"Look at us," Tony cooed. "Just two dudes. Chillin' in a multi-million dollar containment tank. Four feet apart 'cause you've got serious teeth and I like staying alive. Except I'm supposed to be repairing the filter, so what say you move over a little and let me at it?"
"Look at us," Tony cooed. "Just two dudes. Chillin' in a multi-million dollar containment tank. Four feet apart 'cause you've got serious teeth and I like staying alive. Except I'm supposed to be repairing the filter, so what say you move over a little and let me at it?"
“Go away,” He Xuan says, without looking up from his phone. He’s tucked away in a library corner, eating cheap ramen and scrolling through an e-copy of a book that he’d been wanting to finish for at least a week. Technically, students aren’t supposed to eat in the library, but there are certain rules you don’t really want to enforce upon a 'Ghost King'.
Speaking of 'Ghost Kings'…
A muffled curse from He Xuan as the village idiot (okay, classmate) (okay, debt holder) (okay, occasional friend, but that is a very infrequent occasional) drapes himself over He Xuan’s shoulders and almost spills his ramen.
“What do you want now?”
“Nice of you to notice me. Anywayyyyy…” Hua Cheng’s voice lengthens to a drawl; he reaches for a loose lock of hair from He Xuan’s ponytail and idly begins to play with it. “You know the student clubs lists that just came out?”
“Of course I do. They’re pinned up in the main hallway. What about them? And stop touching my hair.”
“Did you happen to see a certain name omitted from a certain list?”
“Oh, that.” He Xuan still doesn’t look up from his phone. “Have you considered that there might be a perfectly good reason why he hasn’t been chosen for the Cooking Club, Chengzhu?”
Hua Cheng does not budge. “I don’t need to consider anything. I practically own this school. Especially-” he tugs at his classmate’s hair again- “you.”
“How could I forget.”
“Besides, just think how upset Gege is right now! He had his heart set on joining the Cooking Club! I consoled him, of course, saying it was all a typographical mistake and of course he made it in. All you need to do is-”
“I know my way around a firewall, thank you very much. I don’t need instructions from you. And if you don’t stop pulling my hair I’m not going to help you at all.”
And so Hua Cheng waits patiently, resting his chin on He Xuan’s shoulder to watch him work. Black Water Sinking Ships- every good hacker has an alias, and He Xuan’s more than merely good. It’s short work, this, almost insultingly easy. He doesn’t even need the program he wrote himself- Nether Water Manor, he calls it. Restricted faculty documents blossom over the screen within seconds. Tap-tap, swipe, a few keys, and finished.
He Xuan transfers his phone to his left hand so as to reach his ramen better with his right, and holds up his phone so Hua Cheng can see the results. “There. You owe me lunch for a week.”
“Perfect.” Hua Cheng grins with delight and grabs the phone. “Yes. Oh, he’s going to be so happy. I can’t wait to tell him. Wait. Why isn’t his name on top of the list?”
“Because the names are in alphabetical order. You want this to look like an outside job?”
“Yes, actually. I want those idiots to see exactly what happens when-”
“You are unbelievable sometimes.” He Xuan pulls his phone back and resumes tapping. “There. Now it’s two weeks.”
Hua Cheng tugs at the ponytail, for a change. He Xuan makes a noise not unlike an irritated cat and swats his hand away.
“Two weeks, fine." Hua Cheng flicks at the ramen cup. "Now stop eating that cheap garbage.”
He Xuan tilts the last of the noodles into his mouth and swallows. “Then get me something better.”
Harry Hook got kidnapped. I never did find out who took him, but Uma was decidedly not happy, and the Auradonians weren't getting results fast enough for her liking.
She became a hurricane of sorts and started tidal-waving her way through Auradon. Props to my dream for EXTREMELY cool videography; it featured an aerial view of an enormous hurricane Uma sweeping through the states of Auradon, massive storms and walls of water slowly toppling castle after castle. She wasn't looking for Harry (perhaps she knew she couldn't on her own), but rather threatening the royals to help her find him.
