#friendly reminder that beck's family

[mastermindmiko]

Muggle world hideout

Pairing: Regulus Black + fem!reader

Word count: 6232

Summary: After stealing Voldemort's horcrux, Regulus seeks shelter as a normal boy in the muggle world.

Warnings: smut, hiding out from death eaters? kissing, teachers, university classes

an: it was time to have a regulus one out there

Hey! if you think this didn't completely suck, feel free to check out my masterlist

The bus ride throughout muggle London was always dull. He doesn’t regret the decision he’s made but he was still among magic; or at least some aspects of it. He had previously weighed his options and this was the best one; he still stands by this decision. He acquired the horcrux and from his first attempt to destroy it, Voldemort found out about his wishes and knowledge. He ran to muggle London to find a way to destroy it under a secret identity. It has been a month and no one from the wizarding world has found him. He knew he would be well hidden here.

One of the ways for him to stay under a normal teen identity was to do the same things that they do. At his age, muggle children usually go to university. He knew of no such thing, he assumed it was the muggle NEWTs; considering that he found out that OWLs are similar to O levels. However, he needed to blend in; so he decided to do the same. He had bought a flat in a random place, in the city. His father died a bit before he acquired the horcrux, so had his inheritance money. He had a lot of it, and considering that one sickle is almost six euros; he didn’t have to worry about running out of money any time soon.

After a lot of research and awkward interactions from his neighbor -the same one that told him about universities and o levels-, he found a university. He applied late -as they told him- and after a lot of persuasion they agreed to let him enter. He just needed to tell them what his major should be on the first day, which just so happened to be today.

He sat in the back, right corner of the bus; and he felt the bus stop once again. He thought it was the last stop considering that there were only two seats empty, both of which were beside him. He looked out the window to approve his assumptions and he saw the prettiest girl he’s ever seen. She stood up and he found himself mentally chanting, hoping that she would get on the bus. He didn’t know why he did that, the fact was almost completely confirmed without his manifestations. When she stepped inside, he had a neutral facial expression; but his heart was leaping. It never had done that before.

He had no one idea what to pursue, he knew that the war wasn’t ending any time soon; and that his money wasn’t infinite. So he had to find a muggle job. He couldn’t tell them about his excellence and liking for potions, therefore he was stumped. He had no idea what muggle majors are, was there some type of auror?

The bus ride to the university was dull. They kept stopping at what he assumed were bus stops, and the people were less than friendly. The people reminded him of the families that were at his parents’ balls. They looked at his clothes weirdly, even though what he was wearing was considered very fashionable. He ignored their gazes, looking poised. He had many years to learn that skill, and he intends to use it.

You sat in your usual seat, beck, left corner in the bus. You saw the most gorgeous man, one seat away from yours. He was looking at you and the sun covered half his face, if anything it added to his beauty. You were most intrigued by the scar he had above his eyebrow and it looked painful. You averted your gaze from the scar, you didn’t want to seem rude. He was wearing odd clothes, but you were sure that they were incredibly luxurious and up to trend about a hundred years ago. You had found yourself a history geek and you couldn’t say you weren’t one. Finally assessing his gaze on you, you smiled at him. He didn’t return it, but you could see the corners of his lips turn up slightly.

You sat down, and you got out your poetry book. You started reading William Blake’s poems. You were supposed to pick your favorite poem and write an essay about it, filled with everything you could possibly talk about; concerning the poem. The assignment was given at the orientation to be handed in at the first session of the Poetry course. Your mind couldn’t fathom the beautiful words of ‘Auguries of Innocence’ due to the new presence of the pretty boy beside you.

“What’s your major?” He asked, looking at you. The unfamiliar words tasted weird on his tongue. There were a few beats of silence until he raised his eyebrow and you realized he was talking to you. “Um, English Literature and Political Science.” You answered. You weren’t able to pick between the two, so you simply chose both.

“That’s two?”

You hummed melodically indicating a yes and he nodded in understanding. He looked out the window and you contemplated either mirroring his actions or adding more to the conversation, though you could hardly call it that. “What about you?” you asked as you watched him write something down on a piece of paper. The way he held his pen was abnormal, but you paid no mind to it.

“Same thing.” He replied, he finished writing his chosen major on the paper. He was sure that if he didn’t write it, he would forget it. It was a weird invention, the pen. It was much more practical, he agreed with that; but he wasn’t used it. Therefore, he kept reaching out to dip it in ink, when there wasn't any. He had to remind himself that the ink was in the pen and that he couldn’t just take out a quill and ink pot.

You furrowed your eyebrows at the answer. You enjoyed the thought of being able to see his pretty face, but how had you not seen him before. You cracked your mind for answers, and then you asked, “Were you at the orientation?”

“No, I applied late.” There were no orientations at Hogwarts, he didn’t know such a thing existed; until the people at the admissions office told him that he missed it. You bit the insides of your cheeks and you nodded. You were able to take a hint, he was giving you short answers so he obviously didn’t want to talk to you. Suddenly, the unattractive scenery outside the bus seemed much more appealing; even though you had seen this road a million times before.

“What’s that?” He nodded towards the blank paper and book on your lap. You looked at them quickly then back at him. “That’s um the assignment that’s due today.” You said slowly, then added “That I didn’t do.” You heard a noise that sounded like a laugh, but you weren’t sure from how quickly it went and came.

“Am I supposed to do this assignment?” You nodded your head as a reply. You looked at the empty seat between you both, and said “Do you mind?”

“Not at all.”

You took the seat and you started to explain the task. You found out that ‘Regulus’ -you complimented his name when you found out- is taking the same courses as you are. He was scribbling some things down furiously, but you paid no mind to it. You offered to take a tour around campus and he agreed. As Regulus sat in the bus with you, he thought that maybe bus rides wouldn’t be as dull anymore.

***

“We have exactly 15 minutes until class starts.” You said as you checked your wrist watch. You were sitting on one of the benches surrounded by greenery. “You should probably head to the class, you wouldn’t want to be late on your first day.”

“Isn’t this your first day too?” Regulus said as he finished writing his essay, cleanly on another piece of paper. He insisted that he doesn’t hand in the scribbling paper that he used for the first draft of his paper. He finished writing his essay down freshly and he chose the poem ‘London’.

You nodded as you stood up “Yeah, but I’m not really punctual so I’m going to be late a lot throughout the year. I wouldn’t want to give the teacher expectations, so might as well be late from the start.” You smiled at him when you finished the sentence. In the past hour and a half you’ve grown quite both fond and comfortable with Regulus.

“I’ll save a seat for you.” He said, as he placed his essay in his bag. You nodded as thanks, and you started walking away from him. “See you in class!” You shouted even though you were not far enough for him to not hear you if you spoke normally. You winked at him then spun around to talk to other people around you. His heart skipped but he paid no mind to it as he walked around to find the room that he’s supposed to be in.

When he finally found the classroom he sat on one of the chairs in the middle, and he placed his book bag beside him to save you a seat. The teacher had already started talking about the overview of the course. She also stated how much he hates people who don’t take their classes seriously and Regulus assumed that you were in trouble.

You stumbled into the classroom and the teacher stopped talking to look at you disapprovingly. “Sorry, I’m late” The teacher hummed and you started walking to your seat. “The essay, if you remembered.”

You spun around taking your essay out of your bag and handing it to the teacher. She looked at it with a raised eyebrow. The handwriting was messy and ink was spilled around it, anyone could barely tell where a paragraph starts and ends. She could tell you finished it late, and she assumed that you were late because you were finishing it. She took it from your hands and placed it on her desk. Your eyes scanned the room for Regulus and you found him and the empty seat beside him. You walked to him and sat beside him.

“Not a very good first impression is it?” He leaned closer to you and he looked at you as the teacher started talking once again. You turned your head to look at him and you smirked. You shrugged your shoulders as you realised your faces were close, too close. You saw his eyes trail down to your lips and you bit the inside of your cheek.

“I do not tolerate laziness and people who don’t take assignments seriously.” You looked at the teacher and you found out that she was looking at you. Regulus snickered slightly so when the teacher averted her gaze from you, you elbowed him roughly.

You leaned to whisper something in his ear, “What are you doing tonight?” You looked at him, hopefully. You had some ideas planned, if he wasn’t free today; maybe he’d be free someday else.

He looked at you and said “Nothing that can’t be rescheduled.” You smiled and you looked back at your notes. You scribbled an invite on the sticky note and then you discreetly placed it on Regulus’ desk. He furrowed his eyebrows then he read your note. A smile was on his face when he nodded. You returned the smile. You had something to do today.

His robes were completely wet as was his hair. He was, however, most sad about his ruined ice cream. When it started raining both of you headed inside the closest shop and it happened to be an ice cream shop. You ordered Vanilla and Regulus ordered Chocolate. He seemed cautious tasting the dessert but he liked it so much, he ordered another cone. He paid for both of you and you thanked him as you enjoyed your dessert.

***

You were walking down the road with Regulus beside you. You both had ice cream in your hands. The world smelt like petrichor, because of how it rained today. The busses and cars’ wheels were splashing around in the water and you were careful not to get soaked. You couldn’t say the same thing about Regulus. He was closer to the street, and you couldn’t say that you didn’t put him there on purpose.

After the rain settled you decided to head to the next stop on your journey, which Regulus didn’t know. You were surprised at the courage he had following you around, not asking where you’re even heading. It seemed weird to you, how both of you could get so close without even knowing each other for a decent 12 hours.

He looked at his soaked ice cream with sadness, but the scene was still hilarious. He heard you burst out laughing at how he looked. He could only imagine how he must’ve looked. He looked in envy at your completely dry tasty looking ice cream, but he laughed at the situation shortly after. He loved your laughs, he was sure he never heard anything as beautiful. It seemed ironic the situation that he was in. In all of his years he never even so much looked at a person in a romantic aspect even though he had the chance to do so on multiple occasions. However, now, not even having spent a day with you, he feels like he’s falling hard. He’s still slightly grateful that meeting you happened now, when he believed that pureblood supremacy was complete bullshit. The last thing he could’ve wanted is meeting you when he had all this pent up prejudice, and pushing you away.

After both your laughter died down, you made a change in plan. Instead of going to the movies now, you’ll go to the clothes shop. You spun around and started to go in the opposite direction. He was surprised and quickly tried to reach in step with you. He asked “Where are we going?”

“I’m abducting you.” You said with a smirk. A flash of fear flashed through his eyes, and you quickly added, “You just finally asked where I’m taking you. We’re going to the clothes shop.”

He raised one eyebrow and he asked “Why would we do that?”

“Well because you said you didn’t want to attract any attention-” You started as you recalled the conversation you had with him while you were showing him the campus. “And let me tell you with the clothes that you’re wearing, you couldn’t attract any more attention. Honestly, where did you live before uni? The 17th century!”

He laughed at your statement, and he let you continue. “So we’re going to get you some normal clothes.” He nodded along with you and he placed his clean spoon in his pocket along with his other hand. You suddenly put your hand out in front of you and he looked at you in confusion. You motioned for him to give you whatever he hand, and he gave you his spoon. You placed it in your ice cream as you said “Eat it with me-” You saw him open his mouth to protest but you said “You paid the least I could do is let you eat with me, considering the tragic death of your own ice cream.”

He chuckled and proceeded to do exactly that. You both eating together cause you both to be close to each other. Somewhere along the road Regulus decided that bumping arms wasn’t comfortable for him anymore so he linked your arms together. You were glad that it was night time so he couldn’t see your face flush.

“Yes.”

***

The next session, you were actually late. You tried to enter the class discreetly, but you were stopped by the teacher. “Miss Y/L/N”

“Do you think this class is a joke? Why are you late again? This is going into your file-” the teacher rambled more about your lack of punctuality but after a lot of experience you learned how to tune teachers out quite well. You were smart and you knew that. You just didn’t enjoy doing the homework and you had a problem with time. Time is relative, so why is she making a big deal out of this?

You heard silence so you managed to reply with the same answer that seemed to satisfy every teacher. “I’m sorry, I’ll try harder next time.” You learned that there was no use of fighting with teachers like this. You heard a few people chuckle lightly. They were with you in other courses, so they heard you answer this many times before. They weren’t surprised in the slightest.

She hummed, approving of your answer and you couldn’t help but smirk. She motioned for you to sit and you walked to your place that Regulus once again saved for you. He looked great in the clothes you helped him pick out, then again he would look good in a potato sack. You smiled at him and he gave you a tight lipped smile. You queried your eyebrow, questioning his weird attitude. He lifted his paper and he showed you a D on the essay he did. You gave him a sympathetic smile and you looked on your desk, you couldn’t find your essay anywhere.

Regulus placed a sticky note on your desk, and it said ‘can you tutor me?’ You looked at him weirdly and you scribbled back ‘how do you know that I’m good enough to do that?’ He smirked at your answer and he tilted his head towards the person that was giving people papers.

“As you should know by now, I pick the best essay to discuss with the class; so everyone can learn from good examples.” You received your paper with a big A star. “We’re going to be discussing Miss Y/L/N’s essay.” She didn’t look at you throughout the lesson.

You leaned towards Regulus and you said “I swear I don't know if that woman loves or hates me.”

“I think it depends.” He replied, and he looked at you with a fond smile. He used legilimency on the teacher before you entered the class. “Congratulations by the way.” He whispered. You shrugged your shoulders, “It’s not a big deal.”

“It is, so will you tutor me?”

It’s March now. Your courses have been going well, and tutoring Regulus has been great for both of you. You both knew that he didn’t need any tutoring, but you couldn’t stop spending extra time with him. It wasn’t like he was complaining much anyway. “Are you going to the party tomorrow?”

“Meet me in the library after all our courses. Oh and by the way, you look great.”

***

“Uh, party?” He asked as you both waited for the elevator to reach the fifth floor. Your arms were brushing against each other, and you could feel butterflies erupt in your stomach. He linked your arms again, it seemed like a habit he developed; and you enjoyed it more than you would care to admit. Since September you had completely fallen for him.

“Yeah star, we finished exams. So they’re throwing a party tomorrow.” You said, you enjoyed the nickname that you gave him after your first tutoring session. He told you that it was a family thing, being named after stars and constellations; and you thought it was completely adorable. So you couldn’t resist calling him star. He doesn’t open up much about his family, but you don’t push him. You can tell that it bothers him. After he disappeared for two months, December and January; he came back much happier. He tried to gain your forgiveness after leaving suddenly without any warning, and eventually he succeeded; you couldn’t stay mad at him for long anyway.

“Are you going?” He asked, looking at you. Voldemort was defeated back in January. His brother and the Order contacted him after they discovered the Hocroux secret, and he was glad to help. He didn’t know how his brother found him, but since all the Marauders spend a lot of time in the muggle world, it wouldn’t be too far-fetched. It felt like this enormous weight was lifted off his shoulders, and that he was finally free to do whatever he liked. His parents were dead but he didn’t care that much anyway, he got his share of his inheritance and so did his brother. After they put Pettigrew in Azkaban they wanted a fourth honorary Marauder, and Sirius wanted him to fill the spot. His relationship with Sirius was mended, and Sirius wanted him to stay in the new place he bought along with Lupin, but he declined the offer. You were here,and it wasn’t like you could go to the wizarding world without being married to him first. It was already bad enough spending two months without you, let alone the rest of his life. “I’m going if you’re going.” You replied.

You looked up at him and he looked at you. “I’m going then.” You smiled at him and you nodded. You assessed his face for a while longer, you always did that. Regulus’ heart would beat irregularly when you do. It’s annoying how much he likes you. From the stupid, irresponsible way you are never on time, to the way you always look up when looking out of a window. He doesn’t know why you do that, most people look at the ground or the buildings; but you look at the sky and clouds. What is so interesting up there anyway? There weren’t any birds or any planes. He felt blessed in every way to have someone like you, be near him; and he honestly thought he didn't deserve to have you as a friend, let alone a lover. You reached for the scar above his eyebrow, you don’t know this but he got it from the inferi attack. It’s a constant reminder of what he has to go to. What he has done. He’s able to place a concealment charm on his dark mark, but when he placed the same charm on his scar, it made his vision blurry. He also didn’t mind how close you were every time you looked at it.

“It looks like it hurt.” You whispered, softly as you touched his scar. He hissed and you quickly pulled your fingers away. You heard him whisper, “That’s cause it did.”

You sighed and you continued to look at it. Your eyebrows furrow as you thought of all the possibilities that could have caused the scar. Regulus saw your expression and he sighed. He has never felt insecure about his face, he knew he was good looking. He shared that with Sirius, the big ego. When he got the scar, he just thought it looked ugly. He hoped you didn’t think the same, “It looks hideous doesn’t it?”

Your eyes flashed to his, and you tilted your head slightly in confusion. He was leaning slightly so you could be closer to him. He always did that, another habit he developed around you. You looked into his eyes, that you loved so much. It seemed like such an odd thing for someone’s favorite color to be gray, but you knew it wouldn’t seem that odd if they saw his eyes. If you could look into them forever you would, you didn’t know that he wished to do the same thing with your’s. “I think the opposite actually.”

The elevator music might have ruined the intimate atmosphere, but you leaned on the tips of your toes and you pressed your lips to his. He kissed you back immediately, and you pulled him closer by his neck. You were kissing each other passionately. You pulled him by his shirt and you placed your tongue in his mouth. He grabbed your hips and pulled you closer. You pulled away to breathe properly. You looked into his eyes and his hair was ruffled and you assumed yours was the same.

The door opened and you realised it was the third floor. His face was neutral, so you assumed that he didn’t like you. He just liked to kiss you, you knew you were a good kisser; so maybe that was it. Maybe you read the situation completely wrong. You walked out the elevator, and it wasn’t even the floor you needed to be on. You’ll just take the stairs.

Your eyes unintentionally searched the room for Regulus, and your eyes connected from across the room. He was leaning back on the couch, his legs spread apart, and his hand resting on the couch’s arm rest. Your mind ran with the sight, and you could tell he was doing the same when his eyes trailed your body, and he liked his lips. You could feel your stomach churn and with the added liquid courage, you walked to him.

***

You didn’t even know why you’re here right now. The alcohol was burning down your throat, however you were very conscious of your surroundings. Your friend told you yesterday that Regulus told her that he needed to talk to you. You didn’t even know if he was going to be here, but you were and you hoped he was too.

“You said you wanted to talk to me.” You said as you sat beside him on the couch. He hummed, looking at you with his wonderful gray eyes. “I like you-” Your eyes widened, “I really like you and I-” You cut him off with his lips on yours.

You put your hands on his shoulders with an intent to pull him closer, but he pulled away slightly. He assumed you wanted to push him away and that you were rethinking your decisions. However, the thought was out of his head when your finger went to his neck. You wrapped your hands around his neck and you pulled him closer, attaching your lips together.

He bit your lips and he pulled your lips to insert his tongue in your mouth. His tongue massaged yours and yours explored his mouth. He put his hands on your waist and he started to let his hands trail down when your kissing intensified. When his hands reached your hips, he pulled you on his lap, and you could feel a prominent bulge in his pants.

You let out a breathy sigh when your heat was over his bulge. You were on top of him so you couldn’t kiss him properly because of the angles on your lips. You lifted his chin with your thumbs and you kissed him feverishly. You could feel his own thumbs tracing heavy circles on your hips. It was arousing so your breathing rate increased.

Even Though you could clearly feel his hard cock through his pants, you wanted to turn him on more. So you ‘innocently’ ran your fingers through the hair on the nape of his neck while keeping your thumbs on his neck. You waited a bit, trying to get that perfect element of surprise; then you pulled his hair and squeezed his neck. He let out a loud sound between a groan and a choke. You were shocked by his reaction and you felt yourself getting wetter.

His eyes were wider than yours indicating that he didn’t know he could feel or do that. You could feel his cock twitch under you and you let out a breathy sigh that hitched. His hands went under your thighs and you squeezed them tightly. He stood up and you hooked your ankles behind his hips. He kissed you with great passion as he took you to an empty bedroom.

He threw you on the bed and you heard the bed creak loudly. He took off his shirt and he crawled over to you as he connected your lips together. His hands roamed your body and when he reached your chest, he squeezed one of your breasts. “Take them off.” You ordered and he took off your shirt and unhooked your bra gladly.

He took a moment to look over your body and he said “You’re so gorgeous.” Your panties were uncomfortably wet and you were impatient. “Then fucking touch me then.” you said, and he didn’t waste a second kissing, squeezing and sucking all over your chest. You took off your pants and panties, when you couldn’t stand the wetness anymore.

When you were entirely naked, he couldn’t stop admiring your body. Your face was flushed, your hair a mess and your chest was littered with love bites. He could’ve cum on the sight. His eyes trailed down to your wet pussy, and he looked at your glistening juices running down your thighs. He closed his mouth because he was sure he would drool if he kept it open. “Sit on my face.” He said laying down beside you.

“What?!” You said flushing a deep red. He rolled his eyes and he started to grasp your thighs. “I want to eat you out as you ride my face.” You didn’t speak for a while so he added “Only if you want to of course.” The reason for your silence wasn’t because you didn’t want to but because you really wanted to.

You aligned your entrance with his mouth. You placed both your thighs away from his face, the last thing you wanted was for him to run out of air in the middle of sucking your clit. Usually, Regulus would have kissed and bit your thighs, teasing you for a bit; but as soon as he smelt your arousal, he couldn’t wait to taste you. He liked a bold strip gathering all your juices that were leaking out.

Your legs shook and you got a small taste of what was going to happen in the next few seconds. You placed one of your hands on the head board of the bed and you threaded the other through regulus’ hair. The first was for stability and the second was for teasing. He started liking and sucking softly, making you feel impatient with how much he was taking his time.

You started to grind on his face and you could barely hear the bed creak when his nose would brush against your clit and you would moan. When you started riding his face, he got the hint and he started eating you out at a relentless pace. He grabbed your thighs and moved you faster. You were a moaning mess and your thighs were clenching around the sides of his face.

Regulus didn’t care that he could barely breathe. The prettiest girl he’s ever seen is riding his face, making the most beautiful voices he’s ever heard; and she’s the sweetest thing he’s ever tasted. As far as he was concerned, he was in heaven. His cock was painfully hard in his pants, he only started to feel it when you moaned his name loudly. He let go of one of your thighs and slipped his hand under his trousers. He was panting under you as he palmed himself, but it was all very much worth it.

“Ohh, Regulus!” You came harder than you ever did before from someone’s tongue. You could feel him swallowing all your cum and you felt his tongue run lines across your thighs, you assumed it was the remains of your cum that slipped down your thighs. When you came off his face, he had the most blissful expression on his face.

“You have to let me do that again. You taste like heaven.” Your eyes trailed down his body and you could no longer see a bulge . His cock was slipped out of his pants and underwear and you could see his cum around his cock. “Only if you let me return the favor sometime.” You could see his cock twitch at the thought. “You’re so messy. I can’t have you inside me like that.” You tutted and started to get up, away from the bed. He started to get up with you, eyes wide. “I’ll just have to clean you up.”

He placed his head back on the pillow and he was about to reach out to stroke his cock when you grabbed his wrist. “No touching.” You started to come closer to his cock, you pulled off his pants and underwear. You only smirked as you started to run your fingers up and down his cock. “You’re going to be the death of me.” You heard him both whisper and groan. You could only smirk and you started to feel him harden underneath your fingers.

You leaned down slightly and you looked up at him. His eyes connected with yours and he looked absolutely angelic. It was wonderful seeing him all messed up unlike his usual calm aura. You took his tip into your mouth, where most of the cum was gathered. He moaned when you licked his thighs and around his cock. He assumed you were going to give him head, you weren’t. You were simply doing what you said you were, cleaning him up. You gave him a few seconds to catch his breath and when you heard his breathing start to regulate, you took him in fully. You sucked, hard as his tip hit the back of your throat. He screamed loudly, and you were sure the entire party heard it. You clenched your thighs together.

Regulus was more vocal than you thought and you were loving it. His fingers threaded through your hair and you thought he was going to fuck your face; but you were pulled awya from his cock. “I want to be inside you, the first time I cum from you.”

“Needy for me, already.”

“Just hurry up.” He groaned and you were enjoying the power you had over him, so you added. “No really. Tell me how much you want me. How much you want to be inside me. Tell me darling, how many times did you touch yourself thinking of me-”

You were quickly flipped around and he thrust himself inside you. You screamed at the sudden force. He stopped waiting for you to adjust to his size as he leaned down to whisper “When I say hurry up, it means hurry up.” He started thrusting into you slowly, you heard the bed creak again; but you didn’t mind it. The pain turned into pleasure. So you started moaning “Faster.”

He obliged and he started to move quicker and quicker. When he hit your g-spot, you clenched around him tighter. “You’re so fucking tight.” You were sure he was moaning louder than you. You now considered that you were fucking him not the other way around. He kept repeatedly hitting the same spot until you started to see stars. He thrusted harder, and quicker, trying to get you through your high. However, just when you were about to finish cumming he started to cum too. You were on birth control so it wasn’t a problem. He was almost finished when the bed broke. You both tumbled on the floor as one of the legs broke.

