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shsl-fander · 8 months

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Logince Week Day 4

Prompt: Block by burnout

Tw: Overworking, lack of sleep, burn out, insecurities, harsh criticism

Pairing: Roman/Logan

Description: Roman's been working himself to the max for the past week but despite all his efforts, he absolutely hates everything hes making. He finds himself exhausted, drowning in his insecurities. Logan has to come and talk some sense into him and let him sleep.

Read on ao3 or under read more

@loginceweek2024

Roman slammed his head against his desk, his groaning muffled as his face stayed against the wood, frowning deeply. Everything he was producing was awful, nothing great like he should be making, nothing good enough, nothing that made him deserve the title of creativity.

He lacked the energy needed to work his best, and without the energy motivation him to strive, Roman took longer to do each small project, leaving him to work non stop the few days before Thomas needed it from him.

Typically Roman would ask Logan to help him brainstorm when the negative thoughts were clouding his brain. Ever since he'd let Logan know about some of his insecurities when they had tried that whole puppet thing, the logical trait had made a huge effort to be less critical on his work. Additionally, he'd been including Roman in many of his studies as well.

It made Roman feel appreciated, as opposed to worrying if he met up to Logan's expectations before. Logan was just so perfect, Roman adored him and everything he represented, he wanted not only to match that level but also to impress him, to make Logan love Roman too.

However, he couldn't ask Logan for help right now since Logan was so busy with his own work, he surely wouldn't have any interest in Roman's struggles.

He just felt so tired, the weight of his own eyelids feeling heavy on his face as he attempting to stay awake. He'd barely even gotten anything done, and reading all the stuff he had written made Roman feel so awful about himself he'd wished to curl up in a ball and just quit right then and there. Why couldn't he just make something incredible, he'd done it before?! A prince is supposed to excell all the time, not be pathetic and drown in his own self hatred then once in a while create something spectacular.

Roman had nearly drifted off to sleep, slumping over on his desk when he heard gentle knocks coming from his door. A familiar knock pattern, two short knocks followed by one longer knock, only one person was sophisticated enough to think the personalize the way they knocked in a way that felt professional for them : Logan.

Roman jolted up, springing out of his seat, slurring his words as he responded, "You may enter!"

Roman ran his hand over his face, attemping to wake himself up enough to where his royally fucked up state wouldn't be too obvious to his visitor. "Thought you were still workin', Specs?" he comments as he watched the door open, biting back his yawn.

Logan shook his head, stepping further into the prince's room. His eyes darted around the place before they focussed on Roman sitting at his desk. "Falsehood, I finished around an hour ago," he corrected, "I assumed you were finished as well and was wondering if you wanted to compare, to see how my data would match your writing?" he offered.

Roman felt a wave of panic rush over him, he frantically slammed his laptop shut, chuckling uncomfortably. "Oh! Right, that! Obviously that was the plan, as that's what we've been doing for ages! Ahah..."

Logan blinked, "Correct," he stated simply, furrowing his eyebrows in confusion. "Are you alright, Roman? You seem tense," he asked, a hint of concern in his voice.

Roman bit his tounge, while it was clear Logan cared about his wellbeing and all, he couldn't just admit to Logan that he wasn't finished. He wasn't going to make himself look stupid in front of him like that.

"Roman, you do not need to lie to me, I can tell you're stressed," Logan sighed, setting his folders down on the ground and walking closer to Roman, standing by his desk. "What's bothering you?"

Roman relented, slumping over on his chair, "I've been working non stop for the past week and yet I have absolutely nothing to show for it!" he grumbled, "I've made like 7 different full drafts but I keep scrapping them become they're all royally awful and I can't put something like that up, what will everyone think of me?! And I'm just so tired but I can't be tired without anything good to show from it," he rambled, just spilling out his guts.

Roman took a deep breath," and the absolute last thing I wanted to do was dissapoint you, Teach," he admitted quietly.

Logan's eyes grew wide and he frowned deeply, "Do you really think that lowly of me?" he asked.

Roman's head shot up and he frantically shook his hands, "What?! No I don't think lowly of you, I think the exact opposite-" he started to defend himself but Logan interrupted him.

"I meant assuming you could dissapoint me, you could never dissapoint me," Logan insisted, reaching out to touch Roman's hand before he froze, blushing slightly. He decided upon resting his hand next to it instead, "Especially not with something like this. However, I assume you're being extremely hard on yourself right now, I'm sure you're looking at your work with an unfair lense."

Logan cleared his throat before he spoke, hoping to god that the racing of his heartbeat and warmth spreading across his face wasn't obvious to Roman and also didn't mean anything about the crush he had been trying to deny. "I formally apologize if I don't say it enough, but you really impress me Roman, consistently. It saddens me to see you look at your own creativity with such harsh eyes, but it's even worse to think I would think of you like that as well."

Logan shook his head," I can't believe I'm saying this, but the work can wait, I can make adjustments in Thomas's schedule to allow for it. You need to give yourself a break before you burn yourself out any further, " he instructed, spinning Roman's chair to face him.

"You look like you are two minutes away from passing out," he pointed out matter-of-factly.

Roman stammeres, opening his mouth to protest but Logan just stared back at him, giving him an all too familiar look. "I hate when you're right," he muttered, crossing his arms stubbornly.

"I am always right, you just only sometimes admit it," Logan countered with an amused smirk. "Trust me, you'll thank me later when you can start again with fresh eyes and will create something wonderful, I just know it. If you want I can assist you as well, since I should actually be free the majority of tomorrow."

Roman headed over towards his bed, snapping his fingers to conjure up more comfortable clothes that he could sleep in, automatically appearing already wearing them. He flopped down onto his bed, exhaustion already getting the best of him. He'd been too busy non stop writing that he hadn't had a good nights sleep in nearly 2 weeks.

Logan smiled softly, and oh there was this tug at his chest that made him feel as if his stomach was turning. Roman looked so...adorable, which was an odd thought for Logan to have, but he was certainly having it. Not to mention the way his hair was much messier than usual, sticking up in parts, or the way his eyes were blinking closed every few second. It was oddly endearing, and it made Logan just wanted to cup his face and kiss him, feeling the taste of his lips against his own and the way they'd gently press and...

"Ahem, I'll be uhm leaving now," Logan mumbled, his face almost completely pink now. He headed towards Roman's lamp to shut off the light.

"Wait! Specs?" Roman called out drowsily, hugging onto his stitch stuffed animal.

"Yes, Roman?"

Roman glanced up at Logan, a tender smile spread across his face. "Thank you for everything you said today, and thank you for giving me more time."

Logan's gaze softended, "Of course, I care about you Roman, much more than any project, even the most important ones. I'd much rather be months behind schedule than let you hurt yourself, remember that please."

And it was true, Logan deeply cared about Roman, more than he even began to understand. And Roman cared about Logan too, deeper than just wanting to make good content for him.

They loved each other, and soon enough they'd learn to tell each other that. For now, Roman needed to rest, so Logan clicked off his lamp and slowly snuck out of his room, shaking his heas fondly.

He'd always be here to check up on him, always

#sanders sides #roman sanders #logan sanders #logince #tssides #ts logan #ts roman #logince week #logince week 2024 #loginceweek2024 #logince fan fiction #logince fanfic #kai writes #sanders sides fanfiction

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skaruresonic · 9 months

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I write HL fics sometimes so go check 'em out. links and excerpts under the read more. yeet

In the Eye of the Beholder - benignmilitancy - Half-Life [Archive of Our Own]

It wasn't a conscious decision.

It seldom is.

Risk factors. As if one's life can be reduced to a chemical deficit. ---

He can't say where it started, only where it's led him.

He saw the dwindling rations, the tight pinched miens of the men around him. The incessant chatter of a television broadcasting some new infathomable horror.

He ate less, started giving Kleiner his share. You need it more than I do.

Maybe the transference is why Kleiner started fighting battles on his behalf. Merely breathing is an incredible act of courage. I'll not have you speak ill to him when he's ailing.

"What about the rest of us, Kleiner? Do you really think this has just been peaches for us? Damned facility took everything! May God have mercy on our souls, because this coalition certainly won't spare us!"

In the days following the Seven Hours, he experienced no passions, no ambitions, no plans or desires. Consciousness a blank expanse. He became an unthinking creature, a vegetable at the ripe old age of twenty-three, confined to lying on a dirty couch, waiting for it to become a coffin.

A hand rustling the pillow beneath him, propping him up. A spoonful of flavorless chicken broth poised to his chapped lips, which parted out of reflex and allowed the liquid to slip inside.

Occasionally he felt fingers, dry and cold, knead his throat.

You must live. Kleiner, a tremulous wisp. Our hubris stole your future. Barney, I promise with whatever breath is granted me, I'll correct this grievous wrong. ---

I believe the Combine intend to show us every horror possible. They'll try to strip us of our rationality, our humanity, our sanity and our very souls. They'll parade us as animals to be gawked at and specimens to be dissected. You cannot do their work for them, Barney.

Life has no intrinsic meaning, it's true. We can neither rationalize nor justify our existence. We may not have a reason to continue. But there is such cohesion, such structure, to the universe that I find it impossible to believe we don't have a place in it at all. Let us be damned before we let our aggressors define it for us.

For a single sublime moment, Kleiner's hope made him beautiful.

Bless the wretched, who cling to scraps as they drift through this dark sea. --- Mycotoxin - benignmilitancy - Half-Life (Video Games) [Archive of Our Own] Hammer Two forges ahead and freezes at the threshold.

"Oh, sh... " And then it remembers. "Untagged biotics in Sector Nineteen."

Ghost Five staggers back in, twists and convulses beneath a pulsating mask of black mold. Spores spray on each exhale of the ventilator, latching onto the dust motes and burning. Asthmatic smoke.

Christ. Fall back. Bear back.

Daggers discharge. Raindrops in a puddle. The sterilizers have nowhere to go. They're simply eaten.

Hammer Two activates its wall and pulls up its hammer, sloughing sparks. There is something gladiatorial in the way it creeps toward Ghost Five. Near valiant. But the moment dies brutishly: the wall sputters and half of Hammer Two disintegrates. The other half slumps to the carpet. Carrion. Feasted upon. What it is now, the others don't know.

What's the designation? someone asks. Questions ripple through them.

What's the designation.

Spores.

The designation.

Mold?

Designation.

"You fucking morons, who cares what it is?"

They call for their mother, who responds with cold silence.

OVERWATCH WE ARE REQUESTING DESIGNATION

WE HAVE UNTAGGED

--- Derailed - benignmilitancy - Half-Life [Archive of Our Own]

Rain bombs the rooftops, a thousand simultaneous explosions silvering the streets. Water rattles the drainpipes loose from their bolts. Skies weep, unable to inhale. Endless baptisms rinse the city clean. He hasn't seen anything like it since the Seven Hours.

The man who stepped in front of the razor train, the whole and complete Kevlar-clad body he used to belong to, asked him in a thin whisper: You think it'll work?

Will what work?

Your Resistance. Go poking at the beast and it'll tear your head right off the stump. ---

Mask - benignmilitancy - Half-Life [Archive of Our Own] After a moment of silence, you roll up the hem of your armor.

They can't help but stare at the purple welt puckered over your right kidney. The flesh folded inward, the serrated ghosts of stitches puncturing brown skin.

Torso pads caught most of it. You appraise it with a nonchalant sniff. He cut it from a tin can, y'know, didn't know how to hold it the right way, and, uh. You trace the scar, almost fondling it under the pad of your index finger, before lowering your hem. He ran when he saw it broke off. They sent a couple shredders after him. Didn't make it past the front gate.

You sigh then and throw a stick into the oil drum. Golden cinders flare.

You know the real fucked part? As you were bleeding on the floor like a stuck pig? You got pissed at him. You. The mask. They were chasing him out the door and all you could think was, Just you wait, you raggedy little shit.

---

Path of the Borealis - benignmilitancy - Half-Life [Archive of Our Own]

Alone, he contemplated his failure.

One thread remained.

He crushed it.

Windows shattered outward, crashing tidal waves of glass into the darkness. Incandescent tubes scorched around him, belching sparks that caught on the upholstery. The tram's chassis screeched as the car folded in on itself, metal joints and steel bones scrunching with papery ease.

The last vortal cord sizzled protest in his fist.

Doctor Freeman. The darkness harbored lungs, and it prepared to scream. It… appears we've been quite… obdurate. ---

"You call me less than human. You, who are no more than an animal yourself, terrified of any glimmer of truth illuminating the shadows playing upon the cavern walls of your dim consciousness. What possible use could we have for you, an evolutionary dead end clinging wretchedly to its last vestiges? Only a fool would believe her short-lived passions serve us in the palace of the enlightened."

Breen dropped her. Let her crawl.

Long, jointed fingers grasped her ankles and dragged back its prey, letting the steel grate abrade her Hunter wounds. The floor's ridges scraped her flesh until her scabs cracked. A cold, seeping trickle smeared across her stomach, joining the sweat dampening her undershirt.

"I am the gentlest propagator of this process, believe you me. The native-born aren't quite as considerate for the concerns of the flesh, but I still remember what it means to be saddled down by human foible."

Clutching her throbbing shoulder, Alyx scrabbled in vain at the floor. Toward the launcher, toward anything that could offer salvation. Her heart slammed inside her ribcage, full to burst.

"I can improve you, perfect you in ways your simian cerebrum can hardly grasp. Have you seen the thorough work I've done with Dr. Mossman? How easily I've washed away her pesky flaws? One can't help but appreciate her now that she lacks her stubborn streak, her subtle arrogance driven by fears of inadequacy. Far better than the existing stock, wouldn't you agree?"

This couldn't be it. She couldn't die here, not to him, not with Mossman watching—

" …Now, there, you won't feel a thing, I promise. This baptism is the most invigorating thing you will ever do. Doesn't that sound far kinder a fate than any afterlife could purport to be? And who better to convert you than me?

"Not to worry: you're in much more capable hands than the ones that clutched your father. His death was an unrefined mess I wish not to repeat. No; for my next piece, I intend to chip away at you until what remains cannot even be called broken."

In the midst of horror, a place of calm. A clear voice.

Look, her father said. Look closer.

No; closer. Past the shock and pain and helplessness; past the blood pooling through limestone; peel back the layers, quiet the scrape of the scream writhing from your throat; stop feeling, stop grieving and see; what remains?

The Advisor in the barn. Bearing pockmarks from its damaged life support.

Alyx, her father said. Look in the inhuman eyes of the one who killed me. ---

Around her, darkness laughed. Stupid girl. Your father suffered many nightmares, but only one was born of choice.

[Lies.]

Whether hand or mind willed it, she didn't know. The former slipped into her boot and curled around a familiar curve.

[Vindicate me. Extinguish these lies.]

Alyx slaked off the HEV with a shove and brandished the pincer. Let the bastard's amused gaze absorb the glint of the weapon that had lured the terrified animal from Breen's host body, made the human inside taste hell.

"This is what you really want, right?" It turned, wry amusement etching Gordon's features. "What you arranged in Black Mesa." With a spirit as chillingly clear as ice, she poised the tip over her heart. "Let him go." Pushed in until the point sank through the parka's outermost skin, slitting tender down. "Or you lose everything."

Unperturbed in the slightest, it rose, and walked toward the fire. "Of the various species I have encountered, I have noted core characteristics." Emerald radiance blurred its edges. Gordon immolated. Gordon through a stained-glass window. Exalted. Untouchable. "They are born, cold, hungry, and screaming, into a world where their suffering engenders no meaning. Rather than endure such an existence, many seek relief. They embrace the end."

The pincer quaked.

"All except one. You do not know how to die."

The light was as holy as it was alien. Heatless like oblivion. Like transcendence.

"It is because you do not know how to die that your kind worships shadows. I knew your Resistance would never come to be without a sacrificial lamb or two. For that role, I could have chosen anyone. You, well. Provided the most convenient means, shall we say.

"To put it in the simplest terms I can: I don't like squandering my investments." Smooth metal nudged her breast. The heart, pumping worthless blood, accelerated at the intrusion. "At Black Mesa, I hoped to purge you of your afflictions. But I see my methods have failed. Instead, you passed your strain onto your neighbor."

Instinct checked her hand, prevented her from carrying out the threat.

The entity huffed a noiseless laugh as she relented her grip. "The flesh is a prison. It craves survival."

tery power is four p

Reduced to a crawl, she knelt beside Barney's prone form while the entity raised its arms, spreading veined wings of cables and cords. If she couldn't commit the crucial deed, she could at least... At least...

"There is nowhere to run, Miss Vance. You both belong to me," it said, "the organs of my body." ---

Something Secret Steers Us - benignmilitancy - Half-Life [Archive of Our Own] Maybe all their struggles amounted to futile effort, a fool's errand. An armored suit worn once and tucked away.

She wouldn't accept her death with any of the grace her mother and father had. She'd be dragged screaming into the dark, gnashing her teeth and biting the hand that supposedly fed.

Until now, she'd been measuring herself against this shadow in her head, this specter of Eli, weighing whether or not he'd have done the same in her circumstances. And she'd been so certain, so absolutely sure her father would have done the right thing, wouldn't have let anyone under his protection die.

"I can't take this," she whispered. "Between Dad and Barney and Gordon, it feels like I'm being crushed… And I know they need me to hold it together, I know… But making these decisions over who lives and who dies… How am I supposed to do that?"

But maybe he would have. The prospect that she didn't really know him at all, what he was capable of in a similar moment of blind, abject desperation, terrified her. That behind every self-effacing moment of his was calculation. That his insistence not to saint him but to look to Gordon instead—so certain this myth of a man held the answers they sought—had been in fact meticulously designed to get her to this point, with Gordon as the control. Solved like an equation, by proof and by axiom, whose life will pay the greater dividend? Whose life may we cast aside? Show your work, Dr. Vance.

#'tis the season for half-life. fa la la la la la la #half-life #half life #fanfic #half life fanfiction #I didn't list all of it but. w/e

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floor-tiles · 2 years

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Happy Holidays, @ohlookanothercartoontofallinto !!!

I hope you enjoy this Secret Santa gift! (Not beta read, sorry :[ )

"You'll need to run that by me again."

"I've told you at least a million times now, Vet! My quest involved the mixing of our eras, so in all of the futures," said Warriors, "of everyone here, someone is probably going to be capable of traveling between my era and their own."

Legend raised his eyebrows in response, "Of all my adventures, I'm not sure I've ever heard something even half as crazy as that."

Warriors was about to respond before he was interrupted by Wind.

"It's true! You know, I was there for his journey. I have proof!" he said, pulling out a pictograph of Warriors and Wind. Wind looked about the same, but Warriors had far less battle scars scattered over his face.

In the photo, there was snow covering the ground and falling from the sky. Each boy had a snowball in each hand. They faced each other, mischievous looks on their faces. Wind had his arm pulled back, about to throw one of his snowballs. The snowball that had been on Warriors' right hand was soaring through the air when the picture was captured, headed straight for Wind's face.

Warriors let out a chuckle, "Ah, that was one heck of a day, wasn't it?"

Legend squinted at the pictograph. He pointed at a young duo in the background. The boy looked about Wind's age and looked freakishly similar to him. The girl beside him had long beautiful blonde hair, a large contrast to her bulky suit of armor.

"Who's that?" asked Legend.

"Spirit and Phantom." Warriors and Wind said in unison.

Ignoring the foreign names, Legend asked yet another question, "And who took the photo?"

At the same time Warriors said he couldn't remember, Wind cheered out the photographer's name.

"Tetra did!"

Quickly realizing how eager he seemed to answer, Wind's face quickly went red. He would be teased about that one later, for sure! Both Warriors and Legend could find any way to tease anybody.

"Wind," Warriors began, humor strung through his voice, "Why don't you tell us the story of this photo?"

—‐-‐—--‐—------------‐—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It was a cold, snowy, and wet day. Wind finally had a few hours off fighting at the same time as his closest friends. He scanned the field, searching for his companions. In the distance, he saw two heads of blonde, and -fingers crossed it was the Captain and Tetra- charged over towards them, gathering damp and packy snow in his hands as he ran.

Gathering a bunch of fabric from the back of her shirt, Wind pulled back Tetra's shirt to expose her skin and smacked his hand full of snow against her bare neck.

"Aghaagah!" she yelled, "Oh, you little shithead!"

