#still no promises on whether ill actually finish all of em

[la-ro-ki]

Prisoner 003: Kajiyama Fuuta

Prisoner 004: Kusunoki Muu

#my art #milgram #milgram project #milgram music videos #fuuta kajiyama #milgram fuuta #muu kusunoki #milgram muu #thats 2/5 of the pairs done :) #still no promises on whether ill actually finish all of em #esp since this was probably the pair i had the easiest time drawing #they just. make sense to me design wise #also im keeping all of them as close to canon as possible #for rn #im still forming diff body type hcs and stuff so yeah

[izukuwus]

Rest (and Other Things You Force On Your Boyfriend)

A/N: So this is technically a sequel to Bunny Eyes but it can be read completely standalone. There’s no real reason for him to be a bunny in this other than I Wanted Him To Be, and honestly, what else do you even NEED?

man I just wanna snuggle with nearly every iteration of this bunny boi. send cuddles pls.

Summary: In which your bunny boyfriend catches your flu and now you’re taking care of him. (sick!bunny!Izuku x reader)

Warnings: issa sickfic, izu has the flu. no emetophobia, not even in passing, mostly just fever and discussion of taking meds

Word Count: 2000-ish

~

Oh, you wish you could find the strength within yourself to not feel guilty.

It's his fault! You told Izuku not to kiss you and tried to push him away and now he's got the flu and you're the one taking extra-good notes to teach him the information after class while he's pretending to rest all day!

And yet. And yet. You still feel guilty about letting him get sick.

"If I'd only been stronger," you wail dramatically as you walk back from shopping with Ochaco and Tsuyu. They'd gone with you to help you purchase proper boyfriend-doting supplies, which definitely didn't include proper soup ingredients or a cute new dress that happens to look like a fashionable version of scrubs so you could act as his nurse proper.

Ochaco pats your shoulder in solidarity. "You tried your best, [name]-chan. It was only a matter of time before Deku-kun got sick, too."

Tsuyu places a thoughtful finger to her chin. "He was pretty stubborn about taking care of you when you were still sick, kero. Did he even wear a mask when he was taking care of you?"

"No," you groan. "I insisted, but he's an idiot."

Ochaco rolls her eyes as she opens the door for your poor arms-full self. You smile and curtsy before walking through to enter the dorm's common area, where you promptly drop your shopping bags. "Izuku!"

"Oh no," comes the quiet response as green rabbit ears snap to attention, followed by a (thankfully muffled) sneeze. Izuku appears to have dragged himself downstairs to study, a medical mask over his mouth and nose as he pores over an open notebook. At his side, having just been lowered in defeat on sight of you, is a hand weight. "I-I thought you were going to be gone all day?" he tries sheepishly.

You stomp across the room to him, not coming to a stop when you reach him. Instead, you scoop him up off the couch, eliciting a surprised yelp as he clings to you. "[N-name!]" he whines. His drawn-out complaint is cut off by his own racking coughs, and you're careful to tighten your bridal carry until his body stops shaking.

"You're going to rest," you demand when his coughs have calmed. "Honestly, how did you even get down here? When I was still sick I could hardly make it to the bathroom in my room!"

"I'm on a lower floor than you?" he says, though it sounds more like a question than an answer. You raise an unimpressed eyebrow. "...fine. I came downstairs to take my trash out and couldn't make it back up myself, so I sent Shouji-kun up to my room with my key so I at least had something to do while I recovered."

"Unbelievable," you mutter. "You're supposed to be resting. I told you I'd do all that for you when I got back from shopping, didn't I?"

"B-but I'm tired of resting," he complains.

You turn and glance over your shoulder at your very amused girl friends. "Sorry, can I ask you girls to take my shopping up to my room for me? It looks like I've got some nurse duties to handle—"

"I-I can handle myself at least while you—" Izuku begins to protest weakly, struggling a bit in your arms.

You sigh and cut him off. "Izuku, I love you, but if you don't be quiet and let me carry you to bed so you can get some rest and then actually get some rest, I will literally call your mom."

He lets out a squeak, hiding his face in your chest. "Got your key with you?"

He nods. "In my pocket," he mumbles.

You bump the elevator button and carry him up to his room, humming gently as you approach his door. You're careful to fish out his room key and unlock his door, and then more careful not to break said door down when you wrench it open with one foot.

"Alright, health check, bunny boy," you say sweetly after dropping him on his bed. "Cooperate honestly and I'll reward you, alright?"

He nods, pulling his medical mask off to reveal his pout and twitchy nose. "What kind of reward?"

"Depends on how well you cooperate with me, Zu-kun," you chirp as you set about getting the stuff you need and shutting (and locking, just in case) his door. "When was the last time you ate?"

"Dunno."

"How's your appetite?"

"Bad."

"Can I convince you to eat a few crackers?" you ask. Izuku groans at the question, about to complain, but you don't give him the chance. "Reward, Zu-kun," you remind him gently.

"I-I might be able to stomach a few."

"Don't worry, I'll make it worth it," you hum, reaching for the sleeve of crackers and taking one between your teeth, careful not to bite down as you cross the room to him. You waggle your eyebrows at him suggestively as you sit down, leaning in close. It's hard not to laugh when his already surely fever-flushed face goes even redder when he realizes what you're suggesting, and even harder not to squeal when he takes the opposite corner of the cracker in his teeth and pulls it away from you.

It'd be seductive if only he didn't look so pathetic right now, which you mean in the most loving way possible. He's still your adorable muscly bunny boy, but he's also visibly ill and very carefully nibbling on a saltine cracker held in both hands.

When he's forced down the whole thing, you press a slow kiss to his forehead, frowning when you realize just how hot he feels. "Izu, honey, I'm going to take your temperature," you say, grabbing the thermometer from the kit.

Sure enough, his temperature reads feverish, at a concerning 100.6 degrees. You worry your lip, glancing between him and the thermometer.

"How is it?" he croaks. You shove a water bottle towards him with a meaningful look and reach for your phone. Luckily, you have Recovery Girl's number after you got sick, so calling her won't be an issue. 

"You're fine, honey," you say gently, ruffling his hair. "You should lay down. I'm going to get your medicine and your things from downstairs, okay?"

The absolute angel doesn't suspect a thing, letting you guide him to lay down. He refuses the blanket, which is fair.

"When I'm back, I'll have you take your meds and then we can cuddle for a bit, alright, 'Zu-kun?"

He nods.

"Okay, do you want the fan on?"

Another nod. You flip the switch for his ceiling fan on your way out, careful not to lock yourself out, and wait until you're out of the elevator on the bottom floor to make the call.

You tangle one hand through your hair as Recovery Girl answers with one of her trademark sighs. "Please tell me he hasn't broken something while he has the flu."

"He hasn't!" you say as you set about gathering his things. Bakugo glares at you (for some reason) as he pointedly drowns the room in disinfectant spray. "No, no broken bones. I'm calling because his fever's gotten worse."

"How bad is 'worse', exactly?" 

"You told me to call if he got above 100.4."

"And?"

You nervously thumb the thermometer in your pocket. "100.9. He's mostly acting calm and going along with treatment, but apparently he came downstairs earlier while I was out and couldn't make it back to the elevator, and honestly, he's so stubborn that actually listening to me is almost more concerning, and I—"

"Calm down, sweetheart. I'm on my way over. You know the drill, make sure he's not dehydrated and in bed, and give him a Tylenol."

"Yes ma'am. He hasn't taken his regular medication yet, I'm about to give it to him once I get back upstairs with his things. Thank you, I'll do all that right away."

"See you as soon as I've finished handling this student, dear," she says, and you're answered with a click as she hangs up. You pocket your phone, scoop up the last of his things, and scurry back up the stairs to your hopefully resting boyfriend.

When you return to him, he's laid down on his bed, facing the wall with his phone in his hand. You're not sure whether to be annoyed that he isn't asleep yet or glad you don't have to wake him to get him to choke down his own disgusting flu medicine.

A single ear turns in your direction when you enter, and you note with amusement that his tail also twitches at your arrival. "Recovery Girl is on her way over," you say gently. "I've got your regular medicine and some Tylenol to kick your fever down. I'm sorry I called her, but you're running a bit too high for comfort and I don't know what else I can do so..."

Izuku makes a noncommittal hum. You suppose he's only half awake, so you set down his things and lean over him, waggling both bottles of medicine within his line of sight. "Come on, up and at 'em for just a moment longer, okay?"

"I thought you wanted me to rest," he whines weakly, slowly sitting up with a pout.

You sit where he'd been laying. "Flu medicine and Tylenol first. We gotta deal with your fever, 'Zu-kun." 

He whines, but lets you give him the right doses of each and set the bottles of medicine aside. Before you can get up, though, he's laid back down, arms wrapped around your waist as he rests his head on your lap. "C-can I sleep here?" he mumbles, not looking up at you.

"I promised you a reward for cooperating with me, right?" you hum, winding fingers through his hair to gently scratch his scalp. "Rest as long as you need to, baby."

"Thank y'. Lo'you." His words turn to slurred speech as he snuggles up close, and as you play with his hair, you rest your head against the wall. It's not long before your eyes drift closed and your fingers still in his hair, resting at the base of his ears.

When you wake up next, you're still sat there with Izuku snuggled up to your stomach. He opens one eye to look up at you blearily before wordlessly yanking you down so you're lying next to him. Before you can respond, he's laid on top of you, his face buried in your chest as his ears tickle your face.

"'Zuzu—" you start, wriggling in his vice grip.

"You already had this flu strain, so you're safe," he mumbles back.

"Get your ears out of my face before I bite them." Despite your words, you press a kiss to the space between his ears.

"Mm, what if I'd like that? You should know by now that I—owww..."

You snort, releasing his ear from your teeth and pressing a kiss to the spot you'd just bit. "Love you~"

You can actively feel him pouting against your chest, grumbling something suspiciously similar to "I guess I love you too". You giggle, nuzzling the top of his head as he flattens his ears back.

"I'll make it up to you when you're feeling better, Izuku," you promise before the both of you fall back asleep. He doesn't respond, but his tail and ears both twitch at your words. You coax him back to sleep with soft kisses, noting out of the corner of your eye that there's a note tacked carefully on the headboard. You snatch it up, careful not to disturb the bunny as you read.

It's a note from Recovery Girl. Apparently, she came by while you were still asleep. She's just chiding you for both being asleep when she arrived, and left you a few instructions. You let the note fall , deciding it's best to address it later. For now, you've got a nap with your sick boyfriend to deal with, and if he rests better with you in his arms, well, who are you to deny him?

Taglist: @zylith-imagines-and-fics​ @tooloudarts​ @sapid-rose​ @xxangelpridexx​ @birds-have-teeth​ @icythotsenpai​ @hypercriticals @warmchoccymilk​ @wesparklebitch​ @izoodles​ @fujimoribaby​ @my-bnha-things​

#midoriya izuku x reader #izuku midoriya x reader #bunny!izuku #deku x reader #bnha x reader #my fics #mha x reader

[outlier-rookie]

Of Blood And Greatness - Chapter 3

Chapter 3/?? - Settling In With Some Concerns

AO3 Link

https://archiveofourown.org/works/26305741/chapters/71331201

***

The next few chapters might be a bit slow pace wise because I want to build up a few more interactions between Reader and the Gang members. Don’t worry, we’ll get to the action soon enough.

TRIGGER WARNING: Anxiety/Panic Attack

***

“Wow (Y/N)! You’re as strong as Uncle Arthur!” (Y/N) paused long enough to shoot Jack a cheeky grin as they continued their path towards the horses, slowly carrying the last hay bale. The tall skittish fella, Kieran, had tried to offer to take the bales instead but (Y/N) was insistent that it wasn’t that heavy and they were no stranger to hard work and heavy lifting. Miss Karen had also had a good laugh with the other girls about the teen putting the likes of Bill and Sean to shame with how much heavy lifting they did around camp. Mrs. Grimshaw, as scary as she was at times, was also quick to praise (Y/N)’s hard work and help with the camp chores.

It had been a few days since everything that happened up near Cattail Pond and as the teen feared, Dutch was less than pleased with the total sum brought back to camp. But like Arthur had promised he was also understanding and despite (Y/N) feeling like they hadn’t delivered on their promise, Dutch welcomed them into the ragtag family of outlaws with a speech and fanciful words of things only getting better from here.

Still, the teen spent their days mulling over their failure with a hollow feeling sitting in the pit of their stomach. Mr. Hosea had sat next to them by the campfire one night with stew in hand and talked about nothing in particular. He started telling short stories from the gang's past and it didn’t click until the teen was falling asleep that night but the stories all had similar feelings to their blunder with the money. (Y/N) fell asleep smiling at the stars that night, putting the memory of Dutch’s ill-concealed disappointment behind them.

***

“Arthur! Welcome back son.” Dutch was sat by his tent smoking a cigar as Arthur led (Y/N) over to him. “So!” he started, standing with his arms extended; whether it was meant in a divine or welcoming manner, (Y/N) wasn’t entirely sure. “How’d your little excursion go?”

“’Fraid we ain’t getting to Tahiti or Australia with what we recovered.” The grizzled outlaw started. “Seems that someone else got to the stash before young (Y/N) here and took most of what we had.” Something in the teen's stomach dropped as the light in Dutch’s eyes seemed to dim slightly. The dark-haired man hummed and folded one arm across his chest, the other bringing his cigar back to his lips. He paused for a moment breathing slowly, the smoke flowing past his lips before being taken by the breeze.

“How much did you get then?” He finally asked

“Would have had ‘bout one third.”

“’Would have’?” (Y/N) shifted nervously and refused to meet Dutch’s eyes, ashamed that they had disappointed this man.

“O’Drisscols.” Arthur replied. “Weren’t the kids' fault. They ambushed us as we were crossing Cumberland Falls. Some of the money went over the falls. Didn’t want to risk staying around in case the law came snooping around. Was a pretty big scene.”

“I see.”

(Y/N) timidly raised their head to find Dutch’s piercing eyes once again focused on them. An old but familiar feeling of helplessness gnawed at their insides, causing their stomach to twist. As their instincts yelled at them to hide, Arthur stepped forward slightly and half placed himself between them and Dutch.

“It wasn’t their fault Dutch.”

“And you can be absolutely sure about that Arthur?”

“As a matter of fact, I can. If they was working with the O’Driscolls to set a trap, then they would have shot me and not three of Colm’s boys.”

Dutch actually seemed surprised by this.

“Sounds like they weren’t embellishing their skills with a gun.” Hosea’s smoother voice was like a cool balm on (Y/N)’s nearly fried nerves.

“Damn right. Them idiots didn’t know what hit em. Kid put them all down with one bullet each.” Arthur replied, stepping back some. An unexpected swift and heavy pat on the back sent the teen stumbling slightly and (Y/N) swore they saw a slight grin on Arthur’s face.

***

“You ok there?” (Y/N nearly dropped the horse brush they were using, as Charles’ deep voice startled them out of their thoughts.

