#technically the third one is from a calendar | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

tropes-and-tales · 2 years

Text

Take Care of You

Day 6: C*ckwarming (Steven Grant and Marc Spector x F!Reader)

(For the 2022 Kinktober event offered by @the-purity-pen. The original post and calendar/list can be found here.)

CW: Dub-con (technically); light angst; smut (c*ckwarming; PiV, unprotected; shades of dominance). 18+ only.

Word Count: 3786

He can never tell what is real and what’s not. What’s a dream and what is reality.

He wakes up every morning feeling like he’s been hit by a bus. Days slip past him with no recollection; he feels like a stranger in his own life. Sometimes he feels as though he’s not in control of his body—he wakes up with bruises he can’t explain, cuts he can’t explain.

Once, he wakes up with a dislocated shoulder. That was a tough day, trying to convince the doctor in the A&E why he didn’t have a convincing reason as to why his shoulder was out of joint.

He can’t tell what is real and what is not…save for one thing.

You.

He had seen you around the museum—you worked with the coins and medals. He saw you at the café all the time. You had the same hollow-eyed, slightly desperate look of a fellow insomniac, and you’d even made eye contact a few times, nodded at him and offered a shy smile.

Steven never once spoke to you, that he could recall. Yet…months after noticing you, you stopped by the gift shop and spoke to him. Asked him if the two of you were still on for dinner the next night.

He had been absolutely flummoxed. He never asked you out, and he opened his mouth to tell you so, tell you that he had no memory of even speaking to you, let alone asking you out on a date.

It was like someone else answered for him in that moment.

“Absolutely,” his mouth said.

That was months ago. An awkward first date: him bumbling, you shy. You were both earnest, though, both lonely and sweet, and the second date was less awkward. The third even less so. He opened up over time about his sleep issues, about how he lost time and struggled to feel tethered to this reality. You opened up too—you had your own issues with insomnia, with sleep paralysis and sleep walking. You made him feel less alone, less like a freak.

And now here you were: grounding him better than any line of sand around his bed, better than any ankle restraint.

“I’ve lost days again,” he whispers in the dark of his room. He knows you hear him: you pause as you undress.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Steven shakes his head. He feels the salt of tears stinging his eyes. He hates whatever is wrong with him. Hates losing time, losing days. Losing his mind.

“What can I do to help you?”

He’s so tired. He’s exhausted to the very core of himself. It’s not just a body tiredness: it’s his soul, his spirit, that is fatigued too. He wants nothing more than to curl up and sleep for days, yet he’s lost days and hasn’t seen you. He also wants nothing more than to curl up with you, lose himself in you.

He tells you so. He tells you that he’s so tired, but he hasn’t seen you for days. You hum thoughtfully at that, and there’s a lot going on in that hum, but Steven doesn’t have the energy to explore it…and you don’t expound whatever you are thinking.

“Let me take care of you,” you finally say, and in the darkness of the room, he feels the mattress dip down as you crawl into bed. He feels your hands on him—gently taking the hem of his t-shirt and urging him to sit up so you can remove it. Then the same with his sleep pants—the way you tug at the drawstring at his waist, then tap his thigh for him to lift his hips.

“I don’t think I can—” he starts to protest weakly, but you shush him softly.

“Let me take care of you,” you repeat. Your warm hand is on him, grasping him lightly, and he’s already growing hard even from such a tame touch. “Will you let me do this for you, Steven?”

He gulps, nods. He feels a queasiness in his stomach—he hates to disappoint you in bed, hates to think he takes more than he gives, but he knows he doesn’t have the energy to do much other than lie there.

Still, you’ve never held it against him before, the other times he’s fell short to the task. The times he came too soon, or fell asleep while making out…or the times he’s stood you up, lost track of days…

“I’ll make it up to you,” he whispers in the darkness, and you lean down to kiss him. It’s sweet, gentle. There’s no heat to it. It’s a sweet kiss, a grounding one.

“You can worry about that another day.” One hand is stroking him lightly, but the other reaches up and brushes the hair off of his forehead, and you kiss him there, just above his furrowed eyebrows. Then a second and a third until he relaxes and the furrows smooth out.

Steven takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, through his nose, as he was taught to help himself relax. He pushes as many of his worries aside for later, and it’s easier because his focus is on your hand, the light grip you have on him.

His lust notches up a degree at a time, and it’s still something of a foreign feeling. He had little experience before you, had always thought himself a romantic first and foremost…but he finds that he craves these moments with in you the darkness of his bedroom. He craves the intimacy of your body, the way you touch him, the way the two of you fit together so well.

“Is this okay?” you ask him, and he nods eagerly. Breathes out that yes, it is, and when you release him and straddle him, when he feels the slick heat of you…

“P-please, love,” he stutters, even though he knows he can’t offer you much, that you’ll have to do all the work…

It always bowls him over when he’s inside you. When he pushes into you, when you mount him, the way your molten heat envelopes him. You go slow now, take him bit by bit, and when he’s fully seated in you, he huffs out the breath he is holding.

“You feel amazing,” he whispers. You lean down, press another sweet kiss to his mouth, and tell him the same.

Steven expects you to start moving, but you don’t. You stay still aside from the gentle kisses you press to him: to his mouth, to his cheeks and forehead. To the spot under his ear and the sides of his neck. And then you nestle your head against his chest, right under his chin…and you just lie there.

You must feel his confusion. You whisper in the darkness, “does this feel okay?”

“Y-yeah.” It does feel okay. No, it feels great. Just…different. Without any motion, suddenly he feels more sensitive than ever. He swears he can feel his heartbeat—or maybe it’s yours, or maybe your heartbeats are in sync—where you are joined. He can feel your slick arousal coating him, pooling at the base of him, and every so often you twitch against his length, making him bite back a groan.

“Let’s stay like this, okay?”

“Y-yeah. Okay. Okay, yeah.”

“Think you can fall asleep like this?”

“Maybe.” He turns his head a little and buries his nose in the crown of your head, takes a deep breath of your hair. You use a lavender shampoo, a soft floral that soothes him. He can feel himself calming already, despite the situation: his heartbeat slows, like it’s synced with yours. His breathing syncs with yours too. You’ve grounded him, and Steven shifts his head enough to kiss your temple. He wraps his arms around you, strokes your bare back.

You’re better than any ankle restraint. Better than a line of sand around his bed. You ground him, weigh him down, and Steven relaxes. In his mind, he starts to slip off into sleep, but in reality…

He gives control over to another.

*****

Marc tries so hard to protect Steven.

He keeps up with the ruse of the gift shop job. He feeds his goldfish. He sends postcards from his “mother,” maintains that lie to cover the painful truth.

When Steven spends months pining over the same woman with dark circles under her eyes—Marc recognizes a fellow insomniac when he sees one—Marc handles that too.

He puts on his best attempt at Steven’s accent. He tries to act like Steven: stutters and stammers and trips over his own feet when he asks you out.

Asking you out isn’t protecting Steven, though. It’s something else entirely.

Marc wants Steven to be happy. To not just survive but to thrive.

Sometimes Steven gives up control and Marc has to play along. The first time you and Steven made love, for example: Steven fell asleep, Marc woke up beside you. The time you made a date to ride the London Eye: Steven with his fear of heights slipped off, Marc had to step in.

Marc does it because he wants Steven to be happy. Not because he has any feelings for you. You’re not especially his type, too milquetoast, too boring, and Marc watches from the shadows as you and Steven go through your boring courtship.

Until…

Until you start to grow on him too.

For Steven, it was love at first sight. For Marc, it was a slower thing.

You take good care of Steven, and Marc loves you for it. You are gracious in understanding his flakiness, even if you don’t understand what causes it. You are kind and gentle with him, patient with his fumbling, patient with his low self-esteem. You tease him gently; you encourage his interests. You learn to cook vegan meals for him. You spend entire evenings listening to his excited ravings about Egyptian mythology and gods and goddesses.

But there’s a sensual side to you too. A slightly darker side that tests boundaries (the night you talked Steven into using the ankle restraints on you, for example). It’s nothing extreme, but it’s a bit of shading that gives Marc a better understanding of you.

Like tonight, the feeling of you enveloping him. Steven is grounded by it; it relaxes him and calms his racing thoughts, calms his racing pulse. Marc feels the moment that Steven starts to cede control, and he takes it happily. Takes control a little greedily, because while it was a slower thing to fall for you, Marc is selfish with these rare moments he gets to be with you.

He thinks you’re asleep. You’re a heavy weight on him—the heavy weight of a lax body made soft with sleep. Your cunt feels heavenly, gripping him like a velvety fist, your arousal mingling with his own pre-cum and sliding out of you to pool on his groin.

Marc is selfishly glad that Steven was too tired to spur you on for more. He wants just a little for himself, just to spend some time inside you, to feel the soft flutters of you against him.

The thought makes a spear of guilt lance through him. Steven deserves this and more: he deserves you. You make him happy, and Steven is such an innocent walking through the world. Marc keeps him safe, but you make him happy.

“Thank you,” he whispers against your hair. He breathes out the words quiet so he won’t wake you. “Thank you for taking such good care of him.”

He realizes too late that he’s blundered. Your sleep is always thin, fragile. You stir against him, your breath tickling against the side of his neck.

“Take care of who?” you mumble.

“Me,” he whispers back, slipping into his best approximation of Steven’s accent. “Thank you for taking care of me.”

“’Course.” You turn your head, kiss his throat. It’s sweetness like this, your gentle kisses that Marc would have scoffed at even a year ago. That saccharine bullshit that Steven laps up, that Marc is too good for…usually. Usually.

Usually he’s too good for it, but Marc Spector is lonely. He carries the burden of Steven, carries the burden of all those memories. He carries the burden of the reality of their lives. He carries the mantel of Khonshu’s justice. And usually he’s fine, he’s strong.

But sometimes he’s lonely.

So sometimes he slips on Steven’s accent like a too-tight coat. .

He pretends he’s Steven because you love Steven. Marc wants to feel that, even for a moment, even if he can’t quite admit it to himself.

“Still can’t sleep then?” you ask, your voice a husky whisper in the darkness.

“No.”

“Did this make it better or worse?” Marc can hear the smile in your words, the playful lilt.

“Kinda hard to fall asleep like this, innit?” he replies in Steven’s accent.

“Hmmm.” You kiss his throat again, your petal-soft lips ghosting over his pulse point. “Seems that I miscalculated.”

“I’m not complaining.”

“Pretty rude of me,” you continue, not acknowledging him. Another kiss to his throat, then you shift your head and kiss him below his ear where he—and Steven—are both ticklish. He squirms under you, and he feels the huff of your silent laughter.

“Rude of me to not let you sleep,” you add. You whisper in his ear, let your breath ghost over him, and he breaks out into goosebumps. “Should I…”

You trail off, leave the question unfinished. The meaning is clear, though. You raise yourself a fraction off of him, and he reaches out quick, his mercenary skills giving him that lightning-fast reflex as he grabs you around the waist. He resettles you against him—bites back a groan at the bit of friction as you slide back onto him.

“Don’t you dare,” he growls.

“Don’t you dare,” you echo back, mimicking him. “Did you know you sometimes talk with an American accent when you’re riled up?”

Marc ignores the icy shard of fear that lances through him. He’s always so close to get caught, especially in these moments. It’s easy to pretend to be Steven for the boring shit—the gift shop job, picking up take-away from the vegan place—but it’s so hard not to be fully and completely Marc right now.

So he embraces it. Doesn’t bother to pull on Steven’s accent when he growls in your ear again. “Why am I bothering to talk then?”

His hands still on your waist, he rolls over with you, steadies you and rolls you with him. It’s a move that Steven would never even consider, not understanding that he even has the strength for it, but in a split second Marc has you on your back. He is still buried in you; he’s arched over you, and when you gasp at the sudden motion—when you gasp out the wrong name, squeal out Steven!—he dips his head and kisses you hard.

He’d never consider fucking you like this if he hadn’t watched all those times through Steven’s eyes: all the times you took a sweet moment and shaded it just a bit darker. The times you’ve used the ankle restraints. The time you convinced Steven to deal you a few light swats to your ass. The time you visited Steven when he was working in the gift shop, brushed a sweet kiss to his cheek and then slid your panties into his pocket on the sly.

You shade those sweet moments with the barest bit of darkness, and Marc wonders if you can take more.

He pushes his tongue into your mouth, insistent, and he smiles inwardly at how eagerly you press back against him, tasting him just as fiercely. He doesn’t move inside you. He just stays buried, still just letting you cockwarm him, but you twitch against him, and his resolve steadily weakens.

“You want this?” he whispers in the darkness. He can just make out your face: the whites of your eyes, the pouting lower lip as you take hitching breaths.

“Y-yes.”

He nips at the side of your neck, then bites you firmer, presses his teeth into your soft skin until you whine. Fuck, you whine so goddamned pretty. He’s never heard it before. You’re usually the one gently coaxing Steven out of his shell, such soft, quiet words and tones for him, but your whine has a thread of need in it. There’s a pitch to it that sounds needy and wrecked.

“You think you can handle it?” He shifts his head, bites the other side of your neck. Gives you a matching mark to the other, then soothes it with the tip of his tongue.

“Yes. Please.”

You whine so prettily. You beg so prettily. Marc obliges.

He reaches down and hooks a hand under your knee, hauls your leg up until it is over his shoulder. He repeats the motion, pushes your other leg over his other shoulder until you’re practically folded underneath him, the toes of your feet pressing against the wall behind the headboard.