He was still inside you when you said “How the hell are we going to fix this?” He chuckled as he pulled out of you, you hissed slightly. “Never mind that, how are we going to explain it?”

“There won’t be a need to explain anything. You were screaming loud enough that they heard you already.” You smirked, as you saw his cheeks turn redder.

“We should do that again sometime.” He said and he looked around the room for a glass of water. When he found it, he gave it to you. He cleaned you up and he placed the amount of money that was enough for the bed on it.

When you were walking out the building, he asked, “Do you want to stay with me tonight?” You looked at him before you said “Gee, star. Take me out on a date first.”

“We just fucked and you think that spending the night would be rash. Besides we can do that date thing tomorrow, I just want to hold you right now.” Your heart skipped a couple of beats. You nodded along with him, agreeing.

Walking back to Regulus’ flat reminded you of the first day you both met. You were now the one walking near the street, and he was far away from it. You knew he did it on purpose, even though it hasn’t rained lately, he still feels the need to make you pay somehow. Your arms were linked when he grabbed your other hand, and said “There’s something important I need to tell you when we get there.”

“That you love me?”

He smirked at how big your ego was sometimes. It wasn’t like he was any different, he thought of what it would be like when you meet his brother and Potter. Lupin would throw himself out the window. “Something else, but you have to promise you won’t send me to an insane asylum.”

You raised the hand that wasn’t connected with his and you said “I won’t. Consider it as thanks that you still haven’t sent me there yet.” He placed a kiss on your hand, and he said “I do, by the way.” you quirked your eyebrow. “Love you, I mean.”

[lorebeth]

Hey! Could you write a Blade x princess reader?

A princess like Aelin Galathynius from throne of glass. She’s a badass who used to be an assassin once and who wields fire power.

HIII I am so sorry this is so late I’ve been sick for 3 months and I literally lost all sense of reality for a while. BUT I wasn’t sure if you wanted me to keep the fire powers or not so I kept it as friendly as I could for any type of power! I hope that I wrote the reader well because if I’m being completely serious I had to search up Aelin Galathynius and I was NOT DISAPPOINTED!!! i was actually considering getting the novels so you’re literally a life saver! ANYWAYS I HOPE I MADE THIS WORTHWHILE AND THANK YOU FOR THE REQUEST LOVELY!!

Blade x Princess! Reader

TW: Romantic (but can be read as platonic - just skip or ignore the dream part), kind of emotionally constipated reader..? War, blood, probably something incorrect in there lmao…

Sword fighting came to you easily. Your powerful strikes are full of precision and poise, your stance is always perfect and agile as well as your sharp mind. Your reaction time in battle was excellent and you were extremely proud of yourself.

You had to learn your cutthroat style from a young age, it’s a kill or be killed world and the only way to protect yourself was to become the predator, the top of the food chain. You also need extremely tentative wording and persuasive language to get information, as well as a keen eye for what is beneath the surface of every turmoil or hidden threat in one’s words.

This is your last mission. With a certain childhood friend at your back supporting you all throughout your younger and teen years, you know very well this could be the last you see of him.

But he wasn’t an idiot, you both understood that much.

As you both crouched and huddled under the cover of a bush - your bag of magical artifacts attached to your right thigh - you couldn’t help but realise how easy this was. It was extremely suspicious and you had to ask your companion for advice.

“You know what I’m going to say to you.” you whispered.

He chuckled, his rich laugh contrasting with his disheveled and dirty clothing. As much as the throne was your birthright, he also deserved luxuries you both could only dream of outside of a world of stealing. His hair was tied up in a high ponytail and your family’s medallion was attached as a brooch on his right chest strap. His trousers hung low and were stained with mud, his boots carrying a dagger in them. He turned to face you, golden eyes stalking your figure, you didn’t want to meet his yet.

“I think we should use our distraction.” his voice hoarse and unused. You both ran out of water preparing magical components at the base of the city and nearly two days staking out the perfect time to strike. The Rebels were planted in the lower and abandoned parts, ready for the signal.

You’ve been through worse however, this was child’s play compared to the gruesome training you forced upon yourself.

“Mm. Any last words, Blade?” you turned to look into his piercing eyes. They held broken shards of who he used to be, the child with big dreams and the broken promises he was gifted instead.

He grabbed your hand, gently raising the back of your gloved hand to his lips, kissing it. He slowly slid the black scarf over his nose again and squeezed your hand softly once. He would be at your side until the end.

You couldn’t help smile to yourself. Blade was your best friend, always at your beck and call, he knew you were never going to give up on him and he in turn never gave up on you.

Sometimes there’s a dream that almost haunts you at the peacefulness and domesticity it promises. It’s you with Blade in a beautiful bedroom, the light shining in and the wind blowing softly through the soft, pearl-coloured balcony curtains. The room covered in soft greens and faint reds that remind you of beautiful flowers. The silk bedsheet feeling blissful on your back as you stare up at Blade sleeping, his nose scarred and you always end the dream by running your fingers gently over it and kissing his nose, never getting past that scene.

It haunted you and you hated it, but fuck would you do anything for that moment to be reality. As much as you didn’t have time for romance in a fight for the throne, you could only crave it like how a force as powerful and chaotic as fire depends on something vital as oxygen to keep it alive, stronger than ever.

Of course you’d never tell him that though, it’s better for things to be left unsaid; especially in war. You took off yours and his masks, cupping his face gently. You’d never tell him how you felt, but actions always speak louder than words. You stared at him and pressed your lips against his cheek, inches away from his lips. You place his mask back on gently and he does the same for you. 

“Are you ready?”

“I’ll follow you to the ends of the world if it means you are happy.” 

___________________________

It was a fucking massacre. Blood on the walls, the curtains torn and glass windows shattered. Swords thrown haphazardly into all directions on the floor and half of the city glowing blue and white due to the “distraction” in the lower parts of the city. Whoever thought it was a good idea for Illegal Blue Flame Charms was on something as it wasn’t in the plan. You were trying to take back your city, not destroy it to fucking cinders. But you digress, you need to find the King.

As you stalk through the sinister hallways your boots make crunching sounds on the glass shards. You didn’t bother making your arrival quiet, you didn’t need to because the King already knew you were here, just like you promised.

“Well. I’ll be damned.” A cough erupted from a corner of darkness. The voice hauntingly familiar even through the strain and coughing fit. 

He didn’t deserve to get a reply, after slaughtering your parents and exiling their only daughter lucky enough to escape, the promise you made that day would finally come true. You would get your Kingdom back and murder the one who endangered your people, taxed them to nothingness and celebrated the death of two brilliant parents and rulers. 

As you raised your hand, you felt the familiar heat and energy in your palm, your fingertips glowing that lovely colour you’ve grown to adore. The blue of the outside fire and destruction was weak compared to the light emitting from your hand, and you landed the final blow. After years of trauma and terror, running away and the fear of being caught… you’ve never felt safer.

___________________________

The citizens - your people - adored you. Obviously, anyone would be better than the Dictator who was their last leader but you were their true heir, the one best fit to take control over the Kingdom again.

The first thing you did after you killed the King was find Blade. He was a skilled swordsman but even he wasn’t untouchable. He was injured and on the brink of passing out when you found him. He knew you had won and immediately fell on his knees to congratulate and bow down to you, a smirk on his face and blood trickling down the left side of his head, making him close his eye to stop it trickling into it. There was a cut on his nose now, that’ll scar for sure.

You had appointed him as your Head Guard and crowned him the highest honours you could bestow upon a man. He might as well have been a King himself.

Standing in your old bedroom, you made your way to the balcony watching over the city. The sun was setting and everything was gorgeous hues of golds and pinks.

The rebuilding of the city was going smoothly and no civilians were critically injured due to the Blue Flame Charms set around the different parts of the city, only the abandoned buildings were gone and could be easily replaced with new homes, markets and trading ports. Taxes that were stupid had been reset and everyone could finally breathe without having to rely on Loan Sharks or crime to live and support their families. Those who had lost their jobs and homes had been invited to the Castle and given jobs to help repair, as well as given food and water for their families. The old were taken to spare rooms and wherever someone could take them in. The Kingdom was working together better than ever before and it was all thanks to you and the rebels.

“What are you thinking about?” The voice of your Head Guard questioned. You turned around and smiled at him. You had changed your clothes and so did he, he was gorgeous with new clothing, better hygiene, nicely combed hair, beautiful brooches on his straps and delicate embroidered roses on his coat. His outfit was composed of blacks, dark greens and the blood reds from his roses. 

“You.” He looked unimpressed.

“Sure.” He came to stand beside you on the balcony of your childhood bedroom, staring ahead as you continue to eye him.

“You know I wouldn’t have known what to do if I had lost you.” you whisper, the words holding a deeper meaning. His head turned in your direction, still not making eye contact with you. The sunset was illuminating his face and every scar, blemish and bandage on his face made him even more godly than before. 

“Don’t look at me like that.” he turned to stare at you now, his eyes pleading. You smiled at him and laughed.

“A dear friend once told me, ‘I’ll follow you to the ends of the world if it means you are happy.’ I think he was right.” His laugh was pure and he embraced you. 

The tears in your eyes stung and you felt all your panic and anxiety over the years slip, even if the trauma would be there forever you felt safe enough to forget about pain and misery in his arms. 

“I am forever with you, Y/N. As your Head Guard, your Consultant and most importantly, your friend.” He kissed the top of your head sweetly and you couldn’t help sob happily as you laid in the safest arms of all.

___________________________

(Romantic: if you don’t want romance and only platonic I suggest ending it there. Thanks!)

You approached the man sat on the balcony step, circling your arms around his shoulders and pulling him back into your open arms, him coming into contact with your chest and sighing deeply. 

“What’s wrong? Don’t like my hugs?” You teased.

“I hate that you don’t take me seriously.” He stated blandly. You look down at him confused. What’s he on about? 

“What are you talking about? If I thought you were a joke you wouldn’t be my Head Guard, or in my arms for that matter.” you offered him a teasing smile and squeezed him a little harder.

“What I mean is you don’t take my advances seriously.” he scoffed. 

What.

“Advances? What exactly have you done that was in a ‘courting fashion’?” you might as well have been given a blank piece of paper and sent out to go shopping because what fucking advances has he given you? 

He turned around to face you and he had an exasperated expression, going through all 5 stages of grief trying to explain himself to you, “Y’know.. I gave you my last dessert. And I held you last week.” you stared at him blankly.

“You gave me your half-eaten pudding and you pushed me off the street into a muddy puddle because a carriage was driving by. The carriage wasn’t even close to the side walk may I add.” he sighed again and stared ahead, acting like a neglected child.

You laughed and soon your entire body couldn’t stop shaking at how hard you were laughing, Blade was still sulking in your arms and that made you stop momentarily.

“You know, those advances may not be, traditional per say… but it’s the thought that counts. And I might add, I’ve also been wanting you to court me too.” you finished with one of your hands cupping his cheek and the other holding onto his arm.

“I had great advances.” he deadpanned.

With the biggest eye roll you could muster, you leaned in gently, allowing him to have a moment to decide whether he wanted to kiss you too or back out. When he didn’t move you got a little confused, opting to back out. 

He slowly inclined his head forward and with a excited smile you leaned in the full way, lips pressing against his. At first you did all the movements and set the pace, letting Blade adapt to the kiss. 

His hands snaked around your waist and the wrist of the hand that was cupping his face. He soon felt you pull away from the kiss for air and he took the opportunity to kiss your wrist gently. His eyes piercing yours once again. 

“My chosen protector, my closest companion and my heart, will you stay with me forever, until death do us part?” you asked, suddenly feeling all emotions you could possibly think of in that small silence overtaking your senses. You felt nervous but excited and you felt yourself trembling all in one.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.” he smiled. 

istg I had whooping cough or smth wtf

[ravenspeakrp]

Welcome to Raven’s Peak, Brees, we’re excited to have you! Willow Chamberlain (Emily Browning, human) has been accepted. Please be sure to stop by the CHECKLIST for the follow list, tags to track, and other reminders.

IN CHARACTER 

FULL NAME: Willow Chamberlain SPECIES: Human AGE: 32 DATE OF BIRTH: June 2nd GENDER IDENTITY: Cis Female NEIGHBORHOOD: Trailer park in Cherry Heights OCCUPATION: Waitress WORKPLACE: The Golden Spoon POSITIVE TRAITS: Accepting, Caring, Clever NEGATIVE TRAITS: Sarcastic, Cynical, Withdrawn LENGTH OF TIME IN RAVEN’S PEAK: 3 years FACE CLAIM: Emily Browning

BIOGRAPHY

TRIGGER WARNING: addiction, domestic violence, hospital

The life that Willow was born into was one of privilege and esteem. She was a Chamberlain. Anything she could have wanted or needed at her beck and call. This life came with certain expectations on her part, however. The years that her parents had spent building their empire were regularly thrown in their children’s faces and her family’s reputation had to be preserved of course. She was a Chamberlain. The fourth of seven children, it was very easy for Willow to fade into the background. Quietly going about her business.

In high school, things changed. Her older siblings had started working for a financial firm her family owned when they got to high school and her father determined it was time for Willow to join them. It was time to learn the family secret. They were hunters of one of the oldest families. They had been aware of the supernatural for generations and they did their best to rid the world of the virus.

This was also the same time that she started popping pills. It was an accepted practice in her world, for the most part. There were pills for anything you wanted. To keep you awake, to make you sleep, to make you happy, to make you fuck. Anything you could possibly want. The side effect being a deep addiction that was neither acknowledged nor addressed.

For her 18th birthday, her family had a large party planned. Celebrating her acceptance into a prestigious college after her father made a rather large donation to their alumni fund. Willow never showed up. She had decided to go out with some friends instead and ended up passed out on someone’s couch in a part of town that her name should never have been in. The beating that her father delivered when she finally went home landed her in the hospital but it was all carefully covered. They were Chamberlains, after all, and she was held to a certain standard.

Secretly, Willow purchased an old VW van that was outfitted as a camper. She had it hidden in storage along with everything she considered important to her. Which was very little. Once she had healed enough that her father deemed her presentable enough for the public, he allowed her to start school. She actually took her van and started driving west.

It took her a few years before she made it to California where she figured she could get into acting. Occasionally she reached out to her siblings but as far as her parents were concerned, they now only had six children. Her older siblings seemed to follow in that lead but the younger ones would sometimes give her updates. It didn’t bother Willow much. She had moved on. The hard work and long hours that she had come to know working for her family served her well. She was able to work odd jobs for cash and earned enough to eat and live, her van serving as her home.

The big break she expected never came. After a few years, she decided to travel again. Willow made her way across the country eventually finding her way to Raven’s Peak. She took a job as a waitress temporarily and figured she’d earn enough to move on. She never did. The job was good and the people were friendly enough hidden among the very people her family detested. And most importantly, she was left alone. No one expected her to do or say anything. That invisible world that had protected her as a child was finally back. Though the loneliness that came with it proved much deeper as an adult.

[wxldchxld]

are they an affectionate person? how do they feel about pda? are they good at explaining things to others?how do they handle being upset/angry? do they yell, cry, go silent, etc? what does their future look like when they picture it? who’s there with them?have they ever been to court? what was the outcome?what would they do for a klondike bar?

are they an affectionate person?

Beck is incredibly affectionate. She spent much of her childhood craving affection and having it denied to her, and she never wants to make anyone she loves feel like that. Thankfully when it comes to attachment and affection and things like that, the first years of your life are extremely important, and during that time Beck was surrounded by family that adored her and showed it in a healthy/open way. Her father, her amma Alma, her afi Percy, and her big brother Fenris were all very loving and supportive, which in turn showed Beck how to express love and affection. If not for those first five years of her life, Beck would probably still desire affection without knowing how to give it. Fortunately that isn't the case.

how do they feel about pda?

She's fine with it. Beck's basically impossible to embarrass and doesn't really believe in like purity or whatever the Christians get their underwear twisted over. She's down with most forms of pda and she's usually quick to initiate it.

are they good at explaining things to others?

Ummm I guess that depends. Beck has extra-sensory abilities (feeling the presence of other lifeforms, hearing and understanding beings others perceive as silent/stupid like plants or animals) and if she's in other forms she usually has enhanced senses as well. A bear's sense of smell is better than a bloodhound's, and a fox can hear a watch tick from 40 yards away. Not to mention magic changes her perception of the world both physically and culturally. She wasn't raised in the same society as other humans, and for much of her life she's lived completely isolated in the wilderness.

The problem is that Beck has no idea what a normal human experience is. So there is a disconnect there, and she has a lot of knowledge she just assumes that other people know.

Where it gets sticky is Beck trying to explain something and people think she's a nut case because she's just assuming you know the same shit she does. Beck isn't really bad at explaining things, but she needs to know where to start explaining, and if that's really far back it gets tricky because she's prone to rabbit trailing and losing her place. Most of the time she just gets frustrated and says fuck it. She'd just prefer not to be understood than people look at her like she has four heads.

how do they handle being upset/angry?

Beck denies she has any negative emotions at all and pretends she's happy until she completely explodes. This was the only way for her to survive as a child, because expressing her negative emotions was always a punishable offense. Unfortunately she never unpacked it as an adult.

When she's at the end of her rope, Beck's first step is to isolate. Run away for a while. Maybe an hour, maybe a week, maybe forever depending on what is happening. If she's angry she usually talks it over with her familiars, and if she's sad she tends to cry.

I'd like to point out Beck never yells. Even if I'm typing in all caps and bold, Beck is not yelling unless I specifically say she is. Because it's very, very, very rare for Beck to raise her voice and when she does it means something is deeply and terribly wrong.

what does their future look like when they picture it?

I guess this depends on the verse. The only thing Beck consistently knows is one day she will go feral, and that is a sort of death for her. True she doesn't literally die, but her spirit merges with the nature spirit she came from, and "Beck" becomes a very very very very miniscule part of that spirit, much too spread out to be able to form thoughts or truly be signaled out as a unique person.

Beck isn't afraid of this. She's known it her whole life. She already is a part of the nature spirit, and doesn't dread returning to it in full. A part of her secretly wishes she could be like the Otso or the Näkki, other parts of the nature spirit who became so integrally connected with the earth, so well known by others, so powerful, that they sort of retained their personhood. Whether or not that is in the cards for her, she can't know. She can only hope.

have they ever been to court?

Depends on the verse. In our verse, yes. And she specifically pled guilty to crimes she did not do in order to protect someone else. In most verses no. Beck's a very good thief and getting caught is a rarity for her. If she does, she can usually lose whoever is after her anyway so the chances of her going to court when it isn't something she planned are very low.

what would they do for a klondike bar?

She doesn't know what that is. If she did she probably wouldn't trust it. lmao

[victimized-martyr]

Hey there! If you’re still doing the ask thing, hm, maybe 33, 19, and 9?

(Also just gonna say you have really funny, neat headcanons!)

Aw! thanks lolol. I like makin myself laugh when coming up with kyman stuff so I'm happy to hear you like 'em too.

Anways *sigh*. I don't know the meaning of brevity ok here we goooooo

33. what is an episode/moment from the show (or a game) that you consider to have very kyman-undertones, yet NO ONE ever talks about it? (UNDERRATED KYMAN MOMENT(S))

I wouldn’t say it’s underrated, but it’s recent so it doesn’t have the attention that other moments have garnered. Help My Teenager Hates me is such a good kyman episode. Kyle takes the first shot. Cartman gets hissy about it and fights back with his words. Kyle, in demonstration of his fiery temperament, shoots unnecessary amounts of paintball bullets. Cartman has no choice to surrender... for the moment. Cause Cartman catches Kyle off guard, honing his energy on one, harsher blow. Like, that’s been their dynamic for decades! Kyman’s dynamic is expressed in a way I’d never thought could be succinct! I’m so happy with this episode.

I’m not surprised he picked up on his tears with lightning speed. Kyle’s always been in tune with Cartman’s emotions. He’s the cartman whisperer fr. Love this episode to death.

Kyle putting on concealer and Gerald covering for him like it’s a damn scandalous hickey and not a bruise. “hE’s eXpIrimEnTinG” oh my fucking god, mattrey.

“Kyle and Cartman hate each other” Why the hell they talkin like friends and engaging in friendly banter when they come across each other at the store then. Check and mate, hoes. (jk jk lol. I just love the reminder that at the end of the day, they’re still friends)

19. do Liane and Sheila (& Gerald, I guess) approve of this relationship?

hm, For Liane, it's not a matter of approval or disapproval; she's fine with Cartman dating whoever he wants. When Cartman was dating Heidi, she stood to the side with little interference. She'll do the same here. In the unlikely even that he turns to her for advice, for example, asking what Kyle meant by “setting boundaries”, Liane would take the conversation…um.. into another direction: “Boundaries?? Aw poopsikins, well, I guess you’re old enough to start understanding this sort of thing. Now, one of the first thing about consent is establishing safewords..." I think all in all, she’d be relieved that someone headstrong and stubborn like Kyle is dating Cartman. He’s starting to put the dishes away! He’s not screaming at her to be at his beck and call! She has time to look for work!

Sheila would be cautious. She trusts Kyle, and it’s not an issue of liking Cartman or not (because Cartman knows how to suck up to adults, and she’s happily had tea with him during the show), it’s more a worry that Kyle and Cartman will make good decisions in their relationship. I envision Sheila as the type of mom who takes dating very seriously, like, the mentality of “dating for marriage” kinda deal. Her extensive lectures on consequences and communication won’t do well to assuage Kyle's neurotic tendencies. That’s where Gerald comes in.

Gerald’s a dick, kay, he’s got a lot in common with Cartman and can see through his sons’ boyfriend’s bs like THAT. Above that though, he’s a family man who knows how to dish out sage advice. Gerald will set Kyle aside and encourage him to “yes, listen to Sheila, but also, don’t navigate so piously that you forget to have fun. And hey, lighten up. Don’t date Cartman to fix him. That’s not how it works, kiddo.” He can’t say for sure if they’ll last, but if Kyle really likes being with Cartman for who he is, then it's fine. Gerald speaks to Kyle from the perspective of a sadistic asshole who fell in love with a self-righteous redhead with an explosive temper– and while Kyle may not make that connection, Gerald does, and he talks accordingly. He makes a note to do what he can to help Kyle out when their relationship inevitably hits lows (yes, plural, because it’s his son. and it’s Eric T. Cartman.)

Wahh!! I went too into detail gfkjdhgkjdf but in honesty, I see it as a more complicated issue than a matter of approval or not.

9. who’s the more affection one?

Outwardly? In terms of physicality? Cartman. He’s so shameless that he’ll make out anywhere, anytime, if Kyle so much as asked. He’ll call him pet names. He’ll STILL buy those couple outfits. He’ll find any excuse to be in contact with Kyle in some capacity. He’ll make grand gestures, and those are his favorite because not only does he get attention from others, he get the coveted double whammy of humiliating AND doting on Kyle. Some might say Cartman’s affection is shallow, that he has a juvenile view of love. Arguably, the affection is there, he just doesn’t realize to what capacity. All he knows is that he finally has Kyle, so he will express himself when emotions arise. It’s very ‘spur of the moment’.

[writer-akihiko]

[NSFT] All Over You - Vyn X Reader

For @xxsycamore's Kinktober Event! I can't believe this is my first Tears of Themis work, and in English too! Also tagging my friend and Vyn lover @fairy-marshmallow... Enjoy this sweet moment with your man... In all honesty, it's less steamy than my other works but I was in the mood for it.

If you are under 18, do not read. This work contains sex and other sexual themes. Please also consider blocking the [#not family friendly] tag on my blog because I still will be posting that kind of content.

Prompt: Bent over the Table; "Do you need me to stretch you out first?"

Vyn Richter was a man of Stellis who could have anything given to him at a beck and call, but he wasn't such a man to do so in the first place. It was no surprise that he pulled out all the stops to impress a person such as yourself.

He knows how to celebrate when your relationship turned into something more intimate. It was the dawn after you had said yes to his proposal, and Vyn was quick to refer to you as his fiance from then on.

The date night might've ended a little messy, considering none of you cleaned up the place. Vyn had a slow morning, eventually reaching his home office while you finished the last of the cleaning.

He had thought you came in to say goodbye, but he stiffened as you wrapped your arms around him, your chest pressing into the back of his head. He stopped his work, his fingers trailing over your own.

Vyn's arm ghosted your waist, delicately guiding you to plop yourself on his lap as his hands wandered in the empty space between your naked body and his dress shirt. Vyn's soft massages quickly turned into gropes, his arm supporting you. It wasn't enough for him…

He might be a neat person on the streets, but he's an utter mess between your legs. With both arms by your hips, he repositions you, ass up with your chest pressing against his work table. The table was bare, and you were about to be in a similar state too.