“Y-Yeah! Sorry, was just thinking. Did you uh, need something Mr. Charles?” Charles smiled and the minor change in his breathing suggested silent laughter.

“You can just call me Charles you know.” (Y/N) scrunched their face-up made a noise that was a mix between disagreement and something a bit lighter than disgust which drew another silent laugh from Charles before he continued. “Pearson was complaining that the camps getting low on meat so I offered to go hunting for him. You’ve got a good eye and steady hands so I figured I’d ask if you’d like to come.”

“Really?” Excitement bubbled up inside at the thought of being able to do more than just chores around the camp. (Y/N) could only lug so much water and carry so many sacks before it got repetitive and boring. They weren’t strong enough to properly chop firewood and Mrs. Grimshaw and practically chased them away from laundry and sewing after the first hour. “When you leaving?”

“As soon as possible. I’ll ready the horses while you grab your gun.”

“R-Right! Just give me five. I need to check my satchel.”

With a soft ‘Alright’ from Charles, (Y/N) dropped the horse brush by the hitching post and jogged across the camp towards the medicine wagon. A ratty lean-to was set up next to it and under it an old bedroll. It wasn’t a whole lot but it was more than they had before joining the gang. The well-used bedroll wasn’t nearly as soft as their bed back at Estelle’s home. A small framed photograph of the woman peeked out from under the corner of the bedroll. The faint reminder of the woman who could be sweet as honey one moment and mean enough to give an angry Mrs. Grimshaw a run for her money brought a familiar pang of guilt to the teen. Bitterly they pushed the feelings and memories away and turned the picture over, hiding away from the loving eyes of a woman hundreds or thousands of miles away.

(Y/N) blindly stuffed a few items in their satchel and reached for their gun. Their fingers had barely grazed the sun-warmed metal before they jerked their hand back as if it had burnt. Glassy blue eyes stared blankly at the gun laying on the ground, seemingly mocking them from its pathetic position.

Stupid child.

What were you expecting?

These people were outlaws.

They were no stranger to killing other people.

If you want to survive in their world, it's either shoot first or get dead.

It was hard to breathe as (Y/N) felt their chest tighten like a red hot metal vice had been wrapped around their chest. An old familiar panic started settling into their whole being, starting in their stomach before it wrapped its tendrils around their bones before boring its way into their throat and brain. The air itself caught in their throat and their vision was starting to blur slightly when a hot and heavy pressure made its presence known when it landed solidly on the teen's shoulder.

“Woah there! ‘Sokay! ‘Sokay kid, you’re alright ya hear?” The voice was deep and familiar and most importantly grounding. Still, it took a second for the pressure on their chest to dissipate enough and allow a cool, fresh breath to fill their burning lungs. Blinking, (Y/N) realised that some tears had gathered in their eyes and quickly moved to brush them away, sniffling as they did. Finally, they were able to look up as see Arthur crouching next to them, his brows furrowed gently as he watched them.

“Everything alright Arthur?” (Y/N)’s eyes flicked up to the approaching figure of Hosea.

“We’re fine Hosea. I just startled them is all.” Arthur replied easily. Hosea stood by for a moment before slowly approaching the teen, not too dissimilar to how one would approach a scared animal.

“You alright?” His soft, aged voice reminded the teen of Estelle once more.

“Y-Yeah.” They mumbled. “’M sorry. Dunno what came over me.” They looked away from the two men, eyes once again landing on their repeater as once again a wave of hot white anger flowed through their veins. A weight in their dominant hand drew their attention and (Y/N) suddenly understood why Arthur and Hosea were acting so cautious towards them.

In their hand was their trusty knife, the bronze metal gleaming dangerously in the sunlight. It quickly dawned on the teen that they had pulled it on reflex when Arthur had startled them. A hot flush of shame and embarrassment flooded through them as they frantically shoved the knife back into its sheath.

“Those are some damn fine reflexes you got kid.” Arthur said. The words may have formed a compliment but the tone was wrong and questioning. (Y/N) didn’t want to answer. They just groaned out a vague noise of agreement and pointedly avoided looking at the two men and finished packing their satchel. Slinging the strap over their shoulder the teen all but bolted past Arthur and Hosea making their way back to the horses where Charles stood waiting, making some final adjustments to Taima’s saddle. His movements held some extra tension and (Y/N) just knew that he had seen their little incident and the heat returned to their chest.

“Ain’t we going to go? Mr. Pearson needs meat, doesn’t he?” They snapped.

“You don’t have to come if you-”

“I’m fine!” They cut him off. “Come on.” They huffed, barely resisting the urge to stamp their foot. They were fifteen and basically a grown-up and grown-ups didn’t stomp their feet like toddlers when they were angry. A heavy hand was placed on their shoulder once more.

“Alright then kid.” Arthur said. His gruff voice was uncharacteristically soft. “Mount up. And let’s get goin’.” Gently, Arthur nudged them towards Fortuna who nickered and shoved her nose into (Y/N)’s chest. The mare huffed as the teen half-heartedly scratched her cheeks before silently climbing on. Fortuna shook her mane out and turned as much as she could, keeping an eye on her rider. She let loose another whine as she tried to nose (Y/N) again.

“I’m alright girl.” The whispered, pulling a carrot from one of the many pockets in their satchel and offering it to the worrisome mare. Fortuna took the carrot without protest and calmed as (Y/N) stroked her neck. Tugging on the reins, (Y/N) directed the mare’s head towards the path out of camp. Charles and Arthur were on the backs of Taima and Admiral. Not obviously watching them but also doing exactly that with incredible obviousness for two seasoned outlaws. Huffing, the teen kicked and urged Fortuna forward

***

I started hitting a wall with this chapter towards the end so the ending may feel somewhat abrupt. I didn’t have the energy to beta read this or whatever so all mistakes are mine.

I have a better plan for what will happen in the next chapter or two

#rdr2 x reader #rdr2 x male reader #rdr2 x gn reader #rdr2 x female reader #rdr2 fanfic #red dead redemption 2 x reader #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #of blood and greatness

[callboxkat]

Infinitesimal (part 52)

Author’s note: I have nothing to say for myself. But, hey, have a chapter! I’m hoping to get back into something closer to weekly updates between Infinitesimal and A Little Nightmare now that college apps are done, but I did just get a new puppy (his name is Rudy and he’s perfect), so we’ll see how that goes. Happy reading!

Warnings: injury and illness, fear, arguing, guilt, death mention

Word count: 2430

Infinitesimal Masterpost!

...

“You doing okay, kiddo?”

Patton, standing at Emile’s side, was currently bearing about half of Emile’s weight, Emile’s good arm slung around his shoulders.

Emile, his gaze fixed on the tabletop in front of him, made an affirmative noise and carefully took another step. Patton moved with him.

That question again, the one he kept hearing almost nonstop this past… had it already been over a week? Longer? Emile wasn’t sure. A lot of the time he had spent here was fuzzy, especially at the beginning, for obvious reasons. He still didn’t remember the event that put him in this situation at all, although he had a few snatches of memory from immediately after that he wasn’t overly keen on dwelling on. And he’d been sleeping more often than not, especially during those first few days.

So, he wasn’t quite sure how long he had been here. Too long, he felt. He wanted nothing more than to go home.

On the bright side, he was definitely improving. He was finally starting to get some of his energy back, his bruises had begun to fade, and his nausea was dying down, thankfully, so he was able to eat more as well. His arm was still broken, of course, as was the end of his tail, and his head wound was still something to consider; but he was getting better.

As time passed, Emile was starting to get restless, lying down all of the time. Logan had thought that was a good sign, that Emile was starting to get bored. It meant that he was getting well enough to care about more than just sleeping. Patton and Virgil seemed glad to see it too, although Emile was mostly just frustrated.

Because Emile’s ankle was no longer as swollen, his head was doing better, and Patton made a good crutch, the littles had decided that it would be okay to let him walk around, just for a short while, supervised, of course. Emile was eager to stretch his legs and to get some small part of his independence back. The humans had already gone for the day, off to their jobs, so it was just the three of them until evening with no interruptions.

They had used some of the supplies from the first-aid kit to put together a sling for Emile’s bad arm; and once that was finished and in place, they had carefully shifted him into a standing position, moving slowly. That had been the most difficult part, getting him up and out of the box, with no one wanting to accidentally make any injuries worse. Virgil had even lifted each of his feet over the lip of the box so he didn’t trip. That part might have been overkill, but Emile still wasn’t very well-coordinated, and they hadn’t wanted to take the risk.

Now, as Emile slowly shuffled across the tabletop, both Patton and Virgil were watching him like a hawk. Emile could hear the anxious tap of Virgil’s crutch tailing closely after them, where he held Emile’s tail aloft so that the injured part of it didn’t drag on the ground. Even considering the fact that Virgil was holding Emile’s tail, he stayed very close, following them like a shadow. He only had one crutch at the moment, since his other arm was full; but he had no trouble keeping pace.

It still felt weird to Emile, how their roles had suddenly swapped. He was the oldest. Usually the one in charge, the healthy brother, the one taking care of everyone else. He never held it against Virgil for being disabled, or, later, against Patton for being sick and, as Emile suspected and completely understood, afraid of leaving the walls. That was just the way things were, and Emile had accepted his role. But, now… it was strange, to be the one being taken care of. That rarely happened, save for when he occasionally got sick, and never lasted this long. It was nice, in a way, to not have that responsibility on him for once; but even ignoring the fact that it took being knocked from the top of a cabinet to give him that release, he couldn’t say that he liked it. It felt… infantilizing, at times, even though he knew he needed their help. He hoped that Virgil didn’t feel this way, when Emile tried to keep him from putting himself in danger. Emile knew that he had been rather strict, even if he did have good reasons.

Regardless of any discomfort, Emile was undeniably glad that Virgil and Patton had stayed with him. He knew how much of a sacrifice it had been for them to go to humans for help, and then to stay with them for days on end because Emile couldn’t leave. It was true that Roman and Logan only seemed to want to help, as terrifyingly huge as they were, and they’d been very gracious with offering whatever the littles needed without asking for much in return, even binging cartoons for a few hours each evening simply because Emile and Patton liked them. But they were still humans, and Emile was indescribably grateful that he didn’t have to face them alone. However nice they seemed, Emile was determined to get better as soon as possible, so that they could all go home. He knew that Virgil was still very much on edge around Roman and Logan, and Patton had already spent far too much of his life at a human’s mercy. Emile didn’t want Patton to feel trapped ever again.

“I think I’m done,” Emile grunted, coming to a halt. They’d only done two laps of the table—and not even the whole table, given that they were staying clear of the edges and the back quarter of the surface was covered in supplies—but sweat was beading up on his forehead, and he was starting to feel ill. “Sorry to cut our scenic stroll of ours short so soon.”

“That’s okay, Em,” Patton said, smiling at his friend’s attempt at humor. “There’ll be other walks. And you made it a lot further this time!”

“Hm,” was all Emile responded.

This was technically their second attempt at getting Emile to walk. On the first, he’d made it about six inches before needing to be basically carried back to the box. Emile had persuaded them to let him try again an hour later, with some more preparation. He had decided that the first try didn’t count.

Patton helped him back to the box, and he and Virgil very carefully guided him over the lip of the cardboard. They eased him down onto the blankets, the tension leaving Virgil’s frame only when he was back down. Emile let out a small sigh, shifting to get comfortable.

“How are you doing?” Virgil checked, sitting beside him.

“I’m good, Virge,” Emile said.

Virgil looked doubtful. Fair enough, Emile supposed.

“Well, kinda tired, but that’s not a surprise.”

He looked down, nodding, twisting his hands in his lap. “We’ve still got a while before they get home, if you want to take a nap.”

Emile shook his head, only enough to be noticeable, watching Virgil’s seemingly subconscious fidgeting. “That’s all I’ve been doing.”

“Okay… but, like, you didn’t hurt yourself, did you? Is your head okay?”

“It’s fine.” He did feel dizzy, but it wasn’t too bad, considering.

“Your tail?”

“Doesn’t even hurt,” he answered honestly. Of course, whether that was good or bad was still up for debate. But Emile thought it was good—he still didn’t have full feeling in the tip of his tail, but he was growing surer and surer that he had some feeling in it.

“And your ankle?”

Emile supposed that Virgil would only get more suspicious if he claimed to be completely fine. “A bit sore, maybe. I tried not to put too much weight on it.”

Virgil bit his lip. “Let me look at it.” He slid over to Emile’s feet and partially rolled up his pant leg, inspecting the ankle. Emile felt his cool fingers gently probe at it, inspecting. He mumbled something to himself. Emile watched him for a moment, then looked over at Patton, who was sitting on his other side, with a meaningful expression.

Patton, in turn, shifted and cleared his throat.

“So,” he said, hesitantly when Virgil looked up, “I was, um, I was thinking of maybe going home for a bit, just to grab some things.”

Virgil paused, halfway through rolling Emile’s pant leg back down. “By yourself?” he said, concerned. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

Patton glanced at Emile, who gave him a small, encouraging nod. “I’ll be okay. I won’t rush. And I know you have to stay here, kiddo, which is fine. I’ll be fine alone, promise.”

“Is it important? I think we have everything we need.” He frowned, clearly thinking that if it was important, it would have come up sooner.

Patton glanced at Emile again. “It’s important,” he confirmed.

Virgil still looked unconvinced.

“If he thinks he can do it, he probably can,” Emile nudged. “I think we should let him go.

“Since when are you mister ‘let’s let everyone go off by themselves’?” Virgil said with a frown. Then he caught himself and broke off, glancing away.

Emile sighed.

“I’ll be careful,” Patton said once more.

Virgil groaned. “Okay, okay, fine; but if you’re not back tonight, I’m coming after you.”

Patton gave him a sad look at that, clearly aware that Virgil would never actually leave Emile alone in the human apartment. All he said, though, was, “I will be.”

Ten-odd minutes later, Patton had gathered what he needed for the trip—with help from Virgil, who fluttered around him the whole time like a nervous moth—and he departed, using the hook and rope to slowly climb down to the floor. Virgil watched him until he disappeared into the wall, then reluctantly returned to Emile.

They sat in silence for a long moment, Virgil looking to the side and absently picking at a seam in his jacket. He shifted, fidgeting, occasionally glancing at Emile and away again.

“Virgil, what’s going on?” Emile asked. “Is something worrying you?”

“What, you mean like Patton going up two floors by himself? That kind of something?”

Emile didn’t waver. “No, you’ve been acting weird all day. What is it? Are you okay?”

“I’m great.”

Emile glanced up at the high ceiling above, then back at his younger brother. “Do you how do?”

Virgil blinked, then shook his head. “You’re ridiculous.”

“That’s not news. Tell me what’s up.”

Virgil glanced at him again, then let out a long, disgruntled sigh. “It’s just… I don’t know, you’re doing better and stuff, and I was thinking… or, um, I guess I wanted to ask….” He rubbed the back of his neck, shifting awkwardly, looking as if he wished he were just about anywhere else.

“Ask what?” Emile leaned his head back on the blankets he sat propped against, watching his brother.