He never knew you were this flexible. You’re completely vulnerable. Completely exposed. He can look down and see where he disappears into your heavenly cunt, and his hips stutter forward. He presses himself deeper, buries himself as deep as he can, and you cry out at the feeling of him.

“Too much?” he asks darkly. “Can’t take it?”

“I can,” you breathe out. There’s a ragged edge to your breath, harsh. “Please don’t stop.”

“Beg me for it.”

“Please. P-please!”

Marc lowers his head, presses a soft kiss to your pouting mouth. “Such a needy little thing,” he murmurs against your lips. “This how you saw the night going, teasing me with that sweet pussy and not expecting me to use it?”

“I…I w-wasn’t trying to tease you,” you whisper back. Your eyes are wide in the dark, and Marc realizes he’s overplayed his hand just a bit. Just a little. He has to channel Steven at least a little bit.

“I know,” he replies, and he kisses you again, even softer this time. “You take good care of…me.” He almost slips up, says him again.

“I try,” you agree, nodding. “I love you, Steven. I just want to take care of you.”

Marc tacitly ignore the I love you, ignores the painful twist in his chest when he hears it. You don’t know he’s not Steven, and he doesn’t have the heart to break the situation to you right now.

He doesn’t have the heart to end these moments either. These stolen moments where he takes over for Steven and gets to be with you too.

“Let me take care of you,” he replies, and he kisses you again before he starts to fuck you in earnest. He planned on being rougher, faster, but he slows the moment down. Keeps his thrusts slow and deep, draws almost all the way out of your tight heat before he pushes back into you. Pushes and pushes until he is flush against you, until every blessed inch of him is buried in you. He’s so deep that he can barely feel where the two of you are joined, where he disappears and you begin.

Like the two of you are one.

Schmaltzy shit like that…that’s Steven’s thinking. That walks a dangerous line to romantic bullshit.

In this position, you can’t move much. You reach out with your hands, grip his biceps as he pushes you closer and closer to your climax. He can always see it when you’re with Steven, a silent voyeur sharing a body with his alter, but these rare moments he can feel it too. He can see the way your face tenses up, the way your breathing gets erratic. But he can feel you, and it’s so much better: the dull bite of your fingernails in his arm as you grip him, the way your skin heats up. The way your cunt tightens, flutters along his length, coats him in your own slick cum.

“Come for me,” he orders. “Let me feel you coming all over this cock.”

You do—his words set you over the edge, and you shudder beneath him. You cry out, and he feels the way you grip him so hard, making it difficult for him to keep the slow, deep thrusts going. So he sinks into you as far as he can, stills. Feels every twitch and spasm of your orgasm.

He had the idea of drawing it out, of being more dominant. Giving you what he thinks you want, all the ways you play around with submission with Steven. He had the idea to make you come over and over, pulling them out of you, ordering you to come again and again until you are exhausted. He doesn’t realize that deep down, he—Marc Spector, not Steven Grant—is trying to take care of you, in his own way.

You are an insomniac, after all. He sees all the ways you take care of Steven. Even if he can’t admit it or even really see it, Marc wants to take care of you. Wants to exhaust you, body and mind. Wants you to curl up against him and get good sleep, restful sleep.

His plan falls apart. Still inside you, feeling your orgasm along every inch of him, it takes him right to the edge. He manages a few more thrusts then feels the tight coil of his own tension snap. He comes inside you, deep, and something about the sensation pulls a second, weaker orgasm from you.

-----

Even if he doesn’t exhaust you with some dominance display, you still fall asleep. Marc has no idea if it’s restful or how long it will last, but after the two of you clean up (and after you sweetly put the ankle restraint back on him, as if that would solve anything), you nod right off against him.

Not before you mumble another I love you to him.

Marc is still in control. He’s still running the show. He rubs your back, presses a kiss to your forehead. He waits until your breathing evens out and deepens.

He waits until you’re asleep before he says it back to you. “I love you too,” he whispers, so low that he won’t wake you from your thin sleep. He can’t admit it any other time, can barely even admit it to himself most times, but right now—sated from the sex, sad to know that you thought it was Steven the whole time—he can admit it.

#tropes-and-tales #tppkinktober2022 #marc spector #marc spector imagine #marc spector x reader #steven grant #steven grant imagine #steven grant x reader #moon knight

2K notes · View notes

niqhtlord01 · 8 months

Text

Humans are weird: Escape Rooms

( Please come see me on my new patreon and support me for early access to stories and personal story requests :D https://www.patreon.com/NiqhtLord Every bit helps)

Alien: What is the purpose of this event? Human: We are locked in the room and we have an hour to find a way out. Alien: *Proceeds to smash arm through door and open it from outside* Alien: Do I win? ------------------------------

Human: *After one large repair payment* Okay, do you now realize that you can’t smash your way out? Alien: *Sheepishly* Yes. Human: Alright, now let’s find our way out. Alien 2: *Teleports outside the room and opens the door* Alien 2: *Looks so proud of themselves* Human: *Sighs loudly, pinches bridge of nose* --------------------------------

Human: Alright, does anyone else have a way to escape this room without solving the puzzles!?! Alien 3: *Begins shape shifting into key* Human: You stop that shit right now or you’re walking home. Alien 3: *Stops shape shifting* --------------------------------

Human: Alright, this black light should reveal hidden messages or splotches depending on what’s been done in here. *Begins shinning black light around the room* Human: *Shines black light on alien 3 and sees them covered in splotches* Human: Do I even want to know? Alien 3: What happens in New New Vegas, stays in New New Vegas. ---------------------------------

Human: Okay, the date on this calendar is circled. Human: Maybe the date is the code for the combination lock? Alien: Well which calendar are we using? Human: Wait, what? Alien 2: He’s right. We each have a different calendar. Human: Well shit. -----------------------------------

Human: Okay, we got these tiny pins here and we need to use them to pull the key out of the box. Alien 2: I can use my telekinetic abilities to- Human: No! Human: We use the tiny pins! Alien 3: I feel like your need to do things the hard way makes you not want to escape the room faster. Alien: It does seem rather….odd. Human: You don’t get to say anything until you pay me for the wall you wrecked! -------------------------------

Alien: What should I be doing? Human: What do you see? Alien: A bunch of switches. Human: Flip the switch third from the left on the bottom row. Alien: *Flips the switch* *warning sirens begin playing* Alien: I feel I should have told you my people don’t understand numbers. Human: You mastered space travel but not numbers? How are you even here? Alien: A lot of dead test pilots. Human: Oh god I’m so sorry. Alien: Don’t be, they weren’t our pilots. -----------------------------

Alien: I found a key. Alien 2: I found part of a picture. Alien 3: I found a hand grenade. *Everyone looks at Alien 3* Human: Please tell me you found that inside the room and did not bring it from home. Alien 3: *Looks at grenade, then back at group* Alien 3: I can’t remember. Alien: We’re all going to die here. ---------------------------

Human: Should we ask for a hint? Alien: I would rather die! *Announcer* T-minus, 10 , minutes to launch. Alien: Alright, maybe just a little one. --------------------------

Human: There’s a map here with a bunch of arrows on it. Alien: Maybe it is directions for an awesome road trip. Human: I think it could be a clue. Alien 2: Exactly, for an awesome road trip. Human: No, to escape this room. Alien: I think we take this picture with us afterwards just in case. Human: That is stealing. Alien 2: And what they are doing is technically kidnapping, what’s your point? --------------------

Human: We only have five minutes left! Human: Plug in the wires! Alien: I can’t do this! Alien 2: We believe in you! Alien 3: You totally got this! Alien: No, I mean a really can’t do this. Human: Why not?! Alien: I’m colorblind, they all appear purple to me! *Awkward silence* Human: Why didn’t you tell us that in the first place!?! ------------------------ Alien 2: Why in Florp's name do you humans think this is fun!?! Alien 2: It is so stressful! Human: Because of the rush! Human: Don't you feel it!? We're almost free, we've almost won! Alien: I feel it! Human: Yeah you do- Human: Wait no! *Alien proceeds to smash through final lockbox and gets key* Alien: I am invincible! Alien 2: Aren't you mad at them? Human: *Scrambling with final key* Don't care! Will shout at later! Must solve puzzle!!!!!

#humans are insane #humans are space oddities #humans are space orcs #humans are weird #scifi #writing #original writing #niqhtlord01 #funny #escape room

118 notes · View notes

twisted-wonderland-shenanigans · 2 years

Note

This maybe a lil crack

But what if

Yuu was in history class learning about human that used to roam the world and their relic that was left from that era, opening the text book Yuu saw one of the example of the relic and was shock that they can read the relic (maybe its in a language that they know or it just suddely dechiper by them self who knows )

Yuu saw how the description of the relic translated was wrong like, they think its about how the human live back then, but no it was more of a diary or a poem for an unrequited love. And there was Yuu confused and amused at the same time.

This can go two ways

Yuu would tell them the truth, like a good person they are

Be lil demon and just snickers to them self leaving the rest of their classmate and teacher confused on whats going on and why is Yuu laughing, when the teacher ask what so funny they would say "nothing, nothing at all, sir/mam" and grinning at them with an amuse look

*slaps table excitedly* Yeeee!! Yes, yes, yes, yessssss! Thank you for reminding me of that one early Owl House episode where Luz was able to show how human things actually worked/verified the authenticity of the fake human items!

I’m also reminded of these two posts I found before where tools were found but no one knew or had any clue as to what they were for (one believed that the discovered tool was used to tell time or something) while the other was a bone tool…and it turned out that the bone tool is one still used to this day in leatherworking because “they simply hadn’t found anything that works better” and the other a little old lady explained that the “time calendar” tool was actually something still used…to knit the fingers of gloves!

It really goes to show that it pays to ask around, and you might just learn something new that’s actually not so new. :V

Now as for Yuu in this situation… >v> Before I go into this though, I will point out that–based on what’s been hinted at in the Twisted Wonderland novel–there’s a spell around the school that translates spoken language (and I’m assuming written language, though don’t quote me on that). If that’s the case, let’s imagine that the languages that humans spoke in Twisted Wonderland evolved into an entirely new series of dialects and accents. There would still be similar languages (let’s say French, which I find interesting considering we hear and see Rook clearly speak French words yet–if the translation spell really is there–it doesn’t completely translate everything and means there might be some limitations to the magic itself.

This means though that Yuu–if they speak French or hear any other similar language–might be able to communicate somewhat easily enough, give or take some dialect differences. In some cases though, a common human language could be considered a dead language in Twisted Wonderland!

Ahem…sorry for the rambles, I just love worldbuilding and theorizing about how things work in stories. XD With that out of the way…>w>

////—----------////

Setting: Magical History class, 3rd year/junior class

On the way to class one day, Yuu and Grim were stopped by Crowley to deliver a message to Professor Trein as he was on his way to yet another meeting with the research institutions to discuss some new studies they wished to conduct (after all, Crowley is technically their guardian, and Yuu is under the school’s guardianship during their stay in Twisted Wonderland). Given it was PE that they were heading to next, Grim readily agreed before Yuu could even respond.

It was a surprise for the third years to see the resident human enter the classroom in the middle of a lecture, the professor pausing long enough to accept the message with a nod. In the process of writing a hall pass for Yuu and Grim though, one of the students called out, “Hey, teach! Let’s see if Yuu recognises any of the human artifacts in the lesson!”

“...artifacts?” Yuu repeated, looking at Trein in confusion.

While he normally would have scolded the student for such an outburst, however, it was a shock to see him actually agree. “It would be interesting to see if we can learn something about human history from a true human,” he’d said, passing the book over to Yuu.

Leaning in their seats, the other students watched as Yuu scanned the images, noting which ones looked similar to things from their world and what they didn’t recognize. With each one that was explained, the students would do a double take and wonder, “Wow…how did historians get that so wrong?” or “Huh…well they came pretty close!” Even the professor was invested, listening curiously–and some thought they saw the excited swish of a tail under his robes, though no one dared point this out or the fun would end quickly! Before they knew it, class was progressing so fast that they were left with only a few minutes before the bell rang.

Just as Yuu was getting ready to hand the book back to the professor, they stopped and stared at one photo with a frown that slowly morphed into surprise, shock, then–

“Pfft…hahahahahahHA!!!!!” they cackled loudly, the sudden sound startling everyone–including Grim and Lucius–as the human hunched over in laughter. At one point they barely managed to get the book back on the desk before crumpling to the floor, clutching their sides as they continued their laughing fit.

“Yuu? What’s wrong??” Trey, one of the students in the class, asked in concern.

Eventually Yuu’s laughter calmed into giggles and snickers, barely keeping their composure as they pulled themselves up off the floor yet still grinning. When they’d managed to speak, what they said threw them for a loop: “That picture with the tablet,” they said, a slight wheeze in their voice as they struggled not to burst into another fit of laughter. “It’s…pfft!...it’s…someone’s diary!”

“EH?!?!”

“D-Diary?!”

As it turned out, the diary entry spoke of a young human girl from the ancient times, and how she would play pranks on her older brother with her friend “Lily” the bat monster whenever he would visit town.

“Oh my!” Lilia chuckled in amusement. “It’s been ages…I wonder if she ever asked out that boy she liked?” He got more than one baffled stare, but Lilia simply smiled and shrugged.

