blow, and if the gnarly scar running straight down your lip didn’t indicate that, your behaviour did.  

“Anyways,” Gaz cleared his throat, “I was wondering if you wanted to join Rudy and me for some yoga? I don’t want to be presumptuous or anything, but… I think you could do with a bit of, you know, mindful meditation?”

His brows gave way to slight worry as awaited your decision, subtly chewing on his lip.

You took a moment to reflect on the offer. You hadn’t really done much yoga before, but it wasn’t like you didn’t know anything about it. Besides, it might help with clearing your head of all the shit that was swirling around inside it: the teeth, the claws, the words they hurled at you along with their bullets… and also this morning. 

Yeah. You exhaled softly, It would be stupid to pass this opportunity up. 

He couldn’t help but feel a little warm, fuzzy feeling build in his chest as he watched a genuine smile spread across your face. 

“Yeah.” You nodded, “I think I could do with a bit of mindful meditation too.”

He gestured for you to follow him and you gladly did so, making an effort to not lag too far behind. The sergeant led you down the corridor, one which headed southwards, opposite to the path which had led you to the bathroom of doom. Soon, he stopped, pushing open a set of fire doors and opening the way to the courtyard, where another man turned to wave at him. Presumably, this was Rudy. 

“I see Y/N has decided to join us!” He smiled, “Didn’t you manage to persuade the others?”

Gaz sighed, “Price said he’d rather sit this one out and have a smoke and Laswell is busy with… Laswell stuff.”

“What about Soap and Alejandro?”

“Alejandro’s still finishing up breakfast and Soap said he was good.”

Rudy seemed a bit deflated.

“What did Ghost say?”

“He answered with ‘shower’, pointed in the vague direction of the bathroom and uh… didn’t really say anything after that.”

Rudy wasn’t sure of what to make of that reply but supposed he’d just have to accept it.

“At least we have someone who was happy to give this a shot.” The sergeant major gestured to you, “Let’s hope this CD player works.”

Rudy busied himself with flicking through the various CDs he could find in the cardboard box next to the player, which was precariously placed on a creaky stool, while Gaz began to roll out the mats. As the two got on with setting up, you decided to have a little look around. 

This courtyard was a mess of concrete and struggling plant-life, various weeds trying to break through the cracks in the cement, competing with each other for a spot of sunlight. Despite the lack of floral displays or perfect green lawn, the asphalt garden was still somewhat a garden and with that came this atmosphere of tranquillity. 

“So,” you shyly began, still eyeing your surroundings, “how come you guys decided to do some yoga?”

“Felt like we needed it, I guess.” Gaz shrugged, setting a mat on the floor.

He dusted off his hands, looking up at you.

“And it also makes me feel a little at home. I used to do this regularly, believe it or not.” He smiled, “But then we had… well, Shepherd and… the stolen missiles… But, you know, we have a moment to breathe now so I’m taking it.”

“As am I!” Rudy added, placing a CD into the player, setting the lid down with a click.

“I see.” 

Good on them, you thought to yourself, Good on them!

Perhaps you should make a hobby out of this once you’ve found somewhere to properly settle, eh? You couldn’t help but smile at the thought. 

It seemed you were enjoying it so far, relishing in the ‘downward dog’ stretch, feeling your body sing with gratitude as your muscles made a start in releasing some of the tension. 

Ghost recognised your voice as he walked down the corridor, catching a glimpse of you in the sunlight, laughing as Gaz tried to keep you steady in a paired ‘tree pose’. He had to admit, it was a strange scene before him, the contentment of Gaz, Rudy, you and the instructional tape’s soundtrack of Tibetan bowls contrasting with the backdrop of armoured vehicles and heavy cargo. Ghost couldn’t help but pause and watch you, no real reason forming behind the action, other than it being most likely boredom. 

“Steady, Y/N! You’re going to-”

You and Gaz fell like dominoes, with you landing right on top of him, howling with laughter. Rudy was the only one who remained standing, perfectly balanced, not quivering one bit. A small grin made itself known on his face; even with his eyes closed, he could tell what was going on. Despite you being clearly no good at this, paired poses were most certainly not your thing with how many times you had fallen and taken poor Gaz with you, you couldn’t help but have fun. There was no real weight here to your actions, no real consequence for mishaps, no one scolding you or threatening to cleave your head from your shoulders… errors were allowed to just be. You were allowed to just be. 

Ghost was still watching, hooded eyes narrowing in curiosity. He was still trying to see what you were all about. Yesterday didn’t really give much about you apart from politeness and an eager aim to make a good first impression. Last night and this morning had presented a much more skittish side to yourself. And here? Well, here he was seeing certainly a more relaxed Y/N. You were a cackler, he’d give you that, unafraid to conceal your true laugh. Hearty chortles and snickers left your mouth as Gaz made a comment which sent you and Rudy over the edge, your laughs only intensifying as you watched Rudy lose balance and fall down. This yoga session definitely wasn’t about peace and tranquillity, but it didn’t matter, you guys were having a good time. Ghost chuckled to himself, shaking his head as he moved on to go grab something from the mess hall.

He guessed he just liked the way you smiled. 

As you were settling down, still wiping tears from your eyes, you spotted a figure in the doorway.  Your senses told you this was ‘Ghost’. You felt your heartbeat begin to quicken a little, only to then die down again once you saw him turn and walk away. Like a deer watching a wolf turn back to the forest after a long chase, you completely slackened with relief. He walked on, not even paying you much attention. You followed him with your eyes until he was out of view. 

Did he not care?

Should you not care?

Did you overthink that whole exchange? Did you need to run?

Maybe you’d go apologise. It would be a selfish apology, coming from a need to wrap this whole thing up on your end, mark this situation as officially over, but… maybe he wouldn’t care for any reasoning behind your confession and just take it. Not necessarily accept your ‘sorry’, but you didn’t need that from him. 

The way he nonchalantly moved on, like you weren’t even there, though most likely recognising you along with Gaz and Rudy, was comforting. 

“Okay!” Rudy’s voice broke through your thoughts, “I’ve fast-forwarded it to the… I think it’s called the ‘Shavasana’ part?” 

“Yeah, that’s ‘corpse pose’.” Gaz explained, getting up from his cross-legged position to go listen and assess the instructions.

He turned his head, so his ear was facing the speaker, paying close attention to the CD’s soothing voice. 

“Yeah,” he nodded to himself, “That’s the ‘cool down’ part.”

Then, the sergeant turned to you. 

“I know we’ve been giggly, but I think this part’s going to be better for us if we’re real calm.”

You nodded, trying to get the last of your chuckles out through taking steady breaths as guided by Gaz. You smiled a little, doing your best to focus as Gaz talked you through the breaths.

“In for four.”

You breathed in, counting away in your head. 

“Out for six.”

You exhaled, counting again. 

“Try to breathe from the bottom of your belly,” Gaz placed a hand on his tummy to show you where he meant, “and then fill your chest with air.”

You did as he said, needing a few goes before you mastered it. 

And when you exhaled, breathing out from your chest first, then your belly, it was like a part of you had left with it, dissipating into the air around you. 

“How’s that? Feel relaxed?”

You nodded. 

All three of you lay side by side, getting comfortable on your backs, ready to enter ‘corpse pose’. 

“Now, close your eyes.” The CD instructed, “Place your hands either with your palms facing up to receive or facing downwards on the ground to release.”

Hmm, you pondered to yourself, closing your eyes, Do I want to give or receive?

To let go or accept? 

It was a tough call. 

There was a lot, particularly a lot of pain, you wanted to give up but at the same time, you wanted to receive the privileges of freedom, or at least have the hope to receive them. 

However, if you wanted to receive the boons of your new life, you would first have to properly let go of the restraints of your old one. 

Release.

You placed your hands beside you, facing downwards. 

Soon, you were back with your old friend, your haunted mind. 

In the dark, you could see the formings of your pursuers. Teeth, eyes, claws. Guns, bullets, knives. Body armour tearing, nails rendering your skin. 

You had survived them all. 

In for four. 

They were trying to put you back in the chase, when you were afraid and running from the Red Room. 

Out for six. 

However, you weren’t afraid enough to picture the setting. The pale moonlight, the forest floor, the echoes of howls and the gnashing of jaws… they were all merely descriptions. Just words. No images, no scenes. You refused to make the sights and smells tangible. Words they were and words they shall remain. You couldn’t be scared forever. 

As you lay in your mind, another memory came forth. 

An older lamia, the one you had escaped with… who unfortunately didn’t make it. She… you were both held down by those dogs. Unsupervised, they had decided to take punishment into their own hands. 

You had seen horrible things. People beaten and bloodied beyond repair. And yet, that lamia… she had said something to you that night.

“You will learn to love men again.”

It was strange, but it stuck with you for some reason. 

“You will learn to love men again.”

You had denied it for quite some time, but in this moment of solitude, with it being just you and your thoughts, you decided it was time to acknowledge the apprehension that had been plaguing you the most. You were afraid Laswell’s lot could do what those Arcadian Sons had done. You were afraid they would try something, that they were the same. 

You had denied it. However, the only other company you had ever had before were either Arcadian Sons, the whitecoats which studied them and your comrades from the Red Room. And, as for Arcadian Sons, a lot weren’t kind. Not all. But a lot. 

As shown by that night. 

Unit 4, the ones which had hunted you and your band of escapees, they were monsters. Regardless of what shape they took.

Men like them deserved to be tortured for eternity, put in pits of fire and burned for centuries. Have unspeakable things done to them. You wanted each and every one of those sick fucks to feel your pain, feel the fear you felt. 

Fear often wore the dress of anger. 

You wouldn’t let anyone hurt you like that ever again. You were in control now. 

***

“Oh shit!” 23 smiled, “I got the camcorder working again!”

She held it up, zooming in on the conversing soldiers near the rooftop’s edge. 

“Okay,” she was still grinning, eager to present to her imaginary audience, “so here we have 7418 who you guys know already. Then, there’s 7629, 72’s worked with him, and she says he’s alright. Going ‘round the circle, there’s 7152, he trained some of my roommates. And there, the one closest to the edge, that’s our new packmaster! 7223!”

She panned over to get a good view of him between the gesturing hands and shrugging shoulders of his workmates, only to quickly conceal the camera as she watched his masked head turn to face her. 23 muttered an obscenity as she watched him approach. 

“Have you been recording this whole time?!” He held his hand out for the device, “Gimme the camera.”

23 looked up at him with big brown eyes, her prized possession remaining close to her chest. 

7418 chuckled, placing a hand on Graves’ shoulder. 

“Relax, brother. She likes filming things. Besides, it’s not like she gets to keep what she records.”

Phillip slowly turned to look at him, cocking his head to one side. 

“The Red Room wipes these things. This is a harmless toy for her, let her play whilst we continue planning.”

Graves looked between 23 and 7418. Underneath the mask was a face of confusion. This was most unorthodox, especially for a guy with his experience of covert ops. Nevertheless, he conceded, letting her continue to film, hoping that 7418 was right and that he wouldn’t get any shit if it turned out that 23 shouldn’t even be in possession of that camcorder and its shell of ‘Hello Kitty’ stickers. 

The men stood like gargoyles in front of their twilight backdrop, perched on the rooftop, their faceless heads surveying the streets below, slowly rising to behold the target location: a mansion just beyond the trees, sticking out like a sore thumb. This was tantalising, the target within view. Graves felt his jaw tense, the anticipation for action gripping his body with talons that further and further tightened their hold on him. Out of his periphery, he could see his fellow Arcadian Son, 7152, quiver a little. 

Graves felt his heart skip a beat or two, it felt like only yesterday he was here… with 141 and the Vaqueros. Now, however, he was in a completely different position, with a tighter leash around his neck.

One thing that did unnerve him about this mission was… well, their numbers. Back when he was part of the PMC, he had the security and the subsequent confidence that came with knowing there were people to watch your back and also to be made distractions out of. Right now, on the other hand, there were only six of them, counting the lamias.

“We haven’t got much in terms of numbers,” he sighed, turning around to address his men, “So we’re going to have to make a lot of noise to get people to scram and clear the path for Sin Nombre’s extraction.”

“The girls have got some burning canisters on them, haven’t they?” 7629 suggested.

“That’s a whole villa of people though, of obstacles…” 7418 sighed, “I don’t think the canisters will be enough.”

“Well, 72 and 23 can also make ‘em see things as well. That’s what we did on one of my last missions… just made the poor guys think there were fifty of us when there were only twelve.”

“What do you mean 72 and 23 can make people see things?” Graves asked. 

“Lamias can put people to sleep, make people hallucinate… they mess with people’s minds.” 7629 explained matter-of-factly, “They’re good for small packs like ours, even if it can be a pain takin’ care of them. Never been one for kids, myself.”

7629 gestured to the two girls doing stupid poses, each vying for their spotlight in front of the camcorder and its grainy footage.

7152 rubbed the back of his neck. 

“Takin’ care of them isn’t even the hardest part though. I always find it’s keeping them out of trouble. I’ve seen way too many instances of friendly fire.”

That’s when Graves had a lightbulb moment.

Sift through the herd. 

Like a spider pulling together the threads of its web, Graves gathered the information around him and formulated a plan. This was going to be a fairly easy job… provided people stuck to their stations.

“We need ‘em to think we’ve brought a whole army to one villa, then.” He remarked, before getting their attention, “Look, I’ll have the girls have cut the power off and started fucking with people. Then, I need two guys to help keep folks running around like headless chickens. Whilst they’re doing that, I need one of y’all to lead Sin Nombre to me.”

“Take all the glory for yourself?” 7629 scoffed, “Doesn’t seem fair.”

Graves let out a puff of air through his nose.

“For talking back to me, you’re not going to pick your role. You’ll be on crowd dispersal.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” 7629 turned away, groaning.

“Who wants to be on crowd control too?”

7152 raised his arm.

“Great. That leaves you, 7418, to be the heel-snapper.”

“Heel-snapper?”

“I just made that up. You get the idea.”

They all let out small laughs, shaking their heads. However, soon, their laughter faded into silence, and they returned to staring at the villa once more, ready to spring this plan into action.

Though they did possess the appearance and mannerisms of regular covert ops soldiers, it was evident that all were a hair trigger away from rabid chaos. 

7418 scratched at his neck, hoping to be able to relieve the itch nibbling away at him under the fabric of his baselayer. 

“I haven’t seen Valeria in ages.” He commented as he scratched away, “I used to work for her, you know.”

Graves turned around. 

“You worked for Sin Nombre? How’d you end up here?” He asked, curious.

“She sold me.” Was the reply. 

“What?!”

“Well, she sold my body. I received a fatal wound from a Vaquero. Where one typically sees loss,” he chuckled wryly, “Valeria saw opportunity.”

Graves sensed there was more coming. 

“And?”

“And now she’s stuck with having the Foundation coming back for her services. They let her hide away from the authorities and she has to do us favours. Such is the price of being an ex-employee.”

“Valeria worked at the Foundation?”

“Was a lamia… so I’m told.”

“I see.”

7629 chuckled, taking a deep breath. 

“Can’t wait to get on with this, ‘Commander’,” he exhaled contentedly as he turned to Graves, “I haven’t had a good meal in ages.”

“What’s that got to do with the mission, soldier?”

“You’ll see, friend.” Was the mysterious reply.

A few minutes later, a familiar voice crackled a little, the static trying to break it up the words emerging from the radio on Phillip’s chest.

“7223, this is 23. Do you read me?”

He pressed down on his radio. 

“Loud and clear, 23. What have you got?”

“We’ve made it to the backdoor, sir.”

“Undetected?” 

“Undetected.”

They all breathed sighs of relief, some patting their mates on the back.

“Good job. Pick the lock and get inside. Once you’ve sounded the alarm, we’ll take care of the rest.”

Ssssounded. He cringed at the sound of his own voice. The mouthpiece sitting under his mask, though uncomfortable, did allow him to speak… at the cost of giving him a slight lisp. 

“Roger that, sir.”

23 let go of her radio and squatted down beside her teammate. She could hear the quiet clicks and muffled metal groans as 72 tinkered with the lock on the door. Though the mansion had many, much sturdier reinforcements to keep unwanted guests outside… someone had forgotten to brace the entrance to the kitchen. Not that the Las Almas cartel thought that'd be an issue, they were planning a get-together tonight and easy movement to the bins outside was something they were willing to allow now that they had upped the number of guards on patrol.

Getting one of the guys down here would’ve definitely cocked this whole operation up. Graves had suspected that after her previous capture, Valeria had taken further precaution for her next soiree, seeing as she had this place locked up tighter than a miser’s purse. Her confidence oozed from every manned balcony and every dark corner where she had posted a lurking sicario. Self-assured and as cocky as ever, there was no doubt Valeria would be lounging in her seat at the head of some banquet table, feasting while her organisation continued to infect the streets of Las Almas. 

“Hurry up!” 23 whispered, spotting an armed sicario passing through the gate, looking to be heading to the side entrance- a.k.a. their hiding spot. 

The pick snapped as the words left her mouth and 72 sighed. 

“Don’t rush me. I’m trying to get this open without making it look like an intrusion.” 

“You’re taking too long…” 23 growled, bringing the scope to her eyes once more, “I got eyes on a guard coming this way.” 

“Well, send him the other way.”

23 shook her head. 

“Can’t. Don’t want to risk Sin Nombre detecting us.”

72’s shoulders slumped. 

“Quicken it up, mate. He’s not slowing down.” 

“Shush. I’m trying to focus.”

23 leaned back a little.

“Shush? Don’t you ‘shush’ me. I’m the one watching your back.”

“Well, shut up and keep doing that.”

“You fucking-”

23’s radio crackled. 

“Girls, what’s taking so long?” Graves asked. 

23 rolled her eyes. 

“72’s going at a snail’s pace, sir.”

“And 23 keeps distracting me!”

The younger one turned back to the lock-picker with a face of absolute indignation. 

“Am not!”

“Yes, you are!”

“No! You’re-”

Graves stood on the rooftop, staring blankly into the distance as he listened to the girls’ staticy argument continue in hushed voices laced with petty venom. 7629 couldn’t help but let out a small chuckle, shaking his head.

“Yes!”

“No!”

“Yes!”

“No!”

“Yes!” 

“You bitch!”

At the sound of that word, something snapped in Graves. Immediately, he pressed down on the radio. 

“HEY!” An angry, authoritarian voice burst forth from the small communication devices on 23 and 72’s chests, “Don’t make me come down there. 23, stop harassing your teammate and keep your eyes peeled for anyone who approaches. 72, work faster and don’t talk back to 23, she’s the one keeping both of you alive.”

They both sighed, rolling their eyes, and resumed working in civil silence.

CLICK!

72 did a little fist-pump.

“I’m in!” 

Gently, she pushed the door open, and they both headed inside, closing the door behind them. Once the pair were firmly in the building and still out of sight, 72 pressed down on her radio. 

“7223, we’re inside. Getting our shrouds on now.”

Graves smiled under his mask. 

“Good work. Let me know once you’ve located the fuse box.”

“Copy.” 

Graves nodded to 7152 and 7629. Both men left his side, ready to emerge from the shadows of the streets below and terrorise whatever poor cartel member stumbled onto their path.

Meanwhile, oblivious to the intrusion made by two lamias, Valeria and her men sat around an ornate dining table which almost stretched the length of the room. El Sin Nombre currently had a map in front of her showing all the details of the new Vaquero base. Decisive eyes narrowed as she clicked her pen, digesting what her lieutenants had just informed her of. 

Those British boys were back and had taken to squatting in the new Vaquero base. 

With those wanted men on her doorstep, Valeria knew that someone was going to be crawling to her for her services. Though El Sin Nombre was her official title, the woman wouldn’t have been surprised if someone out there had taken to calling her the ‘Middleman’. It was who she was half the time, the guy who meets you halfway down the line, the steppingstone between Point A and Point B. She was the one who set things in motion. Without Valeria, missiles don’t get moved and people don’t get paid. She was a lifeline to all: for criminals and governments. 

Valeria leaned back in her throne, exhaling. 

“I want to know if they’re planning on moving any time soon. Once they move, we no longer can do business with anyone who wants them, understood?”

“I’ll let the informant know to keep us posted, boss.”

“Good.” She nodded, “I also want to know if Shepherd has-”

Valeria paused and looked up to the ceiling, feeling the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. Something was going to happen. Something wrong was going to happen.

A split second later and she was buried in shadow. 

“What the-”

“Is it the Special Forces?”

“Boss, what do we do?”

She swallowed hard. 

Shit. 

The druglord ran a hand through her hair, looking about for any signs of movement amidst the murk. Nothing. 

As for the sounds? Very little which stood out to her, everything layering into one, aggravating cacophony of confusion.  

“Get someone to check the power!” She demanded, slapping the shoulder of one of the lieutenants.  

He nodded and yelled for a sicario to do their job. 

Quiet footsteps walked along the hallway, his path lit by torch light as he peered down the length of his gun, pointing it squarely ahead of him. The sicario kept his breaths steady, knowing he had enough ammo to put down whoever the offenders were. 

Cowards. 

They wouldn’t even show their faces. 

 He got to the staircase and turned back, staring at its side. 

The door to the cupboard under the stairs had… vanished. Under the black balaclava, brows furrowed. The sicario could have sworn the door to the fuse box was right here. He squinted a little, hoping that perhaps he’d be able to spot the outline marking its presence once his eyes adjusted to the darkness.  

However, it was gone!

Valeria gritted her teeth. 

“This isn’t Special Forces…” She muttered under her breath. 

Then, turning to her closest and most useful underlings, she yelled in Spanish, “Alvaro! Lucas! Elian! Stay close to me!”

They bunched up together, guns loaded and ready. All she needed now was the first sign of action, then she’d know which direction to run in. 

 “Boys, whatever you do… don’t shoot them unless absolutely necessary.”

 “What?”

 “Just do as I say!”

The men nodded. She sounded like she knew what she was doing, like she had been in this situation before. Experience bore knowledge, and they weren’t looking to question her any time soon. Especially after Diego. After he decided to take matters into his own hands and expose Sin Nombre to the Vaqueros and their gringo friends… Well, the Las Almas Cartel finally got its first taste of near-death. Valeria never wanted that to happen ever again. 

Through the dark, they saw the shape of the sicario return. 

“Ma’am! I can’t find the fuse box!”

“What?” She scoffed, “What do you mean?”

“I could’ve sworn it was the door under the stairs but when I looked…”

“When you looked?”

“Nothing.”

I knew my senses wouldn’t fail me.

She smiled resignedly as she turned back to her lieutenants. It was them, wasn’t it? And they had brought their kid-soldiers with them.

“We do not separate. Understood? We need to be touching at all times.”

Once more, they nodded. 

The last thing Valeria wanted was someone sneaking up on her, let alone a little girl wielding a knife that was clearly made for an adult soldier. Weirdly enough, a mild wave of nostalgia overtook Valeria for a second. She remembered being that little girl, holding the knife of her overseer, wielding it like she knew how to use it. Whoever tripped the power, they should run whilst they still had time. 

A creak sounded overhead. Valeria kept deathly quiet, bringing a hand to her face to dampen her breaths. She advised her men to do the same. Thump. Thump. Thump. Footsteps echoed above. 

Any minute now. Any minute now. 

BANG!

“AHHHHHH!”

Gunshots and screams ensued and the signature drumbeat of someone tumbling down the stairs told Valeria that now it was time to run. 

“7223, this is 72. Sin Nombre is currently holed up in the main dining room on the ground floor. I got three guys here that 23 and I are trying to… ‘convince’ that the whole Mexican army have broken down the door.”

Graves grinned under his mask; the sounds of men howling numbers, which were constantly increasing in order of magnitude, signified that those girls were doing their job and doing it well.

“Roger that. 7629 and 7152 are makin’ some noise to try and disperse the rest of the crowd. Do your best to send her up to me.”

“Where are you?”

“Second floor. Entered via an open window in the study. 7418’s coming to you.”

“Copy.”

“Remember, this goes for you and 23, we want to make as much noise as possible, so don’t try and start any fights. Just clear the way for Sin Nombre. Understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

The two girls kept posted by the cupboard under the stairs, making sure that every single person who walked past it saw nothing but plain wood and saw that the halls were teeming with soldiers. 23 felt the sound in her chest as someone behind them was thrown down, slamming into the bottom step before landing onto the floor, too broken to even think about getting up. Jogging down the stairs, gun in hand was 7418 as expected. He casually flicked a loc over his shoulder as he hunted around for the girls. 

Sniffing the air, he managed to catch a whiff of something familiar. He turned to face their direction.

Just to make sure, he pressed down on his radio. 

“7418, here. Am I looking at 72 and 23 right now? Are you two standing by the cupboard under the stairs?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Okay, great. Get out of your shrouds and follow me.”

“Roger.”

He watched the two girls fade back into existence a few feet across from him, the dark hiding their shapes from everyone but him. If 7418 didn’t have his mask on, his eyeshine would be breaking through the dark like two ghostly peepers. 

They made their way to the dining room, hoping Valeria would be there, just as how they had left her. Except, she wasn’t. It wasn’t much of an issue, however, seeing as a door had been left to swing wide open, leading to a study connecting the dining room to yet another hallway. They could hear her distant calls for order as she watched the entire house unravel all around her. 

7418 grinned under his mask. This was going to be fun. 

As ‘heel-snapper’, it was his job to get the prey into 7223’s clutches and that was what he was going to do. He ran into the dining room, girls following closely behind, watching his six. A low growl rumbled from deep within his chest as he pointed his gun around, jumping to aim at any slight sign of movement. 

He caught sight of a man sat in the corner, cowering. 

7418 lowered his weapon, squatting down before the hunched figure.

“Where is Sin Nombre?” He asked in his native Spanish.

The quivering mess shakily pointed to the door leading out of the dining area into yet another hallway, which, no doubt, led back to the main staircase. 

“Thank you.”

With that, he got up and let the guy be.

It was chaos in this mansion: people were screaming, throwing things at walls, hoping to hit non-existent soldiers, while others lay curled up on the floor, muttering nonsense, brains reduced to a frothing, frantic mess under the influence of those two potent lamias.

Valeria pushed sicarios out the way, chucking them down the stairs as she clambered haphazardly up to the first floor. She didn’t dare look back, knowing already that someone was hot on her tail. It was an Arcadian Son, she could sense it, an aura of something drawing nearer and nearer, the stench of iron filling her nose. As the woman made it to the top of the staircase, she readied herself to take a right and dash into the nearest room she could find, hoping to perhaps use an open window or balcony exit to escape. However, that plan was thwarted as a sicario burst from her target room, tripping and landing on the floor with a thud. As he tried to scramble back onto his feet, a Son appeared from the dark depths of that boudoir, the lower front of his mask lifted to reveal a mouth coated in saliva.

They were such beasts.

Valeria shuddered, encouraging her remaining lieutenants to keep close to her and not to look at what would become of that poor sicario.

Not that they needed to look, the sounds of bones crunching and gurgling screams said it all.

The next floor would have to do, she couldn’t afford to waste time looking for another room on this floor.

Her pursuer was still after her and she caught a glimpse of him as she rounded the corner to grab hold of the next set of bannisters. As she saw him, her heart picked up the pace, recognising those reddish brown locs.

Jaime.

He watched her eyes soften.

Why bother? 7418 found this laughable, you are the reason I’m here.

His clawed gloves dug into the railing’s wooden surface as he drew himself up the staircase.

Valeria’s heart was in her mouth, watching the faceless demon draw nearer and nearer, throwing formidable cartel members out of the way like they were nothing but inconvenient obstacles. She was now down to two lieutenants, with Lucas meeting his premature end via a bullet through the eye socket, going straight through his brain. 

“7418 here. Target is heading up to the second floor via the main staircase.”

“Copy. Herd her up to the second floor. I’m moving into the master bedroom now. Found a few guys here that aren’t backing down.”

“Roger. I’m gonna have the girls throw a canister down to clear more of the way, make sure your mask’s filter is on.”

“Copy that.”

7418 gestured for 72 to throw another burning canister onto the ground and smoke out the rest of the floor as they reached the top of the staircase. She did so, chucking yet another metal container into the air, watching it slam to the ground and begin hissing. Another blanket of white smoke had been left in their wake, causing those who hadn’t leapt out of windows to start choking, gasping for air as their eyes teared up. 

23 made sure to keep any rasping victims of the crowd control continuously subdued, gesturing to 72 to continue to be backup for 7418 as she split from the trio. 23 had made the staircase her domain now, creeping over to each and every convulsing body, quickly putting them into a deep slumber with the cold kiss of her mind.

Only the lights from the city outside and the swarming flashlights of bewildered patrons guided her way, pupils constantly switching from being blown out to constricting. Her eyes ached, but not as much as her legs. Her thighs burned, adrenaline fuelling her to keep going as she clawed her way up the stairs to the second floor, hoping to find a quick exit onto the rooftop and maybe then she could disappear into the city. Remnants of the gas from below scratched at the back of her throat, ragged breaths rasping a little. 

“7418, I’m back in the study.”

“Understood. Making my way there now.”

Valeria stopped at the crossroads at the top of the staircase, she could see that the study had an open window, which swung back and forth in the breeze. 

However, there was also the master bedroom and its balcony. 

Decisions. Decisions. 

She looked behind and saw 7418 was still there. 

In the heat of the moment, she did something which she would soon realise was a grave mistake. Valeria grabbed one of her lieutenants and pushed him towards the door to the master bedroom, hoping the sudden movement would distract the Foundation dog long enough for her and whoever was left behind to make an escape.

As expected, though he was playing along, she watched 7418 dive after him, grabbing the lieutenant before he could scramble away. 

She didn’t care to look at what would become of him, dashing into the study and slamming the door behind her, locking it. 

Panting, she took a moment to collect herself and her breaths. 

“Boss! What the fuck?!”

“It was the only way, Alvaro! Now, stay close. Please.”

Shakily, he nodded as Valeria ran to the other side of the room to close the other door, locking it.

She could see the gas starting to seep through from underneath and promptly pulled her scarf over her nose and mouth, gesturing for Alvaro to do the same. Both of them, with their faces covered, rummaged round the study for weapons. With an adrenaline-filled, giddy giggle, Alvaro located a handgun. 

“Great! Okay, let’s-”

Valeria was interrupted as the door to the study, the one she had just locked, was ripped cleanly off its hinges. 

“Hey.”

She drew in a breath, edging towards the window, only for the masked soldier to fire at it, causing her to reel back with a yelp. 

“Don’t.” He spoke with a southern accent, though it was slightly distorted, presumably by the mask’s modulator, “No one needs to get hurt here.”

She scoffed. 

“Sin Nombre, you’re coming with us.”

“Whatever it is the Foundation wants this time… Tell them I refuse.” Valeria did her best to keep her head high.

“You and I both know they won’t be taking ‘no’ for an answer.”

She watched him take a step closer… and she took a step back. Valeria knew she recognised that voice, or at least this one sounded familiar to someone she had met fairly recently. Who was it? Her panicked mind couldn’t quite place him…

“Stand down and come with us.”

Valeria couldn’t. She couldn’t this time. She was sick and tired of these fuckers and their featureless, ghoulish faces.

“I’m giving you a chance here, girl.” Graves’ patronising call for civility made her blood boil.

Whilst Valeria still had some patience left to actually decide if it would be foolish to see if she had enough adrenaline and fear left in her to make a run for it, her remaining lieutenant’s patience had long since run dry. He looked between the two of them, before raising his gun and…

“ALVARO! DON’T-”

BANG!

Graves recoiled, the sound of something shattering like glass filling the room as he clutched his mask. 

“Canister broken. Alert. Canister broken.” An automated voice called out from within his helmet.

He looked down to see, along with the shards of broken canister, red liquid coating his gloved palm, dripping from it. 

“Alert. Canister broken. Alert-”

Valeria looked to her lieutenant, fuming. 

“Idiot! What have you done?!”

“What are you talking about? He was going to-”

Their voices faded into white noise as Graves’ head began to pound. A pain pulsed, seemingly from the back of his skull, moving across to fester behind his eyes. He groaned, holding his head in his hands as the pain only increased in intensity. 

Valeria watched with wide eyes as he staggered forward, red fumes spewing from the broken canister. 

This was her opportunity, she made her way to climb out the window, only for those very fumes to suddenly lunge at her, her throat seizing up. Valeria clawed at her neck, coughing, lowering herself from her perch on the windowsill. 

He could hear his heartbeat drum away in his ears. Something inside him burned.

“Alert. Alert. Alert.” The automated voice drawled on, “Please, remove your canisters.”

With the coordination of a drunk, Graves’ arm sloppily moved to his lower half of his face and twisted. The shattered canister was removed, along with the intact one, both slipping out of his grip and landing on the mahogany floor.

Despite this sudden setback, the mission was still on for Phillip, and he staggered forward, reaching out for Valeria.

Wheezing with the noxious gases of both the crowd control seeping in from outside and whatever was leaking from the soldier’s canisters, Valeria tottered back, trying to make out some clarity through her blurred vision.

Graves’ legs suddenly gave way for a brief second and he found himself slipping, grabbing hold of the writing desk which stood between him and his quarry, using it for support.

 “Removing muzzle.” The helmet announced.