“I don’t know… I mean….” He sighed, frustrated, then looked back up. “Do you remember… We talked, before you went on that trip. The one where… you know.” He winced. “Do you remember our conversation?

Emile frowned. “I think so,” he said slowly, shifting to look at Virgil better and squinting his good eye. “I’m kinda fuzzy. Could you remind me?”

“Yeah, ’course… Um, we were talking about your trip and stuff, and I wanted to go with you, but you said no. And I argued because that’s kind of my thing. And I asked you why you were still mad at me, because I guess I figured I’d proved myself with Patton and everything… and, um, you said it was because I didn’t tell you about Patton before I brought him home. Because you thought…. It seemed like I thought you wouldn’t have wanted to help Patton.”

Emile glanced away. “Right. I remember now.”

“Anyway, uh, I just wanted to… you know—I knew you’d be okay, obviously, and stuff, but—that would have really sucked if that was our last conversation. Like, really sucked. I’m sorry I snapped at you.” Virgil rubbed the back of his neck. It hadn’t been the best talk to end things on, even if Virgil had apologized at the end of it, and the guilt had been gnawing at him for a while now. Because even if that hadn’t been there last conversation, it could have been. Patton had actually left the house during the argument, frightened by how heated they’d gotten—something Virgil had already apologized for, but also still felt guilty about. “And like I said, I really am sorry about the stuff with Patton. I should have told you about him sooner, so you could help, not just showed up at home with him. I’m sorry.”

“I already forgave you for that, Virge,” Emile said. “But thank you.”

“I just… I know you would have helped him. I know you would have. I’m sorry I made you think I didn’t trust you.”

Emile reached out his good hand, and Virgil took it.

“I just wanted to tell you again, because… I don’t know. I wanted to make sure you knew. I’m sorry.”

Emile swallowed. “Well, if we’re apologizing for things… I’m sorry if I made you feel like I didn’t trust you.”

Virgil blinked at him, taken off guard.

“I know, even with everything, I’m too strict sometimes. And I know how it stinks, to be stuck on the outside—or inside, I suppose, technically. Now more than ever.” He glanced down at himself with a grimace. “It was never about you, Virge. I just… I get scared. After everything that happened, with your foot and your tail… it just felt safer, to keep you away from that. I just… I never want you to go through something like that again.” He swallowed. “But I know that wasn’t my choice to make, even if I know you never really followed my rules. You’re an adult. You can make your own choices.”

There was a long silence after that, so long that Emile wondered if Virgil was going to respond at all.

“You’re just trying to distract me from Patton, right?” Virgil finally said, ducking his head so his chin disappeared into his hoodie.

“No, no. And this isn’t the concussion talking either.” Emile squeezed his hand. “I’m sorry.”

“Well… that makes two of us, then, I guess.”

“We’re never going back to the seventh floor, though.”

Virgil winced. “Hell, no.”

#sanders sides #thomas sanders #ts sides #infinitesimal!sides #g/t #gt #giant tiny #sanders sides g/t #sanders sides fan fiction #cartoon therapy #virgil sanders #emile picani #patton sanders #roman sanders #logan sanders #ts virgil #ts emile #ts patton #ts roman #ts logan #ts fanfic #fanfiction #infinitesimal fic

[mikkomacko]

Sweet As Honey 3

~

Harry isn't a light sleeper. He could sleep through a boxing match if he wanted to. Hell, he'd even slept through one of Arlo's midnight tantrums back when he was a newborn and Harry was so exhausted that y/n didn't bother trying to wake him. But he's gone soft, the slightest stir of y/n or a hint of a cry and he's ready to swoop in and get his loves back to sleep.

It's no surprise that he wakes up from the sound of y/n climbing out of the bed. He's fully awake by the time the bathroom door clicks shut, a little louder and rougher than y/n usually closes it, followed by the sound of rushing water.

He's quick to his feet, all grogginess being wiped away as he hurries to the bathroom to check on his wife.

She's on her knees by the bathtub, head ducked down as she vomits into the tub. Harry kneels beside her, taking the hair she's bunched up in one hand from her and holding it back.

Y/n shudders, heaving her dinner under the flow of the water and blindly reaches out for Harry's hand. He grasps it, squeezing her fingers to let her know he's there.

"You're alright my love." Harry soothes. He strokes her hand with his thumb as she continues to heave into the tub. Once her tummy has been emptied and she's rinsed her mouth, he brushes her teeth for her.

Frowning, Harry cups her cheeks, feeling for any hint of a fever. They're sticky with sweat but he doesn't sense a fever.

"Let's get you back to bed." Harry murmurs. He helps y/n to her feet, smoothing her hair down and leading her to their bed. Harry gets her tucked under the blankets, pressing his palm to her forehead to check one last time for a fever.

"Yeh don't need any medicine darling?" Y/n shakes her head, blinking sluggishly at him.

"Was just nauseous." She yawns. "I feel better now."

Her eyes fall shut, snuggling into the blanket. Sighing to himself, Harry brushes a kiss to her forehead and stands up. He's making his way to his side of the bed, knees cracking when a sharp cry breaks through the baby monitor. Before he even gets the chance to think of falling back into bed, he's changing his course towards the door.

Using the nightlight in the nursery as a guide, Harry gets to the crib to find Arlo's chubby hands already reaching up for him. He scoops him up, bringing Arlo to his chest and wiping at his tears.

"Alright bub," Harry croaks. "what'sa matter? Huh?" He checks his diaper, glad that he doesn't need to be changed. He checks to make sure bunny is in the crib which he is. He checks to make sure Arlo isn't cutting a tooth or feeling ill. When Harry's sure his baby isn't physically hurting, he presses his hand to Arlo's bare tummy right above the edge of his diaper.

As if on cue, his little tummy rumbles gently under Harry's palm and Arlo whines in distress at him.

"Ok, ok." Harry shushes, already moving towards the kitchen. Arlo continues to whimper into his father's bare shoulder, staining his skin with drool and boogies. Harry warms a bottle of breast milk, dabbing some on his wrist to make sure it's not too hot, and then cradling his baby as he drinks.

Arlo quiets, occasionally hiccuping around the soft sounds of him suckling from the bottle. Harry leans against the counter, smiling softly at Arlo's glossy green eyes.

"Much better, huh bub?" He whispers, enjoying the way Arlo looks at him when he speaks. The eyes that mirror his own light up, curiously waiting for Harry to continue with what he was saying even if the baby doesn't have a clue what it means.

Harry continues to coo nonsense to Arlo, apologizing for putting him to bed hungry and taking so long to get him some milk. It's when Harry falls silent that Arlo seems to realize he's not drinking from his mother, he's drinking from a bottle and he begins to fuss. Chubby hands, push the bottle away, a whimper cracking through Arlo's lips.

"I know you hate bottles buddy," Harry sighs, urging Arlo to take the fake nipple back into his mouth. "but mumma's not feeling well and we need to let her rest, yeah?"

Arlo falls into the trance of his father's voice again, allowing Harry to pop the bottle back into his mouth. Tired and afraid that Arlo is going to reject it again, Harry continues to ramble.

"Should've known ya wouldn't be tricked into actually wantin' a bottle. Always want the real thing, don't ya?" Harry smoothes a finger over Arlo's flush cheek, careful to not disturb the bottle that's balanced in his palm. "Just like your daddy."

Arlo's eyes blink sluggishly at Harry, a quiet gurgle-that Harry takes as an agreement-leaving his lips.

"Trust me, I know s'nothing like mumma's but it'll do for now. You can 'ave her back tomorrow. Make sure you give her lots o' cuddles and kisses though. Want her to feel better, yeah?"

Arlo's big eyes blink up at Harry again.

"S'bit weird to be talking about mumma's boobs with ya, i'nit?" Harry quietly chuckles to himself. "But we both love 'em just like we love her so I suppose s'not too odd. S'just love and love is good."

The bottle is reaching the end and Arlo's eyes are getting heavy. Harry hums, continuing to soothe his son back to sleep.

"Love you so much, bub. I'll love you forever and ever, no matter wha' happens. Never hurt ya and I never leave ya without a home. I promise I'll always give you and mumma, and ya brothers and sisters a home. "

Harry stays silent after his little rant, his tongue heavy in his mouth and throat dry. Arlo's lazily finishing the end of the bottle, his eyelashes now kissing the apples of his cheeks.

"Harry?"

Harry nearly jumps out of skin, knocking the back of his ankle against the cabinet with a thud that has tingles shooting up leg and Arlo stirring.

He hisses, shaking out his leg and gently bouncing Arlo back to sleep. His head snaps to the entryway, brow furrowed in annoyance.

Gemma is peeking around the corner, thin arms crossed over her chest and fingers tapping her forearm nervously. She's hesitant, debating whether or not to enter the kitchen and even though she won't meet his gaze, Harry can see the tears in her eyes.

Harry's on the verge of walking away but he's falters as he watches his sister, anxious for some kind of reaction out of him. Y/n's voice rings through his head, begging him to speak to her.

He clears his throat softly, thinking of something to say that might show Gemma that he still cares for her.

Heart pounding, he murmurs, "Sorry, forgot you're a light sleeper."

Gemma sniffles, giving him a weak smile. Her wet eyes shine with gratitude, obviously happy that he's making a connection with her.

"It's not your fault." Gemma says. Her voice is light as if she's afraid of sending him running again. Harry's determined to prove her wrong. "I heard him fussing and I thought I'd come make sure everything is ok."

Harry nods, recalling that Arlo hasn't made a peep in quite some time. He wonders how long she was standing there before she worked up the nerve to say something.

"He was just hungry." Harry shifts his gaze down to Arlo. The bottle is empty but Arlo continues to suck at it as he sleeps. Gently, Harry pries the bottle from between Arlo's lips and places it on the counter. Arlo's nose scrunches up, lips opening and closing as he seeks the nipple of the bottle. Sensing an impending cry, Harry lifts his hand up, resting his palm on Arlo's chest and softly rubbing the tip of his pinky on Arlo's lips. Arlo latches onto Harry's finger, settling back down now that he's got something to suckle on.

"I'm proud of you Harry." Gemma whispers and he can feel her presence come closer. "You've got an incredible family and home and life. Everything here is so full of....of love and I'm jealous."

Anger sizzles in his gut. She's jealous? Of what? The fact that his mother abandoned him? That he had no home for years? He wants to snap at her but he knows it won't do any good so he stays silent, waiting for her to continue.

"I stayed at that house because I thought it was best. I wanted to hold onto what little sense of home I had left but seeing you with your wife and your son, this is a home. That house was nothing, it was faulty and broken and I'm sorry that I chose it over you."

Harry swallows around the lump in his throat, blinking back tears. Gemma sniffles again, her elbow bumping his. He doesn't pull away this time.

"I know that one apology won't fix this. I know it's going to take a lot for you to forgive me and I won't push you, but please know that whenever you're willing to talk, I'm here for you now. And if you never want to talk I understand but you deserve a chance at fixing this, at being happy."

"I am happy Gemma." Harry croaks. He looks over his shoulder at her, chest aching at the redness of her eyes. "For a long time I wasn't but I coped with it and I ended finding my soulmate and I'm so fucking happy. But I don't want to go through the rest of my life with that heaviness in my chest. I don't want to keep reliving what it was like to have Anne choose that low life over me. I want to fix this, I'm working on how to do that, but don't think I'm not happy."

Gemma nods, her eyes flickering back and forth between his. Harry hopes she can still read him like she used too because he can't get the words out entirely, but he wants her to know. He wants her to know that he's not entirely angry anymore. That he doesn't seek any revenge on her or Anne. He's hopeful for their future and he doesn't want her wasting energy fretting over him.

Harry knows from the way she smiles, fingers reaching out to briefly squeeze his elbow, that she understands.

"Thank you Harry, for everything." She swipes at her red nose with her arm. Harry hums, offering her his best smile. She clears her throat.

"Get that kid to bed because you two are awful cute together and I'm tired of crying." Gemma softly laughs, reaching out with a shaky hand to rub Arlo's closed fist that's wrapped around Harry's wrist.

"Will do." Harry pushes himself off the counter. He give Gemma one last grin. "Good night Gemma."

~

"Oh, mirror in the sky, what is love?"

"Can the child within my heart rise above?"

Tapping his toes against the headboard of his bed, Harry softly hums along as Gemma continues to sing the words of Landslide. His body is heavy, sinking into the matress more and more as sleep pulls him in.

Gemma stops singing and he can feel the matress shift as she sits up. "Do you think true love is a thing?"

Harry cracks an eye open, lifting his head a bit to look at her. She's propped up against the headboard, knees to her chest and tapping her fingers on her calf.

"I think so." Harry says, letting his head fall back onto his arms.

"I just think it's crazy. Like marriage, how can you promise to love someone forever? I mean, you don't know how you'll feel in ten years, you know?"

Harry hums, considering her words. "I think the risk of marriage is worth it though. I'd rather say that I've had my heartbroken than say that I've never really loved."

Gemma is quiet for a moment. "That still doesn't ensure that you'll love someone forever."

Sleep is tugging at him quickly, making his lips feel fuzzy and his arms tingly but he can't fall asleep knowing Gemma is nervous about something. He searches his foggy mind for the easiest way to explain love to her.

"We love our family forever. No matter what you, mum, and dad will always have a place in my heart so love must be real. You just have to find the person that you can see being your family."

Gemma releases her legs, nudging Harry in the side of the head with her foot. He lets out a low grumble. "You're too smart for fourteen."

Smirking to himself, Harry sighs and snuggles deeper into the bed. Ignoring her foot that's still pressed into the side of his head, he says, "Good night Gem."

"Good night Harry."

~

There were subtle changes in Harry's behavior after the night he spoke to Gemma. He interacted with her more, mostly just small talk, but talk nonetheless.

Harry's kindness instilled a sort of courage in Gemma, one that had her comfortable enough she was helping y/n around the house and openly fawning over Arlo 24/7. She was comfortable enough to start digging through the cabinets when she was hungry and she had figured out how to work the "overly advanced TV" in the living room.

Y/n was better after that night too, only a bit nauseous right after she ate but Harry never saw her throw up again. She was sleeping a little more than usual but he assumed it was her body recovering from the stomach bug she had.

Things were starting to look up at the Styles residence and Harry was pretty pleased. So pleased, he invited Gemma to go on a drive with him. He had to pick up a check from the warehouse and go over his schedule with Nick, and he assumed she was tired of being stuck in the house.

Harry enjoyed their morning together. They joked around a bit and spoke about Gemma's life now. She's a writer for a magazine back home but requested to work from home so she could go see Harry. She seemed happy with her life and Harry was glad, he didn't want her hung up on what happened in the past.

They're still chuckling about a joke Harry told in the car when they enter the house, Harry immediately freezing when he hears the chaos going on inside.

The smoke detectors are blaring, so loud Harry can't hear if y/n and Arlo are even in there. The alarm system is counting down the time until it notifies the fire department of the alarm and Harry quickly punches in the code to keep it from calling.

