#technically | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sleepyfan-blog · 10 hours

Text

Protection

Author’s note: this is the fourth in the Bully(ing) Cato Sicarius fic series. First. Prev.

Tagged: @egrets-not-regrets @the-pure-angel @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan @i-am-a-dragon34 @passionofthesith

Warnings: Cato Sicarius Being Himself, ask me to tag if something bothers you, canon-typical violence, disparaging descriptions of food

Summary: Cato is your escort to an Imperial Gala. He’s very bored until he isn’t.

Cato dislikes going to these events when his duties as Second Captain of the Ultramarines mandate him to within Ultramar. Or when he is called upon as the Knight Champion of Macragge to aid in the raising of funds for one thing or another. He's almost always in his dress uniform which offers fuck-all in terms of actual protection, is stiffly starched, inhibits his full range of motion and the cloth is itchy to boot. And speaking of boots, instead of his usual combat boots, he's wearing fine, soft-souled leather boots. He's sure that the leather is ridiculously expensive - it'd taken an annoying amount of credits to get them created in time for the Imperial Gala. At least his family's ancestral sword was at his side. One of his hand drifted down to the hilt of the blade - not that he was going to draw it (and stab himself out of the sheer, unending boredom that gnawed voraciously at his sanity) but merely to reassure himself that it was there, when you come up to hi m, looking frustratingly beautiful in the dress you were wearing.

As your escort, the two of you had color-coordinated… And given that you were part of the Lord Regent's retinue, both Cato and yourself were draped in the colors of the Ultramarines. You were wearing a beautiful deep blue dress with gold accents and jewelry. The central gemstone on the pendant necklace you were wearing was an ultramarine blue lapis lazuli that shone brightly in the light. You thrived in this sort of situation. There were many people of high influence who were willing to be convinced to spend money on the cause you were giving voice to - which was additional funds to repair certain devastated regions across a dozen worlds in this sector of the Imperium.

Cato glared down at the plate of food that had been put in front of him. As an Astartes, the amount of mortal food he'd need to consume in order to properly sustain himself was laughable. These miniscule portions with all sorts of strange crap dribbled across the plate was entirely unappetizing. He poked the… Meat? It was a deep violet color and was oozing a fragrant liquid that was nearly overpowering to Cato's senses. He took one of the far too small eating utensils and poked at it. He'd been to fancy meals before, but most event organizers knew better than to try and feed a space marine anything other than foods and rations made specifically for Astartes.

You nudge him in the side with your elbow "This is Sheldeer tenderloin. It's very expensive and only served to guests of high status. It's supposed to look like this, and the sauce is made out of Splumes - which are a dark purple fruit that are equally sweet and musky. If you refuse to eat, it's an insult to the host."

"… Fine." He had promised Father to do his best to behave himself. Cato's scowl intensified and he cut into the insultingly tiny portion of food, bringing it up to his lips and eating it. He had enough experience with mortal food to be able to keep from flinching as the barrage of intense flavors assaulted his tongue. He swallowed down the tiny morsel without much chewing and grabbed at his wine goblet - the wine had been provided by Father from Macragge itself as a generous gift. The familiar flavors of the wine washed away the strange tastes and textures. There were dozens of reasons why young Ultramarines were given lessons on how to eat at mortal events like this, including them to the assault on the senses that mortal food could prove to be. Especially expensive mortal foods, with their love of anything that was obscenely expensive - no matter how vile it actually tasted.

Acquired tastes his left ass-cheek. Cato didn't care how expensive Purple Truffungus was, it was disgusting. He'd smelled soldiers who'd been suffering from Nurgilite trench foot for weeks and that smelled better than the second tiny dish that he was served. Rancid fish eggs with purple truffungus shaved over top. He glared at the dish, as it was a personal offense to him. The scent alone was making him nauseous.

You nudge him in the side and hiss "Eat it."

"No! I refuse! I've smelled rotten corpses more appetizing." Cato hissed back, shooting you a glare. He could tell that several of the local nobles were watching them. The temptation to cross his arms over his chest after shoving the dish out from under his nose was tempting beyond words.

"Stop being a picky eater! I thought Astartes could eat anything, including dirt and concrete! This is specifically made to be not only edible but allegedly delicious." You counter. You didn't enjoy fermented fish roe either, but he was being ridiculous.

The glare he sent you could melt a glacier within seconds. "Just because we can eat nearly anything doesn't mean that we do." He wasn't going to admit to eating building materials or ground. Even as a dare during his scout-hood days. Reluctantly he picked up a tiny spoon and shoved the dish into his mouth as quickly as propriety would allow, swallowing without chewing to avoid feeling the fish roe bursting disgustingly in his mouth.

Once the vile dinner had concluded, Cato followed you onto the dancefloor, taking one of your small hands in one of his, his other hand coming to rest lightly on your waist as he led the two-person dance as the first song played. The food settled unpleasantly in his stomach, but none of it had been poisoned. Simply horrific and nausea-inducing. He remembered the steps to this dance, effortlessly leading you from step to step, his grip light as you spun in the middle of the dance.

