#finally had time to draw this au hope you like it op :) | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

bubbleddisasters · 6 months ago

Text

So I saw a cool ship edit with Cater and Che’nya, and that has given me the confidence to talk about my favorite crackship/Rare pair!

(This is pretty long, sorry!)

Che’nya and Idia!

It originally started out as a joke like “Over Powered Cat Boy x Cat Loving Gamer Boy”, but then I realized how actually good they could be for eachother.

Although they never technically talk in canon, they do meet in Glorious Masquerade for like 6 seconds, but I shipped them prior lol.

Basically, Che’nya would be extremely good for Idia in many ways, I hope its not a bother, but I’ll just list my personal ideas!

(Keep in mind that in Alice in Wonderland, Its stated in “Through the Looking Glass” the Cheshire Cat is the second most powerful being, next to the personification of Time, So I envision Che’nya is pretty op, and theres some evidence to prove that but i’m not going to get in to that right now)

Starting off from Idias side:

One: Lets say Idia refuses to eat or care for himself, Che’nya could teleport away his consoles until he does, or teleport the food to him.

Like : “You won’t shower? Gee I wonder where your routers went.” “Won’t sleep? I opened a portal on your gaming chair that teleports you to your bed” “Won’t drink water? Damn, that figurine near the edge of the table looking real pushable right now.”

We also know that Idia has a huge soft spot for cats. Che’nya is most definitely the most cat like person in the cast. I wouldn’t be surprised if he had a cat form. So thats definitely some sway there.

Also, if he does or even if he doesn’t have a cat form, he has a big and floofy tail, and if he does have a cat form, I imagine it to be Mainecoon like (since Che’nya is pretty tall and lanky) so free floof to pet/brush when Idias stressed (also A Whisker Away AU?)

Another thing is Che’nyas invisibility: He can be a comfort for Idia without being seen, so Idias less judged for his anxiousness. Like if Idias in a stressful meeting or something in STYX, He can be there to comfort or calm him without anyones notice. Also, If Idias in a stressful social situation, Che’nya can teleport him or them both away, or make them or just him invisible.

Plus, judging from the most definitely self made artwork on Che’nyas pants, I think its safe to say he’s probably an artist of some sort, and I think he’d be more than willing to indulge/read/play/watch Idias recommendations, and maybe draw something for him. (The requirements are either cuddles or Solving Che’nyas riddles three)

Finally, judging by the fact Che’nya casually waltzes through NRCs magic barrier, which took SEVERAL HIGH TECH STYX STRIKES TO CRACK, often enough for Riddle to be able to say “The Intruder” and everyone just knows its Che’nya.

Also, RSA is THE ENTIRE ISLAND AWAY AND ON A GIANT FUCKING MOUNTAIN, so this means Che’nya is very casually teleporting across the equivalent of atleast a small country without producing jack shit in terms of blot, while (from what we can see on his design) not wearing a mage stone.

He’s also been detaching his own body parts, flying, going invisible, etc since age 5, and from Rollos story we know that amount of magic use would indefinitely kill 80% of people, especially a kid, so knowing that, I’m pretty sure its somewhat safe to say if Che’nya got into S.T.Y.X atleast once so he knows where it is, he’d be able to teleport back in and out (the security team fucking hates him and the blot research team wants to experiment on him.)

With that, Idia wouldn’t feel as if he’s trapping Che’nya down there if they were to tie the knot, and gives the possibility of being able to teleport out to shore for in town dates.

On Che’nyas side, Idia is someone who’s very fun once he sort of lets himself go, and god forbid if those two team up on April Fools.

He’s also someone that is already pretty lonely by nature and I find it extremely plausible Che’nya feels slightly replaced by Cater, and although he definitely still cherishes Riddle and Trey, its nice to have someone that you don’t fear might find a replacement.

Also, at RSA, we know he’s good friends with Neige, but because of Neiges fame, that must be hella stressful when you’re trying to hang out and get jumped by fans or paparazzi.

Not to mention Neige is likely very very busy due to the same factor. I’d also wager most people at RSA are not as much fun to him, considering it’s mentioned they always seem to be perfect and pristine at events.

That cycle of semi- perfect paradise like school days would probably bore him, along with the very bland or stereotypical reactions I can imagine his pranks getting.

So we have on one side the stress of being friends with someone in the limelight at all times, and the stress being chased around when you go to visit your childhood friends + being lowkey replaced.

So someone you can pretty much always count on to be available and a dorm that won’t chase you out (probably too anti-social and/or Socially anxious to do so) and is somewhat willing to indulge in your chaos from time to time, or just play games with.

I could also see Che’nya and Ortho getting along very well too, with Ortho being the most aggressive wingman for Idia. Also, if Che’nya gets Ortho in on pranking Idia, it’s going to turn into a prank WAR.

Also, fun idea, Lilia, Cater and Trey being Che’nyas Wingmen.

I like to imagine Che’nya and Lilia are extremely good friends (They call themselves the Pink Bats and Purple Cats Jumpscarers) and since from what we know, Che’nya only has his grandfather, Lilia emotionally adopted him after Che’nya unintentionally fell asleep in his Cat form in the woods and Lilia told Silver to bring him back because “he was concerned about the high magic levels he sensed” and basically did the equivalent of

—-

Silver: “Father, It might not be a stray-“

Lilia, fully aware its a fae beastman : “Finders Keepers :) “

——

Basically this snowballs into Che’nya getting invited into the dungeon runs with Idia, and yea.

Trey’s wingmanning is 40% trying to make sure Riddle doesn’t catch Che’nya, 20% trying to make sure he doesn’t blow up the kitchen trying to make something for Idia, and 40% being the sane consultant of date ideas, making sure Cater doesn’t go overboard with ship posts, and the preventive measurer to the date ideas recommended by Lilia.

——

“Please do not have a sword duel for a date.”

“Nya? I’d be fun!”

“I don’t see why not. I did that with my lovers back in the day. Melanor in her training uniform was quite a sight to behold, Ravaene also looked fine, I suppose. Poor him was always too easy for us to take out however-“

“Lilia, thats uh, not the point. I don’t trust either of them with weapons.”

“Hm? Silver got his first sword when he was 10 or so. Baul and I refereed Sebek and Silvers first real duel when they were…12, methinks? For all Bauls bragging about his grandson, it was my son who won in the end-“

*Camera pans to a very concerned Riddle in the doorway.*

“What kind of a discussion is going on here?!”

—-

Yea, thats pretty much it!

(If you recognize some of the beginning spiel from a comment section on tiktok yes I wrote that and I got mildly lazy and thought past me explained it pretty well so I copy and pasted a few pieces)

37 notes · View notes

mixelation · 1 year ago

Text

reborn au notes 2 self, chunin exam edition

on kushina: i want to write her as a badass, but in light of the recent minato oneshot, i've decided that while she is a badass, she was actively kept from the frontlines of the third shinobi war because oooh ahhh our precious jinchuriki!! so she's not actually like... very well known internationally. so what this means

both itachi and deidara are like "well if she was any good i would have heard of her" and then ideally both of them would have separate "oh god what the fuck what the fuck WHAT THE FUCK" moments because actually she has an OP bloodline limit, is a fuinjutsu master, and has insane chakra/stamina. and this is BEFORE you factor in the fox

iwa denies minato entrance for the chunin exam tournament despite it being traditional to host foreign kage because they're terrified of him planting a hiraishin seal. they're then iffy about letting his wife in with fuinjutsu supplies. but they too are like "well if she were worth knowing about, we'd have heard of her"

on kisame/mangetsu: i forgot i pitched the idea of kisame being there to babysit bby mangestu entering??? i think i'll keep this element. nothing i post on tumblr is "set in stone" but this change probably wouldn't affect the written pieces very much. so the tourament is

First round:

Tori vs Some Chump (opening match -- expected to be underwhelming and supposed to give people time to find their seats -- Tori finishes it in less than 30 seconds)

Itachi vs Kurotsuchi (Itachi wins)

Deidara vs Some Chump (Deidara wins)

Mangetsu vs Some Chump (Mangetsu wins)

Second round:

Tori vs Itachi (Itachi wins but in a complete reversal of her previous match, Tori draws it out)

Mangetsu vs Deidara (Deidara wins but the bloodline limit is ANNOYING)

Final: Itachi vs Deidara (Itachi wins)

i'm not 100% what mangetsu at 13's personality would be, but i like the cracky idea of of him having a weird little crush on tori. mostly because i think it would make both her and kisame like (INTERNAL ALARM BELLS GOING OFF) but also for plot reasons*

tori: idk what to do i've only ever had weirdos be attracted to me???

deidara: only weird-- tori he sneezed too hard and turned into a puddle. he IS a weirdo

*basically i'm toying with the idea of tori going SOBBING to mangetsu that iwa kidnapped her mentor, because kisame will report to kiri that they did this, but mangetsu's more emotional testimony will sell it to kiri. i decided with the piece i just posted that it makes more narrative sense for tori to pull herself together and make moves on a plan rather than waiting for deidara and itachi to solve it for her. so she's like: okay, im confident we can get to her, but how do we prevent a fourth war in the event iwa decides to claim WE attacked first? witness from another village. okay here i go~~

kisame has no personal stakes in doing anything about kushina or their mission so he's not going to physically help with that, but he does consider itachi his ally so he'll happily go and tell the mizukage that he was presented with strong evidence that iwa tried to hold the hokage's wife ransom after she and her team diligently obeyed all their stupid rules....?

on the hiraishin seal that the utano** clan picked up at the very beginning when tori was 4: originally i had the idea she'd use it to take down oto somehow. like she gets her hands on it and chucks it around until minato comes to check it out or something. but instead i decided it's better if she just figures that out on her own. although NOW i'm debating if she leaves the hiraishin seal out in the open in the hopes konoha comes ot check it out and take care of any degs for her. <3 the consequence of this is that she's on minato's radar before they ever meet, but i'm noooot sure i like this

either way i think i'm going to use it to very slowly foreshadow hiraishin!tori. but also maybe. out of spite, and because she spent a lot of time studying one when she was a kid.... she paints a couple hiraishin seals in iwa as payment. as a little treat <3

(this is NOT the most politically savvy move so even if minato privately thought it was funny, i think he's reprimand her. even when she's like "no i ARRANGED for kiri to back us up, they're not going to do anything because they CAN'T." but alternatively maybe she writes a note that she hid one.... can you find it? <3 <3 <3)

**i know i originally wrote it as "uta" but "utano" looks more like a name so i'm changing it lmao

#reborn au

84 notes · View notes

sullustangin · 2 years ago

Text

2022 SWTOR Secret Santa Fic

Happy Holidays to @thelealinhypehouse !

I was happily assigned to be your Santa. One of the prompts you sent over was: “My imperial agent Ain'res or my jedi master Sallaros. Ain in some snowball fight with Theron or solo.”

I read into your blog a bit, noted your descriptions of Ain’res and his lovely braids, and picked up on his ‘hard-ass with a heart of gold’ attitude. One thing did stand out to me in my research: the fact that Ain’res’s romantic pairing with Theron is an AU, given his issues and the dangers he voluntarily faces. One of the major themes of Star Wars is hope. So this gift fic straddles a space between your canon and your AU -- you can place in either universe. I hope this makes you happy.

…it was time to move on. He’d reached that decision less than a week before Life Day rolled around at Odessen.

Well over a year ago, Ain'res'sabosen had helped the Alliance save the galaxy. His bags had been packed the second the victory broadcast had finished.

No, it wasn’t because he had hated the Commander or had disapproved of the Alliance’s presence as a peacekeeping aid fleet. Ain’res had needed to go home. To the Empire.

And so he had.

Someone had to defend it against all foes, visible and invisible. That included far too many Sith who’d let power go to their heads. Cipher Seven was to return to Ghost status, and after each mission, simply disappear. Every mission.

Months, a year passed. Every success was met with a tingle of adrenaline and a flash of dopamine for a job well done… and yet his fingers always found the rings woven into his hair.

But then Lana Beniko asked him to return, because Theron Shan – the Alliance’s black ops coordinator and operations manager of Odessen – had seemingly defected.

He was dangerous to the Empire, as well as the rest of the galaxy. That was Ain’res’ rationale at the time.

“Seemingly” was why Ain’res really needed to move on now: it had been a charade, everything had been set to right, and his former firing range partner was no longer another target on his list.

…but why was it so daunting to move his bag to the shuttle he’d reserved for transport off-world?

Maybe it was the snow. It reminded Ain’res of Csilla; even though he’d been born on urban Cioral, Csilla was much prettier to look at, much like Ain’res.

It was also far more dangerous -- much like Ain’res.

Ain’res finally pushed himself to stand and took one last look at his quarters on Odessen, making sure he hadn’t left a charger or something behind.

There was no need to check the drawers; he’d never really unpacked. Laundry would be washed and replaced right back into his bag… he never intended on staying with the Alliance.

Why was this so hard?

As Ain’res marched down the hallway, one of his braids bounced right into his line of sight. Pesky thing. Impulsively, he chomped down on the end to keep it from smacking him. Fortunately, he managed to avoid the rings, this time.

“Are you sure we can’t persuade you to stay with the Alliance? Your talent would be used for the betterment of the galaxy,” Lana again asked him.

Ain’res shook his head.

Both of the Alliance advisors had been loitering, deliberately, in the hallway en route to the shuttle launch area to try to catch him. If Ain’res had wanted to avoid them, he could have…

But it was sort of nice to feel like he was someone they wanted to keep around.

“I still serve the people of the Empire. Not every Sith Lord… is as pragmatic as you are,” Ain’res chose his words carefully. “They don’t seem to understand that without the people, there is no Empire…or tax base with which to run it.” Lana smirked at that smart comment. “Their worst impulses…need to be checked.”

“And you’re the man to do it,” Theron said, looking straight at the blaster pistols at Ain’res’s hips.

Ain’res nodded again. “I have to be.”

Sudden, both advisors’ datapads screeched. Theron’s hand was quick to reach for his implants, beating Lana’s attempt to draw out her datapad from her voluminous robes. “Well, looks like you’ll be here with us a little longer, Cipher Seven – inclement weather. Lana, the Commander is – ”

“Absolutely not going to try to land in this!” Lana had already whirled around in a great billowing cloud of Sith tailoring as she marched toward the nearest holocomm to delay and deter the Commander arriving.

It wasn’t the first time a landing hadn’t quite gone to plan.

That left Ain’res and Theron Shan standing in the hallway. After an awkward pause, Ain’res asked, “Any idea how long this will be?”

Theron shrugged. “Depends on how much snow it drops and whether it starts icing over – we should know within the next hour or two.” Theron jerked his head toward the docks. “Want to take a look?”

“Yes.” The answer came out unbidden, and by the time Ain’res had a moment to feel self-conscious about his eagerness, he was already following Theron down the hallway.

Eventually the two men emerged on the military docks. Aygo was directing traffic and ushering people to either get inside or get cold weather gear. The two spies took the hint: they grabbed two standard-issue all-weather thermal jackets before darting out of the hangar bay.

As the pair followed the trail out toward the shooting range, Ain’res couldn’t stop himself from feeling that little jolt of awe as he passed through Odessen’s now sleeping forest.

This planet in winter was beautiful. Maybe even prettier than Csilla. There was a promise of spring here. The snow was temporary; the joy or inconvenience it brought was fleeting. Change was possible. That wasn’t the case with Csilla…(and maybe not Ain’res either).

“Should have brought blasters out here. Ah well. Probably wouldn’t have fired well in this weather,” Theron mused distractedly as he scanned the terrain around them.

Ain’res was a resourceful man. He did not miss opportunities.

A strangled yelp came out of Theron as Ain’res’s well-aimed snowball hit him right where his collar met his skin. Despite himself, Ain’res giggled –

And promptly got a face full of snow in retribution.

It was on.

There was some divine comedy in two of the deadliest men in the galaxy engaging in something as juvenile as a snowball fight.

Then again, neither of them really had the chance to be juveniles in the first place, so perhaps the Divine had mercy on them, just this once.

The fresh cold snow hit Ain’res’s skin and lingered; Chiss ran cool by nature. The flakes eventually evaporated away, but the edges of the tiny crystals were briefly felt. The prickle again summoned a memory, a good one, as he heaved snow in Theron’s direction.

