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otomes-and-tears · 4 years

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Hi Bee ! With chapter 13 that just came out, we now know that Ellie and Tyler knew about Tegan's crush on Scholar, right ? I was wondering if you could write a scenario where he admit it to them i mean they probably forced him to spill the beans but still

A/N: One of my favourite things about otome is seeing the love interests interact with each other.

I don’t like when a game begins and ends on their relationship with the protagonist.

I don’t like seeing the love interest’s lives revolving around a single character.

I like seeing how they interact with their friends, with their enemies, how their lives were before they met the MC and how their presence impacts them.

I think these types of scenes are just as important, if not more, than the romance itself.

With all that being said… I love the dynamic between TnT and Ellie and I will protect this little chaotic trio with my LIFE.

Btw, I usually do my requests in order, but I saw this on my asks and it was like I was slapped in the face with creativity. Thank you anon.

Tegan telling Tyler and Ellie about his crush on scholar

“You seem distracted.” Ellie looks up from the blueprint on her desk to watch Tegan, a playful smirk on her face.

More than a week has passed since Tadashi’s re-election and things had just started to get back to normal. There was still tension in the school’s halls about the Nakano scandal, but that was par for the course with such big news.

Ellie had flooded their private group chat a couple of nights ago on an ungodly hour suggesting an elaborate prank on Tadashi. It was more of an excuse to provide some much-needed fun to their group of friends, so Tyler and Tegan jumped at the opportunity as soon as it presented itself.

As usual, they met at Ellie’s room after classes and spent the last couple of days looking up materials and plans.

They would use the Arlingtonator created by the Health Sciences Department as an inspiration to create their own version of the local cryptid just in time for Halloween.

Tyler was working on the creature’s final sketch, Ellie was studying one of her old blueprints as reference and Tegan... Well, Tegan was supposed to get a head start on the code. His laptop was open, but he was staring off into the distance.

Ellie’s comment pulled him out of his thoughts.

“I’m just tired.”

He looked back into the screen, willing himself to just focus.

Ellie’s smile just grew as she watched him squirming under her watchful eyes. Tegan was hiding something, and she had an inkling of what it might be about.

Making him talk would be fun.

“That never stopped you before.”

Tyler stopped furiously sketching the monster to make that observation, eyeing his best friend suspiciously.

“Is there something in your mind, Teegs?” Ellie said, in a sing song-y voice. “Or… Someone?”

The furious blush that emerged on his face was all the proof she needed. Tyler beamed at the confirmation, seemingly happy for his best friend.

“N-No there isn’t anybody...” Tegan muttered, but one glance at his friends told him that it wasn’t convincing enough. “I—“

“Don’t worry, bro. We’re not telling.”

Tyler’s smile turned gentle. As much as he liked teasing his best friend, Tegan looked a second away from exploding in embarrassment.

Ellie nodded excitedly, momentarily forgetting their project.

“With that being said... It’s Scholar, isn’t it?”

Tyler said, and Tegan hid his face in his hands with embarrassment. Ellie quickly extended a hand so the artist could high-five her.

“Was I too obvious?”

The redhead asked, frustrated.

“For us? yes.”

Ellie admits, with a smirk.

“I’m not sure the others noticed yet if that makes you feel better.” Tyler quickly added. “So... Since when?”

“The department competition, I guess? I’m not really sure...” He trailed off, the tips of his ears getting redder with embarrassment. “I always knew they were pretty, but... Seeing them presenting and being passionate about it...I....I don’t know, I started noticing them more. And now... I like them.”

He was still refusing to make eye contact, but he stopped hiding his face, which was progress.

Ellie left her desk to sit next to Tegan on the couch, being careful to let enough space in between them. When he got too deep in his own head it wasn’t uncommon for him to get startled easily. Tegan was more of a danger to himself, but Ellie was accidentally hit once and still wasn’t over it.

“Hey, dude, we’re happy for you!”

Tyler assured him.

“Yeah! I don’t think I have ever seen you acting like this because of someone.” Only when he looks at her does Ellie take a risk and touches his arm. He doesn’t flinch nor flail, which is another good sign. “And Scholar is great! No need to feel embarrassed for liking them.”

“I’m not embarrassed that I like them.” His voice is vulnerable, and both Tyler and Ellie quiet down to listen to him. Tegan isn’t this open often, and even if he’s talking about something silly as a crush the fact that he chose to share what he is feeling is a big deal. “I’m embarrassed because It’s hopeless. I know there is no way they’ll ever like me back...”

“Why not?” Tyler seemed legitimately shocked at the idea. “You’re pretty cool, dude. If they don’t see that then they’re not worthy of your time.”

“And besides... Scholar does seem interested.”

Ellie notes and looks at Tyler for confirmation, who agrees.

“You think so?”

They didn’t miss how hopeful Tegan sounded.

“I do.”

Ellie hugs him and Tyler soon follows. Tegan tenses at first but quickly relaxes, already somewhat used to his friends being affectionate.

“Can we please go back to the Arlingtonator now?”

#I chose this time frame because #it kind of seems like Tyler and Ellie are already aware of his crush on scholar by halloween #Oh yeah #after this all happens #ellie makes a groupchat with tyler called ''opperation ship''#where they discuss ways to help tegan and scholar #but it ends up becoming more of a support group of sorts #where they scream about how frustrating the two of them are #one by one the rest of the main ten (minus tegan) end up joining as well #they even make bets on when they will start dating #sweet elite #bee writes fluff #bee's writing #tegan novak #tegan sweet elite

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jt-artsandfics · 3 years

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Hi! Noticed you were doing match ups for Star Wars so I just had to zip on over cause my obsession with the bad batch is running ramped 😅.

I’m about 5’6, female, shoulder length black hair and very dark brown eyes, lightly tanned skin. I wear glasses but I try to wear contacts more often since I feel no glasses looks better. Very much on the muscular side due to being athletic all my life. I’m a figure skater that’s been skating since I was very young, but besides that I’m a very artistic person, constantly drawing- hell plan to be a concept artist in the entertainment industry. And since I’m an artist, my style is more retro and baggy clothes, comfortable but stylish.

A little bit about me, I’m the quiet and shy type when I first meet with people. But once I get to know the person I’ll be able to open up more, I’ll hang out with lots of friends, go to wacky stores for a good laugh. Definitely the type where I want people to feel comfortable about whatever, whether it be sexual orientation, or what goes on behind closed doors. So I def want people to feel like they can talk to me about there problems and such. But also- shit when there’s TEA- girl SPILL IT!

On the side note, I’m someone that can’t sit still for long periods of time. I’m always doing something- always moving around, but when I’m focused I can stay in one spot for quite a while. Which brings me to my love of learning, I’m constantly learning about things- so I really love languages (speak four btw) and culture, love to learn about animals, historical facts and loads of another things. Going back to languages and culture, I badly want to travel the world, go to places like Madagascar and New Zealand- want to bathe with elephants, hike in the jungle just to get a chance to see wild gorillas, see the northern lights, there’s just so much I want to see and do. Sometimes I’ll bake in my free time, play video games with my sibling, binge watch shows and movies.

Well that’s me ^_^

I match you with....

Tech

-Tech finds it quite easy to relax around you, your someone he feels he can openly talk about anyrhign with from his work, knowledge and interest. That's how he takes to you.

-he loves teaching you things from small little maintenance on the ship to how to reset bones and first aid.

- Man's 6'4 king he towers over you and loves it. Tall nerd and his short athlete, he love you with and without glasses. He finds you beautiful in so many ways.

- He wonders how he got so lucky as to end up with someone such as you. How one of a million literally.

- Tech loves having you sit on his lap/agaisnt him while he works. You have fallen asleep agaisnt him on many occasions and it's one of the most peaceful moments he has.

-Tech draws but his is more blueprints and sketches of equipment and concepts on new things he wishes to build. He doesn't snoop to much in your art but he has caught glimpses of drawings.

-when you and the batch arrive on different planets he shares as much knowledge he has on it with you.

-of a night he loves having you wrapped in his arms asleep. He will run is fingers thought your hair as he reads late into the night.

-not as socially awkward as you would think, he just misses some social cues. He liked you from the start but didn't wish to say anything. You had to make the first move.

-watching you skate is so hipnotising to him. The first time he watched you was when he was originally working on more projects and he caught the sound of your skates on the ice.

- This man can carry echo so there is no doubt that he can piclnyou up and carry you when you fall asleep.

-soft nights with even softer whispers between you both.

- man has no right looking as sexy and handsome as he does first waking up glasses/goggles on the bench and his normal slicked back hair curly and falling over his eyes.

"Tech baby, it's very late let's go to bed" you yawn lightly resting your chin on his shoulder looking to the work bench he has scattered with tools and equipment.

"In a little Cyar'ika, let me finish this upgrade them I'm all yours" he says back to lightly. Goggles rested on his forehead as he shoots them a quick glance.

"Mmm, can I stay until you finish" you ask lightly. He nods moving back a little giving you space to move around the chair and climb onto his lap.

You curl up against his chest enjoying the comfort of him being in his blacks.

"I promise not to long Ner kar'taylir darasuum" the words roll of his lips almost like he had practiced them a thousand times.

Tech presses a soft kiss to.your forehead before focusing back on his project. Your eyes grow heavy as you press your cheek further into his chest.

"Sleep well Cyar'ika"

---------

Cyar'ika- Sweetheart

Ner kar'taylir darasuum - My love

#the bad batch #the bad batch tech #tbb tech #tbb #tech #tech the bad batch #tech tbb #tech x reader #tech x you #the bad batch tech x reader #tbb tech x reader

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starlight-thoughts-ao3 · 3 years

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Handle With Care

Summary: For a moment, he considered walking back out of the room, give her the privacy she clearly desired, but she wasn't stopping, so he kept watching. She kept dancing to the delicate music and he sank to the floor in front of her, his legs crossed over themselves, a captive audience. Her lips quirked up into a smile, and as the song came to an end, she bowed in his direction.

TW: Nothing, so far as I’m aware. Let me know if you disagree.

Notes: This is part me being poetic and pretentious and part me being unable to get the image of Natasha dancing for Tony out of my head. I just, their relationship in the MCU is one I find fascinating. The "I should not care about you, but I can't help it" on both ends of that is something I can't help but play around with, and I've been toying with this fic for months and I'm not entirely happy with it, but I have it written so here. Cross-posted on AO3.

Human beings like to tell themselves such pretty lies. Things will get better. Everything happens for a reason. Love always wins. We tell ourselves stories where the good guys win and the bad guys get put away behind bars because we can't cope with the concept that sometimes, life just doesn't care. Tony Stark was born into a world that would always know his name, though not for the reasons he'd wish they would. Such careful manipulation of the facts made sure that no one would ever think that the man who was known as the Merchant of Death was so full of life and energy he was drowning in it. He poured all his passion into things he'd never publicize but they were his children; they were made of metal and code, but they were real and he loved them enough to hide them away from prying eyes. Act like you don't care about anything or anyone long enough and eventually, people stop caring about you.

Tony Stark was born a disappointment, and he learned early on that he'd be allowed more freedom if he didn't even try to change their minds. So he wore a mask made of recklessness and failure and watched as the world forgot that he was brilliant. The problem with masks is that some people will see them and decide it's far more interesting to see what they're hiding.

James Rhodes watched as the boy who was way too young to be sitting in the college lab twisted lines of code into a simple, but charming, personality like it was magic, then build it a body, sketching designs for the robotic arm over the blueprints his father wanted him to look over, just to see if his son had a mind for weapons as he did. James watched as Tony fixed all the issues his father's designs had, then go back to creating life like it was nothing special. James watched as his best friend was told his parents were dead and he watched as Tony shut himself off from the world and created JARVIS. It would occur to him later that AI was the first bit of armor Tony built.

Virginia Potts was the most terrifyingly competent person Tony had ever had the pleasure of being yelled at by. He had stumbled into her -- literally -- one night while leaving the R&D offices and she had given him hell for it, all while towering over him in her high heels, not a hair out of place. Her fury mixed with her composure startled a genuine laugh out of him. He promoted her on the spot. He liked the way she treated him as human, instead of a toy or a trophy. Things were easier with her at his side. The world didn't seem as overwhelming when she was there to take care of the practical things. She didn't judge him for having his head in the clouds, she just tied a string around his wrist and guided him like a balloon while she stayed firmly on the ground. It had taken him much too long to realize that there wasn't enough money in the world to keep someone with him, so her continued presence in his life had to be because she genuinely cared, and that was when he gave her the codes to his personal lab. He found her, his Pepper, asleep on the couch more than once, hair loose, feet curled up under a blanket she had brought down because she liked to watch him work.

One kidnapping and betrayal later, Tony began to distrust everything and anyone connected to his father. The only ones who actually seemed to care about him were the ones he chose himself.

Steve Rogers was everything everyone had wanted Tony to be and having all that rush back into his head out of nowhere put him on the defensive. He knew Pepper would tell him that none of that was Steve's fault and could he please get his head out of his head now? But he couldn't. This was the man that his father had idolized and searched for until the day he died. This was the man that Howard had poured all his time and energy into instead of his son, and while Tony knew, and he did know, that Rogers had no part of that, Tony was tired of the past coming to haunt him. Realistically, anyone his father had liked was bad news for him and there was no one, save Aunt Peggy, that Howard Stark liked more than Steve Rogers.

They clashed and shattered against each other, the whole world watching as Tony Stark and Steve Rogers fell into synchronization, the pieces of shared history falling to the wayside in the light of victory.

Natasha was difficult for Tony to process. She was the only person he'd ever met who wore as many masks as he did, and he tried desperately to not think about the fact that she was so deadly because of it. People underestimated her, didn't see how clever her eyes were, didn't see how she'd change everything about herself to fit the image they wanted to see. He saw how it wore her down. He could relate, and she knew it. It was strange, the art of being seen as what other people wanted shared between a man who was always in the spotlight and a woman who learned to blend into the background.

He liked to watch her dance. It wasn't that it made him forget that she was lethal -- quite the opposite, actually -- but more that she looked more human while she did. It was almost like whatever it was that allowed her to drift seamlessly between personalities melted away and left just a woman who loved to dance behind. She was talented and beautiful because of course, she was, but it was how carefree and unguarded she was as she twirled around that caught -- and held -- his attention. The funny thing is, he almost didn't have this, he almost let it slip through his fingers. The shooting range was originally going to be both Clint and Natasha's "welcome to the dysfunctional family" present, but the archer had a different idea.

"You want her happy, Stark, you give her a place to dance," Clint had said in such a no-nonsense tone that he almost thought that he was playing a prank on him, and if he followed through, she'd kill him without mercy. But the glint in Clint's eyes told him to take a chance, and so he lined one wall of the gym with mirrors and had a barre installed, much to the confusion of the builders. When he took all of them around the tower, the way her fingers trailed along the metal was reverent. She and Clint shared a look, he nodded, and suddenly Tony's arms were full of a redhead who could kill in an instant if she wanted.

"Thank you," she whispered into his ear. He's still not sure what platitudes he said, but a second later, she was across the room, no hint of the raw emotion she had just displayed on her face. And that was that.

He hadn't expected to ever see her actually use the space he had carved out for her, as it was well known that she was in the gym late at night when the more sensible members of their team had long since gone to sleep or pretended to. But he was no stranger to aimless insomnia, and had wandered into the gym one night, just walking around, and had been startled out of daydreams by slow music, and it would have been ethereal if not for the haunting melody. The sound of her feet hitting the floor came after and his eyes drifted to her. It was in that moment he had reconsidered the meaning of the word "revealing". He had certainly seen more of her skin than the leotard was showing, but he had never seen more of her. He looked so much like his father that they tended to forget that he was Maria's son as well. He'd been to enough ballet performances to know that while her movements weren't the most technically accurate, that was only because she didn't want them to be. He also knew she was aware of his presence. For a moment, he considered walking back out of the room, give her the privacy she clearly desired, but she wasn't stopping, so he kept watching. She kept dancing to the delicate music and he sank to the floor in front of her, his legs crossed over themselves, a captive audience. Her lips quirked up into a smile, and as the song came to an end, she bowed in his direction.

"You could do that professionally, you know. Drop the whole spy thing and just do that," he told her as she offered him her hand. She shook her head.

"No, I couldn't," she said. He looked her up and down, and smiled sadly.

"No, you couldn't," he agreed, "but you should dance for us, sometimes. Pretty sure that little number you just did would scandalize our dear captain." He wiggled his eyebrows and she laughed and laughed. Tony pulled her into him and began a simple waltz in the silence. She fell into step so effortlessly that it almost startled him, but only almost.

"Maybe I'll dance for everyone one day. We'll see. It's not personal, it's just," she sighed, unsure how to finish the sentence.

"It's just too personal," he suggested. She nodded. His hands on her body felt warm and distracting in a way she was not accustomed to. They were not wandering; they stayed exactly where they were supposed to be for the dance, and while his embrace was steady, it was not strict. She could walk away from this moment, and he would let her.