The mechanism hissed and Valeria and her lieutenant watched the lower half of his mask segment. Two triangular pieces pushed forward before moving up, revealing a mouth hung slightly open. Strings of saliva dripped from his lips as he took in deep breaths, sounding like he was struggling to breathe himself. She knew what was happening, she knew, and she needed to act before he did.

Throw and run. Throw and run.

Valeria pushed Alvaro towards the Arcadian Son, watching him catch the man, holding him tightly by the shoulders. Alvaro whimpered, looking at him with a face of confusion and dread. The man squirmed a little, fighting against Phillip’s grip, only for it to tighten.

Graves needed those canisters back… or at least a suitable replacement. The smell. The smell! 

Blood… he needed blood.

His fingers dug into the lieutenant’s upper arms. A certain uneasiness had made itself known. It was like Phillip was falling asleep, and yet, his body was very much awake and working. Conscious thought was beginning to fade. The room was spinning around him. There was nausea mixed with this insatiable need. 

The muscles in his jaw tensed, teeth grinding against each other. 

Hungry… the sensation articulated, Hungry…

Time had come to a standstill. It was just Phillip and the man caught in his claw-like grasp. 

Those canisters… what they had… he needed that. He needed that now!

Hungry… Hungry… Hungry… HU-

CRACK! SNAP! SQUELCH!

Alvaro let out an unholy cry as the monster unhinged its jaw and sunk its teeth into his neck. Valeria’s eyes widened in horror, the bile rising in her throat as she beheld the thing reel its head back, a chunk of Alvaro in its mouth, before spitting out the piece of flesh and diving in for seconds. Alvaro tried to lean back, to avoid the jaws, but its teeth had a sure grip on him, and he was swiftly pulled back to Phillip’s armoured chest.

Again, another screech.

Wet red coated the soldier’s lips as its tongue ran over its teeth, licking up the fruits of its hunt. 

The lieutenant was dead now, hanging limp in the animal’s jaw as it shoved him onto the floor, continuing its feast. 

She was paralysed, the gases slowly clouding her thoughts as she watched it shake its head side to side, grabbing hold on some of the more… resistive tissue. Arteries, tendons, muscles, all were either chewed on or cast aside. 

What was before her was an animal, wearing the skin of a man, and wearing it poorly. She felt her legs give way and Valeria fell to the ground. 

The noise of her fall made the creature stop. It looked up at her. Even though she couldn’t see its eyes thanks to the mask still covering most of the soldier’s face, she knew it was staring at her. It snarled, baring its fanged teeth. She was paralysed, fixed in place, her vision blurring as she watched it rise from the ground and approach her frozen body. She wanted to run, wanted to scream but she was too weak now.

Valeria didn’t know what stung more: her helplessness or her still-burning, fervent desire to just run.

The last thing she saw was the shape of the Arcadian Son squatting down before her, hand reaching out to her face. 

She had succumbed to the fumes of the open blood canister. 

***

You were positively famished. Gaz watched you pile your tray with as much food as you could before you came to your senses and realised any more would be deemed as… excessive. Food was one of the finest pleasures in life and you were not passing up on this opportunity for a hot meal- that was for sure!

Coming back from the kitchens and into the mess hall was a feast for the senses. The sounds of chatter and clinking cutlery, the visuals of many crowded around long tables, hunched over stools, the smells of warm meals and the odd beverage. You couldn’t help but feel a little overwhelmed, taking it all in as Gaz led you to the table 141 were sat at.

Gaz placed himself next to Price, nudging him as the man turned from looking at Laswell’s laptop to greet the sergeant.

Your heart fluttered a little as you searched for somewhere to sit.

Laswell was sandwiched between Price and Soap.

Rudy’s empty space had just been snagged by his friend, who you heard Rudy address as ‘Alejandro’.

That only left the empty stool next to Ghost.

Ah.

This was fine! No biggie! You’d just set your tray down and begin…

As you made to sit, you saw the man look over to you from the corners of his eyes.

You swallowed hard, sheepishly sitting next to him, trying not to combust under that powerful gaze. It was like his eyes were irradiated; there was just something about them, the way he appeared both uncaring and almost drowsy and yet still very much aware of his surroundings. He was like a sleeping lion.

“Mind if I sit here?” You did your best to be as friendly as possible, hoping to thaw out his slightly… frosty demeanour.

“Well, you’re already sat.” He gestured to you with his cup.

Right, yeah… stupid question.

You chuckled, putting your tray down.

That was when Laswell looked up from her screen.

“Oh?” She remarked, “Hungry, aren’t we?”

You rolled your eyes.

“No! No!” Laswell raised her hands, “It’s good! You should eat up. I’m sure you haven’t had a good meal in a while.”

She smiled encouragingly and you exhaled through your nose… and then began to eat. Although you were incredibly hungry, you still wanted to show you had good table manners and so elected to not inhale everything on your tray. As you ate, you could feel Ghost’s eyes were still on you.

Just get it over with, you supposed.

“Look,” your stool creaked a little as you turned to face him, “I’m… sorry about this morning. I should have knocked, honestly, it was a stupid-”

“No.” He shook his head, “I’m sorry. I should have locked the door.”

Huh? You thought you were the one saying sorry here… Great, now you felt obliged to really say sorry.

You had expected him to just go ‘okay’ or huff or whatever… you thought it would end there.

However, his apology had thrown a spanner in the works.

“No…” You sighed, “I’m sorry. I came in. I saw your arse. My fault.”

Ghost’s eyes narrowed a little. That didn’t sound as apologetic as the previous one. Now, it just sounded like you were trying to assert something here.

“Y/N. It’s fine. I should have locked the door and-”

“And I should have not been so absent-minded. I’m sorry.”

Okay, what is going on here?

He leaned back a little, peering at you quizzically.

“Are you really apologising or are you just trying to prolong this for some reason?”

“No! I’m saying I’m sorry.” You pointed to yourself, looking perplexed by his response.

“Yeah and?”

“And what?”

“Well,” Ghost scratched the back of his neck, “It feels like you’re not saying sorry.”

“But I am. I feel bad about what happened.”

“Yeah, I do too.” He chuckled, “You’re already probably traumatised enough and then you had to see that in the early hours of the morning.”

“Your tan line was pretty stark.” You mumbled.

“What did you say?”

“Nothing.”

Ghost looked like he was about to say something probably a bit too harsh. Hence, he stopped and re-evaluated.

“Y/N.” He began, “What… Okay, what do you expect to get out of this conversation?”

You were very straightforward with your answer.

“I say sorry and I, uh, expected that you would kinda accept it.���

“Yeah.”

“Except that didn’t happen.” You thought out loud, “You ended up saying sorry.”

He nodded.

“And now I’m thinking that I need to emphasise that I’m sorry, so you get the message that I’m sorry because I am sorry, and I didn’t mean to see you naked and-”

“WHAT?” Soap blurted out from across you two.

Now, the entire table was looking at you and Ghost.

Gaz’s jaw was on the floor. Price had paused mid-bite, his spoonful of porridge slopping back into his bowl. Both of Rudy’s eyebrows were raised, whilst Alejandro looked over his shoulder, not taking his eyes off of the two of you as he brought a cereal bar to his mouth. Laswell had a face of both horror and confusion.

“There’s context here, I promise.” You tried to explain, looking back at Ghost to help you out.

“Shower.” He replied.

“I think we need some elaborating there, bud.”

Soap nodded, looking at the two of you with wide eyes and a grimace… which was slowly evolving into a mischievous grin.

“I was in the shower.” The lieutenant explained.

“And were you also in the shower, Y/N?” Someone asked, albeit dreading the possible answer.

“No. I came in and accidentally stumbled upon him.”

Then, you shuddered.

“There was not much left to the imagination.” You said aloud, not realising it was to the whole group.

“Y/N!” Ghost growled.

Only for Soap to burst out laughing, slapping his knee as Price did his best to contain himself. Gaz doubled over, cackling as Rudy just shook his head, sighing. Alejandro covered his mouth with his free hand. Meanwhile, Laswell was doing her best not to join in with the raucous laughter, twisting her face into all kinds of expressions.

Ghost tried to hide, placing his hand on his forehead. Under that mask, undoubtedly, he was bright red.

You were astounded, coming to the revelation that you had just blurted that out.

Oh gosh!

Biting down on your lip, you turned to Ghost.

“I am so-”

“Sorry?” He finished your sentence for you, “You better be, Y/N.”

You had such a large grimace on your face, your insides collapsing in on themselves as your brain wracked itself for a possible solution to this mess.

“They’ve only been here, what, two days? And they managed to see Ghost… Ghost! Of all people! Ghost naked?!” Alejandro shook his head, “Amazing! I have to commend you, friend!”

Oh, how you wanted to just keel over and die, once more!

“Well, I… uh…” You scratched your cheek, “I… didn’t mean to-”

“Honestly, Y/N,” Soap managed to get out between fits of laughter, “You’ve done us all proud. I know you’re not officially part of the team, but you have made 141 history!”

He held his hand out.

You looked to Ghost, who looked to be shrinking further and further away from everyone.

“Soap, they are not going to shake your hand over seeing my bare arse.” The lieutenant sighed.

The sergeant blew a raspberry at him and twitched his fingers, beckoning for you.

“Come on!”

You smiled, politely declining… for Ghost’s sake.

“I swear,” Price couldn’t help but let out a snicker, “Laswell brings in the most bizarrely impactful people I ever meet.”

Kate looked over to him, rolling her eyes.

“I often find highly skilled people are often some of the most… eccentric.”

“Y/N’s skilled?” Soap studied you, curiosity alight in his eyes.

“Oh please!” Laswell returned her gaze to her laptop, dragging something with her mouse, “Don’t even bother sparring with them.”

Soap had other plans, however. He took Kate’s words as a challenge and a hunger to test your mettle was set aflame in him.

“Alejandro and I were sparring before lunch. Maybe after we finish up, you and I could hit the mat?”

“Uh…” Your eyes fell to Laswell, who looked over the edge of her laptop screen, shaking her head.

Bad idea, Y/N. Don’t do it!

“As much as I’d love to, Soap… I think I’ll have to-”

“I got a better idea.” Gaz interrupted, “Y/N and Ghost.”

‘Ooohs’ and ‘aaaahs’ circulated round the table, people nodding their heads in agreement.

Laswell was now boring holes into your skull, shaking her head so vigorously that you thought it might come clean off.

Soap looked to the masked lieutenant.

“What do you say, sir?”

Ghost leaned back in his seat, pausing to think.

Please say ‘no’. Please say ‘no’. Say ‘no’ so then I don’t have to say ‘no’.

“Fuck it.” He sighed, resting his forearms on the table as he brought himself forward, “You placing a bet?”

“Two-hundred-and-twenty-five pesos.” Soap slammed his fist down on the table.

“What is that?” Price stroked his moustache, “Ten quid?”

“Yep.”

“You could buy a lot of bars from the vending machine with that.” Gaz muttered under his breath.

“What say you, Y/N?” Price retrieved his hat from under the table, placing it one his head, “Do you think you could take on the Ghost?”

You looked to Ghost, examining him.

He was a big fella, and you were pretty sure he could snap you in half like a pencil if he wanted to. Yeah, if you were just your average joe, you’d be fucked. However, lucky for you, you weren’t your run-of-the-mill soldier. Maybe you could stand a chance? Or at least, hold your own just a bit longer than the average person?

As you were about to open your mouth, Laswell suddenly spoke up.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea having Y/N fight. I mean,” she seemed to have an unusually nervous tone, “they’ve probably been through a lot already. It wouldn’t be fair.”

The soldiers all turned to face you.

Sure, you were scarred for life but at the same time, you had this really crippling disease called ‘a sense of pride’. As the men had been discussing who would win and once that wager was announced… you sort of… you were getting the feeling… Look, you wanted to win.

Maybe a bit of sparring could help too. The yoga had been could for some much-needed contemplation, but you were undeniably buzzing with energy that needed an appropriate outlet. All that anxiety, all that fear, it needed somewhere to go other than fester inside you.

After all, you were in control now. You could do as you pleased.

In spite of Laswell’s clear discouragement, you decided to take matters into your own hands.

“You’re on.” You said to Ghost.

He let out a ‘hmph’ and picked up his empty tray.

“Meet me in the garage when you’re ready.”

You nodded.

“I look forward to it.”

As you followed Soap to the garage, Laswell grabbed your arm.

“Y/N!” She sounded a little breathless, like she had ran after you, “This is a bad idea. You can’t do this.”

“Why not? I… I want to, Kate.”

“You could seriously hurt him, kid.”

You scoffed.

“Please! Hurt him? The man is built like a goddamn fridge. I think I should be more worried about me.”

Laswell shook her head.

“They’re not Sons. They aren’t gonna hit you as hard you think they will, you can’t counter like you usually would.”

“I’ll be careful, Kate. I promise.”

“You have to be, Y/N. Please.”

You nodded; your face sincere.

Laswell let out a shaky sigh and continued down the corridor to the garage with the rest of the group.

Alejandro pushed the door open to the garage, the sound of the radio filling your ears as you entered.

He whistled to catch his Vaqueros’ attention.

“¡Despeja el área para el combate!”

They nodded and moved their boxes and makeshift workbenches away from the far end of the room. Then, those same men gathered around, forming a small horseshoe which 141 gladly made themselves additions to, sitting on rucksacks or simply on the floor.

Alejandro turned to the group.

“We are staking two-hundred-and-twenty-five on this! Place your bets on either Y/N… or Ghost.”

People took out their money, putting it either Price’s hat to wager on Ghost, or Gaz’s cap to bet on you.

As the hats were brought to Alejandro to put in his wager, he noticed Gaz’s cap was significantly lighter than Price’s hat, which drooped a little under the heavier weight.

Poor kid… he thought to himself.

He did feel bad not a lot of people had faith in you, but with that he had seen and heard about Ghost, regrettably, Alejandro had to put down his money on the lieutenant.

The overhanging lights flickered a little as Laswell watched with bated breath, chewing on the skin of her index finger as she watched you limber up.

“Come on, Lt!” Soap yelled.

You watched Ghost shed the last of his overlayers, so now he was in merely the standard olive-green shirt and his camo trousers.

Yep, you could feel your nerves getting to you a little.

He was built to kill with strong arms, strong legs and well, a strong torso. That man could probably stay in a plank for a century.

You swallowed hard, letting out a sharp exhale, and raised your arms into a guard.

Alejandro stood between you two, his arm dividing your sides of the imaginary ring.

“Ready…”

Come on.

“Three…”

I can do this!

“Two…”

If I can fight off Arcadian Sons, I can fight off this guy.

“One…”

Oh, he looks really scary though!

“Go!”

To Ghost’s surprise, you charged first, striking upwards, hoping to punch straight through his skull. He dodged with minimal effort, hoping to make for a quick jab to your stomach only to then be met with a swift uppercut.

“Ouch!” Soap winched, watching his lieutenant stagger back in surprise, clutching the lower half of his face.

The room had fallen into silence, and you looked around, wondering why.

That’s when you heard laughter.

You turned to face Ghost.

“Nice one.” He said before he swung at you.

You yelped, blocking it, before coming in with a counterstrike.

He blocked with his forearms, easily, and you punched, hitting him hard. He staggered back a little but didn’t drop his guard. Hoping to catch him where he wasn’t protecting himself, you aimed and swung at Ghost once more. However, he was as quick as you, despite what you had initially thought, and swiftly brought one of his arms around both of yours, trapping you in the crook of his elbow.

You squirmed, trying to fight his grip but he was stronger than you.

He spun you around, looking down at you with those piercing brown eyes. You snarled in reply, continuing to wriggle about.

Soap couldn’t help but chuckle as he watched the two of you.

“They look absolutely tiny compared to him.” He commented to Gaz.

“Size isn’t everything.” Was Gaz’s reply.

Ghost could feel himself starting to get a little cocky as you desperately tried to writhe out of his grip. He was just too strong, fixing you in place. He could see there was fire in your eyes, but it was pretty much useless, you were stuck to him like glue.

Again, he spun you around, almost making a display of this.

You groaned, pushing against him with all you could, leaning back as far as your body let you.

“Alejandro,” Ghost hollered, “Come on!”

He gestured to you struggling.

“This is hardly a fair fight!”

Alejandro looked to the crowd, wondering if he should call it quits.

You gritted your teeth and suddenly, like it was nothing, you broke free from him. Then, it was a flurry of fury. You punched him in the face, kneed him in the gut, grabbed him and-

The whole room gasped as you picked up a man, clearly much heavier than you, and threw him to the floor, over your shoulder.

Ghost rolled out the way as your boot landed on the ground, a small quake shaking in his chest from the impact. Being extra careful now, he tried to get behind you.

Now, it was his turn to let the bodies hit the floor.

As you were about to turn and strike upwards, he struck below, grabbing your legs. He lifted you up and dropped you. You fell face-first onto the ground, the wind getting knocked out of you.

Just about recovering, you made to get up. That was when Ghost hit your back. Hard.

“I call that move ‘the bellyflop’.” Soap remarked, eliciting a small chuckle from Price.

Gaz winced, feeling the pain in your voice as you let out a loud groan.

Laswell felt as though something was caught in her chest. This was going too far for her; she was afraid something was going to happen. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end.

“Okay, I think we’re good.” Kate made to get up, “Alejandro, can we call this off?”

“Come on, Laswell! Give Y/N a chance. We’ve not even been here five minutes.”

She shook her head.

You crawled on your belly, desperately trying to get away from him. You could see Ghost’s shadow approaching.

Panic. Panic. Panic. PANIC!

He was after you. After your blood.

Your breaths grew shallow, and you could feel the adrenaline course through you.

Got. To. Get. Up. Got. To Get. Away.

The shadow of a hand was raised, coming for you.

Your eyes widened.

Laswell, chuckled, though there was no humour behind it.

“No. I think we’ve seen-”

Ghost let out a bloodcurdling scream as you raised yourself and donkey-kicked him… Right in the crotch.

Everyone gasped.

Soap couldn’t even look.

Price felt his soul leave his body.

You turned around and got up onto your feet, keeping your guard up.

Ghost had bent over, hissing in pain.

You were back in the room.

Like you had woken up from a dream, clarity dawned on you, and you realised who you were fleeing from.

What had just happened?

You were… Oh…

You were back in the room.

“Sorry,” you peered at him through your raised arms, “that was a strong kick to your gut.”

“You didn’t… kick… my…” He couldn’t even finish his sentence, a wave of nausea getting to him.

“Medic!” Gaz yelled, running out of the room, “I’m getting a medic!”

His footsteps echoed down the corridor.

You put a hand over your mouth, connecting the dots, and ran to Ghost’s side.

“Holy shit! Holy shit!” Your heartrate had skyrocketed, hands clammy as you hover them over him.

Soap got up and immediately coming to Ghost as soon as he saw the guy was in pain for real.

“What have I done?!” You whimpered, “Shit!”

“You didn’t use all your strength, did you?” Laswell asked.

You shook your head.

“No! No! I’m not stupid. Why would I-”

“I feel like I’m gonna vomit.” Ghost rasped.

“Fucking hell!” Price got up from his seat, “I’m gonna go see if Gaz has got a hold of someone. Keep by his side and don’t make this worse.”

“Let’s lie him on his back.” Laswell instructed.

You all did so, easing Ghost onto the ground. You were properly freaking out, praying you hadn’t damaged anything permanently.

Kate looked so disappointed, which felt worse to you for some reason. You’d rather she’d just jumped down your throat instead of this. This felt heavy. This felt constricting. The very air you were breathing was weighted with what you had just done.

“Hold my hand, sir.” Soap pleaded.

“No… Johnny, I… I don’t need to hold your hand.” Ghost slapped his hand away with a grumble.

“I am so sorry!” You squeaked out.

“You… You… Oh God… Fuck me, Y/N.”

Ghost lay his head on the floor, trying to breathe out the waves of sharp agony and nausea. The room was beginning to spin, and it was so painful down there that Ghost couldn’t even tell what kind of pain he was in. From hot to cold, to burning, to feeling like someone had stabbed him right up there… Oh God… he was seeing stars!

A poor medic came rushing through the crowd, looking beyond fed up.

“You stupid, stupid men!” She scolded you all, “What happened to him?”

“Y/N kicked him in the balls.”

“Oh sweet Jesus.”  She pinched the bridge of her nose.

Then, the medic sighed, “Ghost, can you stand?”

“No…”

“Okay,” she turned to face all of you, “could you give this man some privacy, please?”

They all immediately got up and left.

“I can’t believe this.” She muttered under her breath as she got out her first aid kit.

As you were about to go and contemplate how to avoid Ghost and his inevitable wrath, Soap tapped your shoulder.

“Hey, Y/N. We can wait in the corridor if you like. I’m sure he’ll be fine but, you know, I want to make sure and uh… I don’t exactly want to be waiting on my own.”

[finalfantasyxivwritings]

"howl’s moving castle" which absolutely must include the scene where theyre walking in midair over town OR the scene where person 1 hugs the more monstrous person 2 by the neck

You are absolutely correct, it’s almost Required By Law at this point to imagine those beautiful scenes if one is to truly consider any Howl’s Moving Castle AU

The gentleness... the soft enigma of the wizard who sweeps your wayward self into their arms... the simple awe of walking on air over the colorful crowds below..... the acceptance and love of one person to another even when you have no idea what the fuck is going on.....

Perfection

[fruitcoops]

oo could you write a fic ab the first time julian says “I love you” to sirius and sirius just melts and it’s such a seal of approval for remus watching them

A series is only over until it's midnight and I start having feelings about my boy Julian. This prompt isn't the main focus of the story, but I hope you enjoy it! Thanks for sending such a sweet prompt in! SW credit goes to @lumosinlove

You can find the rest of "Jules lives with Coops for a week" here

TW for a child getting lost temporarily

Jules wasn’t lost. He was just…a little turned around. Yeah, just turned around. That was all.

He began ripping tiny tears in the left side of his taffy wrapper as he scanned the crowd for any signs of Remus. There was nobody Jules wanted to see more than his big brother at the moment, even though Sirius was surely still with him and much easier to spot. It was a stupid, little-kid thought—he was ten years old, for crying out loud—but his palms were starting to sweat and his face was getting hot and Remus was always safe and Jules was—

He was scared.

“Re?” he tried, barely above a whisper. The wax paper was slick between his fingers. Come on, he can’t hear you if you’re quiet. He cleared his throat. “Re?”

There was no answer. The weight of the quarter in his pocket wasn’t nearly as heavy as the weight of Remus’ absence. Jules hadn’t even been trying to slip away in the first place; the coin was just so shiny, and he had seen a gumball machine by the entrance when they arrived at the mall. The mere thought of bubblegum made him queasy, now.

Part of him wanted to go looking for Remus and Sirius; they were supposed to be at the bookstore by then, if his memory was correct. But the stronger, smarter part of his brain knew that he should stay where he was until they found him. They would notice he was gone. Of course they would notice. He was short, but they were tall, so they would have no trouble seeing him.

They’ll be upset. Realization crashed into him and he started working on the right side of the wrapper. I ruined the afternoon for one lousy quarter. What am I, three?

Jules took a deep breath and stood on his toes; his sneakers squeaked on the tile, and a lady in a big coat glared at him from a nearby table before turning back to her newspaper. He made a face at the back of her head.

A flicker of reddish hair caught in his periphery, but the person strolling past Starbucks looked nothing like Remus. Twice, he thought he saw Sirius—both times, his hopes were dashed within seconds. “Re?” he called again, raising his voice slightly.

“—and I was like, Jules, come on,” someone laughed as a large group passed in front of him.

Jules’ heart skipped a beat and he took off running, shoving through the mass of bodies with half-mumbled apologies until there, there’s his coat and—

“Oh. Hello.”

He blinked up in utter shock. “You’re not Remus.”

“No, sorry.” Behind his thick glasses, the man’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

The woman next to him leaned down to Jules’ level. “Are you lost?”

“No,” he said immediately, unwinding his arms from the man’s waist and taking a step back. He wasn’t stupid. He knew about stranger danger. “I’m where I’m supposed to be.”

“Are you sure?” she asked. The gentleness of her voice reminded him just enough of Sirius to make his throat hurt.

Jules glanced between them. “You said my name. I—I thought—nevermind.”

“Will you wait here with us until you find whoever you’re looking for?” Now that Jules could see him properly, the man only vaguely resembled Remus. His jaw was too pointy, and his hair was far too red, like Finn’s. “I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to be by yourself with so many people around.”

“Sure,” he agreed after a moment. Neither of them were giving him the heebie-jeebies so far.

The woman’s hair was the prettiest shade of pink he had ever seen. “Where did you last see your people?”

Jules pointed toward the pretzel stand, about fifty feet away. “We had just passed that.”

And it was my own fault in the first place, he didn’t add, even though it was true. The thought was enough to make his eyes itch; he sniffled twice. Don’t cry, don’t cry, you’re fine.

“Hey, it’s okay.” The man crouched and dug around in his pocket before handing over a clean napkin. “We’ll find them soon. How long have you been waiting?”

“I dunno.” Time was hard. Sometimes Jules thought he had been waiting an hour when it had only been ten minutes, but sometimes he blinked and fifteen had passed. “Five minutes, maybe?”

The lady’s reassuring smile reminded him of Ms. Dorcas. “I’m sure they’ll—”

“Jules!” a familiar voice shouted, followed by a half-muffled ‘holy shit’ that he barely heard as he whipped around. He hardly had time to open his mouth before Remus appeared from the crowd in a flash of motion and yanked him in for a hug. Around the dizzying relief, Jules wondered if his knees hurt from hitting the ground, but Remus was making a funny sort of wheezing noise as he held him in a death grip. “Oh my god.”

“Are you his parents?” the woman asked.

“I’m his brother, oh my god,” Remus said, pulling away to hold Jules’ face in his hands. His eyes were a bit red and he was panting, though he didn’t look like he had been running. Behind him, Sirius was paler than Jules remembered. “Where were you? We were walking and I turned around and you were gone—”

Jules burst into tears.

Not even cool, tragic-hero-backstory tears, either. His face was damp, his nose was running, and he couldn’t stop hiccupping because you’re here, you’re here, I thought I lost you.

“Hey, no, shh,” Remus soothed, kissing his forehead as he folded him back into his arms and rocked back. Jules buried his face in the side of his neck and clutched his coat like a lifeline. “Shh, I’ve got you.”

“I’m sorry,” he blubbered. “It was an accident.”

“I know, buddy, it’s okay. Can you tell me what happened?”

“I saw a quarter.”

“…what?”

“I saw a quarter,” Jules repeated. His cheeks heated with shame. “I picked it up, but someone pushed me and—and when I stood up there were too many people an’ I couldn’t see you so I waited for you.”

“I’m so sorry.” Remus’ voice sound odd, higher and tighter than usual. “You did exactly what you were supposed to do. God, Jules, I’m sorry.”

“ ‘s not your fault.”

Remus let him go with a weak laugh and swiped at his tears with his sleeve. “It’s my job to look after you, buddy. Don’t pick up any more quarters, though, okay?”

“Okay.” As much as Jules wanted to protest that he was ten, he could look after himself, he had to admit it felt nice to know he wasn’t entirely to blame. He held out the crumpled tissue. “Here.”

“Thanks, buddy.” Remus blew his nose, then frowned. “Hang on, where did you get this? ‘Cause if it’s been sitting in your pocket for god knows—”

“I gave it to him,” the man interrupted with a sheepish smile. “And it was only in my pocket for about twenty minutes, I promise.”

Remus glanced up at them in surprise as he stood, like he had forgotten they were there. “Did you find him?”

“He found us, more like,” the lady joked. “It was only for a couple minutes.”

“I can’t thank you enough.” He sounded like he was going to start crying again, so Jules leaned into his side in support. The action did not go unnoticed; Remus’ arm wrapped around his shoulders and held him close.

The man shook his head. “Don’t worry about it. Stay safe, kid.”

“I will,” Jules promised. Remus let out a shaky breath and sagged against Sirius as the pair walked away.

“That was the longest eight minutes of my life,” Sirius said, his voice hoarse.

“Am I in trouble?” Jules asked quietly.

Remus ran a hand through his hair. “No. You scared the shit out of us, but as long as it wasn’t on purpose, you’re not in trouble. Ready to head home?”

“Aren’t we supposed to go to the bookstore?”

“I think I’ve had enough of malls for today.” Sirius bent down and Jules practically fell into his open arms, snuggling into the soft fabric of his hoodie. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

“Yeah. Did you know you give awesome hugs?”

He felt a soft laugh against his cheek. “So I’ve been told.”

“I knew you’d come back for me.”

“There was never a doubt about that, buddy.”

He swallowed hard and closed his eyes, sinking into the warmth that had become familiar. The hero-worship had started to fade as he grew to know Sirius off the ice, but he liked it better that way. “Love you.”

Sirius’ breath caught under his palms and he gave Jules a light squeeze. “I love you, too. Do you want to ride on my shoulders back to the car?”

Of all the questions Jules had been asked that afternoon, that one was the easiest to answer.

[lilblog-asatreat]

15 and Barry!

15. paying attention when they are talking about their passions

Still taking prompts from this prompt list!

Barry is a man with a lot of patience. He has to be, especially now that he's on a seemingly impossible mission to save all of existence with studying the Light of Creation being one of the only ways to figure out a way to stop the Hunger once and for all. A job that is also nearly impossible for the simple fact that, more often than not, even when they do happen to find the Light early on in a cycle, it's usually with people who won't give them access to it until they've proven themselves worthy by the end of the year. A few weeks, at best, every two to three cycles is not enough time to get any meaningful information from it.

This is why Merle being taught the ability of Parlay was such an exciting breakthrough. Getting a direct line to the Hunger has got to be the biggest and best accomplishment they've ever had. His frusteration with not getting the Light in Tesseralia until the end of the cycle had evaporated completely with this news... until Merle came back the next cycle with no information whatsoever.

It was only the first meeting though. It established that communication was possible, that there was someone who Merle could communicate with which is big in and of itself, and Merle was eager enough to jump right back in after telling everyone what happened.

It sucked that Merle died again after less than fifteen minutes, but he did come back with news that he got something from John even if it was obvious and really broad with a dash of confusion on the part of everyone on the Starblaster. What does growing larger than the limitations placed on living things even mean? How do you overtake the creator of limitations?

Barry isn't too thrilled the Hunger is getting information on them too, but that is how conversations work. He has to be patient.

He reminds himself of this as he listens to the end of Merle's third report: in exchange of giving them in detail specs of the ship, they got... John's previous occupation and the fact that the Hunger contains multitudes, much of which he and his family have already seen as he added more planes to his mass.

"Hey- hey, Merle? Just as like a tactician I guess am I- am I the tactical officer?" Magnus asks.

"Yeah, you're proficient in that," Merle agrees.

"Yeah yeah yeah, maybe stop giving him so much tactical information about, you know, our ship and how we escape him every time? Just aaaaa suggestion?" Magnus says, crossing his arms. "We're learning a lot about him esoterically, but not like... weaknesses, strengths, fighting... uhhh"

"Okay, I'll just say, 'how do I kill you, John'. I'll just ask that next time, smartass." Merle says heatedly with his hands on his hips.

"That's what he's asking you!" Magnus exclaims exasperatedly.

"No he's not! He's-"

"His first question was how do you come back to life! That's how do I kill you for good, Merle!"

"I don't know!"

"Okay, guys? We can't fight over this, alright?" Davenport says as he pinches the bridge of his nose. "Merle, Magnus has a point. Next time he asks you something like that, can you please be a little more vague in your answer? It's fine if you have to give him an answer to get him to continue talking to you, but we can't afford to have you tell him everything about us."

Merle slumps his shoulders. "Yes, Captain."

Lucretia closes the notebook she was writing in and tucks it underneath her arm. "Are you ready to go back, Merle? We could use any more information you can get out of him."

Merle shakes his head. "I'm uh, I'm actually going to take a break this cycle. Dying sucks, and I haven't tended to my plants in three years. They're probably all dead by now, but I can replace them with whatever plants this next planet has to offer, I guess."

"That's fair," Lup says. "Not gonna lie, it's been weird not seeing you at the dining table for three years in a row. I'm kind of glad you're sticking around this time."

Merle smiles, and opens his mouth to say something, but Taako cuts him off.

"Yeah, you know you don't have to go talk to him at the beginning of the cycle, right? Especially if you dying is going to uh... become a thing? Like, you can just wait until we're all about to leave anyway, my dude."

"I don't know, I kind of like getting it out of the way," Merle says with a shrug. "But I would rather spend time with you all, so we'll see."

Everyone disperses after that. Barry watches Merle walk down the stairs to head back to his quarters before he remembers that he needed to talk to him about something really important now that he's going to be back with them for the year. He runs to the top of the stairs and calls out, "Merle, wait! I need to tell you something!"

Merle pops his head back around the stairwell to look up at him. "Is it about John?"

Barry shakes his head. "It's about... well... it's about your plants." He starts feeling jittery as he walks down the steps. Is Merle going to be mad he went into his room everyday for the past three years?

"Okay? What about them, Bar?"

He stops in front of Merle and starts to fidget with his hands. It's been over thirty-three years since he's met him. He knows he's probably not going to mind, but he's still getting needlessly stressed about this.

Maybe he needs to increase his dose of anxiety meds.

