#best thing ive ever eaten I think about it constantly

[unisongakikoeru]

okay i know tkdb sucks as a game and that the company is extremely shitty but unfortunately i fell in love with the story and characters and i need to show and talk about these two panels in particular because ever since i read ep6 i cannot stop thinking about this. im not even the biggest rui or ruimc fan its just that this scene is so fucking Good (under cut because it got Long but it's just me rambling, really)

for more context rui (blonde guy) has a curse that makes it so any living thing he touches dies. which is why he wears gloves, which supposedly DOES stop the curse (he can touch plants with them on) but he still avoids touching people because You Never Know. and okay here basically they were on a mission and there's this plant anomaly (a monster basically) that was gonna eat a girl and so mc (the girl on the panels) ran to her to attempt to save her and rui. Reaches out to her. Wanting to protect mc, to stop her before its too late because he doesnt want the anomaly to attack her too. but he hesitates. hesitates to touch her because of his curse. which ends in not only the girl getting eaten, but mc too. and you know what the title of that chapter is? "the price of hesitation." i am SICK (dw tho both girls do manage to get saved but like. Man)

its also extremely implied that rui likes mc (has her in his likes AND IS THE ONLY CHARACTER TO; constantly heavily flirts with her; JUST LOOK AT HOW PANICKED HE LOOKS IN THOSE PANELS HE GENUINELY CARES ABOUT HER SO MUCH; this is a joseimuke with heavy yumebaiting you gotta have At Least One character who's in love with mc and guess what, rui's not the only one)

actually while im at it, im gonna talk about another scene i love from ep6 because so far its the BEST episode ive read OH MY GOD

so hi, yes, they have a werewolf, i present here to you lyca. and he is the best tokyo debunker character. and i am saying this as someone who has favorites above lyca (sorry bestie, you ARE still one of my favs tho i prommy). but god he is so, so everything

basically in this scene, as you can see he's transformed into a werewolf, and is so close to just lose control and eat mc. but he manages to resist and bites himself instead. since he's still actually half-wolf here, he may still have some sliver of self-control and awareness left, but it doesn't change the fact that this proves just how much he genuinely cares about mc. because she basically contributed heavily in getting him out of prison (yes, it was because he was falsely suspected of murder tho) and was extremely kind and patient with him in helping him adapt to human society and his new life at the academy (yes they're in a school). and well, lyca can be pretty blunt and short-tempered, making him a bit aggressive at times, but so many instances of him just being. a tad softer and nicer to mc has been showcased throughout the episode, telling us how he does appreciate everything mc does for him and has grown attached to her. AND BASICALLY THEY ARE JUST EVERYTHING. OBSCUARY AND MC ARE SO EVERYTHING TO ME NOW. I'M LITERALLY SO SICKKK

[iguanamouth]

howd these BIRDS get in here

[thetaoofzoe]

FIC: Syverson the Protector Pt 4

*   Syverson The Protector - Part I (pairing Syverson x YOU)

*   Syverson the Protector - Part II (pairing Syverson x YOU)

*   Syverson the Protector - Part III  (pairing Syverson x YOU)

Summary: You are an embedded journalist and on a mission, everything goes wrong. The two of you have made it to safety and now it’s time for the healing to begin. 

Rating for this part: Budding romance, Fluff, medical related content, I’ve picked ‘Henry’ as Syverson’s first name and he’s grown his hair out :D

Must be read in order, no part can stand alone. I expect to have at most,  two more parts, 5 and concluding in 6. 

Word count: 2293

Want to read more? Click for my Masterlist

Lying flat on his back, Syverson stared morosely at the ceiling and listened to the gentle thwapping sounds of the bedside machine that was currently and eagerly siphoning fluids out of his intestines. He let his mind tick over what the machine was actually doing to him and blearily considered why he wasn’t in constant pain from the electronic manipulation of his own vulnerable flesh.

Surely those plastic tubes driven into his guts should hurt, right?

Sure, you’re right, his mind chattered, a little giddy to be imparting an unknown bit of information, but consider this: morphine – a wounded man’s best friend.

My best friend, he thought and then as if the devil knew it was being called, another machine beeped and a flood of soft luscious haziness rushed into his bloodstream and he immediately relaxed. This tired mind drifted and it didn’t take long for him to slip back into sleep.

Hours later, Syverson startled out of a clinging and sticky dream with a desperate gasp. He felt hot all over, stiff and aching and the very thought of trying to move elicited a terrible pain response. Hot, oily bile crept up in his throat and his mouth watered in that awful familiar process of preparing him to violently empty his stomach.

I have to sit up, his brain screamed. I have to sit up. I don’t want to puke still lying on my back!

A broad cool hand pressed down on his chest and another closed about his shoulder. Someone was speaking but he couldn’t make out the words through the heavy veiling fog that enveloped him. He tried to speak to the person, and tried to tell them that he was going to be sick.

‘It’s ok, Henry,’ a voice was telling him. ‘You’re ok. I’ll help you roll onto your side if you need to vomit.’

Swallowing jerkily, throat working hard to force the urge back down, Syverson clamped his teeth and shook his head.

‘All right. How about we move you a bit. Are you ok with that?’

Move? God no. I can’t bear that. Moving meant pain.

He shook his head again, but the warm voice came back to him, sounding much more insistent this time.

‘I can help you, Henry, or I’ll put the positioner in bed with you and it will make you move. We want to prevent pressure sores, remember?’

Syverson took in a breath and after a moment nodded to show that he understood. When the man leaned in close, Syverson could smell his cologne. It was a pleasant and fresh woodsy scent that reminded him of his cabin back home. A sudden homesick ache tightened his chest and tears wet his dry eyes. He didn’t like feeling that way, but everything seemed to be out of his control now. He hated it.

Nevertheless, he put his arms around the man’s shoulders and gritted his teeth when his body was repositioned and stretched out again on the stiff mattress.

He gasped and couldn’t believe how out of breath such a small exertion had left him. But, he noted, he did feel better and the nausea had subsided.

The urge to eat suddenly struck him and he blinked up at the nurse.

‘What time is it?’ he rasped, voice rusty from disuse.

‘You hungry?’ asked the nurse with a grin.

‘Yeah, I could eat,’ he answered, wriggling a little to get more comfortable in the pillows under his head.

‘I can get you something, but it’s after breakfast and not quite lunch.’

Syverson nodded. He didn’t care. He just wanted to eat.

‘Fries and a coke, then,’ he said closing his eyes and grinning a little.

The nurse laughed and gently patted his shoulder condescendingly. With the state of Syverson’s gut, there was no way he was going to survive ingesting any amount of carbonation. That little fact didn’t stop the cravings though.

‘I’ll see if there’s some soup still left. I think it’s chicken.’

When he was alone again, the memories came back. After the jeep explosion, he was sure that he was going to die out in that sandy wasteland. Had it not been for you, he was sure that he would have died. Had it not been for the beautiful, plucky reporter, some stony faced military man would be paying his parents a visit to inform them of their youngest son’s passing and that his body would be flown home for burial.

Instead, he had been saved. And when he found that you’d been housed in the civilian wing of the hospital, he wanted to see you. He wanted to thank you for saving his life. When visiting you was denied, considering the fragile state of the both of you, Syverson had instructed that the well stocked gift shop be bought out and carted to your room, all with his heartfelt thanks.

He owed you his life. A few flowers and a couple of teddy bears was the least he could do.

The plastic and faux wood table rattled next to him and snapped Syverson out of his muse. He opened his eyes and watched as the nurse positioned the table over his bed and put down a ceramic bowl of steaming soup. He groaned and strained a little to help himself up into a sitting position.

The nurse was distracted and looking down into his other hand.

‘I ran into your girlfriend’s nurse in the hallway and she gave me this to give to you.’

God, he sounded so smug and Syverson wanted to punch him square in the face.

Girlfriend?

His brain searched for a face to put to the name but came up empty. He’d broken up with his ex more than five years ago, right before his latest deployment. And then it clicked.

The reporter. You.

The nurse handed the card to Syverson and upon seeing it, his heart sank. It was the same envelope that he’d sent along with the gifts. Had you refused his outpouring of affection? He slowly opened the envelope and breathed out with relief when he saw the new message that had been written for him.

He didn’t want to smile at the note in front of the gossipy nurse, as he didn’t want to encourage any nonsense rumours, so he kept his elated reaction to himself. But inside his heart soared and the soup tasted better than anything he’d ever eaten before.

**

The day that you both championed and dreaded finally arrived. The day you could get out of bed on your own and walk down to the men’s wing to pay your captain a visit. He had come a long way, you’d heard from the nurse, but would still have trouble doing any taxing travelling. However you were well enough to make the trip.

‘That is, if you still want to,’ said your nurse with a glint in her eye.

Oh, she thinks she’s funny, does she?

You sighed luxuriously and stretched back on your pillows. You’d managed to wrangle an extra set so that you could prop yourself up like a royal lady taking in visitors for the afternoon. You ran the edge of your thumbnail across the thick scar skirting the side of your left palm, scratching it lightly but thoroughly. You had recently had your bandages removed and the sight of your hands was shocking. The backs of your hands had taken the brunt of the burns and they were wrinkled with scar tissue which butted up against new skin growth. A daily cream was a must to keep the tissue from tightening up and preventing normal usage of your hand. You scooped up a handful of the waxy smelling stuff and massaged it into your hands as your nurse watched you expectantly.

Her expression fell a bit when you didn’t answer right away.

Serves her right, you thought, casually kneading fingertips into the palm of your opposite hand.

‘I mean, you don’t have to, if you’ve changed your mind.’

She picked at a bright yellow rose bud that had fallen off of one of the new crops of flower bouquets. Henry had made sure to keep you flush with fresh beautiful flowers. You had to draw the line at the character balloons, and had to tell him that he should stop sending them because the hollow sounds of them knocking together at night was creepy and it kept you awake.

‘I haven’t changed my mind, Barb,’ you said and gave her a smile.

I feel like I’ve been waiting my whole life to see him again.

‘Well, good. He’s been asking after you… like… constantly now.’

You said nothing, but a tiny grin stretched your lips.

Constantly?

‘We can whip out the chair and wheel you over there after lunch.’

Your heart leaped with sudden and visceral terror.

It’s soon. So soon. Too soon! Today?

You swallowed hard and felt your face heat with uncertain embarrassment.

‘S-sure.’

‘Ok, I’ll reserve one and be back in a few hours.’

Barb turned around and left the room. You could hear her chuckling as if this matchmaking was the best thing that had happened to her all year.

You sat up in bed, greasy hands limp in your lap and you made a face when you sniffed at yourself under your hospital gown. No way were you going to present yourself to Henry, or anyone else who would be in the day room, looking like you’d been in an accident.

Heaven forfend.

So, you washed carefully and put on the pale peach coloured long-sleeved pyjama set you’d received from the Ladies’ Supply. The Ladies’ Supply was an organisation of volunteer women who ensured the dignity and comfort of women at the military hospital through social visits, clothing donations and other feminine needs.

You did your hair the best you could and whiled away the hours until you heard the squeaky wheelchair being rolled into your room. With heart crashing excitedly against your ribs, you perched delicately on it and Barb rolled you away.

**

The day room was spacious and welcoming and abuzz with activity. Some of the men were still hooked to IVs and sitting by the wide windows and others who were more capable were dispersed amongst the tables either reading or playing cards or just talking with each other. There were also some women in there, so you didn’t feel like you were entering the lion’s den. You spotted Henry by one of the card tables and you wanted to put your feet down on the floor to stop Barb from rolling you right up to his side. Unfortunately, you didn’t do it in time and when you squeaked to an unceremonious halt at the edge of the table, he glanced up from his cards.

The look on his face when he recognised you was one that you would store in your memory for an eternity. He put the cards face down on the table and made to stand up. You immediately put up your hands to stop him.

‘No, no, don’t get up, you don’t–‘

But, he had already struggled to push himself up and out of the chair and you didn’t want to take that victory from him. You stood up as well, ready to give a firm friendly handshake, or a paltry pat on the shoulder but he had other intentions. He dragged you into his arms, and crushed you to his meaty chest, before you could manage to say, hello.

When he finally let you go, you both went back to your respective seats, feeling overwhelmed by the perfect greeting.

Grinning at him, you made a gesture to your own head.

‘Your hair… it’s all curly!’

The last time you’d seen him, his hair was shorn right to the head, and there was really no hint as to the texture or really even the true colour. So it surprised you to see a neatly clipped mop of glossy brown curls. Henry put a self conscious hand into his hair and ruffled his fingers through it.

‘I like it,’ you assured him, hoping to put him at ease. ‘I like it a lot.’

Grabby hair, your brain chittered. Perfect length for grabbing.

With that the two men who had been playing cards with him at the table, picked up and left, taking the not so subtle hint that they should leave the two of you alone.

‘I’m glad to see you. Finally,’ he said, wincing a little when he shifted in the chair.

‘Does it still hurt?’ you asked, reaching out to put your hands over his on the table.

‘I’m getting over it,’ he said, dodging the question effortlessly.

He turned his hands up to hold onto yours and you felt as shy as a virgin on a first date. So, what could you do but make a joke the break the tension.

‘I mean… if I had to get blown up to get a date with you in a hospital day room, don’t know if I would do it again. Ehh, I probably would.’

Your eyes swept up to his and he stared at you a moment, puzzled and when you gave him a little hesitant smile, Henry started to laugh. The sound it lit you up with happiness and then the awkwardness was broken.

You spent about an hour chatting and if you were honest, most of it was spent flirting, until you started to feel tired.

You didn’t want to overstay your welcome and he seemed disappointed (much to your juvenile delight) when you said that you were leaving.

‘Tomorrow then?’ he asked, big blue eyes bright and eager, his hands unwilling to let you go again.

‘Yes, tomorrow.’

-End part 4

[writingsbychlo]

more ways than one (01)

word count; 4951

summary; your first meeting with the stranger you rescued doesn’t go as smoothy as you’d hoped.

notes; I remind y’all that Stiles was possessed, but it veers off and it goes away, it’s not really mentions how, but the nogitsune never splits from Stiles. Allison is still alive, and Malia and Stiles are not a couple. Oh, and Derek is away travelling with Cora. That’s about it.

warnings; violence, choking, aggression.

You chewed on the straw in your mouth absentmindedly, your gaze trailing off into the distance as the girls talked constantly around you. You were vaguely following the conversation as they spoke, the girls chatting loudly about everything you had all been through lately, as though the supernatural was public information and they didn’t care about the opinions of those tables around you all who could easily eavesdrop if they bothered to listen closely.

Your eyes were squinted a little, the sun shining down and giving a warm feeling over the day, despite the storm that was due to set in later on in the day, and Lydia had texted you all this morning and told you to be ready to go for a late lunch while it was warm. She claimed that after everything that had happened with Stiles’ brief run-in with possession, and the year of supernatural crap that had gone down during your sophomore year, that you were all well overdue a lunch date to chat. That, and she was taking the opportunity to introduce Malia to the world of once again being bi-pedal and human.

Said strawberry-blonde snapped her fingers in front of your face, calling your attention to her and your thoughts snapped away from the nightmare you had somehow landed yourself in, your eyes focusing in on her as you pulled your milkshake away from your mouth, smiling as casually as you could as you looked at her. Her eyes were narrowed, lips pursed as she studied you carefully, before her lips were twisting up in a smirk. 

“What’cha thinking about so hard there, girly?”

You cleared your throat, shaking your head and smiling casually as you lifted one of your fries to your mouth, chewing on the soft potato as you shrugged at her, trying your best to play it cool, but the four sets of eyes on you were throwing you through a loop. “Nothing.” You watched them carefully, swallowing the milkshake before taking a long sip of your milkshake, the chocolate flavour filling your mouth and she merely hummed, Allison was snickering as she turned to whisper to Kira, and Malia simply watched the interactions, taking the last bite of her double-cheeseburger and licking the sauce from the edge of her mouth, humming happily around the food.

“So, you’re not thinking about a pale and male-covered boy with brown hair and bright eyes?” You practically choked on your drink as Allison questioned you, your eyes wide as you wondered whether they’d found out about the lookalike you’d stashed at Derek’s loft, and you sputtered for an explanation, your cheeks heating up with a red flush, Kira cracking up and slapping the huntress on the arm as the two curled into each other in a fit of giggles. 

“She’s totally thinking about Stiles, look at her blushing!” 

You felt relief seep into your body as the tension slipped away, your body slumping in the seat as you rolled your eyes, your racing heart calming as your secret remained safe, for now. “Wait, am I missing something? Why would I be thinking about Stiles?”

Lydia picked at her acrylic nails, not even bothering to look up at you as she spoke. “Maybe because you’re totally into each other?”

“What?”

“Oh, come on. You know the two of you have gotten super close, lately!” Allison insisted, and your brows rose as you glanced around the other girls, and Lydia mumbled her agreement as she sipped at her water, a half-eaten salad sitting in front of her. 

“When I first met you guys, I thought you were together,” Kira added, and you rolled your eyes, nibbling on your lower lip as embarrassment flooded through your system, the copy-cat male you’d hidden away yesterday slipping from your mind as thoughts of the original filled your thoughts. You loved your best friend, you truly did, and you couldn't deny how much closer you’d gotten to him lately, but it was only because he’d come to you when he started to feel the effects of his possession, confiding in you long before anyone else had. “I think you’d be cute together.”

“Are they not together?” Malia muttered, looking intently at the uneaten food on your plate, and you giggled as you offered it up to her, a bright smile taking over his face as she accepted the plate ad placed it down on top of her own empty one, quickly tucking into your leftover food.

“C’mon girls, he’s totally in love with Lyds, since like third grade. You know this, he’s not exactly subtle.” You teased, knowing it was true. The boy spoke about her all the time, and while he hadn't quite been as vocal about it, you knew he was still pining for the red-head girl. 

“Everyone’s a little bit in love with me, but not everyone holds hands with their best friend.” You snorted unattractively, giving her a side-eye and leaning back, your legs crossing proudly as you thought about it. 

“When have I ever held hands with Stiles?”

“Uh, like six times over the past three months?” Kira objected, the others all making various sounds of agreement as you watched Malia finish your meal too, a proud smile on her face as she leaned back in her chair, legs parted and hands sitting on her stomach as she groaned happily at the feeling of having a full stomach.

“Three of those times he was unconscious, one of those times he was going into a bathtub full of ice and one of those times he was checking into a nuthouse.” You pointed out, and the banshee counted them off on her fingers, wiggling a finger at you as she smiled.

“That makes five, what about the sixth time?” 

You shrugged, deciding to bait them a little, a sigh falling from your lips. “You’re right, me and Stiles are totally and madly in love. You caught us out.” Their jaws dropped as they leaned forwards, a collection of squeals sounding as you tried to keep a straight face, eventually cracking up, and one by one they caught on as they scowled at you, Allison flicking you in the arm and Lydia pinching the other one, and you jumped away from both of them, rubbing your arms as you all but cackled at having fooled them. 

The conversation moved on as they began to focus on other things, and you pulled your phone from your pocket, two messages flashing up on the screen and you clicked on the first, rolling your eyes as you opened the message from Stiles.

[batman 🦇💛] bring me ur leftover pizza back from lunch?

can’t, malia ate it, whoops x

[batman 🦇💛]  >:( I can’t believe this, does 12yrs of friendship mean nothing to u?!

You grinned, rolling your eyes and tuning out the taunts and whistles you got from the group around you as they realised you were texting your best friend, your fingers flying over the screen as you typed out your reply, checking the time before you did.

according to the girls, it means we r in love x

[batman 🦇💛]  ha. funny. ive seen u eat sand. couldnt kiss u now.

shut up, dumbass. I was 6 and u dared me x

[batman 🦇💛]  kinda sad to kno the girl i'm in love w/ thinks i love u but that's my luck.

You cooed, rolling your eyes and promising that you’d text him later as you swiped out to the other text, your stomach churning as you realised it was from Derek. Admittedly, he was only asking about his loft, and whether you’d been over to check everything was okay, but it still made guilt twist at your guts before you sent a half-true reply, choosing instead to cover up the real facts. 

Instead, you chose to tell him that you had definitely been over to check and that everything was tip-top okay, neglecting to tell him that you were stashing a supernatural double of your best friend only two weeks after he was mysteriously possessed and released, and that he was cut up and injured and arrived from a weird storm. Minor details.

Clearing your throat, you pulled out a handful of notes from your purse, placing them down in the amount that you owed as you excused yourself from the table, balancing the strap of your bag on your shoulder and smiling at the complaints of your friends as they encouraged you to stay, but it was already nearing the late afternoon and early evening, and you needed to grow the courage to return to the scene of your crime.

The pharmacy was only a quick walk around the corner, and you’d made sure to park your car outside of it so that none of them would see you leaving and entering the building with a suspicious amount of medical supplies, and you pulled the crumpled paper with your list pulled on out of your pocket. Smoothing the crumpled item out in the palm of your hand, the bell above the door jingled, the air conditioning washing over you immediately and you shivered at the sudden temperature drop upon entering the shop.

Peering at your own writing, you smiled uneasily at the cashier who was watching you, a kid who’d graduated just a year or two earlier, and her eyes narrowed on you as you moved through the shelves. Plucking one of the plastic shopping baskets from the side, you held it carefully in your arms, avoiding their scrutinising gaze.

Paper Stitches.

Your eyes scanned over the shelf, a surprising number of options displayed before you, and even the first option was already showing you the impact that this little shop was going to have on your bank account, and you simply prayed it would be worth it. Taking the largest size and strongest strength in your hand, you shrugged to yourself, dropping it into the basket and scanning the other ones. You could always pick up another size of you needed them, but you were definitely going to need at least two boxes of these ones for now.

You couldn't help the scowl on your face as the sum total began to add up in your mind, moving along the aisle to the wrapping sand covers,

Bandages. Gauze.

There were far too many options of bandages and covers, a jumble between compression wraps, light and thick material covers and thick and padded gauze. You could barely tell the difference between any of the options, and you began to think that maybe you should have paid a little more attention to the quick google search you’d done earlier as to what you actually needed. 

First up, a collection of thick, cotton wool paddings to place over the large gashes the man had obtained, followed by gauze and bandages, a hand rubbing over your forehead as the collection began to gather up in the bottom of the basket. Your fingers brushed over the rolls of medical tape, and you dropped a roll of that in too, knowing you’d need something to fasten the material to his torso with. 