"We're going to need to dance with other people. Mingle with the other guests." You murmur, voice low so as to not to carry over the sound of the live music playing.

Cato scowls at that, his grip on your hand and waist tightening a little "No. I am your escort for the evening, which means I am to stay by your side no matter what, in case of emergency or attack."

You sigh a little, eyes softening a bit. He's an asshole, but you're keenly aware of how seriously he takes his duties. "You don't have to be on the other side of the dancefloor, but part of the reason we - I - am here is to make friendly contact with the nobles here, to encourage positive relations between nobles of differing worlds and sectors of the Imperium. Part of how that is done is spending time getting to know them, at least on a superficial level."

The scowl on his face intensified "I agreed to escort you and dance with you. I did not agree to dance with any mortal who wishes to dance with me tonight."

Considering the ferocity of his glare, you doubted that all but the very bravest would get close enough to ask him. "Captain… Cato, please do this for me? I'd be grateful if you did." You plead, looking up at him hopefully. You had to get him to go along with this, for the night to be successful. If he loomed over your shoulder and dance partners all night, it would cause problems. You had to get him to agree to back off, at least a little.

Cato stares down at you, looking as if someone had shot him point blank with a bolter. He stares down at you for several minutes, the frown on his face having shifted into something more thoughtful. His movements during the dance felt automatic - and you could practically hear the many gears in his head churning and churning. Eventually he managed out a gruff "Fine…" He sounded marginally less likely to stab someone than he had all night, which you were counting as a success. With a surprising amount of reluctance, he let go of you when the first song ended.

Since then, you had been flouncing around from person to person as the songs played on, batting your eyelashes at the other mortals. Coaxing them into spending the wealth that their families have been hoarding for untold millennia in exchange for a sweet smile and the occasional dance or flattering comment. You'd been working on Lord Fuckwit the Two-hundred and Eighty-Ninth of his name for the past ten minutes, giving him some of your most professional smiles as he drones on and on about how lucky she was to be even in the same space as him, how illustrious his family was, and how important he personally, was for the Imperium.

Cato had danced with a steady stream of shorter partners, none of whom seemed to have realized that he was an actual Ultramarine from the way they gossiped and griped about the changes to their power-structure that Father had made, more than a few making nearly treasonous comments before spluttering and back-tracking, saying that they'd drunk too much wine, and of course they would follow the mandates that the only known living Holy Primarch had handed down to their rulers. He was mentally categorizing the complainers between those who were likely just talk, those who likely would side with the high lords of terra should those corrupted bastards try for a coup against Father (again) and throw who would get involved and then crumble into a thousand pieces at the slightest bit of threatened hardship if they didn't spill all they knew of such things.

After the tenth song, a number of the mortals had retired to the edge of the dancefloor to refresh themselves. You were busy speaking and dancing with Baron Shitface the Jabbering, so Cato politely excused himself from his latest dancing partner - an empty-headed little mortal who had tried to guess which branch of the Astra Militarum he was from by the cut of his uniform. He didn't even smack or yell at her once for how utterly wrong she was. You better be grateful for how tolerant he's being. Cato stalks to the edge of the dancefloor, the mortals sensing his dour mood and showing some of the sense the god-emperor gave them when they were born by getting the fuck out of his way as he made his way over to the nearest server with a platter of non-alcoholic drinks. He grabbed two of them, taking a sip of both of them and waiting to see if his Bletcher's gland would activate.

It did not, and you looked like you were in need of rescue from Duke Asshole the Seven hundred and four, so Cato made his way over to where you were dancing with him. He was well-passed tipsy and hovering around shit-faced drunk. It was obvious from his swaying movements and slurred speech. You were handling him well, as the seasoned diplomat you were is capable of. He even waited for the most recent song to end before cutting in. "Would you like a refreshment, *cor meum?"

Duke Whoever from Fucking Nowhere spluttered "And just who are you to cut in while I am dancing with this lovely lady?"

Cato didn't so much as glance in the drunken fool's direction, knowing that he only just had control of his temper as it was "I'm not talking to you, Duke." His intense gaze was focused on you.

You could see the way his fingers twitched around the crystal goblet he was holding out to you, the slight furrow of his brows that never meant anything pleasant unless you redirected him away from his fury. You were taken aback by the pet name. You do gratefully take the goblet of water "How thoughtful of you, yes I very much would like a drink, Cato. Duke Thendali, it has been an honor to dance with you, but I would ask of you an indulgence and let me rest for a moment. I have beendancing since the first song and need a moment to refresh myself."

The furrow in Cato's brows softened a little, and he gently tapped his glass against yours "To a successful evening."

The duke wandered off, muttering drunkenly to himself, his eyes set on someone else to speak or dance with.

