abirur dialogue #20
or
stricklake dialogue #31
I do have an idea for an Abirur piece; it just might be some time before I can get to it. Maybe sometime in 2025 at this rate. But here is some Stricklake angst:
The scholarly Chaucer had once said, "Time and tide waits for no man." The wise Jagger had added to that statement with, "Hours are like diamonds, don't let them waste." For Walter, a troll who had lived many centuries and stood to live many more, these sentiments didn't reach his heart when he heard them the first time. Humans had to worry about time; the changeling did not.
That changed when he met Barbara.
The years had flown away before he knew it. There were weddings (their own and then Young Atlas'), they found homes for all the babies in the Cradlestone, children were born, there were battles, there were victories, and there were defeats. But in the end, there was peace, a sense of contentment that Walter had never experienced in his life. This was a good life, and somehow, with all his past sins, he was alive and able to enjoy it.
But while they were living, time kept moving, and Walter looked up one day and was shocked to see how much Barbara had changed. It wasn't bad, her new grey hair and deeper laugh lines. They enhanced her beauty, didn't take any from it. But she also complained about her hands hurting now. She complained about not being able to pick up her grandchildren as much anymore. (Their grandchildren, she would argue, but Walt refused to answer to Peepaw.) He was unchanging as, well, a rock. But he knew that Barbara would soon be completely different than when he met her.
And then her body would fail her, and she would be gone.
He had a recurring daydream, a waking nightmare he couldn't control, where a hooded figure came to Barbara's deathbed. It was the stereotypical DEATH of lore, black cloak wrapped around a grinning skeleton, a long scythe in its bony grip. Walt would try to get in its way to save the human he cared for, but it would pass him by, not stopped by knife, sword, fang, or claw. "Stop!" he would scream, "I love her!"
I DON'T CARE, it responds before the scythe makes its final descent.
It was this disturbing subconscious memory in the back of his mind that probably made him overreact that Halloween night. Walter was home (her house, which she had invited him into when he had no right to be there, but he had settled in quickly) while Barbara was called into work. She had been promoted and did not have to pull the night shift on Halloween if she didn't want to, but she was a good leader, taking the shift that no one else wanted so that the hospital had the support it needed. He had given out candy for most of the night, waving to the parents he recognized from school. Later that night, once the candy was gone, he turned off the porch light and settled on the couch to wait for Barbara, planning to rub her feet and let her rant about her day if required. There was always something that Barbara needed to share, and he would be an ear to chew on.
And so, when Barbara's car pulled up to the house and she got out of it, slowly and carefully, he didn't think anything of it. She was just tired, and he got up to open the door for her. He was smiling, about to ask her about her day, as he turned the porch light back on. But when the harsh light illuminated her, Walt finally noticed her hunched posture as she held her stomach, bright red blood dripping down her scrubs. She winced, probably from the bright light, but Walt thought for one terrifying second that she was reacting to immense pain.
"What happened? Let me help you!" Walt cried, his heart now racing in his throat. He lunged forward, trying to pry her hands from her stomach to see the wound that was surely there.
"Relax, the blood is fake," Barbara replied grimly. Walt heard her words, but they didn't register in his panic. He crouched down and started to pull at her clothing, trying to wipe away the sticky red fluid to reveal the wound. He prayed it wasn't serious, but with all the blood, it had to be a knife wound or a gunshot even. "Walt, the blood is fake." She was trying to push his hands away, but he couldn't stop; he had to find it, stop the bleeding. "Walt! I'm fine!" So much blood, how was she still standing? "Walt!" When he found out who did this, he would make them pay...
"Walt! Stop!" Barbara finally succeeded in pushing Walt's hands away, and he paused to look at her dumbly. In his haste to find her injury, he had nearly ripped the clothes off of her body. He had wiped most of the red blood away to expose the unmarked skin on her stomach and upper thighs, and only now did he realize that the liquid on his hands did not have the coppery smell of blood. He sniffed it curiously. Sweet, like sugar. Corn syrup dyed red to look like blood.
"Some pranksters were in the park and threw balloons full of fake blood at my car," Barbara explained. She was putting her clothes back into place, and Walt was very glad that it wasn't earlier in the evening. The neighbors and their children would have witnessed an unhinged Walt trying to rip the clothes off of his wife in the front yard. "My window was open, and one made it into my lap," she continued, staring at him, studying him. She looked concerned and uncertain, and Walt couldn't blame her. He had just overreacted over something very benign. "Walt, are you okay?"
Walt, still on his knees in front of her, blinked. "Why, of c-course," he stammered, although his still racing heart said otherwise. "I... I thought you were injured." He quickly stood up, making Barbara jump a little. "I'll just... be in the backyard." He made an abrupt about-face and marched through the house, not stopping when Barbara called out to him.
He made it to the middle of the yard when his legs finally gave out, and Walt landed on his backside without a sound. He took several deep breaths, trying to clear his head. She's alright, she's okay, she's alright, she's okay. So why didn't he believe that?
-----
Walt was still in the backyard an hour later, sitting on the ground and staring up at the night sky. He didn't react when he heard the back door open and close behind him. Barbara approached him, and he caught the scent of her body wash in the air. She sat next to him and sighed, handing him a large wooden tankard full of green liquid. Glug. He still drank wine, primarily out of habit, but only the troll libation could get him drunk. Barbara took a sip of her own glass of Pinot Noir but didn't say anything for several minutes. Walt could still feel the fake blood on his hands, but he didn't have the desire to get up and wash it off. "So," she finally murmured. "Do you want to talk about it?"