You skirted around the corner to the next set of shelves, your cheeks flaring in a blush as you caught the suspicious gaze she was giving you, and you cleared your throat, holding your head high as you ignored the judgement hanging on her sights. 

Antiseptic Wash. Hand Sanitizer. Cotton Balls.

100 cotton balls in a bag for three dollars felt like a good enough offer for you, and you dropped it into the basket, humming to the tune playing over the radio above your head as you swiped a large bottle of antiseptic wash from its place, and finally, a few of the small bottles of hand sanitizer, because you’d been needing some more of that anyway. 

You hadn't quite been ready for the odd glare the ex-peer had given you when you placed the basket on the counter, and her eyes moved slowly between the items and your eyes, a sarcastic smile on her lips as she slowly began to ring them up, placing them all in a paper bag for you and ensuring they would all fit.

In a bid to avoid the wight of her stare fixed on you, you let your eyes scan over the ‘last-minute-purchase’ options on the counter, adding a packet of strawberry bubblegum to the collection and she scanned it through, reading your total to you and you jammed the card into the reader, wincing at the price that was displayed on the small screen. Your fingers punched into the buttons as you bit your tongue, taking the card and the bag as soon as you could and you darted from the shop, barely pausing to take your receipt from her as you fled. 

Placing the stuffed paper bag on the shotgun seat, you rounded the car, letting out a deep sigh as you strapped into the seat and stuck your keys into the ignition. Digging into the bag beside you, you fished out the bubblegum, taking a stick from the packet and unwrapping it, popping it into your mouth and letting the chewing motion and sweet flavour soothe you as you started up the car and began the well-ingrained journey to the loft, anxiety riddling your body.

The radio played quietly in the background as you made your way along, the only sounds filling the car being that of the quiet hum of the latest chart-toppers, and the occasional pop of the bubblegum in your mouth. You weren’t really too sure why you were still keeping this secret from everyone, you had the perfect chance at lunch to tell the girls about what had happened, to get help and confide in someone.

Stiles.

Deep down, it was about protecting Stiles. The ripples on the surface of the water had only just smoothed back down, and you weren’t willing to throw the next stone in a situation that you were absolutely certain you could handle yourself. How dangerous could someone who was 147 pounds and unconscious be?

That was the only thought that was strong enough to force you up and out of the car, your feet carrying you forwards as you unlocked the main door, clicking it shut behind you as you made your way toward the stairs, choosing to walk all the way up to the top instead of taking the rickety elevator. You could use the time to calm yourself down, work out what you were going to do if the stranger you were harbouring was now awake.

Your hands were shaking so much that the keys were jingling as you walked, and you clenched them in a fist, taking a deep breath as you reached the final level and pausing before the silver metal door. With a deep sigh, you unlocked it carefully, sliding it out of the way and looking inside carefully. Natural light was flooding in through the huge bay windows at the other end, the concrete room lit up with warm light that almost made the monochrome grey space look welcoming, and your eyes zeroed in on the space that had once occupied that man you had rescued. 

Nothing seemed out of place, the room wasn’t trashed and rummaged through, and everything was still and calm as you took a first cautious step inside. By the second step, you were sliding the door shut behind you, your brows furrowing. By the third step, a cold hand was sealed tightly around your throat, pinning you up to the wall as the tips of your toes brushed the ground. 

The bag in your arms fell away, the items within it scattering across the floor as you squeaked, coming up to grab at the wrist holding you so tightly to the wall as you struggled to drag in any breath at all, your gaze meeting the furious one of the face you knew so well on the person you didn’t know at all. Those familiar honey-brown eyes were scanning over you interrogatively, and the long fingers wrapped around your throat flexed, tightening for a second before you were released, and you fell to your knees, eyes watering as you took in burning breaths, rubbing soothingly at the skin on your throat as the man merely stood and watched you for a second, before spinning on his heel and walking away.

You watched him go, shaking your head as he stormed away, and once your breathing had finally calmed and your heart had stopped racing so had on your chest that you thought it may burst out, you began to slowly gather up the items you had dropped, stuffing them all haphazardly back into the now torn paper bag and standing it up. Sitting on your knees, you took a moment to gather yourself, your eyes locking with the narrowed brown ones watching you, goosebumps rising over your body and you tried to seem strong, not to let him know quite how terrified you really were, as you took the back, standing on unsteady legs and holding your head high as you stared him down.

Making your way over to him, you placed the bag down in front of him, raising your brows as you moved slowly, the warning growl in his throat being acknowledged as you held up your hands, palms out to him to show you meant no hard, despite the fact that he'd attacked you only moments prior. Instead, you slowly tipped the bag upside down, allowing all the contents to spill out across Derek’s plain black coffee table, the man’s eyes scanning over it all, his face twisted in confusion as he looked at each item.

You stood with him in silence for a moment, letting him look at all the items, before he was stepping away from you, a snarl on his lips as he moved as far back as he could while still being able to watch your movements, track what you were doing. With a heavy sigh, you backed away yourself, never taking your eyes off of him out of fear of what he might do once you did, and for each step backwards you took, he moved forward one, and you slowly guided him toward the kitchen.

He lingered in the doorway as you moved around, never taking your eyes off of him for more than a split second as you searched through his drawers and cupboards, a small sound of victory leaving you once you found something you could work with, and you slipped two packets of the instant-noodles from the collection, dropping them on the counter as you continued your hunt on your meal-making task. 

He flinched each time a pot or pan clashed, his eyes once again narrowing menacingly, and you had to suppress a chuckle because it was no longer focused on you, but instead on the source of the loud sounds, as he glared at a frying pan that had shifted and fallen loudly on another one. Selecting a pan big enough for the job, you quickly filled it with water from the tap, deciding that using the hob was definitely the safest bet, as you worked with this. Tearing open each packet, you held it up to show him as you watched on curiously, and you dropped the solid blocks of noodles into the water, waiting for it to begin to bubble over the flame. 

There was nothing in the fridge that you could use, he’d gotten rid of everything perishable before going away, and you made a mental note to buy food, your heart once again sinking at the savings-draining task you had taken on. Maybe if you told Lydia, she’d give you her card and allow you to pay using her platinum, but you highly doubted you’d get away with telling her now without having to endure a long sit down talk and a lot of disappointed looks, which you weren’t ready to deal with. Lydia Martin could be scary when she wanted to be. 

The silence hung heavily in the room between the two of you, and you tried to school your face into a stoic expression, despite the stormy scowl that was being directed at you, his body shuffling as you looked at him, his shoulders rolling from the discomfort of his injuries and he looked like he was going to try and dash at any moment. Taking two dishes from the lower cupboard beside your legs, you placed them out on the table gently, a fork beside each one and you stirred the noodles, the pasta soft and flimsy as it circled around, the savoury smell filling the air and you quickly dished up the food after switching off the hob, placing a fork in one bowl and pushing it across the countertop toward him. 

He stepped forward as you took a seat on one of the stools, and you watched as he lifted up the instrument, pushing the pasta around the dish, a growl leaving him as he dropped the fork back into the bowl with a clatter, and you raised your eyebrows as you ate your own food, fixing him with a judgemental look and shaking your head. He used a single, skinny finger to push the bowl toward you roughly, some of the soup sloshing over the side and you let out a sigh, continuing to eat your food as he glared at you.

You had never felt quite so intimidated while in the presence of a bowl of noodles, and had you been anywhere else, in any other situation, you might have found this situation funny, perhaps even laughed at it, but right now, you worried you may actually choke on the noodles from stress. When you finally finished, and he was still twitching from foot to foot in front of you, his nervous shuffling giving you anxiety, too. 

“What? You don’t eat, then?” He merely snarled at you, despite the rumbling in his stomach as the delicious smell drifted through the air and you raised a brow at him, shrugging and taking the bowl, his eyes watching as you snatched the food from in front of him. You made sure to make a show of tipping it into the garbage disposal, his eyes watching as the food slipped away into the drain and his jaw tightened, twitching as he ground his teeth together, his body jerking in shock as you slammed your hand down on the button on the wall and the loud grating filled the room, before you finished it, a smug look on your face as you cleared the dishes into the sink to clean later.

He stalked from the room as you did, his nostrils flaring at your actions and you wanted to stomp your foot on the ground and groan, but instead, you merely clenched your fists by your sides, following after him as he whipped his head around to see you following him, choosing to make his way over to the couch and poke through the items spilt out on the coffee table.

He picked up the bag of cotton wool balls, looking at them curiously before dropping them and you cleared your throat, his hard gaze directed back to you as you crossed your arms over your chest self-consciously. “Those wounds on your back are bad, you should let me take a look at you.”

He blinked at you, twice, eyes wide and his face didn’t move, giving you no indication that he was actually understanding a thing you were saying and you took cautious and slow steps toward him, his body tensing up as you did and you plucked the item from his hands, meeting little resistance as you held it up. 

“These are for cleaning the wounds. On your shoulders?” 

You placed the item down, motioning to your own shoulders as you tried to make him understand, and he twitched at the motion, his features falling from their hard glare a little his eyes softening and he swallowed thickly, his gaze dropping from yours for just a moment as he adjusted his arms. A wince was clear on his face as he moved his arms back, his lips parting and a quiet groan left him. 

Your own shoulders slumped as you watched him, and you picked up another couple of items, deciding to offer him a small smile as you held it up, jiggling the packages before him, and the crinkling caught his attention. “These are for wrapping and padding the cuts, because those are really bad, and they’ll get infected.” 

He pursed his lips, but for once they weren’t fixed in a heavy scowl and you felt as though perhaps you were making some kind of progress with him. Placing them down, you moved through the rest of the items, lifting each one slowly and telling him what it would be used for, only receiving the same blank looks and lonely silence as he stood before you, his gaze flicking over both you and the room multiple times. Despite the lack of verbal confirmation, you were choosing to believe that he understood you, because his posture had loosened, his body slumping forward a little and he seemed a little less like he was preparing to fight for his life at every turn of events. 

It wasn’t until you’d finished talking to him and moved toward him that his defensive stance returned to him. He jerked aggressively away from you as you took a step toward him, and you lifted your hands, reaching out to him carefully as you motioned towards his back. “Let me take a look at your injuries!”

He stepped back again, his legs hitting the edge of the couch and he went rigid as you closed in on him, a low growl sounding from his throat, the noise rumbling from his chest in a warning and his eyes were practically burning with rage, his anger having built in seconds and your jaw dropped.

“We just talked about your injuries! I told you what I need to do!”

You tried one final time, reaching for him carefully and he took your wrist in his hand squeezing so tightly that your knees buckled as you released a cry, and he growled once again, this time predatory, as if to tell you to back off or it would get worse. Then, he was using his grip on you to push you back as you stumbled over your own feet, just about stopping yourself from tripping up and falling on your ass.

“Fine!” You snapped, your arms flying out to your sides as you shouted at him, and his eyebrows raised at your increase in volume, his eyes wide as he watched you, your own jaw clenching and you pointed at him angrily. “Go ahead, die of fuckin’ osteomyelitis for all I care!”

Your cheeks were flushed, and you fixed him with the harshest glare you could, before letting out a deep sound of anger, a groan that rippled through your body as you threw your head back, eyes squeezed shut as you tried to calm yourself down. Taking a series of deep breaths, you calmed your racing heart and the heat that was curling up your cheeks died down. 

You mumbled curses under your breath, turning back to him to find him staring at you intently still, and you ran a hand through your head, grimacing as the tension in the air hung thickly. “Look, I’m going to go and get some warm water, we really need to sort out those gashes or you’re going to get really sick.”

You nodded at him, hoping that he understood before you were rubbing your hands together and turning on your heel, making your way into the kitchen. Fishing out a fresh bowl, you turned on the tap, running the water over the inside of your wrist to test the temperature, and when it became too hot for the skin there, you knew it was the perfect temperature. Gathering enough in the bowl, you placed it on the side, searching through the drawers for some clean rags.

When you first heard the metal of the door sliding, your brows furrowed, and it took a second before the realisation of what that particular grinding of metal meant, your eyes widening and you squeaked, dropping the material on your hands as you dashed from the kitchen, your eyes scanning over the empty loft area and your heart raced, bile rising in your throat as you guts twisted. “Shit!”

Your eyes focused on the open loft door, and you ran towards it, your feet moving quickly down the stairs as your tried not to fall, your blood pounding in your ears and you let out a panicked and frustrated yell as you noticed the main door now hanging open too, his taller stature and head-start ensuring you wouldn’t catch up to him even with his injuries, the area surrounding the loft still and empty, as though he had just disappeared. 

Your legs buckled under you as the consequences began to run through your mind. Worry, fear and anger flooded your system as you kicked at a rock on the ground, tears lacing your eyes from the overwhelming floods of emotion bubbling over inside of you as you tried to work out what the fuck you were going to do now. 

The sun was almost setting, dark clouds moving in over the sky and threatening to break at any time as the sun sank lower and lower on the horizon.

“I’m so fucking screwed.” 

[angst-king]

Misery love Company pt 5

(mention of vomit, and ablelist behavior

It  had been a week and a half since Katsuki had eaten a proper meal, or felt normal. His entire body had felt like it was burning but that wasn’t because he had a fever, oh no he was cold to the bone but his bones were hurting so bad. Moving hurt so much, moving also made him incredibly dizzy to the point where he collapsed once or twice. These dizzy spells were accompanied by nausea, chest pain, his heart feeling like it would explode from his chest, feeling very hot and then suddenly he’d drop. 

Today had been the last straw or well tonight was the last straw. Katsuki was miserable, laying in his bed unable to be comfortable at all with how sick he was. A trash can next to the side of his bed in case he got sick but. Even just moving to get sick into the trash can made Katsuki feel very faint. Like now, Massaru was helping Katsuki who was busy getting sick into the trash can for what felt like the millionth time this week which made Massaru wanna take Katsuki to the ER but. Katsuki had been brainwashed by Mitsuki into the idea that he just needed to sleep it off but. This time Mitsuki wasn’t home and Massaru was too anxious to care especially when he heard Katsuki gasping for breath, clutching his chest, and whimpering to the point of tears running down his flushed red, and pale pink face. Massaru had to hold Katsuki up when the other’s eyes went back and he went limp, he knew the other had fainted again but this time he listened to his gut. He quickly grabbed everything he needed, and pulled Katsuki out of bed and into his car, and left for the emergency room.

When he got there he carried Katsuki in and allowed them to whisk his son away. Of course they had to ask the usual questions as well as some other ones but other than that Massaru was left in the waiting room. That lonely sickeningly white walled waiting room. Massaru knew he needed to call Mitsuki even if he didn’t want to know how his wife would most likely react though a piece of him hoped she would have a shred of selflessness to get off of work to come and see him.  

Ever since Katsuki’s condition began to make an appearance Mitsuki hadn’t been reacting to this well. She’d been rather dismissive about Katsuki’s complaints of pain, and rather passive aggressive with her replies. Then when Katsuki started getting sicker and sicker she wouldn’t even be bothered to help him. It was as if that was a job completely beneath her. Telling Katsuki to stop being weak or lazy and that he could do it himself.. The frequent fainting spells weren’t helping, making it even more difficult for Katsuki to try and help himself. It finally got to the point where Katsuki could hardly sit up without needing to immediately lay back down because he was gonna pass out.  Mitsuki ignored everything and passed it off as puberty, being a wimp, growing, needing to take care of himself. All her words were laced with a coldness that made Katsuki feel so weak.

Making the decision, Massaru called his wife and told her what had happened and, to put it frankly, her response wasn’t very empathetic or motherly. “Ugh what the hell! I told you not to Massaru!” “i-I know dear but come on, the kid fainted again and he hasn’t been keeping down almost anything but gatorade, and he’s in pain.” “Katsuki is just weak Massaru, he just wants attention and is playing it up to get it!” Massaru was getting fed up with his wife’s protests and replied in an annoyed tone.“Mitsuki, our son couldn’t even sit up on his own without blacking out. I don’t care if you think he’s faking, if you truly loved and cared then you’d come over here.” He hung up before she could reply as he didn’t want to hear another word from her at the moment. Still alone in this waiting room, waiting for any information on his son’s condition was making the man anxious. It felt like hours, upon hours, but it had only been one hour but. Time in here seemed to feel like forever, it went by so slowly yet too quick at the same time.

Finally, a doctor walked over to him smiling. “Mr Bakugou?” Looking up he sees the woman coming over to him and he gives a sigh. “Yes?” He says as he stands up, the woman approaches him and starts. “We’ve got your son Katsuki, stabilized the best we could here. We did some testing after learning his symptoms and well, the results aren’t great…” The way the woman spoke, Massaru had a bad feeling from the start, but said nothing allowing the woman to go on. “Mr Massaru, let's sit.” She says, now he’s feeling more and more anxious about the possible news. Nodding he sits down in the chair he started in while she sat beside him turning to face him. “Your son could’ve died tonight if you didn’t bring him. He was that sick.” That made Massaru want to be sick himself, the feeling that if he waited a day or two longer, Katsuki could’ve died. Still Massaru didn’t know how the boy could’ve gotten so bad or what was wrong with him, so he asked. “Wh-what’s wrong with Katsuki?” His voice wasn’t very strong, it was strained with concern and fear. “Well your son is sick, and I don’t mean that he has the flu, he’s chronically ill.” It hadn’t hit him completely but hearing that his son was chronically hit him but. How could his son just suddenly fall ill like this though? Even with a chronic illness, shouldn’t this have appeared when he was younger? So he asked what he was thinking “shouldn’t this appear when he was younger?”  “Well some things probably did but they never manifested like this or he did and the doctors just dismissed it as something else.” Massaru couldn’t help but feel guilty, his son could’ve been suffering for years and this is how he finds out. Twiddling his thumbs unconsciously and asking “So what does he have?”

“Katsuki has H.E.D.S which is called Hypermobility Ehlers Danlos syndrome. This is a connective tissue disorder that allows your son to be very flexible and have very elastic yet very thin skin. Due to him being very flexible and having lots of collagen his joints are very loose which means he can easily dislocate things and have horrible body pain from it.” Taking this information Massaru had more questions. “How could this condition almost kill Katsuki? Or is there more to this than just horrible body pain?” “Well I’m glad you’re asking these questions because, yes there is more to this disorder. How I explain this is I call this the H.E.D.S expansion back because this disorder has the possibility to contain multiple other disorders and problems and. For Katsuki those other disorders seem to be POTS and Gastroparesis. Though gastroparesis is a theory I’m not totally solid on that one but it's a good possibility that he has it.” This was so much information coming at him at once but he wanted to know how these conditions would have ended Katsuki’s life. So Massaru asked for the doctor to explain the second ailment. “POTS stands for postural orthostatic tachycardia syndrome. Which is a heart condition in which standing or sitting up can cause the blood flow to pool away from Katsuki’s head and make him faint. It can also cause lightheaded-ness, chest pain, shortness of breath, anxiety, fast heart rate, tremors, nausea and vomiting. These symptoms can become very exaggerated during a flare up, which explains why his heart rate was so high but his blood pressure was low.” Massaru silently let everything sink in until he asked1

“so your theory about Gastroparesis? What is that exactly and why do you have a theory for this?” “Well Gastroparesis is a fancy word for stomach paralysis. It's when the nerve that controls the stomach’s contractions that move food from your stomach to your small intestine has stopped functioning or maybe the sphincter of his stomach to his small intestine won't open properly. So his body is digesting things way too slow which can cause lots of pain, bloating, nausea, the feeling of being constantly full or not hungry. SInce his body isn’t digesting his food correctly that means that he’s not absorbing any nutrients through what he eats by mouth….so if he does have gastroparesis they may have to find another way to provide him nutrition.” All of this was a lot for Massaru to grasp but he could also do his research but. Then he had another question. “So how are you guys going to treat my son, what are the plans?” “Well Mr Bakugou, I suggest that your son be transferred to a long stay facility because his condition is not good and we can’t do what a pediatric long stay hospital can do.”

That’s when he knew Katsuki’s world had officially turned upside down. Massaru couldn’t help but feel terrible. If he had waited any longer, if he’d listened to his wife, they may not have woken up the next morning to see Katsuki with a pulse. If he hadn’t listened to his own instincts Massaru would have never forgiven himself. Now his son was gonna have to be transferred to a long stay hospital and he knew Katsuki wasn’t gonna take this well at all. Still he wanted to see Katsuki and knew this information would be accepted better than it would coming from him than the doctor. “We can admit him, but can I see my son please?” “Sure, he should be waking up. He did faint on us when we had to get blood drawn and hooked him up to some IVs. Your son definitely has anxiety around needles, I can tell you that for sure.” She chuckles a little while standing up from her seat, Massaru follows suit and is led down the hallways to find Katsuki.

[writing-gifts]

crewmate!bruno x imposter!reader

<< part 3 || part 5 >>

------

White

White would not leave you alone.

After losing Lime and finding you soaked in blood on the verge of passing out, he was keeping a closer eye on you. At first you thought he might have suspected something was off but then realized he was just concerned.

It was a reasonable way to react but it was slowing you down more than your wound. You weren't allowed outside your quarters for anything. And on top of that, Black convinced him not to let you switch groups ever again once you were healed. It obviously wasn't for your safety though. You could tell that the man had a different idea of what happened that day. The few times you saw his face you could see a suspicious glint in his eyes.

Now you were trying to figure out what to do. Killing your partners at one time was a possibility, but you weren't sure you could take them both out fast enough before someone hit the alarm. Black was intimidating, attitude and physical wise, and he was much more on guard (around you) now. White was the more approachable of the two, but you couldn’t and wouldn't underestimate him either. His "soft spot" for you though could be used against him.

You were also chewing on a more stealthy option. White's influence affected the crew's opinions more than you expected. In fact, part of you wondered if you'd still be on this ship if it weren't for him. So you felt that keeping him around could be more beneficial.

You sigh. These thoughts fill your head as you lay in your bed and stare at the ceiling.

"Are you comfortable?"

"Yea," you answer, forcefully pulled from your thoughts.

"You don't need anything?"

"Bruno, I'm okay I swear."

Several days ago, Yellow stitched and bandaged you up all while throwing you looks that you couldn't quite decipher. Afterwards, it was deemed best if you stayed in your room until you were doing better so you wouldn't be vulnerable.