"Um... so since I knew you weren't going to be back to take care of them for a while, I kind of... um... I started taking care of them for you? I'm sorry if it wasn't cool of me to go in your room. I promise I didn't touch or move anything except the plants, but I remembered the routines you were telling me about that you have on how you take care of them, and I thought I'd give it a shot? I managed not to kill any of them which I'm sure you'd be glad to hear, but the marigolds from cycle 25 came close. Also, last cycle I found a seller who had bags of plant food that was similar to the stuff you brought from home, and the few plants you still have from home loved it! I have some extra bags of it in my room for you, so it should last a while. Oh, and I know you said you've always wanted to get a philodendron pink princess, and I found one back in cycle 31, so I got that for you, and- hey, are you okay?" Barry looks at Merle with concern as his eyes start to tear up.

"Yeah, I'm good, I just... I didn't think anyone actually listened to me when I talked about my plants. Thank you."

Barry kneels down to let Merle in for a hug. "Of course I listened. I know it's important to you, and after looking after them for the past few years, I kind of get it. I'm still not the biggest fan of dirt, but it was really cool to watch them grow and know I was helping to make that happen."

Merle laughs and pulls away from the hug. "It's really cool, isn't it? It's really something special. I know not everyone can be a fan of dirt though, so thank you. Really. That really means a lot that you did this for me."

Barry smiles and stands up, feeling the anxiety leave him completely. "Of course. Now go get some rest. You've earned it."

Merle smiles and nods. "You too, Bluejeans. See ya at around dinner time?"

"You bet!"

[soggyjulpod]

— flowers of flesh and blood

chapter one: youth

[anakin skywalker x reader]

summary: the reader’s father returns home with two jedi assigned to protect them.

warnings: none

word count: 1.1k

—

the first time [y/n] met anakin was when she was 15 years old.

the morning was groggy and the rinton manor had gloomy uneasiness throughout. the day previous, word had reached cisora of the assassination attempt on their senator on coruscant. the news had sent [y/n] into a panic. she had desperately tried to contact her father several times but only got a vague hologram message informing her of his arrival the following day.

she ate breakfast alone, anxiously waiting for her father. the oatmeal that the chef had made was quite bland, but the girl never had the heart to tell him, her father on the other hand never had a problem berating the staff, she stifled a laugh at the memory. she glanced down at her dog, bee, who laid at the foot of her chair. the dog whined and stood up, snuggling against [y/n]’s leg, she smiled and pet the dog.

“since you’ve been a good boy recently, i’ll give you a little treat” she speaks softly to her dog. the girl takes the bowl of oatmeal and places it on the floor. the dog eagerly eats it up at the speed of light. [y/n] giggles at bee’s silly behavior.

“come on bee let's go outside, it's getting stuffy in here.” she remarks, leaving the table and walking outside to the gardens, bee happily trotting along beside her. the gardens have always been her favorite part of her home. she felt that here, she could finally breathe.

—

as [y/n] was messing around with her dog, she heard commotion outside of the main entrance. she stopped what she was doing and ran towards the door, bee following closely after her, “father!” she yells out as she opens the door and hugs him.

behind her father there were two figures she didn’t recognize, a man and a boy about her age. bee startled by the strangers, started barking at them.

her father barely acknowledged her, “control your mutt, [y/n]. we have guests.” he orders in a stern voice. the girl muttered a quick apology with a frown and picks up bee in her arms. she follows behind her father and the two strangers whom her father seems to trust.

[y/n] studies the two figures with curiosity, from the robes she assumed that they were jedi. the younger one had short dirty blonde hair along with the signature padawan braid, the older one had reddish short hair and a beard.

the four entered the grand meeting room, [y/n] barely got to go into the room as her father often had cisora official over to discuss plans and other government decisions. the jedi sat across from the two rintons.

“this is my daughter, [y/n] rinton,” her father introduces her. she gives the jedi a weak smile.

“hello young one, i’m jedi master, obi-wan kenobi and this is my padawan, anakin skywalker.” the bearded man says gesturing to the boy sitting next to him. without a missed beat, her father started to discuss his next political meetings. the girl practically stared in disbelief that her father seemed to be unfazed that someone tried to kill him.

“pardon my interruption senator, but i believe it's best if we inform your daughter of our arrangement” obi-wan addresses her father, he gives the jedi a curt nod.

obi-wan turns to the girl, “as you know there has been an attempt on your father, the jedi council has assigned us to protect you two for the time being.”

“the two of us?” [y/n] inquires. “yes, we haven't ruled out that whoever is after your father won’t come for you as a way to get him.”

“that’s just fantastic.” she mumbles sarcastically to herself, in front of her the padawan cracks a small smile from her sarcastic comment.

the senator continued his discussion over political plans with obi-wan. [y/n]’s mind drifted off to the plans she had for that night, like most days she would sneak off to meet with friends, but the jedi threw a wrench in her plans.

the manor was always easy to sneak out of, it was not often guarded. she didn't have to go through any extra measures to make sure that she's able to sneak away undetected. but now with the jedi and their force detection she wasn't sure if it would be that simple.

a voice distracted her from her thoughts, “you are dismissed [y/n]”. she smiles, “thank you father.” she remarks and picks up the dog on her lap into her arms. she quickly dashes out of the room.

“anakin go.” obi-wan motions for his apprentice to follow the girl. “yes master.” anakin says as he follows behind her.

[y/n] felt his presence behind her, “why are you following me?” she asks the padawan who hurried up to catch her pace. “i’m assigned to protect you. it is my duty as a jedi to-”

“you mean padawan?” she interrupted the blond’s speech. he glares at her, “for your information, miss.rinton i’m very capable and skilled even if i am a padawan” he sneers, emphasizing her name.

“great!” she exclaims sarcastically, “you’re my glorified babysitter.”

“if you want to put it that way then yes, i am to be with you at all times.” he retorts.

“lucky me.” she sighs and rolls her eyes. bee starts to wiggle in her arms, curious to inspect the person in front of them. [y/n] put bee down and he races to anakin, jumping at his legs.

the padawan laughs nervously trying to pet and calm down the dog, “your dog’s very friendly.” he laughs as he kneels down and bee licks his face. causing him to lose his balance and fall on the floor. the girl lets out a small giggle before quickly contorting her face into the same bored expression.

“bee, come on, leave the padawan alone.” she commands, emphasizing anakin’s title. the dog whines and sprints next to [y/n]. 

“if you’ll excuse me, i’ll be in my room.” [y/n] digresses and turns around leaving anakin on the floor. 

“hey, wait up!” the blond calls after her as he gets up and chases after her. right as he was going to reach the entrance to her room, the door slammed shut in front of his face. 

“leave me alone, padawan!” [y/n]’s muffled voice is heard from the other side.

“maker, how am i going to deal with that girl?” anakin sighs to himself as he leaning on the door.

tldr: [y/n] is angry that the jedi ruined her hot girl summer smh

[busterkeatonfanfic]

Chapter 7

When Nelly opened her eyes, she couldn’t remember what day it was, what time it was, or most of all where she was. The bed sheets smelled like a man. Buster. She sat straight up, hardly noticing the clanging in her head.

She scrambled to the edge of the bed and tried to tear off the sheets that were twisted around her middle. She saw as she swung her legs over the side of the bed that her dress and girdle had ridden up around her waist, but she was still wearing her cami knickers. Whatever had occurred last night had not apparently involved their disposal. 

A wave of nausea and dizziness seized her before she was able to stand up. Her head ached so badly that she ran her hands over it, suspecting that she’d fallen and hit it. The exterior was intact, but the interior … It was in agony. Her very brains felt hot and swollen. 

“Hello?” she said. The suite seemed empty, but she couldn’t be sure. “Hello?”

When no answer came, she reached for the half-full glass of water on the nightstand and drained it. She had a raging thirst and scanned for the bathroom so she could fill the glass again and relieve herself. She had to pee like a racehorse. She got up and was forced to hobble on her way to the en-suite. Her misadventures had led to one thing at least: a twisted ankle. She remembered a phonograph and a rolicking jazz tune that made her feel the lightest and gayest and youngest she’d ever felt in her life. She remembered Tommy now, how good-looking he’d been. She remembered dancing for what seemed like hours. She was in such a good mood that she’d even danced with the men who weren’t handsome. She groaned at the memory of the other men as she relieved herself.

There was water in the round basin at the bottom of the skeletal shower and the bathroom felt slightly humid. A towel hanging on the bar confirmed that Buster had come and gone.

At least she thought it was Buster. That part she remembered too. Vomiting her guts out and Buster Keaton squatting opposite her in his white undergarments … doing what? It was fuzzy. She vaguely recalled a desire for a pillow, but he must not have given one to her because she woke up in the bed. She couldn’t remember how she’d gotten from the blind tiger to the hotel room. She tried and failed. It was a big black spot, a blight on a reel of film. Buster had not been at the blind tiger as far as she remembered. 

At the sink, she drank four glasses of water total, then rinsed her sour mouth. Her face was pale and haggard in the mirror. She looked about twenty years older. Suddenly, her heart hammered at an alarming thought. It wasn’t Sunday, it was Saturday. What had made her think it was Sunday? They were filming today! She was hours late. 

Her eyes scanned around the bedroom for a clock. She spotted one on the mantel and rushed to it. A quarter to noon. 

“Damn!” 

She ran into the adjoining salon, hoping to at least find her handbag. She did, half-spilled on one of the seemingly dozens of ornate chairs that dotted the room. The handbag held no powder or rouge, but at least it had lipstick and her tin of mascara. She dashed back to the bathroom to apply it. Her hair was another story. There was no hairbrush in the handbag, just a small backcomb that was impotent against the rat’s nest of tangles confronting her. She was out of bobby pins. Her dress was wrinkled and covered in lint, not to mention that she stank of sweat and stale booze. She would have to go back to 22nd Street unless she wanted to get fired on the spot for improper dress. Also, her stockings were nowhere to be found. She looked on the chairs in the salon, underneath the bed, on the mantel, and in the sheets and bedspread. Nothing. She even peeked, blushing, in Buster’s closet and his bureau drawers. She did find a sterling silver men’s hairbrush on the bureau. She also discovered a bottle of aspirin in the medicine cabinet and washed down four capsules without a second thought. 

As she considered the sterling silver hairbrush, she felt guilty. It was expensive and she didn’t want to get it clotted up with her long hair. Promising herself she’d use her own comb to clean it afterwards, she sat on the bed trying to get the tangles out. The hairbrush smelled like Brilliantine. It seemed important not to be seen wandering the halls of the prestigious Hotel Senator with the unbrushed hair of one of Macbeth’s witches. Maybe she could call and have some bobby pins brought up—but that would alert hotel staff to the fact that there was a Girl in Buster’s Room. From her first encounter with him in his dressing room, it was clear that he had dalliances, but she wasn’t sure how discreet they were. For all she knew, an enterprising maid might sell a story to the papers for some extra money at the first opportunity. She brushed her hair and tried not to think of how terrible her head felt. 

Her situation went from bad to worse when a doorknob rattled in the salon. Of course. The staff tidied the suite every day. She considered hiding under the bed, but it was too late. From her position, she watched an arm come through the door, shortly followed by a leg, shortly followed by Buster himself. 

Of all the things she might have expected to come out of his mouth when he saw her, it wasn’t, “You’re awake.”

Before she had a chance to do much other than stammer a response, he was in the bedroom. He took off his jacket and hung it in the wardrobe, saying, “How do you feel? Feel like eating?”

“I’m sorry,” she said, feeling rather weak and desperate. 

“I’ll order sandwiches and coffee. You look like you could use some coffee.”

As soon as he’d exited the room, she frantically pulled the strands of her hair out of his brush and padded to the bureau to return it. Job accomplished, she sat on the sofa rather than the bed, noticing for the first time that there was a rumpled sheet draped over the back and a pillow lying on one end. From them, she deduced that she had run Buster out of his own bed. 

“Relax,” said Buster, appearing in the doorway and startling her. 

“Am I fired?” she said, looking over at him. 

He looked surprised. “Fired?” A half-smile played on his lips as he realized what she was driving at. “Oh, for being young and silly and frivolous? No.”

“I am terribly sorry for last night,” she said soberly. “I kicked you out of your bed and you—when I threw up, you—”

He waved her off. “Don’t worry about it.” As if he’d peered into her mind that very second, he added, “Nothing happened between us, don’t worry about that either. Why’s your hair look like that?”

“Like what?”

“Brushed on only the one side.”

“I don’t have a hairbrush in my bag.”

He squinted, clearly confused. “How’d you get half of it brushed then?”

She flushed what she could only assume was a violent red. “I borrowed your hairbrush.”

“But you only brushed half?”

She was going to die of mortification right here in Buster Keaton’s hotel room. That’s how she was going to go, rest in peace Nelly Foster. “I didn’t want you to know I’d used it, when you came in just now. I hadn’t asked permission.”

He cocked an eyebrow. He strode over to the bureau, then to her, and dropped the hairbrush in her lap. “All yours,” he said. 

“Thank you. Do you think,” she said, not meeting his eyes, “you could have some bobby pins brought up?”

“Sure. Need anything else?”

She shook her head. “I’m just going to go back to my room to change before I head over to the set.”

He sat on the foot of the bed. “You’re not going to the set today, you’re going to rest. How far away is your room?”

She thought. “A mile, a mile-and-a-half? 1911 22nd Street. I didn’t mention it last night?” 

Buster grinned. Nelly had seen him smile, but never up close and never with full teeth. His teeth were very straight on top and he had a dimple in his right cheek. She was keenly aware in that moment of how extraordinary it was that she had ended up in the bedroom of Buster Keaton’s hotel suite, never mind that her methods were nothing short of disgraceful.

“You mentioned a lot last night, but I couldn’t get that address out of you to save my life.”

“Oh no,” she said, her stomach sinking. She shielded her face with her hand.

“You’re a lot of fun.” He stood up and squeezed her shoulder on his way out of the room. “I’m going to call for those bobby pins.”

As he used the telephone, she hastily brushed out the rest of the tangles, swiped her hair from the bristles, and set the brush on the nightstand next to the bottle of aspirin. Pretty soon there was a knock at the hotel door and she ducked into the bathroom, partly to relieve herself again, mostly to hide from whoever was delivering lunch. She looked in the mirror, tried for a moment to make her hair and her face more presentable, but gave up. The lipstick and mascara would have to do. She also gave her teeth a hasty brush with a finger and Buster’s toothpaste.

Feeling shy, she stepped into the salon where a silver tray sat on a cart. “Sit down,” said Buster. He handed her a small plate that held a chicken sandwich. “There’s soup here too. Something asparagus, I think.”

Nelly took a bite of the sandwich and found that she was ravenous. The sandwich gave her an excuse not to talk. As she ate, she considered how she would politely remove herself from Buster’s company and sneak away before he changed his mind about not canning her. Her bare legs made her self-conscious and she tucked them under her on the chair as she ate. The silence didn’t seem to bother Buster. He dipped his sandwich in his soup and ate, glancing at her once and awhile.

“I can’t find my stockings,” she said, after she’d finished her sandwich. “Do you know where I put them?”

“You threw them out the window.”

“I what?” she said, not sure she’d heard right. 

“Of my car.” Buster blinked without expression, the famous frozen face she knew so well from pictures.

She was bewildered. “I don’t remember that.”

“You were hot,” he said, with a small shrug. “By the way, I noticed the ankle.” He gestured. “You should ice it when you get back to your room.”

“I don’t remember turning it,” she confessed. 

“What do you remember?” he said, his eyes probing hers.

She told him about drinking and dancing in the blind tiger. She also told him about the gap in her memory between dancing and winding up on his bathroom floor. “I am really, terribly sorry about that,” she said again. More of the incident had come back to her and she remembered how he’d dragged her into the bathroom and held her hair back as she vomited. 

He waved her off. “I’ve seen worse. I want to talk to you about something serious for a moment, though.”

A hot-cold rush of dread ran through her insides at his words, but she kept her hands steady on her cup of coffee and tried to make her face cool and calm. 

Buster finished the rest of a second sandwich, dabbed at his lips with a napkin, and put the plate on the bottom of the cart. “You know that tall man, the one with the blonde hair?” He paused, looking at her.

“Tommy,” she said. Why she should feel so guilty about Tommy, she didn’t know, but under Buster’s gaze she somehow learned that consorting with him was a horrible mistake.

“Is that his name? Well anyway, I’ve fired him. If he ever comes around again to bother you, come straight to me.”

She must have looked as puzzled as she felt, because he went on. 

“When I walked into that speak-easy last night, they were trying to get you into a room with them. A whole gang of them, and he was the ringleader.”

She was horrified beyond words. Tears filmed her eyes, but she blinked them back. On top of the spectacle she’d made of herself the previous night, she was not going to cry in front of him.  “I don’t remember that at all,” she said, her voice feeling weak.

“I know you don’t.” He reached over and laid a hand on her knee for a moment. “They got you as drunk as possible for that very reason. Just be careful from now on, okay? Take a few girlfriends when you go out.” He withdrew his hand. “Here.” He took a red box out of his pocket and handed it to her. It was decorated in violets and labeled INVISIBLE HAIR PINS. “Do your hair up and I’ll drop you by your room before I go back to the set.”

Back in the bathroom with Buster’s brush, she saw she no longer needed rouge. Her cheeks were in a high flush now, partly from the effects of last night’s imbibing, partly from their conversation. There was no crimping iron to be found, so she made do with a hasty chignon, patting down the flyaways with Buster’s Brilliantine afterwards.

“Ready?” he said, when she returned to the salon.

She felt hot and ashamed walking through the halls of the Senator and down the stairs next to him, but he didn’t seem to care if they were spotted together. She kept her eyes on her feet as much as possible. Even though they hadn’t slept together, no one in the hotel knew that. No one in the hotel knew either that she’d almost been raped by a gang of men last night, but all the same it felt like she was wearing a scarlet letter. 

They waited in silence outside the grand hotel doors for the valet to bring Buster’s car around. He didn’t seem to have anything to say and she was too mortified to make small talk. When the green Duesenberge rolled up and the valet exited, Buster held open the passenger door for her. She assumed it must have been the car she’d ridden in last night, but her only memory of it was from the parking lot in River Junction. She sat beside Buster in silence as he took a right on J Street. When they had come to Joe and Maggie’s house, he went around to the door and helped her down from the car.

“Don't look so glum,” he said, before he let go of her hand. “Everything’s okay. And ice that ankle as soon as you get in, hear?”

[whump-in-progress]

klaus & the gang, pt 3

klaus has a rough night.

cw: vomiting, references to past mental whump (food denial, mockery) self-deprecating thoughts

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six bowls of soup later, and klaus felt like a water balloon. the soup sloshed around uncomfortably in his stomach, weighing him down and pressing on his throat. he might have overdone it.

the bard played the last few notes of a song on her accordion, and then waved to the crowd. "that's all from us. goodnight!" xavier walked over to oura and klaus, and plopped down on a stool.

"wooh! now that was fun!" he exclaimed.

"did you have anything to eat?" oura asked.

"no, mom," xavier teased.

"alright, well, what do you want?"

"i don't know. excuse me, waiter?" he beckoned the server forward, and ordered some grilled plantains with spicy oil.

a few minutes later, the plate of starchy food was set down in front of him, and he dug in. the smell of it and the gusto with which he ate made klaus' head spin.

rory jogged to them from the other end of the bar, holding her half-eaten plate of fish and steamed purslane. the aromas of both dishes together were overpowering.

"ok, everyone, listen up. we've got two rooms, one for oura and one for the rest of us."

this was standard procedure. oura's bear half took up the most room, so she got a king bed to herself. everyone else could make do with twin matresses.

"when everyone's done, we should pay and go up together. the more sleep we can all get, the better. got it?"

"yeah," everyone mumbled in agreement.

rory and xavier finished their food, and rory dropped some gold on the counter. they walked up the creaky tavern stairs to their rooms.

with every step, klaus was made aware of how much soup he'd just ate, and he cursed under his breath.

"goodnight, everyone!" oura called, ducking to fit through the small door to her room.

"goodnight!" xavier called back to her. klaus followed the other two in, and they both ran to their beds and dropped on them with a thud.

"ahh! it feels nice to be on a proper matress." xavier exclaimed, running his hands through the soft sheets.

klaus felt a sharp groan tear through his insides, and he guessed that he didn't have much time before the his dinner decided to split. his skin grew clammy.

rory sat back up and looked at klaus. "aren't you going to lay down, kid? you probably need a good night's sleep more than the rest of us."

"actually... i think i have to go to the bathroom." klaus said, hurriedly, and dashed. he couldn't hear rory calling after him.

he got to the toilet just in time, and most of his soup spilled into the bowl. his stomach seemed to twist and turn, and his throat ached from the force at which his body was rejecting his meal.

he was right. he did overdo it.

he sat there, breathing heavily, arched over the toilet bowl. maybe the giant was right. maybe he was weak. he couldn't even hold in some soup.

*knock knock*

klaus heard oura's voice, muffled from the next room over. "buddy? are you okay?"

"yeah." he responded.

"it doesn't sound like it,"

"oh, you know. some people can't hold their liquor. apparently i can't even hold in some fucking soup." he chuckled darkly.

"do you want me to come over?"

"no, it's okay. i'm okay,"

oura paused.

*knock knock*

"klaus?"

another voice, rory's this time, made klaus jump. the door behind him opened and she stepped through, folding her wings against her back, trying to appear nonthreatening.

"is that rory?" oura asked.

"yeah, it's me. you can go to sleep, oura. i've got him."

"i don't need to be-"

"okay, man, i trust you." he could hear bear steps walking away from the wall.

rory came over to klaus and started rubbing his back. "oh, poor kid," she murmured.

"i'm not a-" klaus was interrupted by another hot wave of bile. she continued rubbing his back in silence, until all of the contents of his stomach had been purged into the toilet. rory handed him a tea towel, and he wiped his chin.

"do you need anything, kid?"

"i'm fine. and i'm not a kid," he snarled. he was embarrased.

"don't take that tone with me. i'm only trying to help."

he looked at the floor with a glare, and his bottom lip began to tremble.

rory sighed and took him in her arms. the motion was stiff and awkward, but klaus could tell she was trying to comfort him, even though she was a bit rusty. she tarted stroking his hair, and sat down with him, leaning against the rim of the bathtub. he relaxed.

"am i doing this right?" she asked, in a whisper.

it felt nice. "yeah."

they stayed like that for a while.

"rory?"

"yeah?"

"i'm tired." klaus whispered.

"then let's get you to bed."

she stood and offered him a hand, and he leaned on her, still a little bit shaky. she supported him to his bed, and he collapsed in an exhausted heap.

he only just managed to take off his trousers and shirt before drifting off, vaguely aware of rory tucking the soft covers around his shoulders.

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tag list: @whumpzone

[shianhygge-imagines]

Silver Rose [Vergil/Reader] {Devil May Cry} The Demon Half

AN: This chapter is shorter than the previous one, but it’s mostly the prologue of the game, and Reader’s encounter with Urizen during the beginning of the game.

I’ve just been writing nonstop the past 48 hours. Panic? What’s panic? Pshhhhh |Masterlist Link|    |First Chapter|    |Prev. Ch.| --- |Next Ch.|

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16th May 08:06pm - Red Grave City

“Dante, V, once I get my hands on you, you’re both dead!” You screamed to nobody in particular as the Totsuka sliced through another demon with a simple flick of your wrist. All around you, the bodies of slain demons dissolved, some turning to ash, others into sludge. They were fairly low ranking demons, weak and hardly strong enough to wind you after so many years hunting demons alongside Dante. And speaking of… you could hear the sounds of combat ahead.

No doubt Dante, V, and Trish taking on Urizen… Vergil…

You didn’t want to believe what V had told you two weeks ago. You didn’t want to believe that the monster that decided to invade the human world with the Qliphoth Demon Tree was what remained of your husband. But as you pressed forward, sliding down a few fleshy ledges and striking down any demon in your way, you found yourself begrudgingly accepting that such a stupid situation would be just like your husband. “Fucking summoning another stupidly tall fortress into the mortal world for power.” You muttered angrily, firing off a few shots from the Silver Rose into some flying insect demons. “First Temen Ni Gru, and now the damned Qliphoth Tree, you’re just a walking plot cliche!”

There were a few reasons that you were currently livid and brutally massacring your way through the innards of the demon tree. The first, because your husband had summoned a giant blood sucking demon tree in order to gain power. Second, because he had done so in Red Grave City, your childhood home with the Sparda twins. The third, because your fucking house was just on the opposite end of the damned city, and you were going to make sure that nothing happens to your house. Fourth, because you wanted answers. V was only willing to answer so many of your questions, and Dante was just as clueless as you. So, you had to go confront Vergil yourself. And fifth, because Dante left you behind. He’d left with Trish, V, and Lady despite saying that he would take you along. To make matters worse, he’d taken the helicopter, forcing you to speed towards your home city on your motorbike. The pizza that your brother-in-law had sent you out to get because he ‘wanted a snack on the go’ has long since been consumed by your annoyed self on the way to Red Grave City.

When you’d called to yell at him, Dante simply said that it wasn’t your fight. And while you weren’t mad that he’d decided to leave you behind to be safe, you were livid that he would even suggest that Vergil wasn’t your problem. Even though you loved Vergil, you would still fight him in order to save the mortal world.

“Left me behind to go with V… Had to speed just to get here in time.” You mutter, closing in on the battle.

It is when you get closer to the battle that you notice it’s only one person fighting… and suddenly, your thoughts aren’t to fight Urizen… it’s to do everything you can to protect your son. “Nero!” You scream, pulling the Silver Rose out to shoot at the offending tentacle.

The limb retreats from your shot, allowing Nero to deal some damage to a spinning crystal of sorts before being forced to back away. Upon closer look, you realize with horror that it is the Yamato that was trapped inside the material. All attention is drawn to you as you step into the ‘throne room’ of sorts, swapping the Silver Rose for the Totsuka.

“You…” The deep demonic voice that calls out to you is vaguely familiar underneath the rumble as the gigantic being directs dull glowing blue eyes at you. Perhaps, V was correct, and this was once Vergil, but with its body mutated and entwined with the demon tree, you conclude that perhaps it was time to let your husband go. Heh. Fat chance of that happening, and you know it.

A heavy sigh leaves your lips as you Totsuka from its sheath, the blade crying for its counterpart, “Surprise, it’s me.” You cheer dryly, keeping your eyes on the demon. “Did ya think I wouldn’t come, darling? That I wouldn’t come stop you from attempting to destroy the world a second time?” The demon lord does not answer you, and a humorless laugh escapes your lips, “Not the happy reunion that I imagined, but okay.”

Your eyes don’t leave Urizen, but your next words are directed at Nero, “Nero, darling, you’re supposed to be in the hospital.”

Your son grunts and revs the Red Queen, looking unbalanced from his missing limb. Nero tries to reassure you with a cocky grin, “I couldn’t let the asshole that stole my arm have free roam.”

“How the hell did you even learn about this gig, anyways?” You demanded, stepping further into the arena, sword at the ready and positioned beside your son.

“V told me.” Nero shrugged and rotated his shoulder before sprinting forward to deal another blow towards the crystalized Yamato.

Following up with a strike of your own, you cursed under your breath, “Of fucking course, V told you.” Jumping away from the crystal when several beams of light impaled the ground before you, you were forced to dodge roll to the side in order to avoid a giant fireball getting thrown at you. “When I get my hands on that lanky bastard…”

In the background, you could hear a rather loud voice speak out, no doubt Griffon, “Heh! I don’t think the Lady Sparda’s happy with you, Shakespeare!”

You were only able to catch a glimpse of a large bird and a head of familiar dark hair before a tentacle appeared from the throne and slapped you into the side of the arena. “Argh!” You grunted from the impact, sliding down the wall to stand on your feet again. “Gah! Damn it, darling! Married for nearly twenty three years and I didn’t know you had kinks! You’d think you’re smart enough not to try this shit in front of my son!” The tentacle reeled back in order to side swipe you, but you jumped up just in time to avoid the horizontal sweep of the fleshy plant limb. As you dodged, you could hear the sound of someone choking and coughing from behind you. “I mean, okay, darling. We can play this game,” You folded with a solemn nod and a sly grin, before dashing forward to attack the unprotected crystal, “So long as I get to do some pegging!”

The strike met its target just as Nero groaned in embarrassment, “Mom! What the hell! Cut it out!” You were about to tease Nero with a grin until a tentacle appeared to slap your son to the side, sending him crashing into the fleshy wall. Distracted by the fact that your son had gotten bitch slapped by a tentacle, you didn’t notice when a beam of thin light shot up from under your abdomen, easily piercing through your body and sending you flying backwards.

No cry of pain left your lips as you slammed into the back wall and slide to the floor, instead, as your vision started to fade to black, watching as Dante attempted to take Urizen down with his Devil Trigger, you laughed, “Urgh… you haven’t changed at all. Still stabbing me in the abdomen twenty years later…” Before your vision completely fade, Shadow approached your body and shifted, but to what form, you weren’t sure, only able to discern slicked back hair and worried eyes before falling unconscious.

The next you came to, your body had naturally healed the hole in your abdomen, and you found yourself lying in your bed within Red Grave City. Sitting in a chair by your bedside, was V, reading the Anthology of William Blake. The moment you shifted, the young man closed the tome and set it aside, his eyes raising to look at you, “I am glad that you recovered, Y/N.”

“V…” You wheezed, throat sore and voice hoarse, “What happened? How long was I out? Where’s Nero and Dante?” The questions spewed from your mouth faster than you could breathe.

Your and Dante’s client pressed his lips in a thin line before answering you, “Dante stayed behind to buy us time to escape. None of us were strong enough to face Urizen. Nero left for Fortuna to get stronger, and I haven’t heard from Dante since we left the Qliphoth Tree three days prior. You’ve been unconscious since.”

Huffing, you peered out the room window to observe the massive tree in the distance, “Did Shadow bring us here?” You wondered, remembering that it was the remnant of Vergil that had probably carried you out of the tree.

“Yes.” V answered, turning to also stare out the window. “I wasn’t aware that you owned property in Red Grave City.”

“The house belongs to my husband and I.” You clarified, but didn’t say more. “So, what’s the plan, V? Get stronger and then take Urizen on again?”

The younger man nodded, “That is the plan.”

An impatient huff left your lips, “That’s a shitty plan.”

The grim expression on V’s face brought you to silence, “It’s the only plan we have.”

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Thank you for reading! If you enjoyed my work, please consider buying me a Ko-fi!

[mrslittletall]

Prompt: I Will Only Slow You Down

Fandom: Bloodborne Characters: Gehrman the first Hunter/Lady Maria of the Astral Clocktower, Laurence the first Vicar Word Count: 3.372 AO3-Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18718291/chapters/61718500

Summary: Maria and Gehrman are out of the hunt, but unfortunately, Gehrman manages to hurt his leg very badly...

(Author's note: There are different interpretations how Gehrman lost his leg, but in my book, he lost it during a Hunt.

Gehrmaria added because of spite, though I have to admit, the pairing starts to grow on me.

Warnings for blood/gore and graphic depictions of violence.) Written for @badthingshappenbingo​ The prompts marked with blood vials have already been filled out, the ones marked with madmen’s knowledge are planned. 

I am still at a loss for Sensory Overload, so come into my inbox with a prompt!

It had happened so fast, that Maria needed a while to fathom what just had occurred.

She and Gehrman had been out on the hunt, like pretty much every night, searching for the beasts that escaped from the labyrinths as well as the poor souls who had managed to catch the scourge. Of course Maria and Gehrman weren't the only hunters, back in the workshop they occupied a few others, but there was a rule of thumb, the Hunters always had to go out on the hunt in groups of at least two. Naturally, Maria, as Gehrman's student and girlfriend, would always embark on the hunt with him.

They were what the other Hunters called a dream team. Maria's swiftness and her dexterity with the Rakuyo complemented Gehrman's style of fighting with a large scythe like weapon, which he called the Burial Blade. Gehrman had made all the weapons in the workshop himself and even helped Maria crafting her Rakuyo, so that she didn't had to use the blood blades from Cainhurst, which she despised.

So, when they had stood in front of three large beasts, Maria hadn't been worried. They would be able to hunt them down, as usual and even if one of them got hurt, the blood ministration in the church would make them good as new in only a few minutes.

Maria should have paid better attention, because after her and Gehrman had taken down two of the beasts, the third had got wind of a chance and when Maria turned around, her eyes turning wide at the sight of the wide open jaw, razor sharp teeth ready to tear into her shoulder, she felt how someone, Gehrman, it only could be Gehrman, tackle her and as she rolled off the ground, scurrying back up, splitting her Rakuyo into the dual blades, vaguely aware of having heard a pained scream, she saw that Gehrman's leg was caught in the jaw.

“Gehrman!”, she yelled and then dashed towards the beast, her Rakuyo cut deep into the beasts snout and it wailed and let go off Gehrman, who fell to the ground with a grunt. Maria didn't stop there, pulled one of her swords out and used both blades to cut the neck of the beast with precision.

Hot blood spilled on the ground and Maria kneeled down, checking on Gehrman. “Gehrman, can you hear me? Hey!”, she said and waved a hand in front of him. His eyes slowly came back into focus and as he recognized her, he said: “Maria, are you alright?”

“You ask me if I am alright, you idiot?!”, Maria half yelled. “It wasn't me who almost got eaten! Give me the first-aid-kit, you need help with that leg!”

