#I’m afraid to move in case the thought I’m trying to capture flits off like a butterfly | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

tripleaxeldiaz · 3 years

Note

elmosolyodni for the wordstuck prompts 💕

elmosolyodni: to slowly break out into a genuine smile when being overcome with emotions, like love or utter happiness.

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As much as he wanted it to be, as much as he wanted it for himself, Eddie’s never been great at romance.

His proposal to Shannon was more like a suggestion, a stuttering statement that tumbled out of him when she showed him the positive test six months after their first date. And he didn’t give it much thought again — didn’t have time to think about it — until a couple months into his tour, when his team was swapping stories about wives and husbands over dinner and someone asked, “So Diaz, how’d you pop the question?”

The fact that he didn’t have a story to tell stung more than he thought it would.

He tried to make it up to her — bought her flowers when he was home, took her out for their anniversary every year, but between parenthood and redeployment and the growing chasm between them when he came back the second time, any notion of romance felt harder and harder to hold onto. And when she left, amid the panic and shame and anger, there was also a sadness, a resignation that the romance he’d quietly craved just wasn’t meant for him. He had bills to pay, a kid to take care of, a life to rebuild. Sweeping gestures from him or for him no longer seemed important.

That all changed when he met Buck, as most things in his life did.

Even before they started dating, Eddie wanted to do things for Buck. He wanted to buy him the shirt in the window display that reminded him of his eyes, wanted to make sure that they always had his weird Icelandic yogurt in the fridge for when he stayed over, wanted to wrap him up when he got that broken look on his face and remind him that he is loved by everyone and especially by Eddie. It was a physical need, one he felt in his gut every time, but he’d shut that part of himself off so firmly that all he could do was hope it didn’t linger too long. Buck needed a friend, and he’d be damned if he did anything stupid enough to ruin what they already had, what they’d already built.

It took a bullet ripping through his abdomen to make him realize what a terrible idea that had been.

But a year later wounds are healed, PT is long done, and he wakes up next to Buck every morning feeling happier than he has in almost a decade. He gets to buy the shirt for him, stock up on yogurt, and press himself into Buck’s space until his eyes get their spark back. He can fantasize about the house they’ll buy or the dogs they’ll adopt once Chris moves out.

He can see a titanium ring in the display case of the jewelry store at the mall and perfectly imagine what it would look like on Buck’s finger.

And he can make it all the way to his truck after buying it before the panic starts to set it.

He doesn’t register driving to Maddie and Chim’s until he’s frantically knocking on the door, hoping he heard Buck right and that Maddie’s off today taking care of a sick Jee-yun. The door flies open, and he sees Maddie’s face go from pissed to surprised to confused as she zeros in on the velvet box held limply in his hand.

“Uh, Eddie, that’s really sweet, but there are a lot of reasons why this would never work.”

His laugh is borderline hysterical as he gently pushes into the apartment. “It’s for Buck, but I— we haven’t really— I don’t even know if—” He doesn’t realize he’s pacing until Maddie takes his elbow and steers him to the couch, hands him a glass of water, and pushes him to sit.

“Breathe. Drink,” she says, and he does as his mind keeps spinning. She sets the empty glass on the coffee table and sits in the armchair across from him. “Okay. You want to propose. That’s a good thing, right?”

“Of course.” It’s the best thing, at the very top of a list of things he thought were untoppable.

“Have you guys talked about getting married?”

It wasn’t so much a conversation as a shift in language — one day the phrase “if we get married” changed to “when we get married” and neither of them thought twice about it because it felt so right.

“Sort of,” he settles on.

“And you’re sure he’d say yes?”

“Yes.” There’s few things in life he’s ever been so sure of, no matter what his earlier panic was making him think.

“So what’s the problem?”

He slumps back on the couch, hands running through his hair. “I don’t know how to do it.”

Maddie squints at him. “Eddie, it’s a pretty hard thing to mess up. And you’ve already been married, so don’t you have some practice?”

“That was different,” he says. “Shannon was already pregnant, it was more like a to-do list item than anything else. I didn’t even get her a ring until a couple months later.”

“Well you’re already a step ahead there, so that’s good.”

He sighs, pulling the ring box out of his pocket again and opening it. The thin line of silver running through the black glints in the sunlight, and he can still picture Buck wearing it so clearly, he’s just not sure how it gets there. All he knows is this aching need he can feel in his chest to make sure that however he does it, it’s enough — more than enough — that Buck knows exactly how deep his love runs, exactly how desperately Eddie needs him in his life and by his side.

Maddie moves to sit next to him and takes the box, and Eddie falls back into the cushions again. “I just want it to be perfect for him,” he says quietly. “Romantic. All the stuff people dream about when they think about getting engaged. But I have no idea how to do that.”

Maddie studies the ring for a minute before shutting the box, pressing it into his hand until he looks her in the eye. Her gaze is steady, piercing, and very (scarily) reminiscent of her brother’s. “You are asking him to marry you. It’s already perfect.” The reassurance helps, and it’s easy to smile back at her when she squeezes his hand.

“But,” she says, reaching for a pen and notebook on the coffee table, “a little romance never killed anyone, so let’s make some lists and figure out what you do and don’t want to do.”

Lists sound good. Eddie can work with lists.