He made quick work of your clothes, leaving you naked, with the dress shirt still over your shoulders, brushing against the tender love bites Vyn left a few days ago. He grunts as he loosens his belt, on his knees as he kisses your lower half, your hips shuddering at the sudden pleasure.

After a few more kisses, you felt the tips of Vyn's edging you over the table, as your fiance's lips kiss over the love bites, as if to mark you once again. He let out a soft groan as his one finger slips into your pussy, the walls pulsing against his still finger.

His slow ministrations only stiffens your body, and Vyn's action came to a pause.

"Do you need me to stretch you out first?"

You didn't reply to his question, letting out a loud moan as Vyn retracted his finger, suddenly feeling empty at your core. His hands moved back to massage your hips, pushing your ass cheeks up.

"I'll need to fit three fingers inside to prepare you love, so I'll need you to raise your hips and part those thighs a bit more, YN."

You fell apart at Vyn's touch, following his words to a T as best as you could, sweat staining your forehead as you tried to keep your position in place, all for your love but you were reminded that it wasn't the end with how his heavy bulge pressed against your raised lower half…

[drtenebres]

who are the most developed/most focused on characters right now??

Thanks for the ask!! It’s hard to say who is the most developed character right now, due to so many brain cells trying to work together, but we’ve all got our own individual ones we’re working on that we feel the strongest about !

@shslstraws :

blah blah blah this is where jude talks about oumota -Snelly (SHAAAAADDUPPPPP -Straws) 

Kaito (My beloved) - A commonfolk who was oblivious by the magic world around him until he inevitably is pushed to it, by living his new life as a Tenebroso werewolf. The cause for how he became a werewolf is unknown, and he tries to keep away from his friends and family to protect them from this “curse”. Kaito gets in a mix of mages and eventually meets with Kokichi, a plague doctor who claims he can cure him. He slowly realizes and comes to face the reality that is Tenebres. 

Kokichi (Most developed??) - A mage who lived in an orphanage until he gets adopted by two mages, Nagito and Hajime. Kokichi dreams of being far powerful than both his dads and going back to recruit the other orphanage kids to his upcoming organization. Until he gets a set back when he takes things too far with the magi academy, he gets demoted to a Plague Doctor; a low status of a mage. It is until he meets Kaito, on one of his duties, and believes if he figures out the mystery behind Tenebrosos, he will earn the right to regain his place back in the academy. 

Shuichi (Most Focused on ATM) - Born from the great Kyoko Kirigiri and Makoto Naegi, there are a lot of expectations put upon Shuichi since he was very young. The expectations were too high and too heavy to carry that Shuichi decided to leave behind that life and the Kirigiri name. He meets up with Rantaro who gives him the ability of a werewolf, and thinks he can finally start anew. Until he faces the same problems with being a werewolf and being part of a pack, Shuichi decides to live amongst the commonfolk with his new friends Kaito, Kaede, and Maki by his side. 

@baylardian-1 :

Kyoko (Most focused on) - A detective who grew up working under a large magefolk entity in the specific branch that deals with magic-based crimes. Kyoko is telepathic with a hindered use of magic due to a strange curse covering both of her hands. Because of her ability to read minds and the overwhelming loudness many voices can create in her head, Kyoko prefers working alone. Eventually she retires from her occupation and becomes a private investigator alongside her husband Makoto.

Hifumi (Most developed) - A hamster familiar most closely resembling a smitten patsy for Celestia Ludenberg. Not having many friends he impulsively chose to follow a pretty girl one day and has never ceased. Initially out of threat, Hifumi would perform healing spells for Celestia after her hunts in addition to take care of her every beck and call. Nowadays their relationship takes on a more unspoken respect and fondness for one another.

Mukuro (My beloved) - A Tenebroso werewolf nearing closer to being 400 years old in age. Born a mage alongside her younger twin sister Junko, many events surrounding their past are shrouded in mystery. As a Tenebroso she has an unnaturally extended life. Mukuro is naturally covered in scars and physically looks to be reaching her mid 50's-early 60's. She is most often however seen to be disguising herself as a young girl.

@snellymain :

Kiyo (Most developed) - A socially reclusive vampire with a guilty conscience and a sworn duty to feed by killing swiftly rather than turning anyone else into a vampire; since he hates his vampirism and his sister that cursed him with it. Has a huge fondness for humans and anthropology after his controlling sister's hatred for them caused him to have extremely limited interactions with them. Ends up committed to a mage named Angie while the unwanted spirit of his sister began haunting him after many years of being dead.

Mahiru (Most focused on) - A standard mage with very little powers and a high respect for her non-mage mother, matching her disdain for her mage father. She got into photography as she had no attachment to her underwhelming magic, until her mother urged her to go to an academy so she wouldn't let her powers go to waste like her father did. After doing so, being out in the world more, she met Hiyoko and Hiro; in which she happily adopted the former and angrily married the latter.

Angie (My beloved) - A healing-based blood mage raised communally on an island, she heals others wounds with their own blood and often secretly takes their blood for her own use while doing so; mostly to feed her partner Kiyo, but she also has a fascination for blood of her own, initially being a result of her village's blood sacrifices and now a result of her blood magic. Generally a loud nuisance, though a medically helpful nuisance, in her academy.

@samsquatchem :

Doodle + blurb done by Snelly ♥

Yasuhiro (Their beloved) - A nomadic powerful mage with a wide variety of powers, mostly focusing on clairvoyance and near-limitless telekinesis; generally wanders around getting money wherever he can but spending it horrendously, ending up in a constant flat circle of time. He’s basically homeless; not out of poverty but what he considers convenience and tax evasion, for the most part and bums around Mahiru’s place. Close friends and a father figure to Hiyoko, (much to Mahiru’s initial dismay) the two bond over their shared tendency to wander and be in a new place every week + magic that neither know how to use properly, she became quickly attached to him due to him being the first person to talk to her after she ran away from home. Hiro is able to see the future but unable to speak it verbatim or else the opposite outcome will come to fruition, he can only nudge clients in the right direction of his visions. Most people think his magic is a scam and he’s the most useless mage ever.

@sutexii :

Chiaki (My Beloved) - A wooden mask enchanted with a human soul, powered by dream juice and magic robotics. Created by Chihiro to live in the dream realm (where u go when u sleep + also where the killing games take place) to gather data on it for Chihiro’s research, and help those in it travel safely. Has a deep fascination with the unpredictable and strange, and enjoys seeking out new knowledge wherever she can. Still likes her games, and while originally given access to some to help entertain those she’s traveling with, she just ends up hoarding them herself.

Tenko (Most Focused On ATM) - Commonfolk w/ a smidge of monster that comes out when her anger peaks. Abandoned due to said anger issues as a child, and taken in by Aoi and Sakura. She had a very Ghibli idyllic childhood, having adventures with friends and delivering donuts for her mom. Learned martial arts from her mom, taking a particular liking to Aikido, and through it learned to control her anger. Follows childhood crush Himiko around to protect her, leading to her entering the less than legal artifact smuggling trade with her later in life.

Aoi (Most Developed) - Water elemental with a love for baking donuts and raising/rehabilitating carp. Married to Sakura, having met when she wandered into the pond in her family’s abandoned dojo and decided to stay to fix it up, motivating Sakura to fix the rest of the place up in turn. Very carefree, friendly, and laid back, loves kids and taking on the “fun auntie” role. Never worked on her humanoid appearance much at all until motherhood, Tenko enters their life and it became hard to hold back a feral monster baby with fins.

@Soupcifer_ :

Nekomaru (Franken-maru) (most developed) - A reanimated corpse who was brought back to life thanks to the help of Kazuichi and Mikan. Unfortunately, he has amnesia and thus no recollection of his past friendships and family. He's a lot more quiet and mellow in comparison to his old self which makes him seem pretty dull, but in actuality he's being rather attentive and simply trying to understand everything that's happening. He does a lot of behind-the-scenes work when no ones looking like cleaning up after Kazuichi and setting reminders for Akane (still a team manager at heart).

Gonta (My beloved) - A vampire raised by werewolves. He only recently came to terms with being a vampire as he lived most of his life assuming the form of a wolf. He has an obsession with bugs, classic literature, and vintage clothing. Gonta likes to follow around a few of his friends, Angie and Korekyio (wink), and be of assistance whenever he can. He unfortunately has trouble dealing with his vampire nature sometimes due to only having lived with werewolves, so he often turns to Korekiyo for help.

Chihiro (most focused on) - An electric elemental! Chihiro is the creator/parent of Chiaki and Monomi. They have a passion for creating things that run on electricity and magic and as a result created their two lovely daughters (that and to investigate the dream realm). Chihiro also has the ability to possess electronics and machinery! Despite being incredibly small, they can emit a surprisingly large amount of energy which makes possessing large or complicated machinery an easy task.

[chaoticevilbean]

Voltron HC’s for my Humans Are Weird Lance-Centric Story

Lance became immune to most poisons because he wanted to be like Westley in The Princess Bride

Lance has worn heels, dresses, makeup, extensions, etc, multiple times His sisters and brothers helped him learn the skills

Lance has learned how to fix engines, along with other basic/simple engineering skills, because of his brother Marco

Lance is an amazing chemist and knows how to make an impromptu bomb with sweat, a bobby pin and something made of glass, because of his sister-in-law Bella

Lance speaks practically every language to communicate with his friends Lance can cook and bake relatively well because he helped his mother and grandmothers cook

Lance may not be Pidge’s level, but he is a white hat hacker who made money after being hired by multiple governments to make sure they weren’t vulnerable because his brother-in-law Theo dared he couldn’t

Lance knows how macgyver basically anything because of the many things he had happen with his cousins and siblings

Lance can use bows, throwing knives, darts, blowguns, and guns really well, as well as a sling and has a throwing arm of incredibly accuracy because of his father encouraging it (and a boomerang to honor his favorite character Sokka)

Lance knows juego de mani and limalama because Veronica told him to learn to protect himself without weapons and he wanted to make her proud

Lance can sew, knit, crochet, etc, because he wanted to help his mother and grandmothers and sisters

Lance is a disguise pro because of his sisters

Lance is amazing at acting and lie detecting because of his younger relatives and siblings

Lance can dance in practically every way, revealed through pole dancing and aerial silks, and Lance is so flexible Hunk insists he has no bones, all because he played Twister and limbo and refused to lose - and then took gymnastics and dancing classes when his aunt found out and paid

Lance has multiple service animals because his mind doesn’t work like others and he has various needs - each animal does something different

He had a boa constrictor for his anxiety, a parrot to tell him when he accidentally switched languages, a goose to make sure no one hurt his feelings (accidental or purposeful), and a small snake that they couldn’t identify that helps him focus

Therefore, Lance handles all animals extremely well and they automatically love him - several times, he comes back to the Castle with new animals that they can’t get rid of and have to take along

Lance has run and won three marathons so his older brother Phillipe would be motivated to exercise

Lance can swim, climb, and jump better than most people, including Pidge, Hunk, and Keith. He can only swim and jump better than Shiro - they’re matched for climbing, unless they’re in trees, in which Lance wins, because of siblings and relatives

Lance can eat Carolina Reapers without crying because of bets

Lance can sing and knows many styles, including opera - his voice is incredibly strong, and he is told to not sing opera unless there is something protecting other species from the volume - his family would sing together and he took lessons after his uncle started crying at his ‘angelic voice’

Lance is the best diplomat because he understands people and how to get them to loosen up and have fun, which causes them to accept his ‘pack-bonding’ and want to be his ally/friend - because everyone back home was family

Lance can storytell with the best of them because of his grandparents telling their own stories and him mimicking them as he told them about his day

Lance once broke his leg, sprained his wrist, dislocated his shoulder, and scraped himself up really badly because he fell down a steep hill on an island - a few friendly sharks and dolphins came together to help him make it back to home (Hunk’s home because he was visiting)

Caffeine does nothing to Lance - he can consume a gallon of pure espresso without dying or so much as twitching, and he won’t be affected at all. He cannot be addicted, and it’s because his uncle would give him coffee and soda as a little baby when his parents weren’t looking, but he came over semi-irregularly due to travel

Lance cannot get hungover and it takes a whole lot of alcohol to make him drunk. He’s gone to several open clubs, and gotten many drinks bought for him both normally and in a dress and heels - his family had competitions often and he participated from fifteen onwards and somehow was again immune for the most part

Lance can eat a whole pineapple on his own (it was a dare that he worked up to) Lance can whisper at many different volumes and in many ways. He can also throw off his voice. Hide-and-seek tag was fun, especially in the dark where you could freak out whoever was it

Lance can flip knives and screwdrivers and such. He can also throw simple objects with deadly accuracy (pencils) because his brother came out as gay and was bullied, so he learned to flip knives and transferred that to school items, which then transferred to bullies finding their backpacks pinned by a colored pencil that was thrown nearly hitting their necks.

Lance can make a fire easily due to bonfires on the beach. He has no fear for it, and knows minor blacksmithing because him and Veronica liked to make things out of stuff they found on the shore.

Lance has cute hiccups and sneezes, like a little kitten, but only Hunk knows. Whenever someone sneezes or hiccups, Hunk gives Lance a look, waiting for the moment when the cuteness comes. It hasn’t… yet

Lance can do a million what if’s and figure out deep theories for each because his family got bored easily

Lance can mimic practically anything due to a combo of games with siblings and survival skills - and learning to screech in his sister’s ear

Lance can make up a million different swears because they weren’t allowed to cuss around the younger kids. He knows how to come up with the so fast that Pidge wonders if it’s another language for him

Lance is the most protective - Hunk is the only one who’s truly seen what he looks like in a rage (the Galra see - and their ship goes down before they can tell anyone - thank you Black Lion) - Lance will never lose someone in a crowd, and no one can kidnap someone around him - he spent years herding kids in crowded areas and saving them from creeps. He will never lose someone.

Lance is so empathic that he befriends several Galra teams and those eventually join the Blades - he watched his younger relatives fall down and had to kiss lots of boo-boos

He had so many female relatives, Lance knows how to handle periods better than some girls

Lance goes calm when scared - he had to handle whatever danger there was before it could hurt or affect his family - he supercalculates and becomes a supersoldier/assassin

Lance has the best intuition and every human learns this - he knows when something is low quality, when something or someone cannot be trusted, when something is wrong, etc. - Hunk vouches the first time when it’s just humans, and the second time (outside of a battle or something), the Alteans are forced to listen when the four other humans insist Lance should be trusted - it helped him avoid danger

Lance handles stress so well, he barely feels it. His adrenaline is completely on beck and call. He never told anyone but his family because no one else he knows of has achieved a mental switch to the adrenaline rush. He can use hysterical strength on command, but he’s only done it once before. He just goes as calm as when scared if he gets too stressed or if everyone else is too stressed

Lance is the best at grooming - thank you sisters

Hunk and Lance have tattoos and pierced ears (Hunk has a large traditional tattoo on his back); Lance has several tattoos on his center back (flowers and skulls and leaves) with some spreading outwards (vines with more flowers and stuff growing out) and has band tattoos on his shins and biceps; Lance has many piercings in his ears that no one notices unless he’s wearing earrings - his siblings took him to get the tattoos and piercings, and his mother took him to get the first piercings and his father the first tattoo (a small flower on his shoulder blade)

Lance is best at child games like tag and hidenseek because of his family Sometimes, Lance speaks in such complex slang and metaphors that even Hunk barely understands him because he and his siblings and cousins wanted to speak to each other (gossip) without eavesdroppers

Lance cannot control his curiosity well because he had to explore things for and with his family and knew he could handle the situations if they went wrong

Lance loves cute things because of pets and nieces and nephews

Lance learned to talk backwards and can go silent for a long time without losing his voice because of dares

Lance has a high pain tolerance even if he hasn’t been hurt in a long time and it’s helped him (sharks and dolphin incident, saving Coran, just contributing to fight and help his family and friends even in pain) - however, he will likely be extremely dreamy when that happens

ONE DAY: Pidge makes a teleporter and manages to get a friend back on Earth to set up another. She also gets communications up. 

Shiro talks with Adam (this is Adashi and Alluratt), and gets sent some official medals to show he’s a General because of all he’s done and been through. 

Hunk’s mothers and sisters send him homegrown ingredients and some better tools. 

Pidge’s mother spends half the time telling Sam, Matt, and Pidge off for leaving and the other half asking if they’re okay and then sends them each a care package. 

Keith also talks with Adam and gets sent a knife “to remind you of home”. 

Lance’s family takes an hour just introducing themselves to Keith (who Lance insists stays with since he said he didn’t have family - “you can share mine then”) and then spends a good many more telling about what happened; they send over a bunch of shoes and clothes and sewing/knitting supplies and chemistry supplies and etc so he won’t get bored and then Veronica asks him if he can ask Pidge if the teleporter can do it with living things. 

She says it can, but don’t have anyone come because of the danger - Veronica sends Lance’s service animals and they all missed him so much and instantly like the team. 

Maverick is the goose (*tell dad that joke with a straight face*)

Princey is the boa constrictor

Alexander is the parrot 

Cleopatra is the unidentifiable snake

Maverick tries to peck Keith whenever he makes a rude comment on accident, so Keith starts learning what’s hurtful and how to rephrase his thoughts so they’re not as hurtful but still honest.

Princey loves Hunk and tries to hug everyone.

Alex imitates Coran’s voice and uses that from then on unless Coran is around then he’ll bark like a dog once to alert Lance that it’s the real deal - Alex knows that helping Lance is important and Coran helps Lance so using Coran’s voice helps a lot. 

Pidge wants to know what Cleo is, but Cleo doesn’t leave Lance’s side unless necessary because he ‘disappeared’ for the animals.

The other collected animal assortment learn how to help Lance from his service animals and soon he almost always (except battle) has at least three other creatures besides his service ones following him and helping.

Lance took drama class and was in the play put on by the class, but worked backstage as stage manager (was on the floor and used his intuition for lights and sound and stuff)

For the drama club play - he was the lead almost every time no matter how many times he suggested someone else might be better.The one time he wasn’t, he was the love interest (he was Mais Merian instead of Robin Hood)

He always got special recognition when backstage and that time as the interest despite him nominating literally everyone else

Lance has met Mothman - that’s all he tells Keith and co, but he used to get together every Saturday night for stargazing with Mothman and a lovely sasquatch, and they kept in touch when he left for the Garrison; Veronica helped them and let the cryptids know that Lance was okay after communicating with the Paladins.

Mothman was named Emilio by Lance and nicknamed Em. The sasquatch was named Alli.

Lance has been “adopted” by packs of wild animals several times and not always packs. He once was pushed by a bully over the edge of the crocodile enclosure at a zoo (bully just pushed, didn’t mean to make him go over) on a school field trip when he was twelve. They couldn’t get the crocs to give him back til his abuelita came over with a chancla and scolded them until they gave the boy back. 

He was allowed back into the zoo for free so long as he helped when the animals were cranky or needing shots because they were always calm around him. 

He befriended every animal. 

Rosa the gorilla was a lovely little lady who would sing with him and she would start singing the moment she heard/saw him. They had a special song just for the two of them to sing. 

Lance went viral, but not many recognize the twelve year old as him, especially because people stopped posting when it became clear he wasn’t going to stop and they got used to it. 

Keith remembers the hippo video and wishes he could’ve joined that boy. When it is eventually revealed that Lance is the Animal Tamer, he promises to get Keith his own hippo (his uncle bought the zoo when it started to close down a few years back -same people work there, just different ownership. Lance knows his uncle won’t mind) 

Keith is ecstatic and refuses to believe Lance is lying, and Shiro and Pidge worry and are shocked. Hunk knew.

Lance learned to hang upside down like a bat for long periods of time because his family had a huge vacation house with rafters but the house got crowded since everyone would come and Lance would stay in the rafters with Veronica to provide more room and both became known as the Bat Twins. 

Lance uses this to scare the Blades by telling Keith to tell Kolivan about vampires and then hanging from the vents and hissing at people while wearing black and dark red and a cape that he made. 

He also has fake fangs and red contacts so no one recognized him but the humans and now everyone is on the lookout for the vampire in the vents. 

Keith and Shiro never leave the team or disappear. The Blades approach the Paladins seeking an alliance.

Hunk and Lance were pen pals at three because of Lance’s aunt who knows one of Hunk’s moms, and they met at five when the aunt brought him back. 

He went every year for both short and long trips, and the island Hunk lived on accepted Lance into the community, so now he has traditional tattoos on his lower back and across his shoulders that meld with his previous tattoos easily. 

He got the lower back one when he was thirteen and the shoulders when he was fourteen. The bands are a combo of Cuban and Samoan culture in their styling.

Lance had worked on some of his relatives’ farm after school since he was seven. He knows how to milk a cow, herd flocks, lasso (probably lassos a thief at some point), hogtie, farm (plants), make animal calls and whistles, get chickens to obey, ride a horse and a bull, use a scythe like a pro (and terrify Pidge and Shiro on their makeshift Halloween while Keith attempts to figure out how a cryptid, a quiznacking GRIM REAPER, got aboard. Hunk just stands back to watch the chaos), bargain/barter like a pro, withstand extremely strong winds and other storm conditions without falling over (he can walk, make himself heard, and even run and jump and climb like normal), tell when something is sick or ready to be harvested/milked, tend to many animals, speak in farmer slang, and has memorized the planting requirements for many crops.

Lance can stand off in a growl/roaring match (baring teeth and trying to seem bigger) against bears, Alli the sasquatch, wolves, and several Galra soldiers. He came across many Earth predators and knew that his logical mind could overcome his primal instincts that would make him give in to a wild animal. 

Therefore, whenever Lance and co happened on one and needed to scare it off, he would do so by not giving in in the slightest, which eventually broke the other, especially since it was always obvious he was protecting his family. 

If it was two ‘mamas’ (Lance is ‘mama’), then both seemed to feel it and would stand down and head their separate ways.

The Galra found out when Lance stood off against a commander in a ground base and got the enemy to give in. Once the commander was submissive, the others gave in and the base was converted (secretly) to the Blades.

After all, Lance didn’t try to hurt them, simply continued on his way. And he was heard getting the others to not destroy the base because “these soldiers aren’t with the Empire. At least, not because they want to be. They’re with the Empire because it’s all they know. Let’s leave them be now.”

The Blades found out as a whole when a Blade tried to tell Keith off of going on a small reconnaissance mission because he was too small.

Lance came to the defense, and unbeknownst to the Paladins, Lance was then on known as the Caretaker of the group, a type of alpha that doesn’t lead, but is very protective of their pack and is willing to do whatever necessary to protect them. Shiro is the alpha, but even he will give in to the Caretaker if faced off with the alpha side of it.

Lance then finds himself taking less fire during battle, which helped him focus better on protecting his team, because the word got out and the Galra don’t attack Caretakers or kits because they’re the most important. Together they are the future.

Lance is both a kit and a Caretaker, attempting to protect his fellow kits, and that means that they are very hesitant to attack. They have to rethink strategies to avoid lethal offenses due to Lance’s willingness to take the hits and the fact that they are all kits.

There is one adult in their group and it’s a crazy middle-aged Altean.

Kolivan sees the Caretaker up close and personal when he ‘loses’ Keith. Before Lance can do more than growl and prepare to shout and cuss out the Blade for losing his teammate, Keith comes busting out of the vents spouting off about how he was training and then he was asked to go find the vampire and even though he knows the truth it was too good an opportunity, and then he thinks the Blades lost track of him and then he heard the Paladins boarding and it wasn’t Kolivan’s fault, it was an accident.

Lance immediately backs off and tells Keith to use the Castle’s training room. He seriously just got back from the reconnaissance mission, take a break.

Lance can handle many different temperatures because of the weather back home and his siblings often taking him out camping.

Back home, everyone was family to Lance. On Hunk’s island home, everyone around them was family or friends.

Lance and Hunk can walk, talk, sing, dance, and overall move in unison to the point where they seem telepathic. They can do so for a long time.

Their record is three days, where they woke up and went to sleep at the same time and helped each other make food and overall astounded their fellow Garrison cadets. Pidge was there and can vouch that it was terrifying.

Lance will always rescue someone in need. It gains them many allies from Galra, Empire supporters who only support it because it’s all they know, pirates, fauna, some flora, a few allies who were going to discuss the alliance until Lance helped a kid up or saved an animal without any incentive. They all saw a caring nature in a vicious predator and decided that was the perfect ally.

Lance celebrates Hanukkah, Christmas, Días Des Les Muertos (check spelling), a bunch of other holidays and a lot of birthdays because of his large family. He keeps it up in space by either putting up decorations in a few rooms (sometimes rooms that no one visits so they won’t be taken down) or going around saying something like “Happy Marco’s birthday!”

Lance has an incredible sense of smell because of diapers, cooking, identifying nature and other things so he can tell what is in something rather easily and can even track down stronger smelling things with relative ease.

