#@ Terms and Conditions:

[inkskinned]

because sometimes there are invisible tests and invisible rules and you're just supposed to ... know the rule. someone you thought of as a friend asks you for book recommendations, so you give her a list of like 30 books, each with a brief blurb and why you like it. later, you find out she screenshotted the list and send it out to a group chat with the note: what an absolute freak can you believe this. you saw the responses: emojis where people are rolling over laughing. too much and obsessive and actually kind of creepy in the comments. you thought you'd been doing the right thing. she'd asked, right? an invisible rule: this is what happens when you get too excited.

you aren't supposed to laugh at your own jokes, so you don't, but then you're too serious. you're not supposed to be too loud, but then people say you're too quiet. you aren't supposed to get passionate about things, but then you're shy, boring. you aren't supposed to talk too much, but then people are mad when you're not good at replying.

you fold yourself into a prettier paper crane. since you never know what is "selfish" and what is "charity," you give yourself over, fully. you'd rather be empty and over-generous - you'd rather eat your own boundaries than have even one person believe that you're mean. since you don't know what the thing is that will make them hate you, you simply scrub yourself clean of any form of roughness. if you are perfect and smiling and funny, they can love you. if you are always there for them and never admit what's happening and never mention your past and never make them uncomfortable - you can make up for it. you can earn it.

don't fuck up. they're all testing you, always. they're tolerating you. whatever secret club happened, over a summer somewhere - during some activity you didn't get to attend - everyone else just... figured it out. like they got some kind of award or examination that allowed them to know how-to-be-normal. how to fit. and for the rest of your life, you've been playing catch-up. you've been trying to prove that - haha! you get it! that the joke they're telling, the people they are, the manual they got- yeah, you've totally read it.

if you can just divide yourself in two - the lovable one, and the one that is you - you can do this. you can walk the line. they can laugh and accept you. if you are always-balanced, never burdensome, a delight to have in class, champagne and glittering and never gawky or florescent or god-forbid cringe: you can get away with it.

you stare at your therapist, whom you can make jokes with, and who laughs at your jokes, because you are so fucking good at people-pleasing. you smile at her, and she asks you how you're doing, and you automatically say i'm good, thanks, how are you? while the answer swims somewhere in your little lizard brain:

how long have you been doing this now? mastering the art of your body and mind like you're piloting a puppet. has it worked? what do you mean that all you feel is... just exhausted. pick yourself up, the tightrope has no net. after all, you're cheating, somehow, but nobody seems to know you actually flunked the test. it's working!

aren't you happy yet?

[trans-axolotl]

nothing makes me more insane than the phrase "selling your body" btw. like was i not also selling my body at every other job i've had where i had to be on my feet all day, lifting boxes, working in a warehouse, etc. why is it that sex work is uniquely labeled as "selling your body" while every other job is sorted into another category, no matter how much that job might have a physical impact on your body. lmao.

[dobbysimp]

pandora: reggie Evan is being xenophobic again

regulus: i beg your pardon?

evan: dora for the last time, that is NOT what that word means

pandora: you were mean to xenophilius, that makes your xenophobic

dorcas: i dont think you know how definitions work love

regulus: no, no, she’s technically right

barty: god forbid a girl lets language evolve past societal rules

pandora, high-fiving him: exactly, evan is xenophobic and reg and barty are homophobic

barty, with his hand still up in the air freezing: i’m what now?

pandora: you know, because you both hate your homes. homeophobic

regulus: okay never mind i take back my support

[friendlycursedspaceotter]

she’s an artist. she’s got DID and it’s not villainized. her armor is a bunch of tiny freaks in a trench coat. she’s good friends with one sword and traumatized another as a child but they are rebuilding that relationship. she infiltrated the mafia. her husband supports trans rights and I think she does too but this hasn’t been confirmed and probably won’t be for at least 3-5 years in our timeline. probably more. she needs therapy but was probably one of the reasons it was invented. she’s also ginger. I’m not saying who it is but you know who it is.

[burningcheese-merchant]

ANSWER THIS AND YOU GET A FUNNY BURNING CHEESE COMIC

Hear me out

The ancients giving themselves up to the beasts as sacrifices if they agreed to leave earthbread alone and never wreck terror or show their faces again

I'd say everyone besides Flour would go:

Say less Babygirl*hops into a pumpkin carriage and rides off into the sunset*

Maybe Salt would need a lot of convincing because... Holy shit it could be this easy, Milk you seeing this, quick Spice snap a photo this is a moment in history

Flour is just in massive denial but would find a way to agree to mke it seem like it isn't about love or anything

Unknown3doors, don't tempt me like that 👀 don't tempt me like that, unknown3doors 👀 you're playing with fire, unknown3doors 👀🔥

Pure Vanilla surrendering to Shadow Milk would be the happiest day of Shadow's life. He makes Vanilla repeat himself multiple times, makes him announce it through a megaphone, they do a radio broadcast, Shadow makes a TV special out of it, Shadow writes poems and essays gloating and taunting... And then he eventually agrees to Vanilla's terms (although, he DOES try to haggle for permission to continue annoying people). Pure Vanilla is HIS!!! HE'S FINALLY HIS!!! FOREVER AND EVER!!!!!!! (And the Soul Jam, technically. But WHATEVER!!! HIS SILLY VANILLY!!!). Now Vanilla must endure having to spend EVERY SINGLE MINUTE of his life within 10 feet of Shadow AT ALL TIMES, or else the deal is off and Shadow will commit genocide in retaliation. Why the long face, though? You agreed to this! You knew this would happen! Maybe if Vanilla behaves well enough, like a good little doll, Shadow will allow himself to be HIS doll for a time. Tit for tat. It's only fair. They can be each other's playmate for eternity now...

Eternal Sugar would be 100% awake for the first time in forever if Hollyberry offered herself to her - in exchange for anything at all, it never had to have been for keeping innocents safe. Typical of Holly, in her estimate; she's not necessarily surprised by this. Maybe she'll feign a bit of surprise just because, maybe she'll tease Holly about it... But all in all, she's quite pleased. Now she can keep those pesky subjects of Holly's away from her much easier (as well as her friends... Including that ridiculous dragon...). Holly will learn to see things her way eventually. Appreciate the little things. Like a nice, long nap in a warm bed, in the arms of a loved one... Pleasant, sugary sweet dreams that are too comforting to wake up from... No one ever bothering them about anything ever again. Free from their responsibilities, free from the burden of the shield and the crown. Just the two of them in their own little world, pursuing their own happiness. Won't that be nice?

