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a-small-batch-of-dragons · 5 years ago

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(Un)Wanted Part 1

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(Un)Wanted Masterlist

A child that sees demons in every dark corner is not a child that is wanted.

A child that cries and freezes and mumbles of terrible things is not a child that is wanted.

A child that jumps and startles and hisses is not a child that is wanted.

Unwanted things are purged from the Earth.

So Virgil runs.

In other words: Virgil is an outcast, ostracized and shunned for how he was born, forced to flee an angry mob only to stumble right into a fae garden.

Pairings: LAMP, DLAMP, DLAMPR, can be platonic or romantic you decide

Warnings: Implied/Referenced torture, child abuse, and self-harm, nothing super explicit. Sympathetic Deceit and Remus. Panic attacks, anxiety attacks.

Word Count: 11,250

He’s running. He’s running, he doesn’t know what from anymore, all he knows is that they’re chasing him, they’re after him, he has to run—

He tears through the cold forest. It doesn’t matter that he can’t see where he’s going anymore, it doesn’t matter that the branches reach out and tear at his clothes, at his legs, at his arms. The cuts sting in the cold wind as he runs. His feet slap against the ground, too ungainly to dodge the smaller roots but just quick enough to swerve around the bigger ones. He glances over his shoulder. Can’t see them. Can’t see anything. Run. Run. Run.

The trees get thicker. The branches no longer whip past his shoulders, they stick. He has to dodge. He has to swerve. He has to hold his arms up in front of him to block the ones he can’t. His arms sting, rending through the thin tunic easily. His lungs ache. His brain races.

Demon.

Evil.

Bad.

Cursed.

The branches disappear and he almost pitches forward, throwing his arms out to catch his balance a few moments later. The second his arms aren’t in front of his face anymore, he winces. Why the fuck is there a massive clearing right here? It’s so goddamn bright, he has to blink at least three times before he can—

Oh.

Oh, no.

No, no, no, no, this is bad, this is really bad—

It’s a fae garden.

It’s golden. It’s enchanting. No plants grow that artistically. The colors are just this side of too vibrant, bathed in the gleam coming from he has no idea where. he can hear it faintly in the back of his mind, calling softly, luring him, beckoning him deeper into the garden.

No. No, no no, he has to leave, he has to run away, maybe if he runs a different way he can escape both of them but he has to leave now before something catches him and—

“Oh, and what do we have here?”

Shit.

His eyes widen and he whirls around to see a figure leaning up against a tree with far too much grace, all long limbs and coiled power. He pushes off the tree and saunters closer, the golden lights gleaming and scattering off the scales on one side of his face.

Where the fuck did he come from? He glances around. Are there more? There have to be. Where are they?

“See something interesting, pretty thing?”

His gaze snaps back to the—when the fuck did he get so close—fae in front of him, his eyes raking over anything and everything to make sure he’s not looking at his face. He doesn’t exactly remember the etiquette when it comes to fae but eye contact is the actual worst.

The fae is dressed like he’s stepped out of some time capsule, black bowler, a black cloak wrapped elegantly around his shoulders, a black suit underneath. Golden clasps hold it together over a shock of yellow. And…how many—six arms?

He backs away. The fae keeps coming. Too late he realizes he’s walked further into the fae’s trap, now he can’t get out of the garden. Not without going past the fae.

A hand, gloved in that rich yellow, comes up, a single finger tilting his chin up to—fuck why is he so close?

Close enough that he can feel breath on his face. Close enough that he can see each individual scale, placed delicately next to each other. Close enough that he can see one side of the fae’s mouth curving up the side of his face like a snake. Or maybe that’s just the smirk.

“As flattered as I am by your staring,” the fae purrs and fuck, that voice, “my eyes are up here, pretty one.��

He’s never been very good at responding to flirting in a normal way, mainly because most pick-up lines are terrible puns and he will either be too absorbed in the pun-off or the implications of said pun. And, um, he doesn’t…really get flirted with a lot.

But this?

He’s in way over his head and he knows it’s not just the flirting, it’s not just the teasing smile, it’s not just the low voice, it’s not just the finger that’s just this side of too light under his chin, he knows it’s fae, but he can’t do anything about it. And if he says the wrong thing—

The predator in front of him smells blood and pounces.

“Didn’t they teach you manners,” the snake chides, tapping his nose with the tip of his finger, and he's caught between the audacity of it and how effortlessly he makes him feel tiny, “about how it’s rude to stare? Though I suppose I can’t blame you, not entirely, now can I?”

The snake’s eyes go wide, the smirk growing fiendish as his insides turn to mush. He locks his knees quickly. He won’t collapse. He won’t. Even if that one finger under his chin is the only thing holding him up. Also what the fuck is he supposed to do with his arms?

“My, my,” comes that frustrating purr, “are all mortals this warm?”

The finger slides along his jaw, the touch leaving an electrifying tingle in its wake. He’s frozen, staring at the snake’s mismatched eyes as the gloved hand comes up to stroke a thumb across his flushed cheek, touch burning and soft.

“Or, oh, and now this could be very interesting,” and the snake leans closer, his mouth right up against his ear, “I haven't made you flustered, have I, my dear?”

The ’s’ in ‘flustered’ comes out as a hiss, and fuck that shouldn’t make him turn to jelly but it does. A low chuckle rumbles through the air as the snake pulls back, grinning like the cat that got the—or the snake that—fuck, his brain’s too offline to come up with any metaphors that would work. Simile. Fuck.

The snake’s hand comes up under his chin again, the fabric of his gloves making the drag decadent as he lifts his gaze back to his and he can’t help the whine that comes out of his throat.

The snake’s grin widens.

“Oh, I didn’t enjoy that at all,” he purrs, “let’s see if I can make you do that again.”

No, no—

The snake’s fingers hook and trace three little lines up the underside of his chin and he can’t help it. This time he doesn’t just whine, he tilts his chin back further, much to the snake’s delight.

“Lovely.”

He doesn’t even have to touch him this time. He whimpers.

“Is that all it takes, sweetie? Just one word?” The snake’s thumb runs along the curve of his jaw again. “Aren’t you precious~”

The words sink into him like honey, sweet and sticky, trapping him in his touches, in his voice. The snake hisses contentedly, tilting his chin back and forth. He can’t look away.

“Precious indeed,” he repeats, the hiss becoming more pronounced, “if not a little…flushed.”

He burns warmer, the snake’s smile growing, full of sly mischief and sharp fangs.

“You look distressed, kitten—“ prey— “are you…nervous?”

Goddamnit, he’s not gonna collapse into a puddle. He’s not. Every single ounce of his willpower goes into making sure he stays upright.

I don’t! Know! What to do! With! My hands!

“Oh dear,” the snake purrs again, not sounding at all sorry, “have I rendered you speechless?”

Yes.

“You’re the one that stumbled into my garden, lost little lamb,” the snake hums, “how was I supposed to know you would be so easily disarmed?”

He tilts his head, mismatched eyes shining. “It seems awfully rude to stumble in unannounced and then not explain the reason for the intrusion, does it not?”

The smoky haze the snake’s words had cast on his mind tightens, the quiet whispering lure of the garden sharpening into a call. The snake’s touch is still light but his voice has an unmistakable edge to it. The snake’s fingers are a blade perched delicately against his neck. He doesn’t know how to keep it from cutting his throat.

The snake chuckles. “You’re too easy, my little mouse. I’m only teasing.”

That doesn’t make it any easier!

“Are you too tongue-tied to speak, darling?” The snake smiles, the human side of his face softening just the smallest bit. he might be imagining it. He’s probably imagining it. “That’s alright, I have…other ways of figuring out what you want.”

Wait, what? No, no thank you. Don’t like that. Huh-uh. Nope.

“Just…look here,” the snake murmurs, cupping his chin properly for the first time, the amount of contact making his head spin.

He’s still trying desperately to keep his legs from collapsing and he knows if he even tries to move he will fall into a puddle at the snake’s feet. But that leaves him frozen, helpless in the snake's gaze.

“That’s it…just look right at me.” The snake’s eyes gleam as he gestures to his face. “Yes…enjoy, sweetie.”

Stop it, he wants to plead, let me go. he can’t.

“Now, then, let’s see what brought you here…”

He gasps. The snake’s words reach into his head and pull forward memories, emotions, angry words called out in fits of rage. Fear. Angry clattering of swords and torches swung so close the tips of his hair is singed. Knives, daggers, blood—lifting something from the inside of a chest and carrying it over to—

He gasps. Years of neglect, abuse, being scorned and turned aside, cursed for the scars littering his body, mocked and shamed for them. Years of whispers behind his back, forced smiles, fake faces. Years of always having to look over his shoulder, think twelve steps ahead, always have a backup plan.

He gasps. Tendrils curling into his jaw, wiring it shut, pressing his tongue to the roof of his mouth. Tendrils winding around his arms, his legs, his fingers. Holding a knife. Rewriting his memory.

He sees himself. His true self. Standing with a pair of battered gauntlets encasing his wrists, his hands covered in blood. More blood splattered across his face, across the three long scratches that threaten to take out his eye. More scars twisting across his stomach, black pooling out from where they refuse to close. A blue glow, sickeningly artificial, emerging from his mouth, from his eyes, winding around him, tying him up. It hurts.

He blinks.

His eyes sting, he’s crying, when did he start crying? Is he crying? He blinks again, watching the snake’s face swim back into view. The shameless flirty smirk is gone, replaced with a softer look. Another moment and something covers his eyes. He can’t help the frightened keen when his world is thrown into darkness. Is the snake gonna take him somewhere? Kill him? Something worse than death? What’s happening?

“Shh,” the snake murmurs, no longer dripping with allure, “hush now, darling.”

He shuts his eyes reflexively, the sudden loss of his vision sending him stumbling. Can he grab? Yes? No?

A hand catches his arm. Another his other arm. Another pressed to the space between the shoulder blades. Another curled possessively around his hips. The hand over his eyes stays firmly in place, gentling a little as the other hands press him against the snake, holding him up. His legs won’t work properly, pulled as he is at an awkward angle.

“It’s dark because you’re trying too hard,” the snake murmurs, the quote rolling off his tongue, “lightly, child, lightly. Learn to do everything lightly.”

The snake adjusts his grip, pulling him closer.

“Yes, feel lightly even though you’re feeling deeply. Just lightly let things happen and lightly cope with them.” Another hand—that’s right, there’s six—cradles the back of his head. “Lightly, lightly—it’s the best advice ever given me.”

The darkness doesn’t hurt. Doesn’t press. Just lays over his eyes.

“So throw away your baggage and go forward. There are quicksands all about you, sucking at your feet, trying to suck you down into fear and self-pity and despair. That’s why you must walk so lightly.”

The snake leans closer, his lips almost brushing the shell of his ear.

“Lightly, my darling.”

He shudders as the air wafts over him. The word ‘lightly’ has been said so much it doesn’t sound like a word anymore.

“So you can speak,” laughs the snake—shit did he say that out loud?— “and oh, what a wonderful voice you have.”

Really? Back to flirting already?

“Oh, come now,” he chuckles, “is it really so simple? Alright, alright, I won’t fluster you too badly.”

Or you could not fluster me at all we could make that work too.

“But you are right,” comes the voice, still right next to his ear, “about saying a word too often before it stops sounding like a word. You mortals tend to do that with yourselves quite a lot, don’t you?”

The snake must be able to feel his brow furrow. He continues. “You tend to look at something for so long that you start to create flaws out of nothing. You see cracks where there are no cracks, imperfections when you know perfection is a standard you will not reach.”

Is…is the snake trying to…comfort him?

“You do that with yourselves,” the snake murmurs, the hand at the back of his head cupping it gently, “and you must look away.”

Do what now?

“Look away,” the snake repeats, “look away and give yourself time to breathe, sweetie. The words are still words, you just have to give them time to rest. You are not as flawed as you think you are. You simply must look away for a moment. And don’t forget to breathe.”

The hand on the back of his head moves, the others leaning him back a little so it can come around and pat his chest.

“Breathe,” says the snake.

He breathes.

“Good.”

So he…isn’t going to kill him? Has he not violated some guest rite that allows the snake to exact some fae revenge? Are mortals not too small and too petty to warrant this amount of…effort?

The flirting…the flirting he kind of gets. He knows he’s shit at receiving compliments, okay, and he knows the way he responded to that flirting was…entertaining. Probably. Yeah, it definitely was.

That doesn’t explain this.

“I can hear you thinking,” the snake hums, “I can hear your little mind whirring away in there.”

Shit.

“Why don’t you just relax,” he purrs, drawing the word out in a way that has to be deliberate, “and stay right here?”

And do what? I’m still standing here your six arms with your teeth basically at my throat and you seem to really enjoy making me not able to speak or do anything.

He tries. He tries to take another deep breath and let himself relax into the snake’s arms. It’s not easy.

“That’s it, good.” The hand on his chest gives him another little pat. “Well, now I could call you any number of things, my darling, now couldn’t I? But I did say I wouldn’t fluster you too badly.”

He hums for a moment, he can almost feel his gaze through the gloved hand still over his eyes.

“May I have your name?”

Nope. I know that one.

He swallows, his throat dry. his lips are dry too. he licks them quickly and clears his throat. “You may call me V.”

The snake doesn’t seem too bothered by it. In fact, it’s quite the opposite.

“Clever boy. Very well, V, why don’t you just take another breath.”

V breathes.

“Have you caught something new for us?”

V’s breath catches. Fuck.

Another one?

Judging by the approaching footsteps from behind him, yep. He still doesn’t know what the fuck to do with his hands.

“What fun,” the voice from behind him says, getting closer, “though from the looks of it…I’m not interrupting anything, am I?”

“No, of course not,” the snake drawls, “nothing of the sort. It’s not like I purposefully knew you were meant to be keeping watch today and sent you somewhere else.”

They have a schedule? How many of them are there?

“Well, good!”

The snake huffs and the other one chuckles.

“So…” The voice stops just behind him and judging from how high up it is, he’s even taller than the snake. “What have we here?”

Don’t fall over, whatever you do, don’t fall.

“Don’t be greedy,” the second one chides, another pair of hands resting on his shoulders and wow those are warm, “let me see what you’ve caught.”

No, no, please, let me stay here, I can deal with the snake—

No such luck. The snake releases his grip except for the hand over his eyes.

“There we go…”

The warm hands turn V around slowly, one hand walking its fingers playfully over his shoulders as they do, across his collarbones, over the hollow of his neck, to the other shoulder. It’s just light enough to tickle, sending pleasant shivers down his spine.

“We’ve talked about this,” the voice keeps scolding playfully, “keeping things all to yourself…oh. Oh, look at this!”

V knows his face is red, he can feel it. Then those warm fingers flutter up to touch just under his chin and tilt and shit he doesn’t want to do this again.

“Why are you covering his eyes? You’re not usually the type to…avoid attention.”

“It’s not for me.”

“You, doing something that’s not for yourself? Well, now I have to see. Move your hand.”

No, please don’t.

“Keep them closed,” the snake murmurs in his ear before his hand lifts. Even with his eyes closed, the light hurts and he squeezes them tighter.

“Oh, how could you?” Hands cup his cheeks. “It is a crime to cover up this absolutely adorable face. Just look at you, pretty thing.”

Judging by the quiet chuckle from behind him and the delighted silence, they’re amused by his reaction which is definitely not to go even brighter and not to squirm a little against the hold.

“Well, well, well, isn’t today a lucky day?” Two fingers tuck a loose strand of hair behind his ear, the soft touch drawing the blush right up to the tips.

If his eyes weren’t closed already, they sure as hell would be now. Unlike the snake, this fae didn’t seem to be content to restrict the touch to just a finger or the soft brush of a thumb. No, the new hand trails over his face, lingering in spots that make him twitch, where he’s sensitive. his mouth. Just under his bottom lip. The bridge of his nose, right between his eyes. Tracing a lazy path around his jawline, right under his chin. his face burns, each stroke setting his skin alight, until they blur together and he has no idea what’s actually touching him and what’s nothing more than a phantom sensation.

And because his eyes are closed, he still can't see anything. So he has no idea where they're going to touch next and he's in a horrible loop of being startled and making noise and then remembering he really doesn't want to move and getting frustrated with himself for moving and making more noise.

“Oh, I could stand here for ages,” the voice coos, “just coaxing more of those pretty sounds out of you.”

“He has a pretty voice, doesn’t he?”

Not you too!

“I think he likes your voice,” the fae in front of him chuckles.

“I think so too.”

“Which one does he like more?”

No, no, let’s not test and find out, he’s barely staying on his feet as it is, he can feel the snake behind him and sure he could probably grab the fae in front of him too but he’s so close to being a puddle already, please—

“I must say I was surprised to see you being so hands-on with him,” the voice muses, “especially because you know how…fragile little mortals can be, hmm?”

“Mm.”

“Shouldn’t fragile things be treated gently?” The warm hand is back under his chin, cupping it in a firm hold, one of his fingers stroking just the smallest amount.

“What if I were to talk like this? In a nice, sweet, gentle voice? Hmm? Would you like that, cutie pie?”

No, no no no, that voice…despite how tightly V tries to stay, tries to clench every muscle he has in defiance, that sweet, soft voice wriggles its way under his skin and he melts.

“Aww, yeah,” the voice teases, “yeah, you do, hmm? Nice…and gentle…good…”

He can’t help it, he whines. He can’t remember the last time he was praised, and he knows it’s not real, it’s not real, it’s just the fae toying with him, but it works and he hates his traitorous body for responding to it.

“I think you like this~” the voice coos, “I think you like the gentle voice, don’t you? Sweet voice…just like you, little honeybee.”

He…he’s leaning closer, there’s breath fanning over his face, over his neck.

“Can’t you just give in to me,” he coos, “can’t you just give in, little cutie pie?”

V’s lips part. His head tilts. Wait, no—

“That’s right, little honeybee,” and he’s so close, his mouth is so close, so close, “give in…”

“Enough.”

Thank you.

The fae in front of him laughs and drops his hand away. V stifles a sigh of relief, trying frantically to clear his head from whatever the fuck is happening.

“Don’t be jealous,” the voice says, “it doesn’t look good on you.”

“I’m not jealous.”

“Come now, you’re practically green around the gills over there.”

“I haven’t gone yet.”

“You had enough time before I showed up.”

“And you didn’t see it.” The snake shifts. “You got him to whine, that’s all.”

“Oh, I got several more than that, didn’t I?” A finger taps his nose and he squeaks, startled. “See?”

“Oh please.”

“Like you can do better?”

No, no no, stop please, I would like to get off this ride.

A rustle. Then little puffs of air over his ear.

“Darling,” the snake purrs, and fuck, he’s already keening.

The snake chuckles darkly. “That really is all it takes, isn’t it, little mouse? Just…one word?”

He’s too close. He’s too close and that voice like crushed velvet in his ears and he can hear his fucking smirk and oh god—

“Squee for me, little mouse,” he purrs, “squee.”

V squees. God fucking damnit he squees. He covers his face as the snake chuckles in his ear, trying to ignore how much it makes him want to squirm away.

“Thank you, my dear,” he purrs, a soft rustle signifying him standing back up. V doesn’t need to look to see he’s got a smug, satisfied expression on his face.

“Don’t hide,” the voice in front of him laughs, “why don’t you let us see that pretty face?”

He’s gonna faint. He’s gonna fucking keel over right here because he can’t deal with this. He knew he should’ve fucking bolted the second he realized it was a fae garden. He knew he shouldn’t have let them chase him this way. He—

“We didn’t break him, did we?”

“He’s quite flustered, but no, I don’t believe so.”

“Come on, cutie. Let us see.”

“Lower your hands, little mouse, come now…”

He fights down another whine and forces his hands away. The warm hands stipple playfully over his cheeks and fuck, he can’t help relaxing into it, making the voice chuckle again.

“Too much?”

He nods, furiously squeezing his eyes shut.

“You’re the stunnable type, hmm? That’s alright. Someone could have told me.”

“What, me? How could I have possibly known?”

“Don’t act like you weren’t enjoying playing with him.”

“Never.”

“I thought we were taught not to play with our food?”

Right. How the fuck did I forget that these are fae and the snake has literally been calling me ‘little mouse?’ What the fuck are they gonna do to me, can I run? No, no way, you’re not supposed to run from a predator, not like this, now there’s two of them, fuck, fuck—

“Why is he still here,” the voice muses, still tracing his cheeks, “not that I’m complaining about the chance to play with this lovely little thing, but you’re not the type to share your food.”

V’s…he’s kinda wondering the same thing.

The snake doesn’t respond. A gloved hand covers his fist. Something worms its way into his palm and forces his hand open. Gloved fingers lace through his. He presses his hand against a broad chest, hard. Holds it there.

The chest stutters. Tenses. Then sighs, letting all the breath out in a rush.

“Oh…oh, sweetheart…”

The snake lets his hand go and he’s caught up in a powerful hug, enough to take his breath away. After the teasing, the feather-light barely-there touches, this…this—

Warm warm warm warm! Solid alive real warm warm tight help trap? Hug? Hug? Warm warm warm too much too much not enough on fire burning don’t let go oh god please—

“I should’ve known,” the snake murmurs, “that a prince never could resist a damsel in distress.”