“Rule number one,” she says, already scribbling, “no sporting events. Nothing kills the mood faster than seeing your face on a Jumbotron…”

~~~~~~~~~~

In the end, none of the lists really matter.

Because two weeks later, they’re sitting on the back patio after dinner, night air cool and lit up around them by the lights Chris insisted on hanging for his last backyard sleepover. Buck’s going on about a patient who tried to insist he could do CPR on himself, and Eddie’s hypnotized by his enthusiasm, the expressiveness of his hands and the joyful blush on his cheeks. He says something that makes both of them laugh, bubbling through the quiet of the neighborhood, and Eddie knows, immediately and with every part of him.

He has to ask Buck now. It’s not the candlelit dinner and walk on the beach he’d decided on with Maddie, nor is it even close to as big and bold as anything else they’d come up with. But none of that matters now because his skin is buzzing and his heart is pounding and he doesn’t want the ring burning in his pocket a minute longer — he wants to swear himself to Buck right here, in this moment that is extraordinarily ordinary and perfectly them. This is a story he wants to tell people over and over, to their family and friends and anyone else who will listen.

The universe must still be trying to make up for the hell it put him through last year, because the playlist coming through their portable speaker changes to something softer, romantic, and Eddie takes his chance before he talks himself out of it.

“Dance with me,” he says, standing and offering his hand to Buck.

“I’m sorry, are my stories boring?” Buck laughs as he takes his hand, folding into Eddie’s space like he’s always meant to be there, arms wrapping around his waist and pulling him close.

“Never,” Eddie says, and he pauses, because the one thing he and Maddie didn’t talk about was what he actually wanted to say to Buck when he asked. And now that he’s here with very little preparation, the huge, all-encompassing feelings he has for Buck refuse to be wrangled into a few measly sentences. None of the words he can think of feel big enough to capture how deeply his love runs, and he can feel his skin start buzzing for a much more unpleasant reason.

Hands squeeze his waist, zoning him back in and focusing him on Buck, on the crease between his eyebrows and the worry around his mouth. “Everything okay?” he asks, because he always knows when Eddie gets lost in himself, sometimes even before Eddie figures it out.

Buck knows him better than he knows himself. He doesn’t need big, poetic monologues for Buck to understand what’s going on inside his head.

The buzzing changes again, fueling his determination as he slips his hand into his pocket. “I love you. So much it’s almost scary. But I’m more scared of spending the rest of my life without you,” he holds the ring up between them, “so will you marry me?”

Buck freezes, stopping them both from swaying with the music. Eddie watches his eyes flit between the ring and Eddie and back again, holding his breath as he waits for an answer. Finally, Buck’s eyes lock on Eddie and stay there, a soft smile growing and growing until it’s so incandescently bright that Eddie’s afraid he might have to look away or risk losing his vision.

And then, just as quickly, Buck drops his hands from Eddie’s waist and runs back into the house.

Eddie honestly isn’t sure what to make of this, the only thought running through his head being what the fuck just happened here. But then Buck’s running back outside, still smiling and not-so-secretly holding something behind his back, and now it’s Eddie’s turn to glow.

“You’re joking,” he says quietly, cheeks already hurting from a smile that feels permanent and eyes feeling a little wet.

Buck shakes his head, his eyes shining too as he holds up the velvet box. “Bought it like a month ago when Chris and I went to buy him a new backpack, I had to bribe him with a new video game to keep him quiet. I haven’t even gotten a chance to tell Maddie yet.”

Eddie wouldn’t be surprised if the sheer amount of joy coursing through his veins was making him float a couple inches off the ground. “Is that a yes then?” he asks.

Buck’s laugh is loud and sharp, and Eddie can’t think of a more perfect sound. He takes the ring out and tosses the box aside, holding it up next to the one in Eddie’s hand. “Only if you’ll marry me too.”

It’s a flurry, then, of rings on fingers and breathless kisses and whispers of I love you, I love you so much. The whirlwind settles and they start swaying to the music again, holding each other even closer, and Eddie revels in the new weight on his hand that ties them together. He feels light and loved, completely enveloped in this romance that he’s finally able to give fully and receive just as well.

Buck takes his hand and places a kiss just below his ring, and Eddie knows this is just the beginning. They have a lifetime of love and happiness ahead of them, and Eddie finally feels like he deserves it.

#buddie #evan buckley #eddie diaz #911 fox #buddie fic #911 fic #9-1-1 #can i offer you all some proposal fluff in these trying times???#alicia i'm sorry this took forever!!!#ficcery

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youvebeenlivingfictional · 4 years

Text

When We Were Young Part Eight

Previous Part | Next Part | Masterlist Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x Reader Rating: T Notes: Not beta-read. I hope everyone’s having a good week! I hope everyone’s had a good week and is doing well :) Thank you for all of the likes/reblogs/replies 🥰 Warnings: Some fluff; some angst. Summary: Your mother was deathly afraid that you would come through this season without a proposal; you had never been more afraid that you would receive one.

“You’re enjoying this far too much,�� You accused Sherlock as he captured one of your rooks. “I disagree. I believe I’m enjoying it exactly the right amount.” You rolled your eyes openly, careful not to let your smile widen as he chuckled. “It is your turn, dove,” He added. Your eyes darted to Cornelius, whom you saw shift in his seat at the use of the pet name. He had been steadfast in his chaperoning of yourself and Sherlock whenever the detective made it a point to stop by, as he had nearly every day for the last three weeks. You were unsure if Dawson had caught wind of your other… Visitor (Sherlock wasn’t a suitor, he wasn’t courting you, surely. You refused to put too much stock in the books and flowers that he brought; even if the books were on topics that you loved; even if Mrs. Lloyd insisted that carnations stood for fascination, and small sunflowers meant adoration, and kennedias signified mental beauty, and Peruvian heliotrope were for devotion, and mossy saxifrage represented affection).

You looked down at the board. “Aren’t you always the one counseling me not to rush into my next move?” “I suppose I am,” Sherlock mused. “Then perhaps you only pointed out that it was my turn to distract me from the bigger picture.” “Do you really think that I would do something like that?” “I think that that is exactly what you would do,” You looked up at Sherlock from under your lashes, and this time, you couldn’t help but share his smile. You reached out, your fingers settling on your bishop. Sherlock made a soft sound in his throat. “Shush,” You ordered. “You’re certain?” Sherlock asked. “It’s not going to work this time, Holmes,” You insisted, moving the piece before sitting up straight. Sherlock cocked his head to the side; the movement put you in mind of a small, confused puppy. “What’s not going to work?” His tone was woven with innocence, but you knew better. This was the third game that you’d played with him that afternoon, and he’d managed to make you second-guess yourself during the last two. “You know what. Now take your turn.” You watched as he clasped his hands under his chin, resting his chin and lips against his knuckles as he surveyed the board. In his concentration, you let your eyes wander his face. He tended to get this furrow between his brow when he was thinking; now and again, his eyes would narrow, but only a touch and just for a second. You heard him push a short huff out through his nose before he hummed thoughtfully. You didn’t follow his gaze back to the board. Instead, you continued to watch him unabashedly as you asked, “What now?” Sherlock’s eyes flitted to yours, and you felt a shock of warmth spread through you. He held your gaze with such intensity that you almost missed his moving his queen and murmuring, “Checkmate.” You looked down at the board before you leaned back in your seat, groaning in frustration. “You did far better this time than last,” Sherlock said, sitting up. You could tell that he wasn’t teasing you, and you hummed. “I didn’t beat you, though.” “You will, dove. Just not today.” You raised a brow. “No time for one more?” “I’m afraid I have to meet with Lestrade in,” Sherlock reached into his waistcoat pocket and pulled out his pocket watch, “Nearly half an hour.” “Ah,” You nodded, “New case?” “Yes, though from what details he told me, I’m hoping for a speedy resolution.” Your brows rose. “That sounds rather unlike you. I thought you preferred the cases that were more difficult to unpick.” “I do, but I have...Other things occupying my mind at present.” Beautifully vague; classic Sherlock. “Things regarding Enola?” You asked. He hesitated in answering before he settled on, “Some.” You stood when Sherlock did, and you cleared your throat, signalling his departure to your Uncle Cornelius. You heard him folding his paper. “I’ll be stopping by to see her tomorrow,” You added, clasping your hands, “She told me that she’d be quite occupied with Edith at the tea rooms, else, and-- and I will have to leave town at the end of this week.” Sherlock cut you a look, briefly sharp, then stunned. “This week?” He asked, frowning. “Yes.” You’d been planning on telling Sherlock at some point during his last few visits, but the two of you just seemed to get so caught up-- with conversation, or chess, or cards. “I’m afraid her mother has been quite miserable without her,” Cornelius added, rounding his armchair. You glanced at him. He knew as well as you that that was a lie; she had been irate with your departure, and only grew more and more frustrated when you’d stalled in town. She’d only allowed it for as long as she had because Cornelius had reported to her that Dawson was visiting you with some frequency. It was unlikely that he would make a trip out to see you at your home. Your mother was deathly afraid that you would come through this season without a proposal; you had never been more afraid that you would receive one. You could see on Sherlock’s face that he didn’t buy the reason for a moment, but he gave a stiff nod, murmuring, “Of course,” before he turned to look at you. “I will do my best to see you at least once more before you leave London.” “I would like that,” You said; your heart twinged with how much you meant it. -- Enola tended to get caught up in things; you knew that about her. That was why, when you arrived at Baker Street the following day, you found her not at home. Mrs. Hudson apologized profusely, offering to let you wait in the sitting room for her. You accepted, and in solitude, you took your chance to look around. It was a cozy room. Sherlock and Enola seemed to each have their own corners: Sherlock’s was by the fireplace, beside a bookshelf; Enola’s was by the window, with a desk that was stocked with books and drawing pencils. You chuckled at the caricature of Mycroft that you’d last seen at Ferndell pinned to the wall beside the window. You ran your fingers over the back of Enola’s chair before you turned, drifting toward Sherlock’s armchair. He had a reading table beside it; there was a wooden box with a pipe engraved on it, and a stack of books. There were a few pieces of paper sticking out of the books here and there, and you could just make out Sherlock’s handwriting. You glanced toward the door, holding your breath for a moment. When you were sure that you couldn’t hear anyone coming, you picked up one, scanning the title on the spine: On the Origin of Species. Your brows rose before you reached for the one under it. It was a plain-covered book, unassuming. You hummed, curious, and set the first book aside in favor of flipping through the second. You smiled a little when you saw sketches. You knew that that was one thing that Sherlock and Enola both held a love for. As you flipped through, you recognized Ferndell; there were a few pressed flowers with their sketches, meanings, and uses jotted down besides; you snorted when you spotted a caricature of Dawson. It depicted him with rather a large head and very small, beady eyes; his coat had money bursting out of the pockets, and he was leaning heavily on a dandy’s cane. Had Sherlock given your suitor gout? It certainly looked that way. You turned the next page and then froze, your breath catching in your throat. It was… Well, it was you. Sherlock had sketched you in profile. Your eyes were downcast, your lips drawn up in a smile; there was shading around your cheeks, making it look as though you were blushing. He’d made you look so soft, so...Gentle, but somehow mischievous. Was this how he saw you? Sitting on the page beside it was a flower petal - white, pressed, but still soft. It looked familiar, but you couldn’t place it at first. You trailed your finger over it, frowning, before you realized that you had last seen it at the dinner party: your gardenia. You heard the door slam shut downstairs, and the thunder of footsteps, and you hurried to shut the notebook and set it down on the stack, replacing the other book on top of it before you hurried over to the window. You turned to see Enola burst into the room, grinning. “I’m sorry, I got caught up,” She apologized as she shrugged out of her coat. You smiled, chuckling, “It’s quite alright.” “Would you like some tea?” Enola asked, but she was already heading for the kitchen. You followed close behind, answering, “Certainly.” As the two of you settled back in the sitting room with your tea, you couldn’t stop your gaze from straying to Sherlock’s reading table now and again. Enola was sharp, you knew that; you didn’t know why you thought you were being sneaky. “He’s working on a case,” She informed you after she caught you looking for the fifth time that afternoon. You nodded a little. “Yes, he mentioned. He thought it would move along quite