Mystic Flour would struggle to even entertain Dark Cacao's presence, never mind his... proposal (oh gods, not that word). She would refuse, and refuse, and refuse again. But Cacao does not give up, stubborn fool that he is. Curse his Light of Resolution... Eventually, in lieu of plainly refusing, she tries to appeal to reason. What about his kingdom? His people? What would they say, think, do? Will he leave them behind just to keep her pacified? What about his friends? His son? Who will rule in his absence? Unfortunately, Cacao has an answer for every single one of her questions... and, with an even greater undertone of misfortune... she likes them. That part of her that likes HIM also likes this. That he always has an answer for everything she says. That he won't bend the knee to her, no matter what. His self-sacrificing nature, bordering on martyrdom... just like hers once was. In truth, every word out of her mouth is only serving to delay her inevitable acceptance of his offer. A feeble attempt at shooing him away, one final shot at denying her feelings towards him, for having him around her constantly would be too much to bear, and she might... She... She'll break. She knows she will. And she can't have it. She won't stand for it.

... Dark Cacao, stubborn, handsome, selfless fool that he is. He has undone everything she ever worked for. Her apathy meant nothing the moment they locked eyes. It means nothing now, as they go back and forth about this foolish deal of his. And it won't mean anything when she eventually says yes.

(But she'll try to pretend otherwise, for as long as she can. Neither of them could handle the truth...)

Golden Cheese: Burning Spice, if you leave everyone else alone, I'll give myself to-

Burning Spice: DEAL!!!!!!!!! *pounces on her before she can actually finish or explain herself any further... What he does next, I'll let you imagine/decide 😉*

Silent Salt... wouldn't even believe it at first. He'd be astounded. Dumbfounded, really, that White Lily would say such a thing... Is this really her? Is someone forcing her to do this? What is the catch? Enough reassurance from her would convince him that she's being real and sincere and every other word that can be used to describe her deal, and... he accepts it. No other ifs, ands or buts. His White Lily... now, she really IS his White Lily. Forever and ever... He doesn't mind having to keep away from society; that's hardly a punishment. It costs him nothing. And if his White Lily is there with him, he won't even notice the difference...

[sere-ness-ima]

source: art by @temtamoo

my commission from @temtamoo of hetalia France and Poland during Napoleonic wars!

[alwaysbewoke]

[knockknockwhosthereartistism]

The ballroom scene from the Labyrinth ft. Billford

@sapphosscribe

[deikshen]

Crown Prince Shen Yuan (just... Crown prince, cultivates as a hobby, but no further) which is forcibly compromised with the Demon Emperor Luo Binghe in order to strengthen a peaceful relationship between the human and demon realms. And Shen Yuan is FURIOUS. HOW DARE THEY PROMISE HIM IN MARRIAGE TO SOMEONE HE DOESN'T EVEN KNOW?! EVEN IF HE'S TRACED THE POWERFUL DEMON EMPEROR, THAT DOESN'T MEAN HE WANTS TO MARRY HIM!!

Anyway, he'll do whatever it takes to break that engagement. Ha! If those tutors and advisors think he'll just stand by and watch them manage his life, NO WAY! Shen Yuan may have a boring palace life reading about monsters and plants (and trashy novels that traffic in servants when no one is looking) but it's HIS life. He decides what he'll do! They can't steal that from him!!

He will ruin that engagement. No marriage commitment is necessary, gentlemen! Hasn't anyone heard of peace treaties and trade agreements? Seriously! And he's the irresponsible young man, according to reports!

So, fully determined, he will do all kinds of things necessary to ruin that engagement. Disdaining wedding gifts? Done. Sending clearly offensive and uncharacteristic wedding gifts? Done. Dressing inappropriately for peace celebrations? Done. Get drunk and be rude and hostile to prove that he's a silly, conceited guy and that no one will benefit from marrying him? Done.

Shen Yuan does everything he has to do, but NOTHING WORKS? REALLY? Why do the damn demons at court think that behavior is acceptable!? He's being hostile!! Rude! Why do the demons think he's accepting courtship satisfactorily!? Idiots!!!

Determined to go all out and flout all the rules of engagement, Shen Yuan runs away to the Demon Emperor's palace, determined to meet him in person and ruin any expectations Lord Luo might have of him. Then Luo Binghe will see that he is a hostile, rude, noisy boy, that his life will be fucking ruined if he marries him, and that this arranged marriage is a horrible farce!!

... So he meets him in person. Oh god. Okay. Shen Yuan has new plans.

Well, their arranged marriage and peace agreements are on the table for late fall. Shen Yuan needs to fuck Luo Binghe before that, then, it will be a scandal!!! Which will make them get married quickly, without arrangements, without festivities, and of course without forcing him just the way his palace court wanted!! No fancy wedding arrangements! No more having any say over him! Ha!!

If Shen Yuan is going to marry Luo Binghe, it will be on his own terms, thank you for nothing!!

[bobbinfire]

We now return to "The Court Paperwork Battle of Optimus and Megatron"....

Yeah, me too guys. Actually can I join you its getting a little tense down here. I do not get paid enough to be an archivist for this scrap.

<<The Original Paperwork

<Previous Law Suit

Next>

[kirianthedivorce]

I don’t think this is going to end with Gemma being completely alive and back to normal and everything’s happy but like, I am a little baffled by people’s insistence that mark trying to get her back is unhealthy

Like. If you think your wife dies but then it turns out she appears to be alive and being held hostage in a basement somewhere, presumably stolen just before death by the deeply unethical medical company who has contacts and influence in just about every organisation in your area (including the hospital and the morgue), and you happen to have access to some parts of said basement then doing what you can to get her out of there isn’t an unhealthy refusal to move on. That’s like. A relatively normal response to an insane situation.

Like is the healthy option to just leave your seemingly alive and well wife in the basement of the evil medical company to be experimented on? Mark doesn’t even know she can’t remember anything (and to be honest, neither do we. We’ve only seen her innie. We have no idea what her ‘outie’ is like. I doubt it’s normal regular Gemma, but we don’t know). The experimental brain surgery is unideal but the desire to rescue her is like. The only normal response to that information

[whydidisavethistomyphone]

I woke up to this, Twitter shitting itself and another mass exodus of artists from twitter to bluesky.