The wound itself was pretty bad. Yellow had to numb the area around it before stitching you up and you were put on an IV for the first few days due to how much blood you lost. Maybe you went a little overboard, but at least it strengthened your innocence. Now everyone accepted whatever killed Lime and Orange and wounded you wasn't human. After all, how could a human leave such deep and long claw scratches along your chest and torso like that? Along with tearing Orange's body in half and putting a hole through Lime's chest it didn't make sense for you, a human, to be behind it.

However, it wouldn't take long for your wound to heal fast, suspiciously fast, so you needed to make your next moves quickly.

White smiles but it looks tired. The deaths must be getting to him. And you weren't sure how long he'd be able to keep up his collected facade.

"You don't need to pretend around me you know."

Shock initially covers his features, but it soon shifts into something more dejected.

"...Thank you."

You hum, acknowledging his gratitude. "You should rest, I know everything that's happened has worn you down."

"I can't until I find who--what did that to Fugo and Narancia."

Immense regret settles on White’s face. This was the most emotive you've seen him.

There was nothing you could have done about Lime but you couldn't say the same for Orange. You frown. "I should have stayed with Narancia...Then maybe--"

"If you did then you might not even be here right now. Even now we're lucky that the imposter only left a scratch on you."

You observe him for a moment. "You know, you have a kind heart."

And you're way too trusting.

"Where'd that come from?"

"Just stating a fact."

You prop yourself up grunting a little from the pull of your stitches.

"You shouldn't be moving like that."

You disregard White's worried expression. "It's fine. Thanks for staying with me by the way."

"Of course I'd stay. If you need anything just let me know."

You smile. "Okay. Do you want to lay down for awhile?"

"Here?"

"Where else?" You move over to make room for White and pat the space next to you.

He looks a bit hesitant but with your insistence carefully gets next to you in your bed.

"You can go back to sleep," he says.

“If only you promise to do it too.” You cut him off before he can make excuses. You wanted to see if he was okay with letting his guard down completely around you. "We already know no one or thing can get in without the person residing in the room letting them. And you look exhausted."

"...Okay but only for a few minutes."

-----

You spend the next week and a half in your room. Some of the humans would visit (maybe they felt bad for you), but White keeps you company the most while you heal.

You slowly munch on the meat of the meal White brought you. You tried to eat some of the vegetable stir fry but it was just too hard to swallow.

"Not fond of vegetables?" he asks.

You shake your head. "They taste disgusting."

And there was also no reason for you to eat them. They didn't benefit you nutritiously. Neither did fruit.

"The chicken's good at least," you add. "Did you eat already?"

"Yes."

"Actually, now that I think about it, I honestly don't think I've ever seen you eat!" You let out a light laugh. "Do you want my veggies?"

"That's okay. You really should still try to eat them since you're still recovering."

"Ew, no way."

White cracks a smile at your scrunched up face.

You both continue to partake in idle conversation. It was pleasant. In fact, you had never talked or spent this much time with a human before. But you'd consider White a good first experience.

As your meal time and talk winds down, the look in White's eyes becomes very intense. You'd think he was preparing to kill you if it were anyone else.

You tilt your head a bit. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing. I'm not very versed with this type of thing so I think I should just be blunt."

"...What?" You had no idea where this was going.

"Can I kiss you?"

Your eyes widen. White was constantly surprising you.

Before you disgust yourself with the idea, you lean forward and press your lips to his. You'd never done this before--you weren't exactly planning to do it ever--but you felt like he would like it.

It was strange. Very strange.

White leans into the kiss so you assume that he's not bothered by your lack of experience. You however were stiff and barely responsive. You weren't sure what to do with your hands or what to do next for that matter.

White pulls back, his cheeks look a little red. "Is everything alright?"

"Uh, yea it's just that I've never really kissed before so I don't really know what to do…"

You didn't think White's expression could get any softer but it did.

"Sorry for making you uncomfortable."

“It's okay," you say but you were honestly ready for him to leave. "I'm kinda tired though so I think I'll just get ready for bed."

He nods but you can't tell anything else from his body language. "It is pretty late."

He grabs your half eaten dinner tray but before he can get too far you wrap your arms around his neck in a hug. You hoped that would be enough to clear any doubts on his mind.

"Night, Bruno."

"Night, sleep well ____.'' His voice is low, almost a whisper.

You hang off him for a while before letting him go.

------

<< part 3 || part 5 >>

[madbucker]

Silhouettes | Daryl Dixon.

Eventual Daryl Dixon x female reader.

IV.

Season 1.

MASTERLIST.

Loosely based on the song We Will Become Silhouettes by The Postal Service.

Summary: Y/N follows Rick to Atlanta. They find a group willing to help them.

Warnings: language, gore stuff (twd style), mentions of death, mentions of domestic abuse. Will add more warnings depending on the chapter’s content. Let me know if you think it needs some other warning!

Word count: 3.6k.

Author’s note: First things first, I’m not a native English speaker, so bear with me! You can send me a message or an ask pointing out some mistakes so I can edit the post. Also, it will help me learn the language, so don’t hesitate! Had this in my drafts for a few days. I hope you like it! ♥

Gif’s not mine.

“Morgan…” You couldn’t find the right words to express how grateful you were. You looked at Morgan and Duane with conflict showing in your eyes: you were happy and hopeful that you were going to find your sister in Atlanta, but you couldn’t ignore the anguish, the heartbreak of leaving them. Every second counted, and waiting a few more days could lower your chances of finding her alive, but those two had saved your life. What if leaving them lowered their chances of making it to safety? Even if you weren’t suited for survival, having someone else around could make a difference.

“Go, this is your chance. We’ll meet again, soon.” Morgan took over as if he knew how much you were feeling at the moment, embracing you not only with his arms but with his words.

Yeah, we’ll meet again, you thought. Your mind softened for a couple of seconds when you felt another set of arms hugging you tight from your side. You had only known them for a couple of weeks, but that was a lot when the world was the way it was. Weeks felt like a lifetime for you, and so it did for the men that had taken you in.

Men, because Duane was far from being a boy. It was sad, he deserved to live the rest of his childhood like you did, or like his father did. He had to, forcefully, become brave, strong, and even cold sometimes.

“We’ll meet again in Atlanta, or somewhere else, I don’t know, but we will.” You said as they let go of you. All you could do after that was forcing yourself to smile reassuringly.

“Now go and help Rick find his family too.”

“You can't leave me here... Not like this. You can't, man. It's not human. Come on, don't do this!”

Merle’s voice was faint as you ran down the stairs with everyone else. Their names were blurry in your head, the adrenaline making you forget about everything but the fact that your life was hanging by a thread.

But Merle, oh, you would never forget his name.

He was the type of person you were afraid to run into, back when you were alone. You were glad Rick was there to put him in his place, even though that hadn’t shut him up. 

Finding other survivors had its downside, you guessed, but not all of it was bad.

They told you that they had a camp, that they had people. The blonde woman’s younger sister was one of them, and they said they had children, too. Maybe it was too good to be true, but since Atlanta was overrun by walkers, then that was the best you had.

Walkers, that’s what they’d named them: because that’s all they did, they were the empty carcasses of what used to be a beautifully complex human being. They just walked, and bit, and killed.

You feared your sister was one of those, roaming around the city. That thought hadn’t left your mind since you first realized how bad things had gotten there. What if she had gone to Atlanta, seeking shelter, but found her death instead? You knew you had to get out of the situation you were in before you made any decisions. The camp didn’t seem like a bad idea, you could stay there temporarily and visit the city a few more times until you found her. Maybe even bring back supplies to thank everyone for letting you stay. That was if you made it, survival was still something new, something you had to train for.

Safety in numbers felt like your best shot. 

You didn’t pay much attention to your surroundings until you got inside the loading dock, your eyes were fixed in what was in front of you. A walker could’ve gotten you from your sides and you wouldn’t have noticed until it was too late. You were lucky enough to get to safety.

So was T-Dog, who at last second caught up with you, right before you heard Rick banging on the door.

You sat next to the two women, hugging yourself with your trembling arms. You were agitated and couldn’t catch enough air to say what you knew everyone else wanted to say.

“Hey, T-Dog,” you moaned once you could stabilize your breath, “where’s Merle?” you almost barked the asshole’s name. He looked down to his knees.

“I dropped the damn key,” he growled, angry and ashamed.

“Well, shit.” You whispered, making sure nobody heard. Merle had it coming, that was clear, but T-Dog didn’t have to carry with the guilt of leaving a man to die just because he happened to be… the way he was.

“Best not to dwell on it. Merle got left behind. Nobody's gonna be sad he didn't come back... except, maybe, Daryl.” One of the men commented. You lifted your head and locked your eyes with his, your heart starting to beat faster once again. If for some reason Merle had someone who cared for him, then they had to love him. That was a difficult man, the one you had met back there… It must've taken a huge amount of patience and devotion to want him around for more than a few hours.

If he actually had someone who cared for him, you were completely fucked.

“Daryl?” you hesitated to ask, not sure if you wanted to hear the answer.

“His brother.”

The scenario was so beautiful it was truly unbelievable. You were stepping out of the dock when Rick’s drowned cry caught your attention. Looking forward, you saw a kid running to hug him, followed by a woman. You quickly figured out Rick had found his family, making your heart flutter. In the shithole you were in, you figured those things were a sight to be seen, something that didn’t happen every day, so you let yourself enjoy the view.

You knew Rick’s son was young, even younger than Duane, but seeing him there made you realize how fragile he was.

Innocent, scared, too little to live through those times. And for a second, you forgot that a few hours before you thought you had no purpose left. Not finding your sister, seeing how one of the biggest cities in the country had fallen… you had started to think that there was no use in trying so hard to survive when you had nobody left.

But there he was, Carl, and there were more kids in the camp. Maybe you could do more than just survive. Trying to help them live their lives with as little worry and concern as possible was better than giving up.

“Why on earth did you leave the apartment?!” A loud, high pitched scream echoed through the camp, and it didn’t take long for you to spot her, running to you.

Her. Mayra. Your sister.

When her body slammed into yours, you fell backward as you hugged her tight, trying not to let her go, as if she could slip away from your arms at any moment. You stayed on the ground trying to take in every detail you could. Her shaky breath, the way her hair felt on your skin, how her fingers were uncomfortably pressed between the ground and your shoulder blades. Her small cries as she tried to find the exact words to say.

“I was looking for you!”, at that point, you were sobbing, not even thinking about the people whose eyes wandered from Rick to you two.

“And I was about to go back home looking for you!” She cried, steadying her breath before standing back up. You followed her actions, your sight never leaving hers.

You weren’t sure how long it had been since it all started. Weeks, for sure. Months, too, although sometimes it felt like decades.

Suddenly, her eyes widened and she scanned her surroundings, fear creeping in her. She put both of her hands on your shoulders and lightly shook her head, still searching for something, you couldn’t guess what.

“Did he die?” She questioned firmly. You didn’t answer, had someone else gone to Atlanta that hadn’t made it? Someone who died before you found the group? She couldn’t be talking about… 

The entire world fell on top of you. You had just discovered your sister was alive and had also just found out you left someone she cared about behind. “Did Merle fucking die?!”

The fire warmed your legs and the frog legs tasted so, so good. You hadn’t eaten anything freshly cooked in such a long time, it felt unreal. You were focused on your food and on Rick’s story, it was the first time you heard him talk in-depth about what had happened. He seemed happy, and the bags under his eyes were more subtle. His entire demeanor had changed.

“They found me…” your sister’s voice interrupted your trail of thoughts. You had a conversation pending; one that the both of you decided to ignore so you could enjoy the feeling of being back together, “... the Dixons, I mean. Merle didn’t want me around, Daryl didn’t either, but he was too kind to let it show. Thank God we found the group, like, a couple of days after I joined them.” Her eyes were lost in the flames as she spoke. She knew it hadn’t been your fault, there was no way you would leave him on purpose. “But I was about to die, Y/N. I felt the walker’s teeth on my skin, it tore the fabric on my shoulder. I just accepted it, didn’t fight back, didn’t try to escape.” She looked at you, and you realized that nothing meant shit anymore… life at that moment was constantly being on the verge of dying and knowing that the people you loved could die at any moment, too. Nothing could ever go back to what it used to be. “And, then, a freaking arrow went through the walker’s head. Clean, just like that, and it fell on top of me. I had never seen death in first person, you know. I had lost my friends after a dozen of those creeps came out of nowhere, but I didn’t see them die, I just heard the screams.”

She was your little sister, you hated to hear her that way, so hopeless and surrendering to death. 

“You’re safe now, these people know how to fight-” you stared, but she stopped you before you could finish.

“I know. But one of the men who saved my ass isn’t safe. Yes, he’s not the kindest, nicest, or most selfless man, but I owe him.” You knew that feeling too well. You owed Morgan and Duane, you owed Rick, and Glenn, and so many people. None of them had behaved the way Merle did, but not only Mayra owed him, you did too.

Nodding, you sighed and looked at her in the eyes, reassuring her you would do something to get him back, anything you could.

“Hey, Ed, you want to rethink that log?” Shane’s loud demand made you jump slightly. Your sister nudged you on your side with her elbow and signaled you to look at Ed. She had been suspicious about him and you both had talked about it a few hours back

“It’s cold, man.”

“Then join us or put it out, we don’t want to be seen…” you spoke, managing to sound as nice as you could. You didn’t want to start anything, but you knew how dangerous it could get. You had to avoid loud sounds and bright lights. But Ed, as expected, ignored you.

“Yeah, the cold doesn’t change the rules, does it? Keep our fires low, just embers so we can't be seen from a distance, right?” Shane continued.

“I said it's cold. You should mind your own business for once.” Ed’s answer has was harsh, you could tell he would be hard to deal with, but not everything could be perfect in such a numerous and diverse group. Everyone had different stories to tell, some of them were more tragic than others.

Shane got up and walked steadfastly towards Ed and his family’s fire, “Hey, Ed... Are you sure you want to have this conversation, man?”

“Go on. Pull the damn thing out. Go on!” Ed bossed and his wife pulled the log out of the fire almost immediately, not questioning his husband’s command. It was sad and frustrating, but knowing that stepping in could cause the wife and the little girl to get hurt forced you to stay in your place. Shane seemed to be handling the situation. He was like some sort of leader in the camp, and he had been around those people for so much longer than you, he knew what to do. At least that’s what you told yourself in an attempt to find comfort.

You saw how Shane spoke to Ed’s wife and their daughter, but you couldn’t hear what he said as the group had started a conversation to fill in the silence.

“Have you given any thought to Daryl Dixon? He won't be happy to hear his brother was left behind.” The man -whose name you learned was Dale- questioned, deciding to talk about the elephant in the room. 

“I'll tell him. I dropped the key. It's on me.” T-Dog’s shameful tone showed up once again.

“I cuffed him. That makes it mine.” Rick followed. It couldn’t turn into a competition of who was brave enough, who was the most selfless, or who was willing to sacrifice themselves.

“We were all there, it’s not a competition, any of us could’ve done something-” You intervened, hoping you could bring into the conversation the fact that you were planning on going back, but Glenn interrupted you:

“I don't mean to bring race into this, but it might sound better coming from a white guy.” You hated it, but if Daryl was as bigoted as his brother, then Glenn was right.

“I did what I did. Hell if I'm gonna hide from him.” T-Dog stated, completely convinced of facing the consequences.

“And we keep on making a competition out of this. We all should be there and say whatever we have to say.” You said in a determined tone. You were all responsible, one way or another.

“Look, Y/N… maybe I can tell him?” Mayra whispered as the rest kept on debating who should speak up.

“I don’t know how it could help…” You said back. Yes, Mayra knew him better than you, but she hadn’t been involved, she didn’t have to.

She opened her mouth to protest, but T-Dog’s words captured your interest instantly:

“My point... Dixon's alive and he's still up there, handcuffed on that roof. That's on us.”

When the fire was out and everyone got into their tents, including your sister, you still sat on the same log as before. The scenario felt strange, almost unknown to you: outside at night, under the cloudy night sky, and still not unsafe. It had been so long since you felt immortal and undefeatable, just like any other girl your age felt... like nothing could happen to you, not ever. You missed it. But beautiful as that night was, the imminent danger thickened the air.

You felt your eyes growing heavier each second. You were ready to go to sleep, so you got up and started to walk to the tent you and Mayra would share, but the sight of someone on the roof of Dale’s RV made you stop on your tracks.

Shane was keeping watch, and you wondered if he did it each night, or how had they arranged the shifts. He looked tired and the look on his face was anything but friendly.

“Hey, want to switch?” You asked approaching the stairs and climbing up, not waiting for an answer. Once you got off the stairs, your eyes wandered through the trees and landed up in the sky. If he kept watch every night, then you knew why. The view wasn’t mesmerizing, you had seen more beautiful countless times before, but the air up there was lighter, and the breeze, soothing. 

“Sorry ‘bout Ed today.” Shane ignored your question. You sat down next to the chair he was sitting in.

“Don’t be, he’ll pay for what he’s doing to his family someday. Soon, I hope.” You looked up and realized his eyes were lost somewhere in the horizon. He looked tired, and if you read more into it: defeated. “Go to sleep, I’ll stay. I want to.”

It came as a surprise to you: that was all he needed to hear. He didn’t protest, he got up, handed you the shotgun and left. You didn’t know if he would be able to get some sleep, at least he could try to.

But what you did know was that you weren’t suddenly concerned about the sleeping schedule of a man you had just met. You were desperately in need of being alone. Being around so many people was something you had only dreamt about, at least for the last weeks, and although you felt the luckiest you had ever felt, the safety you had found allowed you to put your feet back on the ground.

Everything had happened so fast. You almost died, and more than once. You met people, they saved you, you left one of them to die, you found out Mayra was alive and safe, Rick’s family was with her… and you still had to figure out how to break the news to Merle’s brother. 

You were going back to the city, too, as if everything that had happened wasn’t enough. You’d do it for your sister, and for the men who saved her, as questionable as they were.

And suddenly, it clicked.

The bag. The guns.

You had to remind Rick. It could save the group from an attack from walkers, or from other people. That way you knew somebody else would go back with you and you would actually have a shot of coming back alive, even if they despised Merle.

“Merle! Merle! Get your ugly ass out here! I got us some squirrel! Let's stew 'em up.”

You had just finished hanging some of your clothes to dry when an unbothered and loud voice caught everyone’s attention. From their wide eyes, you could tell who had just gotten back. Merle’s brother, Daryl, sounded, moved, and acted just like him. It wasn’t just the accent, but his words, how his presence made everyone uncomfortable… you could tell they were expecting him to snap as soon as he found out. Behind him, Shane and Rick looked and nodded to each other. You approached them, determined to be a part of it even if hell broke loose.

“Your brother was a danger to us all, so I handcuffed him on a roof, hooked him to a piece of metal. He's still there.” Rick got to the point with no rambling.

“We locked the door, he’s safe from walkers.” You dared to look at him in the eyes, but regretting it as soon as he opened his mouth.

“Hold on. Let me process this. You're saying you handcuffed my brother to a roof and you left him there?!”

“Yeah.” Rick stepped in front of you, and without skipping a beat, Daryl attacked Rick, who shoved him off. 

You took a few steps back and spotted your sister, who was just getting out of the RV. Her eyes widened and her mouth hung open as soon as she realized what was happening: Daryl, Shane, T-Dog and Rick were yelling at each other. She stood in her place, everyone in the camp knew well not to intervene. Shane had Daryl on a chokehold as Rick explained to him that he wanted to have a calm discussion, which seemed to force Daryl to give in. Shane let go of him.

“What I did was not on a whim. Your brother does not work and play well with others.” Rick kept going. At that point, you guessed nothing could actually calm Dixon, he was still breathing heavily.

“It's not Rick's fault. I had the key. I dropped it.” T-Dog cut in.

“You couldn't pick it up?” Daryl snarled.

“Well, I dropped it in a drain.”

“If it's supposed to make me feel better, it don't.” 

“Hey, I told you, the door’s chained with a padlock. There’s no way walkers could get to him.” You repeated, trying your best to be concise and get to the point: Merle was still out there. 

“And who the fuck are you?” Daryl took a few steps forward and stared at you in the eyes. You weren’t scared, but it did take you by surprise. You stumbled back and raised your hands, putting them in between you.

“She’s my sister, Daryl!” Mayra’s shaky voice made him turn around. You couldn’t see his face, but hers was filled with heartbreak. She felt she had failed him, as if she had broken an unspoken promise. Daryl faced you again.

“Funny, huh? How I saved your sister but you left my brother to rot.” He growled. His voice low and irritated.

Your eyes jumped from Mayra to him. You straightened your body and took a deep breath. He was right. You felt miserable, and you couldn’t imagine how hard it was for Mayra, you knew you would have to do something as soon as she told you her story.

“I know, that’s why I’m going back there. With or without you.”

[strawberrysoup]

Let’s Review || Chapter 11

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

relationship: Steve Rogers/Original Female Character/Bucky Barnes, background Peter Parker/Tony Stark rating: Explicit/18+ warnings: Dark Steve Rogers, Dark Bucky Barnes, Dark Tony Stark, Dark Avengers, kidnapping, non-con/dub-con elements, underage Peter Parker, emotional and psychological abuse, very dark 

There was a weird sense of urgency and purpose when the soldiers appeared to collect her from the kitchens. They weren’t frantic per say, but she was definitely aware of a certain energy around them. As soon as Bucky walked through the doors, he made a beeline for her and swept her up into his arms. The pair were pretty touchy feely with her as a rule, but this was different for some reason. 

Most of Penny’s irritation had dissolved with the excellent meal she’d received. Chef Cohen had prepared Shakshuka, a very traditional dish that she hadn’t eaten since her mother had died. She’d burst into tears at the first bite and thanked him profusely through the meal. He was a very kind man in his late 50’s who explained that he was at her disposal whenever she was hungry, literally at any time, and would make whatever she asked for. She didn’t even have to know what she wanted specifically, all she had to do was ask for food and he would whip something up in less than an hour. 

She wasn’t sure if he understood her circumstances. He never let on that he had any idea what the situation was and she was too afraid to tell him and potentially put him in danger. He was so nice, had told her about his family— she couldn’t do anything to jeopardize him. And if he did know, she decided she’d rather him not tell her. He felt like he could be a friend if not a confidant and she couldn’t ruin that. 