You echo the captain's sentiments, a small smile appearing on your face. You've been trying to get away from this drunken noble for several minutes, and Cato has given you an excellent out. You wonder if he did that on purpose, and what the cost of that is going to be, or if he feels it is his duty to rescue you out of awkward social situations tonight, in addition of any physical danger you might be faced with. If so, his timing is impeccable. "To a successful evening. Have you been enjoying dancing?"

Cato stared down at you as he sipped on his drink before answering "Dancing with you, perhaps. My other dancing partners have been… Informative. A couple of them I'll mention to Father." From the veiled but dour expression on his face, whoever those people were, were likely to be getting visited by an allied Inquisitor soon.

But that wasn't part of your position and not something that you'd concern yourself with. You finish the drink that Captain Sicarius got for you, going to the drop-off table, humming along to the beautiful music, a genuine if small smile on your face. Despite the fact that you can tell that captain Sicarius has been seething for most of the night, he's… He's clearly trying his best to be pleasant. And he hasn't flung a single baseline human yet, You're almost proud of hi-

Cato watched you as you moved through the crowd to where the empty cups and goblets were supposed to be placed, the irritation and boredom he'd been feeling all night once again bubbling just beneath the surface of his mind. He tensed as one of the servers walked directly over to you, their movements off.

The server pulled a large kitchen knife out of one of their pockets, raising it up as they aimed for your unprotected back.

OH FUCK NO!

The second captain of the Ultramarines sprinted over to where you were standing, oblivious to the danger, not bothering to suppress the furious growl that rumbled in his chest as he bodily slammed into the fool, one large h and crushing the wrist of the idiot who thought to strike at you while under his protection. "You dare strike at her? She who is under the protection of the Lord Regent? Of the Ultramarines? Of myself?"

"Wh… Who are you? Why are you so fucking big?" The idiot spluttered, their eyes going wide as they struggled weakly in his grasp. "She is a hindrance and will be remo-urgk!"

Cato plucked the knife out of the idiot's hand and casually flicked it into the foot thick, solid hardwood table, knowing that it would be buried to the hilt. No one short of an astartes or Ogryn was getting that blade out of the table with any kind of swiftness of ease. In the same motion with the same hand he grabbed the yapping fool of a would-be Assassin as he slowly moved backwards, ensuring that his bulk covered you entirely from all eyes in the room, his own cold as the deepest depths of space "I am Cato Sicarius, captain of the second company of the Ultramarines. This diplomat is under my protection. No harm will come to her tonight or at any other time that she is in my care. You will be questioned and you will spill all of the information you have."

He paused for a moment, looking you over. Your eyes were wide and you were trembling ever so slightly. Fear and confusion plain in your scent, though your Diplomat's Mask kept a calm expression on your face. "Did he nick you anywhere before I could come to your side, my lady?" His voice was warmer, gentler but carried just as far.

You swallow past the lump in your throat and shake your head, noticing as several guards began rushing over. You signal for them to slow down - Sicarius was not likely to take more clearly armed strangers moving at speed towards you. Not with the terrible temper he'd been in all night and the casual violence he'd already showed. "No, he didn't do me any harm. The guards are here, you should give the would-be attacker to them for processing."

Cato huffed, sending a suspicious glare at the sheepish and startled guards "… As you command, my lady. You, catch." With that he flung the would-be assassin to the ground, aiming him so that he hit the ground in front of the closest pair of guards with the ease that a baseborn human would chuck a couple of grapes.

The assassin wheezed out "THERE'S ONLY ONE OF HIM! ATTACK! WE'LL GET HER!"

Nearly two-dozen people suddenly drew weapons and charged yourself and Cato. You froze up, unsure what to do.

Cato snorted, entirely unimpressed. He grabbed the large table filled with empty drinks with one hand and threw it at the closest five would-be assassins, scattering them as he pulled you to his side with his other hand. "Stay close my lady. I will make short work of these fools." He picked you up one-handed, setting you on his shoulders and out of the immediate stabbing range of your would-be attackers. He then drew and activated his power sword. He kept one hand on your back to keep you in place as he hacked and slashed at the charging baseline humans.

With each swing of his sword he either decapitated one of your would-be attackers or took off the arm that held the short blade that they'd been wielding. Twelve of them were dead before anyone really had a clear idea as to what the fuck was going on, and Cato was stalking after the closest three, a predator's smirk on the one handed idiot.

"W-wait… Please… I… I've… I've decided to surrend-aaah!" One of them pleaded, screaming when Cato cut one of their legs off, in order to slow them down.

"I don't think that you and the rest of the idiots who made this suicidal charge understand just who and what you're dealing with." Cato purred as he cut another would-be assassin shoulder to naval, spilling their intestines as they staggered back with a pained gurgle. "I am an Ultramarine captain. Do you know how many centuries of combat I have in order to qualify for that position? How many successful campaigns I've lead, mmm? And you idiots sought to harm my charge. Those of you who survive the next several minutes will regret your idiocy for the rest of your lives. Not that the Lord Regent tolerates traitors and assassins to live past their interrogations. With this stunt, you may just get his personal attention… And you should believe me when I say that he has a way of making a person reconsider every life choice that led them to putting them at odds with him."