[alterpathy]

Alterpathy: The practice of identifying, categorizing, and identifying with fictional and imagined illnesses due to a disconnect between your external and internal understanding of yourself - while also not intending to appropriate, romanticize, or cause harm to a minority group.

this is going to be a really long post because i want to cover all the basics. future coinings will not be nearly as long.

identifying, categorizing, and identifying with: making flags, coining terms, and posting about your experience. alterpathic conditions can also be divided into a couple of categories, which are detailed later in the post.

disconnect between your external and internal understanding of yourself: for some reason, even though you're aware that this isn't how conditions that affect the body work, you experience a reoccurring condition that is serious to you. this can be because of atypical dysphoria, delusions, alternate beliefs, delusions, or anything else similar.

appropriation, romanticism, causing harm: this doesn't mean that actions you take are automatically excused of harm, but it's a silent agreement and nodding between yourself and others that you're not trying to come from a place of ableism/bigotry.

ignoring/excusing bigotry: examples of ignoring/excusing bigotry would be implying that someone can "coin" a real mental illness/other condition in the same way you can coin a gender, implying you can "transition" into a congenital condition with subliminal videos or otherwise, and anything else that goes against science's understanding of illness and neurodivergence. there's nuance to this, of course, because the psychology field isn't an absolutely perfect field that can do no wrong - it's up to the person coining/the person identifying to look at the situation and act accordingly.

examples of situations that might bring you to identify this way:

being a fictive/kin/introject/etc of a character who had a disease or type of injury that was invented for their media, like zombie diseases, cyberbrain cclerosis, the cutie pox, hanahaki disease, etc, and feeling affected by it in any way

experiencing something in your system's headspace that's like a reoccurring illness

having limbs like wings, tails, horns, etc in your headspace with some kind of damage to them that causes you phantom discomfort

feeling anxiety/frustration because you're experiencing something on a metaphysical level which you know your physical body isn't experiencing, but it's still very serious to you and possibly even hurting your quality of life

grammar:

alterpathy: 1) the practice of naming/making flags/categorizing these, "here's my mogai blog and here's my alterpathy blog"; 2) this kind of condition. "my depression and my alterpathy make it hard for me," "i might have an alterpathy but i'm not sure"

alterpathic: descriptor that describes these conditions. "it's alterpathic," "how to cope with alterpathic..."

inspiration and some context on why we're coining this

this was largely inspired by the r*dqueer term of x*nomalady, because after the system looked into it, we did see a lot of cases of people who were genuinely experiencing something serious, but didn't seem to think that there was any space other than the rqc that would be accepting of someone identifying with a disease that technically didn't exist. these cases were mixed in with genuinely ableist people who displayed the behaviors i listed above in "ignoring/excusing bigotry," which feels wrong to me, and i think that people who aren't intending to harm anyone deserve their own terminology and space.

crossover

there is some crossover with dissodic, desirdae, intusui, ethix +etc good faith terms related to feeling like you have, internally have, desire, or identify with something you technically don't, and i think that's fine. you can identify with an alterpathic term and the equivalent of it in another term umbrella, that's fine. do whatever fits best to describe your experiences.

so, is this just x*nomalady but Good?

not exactly, i don't want this to be thought of as a 1-to-1 anti rq equivalent, because again, some x*nomalady people are just coining """disorders""" for fun because they think you can do that in the same way you would a gender. this is both an identity/experience, and a silent agreement to be critical of what you're putting out into the world. this is also not focused on "coining" new conditions unless that's really necessary. (not necessary = making up a new illness for funsies. necessary = putting a name to a reoccuring condition you've been experiencing in headspace, etc.)

in the same way that terms like dissomei and intusui aren't 1-to-1 tr*nsid but Good and are separate term umbrellas that have their own nuances and notes, this is a good-faith alternative for people genuinely experiencing this kind of thing.

can i coin my own?

yes, this is open to everyone to coin! though, i will be posting a couple of flags for some alterpathic things in a couple of days, so you might want to wait until those come out so you can see how i format the post.

TDLR: considering yourself to have a condition that's not possible in reality because of some internal identity, but not in a fashion where you ignore/excuse bigotry.

can i post this term on…

wiki/term definition sites: yes, and you don't have to ask, but i would like to be informed.

pinterest/other social medias: no, never, i'm not comfortable with someone else posting my term for me.

subtypes:

when a different self began working on this, he set out two subtypes of alterpathic condition. unlike something like the age ratings in nichelink, these are absolutely optional, and you don't have to include these in your term definition if you don't want to/don't find it useful. but i think that if you're like me and like lots of details, these could be appealing, so i will include what he wrote:

Fiction-based. This is aimed at conditions that are established some way in a work of fiction/media, such as:Hanahaki Disease Slender Sickness Radiation Sickness (as seen in the Fallout series, not the IRL version) Environment-Based. Specific conditions that you can recognize are happening because of things already in your environment, like trauma, alterhuman labels, existing neurodivergent symptoms and so on. As an example, I'll mention the specific thing one of the alters in my system has that inspired me to make this subtype. He is a fictive of an angel character, but from my perspective it is vary obvious that his wings don't work and cause him muscle cramps in our headspace as a metaphor for an injury we had when were a child that gave us severe muscle cramps and required extremely painful and traumatizing physical therapy. That's something that was in our environment, so I'd call it environment-based. Subtypes are an optional category though, and you might not be able to decide/understand if yours fits into one or both, and that's fine. Also, I acknowledge that just two subtypes might not be enough to cover all the bases, and also there are probably tons of conditions that fall into both or inbetween, and that's fine. I want to "cross that bridge as we come to it", and let people who identify with this tell me their thoughts about what other words need to be coined.

flag inspiration rambles

this flag went through a lot of design phases. it was originally much more inspired by the general disability flag, because we imagined that most of the appeal would be to people who are actually disabled (mentally ill people, etc). the final flag became more inspired by existing terms for people who experience a disconnect between themself and their conditions. i saw many examples of shades of purple and pink, scalloped stripes/rounded shapes, and specifically these flags were the biggest inspirations:

dissocogni and dissophysi by @/acetrappolaswife (deactivated)

desirsick/desirill by @shrubmogai

other stuff

tags: @antiradqueerguy | @radiomogai | @archive-of-form | @everythingarchive | @mad-pride maybe? | @plurality-faq | @anti-rq-gumi | @doomsd8ydevice // ask to be untagged

"would (thing) fit this?" ask, there's tons of room for discussion and nuance.

this post was written mostly by nichie.

flag template:

hanahaki disease example:

nonfunctional angel wings example:

[allastoredeer]

"TERMS AND CONDITIONS APPLY" CHAPTER 3 - PALACE INTRIGUE

New chapter posted!!