Wind giggled in a mischievous manner as Tetra turned around to face him. She gripped his shoulders tightly and kicked her leg out to the side and swung it back against the behind of his knees. Wind's eyes grew to the size of saucers as Tetra pushed them both down to the ground, landing with her knee on his stomach.

"Yeowch! Tetraaaaaa!" Wind cried. He looked up at Captain Link, "Cap! Help me!"

His pleas were a lost cause when the captain reached down to the ground and grabbed a handful of the packs snow and molded it into a misshapen ball. he held it high above his head and slammed it down onto Wind's face.

"CapTAAAAAIN!"

His screech of freezing cold terror must have been loud enough to attract people from the other side of the field, as when Wind looked to his right he saw Spirit and Phantom watching everything go down.

"Oh, thank Zephos- SPIRIT PHANTOM HELO THE CAPTAIN AND TETRA ARE KILLING ME!"

The duo ran over, and not soon after everyone was in one huge snowball fight.

"Wind!" the captain called.

"Yeah?" Wind yelled out from the other side of the snowball battle.

"One on one! I challenge you!"

"Fuck yeah, bet!"

Shortly, all the snowball competitors were in a circle surrounding Wind and the Captain.

"Tetra," said Wind, "Keep my bag safe, will ya?" he said while already tossing his bag over to her. Tetra caught it in the air with both hands.

The captain and Wind circled each other, snowballs in their hands, anticipating eachother's move.

The captain was the first to make a move, throwing his first snowball. Wind quickly dodged it. He took one of his own snowballs and threw it at Captain Link, and it landed square in his stomach. He grabbed his stomach in unexpected pain.

The captain raised another snowball at the same time as Wind, but he was quicker.

The snowball hit Wind's face with a splat, but not before they heard the click of a pictograph being taken.

The fight went on for like an hour before both boys got too tired to continue.

Everyone left to their own respective tents to enjoy a mug of hot chocolate and cozy up, ready for bed after a long day of cold, wet, snowy fun.

#wind lu #linked universe #linked universe headcanons #linked universe legend #linked universe warriors #tetra linked universe #linked universe phantom #linked universe spirit #hurricane family #hurriane family secret santa #secret santa

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ollieofthebeholder · 9 months

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20 Questions for Fic Writers

Thanks @fridayyy-13th for the tag!

How many works do you have on Ao3? 64!

What's your total Ao3 word count? Holy...! Uh, 1,700,611. (I should've guessed, I've got some ultra-long fics on there, but Jesus Christ on a cracker.)

What fandoms do you write for? These days, mostly The Magnus Archives. I've also written for Star Trek (primarily the AOS/Kelvin films), the MCU/Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D., Cut & Run, and RQG. I've got a couple of very, very old Sherlock fics, a couple PJO fics from some ship week challenges I took part in back when the Heroes of Olympus books were still coming out, a couple WTNV fics, a few Star Wars fics that never made it to AO3, and three one-offs.

What are your top five fics by kudos? leaves too high to touch (roots too strong to fall) - 1,758 kudos Had He Known It - 777 kudos Whiskey Lullaby - 395 kudos It Was Just My Imagination Telling Lies - 378 kudos Hurry Up and Slow Me Down - 349 kudos

Do you respond to comments? Every single one! It's half the fun to me.

What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending? Ooh...that's a toughie, actually, but I'm going to go with Where the Road Waits to be Taken because it's the only one where the ending focuses on the people left behind.

What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending? Also a toughie! But I'm going to go with Love Will Find Out the Way.

Do you get hate on fics? Not so much anymore. I've been around long enough that I definitely used to, but I write for saner fandoms now.

.Do you write smut? If so, what kind? Not these days. I'm asexual and, while I'm personally sex-averse, my tolerance for it in fiction kind of goes in cycles. I think the last time I wrote an explicit sex scene was in 2016 or 2017.

.Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written? Heh...I do, on occasion. Most recently the WTNV/TMA crossover (the full extent of which hasn't been published yet), which isn't that crazy. I think the craziest one I wrote was the Sherlock/Star Trek crossover that was also (sigh) a HP AU...which I have deleted, so sorrynotsorry.

Have you ever had a fic stolen? Not as far as I know, but I don't exactly go looking.

Have you ever had a fic translated? Again, not as far as I know.

Have you ever co-written a fic before? Uh...technically? My brother had an idea for a fic, but he wasn't old enough to join any fanfic websites at the time (we were probably the only two kids who never lied about our age on the internet to join websites), so he dictated it to me, I fleshed it out and posted it under my username.

What's your all time favorite ship? I love so many, but I have to say, the only ship I love that I genuinely can call an OTP in that I cannot fathom them in a relationship with anyone else (even adding anyone else to the equation) is Cecilos. JonMartin is a close second, but, well, I can see (and frequently enjoy) them also having other people in their relationships. Cecil and Carlos? Nuh-uh.

What's a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will? Ooh. There are...a couple. But I have a WIP sitting in my Tumblr drafts that was a sequel to Hurry Up and Slow Me Down that I would very much like to finish someday...I just, yeah.

What are your writing strengths? Angst and heartbreak. I've got a gift for descriptions, and I'm really good at conveying emotion in text. And I think I have a knack for putting together a tasty sentence.

What are your writing weaknesses? I do tend to get hung up on irrelevant details, and I frequently think myself into a corner. I also think I tend to obsess sometimes about things being perfect...and if I'm being honest, a big weakness of mine (not just in my writing, but in general) is that I often feel like it's something I need to apologize for, which is not helpful.

Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic? Oh, I love doing that! I try to put a translation in hover text, and also in a footnote for benefit of screen readers, but I also try not to burden the actual text with translations. It's one of those "trust the reader to know what you're trying to say, and if they can't figure it out from context, you have failed as a writer" things to me. (This may have something to do with the fact that I used to write Star Trek fanfic, and conlangs are a thing.)

First fandom you wrote for? If you want to get technical, Power Rangers; I used to tell myself stories about the Power Rangers to put myself to sleep at night when I was a little kid, and once I wrote one down and read it out loud for Show and Tell. (The opening line was "One night, when Kimberly and Trini were sleeping, they were stolen," which should tell you everything you need to know about it. In my defense, I was seven.) I didn't know that's what it was at the time, though. If you're talking fandoms that I wrote for knowing it was a fandom and published on the internet...well, I grew up in the '90s and turned thirteen in the early '00s, so it probably shouldn't be that big of a surprise that it was HP.

Favorite fic you've written? It's like asking me to pick a favorite child. I am deeply in love with to find promise of peace (and the solace of rest) even if the next chapter is currently frustrating me a bit, because I am always deeply in love with my current project, because I love the way it showcases how I've grown as an author. That being said, I think my favorite fic that is currently complete might actually be Tomorrow When the World Is Free.

Tagging (absolutely no pressure) @blasphemous-lies-and-deceit, @amberastra, @magnetarmadda, @astudyinfic, @dyscalculated, and anyone else who wants to give this a go!

#ask games for ts #fic writers asks #ceaseless watcher turn your gaze upon whatever the fuck this is

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sansxfuckyou · 10 months

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wrong place (wrong time)

Summary: wherein Quackity is there when Tilìn dies and he can't do anything about it, having Phil and Missa catch him in his fall doesn't help much

Warnings: Blood, break downs, major death, canon rewrite (as in, different people are there), bad ending, check Ao3 port for full tags

Authors Note: So, QSMP, I miss Tilìn, so I wrote a fic about her dying, to cope, kind of counter intuitive now that I'm thinking about it. @h3xt0r heybro, come check this shit out. anyways! hope ya'll enjoy and if you do consider dropping a reblog or checking out the Ao3 port.

Tilìn felt this sense of glee when Quackity got her, this belonging when he hoisted her up with shocking ease and held her tight like she'd been his daughter forever. Her brothers and sisters also got parents after watching their mother flee the nest, but they all got two.

And she only got one.

Her siblings teased her over it, Quackity always crouched down and gave her the most comforting smile he could muster before trying to cheer her up. He always managed to have her giggling at the end of one of his long pep talks. And sure, dinner felt lonely without a second parent but she didn't really think that mattered much.

"Papa?" She can feel her blood sink into the fabric of her clothing, bright blue like her hero's.

Not when he was always at her side and taking care of her. He did the job of both mother and father, he took care of her with ease. He was the best and she's sure of it! Even if Bobby and Dapper say otherwise.

"No. No. No. Baby, don't die. Tilìn, stay with me! Look at your papa, okay? Focus on me, it's gonna be okay- Bad! Bad?!" Hands press at the wound desperately to hold in the blood and he screams for the one healer he knows. The only one who sort of gets how the eggs even work medically wise, the one demon who could save her. And he didn't hear Quackity's screams.

She didn't blame him much for her first death, accidents happen, that's what she was taught. She said it was okay when she came back and Quackity sobbed on her shoulder and refused to let go for a long time. He didn't let go of her now, he held on so very closely no matter the hour because Tilìn is his daughter and he needs to protect her.

That's what a good dad does. He protects. He doesn't let harm come anywhere near his kid. And maybe he goes overboard with it, just a bit, but he can't bear to lose her again. Unlike the rest of them, he doesn't have someone to lean on if she does die. He's pretty sure he'll go out in the woods and starve to death if she dies, he'd have failed his one job. A pathetic self-exile would be a fitting punishment for letting his daughter die at age twelve.

Tilìn doesn't get how much she means to her dad, she doesn't really get that she'll be gone forever when she dies the next time. She just knows it wasn't fun, and she'll avoid not fun things like her life depends on it because she's a kid. That's what kids do, and Quackity's gonna try and let her be a kid even if he's afraid she'll die.

"Thanks for having us over, Phil," Quackity said quietly as his avian friend preened a spread of golden feathers.

"It's fine by me, the more the merrier," Phil answered with as he rearranged a whole sheaf of feathers left out of order for some reason. Quackity gives an abrupt chirp at the slight sting, "Say, when did you last preen yourself?"

No answer. Why should he respond? Phil already knows exactly what the answer is so why does he need to say it?

"Quackity," The blonde presses, running a hand along the arch of a wing.

"Before, before my daughter died," The words are brimming with shame, and he can't stop the disappointed sigh rolling through him.

"Mate… You gotta take better care of yourself," Phil said, voice soft as he moved to plucking broken feathers from Quackity's other wing.

Quackity shrugged, drawing wings higher reflexively, "No, I don't, I have to keep Tilìn safe. How would you feel if Tallulah died?"

Phil pauses, "That question is unfair."

"And unlike you, I don't have someone to console me if she does die! This single parenting shit is hard," Quackity snapped before dropping back onto the Elytrians lap and Phil refrains from saying something stupid.

"I can imagine,"

"Can I just- can you take care of Tilìn for me?"

"What?"

"Please, I know that you won't let anything so much as touch her. I need to know that she's safe, I can't do everything all at once; I just want her to not die. She's my daughter man, and I'm messing this up,"

Phil just doesn't answer, tactfully preening the inner side of Quackity's wings. Prodding feathers back into place as Quackity waited patiently for an answer he knew he wouldn't get. He rolls onto his side, curling into the avian and giving a heavy sigh as he wraps his wings around himself.

"I'm not taking care of your egg, Missa would kill me if I decided raising two kids would be a good idea," Phil said, carding through the feathers as he spoke.

Quackity gives an amused hum, "Yeah, he would."

"You can drop her off sometimes," Phil offered, "Just not, all day every day."

And then there's the sound of the door slamming open. Quackity snapped up, feathers flying about as Phil joined the estranged panic. They found Missa with Chayanne at his side and Tilìn in his arms, blood spilling down her shirt. Missa was heaving breaths, and Chayanne looked ruined, he was crying a little bit.

And then Quackity was storming over, flaring out his wings as he stole his daughter from Missa's arms and clutched her close. She was fading, she was fading fast and Quackity didn't know what to do.

"It was some assholes!" Chayanne practically screamed, "They ran as soon as it happened! I swear I'm gonna kill them!"

Missa placed a hand atop his sons head, and the angrily lashing of a leathery tail halted, "Más despacio, Chayanne."

He just huffed, he did quiet down as Quackity slowly unraveled.

He was dropping to the floor before he realized it, clutching onto the almost dead child because she was all he had. A hand, he didn't know who it belonged to, gently reached for Tilìn and he lashed out. He gripped tighter and blood gushed from the wound as his wings flared up in a weak attempt at a protective casing. There's weak coughing and he knows it's Tilìn, blood pools at the corner of her lips- she looks so much weaker than he thought she was.

"Calm down mate!"

"Let him breath, Phil!"

His hands wrap into Tilìns hair and her wings drop limp in his grasp, she's gone.

"Don't go," It's whispered, it's begging, he can't lose her. He presses a smattering of kisses to her forehead, "Wake up," He smudges aside the blood with his hand, "Please wake up, Tilìn."

Slowly, very, very slowly his wings drop down as the pulse stops entirely. He's holding onto a dead body now, this dead body isn't his daughter because his daughter isn't supposed to be a dead body. He let's go slowly and before Missa or Phil can stop Chayanne he's right beside Quackity, holding onto Tilìn and butting their heads together because she always responded to that. And when she doesn't, the finality of the matter sets in for Chayanne.

The body is set down gently on the carpeted floor, and Quackity edges way from it, so does Chayanne. Phil takes a seat beside Quackity, fanning out a wing for him to lean as he stared at the blood on his form. His daughter's blood, his amazing, young, happy daughter's blood and she lay dead not even two feet away from him.

"Where's Cucurucho?" Was all Quackity managed on a strained voice.

"Whatever you're planning, don't," Phil said sternly, watching as Chayanne clutched to Quackity's side. He pressed the top of his head against the avian despite the nubs of horns.

Missa sat down on the other side of Phil, "I didn't see them, Quackity," He stares at the wound on Tilìn, "It doesn't look like it was on purpose."

"It doesn't matter! Tilìn is dead and I have no one, Missa!" Quackity snapped, and that was the final straw before the tears started flowing. He was bawling in mere moments, body shaking as he stared, unable to say anything else aside from a few broken syllables. He leaned further into Phil and held onto the older avian who bracketed him in with a wing, keeping him secure like a weighted blanket.

Missa stayed quiet, unaware of what else he could say to try and comfort Quackity. He fell back on the classic fail safe, "We could have dinner tonight, so you don't have to worry about cooking, no?"

"I think that sounds great," Phil answered with because everyone knew Quackity wouldn't be able to do so in his current state, "Chayanne, can you and Missa go and start some soup for us?"

Chayanne nodded, a little bit more stiffly than usual. He stood up and brushed down his pants, "C'mon papá, let's go make some soup."

#qsmp #qsmp fanfiction #q quackity #qsmp tilín #q philza #q missa #q chayanne #writing #fanfic #fanfiction

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evendale · 10 months

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Twenty Questions for Fic Writers

I was tagged in this by the lovely @once-in-a-blue-moon-rising. Thank you! 😊 It's nice to revisit my fics, it's been a while.

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

2. What's your total Ao3 word count?

1,014,041 words. Yikes 😂

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Most of my works are in the La Casa de Papél fandom. Before that, I was in the Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries fandom. I also have a handful of ficlets in the fandom for the Stormlight Archive books by Brandon Sanderson.

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

My top 5 fics by kudos are all in the LCDP fandom, and they're all +100k words.

Number one is 'The White Queen', a Regency romance AU. It's got almost double the amount of kudos than the second-highest fic.

'Personal Relationships', a canon-compliant AU.

'Back to Galicia', a movie star second chance AU.

'Safe House', a witness protection program AU.

'Tell Me What You Like', a collection of canon 'fill the gap' smutty scenes.

5. Do you respond to comments?

I used to 😅 I used to love spending a lot of time writing elaborate and personal responses to comments, and I in fact met several of my best fandom friends through comment conversations! However, over time I just simply didn't have the energy for it anymore. There are still a bunch of super lovely comments on the last chapter of my last fic that I really should have responded to, but I simply don't have the mental space. I do feel bad about that 🙈

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

I don't write angsty endings. I love angst in the main fic, but I'm committed to HEAs :)

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Probably 'The White Queen', where I spent about 50k words describing just how happy they were 😂

8. Do you get hate on fics?

I've had a few nasty comments, but they're absolutely nothing compared to the vast sea of incredibly kind, lovely, and supportive comments I've gotten. I've been very lucky.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

My earlier work is almost entirely smut 😂 It's funny to see my later fics evolving into containing more and more plot, and less and less smut. I wonder how my readers felt about that 😂 The smut is explicit, but I've always tried to keep it tasteful.

10. Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written?

I haven't written any crossovers yet. I'm usually obsessed with only one piece of media at a time :)

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Yes -- I discovered a few years ago that one of my LCDP fics had been stolen and put on Amazon for money! It took ages to explain things to Amazon (because I didn't own the characters) and to get it taken down. It was a very icky feeling.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yes, I've had several requests from people who wanted to translate my fics into Russian :)

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

No, and I don't think I could. I love to brainstorm about plot with a friend or beta reader, but I couldn't actually share the writing process. I'm too much of a control freak 😅

14. What's your all-time favourite ship?

If we're only looking at the first 2 seasons of LCDP, then Serquel. However, the subsequent seasons partially ruined them for me, so maybe I'd better choose Phryne and Jack from Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries.

15. What's a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

My only unfinished fic on AO3 is 'Tell Me What You Love' in the LCDP fandom, but that's more a series of vignettes that I kept open in case I wanted to add more. It wasn't really meant to have an ending. That said, I don't think I'll ever add to it anymore.

16. What are your writing strengths?

Dialogue, I think. I also think in general I'm a clear writer who gets to the point without too many flourishes or detours.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

For a long time, I felt like I couldn't come up with any kind of original plot, but I think I got better at that over time. I'm still pretty bad at descriptions, though. I just want to get to the action and dialogue, and I forget that my readers are not in my head and can't see the characters or surroundings like I do :D

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

I wouldn't include more than a few words of phrases sprinkled through the dialogue.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries. I was all of 26 when I first discovered fanfiction!

20. Favourite fic you've written?

That's such a tough choice 😅😅 If I absolutely have to choose, then I think 'The White Queen'. I was really just writing the exact fic that I wanted to read myself with that one. I had so much fun with it, I was so inspired that the chapters literally flowed out without any effort, and I got the most amazing response to it from the fandom. It will always be extra special to me 😊

I'm not tagging anyone in particular, but if you see this and want to do it, consider yourself tagged! :)

#fanfiction

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afdinonug · 2 years

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What if Sarah Never Died?

What If Things Were Different - Chapter 1 - Airfried_DinoNug - Multifandom [Archive of Our Own]

What If Things Were Different - Request(open) - Wattpad

"The Last Of Us" one shot (Mix between video game and tv show)

August 2019

"Hey old man." Sarahs voice rang through the tiny living room. Sitting on the old grey recliner was her father, Joel. He had spots of grey seeping through his hair. His face, wrinkled from age and stress. Sarah was walking into the living room when she kicked the chair Joel was sitting on.

"I am not that old" Joel responded with a playful annoyance on his lips. Getting up he sat an old, wrinkled magazine that he had reread countless times, on the table. "I heard from Tess that a resistance group is making moves against FEDRA. You uh wouldn't know anything about that would you?" His eyes trained on Sarah, watching her every move.

"Now, why would I, an innocent 19-year-old girl, have anything to do with a resistance group?" She smirked while cutting an apple. Her involvement was no secret in their house. What Joel didn't know, was how involved Sarah actually was.

After a sigh Joel smirked, hidden behind his unkept beard. "I know your involved. I don't think I want to know how involved, but Sarah, I need you to be safe. You know just as well as I, what FEDRA does to resisters." Without communicating what Joel actually meant, Sarah understood. They hung people. To make a statement. Sarah broke the gaze they held. She looked at the warn wood floor.

"I am being safe dad. Instead of worrying about me, how about you worry about Uncle Tommy and yourself. You two are out running "Errands" when everyone knows you guys are just mercenaries." Sarah runs her fingers through her curly black hair. "I have spent the past 5 years worrying about the both of you. Now I am doing something so you both can stop killing, stealing and doing deals." Sarah raised her voice. She didn't do it often so when Joel straightened his back and took a step back, it wasn't a surprise. Sarah looked at Joel. Her expression was of sullen disappointment. She left her apple slices on the table, turned on her heels and left their apartment. Joel leaned against the living room window and ran his fingers through his speckled hair. He thought to himself on how that conversation took such a major turn. He was ashamed of what Tommy, and he had to do, but they had to do those things to survive. To keep Sarah alive. He knew she wasn't the same 14-year-old girl, but she was still his daughter.