I don't know how the dream ended. But I'm certain that Uma got what- and who- she wanted.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
Finally finished. This is the most Huma chapter yet.
Three months later, Uma’s time came.
She presented in the middle of the night, of course. It happened in true Uma fashion; violently, dramatically, and with absolutely no warning. The Isle didn’t believe in decent timing, after all. One moment, the ship was silent under the cover of darkness; the next, Harry’s cabin door slammed open so hard it left a dent in the wall.
The sound woke Harry abruptly. Foggy with sleep, all his brain registered was an overwhelming new scent and a figure looming in the doorway.
“Uma?” he croaked. “Wh-”
She growled, low and guttural.
“Oh,” Harry breathed, and he was suddenly wide awake. “O-oh.”
Saltwater. Driftwood. Something sweet-sharp. Apricot, maybe. It felt like standing on the edge of a cliff in a hurricane.
And then it clicked.
“Oh. Ohho.”
His grin split wide, all teeth, sharp and wild. “Yes.”
Uma advanced. Harry didn’t even have time to untangle himself from his blankets before she grabbed them and tore them off, throwing them onto the floor.
Harry scrambled to sit up, unable to keep the glee from his face. “Didn’t expect ye so soon. Not that I’m complainin’, but are ye sure-?”
“Don’t talk stupid,” she hissed, shoving him back against the bed. “Shut up. Shut up now.”
“Shuttin’ up,” he agreed cheerfully.
When her lips crashed against his, it wasn’t gentle or soft. It was teeth and fury and everything Uma. Harry tasted salt and storm and something distinctly hers.
“You’re mine,” she growled against his mouth, her hands fisting in his hair.
“Yours,” Harry gasped. “Yours, Uma, please-”
He saw more stars than he’d ever seen on the Isle of the Lost.
Bonding wasn’t like in the stories. It wasn’t soft and candlelit and sweet or even particularly romantic at all. It was raw, it was messy, it was desperate; it hurt.
And when she claimed him, she bit the back of his neck so hard he thought she might tear his skin clean off.
It wasn’t a fairy-tale bonding. It was Uma, after all.
And it was perfect.
When it was done, they lay there in the dark and let the tension slowly ebb away.
Harry lay there, dizzy with relief, and just looked at her. Blood on her lips and satisfaction in her eyes.
“You really did it,” he murmured, half to himself.
Uma snorted and pushed a sweaty lock of hair off his forehead. “Told you I would. What, you thought I was lying?”
“Not lying. Just… y’know. Life on the Isle bein’ what it is.”
Her eyes softened, just a little. “You’re mine, Harry. Always have been. This just makes it official.”
For once, he didn’t have a clever reply. He just nodded, swallowing hard.
“You good?” she asked, voice rough.
Harry tilted his head, testing the bite. It throbbed, but in a way that felt… right.
“Aye.”
And then he laughed, something light and carefree bubbling out of him. “Yer stuck with me now, Captain.”
“And don’t you forget it.”
She settled next to him, her head resting against his shoulder, her scent wrapping around him like a shield.
Gil found them like that when the morning came.
He beamed.
“I got bread,” he said cheerfully, holding up a lumpy package. “Stole it fresh. Took it to Uma’s room, but-”
“Give us a minute, Gil.”
Post-bonding life on the Isle was… different. Not in the hearts-and-flowers way those Auradon brats probably imagined. No, this was still the Isle. Still dangerous, still brutal. But at least Harry didn’t have to go dumpster-diving every few months.
That was a win.
Uma took to her role as his bonded alpha the same way she captained her ship- fiercely protective, sharp-tongued, and unrelenting. Which, as far as Harry was concerned, was exactly what he signed up for.
Gil stuck around. Because of course he did. The three of them were a unit still, and that meant laughing whenever Gil’s dad tried to give him another “legacy” talk.
