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obiwan824 · 7 years ago

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Ill- Anatole Kuragin x Reader

A/N: Featuring lots of platonic Pierre because I love Pierre as a friend, but I worked really hard on this! This is what I’ve been writing all day, haha.

Warnings: Sick people, crying, Anatole crying, Anatole calling the reader ‘honey’ (it makes me melt so just a warning you may experience the same), Pierre angst, Sad Man Pierre, lots of backstory and reading, so this is a more long term reading? Not really a oneshot? It’s kind of confusing but.

“Baby? Baby, please just stay with me-”

Y/N took a deep, shuddering breath. “An-Anatole-”

Kuragin looked down at her with tears in his eyes. “Darling, don’t worry, okay? Just- just stay awake, help is on the way-” he sobbed and looked down, covering his face with his hands. “This is all my fault…”

Y/N feebly reached up and took her hand, her grip so weak and her hand so limp that he began to worry more. “Anatole- it isn’t your fault-”

He sobbed again. “I-I’ll be right back, okay, honey? I’m going to get help.” Y/N nodded. He pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead, squeezed her hand, and walked away. In the corner of the room, a small crowd of fretting people spoke in hushed tones. Anatole approached them anxiously.

“None of the doctors are available,” Helene said softly when he reached her, looking down. “There’s nobody who can help.”

Anatole put a hand over his mouth to stifle a cry. Tears poured down his face, he looked back at his wife- pale, a sheen of sweat covering her face. “There must be someone who can help.” When none of his friends replied, Anatole grew angry. “Think, goddamnit!”

Helene flinched and put a hand on his arm. “Anatole, sweetie, you have to calm down!”

“How can I calm down?” he shrieked. “The- the love of my life is dying, and-” he paused for a moment and began to pace, chewing his lip. His head snapped up to meet his sister’s gaze. “Pierre.”

“Pierre…?” as it hit Helene, the corners of her mouth turned down. “Anatole-”

“It’s our only chance.” Anatole studied his sister for a moment before turning away again. He quickly took out a piece of paper and scribbled a note for his old friend. He handed it to Dolokhov slowly. “Balaga.”

Dolokhov looked at his best friend with confusion until he realized. A sparkle came to his eyes, a smirk playing on his lips. “At once.” Fedya turned and ran off, leaving Anatole alone with his sister and Y/N.

“This can’t be good, can it?” Helene asked, sarcasm dripping from her voice, but a smile was prominent on her face. Anatole barely managed a thin grin before his mask slipped and the tears returned. “Brother-”

“I have to be next to her if- if it happens.” Anatole looked at his sister with desperation until she had run the sentence over in her mind a few times.

“She’s going to be-”

Anatole put a hand on her shoulder to silence her. “I can’t be sure.” Rubbing at his eyes, he walked back to his wife, taking her hands in his and pulling them up to his lips.

“Anatole?”

Her voice was so quiet, so weak, but the quiet sound made him look at her quickly. “Y/N.”

She bit her lip. “If I don’t-”

“Hush now,” Anatole said soothingly. “Let’s not think of that now, huh?” Her lip began to quiver and he was quick to place a kiss on her cheek. “Honey…”

Meanwhile, the note had arrived in Moscow. Pierre, alone in his study, jumped at the sudden knock on his door. He slowly put the book away, pushed his slipping spectacles up the bridge of his nose, and answered the door.

“Balaga,” Pierre said slowly, sure that the driver could only be bringing trouble. He took the note that was shoved at him and unfolded it, scowling when he recognized Anatole’s handwriting. He tried to hand it back. “I don’t want to hear from him.”

Balaga only turned and walked away. Pierre huffed, realizing his only option was to read the note, throw it away, and finally be done with Kuragin once and for all. He hadn’t heard from Anatole since he had left for Petersburg, and he hadn’t seen his wife since she had received a similar note inviting her to spend time with her brother. He liked it this way- in the peace and quiet of his own, empty home, he could finally dwell on his feelings for the Countess and write them down without prying eyes searching for any bit of gossip he might have left around. Pierre finally looked down at the letter, wondering what the prince could possibly want now- money, most likely.

Pierre-

This is a matter of great importance. I cannot begin to express to you how much I regret my actions of the past and how sorry I am that I had to bother you once again. However, my beloved, Y/N, has fallen ill. None of the doctors can come to our home and she is too ill to leave. I know of your previous medical experience, and I beg of you- I understand you may never forgive what I have done to the Countess, as I know I will not forgive myself, but if you would help my wife- I would do anything to make it up to you.

Do not think of this as helping me, because you never have to help me out again. I understand if you decide not to help and think of it as revenge to me, but by getting your revenge, you are taking the life of an innocent young girl who has done nothing.

Her life is in your hands.

Anatole Kuragin

“Damn it,” Pierre growled. Throwing on his coat and clutching the letter tightly, he got in the troika.

...

“Pierre.” Anatole’s voice was shaky, unlike anything Pierre had ever heard. He had doubted himself on the way to Petersburg, wondered whether Anatole loved Y/N or if she was just another woman he would forget about, but seeing the tears pouring down his face and the anxiety in his eyes, all doubts flew out of his mind.

Pierre nodded stiffly and walked to her other side, letting Anatole keep his seat next to her. Kuragin still had Y/N’s hands pressed tightly against his lips. Y/N watched everything with eyes that were not quite there, still shaking. Anatole watched in a similar way, although illness had nothing to do with it.

“She’ll be okay,” Pierre said quietly, his voice rough and hoarse from not speaking for so long. “I can save her.”

Anatole burst into tears, but a small smile was on his face. Looking at him, Pierre almost felt as if he was doing something right. He threw himself into his work, not wanting to look at Anatole and feel for him any longer.

…

Pierre came to the door slowly, his feet dragging. Helene would be there any moment, the wife that he tried so desperately to forget. She had done so much to him, cheating on him with multiple men and having an affair with Dolokhov, yet he could not do the same to her, leaving him completely alone.

When he answered the door, however, a familiar smile greeted him.

“Pierre Bezukhov,” Y/N said quietly, dropping into a formal curtsy. Finding himself smiling, Pierre mimicked her actions with a bow.

“Y/N Kuragina, are you well?”

Y/N giggled. “Of course, I only came to pay you a visit- and- well, I know I’m not exactly welcome-”

“No, no, of course,” Pierre quickly interrupted. “You are always welcome, my dear.”

Her smile grew. “I just wanted to thank you. And- and my husband- he’s aware of what he has done- he wanted to come and tell you himself, but he knew he would be unwelcome- but he wanted to apologize. Not just for the-” she paused, gathering her thoughts, obviously uncomfortable with the elopement her husband had almost had. “Incident, but for all the years he spent asking for money and treating you wrongly.”

“He isn’t unwelcome,” Pierre choked out, unable to say anything else. He didn’t want to say it, the words felt bitter on his tongue like venom, but he knew it was only polite. He didn’t want to see the man again, but all must be forgiven eventually.

Y/N nodded and met his eyes. “We both know that isn’t true, my friend.” She shifted. “But thank you. Helene and my husband traveled with me, she’s right out there,” Y/N gestured to the troika. “So this is goodbye.”

Pierre swallowed hard, but some sort of relief had come over him, the heavy weight resting on his chest, making it hard to breathe, that he had felt ever since he had woken up dreading his wife’s return, hearing her words. “Of course.”

Y/N smiled one last time before turning away. Pierre shut the door but immediately ran to the window, pulling apart the curtains and watching through the glass. He felt awkward doing so, but he felt a need to see Anatole again.

Helene stepped out of the troika and into Y/N’s arms, pressing a kiss to her cheek before turning back to the house, stepping up the walkway with distaste present on her face. Y/N watched for a moment until Anatole stepped out, pulling his wife against his chest. He pressed light kisses to her forehead and down her cheeks to her jaw until she giggled and pushed him away. He gave her one sweet kiss to her lips before Pierre heard Helene turning the doorknob. He pulled away from the window and shut the drapes quickly, leaning against the windowsill as casually as he could.

He never thought he would envy Anatole’s love life, but in that moment, Pierre wanted nothing more than to have what Kuragin and Y/N had.

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bewitchedbodyandsol · 4 years ago

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If I Were Not Myself

Description: Reader is a mandalorian from Din’s covert who was manipulated into taking off her helmet. HEAVILY based on Pierre and Natasha from Natasha, Pierre, and the Great Comet of 1812. Takes place before the child (bc age reasons and character development has not happened). Trying to stay as close to the approximate ages in Great Comet/War and Peace, putting Din at 27 while reader is 19.

Notes: Natasha, Pierre, and the Great Comet of 1812 makes me absolutely mad. The only spoken lines in the musical and it makes my heart shatter. Okay, I don’t think Din would be as courteous towards a dar’manda as I write him but also like, this is a Din/Pierre hybrid, so. And yes I know that based on these ages Toro Calican would have barely been born, but um, yeah <3. IT’S MY FIC AND I CAN DO WHAT I WANT. Also, this is my first time writing and posting fan fiction so um, yeah <3

Word Count: 2.9K

Rating: G

Tags/warnings: Thoughts of death (in an almost philosophical way). fem!reader Dar’manda!reader, war and peace au? No use of y/n, slightest hint of Toro Callican x reader and Paz x Reader (like they’re mentioned), age gap

If I were not myself,

But the brightest,

Handsomest,

Best man on earth,

And if I were free,

I would get down on my knees,

This minute,

And ask you for your hand.

And for your love.

The mandalorians-the mandalorian and the dar’manda, stood in front of each other. The air still. When he had initially seen her he ran towards her, he stopped less than a foot away and reached a hand out to her, but instead of taking his outstretched hand like he had expected, she slowly moved past him. She put an awkward amount of distance between the two. The gap between them too large for how friendly they normally were, while anything closer seemed too overwhelming. Din knew he had to stay far enough away to keep himself from completely engulfing the girl in an embrace, fists curling at his sides to stop himself from reaching out to her again.

----

Din had known the young woman her entire life, for she was born shortly after he had been taken in as a foundling. While all families in the covert were friendly with one another, theirs had been especially close. And they had been especially fond of each other. The age difference caused them to participate in different activities and talk with different social groups but did not stop them from interacting completely. In fact, the two mandalorians had grown to be close friends. The young girl confided in Din about her newest crush on the covert while he doted on her for it and she would laugh at the gruff noises he made while being teased by peers, watching him try to act tough while knowing he would huff and puff to her about it later.

He had watched her grow, from a nervous young girl who stood in the middle of a room filled with people simply to make them listen to her sing, to a young woman who knew how to carry herself and gain the attention of her peers from sheer presence. At the same time, the girl watched Din grow from a flustered teenage boy to a closed off young man who became more and more stoic with each passing visit.

As the years went on the two became distant, caught up in the paths life had put them on. Din started running with Ran’s crew, his visits to the covert became few and far between, while she had stayed and chose to act as a nurse for the foundlings. Their friendship seemingly evaporated, dissolved to nothing but pleasantries. The young woman noticed the growing weight on her dear friend’s shoulders, but was unknowing of the whirlwind he found himself caught in. His growing reputation, worrisome discoveries he made about himself, and the insatiable twi’lek girl he had gotten tangled with.

During his last visit home, Din had introduced the young woman to his friend Paz Vizsla. The two had known of each other for quite some time but had never formally been introduced, and quickly after he acquainted them Din felt a shift in the air, as if he was intruding on something he was not meant to see. He had not expected the pair to become so infatuated with one another. Aware of Paz’s past, the hardships he faced, losing not only a wife but a child at a young age, and the battles he fought; and the young woman’s naivete, having rarely left the covert herself and her general lack of life experience. So when he heard that they planned to wed, he had been surprised to say the least.

That had only been one year ago. A year, and yet so much had changed. Din truly had not planned on a return home for quite some time. While he had been on the planet for a while, as the crew had a job that stationed them there, he had not planned on visiting the covert. As he had no obligations to do so, prior to the holo he had received from the girl's aunt in which she explained the situation to him and pleaded for him to return. She explained how the girl had broken off her engagement to Paz and made plans to run away with Toro Calican, whom she had only known for a few days, instead. Din had heard of Calican before and had even had the ‘pleasure’ of meeting him once, he found the suave young man obnoxious and to be nothing but trouble. Oh but what angered him the most about the young man, was seeing his own worst qualities reflected right back at him. His fears and flaws were flaunted by the young mercenary. When Din heard it was Calican the girl had become involved with, he didn’t even have time to think before it had slipped past his lips that the young man himself was married, and unlike Paz his wife was still alive. The girl’s aunt had begged him to return to scare Calican off the planet and to attempt to speak some sense into the girl. But when Din had returned it had been too late, she had revealed her face to an already married man, and unknowingly to her, his friends as well. Leaving her dar’manda.

---

It felt almost inappropriate to stand in front of her in this state. With her lack of armor and helmet, she might as well have been naked from a cultural standpoint. She stood in the middle of the room in her thermals. Her beskar had been stripped from her, no doubt to be given to someone more deserving, a foundling most likely. Her back towards him, Din noticed her arms hung still next to her, obviously too exhausted to even subconsciously twiddle the edges of her shirt like she used to do when she was a younger, more nervous girl. When she turned around and looked at him, it felt like she could see into his soul. The helmet prevented her from looking him in the eyes, but having worn a helmet herself and interacting with so many others who did the same, she easily knew where his were hidden behind the mask. And when he looked into her eyes, Din could see the weight of the galaxy crashing down on her.

“Din Djarin.” She tested out his name. And something in him shattered. No one had referred to him by name in so long, simply referring to him as ‘mando’, but Din Djarin was not the name she had used the last time he saw her. No, she had simply called him Din. The sudden change in formality made tense, as he took a second to respond. “Din” He took a breath and corrected her. It wasn’t until the girl’s face shot down did he realize he had started leaning forward, his weight shifted to the balls of his feet, left hand flexing at his side.