Eventually, the two juggernauts slowed as the snow continued to fall down, making their steps heavier. They staggered about, grabbing for snow, their accuracy gone, their lungs gasping for breath.

It was fun.

They never did come to an agreement as to who hit the ground first and didn’t get up again; it was too close to call.

Exhausted, as they were both trying to catch their breath despite their laughter, Ain’res betrayed himself; he looked at Theron’s face. …they’d become fast ...friends again after Theron had returned.

That word came so hard for him.

When Theron was cleared from medbay, after he returned from Nathema, they’d had a drink. Theron had settled for ginger ale, given his condition. They had laughed then also, but over such a horrible thing: the deadly cat-and-mouse game they’d almost gotten to play. Thank the Stars for the Commander’s less bloody thinking (at least compared to Lana).

Most people would have been horrified to be a Cipher target, but Theron had understood. He’d been SIS; he knew how these things were, regardless of personal feelings.

…And there was the problem…

Looking right back at Ain’res.

Ain’res had been caught.

He felt the flood of heat on his face as he tried to look away, redirect his own attention --

Yet, even in his panic at being found out, Ain’res observed a certain sadness, just before half of Theron’s mouth hitched up.

“I thought Chiss were good with cold weather,” he said.

Ain’res blinked at him, confused.

Theron pointed with a gloved finger, keeping his hands close to himself. “You’re turning purple.”

Ain’res blushed even harder.

…And Theron finally figured it out. “Oh. Sorry.” A nervous hand went up to the back of his neck. His soaked collar had to be pulled away from his skin. “Didn’t mean to … call you out or anything.”

The Chiss vigorously shook his head, his braids making quiet ‘thumps’ against his shoulders. “I’m – fine. So –

And suddenly, a very warm puff of air crossed his mouth as Theron impulsively kissed him.

Ain’res’s brain shut down entirely. It wasn’t unpleasant, like the brainwashing. It felt pretty amazing…

The kiss had to end sometime – and it did. Sometime.

And then Ain’res’s heart dropped. “I can’t.” He might have shut his mouth then, but Ain’res couldn’t stop the feelings from rampaging through his head. After everything, the mind control, his team -- There was a reason he was alone, and it was because he deserved it. He’d failed.

Theron watched him, trying to read him, trying to understand what was going on in his head…the master of spies knew his file. He knew --

“I owe it to them to serve the Empire.”

It was the slightest motion on Theron’s face, but it was enough. “You really want to go back to the Sith Empire?”

Ain’res glared. “I serve the people of the Empire. Not the Sith. You know that.”

“You can do that here with the Alliance, just as I serve the Republic… at least her ideals, anyway.” Theron cleared his throat. “I’m probably not the guy who should be encouraging others to defect, given recent history.”

Ain’res had to laugh at that. Then, the shame. The urge to shake himself… “But I would harm the Republic to save the people of the Empire,” Ain’res cut right to the heart of this matter. “We… friends. All we are. All we can be.”

Because you wouldn’t forgive me.

Although his hair was darker from being wet due to the snow, Theron’s silver streaks at his temples still reflected the hazy light of the sun as he shifted to sit up. “Not … necessarily true.”

“Are you mad?” The words flew out of Ain’res.

Theron stifled a weak laugh. “No… it’s just… how do I put it?” Theron sighed. “...it’s one thing to be alone in the galaxy, like I am. It’s another thing to be lonely.” He tilted his head toward the other agent. “Not sure which one you are. But now that a planet-eating emperor is gone and an unstoppable space fleet is no longer a threat to anyone… the galaxy might start to calm down. It’s changing, almost as fast as Odessen, according to Dr. Oggurobb…”

Ain’res understood what he was getting at….

And he didn’t want to deal with those feelings right now.

“…I need to prep my shuttle for departure.” But before he could run off and abandon Theron entirely, Ain’res felt the urge and gave into it: “thank you for your time,” he said in a rush.

He was so bad at this.

Been awhile since Dromund Kaas.

Been awhile since this bed. He was glad he had done the laundry before he left. Fresh sheets always made sleep easier… though not always possible.

Ain’res hand tangled in his hair. He felt the aurebesh letters on the rings slide by. He explored them, as if he’d never touched them before.

Ain’ress knew the names; they were carved into his heart.

Are you alone? Or lonely?

On a not-so-good night – or a night where a mission was keeping him awake, Ain’res constantly toyed with the rings until they slid down the strands. One of his nervous habits was to bite down on the braid, and sometimes, he’d knock a tooth against the rings. As his jaw sprang back open, his first thought was to the rings…not to his own teeth.

His friends…his partner…his team… he’d lost them. They weren’t here to proclaim him blameless for their deaths. No, their names were engraved on the rings to remind him --

…He needed to be reminded that he was alone, and he thought he deserved it…

And with that came the loneliness.

Are you like Csilla? Pretty, dangerous, and always cold?

Ain’res watched the shadows of traffic on Dromund Kaas play across his bedroom ceiling. Rain, as usual.

No snow. No magic. No Theron. All these things melted away when just enough time had passed.

But the memories were already lingering far longer than his normal mental discipline permitted.

…or can you be like Odessen? Pretty, dangerous… and ever-changing?

Ain’res let himself remember the cold and the hot contrast that had lingered on his mouth for glorious moments…

Can you change…?

Live a little longer than you want…?

Ain’res surprised himself that night.

For the first time since he could remember…maybe before the brainwashing? … he dreamed.

There was a message on his datapad from Theron the next morning.

Ain’res answered it.

A/N: To dream for a former Cipher is quite a hopeful sign. How he answers -- that’s up to you. Happy Holidays

#swtor #2022swtorss #Theron Shan #Theron Shan x Imperial Agent #Imperial Agent OC #gift fic #chiss imperial agent #ain'ress #thelealinhypehouse

27 notes · View notes

starrieisdelusional · 8 months ago

Text

hello OP, i had an idea that was inspired by a certain scene in the manhwa ‘secret alliance’ and i immediately thought of your au so here you go:

Cedric is beginning to run out of options. He did not think that sabotaging a servant would be this hard. He tried everything. From the horses, the bedding, the armor, none of them phased the prince.

He finds that the prince is weirdly fond with his manservant. Often times giving him special attention and treatment.

He did not understand it. Why would Prince Arthur be fond of a mere servant. It’s alien to him.

It seems like the Prince did not treat other castle staff like the way he does with his servant. But the servant is a little different. He soon founds the answer when he was in the Prince’s chambers.

They were chatting the Prince and him, his manservant Cedric means. Like always, they we’re in their own world, leaving Cedric alone, talking about things that he thinks is quite foolish.

How could a servant and the prince talk like that? No matter. It won’t stop Cedric from getting his treasure.

When the Prince and his servant is distracted, Cedric immediately opens the Prince’s serving. Cedric pulls out the jar from his coat, and dumps the maggots all over the Prince food.

He quickly closes it when the Prince and his servant had finished talking.

It was not long after that the Prince opens his pallet. His face stoney when he saw the maggot-invested food. It was the servant who panicked

“I’m so sorry— I’ll get you a new one—“

“I’ll do it my lord” Cedric cuts him off “I’m sure I can be more of a service to you than this fool of a servant”

But the Prince immediately stops him “No need”

He completely ignores him, tending to his servant who’s babbling to him like a fish out of water “I don’t know how this happened, it was fresh when I bring it here, I made sure…” he explains

“Merlin, it’s alright” the Prince told him

“But I made sure, I made sure it’s safe for you to eat, I watched over it! how can I not notice? why am I so careless? someone could have poisoned you, I…”

Cedric did not know why he is so nervous over this small mistake that he did not do, especially since the Prince is always giving him special treatment.

But the Prince calms him, putting his hand on his arm “It’s alright” he told him, drawing the servant close to his chest, where his heart is laying.

Cedric is disgusted at the display.

What he did not expect however was the prince looking slowly to him. As if making sure he was watching.

Cedric gave him a smile, in hopes that he could favors him.

Then ever so slowly, the Prince starts to close his face on the servant neck “Arthur what are you doing?” the servant giggles at him

Cedric watch as the Prince plants little kisses at him, once at his clothes, his neck, his jaw, his cheeks. It soon becomes too much for him to see.

“Arthur, stop” the servant told him, smiling at the affection

The Prince looks at him one more time, again, making sure that Cedric is watching before he plants a kiss on his mouth.

It finally clicks for him.

“Arthur!” he exclaim, embarassed

“Sorry Merlin, just planting friendly kisses”

“Friendly?” He asks, still being kissed all over

“Of course Merlin, don’t you know? The royalty of Camelot does this as a gesture of friendship to their closest companion”

“Really? How come I’ve never heard of this before?”

“I guess it’s a very private gesture” he says, looking over to Cedric, hold possessive over his servant.

Cedric can’t win this game.

“Excuse me” he said, exiting the room.

Damn it.

Damn that servant. Damn that revolting Prince.

He will get his treasure. Prince or not.

——————

Okay i think some of the story aspects is not in line with your canon 😭 hope you like it 🥹

Arthur and Merlin travel back in time without knowing the other is from the future too AU

Tagging @aceauthorcatqueen , @fallenxjas , @smileytrinity ,@lucifertookmyshoe , @an-entity-i-think , @thecornerofbelu , @griffonskies , @odinjm , @cinnabon-sweetroll-tiramisu , @thelady-mary , @bennedict , @nightninjaboy , @st8-of-grace , @star-rie , @error-username-not-availablea , @dogberryrowan , @jamieweasley13 Since you asked for Arthur and Merlin to still be oblivious for series 2 ;)

LINKS TO THE OTHER PARTS OF THIS AU HERE: PART 1 , PART 2 , PART 3 , PART 4 , PART 5 , PART 6 , PART 7 , PART 8 , PART 9 , PART 10 , PART 11 (You're here) , PART 12

In "The Curse of Cornelius Sigan"

Arthur: (falls of his horse)

Merlin: Arthur! (Goes to him worried)

Arthur: I’m fine (stands up)

Merlin: (checks Arthur for injuries, anxiously)

Arthur: (smiles and stops Merlin by the shoulders, gently) Merlin, I’m fine, really.

Merlin: I’m sorry. I did that girth up myself. I don’t know how-

Cedric: (appears bringing back the horse) Would you like me to fit the girth properly for you, sire.

Merlin: (Kills him with his eyes)

Arthur: (realises it was him who sabotaged Merlin the first time but decides to play along for now) Thank you.

Cedric: (makes a bow) It is an honor to be of service to the Prince.

Arthur: And not an honor everyone can have. Right, Merlin?

Merlin: (dryly) Right.

Cedric: Allow me the honor of brushing your clothes down- (is about to touch Arthur’s clothes but Merlin grabs his arm midair)

Merlin: (smiles politely, but his grip is strong) I can do that myself, you don’t have to worry.

Cedric: (pulls his arm free, taken aback, but turns to Arthur) Anything else I can do for you, sire?

Arthur: (between bewildered and pleased with Merlin’s reaction) Thank you, but my servant has everything under control.

Merlin: (brushes Arthur’s clothes and gives Cedric a very smug smile)

Cedric: (thinking) The little shit. (forces a smile). In fact, I’ve come to Camelot in search of work. It would mean everything to me to have the pleasure to work at the castle near your highness.

Merlin: (coldly, after he finishes brushing Arthur’s clothes) There is a procedure for that.

Arthur: Merlin, it’s okay. (to Cedric) What’s your name?

Cedric: (makes another bow) Cedric, your highness.

Arthur: Cedric. We’re short of a man or two in the stables. You can start there. (gets on his horse) Merlin?

Merlin: (gets on his horse too and they leave together)

Cedric: …

Cedric: The servant has his own horse?! 😨

Time skip. Later in the stables.

Arthur: (furious) You fell asleep? That’s your excuse?

Cedric: (scared) I didn’t mean to-

Arthur: To what? To lose ALL the horses?

Merlin: (enters) Sire. Don’t be too hard on him. He's just tired.

Arthur: On his first day?

Cedric: Sire, please-

Arthur: Enough! You’re fired. (leaves but shouts from outside) Merlin!

Merlin: (cheerfully) I’ll go in a moment, sire! (looks at Cedric, his face turning serious)

Cedric: I did not fall asleep.

Merlin: No, you did not (throws the cloth that had Cedric’s sleeping draught at him). Thank you for the trick though, it’s quite effective.

Cedric: (angered) You stole it from me!

Merlin: Says the thief. (shakes his head and gives him a sack with treasure of Sigan’s tomb) Here, I hope that’s enough for you.

Cedric: (confused)… what?

Merlin: You wanted jewels, gold? There they are. Now leave Camelot and don’t come back.

Cedric: You think I’m stupid? I know there’s more in that tomb!

Merlin: Don’t be greedy. I'm doing you a favor. Or you leave with your hands full or be arrested for theft. You choose.

Cedric: I can tell the Prince you stole that. You’ll lose your job.

Merlin: Go ahead. Tell him and let’s see who he believes.

Cedric: …

Merlin: That’s what I thought. (threatens) I expect you to be gone by noon. (leaves)

Time skip. Cedric in the woods alone counting his treasure, happily.

Arthur: (appears out of nowhere) Where did you get that?

Cedric: (nervous) ¡Ah! Sire, what a nice surprise… seeing you here. 😅

Arthur: (approaches threateningly, raising his sword) You stole from me.

Cedric: (steps back, hands up, frightened) No! Merlin, your servant, he-

Arthur: And now you want to blame my personal manservant.

Cedric: No! I would never! I-

Arthur: (barely contained fury) You tried to sabotage my servant and almost liberated the ghost of a dangerous sorcerer putting all Camelot at risk… (pointing the sack with treasure). Just for this?

Cedric: (on his knees, begging) I’m so sorry, your highness! Please forgive me!

Arthur: I would. But you see… (runs him through with his sword) I still need 283.

...

Do you find confusing that I'm writing kind of in disorder? If you do, please let me know. Also, I'm open to ideas as always :D. Love you.

#bbc merlin #merlin bbc #merlin #arthur pendragon #merlin emrys #arthur bbc #merthur #merlin x arthur #merlin prompt #arthur x merlin #merlin fic #merlin fanfic #merlin fanfiction #merthur prompt #bbc merthur #merthur fic #merthur fanfic #merthur fanfiction

431 notes · View notes

pillage-and-lute · 4 years ago

Note

Hey I have a holiday prompt for you! What if it’s the pairing’s first holiday together and they stress about figuring out what to get each other? Any pairing you feel like! PS Reading your stuff never fails to put a smile on face!💜💜💜

Hi Blondey!

cute shit ahead. Modern AU

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Yen,” I swear,” Geralt panted into the phone. “It’s an emergency. Please, I need your help.”

“No.”

“Yen please I’m actually begging.”

“You should have thought to beg before Christmas Eve.”

“I’m meeting him tonight, Yennefer, I’m on Wilson Street, with all the shops and I’m so lost, please.”

“No.”

“I’ll set you up with Jaskier’s hot friend. The one from the coffee shop. She’s single.”

“...I’m on my way.”

-- -- -- Across Town, Triss and Jaskier’s Apartment -- -- --

“I just thought I’d have more time to get him a gift,” Jaskier wailed, draped dramatically over Triss’ beat up armchair. “And then it was thanksgiving, then finals and it’s Christmas eve and I don’t have a gift.”

“Well,” Triss said, sipping her cocoa and barely looking up from her book. “It’s not noon yet, shops aren’t all closed. What kind of gift does your relationship need?”

“What?” Jaskier looked up from his flop of despair, confused.

“I mean, if you’d been dating for a month it would be slippers or some scotch or something.”

“We’ve been dating eight months though!” Jaskier wailed. “I love him, Trissy, desperately. I see his face and everything goes all pink and mushy.”

“You should get that checked out.”

“No, I mean,” Jaskier sat up and looked at her. “I think he could be the one. He might be it for me.”

Triss looked up from her book. She’d known Jaskier since university, and his heart had always been so mobile, but there was something shining in his eyes. She shrugged mentally. Put it down to a Christmas miracle, but Jaskier was really in love.

“What does he like?”

Jaskier huffed. “He likes being grumpy.”

“And?”

“Me.” He paused for thought. “His horse, Roach, he loves riding. He loves his goddaughter, and mythology.”

“Lord of the Rings nerd?”