swiftly.” “Maybe it is. He was out all last night, and when I awoke this morning, Mrs. Hudson said that he hadn’t been in yet.” You frowned at that. “Does that happen often?” You asked. “Occasionally,” Enola shrugged, “But I don’t mind.” You smiled, then, trying to reassure yourself; you knew that she didn’t, but you couldn’t help but wonder where he was and what he was up to. “...Enola.” “Hm?” “You haven’t happened to see an odd glove around here that isn’t yours, have you?” -- Your visit with Enola ran late, as it always did. You heard the clock chime five and you frowned; you were going to be late for dinner. “I should be on my way,” You sighed softly. Enola opened her mouth to reply, but it was cut off by the thudding of footsteps coming up the stairs. There was a pause before you saw Sherlock sweep through the living room. He didn’t acknowledge either of you; you could see his shoulders hunched forward, his jaw tight with irritation. You watched as he opened his bedroom door, then flinched when it slammed shut behind him. “...And now we know how the case is going,” You muttered sarcastically. Enola wrinkled her nose as you straightened from your chair. You exchanged your goodbyes, and you were headed for the front door before you stopped yourself, glancing back toward Sherlock’s door. Enola had had no leads; there was still time to get your glove back. “Just-- I’ll be a moment,” You said. Enola arched a knowing brow before she nodded, stepping into her own room and shutting the door. You frowned a little bit. What on earth had that look been for? And why had she retreated to her bedroom? You shook the thought away as you walked over to Sherlock’s door, leaning in the doorway. You raised your hand, rapping your knuckles lightly on it twice. You heard a gruff call of, “What?” and you bit your lip. Maybe this hadn’t been the best idea. “What is it--” Came an additional yell, and you hurried to answer, “It’s me.” There was a pause, and you straightened up as you heard Sherlock’s footsteps approaching the door. He opened it, and you were briefly taken aback. You’d never seen the man look so...Disheveled. His curls were mussed, as if he’d been taking his hand through them; he’d removed his jacket and tie, and opened the top two buttons of his shirt; his sleeves had been rolled up to his elbows. You couldn’t help the way your eyes wandered his form before you met his gaze again. “I’m sorry, I-- Didn’t mean to disturb you.” “You haven’t,” Sherlock insisted, “I apologize, I didn’t realize that you were still here.” He tucked his hands into his pockets and peered into the sitting room, searching for Enola, before he looked back to you. “When does your train leave?” “Friday morning. The 10:30.” “Perhaps I’ll see you at the station.” That took you aback, and you were able to deduce a few things from it. “...I take it the case is proving a little more difficult than expected?” Sherlock pushed a heavy sigh out through his nose, leaning against the door frame as he hung his head; it more than confirmed your suspicions. “I’m sorry,” You added softly. He raised a hand, rubbing over the back of his neck. “It is nothing I haven’t dealt with before, but...I fear I may not be able to come and see you again before you leave.” You felt disappointment fill you, but you pushed it away, shielding it with a smile. “It’s alright, I understand,” You insisted, “I was glad to have your company while I was in town.” “And I, yours, love,” Sherlock murmured. Your heart soared at the words; you blinked at Sherlock a couple of times, certain that you’d imagined it. “Pardon?” You asked. Sherlock’s brow furrowed. “I-- I said I was glad to have yours, too, dove.” That feeling of elation plummeted as quickly as it had swelled, your heart dropping like a kite that had lost the wind. You’d simply misheard him. You lowered your eyes, nodding. “Of course. I should be on my way. Cornelius is expecting me.” “Let me hail you a hansom--” “No!” You rushed to stop him. Sherlock looked stricken; you felt bile rise in your throat, and you hurried to cover this with another smile. “I can manage it myself. Good luck with your case, Mr. Holmes.” You hurried out of Baker Street as quickly as you could, your glove completely forgotten. Tag list: @run-through-wa11s; @thefallenbibliophilequote ; @bitchy-witchy-post-mortem ; @maan24 ; @awkward-walking-potato ; @madalore ; @alexa-lightwood-blog ; @chelseaxaz ; @marwritesgood ; @runawayolives ; @parkerismybaby ; @magicstrengthandcourage ; @shesthelastjedi ; @wolfiepirate ; @xremember-me-notx ; @fandoms-pizza-wifi-ym13 ; @alagaesian-bookdragon ; @libbymouse ; @truthdaze ; @crispysublimecupcake ; @cavillhavoc ; @juliesland ; @lyannamartell23 ; @seeking-a-great--perhaps ; @anxiousgoldengirl ; @gooddaykate-reads ; @rn7rocks ; @remember-happy-things ; @angels-pie

#When We Were Young #Sherlock Holmes x Reader #Sherlock Holmes x You #Sherlock Holmes Imagine #Sherlock Holmes Henry Cavill #Sherlock Holmes/Reader #Sherlock Holmes/You

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starryknight09 · 4 years

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Unforeseen dangers Ch. 2

Summary: As Peter recovers from his capture by Ross, a photo of him with Tony and the Avengers leaks and is splashed all across the media. Luckily, no one can figure out who he is and everyone thinks the buzz will die down. However, the public’s interest has been ignited. While Tony worries it’s only a matter of time before Peter’s identity is exposed, Peter isn’t as concerned. Besides, what’s the worst that could happen anyway?

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________________________________________________________

“Does that hurt?” Bruce asked as he pressed near the wound on Peter’s leg while Tony stood off to the side and tried not to fidget.

“No.”

Bruce hummed and shot Peter a look that Tony had been on the receiving end of more than a few times. It was his ‘I know you’re bullshiting me, but I’m too polite to call you on it’ look.

“Are you sure?” Bruce asked and pressed a little harder. Even Tony caught his son’s slight flinch.

“Um maybe just a tiny bit.” Peter admitted.

Bruce nodded. “Lay down for a second.”

Peter shifted, pulling his legs up and resting them on the bed so he was no longer sitting with them dangling over the side. Bruce kept ahold of his bad leg and helped lift it as he moved, but Tony still noticed Peter’s wince. He knew his kid didn’t need his help, but he couldn’t stop from giving him a reassuring shoulder squeeze.

“Let me know if any of this hurts.” Bruce said once Peter was settled on his back. Tony watched as his friend moved his kid’s leg, slowly flexing and extending it.

“How does that feel?” Bruce asked.

“It aches a little, but not too bad.”

Bruce nodded and flexed Peter’s leg so is it was bent with his foot flat on the bed.

“Try to straighten it out. Slide your heel down.”

Peter hesitated for a second but then he did it. Bruce watched Peter’s face carefully throughout the movement.

“No pain?” Bruce asked.

Peter shook his head. “Not really. Just sore.”

“Ok. Now bring your foot back up. Flex your knee.”

Peter did, and he still didn’t seem to be in any pain.

“Good.” Bruce nodded. “Now straighten it back out again.”

Tony watched as Peter’s movements grew less tentative now that he knew it didn’t hurt.

“Ok. Now try to lift your leg up off the bed.”

Peter lifted it a few inches into the air.

“Good. Try to hold it there.” Bruce said, hand hovering under his ankle in case he needed to catch it to keep it from falling roughly back onto the bed.

After a handful of seconds, Peter’s leg started shaking with the effort.

“A little longer. You can do it.” Bruce coached him.

Tony could see the tension on Peter’s face as he grit his teeth and tried to do as Bruce asked. He managed another ten seconds or so before he gave in with a grunt and Bruce caught his leg before it could fall.

“Sorry.” Peter took a few short breaths. “I can’t.”

“No that was good.” Bruce smiled at him. “I think you’re ready to try walking.”

“Really?” Peter asked, excitement wiping away the fatigue.

“Really?” Tony echoed. The kid could barely hold his leg up and Bruce thought he was ready to walk?

Bruce nodded, smiling knowingly at Tony. “Let’s see how it goes.”

“Great.” Peter sat up and moved his legs over the edge of the bed. “I’m ready.”

“Take it slow.” Bruce warned and grasped Peter’s upper arm to support him. Tony mirrored him and did the same with Peter’s other arm.

Peter slid off the bed and onto his good foot. He tentatively placed the foot of his hurt leg down on the ground.

“How’s that feel?” Bruce asked once Peter was standing normally, weight balanced between both legs.

“I think it’s ok.”

“You think?” Tony asked. He didn’t like the hint of uncertainty in Peter’s answer.

“It’s fine Dad.” Peter rolled his eyes and then looked at Bruce, “Can I try walking now?”

“Yes, but take it slow like I said. One step at a time, and Tony and I are going to help you.”

“Ok.” Peter didn’t waste a second before taking a small step forward.

Tony automatically tightened his grip, afraid Peter’s leg would give way and he’d topple to the ground. But he didn’t. His leg supported his weight just fine. After the first step, he took another, and then another, and pretty soon he’d crossed the Medbay, reassuring Tony and Bruce he was ok all along the way.

They stopped when they ran out of room and Bruce smiled as he suggested, “How about you walk back to the bed on your own now? Think you can do it?”

Tony shot him a sharp questioning look, not at all comfortable leaving Peter bereft without support yet, but Bruce refused to look at him.

“Yeah. Ok.” Peter smiled and pulled away from them, walking slowly back to the bed. Bruce followed a few paces behind, but Tony hovered a couple feet off to the side. Just in case.

It turned out Bruce knew what he was talking about. Peter made it back fine. He didn’t falter once.

“How was that?” Peter asked, beaming once he completed his trek. Tony didn’t see a hint of exertion or pain on his countenance, only pride at his success.

“Good job kid.” Tony patted him on the back.

“That was really good Peter.” Bruce agreed. “I think it’s safe to ditch the crutches.”

“Awesome.” Peter grinned.

“But,” Bruce held a finger up, “no crutches doesn’t mean walking all over the place or running around Spidermanning.”

“Oh don’t worry. There won’t be any Spidermanning.” Tony added.

Peter looked abashed at the reminder, but Bruce shot him a confused look. Tony sighed.

“He’s grounded, remember?” Tony had told all the Avengers about Peter’s hack job on FRIDAY and subsequent punishment a couple days ago.

“Oh that’s right.” Bruce said with a wince as he cast a sympathetic glance toward Peter.

Peter’s cheeks flushed and he shot Tony a slightly betrayed look.

“Well I guess we won’t have to worry about the Spidermanning part for awhile.” Bruce said as pulled off his glasses and cleaned them on his shirt.

“Nope, no Spidermanning for a long while.” Tony reiterated, reaching out to ruffle Peter’s hair to soften the blow.

Peter ducked away with an eye roll.

“You guys know that’s not actually a verb, right?” Peter asked as he tried to fix the mess of his hair.

When both he and Bruce frowned at him, Peter clarified, “Spidermanning.”

“Yes it is.” Tony argued. “It is if I say it is.”

Bruce snorted.

“Technically, you should say ‘going out as Spiderman’.” Peter corrected.

“That’s too many words kid.” Tony said.

“It’s really not.”

“Well, if you want to get technical it should be Spiderkidding not Spidermanning, since, you know, you’re a kid and all.”

Peter narrowed his eyes and opened his mouth to argue when Bruce cleared his throat, interrupting their banter before it could devolve any further. “Anyway, you’re good to go. But still try to stay off your feet as much as possible. At least for now. And let me know if you start having any problems.”

“Ok.” Peter readily agreed.

“I mean it. If it starts bothering you, don’t keep it to yourself.” Bruce said, eyeing him seriously over the rims of his glasses.

“Ok.” Peter repeated, more sincerely this time.

“I’ll check in on you tomorrow.”

Peter nodded.

“All right kid. Let’s go. Brucie here has things he needs to do and there’s a couch with your name on it upstairs.”

Peter groaned, but Tony could tell it wasn’t heartfelt.

Bruce just chuckled at the familiar teenage angst.

Tony grasped Peter’s shoulders from behind and nudged him gently toward the elevator. They made it there without incident. Tony couldn’t wait until Peter was completely back to normal. Maybe then he’d finally be able to put this whole nightmare inducing event behind him.

“So um you told Bruce about the no Spiderman thing?” Peter asked from his position on the couch with his head in Tony’s lap as they watched some kind of cop show Peter seemed to like.

“Yep.” Tony said as he ran his fingers through his kid’s soft hair.

“Why?” Peter asked, eyes flitting up at him with a narrowing of his brow.

“Because I need all the help I can get to keep an eye on you so you don’t get up to your shenanigans.” He answered, his own eyes dancing in amusement.

Peter huffed and went back to watching TV. Another few minutes of the show passed in comfortable silence before he asked, “So how long am I grounded for?”

“Three months.” Tony answered. He knew it was severe, but it needed to be to keep Peter from doing something like it again.

Peter’s eyes widened in shock, but he surprisingly didn’t protest the punishment.

“Harsh.” He mumbled instead and sighed. “I guess I deserve it.”

Tony hummed. All the white hot anger he’d felt about it before had evaporated in the aftermath of his kid’s kidnapping and near death experience.

“Can we count this week as time served? For good behavior?” Peter asked hopefully.

Tony huffed out a short breath of air, feeling equal parts amusement and annoyance. He shook his head ruefully. “Sure. Why not? You still have two months and three weeks left to go though.”

Peter nodded. “I know. And I know I told you before, but I really am sorry.”

“I know kiddo.” Tony kept running his fingers through Peter’s strands, trying to keep the tone of the conversation light so he could hopefully lull his son into sleep. It was past time for his afternoon nap, but he hadn’t shown any signs of fatigue. Maybe he really was on the mend.

“You were really mad at me.” Peter continued so softly the sentence was barely audible.

