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ash5monster01 · 9 months

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August

Pairing: Billy Tepper x FemReader

Warnings: language, mentions of smut, mentions of terrorism, angst, fluff, mentions of nudity, summer fling

Summary: based on August by Taylor Swift. Only one month of the year you get with Billy Tepper and even if all of it feels like it will last forever you know he was never really yours to begin with, that August was just an alternate reality for you both. An escape from the shitty lives you both had been dealt, a safe haven within each other.

word count: 3,527

Masterlist

It was sort of an unspoken rule. Both of you never really acknowledged it but had repeated the motions so many times that you didn’t have to act surprised when that time of year rolled around. August. Your favorite. The only month of the year that nothing else mattered in the world but you and Billy Tepper. It started when you were kids, sand castles that seemed taller than skyscrapers, cherry popsicles dripping down your chins, campfires with scary stories in the dark. You weren’t really sure when it had changed. More than likely the moment you both got older and realized your lives weren’t perfect. That here, at the beach, was the only place in the world that you both felt a sense of comfort.

So now summers were spent as each others family. A distraction from the sad truth that no one really cared that for the entire month of August you bothered to contact no one but each other. Sand castles turned into late night swimming, cherry popsicles turned into favoring the taste of each other more than the sweet treat, and scary stories in the dark turned into wrinkled bed sheets, warm skin pressed together, and whispers floating in the dark. It meant everything and nothing all at the same time. August was one month out of the year after all, and majority of it was spent pretending it was never really real.

Yet you knew he’d be here. August 1st like always. You didn’t have to write or call to know that. You had done it enough times that by now the salt air and familiar rust on his door was more welcoming than any other home you’ve stayed in. You really never needed anything more. So here you were, awaiting the first of 31 days guaranteed with him. It was funny how 30 days could feel like so much and so little all at the same time. Maybe because you knew what it felt like when it was over. August slips away into a moment in time because none of it was ever really yours to begin with.

The minute he opens the door all the memories of previous summers become clearer. The cut off shirts, soft green eyes, faded freckles, and curly champagne hair as perfect as before. It takes him only a moment to smile at you. Both lost in the memory of you twisted in the bed sheets, draining a bottle of wine, sharing secrets you'd never dare tell anyone else. You were pretty sure you were the only person on earth that knew how he felt about everything and yet this was all you had. August. He knows it too. That's why he steps to the side and lets you into the empty summer home, the one you both make yours for one month out of the year. He may have never been yours but for now this was enough. Wanting was enough. Taking one month out of the year to cancel plans for him was enough.

"Hey sweetheart" the lopsided smile, sweet as honey tone, and deep stare was enough to make you forget that he didn't call when he was back at school. In fact he never did, and that was the worst part of it all because you remember thinking he was yours and then it’s radio silence eleven months out of the year.

"Tepper, famed appearance as always" you teased, dropping your bag on the couch and slipping off the sandals with thousands of summer miles on them.

"It wouldn't be summer if I wasn't fashionably late, as always. Not my fault you seem to have radar on me" he grinned, hands tucked gently against his hips as he stalked towards you. This was what you waited all year for. Now that you were both getting older you were living for the hope of it all, getting to keep him. Wanting used to be enough, because you were both growing up, changing for the better, and so many people in your lives had held you back from that. It used to be enough for you, but now you weren't sure.

"I don't need radar, especially since you show up on the same day every single year" you deadpanned because it was true. August first, on the dot, like always. It usually only takes until midnight to already be curled up in his arms. Yet Billy just smirked as he moved closer, now only an inch between you. You crossed your arms over your chest, trying to act like you didn't want to smother him with all the kisses and hugs in the world.

"You look good Y/N" he said, finally using your name and your whole body tingled everywhere at the mention of it. He was the only person in the world that had this kind of effect on you.

"Thanks, you don't look so bad yourself Billy" he wasn't as tough as you, weak the moment your tongue curled around his name and it settled on your lips. He wanted to kiss it off and consume it. Keep it sealed tightly, wrapped with a bow, directly in his heart. So he didn't care when he squeezed your hips, the doughy flesh igniting his soul on fire, and reminding him that you were real and not some dream he had conjured up all these years. "I really missed you"

"I always miss you" you whispered back, knowing he wouldn't know what you mean. Even though you had this month, this small chunk of time dedicated to loving one another, you would miss him even when he was right next to you. You were missing him right now, even as his hands gripped your hips and pulled you flush against him. His warmth radiated across you but you already missed it because in 30 short days it would be gone and it would never mean a thing because he was never yours.

Intsead of letting him try and figure it out you finally uncrossed your arms to wrap around his neck, fingers curling into the small tufts of hair that laid there. He was so handsome, so perfect, even when he was 13 and had braces. Even when he was nine and had a permanent chocolate icecream ring stained around his lips. He was Billy, the boy who had too much love and in return didn't get loved enough. That's why when he was here every summer you made sure he felt it. How much you loved him, because even if his parents didn't give a shit, you did. So you smiled up at him, breaths intermingling with each other, as you slotted your lips between his own. A soft hum of satisifaction after a dreadfully long wait. You were sure you'd never get tired of his kisses, it was the only piece of him that stayed perfectly memorized in your brain.