Harry, for his part, was still Harry. Desiree complained that she hadn’t thought it possible for him to get even more annoying, and Harry took this as a great compliment. If baring his neck to Uma at every available opportunity and rubbing her scent all over himself as much as possible made him annoying, well, then that was exactly what he was going to do.
“Y’regret it yet?” Harry asked one night, sprawled on the ship’s deck, head resting on Uma’s lap.
Uma snorted. “Regret what? Dragging your sorry butt out of the trash?”
“Bonding me,” Harry clarified, grinning up at her.
Her voice was exasperated, but fond. “Don’t talk stupid.”
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
This chapter was a lot of fun.
Not for Harry.
It definitely wasn’t enough.
If this had been any other alpha, Harry would’ve been manhandled, taken advantage of five times over, and then either been dumped into an alley somewhere if he was lucky, or off the dock if he wasn’t.
Or was it the other way around?
But it wasn’t any other alpha. It was Gil. Solid, gentle, insufferably honorable Gil.
The hours dragged on. Or maybe it was minutes. Harry couldn’t tell.
He was getting worse. Trembling so hard he could barely keep himself upright. His head lolled against Gil’s chest, face burning against the rough fabric of Gil’s sleeveless jacket. Maybe, just maybe, he could inhale his friend’s scent until it suffocated him and made the world stop spinning, because Gil’s scent was the only thing that didn’t hurt.
Even though Gil wouldn’t give him what he wanted.
“Giiiil. C’mon.”
Gil sighed. “You don’t mean that, Harry.”
“Yer supposed to be my best friend,” Harry muttered, squirming weakly.
“I am,” Gil said, unbothered. “That’s why I’m here.”
"I’m dyin’."
“You’re not.”
"Might as well be," Harry mumbled, arching into Gil’s neck. The scent was stronger there.
Gil’s hands rubbed slow, soothing circles on his back. "Just breathe, okay?”
It got even worse. Of course, it did.
Gil was still there. Still holding him, still murmuring soft reassurances that did nothing to fix the problem and instead made everything a hundred times worse. Harry’s muscles ached from thrashing, his voice hoarse from pleading, but nothing made the heat relent, and nothing made Gil relent either.
“Please,” Harry begged, for the hundredth time, as dusk started throwing shadows across the inside of the dumpster. “Please, Gil. I swear to all the gods- anything. I’ll do anything. Just-”
“Nope.”
“Gil. Please- just- please-”
Harry squirmed, arching so violently he nearly smashed his head against the side of the bin. Gil’s grip tightened, pulling Harry back against him. “Nope. You’re not thinking straight, mate. You really don’t want this.”
“I do. I do want it. I need it. Just-” Harry’s voice cracked, barely above a whisper. “Please.”
Gil tensed but didn’t let go. His arms remained firm, holding Harry close, steady.
“Can’t, Harry,” he said softly. “You know that.”
Harry whimpered. “Then- then let me go. I’ll find someone who will.”
“Can’t do that either,” Gil murmured.
“Why?” Harry’s voice broke, raw and desperate. “Why won’t you? What’s wrong with me?”
“Then why don’t you want me?” Harry was crying now, hot tears streaking down his face. “I- I- please. Just- please.”
“Harry.” Gil’s voice was a soft rumble, firm but kind. “You don’t want this. Not really.”
“I do,” Harry sobbed, shifting, pressing as close as he could. He bared his neck, scent flaring hot and cloying and desperate, gripping the front of Gil’s shirt in both hands, tugging desperately. It didn’t help. Nothing helped. Stupid, gentle, stubborn Gil. “I’ll- I’ll do anything. Just… please. Please. Just- something. Do something, it hurts, Gil, it hurts so bad...”
“I know.” Gil’s own eyes were wet now.
Harry wasn’t sure when he started bawling in earnest, but he didn’t stop. Couldn’t.
They cried together for a while.
At one point, Harry begged Gil to end it entirely.
Gil flinched like he’d been struck, his whole body going rigid. “Don’t say that.”
“Mean it,” Harry rasped. He tore at Gil’s arms, nails digging into skin. “Please, Gil. Please, make it stop.”