“The leg... feels like its on fire.”, Gehrman groaned. Maria's gaze wandered down to Gehrman's right leg, the one the beast had chewed one and she gasped. It looked like a bloody, red mess.

“Oh no...”, she said. “We need to get you back to the church, quick. That looks bad... really, really bad.”

“Nothing what Laurence can't fix with his blood ministration.”, Gehrman said and gave Maria a pained smile. Even in that condition he didn't want for her to worry too much. It would have been charming, if Maria wouldn't have been worried sick about him.

“Gehrman, the first-aid-kit.”, she said again and he finally reached into his coat to give it to her. It included some alcohol to clean out wounds, a piece of wood to bite on and some bandages. Not much, but it had to suffice until they could get Gehrman back to the church.

She took her Rakuyo up again and cut through Gehrman's pants, carefully removing the blood stained fabric from the wound, Gehrman hissing in pain as she was working. Once she was done and could see the whole extent of his wound, Maria drew in a sharp breath.

The leg practically only hang on thanks to a few muscle fibres, the resulting wound was large and bleeding profusely. Maria had the impression she barely would be able to do anything for it. She at least needed to apply some bandages to stop the bleeding.

“We need to patch you up and get you to Laurence as quick as possible.”, Maria said and handed Gehrman the wooden stick. “I will clean out the wound and then apply a pressure bandage to stop the bleeding. It will hurt, but you have to hold through.”

“I trust you, Maria.”, Gehrman said and put the stick in his mouth, closing his eyes, awaiting the pain.

Maria worked as quickly as she could, cleaning out the wound, nearly turning nauseous as she saw how much blood the gauze has soaked up, carefully aligning the leg back to where there still was flesh, having the feeling that it would rip open the moment Gehrman would even think about straining that leg and then applied a pressure bandage. During the whole procedure, Gehrman winced, gasped and hissed, but not screamed once, even though he must have been in excruciating pain.

“Alright.”, Maria said, helping Gehrman up and supporting him, his right arm slung over her shoulder. “We need to get you back to Laurence now. Don't strain that leg of yours at all.”

“It's that bad, huh...”, Gehrman said, not having seen anything, but surely he must have felt how bad it was.

“It... it barely hangs on anymore. I just hope that no beasts will be in our way...”, Maria said.

Gehrman grunted in pain: “I thought so...”

“Don't talk, save your strength for walking.”, Maria scolded him and the both of them started the trek back to the Cathedral. It wouldn't be a long walk usually, but with Gehrman having a completely unusable leg and on the night of the hunt, they were lucky when they would make it in an hour and Maria knew, that every second counted.

As anticipated, the walk was unbearable slow. Gehrman did his best, but he literally couldn't step on this leg, he had lost a lot of blood and he was in a lot of pain. It surprised Maria that he even was still conscious. It must have been the doing of the holy blood, a normal human would have died only a few minutes after sustaining such an injury. Maria even had two blood sources inside of her, but she swore to her to never use the one that Laurence called “Vileblood”. She didn't want to have anything to do with Cainhurst anymore, that part of her life was behind her.

“How much... farther...?”, Gehrman asked, voice weak, breath shallow.

“We will be there. Soon. Hold through.”, Maria reassured him, even though they only had walked for about ten minutes. She needed to keep Gehrman conscious, the moment he would faint, everything would be over. As strong as she was, it would be hard for even her, to carry such a tall man as Gehrman. Gehrman had always joked about how glad he was, that Laurence was so small, because it made him easy to carry. Maria could understand that now.

The trek continued, slowly. Maria occasionally glanced at Gehrman, talked to him, made sure that he was still there with her, that he would hold onto her. They seemed to be in incredible luck that no beasts were in their way, but of course eventually their luck had to ran out as a few beasts appeared in front of them. Not the large ones, the small ones, but they still could pose a threat in high numbers. Especially for Gehrman, who was unable to fight in his sate.

“Gehrman, I take care of that.”, Maria said, taking a few steps back. “Sit down, don't move and by the Great Ones, stay awake.”

Gehrman nodded to her as she let him go, taking her Rakuyo and dashed towards the beast group, her blades whirling through the group, blood sputtering everywhere, but mostly on Maria. It was normal for a Hunter. They would always be covered in blood. If they were skilled, it would never be their own blood.

“Damn.”, Maria hissed as another group of beasts approached before she even had finished dispatching the first one. As fast and skilled as she was, even she could get overwhelmed and she hissed again when the beasts managed to give her a few good scratches and bites. They hurt, but they were nothing compared to the injury that Gehrman was suffering.

Thinking about him, Maria glanced back to where she left him, worried and wanting to make sure that he was still awake. That turned out to be a deadly mistake. The moment she turned her head, a beast used that moment of inattention to bite deep into her shoulder. Maria screeched in sudden pain, trying to get the beast off, all while a dozen others swarmed around her.

“Maria!”, she heard a voice screaming and then something flashed next to her and the pain in her shoulder subdued. She didn't knew what happened, but she used this chance she got and cut down all the beasts around her. As soon as she was done, she stood there, heavily panting, bleeding out of several wounds. As her mind came back from the thrill of the hunt, she remembered Gehrman and her eyes frantically searched for him, gaze shot to where she left him.

She had to realize in horror that he wasn't there anymore, instead, he was laying on the ground in-between all that beast corpses and... his leg wasn't attached anymore.

“Gehrman, CRAP!”, Maria shouted, looking at the leg. “Crap crap crap...”, she continued to mutter while she got the first-aid-kit out and applied a new pressure bandage, which already turned red once she was done. Then, she helped Gehrman up, hissing because of the pain in her shoulder, but she didn't care.

“We need to get you to the cathedral immediately! Maybe... maybe your leg can still be...” Maria's voice trailed off. “We have to take it with us!” She bend down and picked up the leg, then started walking, practically dragging Gehrman with her.

“Maria... you are hurt...”, Gehrman said, his voice barely a whisper.

“I'll live.”, Maria simply answered. It was true that her wounds were bleeding and hurt, but they weren't as life threatening as Gehrman's. A blood ministration and she would be as good as new.

“You bleed...”, Gehrman continued. “Just let go of me... it is over anyway... Save yourself, Maria... I will only slow you down...”

“Gehrman, NO!”, Maria yelled. “You come with me and you stay with me! You would never leave someone behind. Never. I won't let you behind!”

“...please don't risk your life because of me...”, Gehrman's voice quivered, it sounded like he was close to crying.

“And what should I tell Laurence? That I left you behind to save my own hide? Even though there still was a chance to save you?!”, Maria said. “I won't leave you behind. I get you to the cathedral and we get you fixed up. So stay with me, Gehrman. You can do it! I won't let you die!”

Gehrman didn't reply anymore and when Maria looked at him, she knew why. He had fallen unconscious. “Oh fuck fuck fuck...”, Maria cursed under her breath. She could see the cathedral just in front of them, so... she didn't had a choice, even if that would worsen her own wounds.

“I will carry you the rest of the way.”, she said and lifted him up, despite her shoulder screaming at her not to put any more strain on it, despite every wound in her body oozing more blood. Once she managed to secure Gehrman over her shoulders, she started to ran.

Maria didn't had any sense of how time had passed once she busted through the doors of the cathedral. She saw Laurence standing there, holding something in his hands. It apparently was breakable, because he dropped it when he noticed both Gehrman's and Maria's state.

“Maria... get him in immediately, I may still be able to save his leg!”, Laurence screamed, pointing at one of the blood ministration rooms and then hurrying away, muttering something like “gloves... where is my fucking mask... ”

Maria managed to get Gehrman down on a stretcher in the room Laurence had pointed out, when he barged in and pretty much screamed at her. “Get out! And get a blood ministration yourself, you are bleeding out!”

Maria left the room and as soon as she had, she noticed how the adrenaline in her body left her, she was overtaken by an excruciating pain and a deep tiredness. She sank down and sat right in front of the door. No... she couldn't fell asleep. She needed that blood ministration. Laurence was right, she had lost too much blood and if her wounds wouldn't close, she would surely die of blood loss. Or overtaken by her vileblood and that would be even worse.

She knew that Gehrman wouldn't be happy waking up with his girlfriend being dead and as much as she wanted to stay and see first hand if Laurence succeeded, she forced herself to get up and stumble to the next best blood minister, who gave her a blood ministration immediately. As she was lying on the stretcher, Maria couldn't fight the drowsiness anymore and fell into an uneasy sleep.

Once she awoke, her wounds were closed, her pain was gone and she jumped on her feet immediately. What about Gehrman? How much time had even passed? Minutes? Hours? Days? No, she doubted it had been days, she felt too fresh. Well, as fresh as someone who was covered in blood could feel. Still, she had to know about his condition.

As she ran into the direction of the blood ministration room in which Laurence had taken care of Gehrman, she passed his office, the door ajar, and saw him slumped over his desk. Maria stopped and barged into it.

“How is he?!”, she yelled, both hands slammed on the desk.

“Good morning to you too.”, Laurence said, not looking up. He had something in his hands that looked like the vials used for the blood ministration, just smaller.

“Laurence, I am not in the mood for jokes.”, Maria warned. “How is he?”

Laurence still didn't look her into the eyes. Maria's heart sank from her chest into her stomach, that wasn't a good sign.

“...He's alive.”, Laurence finally answered. “But I couldn't save it...”

“Couldn't... you mean...”, Maria's heart seemed to sink from her stomach even more down, right into her pants.

Laurence nodded: “...I couldn't save his leg. It was too late. The body wasn't accepting it anymore. I... had to amputate the stump from the knee down. The blood closed the wound from the surgery without trouble, but... it can't grow back a leg.”

“Oh no...”, Maria said. “Gehrman, I am so sorry. It is my fault. He lost the leg because I wasn't paying attention...”

“He said he wanted to see you once you wake up.”, Laurence said. “Go to him.”

Maria turned around and was on her way to the door, when she turned around to look at Laurence another time. He didn't look good, pale, dark circles under his eyes. They looked reddened too, had he cried?

“Have you even slept, Laurence?”, Maria asked.

“Of course not.”, Laurence practically snapped at her. “I have better things to do than sleeping!” He then put his attention back to the small vial with blood in his hands.

“...It has to do with Gehrman's leg, right?”, Maria asked.

“Just go to him.”, Laurence said. “And close the door once you are gone.”

It was clear to Maria that he didn't want to talk to her anymore, so she left, closed the door and made her way to the room Gehrman was in. A slight panic bubbled up in her chest. What if Gehrman would hate her? What if he never wanted to see her again? She couldn't help but feel responsible for his leg.

As soon as she stood in front of the door, Maria took a deep breath and knocked, announcing: “Gehrman, it's me, Maria. I am coming in.” She didn't wait for an answer and opened the door, entering into a dimly lit room, where Gehrman was lying in a cot.

“Maria.”, he said as she stepped next to the cot. “Are you alright?”

“You idiot! Why are you the one asking me?! Again?!”, Maria said, tears welling in her eyes. “I should be the one asking you!”

“I fear that I have been better.”, Gehrman gave Maria a weak smile. “Maria, I have to apologize. I put you under intense stress when I requested that you leave me behind. I am sorry.”

Maria couldn't help the tears spilling out of her eyes anymore. “You... why do you apologize? You lost your leg because of me! If I only had paid better attention...” Maria sat down on the edge of the cot and wiped her tears with her sleeve. It was still red from blood, she had ran straight to Gehrman, instead of taking a shower. That could wait.

“No, Maria, it was my own fault. I decided to barge in, because you are so important to me, that the thought of losing you made me act unreasonable. If I should have trusted in your abilities, then I wouldn't have lost my leg.”

“...Gehrman... if you hadn't thrown yourself between me and the beast, it could have been me on that cot, a limb lighter.”, Maria sniffled. “Stop trying to make me feel better.”

“I mean it.”, Gehrman said and Maria felt how his arms engulfed her and she felt herself falling down in his embrace. “That I lost the leg was my own fault. I plan to not let it get me down. I will be the first hunter with only one leg, you will see.”

“Gehrman...”, Maria said, turning her head to look into his eyes and then averting her gaze. “I am still sorry! I never wanted for something like that to happen to you! I need to get stronger as a hunter!”

“Then let's get stronger as hunters together.”, Gehrman said and released Maria from his hug, she slowly got back up, wiping her freshly shed tears away.

“Have you seen Laurence?”, Gehrman asked. “He seemed to have taken that whole leg thing worse than I have. He kept apologizing to me and cried his eyes out because he failed to save it. It was pretty similar to you actually.”

“He's in his office, working on something.”, Maria said. So he indeed had cried, she knew it.

“I thought so.”, Gehrman said. “He muttered something like that the blood ministration needed to become mobile.”

“That would explain the tiny vial with blood he was tampering with.”, Maria said. “Gehrman, you are really alright with that? Your leg is gone. It... it will never come back.”

Gehrman sighed and then replied: “I know that I never will get it back, that is why I decided to come to terms with it.” He gave Maria a squeeze and then chuckled: “As much as I love to see you, maybe you should take a shower, my love. There doesn't seem to be a single spot on you that isn't full of blood.”

“As if you are looking a lot better.”, Maria said, grinning the first time since she had entered the room. “I will clean myself up and then come back right away.”

On her way to the door, Gehrman called to her again: “Oh and Maria? Convince Laurence to get some sleep.”

Maria turned around with a smile and said: “You need to stop caring about others and care for yourself once, my beloved. After all, you have been the one who lost a leg.” (Author's note: So, how do you like my headcanon about how Gehrman lost his leg? It was actually the reason why Laurence started to experiment with the blood vials and came up with them. Because sometimes help is needed right away.)

[canyouhearthelight]

The Miys, Ch. 87

Well, it had to happen.

SOMEONE had to call Sophia on her bullshit...

I stifled a moan as I felt the tension easing from the muscles in my legs.  Tyche and I - after much negotiating - were spending some quality time together for the first time in weeks.  Rather than our usual meet-up over a meal we had agreed to some yoga and a light workout.  At the moment, we were moving through a series of beginner level poses, me following her lead.  With the increasing gravity on the Ark, the movements were much more difficult than I had recalled, and I was already sweating.

Then again, that had been the point of the workout, I guess.

“Keep breathing, Soph…” Tyche warned as we moved from child pose to cobra pose.

“Trying,” I grunted. Was I this out of shape, or was it just that much harder?

Somehow, I survived finishing yoga. I sat on the floor for a moment, taking a breather.  We were in one of the communal spaces - I think it had originally been intended as passenger quarters, but was currently opened up and being used as a sort of gym.  We were currently debating what we wanted to do next to finish off our workout, when a red-haired man I didn’t quite recognize approached us.

As we jumped to our feet, the man scowled when Tyche stood slightly in front of me. “Weak,” he spat, and I realized he was one of the people I had noticed acting suspiciously early on.

“What do you want?” my sister asked in a carefully-neutral tone.

“I don’t want anything from the likes of you two,” he answered in a disgusted tone. “But you,” he glared at me, “need to stay away from the Leader.”

The bitter laugh that came out of my mouth sounded like a bark. “For starters, he approached me. I don’t know what his issue with me is, but I’m sure as shit not hunting him down to give him a second chance at a sucker punch.”

“The Leader would never - “

“Bullshit,” I cut him off. Tyche was still in front of me, but seemed content to let me speak.  “He would and he nearly did. I don’t know what the hell he told you and your buddies, but I was minding my own business when he tried to lure my friend away, and when I stopped him, he started talking about a situation he has no real clue about. If she hadn’t shoved me to the ground, his punch would have landed in my kidney instead of her side. You want a copy of the recording? I’ve got that, too.”

“You aren’t worth his attention,” the nameless man sneered.

Tyche snarled and stepped forward, brandishing her finger under his chin like a knife. “Your so-called leader isn’t worth the air he wastes by breathing, much less the poison that drips from his mouth.”

Surprisingly, he outright dismissed her, instead focusing on me. “You won’t have your precious guards around you forever.  The Leader will strip away everything you have, leaving you nothing.”

I managed to convince Tyche to step aside. “Look. Whatever Jokull Bjornson wants, I don’t have it.”

“Don’t you dare say his name!”

“Is this guy fucking Voldemort or something!?” I asked Tyche incredulously.

Her laughter seemed to be the opportunity he was waiting for. He stepped toward me aggressively, hands raised...

...Only to find himself flat on his back, me sitting on him, one forearm across his throat. I found myself absolutely furious, and tired of people treating me like I was some dainty, fragile thing. “Yes,” I hissed in his face, “the people who care about me put a lot of thought into keeping me safe. And yes, most of them are more willing to fight than I am. But that doesn’t make me helpless, you brainless fucker.  I don’t know where you or your precious leader got the idea that I can’t defend myself, but it may be one of the bigger piles of shit he’s selling you.”

Some vague glimmer of intelligence flickered across his face, and he nodded.  He didn’t even spit in my face, despite the fact that it looked like he really wanted to.  Satisfied that he got the message, I carefully let him up, keeping a watch on him the entire time as he left.  As soon as the door closed behind him, I let out a breath I didn’t even realize I had been holding, every ounce of willpower I had focused on not letting my legs collapse when the adrenaline just drained out of my body.  I managed a weak smile as I turned back to face my sister, proud of myself.

Needless to say, I was entirely unprepared for the blow that knocked me on my ass, pain blooming from my mouth.  My fight or flight response tried to find a target, only to see a seething ball of blonde rage standing there.

Tyche had decked me. Right in the teeth. “You foolish, stupid bitch! Now they know you aren’t helpless! We were counting on that!”

All I could do was stare at her, mixed with looking at the blood on my hand - and shirt, and the deck - before trying to speak “Da fug?” Ow. That hurt.

“When are you going to get it through that brilliant skull of yours that you don’t have to fix everything yourself?! Jesus, fuck, Sophia! Someone has it out for you, badly enough to try to assault you in clear view of everyone on this fucking ship. Which, in case the math escapes you, means they have more followers than we even realize, if he’s that confident.  He wasn’t trying to take you down, it was a fucking test. He wanted to see if you would fight back, and he never found out, because Charly didn’t let him.”

“Tyg - “

“No. You do not get to speak right now. You get to listen. When Charly took that hit for you? Yes, it made you look helpless, but it protected you.  Bjornson won’t attack someone who won’t fight back.  But, guess what? You just tore that protection to shreds, set it on fire, and pissed on the ashes.”

“Dis in’t deh fuss die sowwuh has had it oub fuh me.” Maybe she had a point about me not talking. That hurt like a bitch.

“AND YOU NEARLY DIED!” she roared. “For three weeks, I had to watch you try to figure out if you were going to live or die! Conor had to watch you. Derek had to watch you, the closest thing he has to a mom, almost die for three. Gods. Damned. Weeks.”

Her words hit me harder than the punch, and all I could do was gape.

“Yeah. That never occurred to you, did it? We all had to sit there and watch you die. Every day, every hour, every minute, we hoped you wouldn’t.  And this time, yeah, he’s got more people, but we thought we had the advantage, right? Because we knew who they were, we knew what they thought, but nooooooo.  Fuck all that to hell, because Sophia Moira Reid has to fucking save everyone!”

No. None of this occurred to me. I felt so small and guilty as I realized the truth of what she was saying. I had been so selfish.

Tyche’s eyes welled with tears and, if anything, that made her even angrier. “I can’t keep losing you, mon coeur. Three times! Three times in my life I’ve had to lose you. When you went to college, when the End happened, and when we ended up on the Ark, I thought ‘Finally! I finally get to have a sister! We can be in each other’s lives like siblings are supposed to be.’ But then I had…. I had to see you… She was tangled in your hair, killing you…”

I reached out one hand, wanting to comfort her but at a complete loss for what to do.  She was mourning me, the person sitting in front of her.

Tyche swatted my hand away and kept talking. “I love Conor and Maverick, but there is this part of me that just says ‘my sister has the self-preservation of a koala’, and I can’t be around all the time to protect you. It’s killing me. And I can’t exactly ask Arthur and GK to chain themselves to you around the clock.  If it were up to me, you would be confined to quarters, indefinitely, preferably sedated.”

“You would keep me prisoner?” I enunciated carefully, wincing slightly.

“Haven’t done it yet, have I?,” she sighed in defeat.  “Didn’t even ask anyone if it was possible, for that fact. And it wouldn’t be holding you prisoner, per se. More like….. Protective custody.”

“To protect me from Bjornson.”

“To protect you from yourself.”

“I’m not the one who busted my lip,” I pointed out, gesturing at the evidence. Tyche was trying to pull herself back together, and I wasn’t going to stop her.  Even if it did mean she was back to calling me an idiot.

She rolled her eyes and reached down to help me off the floor. “Don’t be so dramatic. I’ve seen you do worse to yourself washing laundry.”

“That stair was broken,” I argued, checking to see if my lip was done bleeding.  Almost.

“Yeah, and so was your ankle.”

“Does this mean I get out of weights today?”

“Nope,” she casually dashed my hopes. “You get to do fencing now.”

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[lemonietrinket]

Fragile Like Chandeliers ||| YoungK x Reader

Summary: You meet a truly intriguing man inside an expensive lounge on the job  Genre: Small bits of fluff but its weak bc its more sensual, some angst, uhhh??? idk    noir, gang Warning(s): very very vague references to injury/death Word Count: 2763  Song(s): Ambience AN: hey anon! sorry this took a little while :((  i also have... no idea if this was what you wanted. and its... also longer than my word limit that i put on my request notice. uh. oops. i tried to put some italian in there (for fake names of things) but i am not fluent and though i researched grammar, there are obviously many nuances to the language that i dont know so i apologise if they sound bad (feel free to correct me!)

fem!reader

~~~

Smooth jazz filtered through the swathes of people, bunched in small bouquets of dazzling jewels and shining gold. The low quartz-tinged lights kept the shadows in the corners, gently swaying to the beat as swept past, silver trays empty. 

You were perched quietly at the sidelines, crimson velvet plush beneath your draping onyx dress. Eyes flickering across the chandelier above, you couldn’t help but smile at the memories that arose. The Eiffel Tower had been so beautiful in that moment, reflected in a thousand crystals suspended in mid-collapse before they shattered into their oblivions.  Your fingertips traced across the emerald gem between your collarbones, settled comfortably between intricately carved swans. With their heads bowed and wings splayed they reminded you of home, a place you hadn’t set foot in for a long time. The aching rarely reared its head, but this evening it teased at your heartstrings in a way you would never admit to any other.

Well, perhaps maybe one.

As your attentions were briefly piqued at the sight of a man with a bellowing laugh, who strode past you with his arms wide and decorated with cufflinks made of silver knots, you had moved your feet to stand. However, that was when your keen eyes glanced back across the room, only to meet another pair. 

They were the eyes of a fox, ablaze with wit and narrowed in curiosity, and they stared you down and enraptured you in seconds. You found yourself glued to your spot and not giving a single damn about it, as the man bid his colleague a farewell and began to make his way towards you.

With a face that only a dream could make, the smile he gave a passerby who greeted him oozed confidence; the single nod of his head that followed knocking his effortlessly curled fringe ever-so-slightly into his eyes. It led him to run his hand through the tousled locks when he faced you again, and had you not been on the job you would have no doubt swooned.

The man was clearly something special—his suit crafted of ambrosia, a clean cut jet besides pristine white, paired with dress shoes that shone as he reached where you were sat. 

You peered up at him silently, waiting to hear the voice that fell from those plush lips.

“Good evening,” he greeted.

And boy was it luscious. 

You responded in kind, consciously making your eyes bigger as he extended a palm gently towards you. “Might I take you for a dance?”

After a few seconds pretending to mull it over, you let your hand slip into his. He helped you to your feet all while you were too focused on the rough pads of his fingers stroking the back of your palms. 

He led the pair of you to the small area sectioned off for dancing near the live band. Passing a few other couples already swinging with the saxophone’s melody, you were captivated by how he effortlessly weaved the two of you to the centre.

All he’d said had been ‘excuse me’ and ‘sorry’ but somehow it had eased anyone in the vicinity and made them move away with no less than a grin and ushered laughter.

He was remarkable. And if it turned out he wasn’t what you were looking for, you would be stunned.

Coming to a stop, he stood broadly before you. With a hand caressing down to your waist before settling there as if it had always meant to be, you entwined your fingers with his other as you felt across his shoulder blade.  His sensuality was thrilling, the closeness of your chest to his sending your heartbeat into irregular motion, and you had to admit he was talented.

“So,” he began, voice low and smooth like the late evening wine sipped in candlelight, “what must I call this gorgeous beauty before me?”

Lip unconsciously teasing between your teeth, you simpered. “You first.”

A smirk formed on his lips. “Younghyun.”

“Y/N.”

“Ah, a perfect name for a perfect lady.” He took the lead and you let him, following his slow sways with small steps of your own. “And a perfect voice too—there’s an accent there, if I’m not mistaken?”

“There may be,” you replied coyly, “Italian, born and raised.”

His smile brightened, “I’ve always wanted to visit Italy. The views, the food, the music...” he stopped himself with what could only be described as a sheepish laugh, “sorry, I’m probably preaching to the choir here.”

“It’s fine! I miss all of that quite often nowadays.”

Your grip tightened while your heart lurched. Attempting to keep yourself under control, you hid your disdain behind a smile. How had you let yourself slip up like that? Since when did you wear your feelings on your cheek for a man you only just met? 

As the song changed and the tempo quickened, Younghyun twirled you round by your fingers. “So what brings you all this way here, to one of the most exclusive bars in Seoul?”

“Why, do I not look like I fit in?” you enquired. 

As he pulled you back to his chest, he stayed quiet for a few moments, his eyes carefully taking in the curve of your cheeks. “I’ll be absolutely honest with you,” he glanced around the room before coming back to look you in the eye, “you’re too good to fit in here.”

“I am?” You were hanging off his words, and despite your rational brain reminding you that he was just smooth talking, the way small butterflies began to send ripples through your chest had you very nearly believing him. It was as if that emerald upon your neck carried no weight at all.

“Of course.” His response was quick, sincere, and slowly the heaviness returned. You could feel it swaying a beat behind your movements together.

“I’m here to get away,” you finally explained, eyes lowering from his and focusing on his bow tie. It was spotless, folded crisply at his collar, and for a split second you wondered if it too pressed at his neck. “I’m a writer but... life can be so restricting, you know? How can I write about lives when I haven’t lived myself?”

The words slipped easily off your tongue, and you felt the tension leave your shoulders. Meanwhile, when you gazed up again, you found his smile tinged with sadness.

“I understand that. Sometimes what you end up in isn’t what you want,” he said. 

Confidence filling your veins, you slipped your fingers from his and ran your hands to interlock behind his neck. “I’m so glad you get me,” you whispered in his ear, “no one really does.” Closing the distance, you rested your head against his chest, face turned away from his knowing eyes that seemed to cut into you.

It was only a matter of seconds before Younghyun’s hands both swept to the small of your back, cradling you gently.  You pondered upon how he looked at you right then, as your eyes watched the couple beside you. They were in the same position as the two of you, swaying with the dwindling music. When they caught a beam of light as they turned, you saw how old they were, time etching at the corners of their eyes, giving them permanent eye-smiles. The man in question was truly beaming however, at the woman in his arms. He had a knowing glint in his eye, something you simultaneously wished you knew and were happy to not know the context to—without it, after all, they stayed painted in silver. The woman, much shorter and spindly in her old frock—you imagined it was the one she wore at the last wedding she attended—seemed so content, her lips mouthing the words to an unknown song, her feet moving in synchrony with his.

Her eyes were closed, you noted, and once you had done there was no going back. You turned your head the other way, your own gaze remaining wide open.

“Enough about me, what job do you do?” you asked, loud enough to be heard without moving, but it was pointless, as his answer came back as a teasing retort.

“What do you think I do?”

You shifted your head to come face to face with him again. You were so close to his lips it would only take seconds to bridge the gap, and the apprehension hurt. “I don’t know. Something dashing.”

“Oh really? How come?” His smirk had returned, mischief glimmering in his eye much like the chandelier lights did, urging you to say out loud what you only intended to infer. 

Cocky bastard, you thought, smile growing as you spoke. “Because someone as handsome as you could only do something dashing. Otherwise it wouldn’t be fair.”

As the saxophone picked up behind him, you moved your head to settle upon his shoulder, snickering as he whispered into your ear. 

“There it is...!” 

You playfully tugged at the hair at his nape to chide him. “Come on, tell me, what’s your job?”

He seemed momentarily distracted, before brushing off your words with a laugh. “Trust me, it’s not as interesting as you think.”

“How could it not be interesting?” you countered, leaning in closer to his neck so that your breath would flutter across his skin there, “you wouldn’t do it otherwise.”

“You can’t be sure of that,” he retorted, swinging you round and pulling you back so your shoulders met his chest, “you’ve only just met me.”

“And sometimes a chance meeting is all it takes,” you uttered, running your fingertips down the backs of his hands at your waist. With your head turned towards him, but your eyes remaining apart, you swayed your hips with his as you continued, “I’ve seen many faces, Younghyun, I think I know people well now. And you have the face of someone who knows so much and yet hasn’t said a word.”

You got no words in direct answer to the ramble of ones you had procured. Instead he spun you back around so that he could take another good look at you, and he drank in your beauty as if he were a dying man. His lips parted to speak hours before he finally did.  “How much more do you know about me?” he eased through a coy smile.

“I don’t know,” you hummed, tracing the line of his tie with the back of your finger, “why don’t we find out?”

Your boldness earnt a single laugh, your dance partner silent before he adjusted his grip at your waist. One hand shifted up your back and held you close in an embrace, before he gently lowered you back. You held onto his shoulder as well as his gaze, as he followed you into the dip.  With lips millimetres away from yours, you had been certain he would close the gap, and press a kiss where he’d been hinting for the entire night. His eyes fluttered down to the sight of your painted lips, then back up to your curious stare. “Shall we get drinks?”

You beamed. “Sure.”

Lifting you back to your feet, his hand never left the small of your back as he guided you towards the bar, back across the lounge. You stuck close to his side to avoid the clusters of crowds as the grew and punctured the sensual melodies of the band.  Tucked by his shoulder, a sense of peace washed over you. When there was a sudden crash of spilled drinks to your right you didn’t even take a glimpse of it in, and instead kept your head low and inclined towards your partner of the night. 

You reached the bar in no time, and the only time he left your side was to minutely slip ahead, to pull a bar stool out for you to sit upon. 

Sending him a teasing eye roll you giggled at his silent gasp of exaggerated disdain, before he sat beside you. With his body facing you, he leant on an elbow until the bartender came over.

“Sir, madam,” she greeted with a polite smile, “what can I get for you?”

“Bokbunja for me please, and for the lady,” he addressed you with a smile, “drinks on me, what would you like?”

“No, it’s ok, I wouldn’t want to cost you—”

“Oh, Y/N, you could cost me the world and I wouldn’t care,” Younghyun interrupted, 

You considered continuing with the humble act, but truth be told you didn’t have the patience for it, and you were pretty sure it wasn’t necessary. If that wasn’t an expression of a hooked man, then you no longer knew what was. 

You scoured the towers of intricate bottles behind the bartender, hued amber through to olive and deep magenta. They were oddly beautiful, catching the light not unlike a thousand crystalline shards, muted by their labels written in calligraphic ink.

Making eye contact with the bartender, the corner of your lips easing into a tiny smile while you ordered, “Well, if you’re so sure. Segreto Classico, please.”

The woman’s stare widened, her smile becoming rigid as she glanced at the man at your side. You followed her stare a few moments later, once she’d stepped away with a nod of her head to make the drinks. You languidly drew your eyes up and across Younghyun’s figure. It was as if he was made for tuxedos, his clean cut jacket lining his chest perfectly and accentuating his shoulders. Now that he wasn’t touching you, your hazy thoughts began to playfully contemplate if he was real at all. 

You found him frowning at his phone quizzically. “Everything ok?” you asked, leaning upon the counter to try and get a better look at his face. 

He did a double take to the bartender and then finally to you, a dispassionate grin covering his lips. “Oh, yeah it’s all good, I’ve just... got to take this call, if that’s alright?”

“Oh, no problem, I’ll be right here waiting for you,” you settled your chin upon your hand at that moment, though he didn’t appear to catch your sultry display as he smiled blankly, before raising his phone to his ear and walking towards the balcony. 

You watched him leave, the energy of the room dipping as he melded with the crowds. 

You were brought out from your vacant stare and spiralling thoughts by a a sudden clink to your side. Snapping your head over, you found your drink placed by your elbow, the lace design in the glass shimmering in the dim lights. The bartender meanwhile glared at you while she poured the second drink.

“You shouldn’t order that so blatantly,” she scolded, “you know full well that the drink isn’t on the—”

“And you think a member of la Giarda would drink anything else?” you interjected bluntly, taking your glass into your hands and swirling the ice amidst the clear liquid. The mint scent wafted around you and slowly cleared your mind, leading you to recount in your head what had occurred mere moments prior as if weeks had passed. 

The bartender shushed you urgently, but her tension didn’t travel across the counter. 

“Relax,” you urged with a snicker and knowing look, “no one knows the name here. He hasn’t got a clue. I’ll gather the information without a hitch don’t you worry.”

The woman places the second glass, taller and more simple than yours, in front of the empty bar stool. “You better not blow my cover,” she mumbled sulkily.

“You know I won’t,” you iterated, taking a sip and letting the electrifying taste sink in as you watched where he had disappeared off to.

“Because we’re only going to get one shot at this, so he better be—”

“He’s the right guy,” you snapped. 

And just as your glare dwindled, the crowds parted to reveal Younghyun, phone tucked back in his pocket and expression back to life. You caught his eye once again, and in an echo of the first time, you were captivated once again. This time however, in a different way.

As he approached, you felt a jab to your heart, like twisting glass. The newfound clarity had left you open and vulnerable, and here he offered the blow without knowing. 

When the chandelier cast dappled lights fraught with shadows and curtailed amber across his handsome face, all you could see was the suspended chandelier shattering to the ground. The shards finally experiencing their fate as time caught up with them. 

You didn’t want him to end like that too.