[navybrat817]

Resignation

Pairing: Sugar Daddy!Andy Barber x Female Reader Summary: You get to know Andy a bit more and put in your notice, but your boss doesn't it take it well. Word Count: Almost 4.4k Warnings: Slow burn, getting to know each other, sugar daddy contraction, tension, flirting, slight insecurities, inner monologue, yelling (apologies to anyone named Sean), Andy Barber (he's a warning, okay?) Graphic talent and thanks: Banner - @sgt-seabass, Divider - @firefly-graphics, Header - yours truly Previous Part: Sign the Dotted Line A/N: Welcome back to my Terms and Conditions AU! Hope you lovelies enjoy. Beta read by the lovely @whisperlullaby but any and all mistakes are my own. ❤️ Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

The feeling of floating on cloud nine wasn't something you experienced much in your life. There were high points, of course, but nothing like the elation that filled you as Andy went to make a copy of the contract. It was almost dizzying to think that for the next three quarters of a year, everything was going to be okay. Better than okay.

All thanks to Andy.

Estelle shrieked as she pulled you to your feet. “You're a sugar baby! You're a sugar baby!” she sang, making you laugh as she did a little dance with it.

“I thought you said I was going to be his ‘companion’,” you teased.

She leveled you with a look. “It’s the same thing,” she said, grabbing her bag. “And since your new ‘companion’ is taking you to the diner, why don’t we celebrate tomorrow? You better give me all the details.”

You giggled again at the implication as she squeezed you in a tight hug. If you weren’t happy before, you would've been thanks to her infectious attitude. “You sure don’t need me to head down with you?”

“No, I’m good. You just enjoy the rest of the day,” she said, winking at you and pointing at Andy when he came back. “Have fun and be good to her or I’ll destroy you,” she told him as she walked by with every ounce of confidence you wished you had. “And nice meeting you!”

You half expected there to be an air of awkwardness once the two of you were left alone and were surprised not to feel it at all. It was hard to describe the atmosphere outside of that, but it was something both familiar and new. Maybe that was because Andy continued to put you at ease all while exciting you. The next chapter of your time would be unpredictable in ways that you were looking forward to encountering.

Did he feel the same way?

Andy chuckled after a moment, the sound bringing a smile back to your face as he held up the papers in his hand. “I realize this is probably a bit outdated since everything is done electronically, but I prefer it this way.”

“I don't think it’s outdated,” you assured him as he handed you the contract, his fingers brushing yours. Would you ever get used to the jolt of electricity you felt at his touch? “It’s less of a chance of it getting leaked.”

Though it was you he worried about, you still wanted to protect his reputation.

“Yes, it is,” he said, smiling to himself when you tucked the papers carefully in your folder. “Estelle is serious, isn’t she? She’ll destroy me if I hurt you?”

“Oh, yeah. She isn’t afraid of anyone,” you said as you shifted slightly on your feet. “But I wouldn't worry about her. I don't expect you to hurt me.”

He had to know that.

Andy took a step closer. “She’s a good person to have on your side,” he commented, butterflies fluttering in your stomach at the soft look in his eyes. “And I have no intention of hurting you.”

You carefully considered his words with furrowed brows. “Aren't you supposed to say you promise not to hurt me?”

A sad smile touched his lips. “People make promises and usually do so for the right reasons, but they don't always lead to the desired outcome,” he replied as if he peeled back a small layer of himself that still left you with questions. “Take the weeklong silence, for example. I inadvertently hurt you by not reaching out.”

Your cheeks flamed, almost wishing you hadn't mentioned it. “But we talked about that. You didn't mean anything by it.”

“Yes, we did talk about it and I'm glad you told me how you felt. I still caused doubt in your mind though,” he said, his tone gentle and understanding without breaking eye contact. “So while I do want to promise that I’ll never hurt you, I'd rather promise that I have no intention of ever hurting you. Because I don't.”

It took a moment to recall that Andy was married once years ago. While you weren't sure why things ended, did his divorce give him a new perspective on making and keeping promises? Or was it his time as a lawyer?

Whatever the reason you had to respect him for his outlook.

“I appreciate that and I will hold you to that,” you said, falling in step beside him as you headed for the door.

He raised an eyebrow as he held it open for you to go through, allowing you to catch the scent of his cologne again as you walked past. You almost asked what brand it was just so you could get a bottle and spritz your worn in sweatshirts. “Isn't this the part where you promise you have no intention of hurting me?” He questioned.

“I don't think I have the power to hurt you,” you replied, not looking behind you as you headed toward the elevator. You were positive you didn't have that kind of influence nor did you want to hurt him. “But I promise that I have no intention to do so.”

You froze when he leaned in close, his beard ticking your ear and it took all of your inner strength not to turn your head toward him. “Never underestimate how powerful you are, honey,” he whispered, your breath rushing out of your lungs as he stepped back and gestured to the open elevator doors. “Shall we?”

“Sure,” you replied, your voice more breathy than you intended as you stepped inside. You swore you caught him smiling before he joined you.

“I gave my driver the afternoon off, so you’re stuck with me,” he said, pressing the button for the lowest level before the doors slid shut. “I hope that’s okay.”

“I think I can handle you driving,” you teased, happy that the two of you would be alone for part of the evening.

He chuckled before he went quiet again. The silence was comfortable, the soft dings as you passed each floor the only sound in the space. It gave you a moment to admire the man beside you. With his perfect posture, chin held high, and pristine suit, you tried to picture how he looked when he simply relaxed. No eyes on him. No one expecting anything from him.

Maybe he can show me that side of himself sometime soon.

“You’re staring,” he stated.

You smiled, not at all embarrassed that he caught you without looking your way. “I guess it’s because I’m still trying to figure you out.”

That and he was still one of the most handsome men you had ever seen.

But who was Andy Barber beyond his money? Your hero and your second chance at a better life, but what else? What did he do for fun? What did he want out of life, years from now?