"I don't know how to let people in, Tony. I don't know how to be a person, not really." Her steps never faltered, but her voice wobbled, just a bit.

"One person at a time, one little truth at a time," he said, switching the dance from a formal ballroom to a playful mishmash of whatever he wanted. She grinned and teased him with chaos of her own. She twirled away from him, and as just as he pulled her back to him, he whispered into her ear, "and sometimes, Miss Rushman, you don't let them in at all. They come barging in anyway and you hope and pray they don't break your heart."

#ironwidow #mcu #fanfic #bad ideas #ao3

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kytea · 5 years

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The True Nature of Deltarune

Deltarune Chapter 1 has been out for over a year now, and being the big UT/DR fan that I am, I’ve been slowly mulling over both games, reading many fan theories and putting together my own interpretation of what I believe the nature and goal of Deltarune will be. This will be a long one so grab some popcorn, put on your matpat hats and click to keep reading!

So what is Deltarune? Is it a sequel to Undertale? Is it a prequel? Is it an alternate universe? Is it the coming of age story of a bunch of teens? Is it a complex meta-narrative on the nature of video games?

The answer is yes to all of the above. And to begin delving into this we must first understand the creator of this game: Toby Fox.

I won’t toot Toby’s Fox’s horn too much, we all know how talented and hardworking he is, but he’s also very emotionally perceptive and empathic. His general disposition is reminiscent of avant-garde artists that push the boundaries of artistic creation in a medium.

Toby loves mysteries, and in the early version of Undertale there was an included file that disparaged hackers and went on to say that it’s difficult to add mysteries in games these days due to data miners and such.

Thankfully, this did not stop Toby from lovingly adding quite a few big mysteries to Undertale that have yet to be resolved. Knowing Toby and his strong desire to share his story, a story that according to him, kept him awake at night:

“For the past 3 years I've been waking up in the middle of the night unable to go back to sleep because I've been thinking about the scenes that happen in the game. Even though so many details are still hazy, I really want to show you the things I've been thinking about.That's really my only reason for making this game. If I don't show you what I'm thinking, I'll lose my mind.“

I don’t believe Toby will let these mysteries go unanswered, and it is here that we can begin to understand what Deltarune is about.

The Mystery of W.D. Gaster

Truly, the biggest mystery of Undertale is that of W.D. Gaster: former royal scientist, creator of the CORE and the Determination Extraction machine.

A player can go through the entirety of Undertale multiple times and never even hear word of Gaster’s existence. This is because all the events that pertain to him are hidden behind a value in the game’s files known as the “FUN value”. Outside of actually manipulating this file manually yourself, it is, to the average player, random. The FUN value can trigger multiple different events throughout the game, some of which include running into “Followers of Gaster” or even Gaster himself.

While the latter has nothing to say before he “boings” out of existence, the former Followers all tell an eerie tale of a scientist who fell into his own creation and was scattered across time and space.

But hold on. Time and space? Why does that sound familiar?

Ah yes, during the Sans battle he speaks about an “massive anomaly in the timespace continuum”.

And during this battle Sans says a lot of other cryptic things without context, for example, he laments not being able to “go back” somewhere. But where or when is he referring to?

He mentions how he and others were monitoring time-lines and their readings showed them stopping and starting, jumping left and right, and eventually ending. Who was he monitoring these readings with? This all seems incredibly scientific and sci-fi, I thought Sans was just a silly skeleton, is he some kind of time cop? (he does have a “badge” in his workshop) He also uses skeletal weapons known as “Gaster Blasters”.

What…? Gaster Blaster?

Okay, now we KNOW Sans DEFINITELY has some connection to this mysterious scientist W.D. Gaster, but what? Well, for starters W.D. Gaster is short for Wing Dings Gaster, a type of font that he also speaks in.

Who else is named after and speaks in specific font types? Sans and Papyrus of course!

Furthermore, in the concept sketches for Papyrus, Toby wrote and redacted parts of a message that says: “has a brother named comic sans and a [BLANK] named [BLANK]”.

Who is this mysterious redacted person and what is their relationship to Sans and Papyrus? The easy money is on a family member, and for sake of argument lets use the prediction most of the fandom has already concluded and accepted: that Sans and Papyrus have a father named Gaster.

So Sans and Papyrus have a long lost father that was a scientist. This explanation would begin to explain why Sans has a weapon named after him, and why he wanted to “go back” to some place or time, perhaps in an effort to save him from his fate.

There’s a hidden event in Undertale where if you reset after listening to Sans speak about LOVE and EXP in a pacifist route, and initiate the conversion a couple of times in a row, he’ll catch on by the expression your face that you’ve heard it before and will surmise that you’re a time traveller and give you secret code words to tell his past self.

This will lead to him giving you the key to his room which ends up just being a prank at first.

But then you find a key to the secret workshop/basement hidden behind his house.

Once you enter the workshop, you’ll find some blueprints written in symbols you can’t read (wing dings?) and a curtain covering a machine that doesn’t seem to be working, among other things.

Toby Fox tweeted a message regarding this machine a few days after Undertale’s release around the time people were figuring out FUN values and the secrets surrounding Sans and Gaster.

“You’ve all seen the happiest outcome. Neither of them could fix the machine, no matter how hard they tried. No one can.”

This tweet seems to imply that if the machine could be fixed that Undertale could have a happier outcome.

And this my friends, is the gateway to the nature of Deltarune.

Deltarune, according to Toby Fox, is a game for players that have completed Undertale. But what does it mean to complete Undertale, and I mean, TRULY complete it? Toby often expressed that he wasn’t happy with how people told others how to play the game, that it is best played completely blind. Having played Undertale blind myself, and having watched others do the same, the natural way the game is meant to progress is that first players will experience the Neutral Ending, followed by the Pacifist Ending, and Finally the Genocide ending. This is because the game cruelly plays against your expectations of how an RPG should work and this almost guarantees that you will kill at least one monster your first play through. As if the fact that the fight button is always the default position in battle isn’t enough, in the early parts of the game you are told that you may need to weaken a monster before you can spare them. This naturally brings to mind the systems of Pokémon, where you have the best chance to catch a Pokémon if it’s at low health. Well, if you try this during the Toriel fight, as most do, you’ll find that as soon as you get close to critical health, you’ll instantly kill her.

Poor goat mama..

Difficulty-wise, the neutral route is the most easy, because you can level up a little and gain more HP. The Pacifist route is a bit harder because your HP is lower, but with the experience you gain from the previous route, it should prove no problem. Finally the Genocide route is the most difficult because it takes a concerted effort that implies knowledge of the previous routes to kill every single monster.

So an ideal Deltarune player has knowledge of all three main routes of Undertale, and may have experienced or heard of Gaster.

Is this player you? If so, ask yourself, what would a “happier outcome” look like to you? And be honest. Many fans in the Undertale community have already answered this question in the form of fanworks. Some of the most common elements among them are as follows:  

1) Frisk and all the monsters are free from the Underground and living on the surface with humans.

2) Asriel is revived.

3) Gaster is revived.

4 )Chara is revived.

The revival of Asriel, Chara, and Gaster are the undisputed holy grails in terms of happiest endings that the UT community dreams of and creates endless fan works to explore the possibilities. Toby knows this well.

Using a speech pattern attributed to Gaster, Toby teased the release of Deltarune Chapter 1

“I LOOK FORWARD TO CREATING A NEW FUTURE WITH YOU.” stands out quite a bit to me as the prospect of a “happier outcome” is already tied to Gaster and Sans, now a “new future” is connected.

And when Deltarune released, and fans had a chance to play it, they found:

1) All the monsters are free and living on the surface.

2) Asriel is alive and well and living his best life.

3) A voice with the same speech pattern as Gaster (based on Japanese text) brought you to this world and attempted to give your own vessel before…

4)…a voice with the same speech pattern as Chara (also based on Japanese text) discarded it.

Right off the bat Toby seems to have given fans what they wanted, a perfect future ending. But as you continue to play, you begin to realize that this may not be the world you dreamed of.

First, while all the monsters are living on the surface, they aren’t the same people from Undertale, for example: Undyne has never met Alphys, and the amalgamates that went to live with their families at the end of Undertale are deceased in this world. And while Asriel is alive, it’s not THE Asriel we were so determined to save in Undertale.

Gaster’s presence permeates Deltarune so thoroughly it would take awhile to point out every example, but it seems clear that he’s present in some form.

And Chara? You only need to see the ending cutscene of chapter 1 to know that they are around in a similar fashion as when they possess Frisk in the True Pacifist after a Genocide ending.

But their presence is also present in subtle ways. For example, if you attempt to play the piano in the hospital in Hometown and then speak to the receptionist, she comments that Kris’ playing isn’t the same as usual (Likely due to our control), but it seems that Chara may be good at piano. Interestingly, on the cover artwork for the official Undertale Piano Collection 2 book, Frisk can be seen holding a knife playing a key on a piano in the judgement hall filled with bones.

So for better or worse, what appears to be the original Chara and Gaster from Undertale are present in Deltarune, in some meta form or another. And maybe that’s the key: “Meta-characters”. After all, you yourself as a player are a “Meta-character”. You can ask the inhabitants of this new world questions that only someone with knowledge of a True Pacifist route would have, such as being able to ask Undyne about Alphys. Asking her this only makes sense if you yourself completed a True Pacifist route before playing Deltarune.

Ralsei, the lonely prince.

Toby being the trickster dog he is, he didn’t just give us 1 Asriel and call it a day, no he gave us 2.

Ralsei is quite clearly meant to be a version of Asriel because not only do they have similar or identical dialogues, but he was also was meant to look more like him before Toby decided to give him his Black Mage look.

There are even strong parallels obviously meant to create an emotional response and connect Ralsei to the feelings people had for Asriel in Undertale by giving the players the option to hug him.

Ralsei is quite the mystery on his own. And while he’s most certainly sweet and lovable, there’s undeniably some disconcerting things about him such as:

-Why does he know Kris and Susie’s names?

-Who did he learn the prophecy from? “Foretold by time and space” isn’t a good answer (or is it?).

-What did he say to Kris when the player SOUL wasn’t present in the prison?

-When he’s KO’d in battle, what does he become? Apparently he can still eat to regain HP when in this shrunken form.

Ralsei seemed to be under the impression that violence wasn’t needed in this world, but upon nearly being defeated by the King after mistakenly healing him, Ralsei says “This isn’t a world where kindness always wins, is it?”

The way he says this seems to imply he knows of other worlds and that they have different rules. Perhaps he comes from a world where someone being kind to everyone they met had great results?

There are definitely things that Ralsei is not telling us, whether this means he’s up to no good will remain to be seen, however, I would like to take this opportunity to make a prediction based on the previous understanding that the original Chara and Gaster are present in this new world in meta forms, and assert that Undertale Asriel, the final piece of the perfect ending puzzle is present in Deltarune in his own meta-character form of Ralsei. Perhaps the form he shrinks into when KO’d is one we know well...

There is that unused Flowey face...

Add glasses and a hat and...

but that’s just a game theory!

And I can't help but wonder about the dark heart on Ralsei's chest and this merchandise in the Deltarune section of fangamer that specifically features a quote from Undertale about the prophecy of Delta Rune (that turns out to be about Asriel in the TP ending, and Chara in the Genocide ending) "There is a prophecy. The Angel... The One Who Has Seen The Surface... They will return. And the underground will go empty."

It's also the Deltarune game logo

Because the merchandise is called Darkheart, it made me immediately think of the dark heart on Ralsei's chest, and having an Undertale quote about Asriel/Chara makes it all the more mysterious...

Regardless, in just the first chapter of Deltarune, the elements of the “happier outcome” connected to Sans’ machine are present. But how do they all connect? Well, let’s look at the other characters in Deltarune, starting with:

Lancer

Oh Baby Santa Claus, how we love you so. It’s hard to overlook how similar Lancer is to Sans. They’re both hilarious in their own way, both ride bikes, have similar color-schemes, both have a love for tomato-based products, and both have some scientific/engineering affinity (Sans and his workshop, Lancer and his “Lancer Industries”).

But that’s not all, the door to Sans’ room is identical to the warp doors found in the Dark World that Lancer hails from, and Sans’ warp ability also makes the same sound effect as these doors as well.

Lancer is a member of the FUN gang (remember the FUN value?), that, as far as we know currently, has 3 other members besides himself: Kris, Ralsei, and Susie (with the possibility of Noelle and others in the future).

Speaking of Susie, her name (or a version of it) popped up in Undertale prior to Deltarune’s release when the game was released on the Switch. By speaking to the Gaster Follower “Clamgirl”, you can learn of a girl named “Suzy”, that you will meet her soon, and that “in life’s grand scheme, she might be why you came here in the first place...”

Upon receiving this dialogue, checking the drawers in Sans workshop will reveal a card with a drawing of 3 people smiling and the words “don’t forget”.

“Don’t Forget” is the vocal theme of Deltarune sung by Laura Shigihara, and the melody from the ending verse,“Don’t forget, I’m with you in the dark.”, is leitmotifed throughout the entire Deltarune chapter 1 OST. The connections between Sans, the FUN gang, Gaster, and by extension Undertale and Deltarune are quite apparent. Perhaps the actions of the FUN gang in the Deltarune world will have an affect on the FUN value in Undertale.

Based on all the evidence we have now, I am going to make a bold prediction:

Lancer is literally a younger Sans.

That’s right, Toby Fox made Baby Sans before Disney and Sega made Baby Yoda and Baby Sonic.

Deltarune’s Dark World is the past from the perspective of Sans and Gaster (or a recreation of it). How Lancer becomes Sans will likely be a very large part of Deltarune’s narrative, and once he becomes Sans, he will exist as a separate meta entity that can traverse different worlds, even if versions of himself already exist in some form there (similar to Ralsei and Asriel).

We’ve seen that if characters are exposed to elements that make it clear they live in a video game world, whether this be Determination for humans and Flowey, a time-space accident for Gaster, or a strange man whispering to Jevil, these characters become something wholly different, more powerful, and begin to become more similar to players with the ability to SAVE, RESET, or use abilities that seem beyond the scope of the game (e.g. Photoshop Flowey, Jevil’s ability to speak, etc). Undertale and Deltarune are video games about video games.

So if it is to be believed that Gaster is Sans’ father, and that Lancer is a younger Sans, then it stands to logical reason that whoever Lancer’s father is, that they must be Gaster.

No, not the King, there is another. A “Lesser-dad”.

Yes, Rouxls Kaard.

“GOD DAMNIT”

Rouxls Kaard, or “Rules Card”, or if you rearrange his name “A Dark Soul Rx”, wait, Rx as in prescription? As in a doctor? Dark Soul as in Mr. Darkness Gaster himself? Too much of a stretch? Maybe. Although you can’t deny they have similar appearances.

If Rouxls Kaard is Gaster, and therefore the father of Sans and Papyrus, then he’s undeniably similar to one of his sons. Rouxls Kaard seems to be quite passionate about puzzles, (despite not having a natural predilection to them). I could see Papyrus gaining an affinity for puzzles by being raised by such an individual, they both have quite flamboyant personalities. And let’s not forget that there are also hints that Rouxls Kaard may be inclined to creating scientific devices such as the “Control Crowne” he uses to control K.Round.

Hmm, controlling other people… sounds familiar to what we the player are doing to Kris… and who was it that was initially going to give us control of a vessel before we lost said control to Chara’s intervention? Control seems to play a big part in Deltarune doesn’t it?

Also, isn’t his manner of speech is reminiscent of a silly ye olde knight. Wait, wasn’t there a Knight causing trouble in the Dark World? Hm.

So something is going to turn Lancer and Rouxls Kaard into Sans and Gaster, respectively.

Now remember the CORE that Gaster built? This one?

It turns geothermal energy into magical electricity via an unknown means with one of the byproducts being ozone, which is corrosive and could potentially make someone very melty. This is what it looks like on the inside.

Lots of blues of varying hues with white accents. Kinda reminds me of Rouxls Kaard and the other “card” people’s color schemes.

What a coincidence! Oh and apparently the layout of the CORE can be re-arranged or something:

"I work at the CORE. The inside is a maze made of swappable parts... That means we can shuffle the layout at will." - Hotland NPC

Almost sounds like a sliding puzzle…

Finally, Gaster is referred to as “The man who speaks in hands”, likely due to his Wing Dings font that contains a lot of hand symbols, however, it isn’t a stretch to also apply that epithet to Rouxls Kaard, after all, the Rules Card speaks in hands as well. Hands of cards.

Susie

Can’t forget Susie. Unfortunately, there’s not much we can say about how her role in all this will play yet. If we are to believe that the “Suzy” that Clamgirl references is Susie, then it’s clear that she’ll be key, perhaps as a catalyst for all the big changes some characters will need to undergo...

