#drift knows things that the crew would never even be able to research so he just finds the whole things really funny and goes with it

[ut-reblogs]

I strongly disagree, in favor of it being because of him trolling everyone who ever calls in relation to a service. See tags for more, bc I’m too lazy to retype them all out.

Rodimus is not allowed to answer the phone on the lostlight because he keeps falling for the spaceship insurance scams.

[sk8theinfinitysims4-leavan]

Sakurayashiki Family

The Sakurayashiki family consists of five members in the main family, Kaoru, the son, Kaori, his mother and Kenta, his father. In addition to his maternal grandmother and grandfather, who all but Kaoru live in the Sakurayashiki family home. On the other hand the paternal grandparents live with Kenta's older brother, Kimihiko, along with his wife and children.

Many of the characters are constantly changing, such as hair, eyes, facial features, to make them look more like the canon, but keeping our way of making sims, so the appearance may vary a little over time. We will reblog when some change is made.

Names marked with * are unofficial characters. Names marked with ** are unofficial names, carefully researched and chosen. Characters marked with ✩ are the most common ones to appear in our stories.

~All the family under the cut line~

Disclaimer: English and Japanese is not our native language, so it's possible that we have writed and/or translated some things incorrectly. 🙇💦

桜屋敷薫 (Sakurayashiki Kaoru) ✩

First name: 薫 (Kaoru)

Last name: 桜屋敷 (Sakurayashiki)

Job: AI Calligrapher (Shodo)

"S" Name: Cherry blossom

Stance (Skateboard): Regular

Birthday: March, 27th

Zodiac sign: Aries

Blood type: B

Weight: 64kg

Height: 182cm

Age: 26

The son of Kaori and Kenta Sakurayashiki, he's an AI calligrapher who uses his AI Carla for his day-to-day life and as an aid to display in real time to his viewers the strokes he makes on paper on a digital screen. His mother isn't very happy about it, believing that the use of AI is innovative but unethical in art on paper. She believes that the best art is to see how everyone around you is watching you make the strokes on paper, although she understands that Kaoru does it so that many people can see the event and the strokes in real time. The only person in the family who confides in him fully is his grandmother, Saori, who whenever she can attends his events or watches them digitally and is secretly very proud of him.

They could steal his whole house, but he will be able to continue living perfectly well as long as they don't touch his AI Carla, his most precious object, although he would never call her an object. Who he also uses to place her on his skateboard and skateboarding with her assistance, a sport that Kaoru loves.

He has a best friend since childhood, whose name is Kojiro Nanjo and that they get along like cats and dogs. They have known each other since Kindergarten, and have always been together since that time, although they have been together since their parents are neighbors and friends.

When they were teenagers he and Kojiro were with their group of friends and met ADAM (Ainosuke, who called himself that so as not to be recognized, wearing a hood, as he's the son of a politician) and his crew, ADAM challenged them, and Kaoru stood in Kojiro's way and accepted the guy's challenge. When ADAM showed them his talent on his skatebaord, Kaoru was mesmerized by his cool skateboarding and from that day on the three of them went skateboarding together. Once he was rescued by ADAM from hitting the asphalt hard when he tripped over a rock on his skateboard and at that moment he became even more fascinated by him. Eventually the three became good friends, so much so that ADAM considered them special people. But an event they never knew about happened, and ADAM separated from them and went to study abroad, moving away from everything he loved. When he came back from the US, his skateboard became more aggressive and both Kojiro and Kaoru didn't understand why, ADAM also didn't want to clarify anything as he wanted to distance himself from them and that made both parties drift apart.

Some time later, Kojiro and he separated in the last year of university, the first to do a practical year in Italy, and he, seeing himself alone, began to devise his first steps to create his future AI Carla, although she still had no name and still didn't know what functions she would have, beyond assisting his skateboard to become better on it and challenge ADAM to a beef. At that time he was angry with the world; even though with Kojiro every chance he got they had a phone call or video call; and with ADAM, but mostly with himself, for not being able to handle their situation the way he wanted to. Since the separation with ADAM, the fights between Kojiro and him were even more frequent, even the day Kojiro left for Italy they fight, although Kaoru felt bad and got angry with himself afterwards.

He's a genius in what represents computer science and Japanese writing, is so creative that was one of the first Shodo masters to implement AI in his own calligraphy, joining the future and the past in the same point. He joined his AI Carla with Shodo and the result was spectacular, many people always go to visit him at the events he does and to see both in physical and digital screen the magic he creates with his own hands. He's ambitious and perhaps that is what made him get to where he is today.

Kaoru is fascinated by outer space, loves programming and a bit of robotics, but not to create Carla as a servobot but to create small mechanical devices that can help both him and Carla when he programs her for a particular task. He feels good when he does yoga or any activity related to wellness, such as going to an onsen. Also likes video games but only when he wins, if he loses excuses himself by being a Shodo master.

He likes island music, Japanese folk music and to focus, on the other hand Hip Hop music doesn't excite him so much, something that is not known if it's since he matured and left adolescence behind or something he had never liked.

The colors he likes the most are blue, green and pink, although not all his house is decorated like that. Gray on the other hand isn't one of his great favorites.

(Photo Cooming Soon...)

Close-up of his face and full body view

(Photo Cooming Soon...)

Close-up of his face and full body view (DK, Teenager)

(Photo Cooming Soon...)

Close-up of his face and full body view (DS, Child)

(Photo Cooming Soon...)

Cherry blossom "S"

薫のお母さま (Kaoru's mother)*

First name: 香 (Kaori)**

Last name: 桜屋敷 (Sakurayashiki)

Job: Calligrapher teacher (Shodo)

Age: ???

Mother of Kaoru, wife of Kenta and daughter of Saori and Hotaka Sakurayashiki. Shodo teacher who teaches young children to teenagers. She's a self-confident woman who loves physical exercise, programming and robotics. Despite this, she doesn't understand how her son can link AI with Shodo, something she tries to tell him face to face whenever can. Kaori knows that he uses it so that many people can see the event and strokes he make in real time, but she isn't convinced that technology is used for that kind of thing, as believes that the best art is to see how everyone around you is watching you make the strokes on paper.

She loves Japanese folk music, something her son has inherited from her, as well as calligraphy. The decoration she likes the most is the bohemian and although it's a very dark color, whenever she can buys for the house some small decoration that is mainly black, as she understands that a totally black house wouldn't be to everyone's liking.

薫のお父さま (Kaoru's Father)*

First name: 堅大 (Kenta)**

Adopted son-in-law last name⁽*¹⁾: 桜屋敷 (Sakurayashiki)

Bachelor last name: 玉那覇 (Tamanaha)**

Job: Writer of ancient Japanese history

Age: ???

Father of Kaoru, husband of Kaori and son of Takeshi and Sakura Tamanaha. He's a man who likes dogs very much and although he has to convince his wife and his parents-in-laws who still don't know about it, he would like to adopt one. He's solitary and more than once tries to relax in solitude to reflect, either reading or dancing in private. He likes Japanese folk and concentration music, something that his son has inherited from him, but the one he can't stand is American music, doesn't know exactly what doesn't like but every time he listens to it has to change the station.

His free and not so free time is dedicated to writing and physical exercise, as he believes that the best thing is to have a healthy mind in a healthy body. That his son has such unbalanced hours of sleep and work is something that doesn't fascinate him, and has tried several times since Kaoru was a teenager to tell him, but they have never sat down to talk about it. The decoration he likes the most is the island style and always tends to buy everything for their house that is mainly brown.

⁽*¹⁾ Mukoyoshi (婿養子) or adopted son-in-law is an adult male who is adopted by a Japanese family such as a husband of a daughter when there are no sons born in a family line, who adopts the family name. In the case of Kenta and Kaori, they fell in love and Kenta being the second son in the Tamanaha family, his parents found no objection to him adopting his wife's surname.

薫のお婆さま（桜屋敷）(Kaoru's Grandmother, Sakurayashiki)*

First name: 沙居 (Saori)**

Last name: 桜屋敷 (Sakurayashiki)

Job: Calligrapher (Shodo)

Age: ???

Kaoru's grandmother, Hotaka's wife and Saori's mother. She lives in the Sakurayashiki family residence with her daughter, her husband and Kenta, her son-in-law (adopted son-in-law). She's an expert calligrapher who taught her grandson everything essential and primordial that he knows today about calligraphy (Shodo). She doesn't understand how her grandson can use the AI to do something as ancient as shodo, but she understands it better than her daughter, as she takes into account that he uses it so that more people can see live how he makes the strokes. She's secretly very proud of him and whenever she can watches his events both in person and/or digitally. Saori is a gourmet and appreciates quality food, so although it may not seem like it, she's and was a big fan of Kojiro's meals when he was learning to cook and staying at the Sakurayashiki family residence. Nowadays, when she can, but not often, visits him at Sia la luce and eats some experimental dishes Kojiro makes.

薫のお爺さま（桜屋敷）(Kaoru's Grandfather, Sakurayashiki)*

First name: 歩空 (Hotaka)**

Last name: 桜屋敷 (Sakurayashiki)

Job: Calligrapher teacher (Shodo)

Age: ???

Kaoru's grandfather, Saori's husband and Kaori's father. Lives in the Sakurayashiki family residence with his daughter, his wife and Kenta, his son-in-law (adopted son-in-law). He's a calligraphy teacher and is not yet thinking of retiring. He easily feels in a low mood when things happen that are beyond him, although his wife is always there to help lift his mood. If someone leaves a plate of food or can't take it anymore he doesn't hesitate for a second to eat it and that sometimes makes his favorite grandson-not-grandson Kojiro. When he was younger and Kojiro was starting to learn how to cook, he didn't mind being the guinea pig if his grandson Kaoru didn't want to eat what Kojiro made, in fact, he enjoyed it very much. For him, his family is the main and most important axis.

薫のお爺さん（玉那覇）(Kaoru's Grandfather, Tamanaha)*

First name: 梗 (Takeshi)**

Last name: 玉那覇 (Tamanaha)**

Job: ???

Age: ???

Kaoru's grandfather on his father's side. He's the husband of Sakura and father of Kenta and Kimihiko. He and his wife live in their residence, the Tamanaha family home along with their eldest son and their eldest son's wife.

薫のお婆さん（玉那覇）(Kaoru's Grandmother, Tamanaha)*

First name: 春 (Sakura)**

Last name: 玉那覇 (Tamanaha)**

Job: ???

Age: ???

Kaoru's grandmother on his father's side. She's the wife of Takeshi and mother of Kenta and Kimihiko. She and her husband live in their residence, the Tamanaha family home along with their eldest son and their eldest son's wife.

薫の叔父（玉那覇） (Kaoru's Uncle, Tamanaha)*

First name: 皇彦 (Kimihiko)**

Last name: 玉那覇 (Tamanaha)**

Job: ???

Age: ???

First-born son of the Tamanaha family, brother of Kenta and son of Takeshi and Sakura Tamanaha. He lives in the Tamanaha family home with his wife Yaeko and his parents. He is the father of Hayao and Kazuha.

薫の叔母（玉那覇） (Kaoru's aunt, Tamanaha)*

First name: 弥子 (Yaeko)**

Last name: 玉那覇 (Tamanaha)**

Job: ???

Age: ???

Wife of Kimihiko and mother of Hayao and Kazuha. Lives in the Tamanaha family home with her husband and parents-in-laws.

薫の従兄弟（玉那覇）(Kaoru's cousin, Tamanaha)*

First name: 駿 (Hayao)**

Last name: 玉那覇 (Tamanaha)**

Job: ???

Age: ???

Son of Kimihiko and Yaeko and older brother of Kazuha, they live together in an apartment while meeting new people and going out on their own with their friends.

薫の従姉妹（玉那覇）(Kaoru's cousin, Tamanaha)*

First name: 春羽 (Kazuha)**

Last name: 玉那覇 (Tamanaha)**

Job: ???

Age: ???

Daughter of Kimihiko and Yaeko and younger sister of Hayao, they live together in an apartment while meeting new people and going out on their own with their friends.

Next family will be Nanjo Family. See you on Tuesday! 🐯🛹

(To see more families, click on #SK8 FamilyTrees hashtag)

[nemesis-is-my-middle-name]

apocalypse in space au! your choice of fandom

apocalypse... space... my two FAVORITE things to au. im doing pla naturally (5 things that would happen in an au)

so the obvious thing to me is "apocalypse on an alien planet" since apocalypse generally implies the end of A World but wait we're just describing subnautica. so what about... apocalypse on a spaceship? or space station. whatever. big space construction that people live on u get it. so you've already got the difficulties of living on a space station—needing to keep life support systems on line, managing the mental struggle of being trapped in this manmade structure—and then there is some sort of an Apocalypse. perhaps zombies. those are always fun.

actually better yet new idea we divvy the cast up btwn different spaceships/stations, and this is a whole society of people in space-traveling crews... and then this zombie virus starts slowly, slowly spreading through any ships that make contact. docking with another ship/station is always risky bc you never know if they're safe or not. imagine boarding a ship and wandering around and coming to the slowly dawning realization that everything's cold, and quiet, and empty. nothing's running that should be running, even the engines have gone silent. you're standing in a grave drifting through the abyss... and then you hear footsteps...

i think the central point of the au is the galaxy team, who are a spaceship crew maybe doing long haul transport? like the people in alien. and the clans are stations in a similar point in space. and everyone's simultaneously trying to manage this threat, working together as the only safe survivors, but simultaneously never sure if they can trust the other two

AND THEN the galaxy team finds an escape pod drifting through space... with protag aboard.

kamado's afraid they're infected. actually very fair. however they were kept in quarantine for a long while without anything happening, so...? they get let out and conscripted into keeping the ship in working order, but he's still very suspect of them

...especially bc they may or may not be the source, but they were the most recent person to arrive before other people started showing symptoms. all 3 groups have been incredibly cautious thus far and were able to immediately catch it, so the spread is very slow so far... but it is spreading.

suddenly laventon's group is under even higher pressure to find a treatment or cure. and protag is expected to help. naturally. they're probably the only ones consistently visiting both stations for research purposes actually. so you get that "meeting & bonding with the wardens" vibe in there

[jungwoniics]

🎊 𝟭𝗦𝗧 𝗘𝗡𝗡𝗜𝗩𝗘𝗥𝗦𝗔𝗥𝗬 🎊

≡;- ꒰ ° 𝗹𝗶𝗮'𝘀 𝘀𝗽𝗲𝗲𝗰𝗵 . ꒱

╰┈➤ hello everyone! so there is 10 days till enhypen’s 1st anniversary so i’m deciding to do a special series to celebrate this very special occasion! ✨

╰┈➤ so basically for this series, i will be posting a drabble/short fic each day for a week leading to 30th Nov.

≡;- ꒰ ° 𝗹𝗶𝗮'𝘀 𝗶𝗻𝗯𝗼𝘅 . ꒱

╰┈➤ series date: 23-30 Nov 2021

╰┈➤ series schedule: can be found below

╰┈➤ taglist status: closed!

≡;- ꒰ ° 𝘀𝗲𝗿𝗶𝗲𝘀 𝘀𝗰𝗵𝗲𝗱𝘂𝗹𝗲 . ꒱

23 Nov: Lee Heeseung

↦ title: His Tutor ↦ genre: fluff, crack/humour ↦ synopsis: All through high school, you were a nobody. Well, technically, you were the nerd the cheerleaders pick on. The football players often asked you to tutor them just so they could get their grades up and be allowed to play. But now you were stepping up as the seniors of the school. And as usual, a football player asks for your help in Math, only this particular football player was Lee Heeseung, aka your crush.

24 Nov: Park Jongseong

↦ title: The Boss’s Girlfriend ↦ genre: angst, fluff, crack/humour ↦ synopsis: Working as a journalist in a big newspaper company, you constantly need worthy stories to research on and write about to prevent getting sacked. That was not a problem for you. In fact, you were one of the best journalists in the company. However, when your boss' girlfriend is hired as another journalist and starts stealing your ideas, things get much tougher.

25 Nov: Sim Jaeyun

↦ title: Can We Cuddle Now? ↦ genre: fluff ↦ synopsis: Your boyfriend, Sim Jaeyun, had been so busy with work the past week that you hadn’t been able to spend much time with him. You understood that it was due to a new project he had, but even the most understanding people need to feel loved at times.

26 Nov: Park Sunghoon

↦ title: We’re Enemies ↦ genre: fluff, crack/humour ↦ synopsis: You and Sunghoon were professional figure skaters. The difference between the two of you was that while you had a life outside of the rink, he didn't. He would spend his time practising in the rink while others went to hang out with their friends. While the two of you were supposedly enemies, you also had feelings for him which made everything much more complicated.

27 Nov: Kim Sunoo

↦ title: Hatred vs Disagreements ↦ genre: angst, fluff ↦ synopsis: You and Sunoo used to be really close friends but you drifted apart when the two of you ended up in different classes and rarely saw one another. After two years, the two of you are in the same class again but there's just something different about him. Life is tough when the person you like disagrees with everything you say.

28 Nov: Yang Jungwon

↦ title: Kitchen Disaster ↦ genre: fluff, crack/humour ↦ synopsis: While Yang Jungwon was just another boy in your class, you had the mindset that all boys were always playing around and never serious which was why you never talked to them. When Jungwon ends up as your partner for cooking class, you find that all your suspicions about boys were true. But there were also things about them that you didn't know about.

29 Nov: Nishimura Riki

↦ title: Second Place ↦ genre: angst, fluff ↦ synopsis: Both you and Riki were a part of a dance crew and also attended the same high school. Despite the two of you being best friends, you were always second to Riki in the dance crew. One day, your Physical Education teacher announces that the class was starting a new module: dance. Desperate to take this as your opportunity to step out of Riki's shadow, you put your friendship at risk.

30 Nov: ENHYPEN

↦ title: Oh, You Have A Boyfriend? ↦ genre: fluff, crack/humour ↦ synopsis: telling them you have a boyfriend, them as your brothers

𝘁𝗵𝗮𝗻𝗸 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗶𝗻𝗴!

© jungwoniics. all rights reserved. please don’t repost, plagiarise and translate. likes and reblogs are appreciated!

[my-writings-and-musings]

I saw a post you made from a little while ago about a group of young liaisons and was wondering if you could do that same prompt with fort max and megs? (If it’s not too much a bother)

Big bots with little human friends is... yes. That's far from a bother, dear anon, it's a privilege. I've completed Megatron alongside Cyclonus here, but I'll give some extra love to this big guy! For those who haven't read them or would like to reread, there's also a post for Rodimus, Rung and Drift plus the original with Tailgate, Ratchet, Minimus, Swerve, and Whirl!