~~~

AN: i took a fair bit of inspiration from noir films, so i apologise if you don’t wear dresses/heels

Masterlist

[parksbornfics]

Blood and Coconut Water

So uhh... Vampire!Harry

TW: Blood

.oOo.oOo.oOo.

Summary: Harry gets bitten by a vampire and less than pleasant hijinks ensue.

Word Count: 16,236

Date of Completion: Wednesday, May 6th, 2020

.oOo.oOo.oOo.

Harry woke up with a vague remembering of what happened the night before along with an aching neck. He had been on an actual business trip to Pennsylvania for budgeting. The night before was his last night there so he thought why not tour around the streets. He had been walking for a while when a figure had attacked him in an alleyway. What exactly happened? He wasn’t really sure.

He felt fine other than the pain in his neck and his groggy memory. He actually felt better than fine, like he could take on a pro wrestler and win. His alarm went off, signaling that he had to get ready for his flight. He stood up and stretched. It was… weird. He felt so awake, so prepared for the day. He walked over towards the drawer and stopped at the sight of himself in the mirror. There were holes in his neck, like those traditional ‘bitten by a vampire’ holes. He examined them for a moment, feeling a rush of shock and confusion before he shook his head. He could worry about that later. He has a flight to catch.

.oOo.oOo.oOo.

As the plane landed he still felt surprisingly energized. He stepped out of the airport into the bright light, he felt the heat burn alarmingly hot. He immediately took a few steps backward back into the building, before looking at his arm which was now throbbing lightly. It looked like it was sunburnt. A sunburn in winter with the sun barely shining. He was sweating in the airplane and he was still feeling hot, but he as he tried again to step out into the sun again he felt the same burning.

“Fuck it. I’m sweating.” Harry mumbled to himself as he pulled his jacket back on. He walked out into the sun and felt his face heat up. Taking a breath, Harry made a dash to the car waiting for him.

Bernie got out and opened the door for Harry. He got in and thanked Bernie, who took his bags to the trunk. Harry sat in the middle, the sun streaming in slightly from all sides. He stared at it, feeling mild discomfort. “What the hell?” He muttered.

He rubbed his neck where the two holes were. They had healed over completely which almost confused him even more. He looked down at his phone and began typing, but stopped when he realized what he was looking up. “No way what the hell am I doing…” He looked at the search bar. He was half-way through typing, ‘are vampires real’.

He turned his phone off and rested his head in his hands when he heard the car door shut. He looked up to see Bernie. “Where would you like to go, Harry?” He asked. 

“Home. I’m spent.” He replied, shaking his head. In truth, he wasn’t even tired, more so confused. 

The car took off and Harry closed his eyes and tried to think of a logical explanation for what was going on. Vampires weren’t real so that couldn’t be it, even though it made so much sense. Maybe it was just something he ate that was bad.

He opened his phone again, deciding that it was worth a shot. As soon as he hit search a bunch of joke articles. Then there was one that looked sorta serious. It had a .gov thing so it had to hold some truth to it. He began reading it, taking in every detail and comparing, before feeling chills run down his back. “Fuck.” He whispered aloud. 

In short, the document talked about a man named Dracula who was a real-life Vampire, and he was on SHIELD’s hit list. Guess where he resided. That’s right, Pennsylvania. The page strongly suggested not going out alone at night. Guess what Harry did. 

The car stopped and Bernie happened the door and Harry took another breath before running to the shade of his looming building. 

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Bernie asked, handing Harry his bags. 

“Yeah, just really tired,” Harry assured him. He took the bags and entered. He bee-lined to the elevator and hit his floor. He went back to check the article.

Natasha had written about the symptoms of what happens when one turns into a vampire, which was lucky for him. He read through them and felt his stomach drop even further with every similarity. Memory loss, two puncture wounds in the neck, intolerance to sunlight, enhanced healing. Then there were the ones he doesn't bear similarity too. Enhanced speed, enhanced strength, iris color changing to red, feeling cold, fangs, and the one that concerned him the most, bloodlust. He felt a chill run down his spine before he shook his head. "No, no fucking way, this can't be real." He began before stumbling back and taking a deep breath. I gotta do more research…

The elevator’s door opened and Harry stepped out. Immediately he made his way to his computer. 

He spent hours upon hours researching what to do to cure his sickness. Killing the vampire that did this to him was out of the question. Without the memory of who did this, he didn’t want to go back to Pennsylvania and just start stabbing.

The other ways were mostly useful if he lived in a movie or book series. Maybe there was a scientific way that he could cure himself. If he could get in contact with Natasha then maybe she could help. But if he did, SHIELD could try to do something to him. Not that they’re known for experiments, but the only case they had of a vampire was Natasha.

At least he found out that coconut water would be able to hold him over. He just had to steer clear of blood at all times so that his instincts wouldn’t take over. He swallowed thickly and leaned back in the chair, his head throbbing. He stood up and began pacing as he ordered some coconut water and some English blood sausage. He couldn't just order straight blood, so foods that contain blood would be his next best option. He stared at his phone for a moment, not entirely sure what else to do, when he got a notification from Peter. He smiled fondly. It was a selfie of Peter on his bed, hair messy, eyes glowing bright green, and his retractable fangs out in a toothy smile. The caption read "just woke up and the pearly whites were out in my sleep". He chuckled fondly before replying with, "The flight got delayed a couple of days. I'll be back Wednesday." He felt guilty for lying. He hated lying to Peter, but he wanted to try to figure this out before he faced Peter. His phone dinged, with another selfie from Peter who was pouting, along with the caption, "You'll be back for Friday night date night right?" 

Harry felt his blood run cold. He had forgotten about date night. Last Friday he'd had to cancel because of the conference. If he were to cancel again he’d feel like a huge jerk. He was already lying about being back so the least he could do was actually go through with the date night.

“Of course! I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” Harry sent back. Now he had to figure this out before Friday night. Peter replied with a simple selfie of him smiling happily, and Harry screenshotted the image. He shut his phone off and looked at his computer. He was on a really tight schedule now. He sat down, his hands hovering over the keys for a moment, before getting to work. 

.oOo.oOo.oOo.

The pass week Harry was able to get a good hold of his newfound strength and weaknesses. He was able to find a way to hide the most skin without looking sketchy and also that vampires have venom that turns people into vampires, so if he were to drink from a human then they wouldn’t turn into a vampire unless he really wanted them to. That and he learned how to properly cook a blood sausage by himself. Also, coconut water sucks ass. 

His fangs had appeared two days after being bitten. Whenever he ate some meat or something hard they would sharpen and grow slightly. 

He hadn’t even realized that Friday had come around until he got a text from Peter. “I’m so excited to see you tonight!” He flinched at the text before letting out a sad sigh. He refused to skip the date, but he still worried. He stood up and pulled a light blue sweater over his head. He watched and let out a silent sigh of relief that the date was happening at night. He smiled at the idea of seeing Peter face to face again. He pulled his shoes on and stepped over to the computer, searching for any last-minute cures he may have missed. He let out a sigh, knowing he wouldn't find anything. He bit his lip before sighing and shooting a text back. "Neither can I! It's been so long since I've seen you ❤"

He forced a smile on his face and decided he could last one night. It was Peter, after all, he could never hurt him.

He called Bernie while getting into the elevator, asking him to bring the car to the front. In the elevator, he took notice of how his reflection was somewhat faded. Another thing he’d have to avoid at Peter’s.

The elevator dinged and the doors opened. Harry stepped out and made his way to the glass door, seeing Bernie through them. Bernie saw him and went to open the glass doors for him.

“Good evening Harry, you feeling alright?” He asked as Harry stepped out into the evening air.

“Good evening, and yes I feel fine. Why do you ask?” Harry began walking to the car with Bernie by his side.

“You just look pale. I don’t want you kicking the can in the back while I drive.” This is why Harry likes Bernie, he was afraid to joke around with him. 

Harry laughed while Bernie opened the car door. “I assure you I’m fine.” 

Harry made himself comfortable in the back seat before pulling out his phone. They were planning on picking up Peter outside of his house and going to the restaurant from there. He was excited to see Peter, to say the least. It had been a full 10 days since he last saw Peter and he missed him a lot, but he was still worried about his newfound vampire powers. He hummed softly as he thought about his enhanced strength. When it first occurred he had broken 4 glasses by just holding them before realizing how much stronger his grip had become. He stopped when he realized Peter must’ve gone through something similar when he first gained his powers. Not to mention Peter didn’t have a website to learn what to expect. It all must’ve been new and alarming to him. He felt his stomach drop for a moment, before feeling the car came to a stop. 

He looked up to realize they were in front of Peter’s house. He felt his smile grow as Bernie opened the door for him. “Thanks, Bernie.” He said as he dusted his shirt off.

Bernie smiled. “Go blow his socks off.”

Harry nodded and let out a nervous huff, before strutting up to the door. His hand hovered away from the wood for a moment before he took a deep breath and knocked. His heart pounded heavily in his chest. He felt almost as nervous as he did on their first date.

Almost immediately after the door, open Peter had tackled him in a hug, not enough to knock him over but enough to have him stumble back. 

“Woah! What was that about?” Harry laughed, hugging Peter back. He did so carefully, knowing he could potentially accidentally snap him in half.

“I haven’t seen you in days!” Peter responded, looking up. “Plus, I felt like it.”

“We can talk more in the car, we don’t want to lose our seats.” Harry grabbed Peter’s hand and lead him to the car.

“Are we going to a fancy place?” Peter’s voice conveyed slight panic. Harry turned and got a good look at him, the only reason he’d be worried about a fancy place is if he wasn’t dressed nicely. In Harry’s opinion, Peter was never not dressed nicely. He was wearing one of Harry’s old sweaters. It was a little big on him but it looked really good on him.

“No, it’s just always packed. Heard it was really good.” Harry kissed Peter’s forehead before opening the car door for him.

Peter blushed and smiled, before sliding into the car. “Why thank you, Mr. Osborn.” He teased.

Harry laughed. “Anything for you, Mr. Parker.” He replied. 

He walked to the other side and jumped in, smiling happily at Peter, who immediately leaned in for a kiss. Harry happily obliged, kissing him back and grabbing his hand. “I really missed you.”

Peter smiled. “I missed you too, Harry.” 

Harry grinned and pulled Peter’s hand to his lips and kissed his knuckles. I light pink dusted his cheeks but he laughed and leaned over to kiss Harry’s cheek. “Dork.” He teased softly. 

The car started up and took off. Bernie turned up the music enough so he couldn’t hear the two in the back talking. He fully accepted their relationship and all, but sometimes they seemed to forget someone else in the car.

“So how were those extra days in Pennsylvania?” Peter asked. 

Harry took a moment to answer. “Boring. I was stuck in an uneventful area most of the time.”

Peter sighed. “Must’ve sucked, huh?” He asked gently.

“Oh, you can say that again.” Harry lied. He pulled his hand away so Peter couldn’t feel his pulse speed up. 

Harry saw Peter’s face fall at the lack of contact and immediately felt a rush of guilt before grabbing both of his hands. “I love you.” He murmured. 

Peter flushed bright red at that, before smiling. “I love you too.” He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Harry’s lips who happily kissed back. 

Finally, after a few moments, he pulled away and gave him a look. “What the heck Harry you’re freezing.”

He stiffened, knowing he was probably unnaturally cold. “O-oh, I am?” He questioned, looking down. 

Peter nodded. “This coming from the one who can’t thermoregulate, so that’s saying something. Are you okay?”

“I took an ice bath.” Harry blurted. Peter gave him a look. “I wanted to try it and I would never do it again.”

Peter slowly started laughing “That is probably as stupid as the hammock thing I did.” 

Harry laughed, feeling some of the stress leave him. This was honestly going better than he thought. He thought for sure that Peter would have figured it out by now or half of it. 

The car came to a stop in a busy parking lot. Bernie turned to the two love birds in the back. “You two have fun, not too much fun though. Last time I brought Peter home with a bruised neck I thought that Ms. Parker was going to kill me.”

Harry laughed. “We will Bernie,” Harry promised as he stepped out of the car. 

He jogged to Peter’s side to meet him as he stepped out. Peter had a nervous look on his face at the restaurant. “This place looks pretty upper-class, Harry.” He mumbled worriedly.

Harry smiled and moved hair gently out of Peter’s face. “Don’t worry, Pete. You look amazing right now.” He promised gently.

Peter blushed slightly, before nodding. “I’ll take your word for it.” He sighed. 

Harry began to lead Peter into the building, squeezing his hand carefully as to not use his newfound powers but to still show his affection. 

They stepped in and Peter felt slightly out of place. The music was classical and the waiters looked like they had yachts. Harry gave him an assuring look before walking up to the waiter at the welcome table.

“I have a reservation under Osborn,” Harry said kindly. The waiter nodded after looking through a book. He led them to the far corner of the restaurant where there was barely anyone. Peter and Harry liked having peace on date nights.

“Jessica will be right with you.” The man said before walking back to his post.

Peter winced slightly. “This place feels reeeaaaallly upper class, Harry.” He mumbled worriedly.

Harry sighed and grabbed his hands. “Pete, it’s just us, alright? Nobody’s judging us.” He promised kindly.

Peter cast him a worried glance before nodding. “If you say so.” He mumbled.

Harry nodded. “Its okay hon.” 

After a few moments of silence, a woman stepped over. “Hello, I’m Jessica.” She placed down two menus for them. “Can I get you two something to drink?” 

Peter smiled. “I’ll take a sweet tea with lemon please if you have any.” 

Harry winced before sighing. “Do you guys have coconut water?”

Jessica nodded. “Yep! Sweet tea with lemon, and coconut water. I’ll be back with your drinks in just a few minutes!” She chirped and left.

“Coconut water? Really Har?” Peter teased lightly.

Harry laughed. “H-Hey! It’s good!” 

“Did your newfound love for coconut water form over in Pennsylvania?” Peter teased more.

“I said it was good, not that I loved it.” Harry smiles as Peter laughed slightly.

“Whatever you say, Coconut boy.” Peter then looked down at his menu. Harry did the same, desperately looking for something that had blood in the title. He didn’t know why but a sudden wave of hunger had come over him. Maybe it had to do with the fact that he was surrounded by people now. He did sorta isolate himself after he had figured out what was going on.

He bit his lip slightly when he realized that there were no blood-related options. He decided to go for the next best option, steak, and hoped that along with the coconut water, it would be enough to hold him over. He took a slow breath and leaned back. Peter seemed to notice his distress

when he looked up from his menu. “Hey, Har, are you okay? Did something happen in Pennsylvania?” He asked worriedly.

Harry smiled fondly. Peter always knew when something was wrong, but now wasn’t the best time for him to make the connection. “No hon, nothing happened. I’m fine.” He lied, hoping his airy laughter would be enough to settle Peter down.

Peter winced before sniffing lightly and leaning forward. “You know you can talk to me if anything happens, right?”

Harry smiled a reassuring look. “I know, bug. I’m okay, I promise.” He said.

“Okay.” Peter gave up on pushing for answers for now. Harry was as stubborn as him when it came secrets, Peter knew that. To have a fight about a secret now was pointless and against the rules. Date nights meant no fighting.

The waitress came back with the drinks. “Are you two ready to order?” She asked, her voice still chirpy. 

Peter smiled and nodded. “Uh, Harry you order first, lemme look one more time real quick,” 

Harry nodded. “Alright. I have the steak, rare please, and I’ll get a fruit salad.” 

Jessica nodded and smiled, writing the order down. “And you?” She asked, turning to Peter. 

“I’ll get the everything burger and some fish sticks please.” He asked.

Jessica smiled and looked up. “Do you want any tartar sauce for your fish sticks?”

Peter nodded. “Yes please.”

Jessica wrote down the orders and took the menus. “Your meals will be out shortly!” She replied cheerily.

“Thank you!” Peter called as she walked away.

Harry laughed fondly. “You’re adorable.”

Peter blushed slightly. “Shush.” 

Harry rolled his eyes. “I’m just stating facts.”

Peter let out a whine that got Harry to laugh. They ended up having a back and forth of who was cuter or more attractive. That slowly just got them to talking about random stuff until their food arrived.

“Here’s steak with the fruit for you.” Jessica put the plate in front of Harry. “And the everything burger with the fish sticks.” She then placed the burger in front of Peter. “Let me know if you need anything else.” 

Peter smiled. “We will!”

He was quick to attempt to take a bite when half of the burger fell out the other side. Harry began to laugh as Peter coughed. “Thank fuck they gave me a fork.” Peter murmured, grabbing it and stabbing at the fallen lettuce and tomato.

Harry chuckled as Peter shoveled it into his mouth. He took a sip of his tea before taking another bite as Harry began cutting into the steak. The two began eating in comfortable silence, feeling a rush of ease come over them. It was peaceful and quiet as they ate.

After thirty minutes of comfortable silence, Jessica came back with the check. She placed it in front of Harry and then left with a smile. Peter went to reach for it but Harry pulled it away fast.

“Nuh-uh.” Harry smiled. “She put it in front of me, I’m paying.” Instead of seeing Peter’s usual frown when he didn’t get to pay, Harry saw that he was surprised.

“That was fast.” Peter got out.

Harry realized how quickly he must’ve moved to obtain the check before Peter did. He put on a faux smile and replied, “I guess being a vigilante is improving my reaction time.”

Peter narrowed his eyes suspiciously and sniffed. Harry could tell that Peter knew something was up. He put on a gentle smile. “I’m okay, Pete.” He lied.

Peter nodded. His suspicious look still remained though. He stood up at watched carefully as Harry pulled out his wallet, signed the check, and left $50 in cash. “That’s a huge tip.” Peter snorted.

“It’s the usual 15% and I added some since she was nice,” Harry replied.

Peter laughed. “Alright then,” He watched quietly as Harry organized himself and drank what was left of the coconut water. Something was definitely wrong with him. Not only was he acting weird, but he smelled different. Your natural smell is not something you can change, and Peter knew Harry’s scent better than he knew his own.

“How about we continue date night at my house? A movie maybe?” Peter asked. He wanted to see if Harry was really was okay. Extra time with Harry was also a plus in all this.

Harry stiffen slightly. Was he really going to risk a night with Peter? If he did he could put Peter in danger the whole night. If he didn’t then he’d be giving Peter a reason to be suspicious.

“S-Sure!” Harry was barely able to hide his slight hesitation from Peter, but somehow he managed to.

Peter smiled happily and did a small fist pump. Harry laughed, his worry fading slightly. He could never hurt Peter. He stepped to the smaller boy and pressed a kiss to his temple. “Let’s go.” He sighed, pulling out his phone.

Peter nudged his hand away lightly. “Harry, we can take the subway. Let him have the night off.”

Harry hesitated slightly. The subway always put him on edge and god knows what it would do to him with his newfound vampire powers. “Alright.” He replied, pushing his anxiety aside.

Peter took Harry’s hand and walked out of the restaurant. The walk was quiet considering it was a New York street. Once they were underground Harry felt his anxiety coming back. 

“It smells,” Harry commented.

“It always smells.” Peter retorted getting Harry to nod in response. The train came into the station and Harry and Peter stepped on.

Harry stiffened at the sight of an old man on the back of the subway, who was silently eating a jar of pickles. He mentally cringed as Peter pulled him away. “Don’t make eye contact, I’m willing to bet he's on drugs.”

Harry turned to Peter, feeling disgusted. “How often do you see shit like this?” He whispered.

Peter laughed. “On a daily basis. It's just like that on subways.”

Harry looked between them. “I don’t like that.”

Peter led Harry to the far end of the car, away from the pickle man. The ride was thankfully uneventful, the guy just stayed eating pickles on his side and Harry and Peter stayed in their side.

The train came to a slow stop and Peter stood. Harry stood up quickly with Peter, wanting to get off of the smelly train and just be at Peter’s house already. Peter laughed gently and touched his arm as he led Harry off the train. “Relax Har, I doubt he’d do anything. If he does, I can protect us.” He promised, kissing Harry’s jawline gently.

Harry shifted and nodded. “Hmm.. okay.” He mumbled. 

He followed Peter quietly off the train and followed him out of the subway, into the cold winter air. He smiled as Peter squeezed his hand lightly and began swinging their arms. Harry smiled and squeezed his hand back. Peter made a face and chuckled lightly. “I really underestimate how much stronger you’ve gotten since you’ve become a vigilante.”

Harry glanced at him. “Huh?” 

“Your grip, it's a lot stronger now,” Peter replied, a smile on his face. 

Harry loosened his grip. “S-sorry.”

Peter raised an eyebrow. “That was a compliment, Har. It’s good that you’re getting stronger, you’ll be able to fight better.”

“Oh, uh, thanks.” Harry stuttered. He couldn’t hide that one.

“Are you sure that everything is okay?” Peter felt Harry’s forehead, still felt cold. 

“I’m fine, just didn’t expect to be called strong today.” Harry smiled. It was a long shot but it seemed to work.

“You’re always strong, hon.” Peter rested his head on Harry’s shoulder and the two continued to walk.

The rest of the walk was silent, with Peter occasionally slowing to kiss Harry’s cheek. Finally, they got to Peter’s house. Peter fished the key from his pockets, before opening the door and letting Harry in. He closed the door carefully and locked it, turning to Harry with a grin. Harry smiled back before Peter looked around. “May?” He whisper-shouted, as he snuck out into the living room.

It was silent as he looked briefly, before turning to the kitchen. He entered, turning on the light, and looked around before seeing a note in red sharpie on the counter.

‘Peter, I got called to the hospital to work the night shift. I’ll be home at about 6 in the morning, you stay safe. Call me if you need anything. -May’

He smiled lightly at the note before turning to Harry. “Looks like we got the house to ourselves, Har!” Peter called.

Harry smiled as Peter stepped over to him, pressing a kiss to his lips. Peter rested his hands on Harry’s shoulders as Harry pulled him closer by the waist. Slowly the kiss began to heat up as it deepened. Peter wanted to try something new. He prodded his tongue against Harry’s lips. It was surprising for Harry, but who was he to not give it a try? Harry’s hands moved up to the back of Peter’s head and Peter moved his arms so that they were draped over Harry’s shoulders. Harry had a grip on Peter’s hair, pushing Peter into the kiss even more. Peter gasped slightly only for it to be hushed.

It was exciting. Well, that was until Harry accidentally bit Peter’s tongue. The taste of blood exploded in his mouth, but it wasn’t disgusting to him. Peter’s blood tasted better than the blood sausage or the coconut water. He couldn’t describe what was so wonderful about it but all he knew was that he wanted more. He needed more. He-

“Harry?” Peter’s voice was soft. He didn’t even realize that Peter had pulled away from his lips. Then Harry realized what he was thinking. He knew that he was wrong to think these things, but half of him was assuring him this was right. That he needed to get more of Peter’s blood.

“Was that too much?” Peter asked, trying to get Harry to speak to him. Peter noticed something in Harry’s eyes. Primal fighting against the usual confident yet soft look in them.

He knew the look too well, fighting against your own instincts, he’s seen it in Miles’ eyes, and he’d felt it himself in the past. He took a step back. “H-Harry?” 

Harry took a step back and gasped, shaking and clutching his head. Harry straightened after a few seconds. Peter felt his eyes widen as Harry looked up. His eyes were darker than usual. Peter immediately turned to run when his spidey sense screamed, but Harry was already on top of him. He felt his heart pound in his chest as he felt Harry’s hot breath on his neck. He felt teeth dig into his neck and he let out a strangled and furious hiss as he began to attempt to kick Harry off. Peter immediately pushed on Harry’s chest, getting enough room to squeeze out.

Immediately after squeezing out, Peter got up and tried to get to the door. His neck stung and he could feel the blood flowing down, but right now he was on a survival high. Harry was on him again, this time slamming Peter to the wall.

“Harry, please! Get off!” Peter begged as he tried to push against Harry again. The scariest thing about this is how quiet Harry was. 

Harry caught both of Peter’s arms and pinned them to the wall, his right arm higher than his left. Harry went down to his neck again. The blood covered the left side of his neck. It was too messy to see the original bite marks. Peter felt his tongue press against his neck and it moved up. He couldn’t help but gasp and shudder as Harry pressed fangs back into the original holes and Peter screamed. Unlike last time the fangs felt like they were serrated and had hooked into his throat. 

His head began to spin as Harry kept him pinned. He kicked and hissed, but Harry was heavier than him and much stronger than usual, and even despite the circumstances, he didn’t want to hurt him. His head continued to spin as he struggled when dark spots appeared in his vision and he felt light-headed. He gave one more futile attempt to kick Harry off when he felt his limbs drop involuntarily, and he was out. Peter’s head fell to the side, giving Harry more room.

Harry kept drinking until he felt full. Even when he was full he almost continued, his blood tasted that good, until he realized what the hell he was doing. He gasped and let go of Peter as he took a step back. Peter slid down the wall. His head hung forward and his arms laid limply at his sides. Immediately a rush of panic overtook him when he saw Peter’s limp form. He ran forward, his hands hovering away from him. “Peter!? Peter- oh my god- Peter!” 

He lifted Peter’s head to look at his face. His lips were parted slightly and his eyes were closed, way too relaxed. It looked like Peter was asleep or… He grabbed Peter’s arm in a panic and searched for a pulse. He nearly collapsed when he felt one. “Oh thank god-” He wheezed. He picked Peter up and carried him to his room, his heart rate never slowing down. He scrambled around the room, searching for the first aid kit Peter kept around for his rough patrols. He found it under his desk. He ran to the bathroom and grabbed a hand towel and wetted it, before returning to Peter’s room. He quickly began cleaning the blood which had poured down Peter’s neck and felt a rush of disgust when he realized how much he wanted to continue drinking. He threw the cloth aside to prevent himself from sticking it in his mouth, and wrapped Peter’s neck carefully, praying Peter’s powers would be able to keep him alive.

He felt his heart drop as he realized that he did this. He barely held back tears when he looked over Peter’s figure. The sweater he’d been wearing was now dark and bloodstained, his hands were covered in blood from when he tried covering his neck, the gauze on his neck had been turning red quickly but seemed to slow. He prayed silently that the wound was small enough for Peter’s body to take care of, as he pulled away. 

As much as he thought it would be best if he left, he just couldn’t. Peter deserved to know what was going on after all of this. So he sat in Peter’s office chair and waited. He didn’t deserve to be in his room or anywhere near Peter, but he had to see him wake up. 

While he waited, his brain brought him back to Peter’s blood and the bite. He hated that he was thinking about it and enjoying it. It was all fuzzy but he could hear Peter’s begs and screams. He could smell Peter’s blood and natural scent. He felt Peter go weak under him. And he wanted to do it again.

Why had this affected him so much? He had had blood sausage, shouldn’t that have stopped him from going nuts? Maybe it had to do with getting blood from a source that was still alive. Harry didn’t need an explanation to know that he was to blame for this. He should have been more controlled than this. Tears began to stream down his face as he realized what could've happened. What if he'd killed Peter? What if he lost control again? What if he killed someone else? Tears were cascading down his face as he curled into himself. 

He didn't know how long he stayed like that, but soon, Peter began to stir. He shot up, and grabbed a water bottle, rushing to Peter's side. "Pete? Are you okay?" He whispered breathlessly. 

Peter made a small noise as Harry handed him the water bottle. "Here." 

Peter glanced at the water bottle, seeming almost confused, before opening it and gulping the entire thing down. He pulled away and coughed, shaking his head, before groaning softly. "Wha... What happened?" He mumbled out, looking up at Harry. 

Harry took a breath to explain, when suddenly Peter's eyes changed, beginning to glow bright green as he hissed and moved backward, his hand flying to his throat. He pressed himself into the corner and wavered, his eyes squeezing shut as a wave of nausea came over him. He quickly recovered and hissed at Harry. "What the hell Harry!” He snarled. 

“I lost control. That explains my actions but doesn’t excuse them.” Harry stated. “Something did happen in Pennsylvania, Peter. I know that I should have told you earlier but I didn’t think that you’d believe me. I got bit and became a-“ 

“Vampire.” Peter finished for him. “We’ve literally fought werewolves together, Harry. Were you starving yourself?” 

“No. Well from actual blood yes.” Harry sighed. “I just didn’t know what to do.”

“You could have told me. The Avengers have a vampire protocol!” Peter yelled.

“Clearly I didn’t know that.” Harry snapped, his eyes darkening and teeth sharpening for a moment until he saw Peter’s scared face. Harry covered his mouth and took a few deep breaths. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.” Harry gave his apology from behind his hand.

“You really don’t have any control over that, do you?” Peter asked, scooting a little closer.

Harry shook his head silently while frowning. A sad look crossed Peter's face before he straightened up slightly. "Can you hold yourself over for tonight?" Peter asked gently. 

Harry thought quietly for a moment. Could he? After a few moments, he decidedly nodded. "Yeah." 

Peter nodded before reaching down and grabbing the gauze and applying a second layer onto his neck. He stood up and changed his shirt, throwing the bloody sweater aside and pulled a clean one, also one of Harry’s, over his head, before taking off his jeans and pulling on sweatpants. Harry stared at the floor guiltily as Peter sat on the bed. There was a moment of silence before Peter sighed. "Come here."

Harry looked up. Peter had made a space for him on the bed and he had a soft smile on his face. Harry hesitated, before standing up and sitting on the bed. "Harry, get over here," Peter repeated, pulling Harry close. 

He yelped slightly as Peter hugged him. He stayed still for a moment, before squeezing his eyes shut and moving closer to Peter. Peter felt him begin to shake. "I'm sorry Peter, I'm so sorry... I-I didn't mean to- I didn't want to- I didn't want to hurt you I just-"

“Ssssh, it’s okay. We just need to work on control.” Peter hushed, running his fingers through his hair. “If you need a drink again, ask.” 

Harry pulled away to look at Peter. “Really?”

“Yeah, only on the arm though.” Peter gave an airy laugh. “I’ll be your human juice box until we get this fixed.”

Harry visibly cringed at that. "Don't call yourself that. I feel guilty enough." He mumbled. 

Peter let out a weak laugh. "Alright. Could you go get me some water, god knows how much blood you got from me and I gotta stay hydrated if I'm caring for you too now." 

Harry immediately nodded and ran downstairs. He grabbed the largest water bottle he could find and filled it up, before refilling the water purifier. His mind wandered for a moment as he put the container back into the fridge. He really didn't deserve Peter. After what he just put him through, he's willing to do this for him. It wasn't something he took for granted. He dropped a couple of ice cubes into the water before closing the top and taking it upstairs. "Here." He said, handing the bottle to Peter as soon as he entered the room. 

Peter smiled and thanked him before chugging a bit more. After a moment, Peter laughed. "What?" Harry asked. 

"I guess this is payback for all the times I've bitten you." He snorted. 

Harry felt his face turn red before raising an eyebrow. "First of all, those were consensual. Second of all, I enjoyed those. Third of all, I did the same to you."

Peter snickered before bearing his own fangs. "Yeah but you've never had fangs before." He teased. "How's it feel?" 

"Awful." Harry groaned. “They’re way too big and the sharpen randomly.” 

Peter started laughing but interrupted himself with a gasp. “It’s Fanged Friday!” Peter laughed at the face Harry made. Slowly Harry found himself laughing at it. 

“I guess it is.” Harry sighed. “Now drink, I don’t want you dehydrating on me.” 

Peter rolled his eyes. "God I've just given you an unlimited juice box and you're already taking me for granted."

Peter watched as Harry violently cringed at that. "Stop." 

Peter chuckled. "Harry I'm fine. I can only chug so much at once." He replied gently. 

Harry hesitated for a moment, before taking a deep breath. “I don’t.” He finally said.

“Hm?” Peter questioned.

“I-I don’t take you for granted I mean. I love you so much and I’m sorry for hurting you.” He murmured.

Peter smiled. “It’s okay, Harry.” He replied gently. “I know you don’t.”

Harry let a small smile appear his face. “Are you tired?”

“Sorta, just let me finish this water and I’ll sleep,” Peter answered before taking another sip. “Are you tired?”

Harry focused on himself. He wasn’t tired, but he hadn’t really slept all week. He had tried taking a nap but it didn’t work. “No, not really.”

Peter hummed softly and took another sip, before closing the bottle. “I think that's about as much as I can get down for now.” He said, setting the bottle on his bedside table.

Harry nodded. “Okay, do you want anything to eat?” He asked.

Peter immediately perked up at the mention of food. “Under my bed, I’ve got a candy stash.” He chirped, leaning over the side and pulling out a shoebox. 

