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whatanoof · 4 years ago

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Battling Death Itself

Anon I am so sorry that this took so long. Stuff happens, but it's still frustrating to not know if someone is ignoring your ask, if tumblr ate it, or if(like in this case) requests are just taking abnormally long. But here we go, hope you're ready for the angsty angst:(

gif credit to @badbatch

Rating: Teen

Pairing: Cal Kestis x Reader

Word Count: ~3.5k

Warnings: angst, injury, blood, swearing, death omen-like stuff, creepy dream, fluff

Summary: As a medic, you’re used to battling bleeds, cuts, burns, etc. You’re used to patients who are willing to heal, not one reckless Jedi Padawan who is ready to throw everything away to accomplish his mission.

A/N: A huge thank you to my friend @marvelassassin221b for the help with this prompt when I got stuck. You da best, and never forget it

One cannot go through a war and come out unchanged. You can pretend that the terror, violence, anger, anxiety, and selfish instinct didn’t affect you. You can gaslight and fool yourself until the bantha come home, but no one, not even the smallest civilian child, walks away without it burning into their minds like a brand of survival that will cost some of your humanity.

When you dream, you dream of a pile of lightsabers. There must be hundreds, maybe thousands, piled high enough that you cannot make out the ground from your position at the peak of the mountain. They clink and jangle under your feet, like a death rattle that refuses to leave you alone.

You want to leave. You have to leave, you can feel the spirits of the fallen Jedi Order hovering over your head, gazing down at you in disapproval everytime you disrespect their revered weapons. You take a step off of the peak.

A rending screech echoes into the death filled air, and the metal handles collapse under your feet, sliding down the side of the mountain like an avalanche and taking you with it. The sabers pile over your head, blocking out the already dim light.

Have to leave. Have to fight. So you thrash furiously, clawing at the tomb encapsulating your living body among the dead. Somehow, you find the surface. You break through the pile with a gasp, inhaling air into your starved lungs, hands pawing at the moving surface to keep you afloat in the raw desperation of survival instinct.

A weathered lightsaber is clenched in your hand, double bladed and beaten up. With a shaking hand, you press the button to activate the blade. The blue blade slices through the air with a throaty thrum and through the reality of your dream, dropping you into the darkness. You hit the ground with a grunt, somehow not impaling yourself on the lightsaber even as you stare in awestruck horror. Because you recognize the blade and handle.

A heavy hand lands on your shoulder, and you whirl with a gasp. A tall figure stands behind you, a Lasat male with kind eyes and clad in robes belonging to a Jedi. He holds a hand out to you, “That doesn’t belong to the living world.”

---

The crackle of the comm yanks you out of your fitful doze, but as you strain to listen from your position in the sitting area, no words come through the white noise. You sit up and look into the cockpit. Cere is typing furiously with eyes glued to frequency readings in front of her.

Seconds later the array in front of Greez begins to beep and the Latero leans forward to study the sensor map display. A tiny ship lit in red dances through the grid. Greez grabs the holo and enlarges it, examining the lines of the ship carefully.

“Cere--”

“Greez--”

The two stop and look at each other before Cere takes precedence, “I’ve only seen these kinds of frequencies from one kind of occupation.”

Greez nods, “I recognize the ship. It’s Haxion Brood.”

You stand and approach his chair, “Axiom what?”

Greez replies, arms darting across the controls with ease as he manipulates the energy to further analyze the readings from the environment. “The Haxion Brood, kid. Biggest smuggling and gambling ring in the Outer Rim.” He turns his head to address Cere. “I can decode their transmissions. Transfer the readings to my screen.”

Cere hits a few buttons and Greez pulls a headset over his ears. The air in the room is so thick that you could cut it with a vibroblade, until Greez speaks, “We have to go. Cere, set a course for these star coordinates.” Cere takes a single look at the symbols and nods before heading to the navigation map.

Your brow scrunches, “How do you understand their code?”

Greez waves your question off, “Not important. Point is, I can, and I know where we have to go.”

Everything is moving far too fast for you to understand. “And where is that?”

Greez barks out a sharp laugh, “Officially? Nowhere.” One arm distracts itself from the preflight check to dissolve the coordinates from the holo projector. “Unofficially? Ordo Eris.”

The Mantis lurches as it takes off and you stumble, “Wait, we have to wait for Cal to get back!”

Cere speaks from her position at the map, “He’s not coming back. We’re going to get him.”

‘Why would you need to go to Ord--’ You feel the blood drain from your face with the realization. What did the dream mean? A grim understanding filters into the processed air so that no words are needed.

“Get your kit ready. We’re going to need it.”

---

“Strap in, kid!”

Even with all of your preparation for the moment of contact, you’re still not ready for the awful screeching and rending of metal that echoes through the hull as it contacts the floor of the arena. Above the chaos and noise, you hear Greez curse. The harness digs painfully into your skin, but it keeps you in your seat long enough for the Mantis to jolt to a stop. The door opens, and Cal stumbles on board, lightsaber glowing in his hand while the other clutches his side. BD-1 clings to his shirt, beeping and chirping as it hangs on for dear life.

“Go go go!” Cal collapses against the wall, gasping for air. BD screeches and jumps onto the floor, gazing up at Cal and blipping while glancing at you periodically. You can’t tear your eyes away from the lightsaber, which has slipped to the ground in the frenzy. That doesn’t belong in the living world.

Greez hasn’t stopped swearing colorfully in at least five different languages excluding Basic, but it all fades to the background as you fumble to release your harness. “Cal!”

It’s not releasing, why isn’t it releasin--

The mechanism clicks and you’re out of your seat before the Mantis is fully off the ground. You reach Cal right as he begins to slip, “Whoa, careful there.”

Damn he’s heavy. You lower him to the ground, supporting his head on your lap. He chuckles breathlessly with eyes half-closed, “Why should I try to be careful when I have you?”

You laugh shakily, “I can’t be with you all of the time.” BD-1 bobs its head in agreement, dragging your med bag within reach with one foot.

Greez calls back, “Hang on, making the jump now!”

You grab a support bar and hunch over Cal. BD hops into your lap, and you wrap your other arm around the little droid to help hold it steady against you until the ship stops shaking around you and the peaceful quiet of hyperspace fills the hull. You allow yourself to breathe as the asteroid fades into the distance out the viewport. For now, the world will hold together.

---

By the time Cere comes back to check on you, you’ve maneuvered Cal into an upright position propped against the wall.

“Hey.” She sounds tired, stressed, strung tight like a bow string that’s about to snap. “Greez set course for Kashyyyk. We can lay low there, the Rebels have all but driven out the rest of the Imperials.”

You nod in acknowledgement. Cal is silent beside you. BD-1 boops its agreement.

She continues, “That rescue tore up the Mantis a bit. Overworked the thrusters and damaged internal regulating software, so Greez and I are going down to run diagnostics and see what we can repair en route. BD.” The little droid chirps. “Gonna need your help with the electrical portion.” BD-1 bobs its head and scampers over to her, and Cere puts a hand on the floor so that the droid can climb her shirt to her shoulder. She straightens, and regards the two of you, “All good here?”

You nod. “This guy needs a little patching up too.”

Cal gives a halfhearted wave and grin from his position on the floor, “Can confirm.”

Cere chuckles, “Alright then. Comm if you need anything. And be responsible.”

“I’m always responsible.” Cal protests. Cere doesn’t respond to him, opting instead to glance at you with an amused resignation in her eyes. She turns and leaves with BD, who chirps a goodbye as they vanish through the trapdoor that leads to the engine room.

You sigh and turn back to Cal, “I don’t even know where to start. Here.” You tug his poncho to get him to sit up.

“Careful. There’s acid.”

You yank your hand back with a hiss, shaking it off as you study the cloth. He’s right, there’s discoloration around his abdomen and the poncho is smoking, something that you missed in the chaos of landing and taking off from Ordo Eris. Upon closer examination, the acid had eaten through the poncho and soaked into the shirt below. Luckily, none touched your skin, but more unluckily, Cal has been wearing his shirt for far too long to be healthy.

“Take it off.” You lift the edge of his shirt to help him pull it over his head.

He grunts as the fabric lifts, revealing reddened and irritated skin that you begin to put healing balm on, “If you wanted me shirtless, all you had to do was ask.”

Blood rushes to your face even as you send an unimpressed look his way. He’s grinning, a smug and infuriating grin that lets you know that he knows that he got to you. You spread more of the medicine onto his skin, “You’re surprisingly chatty for someone who almost died.”

He stretches his arms, painfully attractive with how his chest and arms flex and his face scrunches and his hair--

You blink, abandoning the train of thought and finishing your work. You cap the medicine and return it to your bag. “Let me check your leg.” He sends you a look, a frustrated look that is so unique to Cal that it makes you chuckle. “I saw you limp in here, don’t give me that face.”

He groans, “I’m fine. It got me in the door, didn’t it?”

You roll your eyes. Typical. “Take them off.”

“Is this a strip game or something?” He’s… flirting with you?

“Do it.”

You did not think that this is how you would be getting Cal Kestis pantless in front of you for the first time. You’d imagined that you would be more excited with every inch of skin exposed, that your heart would race and the blood would rush to your face and your… yeah.

But instead, your stomach drops with every bruise that is revealed, the lump in your throat grows when you hear him suck a breath through gritted teeth when the cloth rubs over sensitive skin. By the time he’s pulled the pants around his ankles, your jaw is clenched hard enough to hurt. There’s a gash the length of your hand slicing across his skin. Although it’s gratefully shallow and mostly clotted, it's ugly enough to garner a double take and a long stare as you consider your options. When you speak, it’s a barely breathed whisper.

“Damn it Cal.”

He laughs, but you can hear the pained grunt that he tries to hide when he shifts, “I didn’t think it was that bad.”

“When did you do this to your leg?” You yank a bacta bag out.

He hisses as you disinfect the area, “Uh, a little after I found BD. Right before I went into the arena.”

You stop cold and stare at him, “You fought on this?”

“Well what else was I supposed to do? Roll over and die?”

You sputter, “No, but I-- no.”

He raises an eyebrow at you, a single, infuriatingly sassy, red eyebrow and lays back to allow you to apply the bacta infusion.

“How’s it going in here?” Cere chooses that exact moment to walk in, and you suppose you should be grateful that she didn’t witness the petty argument.

You shoot a look at Cal, but he’s refusing to meet your eyes. So kriffing immature. You respond to Cere, “Good. Could be better.”

She nods once, “We received a transmission from the rebel. Tarfull is willing to meet you, Cal. There are contacts on Kashyyyk that will direct you to him.”

Cal’s face is drawn and serious, aging him ten years as he considers her words. “Tell them I’ll be there. How long until we reach Kashyyyk?”

“An hour. Enough time to finish the inflight electrical repairs, so BD will be available to go with you.”

“I’ll be ready.” What? Did you just hear him correctly?

You wait until Cere leaves the room before you whirl on Cal, “Are you crazy?”

“What?”

But you’re not listening anymore, “No, you’re definitely crazy, or I’m going crazy, because I just heard you tell Cere that you would be ready to plunge into the wilderness while you’re half dead.” A pile of lightsabers.

“It’s a cut, I’m hardly half de--”

“Okay, a cut. A cut that could get infected, or could start bleeding again, or could slow you down. It won’t be such an easy fix next time if you go out like this.”

He says your name sharply, “It’s my job to go and get that holocron.”

You cross your arms over your chest tightly, hugging close enough in hopes that you can calm your pounding heart, “And it’s my job to keep you alive.”

“The longer we wait, the more danger Tarfull is in. The Rebels can’t stay in one place forever.” He pushes off of the wall, aiming to propel himself off of the ground and stand, but you catch him with a firm hand in the center of his chest.

“You need rest. Bacta might be a miracle of modern medicine, but it can’t work in an hour.” A death rattle that refuses to leave you alone.

He says your name, so seriously and rigidly that you stop and look at him, “Let me get up. I need to go.”

“No!” Your fingers twitch over the needle. “Cal Kestis. You stay right there, or I swear to the Maker I will sedate you!” Fallen Jedi hovering over you.

“This isn’t a matter of my own well being anymore, our mission is on the line!” He pushes your hand away and sits up. “This is for those children out there, so that the Sisters don’t get to them, so that they can have normal lives.”

“Don’t you fucking put that on me Cal, I know what is at risk. I know that you are the only stars forsaken Jedi in this Maker damned galaxy who can help those children, but what use are you to them if you’re dead?!” Lightsabers rattling over your head, trapping the living amongst the dea--

“It doesn’t matt--”

“Would you just shut up and listen to me for two goddamn seconds?!” You’re screaming, you know that you shouldn’t be screaming when he’s lying there injured and possibly dying, when you know that his heart is pure in intention, but why can’t he see how much you need him to be okay. Your fists are clenched, waving in the air above him and its only when his eyes widen and he puts his hands up defensively that you realize you had picked up the hypodermic needle.

Your eyes meet his and your body trembles, whether from rage or fear you can’t tell. Carefully, moving millimeter by millimeter, you lower your hand and drop the needle. It makes no sound as it hits the ground, which is remarkable considering how effectively it had silenced the situation.

“I--” Your voice cracks and in any other situation you would be embarrassed. But you clear your throat roughly, “I can’t lose you. I won’t let you go off and get yourself killed. You need to let your body heal, because you can keep going, keep pushing yourself to the limit and I have no doubt that you are strong enough to, but your body is going to fail you one day, and it’s my job to make sure it doesn’t just yet so please listen to me, I’ve never asked for you to stay before.” You’re rambling, you’re talking too much because you scraped just a little too close to the surface with that first sentence. “Please Cal, I couldn’t live with myself if I let you go out there like this and yo--”

You’re cut off by Cal’s body contacting your firmly, arms curling around your body as he hugs you tight to his chest. And all of your worries and problems that you were ranting about seconds earlier fade away because his bare chest is right against the skin of your cheek and he’s so warm and smells so good and you’ve forgotten why you were--

“Breath. It’s okay.” He demonstrates with several deep breaths, chest rising and falling against your cheek. You hear the whoosh of air in his lungs, and you shakily try to imitate. You fail the first two times, your pounding heart and surging adrenaline forcing your breaths to come shallow and fast. But he stays close to you, radiating comfort and calm that soaks into you and gradually slows you down.

“You’re still not going out there on that leg.”

Cal shushes you, “I know. I need you to calm down before we get to Kashyyyk. I’m not going to leave until I know you’re okay, and those children still need saving.”

Annoyance sparks through you, “I told you not to put that on me.”

“Yeah, yeah I know. That was a cheap shot.” You wriggle to try and get out of his grip, but he only tightens his arms around you. “Stop fighting me.”

“Only if you stop fighting me.” Still, he’s too strong and you can’t deny that you’re exactly where you want to be.

“Oh I intend to. But I can’t stay forever. How long do you need me to rest?” His chin rests on the top of your head.

You hum thoughtfully, snuggling closer with your fingers drumming gently on his skin, “Bacta treatments optimize after five hours of immersion in the tissue.”

“I’ll give you two hours.”

“Three.” You counter. “I can accelerate the healing if you give me three hours.”

He hums deep in his chest, vibrating against your skin, “Deal.”

You stay like that for a few more minutes, peacefully breathing the filtered Mantis air that smells like antibiotic burn cream and metal. When you open your eyes, your gaze lands on the lightsaber, which has rolled into a corner since the hit and run on Ordo Eris.

“Cal.” Your voice is raspy from the lump in your throat. “The lightsaber.”

He hums, calling the handle to his hand with the Force, “Yeah. Should keep it safe.” He clips it to his belt with one hand, the other still crooked firmly to cradle you.

“Where did you get it?”

He pauses for a fraction of a second, then his arm returns to stroke the back of your head, “It was Master Tapal’s. The Purge. It’s all that I have left from before.”

“Your Master. Was he a Lasat?”

Cal chuckles, “Most intimidating one that I’ve ever met. Wisest one too, but he had a leg up on the competition, being a Jedi Master.” He pulls away slightly to catch your gaze. “How did you know that he was a Lasat?”

You hum, burrowing back into his chest, “I’ll explain later.” For now, the world would hold together.

Cal Taglist: @marvelassassin221b, @my-awakened-ghost

#cal kestis #cal kestis x reader #angst #fluff #jedi fallen order #my boyyy #who lacks any and all sense of self preservation

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melias-cimitiere · 3 years ago

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Careful with Interpretations

All of us walk about with our own mental operating system; this OS is not the same for all, surprisingly enough. You may already be aware of this when you’re trying to speak to someone, and they come across with a totally different interpretation of events. And I’m not talking about conspiracy theories here. Much more mundane things, explained away differently due to different educational, sociocultural backgrounds. Take for example someone trained as a sociologist, or psychologist. They see the world through “borrowed lenses” of those institutions that trained them, and over time, they make them their own.

So far, there’s no problem with that. It’s bound to happen, naturally. As long as we remember that there are multiple interpretations of these same events, it’s all good. Remember how in the past, medical doctors and psychiatrists used their own science in a most arrogant way to determine what is a human being, almost excluding the person in the process? To them, nerves were like cables, and the body was simply a machine. Modern medicine acknowledges a more holistic approach, having enough evidence of the effect of psychology and spirituality on certain conditions. Also, advances in science have shown the nerve cells to actually move and interface with others, making extremely complex processes in the way; so much more than “cables”. With these examples in mind, we should consider other disciplines, like history or archaeology. Like physicists, these types of scientists have also fallen prey to modern tactics of trying to appeal to common sentiment and using trivial expressions to reach out to the general public. In past decades, the effort was to educate the general public, instead of trying to reach out in this way; it only creates trivializing and shallowness, making it look like bad science. I still remember a documentary saying, “black holes are simply gravity gone mad”… what?!

Anyway, back to my point. I’ve seen plenty of examples of historians and archaeologists falling for these tactics. There is a problem here; whereas most people are unaware or uninterested in black holes, superstrings etc, when it comes to history and archaeology, there is a different mindset, because they supposedly show the historical Truth, based on empirical evidence. So far so good. But we have to remember that this empirical evidence is constantly updated and reevaluated, so some of what was originally thought as canon is later proved to be wrong. Remember that even in the 80s and the 90s (not to mention earlier years), the Mayans were considered to be ignorant of the Wheel? Until they discovered a child’s toy in a tomb, which was a horse with four wheels as legs… They then said that there were no large roads or avenues in the Mayan civilization, and they tried to explain this on the fast-growing ecosystem that suffocate any such work. However, in recent years, the major discovery by modern scientific methods of the giant Mayan metropolis, along with two large roads, and a park, enrich our understanding. Similar things happen to Yonaguni monument in Japan, or the Sphinx in Egypt… I find it preposterous to say, even in the obvious evidence of examiners, that these monuments were sculpted by natural processes (two separate documentaries from “reputable sources” are out there in youtube; one showing the Yonaguni sculpted by sea and geological mineral processes… and the other showing the Sphinx sculpted by the…wind in the desert, and later customized by the Egyptians).

Why is it so difficult to embrace the fact that some ancient civilizations were extremely advanced? Sometimes we may not have an answer; I get that. But usually, when we have no answer, we end up lessening the impact, as if we are fearful to imply something mysterious or outside ordinary definitions. Why do we have to explain away the mystery in this manner? Honest scientists have confessed not knowing something; at least, at the time. There’s nothing wrong with not knowing something; it is part of the learning process, and it’s applied to everything. There are plenty of mysteries around; let me mention just a few.

1. Everyone knows that ziggurats were built by Mesopotamians, right? So what is that ziggurat doing inside a lake in China? Obviously, somebody with the know-how built it, or the Mesopotamians stretched much further (or migrated) than commonly thought possible.

2. Who built the unusual ancient city in Siberia? It bears some semblance to some temples in Indonesia… but it’s thousands of miles away.

3. The stone avenues found near Cuban waters, and in some parts of the Eastern Coast in America… someone was building roads with stone, at a time that everyone else in surrounding places were using wood only.

4. The mysterious city in Asia Minor, currently excavated by German archaeologists, featuring strange pillars chiseled with animals facing downwards, towards the earth (each pillar has an animal). It is rather unique and it bears no connection to the well-established civilizations in the vicinity (Greeks, Egyptians, Phoenicians, and Hittites etc). It is rather inverted, almost as if it’s built to hold something…down.

5. A plethora of Indian temples, one of which being Kailasa temple, hewn out of rock with such precision and detail that confound even modern engineers.