“Did you have a good breakfast precious?” Bucky’s voice was nearly a coo, burying her into his arms and nuzzling against the side of her face, “I’m so sorry, baby, I’m so sorry we didn’t realize how hungry you were. We should’ve noticed, we should’ve taken better care of you.” 

Penny didn’t get a chance to answer before Steve came up behind her, pressing against her back and wrapping around the both of them, “we’re gonna do a better job from now on, doll, I promise.”

“We’re gonna take you to see Bruce for a check up, okay?” the brunet pressed against her brushed his lips over her temple, “Peter said you haven’t been to the doctor in a while, he’s just going to make sure you’re alright. If there’s anything you want to talk to him about, we’ll step out of the room.”

For a moment, she considered not answering. She hated that they were making her do anything, that they were telling her what was going to happen instead of asking, but she hadn’t been to a doctor in nearly 10 years. In fact, her desire to go to the doctor was outweighing her irritation. The food had helped too. 

“Yeah, okay,” she nodded in agreement, ignoring their mutual smiles as Bucky pulled back and wrapped an arm around her waist, tugging her close before beginning to walk back towards the elevators. 

It didn’t take long to get to the doctor’s office, which was actually a lab. In the back of her head she remembered Tony saying that Bruce was a scientist that Peter liked to learn from. It would’ve endeared the man to her, if he wasn’t so fucking complicit in her kidnapping. The same thing had happened with Clint; he seemed like such a decent guy, they could’ve been friends in any other situation, and yet he wasn’t doing anything to help her. 

“Hey guys, come on in, I’m just finishing this up,” Bruce called from behind a computer, gesturing towards a table that almost resembled the chair from a doctor’s office. 

Steve lifted her up, setting her on the edge and giving her what was—fuck that was winning smile. She refused to let her heart race, remembering back to once upon a time in the coffee shop when she’d thought he was incredibly attractive and so, so nice. It was almost distracting. He leaned down and brushed his nose against hers sweetly, pressing a kiss there a moment later before backing away. 

“Alright Penny, I went ahead and pulled your medical records,” Penny didn’t want to know how he’d done that, what an invasion of privacy, “but we’re going to need to go through a lot of it now since you haven’t seen a doctor in so long and you’re a lot older now. If at any time you’re uncomfortable answering questions in front of Bucky and Steve, all you have to do is let me know and I’ll send them out, okay?” 

“Okay,” nervousness was thrumming through her a bit more now- God she hadn’t been to the doctor in so long, she wasn't sure what to expect. 

An arm came around her shoulders, a metal hand settling over the top of her arm. Bucky had saddled up as close to the table as possible, trying to offer comfort through his presence. She would absolutely never admit that she leaned into his heat a little, or that the attempt was even fractionally successful. 

The appointment wasn't as nerve wracking as she'd expected; there were a lot of questions about her past medical history and family medical history, her habits regarding smoking and drinking and exercise, he looked in her eyes and ears and listened to her breathing, did she have any allergies or take any medications? It was a lot of things she remembered from going to the doctor as a kid.

There was only one time when her heart felt like it might burst out of her chest: Bruce mentioned wanting to do a blood test. It was important in part because she hadn't ever had one, but also because she was Jewish and there were dozens of diseases passed genetically through the population. She knew of them of course, Tay-sachs and Gauchers and a slew of other things, but she'd never considered she could have them— there was no time. 

Luckily, he'd decided it wasn't a good time since she had barely been eating. Escape had been on her mind almost constantly since waking up in Stark's home but never so critically as when she thought there would be needles involved. Penny's fear of needles had started as a child and overtime had become an overwhelming, if irrational, phobia. The kidnapping via injection certainly made it worse too. 

Bruce finished up, continuing to address her rather than Steve or Bucky. It seemed peculiar for some reason, that he was being sure to treat her like her own person instead of the soldiers' property. 

"Have you ever had blood drawn Penny?" 

"Uhm, no," she did her best not to shift, not wanting to show weakness, "I'm sure it's not really necessary. I feel completely fine and—"

"There are certain genetically linked diseases I can test for with a blood panel. The fact that you probably have anemia is a little worrying because of your heritage. Now we can’t do the test today, you haven’t been eating or drinking enough, but we’ll keep an eye on your recovery over the next few days and schedule one. That being said, I want to hook up an IV for a few hours, you’re very dehydrated.”

“No, thank you,” Penny stood up from the table, composing her face carefully and putting her hands on her hips, “I’d rather just drink water.” 

“Penny I can tell you haven’t been getting enough hydration for days,” Bruce stated, ignoring the semi-panicked looks the soldiers sent each other, “Whatever your reasoning was, it’s hurting you. A drip will rehydrate you relatively quickly and you can get on with your day.” 

“I’m not in any critical danger, drinking water will be enough,” usually she wouldn’t argue with a doctor but if he came near her with a needle she would throw down. 

“Doll, it’s not an option.” 

God, how many times had she heard that. It’s not an option. It’s not an option. Nothing was ever an option. She’d been kidnapped, was being held against her will— fuck, she refused to list their sins against her again.

"I'm an adult, I get to decide what medical procedures I do and don't consent to."

"Baby, did you hit your head again? I think we're a little past consent." 

How many times would she have to physically fight these motherfuckers before they gave up. 

"I hate needles," she snapped, glaring at Steve with as much rage as she could muster, "no blood draws, no IVs, no vaccines, nothing."

Bucky stepped closer to her side, an imploring look on his face, "your health is suffering right now sweetheart, if Bruce says you need an IV, you're going to get it. We're going to take of you, Penny." 

They'd done a real stand up job of taking care of her in the last several days for sure. She'd only ended up drugged, concussed twice over, half starved, dangerously sleep deprived, and enraged. The skepticism must've shown on her face because Bucky visibly winced at the implication while Bruce had to turn and pretend to cough to cover his laughter. 

"Sweetheart, I understand that it makes you uncomfortable," Steve somehow managed to manifest in front of her in the blink of an eye and she startled backwards a step. 

The blond was freakishly fast and Penny was beginning to suspect that everyone calling him and Bucky 'super soldiers' weren't just mocking their demeanors. Steve had been strong enough to snap the lock on the bathroom door like twig, could bodily lift her with just one arm, and he moved a fraction of an inch too fast to be normal. Bucky was similar in the strength department, plus he had that arm. But instead of nearly vibrating with restrained power at all times, Bucky was almost preternaturally still. Even when she moved in the middle of the night and startled him awake, the only way she knew was because his eyes would open. He was so still sometimes she wondered if he even had to breathe, was his heart even beating? 

The brunette's arms came to wrap gently around her shoulders from behind; the way he held her was more reminiscent of a loving cuddle than a restraint but it worked all the same. If they didn't want her to go anywhere, it was going to be very hard to run off. The doors to the lab swept open abruptly, as if beckoning her to escape, but no one came through. JARVIS, always looking out. 

"I'll make your lives hell," she hissed through gritted teeth, eyes locked on the blond in front of her while Bucky backed them up and sat on the exam chair, tugging her into his lap, "if you come near me with a needle I'll shove it through your eye." 

"Penny, be sweet," Bucky's tone was firm, his arms squeezing around her in what she assumed was supposed to be a comforting gesture, "it'll all be okay and you'll feel so much better after."

Penny's eyes were dragged away from Steve when she caught movement, zeroing in on Bruce. He was fiddling with something in crinkly plastic and her blood froze in her veins when she realized it was a sterilized needle. He was preparing an IV despite her protests and panic began coursing through her like poison. 

"W-wait, wait I don't need an IV, I swear I feel fine, I'll drink a ton of water, don't do this—" 

"It’s gonna be alright babydoll," Steve cooed, understanding that her anger in this case was 100% a result of sheer terror, "Buck's gonna hold you the whole time. Bruce will give you a shot to numb the pain and—" 

"No, n-no, no, no please," Penny could barely move as Bucky locked his arms in place, holding her steady while Steve moved to block her view of Bruce, who was filling a syringe with lidocaine. 

"Shhhh, just watch me, baby," the blond brought his hands up to cup her face, manipulating her head to face him dead on, "don't pay attention to Bruce, just keep your eyes on mine." 

Tears of panic and fear began falling from her eyes, overwhelming terror beginning to consume her. There was no rationalizing the phobia, no talking herself through the fear, all she could think was I'm gonna die, I'm gonna die, I'm gonna die. When she could hear the doctor's footsteps shift in their direction, she opened her mouth and started to scream bloody murder. Thrashing wasn't effective in the least but she did the best she could, jerking every inch of her body as violently as possible. She couldn't hear anything any of them were saying, she couldn't even hear her own screams; all she could hear was the blood rushing through her ears and the mantra, I'm gonna die, I'm gonna die, I'm gonna die over and over again in her head. 

"Dr. Banner, sir is currently on his way and asks that you wait to perform any procedures until he arrives." 

Bucky tensed under her but Penny barely noticed. The edges of her vision were going dark and Steve wasn't so much holding her face in place anymore as trying to caress her cheeks and jaw. She could see the doors to the lab, still open as if waiting for her to run.

Instead, Stark came through them. There was a tightness to his usual swagger and she wondered if she was imagining the irritation in the lines of his face. 

"You know I thought I had sound proofed all of the labs, but I can hear my poor girl screaming from three floors away," he commented casually as he swept in, easily pushing past Steve and stealing Penny from Bucky's lap,  pulling her into the cage of his arms, "now this is over an IV, correct?"

"Please, please, please—" Penny's voice choked off in a sob as she tried to tug away and make a break for the door. 

"Shhhh, angel, look at me," Tony carefully manipulated her head, making her look up at him through her panic, "you're going to drink plenty of water and relax all day, understand? You're going to eat plenty and drink so much water you have to pee every thirty minutes." 

"N-no needles—" 

"That's right baby, no needles," he pulled her into his chest and hushed her, stroking her hair gently while giving the three men behind her a careful look, "with supervision you'll be fine without an IV, but you have to be good, do everything you're told. Can you be a good girl for me, Penny?"

Steve and Bucky watched as their girl nodded against the man's shoulder, still crying. This wouldn't be strike two, not quite since she'd gotten so upset as a result of them trying to take care of her, but apprehension was setting in. Tony was their friend, but he wouldn't put their feelings before Penny's and that was a dangerous position to be in. Especially considering JARVIS had all but jumped ship on them and was firmly on Penny's side. 

"Now, is there anything else Brucie Bear? Because I think Penny here is gonna come with me to the labs and watch Peter try to make a robot." 

Somehow, despite the fact that they knew Penny hated Tony just as much if not more than she hated them, he was the one who managed to get through to her. Tony Stark was her mortal enemy, the kidnapper, the pedophile, and yet he was the one holding her while she cried in distress. Bucky and Steve watched on in amazement and disbelief. 

There was something about Tony that was just a touch unnatural. The way he could manipulate people was almost beyond comprehension. It showed in his friendships, the way that people who were sent to kill him were so easily turned to his side. People who didn’t want anyone, who didn’t want friends, found themselves enfolded in his presence. It was also apparent in the way that Peter had almost accepted his new situation, how he was so quickly coming to terms with the way his life had changed. Tony Stark was, as far as anyone knew, not enhanced in any way, but some of his companions had started to wonder. 

They watched as the older man spirited her away, talking loudly and keeping her tucked under his arm as they walked. Steve and Bucky were left in the dust, feeling dejected once again. 

“Leave it to Tony to decide he has more medical authority than me,” Bruce gave a low snort, rolling his eyes, “does he have 7 PHDs? No, he doesn't.” 

“We keep fuckin’ it up, don’t we?” Bucky groaned, watching the doctor step back towards his computer system, “We’re gonna end up dead. World War II and HYDRA couldn’t kill us but Tony fuckin’ Stark sure will.” 

“Hard to compete with a Goddamn witch,” Steve muttered, running a hand through his hair before crossing his arms over his chest. 

“You two need to be doing what Tony is with Peter,” Bruce interjected before the super soldiers could continue to lament their situation, “he panders to him just enough to keep him happy. He can give an inch and Peter thinks its a mile. You’re strategic geniuses, master interrogators, use your strengths.” 

The ‘dumbasses’ was implied at the end of the statement. In all fairness, he was right. 

Steve exhaled through his nose, a stabilizing breath, before turning to regard Bucky, “A garden, to start. She had a lot of things on her Pinterest account, we’re gonna look through there. JARVIS? Can you please make sure our kitchen is stocked with plenty of kosher foods?” 

“And is there anyway we can get the extra room in the apartment turned into a garden? Maybe a rooftop garden?” 

“Sir has given me full discretion to green light any construction projects that will aid in Ms. Parker’s adjustment. A section of the roof can easily be cleared for a garden and greenhouse. The east facing wall of the spare room can be replaced with floor to ceiling windows and UV lights can be installed. Might I also suggest a knitting area?”

"Yeah, that," Bucky nodded, "any other suggestions JARV?" 

"On her Pinterest Ms. Parker has shown interest in softball, soccer, crocheting, yoga and video games."

"Can you have everything she needs for those things sent for and brought to the apartment? And have everything set up as much as possible considering the renovations that'll be made for the garden room?"

"Yes sergeant, although I would suggest making room in your personal gym for Ms. Parker do to yoga."

“Good idea JARVIS,” Bucky felt a bit of relief that the AI was willing to help, even if it was only because it would help Penny in the long run, “I know we talked about keeping her secluded but I think we should show her the game room, introduce her to Thor and Sam so she can play video games with them.” 

Steve looked hesitant. The brunet knew why; they’d waited what felt like so long to find a girl who appealed to both of them. They were possessive by nature and having so little over time, growing up in the Great Depression followed by fighting in the war, only to suffer a hellish betrayal and go into the ice for so long, meant they were covetous. Sharing their girl so soon was uncomfortable and just the idea made both of them chafe. 

“Yeah, we should,” he choked after a moment, clearing his throat. 

“We’re gonna build a life, Stevie,” Bucky said quietly, stepping closer to the man and putting his hands on his shoulders, “we’re going to work this out with our girl and eventually, she’ll want to be with us as much as she can. But until we get to that point we have to make some concessions.” 

“But she’ll still sleep in our bed.”

“Yes Stevie, she’ll still sleep in our bed.” 

[sprnklersplashes]

heart of stone (20/?)

AO3

Janis shifts a little on the armchair, giving Maddie more room in her lap and giving herself more space to breathe. They’re sharing one chair in the lounge, Maddie pressed against her chest and her arms around her waist, their eyes on the TV in front of them. Janis had almost forgotten about early afternoon cartoons, or had at the very least believed they were a part of her life she’d never revisit, but she walked in on some of the other kids watching them in and she’s happy to say they have the same effect on her eighteen year old self as they did her ten year old self. Even if she does constantly need them explained to her but hey, she’s old now. She has the sleep schedule to prove it.

“I wish they’d let us watch Netflix in here,” Maddie sighs. “They say we’re not allowed it because too many people would be taking advantage of it, and that since it’s a private company we can’t watch it on a public TV.” She leans her head against Janis’s shoulder. “And because they think we’ll watch age inappropriate stuff on it.”

“That’s a valid concern,” Janis tells her. “Because I just know you watched Insidious last week and then lied to your mother about it.” She squeezes Maddie around the waist, eliciting giggles from the younger girl. “Don’t even try to deny it. Besides, cartoons are more fun than horror movies.”

Maddie hums and doesn’t deny it nor does she disagree, her feet swinging innocently on the side of the chair. Janis rests her cheek against her head, the beanies and scarf gone today. It isn’t-or rather it shouldn’t be-something unusual. While it isn’t exactly common, she’s seen a few people around the ward hatless. Not like they have anywhere to go. Janis is just still getting used to this part, and wearing a hat every day is one hurdle. She supposes she’ll jump that one when-and if-she comes to it.

She heads back to her room a little later-the good cartoons are over and most people, including her, have rounds scheduled pretty soon. She wants back arm-in-arm with Maddie, a gesture she hasn’t taken since her middle school days. There’s a lot she loves about her new friendship with Maddie-it’s probably as close to having a younger sister as she is ever going to get-and one of the best parts of it is how she can fully indulge the inner 13 year old that still lives inside her. She hadn’t realised how fun letting that part of her out would be.

She throws herself down on the bed with some amount of grace when she gets in, twisting roughly onto her back and reaching for her phone with one hand while blindly getting a rice cake out of the packet with the other. She waits while the various social media apps alert her to new notifications-a celebrity posted on Instagram, someone liked her tweet, she’s gotten another anonymous message on Tumblr… the usual stuff, basically. She scrolls through idly, just about to all down the rabbit hole until-

“Janis!”    

“Never mind,” she sighs. When she switches off her phone, her mom is at the foot of her bed, her door still slightly open and her eyes glittering. Janis would simply offer a raised eyebrow and a dry remark, were it not for the two at her mom’s side, a man and a woman a few years younger than her mom, both dressed in white polo shirts and jeans. They give off slight camp counsellor vibes in those outfits. The man carries a cardboard box under his arm, stamped with black crowns, and they have the same soft yet ecstatic grin that the Cancer Centre people do.

“Uh… Hi?” she says, sitting up. She half-raises her arm into a wave. “I’m Janis?”

“Is this a bad time?” The girl asks in a low voice, and it’s not clear whether she’s talking to her or her mom. Any feelings of fatigue or lazy desires are chased away in an instant, and Janis sits up taller and raises her chin, her own smile plastered across her face. Just a hint of spite, enough to get her message across.

“Not at all,” she says, and she slides her phone into her pocket. “What’s up?”

“Oh well, we’re from the Rapunzel Foundation,” the man explains. Janis blinks for a second, and then

“The wig people,” she says.

“For convenience’s sake, you could say that” he replies and Janis’ eyes immediately fall to the box in his hand. It’s not overly big, but then it really wouldn’t need to be.

“Oh,” is all she can say. She swings her legs around the side of the bed and stands up, her hands shoved in her pockets. “Um… so I take it you… have it?” She shakes her head, huffing a laugh in the otherwise awkward pause. “Sorry, this is coming off like we’re in a drug trade.”  

“It’s fine, Janis,” he says. “But yes, we have your wig all ready for you. Well, wigs. We actually have a few you can look at.”

“Cool,” she mutters. He lifts the box, tilting it towards her, and it takes a second for her to nod. She slides back against the wall and wraps her arms around herself, taking a millisecond to check out her mom’s expression. She’s grinning like a mad woman; she thinks the last time she saw her mom that excited was at her last art show. She can’t blame her, she guesses, because it’s a big thing, isn’t it? After weeks of beanies, this is at least something new.

“Now we couldn’t get one that looked exactly like your hair before,” the girl explains. “You had a bit of a unique hairstyle.”

“Inimitable, that was the idea,” she says.

“And we aren’t allowed to dye these wigs for safety reasons,” she goes on. “But… we did make up a few others. Here, take a look.” Janis looks down and finds three wigs laid out on her bed. Her first thought is that they’re scarily realistic. They would be after all; they’re all made of real human hair. That’s why Regina now has a bob despite swearing to her once she’d never do that.

Then comes the terrifying thought-holy crap what if one of these is made from Regina’s hair?

Being bald might be better than wearing Regina’s hair. Scratch that, definitely would be.

She shakes her head. These wigs are darker than Regina’s hair; each one deep black to her brown, and she breathes. Her natural colour. One is long, curling slightly at the bottom. Kind of a Morticia Addams style, she thinks, and the corner of her mouth quirks up. The second is similar, albeit shorter and with side bangs, and then finally one that would reach to her shoulders, or just above, more waves than the first one. She remembers way, way back in middle school, before Regina talked her into another stupid decision. When her hair was dark black and held by sparkly silver hair pins.

“Can I try that one?” she asks, pointing at the third one.

She pulls up one of the visitors’ chairs, two pillows stuffed beneath her to reach the mirror, while the man-Anthony, she corrects-holds the wig behind her and brushes it out. It falls softly against his hand and her own itches to run her fingers through it. But her heart is in her mouth at the same time, and she has no idea why. She thought, when they first told her about getting the wig, that she’d be jumping at the chance. That she wouldn’t have the small but still present urge to tell them to pack it up and go.

“You ready?” Antony asks.

She closes her eyes and nods.

It’s heavier than she thought it would be. Antony’s fingers run along her face as he settles it and she fights the urge to flinch. She’s not good with this sort of contact at the best of times. He plays around with it a bit more, fluffing it and swishing it and who knows what else, as her fingers fidget on the arms of the chair.

“You can open your eyes now.”

When she does, the gasp escapes her mouth before she can stop herself. In the refection, she watches as she reaches up and fidgets with the stands that stop, as she thought, just above her shoulders. She looks at it for a long time, trying to work out how it looks. If it looks real or not.

“I look-”

She doesn’t want to say normal. It’s the closest word she can find to it and yet doesn’t want to say it. Luckily, her mom is there.

“You look like Veronica.”

“Oh no I don’t,” she sighs. “I do not look like Veronica.”  

“Sorry, who’s Veronica?” the girl asks.

“My younger sister,” her mom explains. “Janis’ aunt.”

“Who everyone swears up and down I look exactly like,” she adds. “And I do not.” Janis leans back in the chair and twirls the end strand round her finger. “I look good though.”  

“So does that mean you’ll take this one?” the girl asks. “You can still try on the others if you want.”

“It’s fine,” Janis replies. She nods, a little to them, a little to her mom and a little to herself. “This is it. This is the one.”

She doesn’t really leave her room for the next few hours. Or the chair either, for that matter. The only serious move she makes is when she realises her nurse is coming in five minutes and that sitting staring intensely at a mirror is probably not a good way to greet her. She feels strangely self-conscious when the walks in, like the elephant in the room is doing cartwheels on top of her head. She taps her feet on the floor, waiting for the acknowledgement that never comes. She wonders if nurses often do comment on people’s wigs, or if that’s strictly a no-go area.

“Mom?” she eventually asks, a barely-eaten sandwich sitting in her lap and her IV neatly tucked in the corner. “Is this weird?”

“Is what weird?”

“This. Me sitting in front of the mirror all day.” She shrugs and takes a bite out of her sandwich. “I mean… you have to find it weird. I find it weird and I’m the one doing it.”