“Yeah I was bud.” He frowned. It was the second time Peter had brought up his anger in regard to that situation. Maybe it needed a little more examination. “Did that bother you?”

Peter shrugged.

“Hmm?” He prompted, scratching his kid’s scalp gently. Peter’s eyes closed predictably.

“I guess.” Peter admitted with a sigh.

“Why?”

“I don’t know. I guess it maybe kind of scared me a little.”

Tony swallowed hard and his fingers froze, memories of his own fear of his own dad bubbling up.

Peter turned to look up at him and quickly correctly, “I’m not saying I was scared of you. Just that it was scary.”

“Ok.” He let out a little puff of air in relief but asked, “If it wasn’t me then what was scary about it?”

“I don’t like fighting with you. And I know we’ve fought before, but you haven’t been like that since the whole ferry thing and I think maybe it brought me back there, and we weren’t exactly good then.” Peter hesitated and glanced up at him again.

Tony nodded in encouragement for Peter to continue.

“I guess I was worried that, like back then, you wouldn’t think I was worth the trouble anymore.”

“Never.” Tony said with the gravity of solemn promise.

“I know that now.” Peter smiled up at him. “We talked about it after you got me back, remember?”

He nodded. He did, but he wasn’t sure if Peter did with all the drugs that’d been coursing through his veins, it would’ve been enough to make anyone’s memory hazy.

“Um, for what it’s worth, I promise I’ll never hack FRIDAY again.”

“What about promising to never sneak out again?”

Peter looked up at him, mischief written all over his features. “Well, I’ve got to keep you on your toes somehow.”

Tony shook his head and ruffled Peter’s hair. “You’re a demon child.”

Peter laughed, leaning into the contact instead of away.

“Good thing I love you.” Tony said, letting all the affection he felt for his kid saturate the words.

Peter smiled, his own feelings apparent as he echoed, “I love you too old man.”

Instead of faking indignance at the title, he scoffed and said, “Damn right. And don’t you forget it. I’m not getting any younger, and all the grey in my hair is from you. I don’t know how much longer my poor heart can take all this stress, so can you try to cool it, and stay under the radar, and behave for awhile? For me?”

“I suppose I could do that. For a little while at least.”

“How about until you turn eighteen?”

Peter laughed and complained, “I have to live my life sometime.”

“That’s what college is for.”

Peter rolled his eyes.

“Ok how about this, just promise me no more getting kidnapped or almost dying.” Tony hesitated briefly before adding, “Or actually dying. Fair?”

Peter’s amusement faded slightly, and he nodded, looking chagrined as he agreed, “Ok. I guess I can do that.”

“Thank you.”

Peter turned the corner of the hallway and stopped in front of the secretary’s desk. He waited patiently for her to notice him as she examined something on her desk. When a few seconds had gone by, he cleared his throat quietly. She looked up and her mouth parted in surprise.

“Oh sorry. I didn’t hear you.” She apologized.

“It’s ok. I was quiet.” He smiled. “Is uh Ms. Potts in?”

“She is.” The woman said hesitantly. “Do you have an appointment?”

“Um no but I was hoping I could talk to her real quick? It’ll only take a minute.”

“And you are?”

“Right. Sorry. I’m Peter. Peter Parker. Ms. Potts knows me, I promise.” He stepped forward and held out his hand.

She shook it weakly still looking perplexed as she asked, “Are you a new employee?”

“Oh no. I’m just um…” He trailed off, not quite sure how to explain his relationship to Pepper when no one knew he was Tony’s kid. Maybe this had been a bad idea, but he couldn’t think of any other way to talk to Pepper alone without Tony finding out about it. Although knowing Tony, he might still find out about this. There wasn’t much that went on in his Tower that he wasn’t aware of. Peter would have to think of an appropriate alibi for the visit just in case.

“I’m family.” He settled on. It was sort of true.

The secretary frowned and looked him up and down, hopefully deciding that he wasn’t some serial killer or weirdo since he’d cleared security and been granted access to their floor.

Still, he tried his best to look as innocent as possible under her scrutiny.

“Let me check with her.” The woman said finally, picking up the phone to the left of her computer and pressing a button.

“Ms. Potts, there’s a Peter Parker here requesting to see you? He said you knew him?” She said into the phone, her tone disbelieving.

“Oh.” The woman’s eyes widened. “Of course. I’ll send him right in then.”

She hung up the phone and stared at him, scrutinizing him for an entirely different reason now.

“So can I…” He motioned toward the closed office door.

She straightened and cleared her throat before telling him, “You can go right in.”

She pressed a button on the underside of her desk and Peter heard an audible click as the door unlocked. Impressive security, although he should’ve expected nothing less.

“Thank you.” He smiled politely and walked right in, not sparing a glance to the secretary even though he could feel her gaze on his back.

“Peter.” Pepper greeted him warmly, standing up from behind her desk to walk over to him and give him a hug. “What a nice surprise. You’re looking better. No more crutches?”

“Nah. Bruce said I could get rid of them yesterday.”

“And your leg’s feeling ok?”

“Yeah it’s not bad. Hopefully I’ll get to go back to school in a couple days.” He really hoped so anyway. It felt like he’d just gone back after the school had been rebuilt and now he’d been out again for over a week.

“Just in time for holiday break?” Pepper teased.

“Yeah I guess.” He smiled. “But at least I’ll get to see my friends before I have to spend the entire break trying to catch up on all the work I missed.”

Pepper nodded and gestured toward the sitting area with a small couch and a couple chairs off to the side in her office. “Why don’t we have a seat? You can tell me what I’ve done to deserve this great excuse for a break.”

Peter laughed. Pepper seemed to genuinely mean it. It still surprised him sometimes how much Tony’s friends and the Avengers actually cared about him. He knew Tony did, but that didn’t automatically mean everyone else had to. For some reason, they all did anyway.

Peter chose a seat on the sofa and Pepper sat down on the other end of it, slipping her heels off and turning to face him with her legs curled underneath her. Even in such a relaxed position she still managed to look regal.

“I was actually wondering if you could help me with something?” He started out right away.

“For you? Anything.” She said warmly.

“You know how Christmas is coming up soon?”

She nodded. It was only a week away.

“Well I had this idea for what I wanted to get Tony as a present, and I wanted it to be a surprise, but I wasn’t sure how to go about it without him finding out, or if it was even possible to do it without him finding out.” He rambled. “So, I thought I’d ask you and maybe you could help?”

“Of course. What is it you want to get him? I have to admit I’m curious. He’s notoriously impossible to buy for.”

“It’s not something I want to buy. At least I don’t think I have to buy it. Maybe it actually does cost some money.” He frowned.

Pepper leaned forward and placed a hand over his to stop him from wringing them in his lap. “Before you start worrying, why don’t you tell me what it is first?”

“Right.” He nodded. “Um, I…I want to change my name.”

Pepper’s brow furrowed slightly before it shot to her hairline, obviously realizing what Peter meant. A smile slowly spread across her face.

“That’s really sweet.” She said. “Tony will like that a lot.”

“You think?” He asked, suddenly insecure. He’d figured Tony would like it, but he hadn’t been entirely sure, and he hadn’t wanted to run it by any of the other Avengers, or Happy, because when it came down to it, he didn’t trust them not to ruin the surprise. For being superheroes and spies, they sure were huge gossips and terrible secret keepers.

“I do.” Pepper patted his leg in reassurance.

“Ok.” He managed to give her a slight smile in return. “So um, how do I go about doing that? Without him finding out? Is that even possible?”

“Oh I’m sure it is. I can’t imagine it’s all that complicated, but I’ll talk to our lawyers about it and get things rolling.”

“And you’re sure Tony won’t find out?” Peter asked.

“I promise he won’t find out. Our lawyers are very discreet, and I’ll make sure everything goes through me.”

“Thanks Pepper.” His smile widened.

“You’re very welcome.” Pepper said as she unfurled her legs and stood. “Now, I’m starving and it’s almost lunch time. I don’t suppose I could convince you to take an old lady out to lunch?”

“You’re not old.” Peter rolled his eyes. “But I’d love to go to lunch with you.”

“Great.” She held a hand out and helped him to his feet. “What sounds good to you?”

“I don’t care. Whatever you want.”

“There’s a new fusion restaurant on 5th I’ve been meaning to try. It’s a blend of Spanish and Caribbean. My friend told me it was delicious. Does that sound good?”

“Yeah sure. Let’s go there.” Peter readily agreed.

Pepper nodded and paused to type something on her phone. A few seconds later it vibrated as she received a text message in response.

“Happy’s going to drive us so I don’t have to worry about trying to find parking. That’d be a nightmare.” Pepper informed him.

“Oh. If Happy’s busy, I wouldn’t mind taking a cab.” He knew his dad and SI employed the man, but Peter still felt guilty whenever he had Happy drive him around.

“We’re not taking a cab.” Pepper shook her head, looking amused at the suggestion. “Does Tony really let you ride around in cabs?”

“Um…” He thought about it. “I guess it hasn’t really come up?”

“Well I can tell you I don’t think he’d like it.” Pepper said and started ushering him toward the door of her office.

“Why not? It’s not like anyone knows who I am.”

“Let’s just say Tony’s always been overly cautious when it comes to the people he cares about, and I can’t see him letting you to ride in a stranger’s car when he could have Happy take you instead.”

“Yeah you’re probably right.” He admitted.

As he thought about Tony’s overprotective instincts, another realization struck him while Pepper held her office door open for him to pass through. His eyes widened and he looked up at her before blurting out, “I guess that means the subway’s out too?”

Pepper laughed and reached out to pat his shoulder. “You would guess right.”

Peter sighed, face falling. He wondered why he hadn’t realized sooner that he hadn’t actually taken a cab since they’d moved back to the city from the compound, and the one time he’d taken the subway, he’d done so without Tony knowing about it, and it had only been because decathlon practice had been canceled. Either Tony took him everywhere himself or he had Happy take him.

As they walked past the secretary, Pepper informed her, “I’m going to lunch. I’ll be back in an hour or two.”

“Of course Ms. Potts.” The woman nodded back. “Have a good lunch.”

The secretary eyed Peter again.

“Um it was nice to meet you.” He said over his shoulder as Pepper guided him toward the elevator.

“You as well Mr. Parker.” She said in response. He was surprised she remembered his name, but he figured she must be excellent at her job. Pepper wouldn’t hire anyone less.

“Oh Ms. Potts.” The receptionist called out as Pepper pushed the button to the elevator.

“Yes?”

“Would you like me to add Mr. Parker to your list of pre-approved visitors?��

“Yes Shannon. Thank you.” Pepper answered.

“Very well.”

The elevator dinged and Peter stepped in, Pepper a step behind him.

Once the doors slid shut, Peter commented, “She seems nice. And competent.”

Pepper smiled. “I’m glad you think so. She’s been working for me for a couple years now. I’d hate to have to fire her if she was rude to you.”

Peter glanced over at Pepper, trying to decide if she was joking. It didn’t seem like it. Something warm blossomed in his chest.

Another few seconds passed in silence as the elevator descended. Peter tried to get his ears to pop as the pressure changed, one of the side effects of living in the tallest building in New York.

“Oh,” Pepper said suddenly with a slight shake of her head, as if she couldn’t believe she hadn’t already considered whatever it was that had popped into her mind. She turned to him. “Before I forget, when I talk to the lawyers, what should I tell them you want to change your name to?”

“Um…Stark?” He thought that’d be obvious.

Pepper let out a small laugh. “Of course. I mean, what about the rest of your name? Are you changing your middle name to Parker or dropping it all together?”

He knew Pepper didn’t mean it maliciously, but the way the phrase came out, the dropping it part, still made him cringe.

“Sorry.” Pepper apologized. “If you want, you can think about it and I can let the lawyers know once you decide.” She offered, misinterpreting the reason for his unease.

“No, it’s not that. Uh, I’ve thought about it.” He had thought about it. A lot actually. “You can tell them I want it to be Peter Parker Stark.”

In the end, he’d decided to keep Parker as his middle name and forgo Benjamin. Ben was still a Parker along with May and his parents. And he knew Ben would understand. They all would. They’d told him as much when he’d been officially dead. It was actually what had given him the confidence to decide to change his name.

“Peter Parker Stark.” Pepper echoed, trying the words out on her tongue. She nodded and gave him a warm smile. “It has a nice ring to it.”

“Yeah? I thought so too.”

“He’s going to love it.” She didn’t have to specify who she meant by he.

“I hope so. It’s not too forward? Or overstepping? You don’t think I need to ask him first?”

“Definitely not. Trust me, he’s going to love it.” Pepper kept smiling, eyes twinkling. “I think you’ll be giving him one of the best presents he’s ever gotten.”

Peter didn’t know if that was true. He figured Pepper was exaggerating, but then he remembered the adoption paperwork Tony had given him on his birthday. That had been way better than the Audi. The love he felt toward his dad swelled just at the thought of it.

“I hope so.” He said, unable to completely keep his deep seated insecurities at bay.

“I know so.” Pepper said with absolute certainty.

Maybe she was right.

Either way, it was too late to turn back now.

#unforeseen dangers #ch 2

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rasa-rising · 5 years