6. Two alphabets, bearing a striking similarity, almost identical – but there’s a problem. One is in the Indus Valley, and the other in the Easter Island; they are literally half a planet away.

7. The Maltese Hypogeum (underground temple) Hal Saflieni acoustics, something that has got many world specialists interested due to its particular configuration.

8. Let’s not forget our old-time favorite, the pyramid of Cheops (and others as well). As most engineers can testify, there’s no problem building temples up to a certain height, but after certain limits have been exceeded, the entire procedure becomes untenable. Many preposterous ideas have been proposed for the construction of these giant monuments, but all of them have flaws; a ramp that would require an entire forest to be chopped down, rising higher and higher (and while doing so, extending its base more and more). Or another structure using hydraulics, to move up heavy loads that would require thick base walls like a hydroelectricity dam, equally untenable. And so on.

There are plenty of other examples, if someone actually looks out for them, and keeps an open mind. Science, like spirituality, is done best keeping an open mind.

#social interpretations #mysteries #rant #personal opinion #trivializing

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thewildwaffle · 4 years ago

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Friends with Monsters - Part 2

A continuation of Part 1

Kind of short, but gives a bit about the captain's past. To come: helping to incorporate Medic Fehl in with the rest of the crew! How? Spoilers: large use of humans. ***

The translation of the word “stern” was interesting. In the Captain’s case, the universal translators categorized it as a proper name with relative background connotations added. Normally, the word itself might have some complications with translators since it was an Earth word with different meanings in different Earth languages. It usually depended on the speaker’s meaning. That was the beauty of the universal translators, after all. To the captain, his name was both a gift and a reminder. It was given to him as a small, anxious child, hardly old enough to fully remember the events that led to him being orphaned and being found and adopted by a human named Adalene Bauer. She had raised him with love, as her own child, making sure he had everything he could ever need. She had been married once when she was younger, but death had stolen her spouse away and she had never remarried. She raised Stern alone and helped him learn that his fears and his feelings of loss weren’t weaknesses, but could be a source of strength and compassion. In Adalene’s native tongue, stern translated to star. She always said that he was her little Sternenkind, her little star child. Another translation of stern in another of Earth’s languages was an adjective for being firm or strict. Years later, he’d been made captain of a small star-freighter at a remarkably young age. It certainly wasn’t the most glamorous ‘captain’ job, but he was still one of the youngest rerlut captains in history, and that was a lot to be proud of. He was fully qualified for the position, or at least, he was on paper. He was certainly lacking in experience, but he learned quickly and did his best with what was an admittedly raucous crew. His inexperience came into harsh reality, however, when his ship was attacked. He’d been too soft, too lenient with his crew, and they were caught unprepared. Almost half the freight was stolen, but more importantly, several crew members were seriously injured. He and his Chief Officer, a charming red biet named Marit fought off the pirates as valiantly as they could. For one short moment, it looked like they were going to drive their attackers back. But then the tide of the fight took a turn for the worst. They got as much of the crew to safety as they could, but then… Chief Officer Marit didn’t survive. They’d jumped in front of Stern and took a shot intended for him during the fight with the pirates.

After he’d woken up in the hospital a week later, he found out he was to be awarded some medal for his bravery. So was Officer Marit, posthumously. Honestly, the whole aftermath was a detached blur in his memory. He returned home to Earth to aid in his recovery. It took months to break out of the mental fog he’d felt so lost in after the attack. It was his mother who helped him decide to go back at all. “Sternenkind,” she had called him as she wrapped him in her arms one night as he sat outside staring blankly at the sky. Even even though he’d been a fully grown rerlut for years, his mother was and would always be large enough to hold him comfortably. They sat like that a while before either of them said anything. Stern had always been able to confide in his mother, but this time his words came only with great difficulty. When they did finally come, they were heavy with his regret, his sadness, and his guilt. His mother listened patiently to it all, crying with him and letting him get all he needed to say said. When he finally ran out of words, she began to recount the day he’d been promoted to captain. She’d been so proud. And then when she’d heard of the attack, how afraid she’d been. Her arms wrapped a bit tighter around him then. “Es hätte jedem passieren können,” she’d said. It could have happened to anyone. But it had happened to him, and he’d done the best he could with what he knew. No, he hadn’t done everything perfectly, but he was an imperfect being. He now had a choice, either stay and rust in his regret or get back out there and grow from this. “Aller anfang ist schwer,” she had told him. All beginnings are hard. His was especially, but she hoped that whatever he did, he’d do his best to honor Chief Officer Marit and always remember one thing: “Ich werde immer stolz auf dich sein, mein Sternenkind” I will always be proud of you, my Sternenkind. *** His past and the path he took since that time was on his mind as Stern returned to his office to deal with Ehot Irubin and the others involved in the incident in the med bay. A crew deserved and needed a captain who could be firm and strict, and whose commands were obeyed without question. He had to make sure he stayed that type of captain. As he approached his office, the quiet chatter between the three crewmates in question cut off. They shuffled away from the door as their captain approached and opened the door, entered, and motioned for them to follow. “Take a seat.” He sat as well and sighed, staring at them for a moment. Just long enough to make them squirm uncomfortably in their seats. “I do hope you understand just how inappropriate your behavior towards Medic Fehl was.” “Yes, captain,” the three of them responded in unison. All three of them were doing their best to look as dejected and contrite as possible, but Stern knew he had to push just how serious he was through their thick skulls. “Good,” Stern sighed. “Now, convince me why I shouldn’t end your careers and drop you all off at the nearest inhabited planet with dishonorable releases.” All three crewmates looked up and stared dumbstruck at him. “S-sir?” Ehot Irubin stammered out. Stern held their gaze with his own for a moment as he let his words sink in. “Let me tell you about this ship,” he said to break the stunned silence. “The HWSS Concordia. As an Ergeen Class liner, it’s one of the largest ships in the Galatea Trade Alliance fleet. Six warp engines, two synced hyperdrive cores, and a hauling capacity of nearly three hundred standard atmospheric liters of cargo.” He took a breath, making use of the small break to indulge in a bit of pride that this was the ship of which he was the captain. “As impressive as she may be,” he continued, his voice went low and dark, “this ship is nothing in comparison to the rest of the galaxy and all the dangers it holds. When the moment comes that it’s us against creation’s terrors, it’s the crew that will be standing at your side. I am the captain, and I have selected each crew member aboard this ship for a reason, whether they be ehot, human, or even arzhi. There is no room for debate, mistrust, or bigotry. Those will get us all very dead very quick. Do you understand?” Irubin and his companions nodded sheepishly. A subdued chorus of “Yes captain,” filled the office. “Good.” Captain Stern leaned back in his chair and sighed. “Now, unless you do want to be dropped off at the nearest inhabited planet, I’ve got some additional assignments for you.” The three crew members looked up, listening intently. “I want and need to eradicate any remaining hostility within this crew. You three are going to help me do just that.”

#humans are weird #space orcs #space #aliens #original writing #writeblr #captain stern #arzhi #medic fehl

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phykios · 4 years ago

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honesty and promise me, part 5 [co-written with @darkmagyk] [read on ao3]

Annabeth is making her periodic pilgrimage to the gynecologist when she gets Leo's call. It's very fitting--two uncomfortable and invasive things for the price of one. She answers her phone, ignoring the doctor's chastising frown. Surely she can place her new IUD while Annabeth deals with whatever Leo wants.

"What are you doing on the 18th?" he asks, about the only type of hello she ever gets from Leo.

The two of them never really grew out of pretending not to like each other, after they had gotten over their initial dislike. When he and Piper first got to Miss Minerva's, more or less straight out of juvie after Piper's dad made a lot of calls and called in a lot of favors, she and Leo had really hated each other. They used to fight over everything, from Piper's attention to the position of captain of the Mathletes team. And also, over Leo hating a rich white girl on principle, which, in retrospect, is totally fair. But then, by a weird twist of fate, they wound up in Boston together.

If Annabeth had to choose between hanging out with her creepy, Norse mythology-obsessed uncle and hanging out with Leo, she'd pick Leo every time. They had gone through a lot together, things both big and small.

"Of August?" she asks.

"Please be still, Ms. Chase," says her doctor. Annabeth rolls her eyes.

"Duh."

Wracking her thoughts she can't think of any prior commitments she might have had. Maybe there's a concert that day, but if she can't remember, it probably wasn't that important anyway. "Not much."

"Good, because we have plans."

She frowns. "Piper didn't mention any--"

"No, you and I have plans. I'll see you in Philly, yeah?"

Philadelphia? Ew. "Why Philly?"

"Our Smarter House thing won an award."

"No shit?"

"Eta Industries Award. The gala is on the 18th. You're my plus one."

She sucks in air through her teeth, readjusting her hips as unobtrusively as possible. Eta Industries was… a very big deal. "Isn't that, like, an engineering specific award? Maybe you should accept it by yourself." She'd be better off staying out of the limelight for this one, she thinks, even as some part of her longs once again for recognition.

Something electric whirs in the background, tinny and buzzing. "I'll see you on the 18th, then," says Leo, not having heard a word she said. "Also, you've been summoned to the castle."

"Leo--" she jumps as the gyno touches something she really shouldn't have.

"No arguments, she's expecting you today at two. Adios!" He clicks off.

"Okay, Ms. Chase," says the doctor, a little too chipper for Annabeth's taste. "You should be all set."

Annabeth leaves the doctor's office with her brand new IUD, a handful of medical literature which immediately gets tossed in the trash, and a sinking feeling in her gut as she gets on a train to Brooklyn, headed to Piper's place for another annoying and unnecessary fashion show. It's not that she doesn't enjoy being Piper's model--it's a position she's held since their time at Miss Minerva's, and it's never really a hardship to be told how gorgeous she is--but Piper has a way of just... getting information out of her that she doesn’t always want to share.

Stopping off early, Annabeth gives herself a moment to walk down the Brooklyn Heights Promenade, to settle her nerves and indulge herself a bit. That skyline gets her every time.

Turning down Pierrepont Street, she is once again struck by just how quiet the city can be. Manhattan is loud, rude, in-your-face, almost an entirely different world from the stately, deafeningly silent Brooklyn. For Annabeth, who is incapable of falling asleep without city horns blaring, it wigs her out a little.

She barely has time to ring the doorbell on Piper's dad's place before the girl herself wrenches it open, grabbing Annabeth's hand and yanking her inside. "You're late!" she trills, suffering what Annabeth can only assume is the onset of a caffeine overdose.

"I thought I had until two."

"That was before I had the best idea."

The brownstone is a mess, as per usual, reams of fabric tossed over every available surface, enough dressforms strewn about to make it look like Piper is hosting a party exclusively populated by headless zombies, adorned with a warehouse's worth of half-finished dresses and jackets. Based on the loud fabrics and structured angles, it looks like Piper is in the middle of a Klimt-ian phase of inspiration. Annabeth eyes a bright gold gown with a huge, extended collar, embroidered with silver eyes, the raw edges trailing the floor. "Please tell me this isn't your idea."

"First of all," Piper releases her arm as they enter her kitchen-turned-photo studio, gingerly stepping over a box of assorted beads, "even though it would look amazing on you, that dress is for an actual paying client. Second of all--" she snatches up a dressform from its position behind the camera, setting it down in front of her with a flourish. "This is my idea."

Annabeth was right--Piper is definitely on a Klimt-ian kick.

Pulled straight from her art history classes, the dress looks like a two dimensional painting come to life, a stunning skirt like a column of liquid silver descending onto the black mat, pleats like fluted columns precisely draped over the dressform's hips… and not much else. Annabeth points. “Is that it?”

Piper makes a face. "I have a bodice, promise. Now go take that shit off."

Annabeth looks down at her repurposed The Police shirt, fished out of a thrift store bin some months ago, shirt collar cut and sides resewn to bring the waistline in. "I like this shirt."

"Oh, I like the shirt plenty," she agrees. "But you could stand to wear a nicer pair of jeans."

She does have a point there--her jeans are clinging to life at this point, the knees and hems all but obliterated, strings of fabric valiantly attempting to hold their original shape. "Fine. Be right back."

When she emerges from the bathroom a minute later in just her bra and panties, Piper has laid out another bolt of fabric in that same color, silver with a blue shift beneath the studio lights. Piper, bent over with a strip of measuring tape, looks up at her, then squints. "So who is he?"

Annabeth starts. "Excuse me?"

"The guy you've been seeing."

How... the fuck does Piper always know these things? "I don't know what you're talking about."

She flicks her eyes down to Annabeth's thigh, Annabeth following her gaze to the remnants of the bruise that Percy had left there with his mouth two days ago. Dammit.

Piper tsks, a smile distorting the sound. "Naughty, naughty, Annabeth."

"How do you know it wasn't from a girl?" she asks, petulant.

"Because if it had been a girl, you wouldn't be nearly so defensive."

Shit. "We've been friends way too long," Annabeth grumbles.

"That we have," says Piper. "And out of respect for our friendship, I will refrain from grilling you about him until you are more comfortable sharing."

"So, for a few hours?"

She shrugs. "More or less."

"I suppose you want me to thank you for holding back."

"Don't thank me yet," she grins, wide and toothy. "I've been cooped up here working on my collection for three days, and I am dying to talk to someone."

Annabeth sighs, but obediently raises her arms, making room as Piper crouches down to pin the skirt on her. "Okay, you got me. I'm seeing this guy."

"Seeing or seeing-seeing?"

"Just seeing," she clarifies. "It's pretty casual."

"Can't be that casual if you're telling me about it," Piper points out.

Fuck. This is why she never tells Piper about her hookups. "You're the one who asked."

"Another business bro, I assume?"

"He's--" Piper swats at her as she automatically sucks her stomach in, their long held code for "stay put." "He's a dancer."

She hums, arranging pleats over Annabeth's knees. "Like on Broadway?"

"Ballet."

Piper glances up at her, eyes sparkling. “Un danseur! Ooh la la,” she trills. “What’s his name?”

“I can just leave,” Annabeth says, distinctly not thinking about how Percy will occasionally slip into French whenever he stubs his toe.

“Okay, okay, no more boy talk.” Piper moves in front of her, adjusting the fabric about her waist. “Tell me about the thing you just won with Leo.”

“I had honestly forgotten about it,” she says, lying a little, pulling her arms forward. “You remember his master’s thesis?”

“The shmart kishen thing, right?” Piper asks around the tape measure in her mouth.

Leo, the prodigal boy that he is, had spent his last year of school dedicated to a singular problem faced by people around the world: the sudden, out of control kitchen fire. Using very complicated electronics and engineering that Annabeth does not understand, he devised a handful of mechanisms to sense, contain, and ultimately douse random fires as soon as they popped up. Annabeth came on as his design partner after he had graduated and had gotten some funding to conceptualize an entire safe house.

“Well, it just won an Eta Industries award.”

Her head snaps up, hands freezing in their tracks. “Holy shit.”

“Yeah.”

“Congrats.”

“Thanks,” she shrugs as Piper gets up to grab some more fabric. “I mean, it was mostly Leo’s doing. I just made sure he didn’t leave any stray pipes around.”

Holding out her arms again, Piper slides them through the sleeves of a heavy, corset-like piece, structured and straight and very forgiving on Annabeth’s lack of curves. “You shouldn’t sell yourself short,” she says. “I’m sure your skills as a guinea pig were very valuable.”

“Are you ever going to let that go?” Annabeth asks, she who has literally burnt pasta while it was submerged in water.

“You’re just lucky my dad was out of town that weekend. Have you decided what you’re going to wear to the awards ceremony?”

She shoots her friend a strange look. “I thought I was wearing this?” she gestures to the unfinished silver gown currently making her feel like an absolute goddess.

Piper makes a face. “What do I look like, the fucking Flash? This isn’t going to be ready for another thirty hours, at least. I’ve got decals to add, Swarovskis to bead, not to mention all the hand-stitching on the neckline because for whatever reason my machine has decided to hate me this week.”

“Okay, well,” says Annabeth, appropriately cowed, “then I guess I’ll wear the black one you gave me.”

“2019 fall/winter?”

Annabeth nods.

“Styling?”

“Luke gave me this really nice scarf for my birthday.”

Throwing her head back, she groans.

“What? What’s wrong?”

“You’re so boring,” she moans, pulling Annabeth’s hair out of the way. “Let me guess, you’re going to pair it with the black shrug and opaque nude tights.”

“Well… yeah, I was.”

“Exactly! Boring.” Coming back around, she pushes Annabeth lightly into the light, before taking her place behind the camera. “You could do so much with that dress and you choose to make it boring. Why not some fishnets? Or a big statement necklace?”

Annabeth waits after a few shutter clicks to answer. “Because I doubt that the people at Eta Industries are going to be big fans of my tattoos.”

“That is a bald-faced lie and you know it,” Piper says. “Your tattoos and piercings are gorgeous and you would look absolutely rocking with them. Knock all the old farts right off their feet. Turn.”

Obediently, Annabeth rotates, letting Piper snap off as many pictures as she likes. “This isn’t a Vogue event, Pipes,” she says, rolling her eyes where her friend can’t see them. “Punk isn’t exactly accepted practice yet.”

“Punk was the Met Gala theme almost a decade ago, babe. It has filtered down from Vogue. It's practically cerulean now. Side.”

Annabeth turns again, keeping her eyes straight. Side-eye would ruin the shot, no matter how much she wants to give it.

“I will never understand why you both refuse to wear halfway decent jeans and then refuse to go guns out in my dresses that demand it. I can almost guarantee you that Leo will show up in those stupid suspenders with grease on his face. And you’ll have to get him to leave his tool belt in the car.”

“Then it’s probably for the best that I have a modicum of professionalism, huh?”

Piper leans out from behind the camera, glaring. “At the very least,” she hedges, “will you let me set you up with some shoes?”

“I don’t know…”

“You are not allowed to wear those horrid Manolo pumps you wear everywhere. And your nude Louboutins won’t look right with the black.”

“What did you have in mind?”

Piper’s grin is evil, and the way she scampers out of the room means she’s got something she’d been trying to force on Annabeth for a long time.

Five minutes later, Annabeth is presented with a set of black strappy sandals, its edges detailed in a gold zipper, with safety pin pull to match. She frowns. “Are you sure? They look kind of… hardcore for something like this.”

“They’re Versace,” Piper says. “I was not lying about punk’s democratization.”

Well. They are pretty cool.

“It’s either this or the McQueen boots. They have studs.”

Annabeth sighs, holding out her hand. Piper squeals, bouncing a little, wrapping her in a brief, but exuberant hug, kissing her cheek with a loud, wet, smack. “You’re the best!”

“I haven’t even done anything.”

“I am saving up favors to cash in. Now,” she releases Annabeth, retreating behind the camera. “If you’ve got some time, can I borrow your head? I’m working on a helmet and all my mannequins are busy.”

***

“Hey,” Percy begins. It is so late at night, the dawn is on the edge of breaking, and they are both exhausted from some particularly good sex. Which is saying something, because all their sex is particularly good. “You doing anything on the 18th?”

“Yeah,” She says, distractedly, snuggling down into his bed. The fact that she’s also snuggling into him is just a coincidence.

“Oh.”

“Why?”

“Nothing. Was going to invite you to a thing if you weren’t.” She nods her head against his shoulder and falls asleep in his arms, thinking absolutely nothing about it.

She continues to think nothing of it on the train to Philadelphia on the 18th, half-asleep and listening to Paramore to pass the time, blasting Misery Business on repeat as she changes in her hotel room.

The Eta Industries event is pretty much exactly what she expected: a lot of old rich white people milling about, sipping champagne and verbally circle jerking each other, the insipid strains of classical music spilling out of the ballroom as Annabeth steps up to claim her name tag. “Name?” asks the young, college-aged girl, skimming her printed guest list over the rim of her glasses.

“Annabeth Chase.”

She runs a long fingernail over the assorted collection of name tags, before settling on the correct one, handing it to Annabeth, her star tattoo on the inside of her wrist free and open to anyone who would care to look. “Here you are, Ms. Chase,” she says, smiling. “Have a wonderful night!”

Automatically, Annabeth goes to pin it on Luke’s scarf, before she remembers that something is already occupying that place--Percy’s Acropolis pin. She had taken to keeping it in her pocket these days, something of a good luck charm, and thought that it might… she doesn’t know, maybe send a subconscious signal to Percy that she’s thinking of him. Even though there is, quite literally, no way he could know, she hopes that maybe he can sense it, and that maybe he’s thinking about her, too.