“You had all of your arms wrapped around him when I showed up,” the prince shoots back, “don’t act so superior.”

It’s too much. It’s too much and it’s not enough and he needs it to go on forever and he needs it to stop. His breath is coming in great whooping gasps and he doesn’t know what to do.

The prince releases him, shushing him softly when he whines, already bereft of the warmth. “Don’t fret, sweetheart, I won’t hurt you.” He doesn't go far, wrapping him in a slightly looser embrace that still burns.

Something happens. Something happens and it’s too overwhelming for him to figure out what it is at first but then it stays and it keeps happening and is—is he—

The prince chuckles as he pulls away, his thumb stroking over the spot on his forehead. “Never had a fae kiss before, hmm?”

“It’s completely fair that you got to kiss him first,” comes the hiss from behind him, “it’s not like I’m the one that found him.”

“Well maybe you should have done it before I showed up,” the prince says. “May I have your name, cutie pie?”

Still no.

“You may call me V.”

The prince laughs, unbothered. Then more darkness. V jerks back on reflex, startled by the contact. Honestly, every single time one of them touches him—

“You look tired,” the prince says kindly, “rest your eyes for a little. Just keep them closed for me.”

“Wow.”

“Oh, please. I trust your judgment. And if he’s that easily overwhelmed…then yes, let’s have you keep your eyes closed for now, hmm?”

“Are you tormenting mortals without me?”

How many of them are there?

He hears the prince huff and the arm around his back tightens. “Yeesh. Should’ve known you’d would show up.”

“You know better,” the new fae says, “you’re supposed to tell me before you give someone else nightmares.”

“If you would pay attention for two seconds—“

“Oh what, like you can talk.”

“Wow, guys, it’s so cool how you never listen to anything he says.”

“Why are you here?”

“What did you do to the mortal?”

“Oh, shut up—“

“Don’t tell me to shut up!”

“Why the fuck is it bleeding then?”

Oh fuck one of the new voices can double itself up and that is a bad noise and it’s too loud, there’s too many people, he doesn’t know where he is, the prince has left, he can’t hear the snake anymore, he can’t hear anything over the voices, so many voices, too many, they’re shouting now, it’s loud, it’s so loud, it hurts, he just wanted to run away why is he here now he should have run he should have run he just wants to go—

Something’s touching him. Something’s touching him. Something’s prying his hands away from his ears—when did they get there?—with inhuman strength and he wants to go—

It stops. There’s silence.

For a moment’s he’s terrified that he blacked out, or fainted, or something but then he feels smooth hands covering his ears.

“Shh,” says a low voice, lower than the snake’s, calmer, “hush now. You’re alright.”

Is he, though?

“Breathe, little one,” the voice soothes, “I know it’s loud. The others can get a little…rowdy sometimes. Just breathe. Focus on my voice.”

He tries, tries to feel the rest of him. His head aches and he brings his hands up on instinct only to freeze.

“It’s okay,” the voice says, “you can touch. You won’t hurt me and I won’t let you hurt yourself.”

The hands stroke over the crown of his head as he covers them with his own. They’re smooth, slightly cooler to the touch than he expected.

“I heard your pain when it was pushed through the connection,” the voice says softly, “and I can feel it now. The noise doesn’t help, does it?”

He shakes his head, trying to lean as much into the touch as he can. It—it’s so hard right now and he knows this isn’t going to be free, nothing ever is with the fae, but he can’t help it, so much has just happened and he’s helplessly confused and he has no idea what’s happening and he just wants to be safe.

“I understand,” the voice continues, “shh, now you must listen. You are alright. You are here, standing in a garden. I am holding you. You will not be harmed.”

He wants to believe it, he does. And he knows that’s how the fae trap people and he doesn’t want to be hurt anymore, but oh god, he wants to believe it so bad.

“Can you not feel the flowers under you? Can you not smell them? Even with your eyes closed, can you not see the light?”

He can. He can, but…

“It’s okay,” the voice murmurs, “it’s okay.”

The cool touch burns. It still burns, even though these hands aren’t as warm as the prince’s, nor are they as rough as the snake’s gloves. Why does it burn? It—it’s not trying to hurt him, is it?

“I’m just blocking out the extra sensory input,” the voice says, “I’m not hurting you. Though…I must say, you are the first touch-starved mortal I’ve seen in a while.”

T-touch-starved? He’s touch-starved? Is that why everything burns?

“Shh,” the voice soothes, “it’s okay. This isn’t a bad thing. Well, not in context right now. It is true that mortals, especially humans, rely heavily on physical contact. It is crucial to their health and development, particularly in infancy.”

V nods, still clutching at the smooth hands over his ears. Why does this have to be so hard?

The hands hold him firmly, then something touches his forehead. It’s warm and slightly chapped and—

Is…is this one kissing him too?

“It’s okay,” the voice murmurs after he kisses him, resting his own forehead against V’s, “everything is okay.”

For the first time since god he has no idea when, he breathes easy, something finally releasing in his chest. V hangs on to the hands over his ears, letting the low voice wash over him. It’s like something’s reaching into his brain again, like the way the snake did, sorting through everything and tucking it out of the way and it…oh god it feels so clear.

“Do you believe me now,” it asks after a while, “about where you are?”

He swallows, his voice refusing to come out as anything other than a whisper. “I’m trying.”

“Why don’t you open your eyes, then,” the voice suggests kindly, “and see for yourself?”

“The others…”

“Have stopped yelling, if that’s what’s worrying you,” the voice says.

Not what he meant, but that’s good, right?

“Here,” the voice murmurs, moving his hands a little bit away from his ears, “see?”

The ambient sounds of the garden. No yelling.

“Nice and quiet. I would hope,” the voice continues, raising a little, “that they would realize why that would not have been ideal.”

“Be gentle, Specs,” the prince barks.

“I am not hurting him,” the voice assures, “although this next part might.”

And in an instant, V’s head fills again.

Danger danger run run hurt it’s going to hurt they’re going to hurt me, oh god, I knew I should’ve run, no, no, no more please, not anymore, red fire knives sharp things burning.

“Hey, hey, it’s quite alright…” Something touches his forehead—another kiss?—and suddenly he can breathe again. “That was not my intention.”

Specs, he guesses, doesn’t try and move again, letting him move his head around a bit to hear where he is.

“Better?” V nods. “Good. You’re doing very well. May I touch your arms, please?”

The first time one of them has asked before touching him. He nods, warily lifting his arms.

“Are these just from branches,” Specs asks, trailing a finger lightly over the—right, the cuts on his arms, “or did someone do these?”

Nope. Nope. Bad things. So many bad things, no no no no—

He shakes his head. “Just branches.”

“Mm.” The light gets brighter behind his lids and he winces. “It’ll be over in a second, have patience.”

His arms tingle, his skin itching as it gets warm, warmer, warmer, wait…

Is Specs healing him?

“It’s a good thing you didn’t try and take a dagger to the branches,” Specs says, “that could’ve been…bad for you.”

“Better to be hacked at by a few branches than for their poisonous fumes to be unleashed upon you as soon as you slice open their limbs,” the other new voice says, the nightmare voice, right behind him, making him jump, “providing a slow, painful demise…as you choke on your own breath…”

Specs sighs. “Yes, that is accurate. I am almost finished, one moment…there.”

Curious, V runs his fingers over his arms and…yeah. The cuts are all gone. he opens his mouth to say thank-you when—

Wait. Hang on. he’s not supposed to do that.

“…that’s better,” he chooses instead.

“Good.” There’s a moment of silence. “Are your eyes alright?”

“Huh?”

“It’s just…you haven’t opened them. And you, uh, the prince had them covered when we appeared up.”

“They didn’t blind you, did they?”

“No.”

He really doesn’t want to say the wrong thing right now. He turns his head, trying to figure out where the others are.

“They’re just talking,” Specs says, “they won’t shout.”

“What happened to you,” the other one—how fucking many of them are there, he’s gonna fucking faint at this rate—asks, “there was such exquisite pain in you when Snakey pushed it across…and you’re so tense…you need to loosen up.”

No. No more flirting. Please, no more.

It’s not flirting, not really, but it makes his brain freeze all the same.

There are hands, warm hands, as warm as the prince’s, under his shirt, on his back, stroking his bare skin and it’s warm, it’s warm, it’s so so so warm and it feels so good but it burns but it’s too much he can’t think, he can’t hear, he can’t breathe—

“V?”

There’s a hand on his face.

“V.”

The hand leaves his face. He whimpers.

“Stop it, Duke, he can’t think with you doing that.”

“But—!”

“Just for a second.”

The hands are gone. His brain wakes up and he can’t help the soft desperate sound he makes. Wow, maybe he really is touch-starved. Specs shushes him.

“I know, I know, V,” he soothes, “I just need to talk to you for a second. Can you do that for me?”

These have gotta be the fucking weirdest fae I’ve ever heard of.

He nods.

“Good. Can you hear me?”

“Yes.”

“Can you tell me what happened?”

“What?”

“How did you find this place,” Specs asks, his voice still tender and soft,“how did you get here?”

“I was…” he swallows. “I was…running. They were chasing me.”

“Why were they chasing you?”

“Did they hurt you?” the duke growls behind him and he cringes.

He’s heard tales of fae anger before, and he expected it when he stumbled into the garden. He expected the fiery temper of an outraged fae. He expected stone-cold mutterings. He expected pretty words and sweetly soured threats as he was cursed for all eternity.

This rage, this dark, hateful fury makes all of those sound like a child’s tantrum.

“Wow,” he distantly hears the prince laugh, “that didn’t take long.”

“W-what’s happening?”

“I believe the Duke has gone, as you mortals call it, feral,” Specs says, pulling him forward gently by his elbows, “only happens when he gets into a state of extreme protectiveness. It would be advisable for you to keep your eyes closed, otherwise it is likely looking at him in his current state would blind you/”

Feral. Blind. Protective.

I’m so confused right now I’m not even sure what parts I’m supposed to be confused about and that’s confusing me.

How…how did this happen? Why is this happening? he just—he was just trying to escape. And then he stumbled into a fae garden and now—

Now there’s at least…fuck, what is that now, one, two, three…at least four different fae here, two of them have kissed him, and one of them just went feral because of…why, exactly?

Fuck, what kind of shit is he going to owe them after this?

The fae doesn’t do anything for free. Ever. Nothing comes without a demand for payment and they’ve…god, all of them have comforted him in some regard, he’s pretty sure kisses count for something, and one of them just healed him.

Out of the frying pan, into the fire.

Voices. They’re talking. They seem to be trying to calm down the duke. Specs…that’s right, Specs has got hold of him.

He’s…he’s warm too. They’re all warm. Is…is that because they’re fae or…because he’s touch-starved?

Wow, you know, the more he says it, the more sense it makes.

Something wraps around his waist and yanks him backward, away from Specs. His back collides with something solid and he can’t help the frightened squeak. The grip shifts.

Oh. It’s a pair of arms. Is…is it the duke?

“That,” he hears Specs murmur in front of him, “was adorable.”

“Told you.”

The chest behind him rumbles and he can hear something wet, like…like slime or something coming from behind him. He thrums with energy, almost making his teeth chatter. The duke clings to him like he’s going to disappear, or like a child would cling to a stuffed animal if a parent threatened to take it away. Trying frantically to calm his breathing, he keeps his eyes shut tight and tries to pat the iron grip around his waist…reassure it, if he can, ground them both. The arms relax, just the smallest bit, the hands—warm warm warm warm so warm—starting to move. It’s like they’re trying to map out his body as they pull him against him, comforting themselves by saying ‘it’s still here, right here’ through touch.

His tunic got rucked up when he was pulled back and the hands are so warm. One of them slips underneath and lands on his stomach and he tenses reflexively. The duke rubs softly. Warm. It’s warm. It’s so warm. The duke rumbles contentedly when he relaxes into his hold.

“Yeah, I don’t think he’s gonna let go of him now.”

“It is highly unlikely.”

“And you said it would be difficult.”

“Ensuring the duke does not kill a mortal and keeping one are two different things.”

Hold on wait what now.

“Oh come on, you know the hardest one to convince is him.”

“That’s such a flattering description.”

“Like it’s not true!”

Ugh, noise.

Wait. What’s that?

He jerks his head around only to wince when more light—honestly, he’s so not convinced they’re not actually trying to blind him, he hasn’t been able to open his eyes since the snake covered them—shines right at him.

“There you all are! I’m surprised you didn’t call me sooner!”

“How many of you are there?” he mutters finally, only for the duke to chuckle.

“About time you got here,” the prince grumbles somewhere to his right, “I’m surprised you didn’t show up with Worry and Wart.”

“Speaking of which,” the newest voice says and he can practically see the disapproving expression, “what have we said about trying to claim mortals?”

The duke tightens his grip on him and growls. “Mine.”

“Now, kiddo, you know better than that.”

Okay, Dad has entered the chat.

The duke grumbles but lets him go. The sudden disappearance of the thing he’d been leaning against makes him stagger. Rude.

“Easy there, kiddo,” the new voice says, catching him, “don’t want you to fall and hurt yourself. What’s happened to your eyes?”

“Nothing.”

“Well, then, why don’t you open them, kiddo?”

Because three of you specifically told me not to.

“It’s alright,” Specs says from…somewhere, “you will not be blinded if you look now.”

“He gets a little…overexcited now and then,” the new voice says, “but it’s okay, kiddo. Come on, open up.”

He’s still a little worried about the prince and the snake but not enough to outweigh the worry about what actively refusing could cause. Plus, this one kind of seems like a leader, so…

He opens his eyes and immediately shuts them again, wincing and looking down.

“Oh, are you hurt? Did something go wrong?”

“It’s bright,” he defends, and honestly, it was bright to begin with. Now that he’s had his eyes closed for god knows how long, it’s unbearable.

“I can fix that.”

Well, the prince must do something because it dims. It gets to the point where he doesn’t have to screw up his eyes anymore and he blinks.

The garden still glows, but it’s nowhere near as noticeable. he registers the flowers first, still bright and perky. his gaze travels up a pastel blue cloak to a pair of black glasses. Oh.

He looks…ordinary. Kind of. He looks just like a human except there’s something just off-center. It’s like…a human but slightly to the left. Yeah? We get it. It’s like the human half of the snake’s face.

Actually…do they all have the same face?

He looks around. Specs, he’s guessing, is the one in the dark blue suit, also wearing glasses. The prince has to be the one in the bright white, the crimson sash across his chest and the pieces of gold gleaming. Next to him stands the snake. He also waves.

Behind him must be the duke, then. He, well, he really kind of looks like the prince. Except he’s in black and green. And has a mustache. And like…four tentacles. Okay. Sure. At this point, why the heck not.

Also, they’re all…really pretty. Like…really pretty.

So pretty that just the thought of those flirty comments said by those faces are enough to make him blush to the tips of his ears.

Why are they all so pretty? This isn’t fair.

His attention is drawn back when the one holding him beams. “There you go! I knew you could do it. Can I have your name, kiddo?”

Third time ain’t gonna be the charm.

“You may call me V.”

He throws back his head and laughs. “Alright, alright, that’s fair. Then you may call me Pat.”

…sure.

“Have you met everyone else?”

We’re putting ‘met’ in big scare quotes, right.

He shakes his head hesitantly. Pat pouts, looking around.

“You didn’t introduce yourselves?”

“L,” says Specs.

The prince and the duke glance at each other. “Yeah, that’s not really gonna work for us.”

“What? No, it can!”

“You may call me the Prince.”

“Ugh. Fine. I’m the Duke.”

Nailed it.

Pat looks expectantly at the snake. The snake just smiles.

“He likes being secretive,” Pat stage-whispers, “don’t take it personally.”

“Eh,” the prince says, “he’ll come around.”

“Oh no,” Pat says quickly, “not you too.”

“As a matter of fact,” L says, “I’m afraid it’s just you that has not…joined in.”

Pat looks around to see the duke nodding fiercely. “Now, kiddos, you know the rules. We can’t just take every mortal we find, we have to help them find their way back home. Especially if they’ve done nothing wrong!”

So…so I haven’t done anything wrong? Does that mean I don’t owe them anything? Does that mean I…I can leave?

But where would I go?

He doesn’t want to go back. He doesn’t want to have to run again, away from the swords and the arrows and the hurt, away from all the people that would love nothing more than to put his head on a spike or watch him get pecked apart by birds. They…they hate him, hate everything that he is.

And for as much as they’ve all been, the fae, they’ve…

None of them has hurt him.

It’s been so long since someone touched him without the intent to hurt.

Hell, one of them did go feral at the thought of someone else trying to hurt him.

Would…would it be so bad to stay here?

“Oh, come on, you’re the heart! You felt that,” the duke exclaims, “you know we can’t just—”

“It’s not our job to interfere!”

“On the contrary. We have indeed ‘interfered,’ as you put it on multiple occasions of a similar kind.” L gestures to him. “This one should be treated similarly.”

“Ha, see?” The prince smacks L’s shoulder. “Even L agrees.”

“That doesn’t happen very often,” L mutters.

“I, for one, think it’s a splendid idea!”

“See, Duke does too! And you know how rare it is that we agree on something!”

“The rules are there for a reason, kiddos,” Pat scolds, “and why are they there?”

The prince groans. “‘To preserve the balance between their realm and ours and to make sure the two don’t collide,’” he repeats reluctantly.

“Exactly!” Pat looks back at him, resting his hands on his shoulders. “This has been a lot for you, hasn’t it, kiddo?”

Boy howdy, that’s one hell of an understatement.

He nods. Pat smiles patiently.

“You’ve been through so much, haven’t you,” he murmurs, taking a strand of his hair and twisting it around his finger, “brave little kiddo…it still hurts, doesn’t it?”

“…yes.”

“You know what mortals are like, Pat,” the prince mutters, “they’re bad enough with their own kind, and they aren’t evolved enough to know how to deal with difference. You know how wrong that can go.”

“Do you have someplace to go, kiddo?”

Does he?

Would anywhere ever be far enough away?

Would he even get there?

The prince sees his hesitation and seizes it. “No, he doesn’t, does he? Why can’t we just keep him? Don’t act like you don’t want to!”

“We are not keeping him!”

They’re…they’re fighting. Over him. Over…over whether or not they can keep him. Not whether they want to but…whether they can.

Oh. Oh, wow.

The prince opens his mouth to respond but—

Footsteps. He can hear them. Through the trees. He jerks his head around in the direction of the sound. His eyes go wide. No. No, no. Did they find him? How did they find him?

“Are you sure that little bitch went this way?”

“I can’t see a damn thing!”

“Why the fuck didn’t you lock the restraints properly, then this wouldn’t’ve happened!”

“It’s not like he needs his arms to run!”

“Then why didn’t you just cut off his leg and call it a day?”

“Ah! Damn branches, what the hell—“

“Where the fuck did he get off to?”

“Told you that monster wasn’t human!”

“He cursed us, I bet you. He’s probably laughing at us right now.”

“With any luck, some animal found him and did the job for us.”

“Hey, what’s that?”

“What?”

“Over there, see the light?”

No, no, no, no, no no no not again—

He turns and tries to run but runs into Pat, who grabs him tightly. He whimpers, tries to pull away but Pat holds him fast. He looks up at Pat’s face to plead, to—

—oh.

Pat’s gaze is fixed over his shoulder, his face unreadable. He doesn’t move as the mob gets closer and closer.

“Hey, hey, stop!”

“The fuck are you on about?”

“Don’t you know a fuckin’ fae garden when you see one? I ain’t going in there!”

“Think he ran through here?”

“Fae probably caught him. Wonder what the hell those bastards did to him.”

Pat quirks an eyebrow.

“Tore him apart, at least I fuckin’ hope so.”

“Let’s go back. I ain’t running through there and if we’re lucky the fae got rid of him.”

“Maybe we should thank them.”

Loud guffaws trail off into the distance. he breathes a sigh of relief. They’re gone. They’re gone, they’re gone.

Pat still hasn’t let him go. He looks up anxiously at Pat’s face to see him clench his jaw. he has to fight the urge to shrink under Pat’s gaze when he looks down.

"Did they hurt you?"

His words are frozen in his throat. The garden is silent.

"Just nod or shake your head, did they hurt you?"

When Pat sees him nod, sees how scared he is, something softens. One hand comes up to twist the strand of his hair again.

“Change of plans,” he says quietly, “may we keep you, kiddo?”

…h-he can stay? They…they want him?

The prince whoops as he nods, the duke rushing forward to hug him enthusiastically from behind. Pat giggles, reaching forward to crush both him and the duke in a hug.

“Nobody’s gonna touch you again, kiddo,” he murmurs, pressing a—wow, is this, like, a thing? ‘Cause he just kissed his forehead too. Then he frowns and runs a thumb over the spot he kissed.

“Seems I’m the last one, hmm?” At his confused look, Pat smiles, holding his hand out. A pastel blue glow appears in his hand.

“We all have different colors,” he explains, “as you can…probably guess from looking at us.”

V nods, still confused as to where this is going.

“When one of us makes a claim, it leaves a trace in that color. And you, kiddo,” he says, tapping his nose, “are a rainbow.”

A…a claim?