Lance is the flower crown making champ and can make all sorts of styles since his nieces and nephews always wanted them

Lance and Hunk have the worst dark humor and it’s a major surprise, but it comes from being exposed to other people a lot and Lance had social media.

His Instagram is of animals and nature, his Twitter is of weather and the beach and more nature, his Facebook is his crafts and art and occasionally some songs (just audio clips and you can’t really identify him with his voice, he even did opera once), Reddit has theories and he’s incredibly respected for his ideas and theories especially because it’s just for fun and he says that, Tumblr is random stuff and everyone loves him (both the fandoms and the hipsters).

None of his accounts have his face or information, so he’s completely anonymous. Hunk learned from Lance.

Lance has wonderful rhythm because he had to get thirty kids to sing Cotton Eye Joe and do the dances at the same time

Lance never took ice skating lessons but is really good and has had several people offer to teach him or ask him to join an event/team

[busterkeatonfanfic]

Chapter 31 Part I

Buster tried his darnedest to get her a date for the party. He first suggested John Barrymore, apparently forgetting (or not caring) that Barrymore had once been his greatest rival for her affection. Nelly’s opinion of him hadn’t changed since Tempest; hanging onto the arm of a crude drunk all night was not her idea of a good time. She said no. He next suggested Buster Collier. She’d never met him, but he’d been in so many pictures that she knew his face well, though she couldn’t say what the films had been about. Buster Collier had been going with Constance Talmadge until recently. The break-up wasn’t personal; Buster told her the two were still friends.

“Certainly not, then,” said Nelly. “She’ll want to know who I am, how he met me—no. She’ll know something’s fishy.”

The suggestion of Charlie Chaplin followed. She gave more consideration to it. Charlie was charming and easy to talk to. In the end, he was out of the question given the many rumors about his sexual excesses and questionable behavior with women. She didn’t think it was a wise idea and Buster had to agree. The two were friendly but not pals, and he admitted he didn’t know how far to trust Charlie either. In desperation, he floated the idea of his brother, Jingles.

“Are you kidding?” she said. Buster had told her enough about his family that she’d gotten a pretty good picture of Jingles, who lacked his big brother’s confidence in all areas of life and was a hopeless failure with women. “No one will believe that for a second.”

“Well, I’m out of ideas,” said Buster, sounding annoyed on the other end of the phone.

“Let me ask Bradford. He was my dance partner for Tempest. I’m pretty sure he doesn’t go for girls, anyway, so he’d be perfect.”

Nelly didn’t know that her proposition was any better than Buster’s. To his guests, Buster had treated her presence at his party in October as no big curiosity, a matter of course, but she couldn’t help but wonder what he’d say now to them now, what he’d say if Natalie in particular asked why he’d invited two big nobodies like her and Bradford. Natalie might rightfully wonder why they among hundreds of aspiring actors were there. Buster’s quick mind would probably come up with an explanation that passed muster, but Nelly worried. He’d mentioned once, an offhand comment that was far more significant to her than it was him, that Natalie had fits of jealousy over him. Nelly’s instincts told her that attending the party was a bad idea, that she’d be too much temptation to Buster and he’d give their affair away with a look or a word or, worse still, a tender caress. Regardless, she couldn’t refuse even if she’d wanted to. He’d hinted about a birthday surprise and she couldn’t let him down, not to mention she was dying to know what he’d cooked up. Aside from the tabletop phonograph and occasional record, he’d stuck to his promise not to shower her in gifts and she knew he wasn’t about to present her with something in front of his wife and guests.

Uneasiness gnawing, she directed Bradford to the Villa at dusk on Friday night. He was just as keen as she was to break into pictures, so he’d agreed to drive her to the party and be her date without hesitation, especially after she explained she only wanted to go as friends. He’d gotten a minor role in the newest D.W. Griffith, the picture she’d tried out unsuccessfully for, and was happy to tell her about it while they drove, far less stoic than he’d been with her on previous occasions. His chattiness, she guessed, was due to his eagerness to meet and charm as many stars as possible and he was having trouble controlling his excitement. As Bradford recalled how he’d spoken briefly to Griffith on the set earlier in the week, she wondered, as she’d been wondering lately, about her career path in Hollywood. There were murmurs at the United Artists canteen about a Mary Pickford talkie with Sam Taylor directing, not Shakespeare. It gave her mixed feelings. On the one hand, maybe Mr. Taylor had forgotten about directing Pickford and Fairbanks in The Taming of the Shrew. On the other, she’d been relegated to the prop house for Lady of the Pavements, the new Griffith. A niggling fear had begun to creep on her, that her much more mundane talents at management and organization were impeding her career as an actress.

As the long white drive of the Villa became visible in the distance, she asked Bradford the question she’d been dreading, knowing he’d have his own questions in turn. “When we get there, would you pretend like we’re going together?” she said.

“Pretend like we’re going together?” said Bradford.

“Yes,” she said, running her fingers over the thin chain-metal handle of her handbag. “Just, you know, hold my hand or put your arm around my waist while we’re there. Dance with me more than the other fellows. Maybe a kiss on the cheek once and awhile, that kind of stuff.”

“I’ll do it if you really want me to, but why?” he said, sounding mystified.

Nelly weighed whether to tell him the truth and decided she didn’t have a choice. “I’m seeing someone who’s going to be there and I don’t want his wife to get suspicious,” she said, being careful with her words.

Bradford chuckled. “Now I get it. I was wondering why you asked me of all people.”

She felt defensive. “You’re the closest I have to a friend, a friend who’s a fellow. I’ve been too busy to get to know very many people. It’ll be no different than if you were acting.”

“Relax,” he said, leaning over to elbow her in a friendly way. “You think I’d miss this? I don’t care what you want me there for, frankly. I’m at your beck and call.”

Her shoulders relaxed; she hadn’t been aware that she was clenching them. “Thank you,” she said. “I do like you just fine, I just didn’t know who else to invite. You’re the first fellow who came to mind.”

“Relax,” said Bradford again. He continued talking amiably as his Ford crept up the Villa drive. He wanted to know how she knew Buster and she reminded him of her involvement with Steamboat. “When’s that coming out, anyhow?” he said.

“Any day now from what I’m told,” she said, her mind only half on the conversation. Butterflies tickled her abdomen from the inside.

The circle drive with the fountain in the center was ringed with expensive cars, Packards, Rolls Royces, and Lincolns. There was a man leading a woman wrapped in a white fur stole up the steps and into the house. Bradford grinned like a little boy as he drank it all in. He helped her out of the Ford which was dismally out of place, but there was no sense in worrying about it now. She reminded herself that she was an actress and could every bit pretend to be a person who belonged to the ranks of the stars. With this in mind, she ascended the steps with her arm hooked in Bradford’s elbow and let him open the door for her. “Thank you darling,” she said, practicing that acting as he took her arm again. She hoped that the figure dressed in the beaded navy-blue dress and standing beyond the vestibule had heard it. Natalie was greeting the guests ahead of them. Seeing her, Nelly felt a little on the faint side. She’d rented her dress at Carmela’s again, this one $25 and less eye-catching. It was sleeveless and of bright purple damask. It had no beading or ruffles, just modest ruching around the waist. She’d accented it with her own glass amethyst pendant necklace and ivory silk stockings. She had wanted to look less noticeable, but the light in the vestibule made the satin threads in the dress dazzle and flash. She’d done a formidable job of keeping worry about her mistake with Buster at bay the past week, but Natalie’s nearness and realness brought it home. Slim though it was, a chance existed that this woman’s husband had made her pregnant. Before Nelly had time to gather her wits about her on this matter, she and Bradford were advancing to greet Natalie.

“How do you do?” said Natalie, and Nelly and Bradford echoed her.

Bradford answered Natalie’s unspoken question. “We work with Mr. Taylor at United Artists.”

Nelly could only manage a desperate smile as she took in all the flesh-and-blood details of Natalie and remembered how Buster had looked in the mirror as he’d thrust himself into her. She wondered if Natalie recognized her from the party last autumn and was relieved at the sound of the front door opening behind them and the excuse to move on from the hostess so she could greet her next guests.

“Holy mackerel,” Bradford said under his breath, as he led her into the foyer and looked around him.

Nelly took stock of who was at the party already. She saw Norma Shearer, Bebe Daniels, Marion Davies, Pickford and Fairbanks, and before her eyes had gotten any further, Buster. Her heart went at a clip at the sight of him. She’d expected him to be upstairs and make a grand entrance as he’d done at the previous party. He was wearing a smart brown suit and his hair was neatly combed, every errant strand in place. He swirled a glass of whiskey and took a sip, talking with Norma Talmadge and a dark-looking man with Spaniard features. “That must be Gilbert Roland,” she said, mostly to herself.

“Hmm?” said Bradford.

“Norma Talmadge’s boyfriend. She’s married, but everyone knows she’s seeing Gil Roland,” she said, reciting the gossip she’d heard from Buster.

“You’re back,” said someone cheerfully.

She turned and beamed when she recognized Charlie Chaplin. The sight of him reminded her how fun it was to be among the brightest stars in Hollywood and her discomfort about Natalie eased. “Hello again,” she said. She held out her hand to his extended one and he kissed it, his lips soft and cool on the back of her hand. She giggled, thinking she really would have been in trouble if she’d attended the party with him. “This is Bradford. He’s with me at United Artists.”

“Oh, that’s simply heartbreaking. Don’t tell me you’re taken!” said Charlie, his hand going to his heart.

“I’m afraid so,” she said, leaning her head on Bradford’s shoulder briefly to demonstrate. “I’ll still save a dance for you.”

“If you’d be so kind,” he said, his accent rich and irresistible. “But why haven’t I seen you at United Artists?”

Nelly smiled and squeezed Bradford’s arm. “We’re undiscovered I’m afraid, but D.W. Griffith has his eye on Bradford. They spoke just this week. Me they’re keeping locked up in the prop department right now, but just you wait.”

Charlie winked. “Well, we’ll have to do something about that, won’t we? Will you be about next week?”

She could hardly believe it. And she’d been so worried about her career. “Of course.”

“Good. It’s settled. I’ll catch you when the band starts, hmm?” he said. “Lovely to see you.” He pressed her hand and turned away, disappearing into the crowd.

Her head whirled. One minute she was worried about Natalie Talmadge finding her out, the next Charlie Chaplin seemed to be promising her some sort of a future in films. And there was a band!

“Drink?” said a butler she didn’t know, stopping in front of them with a tray on which were arranged a number of delectable-looking drinks, all of oranges, deep reds, and yellowish creams.

“Thank you,” she and Bradford said, choosing drinks after a few moments’ consideration. She went for the cream-colored one.

Another butler materialized with hors d'oeuvres. She plucked up one of the bite-sized trifles and popped it in her mouth. She tasted dill and some kind of fish. Bradford sampled one too before returning to his drink. She didn’t recognize the butler. Buster must have hired help for the party. Bradford wound a hand around her shoulder. “Thanks for all this, darling,” he said. The endearment was scripted for anyone within hearing, but he meant the words.

“You’re welcome,” she said, sipping her drink. It had the flavor of pineapples, a California taste if there ever was one.

Her eyes roamed over the guests again. She recognized Constance Talmadge, Harold Lloyd, Buster Collier, John Gilbert, and Gloria Swanson. There were many men she didn’t know, some of middling looks, some downright unhandsome; those were the directors and big shots. Her gaze flickered to Buster just as he looked over at her. He gave a small, unsmiling nod and returned to his conversation. A mild pang struck her at the coldness of his acknowledgment, but she was relieved that he was being careful. She and Bradford kept to themselves, smiling and responding in kind whenever a guest nodded and said hello. She missed Louise Brooks and wished she had a girl friend to keep her company.

They were on their second drinks when attendees began to nod at each other and move in the direction of the living room. Exchanging looks, Nelly and Bradford followed. The living room, fully decorated when she’d last seen it five days ago, had been denuded of all furniture. Against the loggia on the southwest wall, a full orchestra was arrange in a suite of chairs. The members held instruments of all sizes and shapes, violins, saxophones great and small, trumpets, clarinets, a drum kit, a piano, an upright bass, even a huge tuba sitting somewhat uneasily in one man’s lap. There were at least two dozen men in the band at Nelly’s quick count, dressed alike in black tuxedos and bow ties. With the furniture and grand piano moved out, the living room was more spacious than ever.

“Why, it’s Paul Whiteman’s Orchestra!” Bradford said into her ear, voice hushed. He nudged her and flicked a finger in the direction of a fat man with a round face standing to the right of the orchestra.

Nelly was dazzled. The realization that one of her favorite bands in the room burst through her like a beam of sunshine. She couldn’t find words for her awe, but clutched for Bradford’s hand and squeezed it. The orchestra was burbling in a tuneless way as violinists tested strings and trumpets and saxophones tried out notes. A kind of restlessness pervaded the scene, musicians keen to begin, partygoers eager to dance. This went on for a few minutes until Buster threaded his way through his guests and stood facing the crowd with his back to the band.

“Nate and I want to thank you for coming tonight,” he began. “It’s an honor and a—” He looked over the crowd for a few moments as though he were thinking about what to say next. “An honor, a pleasure … you know, that kind of stuff. Anyway, I’d like you to give a hand for this gentleman and his little band here. They’re not very well-known, but if you’ll just, uh, pretend a little I’m sure it’ll make them very happy.” He straightened his tie, took one step forward, and fell on his face. There was laughter. As Buster stood up and brushed himself off, Paul Whiteman took his place. He was even less a man of words than Buster, saying only to the guests, “Thank you very much for having us tonight.” He walked to the left of the musicians and addressed them. “Gentleman …”

Two men assembled at the front of the orchestra near the upright piano. Nelly wondered for a second how they transported it from gig to gig, but forgot the question when Whiteman lifted his baton, held it in the air, and dropped it. The two men and the one at the piano began scatting a capella.

Wot-dot-dot, doh-dot, dot-dot-doh

Wot-dot-dot-dot, dot-dot-doh …

The man at the piano laid his hands on the keys just as one of the singers started in a smooth baritone, “You’ve heard of the Charleston, the Black Bottom.”

“I’ve got a rhythm that’s really got ‘em,” chimed the other singer. “It must be something new.”

“Gonna start it for you,” sang the man at the piano. It goes like, One, there it is.

His companions joined him:

One-two, there it is,

One-two-three, can’t you see where the merit is?

One-two-three-four, everywhere it is,

One-two-three-four, five steps!

At this, the snare sounded a beat and the whole orchestra burst into voice. Bradford grabbed Nelly’s hand and waist and swung her into motion. She yelped with delight. The rhythm was too fast for her to think about whether her feet were doing five steps; she just clung to Bradford and tried to keep up with the foxtrot he was leading her in. Over his shoulder, she could see that all the other dancers were smiling, Marion Davies dancing with Charlie Chaplin, Gloria Swanson paired with John Barrymore. She felt a sudden, uncanny sense of belonging as she and Bradford galloped along. A clarinet soloed, followed by a violin in a high, reedy voice like a grasshopper.

One, there it is,

One-two, there it is,

One-two-three, can’t you see where the merit is?

One-two-three-four, everywhere it is,

One-two-three-four, five steps!

One, got to learn,

One-two, got to learn,

One-two-three, there is not such a lot to learn,

One-two-three-four, aren’t you hot to learn?

One-two-three-four, five steps!

As the singers carried on, it was all Nelly could do to keep her rhythm and her breath. She was panting and laughing when the final note sounded. She and Bradford withdrew from the dancers to get a drink of punch from the bowl on the table in the foyer. As soon as their thirst was quenched, though, she took Bradford’s hand and hurried back into the room. She wasn’t going to miss a moment of the Paul Whiteman Orchestra’s set if she could help it.

The orchestra had begun a sweet, wistful melody led by trumpets. She recognized it at once as “Mary,” one of her favorites. Rather than dancing, she stood on the edge of the crowd with Bradford and watched. The trumpets piped and her heart was overfull as she soaked in the music and her surroundings with all of her might. Dancers kicked up their heels in a slower foxtrot as the full orchestra echoed the trumpets’ melody. She could have watched all the beautiful stars before her in their tuxes and brightly colored dresses, but she had eyes only for the orchestra and Whiteman’s graceful conducting. It was a marvel the way he brought different sections of the band to life with just a flick of his baton.

One of the singers stepped forward as a violin finished off the melody. He was perhaps a little taller than Buster, but slightly husky, with ears that stuck out and eyes as blue as a spring sky.

What are you waitin’ for,

What are you waitin’ for, Ma-ary?

What are you thinkin’ ‘bout,

Who are you thinkin’ ‘bout, Mary?

The bees are buzzin’,

They’re buzzin’ right in my ear,

And they keep on asking,

Hey, what’s the big idea?

He was the one with the smooth baritone like poured honey. All his notes flowed together without a single hitch. She recognized his voice from many of Whiteman’s records.

“He’s incredible,” she said, standing on tiptoes to whisper it in Bradford’s ear. He nodded in return.

Why do you lead me on,

Why do you be so con-trary?

You wouldn’t let my castles

Come tum-tum-tumblin’ down

Think of the things in store,

What are you waitin’ for, Ma-ary?

The violins concluded the melody and the brass took it up again. Her senses were filled with trumpets and the snare, then the orchestra singing as one voice.

She didn’t notice how spellbound she’d become until applause startled her back to reality. She clapped along with everyone else and the singer gave a bow and a modest smile. Bradford was bending to say something about the music when Nelly felt the cloth of a suit on the bare skin of her left shoulder. She turned to see Buster. He looked ahead, nonchalant, and her heart gave a fond trot.

“How d’ya like your birthday present?” he said quietly, still looking ahead.

“Oh, don’t kid me.” Even as she said it though, she knew in her heart of hearts that he wasn’t joking. The band was for her.

Still not looking at her, he gave the slightest of smiles. “Pretty good joke, huh?”

Her eyes welled. “I don’t know whether to kiss or kill you. You’re out of your mind and I don’t know how I’ll ever begin to thank you.” When she looked at him again, he was finally looking back, his brown eyes so affectionate she was in danger of throwing her arms around him in front of all of Hollywood, including his wife.

“Who’s your boyfriend?” he said, but his tone was curious, not suspicious.

She wiped the trace of tears from her eyes and turned to Bradford, who by then had noticed their conversation. “This is Bradford,” she said, laying a hand on his upper arm. “Bradford, this is Buster.”

“How d’you do, Mr. Keaton?” said Bradford, extending a hand. He glanced from Buster to her as they shook hands and she saw him connect the dots. Her insides went hot and cold. In hindsight, her casual introduction of Buster was a dead giveaway.

“Where’s Louise?” she said, moving on and trying not to punish herself for her mistake.

“Brooks? Or my sister? Sis is here somewhere. Probably trying to corner Ramon Novarro by the punch bowl.” He removed his cigarettes from his breast pocket and pulled one out. “Brooks, you know the score. Wife thinks there’s some funny business going on between us and if I invite her to another party I’m dead meat.”

Trying to be friendly or playing an angle, Bradford butted in. “How’s your new picture, Mr. Keaton?”

“Buster,” he said, taking a drag off the cigarette. “Going alright I guess. Can’t complain. You in pictures?”

Bradford chattered away about D.W. Griffith and Nelly looked around them briefly to see if anyone was paying attention to their interaction. None of the Talmadges were near. She spotted Natalie and Norma chatting with Douglas Fairbanks across the room. Constance was standing nearer and speaking to a man Nelly didn’t recognize, but her back was turned to them.

“Wanna dance?” said Buster, fingers curving into her elbow.

She gave an anxious glance at Bradford, worried about him overhearing, but remembered he already knew. She said in an undertone, “I don’t think we ought to. Not for a few more songs at least. You should dance with a couple other girls first.”

Buster squeezed the crook of her arm and dropped his hand. “Alright, if you say so. I’ll be back.”

Half an hour later, he had taken her advice. The band had played “I’m Coming Virginia,” “Mississippi Mud,” and “Grandma.” Her next two dances had gone to Bradford and she’d sat “Grandma” out. Buster had danced with Constance Talmadge, Bebe Daniels, and Marion Davies. The crowd of guests had gotten louder as more cocktails circulated. Nelly had accepted a third drink, but was tempering herself and had taken only a sip. The blue-eyed singer stepped forward and commanded the crowd’s attention.

“We just added this one to the repertoire. It’s from a musical they’ve got in New York right now called Present Arms. Harry and Al and me, we’ll introduce you to it,” he said in a smooth, affable voice. He smiled, showing white, even teeth and snapped his fingers at the orchestra to cue them, eyes on the audience.

She was so focused on him that she was startled when someone seized the drink from her hand. Buster walked away from her and set her drink on a side table on the periphery of the room. “Come on kid, I’ve waited long enough,” he said, setting his hand on her waist when he returned. The orchestra was in full swing, the brass section taking up a melody that the strings underscored and singing out cheerfully. A clarinet butted in every several measures, rich and mellow. Nelly had danced with Buster a dozen times in her apartment and his bungalow, but as he folded her hand into his, she remembered just their first dance at the party in October. She’d been spooked then about her changing feelings for him and nervous lest Natalie think something was afoot. Now that they were really having an affair, the dread and nervousness were like a thousand pin-pricks to her skin. She was sure it must be obvious that Buster and she were more than simply acquaintances.

Buster led her in a medium-tempo foxtrot, his eyes cast upward, as though dancing with her among all the other women was no big deal. Only his thumb massaging her palm gave him away. He smelled like aftershave and cigarettes. She tried to pay attention to the dance, the rhythm of her hips and her feet and not the sensation that every person in the room was staring at them and wondering about the girl Buster was dancing with.

He leaned in, his cheek almost resting against hers. “Loosen up,” he said in her ear.

She put her mouth by his ear in turn. “I feel like everyone’s watching us.”

He gave a calm, closed-lipped smile. “Everyone’s too busy getting ossified and cutting a rug to pay us any, baby.”

“I still don’t feel—”

“Hush,” he said. “Just enjoy yourself.”

The brassy trumpet and an oboe bantered for a while before the full orchestra cut back in.

I’m a sentimental sap that’s all

What’s the use of trying not to fall?

I have no will

Aw, you made your kill

‘Cause you took advantage of me

It was the blue-eyed singer again. In the background, the two others crooned softly. Nelly closed her eyes for a beat and watched herself as Natalie might, were she able to peer inside Nelly’s head. Buster. The Villa. The Paul Whiteman Orchestra.

I’m just like an apple on a bough

And you’re gonna shake me down somehow

So what’s the use?

You cooked my goose

‘Cause you took advantage of me

Her purple dress. A room full of stars.

I’m so hot and bothered that I don’t know

My elbow from my ear

Suffer something awful each time you go,

Much worse when you’re near

Playing billiards in Buster’s game room. Buster enclosing her in his arms on his bed.

Here I am with all my bridges burned

Just a babe in arms where you’re concerned

Buster’s lips and tongue and fingers and hands. His prick.

So lock the door and call me yours

‘Cause you took advantage of me

The shower. The down blanket and the stars sparkling over Beverly Hills. Buster’s body warm against hers.

The brass section sang out again, boisterous, confident, the strings wrapping its melody. Nelly moved her feet, scarcely conscious of the dance. Her head was still planted in the clouds when it ended and Buster’s hands let go. She couldn’t help glance around her, wondering who’d been watching. To her relief, the one person who caught her eye was Bradford, who had just let go of Marion Davies. He kissed Marion’s hand and said something in her ear that made her laugh, then walked back over to Nelly.

“Don’t make me jealous now,” he said, kissing her cheek.

“Look who’s talking!” she said, giving him the smile and all the weight of feeling she would have to Buster had she been able.

“Don’t forget your Orange Blossom,” said Buster, pressing it back in her hand. “I’ll be back for you in a little bit.” He turned away and she saw him catch John Gilbert by the arm and demand something that made Gilbert roar with laughter.

“How’d you enjoy your dance with Miss Davies?” said Nelly to Bradford.

“Oh, I expect I’ll be playing the lead in her next picture,” Bradford said, winking to show that his boast wasn’t serious. “How was your dance with Mr. Keaton?”

“He dances well,” she said, playing along.

A cool hand on her arm made her turn. Nelly blanched when she saw who it was.

“Have we met?” said the blonde woman, her smile warm.

“I don’t believe so. You’re Constance Talmadge.”

Constance smiled. She had a small, prim mouth outlined in a rose-colored lipstick. Her hair was waved and golden, her throat sparkling with a sapphire and diamond choker.

One of the singers was singing, “Baby face, you’ve got the cutest little baby face …”

“That’s right. And you?” said Constance.

Nelly reminded herself that she could act with the best of them. She put a hand on Bradford’s back. “Bradford and I work with Mr. Taylor at United Artists.”

“I’m in the new D.W. Griffith,” Bradford offered.

“Oh, that’s fine,” said Constance, sounding interested. “What’s your role?”

Bradford smiled. “Well I’m just an extra at the moment, but Mr. Griffith said Thursday he’s going to fit me into more scenes. He found out I can play piano and thinks he can use me for a bigger role.”