I will say that I think it’s interesting that toby specifically has a character in Hometown comment that humans are made of blood (and implying the monsters are not),

and Susie says:

“Everybody bleeds, right?”

From our understanding of monsters in Undertale, monsters don’t bleed, they turn to dust. But, maybe Darkners can bleed. If we believe Sans is a Darkner, it may explain this:

It could be ketchup. It could be a Darkner thing. Lancer does mention blood casually. But if only humans and Darkners bleed, then why would a monster like Susie say “everybody bleeds”?

So what is Deltarune you ask? I think it’s:

1) A story about Sans, Papyrus, and Gaster’s past and future. We get to experience their past in the Dark World, and speak with their future selves in the Light World. But these future versions of Sans and Papyrus may not be as far into the future as the Sans and Papyrus we meet in Undertale. Remember, Sans had an Ice-E’s crossword in Undertale? Ice-E’s-P’E’zza is a restaurant in Hometown. Papyrus may also be younger than he was in Undertale because Sans, an adult who runs a grocery store, thinks a teen like Kris should hang with his little brother, and it would be “weird” if he were there with them.

2) A story about post-Undertale Asriel, Chara, and Gaster. Asriel/Flowey maintains his new form as Ralsei thanks to the power of the Dark Fountain. He now lives in what is/was Sans’ childhood home. Whether he knows this or remembers the events of Undertale is unknown, but it is my belief that he holds a deep connection to the Asriel we all wished to save. Chara resides within Kris in a similar manner as they did at the ending of a UT True Pacifist Ending after surrendering the red SOUL to them in a Genocide ending. Does this mean that Kris’s body or “vessel” is Frisk? This seems to be heavily implied by Kris’ outfit taking on the same color scheme as Frisk’s UT shirt while in the Dark World.

3) A coming of age story for a bunch of teens. Kris, Susie, Ralsei, Noelle, Lancer, and all the friends that may join on their adventures are still people regardless of what grand meta narrative is at play involving the nature of their reality. They still need to go to school, fall in love, and worry about growing up and going to university. Noelle will undoubtedly play a large role with Toby’s tease of her as “Lost Girl”, and considering how attached most of the community has already gotten to these characters, it hurts my heart to think about what may befall them as they try their best to live their lives. Does this mean Deltarune’s world is doomed? I hope not... but those save file screens sure are creepypasta...

“IT WAS AS IF IT WAS NEVER THERE AT ALL.”

4) A story about video games and the control (or lack thereof) we have over them. It’s quite clear that we, the player controlling the red soul, is able to influence this new world based on knowledge from Undertale that should have no barring. For example, we can name “Onionsan” who has forgot their own name. One of the options is “Onion”, but why? Is it because we know their name is Onionsan in Undertale? How do we even know if that is actually what this version of them is really named?

Deltarune is so close to the perfect Undertale ending we wanted, but it’s just a little bit wrong. Would it hurt to force Undyne and Alphys to meet and fall in love? To get Toriel and Asgore back together? To make Bratty and Catty friends? If you were given the option in game to do it, would you do it? What if it made their lives worse…? I believe that the fact we are able to influence inhabitants of Deltarune with our Undertale knowledge may have some unforeseen consequences, and perhaps, be what begins this whole situation in the first place. (Paradoxes are the best time travel stories!)

Toby Fox said that Deltarune was the game he originally wanted to make, but whether it was too ambitious or time consuming, his idea evolved into Undertale. Now that he’s creating the game he always wanted to, I believe that he will connect everything we know about them together and resolve the mysteries, after all, Gaster has been waiting for this chance.

And maybe, with a little luck and determination, we can create a new future with a happier outcome. If I’ve learned anything from Undertale, it’s that you must hold on to your hopes and dreams, because dreams are the goal of “Determination.”

#undertale #deltarune #spoilers #sans #papyrus #gaster #asriel #chara #frisk #kris #toriel #sans undertale #theory #the true nature of deltarune #noelle #fun gang #susie #toby fox

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funeral-clown · 4 years

Text

for @matttheratking

happy birthday king

you ever take a look at your hands and wonder, how did i get here?

i don’t

pepe the prawn/rizzo the rat 4 times someone thought they were dating and the 1 time they realized they were

1. Kermit

Kermit knocked on the door rapidly, trying to quell his rising frustration.

“Rizzo, c’mon, open up! The cast meeting is in ten minutes, and you still need to present your ideas for the Pizza Rat sketch! It’s cultural relevance is dwindling by the second!”

When no reply came, he grumbled loudly before lifting his tiny green hand to bang on the door again. Before he could connect, it swung ajar in a sudden jarring motion. Light filtered from the dressing room into the dim backstage hall, illuminating the shadowed wooden floor. Kermit wished vaguely for eyelids, so he could blink. Instead he looked down.

“Oh. Er. Hi there, Pepe, I was expecting Rizzo.”

“I know,” the prawn snapped, “I am thinking the whole county knows! Your frog lungs are very loud, and I,” he gestured grandiosely to himself, “am trying to take a nap!”

Kermit coughed, feeling awkward.

“Right. Well. There’s a staff meeting in ten minutes. What are you doing hanging around in Rizzo’s room anyways?”

The prawn shrugged.

“We are the same size. It makes his clothes the perfect size to steal, okay?”

Kermit frowned.

“You have more arms than he does!”

“I also have scissors, okay? Now leave! This king of prawns, he needs his beauty sleep.”

“Yeah, well,” Kermit fumbled for the reigns of the conversation, “Well. If you see Rizzo, tell him-”

“I will be telling him you want to see him. Okay? Okay! Now leave! You are late for your cast meeting.”

With that the door slammed shut. Kermit turned to leave, only to hear a rusty wheezing laugh.

“D’ya think he bought it?”

“Of course he bought it! I am an ACTOR, okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. Now help me back into this pizza costume.”

Inexplicably flustered, Kermit dashed towards the stage for the meeting.

2.Bunsen and Beaker

Rizzo and Pepe were playing their usual game of “Who Can We Scam Into Buying Lunch” when Bunsen and Beaker slid across from them at the table. The friendly banter halted immediately as they blankly stared.

“Hello!” Bunsen offered cheerfully.

“Meemeep!” Beaker echoed.

“Uh. Hi,” Rizzo responded. “What, uh. Whatcha up to?”

“Well! I’m glad you asked, my rodentious friend! Beaker and I were hoping to share our luncheon with our two similarly minded friends today!”

Pepe’s antennae twitched.

“So you will be begging off food too?”

Bunsen and Beaker looked at each other and laughed.

“Oh no, I’m sorry, but we won’t be trying to steal anyone’s lunch. WE have worked tirelessly through the night, and have constructed a perfect alternative for the worker on the go!”

“Please don’t blow to table up,” Rizzo muttered, “Please, God, don’t let them blow the table up.”

“Don’t be silly! Of course we won’t be blowing anything up outside of the lab!”

Beaker nodded, meeping in agreement.

“However, as a pair of hard workers yourselves-” Pepe laughed- “We think this might interest you.”

“Is it food?” Rizzo asked bluntly.

“In a way!”

“Is it sentient?”

“Not so far!”

Pepe looked at him and shrugged. He shrugged in return.

“Alright.”

Bunsen jostled excitedly.

“Very well! Prepare to feast your eyes, and your bodies, on THIS!”

He rolled up the arm of his lab coat dramatically to reveal several stickers with various food shapes.

“Uh, Doc, I don’t wanna harsh your vibe here, but are you saying you’re edible, or are you trying the feed us stamps.”

“Not stamps, my dear friend! Oh no, these are no mere stamps at all! These are nutrition patches! A whole serving of food, compiled on a simple slab of sticky paper! We have cut out the need to eat entirely! We’re sure they will be all the rage.”

Beaker meeped excitedly, showing his own arms covered in piles of the things. Bunsen paused, alarmed.

“Beaker, I thought I told you to stick to just a few! These are still in beta testing, there’s no telling what wearing so many at once will do!”

Rizzo chuckled nervously.

“Hey, you guys haven’t seen Willy Wonka by any chance, have you?”

“No, why, does he work here?”

Rizzo and Pepe slowly started making their way from the table.

“Great visit. I would rethink the nutrient patch thing, though. Taste and smell and texture are all parts of what make food so great!!

“Plus, the unions, they will be all over you, okay? Workers will be told to wear patches instead of eat, it will be a whole mess, okay?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t worry, Mr. Prawn! Beaker and I have been in our own union for quite some time! Another thing we have in common!”

“....Yeah, sure, okay! Just be ready to juice him.”

“Juice him?”

Beaker slowly began to swell, turning purple.

“Juice him.”

In the frantic mayhem left behind them, one could almost miss the small exchange.

“How do you think he knew about the actors guild for small animals?”

“I dunno, okay? My question is how long until Kermit decides our next parody movie is gonna be Willy Wonka!”

“Honestly,” Rizzo added, “I’m shocked we haven’t done it already.”

3. Gonzo

“Wait, you’re moving out?”

Rizzo stopped to look up at him from throwing things in a suitcase.

“Of the room? Yeah.”

“But where will you go?”

Rizzo dropped the jacket he was holding and jumped up to sit on the bed.

“Well. It’s a bit pricier, rent-wise, but I was thinking down the hall.”

“You pay rent?”

Rizzo wished his eyes could roll.

“No you lamebrain, and neither do you! We all live in the same house, I just thought, you know, it might be time for me to move up in the world. Literally. I’m bunking with Pepe now, things are a little more my size with him.”

Gonzo frowned.

“Is this because I keep stepping on your stuff on accident?”

“It is, in fact! It is in part because of that!”

“I said I was sorry!”

“And I forgive you but you can’t help being a big.....whatever you are any more than I can help being a rat! And when a rat’s stuff gets crushed for the twenty thousandth time, a rat starts looking for other lodging.”

Gonzo sat on the floor so they were eye level.

“You’re not mad at me?”

Rizzo laughed.

“Nah, besides. I think your girlfriend wants to eat me.”

“Camilla would never!”

“A chicken can’t help being a chicken anymore than a rat can help being a rat!”

“Why not live with some of the other rats then?”

Rizzo scoffed.

“I’m related to most of em, and the ones I’m not want their own space too. If y’know what I mean.”

“I don’t!”

“Yeah that’s for the best. Anyway, aside from not getting stepped on anymore-”

“That was only once!”

“Ahem! Aside from not getting stepped on anymore, I think me bunking with Pepe would be good for us from now on too. Give us a chance to grow the act without being around each other all the time.”

Gonzo shrugged, setting a blue hand on Rizzo’s shoulder.

“Well. I like being around you all the time, Rizzo. We’re best friends. But if this is what you wanna do, go live with the prawn, I understand. Besides, I can finally fit that chicken coop in here!”

Rizzo laughed awkwardly.

“Yeah you go wild buddy. I’m gonna finish packing.”

Pepe poked his head in.

“Hey, Ritzo, you ready to go?”

Rizzo pulled Gonzo’s hand off his shoulder before hopping down.

“Yeah almost.”

Pepe squinted.

“There is a weird energy in this room right now, eh?”

“That’s just Gonzo. He can’t help it.”

“It’s a medical condition!”

“I pity your doctor,” Pepe stated.

Rizzo grabbed his suitcase and dragged it to the door.

“Hey buddy, any chance I can get some help with these?”

“Oh, sure!” Gonzo leaned over to pick them up, only to heave and huff dramatically trying to lift the tiny luggage with his fingers. “Oh wow, what do you have in these, rocks?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Rizzo scoffed, “It’s the set of encyclopedias my mom sent me for Christmas. Now let’s go, it’s just upstairs!”

He and Pepe ran ahead before Gonzo could object.

“Well,” he muttered, “At least the suit each other well.” He jiggled the suitcases in silent reiteration of the pun.

4. Miss Piggy

She saw them practicing ballroom dance with Pepe in a tutu and just assumed.

Rizzo frowned at the mail.

Pepe looked up from the blueprints of the vending machine he was studying.

“What’s wrong? You look upset. We’re finally pulling off the snack heist of our dreams, okay! We’re never paying for chips again! This is a time of joy, okay?”

Rizzo hesitated.

“I just got a letter from my ma.”

Pepe got up and walked over, concerned.

“Is everything ok?”

“Yeah, it’s alright, it’s just. Well, look.”

Pepe scanned it over.

“Congratulations on your- Oh. She thinks we’re?”

“Yeah. And I mentioned it and turns out she’s not the only one.”

Pepe frowned.

“Really?”

“Yeah! Like what, just because we live together, we’re in a relationship?”

“And eat together every day?”

“And are listed as each others emergency contacts?”

“And know each other’s bank account information?”

“Wait, what?“

“Nothing! We were listing things!”

“I’m changing my pin number.”

“Eh, I can guess it again.”

“Pepe!”

“Back to the list, okay! And we, uh, we share clothes!”

“Sure, if laundry’s backed up! And we, um, we hatch schemes together!”

“Snack heist!”

“And sometimes at night if I am lonely I steal your blankets to simulate the warmth of another person!”

“That’s- I have nothing to say to that.”

“Well I wouldn’t have to do that if I could just crawl in with you, okay?”

“You- Wait. Pepe do you WANT to be in a relationship?”

“I don’t know! If we get married we can’t testify against each other in court.”

“True. And it would be a pretty big tax break, if either of us paid taxes.”

“Kermit and Piggy would finally have competition, okay? We can overthrow there cutest couple powerstreak and usher in a new age! It’s the time of rat and prawn, okay!”

“Year of the rat, baby!”

“And prawn!”

They both stared at each other for a moment.

“So I guess she was right. We are in a relationship.”

Pepe shrugged.

“Eh. I could do worse. And you could not do better.”

Rizzo wished again, and not for the last time, that he could roll his eyes.

“Whatever you say, babe.”

#happy birthday matt #more muppets fanfiction #i realize miss piggy was a cop out i was running out of ideas #i hope you enjoy this bc it was easily the most difficulty i've ever had writing something

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johannstutt413 · 4 years

Text

“Magallan, I brought you a- Woah.” The Doctor had brought a coffee maker with him after hearing the hours Magallan worked to finish her projects; however, this was his first time in her workshop “compartment,” and the site was overwhelming. Photos from her expeditions rolled across the screen, and while everything was quite organized, she had dozens of artifacts retrieved from the polar ice, which...people used to live that far north?

She wasn’t there to greet him, so he hooked it up to an open outlet and began looking around. Tablets made of some kind of metal, engraved with strange runes; leather goods preserved by the ice so well the Doctor could tell the difference between intentional scoring and scars left from some kind of combat; blueprints and sketches of buildings still lost to the ice, layouts of settlements scattered throughout the ice- these notes spanned years and years of research! How...how long had Magallan been exploring the frozen north? “This is incredible.”

“You think so, too?” She’d walked in to his exploring, but rather than interrupt him, she’d stood by the door, watching him. “Sorry, it’s just...It’s nice to have someone show an interest in my work.”

“I mean, when you said you went on polar expeditions, I thought you were studying the wildlife or the geography or something. This is- you’re an arctic archeologist! Why don’t you tell people that part?”

Magallan smiled as she entered her space completely. “Did you know there used to be a nation in the ice caps, Doctor?”

“No, I had no idea!” He looked around the room. “Is there- I don’t want to touch anything without gloves or something.”

“Here you go.” She took a pair from a drawer in her main desk.

The Doctor smiled, brushing her hands as he accepted the gloves. “Thanks. But seriously, why do you stop at ‘ice cap researcher?’”

“I chose to study the arctic because of a song I heard as a kid,” Magallan explained, taking a seat in her chair, “and now that I’ve seen it for myself, the beauty of it all is still...I’m worried that if I tell people too much, they’ll spoil it, I guess. Not that I don’t want them to see it - it’s really amazing, digging things like the ones here out of sheets of ice that have spent hundreds of years untouched by living hands, surrounded by nothing but white reflections of a frozen realm lost to civilization...”

“You make it sound amazing, Magallan. Could I come with you on an expedition, do you think?”

Her eyes lit up. “You want to see it, too?”

“Of course I do!” The Doctor couldn’t believe she’d doubt that. “After hearing your passion for it, and seeing the pictures and these relics, how could I not? You’d have to be blind not to see how amazing an experience that would be!”

“I can start working on a suit for you, then - between Mayer and me, we should be able to finish it before I go out again in a few weeks.”

If he was a lamp, his bulb might burst from the amount of light it would have to emit to match his current glow. “Seriously? Oh, I can’t wait!”

About a month later, in a white igloo-like structure constructed by Magallan’s drones, he was much colder but still starry-eyed with wonder. The Doctor rubbed his hands together as they settled in for the night, both now wearing thick pajamas. “I know we haven’t started digging yet, but just walking here from our lander was amazing. All the elevation changes and rock formations - there’s more than just ice out here, and I just never knew.”