“Oh you have no idea, he’s basically Aragorn if Aragorn had albinism.”

“I know a place,” Triss said, getting up. “Put on your coat.”

“Will it be open?” Jaskier asked anxiously, pulling his boots on.

“They live above the shop,” Triss said, throwing his scarf at him. “I know the owners, I’ll just shoot them a text.”

-- -- -- Back on the other side of town -- -- --

“Okay,” Yennefer said. “And you’re sure the hot barista is single?”

“Triss,” Geralt said. “And yes, apparently she’s been crying about it to Jaskier for ages.”

“Right, let’s go looking,” Yennefer said, looking remarkably cheerful.

The rows of shops were mostly open for last minute shoppers and Geralt and Yennefer fought through them.

Well, Geralt fought. Yennefer just glared and people moved out of her way.

“Does he cook?” Yennefer asked, pointing at a cookware store.

“Ramen and box mac n cheese,” Geralt said.

“You said he likes clothes?” A very full store with what could only be called hipster clothing.

“He has lots of clothes I want something...special,” Geralt said. He was trying not to lose hope.

“You really like this one.”

“I do, you met him he’s just...bright,” Geralt said, mumbling a little into his scarf as the wind blew a flurry at him.

“Hey, look at the music shop on the corner,” Yenn said. “I’m down here all the time, I’ve never noticed it before.”

Neither had Geralt. “Is it new?” It didn’t look new. It looked nearly condemned.

“You said he loves music,” Yennefer said, stomping in the direction of the store.

“I dunno, that store looks...”

“He loves music,” she said. “And you love him.”

They entered the store.

-- -- -- Triss and Jaskier -- -- --

“How the hell did you find this place?”

“I told you,” Triss said, matter of factly. “I know the owners. They’ll be down any minute to open it up.”

“They’re opening it up just for us?” Jaskier asked guiltily. It was Christmas eve after all.

“They owe me,” Triss said. “I introduced them. Well...reintroduced.”

“Welcome to The Sword in the Stone, Gifts and Novelties,” grinned a young man with very blue eyes and slightly large ears, opening the door. Behind him a blonde young man grinned cheerfully too, he was wearing a santa hat.

“Hi,” Jaskier said, stepping gratefully inside. “It’s a pleasure, I’m Jaskier.”

“Merlin,” said the young man who’d opened the door.

“Arthur,” the blonde waved.

“Seriously?”

The pair just shrugged. Well, Jaskier, called Buttercup/Dandelion/Julian/a lot of other things, wasn’t about to tell people what to call themselves.

“I hear you need a gift for that special someone,” the blonde -Arthur- said, wiggling his eyebrows.

“Yeah, he loves fantasy stuff and I just... I don’t know what to get him.”

“Gotcha,” Arthur began to lead him back into the shop. Merlin and Triss were chatting by the door.

“Were you thinking bigger, got a lovely cardboard cutout of Viggo Mortensen?”

Jaskier pictured Aragorn watching them have sex from the corner of Geralt’s little studio apartment. “Maybe smaller but kind of...niche?”

“Lucky you, this place if full of niche,” Arthur said cheerfully.

Jaskier looked at the wall full of swords and was that a battle axe? “Yeah...”

“Does he wear jewelry?” asked Arthur, jingling a box full of metal in Jaskier’s direction.

“Not really,” Jaskier said. Then something caught his eye. “Wait...” he pulled something out of the box and held it up to the light.

Somehow...it was perfect.

“How much.”

-- -- -- Yen and Geralt -- -- --

“This place looks closed,” Geralt whispered to Yennefer, looking around at the racks of instruments.

“Not closed dearie, just dusty,” came a cheerful voice from right behind Geralt. He and Yennefer jumped.

“Sorry honeys,” said a little old lady with coke bottle glasses. “Got my slippers on, makes me quiet. She shuffled one foot, clad in pink fluff, off the floor as exhibit A. “Gift from my great grandson, aren’t they darling? Now,” she looked at Geralt with laser intensity. “You’d be needing a gift.”

“Um, yes ma’am,” Geralt said. How had she known?

“Ooohoo you need a gift,” said the tiny old woman, “Cause you’s a boy in love.” She nearly cackled. “Follow me honeys!”

Geralt and Yennefer looked at each other, shrugged, and followed. What choice did they have?

“Got a harp,” the shopkeeper called cheerfully. It was indeed a full, standing, concert harp. It had a figurehead on it but the face looked absolutely agonized.

“Maybe not,” Geralt said.

“Hmmm no,” said the lady, shuffling her fluffy slippers. “Bagpipes?”

“He lives in an apartment.”

“That’ll be a no, then,” said the woman, peering at a rack of instruments in the corner. “Aha!” she shrieked, startling Geralt and Yennefer both.

“This!”

It was perfect.

“I can’t afford it,” Geralt said, feeling hopeless.

“Oh yes you can,” said the little old lady gleefully, if she could Geralt got the sense she would be jumping and clicking her heels. “Nobody wants ‘em these days, this one’s seventy-five percent off!”

Geralt left with a weird shaped package.

-- -- -- Geralt’s studio apartment, evening -- -- --

“Hey,” Jaskier, said, stomping his boots on the mat.

“Hi,” Geralt replied, stealing a kiss. “What’d you tell Triss?”

“Told her I was sending a gift, what’s you tell Yennefer?”

“She’s heading over there now,” Geralt said. “With that movie they both like.”

“Ocean’s 8?”

“That’s the one, and a plate of homemade Christmas cookies.”

Jaskier smiled at Geralt and stole another kiss. “We’re never going to have a moment of peace, now we set them up,” he said. Geralt grinned at him. “Never, but I think we did the right thing.”

They settled in on Geralt’s little loveseat. Jaskier set a wrapped present on the side table. Beside it, on the floor, was a very poorly wrapped mess. Lots of scotch tape was visible. It was quite large.

Jaskier felt panicky.

“Should we,” Geralt said awkwardly. “Do you want to exchange presents now?”

“Sure.” Oh god, Geralt’s gift was so small, and what if he hated it?

“You first?” Geralt said, handing over the odd package.

Jaskier had always been a rip-it-open present person, but he took his time, although there was no salvaging the taped up paper.

“A lute?” he turned to Geralt in delight, face lighting up.

“A lute,” Geralt said. “Is-is that a good thing?”

“Oh my god, Geralt, yes! Oh I love it! I can’t wait to learn it!” Jaskier dropped kisses all over Geralt’s face, careful of his new baby.

He handed Geralt the little package. “It’s not as great but...”

Geralt was a folding kind of person and folded up the wrapping paper carefully, then he opened the box and took out the amulet with the silver wolf’s head.

“Oh,” Geralt said.

Oh. Was that a good oh or a bad oh? Jaskier tried to breathe slowly.

“Jaskier I...”

Oh no. He hated it.

“It’s perfect.”

What?

“When I was little I thought I’d be a knight,” Geralt said, pale eyes shining. “And I drew wolf’s heads on everything, my crest, I said.”

Geralt was holding up the amulet as if transfixed.

“Vesemir can show you, he kept the drawings,” Geralt said. Then he slipped the medallion over his head.

“My knight,” Jaskier said. “My wolf.”

Geralt gave a playful growl. Jaskier’s heart thumped a little harder. Geralt must have picked up on something in his eyes because he cocked his head.

“Oh?” he rumbled, low in his chest. “You want a wolf, do you?” He growled again.

Jaskier leapt up, shrieking with laughter and ran to hide in the bathroom. Geralt caught up before he could close the door.

“I’ll huff and I’ll puff,” he said, dragging Jaskier closer and giving him a bear hug. He growled in Jaskier’s ear.

“And I’ll blow your...how does it go?”

“I’m not sure, wolfie,” Jaskier said, pulling Geralt closer by the amulet. “But I think it ends with you eating me all up.”

It was a very merry Christmas indeed.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Ope! Idiots! With a random appearance from BBC’s Merlin (In 2020? I guess.) and a little old lady. + the magic of christmas.

#geraskier #geralt x jaskier #the witcher #modern au #christmas #minor merthur mention

297 notes · View notes

dannyphantom-justiceleauge · 4 years ago

Note

I'm glad you agree with Dani having wind powers. I have been thinking about the other halfa's and their powers and why they have them. Vlad is fire, which is volatile and hurts others but it can also keep people warm (perhaps there is hope for him in another universe) and is something often used in human invention and Vlad is very smart. Danny is his opposite, Ice. Unlike fire, ice could be used to subdue his enemies without hurting them (1/2)

(2/2) However Ice is also be sharp and dangerous (he can be mean sometimes) and it is cold, which could maybe represent how alone he feels. It could also be tied into his love for space as space is cold. If Jazz was a ghost, I think she would have water powers, since it's like a melted version of her brothers ice (lol). She is cool and collected and prefers to talk things out and understand rather than fight. She can also be rather overbearing sometimes, like an ocean. Sorry if this is long.

~ ~ ~

it’s interesting to think what the various halfa’s elements would be. makes me think of the into the spiderverse au. i like the idea that jazz would be water. it suits her. cool and collected, even sometimes associated with healing. but equally capable of devastation if used for violence. since psychology is her thing, i’d also draw a comparison to that. it’s used to help and heal, but when used by people like spectra it can be the most damaging attack possible. it can destroy people on a level deeper than physical. i’d likewise suggest that jazz would be the one to figure out bloodbending as a concept for this world, but would proceed to avoid using it. if she ever has a dark dan version of herself, i could see Black Jasmine being far more terrifying than him. when jazz goes bad, she’d go really bad

though in terms of what would push her to that point, it think it’d probably be more difficult and less difficult than what happened to danny. she is all about control and discipline. she’d use denial and psychology to manage for as long as possible. that is if it’s something that no one could have predicted or stopped. an accident. but if say it was a failure on the school or societies part... if say a case of bullying landed danny trapped in a locker during a ghost attack, unable to escape, and he died because of an attack that she was involved in. if he died with her not even aware that he was feet from her and in danger...

well i could see her losing herself in her guilt and anger at the world. he could have been saved. if he wasn’t being bullied, if the teachers had done something, if the ghost hadn’t attacked, if she had known he was there. like i said dark jazz is scary.

that aside, i also want all potential halfas to have elements associated with them now. we’re all pretty much agreed that tucker is electric type, due to his love of technology, but also his impulsiveness. electricity can do a lot of damage when not controlled properly and we’ve seen tucker on more than one occasion struggle with control. he’s overconfident and surprisingly reckless at times. when he’s in his element he’s fantastic but he’s been known to abuse power when he has it. i think that would be his main conflict as tucker ghouly, controlling his powers and using them responsibly.

sam would be representative of the element wood. which is associated with flexibility, durability, and strong emotions. because she’s our resident plant girl. she is willful and passionate but also stubborn and demanding. she demands the most of herself but also others, she wants everyone to thrive but sometimes forgets what’s best for her isn’t what’s best for other. her conflict might end up being empathy, because while she has it in spades, she doesn’t always know how to use it, if that makes sense. she tends to take things as a personal attack on her and her veiws when people disagree with her, which can be pretty dangerous, especially when people absolutely have reasons for their own opinions. she needs to learn to listen to others, if she’s going to be a proper hero

that would leave the final element, metal to val. metal is the most stubborn and inflexible of the elements. she’s strong and disciplined, unyielding in her attacks and views. but as we know that’s for better or worse. she really difficult to convince she’s wrong. she’d probably end up being one of the strongest out of them, she’d figure out the most ways to use her powers and how to shape metal to her advantage. i’m actually struck by the fun idea of val using her metal powers to make jewelry and running a small business selling it. this val would still manage to create a body armor and probably be better at maintaining anonymity with her ghost activity. though i also see her as overworking herself. she tries to do everything and ends up failing classes, alienating her friends, and too exhausted to think straight..she became a ghost before she was friends with danny, so i like the idea of them ending up friends, probably during the flour baby episode, and danny being the one to finally convince her to chill out and manage her health better. full human danny, is still all about helping people and is probably more stable and viably smart when he has time to do his homework. he’d probably offer to help her study and manage her business when too busy, and just having someone to lean on means everything to val.

until of course, plasimius kills jack fenton, and danny goes down the path of seeking vengeance and fighting ghosts. i actually don’t thing they’d know each others hunter identities at first, so they’d initially be fighting for real. danny is almost as stubborn as val. (ice is also inflexable until given the time to melt. and cold and harsh and deadly when angry). i see the green hunter being the most dangerous thing val has faced so far because danny is unrelenting. once she figures out who she’s fighting (i see her giving fenton a necklace of a star when he’s human and hunter losing the necklace during a fight and val discovering it and initially thinking it was stolen but figuring out the truth throughout the episode) fighting someone innocent, who’s justified, but still wrong, she’d be forced to learn to be more flexible and understanding, just to convince danny to stop. because let’s be real, she agrees with danny. plasmius killed his father, if she were in his shoes, he’d do the same thing, but she needs him to understand that she’s not the bad guy. not all ghosts are bad.

she’d also need to learn to be more flexible just to fight vlad/plasmius. because he is manipulative and her straight foward way of thinking and fighting would get her in trouble with him. i could see him framing her for a lot. he’d also be hanging around danny as vlad and manipulating danny that way. she’d essentially be fighting 2 different people who turn out to be the same person. vlad, the billionaire friend of the fentons who’s inserting himself into the grieving family’s lives and encouraging danny to fight vigilante justice. and plasmiaus the op ghost who literally murders people who get in his way. vlad would absolutely do everything he can to keep up the facade of innocent human. leaving all the damage to his ghost half. and val would struggle to prove that he’s evil.

that was a bit of a tangent, anyway. all of the halfa’s having elements associated with them and eventually having an ultimate team up in a universe that brings them together to fight something or another. a team up of the elements. vlad being there and joining the team up as still a villain who the team is suspicious of, but who they need to win. perhaps pariah dark escapes again but this time the mech isn’t available. and danny isn’t strong enough to face him alone. so parallel dimension team up. actually maybe not main danny’s universe. maybe it’s one of the other universes that can’t manage pariah dark on their own. possibly val’s again? if jack’s dead they don’t have a mech. might even be able to incorporate maddie inventing parallel-dimensional summoning in her attempts to bring jack back. bonus points if it’s vlad who’s funding this, knowing full well anyone summon would be unstable and turn to goo soon after arriving.

can you tell i love the into the dannyverse au? this was fun - Hestia

@nastyburger @guardianrex @five-rivers @ibelieveinahappilyeverafter @enigmaris

#Danny Phantom #dpjl #hestiawrites

189 notes · View notes

sparklingpax · 3 years ago

Text

We return to another episode of Kuni rambles incoherently on tumblr with a phone at 18%

Alternately titled, someone take my phone the f r ag away from me

Ok. I apologize if someone else has come up with this idea first and this is therefore a pale comparison to the original idea, but um, here goes.

I want an au (?? Might have a different name based on what I'm talking about Actually, but brain Fried so I can't remember) where optimus gets to talk to his youngest self--to Orion Pax :0

Note: the times it mentions Optimus is like. from Op’s pov? Since Orion never learns his name?? If that makes sense?? Sorry this is so confusing aa a a--

so anyway Sorry for typos and grammar stuff, I'm typing this on my phone as it slowly dies Hfkdjsj hH 😳

///

Orion is pulled from his study books at the sound of footsteps.

A shadow is cast over him.

Wonder and disbelief spark in his gaze as he stares up at the rather grand figure before him.

This mech--plating a nearly exact match to his own in the red, blue, and silver coloring--seems to possess an air about him that is...neither true confidence, nor uncertain existence.

At the very least, it seems he knows who he is, and his purpose in this world. Something Orion is still working on.

Silence rests between them.

Optimus, meanwhile, feels an overwhelming sense of yearning.

Seeing Orion--seeing himself--he wishes he could go back to those days.

The simpler days of youthful naivety towards life.

When Cybertron still thrived under golden days and the silvery illumination of the moons at night.

When the buildings stood tall and beautiful and untouched.

When he could never have known the awful sight of a corpse at the end of his own sword, or the unnatural cries a bot makes as it is brutally murdered next to you, and you can do nothing but continue to fend for your own life...

"You are...studying for a quarterly exam?" Optimus asks, leaning closer to see the book. He recognizes the cover and feels a twinge in his spark.

He remembers the book.