In the end, it wound up being an entertaining lesson for the third years, and when word got back to the researchers? Yuu would find themselves looking into other ancient artifacts and explaining what they did know and translating what they could.

At least it beat getting chased around by Coach Vargas that day on the track!

The way Yuu would respond depends on you, but I couldn't help but fiddle with this idea 😂

#twisted wonderland #twst #twisted wonderland monster au #twst monster au #trey clover #twisted wonderland Yuu #twst Yuu

672 notes · View notes

y-rhywbeth2 · 6 months

Text

Lore: Time and Festivals in Faerûn

Accuracy Disclaimer & The Other Stuff [tldr: D&D lore is a giant conflicting mess. Larian's lore is also a conflicting mess. You learn to take what you want and leave the rest]

As in days of the week and months, terminology and measurements, timepieces available, the calendars and holidays (and some of the different ways different people celebrate them).

The most common calendar in use in Faerûn is the Calendar of Harptos - technically created by a wizard of that name, but nobody really knows who he is, it's just the name of the calendar to them.

The calendar is split into 12 months, each consisting of 30 days, and a day is 24 hours long. The equivalent of a week is 10 days, most commonly referred to as a tenday. The final day of a tenday is referred to as the elf day, which is the equivalent of a weekend (except only one day long), and is usually a day off work.

Years are 364-365 days long. Festival days occur between the months, with an extra festival (Shieldmeet) occurring every four years.

In Chondathan (the language spoken on the Sword Coast, including Baldur's Gate) a year is called a dael, plural is daelin.

The terms for minutes, seconds and hours do not exist on Toril.

Approximately, what we call second is termed in most of Faerûn as "a breath," and a minute is a "goodly breath or three".

In rural areas, most people don't measure time. One organises oneself by keeping an eye on the light levels, shadows, and the rhythm of daily activity around. Around monastaries and temples, the equivalent of an hour is "a bell" - as the buildings will ring their bells at regular intervals, and people can track the time accordingly. Urban areas, being full of the things, can track their daily activities by the bells.

Wealthier individuals can afford candle clocks and similar, which has lead to an alternate name for the hour-equivalent; "a candle". Candles can be expensive. A standard candle clock costs 1 gold, and those meant to measure longer periods of time can go as far as 10 gold (for comparison, the average income for most of Faerûn is 10 silver a tenday, most of which will go towards rent and food).

Neverwinter, being a city known for its glass working, produces water clocks. A few, more advanced models include gears and clockwork. Neverwintan clocks are known to be the most accurate timepieces, leading to the phrase "by the clocks of Neverwinter" being used as a phrase to swear one's honesty and reliability. Another phrase is "even a water clock run dry tells the correct time twice a day."

And of course there are sand-clocks, also called sandglasses (we would call them hourglasses). Sand-clocks come in various types, depending on what time you plan to track (varieties include: 30 seconds; 60 seconds; five minutes; ten minutes; an hour; two hours). Costing between 5-25 gold, an hourglass is typically well out of the price range of the average Torilian.

"Time bell" is a term for any time signal, such as alarm clocks (although strictly speaking, those exact objects don't exist in this world) - the term comes from the striking of temple bells as a call to prayer.

Halflings have their own distinct time keeping terminology. The equivalent to a minute is a tune, with multiple minutes being called "long song" - for example, five minutes, would be "five long songs." In terms of longer time periods, halflings will tell the time according by describing the zenith of the sun.

Faerûn has no names for the days of the week as Earth does; if you want to be specific about what day it is, you have to use the whole date: the day of the tenday [of the month, optionally]. For example, "the ninth day of the third tenday [of Flamerule]."

There are multiple systems tracking the passage of years, the most commonly seen in Forgotten Realms products being Dalereckoning (DR). The first year (1 DR) began with the year that the elven court of Cormanthyr granted humans the rights to settle in their lands. The preceding year being 0 DR, and years before that continuing into negative numbers (as with BCE on Earth).

Dalereckoning is the most commonly used measurement in most of Faerûn - though not on other continents, which have their own systems, and even within Faerûn various kingdoms also have their own systems. (Cormyr Reckonings (CR) begin with the establishment of the kingdom's founding dynasty and trying to track CR and DR together causes a splitting migraine for sages in-universe. Tethyreckonings (TR) begin with the founding of Tethyr (this measurement is, thankfully, rarely seen outside of legal documentation.))

Attempts have been made to create a year-counting system that brings all the calendars together into a cohesive whole, but generally, on Faerûn, you'll count the years in Dalereckoning.

---

Times of day are split into periods related to the height of the sun:

Godswake [Predawn hours]

Dawn

Morning is split into two halves, Harbright and then Elsun

Highsun [Noon]

Afternoon is split into Tulsun then Tharsun

Sunset

Night

Midnight, or Deepnight

The Months (and the festivals) and their corresponding months:

Hammer - January

(Midwinter)

Alturiak - Feburary

Ches - March

Tarsakh - April

(Greengrass)

Mirtul - May

Kythorn - June

Flamerule - July

(Midsummer)

[Shieldmeet]*

Eleasis - August

Eleint - September

(Highharvestide)

Marpenoth - October

Uktar - November

(Feast of the Moon)

Nightal - December

The Festivals are held across all of Faerûn, and the specifics and names of the festivals may change by region. Some regions also have several other festivals unique to that location (the city of Silverymoon has dozens). There are also numerous holy days devoted to certain gods, and some faiths have specific ways to mark the festivals.

That said, they all follow the same general themes.

Shieldmeet occurs only once every four years, and is traditionally a day when the rulers must open their courts to the common people and allow them to make their voices heard. Shieldmeet is a large celebration, featuring all fashion of bazaars, fairs, large musical and theatrical performances, and especially competitions of skills - including spellcasting tournaments for mages.

To elves Shieldmeet is Cinnaelos'Cor [Corellon's Peace], which is basically elven new year (the elven equivalent to a year is basically four years - an aeloulaev - and even then elven farmers are the only ones who have any need to measure the passage of time. Most elves aren't paying enough attention to time to measure it.)

Midwinter: Traditionally a day for making or renewing alliances between the nobility, who celebrate it with parties. If you're a commoner and you live in a place with cold winters, such as the North, there are no parties and you call it "Deadwinter Day" and it's a day to hope your food stores hold out and that you don't freeze this year.

To deep gnomes, this is the Festival of the Star; a holy day in celebration of their patron god and protector, Callarduran Smoothands. A bioluminescent fungus is cultivated through the year, which are timed so that it will release its glowing spores on midwinter day. The fungus grows on a cave roof over a body of still water, and the light they cast causes a reflection like the night sky in the dark water. The festival celebrates svirfneblin history and their ancestral ties to the surface, as well as celebrating Callarduran for the protection he continues to provide his people.

Duergar settlements cease their tireless production for a single day, to listen to priests of Laduguer recount tales of their people's suffering as they denounce the weakness of their non-duergar kin and the Morndinsamman. This is followed by a recounting of the names of people who have wronged the Duergar, and collective promises of retribution against them.

Unsurprisingly, this is one of the holy days of Auril - goddess of cold and winter. Aurilians celebrate by dancing in the ice and snow and having fun, and they are tasked with proselytising to the masses, encouraging them to convert to the service of the Icedawn.

This is the Day of the Masked Lord's Embrace for Drow followers of Vhaeraun, who pass the day in a state of introspection and sensory deprivation - levitating in the centre of a patch of magical darkness for the full 24 hours. The magic required is provided by Vhaeraun himself.

Greengrass is a festival to welcome spring. Traditionally, the wealthy gift flowers to the commonfolk who wear them or offer them for the gods relevant to summer (Lathander, sun god of renewal, for example)

Orcs begin to gather their hordes under the guidance of priests of Ilneval, preparing for war. In response, dwarves under the guidance of priests of the goddess Haela Brightaxe prepare their people and homes to defend against the oncoming orc armies.

For Chaunteans, Greengrass is a fertility festival and the day is celebrated with feasting, drinking and hedonism - uninhibited behaviour is encouraged.

Midsummer is about music and feasting and also pretty much it's valentines day, with betrothals and new courtships and dancing. If the weather is bad on Midsummer then that's a bad omen.

The scattered Harpers often have reunions on this day. The church of Tymora, goddess of luck, hosts night-long revels that serve as reunions for various people, including for the Harpers, who have agents within the church.

Svirfneblin observe the sister holiday to the Festival of the Star, the Festival of the Ruby that celebrates deep gnome history and their descent into the Deepearth and their life there. According to their legends, the deity hid rubies (which the deep gnomes prize above other minerals) deep in the earth to guide his people down there.

Highharvestide is, as the name implies, the harvest festival as the crops are all pulled in for winter. It's also the day travellers who haven't already left wherever they're staying leave before winter sets in

Worshippers of Malar, god of the hunt/wilds, provide one of their few positive services for the world by going on a massive hunt for the last tenday of Eleint. They then gather all of the meat and take it into the nearest towns and villages, parading their trophies and leading the people to a feast. For as long as the feast lasts, none may commit violence there.

The Feast of the Moon is a holiday for honouring the dead and your ancestors. Unsurprisingly, it's a hit with the gods of death.

Bhaalists celebrate it by honouring dead members of the faith, and retelling the stories of memorable deaths.

Myrkulites consider it a day when the souls of the dead may walk the earth again, and pass on messages to the living. They burn wine as offerings to the spirits, to offer them a brief respite from the chill of death.

Halfling communities, led by priests of Arvoreen, observe the Ceremony of Remembrance; a remembrance day for those who died defending their communities. It is said that loved ones of the lost experience brief, wordless contact with the spirits of the departed on this day.

Similarly, dwarven communities honour their fallen defenders, and craft arms and armour for future defenders in their name.

To elves, this is the Mystic Rites of the Luminous Cloud, If there is a full moon, elves will gather under it, joining their minds and souls in communal reverie. They are joined in their shared trance by the deity of dreams, mystery and death, Sehanine Moonbow, who physically manifests amongst them as a mantle of silver light that they dissolve into, being lifted up to fly through the night sky (rematerializing where they began at the end of the night). Through this meditation some of the faithful find their way to deeper enlightenment in the mysteries she represents.

Kelemvorites hold the Deeds of the Dead, a high holiday when the priests recount the names and deeds of the lost so that they will not be forgotten. Priests use spells like speak with dead to allow the living and the dead to meet.

#hey some demihuman stuff #was not expecting Svirfneblin #what is the Festival of the Ruby Ed #WHAT IS IT #long post

39 notes · View notes

fortheloveoffanfic · 1 year

Text

The Holiday Arrangement

Andy Barber x Reader

Summary: When co-parenting during the holidays becomes difficult to navigate, Y/n brings a proposal to her ex-husband, Andy; spend Christmas together- for the sake of their daughter. Their already complicated arrangement becomes even more messy new memories dredge up buried feelings. Masterlists Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter Summary: Y/n and Andy talk for the first time after their last fight and he offers to revisit the idea of a shared Christmas. Warnings: Angst

Wednesday It was the last day of the year in the court calendar and instead of thinking about his cases, Andy was thinking of his fight with Y/n. Since he’d left her place- formerly their place- on Sunday night, it was the only thing he could spend longer than fifteen minutes mulling over. Things had gotten out of hand, he’d said some stuff that he desperately wished he could take back; they’d never had such a vicious fight. They’d never been so outwardly venomous and while the disagreement had started about what was best for Grace, in the end, it had been reduced to their own qualms with each other.

Or maybe it was never about Grace- that thought made him feel worse. Their daughter was supposed to come first, always, and their grievances shouldn’t get in the way of giving her the best childhood they could.

But that was exactly what he was doing in turning down Y/n’s offer- letting his own hurt from something as trivial as an outing get in the way of making memories his daughter could treasure forever.

His second chance- technically his third- and Andy was blowing it. Maybe he should just do it, after all beneath the anger, he was actually quite fond of the idea. A few weeks of happiness, their family returning to some semblance of what it used to be- he could see Grace, and Y/n, everyday. He missed that.

With a heavy sigh, dumped his laptop bag on the small sofa in his office upon entry. After he’d shut the door behind himself, Andy shed his long coat too and then moved to fish his phone out of the inner pocket in his navy suit coat. As he sank into the plush, leather upholstered chair behind his sleek glass desk, Andy unlocked the screen and pulled up Y/n’s number, initially intent on calling her but then quickly deciding that he should test the waters with text instead.

“Hey. Just wanted to apologize for last night.”

Then he sent another; “Can we talk when I come over to pick up Gracey?”

“Please.”

Andy stared at the screen for a while, willing her to reply. Though when he determined that Y/n was probably still at work herself, he sighed and set the phone down, planted his elbows on the cool surface and pressed his palms to his face. Half from tiredness and half in frustration with himself. “Ugh,” he groaned, scrubbing his hands over his eyes before banging in fists on the table, the vibration almost muting the sound that his phone made, signaling that a text had come in.

“Sure. I’ll be home by 7. You can stay with her until I get back.”

There was a distinct coldness in her response, but Andy was just grateful that she hadn’t turned down his request to meet. Hastily, his fingers scrambled to concoct a response; “7 is great! See you later.”

Y/n’s response maintained the apathy of her first one, “Yeah, later,” but Andy was too relieved to care; at least she was giving him a chance to make things right.

That evening The more she thought about it, the more ridiculous she felt about her latest fight with Andy. She’d been the one to press on the issue of having separate Christmases- he’d initially wanted a shared Christmas dinner but she’d been in staunch disagreement- and now, she was the one that wanted a joint holiday. It was confusing and selfish, in retrospect, Y/n could admit that much.