“Oh, there’s so much I want to show you,” Magallan replied, her excitement barely contained. “I had a plan for the route I was going to take before you said you wanted to come along, but now I think we’ll just go around to all the really good spots. There’s a frozen lake not too far from here that I know you’ll just love...Hey, Doctor, are you still cold? I know there isn’t a lot of heating in this mobile shelter.”

“Huh? Yeah, it is still pretty chilly. Not exactly a lot of space to put those sorts of things, I guess - enough space for personal space and to heat our MREs, but not much beyond that...”

She nodded. “I didn’t think it would be a problem, but just in case, I brought the materials for a second shelter.”

“Oh, no, I like this setup.” He zipped up the sleeping bag he’d brought with him and turned so he was facing her. “I could listen to you talk all night.”

“About the arctic, or…”

The Doctor smiled. “Anything, really. It gets lonely in my office sometimes, but I can’t imagine what it’d be like living alone out here for days or weeks at a time. How do you do it?”

“Well, a lot of the time I get so busy thinking about either what I’m doing or what I need to do that it all just kind of flies by.” Magallan chuckled. “Every now and again, I have conversations with my drones, or the penguins I meet, or what have you, I guess.”

“There are penguins?”

She nodded. “They’re quite friendly, actually. We’ll make sure to visit some of them - I know they’ll like you.”

“Really?” He’d never thought of himself as good with animals. “Why’s that?”

“I mean, I like you, and they enjoy my visits, so I’m sure you’ll make a good impression.”

The Doctor blushed. “Thanks. I think it just got colder, did it just get colder?”

“You’re blushing, so there’s more blood closer to your skin and making it feel colder than it is.” Magallan blushed as well, as if to demonstrate. “If you’d like, there’s a way we could conserve body heat more easily.”

“You mean huddling together?”

She nodded. “If we share a sleeping bag, it’ll be much warmer.”

“Yours looks bigger than mine,” he decided, unzipping himself as he did so, “so I’ll join you.”

“There should be enough room.” Magallan opened her sleeping bag and tried to create more space for him, but when the two of them were packed together, there was no way to make it less awkward.

The Doctor chuckled. “You know, I didn’t think this was how I’d spend my first night on the ice...but I don’t mind it at all.”

“It’s much warmer with you here,” she agreed. Their faces were rather close together like this…“Can I ask you something?”

“Of course,” he nodded.

“Well, since we’ve been talking more, I’ve been meaning to ask - you’re not seeing anyone, right?”

The Doctor smirked. “Not yet.”

“Not yet, huh?” Magallan’s face fell a little. “So you have someone in mind, then?”

“She’s smart, she’s fun to be around, and she’s very warm...especially right now.”

Ah, the classic reversal. “You’re serious?”

“I didn’t come all the way out here to spend a month or two alone with you for no reason.” He embraced her, which didn’t bring her much closer due to their current circumstances, but certainly changed the mood. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, this place is already amazing, and it’ll only get better, I’m sure-”

“Doctor, you’ve already won me over. So...since we’re already here this close, and it’s already gotten dark, I have another fact for you.”

The Doctor chuckled. “And what would that be, Mag?”

“Oooh, I like that one - no one’s given me a nickname.” Magallan lost her place for a minute before coming back around. “But if we lose the pajamas, it’ll be warmer for us.”

“I don’t believe you, but it’s not like I need a reason~”

#arknights #magallan (arknights)#penguins are great #magallan is better #people don't seem to know she's stacked under that sweater #shrug #their loss #arknights fic

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flightsrsk · 5 years

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hello hello all !!! my name is riley and this is my actual trash son maverick, aka the flight risk !!! i am so so hyped to get the ball rollin on this, so check out info on my kid under ze cut !!

warning: this got rlly mcfreaking long and i am so sorry fjdklsjs i am incapable of writing a short intro post

unfortunately i will not be able to be around for the official opening bc i’m on vacation w my fam and godparents, but i will try and intermittently read intros and chat to you guys about plots !!!! PLS feel free to bombard me through IMs or through discord if any plot sparks ur interest or u think mav could fit well in one of ur plots!!! :’)

THE BASICS

Name: Maverick Hobbes Braxton

Age: Twenty-one

Gender: Cismale

Pronouns: He/Him

Major & year: Philosophy, Third year

Faceclaim: Alex Fitzalan

Occupation: N/A

THE FLIGHT RISK

Maverick Braxton, as you might see, is an enigma—or rather, has evolved into one, slowly: a transformation that begun with his first breath. In his early years, the stage had been set for him, line by line. Act One: attend prep schools, excel in classes. Act Two: attend Covington, take center stage—you know, all of the things his older brother, Richard had accomplished with ease, just one year prior to all of his expectations. It was simple, really: a blueprint laid out ahead of him, with little to nothing in his way.

The only problem was that Maverick didn’t exactly see the point in choosing that path, that stage, that story. To him, it wasn’t challenging.

That, and the fact that the life laid out in front of him offered him absolutely nothing.

A series of banal expectations, unfair comparisons, and heartbreaking betrayals, and the traditional life of the Braxton child was thrown out the window—at least, in his brain, it was. See, Maverick Braxton, while independent, coy, and arrogant, isn’t stupid. He knows if he pleases his parents just enough, they’ll still distribute his trust fund and still bail him out of legal trouble when he inevitably tiptoes too far down the delicate line between ambition and rebellion. Perhaps it’s a bit selfish, but what does he owe to a family who paid him no attention, who never asked of his well-being, his own ambitions, his personal dreams?

He’s the kind of person to drive down the highway, windows rolled all the way down, cigarette lit—not because he necessarily likes the taste of nicotine, but because he likes the way the smoke creates clouds that obscure reality. He’ll surprise you in class when he interjects with a sarcastic but surprisingly salient point before throwing up his hood and retreating to the back corner for the rest of class. He’s the kind of person to start reading a book, flipping incessantly through the pages, both impatient by the pace of the plot, yet put it down before he reaches the final pages because he doesn’t want to be disappointed by the ending. He’s the kind of artist who rarely finishes a sketch, the writer who is never satisfied by a poem—for fear, of course, by deep-rooted insecurities that nothing that he will ever do will be enough.

A once-broken heart had taken time to mend, even though it seems ice-cold and whole from the outside. It’s why he has commitment issues: he doesn’t want to be burned again. He plays off his flirtatious bit as a personality trait, someone who is bored by the prospect of being tied down—and yet those who share his bed might consider him Covington’s most surprisingly deep pillow-talker.

An enigma, you see—one who doesn’t stick around long enough for anyone to truly understand, truly a Flight Risk.

BIOGRAPHY:

( You can read his full biography here! Still in the process of editing it a bit, but below are some important bullet points! )

Maverick was born the second of three children to the Braxton family—and as per usual with the Braxton children, he was born into a life filled to the absolute brim of expectation.

His father, a playwright, his mother, an actress. His brother, a theatre prodigy—what part did that leave him to play? The assumed expectations were to follow in his mother and brothers’ footsteps and take center stage; he excelled, for a while, but Maverick always felt lost.

Neighbors and family friends would always ask if he had measured up, in each and every shape and form: it was like the entire universe had a scoreboard with their names titling each section, and Maverick was always playing catch-up, never knowing where the finish line was.

For a while, he stuck to the script that was given to him: study, succeed, repeat. He tried to understand the ins and outs of his father’s work, of masterful acting techniques, trying to make a large enough splash to where his family would even notice the work he put into his life. Surprise: it didn’t.

It took him seventeen years to truly understand that his role in life was not exactly the story his parents had laid out for him, but rather, his sibling, instead.

Downcast emotions transformed quickly into cynicism. What used to make him feel sad now fueled a blue fire within Maverick’s chest, one that felt wronged by the system he was placed in: a complete first-world problem, but it was then and there when he decided to take advantage of his situation, given that he had spent his entire life dedicated to a part he wouldn’t play.

Hypocritical as he was, he still enjoyed the fruits of his parents’ work, cashing the unlimited checks with his name on them, as if it was some sort of sick version of love.

One piece of recognition that Maverick finally earned was an acceptance to Covington—and even that couldn’t be tainted by his brother’s success or his legacy status.

At Covington, Maverick has both lost and found his footing, multiple times. He’s quit acting, quit studying theater, in favor of a topic that stimulates his brain more than reading lines and

PERSONALITY:

Maverick Braxton is certainly a paradox. He’s charismatic, funny, and has a witty sense of humor –– and is generally appreciated by his peers because he’s able to move conversation and discussion without making topics seem dry.

Despite his apparent inferiority to his sibling, the Braxton family still breeds the cream of the crop. He’s certainly a bit arrogant sometimes, given that he’s intelligent, innovative, and clever, and wants to be recognized for it –– however, even if he might not show it on the outside, he appreciates a good challenger. He thinks it keeps his wit sharp, and of course, his ego would never show it, but he does appreciate learning from people. After all, his passion in philosophy, his current area of study, makes him certainly interested in how the world works.

Those who happen to get to know Maverick outside of the surface-level stuff, outside the initial cockiness and flirtatious front he puts on will know that he’s actually quite thoughtful. His lonely childhood has made him extremely loyal to those who have shown him similar trust and friendship –– he would never turn his back on them.

He asks probing questions, is a good listener –– perhaps because he’s interested in human decision making, but is also because he doesn’t quite know what it’s like to be loved unconditionally –– though he wants to.

Deep down, what almost no one knows is that he’s really quite soft. He passes his curiosity off as wanting to understand people, when really it’s a mechanism for hoping someone asks him questions in return, to give him the time of day he wished his parents ( and the rest of the goddamned universe ) had given him.

Despite his theatre prowess, he isn’t actually a particularly good liar. Those who spend enough time around him can hear his tone of voice incline slightly and see him scratch his brow.

AESTHETICS:

coffee-stained mugs, walking with headphones in but nothing playing, untied shoelaces, black hoodies, a cheeky smirk, small books in his back pocket, writing in the margins, unfinished poems, quoting old authors on a daily basis, incessant eye-rolling, pen ink stains, an unmade bed, mismatched socks, floral ties, empty bottles of liquor, rose thorn pricks, old worn poetry books, polished dress shoes, calloused fingers, unlit cigarettes between teeth.

HEADCANONS:

Funnily enough, Maverick’s name means ‘independent, a noncomformist’, which is exactly the path that he has taken to stray away from his family’s expectations.

He does have one strong connection to his family, though: his grandmother, on his father’s side. She understands the pressure he undergoes, who saw the pressure Maverick’s father endured to obtain the success he has. She is one of the only reasons that Maverick has not just jetted off to take on his own adventure. He loves her dearly, and wishes that her empathy and wisdom would rub off on the rest of his family.

Maverick has some form of synesthesia, which allows him to remember a lot more than the average person. He associates colors, smells, sounds, to words –– and allows him to efficiently study any subjects he doesn’t have immediate passion for.

In the privacy of his own bedroom, he sometimes writes poetry and sketches his thoughts and muses –– when he knows he’s in complete privacy. Faces and features that appear in his sketchbooks are often those he’s thinking of often, those who intrigue him. He’s actually quite good a sketching, maybe not quite as good at writing poetry.

His room is spotless –– evidence that he is a bit of a control freak sometimes. It shows that during his adolescence, he reveled in the parts of his life that he could control and perfect.

tw drugs. He more than dabbles in drug use, smoking marijuana maybe every other day, while partaking in harder drugs like cocaine and adderall and others probably once a week. He feels like he’s in control of his use, but it may start to get the best of him. end tw.

Maverick is left-handed. He hates that he gets pen ink stains when he draws, writes poetry, takes notes. His left palm is probably perennially covered with ink.

Though he’s often wearing headphones ( airpods, of course, the nerve of this rich kid ), half the time, nothing’s playing. Sometimes he forgets to press play on his phone, sometimes he purposely likes listening to decision-making and conversations of strangers. it lets him think about the nature of mankind.

Maverick’s favorite philosopher is Albert Camus, known for his work that heavily developed the idea of absurdism ( much to do with the meaning of life, and human inability to discern an answer ).

Maverick’s preferred method of transportation is his skateboard. he loved it first because his parents hated it: pushing himself around on a board like that would get him injured—besides, why not just take the car to school, the driver had been paid for anyway? It was his first taste of rebellion. Now at Covington, where skateboarding is far more efficient than walking across campus, it comes in handy when he sees someone he’d rather not stop and chat to.

Maverick could die with a poetry book nestled on his chest—it’s the one thing he got out of the impressive book collection his family owned. There was something daunting and beautiful about the way poems would transform metaphors into something fantastical, like the emotions were clearly there, but the words were skirting the issue. Kind of like how his parents would never really tell him they loved him.

Maverick often has headphones in when he walks to class. not particularly because he’s actually listening to music or a podcast, but rather because he’d just … rather not be bothered to stop and talk to people.

Maverick loves to draw. He’s mostly self-taught, with a bit of mentorship from his high school art teacher. Evidenced by the rest of his fleeting personality, he rarely finishes a sketch or painting. He claims he never has time to finish them, but the number of crumbled-up, half-finished sketches in his trash bin might say otherwise.

PLOTS

** see my wanted plots tag here too! // and my plots page here !!

* FIRST LOVE / OPEN.

It wouldn’t be easy to make Maverick feel like even more of a disappointment than he already had with his parents, his family—but your muse proved this feeling wrong. He loved them, more than he’d ever loved anything before. In the midst of confusion about where he belonged, he felt safe with your muse; he’d do anything for them. Things ended, he felt betrayed ( though the break-up could have easily been due to a fault of his ), and the split made him the one who now struggles fully with commitment. He doesn’t want to have his heart broken again. See: this entire pinterest board.

but also if u give me this ……………… i’ll name my firstborn after u

* BEST FRIEND / OPEN.

Those who go through similar childhood traumas are often able to understand each other –– that was how it worked with Maverick and your muse, at least. They’re thick as thieves — and have likely seen the ups and downs of Maverick’s life in real time.

* CHILDHOOD FRIENDS / OPEN.

Self explanatory—and also probably knows about the pressures the Braxton family imposes on their children.

* EX-FRIENDS / OPEN.

Friends who were close, close no longer. Maverick’s a real piece of work, and an asshole, too—there are myriad possibilities for why Maverick could have pushed them away. He wouldn’t openly admit that he misses being around your muse, but he certainly would feel a bit of guilt given that they’re no longer the closest of friends.

* MOMENT OF WEAKNESS / OPEN.

Your muse, in whatever unfortunate setting, saw a glimpse of Maverick’s soft side that hardly ever makes an appearance. He’s not going to let them tell the world about his vulnerabilities, though. Not a chance.

* DISLIKED / OPEN.

Maverick is sarcastic, cold, and sometimes emotionless. It’s not surprising that not everyone gets along with the middle Braxton. The possibilities are endless—throw in some sexual tension and I’d actually fall at ur feet.

* PREVIOUS ROOMMATES / OPEN.

Your muse, at one point, probably knew Maverick better than everyone else at Covington. They overheard some of his phone calls with his parents, saw his notes for how he was to achieve his life goals, heard him crying in the middle of the night when he thought your muse was asleep. They could be extremely close now, as in one of the few people Maverick opens up to, or could be distant friends who know about one anothers’ struggles. The possibilities are endless, tbh.

+ ANYTHING LEGITIMATELY ……… IF U THINK THERE’S POSSIBILITY FOR SOMETHING COOL W MAV AND UR MUSE. SIGN ME THE F UP. THANKS.

#tw:drugs #tw:smoking #tw:flashing lights #covintro #// PLS HMU WITH PLOTS OK FDJKLSJSD I HATE I AM MISSING OPENING BUT I WANT ALL THE PLOTS

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timep3tals · 5 years

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Hey I've seen your blog and let me just say omgiloveitsomuch!!! I read your work on AO3 and then I got Tumblr and I found you and omg I was so happy!!! I wanted to request a little ficlet cos I love your writing- Peter accidentally steals Tonys hoodie and goes to school with it and feeling kinda guilty but then like it ends up comforting him through the day?? He tries to give it back but Tony just tells him to keep it. Sorry that it's so specific. Do what you want with it. Love your writing bye!

hey babe, thanks so much! i’m really glad you enjoy it, it means a lot!!

Spending a school night up at the tower usually wound up being a horrible decision that Peter couldn’t quite seem to resist from making. Not that spending time with Tony and Pepper was a bad thing, not at all! It’s just Tony and Peter tend to accidentally bring out the worst tendencies in each other self-care wise.

Namely, staying up far too late and sleeping in until three or later in the afternoon; rinse and repeat.

This time, it was totally an accident — Peter had been out as Spider-Man, wound up in Manhattan (don’t ask, he already got bitched at by Tony for leaving his “territory”), and got stabby-stabbed by some wicked fast dude trying to steal from Stark Industries.

Naturally, Peter stopped him, but FRIDAY had already told Tony what was up, and so Peter spent the wee hours of his morning getting fussed over by his mentor, when he kept insisting, “Really, Mr. Stark, I’m fine! It’s already healed over!” Because it was, thank you very much.