Two more of the assassins tried to run from Cato - not that they got near to where the illustrious people had fled to the edges of the large room of, screaming and watching in terrified horror as they watch a furious space marine dismember those who dared think that they could fight against them.

One of the assassins desperately threw a blood-soaked dagger at him, which he didn't bother to dodge - he knocked it out of the air with his own blade, so that the wayward projectile didn't harm any of the other quests. He was going to be scolded for frightening the baselines as it was… He was doing his best to minimize potential civilian casualties. The mortal guards were just as useless as Cato expected them to be - half of them had frozen up in fear, the others were trying to avoid being trampled by the wealthy guests.

Cato killed all but two of the would-be assassins, using the fools own knives to pin them in place by their clothing. He did have some blood splattered on his unform, which was a shame, but at least he had made sure that you were wholly clean of blood. He pointed the tip of his power sword at one of the whimpering sword as he heard the familiar rumble of jump-packs. The smile on his face widened a little as a squad of his subordinates in full ceramite entered through one of the large windows, lead by lieutenant Titus.

Titus called out "I heard that there's a commotion going on. If I'd been told that the gala was going to end like this, I'd have sparred you for the honor of guarding our diplomat, captain. I'm not much for fancy parties, but killing idiots is something I revel in. Father's on his way. Who's the weepy bastard at the other end of your sword?"

"One of the fools who attempted to harm our diplomat, Titus. If you and Numitor would please escort her back to Macragge's Honor, where I know she is entirely safe, I would be most grateful. I am going to start interrogating this idiot now." Cato ordered Titus. He was unwilling to let you out of his sight, but he knew that the lieutenant would die to ensure that you were safe. Not there was anything on this world likely to be able to kill him.

Titus sighed "I figured you'd say something like that. Father says to not interrogate prisoners in public. I've got three squads following me to processing the living and the dead. We're all heading back to Macragge's Honor. Father's orders."

Cato huffed but nodded, sheathing his sword "As Father commands." He scoops you up in his arms, tucking you into his chest as he broke into a swift run, Titus and the squad of Ultramarines he'd led surrounding yourself and Cato protectively.

*according to google translate this means my heart in Latin and as Ultramarines are Space Romans... I went with Latin for pet names.

#cato sicarius #x reader #reader insert #cato sicarius x reader #adeptus astartes x reader #warhammer 40k #canon-typical violence #cw: dismemberment #captain titus of the ultramarines #lieutenant titus #technically

38 notes · View notes

random-lil-illing · 2 days

Text

found this weird bug in my food,,, anyone know what it is

36 notes · View notes

sobeksewerrat · 3 days

Note

Y'all were ON TO SOMETHING with the trans Genesis au, cause EVERY SINGLE PERSON who cosplays Adam without his mask gives heavy transmasc energy.

I wanna endearingly punch him in the face.

I love that dorky little wet cat of a man.

@an-theduckin HEHEHEHEHEHE THANK YOIUU

I love him tooooo

He just gives off aggressive trans guy energy, yk?

#sobek yes #the other fruity emo #trans genesis au #technically #the only guy in the bible

39 notes · View notes

happylittleshrub · 17 hours

Text

"Behind the display of the nearest shop lay half-a-hundred plushies, all modelled on the freakish visage and motley fur that greeted him whenever he stared into a mirror.

"Flark me," Rocket groaned, wilting in defeat." -Chapter 19: The Xandarian Job Part I

One of my favorite scenes from the fanfic "It Really Sucks to Have Friends" by TheGreyCoincidence (@coincidentalscribbles) on AO3! Yes, Rocket is wearing an oversized bathrobe, to know why you should read the story :3

#rocket raccoon #guardians of the galaxy #gotg #gotg fanart #gotg rocket #rocket gotg #rocket raccoon fanart #rocket raccoon plush #technically

21 notes · View notes

popcorndispenser · 2 days

Text

Did anyone say... young Des anger issues oneshot? Ft Raymond being awesome?

...No? Just me? Aw. Oh well, here it is -

@jistda pings you right back. Your art inadvertently kicked me in the ass to remind me to post this lmao

Raymond was awoken in the wee hours of the morning by a mighty CRASH from the floor above.

The middle-aged butler slept in the Sycamore manor for the convenience of the madam and master, but in his own unique quarters, seperated enough from them that they needn't think of his existence unless they wished to. Perhaps so he didn't appear to be more of the family than he was.

Raymond was perfectly fine with the arrangement - not needing to pay rent unless he made an unnecessary expense (such as a hot bath) was well worth it in his opinion, as well as the fact that he genuinely enjoyed his job and appreciated not having to take commute to arrive at it every day. It had never stung that he knew they conspired still to keep him out of sight and mind equal, as he was so proficient in that art, working with such speed that it occasionally felt as though the rooms had been compelled to clean themselves by magic.