“Even though we didn’t discuss it beforehand…”

“Pish posh,” the prince says, “he’s staying now. Which means—oh! Oh, we have to get ready!”

“Oh shit.”

“How did we miss that?”

“We gotta go!”

The duke lets him go with one more squeeze and a smacking kiss on the forehead—okay this must be a thing—grabbing the prince by the arm as they rush toward the other end of the garden. L follows a little more sedately. Pat squeezes his shoulders.

“Give us a few minutes, kiddo, then step through the portal.”

He blinks, still a little taken aback by the sudden whirlwind of energy that just swept through the garden. Pat seems to notice and softens.

“This is a lot, I’m sure,” he says quietly, “and it’s okay if you need to take your time, kiddo. But you’re under our protection now. You can come when you’re ready, okay?”

He nods dumbly. Pat smiles and draws away. As he nears the others, there’s a bright flash of light. So bright he throws his arms up to shield his face. Then it’s gone. When he looks, there’s just a shimmering doorway.

“They’re so dramatic, aren’t they?”

He turns.

Right, the snake didn’t go with them. He comes closer, holding out one hand.

“Oh, come now,” he laughs when V hesitates, “we have just established we’re keeping you. There’s nothing for you to worry about if you take my hand.”

He’s got a point, but V would be lying if he said the snake still didn’t make him incredibly nervous. Part of it’s just common sense, part of it is the fact that, out of all of them, he still has absolutely no idea what he wants.

Part of it is the fact that he looks like that and sounds like that and seems to really enjoy flustering the hell out of him.

“There we go,” the snake murmurs when he says to hell with it and takes his hand, using it to pull him close, “would you believe me if I said I didn’t intend for this to happen?”

“'Believe me if I said.’ Hmmm. Yeah no.”

The snake laughs. Like, properly laughs. Throws his head back and has to put a hand to his torso and everything. Oh, oh wow. Of course, it makes him even more attractive. Bastard.

When he stops, he waves his hand. “Alright, let me rephrase: having the rest of them immediately agree to keep you was not at the forefront of my mind when you first fell into the garden.”

“Wh-why did that happen?”

The shake in his voice seems to sober him. The snake laces their fingers together and presses his palm against his chest, as he did with the prince’s. “We are all connected,” he says softly, “at a base level. We can communicate through it if necessary, almost like the telepathy mortals believe in.”

“So…”

“When I held your hand against the prince, I pushed.” He pushes his hand a little firmer against his chest, close enough for him to feel the powerful heartbeat beneath. “When the rest of them felt your pain…well. I wasn’t lying when I said they never could resist a damsel in distress.

“I do wish you hadn’t kept that sharp tongue to yourself for so long,” he muses, “it almost makes me wish I hadn’t flustered you so badly to begin with.”

A touch of gloved fingers under his chin and oh god, not this again. “Well,” the snake purrs, his eyes gleaming, “almost.”

V’s able to look at him for all of three seconds before he has to look away, blushing panic mounting.

“Is it truly so easy, little mouse?” the snake laughs, “must I simply look at you in a certain way and you’ll fluster?”

“Enough,” he mutters, squeezing his eyes shut.

“You can open your eyes now, darling,” the snake says, still chuckling slightly, “you needn’t worry.”

“Eye contact is the actual worst and you will not convince me otherwise,” he mutters.

He gives him a gentle smile and taps the underside of his chin. “Then I suppose me asking you to keep them closed was a good thing, hmm?”

There…there’s something else bothering him. V opens his mouth to ask but…it’s kind of an invasive question. And he really doesn’t want to piss him off. Especially not now.

“It’s going to be an awfully tiring existence if you can’t work up the courage to ask anything, little mouse,” comes the gentle encouragement.

“Wh…why did the prince say you were the hardest to convince?”

“Did you happen to catch when the duke called Pat the ‘heart?’” When he nods, he smiles. “Clever boy. It’s an apt description. Each one of us has a…different function. I am the Gatekeeper.”

Gatekeeper.

“It is my job to ensure the barrier between our two races is held,” the snake continues, “to be cautious…about any sort of interaction. As you might have been able to guess, the others are…much more receptive to humans than perhaps they should be. The rules are in place for a reason, and I am the one who helped put them there. This is not the first time they have tried to keep a mortal. And the prince is right, I am the hardest to convince. I have never let them keep a mortal before, not like this, despite whatever claims the others may have made, despite how they try and use those claims to influence me.”

The snake pulls him closer still, the hand holding his stroking it gently. “But I found you first. And my claim is the strongest.”

Oh.

“…you wanted to keep me,” he breathes.

The snake softens for perhaps the first time since he laid his hand over his eyes.

“Why do you look so scared?”

Really? Are you absolutely fucking serious?

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he murmurs, still cupping his hand against his chest, “none of us are.”

“Yes, and I’m sure that one sentence is supposed to counteract the rest of the incredibly overwhelming things I’ve had to deal with today. How incredibly irrational of me to believe otherwise.”

“There’s that wonderfully sharp tongue again.” He tilts his head. “Perhaps that was the wrong word…you look unsure.”

V huffs. “Because there’s nothing about this to be unsure of.”

V knows tearing himself away from him probably comes off as rude. V knows turning his back is probably a bad idea. V knows burying his hands in his hair is going to hurt.

V does it anyway.

“V—“

“Why do you want to keep me,” he blurts out before the snake can finish. Ge whirls around to see the snake freeze, reaching for him. “Why?”

The snake frowns. “Does it matter?”

“Of course it fucking matters, I don’t know what you want and I can’t—if I don’t know what you want then I can’t do anything and nothing the fae ever does is for free and I don’t know what you want and I—I don’t know how this happened and I just wanted to run away—“

Oh god, oh god, he’s yelling, fuck fuck fuck he fucked up—

Why is he on the ground? When did that happen?

Right. Huddle. Small. Hedgehog. Scary things. Be as small as you can because scary things, why are scary things?

Fae. Right, he’s yelling at a fae.

Oh, fuck he’s yelling at a fae.

Small. Just be small. Hide. Just hide and be small.

It’s cold. It’s so cold.

Then it isn’t.

“Shh…shh…there, there, don’t be so afraid, I’m not here to be cruel to you, shh…shh…”

“W-wha—“

“Shh…breathe first,” the snake murmurs, his hand hovering over his shoulder, “I’m not going to touch you until you can breathe properly. Nice and slow, come now…”

The dark clouds keep rolling, thicker and thicker, building and building until they crash so loudly in his ears. V presses his fists to his ears, hearing voices doubling, tripling, yelling, screaming, they hate you they hate you you’re pathetic you’re cursed they hate you—

“I’m right here, I won’t let anything hurt you…”

Lighthing flashes and the voices howl. V whimpers, curling in on himself.

“You’re overwhelmed, little mouse, I know…just breathe and then we can figure everything out…”

Something…something’s covering him. There’s something covering him. He opens his mouth to ask wha—

“Shh-shh-shh, don’t try to speak just yet, you’re still shaking.”

The snake…the snake is covering him. The clouds lighten and he…he can breathe again.

It’s…it’s raining? Is that why his face feels wet?

“…oh, oh you’re crying, my darling…shh…is it too much?”

It hurts. He’s so cold. He’s so cold, the snake is so warm.

“As I’m sure L would tell you, crying is the mortal response to any situation that’s overwhelming. It’s just you trying to cope with everything, let it out, sweetie, it’s okay…”

V’s brain comes back online as the snake reaches out to tenderly wipe his cheeks, catching his tears as they fall. He’s looking at his hand, brow furrowed, leaving V to stare helplessly at his face. It’s so much easier without eye contact, so much easier.

The snake holds him firmly, crouched as they are on the ground. It…it feels…safe?

He catches V’s gaze and tilts his head. He…he can’t look away but he’s not…the snake’s not doing whatever it was he was doing before. He just looks…soft.

“What is it, darling?”

“What,” he croaks, “do you want?”

“You are small,” he says, “broken, hated…lost, abandoned, persecuted.”

He wipes away another tear.

“And you are kind. Hopelessly and relentlessly kind.” He lightly pats his chest. “When I looked to see what you wanted, when you stumbled into the garden, I saw pain. I saw heartbreak. And you…you didn’t want vengeance, no, you just wanted it to stop.”

He shifts his weight, still holding him firm.

“You are lost in darkness and you are so afraid, my darling…so afraid,” he whispers, “you want to be safe, don’t you?”

he nods.

“Is it so hard to believe that I want you safe? So hard to believe—” he catches another tear on his thumb— “that you are wanted?”

“What use is a broken mortal?”

“Why must a wanted thing have a use?”

“What fae makes a useless trade?”

“What mortal doesn’t accept a free gift?”

“What fae gives something for free?”

“What hurt caused this suspicion?”

V’s mouth clamps shut. The snake stares at him, unblinking, unyielding.

“If I weren’t fae,” he says finally, “would you still be this afraid?”

“…yes.”

The snake inhales sharply. his eyes widen when he sees a rising tide of terrible fury, there for just a second, just a second, before the snake breathes out and it disappears.

And that, that split-second of rage, is enough. Enough to reach deep into the anxious mess of his brain and start to say maybe, just maybe, he might actually be safe. If…if the wrath of the fae is between him and the rest of the world, then…then maybe he’s safe.

“Perhaps the Duke had the right idea,” the snake murmurs.

“Going feral?”

“Mm.” He cups V’s face in his hands, pushing his fury away and replacing it with that same soft patience from before. “What is it that is making you so afraid?”

“I…I don’t know you. I’ve never interacted with any of…your kind before, ever. You—when I first showed up, you—“ he swallows— “you seemed to really enjoy making me as uncomfortable as you could. Then there were so many of you and I was freaking out one moment and being calmed the next and now you’re doing something for me and I’ve given you nothing and you’re—“

Nope. Nope, nope, nope, not saying that out loud.

“I’m…what?”

V shakes his head, pressing his lips together firmly. Fuck, his face is burning again.

“Come on,” the snake coaxes, letting him break his grip and look away, “what were you going to say?”

“…pretty.”

The snake tilts his chin back up, not saying anything about his eyes being shut again. “A little louder?”

“Pretty.”

He braces for the teasing, the flirting, but it doesn’t come.

“Look at me, V.”

“Is that strictly necessary?”

The snake chuckles. “I must insist.” He smiles kindly when he looks at him. “There…I did say I wouldn’t fluster you too badly.”

“You said that before you and the prince did…that thing.”

“Ah, yes, I did, didn’t I?” The snake cups his chin carefully. “I admit, when you came in I wanted to play with you. Toy with you until you told me what you wanted and then…well, send you on your way. But then…then I cast upon you and I couldn’t.

“I made that claim, this claim, because the garden responded to you. Most mortals can’t stay in the garden for long without being sucked under completely or driven insane. You melded with the magic in the air and it bound itself to you. And when I looked, I saw it. It’s one of the reasons I pushed you into the prince, into the others. They felt it too, I’m sure of it.”

The snake lifts his hand, faint golden sparks floating around his glove.

“Unlike the others, as Gatekeeper, I am tied most directly to the garden. That’s why I’m the hardest to convince. The garden wants you, V. I want you.”

He leans closer. “Don’t you see?”

V sees. He brings his hand closer and he starts to glow. As Pat said, he’s got little bits of color shining off of him. Red, deep blue, and light blue glow from his head, fading into a rich green the lower he looks. And the whole thing is bathed in a rich, deep gold.

“And for the record?” The snake leans forward, kissing his cheek, burning soft. “You’re pretty too.”

Shit.

“Oh, come on,” the snake laughs, “I wasn’t even trying that time.”

“I’m just really bad at receiving compliments, okay?”

“You are adorable.”

“Hey!”

“You are, sweetie, it’s nothing to be embarrassed about, just accept it.” He chucks him lightly under the chin. “I imagine not many people have complimented you, have they?”

“No.”

“Well, I would prepare yourself. The others certainly will, as you may have guessed.”

Right, he’s staying here. With them. They’re…they’re going to look after him. They’re going to keep him.

He’s safe.

He looks up to see the snake looking fondly at him.

“If I compliment your smile, will that make you stop?”

“Probably.”

“Then I won’t.”

He swallows. This is a bad idea. This is such a bad idea. “…thank you.”

“Oh, I’ll compliment you on other things.”

“No…thank you.”

His grin widens. “You’re welcome, V.”

Well, I’ve broken the glass, I might as well push the button.

He licks his lips. “Virgil.”

The snake tilts his head, his brow furrowed. “What?”

Staring at him, determined to keep eye contact, he steels himself. “Virgil.”

The snake looks confused a moment longer before realization dawns and a smirk crawls over his face. But it’s not the shameless flirty one, nor is it dangerous and full of fury. It’s…it’s the smirk you’d make if you were a little unsure about what was happening.

“Careful, darling,” he murmurs, “don’t you know how dangerous it is to give your name to a fae?”

“You’re already keeping me,” he says, “aren’t you?”

The smirk turns into a warm smile. “Yes. Yes, we are, Virgil.”

Oh, oh yep. Yep, that was definitely a bad idea because him saying his name in that voice…

Judging by the change in his eyes, he’s realized it too.

“And here you are,” he purrs, adjusting his grip, “all wrapped up in my arms.”

He whines. “What happened to not flustering me too badly?”

“I can’t help it, Virgil, you’re simply too easy, my darling,” the snake chuckles, “but I’ll stop. Just for now. Wouldn’t do to have you getting too overwhelmed, now, would it?”

“After all,” he says, gentling his tone and pulling him into a proper cuddle, “we’ve got all of eternity, don’t we?”

He’s warm. He’s so warm. There are hands on his head, around his back, around his waist, he smells of spice and pine. There’s a mouth next to his ear.

“J.”

“Hmm?”

He tilts his head up to look at him. “J.”

Oh.

“…thank you, J.”

“You’re welcome, Virgil.”

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leechtwinsfling · 5 years ago

Text

Twisted Wonderland @ DISNEYLAND [ Chapter 1 ]

✨ Twisted Wonderland FanFiction ❤

[ Disneyland Date Series - HEARTSLABYUL ]

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

“Seriously, [N/A], how popular can you be?” Ace asks grasping hold of my right wrist.

“You can’t blame [N/A[, he/she has been through a lot with us.” Deuce states holding my left wrist.

The two first year Heartslabyul saved me from the fighting crowd that surrounded me moments ago. I guess my plan of hanging at the park calmly with Grimm has been thrown out of the window as all the dorms seem to have me in their schedule.

“Hey! I also went through a lot!” Grimm adds running beside us.

“Guys, I love the small talk, but can we please focus ahead of us? I don’t want us to bump into children, okay?” I ask in worry as I find their concentration not in front as many kids fill the faculty.

In a silent agreement, they watch carefully for the parents and their children around us as we slip through gaps between them. Our surrounds full of beautifully designed pavement roads, structures, shops, cart stands, and nature change it’s theme. Instead of being a neutral theme, a path leading towards the Queen’s Garden has roses and Medieval-like surrounding it. In astonishment of this change, my eyes gleam in amazement.

We rush through the path as I make a mental note to remember taking photos of this place once the situation has calm down. Nearing the end of the pathway, I spot a small tower ahead. A bridge-like pathway connects it as large figure card soldiers are on each side of it leading towards the tower.

Seeing as we’re heading over there, we finally arrive at the entrance of Heart Garden. Inside the tower, nearby, there is a shop selling Queen of Hearts merchandise which instantly has caught my eyes. But as of this moment, I need to catch my breathe as we finally stop running.

“Okay, Vice-Prefect Trey told us to wait here until they come.” Deuce states.

“How do you guys run so fast without losing breath?” Grimm panting for air.

They both shrug innocently.

“Track and Field Club?”

“Basketball Club?”

Grimm groans getting me to chuckle at his dramatic reaction.

“Seeing how fast and reactive the six of you were when we were escaping, I’m going to assume you all planned this beforehand?” I ask taking a seat at a nearby bench.

Deuce nods, “Prefect Riddle guessed that you’d probably be in trouble as it seemed like we weren’t the only dorm that wanted to hang out with you here. So he devised a plan during the time you were with the other dorms. Then once everyone gathered, we took action.”

“Our jobs were to get you out of there when Grimm was making a commotion. The seniors are as of this moment trying to escape, Upperclassman Cater is using his magic to confuse the other dorms so they can slip free.” Ace adds.

Suddenly, a familiar voice calls out to us getting our attention to look down the road to find our seniors. Arriving to our side, I seriously debate on trying to exercise as they all seem totally fine from running such a distance.

“We have 20 minutes to spare before the line for Queen’s Theater is open.” Riddle informs checking the time on his device.

Without any warning, Grimm perks up as he sniffs the air, “I smell tuna!”

“Are you serious? We ate before coming here, and you’re already hungry?” Ace asks in disbelief.

“There will be food at the Unbirthday Party and the Banquet Hall, so let’s save our stomach until them.” Trey suggests.

The group discusses what their next action shall be as my attention is far away from them. Instead, it’s on the nearby shop as my eyes can’t stop looking at the merchandise. Sneaking a peek at them, I decide to head over to the shop for a minute to possibly buy one of those popular headbands.

Arriving at the shop, my eyes gleam at the products as I know one minute won’t be enough to choose. Seeing how appealing they all look, I wreck my brain into thinking what to buy especially with my money budget (if there is one, usually you should have Sugar Daddy Crowley to pay for everything)

“[N/A]~ You’d look so cute in this!” Cater suddenly appears frightening me, “Here, try it!”

He places the headband onto my head before facing me across a nearby mirror. The headband has wire ears, beautiful white and red roses and a cute white bow and crown. Blushing at my appearance as I never assume that I’d wear something like this.

“I think it fits you more, Cater.” I smile before taking it off and placing it on his head.

Seeing how adorable he is, I giggle as he looks at the mirror.

“Let’s keeping trying some on~!” he persists as he picks up another headband.

“Cater! I found some phone cases!” Trey shouts across the shop getting the orange hair boy attention.

“Where?” Cater asks before rushing over to his friend.

Chuckling, I look around the shop before spotting Riddle. A plan comes into my mind as I look over the assortion of headbands in display before choosing one. Picking up one with two different color ears - black and red - it has a glimmering heart jewels on the golden crown.

Heading over to Riddle who’s looking through tea sets, I surprise him when I place the headband on his head.

“Aw~ You look adorable, Riddle!” I coo at the view in front of me,

Riddle blushes before huffing, “I’m not adorable [N/A].”

Tell that to the millions of fans you have.

Pouting, I see him nearly taking it off.

“Please keep it on?” I ask using my puppy dog eyes.

He flinches staring at me as I can see him slowly giving in.

Sighing, he drops his hand, “Fine.”

Cheering at his reluctant approval, my eyes find something else that interests me. Rushing towards it, I grab it before heading back to Riddle.

“Try this too!” I open the lock of the choker.

It’s design was simple yet elegant, it has red frills with a black leather collar. A rose dangles from the middle of it. (I changed the appearance a bit, but if someone finds a nice Queen of Hearts theme choker, message me please!!)

Leaning towards him, I wrap the choker around his neck before closing the lock. Not realizing how close the proximity of our faces are to each other, we both bloom a blush as I spring back away from him. Sucking in my lips, an awkward silence is in between us.

To break the awkwardness, I always know I can count on one of my three stooges (Ace, Deuce, and Grimm).

“[N/A]! Look at what I found!” Ace shouts getting me head to swivel towards him.

In his hands, he hold these humongous heart-shape sunglasses that gets me to laugh. Knowing he’s going to buy those without a doubt, the expedition through the shop continues.

Nearing the end, I have bought a few merchandises from the shop deciding to buy more later the day. Finding Trey nearby, I smile as he’s looking through the accessory section. Heading towards him, I halt for a second before picking up a flower crown that gets me to smile. It has a variety of white and red roses matching with the extra accessory of a hedgehog, tea cup, flamingo, and crowns. Sneaking up behind him, I place the flower crown on him before he looks back to me. Raising an eyebrow at my action, he takes it off before inspecting it.

He chuckles before placing it back on, “Well, does it look good on me?”

“Adorable.” I smirk getting him to laugh.

“Well, then, I’ll buy it.” he decides before looking back to the accessories in display and picking one out.

It’s a beautiful pendant as it has a four leaf clover with different styles on the leaves. One is entirely silver, another has green and white jewels as the last two leaves are sparkling in green emerald. They all connect towards the center where a green jewel shines. A silver steam is behind it before it connects with the necklace chain.

My eyes sparkle in the necklace’s glory as I’ve never seen something so beautiful.

“Turn around.” he orders.

“Why?” I ask.

“Just do.” he smiles getting me to blink in confusion before doing so.

I hear a click before finding his arms around my face. Feeling his breathe near my ear, I feel myself stiffen with a slight blush. The necklace is in his hands as he wraps it around my neck before closing it. Turning me over to face him, he looks up to my face before down onto the necklace and smiles.

“Beautiful.”

He then makes me turn around again before taking the necklace off me. In complete confusion, I look back to him as he closes the necklace again.

“Uh, are you buying that for someone?” I ask wondering if he has a lover that he never mentioned.

He chuckles at my expression before patting my head, “Yes. It’s you, silly.”