But that didn’t mean she wasn’t still a little mad at Andy, mostly for accusing her of being pointlessly angry towards the end of their marriage. Of course she’d been angry but it was within reason; he’d stopped putting any effort into their relationship and had become the designated ‘cool, fun dad’ while she was left out in the cold to be the ‘eat your vegetables’ mom. Watching him come home late after work and swoop in at bedtime, after she’d done the bulk of the tough work had been frustrating, and having him shut her out emotionally only compounded her irritation. It was like he’d built a wall between them, and every one of her efforts to get past it had felt like throwing pebbles at a boulder.

Still, she’d obliged his request to meet, offering to have him relieve the sitter and stay at the house with Grace until she got in from work.

As expected, when Y/n had pulled into the driveway, Andy’s car was already parked along the curb and white flecks had started gathering on the charcoal gray body. With a sigh, she drove a little further up, into the garage, parked, shut the engine off and then gathered her things before getting out. Making slow work of it, Y/n engaged the alarm then entered through the side door that opened to a section of the hallway that was closer to the kitchen than the front door.

“Bunny?” She called out, stepping inside, heeled boots clicking loudly on the hard wood as she peeled off her leather gloves. After setting her bag on the kitchen counter, Y/n shrugged off her long, camel coat to reveal the black, tea length sweater dress underneath.

“Mommy!” Within mere seconds of calling out to her, Grace came barreling down the stairs, all dolled up in her favorite princess dress, with a colourful, plastic tiara to match, “You’re home!” Grace ran straight into her, and Y/n was able to bend just in time to scoop Grace up on her hip.

“I’m home! How was your day? Did you have fun with Michelle?” She peered with enthusiasm.

Grace nodded vigorously, “She made mac and cheese for lunch and we coloured until daddy came home.” Came home; Y/n didn’t miss the way Grace said it, as if nothing had changed and having her father come- and stay- after work was still part of the norm.

“Yeah?” Grace nodded again, missing the way Y/n’s smile faltered, “Uh,” she sniffled, “Where is your daddy?”

“I’m coming!” She heard his voice emanating from the stairs before he appeared on the landing; sleeves rolled up, jacket and tie missing. It wasn’t easy to miss how good he looked, the man could make a button-up look tailor made. "You left me in the dust, Gracey," he chuckled.

"You walk so slow daddy,” she returned dramatically, and when she stretched her legs downwards, Y/n set Grace down.

“Slowly,” they both corrected in unison, glancing at each other with faint smiles for a brief moment, almost as if they’d forgotten the tension that was supposed to exist between them.

“Why don’t you go put your toys away kiddo?” Andy suggested with a heavy breath, smile fading. The tips of his fingers tapped Grace’s head as she whizzed by him, and when they were left alone, he began heavily, “I’m sorry…..about everything I said Sunday night. And the way I said it.”

Y/n dropped her shoulder and bent her head slightly, “I’m sorry too, I shouldn’t have said….any of that.”

Slipping his hands into his pockets, Andy shrugged, “I shouldn't have either,” he paused for a minute, “Can we talk about….what you suggested. Christmas together?”

Y/n waved her hand dismissively, “Oh,” her cheeks heated up, “It was a stupid idea-”

“No it wasn’t, but I was being a jerk and you were putting Grace first, the way you always do,” not wanting to tell Andy that there’d been a selfish component to her request, she let him continue. “She needs the best that we can offer, and maybe showing her that we can put our differences aside and come together to give her what she wants is what’s best for her right now.”

Shocked, Y/n’s breath hitched. She didn’t know what she was expecting but Andy’s response had been a complete- and pleasant- surprise. “Are you sure?”

“Positive,” he offered without hesitation, “So, how would we do it? I mean…..my vacation starts today, and my time with Gracey also starts today-”

Somehow, she’d completely forgotten about their custody arrangement and even if it shouldn’t, it seriously complicated things in her mind. Would he still want his time alone with Grace? Would their ‘joint Christmas’ temporarily render their agreement effective? Y/n wished she’d thought of the specifics before bringing it up. “And my office closes for the year on Friday, but you’re supposed to bring her back this weekend.”

“Right,” Andy determined, chewing on his lower lip as he cast his head down. He scoffed a dry chuckle, “I just don’t understand how this works,” he rubbed the back of his neck wearily.

“Yeah, I didn’t think it through….” Y/n trailed off, before adding hesitantly, “Its supposed to be like we’re still married…..without being married,” she licked her lips and fixed her gaze on Andy, just as he lifted his head to meet her eyes, “So why don’t you just come home-here. Why don’t you just stay here?” She reaffirmed, trying to shake off the fact that she’d made the same mistake Grace had- except, she wasn’t five years old and completely understood the gravity that one word could carry.

There was a look in Andy’s eyes that suggested that they might not have been making the best decision; it was the same one he’d worn when he’d left almost a year ago. There was pain in them, she could have sworn that he thought looking at her hurt. “Yeah, okay,” he eventually agreed, bending his head again and sniffing softly, “I’ll stay here,” he said the word with such emphasis that it threatened to break her heart all over again, “Until…after Christmas, I guess.”

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” Y/n reasoned, suddenly feeling guilty about not considering that him coming back might actually be painful. She’d never asked him to leave, but after their separation, it had been the natural course of things; Andy had left when she’d served him the papers, he didn’t want her to be the one going through the trouble of house shopping, and then when the proceedings had gone before a judge, she’d been granted their marital home in the settlement after a very civil fight.

He was doing it again that evening- surrendering to what she wanted.

“No, its okay. You want it, Gracey wants it,” he shrugged in differently, “So I want it.”

“You always want what I want,” Y/n noted softly, not knowing if she should reach out or keep her distance.

“Because I want you to be happy. And I want her to be happy,” he sniffled again, and even if his face was turned away slightly, Y/n could tell his eyes were glassy. But Andy wasn’t the type to cry in front of anyone; she’d only ever seen him shed a couple tears once, after Grace had been born, and even then, it had been in private- he’d taken Grace out of her cot just as warm rays had started splitting the horizon on the morning they were supposed to be discharged from the hospital and he’d thought she was still asleep.

Y/n let out a heavy breath and frowned deeply; he always credited her with putting Grace first without ever acknowledging that he faultlessly did the same. And he put her first too, even if he didn’t need to. “Even if it means you’re not happy?”

Andy passed a large hand over his mouth and chin, shaking his head before turning back to her, “I don’t know how to be happy unless the two of you are happy. And I know your fucking books will probably have a lot to say about that,” he joked with a chuckle and Y/n smiled despite the tension of the moment. “I should probably go,” he determined after a moment of silence.

“You’re supposed to take Grace tonight,” Y/n reminded before he started walking off.

“Right,” Andy paused, running a hand through his hair. When he turned to look at her, still wearing his beaten expression, she frowned and he licked his lips, “Let me just-”

“Why don’t you stay for dinner? And then….leave her here since you’re gonna be over tomorrow anyway.” She didn’t want him to leave like that, not when he looked so forlorn and he’d just admitted to hinging his happiness onto hers and Grace’s. Not when the thought of him being alone with his thoughts made her worry- he was always so hard on himself.

Andy shook his head dismissively, “You know….I’m not hungry,” he cast his head down and they remained like that for a handful of seconds more before he retreated to where he’d draped his suit jacket and thick long coat on the back of a chair at the dining table. Shrugging them both on, he sighed heavily, “I’m gonna go kiss Gracey goodnight, then I’ll be outta your hair.”

Still reluctant to let him depart, Y/n protested, “Andy-”

“Its okay,” he promised, gesturing passively with his right hand while the left was stuffed into his pocket, “I’m alright.”’

Frowning, Y/n watched as he went up the stairs. A heavy breath seeped off her lips and when Andy reached the top, she turned and headed to the kitchen so she could rummage through a drawer where she kept takeout menus- she wasn’t in the mood to cook and Grace would probably light up at the prospect of pizza.

When Andy announced his departure, they exchanged awkward goodbyes, and upon hearing the front door open and shut, Y/n sighed and let the trio of flimsy menus she been holding fall and scatter in the drawer. She wasn’t supposed to feel that low but didn’t think it was possible for her to feel otherwise when he was so obviously upset. She hated the thought of hurting him anymore than she already had, but Y/n knew Andy well enough to know that there was no getting him to back out now; he was a man of his word, and the only way he'd give up on their agreement of a joint Christmas was if she decided against it.

But she couldn’t-not after they’d fought about it. Not when it was exactly what their daughter wanted.

And so, trying to convince herself that she wasn’t being entirely selfish in her adamance, Y/n collected one of the menus again and reached for her phone, hoping that getting busy would take her mind off the whole thing for a while.

Friday Going back to the house they used to share while thinking about their current state always hurt a little, but temporarily moving back into the guest room he’d occupied before moving out months ago felt like a chisel was chipping away shards of his heart. All their good memories were in that house, but all the grief he’d shed over their failed marriage was in that room.

Twice, he’d tried to be the best husband he could be, twice he’d let down the women who’d given his life some reason.

Laurie had taken in a man who’d felt like a stranger to the world around him and given him a family. He wasn’t expecting to meet anyone after he’d lost that family, but a few years after Jacob and Laurie’s passing, he’d met Y/n at a coffee shop they both frequented; she’d just moved into town for a job, leaving behind a big city life. Y/n hadn’t known very much about his history and had only read about Jacob’s case in passing a couple times- for the first time in a damn long time it hadn’t felt like he was being put under a microscope. She wasn’t poking around for details and there weren’t any strange looks when he talked about his family.

Starting over with her had been like starting a new painting on a blank canvas. Andy was determined to not blow it that time.

But at some point, he had- he spilt oil paint all over their watercolor.

His only relief through the whole thing was getting to spend everyday with Grace and Y/n again. Even if he went to sleep in the very impersonal room with a cold pillow as his only company, Andy got to have breakfast with them every morning, spend the day with his daughter and then have dinner with his family. Despite him and Y/n still being caught up in a kind of awkwardness that hadn’t existed when they were still married, they were cordial and he liked being able to see her everyday- if he closed his eyes and tried enough, he could pretend she was still his wife.

He wished she was still his wife- if Andy could go back in time, he’d change everything that led up to the minute she put those papers in front of him.

Maybe he’d still be living there and they’d be happily married. Maybe they were always destined to fail and he just wasn’t meant to have that kind of relationship.

Maybe he hadn’t ever deserved her love- or Laurie’s. He didn’t like that thought.

“Everything okay?” A hand on his shoulder beckoned Andy from his reverie and shaking his head, he turned slightly and glanced up at Y/n, who’d come to stand behind where he was sitting on the sofa while nursing a beer. They’d put Grace to bed- together- about an hour earlier and because he’d made dinner, Y/n had insisted that she be the one to clean up. It was an old house rule that they'd established after they’d first moved in together; if one cooked, the other would clean.

“Yeah,” he shook his head, taking a lengthy swing of his beer. After everything that had happened over the past two weeks, the last thing he wanted to do was disclose what he’d been thinking and start another fight. When Y/n frowned, he patted her hand on his shoulder reassuringly, “I’m fine, don’t worry about it.”

She sighed, moving around the sofa to sink down against the furthest upholstered arm, glass of white wine in hand. “You know,” she took a quick, punctuating sip from her glass, “I never understand why your feelings have to be some kind of big secret. Its not a threat to your masculinity if you open up to someone that cares about you.”

“I don’t think its a threat to my-” Furrowing his brows defensively, Andy shook his head, “I don’t wanna fight about this,” he said placatingly.

Y/n shifted to tuck her legs under her and returned calmly, “Neither do I. But I hate when you’re obviously going through something and you won’t let me in when all I wanna do is help and show you that I'm here for you,” she reached out, touching his knee.

Trying to deflect, Andy let a breath seep from his lips, “So you still care about me, huh?” He smirked and Y/n rolled her eyes, shaking her head.

“Of course I still care about you; you’re the father of my child,” as she said it, Y/n retracted her hand and took another sip of her wine. Shifting his gaze her way for a moment, Andy studied the way she looked like that; so effortlessly beautiful, exactly like the woman he’d fallen in love with close to ten years ago- yet so different. She’d been younger then, and while she was still quite a bit younger than him, there was a kind of maturity that could only come with being a parent.

Or perhaps it was because in that moment, Andy realized that he was one of the few in the world that was privileged to really know her. He knew how deeply she cared and loved, how fierce she could be, how remarkably intelligent she was and how absolutely gracious she was about it. He’d been lucky enough to fall in love with her, he was lucky enough to have his life forever tethered to hers. Perhaps that was what he was seeing that night.

“And you’re the mother of mine,” he noted absently, allowing the weight of her words to sink down on him; for all that he loved her, he wasn’t her husband anymore and it wasn’t his place to sit in her living room and feel sorry for himself- he was the father of their child that was the line.

“That’s kind of how it works,” she responded, bemused. “You’re not gonna tell me, are you?”

Turning away to look down at his bottle, propped on his thigh, Andy pondered for a moment; opening up was so foreign to him, he didn’t think he could begin to articulate his thoughts in a way that even he could understand. “I don’t know how.”

Through his periphery, he saw Y/n shrugging, “You just….say what’s on your mind. And be honest.”