“Not at all,” she says, and then she breaks out into a grin. “You do look good, Janis. It’s a great wig.”

“Yeah.”    

“And… it’s a bit of a change, isn’t it?” her mom adds. “I suppose it takes some getting used to.”

Janis nods again. To say it’s a bit of a change is an understatement. This morning, it was patently obvious what was wrong with her. Now, while she’s still stick-thin and alarmingly pale and sitting in her pyjamas, she looks healthier. That’s the word she’ll replace normal with, she tells herself. She doesn’t look sick, or at least not really. Not that sick.

Should she be this happy about it? Surely it’s a good thing, right?

“Mom I need you to promise me something,” she says.

“Anything.” There’s a serious tone to her mom’s voice that she shouldn’t find funny but does.

“If I am still sitting here an hour later, smash my head into this mirror,” she jokes. She takes another bite of her sandwich and brushes crumbs out of her wig. She hasn’t done that in weeks, she realises, and while it’s a stupid, tiny thing it, it excites her. The thrill sparks deep inside her chest and makes a laugh bubble out of her mouth. “Or maybe give me an hour and a half,” she adds.

                                                                                               *****

She FaceTimes Cady later that night and there’s no lying about her intention. It’s the same logic as Cady sending her a selfie of the cute shirt she just bought. There’s no harm in showing off.  Especially after she already spent most of today showing it off to her hospital friends. Melissa was polite enough about it, calling it pretty and commenting on how it doesn’t look like her hair from beforehand. But her words are short and carefully chosen, and Janis has to stop herself from staring at Melissa’s hair the whole time. Her real hair that hasn’t fallen out yet. She’s not jealous of her, it’s stupid to be jealous in circumstances like this, but she can’t help but feel awkward about it. Still, Melissa grins at her when she puts it on and pokes her in the stomach, telling her she looks “hot” and even comparing her to Winona Ryder’s 1980s years.

“Now that’s a compliment,” Janis had told her.

Maddie on the other hand is much more animated, stroking it with a careful hand and wide eyes which dart to the hairbrush on the bed three times before Janis takes the hint and hands it to her. She’s a little unsure about it really, but it’s sitting on a stand on the end of the bed and what harm can one little girl do to it? Especially when the one little girl is Maddie.

She checks herself in the camera once more, telling herself it’s the last time. She pulls it down just a little bit only to shift it back again. It sits comfortably on her head, the dark strands falling into her view when she bends down and the bangs ruffling when she blows up. She spent more time than she cares to admit sitting on her bed blowing them earlier today.

“You really need a hobby,” she tells herself, out loud, before she hits the call button. As she waits, she taps her fingers on the mattress and finds herself suddenly aware of the sketchbooks she slid under her bed. She told herself she needs a hobby, but doesn’t she kind of already have one? Or rather, she had one. When was the last time she picked one of her books up? A cold feeling settles in her stomach. Sometimes her life here can get pretty busy, but she was also kept busy outside of here and she always made time to draw.

“Janis!” Cady replies, pulling her out of her thoughts. The audio cracks and crickles as they move through their house, the picture freezing and jumping. “Hey, what’s up, sorry I was downstairs.”

“No, it’s fine,” Janis replies. “Not interrupting anything, am I?”

“Oh, no, of course not,” they say. “Not I was just doing homework at the table. I just got in from tutoring a half an hour ago and I couldn’t be bothered walking all the way upstairs.” The wall behind them turns from dirty white to baby blue, and Cady’s bedroom door with a hundred jackets hanging on it closes behind them. “Okay, so what’s-woah.” Their eyes go wide, and Janis chuckles. “That’s new.”

“Yeah, it is,” Janis replies, pushing her hair away from her face. “I hope you’re talking about the wig and nothing else. Although it would be remiss of you not to notice the new lights around my bed.”

“I’ve noticed the lights. I suggested the lights,” Cady says. They flops down onto their bed, one knee tucked up against them and their chin resting on it. Their smile slowly stretches across their face. “You look good, it looks good. When did it happen?”

“Only today,” she says. “Which is weird because I was told about it a while back. You know it was made from real human hair.”

“Cool,” they breathe. “So is that… is that what your hair was like before you dyed it and shaved it and… did all that to it?”

“All that,” she replies. “You sound like my Catholic grandma.” She ruffles her wig and lets the hair land on her face. “But yeah. If we had met in middle school… pre-Regina, obviously… I would have looked like this.”

“Wow,” they whisper. “Imagine we had. You and me meeting in middle school. You’d have hated me.”

“You’d have hated me,” she replies. “I was Plastic, remember? Or at least, I was baby plastic. And I had some really embarrassing obsessions at that time. Had we been really good friends, I’d have forced you to come to Hot Topic with me.”

“Well thank goodness you’ve outgrown that,” Cady says dryly. They laugh, but then Janis imagines it, a much-younger her with a much-younger Cady, both more innocent in some ways, less interested in high school cliques. It might be pointless fantasizing about it, but it’s fun all the same. “It looks gorgeous Janis. Really. I’m happy for you.”

“Thank you.” Her cheeks turn pink and warm as she rests her face on her fist. “So how was school?”

“Oh, fine,” they reply. “I’ve… dropped some of my tutoring subjects. Today was my last day with little Ruby.”

“Oh no,” Janis says. “Um… why was that?”

“Well, if you want a visual.” The camera tilts and dips as she gets up, and for a second freezes on her halfway extended past it, before it jumps and she’s holding a piece of paper in front of it, practically covered in black pen and coloured marker. It hurts Janis’ head just to look at. “This is my schedule pre-cancellations.” They switch pages, now showing her a much cleaner page, more plain white blocks. When she looks closer and the camera focuses, she sees ‘free time’ written on them in lilac. “This is my schedule now.”

“Ah, I see,” Janis says. “You pencilled in some free time.”

“I was drowning,” they sigh dramatically, throwing their head back, tossing their hair and waving their arm for the full effect. “Now I’m just floating. Instead of being significantly more stressed than the average senior, I’m just normal stressed.”

“Aw good for you my little stressed fish,” Janis jokes, leaning forwards on her elbow and cupping her chin. “So? Stress huh?”

“So much stress,” they reply. “I just… no I’m coping.” They shake their head and Janis bets there’s a hundred, if not a thousand, invisible formulae and equations dancing in front of Cady’s eyes. “Once I get to winter break, then I’ll be good to go. And then I can direct much more of my attention to you babe.”

“Good, because I’m feeling real attention deprived over here,” she replies, only for the smile on Cady’s face to drop slightly. “Okay, no I’m not. Although having said that, my mom is starting to ease up on me and it’s a little weird. She hasn’t checked in on me in twenty minutes. I think she may be dead.”

“That sounds like a record,” Cady replies. “Oh! Speaking of records, guess what?”

“Um… you just broke the record for whoever can make their girlfriend jump the highest?”

“No,” they reply. “So the Mathletes and I have our first tournament coming up! We qualified for state championships and our first contest is on December 14th. It’s against the Saint Paul’s team.”

“Ah. The private school,” Janis replies, wrinkling her nose. While the main rivalry has and always will be between North Shore and Merrymount, there’s always been a lingering disdain for the private schools they compete against. “Make sure you kick them right in their plaid skirt covered asses. Also how did you get that from records?”

“Well, breaking records is like a contest, right?” they reason. “And I plan on setting the ‘record’ for the Mathlete captain with the most wins under their belt.” They grin then, and there’s a wicked gleam in their eye that while Janis loves, she finds it just a little bit unsettling. “Starting with those spoiled little rich kids.”    

“Oh this competitive streak of yours is so hot,” she whispers, winding a lock of hair around her fingers. It’s almost silky smooth against her skin and out of nowhere she wonders; had her hair beforehand ever felt like this? Her eyes widen as she realises she can’t remember. It hasn’t been that long in the scheme of things since she lost her hair, she just never paid attention. Why would she? Not like she could have seen this coming. If she had, would she have taken more notice? Would she have stopped taking it for granted? Stopped overthinking the way she looks? She supposes she can put those questions to bed now that she has this.

“Uh… Janis? Earth to Janis!”

“Woah, yeah, hi,” she says. She straightens herself up, her back squarely against the bed board, and shakes her head. “Sorry, um, went down the rabbit hole for a minute.”

“See anything nice down there?” Cady smiles, and their tone is light with a slightly sarcastic edge, but even with the poor quality video, Janis can see the worry around her eyes.

“No white rabbits, no mad tea parties either,” she mutters. “Beginning to think there was some false advertising going on.”

“Take that up with Disney,” Cady says dryly. “They lied to you.”

They talk for a bit more, about stupid, meaningless stuff like school and math and Maxie (that last one isn’t so meaningless), and over time Janis turns onto her side, her phone gently balanced between her mattress and her arm. Janis feels their time coming to a close; with her next round approaching and Cady probably having to go do actual productive stuff. Still she feels reluctant to let them go, especially when little nagging doubts hang at the back of her mind and desperately beg for reassurance. She bides her time even with them, waiting until they’re both quiet, when she can’t bring up something else and stop herself from asking. She feels stupid asking, but she can’t not ask it either.

“So…” she finally asks. “You like the wig?”

Cady smiles and Janis hears the rush of her exhale crackling against the mic.

“I do,” they reply. “I really do. You look good, Jan.” Janis grins at that, a weight lifted off her chest that she hadn’t realised was there. “And you like it too?”

“Of course,” she replies. “I mean, what’s not to like? I look hot. And it… feels good, I guess. It feels nice to have hair again.” She bites her tongue before she can say anything else. Cady doesn’t need to know about anything else, about how this is probably the closest to looking (and feeling) normal she’s gotten in a long time. All Cady needs to do is be happy here. “Kay, I’ll let you go, babe. See you later.”

“See you,” Cady says. But just as Janis is about to press the hang up button, Cady interjects, “Janis?” Her finger pauses a hair’s length from the screen. “I love the wig, seriously. But I also… you looked great without it too.” They shrug awkwardly at that, their eyes avoiding her. “Just… thought you should know.”

They hang up before Janis can respond, and all she can do is sit and wonder how she would have responded to that.                

                                                                                       *****

She spends much of the evening in her bedroom, curled up in a ball with her chin on her pyjama-clad knees. Her most recent round was-for some reason-a particularly strong one, and as it pushed its way through her veins it took more and more out of her in return. She’s been assured time and again that this is normal, standard procedure, and that above all it means the medicine’s working, doing what it’s supposed to be doing. She should be glad of that, if that’s the case. But oh boy, does it make her feel crummy.

“Okay. Kitchen’s nearly closed, last chance to eat something,” her mom says. She’s standing in the middle of the room, hovering between her bed and the door, her hands wrung together. “You want something?”

Janis shakes her head and turns onto her side as her stomach twists once again, a shiver running through her body. She looks at the wall, the TV on playing some show she’s long since stopped paying attention to.

“You sure, hon?”

In her mind, there’s a verbal answer, but in reality she only nods and pulls the covers tighter around her. Her mom folds her arms, her eyes flitting to the ground. Weeks ago she’d have insisted over and over again that Janis eat something, bargaining with her until Janis either finally gave in and agreed to pick at whatever meal she brought up or until Janis snapped at her and the argument fizzled out. Now though she just nods in understanding and brings her over a glass of water.

It’s less draining for both of them, but not by much.

“I’ll be right back, sweetheart,” she tells her. “Holler if you need anything.”

I’ll holler she means to say, but her throat is dry and tight and the words never make it past her cracked lips.

Her mom slips out the door, letting it click shut behind her and the sound of her footsteps is quickly lost in the evening buzz. Another thing her mom has learned about nights like these is to close the door on her way out and back in. You wouldn’t think it matters, but it does. The idea of talking feels alien to her at these points, and the only thing more impossible is getting up and shutting the door herself.

Quiet hums in the empty room, her ears ringing in it. It will pass, she reminds herself, like it always does, it’s just a question of when. In an hour, tomorrow morning, tomorrow night. She might spend the next 24 hours in this very same position, the only thing changing being the time on the clock. She has done that once or twice before. Lost whole days of her life half-sitting in a bed while other people flocked around her.

She takes a long, steady breath in as her insides roll again and goosebumps prickle on her white skin. She reaches over and manages to make herself lift the water sitting by her bed, taking it in in small, careful sips. She burrows further into the mattress and pulls the covers ever tighter around her as she searches for an extra semblance of warmth. As she wriggles, her wig slowly slides off her scalp, the longer strands sticking her pale, sweat covered neck.

With her free hand, she weakly reaches up and grabs a fistful of it; what once felt soft and beautiful now feels tatted and coarse in her clammy grip. She sits for a while, curling and uncurling her fist before, in one swift motion, she pulls it off her head and lets it drape across her lap, having no need for it now. It’s just for show after all, she realises, and who would she be showing off for now?                                                                                        ******

When she wakes up the next morning, she only feels a little bit better, and she panics when she realises the day that’s in it. It’s Friday, marked on the little calendar beside her bed as “Damian and Cady day”. She did that not long ago, when the support group suggested reminding herself what she has to look forward to. It felt like a good idea at the time, but now the glitter pen sits and mocks her. Cady and Damian are coming today, and she feels like she’s been dragged through a bush and then thrown in front of a bus.

She pushes herself upwards, blinking in the overhead lights, and rests her chin on her fist. Maybe she isn’t as bad as she thinks she is. Certainly, last night sitting up like this would have been near impossible, so that’s a win. And she feels up for trying to eat at least, although whether or not she could finish it is yet to be seen. Still, it’s an improvement, right? That has to count for something.

“Baby steps, Janis,” she reminds herself. “Just… baby steps.” She pushes herself around so that her feet dangle over the side of the bed, her legs stiff and sore from the lack of movement from yesterday, not to mention cold air nipping at them. The heaters should be coming on any minute now. She grips the side of the mattress tightly, her palms pressing hard into the surface until they hurt. Her eyes don’t move from one spot on the wall, a trick she learned early on. Although this time it isn’t to stop the room from spinning, it’s to stop herself from backing out. She breathes out slowly, the air creeping past her gritted teeth, and stands up.

She surprise herself, even with the near tumble she takes when she gets there. But not eating for twelve consecutive hours will do that to you, she supposes with a shrug, and she stretches out her body, not bothering to hide the groans and sighs of relief as she does so.  The feeling comes back into her hands as she shakes them out before checking herself in the mirror. She’s not completely fine with it; dark smudges still sit beneath her eyes, her skin still as white as the sheets on her bed, but she can work with this. She can build herself back up from last night.

Especially now that she’s got this.

She turns around and soon spots the wig sitting on the stand clipped to the end of her bed. Since she doesn’t remember picking it up and was certainly in no state to be doing so, she guesses her mom must have done so. When she picks it up, she finds it brushed out too, and makes a mental note to thank her mom for it.

She throws it on herself and pushes the bangs slightly out of her eyes before looking back up. It’s amazing, really, the difference this thing makes. With this, plus a few tricks with her make-up, she could probably pass for healthy. Or at least, not as sick as she actually is. The corner of her mouth turns up into a smile as she thinks about to; dares to dream about going out in public without sympathetic looks or pity-induced freebies being thrown her way. Is she wrong to be excited about this?

And the most important part; in front of Cady and Damian, she can look better, and that’s what she’s aiming for more than anything else.

                                                                                               ******

By that afternoon, she’s not where she wants to be, but she’s at a healthy middle at least. By that she means she can push through it and convincingly cover up the fact that her body is crumbling inside. It’s far from ideal, but she’s more than happy to stick with it. If it’s sucking it up for a few hours or losing one of the few times she sees her friends in person rather than on a video call, it’s a no brainer, really.

She keeps a bottle of water by her bed and another one close by, just in case, and spends the day carefully arranging herself in her bed, not so comfortable she’ll never get out but at the same time letting herself store up strength. It makes the day longer, all this sitting around and careful eating, and she has enough sense to know what she’s doing is ridiculous. And it makes her realise, again, how she can’t freaking wait for all this to be over. For there to be a time when she can hang out with her friends without having to feel like she’s putting on a show for them.

She just about remembers to put her wig on before they arrive. Gingerly, she lifts it from its stand and slips it on, her hands delicate and cautious, like she’s handling a live animal. She runs her fingers through it and pushes the bangs back slightly, away from her face. She does tend to look better when they’re like that. She tugs and pulls at it for a few seconds, and then the seconds become minutes, all the while she keeps an anxious eye on the clock. She can see them in her mind’s eye, crossing the lobby, getting into the elevator, the doors opening, and strangely she feels like she’s fighting against time as she gets ready.  

She’s just got it the way she wants when Cady pokes her head around the door, and she forces herself to breathe.

“Hey babe,” she says softly, tiptoeing swiftly across the floor and onto the bed, holding her hand out. A soft groan escapes Janis as Cady pulls her down and settles on top of her, equal parts careful and playful. Damian sits himself in the visitor’s chair with his feet up on her bed and his chin rested on his fist, giving her a small wink as he sits.

“Like the bandana,” she tells him, gesturing with her chin. Rather than a hat, his head today is covered by a yellow bandana, tied in a neat bow at the base of his head, and she vaguely recognises it, the memory like a fuzzy old video slowly becoming sharper. “Is that from Calamity?”

“Indeed,” he replies. “I was clearing out my closet and found it there. It’s neat, isn’t it?”

“Really neat,” she grins. “I’m just amazed it took you that long to fish it back out again. Wasn’t that show sophomore year?”

“Yes, and I feel horrible for neglecting her,” he sighs, fingering the edges. “I think I’m going to lean into the whole cowboy look now. I mean I already have the suspenders.”

“And an excuse to wear the funky hat,” Janis reminds him. “You know, I say go for it. If you can’t dress up like a cowboy during your senior year of high school, when can’t you?”

“Plus, if you get a boyfriend this year, you’ll be able to call him ‘partner’ without it sounding weird!” Cady adds in. There’s a momentary flicker across her face as soon as she says it, like she regrets it, but the moment Janis and Damian’s eyes meet they both bust out laughing, their eyes wide and their smiles even wider.

“Genius!” Damian declares. “I mean, we all knew you were a genius, but still. Genius!”

“Also does that make cowboys gay?” Janis adds. “If they had… ‘partners’?”

“Yes, cowboys are gay,” he replies. “That should be obvious to anyone.” Their laughter erupts again before slowly simmering down and Damian leans back while Janis swings her arm around Cady’s shoulders. Damian then opens his mouth only to close it again, his smile faltering and picking up again in the next second.

“And… speaking of headgear… might I say that the wig looks even cooler in person?” he says.

“Oh, this old thing?” She lowers her voice and imitates the old 1940s movie stars, tossing her hair over her shoulder and batting her eyelashes. She can’t deny the thrill that one of those actions gave her. “Oh, I just brought it out for you.”

“Well it looks stunning, doll face,” he replies, doing the same impression. Janis nods and hopes the glow on her cheeks is just in her mind.

“You know, those bangs really do suit you,” Cady remarks.

“Take your grievances up with eleven year old me who wanted to grow them out,” she sighs. “Eleven year old Janis made so many bad decisions.” Cady hums at that. Then her arm shifts behind Janis, and then her fingertips are touching the ends of her wig. It’s a discreet, delicate move, almost like she’s testing it out. In fact, it’s so light that Janis wouldn’t have known had she not caught it in the mirror. It’s not her hair after all. Just a replacement.

Her eyes meet Cady’s then, and hers are tinged with apprehension, a question in them. Janis replies with a smile and gently pulls her closer.

Even if it’s not her real hair, it feels almost the same.

Their time ends the way it often does, with Damian getting a text from his mom and looking sheepishly at the other two, giving them the silent signal that they have to go, even with half an hour left on the movie they stuck on. Cady sighs, dejected, but the unfinished movies have become a near-permanent fixture in their visits, so much so that Janis now knows not to put on a movie she had been meaning to show Cady, filing them for later.

“So I’ll call you tonight?” Damian asks.

“I look forward to it.” She pulls him into a tight hug, stretching on her toes only slightly. “See if you can find me a matching bandana in your closet, okay?”

“Deal.”

With that, and Cady’s goodbye kiss, she waves the two of them off, leaning on her door, half in the hallway, and watching them going. On a better day she’d walk them to the elevator, but just sitting down like that had depleted her. They both turn back to give her a final wave, and she has to laugh, and then they disappear around the corner.  

And then she lets out the most guilt-ridden sigh of relief there has ever been.

She turns around, groaning as the room tilts, and stumbles across to her bed. Her bedside water is nearly depleted, but the one under her bed is too far for her to reach. She can get it in just a minute, when the ringing in her ears stops and the room stops tilting, she decides. Even if she’d really, really love it now.

She buries her face in the pillow, her grip turning from tight to vice-like as she tries to block out her thoughts. Maybe if she falls asleep now, the water issue with disappear.

She must fall asleep, because when she opens her eyes again it’s an hour and a half later, and her throat is dry and cracked and her back is stiff. She pushes herself up into some half-sitting position and stretches herself out, her groan long and high and unapologetic. Not like anyone can hear her with the door closed and the people who could hear her probably don’t care. She pushes the curtain of hair away from her face before just pulling it off altogether and tossing it on the table. She’ll get round to fixing that sooner or later.

She wishes she could say that nap did her the world of good, but that isn’t really how it works. She needed it, yes, but now she feels like her brain has pins and needles and that her insides were shaken up. At least she won’t have any more visitors for tonight, she thinks, and so she leans back on her pillows, her hand clumsily reaching for her phone and her water.

There are two texts on the screen when she turns it on, one from Damian and one from their groupchat. She swipes the groupchat one away, seeing it’s from Gretchen and therefore probably not concerning her anyway, and after thinking on it for a second, she swipes Damian’s away too. She’ll come back to it when she feels like a person, she tells herself.

She blinks heavily and as she does, the screen comes into sharper focus and she sees the date across it. It’s the second last day of November, she realises with a sigh. Maybe she should have realised with the springing up of decorations and the darker skies and much longer nights. December is right around the corner and that thought brings none of the festive cheer it usually would. Instead all she can think is that she should have been getting out of here soon. If everything had gone according to plan, she’d be on her last few weeks. She’d probably be packing up to leave and throwing a goodbye party. Instead that’s all put off and she instead has another two months of this crap. And honestly, two months doesn’t even mean anything anymore.

Still, it’s at least halfway over, and when she feels up to it she’ll be happy about that.