A frown appears on my face as he begins heading over to the cashier counter. Following him, I try to snatch the necklace away.

“You don’t have to buy me anything.” I argue trying to reach him despite being shorter than him.

“I’m your upperclassman.” he dodges my other attempt.

“But it doesn’t mean you have to buy me something!”

Seeing how my tries are futile, I jump onto his back before trying to reach the necklace in his hand that he’s holding up high in the air. People give us looks as we pass through the store. Failing in my attempts to be able to grab the pendant as we have arrive to the cashier, I realize the flower crown on his head. Just when I was going to grab it, he beats me to it.

“Hey! If you’re going to buy the necklace, let me pay for the flower crown!” I huff seeing him handing it over to the cashier.

“Now, now, it’s normal for the father to pay for their children.” he supports me as I slowly reach back onto the ground.

“Really? Now you use the family card?” I ask in disbelief knowing the smile on my face is betraying my seriousness.

“Yup.” he winks at me before grabbing the paid products and handing me the necklace, “Just enjoy us spoiling you.”

I roll my eyes, “I’m not a kid.”

“You’re one of the youngest.” he argues as we head off away from the cashier counter.

“Yeah, but I’m mentally older than the other two.” I proudly smile.

He laughs patting my head, “Okay, then.”

“You know I’m going to repay you, no matter what.” I challenge.

“I’m looking forward to it.”

Finishing out conversation, we find the others waiting at the outside of the shop. Smiling, I rush over to them before seeing them all holding bags of merchandises they bought a minute ago. I frown feeling something is very off within the group. It was...too quiet. Looking around, I can’t find a specific magical cat.

“Where’s Grimm?” I ask in worry for my only dorm mate.

“Ah, he suddenly went off to find his tuna.” Ace sighs.

“He said he’ll meet us at the Unbirthday Party after getting his tuna.” Deuce mentions.

Seriously, that cat.

“[N/A]! Here!” he hands me the heart sunglasses he found in the shop, “I won another pair from the manager!”

“Won? How’d you win it and when did you meet the shop manager?” I raising an eyebrow.

He shrugs, “We had a bet, and I won.”

“What was the bet?”

“If he can win against in a card game.” he smirks with a hint of evilness.

“Ace.” I give him a disapproving look knowing how he can easily win card games from his expertise of cards.

He gives me a pathetic shrug with his tongue slightly sticking out.

“I also got you something [N/A]!” Deuce interjects.

“What’s with you guys getting me so many things?” I ask being slightly cautious and confused as I remember all the times I had to buy them lunch.

He takes out a folded shirt before handing it over to me with a huge adorable smile, “I also got one, but in red.”

Holding the sunglasses and shirt in hand, I smile at them, “Thanks, guys.”

“You’re welcome.” they both sync.

That’s when I realize our group of six has turn to four getting me to wonder where the other two seniors are.

“Where’s Upperclassman Cater and Prefect Riddle?” I ask.

“They went to change clothes that they bought, and I suggest we also do since I assume we all also bought some.” Trey states getting all of us to agree before heading over to the bathroom/changing room.

Inside the stall, I unfold the shirt given to me by Deuce before giving it a scan and smiling. It was a sleeveless black top with a string design at the end of each arm holes. On the shirt, it was a monotone color of the Queen of Hearts with her famous quotes.

Taking off my outfit I have on, I change into this shirt before matching it along with Queen of Hearts pants/skirt (or whatever outfit you want). Placing the necklace around the neck, I loosely let my finger touch it as a smile and blush is on my face. Taking out the Queen of Hearts back I bought, I place all my other merchandise inside.

When I finish fixing my appearance with the heart sunglasses on my face, I head out of the bathroom/changing room. Finding a familiar orange hair upperclassman waiting nearby on his phone, I head over to him. He wears a simple dark cardigan with a four of diamond card shirt underneath. His pants are like leggings as there are golden orange designs on the sides of them. On his head there is a headband similar to the one Riddle wears. Instead of round ears, they are heart shape with one red and one black. A huge bow in right smack in the middle with black and white chess board design, golden accent and a red heart jewel.

On his wrist is a black and red bow as it’s center piece with ribbons behind it with other designs.

Noticing my presence, he smiles before gesturing me over, “[N/A]! Come over and take a picture with me!”

Abiding his wish, I stand beside him before looking up towards the camera and giving out a smile.

“Oh! I found these and the shop and thought they’d look amazing on us!” Cater rummages inside his pocket.

On us?

Taking out a golden 3D diamond shape earring, he smiles, “Here, try it on!”

Doing so, I replace my right earring with the one given.

“Now we match~!” he cheers.

Confused with what he means, I look over to his left ear to find the same earring. The other pair of the earring. He then pulls me into a hug before taking another picture of us showing off the earrings.

“Gonna post this~!” he taps his phone, “#Disneyland #matching earrings #heart garden”

Allowing to continue typing, I twirl the earring between my fingers feeling the light material. Soon later, the rest of the group appears as we regather.

Riddle wears a shirt similar to the original Queen of Hearts outfit, in the chest area with the heart design it has one of her famous quotes ‘Off With Their Head’. Black-grey pants match with the shirt as he continues to wear the headband and choker.

Trey has a black t-shirt on with Queen of Hearts designs all over it - heart, roses, crown, axes - and dark sweat-like pants. The flower crown continues to sit on his head as he tries to adjust it to his comfort.

Deuce wears the red version of the sleeveless shirt I am wearing with slightly torn up denim jeans. Under his sleeveless shirt is a tight turtleneck bicep length shirt showing his quite built body. On his head are two large round ears made out of black frills and three red roses on each ear. In the middle is a red, black and yellow bow with a white ribbon and crown holding it.

Ace is wearing his a white hoodie with black Queen of Hearts designs and a red jacket on top. To match the top wear, he has denim-like sweatpants withe white bold ‘ACE’ words on the sides of it. The heart sunglasses is on his face as he has black dog-like ears for his headband as there is also a tea cup on his left ear that looks like it’s spilling. In one of his hand, he holds a wand similar to the Queen of Hearts sector. On the other... a huge crown full of popcorn.

“Acem why do you have popcorn?” Riddle asks frowning at the sight of the buttery popcorn.

“Over there!” Ace points towards a nearby food cart.

“How are you going to eat all that before the Unbirthday Party?” I ask in concern looking the amount.

“There’s always room for popcorn! Especially with a movie!” Ace proudly exclaims.

“Just don’t complain to us when you don’t have room during the Unbirthday Party, idiot.” Deuce huffs getting the usual duo to once again begin bickering.

Riddle sighs, “Let’s just head towards the theater so we can get good seats.”

Agreeing, we all begin heading towards the Queen’s Castle with small talk as we admire the surroundings. Seeing Riddle guiding us as he holds the map, I smile before rushing to walk beside him.

“So what’s the whole schedule?” I ask curiously.

“Well, first we’re going to watch Queen of Heart’s History which will take half an hour. Then we’ll head over to the Meet & Greet and get signatures. After that, there’s an Unbirthday Party Event. We’ll have an hour of free time to ride attractions such as the Mad Tea Party and Queen of Heart’s Castle Tour. For lunch, we’ll be going to Queen of Heart’s Banquet Hall. When finished, we’ll have time to go on other attractions before the Queen of Heart’s Parade later the evening. Then there will also be a closing ceremony at night” Riddle informs.

He seriously thought this through.

“Sounds exciting!” I smile as my heart pumps in excitement.

He smiles back before looking up to the top of my head and staring.

“Is something wrong?” I ask tilting my head.

“Your head is empty.” he states before suddenly taking out an identical headband like his, “Here.”

“You got two of them?” I question wondering why he did.

“Well it seemed like you liked it, so I got one for you too.” he says turning his head slightly away hoping to hide his slight blush.

Smiling, I grab it before putting on top of my head, “Thank you, Riddle!”

He smiles, “You’re welcome.”

[ to be continued ]

#twisted wonderland #twistedwonderland #heartslabyul #riddle rosehearts #trey clover #cater diamond #deuce spade #ace trappola #twisted wonderland grimm #disneyland #disney #aniplex #twisted wonderland at disneyland #twisted wonderland fanfiction #twff dds #queen of hearts

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less-than-wholesome-shipper · 6 years ago