Ugh. She snatches up a flute of champagne from a wandering waiter, eager to get that thought out of her head, making a beeline straight for the refreshments table. It’s there that Leo finds her, not five minutes later, munching on some chocolate covered strawberries.

“And here I thought you might ditch me entirely,” he says, even as he bumps her shoulder. True to form, he is absolutely, 100% dressed in those stupid suspenders, a smudge of grease behind his ear.

“You’ve got a…” Annabeth trails off, motioning behind her own ear.

“Huh? Oh!” He snatches up a napkin, rubbing discreetly. “Thanks.”

She squints. Something about him is distinctly different. “Are you taller?”

Kicking out a foot, he wiggles it, triumphant. “Platform shoes.”

“Seriously?”

“Hey, if they're good enough for Robert Downey Jr., then they’re good enough for me. After all, I am Ir--”

She groans, good-natured, taking another gulp of champagne. “If you quote Marvel in your speech, I’m leaving.”

“Fine by me, Your Highness, they’ll give me the award either way.”

“Excuse me, Mr. Valdez?” The same college girl from before sidles up to them, clipboard clutched in her hand. “They’re about to start.”

He claps his hands, rubbing them together. “Excellent. You coming?”

“I…” She casts her gaze to the makeshift stage they’ve constructed, eyeing the bright “Eta Industries” placard, the sharp angles shiny and alluring, the siren-song of recognition.

This is a big deal. There are photographers in the audience. In the write-ups and reviews, she would be listed as a co-winner of the award, a co-designer of the world’s safest house, a thought so happy she practically starts flying.

“I think I should stay out of the limelight for this one, Leo,” she says, politely. “This is your moment. I don’t want to ruin it.”

He frowns. “You sure?”

Were it not for the fact that people were watching, Annabeth would have leapt up onto that stage without a second thought, snatching up the trophy like she had just won the Oscar, holding it up like the goddamn Olympic torch. “What, you want a white woman stealing your glory?” she says instead, arching a brow.

“You get a pass this one time,” he quips, holding out his hand. “Don’t make me regret it.”

Whatever social grace she has left crumbles. She’s denied it enough--she wants to be up there. “Oh, fine. Since you insist,” she says, following clipboard-girl to the stage.

There’s a quick burst of feedback, then an elderly gentleman at the podium begins speaking into the mic. “Excuse me--sorry about that. Yes, yes, thank you all for coming tonight to the annual Eta Industries awards presentation ceremony. It is always such a pleasure to come together with our hard-working and generous board members and shareholders to honor the best and brightest upcoming talent in engineering.”

Internally, she rolls her eyes. Rich people.

“It is my pleasure, however, to introduce the young man who is the recipient of this year’s Millennium Prize for innovation and safety. One of MIT’s youngest and most decorated graduates, he was a recipient of the Mead Prize for Students, the Friedman Young Engineer Award, and the Collingwood Prize, among several others. His master’s thesis, ‘Towards the Design and Implementation of Autonomous Safety Measures in Commercial Kitchens,’ formed the basis of the project which we recognize tonight, the so-called ‘SmartSafe House,’ reflects the pioneering spirit and outstanding creative vision of not only Eta Industries, but also the field of engineering as a whole. Please join me in congratulating this year’s Millennium Prize recipient, Leo Valdez.”

From the sidelines, she claps enthusiastically with the rest of the crowd as her friend takes the stage, shakes hands with the Vice President of Eta Industries, and accepts the award, a blue, blocky triangle which almost seems to glow in the light of the ballroom. “Thank you, Mr. Helms. This is--this is a really big honor.”

She can see him shaking a bit, taking a quick drink from his water glass. Public speaking was never really his strong suit.

“As--as a lot of you probably know, this project is very near and dear to my heart. Growing up in Houston with my mother, a car mechanic, I was eight years old when her beloved shop went up in flames, like that.” He snaps his fingers, his other hand pressed to the podium where no one can see, joints white with pressure. Annabeth is proud of him--he hasn’t been able to speak this candidly about it in years. She knows firsthand how much his mother’s near-death haunts him still. “Thankfully, we were able to rebuild, and my mother went on to bigger and better things--including a shop with cleaner vents. But I can definitely pinpoint that moment as the day I knew I wanted to make the world a safer place, for my mom, if not for everyone else.”

She remembers, so clearly, that snowy night in the dorms at Miss Minerva’s. The power had gone out, and Leo had made them an illicit campfire out of their trash bin and Annabeth’s failed English exam. Cold and miserable and with dying phones, they passed the time instead telling scary stories and funny memories, until the conversation had gotten suddenly, intensely real.

“But I would be remiss,” he goes on, cheerful, “if I didn’t acknowledge my friend and collaborator, without whose work I wouldn’t be here today: Annabeth Chase,” he waves to his side, indicating her. The whole crowd, as one, turns their gazes on her. She straightens up, imperceptibly, hoping she doesn’t look too haughty or anything. “I’ve never been very good with people. My mama says I’m just like my dad that way. Give me a car, or a computer, or pages of multiplication tables, and I’m golden. But people?” He blows out a breath, and the crowd chuckles, naturally. “Now, if it had been left up to me, the SmartSafe House would have been a top of the line, cutting-edge metal box, efficient to a fault, but completely unlivable. Thank God I had Annabeth on my team to remind me what the project was really about: a home that families could feel safe in, so that what happened to me and my mom might never happen to anyone else.” He hoists his award above his head, leaning into the mic. “Ma, este es para ti. Thank you all.”

Stepping down from the stage, they reenter the crowd, ready to receive adoration. In another life, she might have been embarrassed by such praise. Here and now, however, she takes each handshake and word of congratulations like a starving man in a desert who just came across an oasis, hungry and greedy.

Hey, it’s her night, too.

After what feels like a whole-ass sixty minutes of shaking old people's hands and polite nodding, though, she is in desperate need of a break. Escaping the throng of mingling bodies, she darts into a dark corner of the ballroom, leaning against the back of a rounded stone column, just barely out of sight of the party.

Rubbing her hands over her face, she sighs, just short of a scream. Blowing out all her air, she lets the faint music and fake laughs melt into each other, becoming white noise, a blank canvas, empty of concrete thoughts and feelings.

Then, her ear picks up a strand of conversation.

“...announcing tomorrow that the CEO of Pallas Inc. is choosing a successor,” a woman says, the sneer in her voice almost visible. “About time.”

“I thought she already picked a successor,” says the woman’s conversation partner, a man with the kind of cookie-cutter cadence that she heard every time she took a business major to bed. “Pallas is a family business, isn’t it?”

“You haven’t heard?” Annabeth can almost picture it, the furtive glance around the room, the woman placing her hand on her partner’s arm, leaning in to share a juicy secret. “Supposedly she was grooming her daughter for the role, before she went in for rehab.”

“Rehab? Really?”

“What else could it be?” says the woman. “She’s disappeared off the face of the earth, and her mother refuses to talk about her. Let’s be honest, if she were dead, she would have raised a bigger stink about it.”

Annabeth closes her eyes, sucking air in through her teeth. That… wasn’t totally untrue.

But the woman doesn’t stop. “It’s always the same story,” she scoffs. “You throw countless hours of schooling and millions of dollars into girls like her, and what do they do? Turn around and blow it all on drugs and partying. Honestly, she should be grateful her mother is even bothering with her rehab at all. Hasn’t she wasted enough of the family’s money already?”

Blood roars in her ears, drowning out the fancy party. Sharp points dig into her palm, pinpricks of pain, before she realizes that they’re her own fingernails.

The lady has got it all wrong. Her mom couldn’t even be bothered with that.

Luke’s scarf, the shrug, it’s choking her, suffocating and constricting. Percy’s pin feels heavy on her chest.

Blinders on, she would have sprinted for the exit were it not for the Piper’s stupid Versace heels, reduced instead to a teetering, tottering wreck, like a baby colt running from a predator. The night is hot and humid, heavy with the threat of rain, and Annabeth can barely breathe, dark spots in her eyes, until she ducks into a nearby Target, the frigid blast of air a welcome distraction.

Almost in a daze, she watches herself pick up a few things--clippers, an electric razor, beef jerky, a blue Gatorade she considers for a moment before putting it back, choosing a lemonade instead--practically throwing them at the poor cashier who begins checking her out, mechanically. He doesn’t spare her a single glance for her odd assortment of items. He doesn’t even look at her at all.

The walk to her hotel room disappears in the blink of an eye. Blink--she breezes past the check-in counter, slipping into the empty elevator. Blink--she kicks off her heels in her room, nearly hitting the wall mirror, leaving a scuff mark on the white plaster. Blink--she’s down to her underwear and tights in the bathroom, shaving the right side of her curls clean off. She’d gotten them professionally done for the night, perfect spirals held together by expensive products. And now she wants them gone.

She pauses and breathes too hard, looking at herself in the mirror. Her mother didn’t like that she was blonde. Maybe because of dumb blonde stereotypes, maybe just because it reminded Athena too much of her failed romance with Annabeth’s dad. And that thought stays her hand from getting rid of the rest of them.

That, and maybe the idea of Percy, of some broke dancer, tangling his fingers in it as they lie together.

Fuck her mother, and the fucking stories she tells.

She likes it. She likes her blonde hair and her fresh undercut.

She can get Thalia to touch this up later, maybe. Now, though, she needs this.

It doesn’t look perfect. The left side of hair is too long, her gold laurel earrings too fancy for a homegrown haircut like this, her makeup too pristine. Shoving her hand under the running water, she rubs at her eyes, mascara and eyeliner smearing until they’ve reached something much more respectable for the failure that she really is.

She misses her industrial. And her eyebrow rings. And the tongue piercing. But this will have to do for now.

Breathing heavily, eyes hot, she doesn’t register her phone blinking, signaling an unread text message.

It’s from Thalia. surprised you weren’t at kelp heads bday party, it reads. was pretty boring. Kno he missed you

#backstory backstory backstoryyyyyyy #my fic #percabeth #pjo #the rivalry ends here #darkmagyk #perseannabeth #ballet au

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marginalgloss · 3 years ago

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I turn 35 tomorrow. How better to celebrate that than with some notes on the handful of video games I have managed to finish over the last ten months. In no particular order:

Judgment (PS4)

Something I think about often is that there aren’t many games which are set in the real world. By this I man the world in which we live today. You can travel through ancient Egypt or take a trip through the stars in the far future, but it’s relatively rare to be shown a glimpse of something familiar. Hence the unexpected popularity of the new release of Microsoft Flight Simulator, which lets you fly over a virtual representation of your front porch, as well as the Grand Canyon, and so on.

I found something like the same appeal in Judgment, a game which took me longer than anything else listed here to finish — seven or eight months, on and off. Like the Yakuza games to which it is a cousin, it’s set in Kamurocho, a fictional district of a real-world Tokyo; unlike other open-world games, it renders a space of perhaps half a square mile in intense detail. I spent a long time in this game wandering around slowly in first-person view, looking at menus and in the windows of shops and restaurants. The attention to detail is unlike everything I have ever seen, from the style of an air conditioning unit to the range of Japanese whiskies on sale in a cosy backstreet bar. And this was a thing of value at a time when the thought of going anywhere else at all, let alone abroad, seemed like it was going to be very difficult for a very long time.

It’s a game of at least three discrete parts. One of them is a fairly cold-blooded police procedural/buddy cop story: you play an ex-lawyer turned private eye investigating a series of grisly murders that, inevitably, link back to your own murky past. In another part you run around the town getting into hilarious martial arts escapades, battering lowlifes with bicycles and street furniture. In another, you can while away your hours playing meticulous mini-games that include darts, baseball, poker, Mahjong and Shogi — and that’s before we even get to the video game arcades.

All these parts are really quite fun, and if you want to focus on one to the exclusion of the others, the game is totally fine with that. The sudden tonal shifts brought about by these crazy and abrupt shifts in format are, I think, essentially unique to video games. But the scope of Judgment is a thing all its own. As a crafted spectacle of escapist fiction it’s comprehensive, and in its own way utterly definitive.

Mafia: Definitive Edition (PS4)

I was amazed when I found out they were doing a complete remake of Mafia, a game I must have finished at least three or four times in the years after its release back in 2002. Games from this era don’t often receive the same treatment as something like Resident Evil, where players might be distracted by the controls and low-poly graphics of the original.

A quality remake makes it easier for all kinds of reasons to appreciate what was going on there. (Not least because they have a lot of new games in the same series to sell.) But in the early 00s PC games like this one had started to get really big and ambitious, and had (mostly) fixed issues with controls; so there’s a hell of a lot more stuff going on in Mafia than in most games of that era. It was also a very hard game, with all kinds of eccentricities that most big titles don’t attempt today. Really I have no idea how this remake got made at all.

But I was so fond of the original I had to play it. The obvious: it looks fantastic, and the orchestral soundtrack is warm and evocative. The story is basic, but for the era it seemed epic, and it’s still an entertaining spectacle. The original game got the balance of cinematic cutscenes, driving and action right the first time, even while Rockstar were still struggling to break out of the pastiche-led GTA III and Vice City.

They have made it easier. You’re still reliant on a handful of medical boxes in each level for healing, but you get a small amount of regenerating health as well. You no longer have to struggle to keep your AI companions alive. Most of the cars are still heavy and sluggish, but I feel like they’re not quite as slow as they once were. They’ve changed some missions, and made some systems a little more comfortable — with sneaking and combat indicators and so on — but there aren’t any really significant additions.

The end result of all this is that it plays less like an awkward 3D game from 2002, and more like a standard third-person shooter from the PS3/360 era. Next to virtually any other game in a similar genre from today, it feels a bit lacking. There’s no skill tree, no XP, no levelling-up, no crafting, no side-missions, no unusual weapons or equipment, no alternative routes through the game. And often all of that stuff is tedious to the extreme in new titles, but here, you really feel the absence of anything noteworthy in the way of systems.

My options might have been more limited in 2002 but back then the shooting and driving felt unique and fun enough that I could spend endless hours just romping around in Free Ride mode. Here, it felt flat by comparison; it felt not much different to Mafia III, which I couldn’t finish because of how baggy it felt and how poorly it played, in spite of it having one of the most interesting settings of any game in recent years. But games have come a long way in twenty years.

Hypnospace Outlaw (Nintendo Switch)

If this game is basically a single joke worked until it almost snaps then it is worked extremely well.

It seems to set itself up for an obvious riff on the way in which elements of the web which used to be considered obnoxious malware (intrusive popups and so on) have since become commonplace, and sometimes indispensable, parts of the online browsing experience. But it doesn’t really do that, and I think that’s because it’s a game which ends up becoming a little too fascinated by its own lore.

The extra science fiction patina over everything is that technically this isn’t the internet but a sort of psychic metaverse delivered over via a mid-90s technology involving a direct-to-brain headset link. I don’t know that this adds very much to the game, since the early days of the internet were strange enough without actually threatening to melt the brains of its users.

(This goes back to what I said about Judgment - I sometimes wonder if it feels easier to make a game within a complete fiction like this, rather than simply placing it in the context of the nascent internet as it really was. Because this way you don’t have to worry too much about authenticity or realism; this way the game can be as outlandish as it needs to be.)

But, you know. It’s a fun conceit. A clever little world to romp around in for a while.

Horace (Nintendo Switch)

I don’t know quite where to begin with describing this. One of the oddest, most idiosyncratic games I’ve played in recent years.

As I understand it this platformer is basically the creation of two people, and took about six years to make. You start out thinking this is going to be a relatively straightforward retro run-and-jump game — and for a while, it is — but then the cutscenes start coming. And they keep coming. You do a lot of watching relative to playing in this game, but it’s forgivable because they are deeply, endearingly odd.

It’s probably one of the most British games I’ve ever played in terms of the density and quality of its cultural references. And that goes for playing as well as watching; there’s a dream sequence which plays out like Space Harrier and driving sequences that play out like Outrun. There are references to everything from 2001 to the My Dinner with Abed episode of Community. And it never leans into any of it with a ‘remember that?’ knowing nod — it’s all just happening in the background, littered like so much cultural detritus.

A lot of it feels like something that’s laser-targeted to appeal to a certain kind of gamer in their mid-40s. And, not being quite there myself, a lot of it passed me by. Horace is not especially interested in a mass appeal — it’s not interested in explaining itself, and it doesn’t care if you don’t like the sudden shifts in tone between heartfelt sincerity and straight-faced silliness. But as a work of singular creativity and ambition it’s simply a joyous riot.

Horizon: Zero Dawn (PS4)

I stopped playing this after perhaps twelve or fifteen hours. There is a lot to like about it; it still looks stunning on the PS4 Pro; Aloy is endearing; the world is beautiful to plod around. But other parts of it seem downright quaint. It isn’t really sure whether it should be a RPG or an action game. And I’m surprised I’ve never heard anyone else mention the game’s peculiar dedication to maintaining a shot/reverse shot style throughout dialogue sequences, which is never more than tedious and stagey.

The combat isn’t particularly fun. Once discovered most enemies simply become enraged and blunder towards you, in some way or another; your job is to evade them, ensnare them or otherwise trip them up, then either pummel them into submission or chip away at their armour till they become weak enough to fall. I know enemy AI hasn’t come on in leaps and bounds in recent years but it’s not enough to dress up your enemies as robot dinosaurs and then expect a player to feel impressed when they feel like the simplest kind of enrageable automata. Oh, and then you have to fight human enemies too, which feels like either an admission of failure or an insistence that a game of this scale couldn’t happen without including some level of human murder.

I don’t have a great deal more to say about it. It’s interesting to me that Death Stranding, which was built on the same Decima engine, kept the frantic and haphazard combat style from Horizon, but went to great lengths to actively discourage players from getting into fights at all. (It also fixed the other big flaw in Horizon — the flat, inflexible traversal system — and turned that into the centrepiece of the game.)

Disco Elysium (PS4)

In 2019 I played a lot of Dungeons and Dragons. I’m talking about the actual tabletop roleplaying game, not any kind of video game equivalent. For week after week a group of us from work got together and sort of figured it out, and eventually developed not one but two sprawling campaigns of the never-ending sort. We continued for a while throughout the 2020 lockdown, holding our sessions online via Roll20, but it was never quite the same. After a while, as our life circumstances changed further, it sort of just petered out.

I mention all this because Disco Elysium is quite clearly based around the concept of a computerised tabletop roleplaying game (aka CRPG). My experience of that genre is limited to the likes of Baldurs Gate, the first Pillars of Eternity and the old Fallout games, so I was expecting to have to contend with combat and inventory management. What I wasn’t expecting was to be confronted with the best novel I’ve read this year.

To clarify: I have not read many other novels this year, by my standards. But, declarations of relative quality aside, what I really mean is that this game is, clearly and self-consciously, a literary artefact above all. It is written in the style of one of those monolithic nineteenth century novels that cuts a tranche through a society, a whole world — you could show it to any novelist from at least the past hundred years and they would understand pretty well what is going on. It is also wordy in every sense of that term: there’s a lot of reading to do, and the text is prolix in the extreme.

You could argue it’s less a game than a very large and fairly sophisticated piece of interactive fiction. The most game-like aspects of it are not especially interesting. It has some of the stats and the dice-rolling from table-top roleplaying games, but this doesn’t sit comfortably with the overtly literary style elsewhere. Health and morale points mostly become meaningless when you can instantly heal at any time and easily stockpile the equivalent of health potions. And late on in the game, when you find yourself frantically changing clothes in order to increase your chances of passing some tricky dice roll, the systems behind the game start to feel somewhat disposable.

Disco Elysium is, I think, a game that is basically indifferent to its own status as a game. Nothing about it exists to complement its technological limitations, and nor is it especially interested in the type of unique possibilities that are only available in games. You couldn’t experience Quake or Civilisation or the latest FIFA in any other format; but a version of Disco Elysium could have existed on more or less any home computer in about the last thirty years. And, if we were to lose the elegant art and beautiful score, and add an incredibly capable human DM, it could certainly be played out as an old-fashioned tabletop game not a million miles from Dungeons and Dragons.

All of the above is one of the overriding thoughts I have about this game. But it doesn’t come close to explaining what it is that makes Disco Elysium great.

#gaming #judgment #horace #disco elysium #horizon zero dawn #hypnospace outlaw

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sunsetcurbed · 4 years ago

Text

you showed me faith is not blind (miracles happen)

Pairing: Alex/Willie Words: 6,587 Rating: T Chapter Warnings: none Chapter: 10/11 read on AO3

Chapter Summary: “Good luck tonight. I look forward to your speech.”