...And that he never enjoyed Chemistry much.

"...I am.....but...how did you know?" Orion stands slowly to meet the gaze of the mech standing over his desk. His gaze turns to light worry and confusion.

Orion is acutely aware of a feeling in his spark that...a lot about this mech feels familiar.

Somehow even...intimately.

"A-actually...um...."

He stammers in the silence, fishing desperately for the words to use that would ask his question, yet still be polite.

After all, 'are you related to me?' is definitely an awkward--perhaps intrusive--question to ask a complete stranger...

Optimus continues to regard the young bot, slightly amused.

He knows what Orion is hoping to ask, but also that it would be hard to ask a question like that upfront, at least when he was a younger mech.

"Orion Pax," Optimus says, placing his servos on his hips.

"Y-yes?"

"Be careful not to stay up too late with that book. Tests require knowledge, but they also require one to be awake to take them...and sleep--"

"--helps a processor function, yes..." the smaller mech sighs, frustrated. He's heard that one before, but his mind isn't thinking about that at the moment.

Alright, so he knows my name, too. But...I've never met him? There's absolutely no way he doesn't know me somehow... but how could I possibly--

"Orion?"

He jolts at his name, almost blurting the question before pulling himself back.

The mech standing over his desk gives the gentlest of smiles and rests a firm servo on Orion's shoulder.

"I know what you are going to ask, Orion."

"You...do?"

"And I will tell you as much as I can."

What is he, inside my head now?

But he receives an answer that shocks him more than that would.

"I....am you, Orion, and beneath my title and age from my timeline....I am still you," he pauses, beginning to look a little sad now.

Orion blinks a few times, absolutely shocked.

"....but you're so....tall..." Is all he manages to murmur before realizing what he just said and instantly feeling heat rush to his face.

Optimus tightens his jaw as he doesn't wish to embarrass the archivist any further by laughing.

I was less careful with my thoughts and emotions once. If only I still knew how...

"I am a Prime, and I am fighting a war."

"A war?" Orion frowns in thought.

There's hasn't been a war since the revolution against the Quintesson oppressors.

What need had Cybertron to fight again?

"Is it an invasion of Cybertron to come? Or a resources conflict?"

And me? Fighting in that war? But...I fail every self-defense practice with Megatronus, at that's true no matter how hard I try...

Optimus feels his chest grow heavy as he remembers the pain Megatron's anger alone had caused him after the council of Halogen.

The guilt, regret, frustration at his friend's obstinance, fear, sadness...

He realizes quickly that he can't possibly unload the heavier truth to Orion--to himself--all over again.

He can't...bring himself to tell Orion that his closest friend and mentor would be the leading force in a centuries-long, gritty, bleak and somewhat horribly hopeless war against him and his cause.

So he instead offers a rather sad smile, and chooses not to answer the question.

"Orion, hear my words, even if you don’t understand them at present. No matter what happens or who around you turns for the darker path, you must never lose your spark, hope, or your character."

"My spark....and character?" He echoes, distantly. "Hope?"

"Indeed," Optimus affirms, feeling an uneasiness of his own.

The light in his eyes has dulled, yet they also maintain a grim light to them.

One that tells Orion that this mech has seen things he wished never to have seen, and never to see again.

A grief so strong it....scares him.

Orion feels a wave of uneasiness wash over his whole body.

Something very dark is somewhere in the future...and now he has something to do with it?

And...it involves him becoming bigger, taller, stronger? Learning to fight...to kill, maybe?

To kill means to take a life. To end it.

Orion swallows, at last processing the other part of what the mech had told him.

He had to become a Prime??

"I--but I couldn't...not in any dream could I..." He trails off, feeling almost too much at once.

I cannot kill.

Optimus senses the turmoil he's set in the younger mech and feels guilty immediately.

"Do not worry," he consoles him, reaching for his smaller servos. He then looks Orion in the eye, knowing the firmness will settle his mind. "My being here alone may be enough to stop what might happen to you, to this planet..."

Orion indeed beings to feel the pounding in his spark settle just a little.

A war would mean all kinds of devastation he couldn't begin to imagine...but this mech was from another timeline.

Perhaps we...are destined for another future.

"Above all, know that if you never lose yourself, then....whatever you become will be just as true as that," he tells him. The words are weighted with something profound.

The archivist knows in his spark that it will be a long time before he can grasp that emotion, but he is fine with that.

Orion blinks at him, feeling a new wave of mixed emotions he can't define. He feels himself tense as he tries to control it.

But the mech's hand reaches to his arm.

He nods encouragingly, and Orion just knows the Prime doesn't want him to pent up his emotions.

"In my eyes, Orion, you have always been a prime..."

Optimus draws back at last and slowly begins to leave.

It must be time for him to go...

Orion stands at his desk, staring, a forearm still raised.

"...Or so I am told by those around me..."

The mech adds with a mild chuckle before finally leaving the room.

Orion continues to stare at the now empty doorway ahead of him.

Was that even real?

Himself?

From another future?

And yet...there is that feeling in his spark...the gut instinct telling him to trust in what this mech had been saying, that it was all real...

He plops back into his seat, staring at the ceiling.

He is too lost in thought to try and get back into his late-night studying.

And then it sinks in.

I never asked him his name!!

He deflates a little and facepalms.

Orion, you dumbaft....

///

Nhjdjdjs I hate this, writing skils have left the chat

bye ;w;

#transformers #transformers prime #tfp #tf #kuniwrites #orion pax #tfp orion pax #fanfiction #transformers fanfiction #transformers prime fanfiction #tfp fanfiction #Megatronus #Megatron

32 notes · View notes

yoonsshadow · 4 years ago

Text

ETERNAL - i

➳ summary ; They have died so often that death has lost its meaning; hurt so regularly that pain has become inconsequential; lost so much that they hold each other to the light of the stars. They have nothing yet they have everything, as long as they have each other. And, after centuries, they now have her.

➳ pairing ; bts!ot7 x fem!reader

➳ genres ; The Old Guard au; fantasy, historical, action, romance, alternate universe

➳ themes ; angst, fluff, death

➳ warnings ; murder, death, violence, blood, guns, burnt bodies, nudity [nonsexual], nightmares, drugs? [sleeping pills], a bunch of boys being in love

➳ word count ; 4.8k

➳ note ; I watched The Old Guard on Netflix [a serious recommend if you haven’t already seen it] and got hit with major inspiration. Nothing better than found-family and immortal soulmates. I put of a lot of time, effort and love into this, so please treat it with delicate hands. And please, please, give me feedback if you like it. Thank you, and enjoy :)

They have done this before, enough times—too many times—to be familiar with the routine.

The nightmares, all too vivid and yet frustratingly vague, of blood and pain and death. Glimpses of a face they have never seen, memories that do not belong to them. The lingering thoughts of why another, why now, why at all?

They have done this many times, and yet it never gets easier, never makes sense.

⎯⎯⎯

When they submit to the clutches of slumber, it is beneath the glowing moonlight that shines through the broken ceiling of an abandoned church. Overgrown with vines that hold the crumbling walls together and hidden behind bushes and weeds and shadows, this building will be safe, for them. For now. It may not provide much warmth, or much shelter, but it gives them a sense of anonymity that they so desperately depend on. Right now, it hides them from the world. They are nothing but each other’s, so long as they are here.

Usually, sleep brings peace. Long ago did they learn how to banish demons from their dreams, memories of pasts both true and terrible, and so through sleep they find temporary solace from the demands of their long lives. They hold each other in their warm arms, forget about their worries if only for a brief moment. They are but seven men, seven soulmates, seven loves, existing together without burden.

Until tonight.

It is familiar, the weight that descends upon their chests, pushes against their rib cages. An invisible force both squeezing them and pulling them apart, flooding them with vague images, sounds, feelings. In sleep, they hold each other tighter, safer, but they cannot escape the myriad of memories and thoughts that fill their minds.

A pair of eyes, so brown that they are pure, so dark that they are nearly black, blink at them as sweat begins to shine upon their skin. These eyes are young, but they hold wisdom, maturity, that can only come with death. Witnessing it, causing it, experiencing it. These eyes are filled with desperation in this moment, but also a stubborn determination; they know what is coming, and yet they will continue to fight until their dying breath, as they vowed⎯⎯

⎯⎯a uniform, black, stained with dirt and blood, without any identifying marks. No dog-tags, but a tan line around a soft neck where they would normally hang. Trained muscles behind firm fabric, knowledgeable fingers clutching a military assault rifle. Steel-toed boots, scuffs through the polish, dirt in the seams and drops of red in the laces⎯⎯

⎯⎯heart beating through chest, adrenaline spiking, but something’s wrong, this isn’t supposed to happen, how did they know we were coming? Need to get out, need to get to cover, need to save⎯⎯

⎯⎯the enemies found them, caught them, have them, bound and bloodied in a dark cave or dungeon, they can’t tell. Chains rattle against stone where bodies shift for comfort, but no comfort can be found for bleeding wounds, broken bones, bruised skin. Eyes connect, know they’re saying goodbye, can’t speak but wish they could say something, apologise, curse, plead, pray. By the time footsteps stomp their way in, handgun cocked and aimed at their foreheads, they have already accepted that⎯⎯

Gasps echo in the silence as seven bodies jerk awake, trembling and sweating and aching with pains that another is experiencing. Their minds are still clouded, submerged within their dreams, but they know this routine. They know what they have just seen.

Hands scramble beneath their makeshift bedding as they reach for their journals, their pens, and begin to scribble whatever details they can remember ⎯ eyes, blood, pain, death. They’ve all clung to different images, and they desperately remember everything they can before it washes away with their wakeful clarity.

“I saw, um, eyes,” chokes the youngest, his pencil already sketching the eyelashes with careful precision. “Brown, dark. Looked like a girl’s.”

“She had to be military,” says another. “Maybe special forces? No insignia on the uniform and dog-tags were taken off. Black-ops?”

“I saw a glimpse of a scar on her hand. Might help to identify her.”

“There were others, too; a team. I have a feeling she was the leader.”

“It was a rescue operation, but I don’t think they succeeded. The enemies saw them coming. She was confused as to how.”

“Did you see the gun she was shot with? That’s military grade. It was either supplied by somebody on the force, or they were the force.”

“God, I have a headache.” Seokjin rubs his temples, a pain lingering behind his eyes but never ceding. “Never thought after three-hundred years that we’d get another one.”

Arms curl around him, a sigh breathed into his neck. “Me too, hyung.” Jeongguk nuzzles closer, finds comfort in the warmth of his lover’s broad shoulders. “I feel sorry for her. Now she’s going to have to deal with this too.”

“Hey, what did I say about pessimism?” Namjoon’s pointed look is directed towards the youngest, but the words are for everybody to hear. A reminder. “Our lives may be long, and hard, and difficult to deal with at times. But we have the opportunity to help people, to affect change, and, most importantly,” his eyes soften, “to have each other.”

“Wah, hyung’s going soft on us,” Taehyung grins, leaning his head on Namjoon’s shoulder.

Behind him, Jimin clings around his torso like a koala. “Yeah, those are big words for somebody who so often tells us how insufferable we are,” he agrees.

Sitting up, Yoongi joins the conversation with a voice still deep with sleep. “That’s because you are insufferable. But that doesn’t mean that hyungs love you any less. Eternal life would be extremely dull if we didn’t have you annoying us constantly.”

Taehyung and Jimin smile at each other, eyes glittering with something devious, and something close to love. “You all just bore witness to that,” Jimin says, pointing at Yoongi. “You all heard him say that, so you can’t yell at us for being annoying ever again!”

“Free pass!” Taehyung agrees.

Hoseok, still lounging his head in Yoongi’s lap, rolls his eyes. “Yoongi-hyung said it, but none of us did, so we can, and will, still yell at you.”

The two pout, but question it no further. They could spend centuries arguing over petty things⎯have, regrettably⎯but they’d much rather get along. For now, forever.

“Hyungs,” a small voice whispers into the silent air, drawing attention to where the maknae still hugs into Seokjin’s back. He’s pouting, and they want to coo at him, but his next words break them out of their reverie of adoration. “What about the girl?”

Your ears are ringing when you finally wake, images of your nightmares still clinging to your mind, so vivid, so real. They were filled with pain, and fear, and the bloodied faces of your soldiers as they were shot one after the other. You remember screaming for them, pleading, hoping against hope that they’d listen. But, instead, you had watched them die.

You hope that you didn’t scream aloud, didn’t wake your team. They deserve the rest, even if you couldn’t have it.

Muscles stiff and aching from a restless slumber, you shift in your cot, move to adjust the blanket. But your cot is harder than you’d like, your blanket out of reach. In fact, you can’t move your arms at all.

When your heavy eyelids finally open, you realise why your dreams had felt so real.

The stench of blood and death is so thick in the air that you can taste it, that bitter tang against your tongue bringing bile up to the back of your throat. Your body isn’t just sore, it’s screaming; it’s as though you can feel your muscles re-knitting together after being torn apart. And maybe it’s panic that crushes against your lungs, constricting your airways, or maybe it’s grief.

Because as soon as your eyes land on the dead bodies of your teammates, you can’t breathe.

Your throat is so sore from screaming and crying that the sounds escaping it are torn and scratchy, but you can’t hold them in. Not when you see your friend’s brain splattered over the wall behind her; not when you see your second-in-command holding her hands together, mid-prayer when the shot was fired.

You sob, and yell, and cry out until your throat is raw, and then when you have no voice left, you continue. You may not be dead yet⎯and for what reason, you don’t want to know⎯but you don’t think that you’ll ever truly live after this. How does one move on from their friends, their family, being slaughtered before their very eyes? How does one process the fact that they were left behind?

Through the crushing weight on your chest and the searing pain in your throat, you hear footsteps approaching. The heavy boots do nothing to hide their owner’s steps, impatient and strong, but you can’t find it within yourself to be afraid. The worst thing they can do is torture you some more, maybe even kill you, but you’d welcome death at this stage; you’d welcome reprieve from the sorrow that threatens to swallow you whole.

It’s a man, unsurprisingly, who walks through the mouth of the dark cave, ugly face covered by a mask pulled up to his eyes. He looks at you, something in his half-hidden expression that you don’t have the energy to place, and then says something in a language that you cannot understand.

Heaving a breath and swallowing blood, you meet his sharp eyes. “I don’t understand you.” Your words scratch their way out, hardly discernible, so you try again. “I won’t tell you anything, so just kill me and get it over with.”

This time he shouts, still angry but this time not at you, though he never tears his gaze off your crumpled figure. Like if he blinks, you may disappear.

Once again, hurried and heavy footsteps make their way into the room, a pair of men joining their comrade. These ones are holding guns. You can’t find it within yourself to flinch.

More foreign words are thrown at you, some that seem like questions, but your mind is too rattled, head too sore, to even try to comprehend what they might want from you. Your shoulders ache from where your arms are secured behind you, and your legs ache from hours⎯maybe days?⎯of disuse. So you sigh, level what you hope is a glare towards the two newcomers, and repeat, “I don’t understand what you’re saying.”

Looks exchanged between them, hesitation, and then, “You should be dead. Why are you not dead?”

In a moment of weighted silence, you try to determine if they’re serious. Because surely they aren’t asking you how you are alive while being held captive by them. But they don’t elaborate, so you’re left with an even greater migraine than before. “Are you fucking serious?”

The expletive makes them simultaneously point their rifles at you, and this time, you do stiffen. You may be feeling slightly suicidal right now, but you also have reflexes.

“I don’t know why I’m alive.” The admission is spat from between your teeth, reluctant and bitter. “Why don’t you ask whoever it was that killed the rest of my team?”

“I killed your team,” one of them says. The first one. Without a gun, obviously having thought there would be no threat in entering this dungeon. “I killed you, too, shot you in the head myself. So tell me again. Why are you alive?”

“Maybe you’re a bad shot,” you reply. “How am I to fucking know why you let me live? Now do me a favour, will you? Either let me go or shoot me for real this time.”

You don’t have time to register the sound of the gunshot before the bullet goes through your forehead.

“Anything?”

A sigh is the only response that Namjoon receives.

“Alright,” he continues, “what do we know for sure about her?”

“Honestly, hyung?” Jimin looks up from the laptop he’s perched at. “I don’t think we even truly know if it’s a woman. We saw her⎯their⎯eyes, but not much else. Like, sure, we think it’s a woman, we’re pretty sure of it, but nothing’s certain. The visions were really vague this time around.”