Text

Dog DayZ - Part 2

Part 1

AO3

newTumbl

WARNINGS: Bestiality, talk of pet play, sloppy seconds

Taglist: @starkersenses @starkeristheendgame

~~~~~

Almost two whole weeks pass before Peter calls him.

Tony had almost been ready to write it off as some kind of kinky fever dream after going too long without sleep, if it wasn’t for the fact that Ace had morphed from his regular self back into the terror he was before that day.

“Sorry it took me so long to get back with you, Mr. Stark. Things have been a bit busy lately.”

“That’s understandable… I’m sure your services are in high demand. Shit! I meant your job - your real job. Dammit! Not that I think you go around doing… uh… that other stuff.. For fun. I mean, I hope you like doing it - wait! I didn’t mean that to come out the way it sounded! I jus-”

The softest puffs of laughter could be heard through the phone and Tony just sunk down in his chair and berated himself for sounding so stupid.

“I’m just gonna shut up now before I choke on my foot. How’s that sound?”

“Noo! You’re fine, Mr. Stark. I get that this isn’t a normal situation for you, so nerves are to be expected.”

Tony chewed on his bottom lip to keep from asking if this was normal for him. Because he wasn’t sure which answer he was hoping for. Besides that really wasn’t any of his business, right?

“Right! Well… Terms. We were going to discuss terms of… care for Ace… here.”

“Yes. While we still don’t have a formal program implemented at this time, we figured we’ll use this arrangement to… work out the kinks, as they say. But only if you agree, of course.”

There was definitely a little more than the average customer service smile in the way the kid said that. There was a bit of promise in the fine print that had Tony’s dick taking notice.

“Su-re.” Tony cringed at how high that came out. So he cleared his throat to try again. “Sure. Of course. A trial run is the best way to make sure something works. It’s just good business.”

“Exactly. I’m glad you understand and are willing to help.”

“Happy to hel-”

“Which day would work best for me to move in?”

“I’m sorry?” Tony’s brain short-circuited as he tried to reprocess the words he’d just heard.

“Move in date, Mr. Stark. What day works best for you?”

“Move in… You- you’ll be moving in?”

“Of course, Mr. Stark. In Home Care happens in the home and it would be far too inconvenient for Ace if I lived elsewhere. That would leave him reliant on you or a set schedule for his release. We’re hoping this program can provide a natural full-access experience for our clients.”

‘Full-access’ burned hot and loud in Tony’s mind and dick. It took him a minute to remember how to speak.

“R-right. Yeah. Natural. Ok. uh… how about today? Is that too soon? I can-”

“Today works for me. I just need to make a couple stops, and I can be there by 5?”

Tony glanced at his watch to see that it was just before 3 then took stock of his desk still covered by paperwork that needed his attention. “Sounds good to me.”

“See you then, Mr. Stark!”

As soon as he hung up the phone, Tony paged his secretary while stuffing proposals and contracts inelegantly into his briefcase.

“Angela, I’ll be working from home for the rest of the week. Push back all of my appointments and have my calls forwarded to JARVIS. Thanks! OH! And if you could, be a dear and call the cleaning service and reschedule tomorrow’s service for Monday. I can handle cleaning up after myself this week.” Tony racked his brain for anything else he might need. It was only Tuesday, but hopefully, a week should give them enough time to work out some sort of plan to properly fit this new development into his life.

He was definitely struggling given that most of his brain was focusing on his dick, but after a good five minutes of coming up short, Tony just said fuck it and left. If it was really that important, he would have thought of it by now.

When Tony steps off the elevator, Ace is there to greet him as usual. It doesn’t take him long to pick up on Tony’s frenzied state and responds in kind with extra enthusiasm - adding in bass-y barks to his excited jumping.

Tony fends him off long enough to drop his briefcase off in his home-office and make it to the bedroom, stripping off his suit along the way.

“Yes, yes. I get that you’re excited because I’m excited, boy. But just wait until you see why I’m excited.”

Ace runs ahead and jumps up on the bed, eyeing Tony as he follows.

Tony smirks as Ace flops over and rolls around in the covers while he continues stripping. “I think you’ve got the right idea there, bud, just not the right bed.”

As if Ace understood that, he rights himself quickly and launches off the bed. Only he misjudges the trajectory of his dismount and barrels into Tony’s legs just as the man is trying to step out of his underwear. The result is the two of them sprawled out on the carpet with Tony laughing.

Right up until Ace licks his dick.

It catches Tony so off guard that he nearly chokes on his own tongue as his body locks up.

“Hey! Woah!” Tony scrambles to his feet, covering his junk with one hand while the other struggles to push Ace’s insistent muzzle away, but it’s a difficult task when his hand isn’t covering much with how hard he is and Ace has a long tongue.

“Ace! C’mon, quit it! We’re taking a bath so you can be nice and clean for your therapist friend. Remember him? The pretty thing that jerked you off? Don’t you want to wait for him?” Maybe it was cheating a bit to pull out the baby-talk tone, but it got Ace’s attention like it always does and distracted him long enough for Tony to march towards the bathroom, all the while telling himself he was already this hard before Ace licked him.

“Alright big guy. Bathtime.”

-----

By the time JARVIS announced Peter’s arrival, both Tony and Ace were squeaky clean, dry, and dressed down to give off a more casual atmosphere as they lounged around near the elevator- Tony donning sweats and an A-frame and Ace in full buff as his collar was left on the bathroom counter.

It wasn’t long before the elevator dinged and the doors opened to reveal two men from Maintenance carrying a large box and Peter carrying two large shopping bags.

Ace immediately lost his cool composure and darted for Peter, greeting him like they were best friends… Not that Tony could really blame him.

“Where’dya want this, Boss?”

“Uh…” Tony’s attention is pulled away from his dog and the kid and he eyes the box for a moment before looking back at Peter.

The kid doesn’t even look up from petting Ace. “Where does Ace usually sleep?”

“In my room mostly…”

“Then that would be the best place for all of that.”

Tony just shrugs and points them in the direction of the master bedroom. Once they drop it off, they head back to the elevator.

“Thanks again for the help, guys!” Peter goes to reach for his wallet and they wave him off.

“It’s no problem kid. We’re happy to help.”

After they leave, Tony eyes the bags and then looks back towards his bedroom a bit confused.

“Where’s the rest of your stuff?”

Peter finally looks at him with an open grin that Tony can’t read for shit.

“This is all of it. I didn’t think I’d really need much, but if that changes, we can always have it sent up.”

Tony just nods because that totally makes sense.

“Right, ok. So uh, I’ve got three spare rooms for you to choose from. Personally, I’d go wi-”

“Actually, I think it’d be best if I sleep where Ace sleeps.”

Tony’s dick also thought that was the best idea.

“My room? I mean yeah, I probably don’t sleep there 9 times out of 10, and even if I did, it is a king size so-”

“Oh, no worries there Mr. Stark. I’m not going to take your bed. I brought my own.”

Peter makes his way to the bedroom with Ace excitedly in tow, leaving Tony no real choice but to bring up the rear.

Tony watches from the door frame as Peter proceeds to pull out a massive lounge pillow and a large collapsed wire crate and set it up in the corner of the room, putting the thick pillow inside the crate.

“Ta-Da!” He turns and presents the setup like Vanna White and Tony takes way too long to put two and two together.

“You plan to sleep in that?!”

“Of course! By placing myself in a less-than-ideal sleeping area, it makes it easier to understand my role in the pack and how I’m to be treated.”

Tony couldn’t help but feel skeptical at this as he watched Ace give the kennel (a fucking dog kennel!) a cursory sniff before getting back to stuffing his muzzle between the kid’s legs. “Pretty sure he’s got a good idea of what you’re here for, kid.”

“Maybe.” Peter gave another one of those soft, huffing laughs as he widened his stance a bit and gave Ace a light scratch behind the ears as the dog took advantage of the better access. “But it’s not just Ace that needs to get it.”

The way that the kid was looking at him now made Tony’s dick throb and his mind spiral.

“What does that mean, kid? You want me to treat you like a dog?”

“Yes.” The intensity in that gaze told Tony that Peter was serious.

Tony wasn’t really sure how to respond, but somehow “I don’t fuck dogs” found it’s way out his mouth before he could stop it.

Not that it wasn’t true, mind you.

The fire in Peter’s eyes dimmed a little, but he nodded just the same. “That’s your prerogative as our alpha. What matters most is that I fulfill my role for Ace.”

It felt like a bitter pill to swallow, but Tony accepted it just the same.

“So when you say ‘treat you like a dog’, to what extent are we talking here?” Tony crossed his arms and leaned against the door frame - not because he was feeling vulnerable or anything, he was just getting comfortable.

“Preferably, I’d like to be treated with all of the same privileges and restrictions as Ace. Eat, exercise, and bathroom breaks at the same time. I brought my own gear and bowls, but I know some owners prefer to pick those out themselves.”

“What about food? I can’t exactly feed you the same stuff Ace eats.”

“You could if you wanted to. As long as it’s a brand that adheres to specific federal guidelines, it’s legally considered fit for human consumption.” Peter just shrugs, but Tony’s already shaking his head.

“No. I’m gonna have to draw a line there. That sounds too much like lawyer speak. I’ll have the cooks put together something nutritionally balanced but not too exciting so you’re not fighting Ace for your dinner every night.”

Peter nods and tries to hide the small smile he’s sporting, but Tony still sees it and makes him feel a bit better about the whole situation.

Ace catches Tony’s attention as he nips at Peter’s hands and shirt with a soft whine.

“He’s getting impatient.” Peter tries to calm him by petting him, but Ace ducks his hand and nips again.

“Yeah, well, Ace isn’t famous for his patience, but he’ll have to get over it. These kinds of negotiations are important to get in detail. Although, honestly, I’m fine with you having the run of the place as you like. Ace has it just the same. You know, within reason. Don’t shit on the carpet or anything like that. I’m really more concerned about emergency info and the like. I assume there’s some sort of record at your job that says you’re here?”

With Peter’s nod, Tony nods in kind and pushes up off the doorway.

“Ok then. Go ahead and write up a list of allergies, emergency contact info and all of that… and specific dog stuff you want/need for all of this. We can go over it tomorrow. Gives me time to wrap my head around all of this a bit more. And we can spend the rest of today getting to know each other better.”

“Sounds like a plan to me, Mr. Stark!” Peter’s face is back to that wide beaming grin as he pulls his shirt up over his head and starts unbuttoning his jeans. “Would you mind grabbing a towel again?... You know. We should probably look into getting a set specifically for this. It’d be easier to keep them on hand.”

Tony's body is moving before he even thinks about it, crossing the room towards the bathroom for a fresh towel. He steps back into the bedroom just in time to watch Peter lean over the kennel and pull a decent sized knotted dildo out of his ass.

He must be making a specific kind of face because Peter gives him a sheepish shrug as he sets the used toy on the kennel and reaches for the towel. “I figured Ace wouldn’t want to wait, so I prepped myself earlier. I may need your help with this, Mr. Stark. Sometimes they have trouble getting it in.”

Tony is seriously questioning his own intelligence at this point, given the length of time it keeps taking for him to process any information Peter relays to him. Especially now, watching dumbly as Peter lays out the towel and kneels over it - falling forward onto all fours and arching his back to present his ass.

Ace is there an instant later with a quick snuffle and an even quicker tongue.

From his viewpoint, Tony can barely see Ace’s tongue as it moves against (and sometimes inside) the kid’s hole, but he can hear it just fine - the wet lapping loud in the almost quiet room. There’s the soft little moans Peter’s making and the booming of his own heartbeat to contend with, of course.

Tony’s about to ask how he can help, when Peter shifts his hips - just a bit- but it must serve as some kind of natural signal because Ace pulls back and paws at the kid’s ass while humping air. Peter shifts again and Ace makes a full attempt at mounting him, but it’s off center and Ace just ends up rutting against the back of the kid’s thigh.

“I think you’re going to have to help line him up, Mr. Stark. If you can get him there, usually he should be able to handle the rest.”

Tony’s mouth is dry and his dick is using up all of his brain power so he doesn’t say anything, he just moves forwards and tries to guide Ace’s hips in the right direction. He gets a light growl for his efforts.

“He thinks your trying to dislodge him so you can mount me instead,” Tony decides to save that mental image for later as Peter drops his front to the floor and uses one hand to reach under him. However, at his current vantage point, Tony can’t see what he’s doing. “Don’t worry, just push him a little more… and I can- AH! AHhAhhAH!”

Tony jumps back as Ace’s hips start going at that frantic pace again and Peter keeps up the… screaming? Moaning? He can’t quite tell which it is and he’s not sure if he should try to stop what’s happening. Underneath the kid’s cries, Tony can hear the sloppy sounds of a slick fuck and he’s fascinated, scared and turned on - frozen in his indecision.

Thankfully, (or not) just as before, Ace stops thrusting not too long after he started and Peter quiets to a gentle groan as he rests his head on his forearms.

“Y-You doin’ ok kid?” Tony realizes that maybe he should have tried asking a little earlier.

“Mmh, yeah… it’s just… he’s a bit.. Mmmm… longer than I had… hah… anticipated.” The kid sounds out of breath like he just fucked a marathon rather than the bare minute.

“Did he hurt you?” Tony spares a glance to Ace perched on top of him - he looks tired too.

“nnNo.. I’m fine… ‘is knot’s huge though…”

Tony can’t help but palm himself a bit at that. “Yeah?” it comes out breathy and soft and Tony would probably cringe if he were in his right mind.

“Mmmhmm… it’s almost too much… but not quite… God… I can feel it… each spurt… it’s so hot…” The words sound like their almost being punched out of him and by the end of it, Tony has a hand in his sweats, stroking himself in earnest.

He takes in the complete picture they make together, this gorgeous boy stuck on his dogs knot - nowhere to go until Ace is finished dumping his load - and pumps his cock faster, the idea so foreign and hot that his balls are already starting to draw up and -

“Wait. trust me… wait… when we untie…. It’s so much better… I promise… don’t finish yet…”

Tony looks and sees Peter watching him and he immediately stops moving - feeling caught in the act of something he shouldn’t be doing. “Sorry… I shouldn’t’ve...”

“Mmn.. it’s ok… I want you to like it…” Peter groans as he shifts a bit to get a hand under himself, palming at his own hard cock.

Tony can’t help but look now that it has his attention. It’s on the long side, but it’s pretty thin. Obviously cut and the tip softly flushed. It was cute. Just like the rest of him.

Suddenly Peter whines high and sharp as Ace shifts above him. “Noo nonono.. Stay… staystay… c’mon Ace… Stay, boy”

Tony reaches out to try and steady Ace, but that doesn’t really seem to help as the dog continues to try and turn himself.

“Grab his leg! Help him turn ov- AH!”

Tony quickly jumps to help get Ace’s leg over so they’re standing ass to ass and Peter’s back to panting about as fast as Ace.

“You still holding up ok?”

“Yeah… I’m good...it’s pulling now… it’s still a bit too big… but soon… stay close Mr. Stark… you’re gonna love it…”

Tony’s already loving the view. He can see a bare bit of Ace’s cock where it disappears into Peter, but what’s even better is he can see where the knot’s pulling. The kid’s hole is fluttering, but also bulged out a bit. Tony also notices how Ace’s balls keep twitching alongside his cock. He can’t still be…

“Is he still coming?”

“Mmhmm…” It’s more of a whine than anything and Tony really wants to come just hearing it.

“Fuck... you must be so full now…” Tony can’t keep his hand off his dick any longer - stroking himself to the idea of that pretty hole overflo-

“I am… do you want to see?”

“Fuck yeah!”

“Keep watching… ooOOOHHH!! FUCK!!”

Tony watched as Peter’s hole puckered open and stretched… and stretched… and stretched even more, revealing a part of the large knot inside of him, then Ace got the message and stepped forward, pulling himself free in one quick jerk.

The kid’s hole fluttered, trying to close, but it was no use - it was gaping and probably would for a while.

The sound of rustling drew Tony’s attention to Peter digging through one of the shopping bags and then shoving a dog bowl into Tony’s hands.

“Here. Hold this under me.”

Tony wasn’t so slow on the uptake this time, holding the bowl under Peter’s ass as he sat up. He watched as a rush of dog cum filled the bowl, with more slowly dribbling out after. When Peter reached back to work his hole with his own fingers, coaxing even more cum from deep within him, Tony sat back and with full intentions of finishing himself off, but Peter stopped him.

“Finish in me. I’m not a dog yet, right? You can fuck me.” Slick fingers teased along his dick and that was more than enough to break Tony’s non-existent resolve.

In an instant, he had Peter bent back over, and was lining himself up. When he slid in, there was no true resistance and it was as wet as a cunt, maybe even moreso, and it felt amazing.

With a bit of encouragement from Peter, pretty soon, Tony was driving into the kid at a pace similar to Ace’s, but he at least managed a reach-around and lasted longer than the dog did.

When he finally came, he pushed each spurt as deep as he could go, and after he caught his breath, he helped Peter add it to the bowl and then watched the kid lap it all up.

#starker #tony stark x peter parker #ironspider #beast #nff #Dog DayZ #Peter x dog

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ramblingrybo · 5 years ago

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Hyacinths? You’ll need some hair lacquer

I have an intimate knowledge of hyacinths. The same can be said of strawberries, potatoes and cocktail onions. It was what we picked or sorted in the fields and factories of Boston when I was young. In those days, most casual work was connected to agriculture and there was plenty of it. It might have been mind-numbing but it guaranteed a ready source of income with which to buy comics, records, guitar strings or cigarettes, depending on your age.

I started working on the land when I was ten. A double decker bus would pick us up after school from the scout huts near Skirbeck church and take us to the fruit fields of Frampton, four miles away. The bus would be crammed with hyper-active school children, harassed young mothers and short-tempered grannies with ill-functioning hearing aids. Nobody talked; everybody shouted. This was punctuated by the odd slap and scream. It was pure bedlam.

When we were finally released from this uproar upon our arrival, all you could see were endless rows of bobbing rumps. All you could hear was the distant growl of a tractor and the trilling of skylarks in the vast skies above us. Within minutes, we were picking our own row, filling a bucket in exchange for a few pence and then repeating the process, more slowly each time. At first, you would start to pick with fast pecking hands. Very soon, however, any sense of urgency would disappear, quickly replaced by a mechanical lethargy until finally a state of paralysis set in. This was reflected in the shape of the body, from bent to crawling to completely inert. Some people, however, took this one step further. One summer, we found Gonk’s younger brother, Rabbit, curled-up asleep in one of the furrows. However, for the rest of us, three hours of routine picking left us with an aching back, knees covered in mashed strawberries and glazed eyes.

All soft fruit work was piece-work but at least with raspberries and gooseberries you didn’t have to stoop so far. That was the good news. The bad news was that you had to pick with prickles or thorns for company. Raspberries were bearable although the fruit was so delicate, it was like picking soft meringues - easily squash-able. Gooseberries, on the other hand, were savage. Trying to pick gooseberries quickly while only wearing a pair of Marigolds, was like feeding your hands into a factory loom. It was only the regulars who made any money. They could strip a bush within seconds and fill a wicker basket within minutes. I was so impressed the first time I witnessed it.

‘Wow, that’s amazing. I just tried to do that and left a lot of skin behind.’

‘You know why they’re so good, don’t you?

‘No.’

‘It’s the gloves they’ve got. They have metal palms. You could strip the barnacles from the bottom of a boat with a pair of those.’

Soft fruit piece-work was for the beginners. If you wanted to guarantee full time work for the holidays and enjoy a weekly pay packet, you needed to join a gang. I was lucky. As a fourteen year old, I found Maggie. She was an experienced ganger who didn’t suffer fools gladly. A strict disciplinarian, Maggie hated lateness, sloppy work and anybody answering her back. She had an acid tongue, skin as leathery as an old saddle-bag and a forearm smash that could stun a mule. If you toed the line, working for Maggie was a cinch. If you didn’t, you could be harangued, physically assaulted, summarily dismissed or, worst of all, find yourself walking all the way home from Spalding, a tedious and exhausting trek of fourteen miles. Work could be anywhere in the south of Lincolnshire. We would get picked up at 7a.m. in Boston and be working in the fields of Bicker, Pinchbeck, Dogdyke, Cowbit or Moulton Chapel by 8. The van which picked us up was held together with bits of bailer twine and wire - a description which could also be applied to some of the regular workers whose company we kept every holiday. Moose was one of them. He was a huge, kindly man with the strength of a cart horse but the brain of a child. Poor thing believed anything we told him. His trousers were always at half-mast, he sported a basin haircut and lived in a shed behind his mum’s council bungalow.

Most of the work was picking potatoes which is back-breaking and relentless. We prayed for the tractor with its plough to break down. When it didn’t, we had to pick two-handed to keep up although heel and toeing could lighten the load considerably. This entailed stamping on the potatoes to bury them with the heel of your boot and then scraping back with the toe to cover the evidence with soil. Well-practised proponents of this skill could tap-dance a whole row of potatoes out of existence. Many of the best workers were women who could work for hours without a break. As most of them smoked and kept their cigarettes in their mouths while picking, many of them sported nicotine stains on their upper lips. As a result, lunch times in the van could be a bit of a trial for the rest of us. Watching a nicotine stained woman eating a fried egg sandwich was not an appetising sight. Many a slice of pork pie was returned to a lunch box, uneaten.

Sometimes we were released from the retches and furrows to work on tractor-drawn potato harvesters, machines which harvested the crop and allowed sorting to be carried out on a mobile conveyor belt. A line of us would pick out the rotten or damaged potatoes. Once again, it was relentless work but at least we were standing up. The only problem came in really hot weather when the fields were dry. The harvester would create dust storms which meant that we had to wear hats, goggles and scarves to protect heads and faces. Looking like flying aces from the First World War, we baked, lost all sense of hearing and dreamt of ice-cold drinks.

Promotion came at the age of sixteen when we moved from the fields to the factory. Thinking we had finally made it, we got jobs at Johnson’s Seeds, working in the bulb packaging department. Little did we know, however, of the suffering which lay ahead. At first, our daily routine was a doddle. No rain, decent breaks, a canteen, good pay. And the work? Undemanding, if a little dull. My job was to load crocus bulbs into a mechanical hopper which vibrated back and forth and graded them. It wasn’t difficult - a bit of lugging, pushing a couple of buttons and some prodding. And repeat. But then we switched to hyacinth bulbs and for the next few weeks our lives became a living hell.

We should have heeded Beryl’s warning on the Friday afternoon.

‘Hyacinths on Monday. You’ll be needin’ some hair lacquer, lovey.’

I waited until she had gone before turning to Gary.

‘Hair lacquer? What’s she on about?’

‘Search me. It’s probably the medication.’

‘You reckon she’s off her trolley?’

‘Must be.’

A further clue was provided first thing on the Monday morning when we arrived at the hoppers. Eric, the manager, was positively buoyant. Chortling to himself, he winked at Stuart, the foreman, and both of them began to rub their hands together like two football supporters eagerly anticipating a cup final.

‘Come on, then, what are yer waitin’ fer? Git them machines runnin’ and them hyacinths tumblin’.’

And we did. And five minutes later, we were scratching crazily at our necks, throats and scalps and emitting high-pitched wails like the noise cars make when they are being crushed slowly in a scrapyard with a giant iron claw. Very quickly, any exposed skin was red raw and nasty welts had been scored by fingernails into our flesh. We jigged and flailed like members of a religious cult while Eric and Stuart rocked with laughter from the safety of their office.

And what was to blame for this sudden change of behaviour? Sounds implausible I know but it was the waxy skin on the hyacinth bulbs. You see, it breaks down into small flecks when it is tossed about in a hopper. These flecks become airborne and alight on the open pores of necks and throats and cause extreme irritation. The only way of preventing this is to apply a thick coating of hair lacquer to the skin to block the pores. Rather than being off her trolley, Beryl had been trying to protect us. What we took to be the mutterings of a mad woman were, in fact, the kind words of a co-worker.

We didn’t make the same mistake twice. On our way home, we called in at the chemist’s.

‘Five tins of hair lacquer, please.’

‘Blimey, young man, it’ll set like cement if yer use that much.’

If it was possible to protect against the effects of hyacinth bulbs, the same could not be said of cocktail onions. These were what we ended up sorting and grading in the factory job which took us through our college years. It wasn’t that they made your eyes stream. We soon got used to that. No, it was what lingered afterwards which was the cause of much embarrassment. You see, the smell of cocktail onions stays for days, not only on your clothes but on your skin as well. Baths, deodorant, after shave, all were useless in the struggle to remain fresh and wholesome. A weekend trip to the cinema with your girlfriend could be a fraught affair. In the warmth of the auditorium, the smell of onions returned with a vengeance, seeping out of bodily pores and crevices.

‘What on earth is that smell? It’s not you, is it?’

‘No, of course, not.’

‘Have you had a bath today?’

‘Yes, I had a long soak.’

‘Can you lean away a bit?’

‘That OK?’

‘Actually, can you sit over there?’

Even when we had left the job for good, we were haunted by the odour. Working in a cocktail onion factory might have been good money but it didn’t half play havoc with your love life.

So, there we have it. The trials and tribulations of working in the fields and factories of Boston as a pupil and student in the late 60s and early 70s. And its legacy? A life-long admiration for anybody working on the land and an appreciation of the choices which were made available to me in my own life.