"Are you sure?" he whispered to you, like he always did, feeling guilty like he kept you from something bigger and better by waiting around for him to come and give you the tiny bit he could offer. You thought it was sweet because you had never not been sure. Never have I ever before was a thing that only existed with him.

"For you Billy Tepper, always" you told him and he kissed you sweetly and quickly again. These were the moments you lived for. The first summer you had kissed him, had spent it as something more, was the hardest. That's because even though he had never called before it somehow stung even worse the summer after you had become something more. That's when you realized you had to live for the hope of it all, prepared to cancel plans just in case he called, meeting behind the mall to avoid getting caught by summer friends. You thought it was summer love, that you would be an us, but after that first summer you realized that it wasn't the case. He was never yours to lose, but at least you could get lost in the memory. Sneaking your parents wine and giving yourself to him for the very first time. He was your first everything.

"Want to go to the beach?' he asked, keeping you wrapped tighly in his arms, lips swollen from devouring your own. You knew your cheeks were flushed and a grin wider than the house itself was on your face, but right now, for just a moment, you had Billy.

"Of course I do" you told him, and he smiled back. Slowly he let you go but kept your hand locked in his as he led you to the back door that would lead you on the trail down to the beach. You always loved how you could hear the waves from his parents beach house. It was comforting, like a warm hug you definitely didn't get a lot of as a kid. Billys parents had gotten the house when he was a baby, they had only come until he was about six. After that they got a divorce and didn't really care much to go to the beach house. Yet Billy persisted to go, every summer, you imagined it was to see you. So Rosita their house keeper would come with him for the month of August. The first to the thirty first, no more, no less, and it was a miracle. By the time he was 16 and could drive himself he came alone, his parents no longer caring because they never really did. That was the first summer, when you'd pull up in your car and tell him to get in. Find places to make out like desperate and lonely teenagers, and wish it could stay that way forever.

Sometimes you wonder if things woud have been different that summer if you hadn't gotten that call. When Billy was 17 his prep school had been overtaken by terrorists. He was a hostage, his best friend died, and somehow he had gotten him and his friends out. Only Billy Tepper could do that, troublemaker at heart. After all that you couldn't find yourself to be mad or heart broken, just happy he was alive. So you let yourself do it all over again the next summer, just this time you didn't get attached. And you've done it every summer since, even through college. You worried this was the last summer, your both graduated with degrees now. It was time to be adults, settle down, get married. You were no longer meant for summer flings, a month of zero responsibilty, and hope for the future. The future was here and he still wasn’t yours. So one last summer you told yourself.

“How was senior year, valedictorian I assume?” he asked, your intertwined hangs swinging between each other. You chuckled and lightly whipped him with the towel in your other hand.

“No, but I did good. Passed all my classes, had a boyfriend for a short while, cried at graduation. The usual college things” you told him and Billy didn’t expect the jealousy to burn in his stomach. He knew it was his fault for never calling, never allowing himself to love you when he’s not in town. Still the idea of you with someone else, doing all the things he did with you first, made his heart yearn for what could be. He wished it could be, but without this place you had nothing tying you together.

“That’s good, I guess same. Other than the crying part” you laughed lightly, nudging your shoulder into his as your bare feet finally hit the soft sand. This feeling, so perfect and all consuming. This is why you always came back.

“Don’t you just love this place?” you sighed dreamily and Billy realized he couldn’t tear his eyes from you. Staring at the sea like it was your first time, you stared at it the same way you did when you were 6. He loved when you stared at him like that because that’s when he knew you loved him.

“I really do” he spoke, continuing to stare at you because damnit he loves you. He’s loved you since he was a little kid. He’d shove Terrance Mitchells face in the sand over and over again because he said you were weird one time when you were 8. He’s loved you since then, probably even before then.

“Let’s pick a spot” you urged, finally turning to face him and he smiled as he followed you to a good spot directly in the sun. He wished he could love you outside of this place. The thing was Billy had seen a lot, he had been beaten, watched people die, watched his best friend die, watched as his parents gave up on him. Here was the only place in the world he hadn’t been hurt. If he were to love you outside of it, he knew he would lose you too.

You knew Billy was tired from travel. He always was when he came down. He definitely would have preferred to just curl up in bed, you rubbing his back as he got some rest. Of course he could never say no to you either, so instead he was laying face down in his towel, sleeping on the beach just to make you happy. You watched as his bare back risen and fell with each even breath he took in, scars now long faded from that dreadful time years ago. The sun practically glowed off of him and you wished you could write your name on his back. Your hand reached out, tracing the first few letters. By the time you had finished and began tracing ‘I love you’ his eyes had fluttered open, small smile playful at the corner of his lips.

“I love waking up next to you” he muttered, voice raspy from sleep. Your heart swelled at the notion, rolling over to wrap your arm more around him.

“Then you can do it for the next 30 days” you told him and he smiled, head lifting to peck a sweet kiss to your lips.

“I’m glad” he told you and you hummed in contentment. Happy to be here just the two of you.

“You hungry?”

Just like always you cooked for him while he showered. Nothing felt more like summer then wearing a slightly damp bikini, unbuttoned jean shorts, skin radiating heat from the sun, hair tangled and piled on top of your head, while you cooked for the two of you. It was exactly how life should be, how you imagined life with him would be like if you ever got to share it together away from this place.