Fortress Maximus

·Ever the expert of security and order, but not very knowledgeable on humans, he does a fair amount of research when the liaison initiative is announced. Earth proves a planet as diverse as it is complex, but what stands out is how small the dominant species is. It worries him to a considerable degree. Forget security threats; how are they going to handle the possibility that one of them could be stepped on?! It's a conundrum he still hasn't solved by the time the group is coming on board for the first time. At least accustomed to handling crisis, he's one of the crewmembers that greets the young liaisons when they arrive, but upon seeing them he's absolutely floored. They aren't just small; they're tiny to an impossible degree. Even the tallest one is smaller than the research could have ever conveyed. Of course he puts on a polite smile and welcomes them all, but deep down he's panicking over the mandatory safety measures they'll be needing, so much so he doesn't even notice how the humans fawn over his immense size.

·After burying himself in his work, it's only when he decides to summon the liaisons to his office that he meets them again, this time intending to lay out some rules and to check in with them so far. Unfortunately his train of thought more or less dissapears when he lifts them all onto his desk and is confronted with their tiny stature up close. It's then that he realizes they are not only small, but agonizingly adorable. Unable to recall the well thought out plans he had to discuss with them, he ends up answering their many questions instead, most of which are centered on his incredible size and strength. Their wide eyed fascination cements his dedication to protecting them with every ounce of power he has. It's with some embarrassment he has to admit to himself that their cuteness is overwhelming, to the point each and every one of them has him wrapped around their finger from day one.

·Though his commitment to keeping them safe continues, he can't help but look for reasons to meet up with them, and at times he has to simply make things up. Making things easier on him, the entire group quickly grows very fond of him. It's soon apparent he's their favorite bot on the ship. Having them around makes him happy in ways he's quite unaccustomed to, as if their innocence rubs off on him. Such feelings are only intensified by how they insist on hanging out with him by, more or less, relaxing on the broad expanse of his shoulders. It's the easiest way to chat while ensuring no one gets squished.

·After struggling with his trauma for so long, he feels a kind of peace he hadn't known he was missing out on. Therapy sessions become easier and more productive, and those around him can't help but notice the change in his mood. Some are just baffled to see him brimming with positive energy while a group of young humans sit across his shoulders like tiny birds, while most are happy to see him turning around, especially with how he's suffered in the past. It's impossible to deny he's uplifting the entire ship. Admittedly he went through a brief frenzy upon finding out the humans he had befriended were, technically, still protoforms and thus had developing to do. Thankfully though, that was resolved with assurances they would be fine with proper guidance.

·It had been with said knowledge that he'd set about trying to teach the liaisons everything he considered useful. While his experience is somewhat... grim, he has learned a great deal through his life as a soldier. They take to the idea of learning how to fight incredibly well, to the point the challenges of having such tiny students are almost nonexistent to him, meaning he doesn't even notice how difficult it is to guide their tiny hands into proper positions on their practice weapons. Using his stories as inspiration, albeit with many details watered down for their sakes, he mostly enjoys the idea of helping them learn to defend themselves. He doesn't want them to know the full extent of his past, but he does firmly believe he's come to terms with most of it. Their acceptance certainly makes that easier.

·Everything seems to fall apart when an incident far more recent is brought up by an unthinking crew member; his breakdown and attempt to reroute the ship by taking hostages. The liaisons are all shocked to hear their large but lovable mentor could do such a thing, let alone that it happened such a short time ago. Max can only see disgust in their innocent expressions of curiosity as they gently ask if it's true. Paranoia long banished from his head sinks in deep, and with the softest of confirmations he has to leave before he breaks under the trauma he'd thought defeated. He realizes in a flash that he'd adored how these little ones gave him a fresh start, and now that his scars have been revealed he can't ever have that again. It's all he can do to seel himself away as the emotions overwhelm him.

·Bearing no ill will for their beloved mentor and friend, the liaisons first seek out answers for context they're obviously missing. Other bots are able to put the pieces together, and they're both surprised and horrified to hear Max endured unfathomable torture before having his episode, as the happy mech they know has never shown any signs of such pain. Regardless, they know he's suffering now, and they want to help him. Though he lets them into his room, it doesn't take much observation for them to see he can barely face them, and the group grows emotional as they let him know they've heard what he went through.

·Before he can say a word he's surrounded by tiny hugs, with each human expressing the deepest sympathy for all he's endured and the greatest administration for their beloved mentor. His protective instincts kick in and he scoops them all up for the closest thing to a hug he can give them. Feeling the extent of their adoration makes it apparent he's far too beloved for his past to change their perception of him, and the entire group takes some time to bask in a much needed moment of healing. He resumes teaching them and they continue to flock around the massive mech, perching where they can as he carries them and marvels over what incredible beings they're becoming before his very optics. For the first time in his life, he's able to be something other than a soldier, and the weight of his past is far lighter with so many tiny hands to help him carry it.

[ssadumba55]

First Choice (Ian Malcolm X Reader)

Request: Hi! Could i maybe leave a reuest for the future with ian malcolm x reader? I was thinking something taking place in jurassic park the lost world. Ian leaving for the island and nnot telling the reader why, so she gies after him and notices that hes dating sarah harding too? I mean, ian malcolm was known for being a ladies man.

A/N: This turned out way angstier than I wanted it to be but I think it was good practice for angst, so thanks for the request! I might be willing to tack on a part two someday! Enjoy!

You were such an idiot. As soon as you got off this damn island (if you did), you were going to swear off men forever. Of course, this was just the type of thing that would happen to you.

A few days earlier, your boyfriend Ian Malcolm had stopped returning your calls and hadn’t let you know where he was going. You knocked on his door, but there was no answer. It was lucky for you that Kelly Malcolm knew exactly what was going on and you bumped into her as she was leaving the apartment.

“He’s going out of town for a bit, I’m about to meet up with him, you should come with me,” she insisted, so you did. But he was too busy with getting everything set up for his research excursion, he hadn’t even realized you’d showed up. You tried asking the others where they were going but trying to talk to a bunch of busy researchers was like trying to talk to a brick wall.

Of course, there was no way you and Kelly were staying behind. You hid in the big research station together, all the way to the island. The first of many bad decisions and regrets you’d made this week.

Now you were stranded on some dinosaur infested island, you’d ditched Ian as soon as he’d come back to camp. At his side, Dr. Sarah Harding. It was clear the two were more than just partners on this research project. You kicked a stone as you walked, blood boiling at the memory. Of course you were being played, how did it take this long for you to figure that out?

Long business trips, constantly busy, not staying after long nights spent together… Those were obvious signs of cheating. How could you not see it coming sooner? There was no way he’d choose you over her. Sarah was everything you believed you weren’t, strong, smart, brave, independent.

The two of them will make a great pair, you thought bitterly, freezing as you heard the sound of rustling near by. After a moment, you decided it must’ve been a breeze and continued. There was no way you were getting off this island now, you had no idea where Ian and his crew were. You were pretty sure you’ve been walking in circles actually.

You leaned against a tree and breathed out a sigh, walking hurt, especially with an injured leg. Of course, almost immediately after you’d stormed off, you’d tripped and hurt yourself. Why wouldn’t you? Everything else this week was going perfect, wasn’t it?

You slid down the tree, sitting at the base and leaning your head back. Tears pricked the corners of your eyes, just days ago you’d been fine. Had a boyfriend. A job that you were prospering in, life was finally started to look up. After years of uncertainty and self hatred, there was light at the end of the tunnel. Now here you were, about to die in the middle of nowhere. Your body would be eaten by one of these beasts and you’d never be heard from again.

 Ian wouldn’t miss you; your parents would wonder for a while what happened and then move on… There would be no funeral, there would be no body to bury.

“… I wouldn’t be forced to clean up this mess…” A voice in the distance was saying, you lifted your head. There was no way there was anyone else on this godforsaken island, but the sound of someone’s voice after going so long without hearing anyone filled you with hope. You tried to clamber to your feet, hoping the noise was enough to alert whoever it was you were here.

“Ian…” A familiar voice called, you moved toward the sound, but you tripped on a tree root and landed face first in the dirt. Maybe it’s better if I stay here, you thought. Just as you were thinking that though hands grabbed your arms and pulled you up.

“What did you do to your leg?” Ian asked, almost like he was scolding you.

“Nothing,” your voice was scratchy, and you shook him off you, attempting to stand on your own. “I’m fine, see?”

Sarah kneeled to look at your leg anyway. You flinched back slightly, stumbling, and nearly falling over again. Luckily, Ian caught you again.

“We’re taking you back to the camp. You shouldn’t have run off at all,” he began to walk carefully, helping you along and Sarah stood to join.

You laughed weakly, there was something funny about being told off on a dinosaur island by your cheating boyfriend. Still, he was right. You shouldn’t have run off, there was no way you’d be able to survive all on your own.

Everyone else was grateful to see you and Sarah immediately got to work treating your leg.

“If it makes you feel any better, I had no idea either. I definitely wouldn’t have… If I had known…” she muttered as she treated your leg. Something about her words seemed genuine, yet it was hard to believe after everything you’d been through.

She left you alone after that, leaving you to think about what you were going to do now. You rested your head back and closed your eyes, listening to the sound of the others around you. Even though you were still trapped on this island, there was something comforting about having the others around. At least if you died now, it wouldn’t be alone.

“I know I screwed up, big time,” Ian’s voice cut through your musings, he sounded so tired. It had been a tiring past few days hadn’t it?

“You can say that again,” you said softly. He let out a deep breath, you couldn’t bring yourself to look at his face, but you knew he was looking at you concerned.

The two of you sat together in silence.

“Once we get off of this island, I swear I’ll make it up to you,” he mumbled. If you were a crueler person, you would’ve scoffed at his words.

“I know you’re going to choose Sarah, Ian, it’s fine. I understand. She’s a much better match for you anyway, no hard feelings. Just get me off this island and I’ll get out of your hair for good,” you told him, opening your eyes to finally meet his. He looked at you, a mixture of pain and sadness.

His hand gently reached over, running itself through your hair slowly. The two of you said nothing, there was nothing more to be said. Maybe here, for now, you could pretend that you were his first choice. After a few moments, you drifted off to sleep, exhausted after all your walking.

Ian drew the makeshift blanket up to your chin.

There was no fixing what he’d done.

“How are they?” Sarah asked as he walked over to join the others.

He couldn’t speak to her right now, he had to get these people off this island, before it took more than he wanted it to.

If only you knew you’d always been his first choice.

[lalainajanes]

For klarosummer bingo, this completes my first row! The prompt was “swimsuit model.”

Fortune Favors

“Bekah, these are amazing,” Caroline gushes. She 100% means it, but she’s laying it on a little thick. She’s seen pictures, mock-ups, and was fitted with prototypes. Now, with the line entirely constructed, all the details finished, Caroline’s impressed.  

Rebekah, however, seems frazzled, her usual rock-solid confidence nowhere to be found. 

Totally understandable. It’s a big day for her.

Rebekah’s working on launching a swimwear line, is funding a big chunk of it herself. Caroline would have agreed to help out even if she didn’t owe Rebekah a favor. Caroline continues flipping through the garments until she finds the tag with her name on it.

She pulls the first hanger off the rack to look at the suit more closely. It’s a white one-piece with a deep-v neck, a belt slim black belt, and ruffled straps. Rebekah fidgets, “We’re styling this one with red lips and heels, a big hat. We’re going to try to shoot this one on the rocks.”

“Sounds good to me.” The shoot seems far more professional from the ones they’d managed to pull together for school projects. They’d done the best they could with the facilities available to students, but the house they’re using today is by far the nicest one Caroline’s ever been inside of. It backs onto a private beach which seems unnecessary considering the freaking gorgeous pool in the backyard. “Who’s the photographer?”

Rebekah grins, clearly pleased with herself. “I managed to convince my brother to donate his services.”

Well. Now Caroline’s nervous. “Your brother Klaus?” she asks, kind of hoping she’s wrong. Klaus Mikaelson is a big deal. He’s shot major covers, A-list celebrities, million-dollar international campaigns.

He’s used to models who know what they’re doing, and Caroline’s definitely an amateur.

“Yes, Klaus. I’ve forbidden Kol from coming within a five-mile radius. Can’t have him harassing the models. And Elijah’s been a gem, but his expertise lies more in negotiating with suppliers and nagging me to mind the expenses.”

Caroline takes a deep breath, tells herself it’ll be fine.

She studies her next look, a sleek black bikini and a sheer black robe covered in floral details. “Love the appliqués. Did you bead this yourself?”

“Till my fingers were bloody. But I think it’ll photograph well.”

Caroline hums in agreement. “Is this one on the beach too?”

“No, by the pool. Chaise lounge, martini glass, one of the male models in the background. Think rich divorcee seducing the help.”

Caroline hopes it’s a real martini. She might need it.

 She flips to the next hanger and has to bite back a distressed groan. Rebekah’s concept leans retro, so the yellow polka dot bikini in her hand is skimpier than Caroline had anticipated. 

“Probably should have skipped breakfast,” she mutters.

Rebekah scoffs, “None of that. You’ll look smashing in it. I have impeccable taste.”

Caroline’s distracted by male laughter, a new person slipping into the tent. “So you’ve insisted your whole life. I distinctly recall you sneaking into the family albums and burning most of the photographic evidence of the unfortunate style choices you made in years 7 through 9.”

Ordinarily, Caroline would exploit the opportunity to get a little dirt on Rebekah, but she’s annoyingly tongue-tied and intimidated. She’s pasted on a polite smile, more out of habit than anything. 

She may have google stalked Rebekah once upon a time, way back when they’d been rivals at school. And if during Caroline’s research, she’d read several articles and poured over dozens of pictures of Rebekah’s very talented and successful fashion photographer brother, that was her business.

Know thy enemy and all that, she couldn’t have known that rivalry would shift to friendly competition, then to actual friendship. 

She’d noted he was attractive, of course, as anyone with eyes and sense would have. Most people don’t manage to live up to photos taken by professionals.

Klaus Mikaelson does, and it’s not helping her insecurities.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Nik.”

He walks further in, offering Caroline his hand. “You must be Caroline. It’s lovely to meet you. I’m Klaus Mikaelson.

She swallows, is relieved when her voice sounds normal. “You too. I’m excited for today. I love your work.”

He nods, appearing pleased. “It’s been ages since I’ve done this kind of shoot, but you must know how Rebekah can be. Wouldn’t stop haranguing me until I agreed.”

Rebekah glares, piqued, and Caroline presses her lips together to hold in a laugh that threatens, knowing it would not be appreciated. “I can’t blame her for doing what needed to be done to ensure the desired outcome. It’s only good business.”

Rebekah nods firmly, “Exactly. Thank you, Caroline. At least someone here appreciates me.” She picks up the last hanger that had been in Caroline’s section and hands it over. “This one’s first since the set-up is the simplest. Bonnie should arrive while you’re shooting. We’ll do her first look while you go back into beauty, then rotate throughout the day. Put this on. I’ll send hair in first.”

She knocks into Klaus’ shoulder when she leaves, hard enough to have him swaying. “That’s why you’re not allowed in my house!” he calls to her retreating form. “Just had the floor redone,” he tells Caroline. “Can’t have her stomping all over them if she has a tantrum.”

“She’s stressed. You might want to be nicer.” Caroline regrets the words immediately, glances away under the pretense of studying the bikini in her hand. He’s donating his time and apparently his house. Their family squabbles really aren’t her business.

But Klaus isn’t offended, “Perhaps you have a point, though Rebekah’s never more productive than she is when she’s angry. Failure’s not an option when she’s fueled by spite.”

Hmm. Caroline has similar ideals. Maybe that’s why she and Rebekah came to understand each other.

She realizes she’s been twisting the bikini top’s strap, hurriedly straightens it out. “I feel like I should warn you, my modeling experience is limited to pitching in with other student’s shoots at school. So, I’m far from a professional.”

He shrugs. “You have nothing to be worried about.”

That startles a laugh from her. “You only say that because you don’t know me. I am a world-class worrier.”

He takes the suit away from her, setting it aside. His knees bend, until their eyes are level. “Caroline. You’re beautiful. Rebekah’s created lovely things. I’m very good at my job. I have every confidence the final product will be spectacular, and I’ll be able to enjoy reminding Rebekah that she owes me a favor down the line.”

Caroline blinks at him in surprise, some of her nerves having drifted away when faced with his absolute and unwavering confidence. “That’s… actually very reassuring.”

“Was it? I confess that’s not a strength of mine.”

She’s not sure if he’s joking or not, but she picks up her first outfit again. It’s another bikini, a tropical print on a pink background with a halter top and a high waisted bottom. “I should change,” she says. “Something tells me Rebekah won’t appreciate it if we fall behind schedule.”

Klaus nods, rocking back a step. “Of course. I just wanted to introduce myself. Please feel free to let me know if you need or want anything at all.”

She thanks him again, and he lets himself out of the tent. 

Caroline takes one more deep breath and then ducks behind the screen in the corner and strips out of her sundress.

Once she’s dressed in Rebekah’s design, she begins to feel like everything might just go okay. The suit fits like a dream, propping up her breasts and perfectly hugging the curve of her hips. By the time hair and makeup work their magic, leaving her curls full and her lips slicked bubblegum pink, she feels freaking fantastic.

When she steps out onto the set, Klaus’ eyes widen when he spots her, lingering in a way that’s slightly unprofessional but not at all unwelcome.

He walks over, paying not the slightest bit of attention to anyone on the crew, even when an assistant tries to wave him over. Klaus offers his arm to help steady her as she steps into the matching pink pumps, leans in close, and tells her she looks incredible, his lips brushing her ear and sending a pleasant shiver down her spine.

She might be in trouble.

Will Rebekah kill Caroline if she flirts with Klaus? Probably.

Caroline thinks she’s willing to risk it.

[fantastic-rambles]

The Snakes’ Deception

Fandom: Haikyuu!! (@aikk00's Racing AU)

Characters (in order of appearance): Kozume Kenma, Kuroo Tetsurou, Yaku Morisuke, Sakishima Isumi, Daishou Suguru, Fukunaga Shouhei, Yamamoto Taketora, Haiba Lev, other Nekoma members (not mentioned by name)

Warnings: Physical Violence, Language

Word Count: 2.2k

Summary: When the Snakes, led by Daishou Suguru, come to challenge Kuroo for the title of Drift King, the Nekoma Crew isn’t going to take that lying down. But when the Snakes start to play nasty, the stakes are raised even further, and Kuroo has to fight to stay calm and prove that he’s the undisputed champion.