He hadn’t seen her face in six years. No one had. Like most in the covert the young girl had sworn the creed promptly at the age of 13. After swearing the creed she had grown into herself, the young nervous girl Din had become friends with was replaced by a confident young woman. A skilled fighter and diplomat, yet as charming and giddy as ever. He could only imagine how she had grown ever more captivating as time went on. Din had never thought it to be a shame if a beautiful face was hidden behind a wall of beskar, his religion more important than simple vanity, and yet. As he saw her face on full display, he understood. Understood how someone who had become so enamored by the girl could do such a selfish thing, ask her to take off her helmet.

“Vizsla was, Vizsla is your friend.” She corrected herself. Her ex-fiancé had fought in a far off battle for so long she had developed the bad habit of assuming him dead. Once again, the girl’s sudden formality was not lost on Din, referring to her ex fiancé as Vizsla rather than her usual endearing Paz. “He once told me that I should turn to you.”

He had always reproached dar’mandas, finding them to be less than. Thought they had already shown themselves to be unworthy of the mandalorian title and armor if they could so easily take it off. That it took a truly weak man to break from The Way, from a people that loved fiercely and unconditionally. He wanted so badly to despise her. To give her the same scowl and acid laced words he might anyone else. But there was something about the way the young woman held her head. As if, even though she no longer had her helmet, she still did not want her face to be shown, and at that any chance of reproach towards her had died. Instead it was replaced by a feeling of pity. He had wanted to believe he felt nothing but pity for her, but he knew that wasn’t right. There was something else, something he was unable to place.

“He’s returned. When you see him… Can you please tell him to, please tell him to forgive me.” She moved as if she meant to wring her hands, but when her fingertips found skin instead of leather gloves, they quickly shot back down to her sides.

“Yeah, I’ll-I’ll tell him.” Din’s throat tightens as he recalls his conversation with Paz. How his friend returned from battle only to hear of his fiancé having an affair, removing her helmet in front of people who were not her riduur or ade. Recalling Paz’s posture, his voice almost malicious yet so pained when he said he could not forgive the girl of her actions. How the image of Paz, a man Din looked up to, had been shattered with a few simple words. “But-”

“I know everything’s over, that chance of anything is gone.” Her head shot up, as if she had read his mind, anticipated his words. “But still, I’m haunted by what I’ve done, what I’ve done to him. Tell him please, to forgive me. For everything.”

“I’ll tell him to forgive you. I’ll tell him everything.” Din nodded, as he thought of his next words carefully. “I want to know one thing. Did you really love him? Did you love that bad man” His voice sounded hoarser than usual.

“Don’t call him bad.” She spat out. “But I, I don’t know. I really don’t.” Though the speed of her response told Din her real answer. That in some said way, yes, she really had loved Toro Calican. The man who had pushed her farther than anyone else had, pushed the boundary most important to anyone who shared their creed. Pushed her to do something she had never previously thought about. So uncaring of consequences. And if she had not loved him, she at least still held strong feelings for him. For the man who had manipulated her.

The young woman turned away from Din and began to cry. And he could hear the dam of emotions she held back break in the sob she let out. He could do nothing but watch as she began to crumple in on herself. The same feeling of pity from earlier returned, but it was now accompanied by a tenderness he had become unfamiliar with and that same something he was still unable to place. Din felt the tears pool at his jaw before he was even able to comprehend that he had started to cry. Thankful for his helmet as it prevented anyone from seeing the tears that rolled down his cheek.

“Hey, we don’t. We don’t have to talk about it anymore, ner vod.” The familiarity slipped out of his mouth, meant to comfort them both. He slowly made his way towards her, reached his hand out the same as he had done earlier. “But. I’m still, your friend. And if you ever need someone to talk to, or someone to open your heart to. Not now, but, when your mind is clear. Think of me.”

Din grew confused.

He had no idea where any of this was coming from. Especially after her had become so closed off over the past few years. He had felt more in the past few minutes here with her, warm and tender feelings that he had not realized he so dearly missed, than he possibly had in years. And there it was, that feeling he had been unable to place, unable to give a name, coming to the surface. Love. He had always carried affection towards her, in one way or another, but this was different. Love, something he had started to wonder if he was incapable of.

“Don’t talk to me like that.” She snapped. “I don’t, I don’t deserve it.” Came out softer, sadder, and she practically scurried away from the man. Like she truly believed it.

“Stop! Stop. You have the rest of your life-” The first stop a command, the second a plea. The girl stopped, her back still faced him.

“The rest of my life? My life is over.” The girl reached the doorway she had entered through earlier, a tight grip on the wall.

“Over.” He repeated. Looking at the girl, he saw a reflection of himself. His fears and flaws hung heavy around the girl. The same horrible thoughts that had plagued his mind not so long ago.

The knowledge that one was capable of hurting people doing bad things, the thought that death might be more accepting and caring fate. The fear that life had ended before it even began. But unlike when he had seen those same traits in Toro Calican, who wore them with pride, he saw the same level of fear in the young woman that he had felt.

And suddenly, everything stopped.

“If I were not myself.”

The young woman froze at his words. Din had not even registered that he was speaking until he had finished.

“But the brightest, handsomest

Best man in the galaxy”

Din had done bad things. Din had done bad things and enjoyed doing them. He had dangerous thoughts, dangerous intentions, and a dangerous way of life. He knew he was still not the man he needed to be. So much to improve upon before even thinking of settling down with someone, let alone the young woman in front of him. Though she was not perfect either, not the woman he knew she was capable of becoming, but he still thought she was deserving of perfection.

“And If I were free-” His throat threatened to close.

The Xi’an of it all was, Din was not in the position to be offering his love to someone else. And while they were not the ideal couple, he was still tied to her. He had his suspicions that the twi’lek girl might have been seeing other men along with him, but it did not stop him from remaining faithful to the girl. Along with the weight of his relationship on his heart, was the beskar lock he kept tight on it. His creed, the most important thing in his life. What he held himself to above all else. She was dar’manda, while he was not. A fact he could not simply ignore. Any hopes of a relationship between the two had been destroyed when she revealed herself. But he could not stop himself from loving her, from wishing he could do this one thing for her.

“I would get down on my knees this minute

And ask you for your hand” His voice strained. It could truly be that simple, they could be married in the matter of seconds. Vows exchanged, tied to each other for the rest of their lives. It was something he had never dreamed of, but as he stood in front of the young woman now. There was nothing he wanted more.

“And for your love”

The young woman turned around.

And reality comes crashing down.

She makes her way over to him faster than Din thought safe for someone in her state. Her breaths jagged as she tries to control her tears. Tenderness replacing the earlier weight in her eyes.

His breath hitches when her hand touches the cheek of his helmet. But he lets her, trusting her single hand to not make any bold moves, knowing the girl would not dare to lift the helmet off his head, to damn him to the same fate she had damned herself. Din’s breath catches in his throat, his eyes closing behind his helmet as he leans into her hand. A tear rolls down his cheek. The young woman simply looks at the man in front of her. And she gives him the softest smile he has ever seen.

“Oh Din,” she whispers. ‘Thank you’, she means to continue, but the words are caught in her throat, leaving her to simply mouth them instead. She lets her hand fall from his face and leaves the room, smiling.

Din stands and watches her leave, trying to hold back any oncoming tears, and lets out a shaky breath. Realizing his job here is done, he turns around to leave. Bumping into the doorway on his way out, he takes a deep steady breath, and makes his way to the Razor Crest.

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corabelleimagines · 5 years ago

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Heartbroken and Oblivious pt. 1 (Dolokhov x (fem)reader x Anatole)

Some fedya dolokhov x reader x anatole kuragin, angst. Because I felt like it. So dolokhov, anatole, and reader are in a relationship and they slowly start losing anatole to natasha, even planning to elope with her. Yes he's still married in this one. Also very, very short. From my Wattpad

Word Count: 900

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

(Y/N's P.O.V.)

I stood in front of the mirror, adjusting my extravagant dress, a rich blue, exposing my shoulders, neck, and even my bare arms. The dress cut low enough to see my feet and ankles, knowing all eyes would be upon me as we entered.

"Absolutely enchanting." A voice praised, I quickly turned to the door. Anatole standing there, handsome as ever. Smiling and walking to him."

"I must say the same, my dear. But do remind me why we must enter every opera late." Sighing, not only did I find it the most rude thing I'd ever joined him in doing but Fedya had left before us to accompany Helené. I knew I could trust them both, but it felt weird to not be late to another opera with him.

"Come on, mon cher. If we leave now we'll be there by the middle of the act and see Dolokhov." Anatole said, almost as if he'd read my mind. Arm in arm we walked outside of the house and into the waiting troika. Knowing Balaga'a speed we would be there in no time. I stayed snuggled into one of my lovers chests, his arm around me until we arrived at the opera . We left the troika and entered the opera house and then the theatre. Hundreds of eyes watching us, men and woman both gazing with lustful eyes. Anatole's tall physique, glittering, masculine eyes, and tender smile. My plump shoulders, bare arms, mischievous smirk, and neck. I couldn't help but swell with pride not only was this man one of my loves, but he made me feel so confident by following in his footsteps and the energy he radiated onto me. I almost missed the look at the Countess, but I thought nothing of it.

Soon at our seats in the front row, greeting Helené my closest friend and confident, and greeting my other dear love Fedya. With such happiness as I sat between him and Tolya. Staring intently at the stage, but not understanding much of it. Dolokhov continually whispering sweet words into my ear and Tolya's arm around my waist. A few times I noticed him gazing at Countess Nataliya, but figuring he was simply tired and zoned out of the scene simply continued with the show. Soon enough I felt his warm arm leave my waist and he stood up. "Where are you going, Tolya?" I asked, holding his coat arm.

"Just going for a breath of air, some of this perfume isn't mixing well with the other's, mon cher." He gazed into my eyes intently, I smiled softly and nodded. Letting go of him and laying my head on Dolokhov's arm. Fedya glanced at Tolya but I told him what was happening and we went on with out night.

He had been gone for quite a bit now, I began to realize after I'd forgotten everything except the show. Looking at his still empty chair, this wasn't like Tolya at all. I could sense Dolokhov noticing too. Suddenly Anatole was there again, his usual jaunty step. He almost seemed a bit detached from us and reality as he sat. Suddenly he kissed both Dolokhov and I on the head as he sat down, a bright smile painted onto his naive lips. Dolokhov gave him and odd look, and we continued watching the opera.

As it ended and I turned I caught sight of Natasha staring at Anatole, I wasn't surprised as this happened often, with Tolya being so attractive. We all cried 'bravo' as the actors left the stage and my dear Fedya helped me out of my seat. Anatole stood up and took Helene's arm, the four of us making our way out. Fedya and I made it into the troika a minute before Helene and Anatole, making ourselves comfortable in the seat. "How was the show my love?" Dolokhov asked.

"Dreadfully boring, though not as bad as some of the others." He laughed at my comment and kissed my cheek, his beard tickling the side of my face. Soon the other two entered the troika as well.

"Helene and I were talking and we should stop at Pierre's before heading to the club for drinks." Anatole said, sitting down.

"That sounds great to me, dear." Fedya smiled.

"And you, y/n?" Helene asked.

"Exactly what's needed after such a boring plight." Everyone laughed and then ride continued.

"Tolya, are you alright?" Dolokhov questioned suddenly. I turned to look at Anatole, he seemed zoned out, like he was thinking about something instead of just voicing it. Which was very unlike him.

"Hm? Oh yes, everything is quite alright, love. Just looking at the stars."

(Third Person p.o.v.)

Little did anyone know that this was the one last night before everything went completely downhill. Before duels, lies, letters, and secrets. Only a few hours before Anatole would ask Helene to do something that would damage many relationships and emotions.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: So there's that, comment, request. This one wasn't that good but I needed to publish something. So here you go. Love to all!

#great comet #anatole kuragin #fedya dolokhov #reader insert #helene kuragina #natasha rostova #great comet of 1812 #war and peace #imagines

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peaches-of-1 · 6 years ago

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(Y/N), Namjoon, and The Great Comet of 1812 (Cont)

This is part 2 of this story. I’ll be releasing them all today, so don’t worry about missing any or having to wait long for the next part.

Changes: Russia is changed to Korea. Hanboks and such are worn. Instead of French being high language, it is English. Everyone is speaking in Korean, but since English is the language I am writing in, them actually speaking in English will be denoted by (^) being around the word(s). Example ^I love you^

Mstrlst in bio!

After the show, Jin and his sister went to her place for a bit, still in good spirits and not wanting the night to end. Hyolyn just wanted to grab her purse and leave, but her brother ended up talking to her husband while she scoffed and left ahead of them all.

Jin bowed to the younger but richer man, “Good evening, Namjoon, studying?” Namjoon replied, “Yes, how was the opera?” “Lovely~ (Y/N) was there.” He perked up at the mention of her name, “Oh? Dear Jackson's betrothed?” The man looked away from his book and towards Jin. “I have known her family for years and long carried affection for her.”

Seokjin rolled his eyes. The amount of times he had been told this were astounding, “Yes… charming.” He clapped his friend’s shoulders. “Look, Yoongi’s coming around, and we're off to the club. Will you come, old man?”

Drinking? And he wouldn’t be alone?

Joon’s reply, “I will come.”

“Lend me 835.53 won?”

Yoongi entered the room jamming to a tune he often sung when excited, “Drink, drink. Gonna drink tonight. Gonna drink tonight. Gonna drink, gonna drink, gonna drink tonight. Gonna drink tonight. Gonna drink tonight. Gonna--”

The other men joined in as they rode to the nearest club gathering, “Drink, drink. Gonna drink tonight. Gonna drink tonight. Gonna, gonna drink, gonna drink tonight. Gonna drink tonight. Gonna drink tonight.”

It was a song everyone in the club knew, and so they were singing it when the three men arrived to join the party. Hyolyn waved them over since she enjoyed the company of 2 out of three of the men.

