#wip: time travel au

[otterandterrierwrites]

wip: Alderaan time-travel AU

‘Okay, where the fuck are we now?’ Han exclaimed behind her. He strode to the front of the group and held up both hands to stall them. ‘New rule: from now on, nobody’s runnin’ into any mysterious doors without a group vote, got it?’

‘Sorry,’ she said, placing a placating hand on her husband’s arm. ‘I just—I felt like I had to. I think it’s safe.’

‘I feel safety from here, too. Although,’ Luke added, touching the rock towards the back of the cave, where they’d seemed to have come through, ‘I’m not sure how we’re getting back.’

‘Great!’ Han chirped sarcastically. ‘I feel super safe too in this freaky cave from the dimension of crazy!’

[otterandterrierwrites]

From the Alderaan time-travel AU:

‘This is a lot to take in,’ Breha Organa murmured, as if to herself. Her own cup of tea sat untouched on her desk. She looked up, her dark eyes going from Han to Luke. ‘You realize, of course, that a few Jedi tricks and personal facts are not enough to convince me you two and—my grown-up daughter, allegedly, have come from the future.’

This week’s word is…

��� CONVINCE ✨

Find the word in any WIP and share the sentence containing it. Reply, reblog, stick it in the tags, tag us in a new post, or keep it private. All fandoms, all ships, all writers welcome.

[ghost-bxrd]

Look away, there’s nothing in that warehouse for you…

[ruporas]

feast (ID in alt)

[baeshijima]

imagine an au where you wake up to a chill seeping through the comfort of your duvet. it's a little unusual. the mornings shouldn't be so cold anymore; did you maybe leave the window open?

a headache blooms along your conscience, and you think that maybe you had one too many drinks out of frustration last night. but, then again, it's not your fault that prickly bastard got on your nerves and made you drink till you passed out. he just has it out for you!

bare arms are draped over your equally bare midriff, its hold around you tightening and— wait. you're NAKED?!

by the speed at which you flipped to your other side, you wouldn't be surprised if you got whiplash. actually, scrap that. maybe the familiar face lying beside you, alongside the marks you barely caught a glimpse of amidst your turn, is more than enough to wish you actually did get it.

"mmh, what's wrong?" he mumbles in all his sleepy glory, clearly disoriented from your sudden movement. a hand rubs against his heavy lids in a feeble attempt to clear out the bleary fog which clings to his vision, one in which blocks the sight of you by default. "you're never up before me in these mornings."

...how did you end up in the bed of your arch-nemesis (self-proclaimed), naked, and— why is he staring at you so affectionately? weren't you just at each other's throats a few hours ago? (figuratively or literally, it doesn't matter. you were at each other's throats all the same.)

(or, you somehow find yourself three years into the future, married to the very same prickly bastard who made you black-out drunk (self-inflicted). and naked (not self-inflicted. probably).)

[trans-jon-rights]

Okay it's dumb self indulgent tma au time

What if. Jon goes back in time after MAG 200. But.

He's a cat. And he just looks like That :

(tiny phone doodle)

And he is there for the whole show, trying to do things differently with very little powers and zero ability to talk

[ryuki-draws]

I miss my son, Tails

[patolemus]

double-whammie wip (not) wednesday

got tagged by @novasillies (still freaking out over their current wip update!!) and i have a bit of the newest chapter for my time travel au to share

“Hey, Stiles?” he calls out to the older boy. Stiles hums distractedly, and Derek knows he’s not really listening to him, too caught up in whatever he’s doing. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure,” Stiles says. His back is turned to Derek, and he spends a moment appreciating the way Stiles’ muscles shift underneath the fitted shirt he has on as he mixes up his herbs. Stiles still doesn’t look like he’s paying all that much attention to him, but oh well. Derek will take what he can get.

He props himself up with his right forearm, half sitting as he puts his weight on it. “You like me, right?” he asks, sounding calm even though his heart has started beating faster and faster by the second. Derek doesn’t regret asking, though.

Stiles goes taut almost as soon as the question registers. He doesn’t turn around so he can’t see what kind of face he’s making, and his scent doesn’t betray anything, but Derek knows better than to trust it when he knows Stiles knows ways to manipulate it. After a few moments, though, his posture relaxes again and he goes back to mixing up things in the mortar.

“Yeah. Of course I do,” Stiles says. There’s a sort of vulnerability, a softness in his voice, and Derek feels his heart soar. 

He didn’t lie. Stiles didn’t lie. He likes Derek, Stiles likes Derek.