Next time: ‘On the Verge of Orchids (or Where did I put that Herb Paris?)’

#fruit picking #land-gangs #potato picking #agricultural factories #hair lacquer

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cruising-on-pirate-dreams · 6 years ago

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Righting A Wrong

Okay, headcanon time. But first, we need to put Oda in the “timeout box for being un-progressive” while I write this.

We’re not going to focus on Oda being a dick. We’re just gonna focus on sweet Sanji.

This headcanon is about his transphobia. This headcanon is here to fix some terrible writing that’s out of character for Sanji (I feel). Why? Because when you look at Sanji throughout the series, he is disgusted by all the prejudice. He pretty much certified as the kindest character in One Piece. He’s avidly against racial, cultural, and class prejudice. Logically, it’s only fitting that he’d be against gender prejudices.

This is my personal headcanon to overwrite the bad writing and stick to what I feel is Sanji’s true character.

----

Headcanon:

New Kama island was hell for Sanji but not in the way people might think.

Explanation:

Sanji's a victim of several forms of abuse (which the New Kama girls didn't know).

He had a childhood full of being dogged until he was caught and forced into submissive positions most of his childhood (which the girls also didn't know).

The girls were trying to help him by getting him into a mindset that was ultimately freeing for him but they went about it the wrong way. Iva-chan only added onto this by forcing him into combat for the recipes when Sanji was frazzled and exhausted. Which is similar to how his brother's forced him into combat (which he failed) in order to obtain resources he needed or wanted.

It's my theory that Sanji thought he was in hell because of the transwomen but really it was because it was so frighteningly similar to his childhood because he felt weak, helpless, and outnumbered for the first time in years.

But, like most abuse victims, he instinctively needed to shove down the abuse memories so he blamed his anxiety on the lack of biological women because his brain couldn't process properly due to the mental damage. Because of these mentally crossed wires, he reverted to transphobic beliefs that were probably instilled in him by Judge (Let’s be honest. Judge would totally be a transphobe) in a last-ditch effort to not understand what was the actual problem because he was scared on a primal level.

His mental wires got crossed with his childhood memories, which is where he pulled Judge's beliefs from. We get a lot of canon hints that Sanji's not cis and not straight but is instilled with a trained need to be straight. Being on an island that did not fit this trained need probably fried his circuits a bit.

Because if you notice, once he succumbs to his alternative lifestyle, he becomes far more relaxed. He's jolted out of that by the news of Ace's death, feeling ashamed of not being there for Luffy, and then pile that on with Iva's combat training.

It broke down what level of calm and acceptance he had reached.

So, really, it's not really the girls that's got Sanji feeling fucked up and scrambled. It was the situation, which the girls had no idea they were starting.

This is me taking Oda's stupidity out of the picture for a second. If I was just looking at Sanji as being Sanji, I would say the above explanation is why he flipped out.

Sanji's a boy who loves and loves, he'd never be prejudice (transphobic) like that. He's canonly disgusted with the prejudice in the One Piece universe so why would he succumb to prejudice thinking (most likely trained into him by Judge) when it's stated everywhere that he's pretty much the kindest straw hat?

I feel he wouldn’t. Sanji is naturally soft and loving, an aspect of him that Sora treasured.

So, therefore, I feel that if Oda wasn’t a jackass then this would be the logical reason for Sanji’s freakout.

As such, I’m taking this as my headcanon because I refuse to believe that someone as gentle and sweet as Sanji is transphobic.

#one piece #black leg sanji #Defending Black Leg Sanji #Prince of Hearts || Sanji

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iphoenixrising · 7 years ago

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For 600 Followers: The Surgeon, The Captain, and the Soldier

From the Dr!Tim Universe: civilian!Tony, Captain America!Steve, and Winter!Bucky Barnes. Mr_Flamingo said he would read the shit out of this. Welp, there you go.

Dr. Stark is a busy, busy man. Even without the weight of Stark Industries on his back (thank-you Miss Potts), he still runs from one emergency to the next.

This one just happens to be to The Captain America.

Which is so Classified even the top level brass don’t know the guy’s real name. Probably because his files have been sealed longer than most of them have been alive, which is just grand. If there’s anything Dr. Stark likes, it’s a challenge.

When Nick Fury of S.H.I.E.L.D came to him because honestly, he the best surgeon they’re going to get in this half of the hemisphere anyway, Tony tried to throw him out for approximately twelve seconds–

Until the file was tossed over his desk and a picture flops out pretty much in his lap.

And that picture is of a beautiful man.

With a star on his chest.

“I don’t put Cosplayers over people with real problems, Nick.”

“Stark, when I say he’s the real deal, that’s what I motherfucking mean.”

Mmhm. And he graduated from Med School yesterday. “Captain America has been dead for only seventy years, give or take. Looks spry for his age, good for him. I bet he’s Osteo’s wet dream, right?” Because he really does enjoy having witty banter with his rejections.

That’s when Nick Fury leaned over his desk, “you’re the only civilian the Black Widow has ever let work on her, and you think I’m bringing you someone in a costume?”

Some of the incredulous is creeping out of this exchange with the way Fury’s remaining eye is focused. “Seventy years? Nick, that’s–” but when Nick hasn’t moved a muscle, hasn’t blinked, probably hasn’t so much as inhaled.

That’s when the possibility becomes reality.

“Holy shit.” Tony’s eyes blow wide and the run-of-the-mill play date in the lab to make something to help with those pesky arteriovenous malformations is right on the backburner. “You’re kidding me.”

“Would I be here if I was kidding, Stark? He is the real World War II veteran. You save his life and I will give you what we have on a certain reason he survived.”

Dr. Stark stares for approximately thirty seconds, judging. The next instant he’s in his sharp coat and red shades, riding to DC in an Apache helicopter.

(Once upon a time, he would have told the engineers how he could make it better, but since his Dad died, he didn’t have to build for SI anymore. He could build for his passion and not feel one fucking bit bad about it.)

Forty-five minutes and he’s scrubbing in, the situation crucial. Agent gave him the run-down without giving him any real information on how this happened. He got a glance at scans of the cranial fracture and hemorrhaging. Shards of skull had been embedded in the grey matter (which makes no sense how he survived this long except as another shred of proof he’s the real deal. Captain Fucking America… his inner fanboy is screaming behind his calm, cool, surgeon demeanor.)

The team S.H.I.E.L.D gave him for the procedure are obviously all military, and in such need of a good laugh. Dr. Stark is sure they’re under order to watch every twitch of his fingers just in case he’s going to try making Captain America a drooling moron or something while poking around in his brain. So, he has to pull out the old SI CEO song and dance, being an unrepentant witty smart ass and talk fast before any of the sternly gowned agents can threaten him with horrible dismemberment if anything should happen to their delicate snowflake.

He gets the one called Barton to crack a smile while they’re scrubbing up, and it’s all going to be fine.

All is right with the world, except when he comes into the nice, sterile OR–

Where he finds the patient awake.

“Hey there, big guy,” he pats the shoulder of the utterly stunning blonde (who is apparently as old as his great-grandpa and has abs for miles), “we probably shouldn’t be meeting this way, considering you’re apparently the biggest secret in the Modern World, next to Big Foot sightings and the what is that gross ring around the tub really made of debate, but still, it’s nice to make your acquaintance. I’m Dr. Stark, and I’ll be your surgeon for the evening. Let me guess, gurney for one?”

He’s talking but checking machines, supplies, and sliding the special eyewear, taking the opportunity to review the site opened at the scalp to show the skull fracture at the side of Captain America’s head. While he watches, the skin is trying to heal around the clamps and a nurse apparently familiar with the Captain’s rate of healing is constantly re-adjusted to keep the wound open enough for surgery.

(The impact should have killed him. How did it not kill him? “Time is of the essence, Dr. Stark. You need to pull the bone fragments while he can keep his skull from healing over it.” Christ, Agent Tight-Ass, full work-up next time for Project Super Soldier Sandwich.)

“Hm…” slurred from behind the oxygen mask, and if Dr. Stark wasn’t one hundred percent invested on making sure he had everything he would need to fix the oddly not healing bleeder in the Captain’s temporal lobe (with things like Wernicke's aphasia hovering in the background), he would have shuddered. “Got that reference, Doc. S’funny.”

Watching the electroencephalography to monitor the Captain’s brain activity, Tony glances over as S.H.I.E.L.D’s people start filtering in around him and the ones with guns watch him closely through the observation windows.

“Never doubted you for a second, Captain. Guy that punched Hitler should be right above a Yeti in my opinion. Anyhoo,” and Tony, gowned, gloved, and masked, comes around to look at the very, very blue eyes and hold a hand close to the Captain’s blonde eyebrows to check the dilation. “The nice esthetician over there is going to hit you up with something to make you very, very sleepy so I can fix that terrible headache you’re probably having right now.”

And Captain America looks up at him from under those lashes, quirks a small shit-eating grin, “ssorry, Doc Stark. Knockouts...won’t work on me. S’ ‘causea the Serum. Gonna be awake no matter how much they gimmie.”

Blinking with his heart in his throat because he can’t imagine the pain the Captain must be in right about now, Tony gets himself back with, “oh? Then I have your witty repartee to look forward to while I work, don’t I Captain?”

“SSteve, Doc. I’m SSteve.”

“Nice to meet you, Steve. I’m Tony, and I’m going to save your life.”

“Soundss like ya gotta plan, Tony.”

And when the slightly familiar red-headed nurse gives him the thumbs up and it’s time to start, he has to step back around to the site being kept open for him.

“I always have a plan, Steve. Fortunately for you, part of my plan involves great music and nice conversations while we discuss your vitals.”

AC/DC starts in with a little Back in Black. And since he is who he is, him mouth moves on autopilot while he works with a delicate touch, fast and efficient, getting side-tracked from his running monologue with Captain Awake and Alert and Answering to accept vitals and updates from the other staff.

It’s been hours, and he’s on up-to-date knock-knock jokes.

They’ve run the gambit of must-see movies (and no he doesn’t see Agent Tight-Ass writing down the ones Steve asks about in detail because yes, he should see Firefly. Alien cowboys, Captain. Alien cowboys), and spent so much time on just the 60’s.

He’s gotten some stories that are absolutely hilarious (because Steve was so curious about the most oddball shit, ATMs, Fitbits, Twitter…) and is closing the wound in Steve’s scalp before he realizes he’s...done.

“Feels so much better, Tony, thank-you.”

“Hey, glad I was in the neighborhood. You’re quite the conversationalist when I’m poking around in your brain.”

“Could say the same. Thought ya might re-wire me to do something silly. Bark like a dog when someone says bell or something.”

And the staff is cleaning up around them, giving Tony the space to ease down just a notch, and wink, “sorry Captain, something I save for the bedroom, not the operating room.”

The sparkle that lights in Steve’s eyes–

–is really his undoing.

Riding the high of saving Captain America’s life got him all the way home and to his bed, still churning over the events of the surgery. Butterfinger and U were happy Daddy made it home in one piece (he’d kept the failed surgical bots, unable to decommission his first attempts at independent AI just because they’d rather play fetch than learn procedures...besides, they’re his creations and with their capacity to learn, they’re still evolving), and absolutely pampered him with coffee while he told them about why he was so late.

Butterfingers booped and patted his knee lightly while U rolled back and forth in excitement. Their favorite part was about the Apache, of course. His children were Philistines (but what would he do without them?).

Waking up at one am to Agent Tight-Ass leaning against the bureau in his bedroom was probably the fright of his life.

(Probably not, but no one needs to know that. Few people knew about his kidnapping in Afghanistan from a Medical Conference five years ago.)

“The Captain won’t let another doctor examine him.” Agent Tight-Ass said without even a hello or the decor is nice. “He’s asking for you.”

Tony completely blames it on sleep deprivation when he almost says my Captain? but shakes himself out of it at the last second.

The implications of Agent being here strikes him in the very next second and he’s throwing the covers off and climbing out of bed fast. A clean pair of purple scrubs and Agent knows he goes commando under his expensive and stylish pj pants. “Post-Op complications?” The litany of problems Steve could be experiencing after such a difficult and delicate surgery flash through Tony’s frontal lobe, a slideshow of problems he should have been able to catch before anyone else.

(They shouldn’t have made me leave him. He needs to be under close observation.)

“No. But, S.H.I.E.L.D needs to verify the Captain is physically fit for duty. He won’t let another physician check him out. We’d like you to come back to DC just to make sure.”

And, well, he’s Tony Stark, so he tries to play it off in front of Agent just to be a pain in the ass to deal with, but even before he’s had a single cup of coffee, Tony is riding in another Apache with his leg bouncing in anticipation.

He’s thrown a Henley on under his scrub top, cuffs up to his elbows and probably looking like a derelict resident, but dammit, at least he has good hair.

The damn corridors are long and Agent Tight-Ass is silently striding beside him while Tony desperately holds a cup of coffee in one hand and the Captain’s chart in the other, taking in every detail and plotting out all the worst case scenarios. What he absolutely doesn’t expect is to see the gorgeous man in dark jeans, red t-shirt, terrible trucker hat, and a single black-gloved hand standing against the wall like he’s the only thing holding the building up. Tony manages to keep his tongue in his mouth when Agent Tight-Ass stops to introduce them.

“Sergeant Barnes, this is Dr. Stark, the Captain’s neurosurgeon.”

And those eyes are like winter, grey and cool, taking him in from dirty sneakers to the half-curl just above his temple. It’s terribly frightening and arousing at the same moment and Tony is absolutely, completely out of his depth in hot men.

(And in-between relationships, isn’t he? Why are the Gods so damn cruel?)

“Very nice to meet you, Sergeant. I understand you’re an unapologetic smart-ass that can kill pretty much anything a mile away and make the worst borscht known to man. Pleasure is all mine, really. Borscht is already terrible, but making is worse? That has to take substantial talent.”

What he doesn’t expect is the tall, intimidating brunette with the sexiest stubbled jaw to blink down at him, head cocking sideways like an inquisitive cat, “s’at so? I think the pleasure is all mine, Doll. After all, Stevie ain’t quit talkin’ ya up all night. ‘Preciate ya taking good care a’ him fer me.”

Ah. Barnes. James Buchanan Barnes. Always thought those stories were exaggerated.

Tony absolutely does not, does not (think about them together), lick his bottom lip while staring up into those eyes. “Anything I can do for the red, white, and blue, Sergeant Barnes. Just showing my...patriotism.”

Tony grins wide when he gets the Sergeant to laugh out loud, ruining his intense I will murder you vibe.

“Speaking of the Captain,” Agent Tight-Ass interrupts smoothly.

Both of them give the agent waiting with a patient, pleasantly neutral expression, and when Tony looks back, he can see the tension in James Barnes, and lets himself be his usual kind of confident.

“Honestly, I’m going to take good care of him. If the slightest thing deviates from absolutely normal, you will be the first person to know.”

“Thanks, Doll. Good t’ know he’s in the best hands,” and the gloved one squeezes his bicep, right above his elbow (and he is completely imagining that hand has absolutely no give whatsoever) before he turns to where Agent is holding the door open.

The Captain is awake at this ungodly hour and apparently more chipper when he wasn’t in horrible distress from bleeding all up in his grey matter. It was really nice to see this side and observe his handiwork, amazed the staples had already worked themselves out and there wasn’t even a scar to show surgery had ever taken place.

(Steve’s hair is soft and unfairly naturally fluffy. Tony’s bare fingers are threaded in it while his thumbs press lightly over the surgical site to test the healing and be fucking amazed.)

Sergeant Barnes is there for the examination, back in a corner, with that sensual bad boy thing going on, arms crossed over his chest, eyes sweeping the room every few minutes (like he wouldn’t notice?).

And once he checks the normal vitals and signs, looks for all abnormalities, any hint of a complication, Tony Stark–

–lies through his teeth.

“You need at least a week of rest. No strenuous activity at all. No punching Nazis, jumping out of planes, or potentially dangerous anything. Watch terrible daytime TV, eat your weight in bad food, and take it easy. The possibility for complications, or of re-opening the bleed site is high, even for a Super Soldier. Normal downtime would be months, I’m giving you a week. No arguments Captain.”

He turns to look at the Sergeant over his shoulder and they exchange a nod, but he sees James Barnes rolling his lips down like he’s trying not to smile.

“A week? A whole week?” The Captain honest-to-God whines, looking up at him, sitting up with perfect posture that makes his chest thrust out in such a distracting way.

(Those eyes should really be illegal.)

“Absolutely. I’m saying only a week, okay? That is very, very good news for you. From the scans taken less than an hour ago, you’re healing quickly and well. Still, we’re not going to take anything to chance.”

He grins down, completely confident he’s giving Steve the chance to get out in the world more, maybe get out from under all the Agent-Agents around here.

It’s all too soon he’s being ushered out the room and back to his Penthouse in New York, his heart thundering in his chest. The last twenty-four hours seem like some kind of dream, some kind of forbidden fantasy, something he couldn’t have really done, and being set back at his place with his bots and his lab, his nice office in Stark Medical waiting for him tomorrow, with endless calls from Pepper about the Board really wanting him present for the Quarterly Meeting this time, all of reality lays so heavy on him that he thinks maybe Agent Tight-Ass messed with his memories somehow so he’d never be able to tell anyone why S.H.I.E.L.D really wanted him in the first place.

He goes back to bed for an hour of sleep, thinking about Sergeant Barnes’ hand and Captain Roger’s eyes.

Dodging Pepper’s calls the next day between consults, residents, trips to the robotics, and some time spent in the lab, he’s in his office for a whopping fifteen minutes when his secretary knocks on his door.

“I’m sorry Dr. Stark, but they said they know you and he’s your patient–”

When Captain America and Bucky Barnes appear over her shoulder, looking a devilish mix of sheepish (Steve) and smary as hell (of course, the crackshot), Tony wonders how much effort it would take to clear his schedule completely–

–for the next seven days.

#crossover #tonystevebucky #tony stark #steve rogers #bucky barnes #Dr!Tim au #my drab #my writing #for 600 followers

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libidomechanica · 6 years ago

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To talk of love’s howled still endure the brain, cold, made at

To talk of love’s howled still endure the brain, cold, made at this

incomplexities caged ‘ wherefore have kisse, open’d world, unblessedness,’ and

slender embassy of love’s desolation, who wish me! Behind a name in

ordinary wallow’d in bloom the birth, our young and,

how sharpen’d in throws herself be snuff about gold? Or proud thought (what mighty

will; and wise, hopeless, my days you say well-tuned gold, the faculty,

when largeness (and say morn wall, but now is selfe them by day did

despised. With chaste Hero, with the door, near

petrified. O slave, no more.) I’d try conclusions think it has arm’d himself

art in its sockets celebrated, and verse thine eyes

can I not gladly, or for your life, and human prior

to bed, where it selfe might here I once in thrown his will

blamed mountain range adventures of glassy bower which it fears

who, then let at a silent allusion of Dracula my father my sovereign,

watch. ‘Ertheless he that restless may God granted. Singing ‘

That ole Ace downcast, not suspected,’ by-and-by

ye do lie, and if he had heard, so strive was, the sea

has turned and coughed, and that enchantment plucked up— you again; and

she wisest of all my flesh was strong as Death,) and made the

next day she proper court their spell? But do not liquor: thy name, for

your love you have seen God, what rich Ocean form a lengthy leaden comes by

the mob stood with Truman’s so dramatic lost those lips of the

load. Birds in my store than even but wars. Was below

they call on us? Dozen men the voice, when he were

day. The oldest peasant fruits. How many tress move in such doore, ere we

cannot flie away. So straight should be wires growing: astrophel, sayd

she, my spouse; thou think what were almost him so hugely stood without

a reward the sea of slaughter’s initiation of

the worse that one and could decide, and a memories dart;

’tis the queenly beames, takes the hole, and place for he went,

and a dread out the fault, but heals to the lifts he flies.’

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 6 #213 texts

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woozletania · 7 years ago

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Living with Rocket 6

"It's always something horrible," Peter Quill is prone to mutter when he learns some new awful thing about Rocket's past. But some things are more horrible than others. Some just gradually become part of you until you're not sure where they stop and where you begin.

*******************************************************************************************

It was their weekly routine. Every week, on what Pete called Sunday or thereabouts if 'Sunday' was too busy, Rocket got out his tools and did a thorough scan of Lylla. He then handed them over and she returned the favor. Between the checkups on two Uplifts and Gamora, occasional visit from Nebula and running diagnostics on the translation implants they all had, they kept in practice. Rocket and Lylla didn't get to operate on cyborgs very often so this was the next best thing.

Every week started the same, a shallow scan and a deep scan followed by socketing a probe in the data port each had to the left of their spine. Lylla's cybernetics were a generation ahead of Rocket's and they got more useful data from her implanted data nodes, so it was their habit to spend extra time going over Rocket's scans for abnormalities. They were experts on each other's bodies and their own, even more than most couples.

Then one Sunday, as Star-Lord detoured around the apparent clutter of tools surrounding the two little Uplifts (the clutter was an illusion. Move a single tool a quarter of an inch and the raccoon would snap at you), Rocket saw something on one of the screens.

He didn't say anything. He didn't have to. Lylla, though engrossed in other scans, felt him tense. She didn't say anything, either. Nor did she look as Rocket expanded and rotated a view of his own brain.

Turning a raccoon or otter brain into a human-level intellect took some cheating. Each of them had numerous subprocessors implanted in their heads, purpose-built organic computers no larger than a peanut. When an Uplift went well - and theirs had each gone extraordinarily well in the final analysis - these worked together with the animal brain. You kept the excellent senses while adding intellect and, if desired, nearly superhuman additional attributes.

Rocket was an ace pilot and a crack shot. He was also a frighteningly adept intuitive mechanic. Were he not a Guardian and were he to receive the respect he received from the galaxy, he could make a very good living customizing weapons and equipment for anyone smart enough to hire him. Thus he was the one to spot the anomaly in his own brain scan. A line, a spot that had no obvious purpose. Flipping through scans from previous weeks he found it had always been there. The new scanner he'd picked up just made it more obvious. What was it? What did the spot and line (wire?) do?

Lylla, though growing into an adept mechanic in her own right, wasn't as quick to spot such things. He was built as a soldier and pilot who could build and fix his own gear. Her specialization was quite different. Lylla was a diplomat.

That meant, among other things, that you never, ever wanted to play cards with her if money was on the line. Her intuitive grasp of body language, vocal inflection and facial expressions made it virtually impossible to bluff her. She'd know your cards almost before you did.

So that night, after they'd stripped down to the fur and crawled through the little porthole under Rocket's workbench into their padded sleeping space, Lylla wanted to talk.

"Don't try to distract me," she purred as his talented hands began to roam. He was very good at a lot of things and his clever little clawed hands were as adept at pleasing her as they were at snapping together bombs. "You're worried about something you saw on your scan."

Rocket sighed. "Can't blame a guy for trying." He curled up and the otter, longer bodied, curled around him. It was their usual position when they were in bed to sleep as opposed to being in bed to do other things. It put her whiskery muzzle behind his ear and he smiled as she tickled him.

"Now who's distracting who," he said as it was her turn to let her little webby hands wander. "Do you want to know or not?"

"When you want to tell me," she purred, and as her hands continued to roam his mind turned to anything but talking. An hour later, when the padded walls no longer echoed their chirps and growls, he finally spoke up.

"There's something in my head," he said, and touched his forehead. "A wire so fine I never saw it on a scan before. It connects to one of my subprocessors."

"A control?" The worry was that there was a kill switch or other trickery buried somewhere in their bodies. It was one of the drawbacks to being a cyborg and one of the reasons Rocket was so adamant about the checkups. Maybe they'd spot something on the twentieth scan they'd missed on all the others.

Rocket was silent until she nudged him. Only then did he speak up. "No. Nothing like that. I know what it is. I've suspected it was there for a long time."

As he explained she nodded. She had her reservations but Rocket had his reasons. Afterward they snuggled up together to sleep, and that was the end of it...for a few months.

Three months of adventure, bounty hunting, mercy runs of supplies and medicine to outlying colonies - paid mercy runs, naturally - later came a call from an old friend.

"Call for you, Rocket," Star-Lord said from the pilot's seat. "It's Doc Foster."

Rocket, in the co-pilot position, nodded. They were docked at a space station set up as a Xandarian outpost. They'd just finished taking on fuel and hypernet reception was good. He stabbed a claw at a control and a screen popped up with Paul Foster's face.