“Honestly?” He chuckled dryly and she nodded. Taking another swing of his beer, Andy sighed heavily, “I’m…I love being here, with you and Gracey- you two are my favorite people,” he smiled bashfully, “You two are also my only friends, so when I’m here, its like I have everything again,” Andy paused, working up the nerve to continue. “Then I remember that I don’t; you’re not my wife anymore and when Christmas is over I’m gonna go back to only seeing her for half of the week.”

Her lips quivered and Y/n seemed stunned by his words, “Andy, I-”

“Mommy?” A fine voice emanating from behind them called Andy and Y/n’s attention.

“Hey Bunny,” Y/n turned, leaned up a little to peer over the back of the sofa, “What’re you doing up?”

Rubbing her tired eyes, Grace, armed with her stuffed bear, shuffled around the sofa to clumsily clamor into Y/n’s lap, and before she could accidentally spill the remainder of her wine, Andy reached over and relieved her of the glass, setting it, along with his bottle, down on the coffee table. “What’s up, kiddo?” He leaned over, rubbing her back soothing as she burrowed against Y/n’s chest, “Bad dream?” Sniffling, Grace nodded.

Y/n frowned, bending to kiss the top of their daughter’s head, “Do you wanna tell us what happened?”

“There was a monster and you wouldn’t come,” Grace suddenly turned to Andy accusingly, big blue eyes shining with fresh tears, “Not you or mommy or anyone! I was all alone!” She rubbed her eyes and while Y/n tightened her affectionate squeeze, Andy scooted closer so he could properly drape his arm across her small body, joining in on their hug.

“Hey,” he bent his head awkwardly to meet her eyes, “I would never, ever let any monsters get you. And neither would mommy.”

“Promise?” Grace sniffled.

“Promise,” he and Y/n said in unison. “We would do anything to protect you Gracey,” Y/n added.

It took a while, but eventually, they got her to settle down and when the tears finally stopped and her eyes grew sleepy again, Y/n asked if she was ready to get back upstairs, and Grace only agreed under the condition that Andy check under her bed and in her closet to make sure there weren’t any monsters- of course, he obliged.

Grace clung to her mother as the three of them headed up stairs, her head laid on Y/n’s shoulder while her little arms were wound around her neck. When they reached her room, Andy went in first, flicking on the light, inadvertently muting the gentle, yellow glow of Grace’s unicorn night light. As he had dozens of times before, Andy lifted the duvet so he could have a peek under the bed, then in the closet.

“All clear!” Andy declared after his sweep of the room, and Y/n took her over to the bed where they both tucked her in.

“Can you stay, please?” She looked between them, and after a shared look, Y/n and Andy squeezed into the twin bed. Instinctively as he clamored in on Grace’s left, he draped his hand across the top of her pillow- and consequently, Y/n’ shoulders. She didn’t seem to notice, though when she draped her arm across the top of Grace’s fluffy, powder blue duvet tucked under her arms, Y/n’s hand unconsciously landed on his mid- not that he was complaining.

They laid like that for a while, until Grace finally fell asleep. Andy had been close to dozing off himself, but he caught it just in time and upon finding that his daughter had finally succumbed to slumber. He inched out of the small bed before creeping around to the other side to gently shake Y/n awake. “She’s asleep,” he whispered when her eyes cracked open.

“Finally,” Y/n smiled warmly, shuffling out from next to Grace with the same ease he’d used. After they’d both pressed light pecks to her forehead, they toed out of the room. He turned off the overhead light, allowing the nightlight to illuminate the immediate area around her nightstand.

Leaving the door open just a crack, he followed Y/n a little way down the hall and paused when she neared the guest room door. “You look tired,” she noted.

“And you are perpetually beautiful,” he returned, tone teasing but sentiment genuine. She rolled her sleepy eyes, but the heat in her cheeks was obvious.

Licking her lips, she shook her head, “Dusting off your lines Counselor?” There was something in her jest, but after he quickly remembered their kiss from a few days earlier and how it ended, Andy decided that he probably should quit while he was ahead.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” he ducked his head bashfully, “It’s just…..you’re beautiful- its an observation,” he shrugged with one shoulder before stuffing his hands into the pockets of his worn jeans and stepping backwards to lean against the wall.

Her smile faltered, but he couldn’t be sure of it because the slip was so temporary that it almost hadn’t happened. She was quiet for a minute, and Andy suspected that it was because she didn’t know how to respond, though, before he could say goodnight, Y/n spoke up again. “You didn’t get to finish, I think,” when he flashed her a curious look, she elaborated, folding her sweater clad arms around herself as she did, “When we were talking downstairs. I don’t think you finished.”

Andy swallowed thickly; he didn’t want to go back to their conversation, not when the only way he could think of continuing what he’d been saying was to admit that he still wanted to be with her- and she clearly didn’t want that. “Its alright,” he waved dismissively before reaching to rub the back of his neck, “I’m tired, you’re tired; lets just turn in for the night.”

Y/n frowned and hesitated for a moment before nodding reluctantly, “Alright,” when she moved away from in front of the guest room door, Andy took a couple steps forward, Y/n reached out and affectionately squeezed his bicep, “Well if you ever wanna talk……”

“I know, thanks,” he flashed her a tired soiree, briefly touching the back of her hand before they both pulled away altogether. “Goodnight, Y/n.”

Again, she didn’t respond immediately, opting to let her gaze linger on him for a moment- he couldn’t remember the last time she looked at him like that. “Goodnight, Andy,” she rasped, turning away and walking further down the hall to her room, leaving him to watch her as she left, not even offering him one backwards glance. His heart sank a little lower; it didn’t matter how many little moments they had, they’d still be over.

Tagging: @royalwritersoftheuniverses @funfickgirl22 @talesofadragon @pono-pura-vida @what-is-your-plan-today @patzammit @mdpplgtz03 @shipheart @marvelmenwhore @itschrismasevans @findthebeautyinbreakdowns @bemysugarbean @wintasssoldier

#chris evans #chris evans x reader #chris evans x you #andy barber #andy barber x you #the holiday arrangement #cevans

246 notes · View notes

ronearoundblindly · 8 months

Text

Sneak Peek!!!

excerpt from Part II: Reasons (see previous or series) a Steve Rogers x villain!Reader tale

Summary: Steve's convinced your first (and only) move will be ordering Bucky to kill your enemy. He has no clue...

Warnings for mentions of injury (minor) and brainwashing/manipulation (technically). WC ~400

Steve rests his head on the chilly glass and pinches his eyes shut. He’ll take a minute, review the money trail, and then interview the doctor. It seems a miracle that man was able to go home to his wife and sleep, even with security inside the room, down every hall, surrounding the house…Steve wouldn’t do it; he can’t even keep his eyes closed long enough for the dry sting to subside.

How could he be so stupid?

You weren’t staring at him from across the room; you were watching your mark, waiting for an opening. Sadly, it occurs to Steve that if he’d just let you inject Avani, his friend would be fine, here by his side, and safe.

You are the threat, not Bucky, but that’s a hard distinction. If anyone else sees James Barnes—who is the stealth assassin Winter Soldier, as far as they know—they’ll shoot. No questions. Steve has to find him first. He has to get to you first.

Bucky is compromised, but Steve won’t let it come to that. He can’t let Buck kill for you.

“Feel better?” You twirl in the chair as soon as the motel bathroom door opens, steam billowing out.

Winter’s face is shadowed, pointed to the floor.

“Or…at least, okay? Here—“ you offer the seat next to you at the tiny table “—sit. Eat. Let me—I’ve got bandages for your knuckles.”

“Will heal,” he grunts, sitting easily but with stiff posture, “fast.”

You let out a heavy breath, muttering, “makes one of us.”

The soldier reaches out for the file in front of you, but your hand pins it down.

“No. Food first, and palm up here.” You wait for him to flip open the takeout container then blot antiseptic on the split skin. “Does that hurt?”

He shakes his head, focus on the meal before him. His mission is very simple, but he’s thorough. You knew he would be.

Several months ago, an article was published about Bucky Barnes’ affinity for this one particular deli in Brooklyn, a third-generation shop. It listed his usual order.

You’ve made sure the bread isn’t soggy. You kept the spicy mustard on the side.

He makes a strange face, looking around for your portion.

“Not hungry,” you assure him, “I’m rarely hungry.” You secure the bandage like boxing wraps and spin the file around.

“Eat your food—” The command is soft, encouraging “—while I tell you about your mission.”

a/n: Hope you guys still give a hoot about this tale, but I'm determined to complete in-progress fics probably for the rest of the calendar year... Sooooooooo much has to fit into this chapter that it's taking me forever to work it all out. I don't want it to be a play-by-play and boring explanation of her plan, but it can't be confusing either. The balance is getting there though. Thank you for your patience!

@supraveng @1950schick @patzammit @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @yiiiikesmish @ashesofblackroses @bucky-fricking-barnes-reads @fallinallinmendes @deandreamernp @marvelmenwhore @happinessinthebeing @before-we-get-started @sjsmith56 @esposadomd

#sneak peek #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers fanfic #steve rogers fic #steve rogers angst #villain!reader #bucky barnes winter soldier #time and tines

53 notes · View notes

mortifiedatbeingknown · 9 months

Text

"Journal"

Masterpost:

The journal lay on the desk, pure and untouched. Eighty pages of blank, white pages stared up at him, as if defying his pen to make so much as a mark on them.

I can’t do this.

I can’t, I can’t, I can’t…

And yet he stayed. He could walk away, technically. Mistress hadn’t ordered him to finish this task, only suggested it, as if that made any difference. She thought this would be a good thing for him, a fun thing. She’d sounded so genuinely excited when bringing the topic up.

At that point, How could he disappoint her?

Gingerly, he flipped to the first page. That was the easy part. Here there were instructions laid out, clear and simple and comforting.

“This book belongs to: ______________.”

“Date started:________________________.”

“Date finished:________________________.”

The first line he finished both quickly and proudly. Not every master had deemed him fit worthy of a name, but she had, and for that he was very grateful. Though he’d never voice such a blasphemous thought aloud, of all the identifiers he’d been called throughout his life, hers was his favorite.

The second line was also easy, in no small part to his Mistress’ generosity in allowing him the use of a nearby calendar. The third was perhaps easiest of all, for it required no writing. One, two, three, and the page was complete.

Now…there was only everything else.

This is for you, Mistress had said. Her fingertips grazed his own as she handed it over, and he’d first felt the soft, solid weight of its leather cover. If there’s anything you want to write, you can write it here. And if you don’t want to write, draw whatever you want! This is yours, and yours alone. I won’t ever look at it if you don’t want me to.

It was that final line that made him the most uneasy. If she never looked, how was she to know whether he accomplished his work or not? He could shut the book right now without touching a single page, and she’d be none the wiser. How could she be fine with that? Didn’t she care whether or not he was obedient?

He tightened his grip on his pencil, focusing his attention back to the current task at hand. The temptation to deceit did not matter, as he had no intention of acting so maliciously. All he had to do, as best he could guess, was mark the paper.

But what kind of mark? Writing? Drawings? He could do both rather competently, but on what subject? And in what style? What would please his mistress best?

He leaned forward. His hands shook. And then slowly, imperceptibly, a dot of ink shivered down and silently fell, forever marring the pristine, white surface.

His first reaction was horror. His next relief. It was something. He’d done something. It wasn’t planned, wasn’t appropriate, and most certainly wasn’t correct, but it was something. He’d followed his Mistress’ words, at least to the letter. He could close the book now guilt-free.

But…did he want to?

It was a mark on the page, yes, but it hadn’t been made with intent. It was not purposeful. It was not the work of art his mistress no doubt intended for him to make. Before he thought, his hand lowered and he made another dot, right next to the first one. Two specks of black amongst a sea of paleness, like an inverted version of the night sky.

The sky… that sparked an idea. If there was another dot there, and another there, a slightly bigger one there… his hand began to fly, now jabbing eagerly as an image began to take shape. A sky, a tree, a lake, a mountain. And there, right in the center, a small lonely figure, staring. Looking up at a world that didn’t make sense, a white sky dotted with black stars. A world so different from everything he’d been told, so immense and magnificent and paralyzing in the freedom it offered. A world that now beckoned, even though the figure was too afraid to take so much as a single step.

His final strokes were slow, and hesitant, as if not wanting to face the truth of what the piece needed to be truly complete. Still, his hands moved as ordered, carving out stroke after stroke of long dark hair onto the figure’s waiting scalp. Long, dark hair…exactly like his own.

#whump #whumpee #whump writing #recovery whump #whump oneshot #whump drabble

49 notes · View notes

coraniaid · 2 years

Text

I’d somehow managed not to really think about just how few actual adult women there were on Buffy the Vampire Slayer until reading today's Insect Reflection essay. But I messed around a bit with J. Freedland's Buffy speaking times dataset some more afterwards, and it really is striking, isn’t it? Not just how rare they are, but what invariably happens to them.

The five adult women on Buffy with the most speaking time over the seven seasons of the show (not counting vampires or demons, and defining "adult" as "anyone who, throughout the whole of the show’s run, is too old to be in high school") are as follows:

Joyce Summers appears at rank #11 on the list (with about as much speaking time over the whole show as Giles manages in just Season 2). Joyce appears in over 50 episodes over several seasons. Then she dies.

Jenny Calendar appears at rank #22 on the list (with about a third as much speaking time over the whole show as S2!Giles). Jenny appears in 12 episodes over two seasons. Then she dies.