Seperate he was, but his room was stationed almost directly beneath the room of the young master Desmond, which was of rather some concern considering the volume of the noise he had heard and the fact that the current time was just past 3 in the morning, far too early for a young lad to be up and getting himself into trouble.

No further noise presented itself beside the hurrying of tiny feet, so Raymond was left to assume that the boy's parents hadn't been woken as he himself had... or, unfortunately, that they hadn't cared enough to pay it mind.

Raymond hefted a heavy sigh, slipping from the comfort and warmth of his luxuriant bedsheets to try and make himself presentable, changing into a comfier version of his usual attire and slipping on his patch-pattern slippers. Best to go ensure the boy hadn't hurt himself.

It was a chilly night, the air blooming with the frost of autumn, and Raymond checked several times that the windows were closed tight as he passed by. Making his way up the great staircase he had to watch his step as to not misstep. It would be a boon to illuminate his path, but alas, it wasn't possible. The only available lights were that of the great chandeliers above in the high arched ceiling, and he would not dare to risk waking the master and madam up by alighting those.

The butler paused outside of Desmond's room, hesitating to hear for anything suspicious before rapping his knuckles at the door once, twice, thrice, and calling out for him softly.

Shuffling noises that had been audible within immediately stopped, a childish behaviour that amused him to no end, to think that a sudden absence of noise was in any way /less/ suspicious.

"Young master?" He called, careful to soften his voice, again aware of the boy's parents sleeping down the hall. "Are ye alright?"

Another beat of silence. Raymond held back a slight urge to groan. Instead he simply knocked once more.

"There've been some concerning noises... just open up eh, I only wish to make sure you are alright."

The butler's accent was thicker with sleep, he knew.

"I-I'm okay!" The young master finally called back, voice wobbly and warbling in a way that instantly sent alarm bells to Raymond's head and heart and woke him the rest of the way. "I'm sorry for waking you, really." And the voice grew closer, Desmond obviously moving nearer to the door to be heard without projecting himself. "But there's really nothing to worry about. You can - you /should/ go back to bed."

"Och, I don't think so." Raymond frowned deeply, more determined than ever to see what was amiss. "If you could even allow me to see you, to ensure that you are unharmed, that would be plenty."

"My voice doesn't assure you that I am well?"

"Quite the opposite."

A pause, and then- "Okay." The boy huffed, sounding annoyed. "Okay, okay. One sec-"

Raymond waited patiently until the great oak door finally clicked open, and looked down at the sight of a remarkably uncomfortable looking Desmond Sycamore, bedraggled and eyes ringed with a loss of sleep. The eleven year old looked like he had been dragged through a hedge.

Even with the dim lighting of only the boy's nightlight and the glow of the moon peeking in through his opened curtains, Desmond's was visibly in a state. His normally well-styled curles were a mess on his head like he'd been tearing at them, and his clothes were in a similar dissaray - school tie undone and lying scrunched up over his shoulders, vest gone and his button-up tee that had been freshly ironed and crisp just that evening, now creased and wrinkled with the bottommost button missing. Yet all of this was not nearly as pressing as-

"Yer hands!" Raymond hissed, ignoring all manners as he shoved the door the rest of the way open and yanked the child's hand up to better view it. It was as bad as he'd feared - the knuckles were split and bruised purple, cuticles torn, a nail was chipped. More to that were small cuts all over his fingers and the back of his hand, deeper ones nearer to the knuckles, still oozing small beads of blood. None of it was serious damage and yet it felt like the end of the world to behold. "Bloody Mary, what in hell have you been up to-"

"I-I'm fine!" Desmond desperately protested, trying to pull his hands back to no avail. When Raymond kept looking at him sternly, prompting an answer, the humiliated child finally caved, scrunching his nose as he scowled and gestured for the butler to step further inside. "Quickly, so they don't hear!"

'Are they the boogeyman to you, lad?' Raymond mused, confused and concerned. 'One would hope a boy's first instinct when he is hurt would be to go to his parents, but...'

But the Sycamores had never really acted like a true family. From the day they had adopted Des, Raymond had privately mused if it had simply been a checked box for them, something to complete this concept of 'grow up, marry, start a business, raise a child' that society propagated no matter the circumstance, a completely cynical decision. It was an unpleasant thought though sadly not uncharacteristic of the couple he knew so well by now.

The boy's room was in a worse state than he was. Fresh sheets wrenched up and around like he'd fought with them, curtains wrenched over, and most obtrusively was a shattered vase on the ground by his study area. Having once been am ostentatious gift from the elder master's work friends, the man had placed it in Desmond's room, citing it as an apparently greatly valuable antique he'd thought Desmond would enjoy due to his 'interest in archaeology', not knowing the boy's 'interest' only extended toward the ancient Azran civilization and not much else. Well... it was currently in pieces on the carpet, so it didn't matter after all.