“He’s right,” Yoongi agrees, never looking up from the screen of his own computer. “I’ve been searching the military databases, but it’s hard to pinpoint covert operations that don’t technically exist. We didn’t get a dog tag number, or an insignia, or even an idea of which country’s military she’s in. I hate to say it, but we might just need to wait until tonight. Get some more pieces of the puzzle.”

This is what Namjoon was afraid of, not that he was expecting anything else. His boys are good, but even they can’t work miracles.

“I feel sorry for her,” Jeongguk hums, cheek pressed into the couch cushion where he’s taken a rest from research. Not that he ever really started; that was always his hyungs’ strong points. “I mean, she’s all alone right now, probably really confused, really scared. I know I was before you all found me.”

That sentence strains their hearts, makes them pause. Jeongguk had been alone for nearly a decade before they had finally found him, lonely and of unsound mind, unaware of the curse he’d been unwillingly given. They’d spent years helping him heal, helping him accept, and now they can proudly say that he is stable and content. Happy, even, sometimes.

You, however. You are in the exact same place that he was. Maybe worse, they don’t know.

Taking slow steps towards the couch, Hoseok gently lifts Jeongguk’s legs to place them on his lap when he sits. He feels the strong calf muscles beneath his fingers as he strokes the uncovered skin, bare only for their eyes, until the young one has relaxed his worried muscles.

“I know it’s hard, Jeongguk-ie,” Hoseok says, voice just above a whisper, soft and yet sure. “I know that we all want to find her as soon as possible, but we can’t just yet. Hopefully the next dream will give us more, but until then, we just have to stay focused. Let’s not get lost in that mental spiral, okay?”

Jeongguk hums, not fully sated with the answer but understanding nonetheless. “M’kay, hyung.”

The comfortable silence in the room following their conversation doesn’t even stretch five minutes before a figure slams into the building, flourishing his arms and announcing his arrival enthusiastically.

“We’re back, bitches!”

Seokjin follows behind Taehyung, closing the church doors after the younger had slammed them open and looking exhausted. “Taehyung chatted with the cashier for half an hour before he even asked for help. We could have been back hours ago.”

“Hey.” Taehyung directs a look at the oldest. “Her outfit coordination was unlike anything I’ve seen this century. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say she’s as old as Hoseok-ie hyung!”

“Is that a compliment or an insult?” Hoseok asks Seokjin, who is smiling despite himself.

“Definitely a compliment. I’ll admit, she reminded me of that one fashion mogul we knew in Paris. The one...Jimin, you know the one I’m talking about. Red hair, lazy eye?”

“It wasn’t a lazy eye, hyung,” Jimin corrects, “she was just keeping an eye out in all directions.”

“Yeah, anyway,” Seokjin says, “none of that matters. We got the stuff. Took a while, but we got it.”

Taehyung empties his plastic shopping bag onto a wiped-down old table, cardboard boxes falling onto the surface. “I’ve got to say, modern medicine is pretty ground-breaking. I wish we were smart enough to have invented it earlier.”

“Do you think it’ll work?” Yoongi asks, sounding a lot less interested than he actually is. “I wouldn’t think that sleeping pills would affect us.”

At this, Namjoon bites his lip. “Usually, I’d agree with you, but I’ve been doing some thinking. If the pills aren’t hurting us, our bodies shouldn’t heal too quickly; they should still have time to take effect. Just like how we can get drunk but not have liver issues, or smoke but not get cancer.”

“But smoking’s still gross,” Jeongguk mumbles.

“So,” Hoseok ponders aloud, “if we take the pills, it should prolong our sleep so that we can lengthen the dream? Do you think it’ll work?”

“We’ve never been able to test it,” Namjoon shrugs. “The worst thing that could happen is our body processes it quicker than it works, and we have a normal night’s sleep with normal visions. It’s worth a shot.”

“I think a few of us should not take the pills,” Seokjin says. “That way, if the pills really do work, some of us can still wake up normally in case of an emergency.”

Namjoon nods his head in agreement. “Okay. We’ll rock-paper-scissors it tonight. Until then, let’s rest.”

The second time you wake up, you are significantly less disorientated. You know where you are, what has happened and, most importantly, that you should definitely be dead.

You’d seen the gun, heard the click, felt the bullet spilt through your skull. You know what a killing shot is, have dealt a few yourself, so you know that you should not be opening your eyes to an intense headache right now.

An acrid odour drifts through your dazed thoughts, a stench so strong, so unpleasant, that bile immediately rises and spills from your mouth. You don’t have much to vomit, so you spit mostly water and stomach acid onto the ground beneath you as you wretch from your aching throat.

No, not the ground. Something far worse.

When the tears from your eyes clear away and you look to the ground, you see what is digging into your skin, jabbing at your muscles; you aren’t sure why, or how, but you are lain across a pile of bones and scraps of cloth, sizzling flesh still warm to the touch and sticking to you in chunks. You are atop a pile of burnt bodies, unharmed and soaked to the bone with the reeking smell of charred flesh.

Your stomach is empty, and so you can only scramble from the pile and retch.

For several minutes, all you can do is allow your body’s attempt to empty itself on the ground. Even more so than before, your mind is overwhelmed with thoughts and questions and worries, most of which lead to the fact that you are lying naked in the middle of a desert, next to a pile of burnt bodies, unharmed and somehow alive.

You are at least thankful that you are already lying on the ground when you faint.

There are seven pairs of eyes⎯brown, warm⎯that look at you, look at each other. Words remain unspoken, for the pupils reveal every thought, every emotion. I care for you deeply, they say, now and forever. The words are not meant for you, not yet, but they feel familiar. As if you have heard them in every past life⎯

⎯Surrounded by trees, a sight which would usually calm you but now only acts as a hindrance, you run through the familiar forest without grace. Bare feet bleed trails of red through the undergrowth, sore arms never dropping the heavy weapons that slow you down so. You should not be alone, never usually are, but now you are accompanied only by your panic and the wolves that chase you. These ones, however, do not howl or gnash their feral jaws; they calculate, the way only a human can⎯

⎯Metal hangs heavy around your lithe neck, skin raw and bleeding beneath its unrelenting grip. Fingers grab into your filthy hair, knotting into your bun. Worthless piece of filth, growls a man. You are not unfamiliar with his tone, nor his insults, though this is the first time you have felt a glob of saliva being spat onto your cheek. Can’t even follow the basic rules. Somebody really ought to make an example of you⎯

⎯This room is bright, brighter than the last, and yet somehow glooms darker than all. Shadows hang heavy in the corner where invasive eyes hide, but you can look only to the man who sits in front of you, posture relaxed despite the tensity that thickens the air. Go on, he taunts as you are shoved to your knees, the pain nothing compared to the fear that fills you at the sight of the executioner’s sword. Show us that smile of yours. Grant the world one more. Grant him, he nods towards another figure who you refuse to meet gazes with, one last dazzling grin. You do not, but you do whisper an apology under your breath, one that will never be heard⎯

⎯Gold silk hangs from your broad shoulders, the fabric draping gracefully down your tall body. Each detail stitched into the delicate robe sparkles in the candlelight, patterns that tell stories of love and power and beauty. Jeonha, somebody says to you, a face that is hidden from your view. I am sorry for this, Jeonha. Gold silk soon turns crimson when the knife plunges into your back. You are not even allowed the courtesy of looking into your killer’s eyes⎯

⎯You had always thought that you would live longer, survive the odds set against you, but you know now, as your mother tends to the gash carved into your chest, that this time, luck is not your benefactor. It is not so bad, she assures, though you know the look in her eyes, see the light in them dimmed with grief of a life not yet lost. You wish to tell her everything, anything, but the words bubble up in your throat and you struggle to spit them out. She knows, though, you can see that she knows, and her calming hand rests over your heart, which beats slower and slower with each moment. I love you, my sun, my son. Rest well. Her hand grows cold, or maybe that is you. For you no longer feel, no longer worry, only close your eyes and fall⎯

⎯Urgency pumps your blood faster, the sound echoing in your ears, as your weeping eyes search around you. Nothing, not the chaos around you nor the wound in your shoulder, can stop your wobbly legs from moving, not when you have to find him. There you are, comes his voice from behind you, and you turn so quickly that you become dizzy. But he is there, wounded yet alive, and he is offering you a smile that you struggle to return. You fall into his arms, he into yours, hold each other with all the strength that you have. And when an arrow pierces through your heart, spearing through his chest, you are connected even when you fall, lifeless⎯

This time, you wake with a gasp and a speeding heart, images so vivid still lingering in your mind. Your chest is still sore where your heart lies, the organ heavy with another’s grief, and you are surprised to find yourself covered in your own tears.

Still in the dirt, still nude, still alive, and still confused, you know that the only way to survive is to keep moving. Memories of dreams that had felt so real may plague your mind for a while, but you cannot dwell. You have had nightmares before, strange and also plausible ones, and you know. You know that to submit to the darkness of your own mind is a death sentence in itself. So you stand up, dust off your bare skin, and begin walking in an unknown direction.

You only cast one glance back at the bodies behind you. Your team, in all probability. Your friends. You are leaving them in the middle of nowhere.

This, too, you do not allow yourself to dwell on. Not now. Not yet.

Though the night has long since begun, darkness creeping into every corner of the room, one figure lies awake, thinking. Listening.

He is selfish, he supposes, for choosing not to sleep in a time when it can be so important. He should be allowing the visions to greet him, remembering the details, soaking it all in. Instead, he blinks away his exhaustion in exchange for wandering thoughts. He is not ready to allow another’s memories into his mind; for his to enter their’s. He has unwillingly revealed his sins to far too many already.

Hoseok is afraid. And he is tired.

Around him, his six loves breathe deeply, bodies relaxed in slumber and minds lost to the visions of their eighth soul. Some stir, occasionally, and he is sure he’s heard one of the maknaes whimper, but all is otherwise silent.

He would die a million painful deaths just to ensure that they could maintain this peace forever. He supposes he has, already. But he doesn’t regret it. Not for them.

Though the silence is calming, it also beckons his eyes closed and his mind into darkness. So, in an attempt to battle the tantalising call of sleep, he rolls over, stands up, and quietly sneaks out of the crumbling building they’ve taken shelter in.

The air outside nips at his skin, prickling goosebumps down his back and arms, but it is always chilly at this time of year, in this part of Europe. He forgets which country they’re in. Possibly close to France, but likely somewhere in Italy. He can smell salt in the air, the ocean not far away.

Yes. Italy.

Through thick undergrowth and overgrown weeds he wanders, mind idle and busy all at once. His feet take him around the perimeter of the area⎯a consequence, he supposes, of living a paranoid life⎯but his thoughts are elsewhere. On a girl he has yet to meet. On you.

How will you react, he wonders, to this life? To them? Through the brief flashes he has seen of you, you are a woman who seems steadfast, capable, and determined. But he’d also seen your team; felt the love you hold for them. Will you be able to part from the life that you can no longer lead? Will you eventually accept them as your new family?

There are too many questions, too many things to worry about. This is why he doesn’t hear the footsteps approaching him from behind until two arms wrap around his shoulders.

“You should be asleep.” The words are whispered beside his ear, warm breath fanning down his neck. He shivers, but doesn’t respond. “What’s wrong? Let me help.”

Hoseok sags into the strong embrace, allows the arms to tighten around his chest, and sighs. “I’m worried, Namjoon.” Namjoon hums, doesn’t say anything. “Is it selfish of me to not want to see her memories? To not want her in my head?”

A pair of plump lips kiss the tip of his ear. “Perhaps,” Namjoon says. When Hoseok stiffens, he pulls him closer. “But being selfish is not necessarily a bad thing. You are allowed to prioritise yourself every once in a while.” Namjoon can sense that Hoseok is not yet appeased, so he adds, “There are six of us here to take the visions when you can’t. And if you do decide to rest, there will be six of us here to hold you through it. Being selfish does not mean that you are alone.”

“I’m so tired,” Hoseok whispers, and they both know that he is not referring to his lack of sleep. “We’ve all got such baggage, so much hurt, and I wonder if adding the weight of an eighth will be too much.”

“Hey.” Namjoon gently turns Hoseok in his arms, holding him close still. They look into each other’s eyes, see everything that they have grown familiar with. That they have grown to love. “We will also have another person to help share the load. For now and forever, we are in this together. It’s okay to have doubts, or worries, but never forget that you are ours and we are yours.”

Foreheads touch and eyes close, the silence of the night engulfing them as they share each other’s heat. And here, they are okay. They still have fears, still have troubling thoughts, but they are not so bad when they are together.

“C’mon,” Namjoon mumbles. “Let’s go back inside. Whether you decide to sleep or not, we should stay with the others. You know how they can get about cuddle piles.”

This does make Hoseok breathe a laugh. “Okay. And hey, Namjoon.” He presses their lips together in a brief, soft kiss. “Thank you, my love.”

“My eternal,” Namjoon replies.

That night, they both allow sleep to take them. They join the others in dreams of bloodshed, heartache, and death. And they hold each other a little closer. And they are okay.

< prev ⎯ next >

634 notes · View notes

toraodwaterlaw · 4 years ago

Text

An End and a Beginning

Having survived Minion, Rosinante is reassigned to East Blue, where he and Law will start their new lives. 1700 words, CoraLives!Au, mild hurt/comfort, found family

“I’m ready.”

Law was seated on his bed, a full length mirror in front of him and a scalpel in his right hand. Neither was strictly necessary- neither the mirror nor the scalpel- but he insisted they helped. He really only needed to feel out the lead with his powers, not to see anything, but Rosinante could understand how weird it would feel to work blind, more or less. That he could still operate with everything flipped in the mirror only proved what a remarkable doctor he might have been had life been less cruel. Perhaps he still would be. Rosinante certainly hoped. Law would have his whole life ahead of him once this was finally over.

As for the scalpel, well, apparently it worked as a sort of focus for the Ope-Ope to work through. It made Rosinante wince, made the whole thing seem more like a normal operation, but it was infinitely preferable to the sword Law had first suggested using. Apparently the boy already had ideas on how he might use the Devil Fruit to fight. Rosinante had to draw the line at practicing that on himself. It was bad enough Law had to operate on himself.

“Ready,” Rosinante repeated. He nodded and looked down at Law a moment more. He wouldn’t stay. He never did, not after the first time. Law insisted that it didn’t hurt but Rosinante couldn’t bear to see him like that. It looked too close to dying even if it was more like the opposite. “Right. I’ll be guarding the front door like always. Just right out there,” he said, knowing all the while it was more a reassurance to himself than to Law who was seemingly unfazed by the whole process. “If you need me, all you have to do is call for me.”

Law rolled his eyes. “I know, Cora-san.” He waved the scalpel in his hand menacingly. “Now get out of here. You’re distracting.”

Rosinante nodded and promptly tripped over his own feet on the way to the door. He caught himself on the door handle and smiled sheepishly back at Law who only scowled in return. He found his usual seat outside the room with a heavy sigh. One more operation and this would all be behind them.

For as much as he himself had told Law that the fruit wasn’t magic, he’d somehow imagined this would be over with one miraculous wave of the hand. Law would awaken to his new powers, find the lead in his veins and pull it all out in one go. Instead, it had been staggered over the course of weeks. Law had needed to learn how to use his powers and then they’d both found just how much energy it all took. The real delay came, Rosinante would admit, had come at his own insistence. He hadn’t been around for the first attempts at operating, since he’d been held up on Minion while Law went ahead to Swallow. Law himself had been tight lipped about how that had gone but from what he’d gathered from the other boys that had been there, there had been blood loss. Just how much he’d never know. In his opinion, any was too much.

Rosinante shook his head to get that particular image out of his head. He patted down his pockets until he found his cigarettes. He flicked at his lighter with a trembling thumb and nearly caught his hair instead of the cigarette with the resulting flame. He sucked in deep and let out a long, smoke filled breath. His eyes slid closed. He needed to focus on the positive. This would all be over soon. Already, life was coming back with a flush in Law’s skin. It would be a while before the patches in his skin would be gone completely but sunny Windmill Village was doing a lot to help vitality along. Law was healing. They both were.