And that left him where he is now, completely sure that he has made a mistake in his decision.

He picks up his phone.

(15:54) lmao nvm

(*)

Alex is not going to be Prince.

He’s not sure why he said he was going to be in the first place because clearly it’s an absolutely ludicrous idea. Alex is barely a functioning human, he can’t be a prince!

He’s pacing his room, keeping his eyes averted from the charcoal grey suit that’s laid out on his bed. He’d just taken it out of its garment bag and it has been taunting him, as if saying this is your future, you don’t belong. And he doesn’t belong, does he? The suit is like nothing he’s ever worn, not even for the dinner a few weeks ago, and if he chooses to become prince this suit would just be the first of many, and—it’s too good for him. He’s not good enough for it. He’s not good enough to be Prince.

He looks at the clock. His driver is supposed to be here to get him in six minutes, but Alex hasn’t even started to get dressed. His family has already left for the Ball, and he’s got no idea what to do.

He might not be having these thoughts if it weren’t for his surprise visitor a few minutes ago, but then again, he might have ended up here no matter what. But, really, how else was he supposed to react after Caleb Covington shows up at his door and completely runs his spirit into the ground? His decision was already standing on pretty shaky legs this morning once he’d woken up, the high from last night gone. By the time he’d taken his anxiety medications, eaten breakfast, showered, and helped his family get ready he was already starting to doubt himself. He was planning a back up speech in his mind. And then—

“Alexander,” Caleb said from the front of his porch, leaning against one of the beams. Alex’s family had just left minutes before, so he was left to face Caleb alone. “How nice to see you.”

“Yeah,” Alex said, “it must be, considering you drove out of your way to come find me. What are you doing here?”

“Such insolence. I’m just here to congratulate you on your big night. Not everyone gets to speak at the Beasigan consulate. You’ll be up there addressing hundreds of people from all around the world; quite the feat for a sixteen year old with almost no formal training.” There was a glint in Caleb’s eye, as if he had known about Alex’s anxiety, knew that Alex’s stomach was flipping as soon as ‘hundreds of people’ left Caleb’s lips. “I just wanted to stop by and ask—“

Alex shook his head. “No,” he said, willing his stomach to settle. “No—okay, I know what you’ve been doing. Chasing down Willie, stalking him to get a read on me. It’s not going to work. You can’t make me do anything.” Caleb stares him down. Alex feels himself bending, as if he’d just disrespected a superior, but he doesn’t crack, doesn’t break.

“Stalking? Please. I just wanted to get to know William,” Caleb said. “He seemed to love skating the streets of Hollywood so much it wasn’t hard to find him. I just thought, as Speaker of the House of Crane, I should be working to get to know our possible future Prince Consort. After all, he’d be around the palace a lot. What with his… duties. Counseling you and charities. He seems the just the type for that, your William.”

Alex didn’t think too much on that in the moment, just crossed his arms and sighed. “My driver is going to be here in thirty minutes. I’ve got to finish getting ready.”

“I won’t keep you. But. The Beasigan people are strong and united,” Caleb hummed, looking down at his nails, studying them as if he’d been looking for any flaws that he might have to file or buff out before the ball that night. “They can be a bit… skeptical… of outsiders. So don’t let that get to you.”

Alex narrowed his eyes. “Really? As I recall, you’re the one who wanted to prevent outsiders from having a place in our country, not the people. And you were stopped. I’ve been nothing but welcomed by everyone I’ve met.”

“And you’ve met how many people?” he asked with a flat voice. “Ten? Twenty? Thirty? Do they speak for our sixty thousand? They’re diplomats, they’re programmed to be polite, being diplomatic is quite literally in their name.” He shoved off the column and walked towards Alex. “But! I’m not here to try to intimidate you, no. I’m here to wish you all the best! Whatever you decide. Truly, Alexander. I just implore you to think.”

“What do you think I’ve been doing since my grandmother showed up in my life?” Alex shot back.

Caleb huffed a laugh. “That’s right.” He turns to leave, and then pauses. “Funny thing about ruling a country—no one really knows what it’s like until they’ve been in that position. Even I don’t know what it’s like. I have experience in Parliament—and you have experience in… Well.” He tilted his head to the side and offered Alex a smile. “But you know what it’s like living a normal life. Your band, your friends, your boyfriend, all without the stress of…” He put his fingers together. “But I suppose you’re right. You have been thinking about it since Queen Louisa entered your life. And I’m sure you’ve considered all the angles, all the benefits and especially the repercussions. You must have had plenty of time to do that, I imagine. After all, you’ve had a month and a half—why, that’s practically a lifetime to consider this. It’s not like you’ve only been given a week or two to make this decision.”

Alex tightened his arms around his chest. “Mr. Covington—“

“Caleb, please.”

“Caleb, I really must be getting ready. I will see you at the ball, all right?”

Caleb nodded. “Of course. You must excuse me, sometimes I forget myself.”

“It’s no worry,” Alex said, even though he could have been rude because no one but himself and Caleb were around. Manners were so deeply ingrained in him by that point that it just… happened.

“Good luck tonight. I look forward to your speech.”

And that left him where he is now, completely sure that he has made a mistake in his decision.

He picks up his phone.

(15:54) lmao nvm

Willie, wonderful Willie, calls within two minutes.

“Hello?” Alex answers.

“What happened?” Willie asks.

Alex sucks in a breath that gets caught in his throat. It turns into a sob. “Why did I think I could do this? I’m not—I’m not cut out for this. I wasn’t born to be a prince. I don’t know why I said I would be in the first place, that—that’s so stupid, Willie, do you realize how stupid that is?”

“No,” Willie says, and then, away from the speaker, thanks someone. Alex hears a car door slam and an engine start. “No, I don’t Alex, because I think it’s a great idea.”

“Where’s the great idea?”

Willie hums. “Hidden behind a wall of anxiety.”

“Oh, cute,” Alex scoffs. “Anxiety saves lives, you know. There are times when your body is telling you something is wrong because it is.”

“Anxiety also keeps lives from being lived. Your body isn’t telling you this is wrong, your body is telling you this is dangerous. And you believe it. You didn’t believe it last night when you weren’t anxious, Alex, and that tells me that you want to do this.”

“I want to do this?” Alex scoffs. “Willie, you don’t even know what you want to do with your life and you’ve got it so much more figured out than I do. And here I am deciding to sign my life away at sixteen to a country that I’ve never been to. A country that could choose to reject me at first sight. A country that I knew nothing about a month and a half ago.”

“A country that you love,” Willie reminds him.

“How can I love it when I’ve only known it for a month?”

“Because you’ve met its queen, and you love her heart and her hopes for the future. Because you’ve met its Prime Minister and you love his ideas and his plans for the future. Because you’ve seen its people and you love them—for all that they stand for and all that they are, and because they are good people and they deserve a good leader, and that’s what you will be.”

Alex doesn’t have anything to say to that, so he keeps his mouth shut. He does love Beasiga, but it feels impossible that he does even with all the reasons that Willie just explained. He’s never even been there. Los Angeles is all Alex has known and Beasiga is 1.5% of Los Angeles’ population and Los Angeles is nearly three and half times the size of Beasiga. And Alex likes Los Angeles because it’s easy to disappear and everyone is so busy they don’t have time to notice you. Alex has only experienced Beasiga through stories and media, but he knows it’s not like Los Angeles over there. People say hi when they pass you on the street, they help you if you’re struggling to carry something too heavy, and they don’t let you fade into the background. He—he likes that, but it also terrifies him.

The silence stretches on over the phone, occasionally interrupted by Willie’s turn signal or the honking of another car, but after a few minutes, Willie breaks it. “You’re wrong, you know. I do know what I want to do with my life.”

… That’s a new development. “Yeah? What’s that?”

“Be Prince Consort to Beasiga’s King,” he says without missing a beat. Alex’s heart skips a beat. “Spend my days helping you help make Beasiga, and the world, a better place. Continue to help move Beasiga forward.”

“Willie…” Alex sighs. He’s torn on being ecstatic and worried at hearing that. “You’re just being—“

“Don’t say I’m just being impulsive,” Willie cuts him off, “because I have been thinking about this since the night you first told me you were a prince. I’ve known I loved you for a long time, Alex, and I’ve been thinking about what this would mean for me since the beginning. I’ve done my research, I’ve thought it through, I’ve sat on it. I’m not just jumping at it first chance.”

Caleb’s words come back to him. He seems just the type for that, your William. No. No he doesn’t. Willie is an active mind, an active body, an active soul. He’s not meant to sit still next to Alex. “Don’t you think you deserve more than that? That if you choose that, you’ll wake up one day and regret it?”

“No,” Willie says, voice confident. “I was never going to make a career out of skateboarding or dance, and it’s not like I can’t still do those in Beasiga. If I’m doing a psych degree in college I’ll maybe look at being a therapist? And who knows, maybe part of helping move Beasiga forward is allowing me to have my own career path separate from my consort duties.”

“What if that doesn’t work? If you’re stuck being a consort without your own career?”

“Being a therapist is just an idea right now,” Willie reminds him. Alex can hear the casual tone of his voice, and it tells Alex that it really is just an idea, that it isn’t something Willie has his heart set on. Still, Alex wants that for him. “I have no idea if I actually want to pursue it or not. But if I do and it ends up not working out, then I’ll still have skateboarding. I’ll still have dance. I’ll still have the ability to make an impact in the world, make differences in peoples days and lives, work with charities, leave my mark. It’s not like I’ll be sitting bored every day. Consorts may have less to do but they don’t have nothing to do. And I can make up my own things to do. Move Beasiga forward. And… I’ll still have you.”

“… And you’re willing to do that for me?”

“I mean, it’s not just for you, it’d be for me, and even in part for Beasiga too, but… yeah.” It’s so simple for Willie to admit that. To say that he’d move to another country, adapt to a different culture, and learn the ins and outs of the country so he could properly advise Alex on how to properly rule that country. Willie’s always made comments—‘I told you, I’d do anything for you’—but Alex had never realized how literal he was being. But, well. If Alex is being honest, he’ll do almost anything for Willie, too. He knows there are things that both he and Willie would draw the line at, but neither he nor Willie would ever dream of asking the other of those things. Like Willie asking Alex to quit the band or Alex asking Willie to give up skateboarding. But Willie moving to Beasiga and serving as Prince Consort along side Alex? Is apparently something Willie will readily do. “If it’ll make you feel better, after you accept your place as Prince we can start talking to Louisa about changing the consort’s duties, so when the time comes, if I want to pursue a career, I’ll have that choice.”

“That… would actually make me feel better,” Alex admits.

“Then tomorrow, after your speech today accepting your place as Prince, we’ll discuss it with Louisa and see what she thinks. Good?”

“Good,” Alex says. Then—“hey. Wait. I still don’t—I still can’t—who said I was going to accept being prince?”

“All right, hit me,” Willie says, and then Alex does—words spilling out of him so quickly that he loses track of what he’s saying. Willie doesn’t though. He listens to Alex patiently and talks him through all of his fears, all of his anxieties. He reminds him of the reasons that, just yesterday, he decided he wanted to be Beasiga’s Prince. Willie listens as Alex questions those exact reasons, and then answers them himself without any input from Willie until it’s entirely a one-sided conversation and Willie is just along for the ride. When Alex comes to the conclusion he still wants to be Prince, Willie asks him how he feels about that, and listens to Alex stammer through half-finished sentences that don’t make sense. And when Alex calms down again, Willie is there to ask Alex if he’s okay, ask him how he can help, ask him if there’s anything he needs.

“No,” Alex shakes his head. “No, I… I’m okay. I think I really, actually am.”

“Okay,” Willie says, accepting his word easily. “All right, I’m turning on your street, come let me inside.”

“You—you’re here?”

“Where else did you think I was going?” Willie demands sounding slightly offended. “Of course I am. I’m gonna get rid of your driver and then we’ll drive to the Ball together, all right? Come unlock the door and start getting ready. I’ll be in in a minute. Where’s your room?”

“Take the stairs, go down the hall and it’s the one on the right.”

“All right. See you in a few.”

Alex does as he’s told and by the time he’s in his dress pants and slipping his button up over his arms, Willie steps into his room. Alex watches as Willie turns and shuts the door even though they’re home alone, and then walks over to him. He takes his place in front of Alex who is straightening his shirt on his shoulders and starting to button it up. They stare at each other, silent. Willie nods, murmurs, “you’re okay.”

Alex buttons up the last button of his shirt and tucks it into his pants. “Yeah,” he says. He reaches to his bed for his vest and slides it over his shoulders. He starts to button it up but Willie’s hands knock his away and take over. Alex watches him with careful eyes. “I’m sorry if I freaked you out.”

“You didn’t freak me out,” he says. He does up one, two, three buttons then smooths his hand down from Alex’s chest to his stomach. “I’m just… I’m kind of pissed at myself that I didn’t think of this. I should have expected this. I know you. It took you so long to decide; you didn’t have enough time to be sure of your decision. I should have known you were going to doubt yourself. You just… you were so sure of yourself last night. I didn’t think—”

“Hey,” Alex frowns, dipping his head down to look in Willie’s eyes. He doesn’t want to tell him about Caleb, not right now, not before the ball. He’ll tell him tomorrow, but right now, he needs Willie, and Willie would be livid if he learned about Caleb. “It’s not like this is on you. Even if you had thought if it, there isn’t anything you could have done—“

“I could have been here,” Willie argues, gripping the suit vest and pulling Alex closer. “I wouldn’t have had to talk you through it from my car. You wouldn’t have had to be alone.”

Alex sighs and reaches a hand up to Willie’s jaw so he can bring Willie’s face up to his. He presses their lips together and feels Willie melt against his front. Alex pulls away and lets Willie fall into him. “You were there when I needed you and that’s all that I needed. I mean, you’re going off to college next year anyway; I’m going to need to learn to survive without you at some point. I can’t depend on you for everything, and I really can’t depend on you to predict when something is going to go wrong and wait for you to fix it for me.”

“But if I can—“

“Willie,” Alex says, and then kisses him again. “You’re the reason I’m in this suit right now ready to go tell a whole ass group of people that I’ve decided I’m going to rule a whole other ass group of people in a few years. You’ve done absolutely everything you can.” Then he pulls away from Willie’s hold, eyes widening. “Shit. Shit. My speech.” He looks at the clock on his bedside table. 5:13 “I’m supposed to be giving a speech in seventeen minutes, fuck!”

“I texted Julie when I got here. She’s finding someone so she can tell Louisa what’s going on,” Willie tells him in a calm voice. “She might have already, okay? Get your jacket and tie on, get your shoes on, and I’ll go call her for an update.”

“Okay,” Alex breathes, and does exactly as Willie says.

When he emerges from his room three minutes later, Willie is standing by his front door with his hands in his pockets. He looks up, takes a hand from his pocket, and holds up a thumb and pinky at Alex telling him right away to relax. “We’re good, dude. Speech is at 6:30 now. It’s still a drive though, and we’ve gotta take Melrose to avoid 10 so we don’t hit rush hour on the highway, but it’s still gonna be shitty so we’ve gotta go now.”

What should be a twenty-minute drive ends up taking nearly an hour, so they spend the time devising a plan to talk to his grandmother about Willie’s hypothetical consort duties the next day. Willie starts telling Alex that they can wait, but Alex tells him no. If Willie is committing to Alex to this degree, then Alex wants to make sure that there won’t be any doors shut in Willie’s future. If Willie wants to be a therapist, he’s going to be a fucking therapist. Alex is sure his grandma will help them make it happen. She’s asked Willie what his plans for college are; yet she’s also made implications that he would be the one standing by Alex’s side if Alex were to be King. Why would she do that if she thought Willie would just be a piece at Alex’s side?

When they get to the consulate, Willie pulls them around back and down a driveway that Alex has never taken note of before. When Willie notices his confusion he says, “the press and guests are all… mingling in the halls.”

Alex snorts. “Did you just say mingling?”

“Yeah,” Willie grins. “It’s what Alden said on the phone. Now it’s all I can think of.”

They enter through the caterer’s entrance into a hall that Alex has never been down and Alden is there waiting for them. He greets them both and then leads the way through the hall, down another, and then another, until Alex can see his grandmother, John, and a few other people waiting at the end of the hall they turn into. He feels relief wash through him and, when his grandmother turns to look at him, he can see that same relief run through her as well.

“Oh, thank goodness,” she breathes out when they reach them. She steps forward and collects Alex into a hug, and then Willie, too. “Thank you, Willie, for sending Julie to inform me of what was going on.”

“No problem,” he shrugs. “I’m just glad it all worked out.”

“What on earth happened?” she demands, looking to Alex.

“Uh, minor crisis. Just… clearing my head, you know.” Next to him, Willie snorts.

“Clearing your head?” she asks.

“Uh… yes?”

She rolls her eyes and tosses her hands up in exasperation. “Well I hope your head clearing worked, because we go on in five minutes. Did you make a decision?”

His eyes flick to Willie. “Yeah. I did.”

“… do I get to know this decision?”

“You know? I waited sixteen years to find out I was a prince. You can wait five more minutes to find out whether I’m staying a prince.”

“Harsh,” Willie murmurs, but reaches forward to hook his pinky with Alex’s.

His grandmother looks down at their hands. She looks back up at Alex and shakes her head with a frown, but the effect is ruined a moment later when she breaks into laughter. “I suppose I can’t blame you for that one.”

They fall into casual conversation after that, his grandmother talking about Tasha and how she’d been asking about Willie today and admitted that he had beautiful hair that she wanted to mess around with. Alex laughs at that and Willie does too, but he notices his boyfriend’s face is several shades darker that it had been moments ago. John talks about how they had to remove two reporters for getting in a physical altercation, and seems gleeful while discussing it. Alden is all too interested in listening to the story, and is crestfallen when, in the middle of it, someone comes to retrieve them for the speech. They’re led down the hallway and as they go, the murmurings of voices grow. Alex can feel himself grow more and more tense realizing that he’s going to be under their gazes soon. Willie uses his pinky to drag Alex’s hand up, and then twists their hands in midair until their fingers are twined together.

“You’ll be fine,” he whispers.

His voice catches the attention of Alex’s grandmother who turns around and sees the look on Alex’s face. She relaxes her shoulders and reaches out, tapping her hands gently to his cheeks. “My dear, you will do wonderfully. I will be right up there with you, all right?” He nods. “Good. Now, I must go introduce you. You have a few minutes to prepare.” She turns to Willie. “Remind him how spectacular he is, will you?”

“On it.”

And then she’s gone.

“Hey,” Willie says, and Alex looks at him with wide eyes. “Hey. You with me?” He nods. “Good. Okay, so—you’re anxious right now because you’re about to give a speech and you think they’re going to be judging you for your speech, right? But those people out there are just out there to hear you step into your role as Prince. Alex, this is a good thing. Those people out there will be excited. They’re here to listen to you speak, not to judge you.”

“What if my speech sucks so bad they can’t help but judge me?” Alex asks.

“It won’t.”

“But what if.”

“Then fuck it—you had a bad speech. Everyone has bad performances. You’ve messed beats up during performances with the band and you don’t let those get to you, you brush them off and are ready to play the next gig. You remember when I was in tenth grade and kicked my shoe off into the audience during a performance and then kept slipping on the stage on my sock? It happened, it couldn’t be helped, we moved on. I moved on. If—and that’s a big if—you suck today, you’ll move on too, I promise, okay? I promise. And I’ll help you move on.” Willie leans up on his toes and kisses Alex. “You can do this, Alex. You know you can do this.”

Alex looks down at Willie and sees sincere, brown eyes staring up at him. He drags Willie in for a hug and just… just holds him. Willie returns the hug and pushes his face into Alex’s shoulder and they simply exist together surrounded by each other in a little bubble. He uses Willie’s breathing, working to match his own to it so he doesn’t start to get worked up again. Willie’s fingers are curled into his upper back and the pressure is just enough to ground him, just enough to keep him here and not somewhere far away in his mind where it really is just the two of them.

The bubble is popped a few minutes later when Alden returns to escort Alex to the makeshift stage. He’s reluctant as he pulls away from Willie, and Willie and Alden both know it, but the important thing is that he manages it. He nods at Alden and they start towards the stage, Willie at his side, right up until they reach the entrance to the hall. “I love you,” he whispers, and then stops in his tracks, leaving Alex to twirl around in surprise. He laughs, shooing Alex towards the stage. “Go.” Alex turns, casts a look back at Willie, and then walks forward.