And Gil’s voice broke as he whispered that he couldn’t.
Gil flinched every time Harry wept that he hated him.
He didn’t flinch every time Harry threatened to kill him.
He held Harry’s hands gently in his own when Harry tried clawing at him, then at himself, then at the walls of the dumpster, and Harry was too out of it to appreciate how much gentler Gil was on his wrists them the rope had been. He held Harry still when his thrashing got too wild, when he tried to escape or writhe free. He hummed softly- a little sea shanty tune that both knew- when Harry finally went limp, too exhausted to fight anymore, and Gil rested his chin on top of Harry’s head.
And every time Harry begged, Gil’s answer was the same.
“Nope.”
Uma checked in as often as she could, sneaking scraps of food to both of them, pressing cold rags to Harry’s face and muttering promises she couldn’t keep yet. Promises he knew she’d keep but that felt too far away to matter. Promises that were the cruelest things in the world to wait for.
She told him to shut up and to stop talking stupid when he begged her to order Gil to help him, but her voice cracked as she said it, and she left soon after that.
And so Harry sobbed in frustration, curling into himself as Gil ran gentle hands through his hair. Words fell from his lips in a fevered rush- pleas, curses, fragments of thoughts too tangled to make sense- but Gil just kept holding him, kept whispering soft things, soft words that did nothing to help.
The words blurred into a haze of heat and pain and desperation until everything finally faded into darkness.
When he woke, it was dark. The oppressive heat had lessened, though it still simmered under his skin. His limbs felt heavy, weighed down by exhaustion and something else-something warm and solid curled up next to him.
“G-G…” Harry croaked, voice rough and broken. His throat felt like sandpaper, and it took him a second to realize he was still in the bins, still pressed against Gil’s side.
The blond stirred, blinking blearily as he sat up. His hair was a mess, sticking up in all directions, and he had a faint red mark on his cheek from where he’d been leaning against the wall. He rubbed at his eyes, squinting at Harry. “Oh. Hi, Harry. Wha’s... what’s goin’ on?”
Harry’s brain wasn’t functioning enough to process the question. He just stared at Gil, wide-eyed and shaking. “You… you stayed.”
Gil yawned, rubbing at his eyes. “’Course I did. Promised Uma. Promised you. You’re my best mate.”
Harry’s breath hitched.
“Yer a terrible alpha,” he muttered, voice hoarse.
“Yeah, probably,” Gil agreed, stretching lazily. “But I’m a good friend.”
Harry didn’t have the energy to argue. He just let himself sag against Gil, too tired to care about pride or dignity anymore. “Still hurts,” he whispered, because it did. Everything still hurt.
“I know.” Gil wrapped an arm around him, pulling him closer. “But it’s better, yeah?”
Harry didn’t answer. He just buried his face in Gil’s shoulder again.
“You did good,” Gil murmured, his voice a quiet rumble. “Real good.”
Harry snorted, the sound weak and bitter. “Felt like dyin’.”
“But you didn’t,” Gil pointed out, like that was some kind of victory. “So, pretty okay.”
Harry didn’t have a response to that. Didn’t need one.
“You’re too soft,” he muttered, letting Gil cradle his head.
“I know,” Gil yawned. Harry could feel his chest expanding beneath his cheek, deep and cavernous.
He let the warmth and the steady beat of his best friend’s heart lull him back to sleep.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
Uma took one look at him and practically dragged him into her mother’s restaurant by the ear.
“You could’ve told me,” she snapped, dodging patrons and ignoring Harry’s protests to let him go. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
Harry snorted. “Tell ye what, Captain?”
“That you’re an omega, you idiot.”
“Yeah? And say what? ‘Hey, Uma, fancy helpin’ me through a hell-week in a pile of garbage?’”
Uma’s scowl deepened, and Harry braced himself for a swat to the face. Instead, she grabbed his arm, marched him into the kitchen, and sat him down on a crate.