Andy swung his head toward you as the elevator came to a stop. “I guess that makes two of us then.”

You found yourself in his car a few minutes later. The Audi still had that “new car” smell to it, the passenger seat sleek and not at all broken in. There wasn’t a spec of dust on the leather interior. Either he didn’t drive it often or he made sure to keep it in next to perfect condition.

Your mind drifted back to Andy’s earlier statement. What exactly was he trying to figure out? If he meant that he was trying to figure you out, he didn’t have to look too deeply. And if he was still trying to figure himself out, that was normal. Searching for your true self was a lifelong journey. And with your newfound sense of freedom at your fingertips, you’d be able to explore your own passions and visualize your ideal self.

But part of you figuring Andy out was getting to know him.

“Why the diner?” You asked, glancing over at him as he concentrated on the road in front of him. “I mean, why go there for coffee or food when you can go anywhere else?”

Maybe upscale places weren’t his usual style. He took you to the Courthouse and looked at ease there, but maybe the diner was an escape. Something different.

“I didn’t grow up with much, but my mom made it work as best as she could,” he admitted, a wistful note in his voice. “We never went hungry and she got creative with some meals so I wouldn’t get tired of eating the same thing. Things like fast food were considered a treat and diners were fine dining.”

You shifted in your seat as you listened, touched by the unexpected vulnerability. “I’ll bet she looked forward to those moments,” you said.

“She did and so did I,” he smiled over at you. “On the rare nights when she was able to save up and take us to a diner, she got a large breakfast or dinner meal for us to split. Best way to stretch her dollar and make sure neither of us felt hungry after.”

You almost reached over to take his hand, but you didn’t want to overstep. He was giving you a piece of himself by revealing a part of his past. That was more than you could ask for.

“I went to diners in college, too, when I was struggling to make ends meet,” he continued, stroking his beard for a moment. “I guess they kind of stuck with me because they reminded me of happier times. They also serve as a reminder to be thankful for what I have. It’s important to remember who I was then and who I am now.”

You let out a breath and closed your eyes as he turned onto the next street, wishing you could thank his mother for raising such an amazing man. “Thank you for sharing that with me.”

His hand covered yours unexpectedly when your eyes opened. “Thank you for asking.”

You turned your wrist so your palm met his, your stomach flipping as he held it a little tighter. Opening up was never easy, even if Andy made it sound effortless. You felt closer to him after hearing that important piece of his history. Even the crackle of electricity felt different this time. Instead of a jolt, it was like a steady hum.

Maybe that closeness was the reason you didn’t want to let go when he parked his car in front of the diner.

“Are you okay?” He asked.

You swallowed as you glanced out the window, the flashing lights from the sign of the beckoning for you to go in. “I just can't believe I'm actually going to quit,” you said, clutching your bag with your other hand. “I mean, I do believe it. I have my resignation letter here and everything.”

“Even when you had that bit of doubt that the contract wouldn't go through, you had your letter ready,” he smiled.

You toyed with the strap of your bag as you tried to hide your smile. “I guess I did.”

Preparation never hurt anyone.

“But if you’d rather hold off until tomorrow, I understand. I can even drive you back here if you want to wait,” he offered.

For a moment, you questioned if you should wait. As you bit your lip to fight your smile more and squeezed Andy’s hand, you made your decision. You signed the contract. You were more than ready.

Most of all, you deserved to start your path to a better future.

“I’m ready,” you assured him, reluctantly releasing his hand before you unbuckled your seatbelt. “Are you going in or did you want to wait here?”

“I’ll grab a coffee while I wait,” he said, stopping you as you reached for your door handle. “Allow me.”

You smiled to yourself as he went around to let you out. “Are you always a gentleman?”

“Not always,” he said without missing a beat, winking as you joined him on the sidewalk.

You licked your lips and gazed into his bright blue eyes. Could he see the want in yours? What would it take to make him lose control?

“I’m looking forward to seeing that side of you, Mr. Barber,” you smiled, brushing past him as he inhaled.

But first things first.

The bell rang as you walked inside and you paused to take it all in. Taking Andy’s earlier story to heart, you wouldn’t allow yourself to forget that this diner was part of your story. It not only led him to you, but also kept you from becoming homeless. It was a blessing.

“Hey,” Casey, one of the veteran servers, nodded to you from behind the counter before she looked over your outfit. She seemed to forget all about you as Andy as he walked in behind you. You didn't blame her. “Hi there. Sit anywhere you’d like.”

Andy put his hand on your lower back before he leaned in, your breath hitching slightly. “Good luck, honey,” he whispered, releasing you as Casey gawked in your direction. “I’ll just have a coffee, please,” he said as he took a seat at the counter.

The usual warmth Andy exuded was down a notch. Still friendly, but different. Or maybe you were just telling yourself that in order to feel special. “Is Sean here?”

“Yep. In the office,” Casey answered, pouring Andy a fresh cup of coffee. “Just got here.”

“I’ll be right back,” you told Andy, feeling his eyes on you as you headed through the employee only doors.

Sean had his head buried in some paperwork as he grumbled to himself. With a deep breath, you knocked on the open door. He didn't speak to you much outside of your shifts and hardly praised you for a job well done, but he wasn't a bad boss. You felt bad disturbing him, but it was now or never.

“Hi. May I come in?” You asked as he looked up.

“Yeah. Don't shut the door though. Lock’s broken,” he said, nodding to the chair in front of his desk. “Didn’t expect to see you today. What are you all dressed up for?”

“Oh, I had a meeting,” you answered, which wasn’t a lie. You did meet with Andy. “That’s actually what I needed to talk to you about.”

“A meeting?” He repeated with a frown. “Don’t tell me you’re quitting.”

Your stomach began to twist in knots. The last thing you wanted to do was disappoint your boss, even if he wouldn’t be that for much longer. Being a waitress also wasn’t your dream job, but it helped you when you needed it.

Now you have to help yourself.

“Yes, I am. I’m putting in my two weeks notice,” you said quietly, taking the letter out of your bag and placing it on the desk when he stared impassively. “I found another opportunity and I’m going to take it, but I’m happy to take any shifts I can over the next two weeks to help.”

Sean didn’t speak for a moment as he drummed his fingers on the desk. “Two weeks? No, that's not gonna work. We’re short as it is,” he said, shoving the paper away before he leaned back in his chair. Was he serious? “You're gonna have to make it four weeks and then we'll revisit after that to see if we need you to stay on longer.”