As Alex steps out from the back hall and feels the weight of a room full of eyes fall on him, a fire roars to life in his gut, flaring up through his throat and leaving a bad taste in his mouth. Spots dance in his vision during his walk to his grandmother, but he takes a moment to think about his breathing, takes a moment to draw in a deep, full breath, filling his lungs with air, and the spots recede little by little. When he reaches his grandmother, they’re all but gone. She smiles at him and extends an arm out, sweeping her hand out to motion to the crowd, and Alex looks out. The fire burns hotter and he looks back to his grandmother. “You have the floor,” she says, and then retreats back several feet away. He wants to reach out, bring her back, cling on to her for support, but he can’t. He steps up behind the podium and looks back to the hallway he’d just come from and meets Willie’s eyes. Willie smiles at him and gives him and encouraging nod. Alex turns back to the crowd, where every eye is focused on him. He thinks: everyone is looking at him because he’s here to speak, not to judge him. He swallows, glances back at Willie once more, and quells the flame to the best of his ability.

“Hi, uh, I’m Alex. You… probably… all know that since my grandma just introduced me. Sorry. I—uh, kinda wish I had my drums, heh,” Alex laughs, running his fingers through his hair. “I’m, uh, no good with being in the spotlight, or, uh, attention in general, um, not unless I’m behind my drums. Or… uh… it’s really more me being with my band…” He looks out at the crowd and is pleasantly surprised when he finds Julie, Luke, and Reggie’s eyes right in the front, and Flynn standing next to them. They’re all wearing radiant smiles and directing them towards Alex, and the flame recedes further down his throat on its own, and he feels himself relax back into his shoes. “Which, thankfully for me, they’re the best band ever and they’re here with me today, so, uh, no fainting or vomiting for me today. Oh—I didn’t need to add that, did I? O… kay. Uh. Anyways. Uh, I’m sure most of you know me, or at least of me, if you’re here. I’m Queen Louisa’s grandson, and Prince Frederick’s son. If you didn’t know this, yeah, neither did I a month and a half ago. Heh. I was shocked too. But, yeah, I’ve gotten used to it. Hopefully you will too.

“Uh, so. Beasiga is celebrating its three hundred and sixth formation day today. For one of the first times, the reigning monarch is not in the country to celebrate with the citizens. Instead, she is here, in the Beasiga consulate in Los Angeles, California, United States of America, with all of us. And she is here because of me.” He looks over to where his grandmother is standing off to the side, her hands folded over her midriff and her shoulders set tall and proud. The fire subsides further. She smiles at him, a motion for him to continue. “Um, my grandmother came at the end of October to meet me and begin teaching me the ins and outs of Beasiga and what it meant to be a prince and what it would later mean to be a king. She dedicated her time here to me not for me, but for Beasiga. Uh, and she did it in hopes that I would become the person she envisioned me to be, in hopes that I would step up, accept my claim to the throne, and rule Beasiga justly and fairly, exactly as she has been teaching me to do.

“What she didn’t expect to come across when she got here was a sixteen year old kid with anxiety who immediately ran away from the idea of being a prince. And I do mean that literally. I, uh. I ran out of the consulate after she told me I would be Prince and had to have my friend come pick me up.” The crowd laughs, some with humor, some unsure, and Alex smiles. Alex turns to look back at the hallway where Willie is still tucked away. He smiles at him and Willie smiles back. It’s only embers left in his gut, now. “Hm. Anyway. Yeah, so, uh, she didn’t expect that, but it’s what she got, and she helped turn that kid with anxiety into the kid who… still very much has anxiety, but can stand up here speaking with all of you. Yes, it’s still terrifying, but it’s not debilitating anymore. And she also gave me a choice. To use everything she gave me to rule Beasiga, or to use it in some other facet of life.” He draws in a deep breath. “I chose to use it elsewhere. I was never cut out to be a prince. I never in a million years dreamed that I could.

“But—could. Could is a word that is used to indicate possibility. Thanks for the vocab help, Google. So… Would it even be possible for me to rule Beasiga? I don’t know. I didn’t know. Even if I wanted to, I didn’t know if it was possible, or if I was able. Able. Be able to. The question became can I? I doubted myself, and I started asking myself that question a lot more often. And then I started asking other people. Their answers varied. Most were encouraging which wasn’t helpful because it’s not like someone’s going to tell you that you’re going to suck at ruling a country, right? Yeah, no. I surround myself with kind people, but sometimes, kind people don’t tell you what you need to hear. But then—there’s one person. I asked him, I went, ‘do you think I can?’ And he said, ‘man, I don’t know. I just care about whether or not you’re willing.’” Alex says, pausing for a long moment. “So, it became a matter of whether I was willing, which was a much, much easier question to answer. Because, well, yeah. I am willing.

“I’m willing to study Beasigan history, politics, government, culture, and anything and everything else there is to know about Beasiga to know the country as best I can. I’m willing to grow myself as a person and conquer fears that once held me hostage to know myself as best I can. I’m willing to put aside my fears and confront uncertainty to find a place for myself in this world. But I’m also willing to dedicate myself to Beasiga through the good times and the bad. I’m also willing to work at finding ways of moving Beasiga forward, at leading Beasiga into even better times than it is already in, which of course will be a challenge, as my grandmother is quite the Queen. And most importantly, I’m also willing to choose the people of Beasiga over myself.

“I prematurely chose to use the skills my grandma gave me in a different walk of life. But today and every day moving forward I will choose to use them for the country and people of Beasiga.” There’s a whoop out in the crowd that Alex can identify as Reggie’s and he can’t stop himself from grinning at his friend. However, the cheer from Reggie starts the rest of the crowd, and now the rest of them are cheering and clapping as well. Alex watches, waiting for them to quiet down. When they do, he looks over to his grandmother and smiles. It’s easier than he could have ever imagined to say, “Moving forward, I will be Alexander Charles Taylor Mercer, Prince of Beasiga.”

Once more, cheers rise from the crowd in front of him. His grandmother walks up beside him and he steps out from behind the podium to meet her. She surprises him when she pulls him in to a hug in front of all these people, but he returns it without any hesitance.

When she pulls away, there’s a man waiting beside them, a royal purple and white mantle held in his arms. His grandmother takes it from the man and turns to Alex. He leans down so she can drape it over his shoulders. It weighs heavy on his shoulders and while he’s leaning down next to her he mutters, “do I have to wear this thing often?”

“Just for the next few minutes. Then you won’t see it again until your coronation.”

“Oh, thank god.”

His grandmother laughs and he stands back up, standing beside her with his shoulders tall and proud. The audience is still cheering—he can pick out Luke, Reggie, Julie, and Flynn’s voices in particular—and there are cameras flashing as news reporters get photographs for their articles. There’s a loud whooping from off to the side, separate from the crowd, and Alex looks over to see Willie cupping his hands around his mouth, cheering. He laughs, beaming at his boyfriend who returns the expression right back, and Alex feels on top of the world.

Dinner is served in the ballroom after that, which sends a wave of guilt through Alex as he knows the kitchens plan meals down to the minute, and his delay must have thrown them off horribly. Even so, the food is wonderful and Alex gets to sit with Willie, his band, and Flynn—or, sorry, his “honored guests.” His grandmother is sat at the table next to him with John, Alden, another commercial attaché, and Jeffry and Daniel. She sends him looks every few minutes, especially when Luke or Reggie get too loud, but they’re never bad, merely amused.

After dinner he’s passed from reporter to reporter while the tables and chairs are cleared out of the ballroom and the floor is swept. Alex imagines that it’s going to take forever, but to his surprise it only takes about fifteen minutes between all the staff working. So he only gets to talk to about five reporters, each for about three minutes, and then he’s being taken back to the hall so he can enter with his grandmother separately.

The music playing is an even tempo, one that Alex has become accustomed to dancing to over the past month and a half. When he and his grandmother enter together, right away his eyes begin searching for Willie. He can’t find him even by the time they reach the center of the room, so he releases her hand and leaves her to go off dancing with whoever has approached her and begins walking circles. He has a flash of anxiety that Willie might have left—maybe Willie didn’t want to be seen with Alex as a couple in front of so many cameras? Or even he knew Alex’s dad was here, maybe he didn’t want to upset the man? Or maybe he realized—

The crowd parts to the left of Alex and Willie steps out. Alex’s heart flutters in his chest and he feels the smile take over his face, sees Willie match it.

They approach each other slowly, not hesitantly, just taking their time to look at each other, which Alex feels like he hasn’t done yet. Willie is in a maroon suit with grey accents and a white under shirt. It’s not fitted to him—not the way that Alex’s is, the way Alex’s almost hugs him. Willie’s is a bit big, a bit baggy, but still fits him well enough that you wouldn’t notice if you weren’t staring. His hair is down, falling over his shoulders and coming to rest right above where his ribs begin, and Alex reaches out to grab a piece of the end of his hair, twirling it on his finger. “You look good,” he says.

“Just noticing?”

“Do you forget I was having my crisis earlier?”

Willie grins. “Right, the minor one.”

“Very minor, it all turned out okay in the end.”

“Good to hear.”

Alex drops the strand of hair he’s holding and steps back, bowing deliberately. Willie smiles and copies him. They straighten up and step into each other’s arms, relaxing into their holds.

“They’re taking pictures of us,” Willie murmurs and Alex can hear the clicking of the cameras too. “Everyone is going to know by tomorrow.”

“I’m glad. I don’t want anyone to feel like I was hiding this from them,” he says. “And I certainly don’t want to hide you.” He presses his lips against Willie’s forehead and sighs. He tips his head forward so his nose is pressed against Willie’s hairline. “Just think,” he whispers, and his voice is barely audible to even the two of them over the music. “Tomorrow plenty of people all over the world are going to see these pictures and realize how fucking in love with you I am.”

Willie pulls away from Alex and stares up at him with bright eyes full of… full of so much. Full of trust, full of care, full of respect, full of warmth, full of acceptance, full of want. “I’m gone on you,” Willie says, reaching up and dragging Alex’s head down for a kiss. Alex goes, and they keep it chaste and appropriate for the venue, but. It was needed.

When they pull apart, Alex pulls Willie closer to him again and Willie buries his face in Alex’s shoulder as they abandon all pretenses of the traditional ballroom dance and decide to simply sway together. Alex holds Willie and looks up, looking around the room to find nearly every eye on them. The eyes of his friends, his family, the press, diplomatic leaders from around the world, and his new country’s government leaders are all on him and Willie. They just saw them kiss. He laughs and thinks, with a sense of déjà vu, yeah, he’d stare at whoever was kissing Willie too.

No fire burns in his gut, no panic wells in his veins.

#willex #willex fic #willex fanfic #jatp fic #jatp fanfic #ysmfinb #my writing

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traincat · 4 years ago

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traincat! thoughts on a spideytorch trek au? thanks!

Oh I have a lot of thoughts about this actually! I was working on one a while ago where it was supposed to be part of a bigger series but now I think I’d kind of like to go back in, rip up the foundations a little, and make it its own oneshot. (It involves Johnny and Peter meeting each other for the first time since Starfleet Academy -- where Johnny flunked out -- and crash landing on an alien planet where Johnny gets worshiped as a sun god.)

So I do think there’s a bunch of directions you could go with Peter in a Trek AU -- I was briefly toying with the idea of him as a Romulan, because Secrets -- but my top pick is as a genetically engineered human. Trek’s genetically engineered humans have the right power set: enhanced speed, strength, and smarts! It gives Peter a reason to keep his abilities hidden! His parents being involved in Section 31 is a no-brainer, given their canonical background as spies! It’s half a ripoff of DS9′s Bashir, but hey, it’s fanfic. I go back and forth on whether he should be involved in Starfleet. On the one hand, I do think he’d be good at it and it’s kind of a given, in a Trek AU, that your main characters are in Starfleet. On the other hand, he’s kind of terrible at cooperation. I think at the end of the day my idea is to have him as a ship’s Science Officer but like, do I think he stays there? Probably not in the long term. (The AU equivalent of when he ditched that really good lab job in Portland!) Whereas originally I was thinking of building the ship out of other hero characters Peter’s worked with, now I think I might go with the Bugle staff -- Captain Jameson, First Officer Robertson, Chief Medical Officer Kate Cushing, Glory Grant as Communications Officer, etc. There’s definitely enough Bugle employees to build a full staff out of, down to Ensign Billy Waters. (Very likely to get killed on an away mission. Sorry, Billy.) Alternatively I could make Norman Osborn the captain and have things go very, very badly. That could be fun too.

With Johnny, I’ve had my heart set on his being half-Betazoid since I first thought of a Trek AU. Which is like, with most AUs I usually pretty immediately know what I want to do with Johnny, and especially here because I don’t know if I’ve talked about this very much on tumblr but if I could give Johnny one additional power/a different power, it would definitely be empathy. Feelings powers! For a boy who has a lot of them. Is it an excuse to throw around “imzadi” in a fic? Yes, 100%, but it’s an excuse I stand by. I love a made up alien term of endearment. I think it’s pretty easy to duplicate the Fantastic Four’s origin here, with Reed stealing a space ship for an experimental flight he couldn’t getting funding/approval for from Starfleet instead of from the US government, and then wham, horrific accident resulting in strange powers. Which like, obviously I wouldn’t have to stick to in a Trek AU, but I think if it’s right there for the taking, you might as well, and I like the idea of the Four on the fringes of Starfleet but very much their own thing, much like in original canon. Also Johnny Storm, Starfleet Academy dropout, is important to me.

I did manage to dig up my old WIP doc for the Trek AU, so here’s a snip of something that would probably be very heavily rewritten if I went back to it:

The two moons in the sky were bright crescents and the breeze through the window was soft and sweet. Johnny Storm was stretched out next to him laughing like there was no place in the galaxy he'd rather be. It was enough to make Peter lose all sense, and that was why he leaned over and pressed his lips to Johnny's.

Johnny tasted like wine and alien fruit, and he was warm, warmer than anyone else Peter had ever kissed. The heat of him surprised Peter - he pulled back, but Johnny surged forward.

"Don't you dare," Johnny growled, practically climbing into Peter's lap. He caught Peter's face between his hands and kissed him again, head tilted, the angle just right. Peter's hands flew to his waist to anchor him before they tipped over.

"Johnny," he said, lips sliding across Johnny's mouth, down to his jaw. "I didn't think -"

"Can you shut up for once?" Johnny pulled back enough to demand. His dark eyes sparked, his lips were bruised. He looked imperious and royal, the sun god everyone on this whole backwater planet believed him to be. "Thinking is the whole problem, Pete!"

"I'm sorry some of us can't just turn our brains off!" Peter snapped back, shoving Johnny backwards. His eyes went wide when his back met the wall, and he fisted his hands in Peter's shirt to pull him back against him. Their mouths clashed again, open and messy, the kissing equivalent of every stupid argument back at Starfleet Academy. Peter's blood burned in a whole new way.

"Try it, genius," Johnny said. "Just once. For me."

Johnny's flimsy shirt hung off one shoulder. Peter traced the line of it against his flushed skin, the way the delicate fabric clung to his body, highlighting Johnny's lean waist, his flat stomach.

He grabbed a handful of filmy fabric and tore it off.

Johnny inhaled sharply, and then he started to laugh. He pulled Peter in with one hand fisted in the hair at the back of his head, pressing his smiling mouth to Peter's. "See? I knew you could do it."

"It's just because your stupid's contagious," Peter said. He ripped the fragile golden chains from Johnny next and Johnny laughed, head thrown back, all golden insolence. "You're some kind of intelligence sinkhole. Is that a Betazoid thing?"

That was all he got the chance to do before Johnny shoved him back down onto the bed.

"Insulting my heritage!" he mumbled against Peter's mouth, clever fingers plucking at the hidden clasps of Peter's uniform. "Very sexy.”

(...)

Johnny's hand closed around the back of his neck, thumb stroking the hair at his nape. "I wanted this, at the academy."

It was a soft confession, and maybe that was what startled Peter into admitting, "Me too. I thought about you. All the time. Couldn't get you out of my head."

"I know." Johnny's fingers curled in his hair, tugging Peter's head down so he could kiss him. "I could feel it. I mean," his grin turned flippant, "everyone wanted me. But I always felt you separate from everyone else."

"Is that supposed to make me feel special?" Peter asked, nipping at Johnny's lower lip. "Your ego is so huge I'll have them name a star after it."

"That's sweet. I want two," Johnny said, but the look on his face was soft. He knocked his forehead playfully against Peter's and said, "Do you remember that time at that club? God, what was it called - Orbit. That was it."

It was easy to conjure up the memory in his usual crystal clarity. The flashing lights, the chrome of the bar top, the very annoyed Benezian bartender. Johnny, drunk and absolutely infuriating. Peter, not drunk, but no less annoying for it.

"Oh wow," he said, remembering how hoarse his voice had been. His throat felt scratchy in sympathetic memory. "We screamed at each other for like an hour."

It had been exactly an hour and twelve minutes, plus a spare handful of seconds, but who besides Peter was counting.

"We got kicked out," Johnny snickered, tugging his fingers through Peter's hair until it stood on end.

"You filled my room with Bajoran oatmeal and gagh the next day," Peter said, nose wrinkling. One of the downsides of his brain: he could still remember the smell. "Two feet of it."

"The things I did to that replicator," Johnny said dreamily.

"I tried to figure it out," Peter confessed. His eyelids felt heavy; he let them fall, rolling over so his chest was pressed to Johnny's back and their knees fit together like puzzle pieces. "I could never work out what you did to bypass the safety. I was going to rig a tub of Cardassian fish juice to fall on your head."

"I have the touch," Johnny said. "You're not going back to your room?"

Peter stilled. "I can go -"

"No," Johnny said, fumbling for Peter’s arm. He draped it over his waist. "No. Stay."

#spideytorch #losers who deserve each other #*replies #myfic #Anonymous

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lu-undy · 4 years ago

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I got a request, maybe sniper and spy decide to go on a double date with heavy and medic?

Here we go! It starts as a double date but turns into just Sniper and Spy (sorry I can’t write other ships, it just feels weird to me! ^^). But, to compensate, I tried to have a bit of an emotional one here so I hope you’ll get the “feels” as the cool kids say!

There was a knock at the door.

"Come in."

"Are you ready - ah, yes, you are." Heavy entered Spy's suite. He found him putting on his coat.

"So are you, I see."

They both eyed each other and noticed how different they looked from when they wore their Mann Co. uniforms. Spy had put on a dark red suit with an assorted bowtie and white varnished shoes. He looked like a fish in a pond next to Heavy who had put on a tuxedo for the occasion but was visibly not as comfortable as his colleague.

"Do I have my car keys…? Oui, right, let us go." And they exited the flat to soon find themselves in Spy's bright red Italian car.

Of course, the Frenchman was driving. He put the key in and made the engine roar a sound that was only produced on dream cars, a rumbling worth more money than Heavy had ever spent.

"C'mon doc', we'll be late!"

"Ja, just a minute!"

And Medic proved to hold his word as a minute later, he emerged from his quarters, wearing a suit with a bowtie too. However, Sniper had just changed for non-Mann Co. clothing.

"Bugger… Do I need to put on a suit for that?" He asked.

"As you wish, although I'm sure Spy will show up with one." Medic answered.

"Right…" Sniper winced. "Come to my van. You climb at the front, I'll get a change at the back…"

They did as Sniper said and when the Aussie re-appeared behind the steering wheel, Medic didn't manage to hold a gasp.

"What?" He shot an almost aggressive glance at the doctor. Sniper was clearly embarrassed.

"Y-you look… Uh…"

"Eyes on the map, in the glovebox, and tell me where that place is."

Medic understood the message clearly enough and didn't discuss anything further.

The trip took the mercenaries about an hour, a bit less and they arrived in town.

Spy looked quickly at his colleague. How he managed to fit in his car was beyond him.

"I wish you good luck, Heavy."

"Thank you. I wish the same to you, Spy, though I know you won't need it."

Spy raised an eyebrow and Heavy went on.

"Sniper looks at you like the best thing that ever happened in his life. His eyes shine in a special way. Even Medic noticed it."

"I like to believe that Sniper is very obvious when it comes to his feelings."

"Da, but you are too, in your own way."

"I am not." Spy coldly answered.

"Hm." Heavy did not insist to avoid embarrassing his friend. They were tense enough as it was.

Meanwhile, in Sniper's van, the atmosphere was different.

"So, uh…" Sniper scratched his cheek. "Ever been on a… a…"

"A date?" Medic asked. "I was once married, so yes, I've had lots of them by the past."