“Smells good” suddenly Billy was invading your space, firm front pressed softly against your back, hands caressing your rib cage, wet hair dripping onto your shoulder.

“Just in time, I just finished” you smiled, head turning to look back at him. He pressed a quick peck to your lips before letting go, allowing you to serve the dish.

“Always spaghetti the first night” he teased, taking his normal seat at the table. It had six seats but you both had your assigned ones, his at the head and you right next to him. Even if the table wasn’t full it always felt like it was.

“It’s tradition, you know it, and I know it” you told him, setting the pot down and taking your seat beside him.

“Is this our last first night?” he whispered into the air, the same fear of crushing adulthood taking this month of peace away from you both. You took a long chug of your glass of wine, knowing it was the first of many this month. The bottles slipped away faster than the month did.

“I hope not, but I’m afraid it might be unavoidable” you wore a sad look, heart clenching over a loss you probably weren’t even allowed to mourn. It was all pretend anyway.

“I start work with my father next month. Once that happens I fear he won’t favor a month leave at a time” Billy told you, knowing that now that he had his degree, had done what his father wanted of him, he was imprisoned by the man forever now.

“I have a job lined up too, I don’t think they’d be so quick to give a months leave to the new girl” you admitted as well, knowing that this truly was the last summer.

“Then let’s pick a weekend then, the first weekend of August. We can do it every year-”

“No Billy” you said, tears burning at the back of your eyes. You lifted your head, pleading that they wouldn’t fall. “I can’t spend the rest of my life pretending that two days a year with you will be enough. A month already kills me”

“Y/N, I don’t know what you mean?” Billy began to shake his head and despite your protest the tears began to fall.

“It means that I love you Billy. In a way that I just can’t turn it off when the month is over. You haunt me every day and have held me back from allowing myself to love someone who can give me more than one month at a time. I can’t settle for 2 days out of 365. I either need all of you or none of you, so I can finally be happy” Billy’s heart shattered as you spoke this, not realizing the damage he had done to you through all of this.

“You don’t think I love you too. That’s it’s impossible for me to be with anyone else because of you. I’ve tried and it sucks, that’s why I come back every August” he spoke frantically, wanting you to know that you weren’t alone in this.

“Then you need to agree Billy. If you love me please let me go. At the end of this month let me go, say goodbye forever, and let me make a life for myself. I want to love someone so much it hurts and I can’t do that if I’ve already given my heart to you” you pleaded with him, begging him and maybe some higher being to allow yourself to say goodbye to Billy Tepper forever, even if it was the last thing you wanted to do.

“I can’t do that, it’s selfish, I know. I want you to love me, I want to be with you every day too-”

“Then why don’t you Billy! You could’ve had me four years ago, I would’ve followed you to whatever college. I would’ve moved halfway across the country for you. But the 31st rolls around and you never call! That’s on you” you yelled, trying to understand why he can’t love you enough to love you away from this place.

“I can’t! I can only love you here because nothing bad has ever happened here!” his words left you in shock, realizing what he had meant, what he had been battling with the last seven years.

“Billy, that can’t be true” your hand was reaching for him now, tugging yourself closer to comfort him as tears ran from his own eyes.

“It is, it’s the only place in this world I haven’t been hurt. Whenever I leave something happens like my parents get divorced, I’m expelled from another school, my best friend gets shot while terrorists have taken over, I get rejected from my dream college, my Mom stops returning my calls. If I take you away from this place, you’ll end up hurting me too” now your were hugging him, practically sitting in his lap as he cried and confessed this, spaghetti now cold.

“Billy you’d never lose me” you told him, hands running through his hair as you comforted him.

“You can’t guarantee that, it could be completely out of your control” he told you, face nuzzled into your chest and you sighed, lifting his face to meet your own.

“Nothing ever really is in your control. Sometimes you just have to take that risk. I’m willing to try if you are too” you told him, his green eyes glossy and searching your own.

“If I lose you, I don’t think I’d ever recover” he told you, small pout on his lips. You smiled and kissed him, kissed him for the first time knowing you have the chance to keep him.

“Me too Billy, so why don’t we take that risk together” you whispered, forehead pressed against his own. A small smile formed on his face, realizing for the first time he didn’t entirely dread his future.

“Okay, together” and suddenly he was scooping you up. A squeal leaving your lips as he rushed you to the bedroom, where he had wanted you the moment you stepped through the door. This time he was gonna have you and know there was a chance he could have you even after the month was over. Twisted in the bed sheets, no longer lost in the memory. No more August slipping away into a moment of time.

a/n: @saint-petah-the-good had commented on my list of people I write for suggesting I write for Billy which I haven’t don’t in such a long while. The Toy Soldiers fandom is small, minuscule, and as of late I haven’t seen anything written for the fandom in a very long time. The movie despite having harsh topics is one of my favorites and Billy Tepper, infamous trouble maker, deserves some love. so even if you’ve never seen Toy Soldiers I suggest giving it a shot, or just read this, it’s heart wrenching, and I’m very proud of it.

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companionwolf · 1 year

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Toy Soldiers Ch 1

The Commander has little these days, after the invasion, after the tank. But they have a small house they've built in the wilderness, and what passes for a bed, and a tiny garden with a well.