Text

The Seekers’ Arrival

(~2,263 words, 10 minute read)

“... huh.” Lieska reared her head as she heard a rustle from somewhere nearby. She was standing guard at the edge of the sinkhole in her usual spot, where she had deemed she had the best view over the whole area. She shielded her eyes from the sun with her wings and eyed her surroundings. There, some hundred meters from her in the thick foliage, a large shape lurked in hiding. Following it, a second one, similar but slightly smaller in posture. Passersby were common, a lot of dragons shared the area with them, but these two seemed… different. Strange. Unfamiliar. And they were inching closer to the sinkhole.

Lieska lowered herself into the ground, keeping her eyes on the intruders, ready to pounce at a moment’s notice. She restrained herself, though; Isla had told her numerous times that all new dragons were not inherently a threat, and that this was a safe haven blah blah, everyone was welcome blah blah. As the guardian of the lair, Lieska had a fundamentally different view, but had agreed out of respect.

Now though, as the shapes creeped ever closer, Lieska actually got worried. They were definitely not just passing, she realised, as the strange dragons leaped from the bushes and started expertly climbing and jumping down the steep cliffs of the hole, approaching the bottom at a rapid pace.

The sight of the huge, furry monsters threw Lieska for a loop at first. They looked like… she shook her head to get rid of the ridiculous thought. In no way could Brandr be related to whatever these things were.

Lieska stood up straight, arched her neck and let out a thunderous warning roar. It echoed through the sinkhole, bouncing from wall to wall for several seconds. The intruders barely even took notice. They reached the sinkhole floor with a massive thump, shaking the ground and sending some nearby hatchlings running and screaming. Without a word the strangers glanced at each other, nodded, and started wreaking havoc on everything in their way. Hefty paws ripped holes in lair walls, tore branches off trees and sent piles of boulders flying with no sign of effort or hesitation.

The now furious guardian had taken off from her post and was beelining towards the attackers, ready to sink her teeth and talons into them with lethal force, when something small, quick and nimble rocketed right past her and skidded to a halt with spread wings only an arm’s length from the strangers. “HEY!” yelled Baldur. The clan leader had arrived in the nick of time. “Stop what you’re doing immediately or face the wrath of my most skilled fighters!” He landed on a large rock and took a battle stance. No one, not even dragons three times his size, could terrorize his lair without consequences. As if to emphasize his words, Lieska landed behind him with a boom, her weight making the ground around her crack.

The intruders paused to look at him with disinterest. Then, the bigger one spoke with a low, rumbling voice: “Listen. We’re only here to do our job. You are all in grave danger and should vacate the premises immediately. Make haste.” She was about to carry on with her task but Baldur intervened.

“What in the Windsinger’s name – do you even know where you are? I’ll have you know, our sinkhole is perfectly peaceful and protected and –”

“Then why does it reek of the Shade from miles away?” the smaller one roared, “we were sent here on a priority mission to find and contain one of the biggest, smelliest, most dangerous shade creatures in all of Reedcleft Ascent, and we’re not going to stop before this threat has been eliminated for good. Now please get the hell away from us unless you’re all protecting this vile thing. In that case we’ll have no choice but to fight the whole clan.”

Baldur stared in silence for just a second as his brain put two and two together. He still couldn’t parse why these behemoths were currently turning his home upside down, but he got a feeling he knew what ‘vile thing’ they were trying to find. He folded his wings, raised his head and commanded the attention of the furry rage machines with a loud cough.

“A-hem! If you could just halt for a moment and listen to me, please. I think I know what you’re talking about.” With those words, the destruction stopped. Baldur was met with two extremely suspicious stares as he continued: “Rest assured that there is no immediate danger from what you seek. You can stop ravaging my lands. Just give me a minute and I’ll explain.” He bounced off the rock and turned to face Lieska.

“Stay close”, he murmured, “and keep guard. I have the situation under control now but I need you at the ready if anything happens.” Lieska nodded, sat down and snorted out a small cloud of smoke, never taking her eyes off the potential enemy.

Baldur cleared his throat and let out a high-pitched call, almost a whistle. For a moment nothing happened. Then, out of a hole in a large tree, a tiny dragon appeared. With a few flits of its wings it reached the others and sat down in front of Baldur. The two exchanged a few muttered sentences and a great deal of crest movements before turning back to the newcomers. Baldur sighed.

“Alright, let’s try a calmer approach this time. My name is Baldur, this is my mate Isla. We are the leaders of this clan. Now if you could kindly introduce yourselves and state your business without destroying any more of our residents’ homes, we would appreciate it greatly.”

The outsiders looked at each other, then at the Mirror and Fae sitting in front of them, then back at each other. They nodded, and the bigger one spoke again.

“I am Rokia. He is Vard. We are Gaolers of the Seeker order.” Rokia paused to observe the reactions of her listeners before continuing: “Our kind was recently sent out into Sornieth to capture Shade creatures. We are certain that such a creature is lurking nearby. That is why we must act quickly to ensure it doesn’t escape.”

Baldur looked at Isla, whose crest had drooped lower and lower as she listened to the Gaoler. She let out a deep sigh and spoke in her usual, monotone voice: “I know what you’re looking for. I can lead you to it. But you have to promise that you will listen to what I have to say first. This situation is not simple to explain.”

***

As they made their way towards the other side of the sinkhole, Isla did her best to make the Gaolers understand the picture as a whole. She chatted away to the best of her – unfortunately subpar – ability, and Baldur filled in where her words fell short.

“You see, Myrkur has been with us for years. In all that time it hasn’t hurt anyone. Of course we mostly keep it locked up and away from everyone else. But I can’t see what the harm is in keeping it here”, Isla kept repeating, “and I have even seen some progress with my rehabilitation attempts. Nothing groundbreaking, nothing that would allow it to get outside its cave. But at least I don’t constantly get screamed at when I visit it anymore.”

Baldur pushed open the door to the cave’s hallway. Isla skittered in, Rokia and Vard bowed their heads and slipped through the low entrance after the two. Torches lit the short path that curved to the left and out of sight. Somewhere near, a soft, steady hissing sound made Vard’s fur stand on end. Rokia shivered. They stepped forward, turned the corner and came face to face with the most gruesome sight of their lives so far.

There, in the darkest corner of the small cell, crouched the source of the hiss. It was vaguely draconic in shape but something about it was off. Something about it was constantly changing, as if its form was not completely solid. Its wings seemed to be composed of thin, rippling layers that moved and shifted by themselves. In what were most of the time its front paws it held a spherical item, and where its face should have been was just a void of darkness under a black... hood? The hissing got louder.

“This!?” Rokia growled, “this is the creature you speak so fondly of? The abomination you wish to protect? I am disgusted by the very concept!”

Myrkur’s hissing was getting louder and louder. Vard looked at it with equal disgust, rage and fear. “There’s no way we can let this horrible… thing stay here. It’s a clear danger to everyone around it and belongs at the Fortress of Ends”, he spat. Myrkur’s hiss had turned into a high pitched screech.

“I agree”, Rokia almost yelled, “I’m sorry ma’am, but we’re going to have to take it. Step aside –” she was stopped by Isla, who had flown between her and the cage door and was now hovering inches from Rokia’s face. She had to push herself to get her voice heard above Myrkur’s increasingly loud screaming.

“You will not take Myrkur from me!” she shouted at the top of her lungs, “I will not let you! This creature has never hurt anyone! It was born here, it has the right to stay here! Myrkur is like a child to me – a strange and ominous child yes, but this is the only home it has ever known and you can take it away over my dead body!”

The last threat could have been hilarious – Isla was barely the size of Rokia’s paw – had the Fae not been so stone cold serious. Rokia looked at her cross-eyed. Isla looked back with all the emotion she could muster on her tiny Fae face. It wasn’t a lot. Myrkur’s scream fizzled out. It was silent. Finally Isla spoke again.

“Look. Give me a chance to show you. Baldur, please leave us alone. Go check on the clan. You two, go stand in the hallway behind that corner. Be quiet. Listen.” She shooed the others back and stayed behind in the cell room. When they were out of sight, she turned back to Myrkur. The Gaolers held their breath in waiting.

“Myrkur”, Isla said softly, “Myrkur, it’s safe now. Just me here. Don’t be afraid.” Vard could barely stifle a snort. Afraid? That thing? He rolled his eyes at Rokia who shook her head in response. Suddenly they heard something neither of them could have expected.

A croaking, wheezing voice from the cell. It didn’t speak any language known to them, but from the way it sounded it was trying to form words. Some croaks were shorter, some longer, with different combinations of sounds. Gone was the hissing and the ear piercing screeching. Isla kept talking to the creature and the creature seemed to respond. The Gaolers listened in stunned silence.

When Isla emerged from the cell room she put a finger on her lips and ushered everyone out. Closing the hallway door, she sat down on a branch and tried her best to look proud and victorious. “See. I told you”, she beamed just as Baldur rejoined the group.

Rokia and Vard looked confused and slightly embarrassed. This was a new situation to them, and there was no protocol that they knew of to handle it. They excused themselves and huddled together to think.

“You know what we should do”, Vard started, “this is definitely a Shade creature, a big one, exactly the kind we have explicit orders to bring back for safe keeping.”

“I know”, replied Rokia with a pained expression on her face, “but you saw what happened there just now. What if this Isla is right? What if it really can be healed? Cured? And what if she is the only dragon in all of Sornieth who can do… that.” Rokia glanced in the direction of Myrkur’s cell, still trying to wrap her head around what she had witnessed.

“Leaving it here would still be neglecting our most sacred duty”, Vard said. Then his face lit up a little. “Unless…” He looked at Rokia.

“We might have to correspond with the higher ups about this, but I think I have a plan.”

***

The Gaolers returned to Baldur and Isla who were politely waiting out of earshot. Vard took a deep breath and spoke: “We have come to a conclusion. We will let you keep your abomination on one condition. The beast can stay, but we’re going to stay too.” Rokia continued her mate’s sentence: “We must be allowed to carve a space for ourselves in the immediate vicinity of this creature and reside here for as long as we feel it poses a significant threat.”

Isla looked at Baldur, moved her crest up and down a few times and nodded. Baldur bowed his head and huffed.

“Fine”, he muttered, “You can stay. But we also have a condition. You will apologise to the dragons whose homes you demolished and help us fix what you broke when you first crashed in here. After that’s done, we will help you find a suitable spot for a cave.”

For the first time since their arrival, Rokia smiled. “I think we can do that”, she said, and Vard agreed with a resolute nod.

Isla flared her crest and fluttered her wings in glee. "Wonderful! Welcome to the Clan!”

#flight rising #flight rising lore #my lore #gaolers #the shade #Isla #Baldur #Rokia #Vard #Myrkur #my dragons #long post #at least if the read more doesn't work in which case i'm. sorry

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sadlittlenerdking · 6 years

Text

holiday blues

OPERATION KICK DEPRESSION AND NANOWRIOS ASS 4 OF 50

Word count: 1087

Summary: It’s the holidays, and Eliot just wants to help Quentin get through this episode. Featuring Big Girls Don’t Cry by Fergie.

@cldfiredrgn prompted queliot - holiday blues

Eliot peeks out the cottage door, tilting his head at Quentin, who’s solemnly sitting in his chair, staring off into the distance. It’s a very Quentin thing to do. Pretend to be okay when Eliot’s near, but as soon as he thinks nobodies looking, he lets all the sadness and everything take hold, and capture him like--well, Eliot’s not sure like what.

All he knows is it’s Quentin’s first christmas without Rupert since, well, since Rupert's first christmas.

Eliot clears his throat and makes his way out, holding a cup of tea in each hand. Quentin jumps, forces a smile on his lips, and quickly wipes at his eyes like he doesn’t think Eliot will realize he’s been crying like the sad sap he is.

But then, Eliot doesn’t want Quentin to know that he’s also been patientally (impatiently) awaiting word from their son that he’d return for the holidays like he’s done every year before.

It’s not even an important holiday, not really. Neither of them really care about Christmas. They just like having an excuse to see their son again. Just like having a reason to be happy for no reason. To cast pointless spells, and to bring Rupert gifts. Quentin doesn’t think Eliot knows about the box at the bottom of their closet that’s for Rupert should he decide to return, but Eliot does all the cleaning.

And Quentins a bit of a dunce when it comes to keeping secrets.

Case in point: the sudden and unavoidable return of Quentin’s depression.