By the time Tony’s internal Mama Bear had retreated back to her cave and let his death grip on Peter go, it was three sixteen in the morning, and Peter crawled into his bed to very promptly pass out.

So, really, Peter wasn’t to blame for the frantic rush to school that next morning when he woke up fifteen minutes before first period. Thankfully, Happy already picked up his backpack from Aunt May’s apartment, so he snagged it and a stray hoodie off the couch so he didn’t freeze to death in the sixty-degree weather (thanks spider-genes and your crap thermoregulating), and was out the door.

Happy drove like an absolute madman to get him to school on time. Peter didn’t wait for the car to pull to a complete stop as he leapt out with one shoe half-on and the other untied, shouting a quick, Thanks Happy! over his shoulder before bursting through the doors.

Right as he entered the classroom, the bell rang, and Peter smiled victoriously as he slid into his spot beside Ned.

“Dude,” Ned whispered, “you’re so lucky you got here when you did. Ms. Warren’s on a warpath with those tardies lately.”

“Don’t I know it,” Peter hissed back. “I just had a little… incident, last night, and you know how Mr. Stark is.”

“Is that why you’re wearing his hoodie?”

“What? I’m not—” Peter glanced down at the hoodie, and his mouth clicked shut in shock. In bold, white letters, the hoodie read Stark Industries, and Peter had seen Tony wearing the sweatshirt enough to know on the back, in the same lettering, was T. Stark. “Oh crap.”

“Flash is gonna go nuts when he sees,” Ned said sympathetically, and patted Peter’s back. “I have a jacket you could borrow?”

Slowly, Peter pulled the hoodie up over his nose. The potent scent of metal and something muskier that was distinctly Tony rushed in to greet him. It smelled like home, of late-night spaghetti dinners, of strong hugs when the world became to heavy to carry, and of early-morning lab binges when Peter’s hands itched to do something and gentle words guiding him in the right direction as he worked.“No,” Peter said, before he really thought it through. “No, it’s fine. I’ll give it back to Mr. Stark after school. It’s an internship night anyway, so I’ll be going back to the tower.”

Flash, naturally, made Peter’s life hell. Or tried his level best to, but Peter felt remarkably untouchable today. Nothing Flash could say phased him in the slightest, especially not with the gentle scent of dad lingering in the air around him from the hoodie.

“Come on, Penis,” Flash crowed behind him. “Why does your shirt say Tony Stark? Are you really that desperate to prove you know him? Come on, Parker, own up to your lies!”

“I have nothing to own up to,” Peter replied smoothly, fiddling with the drawstrings on the hoodie. “It’s his sweatshirt. I’m wearing it. Move on.”

Flash refused to move on, but Peter ducked his nose into the sweatshirt and continued on with his chemistry homework. Most of the day went as such. What Flash would say that usually grinded on Peter floated past like the breeze, replaced with the distant comfort of Tony.

Peter always had felt safe around Tony — felt safe, and loved, and cherished, and most of all, as though he had a father to turn to again. Even if Tony didn’t think the same way, Peter clung to those tiny tendrils they shared, dancing the delicate line so he didn’t overstep boundaries.

So with Tony’s hoodie, Peter felt practically invincible. As though he was standing on top of the world, where nothing but the solid ground under his feet mattered anymore.

However Peter did feel a little guilty. He’d seen Tony wearing the hoodie often enough to know it was one of his favorites (a present from Pepper when Tony saw how many of their employees had a hoodie, and he didn’t). When Peter arrived at the tower (Happy wisely didn’t comment on the hoodie), he hurried to the lab as FRIDAY directed, pulling the sweatshirt off as he went.

“Good afternoon, kid,” Tony greeted from where he was bent over his desk, sketching away at a new blueprint. “School went okay?”

“Yeah,” Peter said, surprised at the fact he did have a good day. Tony also looked a bit surprised when he poked his head up from the project he was working on. “It-it was good.”

Holding out the hoodie, Peter cleared his throat. “I brought you back your hoodie. Sorry for stealing it.”

“I didn’t even realize it was gone.” Gesturing to the table, Tony said, “Set it down.”

With some reluctance, Peter did so, and tossed his backpack on his desk. Tony insisted Peter get any homework he had for school done before they can do internship stuff. He felt Tony’s eyes on his back, studying him.

“Did you want one of your own?” Tony finally asked. “Kid, all you have to do is ask. Seriously, it’s like you forget that I’m a billionaire—”

“I don’t want my own,” Peter interrupted.

“Then why steal mine?”

“Well, I overslept, and was in a hurry so I didn’t realize it was your hoodie that I grabbed, and then Ned pointed it out when I got to school and offered me one of his jackets but this hoodie smells like you so I really didn’t want to take it off, and oh my god, did I say that out loud?”

The absolutely massive grin on Tony’s face told Peter that yes, he definitely said that out loud. Oh, god.

Burying his face in his hands, Peter groaned. Tony rounded the table and clapped Peter on the back, the grin ever-present on his face when Peter peeked out through his fingers.

“Do I need to start leaving clothes out for you? Maybe spray my cologne on your shirts? Smear a little aftershave on the collar?”

“Stop being gross!” Peter complained. “It was just one day, one hoodie! It was comforting, so please, get over it!”

“I can’t get over that,” Tony told him. “Wear the hoodie, kiddo. I have more than enough where that one came from. My closet es su closet.”

Peter pouted at him. “That’s a disgusting use of the Spanish language.”

“I know. Point still stands.” Tony sobered a little, pressing his hand on Peter’s shoulder and squeezing lightly. “I want you to feel comfortable, Peter. You being happy and comfortable are my main priorities. If wearing my hoodie helps get you through the day, feel free to raid my closet at any time, okay? I won’t even make fun of you.”

“Yes, you will.”

“Okay, maybe a little. In a good way. That hoodie is probably huge on you.”

Rolling his eyes, Peter turned back to fiddle with his backpack, awkwardly pulling out his chemistry homework. Still, a little smile pulled at his lips he couldn’t quite wipe away, warmth blooming in his chest as Tony stood beside him.

“Kinda is.”

“Knew it. Now, what homework do you have today?”

Tag List: @riseuplikeglitterandgold @pythagoreanpineapple @keep-a-bucket-full-of-stars

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sebseyesandbuckysthighs · 6 years

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For You, From Me

summary: As far as second chances go, Steve Rogers has had a few of them. With you, he finally found a chance to settle down and build a future with some semblance of peace. But life can change in an instant and it’s not always fair.

pairing: steve x reader wc: 3.7k warnings: none. fluff and angst a/c: alright so here’s my entry for Kait’s aka @bionic-buckyb 8k Celebration/Angst Challenge! Congratulations again, sweetie, and I hope you have a happy birthday tomorrow! My prompt will be in bold. Also, this is not canon-compliant, but it’s loosely based sometime after CATWS.

*really hope the keep reading insert is functional/isn’t a buttcheek* **if not, i’m sorry for the long ass post!**

“What ya drawing there, Stevie?” you asked, taking a seat next to him on the couch and nuzzling into his side. The sun was setting through the picturesque windows of the Compound's living quarters casting warm tones of orange and purple around the room. Training was finished for the day and while the rest of the team was out enjoying some free time, Steve was in here drawing.

Now that you sat next to him he dropped his pen and handed you the sketchbook, blushing slightly when you reached up to kiss his cheek in thanks. As you took the book from his hands, Steve lifted your legs and placed them over his lap to massage your calves. You hummed gratefully and started sifting through the pages. “What are these?” you asked after a few pages.

He shrugged and continued to rub your legs. “Just some plans I had.”

“What, are you putting down the shield and becoming an architect or something?” You giggled when he tickled your feet in response, but he still didn't answer the question.

Steve always shared his sketches with you. He was never ashamed or embarrassed to show you the things he came up with and loved the way you looked at each drawing with admiration. Although, it did take months to get used to the fact that a lot of his work was focused on you. There were still plenty of pages filled with random still lifes and even some portraits of his teammates, but most of his books were candid sketches of you. Apparently it was his favorite past-time to draw you while you weren't paying attention. You always looked so effortlessly beautiful to him and he couldn't help but capture the moment as best as he could. When he would finally show you a new piece, the look on your face was always so rewarding, your sweet smile always shined for him. The man loved making you smile like that.

Looking through these pages you noticed that they were not filled with his usual artwork, but instead held outlines and blueprints of what looked to be a house. There were floor plans and layouts of various rooms, even some outdoor perspectives that made it look like this place was out in the country. As curious as you were, you knew Steve would tell you about them when he was ready.

It was a little over two years now since you and Steve started dating, having met only a few months after he came out of the ice. Back then, you were a new agent at S.H.I.E.L.D. and he was still adjusting to his new place in time. You were tasked with helping him acclimatize to this new environment and somewhere along the line the two of you became good friends. Trust was tough at first, but after so much time spent together and growing comfortable, you were soon confiding in one another about everything. It wasn't long before you started harboring feelings for each other, but life wasn't easy for Steve back then.

He was still haunted by the memories of his former life. Last moments that were so marred with grief, heartache, and loss. From watching his best friend fall to the cold abyss to then making the devastating decision to plunge into the ice himself, sacrificing his own life and leaving behind the woman he loved. All this only to wake up decades later in a strange time and place, completely alone with no idea how he could possibly fit in with this new world. A man out of his time with only ghosts to keep him company. Until the day you asked to sit beside him and gave him his first sketchbook, hoping an artistic outlet would help him cope.

“Steve?” Your concerned voice jolted him from his thoughts. “You kind of spaced out on me there.”

“Sorry, love. I just got a little distracted, but I'm good,” he said, shifting closer to you.

He reached for the sketchbook resting on your lap and started thumbing through the pages. His voice sounded soft and quiet as he finally spoke. “There's this place a little further upstate from here. Not a lot of stores or people around, but there's plants and flowers everywhere you look. It even has a small lake that stretches out towards the horizon with trees all along the edges.” He paused and smiled, sounding more upbeat as he went on. “There's this big empty plot of land right in the middle of all of that with plenty of open space, but I could cut down a few trees to expand it. Except for this one huge willow tree that's gotta be 100 years old at least. It's so quiet and peaceful out there. You'd love it. It's beautiful.”

The entire time he spoke, you were listening with an adoring smile on your face. You loved the way one corner of his lips would curl into a smirk as he described everything in detail or how his eyes would sparkle as he pictured you being there too. “It sounds like an amazing place, Steve, but what does all of that have to do with this?” You poked at the book.

Silently he turned the pages until he found the one he was looking for. The image was of a two-story house in the center with trees far in the background and a path leading out to water near the edge of the page. There was even a big willow tree close-by. Steve bit his lip nervously and turned to look at you for a moment before staring back at the image. “Well, I was just...I know it would take some time and a lot of hard work, but this is something I've been thinking about for a long time.”

Your brow was still creased in confusion as you pointed to the center of the sketch. “So wait, you want to build this? You want to build a house?”

“A home,” he corrected, lacing his long fingers through yours. “For us.”

Your eyes shot up to look into his blue ones staring right back, seeing nothing but sincerity and adoration.

“When I picked up the shield again, I resigned myself to the fact that that was all my life could ever be. Being a symbol for the nation. Being Captain America. Protecting and serving my country. Fighting against any and every threat that came along and I knew where that road would take me.” He paused as his mind flashed with the faces of all those he'd lost and all those that he still stood to lose. Every muscle in his body grew tense, his chest tightened in a painful vice when your smiling face came into view. Before his mind could drag him any deeper he felt you squeezing his hand, applying the right amount of pressure to help him focus and caressing his knuckles once he had. Supporting him and keeping him grounded was only one of things he loved you for and he was thankful for you in this moment. As his mind cleared, he listened to the sounds of your steady, even breaths and followed the rhythm until he felt the tension slip away. He raised your hand to his lips, kissing your knuckles in thanks before continuing.

“When you came into my life, you changed everything,” he said confidently. “You helped me feel like I could belong again, like I was more than just the uniform and the shield. I want to have a life with you. Away from the compound, away from the chaos and threats. I want to build a home with you.”

The tears falling from your eyes didn’t get the chance to roll down your cheeks before Steve was wiping them away with his thumbs. He pulled you into his arms, kissing you until you were both delirious from the overwhelming joy that you had found only with each other. He whispered against your lips, “I love you so much.”

This wonderful man meant the world to you and knowing now that you meant the same to him was an almost indescribable euphoria. “I love you too, Steve.”

* * *

“Shit! We have 10 minutes on the clock, people!” Tony exclaimed. The sounds of his repulsor beams firing off and the clash of falling rubble could be heard through your earpiece.

The team was on a mission trying to defuse a biochemical threat in a heavily populated city in Europe where an advanced medical research center had been infiltrated by HYDRA and hostages were taken. A large chemical bomb was set to detonate and the blast radius had the potential to level the entire building and surrounding area, killing a lot of people in the process. Having trained with the EOD for a number of years, you could have handled this situation easily while the others worked securing the hostages and capturing the bad guys. Unfortunately, HYDRA has never been known to fight clean. Their agents had strategically placed the bomb in the building's radiation lab. All they had to do was disable a few safety protocols so that if anyone attempted to enter the room, they would be dead from radiation poisoning within minutes.

“Romanoff, Barton. What’s the status on evac?” Steve’s voice came through somewhat strained. He was still fighting through a large group of hostiles on the upper levels.

Clint answered first, “Our sector is clear. We're on our way out with the hostages, but bomb squad is still setting up in there.”

“Steve, we still have a lot of people out here. Those guys better disable that thing in time or else we're looking at a long list of casualties.” Natasha added, but left out the part that they were on that list too.

“Alright, you two get out there and help clear the perimeter. Tony’s got aerial cover, he’ll assist with evac,” The Captain relayed orders and the team confirmed.

“Shit,” Sam mumbled. He had just reached the last floor to confirm everyone was out when he saw something that complicated things.

“What is it?” Steve asked, still fighting.

“We still have civilians in the building, guys. A lot of ‘em too.” Sam looked around the open lab area to see at least a dozen doctors and researchers cowering behind equipment.

“How is that possible? Stark, you said the lower levels were all clear!” Steve shouted.

“The radiation lab is right above that floor, it’s affecting the readings! You need me back there?” The panicked sounds of the crowd outside could be heard in the background.

“No. Keep your focus out there,” Steve ordered. “Sam and Y/N can clear them out.”

“Ugh, Cap...” Sam trailed off, sounding nervous as he started directing people out the doors.

In an instant, Steve felt his breath leave his body while fear built in the pit of his belly. There were still a lot of hostiles trying to take him down, but he managed to dive into a nearby room, slam the door shut and block it off as best he could. It took a second for him to find his voice before he called for you through the mic. “Y/N, where are you?” He pressed down on his earpiece, desperately waiting to hear the sound of your voice.

“Almost at the radiation lab,” you answered as you continued to run.

Steve felt his stomach drop. He didn’t have time to fully wrap his mind around what was happening before the door burst open and he was throwing punches again. “What the hell do you think you're doing, Y/N?”

“There’s no way we’ll clear the area in time and the bomb techs are still suiting up. By the time they're ready, it'll be too late. It's now or never,” you replied just as you reached your destination.

“Are you insane?” Sam sounded out of breath as he ran up the stairs trying to get to you before you could do anything stupid. “Those guys can handle it!”

“They've already taken too long trying to reverse the tampering done to the safety measures. I just need to override the sequence for the second door to stay closed long enough for me to slip in through the first. Then I can get in there and disarm the damn thing.” The sound of your fingers working rapidly on the console pinged through the comms. The bomb just beyond the doors was almost less of a threat because by now the lab had already flooded with radiation. You looked over at the small group of techs still trying to fit one of their guys in a radiation suit. Time was running short.

Steve was struggling with the last group of agents not because they were actually putting up any sort of challenge to him, but because he was desperate to get down to where you were. “Y/N, please. Just stay where you are. Do not go in that room,” he pleaded.

An alarm echoed throughout the building signaling that the lab had been breached. Steve knocked out the last guy with a deafening blow from his shield. “Tell me you didn't do it.” His voice cracked. “Please say it wasn't you.” The comms were silent.

Before the last body hit the ground, Steve was running. The thunderous beating of his heart was drowning out the sound of his heavy footfalls as he stormed through the building. He was practically flying through the halls and leaping down entire staircases, but no matter how hard he pushed forward he felt like he was running through water. Everything seemed to move in slow motion. He needed to get to you. Couldn’t let anything happen to you, promised to protect you, to love you, to be with you.

At one point the alarm stopped wailing, but Steve was too focused to register it's silence. When he finally reached the right floor, he burst through the doors with such force that they flew off their hinges and were catapulted forward in a shower of splintered wood. What he saw next made his blood run cold.