[A/N: RIP my dozen other drafts for other stories. I actually was planning to write this a few days before the Daishou art (also by aikk00), except I knew practically nothing about drift racing so I needed to do research, lul. I watched Tokyo Drift, some Initial D, some Grand Tour, and did a lot of reading online on drift racing and drifting in general, but tbh, I still don’t quite understand the mechanics (I don’t drive stick and I can’t go out and learn how to drift), so I apologize if this is horribly inaccurate. :P]

"The road condition looks good today, but it's still a little wet from earlier. Watch yourself going into the turns so you don't end up spinning out. The Snakes will probably do something though, especially since they asked you to race with Sakishima before Daishou. It should be okay when you're in the lead, but be ready to take defensive measures when you're chasing. My guess is that they'll try to take advantage of your skill at closing the gap and your power-over drift to orchestrate some sort of accident," Kenma commented quietly without looking up from his laptop, his fingers tapping away as he inputted a continuous stream of data. He seemed oblivious to the roar of the crowd outside the car, and Kuroo reached over to tousle his black-and-gold hair affectionately.

"Got it, Kenma. Anything else?"

"I know you won't listen, but you should just go all-out from the start. Not your usual way of racing. But if you do end up chasing, just do a normal drift and keep space between you and Sakishima. If they are aiming for an accident, it's more likely to happen when you're on the outside, so it'll slam into your side and Sakishima will be safe. But your numbers look good. I'm just going to tell Yaku-san to put a little more air into your rear tires," Kenma replied, closing the lid on his laptop and pushing open the passenger-side door, letting the sound of cheering and taunts into the vehicle. After he'd left and closed the door, Kuroo rolled down his window to light a cigarette, letting the smoke drift out into the night sky. Kenma hadn't said anything that he hadn't expected--especially with regard to the Snakes--but it was always reassuring to get their analyst's perspective before a race. Kenma wasn't the type to get fired up like the rest of the crew, but that cool-headed analysis was part of the reason they were able to climb so high in the rankings despite not always having the best cars or the best drivers. The ridiculous title of "Drift King" that he'd somehow ended up with was the result of Kenma's work as much as his own.

Still, Kenma was right. Even if it meant getting into an accident, Kuroo didn't intend to change the way he drifted. Part of the thrill of these races was the pure adrenaline high from going fast, especially when there was the risk of injury or even death. It was the reason why he'd mastered the power-over drift so that he could keep accelerating through the turn, and swung close enough to his opponents during his chases to make them panic. Even against the Snakes and their underhanded dealings, he'd show them that his way of fighting was still better, no matter what they threw at him.

He looked up when a shadow fell over him as Yaku leaned over his open window, the electric pump in his hand.

"You're good to go, Kuroo. Go ahead and show off," Yaku shouted over the din. Kuroo nodded, flicking his cigarette out the window and rolling up the glass. Yaku stepped back as he revved the engine, pulling up to the starting line where Sakishima was already waiting. Unlike most racers, Kuroo preferred chasing from the start to throw his opponent off his game. Before he'd inherited the title of Drift King, he'd been known as the Comeback Kid for his knack for overcoming what was traditionally seen as an unfavorable position. But the psychological benefit of overtaking the opponent and the pressure it put on the other racer, in addition to his skill with his clean lines and sharp angles that allowed him to do so consistently, had eventually shot him to the top of the Tokyo drifting world.

At the signal, Sakishima peeled past the starting line, and Kuroo quickly shot after him, staying close to his tail as they sped down the course. Even though his heart was racing, his head was completely clear, every sense focused on the view just beyond his windshield. Both he and Kenma were confident that Sakishima wouldn't try anything until the turn, but that was no reason to relax, especially at the speeds that they were going. Still, nothing happened when they reached the first clipping point, and Kuroo's eyes narrowed as he quickly estimated the distances and speeds between their cars, making his calculations swiftly and throwing himself into a drift just a heartbeat after Sakishima.

And it was perfect. His hand rested casually on the wheel as his tires squealed, sending up plumes of smoke as the tail of his car whipped around the curve, flying nearly parallel to Sakishima. The Snake seemed rattled as he spun into the next turn, turning slightly wide as Kuroo effortlessly stuck to him, their cars nearly touching as Kuroo grinned. It was pretty clear already which of them was the better drifter, not that it had ever been a question.

He let the car carry itself into the third point with just a few adjustments on his side, almost laughing as Sakishima had to drag on his own wheel to make the turn. The perfect chance presented itself almost immediately, and he aimed for the gap in Sakishima's barely controlled swing. But then, suddenly, the other car was spinning out as the Snake overcompensated, an out-of-control, two-ton wrecking ball flying toward him.

Kuroo jerked his wheel, pulling himself out of the drift and spinning out himself, the two cars making donuts on the road until he couldn't tell left from right. But the ominous crunch of metal never came, and when his car finally screeched to a stop, Kuroo slapped himself out of the harness and kicked his door open, stepping out onto the asphalt and casting his glare out at the spectators, looking for one specific slit-eyed face in particular.

"Daishou!" he bellowed, stomping toward the crowd and seizing the Snake by the collar, dragging him over the barrier. "What the fuck was that?"

But the other man just stared at him, all wide-eyed innocence. "'What the fuck' was what, Kuroo-san? Isumi made a mistake. Everyone saw that. He's not used to wet roads, but that's why I asked you to run with him so he could get some practice, because you're the only one good enough to not get hurt if he really fucks up. Like he did."

"Don't give me that bullshit!" Kuroo spun and slammed Daishou onto the ground, making the Snake wince as his back made contact with the asphalt. "That trick had your slime smeared all over it. You wanted to use Sakishima to take me out so you'd win the next run by default. If I hadn't been expecting something like that from you, I'd probably be in an ambulance on my way to the hospital right now."

Sakishima had caught up to them and was now clinging to Kuroo's arm, trying to pull him off while babbling insincere apologies. Kuroo shrugged him off impatiently as Daishou's hands landed on his wrist, trying to make him let go, but Kuroo shook him like a terrier with a rat, the adrenaline and testosterone giving him an incredible high.

"Really, Kuroo-san. Ask anyone. They would all say that it's a normal accident," Daishou protested. "You know these kinds of things happen all the time. But you're okay, Isumi's okay. No harm, no foul, right?"

The crowd was murmuring in the background, but Kuroo couldn't hear what they were saying through the blood pounding in his ears. He was just drawing his fist back to punch that smarmy smile off the Snake's face when a deluge of water crashed over both of them. Sputtering, he looked up to see Shouhei holding an empty bucket, Kenma standing beside him.

"Cooled off, Kuro?" Kenma asked in his deadpan voice as he approached them. "Or should I ask Fukunaga to get another bucket?"

Kuroo grimaced, shaking the water out of his eyes and hair as he leaned back slightly, still not letting Daishou go. Kenma crouched beside him, speaking softly, so that the crowd couldn't hear.

"You know that the Snakes are just like this. To everyone else, this does look like a normal accident. If you go any further, you're the one that's going to get a bad reputation. Right now, we can still pass it off as the heat of the moment. Let him go, Kuro."

"Yeah, listen to your girlfriend, Kuro," Daishou taunted. Kuroo's expression shut down, and he drew back his arm again. But this time, Kenma clung to it, still hissing in his ear.

"Stop it, Kuro. You know that everyone says that. They've been saying it for years. It doesn't mean anything. Stop letting him get to you!"

Kuroo grimaced again, but he listened to Kenma, letting his friend quietly talk him down until he was calm enough to shove Daishou away and get up. Accepting a towel from Shouhei, he tousled his hair dry while glaring at Daishou, who got back to his feet with as much dignity as he could muster.

"Sakishima-san forfeited the run," Kenma continued, still talking in his flat, measured tone. "So you'll be up against Daishou later. Are you up to it?"

"Fuck yeah, I'm ready to beat his ass," Kuroo snarled, and Kenma nodded at Shouhei, who ran across the asphalt to retrieve Kuroo's car. They'd probably replace the rear wheels to be safe, and then Kenma would have to run his checks again, but when they were done, his car would be better than new and more than ready to run the cheating bastard into the ground.

He reached into his pocket to pull out his pack of cigarettes, bending over to accept Kenma's offer of a light, and took a deep drag to steady his nerves. Being emotional during a race was the fastest way to get a ride to the morgue, so he needed to re-center himself. By then, the rest of his team had caught up to him, and Tora's particularly heated spiel about Daishou and his team helped bleed away most of the anger as they walked back to the starting line. Kenma had slipped away at some point, and Yaku was nowhere to be seen, so they were probably working on the car while he settled down. Really, he didn't deserve his friends.

By the time they arrived back at the beginning, the cool night air had washed away the rest of his irritation, which was probably Kenma's intention in making him walk back with the others. Shouhei and Yaku had just finished installing new tires, and Kenma was hunched over his laptop again on the curb, only looking up briefly when Kuroo sat down next to him.

"Thanks."

Kenma shrugged, his face bleached by the light from his screen. "I'm just doing my job."

"I mean earlier."

Kenma shrugged again, and a comfortable silence settled between them, broken only by the clicking of the keyboard. The rest of the team was huddled around the car, making checks and occasionally bringing Kenma more numbers, gradually shifting to sit around their captain and his brain, filling the silence with their chatter as other drifters made their runs.

"Hey, wait! You're playing a game, Kenma!" Lev protested, peering over Kenma's shoulder. "What about the race?"

"Kuroo will be fine," Kenma replied calmly as Kuroo looked over at his screen too, which seemed to be displaying the view through a sniper's scope. "His car's fine, and Daishou wants to beat Kuroo. If he tries the same thing, it'll be suspicious, and even if he did, if Kuroo doesn't spin out again, then Daishou will lose. And Kuroo is better than him, so if he does try anything else, it'd be more likely that he'd mess up and Kuroo would still win. His best chance at this point is a fair fight, and that means Kuroo could drive laps around him all day."

Kuroo grinned, standing up and stretching. "Well then, I guess that's my cue to get ready. I'll see you all at the finish line."

He walked over to his car, standing by the driver's door and just running a hand over the shining, red exterior for a moment. Then, taking a deep breath, he got inside, strapping himself down. The familiar feeling of exhilaration that he got just before a run made him smile as he pulled into place behind the next pair of cars, watching out of the corner of his eye as Daishou pulled up next to him.

And then, soon enough, they were flying down the road, Kuroo chasing again, keeping the pressure on his opponent. As Kenma had said, there was no way for Daishou to beat him, and he proved that as he took the lead at the very first bend, hitting the edge perfectly while gunning his engine through the whole course, making the best run that he'd probably ever done and leaving Daishou in his dust. If it was possible, he was even sharper on the turns than he had been against Sakishima, pushing himself and his car to the utmost limit. And there was no better feeling than watching the Snake come up to him to shake his hand after his loss, smiling like it hurt his teeth.

"As expected of the Drift King. But it won't last forever. Someday, someone will knock you off that throne."

And Kuroo had smiled back, the smirk that he knew infuriated Daishou more than anything else.

"Come at me whenever you want. I'll beat you down every time."

[A/N2: This isn't KuroKen. They're just really good childhood friends, so Kenma knows how to calm Kuroo down because they've been part of each other's lives for so long, and Kenma in particular is good at paying attention to people. Kuroo gets pissed at Daishou for calling Kenma his "girlfriend" not because of the implication that he's "whipped" (because Kuroo is perfectly secure in his masculinity), but rather because I have a headcanon that Kenma got teased a lot for being "girly" (weak, thin, kinda androgenous, etc.) growing up, so Kuroo still gets upset when that's used to insult his best friend (even though Kenma honestly doesn't give a fuck). But they're not in a romantic relationship; they just spend a lot of time together.

Of course, if you wanna interpret it as KuroKen, that's your prerogative, but that wasn't my intention in writing this.]

[hailbop1701]

Crushing Thoughts

October 2, 2021 (Crushed/Pinned)

Word Count: 1,686

Please note that I am not trained in any form of medicine so some of my stories could be somewhat (or hugely) inaccurate. I hope you enjoy it anyway! Thanks again to @toppysammy for being an amazing beta!

-H

MasterList

This is not how he wanted his day to go.

All of this could have been avoided if Jim had just let him stay on the ship doing the crew’s physicals.

Sighing, Leonard McCoy closed his eyes, letting his head gently fall back onto the cold stones beneath him. Being a doctor in these situations can both be a blessing and a curse. A blessing for obvious reasons; he’s able to know what’s wrong and how to fix it. A curse for basically the exact same reasons, but in the end, he knows there is no way to heal anything and he can imagine how bad it can truly get. He can’t lie to himself.

McCoy groaned and opened his eyes again. Everything hurt at this point, and as morbid as it sounded, that was a good thing. If he didn’t feel anything at all, then he was in big trouble. He scanned the darkening area with a critical eye. The rocks blocking the entrance to the cave were large. Too big to just pick up and move, not that he could go anywhere mind you.

Leonard scowled at the cave ceiling above him. “‘Go down to the planet,’ they said. ‘Nothing bad will happen,’ they said. What a crock-” he cut himself off, shaking his head sadly and turning.

The ensign from security who was assigned to him lied motionless--lifeless--a few feet away. The young man--Ensign Talos, barely out of his twenties--had been cut in half by a stalactite that had broken off the ceiling of the cave. The kid never had a chance. Guilt and nausea clawed up Leonard’s throat. He swallowed it down with gritted teeth. His breathing started coming rapidly. No, no, no. Stop, don’t panic! the logical part of his mind screamed but his raw emotions disregarded all logic.

McCoy remembered how he had been standing right where the boy was examining a rock with a type of mossy mold on it. Initial scans showed that it had similarities with penicillin. Leonard had to give Spock kudos because he was truly fascinated and excited by the possible studies and research he could do.

Leonard wanted to hit something, anything to get his mind off of the pain he was feeling, both physically and mentally. He was so wrapped up in a stupid moldy rock he didn’t even realize the planet was shaking. The ensign shouted his name and knocked him out of the way; the last thing he remembers seeing was the boy being mowed down by a falling rock. The stalactite was originally meant for him.

Leonard had been knocked unconscious and pinned by debris. He assumed he had been out for quite some time because the light was beginning to dim and the temperature dropped.

Shivering, McCoy listened to Ensign Talos’ comm chirp and fall silent before chirping again. This action kept repeating for what felt like hours until it finally stopped altogether. Leonard shut his eyes tight, willing his breathing to go back to normal before he passed out, using a technique he learned from Spock--which he would deny until his dying day. That could be today, McCoy thought, panicked.

Taking in deep, shuddering breaths, McCoy managed to calm himself down. Leonard allowed himself to drift. He let his thoughts run away; anything was better than having to lie there seeing the ensign’s body and remembering how the kid sacrificed himself for him. The doctor choked and shuddered.

He thought about Georgia, how the summer heat must have been cooling down and moving into fall. His mother making pecan pie and sipping sweet tea on the old porch swing. How his daughter must be getting excited and ready for a new school year. Fifth grade, already. McCoy couldn’t help but smile a little at the thought of his little girl. It melted away into worry and fear. Would he ever see her again?

Taking another deep, quaking breath, Leonard mentally shifted away from Georgia and to the Enterprise. The white, clean halls and corridors, the wide-open bridge, and his comfort zone: sickbay. No matter how much he bitches and complains, the Enterprise would always be home. The folks on that damned ship were his family. The thought of them squeezed his heart. Cursing under his breath, Leonard swallowed hard.

The images of them flashed through his head: his crew, his friends. Chekov and his bouncing curls and ever-present enthusiasm. Sulu and his unwavering loyalty and determination. Uhura with her calm presence and even-better-gossip than the belles back in the south. Scotty was always there with the best booze and better stories. Christine Chapel. Leonard chuckled; he would lose his head if she didn’t keep track of it for him.

Then there was the hobgoblin. McCoy snorted. His mouth upturned slightly. Damn computer managed to become one of his closest friends. The Vulcan managed to wiggle his way through McCoy’s defenses and set up shop like he owned the damned place. According to Nyota, his and Spock’s “debates” were legendary, and not just on the Enterprise either. Leonard snorted. Damn green-blooded bastard. He wouldn’t have the Vulcan any other way though: logic, pointy ears, and all.

And finally James T. “I’m-a-pain-in-my-best-friend’s-ass” Kirk. Leonard snorted again. Damn kid would turn McCoy gray before he reached forty. Ever since meeting Jim on the shuttle to the academy, he had been attached to McCoy’s hip. Somehow Kirk weaseled his way into Leonard’s heart and made himself at home. Was it really that easy? Only halfway through the first six months had Jim dubbed him “Bones.”

A nickname he initially hated with every fiber of his being. He goes into a tirade if anyone besides Jim calls him that. Only the Captain has that privilege. Leonard sighs. I’d be up a creek without Jim, he thought sourly. Maybe even kicked out of the Fleet for being a drunk miserable bastard. Kirk was the one to get him to laugh and crack an actual smile again. Sure, he made a few friends at the academy; Gaila, Uhura, and a few folks at the hospital but Jim managed to become his brother.

McCoy bit the inside of his cheek to keep himself from spiraling too far into his bitter psyche. Opening his eyes, he turned to look at Talos once more, wincing and swallowing back bile. Squinting, he eyed the dead Ensign, trying to determine how long he had been there, how long had he drifted. His pain was there but it was a terrible indicator, he had pushed it to the back of his mind. ‘Thanks for the lessons Spock.’

The Ensign’s body was stiff, his blood congealed. A few hours, five at minimum. Gritting his teeth, Leonard turned his head away. Doubt began to color his already anxious mind. Questions and scenarios that he didn’t want to think about were worming their way to the forefront.

Will they find me?

Did they leave?

Did they even bother looking?

Am I going to die?

His eyes drifted closed again as if he were trying to block out all of the negative thoughts. What am I thinking? lifting his head, Leonard let it drop back onto the cold stone cave floor with a dull, painful thud. Grumbling to himself, McCoy lifted his free hand to cover his eyes, his headache becoming worse and worse by the second. The pounding echoed through his ears--it sounded as though it were coming from outside the cave.

Leonard’s eyes snapped open and turned his neck so fast it left a terrible cramp. Hissing in pain, he strained to hear anything else. The sound of shouting and the shifting of rock made him almost hysterical.

“Bones!”

The voice was muffled but it was, without a doubt, Jim Kirk. McCoy barked out a relieved laugh. “Jim!” he called back, voice hoarse and dry. It cracked and came out more like a squeak instead of a call for help. Leonard cleared his throat and tried again.