Him and Gemma rush inside, finding the living room empty and tinged with smoke. The wailing cries of Arlo can now be heard through the sound of the alarm. Panic flares in Harry's chest.

The smoke is coming from the kitchen as are the cries. Harry barrels in, eyes burning as he takes in the mess before him.

A pan is on the stove, big black clouds of smoke pouring up and into the house. Y/n is hunched over the sink, throwing up into the steam of water. She's got Arlo tightly in one arm, gently bouncing him while the other holds a dish towel over his nose and mouth. His cries can still be heard through the fabric and Harry can see y/n trying to sush him but she's interrupted by another spew of throw up.

"Open that window Gem." Harry orders, dashing towards the stove. He turns the burner off, hoping that'll stop most of the smoke until he can get the pan in the sink.

He moves over to the sink, quick to grab Arlo from y/n. Gemma keeps opening windows, fanning out the smoke. Harry pulls a chair up under the closest smoke detector, climbing up and pressing the reset button.

The house falls almost completely silent, Harry's ears ringing now that he can actually hear himself think. Arlo is still crying into the cloth that's shielding him from the smoke, fat tears soaking into it.

Harry climbs down, cradling Arlo a little closer to him. "S'alright bug," Harry coos, removing the rag to wipe at the snot and tears that stain Arlo's red cheeks. "I've gotcha."

Y/n is still dry heaving into the sink, letting out violent coughs when nothing comes up. "Do me a favor Gem?" Harry asks, already moving towards y/n.

"Of course."

"Take tha' pan out the back door and set it on the patio table, please?" He nods towards the stove, where the pan is still lightly smoking. Gemma rushes over, taking the pan and disappearing out the patio door.

Holding Arlo in his left arm, Harry rubs his hand up y/n's back. He pushes her baby hairs away from her face, smoothing her hair back and pressing a kiss to her temple.

"Was gone for an hour and ya almost burn the bloody house down." Harry teases quietly, continuing to run his fingers through her hair.

She chuckles softly, dipping a hand under the faucet to scoop water into her mouth. Harry keeps his fingers running through her hair while she rinses her mouth and swallows a few gulps of water.

When she's finished, she shuts off the water and returns to her normal height. Her cheeks are flushed and sweaty, the area under her eyes oddly pale. Harry's stomach flips in concern, hand moving to cup her cheek.

"I'm sorry H."

"None o' tha'." Harry shushes, panicking at the tears in her eyes. She nods, lips pursed in the way that Harry knows she does when she's trying not to cry. Huffing to himself, Harry cradles the back of her head and pulls her into his chest.

She lets out a shaky whimper into his shoulder, hands fisting his tee-shirt. He cards his fingers through her hair, gently rocking her and Arlo back and forth until they've stopped sniffling.

That's when Harry glances up, catching sight of Gemma and Anne standing by the back door. It may be irrational but his stomach clenches with anger, nostrils flaring when Anne meets his gaze.

"Want you two upstairs." Harry says gruffly, carefully removing y/n from his chest and handing over Arlo.

"Harry-"

"In bed, resting. I'll be up in a mo' to check your temperature." Harry interrupts, patience wearing thin. Y/n meets his gaze, feebly nodding when she recognizes the darkness in them.

Harry walks her to the stairs, chest heaving with pent up anger. He watches her disappear up the stairs, waiting for the sound of the door shutting before hounding in on his mother.

"She let you stay here." Harry mutters through clenched teeth, arms crossed over his chest to keep himself at least a tiny bit composed. "She's done nothing but take care of you for two bloody weeks and I can't trust you to help her for one fucking hour."

Anne stays silent, guilty eyes absorbing Harry's words. Maybe it's good she doesn't say anything but in the heat of the moment, when Harry can still feel the heavy panic that hit his chest when he opened the door, her silence just presses his buttons.

"Ya not gonna say anything?" He scoffs, now pacing back and forth. His skin is hot and itchy, fingers tingling with the same adrenaline that hits him before a match.

"You weren't always a shit mother." Harry hisses, unable to stop his mouth from saying the words he know will hit her hard. "I thought it'd be fine if I left my wife and son, my family, with you but I guess I was fucking wrong!"

"Harry!" Gemma hisses but he ignores her, brain foggy with the built up anger at his mom and the fear that crushed him when he thought his family was in danger.

"Did ya forget how to take care o' someone that's not yourself? That's my fucking family and ya just left them in here while ya waited outside, for what? How long would ya have stayed out there if I hadn't shown up?"

Once again, she's quiet, save for the sound of her softly crying. Harry doesn't care, his family could've been hurt and she did nothing but save herself. Harry approaches her, pointer finger jabbing into her shoulder as he glares down at her.

"You're lucky Gemma's here because I could honestly kill ya." Anne whimpers at his words, chin dropping to her chest and sobbing. He turns, heading towards the staircase.

"Harry," Anne cries weakly. "darling please-"

"Don't call me that!" Harry hisses, stopping just before the steps. He gives her another anger fueled glare. "Clean up this mess Anne, and then leave me alone."

~

Harry's hot, skin damp with sweat from being buried under the thick winter blankets and y/n, but the air in the bedroom is far too cold for him to remove a layer.

He yawns, becoming aware of the hand that's clasped around his bicep, nails digging into his skin. His eyes pop open, coming face to face with y/n peering at him through the dark. Her eyes are big and teary, her whole body tensed up.

"Harry,"

"What'sa matter?" Harry asks, shooting up in the bed and kicking the blankets away to get a good look at her swollen belly. Bile rises in his stomach when he sees the way she's holding her stomach, as if she's in pain. He places his hand over hers, fingers slotting between hers to feel if their little one is moving around. His panic grows when he feels nothing.

"It hurts Harry." Y/n whispers through a wince.

"Come on love," Harry grunts, his joints stiff as he clambers off their bed. "Up ya get." He takes her hands and pulls her up until she's standing next to him.

They dress, Harry throwing on a tee-shirt and shoving his feet into a pair of Addidas before helping y/n slide into a pair of his sweatpants and her vans.

She winces when they get to stairs, the sharp pain in her stomach too much to even think about walking down the stairs. Harry scoops her up, carrying her bridal style all the way to the car.

"Are we going to the hospital?" She questions breathlessly.

Harry nods, keeping one hand on the wheel and reaching over for hers. She tightly clasps them together, squeezing him the whole ride there.

They get her into an exam room, Harry's heart pounding with fear. He's in a daze as he helps y/n change into a gown and get on the bed. He can't take his eyes off her stomach while they wait for the doctor. His baby is in there and something could be wrong. His son could be in pain and there's nothing he can do for him. Harry's utterly helpless.

"We're going to be fine, H." Y/n whispers, still holding onto him. He nods, free hand immediately going to rest on her belly. He ducks down to kiss her cheek and then her belly, tears flooding his eyes when their baby presses against his palm.

Relief washes over him but he still keeps his hand on her stomach until the doctor is smearing jelly on it for an ultrasound. And even when he's assured multiple times that y/n was just having Braxton Hicks contractions, he still holds his hand there, making sure his son is safe.

~

"S' not too hot?"

"No, it's fine."

"Good," Harry murmurs, delicately pecking Arlo's forehead. "because here comes my little bug."

Y/n grins, reaching out with bubble covered arms to grab Arlo. She sets him on her lap, the warm water reaching just above his belly button. He squeals at the bubbles, his hands smacking the surface of the water and splashing dollops of water across Harry's tee-shirt.

"Watch were you're throwing water, ya lil bugger." Harry laughs, scooping up some of the water in his palm. Y/n tilts Arlo's head back, allowing Harry to wet the tiny bit of hair sprouting.

Harry can feel y/n's gaze on him as he pours baby wash into his hands. He tries to ignore it, softly rubbing the soap into Arlo's smooth skin because he knows she's going to question him on what he said to his mother.

To his luck, she doesn't pester him while he bathes Arlo nor when he uses an old plastic cup to wet her hair and scrub her shampoo into it. She's quiet, softly breathing as he rinses out her hair and adds conditioner to it.

Harry smiles, heart content when she looks at him with sleepy eyes and brings Arlo closer to her chest. She smiles back, eyeing him curiously when he moves to the end of the tub.

"Put ya leg up here for me darling." Harry instructs, tapping the edge of the tub and reaching for the razor on the ledge.

"Harry, you don't have t-"

"Want to." He interrupts, pulling the cap off of it. Y/n nods, lifting her leg out of the sudsy water for him. Harry's careful as he runs the razor over her legs, not wanting to accidentally knick her.

"Daddy takes such good care of us, doesn't he bub?" Y/n coos. Harry looks up at her, catching her as she presses a finger full of bubbles to Arlo's nose.

Harry hums, moving up to her thigh. "Was so scared when I got home." Harry says quietly, not really wanting to think about how worked up he got. "Thought ya two were hurt and I couldn't even hear if ya were still in the house."

"Sorry we scared you."

"S'not your fault." Harry insists. "Accidents happen, ya just know how I get when it comes to you two."

"Trust me, Harry," Y/n reaches down, her wet fingers pushing his hair back. "nothing is going to happen to us with you around."

Harry smiles, feeling more at ease now. "Love you pet." Harry murmurs, pressing his lips to her knee.

"We love you Harry."

Harry holds back a smirk, wanting to make y/n blush and give him that cute giggle she does when she's feeling bashful.

"Lift ya bum for me, so I can finish my job down here." His hand slides further down her thigh, tickling dangerously close to her core.

"You are not shaving down there!" Y/n gasps, pulling away from him so her legs splash back into the water. Arlo giggles at the waves in the water.

"M' just teasing!" Harry snickers, moving back towards her head. "'sides, ya know I like it when you don't shave down there."

She sucks her lips into her mouth, hiding her shy smile from him but she can't hide blush on her neck and cheeks. Harry kisses her cheek.

"Lift ya arm so I can get under there," He taps her elbow. "need to get you two in bed. We've got an early day tomorrow."

Y/n is lifting her arm for him when Arlo's little hand reaches out and swipes at the razor in his hand. Gasping dramatically, Harry looks down at Arlo with offense. Arlo giggles at him.

"S'not yours!" Harry exclaims. "Bloody hell, I can't get any peace of mind with ya little devils around here!"

Both Arlo and y/n chuckle at him, Arlo snuggling into her wet chest and looking up at Harry with fond eyes. He rolls his eyes at both of them but his smile stays planted on his lips for the rest of the night.

#sweet as honey #dad harry styles #harry styles imagine #harry styles #harry styles au #harry imagine #solo harry #boxer harry #boxing #one direction #fanfic #fanfiction #imagine #daddy harry styles #fluff #cute

[justheretobreakthings]

Remember Me - Chapter 14

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Word Count: 5,504 (Total Word Count: 57,367) Read on AO3

Story Summary:

It was strange enough for the paladins of Voltron to have found another human this far from home, locked in a Galra prison. But it was stranger still when this human insisted that he knew them, and even that he was the former red paladin of Voltron.

That couldn’t possibly be true, could it? After all, if this Keith was actually a part of the Voltron team, then why does nobody remember him?

Chapter Preview:

“Keith,” Allura snapped. “What do you think you’re doing?!”

“Saving the stupid mission, what’s it look like I’m doing?” Keith shot back.

“You were supposed to stay on the bridge with Coran!”

“Whoops,” Keith said drily. “Guess I forgot. Lance, on your eleven.”

“On my - hey!” Lance yelped, veering Red away as Keith sped by mere inches from her port flank. “Watch where you’re flying!”

“How’re things looking, Pidge?”

“Well, the intel holds true. We’re definitely getting readings in line with the ones the rebels sent us.”

“And you’re sure it’s quintessence?”

“Either that or the most bizarre new form of static cling ever discovered.”

Allura sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose as she frowned up at the screen where imaging from the Green Lion’s viewport was being projected back into the bridge, where the other paladins stood gathered, watching intently. “Pidge,” Allura said, “What have I told you about being sarcastic when reporting to base?”

“Hard to say, princess, I tend to tune you out when we get onto that topic.”

“Pidge,” Shiro said, tone scolding.

“Sorry. In any case, there’s definitely readings of quintessence on this ship, but it’s also definitely… different.”

“Different how?” Allura asked. “Different like the quintessence the Blade’s been trailing?”

“No, see here.” The view on the screen switched to Pidge’s helmet cam, and she pointed to a readout on her dashboard. “There’s no pattern to the energy surges. The quintessence that the Blade found in connection to Lotor had different energy readings than the ones we have on record from that druid lab we found way back when, but they were still regular. This stuff here, though, it’s like - it seems… unstable.”

“Maybe it’s because you’re moving around in Green,” Lance suggested. “Like, you know, you’re getting closer and farther to the ship, so the reading’s weird?”

“No, Lance,” Pidge sighed. “That’s not it.”

“Well, we can’t know that for sure until - ”

“Yes, we can. Distance doesn’t affect how Green picks up quintessential residue. She releases a signal toward a pre-calculated epicenter on the targeted area that remains completely static regardless of - ”

“Never mind,” Lance said. “I just decided you know what you’re doing.”

“Oh, goody, I feel validated.”

“Could whatever’s creating the quintessence energy be being actively altered right now?” Shiro asked. “Perhaps there’s a working lab in that ship?”

“Doubtful,” Coran spoke up. “Not with that make of ship. It’s a cargo ship, for one thing, but beyond that, it looks to be modeled after the Galra’s old Lexell-N-13 ships. Wonderful stability in the engine room, but notoriously terrible at maintaining internal gravity levels. A dreadful place to be doing precision lab work.”

“So, what are we looking at, then?” Allura asked.

“Transporting supplies, no doubt,” Coran answered. “Whatever’s leaving the quintessence traces may be what’s being experimented upon.”

“Not sure if that really gives us the greatest well of answers as to what the druids have been up to,” Keith commented from the back of the group. “Not if we don’t get access to their process in action, I mean.” This was the first he had spoken since Allura had told them about the signal the rebel group had picked up. Amid their wormholing to the coordinates and sending Pidge out in her cloaked Green Lion to scout out the ship the rebels had come across, he had remained quiet, intently focused.

“Perhaps not the greatest,” Coran replied, “But still useful. We can certainly glean information from whatever is being transported, both the cargo itself and inventory logs, and if they’re keeping travel records, we could use those to find out where the ship is coming from and where it’s going - two other locations that would be immense resources to us.”

Shiro nodded. “All right. Princess, your call: are we looking at an infiltration mission here?”

“That would probably be the best course of action,” Allura answered.

Lance lifted his hand in question. “Should we go for hijacking the ship while we’re down there? I’m just thinking, if this stuff important to Witch Lady, probably would be helpful to keep it from getting to checkpoint B, right?”

“Not in this case, no,” said Allura. “If we’re able to get information about the ship’s docking points, we’re going to want to be able to go investigate them afterward. As long as we’re stealthy and don’t impede the ship’s route, they won’t know we’re coming. If we interfere with them though, or if they’re able to send off any communication that something’s gone wrong en route, they’ll have time to clear the evidence. And if that prison was anything to go by, it seems that’s something at which the druids are quite adept.”