Drink with me, my love For there's fire in the sky And there's ice on the ground Either way, my soul will die Whoa-ohhhh-oh-ohhhhh-oh-ohhh oo-oh-oo-oh-oo-oh

Grabbing his first drink, Namjoon told his friends, “The doctors warned me that with my corpulence.”

Others scoffed, “Corpulence!”

“Soju and wine are dangerous for me.” He downed the first cup and got another fill. “But I drink a great deal. Only quite at ease after pouring several glasses mechanically into my large mouth.” Now when one drinks and drinks a lot, they tend to feel a pleasant warmth in their body as well as a sentimental attachment to their fellow man. That was the same here. People who were known as shy or the usually kept to themselves became more tender and loving and touchy with the consumption of alcohol. Others cried in corners but the other drunkards came over to comfort them.

Looking over at her betrothed as she sat on a table, Hyolyn told her husband to keep drinking since it was the easiest and best way to keep him busy. He did. Then both Yoongi and Jin cheered on their friend in his drunken endeavor to chug himself into an early grave. But it was all in the name of fun, of course.

Nearly an hour had passed at this point where Jin pouted and stared into his mug of beer, “(Y/N), oh (Y/N)! Her arms, her shoulders, her neck, her feet.”

Hyolyn chuckled, “The air of a connoisseur.”

“I will make love to her!” He loudly proclaimed.

Suga, standing in between Hyolyn’s legs, hands on her thighs, decided to warn his friend against such a choice, “Better not, ^mister^. She's first rate, but nothing but trouble.”

Both him and his lover said, “Better wait ‘til she's married!”

Seokjin was actually a married man. This was a fact known only to his intimates since a Chinese landowner of some small means had forced him to marry his daughter.

He waved it away, “Nevermind about that now. It doesn't matter; I don't give a damn! Just as a duck is made to swim in water God has made me as I am. All I care for is gaiety and women and there's no dishonor in that. As long as there's money and soju, I'll keep a feather in my hat.”

The whole hall was a beautiful sound of clamor and excitement, “Whoa-ohhhh-oh-ohhhhh- oh-ohhh oo-oh-oo-oh-oo-oh!” Now past the giddy stages of his drunkenness, Namjoon bemoaned his current situation as he usually did, “I used to love! I used to love! I used to be better!” To which his friends replied, “Keep drinking old man.”

Honestly, Hyolyn was over it, “Drink, drink, drink. God to think I married a man like you!”

“Don't speak to me, wife! There is something inside me…” He didn’t know what, but he knew that she wasn’t helping.

“Suga, pour me another!”

Namjoon continued talking to himself and contemplating life, “Something terrible and monstrous…” It had been many hours now since this party began and it didn’t seem like there was any sign of it ending any time soon. Yoongi, now with Hyolyn on his lap, raised a toast, “Here's to the health of married women, and a smile lurks at the corner of my mouth. Here's to the health of married women and their lovers!”

Everyone who heard raised their glasses as well, “Here's to the health of married women! Here's to the health of married women, and their lovers!”

It took a while, but Namjoon began to realize what was going on. His suspicions. The gossip. The constant whispers about his relationship or lack of with the woman he had never consummated his marriage with. Yoongi was all over her. All over his wife!

“Here's to the health of married women! Here's to the health of married women! And their lovers!”

Angry and drunk, Namjoon shoved the black haired man, “How dare you touch her?”

Not even trying to hide things, Yoongi replied, “You can't love her!”

“Enough!” He bellowed. “You bully, you scoundrel! I challenge you!”

Whispers spread and people moved about to give them space. The two men began to walk outside.

Suga was simply amused, “Oh, a duel? Yes, this is what I like.”

With slight worry about the outcome, Hyolyn tried to stop the man she married, “He will kill you, stupid husband.”

If you may recall, Suga was a very good shot. He killed the brother of a very important man and was fawned over for it. There was grounds for his cockiness especially when it came to the terms of a duel.

Did Namjoon care?

“So I shall be killed! What is it to you?”

Nope.

He reached his hand out to his friend, “Hyung, my guns.”

To which Jin gave to him, but not without speaking his mind, “Oh, this is horribly stupid.”

Yoongi had his guns too, “Well, let's begin. This is child's play!”

People watched from the windows and the stoop of the two men who had gotten drunk and angry as men tended to do when drunk. Especially if a drink or twelve was how they decided to “cope” with their feelings.

One man spoke, their referee, “As the adversaries have refused a reconciliation, we shall please proceed with the duel. Ready your pistols...And on the count of 세 begin to advance! Everyone counted, “하나 , 둘 , 세!”

Jin hated this, “Namjoon, hold your fire. Joonie, hold your fire. Namjoon, not yet!”

The trigger was pulled by a man who could barely stand on his own two feet. The bullet hit its target.

Suga reared back, “No! Shot by a fool!!!” This evern sobered Namjoon up real quick, “No, wait, I didn't mean –” “Quiet, old man!” The other man yelled back. “My turn.” His turn to shoot, and Namjoon’s turn to…

“Namjoon, stand back!” Jin ordered, not wanting to see his brother in law get hurt. Gunshot. Hyolyn screamed, but for who? A moment later, and it was revealed that the younger man was unharmed.

Yoongi couldn’t believe it as he stumbled, “Missed, missed. Oh my mother, my angel. My adoréd angel mother.” He was losing blood fast and wasn’t making any sense. “Take him away.” The only important woman in this scene said.

As onlookers began to help get Suga to the nearest surgeon’s, the referee said, “The sun is rising, the duel is at an end, and Kim Namjoon is the winner.”

He would hardly call this a triumph, “Winner? Winner.”

His wife took one more jab at him before walking away, “You are a fool!”

Ladies laughed but were silenced as Hyolyn looked at them with sharp and unamused eyes. They quickly went back inside to see if there was any more money to be made before the sun was completely up. Jin walked beside his sister, “Well, sweet sister, you certainly bring out the beast in men.” “What can I say? It's a gift.” She said quite bitterly.

“How I adore you.” He said and opened his sister’s carriage door for her. He asked her, “Will you ask (Y/N) to the ball tonight?” before closing it. Hyolyn smiled at him, “Of course, dear brother.”

Seokjin closed the door and his sister rode off to get some sleep. He returned to his friend who was staring at the blood stained snow only a few feet away.

“Come on, old man, let's get you home.”

“In a moment.” “Sleep it off,” he helped his old friend up. “And be happy, we live to love another day.”

Now at home, in a place that wasn’t his bed and yet not his study, Namjoon became introspective using his sober mind, something that rarely happened. He tried to keep it at bay. However, the fact that he could die and very soon had been put right in front of him tonight after challenging the best marksman to a duel.

He wiped his lips from the vomit that just passed them, slammed his gun down on the piano’s top and began playing the same chords over and over again.

“Is this how I die?” He asked himself. “Ridiculed and laughed at. Wearing clown shoes? Is this how I die? Furious and reckless? Sick with booze?”

Looking around at the empty and dark room, he asked to no one but himself and started playing like he used to, “How did I live?”

He tasted every wasted minute, every time he turned away from the things that might have healed him. How long had he been sleeping?

“Is this how I die?” The question came again to Namjoon. “Frightened like a child? Lazy and numb? Is this how I die? Pretending and preposterous and dumb?” He scoffed. How did he live? Was he kind enough and good enough? Did he love enough? Did he ever look up and see the moon and the stars and the sky?

He was furious at how blind he felt, how blind he had made himself, “Oh why have I been sleeping?”

A thought came to his head. It was so strong, that it stilled his hands. They say we are asleep until we fall in love. We are children of dust and ashes, but when we fall in love we wake up and we are a God and angels weep.

Namjoon was more than asleep. He might as well be dead due to his lack of ever loving someone. But if I die here tonight, I die in my sleep. As he saw his unfinished books lying all around, he got mad and spoke quickly “All of my life I spent searching the words of poets and saints and prophets and kings, and now at the end all I know that I’ve learned is that all that I know is I don’t know a thing.”

It was so easy for him to close off and place the blame outside. He was always just hiding in his room at night so terrified. He thought of all the things he could have been, but he never had the nerve.

Life and love?

He didn’t deserve either after throwing everything away.

“So all right, all right! I’ve had my time. Close my eyes, let the death bells chime! Bury me in burgundy, I just don’t care! Nothing’s left! I looked everywhere!”

If books didn’t have the answer. If booze didn’t have the answer. How would any one man have the answer to life, to love that he had been searching for his entire life?

Is this how I die?

“Was there ever any other way my life could be?”

Is this how I die? Such a storm of feelings inside of me?

He gripped the end of his bed as tears fell from his eyes, “But then why am I screaming? Why am I shaking?”

Kim Namjoon didn’t dare ask he next questions out loud, Oh God, was there something that I missed? Did I squander my divinity? Was happiness within me the whole time?

They say we are asleep until we fall in love. We are children of dust and ashes, but when we fall in love we wake up and we are a God and angels weep.

If he would never love, he believed he would die here tonight and in his sleep.

“They say we are asleep until we fall in love...and I’m so ready to wake up now.” He threw away all his bottles, just chucked them out the window. Maybe it would help. Maybe something good would come of it.

“I want to wake up!” Namjoon admitted. “Don’t let me die while I’m like this. I want to wake up! God don’t let me die while I’m like this. Please let me wake up now! God don’t let me die while I’m like this!”

He would do anything. He was on his knees. All he wanted was to fall in love with someone. It didn’t matter if they loved him back. Kim Namjoon wanted, no had to feel what love felt like at least once his life no matter the cost.

Tears started to stream down his face as he yelled, “I’m ready! I’m ready to wake up!!!”

But would he ever truly wake up?

Early Sunday morning, you and Jeongyeon lit a candle placed far away from any doors and looked in the mirror to see if any premonitions of the future could be seen. She told you to look, but you saw nothing.

“I see my face.” You said.

To which Jeongyeon replied, “Don’t be silly. They say you can see your future in the long row of candles stretching back and back and back into the depths of the mirror. In the dim confused last square you’ll see a coffin or a man.” She rolled her eyes. “Everyone sees a man.”

All you could see were the candles stretching back so far away, “I see the mirrors...I see a shape in the darkness. Is it him or is it—He’s lying down!” You grabbed Jeongyeon’s arm. “Oh Sonya why is he lying down? I’m so frightened!”

You feared that Jackson would never come or something will happen to you before he did.

Interrupting, Youngja called from the foyer, “Sunday morning! Time for church!”

On your way there, as it was customary and not necessarily because you had faith, you worried no suffered more now than before. The theater and Seokjin. That man who aroused such terrible feelings you didn’t understand.

In your mind you asked to anyone who was listening, Have I broken faith with Jackson? Am I guilty?

After church, Youngja left for Prince YG’s place, screaming, “The rudeness of that man! I’ll straighten him out!” She said, grabbing her heaviest fan. You didn’t even wanna hear that name again, “That terrible old Prince. I can’t bear to think of it! I’ll shut myself in my room, and try on new dresses!”

Making your way to your room, you undressed to be only in bloomers while your cousin went off to say goodbye to your godmother and then off to write some letters. It is what people often did in their past times.

And just after Youngja left, there was a knock at the door. You had just turned your head to the glass when you heard a voice that made you flush.

“Oh my enchantress, oh you beautiful thing. Charming, charming. Oh, this is really beyond anything.” It was Hyolyn dressed as beautifully as always, a dark fur coat draped across her green and black hanbok.

Although the other maids were lowing their heads, not daring to set their eyes on you in this undressed state, she eyed you up and down. It was a curious thing, but you didn’t hate the attention. Of course she wanted to look at you. You were you.

Hyolyn went to the closet, looking through your things casually and eventually pulling one out to look at better, “These dresses suit you.” She motioned to her own clothing now that her coat was off. “This one, ‘metallic gauze’ straight from Paris. Anything suits you, my charmer.” Your cheeks were on fire. To say you had a praise kink wouldn’t be wrong, but it wasn’t sexual satisfaction that you were getting from this. No, not at all. Flattery was simply something you ate up quite easily and also got a lot of. You were spectacular in every area of life, obviously, but it didn’t hurt to hear it from others who agreed as well.

“You’re so ^charming, so charming!^ You are such a lovely thing oh where have you been? It’s such a shame to bury pearls in the country ^charming, so charming^ quite charming.”

Another and more revealing dress that you had gotten (even though you weren’t sure you would ever wear it) was taken out of your wardrobe by Hyolyn. You were still in just a bra and panties soaking up every drop of attention.

The dirty-blonde girl got you to stand up and held the dress in front of you, “Now if you have a dress, you must wear it out. How can you live in Seoul and not go nowhere? So you love somebody?” She sat on your bed, “Charming, but that’s no reason to shut yourself in. Even if you’re engaged, you must wear your dress out somewhere.”

She threw the dress on the bed and held both of your hands, sitting you in front of your golden vanity. Hyolyn spoke as she styled your hair, “My brother dined with me yesterday, but he didn’t eat a thing cuz he was thinking ’bout you. He kept sighing about you~.”

You had to stand up and hold your cheeks as they began to warm and blush once more. Again she called you charming in English and asked how someone as beautiful as you could’ve stayed in the Korean countryside for so long. How a charming person such as yourself enjoyed living in such a boring place.

Compared to the city, she was right. “Now a woman with a dress is a frightening and powerful thing. You are not a child when you’re draped in scarlet and lace.” Hyolyn took the simple pearl locket you had gotten from Jackson from your neck and playfully ran away with it. “Your fiancé would want you to have fun rather than be bored to death. ^Go out in the world rather than dying from boredom^”

She instead gave you the double layered pearl necklace she had been wearing at yesterday’s opera. You still weren’t sure if this would be the right thing to do what with your head still swimming about questions of the heart. Why would he talk about you so much to his sister? Would he even want you at the party? He did invite you before, but for what reason?

Hyolyn could see the questions as if you had written them plainly on a blank page. She smirked at how naïve you were and decided one more thing that would get you to say yes. Playing her biggest card, she gave you the brightest grin.