“Jim!”

There was a pause in the work outside. “Bones, we’re coming buddy, hold on!” came the reply. McCoy grunted and shifted on the ground; he must have shifted too much because white-hot fire shot through his entire body. Yelping out, Leonard collapsed back down again.

“Bones!”

“Doctor McCoy!”

The shouts of concern and worry penetrated the heavy rocks. McCoy hissed out as the pain died down into a tingling throb, “Careful movin’ the rocks, I’m half-buried in here!” he called out with a little gasp. The shifting and work outside immediately halted. Voices murmured, too low and quiet for Leonard to hear.

He clenched his hand into a fist. Breathe, McCoy, he thought unsteadily. In for four, out for four, in for four, out for four.

They’ll think of something.

The far side of the cave shuddered and an Earth-shattering boom caused him to flinch back and cover his face. Dammit, Jim!

“Bones!”

A gentle hand pulled his arm away from his face so they could see into his eyes. Blinking sluggishly Leonard turned to see his best friend looming over him. Kirk’s fierce blue eyes flitted over his form as he searched for the best way to solve this particular problem. “Hey, kid,” McCoy murmured with a sad smile.

Jim gave him a little smile in return, “You’re gonna be okay, Bones.” Kirk turned and looked over his shoulder at someone. “Spock--” the rest was a quiet question, a need for suggestions. Leonard could no longer hear what was being said, all he felt was numbness. Squinting, he saw the hypospray in the Captain’s hand. When did he…

The forms of Kirk and Spock blended into a single blurred image. The blob whom he believed to be Spock turned toward him, communicator in hand. “Doctor, I suggest you rest. You will be in Sickbay momentarily.”

McCoy snorted and let his head fall into Jim’s lap, “‘m not tired, ya damned computer,” he slurred as his eyes fluttered shut.

Spock hummed with a single raised eyebrow. “Indeed,” he muttered dryly. Kirk barked out a strangled laugh as the golden light of the transported engulfed them.

Tags:

Everything: @lauraaan182, @chickadee-djarin, @cowenby2, @bluesclues-1234, @sayuri9908

*Again if you would like to be tagged in WhumpTober please let me know!*

[luazasvogel]

@turnecoat​ asked:

"Well that's not somethin' ya see every day..."

      He wouldn’t care...he wouldn’t care about this simple little man. There were so many like him, curious or confused individuals. Those that weren’t sure what he was, who he was even...It was always this way, King would come to islands that could have potential, find those that did, and then burn the rest to the ground or if it had enough for the Beast Pirates, he would simply take over the island. Claim it for the Beast Pirates, for Kaido. 

      The Calamity would have looked away, he would have moved on...But what did he have there? A dog? It reminded him quite a bit a the komachiyo in Wano-kuni. And yet it had a certain look to it, a difference. It seemed more powerful than some bumbling dog lion. He couldn’t quite pinpoint it! He wondered...Was it a zoan? Perhaps it was a companion, assisting an injured friend. If that was the case, he’d have to claim it. After all, the Beast Pirates would amass the largest crew in all history...To start the greatest war, yes...That was what Kaido wanted, if that was what he wanted, King would do ANYTHING to give it to him.

      This would include whatever this man had... 

      “ I could say the same. ”

      King’s voice was level, composed. There was no aggression present and yet no joy either, simply a level unnaturalness. The fire along his back flickered and steamed while large black wings briefly ruffled before returning their idle and stationary position. If anything, he was curious. The more he observed the less his theory about that dog being a zoan became viable. A brief thought flashed in his mind about if Yamato saw the thing...hmm...Better to keep it out of Onigashima if it came to it. It would be better off in one of the outposts or Ringo...Jack might do well to have it, he was familiar with Yamato, and that brat acted enough like a dog. Especially with his own devil fruit...

      Thoughts drifted off and were cleared, King’s focus had never truly left, his eyes the only visible part of his face remaining pierced into the two before him. They were observant, yet so very critical. He noted the error in one’s ability to walk--not with the broken limb, no, people’s incompetency always seemed to leak in how they stood. King had experience in observing those who were injured, in sifting through what was fake or temporary and deciphering what was real, what was permanent. He wouldn’t be so good at breaking the spirits of those that he saw as his patients if he wasn’t...He wouldn’t be able to interrogate as well if he didn’t...

      “ People like me are more prevalent in the Grand Line, however. I would be surprised if I was the only tall person you have seen since your arrival... ”

      Strange, and he was remarkably aware of how close this island was to other Yonko activity. Damned hag. He had to be, especially with her obsession with him. Still...How strange.

      “ What is that with you? ”

      Despite his more malicious intent for why the Calamity was at the island, from his research beforehand of the location, they weren’t too up to date on the happenings of Yonko crews. They wouldn’t know who he was. Sure, they would, when he obliterated them and enslaved those that could be workers and be sent to Udon...But for now, he was simply a passerby. Like any other pirate.

[chaseatinydream]

pirate king (47) || atz

In the relative silence of the sickbay, you and San fight to save Yunho’s life.

The two of you work silently, switching out blood stained bandages for clean ones, Seonghwa running between the galley and the infirmary to wash the soiled paddings as you and San try desperately to stop the bleeding. The wound may not be big, but it’s deep and from San’s deductions, it’s poisoned, and that’s probably what worries the two of you the most.

The metallic tang of blood hits your nose as you toss one bloodied bandage into a basket, reaching for a fresh one and pressing it to the wound. Underneath your hands, Yunho moans weakly in pain, his face ashen and a thin sheen of cold sweat on his forehead. At the side, your master is at his worktable, furiously mixing a complex concoction to slow down Yunho’s heart rate and hopefully knock the injured battlemaster out while the two of you tend to his wound.

“Is he going to be fine?” Seonghwa whispers to you as he takes the basket of soiled bandages for the third time already, glancing worriedly over at the limp form of one of his oldest friends on the bed. Honestly, you’re not sure how to reply.

“It’s not the wound that we’re worried about, actually.” You murmur softly under your breath as you pour whiskey onto the cloth, cleaning out the wound the best you can. Yunho’s head falls back as he whimpers softly in pain and you murmur soothing words to him, brushing his damp hair out of his eyes. “It’s the poison.”

“But Sanie is familiar with poisons.” Seonghwa tells you as he rests his hand on Yunho’s forehead. It’s clammy to the touch, a sign that the poison is already taking its effects on him. Usually, it would be a simple task for San to look through his extensive book of poisons and simply find a cure, but this time…

San doesn’t know what poison it is this time.

You don’t know what to do either. You don’t have the experience with poisons to be able to help your master in this area, so the only thing you can do is assist San by dealing with the physical wound while he tries to figure out exactly how to save Yunho’s life.

Sighing, Seonghwa looks over at Yunho with weary, resigned look, patting his younger crewmate gently. In that one action, there are a million words left unsaid, the weight of the his emotions for his friend settling over to you, a tidal wave of concern, pain, sadness.

“Please be okay, Yunho.” Seonghwa murmurs one last time, before he rises to his feet and leaves the room with the basket under his arm, unable to continue looking upon the still form of his weakened crewmate. You can understand how Seonghwa feels, you yourself can barely bring yourself to glance at Yunho’s sallow, pallid face, mumbling incoherently under his breath.

“Here.” San finally steps over to you, handing a small bottle of freshly mixed painkiller. You swirl it around a few more times and the potent pungence of it hits your nose, causing your eyes to water as your master reaches for Yunho’s head, tilting his mouth open with his thumb.

Sidling up next to him, you very carefully hold the bottle over Yunho’s trembling lips, dribbling just a little of the concoction into his mouth.

At the first drop, Yunho coughs and splutters, choking on its bitter taste and you immediately panic, worried that the painkiller might have gone down his windpipe instead. Your master, already expecting something like this to happen from experience, rushes to lie him back down, patting him gently as he reassures Yunho with soft words.

“Don’t worry, Yunho-ah, all you need to do is drink this little painkiller and you can go right to sleep.” Your master’s soft words drift over to your ears as you search for a way to make the painkiller easier for Yunho to ingest. “No more pain… yes, you can just rest.”

“It hurts…” Yunho whimpers softly, like a feverish child reaching for his mother, except this is so much more severe than just that. Your heart almost shatters at the weakness of his voice, but you force yourself to hold it together for his sake, squeezing your eyes shut against the tears that threaten to fall. “It hurts so much…”

“I know, I know.” San cooes sweetly to him, his voice taking on a honeyed, gentle tone as he beckons you over with a finger. “Just drink this and it’ll make all the pain go away, alright?”

Once again, you press the bottle to his cracked lips and this time Yunho drinks it all like a dehydrated man, as if he’s desperately seeking any relief he can from the pain the poison is causing him. Every drop slides down his throat as San rubs his back soothingly, whispering encouragement and reassurance to his crewmate. In seconds, the entire bottle is drained and you take it from him, moving to the work bench to prepare for the next phase in the healing process.

Behind your back, you hear San humming a lullaby to Yunho, but even over his voice you can hear Yunho’s breathing begin to weaken, from sporadic pants to soft, even breathing. Terror wins out for a second and you whirl around to look at him, tears gathering at the corner of your eyes as you fear that this may be the last time you see him conscious, and that he may truly never wake up from this sleep.

But Yunho’s eyes are already closed, chest falling and rising evenly as he falls into a deep slumber right before your eyes.

A sob chokes its way from your throat before you can help it and a pathetic whimper escapes you, the tears you’d been holding back so long finally rolling down your cheeks. San immediately rises from Yunho’s side and pulls you into a tight embrace, your face nestled in his shoulder as you cry quietly.

Your master gives you a moment to let all your emotions out, his hand patting you on the back gently. Silently, you feel warmth staining the collar of your shirt and you hug your master a little tighter, both of you afraid, petrified, terrified for Yunho’s life, but at least you’re together, and somehow that makes it a little easier to breathe.

After a while, the two of you finally collect yourselves. San holds you by the shoulders, one hand reaching up to wipe the tears from your cheeks as he forces a smile on his face.

“Let’s save him, Chin Hae.”

The two of you move in tandem. San moves to stem the bleeding of the wound in Yunho’s side as you prepare the needle for the stitching, wiping it clean with alcohol before heating it over an open flame. Next, you thread it carefully with fine silk, before passing it to your master.

His fingers fly over the injury, the tweezers in his hand pulling the needle through Yunho’s skin as your master works to close the wound. After a few moments, the gash is completely closed, and you pass San a roll of clean bandage which he uses to bind the wound.

When all is done, the two of you heave a simultaneous sigh of relief. You’ve done all you can, the rest is left to the gods now.

The two of you sit down side by side on the bed opposite Yunho’s, watching the injured battlemaster sleep peacefully in grim silence. San wraps an arm around your shoulders to comfort you as he starts to give you the diagnostic for the wound and you sink into his embrace, desperately needing his warm presence to ground you before you burst into tears again.

“He’s been stabbed in the side, but I have confidence that will heal with time. We can always treat physical wounds with our healing abilities.” San tells you quietly as you rest your head on his shoulder. “What I’m worried about is the poison. I collected a sample of the poisoned blood on the mouth of the wound, but it might take me a few days to run tests and determine what compounds are in it.”

“Why can’t we use our healing abilities like we did with Yeosang, though?” You whisper quietly, as if trying not to disturb Yunho’s sleeping form. San’s brow pinches in frustration.

“We could heal Yeosang’s wound in one shot because it was a physical wound, so all we had to do was focus our energies onto that one area. But Yunho has been poisoned and the toxins have spread around his body through his bloodstream. We can’t manage such an intricate repair where we have to fix every part of his body, and even if we could, the poison would still remain in his blood and continue doing damage.”

You swallow at the bleak words. “So you’re saying the only thing we can do is wait for his body to flush out the poison on its own? Or create an antidote, but we don’t know what poison it is?”

San nods. “The painkiller I gave him should knock him out for a while and slow down his heart rate so the poison doesn’t work as fast, but do you have any idea how long we might have before the poison kills him?”

You flinch at the word, but you rack your brains. Think, Chin Hae, think! For a moment, you can recall nothing, but then a thought forms in your mind.

“Commander Kang said to come to Cayman Islands if we wanted the antidote, so that must mean the poison is a slow affecting one, am I right? He wouldn’t have said that if Yunho’s just going to die in a few days.”

San pauses a moment to consider your words, before he heaves a slight sigh of relief. “I guess that’s true… although coming out of the mouth of that snake, I’m not sure whether we can trust his words.”

Then he turns to you with earnest eyes. “You know that Hongjoong-hyung would never give you and Yeosang up. You know that, don’t you?”

You do know that. You know that more than anyone else. But there’s always fear in you, no matter how small, that your captain may choose the freedom of his crew over you… and you wouldn’t blame him in the least for it.

How could you?

Before your thoughts can start spiraling down this depressing whirlpool, San rises to his feet, stretching his arms above his head and glances at you.

“I’ll be researching on the poison sample, so I need you to remain here and watch over Yunho for me. Can you do that for me, Chin Hae?”

You don’t want to be alone with your thoughts as they eat away at you from the inside, but even more than that, you need for Yunho to get his antidote, so you nod and San presses a last, quick kiss to your temple, patting you on the shoulder reassuringly.

“Yunho is strong… and incredibly lucky. Believe in him.”

With that, your master leaves the room, and you’re all alone with Yunho in the sickbay. With nothing much else for you to do, you merely stare at the battlemaster’s face, memories with him flashing through your mind.

Since the first day you stepped aboard this ship, Yunho has always been this figure of strength and power, radiating positivity and goodwill like the sun itself. You still remember the time you had climbed up to the crow’s nest with him for the first time, the way he had simply grinned at you and reassured you that he’d catch you if you ever fell.

You can’t forget his sad, melancholy laugh as he explained the meaning of the rings in his hair, how he’d exposed the scar at his neck, the way he’d spilled to you everything about his brother with that fond, affectionate look on his face.

He was nicer, kinder, gentler. Always the better one of the two of us.

Well, your jaw clenches as you think about Yunho’s words, trying and failing to match it with the man you’d seen with Commander Kang earlier that day. You clearly remembered wrong, Yunho, because your brother is nothing like that.

Everything about Jeong Gunho scared you senseless, and still does, even more so when you think back on it. His short brown hair was flyaway and messy like any other youth, deep brown eyes expressive and alight with happiness. He and Yunho truly looked eerily alike, in fact now that you think about it, Gunho looks like what you might have imagined Yunho to resemble three years ago.

But it had been his smile that had scared you the most. You as an onlooker had been completely convinced of Gunho’s joy to finally meet his estranged brother once more, much less Yunho, who’d been missing his brother for years. It was no surprise Yunho had fallen for his younger brother’s act.

What truly scares you had been that even after running his brother through with a knife, Gunho’s face hadn’t changed the least. You remember the words he had spoken to Yunho with that same bright smile, one that you now know must have been hiding a dark, sinister intent underneath.

I didn’t think you’d be on guard enough to react so quickly around me. And here I thought you were glad to see me again, brother.

A frisson of fear runs through you as you recall the way he had said those words, as if disappointed a plan of his hadn’t worked out. His facade up to that point, right from the beginning when his hood had fallen off to the moment he’d stabbed Yunho in the stomach, had been wholly, undeniably flawless.

Gunho had known that Yunho missed him with every fiber of his being even before he had stepped onto the ship.

And he had intended to use that against him from the very beginning.

You’re utterly confused with so many unanswered questions buzzing around in your mind, some more baffling than the others. They spill into your mind like water overflowing from a basin, swirling around in your thoughts as you desperately try to come up with explanations and answers to them.

Wasn’t Gunho supposed to be dead? How did he magically some back to life… and why was he with the Royal Navy? Why was he with Commander Kang? From the way the two had looked at each other, moving in sync, they must have known each other for a long time. Which led you to the question… exactly what had happened after Yunho had left his brother behind in that arena?

A sigh escapes your mouth and you’re tempted to ram your head into the wall, but the noise would wake Yunho up. Playing with the necklace resting around your neck, you shut your eyes, matching your breathing to Yunho’s as you think hard about the events earlier in the day.

Why does Commander Kang want you? And why is there such a massive bounty on your head? Why on earth would you be worth more to the Royal Navy than the Pirate King himself? And why-

Creak…

You nearly jump in shock and scramble around to search for the source of the noise, only to see that it’s Yeosang stepping in through the door, carrying a small loaf of bread and meat. When he sees you sitting on the bed staring at him in surprise, he gives you a weak smile and crosses the room to pass you the food.

“Dinner. Seonghwa-hyung said to tell you shouldn’t skip any meals and to keep your strength up.”

“Thanks.” You take the food from him, just now realising how ravenous you are. The navigator seats himself next to you, the wooden frame creaking under his weight as he takes in the sight of one of his oldest friends, quiet and still on the bed opposite him. His face falls a little and you pause in between bites to attempt to cheer him up.

“Hey, it’ll be okay, Yeosang. I’m… I’m sure Captain wouldn’t give us up to your father. He’ll find a way to save us all, including Yunho. I believe in him.” You try to reassure him, but Yeosang merely gives you a defeated smile. He can feel your true feelings, even without words passing between you. How terrified you are that you’ll be given up. How part of you wants to be given up… if it means Yunho can be saved.

“My father did this, huh?” Yeosang’s hands clasp together in his lap and he leans back to stare at the ceiling of the infirmary. “I never… I never thought I would see him again, for most part.”

You glance at him, feeling his sorrow running through your veins as if it’s your own, your fingers reaching for his. Your intertwined hands rest in between the two of you as you close your eyes, taking comfort from the fact that Yeosang is here, and he understands what you’re feeling. “How did you come to the Treasure… Yeosang-oppa?”

You hear the navigator’s breath hitch, before his grip on your hand relaxes. “My father abandoned me in exchange for his crew’s safety when we had a run in with the Treasure… I was valuable, so Hongjoong took me alive.”

Your heart sinks. What he’s telling you now are the exact same memories you had seen in his mind, but the broken way he says it makes it so much more painful to your ears.

“Sometimes I wonder what would have happened if I hadn’t met Captain and the others…” Yeosang murmurs softly, squeezing your hand a little. “Whether I would have continued to follow my father blindly like a dog desperate for affection… believing that he truly did love me and that I just needed to prove myself to him. Or whether I would have realised it one day, completely alone, before all that love turned to hatred.”

“But you didn’t.” You remind him, looking him in the eye. Yeosang’s face brightens just a little at the thought of it.