[stevie-steven-stevington]

say something (i’m giving up on you)

i’m back!!!!!!! this was originally written for the irondad zine, but that fell through, so alas, here we are!!

support me on ko-fi

The room is spinning. 

No. The room is not spinning, because there’s no room to spin. He’s not in a room anymore, because he escaped, he escaped, but he really didn’t. He hasn’t escaped the nightmare that is still unfolding around him, because it’s inescapable, it’s undeniable, it’s surrounding him and enveloping him and suffocating him. 

The room is not spinning, but the world is. 

The world is supposed to be spinning, but not like this. The spinning is meant to be imperceptible, not blatant and dizzying and somehow loud, and yet here he is, standing on shaking ground. 

Perhaps the shaking is a metaphor. For what, he hasn’t quite decided yet - his shifted worldview, maybe, or his shattered sense of reality - but regardless, the metaphor is the clearest thing he’s encountered since -

Since...

Since. 

Stop. Stop stop stop it, please don’t do this. Don’t think about it, don’t think about it, don’t think about -

Him.

The ground shakes.

I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry. I didn’t want this, I didn’t mean for this to happen, I tried to protect you, I was always trying to protect you, I didn’t protect you, I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you -

The edges of his vision tinge with red and black and muddled shades of gray. 

I would have given my life to protect you. And I would give my life to have you back.

Just as he is slipping away, his grip on awareness loosening, fading, releasing, he sees it. In the midst of the spots in his eyes, he sees the light, he sees the propulsors, he sees the outline of a form he’d recognize anywhere.

He sees his savior, once again.

And Tony reaches for him, cries out the name of his best friend, the love of his life, in a voice hoarse both from disuse and from awful, heart-wrenching sobs, and is reached for in return.

He’s bleeding. 

It’s not really a problem so much as it is a nuisance. The blood’s not dripping so it’s not like he’s leaving a trail, and it barely even hurts, but it is slowly seeping into the piece of his shirt that he tore off and wrapped around his thigh and it’s getting kind of annoying.

It’s not a problem, really, but if he focuses on it enough, he can almost pretend that the problems he does have aren’t real.

Almost. 

Almost almost almost - what are you going to do without him, you’re just a stupid little boy who’s in over his head, you weren’t even important to him, he didn’t save you, he didn’t save you -

You didn’t save him.

He trips, pain suddenly spiking up his leg and somehow finding its way to his skull, catches himself on a tree - he’s in a forest, apparently, because why not - and just stays there.

Stays, because yes, he’ll have to move eventually - he’ll die if he doesn’t, actually die, and after everything he’s been through, dying is synonymous with giving up - but he can take a minute. Sixty seconds isn’t that long, but maybe it’ll be long enough for him to process...everything. 

Sixty seconds pass.

It’s not long enough. 

He should go back. He wants, despite the blatant counterintuitiveness, nothing more than to go back, to check for himself, to make sure he’s not giving up on something that actually could be fixed. On someone who is waiting for him to figure out how to fix it.

But he can’t. He can’t go back, because going back means risking his life, and he can’t die now. It would make everything that’s happened, everything that’s been done for him, horribly futile, and he can’t do that to - 

To…

To him.

He can’t play with fire, not now, and so, with tears in his eyes, he forces himself to stand upright, counts another thirteen, fourteen, fifteen seconds, and then goes. 

Off on his own, in a world that no longer feels like it wants him in it.

~~

He punches a medic in the face when he tries to put in an IV and Tony is simultaneously horrified and too out of it to even care. 

Instinct is a funny thing. Reflexes are just that - reflexive, involuntary, automatic - and Tony’s fight or flight instinct has always been skewed toward fight, so as horrified as he is, he's not exactly surprised. 

He hears himself say - something. What he’ll hope, later on, was an apology. Feels Rhodey, who’s the only part of this that’s real and grounding and good, take the hand that, if not for the numbness that’s taken over his whole body, would surely be throbbing with pain, and cradle it ever so gently in his own. 

He is aware of three things at this moment. 

One - he is alive. A miracle, in itself.

Two - Rhodey is with him. He is the only person in the room who matters.

Three -  Peter Parker is not here.

Tony clutches at Rhodey’s hand, tight, and only then does he register even the tiniest ache in his knuckles. His other hand comes up to grasp at the collar of Rhodey’s shirt.

“Rhodey,” he says roughly, sharply, desperately. “Rhodey, we have to go back.”

His best friend’s voice seems far away when he says, “We’re going back, Tony. We’re on our way home right now, okay?”

“No.” Tony’s shaking. He’s aware, just vaguely, of this. “No, no, Rhodey, you don’t understand. We have to go back. I - he’s - I need -”

He can’t get the words out.

Rhodey is looking at him in a way that Tony doesn’t like. Sad. Remorseful. Regretful.

Pitying.

Mournful. 

“Tony…” 

He ignores him. Talks right over whatever Rhodey was going to say because he needs to get this out. He needs someone to know, he needs Rhodey to know so he’ll turn the fucking plane around. 

“Rhodey - Rhodey, the kid.” The words feel like they’re being dragged out of him, from the very bottom of his stomach, by a clawed hand, and his voice is absolutely wretched when he says, “Rhodey, I lost the kid.”

And Rhodey looks at him, the soft sparkle of tears in his eyes, and he cups Tony’s face in his hands, touch as gentle as it’s ever been, and he says softly, “I know. I know, baby. I’m so sorry.”

And Tony shakes and he clings and he falls apart. 

~~

Peter has to stop walking after about two hours to tear off another piece of his shirt and replace the blood-soaked strip of fabric around his thigh. By then, his leg has mostly stopped bleeding, but the pain remains.

The funny thing is, that pain? It’s nothing in comparison to the pain in his chest. The pain in his head. The pain in his heart.

There’s a hole that’s been left in the world, he thinks. An empty space where a man made of iron, carved from ice but forged in fire, should be. 

None of this is right. It’s all upside-down, twisted around in ways that shouldn’t even be possible. That, even now, still don’t feel possible. And he hates it - with every fiber of his being, he hates whatever cruel, horribly vengeful deity made this happen. Whatever awful turn of fate destroyed any sense of safety or comfort or reality that he’s ever known.

Because he’s here. He’s here and Tony’s not. 

 It’s unimaginable, and yet it’s true. 

He’s alone in the middle of the woods, stumbling around on legs that don’t want to work and shaking like a leaf. 

He has to keep going. He has to find...somewhere, something - a town, a gas station, a hiker, anything. He needs a phone, he needs to call someone to come get him, because he has no idea where he is and no idea where to go from here.

And so he walks and he walks and he walks, and all the while - tearlessly, uselessly - he grieves.

~~

Rhodey tells him, after he’s shaken and clung and fallen apart, that he scanned for heat signatures before they left. That he scanned for his heat signature. 

That FRIDAY found nothing. 

He screams, cries, begs for Rhodey to turn the plane around, for him to find the kid, for him to fix this. Instead, they keep flying away, away, away. He feels a prick in his arm, and his eyelids go heavy.

Sometimes, people hit rock bottom. They get there and they stay there until eventually, painstakingly, they find a way to pull themselves back up.

Other times, there’s nowhere to go but down.

And fuck if Tony doesn’t feel like he’s falling.

~~

Peter’s legs are shaking. His hands are too, but he doesn’t think that’s nearly as important. 

There’s so many goddamn trees. It’s just trees and grass and leaves. Dead leaves and dying trees and a dying seventeen-year-old boy whose head won’t stop screaming about his dead mentor -

Dead. He’s dead, Tony’s dead, and there’s nothing Peter can do except try to save himself.

Which is not going well.

He’d thought his leg wasn’t a problem, and he’s still pretty sure it’s not. But he’s still got sedatives running through his veins, he can feel it, and he thinks they’re preventing his healing factor from kicking in properly.

His leg might not be a problem, but the internal damage surely is. Sixteen days of more or less continuous torture will do that.

A sharp breeze cuts through his clothes, and he shivers so hard that his heartbeat noticeably spikes. It’s not even that cold, but he’s wearing only sweatpants and a thin t-shirt with no shoes or socks and spiders aren’t exactly good at thermoregulating. Plus, the chill air is making the hairs on the back of his neck stand up and it reminds him of how it feels when his spider-sense pings, of how it’s pinged almost constantly for the past sixteen days, how it’s still pinging because the cold air feels like the cold metal of the table his kidnappers kept him on and -

Peter’s stomach twists and he vomits into the mix of orange and red and dull, lifeless green on the ground. Nothing really comes up, because he hasn’t eaten in what he thinks is about a day and a half, which is probably also contributing to how lightheaded and woozy he feels. 

And as he rests on hands and knees on the forest floor, bile burning in the back of his throat, he knows with more certainty than he has ever known anything that he is going to die.

~~

Six hours after arriving at the medbay, Tony wakes up in a hospital bed, not for the first time and certainly not for the last.

Consciousness comes in stages - vague awareness bleeds into hazy confusion, fades to make way for the gut-wrenching realization. 

It wasn’t a dream. 

All of the horrors in his head, the ever-present nightmare that is the life of Anthony Edward Stark, are entirely too real. 

Someone squeezes his hand. It isn’t Peter (it never will be again, because the universe is eternally cruel) but his traitorous mind hears We’ll kill him if you don’t give us what we want and he instinctively tightens his fingers around the hand in his.

It’s okay, Tony. I’m sorry. I love you.

It’s his fault. Peter’s dead because of him and his godforsaken company. Peter’s dead because he refused to cave, because he put the cruel, selfish, worthless world above the kid - his kid.

His kid is dead. 

His kid died for a world that never deserved him in the first place, and Tony can’t bring him back but he’ll be damned if he lets Peter die for nothing.

He’ll find the bastards who took his kid away from him, who stole the light from the universe, and he’ll make them wish they’d never even heard the name Tony Stark.

As soon as Rhodey lets him off of bedrest. 

Rhodey hasn’t left his side since - since, and Tony knows it’s because he’s trying to keep an eye on him. To make sure he doesn’t tear the IV out of his arm, get in a suit, and fly right back to the damned forest he’d just been rescued from. 

Because he would. He would and Rhodey knows it because he knows Tony much too well. Better, probably, than Tony knows himself.

Except no, maybe he wouldn’t. Not now, not yet. 

He needs his strength for this mission. Peter would be pissed if Tony got himself killed now.

So he’ll wait. He’ll lay in this stupid hospital bed and he’ll leave his IV alone and he’ll let Helen and Rhodey and Pepper and Bruce and Happy fret over him and he’ll make a plan. 

He’ll get justice for his kid.

It’s the least he can do. 

~~

Peter wonders what will kill him first - dehydration, blood loss, or the hallucinations.

He knows they’re hallucinations. Somehow, he’s lucid enough that he knows the versions of Tony he keeps seeing can’t be real, but he’s certainly not lucid enough to stop seeing them.

Earlier on, he passed one with blood dripping from a gunshot wound in his head, who begged and pleaded for Peter to stop and help him. Half-conscious and desperate, Peter did stop. 

Wasted a good fifteen minutes trying to figure out why Tony wasn’t already dead and how he could keep it that way before he realized.

He hasn’t stopped since. Can’t. 

Death is following him and Death will catch him if he stops. 

Stopping is not an option, but dying is starting to sound quite appealing.

~~

Nineteen hours after arriving at the medbay, Rhodey sits beside his hospital bed and asks, “Tony, sweetheart, do you want me to call May?”

Tony’s fists clench so hard that he feels the tension shoot up his forearms, tendons screaming at the sudden jolt. 

“No,” he says, sharply, without even thinking. As soon as it comes out of his mouth, he knows it’s the right answer. 

Rhodey doesn’t press. Just nods and takes his hand, gently uncurling Tony’s fingers so that he can slide them between his own. 

He has to tell May himself. It’s what Peter would want.

But he has to have some sort of consolation to give her first. 

~~

He wonders how long it’s been since he escaped. He started when it was dark, and it’s been light for hours now. Sixteen hours in total, maybe? Eighteen? 

However many hours it is, he knows it’s too long.

Peter hopes someone will tell May how hard he fought.

~~

Twenty-six hours after arriving at the medbay, Helen finally removes his IV.

Twenty-six hours and forty-one minutes after arriving at the medbay, Tony finds himself with an unopened bottle of whisky in one hand and a framed picture of himself and Peter Parker in the other.

Peter’s grinning at the camera, bright and excited, holding a first-place ribbon for his science fair. Tony is not even looking at the camera, his impossibly fond gaze settled entirely on Peter and one arm slung around the kid’s shoulders. 

He was...almost three months sober at the time?

He can’t fuck that up now. He’s been sober for over eight months (the kid convinced him to quit, because the kid is incredible and Tony is physically incapable of doing anything that makes him upset in any way, shape, or form), and it would be a slight to Peter if he fucked that up now. 

Being drunk, or in the midst of withdrawal, on the mission would make it that much harder, anyway. 

So that’s where Rhodey finds him, sitting cross-legged on the floor of his lab with an unopened bottle of whisky next to him and a framed picture of himself and Peter Parker in both of his hands.

~~

The trees are thinning. 

He thinks they are, at least. He could still be delusional.

But no - they’re definitely thinning. His vision might be blurry and he may have passed what he’s pretty sure is the thirty-fourth Tony hallucination so far, but the trees are definitely thinning. 

Brilliant. Now all he needs is -

A town. 

A town. 

“Holy shit,” Peter whispers. “Holy shit.” He doesn’t run, as much as he wants to, because he’s horribly lightheaded and if he moves any faster than his current pace, he’ll fall over and that’ll be it. 

And so he walks - limps, really - agonizingly slow, the town creeping closer and closer all the while. His vision goes starry every sixth step or so, but he treks onward.

And onward.

And onward.

Until, queasy and dizzy beyond belief, Peter stumbles past the first house in the town, an oddly shaped wooden thing, and is almost immediately greeted by, “Jesus Christ, are you okay, kid?”

No, he thinks. No, I’m not okay. I’ll never be okay again.

“Can I use your phone?” he asks.

~~

He’ll go tomorrow, he thinks.

It’s been thirty-two hours since he arrived at the medbay, according to Rhodey, who’s hovering possibly even more since he found Tony in the lab. It’s a little annoying, but it’s also...grounding. Being alone for too long just makes him think about Peter - think more about Peter, that is, because he never stops thinking about Peter - and Rhodey’s mother-henning at least means he’s not alone. 

It makes planning harder, but that’s okay. 

He’ll go tomorrow. Helen says he’s cleared to get off bedrest by then, though it may take days, weeks, months, even, to gain back the weight he lost from eating only one relatively small meal per day for sixteen days straight. Thankfully, he doesn’t need to be a “healthy body weight” to take down a terrorist group. Wouldn’t be the first time, anyway.

So he’ll go tomorrow. And then he’ll call May Parker and inform her that the world may as well have stopped turning.

~~

His hands shake, violently, as he dials May’s number, so violently that he hits the wrong number and has to backspace a grand total of seven times. 

Eventually, he gets all ten numbers right and the phone rings.

Once.

Twice.

Three times -

“Hello? -” 

“May,” he croaks out, voice hoarse from past screaming and present disuse. “May, I need -”

“Oh my god, Peter? Peter, baby, are you okay? Where the hell are you? What happened, I’ve been worried sick -” 

“May,” Peter pleads and she goes quiet on the other end. His stomach lurches again, and it takes everything he has left in him not to throw up for the...fourth time? Something like that. He coughs harshly. “Do you have Happy’s number?”

“I - yes, why? What’s going on?” 

He hates to do this, to have their first conversation in weeks be so quick and snappish and impersonal, but he’s this close to blacking out and he really doesn’t have time for pleasantries.

“Call him. Tell him to have FRIDAY triangulate the location of the phone I’m calling you from and send T - Rhodey. To come get me. Please,” Peter says, and then, hating himself all the while, he hangs up.

Somehow, he manages to hand the phone back to the man he borrowed it from before he carefully lowers himself to the ground, landing on his knees first and then just...sprawling out on his back and closing his eyes.

He lays there, trembling, and waits.

~~

Tony’s just about to ask Rhodey to get him a cup of tea (Helen said he’s not allowed to drink coffee until he’s “recovered”, whatever the hell “recovered” means at this point) so he’ll leave the hospital wing, but then the door slams open and Happy says, “Peter called.”

The world keeps spinning, but it feels four times faster now.

He’s on his feet in seconds, almost nosediving - Rhodey catches him, and it’s uncomfortably reminiscent of their college years - and as soon as he’s steadied himself, he’s scrabbling for Rhodey’s hand and dragging him out of the hospital room.

“Tony, Tony, wait -” Rhodey starts, but he gives up quickly and just lets Tony pull him along.

Happy immediately turns on his heel and heads toward the lab, talking as he goes. “He’s alive and he’s in some town near where they kept you two - FRIDAY’s tracking the number he called his aunt from, he called her and told her to call me and send Rhodey to -”

“I’m going,” Tony interrupts. 

Happy stops, fumbles for a moment, while Rhodey’s grip tightens around Tony’s hand. But neither of them protests, because they know. They both know. 

“We’ll both go, alright? We’ll go get your kid, Tones.”

Tony spins around, catching the hem of Rhodey’s shirt, and yanks him into a searing kiss. Rhodey makes a surprised noise in the back of his throat that quickly turns into a soft hum against Tony’s lips, his free hand twisting into Tony’s hair.

Just as abruptly as he kissed him, Tony jerks away from Rhodey and goes right back to dragging him along. He hears Rhodey huff something like a laugh behind him and grins for the first time in almost eighteen days. 

~~ He’s drifting. 

In and out, in and out, in and - 

Consciousness is evasive, elusive, impossible to keep a hold on. It slips and slides through Peter’s fingers, never staying for longer than a few seconds, always dancing just close enough to see but too far away to reach. 

His fingers are numb. His fingers are numb and his thigh has gone from burning insistently to tingling gently.

Maybe he should be concerned about that.

But he’s so tired.

He’s so tired.

He’s so...

~~

“Oh my god.”

“Jesus, is - is that him?”

“Oh my I. Motherfucking hell, that’s him. It’s him.”

“Is that blood?”

“It’s him, Rhodey! He’s alive.”

“I know, I know, just - Tony, he’s covered in blood.”

“That’s - he’s - fuck, he is. Fuck. FRIDAY?”

“He’s alive, boss. He needs medical attention soon, but at the moment he is in no immediate peril.”

“Okay, it’s okay, Tones. Your kid’s okay.”

“Call Helen and tell her to ready the medbay, yeah? I have to - I’m gonna go hold my kid.”

“Got it.”

“Great. And - honeybear?” “Hm?”

“I love you. I love you so fucking much.” “I know, baby. I love you too.”

~~

Is that -

He’s awake now.

He’s so very awake, now, and alert and alive and awake because that noise in the air sounds a lot like repulsors. 

It’s a struggle to even open his eyes, but he gets there eventually. It doesn’t help, though, because from his position flat on his back, he can’t see anything anyway. He doesn’t want to sit up. He really, really doesn’t want to sit up because it was already practically impossible to even pry his eyes open and he knows trying to push himself up will only end with him in pain again. But he’s about sixty percent sure that that’s the sound of repulsors, and he needs to see it to believe it.

His entire body screams when he pushes up on his hands, but he keeps going. He claws his way up from the darkness that is still trying to drag him down, fighting gravity and exhaustion and pain and the horrible, terrifying urge to just give up to find -

Two suits. 

Two. 

Two. 

~~

I love him, I love him so fucking much, he’s here, he’s alive, he’s alive, how is he alive, I can’t believe he’s alive, I love him, god, I love him.

I need to tell him, he needs to know how much I love him, he’s alive and I love him and I need him to know, I need him, I love him.

I’m never letting him go again, I’m never letting him out of my sight, I can’t ever go through this again, I can’t, I can’t lose him again, I love him.

~~

“M’ster St’rk?” 

“Oh my god,” Tony whispers, practically falling out of the suit before it even touches the ground, and then louder, “Oh my god, I.”

The kid reaches for him, face stark white, hands shaking violently, eyes pooling with tears. He looks awful, ragged and run-down and I, but he’s here, he’s here, he’s I. 

Tony drops to his knees and tugs Peter to him - the kid goes easily, collapsing into Tony’s chest and twisting weak, trembling fingers into Tony’s t-shirt, and Tony holds him, just holds him, and buries his face in Peter’s hair and breathes for what feels like the first time in almost eighteen days. 

“M’ster St’rk,” Peter whimpers, and Tony can feel a growing wet spot on his shirt. “T’ny. T’ny.”

“I’m here, Petey. I’m right here, I swear, I’ve got you.”

“T’ny,” Peter whines again, and he pulls back, just enough to see Tony’s face. Tony hates how pale his kid is, hates how his eyes are bloodshot and his cheeks are pallid, hates how his lips are caked with bits of dried blood and his hair is matted with sweat and dirt and blood, but he loves him, god, he loves him. The kid looks at him with more intensity than Tony has ever seen on him and this time when he opens his mouth, his words don’t slur. “Tony. Is this real?”

His voice is firm and pleading and remarkably lucid, though his eyes are still glassy and dazed, and Tony doesn’t know how he ever got through those thirty-something hours without this kid. 

He doesn’t know what Peter went through, and he doesn’t know if he wants to. “Yeah, Petey. It’s real.”

“Tell me s’mething only you would kn’w. Somethin’ about yourself, somethin’ you hav’nt told me. S’mthin’ weird.”

Tony’s brow furrows automatically, but he complies. “Um - okay, well - when Rhodey told me he was in love with me, I didn’t know what to say, so I just...didn’t say anything. For three weeks. And it wasn’t even like I avoided him - which, honestly, might have been better - I just pretended he’d never said anything.”

Peter stares at him, eyes wide, but doesn’t interject. So Tony continues.

“It wasn’t because I didn’t feel the same. It was because I was just...I was so fucking scared of - of having someone want me, I want me, and I was scared of messing things up and losing the only person I could always count on. So I ignored it, until - until I couldn’t anymore, and while I definitely don’t recommend this method, the outcome was still solid.”

He hears Rhodey snort from behind them. Peter’s eyes flick over to Rhodey for just a second, then back to Tony.

He stares.

And stares.