“My brother is quite madly in love. He is quite madly in love with you, my dear~”

No way. Even though she spoke, it was hard for you to listen as a new and more fabulous dress was tied around your waist. It seemed to be the one Hyolyn liked the most on you. Was his love truly the reason for him wanting you to come to the ball? It’s not like anyone would ever lie to you about such things, so it had to have been the truth.

What once seemed so terrible, now seemed simple and natural. She knew that you’re engaged, and still she talked so frankly. So it must be all right!

Hyolyn knew she had you and sprinkled more compliments on just in case, “There is a ball at my house tonight. You must come~ Oh your wide-open, wondering eyes! You will be the prettiest there~!”

How the thought of throwing them together amused her!

“You must come~”

You nodded and answered, “I will come.” with a giggle.

As she left, you admired yourself in the mirror. This white dress sparkled and shone more than anything you had ever worn before. It was devoid of any straps or sleeves that weren’t completely made of thin lace. The layers of the skirt made them fun to hold and twirl around in since they would fly up like angel wings.

Jin was waiting at the door. Waiting at the door, waiting. Simply waiting at the door. Waiting at the door, waiting.

Oh, how I adore little girls! He thought to himself. They lose their heads at once!

You entered in your whitest of dresses with pearls in your hair and white lacy gloves on your hands. Jin was dressed in the fashion of a European soldier such as those seen in the Nutcracker play you had gone to since you were a child. Nothing like the opera of yesterday.

He eagerly grabbed your hand the moment you entered and began twirling you about the dance floor. You were seized by feelings of vanity and fear since once more there was no barrier between you and him. Whispers and moans, and ringing in your ear though nobody was as close to you as Jin was. There was no barrier.

Things were divine, delicious, but you did not see or hear anything. You were borne away to a senseless world so strange, so remote. You no longer knew good from bad because of Seokjin. Kim Seokjin.

One thought crossed your mind, I'm so frightened.

“You are enchanting.” He said.

But his words didn’t comfort you as much as they should have. And as you danced, he pressed your waist and hand and told you that you were--

“Bewitching.” Then he smiled, “And I love you.”

He was more bewitching as he said those words, “And I love you”

And during the ecossaise, he gazed in your eyes. He said nothing just gazed in your eyes, your frightened eyes. Jin had such confident tenderness, you could not say what you had to say. Instead, you tried to lower your face as not to be entranced by his deep gaze. It didn’t work.

Instead, he lifted your chin up and spoke, “Don't lower your eyes. I love you. I am in love, dear. I am in love. Gaze in my eyes. I love you. You are bewitching. What can I do? Darling, what can I do?”

You replied with shaking confidence, “Don't say such things. I am betrothed; I love another.”

“Don't speak to me of that when I tell you that I am madly, madly in love with you!” He licked his plump lips. “Is it my fault that you're enchanting?”

All you could think about was how you were so frightened. You didn’t understand anything tonight.

Jin held you closer, “I'm here now~”

And tilted his head to kiss you, but you broke away, pushing him. What was going on? This wasn’t who you were! Was it?

“(Y/N)?” He spoke.

You could feel his eyes upon upir. Blocking your path, he brought your face close to his. His large, glittering, masculine eyes were so close to yours that you saw nothing else.

“Is it possible that I should never see you again? I love you madly! Can I never?”

Seokjin chased you through the halls of the divine dance, “(Y/N)?”

He was finally able to catch you with both hands that pressed into your arm.

“(Y/N)?”

He’s hurting your hands as his grip slipped to them!

“(Y/N)?”

You didn't understand. You had nothing to say...as he kissed you. So rough and desperately that you could not help but kiss him back and hold him tight. Not even sure where you were or whose eyes were on you. Not caring, either. Jin and you embraced passionately as heat took control of your actions. Burning lips pressed to yours until he pulled away after what felt like an eternity. You silently asked for someone to tell you what just happened. You’re trembling. It was all so frightening.

Jackson. The name floats in your consciousness, but you love Jin. Of that there is no doubt. How else could all of this have happened? How else could you have kissed? It means that you have loved him from the first. It means that he was kind, noble, and splendid.

And I could not help loving you. I will love you, Jin-oppa. Your heart beat. I'll do anything for you.

You can only look at each other as you both promised, “I'll do anything for you.”

Before you realized it, you ran back to him and he took your hand. The two of you left the party to do what most people did when they leave a party with someone they were romantically and physically attracted to. Especially when they believe they are in love with one another.

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firstofficers-log · 7 years ago

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this dreadful, terrible ‘it’

pierre bezukhov (great comet) x reader ~1300 words

Pierre is feeling low. You decide to comfort him.

author’s note : I was on my roof when I decided to write this and I went on my roof the same night I finished this lmao

With Pierre, it was never too hard to tell.

On his good days, he would smile warmly at anyone he saw; his eyes sparkled with familiarity from behind his glasses, and he would often laugh and joke with his friends. On his good days, Pierre was full of life, his presence filling the room, making everyone smile with him.

His bad days, on the other hand… well, Pierre was hardly himself on his bad days.

Pierre would rarely go out on occasions like these. However, if he did, he would still smile at anyone who glanced his way -- let it never be said that Pierre was impolite -- but his face would be without its warmth, his eyes betraying how he truly felt. He wasn't as open as he usually was, peferring instead to draw into himself.

What got to you the most, though, was just how… hollow Pierre looked. There was no glow to his face as there usually was. It was instead replaced with dark circles under his eyes, a result of his sleepless nights. On his bad days, Pierre's face was pale and gaunt. Others would rarely notice -- or if they did, they said nothing.

When he got like this, Pierre liked to go out on the roof to look at the stars. You'd never asked him why before -- you figured that he would have told you had he wanted to. Tonight, though, you decided that you would join him, should he let you.

"Is there room for one more?" you ask quietly from the window leading to the roof, trying not to startle your friend too much. Pierre does jump a little bit, though, and he hesitates before nodding and scooching over. You smile at him, though you don't expect him to see -- it's dark out here, the only light coming from the moon and stars above.

As you settle yourself next to him, you pretend you don't see him wiping away his tears from underneath his glasses.

"I thought you might be able to use some company," you tell him quietly. He gives you a meek smile before sighing and looking away. The two of you sit in silence for a while, and you admire the clear skies above you. You regard Pierre, too; he's sitting cross-legged and looking down at his hands.

"Do you want to talk about it? Whatever it is, I'm happy to listen if it will help." You break the silence, smiling reassuringly at Pierre, hoping to alleviate at least some of his anxiety.

He seems to deflate a little bit, twining and untwining his fingers before giving a half-hearted shrug. Pierre pushes his glasses back up the bridge of his nose, not quite looking at you.

You scoot closer to him. You can feel how warm he is despite the slightly chilly night air, and you have to stop yourself from leaning closer. You compose yourself somewhat before speaking.

"You don't have to tell me if you're uncomfortable," you murmur. "If you want to be alone, that's okay, too. I can go--"

Before you can finish, one of Pierre's large hands is on your arm. You look up at him, and he's looking at you directly for the first time all evening, and God, do his eyes look so sad.

"Please, stay," he chokes out, his voice evidently scratchy from crying. You nod at him, placing your hand on his and settling down once again. Pierre swallows before continuing.

"It's just--" He can't quite finish his thought, dropping his hand from your arm onto the blanket the two of you are sitting on. You can tell that he's tearful again, and you desperately want to help him.

You place your hand on his, smiling at him. "It's okay, Pierre. Take your time."

Pierre squeezes your hand once before letting go so he can play with his fingers yet again. It's a few moments before he speaks again, his voice low and thick with tears.

"I just… I feel as though I'm undeserving of… all of this," he says, motioning rather aimlessly around him. "I've lived my life… and for what? I have nothing to show for anything I've ever done. I sit at home and I drink, and I read." Pierre sighs and scrubs at his eyes again, looking anywhere but at you. You see the stars reflected in his glasses.

"I want to do something. Something that makes me deserve to live." It seems as though Pierre wants to say more, but he stops himself before he closes his lips and swallows rather heavily. He appears to be choking back tears, and his next words come out so quietly you have to strain to hear them.

"I'm… worthless. I don't deserve to live in a world when so many others are dying each day."

Pierre has only been looking at his lap this whole time, hiding his face from you. However, you're unable to miss the few tears that he can't help shed that roll off his cheeks.

You find that you're far too nervous to look at your friend while you speak, so instead you turn to address the stars above you. It takes you a few moments to compose yourself and your thoughts.

"Pierre, you're worth more than all of the stars out there, and you shine twice as brightly as any of them," you tell him earnestly, trying to get him to understand how much you mean what you're saying. You find that you're fighting tears of your own.

"You're one of the most kindhearted, passionate, smartest people I've ever met." You've drawn your knees up to your chest, still not quite speaking directly to Pierre. "I'm so lucky that I know you, and that I have you in my life. I just… I feel so bad that you can't see that."

After a few moments of hesitation, you take one of his large hands in both of your own, turning it over so you can kiss his palm. You can taste salt, from when he tried to scrub away his tears. You smile and fold your hand into his, intertwining your fingers, looking up at him.

He's looking at you, his lips slightly parted. There's a large enough silence that you begin to panic, thinking that instead of helping, you'd made everything worse.

"God," you murmur, trying (and failing) not to show your panic. "I'm sorry, Pierre, I-- um, I didn't mean -- I mean, I didn't…" You begin to get up, afraid that you've irreparably fucked up, but Pierre's hand on yours makes you stop.

He says nothing when you question him. Instead, he envelops you in a tight hug which is made only slightly awkward due to the fact that you're both sitting. Still, you bury your head in the crook of his neck, accepting and reciprocating the embrace.

Pierre mumbles your name into your shoulder, and you stroke his back as reassuringly as you can.

"You don't have to go through it by yourself," you murmur, squeezing your arms tightly around your friend. "I care about you, Pierre. I don't want you to feel like you're alone."

Pierre shudders, and then sobs, and you realize that he's crying. You put your hand on his hair, stroking it and untangling some of his curls. He leans into your touch.

"Maybe we should go inside, yeah?" you murmur after his tears have somewhat subsided. You pull back from the embrace and brush a few tears from Pierre's face. He looks at you sheepishly.

"Yeah…" he says, his voice evidently straining. You give him a small smile.

"Come on. I'll make you some tea. Maybe something to eat?" You awkwardly climb through the window and back into Pierre's home. You offer your hand to him as he does the same, which he accepts with a ginger smile.

You spend the rest of the evening with Pierre, trying your best to make him feel better. You think you've succeeded -- or, at least, you've succeeded in assuring that he's not alone. You know you haven't fixed everything, but you're certain that Pierre looks a little less melancholy than you'd found him.

#text #pierre x reader #reader insert #natasha pierre and the great comet of 1812 #pierre bezukhov #pierre bezukhov x reader #great comet #my writing #great comet fanfiction #pierre bezukhov imagine #i do not know what else to tag this as #um #enjoy ????

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imaginearyparties · 3 years ago

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welcome!

i'm ilana, and this is the greatest show you're ever gonna see! tonight, we celebrate 300 followers with a special performance. look out for fluff, angst, and everything in between. relax and enjoy your night at the theatre (and if you're brave, join the cast and step into the spotlight yourself).

i'm so excited to see the show you all put on! thank you so much again for the amazing experience i've had on tumblr in the last half year. break a leg! ❤️

CURTAIN: SEPTEMBER 01, 2021

to clarify, this is when you can start posting fics, not when you can start signing up for them! you can sign up for them at any point before final bows!

FINAL BOWS: NOVEMBER 30, 2021

THEATRE ETIQUETTE:

there's no word limit, but any fic over 500 words needs to have a "keep reading" feature

please warn for potential triggers or content

tag me in your fic, and tag the work with either #ip theater challenge or #ilanas writing challenge

refrain from writing about underage characters doing 18+ activites, incest, assault, and sc*t. if your blog is 18+ a note will be made on the masterlist, regardless of the individual fic's content.

writers who don't follow this blog are not only welcome, but encouraged! i just want some musical inspired fic content and to have fun. if you'd like to participate you're welcome to!

choose a character or fandom and a prompt and message me that you're doing it. there's no limit on characters or prompts, but I'll keep track of who's doing what here. if you're interested in a musical theatre song that's not on the list, just message me and tell me you're doing it!

reader insert fics, ship fics, and gen fics are welcome!

i'll be making a masterlist for the challenge and updating it every time a fic is posted.

have fun with this! I'm a musical nerd and wanted to incorporate that passion with the fandom side of things!

CAST:

you can write about any character from the marvel cinematic universe, the vampire diaries, the originals, or teen wolf

NUMBERS:

I want people to take inspiration from one of these songs, but it doesn't have to be from the specific lyric I list here. I just wanted to give a little taste of the songs for those who aren't super familiar with musical theatre. Please listen to the song before you commit for context!

FIRST DATE, LAST NIGHT - DOGFIGHT. "meet me halfway / a touch and go of don't know what to say" [ @intrepidacious for Bucky Barnes]

ALL I'VE EVER KNOWN - HADESTOWN. "all i've ever known is how to hold my own / but now i wanna hold you" [me for Steve Rogers]

NO ONE ELSE - NATASHA, PIERRE AND THE GREAT COMET OF 1812. "maybe he'll come today, maybe he came already / and he's sitting in the drawing room / and I simply forgot."