“All right,” Shiro said with a brisk nod. “I could join Pidge, and we can go down in Green and try and make our way into the ship.”

“Sounds good,” Allura said. “Lance, be on standby in Red in case they need help making a quick exit. Hunk and I can ready Blue and Yellow in case any shots start firing, and we can regroup once you’re either finished, or if a battle situation erupts.”

“What should I do?” Keith asked as the others started toward their ziplines.

Allura paused mid-step. “What - what should you do?”

Keith nodded. “Yeah. Should I ride down with someone, or do we have any cruisers to spare, or…?”

“Right. Right.” Allura cleared her throat. “Well, actually, er, it - it would probably be very helpful to have an extra set of eyes here on the bridge to, say, keep an eye on - ”

“Uh-huh,” Keith cut her off, and Lance could practically see him physically deflating. “Yeah, I’m sure that’ll be helpful.”

Allura sighed. “Keith, this isn’t a matter of you not being helpful, it’s - ”

“I just figured, you know, this is sort of my mission too, isn’t it?” Keith asked. “I mean, we’re - we’re looking into this ship because it’s a lead on, um, my - my, uh, my whole… deal, with Haggar, and I thought - ”

“Keith - ”

“And like I’ve already told you, I’ve got experience with infiltration missions, so I know what I - ”

“Keith,” Shiro said. He had doubled back toward him from his path toward the zipline, and he set his hand on Keith’s shoulder, turning the smaller man slightly to look him in the face. “I promise you, this isn’t anything personal. I’m sure you’d do just fine on a mission. But right now, we just need to do this quickly and efficiently, and that’s going to be more difficult if there’s an unfamiliar element in the mix, you know? We’re, ah, used to the current Voltron dynamic, we know how to work off of it.”

Keith bit at his lower lip for a moment before dropping his gaze and nodding. “Right, sorry,” he mumbled. “I hadn’t thought of - I’ll, uh, stay here with Coran.” Shiro smiled and patted his shoulder before moving away.

“Oh, I’m honored to have the companionship!” Coran said, brightly and just a little too loudly to be perfectly natural, before throwing his arm around Keith’s shoulder and tugging him toward the mission control screens. “Don’t know how many of these instruments you’re familiar with, so let me give you a quick rundown!”

He began an enthusiastic tutorial of the various monitors and buttons, and the other paladins took the opportunity to start toward the ziplines again. Lance shuffled over to walk beside Shiro. “You know,” he whispered. “You don’t have to do that.”

“Do what?” Shiro asked.

“Like, give Keith a whole speech if he doesn’t like an order? I know you’ve never been big on pulling rank, but, I mean, you and Allura are in charge, right?”

Shiro shrugged. “It doesn’t hurt anything. ‘Specially when he’s still not in the greatest state mentally and all.”

“He’s a lot better on that mark lately. It just doesn’t seem - ”

“Gotta split up here, Lance,” Shiro said, gesturing toward the zipline entrances.

Lance huffed out a breath. “Right,” he grunted, parting ways with Shiro and moving toward his own zipline. He could let the matter drop. It wasn’t as if he actually cared about whether Shiro was coddling Keith too much. It just had seemed worth a mention.

That’s all.

He slid down the zipline and into Red’s waiting cockpit, and from there he flew out of the hangar to wait, and it was easy to put any concerns about how Shiro was handling Keith to the back of his mind. Red had a way of keeping him focused during a mission. Lance wasn’t sure if it was just the thrill that came with being in the pilot seat, or if the Red Lion’s own keenness and confidence were contagious. Probably the latter, if he were to be honest. And it was something he wouldn’t trade away for the world.

He waited for the others to get their places situated; Allura and Hunk were flanking Black on the way down so Shiro could move into Green for the infiltration itself, and keeping the lion covered until Shiro could return to the pilot’s seat. Once Shiro had made his move, he tailed Green along back toward the Galra ship, keeping his distance.

“Found what looks to be a good entry point over beneath this wing,” Pidge said into the comms. “I can keep Green’s cloaking on and dock her. Lance, keep an eye out on the exterior and be ready in case we need to use a different exit point.”

“Roger,” Lance said. He started Red on a wide swingaround to the other side of the Galra ship, keeping his eyes peeled all the while for any activity.

“You got any schematics you can send my way, Coran?”

“Got some for the old Lexell-N-13,” Coran answered. “Not sure it will be precisely the same as this ship, but should give you a good guideline.”

“Pass ‘em over,” Pidge said. “Long as an access point to their security network’s in roughly the same place, I’m good to go.”

Lance kept his position in the air, and the others were quiet over their comms as they waited before Shiro said softly, “Disembarking Green now.”

“Got you on my radar, Shiro,” Lance said, pulling up the thermal imaging scope on Red’s dashboard and focusing onto the entry site Pidge had pointed out earlier, where two bright blurs indicated Shiro and Pidge’s presence. “Think your coast is clear.”

“All right, I’ll make my way toward security,” Pidge said. “Assuming that these schematics are accurate?”

“I’m eighty percent sure that they are,” Coran said.

“Good enough. Okay, Shiro, quintessence reading’s mostly centered farther back along the cargo bay toward the aft fuselage. Start heading that way, I’ll monitor you?”

“Already on it,” Shiro said.

Lance watched as the two blurs from their heat signatures parted and took off, tracking them until they started overlapping with others on the ship in connecting hallways. At that point he minimized the thermal vision on his dashboard and brought Red around to monitor from behind the cover of one of the ship’s elevons.

“At the security bank,” Pidge said after a few doboshes, “How’s everyone holding up?”

“Hunk and I are holding steady out here, Pidge,” Allura replied.

“Same here,” Lance said.

“Think I’m gonna need a hand, actually,” Shiro said. “Door’s not responding to my arm.”

“Shit, hang on, I don’t see any alarm raised or anything, so what did - ”

“It didn’t light up red or sound an alarm, it was just unresponsive. Seems like it’s turned off.”

“All right, hang on, let me get that powered back up for you.” There was quiet for a few moments before Pidge said, “Uh, Shiro, what door are you trying to open?”

“The cargo bay entrance? Why?”

“Well, I’m looking, and I can’t find any entrance to the cargo bay.”

“What?”

“Like, there’s definitely a cargo hold here on the ship, got official schematics here in the security bank, but I can’t… figure out how to get there.”

“Could you send those schematics my way, Pidge?” Coran asked.

“Sure thing.”

“Pidge?” said Shiro. “If this isn’t the entrance to the cargo hold - ”

“Hold on, let me find you on the monitors… yeah, looks like you’re trying to access a liquid hydrogen tank.”

“Then how do I get to the cargo hold?”

“I’m looking…”

“Don’t forget, Pidge,” Coran said. “You’re also looking for access to transport records and inventory logs.” In the background, Lance could hear Keith’s voice softly ask, “Can I look at the schematics?”

“Yeah, yeah, I didn’t forget,” Pidge said. “I’ve got two hands, Coran, I can only type so much at once.”

“So what should I - ” Shiro started.

“Lay low for sec,” Pidge answered. “Look, I’ll - I’ll keep an eye on the cameras while I work my way into their records, Coran can start trying to figure out a way into the cargo hold.”

“I don’t think there is one,” Keith said.

A pause, then, “Come again, Mullet?” Lance asked.

“Well, I mean, there is, technically, but it’s not - look, I recognize these schematics, we infiltrated a ship with this exact same layout once when I was with the Blades, must have been the same model of - ”

“Now, Keith,” Allura sighed, “We have been over this. You were never actually - ”

“No, okay, whatever, I wasn’t actually a Blade, but I swear, I know this ship! And you’re not gonna be able to get to the cargo hold, not from inside.”

“What are you talking about?” Pidge asked.

“It’s an added security measure to ensure that only select people have access to whatever’s being transported. You can’t get to the cargo hold from inside, not unless you go completely smashing through some walls. The only way to get to the cargo is through the exterior bay doors, and they locking mechanisms and key codes aren’t connected to the ship’s internal network, so Pidge won’t be able to hack them from where she is.”

“Aw, isn’t it so sweet how much the Galra all respect and trust each other,” Pidge muttered. “So what, we’re gonna have to go try to get into the cargo bay from the outside?”

“Nothing doing, short stuff,” Lance said. “I’ve got the exterior cargo bay doors in my view. Windows all around, right in the line of a laser turret just off the starboard wing, no place to dock Green… there’s no way in Hell you’d ever be able to get in there without being spotted.”

Keith let out a little grunt of frustration before saying, “Well, then, forget about the stealth, and you can just - ”

“Absolutely not,” Allura said. “Remember, if we give away our activity, we give them the opportunity to clear out evidence wherever the ship is intending to go.”

“But - ”

“Sorry, Keith, but Allura’s right,” Shiro said. “For now, we may just have to forego the cargo and focus on Pidge’s info download.”

“...Fine.”

“Well,” Pidge said. “The good news is, that shouldn’t take much longer. Think I’m just about into their primary drive, so if we - ” A sudden blare sounded into the comms, making Lance wince and put a hand over his ear. “Fuck!” Pidge spat.

“What happened?!” Shiro cried.

“Pidge, did you trigger an alarm?!” Hunk asked.

“No, no way, I - ”

Whatever she said next, Lance didn’t hear. His eyes widened as one of the turrets on the ship rotated toward him. A nudge from Red kept his surprise from freezing him in his tracks, and he had time to grab onto the steering and pull away before a laser blast came shooting his way.

“Crap!” Hunk yelped. “They’re shooting!”

“You don’t say?!” Lance grunted. “Sorry, Pidge, they spotted Red, think that’s what triggered the alarm!”

“Shit,” Pidge muttered. “Woulda been nice for you to wait a few minutes more before making your grand entrance, Lance!”

“Hey, Red is a gigantic robot lion in the sky, there’s only so much I can do to keep her from being noticed!”

“Paladins, please!” Allura said. “This is not the time! Pidge, Shiro, get back to Green! I’ll escort Black around so Shiro can make the transfer. Hunk, you’re on defense, get to Lance and stave off any attacks. Coran, prepare the castle for me to return and make a wormhole for us.”

A chorus of ‘right’s and ‘roger’s sounded through the comms as everyone hastened to comply with the orders. Lance dove out of the way of another blast from the ship before sending one of his own back through Red’s open mouth.

“Hey,” Keith said. “As long as your cover’s been blown - ”

“Not really a good time, Keith!” Lance shouted as he narrowly dodged another blast.

“But we can use whatever’s in the cargo hold!”

“Keith, we don’t have time,” Pidge said. “I don’t know how long it will take to figure out the locking mechanism on the bay doors, and we can’t - ”

“Then forget the locking mechanism, you can get through the doors by force!”

“If we wreck the doors or the cargo bay, we’ll no doubt also destroy the cargo,” said Shiro.

“If you’re careful about where you hit, there will be enough left intact to at least get something! Bring one of the Lions close enough, and - ”

“Even if that is the case, they’ve got weapons mounted right outside the cargo bay,” Lance pointed out. “You try to get into it, you’ll get shot down easy.”

“Not if you’re fast and you dodge!”

“Enough!” Allura said firmly. “We’re cutting our losses now, and that’s that. This is not up for debate.”

Keith let out a growl of frustration, and Lance heard a thump in the comms before Coran said, “Keith, where are you - ?” He paused, then, “Think he left to cool down.”

“Sounds like a good idea,” Shiro said. “We’re at Green, boarding her now. Allura, ETA?”

“Within the dobosh,” she answered.

“On the bright side, least this wasn’t a total wash,” Pidge said. “Managed to get those transport records opened up before the alarm sounded, so I’ve got coordinates on hand now.”

“Those coordinates certainly would have been more helpful if we’d been able to maintain stealth, but I suppose they’re better than nothing,” Allura said. “We’ll have to - ” She stopped as a beeping sounded over the comms, followed by a thoughtful “Hm” from Coran. “Coran?” she asked. “What was that?”

“Erm, nothing, princess,” Coran answered.

“Coran - ”

“Allura, we’ve got visual on you and Black!” Shiro interrupted. “Moving in for transfer now.”

“Right, right,” Allura said.

“Feel free to hurry,” Lance said as Red sent another blast of flame toward the ship, “Sooner we get that wormhole opened, the better.”

“We’re all more than aware of that, Lance,” Allura said.

“Hey, guys? Looks like they have reinforcement coming in,” Hunk said.

“Quiznak, you’re kidding me!” Allura said. “What are we looking at here?”

“Just a small cruiser on my six o’clock, but I don’t know if more are intending to follow.”

“You and Lance hurry and take care of them.”

“On it,” Lance said, moving Red so that Yellow was blocking the ship from her before turning to face the new threat.

Just as he was preparing a beam, though, his comm crackled and Keith’s voice sounded into his ear. “Wait, wait, don’t shoot, that’s me!”

“Keith?!” Lance cried. “You’re their reinforcements?!”

“Wha - no! This is one of the castle’s cruisers!”

“Keith,” Allura snapped. “What do you think you’re doing?!”

“Saving the stupid mission, what’s it look like I’m doing?” Keith shot back.

“You were supposed to stay on the bridge with Coran!”

“Whoops,” Keith said drily. “Guess I forgot. Lance, on your eleven.”

“On my - hey!” Lance yelped, veering Red away as Keith sped by mere inches from her port flank. “Watch where you’re flying!”

“I know what I’m doing, Lance,” Keith growled.

“Like fuck you do,” Lance muttered as he turned to watch Keith speeding straight toward the ship. “Hey dumbass, you do realize that’s where the lasers are coming from, right?!”

“I’m aware,” Keith answered, dodging one even as they spoke, not letting up on his speed for a moment.

“I’m heading back toward the castle, wormhole to follow shortly,” Allura said. “What exactly are you - ?”

“I told you,” Keith said, “You wanna get into that cargo bay, you gotta use force.”

“Keith, you’re gonna get shot down before you get within a mile of that cargo!” Lance shouted.

“No, I’m not!”

“Yes, you - oh, for the love of - ” He hastily turned Red to fire at the turret that had been aiming for Keith’s cruiser. “See?! That thing just almost took you out!”

“But it didn’t!”

“Yeah, and you got me to thank for that! Now would you just - ” A crash echoed over the comms, and Lance’s jaw dropped as Keith rammed diagonally right into the exterior cargo hold door, leaving a massive dent in its wake.

“Keith!” Shiro shouted. “Stop that, you’re going to wind up hurt!”

“I already said I know what I’m doing,” Keith said. He started making a wide turn away from the ship, getting back into position to start careening toward it again.

“I hope you’re aware that the castle’s healing pods aren’t quite as good at healing corpses,” Allura said.

“Noted,” Keith replied, right before another crash, louder still than the one before it, and this time Keith’s cruiser managed to get through the cargo bay door, the tail end of the ship left sticking out of the vaguely cruiser-shaped hole in the metal.

“... Keith?” Shiro said. “Keith, come in! Keith!”

“Oh my God, is Keith dead?!” Hunk squeaked out.

“I’m fine,” Keith groaned. “Just… just a little winded.”