Harry watched curiously as Peter opened it. He pulled out a few candy bars. “Do you still eat regular food?” Peter asked, giving him a curious look.

Harry shrugged. “I dunno.”

“What have you been surviving on?” People gave Harry a concerned look.

“Coconut water and English blood sausage,” Harry responded quickly. Peter shouldn’t have to worry anymore.

“Well do you want to try and eat something else?” Peter held out a granola bar. Harry hesitated in taking it, he wasn’t sure what could happen if he tried to eat it.

Shrugging, Harry took the granola bar and took a bite. After a few chews, it tasted like ash, and Harry gagged. 

“Nope, nuh-uh.” Harry stood up quickly and ran to Peter’s trash can and spat it out.

Peter cringed lightly. “Sorry.” He mumbled, stuffing a Snickers bar into his mouth. 

Harry smiled softly. “It’s okay.” He promised while wiping his mouth. 

He walked over and sat down beside Peter, who smiled at him. Peter closed the box and tossed it haphazardly aside and yawned. Harry chuckled lightly and poked his nose. “You’re adorable.”

Peter smacked his hand away and rolled his eyes. “Hush. Naptime.” He decided aloud. 

Harry nodded as Peter fell back and nestled under the covers. “Come on, Har.” He mumbled, getting comfortable.

Harry raised an eyebrow. “I don’t think-”

Peter grabbed him by the collar and pulled him down. “Even if you don’t need sleep, you should at least rest.”

Harry hesitated for a moment, before hesitantly wrapping his arms around Peter, who smiled gently. He placed his head on Harry’s chest. His heartbeat was slower than he thought it would be. Considering that Harry was now a vampire it shouldn’t have surprised him as much as it did, but it upset him slightly. Usually, Harry’s heartbeat would put him to sleep easily. With the new slower one it took longer.

Peter managed to fall asleep with his slower heartbeat. Harry stared quietly at Peter. He felt so small in his arms, and he couldn’t help but feel another rush of guilt. This was his fault. He should’ve just told Peter what had happened, not waited until he nearly killed him. He sniffed and tightened his grip on Peter. He needs to control himself better, which is something he’ll start to work on. He closed his eyes. He may not be able to fall asleep, but he can at least pretend and relax.

He stayed like that for a long time. He heard Peter began to purr at some point that interrupted his thoughts for a moment. 

At some point, Harry felt his face burning. He did his best to ignore it at first, but it began to hurt like hell. He opened his eyes and was immediately blinded by the sun. He began hissing and he pushed Peter off of him quickly and rolled off the bed to the shade.

“Harry?” Peter asked groggily, leaning over him. 

“I’m okay, just the sun.” Harry groaned, rubbing his eyes and the slight burn.

Peter cursed and sat up, closing the blinds. “I’m sorry I should’ve closed them! Are you okay?” He asked, looking worried.

Harry looked at his reddened skin and nodded. “Yeah, I’ll be fine.” 

Peter was at his side almost immediately, checking the burns carefully. “How do you feel?” He asked gently.

Harry shook his head. “Okay.” He murmured.

Peter watched quietly before sniffing him lightly. “Okay, don’t hurt yourself.” He mumbled.

Peter held his head until Harry could open his eyes. Harry blinked a few times before being able to keep his eyes open. 

“You wouldn’t believe how many times that happened during this week.” He laughed lightly. Harry held his hand over one of Peter’s after catching his worried expression. “I’m fine. Just no sun.” 

“Okay.” Peter relaxed and stood up. His neck stung slightly when he looked around. He didn’t say anything about it to Harry because he didn’t want to have him feel any more guilty. 

He took a deep breath and began walking towards the door. “We should probably call the Avengers, they can help.” He said.

Harry nodded. “Will… will they…”

“They won’t hurt you, I’ll make sure of that,” Peter said firmly, a protective look crossing his face.

Harry smiled softly before he nodded. “Alright.”

He stood up, careful to avoid the light, and followed Peter downstairs. Peter closed the blinds and looked around carefully for a moment. “May should be home by now but since she had the night shift she’ll probably be asleep for a while. We have a couple of hours.” 

Peter went into the kitchen and got himself a bowl of cereal. Harry waited for him in the doorway, not trusting the curtains in there to protect him. Peter came back out into the living room and sat on the couch with Harry following him like a lost puppy.

“Does it still hurt?” Harry asked, now looking at Peter’s neck. 

“Eh, I’ve been through way worse pain than this. I’m fine, just sore.” Peter acted like that was a completely normal response. It was for him, but Harry still cringed, thinking about how much pain Peter has been through. 

Peter turned on the TV. It already had an opening card for a movie. He had a habit of leaving discs in the DVR. Peter let the movie continue and began to eat his cereal happily. Harry laughed when he realized it was Back to the Future. “Why do you have Back to the Future on DVD?” He questioned playfully.

Peter shrugged. “Ask Aunt May. I found it yesterday and started watching it before you showed up.”

The two sat quietly, enjoying the movie when Peter stretched out over Harry. He looked down to see Peter lying comfortably on his stomach, his head in Harry’s lap. He was on his phone, presumably texting Kamala. Peter wrapped one arm around Harry’s back and supported his phone with it and had his other arm under his chin as he typed one-handed.

“So, she said that we could meet up at night.” Peter piped, shutting his phone off. “We don’t want them to see a crisp Harry Osborn now do we?” 

Harry gave him a smile and patted his head. “That we do not. Are you really okay with me staying the whole day? I don’t have any coconut water.” 

“I’m perfectly fine with you staying here, just tell me when you’re hungry,” Peter responded sweetly.

Harry smiled softly, before beginning to comb his fingers through Peter's hair. It was quiet as the movie played, with occasional laughter and small talk, but for the most part, the couple remained silent. As the movie ended, Peter glanced at the movie case. "What do you wanna watch now?" He asked, looking over the backs of the movies as he examined them. 

Harry leaned forward. "What do you have?" 

Peter shrugged. "A lot."

“Okay, I’ll look,” Harry said, trying to stand. Peter wrapped his arms around Harry’s waist as he stood up. 

“I’m not letting go.” Peter looked up with a smug look.

“Well, I’m not stopping.” Harry then went to the DVR, Peter still wrapped around his waist. He had assumed Peter had gotten up and followed him. 

“So what movie-“ Harry looked and saw that Peter was still halfway on the couch. “Peter.”

“What?” His voice was laced with a laugh.

Harry began laughing at the ridiculousness of his position. "Peter- Peter get off the couch."

Peter began laughing while trying to keep his arms firm around Harry's waist. "No." 

Harry grabbed his face and pushed him gently. "Release me!" He shouted playfully, attempting to shove Peter off. 

Peter screamed and clutched Harry's shirt. "NO!"

Peter kept his grip tight as Harry tried to pry the fingers off his shirt. “You’re going to fall.”

“I’ll fall when I say I will.” Peter laughed. 

“You two are just the definition of clingy.” May laughed. She was already dressed in the scrubs.

Peter screamed, not having heard her enter, and his legs slipped off the couch. He squeezed Harry's abdomen, making Harry yelp. "Peter!" He shouted.

Peter still didn't release despite now laying on the floor. "Morning Aunt May." He called to her. 

She laughed. "Hello boys, how was your date last night?" She asked happily. 

Peter hesitated for a moment. "U-hmm it was good! Yeah, it went great!" He lied, his voice cracking slightly.

May didn't seem to pick up on it as she nodded. "I'm glad to hear that." She walked up to the front door and picked up her purse. “I got another shift so I’ll see you night around 1 am. Love ya.”

“Have fun! Love you too!” Peter called as May walked out the door. 

“Please let go,” Harry asked. 

“Why?” Peter questioned before he felt it. That led to a smile then a laugh. “Oh.”

“Shut it!” Harry snapped half-heartedly with a flushed face.

Peter released him, but still looked playful. "You know, we are home alone now, and we don't have anything to do until tonight." He replied with a grin. 

Harry was flustered but sighed. "I don't want to accidentally hurt you." He mumbled. He looked slightly upset that he had to decline. 

Peter rolled his eyes and stopped to think, as he approached the movie case. “What about a muzzle?”

“Peter!” Harry was so red that he looked like he was about to explode. 

“Alright alright.” Peter surrendered, now pulling out some movies. "Hey, we got Twilight.”

“We are not watching that.” Harry gave Peter a playful glare. “It stupid.”

“Maybe we can learn more about vampires by-“ 

“I don’t glitter in the moonlight. I get hyperactive.” Harry stopped Peter, who was snickering.

“Okay, no Twilight.” Peter smiled.

He continued sifting through. “We have Harry Potter.” He offered.

Harry sighed. “It’s that or something stupid, isn’t it?”

Peter nodded. “Yeah pretty much.”

Harry huffed. “Alright let’s binge-watch them I guess.” He chuckled. 

Peter places the first movie in and stood, lending Harry a hand to get up. Harry took it, not that he needed help up but because he wanted to hold his hand.

The two went and sat down on the couch. Peter pulled his legs onto the couch while Harry kept his on the floor. The movie screen card popped up and Peter pressed play. Halfway through the movie, Harry heard Peter hum a song. He looked down, recognizing the tune. He smiled and sang softly along.

“And if you have a minute, why don’t we go,

Talk about it somewhere only we know, 

This could be the end of everything

So why don’t we go somewhere only we know”

Peter jumped at Harry’s voice when he began singing. “Shit you heard that?” 

Harry laughed and nodded. “Yep, I got enhanced hearing too now hon.”

Peter visibly cringed backward. “Mmmm, don’t like that.”

“Why? Are there things you don’t want me to hear?” Harry asked, half teasingly and half concerned. 

“I think I’ll just start snapping in your ear whenever I mumbled to myself,” Peter responded. He was dodging the question so that was a yes.

“You better not. I almost blew out my eardrum Wednesday.” Harry muttered the last part.

Peter snickered lightly. “Now you understand.”

“I didn’t realize earbuds would be so painful!” 

Peter recoiled. “Yeah you learn to either A, have them at the lowest volume, or B, headphones at, again, a low volume.” 

Harry nodded. “Yeah yeah I got the message. Don’t wear earbuds or keep the volume down.”

Peter chortled at Harry’s irritation, before leaning forward and pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Don’t worry hon, you won’t have to deal with that for much longer.”

“Can’t wait for that.” Harry let out a long sigh. 

They continued to finish up the first movie and Peter went to put in the second when something felt off. Harry had pulled away when Peter stood up instead of taking his revenge on Peter from earlier. He looked at Harry and saw that he was blocking his mouth with his hand. He could see Harry clenching his fist. Peter frowned and moved towards him. "Are you hungry?" He asked gently. 

Harry shifted and avoided his gaze, but nodded. Peter sat beside him and grabbed his free hand hesitantly, before offering his arm up. Harry stopped and watched him with a worried gaze, still covering up his mouth. 

“Are you sure?” Harry’s voice was muffled by his hand. 

Peter nodded and gave him a reassuring smile. “I’m offering Harry.”

Harry looked down at Peter’s arm and sighed. “Stop me if I’m taking too much.” He said, taking his hand away from his mouth.

“I will.” Peter smiled. Harry took Peter’s arm into his free hand. After taking a deep breath, Harry lowered his head and Peter felt the familiar sting in his arm that he felt last night in his neck.

He winced and turned his head away. Harry was careful to drink slowly, so Peter would be able to tell him to stop if he took too much. The taste of Peter's blood was somehow the best and worst thing he's ever tasted. He knew that the only reason he was upset about the taste was because of how much he cared for Peter and it almost disgusted him how much he was enjoying the taste. 

After a few minutes, Harry felt Peter squeeze his hand slightly harder. Harry pulled away and saw that Peter had dropped a few shades but he was still smiling at Harry.

“Are you feeling better?” Peter asked.

Harry released his arm. "Y- I'm sorry, are- are you okay?" 

Peter swallowed. "Yeah I'm okay, I just need water." 

Harry felt a slight rush of guilt. "Alright, okay yeah I'll go get some." He stood up quickly and made his way to the kitchen, careful to avoid the patches of sunlight, before reaching into the fridge and grabbing a water bottle and running back to Peter's side. 

He gave Peter the bottle, who was quick to chug it. “Do you mind changing the movie?” 

“Of course not, just a sec.” Harry quickly ran into his boyfriend’s room and picked up the first aid kit. He scaled back to Peter’s side immediately and started to clean up the blood.

Peter smiled fondly. “Harry, I’m okay.” He reassured gently, an amused look crossing his face. 

Harry didn’t reply, focused on cleaning the blood and wrapping the wound that now graced Peter’s forearm. “I’m sorry.” He mumbled, still cleaning.

Peter rolled his eyes. “It’s okay Harry, I let you do this.” He promised.

Harry didn't reply but continued to clean the bite marks. Peter smiled fondly as Harry sealed the tape. "I love you." Peter murmured.

Harry smiled back. "I love you too, Peter.”

When he was satisfied with his bandaging job, Harry went to put the second movie in, kissing Peter’s forehead before doing so. He came back to Peter’s side quickly. Once he sat down Peter pressed into him.

Peter pressed play on the remote and the familiar music filled the room. He leaned comfortably into Harry and felt himself wander in and out of consciousness. Harry felt Peter begin to purr against his side as he began to drift asleep. Harry smiled and leaned down to press a kiss to Peter’s forehead. “Sleep tight, hon.” He murmured softly.