“I didn’t.” He repeats after you, the smallest of smiles on his face as he reminisces upon those memories. “I stayed in the sickbay at first, you know? For a while, I completely refused food when San and Seonghwa-hyung brought it to me. I thought I should just die, because I had nothing more to live for.”

You stiffen a little at the thought of Yeosang, silent and unmoving, letting his body just die slowly as he tried to come to terms with the one, singular thing he’d believed his whole life; that his father had loved him. Nothing but fury wells up at the image that comes to mind.

“But someone changed my mind.”

“Oh?” You’re a little surprised and you see Yeosang with a gentle smile on his face as he recalls those days, a time long before you had joined the Treasure. “Seonghwa-oppa changed your mind? Or maybe Master?”

But Yeosang shakes his head to both, before dropping one name you had not expected to hear at all.

“It was Wooyoung.”

You actually pause in shock to stare at him. You really don’t have anything against him, Wooyoung is one of your best friends, and honestly, someone you wouldn’t hesitate to trust your life with. The head gunner has a silver tongue, a skilled charmer with both incredible charisma and empathy, but you wouldn’t have expected it to be Wooyoung of all people to be the one to pull Yeosang out of the darkness.

“Oh?”

Yeosang nods solemnly. “Wooyoung simply talked to me about never having experienced any sort of familial love, so it didn’t really matter to him when he’d left his first ship and come aboard the Treasure. But he felt as if I had it a lot harder… because I had lost something when he had nothing to lose.”

A shiver runs down your spine at those words. Nothing to lose? You recall his behaviour from the mermaid incident, how you’ve been hearing people making allusions to Wooyoung’s past but never really speaking about it, as if it’s some sort of taboo subject. You know he’s been through a lot from the little he’d told you back on Nassau… but how much had he suffered, exactly?

Part of you doesn’t want to know.

“Wooyoung told me he’d found a family he’d never known could exist on the Treasure and said he hoped I would give them a chance and let them do the same for me. You know it too, don’t you?” Yeosang recalls, shaking his head with a fond smile. “That’s how I know that Captain would never betray us.”

He squeezes your hands tightly in his, and something deep in you realises that maybe you were the one who needed comfort this entire time.

So, closing your eyes, you let yourself believe in the one thing that has been true this entire time.

Your captain will never betray you.

[morimakesfanart]

Sindria's Prophet #08

[1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [AO3]

** TW/suicide of family member implied (it is marked ahead with ((text)) so you know what to skip) ~POV shift Mori~ In my old life I had spent 4 or so years as a historical reenactor for the mid 1700's through early 1800's on my weekends. My group mainly acted as pirates/privateers and sang sea shanties. We had done performances on different ships, but every time we were invited onto a period ship I couldn't make it, so I was geeking out when I saw the ship we'd be taking to Sindria. I prayed it didn't show on my face. Sure it was exciting for an other world's nerd like me to get to see a ship like this in use, but to everyone else it was a normal ship. The ship had two masts -both square rigged with a fore and aft sail at the back for better steering. Considering the reputation for the waters around Sindria I expected a bigger three mast ship for strength, but who was I to judge?

With only two masts, this ship probably only needed a crew of about nine people to allow for different shifts. It didn't look like it had room for many passengers. No doubt, Sinbad didn't expect to be bringing four extra people back with him. I was in full on research mode by the time I got on the ship, and I tired my best to not stand out or get in the way. Getting to look up at the rigging from on the deck was an experience. After everyone was settled I'd definitely make a point to look around more. I might even take one of the scrolls out and try drawing the deck of the ship since I never got around to drawing that gorgeous room in the hotel. I considered myself lucky that no one tried to talk to me until the rooms were being divided out -I had been hyperfixating so I might not have even noticed if they did.

Studying the ship could only boost me for so long. About 15 minutes before we left the port I could no longer ignore that my head was throbbing from exhaustion. This headache was undeniably becoming a migraine if it wasn't one already. I decided that sleep was the next thing on my agenda. Luckily, I made that decision around the same time the rooms were being divided out. I had figured I'd end up in the same room as Alibaba, Aladdin and Morgiana, but Alibaba was put in the same room as Ja'far and Masrur. Everyone put their bags down, and headed back on deck except me. I sat on my bed with my head in my hands as I started to let myself fully calm down. In the quiet it hit me just how much I had been using working on the scrolls as a way to avoid thinking about my guilt and lost home. I'd have to find time when no one else was in the room to work through these feelings. There was no way I could keep it bottled up until we reached Sindria. "Excuse me, Miss Mori?" Aladdin had re-entered the room and closed the door. We might not have been formally introduced but he was told who I was. "What is it?" I lifted my head to look at him, and tried to keep my expression positive. I felt the waves rising. A Magi was talking to a Prophet in private; something was bound to happen. The walls of the ship creaked, and I heard steps and the floor boards creak in the hallway. The wave got a little bigger. Silence hung in the air as the boy just stood there. Instead of trying to guess what he wanted I waited. His hands tightened around his staff. Aladdin looked nervous as he confronted me. "I know you say you've read Fate, but I don't think Fate is something written in stone. It's something that everyone makes together. It can always change." The hallway floor creaked behind the Magi again. The wave was getting bigger. Someone was definitely listening in, and there was only one King that was a chronic eavesdropper.

"I agree," I said bluntly. I wanted Sinbad to hear my answer. Ten years ago, he came to the conclusion that Fate was something already written as a way to cope with his guilt and trauma, and he thought he was 'the chosen one' for being able to read ahead through the waves, but he was wrong on both accounts. "You do?” Aladdin was surprised. It must sound weird coming from someone who read Fate. "I've read more than one Fate for this world, so I know there is no one true path." The manga, anime and OVAs were a little different after all. "And if Fate couldn't be changed then I couldn't be here." I turned so I was sitting facing him. "You see, I wasn't in any of the Fate I read. I wasn't even in this world until five days ago." The magi took a few steps towards me with wide eyes. Aladdin had felt very alone for not being from this world -now he would know he wasn't the only one. It wasn't a reveal that caused problems on its own when Aladdin explained in the original so I didn't see an issue in letting Sinbad overhear about me either- I had already implied as much the previous day. I felt the need to elaborated. "Everything I do changes the Fate I read because I wasn't here. For example, only one of the Fates I read showed the conversation where you all found out about the Kou Fleet. Remember how I yelled at Alibaba? If I didn't convince him to leave then King Sinbad would have knocked him out, and Alibaba would be kept asleep with medicine for this whole trip. Since I was there this time, I was able to change that." "Oh!" He brightened up a bit. "I much prefer things this way." "I agree. Like this it will be much easier for him to heal." I looked down at my intertwined hands. "I have no idea how this will change the Fate I read though." Aladdin hummed a question mark, but he didn't say or ask anything directly. I answered the obvious question to my words, "I can't read a Fate that I'm a part of, so now that I'm here I can't read how my actions are changing Fate. Eventually, the Fate I did read will become useless, and I have no idea if I'm changing it for the better." It was only as I said it that I remembered that Sinbad was listening. I had basically just told him that my usefulness as his Prophet would have a definite expiration date. All I had wanted was to let Aladdin know that he might not be able to rely on me for everything. I definitely wasn't thinking clearly. Aladdin cut into my thoughts. "Is that why the Rukh are so active around you? Because you weren't originally a part of the Flow of Fate?" "Probably." I didn't know what else to say. I knew I had to be making distinctive waves in the Rukh just by being here, let alone with all of my changes. "Miss Mori, where are you from?" I hummed in amusement at that. "I'm from much farther away than you or your parents-if you can believe it." I was from the same world as the person who wrote the original Fate of this world. There was no way I could tell anyone that. He was shocked again. It was written all over his face that he was questioning if I was really from a dimension farther away than Alma Torran. Aladdin gripped the flute that he always wore. "Then... Are you the person he didn't recognize?" "He?" Which 'he' -oh. I lowered my voice. "Ugo?" I put one finger over my lips and looked at the door. Sinbad has to remain ignorant about the Sacred Palace; he's too self-absorbed. Aladdin looked confused at my change in volume. He followed my gaze to the door and back then nodded. He didn't look all that surprised that I knew about Ugo. I kept my voice low. "Aladdin, let's talk more about this some other time. The walls have ears on such a small ship. And I'm exhausted." "Okay. Rest well, Miss Mori." Aladdin spoke at normal volume. I heard a scramble in the hallway, the magi left, and I put my glasses in the top of my bag for safe keeping. I could hear Aladdin through the wall. "Oh! Mr. Sinbad, Mr. Ja'far, did you want to check on Miss Mori too?” "Uh, yes. How is she doing?” Was King Sinbad's response. I could hear the nerves he was trying to

cover up. "Real smooth there, Sin." I mumbled as I finally drifted into unconsciousness. --- I was a young man of 20 some years. I had started a family. We didn't have enough money for food. I ended up taking a risky job because I knew it would pay better. ... No. I'm a six year old girl? I don't remember if I had parents, but I remember going to visit this old dog every day. ... If life was hard, and I had nothing to loose then there was no reason not to bet everything I had on one last round. How could I return to my family without money? The last time I saw my son he was three. Would he even remember me? ... Ya know, when you grow up with someone and everyone else can see your chemistry you'd think it would be obvious that we'd marry when we grew up, but she met someone else. ... I knew things were bad, but I never even considered that my neighbor was stealing from me when I was at work. Bastard stabbed me with my own kitchen knife when I caught him. --- I wasn't myself in my dreams. Every time I woke I had to ground myself and remember where and when I was. Rereading the scrolls I had made helped. Just how many Rukh had merged with me, and why? I had no connections to any of those spirits while they were alive. Was it just because ghosts like me? I wrote down every dream I had; their lives might have been over, but they were a part of me now. I was too exhausted to go on deck, and I could feel that there were still more lives inside of me that I had to get aquatinted with. When I wasn't sleeping, I was working on scrolls again since I at least had enough energy to write and draw. My breathing was getting difficult, and I was struggling with temperature regulation. I wasn't okay enough to tell if it was my body struggling with the changes in my magoi, like when Sinbad took in all the Rukh after the Fall of First Sindria, or if I was just sick. After making sure I could still use magoi manipulation I decided that it was probably the later. I mainly left that room for food, and I waited until almost everyone was done before going. I avoided talking to others too. If I was sick I needed to minimize my contact with others. Alibaba seemed to be in a similar state to me. We both found that staying near each other when around the others made them less likely to approach us with the depressing cloud that hung over us.

Those that did see me could obviously tell I was unwell. From their words it seemed like they were assuming I was just mourning -they were only half wrong. It gave me an easy excuse to leave, so I never corrected them. I did feel bad for worrying everyone. The whole situation sucked. I wanted to cry. I had been in lock down back home because of Covid-19 for 8 months as an at risk person (it's still Oct 2020 in this story). I was literally in a fantasy anime world now. I wasn't given a better immune system, but my boobs didn't need a bra anymore??? WTF?? If the current arbiter of Fate was me writing fanfiction, then they had a lot of explaining to do. ... Who was I kidding? I knew why I would write something like this. I wanted to see more stories about people like me -someone with my disabilities and life experiences- get to be someone "valued" even if they couldn't be on the front lines. My migraine wouldn't go away, and it wasn't the only part of me in pain. I think I got palpitations a few times -breathing was even worse during those episodes. If I hadn't had health problems growing up I probably would have been panicking. I knew it was stupid to not tell anyone what was going on with me. But would anyone even be able help me on a ship? Telling them would just make them worry more than they already were. Aladdin and Morgiana could tell something more was wrong with me; I couldn't fully hide from them while sleeping in the same room. They must have let the others know since they gave me some pain killers at some point. It tasted awful. I'm honestly not sure how affective it was, but it did knock me out. ((Skip to the next paragraph to avoid the trigger)) At least I was left alone most of the time. I had no choice but to sit with my thoughts about Balbadd. I grew up mourning. The blood on my hands might not be the same as losing most of my loved ones back home, but it was damn similar to when I was in high school thinking "if only one of us had answered the phone that day." The Balbadd revolt would have been much worse if I wasn't there. And even if I had said something sooner there was little that could be done to actually stop Al Thamen when they had their hands so deep in that country. Even with Sinbad there to sway Fate, Al Thamen would still find a way to spill blood. Even if I told Alibaba days in advance and he tried to talk to Cassim about it, Cassim wanted nothing to do with Sinbad, so any help that came from him would be refused. Cassim was twisted around Issnan's fingers and out for blood. I did the best I could. My actions did save some people. I'd have to take solace in that. --- I woke up to something wrapped around me, almost like I was tied down. I couldn't move my legs. I gave up trying to untangle my skirt and covers from me, and just pulled the skirt out from under the cloth belt -kicking the whole mass off like a cocoon. I had put my underwear on underneath and I still had the tunic on so I wasn't left totally uncovered. Star light shown in from the window. I had slept through another day. I couldn't remember my dream. Maybe I had finally returned to having my own dreams. The other beds in the room were occupied. My head was still swimming. I felt trapped. I needed something. I heard the waves outside, and felt the waves of Fate washing over me. Their sounds called to me. Back home I had used the sounds of waves to meditate and stim regularly. I had been hearing them all this time, but I wanted to see them. I didn't bother to slip on my flip-flops as I made my way to the door, didn't even think about grabbing my glasses until I was already on deck. It had been so dark below that I couldn't see anyway, and didn't realize I wasn't wearing them. The wave of Fate I had been following lead me farther into the space. When I hit it's end, the adrenaline that had got me that far died out. The night air hit my legs and I shivered. It was colder than it was at night in Balbadd. I thought we were heading south. Did I still have a fever? The cold reminded me that I really should have put on

my shorts or something before coming out here. The tunic just barely covered me. My vision was going grey scale. This was bad. Really bad. I recognized this feeling. I was about to pass out from not being able to breathe right. I used to have fainting spells as a kid because of my weak raspatory system and needed to carry smelling salts for a few years. The last time it happened was about five years ago -I had been really sick. My head was throbbing; my heart was pounding. Guess I was sicker than I thought. I needed to focus on breathing and getting to the ground. I stumbled to the bowsprit (the pole that sticks out the front of the ship) as support. I needed to get to the ground safely before I collapsed. I'd gotten a concussion once because I didn't get down before the black out hit. A wave crashed into me from behind. If I hadn't been putting all my weight on that wooden shaft I would have been pushed over even though it wasn't a physical wave. What in the world was behind me that would cause such a wave? I removed one arm to look back as my knees started to give out. There was definitely someone there. Their color balance didn't match anything I could remember, but they were really familiar. Without my glasses I couldn't really tell anything -especially since everything was becoming different shades of black. And I already had bad night vision. The light was fading. Shapes were getting harder to discern. Even though I was breathing deeper I hadn't managed to counter the fainting spell. I was going down. I definitely fell, but it didn't feel like I fell for long enough to hit the ground. The feeling across my back was really familiar. Someone had caught me.

Sometimes I was able to stay conscious when I fainted. It was kinda like ending up in sleep paralysis but with a -20 to all sensory inputs. Seemed like this was one of those times. I couldn't hear what they were saying or see them. It was like my head was deep under water. There was a pressure on my forehead. Were they checking my temperature? When someone faints you're supposed to lay them on the ground and position them so they can breath easier. This person didn't take first aid classes or forgot or something because I was being lifted upwards instead of laid down. It was really warm and comfy though. I liked this feeling. What was it? Safe? Was that it? I hadn't felt actually safe in a long time. I certainly didn't feel safe in that house back home even after everything was over. Maybe it was the feeling of warmth and safety. Maybe it was the way the waves were moving. Maybe it was the numbness that comes with blacking out. But whatever it was had stopped the pain. With the pain gone I calmed the rest of the way. I felt my spine straighten out onto a soft surface. The warmth faded even though something was now covering my legs. I was in a bed. The cold was back without a source of warmth to leech from. I definitely had a fever if I was this cold. Damnit. I grew up with all sorts of chronic health conditions and have always gotten sick easily. Even though I was now in an anime world, I was still me. Was I going to die in this world from some common illness that was already cured back home? We might not have had a lot of money back home but I was lucky enough to get a job with usable health insurance that let me work from home during a pandemic. I could at least get medicine every time I got a normal illness. I was finally able to afford to get and keep an inhaler. Not that any of that was of use to me now. My motor functions were returning. I rolled to the side and curled into the fetal position. I had lost everything. No home. No friends or family. Who would want to look after a stranger with nothing to give back? I was doing what I could to seem worthy of the main cast, but how long would that last? The story would reach its end in five years. What would I do after that? What was the point of all of the savings I had managed to make back home if I was going to be Isekaied? I had been the main bread winner and now my family couldn't even use my savings because I hadn't left a body behind as proof that I had died. All of the thoughts and feelings I was still running from were flooding through me. I couldn't even distract myself with writing scrolls or anything. This was probably for the best. Pushing things away for much longer would be unhealthy. And if I couldn't let myself feel miserable when I was sick and alone, then when could I? I let the tears fall. I hadn't been a loud crier since I was a kid, so I was caught off guard when I could hear my own sobs. I didn't have it in me to hide any more. The bed I was on creaked but I hadn't moved. There was a new weight on the mattress.

I wasn't alone.

The concept that someone was checking on me hurt harder. I didn't grow up in a healthy environment, so now feel immense guilt when someone shows me genuine kindness. But I am also aware and recovered enough to know I deserve kindness, so the guilt always paired with an equal amount or more of relief. I felt a hand stroke my hair. They wanted to comfort me. And I wanted comfort. The waves washing over me encouraged me seek out more. I used what little strength I had to pull myself against them. Having undeniable proof that I wasn't alone and that someone cares was overwhelming. The relief made me cry harder. I'd have to thank them later. But for the time being I'd pour out as much emotion as they'd let me.

[libermachinae]

Fault Lines Under the Living Room

Part IV: Touch - Chapter 11: Ripple

Also on AO3 Summary: They’ve only just arrived at their destination when things start to go wrong. Word Count: 2193

---

“Picking up some light readings,” Drift reported. “Limited tech, similar to Vitrious. You getting anything?”

“Just a massive, concentrated energy spike a few degrees northeast,” Rodimus said. “Recent exposure, Cybertronian markers.”

“When’s the last time you took that rig in for a tune-up?”

Ratchet hated having to repeat himself, but either Drift was incapable of recognizing the severity of his ship’s disrepair (unlikely) or he was being even more obstinate than normal. Exchanging their vessels’ specs had revealed the truly horrific condition the ship was in: fuel efficiency half of what it should have been, unreliable pressure seals, thrusters that should not have made it into the air, let alone off a planet. That he had survived transit was a—not a miracle, an insult to probability and reasonable calculation of—

Rodimus put a hand on his shoulder and tried to think calm thoughts. Drift had survived. It didn’t make sense, and maybe the luck would run out now that it had been acknowledged, but—

Ratchet halfheartedly swatted at his hand, more like a firm pat.