“Keith, are you hurt?” Shiro asked.

“I’m disemarking for a moment.”

“That doesn’t answer my question!”

“Hang on, there’s - shit,” Keith spat. Blasts started coming through the comms, and when Lance squinted, he could see small flashes of light in the edges of the hole not currently blocked by the cruiser. “What the hell’s going on in there?” Lance asked.

“I don’t think the cargo hold likes visitors…” Keith said.

“Then get the fuck out of there!” Pidge shouted. “Guess the locking mechanism’s not the only security on that cargo.”

“I know, I’m going, I’m going,” Keith said, and a few ticks later, the cruiser moved, backing out of the cargo door. A couple of small laser blasts followed him out, narrowly missing the cockpit.

As the cruiser made it out of the ship and started moving away, Lance kept half an eye on it. The vehicle didn’t look to be in the same shape it had been before its crash - only natural, he supposed - and Keith was no longer flying nearly as smoothly as before. The cruiser kept slowing and speeding, and repeatedly lurched to the side before being pulled back onto its course.

“Keith, I don’t think you’re ship’s in a good state to be in battle right now,” Shiro said over the comms before Lance could say anything. Seems he wasn’t the only one who noticed the erratic flying.

“It’s nothing,” Keith replied. “Just some dents.”

“It looks like a hell of a lot more than some dents. If you can’t fly it - ”

“I can fly it just fine, it’s just a little - ” He broke off to let out a small cry as a shot from the Galra ship caught his starboard wing, leaving him spinning out for a few ticks before managing to find equilibrium again.

“Just some dents, huh?” Pidge asked.

Keith was silent for a moment before hesitantly replying, “I, uh… I might need some help.”

“I’ve got him,” Lance said, resisting the urge to tear his eyes away from the battle long enough to roll them. “Hunk, cover me.”

“Roger that,” Hunk said. Yellow made a wide turn to fly between Red and the Galra ship, and Lance sped to where Keith’s little cruiser floated to scoop him up into Red’s mouth.

“Thanks,” Keith grunted.

“Uh-huh,” said Lance. “Now, what have we learned today about crashing ourselves into bigger ships and expecting to fly off unscathed afterward?”

“That you’re too chickenshit to try it?” Keith asked, his tone gratingly innocent. Lance scowled and grabbed a joystick on the dash to make Red shake her head back and forth. “Hey!” Keith yelped. “What are you doing?!”

“Sorry, Red had an itch,” Lance said.

“The lions don’t get itches.”

“And you would know that how, exactly?”

Keith went quiet, and Lance had to grimace to himself a little. Admittedly, that remark had been a bit of a low blow. He opened his mouth with the intent to say as much, but lost his trail of thought when the castle’s wormhole opened up in the sky before him.

“All right team, moving out,” Shiro said, and Black led the way through the wormhole, Red and her catch bringing up the rear.

The universe around Lance went eerily quiet as it always did when they went through a wormhole, that sudden transition away from the noise of battle always leaving a ringing in his ears. The silence was soon relieved by a buzz of conversation on the comms, appraising what they’d gotten from that mission and asking what was to be done next.

“Keith, are you going to need a pod?” Shiro asked as Lance neared Red’s hangar.

“Uh, hard to say,” Keith replied. “Think my ship’s more banged up than me, to be honest.”

“Well, it wouldn’t hurt to check just to make sure. Coran?”

“Right-oh, Number One,” Coran said. “I’ll meet you boys in the hangar!”

“Thanks,” Keith grunted right as Red touched down. Lance lowered Keith’s cruiser to the floor delicately, taking care not to jostle it as a silent apology for knocking him around earlier.

Keith was struggling out of the cruiser as Lance descended from Red’s jaw, and the latter let out a low whistle at the state of the smaller vehicle now that he could get a better look at it. A chunk of the starboard wing had been torn off from that blast it had taken, and the crash had left the forward bulkhead half caved in. “Damn,” Lance said, “If this is what you consider ‘dented’, I’d hate to see your idea of a wreck.”

“It’s… probably mostly cosmetic damage,” Keith said, and Lance turned to him. This was also first time getting a look at Keith, since their communication had been entirely over the comms rather than any video feed, and Lance raised his brow at the other’s appearance. Keith had at some point outfitted himself in a thick, boxy armor and helmet, silvery-white save for pale blue accents on the joints and above the visor, a color scheme Lance recognized as that belonging to the old Altean military uniforms in the castle’s storage. Keith finished exiting the ship fully, pale face grimacing as he planted himself on the metal floor of the hangar. His left arm was tucked into his abdomen, his right arm wrapped around it, and he tilted as he found his footing.

Lance frowned. “Your ability to assess your ship’s damage doesn’t give me much faith in your whole ‘I don’t need a pod’ thing.” Keith just sighed.

The door to Red’s hangar opened then with its electronic whir, and Coran marched in with an authoritative stride. “All right, let’s see what the damage - good gracious!” he said as he approached and got a look at the ship. “That looks like - ”

“Yeah, I know,” Keith said. “I’m sorry. It can be repaired though, right?”

“Nothing’s ever beyond repair,” Coran replied. “But it certainly won’t be a quick job.” He tutted as he stepped in to examine the ship more closely. “You’ve got Hunk and my work cut out for us, haven’t you.”

“Sorry,” Keith said again.

“Well, what’s done is done.” He shook his head before turning back to Keith. “Now, boy, this ship’s not the only thing that took a beating, correct?” He gestured toward Keith’s abdomen. “Come now, let the Coranic have a look.”

Keith slowly moved his arm away, and Lance winced when the left hand came away covered in a splattering of scarlet. Coran pounced immediately, tutting away as he moved Keith’s arms aside and examined the injury himself, so Lance had to step around and crane his neck to see the blood seeping through a seam in the plackart.

“Dear dear,” Coran said. “I assume this was from that little crash?”

“Yeah, I guess,” Keith said. “Kinda wound up thrown into some dented part of the ship’s dashboard. I, uh… there was a little, um, I felt a crack.”

“A rib may have broken through the skin,” Coran remarked. “Let’s see about getting this armor removed, yes?”

“Is everything all right?” a voice called. Lance looked up to see the others at the entrance to the hangar. Shiro was at the front of the group, making his way briskly toward them, and he hadn’t even so much as removed his helmet before coming to check the damage, just having rolled up the visor instead. “Keith, are you okay?”

“I’m okay,” Keith answered as Shiro stepped in to hover over him at Keith’s side. The others, as they joined, hung back, giving Keith some space.

“Okay, my ass,” Shiro said. “You’re bleeding.”

“Well, I’ve had worse,” Keith said. “It’s not like this is the first time I’ve ever crashed a ship.” He squeezed his eyes shut and sucked a breath between his teeth as Shiro carefully peeled the chestplate from him. “And this one wasn’t even so bad. Yeah, I got thrown, but - but normally I hold up better than this, I swear.”

“Where did you get that armor?” Allura asked, frowning at the chestplate.

“Uh, in the armory?”

“Why did you select this armor?”

“It - it looked like it would fit? Why?”

“Because, this is infantry armor,” Allura answered. “It’s no wonder you got hurt. This armor’s not designed to hold against the sort of impact that would come from a full-bodied high-speed collision.” She lifted her gaze from the armor to Keith’s face, eyes narrowed. “You’re awfully lucky you weren’t hurt worse.”

“Good,” Keith muttered. “‘Bout time I got some good luck.” He gasped as Shiro gently probed at the underarmor an inch above the spot where the skin had broken.

“Definitely going to need a pod,” Shiro said grimly. “Keith, honestly, you gave us all a scare with that stunt of yours. If you want to go on missions with the team, you can’t just - ”

“Hey, that stunt got us quintessence, didn’t it?” Keith snapped.

The others paused, all holding still and staring at Keith in silence. “Um… what?” Shiro said.

“The quintessence. Snatched some before whatever security was in the cargo hold started firing on me. It’s in the cockpit.”

Immediately Allura turned and climbed onto the ship, clambering into the cockpit and stretching past the caved-in parts only to soon slide back out. Her eyes were wide as she gazed at the two clear tubes in her hand, each filled nearly to the top with a glowing, pale-yellow liquid.

“Well,” Shiro said softly. “I’ll be damned.”

“You’re welcome,” Keith said flatly.

Allura sighed. “Keith, regardless of whether or not you managed to - ”

“So sorry to interrupt, princess,” Coran said. “I’m in total agreement that Keith’s in need of a nice long lecture, but perhaps it ought to be saved until after he’s had his time in the pod? Shouldn’t be more than a varga or two.”

“Fine,” Allura said. “Get healed up, then we can discuss your… conduct. I’ll take charge of these in the meantime.” She gestured with a tilt of her head toward the vials of quintessence in her arms.

Keith nodded to her as Shiro slid his arm around Keith’s shoulders in preparation to walk him to the med bay. “Coran and I will get that taken care of,” Shiro said. “You three, go ahead and wind down; we can debrief once Keith’s out of the pod.”

The others nodded, and the group made their way out of the hangar. Beyond the door, they separated, Allura off to the bridge, Shiro and Coran balancing Keith between them en route to the med bay, and the rest heading off to the living quarters.

“All right, I’m just gonna say it,” Lance said as soon as Keith was out of earshot. “Anyone else starting to think New Guy is kind of an asshole?”

“Maybe a little bit,” Pidge said with a shrug. “But even you have to admit, he was pretty badass out there today.”

“Badasshole,” Hunk commented, and, at the looks the other two sent him, added, “Sorry, continue.”

“I’m just saying,” Lance said. “Hey, you guys don’t think Allura and Shiro are actually going to let Keith start joining us on missions and stuff, do you? I mean, yeah, he’s all eager for it, and okay, sure, he can pilot, but after that crap he was pulling, can’t imagine he’s much when it comes to, say, following orders and, oh, not almost killing himself.”

“Hard to say,” Pidge replied. They turned the corner into the hallway housing their bedrooms. “Guess it’ll be their call. If nothing else, having him along for missions will definitely make them, um… exciting.”

Lance rolled his eyes as he made his way to his own bedroom. “And isn’t that just what Voltron needs,” he said drily as he opened the door. “More excitement.”

#vldgen #vld fic #voltron fic #keith #vld keith #my writing #fic: remember me

[cchellacat]

Have You Seen My Keys (Part 2 of Take My Hand)

Love All The Marvel Ships Challenge 

Day Twelve ~ Morning Routine

 Follow up to “Take My Hand.”

  “Darcy, have you seen my keys?”

“The keys you threw on the table by the door? The same table by the door you leave them on every night when you come home?  Those keys?”  She calls from the bathroom.

“Found them!”

Darcy rinses her toothbrush and sticks it in mug.

“Babe, did you remember we’re having dinner with Steve and Nat tonight?”

Her coffee is on the vanity and she takes a large gulp, hoping it will make her more alert.

Bucky pokes his head in the bedroom door and gives her the rabbit in the head lights look.

“I thought that was next week?”

“It is next week!”

“Uhg, do we have to?”

“Yes, we have to, we missed it last time.”

Bucky wiggled his brows and winked at her.

“That was a good night.”

Darcy could feel the blush starting at her navel and working its way up….  Yes, yeah that had been a good night.  He was using her weakness against her…

“No, stop it…  We’re going. Be home in time to shower and change and pick up a bottle of red, something Nat will appreciate, you know what she likes.”

He huffed a little and padded towards her, gripping her hips in his hands.

“Fine, but you owe me.” He tugged her closer and nuzzled into her neck, placing kisses from her collarbone to just behind her ear.  She ran her hands up his chest, fisting her fingers in the material.  Desire pooled in her belly and she whimpered as he nibbled round her ear, and ground his hips against her.  

“Jesus, Bucky, we’re going to be late.”  She sighed into his hair not sure whether to smile or frown.

Bucky cupped her face in his hands and pressed their foreheads together.  

“Fine, but we are finishing this later.”

“Don’t we always?”  She sasses back, giving him a quick kiss on the lips.  His eyes darken with desire and he swiftly captures her lips in his, kissing her till she’s breathless and panting into his mouth.  For a brief moment she seriously considering calling into work and taking the day.

He breaks off and lets her go, leaving the room before she can speak, her knees still feel weak and she breathes deeply trying to calm her heart beat.  He is such a fucking tease.

She runs shaky fingers through her hair and twists it up with a clip, grabbing her bag and slipping her feet into her shoes.

They leave the apartment together, parting at the elevator, him going up and her going down.  Just as his elevator closes, she feels suddenly ill. Turning on her heel she runs back to the apartment, bursting through the door and hauling ass to the bathroom just in time to empty her stomach into the toilet.  Just like clockwork.  Ten morning’s in a row now.  Was this her new normal for a while?  Darcy washes her mouth out and sits on the side of the bath.  She fishes her phone out of her bag and dials.

“Jane?  Hey, can you run down to the pharmacy?”

“Are you finally ready to admit it?”

“Fine, yes, I think I’m pregnant, just get me the test.”

“I’ll be there in five, I already bought you three.”

“You’re the best Jane, thanks.”

The light tapping against the door makes her jerk.  Looking up she finds Bucky looking at her with concern.

Oh, god, not now….  Her stomach heaves and she found herself back over the toilet, retching until there was nothing left.  A warm hand ran soothingly down her back and another gently gathered her hair at the nape of her neck.  When she’s finished, he hands her a tissue and glass of water.

“You gonna take a test now?”

“You knew?”

“Doll, you switched to decaf a week ago.  Of course, I knew.  I was just waiting for you to say something.”

“But…  then why are you…”

“You’re not in this alone sweetheart.  I’m right here, this is where I’m meant to be.”

“What if…”

“Hey, no, just calm down, take a breath.  Let’s just take the test and then we’ll talk.  Anything you want to do Darcy, I am with you, always.  I love you.  Whatever you want.”

“What do you want?” she presses.

“I want you.  I want you happy and safe.  What do you want?”

What did she want?  Looking into his eyes she curls her fingers around his.

“I want us, I want a family. I want forever.”

“Always, Darcy.  I’m all in.”  

Some of the nerves and worry recede as they sit there waiting for Jane and she lets him gather her into his arms, feeling the tension slowly drain away.

  ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 “Darcy, have you seen my keys?”

She roll’s her eyes heavenward and spits out the toothpaste, although she doesn’t know why she bothers, she’s just going to be throwing up again in about fifteen minutes.

“They’re where they always are.”  She calls out, rinsing the toothbrush and placing it back in the mug.

“Found them!”  She hears him call from the living room.  Honestly, every time.

“Hey, don’t forget to pick up the wine, we really can’t miss going to Steve and Nat’s for dinner, again!”

He strolls back into the bedroom and grabs a bobble from her vanity, tying back his hair.

“Already picked it up Doll. We gonna tell them tonight?”

Darcy bites her lip.  So far the only people who knew she was pregnant were Bucky and Jane.  They’d had a scan last week and the Doc had placed her at ten weeks.  She was nearly through the first trimester and everything looked good.

“Yeah, I think so, you okay with that?”