“No. I'm giving you two weeks,” you reiterated, your tone unwavering. You wouldn’t let Sean bully you into staying longer, even as guilt crept up since the place was short-staffed. “That's standard and I can't do more than that. I'm sorry.”

“Oh, no. I'm still in charge and you'll give me four weeks. That’s final,” he argued, waving his hand dismissively as you shrank a bit in your chair. “Unless you have anything else to add, I’ll see you next shift.”

You clasped your hands in your lap to keep from shaking. You didn't expect him to react this way. “No, that’s not final. I can't give you four weeks,” you said as calmly as possible, even as you began to feel more uncomfortable. “I would if I could, but I can't. I’m sorry.”

“Can't or won't?” Sean asked, almost making you jump as he raised his voice. “Listen here, you've been a solid employee and I'm not going to lose you in two weeks or four weeks. Do you understand? And if you don't show up you can forget about ever getting a good recommendation from me. Might as well kiss that ‘opportunity’ of yours goodbye.”

Your eyes burned as your mind flashed back to when you were told you were laid off from your previous job, the compassionate tone of your old boss the opposite of the man in front of you. The situations were different, but both made you feel so small. Especially since Sean was essentially threatening your future endeavors. You refused to cry though.

He wouldn’t witness your tears.

You cleared your throat and maintained your resolve. “Two weeks, Sean. That’s it. I said I’m willing to work as many shifts as I can over the next two weeks, but I can't do more than that. I won’t,” you firmly spoke as his eyes widened. “I really don't want to end this on a bad note, please.”

He pushed himself to his feet as he thrust a finger toward your face as if it would somehow make him appear intimidating to tower over you. It wouldn’t sway you. “Listen here, you little-”

“Is everything okay?”

Andy’s voice made both of you jump as you spun in your chair. He stood in the doorway but didn’t look your way. He trained his gaze on your boss, his normally bright eyes narrow and cold.

Your boss must’ve felt malice in that stare since he sat down immediately. “Oh. Mr. Barber,” he said. Did he know him as a regular customer or merely recognize his status? “It’s just an issue with an employee. This doesn’t concern you.”

“There is no issue,” you corrected him.

“Actually, she’s with me, so it does concern me,” Andy spoke as he took a step into the office, staring your boss down with a clenched jaw. The space no longer felt like Sean’s. It was as if Andy owned it along with everything in it. “If you want to raise your voice at someone, I’m right here. You won’t speak to her that way though. Do you understand?”

The deep timbre almost knocked the air out of your lungs, your heart pounding from Andy defending you.

Sean coughed a bit as color filled his cheeks. He should be embarrassed. “I didn’t realize she was with you. I wouldn’t have…” he trailed off.

Your blood simmered. He wouldn’t have raised his voice at you if he knew you were with Andy. Was this a taste of what things were going to be like? How people were going to treat you moving forward?

“Who she’s with shouldn’t matter. Not to mention, your customers and employees could hear you since your door was open,” Andy added, disappointment thickly laced in his voice. “You said she was a solid employee. Why would you speak to her like that?”

Sean’s eyes flickered to you as you waited for an answer. “We’ve been short-staffed and I’ve been stressing over it. That’s no excuse. I'm sorry,” he said to Andy, making your blood go from simmering to boiling. A customer, a powerful man, got the apology, but not you. “Won’t happen again.”

“Maybe remind yourself to be kind to the people who work for you before you raise your voice again. They’re the ones who keep your business running,” Andy said.

With a hang of his head, your boss sighed. “Two weeks, huh?” He asked, the wind completely out of his sails as you nodded. “Okay. Two weeks it is.”

“Thanks,” you whispered before Andy walked over and held out his hand to help you to your feet. Luckily, you didn’t tremble as you took it and gave it a small squeeze. It was nice that he was on your side.

“And one more thing?” Andy added as Sean glanced up. “I’m not the one you should apologize to.”

You held up your other hand when Sean looked your way and opened his mouth. “No. The only reason you’re going to say you’re sorry is because he’s here,” you stated, looking at Andy momentarily. He responded with an encouraging smile. “And I don’t want an empty apology. You can keep it.”

It was nice that Andy wanted an apology on your behalf, but it wouldn't feel believable.

Sean’s face fell, but he didn’t argue. Up until today, he treated you decently. The pressures of running a business were tough, but he had no reason to take it out on you. At the same time, you felt bad for him.

“But thank you, Sean. You gave me a job when I needed one and I won’t forget that,” you added gently. “I’ll see you next shift.”

“Why don't I meet you outside? I just want one more quick word with your boss,” Andy said as Sean audibly swallowed.

Uh-oh.

“Sure,” you said, the knots in your gut unraveling as you left the two of them alone.

You exhaled as you walked back into the dining area, avoiding the gazes from a few of the customers. Your hand shook as you gave Casey a small wave. At least she didn’t look upset with you.

“Quitting, huh? Lucky duck,” she smiled sadly. “You okay? He had no right speaking to you like that.”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you nodded, taking another breath. You didn't like anyone raising their voice at you, but you wouldn't allow yourself to dwell on it and didn’t need her to worry. All you could do was make the transition as smooth as possible over the next two weeks. “Didn't expect that kind of reaction. Didn’t expect anyone out here to hear it.”

“Sean’s voice carries and he’s probably just pissed that he’s losing another good one while he’s stuck here,” she guessed, glancing over her shoulder before she added in a whisper, “Oh, and that guy you’re with? He looked furious when he heard him.”

“He did?” You asked, an almost goofy smile appearing on your face.

“Yeah, he did. He had fire in his eyes. Put a bill down, got to his feet, and immediately walked back there. And I wasn’t about to stop him,” she said, her smile widening as she leaned on the counter. “I’d say he’s smitten.”

Your heart skipped a beat. First Estelle, now Casey. Though the latter had no clue about the arrangement. “He’s really something, isn't he?”

“Oh, yeah,” Casey said, straightening up when the employee door swung open.

Andy’s eyes landed on you as he walked through, his eyes soft again as he held out his hand. He also looked pleased with himself. “Ready?”

“Ready,” you said, taking it as you gave Casey a nod. “I’ll see you soon. Hope the rest of your shift is okay.”

“Me, too. See ya,” she said before she went back to assisting other customers.

“You okay?” Andy asked softly as he led you outside.