No wonder you liked him so much. Morale officer doesn’t suit you. He failed to dislodge Rodimus’ hand and didn’t bother trying again.

“Haven’t had the time.” The sound of flipping switches was followed by a hard smack from Drift’s end, rounded out by imprecise grumbling. Drift’s report had lacked any details on the state of his ship’s user interface, but the variety of language he had spoken to it with, impressive even by Ratchet’s standards, gave the sense that it was functioning at about the same level as everything else: barely.

“Still think it’s an outpost?” Rodimus asked.

“Lot of things it could be,” Drift said, voice accompanied by a few more mechanical noises. “We’d need more info to say for sure. Or a visual.”

Rodimus considered the readouts in front of him. There were more he hadn’t read out, but only because he didn’t know how. Ratchet translated what he could, but they were trying to keep his focus on piloting which meant Rodimus couldn’t spend too long wondering about the more mystifying aspects of his screen. Was that box in the top corner a map, or a graph? He didn’t know, and he had to look away before it overtook their other priorities.

“There are also stockpiles, energon plants, and decoys out there,” Drift went on. “Traps, if you’re really unlucky. Whole lot of empty shacks; lot of boltholes won’t have anyone living in them most of the time.”

“On the move a lot?” Rodimus asked.

“Sure. Only one in a dozen stellar systems will have a planet good for energon harvesting, and then there’s having to be vigilant about competition and enforcers. Sometimes needs will change or new opportunities will open up, and a crew will split up to deal with it.” He sounded annoyed at that, briefly breaking from his researcher-describing-mysterious-outgroup tone.

“Couple Decepticons on holiday accidentally give you the slip?” Rodimus asked, just to keep him there.

“More like an entire platoon,” Drift said, rising to it so quickly that they could only assume he’d been waiting for someone to complain about this to. “I tracked them to their covert thermal operation on a smelter of a planet, got all the way in, only to discover the one mech they’d left behind was their communications specialist—it was a mess. But, that’s the past now.” And just as quickly, the wall was back up. “If our intel’s good and Grit’s got a byte of sense, there should be someone here. Just no idea how many.”

“Sounds like there’s a good chance we’ll get this thing cleaned up quick,” Ratchet said. “So long as we stick together.”

Drift’s Hm’d agreement was more than either had expected. Maybe they were making progress.

“Ready?” he asked.

“Good to go,” Rodimus said, adjusting the items on his screen to focus on the ship’s status. “Defense and surveillance up, and we’re at about descent altitude. Just give us a head’s up when you start improvising, so we can get out of your way.”

He was not supposed to say that. He shot over a grin in response to Ratchet’s disapproval; what point was there in denying the inevitable?

Practicing being a good friend, remember? That means saying no to stupid ideas.

It also means being there to catch him instead of holding him back.

It was the kind of argument that couldn’t be solved with a few pointed thoughts or memories, the kind that they did not have time for now, as the visual feed showed Drift’s ship starting its descent. They set it aside in their own ways: Ratchet simply stopped thinking about it, while Rodimus let himself run through the myriad arguments he would have made simultaneously before reconnecting himself to the present. A moment later and they were ready, Ratchet punching in the commands to follow Drift down.

The planet’s cloudless atmosphere gave them a clear view of the terrain below, its massive, dramatic rock formations contoured by deep shadows. North of them, the average surface elevation increased and smoothed out into tall hills, but where they were going the difference between peaks and valleys created a network of shelves and tunnels that would be perfect to hide a secret base in. And stealth did seem to be one goal of whoever had set up shop down there: besides the sloppy energy output, there were no obvious signs of cyberforming on the planet’s surface. Rodimus was about to suggest that only those who came looking for Cybertronians would ever notice they were here, when a glint in one of the visual feeds caught his attention. He brought the feed to his station and zoomed in. Metal?

The word hit his vocoder as Ratchet shoved them into a dive.

“Turret!”

The energy beam was hot enough to ripple the air around it. Even though Ratchet got them turned away fast enough, the whole shuttle shuddered from the near-miss. Crates and containers rattled in their restraints, and Rodimus was too busy keeping up with Ratchet to think about the sounds of crashing down in the hold. They should have been at a safe distance to avoid detection; how had they been pinpointed so quickly?

“Pull up! Get out of here!” Drift shouted.

No time to wonder about it right now.

“Can’t,” Rodimus said while Ratchet wrestled with the controls. “I’ve got visual; they’re charging up for the next shot. Reversing momentum would have us hovering like an auto-skeet.” If the console would stop bombarding him with warnings, he might have been able to make better estimates about their next move, but a ship this size wasn’t designed to be flown by just two bots with half a processor each. Ratchet was demanding so much of their attention that even reading the words on the screen demanded resources they didn’t have, so he scrubbed the whole thing until all that was left was the visual feed, the twinkle that shone just before the storm. “Diving. Keep on our tail.”

“No, that’s—fine. Aim for cover.”

Ratchet switched off the reverse thrusters and the ship plummeted out of its gentle descent. The entire world rocked nauseatingly as the discordant visual feeds broadcast the tilting horizon and rising ground, and they startled as the second blast singed the air behind them, the crackle of Drift’s failing comms suite not enough to prevent their sparks from clenching down in panic. The rear cameras recovered from the overexposure, and there was the speeder, intact and keeping pace.

“What now?” Drift demanded.

“Evasive maneuvers,” Rodimus said, following the ticker tape of Ratchet’s intentions. “Triple Thunderclash!”

Ratchet twisted hard on the controls and sent the ship spiraling. Rodimus would have been flung across the bridge had they not been secured, but even then struggled to maintain focus as they were thrashed around, over and over. He couldn’t see Drift anymore, or the distant turret: everything was swirls of color, broken up for only a split second as the third blast went wide and passed them by.

Ratchet drew back and pulled them out of the spiral, then hastily steered them aside as the recovered visual feeds revealed an oncoming peak. Landing thrusters were engaged; slightly dazed, Rodimus picked out a promising valley for Ratchet to maneuver them into. Drift reappeared in the rear feed, keeping his distance in case they had to dart again. Not that there would be much room for it, as the canyon walls rose up and enveloped them.

Ratchet brought the shuttle to rest on a wide shelf and sat back, optics dim. The constant, pounding beat of his focus dispersed, and he sunk into pillowy relief, buoyed by Rodimus’ burst of Wow we made its and What kind of gun was thats and I’m alive Ratchet’s alive Drift’s alives. It had been hard, keeping that iron grip on himself while Ratchet put in the work of keeping them alive, but—

“Wouldn’t have seen that shot coming without you,�� Ratchet said. Rodimus looked away as he flushed, warm with appreciation and embarrassment; sincerity was an intimacy he was never quite prepared for. He was grateful when Drift’s speeder landed alongside them.

“Everybody intact in there?” Ratchet asked. He thought Rodimus’ embarrassment was amusing, frag him, but was willing to set it aside out of concern for their friend. That didn’t mean he wouldn’t find a way to exploit it later, but for now, Rodimus was safe.

“We made it,” Drift said. “That was more more like a Double Thunderclash.”

“Ratchet was between Thunderclashes and I had to make a best guess.” Rodimus tried to mime the path of the two ships with his hands, twisting his arms as far as his joints would allow. “It’s a Triple Thunderclash because it’s three times cooler than a thing Clash did in some fight,” he explained, since he felt Ratchet wondering.

“Battle of Ambustus Major?” Ratchet asked. Rodimus shrugged and tried not to pout when Ratchet immediately brought up an old vid file of the maneuver.

“Is the ship stable here?” Drift asked, reminding them they were here with a purpose. In the aftermath of such a close call, it was natural to want to ease back for a moment, but Rodimus couldn’t fault Drift for wanting to stay on track. The stakes weren’t any lower just because they’d made it to the surface intact.

“Should be,” Ratchet said, leaning over so he didn’t have to keep relying on Rodimus to funnel through the ship’s readings. “Holding steady for now. We’d probably need to conduct a physical survey to be sure, but I’m not seeing anything troubling from here.” Ratchet wasn’t sure of the composition of this planet, but the lack of dust in the atmosphere suggested it was made of a lot of hard, compact stone, hopefully strong enough to support a spacefaring vessel. They just had to hope that whatever geologic event had formed this shelf hadn’t terribly weakened the wall it was anchored to.

“Good,” Drift said. “The good news from all this is that the turret gives us an idea of where they have their main base; it’d be a waste of fuel to have to drive back and forth a long way. Once I’ve scouted it out and located Grit, you can come in.”

“Okay, and one more time with a plan we’ll actually follow?” Ratchet’s edge emboldened Rodimus. If it had been just him out here, he might have let Drift make all the decisions out of guilt, but the strong presence beside his mind pulsed with gentle encouragement.

Drift sighed.

“Right. Give me a minute.”

Ratchet gave Rodimus a thumbs up. Progress.

Rodimus got up from the captain’s seat and walked to the bow of the bridge, where the narrow viewshield gave him a closer peek onto the planet. The impression he got: rocks. Though the surface was painted mainly by dull shades of brown, down here they started taking on more color, hints of red and green only noticeable against the stark homogeny of everything else.

Why had the Decepticons chosen this planet? Were there fuel reservoirs buried too far below the surface to show up on orbital scanners? How would they have known to come looking for them? If not, if this was just a backwater hideaway, why the powerful defense system? Who was hiding here? And for how long? He itched to pop the hatch open and start exploring, but Ratchet’s presence kept him in place. This world, with its unknown Cybertronian population, confronted them with a new variety of complexity and danger. Though they could be rash in their decision to help Drift, they couldn’t risk being stupid about it.

Ratchet gently nudged him away from that kind of thinking. No one here was stupid. Everyone was trying to do the right thing for the people of Vitrious, the universe at large, and each other.

Rodimus cast a small, grateful smile over his shoulder.

“Okay.” The comms came back to life with Drift’s voice. “I still think this is a bad idea. But I’ve got something.”

[celosiaa]

hi me again 🥺 sorry for making you tear up even if it was in a good way (hopefully?) 💕 i don’t mind the wait at all, i completely understand and it’s 100% worth it (honestly i get so excited whenever you post a new fic)!! soooo... i was doing some research for a project on epilepsy and i got thinking about epileptic martin?? like particular in s1 maybe he didn’t tell the other archives crew as he didn’t know them that well/hadn’t worked closely with them before (ok sorry tbc as i am rambling)

hello friend!!! I am so sorry that this took me a literally unreasonable amount of time to write! I really enjoyed the research I did for this, and I love this hc forever. And I hope this is what you were looking for <3

CW seizures, nausea, misgendering

Focus.

Just focus.

For god’s sake.

It’s been nearly an hour of Martin sitting at his desk, trying desperately to rein in any sliver of concentration he can muster to look at the laptop screen before him. He feels awful doing it, but every time Jon has passed by his desk that day, he’s found himself pretending to click around or to type—though he’s got the brightness set so far down there’s no way he’d be able to see it anyway. After a few attempts at turning it back up, he’s had to immediately look away, as the pounding behind his eyes resumes again. So for now, he’s stuck with reading statements—something he is loathe to do even on a good day.

And this certainly wasn’t.

He knows better than this, knows that he’s very nearly approaching disaster—what with the not sleeping out of hypervigilance, not eating out of anxiety, and not having his seizure meds for the past two days, as he’d managed to run out of his flat without them. And there’s no doubt in his mind that he cannot send anyone back to his flat. Not with Prentiss still on the loose.

Selfish selfish selfish

No, stop it.

You haven’t even done anything.

Wishing more than anything that his mind did not constantly run him ragged with thoughts like this, Martin looks up from his papers, intending to find a rubber band to snap against his wrist as a distraction, but instead—

Instead he finds himself frozen, colors fading in and out across his vision, heartbeat steadily climbing as his fingers go numb.

No no no no

Not now not now please not now

Realistically, he knows it’s only been a few seconds, but the seconds feel like years against the rapid thrum thrum thrum in his ears, made even worse when he sees Tim approaching from the periphery.

Damn it damn it

Please please please

“Hey Marto!”

Like clockwork, the focal aware seizure ends, and at last—at last he is able to move enough to look up at where Tim stands, leaning against his desk, smile fading rapidly as he watches Martin blinking in the suddenly-too-bright light.

“You alright?” he asks, tilting his head to the side to get a better look at his face, doubtless taking note of how quickly he is breathing now to match his settling heart rate.

“Y-yeah, sorry, um. Was just thinking,” is all he can reply, fighting to put an easy smile back on his face.

It seems to have been the wrong move, as Tim only shifts to sit atop his desk, expression quickly becoming overrun with concern.

“Okay, well…you look like you’re having a panic attack, mate,” he says lowly, reaching across him to grab his water bottle and set it nearer to him. “What do you need?”

Even with his misguided interpretation, Martin can’t help the flood of affection he feels toward him in this moment—because that’s just Tim, isn’t it? Never assumes, just asks what will help and then does it.

If only I weren’t such a mess, and would let him.

“Oh, n-no it’s not—it’s not that, Tim, I’m—I’m alright. Must’ve…drifted off, or something. Had a nightmare.”

There is no way Tim buys that, no way in hell—but thankfully, he lets it go.

“O…kay then. Well. If that’s the case, I was just thinking of grabbing some lunch, do you want anything? Don’t reckon you’ve eaten properly in a bit, yeah?”

God, Tim.

I don’t deserve this.

Yes, you do. You deserve a friend and you need to eat.

You need to eat.

“Uhh—th-thanks, erm.  Where—where are you going?” he asks, wishing to god his voice didn’t sound so shaky.

He takes a few intentionally deep breaths after that—thinking that perhaps it is a panic attack, after all.  Without realizing that several seconds have gone by since his question, he feels Tim’s bracing hand on his shoulder, knowing that he’s not going to ask again—but offering him a clear sign that he’s there all the same.

“Just the corner shop,” he murmurs, starting to rub his thumb over the shoulder seam of Martin’s t-shirt. “Nothing fancy. But I can get you a sandwich, if you like. Well, no—I am getting you a sandwich regardless, but I thought I might be considerate for once and ask if there was anything in particular that you want.”

“Yeah—erm, yeah, just. Anything that’s warm would be nice,” he says at last, sinking a bit as Tim removes his hand from his shoulder. “Thanks, Tim. That’s—that’s really kind.”

“Don’t mention it. Seriously,” he says, clapping his hand back against Martin’s shoulder with force before standing. “Be back in a bit. Drink that water.”

“I will,” Martin nods, earning himself some finger guns of approval before Tim starts walking towards the lift. “Thanks, mate.”

And he’s so close now, so close to shouting after him, to asking him to pick up his meds from the chemist, if he calls them in—

Just ask just ask just ask

—and then Tim is around the corner, and out of sight.

Damn it all.

He tells himself it’s probably for the best anyway—that he’s not really even sure he can get them. But it doesn’t stop him burying his face in his hands, tugging at his hair in frustration and shame. Really though, he ought to call first before mentioning anything—perhaps they have a delivery service, or they’ll refuse him, or something.

And what then?

The idea of finding himself suddenly on the floor of the archives, alone and in the dark with the worms having crawled all over him while he seized—

Have to call.

Reaching bitterly for his phone, he takes a deep breath as it rings, preparing his best “customer service” voice.

“Boots, how can we help you today?”

“Hi! Erm, I was wondering if—if I could get a refill for my prescription? For—for carbamazepine,” he says, cheery voice belying the dread with which he pinches the bridge of his nose.

“Sure thing! Just need your name and date of birth and I’ll look you up.”

“Right. Erm—well, it’s Martin, but I think you’ve still got me under, erm. Mary Blackwood,” he says, forcing himself not to grit his teeth at the foul taste his deadname leaves in his mouth. “Date of birth October 15th, 1987.”

“Alright, let’s see here—“

Please please please

“—it looks like you’ve already got your refill, Miss Blackwood. Our system says you picked up your medication on the 19th.”

“It’s—it’s Mister, actually. Erm,” he stammers, stomach churning over the entire thing. “L-listen, I—I’ve had to leave my home quite suddenly, and—and I am unable to return there for the time being. So I don’t—I don’t have access to my meds. And I, erm. Really need them.”

Pathetic pathetic pathetic

“I’m really sorry, Mister Blackwood. You’re going to have your doctor call in another prescription for you before we can get you that refill. Unfortunately, it’s out of our hands.”

Of course.

“Oh, right. That’s erm—that’s okay. Thank you so much,” he says as brightly as possible, unwilling to blame anyone for something out of their control.

“You’re quite welcome. Take care.”

With a long, shaky sigh, Martin throws his phone back onto his desk, returning his head to its rightful place, buried in his hands. There’s no way he can call his doctor today—or tomorrow even, with it already being a Friday afternoon. No chance of him getting his refill, then. And no chance of sending Tim back to his apartment either.

Don’t panic. Don’t panic.

It was just a focal, nothing too bad.

Nothing unmanageable.

I can make it.

Steeling himself with somewhat tremulous determination, he takes another long breath—blinking back against the steady pounding in his head, and getting back to work.

—

“Aw come on, Sasha! Take a break with me!”

“Not on your life. I’m still furious with you, you know,” she replies, tossing her hair like a lion’s mane over her back. “Can’t believe you’d go all the way to the good café for Martin, and not offer me anything. Not even crumbs, Stoker!”

“Listen—” Tim grins back, hands raised in self-defense. “He looked like he could use some soup! I don’t know what else to say.”

“And you didn’t get me any? What about me doesn’t scream ‘I could use some soup, thank you?’”

“It’s different!! It’s—Martin? You alright?”

As he was walking past their bickering, eyes firmly fixed on the floor on the lookout for worms, Martin had suddenly stopped short—looking anxiously up and over their heads, framed by the doorway of Jon’s office.

“Martin?” Tim repeats, already halfway to standing in worry, following Martin’s gaze behind him and finding nothing.

Faster than he can turn back around, Martin’s muscles all tense at once—and he tips backwards onto the floor with a heavy thud.

“Shit! Martin!”

Tim darts forward at once, in some feeble attempt to catch him, but of course, far too late to do so. In his shock, he can do little but stand over him for a few seconds, taken aback upon seeing his eyes still open where he lies still on the floor.

“What happened?” Jon demands, stepping quickly out of his office towards them, where Sasha now crouches near his head.