“I loved you in Breakfast at Sunrise,” Nelly said to her. “It’s such an honor to meet you.”

“Why thank you.” Constance was as friendly as could be, but there was something about her appearance that made Nelly uneasy. “Is this your first time at one of Bus and Nate’s ‘dos?” she asked.

Nelly put on her best casual smile. “My second. I was here last fall.” She didn’t offer to explain how she knew Buster and hoped that Constance wouldn’t inquire. Distantly, she heard the orchestra and saw the bodies around them moving in time to the music.

“Oh, then you’re old hat. Have you tried the crab croquettes?”

Nelly said that she hadn’t. She was wondering where the conversation would go next when Bradford broke in. “Miss Talmadge,” he said, his voice brimming with charm. “Would it be too forward to ask you to dance?”

Constance smiled. Nelly could tell she was genuinely charmed. “Even if it was, I’ll say yes.”

“Wonderful.” He palmed her waist which was clothed in blue silk and chiffon. Glancing at Nelly as he took Constance’s small, white hand in his, he said, “Sorry, darling. Don’t be jealous.”

Nelly could have kissed him. With only one thought in mind, she elbowed her way out of the crowd and to one of the butlers, she helped herself to a minty green drink from his tray. She tossed it back, grabbed an Orange Blossom, and gulped that too. To his credit, the butler was too well-bred to react. She would have explained to him if she could that she wouldn’t be able to enjoy another second of the party without being drunk. The encounter with Constance had brought her jitters to a fever pitch. Nodding her thanks to the butler, she took another Orange Blossom in hand and went to track down the washroom.

The blue-eyed singer’s baritone followed her down the hall.

Birds are singing merrily

The sun is shining peacefully

Because my baby don’t mean maybe now

She locked the door behind her and set the drink on the edge of the sink as she relieved herself. Her make-up needed no touching up, and her cheeks were flushed with drink. Buster had engaged the Paul Whiteman Orchestra as a birthday gift to her and she was going to relax if it was the last thing she did. Technically it wasn’t her birthday for a few more hours, but even if they didn’t know it, everyone out there was dancing in honor of Nelly Foster’s twenty-seventh year on earth. She exited the washroom feeling more secure with this thought. Bradford was playing his part perfectly. The Talmadges didn’t suspect anything. It was okay if she loosened up as Buster had urged her to do.

[remarkablyremy]

I saw [REMINGTON ‘REMY’ BECK] at a coffee shop in [BROOKLYN] today. I forgot how much [HE/THEY] looks like [JORDAN FISHER]. They are a [TWENTY-EIGHT] year old [COMIC SHOP OWNER] who’s been in NYC for [SEVEN YEARS] now. Every time we run into each other, they are always [UPBEAT & ZANY] but I’ve heard people say they can also be [DISTRACTIBLE & OVER-TRUSTING]. [STARMAN BY DAVID BOWIE] reminds me of them every time it comes on the radio. — [mar, she/her, 27, e.s.t.]

tw: bad parenting/child abandonment, bullying

full name: remington alexander beck

known as: remy

age: 28

birthday: july 31st, 1993

sexuality: bisexual

pronouns: he/they

occupation: comic shop owner

hometown: philadelphia, pennsylvania

family: mother, older brother [ @malicixus ]

personality: + friendly, excitable, romantic

- gullible, distractible, over-trusting

who says you have to grow up? certainly not remington beck, philly native and comic-store-owner-cum-amateur-ufologist.

at a very young age, remy decided that the world must be a more magical and extraordinary place than it appeared. he devoured anything and everything he could get his little hands on about ghosts and aliens and the like, watching reruns of the x-files with wide eyes and doodling cartoon nessies on his homework. school was tough, to say the least. between a fascination with the paranormal, a stutter, and a learning disorder, remy struggled both academically and socially. they were an easy target for bullying, and he just didn’t understand why no one wanted to be their friend. 

at least he had his family. elizabeth beck loved her children more than anything, and despite putting herself through med school (and becoming one of the city’s most preeminent physicians) she made sure to spend enough time with them to make sure they knew just how loved they were. shiloh was remy’s hero before they even knew what the word meant. he absolutely adored his big brother, who tucked him into bed every night and promised them that a better, brighter tomorrow would greet them both. shiloh was remy’s tutor, music instructor, protector, and their only best friend all in one. 

their father left when remy was ten and shiloh sixteen. remy had never felt all that close to the man to begin with, finding him too cold and distant to connect with. he figured that everything would be all right as long as he had his mom and brother. but shiloh - well, he took the abandonment hard, and seemed to lose himself in the pain. no more was he the doting sibling laughing at remy’s silly jokes or patiently teaching him how to make origami animals. their relationship quickly soured, and to this day it remains more than a little contentious. 

remy dual majored in business (to make shiloh happy) and astronomy (to make himself happy). they moved to new york after graduation and quickly fell in love with one of the very first shops they’d visited, a run-down but beloved little comic store in brooklyn. he became fast friends with the owner, and when they retired they sold it to remy for a song. he put everything he had into fixing the place up, and kryptonite comics is now a gleaming and reputable establishment, not to mention a destination for brooklynites who adore all things geek chic. 

a self-proclaimed hopeless romantic, remy’s love life is - well - hopeless. they have a tendency to fall for someone, get their heart broken, mourn a while, and then discover the next supposed love of his life - ad infinitum. standards? a type? remy doesn’t know them. but he does know that he’ll find his soulmate eventually. despite the bad hands life has dealt him, they firmly believes that you just can’t keep a good nerd down. 

random quick facts:

he has always adored baseball and dance, and still makes time for both

'the remarkable remington' is a superhero alter ego shiloh created for them when they were kids

he is owned by a tortie named roswell or ‘roz’ who can often be found in the shop

he absolutely cannot keep a plant alive for longer than a week, but makes up for it by being a surprisingly decent cook

they are, as you may have gathered, obsessed with david bowie

his music taste in general is mostly contained to the 80s - classic rock and synth pop are always playing in kryptonite

they absolutely adores painting their nails, and have an extensive collection of polish that he won’t hesitate to share with friends - or better yet, give them manicures himself!

[jelly-pies]

Places and Embraces (that you thought you left behind)

By @jelly-pies for @jaybaybay-01, for the @friendly-neighborhood-exchange

Rating: Teen (mentions of torture, electrocution, near drowning)

Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark, Peter Parker & May Parker, Peter & Tony & Avengers Team

Characters: Peter Parker, Tony Stark, May Parker, James Rhodes, Bucky Barnes, Sam Wilson, Bruce Banner, Pepper Potts

Summary:

"So now we know what we’re up against: a Hydra cell just launched a cyber attack on the Avengers,” Tony said, slowly drawing out each bitter word. He took a deep breath. “And they used Peter Parker to do it.”

-

Hydra brainwashes Peter and turns him against the Avengers. Tony jumps out of semi-retirement to get his kid back.

Word count: 12.2k (read on AO3 or click below!)

.

----- Chapter 1: The Compound -----

It was supposed to be a simple patrol.

“I just sent the address to Karen. Track their activity. Eyes open. Update me or Sam the second things get fishy…”

“Mr. Stark,” Peter’s voice groaned through the speakers, “I think I know what ‘reconnaissance’ means.”

“Might as well spell it out for you, because sometimes I think you don’t know what ‘stay back and wait for backup’ means.”

Peter huffed, and Tony imagined the twenty-year-old rolling his eyes in accompaniment. “That was one time,” he complained. “I mean, two." Another pause. “Wait. I mean…”

“Yeah, yeah.” Tony pressed a button to bring Peter’s view up on his computer. The kid was swinging through the city, crisscrossing between buildings at breakneck speed. Tony swept the footage to the side of his holo-screens before all the movement made his head spin. Damn, he was getting old.

“Hey, you wanna hear a thought I just had?” Peter said, swinging up and landing on an empty rooftop. “Iron Man’s retired, right? And Spider-Man’s official Avenger-Guardian of New York City.”

“Not a thing.”

“Totally a thing. So—listen, Mr. Stark—in the Avengers, do I rank higher than you now? ” Peter teased.

Tony rolled his eyes. “First off, I’m voluntarily relegated to tech support, I’m not retired.”

“You make a pretty decent Guy in the Chair, by the way. I mean, I still prefer Ned, but with summer break and all…”

“And second,” Tony interrupted, “Peter, this is serious. This is Hydra. I don’t want to hear about some solo-act hero found dead in the news tonight, you hear me?”

Peter chuckled softly. “You’re always gonna worry about me.”

Tony didn’t answer. But he caught his onscreen notification that Karen’s secondary tracker, connecting directly to the Avengers Compound, had been turned on. So the kid was taking precautions; Tony took that as a win.

“What we discussed,” Tony said softly. “Keep your distance. Web ‘em up.”

“Callback! That was a callback.” Finishing whatever tweaks he’d apparently made to the suit’s settings, Peter leapt off the building and continued swinging. “Talk to you later, old man.”

Tony smiled fondly. “Later, disaster child.”

He kept FRIDAY running the screens, ready to alert him to any trouble, but everything seemed normal on Peter’s patrol. And why wouldn’t it? It was supposed to be normal.

In a few minutes Morgan was banging on the garage door, calling her father for dinner. Tony left for the night.

It was hours later when Pepper shook him awake. Wide-eyed, with a deceptively calm voice, she relayed the emergency alert from FRIDAY. But by then it was too late.

It was supposed to be a quiet night. Instead, Peter Parker was missing.

-----

“Hydra,” May repeated in a hollow voice. “Hydra?”

“They had a suspected cell in NYC—sketchy, black market type medical lab.” Tony removed his sunglasses as he sank into May’s couch. His joints ached from the fatigue of the last few hours; the sunlight from the windows assaulted his baggy eyes. “It was supposed to be a routine check,” he exhaled, the same words he had been telling himself over and over and over. “Peter was just… keeping an eye out, waiting to confirm illegal activity.”

“Well, you got your confirmation.”

Tony looked up at that, an apology ready on his lips, but when he met May’s eyes they only looked sad.

“Is he—did they—Tony, do you think Peter’s—”

“No,” he replied strongly. “That’s one thing I can say for sure.” It’s the only thing he could say for sure. “They wouldn’t take the trouble, disabling his suit so expertly, if they were just going to…” He let the rest trail off unspoken. May dropped beside him on the couch.

Tony grit his teeth, pinched his eyes shut. He’d been up all night, and his chest ached even more than his head did. “Callback! That was a callback,” Peter’s blithe voice from yesterday echoed in his ears. This was another one, Tony supposed. A callback to Titan… to Beck… to, well, a couple more times after that, to be honest. The supposedly quiet semi-retirement years weren’t so quiet with another superhero in the family.

“So, we just… search,” May whispered beside him, the same pain, the same haunting memories evident on her frown lines. “And wait?”

Tony felt the full weight of his years pressing down on him, pushing as he fought to lift his head, and he gave a simple, helpless nod.

-----

It was supposedly a standard security update.

That’s what Tony told the guards, and anyone else with dropped jaws and shining eyes who wondered what Tony Stark, retired hero, was doing at the Avengers Compound on an ordinary Thursday. He indulged the gaping staff members with a signature Tony Stark grin as he made his way into the main building. But his tinted sunglasses stayed on his face the whole time.

“Alright, show me,” he greeted Sam shortly when he reached the entrance to the main control room. Sam nodded silently and led him inside.

The control room was the heart of Compound security; as spacious as the lab, only with more computers and holo-displays over the walls. With such an important building to protect, it was usually bustling with activity, but now there were only three people sitting around the main panel in the center of the room. All three—Bruce, Barnes, and Rhodey—were peering into holo-screens, surveying the damage from last night’s cyber attack.

Because the Compound had been attacked.

It was a quiet affair; the culprit had been in and out of the control room in a matter of minutes. They had dealt considerable damage—taken down servers, stolen terabytes of the Avengers’ encrypted files—but in terms of casualties, not a single guard had even been knocked out.

Like a ghost, Sam had told Tony that morning. A ghost who knew his way around the Compound. Who had the skills to hack into their system. Who was able to disable the Compound’s AI before it could sound the alarm.

A ghost who could crawl on walls.

Not a lot of people fit that description. And so Tony came, looked over the details of the attack, watched the security footage that Bruce brought up on his screen—the man in a black stealth suit, sticking up on a wall to avoid a roving guard. FRIDAY analyzed the footage too, but Tony didn’t need her verification that the masked attacker’s physique matched the known measurements of one Peter Parker. None of them really did.

“Shit,” was all Tony could mutter under his breath as the video ended. “Shit.”

“That’s all we caught; others cameras were disabled,” Bruce said. “As far as we know there was only one perpetrator. Don’t know where he headed after exiting the building, or his intentions with that data. But as to who that perpetrator was… Tony, I’m sorry. All the clues point in the same direction.”

Tony clenched his jaw. Of all the possible outcomes to his weeks-long search, all the scenarios both his dreams and his nightmares presented—he would have preferred almost anything but this. Anything but that dark figure that could only be one person, stealing around the very corridors Tony had just passed minutes ago. Anything but Peter Parker, so lost, and yet caught on camera so close to home: insult to injury waved right in their faces.

It was supposed to be a straightforward operation. Search for his kid, raid all the hideouts, wait for a ransom note as a very last resort. Instead, things had just turned much, much more complicated.

“Tones… at least he’s alive,” Rhodey said softly, when Tony remained silent.

“How?” Tony said through gritted teeth. “It’s barely been three weeks. How?”

Rhodey frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, look at him!” Tony waved at the screens where the security footage was still displayed. “Moves quickly, not under duress, they didn’t force him to do this. If they did, he would have done something, I know him, he—he would have left us some sort of clue.”

“And he came alone,” Rhodey said in realization. “They wouldn’t have sent him in alone.”

Tony nodded. “So how?”

As the meaning of Tony’s question sank in, everyone slowly turned to the one person in the room who had so far remained quiet.

“How?” Tony repeated to Bucky Barnes, his voice cracking at the single syllable.

The supersoldier met his gaze evenly. “There are ways. It's been less than a month, but… it’s possible.” Barnes shifted his feet and clenched the arms of his chair—not from any discomfort with him, Tony knew; he and Barnes had laboriously buried that hatchet years ago. But Bucky had always taken on a haunted demeanor lately whenever Peter was mentioned. The kid Wilson and Barnes had grown to train, to work with on missions, now captured by the very organization where the Winter Soldier had spent the majority of his life.

“There is some good news,” Bucky added after a pause. “The more they rushed the… process… the easier it will be to undo. If it’s really mind control… a good shock to his system, a strong reminder… there's hope, Tony. But the hard part is finding him.”

“Then let’s find him,” Sam declared simply, crossing his arms, and the room took a collective breath as if at a rallying cry. “At least this attack gives us a new lead. Tony? Rhodes mentioned something about a tracker in the stolen data’s encryption?”

“Yeah. It was, um.” Tony leaned back slowly in his chair. One of his frequent headaches started blooming, and he brought a thumb and middle finger up against his temples, using the same hand to push his sunglasses further up. “It’s embedded in all the encrypted folders. Dormant until they try to decrypt the files, then we’ll be able to trace it. Rhodey and I put it there; not even Peter knows.”

“So at least our top secret data’s safe for a while.”

“Already started a trace on the signal,” Rhodey said. “We get a hit, I’m there.”

“Good. Yeah, but look. We can’t keep this quiet much longer.” Sam glanced apologetically at Tony. “The sheer scale of this security breach… I’ll have to bring the rest of our people in on this.”

Tony sighed. “That’s fine, Cap. Appreciate the initial discretion. But there’s no point hiding it now that we know what we’re up against.” He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, linked his fingers together and unlinked them again. Fidgeting as his mind was fidgeting to string the sentence together. “A Hydra cell just launched a cyber attack on the Avengers,” Tony finally said, slowly drawing out each bitter word. “And they used Peter Parker to do it.”

-----

“Looks like I missed the party.” Rhodey looked over the setup in the otherwise abandoned warehouse—where computers, panels, and communication equipment had once stood, there was now nothing but a pile of smashed hardware. His AI sent a quick notification on his suit’s HUD: no one in the building but him. And yet from the trace they’d left behind, it was obvious this had been an important Hydra outpost until only minutes ago. Rhodey sighed. “We’ll be lucky to salvage any info from this scrap heap.”

He heard Tony curse over the comms. “FRIDAY lost the tracking signal. God. We were so close.”

Rhodey noticed one panel still blinking under a pile of scrap, and he walked over to inspect it. “Something must have tipped them off,” he continued as he shuffled through the scattered equipment. “A certain… Peter tingle, maybe?”

“Spider sense,” Tony mumbled. “He prefers to call it spider sense. And it doesn't work like—never mind. Point is, they're gone.”

“Stay there, Rhodey,” Sam’s voice instructed. “Buck and I are en route, we’ll handle the perimeter. They can’t have gotten too far.”

“Hydra? Yeah, yeah they could have,” Tony replied despondently.

“Tony…”

“Let him be, Sam,” Bucky interrupted understandingly.

“Well, since I got here first, this proves one thing, at least.” Rhodey decided to keep up the conversation and, hopefully, the team’s long-fragile morale as he leaned over the blinking panel. He paused for dramatic effect. “War Machine flies faster than Captain America.”

Even through the earpiece he could hear Tony’s snort. Rhodey smiled. “It’s conclusive, Wilson.”

“Nah, man, don’t do that to me,” Sam protested. “We came from the Compound. You were already downtown.”

“I keep suggesting a race.” Bucky’s voice. “And you two never race. Just get it over with…”

“I have wings, it’s not the same! Wind conditions are never…”

“Oh, wind conditions are the problem—”

As his team continued the good-natured bickering, something on the panel suddenly caught Rhodey’s eye. Pushing away a broken computer screen that covered half the panel’s surface, Rhodey saw that beside the blinking indicator LED, the panel contained a small glass case with multiple wires branching out.

And inside the case was a shining piece of black metal. A spider emblem.

“Falcon—” Rhodey didn’t get to finish.

The warning on his HUD registered at the same time as the kick. Rhodey keeled over in his heavy armor; when he turned around, his attacker was already crouched over the panel and removing the spider emblem from its case.

He wore a black stealth suit and mask. He was lanky, but apparently strong enough to knock the War Machine to his knees. He moved swiftly, too, tearing the spider emblem off, storing it somewhere in his suit, and aiming his wrists towards Rhodey all in a matter of seconds. Rhodey put an arm up in defense; the webs shot out and wrapped around it.

“Shit.” Rhodey scrambled up. “Peter!”

He barely registered his teammates’ voices through the comms, echoing the name in relief, in shock, in fear. Rhodey shot an electroshock bullet but the masked man dodged expertly, leaping up and latching onto the rafters.

“Hey, gray Iron Man!” the unmistakable voice of Peter Parker called down. “Don’t have any glasses in that fancy suit?”

“Peter Parker! Peter, stop!” Rhodey tore the webs off his armor and took off, flying after Peter, shooting three more shock bullets in succession. All three bounced off the metal rafters harmlessly. Peter darted around pillars, bounced off the walls, evaded Rhodey at every turn until he was mere feet away from the exit. “Spider-Man!” Rhodey yelled in frustration.

Peter turned. That split second was all Rhodey needed; he crashed into the kid and both of them tumbled to the floor. Rhodey used his armor to break the fall, and then he rolled Peter off of him until they were lying side by side, coughing and groaning. “Spider-Man?” Rhodey tried, getting up on his elbows. “Kid?”

Peter only moaned weakly.

“Sorry I have to do this.” Rhodey loaded another electroshock bullet. “But we have to get you back to May. And Tony—”

For the second time that day, Rhodey saw the hit coming too late. Peter flipped upward, connecting his knee with Rhodey’s chin, and kicked the older man away with his other foot. As Rhodey fell backwards, Peter landed squarely on his feet and shot a web towards the door.

By the time Rhodey recovered, Peter was gone.

.

----- Chapter 2: The Lake House -----

The lake house looked beautiful in the late afternoon light. Golden rays danced off the surface of the water, painting its green surroundings with a warm glow. Calm, idyllic.

None of that mood was reflected in its inhabitants, however. The woman’s shoulders sagged as she loaded a bag in the trunk of their car. Then a little girl, maybe eight or nine years old, followed the woman out of the house, holding a red and blue stuffed toy tightly to her chest as she got in the back seat.

Worst of all was the man. He limped slightly as he walked, shuffling forward like he wasn’t even trying to keep his head up. The sunlight glinted on his prosthetic arm and on the glasses hanging on the front of his shirt, but it seemed only shadows reached his face. He stopped by the trunk where the woman was still standing and she said something to him. After a few moments he kissed her cheek, then got in the front seat. The woman went around the driver’s side. And they were off.

Just in time, Peter Parker thought, lowering the binoculars. Now he could proceed with the mission.

-----

"Peter Parker. Peter Parker.” He clung to the words like a lifeline.

"Still repeating that shit?” A kick to the back.

Peter curled tighter around himself. “P-Peter… my name—Peter Par… Parker…”

“Ah, let him,” another voice replied. “He can keep the damn name. He’ll forget everything else, anyway.”

“We can’t risk a trigger!”

“Peter Par—” A sharper kick. He whimpered.

“We can’t lose time!” the second voice hissed. “Now get that miserable piece of shit back on the table.”

Arms reached out. Hands grabbed at him.

.

And Peter woke up. Everything rushed in at the same time, like it always did—the sound of crickets—the sliver of moonlight through the trees—the sweat that stuck his stealth suit to his back—and Peter took off his mask and buried his head in his hands. After several seconds, when he could look up again without feeling like the entire world was charging at his senses, Peter put the mask back on and began to take stock of his surroundings.

He must have overdone the nap. Damn nightmares. He’d only started getting them that day at the warehouse, and now they were growing worse.

No matter—it was still early evening. He couldn’t strike until the family was at least several hours away, in case he accidentally tripped their alarm, so he’d decided on the nap. But now he really needed to move.

Peter crept around the edges of the lake, always keeping behind the treeline. He couldn’t screw this up, too, not after his last mistake, forgetting the spider-shaped core in the rush to evacuate the old base. This was Peter’s chance to make it up to his team.

Besides—he didn’t think he could take another round of punishment.

He reached the edge of the paved driveway without incident. On this side he was closest to his target, the lake house’s garage; he could see it about a hundred yards away. But the trees ended here, so Peter moved more carefully, keeping in mind his team’s stern warnings about the AI that guarded this property.

It was lucky, though, that the AI was all Peter had to deal with tonight. Unlike his first job at the Compound, there would be no humans for him to have to sneak around. It had been a point of contention back when he first received this assignment; Peter’s team had insisted he simply take out the lake house’s residents, but Peter pushed back, suggesting he attacked when no one was home. He didn’t know why he felt so strongly about it—strongly enough to risk punishment by challenging orders. Satellite scans had shown there was no time in the family’s regular schedule when the house would be empty for several hours, so at first it had looked like Peter had no way to make his plan work.

Until today’s date had fallen from his lips. Peter had been so confident: the family would not be here tonight. They would be driving to the city, to Queens. Peter had no idea how he’d known any of that. He still didn't. But something about this date had just felt right, and after a quick check, his commander had allowed the slight change in schedule. And now here Peter was, sneaking up on an empty house. On the night of August tenth.

Peter reached the garage at last. He flattened himself against the wall, waiting, and when he heard nothing except the chirping crickets, he broke the lock on the door with his bare hands and stepped inside.

Hacking into the computers was easy. Soon Peter had started the transfer to a hard drive concealed in his suit, and he chanced a closer look around the room while the files loaded.

The place smelled like motor oil. There were a couple of sleek metal cylinders against the wall that could hold a grown human each, but besides that it was all worn benches, scattered electronic components, and half-finished projects. Well lived in, comfortable, familiar.

Peter startled. Familiar? He’d never been here before.

A small robot like a claw—no, two of them—three—stirred to life in a corner, whirring and snapping their claws at Peter. His senses gave him no trouble over the little guys, though, and Peter dismissed them as harmless. Besides, he doubted they could set off any kind of alarm at him. Then looking up from the robots, Peter’s eye caught on a plushie lying on a shelf—probably another of the girl’s. This one was red and gold, and Peter immediately recognized it as an Iron Man toy.

Huh. Iron Man. Peter’s team had told him this garage was another Avengers-related target, like the Compound, but they hadn’t specified much beyond that. Was Peter hacking into Iron Man’s systems right now? He smirked. That was pretty cool.

.

Hey, you wanna hear a thought I just had? Iron Man’s retired, right?

.

Peter blinked, and involuntarily took a step back. What was that? He couldn’t be having nightmares while he’s awake… could he? Crap, this place was messing with his senses. Peter disconnected his hard drive the second the transfer was complete, and turned to go.

Peter froze at the door. He could have sworn he’d taken out that lock just minutes ago. But now, even applying his full strength at the handle, the door wouldn’t budge.