Not that it was ever gone. Q’s just always been good at distracting himself with Rupert, or with sex with Eliot (a distraction Eliot would mind finding again) or with the mosaic. But now he just sits in his chair and stares off into the distance, and writes letters to Rupert. And works on the mosaic. But they can’t really enjoy it together anymore -- not like they used to. Quentin takes his time with it. Slow and easy. Back to trying math.

All static, no feeling.

“Hey,” Quentin says, smiling with the corners of his mouth. He reaches for the tea.

Eliot quirks an eyebrow and holds it back from him, “Uh-uh,” He says, “No tea until you start talking.”

Quentin stares up at him for a moment, before sighing and sweeping an arm out around the meadow. ��It’s a beautiful day out today, Eliot. Isn’t it?”

Eliot blinks down at him, unimpressed. “You know that’s not what I meant.”

“Isn’t it?”

“No.”

Quentin stares back, defiant, just as unimpressed. But he’s not got any fight in him, and he deflates like a bubble with a hole in it, and falls back into the seat. He closes his eyes like he’s trying to make sense of something before he can say it. And then, his eyes flutter open, and the tears brimming at the edges of them are so jarring that Eliot nearly takes a step back. “I miss him,” he says, quietly.

Eliot clenches and unclenches his jaw, before moving in and handing him the cup before taking the seat next to him. He takes a sip of the tea, swishes it around in his mouth, and then swallows before saying, “Yeah. Me too.”

“I thought he’d come.”

Eliot shrugs, taking another sip of the tea, motioning for Quentin to do the same. “He’s got to spend time with his new family, too, Q.”

It’s sensible, but Eliot doesn’t like it anymore than Quentin does. He just needs to be the strong one until Quentin’s able to pull himself out of this episode.

“That’s stupid.”

“And you’re being petulant.”

Quentin pouts. It’d be cute if his eyes weren’t still glassy with tears he’s too stubborn to cry when Eliot’s around. “I’m allowed to be petulant. My son hasn’t even returned my letters.”

Eliot blinks. And then he pushes up from the chair, and cracks his neck. “All right,” he says, setting the tea down in his seat, and turned to Quentin. “That’s enough of that. I’m so bored, Q.”

“What?”

“I’m bored of you being sad and not talking to me. I’m bored of you being afraid to cry in front of me. So, fuck it,” He raises an eyebrow, a smirk working it’s way across his face, “I’m going to take a card from Margo’s book.” He almost feels bad at the way Quentin flinches at the mention of Margo’s name, but Quentin’s too sad, and Eliot’s let him be sad too long. Let him hide from him for too damn long.

“What does that even mean?”

“It means,” Eliot says, leaning down to take the cup from Quentin’s hands. He tries to hold onto it, despite having not taken even a single sip from it, but Eliot tugs a little harder than necessary, until he’s free to set it down next to his own abandoned cup. “Get up.”

“I don’t want to.”

“I can make you.”

“You won’t.”

It’s almost like, even after all this time, Quentin’s forgotten that Eliot so, so would.

And that he’s going to enjoy it.

He seems to realize it as soon as Eliot starts casting, and a long, pathetic whine works its way out of his throat, “Not a song spell, El -- please--”

But it’s too late, because Big Girls Don’t Cry’s already started playing, and Eliot’s not about to let it stop now.

Especially as Quentin, with no control of his own, starts flitting across the meadow doing a sad, mopey dance as he sings the Fergie classic.

It’s worth it, though, as reluctant smile starts to work it’s way around the words on the sun, until the dance turns more animated, and Quentin pulls Eliot in to dance with him.

They’re not fixed, not by a longshot. But, if he can distract Quentin when he needs it, does it really matter?

The answers no, because just as the music stops playing, they hear a familiar voice, call from the distance, “Dads!”

And a real, 100 watt smile spreads across Quentin’s lips, and he’s running across the meadow to pull his son into a hug. Eliot grins, breathless, from beside the mosaic. A girl appears at the the edges of the meadows, standing awkwardly beside Rupert as Quentin hugs him. But then he’s pulling away, and Rupert’s introducing her,a nd Quentin’s waving Eliot over.

It may just be a distraction, but it’ll get him through. It’ll do.

Until he can find a better way to help Quentin without the modern worlds meds.

#the magicians #queliot #4 of 50 #operation kick nano and depressions ass

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kinsbin · 6 years

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Insecurities

Title: Insecurities Word Count: 2067 Ship: Cheshire/Alexys [Self Insert/Canon]

Summary: Alexys is no stranger to insecurities. Cheshire knows they are there. When one comes up between them that makes her more worried than normal, however, Cheshire is determined to say the right things to make her feel all the better.

Author’s Note: A writing commission for @bad-blue-moon-rising! I hope you like it dear, it was super fun to write <33

Cheshire was a lot of things. At least, his many terrified and used ‘patients’ had told him that he was a lot of things somewhere in the lines of their dying breaths and maddening stupors. Words like ‘monster’ and ‘witch’ were thrown around quite commonly (which was ridiculous, he thought, because neither existed beyond the expenses of people’s minds) but none were accurate. He prefered terms like ‘eye opener’ or ‘leader’. Perhaps a synonym for someone who helped others through the vast wonderland of their thoughts by showing them that they were all mad, one way or another.

Alexys often called him ‘a fucking furry’ and he didn’t know how to feel about that.

To be honest, he didn’t know how to feel about Alexys as a whole. At least not the first time they had met one another. In his small, arid office that held the scent of incense and leather He had to admit that he was, perhaps, a bit infatuated with her. Her eyes shone like storms of defiance for his technique. Her hair curled around her like fire that would burn him if he touched it. It was on the second time he considered touching it. What it would feel like between his fingertips. What her laugh would sound like if he could make her smile instead of glare as she did at him.

It was a stupid, foolish thing to think. Love at first sight didn’t exist. He had killed enough people who believed in such a stupid notion. He dared not believe it himself so readily. Despite this affirmation to himself, soft and firm in his head, he couldn’t bring himself to hurt her throughout her treatment. She, as a patient, lasted longer than any others. His intern gave her a gaze of disbelief when she walked in time and time again, walking out after seeing Cheshire in the same state she normally was.

“Aren’t you going to fix her, Doctor?” He was asked often.

“In due time.” He would reply.

A stalling as he fell. He fell for everything and, unlike a true cat, he couldn’t land on his two feet.

Now, as they sat together in his office to kill time between patient visits, he ran his hand thoughtfully through her hair as he had gotten to do many times since they had been brought together romantically. His fingertips pawed at the stray strands, cat-like eyes distracted with prey-drive at the pieces that seemed to flit and float about more than usual. The urge to bat at them was resisted in favor of her scooting closer from where she sat on his desk, leaning into his touch as she sighed.

“Kitten?”

“What is it, dearest?”

The words left his lips so softly that it sent shivers up her spine. His nicknames, though harsh at times, were kind when he spoke them. Sweet and warm from his lips, Alexys nearly stumbled over what she had meant to say as her face flushed with the embarrassment of hearing someone refer to her so sweetly.

“Oh, n-nothing really I-” She laughed through her stutter as she tilted her head further into his gentle hand, “I was just...wondering what you were thinking about and…”

“And?” HIs prompt was accompanied by a quirked eyebrow, teasing smile hot on his lips as she averted her eyes from his face, one hand reaching up to chew softly at her nails before whispering, “Nothing. That’s it.”

The hand not stroking her hair reached out to grip at her hand, knowing the tell tale signs of embarrassment or anxiety showing itself within Alexys’ movements. With his touch, her chattering teeth stopped moving. His smooth hands, slightly calloused with pointed nails that felt more like claws than anything else, helped to move the hand safely from the spot on her mouth and back down to her lap, where it fiddled with itself and the stray strings of her blue jeans instead. “We’ve talked about that,” Cheshire’s tone was chiding but no disappointed, “Now what’s on your mind?”

Her eyes flitted all over the place. To the walls of his therapy room and then to their floor. To the side of the desk and then to his chest, but, never to his eyes. The avoided looking up directly as if it were the plague. As if, by looking up at him, she would be admitting something that she did not want to admit. There was something itching in him. Like a flea biting at his fur or a stray piece of food propped unceremoniously within his teeth. Not knowing what was on her mind was frustrating beyond reason. When one knew everything on everyone’s mind, there came an expectancy of their thoughts. A knowledge and understanding.

With her, the world was white noise. He could not tell what that mind would come up with next. If he could get into it, perhaps, but...Perhaps part of him was afraid of ruining the mystery as well.

Her words came as he was lost in the thought of her, a whisper so soft that it wouldn’t move the stillest waters of a hidden lake.

“Why do you like me?”

The question made him stare longer at her, his gaze searching her own as he attempted to find any source of joke in her gaze. To find anything that would indicate that she was just kidding him. When he found nothing but the wide, honest stare of his favorite person begging for answers there was the smallest tinge of guilt he felt permeating his soul. Had he not been obvious enough in his affections? Surely he gave her everything she wanted in life...Was her anxiety talking to her again? Biting her mind in a way he could not fight it off? The thought made him bristle, but, he kept himself composed. The smile on his lips to her was genuine as his hand stopped playing with her hair. Instead it moved to cup her cheek in its palm, feeling the warmth her body irradiated.

“Now what kind of question is that?” He murmured to her, so close a speaking voice wasn’t necessary, “Surely you know?”

“I…” Alexys bit her lip and sighed softly, “Sometimes, I’m not sure if I do. Not because of you but...because I’m, well, me, I suppose? You’re-hah-you’re-” She gestured to him noncommittally with another soft guffaw, “You! And I’m me...Why spend your time with someone so not-extraordinary?”

“Not extraordinary? My dear,” He chuckled at the reasoning she had put forward, hand gently caressing her cheek as he moved up and off of the chair to his desk. When he came face to face with Alexys, he leaned in to capture her lips in a kiss. The stubble of his facial hair scratched against her face, their lips colliding so closely that he could taste her words on his tongue. She tensed, startled at the sudden closeness the other offered, but soon relaxed into it. Her own kiss in return was hesitant and soft. She poured emotions into it while worrying about being too much. In an effort to show that it was never too much, that she was always allowed to pour the emotions she felt into the movement, he kissed her deeper.

It lasted what felt like minutes. The silence was measured only by the soft ticking of the metronome at the end of Cheshire’s office desk. It measured in beats the length of their love and the affection to which he attempted to put into it.

When he pulled away, he sighed against her lips. Alexys could smell the scent of mint from his toothpaste. It ghosted across her face and sent shivers down her spine. Shifting closer to the edge of the desk, as if trying to follow after his lips as he pulled away, she could only stare in shocked silence as the man before her brushed off his suit lackadaisical. After clearing it of dirt, he returned his hands to her face. They clutched either side of her head with meaning, making sure that she could not pull her eyes away from his own as he smiled.

“You are the single most extraordinary thing about this place,” His words were sincere in their whispers as he made his case to her, “Day after day, month after month, I meet person after person...Each one interesting, sure, but not fascinating. Nothing that would make me keep them around. Nothing that would draw me to them beyond a helpful tick of my clock or a dream within their own...but you?”

He pressed another kiss to her lips, this one quick and well-executed as he laughed, “You are still here. You have been here this whole time, haven’t you?”

“Yes,” She attempted to interrupt, “But-”

“But nothing,” He rebuttled with ease, pushing some of her hair behind hear ear as he leaned forward to kiss it. The feeling of his lips on her ear made Alexys gasp in surprise, screwing her eyes shut as her toes curled inside of her shoes. “You’d only be able to do that if you were extraordinary, like me. Which you are, so, it's only natural that we’re meant to be together don’t you think?”

When he pulled away, his smirk was self-satisfactory. He felt that he had done quite a good job explaining it to her, but when her unsure look persisted he felt his heart flatten only in the slightest. The words that curled against his throat made him feel awkward to say the least, admitting them out loud would be difficult...For her, though? He would try.

Cheshire coughed into his hand, avoiding her gaze as he used his free hand to play with the metronome nearby. Alexys watched him in awed silence as he opened up his lips again to speak, this time, the words almost flustered as he did so:

“I...Love you. I love you for you, and always will.”

The word ‘love’ fell awkwardly from his lips, as if he had forgotten how to pronounce it. Years of crushing the dreams of others, of helping them to forget love in favor of cathartic hatred towards things they had been hiding within themselves, had helped the word to fade from his memory. It was this girl, though, this single human who had brought it back into a meaningful definition in his life. Love wasn’t what his patients told him they had felt once in a while when they saw a pretty face, no.