August 2033

Sarah wasn't at home as much, but neither was Joel. Joel and Sarah didn't talk much when they were both at their apartment. Sarah was off working on tasks for the resistance group known as The Fireflies. Joel, he was still running deals, not with Tommy but with Tess.

Sarah, her black curly hair pulled back into a ponytail, walked into their apartment. It sits empty. Joel must be with Tess, Sarah thought to herself. She audibly scoffs.

"I am doing something to make an actual change, why can't he just see that." She doesn't understand why her father doesn't accept that she is a firefly. She has the key that they need to make a difference. She sits in the old, now torn grey recliner. She needs a runner and the only person she trusts is her father. She knows Joel won't do any business with the fireflies but maybe if she gave him the puppy dog eyes, she used as a child he just might do it. That or she will do the run herself. Its nearing nightfall, instead of waiting for her father to come home, she graps a water and heads to bed.

The front door barges open. Joel walks in, dirty, and sweating head to toe. His hair is now more grey than brown. "Why the hell can't Kirk just do that damn run on his own. We only get 30 rations from it. It's the same fucking run every month." Joel throws his backpack and sweat stained coat on the kitchen table.

"I don't know, maybe it's because he knows you couldn't care less about going outside FEDRA walls, or you know, getting hanged." Tess follows suit. She closes the front door checking to make sure they weren't followed by FEDRA guards. She steps behind Joel and wraps her arms around him. Joel lets his head hang down.

"I do care. I do all of this for you and Sarah." They never talked about what they were to each other, but Joel and Tess were something.

"She isn't 19 anymore Joel. Shes 33. She can handle herself more than you think." Tess had known Sarah since Joel and Sarah had arrived at the Boston quarantine zone 17 years ago. She knew about Sarahs involvement with the fireflies and how much of a fighter Sarah was. Sarah was just as hardheaded as her father. She loved that about them. So arrogant, so stubborn.

"She's right. I'm not a little girl anymore. I can hold my own." Sarah walked into the kitchen. She loved that her dad had Tess to look over him, even if he thought he was looking over Tess.

Tess took a step back as Joel straightened up. "You're home?" Joel asked with a shakey voice. Seeing Sarah always brought Joel happiness. He remembered that night when the outbreak happened. The soldier pointing his gun at Sarah and him. Ready to shoot to kill. Joel pleading out for the soldier not to kill them, Sarah crying in his arms. Tommy had made it just in the nick of time to save them both.

Sarah was worried about this conversation might go but it needed to happen. "Yes, but it's for business." Sarah watched as the little bit of happiness on Joels face melted away. "I need you both to help me with something, firefly related. I only trust you two."

"No." Joel was stern.

"Maybe we should hear her out Joel." Tess was trying and Sarah appreciated that.

"I don't do business with fireflies. I'm sorry but no Sarah." Sarah knew this might happen. She had run this scenario in her head countless times.

"If you don't help me, I'll have to do the run with some idiots who might get me killed. Dad, this could change the course of history please. If it wasn't important i wouldn't have asked for your help." Sarah was worried if her father had still stuck with the same answer. She was hoping that pulling the life card had helped persuade him a little.

"Don't. You don't get to pull that card Sarah." Joel had pushed back his tears. Sarah knows that was a cheap shot. But it was a cheap shot that worked. After a few moments of unbroken silence. Joel nodded his head. He looked up at Sarah, her light brown skin gleaming in the morning sun. "I need to know what it is we are running, and you, you're not coming along. Me and Tess do this alone."

"I can't tell you. At least not here, I have to show you. And that last part? Its nonnegotiable. I have to run this with you. I'm the only know that knows where to go." Sarah could see on her father's face that he understood. She motioned for Tess and Joel to follow her.

They left their apartment and walked to the edge of the QC walls. They walked inside an old, abandoned hotel. Down a set of corridors and into a hallway. Outside a set of doors sat three men. they all looked to be Joels age. They unlocked the door and let Sarah, Tess and Joel inside. Inside sat a girl, who didn't look any other than 15, on a ratty, torn bed.

"So what? Are we running this girl? What is she? Some FEDRA leader's daughter?" Joel scoffed at the notion of smuggling a girl.

"Yes. Shes the "package", We need to get her west. Out to St. Louis." Sarah walked towards the girl sitting on the bed. "Are you okay Ellie?" Sarah handed her water and protein bar from her backpack.

"Who the fuck is this dude? And you know what fuck you old man." Ellie stood up and flipped off Joel. Sarah and Tess had both snickered causing Joel to look at them.

"This is Ellie. She is important dad." She pleaded to Joel with her eyes. "Ellie, this is my father Joel and Tess." Sarah looked over at Ellie and winked. Ellie sat back down with her eyes still stuck on Joel. She quietly opened the protein bar and started eating. Sarah, Joel and Tess walked about out of the room and into the hallway.

"What is the deal, Sarah? Why are we smuggling a girl all the way to St. Louis?" Joel needed answers, he knew Sarah had them.

"Shes immune. She got bit 8 weeks ago, she was fucking around and left the QC. I got some Fireflies out there who think they can make a cure." Sarah knew from the moment it left her mouth that her father wouldn't believe her.

"Bullshit Sarah. No one survives getting infected." Joel barged back into the room where Ellie sits drinking her water. "Let me see it." Joel grabs Ellies water and throws it down. Ellie pulled up the sleeve on her right arm to show a fully healed bite mark. It is scarred. Joel takes a step back and looks at Sarah and Tess. "You're not lying. When do we need to leave?" Joel believes Sarah but is still skeptical.

"Tonight, Less guards and less patrol." Sarah is relieved that her father and Tess are willing to help her.

The four of them leave the QC in the middle of the night to avoid any FEDRA guards. Ellie won't stop asking Joel questions about what Sarah was like before the outbreak. He sees so much of Sarah in Ellie.

"How did she become immune?" Tess asks Sarah hoping there may be others who are immune as well.

"We're not sure. We think she was just born immune." Sarah always wondered how Ellie become immune and hope the people at the lab in St. Louis can tell them. Sarah zones out while listening to Ellie talk to Joel. She hears Ellie asking Joel why people slept outside willing when they had homes. Sarah laughed, she never thought about how weird the world must be to someone born after the outbreak. While Ellie was making Tess, Joel and Sarah laugh, Ellie had unknowingly stepped on a fungus root.

"Joel." Tess stops and looks at where Ellies foot had just landed. Joel and Sarah both turned around, their faces drop into despair.

"Run." Sarah yelled at the group. Sarah grabbed Ellie's arm in a hurry. As they are running, they hear a trembling coming from in front of them. They stop dead in their tracks. A small group of infected came up behind them. Ellie screamed. Sarah, Tess and Joel whipped around to stare face to face with the infected. Sarah lets go of Ellies hand to help her father and Tess fight off the small group of infected. Ellie had run inside the small cafe next to them. Sarah followed pursuit. She pushed Ellie towards the back looking for a rear entrance. Tess and Joel had both caught up with them.

"We need to go Sarah." Joel said out of breath.

"I need you to take Ellie and run." Sarah lifted up her pant leg to show a scratch. Joel and Ellie started to tear up.

"I'm not leaving you!" Joel screamed angrily. He wasn't mad at Sarah, but mad he agreed to let Sarah come along. While he was trying to open the door in the back of the store, Tess put her hand on his shoulder.

"Joel, you have to go, now." Tess said with her soft voice. Joel already knew what that meant. He didn't want to turn around, but he needed to see it for himself. Tess pulled the shirt off her shoulder to reveal a bite taken out of it. Joel let the tears fall onto his cheeks. He couldn't lose anyone.

"Take Ellie. If she's the last chance we have, you need to keep her safe." Sarah was crying now. The trembling had grown louder, they had 30 seconds at best. She pulled out the grenade she had, and Tess did the same. Sarah pushed Ellie and Joel out the door. "I love you, old man." Sarah said before shutting the door. Joel was stuck in place. Ellie had to throw herself at Joel to get him moving. They ran for what felt like forever. Ellie tripped on a log that had become rotten, causing Joel to stop and pull her up.

Joel heard the screams from the horde of infected. He turned just in time to see the grenade blasts. It threw Joel and Ellie backwards. Joel hit his head on a rock and passed out.

May 2035

"Joel, wake up. Joel!" Ellie yelled at Joel. Joels eyes fluttered open. "You were mumbling her name in your sleep again."

It was just a dream. How can you live an entire life in 8 hours, just for it to be a damn dream? Joel hates those dreams. The ones where Sarah never died, ones where the outbreak never happened. If only there was a way to go back in time and redo it all.

The End

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in-sufficientdata · 1 year

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Making my own reply for this because I have a self-diagnosis, rather than a professional one, and because I have a somewhat different take on this.

I don't feel I reached a point where I realized I was masking - I actually began doing this intentionally, around 25.

This was the first time I was able to sustain the attempted change, and it was the third time I attempted it at the behest of someone who took it upon themselves to sort of become a mentor, to 'make me over' into a functionally social person.

The first time was in 5th grade, when the girls in my class came up with the idea to teach me how to be social, how to dress, how to act, etc. For about a month we had sessions at recess every day where they explained things about being social that I'd simply never noticed.

For whatever reason they came to decide it wasn't working and gave up on me. The only outcome of this experiment was that I started paying more attention to fashion trends, which helped me fit in a little bit appearance-wise.

The second time was an abusive 'best friend' who tried to teach me to be more normal, but in an underhanded way. We were friends from 6th grade to 10th grade. She did things like bug me and bug me until I produced a name for the boy I had a crush on, and then tell him about it.

The time that finally started to stick was when I was a waitress around age 25. One of the other servers told me there were some regulars refused to be seated in my section because I was awkward and, as they perceived, very rude.

Reasons given that I came across as rude: - I would not react appropriately to the question "how are you".

I disliked small talk and hated that question, but didn't understand this was part of a set social ritual

I would not look them in the face.

I would not say "you're welcome" when thanked, or for that matter, respond in any way to being thanked.

I didn't smile at people (Honestly, all of the above is so prized in a server I don't know how I'd been employed as a server for so long. I'd been doing it since I was 16.)

This other server encouraged my efforts to act more normal and pointed out occasions where a more nuanced understanding of etiquette would make it clear I was being rude. I also, around this time, found the http://etiquettehell.com site.

Back in this era I used to read the entire archives of interesting sites like this (snopes is another example of a site where I read the entire archives when I found it) and I learned many things about etiquette I'd never picked up on on my own.

I felt like some kind of space alien around every other child for as far back as I can remember. One of my first memories is of preschool and being disappointed no one would play with me.

#mine #CeesInSaw@twitter #twitter #actually autistic #reposting everything from my twitter feed #i'm about to delete everything so get it while it's hot #tweet: 2018 #molly's mad life

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nansitr0n · 1 year

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WHO: Nansi Tran, or nansitr0n.

WHAT: launching of IAMNOTMYDX - I Am Not My Diagnosis , a personal project to raise awareness about problems that exist in mental health and law enforcement authorities to promote change.

WHY: Because what happened to me could happen to anyone.

WHEN: Tuesdays/Wednesdays for live streams, content and posts. TBD.

HOW: Tumblr (as of now), but my hope is to create an archive of my trauma recovery on YouTube. Because this is valuable data that could not be produced twice without ethical concerns.

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

I was just 20 years old in 2015, when I recognized my desire to make sure law enforcement and other first-line professionals receive proper training in trauma-informed treatment for individual and cultural differences. Living in the North metroplex of Texas as an Asian American adult woman, I had somehow lost custody of my own life after being detained and labeled as a danger to myself and all those everyone around me. Apparently that could happen if you request for help due to self-harm tendencies.

Instead of communicating with me about my problems, law enforcement was quick to rule out my sanity when they met with my incestuous father. He had somehow convinced the police officers with his broken English that I was delusional and needed to be detained at the nearest psychiatric ER at the public county hospital. You would think they would finally listen to me after the 7th consecutive time failing to call for help.

In 2017, mental professionals had labeled my self harm attempts as attention seeking behaviors. I was so angry that anyone would assume what was happening to me wasn't happening at all. Like how dare they, not being the ones to experience what I've already lived in. I had been stuck home for 2 years eating nothing but frozen lasagnas waiting for my father to put my car back together.

Following the completion of my bachelor's, he promptly took apart my car as a graduation present to replace all the parts so I could drive to future places of employment safely. After years of empty promises, I knew better. I was trapped and broke from all my hospital bills, pills, and dysfunctionality. And because of my age, I wasn't qualified to receive help for family trauma as I was always reminded by the various crisis resources I've contacted throughout those years.

When I turned 24, I met someone who I was convinced was safe enough to navigate the world with as the adults people claim I should be. By that time, with the damages I've brought upon my fight or flight system, my panic attacks were recurrent and often outside outpatient recovery. It would always be met poorly as my partner would voice his discomfort about my "tantrums". Being grateful for the life I currently had, I attempted to forget what all had happened to me and move on. Unfortunately, you can't fight biology as my heart had suffered quite a lot throughout the years of my recovery.

When I turned 28, I had somehow miraculously managed to regain custody of myself. My life was actually stable as I was happy living my adult life the way I have always imagined. By this time, I had successfully convinced myself that everything that had happened to me resulted from miscommunication.

Late October 2022, I visited home to pick up my mail and was met with a conversation that would quickly squash my false belief. After wishing me a great 28th birthday, my father asked me why I was not able to marry him.

Thinking it was a rhetorical question, I responded that I was his daughter. To my surprise, he responded with a prepared list of all the reasons why that should reassure me that his love is real.

Since then, I have spent the following months has been me trying to cope with the fact that all the events that happened to me actually happened, despite the many times the world had told me it wasn't. It's been difficult, as I have learned that because of the exceptional rule that I'm an adult now, I should be getting over it and moving on when trying to open up to my family.

But today, as the almost 29 year old that I am, I would like to finally come to terms with what has happened to me. I would like to move on from it, without denying it ever happened because without it, I wouldn't be me. As sad as it is to admit, I am trauma. I have survived a lot, learned a lot, and hope to teach it one day so that it doesn't happen again to someone else.

My goal is to study and be studied for the effects of adverse childhood experiences that have shaped my brain differently since my development years. With the limited amount of data out there about the subject matters, I hope to share my story and advocate for changes in the mental health and law enforcement community.

Until very recently there has been a dearth of empirical research on incestuous fathers. Even though the number of cases of intrafamilial sexual abuse coming to professional attention has skyrocketed, reaching close to 100,000 in the United States in 1985, studies of the perpetrators of this abuse have been scarce. Professionals have been forced to rely on several less-than-definitive resources.. Williams, Linda & Finkelhor, David. (1990). The Characteristics of Incestuous Fathers. 10.1007/978-1-4899-0915-2_14. Until very recently there has been a dearth of empirical research on incestuous fathers. Even though the number of cases of intrafamilial sexual abuse coming to professional attention has skyrocketed, reaching close to 100,000 in the United States in 1985, studies of the perpetrators of this abuse have been scarce. Professionals have been forced to rely on several less-than-definitive resources.

#ptsd recovery #mentalhealth #law enforcement #tw self destructive behavior #coping #trauma #adhd #ableism #introducing post #adverse childhood experiences #neurodiversity #mental heath support

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toddsfall · 8 years

Text

You’re making a ruin of me

Nursey takes Dex as his fake date to an Andover reunion on his birthday.

Written for day 7 of @nurseyweek (prompt: memories or red) Happy last day guys! This has been so fun to do :D

read on AO3

/////

“Do you think they bought that?” Dex leaned in close so he could whisper in Nursey’s ear. Nursey felt tingles travel down his spine from the tip of his ear, where he could feel the ghost of Dex’s lips, all the way to his toes.

He cleared his throat. “Uhum. Yeah. Uh, yeah that was good. I don’t think they suspect a thing.”

“Good, I’m giving it my all here haha. Guess all those time my sisters made me act out the plays they’d written paid off huh?” Dex laughed.

Of course Dex had to rely on his best acting skills to act like his boyfriend, Nursey thought sourly.

Dex started batting his eyelashes rapidly, in a move that was probably supposed to be sexy but just made him look ridiculous.

Nursey poked him in the nose, which made Dex go cross-eyed for a second. It was stupidly endearing. “Stop acting a fool. You look like I just pepper sprayed you.”

Dex smirked. “Kinky.”

“Oh my god, you’re ridiculous. I’m fake breaking up with you.”

“But then how will you ever show those Andover assholes how well you’re doing now that you’ve moved on?” Dex looked way too pleased with himself. Nursey was just about to hit him over the head for looking so smug when he spotted them.

“Shit, they’re coming back. I thought we scared them off earlier.”

“Yeah, I thought so too. We really went for it! I really thought that was going to work. God, couples who display so much PDA in public usually gross me out. They’re the worst.

Nursey raised his eyebrows at him.

“Right, well. Other couples are the worst. Besides, we’re only a fake couple. That doesn’t count.” He was probably imagining the sad look in Dex’s eyes.

Nursey’s stomach turned. “No, you’re right. It doesn’t. They’re still coming our way though. Maybe we should just go.” He was ready to forget about this entire night.

��Nuh-uh Nurse, I didn’t dress up all fancy schmancy for you to suddenly bail on me. If you want to scare those assholes away, we’re just going to have to step up our game. They’ll get the hint eventually. Trust me, alright?”

Before Nursey could so much as blink, Dex grabbed Nursey by the lapels and kissed him full on the mouth. Nursey couldn’t help it, he melted. He clutched at Dex’s shoulders to avoid grabbing him anywhere else. He didn't want to cross any more lines than he already had tonight.

Dex loosened up on his lips a little and whispered "Follow my lead.". He went back to kissing him, yanking him even closer. And then he started moaning. Obviously fake, but still. It was kind of turning Nursey on. He felt Dex tug at his hair, egging him on to join him.

God, Dex was going to kill Nursey. Why had he allowed himself to get into this situation?

////

Nursey sighed deeply. It wasn’t trying to get anyone’s attention, he just felt miserable.

“What’s wrong Nursey? You’re sighing an awful lot. I usually run to the kitchen to escape my worries, not create more, hon.” Bitty turned to him, holding his knife up like he was going to personally chop all of Nursey’s troubles in tiny pieces.

“Sorry for bumming you out, Bits. I can go lay on the couch if you want.”

Bitty crinkled his nose. “Now, you know I don’t want that. Spit it out, Nurse. I’ve been told I’m a good listener.” Bitty smiled at him encouragingly.

“Yeah Nursey, tell us.” Lardo chimed in from the other side of the table. He thought she’d been listening to music.

“It’s stupid. There’s this reunion at Andover next week. I RSVP’d a while back, thinking it could be fun. Now it turns out that most of my friends can come, I knew some of my hockey friends have games that night but now apparently my old bestie has to cancel too now. I can’t exactly back out of the event, people have already seen that I will attend on facebook. Before I know it, my mom will be on my case for not socializing enough. Ugh. And now I’m rambling too.” He laid his head on the table, sighing again.

“I’m sorry, hon. I don’t think I’ll ever go to a high school reunion, I’m glad I got away from that place.” Bitty answered sympathetically.

“I’m sorry you feel trapped, bro. I would come with you, but I have a test the next day.” Lardo reached out to put her hand on his shoulder. “Is there really no one there you can hang out with?”

“Nope.” Nursey raised his head. “I didn’t have many friends at that school, and now I’m going to be stuck with those judgmental assholes who liked to passively aggressively chew me out for, well… being me. It’s just going to bring up all these old ugly memories for me.”

Lardo squeezed his shoulder again. “I can help you come up with a better excuse if you want? I used to come up with the most elaborate lies for missing class when I was younger.”

Nursey smiled weakly at her. “That’s sweet Lards, but nah. I’ll just grit my teeth and get through it.”

Suddenly he heard Dex behind him. “What’s the matter Nurse? Someone got coffee on your favorite notepad again?” Sensing the mood in the room, Dex walked closer to Nursey. “Hey, what’s wrong bro? I haven’t seen you this upset since Frank Ocean delayed his album release for the third time.”

“Nursey has to go to an Andover reunion all on his own. Let’s just say there won’t be any friendly faces awaiting him there.” Lardo’s eyes bore into Dex’s, daring him not to make a smart remark for once.