He looked at his drink, not wanting to see her expression. Would she still look worried? Would she be angry? Would she think it was a joke? He took a sip and winced. He hated the idea of drinking something that another troll swam in, but he didn't have a choice. "I thought you were injured," he said weakly.
"Well, that is obvious," she replied. Walt glanced at her, and she was smiling, but it was a small thing, full of concern for him. "But it seemed like a strong response to a little situation."
"An overreaction?" he asked.
"Yes."
He took a deep breath and then let it out in an explosive sigh. He downed half of the tankard in one gulp before he responded. "The thought of losing you," Walt explained, "is unbearable." He was trying to keep his voice light and nonchalant like he wasn't talking about her death. "But the thought of losing you because I couldn't protect you..." He shook his head, making his horns cut through the air. "I'm sorry. I scared you."
Barbara moved closer, putting her arm around his and threading their fingers together. Walt felt himself relax. The thought of her being afraid of him was almost as unbearable as the thought of her leaving the mortal coil. "Here I thought I would get home, and it would be a funny story to share as we cleaned my car," she murmured, and he snorted in amusement. "I didn't think it would trigger some form of thanatophobia for you." Walt's smile died just as quickly as it formed. "So. How long have you felt like that?"
"Fearful of your passing?" he asked, and she hummed in response. "For several years now," he confessed.
"Oh, Walt," she whispered, rubbing her face into his shoulder. "I'm sorry."
They stayed still for several minutes, Walt just trying to stay in the moment. "It's silly, I know," he said. "Every couple has to deal with the death of one partner before the other one."
"It doesn't mean it will hurt any less," she replied. Walt just nodded in agreement. She sighed and got up, awkwardly holding her glass away from her body until she was vertical so it didn't spill. She downed the last of her wine. "Welp, I think I know what to do," she said, smiling. "Walt, I hereby give you permission to remarry when I'm gone."
Walt gaped up at her, probably looking like a fish out of water as he processed what she said. "You want me to replace you?!" he cried as he stood up.
"Not replace me," she said, smiling. "Because we both know you won't find anyone like me."
Walt snorted again and then laughed. "Bloody right, I won't," he said with a chuckle.
"But," she added, "I don't want you to spend the rest of your life wasting away without me." She put her glass in the grass and then hugged him tight. "I know it will hurt, and it may take a few decades, but you will love again, I know it."
Walt kissed the top of her head. Love again? After she was gone? No, he wasn't so certain of that. Who could compare to her? Her laugh, her love of puns? No, as long as he remembered her, he would love her. And no one could come close.
Walt blinked and then smiled to himself. Well, that was the solution, wasn't it? He would just have to remember her, and he would be strengthened by his memories of the love she had shown him in their life together. Death could take her, but death would not take his joy as long as she was in his heart. He sighed dramatically, and she looked up at him in curiosity. "Well, I may have thanatophobia, my dear, but I don't have hemophobia. Let's clean your car before the sun rises and bakes it into the paint."
"Those little assholes," Barbara growled, and Walt grinned. "You know, I think it was Steve's son who threw it."
"Mr. Palchuk?" Walt asked, and the doctor nodded as they made their way to the front of the house. "Well, that's good then. I'm his history teacher. I'll make sure he has scolionophobia before the year's out."
She laughed, and Walt felt lighter. Death would come, yes. Walt could not stop it. But death would not steal her away that easily.
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Mamma Mia AU
there was actually a stricklake mamma mia au on ao3 at one point (it's gone missing 😭), so quite a bit of these hc's are inspired by my vague memories of that fic. and if anyone should happen to find it, please let me know and i’ll link it
anyway
1. this is not a human au. all sorts of species get it on along in this one and barb was in college, ok? she was into experimenting. blinky is a troll. strickler and jls are both changelings. the fact that jim isn’t obviously a half-troll should immediately rule blinky out as a genetic donor, but i choose to ignore that particular pothole because it amuses me greatly to imagine a six-eyed, four-armed blue troll declaring passionately to a mostly human jim that he knows he’s his father and can’t wait to give him away at his wedding. jim doesn’t have the heart to explain that that’s not really the way it works
jim: i’ll know my father as soon as i see him
toby: it’s totally the troll
2. character swap goes like this: jim - sophie, claire - sky, barbara - donna, strickler - sam, blinky - bill/harry, jls - harry/bill. toby is still there as jim's best friend, along with draal who is the tasty treat chasing after wine auntie nomura for plot c. oh, and aaarrrgghh takes the place of rosie because the b plot is my favorite troll husbands falling in love
blinky: barbara, you were the first human i ever loved
blinky: and also the last
aaarrrgghh *grinning*: take a chance on me
3. strickler’s a great cook, blinky is fascinated by human vehicles, and jls is also named james(?!) - wild how jim’s got something in common with all three of his possible dads, huh?
4. the island truly is magical and part of claire’s business plan is to market it as a hotel for mythical creatures. not monsters, though. dracula’s already got that market cornered. kidding. everyone’s welcome
5. for plot purposes trolls have developed an immunity to the sun and can now lay around all day on the beach in a speedo, drinking a mai tai and dreaming up increasingly chaotic schemes to somehow seduce the hot changeling lady
nomura: little boys who play with fire get their fingers burned
draal: it’s cool. i’m wearing spf 4000
6. the morning after stricklake get married, strickler’s down in the kitchen making barbara pancakes or something with nothing on but one of those “kiss the cook” aprons, completely forgetting that this is a hotel and winds up getting caught bare-assed when half the wedding guests waltz in for their continental breakfast. don’t worry. barbara saves him, and
dot dot dot
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