WICKED LITTLE TOWN - HEDWIG AND THE ANGRY INCH. "and if you've got no other choice, just know you can follow my voice / through the dark turns and noise of this wicked little town" [@pietrothepoltergeist for Damon Salvatore x Enzo St.John]

OMAR SHARIF - THE BAND'S VISIT. "from the west, from the south / honey in my ear, spice in my mouth"

STAY - AMELIE: THE MUSICAL. "stay where you are / don't come too close and don't go too far" [@ambrosiase for Bucky Barnes]

HOW 'BOUT A DANCE - BONNIE & CLYDE: THE MUSICAL. "you'll lose the blues and you may lose your heart" [@lady-salvatore for Bucky Barnes]

I NEVER PLANNED ON YOU - NEWSIES. "i got no use for moonlight or sappy poetry / love at first sight's for suckers, at least it used to be" [ @hellotvshowtrash for Sam Wilson]

TOTALLY F*CKED - SPRING AWAKENING. "but the thing that makes you really jump / is that the weirdest shit is still to come"

MEMORY SONG - A STRANGE LOOP. "these are my memories, these are my memories"

WHAT IS THIS FEELING - WICKED. "loathing / unadulterated loathing"

A LITTLE FALL OF RAIN - LES MISERABLES. "a little fall of rain can hardly hurt me now / you're here, that's all I need to know" [@divine-mistake for Natasha Romanoff]

CHIP ON MY SHOULDER - LEGALLY BLONDE. "with the chance I've been given I'm gonna be driven as hell" [@loving-bucky-is-easier for Bucky Barnes]

IF YOU WERE GAY - AVENUE Q. "if you were gay / that'd be okay" [@romancherry for undecided]

PULLED - THE ADDAMS FAMILY. "i'm being pulled in a new direction / and i think i like it"

FALLING SLOWLY - ONCE THE MUSICAL. "i don't know you but i want to all the more for that" [@babycap for Steve Rogers]

TEN MINUTES AGO - ROGERS AND HAMMERSTEIN'S CINDERELLA. "i have found her she's an angel / with the dust of the stars in her eyes" [@auroracalisto for Steve Rogers]

THE NEXT TEN MINUTES - THE LAST FIVE YEARS. "will you share your life with me? / for the next ten minutes" [@yelenabelovq for Carol Danvers]

NO ONE IS ALONE - INTO THE WOODS. "someone is on your side / someone else is not." [@thesewordsareallihavetogive for undecided]

WITH YOU - GHOST THE MUSICAL. "you took my days with you / took my nights with you" [@elijahs-wife for undecided]

SHE USED TO BE MINE - WAITRESS. "she's imperfect but she tries / she is good but she lies" [ @brown-eyed-babes for Elijah Mikaelson]

LIFE BOAT - HEATHERS: THE MUSICAL. "if i say the wrong thing or i wear the wrong outfit / they'll throw me right over the side"

QUIET - MATILDA THE MUSICAL. "quiet like silence but not really silent / just that still sort of quiet"

NOEL'S LAMENT - RIDE THE CYCLONE. "i sing songs until the break of dawn / i embrace a new man every night"

DANCING QUEEN - MAMMA MIA. "see that girl, watch that scene / digging the dancing queen" [@mrs-maximoff-kenner for Lizzie Saltzman]

tagging some mutuals who seem like they've got a song in their heart:

@blueberrybelova, @buckyshairography, @golden-bucky, @mickey-henry, @ritesofreverie, @alittlebitofwords, @imgoingtofreakoutnow, @belladonnabarnes, @babycap, @brown-eyed-babes, @roger-that-cap, @tripleyeeet, @divine-mistake, @jamesqueerpotter, @auroracalisto, @thesewordsareallihavetogive, @dumble-daddy, @dizzydancingdreamer, @hellotvshowtrash, @lady-salvatore, @elijahs-wife, @mikaelsonsdeservedbetter

#writing challenge #ilana hits 300!#ip theater challenge #ilana writing challenge

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subarubi · 5 years ago

Text

The List

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Summary: Everyone’s got a submission to his list. Watch this. Read that. Go there. But you’ve never given him anything. Not a single idea of what it is you like, what makes you feel at home in this world. Never made an effort to bridge the gap between the 40s and now, and yourself and him. And it oddly bothers him.

Word Count: 3.6 k

A/N: this is my very first reader insert i’ve written and am posting, so i’m excited :) appreciate anyone who takes the time to read!

Everyone’s got a submission to his list.

Watch this. Read that. Eat here. Go there. I Love Lucy. Moon Landing. Berlin Wall. Steve Jobs. Disco. Thai food. Star Wars. Nirvana. Rocky. Troubleman Soundtrack. Things he absolutely must do if he wants to call himself a modern man. Which, he does. But kind of doesn’t? Doesn’t even matter much now anyway.

You don’t.

Have a submission to his list, that is.

You’ve never been talkative anyway, he reasons. You’re quiet, reserved, and a bit of an outsider in this haphazardly thrown together group of extraordinary people.

Not that you’re ordinary, not in the slightest. You’re a comet. Your power, palpable. A volatile missile, ice and dust carving a hole through space. Nucleus, hard body amalgamation of granite muscle and tungsten bones. Tail, a whipping flurry of wild hair, muted decimation in its wake. No, you are far from ordinary.

You just... stick to the walls.

With arms-- arms he’s seen bring men to their knees-- crossed over your chest, face set in marble. Not unfriendly. You’ll talk nice when prompted, smile when appropriate, but you never initiate.

You seem to prefer a distance, a line between work life and personal life. A line that just doesn’t exist with the Avengers. Somehow, though, you manage to maintain the separation. Natasha’s prying questions, Stark’s intentional invasions of your personal space, Sam’s harmless but persistent flirting.

It’s all so easily deflected.

Made even easier now that the family you’d always resisted has been fractured.

You don’t care to foster intimate relationships with any of these people. And you definitely don’t care to put in a submission to Captain America’s To-Do List.

Everyone, everyone has something to add to his list. Even Bucky, Bucky, who has spent the better part of 70 years in and out of cryo, brain pulled apart and replaced with a new, foreign synapse each time, said something about a movie he’d seen somewhere.

It bothers him. It shouldn’t, but it does.

Steve can physically feel it-- that’s how much it bothers him. A now permanent path of his eyes to your form in a room. An itch in his fingers for a pen and paper anytime you say anything. A burn on the tops of his ears, hot and red, if you smile softly at some reference he doesn’t understand. Is that a signal? Would that be a suggestion if you actually talked to him?

Regardless, he trusts you. A boundless amount. Unexplainable given just how little the two of you have actually spoken.

You don’t make suggestions for the list, and it only really bothers him because he does trust you. He wants to know what you have to say, what you think is important for him to experience. What you like. If, perhaps, what makes you feel at home in this world could help him too.

It’s a Thursday and he’s thumbing the pages of his notebook when Natasha gets the idea.

The quinjet cabin is filled with a heavy, pregnant silence that no one can bear to cut through. Full-term. Unbearable pressure on the sciatic nerve-type silence. 9 months discomfort and anxiety, stifling their words.

A mission gone right, but leaving a bad taste in their mouths.

Bucky sits near the front, aimlessly bouncing a tennis ball against the starboard wall. Sam is in the co-pilot seat, trying to read a book with a red cover and yellow spine. Nat’s knuckles turn white on the yoke, keeping the quinjet on track even though it could pretty much fly on its own.

You like music, Steve thinks. You there now in the back corner-- fingers drumming to the private beat on your thigh, eyes closed and head tipped back, white of earbuds in stark contrast with your dark combat suit-- is a frequent sight. He imagines your recommendation might be an album for him to listen to.

Steve’s fingers ghost over the familiar scrawl of his list; some crossed out, some recently added.

He decides it could use more music.

You should just ask her, Natasha smirks, jutting her chin your direction. When she moved to sit next to him, Steve didn’t know. But, she is, after all, the spy. He’d been otherwise occupied anyway. He lifts his bowed head up to fix her with a puzzled look. Nat gives him that smirk and Steve has to fight back a groan. Knocking her knee against his, she teases, you know, she can probably feel you staring.

His eyes shoot over in your direction, sighing a little in relief when you seem to still be lost in the music pumping in your ears. Steve realizes Natasha isn’t talking about the list. Years now, and she still hasn’t given up on playing his personal matchmaker. It’s slowed, surely, due to circumstance, but she’s never satisfied. A date. He should ask you on a date, is what she means. He’s suddenly as red in the face as the tips of his ears and Natasha’s hair.

Steve’s not blind.

You’re attractive.

Soft and hard in so many ways. Lips, pink and pillowy and parted ever so slightly. Sharp line of your jaw clenched, brows furrowed. The gentle curve of your neck, warm skin disappearing beneath a dirt stained, hole ridden suit that hasn’t seen mending hands in months. Not since you followed him in his free fall from grace.

You’d followed. Wordlessly. Burned out, abandoned by coworkers and the public, you resigned yourself to this life of Motel hopping and operating outside of the realm of what’s legal. Though not outside of what’s right.

Pondering what any of that could mean feels forbidden to Steve.

The hard shell of a man, not any less great, but perhaps less sure.

He looks back at Natasha with a low shake of his head, abruptly shutting his notebook. She sighs, but takes the hint. Enough. Not now.

Almost a year later, he does ‘just ask’.

It’s kind of like a date, in barely-there ways. You’re left alone, facing each other in a booth, knees brushing. You go to the bathroom, Steve orders for the both of you. Kind of like a date.

Stuffed in the sticky booth of some diner in Middle America, alone together. Natasha gone off on her own again. Bucky recovering in Wakanda. Sam out like a light on a creaking Motel 6 mattress-- hard, just like he likes it. Your muscles like jelly, stomachs rumbling with the dull ache of hunger, soaked head to toe from the torrential downpour outside. No idle chit chat for you two. Steve stares out the window, impossible blue eyes following the path of a raindrop. You ring the bottom of your shirt out onto the small bit of floor between two pairs of feet. It splatters on the ground loudly.

Not a date.

You risk a glance at him over the piping hot brim of your coffee mug. Silently marvel at just how much he’s changed through thin white wisps of steam. More than longer hair, more than a handsome and disguising beard, more than the ripped out star of his suit sitting in a heap on the motel room floor. You can’t say how, it’s more a feeling.

He’s a lot quieter now. Like you.

Steve’s always been stoic. Passionate when needs be, but not exactly loose with his emotions; never as restrained now. His voice was always strong and sure, but never quite so gruff from frequent disuse as in this past year. You suppose it’s partially your fault. With Natasha gone much more now and Sam talking enough to carry a conversation himself, you’re not exactly great company. You might be one of the reasons he speaks less and less.

A pretty waitress is smiling wide at him, a signal that she knows. A beard and hat pulled down as far as possible would never be enough to hide those golden boy blue eyes.

Those eyes millions of women would gladly melt into a puddle of rainwater on the dirty floor of some diner in Midwest America for. You’d have to ask for a mop later to clean up the mess. Yours and the one spilling from ‘Molly’s lips.

I heard you have a list, she smiles coy. You tuck in to the plate of chocolate chip pancakes doused in maple syrup as she bats her eyelashes down at him.

Steve shifts, glancing over at you seemingly uninterested in the conversation. He’d given up on you having anything to do with the list weeks ago. He may be a fugitive-- may no longer be an Avenger, Captain America-- but he’s still a nice guy.

Yes, he laughs kindly, hands clasped together on the table top.

You sniff and his eyes snap to yours again, tense. You’ll have to leave soon. Now that ‘Molly’ from the midnight shift at Red’s diner has seen Steve Rogers and his pretty blue eyes, you’ll have to wake Sam from his long overdue sleep and be gone before dawn. You wish he could’ve been left longer. It’s just how things work these days. A long shot from living plush, courtesy of Tony Stark. But you can wait long enough to finish coffee and breakfast.

Can I make a suggestion? she leans down and speaks in soft tones, a wicked grin hidden beneath those sweet, innocent looking red lips.

You raise a brow when Steve politely nods, pulling out his trusty notebook from his back pocket. Steve asks to borrow a pen which she hastily holds out to him, purposely having their fingers brush in the exchange. Surely he knows she’s flirting, he’s not that naive. There’s no way. He’s a nice guy, maybe too nice.

She’s young. You imagine she has spent more than a few nights looking up at a poster of his face, clean shaven and perfect, playing this exact conversation in her head. That she has carefully thought over what her input would be.

You should definitely watch ‘Friends’ when you have the time.

You snort. Loudly.

Molly instantly shrinks in on herself, deflated. Steve gives you an odd look, which you brush off and promptly resume shoveling the sweet breakfast food into your mouth.

He’s so kind, it’s downright disgusting.

Steve makes a point of writing it down underneath ‘Stevie Wonder’, smiling, Thank you. And for good measure, when he returns the pen, Captain America runs his ring finger across her knuckle. Oh, he knew. So considerate, you almost want to smirk when you catch it.

She’s gone now to wait on the other late night stragglers, blushing and gently ghosting her fingers over the spot he’d touched. Your hurtful mocking isn’t enough to dampen the feel of being caught in Steve Rogers’ warm glow.

His knee presses along the inside of yours again when he shifts to shove the small book back into his pants. You take a measured sip of coffee.

Steve raises a brow in your direction, Did you have a better suggestion?

There. He’s asked.

Maybe he could finally breathe in your presence now.

No luck considering you simply shrug and break from his gaze. So unreadable. It’s frustrating. He has half a mind to write ‘shrug’ underneath ‘Friends’. Are you? Friends, he means. You’ve known each other what feels like a lifetime now. At whatever this is for a year and a half. He can count on one hand the amount of conversations not involving a mission you’ve shared.

He trusts you with his life, which, after everything that’s happened, is a rare commodity. He’s sure you feel the same.

You’d say that no, you’re not friends. You probably wouldn’t deny the unfathomable trust in each other, though. That’s comforting at least. You sleep a bed away every night after all.

Steve doesn’t really sleep.

He doesn’t know you know that; you don’t sleep either.

He’s staring, maybe he doesn’t realize it.

You’ve abandoned your fork, suddenly feeling sick with it. That fucking blue. It split you like butter and might’ve knocked you over had you not been tightly gripping your knee under the table.

So handsome it hurts.

How could anyone be that pretty? Heartbreaking. Even before the serum-- you’ve seen the pictures. Breathtaking. The beard. The beard is really something. So so pretty. Adonis and Aphrodite. Michelangelo’s David. Torturous.

It’s been almost a full minute now. Of him, just staring.