And then he must decide that, deluded or not, his brain couldn’t have made that up, because he falls back into Tony then, pressing so far into him that Tony has to quickly shift his knees so that they don’t tumble over, and sobs. 

Tony feels his eyes well up with tears, too, so he holds his kid as tight as he can and for once, he lets himself cry.

“I love you, Peter,” he murmurs, pressing his face into Peter’s hair. “I love you so much.”

Peter’s voice is muffled in Tony’s shirt, but Tony has never heard anything more clearly than he does when Peter says, “Love you too.” Tony kisses the top of Peter’s head, and he knows, in this moment, that he will never be more grateful for anything than he is for this kid. 

“Alright, Underoos. Let’s get you home.”

[tfw-no-tennis]

hunter x hunter thotz so far

soooo ruth and i started watching hunter x hunter woohoo finally! we’re like 10 or so eps in so i decided to collect some thots below on what i think so far (i havent rlly been spoiled so im interested to look back on this once ive watched more)

first off i love gon sm, hes immediately so endearing...hes just a baby!!!! just a little baby boy!!!! hes just so cute and good, im so not ready for him to get put thru the wringer later on as ive vaguely heard happens

the first few episodes were really fast paced which i enjoyed and thought was for the best. the characters came thru really strongly and i feel like we heard juuuust enough about the setting, premise, and what a hunter is 

i wasnt expecting leorio and kurapika to show up in the FIRST EP lmao that surprised me. i love so much how the three of them like IMMEDIATELY became a family unit in like 3 eps lmaoooo it was like ok here are 2 parents and their son bam. also leorio and kurapika having a showdown on the boat (which didnt end up happening) was a wild ride 

i have like zero fucking idea what a hunter is and the more they attempt to explain the more confused i get. its honestly kind of hilarious how little sense it makes. to be clear this doesnt detract from my enjoyment of the show at all (if anything it adds to it)

oh my god fuckgin hisoka is the worst he hasnt done much but i hate him so much already. good villain writing/design so far, hes so hateable

ruth every time hisoka shows up: WE HATE UR PUSSY BIIIITCH 

the character design in this show is....a lot lmao. ruth and i decided its a cross between soul eater, jojo, and one piece in terms of aesthetic. the designs are certainly unique and so many of them are just so ugly hvbjafdbdskgs it reminds me of that post thats like ‘masterpost of jojo characters who look busted as shit’ lmao

i already love this show a lot tbh like the way its structured so far has been kinda atypical for a shounen, at least in terms of fights - we really havent seen a lot of fighting yet. also nen hasnt shown up yet and its reminding me of stands not becoming a thing in jojo until p3 lmao 

anyways in litrally ep1 i already loved the 3 main characters we saw...leorio is a wild dude, i love him sm, especially as a fellow medical binch who wants MONEY. like, thats literally me. and kurapika is also wild, like damn they rlly just dropped their backstory in ep 1 huh. like we rlly are jumping right into this 

also when leorio said he was a teenager i was like WHAT???? just like evryone else which YEA omfg. i cant believe hes that young lmao. kurapika too

so leorio is one of those 19 yr olds who looks 40 and kurapika is the type of teen who looks like a 12 yr old

and KILLUA i love him sm also....hes an adorable assassin catboy and hes perfect. i love how quickly he and gon hit it off (tiny bfs.....) and how hes just like, this extra as hell 12 yr old with a SKATEBOARD and ASSASSIN SKILLS and then he sees gon and is like guess im gonna fall in love 

i gotta talk abt gon again i just love him. hes so polite and cute and kind and good, i just love him...wht a good protag. his motivation is just wild too, hes like well my dad abandoned me to go off and be a hunter (which he isnt even mad abt, what a nice lad) so im gonna do that to see what the deal is

i love how gon (just like the audience) doesnt really know what a hunter does/is and just goes into the exam totally blind lmao. also the fact that his skills seem to include jumping good, being speedy, having the energy typical of a 12 yr old, being a weather sniffer, being nice, and having good instincts/constitution as a result of having eaten random grass and forest shit growing up...amazing. 

is this gonna turn out to be one of those things where its like, wow theyve been using nen this whole time without realizing! tht would honestly explain a lot lmao 

i really enjoy how like....semi-normal the power levels are rn? while also being all over the place and wack as fucks obvs (like hisoka dissolving that guys arms in his first appearance was A Lot, as well as all the card stuff hes done..). like the part wher that blue guys (evil franky one piece) punches the ground and it leaves a crater and everyones like !!!! wow wtf thats unnatural! that literally threw me off bc that kinda thing is so normal in anime lmaoooo. but i like that thats the starting point bc it leaves a lot of room for power escalation w/out it getting too out of hand 

specifially our protags are starting out pretty low on the Shounen Badass scale - especially gon (and leorio, tho i kinda predict he wont be as fight-y? what with him being premed)

i find it kinda hilarious how killua hasnt done too much (aside from murdering those 2 randos in like half a second) despite being so clearly skilled...like when they have to do the 5v5 fight thing in the tower, i wouldve thought hed be the first up cause hes so badass but nope

actually thats what i find interesting - i was expecting all 5 (or maybe 4, we’re in the middle of leorio’s ‘fight’) of the fights to be physical smackdowns but so far nope, theyve been very cerebral. that bodes well, w/how smart the fights have been, bc i doubt the fights will get stale tht way 

tho they might be kinda frustrating sometimes - there are times when u DO just wanna see a good ole fashioned shounen beatdown yknow. but we do get enough of that now (and im sure we’ll get plenty more) to satisfy (like kurapika decking fake-franky) 

oh also the opening. its so charming and cute and i love the song...its also so hilariously basic and classic - like one of those typical 2000s anime openings where theres stock run cycles of all the main characters and theres a little animation of all the characters fighting together (and that fight doesnt actually happen, its just for the op) 

also love that leorios the only one who doesnt fight in the OP, instead getting saved from death by gon lmao. im curious if he’ll end up fighting at all (i assume a little?) and if he’ll use nen (probably healing type nen?) 

also i already wanna fistfight ging for abandoning his perfect angel son. also leorio is literally gons dad already, they even look alike wow 

that guy hanzo has done basically 0 things so far but i rlly like him already, im curious if thatll change. also sorry for calling u ‘hanzo overwatch!?!?!?!’ upon first viewing my guy 

tonpa is str8 up so annoying pls leave u pathetic loser 

tho it cracked me up when he and Evil Mr Clean were facing off and starting getting all detailed/shaded and i was like o shit is he actually badass. are we abt to see like a nen battle or st. but no....lmaooo

i found it interesting that leorio didnt really admit to wanting to be a dr at first...hes such a good dude, he kinda just let kurapika think that his motives were superficial and greedy when in actuality theyre selfless

also wanting to be rich can be a rlly interesting character motivation and i love when its done right

oh my god i cant believe it took me this long to mention the hilariously edge ED....like holy shit, its so 2000s, the song sounds like its been re-recorded like 40000 times bc of how bad the audio quality is, or something, idk how to describe music but its hilariously specific in tone and its rlly funny to see shots of the main characters smiling while this screamo whatever plays in the bg....wow. 

also s/o to killua for being king of edgy with that ‘tear of blood’ shot

i rlly like how much of the plot, especially the early hunter exam stuff, is moved along simply by gon being a good kind polite boy. 

love the fact that he and leorio and kurapika (and later killua) all team up without even saying anything...i love that, most shounen would have them be like ‘che, i cant team up with anyone, i have to prove myself ALONE or my victory wont be EARNED’ or w/e idk. who knows that might happen later but rn i love how they all effortlessly work together (and how they all contribute - without each other they would have all failed at different points) 

oh man also killuas first appearence was so funny when he drank a bunch of tonpas poisoned drinks and was like [smirks] tch, loser, im immune to poison. get dunked on. [skateboard away] i love him so fuckgin much 

omfg that part where killua looks all shoujo/kawaii and is talking abt how hes gonna kill his family or w/e and gon is just like ^_^? i love they

HOOOOLY FUCK I ALMOST FORGOT, BUT 65% OF THE REASON I MADE THIS POST WAS TO MENTION HISOKAS THEME LMAOOOOO his music being like fuckgin, spanish guitar/traditional mexican type music is sooooo goddamn funny to me for some reason, like the first time it played i was like ok whats going ON with this spanish guitar lmao but then i figured out that its his theme and god thats so funny 

hisoka is also so fuckign jojo like he could so easily be in jojo. he and dio would be the fakest best friends ever and would constantly try to kill each other on the lowdown and shittalk each other constantly in private but be super sweet to each others faces. also they would hatefuck. no im not taking criticism bye 

i rlly love everyones backstories also, and i find it interesting that weve gotten to hear/see at least some of all 4 of the MCs backstories. theyre all compelling and interesting and i cant wait to dive in further 

also calling it now but kurapika is totally gonna get way too absorbed in revenge and get fucked up/disregard their own life (maybe in the style of robin in one piece?) we’ll see but i feel like it aint gonna end well. i could be wrong, i really havent been spoiled at all, thats just my guess 

hbahjfbshjf the ep that was called ‘hisoka x is x sneaky’ was SO funny that reads like a dora the explorer ep title 

also i had no idea the ep titles were formatted like that w/the x’s and thats rlly funny 

ok but the part where leorio - who seems to be pretty bad at fighting - tries to fight hisoka - whose literal first appearence involved him effortlessly dissolving a dudes arms - is so fucking funny. leorio rlly b a premed w/no brain cells....same bro. 

also i loved the Cutthroat Kitchen portion of the hunter exam and how not a single contestant was any good at it lmaoooo. do they not have the cooking channel in hxh-verse earth 

ok i love how the main characters are all intuitive in different ways depending on their own skills, like how killua can immediately guess that kurapika has never killed anyone before after they didnt kill evil-franky

kurapika joined killua in the Edgy Corner during that part also. like, they both have legit reasons to be edgy, but the shots of kurapika sitting in the darker tunnel part was kinda funny

also killua, a literal 12 yr old, calling out kurapika for being a murder virgin was pretty hilarious 

ok also i didnt know that madhouse animated hxh which is rlly funny but w/e i love the animation especially the occasional chibi parts and the facial expressions (like killuas ‘i love murder’ catboy expressions) 

oh also when killua murdered those 2 guys and his hand was all vein-y and his nails were pointy, his hands looked like hisokas do...i wonder if thats a legit connection or it hisoka just b getting his nails did 

kurapika talking abt how even seeing a regular spider makes them rlly angry was both very sad and kinda funny. kura u have so many issues god bless 

kurapikas smackdown on evil blue franky was fuckin dope tho. and the red eyes reveal was SPOICY 

rlly love how the individual fights highlights the characters strengths/morals/motivations/whatever....the writing is already really strong tbh 

ugh ok ive ranted enough this is a Lot lmao its so disorganized but w/e 

basically i love this series so far and im rlly curious whatll happen next. also everything seems pretty chill and upbeat so far (relatively) and i know this shit gets dark and im NOT FUCKING READY. 

til next timeeee

[rosy-champagne]

;;if you don’t mind answering the same question twice, could you do 21 for burnt too?

ᴛʜʀᴇᴇ ʙɪɢ ɴᴏ-ɴᴏs ᴛᴏ ᴅᴏ ᴏʀ sᴀʏ ᴛᴏ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴍᴜsᴇ. (ᴛʜᴇɪʀ ‘ʙᴇʀsᴇʀᴋ ʙᴜᴛᴛᴏɴ’)

((its not munday anymore technically but ive got a few of these leftover in my inbox so i may as well get them out of the way kjgfds. Brave is super hard to upset and get on his bad side. He’s usually pretty mellow and understanding, and I can’t imagine he ever gets hostile. However:

1) Don’t call him a monster. Being burnt is probably the closest thing (aside from Zombie Cookie) you could get to the cookie equivalent of a walking corpse. Burnt Cookie is constantly tracking and coughing up ash, covered in burn marks, and crackles if he stays in one position for too long. He’s scared more cookies than he can count, who catch sight of him and immediately turn heel. It bothers him, but he’s used to it and doesn’t think twice over it. But outwardly calling him a monster, gross, or “a shame” is where he draws the line.

2) Don’t ask him about his brother. As far as Burnt’s concerned, Gingerbrave is somewhere out there, alive and well, and living his best life. In the same breath, since Gingerbrave has probably already gone through coping with the idea his older brother is dead and gone, Burnt (even if he does find him) is content with never being a big part of Brave’s life again. Asking him about Gingerbrave is a difficult topic for him to get through, and persisting about it is the quickest way to get him to shut down. Let him talk about it on his own.

3) Don’t praise the Witch. The Witch caught Burnt after he led Gingerbrave to the open window in her kitchen. She grabbed him and tossed him back into the oven, not to be eaten but expressly for the sole purpose of killing him and using him as kindling. The Witch’s actions are what turned Gingerbro into Burnt Cookie. He’ll never be the same after this, and it’s the one and only thing Burnt really harbors any loathing for. Consider it this way: if you’re on good terms with the Witch, you’re on bad terms with Burnt.))

[dyaz-stories]

“you’re the only delivery person who gets to my house in any semblance of the word fast which is why i keep requesting you but you don’t believe me and tease me constantly about it” AU

AU by @dailyau and @demineil. Enjoy!

Modern AU, Inukag and Mirsan, crack-ish I guess. Just a short little something because I liked this idea ^-^

Word count: 1,636

Kagome practically jumped when she heard her stomach grumbling. In a daze, she looked at her computer screen, glancing at the time for the first time that day.

10 p.m.

Shit. When was the last time I ate? I don’t remember eating at noon… Did I even eat this morning? Oh, mom is going to kill me if I lose any more weight!

But more importantly (though ‘murder by Mama Higurashi’ was pretty bad) she was so hungry it hurt. Food. Now. She needed to it. She got to her feet and walked in her kitchen, only to find it painfully empty. Riiiight, she hadn’t gone out all week because she was working on that never-ending thesis. She cursed inwardly. Looked like she had to order some food, again, but quickly because otherwise she was going to faint.

She grabbed her phone. She knew just where to call, but…

She hesitated briefly before shaking her head and dialing the number of the closest pizza place.

“Hello, Shikon Pizza here, what can I do for you?” the elderly voice of Kaede greeted her.

Kagome smiled in relief. She liked it better when it was Kaede — the other woman who picked up the phone, Kikyo, was terribly intimidating.

“Hi, it’s Kagome Higurashi, I was hoping I could…”

“Of course, Kagome,” Kaede interrupted her fondly. “I’ll take care of everything. I suppose you want me to send Inuyasha?”

Kagome closed her eyes. She could already feel herself blushing. But the truth was, at least Inuyasha was fast as hell. Kaede was terribly slow (but why did a woman that age insist on riding a bike anyway?) and Kikyo wasn’t particularly fast either, while Inuyasha had the advantage of his demonic speed.

“Yes please,” she mumbled.

“Then consider it done!”

Kagome sighed as the old woman hung up. She glanced at her clothes and frowned, stepping into her room to get dressed. Not that there was much of a point at this time of day, but at least that would be one less thing Inuyasha would comment on.

The first time, he had been unbelievably rude to her, and she had promised herself she would never, under any circumstances, have him again. She had even taken the time to write herself a note to ask for someone else.

Unfortunately, situations like this night were becoming more and more common as her deadline got closer, and the time right after, she had actually asked Kaede if she could send him. He had gotten there incredibly quickly, and well, she was fucking hungry.

He had been even more rude that time, with a hint of confusion behind it though, and Kagome had sworn, again, that he wouldn’t be back.

But, again, her stomach had won that battle.

The third time, he had been much more intrigued and almost defensive. That had been easier — she had been able to get rid of him fast and to eat.

Afterwards, though, it hadn’t been that easy. He had started doing that thing where he towered over her a little more, and he grinned (which tended to let his fangs appear and for some reason she loved that), and his voice got deeper and somewhat sultry and then how was she supposed to focus on her thesis when her senses were filled with him and and and ugh.

Yes, she thought he was handsome. His golden eyes, particularly, filled her dreams, but his white hair, cut short, and his lovely dog ears didn’t leave her indifferent either. Maybe, some other time, she would even have asked him out.

But she had work to do. She really, really couldn’t get into anything right now, much less in a relationship with a moody, though terribly attractive, man. She was sighing heavily when she heard the doorbell.

She glanced at her clock in disbelief — how does he do that? — then walked, maybe a little too fast, to open it.

Sure enough, there he was, with a smug smile, and looking at her like he was going to devour her whole.

Honestly, she’d let him.

If she didn’t have a thesis to finish.

“Hungry?” he practically purred, holding out the pizza.

Oh, if only he knew.

She reached out, only to have him put it out of her reach. She rolled her eyes.

“Starving, actually,” she replied, annoyed. “I haven’t eaten all day. Could you…?”

“Sure thing,” he answered, waiting for her to get her money.

“You’re the fastest delivery man around,” she mumbled, feeling her cheeks burning any way. She wasn’t too sure why she always got the need to justify herself. Maybe she didn’t want him to think she was desperate girl, doing everything she could to get a chance to hit on him. Maybe she was trying to convince herself, because she genuinely enjoyed seeing him.

“Yeah, you say that every time,” Inuyasha answered, his voice dryer than it usually was.

She looked up at him and noticed his frown, but more importantly, the way his ears drooped a little.

Oh, no. She didn’t want that. It hurt her more than she had expected and she hated it and…

“I have a thesis to finish,” she blurted out.

“Oh?” Inuyasha asked, cocking an eyebrow. His ears perked up just a little, and even though Kagome was terribly embarrassed at this point, she swallowed and kept going.

“The deadline’s really close and that’s all I’ve been doing.”

“Oh.”

“So I really don’t have time for anything right now.”

This time, Inuyasha gave her a toothy grin, and for a second, she wondered about how his fangs would feel against her skin if— Your thesis, Kagome.

“But after that…”

“Yeah?” Inuyasha leaned in. Being taller than her, he was easily towering over her, and the closer he got, the harder it got to think and be coherent.

“After that, I’ll be free.”

“Huh,” he said. “But that’ll take you a while.”

She breathed in deeply as he got closer, one of his clawed hands toying with her hair.

“I mean, it’d be nice if I got, I dunno… A reason to wait.”

Kagome blinked. Despite herself, images of her giving Inuyasha an embroidered handkerchief passed in her mind. Ugh, this thesis was killing her. She never wanted to hear about Feudal Era, whether it was in Japan or in Europe, ever again.

She bit her lip, eliciting an almost immediate growl of Inuyasha. “What do you have in mind?”

He took that as a permission. He crashed his mouth on hers, and he smiled when he heard her sigh desperately. She got on her tiptoes to try to get as close to him as possible, their bodies reacting almost desperately to the other’s embrace.

Way too soon, Inuyasha stepped back, leaving her with weak knees.

“If you need some distraction ’til you finish your thing, you’ll know where to find me,” he said, his words teasing but his voice letting on more of his emotions.

Kagome nodded wordlessly.

“But then I’ll want you all for myself.”

Oh. Oh God.

She wanted to finish that stupid thing more than ever.

“It’s so nice to meet you Kagome!” Inuyasha’s best friend, Miroku, hold out his hand while his girlfriend, Sango, gave her a bright smile. “We’ve been so curious about you!”

“Miroku’s a real gossip,” Inuyasha told her with a frown.

He looked all grumpy, but Kagome knew he’d been dying to introduce her to his friends, and at the same time, terribly stressed to do so. She had come to see that that was very like him. He would always act annoyed when he was afraid something would go wrong, at the risk of making it go wrong that way.

“How did you two meet?” Sango asked. “Inuyasha wouldn’t tell us!”

“I had a very good reason,” he growled.

“Oh, well you see, Inuyasha was the delivery guy and I always requested him because he was the fastest one…”

“Sure you did,” Inuyasha said, grinning, but Sango couldn’t help but notice how fond his smile was.

“I did,” Kagome sighed. “I swear. Anyway, after a while…”

“The seventh time she requested me, actually,” Inuyasha corrected her.

“You counted?”

At that he only responded with a ‘Keh!’ and looked away, with maybe the smallest of blush on his cheeks, and it was only Sango’s foot furiously crashing Miroku’s that stopped him from commenting ‘Oh how adorable!’

“The seventh time I requested him,” Kagome continued, smiling widely and discreetly reaching for her boyfriend’s hand to give it a squeeze, “I told him that I actually had a thesis to finish so I couldn’t do anything right now, much less see someone. And then he said he’d wait.”

She giggled, keeping for herself the heated kiss they had shared afterwards. Sango bit back an ‘Awwww’, knowing it would only embarrass Inuyasha further. That being said, she had no idea why he hadn’t been willing to tell them. What was the problem with that story?

“Wait, so he was your deliveryman?” Miroku asked.

Sango and Inuyasha’s eyes met. Holy shit, no, she had to stop him…

“Yes, he was,” Kagome answered.

“So it’s just like a porn flick!”

He knew Sango was going to kill him for that, but the look on her— Oh, Inuyasha was not happy with him and Sango did look like she was going to murder him.

Well, he’d better start running then.

Kagome shook her head as his girlfriend caught him and Inuyasha and her both started growling and shouting at him.

“I mean he’s not wrong though,” she mumbled to herself.

Especially for the sex.

Inuyasha’s ear flicked and Kagome couldn’t help but smirk when she noticed his eyes widening.

She understood why he had teased her so much in the beginning. It was so much fun.