“I’m fine,” you promised, not wanting him to worry either or get upset. “But what did you say to Sean?”

“Nothing for you to worry about,” he answered, shaking his head. “Listen, I’m sorry if I overstepped by intervening. I just couldn’t let him talk to you like that.”

He easily deflected your question and you decided to let him have that victory for now.

You went in for a hug but kept space for him to breathe. He wrapped his arms tightly around you before you could pull away, your body melting into his. The bustling city around you faded as you focused on the warmth of his firm body. It made you forget all about Sean’s reaction.

“I’m glad you did,” you said, stepping back with a tiny smile. It meant the world that he defended you. “I tried to hold my own.”

“You did. You could've snapped back or walked out, but you didn't. That’s commendable and powerful,” he assured you, his gaze serious. “But I don't care if it’s your boss or a stranger or your best friend, I’m not about to let someone take their frustrations out on you.”

Warmth settled in your chest. You learned something else about Andy today: He truly wouldn't tolerate anyone disrespecting you. He continued to prove that he was a man of his word.

You also experienced firsthand how things worked in his world, how people would bend toward his will. If it was a test, you wouldn’t say you failed since you stood up for yourself. It wouldn’t always be that easy. Whether someone questioned your motives or place with Andy or not, you had to learn to grow a thick skin. Not just for your own benefit, but Andy���s, too.

He needed someone strong by his side.

“Thank you, Andy.”

“And, listen, if you don’t want to work those shifts or if he gives you a hard time-”

“I’ll be fine,” you promised. You doubted Sean would make it a hostile work environment, but you could handle it if there were any issues. “But I think I’d like to go home now.”

Andy blinked and gave you a single nod. “Sure. If that’s what you want.”

Is he disappointed at the thought of me ending the day right now?

You smiled as you tugged him in the direction of his car. “I’d also like you to see my place,” you said, his eyebrows shooting up. It surprised you that you offered, too. “It isn't much, but it’s comfortable. Maybe we can order takeout?”

It wasn’t exactly the ideal way to celebrate, but he shared a piece of himself on the drive over. The least you could do was let him see your apartment. And who knew where the evening would take you?

“Only if you’ll let me pay,” he smiled.

“You're not going to let me pay for anything, are you?” You smiled back.

“Not if I can help it,” he replied, opening the car door. “Let's get you home, honey.”

We all need a man like Andy. And what's going to happen at the apartment? Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Andy Barber Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[mostly-marvel-musings]

Chapter 2 – Terms and Conditions

A/N: Here we are, the second chapter. Let me know your thoughts :)

Pairing: Tony Stark x Wife! Reader

Warning: angst, slow burn.

Terms and Conditions

.

The Morning sunlight spilled through the glass walls of the Stark penthouse, arrogant and golden. It didn’t ask if anyone had a hangover or a quiet existential crisis brewing—it just swept in, warming untouched countertops and echoing the silence in the space around you.

You padded barefoot into the kitchen, still in the soft silk set you’d changed into after peeling off the remnants of last night’s masquerade of matrimony. Your first morning as Mrs. Stark, and the husband in question was nowhere in sight.

The place was too quiet, except—

Thud.

Whirrrr.

You blinked.

From behind the island counter, a small robotic arm appeared, swaying from side to side with the unmistakable energy of something both curious and clumsy.

“Oh,” you said, a smile twitching onto your lips. “You’re definitely not a Roomba.”

The bot beeped twice, almost indignantly.

You crouched down, peering at the strange little thing yellow casing, single arm with a clamp at the end, and what looked suspiciously like a paint smudge on its base.

“Let me guess… Dum-E?”

A mechanical chirp. One spin in place. Confirmed.

“Well, hello to you too,” you said, warmth rising for the first time that morning. You stood, opened a cabinet after three failed attempts, and poured cereal into a bowl. “Guess it’s just us for breakfast.”

Dum-E buzzed beside you, trying to reach the drawer with the spoons and knocking it half-closed in the process.

You handed it to him. “No offense, but you’re not exactly subtle.”

A happy beep in return.

You ate in silence, half expecting Tony to make an appearance. But the longer the seconds stretched, the clearer it became—he wasn’t coming up. And he hadn’t all night.

Tony Stark was married, but still a ghost in his own home.

By noon, curiosity and a sense of polite obligation won out. You carried a small tray, leftover smoked salmon toast and espresso, the kind you read somewhere he liked. You tapped lightly on the door to his lab, but surprisingly, it was already open.

Inside, the space was awash in blue light, projections dancing mid-air. Tony was in his element, hair a mess, dark circles even darker, and his body curled forward in a way that screamed fatigue.

He didn’t look up.

“I brought you lunch,” you tried, voice lighter than your pulse. “Well. More like brunch. Or breakfast, depending on which timezone you’re living in.”

He typed something mid-air. A snort. “Thanks, but I’m good.”

“You’ve said that before, haven’t you?”

Tony finally looked at you. And just for a second, you saw a flicker of something—guilt, or maybe just weariness. He was charming when he wanted to be, but you were starting to learn the difference between the mask and the man.

“I appreciate it,” he said, offering a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Really. Just… knee-deep in something right now. Rain check?”

You nodded, biting back whatever response hovered at the edge of your tongue.

“Sure,” you said, lifting the tray a little. “I’ll just leave this here. In case caffeine stops working.”

“Unlikely,” he muttered.

As you turned, Dum-E met you at the door, as if escorting you out of a room you were never meant to enter in the first place.

Afternoon stretched like taffy. You explored the penthouse, unpacked a few things, also passed by Pepper in the hallway.

She stopped just short of acknowledging you.

“Mrs. Stark,” she said, coolly.

“Pepper,” you replied, lifting your chin with polite grace.

Her eyes flicked down at the throw blanket you’d tucked over the living room couch, or maybe the open book you left on the side table.

“Making yourself comfortable, I see.”

“Should I not be?” you asked, sugar-laced. “I do live here now.”

“Of course.” She smiled, but it was the kind that said you’re a guest in a house I built.

Then she walked away.

You stood still for a long moment before muttering, “…well, that wasn’t needed at all.”

.

Later that afternoon, you found yourself wandering into a room you hadn’t properly noticed before, likely because you’d been busy dodging small talk and champagne last night. The door was ajar, the lighting soft, and the scent of packaging paper and cologne wafted through the air.