You were on the other side of the door laying on the ground with your upper body leaning against the glass. The radiation was quick to start breaking down your cells. Your eyes were bloodshot and beads of sweat dripped from your forehead as your body shook from the chills. Your cheeks were stained with tears when you looked at him through the glass, but you still managed a small smile. He didn’t even realize that he was moving until he was only inches away. His voice sounded low and rough when he said, “Open the door.”

Sam was off to the side, staring at him in defeat. “It won’t open. She disarmed the bomb, but the doors won’t open until the decontamination is complete.”

Steve felt his world crashing down around him and let out a gut-wrenching cry before he started punching the glass, desperately trying to break down the barrier that kept him separated from you.

“Steve, it’s okay. It’s almost done.” Your voice sounded too hollow, too distant. It made his heart ache.

“It’s not okay!” he screamed. He kept wailing and punching, but the glass only echoed his cries back in his face, taunting him. His knuckles were bleeding and tears burned trails down his cheeks. Finally, his knees buckled and he collapsed on the ground in front of you, clenching his jaw almost to the point of pain. “Why?”

“I’m sorry, my love,” you whispered. There was nothing more you could say to make either of you feel better about your decision. You made your choice and you knew he would have done the same, but saying it now would have just wasted the little time you had.

The instant the door hissed open, Steve had you in his arms. Cradling your steadily weakening body close to him and rocking you gently. Any remaining strength you had was used to hold his face close to yours, keeping your eyes locked to each other.

You muttered your final apologies and words of love before letting your eyes fall shut. Regretting that you wouldn't be in his life, but grateful that he was here for the rest of yours.

* * *

A chorus of rhythmic beeping was the first thing you heard. It wasn't what woke you, though. The smell of anti-septic invaded your senses, but there were other scents you were able to focus on. Was that honeysuckle? The lavender and roses were unmistakable and there was even a trace of heavenly caffeine still steaming nearby. You tried to move, but your body felt like it was being weighed down by a thick wet blanket. Everything was heavy. Too heavy. The beeping noise picked up pace and you groaned in pain. It started to feel like someone was sitting on your chest. Before the panic really had a chance to dig in, you felt a calloused hand touch your cheek. A familiar voice softly urged you to calm down, telling you that you were going to be okay and to just focus on breathing. You followed along with him until the knot in your chest loosened before finally opening your eyes.

Steve's eyes were rimmed in red and glistening from the threat of unshed tears, but he was smiling. It was the brightest most beautiful smile you had ever seen. Almost made you want to shut your eyes again from the intensity, but you wouldn't dare. You wanted to run your fingers along his chiseled jaw and wipe away any traces of sadness from his face, yet all you could manage was to clench your fist.

“Don't move too much, love. Your body is still recovering from the transfusion.” He reached out to swipe away a few strands of hair on your forehead before gently pressing his lips to your skin. The gentle touch made you feel safe.

Now that your eyes didn't feel like they were ready to pop out of your skull, you took a moment to look around the room, thankful that the lights were dim enough not to cause any strain or discomfort. It took a moment to inspect your surroundings before you came to a realization that didn't make any sense. You recognized this place. This was one of the private rooms set up for any team injuries in the Compound's med-bay. Before you could voice your confusion, an irritated cough erupted from your dry throat. As soon as the fit stopped, Steve held a straw up to your parched lips allowing you to take eager sips of water. The cool liquid went a long way to soothing your throat, but you still needed answers. Looking to Steve expectantly you saw that he was already looking back at you affectionately.

“Did you really think I would let you go without a fight? That I wouldn't do everything I possibly could to save you?” He cradled the side of your face, sighing happily when you nuzzled into his large palm.

Before anything else could be said you were eager to feel that your body still worked. With a little help from him, you eased yourself into an upright position. Steve was unsurprisingly stubborn when you asked him to take the space beside you, but he quickly relented and joined you on the soft mattress.

“What did you do? How is this even possible?” you asked quietly, settling into his side and relishing in his warmth.

With you safely wrapped in his arms and finally conscious after so many days, Steve felt an overwhelming relief. He started telling you what happened after your world went dark. With the bomb threat neutralized and all hostiles downed, they had to move fast. He refused to give up on you, refused to accept this as the end. The building was a mess from all the panic and fighting, but this was still a highly equipped medical research facility. There had to be something they could do. A plan formulated quickly as the team outside rushed to find the group of doctors that were escorted out last, bringing them back in while Steve carried your limp body to their medical floor where they could treat you for radiation poisoning. You looked so fragile and weak lying there with the tubes and wires connected to your body.

“A blood transfusion?” Your voice pulled him back into the present. It was still a little hoarse and quiet, but it was yours and he was elated to hear it again. Rolling up his sleeve, he showed you the fading mark where the needle had punctured his skin for so many hours. “Like I said, I would do anything for you.”

The process was slow and you were out for nearly sixteen days, but Steve was at your side the entire time. Once all the toxic blood was replaced and you were stable enough, arrangements were made to fly you back home for the remainder of your recovery.

“Docs were a little worried about the effects the serum could have on you, but we had Helen Cho check you out in case the techs over there missed anything. Everything came back perfect. You're going to be okay.” He kissed your temple while rubbing his hand up and down your arm, needing to feel that you were really there with him.

The serum. The same that Steve was injected with all those years ago now flowed through your veins. When you first woke, you were able to pick up on the various scents around the room, something you were never sensitive to before. The bundles of flowers blooming in jars across the room and the now cooled coffee Steve had been sipping to keep him alert. Whatever that all meant, you would deal with it later. At this moment, all that mattered was that you were alive, wrapped in the arms of the man you loved.

Placing your hand over his heart, you looked up at him before saying, “Steve, about that place out in the country?”

That was all you needed to say before he finally leaned forward to connect your lips in a gentle, yet passion-filled kiss. He couldn't wait to take you home and build his forever with you.

K so this was a far cry from the other Steve fic I wrote huh? I don’t dabble in angst too often, but I gave it a shot and I hope you enjoyed reading it. Originally the ending was a lot sooner, but I just couldn’t leave it like that! I need a fluffy ending, alright?! I’m here to heal, not to feel. Any Star Trek: Into Darkness fans out there cause that ending was thick with reference to it. The song “To Build a Home” by The Cinematic Orchestra was also an inspiration for this so yeah, there’s that.

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tag list (i really need to update this...)

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#steve x reader #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers #kaits8kangstchallenge #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers angst #my writing

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ssnakey-b · 6 years

Text

My grandpa’s experiences in a Russian POW camp have been turned into a book.

Hi everyone. Today, I’d like to talk about something very personal, yet something that I think is very important to people in general. And to do that, we need to start with a bit of a history lesson.

Most of the people reading this I probably aware that I am French. Well, I was born and still live in Alsace, the easternmost region of the country, whose Eastern border is also the border between France and Germany.

Needless to say, this means that we’ve seen our fair share of conflict, as the two nations have been fighting over us, as well as another region called Lorraine, since... pretty much these two nations have existed. So unsurprisingly, one of the conditions of France’s surrender to Germany during World War 2 was that these two regions would be annexed, meaning they were officially part of Germany, meaning that all able-bodied men in these regions could potentially be drafted in the Wehrmacht, despite not being German. I’ll let you guess what happened to those who tried to refuse, and/or their families.

This happened across multiple countries and in France, we call them the “Malgré-Nous”, which translates to “Against Our Will”, and my grandfather was one of them. And because the Germans of course would rather not risk their superior homeboys, these people forced into the army were sent to fight off the Russians.

At some point, my grandpa’s squad ended up surrounded by Russian forces. They tried to flee, but were eventually caught and taken prisoners. They were sen’t to various prisoner camps, and ended up spending most of their time in the infamous Camp 188 in Tambov.

Now, this was a POW camp, the soldiers there were a bargaining chip for Russia, so they weren’t going out of their way to make people suffer or starve them, but this was a POW camp in soviet Russia, in the middle of the most brutal conflict in human history, so as you can probably guess, the living conditions barley allowed for survival.

I’m not entirely sure why, perhaps just to fight off depression and hunger, but my grandfather decided to keep a journal of it. He even describes the almost slapsticky way in which he had to move his arms around a guard searching him so he wouldn’t see it, and he explains that he eventually sewed hidden pockets inside his coat’s sleeves so he could hide it. It contains not only descriptions of the camp, daily life inside it and the land and wildlife of the area, but he also drew many sketches of what he saw, some of which you can see in these pictures. As an artist myself, I am very proud to see that not only does it run in the family, but he made such an important use of his talent.

Obviously, the journal of a surviving soldier’s experiences in a Russian POW camp is an incredibly rare and valuable document (even my family didn’t find out about it until a few years ago), especially considering the little-known aspect of WW2 of non-German people being forced into their army. Russian people are especially fascinated by this sort of stories because of course, for most of the XXth century, they could only know what their government would allow them to know about their own history.

This is how a French-speaking Russian woman who frequently visits France ended up hearing about the journal in local publications. She had this project of writing a book about the camp, and was looking for first-hand accounts of what it was like. Naturally, as soon as she heard about this, she contacted my parents and asked if she could write about the journal and include pictures of it. It goes without saying that they accepted. In fact, my father had the entire journal scanned in high resolution for just such an occasion (we also intend to have the entire thing printed, with a copy of the letter he received to inform him he was drafted).

Well, as the title of this post says, the book is now complete and its author sent us a copy. Of course, none of us can read Russian, but the author’s daughter is working on a French translation, so I’m very anxiously looking forward to it. There are other people’s accounts as well, my grandpa’s taking up about a third of the book.

Here is the letter announcing he’s been drafted, written on October 24th, 1944. It includes a list of items to get before reporting, such as work shoes, a shovel, a mess kit, etc... notice the “Heil Hitler!” at the end. Also note that although his name was “Geoffrey Rieb”, they of course spelt his name as Gottfried. Similarly, they spelled the name of the street where they wrote this “Rue du travail” (Labour Street) in German, turning it into “Strasse der Arbeit”.

Here’s a map he drew while trying to work out where they were and how much he’d travelled (the guards only spoke a bit of German outside of Russian so they couldn’t provide much information). Oh and one thing that’s not included in the book is that he actually built a makeshift sextant to help in his calculations (note: I believe this specific sketch is from a copy of his journal which he remade more cleanly once he got back home as he clearly realized that all of this needed to be preserved).

On the left page, he specifies the many nationalities the people he met during his “stay” (as he put it) in the camps of Lobsch, Pulawy, Segesa and Tambow hailed from: France, Belgium, Luxembourg, ¨Poland, Czechoslovakia, Yougoslavia, Estonia, Lettonia, Hungary, Italy, Romania and Austria. He explains that all prisoners except for the Germans wore caps with their national colours on.

He also adds that in each camp, you had an easier time depending on your nationality: if you were Austrian in Lobsch, German in Pulawy, Polish in Segesa, and in Tambow... you had to be a teacher. It’s a bit of a joke since the camp almost exclusively included French prisoners, to the point it ended up being nicknamed “The French camp”.

On the right page is a sketch titled “Those who aren’t coming back.....” and depicts the Alsacian graveyard of Tambow. Yeah, let us not forget that around 8000 people died there. My grandpa was one of the lucky ones.

To the right is a sketch of another camp he went through, Rada. To the left is one of my favourite sketches, of which you can see a variation on the cover, of “Soup time at the Segesa train station”. These lines of people eating what little they could get is really striking. But what really stuck in my mind is an anecdote my grandpa relates. I’m not sure it was exactly at that moment, but on his way back, he mentions stopping at a train station and being so hungry he decided to trade his sweater for a sausage.

I wish nobody to ever be so desperately hungry that they are willing to literally trade the clothes on their backs for a sausage, in the middle of Northern Russia. And I wish for nobody to be desperately cold that they’re willing to trade what little food they have for a sweater.

It’s not all cold, hunger and sadness though. There are sketches of the beautiful nature, some amusing stories like the prisoners organising a football tournament, even being able to form national teams, some heartwarming moments like my grandpa making plans for renovations in their countryside home (which he eventually did make!).

And then there are also some truly incredible moments, like when the prisoners decided to take turns giving each-other lectures on their job. This is what the sketch on the left in the top picture is for, as it describes one of the machines my grandpa used for his job.

But that’s not what makes this story incredible. See, one of the people giving a lecture was a German engineer. And the sketch on right page and on the bottom pic are blueprints my grandpa was able to make based on descriptions by that engineer. You may have noticed it looks like a rocket. And if you look carefully at the top right sketch, you may have noticed the name V1.

That’s right, this guy was a military engineer, giving the prisoners a lecture on Germany’s signature weapon. now I’m going to go ahead an assume this sort of information was top secret, with major consequences should any info about it leak, and yet here it is in my grandpa’s journal. This blew my mind when I first saw it and I wondered if I was seeing this right.

This to me can only mean one of two things: either this guy expected to die in this camp, so he wasn’t scared for himself should the Russia get a hold of it and he was branded a spy and/or a traitor back in Germany, but even then you’d think he wouldn’t want to endanger his nation, or at least he’d fear for his family, or he knew that even if the Russians did find the blueprints, the Nazis would have fallen out of power by the time word got back to Germany. Either way, I’m still having a hard time comprehending that this is real and my grandfather got to hear it straight from one of the engineers.

But this also speaks volume about the situation these men were in. They were all trained, indoctrinated to hate and want to kill one-another. Propaganda was everywhere on all sides of the conflict. Just look at how hateful some of the European or American war posters were. And in Germany, we’re talking about a Nazi dictatorship, a regime raising an entire generation to believe that genocide was the right thing to do, so the incitement to blind hatred was especially strong.

And yet, here they all were, talking to each-other, educating one-another, exchanging ideas, trading as equals, ignoring nationalities, ethnicities and culture. Because when you’ve hit rockbottom, when you’re all neck-deep in the same shithole, tired, starving, and unsure if you’ll still be alive by the end of the week... who can still give a crap about such petty issues? I get the feeling that for them, the war was over long before any treaty was signed.

I hope you found this as interesting as I did and that it’s giving you a new perspective on World War 2, that conflicts are always so, so much more complicated than “good guys vs bad guys” and how the people most directly involved by it wanted nothing more than to live in peace and let their neighbours do the same.

For me, it’s also a very personal document, as my grandpa died when I was still very young and I don’t have many memories of him, so finding this helps me connect with him a little bit more. I’ll keep you posted when the French version is completed and who knows? Maybe we’ll make more. I just know I want as many people as possible to know about this. Remembering these events is our duty to the World and to future generations.

Oh and if you have any questions regarding this, feel free to ask, I’ll answer them to the best of my avbilities.

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donvex · 7 years

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you said you take prompts right?? how about a richie that doesn't see the point of art and a eddie whos a artist, and somehow they fall in love?

Here you go, anon! This prompt hit me with inspiration in the middle of... Well, let’s just say I was in a situation pretty similar to Eddie’s.

I Don’t Like Art, But I Do Like You - AO3 Link

It doesn’t matter that he goes to an art school -

Richie Tozier does not respect art majors.

He just doesn’t, not when they’re all pretentious and useless. The dance majors spend every night partying, and then meet up with the musical theater majors in the morning to dance on the tables in the cafeteria. The crafts majors are a joke before you even get past their name. There’s literally no use for a degree in fucking drawing.

He doesn’t respect them, not when they’re all useless.

Richie actually puts work into his craft. Woodcarving is difficult work that keeps his hands occupied and actually produces something useful in the end. His pieces, if not sold after turning them in for a grade, he can keep and use. Most of the furniture in his apartment is his own - which really saves him money.

And he’s dedicated enough that instead of going out on Saturday night to get wrecked, he tucks himself in early so that he can go into the studios at 6:30am on a Sunday.

Yeah, he’s a pretty great student.

The only downfall to going into the studios early, and on an off-day, is that almost every room is locked. The facilities are shit, to say the least, considering they’re only open twenty four seven during the last two weeks of each semester. And now he’s going to have to scope out the building to see if any floor has an already open room; Otherwise he’s going to have to go down to the security desk again and wait for twenty minutes for someone to bring a key.

Things aren’t looking great when he reaches the fourth floor and finds all the woodshop studios locked tight, but he doesn’t actually need the woodshop today. It’s just some prep work for his final project. There’s a whole lotta work to put down on paper before he’s ready to start building. So, since he doesn’t need the woodshop he decides to scour the rest of the building for an empty room.

The fibers floor isn’t even split into a bunch of studios. It’s just three long hallways that are, in themselves, studios - and all three hallways are locked. The illustration floor, two up from fibers and proudly displaying a glistening display case filled with art work, is equally useless. But snugged in between, past a small gallery and the lightbox room - is the guillotine. Richie doesn’t typically have need for the paper cutter, save on rare occasions where he needs to mat and display his blueprints, but he knows it’s there. And, to his surprise and pleasure, the light in the room is on.

Which means it’s open.

Which also means someone must be inside.

Richie’s first thought upon opening the door is fuck, I got beat out. That thought is quickly followed by a string of I was right, there is someone inside and oh god, it’s gonna be a useless visual arts major.