"I didn't mean to knock it, honest." Desmond mumbled, head bowed and playing with his hands. Raymond watched with concern as he kept digging his nails into the damage, exacerbating it further. Was he /trying/ to harm himself-? "I got the cuts from trying to bin it. I didn't think the noise would wake anyone up. Really, I'm sorry."

Raymond reached out to seperate the boy's nails from his hand before he drew even more blood, and the youngster had enough presence of mind to look abashed at being caught doing it. "If that was an accident, what of the rest of this?" The butler pressed gently.

Desmond went red. "No, no. Um. The rest, I guess was intentional. Or not really. Ugh... It's not like I was trying to mess everything up, I just..." he slumped, red eyes dim and welling up. "I got really upset and I started lashing out at everything."

"What could've possibly incensed ye so much at 3 in the ruddy morning?"

The boy tensed, screwing his eyes shut. A beat, and then- "I can't remember Theo's face anymore." Desmond whispered.

Ah. That clicked it into place. Any frustration melted out of the man like water, and in it's place sat a deep melancholy.

Raymond knew what happened to Desmond's family - had been told at length during one of the boy's many episodes of which he had never felt safe to inform his 'parents' - and ever since first even getting an implication of the details had felt a deep sorrow hearing about it. It was obvious that the incident that seperated Desmond from his parents and particularly from his brother had scarred and emotionally damaged him, and unfortunately may just do so for life. Theodore was the light of Desmond's life even as far away as he was, the reason the boy gave for everything he did, the goals he worked towards. Of course the idea of him fading away from memory would hurt.

And the boy had had one of his... episodes. Had probably punched the walls, or perhaps even that massive vase, and nearly broken his bleeding hand in the process. Had stayed alone as his thoughts spiralled, still not seeking out any comfort.

"Why didn't you wake me?" Raymond wondered softly.

Desmond's face scrunched up bitterly, and the young master turned away so any further expressions wouldn't be seen.

"I didn't want you to get tired of this stuff. I didn't want you to go go away."

Raymond exhaled slowly, feeling tears surge in his own eyes, and before he could think it through he had dropped to one knee and pulled the boy tightly to his chest, muffling Desmond's choked sob of surprise. "I will never go away, do ye hear me?" He murmered, running a hand comfortingly through the boy's hair, an action he knew the master of the house should be here to do, and felt another intense fire of anger burn through him. When was the last time Mr Sycamore had even spoken to his child?, "Through hell and high water, young master, I will stick with you. Heaven knows someone ought to."

Desmond curled up against him, a week keen breaking through the boy's lips as he wept. "I miss him. I miss him so much. God, Raymond, it hurts so much. Destroying things - destroying myself, I thought it'd help, but it didn't - I'm sorry."

"I know, I know." Raymond soothed, closing his eyes so as to not allow any tears of his own to fall. "I'm so sorry, lad. But please don't hurt yourself. It makes me awfully sad as well. Please come to me next time you feel this way."

"Okay" Desmond gasped out, hands tightening. "M'sorry."

"I know, lad."

"I'm so sorry."

"I know. I know."

In the end, Raymond cleaned up the remainders of the razor-sharp shards, all too aware that he shouldn't leave the boy alone by them, not trusting him to not mess with them again. And by morning come Desmond was perfectly presentable again, hair combed back and clothes perfectly straightened. Neither of his parents commented on his bandaged knuckles.

And though Desmond now looked as calm as the ocean beyond, Raymond /seethed/ on his behalf.

#desmond sycamore #raymond #oneshot #drabble #idk #words #tw blood and self injury kinda?#professor layton #jean descole #fic #technically #idk idk IDK #I HOPE THIS IS OK

28 notes · View notes

your-ne1ghbor · 2 days

Text

Magnifico is such a cool dad!

womp womp

yes he uses hair jell :3

(he secretly eats it too)

god damn it now he ate too much wtf man

(i might re-render it later, doesn't look good lol)

20 notes · View notes

bluebutlikenotalways · 3 days

Text

What if we were a dancer and a knight…and we were both girls?

#Cookie run #rose cookie #raspberry mousse cookie #gender swap #technically #rasprose #ok look…lesbians ok #Eye strain #i think #i wanted to try that colour splash thing 😔 then I just kinda kept splashing lol

21 notes · View notes

gremlem · 3 days

Text

One time my sibling forgot his name and called him "The Hole"

#ive been trying to draw every day even if i dont have a lot if time or its not good #trying to get some of that “definitely procrastinating doing other stuff” energy that i had back #goobie art #the spot #atsv spot #across the spiderverse #johnathon ohnn #burrower #spidersona #technically

22 notes · View notes

owainigo · 20 days

Text

in the kingdom of the blind the one-eyed are kings

#dungeon meshi #delicious in dungeon #mithrun #marcille donato #thistle #yaad #technically #laios touden #(not)#art tag

14K notes · View notes

foone · 6 months

Text

Bad idea: Age gap discourse but in a fantasy land where there's multiple races who have vastly different lifespans and life styles.