Inside sat a mountain of unopened wedding gifts. Some were wrapped in matte black with gold ribbons, others in over-the-top luxury packaging.

Your gaze fell on one particular parcel near the top of the pile—white wrapping paper with red twine, utterly simple in contrast. Taped to the top was a card. You picked it up immediately: Bucky Barnes.

You opened it with a smile.

“To the newlyweds—Good luck surviving the Stark tornado. He grows on you. Eventually. Love, Buck & Steve.”

(P.S. You should open this one first. It’s a cocktail shaker. God knows you’ll need it.)

You laughed, unexpectedly warm.

On a nearby console, a sleek glass screen flickered to life as you passed. A touch-sensitive guestbook, no doubt a product of Stark’s own tech. Curiosity got the better of you.

You scrolled.

Some messages were standard-issue wedding fluff.

“Wishing you both love, laughter, and infinite bandwidth.” – Vision

“Please don’t blow up the honeymoon suite. Or do. I’m not judging.” – Sam Wilson

“You already know this, but I’m writing it down for the record: you’ve got him wrapped around your finger, and it’s about damn time someone did. I don’t usually believe in happily ever afters—but if anyone can make one out of a merger and a mess of a man, it’s you.

You’ve got steel in your spine and kindness in your eyes. Keep both. And if he ever forgets how lucky he is, remind him you’ve got me on speed dial.”

—Nat

Then came one that made you pause:

“If you break her heart, I’ll help you hide the body. Vice versa.” – Lt. Colonel James Rhodes

You stared at the screen for a beat, feeling a strange warmth spread beneath your ribs. You were surrounded by strangers, but maybe… just maybe, not entirely alone.

You shut the guestbook gently, the soft click echoing in the room.

The hallway beyond stood quiet. The penthouse was still too large, too glassy, too much like living in someone else’s dream. But little by little, it was starting to feel… curious. Open.

Not home. But not hostile.

And for now, that was enough.

.

The golden light from the setting sun spilled across the penthouse, brushing warmth onto the sleek floors and cold corners. You’d just finished flipping through the last entry in the digital guestbook—some snarky comment from Happy that made you snort-laugh despite the dull throb of isolation that had been pressing down all day. Tony was still sealed away in his lab, probably halfway through his fourth cup of bitter coffee and deep in his own mind. You hadn’t seen him since breakfast.

So the knock at the door startled you.

When you opened it, Natasha Romanoff stood on the other side, dressed in casual jeans and a fitted navy tee, a bakery bag in one hand and two takeaway cups in the other.

“I figured you could use some company that doesn’t require biometric access,” she said with a smirk, brushing past you like she belonged there. “Also, the coffee’s from that little place down the street. The guy says you’ve got good taste.”

You blinked. “You bribed a barista?”

“I charmed him,” she corrected, settling into the armchair like it was made for her. “I told him you just married Tony Stark. He took pity.”

You snorted and followed her in, heart easing a little. You weren’t used to kindness without strings in this house—not yet. But Natasha? She felt like the calm before a storm. Measured. Unshakeable. You needed a bit of that tonight.

As you sat across from her, wrapping your hands around the warmth of the cup, she leaned in slightly, studying you with that uncanny sharpness of hers.

“He’s not gonna come up for air for hours,” she said gently, meaning Tony. “But you don’t have to sit in the silence waiting for him.”

Your throat tightened, but you managed a quiet, “Thanks for coming.”

Natasha smiled, soft and knowing. “That’s what friends do.”

You both sipped in silence for a few moments, watching the city fade into shadows through the floor-to-ceiling windows. It should’ve been calming. But your shoulders stayed tense, your fingers tight around the cup like it was the only thing keeping you grounded.

Natasha was the first to break the quiet.

“So,” she said casually, “you surviving yet?”

You gave a soft, huffing laugh. “Define ‘surviving.’ I’m married to a man who doesn’t eat unless bribed, is one lab tantrum away from burning out, and who avoids eye contact like it owes him money.”

She tilted her head, amused. “Sounds like Tony.”

You looked over at her. “You know him well.”

Natasha nodded, setting her cup down on the side table. “Well enough to know he’s never brought someone into his life like this before. That means something.”

That lump in your throat returned, heavier now. “Some days it feels like I’m just a… strategic acquisition. A pawn in a merger that got too personal.”

Her brows lifted, then softened. “You’re more than that. I knew it when you walked into the reception like you weren’t afraid of him. Most people flinch around Tony Stark—especially the ones who want something. You didn’t.”

You blinked, surprised by the quiet steel in her voice.

“Trust me,” she continued, leaning forward with her elbows on her knees. “It takes guts to stand beside a man like him. But it takes something else entirely to reach him when he’s shutting down.”

“…Yeah, well,” you muttered, fiddling with your ring, “he hasn’t exactly made that part easy.”

“No. He doesn’t.” She smirked, but gently. “But that’s why I’m here. I figured you might need someone who speaks fluent Stark-induced chaos.”

You laughed again—truly, this time—and the tension finally cracked. “You offering to be my Stark translator?”

“Among other things.” She reached into the bakery bag and tossed you a lemon shortbread cookie. “Friend. Partner-in-crime. Occasional voice of reason.”

You bit into the cookie, warmth curling in your chest. “And if I need help hiding a body?”

She didn’t miss a beat. “I’ll bring the shovel.”

You grinned. “You’re hired.”

As the city lights flickered to life and the night settled around you, something inside eased. Maybe this place wouldn’t feel so cold after all.

.

The sun dipped behind the skyline. Manhattan glittered. The penthouse buzzed in the quiet way all machines do when they’re waiting for someone to notice something’s wrong.

And down in the lab, Tony staggered, fingers shaking as he gripped the edge of the worktable. His breathing was uneven, shallow. The light from his arc reactor flickered once. Then again.

“Not now,” he muttered to no one, tugging open the panel in his chest with trembling hands.

The arc reactor came free—burning hot in his grip. Sparks snapped and hissed at the edges, the metal sizzle loud in the sterile quiet of the lab.

Blue veins spidered out across his chest like cracks in porcelain. For a moment, Tony just stared at them. The room tilted. Or maybe he did.

He forced the new core in place, wincing as it clicked, hissed, then steadied.

Tony exhaled slowly, wiping his brow with the back of his hand. His face was pale. His lips tight.

He would tell no one.

Because he was Tony Stark. He could fix this.

He had to.