“I-I don’t know, he just—”

And then Martin begins to convulse.

“Oh my god, he’s—he’s having a seizure,” Sasha gasps as she claps a hand over her mouth, from where it had been pressed against his forehead.

“Fuck. Fuck, what do—what do we do? Do we call 999?” Tim shouts, unwilling to sit by and watch as this all goes on around him, already grabbing Sasha’s phone from her nearby desk.

“I—I think so, let me—”

“Wait.”

Two sets of eyes land upon Jon as he interjects, crouching near Martin’s flailing left arm, waiting for him to set it back down before quickly grabbing at a bracelet circling his wrist.

“I-it’s a medical bracelet. Says epilepsy,” he says lowly, quickly sitting back on his heels as Martin’s arm begins to jerk again.

“Fuck. I—I had no idea,” Tim breathes, running an anxious hand through his hair. “How could we not know?”

“We should—” Sasha breaks off quickly to swallow a lump in her throat, before continuing. “We should be timing it, did anyone see the time?”

“I-I don’t—it’s probably been less than a minute, right?”

“I think so. I’m—here, I’m googling it to make sure—”

While she does so, Martin’s head begins to slam into the ground—and Jon immediately pulls off his cardigan, folding it quickly and placing it beneath him to cushion the blow.

“It’s alright, big guy,” Tim says, settling down to kneel next to Jon, who now has a hand gently pressed to his shoulder—not holding him down, just resting there in a comfort Martin probably cannot receive.

Tim rests his own hand against Martin’s thigh all the same.

“Okay, I think we’re good so far,” Sasha says at last, setting her phone down with a timer running on the screen. “Just time it, and—and keep watch. If it goes past five minutes, we call 999.”

“That’s—that’s it?” Tim says in dismay, snapping his eyes back to his friend, still convulsing on the floor. “There’s nothing else we can do?”

“No. We just have to watch out for him,” she replies, voice low as she adjusts Jon’s cardigan beneath his head. “Make sure he doesn’t hurt himself.”

Not the answer that Tim was looking for.

And so they wait—silent save for the rhythmic smacking of his limbs against the carpeted floor, and the occasional whispered platitude, though all know he cannot hear them. The seconds tick by in agony while they sit helpless, all eyeing the timer on Sasha’s phone creeping up steadily past three minutes.

“I don’t like this,” Tim says, knowing how useless it is to say so—Sasha raising her eyes to meet his for the first time in a while.

“Me neither.”

“Nearly three and a half minutes,” Jon mutters, worrying at his bottom lip while still resting a gentle hand on Martin’s shoulder.

“We’ve got you, Martin,” Tim mutters. “We’ve got you.”

Ten more seconds.

Twenty.

Thirty.

Forty.

And at last—at last he goes still, right past the four-minute mark.

“Alhamdulillah,” Jon sighs as he lets his chin briefly rest against his chest, a sentiment echoed by everyone around him.

“Okay, turn him on his side, here—Tim—”

“Got it,” Tim says as he moves to crouch next to her, helping roll him towards Jon, head pillowed on the arm Jon stretched out across the floor as a cushion.

As soon as they get him in the recovery position, they watch as saliva runs out of his mouth, surely fit to choke him had they not turned him—and he begins to snore forcefully, catching Tim very much by surprise.

“Wh-what—” he asks in bewilderment, struggling to hold back a bit of shocked laughter.

“The website said that’s normal,” Sasha assures at once, reaching behind her to grab a box of tissues from her desk behind her. “He’s going to be sleepy for a bit.”

“Okay. That’s—okay,” he says, watching as Jon takes the tissues from Sasha and wipes at Martin’s face so very gently, before tossing them aside and taking his hand.

Taking his hand.

…interesting.

Stowing THAT away for later.

As Jon starts to move his thumb across the back of Martin’s palm, the snoring stops—and his eyes begin to flutter rapidly, attempting to force their way fully open.

“Hey Martin, can you hear me?” Sasha says rather loudly, bending over him and tapping his shoulder lightly.

All she receives in response is a moan, deep and low, as he squeezes and unsqueezes his eyelids, coughing a bit against the pooling saliva. Jon reaches for the tissues again at once, cleaning his face as best as possible.

“You’re okay mate,” Tim says, patting his hip before leaving his hand there for support. “You’ve had a seizure.”

It takes a few moments, but at last, Martin opens his eyes, looking vaguely around without meeting Jon’s eyes.

“Wh’ happ’n?” he slurs—all three of them exchanging a meaningful glance, a bit alarmed.

“You had a seizure, Martin,” Sasha repeats, stroking at his hair while Tim starts rubbing his hand up and down his arm, hoping it will somehow help to ground him.

Remaining still for a few moments, still blinking, Martin tries to take it all in— looking down towards where Jon still rubs at his hand, though still seemingly unaware of his presence.

“What happened?” he asks again, voice less slurred, but still weak.

“A seizure, Martin,” Jon says, trying desperately to catch his eyes. “You’re alright.”

At once, Martin wrenches his hand away from Jon’s grasp in favor of clapping it over his mouth, muffling a small and desperate gasp behind it.

“Shit. You gonna be sick?” Tim asks, already looking around him for something to grab as Jon once again prepares his tissues.

He does not respond right away, instead pausing for a few deep breaths—at last shaking his head no. In both relief and the absence of something to do with his hands, Jon fusses at the cardigan again—positioning it just so.

“Wh—oh, seizure,” Martin breathes, and Tim cannot help but feel relieved at his gaining a bit of orientation back.

“Yeah.”

Eyebrows knitting together, Martin moves the hand clapped over his mouth to rest on his eyes, sniffling a bit before speaking.

“M’so sorry,” he gasps—and it’s enough to break Tim’s heart.

All of their hearts apparently, as they immediately place their hands on him in a gesture of comfort.

“Hey, no, none of that,” Sasha soothes, brushing back his fringe again.

“M’sorry.”

“Martin, it’s alright,” reassures Jon, with such rare gentleness that even Martin lowers his hand to look—wincing quickly as he does so, and placing it back over his eyes at once.

“Do the lights hurt?” Sasha asks worriedly, placing her hand to cover his own, hoping to block more of it out.

“Yeah—ah,” he grits out with a pained little gasp, and Jon gets to his feet.

“I’ll get them,” he says, and walks quickly to the switch, sending them into a darkness illuminated only by the light from the hall.

With a quiet sigh of relief, Martin lowers his hand again, eyes still closed, and rubs absently at his nose. Stumbling a bit as his eyes adjust to the dark, Jon makes his way back to kneeling beside him, taking up his free hand again.

“Your head okay?” asks Tim, prompting Sasha to card through his hair to look for any swelling. “I’m sorry I didn’t—I couldn’t catch you.”

“…what?” comes the vague response, delayed by a few seconds as Martin tries in vain to sort through what was said.

“Still confused,” Sasha mouths at him silently—and he nods, instead going back to rubbing up and down Martin’s arm, as Sasha moves to massage his neck.

“M’sorry.”

“Hush, darling. It’s alright,” she says, and Tim knows without a doubt she will sit there all day, repeating these same things to him as long as he needs.

And loves her for it.

“…wh—Jon?”

Eyes more focused than ever, Martin looks down to where Jon still rubs a thumb over his palm, stunned very his very presence in this space.

“Yes, I’m here,” he murmurs, offering a small squeeze of affirmation, inadvertently painting a soft grin briefly across Martin’s face—before it drops quickly again in horror, as the reality of the situation sinks in again.

“Oh god. I—oh god.”

“It’s okay, Martin.”

“No no no.”

“It’s alright,” Jon comforts, more soothing than Tim had ever imagined would be possible for him. “Just be still. You’re alright.”

Five minutes turn into ten, turn into fifteen as Martin’s confusion slowly fades away—his recovery naturally filled with a deluge of apologies, patient soothing from his friends, and tending to the waves of nausea that come over him every few minutes. Ever so gradually, he becomes better able to hold a conversation; better able to hold their gaze, asking what happened before he went down, explaining that his…well, everything is sore, but that it’s nothing unmanageable.

There is very little that Martin would call “unmanageable,” of course, but it’s the most they will get out of him.

“I think I can sit up now,” he says after a bit, bracing his arms underneath himself to prepare, and Tim reaches out to support him at once.

“Sure?”

“Yeah.”

A bit slow, a bit clumsy, they get him up—not without some worried questioning when he hunches forward, face buried in his hands as the headache worsens with the change of posture. But luckily, it dulls as quickly as it comes, and Martin soon finds himself able to look up, even to offer a bit of a sheepish smile.

“Want some water?” Tim asks as soon as he looks steady.

“You don’t have to—”

“I’m on it,” he says, refusing to accept any of Martin’s guilt-laden excuses, and dashes off to the kitchen at once, leaving Jon and Sasha still vaguely holding onto him in the fear that he might fall again.

“I’m alright, guys, really,” he assures, though he makes no effort to shrug their hands off—so there they stay.

“Do you know what caused this, Martin?” Sasha asks, folding his collar from where it sticks up at the nape of his neck.

With a heavy sigh and an exhausted pinch to the bridge of his nose, Martin replies, face reddening with shame.

“Yeah. You’re—you’re going to laugh.”

“Why would we laugh?” Jon asks so earnestly, so softly that it wins him a long and surprised look from Martin.

“I…dunno really, just. It’s just that it’s—it’s all my own fault. Stupid.”

“What do you mean?”

“I—I don’t—” he cuts off for a moment to hiss painfully as he rubs at his temple again, and Sasha’s hold tightens ever so slightly as a precaution. “I don’t have my…seizure meds with me. I left them at my flat when—when I ran. From Prentiss.”

Of course.

Of course he did.

“I would have gotten them for you Martin!” Tim shouts as he returns with the water. “Any of us would, mate. You should have said.”

“I didn’t want to send you back to my flat. She might…she might still…be there.”

He fades a bit as he speaks—rubbing once more at his temples, and Sasha resumes her ministrations of massaging his neck.

“Alright, just—it’s alright, Martin,” Jon soothes, a bit alarmed at the way he’s hunched back over—seemingly nauseous again, as he moves the bin a bit closer to himself just in case. “What can we do now?”

After a few long, deep breaths, his churning stomach finally settles long enough for him to answer, albeit a bit more vague-sounding than moments before.

“I tried…I tried to call the chemist, but…they won’t refill it unless I…unless I talk to my doctor. And it’s not like I can just go.”

“You have to get some from A&E then,” Tim insists, sitting back down next to him and pressing a hand atop his shoulder.

“No, I can’t.”

“We’ll go with you,” mutters Jon, before clearing his throat, returning to his best confident-boss tone. “We’ll keep watch for the worms. Go prepared.”

“You don’t—“

“We will,” Sasha says emphatically, leaving no room for argument—and even Martin knows when the battle is lost. “We’re happy to do it, Martin. Seriously.”

“Thank you,” he very nearly whispers, face flushing beet red as the undue attention of the afternoon catches up with him. “That’s really…too kind.”

“Well, you’ve got to get it somehow, mate,” Tim says with a chuckle, earning himself a warning glare from both Sasha and Jon. “What? I’m sure Martin wants this to happen again even less than we do. Which is saying a lot.”

“Yeah,” Martin says, surprising them all by chuckling briefly in return. “Reckon you’re right about that. I didn’t—this is pretty much my worst nightmare, so…just so you all know how sorry I am.”

“Yes, you’ve said,” Sasha laughs. “And it keeps continuing to not be your fault.”

“Right. Sure.”

He does not sound at all sure—but she lets it go all the same.

“We should go today, Martin,” Jon says as he stands, already grabbing a canister of CO2 in preparation. “Don’t want you to miss another dose.”

“And take that thing on the Tube?” Martin laughs, fully smiling for the first time since the whole affair began. “Think we might get some looks.”

“It’s the Tube, mate. Stranger things have happened,” Tim chuckles, rolling his eyes good-naturedly before jumping in to assist him in standing.

“Suppose you’re probably right about that.”

“Let’s go then,” says Jon, face steeled as if armed to the teeth and ready to tangle with anything coming his way. “Work that needs doing.”

[my-writings-and-musings]

Answering these two asks in a post so all the content can stay in one place!

The original post in question can be found here!

Drift

·He's delighted to have a whole group of young humans on board to foster diplomacy, and he fully intends to do whatever is necessary to make them feel safe and welcome. Though his introduction is polite, the small crowd immediately takes note of his ever present swords, and to his delight their reaction is purely one of innocent awe at his impressive weaponry. Always happy to encourage responsible sword use, he explains the significance of each blade and is incredibly careful when showing the very tiny and very delicate humans what they look like up close. Their delight is so simple and pure some part of him is reminded of his long gone naivety, and his promise to protect them becomes a vow he never intends to break while his own spark still flickers.

·When he casually mentions time on earth one day the group is surprised and effusive in a sudden burst of questions. When he's actually able to recall a surprising amount of pop culture facts their little minds are nearly blown, and from then on they seem to seek him out just to socialize, something that quite surprises him for a multitude of reasons. Even after all his time with the Autobots, many still don't fully accept him as one of their own, so to be seen as a companion by beings so young and innocent... If absolutely touches him, while also making him determined to ensure they never discover that aspect of his life. He tells himself it's for their safety, and that the young shouldn't be troubled with burdens not their own, but he knows that losing the simple delight of their company and respect would hurt him deeply.

·Due to his need for frequent training to keep his skills sharp, it's no surprise that his little fans one day stumble upon him dicing up training dummies in one of the many gymnasium inspired practice areas. Upon seeing them in action he's soon surrounded by a group of very eager wannabe sword fighters, and while he's still recovering from the idea that he's wanted as a teacher a casual mention of Spectralism prompts a new wave of curiosity and interest that he can barely handle. It takes all of his willpower just to keep from letting on how impossibly touched he is by each and every one of them. They're just... interested in who he is? They look up to him just because they think he's cool and want to learn more about his faith, his skills, and his passions...

·The simple goodness of the relationship is all brought to what he thinks to be the end when his past is exposed by accident. He's not even with them when they find out, but he's devastated, and can't bring himself to face them now that they know who he used to be. It's only through sheer determination on behalf of the whole group, and what he thinks is bad luck for him, that the young liaisons manage to find and speak to him once more. For an instant he breaks and can only apologize effusively, begging their forgiveness for... well, everything from the secret to letting them down to allowing them to believe he was what they thought he was. It takes all of them working in tandem to speak over him and make one thing clear; no one is angry.

·His little group of fans makes it abundantly clear they don't see him as "Deadlock" or a Decepticon or anything but the bot they've come to respect. He's not his past in their eyes, and his present has been nothing but kind and welcoming to each and every one of them. Their little hands take hold of his in a gesture of affirmation, and in the strength of their compassion he can't help but feel dwarfed by each of them. Somehow, the experience brings them even closer, and they can frequently be heard referring to their "older brother" when heading off for the training sessions he painstakingly caters to their size. When some of them begin to show him Spectralist greetings and goodbyes he has to take the time to shed a few tears in private, but they definitely notice how affected he is regardless, and each of them make a point to show him how important he is to them every day.

Rodimus

·It was his own genius diplomatic skills that got these little humans secured on the ship in the first place, so he's quite eager to welcome them on board when the day finally comes. The fact that he stresses about impressing them for hours beforehand is something he keeps entirely to himself though... Yet it turns out he has nothing to fear, because each human is rendered speechless merely by the size of the Lost Light when they first see it, and he can't help but be made giddy as a result. He doesn't need to fake any of the enthusiasm he shows as he takes them on a tour, speeding through the hallways and alternating between giving them lifts in vehicle mode and bot mode, the latter of which has him carrying the group on his shoulders and in his arms.

·It's impossible not to be shocked as he sees the humans all... like and respect him immediately? Everything from his altmode to his jokes, they just... their little faces light up and they compliment him and they all want to hang out with him again as soon as possible?! What is this?! Despite having no idea he happily throws himself into this new and strange relationship with these tiny humans. So many of the interests and hobbies he's been told are "unfit" for a bot in his position are met with fascination, support, and requests for him to teach them all he can. It quickly goes from pleasantly surprising to absolutely touching. The whiplash of suddenly having so much positive attention spurs a change in him, namely one of uncharacteristic levels of protective instinct towards these precious visitors.

·Though he's entirely casual to their faces, behind the scenes he's checking on absolutely everything to ensure they're all taken care of. Are their rooms comfortable? Is the food to their liking? Does the crew make them feel welcome? Can he do anything to make their stay better? The various bots he checks in with to ensure everything is running smoothly quickly grow irritated with his constant pestering, though this new side of him is refreshing to most, particularly because he hasn't ever been this responsible about anything in the past. He even checks in with Magnus on the regular! And submits reports in a timely fashion! All to make sure he's doing everything in his power to keep these young liaisons as happy as he can.

·To the humans themselves though, he's the ultimate fun uncle, introducing them to the entire crew and showing them all the fun things there are to do around the ship. If he hears even a rumor that one of them is missing something about their home or wants to try something they don't have the ability to make happen, you better believe he is going to do everything in his power as captain to get things going. But of course he keeps all this work to himself, he wants to be the most effortlessly cool bot they know, and also doesn't want to concern them with all of the details. Unfortunately a slip up for one particularly epic movie night at Swerve's reveals the many sleepless hours he spent arranging it all, and in his rushed reasurances it comes out that he's been working himself ragged taking care of their every need.

·The entire group is shocked by his dedication, but also his incredible talent. He's funny, charismatic, friendly, and he's also been doing so much for them? The entire group brings him into an impromptu hug of appreciation, and he very nearly tears up in front of them. Somehow, these young aliens have become everything he didn't know he needed. They're his friends, but they look up to him, and his new honorifics of "Fun uncle" and "big brother" are there to prove it. But from then on they refuse to let him do all the work of arranging things himself. If someone has an idea to improve the ship, it gets done as a group, with one very happy bot surrounded by his ever present posse of humans ready to help the coolest captain in the galaxy. They're even kind enough to pretend they don't see the happy tears misting his optics from time to time.

Rung

·Not having ever been to earth, along with never seeing humans outside of their media, means he really didn't know what to expect of the incoming humans. Hearing that they were all exceptionally young just made him concerned, especially after a quick bit of research made it apparent that humans are quite emotionally turbulent in this protoformesque stage. He's not concerned for his sake though, even the tallest human is tiny at his side, he's worried they made need a little extra assistance adjusting to life after such a big change. Thus, he makes quite sure to be present when they're brought on board to introduce himself and extend his services. A small part of him can't help but be delighted upon meeting them; so small, yet so exuberant! They're all polite despite their wide eyed wonder at... everything, but his description of his proffesion really catches their attention for a group exclamation; Cybertronians have psychologists?!