Then a hissing sound came from the other side of the room. Peter spun back around, fists clenched in preparation for a fight. One of the metal cylinders slid open, an Iron Man suit glided out—but it was a female voice that spoke from it.

“Good evening, Peter,” it—she—said softly. “Leaving so soon?”

Peter’s breath caught in his throat. His eyes darted around the room—no escape except the door—he could rip it from its hinges if that’s what it came to, but he needed a distraction. Peter decided to entertain the suit for a while. “You’re the AI security guard,” he deduced. “Though not the same one I disabled back at the Compound. Driving this suit—you’re much more complex, aren’t you?”

“That’s correct,” the suit replied. “Compound security tried to keep you out. But that’s not my objective tonight… Spider-Man."

Spider-Man. Peter clenched his fists a little tighter and backed up against the wall. Spider-Man. War Machine had called him that, too, back at the warehouse. But it didn’t make sense.

Peter knew Spider-Man. He knew the Avengers, Spider-Man was one of them, and they were the target, they were his team’s—they were his target. What kind of game was this robot lady playing?

Robot lady powered down the suit and landed a few feet away from Peter. “Boss was right about the reaction that might elicit.”

"Boss," Peter muttered. He found a headache starting to grow at the AI's words, and his heart pumped faster, but curiosity won out. "Your boss, you mean Iron Man?"

"Tony Stark, yes. You could call us a team." The suit stepped closer, one arm outstretched. "You were part of that team, Peter."

Team. His team— "Stop right there," Peter hissed, thrusting a hand out. "Alright, look. You—you can unlock the door, right now, or I can bust it open. I bet your boss wouldn’t like that, huh? Your call, FRIDAY."

The suit lowered its arms. "You remember my name."

.

Remember my—

.

"No!" Peter growled. His headache was raging now. The ambient cricket noises from outside pounded like drums in his ears. "No—"

.

Remember my name.

"Peter Parker. Peter Parker.” He clung to the words like a lifeline.

They tried to wring it from him, they really did. Tried to beat, shock, drown it out. But Peter held tight.

He remembered his name.

.

“—member your name. What else do you remember, Peter?” the AI prompted in that same gentle voice that didn’t make sense.

Peter brought fists up to press against his temples. Not another nightmare, not a waking one, not now. He took a breath. “Okay.” Peter swallowed. “Okay, this was your call.” He leapt up. And tackled the suit to the ground.

.

“Word to the wise, Pete: when fighting a super-powered robot, go for the core.”

.

Arc reactor technology, in the center of the chest, powered all Iron Man suits. Peter went for it.

He smashed the metal inward—surely that would cause some kind of damage—and FRIDAY grabbed at his arm. Peter felt the sting of the needle that penetrated even his stealth suit.

“That’s only to get you to sleep. Peter, calm—”

Peter struck the head. Arm. Chest again, in quick succession. Then the original hit to the reactor must have taken its effect, because the suit loosened its grip, and Peter broke free.

.

“Use your strengths, kid. The bot’s intuition is artificial, yours isn’t.”

.

We webbed FRIDAY down before she could recover. Then Peter lunged at the door. It took a few good kicks for it to fly free of its hinges, but then Peter was free, leaping out into the night air.

FRIDAY caught him mid-jump.

“We stocked your web-removing formula—”

Another punch to the chestpiece. As FRIDAY carried him upwards, Peter curled into a ball and fell, rolling on the grass. FRIDAY turned back and hovered over him.

“Peter,” she pleaded. “The drug will take full effect in seconds. Please. Don’t get yourself hurt.”

Peter shot another web. Whatever FRIDAY said about web removers, it would surely take some time with all that sticky material criss crossing its arms and legs. He sprinted toward the lake.

.

“Water. Last resort. It’s all electronics, after all—”

“Didn’t you make your own suits waterproof?” Peter said.

.

Peter halted.

He was at the edge of the pier, staring at the dark waters below. A wide-eyed, panting, shaking reflection stared back.

.

“Yeah, well, nothing’s indestructible, so listen up. If you’re going on this mission, I need you going prepared—”

.

That voice. His voice. His own heartbeat, drumming in his ears. That voice. Repulsors starting up behind him. That voice.

For the first time that night, Peter closed his eyes, and he didn’t run from the nightmares, from his thoughts.

He listened.

.

“I’m listening! I’m listening.” Peter grinned, perched on the edge of the table. “Need the good robot’s expertise if I’m gonna go fight evil robots.”

An orange hit his head. Peter laughed.

“Don’t call me a robot.” That voice.

.

“Peter?” That voice.

Peter turned. The suit stood at the other end of the pier, webs hanging from its arms and legs like white strings waving in the breeze. The suit’s glowing eyes stared at him intently, but when it spoke it wasn’t with the AI’s female voice anymore. It was with the voice from Peter’s head.

“Pete—” a man’s voice choked out. “I’m sorry, I should have—seen FRIDAY’s call sooner, I—damn it.” The suit began to walk toward him. Peter tensed as it got closer, and the man must have noticed, because he stopped a few feet away and put his hands up. “Peter.” He sounded tired. He sounded gentle. “You—when you were fighting, FRIDAY injected you with something, it’s just to get you to sleep, but your metabolism’s fighting it. I—I know you don’t remember me. You don’t know me, but—I’m not going to let you go. So, could you stop fighting, ‘cause you’re only going to get hurt.” The suit lowered its arms. “Please.”

Peter didn’t move. He just stood and stared. For a long, long time.

Then he stepped forward. Another step, and—

.

“Stop fighting. You’re only going to get hurt.”

They wrestled him onto the table. Peter fought. Peter screamed.

.

He fell into the suit’s arms.

“Peter?” a metal hand patted his back tentatively. “Buddy?”

.

Peter screamed, and the current only coursed more painfully through his brain. Peter screamed, and no one answered.

.

“T-Tony?”

“Peter,” the man answered. Even through the suit’s speakers Peter heard the man’s breath catch in his throat. “God, are you—”

“Tony Stark?” Peter frowned. He pulled himself back on his feet, the suit’s arms still around his. “Tony Stark. Iron Man?”

“I—yes,” Tony said haltingly. “Do you re—”

Peter rushed forward and caught the suit in an embrace.

Iron Man.

Iron Man, the voice in his head. The metal arms wrapped loosely, hesitantly around him. Peter, on the other hand, gripped the back of the suit with all his might.

The voice in his head, nightmares. Nightmares, pain. Peter swayed towards the edge of the pier, taking the suit with him.

Pain, punishment. Complete missions, avoid punishment. Peter’s thoughts clicked together, not neatly, like a solved puzzle, but harshly, like a lock on a cell door.

Iron Man, Avenger.

The Avengers, his mission.

Iron Man, his target.

Peter leapt off the side of the pier, taking the suit with him.

.

“Water. Last resort—”

.

The suit was already damaged. The arc reactor caved inwards. The suit let go of Peter in the water.

And Peter sank, down, down. It was so cold.

.

“FRIDAY injected you with something, it’s just to get you to sleep—”

.

The suit sank with him, its lights flickering out. Then Peter saw other lights shine above the water. He smiled. Lights were pretty.

.

“You don’t know me, but—I’m not going to let you go.”

.

Peter felt the splash rather than heard it. A metal hand found his, and Peter was pulled up.

Peter gasped as he broke the surface, sucking in air. A suit was carrying him, and it landed on the shore and lay him on the ground. Another suit, a purple suit. He’d barely registered that fact when Peter’s eyelids closed of their own accord. He sank into the darkness.

“Peter?” came a woman’s voice.

Zap, came the electricity.

And Peter slept.

-----

Peter woke up in the dark. He was lying on his back on a hard surface. The remains of a headache was still throbbing between his ears, when the lights suddenly came on, and Peter recoiled painfully.

“So you’re finally awake.” Peter turned his head slowly towards the source of the voice. He forced his eyes to pry open.

His commander stood over him, glowering. Another two members of Hydra—of Peter’s team—stood behind the man.

Peter couldn’t explain the sinking despair in his stomach at the sight of them, where there should have been relief instead.

“Welcome back, Peter Parker.” The commander leaned over the table, over Peter. “Mission report."

-----

It was cold, so cold.

Peter lay stripped to his shirt and boxers, but the cold of the lake still seeped into his skin. And he had to give his report that way, arms stiff at his sides inside their metal restraints, his voice still shivering.

He told them about the operation. He told them about the hard drive, and the data, and the mission’s success—

The commander scowled at that word. Peter shuddered and moved on.

He told them about the AI. And about the suit, and Tony Stark remotely taking control. He told them how he wrecked one Iron Man suit and got rescued by another. And then he stopped, shut his mouth like a good soldier, shivering.

It was so cold.

“Both suits were remotely operated,” the commander spoke after a long silence. “We had to destroy the second by electrocution. When we rescued you. By jet.”

Peter braced himself before asking, “What about the house?”

“And why is that your primary concern?” the man snarled. “Good old Captain America arrived just as we loaded you on the jet, so the damn house is safe, soldier. We are not!”

Peter swallowed. “I’m sorry, sir.”

A fist slammed on the table. “Do you have any idea! Any… your missions call for stealth.” A hand grabbed Peter’s chin, forcing his face to the side. “I thought that was made clear. Ten times. A hundred times. That is why we send you.”

Peter swallowed again, but this time it caught in his throat. “Yes, sir,” he croaked meekly.

“You have one assignment left. Until then, think on how to avoid your ever-increasing mistakes.”

The hand released him, and Peter stretched his jaw. The men had just reached the door when Peter remembered to call out, “Wait!”

His commander walked straight out. The other two soldiers turned back instead. “What?” one asked sharply.

“I—I can’t…” Peter struggled to get out the words. “I can’t thermoregulate.”

“What?”

“Thermoregulate,” Peter rasped. “I—I don’t know why. But I’m still so… cold… please can I—” Peter tried to lift his arms. The restraints didn’t budge.

“What—what the hell? You think this was just another mistake? Like leaving the spider core microchip behind at the last base?” His teammate reached for the door. “You fucked up, kid, so you stay where you are. And be thankful we aren’t sending your brain back through the fryer. Yet.” And the door slammed shut.

-----

Peter lay shivering on the table, hour after hour. No amount of shaking made the heat flow through his body, but the room was significantly less cold than the lake, and Peter knew he wouldn’t die. Just lie shivering, hour after hour.

He knew he couldn’t bring his own temperature up, except ever so slowly. He knew that. He couldn’t explain how he knew that, though.

He couldn’t explain how he knew about a lot of things.

Like Spider-Man. And FRIDAY. And Tony Stark.

And the fact that, as he shivered in the cold, Peter’s thoughts drifted to an image of a couch in front of a fireplace. Of a thick blanket, and a woman with gentle hands and a cheeky smile that draped it over his shoulders. And the warmth of her arms when he sunk into them.

Peter held on to that thought even if he didn’t understand it; he needed all the warmth he could get. It was going to be a long night.

-----

Many miles away, another group of people were having a long night of their own.

May Parker sat glued to the holo-screens of the Compound control room. The others had drifted in and out throughout the night, sometimes keeping her company, sometimes taking care of other important matters. Sam and Rhodes had just returned from the lake house a couple of hours ago. After a while, Tony and Pepper excused themselves to the Compound living quarters, to tuck Morgan in for the night. Dr. Banner, May knew, was still awake in the lab, with Barnes working closely beside him.

It was nice knowing how the team pulled together after the night’s distressing events. But that comfort was dampened in May’s mind, knowing the contrast to Peter’s current situation. Her kid was alone, he was cold, and his spider DNA meant he couldn’t thermoregulate as well as other humans. May knew every shaky breath that her nephew took.

Because displayed on the screens in front of her, were Peter’s vitals.

“Hey,” a voice greeted, and Tony walked in, two mugs and a plate in hand. “Care for company?”

May nodded at him. “Only if you brought coffee.”

Tony handed her one of the mugs, and they sat in silence for a while, monitoring the screens.

After a few minutes Tony offered, “You can turn in, you know. I’ll take a shift.”

May clenched his jaw. “Not tonight.”

Tony nodded understandingly and took a sip from his own mug. “Pep and Morgan are sleeping, but I couldn’t. I kept thinking… anything else we could have done tonight…”

May shook her head. “You and Pepper piloted the suits as soon as you could, Tony. And this microchip, I'm thankful you had the foresight pre-programming FRIDAY to inject it in Peter’s arm along with the sedative.”

“It could be giving us more than this. I’ve been trying the whole night, May, but the tracking signal’s still being deflected. These vitals are all we can get for now.”

“More than we had yesterday. Tonight’s not a night for beating yourself up.”

Tony sighed. “I just need to clear my head.” He traced the line on the screen, tracking the slow rise and fall of Peter's heart rate. “And I don’t want him to be alone.”

May didn’t answer, only gazed at the monitored vitals—such impersonal graphs, and yet the only connection they had to Peter now.

After another long pause, Tony held out the plate he’d brought in, and May noticed for the first time what it contained: a few slices of cake, the remains of their interrupted party in May’s apartment earlier this evening.

Tony handed her a fork. “Happy birthday, Peter,” he said sadly.

May sighed as she reached for the plate. “Happy birthday, Peter.”

.

----- Chapter 3: The Tower -----

There are moments in life that change a person, even if they don’t realize it until later. That night at the lake house changed Peter Parker. He knew, even before they marched him into the debriefing room for further questioning, he was no longer fit for his team.

Peter had slept fitfully that cold night, but in what snatches of sleep he had been able to grab, he dreamt of that woman by the fireplace. Peter woke up fully convinced he had been dreaming of his mother.

And when he couldn’t sleep, he thought of the man from his flashbacks—nightmares—whatever they were. The man who gave him advice on how to fight killer robots. Who sent a suit to save him from drowning. Tony Stark, the Avenger, the enemy.

That was all Peter knew for sure:  the enemy, the mission, the team, Hydra. Nothing beyond that. For the first time, Peter asked himself why.

Why he had nightmares of being held down on a table, electricity coursing through his body, screaming. Why those thoughts always left him shaking, when the echoes of Tony Stark’s voice in his head did not. Why the War Machine at the warehouse, and the suits at the lake, took more care with him than his team ever did.

Peter must have had a life before this. Before missions. Before electrocution sessions and cold nights lying alone. Before Hydra.

And that night, Peter knew he had to leave.

-----

He held on to that resolve all throughout the questioning.

"Last night you said the suit stopped you at the pier. But you had a considerable head start. Why were you not able to get away?"

"The sedative had kicked in by then, sir," Peter lied.

"But you told us the drug's effects only started to take hold as you were drowning."

"I misremembered, sir," Peter lied.

On and on it went. Peter dodged, and maneuvered, and hoped it was enough to keep him from punishment. Or worse, from being reprogrammed, and having to start clawing his way back up all over again.

Just when he thought the interview was over, Peter's commander took a small black spider emblem out of his pocket. "Do you know what this is, Parker?"

"A hidden microchip, sir." Peter gulped. "I made the mistake of forgetting it at the old base. I was punished."

"This microchip came from a suit," the other man continued, circling around Peter. "A very expensive piece of Stark tech. With very impressive capabilities. You are helping us rebuild the software to control it, and many others like it. That was your mission."

"Yes, sir."

Peter caught the exact moment when his commander's eyes darkened. "You lost sight of your mission, soldier."

Without warning, the man slapped the metal spider on the back of Peter's head. The legs extended, wrapping around the sides of Peter's face, and he shouted in pain as a burst of electricity shot out of them. Peter fell to his knees.

His commander continued circling him like a hawk, unbothered. "You need to be reminded."

-----

Bucky and Bruce ran into the control room where Tony was waiting. The holo-screens with Peter's vitals displayed irregular peaks in his brain activity, the implications of which the three men knew very well.

"How long has this—"

"Ten minutes," Tony answered quickly. "Not stopping."

Bucky stared closely at the graphs. "Doesn't seem to be a high voltage."

"Bursts of current, too, not steady," Bruce added.

Tony braced himself to ask. "So this isn't reprogramming?"

"It looks closer to—to torture, Tony," Bruce replied.

Suddenly Bucky turned to the other two men. "That's good," he realized. Tony stared daggers at him, and Bucky put up a hand. "Hydra doesn't double back. They wouldn't be doing this if they could simply wipe Peter's memories instead."

"So they torture him for what? For punishment?"

"It's severely affecting his brain, Tony," Bruce said in a neutral voice, eyes still locked on the screens. "There are other ways to punish a guy. No, this is a calculated move."

"When brainwashing doesn't work… There are other ways to make people do what you want," Bucky said darkly.

"That's the second time you said—brainwashing not working, not wiping Peter's memories," Tony said, deep in thought. His head snapped up when he realized the answer to his own question. "Because it takes too long."

"I think so, too. This—this is a desperate move," Bruce said. "They still need Peter, but they also need to strike soon. I mean, we're closing in on them from all angles, Rhodey's still hounding their decryption signal, Sam got some good shots at their jet last night."

"My best guess?" Bucky pointed at the screens. "Mind control. The brute kind."

Tony clenched his shaking fists. “How do we combat the brute kind?”

Bucky took a breath before responding, “Head-on.”

The three men fell quiet, watching each other, watching the screens. Tony could almost imagine Peter’s screams with every peak of the tracker. And yet in this room it was eerily, almost completely silent.

Finally it ended. Peter’s neural readings returned to normal. Everyone took a collective breath.

Bruce cleared his throat. “Where do we start? We have a good guess where they’re hitting next.”

Tony exhaled as he stood up. His mind was in a whirlwind, save one grounding point, one last hope, and he let that thought steady his feet. “Keep an eye on the kid for me. There’s something I need to do.” And he strode out of the room.

-----

“Keep an eye on the kid.” The quinjet door shut, and they were off.

Peter sat clad in his usual black suit and mask. Beside him, three of his teammates checked and double-checked everyone’s parachutes. For the first time on a mission, Peter was not going alone. Because for the first time on a mission, Hydra no longer trusted him.

They had good reason not to.

The metal spider was still attached to the back of Peter’s head, under his mask. How his teammates reacted to the new implement was fairly revealing. Gone were the intimidation tactics, the threats, the constant reminders of his past mistakes. Now the Hydra agents ordered him about without even pretending he was anything more than an expendable asset, with no choice but to obey.

They had good reason to.

“Two minutes from the drop zone. Get up, kid.”

And it was “kid” now, not “soldier.” Peter delayed one second before standing up.

Zap.

The electrocution from the spider emblem wasn’t strong enough to incapacitate him, but hell did it hurt. Peter stumbled and barely caught himself from falling to his knees.

“Fuck, commander,” the agent spoke into his comms. “It was only a second.”

“Just a little reminder.” Peter heard the voice in his earpiece, too. “But he won’t be needing much reminders once the mission starts. Will you, Parker?”

“No, sir.” Peter grit his teeth.

.

Zap, came a second shock. Then a third, fourth, fifth, in quick succession.

“A primitive solution. But fast. And effective.”

Peter was on his hands and knees in the interrogation room, the commander circling him like he was prey.

“You will not disobey. You will not even think of disobeying.”

Another wave, stronger this time, and Peter screamed on the floor.

“What is best is you comply.”

.

Peter shut his eyes at the memory, at the pain. “I’m fully compliant, sir.”

Ten seconds into the drop zone, they jumped. Peter gaped at the twinkling lights of New York City only for a moment, then focused his mind on the task at hand. Namely, not dying. Using his senses, Peter adjusted his course and that of the three Hydra agents with him, avoiding the overhead sensors that only he could detect. Soon they all landed smoothly on the rooftop of their target skyscraper.

“First phase, good,” his teamma— one of the Hydra agents, said. “Now the security, kid.”

Peter had a hunch for this, knowing just where to strike, what codes to input into his tablet to disable security. Almost as if he were intimately acquainted with the source program itself. It was how he had snuck into the Compound on that first mission. However—Peter stared at the red alert on the tablet screen—this wasn’t the same as the Compound.

“What the hell?” another agent looked at the error message on the tablet over Peter’s shoulder.

“It—I—this must be the other program,” Peter stammered. “The one from the lake house. I can’t get in.” Peter braced himself, but no electric shock came from the spider-metal on the back of his head. So the commander knew he wasn’t lying.

Then, as suddenly as it had come, the on-screen alert disappeared. “Security disabled” flashed on Peter’s tablet.

“There you go. What did you do?”

“I—nothing,” Peter answered truthfully. Something pricked at his senses. A feeling of being watched, and not just by the man controlling an electrocution machine on Peter’s head. Strangely enough, that feeling of someone else watching him gave Peter a sense of assurance more than danger. But he fought those thoughts down and took a deep breath. “Alright, we’re clear. Let’s go.”

The cold night air blew around them as they made their way across the rooftop. Peter typed in some more commands, unlocked a door, and in no time at all, the four Hydra agents had breached the Avengers Tower.

-----

Something was wrong.

Peter led the team through dark halls, weapons at the ready, but they encountered no one in the whole building. Just like they’d encountered no one on the ride down the elevator. And saw no one in any of the multiple rooms they passed.

Something was wrong.

“I see your heart rate picking up,” the commander’s voice said in Peter’s ear. “Even from my comfortable seat, this is all starting to look uncomfortably like a trap. If you had any part in this…”

Peter didn’t. He could swear he didn’t, but he kept silent, continuing to lead the agents down the hall, and bracing for another burst of pain to his skull. The commander never set off the device, though, and Peter breathed a quiet sigh of relief.

Until they reached the building’s main control room. Peter unlocked the door. One man stayed posted outside as a lookout, and Peter and the two other agents entered.

At first the room seemed like the rest of the Tower, empty, dark. But that was just the problem. Too empty. Too dark.

“Something’s wrong,” barely registered in Peter’s mind, when the attack began.

The bullets came from out of nowhere, shooting straight for the three other Hydra agents, and electro-shocking them to unconsciousness. The lookout recovered quickly and made to enter the room, when the door automatically shut in his face. Then, for good measure, another round of shocking bullets was fired at the two agents lying on the ground. And Peter was left alone with their attacker.

At first, not knowing where the firing came from, Peter merely braced himself in the middle of the room, ready to dodge the bullets when they came. But nothing ever shot at him. Now with the other agents knocked out in the dark, Peter faced the unknown enemy, relying only on his senses. He had just located the new figure in the room, and readied his web shooters to strike back, when the lights suddenly turned on.

A high-pitched tone came on with the lights. Peter crouched on the ground, arms up to protect both his eyes and ears against the sudden onslaught. He felt all his senses torn apart, compromised. And then the unknown figure stepped in front of him.

The high-pitched sound stopped. A faint whine remained in Peter’s ears, but through it he could just make out a man’s voice speaking to him. That man’s voice. The one from the lake house, from his dreams.

“Peter?” Tony Stark repeated, holding out a metal hand.

Peter shoved it away and leapt back, getting shakily to his feet. Holding out both arms in a defensive position, Peter caught his breath, and for the first time took a good look at his assailant.

It looked like the first red suit, the one from the garage. The one Peter had destroyed in the lake. But this one was undamaged, and still holding out a hand to Peter in what was probably supposed to be a calming gesture.

“Hey, FRIDAY,” Peter panted, his chest still pounding. “New suit?”

“I have a lot of suits. One of them saved you, if you recall, right after you ditched the first one in the lake.”

Peter grit his teeth. Of course he knew one of the suits—of course he knew Tony Stark, and the woman driving the purple suit, had saved his life that night. But things had changed. He couldn’t afford to think about it, to think about that fateful night at all, not with an electric killing machine stuck to the back of his brain.

“Look, man. I’m getting what I came for, and you can’t stop me any more than you could last time. Just throw in the towel and walk away now.” Peter’s voice shook.

“Tonight’s not gonna be like last time,” Tony replied determinedly.

“Walk. Away. Or I’ll wreck this suit, too, just like last time—”

“Tonight’s not gonna be like last time,” Tony repeated louder. And then he did something Peter never expected.

The suit retracted. Nano-tech particles moved in waves, draining like water in a sink towards the reactor casing in the middle of the suit. Until the only thing left standing in front of Peter, was not a metal suit, but a person.

“Peter Parker,” Tony said, taking a step forward, “tonight we’re taking you home.”

-----

Peter froze. The night he spent dreaming of the woman by the fireplace raced through his mind. Yet now, being offered the exact thing he had wanted then, Peter had no idea how to respond.

“Take me home? I want to, but there’s a killing machine on my head.”

“I want to, but there’s a Hydra jet nearby that could attack any second.”

“I want to, if I knew where home was.”

“I want to.”

“I want to.”

“I want to, but...”

Peter’s lips seemed to move of their own accord. “I can’t,” he said in a small voice.

Tony’s eyes widened at Peter’s change in demeanor. He took another step closer. “You… okay. Okay, you know that high tone earlier? Messed up your comms. Hydra can’t hear us, at least for the moment. Peter… let me help.”