He’d have to find a way to thank Sengoku and Garp. Maybe he’d just send food and drink along under the guise of souvenirs. At least Garp was likely to accept. Sengoku was still pretending that sending a Marine Commander to such an out of the way posting was a punishment. Rosinante knew, though, just how many strings the Fleet Commander likely had pulled to get him here. As important as the rulers of the Goa Kingdom might consider themselves, they didn’t really merit a strong naval presence.

“I’m done.”

The voice was quiet and weak enough that he nearly didn’t hear it but he was on his feet in an instant. He gripped the wall to keep upright and then stumbled in through the door. Law was seated just as he’d been before. If Rosinante didn’t know any better, he’d think nothing had happened. He did know better, though.

“Done? All done?”

“That’s what I said, you stupid clown,” came the expected reply. There wasn’t nearly as much bite in the insult as there once had been. Law fell back onto his bed. Rosinante took a worried step forward before he saw the smile on Law’s face. “But yeah, it’s all done. Not a trace of lead left.”

Of the two of them, Rosinante had most definitely been the more optimistic one about this whole process. Yet, here he was, unable to quite believe it. The past weeks had been so hard and the six months before that had been harder still. It felt impossible that they’d both survived it all and now would get to simply get on with their lives.

Law opened one golden eye and fixed it on Rosinante. “You think I’m lying to make you feel better or something?”

Rosinante gaped. The forgotten cigarette dropped from his mouth. He stomped it out with a yelp before anything was burnt. “No!” he insisted. “It’s just—”

How could he explain? But Law was smart. He got it even without words.

The boy sat up. “See for yourself.” He extended a hand and was surrounded in a sphere of shimmering blue. “Scan.”

That blue light intensified and shone in a path that followed the careful sweep of Law’s hand. Rosinante knew from previous experience exactly what Law was showing him. There was nothing. No lead. No lingering illness.

Rosinante’s face split into a wide smile. He could see Law biting back on a smile of his own as he threw himself back down into the bed.

“Told you, idiot. I thought you crammed that fruit down my throat because you believed in my medical skills.”

“I did. I do! But after everything…”

“Yeah. I know.” Law chewed on his lip and a complicated expression crossed his face. Whatever it was about, when it passed, there was only a smile left in its place. “I might’ve scanned three or four times before I called you in. Just to be really sure.”

“But it’s over.”

“It’s over.”

How many times would they have to repeat that before either of them believed it?

Law had let his eyes drift shut again. Rosinante took the opportunity to really look at him. He wondered what changes the next months and years would bring. Law was still rather small for his age. Rosinante knew he was hardly the best judge given he was, as Law would point out, rather larger than average himself, but the boy hardly had the look of someone on the cusp of adolescence. Hopefully without the constant strain on his body, he would be able to catch up with where he should be. Perhaps he’d never be as tall or as bulky as he might have been but only time would tell. Rosinante chose to hope for the best.

And then there was his skin. Amber Lead Syndrome was blessedly unheard of all the way out in a rural corner of East Blue but Rosinante knew Law was still self conscious. Every curious look or question about the white patches made him pull into himself. Although the people of Windmill Village had overall been very kind and accepting, Law would undoubtedly be more comfortable when his skin was clear of any lingering paleness.

Rosinante’s heart swelled thinking of that future. Maybe Law would start to open up more, find friends even. He knew Garp’s grandkids were about somewhere. And that was only the start of it. Law was smart, he was strong, and now he was healthy. The future was practically limitless.

Rosinante threw himself into the bed next to Law, causing the boy to bounce up into the air with a yelp.

“Oi! Watch what you’re doing, you giant oaf.”

Rosinante could only smile. He ruffled a fond hand through Law’s unruly black hair. “We should start looking at what medical training is available. There might not be anything somewhere so out of the way but there’s plenty of time. We can find you the best training. Go anywhere you want.”

Law rolled his eyes. “Give me a few seconds to breathe, would you? I only just finished getting rid of the lead and you’re already planning out my entire future.”

“Alright, alright. I’ll try not to get carried away. But…” Rosinante hesitated. He knew this was a sensitive subject given all the time Law had spent convinced he was going to die. Still, the boy needed to start looking ahead at some point. “Have you thought at all what you might want to do now?”

Law was silent a moment and Rosinante thought he had perhaps pushed too far. Then Law smiled. “I was thinking…” Rosinante propped himself up onto his elbows and waited. Law’s smile only grew. “Maybe I’ll become a pirate.”

Rosinante’s eyes widened. “What?” He swatted at Law, only to be easily dodged as Law hopped over him and off the bed. “You brat! You aren’t going to be a pirate.”

Law threw back his head and laughed as he continued to dance out of Rosinante’s reach. It was a boisterous, youthful thing that the blond couldn’t help but love the sound of. Law was still a brat. He would probably always be a bit of a shit but there would really be time ahead for him to grow. Mature. There was finally a future that both of them could see and Rosinante couldn’t bring himself to care at the moment whether that included Law turning pirate or doing anything else he might imagine.

#one piece #trafalgar law #trafalgar d. water law #donquixote rosinante #donquixote rocinante #corazon #one piece corazon #fic #one piece au

55 notes · View notes

purple-dahlias · 3 years ago

Note

“What’s the point?” for recovering!au?

thank you for the request! sorry this has taken such a long time to get out, but it’s here now!

trigger warning for eating disorders, relapse and hospitals

“You heading for the OR?” Connor asks, falling into step beside Ava as they exit the lifts together.

“Yep,” confirms Ava. “Got another CABG scheduled. Been almost practically back to back all afternoon. How about you?”

“Surprisingly, I’m free now. Patient cancellation.”

“Lucky you,” Ava grins as her phone pings in her pocket.

Taking it out, her eyes scan the notification, smile dying on her lips.

“Ava?” Connor asks, concern filling his voice as he eyes the expression on Ava’s face.

“It’s Sarah,” she manages, the words heavy in her mouth. “She collapsed in the ED.”

“Again?” Connor remembers the last time this happened, a little over four months ago.

Ava nods, knowing exactly what Connor is thinking. “I have to go,” she says finally. “Could you—“

Connor doesn’t let her finish her sentence.

“Go,” he says, placing a hand over her shoulder. “I’ll take your surgery.”

“Thank you,” Ava whispers, gratitude in her eyes as Connor waves her thanks away, nudging her gently back in the direction of the lifts.

“Let me know how she’s doing, yeah?” She hears him call as she steps into the lift, anxiety filling every inch of her.

The last three or so weeks had been insanely busy, for both Ava and Sarah, what with the way their shifts had worked out. It had meant in the end the two had always ended up missing each other, with one leaving as the other arrived, or one returning when the other was preparing to go. And with that, there had been little communication, other than perhaps a passing hello in the corridor, a kiss goodbye, or a hug before having to get out of bed at some ungodly hour. So having this knowledge, and with what she had just learnt, Ava knew this was a red flag. She knows almost exactly why Sarah had collapsed, and it’s hard for her not to blame herself.

Maybe, she thinks, if she had made more of an effort to ask, had paid more attention, had passed over some of her surgeries or post-ops to Connor, anything so that she could have been there more, she might have seen the signs.

She hopes, oh how she hopes she is wrong, and that this is completely unrelated, and that she is blowing this out of proportion, that there is some other, alternative reason.

But she just can’t shake the sick feeling that pools in her stomach as she exits the lifts beyond the Emergency Department.

She’s wracking her brain, trying to think of any rhyme or reason why this could have happened, if indeed it is what she thinks it is: the thought she just can’t seem to rid her mind of, the one that she keeps coming back to.

“Where is she, Maggie?” Ava asks, on seeing the charge nurse.

“Treatment four,” she hears, and doesn’t stick around for any more, heading straight there, heart beating at what she knows is well beyond the normal rate.

Ava pulls back the curtain to find April adjusting an IV line, while Natalie scrolls through what must be Sarah’s test results on her iPad, concern written across her face.

But her eyes fall on Sarah, lying there, looking so small and frail in her hospital gown.

“What happened?” Ava demands, and April leads her outside, just beyond the curtain, with Natalie following.

“Natalie called her down for a consult. Things were okay until she collapsed right there in front of the patient. Scared us all half to death,” April informs her softly.

“You might want to see these,” Natalie says, and Ava doesn’t miss the sadness in her tone as Natalie hands her the tablet.

It’s just what she had thought they would show, and Ava shakes her head, blinking back tears as she sees how much damage had been done, how much progress had been reversed in just 3 short weeks.

“According to her charts it looks like she’s missed her last two appointments with Dr Richardson. Did you know things were bad with her?” Natalie asks, a hand to Ava’s shoulder, and Ava feels like the worst person in the world.

“No,” she hears herself say, though it doesn’t sound at all like her voice.

This is all your fault. If you had paid more attention, this wouldn’t have happened.

“Ava,” she hears Natalie, noting how the doctor had switched to the voice she often heard her use with paediatric patients. “None of this is your fault.”

It’s as though she can read her mind.

“But it is. Sarah is supposed to be my responsibility,” Ava hates the way her voice sounds, broken, as she runs a hand through her hair.

“Some things you can’t control,” April says beside her. Ava knows she means well, but it’s all just wrong and backwards. Because for Sarah, this was all about control. Ironic, really.

“For now,” Natalie begins, that coaxing voice back, “you should just be with her.”

Ava just nods, letting the curtain fall behind her as April and Natalie take their leave.

She takes a shuddering breath and drags the stool to Sarah’s bedside, where she sits, taking hold of the thin, limp hand of her girlfriend.

“Ava?” Comes a voice, weak beside her, and Ava swears that if she wasn’t a cardiothoracic surgeon, she would have thought her heart had stopped.

“I’m right here, Sarah,” Ava tells her, squeezing her hand gently.

“Where am I?” Sarah asks, a little groggily.

“In the ED. April said you fainted.”

“Oh,” returns Sarah, her voice small, panic filling her face as she notices the IV line in her hand.

“Hey, hey, relax,” Ava croons, taking hold of both Sarah’s hands when she sees how distressed she is. “It’s just some fluids to help give you your strength back. You need them, okay bokkie,” Ava continues, using the pet name.

“No, I don’t! What’s the point?” Sarah cries out, every word punctuated with an agony that pierces Ava’s very soul.

“Nothing I do will work and I’m just so tired. I’m a psychiatrist. I know this is bad! I shouldn’t be having this problem. Ava you know I try, but…” Sarah trails off, and Ava can’t help but notice the way Sarah runs a finger over her clavicle, a subconscious habit she had.

“Sarah, I can’t even begin to imagine how hard this must be for you,” Ava begins after a pause. “But—“

“Then don’t,” Sarah grits out, harshly, cutting Ava off. “Please, Ava, just go,” Sarah practically begs, bunching up the thin bed sheets and turning to face away from her.

Ava sits there, a few moments longer, until it becomes clear that this won’t be going anywhere, that Sarah isn’t ready to talk.

Twisting her hands, she lets out a sigh she hopes is mostly silent.

“Okay,” she says, willing the heaviness in her voice not to be too pronounced. Ava stands and moves to adjust Sarah’s pillow just how she likes it, the only way she can think of right now to give Sarah a little more comfort. “But Sarah,” Ava gently tells her, “I’m here for you, okay. No matter what. Please know that.”

There’s no response. Not even a shift in the bedsheets. And if the machine monitoring Sarah’s vitals wasn’t still beeping quietly in the background, well, Ava doesn’t want to give much rise to that particular thought.

With a final kiss to the top of Sarah’s head, a last attempt to let her know she is here, Ava turns to leave, drawing the curtains back around Sarah.

“Well?” Natalie asks her from her position at the nursing station, breaking away from a conversation with Maggie.

Ava just shakes her head. She doesn’t know quite what to say. What does one say? Besides, Ava really doesn’t wan to have to talk right now. With anyone. All she can think about is how much she had let Sarah down. How she should have been paying attention. And now she couldn’t even get Sarah to talk, much less get to the bottom of what triggered this.

It’s windy up on the balcony, and the evening is drawing in as Ava stares out onto the city of Chicago, a hundred thousand lights twinkling below. There’s still no more word from Sarah herself. Only that Ava can gather loud and clear she wants to be left alone. Which is especially hard to know.

“Hey,” a voice says beside her, making Ava jump. The fact she didn’t even hear him coming is a telltale sign something is wrong. Ava normally never misses anything.

“Your CABG went off without a hitch,” he begins lightly, trying to gauge Ava’s mood.

“Wish I could say the same about other things,” Ava deadpans, staring off into the distance, her focus on nothing in particular.

“How’s Sarah?” Connor frowns, leaning against the railing.

“Nat messaged to say she’s being transferred up to a bed to stay overnight for observation. She still doesn’t want to see me.” It comes out a little cold, detached. And honestly, Ava’s just feeling more than a little numb right now, so that assessment it’s about right.

“She’ll come ‘round,” Connor assures, putting an arm around Ava, who leans into him.

“Ooh my ears are burning,” comes a familiar voice from behind.

“Oh, hey Nat,” Ava manages a weak, sort of washed-out smile.

“How are you holding up?”

How was she? How did one answer that? How was someone dealing with all of this supposed to be?

Connor’s phone buzzes, breaking the silence.

“It’s Latham,” he says, checking.

“You’d better go,” Ava tells him, grateful for the diversion.

“It’s gonna be okay, Aves. You’re gonna get through this. You both are.”

“Thanks,” Ava sniffs as Connor pulls her into a tight hug, wanting desperately to believe his every word.

And then he’s gone.

“How’s Sarah,” Ava asks, eyes trained on the spot Connor had just vacated. She’s almost afraid to hear the answer.

“Pretty much the same. I’ve paged Dr Charles though. I hope you don’t mind?”

Ava shakes her head sadly. “Maybe he’ll have better luck than me.”

“Oh, Ava,” Natalie hums, holding her close, up there on the balcony. She doesn’t even care that Nat is probably using some of the tactics she uses on kids down in the ED. Because all Ava wants to do is believe things will be okay.

“How about I drive you back to yours so we can grab some things for Sarah?” Natalie suggests, filling the silence, smoothing Ava’s hair.

Ava agrees with a small nod. That seems like a logical suggestion. And in any case, she’s not sure she should be driving herself anywhere right now.

“Great,” Natalie says softly, her arms still safely around Ava. “And Ava, I promise you: everything will work out. It may not seem like it right now, but it will.”

There’s a fierceness in her voice, and Ava just clings to her. She wants to believe her. Wants it to be true with her whole heart. Because it has to be.

#recovering!au #my aus #sarah reese #ava bekker #they're both going through it #connor rhodes #natalie manning #april sexton #chicago med #reesker #asks #buiscitsandbooks #mutuals #eating disorder tw #hospitals tw #tw ed #my writing

24 notes · View notes

redthreadoffate · 4 years ago

Text

chapter 1 — when lives begin to collide [2.1k]

description — you and peter begin vying for the attention of a children’s books publisher.

genre — from past lives lovers to present lives rivals. fluff. angst. slow-burn.

warnings — some mistakes here and there. slight cussing. totally au.

a/n — i can’t find the op anymore but they made a post about this kind of plot. i really thought it’d be interesting to write one so here’s my take. not forcing you to read it but if you do, feedback would be greatly appreciated! thank you!

masterlist

“I can never erase my past. But the present is my pen and I can write a better future. After all, I am the author of my life.”

It was written in capital letters.

‘Damn,’ you thought. ‘That hit hard.’ You read it over and over, trying to take every single word in. It was true and it really did hit you hard. You were not proud of your past, but you were trying to make amends now, and you hoped that it would lead to something better. And that is exactly why the quote felt like a sharp pang in your heart.

You were sitting down on the last step of the education building on campus. The notebook with the quote you have written lay on your lap like an open book. You had just finished your lunch and were waiting for your friend to arrive. Y/fn woke up too late for the morning sessions but you agreed to meet them when they said they were on their way.

You were chewing on your bottom lip, careful not to bite it too hard. That was a habit of yours. Whenever you were anxious, you would chew on your bottom lip, sometimes without even realizing it. But you were not anxious because your friend was going to be beside you any minute. No. It was because it would be the first time you would show your professor the children’s story you wrote. What made you even more nervous was that they were the next class you had.