You clear your throat in hopes it might pull him out of whatever it is that has claimed him. It doesn’t work. You talk just to end it. You know for certain that will surprise him.

Why do you even keep up with it? The list. That stupid goddamned list.

You can see the flush on Steve’s neck when he does realize that he’d stared at you, through you, in you, for the longest two minutes in history. He coughs into his fist.

What do you mean? his brow furrows, and you almost want to touch the crease between them to make it go away. It’s a ridiculous thought. One you shake away with another measured sip of coffee.

Doesn’t it seem... you shrug, and there’s an urge in him to grab you by the shoulders and beg you to stop fucking shrugging so goddamned much. Steve thinks he might go insane if he sees those shoulders twitch up again. I dunno, kind of pointless now?

In a way, yes, it is.

Steve can’t exactly pop in a film or binge watch a tv show like this. And sitting down to listen to read a book doesn’t really seem right.

He doesn’t answer. You watch him finally pick up his own fork, cutting into an omelette more cheese and meat than egg.

It still rains down hard.

Steve pays the bill, smiling tightly at Molly when she lays her hand on his bicep. He tips her well, she was sweet and young and still half terrified from just you snorting.

You follow a few paces behind him out of the diner, mindful of maintaining that distance.

Neither of you bother to fight against getting soaked.

You’re both immediately set on edge when three cars pull into the parking lot, tightly together. It’s the kind of thing you’d been trained to be suspicious of. The kind of thing that never means anything good when around people like you. It means they have come for you both. It means you'll probably have to fight.

He pauses underneath the buzzing neon sign. His back is to you, the tense expanse of muscles outlined by the wet shirt clinging to his skin. A breath. Another.

Giggling.

You hear giggling of all things, bubbling through the parking lot. Girls, a whole crowd of them, spilling out of the cars, hushing each other. His name is on their cherry chapstick lips. Not his name, his title: Captain America. Molly had texted them, that’s clear now.

It’s better, at least, than your previous estimation. But it’s trouble nevertheless.

Steve turns to face you and somehow, the soft glow of red on his face only makes his eyes bluer. He takes a step forward. You understand. You always understand in the absence of words. There’s a link between the two of you when you’re in that working mode. That trust, tangible in how you too, step forward.

It’s procedural. You fall into it so easily.

His head ducks, yours raises. Eyes locked in one another, but ears elsewhere, listening. Not touching, but near to it. A breath away. Swaying in the rain. You feel it sizzle on your skin, see it coming off him in steam.

No one bothers the two lovers, obviously too occupied with each other to be superheroes. Natasha had taught you both that.

It pours harder yet.

The giggles fade into nothing, drowned in the monsoon-- no space between the fat drops pelting the earth. They couldn’t see the two of you now even if they tried.

Why did you come? You never really said, he has to shout, the rain is so loud.

You’ve left a lot unsaid. Some things are better that way.

Steve’s hands, large and powerful, stop your shoulders mid shrug. Don’t, he squeezes his eyes shut, drops of rain trickling down the slopes of his nose, For the love of God, don’t fucking shrug.

Everything is heavy: your drenched clothes, his hands still gripping your shoulders, the crushing weight in your chest-- the rock lodged in your throat with all the things you’ve never said for the sake of some stupid credo about not letting things get personal. You’ve let the words die on your lips and for what?

It did nothing. The lines blurred anyway, out of your control.

The truth: there hasn’t been a distance greater than the width of his notebook between the two of you for a long time now.

You pretend.

You both pretend that absence of any extended conversation means you haven’t already learned everything about each other just by watching. Stealing glances when the other is turned away.

Steve pretends that the reason your input in the list matters so much to him is because he wants to know the people he’s trusting with his life.

He already knows you. Not your favorite color or band, but you. Your outline in the darkness of a thousand motels. The smell of you under layers of grime and sweat and blood-- you’re scrubbed clean with the same soap he uses. Your breathing patterns: one when you’re resting with your earbuds in, head bopping to songs he’s not been privy to; another when you’re side by side in combat, moving together like one; the most prominent, when you’re both laying in bed staring at the ceiling, too lost in thought to even care about sleep.

You know him too.

His question. How do you answer? You followed. Wasn’t that answer enough?

Where’s your notebook? You ask instead, though it’s more of a call in this downpour.

Steve’s brow furrows again, left hand flying back to pat the small book in his pocket. This time, you do reach out, though you don’t have to go very far. His breath quickens when the pad of your thumb brushes against the wet crease of skin pulled together in uncertainty. He swallows hard, rifling through the pages a little messy because he can’t stop looking at you. Your hand stays there until the pressure releases. For a good second after, too.

When he finally opens it up to the two pages worth of ‘to-do’, the ink is running. Black to blue. A melted mess of jumbled letters on delicate paper one wrong twitch away from ripping.

You take it from his hands, gentle, because you’re pretty sure this notebook has been a lifeline for him. Grounding. There’s sketches in there that you’ve only caught glimpses of.

You lament now that it has been ruined by the rain.

I don’t have a pen, he says softly. Softly, because he’s closer now than you’ve ever been. You’ve never heard him so soft. So cautious that his voice might scare you away.

You spare a languid glance up to see just how close he is. It must be only inches because you can hear him through the rain. You tilt your chin to the sky, heavy lids widening slightly.

He’s closer than even that. Not inches, centimeters. If you hadn’t been swaying in synchronization and instead leaned forward at the same time...

You don’t even know what you’re doing. For the first time in a while, you’re scared.

The book is closed between your palms, the list shut. You’ll deal with it another day. You’ll help him remember everything that was on there so he can rewrite it.

Steve leans in more. Not enough.

I’ll just tell you then, you nod. Steve’s chest brushes against yours as you both suck in heavy breaths. You press the notebook there, against the hard swells of his front, closer to his heart.

Which question are you answering? Why did you come? Or did you have a better suggestion?

Bob Dylan.

What?

Bob Dylan. Bringing It All Back Home. 1965.

Oh.

The stupid list. For years now, that’s all he’s wanted to hear. But there, under the neon sign, in the parking lot of Red’s diner, drenched in the deluge of rain, it’s not enough.

We’ll listen to it together, you smile and he’s never seen it quite so big or bright.

Together. It is enough.

Your lips taste of rain and maple syrup. He’ll remember it for a while. Forever, maybe. And him, you don’t recall something ever being so rich in your life. Steve’s mouth, so decadent you could die with a sated smile still. It’s all the sweeter, the press of your lips together; in it all those words left unsaid. You breathe them into his mouth, warm and red and waiting, and he sears them back into yours with the delicate slide of his tongue. Mouths together form lost sentences and sing. A crescendoing flurry of soundless vowels and consonants that only the two of you will ever hear.

Steve faintly hears the notebook fall in a splash at your feet and you can feel the grin in his lips by the scratch of his beard against your chin. You’ll feel guilty for dropping it later, but your hand had been hellbent on curling itself under his arms and around his shoulder. His own hands cradle your neck and face, slipping across the rain wet planes of your face. And those forearms, like hams, rest heavily on your shoulders-- so that you can never shrug again. If you can’t find the words, Steve’s content to have you speak them on his lips.

Everyone’s got a submission to his list.

But yours come with a kiss.

Yours is the only one that he’s ever really cared about.

Sam complains weeks later that he’s sick of hearing Bob Dylan.

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers #fanfiction #self insert #marvel #one shot #captain america x reader

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waytoomuchfanfiction · 4 years ago

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Perihelion

Author: tauontauoff

Fandom: My Hero Academia

Details: 33k| PG13 | Complete | Bakugou Katsuki x Kirishima Eijirou

Summary: Bakugou was a comet, blazing out of reach. Kirishima knew he was stupidly lucky that his furious trajectory went by close enough that his fingertips got to graze the cowl of fire. It was enough. During Christmas Class 1A and 1B spend a laid-back week learning about extreme environment hero work in the Alps. Kirishima was used to keeping part of his feelings for Bakugou hidden, and had every intention of keeping it that way, but things don't always go according to plan

link

Readers Overall: So incredibly sweet. One of the first KiriBaku fic’s I read. The dynamics are really great. Good fic to get you in the holiday spirit.

Readers tbh:

They aren’t kidding about the slow build. This kinda pitters along, focusing on the little things between KiriBaku, and Kiri’s feelings. I really enjoy it though because i think those two are all about the little things and quiet interactions.

This is written well, the author creates a whole training field trip that could easily be inserted into canon. Not too much to say about this one. Its sweet.

#fic rec #my hero academia #my hero academia fanfiction #boko no hero academia #bhna fanfiction #BHNA #KiriBaku #kirishima x bakugou #bakugou katsuki #kirishima eijirou #fan fiction #fanfiction

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obiwan824 · 7 years ago

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Injured and In Love- Fedya Dolokhov x Reader

A/N: I feel like I may have accidentally made this angst again? But enjoy!

Warnings: Injuries, getting shot, cuddling

Requested by anon

Y/N screamed. “FEDYA!”

“Shot by a fool,” Dolokhov exclaimed, clutching the bullet wound. Pierre began to stammer but Fedya cut him off. “Quiet old man. My turn.” Y/N had to look away, tears escaping her eyes. She couldn’t believe it, it hadn’t processed in her mind yet- Dolokhov, the man she had had a crush on for as long as she could remember, had been shot. It was possible he wouldn’t live through the night. The thought of going the rest of her life without him seemed impossible, like a nightmare.

When Y/N looked up again Anatole was helping his friend walk, leading Dolokhov towards Y/N. She bit her lip in worry, reaching out for him and putting a hand on his cheek.

“How is it?”

Anatole answered for his best friend. “We’re not sure. Come on, let’s get you home.”

Y/N trailed behind the two men, wiping at her tears and praying for the health of her love. There was nothing she could do but wait. They reached the house, Anatole helped Dolokhov into the bed and left, leaving the two alone. Fedya gestured for her to come forward.

Y/N stood by the side of his bed. “How are you feeling?”

“Not… good…” he choked out, looking at the ceiling and biting his lip with pain. “Y/N…”

“I’m here,” she said softly, reaching out for his hand and taking it. “What do you need?”

Fedya paused and closed his eyes. “If I don’t make it-”

“Don’t talk like that!” she exclaimed, but he squeezed her hand.

“Please. If I don’t make it, I need- need you to know… I love you.” He passed out, leaving Y/N alone with her thoughts. She gasped, feeling tears drip down her cheeks. She squeezed his hands.

“Oh, Fedya,” she whispered. “I love you.”

Y/N pulled a chair over to the side of the bed and took his limp hand again. She leaned over, brushed the hair off of his forehead, and kissed it. All that night she sat by his bed, praying silently that he would make it. She would constantly check his pulse and heart rate, doing whatever she could to bandage his injuries. Other times she would just sit, with his hand in hers, and watch him. He looked so peaceful when he slept, a sharp contrast to the usual craziness that followed him wherever he went.

As morning approached, her eyelids drooped. Slowly, accidentally, she fell asleep.

“Love?”

A quiet voice that sent chills down her spine woke her up. Y/N slowly opened her eyes, meeting Dolokhov’s. She was still holding his hand, she was uncomfortably sat in the wooden chair by his bed.

“Did you stay here all night?”

She pulled her hand away in embarrassment. “I-I- yeah. I, um, meant to stay awake all night, but I guess I fell asleep.”

His face softened, giving her a fond look that made her heart melt. “You didn’t have to do that, love… but thank you.”

She shrugged. “Least I can do for the man who got shot.”

Dolokhov grinned and took her hand again. “I- about what I said last night-”

“I understand,” she said quickly. “I know that you were just injured and tired and drunk, you didn’t really mean to say that you loved me.”

“What?” Fedya narrowed his eyes in confusion, tilting his head to the side. “No, no, Y/N, I, um- meant it.”

Her gaze dropped to her hand in his. She turned bright red, biting her lip. “Oh. I- I love you, too.”

Dolokhov smiled and pulled her gently towards him, patting the spot next to him on the bed. “Come on.”

She got up on the bed next to him, letting Dolokhov hold her close. He gave her a small, sweet kiss before putting his arms around her. She snuggled into his arms, unable to process whether it was a dream or reality. Either way, she intended to enjoy every moment she spent in his arms.

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bewitchedbodyandsol · 3 years ago

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Bewitched Body and Sol’s Masterlist

Making a masterlist now bc I do not trust myself to not mistag and lose a fic later down the line. Please enjoy my very self indulgent and cheesy fics!

I can also be found on ao3 @ bewitchedbodyandsol

Updated: 6/19/23

Din Djarin

Reader insert:

If I Were Not Myself (Great Comet au)

OC:

Drivers License (abandoned, rip)

Luna pic crews

Darth Dale and Luna head canons

No Pairing:

Din and Mitski song head canons

Ted Lasso

Reader insert

Your Best American Girl (wip)

#masterlist #bewitchedbodyandsol's masterlist #bewitched body and sol #bewitchedbodyandsol #din x reader #din djarin x reader #din djarin x oc #din x oc #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you

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riverdale-events · 5 years ago

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Happy Holidays, Riverdale fandom! What better way to kick off the season than by playing in all of these Reindeer Games?! Riverdale Reindeer Games - an all ship, all character inclusive event - will run from December 9th - December 31. We have 8 themes (one for each of Santa’s reindeer of course) to satisfy your every holiday or winter themed fandom desire. Don’t forget to tag #riverdaleevents in your first 5 tags!