"Ah, yeah."

"Haven't you?" Medic asked back.

"Not in a long time."

The German doctor noticed that Sniper's fingers were drumming on the steering wheel nervously. He put a hand on his shoulder.

"Don't be too nervous. I am sure it will go well."

"I don't know, mate. Spy's a difficult bloke. I never know what he thinks or what he wants and he's got experience in those things, so much experience… It's like I'm a little boy next to him."

"Look at the good side of things."

"Which is?" Sniper asked.

"He was either the one to suggest this date, or the one to accept it."��

Sniper looked at Medic. He was surprised to see that the crazy scientist could sometimes speak sense.

"Bien." Spy stopped the car in front of the restaurant. "Here we are."

[Well.]

Both him and Heavy exited the car and waited in front of the restaurant as they didn't see Sniper's iconic van.

"They will arrive soon I hope." Heavy said.

"No doubt." Spy was more confident in his ability to attract Sniper than Heavy was with Medic. "You will do just fine, Heavy. The only moments I have seen Medic behave almost like a human being are when he is in your company."

Heavy looked down at his colleague who lit up a cigarette and puffed on it. Soon, the campervan arrived and parked a few metres away. The sun had set a long while ago so the only lights were shed by the lamp posts. Two silhouettes got out of the van, one taller than the other and with a hat.

Heavy wiped his sweaty hands on his trousers while Spy crushed his cigarette and adjusted his tie. With a last look and a nod, they parted ways and Spy reconvened with Sniper.

"I see you have found the place." He said.

"Y-yeah, Medic helped. He uh, he had the map, I just had to follow the instructions."

Spy smiled at how nervous Sniper seemed even though he couldn't see him clearly in the dimness of the night.

"Shall we?" Spy offered his arm.

"Uh…" Sniper's head shook left and right. He wasn't sure if he should take Spy's arm, publicly, like that. It was all a bit too much, or too fast. Spy understood and just extended his hand in the direction of the restaurant's entrance instead.

"After you, Sniper."

"Right…" Sniper looked but couldn't see Medic and Heavy anymore, thus concluding they were already inside.

As soon as he entered, Sniper gasped silently as his jaw dropped and his lips parted visibly. He hadn't set foot in any similar place in his life so far. The restaurant had a very high ceiling, the floor was tiled and the chandeliers' shy yellow lights reflected on the floor. As Sniper looked down, he realised he could always see himself perfectly, despite the tiles being dark blue. The walls had magnificent paintings that were framed with gold painted wood and the walls themselves were Burgundy red with golden motifs.

"Gosh…"

Spy said something to a waiter and next thing he knew, Sniper was sitting in front of him, on a table lit by a single candle, sitting at the center of the small round table. Before he did sit down, Sniper removed his coat and hat and it was Spy's turn to drop his jaw.

"Mon Dieu…"

[My God…]

Hearing Spy's voice made Sniper zone back to reality brutally and face his gaze. He saw the very light blue eyes open wide and the pupils retracted to a dot. But it only flashed for a fleeting moment because Spy didn't let the surprise invade him.

They sat down and were handed the menu. The light in the room was quite low, which was quite pleasant for the eyes. It helped them focus on what was important. Sniper hid behind the leather-bound menu and sometimes took a peek above it. Spy looked absolutely magnificent. His dark red jacket had a slight sheen to it which recalled the sparks that Sniper saw in his eyes, each time their gazes would cross.

"So, have you made your choice?"

"Uh, yeah, I think I did." Sniper answered, still shielding himself behind the menu.

"You can put the menu down then."

"I-I could, yeah…"

But somehow, Sniper didn't want to and he clung to the thing like a young boy would to his mum's skirt.

"Sniper?"

"Yeah?"

"You may put the menu down." Spy repeated and this time, Sniper yielded.

"Oh, Gosh…" Sniper's eyes opened as wide as planets and his pupils shrank. Between his last glance at Spy and now, the Frenchman had freed his face and hair from the last layer of cloth that covered them, taking Sniper utterly by surprise.

"We are now even." Spy said.

"Y-I-uh… I-I guess… Now I can see you and uh, you can see me."

They took a moment to observe each other. One was confident in his looks and knew he could make any heart fall with just a flash of his pearly white teeth, while the other was red beyond his ears, awkward and uncomfortable as if he was naked.

"That was not what I meant." Spy said while Sniper was still devouring him with his eyes. The Frenchman's eyes were bewitching, that, Sniper knew, but his hair was absolute poetry! It was elegantly combed back with a cinder lock at the front and grey temples. He also had a rebel front tuft that refused to follow the rest of his hair to fall between his eyes. Spy took great care of his hair, it shone beautifully under the chandeliers and candle light.

"W-what?" Sniper snapped back to reality. "Sorry, what d'you mean?"

"I did not mean that we're even because I removed my balaclava."

"Why then?"

"Look at you." Spy started. "You made the effort to wear a suit, although you clearly aren't used to it. It's a shame you don't wear one to work, they make you more handsome."

Sniper felt the wave of heat change into sweat on his entire body, but Spy continued.

"You also combed your hair back, added a bit of product to make it stay in place, you shaved and I can smell your perfume from here, a bit too strong for my liking, but that's only because you are nervous. Non Sniper, I meant that we are even because you made all these efforts for me while I made some for you too, although they do not appear as blatantly."

Their meals appeared on the table and they started digging in. Sniper didn't know what to answer so he just fell silent. That's when he realised that there was some music in the background. He raised his head and saw far from them, at the side of the dining area, a group of musicians. Hell that place was fancy…

"You are remarkably handsome tonight is what I meant and I thank you for your efforts. They mean the world to me."

Sniper tried to at least smile and nod but his shyness paralysed him and he just managed to pull his lips and lower his head. He was extremely tense and of course Spy noticed it.

"Is it too much?" He asked.

"What?"

"What I said, did I go too far? Was it things that you don't want to hear?"

"N-no."

Spy lowered his head with a sigh. He hadn't touched his meal and Sniper was pushing the food left and right, but couldn't eat either.

"I had doubts this would be a bad idea. Now, I am sure." He concluded and simply left the table, leaving Sniper alone.

The poor Aussie was not only confused but ashamed. It was because of him, again, that he lost a date. He lowered his head to the food in his plate. It didn't make sense, it was grey and bland. Sniper left the table too. He went to pay what he owed but was told Spy had already done so, and so he left the restaurant.

He dragged his feet to his van, in the silence of the night, before unlocking it and climbing on the driver's seat. Sniper sighed. He was used to screwing up dates, forgetting them, being stood up, or making them go awfully bad. But this particular instance was hurting in a bitter way. He put his hands on the steering wheel and started the van.

"You are leaving?"

A voice said from next to him that made him jump on his seat and put a hand on his chest. In the darkness of the night, he didn't see that Spy was sitting where Medic had been half an hour before.

"I… I thought you left." Sniper answered.

"Non." Spy said as he retrieved a cigarette and lit it.

[No.]

"So uh… What do we do?"

"Go ahead and continue what you were doing. Pretend I am not here." Spy said and turned to look through the window.

Sniper felt the pain inside. He had screwed it up so much. There wasn't much left but to drive back to the base and sleep through the next day. So he exited the parking lot in front of the restaurant and drove away.

The ride was dead silent and only the gentle rumble of the van's engine was audible, although it had melted in the background.

"Stop the van." Spy said.

"What?" Sniper's head turned to him in a flash.

"Stop the van." He repeated.

"Here? In the middle of the desert?" Sniper asked but Spy's eyes riveted on his were more than clear and Sniper obeyed, parking the car on the dusty ground of the desert, a few meters away from the asphalt.

As the van's noise stopped, the tension grew louder. Spy opened the door and slipped out. Sniper thought that he had needed a quick "pit stop" as they called them for formula 1 cars, but soon, he heard some noise coming from above his head.

Utter confusion. What the hell was Spy doing on his van's rooftop? Why would he go there? Nah, it surely was nothing. Sniper shook his head and waited for Spy to come back. But after ten minutes, he still hadn't. Sniper sighed and decided to investigate. He got out of the van and looked around. Spy was nowhere to be found.

"Up here, if you are looking for me."

Sniper looked up and indeed Spy was sitting cross-legged on the van's rooftop. Sniper went to the ladder at the back and climbed up.

"What are you doing here? I thought you asked me to stop to take a p-"

"To fill one of your filthy jars?" Spy cut him. "Non. I needed guidance."

[No.]

Sniper sat down next to him.

"You prayin'?" He asked, seeing how Spy's eyes were riveted on the sky.

"Almost." He answered. "I am asking for help, but not from God. If he did exist, why did I live such a miserable life? How was that part of the plan? To give me a lady that would be my wife and a son, only to take them away from me. But still, to keep him so close to me that it hurts every day of this life, having to see him and remember better, sweeter times. Having to see him and knowing that things could have been much different, things could have gone splendidly better. But non, apparently the plan wasn't that, non, the plan was to make me suffer every day I cross his gaze because I see her and I see the life I could have led."

Sniper's jaw dropped.

"And then they did something."

"Who?" Sniper asked.

"Them." Spy pointed up. "They broke the curse, they took me out of that infernal spiral and saved me. But they didn't do that in a snap of their fingers. Non. They sent someone. A wingless angel. Someone whose sight takes off all the burdens I've ever carried on my shoulders. His mere presence brings peace to my tormented soul. He graces me with the gift of joy, and brings back feelings that had died in me. The flutters of the heart, the blush on my cheeks, even though hidden behind my mask. He is a godsent to me, only I know it wasn't God who sent it to me, it can't be. Why would he make me suffer so hard to then just simply flip it all over with the presence of that man, hm?"

"Maybe God just wants you to think less harshly about yourself."

Spy turned his eyes to Sniper.

"I mean, it's like you had a curse or something, but you seem to say that it's going better, right?"

"Oui. That tall, handsome man has lifted the curse. Each time he gathers the courage to look into my eyes, I can feel all sorts of things in my chest that no other feeling but love can produce. I breathe more heavily, my heart beats faster but my eyes blink slower, because I want time to stretch, I want this to last. It is selfish, but I want his attention on me for as long as possible. Not only do I like the way he looks at me, as if I could bring him any fragment of happiness, but he blesses me with the peace I have yearned for without even knowing it. And he's the only one able to calm the waves of my torment here, inside." Spy tapped his chest. "Thank you, Sniper."

Sniper choked on his own saliva and cleared his throat. He froze when Spy took his arm between his and leaned on his shoulder.

"Y-you think all that… about me?" He asked.

"Oui." Spy closed his eyes as the proximity with the body he had dreamt of was overwhelming. "But please." He parted from Sniper and looked up at him. "Please tell me that you feel the same. Please tell me that your shyness only tries to hide how you too feel this way for me, and not how repulsive you find me. Please tell me that… That I am not putting all my hopes for peace somewhere where they would be wasted and thrown away. At my age, I don't think I will ever find someone with whom I could share my days and my worries."

Spy pleaded with his eyes, implored with his voice but nothing came out of Sniper's lips. And the silence spoke louder than anything else around them in the darkness of the night.

"I… I realise how pathetic I sound, how both desperate and done I am with life. I do apologise if I wasted your time, if I forced you to do anything you didn't want to. Forgive me. It was only an old, tired man thinking he had found a bit of solace. I shall not bother you more."

Spy looked up at the stars and addressed them.

"Thank you and damn you. Thank you for making me feel those tremors everywhere, that magic spell inside that makes one forget his worries ever existed. And damn you. To hell with you and the false hopes you gave me. I hope you are laughing at the miseries you put me through and how badly they break me. You would be the only ones laughing, I don't have the strength for self pity or laughing at myself anymore."

Spy stood up and turned to get down off the van's rooftop. Sniper stood up in a flash and held him back from his sleeve, awkwardly.

"W-wait."

"What? You too want to laugh? Be quick about it. I would like to get back home with a bit of dignity left in me."

"Shut up." Sniper pulled him more strongly than Spy had anticipated he could and the Frenchman crashed against Sniper's chest, his arms wrapping him tight and close. "You talk too much."

Tears went to Spy's eyes as his body was against the one man he had wanted for weeks now. His solace, his ray of light through his dark life. Sniper's hand went behind Spy's head, through the silk of his hair and his other one on his lower back, clinging to him, almost clawing.

Spy buried his head on Sniper's chest and let the tears do what they wanted. If they wanted to roll down and cover him in disgrace, so be it. He closed his eyes.

"You talk too much and I can't talk as much. It's… I'm… I'm sorry I can't. I'm sorry I'm bad with words. But no, of course I won't laugh at you, you idiot." Sniper's hand clenched harder on Spy's hair. "I won't laugh at you. I… Bugger! I can't speak."

Spy's hands laced around Sniper's sides and clawed on his back.

"I love you, Sniper."

Sniper looked down between his arms and Spy was looking up at him, his eyes more than glistening.

"I love you like the desperate man I am."

"Don't say that. You're not desperate okay? Oh, Gosh…" And Sniper tightened the hug again because it was what both of them needed. Spy's tears finally won over as Sniper rested his cheek on top of Spy's head. "You're not desperate. I'm… I'm here, ok? I'm here now. I'm… I love you too, bloody hell."

Spy's breath broke out of sync as he started sobbing against Sniper's shirt. Sniper stayed there, immobile, for long minutes, absorbing all the waters of his lover's liberation. Spy needed to cry. He needed to mark the end of the curse, he needed to celebrate it and rather than jumping out of joy, his body had chosen to wash the bitterness away in tears. So be it. Sniper massaged Spy's scalp. The Frenchman was mumbling through his sobs and the Aussie didn't know if it was French, English or complete gibberish. He just took it all away from Spy. And when the Frenchman had drenched Sniper's shirt to the point where he could feel the cold wetness on his very skin, Spy raised his head.

"Je t'aime, I love you. I love you so much, I am so sorry."

[I love you.]

And Sniper understood that for the past minutes, Spy had been just repeating those words on loop, like a broken disc. He looked down straight in his eyes and gathered enough courage to face the man who was literally breaking down because he loved him that much. Sniper answered.

"I love you too, I love you too, don't be sorry, I love you."

Spy's lips pursed in a smile. He was crying what were maybe the happiest tears of his life.

#tf2 sniper #tf2 spy #sniperspy

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xmalereader · 5 years ago

Text

Kylo Ren X Modern! Male Reader

1/2

|| Masterlist ||

Summary: Reader lives on earth, far away from Kylo Ren and somehow he is able to see him one day during kylos training, he feels the readers force and tries to search for him but can’t. So, in order to find him he has to talk to him through the force.

Warnings: Force Sensitive, bullying, soft Kylo, slight angst.

“Your shorter than I expected, but then again. I’m a little surprised on how someone like you can see me.”

He suddenly opens his eyes, waking up from the strange dream. He could hear the sound of chirping birds and the sun was shinning through his closed curtains. He turns his head to the left to see his alarm clock proped up on his nightstand. It read, 7:45AM. He doesn’t want to get up and he really doesn’t want to deal with anything or anyone today. He’s already struggling enough, what more could he go through?

“Y/n, it’s time to wake up!!” He hears his mother shout from downstairs. The older male groans in frustration and drapes the covers over his head, waiting for his mother to come and get him out of bed because their is no way in hell that he is leaving this amazing bed of his.

—

He groans once he’s forced down to sit on the dinning table with breakfast ready. “You were suppose to be up already, doctor said that you can’t over sleep when your on medication.” Said his mother as she walks around the kitchen, cleaning the dirty dishes and pots that she’s used the day before.

Y/n could only sigh and poke at his food. He wasn’t really hungry, he was never hungry in the mornings but yet again, he was always forced to eat something. “Is dad still in town?” He suddenly asks and shoved a forkful of food into his mouth, listening to the water run and his mother scrubbing off the disgusting food that stuck on the plates. “Yes, he’s still in town and I have to go too. So you stay out here in the country house and try to relax, remember the doctor said-“

“-said that I should spend some time out in nature to keep myself and my thoughts relaxed.” Y/n cuts in to finish off his mother’s sentence before leaning his head to the side and sighing again. “Can’t I just stay here alone without you or dad checking up on me daily? I’m a grown Man.”

“Twenty is an adult age but you don’t act like a grown man.” She cleans her hands and drys them off. She approached her son and reached out to gently stroke his hair, he could feel her trembling hands as he reached out to grab her by the wrist and gently push her hand away. “Just go to town with dad, I know that he needs you more than I do.” He whispered out.

He caught a glance of his mother’s smile but he avoids it.

“Please be careful and take your meds.” She says on last time before leaving the cottage, he hears the door lock and the sound of the car engine starting and driving down the road. Once the sound goes faint he stands up Harshly and grabs his plate full of food and dumps it into the trash can. He never eats his mother’s cooking or any of his parents cooking, he knows that they pour his medication into his food since he refused to take them awhile back. But now that he’s alone, they can’t stop him.

He makes sure to grab each bottle he finds around the house and empties them out into the sink with a frown on his face.

He was stuck here.

Ever since that voice came to his head it wouldn’t seem to go away and it was slowly making him go insane. Not physically but it was driving him crazy on just hearing that bickering voice speak to him, he’s tried many ways to cut it out but it always finds a way back in. He remembers when he told his parents and expected them to understand but that only worried them, causing him to meet up with a doctor and therapist.

They thought their son was losing his mind, which is why he’s stuck out here in the country side. His parents thought that it was best for him to stay away from the city and towns since he got into a fight with one of his college classmates for calling him crazy, he just lost it and suddenly attacked the poor kid but he didn’t regret it one bit.

His parents were keeping him locked away, they were afraid of him and yet they still try to help when he knows that theirs no way for him to get better.

Once he finishes dumping out all of his meds he tossed the rest of the empty bottles away. He makes his way around the cottage and heads upstairs to his own room to change properly and possibly go outside and take a walk around the woods.

“I Can sense you.”

Y/n was tying his shoes when he hears the voice again, causing him to freeze in place.

“But your too far away.”

He quickly shakes off the voice and brings up a wall that’ll block it out. He’s been teaching himself ways to keep the voice away and it’s worked a couple of times but his walls were never strong enough to hold.

He ignores the voice and finishes up with his laces before grabbing a jacket and rushing down the stairs, he makes sure to grab his phone and headphones before stepping outside.

The cottage was located on the out skirts of London. His father was born and raised here while his mother was born and raised in America, which leaves him. He was born in America but raised in London. He didn’t gain a heavy accent like his parents did and instead kept his mouth shut. He was the odd one of the family of three and he didn’t care, he was always alone and he’ll always be.

Once he plugs in his earbuds he starts to play some music, picking up a stick as he makes his way through the woods. He swings the stick around like a child would and continued to move up a small hill that lead him to a perfect view of the forest. He stood on top of the hill with a small smile on his face, the only thing he enjoyed in his life right now was this view. Everyday he would come up here only to relax and try and clear his thoughts if posible but today he somehow felt different. He felt a shift deep down inside of him, but what was it?

Y/n tosses his stick to the side and sighs. Listening to the music fade away into the background as he yanks off his earbuds and ticks them into his shirt. He enjoys the silence for a while.

“I can see you now.”

Y/n gasps and turns around to see a tall man all dress in black, he has his arms behind his back and he held a strong stern look. “Who are you?” He suddenly asks and slowly backs away from the stranger.

“You Can see me now, that’s good it took you awhile to clear that head of yours.”

The other chuckled nervously and shakes his head. “I’ve finally cracked, this is all in my head just my imagination.” He tells himself as he turns around to face away the man.

“This isn’t your imagination, this is real.” Said the dark tall Man. He was examining y/n, his eyes moved up and down his body and frowns. “I can only see you, but I can’t see your surroundings.”

“Are you supposed to see what’s around me?” Y/n asks and looks around, hoping that he was alone and that no one could see him talking to a stranger that could or could not be real. “Your strong enough to block out your surroundings.” He added which only left the other adult even more confused.

“Listen, I don’t know who you are and you don’t know who I am. Your just the voice in my head who’s finally taken a form to mess with me, I’ve already lost enough and I can’t let this continue on!” He shouts at him and reached out for his earbuds but notices that they are missing from his shirt. “What?”

—

“I need a location for this.” The supreme leader hands the earbuds to one of his generals and waits for them to analyze it. “What are your trying to find?” Asked general Hux as he stands next to Kylo with a frown on his face as the other waits for the results. “I may have found another force-senstive but he’s powerful. I tried to communicate with the scavenger girl but instead I was taken to someone else. He doesn’t know that he has the force.” He explains to Hux before tilting his head to the side, feeling the others concern about this strange young man that he’s suddenly stumbled upon. “Wherever he is from, we can bring him here and I can train him.” He finally says.