·Having prepared to offer help, he's blindsided by their interest in simply... learning about his career? They want to know about the places he's been and the ships he's served on, particularly when they learn he has models of each, and they're so small he's not at all worried when he brings a couple collectibles down for them to see up close. Watching these little beings clamor to see something most of his own kind finds boring makes the protective feelings in his spark strengthen into a promise to keep each and every one of them safe. He takes note of each individual human's traits and personalities while memorizing their names, being quite aware of how much it means to simply have one's designation remembered, and also commits to guiding them all through their unique interests and goals.

·Spending time with the liaisons in their group as well as one on one, it doesn't occur to him that they don't follow the same pattern as every Cybertronian he's ever met until one of them brings it up; why do the other bots always get his name wrong? It's only in that moment he realizes none of them have ever forgotten, mispronounced, or even hesitated to say his name. The surprise is enough that he can't even reply to them initially. When he does manage to find words they're quite insufficient, and he tries to explain that even he doesn't know, but he's always just assumed his small stature and quiet demeanor simply meant he tended to fade from memory rather quickly. Nothing else beyond his "historical constant" theory really explains it, as far as he knows.

·Ever able to defy expectations, the little liaisons react to his indirect self depreciation with emphatic reasurances that he's not at all forgetable, and are so intent on making sure he knows that they speak over one another in an emotional gaggle of supportive youngsters. It's all more than the quiet psychiatrist could have ever expected. Of course he never enjoyed being forgotten, but he's become so accustomed to dismissing those feelings he has no way to process this sudden outpouring of support. The humans are all around him in a kind of embrace, which is made difficult mostly due to the number of them and the size difference, but the affection in the gesture is still quite clear. It's all he can do to hold them in return as they all promise to never forget him no matter what happens.

·He keeps his tears private, but that doesn't stop them from coming when he's behind closed doors, though he just lets the happiness brim over into the few that run down his cheeks after he removes his glasses. The irony of it all doesn't hit him until he and the group are present at a movie night, and as he listens to them all gush in turn to the cinema selection of the evening it occurs to him that his initial intent to help them has been flipped quite completely around. These little ones have helped him, helped him feel worth remembering, helped him feel like he belongs, helped him find a family... Watching them gather around him almost protectively from a forgetful world, he isn't quite sure if he's been adopted or if they have, but he can't bring himself to care about such details. Neither can any of the liaisons who vowed to each other their new friend would never feel lonely again.

[carewyncromwell]

Welcome to the next part of the POTC AU, and with it the start of a new Act!

If Act One was largely based on The Curse of the Black Pearl, Act Two starting now is largely based around Dead Man’s Chest and At World’s End, perhaps with a smattering of other things from the other films too like I did in the first half. Now that our chess pieces have nearly all been placed on the board in their proper places, it’s time for things to get serious. Will Carewyn and Orion ever be able to be together? Will Bill, Jules @cursebreakerfarrier, and Charlie be considered criminals and thus separated from Carewyn and Percy forever? Will Jacob find a way to protect Carewyn from Davy Jones/Finn McGarry @theguythatdraws? And what role will our newest arrival -- Cutler Beckett -- and his business associate, privateer-turned-pirate-turned-pirate-hunter Patricia Rakepick (pictured above) play in this unfolding drama?

A few notes about Rakepick’s design super quick before we start -- her outfit is largely based on an 18th century woman’s riding habit, which was a kind of uniform exclusively used when women went horseback riding, one of the very few “physical” activities European ladies were allowed to participate in back then. Considering that breeches were banned in lot of Europe during that period, this is the closest thing most upper-class women got to wearing something comfortable in public. The pendant on Rakepick’s collar is an Eye of Horus, like the pin she wears on her cloak in the game. As for the thing in her left hand at her side...I’m sure a lot of you fans of the original Pirates films can guess what it is, but one fun aspect is that the design is not entirely like the one from the movies. Instead there are some salutes to Finn’s character in there, including the moon’s phases around the heart-shaped keyhole and stylized flames on the sides. (There are even two “Pisces” signs etched into two of the tentacles on top.)

Previous part of the AU is here -- whole tag is here -- and I hope you enjoy!

x~x~x~x

While Carewyn was getting settled back into life on Port Royal, at the same time, very far away, the Tower Raven came up on a deserted island that likely hadn’t seen a man in years.

According to the calculations Jacob had done based on the intelligence he’d gleaned from old court records from Ireland and a witch from Tortuga, this was the spot that Finn McGarry -- now known as Davy Jones -- said goodbye to the goddess Calypso so many years ago. And if the legends were to be believed, this location therefore was where the infamous Dead Man’s Chest -- the chest containing Jones’s still beating heart -- was hidden.

Jacob truthfully wasn’t thrilled about this plan. He’d done plenty of research on Jones so as to make sure he knew as much as he could before trying to double-cross him, but blackmailing someone like Davy Jones was something no one should want to do for very long. As Ashe had pointed out, the second Jones had the upper hand over Jacob, he would likely retaliate ten-fold.

But now...now Jacob had no choice. He had to have and keep the upper-hand with Jones, if he had any chance of keeping Carewyn off the Flying Dutchman. It was his fault that she was now in this position, and he couldn’t live with himself if he lost her again due to his own foolishness.

As they approached the island, Ashe abruptly seized Jacob’s arm.

“Jack -- look.”

There was a large dark shape positioned in the water on the far side of the beach. Jacob immediately brought up his telescope to get a closer look -- when he did, his jaw clenched.

“Looks like we got ourselves a Naval Man o’ War,” he snarled. “The HMS Lion.”

The rest of the crew exchanged nervous looks. The Navy hadn’t sent out Man o’ Wars since the war against the Spanish -- they were the powerhouse of the British crown, capable of sinking even the best-armed galleons.

“How many guns?” Ashe asked under his breath, as he rested his chin on Jacob’s shoulder and looked out at the horizon himself.

“...Looks to be 60 altogether.”

There was muttering among the crew now.

“What should we do, Captain?” one of the pirates couldn’t help but ask anxiously.

“Not get blown up, to start with,” said Jacob rather bluntly.

He lowered his telescope. His eyes drifted away, off toward the sky as he considered the matter.

“The Navy must have figured out this place’s significance,” he murmured. “I don’t know how, but no matter how they found out, I have no intention of letting them get to the Chest first.”

“Stealth might be our best option,” said Ashe lowly.

Jacob nodded. “I agree.”

He turned to the rest of the crew with a fierce expression.

“I need three volunteers to go ashore with me to fetch the Chest. The rest of you will remain here with Ashe, to prepare for a quick escape. Ashe,” he said, looking at his First Mate seriously, “best to be keeping out of sight on the Northern tip of the island, facing due west. The current is stronger there, which could give you a head’s start, should you need to retreat -- ”

“I won’t be retreating without you, Jack,” Ashe cut him off harshly. “don’t be thinking I will.”

“You will if you’re ordered to do so,” Jacob said sharply.

“Like Hell.”

“Ashe, I need my First Mate to look after the ship and the crew.”

“And I’ll do so, but I am not going to have you die a martyr, Jack.”

Ashe moved in a bit, taking hold of Jacob’s collar and pulling his face up closer to his so that their lips were mere inches apart.

“Don’t forget that it’s not just me you’d be hurting, if you didn’t return,” he said softly. “You promised your sister that you would see her again, when this thing was through. If you don’t keep your promise to her, after how long I had to listen to you go on all these years about how much you love and miss her, I will never forgive you.”

Something pained flickered in the back of Jacob’s skull-like blue eyes. He considered Ashe for a moment, his expression faintly wounded despite the grimness of his face -- then he pulled Ashe in for a short, rough kiss before releasing him.

“I will return,” he said very quietly. “I promise.”

Jacob and his three crew members stowed onto the island in a jollyboat a good mile or so away from where the Man o’ War was positioned, so as to stay out of sight. When they approached the beach, they found an entire battalion of Naval soldiers digging. Clearly they’d been told to search the entire island for the Chest, but were starting with the area closest to the water, since Jones was not much one to walk on dry land. It was a logical choice, thought Jacob -- and once he’d visually combed the island’s surroundings, it didn’t take long for him to come up with a plan.

Given how outnumbered they were, Jacob knew the best way to handle the situation was to wait for one of the Navy recruits to find the Chest first. Sure enough, within a half-hour, someone started shouting for their superior officers to come quick.

The rest of the battalion swarmed around like interested seagulls around the Dead Man’s Chest as the soldier pulled it up and out of the sand. They were so focused on trying to get a peek that none of them saw the detached watermill wheel coming toward them until it was almost on top of them. With help from his crewmates, Jacob had dislodged the wheel from an abandoned mill just up the hill and rolled it right down the beach into the horde of soldiers. In the melee, Jacob was then able to dispatch the soldier who’d found the Chest and snatch it away from him, before he and the rest of his crew members abandoned the wheel and hightailed it back into the brush. The soldiers all fired indiscriminately as the wheel hightailed away, but somehow miraculously the pirates just barely avoided any fatal wounds -- Jacob guessed that a lot of those soldiers were new recruits, and so likely had had their eyes shut while firing.

Trying to get back to the Tower Raven was much harder. Their only hope to get there was the jollyboat -- and, of course, that they could get back fast enough that the Raven could set sail before the HMS Lion came around. Unfortunately whatever luck had been on Jacob’s side up until that point seemed to be drying up. The pirates had a bit more cover in the trees than they’d had on the beach, but not much, and although a lot of the soldiers were clearly inexperienced, there were still a lot of them -- far more than even Jacob had predicted. Soon there were a good hundred soldiers surrounding the four pirates, trying to cut them off from the shoreline. Jacob lost his first crewmate in the first five minutes -- then his second, not long after. Jacob and the last pirate just barely managed to get back to the jollyboat and cast off, but within moments, the HMS Lion had come around the edge of the island, heading straight for the jollyboat.

Thinking quickly, Jacob pushed the jollyboat as far out into the open water as he could. The Navy wanted the Chest too, so the deeper the water they were in, the less likely they’d fire their cannons at them, for fear they’d lose the Chest in the process. He then set about pulling off the mad-genius maneuver of making himself look incompetent.

After securing the Chest securely to the bottom of the boat, he then instigated a fight with his crew member. The two rocked the jollyboat so badly that within minutes, the entire boat had flipped over. Jacob then used the opportunity to -- with his crewmate’s help -- swim with the boat into the strongest North-leaning current and let it coast them closer to the Tower Raven. The Navy ship did, in fact, hesitate just long enough out of confusion that it lost some of its closeness to the jollyboat before catching sight of the Tower Raven in the distance and putting together that it had been a trick.

Jacob peeked out from under the jollyboat briefly, delighted at the sight of his ship and of Ashe standing at the railing. He was already fetching a rope ladder for them to climb up when all of a sudden --

BAM.

Out of nowhere, another ship -- a much smaller sloop called the Sickle -- had started attacking the Tower Raven. The Raven’s crew all immediately tried to bring the ship about to counterattack, but the distraction had completely thrown the Raven off their guard and given the Lion the time necessary to come within firing distance. Within moments, Jacob was forced to dive under the water as his beloved ship -- the Tower Raven -- was blasted apart from both sides.

When he and his fellow pirate reemerged from the water, Jacob’s face was as white as a sheet as he stared at the flaming wreckage.

“ASHE!” Jacob bellowed. “ASHE!”

He cast his eyes around frantically. Where was he?! He had to be there -- he --

“ASHE!” he screamed louder, but once again, there was no answer.

His entire body was shaking. The light had left his eyes as he paddled through the water, ignoring the anxious cries from his crewmate as he shoved fragments of wood and sail aside.

“AAAAASHE!”

Within moments, the sloop called the Sickle had descended upon the overturned jollyboat. The jollyboat was quickly seized and yanked up onto the deck with grappling hooks, even as Jacob and the other pirate did their best to fight them off. Unfortunately flintlock pistols like the ones they carried were not conducive to fighting in the water -- they needed a proper spark in order to fire properly, and the gunpowder was just too wet to ignite. And so Jacob and his crewmate were stuck crawling over and balancing on top of the overturned jollyboat as it was hoisted up onto the deck, fighting a losing battle against the large number of soldiers with their cutlasses.

When the jollyboat finally was pulled up onto the deck, Jacob and his last crewmate were completely surrounded in seconds. But Jacob had long since stopped fighting to win -- his eyes were so hollow and mad with pain and rage they were more like a raging animal than a man’s, and so even as his crewmate fearfully started to slow as he realized all hope was lost, Jacob never stopped hacking away at every soldier that approached him. He only stopped when a gunshot whizzed right past his ear, swiping through his curly hair before lodging into the head of his crewmate, who immediately collapsed in a heap on the deck.

Out of the fold came a red-haired woman dressed in a black tricorn hat, a black jacket over a high-necked white shirt and a long red skirt, and a pair of black boots. Her collar was fastened with a pin shaped like the eye of Horus, and the pistol in her hand was still smoking as she smirked at Jacob.

“Well, well,” she said coolly, “if it isn’t ‘Black Jack Roberts.’”

Jacob’s teeth bared in a snarl. “Rakepick.”

“I’m surprised you managed to survive this long,” said Patricia Rakepick idly. “Then again, you did somehow survive being shot and thrown overboard -- I guess I shouldn’t be surprised a sea rat like you was able to claw your way up on deck somehow...”

With a furious roar, Jacob charged at Rakepick. She fired again with her pistol, but Jacob somehow managed to deflect the shot with the broad side of his cutlass and lashed out at her with ferocity, forcing her to dodge and retreat somewhat.

“Seize him,” she said sharply.

In an instant, the soldiers all rushed at Jacob. He managed to cut down a good five of them before their comrades were able to surround and contain him. It took a good ten men, but they managed to pin him down to the deck and disarm him.

Rakepick watched Jacob rage like a mad animal against her soldiers’ hold for a moment, her gaze oddly grim.

“You know...I wondered a few times if I should’ve been more lenient on you, back then,” she said. “Then perhaps you wouldn’t have stolen my ship, and I wouldn’t have had to blow it up, just to keep you from escaping. But it seems you truly are too dangerous to be left alive. Cutler Beckett knows it just as well as I.”

The pupils in Jacob’s skull-like eyes were insane blue slits as Rakepick kicked the jollyboat over, to reveal the Dead Man’s Chest still securely tied to the bottom. In a moment, she’d cut it loose with a knife and picked it up by one of the handles on its side.

“You -- !”

Jacob pushed and shoved against the sailors holding him with all of his might, but he couldn’t break free. Rakepick pointed her pistol right at him as she carried the Chest at her side.

“I must thank you for busting into that court of records, though,” she said with a small smirk. “I wouldn’t have even thought to try to look up Finn McGarry’s old shipping routes if you hadn’t made the connection between him and Jones...”

She handed the Chest off to another officer, who carted it away below deck and out of sight. Jacob angrily tried to get up again, only for one of the soldiers to roughly push his head into the deck with his foot.

“Shame you won’t be able to use the Chest as a bargaining chip for whatever deal you had with Jones,” said Rakepick. “I wonder -- is that how you survived, last time? You made a deal that brought you back from the grave? I must wonder what on Earth you must have promised him, to make you seek out his heart now rather than give it up...”

Her taunting only served to make Jacob lash out more violently. Eventually it got to the point where Rakepick rolled her eyes impatiently.

“Like talking to a mangy street dog,” she muttered to herself. “To think this is the boy who became Captain of my ship...”

Her dark blue eyes hardening, she clicked her pistol and aimed it right at Jacob’s head. Just as she was about to fire, however, out of nowhere, a voice echoed on the wind up onto the deck.

“Upon one summer's morning, I carefully did stray

Down by the Walls of Wapping, where I met a sailor gay

Conversing with a young lass, who seemed to be in pain,

Saying, ‘William, when you go, I fear you will ne’er return again.’”

The resonant bass tone was hypnotizing and eerie, making all of the soldiers freeze up. They all looked at each other, clearly moved by how hauntingly beautiful it was, but also confused -- was it a mermaid? It sounded like a man...and yet, it was just as enticing and wonderful. Even Jacob had frozen up from his spot on the deck, though not for the same reason.

Some light returned to his eyes. He knew that voice...

“My heart is pierced by Cupid -- I disdain all glittering gold --

There is nothing can console me but my jolly sailor bold...”

Rakepick was likewise taken aback, but she kept her head more than her compatriots. In a moment, she’d peered over the side with her pistol at the ready, looking for the source of the voice.

She saw nothing but bubbles at first -- then, all of a sudden, something launched itself out of the water at her with an inhuman screech, its sharp fangs bared.

“AUGH!”

Rakepick was thrown backwards onto the deck. The thing in question sort of resembled a man at first glance, but due to the ocean water still clinging to his body, his skin was rippled with shimmering scales, his eyes were completely brown with no trace of white, his fingers were long, narrow, clawed, and webbed, and everything from the waist down resembled a large, slender fish tail.

Jacob’s blue eyes widened in shock and disbelief.

“...Ashe?” he whispered.

Rakepick recovered rather quickly -- she fired at Ashe, forcing the merman to lunge out of the way. Knowing he didn’t have much time before the other soldiers recovered too, Ashe threw himself across the deck toward Jacob. Quite a few of the soldiers withdrew subconsciously seeing the bizarre, hissing, fish-tailed and fanged man coming at them and it was just enough for Jacob to, in one more inhuman show of strength, throw the rest of the soldiers off of him.

Ashe quickly seized onto Jacob’s coat in his clawed, webbed hands, hoisting himself up into a quasi-kneeling position on the deck.

“Jump into the water with me,” Ashe said quickly.

“No -- ” said Jacob frantically, “not without the Chest -- !”

“Open fire!” bellowed Rakepick.

The soldiers, still stunned by the monster that had flopped up on deck, all hurried to try to load their weapons.

“We can’t get the Chest back if we’re dead!” Ashe reminded Jacob harshly, his sclera-less brown eyes narrowing.

He could feel his legs slowly returning as his scales dried out. Hoisting himself to his returning feet as best as he was able, he pulled Jacob along behind him back toward the ship’s railing, and -- just as the firing squad set loose a hail of bullets -- yanked Jacob overboard after him. As they fell, Ashe covered Jacob’s mouth fully with his own, before they landed in the water below with a loud SPLASH.

Black Jack Roberts and his First Mate Duncan Ashe just barely managed to escape Patricia Rakepick and the British Navy that day -- but that was a small victory, in the face of what their enemies had won.