“It’s going to be fine.”

“I know.”  

He hands her a mug of coffee and she sips it, missing the caffeine deeply.  This was going to be so hard, getting through the next few months without her usual daily coffee breaks.  She could feel the tole it was taking already, it took her till noon to wake up properly and the baby was making her tired on top of it all.  He sits on the bed behind her and settles her back into his arms.  She melts into the warm embrace and they wait together.

He’s reschedules his mornings so he’s here to hold her hair back and just generally be an outstanding dad to be.  Seeing those two blue lines, knowing she was actually pregnant, that they were going to have a baby had been electrifying.  Instead of having to worry about how she’d tell him, he’d whooped with joy and whisked her up into his arms and twirled her through the air.  All she had been able to feel in that moment was happiness. She was so glad he had come down and confronted her.  The whole experience of finding out had turned into one of her happiest memories. Now they were getting ready to share it with others.  Did that make it more real?  

Bucky checks his watch and hums a little under his breath.

“It’s 8:45, how are you feeling?”

Darcy frown, she feels fine actually.  Every morning at 8:42 she’s had the unpleasant sensation of nausea flood through her and had been vomiting to a flipping schedule.  Baby at least was consistent.

“I feel fine actually.”

“We’ll give it another fifteen then.”  He says settling her back against him more securely.  Darcy crosses her fingers and holds onto his arms, trying not to think about being sick.

The alarm clock blinks at her from across the room as 9am finally falls without any indication that’s she’s about to throw up.  She feels like cheering, it was the worst part of all this so far.

“I think we’re good.” She says nodding to herself.

 ---------------------------------------------------------------------------

  “Hey Doll, you seen my keys?”

“Jesus, Bucky, how many times!  Table by the door babe.”

“Found em.”

“Ready to go Doll?”

“Yeah, can you grab my shoes?”  She rinses her mug in the sink and leaves it on the rack.

He bustles back into the room and kneels by her feet while she places a hand on his shoulder to balance as he slips the flats on her feet.  He is such a ridiculous mother hen right now.  One month left till baby arrives.  

The nursery is ready, the painting finished three days ago and then Bucky and Steve had spent yesterday putting together the furniture while she and Nat had a long lunch.  It was perfect but it made it all more solid, real, like she could reach out and touch it.

From where he kneels at her feet his large hands slide up over her belly pushing her shirt up, fingers pressing lightly as he places a kiss and then begins whispering words against her skin, words of love and promises of protection to their baby.  She’s never heard of any expectant father being so fuckin attentive in her life.  He’s adorable the way he insists in talking to the bump every morning and evening, he wants the baby to know his voice, he says she can hear now, and he spends more time talking to baby than her some days.  Darcy indulges him and enjoys the warmth of him holding her, taking the chance to run her fingers through his hair and relax as he pampers her, wanting her to be comfortable and still while he chatters away.

He looks up at her and she twines a strand of his too long hair around one finger.

She smiles down at him.

“I love you James Barnes.”

“Love you too Darcy Doll.” He rises to his feet and kisses her softly.

“Time?”  he asks,

“8:55.”

“Let’s go!”

  ----------------------------------------------------------------------------

  “Darcy have you…”

“On the table Babe!”

“Got em.”

Darcy leans on the edge of the sink, breathing slowly as the contraction passes.  She’s got this, she can do this.  She nods to her reflection in the mirror and brushes her teeth quickly. No point in rushing, there’s plenty of time left.  Only four minutes apart, they only have to get down to medical.  Tony had arranged to have a doctor and midwife on call 24/7 for the last two weeks, just in case.

“Hey Doll, you okay?”

“I’m fine!”  She insists, around a mouthful of toothpaste and he grins at her in the mirror.  She shakes her head faintly, he’s more excited than she is.

He’s currently standing with her hand bag, overnight bag and a baby bag slung over his shoulder, tapping his hand impatiently against the door jam.

“Time?”  he asks her again.

“Four minutes.”  Darcy rinses the toothbrush and places it in the mug.

“Gimme.”  She motions as she leaves the bathroom

He hands her the tea and she sips it appreciatively before handing it back and placing her hands against the door, rolling her hips as she feels the band of muscle tighten around her belly and back.  Shit, that was stronger…..

“Breath Doll, just like we practiced.”  

She grits her teeth and tries not to snap.  She’d like to see him feel like this, as though her whole body was focusing on one point, just pressing and tightening and the pain that shot through her with each second it lasted, building like a wave until it seemed to break and she could relax again.  His hand comes down on the bottom of her back and rubs firmly, the warmth seeps in and she breathes like he told her.  

“Time?”  she asks him.

“8:53.”  He answers as she straightens.

“Okay, let’s go.”

They’re down in medical by 9am and she paces around, Bucky hovering at her side the whole time.

She progresses quickly thankfully and before she knows it her midwife tells her it’s time.

“Okay, Darcy, you’re doing great honey, how do you want to do this?”

She glares at the bed, she can not bare the thought of getting back on the bed.    She looks at Bucky and he just knows.

“I’ve got you Doll.” He gathers her close against his chest, her back lining up against the strong planes of his muscles, she balances, knees bent, her back against him, arms resting on his forearms their hands linked.

“Just hold my hands, I won’t let you fall.”  He whispers next to her ear.  She feels the contraction building from the base of her spine and wills herself to let her body go with it.  Her hands flex in his and she begins to bare down.

“Push, Darcy, just like that, well done honey, keep going…”  Carly’s voice sounds distant as she pushes, concentrating on the feel of his hands holding hers, the only tether she has to the real world as the pain rips through her.

“You’re doing so good Doll.”

Darcy wants to cry, it hurts, and she is so tired.

“Nearly there Darcy.” Carly says with encouragement.  “one more time honey.”

“Now push.”

She grips his hands tight and does exactly that.

  ----------------------------------------------------------------------

 “Darcy have you seen my keys?”

She picks them up from the table by the door and throws them to him.

“Thanks Doll.”  He says as he catches them.

She roll’s her eyes and shakes her head, honestly, she’d be answering that question for the rest of her days.

“You got everything?” She asks him while tightening the straps around Rebecca, the baby girl gurgling up at her from the car seat.

“Baby bag, blanket, pacifier...  did I forget something?”  he asks as she raises a brow at him.

“Shoes Bucky, you need shoes.”  She laughs as he stomps back into the bedroom to put his shoes on.

“Who’s a silly boy Becca? Is Daddy a silly boy?  Yes, he is, but we love him anyway.”

He leans over behind her and presses a kiss into her neck, one hand on her hip while he plays peek a boo over her shoulder.

“We’re going to be late.” She tells him as Becca gurgles up at him, just starting to smile as her Daddy makes the most ridiculous faces.

“Did you see that, she smiled Darcy.”  The awe in his voice has her grinning.

“You are such a softie Barnes.”

“Just for the two of you Darcy Doll.”  He grins into her neck.

“Right, let’s go!”  He grabs the car seat, lifting it effortlessly as Darcy picks up the wine bag, a nice red for dinner tonight.  

“Time?”  she asks him as they move out the door.

“Plenty of time Doll, it’s only five.”

“Right, it’s only taken us three hours to get out the door.”

Standing in the elevator he takes her hand.

Bucky smiles at her and brings her hand up to his mouth, placing a soft kiss to her fingers.

Darcy feels at peace, her life is a happy one, she has the man she loves and a beautiful baby.  Sure, he drives her crazy sometimes and he never remembers where the keys are… But he’d taken her hand three years ago and he’d never let go and she knew that he never would.

    NEXT

        @captain-rogers-beard

#all the marvel ships #all the marvel ships challenge #wintershock #darcy/bucky #bucky/darcy

[fluidityandgiggles]

Sleep Is For The Weak - Chapter 12

Previous Chapters: Prologue, Chapter 1, Chapter 5, Last Chapter

Writing Masterlist - for previous chapters not otherwise linked, Read on AO3

Notes (I guess): Thanks a lot to @ilovemygaydad for updating y’all about my wifi situation, the wifi works semi-well now, and... well...

WRITING THIS CHAPTER WAS HELL AND A HALF AND IM SO GLAD ITS FINALLY FINISHED.

Ahem. Excuse me. I have a couple of very important things to say, though.

If any of you haven't read the latest chapter of Keep Him Safe, which is right here, please go do so. I read it the moment it was posted and... I was at dinner with my family, so I had to hold in my squealing... to be perfectly honest with y'all, I already knew what was going to happen in that chapter since I started writing chapter three, I think...? So I have known about this for a very long time, but it still made me super happy to see it actually happen in writing. So... go read KHS, y'all. You really should. It's awesome.

(Quick update: I checked my screenshots and... yeah, I've known about that since July, which is when I started writing this fic. Again, I've known about what happened in sleep for six months, and surprisingly didn't spoil almost any of it to anyone around me. I deserve a fucking prize.)

To anyone who just came over from Eva's shameless plugging of me - hello, nice to have you here. In this fucked up piece of angst we discuss queer history as well as Remy's personal history, or - as I said to myself while reading and re-reading what Eva has to say about this fic - "well, this story is as much about queer history as it is about Remy, where he came from, where he's going, where he came from cotton eye joey'n". And to anyone who's a regular reader, I'm so glad you're sticking around to read this... this thing. It's become a monster in my head, I can promise you that much.

As always, thanks to @broadwaytheanimatedseries for the original idea, to @whatwashernameagain for the original fic (can you believe it’s been six months since we came up with chapter 23?), to @anony-phangirl and @asleepybisexual and @winglessnymph for the help wherever needed, and a special one to Morgan - again - for helping me get the word out. All of those people are my shining stars and I love them so much.

Tag list (sort of): @bunny222, @ab-artist, @sweet-and-sour-shadowling, @your-username-is-unavailable, @virgilcrofters, @why-things-go-boom, @ilovemygaydad (thanks again, kiddo!), @violetblossem. @maybe-i-like-the-misery, @book-of-charlie, @thatsanswitch

(Wanna be tagged? Just lemme know!)

Trigger warning: period appropriate transphobia (the early 00s were not exactly trans-friendly). This chapter discusses rape again, this time in a bit more detail (nothing graphic, it’ll never be graphic, I promise), and includes a... panic attack of sorts. Be warned.

—————

January 24th, 2003

Emile's smile faltered.

"...so what if I got raped?" He muttered, putting down the stack of chairs he was holding. "What's done is done. They had their fun—"

"They…?" India tilted her head. Oh shoot… "There was more than one person?"

"More like three… what? Why are you looking at me like—"

The stack India was holding fell to the floor.

"Did you tell anyone?" Emile stared at the floor. Maybe she'll go away if he doesn't cooperate. "Emile! Did you tell anyone?"

"I told the doctors…" Emile's voice faltered. "What's going on?"

"I'm surprised you're even alive right now!" India's pacing was… terrifying. For some reason… she suddenly just… turned so scary. "Mixing date rape drugs with alcohol, which is what I'm assuming happened to you, is so dangerous! And I'm only assuming that's what happened because I heard from Remy that they found GHB traces—"

"I'm not proud," Emile managed to stutter. "Of… all this. I just… I can drink, okay? I made some mistakes in the past—"

"You're seventeen!"

"I made some mistakes in the past, and… this one makes me feel like all those mistakes have been trying to tell me that I shouldn't exist…"

"No… no, peach, please." He already started crying by the time she stepped in to hug him. "I get that. I really do. Sometimes I think about how much better my life might've been if I pretended like I'm 'cured' of being transgender after conversion. My cousin wouldn't have done what she did, that's the biggest plus. But… I wouldn't have come here. I wouldn't have started on my way to become a statistics analyst. I wouldn't have met Jenna. I would probably be living a sad, closeted life back home, and that isn't such a nice thing."

"You were too…?"

"I was too, yeah… as victims, we gotta stick to each other."

The wet spots on India's sweater were getting larger by the second. But she didn't mind it.

"Like I was told when I was sixteen," she said, much quieter than before. "Nobody is going to believe a man who says he was raped. We gotta stick together, whether we like it or not."

——

"Hey, isn't that that friend of yours?" Remy heard behind him about two minutes before the meeting started.

Oh, good.

"Hey, didn't you deliberately choose to forget that I live in the other side of the US from you because you wanted to be a little fuck?" Remy asked back, looking at Chris turn redder than a tomato.

"I swear to god, I had no idea!"

"Suck it and your excuses, Mendez."

"Hey, hey… come on, Remy. Won't you at least let me make it up to you?"

Remy couldn't stay angry… well, he could. But not as angry. It was a stupid reason, too…

"I will." Chris beamed at him. "But it'll take a very long time."

"...you have a week."

"I won't let you down," Chris said with the same wide, obnoxious grin, quickly kissing Remy's cheek and taking a seat.

Fuck him and his obnoxious self.

On the third of January, Remy and Emile sat down on the hotel bed in what was probably the fanciest hotel Remy's ever been to (though he never really visited any hotels in his life, no time or money for that). They were listening to Gustav Holst's The Planets as Emile performed a one-man dramatic reading of No Exit, and Remy couldn't feel more at peace.

This situation right here - all the people, all the tension, Chris right there a few steps away from him - was the exact opposite.

"Do you want me to leave?" A quiet voice said and Remy felt himself being squeezed so tight, he was sure his ribs would crack. Emile. "I can leave if you—"

"Come on, sit next to me," Remy said as quietly and took a rather far seat from Chris. Serves him right.

"Happy Friday, everyone," India opened the meeting. "I see that we got some new people after the break, so we're going to do another name round. Who wants to start?"

Emile raised his hand almost immediately.

"I'm Emile, I'm— do we mention our major?"

"If you want to."

"I'm Emile, I'm a psychology major, and I'm probably gay. Or asexual. I just… don't really know if I'm more gay or asexual yet."

——

Monday, January 27th

"Look, I find some of what you teach suspect," Emile hummed to himself as he skipped behind Remy back to their building after a particularly entertaining sols 20 class. "Because I'm used to relying on intellect, but I try to open up to what I don't know, because reason says I should've died three years ago…"

"Em, stop it," Remy half-laughed. "I get it, you're still thinking about Rent."

"It was such a good show!" Emile whined - well, sort of. "Jai Rodriguez was really good!"

"I met Idina Menzel through this," Remy said with another chuckle. "She's nice… kind of a diva, if you ask me."

"So… like you?"

"What do you mean, like me?"

"Nice, but kind of a diva." Emile nudged him. "I'll bet you she's totally selfless and sweet but acts like she doesn't care about anything in the world—"

"No, actually… she isn't." Remy sighed. The memories were foggy - it was over eight years ago - but… "Dad is working on some project with her again. Her and Kristin Chenoweth…"

"Kristin?" Emile shrieked. "Good golly, I love her! She's so sweet and talented!"

"I'm really not supposed to tell you anything," Remy laughed, and then stopped.

A figure made him freeze at his doorstep. A small, shaking figure, with braided brown hair and an ill-fitting, black, puffy coat.

Leah was rapidly knocking on Remy's suite door.