“I’m… sorry man. Uh, can I help? I could go with you for back-up.” He had placed his hand on Nursey’s shoulder, on the spot where Lardo’s had been minutes before.

“Nah, bro. I wouldn’t want you to miss out on a Valentine’s date for me.” Nursey looked down, willing any thoughts of Dex and a potential date out of his head.

“Bro! It’s on your birthday?” Dex said, ignoring Nursey’s statement.

“Uh, yeah? Happy fucking birthday to me.”

“Well, then it’s decided. I’m going with you. As your date. Let’s show those assholes that us 'filthy gays' are not to be messed with.” Dex sneered at the last part. Nursey would have to ask him about that later. Clearly, he had had some issues with bullies in the past too.

Nursey considered it for a moment. Dex. As his date. On Valentine’s day. That might not be such a good idea. “Nah bro, you don’t need to come. It’s okay.”

“What, I’m not good enough to be your fake date Nursey?” Dex teased, the insecurity clear in his voice.

Lardo winked, and said “Yeah Nurse, who wouldn’t want this gorgeous redhead as his Valentine, huh?” The dirty, dirty traitor. She cackled when he tried to kick her under the table.

“Okay. Fine. Let’s do this Poindexter.” He cleared his throat, and tried to arrange his features so he looked solemn as he turned to Dex. “William Joseph Poindexter, will you be my Valentine?”

Dex pretended to swoon. “Why, Derek! I thought you’d never ask.”

Nursey laughed heartily. Then it dawned on him, he was actually going to have to go through with his now. He’d really fucked himself over.

/////

They had finally discouraged the Andover Assholes, as Dex had branded them, from coming over again. They were sitting down with people that Nursey vaguely knew, but luckily not good enough that he felt obliged to make small talk with them.

He felt tired, despite Dex’s best efforts being back at Andover was draining all his energy. They had done the rounds earlier, saying hello to all his favorite old teachers. Also a bunch of people he’d been halfway friendly with, that is to say they had never been outright homophobic or racist in his face. Whatever, he’d shown his face. It had to be enough, his mom would have to understand.

Having Dex around helped more than he would ever be able to express, but it also drained him. It was exhausting having to pretend he had this awesome boyfriend while simultaneously walking the fine line of not acting too convincingly, or Dex would notice that he had real feelings for him. It was, frankly, exhausting. Nursey felt like he was doing a balancing act and he could fall flat on his ass at any time, and everyone would stare and point. Just like old times, then.

He felt Dex nudge his elbow. “Hey Nurse, where’d you go bud?” he asked.

“Nowhere, I was just spacing out a little. I’m getting tired.” He know he sounded snappish and he hated it. Dex had done nothing but be kind to him tonight. He’d gone above and beyond for him.

“Wow, I know I’m a good kisser but I don’t I’ve ever tired anyone out this fast before.” Dex was trying to distract him.

Nursey smiled at him. “Don’t flatter yourself, William.”

“Oh-kay De-rek, I wouldn't dareee. ” Dex pronounced every syllable carefully, trying and failing to speak with a posh accent. It was a horrible imitation of the accent he had heard when watching Downtown Abbey with Holster. Nursey knew he was trying to sound like Nursey did when he talked with his parents, though.

Nursey shoved at his shoulder, grinning. “Asshole.”

“Ha! I knew my ex-ce-llent posh accent would work. At least I got you to smile.” He poked Nursey’s ribs. “I got something else that might cheer you up!” His eyes lit up like Chowder’s did every time he saw a puppy.

Seemingly out of nowhere, he pulled a present for Nursey. Where had he been hiding that?

“Happy birthday, Derek. I might not always understand what you do, but I always want you to feel free to be yourself.”

Nursey tried his best not to rip open the carefully wrapped present. It was a beautiful deep red notebook with his name embossed on the front. “Woah dude, chill. Thanks.” He smiled brightly.

Dex groaned. “I can’t believe I still haven’t managed to erase that from your vocabulary.”

Nursey smirked. “It’s okay man, I know wasn’t for a lack of trying.”

Dex punched him in the arm, lightly. “You just count yourself lucky that it’s your birthday, Nursey.”

////

He fixed his eyes on Dex. They were sitting on the steps outside, waiting for their cab. As soon as Nursey had called, they had decided they didn’t want to stay with any of those people in the same room for a minute longer than necessary.

“Hey Will? Thanks for coming with me tonight. You, uh, really helped me in there. I know you could probably have found more pleasurable ways to spend your evening. I really appreciate it."

“Oh man, what am I supposed to say to that? You know I’m bad at feelings Nurse. Just pretend I said something heartfelt just now.” Dex blushed, but his gaze softened when he turned to Nursey. “But seriously man, anytime. I probably wouldn’t have found anything better tonight. Spending the night shitting on rich assholes with my best friend is a pretty sweet way to spend my evening.” He bumped Nursey’s shoulder with his own. “The kissing wasn’t half bad either” he added in a rush.

Nursey raised an eyebrow. “Really? Spending time with me is always on the table, you know. I guess we could even find some rich assholes to shit on at Samwell.” He took a steadying breath. “And the kissing, that’s uh… that’s on the table too. If you want.” He added the last part, knowing that he was taking a risk. In that moment, he wanted to to be right so badly, he thought he was going to burst from it.

Instead of answering, Dex reached into his pocket. “There was actually something else that I wanted to give you with your gift. I, uh, wasn’t sure.”

He handed Nursey a bright red card, with a heart and hand-drawn hockey sticks on the front. Inside, it said ‘You don’t have to be all bi yourself tonight. Be mine.’. He looked up, confused. His traitorous heart was beating out of his chest, daring him to hope. Dex was looking at him nervously. He’d been right. His heart sang.

He pulled Dex close by looping his hand around his neck. Dex closed the distance between them and then, finally, they were kissing.

He couldn’t stop himself from saying “I see you put your cards on the table for me.”

Dex groaned. “Shut the fuck up Nurse. Are you going to kiss me, or what?”

Nursey was already leaning back in. Dex deepened the kiss and then did something with his tongue that had Nursey moaning loudly. Normally, this would probably embarrass him but he was too busy being kissed within an inch of his life to care.

This time, it was Dex who pulled away. He smirked and whispered “I knew the way to your heart was with puns.” Nursey kissed the shit-eating grin right off his face.

#nurseyweek #nurseydex #omgcp #sarahsfic #the archive wasn't responding so this took ages #I'm heading off to bed #hope someone reads this lmao #(whooo I'm officially over 10k words collectively written for this challenge!)

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phantom-wolf · 3 years

Text

Day 8: Pirates and Cowboys

Old life, New Beginning

A/N: I'm going to put content warnings in the tags and also before the story just in case

For @usukweek

Content warnings: character held captive/ prisoner, mentions of robbery, use of guns, mention of insects, 10 year age gap, minor character death, suggestive themes

Summary: In 1875, Arthur Kirkland decides to travel to Europe. On his journey the ship he's on is attacked by pirates. Lo and behold one of those pirates is Alfred Jones.

You can also read it here:

A familiar four clicks accompanied the movement of his thumb as the hammer of the single action was cocked. A spatter of blood and gore soon accentuated the deck as one of the pirates took the bullet that tore from the blond's revolver. He instinctually ducked as bullets whistled by and nearly found their mark. The only thing roaring in his ears was the sound of his own heartbeat, unimpeded by gunfire but rather spurned to a faster beat as adrenaline flooded his senses. The ringing in his ears that would've been acknowledged by a novice went unnoticed. Fragments of wood dispersed as bullets embedded themselves into the deck and masts of the ship.

The male found himself in a less than ideal position, forced to take cover in a location that left his rear exposed and able to be flanked. He couldn't afford to let his attention divert to this fact in the chaos of battle. All he could do was hope that the others could fend off the invaders and that there was no second point of entry. Another click distinguishable from the sound of the hammer was audible as the last chamber of the Peacemaker was emptied. Instead of wasting time reloading he reached for the second gun in its holster, a relatively newer Smith and Wesson model three he had bought off someone whose name he couldn't recall. Before he could properly grip and raise the weapon he sensed a presence behind him and felt metal dig into the back of his head. Instinctually he froze and mentally cursed himself for acknowledging the weakness while doing nothing to prevent it.

"Hand away from your weapon."

Weighing his options he complied, slowly feeling himself relax as the barrel was removed from the back of his head. He turned to face the perpetrator, sizing him up, taking note of his broader figure, dirty blond hair and estimating his age to be in his thirties before his focus shifted to looking down the barrel of the weapon. A gleeful delight overcame him, a catalyst for confidence whereas in a different situation he may not have had. There wasn't a round chambered in the barrel. His eyes flicked to the other man's blue ones before a laugh escaped his lips full of contempt and amusement, the tension in his shoulders relaxing as the fear drained from him. Pointedly he stated "If you're going to be aiming a weapon at someone it should be loaded."

His attacker had enough common sense to look slightly embarrassed, eyes widening slightly before narrowing once more, his finger curling tighter around the trigger and his thumb brushing against the hammer of his revolver in an attempt to regain control of the situation "There are five rounds, all it takes is a quick rotation of the cylinder. So I suggest you cooperate."

The pirates' attempt wielded no fruit as another snicker left the other's mouth." This was poorly planned on your part. If I was a- duller gentleman what would stop me from pulling my secondary and shooting you on the spot?"

The pirate looked affronted. "The fact that by the time you would've pulled it out I would've taken the end of this weapon and hit you over the head. Or simply pulled back the hammer a few times and shot you before you could me." Arthur could see the stranger practically bristling as he continued. "Anyway, what's wrong with you? Who decides to look down the barrel of a gun pointed at them?!" To his utmost amusement he could hear the man murmur under his breath about how in all the years-

"You're confident in your abilities I'll give you that. And you're lucky I'm no gunslinger." Arthur started, peeking over the barrel that served as cover and scanning the deck for any other resistance from the other crew members of the merchant ship. Finding none he decided not to risk being shot by the thieves who had boarded during their conversation. It had seemed the victors were decided. "To answer your question, a very clever man."

"Or a very stupid one" The pirate grumbled and narrowed his eyes, giving him a glance over before stopping on his face. Despite the now rather medium length beard that accompanied his features and some grey poking through his wild blond hair he could see a multitude of things flash through the other's expression, the two most prevalent being surprise then recognition.

"You're- Arthur Kirkland."

Arthur let another curse leave his lips not caring enough to hide his rather foul mouth as the stranger shouted to the others and he was guided on board the pirate's ship.

Now he found himself imprisoned aboard some ship he knew nothing about. A rich orange light filtered in through a circular window of some kind, slowly retracting and leaving strange shadows in its wake as the sun started to set. Left to his own thoughts for entertainment, he mulled over the irony of the situation and mused that if he had wanted to be in a cell he would've walked himself into the local sheriff's office. He mindlessly swatted festering insects away as they found their way into his holding through the opening, torn between being grateful for the ventilation while also loathing it for being an easy access point for flies. He'd come acquainted to the soft creaking of wood and boisterous voices above drowning in whatever alcohol they could scrounge up. Several days, ten since his capture and a few days on board his previous vessel had granted him the mercy of letting him adjust himself to the sway of the waves underneath them. His body ached and he wasn't sure if it was from the hard floor below him or from the moisture that was in the air. It was however a definite reminder that he wasn't as young as he used to be.

A nearer, heavier creak caught his attention and he turned his head to the source spotting a silhouette in the doorway. With the illumination of the kerosene lamp his visitor clutched he could make out the details of a familiar figure. Deeming him as non hostile he relaxed and decided to greet his company. "Come here for free entertainment? If you did I apologize. I'm not very interesting."

"I came here to give you some food" The familiar voice of the pirate who had found him in the first place spoke. "And to deliver some news. As for that second part we both know that's not true."

At the announcement of food Arthur sat upright and moved to the bars. "We'll thank you for the compliment" He murmured more focused on what the other carried then the conversation. He kept his composure despite the rumbling of his stomach, stamping down any ebbing curiosity that threatened to reveal itself. News was an inconsistency in routine that had been made over the past several days and frankly he wasn't sure if he wanted to know what that meant. "What is it this time?"

"Some dried beef and some beer today."

A little humorous and witty remark rolled off his tongue easily."You pirates' meals are quite bland, you know that don't you Alfred?"

Sensing the humor in his words Alfred chuckled. Somehow he managed to juggle the beer, meat and lamp by keeping the drink close to his body with his arm and gripping the wrapped cloth that had the dried meat with the same hand, letting the other carry the light source."You're lucky you're not eating the biscuits. The bugs like to make their homes there."

At that Arthur grunted, disgusted but not surprised. "The bugs make their homes everywhere. It doesn't surprise me they are embedded in your food as well."

"Your food now." Alfred responded with a light hearted grin deciding to take the lasting conversation as an invitation to stay. He'd done this every time he brought food and drink. Arthur held no hostility to him, not minding the company either. Afterall, if he had been in the pirates' place he would've done the same thing. Extra money wasn't something that was stumbled upon frequently. He supposed he should even be grateful that Alfred hadn't decided to shoot him right then and there. Although conversing with the man led to one of the answers he was searching for. Turns out Alfred didn't like to kill civilians if he didn't need to. At the time he had figured the situation was under control and sensing the opportunity for an ambush had done so. He'd much rather use intimidation tactics to manipulate the situation. What the quartermaster hadn't realized was that the newest edition to the crew, Jackson had been shot until after. These things tend to get lost in the chaos of gunfire and screaming.

The lamp was set down as a hand slipped between the bars with the cured meat clutched in it, which he eagerly took and was soon followed by the beer. He knew it was beneficial to them to keep him alive, however that was a very...broad term. He doubted the bounty poster specified that he had to be in pristine condition to claim the reward. So he was happy to accept some of the more quality food.

They stayed in silence for a few moments, Arthur slowly tackling the meat and washing it down with beer until Alfred broke it. "You're to be brought up to the deck today".

Upon hearing those words Arthur nearly choked on the beef, managing to swallow without incident. "What?"

Alfred shrugged nonchalantly, although had appeared concerned when the other almost choked. "I did say I had news for you."

"You could've mentioned it earlier!"

"Yeah I guess so. But then you wouldn't have eaten, insisting to go now. This way you have energy. So finish your food and then I'll bring you up."

Arthur seeing no other option simply ate a little faster.

---

Arthur was grateful for the sun's position upon stepping out onto the deck for the relative lack of light. He was sure if the sun had been higher an unforgiving headache would've blossomed behind his eyes at the sudden influx of light. His joints popped from the exercise he found himself able to partake in. It felt nice after being confined to a small cell for a little over a week. He was still weary however. Years of experience had taught him that nothing was easy in this world. Nothing was given, everything came with a price. Not even stealing was without its dues. This situation was quite the reminder.

He sensed Alfred's eyes on him and turned to look at him. It was at this moment Alfred spoke up. "Captain Williams wants to talk to you."

There it was. "Oh? And why's that?"

"That's something you'll have to ask him yourself. But don't worry! Whatever it is, it will be alright. After all, you got me on your side! I'll do my best to protect you!"

Arthur raised an eyebrow at this statement dubiously. "My hero" he retorted with a roll of his eyes, sarcasm dripping from his words.

Alfred seemed to brighten up at that not seeming to either notice or care that it had been sarcasm. Not wanting to ruin the man's mood, Arthur wordlessly followed Alfred to the Captain's quarters. Williams was waiting for them, looking up as the door opened and Alfred greeted him. "Mr. Kirkland" Was the simple greeting he'd received. At least the captain seemed to hold a little respect for him.

Arthur gave a small nod of his head, tilting his hat in recognition. "Captain Williams. To what do I owe the pleasure?" He asked hoping his sarcasm from earlier didn't bleed into the words for his own sake. When he locked eyes with the older man's brown ones he was met by a stare not so unfamiliar. Experienced, calculating, straight to business. A non verbal and pointed reminder to not cross the pirate captain. He met the challenge with his own confidence only tempered as to not get on the man's bad side.

"A deal has been made between myself and Jones. You'll be considered part of the crew and will fill in for the member you shot and killed. During this time you will not take a cut of any bounty we receive until the price on your head is paid in full." The captain responded. "You may discuss Jones's part of the deal on your own time with him."

It didn't seem like he had much of a choice in the matter. Very well- he'd chose limited freedom to a cell any day. "Thank you" He said mustering up as much sincerity as he could and giving Alfred a side glance.

Alfred gave him a faint smile quickly tilting his head to motion for them to depart, thanking his captain as he did so and turning to leave the cabin. Arthur spun on his heel but before he could take a step forwards William's voice rang out again. "Oh and Kirkland, if I hear any stray word about a mutiny that has passed from your lips. I'll take your tongue."

A small sly smirk threatened to etch itself across his lips however he was smart enough to keep himself straight faced. Of the same breed indeed. "I would never even consider doing such a thing" He responded turning his head to make eye contact with the one in charge. "Thank you for your mercy, Captain. I will serve you well."

"You better. You're a three hundred dollar investment."

---

Once they were back out onto the deck a peaceful silence fell between them, Arthur relishing in his new found freedom of sorts and Alfred undecided if he should interrupt the quiet. The sun had long departed by now, leaving the celestial bodies of the stars and moon to paint the night in light. The waves below reflected this light, swirling it in unpredictable patterns before being swallowed by the depths and replaced. The temperature had dropped a few degrees but neither seemed too affected by it. The silence was broken by Alfred who found himself uncomfortable with it. "What was being a cowboy like?" He finally blurted.

Arthur looked at him startled out of his thoughts at the outburst. "Did the stories I told you when you visited with food not paint a good picture?"

"They did. I just wanted to know if you had more" Alfred responded embarrassed with himself, a faint red painting his cheeks and the tips of his ears. "Sounds pretty fun."

Arthur grunted graciously deciding not to comment on how red the other got. He took a moment to think of his response wording it in a way as to not get too personal. "Fun isn't what I'd describe it as. It's hard work as many things are in life. You have to be observant, be able to think on your feet. A thousand pound animal isn't going to stop stampeding because you told it to. Then combine that with upwards of a thousand other animals of the same size and the horses you're riding on top of it. It definitely makes for a good excuse to always be on guard. But generally things didn't get too exciting. The only 'exciting' thing I could count on daily was the game of: will I get bit by a snake when I get off my horse to take a piss and die a few hours later? Or on a more rare occasion, if bandits would be stupid enough to try to rob us. The real fun happened once we arrived in town after a successful transfer of cattle. Once we arrived we had to load the cows into a train cart then we got paid. After going a few weeks without a bath or proper entertainment I'm sure you can imagine what happened at the saloons" the wink accompanying that statement went unnoticed. "I'm sure you can relate to such sentiments out at sea yourself. Minus the snakes of course".

Truthfully Alfred enjoyed hearing Arthur tell his stories. He'd get so enthralled as he talked about his past experiences, spoke with a passion that let Alfred know that Arthur had enjoyed the job. It was one of the times where Arthur became truly expressive, a little less on guard. When Arthur got going his words painted such clear imagery that Alfred hadn't needed to be there to feel like he experienced it. Admittedly as much as he enjoyed hearing him talk in this moment he got… distracted. He accidently ended up staring at his lips briefly, wondering how they'd feel pressed against his own then dismissing the idea and blaming it on the fact he hadn't had much company lately. He blinked shaking his head of any stray thoughts and cleared his throat. It caught Arthur's attention but when he didn't say anything the cowboy now turned pirate continued.

"I worked in the northern plains. Montana actually. So it has taken me a while to get here. The local deputies and pinkertons had started poking around on a lead that someone matching Arthur Kirkland's description was in town. Some folk from the East must've recognized me while I was celebrating a successful drive. Upon seeing the unwanted attention I decided that frankly I have been chased enough to last a lifetime and thus my decision to come to Europe. Offered the merchant ship my gun if anything were to happen and some cash as well. However nothing is ever that simple clearly."

He partially processed the others words, nodding along but was too distracted giving the other a once over to truly hear what was being spoken. The older man's attire alone stuck out now that he had been declared part of the crew. The Englishman had a white, tall crowned hat with a narrow brim that was curled upwards on the sides. He adorned a navy pullover shirt made of cotton with a black vest made of the same material. He also wore grey wool pants with an additional layer of fabric to reinforce the seams. Of course his clothing wasn't in pristine condition, various stains and the occasional stitch from where it had been mended littered the outfit. They'd taken away the black bandana that had originally been tied around his neck, fearful that it may be used as a weapon against one of the crew or himself.