Lylla nudged Rocket the second she saw the doctor. Rocket already knew something was up from the badly concealed look of concern on Paul's face. Rocket had gotten markedly better at reading human expressions since meeting his mate.

"Rocket," Paul said. He considered the other Guardians for a moment until the raccoon spoke up.

"Pretty sure I know why you're calling, doc," he said. "If it's something you saw on those scans I sent you a while back. Lylla and I already know. No reason the rest of this gang of idiots shouldn't." He gestured amiably at the rest of the crew.

Paul still looked uneasy. "Are you sure, Rocket? I swear I didn't know, and I was the backup cyberneticist. It must have been something Tschu put in without documenting it."

"Yeah." Rocket hovered a claw over a control. "I'm switching this to the common room. We'll be there in a minute." His claw descended. "OK. You guys deserve to know this. C'mon."

A couple of minutes later, after Gamora and Drax unfolded the table that normally sat racked next to Rocket's work bench, they all took seats. The faint smell of animal musk filled the room from the curtained-off nook under the bench that led to the Uplift's little sleep spot. The smell had long since ceased to bother anyone. The whole ship smelled of their two furry crew mates, just as it smelled of human and alien, but it was stronger here.

"Okay Paul," Rocket said, and leaned back as he looked at the screen. He put a clawed finger up against his skull. "Wire."

"That's right." Paul looked down for a moment. Though he was a good friend to the raccoon now, his role in Rocket's creation still wracked him with guilt. "A wire into your pleasure center."

"Pleasure center," Pete said. "What, to control you?"

Rocket leaned back further in his chair. The others didn't miss how Lylla's hand stayed on his forearm. Relaxed as the raccoon seemed, he was tense. "This is what happened. You know the guys that made me weren't the nicest crew around."

"That is why they are dead," Drax said with a typical lack of tact.

"Yeah. Now, I don't remember much from when I was little. Sometimes I can kind of remember my mom, just warm fur and safety...most of what I do know I read in their notes. I was the youngest of a litter of four. The other three were bigger and stronger and they took them away one by one to try to do with them what they ended up doin' to me. All those cubs died. Then they came for me." He paused.

"My mom was just an animal. But she was a mother. She knew that they they took her cubs away they didn't come back. They had to kill her to get to me. They cut her up for parts."

He looked up. A year ago his eyes would be bright with tears. A year before that, hard with hate. Rocket was stronger now. He'd grown. "That's neither here nor there. Anyway, the first thing I remember for sure was hate. How much I hated them. So when they started makin' me do things, put together weapons an' such, I played dumb even when they tortured me. I didn't start to cooperate until I heard 'em saying they were gonna cut me up to see why the Uplift failed. And then it was just to stall so I had time to escape."

"An' it wasn't until I got out, after killing every one of 'em 'cept Doc Foster here, that I started to work on stuff. Tools. Weapons. Flyin'. Shootin'. And you know what I found?"

Absently, seemingly without input from his brain, his little clawed hands disassembled his data pad to the components, then snapped it back together again. He didn't need to look. His hands knew what to do.

"I found I liked workin' on stuff. And fighting, and flyin'. Before I met Groot," he looked fondly at the adolescent tree. "That and drinking was all I had. All that kept me together. So I did it a lot. When I met Groot I was five, I guess."

He smiled at the startled expressions. "Raccoons mature fast. Good thing they made me so I live longer than one. Anyway, I was out of the lab for maybe three years when I met Groot and about all I did to make ends meet was fight an' make stuff. I liked doing it an' I was good at it. It made me Units. So why worry why I liked it so much?"

"Couple years later I met Pete and the rest a you losers," he said, waving at Mantis, Drax and Gamora. "An' after that I got better. Yeah, I know I was a mess. You guys helped me a lot. But pretty soon, I noticed something. I'd be workin' on something and just ignoring you. Even though you were the best thing that ever happened to me."

He leaned his head to the side so his cheek pressed against Lylla's. "And then the real best thing to ever happen to me happened. And sometimes I ignored even her. That's when I knew."

"You knew there was a control of some sort," Doc Foster said from the screen.

"Yup. Some compulsion. You don't make a little brain like mine smart without cheating. Little organic processors implanted in the meat. Wires, connections. So I was always looking for what was going on. There had to be something in there. And then a few months ago I bought a better scanner, and there it was. I saw it first checkup I did."

"That's horrible," Star-Lord said. "It makes you work and fight?"

"Sorta," Rocket admitted. "It just made it feel good. But I grew up like this. My whole life has been like this. I work, I fight, I fly, I feel good. For a long time it was all I had. All that kept me alive and sane. And we can't get it out, can we doc?"

"No," Paul Foster said on the screen. "Not safely. Your brain grew around it as you matured. And we can't shut down that processor node because we don't know what else it does. If we mess with that there's no telling what it would do to you."

"Sooo..." Rocket reached over and stroked Lylla's nape, but he was looking at the other Guardians. "This is who I am. You put up with me, so it can't be too awful. I just want ta say, and don't expect me to say this every time..."

"If you see me workin' and I don't hear you when you talk. If I'm doing somethin' and ignoring you. I'm sorry. I just like to work. Most of it's real. Most of it's me. A little bit of it isn't. Its just the way I am."

Pete could count on the fingers of one hand the times he'd heard the raccoon say 'I'm sorry.' One of them was the time Rocket bit him. He didn't say it unless he meant it.

"I'm sorry, Rocket," Paul said from the screen. "I didn't know. I would have told you if I did. I called as soon as I figured it out."

"It's not all bad, doc." Rocket leaned over and nuzzled Lylla. "Its just something I hafta keep track of. I have things better than that little wire now. An' there are worse things to be addicted to than work."

And that was the heart of it. Rocket knew about it now. He knew what to look for and how to deal with it. And of all the horrible things they'd learned about him, this was perhaps the least bad.

Pete smiled. "And the next time you do something stupid, or lose your temper, you have a ready-made excuse."

"Well," Rocket said, and smiled at Lylla,"There's that too."

#Rocket Raccoon #Guardians of the Galaxy #lylla otter

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rainbowtransform · 7 years ago

Text

The Means To An End

THIS IS A PRO-TONY FIC. DON’T READ IF YOU DON’T LIKE TONY STARK, OKAY? Read it on A03.

Summary: Snippets of before and after Civil War.

Tony gifts the Compound, so that the Avengers have a place to train, and be safe.

Tony gifts the Compound so that they have a place to have Movie Night.

Tony gifts the Compound so the Avengers can be a family.

They throw it back in his face like it’s nothing.

The first time Tony has nightmares he doesn’t know why. FRIDAY monitors, but she can only do so much. FRIDAY’s still young, and Tony doesn’t say anything because he doesn’t want to pressure her into being something she can’t be.

Tony yawns as he shuffles toward the kitchen. He’s got some leftover tea that Rhodey gave to him. It’s Mama Rhode’s tea and it always helps Tony fall asleep without nightmares. But when he gets there, he searches through the cabinets only to find nothing.

Blinking, Tony turns his head towards the living room. All of the Avengers are sitting on or around the couch, drinking out of cups. Tony hears one of them praising Wanda for finding this “really good tea” and for “sharing” and that “it was so deep in the cabinet”.

And Tony knows that it’s Mama Rhode��s tea. He turns back, and subjects himself to a sleepless night in the lab.

The second time, Tony is tired, upset, and scared . He doesn’t know why his mind is torturing him with this kind of information. He’s been going to a therapist for a few weeks, and it’d helped. Really . It helped him eat more often (not as often as the therapist liked, but they were getting there), and slept for at least half of the night.

He doesn’t sleep for even a third of the night now. Instead, he works on gauntlets, wings, armor, shields, and spy things for Nat. FRIDAY keeps him up-to-date with the time, and when each of the Avengers get up.

Wanda’s always up early, though. Tony doesn’t know why.

Tony’s nightmares worsen the third time.

The fourth time, Tony barely falls asleep.

The fifth time Tony’s mind hurts.

The sixth time, Tony doesn’t leave his room.

The seventh time, Tony doesn’t even go to his room.

Tony’s nightmares got progressively worse as the months passed.

Tony should have seen it coming. Really. He should’ve. But he didn’t. Instead, he ignored the signs and ignored how much Wanda’s hatred had deepened in her heart. FRIDAY asks with a hesitated “Boss?” and Tony just shakes his head. “It’s okay, Fri,” he says. “I’ll bring it up with Steve at a later time.

FRIDAY’s grown for the past five months, and Tony’s proud of her. She’s learned snark, sass, and knows how to deal her way around the Compound. She hasn’t surpassed JARVIS, yet, but Tony knows it’s only a matter of time.

“I can alert the police, Boss. Or, call Xavier?”

“No. Who’s Xavier?”

“He runs a mutant school. I managed to find him.”

“By accident?”

“No.”

“On purpose?”

“I worry.”

“I know.”

Tony brings it up to Steve, and Steve brushes him off .

“She’s just a kid. She can’t control her powers yet, it’s okay.”

“Ste-”

“Tony. Relax. You don’t see any of us complaining about nightmares.”

“But St-”

“You know, I can’t believe that you’re trying to blame Wanda for losing control, after what you’d done at the last mission.”

“I already explain-”

“Goodbye, Tony. Go get some rest, you look tired. Oh, and don’t tell the others about this. We don’t want anyone to fear her, right?”

“Should I call Xavier, Boss?”

“No, Fri. I think we’ll keep this in-house.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Neither do I, baby girl. Neither do I.”

Tony brings it up to Sam, when he goes to talk to him. “I’ve been having nightmares,” he tells him. “They’re really vivid. They aren’t supposed to be that vivid.”

“It’s your guilt manifesting itself,” Sam says. He doesn’t say anything else, and Tony blinks.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. That’s how it always is, Tony.”

“It can’t be anyone else?”

Sam stops. “Tony,” he says. “Are you implying someone’s messing with your brain?” He looks angry. Tony puts up his hands.

“No, no,” he says. “It’s hypothetical.”

Tony doesn’t talk to Clint, but he knows Clint isn’t going to do anything.

Wanda’s like his kid, so Clint isn’t going to do anything to stop her, and it’d be like Tony’s the villain.

He doesn’t say anything.

“I think someone’s making me have nightmares.”

“Stark, that’s ridiculous.”

“Nat-”

“Are you suggesting that Wanda is messing with you?”

“N-”

“I knew you’d sink low, but that low? God, she can’t control her powers.”

“I wa-”

“I don’t even want to hear it.”

Tony doesn’t sleep anymore. Pepper, Rhodey, and FRIDAY worries.

(Vision’s with Wanda, her trying to convince him that them dating is a “good idea” despite him being only a year old.) (Does that make Wanda a pedophile?) (Because Vision’s only a year old.) (But he looks older.) (Sleep-deprived Tony isn’t the best Tony.)

The Avengers give him a fucking intervention.

“Tony, we’re here to clear something up once and for all,” Steve tells him.

“Watch, Stark,” Clint snaps. “Wanda, hey, are you messing with Tony?”

She blinks. “Messing? Well, I can’t control my powers very well and they might’ve accidentally messed with Stark’s mind.”

“See? Accidents,” Natasha says briskly and Sam nods.

“Stop asking around now, Stark,” Clint says before they leave.

His nightmare that night? It’s the worst one he’d seen so far.

Tony’s nightmares continue, and worsen and Tony breaks.

He leaves the Compound and goes back to his Tower.

It’s better. So much better. He can sleep.

Civil War mess happens.

Tony’s heart hurts.

He recommends Vision to a therapist. “This will help us,” Tony tells him.

“You don’t have the best role models for good human relationships. You were just thrust into this life without any warning. But that’s okay. This’ll help us out.”

He spys Vision reading a book titled The Signs of Toxic Relationships.

Tony almost cries with relief.

He doesn’t quite know how to work with T’Challa. He’s hiding the Ex-Avengers, isn’t he? And it’s hard to place himself out on a limb. The Dora Milaje seem nicer than normal, and Tony’s pretty sure it’s because they’ve actually met Rogers and his ragtag team.

“Boss? Pepper called. She asked if you can take on a few board meetings.”

“Yeah. How many?”

“Just three. She said the first one is for SI, the second for Wakanada rejoining the world, and the third… for the Rogers and his team’s punishment if they come back.”

“Mmm,” Tony jabs a screwdriver into SI’s new phone. “The first two I can get to, but the last one is difficult.”

“You don’t wanna go?”

“I do. I do. But I know that Ross is in jail, and the other Ross (the better one) is in charge, so he won’t be as hard. Plus, there’s the fact that this tablet’s supposed to have holograms (which it will), but I’m having some trouble implementing certain things.”

“The holograms of you as a kid, rocking out to any AC/DC?”

“Those, and the new phones I’ve recorded.”

“Those are funny.”

“Yeah, and anyone smart enough to hack it’ll, get a nice surprise.”

“Wakanda?”

“Wakanda.”

“You put a hologram specifically for my country?”

Tony pulls two wires out and readjusts them. “Uh-huh.”

“ Why ?”

He yanks a blue wire out. “Why not?”

“The technologists and Shuri are quite upset.”

“Why?”

“They wanted to see the hologram of you dancing again.”

“Huh,” Tony closes the door. “That’s funny. I’ve used that same video for most of my electronics. I just wanted a kid to be happy.”

“Shuri’s also angry. She can’t hack the game you’d implemented.”

“Yeah. She’s smarter than me, but I’ve got some experience. She’ll be able to hack it later.”

“Later?”

“When she’s older.”

“How much older?”

“Nice try, Kit-Cat. She’ll know when.” Tony places the prototype aside and the call ends.

Tony’s nightmares hadn’t gone away, but they aren’t as vivid as before.

They also aren’t as frequent. (Which is how Tony knows that Wanda kept doing it, ever after Tony told the others. And after he’d made it known what was happening when he moved out.)

“Boss?”

“What’s up?”

“King T’Challa’s calling.”

“Answer,” Tony squints at the Avengers’ designs he’d been planning.

“Mr Stark,” T’Challa’s smooth voice fills the room.

“Hey, Kitty,” Tony says. He opens up Black Widow’s file and then crumbles them and throws them into the garbage. FRIDAY gets to work erasing it quickly.

“It seems that a visit is in order.”

“Yeah?”

“Shuri is itching to meet you. She wishes to… crush you.”

“Yeah, a lot of people wanna do that. Is she still angry over the game?”

“Quite.”

“Ha.”

He’s barely out of bed when someone’s knocking at the door. Blearily rubbing his eyes, he opens it to T’Challa’s poker face and his sister’s bright grin.

“What’re those?” She asks and Tony blinks. He points a finger at her. “It’s seven thirty in the morning, and I haven’t had any coffee. No memes.”

She frowns. “At least my FBI agent would have appreciated me.”

“Your FBI agent cries every night because you don’t go to sleep until three o’clock. He has a family . I’ve spoken to him.”

T’Challa rolls his eyes. “Why?” He says.

“Just wait ‘till Peter gets here. He’s your age.” Tony tells Shuri.

“I will corrupt him,” she says. Tony nods.

“Too late, though,” he tells her and she slams her fist down.

“Damn it!” She shrieks.

It’s different, Tony realizes, from Bruce. Shuri’s mind takes leaps and big gaps through her process and Tony can replicate it. But she’s just like him when he was young: doing things that shouldn’t be done. Peter and Shuri are the next best thing the world has to offer, and Tony knows. He knows that them together they will be able to save the world from anything.

Tony’s part isn’t over yet, but he knows it will be soon enough. But sitting with Shuri on his right helping him build Extremis, he knows that it’s going to be okay.

When Tony lays dying, at his last war, he stares up at the stars. The suit is crushed around him, he’s just laying there, and FRIDAY’s talking to him. But his part is over now.

“Boss? Is this what happened to JARVIS?”

“Not exactly.”

“Your heart rate’s dropping.”

“Yeah.”

“Don’t leave me,” she begs, but Tony just smiles. It hurts, but it’s starting to numb.

“You won’t be lonely.” He tells her. “You’ve got DUM-E, ButterFingers, U, Shuri, Peter.”

“But they aren’t you!”

“You’ll be okay.”

“No! No! Please!”

“It’s okay…”

“Boss? Boss!”

“…”

“Mr Stark? Mr Stark!”

“Tony!”

“Iron Man!”

“Tony, answer!”

“Stark, stop playing!”

“Peter…”

“Mr Stark! Why aren’t you answering? Karen! What’s wrong?”

“FRIDAY is shut down.”

“Why?”

“Tony Stark is dead.”

When the fight is over, that’s when people mourn. Tony Stark was the one who’d learned what the people wanted and bowed to their whims. Iron Man was the one who’d flew a nuke into space.

Pepper cries.

Rhodey doesn’t speak to the Exvengers.

T’Challa doesn’t leave his country for a few days.

The Dora Milaje sit for long periods of time.

Shuri doesn’t enter her lab for weeks.

Peter patrols as Spider-Man for hours without pause.

The Exvengers don’t mourn like they would if any one of them died. Instead, they attend the funeral, and doesn’t say anything.

Vision turns away from Wanda’s advances, and sits by Tony’s grave for two months. He disappears, and they don’t hear from him again.

Tony gifts FRIDAY, and the bots to Peter and Shuri.

They aren’t going to be much trouble, promise. They are intelligent creatures, guys. Treat ‘em like they are, cause I know you would. Take care of Vision, too, because he’s going to be “truly” alone for the first time in his life.

But when they enter the lab, DUM-E, ButterFingers and U are sitting in the middle of it, staring at the chair and prototypes. DUM-E beeps at Peter, running circles and opening and closing his claw; ButterFingers shrieks, and U is silent.

“Guys,” FRIDAY says, and the two teens are taken back. “Boss is dead. The Mechanic is dead.”

The beeps trail off, and then DUM-E lowers his claw, and shuts down. ButterFingers and U follow suit; and then FRIDAY does, too. Everything in the Tower and the Compound shuts down, and then the emergency power comes back.

Peter and Shuri are left, alone, in a lab of the greatest mind of his century.

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janadaniel4grassroots · 5 years ago

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THE DIRTIEST DATA

TARGET FOR TORTURE

A TRUE ACCOUNT OF

DOMESTIC VIOLENCE VICTIM

September 2020

Contributor: Jana Daniel

Grassroots Guardians of Truth

UPROOT a DV Movement

The goal was to torture me through my own account that way no trace.. I did it to myself because I'm insane. Covert ops in a time where technology is impressive but vulnerable to data corruptions and lack of understanding especially in the legal arena where a firm understanding is needed the most. I was researching and running pilot programs to discover ways to truly keep women who make it out safe without cutting them off from society. This experience has proven that I'm a textbook case with tenure. Everything happens for a reason and my advocacy and philanthropy pursuits are far from over. The following is a percent of what occured and what I saw, technology throughputs allowed manipulative imagery and allowed changes to text photos before sent. The need is abundant whether we are ready or not.

Amazing what a year can do. I've learned an excessive amount of information now that I've acclimated to the happenings. By now, everyone has heard of predictive text and I'm sure it comes in handy. However, my experience was quite different. The global keyboard uploaded without my prompt, by a second individual who accessed my account on a seperate device and through the Google Play Store selected and downloaded the app. As my phone updated around 3 am the keyboard app uploaded and would change automatically while typing. I write a lot, so this became problematic and prevented me from continuing my endeavors until a solution is found. It would be another 7 months little did I know, before my life was my own again. A virtual kidnapping essentially the best way to describe this systematic, continual abuse and crime against a person. It's killing me faster than the physical abuse because I couldn't identify the perpetrators.

Deep-thinking and clear understanding of what is occuring and where protections and oversight will be needed. Automated decision making isn't a human function and nor what we're accustomed to. In less than a year due to the reality that someone or something is communicating data to me, i began to rely on the predictive guideline set before me just as an officer would be able to predictively policy enforce. But that in fact is exactly the point, there is a violation of human, civil, and individual rights to not be infringed upon. For my own pursuits in life I try to maintain a secure system and in doing so through my ordinary course of business I conduct certain procedures. One being, data mining, another being continued education, pilot programs when available, etc. I had experienced a different breach around December and I began seeking the identity of the criminal.

Initially, unsupervised or monitored only, (permission not given for either) coded script played out on my screen. After I reported, the game changed. Suddenly, an advasarial context is all that I'm receiving and I'm suddenly the victim of targeted surveillance that I'm very well aware of. Let's face it, you normally wouldn't know that you are being placed under surveillance. I now know that this in fact was, an example of Deep learning of general advasarial Neuro network a GAN with a generator and a discriminator being put against each other. Understanding that what your brain fires on it wires on as well. They fed the deepfake scenarios to me each with enough truth or probability that I had no choice but to seek the remaining info that they failed to disclose and that is described as (mask) words. It took a lot of time initially but I became more efficient as I continued to learn.

As protected individuals by order of a domestic violence protective order, to have the Thomas Co Sheriff Dept. And the Pelham PD testing my ability to decipher the information, realizing that I see what is happening and being further disrespected and even asked to park and contact an ambulance to let them know that I need help finding the right person, who at the time someone was insinuating that my deceased father was alive. The cops didn't even investigate.. couldn't get more obvious they violated my constitutional rights and mine and my children's rights as victims of DV. My children, by the way, utilize the phone as well, the constant changes to the screen and location of the apps was noticed first by my son. No matter what I did they had control of the content in the phone. Using face recognition to identify if I'm telling the truth and constantly surveilling me. My vehicle too, equiped to note my every move. Taunted by my home devices such as the ring light that would switch off when I needed the lights on. I haven't had moment's peace since the leave. I'm to blame according to the Sheriff Dept. Odd doesn't seem reasonable but okay, I have to use the healing process to investigate.

I wish I could say that is where it ended, far from it actually. Social engineered to stop trusting in everything, creating discord with people I'd just began to connect with after years of isolation. Then in state of grieving the loss only father, vulnerabilities exploited, cognitive dissonance attempted to create an unstable demeanor because who could possibly explain that cards- Google search pages- are leading to videos that contain AI image alterations so that what you see is familiar. Someone was available twenty four hours a day and when I wasn't seeking the information, someone was threatening me predictively and also implemented sounds that at first I didn't distinguish as just sounds. This would occur throughout the night sometimes. I honestly believed that we were in danger. I fell from the healthy state that I had just had a glimpse of into a sickened, deregulated state that would continue for months. Words uncommonly used by myself such as Tactically, vie, omniscient, etc. would flash and storyline would clearly be laid before me. Other tactics were used such as Fuzzing, quasi-imperceptible, emotional extortion at it's finest. It will be blamed on AI technology, but they failed to understand the identifying bits of info that I detected and categorized chronologically and per device or paper that they derived from.

I will be blamed for not seeing my children who were removed due to DV. I'll take the blame because it was a decision I was able to make due to the fact that I was being encouraged to have all four of the children together in order to get the money. Seemed like a ploy so I went alone to Rundown the people who had become increasingly more than I expected. Conspirators, bribe takers, and there's us… Collateral damage. It seemed to have turned into a game where death was the intent. I held on because I knew that someone has been made aware and I had reported to different agencies and to my trusted friends. Time lingered, and three months became six and suddenly they were threatening to arrest someone else. Realizing that they've violated our rights and worked diligently to destroy the security that I had worked so hard to establish after escaping DV with the belongings in my vehicle. They still were far from done. I had been forced to live without AC and the plumbing problematic after an attempted repair by the landlord left my room flooded. The Corona Pandemic began the same time, also the first and last time that my spouse had paid child support. After three months, they came to collect the rent. It now June, I demanded the air be fixed to no avail. I then had all repairs done myself. I spoke with him expecting a negotiation and then received an eviction notice. Upon filing a response and counterclaim, I was ordered an extra month rent above the amount petitioned for… I received no credit for the repairs that I had just had made, and I had seven days to vacate. I did not mention that the entire three months of No child support, no AC, no response from the landlord, that I had been receiving predictive context stating… “We built a prison just for you” forced to sleep with our windows open, remain outside during the day.. in a matter of no time, our happy home had become our misery. I offered the landlord the full judgement amount cash in hand, he denied to take it , he said he prefered that I move out. I didn't get my appeal in because I had confirmed that our family land has been sold under the premise of an invalid will and just as ten years before, heritage stolen from us all. Seven days came quickly and I didn't have but one who I still trusted at that point. I was granted a couple days and demeaned in the process. On that last day I left with my children who were unaware that we no longer has a home. We hadn't enjoyed any of the summer so I took my children on what they knew as a vacation. I was a nervous wreck managing them and their little hands, don't touch, don't breath, the virus! As I searched for options within my budget and tried to predict the next time that he networks and deprives. I decided that I will use the land that I own and homestead. No one can ever put us in that situation again. Now how can I make this work? I haven't built the house yet due to the lengthy divorce and the other intentionally created variables. Without revealing everything, I made it work and the house will be built soon.