Peter shifted in his sleep and let out a long, relaxed sigh. Harry couldn’t help but fawn over his tiny boyfriend. 

~~~

“Peter? Peter?” Harry cooed, shaking the sleeping teen. Peter let out a whine and looked up. He was right on Harry’s chest. 

“Hm?” Peter muttered softly, nuzzling his chin into his chest.

“We should start getting ready to leave,” Harry whispered, running his fingers through his hair.

Peter let out another pitiful whine before a shiver ran down his spine and he attempted to get up. Harry chuckled as the small boy wobbled his way to his feet. “You’re adorable.” He laughed playfully, as Peter stood. 

Peter hissed lightly at him before wrapping his arms around his body. “God it’s cold.” He whimpered.

Harry stood up and approached him, touching his shoulder lightly, before Peter flinched back. “You’re cold too. No more cuddles until you are normal temperature.” He growled teasingly, before making his way upstairs, shivering lightly.

Harry laughed to himself, knowing full well that Peter would cave before him. He waited at the bottom of the stairs. He could hear Peter’s footsteps coming down. 

“Are you putting on the mask?” Harry asked seeing Peter’s bag.

“Nah, they know and I was upset for two weeks.” Peter nudged Harry in a joking manner.

Harry nodded hesitantly before a more confident look crossed his face and he nodded. “Alright.” He replied.

Peter looked around, before grabbing a few granola bars and eating them casually. “The sun still needs a couple of minutes to fully set, but we can be off pretty soon.”

Harry nodded. “Alright.”

“Any last-minute requests? Are… are you hungry? You’ve only… eaten, once today.” 

“No,” Harry replied quickly. “We don’t need you passed out on the subway.” 

“Mmm, good point.” Peter smiled, heading to the door. “Don’t go starving yourself though.”

“I don’t want to drink any more blood.” 

Peter nodded understandingly. “Alright, hon.” 

Peter chugged a few more glasses of water, and scarfed down one more granola bar and a hard-boiled egg, before trotting towards the door. “Let’s go, it’s dark enough now.”

Harry nodded and followed Peter out of the door. Peter locked it and pocketed the key, before turning and walking towards the nearest bus stop.

Harry was next to him and Peter looked him up and down and started laughing slightly. He took Harry’s hand and pulled him down slightly. “Look down.” 

Harry did so and realized that he was levitating an inch off the ground. As he realized he fell slightly down meeting the ground.

“Ooooo, flying Harry. Are you going to go to the moon?” Peter was doing his stupid voice.

“Please stop, I’m begging you.” 

“Gonna go to the moon, space boy?” Peter's voice turned into a laugh.

“Hush!” He snapped playfully.

“Make me!” Peter threatened.

Harry leaned forward and kissed Peter on the lips, making the boy lean back slightly before the boy pulled away and ducked under Harry’s second attempt at kissing him. “Come at me!” He shouted, before turning and running down the walkway.

Harry began laughing and chasing after Peter quickly. Peter glanced over his shoulder to see Harry much closer than he anticipated. He let out a playful cry of alarm and sped up, running close to top speed with Harry keeping up well. He felt arms wrap around him and he screamed playfully as Harry tackled him, toppling them both in a ball of flailing laughter. Peter kicked Harry off of him and bared his fangs impishly, and Harry did so as well. Peter recoiled and hissed before the two began laughing softly. 

They collected themselves before the bus came. The driver didn’t seem to give two shits about what was going on. A few other people were already on the bus, most on their phones.

Peter took a seat in the only open chair and scooched so that Harry had some room. Harry sat down next to him and the two made themselves comfortable. Peter pulled out his phone and two pairs of Bluetooth earbuds and handed one to Harry. “I got an idea.” He said.

Harry raised an eyebrow, but turned on the earbuds and connected to Peter’s phone. Peter began hiding what he was searching for as a devilish grin crossed his face. Harry narrowed his eyes at him before Peter began giggling, and he turned the phone to Harry. He had turned on Vampire Diaries. 

“Why are you like this?” Harry glared at Peter.

“I’ve learned to joke about things.” Peter smiled.

“Can you turn it off?” Harry begged.

“No.” Peter gave Harry big innocent eyes. Harry let out a groan. “This isn’t even the first episode so you’ll never know what’s going on.”

“Torture.” Harry groaned again.

Peter laughed softly at his boyfriends’ distress, before turning to the phone and leaning into him. Despite Harry’s mock-hatred of the show, he leaned back into Peter and found himself enjoying the moment. Less so because of the show, but because he was here. Out and about with Peter. Just how he loves it. And despite the complaining, Harry became curious about the show and its plotline after a few minutes of watching Peter’s intense gaze on the phone. He hummed quietly, and that’s how it was in the ensuing 20 minutes before the bus came to a halt. “We’ll have to take the subway from here,” Peter replied.

“If there’s another guy eating pickles I will cry.” Harry and Peter stood and walked off the bus. The closest subway was another twenty minutes away. 

“There probably will be.” Peter laughed as Harry’s face turned into disgust. “Or maybe a naked man.” 

“What?” Harry blurted, caught off guard. Peter nodded. “Fuck.”

Harry cringed as Peter snorted. “You haven’t even seen the worst of it Harry. One time on the way to school there were literally people having sex, it was horrifying.”

Harry gagged at that. “Stop- stop it- Peter-” 

Peter began laughing loudly. “Welcome to New York City, hon.”

Harry gagged again, his face changing to absolute horror. “Peter, if people are having sex, I will shamelessly end their life.”

Peter laughed loudly and shoved him lightly. “Stop that! I understand where you’re coming from but murder is a no!”

“Public indecency is a no too but they don’t seem to care so why should I?” Harry gave Peter a devilish smile as Peter shoved him lightly again.

“No. The cops can take care of both of those things.” Peter scolded lightly.

“Did you call the cops when it happened?” Peter stayed quiet. “Point proven. I’ll become the vigilante that subway needs.”

Peter laughed at the comment. “Alright, subway-man.” He teased before his eyes widened. “ALRIGHT JARRED-”

“STOP.”

Peter began laughing loudly and had to stop for a moment as Harry glared at him. “You are a bad person, Peter.” He scowled. 

Peter only continued to laugh as they walked. Harry couldn’t stop the smile that crept onto his face. Peter’s laugh was just enough to do that, no matter how stupid the joke was or stressful the situation.

“You’re not going to drop this, are you?” Harry asked and Peter shook his head. 

Harry shook his head, unable to force an angry face. “God- you!” He yelled playfully, before breaking off into laughter.

Peter snickered before burying his face in the crook of Harry’s neck. Harry sighed fondly and intertwined their fingers, before glaring at him playfully and continuing to walk in peaceful silence. The silence, however, was soon interrupted when Peter nudged him lightly. Harry looked down at him, and Peter kissed his cheek. “Look forward.” He murmured.

Harry obeyed curiously before Peter whispered quietly to him. “Someone’s following us- don’t turn around. They’ve been following us for the past three blocks.”

Harry looked over his shoulder and sure enough, there was someone there. Head down and hands in their pockets. He wrapped his arm around Peter and held him close.

“If they try anything, I’m going to bite,” Harry whispered.

Immediately, Peter glared at him. “Don’t kill him.” He warned.

Harry nodded and sped up lightly. After a moment, he felt Peter gasp beside him and his eyes widened as he turned to try and meet the man, who had quickly and suddenly rushed up behind him. Harry turned to attack, but the man had already grabbed Peter and was holding him in a tight headlock. Peter hissed and screamed loudly, attempting to throw the man off him, and Harry quickly rushed forward. He stopped when the man pulled out a knife and kept the blade pressed against Peter’s throat, the cold steel sending shivers down his spine. Harry was staring wide-eyed and angry as the man glared and in a raspy voice hissed, “Drop everything of value or I swear to god I will kill him right now.” 

Harry reached into his pockets and pulled out his wallet, but kept his hand in his other pocket. Peter was watching them both carefully. He could easily throw this man off his rhythm by throwing him over his head, but the knife was pushed dangerously against his neck.

Harry held out his wallet and the guy went to take it. Harry’s other hand came out of his pocket and grabbed his arm. He pulled him away from Peter, who, luckily, was not cut. The man released the wallet and attempted to use his now free hand to attack Harry. He lunged forward and gripped onto his neck and Harry snarled loudly, crushing the man's wrist in his arm and pulling him towards him to bite him. The man yelped in alarm as Harry bit through his jacket sleeve. He didn’t release his grip but loosened it enough for Harry to shake his hand off his neck, and after he released his bite from him. The man, still not giving up, began attempting to overpower Harry again. He struggled against the man but was able to overcome him with his increased strength. The man stumbled as Harry tried pinning him when he switched the knife from one hand to another and stabbed at Harry frantically. Harry felt the cold steel pierce his skin and let out a cry of pain, when Peter lunged forward, tackling the man over, causing him to drop the knife in alarm. “HARRY! ARE YOU OKAY?!” Peter cried out in alarm.

Harry felt where the stab wound was. He wasn’t bleeding heavily but he sure of hell was angry. He looked back at the man and Peter. The guy was trying to grab his knife while Peter kept him down. That angered Harry even more for some reason.

Peter was surprised to be pushed off of the man by Harry. He hadn’t pushed him hard, but enough to startle him. Harry bared his fangs and grabbed the man by the collar, yanking him upwards. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” He snarled furiously in the man's face, a very dangerous calm to his voice.

The man trembled slightly before saying, “I was-” The fact that the man had the balls to even reply sent sparks of rage through Harry, and he could barely keep himself from killing the man right then and there. “I was looking for money for drugs.”

Harry hissed violently at him, his fangs sharpening. “You’re going to need a lot of those to forget this.” Harry went to bite his neck but was stopped by Peter’s hand which he bit.

“Harry, stop!” 

He looked up, somewhat alarmed to see Peter staring at him worriedly. He quickly released Peter’s hand and stepped off the man, who immediately ran as soon as he was released. Harry stared after him furiously, before turning to Peter who was holding his bleeding hand. “Why did you stop me?” His voice was a mixture of fury and concern.

Peter looked at him. “You were going to kill him- what he did wasn’t okay but you can’t kill people!” 

Harry felt his heart jump when he realized that Peter's eyes were watering. He looked just a moment or two away from crying. “You do realize that I could have killed you if I had kept going?”

“I knew you wouldn’t,” Peter responded before his face dropped. “You would have stopped, right?”

Harry gave Peter a slight glare and then shut his eyes, letting out a long sigh. “I don’t know.”

Peter shook his head. “Who are we kidding, it’s YOU, Harry. I know you would’ve stopped. Plus it’s not like I’m helpless, I could’ve thrown you off if I had to.”

Harry stared at him quietly, before murmuring, “That’s not the point, Peter.”

“The point is that I love you and I know you love me. I know you’d get control of yourself before you’d seriously hurt me. You did it before, and you’ve just done it now.” 

“If I hadn’t realized it was you, I would have popped a major artery,” Harry mumbled. He was ashamed to admit that his mind was jumping with joy at the thought.

They stood in the alley in silence for a few minutes. To passersby, it could have looked like a drug deal going on. Finally, Peter took a deep breath and moved forward to hug him. He wrapped his arms around him and squeezed him tight. “But you did, and you stopped.” He murmured softly.

Harry felt his heart squeeze and he held back tears and wrapped his arms around Peter. A few stray tears slipped out of his eyes and he squeezed him back, sniffing lightly. Harry felt himself begin to shudder as he barely refrained from sobbing out.

“We’re going now, okay?” Peter hushed. Harry nodded, wanting all of this to be over. He also didn’t want to know what this feeling was that was coming over him. 

They walked out back onto the street and continued to the subway. Once there they had to wait ten minutes for a train to pull up. They boarded the train, thankfully alone, and Peter held Harry close. He could see Harry's distress and didn't want to leave him without comfort. Harry was thankful for the contact, enjoying the feeling of Peter rubbing his back gently and quietly as he murmured soft sweet nothings as the train chugged along. "So we're gonna meet the Avengers at Avengers Tower and they'll have a cure ready for you. They said it might take an extra day or so for it to completely get rid of the vampirism and it won't be the most pleasant thing you've ever experienced, but it'll be a cure." Peter explained gently and quietly.

“Alright,” Harry mumbled. “I just want to get this all over with.” 

“It will be over soon.” Peter cooed.

The train slowed down after 20 or so minutes and they got up and left. Only one person was in the subway station was wearing a hood over their face. Harry and Peter seemed to catch their attention.

“Hey!” She called, catching their attention. Peter looked over and smiled as Harry looked over confused.

“Escorting us there, Kamala?” He teased.

The person- Kamala, shushed him sharply. "Yes, now shut up! I'm undercover."

Peter put his hands up in surrender and felt Harry shift uncomfortably beside him. He leaned gently into Harry and murmured, "It's okay, I know her. She won't do anything." 

Harry still seemed uncomfortable, as Kamala watched him curiously. "So you're the one with vampirism?" She asked, her voice lowering as she spoke.

Harry flinched but replied, "Yeah. Pete said you guys could fix this?"

“Yeah, hope you don’t mind injections.” Kamala began to walk up the stairs of the subway with Peter and Harry following behind her.

The streets were of course packed. It was a wonder how they were able to stay near them. As they passed people, Harry’s smelled increased and he began to hyperventilate. Peter intertwined their fingers gently, recognizing that Harry was beginning to have a sensory overload. "Harry, just take deep breaths. We're almost at Avengers Tower." He whispered, feeling Harry began to shake. 

Harry nodded and the three began to speed up. "Kamala is there any less crowded way we could take?" Peter asked quickly. 

Kamala turned and frowned. "Yeah, but it'll take longer to get there." She warned. 

Peter turned to Harry. "Do you wanna take the less crowded way?" Peter asked.

“I think I’ll need to.” Harry nodded. His brain was telling him to hunt and he sure as hell didn’t want to hurt anyone around here. 

“Alright, I’ll notify that we’ll be late.” Kamala sighed, pulling out her phone. After shooting a text to Bruce, she motioned for the boys to follow her.

She turned into a dimly lit alleyway, before leading them through a few more, and arriving at a much quieter road. Peter turned to Harry and frowned, seeing the pain and hunger in his eyes. "Harry, do you need to stop to eat?" He whispered gently. 

Harry flinched at the idea. When he had bitten Peter's hand and got a taste of his blood, it had made him undoubtedly hungry, but he believed he could last. He shook his head. "I-I think I can manage." He mumbled. 

Peter furrowed his eyebrows. "Harry if you need to stop to drink a little, I won't mind. I won't let you drink so much that I can't keep going but it'll be enough to hold you over."

“I’m fine, really.” Harry lied. Yes, he was thirsty, but he didn’t think he’d be able to stop once he started.

“Okay.” Peter sighed, knowing that Harry was lying but decided not to push.

“Are you sure you’re not just an old married couple?” Kamala questioned.

Peter blushed slightly and glared at her playfully. "Hardy har, am I not allowed to worry about my boyfriend?"

Kamala laughed. "You're acting like Tony and Steve after a battle. You're all over each other and worrying." 

Peter rolled his eyes. "Oh shut up." 

“I bet your spider friends say the same thing.” Kamala smiled. After bickering for a bit they made it to the back entrance of Avengers Tower. Kamala pressed her hand to the door. A few seconds later it beeped and she was able to push the door open.

“Come on.” She motioned them to follow.

The lobby was dark and empty as she led them towards the elevator. She smiled and looked up. "Hey JARVIS, could you take us to the infirmary to see Bruce?"

"Of course Ms. Marvel," The elevator replied.

Peter gasped and looked up. "Oh my god, I forgot Stark had an AI!"

Kamala laughed. "You can talk to him." She said grinning at him. 

Peter went wide-eyed before he looked up. "Hi JARVIS!" He yelped excitedly. 

"Hello Mr. Parker," JARVIS greeted. 

Peter's eyes bulged and he gasped. "You know me?!"

Harry chuckled at Peter's wonder with the AI. “Of course I do.”

Harry watched as Peter’s eyes filled with wonder. If under different circumstances, Peter would be questioning JARVIS like his life depended on it.

“He’s like a child a Disneyland,” Kamala whispered as Peter started asking little questions to the AI.

“You should see him around Scat,” Harry whispered.

Kamala raised a curious eyebrow. “Who’s Scat? Isn’t that another word for… you know, poop?”

Harry chuckled softly. “Yeah, and Scat is his baby spider. He considers her his daughter and treats her as such.” He snorted. “Also wouldn’t call her a little shit. Almost lost my life the minute a brought that point into his view.”

Kamala stared at him. “He has a spider?”

“Duh.”

Kamala stared at him with a somewhat alarmed look before shrugging. “Seen weirder I guess.”

“I bet.” Harry smiled. The elevator door opened with a ding and the group stepped out. Kamala dimmed the lights, noticing Harry wince.

“Follow me.” Kamala waved them over. They walked across the tiled floor to Bruce Banner, who had tested tubes filled with a dark green liquid. He looked up from the desk and smiled.

“Hello there.” Banner stood up with his hand out for both of the boys to shake. 

Peter excitedly shook his hands. “Uh- hello Dr. Banner!” He greeted ecstatically. 

Banner chuckled as Harry approached and shook his hand as well. “U-um, it’s a pleasure to meet you, sir,” Harry said.

Banner nodded at the two, “It’s a pleasure to meet you both as well. Now, which one of you got bit?” He asked.

Peter snorted. “Both of us.” 

Harry smacked his stomach lightly and glared at him, a slight blush of embarrassment crossing his face. “Shut up, Peter.”

Peter chortled before pointing to Harry. “He did, sir.”

“Alright.” Bruce stood up and offered Harry his chair. “You’ll need to sit for the injection. I should warn you that you might pass out after.”

Harry nodded, taking a seat. “Please just get it over with.”

Bruce nodded as Peter moved to his side. “Wanna hold my hand?” He asked, only half teasing.

Harry glared at him. “No.” He said. It was a lie. He really did want to hold Peter’s hand, but his pride was getting in the way. 

He watched as the needle went into his arm, Bruce looking up at him to make sure he was okay before the dark liquid was injected. 

It felt tingly going in his arm. That feeling soon spread throughout his body and became intense. The only way to really describe it was being put to sleep for medical procedures. Harry felt his breaths become longer. His neck rolled back and he closed his eyes. 

He felt like he was falling but didn’t meet with the cold, hard, tiled floor. Instead, he shot up in a hospital bed in a pitch-black room. He looked around as his eyes adjusted. He was still in Avengers Tower’s medical wing. Harry tried moving slightly only to have his leg hit something. Looking down he saw Peter passed out with his head on the bed with his arms shielded around him. He reached down and touched Peter’s head. He immediately jerked awake, making a small ‘mrr?’ sound. Harry practically felt his heart explode at that, as Peter looked up and smiled weakly. “Hhhhi Harry…” He slurred softly.

Harry smiled. “Hi, Pete.” He murmured gently, feeling woozy from the injection.

Peter grinned as Harry opened his arms. “Cuddles.” He mumbled.

Peter’s grin grew and climbed up onto Harry, wrapping his arms around Harry’s torso. He smiled and wrapped his arms around the smaller, exhausted boy and let out a deep sigh.

“Why did you have to be so dramatic when you fell?” Peter mumbled, nuzzling Harry.

“What do you mean?” Harry laid his head back onto the bed.

“One second you were fine, the next you death dropped.” Peter giggles a little at the end. “You just completely went ragdoll.”

Harry laughed softly. “Hush, you.” He growled playfully.

Peter took a deep breath and nestled into his chest, getting comfortable quickly. “Can we nap for a minute?” He asked softly.

Harry nodded. “Sure, yeah why not.” And the two dozed off.

.oOo.oOo.oOo.

Early the next day, Bruce opened the door to be met with the sight of Peter fast asleep on top of Harry, snoring softly. He carefully made his way over as to not wake Harry. 

Once next to them, he shook Peter slightly. “Hey, Spidey.” He whispered.

Peter made a small noise unhappily, before looking up. He looked up to see Bruce looking at him, slightly amused. Peter mewled softly and adjusted so he could sit up without disturbing Harry under him. After a moment, he finally sat up and looked towards Bruce. “What’s up?” He asked softly, rubbing his face as his eyes adjusted to the light.

Bruce looked at Harry, then to Peter. “It’s noon right now and I didn’t think you’d want to sleep all day.” He said chuckling lightly.

“You wanna bet?” Peter said jokingly. Bruce smiled and let out a little laugh. Peter took his phone from his pocket and saw that he had multiple notifications from Miles. They were all asking where he was and why he was late. The last one stuck with Peter though.

‘Oh yeah, it was date night last night. Take your time recovering 😉’

He felt his face heat up as he nudged Harry softly. “Har, time to get up hon.” 

Harry groaned softly and opened his eyes, looking tired as he sat up slowly. “Wha? What happened?”

“You’re not a vampire anymore,” Peter replied, leaning forward and pressing a gentle kiss to Harry’s forehead.

Harry made a small noise at the contact and leaned into Peter. “That’s good.” He said.

Peter smiled but felt his face heat again as Harry pressed a kiss to his cheek and began working down his jawline. He pushed him away gently. “Harry, Bruce is here.” He warned softly.

Harry blushed slightly. “Ask him to leave?”

“I think it’s our time to leave, Harry.” Peter smiled as he stood up.

Harry felt a rush of disappointment at the loss of Peter's warmth but still stood up and stretched. He felt his tight muscles become sore at the movement as he felt lightheaded from holding his breath for a moment too long. He grabbed onto Peter's shoulder, stabilizing himself, as Peter turned and smiled at him. "Do you wanna go to my house or should I walk you home?" He asked. 

Harry cleared his throat and nodded. "I'd like to keep napping with you." He replied, smiling at the brunet. 

Bruce laughed softly. "Let me run a few tests to make sure everything's out of your system. Don't want you going home under the assumption you're cured only to find you might not be."

Harry nodded. Bruce went to get the medical equipment of his desk. He came back with them and pulled out a needle. He looked between Harry and Peter. “Maybe you should hold his hand this time. It could calm you enough so that you don’t pass out again.” 

Harry looked away embarrassed but did sneak Peter’s hand into his own. Peter smiled and squeezed Harry's hand back happily. Harry felt his smile grow as Peter leaned into him as Bruce drew the blood. Peter moved his head to face him, effectively averting his gaze away from the needle as he took a slow breath, drinking in Harry's returning natural scent. "What do you wanna do when we get home? Other than the obvious." 

Harry blushed at the comment, knowing exactly what Peter meant. "Maybe I can take you out for lunch. Regular lunch this time."

“Before you go, let’s see how’d you react to the sun.” Bruce noted, “I mean you haven’t been hit with sunlight yet today.” 

Bruce went to open the curtains but stopped until he got a nod from Harry. The sun bathed over Harry and he was glad that he didn’t feel like he wasn’t burning.

“How are you feeling?” Peter asked, “Kwispy?”

“No.” Harry smiled. "I actually feel pretty good." 

Peter felt his heart skip for a moment as he watched Harry close his eyes and take a deep breath. He could tell he was enjoying the warmth and light. Peter chuckled softly before pressing a kiss to his cheek. 

"I just have a couple more blood tests to run which should only take a few minutes then you should be on your way. Peter, you're free to remove the bandages on your arm and neck. I'm sure the wounds are healed now what with your enhanced healing." 

Peter perked at the memory as he touched the scratchy gauze. "I honestly forgot I had these on." 

Bruce laughed good-naturedly. "Do you two want anything to eat or drink before you head out?" He offered. 

“Water.” The two said in unison. Bruce laughed lightly before leaving briefly the room. 

He came back with the water, Peter had been able to take off the bandages and throw them away before he had gotten back.

Harry took the water and chugged it. Definitely way better than drinking blood and feeling bad about it. 

Peter smiled as he took a sip of his own. He was glad that Harry was finally able to drink something other than blood. Of course, he was willing to give him his blood, he was just glad that he didn’t have to anymore. 

Harry was thankful for a liquid that wasn't blood as he pulled the bottle away from his lips. "Oh my god water has never tasted so good."

Peter laughed at the statement as he grabbed one of Harry's hands. "Well if you enjoy water that much you're gonna love juice." 

Harry stared at him wide-eyed before whispering, "Please tell me you guys have apple juice." 

Peter laughed loudly before nodding. "Of course we do, hon. Come on, let's have Bruce finish these tests then we can head home."

"I just need another minute," Bruce reassured as he stepped over to a machine in which the blood was being tested. 

Harry grinned and watched excitedly as the blood turned in the vial as Bruce tapped on a tablet. "Aaand, done. You're all clear." He said aloud.

Harry pumped his fist. "Yes! Peter, let's go!"

Peter laughed as Harry grabbed his arm and pulled him up from the bed. Harry got out of his bed quickly and dragged Peter to the elevator. “See you around Dr. Banner!”

“Goodbye Parker.” Banner waved as the door shut.

“I’m going to eat everything in your house,” Harry said casually.

“Hear me out. We go to an all you can eat place.” Peter smiled.

“You’re a genius and I love you.” Harry kisses the top of Peter’s head and smiled.

Peter laughed happily. "Let me change first. I'm still wearing, you know, a blood-covered sweatshirt." 

Suddenly Peter stopped. "Oh my god, I STAINED YOUR SWEATSHIRT! THIS THING IS SO DRIED- IT'LL NEVER COME OUT!" He suddenly wailed, realizing the bloodstain from when Harry had been stabbed earlier and when he had bitten Peter’s hand.

Harry laughed. "Peter I have more sweatshirts," 

"THIS WAS MY FAVORITE ONE HARRY! YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND!" He cried out again. “NOT TO MENTION THE ONE AT HOME!”

Harry grabbed Peter's face. "Peter look at me. I have so many sweatshirts. I can replace this one."

"But- but Harry-"

"No buts. I'll replace it."

Peter crosses his arms and pouted. Harry messed up his hair and got a playful smack. 

“Come on, I wanna eat a place out of business.” Harry pecked Peter’s cheek as the elevator door opened. 

Harry grabbed Peter’s arm again and ran out the back of Avengers Tower. He wasn’t a fast as he was last night but still fast.

“You’re acting like me after a long patrol.” Peter laughed.

Harry groaned. "Peter I haven't had regular food in ages. Let me eat myself into a food coma."

Peter rolled his eyes. "Still gotta take a detour to change!" He shouted. 

The two got on a subway and waited impatiently to arrive at Peter's house. Both of them were admittedly hungry, but Peter wasn't keen on going to a buffet in bloody clothing. They got some strange looks from people as they exited the subway and made their way to the bus station, but Peter didn't mind. He didn't know them and he doubted anyone would call 911, as much as that partially upset him. As the bus screeched to a halt in front of the bus stop, Peter was quick to get off and begin jogging towards his place with Harry in tow. 

"We have about 30 minutes until the next bus. If we're quick we both can sneak in a shower. I have an outfit of yours you left at my house." Peter called over his shoulder. 

“Sounds good,” Harry called back as he followed. They reached Peter’s door and Harry had to catch his breath. He had vampire speed for so long he had forgotten what it felt like to actually put effort into running.

“Does my Harr-Bear need to get a workout schedule?” Peter teased.

“Oh hush.” Harry rolled his eyes and gave Peter a playful punch. Peter stuck his tongue out while opening the door. 

“I’m going to take my shower now.” Peter decided. Before he could reach the stairs, Harry wrapped his arm around his shoulders.

“Or, and I’m just suggesting, take one together? Less time.” Harry noted.

Peter felt himself grin. “I like where you’re going with this. No funny business though, we have things to do, places to be.” He replied playfully.

Harry smirked. “Fine then.” He replied flirtatiously.

Peter rolled his eyes and ducked from under his arm, stepping up the stairs. “You get the hot water going!” He called down.

Harry nodded, quickly following and entering the bathroom at the end of the hall. He turned on the faucet and waited for warm water to begin flowing. In the meantime, he glanced around the bathroom he’d become so accustomed to. The walls were painted a light blue, with a white and green decorative shower curtain and a translucent blue plastic one inside the tub. He’d spent the night so often he had a spare toothbrush in the little red cup that was beside the sink. He turned on the fan and heard Peter step down the hallway with two piles of clothing and two towels. He watched as Peter entered the bathroom, one of his old dress shirts freshly washed along with a pair of his jeans and boxers. He raised an eyebrow. "Okay so how much of that did you steal and how much did I just leave here?"

“Only I will ever know that answer.” Peter smiled, putting down the clothes. 

Harry laughed and straightened up, stripping himself as Peter closed and locked the bathroom door. Peter smirked at him and winked playfully as Harry rolled his eyes. “You said it yourself, no funny business.” Harry retorted as he quickly stepped into the shower.

“I may or may not have redacted that statement,” Peter replied as he quickly stripped himself and joined Harry. 

Harry chortled as Peter moved in front of him and grabbed the shampoo, handing it to Harry with a small, embarrassed smile.

“Don’t use too much,” Peter warned, hinting at the last time he did. “We don’t need another hospital scare and May giving us the look.”

“I’m still blaming the bottle.” Harry hummed. He squeezed some into his hand and started with Peter’s hair. 

Peter snorted. “Of course, blame the inanimate object.”

The two fell silent as Harry massaged the shampoo into Peter’s hair, smiling at the fresh smell and the suds, as Peter began washing his body. “We have two body washes, the blue and the yellow, which one do you want?” 

“What do they smell like?” 

“Blue is fruit, yellow is vanilla.”

“Yellow,”

Peter handed the pouf to him. “Could you scrub my back?”

“Hehe, short arms.” Harry giggled.

“Shut up and help me.” Peter rolled his eyes. 

“Okay tiny baby arms.” Harry smiled as Peter swatted him.

“I’m starting to think another hospital scare would be worth it at this point.” Peter glared.

Harry sighed. “After I de-vampirize? Right before our date?! God, I thought you loved me.”

“Maybe so, maybe not.”

Harry scoffed. “I knew it, you’re just using me for my money.”

“Absolutely. Once we get married, I’m planning your mysterious disappearance.”

“Will there be an episode of cold cases about me?”

“Yep, in 50 years’ time.”

“Then it will be worth it.”

The two laughed playfully as Harry finished scrubbing him. “Alright, rinse off. Let’s switch places.”

Peter rinsed out his hair and the soap bubbles disappeared. After that they traded places, it was slightly awkward but meh, more awkward things have happened between them. Peter scrubbed Harry’s back as he washed his hair and fell into a comfortable silence. After they switched again so Harry could rinse, Peter turned off the water and grabbed the two towels. “Dry off before getting out, I don’t want to wash the carpets again.”

Harry nodded as he began drying his hair off. Peter went to use his towel before just shaking off like a dog. It was an urge that was harmless so why not. Harry covered himself with his towel to keep himself dry. After he dried off enough, he stepped out, Peter following close behind, and went to the counter. He pulled on the clothes Peter had brought, deciding to wait on the shirt until after he brushed his teeth, and waited for Peter to get dressed before opening the door to let a bit of the steam out.

“This room is like the when sims woohoo.” Peter hummed causally. Harry snorted.

“What?” Harry laughed. 

“You know when they fuck- oh excuse me, when they woohoo the bed becomes steamy,” Peter said simply.

Harry laughed at that. “Ah yes, hot showers = sex.”

“Woohoo.”

“My mistake,”

Harry started brushing his teeth as Peter scooted in beside him. “Do you always brush your teeth shirtless or are you making an exception for me?”

“Why, you like me shirtless?” Harry knew the answer was yes.

“Nippley Titties.” Peter hummed, poking Harry’s peck. Harry snickered. “Just humongous boobs.”

“Okay, I have tits now?” Harry chuckled.

“Yep, gorgeous man boobs.”

Harry laughed. “I would kiss you but I have a mouthful of foamy toothpaste so let me finish then I’ll give you smooches.”

Peter sighed and reached for his toothbrush. “Woe is me, with my lack of smooches.”

“Oh if they mean so much to you.” Harry took the toothbrush out of his mouth and tried to give Peter a kiss on the forehead. Peter, of course, backed away but Harry was being persistent. “Let me show you my love Peter!”

“Get your rabies away from me!” Peter yelped.

“I’m foaming with love!” Harry replied.

“No gross! Cooties!” Peter cried.

Harry laughed and swooped to kiss him, only to be smacked in the face by Peter. He cupped his cheek and hunched over when he heard Peter cover his mouth and laugh. “Are you okay?”

He felt Peter touch his arm and immediately straightened, grabbing Peter’s arm, tugging him forward, and pressing a sloppy kiss to Peter’s cheek, all the while Peter was screeching.

“You tricked me!” Peter swatted at him then rubbed the foam off of his cheek.

“My love is no trick my dear, it’s all real,” Harry said slyly.

“Now I got cooties,” Peter whined.

“If we’re being technical, cooties are lice. If you have lice and didn’t tell me before cuddling, we’re breaking up.”

“Do you see this fluffy hair that you washed, Harold? If this hair was home to lice, I would be in bed and depressed. We would not have gone on a date, I would be crying.”

Harry laughed for a moment. He went to rinse out his mouth while Peter did something with the shirt he had brought for Harry. Peter then left with the shirt, the sleeves of Harry’s sweater over his hands.

“Hey, I need that!” Harry called.

“No, you don’t!” Peter called back.

He scoffed, “Unbelievable,” under his breath, before spitting out what was left of the toothpaste and chasing after Peter. “Hey, I need my shirt!”

He ran after Peter, who quickly barricaded himself in his room. “Peter!”

“No shirt,” Peter whined from behind the door.

“Why?” Harry asked, still trying the doorknob.

“Because I wanna see you sparkle.” Peter hummed.

Harry laughed. “Peter, I’m not a vampire anymore.”

“But… sparkle...”

“How about this, I’ll go outside with you shirtless, but before we go to the buffet I’m putting a shirt back on. We only have ten minutes until the bus gets here, Hon.” 

“Mmm, fine.” Peter hummed, opening the door.

Harry smiled and took the shirt. “Thank you kindly.”

He pulled on his socks and shoes as Peter dressed. “Come on, we’ve only got a few minutes until the bus gets here.” He informed quickly as he made his way down the stairs.

Peter followed behind him excitedly, quietly chanting, “sparkle, sparkle, sparkle, sparkle,”

Harry walked out of the house. “See? No sparkles.”

“I can see you sparkling.” Peter smiled.

“What?” Harry was confused.

“Sparkle.” Peter smiled.

He looked down. “I’m not sparkling, Peter.”

“Yes, you are.”

“Peter, are you talking about the sun glistening on me?” Harry asked.

“Sparkly abs.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Okay, fine, I sparkle, now give me my shirt,” He grumbled playfully, snatching it from his hands.

Peter whined loudly as Harry buttoned it down. “Come on, let’s go.”

Peter huffed softly but was quick to follow Harry down the road to the bus stop. They got there as the bus was pulling up to let an elderly man on, and they slipped in behind him happily. Harry patted his pants, confirming he had his wallet and phone. Once he was sure, he relaxed as Peter held his hand. “Now we can have a better date,” He hummed excitedly, leaning into Harry. 

Harry wrapped his arm around Peter’s shoulders. “Thank god.” He mumbled, kissing his head lightly.

Peter giggled softly and kissed his jawline. Harry smiled fondly and sighed softly. “So where do you wanna eat?”

“Not anywhere up class.”

“Well, that really narrows it down.”

“There’s this one place called Buffet Buffet in Brooklyn.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah,”

Harry snorted softly. “Well, I guess we’re eating there.”

The two stayed close on the crowded bus as it pulled to a halt. Harry and Peter stepped out and Peter stopped to kiss his cheek. “Hey, Har.”

“Yeah?”

“I love you,”

“I love you too.”

[searchingwardrobes]

Early Leaf’s a Flower: 4/11

Now we reach the part of the story that has me nervous even though I am immensely proud of it. Emma and Killian will be separated for a bit here in the middle, but I just need ya'll to hang with me and trust me, okay? This is where the "fate" part of the summary begins to come into play.

This is also when Emma meets Neal and Killian meets Milah. I am writing these relationships more along the lines of being young and making immature decisions rather than villainizing Neal and Milah. In canon, Neal and Milah were both significantly older than Emma and Killian (which is an interesting parallel I have never thought much about before, come to think of it), but in this story, all four of them are the same age (17). There is no relation whatsoever between Neal and Milah in this story. Neal is also just Neal, not Bae. In other words, he has no connection to the fairy tale realms. He's just another runaway teenager.

I have to once again thank the mods of the @captainswanbigbang​ , and my betas @shippingtheswann​, @distant-rose​, and @optomisticgirl​ for believing in this fic, especially this section and for encouraging me when I doubted myself. I especially want to give a shout out to Ro who encouraged me to write Milah in the way I had envisioned instead of changing her character to please the fandom.

So, fingers crossed, here we go! Got your tissues ready?

Summary: She saw eyes that were the blue of the forget me not peering at her through the cracked door of the wardrobe. He saw hair as gold as the buttercups. Why does the wardrobe keep bringing them back to one another, if fate keeps tearing them apart? Or maybe fate has her reasons …

Rating: M for eventual sexy times, violence, canonical character death, and attempted rape

Trigger warnings: vague references to child abuse (physical and sexual), violence, and positive Millian

Words: Around 7k in this chapter (all chapters will be rather lengthy from here on out)

** Complete and updated every Monday** Also on Ao3

Emma: Age 17

Emma wipes at her cheeks, frustrated with herself for crying. Those people don’t deserve her tears. She plops down on the bench in front of the bus stop in downtown Bangor, Maine, the one bag she always keeps packed at her feet. She’s fully aware of what running away at seventeen means.

There will be no more chances.

That makes her frustrated with herself, too. The fact that a tiny part of her still clings to hope, even now. Even after the words her foster father spoke just this evening.

“We have to think of our children, Emma, if you’re going to act this way.”

“Our” children - and that didn’t include her. They didn’t even wait to hear her side of the story. They never asked why she got into the fight in the first place and never once thought that maybe the pot in her book bag wasn’t even hers. It was clear how they saw her - a screwed up orphan who couldn’t be trusted.

She sees the bus coming towards her, and she snatches her bag. She’s not sure how far she can get on the cash she’s got, but any place is better than here. She never belonged in the suburbs anyway.

All she has in her pocket is a little cash that she lifted from her former foster mother’s purse. Portland - that’s how far the cash gets her, with a few bucks left over. She blows it all on a grilled cheese and onion rings in a greasy diner next to the bus stop. She gets as many refills of her soda as she can before the waitress starts to get suspicious.

A year in the suburbs has made Emma rusty, and she wastes way too much time wandering around the city. She hopes that she’s at least walking with a purpose. The most important rule on the streets is to never show vulnerability or weakness.

It begins to rain, and she needs a place to sleep. The corner of her mouth kicks up in the hint of a smile when she sees what’s a block ahead near the pier. It’s a carnival, closed for the season. Better yet, there’s a gap in the gate of the chain link just wide enough for a slender girl to slip through. Surely there’s a warm, dry place to spend the night somewhere on the grounds.

As Emma walks around the silent carnival, she has to admit that it’s a bit eerie. The swings move subtly in the breeze, their chains clanking. Rain pelts the colorful awnings and drips down the boarded up booths. The rain starts to come down harder, and Emma dashes across the grounds with her hoodie over her head. It’s getting dark fast.

“Hey! Hey, you!”

The voice is jolting in the abandoned setting, and Emma’s feet move faster. She clambers aboard a dark carousel just as the pouring rain turns into a full blown storm. The wind whistles around the still carousel, and lightning illuminates the immobile faces of horses, zebras, and unicorns.

Emma hears the shouts again, almost inaudible over the storm, and she drops down on all fours. She scrambles beneath the feet of the wooden menagerie to the very center of the carousel. She presses her back against the wood, heart pounding.

The beam of a flashlight cuts through the darkness, and Emma claps her hands to her mouth as if that can help cloak her from the light.

“Who’s there?”

Emma’s hands slip from her face as she realizes that it isn’t the voice of an adult. Still, she looks around frantically, hoping to see a service door somewhere. A security guard would call the cops, but another teenager might do something ten times worse to a girl alone out here. Emma can’t see a damn thing between the flashes of lightning, so she crawls along the edges of the center of the carousel, hands groping for an opening.

“Hey, stop!” the voice shouts again, and the light of the flashlight blinds Emma. Hands reach out, but she fights against them. “Stop it, I’m not gonna hurt you!”

The only reason she believes him is because he releases her. Her eyes blink open, but all she can see is a shadowy figure leaning over her. The flashlight is rolling away on the floor of the carousel. The lightning flashes again, just long enough to show her the face of a teenage boy. They’re plunged back into darkness, however, just as quickly.

“You a runaway too?”

“Too?”

“Hey listen,” he says, gently touching her arm, “I’m gonna go get my flashlight, okay? Don’t run off.”

Emma isn’t sure if it’s his youth or her fear of the storm that keeps her where she is. He comes back, shining the flashlight at her feet so he doesn’t blind her again. When he hunkers down in front of her, the light fully illuminates him, and she’s able to get a good look at him: extremely thick, slightly curly brown hair that falls into his dark brown eyes, a boyish smile, and a nose that’s a tad too large for his face. The hoodie he’s wearing is stained, ripped, and soaked from the rain.

“I’m Neal,” he tells her, “Neal Cassidy.”

She simply regards him suspiciously.

“This is the part where you tell me your name,” he adds with a grin.

Emma turns away from his gaze and crosses her arms stubbornly. He sighs.

“I get it, I really do, but you’re gonna have to trust me.”

“I don’t have to do anything,” she snaps.

“If you want to survive, you do,” he replies solemnly. “Now, do you wanna see where we sleep or not? Cause it’s a lot better than this carousel.”

“We?”

Killian: Age 17

“Man overboard!”

The crew of the Jolly Roger rush to get ropes as soon as the words leave Curly’s mouth from where he stands guard in the crow’s nest. It’s a mission they’ve been through many times, fishing lost boys out of the water.

“Starboard!” Curly yells, and they hurry to that side of the ship.

The Jolly Roger, despite being captained by a boy of seventeen, is still the finest ship to sail the seas in any realm, just as it was under its other name - The Jewel of the Realm. And despite its crew ranging in age from twelve to eighteen, her familiar outline shimmering on the horizon is already enough to strike fear in the hearts of the most experienced sailors. For one, the Jolly Roger with its pegasus sail has been known to drop upon a ship from the skies above. Then there are the tales of the demon pirate children and their one-handed captain, stories that have almost reached the status of legend. Enough so that Hook and his crew have to shed very little blood. Their intent is to avenge the death of Liam Jones, and to that end, crippling the navy of King George is enough.

Killian Jones is no longer the navy's disciplined sailor he was a year ago, but more importantly, he also is no longer a boy. Plenty of sailors underestimate him because of his age, but few seventeen year olds carry the experience or the tragedy of Captain Hook.

As for Pan, Killian hasn’t forgotten the day he slashed his brother with dreamshade. Though Captain Hook longs for a more violent revenge, the best he can do for the moment is rescue Pan’s boys from thinning, and occasionally, save a boy from Pan’s shadow. Not all boys come to Peter willingly, and many used to perish in the waves around the island until Hook started fishing them out of the water. Both practices have caused The Jolly Roger’s crew to swell over the past year.

On this particular day, his crew is fishing their latest recruit out of the water. Two in as many days? Pan doesn’t usually send his shadow out that frequently. Then again, he’d thinned a few recently. No matter how hard the pirates try to save them, not all Lost Boys realize the intent of their leader until it’s too late. Hook’s current cabin boy also fought off the shadow just yesterday. Killian grins as he thinks of Pan’s frustration. He lounges against a few barrels, crossing his legs at the ankles, and casually watches his crew work the ropes. He arches a brow as the wet figure flops to the deck.

“Looks like it’s a pirate’s life for you, boy,” he says. As the “boy” stands, Captain Hook finds himself speechless, something that hasn’t happened in well over a year.

The entire crew gasps, for standing before them, dripping wet, chest heaving, and fire in her eyes is not a lost boy but a lost girl. She wears a corseted dress that shows off an ample amount of her bosom, and Hook’s been in enough ports to know a lady of the night when he sees one. Yet she is, indeed, a girl. Not a woman. Anger flashes clearly in his suddenly darkening eyes. His crew misinterprets it as frustration towards the girl herself. They all eye her warily and step a few paces away from her.