"Wait a minute Arthur. I'll be right back" Alfred chirped, turning to head underneath the deck and deeper into the ship. Arthur watched him go before turning his attention back to the ocean, focusing on the feeling of the breeze in his face and the sound of crashing waves that surrounded the ship.

Alfred returned with his bandana in tow holding it out and offering it to him. Afterall with the freedom now granted if Arthur wanted to, he'd have better things to use against them than a bandana. "You will probably need some new clothes more suitable for the sea. But for now we can't buy anything since we aren't in port and we technically aren't making anything off the next several exchanges-"

"We?"

"Oh right! I gave up my cut as well until your bounty is paid off and the credit makes a profit. Technically I promised them six hundred dollars so we're going to be living on some scraps for a while."

Arthur raised an eyebrow in suspicion and curiosity, cocking his head as he looked back to Alfred."Why go through all the trouble to save me?"

Alfred gave a disarming half smile upon sensing the others suspicion trying to prove he had no ulterior motives and a shrug. Sure he found him attractive but that was not why he saved him. "There's something about you I like. You're clearly clever, a hard worker and we needed a new member of the crew. And I think you have a story to be told. Would be a shame if it were to end prematurely."

"Don't we all have a story to tell-" He murmured, shifting his body to lean against the closest mast of the ship and crossing his arms as he was securely balanced. "And you didn't take any of the crew from the merchant ship?"

"We offered but they declined."

Arthur gave a hmph of disbelief. Pirate's tended not to give people many choices. The two options usually consisted of join their crew or die which brought the next question to mind. "Are they fish food now?"

"No, we let them go." Alfred responded. When Arthur proceeded to stare at him with his eyebrows raised for further explanation he continued. "Captain Williams tries to avoid casualties where they can be avoided. He also doesn't like to take people who are likely to turn tail at the slightest hint of freedom. Took a lot of convincing to get him to accept you for that reason. As for your job on the ship you'll have to learn how to rig the sails and some level of carpentry. If those aren't your thing perhaps you could help the doc out and learn from him- or maybe the cook."

The older male took a minute to digest this information weighing the situation. He supposed it would've worked better for him if they had been killed. There would've been fewer loose ends, less mouths to talk if the wrong parties came looking. Oh well. "And for your information I do know some carpentry and my way around a needle. Ropes shouldn't be an issue either although you'll have to teach me any particular knots you use."

"Good and no problem. Isaiah is the ship master. He can show you some duties and I'll also be helping out when I can. The others will also show you how we operate if neither of us are available. We all have a part to play after all. In reality most of our time is spent on ship maintenance."

Arthur couldn't help but be curious."You're going to have to be more specific when you mention maintenance because frankly I have no idea what that entails."

Alfred paused mentally counting off, his fingers moving from a curled position to straight as he counted with them before disregarding whatever he had been doing. "Cleaning the decks, checking rigging and ropes, checking for any potential leaks or holes and repairing them. You also eventually may get to make sure everything on the gun deck is properly stored and cleaned- just to name a few. Oh and did I mention cleaning bird shit off the deck?"

"Sounds-" a pause and despite not trying to be rude he couldn't exactly color himself enthusiastic at the prospect "...delightful. When do I begin?"

Alfred looked smug, probably happy that some of the more unpleasant tasks were going to be now dished out to the newest member of the crew. With a clap on the other's shoulder he chirped "Your duties start right now!". With that he began to back away towards the stairs leading to the lower decks.

"Wait where are you going?!"

"I'm going to sleep. Isaiah is at the stern. I'll see you in the morning!"

"Where's the stern?!" Arthur called letting his frustration seep out through his words, scowling at the retreating pirate's back. "What does Isaiah look like?"

"Guess you'll have to figure that out yourself. Goodnight Arthur!"

Cheeky bastard. He didn't even get to shave.

---

Both their hands were calloused, jagged chunks carved out of them from one experience or another. The years had only added to the collection of scars and disfigurations. The black bandana that had first accompanied the cowboy-ex-outlaw-pirate was now draped over one of each of their hands, both using their free hand to knot the material and bind themselves together. Together, promising to watch over each other despite what altercations that could find themselves apart of. In life and death they'd take care of one another.

A cheer arose from their spectators as mugs were risen and beer sloshed onto the floor which would promptly have to be scrubbed later. "How about that Mr. Outlaw. You're now properly married to a pirate however fitting that may be."

"Cowboy" Arthur corrected. "I prefer cowboy although, I suppose neither occupation is particularly civilized. And the correct term is matelotage."

"He does learn! Would you look at that" came a playful quip from one of the crew members.

"I've learned quite well. It's you who still gets confused when I rattle off cowboy terms at you." A flippant and well timed reply caused snickers to erupt amongst the band of people gathered around.

Alfred decided to interrupt after chuckling to himself. "Arthur I don't think there's a single civilized thing about you" earning a playful eye roll in response.

"I don't think either of us have ground to talk" Arthur hummed giving him a small smile. The newly wedded partook in the drinking activities and celebration for a little while until Arthur directed a suggestive and flirtatious wink towards his beloved, earning him a smirk. To further drive his intentions he gave a slight tug on their bound hands. "Boys, thank you for the celebration but I suggest you clear out of the cabins for a while. Enjoy your drinks!"

---

Alfred found himself ahead of Arthur, deciding to clear some of the rooms up ahead, his gun raised as he did so. Upon entering one he was thrown off balance as someone barreled into him from a blindspot. He stumbled but caught himself, his body twisting to take the brunt of it as his back collided with the wall and he tried to throw off his attacker. They struggled for a brief moment until Alfred found himself a second too slow. A sudden crack filled the space as the weapon was brought down against his head. A sharp pain rattled his skull causing him to fall forward as the stranger stepped away. He nearly face planted onto the wooden floor only managing to distribute some of the weight with his hands, his jaw hitting the floor and causing his teeth to clack together. He helplessly watched his weapon clang as it hit the floor and bounced out of reach. He doubted it would be of much use to him anyway with the way his vision was doubled and the room was spinning. He let out a groan as everything slowly became bearable, rolling into his side to look up at who had ambushed him.

His attacker stood over him, weapon drawn and pointing at him. Perhaps this was karma for being over confident. In a final act of bravado and defiance he stared at the other man, their gazes interlocked. His pain only manifested through a clenched jaw and partially squinted eyes, managing a cold but accepting smile. "You know I don't like killing civilians. If I were you I'd stand down." Whether the next unfolding of events was pure luck or divine intervention he wasn't sure. An echoing boom sounded from the hallway ripping through the relative quiet of the lower decks. His attacker slumped lifelessly and collapsed partially on him before he could scramble out of the way. He blinked, staring at the corpse before his attention was caught by approaching footsteps.

"Unfortunately for you, I don't share such qualms" The familiar accented voice of Arthur sounded.

Alfred scooted away from the body, a relieved smile tugging on his lips and letting his tense body now relax. Needing a reprieve from the close encounter he decided to diffuse the situation with humor. "Took you long enough. I got a smack to the head thanks to you" He said no malice or bite to his words just teasing affection. Feeling the adrenaline leave him and feeling safe with Arthur's presence he took a breath and leaned back, closing his eyes.

"You're gonna get a smack on your arse if you keep it up" The other fired back, relief flooding his voice as he moving over him and crouched beside him to inspect the wound on his head. Deciding that nothing could be done here he placed a hand on the other cheek, encouraging him to open his eyes. "You need to get up Al" He murmured, standing up to a more appropriate height to help him up. He outstretched a hand expectantly.

"That sounds kind of hot Arthur" He teased indeed, opening his eyes and taking his cowboy's hand. Once up he felt the others hand on his back to support him. He gave a grateful smile before wincing and running his hand over his left temple to see if there was any blood. Thankfully there wasn't.

"We'll try it sometime if you'd like. But for now let's focus on the task at hand. Just because I'll get your cut if you were to die does not mean I want you dead. Let's get you back to the ship to be looked at by Johnson."

"We need to-"

"The others have everything under control. You're going to the ship. End of discussion."

Alfred decided not to waste the energy with arguing especially because Arthur was right. He took half a step, stumbling as his vision doubled again. At that Arthur pressed against his side and wrapped an arm around his shoulders for some extra support. "Thank you" he whispered, enjoying the others' warmth. His thoughts were interrupted by a gentle kiss to the right temple.

"A reminder not to go too far ahead alone next time."

"Of course my love" He agreed. When they reached the doorway sunlight flooded Alfred's vision. He hissed squeezing his eyes closed upon finding a newfound sensitivity to the light. Arthur paused and shifted around a moment before he felt something pressed to the top of his head. He opened his eyes slowly, the sunlight limited by the narrow brimmed hat on his head. It was a little small but it would do. Alfred found himself grateful for the fact Arthur incorporated his old attire with a more seaworthy one.

---

All Alfred knew was that the sensation of having Arthur over him, the other pinning his arms above his head while their lips captured each other's hungrily was addicting. No matter how many times they'd done it for the past few years, it always managed to thrill him to no end. The way their bodies arched into one another, lips worshiping and marking everywhere they possibly could. And afterwards basking in glory as they settled down from their escapades. Surely they realized that with the life they lead they sacrificed the longevity of it to do so. But they could at least enjoy each other until the end of it.

#usuk week #ukus #usuk #I decided to switch up their roles with the added bonus of outlaw #cw: gun violence #cw: guns #cw: minor charcater death #cw: age gap #cw: suggestive #cw: mentions of insects #cw: mentions of robbery #still hesitant to post because I feel like the pacing is all off #cw: charcater held prisoner

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emachinescat · 4 years

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The Day that Camelot Forgot

A Merlin Fan-Fiction

by @emachinescat

@febuwhump day 24 - memory loss

Summary: A vengeful Morgana casts a powerful curse on Camelot on the day Merlin is named Court Sorcerer, making everyone in the citadel forget that Merlin – and his impact on their lives – exists. She can only maintain the spell for one day, but twenty-four hours is more than enough time for the warlock to get himself into some serious trouble.

Characters: Merlin, Arthur, the knights, Gaius, Morgana is mentioned

Words: 6,444

TW: anxiety attacks, burning at the stake, main character near-death

Note: This story is a bit late, as it was meant to be published on day 24 of Febuwhump, but I got sick, and missed a few days. I did post the first half of it on Tumblr on the 24th, but this is the finished product. I am seriously considering writing a sequel, because there are definitely a lot of ramifications that I gloss over here, a lot of angsty, whumpy stuff that I could (and most likely will) expand upon in another story. But I'll let you read the story for yourself, and see if you're interested in a sequel!

Keep reading here, or on AO3!

If you enjoy, please consider liking, commenting, and re-blogging, and you can follow me for more content like this! :)

Merlin woke up to a broom head hitting him in the face, which was not how he expected his first day as Court Sorcerer to start.

An indignant squawk escaped him as he rolled off of his bed in an effort to escape the assault. He already had an insult for Arthur on his lips when his bleary eyes cleared and he realized that it had not been the king at all who had woken him in such a manner. It was Gaius, and he was poised to strike again.

"Gaius!" Merlin stammered, scrambling to his feet and dodging another blow from the broom. "What the hell are you doing that for?"

Gaius didn't answer. Instead, looking as mean and ornery as Merlin had ever seen him, the old physician demanded, "How did you get in here?"

Merlin cocked his head to one side, completely nonplussed. "I… live here? I remember turning Arthur's offer for new chambers down so I could stay and care for you – OW!"

Gaius had hit him again. "Who are you?" he all but growled.

Merlin blinked. "Gaius, you know me," he insisted, his heart hammering out his uncertainty at the pulse point in his neck. Something was wrong; Gaius might be cantankerous for his old age, and he might have enjoyed the odd joke at Merlin's expense, but never something like this.

Merlin tried again. "Gaius, it's me… Merlin." When Gaius only glared at him distrustfully from beneath two gnarled eyebrows, he added hopefully, "You know… Hunith's son?"

To his relief, recognition lit in his mentor's eyes at the mention of Merlin's mother, but distrust immediately replaced it. "I have known Hunith all of her life," Gaius said, voice low and measured, broom still held at the ready. "But she has no son."

Real fear exploded in Merlin's chest – fear for Gaius, not for himself. There was only so much Gaius could do with a broom, but if he was forgetting Merlin so suddenly and so completely…

"Ah, I'm sorry," Merlin said as calmly as possible, raising his hands in front of him to show he meant no harm. "My mistake. I'll … get out of your hair."

He darted out of his room, across the physician's main chamber, and out the door, leaving a confused and agitated Gaius in his wake. Merlin prayed that the old physician wouldn't get himself into too much trouble while he was gone, and then darted for Arthur's chambers.

***

He ran into Gwaine on the way – literally, he ran headfirst into the knight, so distracted by Gaius's sudden and dramatic loss of memory. At first he wasn't sure whose ridiculously muscular torso he'd bumped into, and despite his worry, he couldn't help but grin when he saw the bearded face glaring down at him in surprise.

Wait…

Glaring?

Merlin stumbled back.

"Watch where you're going, friend," Gwaine said in response. The way he spoke sent a wave of wrongness down Merlin's spine. He had called Merlin friend, but it was a vague, generalized term. When Gwaine normally called Merlin his friend, the word was saturated with warmth and shone with the light of a dozen charming grins. Now, it meant nothing. And when Merlin looked up into his friend's dark eyes, there was no recognition there. No smile that Merlin had come to understand as reserved especially for the knight's closest friends. Gwaine's eyes landed on him, flashed in brief annoyance, and then skirted off of him almost nearly as quickly.

"Gwaine?" Merlin asked, irritated at the uncertainty in his own voice.

Gwaine, who had already started sauntering away, turned back with a puzzled expression. For just a moment, Merlin was sure that kind, mischievous face was going to open up in an eyes-to-mouth smile like it always did upon seeing him, but then the brow furrowed, and Gwaine asked, "Do I know you?"

Merlin opened his mouth to respond, but nothing came out. He stood there, gaping like a fool, his whole body coiled as if ready to spring into action, limbs numb, fingers trembling, fear wrapping its constricting tendrils around his chest.

Gwaine gave Merlin an odd look, then shrugged. "Maybe we drank together once."

Merlin nodded weakly, remembering not just once, but many times he and the man before him had gone to the tavern together, often with the rest of the knights, sometimes even the king, in tow. He thought of laughter, and promises of friendship and loyalty, and tavern songs and Gwaine standing on top of a table doing a clumsy jig. He thought of the first time they'd gone to the tavern after learning of Merlin's magic, how Gwaine had asked him a million questions that had gotten more idiotic with every drink. ("No, Gwaine, I have never tried to transplant my nose into the center of a rose to see if flowers can smell themselves.")

By the time he had resurfaced from the barrage of memories that Gwaine had forgotten and that Merlin now clung to with a new ferocity, the knight had gone.

Feeling distinctly sick, Merlin resumed his trek to Arthur's chambers, noticing with fresh terror that every person he passed either didn't acknowledge him at all, or gave him a second, bewildered glance like they'd never seen him before, like he had no right being where he was – being in his home.

***

Arthur didn't remember him, either.

Merlin was so near panic when he got to the king and queen's chambers that he almost forgot to knock. Knocking was never something Merlin had been particularly adept at remembering to do, especially when it came to his duties to Arthur, but since the king had married Gwen, Merlin had made sure to amend his habits. There were some things that Merlin absolutely did not want to walk in on, and besides, he respected Gwen too much to risk barging in on her unannounced.

It was Arthur who answered the door, and Merlin was so flustered that he didn't wait for an invitation to enter (when did he ever, though?), and he squeezed his way into the room past the king. Gwen was nowhere to be seen.

"Thank the gods you're here, Arthur," Merlin huffed as he bustled in. "Something very weird is going on. Gaius and Gwaine are acting like they don't know me, like they've never seen me in their lives!"

He turned around to face his friend. To his surprise, Arthur's hand was on the hilt of his sword at his hip, and suspicion rolled off of him in waves. "Who the hell are you?" he asked flatly, blue eyes flashing with an intensity reserved for those who wished to do him, his kingdom, or his loved ones harm.

Merlin had been expecting a joke like this. Arthur was never one to pass up an opportunity to tease his former servant, soon-to-be Court Sorcerer. The dry retort, "Very funny, Sire," died before it could escape his mouth, though, because when he looked at his king, his best friend, he saw no glimmer of recognition. No familiarity. No kindness or warmth or irritated indulgence. Arthur's face was that of a man who had just had a complete stranger barge into his room and started talking to him like they were old acquaintances – which, Merlin was beginning to realize, was exactly what had happened from the king's point of view.

Merlin swallowed heavily and entreated, "Arthur … King Arthur. Please tell me that you know me." Desperation clawed at his throat and infected his next plea. "Please."

Arthur didn't speak, didn't relax his grip on his sword hilt, but he didn't draw the weapon either, which Merlin thought had to be a good sign. Finally, after several long, tense moments, Arthur responded in a slow, cautious tone, "I'm sorry. I have never seen you before in my life. What business do you have with me?"

Merlin's world, everything he knew and understood and loved, crumbled around him in that moment. He staggered back, managed to stay upright by pure strength of will alone. What the hell was going on? The familiar sting of tears pressed against the back of his eyes, and he only managed to keep himself from crying by sheer stubbornness. He took a deep, steadying breath, made a conscious effort to look as non-threatening as possible, and tried very hard not to panic.

"Okay," he said, and his voice shook, so he tried again. "Okay." This time, his voice was steadier. Arthur's glare pounded into him from across the room, and knew that the king's already thin patience was running out. "Something very wrong is happening in Camelot," the sorcerer began.

Arthur interrupted him. "I agree," he said pedantically. "There's a strange man in my chambers."

"I'm not – I am, or I was, your servant."

"My servant's name is George."

Merlin couldn't help it. He groaned. "George? The one who makes jokes about brass? He's your servant in this hellish version of Camelot?"

Arthur sent Merlin a look that was almost pitying. "You are obviously very confused," he said in a surprisingly gentle tone. "But I am king of Camelot, and you have no right to be in my personal chambers. Go now, and I will think nothing more of this intrusion. If you do not, then I will have to treat you as a threat, and call the guards."

Merlin shook his head, unwilling to let this go. In the span of a single morning, his entire reality, the world he and Arthur had worked so hard to build and the future that they were about to step into, his new position as Court Sorcerer, his friendship with Arthur, everything, had been ripped away from him. He had to figure out what could have caused this to happen. He didn't have to think long – who was out there with enough power to make what seemed like the entire citadel forget he existed? Who was angry and envious and vindictive enough to take away everyone he loved on the very day that the culmination of his and Arthur's dreams were finally taking shape?

Even as Arthur stepped forward, hand tightening on the hilt of his sword, preparing to draw it, Merlin blurted, "It has to be Morgana!"

All the color drained out of Arthur's face in an instant. He stood there, frozen, a horrible expression of pain manifesting in his eyes. "How dare you speak of my sister," the king growled, and Merlin actually backed up a few steps, bumping into the end table that he'd polished more times than he could count.

"I know she's a difficult subject to talk about," Merlin managed, striving to keep his voice steady as the grief in Arthur's eyes turned to fury. "But it's the only explanation. Morgana must have cast a curse on the citadel – you have to let me go find her, please, and I can stop this, and the world can go back to normal."

Arthur drew his sword now, and Merlin had no more room to retreat. He stood before his king, his closest friend, his muscles aching from the tension gripping his body, his heart pumping so fast and hard he could feel the flutter in his chest. "Arthur, please–"

"I am your king!" the man who had Arthur's face but spoke like his father spat. "You will address me as such! And how dare you insinuate that the Lady Morgana was a sorceress! What vile game are you playing?"

Merlin's head spun; he had no idea what was going on, how Arthur was currently seeing the world, but he did know for certain now that Morgana was behind it. The reverence and love with which the king said his half-sister's name could only come from a delusion the sorceress in question had placed there. Then something Arthur had said hit home. "What do you mean 'was'?"

The expression on the king's face was faintly nauseated, as if he were being forced to remember something that he had hidden away deep inside, or as if he were actively fighting the urge to cut Merlin down on the spot. Either scenario felt entirely wrong and filled Merlin with a sense of dread. "My sister is dead," Arthur said flatly. "She who would have been queen – should have been queen." Oh, yes, Morgana was definitely behind this, Merlin thought wryly. It was bad enough she had these sick delusions in the first place, but to force everyone in Camelot to play a part in them was equally terrifying and sad. "Struck down by a sorcerer in cold blood."