Before Hux could reply the other general comes back and hands the earbuds back to the supreme leader. “Sir, these come from a planet that doesn’t exist on our maps. It was erased many many years ago.” She says and bites her lip. “What is the planet?” He asks. “Earth, sir.”

“Earth? I’ve heard of that planet before is located far away from our solar system and it’s forbidden for us to cross their atmosphere. I heard that the people that live on that planet are considered weak and selfish. They dont know how to control anything.” Said Hux with a grin on his face. He watched as kylo stares at the strange earbuds and puts them inside his own pockets. “Set corse to earth and get my ship ready.” He orders to the general.

“Are you mad? These people dont know anything about the solar system and how there are more things out here. They’ll easily detect you.” Hux follows his leader around the finalizer. “Then let them know, ill only pick up the boy and come back.” He reached his quarters and watched as the door slides open. Hux stops and stands just outside the doorway. “I hope you know what you are doing.” He said before the doors close in front of him.

—

“I need new headphones.” Y/n tells his mother once she enters the cottage. “You what?” She tilts her head to the side in confusion and makes her way to the kitchen where she sets down the bags full of food. “My last ones broke and I need new ones, I dont care if they are the cheap ones I just need a pair to block out the voice...” he whispered the last part softly while avoiding her eyes. It’s been two years since he’s last made eye contact with his parents, he can feel their fear that he sometimes fears of even looking at them.

His mother sighs and placed a hand on her face in frustration. “Okay, I’ll go into town tomorrow and get you a new pair.” She says and turns back to put away the groceries. Y/n can only stand their and watch her work before he finally decides to speak up. “Why dont you go rest? I’ll put everything away.” He approached her and takes the bag from her hands and gave a small smile. She sighs sadly with a smile and nods, “Thank you darling.” She pats his shoulder and leaves the kitchen to allow him to work in silence.

Once she was gone, y/n began to take out everything from the bags and set them on the table so that he could easier and faster. “You seem to have a complicated relationship with your mother.”

Y/n gasps and jumps at the sudden voice. He turns around to see the same stranger standing in front of him this time. “Get out of my head.” He hisses out quietly not wanting his mother to hear him. The other chuckles and shakes his head. “I’m not in your head, you’re like an open book. You’re allowing me to see all of this.”

“What are you talking about?” Y/n walks pass him and began to put away the canned food into the cabinets. Trying to ignore the other, “You think that I’m a voice in your head but I’m not. This is real, its all real.” He held up y/n’s earbuds in his hand to show him that he wasnt hallucinating. “Where did you get those?” Y/n asks and reaches out to take them. Once his hand takes the earbuds back he feels the other brush his gloved fingers against his palm, causing him to flinch away. His eyes widen in fright. “How-?”

“I’m just like you.” He says.

Y/n licks his lips nervously and steps back. “If you aren’t an illusion than what are you?” He suddenly asks.

“I’m a human being like you; they call me Kylo Ren.”

Suddenly he’s froze in place with his eyes widen open as he thinks back to all of his previous dreams. He remembers seeing a man dressed in black, wearing a helmet and holding a sword that was a bright red color and it glowed. He could hear the crackling sound of the sword. He also remembers seeing multiple people dressed the same way. “The knights of ren.” He whispers out.

Kylo hears him speak those words and steps forward. “How do you know that?” He asks. How did y/n know about the knights of ren, he’s been trying to search for months and he hasn’t gotten anything from them yet. “I don’t, It was all a dream.” He replies back to kylo and grips his headphones in his hand and shakes his head. “I’ve been having dreams like that for days now but I tend to ignore it. It means nothing to me.” With that he turns back to putting away the groceries, once everything is away he makes sure that the kitchen is clean before he began to heat up some water for his tea.

“You can’t ignore these visions.”

“Visions?” Y/n laughs out and grabs a mug from the sink. “These aren’t Visions, they are dreams.” He states.

“In those visions, did you see yourself?” Kylo suddenly asks as Y/n stares out the window and sighs. “No, I only saw a group of people dressed in black while wealing weapons but there was one that held a very peculiar sword. It was red and it glowed, I remember hearing it turn on or something it was strange.” He shakes his head and hears the kettle go from. He walks over to the stove and removes the kettle from the hot surface and began to pour himself some tea. “But like I said they aren’t visions but dreams.” He turns around to see Kylo staring at him with a strange look on his face which only left the other staring back in confusion.

“What?”

Kylo slowly speaks. “You’re mother, she’s watching you.”

His eyes widen at the mention of his mother. He turns around in one quick motion to see her standing by the entrance of the kitchen. Her eyes were red and full of tears as she stared at her own son. “Mom...” he could feel her emotions.

She was fearing and she was upset, the man in front of her wasnt her son anymore but a stranger to her. “Mom?”

“She cant see me.” Said kylo which only worsened the situation for y/n. His mother jus taught him talking to no one which only makes things worse fo him. “You’ve lost it now.” She says all of a sudden causing y/n to flinch at her words.

#kylo ren x male reader #kylo ren #star wars tros #stars wars #star wars x male reader #adam driver #ben solo x male reader #ben solo

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mirkwoodshewolf · 5 years ago

Text

Accidents happen; Queen x teen reader

*Author’s note*

Hey all, okay so here I am with a new request. After people seeing my last Queen x teen reader ‘time for us to look after you’ this anon wanted another teen fic with Queen but with the reader being older. So in this fic imagine you are 18. Now to the anon in the light that as I was writing and trying to finish your fic during Deacy’s birthday I kinda leaned a more close bond with our beloved bass player so I hope that’s okay with you. Hope you all enjoy my lovely darlings :)

Warnings: parent death from drugs, head injuries, fluff, bit of angst. But MOSTLY FLUFF FROM OUR BELOVED 4 BOYS :)

Taglist:

@psychosupernatural

@plethora-of-things

@ixchel-9275

@waddles03

@platawnic

@geek-and-proud

@queendeakyy

@coolcxt

__________________________________________________________

I was up on stage rewiring some of the bar lights so that when my dad would go to do the light cues to light up the bottom of the stage, they would hit the boys exactly on cue. Wearing special gloves to ensure that no fingerprints got on the covering or the actual bulb smudged with fingerprints dimming the lights when they go up on cue.

“(Y/n), oh (y/n) baby~” I perked up my head and turned around to see my favorite Queen member the one whom I’ve considered a big brother to me, John Richard Deacon. Known to most as the bassist of Queen, the ‘quiet’ guy, but to me he’s the Disco king, father to three beautiful children, loving and dedicated husband to his lady Veronica and as stated before, my brother from another mother.

“Yes?” I asked wearily.

“You wouldn’t happen to know where my Fender bass is at, would you?” I stopped my work and stood up.

“How dare you would accuse me of stealing it Deacy, I’m hurt.”

“I didn’t say it was you, I just asked if you had seen it.” Oh bugger. “But since I know it was you, where is it?”

“I plead the 5th!”

“You’re in England love, it won’t work here.” I gulped and quickly raced off with Deacy chasing after me. I hopped off the stage and ran through the rows of seats with Deacy right behind me.

I would jump over the seats just to get into the next row before Deacy could grab hold of me. We’d just stare each other down as we’d fake each other out trying to either escape or go on the chase. I then raced towards the end trying to jump back onto the stage.

As I rolled across the stage and just before I could make another run for it, I felt Deacy’s arms wrap around me and pin me down to the ground.

“Gotcha! You gonna tell me where it’s at?” I shook my head and that’s when I felt him start to tickle me.

“Gahh Nohohohoh! Deheheheacy stohahahp!”

“Then fess up love, or I won’t.” he mocked. “I have no problem doing this all night love.”

“Okay! Okay uncle! I’ll tell you!” He ceased his attack then before I could speak I heard the voices of the rest of the band come up from backstage.

“Ahh I see you’ve caught your culprit Deacy darling.” Freddie said.

“And it would seem you got a confession out of her.” Stated Brian.

“And now here we have the evidence. It was in her dressing room up against a guitar platform.” Roger presented Deacy with his bass. He stood up and took his instrument back and I said as I got up.

“Ya’ll are snitches. Good to know I’ll be able to trust you guys in prison.” I joked.

“(Y/n)!” we all turned around and there stood my dad, Queen’s stage designer and main light technician. “You know better than to distract the boys from their rehearsal.”

“Sorry dad.” It was then Roger came up and said.

“Ahh no worries (f/n). She wasn’t distracting us. She never is.” Roger said as he gave me a playful noogie.

A little background information about me. As you know my name is (y/n) (l/n), my mum died of a cocaine overdose back in America 2 years ago. Wanting a new life for me, my dad moved us across the ocean here to London where he got a job working at the Odeon Hammersmith theater. After Queen performed their famed Christmas Eve concert back in ’75, they hired my dad as their permanent stage designer and light director because they loved what he had done to make them look good.

And just to get me out in the work field during my holidays, I helped with lighting all thanks to my dad for teaching me the ropes. That’s kinda what helped Deacy and I connect was our knowledge of electrical engineering, and why the two of us just clicked with each other even being 8 years younger than him.

And of course bonding with the rest of the guys wasn’t hard either. Freddie was the first one to just instantly love me cause of my genius work with the lights, he was even impressed when just last year my dad had allowed me to run the lights all by myself. Brian and I bonded with each other due to our love for animals and Roger and I—we already kinda had that teasing big brother-little sister dynamic.

I’d embarrass him whenever he’d tried to bring in one of his ‘flings’ and he’d be the overbearing big brother when my dad was too busy to pick me up from school and intimidate the boys at my high school. You know that kinda of stuff, but he’s also always there for a comforting shoulder and a good bear hug.

“Alright. But you better get back to work missy. I’m gonna start the light checks in half an hour and if those stage lights aren’t done by then, we’re gonna have an issue here.”

“Don’t worry dad I’ll get it done.” He just grinned at me suspiciously before heading back up to the control panel in the very back of the arena.

“You work too hard darling, we can back you up if you need a break.”

“Thanks for the offer Fred but I’m good. I’m….still kinda grounded for going to that party you invited me too last week.”

“Still? That was over 3 weeks ago.”

“Yeah and punishment is hard labor. But at least it’s not staying in my room with cabin fever.”

“I suppose.”

“Go on, you guys get ready for soundchecks, I’ll be five minutes anyways.” I then went back to the edge of the stage and continued my work on the bar lights.

Afterwards I was up on a high elevation machine to screw in the lights that hung along a track up on the ceiling. Once I got done tightening the last screw so that it wouldn’t fall almost 20ft and really kill one of the guys, I saw all four of them starting their soundchecks. Since I was closest to Brian I couldn’t help but say.

“Hey Bri, I can finally see the top of your head.” He looked up at me and I swore he was probably giving me a bitch face.

“Ha-ha very funny (n/n).” he said.

“Oi (y/n), what’s it look like from up there?” Roger cried out.

“No different, just looks like a waterfall of curls sprouting out of his head.” I told him.

“Alright enough of this, you all had your fun.”

“Aww Bri I’m kidding. You know I love you right?”

“Sure you do.” He sneered sarcastically. I chuckled and pressed the down button on the machine. As I was being lowered down, I radioed my dad.

“Everything’s all good here dad.”

‘Good job sweetie bell. Head backstage and help Robert and Sam with the backdrops.’

“You got it pops.” Once I was successfully down and out of the elevator crane, Derek and Jason wheeled it away and I went to find Bobby and Sam.

It was getting close to concert time and as I was walking along stage right when I saw Deacy in his normal side of stage right practicing his bass and just when he thought no one would be looking, he’d try and work in one of his little Disco moves. Which is why I have given him the endearing nickname, Disco Deacy.

It was then I heard something from up above. I took out my binoculars and noticed that something didn’t look right with the track railing, especially on the left side. There was this creaking and groaning sound and that’s when I had to act fast. Quick as I could I cried out to Deacy and shoved him aside when I felt something hit my head and the next thing I knew, my world went black.

*3rd Person POV*

When John overcame the suddenly shock of suddenly being shoved aside, he turned around and saw probably the most horrifying thing he would ever see in his entire life. There lying underneath the track railing was (y/n).

She wasn’t moving and it didn’t look like she was breathing either. Without a word he rushed over and tried to lift up the railing but it was just too damn heavy with all the extra lights screwed onto it.

“Deacy! Are you alright we just heard a—oh my god!” Freddie gasped in horror.

“Don’t stand there gawking like idiots help me!” Deacy snapped. Soon all the band members, plus a couple of stage handlers all piled into helping Deacy raise the railings to get (y/n) free.

“What in the samhell is going—(Y/N)!!!” Her father soon came in on the scene after hearing the crash. He raced up towards the stage and he ordered. “Okay everyone lift slowly on three; One, two, three!” Soon the seven men began to lift the track with all their might. “Slowly, slowly, okay I can pull her out, keep it off of her.”

He then pulled his daughter out from under the track, finally seeing a small pool of blood on the stage.

“Okay slowly lower it back down. One, two three! Easy! Slowly!” Once the track was on the ground, the four band members surrounded the father and daughter.

“(Y/n)? (N/n), can you hear us?” Roger spoke.

“Here press this to her head.” Brian said as he got his jacket off and handed it to her father.

“Medic!”

“Someone call 999!” Soon the stage medics came in and took (y/n) out of her father’s arms and began checking her over.

Outside the ambulance finally arrived and the medics were loading (y/n) up into the back of the truck.

“Go with her (f/n) darling.” Freddie said. (F/n) turned to Freddie and said.

“But what about the show?”

“For once there won’t be a show. We’ll tell John to cancel the show and refund all the tickets. We won’t have enough time to fix the stage. Plus none of us will be focused after seeing that blood.” Explained Roger.

“Go be with your daughter, we’ll try to get there as fast as we can.” Brian assured him. (F/n) nodded and thanked the four band members for their help, most bands would’ve just left it be and not have gotten involved as they did just now.

He raced up and asked the medic to ride with her, the paramedics allowed him to ride with them and once he entered the back of the van, two medics closed the door and the male tapped the door and almost immediately, the van took off for the hospital.

It took some convincing but Reid managed to work out with the manager of the stadium and they made an announcement to the audience that an accident happened and the show had to be canceled.

Freddie, Brian, Roger and Deacy managed to find (y/n)’s dad in the waiting room. He told the band that she was in surgery right now and come out once they had news. Hours passed and finally by 4am a doctor came by with a clipboard and said.

“(Y/n) (l/n)’s father.” It was then the four band members along with (y/n)’s father all stood up. The doctor was confused until her father walked up to him and said.

“I’m (y/n)’s dad.”

“Your daughter sustained a massive head injury. We did all we could to help her but the best we could do for her now is have her be in an induced coma.”

“Does that mean she’s—” her dad feared to continued but the doctor assured him.

“It’s up to her. She’s stable and all vitals are normal. It’s…..just gonna be up to her whether she wakes up or not.” He sighed heavily but thanked the Doctor.

“Can we see her?” asked Freddie.

“Of course. She’s in room 302, you can visit her now.” They all nodded and headed towards the room.

When the five of them came to the door, they saw (y/n)’s head wrapped in bandages, IV’s in her arms and all these hooks and wires attached to her as the machine showed her blood pressure, brain activity and heartrate.

“(Y/n), (y/n) it’s me. I’m here sweetie bell.” Her dad choked out as he took his daughter’s hand in his. “I’m here baby girl, I’m right here. Oh please let me see those pretty (e/c) eyes of yours. Let me know you’re gonna be okay.” He sniffed and kissed his daughter’s hand.

Taking this harder than anyone else, Deacy stepped out trying to compose himself as he gripped his head in his hands and tried to keep his sobs in, but they kept coming out in chokes.

“Deacy darling?” Deacy sniffled and wiped away his tears but refused to speak to Freddie because he knew if he tried to speak, all that would come out would be sobs. “This was in no way your fault darling, you couldn’t have known the track would collapse.”

“But……but…..”

“No buts darling, you. Didn’t. Cause. The. Collapse.” Freddie emphasized. Deacy sighed heavily and cleaned himself up and he choked out.

“If she doesn’t wake up……I’ll never forgive myself.”

“She will. Our little light goddess is a fighter. She’s like a wild mustang. Can try to break her, but she’ll always keep bucking and fighting.” Freddie brought Deacy into a comforting hug, patting his back and rubbing it comfortingly.

Over three weeks passed and still there wasn’t any changes of (y/n) waking up. Even with the News of the World tour, any chance the boys got when they would perform back in England or they managed to get a day off, they’d go see (y/n) and ask her father if she had shown signs of improvement.

Currently Deacy was in there alone with (y/n). As he listened to the machines that were his sign of her still being ‘alive’.

“I—I uhh….I know I’m not much of a singer, so if—you can somehow hear this I don’t want any teasing. As you know I wrote this for Veronica, but ever since meeting you, some of the lyrics seem to resemble you. You’re….like the sister I’ve always wanted and—I hope this song helps you see it.”

He took out a keyboard piano and placed it in his lap and began playing “You’re my best friend” as well as singing the song to her, hoping that somehow this could help her wake up.

*My POV*

I woke up to hearing the sound of a piano playing and a voice singing. It wasn’t as powerful as Freddie’s, nor as high and strong as Roger’s and Bri’s, so….no it couldn’t be, could it?

Slowly I tried opening my eyes but for some reason they were so heavy to open, it was like my eyelids were made of lead. When I did manage to open them, all I saw was a bright light and white walls. I also saw what looked to be balloons in the room as well. I turned to my right to see dozens upon dozens of flowers, balloons and stuffed animals all in a “GET WELL SOON” package, as written on most of the balloons.

I then turned to my left to see Deacy sitting there with a keyboard on his lap and I finally pieced together that the voice was coming from him. He briefly stopped and looked like he was about to break down crying.

“Don’t stop now Deacy.” I croaked out. Wow how long have I been asleep? His head shot up and the second he looked at me, he looked like he was about to explode with a million emotions. He quickly set aside the keyboard and rolled the chair closer towards my face as he said.

“Hey, oh my god you’re—you’re okay.” I felt him stroke my cheek and he repeatedly yet lovingly kissed over my face repeating ‘you’re okay.’

“A little dizzy and exhausted but yeah I guess.”

“Dizzy? Your vision’s not blurry is it? How many fingers am I holding up?”

“Deacy, relax. No my visions not blurry, and you’re holding up two FYI. What happened?”

“You—you don’t remember?” he asked me concerned.

“That’s a little hazy. I mean last thing I remember was running towards you and my vision went black after that.”

“(Y/n). The track beam that held the lights came down. You pushed me out of the way but got caught under the end of it. It took seven of us to get you out. God you….you were bleeding heavily from your head.”

“But—you guys still did the show last night, right? Did it still happen?”

“Uhh love. That happened over 3 weeks ago.” My eyes widened and that’s when I saw the three remaining members of Queen enter in with more gifts and when they saw me awake, they all proclaimed my name and raced over toward me talking all at once. “Alright! Okay you guys step back, give her some air.” Deacy snapped.

“Oh love you still remember me don’t you?” Freddie begged.

“Of course I still remember you. How could I ever forget Freddie Mercury?” he sighed with relief and said.

“I was just worried that you had gotten memory loss from the bump on your precious noggin. Thank god you didn’t, and don’t you ever scare us like that again you cheeky darling.”

“In his own dramatic way, he’s glad you’re safe and awake (y/n).” Brian assured as he stroked my shoulder.

“Was I—really out for 3 weeks?”

“It felt like forever.” Roger stated solemnly.

“Where’s my dad? Is he okay?”

“He’s fine. Hardly left your side the poor man. Finally took Deacy being here to watch over you for him to finally head home and bathe.” Said Freddie.

“As well as get some rest. He looked like he was ready for an early grave.” Roger stated which earned him a back of the head slap from Deacy.

“It’s okay Deacy. It—couldn’t be hard for him. I mean first he lost my mom, and now the thought of losing me, it must’ve devastated him.”

“Well he won’t have to worry about that anymore. Because you’re back, and soon you’ll be on your feet in no time!” Freddie proclaimed.

“And he won’t be alone in taking care of you, because he’s got 4 willing volunteers to help nurse you until you’re back to normal.” Roger stated as he gently poked my nose as he emphasized the ‘you’.