——

"Why did you think it was a good idea to come here?" Remy asked, careful not to scream. Leah sat in the living room, her hair dripping wet from the shower he made her take, wrapped up in the clothes she brought with her in her lime green schoolbag. She was waiting on her hot chocolate.

"I wanted to."

"How did you even get a bus ticket? You're seven!"

"I took money from mom and went to the bus station!" Leah huffed. "I know where the buses are, and I know how to—"

"I didn't say you don't know, Leah Mae," Remy chastised, putting the cup of hot chocolate on the table quite forcefully. "But you're seven years old! This was incredibly dangerous of you—"

"I don't wanna live at home anymore!" Leah screamed. "Mom was mean all of Christmas, and Lizzie wasn't being nice when we went back to school, she didn't want me to be her friend anymore, and Rachel was annoying—"

"Sweetie, they're going to think I kidnapped you!" Leah was taken aback. Remy was worried to the point of terrifying. "They're going to think I kidnapped you, Leah. It won't end well!"

"I didn't think…" the tears started coming out. Oh shit… "I didn't mean it! I just… I don't like being home! Don't be mad at me!"

"Oh, baby, no, I'm not mad at you!" Remy was quick to take her in for a hug. His poor baby sister… "I'm just worried, Leah. Extremely worried. Never do such a thing ever again, okay?" She nodded in his arms. "There's nothing we can do about this now, but—"

The door opened with a bang, and "I brought the bunnies!"

Leah immediately perked up. Mycroft tried to hop straight into her lap the moment he was close enough, since he already knew her and was very worried for the tiny human, but Lestrade took his time getting to know her. She was new, and he didn't know her yet, and what if she wasn't going to be nice?

"Leah, this is Lestrade," Emile said with a huge smile, closing the door and coming to cuddle them all - Remy included. "He's Mycroft's brother, and I adopted him after Christmas!"

"But you don't celebrate Christmas."

"No I don't, but you do." He booped her nose, making her giggle. "Lestrade is a nice boy. Give him a bit, he'll jump into your lap in no time."

As Leah entertained herself, playing with the bunnies and telling them stories, Remy pulled Emile to the side.

"She ran away from home!"

"I heard that when you asked me to go get the bunnies, Remy."

"She's seven years old! What do I do with a seven-year old runaway? Is it even a thing? A seven-year old runaway?"

Emile kisses Remy's cheek quicker than he could process it happening. "It's going to be fine. Call Linda, let her know that Leah is here—"

"Leah asked me not to tell anyone she's here," Remy sighed, rubbing his face in frustration.

"I understand, but… Linda is still your mom. Leah is still seven years old. She needs to go home, whether you like it or not." When Remy still seemed like he's having trouble processing it, Emile pulled him into a hug. "Do you want me to talk to her about it for you?"

Remy could only say a very weak "yes please" before Emile went back to the couch, to talk to Leah.

He was jittering. He was angry, and scared, and disappointed, and proud, and he felt everything so intensely and was so shocked and confused that he couldn't name it. He barely turned eighteen last July, he didn't even know how to drive yet, and he was absolutely, most definitely, going to be in trouble for this seven-year old child showing up at his door after running away from home.

He wasn't going to call Linda. But he couldn't keep Leah over. And he didn't know shit about raising children, for the period of time he was going to have Leah over, until he figures out what to do. Remy wanted to scream, how much he wanted to. But he couldn't.

So he did the next best thing he could do. He dropped to the floor and started crying.

He was too tired, physically and emotionally, to pick himself back up at that particular moment.

#kylo cant write #sanders sides #remy/sleep #emile picani #keep him safe #sleep is for the weak #the remy centric prequel #tw: period appropriate transphobia #tw: rape mention #tw: rape discussion #tw: panic attack #tw: emotional overwhelm

[leigh-kelly]

Let's Dream Of What There Will Be

#Brittana #starlight!verse #fire island brittana #1940's fire island

[isaacathom]

also almost hundred percent that Tsitas’ ancestor (not the condesce - Tsitas isn’t the Heiress. mostly because i dont want to fuck with that) had a very strong relationship with Endlyn’s. 

Endlyn’s (The Lawmaker, at present) did what you’d expect - Made Laws. This is because she’s fairly middle on the spectrum, low enough that she understands low blood thinking, high enough that the blue bloods stand her. But she has limited reach - she’s basically completely restricted to Lowblood Policy. That is, until Tsitas’ ancestor (the Director? Eminence? idk which) finds her. A lowblood notable for her extreme loyalty is a prize indeed, and what better claim for a high blood? She essentially sponsored the Lawmaker, allowing her job progression unlike any of her caste, while making it clear she was her pet. The Lawmaker was hers to command. What the Director wanted as law, was minted as such. It’s likely this sort of activity is what got the Lawmaker killed - while following the Director’s instructions, she stepped on the toes of another highblood (likely Iliyas’ ancestor), perhaps ordering him to do something for her. It didn’t sit kindly. The Director had much blood on her hands when she was finished taking revenge for the murder of her ‘pet’. The relationship was likely somewhat closer than that - it would have been publicly restricted by the perception of caste distinction. The most the two could ever have been is moirails, leaning on and aiding the other. The Lawmaker was a shoulder to cry on, an unjudging soul - how could she judge those of such high status? The Director was a bringer of unholy vengeance. They worked perfectly together.

Meanwhile Iliyas’ ancestor is his damn near inverse in terms of personality. Iliyas’ selfishness and exploitation of others brought to the forefront, made truly manifest. A greedy seadweller, a Conqueror (but that /doesnt fuckign fit/. Champion?), who took what he desired and cared little for its effect. Such was his mistake to take the life of the Lawmaker, unaware she was the Director’s property, only aware that the possession of the life of they who writes law was a treasure, indeed. Before this fatal error, he likely took from many of the other ancestors. Rhiana’s would be a strong contender for that position - perhaps she too was slain at the Champion’s hand. But in that instance, it was likely the event that gave him this title - her ancestor was almost certainly a rebel, however minor. (I want to say Guerrilla, but with Serren’s quirk combining double r’s? for an 8 set). A leader? Unlikely so high. But she had influence, she had power, she had appeal to the people. Her death - and the subsequent deaths of those who had aided her - made him a Champion. She was not a martyr, however, for she had as yet done little. An idea. Her death was quiet, a nameless among many. A ghost of what could have been. That, or perhaps she HAD succeeded - the Lawmaker, responsible directly for a lot of suffering through what she wrote, slain by a vicious rebellion. Rightful retribution from the Champion. Which then begs the question - how does the Champion fall? Perhaps this is where Lyndel’s ancestor comes in. A long and twisted revenge for a lowblood lover. A straight forward slaying and self banishment, a soul never again seen by the law and indeed by the stars.

ok how about the flowery leaves. lets make it simple. So, the Director takes in the Lawmaker as a sort of sponsor, allowing the Lawmaker a great amount of power. As a figurehead (and comparatively vulnerable), the ‘Guerrilla’ slays the Lawmaker as part of her rebellion. This backfires, as the Director sends her Champion to wreak retribution. The Champion is then likely himself slain by Lyndel’s ancestor, in a display of absolute back stabbing fuckery rarely seen. What power. She excuses herself from proceedings and is assumed to die alone in the wastes.

so thats 5. that leaves three - Junzha, Dahnte, and Zekari. There’s more to the Director’s lifespan (shes nigh fuschia, after all) but. yknow. fuck em.

You’d assume Dahnte would be her Champion, and perhaps thats how Dahnte actually envisions himself - as Tsitas’ Champion, since Iliyas is so.... lackluster. but that was not his ancestors role. Dahnte’s ancestor was himself the lackluster one, a weak highblood who formed relationships with lowbloods in order to survive. He surrounded himself with the psychically superior, safe in the knowledge that they couldn’t affect him personally, but that they could hurt his enemies. Among these is almost definitely Zekari’s ancestor, who isn’t a particularly powerful telekinetic, but strong enough to attract the attention of the needy. Whether this also includes Junzha’s ancestor, im unsure, though to figure that out i need to figure out what the fuck power Junzha actually has now. lets assume Yes for now.

SO he has this squad of powerful lowbloods to defend him from people who would do him harm. It is then not difficult to believe that he gets cocky with his army, picks a fight with someone he shouldn’t (perhaps Champion, perhaps Director herself?) and his group is summarily completely destroyed. He flees. He is, at this point, the Recreant. A coward, a fool. What happens once he flees is unclear - perhaps he encounters the Apostate, Lyndel’s ancestor. Though if we have it be that the Recreant attacked the Director (and got one or both of Zekari and Junzha’s ancestors killed), i think that the Guerrilla’s campaign should be for their justice. Rhiana is a spirit of vengeance. this is why her ancestor isn’t a martyr - theyre a reactionary, and theyre just as violent. Slaying the Lawmaker. leading to the Champions subsequent mass slaughter of bronze and burgundies. Leading to the Apostate to swap sides - she relates to the Guerrilla’s struggle, even if she had disagreed with the method. She openly betrays the Champion, killing him in his own hive, in his own base of power. It’s a fucking powerful move. And then she flees.

So like, woulllld they meet beyond that point? The Apostate and the Recreant, alike as traitors but distinct by their courage. They both basically disappear from history at this point, so its not IMPOSSIBLE. its also not impossible that the Recreant already had his shit pushed in before that point. like in the gap between his army’s defeat and the betrayal of the Champion is completely possible that he just fucking died somewhere. the Apostate seems far more capable, though her death likely comes swiftly as well - she won only through subterfuge.

ok, so say thats their ends. Junzha and Zekari. whats up, lads.

i think a god idea for Junzha’s is a man conscripted into the Recreant’s foolhardy gang. His talents lie not in combat, but in civility, in aiding the restless and the weary. It allows him to protect himself, but few others, when the Director’s fury rains down. He rises amongst the bodies of his fellows, alone. She claims him as a trophy of her conquest, and he is given new purpose. His talents bolster the Director’s own forces, ease their sufferings. But never his own. His soul is always black, and further still when the Champion claims it was his capture that caused the death of the Lawmaker. he is the Catalyst. he allows others to act, causes it. but he is confined, constrained. his service is loyal, but not out of love, and he is the one ancestor who dies of completely natural causes - alone but for his work. he is sometimes known as the Destroyed - for naught remains of his mark, except the knowledge that it never existed.

which leaves Zekari. i think, perhaps tie him back into the lawmaker. something she had done directly, which might invite the Guerrrrrilla’s vengeance. a law she passed. was it on the Directors command, or her own deduction? its unclear. whatever it was, it put his ancestor into hot water. the sort of hot water a high blood patron can rescue you from. A noble Indigo blood, perhaps? It was desperation that forced him to join the Recreant’s ill fated guard, and he certainly never enjoyed the position. but were he to leave, what would be left? Jail, culling, or a position in a worse army, that of the Director or Condesce herself. She had a place for telekinetics like him, and he wanted no part. So he played along, followed this would be captains orders, and found himself at the end of the Directors weapon. The wrong end. the Dead end. Forced for no other choice, slain by his only other opportunity. He would have found use in the Directors army, but he would have been equally unfulfilled by his role as the Destroyed became. poor souls. The Desolate, perhaps. ofc it does sorta depend what he did to end up in a situation where his only option was to becoming the Recreants whipping boy. Based purely on Zekari’s character it makes sense for it to have been him trying to help - trying to help someone. Who, specifically? hmm. doing it for the Destroyed could be an interesting idea - an extension of Zekari <> Jun. and also how the Desolate ultimately fails, because the Destroyed ends up in the army with him, ends up seeing him die, and ends up withering away in some back tent for another army. yknow. cause you fucked it. nice going, homie. he basically loses time and time again. perhaps he caused someones death? that could be fun. basically killed a guy to save the Destroyed’s life. but, of course, its a high blood, and on the Lawmakers respect for the hemospectrum, this is a crime of an extreme degree. the punishment? oh, they vary, and the Lawmaker almost salivates at the thought of all that could be wrought upon those who do not heed her words. thats fucked up. holy shit.

so yea. The Desolate kills a high blood. unrelated, just. some guy? some asshole. probably just straight up flattens him. lift, drop, splat, instant warrant for arrest/culling/what have you. so how does he get away? by basically signing away his life to the nearest highblood willing to employ his services, who promises not to work him to the bone. he doesnt have much choice. if he can claim being in the employ of someone, its a substantially lesser crime, or something like that. at that point, its just High Blood Business. all for ol Destroyed over there, who is then promptly recruited himself for his general skills, to the Desolate’s dismay. had he known the fate he was going to give his friend, he’d have let the highblood kill them, and then exacted revenge. 

ok. lets say thats all good. thats, in descending order by blood - The Director, the Champion, the Recreant, the Apostate, the Lawmaker, the Desolate, the [a bunch of screams], and the Destroyed.

ok, naming the Guerrilla. it doesnt work with her quirk, purely because i cant think of any good reason to combine the two rs, even though Serren has two rs as well? it doesnt make sense to me. lets find something else. the Fugitive? describing how she spent a nice chunk of her time on the run. it also makes her sound more guilty, which i like (how often you got an innocent fugitive, yknow). i think i like that ok, The Fugitive she is. nice.

ok, thats all of them? now the big one - how does the Director die? she’s nigh fuschia (high enough to enjoy status, NOT high enough to be killed by the Condesce YET). lives long time. she cannot die naturally, unless all these ancestor events are so positively ANCIENT shit. so she has to die somehow. from what? the ideal candidate for bloody murder is the Apostate, since her whole deal is that she was on their side and betrayed them following the culling of the Fugitive and those /remotely/ connected to her. but she cant kill the Director quickly - that interferes with the Destroyed’s slow death in her service. unless she bides her time. which i do kind of dig. but if she bided her time and then slew the Champion in his own hive (or office, i guess), theres still the issue that its..... highly unlikely she could overpowers the Director, just by pure virtue of being a Teal Blood vs a Nigh Fuschia. the raw strength is just off the charts. especially for a desk pushing Teal whose main job in the Director’s service was to pass messages. Errand boy. so it would require EXTREME planning, like beyond cosmic coincidence, to give her to chance to kill the Director. perhaps this is a confrontation that passes wholly into myth - all that is known is that the Director died. whose to say the Apostate didn’t expire in causing this? it is only assumed that she escaped and lived free the rest of her days. Maybe she beat her in a battle of wits. maybe she blew them both up. maybe she tricked the Director into a building and levelled it on top of her. who knows? both ‘died’ that day, one way or another. for the Director lay slain and bloodied by the side of her Champion, and the Apostate was noone to be seen. perhaps the two died together, the Champion to the end fighting to defend his ... yknow. thingo. theres a word. charge? fuck it. He died defending the Director, a round, loyal success. in contrast to his descendant, whose loyalties would skew to the other end of the hemospectrum. nice.

that works.... well enough??? nice.

#story blogging #homestuck stuff #this post has been open for 4 hours so now whether it will posts is in gods hands i guess #at least i figured some shit? now i know the ancestors to some extent i can maybe work out signs for the kids #building off some themes and shit. mb some surnames lol