Merlin flinched at the way Arthur spat the word sorcerer. It had been years since he had heard the title said with such hatred and derision, and never had he heard this level of malevolence for magic-users come from Arthur's mouth. After everything they had been through together, after the joy of watching their prophesied destiny unfold before his very eyes, after hearing Arthur accept his magic and plan to officially declare him Court Sorcerer, hearing the title that Arthur had so often spoken of with pride slide out of that same mouth slicked with hatred hurt. But Merlin reminded himself of the truth – this wasn't Arthur, not really; somehow he was being fed false memories – and he squared his shoulders and looked his king right in the eyes.

"I'm sorry for your loss," he said solemnly. Arthur's eyebrows shot up in surprise. Merlin hoped it was a good sign. "But Arthur – your highness – I need you to listen to me, please. I can explain everything. I can try, at least. But your memories aren't what you think they are. Morgana is alive and… very well, considering the power of this enchantment."

"My sister was murdered by magic, and yet you still insist that she is the evil enchantress!" Arthur fumed, and Merlin felt like he was talking to a stone wall, or even more deaf and unyielding, Uther Pendragon. He very seriously considered knocking Arthur out with magic and tucking him away safely in a wardrobe somewhere while he himself went to deal with the sorceress who had caused all this trouble. But Merlin could sense Arthur, the real Arthur, somewhere beneath the surface of those familiar-but-foreign eyes, and he was sure he could break the spell without having to go to the source. Merlin was Arthur's dearest friend, the king had said this himself (and yes, it still counted even if Arthur had been incredibly drunk after a night in the tavern with Gwaine when he said it). And Merlin knew Arthur better than anyone else, save the queen.

I can reach him, he reassured himself. Arthur is still in there, somewhere. I just have to find him. And once he's back to himself, I can deal with Morgana.

"Please, sire," Merlin said, putting every bit of sincerity he could muster into his words. "Just… let me tell you my side of the story. Let me remind you of who I am, and who you truly are. I am your friend, Arthur, and you have said yourself that I am the most stupidly loyal man you have ever had the displeasure to meet." A desperate chuckle lilted his last few words.

"You have two minutes."

"Um, there's a lot to cover, actually," Merlin responded. "Can I have a bit longer, because I don't think–"

"One and half minutes."

"Okay, okay, I'll stick to the basics!" And so Merlin gave Arthur the quickest and most condensed version of their friendship and history he could cobble together in less time than it usually took to exchange greetings with his king in the morning.

He ended with, "And so you see, it makes sense that Morgana would want to sabotage this occasion, because it marks the beginning of a new era that she desperately wants to be a part of but is too bitter and proud to humble herself and change for. She wants to tear us apart, wants you to do something that you'll later regret. But I know you're stronger than this, Arthur. I know that you remember me, deep down. The life you're living isn't yours. Your memories aren't yours. They belong to Morgana, but your mind does not." A strange, almost trance-like mask had descended over Arthur's face while Merlin spoke, and hope started budding in the warlock's chest – he was so close to breaking through, he could feel it.

"So," Merlin prompted, when Arthur did not immediately respond. "Do you remember? Have you realized the truth, sire?"

Slowly, Arthur nodded, and the dazed quality to his eyes cleared up in an instant. "Yes," he murmured. Merlin allowed his eyes to close momentarily in relief; his body sagged against the table at his back. Thank the gods, the nightmare was over. Now all that was left was to find Morgana and make sure nothing like this ever happened again.

But Arthur wasn't finished speaking, and the hardness had steeled his gaze once more, his lips set in a straight line and his jaw clenched and held high. "I have realized that I was a fool to think that you were a harmless vagrant with delusions of grandeur who wandered into the wrong part of the castle. I should never have opened the door for you."

"Arthur–"

"I am your KING!" Merlin snapped his mouth shut, tears once again prickling at the corner of his eyes. The injustice of the situation weighed as heavily on him as his destiny once had. "You are a sorcerer, an enemy of Camelot, here in an attempt to take down Camelot from the inside. But your spells and tricks and poisoned words will not work on me."

"But–"

"Guards!"

"You don't understand, I–"

"Guards!"

***

Elyan and Percival were the knights who dragged Merlin to the dungeons and threw him roughly into a cell. Then Percival clasped his wrists in shackles, which were chained to the floor. The door slammed shut with a metallic clang.

"Percival – Elyan!" Merlin called out as the knights that had only a week ago pledged their acceptance and loyalty to him as the soon-to-be Court Sorcerer and chief advisor to the king. "Please, you know me!"

"You'll die for your treachery, sorcerer," Elyan spat.

The left, and Merlin sank to the cold, damp stone floor, chains clinking. He drew his knees up to his chest, rested his aching head on them, and did his best to remember how to breathe.

***

Merlin wasn't sure how long he had been in the dungeon, but it had to have been a couple of hours at least. He hadn't eaten breakfast because the old man who usually prepared it for him had instead attacked him with a broom. Now, he was certain he had missed lunch too. His stomach growled at him in protest, but the hunger pangs meant nothing to Merlin. Even if the guards dropped off a meal fit for a king, he wouldn't be able to eat a bite. Everything had gone so wrong.

And now Merlin was at a loss of what to do. He could escape the dungeons easily, he knew, and go searching for Morgana. But there were so many uncertainties, a litany of what ifs that railed against him whenever he thought about breaking out of his chains and sending the cell door crashing into the guards holding a silent but hostile vigil on the other side. If indeed he could find Morgana and discover a way to reverse the curse, then it would, of course, be an easy fix. Merlin's failure to connect with Arthur and break the spell himself had planted a seed of self-doubt deeply within the soil of his mind, however, and now what he had been so sure of before he'd tried to fix things himself – that he would be able to hunt down Morgana and stop this madness with magic – seemed like a distant, unrealistic goal.

And if he did fail? If he could not find Morgana, or if she had managed to employ a magic far more powerful or strange than he currently knew how to counter? If he was unable to break the curse? Then Arthur would go on believing Merlin was the enemy, and Merlin would have forfeited any chance of reaching his friend by flouting the king's edict, attacking the guards, and breaking out of the castle.

Merlin had only been able to get through to Arthur in his other life, his real life, by showing the king over a period of years that magic was not something to be inherently feared, not something evil in and of itself. He had had to show the king through his own life and actions the truth about magic, so that when Arthur had at last learned of his secret, it was from Merlin's own lips and with nearly a decade of loyalty and friendship to back up Merlin's assurances that he had only ever used his gifts to protect Arthur and Camelot. Sure, Arthur had been angry at first, and hurt that Merlin hadn't trusted him, but he had come to an acceptance of Merlin's magic much more quickly than the warlock had imagined. King and servant had grown even closer in the wake of the truth, and soon after, Arthur had started drafting plans for making magic legal and had proposed the idea of Melin's being officially named Court Sorcerer.

But if Merlin was forced to start from scratch, to rebuild his relationship with the king – a possibility that pained him deeply but that he was more than willing to do, if it was the only way to get Arthur back and get their destiny on track – then it would not be wise to start that relationship off with a jailbreak. Then again, he argued against himself, neither was blurting out his secret to an Arthur who had already shown great disdain for magic and who held no memory of or loyalty toward Merlin at all. At this rate, maybe it was better to just take the risk and escape, because how in the name of the Triple Goddess was he supposed to convince Arthur of his loyalty if the king most likely planned to execute him for treason?

He almost made his escape then, but something stopped him. At first, he couldn't identity exactly what it was, just a feeling, an uncomfortable squirming in his gut that could have been the voice of destiny, or instinct, or, quite possibly, hunger. But either way, it bothered him enough that he held off on his plans to break out and examined the feeling more closely. Eventually, he realized – if he left Arthur now, especially in the state he was in, alone and unprotected and with Morgana out there somewhere with her eyes feasting hungrily on the citadel she so earnestly believed should be hers, he could be putting the king in more danger. If Merlin wasn't able to find Morgana in time, and she used his absence to ease her way into the citadel and onto the throne, which Arthur would readily give up to her in his current state.. With him under her influence, she could do whatever she wanted to him – kill him, imprison him, break his mind forever… and Merlin wouldn't be there to stop her.

With this thought, he decided to wait it out, and to see how events would unfold. He would not use his magic to defy Arthur or make his escape unless absolutely necessary. After all, he tried to assure himself, there was the very real possibility that Morgana would not be able to hold this powerful of a spell for long. She might be a priestess of the Old Religion, but even she had her limits. Perhaps her plan was to lure Merlin out to find her and then to use his absence to take Camelot for herself, but it was entirely possible that she only had a limited window of time to achieve her goal and that she was counting on Merlin to act on his emotions and search her out immediately.

Or maybe her plan was just to simply wreak havoc in Merlin's life for as long as she could. Either way, Merlin reasoned, her hold over the entirety of Camelot could not last forever. Sooner or later, her grip would weaken and Arthur and the rest of the citadel would wrest their way out of her control.

Merlin just had to survive until then.

***

He was unsure of how much time had passed when they came for him again. No one had brought him food, or water, and no one had come to visit him during his imprisonment, either. Merlin thought it was highly likely that Arthur had ordered any curious parties to stay away; the king had made it abundantly clear that he considered Merlin a dangerous threat. The fact that he had not been given even a hunk of stale bread or a flagon of water sent warning bells off in Merlin's mind – if this strange Arthur was anything like Uther had been, then he knew that he would be executed swiftly and without trial, and there was no need to feed a dead man.

Gwaine and Leon came to collect him. Leon unlocked the shackles and shoved him at Gwaine, who spat at his feet. "And to think I was kind to you this morning," he growled, and Merlin fought the urge to remind him that he hadn't exactly been kind, more indifferent. Gwaine roughly spun Merlin around, wrenched his hands behind his back so hard that pain sliced through his shoulder blades. Merlin felt his hands being bound tightly, expertly behind his back with course, thick rope. He reached into himself and felt his magic, alive, pulsing, ready to rise to his defense, and he took solace in it, but kept it at bay.

Not yet, he told himself.

But he was getting scared, and he was running out of options.

***

They shoved him to his knees before Arthur, who sat unyielding and terrible on his throne, a mirror image of his father. Merlin realized with a start that there was only one throne.

"Where's Gwen?" he asked. Now that he thought about it, the servant-turned-queen hadn't come up when Merlin had told his story to Arthur earlier, and the king had made no mention of his wife. In fact, he recalled with a start, none of Gwen's more domestic touches had been in Arthur's chamber.

Arthur stood, striding forward and looming over his prisoner. "You should have gagged him," he groused. "He doesn't know how to shut up." For a split second, Merlin thought that maybe the real Arthur was beginning to resurface – that was exactly something that he would say! Then he crossed his arms over his chest and asked irritably, "Who is Gwen? Your accomplice?"

"No, no," Merlin quickly assured him, not wanting to cause any trouble for Gwen, wherever she was. It was odd, he thought: Most elements of Camelot had stayed the same in Morgana's living nightmare, like the knights – even the non-noble ones, even Elyan, Gwen's brother, had remained as they were. But Arthur, in this version of reality, had never married Gwen. It made sense if he thought about it, though. Gwen had occupied the role that Morgana had believed was hers, had, in the witch's eyes, betrayed her trust and left her for the man that represented everything Morgana hated. Of course, Gwen wouldn't have her happy ending, her marriage to Arthur, with Morgana in charge. She was being punished as well. Merlin wondered if Gwen had been left with her memories of the real world like he had been, or if she was somewhere in Camelot, living and thinking as a maid when she really was a queen.

To Merlin's relief, Arthur didn't pursue the line of questioning any further. "I have talked this matter over with my council and advisors," he said in a measured voice. A burst of bitterness howled inside of Merlin – he had been named Arthur's chief advisor! He had been a part of the original council, the Knights of the Round Table, when Arthur had first brought them together! And now this illusion of Morgana's had stolen that away from him, too.

Not yet, he reminded his magic, as it raged and boiled and frothed inside of him. Be patient.

He might have been able to control his magic, but he could not keep his sarcasm completely in check: "And I am sure that in your discussion with the council, you all came to a completely fair and totally unbiased decision based on facts and not the unfounded prejudices of your father's rule."

He didn't know what he had been expecting, but it certainly was not Arthur's face flushing an angry red, nor the back of his hand smashing full-force into Merlin's cheek, snapping his head to the side violently. He felt one of the king's rings split the skin on his cheekbone, and thought for a breathless moment that the entire left side of his face had caved in.

He couldn't keep back the lone tear that crawled from the corner of his eye. It didn't come from pain or even shock – but a sense of gut-wrenching betrayal that he could not reason his way out of, even knowing that Arthur was not himself. Even in the state that Arthur was in, even knowing that the king would make plans to execute him, Merlin never anticipated Arthur himself becoming physically violent with him. Somehow, Arthur's hitting him was so much more of a betrayal than a death sentence.

Just. Wait. He didn't know how much longer he would be able to keep his magic from rising to his defense.

"You will learn your place, sorcerer," Arthur hissed. "When you burn. Take him; we light the pyre at first dawn."

***

Fear screamed through Merlin's body like a whirlwind, and coherent thought fled in the wake of his worst nightmares manifesting before him. He had been sure that Arthur would have chosen hanging or even the chopping block, but a pyre –

Merlin had grown up terrified of fires, horrified at the possibility of dying a brutal, torturous death, swallowed and ravaged by flames, all because he was born with magic. Because of who he was.

No one had been burnt at the stake in years in Camelot. Certainly not after Arthur became king. It was a barbaric practice, and even the worst war criminals and traitors were given a swift, merciful death. He had assumed that Arthur would continue that tradition.

But no, when he was dragged out into the courtyard – the sky was dark, but the air chilly and damp, heralding the approaching dawn – a great pyre had been constructed, and the rest of the knights – his friends – had gathered around, their faces lit eerily by the flickering flames of the torches they held at the ready. At least Gaius wasn't there.

You're not actually going to die, Merlin tried to remind himself, dragging desperately for air through his nose, his mouth blocked by his neckerchief that they'd dragged over his mouth in a bid to keep him from talking, or screaming, or just out of pure spite, Merlin didn't know. You can escape. You will escape, and find Morgana, and stop this. You can't delay any longer.

He drew himself up as tall as he could between Leon and Gwaine, calling his magic to his aid and –

He wasn't sure what happened, or how his friends-turned-enemies had guessed that he was about to try something – maybe he had given himself away somehow, maybe they had noticed the change in his stance or a shift in his energy, or maybe Morgana was interfering even now, ensuring that he would not escape his fate so easily. Whatever the reason, just as Merlin drew upon his magic, something blunt – a sword hilt? – crashed into the back of his skull, and everything was pain.

Agony ripped through his head, his neck, and crackled down his spine. Any grip Merlin had on his magic slipped through his fingers, and he fell forward, held semi-upright only by the knights escorting him to his death. He didn't lose consciousness, but he did lose all sense of control over his body and his magic, and the only thing that existed was pain. His stomach churned in time with the throbbing of his head, and his eyes were driven shut instinctively by the light of the torches before him.

The next few minutes passed in a state of distanced terror and pain. Merlin was acutely aware of the heaviness and agony of his head and the nausea in his gut. He also felt every spike of fear, every bit of helplessness, every scream that wanted to rise up from the most primal part of his being. And yet, at the same time, it was as if it was happening to someone else, and he could do nothing about it. Everything hurt and he was going to die and Arthur was going to burn him alive, his friends were going to light the pyre, and he would die in agony, and not even his magic could stop it, because he couldn't feel it, couldn't find it – he was magic itself, and yet it eluded his grasp, all that existed was pain and confusion and his head swam –

He felt, as if from a great distance, himself be hoisted onto the pyre. He felt the rough wood of the stake rub blisters into his tied hands as he was shoved against it, head lolling uselessly as if it belonged to someone else. He felt rope wrap around his torso, his legs, securing him to the pyre, and he tried to lift his head, which rested on his chest, tried to find his magic, but all he uncovered was fear and despair and pain.

He vaguely heard Arthur speaking from somewhere close by – or maybe it was from miles away. He did not understand the words but knew them to be a list of the supposed crimes Merlin had committed – being born with magic the chief of those. And then, far too soon, Arthur stopped talking, and Merlin sensed through his partially closed eyes the knights approaching with their torches, and he felt the warmth of the fire as those torches were lowered to the wood.

Merlin forced his eyes open, thrust his head up and looked at his friends, then beyond them, at Arthur. He maintained eye contact with his king, his brother, his best friend, even as the knights lit the pyre and he felt the heat begin to spread. Merlin didn't know if Arthur could hear him from this distance, if his words would be loud enough, strong enough, or if they would be caught up and consumed in the rising flames. It took every ounce of strength and concentration to push past the pain and call out, as loudly as he could, "I forgive you, Arthur."

And then, as the flames began licking at his feet, his boots, his clothes, something popped. I was as if the world itself had been out of joint, like a dislocated shoulder, and in that moment, the painful but satisfying second of release, it had snapped back into place. The air shifted, the world stopped spinning for the briefest of moments, and then, it clicked back into its rightful place.

The spell had been broken; Merlin could feel it in every fiber of his being – his magic cried out in relief, and it was only then that he realized that it hadn't been his head injury that had prevented him from fighting back, from escaping – it had been a last, desperate attempt by Morgana to get her revenge, to hide his magic away from him just long enough for him to die.

But she had failed. Her power, her hold and control, had finally given out on her, and Merlin felt his magic bubble back to the surface, and despite the pain and the fear, he summoned rain from a cloudless sky as the sun continued its golden ascent and put out the flames.

Around him, he heard yells, and cries, and his name was shouted from all directions, from the mouths of those he loved and trusted and who had very nearly killed him. But his head pounded, and he was so weak, and the fire was out. He slumped in his bonds, eyes fluttering shut, head dropping to his chest.

He didn't even feel the hands untie him. He didn't feel the knights gently lift his too-warm body from the pyre, didn't feel himself being carried into the castle and placed on a bed, didn't feel Arthur's tears of mingled guilt and relief splash onto his face.

He did, however, somehow, amidst the quiet and dark of unconsciousness, hear Arthur's voice cut through the silence, strong and familiar and real. "Gods, I – I'm so sorry, Merlin. My dearest friend, I–"

When he woke, Merlin would embrace his king, reassure him that no lasting harm had been done. He would smile at his friends, clasp hands with the knights and hug Gaius, find Gwen and make sure she hadn't suffered the same disorienting day that he had. He would answer all questions asked of him, and he would assure Arthur and the knights as many times as it took that he did not blame them, would explain Morgana's dark role in everything. He would find Morgana, and make sure that nothing like this would happen again.

When he woke, the world would be right. It wouldn't be normal – after everything that had been done to him, after all the betrayals, even though he didn't blame his friends, it would take a while for normal to come back around. But Merlin would persist, and he would have his friends – his real friends, with their real memories – to help him through it. As he would help them through the ramifications of their own pain, guilt, and regret.

And when he woke, he would be named the official Court Sorcerer of Camelot. He would be given a robe fine enough for a king, but he wouldn't care about that. All that would matter would be him, at Arthur's side, protecting him and fulfilling their destiny. That was how it had always been, and Merlin, when he woke, would look forward to a bright future of peace and hope.

But for now, he gratefully, peacefully slept, knowing that when he next opened his eyes, Camelot would remember.

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rip-a-dip-dip-you-potato-chip · 4 years

Text

what have I created?

idk if yall like this, but they just exist not i guess :/

ok the the first one is Royalty AU

first things first, when I say Royalty AU, I don't mean the classic shit we've all become accustomed to. Im talking about the good old Chinese royalty! And I want to emphasize that these guys will/should be dressed in century appropriate attire. As someone thats read a handful of 'marinette, princess of china' fics from the ML Fandom, I've noticed a common trend. Marinette wouldn't be in the culturally appropriate clothes, always ballgowns. Not that there's something wrong with it, its just most of if not all these fic are set in China, so I'd expect Chinese royalty to dress as THERE dress code calls for. And since this AU takes place far in the past like, it won't make sense for any of the characters to be in royal clothing that wasn't from there region. I'm not trying to white knight/gatekeeping. Im Guyanese not Chinese. But since JTTW and Monkie Kid take place in China, it's only right. In my opinion that it. You don't have to outright agree with me.