“I could have helped.” Her voice was a low growl as she shoved his head foward, baring the back of his neck. “What were you thinking? What if you’d-“
“I handled it.” Harry tried not to squirm; he was still sensitive, but Uma’s fingers against his nape felt good. “What’re ye doin’?”
“Checking to make sure no idiot alpha got to you before I do.”
“Wasn’t gonna let ‘em,” he muttered.
“Yeah, right. ‘Cause the second I present, I’m bonding you myself.”
He snorted again, half-sarcastic, half-hopeful, as she let him sit up and thrust a glass of water into his face. “How d’ye know ye’ll present as alpha? Could be beta. Could be—”
Gil, for his part, was Gil, and Gil was perfectly fine with the new arrangement when Uma told him about it.
He’d presented as alpha a few months back, but for whatever reason he’d decided that he had zero interest in bonding or doing anything remotely alpha-like, and while Gaston wasn’t happy about his son’s lack of ambition in the ‘dominating and mating’ department, Gil was just happy to lift heavy things, punch people on Uma’s command, and eat sandwiches.
(“Too soft,” his dad had complained more than once. Gil took that as a compliment.)
An alpha, sure, but also the gentlest one Harry had ever met.
Which meant Harry didn’t have to worry about things getting weird if he had to ride out another heat before Uma could bond him.
And so when it happened again, because of course it would, Harry didn’t even think about it. He just ran.
Crawling into the bins outside Ursula’s Fish and Chips felt like reliving the worst nightmare of his life. Except this time, it smelled like more like frying oil and rancid tartar sauce, just food garbage, instead of food garbage and sewage and dead animals and who-knew-what-else. An improvement? Maybe. He wasn’t in the mood to rank his personal hells.
But he hated it. Hated the sticky walls, the faint smell of grease that clung to everything, and the godforsaken raccoon that seemed to think he was the intruder. But it was either this or risk crawling through the Isle begging to bond with the first alpha he tripped over, and that would mean upsetting Uma.
He shuddered at the thought.
"Right," he muttered to himself as he pulled off his jacket, shaking, already feeling the heat build in his veins. "This is gonna suck."
"Harry?"
He nearly jumped out of his skin when Gil’s blond head popped up over the edge of the dumpster.
"Ye came." Harry's was voice already hoarse. He hated how pitiful he sounded.
"Uma got word to Jonas to tell Desiree to let me know to come to the shop,” Gil said cheerfully, hopping over the side of the bin and landing inside with a faint crunch. "I saw her a minute ago. She says don’t do anything stupid, don’t forget her name, and she’ll get you a blanket or something as soon as she can."
"Shut up," Harry grumbled, hugging his knees. He could feel the fever crawling under his skin, twisting through him like molten metal. Too hot. Too much. His head tipped back against the wall, and for a second, he swore he could hear the ocean in his skull.
Gil didn’t say anything else, just plopped down beside him and- of course- pulled out a half-eaten granola bar from his pocket.
"Not hungry," Harry mumbled, shoving it away.
“Eat anyway,” Gil said, handing it back.
Harry glared, but he tore the granola bar open, chewing mechanically through the fog that was creeping into his mind.
"You smell like those white fluffy things," Harry muttered around a mouthful of oats. It was supposed to be insulting, but it just came out desperate. “Those prissy Auradon things we found once. Marshmallows.”
Gil grinned. "Thanks. Toasted marshmallows, actually. Hay. And a little gunpowder."
"Fancy." Harry leaned his head back, blinking hard. Everything was too bright. “Bet yer da loves that."
Gil shrugged, unfazed. "He hates it, actually. Says I smell like a campfire."
Harry snorted, regretting it instantly when the sound turned into a whimper. He hated this. Hated. The itch in his veins, the way every cell in his body was starting to scream. He tried to focus on anything else. “S’pose it’s better than smelling like… fish.”
“I mean, we’re in a dumpster,” Gil pointed out helpfully.
Harry didn’t have the energy to snap back. The heat was clawing at him now, simmering, coming to a slow boil. His hands clenched into fists.