Maggie Walsh ranks #36 on the list (with about 14% as much speaking time over the whole show as S2!Giles). Professor Walsh appears in 9 episodes in Season 4. Then she dies.

Gwendolyn Post ranks #68 on the list (with about 6% as much speaking time over the whole show as S2!Giles). Mrs. Post appears in a single episode in Season 3. Then she dies.

Catherine Madison ranks #106 on the list (with about 5% as much speaking time as S2!Giles). Catherine appears in a single episode in Season 1. Then she ... okay, technically she doesn't die, I suppose. (At least until the school blows up later.)

That means 40% of the "top five" only appear in a single episode. Combined, they have about a third as much speaking time as Giles over the full run of the show. And not one of them survives the series. Honestly, I'm not even sure whether Catherine Madison counts, as most of the time she's on screen she's pretending to be her own teenage daughter. (If you don't count her, the next adult on the list is Doris Kroeger, Dawn's social worker, at rank #123, who also appears in just a single episode .... but at least is still alive at the end of it?)

Not making the top five: Olivia Williams appears in three episodes across season 4 -- although only in a dream sequence in the last of these -- but she doesn't speak much in any of them. Olivia only ranks #218 on the overall list (one space below Diego/Marvin from Lie To Me, if you want an idea of just how low down the list that puts her).

For contrast, the top five adult men (also excluding vampires or demons, so not counting either Angel or Spike) are Rupert Giles (overall #4), Riley Finn (overall #10), Robin Wood (overall #19), Principal Snyder (overall #27) and Wesley Wyndam-Pryce (overall #29).

All of whom, you might note, appear in more than one episode (and all but one of them survives their time on the show too). Also appearing in more than one episode are Hank Summers and Ethan Rayne and Quentin Travers and Principal Flutie and Allan Finch and multiple others. And as I said, that top five excludes Angel or Spike, both of whom have (much) more speaking time than Drusilla or Darla or anyone else who might have made the list without the humans-only restriction.

#btvs #I don't really have a conclusion beyond 'this is pretty depressing'

193 notes · View notes

phandomphightclub · 2 years

Text

Important 2023 Phight Information

By popular demand, the one and only Ghost Zone Denny’s is reopening to host the notorious PHANDOM PHIGHT CLUB! Tali (@dannyphandump) and Vic (@babypop-phantom)are returning with the help of new recruit Lexx (@lexosaurus) to mod the biggest and baddest fight in the Ghost Zone! Get ready to face your friends, acquaintances, strangers, and enemies in immortal combat an organized shitposting tournament!

So… what the heck is the Phandom Phight Club?

THE SHORT EXPLANATION

It’s basically a Danny Phantom shitposting tournament, involving 64 entrants and 6 total rounds of posts. Rounds are single elimination, leaving one ultimate Phight Club Champion.

This post provides a great backstory as to how the Phight Club came to be!

THE DETAILED EXPLANATION

Please read even if you have participated in previous years as some information has changed!

For Entrants:

Registration begins December 4th at 12am EST

Entrants will be sorted randomly into a single-elimination bracket. This bracket will be posted on December 31st for everyone to view.

ONLY 64 PHIGHTERS CAN ENTER. In past years, spots filled up very rapidly, so we suggest signing up as early as possible!

Please only sign up if you plan to participate in the Phight. We don’t want people taking up slots for people who actually want to compete. If you sign up and decide you do not want to participate, or find out you do not have the time to, please reach out to one of the mods before December 31st and we will remove you from the phight. We will offer up the spot to someone else who would like to participate.

The 2023 Phight™ will take place throughout the month of January. More specific details on the schedule will be included on the January calendar to be released November 26th.

A new round will take place every few days, with a couple “dead days” scheduled for phighters to prepare their shitposts.

Please be sure you’re able to submit your entry on each entry day. Participants will be disqualified if they do not submit an entry by the deadline.

PHIGHTERS WILL CREATE THEIR POSTS ON THEIR OWN BLOGS. This is to ensure that all Phighters get credit for the shitposts they create. Phighters will paste a link to their post in a google submission form that will be released for each round. Phighters may create posts as far in advance as they would like, but submission forms for the next rounds will not open until the results of the previous round have been posted. (It is recommended that even if your post is ready beforehand, you wait to post it to keep each round organized and in case you are eliminated beforehand.)

Submission posts will be reblogged to @phandomphightclub throughout the day submissions are due.

Voters decide the winners of each round. The winners will move onto the next round. The phinal round occurs when only two phighters are left. The semiphinalist phighters will also compete in the phinal round prompt for third place. (If you make it to round 5, you automatically compete in round 6, the phinal round, to determine phinal standings.)

You cannot ask people to vote for you! This may result in disqualification! Try reblogging the voting polls to get people to vote, instead!

Limit of one vote per person. You do not need a tumblr to vote, but the form will require you to be logged into a google account to prevent duplicate votes.

Prizes for winners will be announced if we find people willing to provide them, but no prizes are guaranteed other than bragging rights and certificates for the top 3. Who wouldn't want to brag about winning the Phight?

For Voters:

Voters are crucial to the success of this competition. A poll to vote for the winners of each round will be open the whole day after the submissions are due.

Anyone can vote, whether you are a phighter or a spectator (Technically, you can even vote for yourself, but there should be enough voters that this won’t matter much).

Follow @phandomphightclub for the links to the voting polls.

Other Information:

There is no phight the day of voting.

People will be able to place bets on who will win the Phight. Betting booth information will be released with the January Phight calendar on November 26th.

Round results will be posted on @phandomphightclub after voting ends.

PHIGHT CLUB RULES:

The first rule of phight club is you don’t talk about phight club.

All entries must be SFW (absolutely no sexual content or excessive gore). People who submit this kind of content may be disqualified at the discretion of the mods.

Submissions are meant to be Danny Phantom shitposts, so please don’t worry too much about artistic or writing quality. This competition is meant to be open to anyone who wants to enter, regardless of perceived talent.

No direct personal attacks in your submissions or towards other entrants, please. This phandom is pretty good about this, but just remember to keep it clean, folks. Lighthearted trash talk is allowed; use your best judgment here.

Please do not take losing as a personal attack.

When voting, try to be as unbiased as possible. The submissions will be posted in the poll without the competitor’s name attached in order to help facilitate this.

Competitors are allowed/encouraged to advertise the Phight on their blogs, but please do not ask followers to vote for you specifically. If phighters are found to be asking, bribing, or cheating to gain votes, they may be disqualified at the discretion of the mods.

If you’re confused about anything, don’t hesitate to send an ask to @phandomphightclub.

Don’t eat food off the ground in the Denny’s parking lot. Trust me, please.

Please be patient with us mods as we work to provide the best Phight experience for you. And to those of you who have participated before, please note that this year’s Phight may not be as extravagant as it was in previous years. We are working to streamline our system and smaller side projects are very hard for us to manage on top of everything else. It is also important to note that write-ups of round results will not be as prevalent this year in lieu of our new system. Thank you for your understanding while we navigate these changes, but don’t worry… us mods still have some tricks up our sleeves…

Thank you for your interest in the Phight Club! Order an appetizer at the Denny’s, place your bets, and get ready to watch the greatest Phight this side of the ghost portal!

💚 Mod Tali, Mod Vic, and Mod Lexx

#ppc2023 #phandom phight club #phight club 2023

155 notes · View notes

tj-dragonblade · 2 months

Note

oooh Star Trek AU and cruise verse part 3 for the wip game! xo @hardly-an-escape

Hello hello! Yes! The Star Trek 'AU' was more idea than WIP until this-here round of WIP-ask gaming. Now it's got a bunch of drily-expository introduction to the scene, which is progress I'm delighted to have made. The first bit can be found here; this snippet follows on directly from that:

They meet yearly at the least, now, every 7th of June by Earth calendar reckoning, and Dream often drops by once or twice in between as well. It's been a wonderful change the last four centuries from the six that came before; their friendship is genuine, solid, lasting. Hob makes the journey back to earth every year that ends in 89, always returns to the cradle of London and the New Inn, still standing all these centuries later, to mark the turning of another century in their relationship. But in between the centennial tradition, Dream will meet him where he happens to roam, and the age of space travel means he can roam farther than he'd ever imagined. Currently he's been crewing cargo freighters out in the wormhole sector, where new and exciting things have been happening for the last few years. He's been to the Gamma Quadrant a couple of times, the entire other side of the galaxy! Sometimes he still can't quite believe it but it's absolutely brilliant; he loves just mucking around out here, experiencing things that his peasant brain could never have fathomed in his natural mortal lifetime. Then the last freighter he'd signed onto had started smuggling for the Maquis, and when her captain inevitably went to Federation prison for it, he'd cut loose from the rest of the crew and drifted back to Deep Space 9. He'll find his next berth soon, he's in no hurry, and in the meantime. Dream is here for their annual visit. "My dear friend," he greets, standing as Dream reaches the table. "It is good to see you." He clasps Dream's hand, settles a firm grip to his shoulder with the other, the sorts of physical greeting he never would have dared a few centuries back. But Dream has grown, their friendship has grown, and pulling him into a light one-armed embrace is now not only allowable, but reciprocated. "Hello, Hob," Dream murmurs, as they draw apart, and the warmth in his crystal blue eyes is unmistakable.

Cruise-verse Part 3 is not officially committed to wip status, but the unavoidable reality is that I keep scribbling down bits of conversations they could have if I decide I'm going to go ahead and write the third installment. Of this series, I suppose I should specify. Here's a bit of one of those conversations, which you'll see is still in the almost-entirely-dialogue stage:

"Holy shit…you're Morpheus Ateleíotes, head of the Oneiros branch of InfinityCorp??" "I would much prefer you continue to call me Dream; indeed, to think of me as your 'just Dream' from the cruise." "Alright alright, I can wrap my head around that. Just Dream it is, between you and me. Just. Gimme a minute to process." "That you have fucked a high-society recluse?" "I mean you were in the priciest suite on that ship; obviously you were loaded but I never—oh, hold on a tick, didn't I just see something in the newsfeed about a divorce being finalized?" "Yes, that is one of the things I wished to talk about with you today." "So you were still married when we hooked up at sea?" "…Yes. Technically." "Oh my god, I'm an adulterer??" The glittering of his eyes seems more amused than affronted. Dream tilts an eyebrow. "You were not married, so strictly speaking—" "I am party to adultery, gorgeous, don't argue semantics." "I apologize for not being forthcoming about my marital status on the cruise." "Mmyeah, might've been nice to know?" The warmth of his smile keeps the words light, free of any real sting of recrimination. "Would it have made any difference?" Hob looks him up and down, gaze sweeping over him, appraisal with a backing of very fond heat. "Absolutely not. Still would've fucked you senseless for the asking. And I do get why you wouldn't want to haul your messy baggage into your fun tropical fling." "Truly, you are the most beautiful and understanding party to adultery I could have hoped to find."

I've also posted a bit of later (and more fleshed out) conversation on a last-line-tag-meme previously.

(@hardly-an-escape just in case your tag in the original ask doesn't ping you)

#tagmemes #TJs Writing #Sandman #Dreamling #The Elder Fandom #DS9 #wip: stau #wip: cruise3

11 notes · View notes

gildedmuse · 9 months

Text

[Top credit to @jhaernyl. Who knows of I would even write without her. She is one of the singule kindest, kniwst individuals I know. And I love her for both]

So, we have a problem..

A lot of time I see cute art and I can't HELP being inspired and want to write fic about it, or at least a ficlet. It's kind of a lot of my writing these days, it's helping me get back in the habit. But you can't just post art without proper credit!

(Speaking of which @jhaernyl for writing inspo.)

So what I'm do is post a link to a random site. And if it HAPPENS to remind you of the story I guess that's that.

Exactly like this.

[Gonna credit Sam Elias, if that's wrong please let me know. I'd hate to wrongly credit this random and unrelated art]

Idea:

College Law after his high school boyfriend moves in with him

Law: *20 year old starting his med degree working full time and trying to get an internship all at the same time*

Zoro: *15 and shows up at Law's door with one bag and three swords* Torao! *Throws himself into Law's arms*

Official Boyfriend

Law: Z-Zoro-ya? What are you doing here? *Glancing at his calendar. It's not Northerntide yet is it? He's been studying but he hasn't been THAT out of it*

Zoro: *Snickers* That's still a month off, idiot.

Zoro: *walks in to Law's apartment, perfectly comfortable* I just wanted to come and see you. Wow, your place is a mess.

Law: O-oh. *Blushing, moving to quick to stuff a.... Err.... Medical work out magazine under a pillow. Shambling some books onto his bed, tossing his jacket over the mess on his chair* I guess I haven't had many guest lately. Oh! *Looks down, surprised to suddenly have Zoro smiling up right next to him*

Zoro: Well now you have one. You're welcome!

Law: *Gives in, finally smiling softly down at Zoro* Yeah, I do. *Kissing the tip of his nose* My favorite guest, In fact.

Zoro: *snorts, punching Law's arm, but gently* You just told me I was your ONLY guest, flirt.

Law: *chuckle* But still my favorite.

Zoro: *standing there, up on his toes, staring up at Law all expectedly*

Law: *ruffles his hair* Right. Let me get you a warm drink.

Not what Zoro wanted, but he'll take it.