And, again, he’s right.

The single, large table in the room is covered in a stack of objects. Sketchbooks are flipped open to thumbnails and references, larger printed sketches with value are taped down beside that, and neon colored pencils spill out from a lavender colored tote. Several plastic containers are laid out, filled with water, watercolor tablets, and some remnants of paint mixing. A laptop is angled between them, the screen filled with photos and the speakers quietly playing music.

And, the crowning jewel - there’s a cute boy at the center of it all, frowning in Richie’s direction.

“You’re covered in fucking dust.”

Oh. Oh no. Richie likes that.

But, he reminds himself, he also likes his dust.

“Yeah, that comes from hours of working hard, short stuff. Using the whole table?” Richie leans against the doorframe, making it clear he isn’t going anywhere. He crosses his ankles, his scuffed up boots dragging across the floor. He would be going for a kind of rugged look, if it wasn’t for the fact that his denim jacket was hand-dyed to be bright pink.

“What’s the point of not utilizing my space when no one else is here?”

“Well, it didn’t take long for someone to show up, did it?” Richie is grinning, feeling like he holds the upper hand. There’s no real reason for him to be an asshole right now, but according to him, it’s part of his charm. It’s supposed to be endearing.

The kid does not seem to find it endearing in anyway. He just snorts and fixes a pointed look on Richie.

“It took sixteen hours.”

Richie is visibly confused, and the kid laughs at him. It’s more of a bark, but Richie hesitantly labels it as, well, endearing.

What he’s supposed to be, right now.

“I’ve been here since 3pm yesterday. You wanna share the table? Sure. You wanna be a dick about it? I’ve been staked out here on and off for the past five nights, you can go back to your own floor.”

Richie is...floored. Astonished. Confused?

This kid, this visual artist, has been here for sixteen hours. Sixteen hours on a Saturday night. Into a Sunday morning. And more than that, this isn’t even the first night.

“You gotta be a wreck.” There’s something new in Richie’s voice, something eerily close to a begrudging respect.

“Yeah, most of the illustration students are.”

Oh. Oh no again.

This kid isn’t just cute, he’s funny. He’s got a spark. Richie doesn’t think he can stand for that, not if he still intends on disrespecting visual artists.

“When are you going home?”

“God, you’re that desperate to take this room from me? I’ll probably go home around noon, but I’m coming back tonight. I need this done for my six hour studio tomorrow.”

Richie finally pulls out a stool and leans directly into this kid’s space, actually looking at what he’s working on. It’s a series of record covers, from what he can tell. He’s actually kind of fascinated by the layout, there’s obviously a lot of planning gone into it. Even the lettering is styled, pages of calligraphy and designs laid out next to the finalized sketch. The kid doesn’t push him away, either. He lets Richie take it all in, and after a few moments, quietly starts pointing out his favorite parts.

It’s quiet and soft. It’s still the early hours, when most people aren’t in the studios to begin with, and they have the room all to themselves. Richie thinks of a few questions to ask, and the more he pushes, the more interested he is. This kid has an answer for everything, and a good one. It’s not as bullshit as Richie thought it was.

Eventually this kid points to the sunrise, and Richie thinks for a moment that he’s going to take it all back if he has to pause for a picture, but again, he’s surprised.

“Look at that piece of shit,” Eddie grumbles. “That goddamn orange dot is supposed to make staying up worth it? Who cares that I just gave up an entire night of sleep when I get to see the fucking sunrise! Yeah, sure.”

Richie thinks he’s gonna piss himself from laughing so hard, or at least fall off the stool.

It’s still early, to be fair. And he hasn’t had coffee or breakfast. And he was immediately thrown off his game when he met an artist who’s actually competent. So he doesn’t think he can be completely to blame when his filter isn’t as strong as it should be.

“I think I’m in love with you. I think I’m in love with you and I don’t even know your name.”

He gets pushed off his stool.

(It’s worth it, though, when he looks up to a pair of shining eyes and the words “It’s Eddie.”)

#reddie #richie tozier #eddie kaspbrak #it 2017 #my writing #Anonymous #answered asks

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theartofbeinganerd · 7 years

Text

For my series 1 Night (+The Rest of Our Lives), @lapiccolina requested: “ Maybe a one shot of Jemma helping Fitz move in, or rather, a one shot of Jemma over at Fitz's place?”

Or, how about both? ;D

(Ao3)

The door unlocked with an audible click, and Fitz began reaching for the knob, but then he paused suddenly and turned back to face Jemma with a sheepish smile. “It may be a bit, ah, messy.” When Jemma arched an eyebrow at that, he added hastily, “I haven’t spent more than a couple of hours here in…well, frankly, a very long time, so I haven’t really cleaned and…”

Deciding that it was time to help relieve Fitz of some of his obvious nerves, Jemma laughed lightly and assured him, “Fitz, I already know about how you ‘forget’ to pick up your laundry, and I still love you; I hardly think that I’ll see anything in here that’ll have me heading for the hills.”

She noticed his shoulders relax just slightly, but he still looked a bit worried, so Jemma stretched up onto her toes and found his lips with hers. Right on time, she felt that same little rush of giddiness that she always did at the freedom of being able to kiss him whenever she wanted to – she wasn’t sure that she’d ever get over that feeling, and wasn’t sure that she’d ever want to.

When she leaned back after a long moment, Fitz did seem quite a bit calmer, much to her relief. Offering her a warm (slightly and adorably dopey) smile, he said easily, “Alright then, let’s get to it,” and opened the door, leading the way into his seldom-used flat.

Almost immediately and against her will, Jemma’s eyebrows shot up toward her hairline, and she glanced around with wide, disbelieving eyes. Sure, she’d seen how he left his wrinkled shirts on the floor of her (well, now their) bedroom and the way that he ended up with all mismatched socks because he kept losing them all throughout her flat, but this…

This was on a scale all its own.

Clothes were strewn over every available surface that she could see, stacks of papers, various sketches and blueprints among them, were piling up everywhere else, and used dishes filled up the counters and sink of his kitchen.

Gasping, Jemma turned to him and whispered in horror, “Fitz.”

Fitz winced and nodded, replying miserably, “I know, I know – but it honestly wasn’t this bad when I was living here full-time, I promise! I’ve just let cleaning go a bit by the wayside, what with work and helping you take care of Evie keeping me busy most of the time.” He shot his own glance around the flat, then advised her, “Just…ignore the mess for now while we pack up the important stuff, and I’ll make a couple of trips here after work this week to try and clean up the rest.”

“How in the world do you expect me to ignore this?” she asked him, arching an incredulous brow. Had he ever met her before?

However, he gave her a dry look and deadpanned, “Jem, you have a one-year-old that gets into everything, how can you possibly still care about perfect cleanliness?”

Making a bit of a face, Jemma had to admit that he was right; Evelyn was at that point where she was very much mobile, and now nothing was safe anymore – she’d had to accept that the toys in Evelyn’s bedroom would be in perpetual disarray on the floor, no matter how many times they played the “clean up” game.

But, she still wouldn’t admit it to Fitz, and instead scoffed, reminding him, “I work in a lab, so of course perfect cleanliness still matters to me.” With her point made, she strode off in the direction that she assumed his bedroom must be in.

“Yeah, well, so do I, and look at my place,” Fitz called after her, his voice carrying down the hallway off of the living room that she’d taken.

Jemma rolled her eyes fondly at his words, but abruptly froze in her tracks when she passed by a smaller bedroom, currently empty save for a half-finished wooden crib sitting in the middle of it. She remembered then, distantly, the day that she and Fitz had painted Evelyn’s nursery, when he’d mentioned building her a crib for his flat – she’d all-but forgotten about it since then, especially when Fitz had effectively moved in with her before Evelyn had even been born.

“Oh.”

Startled, she glanced over her shoulder at the sudden sound of Fitz’s mumble, finding him just coming up behind her in the hall.

A bit awkwardly and without being prompted, he began to explain, “I never got around to finishing that – but it’s fine, ‘cause it wouldn’t have gotten any use anyway.” He paused there, then his expression became contemplative as he said absently, “Actually, I can probably finish it up and offer it to Sheila down in Marketing; she’s about halfway through her first pregnancy at the moment.”

Finally turning to face him fully, Jemma hesitated, then admitted in a rush, “For a long time, I felt horribly about not being able to give Evelyn the family that she deserved, one that was together and happy and…and I’m just so…glad that it’s all worked out the way that it has. Despite my fears, Evelyn has never known what it’s like to live in separate homes and to be away from one of her parents all the time. I don’t think that I’ve ever thanked you for staying with me so that I didn’t have to do it alone, even though I was prepared to, but –”

“Hey,” Fitz cut in there, shaking his head, “don’t. You have thanked me, actually, quite a few times. But Jem, you don’t have to; it’s sort of my job, y’know, to take care of Evie and to do all of this with you. A mother should never have to thank a father for being in their child’s life, and I don’t ever want you to think that you have to, okay?”

For a lengthy moment, Jemma simply gazed at him, wondering how she’d possibly gotten so lucky as to be loved by and have a family with this wonderful man. But, then she smiled tenderly and nodded, stepping closer to him and winding her arms around his neck, leaning into him.

As his hands came up to familiarly curve along her waist, she whispered, “I love you,” causing Fitz’s dopey grin to return with a vengeance, and Jemma had never been more in love (something that tended to happen every single day that she spent with Fitz, even though she always imagined that it was impossible to be more in love with him than she already was).

“I love you too,” he murmured, then swooped down to capture her lips with his, causing Jemma’s mind to go deliciously blank as she returned the kiss, sliding her fingers through his curls and pressing closer to him.

She felt her back hit the wall a moment later, and she caught Fitz’s bottom lip between both of hers, tugging gently on it. She could feel his answering groan all the way to her toes –

But, then Fitz abruptly broke away, breathing with obvious difficulty as he dropped his forehead to rest against the wall beside hers. “If you keep that up, we’ll never get anything packed,” he warned her hoarsely.

Chuckling fondly, Jemma turned her head to peck his cheek before ducking out from between him and wall as she agreed easily, “You’re right; we have to pick Evelyn up from daycare at three.”

As she headed further down the hall to his bedroom, she could hear him grumbling, “I at least expected a protest…”

Turning to hand him an empty box and a roll of tape, Jemma affected an exaggerated pout and apologized sweetly, “I’m so sorry for bruising your ego, Fitz. Of course you’re very difficult to resist.”

He rolled his eyes exaggeratedly. “You don’t need to placate me; I already know that you love organization and order more than me.”

A burst of laughter bubbled out of her, and she shrugged unashamedly. “What can I say? I love systems.”

Fitz’s answering smile was soft and adoring, and had Jemma’s heart swooping a bit in her chest (it also had her eyeing his nearby bed longingly, but she ignored that urge – for now, at least). “Yeah, I know.”

Working together (and only stopping every so often to share kisses), they managed to get most of his (clean) clothes, books, and other various odds and ends packed up to move from his bedroom to her flat that day. In fact, they were even ahead of Jemma’s mental schedule, so with some time left over, she offered, “I can help you start sorting through some of these papers, if you’d like. It definitely seems like something that’ll take a fair bit of time for just one person.”

Fitz, however, hesitated, glancing around at the papers littering his living room. After a beat, he admitted, “Some of them are actually for work, and that means they’re…um, classified.” Jemma immediately opened her mouth to assure him that she understood, but then he shrugged and went on, “But, as long as you don’t tell Mr. Stark, then it should be fine – and as long as you don’t plan on selling anything you see to another company, naturally.”

“Fitz…” Stepping closer and laying a hand on his arm, Jemma asked gently, “Are you sure?”

“Of course I am,” he replied without hesitation.

Unable to help her smile, she found his hand with hers, giving it a grateful squeeze before she began leafing through the nearest pile of papers. After a moment, she said with a little laugh, “You know, even if I wanted to, I don’t think I’d ever even have the chance to tell Mr. Stark about this. We don’t exactly run in the same circles, you know.”

Strangely, Fitz grew quiet at that, and she glanced over curiously to find him rubbing the back of his neck, like he always did when he was unsure about something.

Frowning, Jemma half-turned from the papers and asked him, “What’s wrong, Fitz?”

He visibly flushed at the question, shrugging a bit jerkily as he explained, “Um well, actually, Stark Industries is having this employee picnic coming up and…we’re allowed to invite our families and I…well, I was going to ask if you wanted to come – and we’d bring Evie, of course.”

Jemma was momentarily stunned by the admission, before she asked softly, “Do you want us to come?”

After all, they’d only been together a short time in the grand scheme of things, even if it felt like so much longer, and their work lives were still their own, despite having met each other’s families and having spent the better part of a year raising a child together. Jemma herself would be perfectly fine introducing Fitz to her colleagues, but she didn’t want him to feel as though he had to bring them to this picnic, just because they were a couple now.

Fitz, however, replied instantly, “Of course I do. But, you don’t have to feel like you –”

“I would love to come with you, Fitz,” she cut in to assure him. At that, he grinned widely, looking half-relieved and half-thrilled, and Jemma smirked playfully as she added “But on one condition – you’ll have to introduce me to Tony Stark himself, obviously.”

She was only teasing, and she knew that he knew that, but regardless he gave a little shrug and told her, “I can if you really want me to; you’ll just have to remember not to take anything that he says seriously.”

Jemma arched her eyebrows, asking in disbelief, “Really?” When he nodded, she laughed lightly and said, “It’s a done deal, then.”

The last box had finally been brought into Jemma’s flat, and Evelyn, who they’d picked up on their way back, was currently attempting to peer into each of the boxes, curious about their contents. However, she was clearly frustrated to find that they were all taped closed.

Nodding to Evelyn, Jemma told Fitz teasingly, “Seems as though Evelyn wants to help you unpack, Fitz.”

Chuckling, Fitz reached down to grab Evelyn around her little waist, lifting her up to the sound of her delighted squeals. “Is that true? D’you wanna help Daddy move in, Evie?” he asked, pressing smacking kisses to her cheeks as Evelyn made a feigned effort to escape his hold. “Perhaps we’ll even find out if you take after your mum when it comes to her ‘systems’.”

Jemma gave a mock-huff at the comment, crossing her arms over her chest. “Just for that, I’m taking back the half of my closet that I’ve cleared out for you.”

In response, Fitz affected an overly-exaggerated and absolutely ridiculous pout. And as if that wasn’t enough, then Evelyn was copying it, and it was all too much for Jemma, who simultaneously felt her heart melting and had laughter slipping past her lips.

“Alright, alright,” she gave in easily, “you can have your half of the closet still!””

Grinning victoriously, Fitz ducked closer to kiss her cheek. “Thank you.” Stepping back, he tucked a giggling Evelyn up under his arm, and said pointedly, “We’d better get started then, Evie.”

As they disappeared into Jemma’s (and now, Fitz’s) bedroom, she called after them, “I had better not see those clothes just in a heap on the closet floor!”

Her only answer was a loud, defeated groan.

Given that they’d only brought over a few boxes, the whole process of unpacking didn’t take very long at all. By the time that the pizza that Fitz had convinced her to order for dinner had been delivered, he was just finishing straightening a poster of space that they’d taken from his flat and that now hung proudly in her living room.

“Voila,” Fitz announced grandly as he stepped back to admire his handiwork, and Jemma smiled as she came up beside him. She slipped an arm around his waist, admiring the sight of his poster beside her art prints, his books shelved beside hers, and paired with the comforting weight of his arm around her shoulders and the familiar background noise of Evelyn playing just on the other side of the couch, it all felt so very right.

Dropping her head to rest on his shoulder and releasing a contented sigh, Jemma murmured, “Welcome home, Fitz.”

#shayna writes #fsfic #fitzsimmons #one night stand au #1 night (+the rest of our lives)#1 night series #moving in together #i say this all the time but #i miss 1 night 'verse fs #when i'm not writing them #my kids

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reachformyhand · 5 years

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SHARE UR ART ALWAYS.... ALL OF YOU... P L E A S E....

“Okei doki! But here’s a warning! It’s pretty long! So... if you’re okay with reading long things then here’s my story about my two character Rybocat and Miles!”

note: words in bold are lyrics to the song ‘Touch Tone Telephone’ by Lemon Demon!

I think it's time for you to know the awful truth The day they found Rybocat and announced him to the public. People came running from everywhere over the world. It was 1999! Why wouldn't they! They had just found not only a super computer, but a very cute cat one at the matter of fact! One that perfectly emulates emotions! It's the most advanced thing anybody had ever seen! The finest piece of technology! One with a conscious ultra super processor! They answer within seconds!