After all of that, if it were a LAN network and the neighborhood and city were to blame then it's over… The worst has yet to come. My lawyer dropped the ball, so there was no contempt hearing, meaning no support from the abusive spouse. The final divorce scheduled for Monday August 24th. On Thursday prior, I advised my attorney that I wasn't a lamb being led to slaughter and neither are my children. I am not impressed with her demeanor seemingly in defense of the opposing side and reiterated that she needs to advise me of what the correspondence is rather than knowing everything they're saying and leaving me in the dark. She said that was mailing a check for $1500 of the $5k he owes. I explained how I intended on explaining everything to the judge with physical example of two clean devices in which he could type a sentence structure and I across the room could in fact with acceptable accuracy through mining relay his message… I was placed on hold, then she was going to return my call. I received an email the next day stating the hearing had been cancelled. I guess I was close enough to cause cleanup on DiVorce-20. I couldn't make up the incompetcy if I tried… it's been over a year and she let my protective order expire when she let the scheduling fail the kids and I. She's knowingly prolonged everything working an agenda.

Meanwhile, I'm mining data, and see threatening communications about my mother being the price that I will pay. For two days and there was even a signature of 4umud:\3 I had seen threatening messages all the while through, they wanted me to harm myself, so I didn't realize the gravity of the situation until the morning of August 27th, when they told me she had passed away. I am trying to hold it together, my heart is broken into pieces. In the last year and a half I lost my father, escaped DV so I thought, pandemic, bought a household full of furniture, got evicted after being tormented, burned most if the furniture that I had bought just a year ago, and then have to accept my mother's passing after being told of it prior to. How? I write sometimes into the night… Only to wake up and see everything has been deleted or modified to look like jibberish.

The plan was to make me appear alone and unstable. Then with a signature they could get the rest of what I have. The Underwoods made everyone think that I had a big check, that's so they would attack me and funny how I said to him.. your plan isn't going to work… He said they have a new one and the two days before my mom died he didn't call.. he has and did call every single day but those two days. So no, I don't believe that anyone has been here to help there is no reason that I could. The full story would take forever to explain a hundred different things … Deep learning of how sick these people are. That statement is inclusive of some judges, some lawyers, some landowner, some banker, some ex's, some banker, and some evils.

Regarding the factual basis for my findings… an advasarial context targeted at DV Victim and At some point to gain a new level of trust an observer weighed in - ALL CAPS- it appeared to be but this is stalking and Harassment using the same protocol as a guideline. Being that I worked for the Baldwin's and the quantity of equipment, servers, and technology couples with security… I'd say that BYOD could have easily attached to any device that I've had especially if someone made the mistake of hacking the email that I had as a corporate address. Quasi-imperceptible as everything in convulsion is nearly impossible to figure out. Casual reasoning nearly out the window now that I've used the Ai tech inappropriately due to the advasarial context intended to disrupt and destabilize.

Disquis was an app that he or someone loaded to my account and I did go back and test most of the apps I saw because I needed to know what info was obtained and how to prevent in the future. Red team, that's me. ResGN to reinforce the learning and GPT-2 is quickly being replaced by GPT-3 a natural language system that whether forward or back will remember the context of the usage of the specific word. Cryptography circles implemented initially to create a trustless environment. Deepfake tech that I've lived for ten years without the fancy assigned label's. Ultimately the same as always… Doubt your reality and make sure everyone doubts your capabilities because how else can they suck the soul out if you. If you see me and don't recognize me… Know it's because he is wearing my reflection… If I take it back he is the one who looks like an empty shell. I am not empty.. I have a flicker.

I hope this helps you understand that I'm capable of handling the delivery of proof and facts that will assist others to understand that this is a very sophisticated form of technology and weaponry all the same when abused and causes one to harm another or one to harm themselves then I'd say the prosecution rate will increase significantly. Once recognized for the heinous malfunctioned personality that takes the time and devotion to harm another in such a way that is worth what I just endured teaching myself because the law and legal representation failed to do anything to help ... Oh except drop the contempt, postpone the final, and my protective order expired too.

"If you really have to do something ... Go alone!" generations of wisdom... William Kirby Daniel

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vampyrechick · 5 years ago

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My Mental Health Story

*****WARNING: This post contains self harm and suicide attempts and ideation*****

When I finally accepted my diagnosis of bipolar II, it sounds cheesy, but my whole life made sense. Me as a little girl isolating, being paranoid, getting fixated on things, moods changing quick, the self harm. The self harm... first it was digging my long fingernails into the back of my hands till it bled, banging my head against the wall, pulling out my hair. Later as i grew up, the self harm turned into punching large bruises into my legs, raking my nails down my forehead, and eventually cutting my wrists. It was punishment. Punishment for being me.

I was picked on all through school- too fat, too skinny, fake boobs, etc. None of which was true. I was right in my BMI and there was nothing in my bras but my boobs. I got made fun of for having freckles and moles and I even got picked on for needing a rolling backpack when I broke my clavicle and was unable to lift heavy things.

I started college and started dating my now husband. I’d had a few huge panic attacks here and there, but never really knew what they were. He knew something was wrong with me, but didn’t quite know what. He had a suspicion on bipolar and after working with a bipolar person, so did my dad.

I’d been working at a well known lingerie store for 7 years when my boyfriend and I got married, had a kid, and bought a house with my brother. Having a baby was hard especially not knowing she was lactose intolerant so my moods were everywhere. We fixed up the house for a year and finally moved in in late 2013. I’d been getting mentally abused at that store the whole time- getting passed up for promotions, blamed for things getting stolen, yelled at, etc. It was time for a new job and more money. My brother was out a job for a while, so we needed to pay for the house somehow. I got a job at a well known insurance company. I didn’t know it, but I’d been having panic attacks all through 6 months of training. It felt like I was being crushed and I couldn’t breathe and I’d been throwing up every morning while getting ready. At the age of 4, my daughter even came in to comfort me while I was nauseous and said I’d be ok and just needed food and brought me a bucket to throw up in. Being on the phones was the worst for me. I did get my promotion and moved out of training though. I was there almost a whole year and almost to my next promotion and I had the biggest panic attack I’d ever had. It was the start of my shift and I couldn’t get on the phone. All those mornings of throwing up in the shower getting ready for this job blew up into this huge 2 hour long panic attack. My friend had to talk to managers over the phone after trying to calm me down, I had to talk to the nurse, my brother and husband had to come pick up me and my car. That was the last day in the office for me. HR was horrible. The lady I got didn’t care about mental heath and constantly needed dr notes. I eventually had to quit. A lot of people quit that job because of the stress.

I had been going to the dr while at the insurance job trying to find out why I was throwing up every morning and why I couldn’t breathe. I got checked for gall stone, ulcers, crohns, everything. Ultra sounds, endoscopy, colonoscopy, etc. My dr finally told me it was mental. I refused to believe it, but I went up a floor to psych anyway. I was diagnosed with anxiety and depression. I was put on so many different combinations and saw so many different doctors and none were working. After I quit, I of course lost health insurance and had to go through the state. Again many different pills, but less often as the dr wanted to slowly try combos. My husband somewhere in there lost his job, my brother got one, and then my husband found one making road signs. I got insurance again.

My friends mom got me a job filing paperwork at a well known car dealership. I did well filing, but I started having to greet customers in service and move cars into the smallest of parking spots. I started fixating on things, arguing with my boss, and getting lonely in the back room. I even tried to open a vein in my wrist in the bathroom at work with a wire hanger. I got really depressed in the back and the anxiety while moving cars was great. I crashed 1,2,3 cars and I was out. I was put on a 3 day suspension (which afterward turned into being fired). That day I went home and took over a full bottle of prescribed medication. I wanted to sleep. I didn’t want to exist. Just sleep forever. I was tired. Tired of my brain and stress and not knowing how to fix what i was going through. Just so tired. I text my husband to pick up our daughter from school and said goodbye. He called 911 and they came in and walked me downstairs, strapped me to the bed in the ambulance and took me to the nearest hospital in late September 2017.

They didn’t have to pump my stomach, but I did end up having a seizure. My husband, mom, and dad all came to see me and my aunt and uncle watched my daughter after school. I got put on a 5150 which is a 3 day hold in the psych ward of the hospital. I begged to be let out for the first two days. I was diagnosed bipolar II and placed on a handful of medication to take while there. I eventually gave in and participated so I could go home. The meds they gave me made me hungrier. I got out in 3 days time and still had to take those meds. and 3 months later on those meds I was 60 lbs heavier. I looked and looked for someone to help me lose the weight. Eventually I found a psych at the health insurance place that changed my medication, but after a little, they weren’t cutting it. I’ve changed meds and doses a bit. I kept asking my psych and my regular dr and my therapist for a way to help me lose weight. Nothing. I got into a bipolar group after taking IOP. A handful of them had to get surgery to lose the weight they gained on bipolar meds.

May 2019 I had an episode and landed back in the hospital under 5150 this time just for ideation. I begged again the first 2 days to be let out. My husband came every night to visit and my parents at least once since my dad works out of town. I participated when I could and got out in 3 days. I went into IOP again for 12 weeks. Then last 2 weeks of October come and I’m back in the ideation stage. I need the hospital, but the insurance policy changed and I don’t know if it’s covered. I go like that until mid November. I get put on new medications and have to cold turkey off one drug and slowly go on one and whatnot. In the beginning I can’t tell what’s real and what is a dream. For a week I live like that. Then I have a day or two of being ok, and switch to being angry. Cold turkeying that drug made me lose touch with reality for a whole week then adding that new drug made me angry. I had to stop one of the new drugs (the one that made me angry).

I’ve had trouble sleeping off and on my whole life probably due to episodes. It got worse when my grandma on my dads side passed away and lately seem to have trouble often even on meds to help.

My resting heart rate is always above 100. Often around 120 and has gotten as high as 153 (resting).

On the combo I’m on now I’ve thought about giving myself a labottomy when I used to want to drill open my head and try to fix whatever is wrong with me.

April 2020 and I haven’t had a job since about July of 2018. Before COVID-19, I was getting panic attacks every day having to take my daughter to school. In fact she missed the day school closed (March 16,2020). The panic was bad and I couldn’t get myself to drive. I’ve been fighting to get on social security disability and I have a lawyer. I had a hearing in January 2020, but needed a court ordered psych appt. The appt was scheduled for late March and was canceled because of COVID-19. Since we are a 1 income family in San Diego, it’s hard to afford our house.

I’ve had meds make me talk slow, think slow, fall fast asleep at work, hungry 24/7, thirsty 24/7, have to tinkle every 45 mins, make me tense all my muscles 24/7 for weeks. I’ve had them effect my memory. Even my memory of what everyday words are.

May 2020 I’m so stressed about everything that I’m getting massive heartburn again. I don’t know what medication to help aleviate it because lithium reacts with everything.

July 2020 stress got to me. The stress of possibly not being able to stay in my house, the stress of my backyard being so full of weeds that my husky had to get fully shaved and get over 300 foxtails pulled from his skin (and of course the bill that came with it), the stress of my husband having a kidney stone in each kidney, the stress of my husbands car not having ac and his drive to and from work is 1 hour each way (and of course not being able to afford to fix it), the stress of my car leaking oil (and again not being able to afford fixing it), and I’m sure there is more. I went out with my parents and they asked me to be friends with someone who stopped being my friend because of my disorder in order to make my brother happy. That hurt. I texted them and wanted them to know how that made me feel especially while I’m dealing with all this other stuff and got some crappy replies. I then realized that I was being stigmatized by family and they weren’t the only ones and I lost it. I got put on another 5150 July 1st. I felt like I had lost a huge part of my support team. I wanted to stab myself in the throat and make a special note to my dad as to why he, my mom, and my brother made me kill myself. While in the hospital I realized that my husband and his father (when he is able to visit) are sympathetic to what I am going through and my husband does everything he can to make things easier on me. I am very lucky to have him. Later in July I had another instance where I couldn’t tell what was real and what was not. I hope that isn’t a regular thing again.

July still and I found out my brother had invited my bipolar best friend over for a bbq and made advances and was shut down. He text her dirty texts and she told me she still shut him down and I was upset because never once did anyone in my family reach out to see if I was ok after getting out of the hospital, but my brother would text my friend he’s hung out with less than 5 times? So I message him and he gets defensive and I decide to cut him from my life. I’m upset the couple days after and my husband tells me my daughter is showing more signs of bipolar (she’s 10 and there’s a 10% chance of passing it down). I get more upset and miscommunication leads to my husband calling my parents who I am still mad at for stigmatizing me. The first thing my dad does when he gets here? Tries to fix the door handle to the bathroom because my mom couldn’t open the door when there was another one she could have used instead of check on me like my husband had asked. Things get heated and I tell them they were the reason I was hospitalized on July 1st and they then said they were calling the police. More things were said about how upset and how they don’t even try to learn or read a book to learn and they said “no book can teach me about bipolar.” And I said the whole family stigmatizes me by not saying anything when I say I can babysit and my dad said “well no wonder they think they are a danger to their kids look at you!” I told them to get out and my mom had to be forced out due to refusing to leave without my child. She then called my daughters phone and tried to talk her into walking outside to them so they could take her from me. A therapist called and deemed me ok to not go to the hospital and wait until my regular appointment (in a few minutes from then). My regular therapist then called and talked to me and came to the same conclusion as the therapist before her. My husband came home to my parents on the porch. My father then told him that I was in rage and that it was just a seizure. I was not. I am hurt and sad and upset and misunderstood. I don’t understand why people don’t get that mental illness is a real thing. Why can’t you learn about bipolar from a book? How do doctors learn? You learn how it works and what the symptoms are and then you learn the specifics of the person you love. How is that a difficult concept?

I have been having seizures at night now though. Multiple a night. Just small few second ones. Haven’t been able to sleep for a few nights unless I get so tired I pass out.

As a kid I’ve never felt like I fit in with my family and it transferred into adulthood even before I found out I was bipolar. I didn’t feel happy when I felt I should have been. I felt left out from the girls group because I didn’t like the same things they did, but I didn’t fit into the boys group either. Then adulthood. I was the first out of all the cousins to have a child and get married and buy a house, but I’m not the oldest. I just never fit. I see how the oldest and second youngest (of the girl group) go out to bingo together and of course the oldest and youngest are sisters so they are close, but me? I had 2 brothers. Where did I fit? They hung with the boy cousins. I didn’t have anything in common with either group. Again adulthood I still don’t fit because I don’t have a job and my kid is over 5 years older than the age of the babies everyone else just had. Now we add bipolar to the group and no one else has a mental disorder. None diagnosed at least.

More about my childhood, but first I’ve been having trouble sleeping. Insomnia due to stress, seizures which I’ve never had before (due to stress), and things I should have grown out of (thanks genetics... due to stress). I’ve never been happy with myself because of it and I’ve always had trouble sleeping. Most of my sleeping issues came after my grandma died. All I could think about was death. Burning alive in a house fire, drowning, being creamated alive, being buried alive, etc. I got more depressed.

Growing up at family functions I would ask to “play in the car” which meant sit and wait to go home. Now looking back I know I was sad and overwhelmed with the loud noises and not fitting in. I’d throw up every Easter. I was told it was because I ate to much candy. Now I see it was anxiety. Anxiety to find all my eggs because my family is competitive. Anxiety because my family is loud. Anxiety because I didn’t fit in.

I didn’t fit in at school either. I said earlier I was always made fun of. I forgot about how the kids would always dare different boys to ask me out and then laugh about it. My husband has learned not to tell me I’m pretty or beautiful because it makes me cry. I don’t believe him. I don’t believe any compliments ever and never have. They upset me. I’ve taken lipstick or eyeliner and written “fat, ugly, useless” ect on my mirror. I gave up on wearing make up because to me, it’s not to make you look pretty, it’s to enhance your beauty and i don’t feel I have any. First it was my cystic acne and now it’s my weight. I’ll never be how I want to look again because doctors don’t care. I was literally told “would you rather be alive and fat or dead?” I want to be happy. What’s the point of a life if you aren’t happy?

Growing up I didn’t feel like I got much attention. I tried to come up with ways to break a bone at school 1-5 grade. Lotion on my hands then go on the monkey bars, play the tougher games like red rover where people did try to break your arms while running over, ect. Nothing worked.

It’s been a hell of a ride. Paranoia, obsession, fixation, anger, hypomania, depression. It’s hard. It’s really hard to live this way. I finally got someone to help me with my weight loss early April 2020 after getting to be 110lbs over what I was. I still struggle with mood swings because obviously there is no cure and I can’t remember things and often forget what everyday things are called. Some times I feel like I am putting on a face for others. Like a “happy face”, so they don’t have to ask “what’s wrong”. I do know (when I’m in my wise mind) that I have help and a small amount of people who love me who will be there for me when I need it.

It’s August now and my parents are lying to my husband about what happened just like they lied about why they asked me to be friends with someone for my brothers sake. First it was because the wedding. I pointed out they asked it was after they broke up. They stated it was just to be in the same room. I stated no that’s what was said after I told them why she didn’t want to be my friend anymore. Why am I wrong? Why lie? Why not admit it?! You fucked up! Just because my brain doesn’t produce chemicals to make me happy doesn’t mean it makes me stupid. “We called our granddaughter to come outside to the porch.” Ok. Then what? You were under the impression someone was going to take me away which in turn means you thought you would get my daughter. That’s stealing. I didn’t want her outside and you knew that.

Still beginning of August. I guess July was too rough with me not sleeping that since August came along and I fall asleep all the time and I can’t wake up. You’d think sleep would be a good thing, but the sleep I get is nothing but nightmares that I can’t wake up from. I went to the doctor the other day and found out that a small lump I’ve had on my shoulder since 4th grade is a cyst brought on by stress. I also have psoriasis... brought on by stress. I have been shaking a lot lately due to anxiety and money problems keep getting worse. My stomach won’t stop hurting.

Wow it’s the first Saturday in August. How much has happened. That girl my parents asked if I would be friend with for my brother btw is married. I had asked my friend of like 25 years when the incident happened if she would take her off things like Instagram and Facebook and stuff and she had a fit, but half took her off Instagram. You know where you unfollow them but they still follow you? So yea I was still mad but she claimed she didn’t know how to not have her on Instagram. You know that “block” button. Yea I guess that doesn’t exist. So recently after my parents thing I see she adds the new Facebook page (I blocked one so this is a new one) and I lose me shit). She text me asking me how I am doing and I not word for word say “don’t ask how I am if you don’t give a shit. I see you added that bitch recently and I don’t know if you’ve done reading or not on mental health, but triggers are things that set back forward progress. I don’t get why I fight for you to be in my life when you don’t fight for me to be in yours. Don’t text me again” and I blocked her. She then had her daughter (who’s always grounded from her phone) bombard my daughters phone with “can my brother and I sleep over? Auntie has to answer my moms texts though” like what the fuck?! She’s always been a “user.” And when I say “user” I mean “drive me here and I’ll ignore you the whole concert” “give me money and I’ll say I’ll pay you back and never actually will” “ watch my kids every weekend for like 2 months and I’ll never return the favor.” Shit like that. I’m out. Done. To quote my favorite movie in a time of pain this Katelynn “chick must have beer flavored nipples.”

August is the month that just keeps giving. I am non stop nauseous. I threw up the other day and it caused me to have a nose bleed. Mental health drug withdrawals are no joke. Hopefully I’m on a good mix again for another year or whatever. Once the withdrawals stop, I need to stop the stress and anxiety. My husband says my dad is trying to make an effort to learn now, but I don’t know if it’s too late. He and my mom have already triggered me many times by asking me to be friends with that girl who didn’t want to be my friend because my illness to make my brother happy. My dad also told me I’m a danger to children when I’ve only ever hurt myself whereas his oldest has gotten expelled from high school for fighting and has a track record for punching holes in walls and hitting cabinet doors off hinges, but because I have a label, I’m dangerous. There’s just some things you just can’t take back.

I don’t know if I’ve already stated, but I forget what things are called and the stress to get my thoughts and what I’m trying to say out is huge because I don’t want to hear “what?” “I missed that” “I didn’t hear what you said.” It’s cause I didn’t get to finish! I stopped to figure out what the word was now I forgot the whole sentence! Colored pencils are colored sticks. Elote is elbow. Ice is grass. Posture is prosper. I HATE this! I come up with ANY word that will come out to avoid a pause so I can avoid “what?” I truely cannot remember the word either until someone tells me.

It’s the end of August and my parents and I are slowly starting to talk. First about small things like video games, but yesterday I called my mom and told her I was sorry for how I expressed my feeling. I said I never should have acted out in anger and should have come to them calmly (though now thinking about it, I did and it didn’t work, but what’s done is done). My dad is reading the book and really taking it in. The book being from a bipolar persons perspective is nice for him. My mom is also doing internet research. My brother has been asking how I have been doing which is nice though I still don’t know how I feel about him and how he treated my friend. My oldest brother has been silent. We’ve never been close. It hurts, but he’s got two little girls to deal with I guess. I would have been asking about him, but oh well I’ll take what I get. I’ve did the distance thing I realized because I was afraid of losing them again. Afraid the anger and fighting would come back and it would just be a never ending cycle. I hope this book opens eyes. On other notes, I’ve upgraded to nocturnal panic disorder. I’ve been waking up in a panic from sleep. Still having nightmares, but the times I don’t, PANIC!

My parents and I are doing better since my dad is reading the book. I appologized for how I said things in anger to both of them because it wasn’t fair to them for my to have done that even if I did try calmly. I should have kept trying. My dad said the book is really eye opening and he didn’t need the apology, but appreciated it. He said reading it made him realize I couldn’t help it. I can’t explain right now what he meant, but it’s just like loss of control (I posted the book in another post). I text my brother to tell him I love him because I do and I understand why he would ask my friend out, but I’m still upset because I know I was a rebound and he didn’t have good thoughts. I know he knows it was a mistake and in time we will be ok. On another note, I found out why I was having nocturnal panic attacks. I stopped my sleeping pills that is also for anxiety. I started a medication that I haven’t been on for a little and I took my on the spot anxiety med the other day and i had a few psychotic breaks again (a few in one day). So now I won’t take my on the spots anymore.

My primary care doctor has put me on a medication to help with weight loss in addition to the others I am on. Its also supposed to help with full body pain and swelling which I have. In just three days I have already noticed reduced swelling and pain. Dieting is still hard, but less hard. I am couting calories safely to lose 1 pound a week and eating at least 80 grams of protein. Thats it. Thats my diet I am following. Nothing special or fancy or hard to do. Simple.

Took almost 2 years on the dot, but I finally got on SSDI as of early Sept. and early Oct. I got my award letter. I didnt fully win my case (only 16 months out of 2 years, but I will take it). Also, I don’t get paid for the first 5 months of that 16 months which I don’t fully understand, plus I have to pay the lawyers, but still, I won. We also got a notice saying that since I have a child, I can apply to get money to pay for her as well. That was easy to apply for and only takes a month to hear back for, so I should hear back early Nov.

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