They're on the edge of an old city, one they venture into only to find what they can't make or forage. They've recovered a sewing machine, books, crafting applies, and most days are spent in the silence idly passing time.

Some distant part of them asks if they will ever fulfill their title again. Wonders if they might be better off serving what little resistance there is to ADVENT's occupation.

The Commander shakes their head.

They've already run that course. That person died in 2015. In the tank. What they are now is something transient-- waiting for the end of all things as quietly as they can.

They find the first, a 6-inch articulated action figure of a soldier in the city, in the overgrown weeds of a park near the edge of a murky lake.

He's caked in mud, little uniform dirty. There's a miniature assault rifle on his back. The Commander, who is here to forage for anything edible, gathers him up in their hands, rubs the mud off his cheek.

"Hi," they murmur.

(Any louder than a whisper and they'll attract the not-human-anymore that roam somewhat aimlessly around, or worse the ADVENT patrols that still way their way through the city sometimes.)

The soldier doesn't say anything. That's OK. Sometimes things don't talk immediately, or at all.

They tuck him into a pocket and return to their gathering. When they're done, near sunset, they trek across the city back toward home as far as they can in the fading light, holing up silent in a decrepit apartment as the not-humans-any more groan in the dark below.

The Commander ducks into the bathroom of the apartment, pulls the door shut. They take the toy soldier from their pocket and set him sitting on the sink counter.

"Gonna clean you up, okay?"

He doesn't speak, but as they pull the assault rifle away, gingerly start to remove the little clothes, they sense trepidation from the toy.

"Hey, hey, it's okay," they say. "Don't have any water to spare on you -- I'll do that when we get home proper-- but the least I can do is get the dried stuff off you. I'll put your clothes back on in a second."

The unease under their fingers pitches down a bit, as they hold the now naked figurine closer and pry gently at the caked on mud with dull fingernails. It's with what they think is hesitant curiosity. He's asking who they are, they realize. Why they're doing this.

What happened to the world.

"Were you asleep?"

Sometimes once they've woken proper, in the way that sparks consciousness, they fall back into a half unawareness if left alone. The Commander has always theorized it's a way to cope with the reality of being a sentient object, that to be fully aware the whole time would drive anyone mad, but they're never really asked anything about that to confirm it.

Yes, says the soldier. The voice-coming-in is analogous to an older, rougher human's, sounds slightly hoarse, is blurred like static interference around the edges. This one hasn't spoken in a long time.

"Me too," they say, which isn't exactly true, but it seems to set the toy at more of an ease. "Short of it is aliens invaded, took over the planet. They fucked up the cities, left them uninhabitable. People still came back, but..."

Do you know my human?

The Commander shakes their head. "I'm gonna be frank, I don't know how long you'd been sitting there, but I don't think your person's around anymore." They grimace.

The soldier is quiet for a while. The Commnader brushes the crumbles of mud they've managed to remove off the counter, start humming oh so quiet as they comb a finger through his hair to get the dirt out. "You need a proper bath," they say. "So do your clothes."

You never told me who you are, the solider says.

"Neither have you," they answer.

My name is Central.

"Hi, Central," they say. "You can call me the Commander."

The toy's interest piques. You're military?

"Was," they say, gently blowing a huff of hot breath into Central's hair to free any remaining debris. "I don't do any commanding anymore."

Central asks something that doesn't parse exactly through his transmission to them, but they get the gist-- did you get defeated? By the aliens?

Is it that obvious?

They nod, rubbing a thumb against his cheek again. They get a transmission of the human equivalent to frowning. There isn't dirt there anymore, he says.

"I know."

Is humanity gone?

"Nah, but we will be," they say, mind drifting to the tank, of what they saw. "Nothing to do but wait."

Why don't you try to stop it? He sounds almost annoyed, indignant. It's your job, right? Was your job?

"I'm not that person anymore," the Commander says. "Besides, ADVENT is bigger than I could ever be. I'm happy to just... live while I can."

Central is quiet again. The Commander shakes out the tiny clothes before redressing him. "We'll get home tomorrow, if everything goes well," they say.

The toy solider says nothing. The Commander shrugs, slides him back into their pocket and brushes themselves off as they exit the bathroom and lie down on the ratty couch in the middle of the apartment.

The silence stretches in the dark. Then: "Hey, Central?"

Commander?

"It's nice to meet you. Being alone kind of sucks."

He doesn't respond for so long the Commander thinks he won't, but then they pick up: Yeah, it does. I'm glad to meet you too.

A pause.

Even if you're a deserter.

"You're not real miltiary," they mumble, "you can't say that like it's personal."

I know loyalty. I know duty.

"And I know when those things mean nothing," they answer. "You dont know my whole story, anyway."

Then tell me it. We've got time.

So they do.

#wolf barking #tailstrokes #toy soldiers #toy soldiers fic

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hershelchocolateart · 11 months

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Was having One Of Those Weeks and just wanted to doodle Lyf being happy and loved <3 I just love them so much

#artists on tumblr #my art #illustration #sketchbook #the mechanisms #the bifrost incident #the mechanisms the bifrost incident #lyfrassir edda #the mechanisms lyfrassir edda #marius von raum #the mechanisms marius von raum #the mechanisms fanart #the mechanisms the toy solider #the toy soldier #fun fact! this sketchbook page altered the path of my current fic #monsters lyf

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overlyenthusiasticfictionreader · 9 months

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Tiny Book Bang 2023!