Writing short stories was a passion of yours. You loved making up characters and scenarios in your head and would write them down on any scrap of paper you could find. But that was all you could do. You knew children’s books always had illustrations, unfortunately, you could not draw to save your life. You were thinking that perhaps when your story would be chosen for some award or anything, they would find you an illustrator. That was how it usually worked, right?

“Hey.” You snapped out of your thoughts, froze your teeth, and looked up. “You okay?”

“Hey,” you greeted back. You shook your head, closed the notebook, and placed it inside your bag. “I was just thinking,” you admitted. “About showing Professor Y/pn my work. You think they’ll like it?”

Y/fn sighed. “Of course, Y/n. We’ve gone over this before, haven’t we?”

You frowned. You didn’t like the way they said it. You shrugged and pretended not to care. “Right. Okay. Let’s just get to class.”

You both walked up the steps and waited for an elevator to bring you up to your floor. Once you arrived inside the classroom, you noticed that some of your classmates were not in yet but your professor was fiddling around with their laptop. You placed your book down on the table, took out your binder filled with your writings -- and you could proudly say that you filed them by title in alphabetical order -- and took a deep breath before walking up to the front of the class.

You cleared your throat and called them, “Professor Y/pn?” That came out more like a squeak rather than the tone of voice you would give when you wanted to start a casual conversation.

Your professor turned to their side and smiled at you. “Yes, Ms. Y/ln? What can I do for you?”

“Well...uh, I was wondering if you could take a look at one of my written works. I need a professional’s opinion so that I know where I can improve on and all that. I mean, if it’s not too much trouble for you.”

“Of course, of course!” they said with a grin. “No problem at all, Ms. Y/ln. I’m honestly surprised that you came to me for a new point of view.”

“No one better than my favorite professor,” you said, copying their grin. “And I’m not just saying.” You giggled.

Your professor laughed. “Well, alright then. Which one should I check out?” They beckoned you to give them your binder and you obliged. “Oh, this is a little heavy,” they chuckled as they held your binder. “You must be quite a writer. Well, you always have been one of my top students in my class.”

“Just here,” you mumbled. “Not so much the others.” You took a deep breath and exhaled. “I was hoping you could look at The Bee and the Queen. Though maybe just that for now, I don’t really have much confidence with the others yet.”

Your professor waved their hand. “Right, of course. I promise not to pry. Do you mind if you leave this with me for now? I’ll give it back after class.”

You saw this as some sort of sign of commitment. Maybe, if they liked your story, they would be willing to work with you. “Yes!” you nearly shouted. “I mean, yes, professor. I’d really love that.”

They smiled. “Alright, I’ll check out The Bee and the Queen and I’ll jot down some notes.”

“Ehrm….”

“On another piece of paper, of course,” they laughed. “Don’t worry, even without the look on your face, I wasn’t going to write it on something so precious.”

You sighed in relief. “Thank you, Professor Y/pn. Thank you so much.”

They nodded. “Off you go, class is about to begin.”

The whole two hours class seemed even longer than usual. Your knee bounced constantly and you kept looking at your watch every minute. There was a seatwork, an essay about children and why they were more inclined to language at a certain age, and at some point, you looked up and saw your professor with their reading glasses on and had your binder open. Finally, the class was dismissed and you waited a bit, hoping for them to call you.

“I’ll go ahead,” Y/fn informed you.

“Sure,” you replied without looking at them.

As your classmates left, your professor smiled and gestured for you to come to them. You pursed your lips and briskly walked to them. “Well?” you asked. “Sorry, that came out a bit rude.”

They shook their head. “Well, Ms. Y/ln. I do like the concept and your style, but we need more creativity. I’m not saying that this isn’t creative, no, not all. But remember these are children we’re talking about. They need something that will catch their attention. They need to stay focused. I’m happy that you managed to apply the moral of the story in examples at the end. But again, put some more sugar in it. You get what I mean?”

“I think so.” You nodded.

They smiled. “I’ll give you a week to come up with something new. And if I’m impressed, you can work with an acquaintance of mine.”

Your eyes widened. “Really?”

“Just show me what you got,” they said with a smile.

“Yes, Professor! I’ll think of something way beyond creative, I promise.”

“Let’s start small, Ms. Y/ln.” They chuckled. “We’ll work our way up as we go along.”

You nodded excitedly. “I won’t let you down, Professor. I promise!” You reached for your binder and bowed. “Thank you!”

They chuckled once more. “Go on now, Ms. Y/ln. You’ll be late for your next class.”

You ran to your seat, grabbed your bag, and waved at them. “Thank you!”

Days later, you were in a coffee shop. You were going to meet up with Y/bfn and you two would be brainstorming on how to make your story better. You already had a concept, you just needed to write down how you were going to execute it. Luckily, your best friend knew you all too well.

You had just gotten the tray with both yours and your best friend’s drink -- because really, you two knew each all too well, too. The place was packed and you had a hard time looking for a vacant table. When you did spot one, as soon as you reached it, another person had arrived as well.

“Oh. I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you were eyeing the table, too.”

You looked to your side to see a tall, blonde boy with very nice blue eyes. He, too, was holding a tray with two drinks. “You can have it,” you said. You didn’t know why but you were feeling a little bit bitter. “It’s fine.”

“No, no, please. Take it.” He tilted his head to gesture to the table. “It’s fine. I’ll just stay by the bar. My sister wouldn’t be here for a while, anyway.”

You brightened a little. “Neither is my friend.”

He smiled. “So…?”

You blushed a little. “I...I guess we can share for now?”

He nodded. “Yeah, that’d be nice.” He waved his hand to allow you to sit first. As soon as you both placed your trays on the table and sat down, he introduced himself. “I’m Peter.” He held up his hand for you to shake.

“Y/n,” you replied and shook his head.

“Do I know you from somewhere, madam?” he asked.

“Does that line always work for you, sir?” you giggled and rolled your eyes.

He had nice hands. A little calloused but still nice. “I...um...do you live around here?” The shop you were in was inside a subdivision and you haven’t seen anyone as beautiful as him. ‘Oh shut up.’ You were always around thanks to your best friend living around the corner and you pretty much have seen everyone.

He shook his head. “My sister has a friend who lives here. I was in the area and she said we should all hang out for coffee.”

“Oh.” You nodded. “My best friend lives around here. I’m always here. Maybe that’s why I don’t recognize you.”

He nodded. “I’m from the other side of town, actually. Well, my job brings me everywhere so I guess it depends.” He chuckled as did you. “I’m an engineer.”

“Education grad student,” you said. “I work part-time as a PA for my parents. I mean, I was willing to do it for free since they are my parents but they sort of bribed me and said they’d be paying my tuition instead, so….” You didn’t know why this was embarrassing for you to admit.

“Mind if I ask what kind of business your parents run?”

“It’s a multinational company.” ‘Stop being embarrassed, it’s the truth for goodness sake.’ “Y/cn.”

“Oh! Yeah! I know that.”

You forced a smile. “Yup.” You two became silent and you began chewing on your bottom lip but you immediately stopped. It was getting a bit awkward so you decided to get your drink and tried to open it. Unfortunately, it was sealed too tight. Peter could definitely see you struggling, he offered for him to try and held out his hand.

When you gave it to him, you came into contact with his skin.

“It worked on you, didn’t it?” he said with a goofy grin.

You laughed at his confidence. “Not really.”

“Ah! But that usually means it did but not so much.”

You scoffed. “It means no.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Well you should.”

Once he was able to open it, he gave it back to you. Your pinky touched his index finger.

“Oh stop it!” You stomped your foot and folded your arms.

“That’s not very lady-like,” he said.

“I don’t care.” You stuck up your nose. “You are impossible.”

“I would like to say that I am impossible to others. I’m always possible when it comes to you.”

“For some strange reason that makes sense.”

He chuckled. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to get your dress dirty. No need to get all stubborn with me.”

You pouted. “I am not being stubborn.”

“Oh yes, you are.”

You sighed in frustration. “You are impossible, Peter Pevensie.”

“Thank you.” You took a sip and subtly watched him drink his. “I didn’t expect them to take this long.”

“Same,” he murmured. He checked his phone and excused himself.

You watched him leave and then you were left alone. You thought of the surge of electricity that you felt whenever you came into contact with one another. Did he feel it, too? Goosebumps crept up to you and you shuddered. “Stop it, Y/n.”

Peter came back and smiled. “They’re almost here.”

“Oh, that’s good.” Then you realized how that may have sounded. “Not that I didn’t enjoy your company, Peter.”

He chuckled. “Don’t worry about it.”

‘And I like your company a little too much, even if it did get a bit awkward.’

The door of the store opened and you saw your best friend enter.

“Oh, there's Y/bfn,” you said. You waved your hand for them to see you. Your best friend found your signal and walked up to you with a smile.

“Ah, and there’s my sister,” Peter announced. Behind your best friend was another girl around your age. She was very pretty. “Oh.”

You looked at him as he said that. There was a slight tone to it but you couldn’t figure out what. You looked back at your best friend. “Oh.”

#the chronicles of narnia #narnia #peter pevensie #peter pevensie x reader #peter pevensie x you #peter pevensie x y/n #peter pevensie fanfiction #peter pevensie imagine #peter pevensie imagines #type: eve writes

46 notes · View notes

unimooshi · 4 years ago

Text

While on my mini-hiatus I’ve been thinking abt StarOp and while I don’t have the energy to really draw anything atm, I wanna put it out there that a determined Starscream would be so fucking good. Like the Undertale determined. The one where you have power over timelines and shit.

I still like Undertale and honestly I love to think of AUs for it and I would love a TF version of it where Screamer is Frisk’s equivalent. Idc abt the logistics of it all I just want Screamer to have the ability to save and reset worlds like a god. That has so much angsty starprime/starop potential just think abt it.

There’s a timeline where Starscream joins the Autobots right off the bat and goes that route and has a happy relationship with Op. And while that’s fine and all, think abt the timeline where Starscream is merciless and treads a fine line for Op’s patience and they end up fighting like Sans and Frisk. And after Starscream wins inevitably, the true weight of what he’s done comes crashing down.

I’m super bad at explaining things but imagine after so many timelines of happy memories, he finally kills the one bot that made him happier than anything in the universe. The one that kept him going for so long. The one who made him feel genuine love, now leaking out energon like crazy and giving one last hopeful smile before crashing to the floor and the light of his optics fizzling out. That look of death Starscream had seen so many times finally on the face of the bot he truly loved shatters his spark down to the core and he realizes what he had just done.

It was just a game to him. It had been a game to him for so long, but now he realizes the impact he truly had on the timelines he lived in.

#imagine he rushes to Op’s side after it and then saying he’s sorry over and over again #god that trope breaks me like OH NOW YOU REALIZE WHAT YOUVE DONE #YOU FOOL #YOU ABSOLUTE BUFFOON #and then he looks at the reset and button and realizes what he has to do and swears of resetting ever again #bc he realizes he needs that connection to reality to truly be happy especially after he found love #god I’m making myself cry I love it too much #this post was specifically catered to me #bc I made it and it’s been stewing jn my head but if you like this crossover/au too then please add on if you want to👀👀👀#transformers #starscream #optimus prime #literaly this could be any universe #unimooshi #mooshiblurbs #starprime #starop #undertale #anything has has to do with FUCKKNG up timelines jm so here for j love it #long post

31 notes · View notes

valaks · 4 years ago

Note

Hey Valaks! I love your blog and your writing!

Please could you do 1, 10 and 18 for the writing asks?? 🌺

Thank you for the ask! I have added a cut to hopefully not be that person clogging up the feed XD

1. Tell us about your current project(s) – what’s it about, how’s progress, what do you love most about it?

I have a few collabs outstanding like Gemini and a Kabir/Alex sequel to Reunion (It’s rated T at the most so still kid friendly) with Lupin and Devil Went Down to Georgia with Galimau. My utter love for both of my collab partners for pulling me through at a time when I’ve been really struggling. I have a WIPs List but I’ll confess to not having touched most of them in quite sometime (partly from life, partly because I’m not sure how interesting they’d be to anyone else other than me which influences my writing more than I would like to admit):

Good Intentions: Smithers never thought he’d be anyone’s moral compass, he was no angel to sit in anyone’s shoulder but trying to keep Alex Rider from following in the ruthless footsteps of his father or worse his former handler, Alan Blunt is as close to hell as he can imagine. (Wherein Alex becomes head of MI6 we watch his morality slip away form the eyes of an increasingly frustrated and heartbroken Smithers - it all culminates when Alex uses a child “just as an informant, simple information gathering” but hidden behind the charming smile of John Rider and the brutal coldness of Alan Blunt’s words is Alex Rider dying as he says them (Smithers just hopes there’s still a part of the boy he once knew in there to mourn)

Walk the Line: Alex thought he was done with SCORPIA. But they kept creeping back into his life in the most unexpected of ways. He thought he could at least count on it being on the other side until he gets teamed up with Walker, his former classmate and current CIA spy. Unfortunately he still hasn’t been able to figure out whose side Walker is really on - attempted deep cover op like his dad, repatriated rogue spy back on the “good” side, or SCORPIA double agent? He doesn’t know but at least he’s nice....in that obnoxious American way.

Temperamental: (Sequel to Sentimental which isn’t all that popular and you would need to read it for the sequel but basically amnesiac Yassen whose memories stop pre John’s betrayal set during the Stormbreaker mission and features him trying to come to grips with the use of chemical weapons against children and how to handle Alex once he snaps back to reality which is where this starts) Yassen had promised Alex Rider that he would be safe from the world of spying but fate had other ideas. In the days after Sarov’s failed plan, Yassen scrambles to find where MI6 have hidden his wayward charge without drawing Rothman’s attention. A request from one of their existing clients to look into suspicious activity at his son’s former school prompts Yassen to investigate under the guise of offering security. He should have known where there was trouble there would be Alex.

10. How would you describe your writing process?

Lordy do I ever not have a good answer for this. Typically it involves an idea hitting me and then the determination: would this idea work better as a short to post on tumblr (because the set up would take away the tension or would require a multi chapter which is not really my strength), as a prompt to lob out into the ether for someone better and brighter to touch on, or a fic. Once fic is decided I determine whose perspective the fic would be the most interesting from either because it would create the most tension or their internal monologue/background knowledge would add the most to it. Then the summary is written and a title is chosen. If it’s something I’m really passionate about and I already have it in my head I tend to write it all in one go, if there’s more I need to chew on then it’s a series of dates with the Evil Writing App. The final determination is whether it’s good enough for Valaks or if it gets sent to an alt account.

18. Do any of your stories have alternative versions? (plotlines that you abandoned, AUs of your own work, different characterisations?) Tell us about them.

Allegedly. I’ll try to go in order of posting -

Ruthless has a sequel where Alex just goes *quiet* once the initial dust as settled it’s unnerving to everyone because they’re not used to having to wonder just what Alex is thinking, at least not behind closed doors but what happened isn’t exactly something that can be recovered from easily, not when Alex isn’t sure who all’s in on it no matter what they’ve told him. Failure is the AU where I considered what would happen to Alex to make him want to torture.

Alibi was originally going to have Yassen show up in the end but I found it far more fascinating if MI6 was just testing Alex so out went Yassen and in went Ben. The sequel to it was torn apart and turned into Warm Reception because I wanted to trope flip SCORPIA comes to Brooklands and decided that it was more logical to have a small fight in Mrs. Bedfordshire’s lobby than anywhere else and I wanted to explore some side characters instead of Ben.

Providence’s sequel thoughts ended up inspiring Gentleman’s Agreement but I did write a small short for it “Yassen and Alex encounter each other on mission. Surprisingly they are working to mostly the same goal - Yassen needs to kill the millionaire who Alex needs to get information from. “I suppose I could answer some questions for you, Sasha. /In Russian/“ “Is now really the time for a language lesson?” he ground out in frustration but the man pointedly ignored him “/Fine but I don’t know some of the words/“ “/Then there is no better way to learn/“

I mentioned the Sentimental sequel but changing Sarov to come first and probable for almost a month before Yassen figures out he’s missing made the most sense. It was also a bit of fun at the Yassen would absolutely take Alex away from MI6....just to throw him in a school and throw away the key. Almost had him send him to Point Blanc but decided that wouldn’t quite fit all that well and wouldn’t be as interesting as if Alex had already gotten his feet back under him with MI6 and now sees that Yassen was right that MI6 would just use him until he’s dead but that doesn’t mean Alex wants to be anywhere near Yassen. Julia Rothman might have other ideas when she finds out what her newest second in command is hiding.