“And just who would those four unfortunately souls be?” they all proclaimed at my negative answer but I couldn’t help but playfully stick my tongue at them.

And they did as promised. But god never did I imagine what mother hens these guys were. They always hovered over me any chance they got, never leaving my side, making sure I was given my medications, and if any signs of discomfort came they’d even have a fight about who got to be my ‘body pillow’.

Mostly Rog, Bri and Fred were the ones to duke it out, which only allowed Deacy to make his move. So nine times out of ten he was my body pillow leaving the other three to wallow in self-pity of not being my body pillow/teddy bear. As Deacy and I were alone, I told him.

“You know I don’t blame you right?” he sighed heavily.

“I know. But seeing you on the ground, blood pooling out from your head. I should’ve heard the thing snapping off. I’d give anything for it to have been me and not you.”

“But what if you had died? Where would that leave Veronica? Your boys, your baby girl, the band, me? Deacy you are valued and the most important person in so many people’s lives. I’d never forgive myself if it had been you in that bed when I knew I could’ve saved you.” He gently stroked the back of my head and kissed my forehead.

“Just promise me never do something that reckless again.”

“I’ll try, being a stagehand is dangerous business.”

“I’ll make you my assistant or fashion designer if it means you’ll be safe. And you know I can make that happen.”

“Yeah but it’d totally backfire cause for one I’ve got 10 left fingers when it comes to drawing, and I’d be the worst assistant ever.” He grinned and gently bopped my nose.

“I don’t think you would. Veronica loves you and she knows you’d give me every message she had regarding her or the kids.” I softly smiled and leaned against his chest listening to his heartbeat.

“Sing me a lullaby.”

“Love you know I can’t sing.”

“I know, but you sang to me at the hospital three days ago.”

“That was when I felt you wouldn’t be able to hear me.”

“C’mon pwease?” I begged with the puppy dog eyes. “Injured girl with a concussion demands her favorite Queen member sing to her.” He sighed but held me close rubbing my shoulder with his thumb and first hummed the opening notes to my favorite Beatles song “Here comes the sun”.

I soon heard him beginning to sing softly. Now while he may not have a strong voice and sure it cracked at some parts, mainly when the range went a little higher, Deacy still had a descent voice. And when he would sing in a normal, low range tone to fit his range, it actually sounded good. Soon enough his voice sent me off into dreamland.

“Goodnight poppet. Sleep well.” Was the last thing I heard before feeling a kiss right over the very spot where I had been hit.

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grandtheftstarship · 6 years ago

Text

Not Yet (Leonard McCoy x Fem!Reader) [Request!]

Prompt 21 with Leonard McCoy! 🖖🏻💙 -Anon

Thank you for your request anon :) Sorry for making you wait! I’ve been really uninspired lately and when I write and I’m uninspired then my work doesn’t have my heart in it. I really want the stories you request to be the best they can be, so I tried to write when my writer’s block was absent there for a minute! I really hope you understand and enjoy!

also heartbreak but that doesn't matter

IMPORTANT!!!! I am going to be going on a quick hiatus to work on a larger fic on my AO3! It isn’t Star Trek, but let me know if you want to read it anyways. I will be finishing all current requests that I have. You can send in a request but just know that I won’t get to it very quickly!! Thank you!!

The next requests are: 1. Kirk 2.Spock

Prompts Chosen: 21. Just hold on… please

Word Count: 1645 Warnings: graphic descriptions of injury, swearing, A.N.G.S.T, sciencey stuff I made up, ending is a little rushed Posted: Tumblr, Wattpad

Leonard had warned you. He told you he had a bad feeling about the away mission. He told you it was a bad idea, but you went anyway and now you were paying the price.

You were the only one to survive the malfunction. You were the engineer, designated to keep the shuttle up and running while the science officers recorded their data, but an Ensign you didn’t know the name of had screwed with some wiring and everything was fried. Everything, including the Ensign, and every other officer aboard the vessel. The only reason you survived was because you were conveniently working in the back rubber-sealed room of the shuttle.

“[y/l/n] to Enterprise!” you shouted into the receiver, frantically trying to steer the shuttle as it plummeted through the atmosphere of Mantilles. “Goddamnit, pick up.”

“[y/n]? What’s wrong?” Jim’s voice came in static and you nearly collapsed in relief.

“Jim, something fried and killed the whole crew. Engines are gone. I’m going down- ugh!”

The shuttle lurched violently as you re-entered the atmosphere, feeling your ears pop and the cabin’s temperature start to rise. You waited until the hot brightness of the flames and the rushing in your ears died away before opening your eyes again.

The comm reconnected to the Enterprise and you could hear Leonard trying to reach you from the other side.

“[y/n]! [y/n], can you hear me?”

“Yes!” you called back, hands flying over the control panel as alarms started blaring. “Shit!”

“[y/n]-”

“Beam me out!” you shouted, panic rising in your chest. “Beam me out! 1,000 meters from the surface!”

Your breathing got faster as you tried in vain to do something, anything to stop the shuttle from falling so quickly.

“Jim, please!” you heard Leonard begging on the line. “Somebody, please do something!”

“500 meters!”

“I’m trying but there’s something wrong with the shuttle’s hull, I can’t get a lock on her!” you heard someone yell.

“200 meters,” adrenaline mixed with fear shook your hands violently as the control panel flashed red in warning, the trees getting closer and closer. Your movement stopped slowly as defeat settled into your bones. “Leonard-”

“Don’t you start,” Leonard choked and you could tell he was trying not to cry.

“100 meters,” you tried not to cry either, knowing all of the crew on the other end about to watch you die. You decided to go down honorably. “50 meters.”

“35. 20. 15.”

You could hear frantic yelling on the other end as the count dipped under 10 and the shuttle started hitting the trees. You quickly activated the safety belt, even though you knew it wouldn’t do any good.

“Leonard-!”

Your line went dead.

Leonard was frozen. He didn’t particularly know what he was supposed to do in this instance. He felt numb as he heard the static coming from your comm and the word TERMINATED taunting him from the screen displaying your zeroed-out vitals. A small part of him pointed out that the tech could be wrong and you weren’t dead but he pushed it away. He knew that it was over.

When he finally noticed how the bridge had fallen silent besides the klaxon sounding quietly in the background and the computer repeating ‘warning’ in a steady rhythm from his medical station, he tore his eyes from the screen and looked around. Uhura was crying, Jim looked like Captain Pike had died in front of him all over again, Spock was holding Uhura, turned away from the rest of the crew, Sulu’s face was paused in an expression of horror, Chekov’s head was in his hands, and everyone else didn’t seem to understand what had just happened.

Even though he was already standing, he made a show of pushing his chair away from behind him, the clash of metal on metal as the chair hit the floor slicing through the silence. Leonard’s sad eyes met Jim’s and suddenly he wasn’t sad anymore. Anger welled up inside him and he rushed off the bridge. He could’ve stopped this. Someone could’ve done something. His feet took him to his office and he stopped when he stood in his doorway. Both his eyes and his hands twitched with rage. The door shut behind him and Leonard snapped. He slammed his hands on his desk before moving his arm in one fluid motion and sent everything resting on it tumbling to the floor with a crash. He stared at the papers, padds, pens, pencils, and various other things littered all over the floor before the tears started welling in his eyes. He never thought he would be an angry cryer, but here he was. He collapsed into his desk chair, head down on the desk, and let it out.

You don’t know what woke you. Maybe it was the heat, or maybe the pain, but whatever it was it sent your eyes flying open. You gasped in agony, feeling the weight of whatever piece of the shuttle was crushing your right arm and legs. It was almost too much and you felt the darkness start rushing back into your vision but you blinked rapidly, pushing it away. You were smart enough to know that if you went under again, there was a good chance you would never come back up.

You tried to survey your surroundings though the pain you were feeling in a multitude of places made it a bit hard. It seemed to be late morning on the planet judging by the way the sun filtered low in the trees, making it a bit easier to see the wreckage of the shuttle around you. From what you could tell, you were under the main control panel and part of your seat. You could feel the belt ripping the skin around your abdomen, and the upper strap had definitely broken your collar bone. You looked around again, eyes settling on a communicator, unharmed and just below where you were stuck. Hope soared through your chest, but only until it suddenly dawned on you that with the destruction of the shuttle, everyone most-likely thought you were dead.

You decided to focus on trying to get yourself out from underneath the piece of shuttle without permanently losing your legs instead of dwelling on the fact that the people you cared about most had already left you behind.

You felt around with your free hand, not feeling any blood, so you figured it was internal bleeding. You were somewhat right.

You groaned as you started to lift the piece of metal off of your body, feeling the blood start to pool under your legs.

Shit.

You were able to heave the heavy steel up and off of you, wincing at the loud crash following as it made contact with the ground. You stayed in your position for a minute longer, allowing yourself to breathe before propping yourself up on your good elbow and nearly passed back out.

Your body was covered in your own blood, left leg bent painfully in an odd direction. When you sucked in a breath, pain seared through your shoulder and you looked down sharply. Yeah, your collar bone was definitely broken.

You refocused on the communicator. You had been wedged between two shuttle parts until you had freed yourself and now you were elevated several feet off the ground. You tried your best to keep yourself braced as you attempted to slide down the bent piece of metal, crying out in agony as your broken leg hit the reddish dirt. You clutched your knee, letting a few tears slip out from your puffy eyes. Something warm and wet started seeping through your ripped dress again, and you noticed that with the impact you had started bleeding from everywhere again. You glanced back up at the rusty-looking spot you were just laying in, cringing at the fresh red streaking through the white hull.

You limped for the communicator, ending up in a crawl, and hastily flipped it open.

“[y/l/n] to Enterprise,” your croaked out, clutching the communicator for dear life. “Please, please...Anyone..?”

__________________

You don’t know how long you lied there, waiting for someone to pick up. Your eyes were bloodshot, cheeks tear-stained, hope slowly dissolving; until your communicator picked up something.

“[y/n]?” came your static reply. You wanted to cry again you were so happy.

“Yes, yes it’s me!” you cried back, gasping in relief. “Leonard... is that you?”

“We’re coming to get you darlin’,” he said back. Your excitement started to wear off as you noticed the blood pooling around you.

“Uh, Leonard?” your heart started to race. You couldn’t die now, not when you had just found your family again.

“Yes, darlin’?”

“I’m losing lots of blood...” you trailed off as your eyes started to droop, fatigue settling in your bones.

“[y/n]! Listen to me, you have to stay awake okay?” Leonard spoke worriedly.

You fought it, you really did, but the darkness was just enough to force you to succumb. You lazily managed to press the tracking beacon on the communicator before going under, hearing Leonard pleading on the line.

“Just hold on...please.”

__________________

You were hazily pulled out of the empty sleep you were in, cracking your eyes against the harsh lights of what you assumed was the medbay. You stirred, hissing in pain when you moved.

“[y/n]!” Leonard said in surprise, dropping what he was doing and rushing to your side. “How are you feeling?”

“Better,” you smiled up at him, never happier to see his smiling face. “Still hurting a little.”

Leonard leaned in for a quick kiss, trying not to hurt you. “I’ll come to check on you in a bit, okay?”

You nodded, sending him a small smile.

“Also, never do that to me ever again.”

You nodded, smiling wider. “Don’t worry, I don’t particularly like being in shuttle crashes.”

He beamed. “Get some rest. I love you.”

“I will. Love you too.”

#star trek #star trek reader inserts #star trek x reader #star trek imagines #bones mccoy #leonard bones mccoy #bones mccoy x reader #bones mccoy imagine #bones mccoy reader inserts #leonard mccoy #leonard mccoy x read #leonard mccoy reader inserts #leonard mccoy x reader #leonard mccoy imagines

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medicalmurdersaurus · 5 years ago

Text

Ravenous

1 INT. ARK - DAY

The 1984 Summer Olympics in Los Angeles playing on TELETRAAN I’s screens. JULIANNE MCNAMARA is on the uneven bars. SWOOP watches her success with starry optics.

SWOOP Whoa!

RATCHET makes some notes while speaking with an amused HOIST.

HOIST We’ll finish installing the detection panels while you are in Japan.

WHEELJACK packs energon for the upcoming trip. His corner of this shared work space is easy to identify. It is a hot mess of half-built toys, incomplete blueprints, and wandering to-do lists. Scorch marks are everywhere.

WHEELJACK I’ve heard of "Silicon Valley," but this is getting uncanny!

RATCHET Thankfully, this shouldn’t waste too much time.

Ratchet holds up a datapad to show Wheeljack, then sets it down on the inventor’s desk.

RATCHET I’m not dignifying most of these "recommendations" for the Dinobots with feedback, but Swoop’s are doable if shave off some extra weight off. He’s on the calendar.

Swoop looks away from Teletraan with a determined expression. He transforms into a pterosaur and jumps on Wheeljack.

WHEELJACK WHOA!

RATCHET Wheeljack, you’ve GOT to stop letting him do that. He’s going to crush someone.

Swoop continues hopping on Wheeljack like an overeager puppy. The engineer lacks any authority and is clearly amused, despite the fact he’s getting shoved to and fro.

SWOOP Me Swoop want to Olympics!

WHEELJACK Hey now! Watch it.

SWOOP Us go to Olympics!

WHEELJACK That’s for humans, bud. Not Dinobots!

RATCHET Do you even know where they are?

SWOOP Los Angeles! It, um, ONE MINUTE from Ark!

RATCHET Not quite.

SWOOP (excited) One SECOND.

WHEELJACK Well actually--

RATCHET (firmly) No.

WHEELJACK Sorry, Swoop. No Olympics.

Swoop looks at Wheeljack for a beat, then jumps on him again. Ratchet rolls his optics.

2 EXT. AUTOBOT BUNKER - NIGHT

GRAPPLE, RED ALERT, and INFERNO direct Autobots in setting up the Negavator test site.

The DINOBOTS sit to the side of the bunker. GRIMLOCK and SLUDGE eat goodies, while SLAG gnaws on a rock. SNARL is dead asleep on some of the supplies nearby. BEACHCOMBER doesn’t stand a snowball’s chance in hell of moving him, though he doesn’t look like he’s trying too hard.

Swoop practices the Tkachev salto on some of the scaffolding around the site. SLUDGE claps. Slag hits the scaffolding, causing Swoop to fall.

SWOOP (amused) KAH! Keheh. You Slag bad audience.

SLAG Me Slag no care. You Swoop plan dumb!

SWOOP It not dumb!

Swoop transforms into a pterosaur and flies over to perch on a screen that is mounted on a nearby wall.

SWOOP Me show Ratchet and Wheeljack Olympic trick, then Swoop get to go to Olympics!

Grapple runs over and tries to shoo Swoop off of the screen.

GRAPPLE (franticly) Oh! Get off of there! You’re too heavy. You’re going to break it.

SLAG Heheh. Him Grapple say You Swoop FAT.

Swoop takes off and flies off to circle the mountain.

3 EXT.MOUNTAIN SIDE - DAWN

Swoop spots the Autobots standing together on a cliff. He dives down and tackles Wheeljack.

WHEELJACK Ack!

SWOOP Me Swoop have trick!

4 INT. MEDBAY - DAY

Swoop sits on a medical berth in robot mode, undeterred from his goal. Ratchet attempts to hook up some monitors to the wiggly Dinobot, while Wheeljack looks over blueprints.

There is some damage to a console in the background. Repairs were started but remain incomplete.

SWOOP Listen! Listen.

RATCHET That’s MY line.

SWOOP Keehee! No. Look! Me Swoop have trick for You Ratchet to see!

Wheeljack comes over to help Ratchet. He is blatantly entertained.

WHEELJACK What’s your trick?

SWOOP No no! You have to SEE!

WHEELJACK Alright. We’ll go watch--

SWOOP YAH!

WHEELJACK --right after this!

Swoop flops backwards on the berth in mock despair.

SWOOP Nooo!

Ratchet and Wheeljack share a look. Ratchet finally gets Swoop hooked up to everything he wants, then types on the console connected to the Dinobot. Swoop falls into recharge.

FADE TO BLACK

5 INT. MEDBAY - AFTERNOON

An explosion outside causes Swoop to groggily wake up. Ratchet and Wheeljack have left. Autobots, some of whom are covered in ash, scramble around preparing the medbay.

Swoop looks down and sees he was left mid-operation. His beak is missing from his torso and quite a few things are pulled aside so new connections can be made. It’s not particularly gory; however, since his beak runs the length of his torso, there is a lot of exposure. His missing bits are on one side of him, while the new pieces are some distance away.

Swoop begins to remove things and, when he pulls off one tube, coolant squirts out. He immediately covers it and looks around sheepishly.

SWOOP Whoops!

Swoop puts everything back in its original location.

Once complete, he walks out to see Inferno carry in Red Alert. Ratchet follows closely.

RATCHET Oh, good! They patched you up. We need that room. Shoo!

SWOOP Me Swoop have--

RATCHET Later, Swoop!

Ratchet pushes by and Inferno follows.

6 EXT. ARK ENTRANCE - EVENING

The Dinobots, covered in grit and scuff marks, train near in the main entrance of the Ark. Slag and Sludge sit to the side, next to various supplies. They are refueling after their own fight. They are clearly beat up and in good spirits. Snarl is dead to the world again. Slag rests his cube on the unconscious stegosaurus.

Grimlock and Swoop fight in robot mode. Grimlock’s attacks leave huge gouges in the ground, but he has a hard time catching the grinning pterosaur. While the fight, OMEGA SUPREME takes off in the background.

When he finally lands a blow, Swoop is thrown into a wall. Grimlock rushes over to punch him in the gut. Swoop doubles over. He’s done. The other Dinobots cheer.

GRIMLOCK You Swoop spend too much time practicing FANCY move.

Swoop reaches a hand up to Grimlock. The Dinobot leader grabs his arm and yanks him to his feet.

SLAG Him scrawny, WEAK bot!

Swoop catches his reflection in some sheet metal and gives himself an appraising look before engaging Slag.

SWOOP Me Swoop going to Olympics.

GRIMLOCK (curious) Him Wheeljack say so?

SWOOP Nah!

Grimlock rolls his optics. He grabs some energon and hands Swoop a cube too. The Dinobots pile up around Snarl and go to sleep.

FADE TO BLACK

7 EXT. ARK ENTRANCE - MORNING

The Dinobots awaken to Omega Supreme exploding to pieces, screaming Autobots all around them. Swoop’s full energon cube is knocked over in the fray.

8 INT. MEDBAY - DAY

Omega Supreme’s body and various components are laid about the medbay for repairs. It’s all hands on deck for this massive repair. Ratchet directs different bots and humans to work on different parts of Omega. Swoop plays with a nearby piece.

RATCHET You’ve got your assignments. There’s no time to waste. Get to it!

SWOOP So...

Swoop holds up a pair of pliers.

SWOOP This is not a drill.

Ratchet levels him with the flattest look ever. Wheeljack snickers.

WHEELJACK Come on, Ratch. That joke was pretty ENGINE-ious.

This time, Swoop laughs while Ratchet shoves Wheeljack. Then, he remembers something and perks up.

SWOOP (urgently) Ratchet.

RATCHET No tricks right now, Swoop!

9 INT. MEDBAY - AFTERNOON

Omega Supreme is significantly more put together. A lot of the medics are taking a break to refuel. SIDESWIPE and BLUESTREAK hand out energon cubes.

The AERIALBOTS walk in. SPARKPLUG takes over finishing some repairs to Omega’s arm that Ratchet is too tired to complete. Swoop and FIREFLIGHT wave at each other.

Swoop and Wheeljack are sitting together. Ratchet comes over to them.

RATCHET I am going to go recharge.

SWOOP No!

RATCHET (exasperated) Fine. What is your trick?

SWOOP (frantically excited) Me Swoop can uneven bars! Like Olympics!

SIDESWIPE Cool! You should come with us to the next Olympic Games!

SWOOP Next one?

SIDESWIPE Yeah, the summer ones ended a while ago.

Swoop’s wings droop.

SWOOP Oh.

Wheeljack scratches Swoop’s chin.

WHEELJACK Hey, don’t worry about it! You still learned a new trick.

SWOOP (happily) Me Swoop good at trick!

WHEELJACK You sure are, kiddo.

Wheeljack takes Swoop’s face in his hands. Swoop leans into getting pet.

WHEELJACK Hey, Ratch, how d’you feel about yellow optics?

Ratchet knocks his knuckles on the back of Wheeljack’s head as he walks past, yawning.

RATCHET Not tonight!

Swoop snickers.

23 notes · View notes