So this year is Renegade Bindery's first Tiny Book Bang. Typesetters formatted typesets to be any size smaller than a quarto, and binders later bound up those books!

I made two typesets for the Bang this year: the Kaer Morhan Bookclub by Jack Ironsides, and Gilded Chain by Sroloc_Elbisivni. I am delighted by both books I received from other binders! I learned so much from seeing the bindings that other folks completed! I felt very connected to our fan community, crafting across fandoms and international borders!

But this post is mostly about the book I bound for the Bang: Toy Soldiers by Copperbadge!

@mourningmountainsbindery made a delightful octavo-sized typeset of this story, "lightly comic-book themed" as described by the typesetter. There are three books because I bound for myself, my typesetter, and I always like to tempt the author with a book if I can. Both mourningmountainsbindery and @copperbadge have received their books, so I am free to share!

I tried to sneak in as many fun things as I could. Here we have some shiny foil on the title page.

The endbands are red/white/blue for Steve and red/gold for Tony.

I was incredibly fortunate that 4th of July was right around the corner when I shopped for materials. I found very appropriate cloth for the bookcloth cover ;) And the endpapers I have had for a very long time (a decade?!), so I was definitely glad to find them a home!

Thank you mourningmountainsbindery for the lovely typeset, thank you copperbadge for a lovely story! And thank you mods for all the hard work you do in the background.

#book binding #my books #Cat's Paw Bindery #Toy Soldiers #copperbadge #Renegade Bindery #Renegade Publishing #Tiny Book Bang 2023 #MCU #mourningmountainsbindery #fic rec

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mandiffe · 1 year

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forget the biscuits what if ted gives trent a toy soldier. WHAT IF TED'S ALREADY GIVEN TRENT A TOY SOLDIER WHAT THEN

#but trent's such a loser he didn't even notice a toy soldier somewhere in his stuff #hope they address the toy soldier thing in s3🤞🏻🤞🏻#thank you church-of-lilith your fic made me thinking thoughts #tedtrent #tedependent #trent crimm

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asilverbladetotheheart · 1 year

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I want to give Ivy Alexandria a hug :(

#I read this one fic that described her memories as only being able to remember what she writes down and read again later and that made me #so sad but then I was happy again thinking about how much these people she meets again everyday care for her and how she must feel knowing #that they care for her even though she doesn’t remember them #ivy alexandria #the mechanisms #jonny d'ville #gunpowder tim #nastya rasputina #raphaella la cognizi #ashes o’reilly #marius von raum #the toy soldier #drumbot brian #dr carmilla

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fumblingmusings · 10 months

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Just for my own clarification regarding timeline stuff and baby America as is depicted in canon.

What is actually shown in canon is Finland is the first to see America after the Netherlands takes over New Sweden. This happened by 1655. The Anglo-Dutch War then occurs, which kicks the Netherlands out of America. This happened by 1674. England and France argue over who gets to be America's big brother - this is presumably resolved before the end of the century, say by 1697 with the end of King William's War.

We know from the Davie comic that Arthur visits at least twice over the course of a human life. We know that by the end of the Seven Year's War both America and Canada were babies still. America then grew at a human pace, Canada about half the rate of that.

I guess, essentially, what I'm saying is that England and America barely spend time together. I'd say, between England officially taking ownership of America and the Revolution, England is shown to visit on at least six occasions.

The length of time he spent visiting America in that field,

the time informing America about the flowers that are native to the UK,

the time he returns to give America the flowers,

the time when he introduces and spends time with both Canada and America as one household,

one more time when America looks like a six or seven year old,

and finally when England comes back to see America as a seventeen year old.

Six visits in around 100 years. (I have definitely misremembered other instances, but you can probably even conflate some visits into one event).

America was separated from other nations for around seventy years, and Canada seemingly had to wait until the Seven Year's War for a decision to be made about his prescence. The NA pair were alone for a significant chunk of their existence, and having England or France barge in changed very little.

I think my point is, yes, fanon enjoys creating familial connections, but in canon, you can't argue that they are genuinely present. And that’s the point almost. England saying he's going to look after America and then being awol for the next 100 years means the War of Independence was less a breakdown of what relationship there was and more a cracking of something that could have been.

It's never been an equal relationship (because America was a colony) compared to now where the two go on holiday together or spend new years in the pub. Distance and how to traverse it is an issue, yes, but it’s also a sign of how much England is delusional on what his relationship to and his understanding of America actually is. And what it is is very little.

By the end of the 18th century, the two genuinely were strangers to each other. If they were anything more, it was playing pretend almost, trying to squeeze a dynamic out of a strained acquaintanceship. It's telling that Canada is then shown to spend far longer stints next to England going forward. Not exactly the right lesson learned, but... well, it's something. Canada actively sought out England to spend time with him. America never did that.

#i say this as someone who did write a family fic but the reality is like... those two had very little #thats the point of those toy soldiers gift and the nice suit #arthur did not have a fucking clue about alfred #hetalia #canon #spending the equivalent of three years together in 100 #it's different laid against the fanon arthur got alfred in 1608 and then raised him from there #idk its just why i always go a little suspicious of the insistence that theyre family #like are they??? are they really?#hws england #hws america #headcanon #op #yes we all play around with how we understand their relationship but those early years were... not... good

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jonny-dvilles-blog · 7 months

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I am slightly behind and trying to catch up, but here's TS organising some of its uniforms!