—🧡—

Technically, Zoro and Law have been "dating" since Zoro was 12/13 and Law was 17/18. Law wouldn't say it was dating. He would say he was acting as Zoro's uchidachi while also helping to tutor the boy so he'd be ready for his Third Level Exams - that's for students moving from Second Levels (11-14 year olds) into their third and final level of basic education (15-18) - but seeing as they were both orphans and both lived at the dojo (the North doesn't have "orphanages" as such. Its far more effective to send kids into some sort of school. Not for general education but for something like a vocation or else a specialty like a Dojo or a Theater or a Companion House) and since Law was both his uchidachi and his tutor and one of the oldest kids at the dojo, they ended up spending so much time together that Zoro decided it was dating.

When Law turned 18 he had to move out of the dojo, even though he was still finishing his final year of third level (the last two years are only for higher level students who are likely to go into universities. Law had earned a scholarship to the North Blue Marine Academy, so he was staying all three years, but the dojo only has so many rooms, and at 18, regardless of the situation, you had to go.) Law "rented" a room with his mentor, the one at the Academy who had recruited Law and even secured him a spot in the competitive medical school - under the stipulation that Law maintains his grades of course - so he was able to focus on his school.

However, he felt he needed at least a part time job. And while Law MAY have been the occasional problem back at the dojo, the Sensei did like to hold him up as an example to the other students as what they could achieve if they put their nose to the grindstone and followed all the rules.

Also, Donquixote Rosinate was a big donor and Law's mentor and no one wanted to upset Rosinate-san. So they hired him on part time as a assistant to the sensei which, at least the students liked him

But Zoro liked him MORE and so he was sure to establish that he was still Law's shadachi which Law ensured him that, yes, while he might be the assistant sensei for the whole class, he was only Zoro-ya's uchidachi which Zoro was very, very happy to hear.

So then, just to make sure, he checked that he was still Torao's only boyfriend.

That was.... More complicated.

"Why? Because you sometimes see other people? I don't care, so long as I'm your only OFFICIAL BOYFRIEND."

"Zoro-ya, you can't be my official boyfriend. You can't be my boyfriend at all. You're only 12!"

"Well, yeah, but I'll be 13 in less than a month! All the other 13 year olds have boyfriends or girlfriends."

"But not ones who are 18."

"That's not true. Baby's is 37!"

Law has nearly choked. He also made sure to tell one of the Sensei immediately, and was politely told to mind his own business.

Zoro remained very persistent. "Please. We don't have to DO anything. I just want to have you as my boyfriend."

And Law did notice all the other 13 year olds had dates. Zoro was from the east, he got brought up here by *accident*. And he really didn't seem to want to do anything other than talk about kendo and hang out with Law and maybe sometimes fall asleep on his shoulder, but those are all things he'd done before. So when he was 13, Law finally gave in and said, okay, they could be "official" boyfriends, but he couldn't tell any of yhe kids at the dojo. It would make it seem like Law was playing favorites and dating students is wrong, anyway, he explained.

Zoro had gone all pink and punched the air. "Yes! Torao, I'll be the BEST official boyfriend ever, I promise!"

And maybe it's just that Law had only ever had the two "official" boyfriend and one girlfriend ever and none of them had been that great at just, like, being *people* never mind dates, but honestly, Zoro-ya probably was the best. At least in Law's experience.

He didn't talk about it, not at the dojo but at also at school, at least as far as Law could tell. He never asked for anything or expected Law to do anything for him. He didn't mind when sometimes kids would tease Law because somehow they always seemed to know when he'd been with someone, because as far as Zoro was concerned it was like how Law was everyone's assistant but only HIS uchidachi. That's what made him official.

He didn't constantly follow Law around or want to talk to him all the time; well, no more than he had before. He never cried or pouted because Law wasn't giving him enough attention or started a fight just because he fault like being angry.

Well, he started fights, just not with Law, and they were all physical anyway so that was fine.

No, he was pretty much the same kid he'd always been expect that sometimes he'd scoot just a bit closer to Laa, and occasionally he'd sneak giving him this look, but that was fine. Oh, and for couple's day he'd gone and got Law a gift.

Of course, he didn't have any money, but he knew Law was busy with school and his job and his Academy Entranve Exams AND being his Official Boyfriend, so Zoro had snuck out and borrowed Kikoku - Law's Nodachi and one of his few possessions left from his parents - And he took his best oil and traded away part of his super for the best rice paper he could and he even managed to find his way to where Law was staying (that's had been the plan, at least..... In the end, he wound up at the Marine station, but that worked out all the same) and he spoke with Law's Corazon and explained what he needed. Law said if there was every anything that Zoro really, really needed or any kind of an emergency, he should go to Corazon. Zoro knew this wasn't an emergency, but he did think it was really, really important so he put together his best clothes and brushed his hair and practiced all his formal language just to ask this one favor.

It turns out, Corazon was really cool and so impressed with Zoro's presentation that not only did he agree, he took him down to the store himself and he let Zoro pick out the Sageo he thought Law would like best (within reason).

Zoro had selected a bright red one because that way it was like blood and Torao was going to be a doctor, so he'd probably be around a lot of blood and this was if any was on his hands it wouldn't show. Plus it looked really cool. Way more scary and also fancy than the worn out, threadbare and dirty white one that Law was using.

Corazon let him come back to the house so he could work while Law was at class (he forgot to ask why Zoro wasn't at class himself, he was so delighted to have this adorable and determined child who wanted to make a gift for his uchidachi. He didn't even bother to tell him that wasn't how Couple's Day works up North. He just made Zoro some snacks, said he had to go back to work but he could call if anything happened and help himself to anything in the kitchen and let the boy work.

When Law came home after his study group he found Zoro curled up on the floor next to the couch, Corazon's marine coat draped over him like a blanket. On the table was a note where Corazon explained all about Zoro coming down to the marine office and asking Corazon if he would help him buy a gift for Law and how he'd come back and spent all day working on polishing Kikoku and then rewrapping the saya with the hanging cord which according to Corazon he'd only needed two tries to do which seemed very impressive for such a young boy. He'd also run in the second he'd heard Corazon scream with his own katana drawn, ready to attack, and once he saw it was just Corazon on fire from the stove he helped him put both out.

Corazon had wanted to offer him dinner, but by the time he'd come in the boy had be sprawled out on the floor snoring. The note finished that he's had to leave - no reason which Law has figured out means it's secret marine business - but dinner was in the fridge. Be sure his young friend gets home safe and oh you may want to change his bandages before he goes.

That part was confusing to say the least, so Law goes and he gently prods Zoro awake. The boy yawns and sits up, holding out Kikoku for Law's approval.

The sword was beautiful. He also noticed Zoro's littke hands covered in bandages. Kikoku was a cursed blade and Zoro-ya is stranger, it makes sense it would take blood. But he had just wrapped up his fingers and kept working. It had been one of the nicest thing anyone's ever done for Law.

Law, of course, had no idea he'd planned to make such a sweet gesture and so had nothing to give him in exchange. Thinking quickly he told Zoro-ya to close his eyes before dashing to his room. He grabs an old hoodie he's made with his tag on it.

It was nothing compared to the thoughtfulness behind Zoro-ya's gift, but before Law can regret it, the boy's squealed that he loved it and throw it on over his school uniform.

On the way taking Zoro's back to the dojo, the stop and get some fries dumplings and the woman behind the counter's comment on how cute they are with Zoro in his boyfriend shirt makes Zoro beam. Law smiles and says, "yeah, he's the Official Boyfriend," in a way he hopes she'll know is joke and Zoro turns pink and burrows into his jacket. The old woman laughs and apologizes for being out of couple specials and instead "sneaks" them two extra dumplings and gives them what it left of her white rice which is easily three helpings worth. After the split the dumplings he lets Zoro have the rice to himself which he gulps down without seeming to need to breathe. He is quite the picture with his puff out cheeks, splitting rice as he says thank you.

"You know next year, when I'm not around, if anything where to happen you could still go to Cora-san, yeah?"

"Oh...." And the kid manages to swallow the whole ball of rice in his mouth at once. "Yeah but, you'll still come and visit, right? For holidays and stuff."

"It would be expensive," Law pointed out. "And I'll be very busy."

Zoro gives a small sound of unstanding and nods his agreeal. The kid is just looking down at the mostly empty dumpling box, picking through what little rice is left. Law feels like he's broken up with someone. On Couple's Day.

"But...." He says, eyes falling on a vendor who is just about to close up. He takes out his wallet. It's a little light, but then it always is. "Here," he says, reaching down for Zoro's hand and pulling him towards that side of the street. "One last Couple's Day gift. Excuse me, sir?"

"Yes?"

"It says 2 for 200 Berris."

"Yes, it's our Couple's Day Special."

"Is that for any of them or..."

"That's the cheapest models. We have much better for 1200, and for just 3000 we can do two E Mushis, but the air time is sold separately. "

"Can the cheap ones reach from here to the Marine Academy over on Stanton Island? "

" All the way to Stanton? No. Not yet, they're too young." Law notes the inside of his cheek, making a disappointed noise. He should have checked before dragging Zoro-ya over here.

The vendor looks between the two before sighing. He's seen enough broken hearted couples for one day. "I have some that are about two years old. The reception might be spotty but it will get better given a year or so. I can do them for 300."

"Yeah?" 300 isn't that bad, and he can use it for other things like staying in touch with Cora-san and his friends. "May we see them?"

The man nods before reaching down and pulling out a small aquarium. It has barely enough room for each creature to move, with a line of plastic down the middle so the cages can either been broken into two or turned into one slightly larger aquarium.

Inside are two medium size snails. One of them happily chomping at the foliage. The other looks like it had been sleeping but clicks into a more official On state when it's picked up, remaining fully still.

The man puts them on the counter in front of Zoro's who looks at them with a curious tilt of his head.

Law fingers what little cash he has on him. He feels for such a purchase he should at least ask some questions. "You said they're 2 years old?"

"Yeah. It'll still be about 3 years before they're full grown, another 2 before they're Grand Line Capable. These models have a good 20 years on them, though."

"Do they have any additional capabilities?"

"These models? No, they're only bred to be basic communicators. But if all you're doing is talking, they can handle that. Like I said, they're range will get bigger given a few years."

"Any health problems? Care instructions?"

"This breed is pretty hearty. They're the North Blue Heartland Subspecies, known for good health and strong signal bred with an Eastern Beach Subspecies for the longevity and obedience. They're often referred to as SandHearts. Pretty common bred, resistant to most diseases though Shell Spots can sometimes appear in old age. We sell Snail Pellets but actually, with these guys, you can charge them up with just about any kind of vegetation, even just a handful of grass. Shouldn't let him give them too many processed foods though," the man adds, nodding towards the cage.

Law looks back to see Zoro dropping a small piece of left over dumpling skin in to the green one, who immediately dives for it. The yellow one remains 'On', it's eyes stalks only following the food for a second. "Zoro-ya, are you listening? "

"Hmm? Mmm." The young boy gives him a nod. Law raises his eyebrows, giving the chopsticks a pointed look.

Biting his inner cheek with just a bit of a pout, Zoro puts down his chopsticks. "Sorry about that," Law says, turning back to the vendor who only shrugs.

"It won't hurt em too much in small doses, just gives them a lot of energy to burn. Plus, can reduce their years of usage eventually. So what will it be? I have a couple of 560 Berri pairs that are further along if you'd like. "

Law winces at the price. "These will do. Thank you so much. "

As they walk off, Law sighs, stuffing his now mostly empty wallet into jean's pocket. "There," he says, smiling down at Zoro even if the smile is a bit strained. "Now will be able to speak with one another, even with me a while two islands away. You can call me with questions about kendo or homework."

Zoro looks at the two creatures in his hand. Cautiously, he taps at the glass before breaking into a smile for Law. "I want the green one."

Law returns the smile, nodding. "Okay, that one's yours." They break apart the box. Law sets his in his jacket pocket while Zoro continues to carry his inside the box with the little bits of rice. Law hopes he's not planning to feed it to the creature when he gets home. Law JUST bought them....

"If I got a job and saved up, then could I come and visit you?"

"I don't see why not. You'd have to work extra hard though, to stay on top of your grades and kendo. "

"You don't have to worry about that! I'm still the top kendo competitor in my year."

"Yeah, but not the top student," Law reminds him. But Zoro just keeps staring and finally Law relents with a sigh. "We'll talk about it later. The Dojo is the next left."

"Hmm? Oh the streets look different in the dark."

"Sure they do." Law takes the paper box, almost completely devoid of food by now, and tossss it away in the trash. So Zore won't be tempted. "I'll see you tomorrow, okay."

"Okay." Then Zoro stands there, staring at him.

Law states back. The Dojo is literally less than two hundred feet, but he still wants to watch to make sure Zoro gets back okay. They stand like that for a minute before Zoro's eyes slide to the left.

"Hmm?" Law looks over to spot a young couple standing under the light of a street lamp. The girl has about a dozen Frost Roses in her hands which couldnt have been cheap. The two are kissing and when the girl pulls back the boy tried to follow despite her giggled protest that her parents will worry.

Law looks back at Zoro, who is still staring up at him. With a low sign, Law leans down kissing the tip of Zoro's nose.

That's apparently good enough since the boy breaks out into a smile. "Night!" He calls out, almost tripping over himself as as he heads back to the dojo.

—🧡—

Now he's trying to find something non alcoholic in his fridge he can give to Zoro. A Zoro who is suddenly here. Law known he had gotten a job and had been talking about visiting but only a few days. For the holidays. And it had only been talk.