Peter ripped off his mask, and threw it to the floor between him and Tony. His hands shook, his lips shook. “He’ll kill me!” He turned his head, showing off the metal device stuck to the back. “If either of us tries anything, he’ll kill me.”

Tony took one good look at it and cursed. Then he stopped, as if listening to something on his own comms.

“I’m supposed to kill you,” Peter said. Tony’s head snapped up. “Those were my orders, if—if anyone interfered. And he can make me do it, too—”

“Kid—”

“He can make me do anything, I know, he tested it out—”

“Calm down, we’ll think of something—”

“I take you down, or my damn brain is toast!”

“You’re not dying!” Tony clenched his jaw, hand still outstretched towards Peter. “Not tonight, not on my watch.”

Peter shook his head. The familiar ache was starting to build again, the humming between his ears. “I don’t feel so good,” he choked out.

Tony froze. And then the older man must have said something in response—his lips were moving—but suddenly all Peter could hear, all he could focus on, was the commander’s voice in his ear.

“You know what to do, soldier.” The threat in his tone was clear.

“I’m sorry,” Peter rasped. And then he lunged forward.

-----

It was never a fair fight.

Tony summoned his suit back, but not before Peter got a couple of good hits in him. Knocked down on the floor, he saw his own electroshock bullets hurtling towards him from Peter’s gun, and Tony rolled away with milliseconds to spare. God, retirement had taken its toll.

“Peter…” Tony groaned, getting up on his knees. He was met with a kick to the chest.

“Tony?” Bruce’s voice echoed in his helmet. “Tony, you need to get close enough to—”

“Yeah, I know, I’m trying!” He rolled again, and the chair Peter swung crashed into the floor where Tony had just been.

It was never a fair fight.

Tony flew up and around Peter. “FRIDAY, lights out!” As darkness fell, Tony approached from behind, his targeting locked on to the device behind Peter’s head, it was within his sight—

Peter turned and fired a shocking bullet straight at him.

As Tony fell to the floor, shaking with the electricity, he realized just how close Peter had come to killing him, if he had really tried. But the electroshock bullets—a few kicks—a damn chair—Peter wasn’t really trying, was he?

It was never a fair fight.

“No,” Tony heard Peter say, as the kid stepped closer to his prone form. “No, look, Stark’s out, I swear that shock was strong enough, I—”

And then it happened. Through his HUD, Tony saw the sudden heat signature that exploded behind Peter’s head, the electronic signal, the way the kid’s body convulsed. Peter fell to his knees.

“No!” Tony screamed. Peter turned, his eyes met Tony’s—and for the first time Tony saw all the fear behind them.

It was never a fair fight. Tony was battling Peter. But Peter had to fight both the Avenger and Hydra.

Slowly, Tony got up. And he did the only thing he could think of to help his kid. He leaped forward and tackled Peter to the ground.

Peter rolled with the hit, pinning Tony under him—he’d really forgotten how strong the kid was—and Peter sent punch after punch flying. Never to the head, though—even Tony realized that. But as their fight continued, as Tony got pummeled, the shocks to Peter’s brain stopped. And for now that was all Tony wanted.

“Sam, how’s it going on your end?” Tony hissed.

“Almost there, keep him busy!” Sam replied through the comms.

Another solid hit to his suit. “Sure as hell trying to!” Needing a break, Tony turned his thrusters on and slid off from under Peter, hovering some way above the floor. Tony heard the whoosh of web shooters and he narrowly dodged Peter slamming into him mid-air.

“Hey! Flying is cheating!” Peter hollered as he passed. Tony recognized it for what it was, though—a call to keep Tony aware of Peter’s location in the darkness.

Tony wondered, not for the first time since that night at the lake house, how much of the old Peter was starting to come back. And whether it would take sooner than anticipated to restore the rest of him.

Assuming they could Peter through the night at all.

Keep the kid safe now, worry about the memories later, Tony chided himself. He turned the lights of his suit on, a beacon for Peter to spot. “Just trying to keep the fight fair!” Tony called out, and he braced himself for impact.

-----

“Rhodey! Your 3 o’clock—”

“I see him,” Rhodey said through the comms. “Coming in hot.”

Sam locked the quinjet on his targeting system and increased speed. “Approaching from the back end.”

“Good. Let’s get this son of a bitch, Cap.”

Sam smiled. “I’ll race ya.”

-----

Tony dodged yet another of Peter’s swinging kicks. “Sam! Update?”

“They’re almost at the jet, Tony!” Bucky answered for him. “The rest of us are preparing to storm the base. When we get the commander, and Sam and Rhodey get the quinjet, it’s over. Just you and the kid now, Stark, hang on.”

Peter swung again; Tony decided to let this one hit. They’d been playing this cat-and-mouse game for a while now, with fewer and fewer shocks coming to the device on Peter’s head. Tony could only hope Hydra would buy the facade to the end.

“You hear that, Pete?” Tony whispered to himself. “Just hang on.”

-----

Hydra held out to the end. But the Winter Soldier, and the team of Avengers he led, captured the base eventually. Bucky stormed into their control room and pinned the commander to the wall without slowing a step.

“Kill switch!” he demanded. Too late; the commander popped a pill, and died foaming from the mouth.

“It’s gotta be here…” Bruce scoured the panels and screens. “Tony said he had a finger on Peter’s button the whole time, it’s gotta be here!”

Then the screens blazed red. An alarm blared throughout the captured base.

And up on the main screen, the countdown started.

-----

“Wilson! Rhodey!” the urgent call came through their earpieces.

“Bruce, we got the jet!” Rhodey replied. “Crew’s secure, we’re flying back—”

“No, abort!” Bruce shouted. “They tripped self-destruct on all assets! We’re evacuating the base, crash the plane in the water and get out of there!”

Rhodey and Sam made to clear the plane they’d just taken over, when Rhodey suddenly realized something. “Wait, all assets?” he said into the comms. “Self-destructing all assets?”

“Everything’s set to blow!”

Rhodey stopped dead in his tracks. “What about Peter?”

-----

“Peter!” Tony yelled.

They had just been exchanging half-hearted blows, when the kid suddenly crumpled to the floor, clutching his head. FRIDAY immediately turned the lights back on and Tony rushed to Peter’s side.

“FRIDAY, talk to me!”

“It’s a different signal, Boss,” FRIDAY replied quickly. “Current’s going steady!”

Peter curled into a fetal position, a scream ripped from his throat.

“Cap!” Tony shouted.

“Tony! Barnes deactivated Peter’s manual kill switch. But we got another problem, the device has a self-destruct too, and it’s been tripped! You’ve got three minutes to—”

Tony tuned the rest out. As Peter continued writhing on the floor, Tony knelt and placed one suited hand behind the device on Peter’s head.

“It’s locked tight!” FRIDAY reported. “You can’t get it off in time without damaging the neural links.”

“Or setting the bomb off early,” Tony bit out. Below him, Peter screamed.

Tony stared at the electrocution device. That black metal torturing his kid, cruelly and ironically shaped like a spider itself. Tony stared. Shaped like a spider.

“FRIDAY…?”

“Yes,” FRIDAY answered like she’d read his mind. “It’s from the suit he was wearing when he was captured, modified, of course.”

The answer fell neatly in place in Tony’s mind. “Then it’s a good thing I brought backup.” He held his hand out, and a smooth metal disk flew at him from where Tony had stashed it in the room.

“Tones!” Rhodey’s voice. “Two minutes!”

Tony leaned over Peter’s still twitching body. “Peter, look at me. Look at me, kid. I need you to trust me.” Peter looked up, fear and tears and pain in his eyes. “Trust me,” Tony repeated, laying the metal disk on Peter’s chest. The kid didn’t fight him, and almost imperceptibly, Peter nodded.

Tony activated the disk.

-----

Peter’s head felt on fire. Peter’s chest felt cold.

In his head, the current ripped through everything, memories and feelings and pain. On his chest, the metal disk spread out, crawling like ants but cool on his burning skin.

His head felt like it would burst. The spreading metal on his chest held him together.

Until the cool metal wasn’t only on Peter’s chest anymore—until it was all over him, covering his body. Covering the electrocutor on his head.

Fire fought cold, and Peter screamed.

He heard Tony shouting. He heard the ticking of a countdown clock on the back of his head.

He heard the click.

And Peter passed out.

-----

Peter passed out in Tony’s arms. Tony cradled the body close to his chest, listening for his breathing, feeling for the pulse that would tell him whether his world had just fallen apart in his arms.

“Boss,” FRIDAY’s voice came an eternity later, “vitals holding steady.”

Tony exhaled the weight of a planet off his lungs, and lay his head down on top of Peter’s. “I got you, kid.” Breathing in, out. The nanotech Spider-Man suit deactivated, and as the helmet retracted, the electrocution device dropped cleanly from Peter’s head. Tony held his kid closer. “I got you.”

.

----- Chapter 4: Home -----

The Compound was peaceful in the mornings.

Early sunlight filtered in through the windows, the gold just hitting the green of the treetops. And it was quiet. Where the screens and beeping vitals monitors had felt like intruders in the night, in the morning their presence was subdued, making it easier to hear the bedridden person being monitored when he began to stir.

The moment her nephew opened his eyes, May was right by his side.

He struggled for words, she couldn’t come up with anything to say, so between the two of them it was silent for a while. Finally Peter spoke. “You’re… you’re the woman from my dreams.” Peter furrowed his brow. “I want to say… Mom… but somehow it doesn’t fit.”

May took his hand. “I’m your Aunt May, Peter. It’s… it’s good to have you back.”

“I don’t know—I don’t know if I’m back. I still…” Peter shut his eyes. “The dreams and nightmares… and the memories… they come in pieces. I—I don’t know my whole life yet. Or even… who I am.”

“We’ll help you. The whole team will help you.” May smiled softly, brushing a strand of hair from Peter’s forehead. “To start—your name is Peter Parker. And you’re my kid.”

The two of them spent the whole morning together. The Compound was peaceful in the mornings.

-----

Peter pieced it together, slowly.

His aunt was named May Parker. The man monitoring his recovery from the incident at the Tower, was Bruce. And the other frequent visitor to Peter’s room was already familiar. The person who saved his life, who his aunt bantered easily with, and who always brought them both some kind of hot beverage, that was Tony Stark.

It was Tony who sat with May at Peter’s bedside, filling in the gaps. Tony who explained the kidnapping, the brainwashing, their search. Tony who always reminded Peter to take his recovery easy, and always looked at him with such warmth.

There were others on the team, too. The first time Peter was able to leave the medbay, a man introducing himself as Sam led him to the shared living quarters. Another guy, Rhodey, dropped beside him on the couch and passed him some pizza, and Peter recognized his voice from the fight at the warehouse. They ended up having a good laugh about it.

He met Pepper. And Morgan. Even got reacquainted with FRIDAY.

And Bucky Barnes. Though usually quiet, the man turned out to be among the most outspokenly encouraging about Peter’s recuperation. “It gets better, kid. I know the memories come back in pieces, and it can be frustrating.” He had a faraway look in his eyes, and Peter could tell the man made an effort to make his tone light. “It’s a long road. But… believe me, it gets better.”

-----

It did get better. But not all at once.

Along with memories of tinkering in the lab, came memories of being strapped to a table. Along with dreams of warm fireplaces in a cozy apartment, came nightmares of the burning electricity in Peter’s head.

But that wasn’t even the worst part. The worst part was when Peter dreamed about the Tower, about beating the enemy up, except this time Peter didn’t pull his punches. And when he drew back he would be staring at Tony’s bloodied face. Or Bucky’s. Or Sam’s. Or May’s.

One night, suffocated by his own mind, Peter escaped to the Compound rooftop. A lone metal bench sat under the stars; Peter drifted towards it. He hadn’t been sitting there long when he sensed footsteps behind him, and turned to see Tony in the doorway.

“Just checking in,” the older man said. “Your aunt woke up and you weren’t there, she thought maybe you were with me in the workshop…”

Peter shuffled his feet. “Sorry. I sneaked away and didn’t want to disturb her.”

“Okay.” Tony lingered awkwardly. “It’s fine. Um. I’ll go. Do you want me to call May, or…”

Peter paused. He found he didn’t really want to call May, not right now. But he didn’t want to be alone, either.

“You always up this late?” Peter found himself asking instead.

“I guess so.” Tony shrugged. “Old habit.”

“Me too,” Peter replied. As he said it, he wondered if it was true about himself. Really, he was just saying what he thought might get Tony to stay.

Tony looked at him for a moment, tilting his head. Then, as if he’d read his mind, Tony sat down on the bench beside Peter. And for the next few hours, Tony stayed.

They sat quietly for a while, lost in their own thoughts, but it was a familiar kind of silence. One that made Peter feel safe. He plucked up the courage to speak several minutes later. “Mr. Stark?” Peter said. He didn’t know why the more formal address somehow felt more comfortable than ‘Tony,’ which was what Peter had been calling him lately. For some reason it just did. Tony turned his head, but if he noticed the change, he didn’t comment on it.  “Mr. Stark,” Peter continued, “what happened back at the Tower? Really?”

Tony furrowed his brows. “We, uh, we fought, Pete. And then Hydra tripped the self-destruct on the device around your head, and…”

“Yeah, and you got it off, and then I passed out.” Peter fiddled with the zipper on his hoodie. “You told me. But how did you get it off, exactly?”

“Oh.” Tony leaned back against the bench. “I missed that part, huh.”

“Oh, I thought of another—why, why was that device shaped like a spider?”

Peter could tell Tony weighed his words carefully before answering. “It came from a suit. A specific, uh. Spider-Man’s suit.”

“Spider-Man?”

“Yeah.”

“So the thing you used to get it off…”

Tony nodded. “That was Spider-Man’s slightly older suit. Same signature, so the override worked.”

“He seems to have a lot of suits.”

“Yeah,” Tony chuckled. “Yeah, real tinkerer, that one.”

“It spread from my chest, felt like ants crawling on me.”

“That would be the nano-particles. I helped with that part, but the rest of it, all his handiwork. He’s very capable that way. Skilled guy.”

“Yeah.” Peter looked down. “Yeah, I bet. No wonder Hydra wanted him.”

Tony stiffened beside Peter. After a moment Peter felt a hand on his shoulder. “We were gonna tell you, Pete. Eventually. But doctors said to go slow on the whole memory thing and… I, I wasn’t quite sure how to break that gently, to be honest.”

Peter shrugged. “It’s okay. Not that hard to figure out. My senses, plus the memories that name brought up…” He took a breath. “And, I mean, the Avengers. You guys are, you’re Earth’s mightiest heroes or whatever. Why… why else would you all be so hell-bent on saving me?”

“What do you—because you’re one of us,” Tony said firmly. “Not because of what you can do.”

Peter didn’t answer. After several weeks fighting for a team that only seemed to care about what Peter could do, he didn’t seem to know how to answer.

“Is—is this what this is about? What keeps you up at night?” Tony pushed. “You’re wondering why you were worthy?”

Peter fiddled with his zipper, with the hem of his hoodie, anything to keep his fingers moving. “I hacked into your databases,” Peter said in a small voice.

“We dealt with that damage, Peter.”

“I wrecked your garage, your suit—”

“Things can be replaced.”

“And I beat you up pretty good.”

“Oh, yeah.” Tony laughed. “Yeah, okay, I’ll give you that one.”

The laugh disarmed Peter. He turned to meet Tony’s eyes, but he found no unkindness or mockery there—only sincerity behind the outer humor. Peter couldn’t help but smile too.

“Hey, I should thank you. I don’t get much exercise in retirement,” Tony quipped.

“Semi-retirement,” Peter blurted. That made both him and Tony stop. “You’re… only semi-retired,” Peter continued uncertainly. “You, um. You’re my…” But Peter's burst of memory failed; it only ever reached so far.

“Mentor,” Tony supplied when Peter trailed off. “Occasional tech support. Substitute Guy in the Chair…”

“Old man?” Peter joked.

Tony snorted. “Disaster child. Never change.” Then Tony’s eyes softened, and he lowered his voice. “You are a part of this team, Peter. Everything we put on the line was worth it. Everything. Because it got you home.”

Peter breathed deeply, and let it out in a long sigh. Slowly, he leaned against Tony’s side, and Tony put an arm around his shoulders. Peter found he fit in Tony’s arms like a puzzle piece. Like he belonged there. Like he’d always belonged there.

“I wish I could remember more,” Peter admitted quietly, when he was good and settled in Tony’s embrace. “I wish I could remember faster. Or I wish… I’d never forgotten in the first place.”

Tony hugged him a little tighter. “We’ll be here to remind you.”

-----

They reminded him. And slowly, Peter recovered. Slowly, Peter remembered.

-----

They held a second birthday party at May’s apartment a few days later. Complete with streamers, red and blue balloons, and—

“Chocolate cake. Always chocolate cake, and you always bake it yourself,” Peter remembered.

May smiled as she kissed Peter’s temple, and handed him a slice.

-----

Peter eased slowly back into training, too.

“You wanna deflect the knife like this, and remember to—”

Peter broke Bucky off when he executed the move perfectly, ending with him pinning his sparring partner to the ground. Sam laughed and flashed a thumbs-up from the sidelines.

“I remember,” Peter realized, grinning.

-----

“Every other weekend? I used to hang out with the Tony Stark every other weekend?”

“Until stupid college got in the way,” Tony groused playfully. He handed Peter a wrench for the reinforced garage door they were installing.

“Still can’t believe I go to MIT,” Peter said as he tightened the screws.

“Yeah. When you’re ready to go back, treat Ned and Michelle to a big movie night or something, whatever you kids do for fun. They can't wait to see you again.” Tony looked up from his toolbox. “Do you remember…?” he said tentatively.

Peter nodded. He did remember, bits and pieces—laughter with a childhood friend, stolen moments with a girl he admired. All on their own, Peter’s cheeks began to blush.

Tony grinned. “Yeah. Thought you did.”

-----

There were some things, though, that were Peter’s very own. And that he had to rediscover on his own.

“How’s it feel?” Tony asked, as Peter donned the Spider-Man suit for the first time in months.

Peter tested it out: stretched his arms, fiddled with the web shooters, said hi to Karen. “It—it’s perfect, Mr. Stark,” he said when he was finished. “Thank you.”

Tony slung an arm around Peter’s shoulders and walked with him across the Tower rooftop. “Alright. This one you’ll have to figure back out on your own. But you did it before, and you’ll do it again.” Tony smiled. “Spider-Man.”

Peter perched on the edge of the roof, feeling the wind on his suit, the rush of his senses. The feeling of being back where he belonged.

Peter Parker was Spider-Man. This was his to remember. This was his to reclaim.

“Stay safe,” he heard Tony whisper, as the older man backed off from the edge.

Peter turned to him. “Tony?”

Tony looked up at him, and Peter paused to relish that short moment. For all the time they’d spent together lately, this was different. This was special. This was them, back in their old mentor-mentee groove. And it felt good.

“I, I just wanted to say—” Peter started, and he grinned. “I still think ‘official Avenger-Guardian of NYC’ should be a thing. And it definitely ranks higher than Iron Man.”

Tony’s dropped jaw, and his mock-offended face, was the last thing Peter saw as he shot a web and swung down over his city.

Spider-Man had returned.

[drwcn]

Hi anon!! :) I’m so thrilled to get a btsf ask because my brain has been on discordance waves for the past week. It really has motivated me to write more for btsf. It’s turning into a such a complex plot that I’m feeling a little daunted. I’ve got a lot of stuff written, bits and pieces... just not....chapter two >___>

Wen Qing and Meng Yao do not necessarily work together. For the most part, they are two independent spies existing simultaneously, each with their own agenda. Below cut is a little snippet of Wen Qing. 

Warning: SPOILERS & graphic displays of violence. 

Wen Qing doesn’t burn. No Wen ever does. 

Still, she winces when the tea touches her tongue, a degree left of too hot, ruining the flavour. Hissing in more annoyance than pain, she flashes a cold side glare towards the underling who brought her the drink. The boy lowers his head immediately, curling into a deep, embarrassed bow. His name is Wen Tinglu, and he’s even younger than her A-Ning.

She frightens him. 

Wen Qing sets the ceramic cup down on the table with one hand, the dismissal in her gesture clear. It lands louder than necessary, eliciting a round of half-suppressed flinches from the Wen soldiers - disciples, a reminding voice whispers - waiting at her beck and call. 

She frightens all of them. 

Good. 

Wen Qing inspects her nails, drawing out the suspense she knows is eating up those around her. They’re painted a nice dark red, a Wen red, and long too, not too long to be inconvenient, but longer than she would’ve had them in the past. She has no use for short, sensible nails these days. Nails that short were meant to prevent injury when she bandaged patients, to not get caught on sutures when she stitched together wounds. 

These hands do heal anyone anymore.  

Across the room, her victim shivers on the rack. Winter rain in the south is a wretched ordeal. The poor thing is soaked through, dragged from the muddy ruins of their latest battlefield. 

Wen Qing approaches him silently, letting her fingers gently caress the row of instruments she has ordered to be prepared and laid out neatly in clean, wooden trays. They’re thoroughly washed and soaked in alcohol daily, and in the flickers of firelight illuminating this dingy little countryside hut, the metal shines and glistens. 

She sees the man’s gaze follow her movement, his eyes though drooping from exhaustion remained focused, unblinking. She sees him swallow and his body tremble. This time, she knows it’s not because of the rain. 

From the colour of his tattered robes, she realizes he’s one of Nie Mingjue’s men. From experience, she knows they’re hard to break. 

No matter, Wen Qing always gets what she wants in the end. 

She picks up a scalpel and puts it underneath his chin. The press of her hands is gentle as she lifts his face so he can meet her smile. “Tell me, brave soldier, what’s your name?” 

He spits in her face. A drop lands in her eye. 

“Demoness!”

Her disciples lurch forward to defend her, but Wen Qing waves them off with a nonchalant flick of her wrist. 

Dabbing her face with the edge of her sleeve, Wen Qing laughs. “You make your Nie-zongzhu proud, I must admit. I’m sure he won’t blame you for all that you’re about to tell me.”

“I will tell you nothing!”

Wen Qing flashes him her best and brightest smile. He is stunned momentarily, the full force of Wen Qing’s beauty giving him mental whiplashes. It must be disconcerting, she muses - fully aware of her appearance and its effect on the people around her - to see such a lovely smile on a such an abhorrent face, too beautiful surely to belong to a woman promising the most terrifying of ends. 

“We’ll see.” 

The scalpel cuts down the prisoner’s sternum before he could speak another word, one long stroke from nape to navel. The cut is shallow, just a thin red ribbon rippling in its trail. 

The man does not die, but he does scream. 

From the corner of her eyes, Wen Qing spots the boy who ruined her tea sway from where he stands, probably imagining himself in this poor sod’s place. To her satisfaction, he’s not the only one who appears mildly green around the gills. 

Wen Qing twists on her heels, swirling around almost dance-like. “Would anyone like to try?” She holds out the bloodied blade towards her disciples, waving it in a welcoming gesture at the myriad of other instruments available. 

No one takes her up on her offer. She doesn’t expect any of them to. Back in the early days when Wen Ruohan gave her free rein to form a team, she had chosen her men and women carefully. She picked the loyal, the humble, the competent, and even the brave, but she had searched into their eyes and made sure she could not detect any trace of blood-lust. Those, she argued, should be kept on the front line where the enemies are. The disciples at her side need to be efficient, obedient and nothing more. That, is paramount. 

“Useless!” Her expression darkens, and her friendly, teasing tone vanishes in a heartbeat. “Why does His Excellency even bother keeping you lot around? Get out.” 

Her Wen disciples do not need to be told twice. 

“You,” she stops Wen Tinglu. “Bring me another cup of tea when I’m done. Try not the ruin it this time.” 

“Yes, Wen-guniang.” The boy bows repeatedly, backing out of the room and nearly tripping on his feet in the process. 

Once she is left alone to do her work, she turns back to the Nie disciple. He has closed his eyes, trying, she imagine, to retreat somewhere deep in his mind where there is no pain. He will not have much luck with that. 

She steps up close to him, so close she can smell the sweet metallic tang of his blood. “It would be easier if you told me your name. I’ll keep you in mind, as I keep all of them in mind.” 

“Go fuck yourself, Wen Qing!” 

Wen Qing takes out a small vial from her robes. She let the darkness slip from her disguise just a fraction. “I’m sorry I have to do this, but this will help. You’ll be with your family soon I promise.” 

The prisoner’s brows furrow, and he struggles in vain as Wen Qing forces the liquid into his mouth and makes him swallow it. 

“What did you just give me,” he pants, retching at the vile taste of the potion. 

Wen Qing does not answer. She closes her hand over one of his and whispers against his ear.

“The Sunshot Campaign thanks you for your service. Now, don’t forget to scream.” 

And he does. 

Half a shichen later, when the screaming and begging quiets, Wen Tinglu returns with a fresh cup of pu’er. Wen Qing looks up from the meticulous washing of her hands as he enters, jittering and quivering, his presence announced by the cacophonous tune of the chinas clinking against each other in his tray. 