DASHER: Decorations - Out/Inside, Lights, Mistletoe, Candy Cane Lane, Buying/Decorating Trees, Neighborhood Competitions, Christmas Light Tour, Tinsel and Garland, Making Paper Snowflakes, Special Ornaments, Wreaths, Hanging the Stockings, Arts and Crafts, Preparing the Home, etc

DANCER: Presents - Shopping, Mall Elves, Mall Santa, Wrapping, Making Cards, Gift Exchanges, Secret Santa, White Elephant, Advent Calendar, etc

PRANCER: Parties - Ugly Sweater Party, Balls, Galas, Office Party, Christmas Market, Pub Crawl, Pajama Party, Sleepover, Family Christmas Party, etc

VIXEN: Winter - Snowed In, Winter Sports, Snowmen, Blizzards, Ice Skating, Snowball Fight, Fireplace, Ice Storm, Power Outage, Shoveling Snow, Sledding, Snowangels, Making a Fire, Cold and Flu Season, etc

COMET: Traditions - Elf on the Shelf, Movie Watches, Travel, Photos, Costumes, Unique Festivities, Charity, School Plays, Music, Caroling, etc

CUPID: Magic - Santa/Mrs Claus, Jack Frost, Elves, Time Travel, Krampus, The Christmas Carol, Spirits, The Grinch, North Pole, The Nutcracker, It’s A Wonderful Life, Reindeer, ‘Groundhog Day’ Time Loop, etc

DONNER: Tastes - Candies, Cookies, Dinners, Coffee Shop, Baking Competition, Hot Cocoa, Eggnog, Mulled wine, Gingerbread Houses, Cookies and Milk for Santa, Fruit Cake, Awkward Family Meals, etc

BLITZEN: Holidays - Christmas, Hanukkah, Kwanzaa, St. Nicholas Day, Winter Solstice, New Years Eve, New Years Day, Friendsmas, Yule, Boxing Day, Advent, etc

We have listed a few suggestions next to each theme to help inspire ideas. It is by no means an extensive list as there are plenty more that apply. Any concept, idea, AU, or specific prompt, at any rating, that is applicable to a theme is accepted! You may double up (or more) on themes in your content, just let us know which theme it is for.

Remember!: Make sure to 1. tag your content on tumblr with #riverdaleevents - exactly as written, no spaces 2. indicate which theme your content is for 3. add your event fics to the RIVERDALE REINDEER GAMES collection on AO3. 4. send us an ask if we miss reblogging your content

Find out everything you need to know about this event in our FAQ below the cut! If you’ve got clarification questions, just ask us!

WHAT CHARACTERS AND SHIPS ARE APPLICABLE?

We will be accepting content for ANY Riverdale character or ship (including OCs)!

Solo, original character, reader insert, het, slash, and ot3s are all welcome!

WHAT KIND OF CREATIVE CONTENT CAN BE SUBMITTED?

Fanfic (oneshots, drabbles, or multi-chapters), Graphics, Gifsets, Fanart, Aesthetics, Fanvids, Edits, Playlists, Fic recs, etc

If it’s created content, you can submit it!

If your piece is a multichapter fic, you don’t have to complete it before the event ends. It is eligible as long as you start posting it during the event window. Make sure to keep tagging us on your chapter update posts!

M and E rated content is welcome for every theme!

HOW DOES WORK GET SUBMITTED FOR THIS EVENT?

To submit work, please tag us with #riverdaleevents in the first 5 tags of your work or at @riverdale-events on your piece. We will reblog every submission here at Riverdale-Events over the course of the event. If we miss reblogging your content, send us an ask!

Be sure to indicate which theme/prompt your content is for. You can put it in your tags or on your piece, just let us know so we can reblog appropriately.

We also have an AO3 collection. AO3 has a really great tutorial on how to post to a collection! Check it out for in-depth instructions. The easiest way to join is to go straight to the RIVERDALE REINDEER GAMES collection on AO3, and click the “Post to Collection” button. That will take you to a screen to upload your fic as normal! That button fills out the specific collection for you, so you know your work is going to the right place. Your fic will still show up under your works, and you will be listed as the author of your story.

THERE ARE MULTIPLE FANDOM EVENTS GOING, CAN I INCLUDE IT IN ALL OF THEM?

Absolutely! We support all fandom events! If there is another fandom event, such as a Secret Santa, running at the same time as this one, and your content is applicable, feel free to submit it/include it in all of those available! Make sure you tag ALL applicable event tags in the first 5 tags of your post.

WHEN CAN I SUBMIT CONTENT UNTIL? WHEN IS THE MASTERLIST RELEASE DATE?

We will continue to reblog and accept Riverdale Reindeer Games content through DECEMBER 31st (with overflow until we post our masterlist).

We will post our masterlist on January 2nd.

If you have content that you’re almost done with and need more time, please contact us and let us know. We will do our best to accommodate.

Posts applicable to the event, like chapter updates, will continue to be reblogged after the event wraps. However, they will not be added to the masterlist.

SHIP, TRIGGER WARNINGS, AND OTHER TAGS:

Every piece of content we reblog will be appropriately tagged with ship/character tags. When you post your piece, make sure to use the correct ship tag so that we can reblog appropriately. If you aren’t sure what your ship tag is, check out our masterlist! [CLICK HERE FOR RIVERDALE SHIP TAGS]

If there is a trigger in your content, make sure to tag appropriately on your tumblr post and/or Ao3 post.

Other tags: #fanfic #gif #fanart #edit #fanvid #fic rec #fanmix

If you have any questions, comments, or concerns feel free to send us an ask, or reach out in direct messages to any of us running this event! Cat - @bettycooper Mila - @jughead-jones Sarah - @theheavycrown

#riverdale #bughead #varchie #southside serpents #southsidearchive #riverdaleedit #parentdale #riverdale fanfiction #riverdale x oc #riverdale x reader #riverdalereindeergames #riverdaleevents #*admin

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dylawa · 4 years ago

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I am so late to the party it’s not even happening anymore, but there was this trend on Twitter of posting a self portrait of yourself BNHA style, so here’s mine, along with a tidbit about Comet and the “Having Lived and Loved” series!

The caption for that great big wall of text is as follows:

Comet is meant to be the ideal version of myself, sans the agender part. As a result, while I ALWAYS encourage my readers to either come up with their own interpretations and facts about what I hope is a relatable character regardless, there is still rather specific info about her past and tastes engrained [sic] into what is loosely a reader insert. However, Comet would not be nearly as compelling of a character otherwise if I left her a blank slate. TL:DR, Comet’s canon is up to you!

https://dylawa.tumblr.com/art-commissions

https://ko-fi.com/Dylawa

https://www.patreon.com/dylawa

https://paypal.me/Dylawa

#image #art #self portrait #bnha #mha #boku no hero academia #mha comet #bnha comet #having lived and loved #my hero academia

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starfaring-princelotor · 6 years ago

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Fourth Sight

Summary: Sincline returns to your reality, but something is...wrong.

★ Disclaimer: I do not ship Lotura and I respectfully ask that this story to not be tagged as Lotura. This is a Lotor x Reader/Self-Insert OC story which is in no way related to Allura at all. Please be respectful of my chosen pairing. ★

Warnings: Blood, starvation, vague mention of suicide.

Touch Series: Part One___Part Two___Part Three___Part Four___Part Five

Taste Series: Part One___Part Two___Part Three___Part Four___Part Five

Sight Series: Part One___Part Two___Part Three___Part Four

“Day one in the Rift. The Paladins of Voltron have left me to rot in the quintessence field. Sincline’s internal engine has overheated from their final blow. And yet, somehow I still live. No matter, I must get out of here. I know not how much time has passed or how long I have been unconscious, but Sincline is unresponsive to any of my commands.”

Lotor stabilized his breathing, knowing that oxygen would be a valuable resource which he could not squander right now. His suit could only last for so long and if he wasn’t able to get Sincline back up and running, then he would suffocate to death. Time was limited. His body ached something fierce, yet he couldn’t quite be sure if it was because of the fight or due to being in the Rift for...minutes? Hours? Days?

He slipped on his helmet then leaned back into the seat. He can do this. He has to.

“Day five in the Rift. The structural integrity of Sincline has held, which is a good thing. The main generator seems to have taken minimal damage from the blast. On the downside, it is still unresponsive. I can only assume that most, if not all, of the internal wires have burnt out.”

The Emperor was floating in the never ending whiteness, hands prying open the back panel of the immobilized mech with familiarity. Just as he thought. His deft fingers held the frayed wires in front of his face, eyes scrutinizing it to see if there was any chance of salvaging them. No such luck. He wasn’t able to start up Sincline without the right amount of quintessence.

Wait. That was it. Quintessence.

“I have a plan. The Rift is full of quintessence. If I can find a way to transfer it to the core power, then maybe…”

“Come on...Sincline, come on!” Lotor gritted his teeth together, trying his damn best to get any sort of reaction out of the machine.

Yet, no matter what he did, whether changing the mechanics of the interior engine or rewiring only the necessities, nothing worked. Lotor doesn’t understand. He and Allura made the robot from the same comet as Voltron. It should have been equipped with an automatic energy regenerating sequence in case of emergencies. He slammed his fist against the window in frustration, only to regret it instantly.

He shouldn't be using his energy like this.

“Day 12. Sincline is unable to absorb the quintessence in the field. The mechanism is...it is broken. I just need a small spark, just a little bit to get it working again. From there, it should charge on its own. Oxygen levels are decreasing. I am on the last of the nutrient supplies. If I get out of here, remind me to thank the doctor for having the foresight to pack food.”

If? No, when. When he gets out of here. He IS going to get out of here or he’ll die trying.

Hunger pains were the worst. He hated them, out of everything he had to do to survive, feeling your own stomach eat itself was a horrendous experience. Lotor has been through it before, but even then, he could eat dirt and survive with the consequential sickness that follows. Yet, there was nothing here. He did not have the ability to eat metal. His rations have run out. All he had left was half a bottle of water.

“Day...23. I am unsure if it is the quintessence or if I am losing my mind. I saw something out there. The Rift creatures have sensed me. I can only hope my sword is enough to defend myself.”

But he doubts it. Lotor curled over his stomach, gripping it as it rumbled in starvation. Again, he squeezes the handle. Sincline still did not respond.

He wasn’t desperate. Yet.

Not even with the gaping wound throbbing at his side. It gushed blood from the vicious bite that lovely Rift creature bestowed upon him, but the upside? Raw quintessence was healing it very slowly. It did nothing to rejuvenate his energy, though. Lotor was breathing heavily from the fight, limbs shaking from overexertion and...from fear.

That creature was tenacious in a way only savage animals crave when hungry. Not for blood, rather for their next meal ticket, and if Lotor wasn’t careful, he would find himself being eaten alive soon. He was weak, prime for picking if he couldn't figure out how to get Sincline back online. His suit no longer had any oxygen left to support him. He was stuck inside this mech. He would die in this mech.

The bracelet around his wrist radiated a faint red glow, the indicator telling him what he already knew. Lotor felt sick staying in the Rift for so long. No food, no air, and soon, no way of escape from those ravenous Rift creatures who would devour him piece by piece. He was lucky the last one was small, a scavenger no doubt, but how long until bigger ones find him?

Lotor bit his bottom lip and closed his eyes. He couldn’t die, not yet. Not like this. He worked too hard, came too far, for it all to end in naught. The Alteans, the Galra, every planet that suffered under Zarkon, they’re relying on him, on his return to restore balance to the universe. To return it to a time of peace, to soothe the scars left behind by his father’s tyrannical rule.

He faced that bastard, fought against all odds, survived this long to right the wrongs. His goals were so close, so damn close, yet like everything else in his life, they slipped right through his fingers and stabbed him in the back. Lotor had to keep going. He had to try something, anything, that would return him to the wounded universe he was born in.

A thousand scenarios were already flitting through his mind of all the work he left unfinished. The old Empire he never wanted, now fractured, free to conquer and kill without control. The Alteans he carefully preserved, soon to be completely eradicated now that they were exposed to an unsafe war zone. Everyone was going to suffer because of one little mistake. Because he trusted the wrong people. Lotor trusted Voltron when he shouldn’t have even bothered to accept their help in the first place.

Things were going to be worse now than ever before. And all of this? Fell on his shoulders.

His voice was rough, strained, exhausted beyond belief. “Day 48 in the Rift. No food. No water. What little oxygen Sincline has will only last me one or two more days.”

Lotor gritted his teeth in mounting frustration, his chest aching with sickening trepidation of what the future will hold, whether he was there or not.

“I don’t want to die.”

“Day...50.”

Lotor was tired. Restless. The cockpit of Sincline felt stifling and cramped. He had a pounding headache from lack of water. Lack of...everything, in fact. Sleep would not claim him whenever he closed his eyes. He was too weak to do more than sit up from his seat. And, dare he say, he even thought about eating his own clothes if it meant he would have something in his stomach.

No energy to move, but just enough for him to think about everything that led up to this moment. It was a dangerous path to start and even more dangerous to go down, yet he couldn’t stop himself. His mind would tumble down that pit, he knows this. Yet, after 10,000 years of suffering, of growth, of rebuilding himself over and over again, he knew that he was his own miserable company. Lotor had no one but himself.

It was better that way.

No mother. No father. No Ven’tar. No friends. All of them, gone by his doing. He hated thinking like this, dwelling on the past and what he could’ve done different. It led him to sympathize with himself. You tried your best, Lotor. But did he really try? You did everything you could, Lotor. But did he really do everything? You were a great leader, Lotor.

But...was he really?

His Empire ostracized him, shunned him for being part Altean. And those Alteans he saved? Could they really trust him for being part Galra? Or rather, for being Zarkon’s disgraceful spit of a son? Lotor tried so damn hard to prove to himself that he wasn’t like his evil father. He didn’t murder or kill without remorse. Yet, it didn't matter what he thought of himself.

There will always be people who can’t separate his bloodline and his race. There will always be people who will judge his actions based on his father’s bloody history. He couldn’t escape it. He could endure the abuse, he always has, but fuck, at what cost? How much longer until his will finally gives out?

Those he trusted left him behind. Maybe Allura was right. And maybe, this was a fitting death for him in the end.

“Was there really any hope for me?”

The Rift creatures completely swarmed Sincline, liquid sharp teeth gnawing and biting at the glass separating him from certain death. Lotor gulped and gripped the handles tighter, his knuckles straining against his gloves as he could feel the quintessence begin to overexert his body. The clock was ticking. Eyes were darting around for a way out of his inevitable doom, but he was trapped inside this machine with no where else to go.