Love was Alexys, sitting on his desk before him. Love was the heartbeat he got when she entered the room. The way he involuntarily purred at her touch and keened to her movements as they sat together. Love was cancelling appointments when she fell asleep on his therapy couch and watching over her while he got paperwork done instead. Love was feeling the warmth radiate from her skin and from the spot on her forehead where he kissed her and never wanting it to leave his lips. Cheshire did not know that he was capable of all of these things and more for the sake of a single human being. To admit the words ‘love’ meant admitting he, too, had feelings that could be manipulated afterall.

For her though...for her, they were worth falling from between his lips. They were worth the thoughtfulness that had to be put into them. They were worth everything because she, in all of her beauty as she sat shocked next to him, was worth every moment.

Alexys didn’t speak for a long while. The silence ticked by, making worry blossom in the center of Cheshire’s chest. Had he overstepped a boundary she was not ready for? Had he misread the situation? Perhaps the words were too much too soon. What if-

He was stopped in his thoughts when Alexys leaned forward to capture his lips in her own, crushing them together so that he could feel the smile on her face as she wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him close. He allowed it, smiling back as they shared a passionate embrace. Once she pulled away, her smile wide, she pressed her forehead to his own and laughed with delight.

“I love you too, you silly cat.”

And the ticking of the metronome continued as they embraced once again.

#self insert #self ship #self shipping #self insert writing #writing commission #crypt tv #cheshire cat #kinley writes #bad-blue-moon-rising #hoPE U ENJOY <3

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gobbochune · 7 years

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Thoughts on Petscop

Because I think the plot is actually pretty obvious but I haven’t seen anyone else making these connections yet. I feel like people are too distracted by the Candace Newmaker theory, so even though I think that those things were referenced for a reason I’m not even gonna talk about Tiara but instead focus on Care and the other ‘pets’. Also, I’m not familiar in creepypasta to understand the supposed metanarrative, so I will primarily be taking the events of the game at face value as if I were interpreting any other piece of spooky media.

There will be a lot of mention towards rape and child abuse so TW.

I think the entire point of the series isn’t that of adoption or rebirthing therapy, but instead a deconstruction of the self-justification an abuser fabricates in order to continue preying on his victims. It is obvious that the Abductor sees himself as some sort of savior, taking these ‘pets’ home with him and ‘loving’ them.

Right off the bat we’re met with this sign:

If it were a commentary about adoption, then this second window wouldn’t make sense. If a child is set to be adopted, it means they’ve already been extracted from their previous home, or dont have any such home. I think that this is a direct link to kidnapping, and the struggles a kidnapper faces trying to lure children away from their parents.

Paul is expected to collect gifts like candy, toys, and rings, which are a symbol of the ways that an abductor might try to get a child to trust them. Ironically, Paul follows these gifts just as easily as a child might into the darkness of the Newmaker Plane, but I’m gonna ignore that for now since its pretty straightforward.

The first sign that all is not well comes in the form of a few text blocks before Paul encounters the first pet.

As stated before, there are a bunch of references to the Newmaker theory that you’ve already heard a million times so I’ll just mention it quickly to say that I do think that the Tiara character is meant to represent abuse in adopted parents based on the fact that the kids aren’t ‘thankful’ or ‘appreciative’ to their new parents as a whole, even if not specifically relating to the Newmaker case. But this is only one facet of the story that the game (and by that i mean the video series) is trying to paint. So instead I’ll focus on this one:

This is the second clue that maybe adopting these pets isn’t what the pets want or need. Often molesters will justify their actions by believing that the victim wanted to be abducted. The sign reassures the player character that these pets do want to be taken from their homes by you, and even if they seem afraid now they’ll be more complacent later. This is only added to next when we see our first pet, Amber, who could easily be seen as a reference of the Amber Alert (which is an alert for missing children)

The first thing we know about Amber is that she has been given a trophy for being a ‘champ’:

Giving awards or ‘gifts’ is another tactic used by abusers to try and keep their victims vulnerable and subservient to them. Here we see Amber has been conditioned to no longer attempt to escape, even though she will actively avoid the player character every time he tries to enter her enclosure.

When Paul trick’s her into joining him in the cage, we get this little graphic:

Even though its in bright and fun letters, the message is still pretty disturbing. Amber hasn’t been adopted or taken home or any of the previous rhetoric, but instead caught. She is now his pet. Paul then opens up the description and we see him flit by this pretty quickly as if he’s already read it:

Again the kidnapper is justifying that he will provide her with a ‘good’ home that she will have no reason to leave. She’ll stay with him. Forever.

This card suggests that perhaps through being confined to a cage she has become obese or otherwise crippled and is now more difficult for the abuser to take care of. This is common in the cycle of abuse, an abuser will begin to feel as though their victim is actively a drain on their lives and will blame the victim for all the trouble they need to go through to keep them.

This text box suggests that the abuser has gotten all they want out of Amber, and is getting ready to move onto another victim. They are now considering ways to safely dispose of her without getting caught.

I think that this theory can be applied to the other ‘pets’ that we encounter throughout the game, so I’m gonna lump them all in together like people Lump the Newmaker Theory together and call this the Amber Theory. I think it is one of four major themes regarding the plot, and since you already know the Newmaker Theory I’m going to skip to Care.

The first mentions we have of Care seem to be along the same lines as Tiara, and its only after episode 9 that we have any evidence against Care also being a victim of rebirthing therapy. I’m going to actually go backwards in describing what I think of Care’s fate, starting with the note we find in episode 9 and ending with the first mention of Care that we see.

After finding Care we are able to re-enter her room and find this message:

The note that we saw in Care’s room earlier reads as such:

Assuming that the “you” in the story is the Molester, this paints a pretty clear picture. I suspect that the Molester was once in love with his ‘friend’ and went to see the windmill along with her sister. There some deeply traumatic event happened, causing the friend to go missing. The Molester eventually married the sister, and had a daughter who is most likely Care. He started to develop feelings for his daughter, and convinced himself that she was the reincarnation of his lost love. The Molester used that as a justification to begin sexually abusing Care as a proxy for the friend who died. We see this during the part where we can pluck the petals of Care’s head in the flower shack, leading to her being destroyed. At some point Care ran away, making the Molester desire another victim to continue his cycle. He places all the captured ‘pets’ in rooms exactly like Care’s and likely subjects them to the same abuse before disposing of them.

Now you might have noticed since I cropped the text box that they’re inverted. This is because I believe the entire game exists within the Molester’s inner psyche. The Ever Care (a place where the molesters finds more children to abduct so he can have Care forever) is bright and happy, filled with justifications as to why he is allowed to take the children he’s interested in. The Newmaker Plane is his inner guilt, and the reality of the abuse he is inflicting upon his victims. When the Molester is in the Ever Care he can believe that he’s merely taking the children to a loving new home, but in the cruel world of the Newmaker Plane he is forced to admit what he actually plans to do with his new ‘pets’.

And thats P much all I want to say, not because I didn’t notice anything else, but because out of all the analysis I’ve read these points have never been brought up.

#trigger warning: rape #TW: rape #rape #abduction #trigger warning #petscop #petscop: care #Newmaker Theory

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thebrunettewriter · 7 years

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Strength of the Songbird

(I love this picture so much! And it’s one of the few pictures that has all four pillar men together!) Summary: Natalene is an intern at the Speed Wagon Foundation tasked with monitoring the captured vampire Santana. While the job is fairly boring and very quiet, she's perfectly happy just singing to herself. Little does she know, her captive audience is far from unconscious and unaware. When a particular incident leads to Santana's escape, she finds the vampire's interest focused on her; an interest that only gets stronger after he's freed. Featured Characters: Santana, Kaaz|Cars, Wamuu|Wham!, Esidisi|ACDC Word Count: 3,407 Author’s Note: This is based off a dream I had after watching several episodes of Battle Tendency one night. Please note! I have not finished watching Battle Tendency! I don’t think I’m even half way! Requests Open!

The sound of the faint hum of machines fills the almost empty, medium sized room lit only by the light of the large UV Chamber that took up one wall of the room, the metal garage door that kept its singular stone occupant currently closed to dim the room even further to let only the light from the windows in the door through. Other than the nearly dead vampire trapped under the light of the lamps there was one soul person in the room, monitoring the machinery and the prisoner behind her. A figure, lit up by the UV chamber behind her, eyes focused on the readings on the monitor that rested in the podium in front of her, stood tall; a brunette woman in a lab coat. Appearing younger than the mid-twenties the woman was, the female was an intern to the Speed Wagon foundation. Though her dedication to her job, willingness to do the dirty jobs that needed to be done, and her obvious capabilities, she had been granted the coveted responsibility of being the singular in person operator of Santana’s chamber—for the graveyard shift anyway. The intern, while new, was far from a fool. She knew it was because no one else wanted to be alone in the quiet room with the unstoppable killer at night, and they knew she’d take the job without a fuss. Granted, she wasn’t completely alone. On close circuit cameras, though without sound, security as well as several scientists, monitored the room as well as the Vampire imprisoned inside of his cell. Despite this, the twelve-hour shift was quiet and boring. So, the brunette usually took advantage of the lack of audio in the cameras and (mostly) empty room to sing to herself, occupying her time and mind with the lyrics of whatever tune happened to be in her head at the time. While she was by no means an opera singer or professional in any capacity, she was slightly better than average with a kind, mature, and yet somehow sweet, voice. The woman certainly had fun singing to herself and her, literally, captive audience—though she doubted he could hear her. The sound of humming that didn’t belong to the machines echoed throughout the small room quietly as the woman recalled the song she’d heard on the radio on the way into the facility. “Sweet dreams are made of these~” She sung quietly to herself as her head nodded with the rhythm, her chestnut hair--tied into ponytail with only a few strands and sweeping bangs hanging loose in her face--swaying with the motions, “Who am I dis-ah-gree~ Travel the world and the seven seas~ Everybody’s looking for some-“ The woman stops and looks up as the first set of double doors, one’s designed to keep out pathogens normally, or in this case crazy vampires. As the first sets of doors close, a second set open and reveal a cute, petite, blonde woman. Even if the blonde, another young intern who’d only been with the company for a few months, hadn’t been remarkably small, standing at only five-foot-two with a small frame to match, she would still seem small compared to the brunette. As the younger woman strode over to the one stationed in front of the monitor, the brunette’s size and strength was apparent. Standing at five-foot-eight, the brunette was bigger than her height would suggest--though she was taller still than most of the women she worked with, as well as some of the men. Her frame was disguised, purposefully, under her white lab coat and long pants, but when compared to the small woman now standing beside her, it was impossible to hide. Her shoulders were broad and muscled under the coat, her frame easily twice, perhaps three times, bigger than the smaller woman’s. There were many rumors as to why the woman was so big--most revolving around waterfalls, mountains, and Siberian bears--as well as bets going around to see how much she could lift—though many gave up when she lifted a piece of equipment nearly two hundred pounds after it ‘broke’ (the team tricked her by sabotaging the machine themselves then asking for help). “Good Evening, Emily,” The brunette hums kindly, voice soft and quiet despite what her aforementioned size and strength might suggest. The blonde smiles up at her and hands her the bottle of water in her hand. Emily often brought her food or drink whenever she