Gentleman’s Agreement.....there’s a lot of thoughts on Sequels and AUs, a lot of them have been written by better people, but that fic was written in 45 minutes so there wasn’t much time to recharacterize or change scenes. It did get Turncoat aka the Alex saves Yassen fic I wanted so badly.

Blood Brothers is a fic I really worked hard on considering how John would feel about his son being thrown into SCORPIA assuming Alex was of age. A rocky marriage was characterization that didn’t quite fit what I imagined would have happened but did fit the story so it stayed in. It was a fic that was supposed to get expanded on - the competition between Hunter and Yassen and Nile and Alex who is desperate to beat his Dad and his “apprentice”. I think two teenagers thrown against each other with a bit of a bone to pick, especially Yassen and Alex who can both hold a grudge even if one runs hot and the other runs cold, would have been compelling and a little fun but the premise and specifically John’s characterization doesn’t quite work out to me.

Found and Legends both have their plotting done but it’ll never see the light of day

Little Moments and Sweetest Thing were my guilty pleasure writing pieces for a while and I have about 1000 DMs of scenes for both of them that are lost to the sands of time and an embarrassing amount of self indulgence

Mates has a follow up ending for those who needed resolution in the comments of it. I’m not sure I did a good job of showing that Tom was in a semi abusive relationship since a lot of people seemed to blame him for him and Alex’s breakup. Most of my headcanons for how their relationship goes have them splitting much sooner just because of Tom’s own home life and either being unable to relate/talk to Alex and drifting away because his Mom throwing a plate at his head isn’t being hung over crocodiles but that doesn’t mean it didn’t hurt or because Alex is just too dangerous/jumpy to be thrown back into a school environment and lashes out even unintentionally especially not under the pressure of being seen as a failure. School is also a barometer of just how much he’s lost of himself and his childhood, bonus points for Alex being completely upfront with Tom about everything he’s done

In My Sights has an AU where this is all post Christmas at Gunpoint and Yassen is there because he knows Ian is already at Sayle’s factory and will have to be...handled. So two weeks of just getting Alex trained for the protection he might need, connecting him to resources, etc. Ian finding out that Yassen had been there was part of a draft at one point which was included Alex wondering about an all too sincere goodbye from Ian “who never hugged him” but I can’t find the snippet anymore ;__;

A Warm Reception was an alternate version. Originally I wanted it to be Alex watching his last chance at normality slip from his fingers and then the crushing realization that it was something that was his own doing, not even MI6 but Skoda who he had picked a fight with and the accompanying breakdown but then decided that Mrs. Bedfordshire was the right way to go upon writing the summary. Because everyone loves some Outsider POV

Adopted was supposed to be a one chapter throw away trope flip of K Unit adopts Alex. I kept it pretty consistent with Amitai and Lil Lupin’s K Units, tried to add in some more characterization just in how they treated some of the details. It has an alt ending/chapter where they find out Alex is Cub when they pull him from Three’s tender mercies almost by accident. I was persuaded into light humored fluff via guilt trip.

The Truth and Other Deadly Weapons has Ben acting exactly like he think he would in front of everyone but my AU was that this interaction happened in the field and absolutely shattered Ben’s trust in him partly because he had worked for the other side and partly because even if it ‘wasn’t as bad as it looks’ it showed a severe lack of judgment. It also featured several chapters of Alex running into the glass ceiling that is having “Member Malogosto Class of 2004” on your resume. Was going to feature Alex running into Walker as well and into problems within MI6 and the CIA but that was eventually cut and it was kept to one chapter.

Guardian....Guardian holds a very special place in my heart. I was given the prompt of a Monster Fic and I wrote what I knew but the interesting parts were all the ones that come after the story but might come across to a general audience as Hogwarts School of Prayers and Miracles. The plotting done post this was going to feature baby Angel Alex reuniting with his parents but...they were strangers to him and so he stayed with Yassen more and more, followed him, learned from him....it encompassed everything from the dynamics of broken families to reflections on theology and references from the Good Book....which is why it’ll never see the fandom but has a very special place in my heart.

In another, more perfect world Glocking Around the Christmas Tree is the Die hard fic this fandom deserves but as Lupin and I untangled the plot of the movie more and more we just couldn’t make it into anything that would be coherent on paper so it was changed and changed and is now a half finished sad abomination that sits on my works list only because Lupin would kill me if I took it down.

Hot Shot was supposed to feature my current favorite character that is not Nile Abara, John Crawley but I wimped out and changed it at the end because I swore I would write the Crawley fic that we all need. Hear me out: John Crawley knew and worked with John and Ian Rider, was respected by both of them, was recruited by SCORPIA within one year in the field, is the Chief of Staff of MI6, the man who “no one gets a knife in the back without him signing off” and is also the man who walks his dog to check on Alex. There’s a mentorship waiting to happen there, preferably in a nice work study program during college where Alex finally gets to see the repercussions of his missions and Crawley helps try and pull him back from the black mark that SCORPIA would have put on him.

My personal fluffy favorite is the spinoff of Devil Went Down to Georgia where Joe Byrne did pull Alex out post Skeleton Key and brought him home. There’s a pretty extended one about where Tom ends up after Mates. There’s also an actual sequel but ask me no questions and all.

Skipping a few collabs and Febuwhump fics but Burning Questions was just supposed to be Branded - a fic where upon being captured by Razim he is brought in and forcibly branded to differentiate the appearances of Alex and Julius (since Razim has decided to have him killed after shooting the Secretary of State). As a result of the pain levels spiking when Alex actually sees that the SCORPIA logo is branded onto his cheek Razim considers that emotional pain might be something to investigate. There’s a couple thousand words on it, one day I might polish it up.

First Impressions is supposed to be a mirror verse of Alex working for MI6 which includes Three as Blunt, Rothman as Jones and of course Sagitta as K Unit while he’s up against his father as Yassen and Yassen as Crawley. But it was cut down significantly even if the ideas are pretty fun to consider.

Sorry this was probably more than you bargained for but it was fun to get everything out there so thank you for asking

#alex rider #alex rider fanfiction #Im so sorry #I just have a lot

17 notes · View notes

kate837 · 4 years ago

Text

I Love You

I completely recommend watching 2x14 Borrow or Rob, and the beginning of 2x15 Draw O Cesar Erase a Coward, before reading this fic. While this fic is AU it does have many similarities and minor details that it couldn't hurt to watch the episode first! Anyways enjoy!!!!!

#:#:#:#:#:#:#:#:#:#:#:#:#:#:#:#:#:

Kurt had a day.

Not bad. Definitely not good. Just... A day.

A day he'll never forget actually. It was so full of ups and downs. From Shepherd plunging a knife into Sean's heart, to joking with Jane about whether or not he could handle Rich Dotcom. From shooting Rich to... Jane's date. That hurt. When Shepherd shoved a knife through Sean Clarke, Kurt's adrenaline spiked, he felt so alert for so long, he thought he would throw up. He got the same feeling from Jane. Except it was everytime she moved, spoke, brushed a lock of hair behind her ear, etc. Her admission of her date was too much. Kurt went straight home, got a damp rag, and laid down. Staring at the ceiling.

Though he did have to say, it still wasn't the worst part of his day. He felt bad. Witnessing first degree murder should automatically be the worst part of your day.

But when it comes to Rich.....

÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷

Kurt and Rich were sneaking through the secret underground tunnels of Jamison College, in order to get into the Deadalus gathering.

"This is interesting." Rich says, while coming to a stop.

"What?" Kurt replies shortly.

"Well this is the door, but the handle's different."

"Different how, Rich?!"

"Wel- well it's not there anymore?? Probably on account of all the hookers I snuck in it." Rich gestures to the handless door.

"Ok, so what's behind this door?" Kurt inquires, looking around.

"The closet. What are yo-"

"Stand back."

Kurt, with a running start, kicks the door in to find himself deep within the walls of a massive walk in closet.

"Aaaaa just how I remember it."

"SHHHHH!" Kurt puts his ear to the door, the one still on it's hinges, just in time to hear the gasps of attending guests and a soft female voice hushedly asking someone to notify security of the discrepancy.

"Shit."

"What?" Rich asks, genuinely confused.

"The guests are getting security to come check out 'the noise in the closet'."

"Oh. What are we gonna do Stubbles? I'm a sly guy but how do we explain that?"

"Oh God, why do you hate me?" Kurt says looking towards the ceiling.

"What? You're acting strange Stubbles, like weirder than normal. I mea-"

Rich was cut off by Kurt's large hands cupping both sides of his face, to kiss him. Without separating he backs Rich against a near wall, mimicking the earlier noise. Rich squirmed at first but expectedly went along with the unexpected.

"Come on Stubbles, you can at least use some tongue!"

"Shut. Up." Kurt snarls. "Actually. . . I need you to make some. . . noises." Kurt says while blushing furiously.

"Security is on their way." Tasha notifies through comms.

"Yeah you guys better get out of there." Reade warns.

"And say what? Oh hey haven't seen you in a while, please excuse my entering through a closet?!" Rich whisper-yells.

"Everyone shut up!" Kurt also whisper yells. "Now Rich I need you to moan a lot. Loudly."

"You could always make me Stubbles!"

"Rich!"

"Kurt what the hell are you doing?" Reade asks, growing increasingly concerned about his teammate's mental health.

"Rich just do it!"

"OOOOH! STUBBLES, YES!" Rich practically screams.

The party guests turn a side eye. But the security, like Kurt hoped, were turning away, figuring that the noise came from two enthusiastic partygoers. Or if the other patrons were anything like Rich maybe more.

Of course Weller didn't know that yet.

÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷

"Ohhh. Now i get it, I can't believe this is working." Reade says, half laughing at the ridiculous noises coming out of his earpiece. "Hey Kurt it's work-"

"Will you shut up?!" Tasha butts in.

"What are you tal-"

"He doesn't know that they stood down yet." Tasha says wriggling her eyebrows. "Hey Kurt most of the security guards stood down but you still have a couple incoming. . . You might need to amp it up a bit!"

Her and Reade try and fail to stifle their laughter after Rich let's out a completely overexaggerated 'UNGH'!

"Come on Stubbles, they're not buying it, you're gonna have to join me if you wanna get out of here."

"Why me? God why me?" Kurt says again looking up.

Kurt let's out a loud and breathless 'Oh God' that completely undoes all of Tasha and Reade's composure. They are hysterical by now. They completely lost it when Rich and Kurt started harmonizing!

"Stop! Stop!" Tasha said. "I can't take it anymore." She pulls herself up from the floor of the van, where she fell from laughing so hard.

"Yeah guys, the security's gone. They're long gone." Reade adds, clutching his stomach.

"Yeah Rich so goo- wait what?!"

"Yeah you're clear." Tasha clarifies.

"You could have compromised this entire op!" Kurt says furiously.

"We all know that's not why you're mad Stubbles. And as the bible states-"

"I swear to God Rich, if you say another word I will shoot you."

"Another word."

÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷

Kurt flushed red just thinking about it. What was he going to put in his field report?!

He turned to lay on his side to take in the fresh scenery of the wall instead of the ceiling. After laying there for about two minutes, he finally got up to fix himself dinner.

While gathering ingredients, Kurt's mind inevitably wandered back to Jane's date. Everything about it tore at him. What she'd be wearing, what she'd eat, would she cover her tattoos, would she wear makeup. . . . . . . .

His thoughts were interrupted by a phone call.

It was Jane.

A million questions ran through his head. Why is she calling him? Shouldn't she still be out on her date?

He lunged for the phone but then. . . He stilled. Didn't move a muscle. He picked up his phone, turned it over, and resumed gathering ingredients.

Once the phone eventually stopped buzzing, Kurt's inner turmoil came to play.

'Why didn't you answer?! Jane could be in trouble!'

'Be rational Kurt. She's on a date, probably just calling to let you know that she'll complete her paperwork tomorrow, since she's busy.'

'Look, everyone knows you're in love with her, but you can't act like some overprotective boyfriend whenever she's around.'

Kurt shakes his head. He wasn't in love with Jane Doe. Was he?

'Of course you are! That's why you lunged for the phone as soon as you saw her name, but put it down when you realized she was still on a date.'

'No. If I was in love with her, I would have immediately answered.'

'No. You love her so much that you realized that if she's having fun, even with another man, you wouldn't want to ruin that. That's love.'

'What am I supposed to do? I can't love her from afar.'

'This may be selfish but what if I proposed the idea that Oliver is Sandstorm?'

'It could work. But why not just tell her how you feel?'

"Because I'm just not ready yet." Kurt voiced sadly.

÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷

First thing the next morning, Kurt was walking up and down the hallways, over and over again. In order to 'accidentally' bump into Jane on her way to Patterson's lab.

After three consecutive minutes, Jane appeared. She was wearing this loose, pastel green shirt, that roughly covered all of her upper body tattoos as well as bringing out her eyes. She paired it with tight blue jeans, which she almost never wears, and a few silver rings on her right hand.

"Wow." Kurt whispered. What looked like any other outfit, looked stunning on her. He almost forgot to 'bump' into her.

"Jane!"

"Oh, hey!"

"You get Patterson's text yet?"

"Yeah, heading there now."

They walk in silence for a few heartbeats, until they turn into a secluded hallway.

"Jane wait." Kurt says while gently grabbing Jane's arm.

"Kurt, what is it?"

"After you told me last night, about your date. I started thinking. . ."

Jane subconsciously starts to hold her breath. Her expression wreaks of hope.

"Hey! Glad I found you two, Patterson's got something." Tasha pops in.

"Yeah." Kurt says releasing Jane.

Saved by the bell.

÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷

The debrief, while no longer than usual, felt unbearably long. The charged energy from Kurt and Jane's previous conversation still radiated off of them.

While any hope of continuing it was completely shut down by the tattoo clues pointing to three different entities, causing the team to split up completely. Kurt with Roman, Jane with Tasha, and Patterson with Reade.

This was going to be a longgg day.

÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷

The team finally reconvened at about 5pm. They had just finished the field reports. All three of them. It was exhausting.

Fortunately for Kurt his adrenaline spiked right back up about an hour later when Tasha, so graciously, reminded the group that they never filled out the field report for their Deadalus mission. Which caused Reade and Patterson to burst out into a fit of giggles.

"What's so funny?" Jane asked, looking to Kurt, smiling.

Kurt goes wide-eyed. She doesn't know.

This was going to be a long night.

÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷

The team had just finished catching Jane up while writing the 'going to be extremely redacted' field report.

"Wait I'm still confused. If you just wanted Rich to moan, why did you kiss him?"

All eyes look to Kurt.

"We- well I was under the impression that security was going to be charging through the door at any second." He says glaring at the pair of agents who were strategically avoiding his gaze. "And when they did, if they saw us. . . you know-"

"We don't know, Weller!" Patterson howled.

Kurt glared.

"Yeah I kind of want to know how far you were willing to take it Assistant Director!" Reade joined in.

"We're done here." Kurt said as he walked out.

÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷

Jane had just walked out of the locker room to be met head on with Kurt.

"Kurt, hey!" Jane says, surprised.

"Hey."

"Umm. . . I actually wanted to talk to you."

Kurt raises his eyebrows in obvious confusion, cueing Jane to continue.

"When we were. . . Uh you know- outside of P- Patterson's lab. You didn't finish." Jane stumbles through her words as a new wave of nervousness hits her with full force.

"Oh that." Kurt says, grabbing Jane's arm, mirroring his earlier gesture and leading her away from the locker room door.

"Jane, I was up all night and I couldn't stop thinking about it. We need to be careful. Sandstorm feels like it's everywhere."

"You think Oliver is Sandstorm?"

"Yes. . . No." Kurt shakes his head.

"Kurt you're not making any sense." Jane says studying him.

"I know. I know. I just- no I don't think he's Sandstorm."

"Then why did you-"

"I've been trying to come up with reasons of why you shouldn't date him for the better part of 13 hours."

"Kurt wha-"

"And I got nothing, because the only reason is that I love you."

Jane goes wide-eyed. It was as if all the air was sucked out of her.

"I love you Jane."

÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷

#part two?#ILY #ily #I Love You #im back #blindspot au fics

32 notes · View notes