“Come out! Come out!”

Lotor was losing his damn mind. Another shrieking growl from the creatures had him shaking his head in hopes to snap out of it. Did they just...talk? Or was he hearing things? One of the creatures raised an amorphous limb and slammed it on the hull, denting it and his chances of survival.

“You smell so good! Let us eat!”

His heart was pounding too fast in his chest, he thinks he might have cardiac arrest before the beasts broke through. The star crack in the shield began leaking in the monster’s formless body, squirming and wriggling closer to reach him. Lotor knew this was it. Now or never. He had to take that chance, regardless if it worked. He may not be able to escape his fate, but his final act of desperation was his only shot left.

“My creator…”

That voice...sounded different. Not like the Rift creatures. Lotor closed his eyes and concentrated on his flickering quintessence. The hunger pains were long gone. The wound at his side? Nothing but a faint scar remained. And his thoughts of anger, of betrayal? They were...soothed. His rage, quelled. His sadness, non-existent. He should've wondered where all his feelings went, why he was actually losing all sensation in his body.

“Sleep, now.”

Lotor helped make this mech. He knows the lions are sentient to an extent. If he can just get Sincline booted with a jolt of his quintessence, then maybe, just maybe, it can escape the Rift. With him alive or not. He can’t let the Rift creatures use Sincline, either for sustenance or for...a weapon. He can't let that happen. Sincline was built to help the universe, not destroy it. Never to destroy it.

Perhaps that was why Voltron defeated him. Sincline wasn’t a superweapon. That was never his goal for this machine.

“I will keep you safe, my creator.”

Lotor’s body chilled. Hi soul pulled from his mortal vessel. Sharp claws dug into his flesh with a sickening squelch, but he felt no pain, for his consciousness was already gone from this reality. And, when the quintessence was gone, the creatures realized their meal was stolen right out of their very hungry mouths.

“Day 51. Emperor Lotor is now under my protection.”

Sincline’s eyes began radiating with life, its sight glowing a threatening hue of purple in the infinite white of the Rift.

“Sir, are you sure it’s wise to leave an inter-dimensional communication stone in this reality?”

The Black Paladin averted his attention from the main screen, looking off to the side as Acxa’s face came into view. The lions were in the quintessence field and, as expected, the locator Kylan created with the blood sample you stored was working perfectly. However, now that she brought it up, he felt that explaining himself would build some confidence with his teammates.

“Yes. The technology here is not as advanced as ours. That may be because the planets have not yet unionized together under one banner,” he paused briefly, “It is...a shame. But we are helping them and, in turn, I have no doubt we will have stronger allies on our side after we find the Emperor. What Kylan showed me about the war here tells me that the Galra Empire needs their leader back first and foremost.”

“Yeah, uh, you aren’t just saying that because of the doctor, are you?” Ezor piped in with a teasing lilt in her voice, “This IS a different reality. We could be helping the wrong people here.”

Their leader smiled at the playful prodding, the ring on his finger suddenly filling his mind with trickles of joyful thoughts.

“Never was a fighter, that one,” he mused with a chuckle, “It is not a coincidence that we met again.”

Zethrid scoffed, “What? So, you think it’s fate that we just happened to pop out at the exact right spot with the exact right people to take us in?”

“Not fate. Perhaps just blind, dumb luck.”

Then, all at once, his Paladins muttered a single word.

“Soulmates.”

“A little unorthodox, but the existence of other realities has still not been fully researched yet,” he shrugged, accepting that the evidence before them was circumstantial at best, “We would have never known it was possible if it were not for Sven.”

An ominous silence fell upon the group, all of them thinking about the human who joined the Guns of Gamora. Who was, unfortunately, captured by Hira and her forces. His location remained unknown and no one knew what happened to Slav. They could only assume the Empress has them under her control now.

“Paladins, let us find this Emperor and bring him back,” Lotor ordered with brave confidence suited for the Black Paladin, “Time is of the essence here, but stay on your toes. The Rift creatures are relentless. If you spot one, do not engage alone. We are not in friendly territory.”

And that was one of their major concerns. While yes, they were searching for Sincline, he was wary of the mech’s self-sustaining capabilities. Moreso, the consciousness of the robot. It was not new information that the lions are sentient. Even he could correlate that Sincline would be just as alive as Voltron.

But now the question remained: would Sincline attack Voltron on sight?

It was the sound of chittering, followed by a meow, that alerted the group of the small, black dot in the distance.

“Good job, Kova,” Lotor tapped a few more keys on the screen, the locator pointing northeast from their current position, “Narti, everyone, proceed with caution.”

The closer the group drifted, the tighter they flew in formation, just in case Voltron was needed. It was a spectacle to behold. Another mech made from the same comet as the robotic lions they were piloting now. Another mech that can pierce the Rift between time and space itself. And its eyes were glowing purple.

“Sir...I have a bad feeling about this,” Zethrid warned, nearly growling by instinct.

“Stand down for now. He is aware of our presence,” Lotor commanded, “Ezor, send him a transmission that we are here to help. If he makes the first move, do not fight him. We do not know what he is capable of.”

Acxa’s thumb was on the trigger, ready to react at the first order to fire. Yet, it didn't come. She heard Lotor hum in thought as seconds ticked by, but nothing was happening. The Black Paladin had thousand of scenarios flashing through his mind. Maybe the Emperor was dead? Or was Sincline watching their every move? Perhaps the quintessence has filled his body? No, if that were the case, then the Rift creatures would have torn the ship apart to shreds by now.

Then...then the Emperor’s quintessence was no longer in his body. That leaves only two options: he is dead or Sincline has captured his soul.

Loud warning signals began flashing across each of the Paladin’s screen, setting all of them on high alert. Even Kova’s hackles were raised, teeth bared as he hissed at the unknown foes in the distance. A dark, inky hoard of Rift creatures were dashing straight at them, sensing their quintessence from miles away. Immediately, Lotor knew they could not handle them all, not even if they formed Voltron.

“Orders, sir!” Zethrid repeated, now understanding that the plans have changed with the new enemies on the horizon.

“It’d be a good idea to run, don’t ya think?” Ezor offered her opinion, “Preferably before they reach us.”

“Zethrid, Ezor, grab Sincline. Acxa and Narti, with me. If those creatures get close, we must protect the Emperor,” Lotor maneuvered his lion ahead of Sincline as Red and Green flanked the rear, “We are getting out of here now!”

Both the Blue and the Yellow lion each latched themselves under Sincline’s arms, making sure to keep their jets ready if the mech decided to attack. No such thing happened, thankfully, and the group quickly followed Lotor as he guided them down the path. The gate was too far and they could not risk a chance of having the Rift creatures find out about it. Or worse, potentially breaking through and swarming the unprepared reality.

The Black Paladin focused his energy through his body, mixing it with the lion’s, then took a deep breath. She responded to his call. She always did. His hands glowed that ethereal Altean magic, transferring his power to her vessel. She opened her mouth and fired a bright violet beam straight ahead, the force creating a swirling wormhole right before the Paladin’s very eyes.

“Ezor and Zethrid, when you go through, head for the gate. We will be close behind you.”

Deft fingers knocked the door lightly, catching the attention of you and the bedridden patient. The medical wing on Kylan’s ship was still useful for helping those relocated from the second colony and, inwardly, you were glad he decided to keep a close eye on them. Except now, without those pods, manual practices must take place. You were a doctor, so of course you kept to your role.

You flicked your finger across the holographic screen projecting from the device on your wrist, occasionally nodding while skimming over the report. “Your quintessence levels have significantly gone down back to normal. Good, very good. Still, I’d like you to get a few more days of rest while your body stabilizes,” you explained while the screen minimized out of sight for now.

“Thank you, doctor.” She was an old patient, very sensitive to quintessence and, therefore, the treatment as well, “Would you kindly tell Lotor I give my thanks, too?”

Your eyes hardened for a few seconds before you gave a firm nod. Everyone from the colonies knew about Lotor’s disappearance, but this patient? She had a failing memory. It felt...wrong to tell her the bad news over and over again, especially if she were to forget it within the next day. That was the quintessence to blame, sadly. Regardless, her health was the first priority here.

This is what you learned about the colony, what Kylan explained was happening there. These generations of Alteans have evolved to the point where their bodies produce too much quintessence. Just as there were those who stayed underground for so long that their skin could not be exposed to the sun without the light burning them.

Evolution did its job on their species.

But this wasn't just any quintessence. This was pure quintessence, the deadliest form of them all. Letting it fester within their bodies would kill them. You read the reports. You know all the research that Lotor and his crew discovered. And, strangely enough, the process to remove quintessence was quite similar to a procedure you remember from Earth.

Lotor wasn’t draining Alteans. He was using dialysis to keep them alive. Their body was just no longer able to naturally process the slow-build up of quintessence over time. There were still many questions left unanswered, though. Why did Alteans evolve out this ability? What is the purpose of their bodies harnessing so much quintessence in the first place? And, more importantly, did this issue solely reside in their species and only their species?

You had no time to figure it out. Not when the fractured Empire was at your heels.

“I will let him know. Now, excuse me,” you gave the old lady’s hand a gentle squeeze before heading out the door, right where Kylan was waiting.

Clearly, he was out of breath from rushing. That told you he had something of utmost importance to share with you. It didn’t take a single word from him for you to hear the message loud and clear. You read it on his face. The way hope filled his eyes, the small smile, his relaxed albeit disheveled posture. The nod of confirmation when your own questioning gaze widened in disbelief.

“They’ve returned with Sincline.”

You did not even respond back as the two of you quickly jogged to the ship’s hangar. They succeeded. Against all odds, the Paladins actually succeeded. When the doors slide open, there, lying flat on the steel floor, was Sincline in all its glory. Surrounding the mech were the lions and their respective Paladins. You halted besides the group, filled with both stunned silence and doubtful hope.

Yes, that was the mech.

But why wasn't the Emperor coming out of…

“Doctor. Kylan.” The Black Paladin called for your attention, taking it away from the threatening glowing eyes of Sincline, “There has been...a complication.”

“Tell me.”

“Sincline is operational. However,” Lotor folded his arms across his chest and sighed heavily, “It is hostile.”

Your brows furrowed in confusion, “Hostile? What do you mean hostile?”

“What he means is,” Ezor rubbed her neck a bit nervously, “Sincline has chosen to close itself off. No one can get him out of there. The robot is refusing to open.”

“It is a safety precaution. I have seen this before,” Lotor explained as clearly as he could. “The same way only the lions get to choose their Paladins. Sincline chooses who will be worthy to pilot it.”

Now, it made sense. Sincline was denying entry to anyone who got close to it. No one here was worthy in its eyes. Not you, not Kylan, and not even this alternate reality version of Lotor. You needed to know whether the Emperor was alive or not. For the Empire, yes, but with that sickening clench gripping your chest, you needed to know...for yourself, too.

“Emperor Lotor...he is trapped in there,” the Black Paladin bowed his head to the floor, “I can not force Sincline to accept me. I am not its pilot. There is nothing else I can do to help.”

“Sincline is sentient,” you pointed out, “If that’s so...it is watching us. It can hear us.”

Kylan jutted his chin up a bit at your claim, “Yes. If Sincline was made from the same material as Voltron, then it is entirely possible to communicate with it.”

“Isn’t it obvious what needs to be done?”

Now, all pairs of eyes looked at you in question, waiting for your answer. You did this before and it worked. It was time to test that theory again, especially for Emperor Lotor’s sake. For the Empire’s sake. For the universe’s sake. The lions were living beings. There was no reason to believe Sincline would be any different.

“We have to convince it.” Unconsciously, your hand came up to rub at your shoulder, phantom pains reminding you of that fateful day you were shot, “We have to convince Sincline that we are here to help Lotor.”

“Even if Sincline allows it, we do not know what sort of risks lie with this new type of mech,” Kylan countered while holding his chin in thought, “It could be a trap. Animals have been known to lead prey, even those with the most innocent intentions, to their doom.”

“But what if it was someone Lotor recognizes? You worked alongside with him while building the colonies. He trusts you. He knows you. Perhaps the familiarity will lead Sincline to trust you, too.”

Silence. The group all turned to gaze up at the still mech, feeling its eyes warily watch them. Judge them. Listen to them. Sincline was thinking, planning. Learning. It could peer into each and every one of those mortal’s souls. Their past, their present, and even their future. Two of them were truly Lotor’s allies, but only one of them was vastly more important than the other.

“If what you say is true, and we go through with this, you realize what must be done, doctor,” Kylan closed his eyes and took a deep breath, “I can not take that risk considering my responsibility with the colony, with Lotor’s work.”

It was like Kylan said long ago. He would help you find the Emperor, but his aid ended when the potential danger outweighed the cost of him staying alive.

“...I know,” came your answer, unwavering in the face of uncertain grounds, “I will do it, Kylan.”

You trusted Lotor. He had to be in there. You would go into the mind of Sincline, where no soul has ever delved into before, where the unknown most certainly tipped between life and death, where your Emperor laid waiting. Just like Lotor, you had to plan this carefully. Cautiously. For even you knew that it only took one mistake to ruin everything you worked so hard to achieve.

Up to this point, you had nothing to lose. If you died, then your problems would be done and over with. Now, though. Now, you survived this long. You were this close to saving Lotor. Just one more step, you told yourself. The work of a doctor is never done. There will always be lives to rescue, so why was this any different? Why was his any different?

Because you believed in him. You saw first hand what he is capable of. His story is not over. He was the key to saving the universe. Not Voltron. Not through brute force, but the raw determination to build a better future, regardless of what happened in the past. Lotor’s will to bring peace to the galaxy was real.

And you knew as any other did that, although hope is a strong motivator, it takes action to truly accomplish impossible goals.

You knew what had to be done and you would do it for the future the both of you believed in.

#lotor x reader #spacestories #schrodingers lotor

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