“Gil…”
“Yeah?”
"Don’t let me leave," Harry mumbled. "No matter what I say, or- whatever I do. Just. Don’t. Let me."
Gil’s face softened. He reached over, pulling Harry against himself. "I won’t."
Harry let out a shaky breath, leaning into the bigger boy. Gil was warm and steady, cross-legged and as relaxed as if they were sharing a picnic and not preparing for an oncoming storm. “You’re gonna be okay.”
“Aye,” Harry groaned, swiping a hand over his face. His scent was already thickening in the air, mixing with the redolence of squid long past its prime. “Okay.”
“Not dead,” Gil said brightly. “Not mated to someone gross. So, pretty okay?”
Harry let out a laugh that sounded more like a sob. He let his head rest on Gil’s shoulder, burying his face in Gil’s neck, breathing in deeply. The sweet, slightly acrid scent wasn’t enough to stop the burning in his veins, but it was enough to make it bearable. A little. It was enough for now.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
Presenting on the Isle was like rolling dice in a rigged game, and Harry Hook didn’t have much in the way of luck or resources.
Presenting on the Isle was like rolling dice in a rigged game.
Alpha? Congratulations, now you're a target for everyone who thinks they can take you down, plus you’ve got ruts to deal with.
Beta? No one cares, but hey, at least you’re not suffering.
Omega? Yeah, good luck. The Isle had its own set of rules when it came to the whole “first heats” thing. Some kids bonded immediately- those were the lucky ones, the ones who planned everything out in advance, who knew who they wanted to be stuck with for the rest of their lives. The rest of them? Well, if you didn’t have a specific alpha to lock you down, you could either wait it out in the landfill, get yourself caught by an unfriendly alpha and pretty much resign yourself or, if you had the luck and resources, steal or bargain for suppressants.
Harry Hook didn’t have much in the way of luck or resources.
Not that it would have helped. He didn’t even realize what was happening until it was too late. One minute he was scrubbing barnacles off a dock post for the fiftieth time that week and wondering why everything was so sticky and warm; the next, he was a shaking, feverish mess, heart racing like he’d downed three cups of the sludge they served at Ursula’s.
And that scent. His scent. Petrichor, sharp licorice, and the unmistakable tang of what was either metal or blood.
Great. Just great.
He staggered into the nearest alley, pressing a hand to his abdomen like that would somehow hold him together. It didn’t. The heat was crawling up his spine, clawing at his mind with every step. He needed to think. Needed to hide.
Panic set in fast.
Harry thought about making a run for the Lost Revenge, but that was a death trap if he ever saw one. Too small, too many people. He’d run into Uma or Gil for sure, and he couldn’t face them like this, he just couldn’t, and he wouldn’t last five minutes before someone caught a whiff of his new pheromones and-
No.
It would have to be the garbage dump. It wasn’t glamorous, but it would mask his scent. And no one went there unless they had to.
Shame he had to, really.
By the time Harry reached the dump, his hands were shaking so hard he could barely undo the chains holding the gate shut. The stench hit him immediately- rotting food, oil, brine. Disgusting. Malodorous. Perfect.
He collapsed against a rusted pole, gasping for breath. His entire body was on fire, every nerve screaming at him to go find an alpha.
But that wasn’t going to happen.
It couldn’t.
He just couldn’t.
And so he shoved his hook deep into the dirt near the pole’s base and scrambled frantically through the heaps of decaying junk until he found a piece of rope. It wasn’t much, but it would have to do. With clumsy fingers, he tied it around his left wrist and looped it around the pole, yanking it tight. It bit into his skin, but at least he wouldn’t be able to bolt if- when- the instincts took over.
“Not goin’ anywhere,” Harry muttered to himself, voice quaking in a way he barely recognized as his own. “Just- just gonna wait it out. I’ve got this.”
As it happened, he did not.
Within an hour, Harry was a wreck. Sweat soaked his shirt, his limbs trembled uncontrollably, and his mind had gone completely. Nothing mattered except the agony, the gnawing need that wouldn’t go away.