Is it wrong for a 27 year old human to date a 140 year old stone elf, considering most stone elves don't get out of diapers till their 30s?

Is it wrong for a 80 year old dwarf to date a two year old fire wisp, when fire wisps only live up to 5 years (between the eruptions) and have memories of their past lives, so in a way they're "born" at age 400,000+? That octogenarian dwarf is way younger than the fire wisp that's only physically younger than some of the socks the dwarf has!

Is it wrong for a chronomancer who was never born to date, well, anyone? They are zero years old and infinity years old and negative one hundred and seventeen years old all at once. They look like an old human, sure, with the long white beard and the wrinkly skin, but as far as anyone can tell, they've always looked like that. We've seen the cave paintings.

Is it wrong for a 30 year old lizardman (that's old in lizardman years) to date a human who is 60 years old in biological years (because of aging spells), 26 years old in lived-experience years, but only 13 years old in calendar years? (ie, they were born 13 years ago, but spent some of that time in sideways timelines, so they've lived more years than have passed in their home timeline?)

Is it wrong for a 12,000 year old dragon date a pile of 400 kobolds when kobolds only live like 10 years on average, but reach full maturity in one year? And if you disagree, can you do anything about it? You do know what happened to the last policeman who tried to arrest a dragon, right? Their city is still smoldering, 50 years later.

Is it wrong for anyone to date the time worm? It's the same age, every year. So the age gap can only intensify. If you start dating the time worm when you're both the same age, when do you break it off because you've become too much older than them?

And most confusing of all... What about the fairies? They could be anything between a thousand and a day old, they would lie about their age either way, and they can look like whatever they want. There's fairies we know for a fact have been around since the founding of The City of Towers, who met the silent mother herself, and also look like they're at most ten years old. Is it wrong to date them, or just really uncomfortable for everyone who sees it? And on the other side there's fairies who are "born" (hatched? They come from plants, I'm not sure what the verb even would be. Seeded? Sprouted, maybe) this week who are already appearing like middle-aged men and dancing with widows in what looks like a scheme to run off with her fortune but they never take the money, because what would a fairy want with worthless metal discs? Maybe fairies have a hive mind or genetic memory or reincarnation with full memories, they'd never tell you or give you a straight (or consistent) answer anyway.

Stonefolk are really the only inter-race dating situation anyone can agree on. They're unthinking & unmoving solid rock during the day, so those hours don't count. Thus their "real age" is a nice even half of their true age. So if you meet a stonefolk who was dug out 30 years ago, watch out: that's a 15 year old, and if you're a 25 year human, that's too young for you, even though their dig-date is five years before your birth-date.

EDIT: 2024/01/12: Changed the name of the Stonefolk

#Age gap discourse shitposting #One hundred and one magical pistols #Technically #My writing

17K notes · View notes

riaki · 5 months

Text

i literally cant stop thinkin’ about highschoolbully!gojo who used to be your ride or die ‘til he started getting attention from those popular jock type guys who are always assholes to everyone. and him being.. well, him means he preens under attention no matter who it’s from, so naturally he started to gravitate towards that group and their little troop of cheerleading fangirls. and then he started distancing from you and without either of you really realizing it, you’ve slipped between the other’s fingers. but the way he acts towards you makes you think he let you fall without moving a muscle to slow you down.

soon enough, a year swings by and by the end of it he’s gone from your life, save as just another face in the gaggle of boys who make crude jokes and laugh at smart kids and pop milk cartoons during lunch just for the hell of it. but you’re minding your own business, ‘cause you’re mature enough to realize that people come and go, no matter how close you might’ve been and you think it’s unfortunate that so many memories could be thrown aside in a blink of an eye, but it makes a lot of sense when you walk past satoru and his friends bullying some random kid. you don’t know him, but you’ve heard enough to realize it’s his girlfriend satoru’s flirting with while his ‘gang’ kick at the kid. and it’s sickening, but you don’t say anything when you walk by.

and when you don’t ever see the kid afterward and catch the dark eyebags under his girlfriend’s eyes, you come to the cruel realization that satoru isn’t the boy who’d bandage the scrape on your knee you got from tripping in the playground or buy you a soda because he’s noticed your sweat when you were walking home and you don’t have any money left on you.

it’s a glass half empty, half full type of situation. on the one hand, you don’t have him anymore. on the other hand, you don’t have him anymore. that is, you lost your best friend, but you’ve also lost someone who has the potential to absolutely ruin your life. and you don’t know whether to be glad or not, so you just mind your own business even if it hurts a little when he ignores you, stops tossing paper at your head in class (unless it’s to embarrass you) and stops walking you to and from school.