stopped by—usually on some order to collect data or check on the brunette. Taking the bottle graciously, she opens the cap and drinks it eagerly, parched from hours without anything to drink. “Good Evening, Natalene,” The smaller woman responds back with a soft smile as her eyes flit past the woman and to the UV Chamber. Out of the corner of her eye, the brunette could see the younger blonde shiver at the thought of the vampire behind the door. “Don’t you ever get nervous?” Emily mutters, blue eyes lit up by the light from the chamber. Natalene just shrugs and gives a soft hum. “No real reason to get nervous, I guess, it’s a pretty quiet job,” She says as she lowers the bottle and looks over her shoulder in the direction of the vampire as well. “He’s not particularly talkative,” the teasing tone in her voice is clear and she nudges the blonde with a grin. The sound of the blonde’s giggles is cut short abruptly as the entire room is suddenly plunged into darkness and the sound of the machines cute out. The power went out. The brunette feels a tight, shaking grasp grip her arm and ball the sleeve of her lab coat into tight fists. The room was filled suddenly with the dull red emergency lights. --- Natalene stands protectively in front of the blonde crouched in the corner of the room, shaking and sobbing with fear of the huge figure standing, nearly naked, before them, rippling, deadly, muscles illuminated by the red emergency lights. The sound of banging and shouting could be heard, though muffled, behind the first layer of double doors, but it was clear that the security team wasn’t going to get to them quickly enough. The brunette stares down the man with a fierce but wide eyed expression, much like a cornered dog baring its teeth. For several seconds, neither of them moved, the huge man staring her down with a look of…curiosity. He didn’t seem at all afraid of the brunette, though that was hardly surprising, but he didn’t move to consume her as she had been told he’d done with the German Soldiers when he’d been first captured. Santana takes a step forward, which causes the brunette to press herself further against the blonde, now completely hidden behind her larger frame. “Stay Back!” She snarls with a sharp, but slightly quivering, tone. The man pauses for only a moment before surging forward with a blinding speed that even Nat’s quick reflects could only react to by throwing up her arms in defense and close her eyes. And yet, it wasn’t the feeling of the creature pressing against her or breaking bones that she felt, but a sudden vice grip on her, surprisingly slim, wrists that brought them both together in one huge hand. Her eyes snap open just in time to see Santana’s arm flex in order to pull her up and off her feet—not difficult given their size difference—and to the man’s side, holding her away from the cowering blonde. The Vampire’s eyes do not fall on the tiny human in front of him, but rather, focus on the woman caught in his grasp, her arms pulled taunt over her head as her feet dangle just shy of touching the concrete floor. “Songbird…” He says, as if it were her name, red eyes fixed on her brown ones. “You are in the way of my sustenance.” It’s then that the man’s gaze falls back on the blonde who lets out a loud whimper upon feeling his eyes on her. “NO!” The brunette snarls, flexing her arms and rotating her wrists towards his thumbs, which give without much of a fight to the force of her movement. The man looks back in slight surprise as the brunette hits the ground and immediately launches forward towards him with a speed that was uncommon among men—or perhaps this speed was normal to the humans of this time. The man doesn’t seem to notice or care as the woman’s arms wrap around his (remarkably thin for his size) waist…till he suddenly found that his feet were no longer touching the ground. “Hmph!” The woman stands tall suddenly, hands gripping her forearms tight as she hauls the oversized man over her shoulder and takes several long strides away from the blonde…before the weight throws her balance off and she slips, unintentionally body slamming the man into the ground, stunning him. “RUN!” The brunette shouts, taking in the startled man’s shock quickly and shouting over her shoulder at the blonde. Emily scrambles to her feet with a loud sob and dashes to the double doors—one of which was now finally open—as the brunette pulls herself to her feet quickly. She runs up as the blonde runs into the inner set of doors and bangs on them loudly, hysterical sobs just as loud as her fist on the glass. The door was open just a crack, the security team on the other side using a crowbar to try and pull the door open as several others on the other side struggle to hold open the doors that had already been pried free as they tried to close again. “Move!” The woman shouts at the security team as she steps up behind the blonde quickly, trapping the younger woman between herself and the door as her hands slam against the door, fingers slipping between the crack the other men had created. The man, wide eyed behind their riot masks, take a startled step back and stare in shock as this intern and female lets out a shout, muscling rippling under her lab coat, and pries open the doors. Held just far enough to let in a person, she leans forward suddenly, her chest colliding with the hysterical blonde and sending her through the crack and into the arms of one of the guards. “Go! Get out of here!” She shouts at them. Emily turns abruptly and looks up at her with wide, panicked, eyes. “But-!?” The blonde, along with several of the other guards, seemed to realize the meaning of the woman’s words and step forward to try and get to her. But the brunette offers them a kind smiles. “It’s okay,” She assures before releasing her grip on the doors. BAM! Nat jumps in surprise at the sound of another, much larger, pair of hand grab the doors just as she lets go. Her eyes go wide in shock and fear as she looks back and finds a large expanse of a well-muscled chest behind her. Her gaze trails up to the man’s face, which is still surprisingly calm and, perhaps, a little intrigued. “I’ll see to you in a moment, Songbird. Go sit over there,” Before she can respond to his command or react, his knee comes up and collides violently with her stomach, arching in such a way that sends her to the side and into the wall beside him. Her back hits the metal surface with a sickening thud, the breath knocked form her lungs as she collapses to the ground on her side, her body seizing up and her vision growing dark around the edges. Santana, satisfied in the knowledge that the human of interest would be unable to move for the next several minutes, turns his attention to the less interesting humans in all black before him. The mortal before him, brave or stupid enough to try and fight while the others fled with the blonde female, shakes as he raises his weapon, one much like the one he’d seen in Germany. Stepping forward, the cool metal and trembling hands of the man sink into the flesh of his stomach, caught there as he begins to digest the man. The guard lets out a guttural scream of pain and fear as he leans forward, trying to pry himself free while also trying to maintain as much distance from the rest of the Vampire as possible. The vampire doesn’t notice the near silent sounds of footsteps until he sees a familiar figure beneath him, surprising both men as the brunette steps over one of Santana’s spread legs with one of her own. She ducks her head under the arm still holding the doors apart, her hand reaching out and resting on the other human’s chest. “Leave,” She manages to wheeze out—clearly still not recovered from the throw despite her ability to get up and walk—before she uses what remained of her current strength to shove the guy away from Santana and out the other set of doors before they slam closed as the two guard remaining to hold them open stumble away from the brunette and the huge man behind her. The two formally holding the door grab the, now handless, man under each arm and take off, sparing a glance back to see the unforgettable sight behind them. The brunette waves behind the glass with a soft smile on her face, her brows upturned. Behind her, the tall beast of a man dwarfs even her size, seeming to encompass her entire being as he stands behind her, still holding open the doors. Stepping into the room between the doors, almost touching the brunette now, Santana lets the doors shut behind him as he looms over the human in front of him. Shaking now softly, either from fear or her still unstable breathes, the intern turns and looks up at the huge man with a nervous but stubborn expression on her face. “Interesting…” Is the only warning she gets before a fist, moving too fast for her to see, suddenly drives into her stomach with only enough force to send her consciousness into the black and her body to the floor—though the vampire is gracious enough to catch her before she does. ----- Rousing slowly, the first thing the brunette notices is the tight pain in her gut, one the feels like she’d just done a thousand sit ups in one sitting. The effort not to groan in pain is immense, but she really doesn’t want to feel what would happen if she’d use the muscles required to do so. The next thing she registers is the swaying of her limbs and body, like she’d fallen asleep in a hammock. A confused frown creases her brow as she slowly opens her eyes. While it takes a few moments for her eyes to focus, her frown only worsens when she realizes she’s staring a large expanse of flesh colored mountains and valleys from what appeared to be a bird’s eye view. The realization of what she’s staring at brings with it the sudden flood of memories of her events leading up to her bout of unconsciousness. With a sharp gasp, she flings her head back and pulls herself up with her arms on the shoulder of the one carrying her, doing her best to ignore the stabbing pain radiating through her stomach as she struggles in the grip of the Vampire; a grip that does not waver. “We’re almost there, Songbird,” The man says, his voice rumbling through her body through her contact with him. The woman looks back in the direction they are headed and sees the opening of a huge cave, lit by a fire clearly by the flickering red and orange light. She noticed the shadows of several large figures standing inside of the cave and her heart sinks. “The dog has returned,” Comes a strong but light voice echoing from the cave as the vampire holding her steps into it. Natalene sees the earth suddenly come a lot closer as Santana kneels on one leg and bows his head—the shoulder which he carried her following though she still can’t touch the ground. “And it looks as though he brought something as well,” Comes a different voice, a chuckle in his voice. “An interesting human I have found that might be to your liking, Lord Kars,” The man beneath her says before shifting his grip and grabbing the woman by the back of her long white coat, turning her to face the men as he sets her on the ground. The woman doesn’t wait to take in the sight of the three huge men standing before her, somehow more imposing than the one holding her. She instead lifts her hands above her head quickly, slipping free of her lab coat and turning as she lands, darting for the exit with the quickness of a frightened rabbit. The sudden breeze is her only warning before a massive wall of a man appears before her, a tall blonde in a loin cloth and open vest. Despite being tall and imposing, a trait he clearly uses to bar her way, his arms folded over his massive chest, the female doesn’t break stride, her shoulder slamming into his side. To the surprise of men present, Santana included despite having seen and experienced her strength, the Vampire is actually forced to one side by her strength. She doesn’t stop to fight or attack him, however, as she doesn’t break stride and barrels past him. The woman doesn’t get far before a pair of arms wrap around her middle and haul her off of her feet, pulling her towards a bare chest. The man barely has time to chuckle before the female in his arms goes limp suddenly and easily slides down his chest and away from his grip, her hands raised above her head to make her descent easier. She hits the ground running, darting to one side to keep away from reaching hands before darting towards the woods outside the cave. Just as she finally breeches the mouth of the cave, she feels a shiver shoot up her spine as she stares at the dark woods before her and she’s turning before she can register what her instincts have told her. The sharpness of the nearly one-eighty-degree turn forces her ankle into an awkward angle, which she then promptly steps on with her full weight. The sound of the pop is almost deafening but the human, driven by fight or flight, can feel none of the pain. The brunette runs at the jagged cliff face surrounding the mouth of the cave and is almost twenty feet up before the turban wearing Vampire steps out of the shadows of the woods, staring up at the human with a slightly impressed and amused expression. He approaches the rock wall slowly as the woman continues to climb before suddenly slamming a fist into the rock face, sending violent vibrations up the wall and jarring the woman’s grip. It almost looks as though she might manage to hang on, but the small piece of rock she was gripping gives under her, not inconsiderable, weight. Natalene doesn’t have time to scream, eyes wide as she falls. But instead of the ground, she finds herself in an equally hard but much less jagged and bone breaking grip of the largest man. He smirks down at her, looking pleased and chuckling lightly at her escape attempts. “What an interesting human you’ve found, dog,” The man says even as the human in his grip struggles to free herself. He strides back into the cave just as the human manages to worm her way out of his hold and onto the ground again. Looking up, she finds four vampires in total surround her, blocking her escape route. She looks between all of them as the adrenaline wears off and she suddenly feels the pain of her ankle, which buckles beneath her and sends her to the ground. The white-haired vampire takes a step towards her, but the female uses her good leg to force herself backwards, snarling at them like a feral animal as she moves backwards till she finds herself trapped in a corner of the cave, completely at their mercy.

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