The truth about me, and the truth about you Rybocat found the attention fine. Eventually he was put on expedition for people to just visit him. He would help them or just chat. The people who wanted the chat though seemed to always just test his speech processors. Just to see how well he could understand everything. Several times Rybo claimed that he found the tests funny! He claims to be 100% natural. Nobody believed him considering he's all metal. They just thought the robot did this to stop itself from having a meltdown of "I'm just a robot." instead making it think "I am a person. I have a reason to be here." So it didn't self destruct itself

'Cause you're a brand new species The first time he's treated as a person. Someone real was a kid named Miles. He was apparently called a 'prodigy' which means he is much smarter than others his age. He may have been 16 but his mind was so much older! He knew how to perfectly calculate quantum physics. And the thing is that Miles didn't treat him as a robot. He treated him like another kid. They would have nice talks and jokes. They were friends! One day they were having a discussion and Miles said, "Ya know Rybo. You're not a machine at all. You're a brand new species of awesome cat! Super smart! We're a great team, do you think we'd be able to go to space one day with how smart we are?" Rybocat didn't stop thinking about that for the next week.

Big cat, space Nazis, Robert Stack Something that Rybo learnt is that Miles had a large fascination for Space and the Unknown. Things like aliens, bigfoot, supernatural theories. He believed that he can prove that they're real or at lease make them real with enough experimentation. Rybocat always supported him and would bring his own theories to the table.

God damn it, gonna snap, Leonard Nimoy Call me back (Call me back) Even though we talked about those things. Afterwards my scientist person who looks after me and keeps me powered made sure to always tell me that "You're just a robot remember Rybocat. And that even if that Miles child is smart. Some of the things he say are not true. He is just testing you." I knew he was lying. I could tell. The way Miles said things. He was always passionate about what he was saying and it was true but. The scientist man. Those words felt dead in and out. Rybo did not believe his caretaker and would continue chatting about the supernatural with his best friend Miles anyway.

I try to call you every day I'm rehearsing what to say when the truth comes out (Of my very own mouth) Sometimes when Miles was over he would just accidentally not respond to something he said because he was too busy being lost in the boy's voice and the way it elegantly explained his thoughts. Or he couldn't find the words of what to say because of he would wonder if the response would set off anything within Miles. He would try to calculate every outcome of responses. Sometimes the things Miles would say he just couldn't process and he would end up overheating! He couldn't think of how he was supposed too act when Miles would lightly grab his arm to show the newest sketch of a blueprint for his next project.

I've been working on a unified theory If I make it through tonight everybody's gonna hear me out Miles explains that his big project is gonna be a cool alien space ship. Because maybe if they looked like them. They could be picked up by the Aliens and prove that they're real by documentation. He believes its gonna work so much! He would even come in to see Rybocat with oil stains on his clothes.

'Cause I'm the right one On my touch-tone, touch-tone telephone Rybocat would receive updates from the project on his paw. It can be used as a smart phone of sorts. He felt a weird buzzing feeling whenever he looked at Miles now. He thinks its called Happiness. But it's probably more.

I'm the only one On your A.M., A.M. radio Rybocat hears announced on the radio more things like him. Except all of them are different. While he's best suited for mathematics and calculations. Some of the others would excel at other things like Languages and Arts. Coding. History. Most of them had something that Rybo did not however. No emotions. Allowing them to do anything the humans asked them too. It set off something within Rybo. He thinks its... unsettlement and disgust. He wishes he could help them. Help them feel like he does! Have emotions and friends... Rybo suddenly had nobody visiting his centre building. They all went to others. There was other robo's that could do mathematics better then he did. And none of them wouldn't not answer because some questions made them uncomfortable. The only person who would come is Miles. He feels a large attachment to Miles. Miles said that the other robots were boring and not as fun as he was. Not as real as him. Rybo thinks he's experiencing what love feels like.

Oh, I'm crying now, authentic tears Rybocat was told by his scientist that he was going to be scrapped the next day. As they had better people to do his job. The other robo's. Rybocat was terrified. He spent the day crying. Crying real tears. Why couldn't they see that he was real and not just faking it. He was real and he didn't want to be scrapped. He didn't want to die.

They flow out of me when I think about you What about all the things he promised he'd do with Miles. Explore space, discover aliens, summon ghosts. Miles. He doesn't want to leave his friend.

'Cause you're the only person in the world who'd understand 'Cause you're the only person in the world who'd understand the meaning of this Miles would understand how useful Rybo can still be. He'd be the only one that would understand all of the little jokes they'd come up with. Miles is the only person in the world that understands Rybocat.

Oh My God I try and I try and I try to make you listen to me However when I try to talk to him he wouldn't believe me. He would just say that it's impossible to get rid of me. I'm the only robot cat with emotions in the world. And he doesn't understand why they'd get rid of me.

I try to call you every day I'm rehearsing what to say when the truth comes out (Of my very own mouth) I've been working on a unified theory If I make it through tonight everybody's gonna hear me out 'Cause I'm the right one On my touch-tone, touch-tone telephone I'm the only one, hey! On your A.M., A.M. radio Miles realised he was horribly wrong when he was heading home that night. He saw a little festival set up. They were setup and celebrating for the first dissection of a high tech robot. He could see Rybocat's name printed everywhere. He was so wrong. There was even a TV to show the livestreaming of it. He ran home. He riled through his closet. He knew exactly how he felt for his cat friend Rybo. He knew exactly the fluttering feeling he felt in his chest when their bodies touched when they hugged or leaned against each other. He knew exactly that the adults were going to kill him tonight. And Miles wasn't going to let them kill the person he loved.

Don't hang up yet, I'm not done Rybo flinches awake out of sleep mode when he hears glass shattering. He jumps off of the... admittedly pathetic bed/charging station now he thinks about it.

I'm an expert, I'm the one He spots Miles taking off a black beanie he had covering his entire face. "I was wrong! I... They're gonna dissect you and kill you j-just for science or whatever but it's stupid! And I w-wont let them do that to you Rybo!!!"

The one who was right all along "B-but no matter what you do Miles. They're gonna find me. I'm 100 percent sure that they have me microchipped." "Heh... Well. Can they track a microchip travelling thousands of miles per hour in a space ship?" "What!?" "Come with me! I'll show you!" "But-" "No buts! Anything is better. Even if we fail it's gonna take longer for them to reach you and i'd do anything to make sure you're alive for longer." Rybocat lets out a genuine laugh as he grabs his friends hand. He even takes the Beanie from it, covering his own ears with it. Miles says it looks good on him as they're running. This is one of these times where Miles is happy that he lives on a giant farm on the outskirts of town surrounded by cornfields. Because it makes the perfect cover for everything he's been doing.

Better to be laughed at than wrong I'm an expert in my field UFOlogy, yes, it's all real Rybo was absolutely amazed when he reached Miles home to see a huge ship! Along with strange glowing creatures along side it. And... is that some of the other... Robots? "I can explain them later! All I know is that they tested it and it works! It works!"

Ancient aliens, it's all true I'm an expert just like you "You know what this means? We were right! The whole time!" "About-" "About Aliens! When you can communicate with them and explain things. They're even nicer than I thought! And the other robots? They heard about you and wanted to learn emotions too! They idolise you Rybo! They think you're amazing!" "Me?

And like you, I'm a genius before my time "Me? But i'm just... a stupid robot with feelings." "Are you kidding me?! You're the coolest fuckin' person in the entire world! You're the nicest and the smartest and I think I love you!?" "I THINK I LOVE YOU TOO?"

Disbelieving, that's the real crime They hear sirens blare after their admittance of feelings. It's then they decide to talk about that later and instead head into the ship and leave. Leave the place full of people who don't believe.

Pretty soon they'll discover me in the Super-Sargasso Sea Rybocat has one thing he loved the most about leaving Earth. The feeling of Miles hand in his paw. And the shit eating grin he let out as he watched shocked adults see the ship float up into the air and away.

I try to call you every day What can I say when the truth comes out? (Of my very own mouth) I've been working on a unified theory If I make it through tonight everybody's gonna hear me out (Now, now, now) 'Cause I'm the right one On my touch-tone, touch-tone telephone I'm the only one On your A.M., A.M. radio

. . . .

A long time has passed and Rybocat thinks that on earth it would be about 2030. He leans into a microphone while facing a hologram on his ship, sitting behind a desk. Microphones infront of them. Rybocat has even got a shirt and jacket. Along with the Beanie he was given years ago by his now husband. He leans into the microphone after hitting a button on the control panel on the desk. "Hello everyone! This is Rybocat and Miles. The Earth's smartest escapists! You're listening to 51.6 Space AM Radio! Today we will be taking questions about the planet earth and what it was like when we occupied it. Connection-lines are now open for contact!"

Rybocat loves his life. In space, talking about the wonderful things of the universe.

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

And that’s my little story! I hope whoever reading this enjoyed!

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blake-moran-madam-secretary-blog · 7 years

Text

Small Fanfic for Guggi

Hey! I wrote this at like 2:30am and it’s about our Oc’s! Hope you enjoy! @guggi04 This is only the first couple of pages

Elizabeth walked into the grand foyer, her skirts swishing around her ankles with every step she took, of the home she shared with her husband Victor Andrew, she as looked for her young daughter Rose. Maids bustled around them, fulfilling their duties. Elizabeth smiled and exchanged greetings before she went back to the task at hand. Rose had run off while she was playing Hide and Seek.

“Rose Stephanie Andrews, where you are?” Elizabeth asked softly, a joking tone in her voice even though she used Rose’s full name. A smirk was sketched onto Elizabeth’s face as she heard a giggle from behind one of the black velvet chair that Victor put in the foyer for guests that come over. Elizabeth walked over and looked behind one of the chairs, the smiling face of her daughter looking up at her.

“Found you” Elizabeth giggled as she reached down and picked Rose up and rested her on her hip. Rose giggled as she covered her face with her hands.

“How about we go see Papa in his office?” Elizabeth asked and Rose nodded, grinning.

“I want to see Papa!” Rose nodded and clapped.

“Very well! We shall go and see Papa!” Elizabeth smirked as she hoisted her skirts up with her free hand as she began to climb the staircase that lead up the high floors of their house. After walking for what felt like forever, they reached the 3rd floor where Victor’s office was. Elizabeth made sure that Rose was still comfortable against her hip before she walked over to the large oak that opened to reveal Victor’s office. Elizabeth knocked on the door and quietly heard a soft

“Come in”

From the other side of the door. Elizabeth opened the door and stepped inside, bending don as she put Rose back onto the ground. Elizabeth looked up and smiled at her husband as he sat at his desk, scribbling notes down onto a blueprint of the latest ship he was designing.

Victor was a man that Elizabeth had met while she was going through a hard time. Victor had arrived in the small village from Ireland and instantly changed Elizabeth’s life. Victor was 6’2 (Quite tall compared to Elizabeth’s height of 5’1), had slightly thin lips, his hair was a dark grey with a lighter grey coming through at the roots, his fringe has a slight wave to it, his dark brown eyes were warm, comforting and inviting and he had small laugh lines at the side of his eyes. Victor was 30 while Liz was 22,while Rose had only recently turned 4.

Rose had been born when Liz was 19 and while Liz and Victor had become close after they met, they only got closer after Rose was born. Within months of courting, Victor had proposed to her and Elizabeth said yes, a huge grin on her face and they moved into the grand house not long after the proposal. They were married 2 months after.

“Papa!” Rose called as she ran around the desk to reach Victor. Victor looked up from his work, a smile instantly on his face.

“Ah Rose!” He bent down and picked the young girl up before standing to his full height, before sitting down and resting the girl on his knees so she could have a better view on the desk. Rose’s eyes widened as she saw the blueprints and the countless scribbles. Elizabeth stood up and dusted off her dark green skirt and white blouse as she walked over to where Victor and Rose were sitting.

“Hello Victor” Elizabeth bent down slightly as she reached her husband and kissed his cheek, a loving grin plastered on her face.

“Hello darling” Victor smiled, appreciating the kiss. Elizabeth couldn’t help but blush when he called her darling. Everything he said sounded wonderful with his accent.

“Rose wanted to come see you” Elizabeth explained as she pulled a chair up beside her husband and sat down.

“I was hoping to see my princess and my beautiful Queen at some point today” Victor smiled as he bounced Rose on his knee, emitting a giggle from the young girl.

“Well you could of come down to see us instead of being holed up in your office all day” Elizabeth joked slightly as she looked over to the blueprint plans, brushing a stray lock of curly hair out of her face.

“I was hoping to but I’ve had a lot of work to do” Victor motioned to the plans on his table.

“Are you designing another ship already?” Elizabeth asked as her eyes scanned over the paper.

“Oh Aye!” Victor’s eyes lit up when his wife mentioned the ship. Elizabeth noticed that victor’s eyes always lit up when he was talking about the boats he was designing. “My boss imagined a boat so grand in scale and so luxurious in its appointments, that its supremacy would ever be challenged and here she’ll be” Victor lightly hit the table with his hands “Willed into solid reality. Also the boat will be steam powered! The first of its kind!”

“Victor! T..That’s amazing!” Elizabeth grinned. A boat powered by steam. How was that even possible?

“Daddy building another ship?” Rose asked, suppressing a yawn.

“Aye, that’s right Princess. Daddy’s building another ship and do you know what it’ll be called?”

Rose shook her head, looking up at her father with wide, curious eyes.

“It’ll be named the Rose Andrews” Victor grinned.

Rose’s eyes widened and she looked at her father.

“Like me!” She grinned.

“That’s because it’s named after you sweetie” Victor chuckled as Rose’s eyes got wider and so did her grin as she clapped.

“A ship named after me Daddy?”

“Of course! This ship will travel all over the world and you deserve the world”

Elizabeth had a soft smile adorning her features as she rolled her eyes at her husband. He always spoilt Rose but was careful not to over spoil her at such a young age. Rose’s excitement was cut short as she yawned once more, her eyes having trouble to stay open.

Elizabeth walked over to the door and opening it, seeing one of the maids walking towards her.

“Oh Louise! If you aren’t too busy, would you mind putting Rose down for a nap?”

Louise nodded as she followed Elizabeth into Victor’s office.

“Of course Mrs. Andrews”

Elizabeth gave the young maid a soft motherly smile and the young maid couldn’t help but smile back as she picked the youngest Andrews family member off her father’s lap, leaving the two on their own.

Victor took his wife’s hand and lead her over to the couch that sat in front of the large windows. Elizabeth could see the view as she sat down. The river was running smooth as the sun shone dwn on the water and shined upon the hills. Elizabeth always thought it was quite fitting where they lived, right next to the river, considering her husband’s job.

“Darling, you surely know that once the ship is built, it’ll have to go through multiple sea trials to make sure it’s safe for passengers and then it’ll be disembarking on it’s maiden voyage and it’ll make the headlines, I bet you. It does also mean that I’ll be away for long periods o’ time and I can’t sure sure when I’d be back for certain.”

Elizabeth nodded as she listened to her husband. She knew what it meant being married to a ship designer/master builder and though she’d never stop him from following his dreams, it hurt when he left as Elizabeth and rose missed him dearly. Rose still didn’t know why her daddy had to leave for long period of times and Elizabeth found it hard to explain to her daughter when Rose was crying. Seeing her daughter upset was the worst thing for Elizabeth as she only wished to see Rose happy.

“But for this time, I want you to come with me, and Rose will be joining of course” Victor grinned as Elizabeth looked up, her eyes full of excitement.

“Are you sure Victor?” Elizabeth asked, not fully believing what victor was telling her. Elizabeth had grown up in a village, living in a small cottage living with her adoptive parents Tom and Dick and her adoptive brother Stanley while visiting her biological parents, Madam De Garderobe and Maestro Cadenza, at the castle and now she was living in a grand house with her husband and daughter and soon she was going to travel on the grandest ship in the world that would surely make headlines, seeing as it was the first boat of its king due to it’s scale and the fact that is was the first steam powered boat. The 1730’s seemed like a year of progress indeed.

“I want you and Rose to accompany me on the ship. I want my wife and my daughter to travel in luxury and also I’m not sure I could stay away from you for much longer” Victor admitted sheepishly before the two gently kissed. Every time was like the first as cliché as it sounds. There were always sparks.

Once they pulled apart, Elizabeth cupped Victor’s face in her hands, resting their foreheads together as the two lovers shared a loving smile.

“How I ever told you how lucky I was when I ran into by accident the night we meet?” Elizabeth asked softly.

“You might o’ mentioned it once or twice” Victor joked, smirking softly. “but I never tire of hearing it”

“You, Victor Andrews,are the most amazingly, astounding, wonderful man that I’ve ever known. I’m not an idiot, I know how the world works. I used to have ten francs in my pocket, I had nothing to offer you and I knew that but I became too involved and I’m glad that I was able to become your wife.You have blessed my life in so many ways in a way that word’s describe but I know how people will views you as you are on the grandest ship in the world, with a village girl as your wife. They won’t be favourable of it and won’t see our marriage the way..the way we see it.”

“You think I care about that Elizabeth? All I care about is that my daughter and my wife, who I love so much to the extent of the universe and back, to accompany me on this trip of a lifetime. You never know, we could possibly start a new life there..Doesn’t that sound wonderful, my love?”

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