Mechtober day 5 -- Backstory

Tagging @mechtober for archival purposes

#mechtober 2023 #the mechanisms #my fic #the mechanisms fanfic #🎠.txt #The Toy Soldier

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gracklinging-electricboogalo · 7 months

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mechtober 4! ts <3

@mechtober

#mechtober 2023 #the mechanisms #the toy soldier #my fic

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companionwolf · 1 year

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toy soliders fic!commander @ central:

#wolf barking #toy soldiers fic #hello commander #FUCK YOU YOU GET NO CONTEXT #'wolf r you writing cargo ship stuff again' Mayhaps.

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screechthewriter · 1 month

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toy soldiers | a god of war/apex legends crossover

They all wear masks in the arena.

His is not one that he wanted to wear again, but it is the only one he could think of. Atreus had been the creative one. He would have come up with something better.

But he isn’t there. So Kratos wears the name of the Ghost of Sparta once again, though many shorten it to the Ghost. That is easier to hear, though not much.

No one seems to recognize it. He thinks at first that he’s finally faded into obscurity; that maybe, finally, he has been forgotten. Then, he is confronted by one of the other competitors.

“Okay, I’ve been dying to know.” The one called Ashwin Narita—Ace, though he insists on being called Ashwin—looks up from the shotgun he’s loading. “Ghost of Sparta, is that like the myth? You know…former mortal turned god of war, killed all the Greek gods?”

He says it without judgment, just curiosity. That doesn’t stop Kratos’s stomach from twisting itself into knots. “…yes,” he says finally, because lying wouldn’t serve any purpose. The man—the being who was once a man, he supposes—isn’t asking if he is the Ghost of Sparta. Only if he named himself for the Ghost of Sparta. There’s a difference.

“Huh. Neat. Rock on.” Ashwin gives Kratos’s arm a very light punch as he walks past to check the window. Kratos wants to lean away, but it’s the first friendly gesture he’s received in a long time. “Thought I was the only one in this dump who appreciates the classics. Hope I don’t have to kill you any time soon.”

There’s a grim smile in his voice but none on his face, because he doesn’t have a face left. The blue light that makes up where his face should have been conveys nothing, aside from occasionally dimming or flickering when he’s in distress. Kratos thinks back to when Freya brought back Mimir. At the time, the strange arcane metals she’d affixed to the head had seemed cruel—almost enough to make him reconsider the resurrection.

Now, watching Ashwin peer out the window, Kratos thinks she was merciful. At least she had left Mimir his face.

[He asks later, because it can’t hurt to have a few allies …what about Ace? What does that mean? Ashwin ducks his head. “Family name,” he says, his voice bittersweet. Kratos does not ask again.]

War is still the same; its particulars, however, change rapidly. As humanity grows, so does their creativity with its tools. He might be the god of war, but Kratos still finds it difficult to keep up.

Fortunately—if humorously—Bangalore assumes everyone in the arena is less educated than her.

Remember, Hemlock fires in bursts. One to break the shield, one to break the man.

Try to find a triple take if you can. Less projectile drop, might suit you better.

Flatline hits harder, but the 301’s easier to control. Your choice.

There was a time when he would have been offended, but he’s learned to swallow his pride by now. Besides, the information is useful, and she is a competent fighter. Easy to work with. In many ways, she reminds him of the Spartan warriors he once fought beside. It reminds him of better times—of being mortal.

He tries not to believe in omens, not these days. But it still feels like a good one when her name appears next to his.

[“We could’ve used a guy like you in the IMC.”

He thinks of Atreus and says nothing.]

The one called Bloodhound speaks often of the all-father.

The old fuck would love that if he were still alive.

Kratos grits his teeth and gives the tracker a wide berth. He may have tempered his rage, put the gods behind him, but he’s heard enough of the Aesir to last several lifetimes. Besides, there are strict rules against fighting other competitors outside of the arena.

And there’s no sense in making more enemies.

[Ravens appear in the arena when there should be none. The tracker’s eyes seem to follow him more closely. Kratos catches himself looking over his shoulder more often. Wondering if he’d really been able to escape the eyes of Asgard.]

There is no honor in the arena—no true honor. He knows this. He has numbed himself to it. But some competitors have less honor than others.

He distrusts the scientist from the second he lays eyes on him. Kratos has seen cruelty before—he has been cruel before. The man hides his behind the language of science, but...no, he is cruel.

To make matters worse, he keeps talking.

“You’re efficient, but your kills lack refinement. Perhaps…”

Kratos growls. He tries to walk away, but they are on the same team. He cannot go far without the man following. “It was merely a suggestion,” Caustic says, as casually as if he were suggesting a meal in the dining hall. “No need to be emotional.”

“Keep your advice to yourself. I know more of killing than you ever could.” Lifetimes of it. Eons. I’m the fucking god of war. “I don’t need you...”

Their third pipes up over the communicator: “Uh, hey, guys, I’m increasingly uncomfortable with the energy we’re creating on this team, so can we maybe save this for later and focus on not dying? Please? Thank you.”