[tentastic-yu-ki]

just pentagon things

(with links to stuff !!)

this took me so long to make heheh but i hope you like it !! <3

jinho

v o c a l s from the gods

god herself cast her hands upon him and now he has the voice of a million angels

doing ALL the parts in bohemian rhapsody bc of course

HIGH NOTES

grandpa #1

a lil bean :’)

fake maknae

his fluffy bangs during naughty boy era are on the list of my favorite things ever

his cheeks y’all

ok but he looks eerily similar to jiheon from fromis_9 when they smile idk if i’m the only one who sees it but

whenever he does the little wave thingy you know what i’m talking about

he sings in fluent english and it makes my heart flutter every. single. time.

lowkey done with the rest of the members but loves them so much

yuto lifting him up at the end of naughty boy relay dance is basically that one scene from the lion king

tbh the members are always lifting him up and it’s precious

his lil cape during shine

hui

hwitaek in general is just bsidjsbdhdb

such a good leader :’)

i have no talent

mr hwitaek has all the talent

if i’m lucky some of mr hwitaeks talent may rub off on me

i just ?? love him ??!

his piano playing in the gorilla acoustic video makes me weak in the knees

pentagon of leader

y’all remember his twin brother manuel

i play jazz piano and holy shit i could only hope to gain half the talent he has in his hands alone let alone his vOICE

grandpa #2

i have so much appreciation for him and i look up to him a whole lot as a musician i just don’t know how to express my love

critical beauty was his era bitches

constantly being corrected by hongseok

such a groovy ass mf

lee hwitaek vs the english language

he is gorgeous !??!? kills me with his gaze

smile needs more appreciation

he killed it in triple h especially his vocals in 365 fresh

jangjigi jangjigi jang jang jang

hongseok

muscles

ABS :0

‘can i have a bite’ lmao

the group mom

but he’s a cool mom

his eyes are so frickin adorable :’)

absolutely hilarious oh my god

good ass storyteller

two words: his. lips.

his laugh is precious guys like i can’t

this video from the real man

when he shaved his hair off before the real man 300

hongseok x jinho ?? cute as hell

just lovely

such an underappreciated member

i stg whenever he speaks english it’s either to correct somebody, say hi to international fans, or its something completely ridiculous and i love it

e’dawn

y e l l i n g

he and hyuna being a power couple

Y E L L I N G

popping dancing

owned the gorilla era imo

Y E L L I N G

!! tattoos !!

a whole plant dad

his hairstyle suits him so well omg

did i mention yelling

i wish the best for him (and hyuna) and he’ll always be a part of pentagon in our hearts <3

his eyes when he smiles :’))))

video of him yelling in case you don’t know what i’m talking about

also this

I MISS HIM

S U P P O R T H I M or i’m coming for u

also support p nation !!

shinwon

hot shinwon yeah u want ?!

the visual

like the man is a whole model

i kinda just want to sit and have tea with him he seems like that kind of friend

his legs are so underrated

his breathy laugh is amazing

probably slowly losing his patience with the members

when i first got into pentagon i was like hm he seems like the mature one

but none of them are the mature one

booger

VOICE CRACK OF THE CENTURY

we will never forget

it seems like in fanfics he’s always some sort of ceo or manager or fashion designer and i’m here for it

always providing quality content whether he realizes it or not

always providing quality content whether we realize it or not

trying to make food while hui was asleep and then realizing he didn’t have chopsticks

his name is actually shinpon excuse you

absolutely losing his shit during the sha la la don’t smile challenge (13:11)

can you really blame him tho it was funny as hell

screaming + running in fear? shinwon invented that.

yeo one

he cares so much about universe :’)

compilation of him asking universe if we’ve eaten today because he cares

him almost kicking himself in the face that one time i can’t find the video agh

super lovable and wholesome

ok but his teeth

his smile is just so pretty ???

boi is drop dead gorgeous

so pure and just HKSNSBSJS

his asmr videos? yes king

he really expected me to sit there for almost an hour listening to him whisper the members names over and over?

and he was right because i did

yeo one makes me feel the same things i did when i saw bubbles in the air at disney world for the first time

he’s just like that

boyfriend material

HOW DARE I ALMOST FORGET THE SPONGEBOB IMPRESSIONS

saRANGhaeYOoOoo~

the boy is hilarious

yanan

aNNYEONG CHINGUDEUL

he just reminds me of a whole bottle of sprinkles yknow

like if rainbow sprinkles were a person

it’s yanan and yanan only

high note battle with jinho

he’s tol but his voice is smol

“don’t talk with me”

earrings lmao

probably smells like vanilla tbh

‘can you please edit this out?’

he’s literally gonna give me cavities with his sweetness

just from looking at pics of him

i like don’t even know what to say he’s just a ball of sunshine :’)))

so sweet i could put him in my coffee

he deserves so much more that he gets

sUCH A SWEET SOUL UGH~!

i’m running out of ways to reiterate that yanan deserves all the love in the world

y’all better appreciate him or i’m coming for u and ur whole family

he’s just out here chillin, his smile making the world a better place

my uwus? gone. snatched if you will

yuto

it’s ya boy toto

Y U T O D A

him being spooked by ghost stories

cLINGY !!!!!

two words: back. hugs.

i want a yuto hug hmph :((

his laugh is so cute i just-

him being spooked by the dark

NICO NICO NIIII~

his guy-fieri-reminiscent shirt

(you know the one)

him being spooked in general

i will protect this boy with my LIFE

we need more yuto aegyo

but also his visuals make me spontaneously combust

somebody call the fire brigade yknow

when he had the eyebrow slit i cried

im at a loss for how to express my love for adachi yuto

can i have his dangly earrings pls thanks

he’s always feeding everybody it’s so cute

our nagano boy :’)

cough excuse me i had something in my throat i meant our nagano pRINCE

this video of his ‘high note’ and wink never fails to make me laugh

he reminds me of this guy ive had a crush on for a long while ?? like personalitywise they’re oddly similar,, he’s cute n shy but also tall and vv clingy ??? and he recently started doing his hair differently and it’s literally yutos hairstyle i almost stopped breathing ok

also his hugs feel like what i imagine a yuto hug would feel like and i only realized it just now as i’m writing this

kino

he’s my little honeybunch cinnamon apple sugarplum gumdrop babyboy

i just love kang hyunggu a whole lot if you can’t tell by um

the rest of my blog

my profile image

my lockscreen ffs

do i even need to say that he’s my bias

duality? he invented that.

hyunggu being a cutie patootie vs kino being rUDE AS HELL

like he’s a grape juice box and a whole ass bottle of fine wine yknow what i mean

the lace blindfold ?? somebody pinch me

knnovation

i mean have y’all heard voicegasm ??

he did that shit

he’s under arrest for stealing my heart~

(and my uwus)

i don’t even need to say it bc y’all already know but he’s the dance KING

the violet bby

“he’s sensitive”

when hyojong changed the number song lyrics to joke about him being sensitive (2:25)

when he wears big sweaters :’)

i miss his lil ponytail during naughty boy

ppl never talk about this but he’s surprisingly good at languages ?!?

his laugh is one of my favorite sounds on the planet

that one move in can you feel it (01:55 in the mv) gets me every. single. time.

the kino list is long but i just have so much love for this boy

wooseok

he a long boi

HIS DIMPLE

i cant find the vid but there’s this one moment at a fansign or something where he just stepped over the table like it was a completely normal thing to do ?!???!?

HIS FACE IS SO VISUALLY PLEASING

i keep getting shocked over and over about how generally handsome he is

any hair works on him like ??? magic ?!?

screaming during lost paradise

and most songs

and most of the time anyway

i love him lots and lots tho

can pull off the goth look

can pull off the emo look

can pull off any look

he belongs in an opera lmfaooo

E X T R A

BUNNY BUNNY WOOSEOK WOOSEOK

his acrostic poems

i’m a star ? that shit sLAPS

this boy is carrying the entire rap industry on his bACK

i’m sad that i cant think of more stuff for wooseokie

[mazojo]

I'm loving your drunk headcanon! How about a scenario where jumin and mc are having an argument about him being overworked and not getting any real rest and he went back to the company with bitterness. Feeling worried for him mc decides to go to Jumin to make ammend but something terrible happens when someone tries to kill him. At the last minute mc turn the table around and protect him and takes the blow instead. I really love a desperate jumin. Can you make this angsty and ends it with a fluff

Ohhhhh thank youu ~~ I love me some Jumin angst head canons so i’ll give it a try

Warning: Some violence so beware ~

Jumin x MC Fight Headcanon

MC is on their penthouse sitting stiffly on their living room couch, the apartment feeling very cold. Its 11pm and he still hasn’t arrived. As she leaves another voice call again for what feels like the 20th time that night the door unlocks and in comes the man of the hour.

- “God I hate company meetings, seriously do these airheads think they could put information past me? I am so go-”

- Suddenly Jumin trails off seeing MC sitting on the couch, her beautiful face is full of emotion he cant decipher, anger? sadness? disappointment?

- “Jumin Han do you know what time it is? Do you know how worried sick ive been? Is your phone suddenly absent when your wife calls you to know when you are arriving home?”

- She never called him by his full name, never.

- Crap, he totally forgot to turn his phone on after the meeting and the whole ride home he was too angry thinking about the way the meeting had gone, he should have called her.

- “I am extremely sorry MC. Today has been an off day and I would rather you not get agitated right now. Have you eaten? Did the chef’s cuisines meet your standards?”

- “Jumin Han I am being serious right now and you are talking about food quality? Its the third time this week the meetings have kept you longer than 9pm. And dont you dare change the topic to cuisine standards” MC said the last part with a mocking tone bordering sadness.

- But he wasn’t changing he topic. Couldn’t she see he was genuinely concerned about the food quality? He couldn’t bare her having something that didn’t reach excellence. Couldn’t she see this was all for her? He wouldn’t stand being less than perfect, the man she deserved.

- “I worked this schedule because I need to be the perfect man for you, to deserve your love. I didn’t me-”

- “This isn’t what I signed up for Jumin Han! I want your company to succeed and I am trying to understand your work habits, but not at the expense of your health, sleep and my sanity! Sitting for the past 2 hours waiting for a call or a miserable text! This isn’t the life I want!” 

- The temperature suddenly drops by 10 degrees and MC regrets the words as soon as she says them. Of course this is the man he wants, just not when overworking to strive perfection for her blinds him.

- It stings. This isn’t the life she wants? Of course it isn’t. Who would like to be with someone emotionally unstable who doesn’t know a thing about relationships? He is the problem, always have been.

- “You’re right, I need to go, I need to think. Please do not follow me. Go get the rest you deserve and we’ll talk later when we cool off” His tone was cool and calculating but the could see how much her words hurt him.

- Jumin grabs his car keys in a hurry and doesn’t even ask the chauffeur to accompany him, he needed to be alone.

- MC crumbles as tears of anger, frustration and sadness roll down her cheeks. Stupid. Why cant he see she loves him no matter how many deals he closes? She just wants him to let loose a little and realize he loves Jumin Han for the cat loving concerned self, not corporate director Jumin Han for his titles.

- MC looks at the time, 11:20, its way too late and she knew were he was headed. He always went to the office and trap himself in a pile of work whenever he is stressed out. MC grabs her coat and gets in the first cab passing by against the security guards protests. They knew Mr. Han would not approve MC going out by herself on a cab at this hour.

- Meanwhile Jumin is driving faster than he should. The words This isn’t the life I want screaming in his head.

- He stops the car in front of the building he left no longer than an hour ago. sigh. As he ran a hand through his hair he thought about the look MC gave him as the worlds rolled out. Regret. 

- He loses his tie remembering it was the one MC choose. She always made sure to wake up with him to have breakfast and select his tie. Her picks were always perfect and those few moments they stole each morning remained with him for the rest of the day while he constantly looked at his watch for the time to arrive home and see her beautiful eyes. God he loved her eyes and the way they looked at him with concern for the tiniest things like whether he ate lunch or wether he liked her outfit (mind you, he always did, she was perfect). Tonight those eyes were cold and unforgiving.

- As he turned on the phone exiting the car he noticed some movement in the corner of his eyes.

- The cab MC took drove fast, she was sure they were breaking the speed limit but she didn’t care. She needed to find her husband.

- As they arrive, MC rolls out a couple bills not even caring for the change and with only one thought in mind, Jumin.

- She sees it first. The man approaching his dark haired boy with an impeccable stealth and a knife. No.

-  Time seems to stop and as Jumin slowly turns around sensing something is off the man raises his knife menacing demanding he gives him his phone.

- Jumin eyes widen and is struck dumb in his place. As the man starts approaching Jumin, each step more threateningly, Jumin catches a sight of straight brown hair in the corner and panic fills him up. What is she doing here?

- “Dont you dare lay a hand on him!” MC screams while pushing Jumin out of the way just as the man strikes with his knife, slashing MC’s side. With MC’s scream and noticing the security cameras on the front of the building, he flees.

- No. no no no. Idiot. A feeling Jumin had never felt took over him. She is hurt and its my fault. Its my god damn fault someone laid a hand on her.

- MC clutches her side and falls to the pavement. As she looks up she finds Jumin with the most petrified and horrified expression on his face. 

- Realizing he is standing there staring at her he finally decided to move for MC. The first thing he does is hug her fiercely, not even caring about the blood which will certainly leave a stain on his blazer. Red, so red.

- “Its okay, it was just a cut, probably will only leave a bruise”. He knew her damn well to know she was playing it off. She is bleeding. 

- “Take your shirt off” He said it as a first instinct leaving all poise aside, he needed to see the wound. MC eyes widen and he realizes she is still laying down in the cold floor in a public street with a wound on her side which was his fault.

“Shit. shit. shit” Without thinking it twice he carries her making sure she is comfortable in his arms. He takes her over to his car and fumbling with his keys, lays her down on the passenger seat rolling her shirt aside to examine the wound.

- He would call the paramedics. No they take too damn long. If he called the firefighters they could clear the already empty streets and arrive faster to the hospital. He could drive her but there was no way she would travel in the backseat by herself risking falling down or straining herself. He could probably call his private chauffeur to bring the helicopter bu-

- “Honey, its okay, I am okay. The important thing is that you are okay” Remembering he hadn’t say a word for the last 30 seconds he suddenly turned to her meeting her eyes for the first time since the incident. Since the fight. No, the thing is that you are not okay and I wasn’t able to save you.

- As MC meets Jumin’s eyes she sees an edge on his normally composed face. He was terrified and she needed to reassure him she was there, she was his.

- Gathering a little strength MC sits up enough to catch his lips and wake him up from his trance. It seems to work as he desperately holds onto her, tears working their way into his cheeks.

- “Honey, this is what we will do; you’ll grab your phone and call an ambulance which should arrive in 10 minutes or so considering urgent care is 5 blocks ahead. We will wait here and in no way am I letting you take the blame for this. I decided to come follow you and tackle you, and god knows what would have happened if I didn’t. I am here and I am yours”

- She is perfect and I am a fool.

- “MC, I-I swear if someone touches you again ever they will pay. God, he will pay and I am making damn sure they find that piece of trash to rot in jail.”

- It was unsettling seeing him so decompose, his calming features twisted in a rage she had never seen as he dials the hospital and as he hangs the phone MC remembers the reason why she was coming in the first place to look for him.

- “Babe I know its not the best of times, god I was just stabbed and a man almost killed you but I- I am so s-sorry” She tried her best not to cry but broke down in the last word. “I-I didn’t mean what I said and of c-course this is the life I want, hell I would give my life for y-yours, its just… Seeing the eye bags under your eyes each morning kills me because you work so damn hard all the t-time and my one job as your wive is to ensure you’re okay and I even fail at that a-and…”

- Jumin holds her as her sobbing intensifies and his features soften. He knew she meant every word she just said and knowing he had caused her such pain made his insides churn. He pressed his lips to hers softly, like she would break, and convey everything he was thinking. He loved her and she will never suffer again because of him, never.

Lolll I kinda went overboard //hides. Thanks for the request! Hope I made it justice ;w;

[caveartfair]

What Andy Warhol Really Ate

Image courtesy of Burger King.

Andy Warhol was known to eat hamburgers, but they weren’t exactly his go-to meal. In his 1975 book The Philosophy of Andy Warhol (From A to B & Back Again), the Pop art pioneer wrote that he was not too keen on protein.

“I’ll buy a huge piece of meat, cook it up for dinner, and then right before it’s done I’ll break down and have what I wanted for dinner in the first place—bread and jam,” the artist wrote. “I’m only kidding myself when I go through the motions of cooking protein: all I ever really want is sugar.…People expect you to eat protein and you do so they won’t talk.”

But after watching the latest Burger King commercial, which premiered during Super Bowl LIII and declared in its slogan to “#EatLikeAndy,” you wouldn’t guess that the artist had tepid feelings toward meat. It features a clip from 1982 by Danish filmmaker Jørgen Leth in which Warhol slowly unwraps a Burger King delicacy, then sinks his teeth into it. As many outlets reported following the ad spot, Warhol actually preferred McDonald’s—but for its design, not the food. According to Warhol’s diaries and accounts from his friends and employees, he was not a die-hard burger fan. Instead, for much of his life, Warhol was known to eat very little, indulge in decadent desserts, and in his final years, avoid meat per doctor’s orders.

Campbell's Soup I: Vegetable II.48, 1968. Andy Warhol Hamilton-Selway Fine Art

Campbell's Soup I (Pepper Pot), 1968. Andy Warhol Collectors Contemporary

Warhol typically started his day (which often began in the early afternoon) with a bowl of Kellogg’s Corn Flakes or, later, peppermint tea and a toasted English muffin with marmalade. Unsurprisingly, he also frequently consumed Campbell’s soup, the subject of some of his best-known paintings. In the 2015 BBC Four documentary A Day in the Life of Andy Warhol, BBC correspondent Stephen Smith explained that Warhol’s love for the soup went beyond the aesthetics of the can; he saw it as “the food of life,” Smith said, “a square meal you could depend on.” And Warhol did, regularly.

He enjoyed fruits, too, like bananas (also unsurprising) and cherries. He once recalled eating so many cherries that he had to hide the bowl of pits from his sight. “That’s the hard part of overdosing on cherries—you have all the pits to tell you exactly how many you ate. Not more or less. Exactly,” he wrote. “One-seed fruits really bother me for that reason. That’s why I’d always rather eat raisins than prunes. Prune pits are even more imposing than cherry pits.”

Warhol also had an insatiable sweet tooth. “When I was a child I never had a fantasy about having a maid, what I had a fantasy about having was candy,” he wrote in The Philosophy of Andy Warhol. “As I matured that fantasy translated itself into ‘make money to have candy,’ because as you get older, of course, you get more realistic.”

RARE NEAR MINT, "Andy Warhol", Velvet Underground & Nico, UN-PEELED Banana Sticker Cover, Album LP, RARE NEAR MINT CONDITION, 1967. Andy Warhol VINCE fine arts/ephemera

NEAR MINT- "Velvet Underground & Nico", 1967, "PEELED" Torso/Black Banner Sticker, USA Mono Copy, MUSEUM QUALITY, RARE, 1967. Andy Warhol and Lou Reed VINCE fine arts/ephemera

In the book, Warhol also described his recipe for “cake”: “You take some chocolate…and you take two pieces of bread…and you put the candy in the middle and you make a sandwich of it. And that would be cake.” In the 1960s, he frequented the Upper East Side restaurant Serendipity for its speciality, a glass of frozen hot chocolate, which he indulged in at lunchtime.

Other days, however, Warhol skipped lunch entirely. Famously image-obsessed and known for having a daily speed habit, he would take the amphetamine Obetrol (which was branded as a diet pill) and regularly worried about his weight fluctuations in his diaries. In order to stay thin while eating out at restaurants constantly, he developed a strategy for maintaining his figure, which he called “the Andy Warhol New York City diet.”

“When I order in a restaurant, I order everything that I don’t want, so I have a lot to play around with while everyone else eats,” he wrote in The Philosophy of Andy Warhol. “Then, no matter how chic the restaurant is, I insist that the waiter wrap the entire plate up like a to-go order, and after we leave the restaurant I find a little corner outside in the street to leave the plate in, because there are so many people in New York who live in the streets.…So I lose weight and stay trim, and I think that maybe one of those people will find a Grenouille dinner on the window ledge.”

Torte a La Dobosch (from Wild Raspberries) (see Feldman & Schellmann IV.130.A), 1959. Andy Warhol Forum Auctions

Ice Cream Cone, 1959. Andy Warhol Susan Sheehan Gallery

While working, Warhol often ordered in from the health food store Brownies on East 16th Street near Union Square, when the Factory was there in the late 1960s and ’70s. (He wrote in his diaries in 1980 that he once sent singer Carly Simon to the store to pick up “health sandwiches.”) When Warhol moved the Factory to East 33rd Street in 1984, he wrote: “I’ll miss ordering out from Brownies, all the carrot juices and stuff. What’re we going to do for food in this new neighborhood? I’ve only seen greasy coffee shops.”

Beginning in the late 1960s, Warhol’s health declined due to the serious gunshot wound he suffered from Valerie Solanas in 1968, but also because of an unhealthy gallbladder—an affliction he inherited from his father. He was told he needed the organ removed in the ’70s, but due to his fear of death and hospitals, particularly following the shooting, he pushed it off until 1987. By the mid-1970s, Warhol was taking pills for his gallbladder before each meal, and he was also given diet advice from his doctors.

Dietician Amy Shapiro notes that people experiencing gallbladder issues are advised to avoid foods high in fat, and should instead seek out “low-fat, easily digestible foods such as simple carbohydrates,” as the gallbladder produces the bile the body needs for digestion. That Warhol was content to eat jam sandwiches for dinner makes sense, she said, because such foods will “more likely than not prevent a flare up.” Fat cuts of meat, she added, could cause the gallbladder to become inflamed.

Life Savers, 1985. Andy Warhol Collectors Contemporary

But Warhol often ignored his doctor’s advice. In April 1980, he wrote: “I’m eating the nuts and chocolate and all the things that I’m not supposed to eat because of my gallbladder, because I think the gallbladder pills are helping so that I can eat them. But I’m getting fat so I’ll have to stop.” And years later, in September 1984, he recalled eating chicken for lunch with his friend Benjamin Liu outside of the Whitney. “And a woman came by and saw me eating chicken and said ‘That’s a no-no,’ and she was right,” he wrote. “I’m not supposed to eat meat. But I’m trying to be more normal.”

Warhol reached a breaking point one evening in February 1987, after dinner with friends at the Japanese restaurant Nippon. He felt sharp pain and went home; he guessed it was “a gallbladder attack” and threw away his junk food. Two weeks later, he was admitted at New York Hospital to have his gallbladder removed, and died shortly after. The surgeon found that his gallbladder was full of gangrene, his body had never fully recovered from being shot, he was dehydrated, and had eaten very little in the month prior, as Dr. John A. Ryan told the New York Times in 2017.

So while these anecdotes only offer a few glimpses into Warhol’s diet, it’s safe to say that the slogan “#EatLikeAndy” certainly comes with more baggage than Burger King’s ads let on. And though it probably wouldn’t be wise to emulate these eating habits, they serve to remind us that the endlessly influential and legendary artist was only human.

from Artsy News