With out of the way, it's time for that good old AU crack

- Wukong is the king of the Flower Fruit kingdom(or a different one if you'd like, again I'm only familiar with what western culture has taught me, but I'll try my hardest)

- he’s single but rumor has it he used to/still is dating the Vigilante/thief The Six Eared Macaque

- *chants ShadowPeach violently*

- no one know whether it true or not

- On of his wanders around the kingdom he finds an abandoned baby in a basket.

- and no shit sherlock it's fucking baby Xiaotian

- I think we all know where this is going because i'm a simp for Monkey Dad & Monkie Son shenanigans

- Xiaotian becomes prince

Shit, ill be referring to Xiaotian as Mk from now on, I mentioned this before in a fic I wrote for lmk that Mk's a nickname for Xiaotian for some reason- wait i don't have to explain my self to you people!

- Sun loves his son

- MK is treated differently by staff and others because he's not blood related to the king

- no one mistreats MK per say, because there King loved his adopted son, but words are said behind his back

- Sometimes MK hears what’s said, and he feels as if he won't live up to his dad’s legacy.

- He meets Mei during a festival

- Mei is from a noble family, that wouldn't mind if they got a connection into the royal family.

- but it becomes hella clear to Mei’s family very fast that the two are just friends, and will always will be. but hey there daughter is bffs with the prince so that's a plus.

- the Demon Bull Family is rules a kingdom as well, I dont/am not creative enough to think of a name I leave that to you.

- It's a common misconception that DBK is a tyrant, when he’s not.

- most of the time...

- they have been at war with the Monkey King for some time now and settled for a peace agreement.

- that agreement being there sons to marry

- oooo original i know

- MK and Red Son are roughly the same age, Mk being 20 and RS 22

- RS is revolted/disgusted at the idea of being wed to the Monkey Kings child, even more so when he realizes MK is adopted,

- but, that all changes the second he meets MK while he meets him by accident when he gets kinda lost in the palace when he and his parents go to discuss the arrangements.

- the second he looks at MK, he's instantly in love. MK less so, he's nervous and honestly kinda bummed he's not marrying someone he loves but it's for the good of his ppl, and he'll do anything for them.

- RS isn't even aware that MK is Suns adopted son until MK walks him back to the meeting room.

"Oh There you are MK! I was about to have a servant go fetch you!" Sun Wukong says, gesturing for his boy to come sit with him.

"S-sorry for keeping you waiting I got caught up in my lessons with Mr. Tang" MK responds, sitting next to his father. Red Son looked gobsmacked. The beautiful young man he had bumped into, was the prince of this land? Damn, life truly blessed him. Or cursed him depending on how you looked at it.

- the two are left alone in a separate room for a while.

- And MK straight up tells RS why he's agreeing to this union.

"Look Red Son. I've dreamed about meeting my one true love for a while. And I would give almost anything for that dram to be real. But I wouldn't ever dare give up my people, for as there price they mean more to me. I'm doing this for them, no other reason" MK says, his back straight and hands folded neatly in his lap. The look in his eyes was a mix of sadness, but that was drowned out by loyalty and determination. It just made Red Son fall for him even harder. Clearing his throat Red spoke.

"I understand, for im doing this for the betterment of my people to. But I propose a wager"

"A wager?"

"Yes, if i can make you fall in love with me by years end, before our marriage, we can live together like in the fairy tales from far away. But if I fail, in a years time afterwards you will be permitted to find your own path in life" Red Son stated. MK took a moment to process what was happening.

"So, if you succeed in making me fall in love with you, before our marriage we can live happily ever after?" Red Son nodded in response, letting the younger continue.

"And if I shouldn't fall for you, in a years time after our union, im free to leave?" Red Son nodded once more.

"So, what do you say?"

...

"Deal"

In the end, your free to choose their fate, should Red Son win the hart of Mk? Will he fail? Or will he let him go, and let him travel the country, after all Mk's a free spirit and keeping him trapped in a big house is like keeping a cannery trapped in a cage only for its song, only for it to dul. Or will the unthinkable happen and will both boys find their freedom? together or appart? I don't know, because that's all up to you 😉

personally, I’m partial to where MK and Red Son both find freedom together. Like they straight up run away together to somewhere far away and just live out there lives together.

this could also be genderbent thing as well. MK or Red as their respective counterparts. Again it doesn't have to be, but it’s whatever bro. im just spitting out the idea.

Also, there is a main side plot that they fight the WBS throughout the year as well, along with other shenanigans you wanna throw in.

____

The second is a My Hero Academia/BNH/MHA AU

truth be told i'm not a big fan of MHA i think it to over hyped(this is also coming from the same person that’s a Fairy Tail fan lol), and the fandom i don't even know how to describe that mess, but I will admit not the whole of its toxic since every fandom has some toxic members, some even more so.

I just sometimes find myself enjoying MHA AUs like the Fullmetal Alchemist, Danny Phantom, Evil!Deuk AU and several others.

to make it clear I don't see this AU taking place the same time as the main plot of the actual Anime/Manga. This could be either like 6-10 years before or after the plot idk bro. But i’ll do this after the main story plot of MHA, so keep that in mind ya? another thing, the gang is still in China, the top hero school in the world just so happens to be in Japan, and it’s only ever mentioned by Sun wukong and other pro heros. So MK never attended AU. in short it’s only ever mention/ reference.

- Mk was considered Quirkless as a kid.

- he was just a late blumer, i swear

- Mai’s Quirk is called Dragon.

- it pretty much works the same way as it does in the show(duh)

- Tang’s got a knowledge Quirk,

- my man can retain information and he’s basically an archive of information drawback being his personality lol

- Piggsy is a Animal that gained a Quirk

- in cannon to my current knowledge, there are two other characters that can confirm animals can become sentient. the characters being Fumikage Tokoyami, & Nezu the principal at the school UA.

- Sandy is just Conner Kent, aka he like superman but can't fly, or shoot lasers from his eyes. And blue.

I have two scenarios for Macaque and Wukong

*- The first one is that, Sun Wukong & Macaque are brothers. twins to be exact.

- they where legit people, but have mutation quirks that made them too like monkeys.

- the added powers were just a boues.

- Sun and Mac are close growing up, like there brothers but also best friends.

- the draw back to there quirks could honestly be whatever you want bro idk, same with the others tbh. Personally I like to think Sun just has lack of motivation, and Macaque needs to draw on other people's energy.

- Sun is a hero, Monkey KIng and Mac is a villain Six Eared.

- Sun was always treated has the golden child in the family, Mac always resented that, but there shitty up bring didn’t stop the two from being good brothers to one another.

- soon tho the resentment became hatred when Sun was able to attend UA in Japan, while Mac didn't.

- Mac be angy

- so he became a villain, and joined the Chinese branch of the LOV(league of villains)

- Sun doesn't know this till he finds out during the all out war during the main story. and by that time he’s a full on hero with is own agency(The Flower Fruit agency)

- when the hero's ultimately win and Mac is arrested

- This ultimately hurts Sun a lot, his brother was in jail now, arrested for his involvement and wrong doings, he knew nothing about this! this brother, his blood. A bad guy? why? he hadn't seen his brother since he left for UA, he hadn’t seen him when he came home, and started his agency.

- this just puts Sun into a funk so he’s not as active as he used to be, and he starts thinking he might need a successor

*- The second one is that they were two separate people that had similar quirks and both attended UA but Sun ended up in the hero corse. so 1A.

- Both Macaque and Sun have similar quirks, Sun’s is obviously more light based while Macaque’s is more shadow based(this applies to the first one as well)

- Macaque was placed in class 1B, U.A.’s High's Heroics Department, I believe, you can correct me.

- In cannon Class 1A and 1B both went to the training camp. I can see the teachers pinning Sun and Macaque against each other to hone their skills.

- And because of that they become great friends

- In fact when they graduate they both co-found there hero agency together in China and are a duo.

- But due to Monkey King’s popularity and Six Eared's association with shadows(people sometimes saying he has more of a villains quirk than a heros) the public see’s Macaque as Sun’s sidekick when thats far from the truth.

- now it’s up to you whether you think that Wukong and Macaque would be in a relationship together, but knowing how cooked we all are, ShadowPeach is a thing here more than likely.

- If you do or don’t support/ like the ShadowPeach aspect, the two would be living together regardless since its more cost efficient.

- They my be heroes but living costs are expensive!

- I would imagine there would have been a huge fight/argument between the two in privet of course, at there home.(or in there shared office if you want the extra angst of the other people they work with hearing them fight)

- If the two are dating, then this would either lead to an out right breakup, or Macaque just up and leaving with Wukong thinking he’ll come back once he’s cooled off. But after a week, with no sign of his partner, or him answering texts or calls, not even coming into work. Wukong gets worried that something might have happened to him. so there wouldn't be a confirmation if they were still a thing or not.

- But Wukong remains hopeful, despite the nagging at the back of his head, and gut telling him to go find Macaque, or atleast make a public statement, or even just tell another pro hero about it.

- on the not so shippy side, Macaque and Wukong still have there argument, and much like the ShadowPeach esc side, Macaque up and leaves, and isn't seen for weeks. the only difference here is that when Wukong comes home one night to there flat, most if not all of Macaques stuff is gone.

- where as if this was the ShadowPeach side, Macaque leaves all of his possession in the flat he and wukong share. for the simple reason being, he still loves him and wants to go back, but Macaque being Macaque can’t bring himself to do it, especially after seeing just how hurt Wukong looked when he yelled at him just before he left.

- in other words, ANGST DIALED UP TO A 10 BABY

- in either case, its a news report that confirms Wukong's suspicions that he desperately didn’t want to believe, and that is Macaque turning into a villain.

- much like if the two were brothers, Wukong just can’t take it and is no longer as active as he once was, and is thinking about, either A) Retirement B) Saying, “Fuck Society, Be Gay Do Crime” and join Macaque as a villain himself, or C) find a successor, and a way to bring Macaque back to there side, but most importantly, back to him.

- also extra points if you're after people's hearts and want to make them suffer; - If there dating, Wukong curle’s up in the bed he and Macaque shared, holding/wearing something of great value to Macaque and just crying himself to sleep, where as Macaque is getting wasted on alcohol, as he stumbles out of the bar he’s in, he either see’s something that reminds him of Wukong or while he’s trying to put his wallet back into his pocket, a photo of them on their first date fall’s out. and Macaque just cries in a nearby alley way. And it’s there where he gets indoctrinated into the League.

- If there just friends, macaque heads to the nearest forest and just levels it, where as Wukong just gets engrossed into his work, trying not to think about it. you could add you own spin on this, again i'm just spitballing.

- NOW BACK TO MK! :D

- Obviously MK is a huge Monkey King fan

- at Twenty MK has come to terms he's quirkless (HE’S NOT)

-for ANGST reasons MKs fokes kicked him out at this realization at 13.

- he works at Piggsy's Noodle shop, and has been since he was 14.

- don't need a quirk to drive or cook!

- the boy lives a content life with his new family, till DBK happens :D

- DBK runs a Mafia(in conjunction with TLOV) and has been in jail for like 5 years thanks to Monkey King, PIF and RS brake him out one night when MK's out making a late night delivery since Piggsy had the bright idea to go 24/7 service!

- one thing leads to another and Mk somehow manifest what looks like the Monkey King's staff, but its not, it’s MKs powers, it just so happens to be the same power the Monkey King has. And it practically goes down the same way in the pilot.

- but unlike the pilot Mk and Mei go straight to the FF Agency, after making a panicked call to Pigsy and Tang.

- one way or another Mk are lead into Wukongs office. Mei being forced to stay in the lobby.

- they have there convo, butterfly monkey squishing included.

- "And so, I want you do be my success-" BOOM 💥

- from there they rush downstairs and see that the lobby has been infiltrated by the DB fam, and you know fight.

- once the DB family seems like there down, PIF wisks them away. Much to Monkey King’s displeasure.

From there stuff kind plays out like cannon, the calabash ep is just a conjoint quirk the Demon bros have. As for EP9, ill have to script that one out myself lol. I'll get onto it as soon as my will to commit stabs me in the face. Till then have a dancing Kermit the frog.

Now if you'll excuse me, am about to Kermit a felony :D

(For legal reasons thats a joke)

Psst @writingamongther0ses its done

#lego monkie kid #monkie kid #lego monkie kid au #rip a dip dip wrights

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chibi-beaver · 3 years

Text

A Romantic Night in

Rating: Mature/Explicit (It straddles the line a bit)

Words: 3.7K

Fandom: Star Wars: The Bad Batch

Relationships: Hunter/Reader, Hunter & Omega

Characters: Hunter, Omega, You

Tags: Domestic fluff, Romance, Porn with plot (but like it's not terribly explicit most of the time), no y/n, little to no angst, FLUFF, female reader, established relationship, movie night, modern AU

Summary: You and your boyfriend Hunter have a fun night in after picking up Omega from soccer practice

(I don't usually write smut but it kinda just happened and I shocked myself with it lol)

Fic under the cut

You and Hunter were preparing your shopping list for the grocery store, going through the cupboards, seeing what was running low.

"I have an idea!" Hunter said.

"What is it?" You ask.

"You know you've wanted to have another date night, but we also have Omega tonight?"

"Yea" you respond. Omega was shared between Hunter and his brothers. She typically lives with Hunter but the others also get her throughout the week. She just spent Friday and Saturday with Tech and Wrecker, who recently moved out into their own apartment. You had a feeling that Tech thought the house was too full now that you were living there too. She also spent some time with Crosshair on Wednesday but his schedule was quite busy so she only spent time with him whenever he was not on a business trip.

"We should have a fun night in, we make some food, watch movies with Omega until she gets tired, and then after she goes to sleep, we can have our own movie date," Hunter said, as he hugged you from behind.

"That sounds like a great idea!" You say, turning your head to place a kiss on his cheek.

"We'll go pick up some stuff to make our favourite nachos, and some popcorn for Omega along with the rest of our groceries, then pick her up from soccer practice at 6:30, get her some dinner, and then we change into our PJs and watch movies," Hunter said. An ear-to-ear grin formed on his face as he described the plan. You smiled back as you felt some heat enter your cheeks. You then check your watch.

"Let's head out then, seeing as it's 5:30 and it takes us 20 minutes to get to the grocery store," you say.

"Yea, we should," Hunter said as he got the grocery note and the keys.

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

You got into the passenger seat while Hunter took the wheel. You plugged your phone into the AUX and started to play your favourite music.

"I didn't expect all this traffic at 5:30 on a Sunday night," Hunter remarked.

"Me neither," you said as you looked out the front window at all the cars.

"BUDDY! COME ON!" Hunter frustratedly said at the slow driver in front of him.

"Who does 45 kilometers an hour in a 70 zone?!" Hunter said.

"That guy apparently," you said as Hunter pulled into the other lane and passed him.

The rest of the drive to the store was relatively peaceful as Hunter's road frustration faded. He found a place to park and he breathed a sigh of relief.

"Happy to be off the main road?" you asked.

"Yes! I hate slow and incompetent drivers," Hunter said as he turned off the car. The two of you got out, took your bags, and went into the store.

"What's on our list?" you ask as Hunter gets a cart.

"We need chicken, milk, popcorn, peppers, some fruit, yogurt, cheese, salsa, sour cream, and tortilla chips," Hunter said, reading off the note.

"Sounds like a plan," you say as Hunter walks closely behind you, pushing the cart as you start looking for the various items. You start in the produce section where you get your peppers and some of Omega's favourite fruits. She was in a strawberry phase lately so you made sure you picked up strawberries.

"We need to get her something new too," Hunter said.

You noticed some blackberries nearby.

"Has she tried blackberries?" you ask, gesturing towards the half-pint of blackberries that are on sale.

"I don't think," Hunter said as he saw them too.

"Let's get them," you said.

"Ok," Hunter said as he let you put it into the cart.

You then proceed into the aisle with chips in it.

"One-stop shop it seems," you remark as you see chips, popcorn, and salsa in the same aisle.

"Mild or medium?" Hunter asks as he looks at the salsas.

"Medium, I need a little kick damn it," you say.

Hunter chuckles. "Remember the last time we had medium salsa?" he asks, clearly teasing you.

"No, nothing out of the ordinary happened," you insisted.

"Pretty sure last time you were begging for milk because it was too spicy," Hunter said as he stepped closer to you.

You knew what he was referring to but you decided to take it in an entirely different direction.

"Are you referring to the outcome of our last movie date?" you ask with a smug look on your face.

Hunter's cheeks turned bright red.

"Uh, well" Hunter said, not sure how to finish that sentence. You knew that was not the direction he was taking it. The last time you had medium salsa was a while before your last movie date with Hunter. You tried it for the first time and couldn't handle the spice. The outcome of your last movie date, however, was certainly not appropriate to discuss in a public setting such as aisle 1 of a grocery store.

"Don't tell me you're trying to make a sexual innuendo out of that," Hunter whispered.

You simply smirked and winked at him.

"Let's just say that two can play that game, cyar'ika," Hunter whispered as he put medium salsa into the cart and started to take the cart further down the aisle to get some popcorn. Your cheeks soon matched the colour of Hunter's. You can't help it but you also can't explain why when he says that word, you become putty in his hands. Especially after you learned what that word means. It did something to you, in a good way of course.

You catch up to him as he is looking at the prices of the popcorn.

"Should we buy the bigger package or the smaller one?" Hunter asked.

"The bigger one is obviously the better deal," you say.

"Yea but we don't use a lot of popcorn," Hunter said.

"It's not like popcorn is a perishable item though," you counter.

"True," Hunter says as he puts the bigger package into the cart.

Your next stop was the meat and dairy sections of the store. You pick up a package of fresh chicken breasts. It was bigger than what you needed for your nachos but you were going to use it for meal prep for the week. You tried to bring lunch from home as much as possible to work, and you were hoping to pass that way of thinking to Hunter too.

Once you got to the dairy section, you were disappointed to see that the yogurt you and Hunter like is not in stock.

"Damn," you say as you look at the empty shelf.

"You got that right," Hunter says.

"I guess we'll need to look somewhere else for it another time," you say.

"True, just not tonight," Hunter says while chuckling.

"Yea," you reply as you pick up the sour cream and Hunter picks up the milk.

"Last item, cheese," you say as you proceed further down the dairy section and find a block of cheddar cheese on sale.

"Let's get this checked in," Hunter says as you proceed to a self-checkout.

You get out of the store in record time. Bless those self-checkouts, you thought as you got into the car. The next stop was to pick up Omega from soccer practice.

The traffic seemed to calm down a bit while you were in the grocery store, with the main roads only about half as busy. It took no time to get to the field that Omega goes to for practice.

"Just in time," Hunter said as he looked at the clock in the car, 6:20. You got out of the car to join some of the other parents who had just gotten there to pick up their kids. You could tell that Hunter was feeling a bit anxious. All the other parents, you could tell were actually the parents of their kids while Hunter was in a different situation. He and his brothers took up the mantle of caring for Omega because their mother works so much and their dad died before she was born. It's gotten so bad that Hunter and his brothers were made her guardians and their mother only shows she's involved by sending Hunter, his brothers, and Omega money. While Hunter was quite a bit older than his sister, he wasn't quite old enough to be her dad without someone questioning his age when she was born. Hunter was 17 when she was born and she's 8 now.

"Hunter!" Omega called out after her practice ended.

"Hey kid," Hunter said as he collected her.

"How was practice?" he asked as the three of you went back to the car.

"It was good. I scored a goal today!"

"Really? That's awesome! Wanna get a happy meal to celebrate?" Hunter said.

"YES YES YES!" Omega said.

"Glad to hear it, let's get to McDonald's," Hunter said.

"Hi, welcome to McDonald's. What can I get for you?"

"Hi, can I get a McNugget happy meal," Hunter said into the drive-thru window.

"Yep, would you like the girl toy or the boy toy?"

"Which one do you want?" you whispered to Omega.

"Boy toy!" she said.

"She wants the boy toy," you relay to Hunter.

"Boy toy please," Hunter said.

"Great, your total is $5.51, drive through."

"You get to the first window.

"I can pay," you offer.

"No, I'm paying," Hunter insisted.

"You just paid for groceries, I can pay," you said but it was too late, Hunter had already tapped his card. Looking at you the entire time with a smug look on his face.