Kratos bites his tongue. Fortunately, the scientist does as well.

Perhaps, he thinks, Caustic will find himself at the end of Kratos’s blade in the next match.

He refuses to dwell on the thought any longer.

[“I don’t think a man of your bearing has any right to act superior.”

He is right, though Kratos will never admit it.]

He knows a fugitive when he sees one. A life of hiding, of keeping yourself closed off from everyone and everything…he knows it. He’s living it now.

Crypto lives it now. Kratos isn’t even sure his name is Hyeon Kim. He’d bet money on it, if he were the gambling sort. But he isn’t, and it’s none of his business anyway.

He also knows what loss feels like—how it sits on the shoulders, in the eyes. Crypto wears that, too. It smolders like coals when he looks at the banners around the arena—when the Syndicate’s officials deign to show themselves.

Kratos says nothing. But he takes note of it.

[“Forever family.”

He just barely hears it under the chatter of whatever the others were discussing. He hears the sorrow in it, the bitterness. He makes note of that as well.]

They may have been putting on a show for others, but the grim misery of war still taints their every step, haunting them the way real war does. True mirth, true joy, is hard to find.

Makoa Gibraltar has that joy. Even marred by sadness, it shines like the sun.

It reminds Kratos of old days too. Of a long-dead soldier, and of the boy named for him.

The man’s presence is both a comfort and a painful reminder.

[He thinks, sometimes, of asking Gibraltar for aid. If anyone could help him, it’s the man that seems to hold the respect of many in the competition. He refrains, but the thought lingers.]

It makes sense to him that the healer’s hands are some of the most deadly.

Lifeline—Ajay Che—reminds him of Faye in that regard. Eager to help, but still deadly. Resolute and no-nonsense, but without losing her sense of humor.

Atreus would like her, he thinks, though he tries not to dwell on the thought for too long.

[“What, you get stabbed by a Ronin?” she asks, her sharp eyes tracing the scar on his stomach as she tends to a different wound.

He shakes his head. “It’s an old wound. Doesn’t matter.”

She looks skeptical, but doesn’t ask about it again.]

He is sure some of the woman’s confidence is earned—she fights well, and there are many who whisper the name Loba Andrade as if it were an ill omen. Sometimes he thinks she is a bit too sure of herself, but it does not harm him if she does. Such overconfidence is, in mortals, harmless.

Had she been like he was once—like he is now—he would be more concerned.

[She catches him once staring at her cane. She doesn’t ask questions—only move it out of his sight, as if afraid he might try to take it. She’s watched him more carefully since. He isn’t sure how to explain that he’d been thinking of his son.]

Atreus had spent weeks carefully gathering and assembling the components needed to make himself invisible, to create illusions of himself. He had been so proud when he figured it out.

It is strange to see that same ability in the hands of someone like Elliott Witt.

The man could not be more different from Atreus. He has an utter lack of confidence that he covers up with banter, false mirth aimed for himself, as if self-flagellation could truly serve as a shield against others harming him. He is a capable fighter, but absolutely insufferable to have on team, because he never shuts up.

Kratos quickly decides he prefers the man as a bartender. At least at his bar, the chatter is a welcome accompaniment to the alcohol. Both serve to fill the empty spaces in his mind. To distract him when the arena cannot.

It is a strange reprieve, and if he had been told a few years ago that he would be spending a lot of time at a place called the Paradise Lounge, he would have called that person a fool.

These truly are strange times.

[“You just didn’t strike me as a wine guy. That’s on me for having, uh...preconc...pre…for judging a book by its cover.” Witt sets down the glass and grins brightly. “Nice to see someone not dedicated to proving they’re manly by drinking endless horse piss.”

The wine is nothing like the drinks he remembers from Greece, but it’s still good.]

Languages have changed over time—his own native Greek evolving over the years, the languages of Midgard he learned from Faye and Arteus shifting as well. It was difficult enough to keep up with those changes; learning something new feels too daunting.

Sometimes he wishes he had it in him to learn. At the very least, it would help him know what Octavio Silva is saying.

He might have been able to guess at it if he spoke more slowly, but he is called Octane for a reason. He does nothing slowly, including speak. Even his English is too fast for Kratos to follow. Most conversations go about the same:

“Heycompadres, shittonofheavyammohere!”

“What?”

“Heavy ammo. Your coms broken or something?”

Kratos considers telling him to slow down more than once, but refrains. He knows there’s no use.

[Octane does teach the room at large, Kratos included, some profanities in his native Spanish during one flight to the arena. Kratos isn’t sure how many he will remember, but it’s entertaining nonetheless.]

Pathfinder declares them friends after one match.

The fact that Pathfinder calls everyone his friend is the only thing that keeps Kratos from panicking at the declaration.

He has no time for friends—not in the traditional sense. But Pathfinder’s version, where there are no real obligations besides politeness outside of the arena and fair combat inside it, suits him fine.

[Sindri would be fascinated by Pathfinder. Kratos never thought he’d miss the damn dwarf so much.]

Ramya Parekh is brash, loud, crude, and very good with weaponry.

It feels as if Brok’s ghost has come back to haunt him.

Haunt is perhaps the wrong word. While the resemblance is, at first, a bit painful, he finds it strangely comforting after a time. The differences between the two—age, species, Parekh being somewhat less crude and more good-tempered—help.