The boy meets her eyes, then steals glance over her shoulder to the flayed carcass left on the rack. He’s only just able to set the tea down on the table before doubling over and throwing up onto the dirt floor 

Maybe the pig’s intestine was too much...thinks Wen Qing, rubbing her arm where she has also made a cut into herself. 

Each clan has their own collection of forbidden practices, some more than others. Wen Mao’s rise to power was not entirely achieved by following the path of righteousness. One does not, after all, defeat an enemy like Xue Chonghai without a deeper understanding of the other side. This kind of cultivation is bordering on the occult, and it demands a heavy price.

Wen Qing is completely depleted; she hopes it does not show. Her spiritual core has never been cultivated to be strained in such a way. She can’t go on like this forever, she knows, but the war is far from over, and the path she has embarked on stretches endlessly ahead. 

“Burn him. I want a clean finish,” she says to Tinglu and takes a seat. She drinks her tea and closes her eyes. 

The boy does as he’s told, but he barely has enough gumption to grasp the torch and light the Nie disciple’s body aflame. It is no wonder then that he does not notice the protection talisman carved into the prisoner’s back. 

[wxldchxld]

Just a friendly reminder that Beck basically doesn’t exist in a legal fashion and I do consider it to be godmodding if your character has information about her upon meeting her unless we’ve explicitly plotted out what your muse knows.

She spends almost all of her time in the wild, with the exception being when she has to go into a town for supplies (sometimes things like draught or other severe weather can keep her from harvesting/catching her own food) or for jobs. In both of these instances Beck is extremely careful around any human settlement to protect herself or the person she’s trying to help. You’re not going to find pictures of her in the background during strange happenings or secret cellphone footage of her shifting in a back alley. She’s too careful for that.

On the off chance anyone does have a photograph of her looking suspicious or doing magic in some way, you won’t have any way to connect it back to anyone else. She’s got no real drivers license, multiple enchantments on her van that keep it from being identified, and the last time she was associated with her legal name was when she was like 13. Even before that, she was homeschooled, never visited a hospital, never arrested. 

Granted you could even get her DNA I don’t think it’d get you far anyway. Maybe on like a vague ancestry test but her entire family is made up of witches every bit as paranoid about people as she is. There wouldn’t be any specific matches that came up.

And finally Beck lies about as much as she breathes. She lies so much that her first instinct is never to tell you her real name. And that’s not even her legal name. She lies about things she doesn’t need to or that don’t matter. It gets to the point in relationships where she has told so many lies that she doesn’t know how to come out with the truth, and that she catches herself in little lies because that’s how she communicates now. She’s just a little too good at fostering a sense of closeness with people based off complete fabrications.

I’m usually pretty happy to plot ways around this. There are very specific circumstances where Beck will tell the truth or will have government info logged on her. For instance in my verse with @justicescreaming where Beck has been arrested and sent to space prison to die, she doesn’t see the point in lying, because she knows she isn’t going to survive anyway. In my verse with @stcriestcld Beck’s employers gave SHIELD a file of information on Beck (though a lot of it is fabricated and there are strict restrictions on what SHIELD is allowed to dig into about it) so walking in people knew what name she went by and that she was a witch. So I’m very happy to work with you, but it can’t be random. It can’t be time skipped. This is a major part of interacting with Beck and if you don’t plot it out with me and make assumptions I will ask you to change them. 

[the-darklings]

—𝒄𝒐𝒍𝒅 𝒆𝒚𝒆𝒔, 𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒎 𝒉𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒔;

pairing: quentin beck x reader

word count: 1.7k+

summary: “He didn’t really deserve this, but he wanted it anyway.”

an: Mysterio thirst is going strong and I approve of this movement. This piece is part 2 to this.- might make this into a miniseries with a catchy name like  “Unravelling” for a title lol. Beware some spoilers for far from home. Enjoy! 

gif credit (x)

EDIT: PART 3

“Hey, hey, careful now,” a distant voice spoke, their words distorted and warped.

A groan bubbled at the back of your throat; a weak sound of a wounded animal, and you blinked slowly, trying to clear your vision. 

“Quentin?” you breathed, confused, your sight still swimming as you tried to focus in on his face. “What—?”

“Shhh,” he soothed, fingers cradling your neck as he wrapped his other arm around you. Your stomach lurched at the jolt, and you groaned again, noting the way his expression twisted with worry and almost...tenderness. “You were injured while trying to help the civilians. I’m sorry I couldn’t kill it faster. When I saw it hit you—”

His voice cut off, the planes of his handsome face twisting as if pained. His golden chestplate was warm when you leaned your cheek against it, staring up at him in confusion. 

“You saved me. Thank y-you,” you slurred, words difficult against your tongue. “You’re...hmm...you're warm,” you added sleepily, your eye fluttering shut. 

“No, no,” he murmured quickly, tilting your chin in his direction, the elegant length of his fingers tracing over your skin gently. No matter how soothing the contact was, the motion still made you wince in pain, and you shifted away from the delicate touch. “Stay awake for me, honey. Can you do that?”

“I’m...no…”

Quentin’s arms tightened around you slightly, pulling you close, and the last thing you saw before you closed your eyes was his striking face staring down at you. “It’s alright,” he whispered, silky soft and comforting. “Don’t worry. I’ll be right there when you wake up.” 

By the time the darkness took you, the memory of the slight, sly smile curving his mouth was already gone. 

. . .

Waking up the second time was slower, and more painful. 

Your head was pounding, your body ached and your mouth felt dry when you tried to swallow weakly. 

“Here.”

A glass of water appeared in front of your face and you leaned in clumsily, clicking your teeth against the glass in your hurry. 

“Careful now,” a familiar voice cautioned, and you blinked a few times to clear your vision. Quentin sat beside you, still clad in his ridiculously extravagant armour as he held out a glass of water in your direction. “Here, let me.”

He leaned closer and you had to hold back your instinctive response to jerk back from someone trying to evade your personal space. He paused for a second upon seeing your reaction, his expression crumbling, and a hint of sadness breaking free. 

“You’re safe,” he insisted, tone almost cutting, “The threat has been neutralized. It will never hurt you again. I made sure of it.”

Your fingers hovered over the bandages around your forehead before you looked at Quentin again, still silent. You reached for the water in his hand carefully, your fingers brushing against his for a moment. He didn’t let go of the glass though, his gaze worried as he stared at you. 

“Your fingers are shaking too badly,” he said quietly, his words a soft lull that made you want to lean into him. “Let me.”

This time when he moved closer, you kept perfectly still, your wary gaze still focused on him as you took slow, methodical sips of water. It felt awkward to be this vulnerable in front of him but Quentin kept his expression perfectly blank. If anything the blue of his eyes seemed to be intently focused on you, leaving no room for anything else.

“Better?” he questioned when you pulled back, leaning against the small cot you were placed on. “You were out for a while. Fury said—”

“I’m not her,” you cut him off harshly, your words low and throaty. “The other me. From your Earth. The one you knew. I’m not her.”

Quentin’s expression shifted with your words. You couldn’t quite explain it but the closest you could get to describing it was vacant. Like it was either too hard for him to listen to this or he couldn’t focus on your words at all. 

“I know that we were...friends,” you explained further, your words still slow, and you felt the word ‘friends’ curl uncomfortably in your mouth. “But I’m not her, okay?”

The silence your words left felt heavy and you held back a sigh, realizing that perhaps you were being too harsh for saying it so bluntly. But the hazy memory of the way he cradled you when you first woke up still lingered, and there was nothing friendly about the way he held you so impossibly close. 

Quentin lowered the glass on the table with a loud clatter, making you jump slightly with a wince of pain. His own hands shook and he immediately laced them together, brushing his fingertips against the familiar golden band on his ring finger, seemingly out of habit.

“No. No, you are not her,” he admitted breathlessly, and you felt your heart twist at the despair colouring his hushed words. He chuckled lowly, the sound hollow and forced, as he shook his head lightly, his head slumping downwards. “At all actually. And I...I feel relieved in many ways. You’re your own person. But your face is so familiar and—I just miss them so much. I miss you. And—and it was my fault you all died—”

“Stop, you can’t do this to yourself,” you argued right away, shifting into a sitting position with a small huff of pain. “It will not bring them back, that’s true, but what you’re doing now? Fighting and saving this world even though you’re grieving so much? Even though you don’t owe us anything? That takes a special kind of strength and bravery. You’re a hero, Quentin. I know it may not be much comfort to you now but—”

“No,” he cut in, his voice rough and thick with emotion, as his fingers reached out and wrapped around yours. He glanced up at you, his eyes shining with an almost feverish light. “No, you have no idea how much that means to me. Especially coming from you.” 

“I’m a nobody with nothing to my name,” you replied wryly, contemplating moving your hands away but his were...warm. “Hardly the stuff of legend. Or anyone you should care about.”

The now familiar crooked grin curved one side of his mouth in reply, “Then we’re just alike, you and I, and I take comfort in that.”

Trying to keep your sceptic scoff at bay, you shook your head, immediately regretting the decision when you felt another sharp sting of pain slice through you. 

“Dunno. Doubt I could pull off that cape, Quentin,” you said through gritted teeth, flashing him a weak smile. “I think I would trip over it and crack my teeth on the pavement the first chance I got.”

There was something secretive, almost curious, about the way he was gazing at you at that moment—like he was working hard to peak into you and unravel you from within. His hands were still—irritatingly, maddeningly—comforting and warm around yours, but then there were his eyes. Maybe it was because they were such a distinct shade of blue but for some reason, they always managed to insert a sliver of ice into your heart whenever he looked at you like that. 

“What?”

Quentin looked away with a grin before pulling his hands away from yours, letting his fingers graze against yours. Despite your carefully constructed composure of calm, you almost exhaled in relief when you felt the sudden tension between you fade.  

“It’s just…” he trailed off, unsure, eyes downcast. “I like the way you say my name. Makes me feel like you can actually see me. Purposeful. It’s pretty stupid, I know. The other you had that gift too. I suppose it’s one of the few similarities you share.”

“Oh.” 

Awkward.

It would be a lie to say that your stomach didn’t flip pleasantly at his words. But Quentin was a man grieving for his lost family and with a potential global catastrophe on his hands. He had bigger worries. As did you. 

Besides, you weren’t too sure any interest on his side would come from a healthy emotional state, considering the shock of what he had recently gone through.

And yet—

“It’s a quirky name so I guess I like saying it.”

His eyes sparked with life and he grinned widely. And you ignored the familiar shiver down your spine that whispered how this wasn’t a man smiling at you but a predator baring its teeth at its prey. 

“Good.”

. . .

He won’t have to fake it.

Which, in hindsight, was probably one of the best things to come from this sticky situation. 

You were no striking beauty, that much was true, but you face held a peculiar pleasantness he could not quite put his finger on. You were shrewd—as if he could deal with an idiot, honestly. Witty too, but only when you wanted to be which reminded him more of himself than he would care to admit. You had better instincts than most as well which was what drove him to be pushier about his plan in the first place. 

He had to pull you in, he had to warm his way inside.

And he wanted it too.

He didn’t really deserve this, but he wanted it anyway.

It was surprising. Initially, he expected you to be a side project, a safe-guard, another twist in the story for him to use later. 

But now.

No, he won’t have to fake it. And that was brilliant because he couldn’t think of anything more tedious and irritating if he tried—well maybe having to listen to Peter whining about his teenage hormones but sacrifices for the greater cause and all that. 

He knew faking it simply left too many open doors for errors in the long run, and there could not be any. He worked too long and hard for everything to crumble now. 

Quentin flexed his fingers slowly, gazing at them curiously. He could still feel the phantom warmth of your hand in his. 

“You’re a hero, Quentin.”

He smiled, fingers folding into a gentle fist, and sighed in satisfaction for the first time since Tony Stark’s death. 

. . .

an: I can’t believe we've all decided to (collectively) love this tricky ass drama queen but he’s just too much fun I guess.¯\_(ツ)_/¯ I mean what a bastard. Had to write that last line through gritted teeth lol

tagging: @val-kay-rie (hope you enjoyed it and thank you for asking to be tagged!)

[tumbleranch-dorm]

“I do not care what other’s say about their pointless excuses. Now.....focus on you’re work and GET MOVING!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

TECHNICAL INFORMATION

Name: Clinton Hollingsbeck

Japanese: クリントン・ホリングスベック

Romanji: Kurinton Horingusubekku

Other Name:

C (Ferd)

Four-eye bastard (Eb)

Weasel (Leona & Ruggie)

Monsieur Occupé (Rook)

Sardine (Floyd)

Voiced by Jun Fukuyama

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

BIOGRAPHICAL INFORMATION

Gender: Male

Age: 17

Birthday: September 22

Starsign: Virgo

Height: 177 cm

Eye Color: Grey

Hair Color: Coffee Brown

Homeland: Town of Iron Pistol

Family: Father, Mother, Grandfather

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

PROFESSIONAL STATUS

Dorm: Tumbleranch

School Year: Second

Class: 2-B Student no. 03

Occupation: Student and Vice Dorm Leader

Club: Boardgame Club

Best Subject: Magic Analysis

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

FUN FACTS

Dominant Hand: Right

Favorite Food: Melted Butter Corn

Least Favorite Food: Toffee

Dislikes: Dawdle

Hobby: Preserve Mini Trains

Talents: Arithmancy

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

UNIQUE MAGIC “TIME IS MONEY”

Manipulate speed of time: back, forth & freeze time from his pocket watch because that’s where his power source comes from. The effects will lasts within 5 minutes short or so depending on how much magic the user’s would hold a grip. Although, with much instability will consequently lead to have black smudges in his magic pen. This must always be guarded with him at all cost and of course, will not use for a personal gain.....especially fall to the wrong owner.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

PERSONAL INFORMATION

Clinton is a very intelligent and strategic individual able to solve problems both real life & magic without breaking his sweat that many claimed he’s one of the smartest student in 2nd year class which of his classmates immediately ask or approach him for cheat codes. He also had a strict attitude too strict to be exact but not a tyrant as Riddle taking the responsibility of vice, he would take this attentiveness and never overlooked from his duties too very serious claiming he’s a perfectionist doing the things in his own way to be exact perfect. Clinton would feel ashamed of himself or rather over dramatically won’t forgive himself making such mistakes whether it’s minor or not it must always be perfect for him! which most people find him very troublesome sometimes however he’s mostly calm.

With that seriousness, he does give off a solemn expression as if he’s displeased on something, well technically it is and that’s his natural expression which is mainly because his impatience and couldn’t forgive anyone who’d slack off from their respective duties. His impatience would grew more while he’d likely would teach someone a lesson of those who couldn’t do their job seriously especially to troublemakers. He’s also sane as Ferd, Clinton wouldn’t want himself to get involved in any unnecessary events except got dragged by others then ended up blamed for their cause which mostly the head and vice are the ones cleaning up the messes. His desperate wish of his peers needs obedience and this chaotic dorm to be NOT chaotic. He’d rather find friends who aren’t dangerously chaotic while in exchange, he’ll treat them less harsh but friendly towards them.

In secret, he has a cute side of him that he likes to collect mini trains and making DIY miniature land but he hides his embarrassing dorkish side from everyone’s beliefs and wouldn’t let his guard down when people have high expectations of him being the serious type or else he’d feel a bit vulnerable. The only one who knew about his obsession of trains is Ferd. Although, most people find him very odd everytime he shared his short-term predictions to anyone even to reveal someone’s plans when they’re in unusual situation. For example, If someone think about secretly causing mischief as drawing graffiti on the 7 statues then framing other students of doing it, Clinton was able to tell them the possibility of their devious scheme would end up badly as they found out the smudges of paint were exposed from their shoes which makes them to clean up the statues then get expelled from Headmaster Crowley. With that, he was well-prepared to prevent those troublemaker scheme after he warned them about the consequences. How did he predict the bad omen beforehand? Who knows. But it seems he have seen the misfortune outcome before

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BACKGROUND

His family, mainly his father (works as a CEO) and grandfather (a former president), runs their marketing cooperation “H. Beck” in Town of Iron Pistol. The cooperation used to be a big time industry but due to its recent bankruptcy, his father & grandfather were often busy leaving Clinton with his mother‘s care at home so his mother raised him wholeheartedly and the only parent who’s ever been there for little Clinton except between Clinton and his father had not enough time for father & son bonding then later on, both grew apart from conversing each other rarely except in dinner. It’s not that they have an argument but his father often caught up work over spending time with Clinton. It wasn’t last long when his father called out his mother to help him the issues in the company and without a choice to leave little Clinton in a caretaker’s care in the house. Being isolated by his parents affected him often studying by himself learning advance magic in order to work his best to gain much knowledge just like his parents without an interest making friends or enjoy any children s play at a young age. None of the family wouldn’t notice the loneliness he’s been through, thought it was ok for him without a complaint.

Until one day, his father luckily had a negotiation with the mayor of the town, who is actually Ferdrick’s father, to work alongside him in order to save the family’s business. Both fathers have slowly become close colleagues believing their cooperation won’t last but to continue their long-term business partnership. While for their sons: Clinton & Ferd had their first meeting which Clinton found & made ever first friend with the son of the influenced mayor then both quickly became friends. That time his point of view have changed him a bit thanks to Ferdrick’s companionships but still what he wanted his parent’s to take notice of him. Still.....it couldn’t be helped. At least this time Clinton’s grandfather was in turn to look after him. He did cared for his grandfather very much as he treated Clinton heart-kinded like his mother and like a real father to him, not like his real father who’s never been there. The most precious object that his grandfather gave to him is the family’s hairloom pocket watch.

According to his grandfather, the old pocket contains a powerful magic that enables to manipulate timespeed. So powerful that if you made a single change can cause the effect of the future. Every male heirs has to pass it on to the next heir, to be the keeper of the artifact. It was supposedly his father ‘s turn but didn’t get a chance due to his overwork and instead, he handed to Clinton. Not only to pass it on but to remind himself the pocket watch, itself has much love for Clinton from his family including previous generations

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OTHER FACTS

He’s twisted version of Mr. Wesley the businessman

Him and Ferd are childhood friends

The pocket watch was made by his grandfather

He secretly has a miniature land and collections of small trains kept in his room. It was just a rumor but no one ever confirms it

Other than his duty as vice, he does do other minor work like a househusband doing much of cleaning, cooking and fixing

Wants to become a businessman someday. He’s well prepared knowing how to manage finances and running a business. With that, he and Ferd had a good-term business friendship

Clinton can count money quicker with just a glance

He knows about all Heartslabyul’s rules because strangely he was fascinated by that

[junowat]

Differences I notice within signs based on placements

Focused on the big 3: Sun, Moon, Rising

REMINDER: This is a vague description and every chart is different! 

Part One

Aries: 

        Sun: Aggressive and fiercely present, they radiate with warmth and you can always feel their presence when they are near. Friendly and a bit oblivious to others, they are more concerned with themselves. Goofy smiles and bellowed laughs.  Always needs to have the last word. Blunt and straightforward, they expect the same in return.

        Moon: Passionate and driven, these individuals see what they want and nothing will stop them from acquiring it… unless they find something else they would rather have. More concerned for those they love than themselves, emotions are felt based on impulse. Emotionally sensitive and extremely reactive.

        Rising: Their presence is loud. The way they talk, walk, and act… you can always spot where they are. True to themselves and will not alter for others (aka Badass) Friendly and very much into pranking/joking around. Either looks super dangerous and intimidating or is very expressive with their face. Has a distinct or trademark look to them

Taurus:

          Sun: Calm aura. Self-sufficient and mature, they always will look sure of themselves even when they may not feel it. Loyal to a fault and usually tries to keep the peace. Guarded with their true identity, they focus more on others and direct conversations to them. Often taken advantage of because of how wise and caring they are to others. Cautious and practical, they are hesitant to love because they aren’t sure if they are ready to give up their love of freedom and commit to someone other than themselves.

          Moon: Family oriented. Materialistic and craves stability in a conventional way. They are deeply connected to those they love and it can be really hard for them to leave friendships/relationships that have a history. Emotionally sound and mature, they are level headed, but when their emotions are put in stressful situations they can become easily frustrated and temperamental (almost always has collateral damage) (also usually extremely bonded to their mom)

          Rising: Graceful. Slow movements, melodic voices, they take their time and just being near them can calm anyone's nerves for how serene they seem. Great listeners and love to get to know others. Ask genuine questions that can often catch others off guard for how caring and personable they are. Steadied gazes and coy smiles. Warm and comforting eyes.

Gemini: 

           Sun: No filters. At all. Says what comes to mind and thinks nothing of it. Defensive when jokes played on them but dismiss their actions when they use others for the punchline. Very witty and genuinely just wants to share their opinion and jokes and don’t mean to offend the sensitive. Very intelligent and often well versed in an abundance of topics. 

          Moon: MOODY AF. Internal conversations and the definition of overthinking. Can spend sleepless nights just because of their thoughts and ideas, good and bad. Creative and often have moments of genius ideas, but move on to the next topic so fast that they actually don’t manifest time into it. Emotionally unavailable (They can’t trust their emotions because the feelings are fleeting) Will find what makes them emotionally fulfilled if they are intrigued enough to be consistent.

          Rising: Childlike. Curious and quite the chatterboxes, there is no such thing as awkward silence with them. Very energetic and friendly. So nice you may not trust them (kind of like salesman or anyone who pretends to be concerned with you but it’s really for their own personal gain) Though this couldn’t be further from the truth. They really are just that nice and want to keep things lighthearted and fun. Very bubbly and have fluttering eyes. A wealth of knowledge.

Cancer:

           Sun: Superiority complex. Very kind and sweet, just wants to be at home wrapped in a blanket surrounded by those they love. When crossed, can become vindictive and ruthless. If undeveloped they can be very ill-tempered at all times. Will care for any wayward soul and fiercely protect those they deem worthy. Strong instincts and exude the feeling of being at home when with them. Soft smiles and caring eyes.

           Moon: Needy and clingy. If they are invested in you, they will not let go. Very emotional when it comes to their family, as they are closely bonded to them and have a deep respect for their parents. Emotions are embraced and poised in a way that seems effortless; but actually, they just have had a lot of practice understanding what their emotions mean. Usually intuitive (which is what guides them through life)

           Rising: Love to complain. Can often seem overly emotional even when they don’t feel like they are (It’s in their mannerisms that tell this to others, very telling in their movements) Artistic and creative individuals. Always smiling and seems generally happy all the time. Round features and soft-spoken.

Leo: 

      Sun: Dramatic with their viewpoints. Just wants to be heard and not overlooked. Demands attention, even if they don’t call for it (which they will if you aren’t giving it to them) Very active social life, even the introverted ones. Fun to be around but not one to mess with. Self-love is crucial for them. May act like their opinion only matters, but they are open to hearing others, just be prepared to put up a big defense for them to take it seriously. Guarded.

      Moon: Literal sunshine. Often have a negative past but they try to stay optimistic because if they don’t, they will be destroyed by what haunts them. Fun loving and kind, they truly care for others and their well being. Will help others learn to love themselves. Can be naive but it’s just because they want to help others sorrows disappear. Can easily be taken advantage of. Ego and pride are often vulnerable.

     Rising: Their hair is their trademark. Bold and the center of attention, they will take lead in any conversation. Love to joke and have fun. Popular and can easily be spotted with how theatrical they can be (Very exaggerative and often act as the starring role of any situation) Very warm and friendly. Cannot stress enough how hair is their main feature, most noticeable in their mannerism(how their hair flows with their movements) and/or has some sort of special look to it (shine, volume, the way it lays, etc)

Virgo:

        Sun: Anxious and lost. Often have an internal struggle between caring and not caring. Extreme in their habits; either procrastinate or obsessively plans, either super neat and clean or disorganized, etc. Just wants to do a good job but feel like they will never meet their own expectations. Hard on themselves, hide all the nervous energy by joking around and focusing on tasks. Always seem put together (even if they don’t look like it hygiene wise) Always seems exhausted and stressed but when they talk they hide it very well. 

         Moon: Seem like personal assistants to their families and friends. Always at their beck and call and caring more for others needs than their own. Innate caregivers and usually step up to responsibility at a young age to get things in order for their loved ones. Stressed and tired emotionally, mentally and physically but that won’t stop them from living. Seamlessly devotes themselves to their personal life, social life, family life, work life, and any other personal project they have going on. 

         Rising: Judgmental and pessimistic, their nervous energy is surrounded on the world and those who inhabit it. Shy and reserved, they will dissect a person or situation and create (usually negative) opinion in a matter of seconds. Though they won’t let you know that, they only tell those closest to them. Picky and cautious about who comes in and out of their life. Doe-eyed and often have a peaceful and ethereal aura, but don’t let their “innocence” deceive you.

*2nd part will be posted later today, cause I’m finally sleepy, so its time for bed* 

Part Two