"What about school? Vacation hasn't started yet, has it?"

"Oh, yeah. I stopped going?"

"Wh-ouch!" Law jumps back at the top of his head heads the ceiling of the fridge. "What do you mean you stopped going?"

"Oh, yeah. Well, it turns out that I don't actually NEED the last tao years for Kendo, you know? "

"Kendo?" Law's jaw drops. He couldn't be serious. "Zoro-ya you can't just DO kendo!"

"Sure I can. I'm already really good at it! Plenty of people do. Oh, and I'm old enough to join the Marines!"

"Join the Marines? Zoro-ya you are NOT joining the Marines!"

"Why not?" Zoro gives him a look. "You are."

Law waves his head through the air. That's totally different. He going to the Marine Academy as a medical doctor, and even if he stayed he'd be a well paid officer. He's not joining as the rank and file!

"What did the Sensei have to say about this!?" Law asks. They couldn't just allow this. They must have strings they could pull to get him back in school!

"Oh..." Zoro gives a mad sort of sigh, looking around the room. "They kicked me out as well."

"You got kicked out of the dojo!?"

"They said there wasn't any room for someone who was just a waste of space and they need the spot for kids that would actually be worth it," Zoro grumbles, refusing to look at Law. Refusing to admit the failure.

Just like that, Law's rising panic, his fury, it all disappears. Well, maybe not disappears but certainly lessens and redirects. They told him he wasn't good enough to keep around? Really?

But he's still practically just a kid? How could they...

"But...." Zoro gives him a small, hopeful look. "I thought, I could stay here right. I mean, I can get a job and help out wi-"

"Yeah." With a sigh, Law runs a hand through his hair. He doesn't need Zoro to finish. "Yeah, you can stay."

#one piece #roronoa zoro #trafalgar d. water law #trafalgar law #ZoLaw #but like mostly friends #except for Zoro's huge crush #Law barely holds his hand Zoro's feelings aren't his fault #art insipired fic #zoro x law #modern au #north blue au #one piece fanfiction #my writing #the premise is what if Zoro was an angel baby who crew up in North Blue #den den mushi

22 notes · View notes

kivaember · 2 months

Text

woe, ftm walter be upon ye (yes this is actually canon to apv btw)

Somedays, Carla had to laugh at how far she'd fallen.

Well-respected Institute scientist, lauded for her efforts in the C-weapon project and incorporating Coral into AI neural networks... reduced to a penniless scrapper in the underbelly of one of Ganymede's colonies, barely making ends meet because of the UEG's broken form of capitalism.

It was intentional to an extent, though. If it had just been her, riding the massive wave of Rubiconian refugees after the Fires had slagged their planet to smouldering ash, she would've thrust her hand up high and declared her credentials at the immigration office. The UEG had hoovered up every single scientist or technician it could get its greedy little paws on in the aftermath, and from what Carla had seen they were living it large right now. A luxurious little corporate cage as they regurgitated all of Rubicon's little technological miracles for the UEG to warp and manipulate.

She hoped they choked on their feed, honestly, but she was self-aware enough to know that would've been her too, if she'd been alone. But she wasn't.

"Hey, Walter! It's time to close up shop!"

Her voice rang across their large, open garage, cluttered with broken down machinery and mechs alike, a literal maze of trip hazards and health violations that would've gotten her shutdown if this was on the surface. But it wasn't. No one gave a shit what anyone did down here in the slums, so long as their little worker bees kept on working, kept on producing... and didn't, gasp, form unions.

Carla was a one-man show, though- okay, technically three, if you counted Walter and Chatty, but she was wisely keeping away from that business. All power to the people and all that, fuck the bourgeois, eat the rich, etc, etc, but Carla had a purpose she was gunning for, and social liberation didn't come under that. So, for now, it was just her and Walter, working in a deathtrap of a scrapper garage, with Chatty sitting quietly in the background pretending to be dumb security system rather than a fully fledged AI (that can and has ran circles around the security AIs on Ganymede - lots of dirty laundry in many people's drawers on this moon).

A groaning, screeching rattle echoed through the garage, signifying the shutter doors being closed. Carla pushed herself up from where she'd been squatting over a dismembered construction mech arm, trying to extract the intact gyroscopes inside. These things sold pretty sell second hand... or third... or fourth... well, you got the idea.

"Oof, all this bending over is ruining my back..." she grumbled, pressing her oil-stained hands against her lower back and applying pressure, feeling how tight and knotted it was. "I feel old as shit."

"You are old as shit."

Carla scoffed and turned to see Walter lurking in the shadows like the anti-social freak that he was. His brown hair was a little flyaway than usual, darkened from where he'd accidentally rubbed oil into it from his hands, and his mechanic jumpsuit was partially unzipped, his pale skin faintly flushed from exertion and damp with sweat.

He was a lot more modest about the unzipping, though. Carla had whacked hers down all the way to the midriff, because this shitty garage got hot no matter how much she tried finangling some kind of air conditioning down here. The air was too full of smog and other pollutants that trapped heat and discouraged the human way of cooling down via sweat evaporation. It was a torturous existence... and made Carla and Walter walk around like they were auditioning for some kind of "Mechanics Gone Wild!" calendar.

"Hey, you shouldn't be backtalking your boss like that!" Carla mock-scolded, planting her hands on her hips. "What if I decided to dock your pay?"

"Well, you'd have to pay me first," Walter said flatly, pinching the front of his jumpsuit and flapping it slightly to cool himself down. "I'm working here for free, remember?"

"Oh yeah. That's true," Carla hummed, cupping her jaw thoughtfully. "Well! Carry on, then! Can't control you if I'm not in charge of your pay, haha!"

Walter rolled his eyes, forever unimpressed with her cavalier attitude and jokes, despite her best attempts. He was too much like his father sometimes, though Carla knew better than to say that. Walter had more daddy issues than an entire soap opera cast combined, and the one time she'd made a comment about how Walter was looking more like his father now that he was a little older and.... brrrrr! The dark side of the moon had been tropical in comparison!

this kid, she thought exasperatedly, he needs to loosen up...

"Got any plans tonight?" she asked as they made their way to the rear of the garage, where they both lived out of. It wasn't anything impressive compared to their immaculate lodgings on the Xylem in another lifetime, but compared to the rest of the gutter rats around here, they were living it up large. Two bedrooms for privacy and their own kitchen and bathroom with functioning plumbing? They were like royalty! Royal rats, the pair of them, hah.

"None," Walter replied. "Why, do you need me for something?"

"Yeah, as a chaperone," Carla teased, nudging him with her elbow. "We should hit up the bars. You're an adult now, you should be living it large before we've gotta focus on the job."

Walter's expression said he'd rather belly crawl over barbed wire.

"I'd rather belly crawl over barbed wire," he said.

"Aw, c'mon! Stop being a Debbie Downer." Carla nudged him with her elbow, and weaved out of the way when he tried to nudge her back. "You're really going to leave me hanging? Leave your old as shit guardian to wander the bars alone... defenceless... helpless against any ne'er-do-wells-"

Walter snorted. "You're anything but helpless. If anything I should be protecting the local population from you, cougar."

"Cougar! Well, you're right. I do like my men young and cute," Carla teased with a wink, just to see his reaction. Which was....!!! Nothing. Guy didn't even flinch.

"Right. So, I'd just cramp your cougar style," Walter said simply. "Being a cute young man and all. They'd all think you're taken... or asking for a threesome. I wouldn't want to ruin your night like that."

"Hm." Carla was reluctantly amused. "You've gotten very sassy, Walter."

"That's your fault."

Yup, and she was proud of it. Walter had been such a humourless little thing as a child - through no fault of his own, admittedly. Growing up in the Xylem had been a lonely, neglectful existence, and being uprooted from that to flee to a colony that viewed him as nothing but an unwanted mouth to feed just compounded whatever fucked up issues that childhood of neglect had lain the foundations for. It made sense that whatever sense of humour Carla tried to impart in him turned all warped and twisted and a little mean.

But! Humour was humour! When things got bad, all you had to do was laugh! Walter wasn't the laughing type, but she'd take this! Better than nothing!

"Well, you're coming out anyway," she said. "No ifs or buts! You've just been rotting away in your room, brooding about pointless crap. Just come out and have a few drinks. Unwind a little."

"No."

"I'll have Chatty recite all the poetry I wrote since we left-"

"Okay, just a few drinks," Walter immediately u-turned.

Hah. Gottem.

If growing up with Carla taught Walter one thing, it was learning how to pick his battles.

He wasn't a drinker, and the bars down in the slums were as seedy as you'd expected: the alcohol was moonshine or contrabrand, drugs were commonly traded in the background, and there was always a risk of the Ganymede Guards crashing the party to arrest a few people for encouraging socialist gatherings. Walter just didn't see the point in getting involved in that crap, but Carla always was seduced by dangerous or ill-advised things.

She also had a short attention span. As they stood at the bar, knocking back the probably toxic swill being sold, Carla eventually got pulled away by some people she knew in the scrapping business, her obnoxiously loud laughter audible even over the ambient chatter.

Walter took that as his cue to finish his drink and leave.

Broken glass crunched under his boots as he stepped out into the street, burying his hands into the pockets of his mechanic jumpsuit. The air was smoggy and thick with a wet, unpleasant smell, making him feel like he was in a rancid sauna, and he unzipped his jumpsuit that little bit more, fanning himself.

He couldn't wait to leave this place.

From the moment he had stepped foot on this damned moon, he had despised every inch of it. The Xylem had been cold and loveless, yes, but the air hadn't stank of exhaust, it wasn't constantly hot and humid, with changing seasons and weather, he could see the sky and watch the birds fly, his hands would only have the callouses from holding a pen, rather than being rough and worn like leather from constant handling of scrapping tools and sticky oil. Walter's life would be very different, if his father hadn't ruined everything.

He stopped in front of the door to his and Carla's living quarters in the garage, digging out the key from his pocket and slotting it in. When he stepped inside, he was greeted with Chatty saying: "Welcome back, kid. Is the Chief still out?"

"Yeah." Walter kicked the door shut behind him. "Talking shop with some people."

"Understood."

And that was that. Despite the name Chatty was pretty quiet, which was why he and Walter got along well. He headed up the narrow staircase to his room, which was sandwiched between Carla's room and the bathroom, and just wide enough to slot a single-man bed in there with enough room for him to actually get in and out of it.

Walter felt grimy as hell, so he shed his boots and jumpsuit entirely, tossing the soiled clothing onto the floor before walking, completely naked, to the bathroom, yanking the cord to turn the light on. As he shut the door behind him, he looked at the cracked mirror Carla had broken when bolting onto the wall. She'd laughed that her luck was already so bad that this should cancel it out.

His reflection was uncomfortably familiar.

As a child, he'd been told often that he looked a lot like his mother. Standard biases, of course: for a considerable chunk of his childhood, he'd stayed as his assigned sex, a quiet little daughter that was easily forgotten about by most people. The moment he'd stepped out of that easily assigned box, became a son hungry for attention instead of the quiet daughter, people immediately switched to well, he's looking a lot like his father nowadays, isn't he?

Truth was, Walter had looked like both of them. He had his mother's bone structure, but his father's eyes, and his hair was a combination of them both: slightly wavy where his mother's was curly and his father's completely straight. He hadn't really put much stock into his appearance back then, anyways. He'd been ten. He just wanted people to call him Walter. What did it matter who he looked more like at the time?

Now, though, he looked in the mirror and saw his father.

What lingering remnants of his mother were easily overlooked by the sharp line of his jaw and the shape of his eyes, his hair cropped short enough that it was hard to see the slight waviness. He lowered his gaze, to his body which was well-toned with muscle from years of hauling heavy machinery and scrap, his shoulders broad and his trunk solid enough that it partially hid the slight curve of his hips. Didn't do anything to hide his breasts, but he already had a plan for those, if this Furlong Dynamics pilot recruitment programme worked out.

It was strange, though. The more he carved away the parts that were like his mother, the more his father shone through, and the more complicated Walter felt about the whole thing. He hated his father, despised him from the very depths of his soul, regretted every day his failed attempt to kill him before everything went completely pear-shaped... and now he was even tainting this, having Walter's stomach clench and his face tighten at his reflection, at the ghost of his father hidden in there.

He wasn't the same as him, though... he was going to put to rights what Dr Kohler had done wrong. He'd make it so he could look himself at the mirror without wanting to flinch... either because he'd succeed in destroying the Coral for good, or because he'd die in the process. Either or.

"Kid. You've been staring at the mirror for five minutes."

"I'm fine," Walter said, anticipating Chatty's follow up question. He turned away and turned on the shower, watching as the metallic smelling water spluttered out of the showerhead sluggishly. "Just thinking."

"Hm."

Chatty left it there, and Walter neatly compartmentalised his complicated feelings and stuffed them under the figurative bed. It was a pointless thing to brood about, didn't contribute at all towards his mission. Being Walter was a selfish self-indulgence anyways, the one thing he allowed himself, despite the looming pressure of the trials to come.

What did it matter who he looked liked? That legacy was going to be buried, one way or another.

#armored core #armored core 6 #handler walter #cinder carla #fanfic #me patting walter like “this guy can hold so much messed up and complicated trauma!”#i love apv walter he's just a little guy #who commits war crimes #well that's basically everyone in armored core 6 let's be real #apv compliant

16 notes · View notes