She lets him hang around her shop at the back of Witt’s bar, so long as he occasionally buys her alcohol and compliments her work. It’s less difficult than one might think. He might not know much about the creation of these new weapons, but he knows good work when he sees it.

[“You ever thought about getting an upgrade?”

“I don’t plan on using another weapon once I’m done here.”

She laughs. “Sorry to tell you, mate, but you picked the wrong system for that.”

He knows.]

His first meeting with Revenant is at the end of the simulacrum’s gun. Their relationship has not improved since.

It doesn’t help that Revenant has a talent for honing in on weaknesses, real or perceived. He aims for Katros’s age first, then goes for every rumor that’s started spreading about Kratos. His alleged status as a mercenary, war criminal…Revenant’s insults poke and probe, trying to find a weak point.

Kratos tries not to show one. Tries. The façade drops when he is paired with Revenant and the girl, Paquette. She is capable, as always, but they still end up backed into a corner. Paquette is injured. He and Revenant are out of ammo.

He does what he has to.

Two squads later, he manages to return to their position with a med kit and news that there’s a clear path to the next ring. Paquette sees the blood on his hands, but says nothing; she is mostly grateful for the medical aid. Revenant says nothing as well…at first. The bastard waits until they’re alone after the match to speak.

“Shame they put a limit on you,” he says, his voice low and mocking. “You look like a man who knows how to make a massacre.”

Kratos says nothing. He tries to hide how his hands shake as he wipes the blood away.

Revenant still sees.

“Glad to know I’m not the only real killer here.”

Kratos wants to respond, but he does not know what will come out if he does.

His hands continue to shake.

[“Do you have any idea what it’s like, doing this for hundreds of years?”

Kratos laughs. That seems to take the simulacrum off guard. “What?” Revenant demands.

“You have no idea, draugr.”]

Natalie Paquette hates him from the second she lays eyes on him.

He takes it to heart, until Gibraltar speaks to him. Last few new guys before Rampart brought a lot of trouble with them. It’s nothing personal, brother. She’d be nervous no matter who you were.

He tries to believe that, but it’s difficult when she glares at him with a distrust he has only seen in the eyes of those who know his true nature.

Earning her trust would not help the situation, he knows—both because he does not plan to stay here forever, and because that kind of trust cannot truly be won. The best he can do is make himself as unthreatening as possible and hope she learns he means her no harm.

He shouldn’t care. Kratos knows he shouldn’t care. That he should close his heart to the anger he sees hiding behind that distrust.

He fears it is a losing battle, but he knows he must try.

[Learning she has loss behind that anger does not help.]

In his day, they called it magic.

Now they use words like holotech and faster than light travel and phase shift and call it science.

The effects are more or less the same—sometimes more refined, but always familiar. When the one called Wraith slips from sight, he thinks of Brok and Sindri. When she whispers portents, he thinks of oracles in their shrines—Delphi, Dodona, Trophonius.

She would have been revered once.

Wraith is a quiet sort, reserved, with mistrusting blue eyes (familiar, almost). Kratos knows little of her, and he is sure this is by design.

But from what he does know, she would not find solace in being considered a seer.

[She has lost a lot of blood when she grabs his arm and whispers that it wasn’t his fault. They take her away to see a doctor before he can ask what she means. By the time she is well again, he is too afraid to bring it up again.]

He hears of Kuben Blisk in whispers long before he meets the man in person.

Actually seeing him after a match chills his blood in a way he hasn’t felt in a long time. Kratos is wary even before the man asks to speak to him alone, and more so once he does.

“You’re quite the heavy hitter,” Blisk notes. He’s set out two bottles of beer; Kratos refuses to touch his. “Very interesting fighting style.”

“Hmm.”

“Have we met before?”

“…no.”

“Never fought in the Frontier Wars?”

“No.” His chest goes tight; he knows what’s coming, but desperately hopes that he’s wrong. “Why?”

“Some of the men from my old unit had a run-in with someone on the border…didn’t believe what they were telling me at first, how one man could plow through some of my best with his bare hands, but now that I’ve seen you…” Blisk leans back and raises an eyebrow. “Seems a bit more likely.”

Kratos focuses on his breathing.

“Though now that I think about it, he was younger than you. This gift of yours genetic?”

The chair’s arm rest cracks under Kratos’s grip.

That’s all the answer Blisk needs.

He doesn’t ask anything else—only smiles, drinks his beer, and says he looks forward to seeing Kratos in the ring again. Got a lot of money riding on you, Ghost.

That wounds Kratos more deeply than more questions would have.

[Where on the border, he wants to ask. How long ago. Did the stranger survive the encounter. Did he have red hair. What was his name.

Kratos thinks about it, every day. He knows where Blisk spends his time, now that he’s back; it would be easy to find him, to make him talk.

He tempers his anger—tells himself that men like Kuben Blisk don’t talk, that this is certainly a trap, that he needs to bide his time and earn his wins and continue searching for himself.

But if Kuben Blisk had aimed to harm him, to burn himself into Kratos’s mind as deeply as the blades once burned themselves into his arms…he had succeeded.]

#fic: toy soldiers #series: hammer of the gods (will drive our ships to new lands)#god of war #apex legends #respawn cinematic universe

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