He tried absolutely everything to relieve it. Everything but chewing his hand clean off at the wrist and seeking out the first alpha who’d have him, who could possibly make it better, and even that he nearly did do before he managed to slip through the rope, and instinct took over. He surged forward, stumbling toward the edge of the trash heaps, only to collapse a few steps later, too weak to keep going. He crawled back to the pole, just barely managing to tie himself up again before the next boiling surge of need hit.
Pain and exhaustion and want blurred until they obscured the rising and falling of the sun. Harry fought, his body writhing as the heat tore through him. He clawed at the pole, the piles of garbage, himself, desperate to find some relief, any relief. His wrist and shoulder were raw from struggling, but he didn’t stop.
He lost track of how many times he almost broke loose again. The rope held, barely, but it didn’t stop him from trying. His voice, when he wasn’t gasping for air, was hoarse from muttering half-formed pleas into the wind.
“Please-” he whispered, to no one in particular, biting down on his forearm when he could feel his voice rising. “Please, just- please-”
The universe did not oblige.
He almost got caught twice. The first time, some passing scavenger with two dyed pigtails seemed to catch a whiff of him and stuck her head over the gate, eyes gleaming with predatory interest. Harry froze, pressing himself down against the heaps of refuse and squeezing his eyes shut and praying to every god he didn’t believe in that she’d move along. She did, eventually, but not before he spent ten agonizing minutes waiting to be dragged out by his heels.
The second time was worse. A pair of alphas wandered in, arguing over some loot, and got too close. Harry bit his lip hard enough to draw blood. One of them sniffed the air, frowning, but got distracted before they could investigate further.
“Lucky,” Harry whispered, laughing bitterly to himself as they left. “So bloody lucky.”
Luck wasn’t the word he’d use a few hours later, when the pain hit its peak. He’d managed to fasten his other hand to the pole to give his bleeding and nearly-dislocated left wrist a break, but now he was entirely stuck in both body and mind, trembling and delirious, unable to think straight.
This was it. This was how he was going to die. Sweaty, tied to a pole, and smelling rotting Isle garbage.
Great.
He didn’t remember much after that. Filth. Stickiness. Flashes of movement, maybe. The sound of something scurrying in the shadows. His own voice, cracked and hoarse, begging for relief that never came.
When he finally came back to himself, several days later, it was morning. The fever had broken and the heat was gone, leaving him drenched in what he wished he could pretend was only sweat and feeling like he’d been hit by Cruella de Vil’s car. The rope around his wrist was frayed but intact, and he couldn’t feel his hand, which might have been a blessing in disguise, considering what a bloody and swollen mess it was.
“Great,” he mumbled, voice scratchy, and set about trying to untangle himself so he could go and clean up and then pass out for a month.
Uma joined the cuddle pile, wrapping an arm around Harry and starting to play with his hair. Harry made a noise so indecent that it startled Dude awake.
Mal has claws (non-retractable, but she can file and paint them like nails), fangs, and some scaly dragon-ish patches of skin, which increase when she's stressed. She has been known to breathe fire on extremely rare occasions.
Evie and Carlos aren't hybrid. Carlos is probably the best out of all of them when it comes to dealing with mammalian hybrids; it's an almost preternatural skill.
Jay has a forked tongue and slitted eyes. He's extremely quick but will get a bit sluggish in the cold.
Chad has golden mouse ears and a tail.
Ben can transform into a beast on command, but can't get rid of his ears and tail unless he's actively concentrating. He tries to keep them at bay when he's at school or doing royal business.
Uma can grow tentacles on command, can breathe underwater, and can squeeze through extremely tight spaces.
Harry has black feline ears, retractable claws, and a tail; the joke is that he's the 'ship's cat' for the Lost Revenge.
Gil has no physical hybrid features, but he's strong as an ox.
blakekathryn
germansingergirl
pixelskylines
areudirty
jimmyeatworldofficial