but the cherry on top of the shit cake is that he doesn't get it. so when he approaches you in the library one day after satiating the need to tear pages from books and make them into paper airplanes to throw at people, he doesn't seem to understand why you try to ignore him, or put off his attempts to hold a convo. but the worst part is that he's just sleazy and clueless about it. it's like he took an eraser and wiped every single year of your friendship off the chalkboard with one fell swipe, and you wish he'd done that too to the less-than-appropriate messages he and his friends had written towards one of your classmates.

he doesn't understand why you're hesitant to talk, and that's what makes it the worst. he always thinks he's in the right, and he keeps setting you off and it sucks that he knows exactly what sets you off. "i'm an asshole? what're you talking about? really, you're in over your head. you never change." he laughs, and you ignore him, and he gets bored, and he's about to leave when he spots your wallet open next to your book, on the table. there's a polaroid peeking out, and he recognizes the tufts of white hair to be him. but there's a weird feeling in his chest, and he thinks he gets it from you, so he leaves because he thinks you're weird.

and it goes on; you practically become a nobody in satoru's eyes, because of that weird, weird feeling you give him. it's unfamiliar and he's never gotten it before and he doesn't like it. but it's unavoidable when your professor pairs you two for the end-of-term project. and of course, you're ready to do all the work, because that's how it always was between you when you were kids. but sometimes he'd surprise you by helping, and he'd show you that he was actually intelligent just to earn your praise because he liked it. but he ignored you, and you did everything, and it would've been okay if not for his friends egging him on to present your entire project when the day came and leave you with no content for a grade.

that's the first time it hits him: does he really want to do that? but it's not like it'll be the first time; you've always taken the hits for him, because you're naturally smart and you'll pick yourself back up in no time, and you get why he does it, so it'll be okay. so he agrees, and he enjoys the time he gets to spend with you through it, but the nagging weird feeling that blooms in his chest like a pesky weed only grows stronger. that's all his feelings ever seem to do around you.

but before you know it, presentation day swings around. you had coffee this morning (on his card), and you're ready enough to shoot him a small smile that sends his heart a-flutter. so you go up, feeling up to the task and ready until— he starts talking, and talking, and talking, and people don't think that he's taking your words out of your mouth because he's intelligent when he wants to make you praise him and you don't get the chance to get a word in and you notice the guys are laughing and hitting each other's shoulders to themselves in the upper rows and before you know it it's over. people are clapping but moreso they're looking at you and they're whispering— but it's terribly loud and they don't bother to hide it. they call you things that shouldn't bother you but they do anyway, because it's satoru's fault, and you're such a fool for thinking you could have it your way again.

so you leave class early, excusing yourself and ignoring the way your professor gives you a distasteful look and scribbles something next to your name. you're out the door in a second, neglecting your bags and satoru's a little lost because— didn't he just do good? people were clapping, and laughing with him and not at him, but it's attention either way so he doesn't mind. so why do you? why did you look at him like he stabbed you in the back? and his friends are calling his name, and he wishes he could chase after you and do something but he doesn't.

and it's a little sickening what they do next; one of their girls grabbed your bags and tossed it to them, and they've started rifling through it as if they own it, tearing up your shit and dumping everything onto the ground and he's kind of just... glued to the chair by his feelings. his heart feels like it's been patched together and the weird fuzzy feeling he had in his chest that's been cultivating has extinguished to be replaced with something he realizes he's only ever felt when it comes to you— guilt.

he's so lost in his thoughts that he doesn't realize his friend is silently offering him something— nudging his side to get his attention. he takes it without really realizing he moved his hand, and his silent friend with the gauges in his ears and the dark hair gets up and leaves without another word. when satoru looks down, he realizes he's been given your wallet. "the reward for betraying your baby," they call it. like all you're worth is the money in your account.

he's a little curious. that's how he's always been; asking you questions, rummaging through your stuff, laughing sheepishly and shaking it off when you caught him red-handed. so he opens it up, ignoring your sad little cards and the funny look on your license. he's looking for something, subconsciously; but he doesn't find it. there's no white tuft of hair to suggest his presence in your life; just empty black leather. nothing else.

and he doesn't see you after. or the following day. or the following weeks; weeks that turn into months that turn into the end of school and he's graduating but you're not by his side. and neither are his so called 'friends'; the only thing he has to their name is your own ruined friendship. it's a shame; he feels alone. very alone. no fuzzy weird feeling, not even that thing people call guilt. no attention to chase, and connections are ever harder to make. it shouldn'tve mattered that much, right? it was just a presentation. why wouldn't you just come back to him like you always did? were you not still friends...?

but the blood is still on his hands, and he doesn't manage to ever wash it off. guilt has a way of festering; of weighing on the heart 'till there's nothing left to feel or think but unfortunate circumstance and what could've been done differently. it just sucks that he never tried hard enough to keep you from slipping between his grasp. and now, he doesn't even have a polaroid to your friendship's name.

pt.2

10K notes · View notes