Hook draws closer to her, removing his long leather duster as he does so. She lifts her chin defiantly, almost hiding the shiver that courses through her body. He swings the duster towards her, the words of a gentleman on his tongue, but she slaps his hand away. The crew murmurs nervously, but all Hook does is smirk at her.

“You are cold, lass, I was offering my coat.”

“I don’t need your charity,” she spits, “all I need is to find someone, and I’ll be on my way.”

Killian’s brow arches as he regards her. “I see. Unfortunately for you, that will be rather difficult to accomplish without the aid of me and my crew.”

She props her hands on her hips and scowls at him. “Doubtful.”

He draws closer and leans forward to whisper in her ear. “No. Fact.”

She narrows her stormy gray eyes at him, and he’s close enough to see the swirls of blue in them. Some of her dark curls have stuck to her wet face, and he wants to reach out and brush them away, but he refrains. She strikes him as the type of lass who would not welcome such a gesture.

A sudden, high pitched shout of delight breaks the tension, and the girl lets out a cry as she shoves past Killian. She falls to her knees in front of Hook’s new cabin boy, a lad of only six, and envelops him in her arms.

“Mason!” she says, her hard facade slipping away as she holds the boy tight and cries with joy. “I’ve been so worried ever since that shadow -”

“It’s okay!” the boy interrupts with childish exuberance. He rushes over to his Captain and tugs on his hook. “Captain Hook let me join his crew! I’m his cabin boy!”

Those eyes of hers become tumultuous again, and Killian regards her in contemplation. The boy is six, the lad told him so, but surely this girl can’t be his mother. He knows, however, that not all the girls in the brothels are of age, nor are they all there by choice. He guesses the young lady before him would have had to give birth at the age of only thirteen, at the most, if she truly is the boy’s mother.

“What have you been doing to him?” she snaps.

“Taking care of him,” Killian says calmly but with authority, “and a thank you would be in order that we fished him out of the sea.”

“And kept him hidden from Peter Pan,” Starkey, his first mate, adds.

Killian kneels before Mason. “How about you go below and get some hardtack from cook while I talk to your -”

“Sister. And her name is Milah.”

Killian lets out a small sigh of relief. “Yes, your sister.”

“Okay!” Mason chirps as he skips off. Killian watches him go fondly. They normally don’t take on boys as young as he is, but Mason had fought the shadow tooth and nail where most lads his age are eager to see The Neverland. He sees a jadedness in the boy’s eyes that is much too familiar.

Killian stands and turns to Mason’s sister. He bows. “Milah, I believe it is?”

“Yes,” she says coolly.

“If I may have a word with you, m’lady?”

She tosses her hair saucily over one shoulder, yet takes the arm he offers her anyway. He glares at his crew and shouts for them to get back to work. He and Milah stroll to the ship’s bow.

“May I ask,” he begins, knowing he must proceed with caution, “how you managed to follow your brother here?”

Milah sighs and lets go of his arm. “A week ago, Mason told me about the shadow coming to our window. He said it whispered to him about a place where orphan boys can be free. I’m ashamed to say that I brushed it off as a dream.”

“But it kept coming back.”

Milah nods. “It began to frighten Mason, too. He said that the shadow wanted to take him away from me. I told him to keep the window locked. I have to work nights, you see . . . “ Milah trails off, a blush rising to her cheeks as she looks away from him in shame.

“Hey,” Killian says softly, turning her chin gently towards him, “I was sold as a slave when I wasn’t much older than Mason. I know what it means to just survive.”

She holds his gaze for only a moment before turning away, her hard demeanor back in place. “Anyway, I came home one night to see the shadow for myself, but it already had Mason. I lunged for my brother, but it was too late, the shadow was flying away with him.”

“Then how did you get here?” He glances up at the pegasus sail fluttering above them. “It is no easy feat, lass.”

Milah smiles with a bit of pride behind her eyes. “I went to a sorceress in the village square. It took far too much of my coin, but she had the information I sought. She said if I stood before my open window and said I believe, the shadow would come for me.”

“And it did,” Killian says, unable to keep the admiration from his voice.

She nods. “Aye, but the sorceress warned me not to let the shadow take me all the way to the island. I wasn’t sure why, but figured I should listen, so -”

“So here we are.” Killian leans against the railing, admiring the way the sea air rustles her curls. She shivers again, and he once again offers his coat. This time, she accepts.

“Here we are,” she says, suddenly shy. He sees now a hint of her real age.

“How old are you?” he asks gently, hoping she won’t take the question as anything more than genuine curiosity.

She bites her bottom lip as she clutches his duster tighter. “Seventeen.”

His cheeks dimple with the force of his smile. “So am I .”

“Are you serious?” Her jaw drops. “The fearsome Captain Hook is just a boy?”

“A boy!”

She laughs teasingly, then cocks her head at him. “So, does the offer still stand?”

He tilts his head. “Offer?”

“You know, a pirate’s life for me.”

He reaches out and adjusts the heavy coat that rests on her slim shoulders. “Yes, Milah. I think you’ll make a damn good pirate.”

Emma: Age 17

Emma stares out across the dark carnival grounds, pushing the swing around idly with her foot. She hears chains clink behind her and sighs wearily.

“Hey,” Neal says, grasping the chains of her swing and spinning her to face him.

“Hey.”

He searches her face and gives her a boyish grin. “Don’t let them get to you, Ems.”

She says nothing. She searches his eyes, for what she isn’t sure. He tugs the swing forward and captures her lips in a kiss. She kisses him back for a moment, then pushes gently on his chest.

“I’m still mad at you,” she grumbles.

He shakes his head and chuckles, which causes Emma a tiny prick of irritation. He lifts the metal bar of the swing nearest her and sits, his long, awkward teenage legs sprawled out on either side of hers.

“They were just messing with us. They know we’re a thing, so -”

“It was my first time, Neal!” Emma snaps before he can finish.

“It’s not like I planned it or anything,” he shoots back, still with that infuriating grin on his face, “one thing led to another -”

“I was there, Neal,” she tells him dryly.

“My point is, I didn’t mean for it to happen that way.”

Emma blushes as the memories of the night before come back to her. “You said they wouldn’t be able to hear us.”

“I didn’t know you were going to moan that loud.”

She kicks him, but can’t help smiling shyly at his teasing. He leans forward and yanks her swing close to his until their noses are brushing.

“I also didn’t know you were going to cry out my name like that.”

She bites her lip at the heated look in his eyes. Honestly, she had yelped his name more than crying it out. It had hurt at first, but she’s too embarrassed to tell him that.

“I . . . “ she swallows thickly as he presses a kiss right at the corner of her mouth, “Neal, I . . . “

“Yes?” he mumbles against her neck.

Emma stops the explorations of his lips with her hands to his cheeks so she can look him in the eye. “I think . . . that is, I . . . I love you, Neal.”

He smiles brightly then, pulling her close and kissing her with incredible passion. He doesn’t say anything back, doesn’t say he loves her too. She tells herself that’s okay, though. After all, they’re only seventeen.

*************************************

Lily is the leader. Emma isn’t sure exactly how that came to be, though she guesses it has something to do with Lily’s intimidating demeanor. There’s something darkly intense about her, an edge behind her dusky eyes that makes everyone in their crew afraid to question her authority.

There are seven of them, including Emma, forming a loose sort of family. Neal had been correct that first night - the supply warehouse they’re squatting in is a much better place to crash than the carousel. It’s a slightly macabre final resting place for anything broken or out of use, from rusted coaster cars to broken haunted house furniture. There’s even an old red sleigh and a troupe of ten-foot tall nutcrackers when the carnival had apparently been open for the holidays.

Neal was also telling the truth that they’re all runaways. Emma, however, is the only actual orphan. Truth be told, she secretly thinks the rest of them are all a little self absorbed in their reasons to leave home. Neal’s dad apparently had become angry and bitter after his mother’s death. Emma has to keep from rolling her eyes every time Neal tells her how the man “just didn’t understand him anymore.” Claudia and Jamie felt overlooked in a big family, Sam just longed for adventure, and August chafed against his father’s rules. Then there’s Lily, adopted as an infant by parents who she claims never loved her and - naturally - didn’t understand her. The whole “they don’t understand me” thing is a constant refrain, and one Emma is frankly a little tired of hearing.

When Neal had brought her to the group that first night, he’d gone straight to Lily who had regarded Emma, shivering and dripping water on the concrete floor, with casual disdain. Then her mouth had ticked up into a smile that Emma couldn’t quite read.

“Welcome to the family,” she’d told her, and only then had the rest of the group even approached her. They’d each carved out space amongst all the junk, using bits of this and pieces of that to make beds. There wasn’t really a “bed” for Emma, though, so Neal had offered to share his. When Jamie, who is only thirteen, snickered, Emma had blushed and said she’d figure something else out.

“Oh don’t be such a baby,” Lily had snapped with a roll of her eyes, “we already know he wants to fuck you. Emma’s staying with Neal, and that’s just how it is.”

She’d said the last as if it were a royal proclamation, and everyone had scattered to go to bed for the night. Neal’s face had been bright red, and he’d not only mumbled an apology, but had been a perfect gentleman that first night.

But only the first night. And now here she is, in the first real relationship of her young life, and five other kids heard every word of it. It’s humiliating and degrading. Yet Emma knows better than to mess this thing up. Lily’s crew means protection, it means seven kids pulling cons and picking pockets and sharing the spoils. And it may not be the family she’s spent her whole life dreaming of, but it’s better than being alone.

Emma isn’t sure where Neal is at the moment. She’s attempting to get a moment to herself, hidden behind the broken down cotton candy machine that makes one “wall” of the “bedroom” she shares with Neal. Claudia had swiped a pad of paper and some pencils from a discount store yesterday and hadn’t minded sharing with Emma. It’s been years since she’s sketched, but inspiration struck. Her pencil flies across the paper, and when she’s finished, tears sting inexplicably at the corner of her eyes. It’s the wardrobe. She bites on her lower lip and swallows back a sudden lump in her throat. She remembers the sparkle in Killian’s eyes and a bit of sadness sweeps over her as she wonders where he is right now. She shakes her head and crumples the paper in her hand. Why the hell is she thinking about that wardrobe today?

“Emma?”

She jolts and turns to see Jamie standing there. “Neal wanted me to give you this,” he tells her as he hands her a piece of paper.

Emma rolls her eyes as she takes the paper from him. “You can wipe that shit-eating grin off your face, Jamie.”

His grin only gets wider. “Did Claude tell you she swiped some ear plugs for me? She doesn’t want your sex noises corrupting me.”

She jumps up to smack the kid across his smug face, but he darts away laughing before she can reach him. Letting out a frustrated huff of breath, she opens the note he’s given her.

“Meet me at the spot where we first met. xoxo Neal”

Even though the xoxo postscript is a little middle school, she can’t help the smile that fills her face. She heads eagerly for the carousel and finds Neal waiting for her. He grabs her around the waist and kisses her in greeting, and when they part Emma has to catch her breath.

“Where have you been all day?” she asks him.

The grin he gives her fills his face and lights up his brown eyes. “Working on a surprise.”

She smiles back, wrapping her arms tightly around his neck. “A surprise? For who?��

He shrugs teasingly. “I was thinking maybe Claudia would like it - ow!” He rubs at where she punched him in the arm, though her indignation seems to only make his smile broader. “Just kidding, Ems, you know it’s for you. Come on!”

Neal pulls her across the carnival grounds almost at a run, and Emma is breathless again when he stops in front of an office door. She quirks a brow at him.

“What’s in there?”

He shuffles his feet back and forth, nervous for the first time. “Um, just close your eyes.”

Emma eyes him suspiciously.

“Please?”

She shrugs and complies. She hears the door swing open, and Neal tugs her hands gently to lead her inside. The door shuts behind her, and she feels Neal pressed up against her back. He leans forward and whispers in her ear.

“Keep your eyes closed until I say.”

“Okay,” she agrees, letting her breath out in a huff.

“I’m really sorry about how our first time went. I should have planned it - made it special. So . . . maybe this will make it up to you?”

He tells her to open her eyes, and when she does, she sees a small, modest office with wood paneling, filing cabinets, and a musty smell. However, there’s also a couch along one wall that Neal has scattered with rose petals and on every flat surface in the room, tea candles flicker.

“Well?” he asks her, shoving his hands in his pockets and rocking back on his heels.

“I . . . I . . . “ Emma swallows around the sudden lump in her throat. “How did you even get in here?”

She worries that maybe she’s hurt his feelings, but Neal just shrugs. “I picked the lock. It was a simple one with no deadbolt, so . . . “

Emma wanders around the small room, taking in every candle, reaching out to touch some of the rose petals.

“They’re fake,” he tells her apologetically. “The convenience store didn’t have real ones. Oh, and I got you something else!”

Neal reaches into his jeans pocket and pulls out a key chain which he dangles in front of her. Emma reaches out to take it, smiling down at the round pendant.

“It’s a swan.” She throws her arms around him and gives him a brief kiss. “I love it!”

She wraps her arms tighter around him as he pulls her close. She buries her nose in his shoulder and revels in his embrace. Then, suddenly, a bright fluorescent light catches her eye. Just over Neal’s shoulder is another door, and through the square window in its center she sees something she remembers from her past.

“What’s that?” she whispers as she steps away from Neal and draws closer to the door.

“Oh, that’s the arcade,” Neal tells her, “this office must be for the manager.”

Emma turns the knob and is surprised to find it unlocked. She steps out into the dark arcade, drawing closer to the glass cube that pulses with a neon glow.

“I wonder why that one’s still plugged in,” Neal muses.

Emma presses her palm to the glass and draws closer. Voices from the past drift to the forefront of her memory. Now, decide which prize you want, and focus. Emma remembers the way the game had sparked, how Sarah hadn’t seemed fazed at all. The claw in this machine hangs immobile, and Emma gives a soft gasp as she sees the prize right below it - a stuffed white rabbit with a pink ribbon around its neck.

“Emma?” Neal asks hesitantly.

What if you did have magic, Emma?

I travel to you through an enchanted wardrobe, Emma. And you think magic sounds crazy?

“Emma?” Neal tries again.

“Do you believe in magic?” she whispers, her hand still pressed to the glass, her gaze still fixed on that stuffed rabbit.

Neal laughs. “I don’t know if you’ve been paying attention, but this life of ours ain’t no fairy tale.”

A tear slips from the corner of Emma’s eye and rolls down her cheek. “But there are things that can’t be explained. Aren’t there?”

Neal steps closer and grasps her loosely by the elbow. “Emma, what’s wrong? You’re kind of freaking me out.”

Emma shakes her head, swiping at the wet spot on her cheek. “Nothing.”

Neal turns her to face him, his eyes searching hers carefully. “Is this still about the sex thing?”

Emma can’t help it, she blurts out a laugh. “Don’t worry, Cassidy, you didn’t waste all those candles.”

His pupils widen as he grins eagerly. “Well, I’m relieved to hear that. Although I stole the candles so . . . “

Emma shakes her head and throws her arms around his neck. “It’s the thought that counts.”

“You know,” Neal says softly, rubbing her arms, “everyone’s on edge because the carnival’s off season is almost over.”

Emma sighs and presses her forehead to his. “I know. Lily wants to have a meeting tomorrow to talk about it.”

“What if we . . . took off on our own?”

Emma rolls her eyes. “You can’t be serious. Where would we even go?”

“Well, don’t tell Lily this,” he says, looking around nervously as if Lily might be hiding behind the pinball machines, “but I’ve had a few big scores that I’ve kept to myself.”

“Seriously? How much?”

“Enough to get us pretty far,” he tells her confidently, then he’s yanking her hand eagerly back inside the office. He stops in front of a map of the United States hanging next to a small desk. Grinning broadly, he sweeps his hand across the expanse of it. “Come on, Emma, dream big. Where do you want to go?”

She shakes her head. “You’re crazy.”

He wraps his arms around her waist. “Only about you.” Then he releases her, and turns her towards the map. “Go ahead, pick someplace, and it’s yours.”

“Mine? Or ours?”

“Ours.”

Emma smiles, her cheeks flushed, then she closes her eyes, extends her hand and walks blindly towards the map. When her finger collides with its surface, she opens her eyes.

“Tallahassee,” she reads aloud, then she spins to face Neal, “is there a beach?”

“It’s Florida.” He shrugs. “It’s all beach.”

Emma rests her hands on his shoulders and gives him a slow, tender kiss. “So we’re doing this?”

“Yeah. Tallahassee it is.”

****************************************

Emma really doesn’t like riding in the back of this van. Or more specifically, her stomach doesn’t like it. She moans and rests her head on Neal’s shoulder.

“Are you okay?” he asks her.

“You two aren’t naked back there are you?” Jamie asks in a loud, obnoxious voice.

“Shut up, you little shit!” Emma yells back.

Correction, Emma doesn’t like being in this van at all. This ugly, avocado van from the early 80s that smells like a sickening combination of pot and urine. Neal had said they were going to head off on their own once the crew left the carnival, yet here they are. They’d had a fight about it, but Neal had insisted that they needed a bit more cash. Lily had a big con planned, and once they pulled it off, getting to Tallahassee would be child’s play.

Emma’s stomach roils, and she scrambles over the three rows of bench seats to the front passenger seat. She almost pukes all over Jamie, which would have been great karma, come to think of it. She plops down next to Lily, who’s driving, and quickly rolls the manual window down. She sighs in relief once the cool air hits her face.

“Car sick?” Lily asks.

“Yeah,” Emma sighs as she presses her temple against the side of the window.

“Well, you can stay up here with me.”

“Thanks. Where are we going, again?”

Lily grins as she glances at Emma, then back to the road. “All the ski resorts up here are closing up for the summer. The people who own cabins up here are loaded. We can squat in style until fall.”

Emma narrows her eyes. “But Neal said we’d be flush with cash.”

Lily gives her that icy look that says she finds Emma incredibly naive. “Of course we will. Before we head out, we’ll clean the place out. We’re talking major electronics - TVs, gaming systems, DVD players.”

“Okay,” Emma says warily.

“Just you wait,” Lily assures, “it’s gonna be incredible.”

****************************************

On her third night in the vacation home in the mountains, Emma wakes up to a flashlight blinding her eyes and questions being shouted at her. As the cops escort her down the stairs and out the front door, she sees that the others have cleaned the place out already. Nothing but wires stick out of the wall in the family room where the tv, vcr, and gaming system had been connected. She’s barefoot and in a pair of pajamas that she’d found in the master bedroom drawer, but none of the cops seem to care as they put her in the squad car. She’s not handcuffed, though, maybe because she was too disoriented to resist.

Emma sits there in the back seat, cursing her stupidity. She should have seen this coming the moment Lily smirked at her that first night. There were so many signs that the girl was a complete narcissist, and Emma had missed them all. How could she ever think Lily was her friend?

Emma reaches into the pocket of her pajama pants and clutches the small white stick she’d slipped inside before going to bed. Why she’d put it there, she doesn’t even know. She shouldn’t be surprised that Neal bailed on her after the way he reacted when she’d told him. He’d literally recoiled from her, his face pale.

Well, they’d taken care of her, hadn’t they? The expensive silver from the dining room slipped into her bag was an especially nice touch. A clean break from the girl who was nothing but a burden.

After all, what crew of teen runaways wants a pregnant seventeen year old?

Killian: Age 17

Killian’s eyes blink open drowsily, and he doesn’t feel particularly ready to get out of bed. He shoves his pillow under his chest, groans, and then reaches out to pull Milah close. All he feels is empty sheets. He rolls over to look around the cabin, and there she is, clad in her shift, her dark curls a riotous mess down her back. She’s standing in front of the wardrobe, running her fingers over the intricate carvings that cover the doors.

“How did you get this?” she asks.

Killian hops up out of bed, wrapping the sheets around his waist. “It’s um, always been here, even back when this was a naval ship.”

“What do you even keep in this thing?”

“No, don’t!” he shouts, slamming his good hand against the door before she can open it. He isn’t wearing his hook, so the sheets he was grasping tumble to the floor.

Milah looks him up and down appreciatively and smirks. “Though I like the view better without the sheet, why are you so jumpy about a piece of furniture?”

“I um . . . I just . . .” Killian snatches up the sheets and holds them in front of himself while he turns and presses his back to the wardrobe. “I don’t want anything to happen to you. This wardrobe - it’s magic.”

Milah’s eyes widen. “Magic? How?”

“It opens a portal to another realm.”

“Really?” she replies, skeptically. “Prove it.”

Killian blinks rapidly, his brain scrambling for a reply, but all that comes out is one word. “No.”

“No?” Her hands are on her hips, and her glare could curdle milk. “What are you hiding?”

“I’m not hiding anything!”

“Then why are you blushing?”

He feels his cheeks heat even more under her icy stare. What’s he hiding? Only that he checks the wardrobe every day? That despite the fact that he cares deeply for Milah, he still sometimes wonders where Emma is and if she’s okay? He feels so nervous under Milah’s intense stare that he stumbles sideways when she shoves him in the shoulder.

“Milah!” he shouts as she flings open the wardrobe. He lets out a relieved breath when all that’s inside is an empty rod for hanging clothes.

“Is this some kind of joke?” she demands when she whirls back to face him.

Killian collapses on the edge of the bed and reaches out a hand to her. “Come here, and I’ll tell you.”

She eyes him warily but sits anyway. He runs his hand nervously through his hair, unsure where to begin. He finally decides to just start at the beginning when he was ten. Once he starts talking, he can’t seem to stop, and he tells her everything: his crush on Emma, the white rabbit, even the kiss. When he finally finishes, he looks at Milah sheepishly.

“I’m sorry.”

Milah smiles softly and cups his face gently. “Why? Because you loved someone before you met me?”

Killian blinks rapidly. “Loved?”

She shrugs. “I mean, it was puppy love, maybe, but it was real. And pretty cute, actually.”

He tilts his head in surprise. “Really?”

She brushes a kiss to his cheek. “Really.” She looks back over at the wardrobe. “So you were nervous that I might end up face to face with her. With Emma?”

Killian rubs his face. “Aye, I suppose.”

Milah laughs. “I guess that could have been awkward, especially since you’re wearing nothing but a sheet right now.”

Milah’s eyes turn a darker shade of gray as she runs her hands over his chest and pushes him back down on his cot. He was nervous six months ago when their relationship first turned physical. Milah was obviously very experienced and was used to men, not boys. Yet she told him as he held her close in the afterglow that before him, all she had known were men who took from her, often violently. He was different.

Still, there was a part of Milah he felt that he could never quite reach.Her homelife had been difficult and became worse once her mother remarried. However, she had never told him exactly what life had been like with her stepfather. All she would say was that the man had planned to marry her off to a local farmer when she was fourteen, so she’d run away. The thing was, she’d taken Mason with her. Killian knew there had to be more to the story than that.

It felt as if Milah was holding back when they were making love, too. She was definitely teaching him things, and he certainly didn’t mind that. It was more that she seemed to get uncomfortable anytime Killian tried to initiate anything. She wanted to be in control, so he let her. As long as she felt safe, that was all that mattered.

Besides, it wasn’t as if he had much to offer her. A seventeen year old boy with a mutilated stump instead of a left hand leading a crew of kids. Milah took to being a pirate naturally, however, wielding a sword and fighting just as well as the rest of them. There was even a type of manic joy on her face when they overtook a crew, as if she were getting vengeance on every man who had ever touched her.

Emma had always been a mystery to him, but it was because her entire existence felt like a fantasy. Milah was a mystery to him in a different way. She confused him and fascinated him in equal measure. She was a deep well, jaded and wounded, that he wasn’t sure he could ever plumb even though he wanted to. Thoughts of Emma Swan, though they still plagued him at times, seemed to belong to an entirely different boy. A boy he wasn’t sure still existed.

Tagging:    @snowbellewells​​  @kmomof4​ @whimsicallyenchantedrose​ @teamhook​ @bethacaciakay​ @let-it-raines​ @welllpthisishappening​ @wellhellotragic​ @winterbaby89​ @xhookswenchx​ @courtorderedcake​ @branlovestowrite​ @hollyethecurious​ @vvbooklady1256​ @profdanglaisstuff​ @carpedzem​ @ekr032-blog-blog​ @jennjenn615​ @tiganasummertree​ @lfh1226-linda​ @ultraluckycatnd​ @spartanguard​ @shireness-says​ @scientificapricot​ @stahlop​ @resident-of-storybrooke​ @superchocovian​ @sherlockianwhovian​ @snidgetsafan​ @ohmakemeahercules​ @thislassishooked​ @ilovemesomekillianjones​ @nikkiemms​@delirious-latenight-laughs​

[shakespeareanqueer]

I’m Not Sorry

Pairing: Guardian!Reader x Chubby!Thor

Summary: The Guardians make a stop on Contraxia, and you have a heart-to-heart with Thor.

WC: 2,048 words ⚡ Warnings: Mentions of weight and weight loss and gain

A/N: This is for The Sad Hatter’s Tea Party Challenge! The twist on this challenge was, I sent them who I wanted to write for, and they sent me the title. When I first saw the title, I thought this was going to turn into more angst, but I’m glad my final idea ended up a little fluffier overall! Enjoy!

I’ll reblog linking my masterlist, and tagging my taglist (which is open!) and The Sad Hatter.

“I-I-I… I will not!”

The Guardians, including you, plus Thor, had landed on Contraxia. Quill was following up on a tip about Gamora’s whereabouts, Nebula and Mantis were on a different planet following up on another lead, and the rest of the crew was invited to just hang out on the planet if they wished. Quill told the crew they could do whatever they wanted.

“Enjoy some of the wonderful tourist attractions this planet is known for,” he had said with an enigmatic wink.

Rocket mumbled something about just going for the alcohol, and Groot delivered one of his signature  “I am Groot”s with a distinctly affirming tone as reply, in hearty agreement with his raccoon best friend.

Only Drax responded to Quill’s invitation with enthusiasm. “Yes I will, Quill, thank you.”

Thor had clapped his hands together and asked good-naturedly about the tourist attractions in question.

You had laughed and leaned back against the wall of the ship. “This planet is known for brothels, your majesty,” you teased him.

He had stammered out his protestation to the idea.

“Why not?” Rocket had asked. “You’re a single man, a studly dude, even if you got fat.” Rocket slapped Thor’s belly as he exited the ship.

The Asgardian merely shook his head and promised to watch after the ship.

A few hours later, you arrived back at the ship to find Thor in the cockpit, gazing out through the dash, from through which he could view the bustling streets of the foreign planet. But he seemed not to see the commotion, as he was too caught up in his own head.

You made no effort to break him out of his reverie. You just sat beside him in the copilot’s chair, laying your shopping bags at your feet.

You took a moment to admire him. His azure eyes were misty and beautiful. You could see the deep-seated pain behind them. Though his muscles weren’t as defined as they once were, he still definitely came across as physically strong. Physically strong but emotionally vulnerable; your weakness.

“Unit for your thoughts?” you finally asked, severing the silence.

Thor startled a little at the sound of your voice. He turned towards you with slightly wide eyes that soon softened upon seeing your friendly form.

He didn’t answer your question. Instead he asked, “Did you enjoy your trip on Contraxia, Lady Y/N?”

You nodded. “I did, Thor, thank you.”

“Did you…” He made a vague gesture with his hand. “Partake in the local attractions?”

“No I did not.” You indicated the bags at your feet. “Just some light shopping.”

“Ah.” He nodded and returned his gaze to the windshield.

“My offer still stands,” you said, bumping his shoulder lightly with yours. Or rather, his bicep, as your torso was shorter than his. “Unit for your thoughts, remember?”

He turned back to see you presenting a steel unit coin between two fingers; a highly rare object, as the interplanetary currency had long since transmuted to being purely digital. Thor laughed then, a hearty laugh that boomed through the spaceship, supported by air from his full belly that shook a little with the force of it. The sight and sound made your heart swell and a broad smile split your face in two.

Thor’s large hand folded over yours, curling the coin back into your own palm. “Keep that relic, and I shall tell you my thoughts for free.”

You slipped the token back into your pocket. “An excellent deal.”

Despite the levity of the conversation and the fact that he had offered, he turned to face forward once more and let out a reluctant sigh.

“You don’t have to,” you rushed to assure him. “You never have to tell me anything you don’t want to.”

“No, I want to,” he murmured. “To get stuff off my chest. If you are prepared to hear it.”

“Always, Thor,” you promised, placing a hand on his arm. “I’m here for whatever you need.”

“I’ve been thinking about this…” He placed his hands on his round belly and gave it a little jiggle.

You smiled and placed a hand on it too. It was a lovely feature on him, you thought. You had heard stories from before you joined the team, the first time the gang met him, when apparently he didn’t have an ounce of fat on him, just pure muscle. That didn’t sound healthy or attractive, in your mind, but the way people spoke about it, you’d think that version of him was the pinnacle of existence, or manhood, or godliness, and he was somehow lesser because he had lost that chiseled physique. You were not of that opinion.

“What about it?” you asked, your voice perfectly cheerful.

“I should get rid of it…” he began, but immediately you cut him off.

“Why?” you asked, a frown pulling your previous smile down your cheeks. “You’re healthy enough, aren’t you? You eat the same foods we do, are about as active as the rest of us, have the endurance and strength you need to complete the tasks necessary for your life…” You remove your hand from his stomach and punch him lightly in the bicep. “Even your extraordinary life as a hero, god, Guardian of the Galaxy.”

“Yeah, but…” Thor began.

“No buts!” you said, placing a finger on his lips. “Let’s rephrase. There is no ‘should,’ there is no ‘need.’ But there may be a ‘want,’ and that’s valid. Do you want to get rid of your belly, Thor?”

You hoped you didn’t sound as personally hurt as you felt when you uttered that last question. It wasn’t any of your business, and you would support Thor whatever he wanted to do, but you would miss it if he worked it off.

“Well, that’s the thing,” Thor said. “I don’t really want to, but I thought I should. I mean shouldn’t I?” he seemed genuinely confused.

You shrugged. “Why ‘should?’ What practical purpose would it serve?” “No practical purpose, I suppose, but aesthetic…”

“Well, I think you are beautiful just as you are, but if it’s for you. If it would improve your self-esteem or what-have-you. It’s a personal choice.” You tried to keep your tone even and kind and warm, but you suspected that some of the negativity you felt towards the very idea of making Thor less cuddle-able was seeping into your voice.

Thor shrugged and stared out at the street, at the diversity of bodies and people. Even the robotic sex-workers on this brothel-heavy planet came in a variety of shapes and sizes for people with various preferences, you thought, but you didn’t say it out loud.

“I mean I don’t think I need it. I’m fine with how I am,” he said. “At least, I think I am.”

You nodded. “Sometimes it’s hard to separate society’s voice from your own in your head.”

Thor took a quick inhalation through his nose, which made you think that you had hit on something there. “Every time I think, today’s the day: I’m going to go on a strict diet, start working out more, we land on a new planet with some delicious delicacy that we all just have to try. And there’s almost always something better I could be doing rather than exercising.”

He kicked at something you couldn’t see at his feet and it made a clanging sound. “Finally we landed on this planet. In the past, I would have had no issue sating my needs with a paid stranger, but I was embarrassed for them to see me this way. So I finally started a workout. I was so determined for it to feel good, to feel like it was doing something. But a single pull-up broke a beam off the ship.”

His face turned red with shame as you knelt down under the console to pick the rod up. You held it up to the light, then behind you. “Oh, just from over there?” He hummed an affirmative. “I’m pretty sure that’s just decorative. Not a big deal. If Quill complains, I can weld it back on no problem.”

You turned back to Thor, placing the pole back on the ground. “It sounds like you don’t really want to change your body all over again. It’s a long and difficult process, and it doesn’t sound to me like it would really be worth it, except that it might grant you some sort of societal acceptance, that you don’t really need because you have people who care for you no matter what.”

“Oh yeah? Who’s that?” Thor asked with a sneaky smile.

“Me, you lug-nut,” you chuckled, tapping his leg with your foot. “And the rest of the team. Even though they may have weird ways of expressing it.”

That got a bit of a smile out of Thor, and you celebrated internally at your small victory.

��There’s nothing wrong with wanting to eat delicious foods you may never get the chance to eat again, because who knows when’s the next time we’ll land on this planet. And there’s nothing wrong with wanting to spend time with your friends instead of pushing your body to its limit, which I expect in your case is quite a high limit. You’d probably need equipment we don’t even have to get an adequate workout anyway.”

Thor blushed and hung his head.

“You’ve been pursuing what you want, you’ve been living your best life. Now you just need to not be sorry about it.”

Thor turned to you and really looked at you for the first time since you sat down, really examined your features instead of just looking through you while he got lost in his own thoughts. Your expression was as sincere as sincere could be, your eyes soft and kind. He shook his head and huffed out a breath. “Sometimes I think you really like my body,” he teased. “I’ll catch you staring at my belly, or when you pinch my cheeks…”

You hung your head as heat rushed to your own cheeks, biting your lip nervously.

His eyes widened as he realized he had hit a nerve. “Oh, I was just teasing. You couldn’t—You don’t really—” He grabbed his stomach. “I mean this? Really?”

You couldn't make your gaze meet his, as much as you wanted to. “Really, Thor. I think the softness of your body matches your personality, which makes it that much more attractive. Plus, you seem really… comfy,” you mumbled.

You could see out of the corner of your eye as Thor’s face lit up, then shifted into a devious smirk. “Really comfy for what, pet?” The nickname made your stomach turn, in a very, very good way. “For… sitting on?” He pulled you up into his lap, demonstrating that he was still perfectly strong even if his muscles were no longer visible and taut as Chitauri fibers. You nearly melted as you were forced to look into his crystalline blue eyes, now infused with mirth and life, gazing at you hungrily. You gripped onto his meaty shoulders for dear life.

You smiled and cuddled into his soft body, all of your dreams coming true. Well, not all of them just yet. But as his coarse hand began to slip lower and lower down your back, you had a feeling some of the dirtier dreams would be fulfilled soon as well.

Before things picked up, though, you mumbled into his plush chest, “You know, even if you had something to be embarrassed about, which you don’t, the sex workers on this planet are robots anyway, and their AI isn’t all that advanced.”

“Well, I would much rather make love to you over a robot any day of the week,” he murmured, finally letting his hand drift as low as it could go and cupping your ass.

Then the mood shifted. He softened, seemingly preferring to just hold you for this moment than to make good on that statement.

“Oh, Y/n,” he murmured laying his cheek upon your head. “If you like my body just as it is, then I could never find it in me to be sorry for it. Not one bit.”

[ijwrff]

Day 1-Hot Chocolate (The Author)

With a long sigh, you leaned back on the couch staring at the ceiling as if it was the most interesting thing in the world, waiting for The Author to return. He wasn’t anywhere far, simply the other room. But inspiration had struck him right as you were about to cuddle and watch something sappy. Neither of you were big on those types of movies, but “tis the season” and all that. 

If he had only been gone ten, maybe twenty minutes you would have let it slide. But it had been nearly an hour, and no word other than the vague sound of frustrated scratches of a pen on paper along with quiet mutterings of ideas flowing from his brain. You decided to get up and have a peek at him in his most natural habitat, hunched over a desk and the pen moving frantically as he attempted to get each and every word that came to his mind onto the paper in front of him. 

He had often received suggestions to type out his stories, or record himself speak of them so he would have time to pause or wait, but he would merely grumble that it wasn’t the same before continuing his work. You leaned against the door frame, knowing that he would be disturbed if you made too much noise. A fond smile grew on your face, knowing that his never-ending passion was one of the reasons you fell for him in the first place. 

Glancing at the paper you saw that he had to at least gone through six or seven pages in just the hour he was absent. Though to him, it surely didn’t seem like long, possibly only a few minutes. He always managed to get wrapped into his work, though if he kept at it, you’d be long asleep by the time he finished. You were tired before suggesting a movie night, and fully intended to fall asleep in The Author’s arms during the movies you didn’t care much for. 

Knowing he was already aware of your presence by the way the words seemed less frantic as they spilled through his mouth, you decided it would be easier to wait until he was finished. You always seemed to have that effect on him, calming him in his frantic or even panicked states. Slowly sliding to the ground, you reclined yourself against the door frame as you mindlessly played games on your phone. 

Somewhere along the line you felt your eyes starting to close, but were abruptly awoken by the sound of The Author’s voice grew louder as he became increasingly more frustrated. 

“As the man trudged through the many layers of snow before him,...no no that’s terrible. As the hooded figure desperately clawed his way through the vast area cloaked in snow,...no, that doesn’t make as much sense he’s not even wearing a hood! As the man reached for his hood, long forgotten in his survival kit-LOOK BE HAPPY I GAVE YOU ONE AT ALL YOU UNGRATEFUL LITTLE-”

“...darling are you alright?” Normally you wouldn’t dare interrupt his writing process, but it looked almost as if every vein in his body was about to pop. Was writing really that stressful? 

At the sound of your voice, he spun around, turning his glare towards you, although you knew he didn’t intend to. 

“No...darling, I am not alright. This imbecile has no sense of gratitude! I give him a survival kit, and a warm coat to fend off the weather but he’s all ‘I just want to go home, I can’t even use this stuff-’ well tough shit! If he wants to go home so badly, he needs to use the tools given to him!” With an exasperated groan the writer threw his hands into the air, the pen he was holding flying off into a corner as papers were thrown off the desk. 

You took a deep breath and tried not to snap back at the man, knowing from experience that would only make it worse. He was not a man that liked his authority challenged, but if spoken to calmly he would figure it out on his own he was in the wrong. 

“Well, then if there’s nothing I can do to help you, then I suppose you won’t be needing me. Have fun with your writing, darling.” You stood up straight and walked from the room, aiming to go to the kitchen and make yourself some hot chocolate to calm you down. 

On the way out, you couldn’t help but hear the string of curses coming from the man you loved as he blamed...well someone for what had just transpired. You never really questioned him and his writing methods. If he was happy, which he usually was upon finishing a piece, then you didn’t really care. Besides, it’s not like he was hurting anyone for real. 

You took your time, making your hot chocolate to be perfect, plenty of sprinkles and marshmallows on top. Not only would it look good, it would taste delicious too. As you were about to leave the kitchen, however you hesitated. Normally you would make a second of whatever you were having to drink since if you just made one for yourself, your boyfriend would mumble or whine. You would get comments about “Where’s mine” or “Did you not get one for me?” In order to save yourself the time, you found it easier just to make two. 

You contemplated being petty and not giving him anything after all, he did snap at you. With a sigh you walked back the few steps to return to the kitchen and prepare a hot chocolate for your favorite writing-obsessed genius. You made his less...cutesy and simply settled for whatever would taste best, knowing exactly how he liked his drinks of choice by now. 

Returning to his study, you found him leaning back in his chair as far as it would go and whining into the air about “being a dick” as he put it. The declaration had you letting out a small laugh, which only grew as he fell out of his chair in surprise. 

Your laughing came to cease when you received a harsh glare from The Author, but it wasn’t as scary as it could have been with a light embarrassed blush on his cheeks. He quickly stood up and began to organize the papers he had scattered previously, not looking at you anymore. He was very clearly avoiding your gaze, likely in fear that you had returned to lecture him or scold him for being rude to you. 

You couldn’t keep the fond smile from your lips as you set down both cups of hot chocolate on his desk and began picking up his papers with him. You saw him glance at you curiously before jerking his head in another direction when you nearly made eye contact. He may be childish sometimes, but it was almost endearing. 

“So...why are you still here? I thought you were gonna leave.” He picked up the last of the papers and looked down at you, still trying to retrieve his many pages of writings. 

“I did leave. To the kitchen to make us hot chocolate.” You glanced up at him with a small smile, before standing up and handing him the pages you had recovered. 

He eyed you suspiciously, almost not trusting that you had done anything for him after he was aggressive towards you. “Then...why make me something. You didn’t spit in it did you? Or drug it or something?”

“Just drink your damn chocolate before I take it back.” 

He glared briefly, before taking a hesitant sip of the warm beverage. His eyes lit up a fraction at realizing you had made it exactly how he liked it, before looking down at it guiltily. 

“You don’t...have to be nice to me you know. Especially not when I’m being mean to you too.” He swirled the drink a bit, avoiding your gaze once again. 

You laughed, “not to be rude, but if I was going to be scared off by you being overly sassy or rude, then I wouldn’t have moved in with you in the first place.” You walked over and put his cup down no the desk, wrapping your arms around his neck, not hesitating when he didn’t wrap his around you in return. “I knew exactly what I was getting into when I chose to be with you. I know you get frustrated when things aren’t working out, so I’m aiming to make things go a little smoother.” You unwrapped your arms to cradle his face in your hands, rubbing his cheeks with your thumbs. 

He would never admit to it, but seeing you smile at him with such adoration in your eyes as you gently caressed him was his greatest weakness. He sighed and wrapped his arms around your back. 

“Baby, I really don’t know what I did to deserve you. Are you sure you’re not some demon tricking me into a false sense of security?” He raised an eyebrow at you, beginning to poke and prod your face and sides as he named possible ‘secret identities’ that you may be carrying. “A monster? Ferocious beast? One of my brothers trying to get one over on me?” 

You rolled your eyes and his gaze softened, “I know I’m not the best you could do. But I certainly am the most talented.” He wiggled his eyebrows, his smile growing wider as you gave him one of your own. 

“Author, have you seen yourself? You’re the best there is, not just the ‘best I could do.’” His heartwarming smile shaped into a smirk at your words. 

“...did you just insult yourself so I would jump to the rescue and stroke your ego?”

As his smirk of confirmation widened you pulled away from him with a false look of betrayal, “That’s cheating! Manipulation!” With ease he pulled you back to him, pressing a quick kiss to your lips to calm your faux anger. 

“Whatever are you going to do about it?” He leaned close, allowing your foreheads to touch as he took in every detail of your expression. He really was enjoying this far too much. 

“I...will never make you hot chocolate again. I’ll take this one away too so you can’t have any more!” With a gasp, he released you, quickly picking up his drink and chugging the contents before you could process what he was doing. 

“You can’t take away something that isn’t there to take!” With a triumphant smirk he glanced at your hot chocolate and grabbed it, dashing out of the room. 

“AUTHOR!” You chased him around the house as he spilled the contents everywhere. He was a walking disaster. But he was your walking disaster.