You rolled your eyes as he pulled up to the second window and got the food. Omega was elated to get her nuggets and fries and immediately started eating them.

"Mind giving Hunter a fry?" Hunter asked.

"I do mind," Omega said as she kept eating her fries. You laugh as she says this and she joins in.

"Wow thanks," Hunter said sarcastically before saying "it's a long walk home," referencing that he's driving the car. You knew he wasn't being serious based on his tone of voice. He was just playing around.

Omega had finished her meal by the time you three got back home.

"Make sure you bring your garbage in," Hunter reminded Omega as he turned off the car.

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

Once you got into the house, Omega got into the shower while you and Hunter changed into your pajamas. Hunter quickly changed into his favourite pajamas, a black t-shirt with dull red camo pajama pants while you sifted through your pajama only to put on a pair of white shorts and a bright red t-shirt that had a faded logo of something on it. Omega still wasn't done in the shower when you both changed so you went downstairs and started making the nachos.

Your nachos called for grilled chicken breast that was liberally seasoned, diced bell peppers (colour doesn't matter), onions, jalapenos, and of course, lots of cheese. You started the chicken and grated the cheese while the chicken cooked. Meanwhile Hunter prepped the veggies. Hunter stole a few shreds of cheese before you smacked them out of his hands.

"Hey!"

"That's for the nachos!" you replied.

"Party pooper," Hunter said with a pout.

"It's better melted, trust me," you said.

Once the chicken was just cooked, you got the sheet pan ready with parchment paper and made a layer of chips. You put a thin first layer of cheese before adding the chicken.

"You got the veggies ready?" you asked.

"Just about," Hunter said.

Hunter then added the prepped veggies before you added a much thicker layer of cheese on top before sticking it into the oven.

"I love cooking with you," Hunter said as he wrapped his arms around your waist.

"Me too, when you and your big appetite aren't stealing some of the ingredients," you joked.

"You clearly haven't seen Wrecker's appetite."

"Fair enough," you replied.

"You know you love me anyways," Hunter said.

"I do," you said as Hunter left a few kisses on your neck.

You giggled as you heard Omega come downstairs. You pulled away from one another immediately.

"You wanna watch some movies wiht us?" Hunter asked.

Omega nodded her head.

"You want some nachos with us or do you want some popcorn?" Hunter then asked.

"Popcorn!" she said.

You smiled. You thought the kid was so cute sometimes.

Hunter put a bag of popcorn into the microwave, entering the time it says on the bag.

"Wanna help pick out a movie?" You asked.

"Sure!" Omega replied as you and her went to the couch and turned on the TV. You let her pick which streaming service she wanted. Of course she picked the one that had the most kids movies. Omega had her own kid friendly profile on every service you were subscribed to. She picked the same movie she always picks.

You got up for a minute to check on the nachos.

"I bet you can't guess what movie we're watching," you say, teasingly.

"It's the one about the lions again, isn't it?"

"Yep," you said as the microwave beeped. The popcorn was ready.

"I'll bring the popcorn in, you watch the nachos?" you ask.

"Sounds good babe," Hunter said as you emptied the popcorn bag into Omega's favourite bowl. This bowl was white with red stripes all over it. You think it might have been a Christmas bowl at some point with the candy cane like aesthetic. You put the bowl on the coffee table, closer to Omega in order to make room for the sheet pan of nachos. Hunter brings in bowls of sour cream and salsa before going back into the kitchen. You hear the oven open, meaning that he's bringing in the nachos.

"Wanna put on the movie?" you ask Omega.

"Yep!" she says as she picks up the remote and puts on her favourite movie.

Hunter sets the sheet pan down and sits on the right edge of the couch and puts his arm around you. You looked over at Omega, who seemed to be enjoying the opening scenes of the movie while eating her popcorn. You left Hunter's arms to take some nachos.

"mmmm" you quietly said as you ate your first bite.

"You're quite the cook," you whisper.

"Will there be any kisses for the cook tonight?" he whispers back.

"Maybe later," you say with a wink.

About a half hour later, Hunter noticed that Omega was out of popcorn but was looking at the nachos.

"Want some nachos?" he whispers.

Omega tried the nachos but didn't seem to be a fan of the peppers and picked them off.

Once the nachos were all gone you snuggled into Hunter for the rest of the movie. He kept his arm around you, rubbing your shoulder every once in a while, presumably to keep his hand from falling asleep. You rested your head on his shoulder and he started to play with your hair.

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

The movie ended about 1 hour and 40 minutes later, after which Omega wanted to go to sleep.

Hunter went upstairs with Omega while you cleaned up all the food. You groaned at the thought of washing dishes so you put them in the dishwasher instead and turned it on.

"That's a job well done," you say before heading back into the living room.

Hunter soon proceeded downstairs.

"You put her to bed?" you asked.

"Yea, she was quite tired after soccer practice and a movie," Hunter said.

"I'd say, hopefully she gets enough sleep so that she won't be tired at school tomorrow,"

"I hope," Hunter says as he sits back on the couch with you.

You pick up the remote and went into your own profile. Scrolling through movies before you and Hunter finally agreed on one. It was an action movie about a superhero. As the movie starts, Hunter wraps his arm around you while you rest your head on his chest.

Hunter kisses your forehead. You look up at him and kiss him on the lips.

"Finally some kisses for the cook?" Hunter asks.

"You betcha!" You said as you raised your self to be closer to Hunter's level to make kissing him a bit easier. He kept his arm around you but lowered it slightly so that his hand was toying with the bottom of your shorts. You run your hand through his hair as he moves his hand under your shorts, massaging your butt.

"Someone's feeling a little frisky tonight," you remark as you adjust your positioning to be straddling him. He allows this, guiding your legs into position.

"How can I not be?" he says once you're in the desired position.

His cheeks are growing redder as his hands explore your body. He has one hand holding your waist while the other is making its way under your shirt. He plays with your tits for a few minutes before moving that hand to your waist too. He holds onto you as he plants some kisses to your neck. You softly moan as his lips hit all the sensitive spots that he knows gets you off. He leaves your neck as you coax him back up to kiss you on the lips again. Neither of you hold back with the kiss, exploring one another with your lips and tongues.

Once you pull away from one another, you remove your shirt. Hunter collects the shirt and throws it on the floor before taking off his own shirt, with your asssistance. Your legs start to hurt from being bent for a while. Hunter notices this.

"Wanna switch around?" he asks.

You nod your head as the two of you get up from the couch. You get back onto the couch, this time laying down while he finds his way between your legs, placing himself on top of you.

He kisses your lips for a bit longer before going lower. His lips move to your neck, then your chest. He stays there for a few minutes, kissing your tits and using his hands to get you off. You could tell that he liked pleasing you. Every time he tried something, he gauged your reaction and continued accordingly. You could also feel him getting harder against your pelvis.

He moved towards your stomach and soon reached your pelvis. He put his hand down your shorts and searched for your clit. You'd admit that he wasn't perfect at finding it but at least he tried. You removed his hand for a minute to take off your shorts and throw them to the floor as he did with your shirt. You soon tugged at his pants strings.

"Go ahead cyar'ika", he said.

"You know I like it when you call me that," you admit.

"That's why I do it," he whispered.

You take off his pants and put them on the floor with your own clothes. He moves your panties to the side and starts kissing you more. You moan softly as he does that, tyring not to be too loud as to not wake Omega. Instead you ran your hands through Hunter's hair, grabbing some of it.

Hunter chuckled before saying, "I see someone is enjoying themselves."

He puts your panties back where they're supposed to be once you decide to return the favour. You pull down his underwear and let your lips and tongue do the work with your hands being of assistance at times. He too softly moaned as your tongue hit a sensitive spot.

"How does that feel, cyar'ika?" you ask. Hunter chuckles and you soon realize that you kinda butchered the pronouciation.

"I butchered that, didn't I?"

"Yea but I like it, maybe I can teach you the proper pronounciation sometime," Hunter said.

"I'd like that," you said as you moved upwards from your current position, placing your head level with Hunter's.

"I'm sure you would, cyar'ika," Hunter said as he kissed you on the lips once again.

You then removed each other's underwear. Hunter teases you for a few moments before giving you what you want. You wrap your legs around him as he moves in and out of you.

However, the couch is nowhere near the size of your bed and as you move around to change positions, you fall off the couch. Hunter soon also falls and lands next to you, moving the coffee table slightly so that he didn't hit it.

"Hopefully Omega didn't hear that," you say as you lay next to Hunter.

"I don't think she did, she's sound asleep by now," Hunter said.

The two of you then laugh at the predicament.

"You wanna keep going?" you ask.

"Definitely," Hunter said as he sat himself up against the couch. You decide to straddle him once again. You position yourself onto him while he pulls some couch cushions down and places two under your knees. He places his hands on your ass as you control the pace this time. He raised his legs to make you and him more comfortable. You lean down to kiss him. He reciprocates the gesture, meeting you halfway. The kiss becomes pretty deep before he pulls away and out.

He soon finishes, with your assistance. You sit on the floor next to him afterward.

"It seems this movie night ended similarly to last movie night," you comment.

"I certainly don't mind this outcome," Hunter comments.

"Of course you don't you dog," you tease.

"Don't lie, you're just as naughty," Hunter teases back.

"We should probably clean this up and go to bed," you say.

"I couldn't agree more," he says as the two of you get up.

The curtains are closed so you don't mind not putting your clothes back on as you and Hunter repositon the coffee table and put the cushions back properly before heading upstairs and quickly heading to your room. The two of you then get into bed. You lay on your side and Hunter soon joins, spooning you. You turn your head around to face him for a moment. He leans in and kisses you softly.

"Good night cyar'ika".

"You're gonna keep calling me that now, aren't you?"

"Yep. Goodnight. I love you."

"Goodnight, I love you too," you say as you begin to drift off to sleep.

#ao3 #fanfic #the bad batch #bad batch #bad batch Hunter #bad batch Omega #Hunter/reader #no y/n #female reader #oneshot #smut #fluff #little angst #established couple #why tf did I write 3.7k words in 4 hours? Because I can #I didn't intend to write smut when I started this project but it kinda just happened #oops

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sidhelives · 4 years

Text

Leather and Lace

Fen'Harem Gift Exchange 2020

For Jukkari 💕

Full text under Read More

They had spent months beating around the bush. Months of short, professional meetings punctuated by playful jabs and coy smiles. There was something there, even if no one else could see it, she felt it. Like flint and steel they struck against each other and made sparks. They had spoken about it once, agreed that the sentiment behind the flirting was mutually genuine, and… nothing had changed.

Julseithe wanted it to change. She wanted to cup that precious face between her hands and find out what her lips tasted like. She wanted to share a moment that wasn't surrounded by dozens of other people watching her, worshiping her.

She didn't want to be the Inquisitor and Scout Harding, she wanted to be Julseithe and Lace.

Seeing her in the courtyard, Julseithe made the sudden decision that today would be the day it changed. She didn't know how long the scouts would be in Skyhold: they were always moving, brushing in and out of the fortress with more regularity than she did herself, which said a lot. It had to be today, and it had to be now, before she lost her nerve.

Her legs felt heavy and awkward as she crossed the yard, like a newborn halla learning to walk, and she could feel her heart pounding against her ribs. She opened her mouth to call out a greeting and found her tongue bone dry. Before she could wet it and try again, Lace noticed her and waved. Julseithe saw a brightness come to the dwarf's eyes that she wished beyond hope was because of her.

"Scout Harding. Good to see you somewhere not infested with Venatori for a change," Julseithe managed, finding her voice.

"I do need the occasional break, and the free drinks are nice." Lace grinned, nodding her head towards the Herald's Rest.

She had such a beautiful smile. Her eyes sparkled like dew covered grass at dawn. "Would you care for one now?" Julseithe plowed ahead, not allowing herself time to think about the words spilling from her lips. "Since it's my treat either way."

If the invitation surprised Lace, she hid it well. She was, Julseithe reminded herself, the Inquisition's lead scout, it would be more strange if she did visibly react.

"I think I would. Thanks, Inquisitor."

"You can call me Julseithe you know." She spoke too quickly, her nerves creeping up on her.

"Oh? How about Jules?"

"You can call me whatever you want." Julseithe bit her tongue. Too much.

Lace chuckled. "Well alright then, Jules. Shall we go in for that drink?"

She was sure her cheeks were pink, she could feel the heat radiating from them. "Let's." She got the door, holding it open for the scout, and they wordlessly drifted to a table set into a nook in the wall. It was the closest thing to privacy the tavern contained.

"You a mead or an ale woman?" Lace asked as Julseithe sat.

"Mead. Thanks," she responded.

With a curt nod, the dwarf turned and headed for the bar. This left Julseithe alone with her thoughts, which was quite possibly the worst-case scenario. Anxiety ricocheted inside her, colliding with the butterflies in her stomach and making her momentarily nauseous. Get it together Lavellan, she chided herself. It was only Harding after all. They had flirted and joked together dozens of times before, this was no different.

Except that it was different. Different was the entire point.

"Here we are." Lace plopped the full tankard in front of Julseithe with a clank that made her jump. The dwarf laughed apologetically. "Sorry! Didn't mean to startle you. Can't really figure out how to turn off the sneaky anymore."

Julseithe returned a shaky laugh, uncomfortable with her own discomfort. She was the mother-fucking Inquisitor, this shouldn't be this hard. "What are you drinking?"

Lace slid into the seat opposite her and shrugged. "I'm an ale woman myself. Mead is just too, I don't know, sweet for me I guess."

You're sweet enough all on your own anyway. The words were there, they were perfect, but they stuck to Julseithe's tongue like raw nut butter. She cleared her throat. "So how are things going? I haven't seen you since the Hissing Wastes."

"Well, I'm still cleaning sand out of places it has no right being." Lace smirked. "But good otherwise. What about you?"

"Me? Oh, I've been keeping busy. Even when I'm not out closing Rifts and fighting dragons, Josephine keeps me busy with diplomatic meetings."

Lace made a face of disgust. "That sounds worse."

Julseithe laughed, some of her unease receding. "It is. It wouldn't be so bad if it weren't for the Orlesians. No matter how many I meet I never get used to the masks."

"It's weird, isn't it? Like they're always hiding something from you. How do you have a real conversation with someone when you know they're keeping something from you?"

Lace's voice was casual, but Julseithe's anxiety spiked. She laughed, hoping it didn't sound as uncomfortable as she felt, and took a drink, hiding her expression with the tankard. She wasn't keeping anything from Lace, for Mythal's sake she was trying to tell her. Her diversion backfired as Julseithe choked on the thick, sweet mead in her haste and she ended up sputtering like a fool, one fist held against her mouth.

"You okay there, Inquisitor?" Lace tipped her head to one side.

"I'm fine," Julseithe coughed again. "Completely fine. What happened to Jules?"

A flush crept up Lace's cheeks. "Right. Jules. Old habits I guess." She rubbed the back of her neck in a way that reminded Julseithe of Cullen's awkward manner.

The blush made Julseithe's heart race. Do it now.

"There was something I wanted to talk to you about."

Lace recovered her composure, the blush fading, seemingly relieved for the apparent change in subject. "Of course, what's on your mind?"

"I know you said we should talk more about… things after Corypheus was defeated…" Julseithe took a deep breath before plowing ahead. "But I was thinking that we could talk about them sooner than that, like maybe now, or maybe not now but soon, just the two of us."

All the color seemed to drain from Lace's face. "Like… a date?"

Julseithe backpedaled as quickly as she could. "Only if you wanted to, of course. This is fine, just talking about not that, I don't want to put you on the spo—"

"Yes." Lace cut her off, color rushing back to her face until she appeared plum, washing away her freckles.

"Oh," Julseithe caught her breath, leaning back slightly. "Great."

"Where did you have in mind?" Lace didn't look at her as she asked, eyes trained deep into her tankard, and the blush had not faded.

Shit.

Julseithe had not considered that far out.

"I, well, I hadn't actually gotten that far," she blurted honestly, feeling her face approaching a similar hue to Lace's.

Lace peeked over the edge of her tankard at the other woman. "Maybe we could just, take a walk?" She gave an awkward shrug. "The ramparts are usually deserted."

Julseithe blinked at her, dumbfounded. "You mean now?"

Lace nodded, making the whispy curls around her face bob merrily. "I have nowhere to be."

Don't lose steam now Julseithe.

"That sounds perfect." Her voice sounded sure. Hearing it almost made her believe it. She pushed up from her seat too hard, making the chair bump roughly into the wall causing them both to start. A chuckle bubbled out of her throat.

The great Inquisitor, Herald of the Illustrious Andraste, making a fool of herself over a pretty girl.

The laughter was contagious and Lace's blush faded as they both fell into peals of giggles.

"Sorry about that," Julseithe offered, wiping her eyes.

Lace laughed again as she got to her feet. "Don't worry about it. Now when I trip over my own feet and fall on my face it won't seem so dramatic."

They left the tavern, silent except for the anxious buzzing in Julseithe's ears. She cleared her throat to break the strange quiet, which drew Lace's eye. "Do you really think you'd trip?"

"Nerves turn my feet to nugs," she offered as explanation.

Julseithe slowed her pace as they began to climb the stairs. "You're more nervous around me than when you skulk past enemy lines?"

Lace laughed, her perfect teeth catching the sun and making Julseithe's heart flutter. "No competition. The worst a bear or rogue Templar could do is kill me."

"What could I do that's worse than that?" They reached the rampart's peak and, clear of the walls, a gust of wind pushed Julseithe's nut-brown hair across her face. Sputtering, she brushed it aside to find Lace looking at her with a sweet, warm smile.

"That for one." She laughed, then sobered. "Or the way you chew on your lip when you think. The way your hands flutter around your dagger sheaths when you're nervous. You smile and everyone around you can't help but smile too. A million little things that stop my heart."

Julseithe was so red her mouth couldn't find words, she gaped at the dwarf, lips opening and closing before she swallowed hard and found her voice. "You're much better at this than me," she admitted.

"I've been… preparing for a while I guess you could say." Lace's smile was a mixture of sheepish pride

"You're definitely better at that than me." Julseithe remarked and they both laughed.

As Lace had guessed the ramparts were empty except for the two of them, and Julseithe found herself chewing on her lip as they walked. "Could I— I mean, would you be alright if I—" she floundered. Lace had known exactly what to say and she couldn't get out a whole sentence. "Creators save me. May I hold your hand?"

"I'd like that." She offered her hand.

Julseithe knew she looked like an idiot as she took the smaller woman's hand, wearing what Varric called her "shit-eating grin," but she wasn't much concerned with how she looked. Lace's hand bore the telltale calluses of bow work but between these rough patches was soft as silk.

"I haven't been preparing," Julseithe admitted. "So I don't think I can be exactly as eloquent as you were…" She glanced down at Lace's face and found her smiling encouragingly. "But I— well, I just think you're the kindest, prettiest, most interesting person I've ever met. I miss you when I'm gone, or you're gone, or even when we're both here but not together. I love your eyes, and your freckles, and your smile. I think about you all the time, I want to kiss you—"

She inhaled sharply and clenched her eyes shut, feet stalling midstep.

She'd said too much.

Dirthamen take her, she should have known she'd flub it up.

"I think you should."

Julseithe's eyes fluttered open in surprise. Lace was pink, one foot tucked behind the opposite ankle, nervously rubbing up and down.

"You do?" Her heart was hammering in her ears.

Lace nodded quickly. "I don't know if it's really allowed, you're the Inquisitor after all, and I'm, well I'm nobody, but I'd like to kiss you too—"

Julseithe cut off Lace's words, leaning down to press their lips together. She let her eyes drift closed and Lace squeezed her hand in surprise or excitement, but she didn't pull back.

Her lips were so soft and she smelled like fresh rain.

Julseithe relaxed into the kiss, letting her free hand drift up to cup the woman's face, thumb trailing ever so softly over her cheek.

It was better than she imagined, and she had imagined it often.

Reluctantly Julseithe broke the kiss and looked into Lace's clear green eyes. "How was that?"

"Better than I imagined," Lace replied with a breathy chuckle.

Julseithe couldn't stop the laughter that spilled from her throat, water coming to her eyes.

"What's so funny?" Lace tugged on her arm, blushing again.

"I was thinking exactly the same thing." Julseithe confessed.

The slight frown creasing Lace's brow cleared and she echoed Julseithe's laughter. "Do you think it gets better?"

"I think we should definitely try to find out."

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