Don’t fuck this up, he thinks, only a little desperate as he tries to keep his heart under control. Not for the first time, he thanks whatever higher being is looking out for him, because if Stiles could hear how fast his heart is racing right now he’d think Derek is the lamest person ever. Which he is, but Stiles doesn’t need to know that.

“Cool,” he says, immediately regretting it. Cool? Who the fuck says cool to something like that? “I mean, I like you, too,” he adds hastily, fully sitting up as Stiles finally turns around.

“I know,” there’s the ghost of a smirk dancing on his lips and mirth in his eyes.

Derek starts to smile, then frowns. “Did you just Han Solo me?” he asks, not knowing what to feel when Stiles just bursts out laughing right there and then.

It’s a beautiful laugh. It takes his breath away. Derek doesn’t think he’s ever heard Stiles laugh like this before. Chuckle, maybe, definitely an amused huff here and there. But never an outright laugh like this one. Derek wants to hear it forever, wants to record it so he can play it back again and again and again, all the time.

He’s so gone on this boy. So, so gone. Derek feels overwhelmed by the sudden rush of affection that overcomes him, a hot, fluttery thing that leaves him tingly all over.

couldn't not do the star war's reference i mean IT WAS RIGHT THERE. anywayssss take the rare angst-free scene. no pressure tags: @dontcallpanic @hedwig221b @salty-fryingpan @oldefashioned @endwersed @dear-massacre and of course anyone who wants to do it

[professorscrooge]

Sleeping Soldiers AU Draft - circa August '23

Feel amidst continuing to necro-post on this AU, I should probably actually post the draft of my attempt at turning this into a fic, bit more than a year ago. Ran out of steam, as I tend to, and it's a bit rough (also don't know if tumblr has a character limit, but fair warning, this is ~3k). Diverged from where ideas on this ended up going.

References to the original inspiration(s) can be found on posts here and here, and I will emphasise credit @phoenixyfriend, @epicmusic42 and @graylinesspam whose work I have been butting in on (and I think this may rip off some of their wordings). Leans largely into bits and pieces of the Legends timeline, but only through vague references as that's a whole monolith of a thing to try and understand. --

 Coruscant is a city of metal and glass; the planet that once was is buried beneath eons of sharp edges growing out ever further. As the centre of the Galactic Republic, it is demanded to be continuously modern (at least on the surface), with a slick and shining outer coating. Its noises are of technology; the heavy thrum of electricity is the heartbeat of the city, speeders and aircraft fill the air with their droning, and there are an abundance of holoscreens to display the inauguration of the new Chancellor of the Galactic Republic. 

 The Jedi Temple is perhaps the one exception: its tranquillity is unmatched on Coruscant, and its construction is old and solid. All the same, when the silence within the Temple was broken by noise, its nature was unnerving in its irregularity; not the shattering of glass or creaking of metal, not the whine of engines, not an explosion or a turbolaser or any such thing, it is a noise unheard on Coruscant for Millenia.

 It is a grinding, of stone upon stone, echoing up from its very deepest recesses.

–

Circa 500 BBY

 The Jedi Temple is an ancient relic of bygone times; old enough, that the only records that might say how old are held within its own walls (or rather, were, given the unfortunate number of sackings and assaults in its history had frequently damaged the famous archives). Its grand size is a symbol of strength against the dark, but also something of an impracticality in certain times. Its lower reaches are vast, stretching all the way down to the forgotten mountains of Coruscant; a surface where sunlight hasn’t shined in millennia. Construction kept reaching upwards for the longest time, keeping up with the rising levels of the city-planet as its foundations became buried under smog and filth, forgotten.

 In the wake of wars’ end, many lower levels were sealed away; who needed such vast halls, impromptu barracks and storage, when the Jedi no longer served as military leaders? There was no need to house so many people as to require them, and it was more effort to clean and maintain them than necessary for a monk order of a few thousand. After all, this was a Golden Age, with the Sith defeated, and a time of the High Republic.

 Age lent itself to secrets, and with time, many of those secrets were lost with their keepers.

--

 The newly minted Chancellor paused only briefly in taking his oath of office. Most present simply chalked it up to the weight of the vows involved being taken seriously. In truth, the hidden Darth Sidious that lurked under the unassuming garb of Sheev Palpatine had shivered at a tremor in the Force; local and distinctly, searingly Light in its origin, piercing the veil of darkness he and his master had woven over the planet for but a moment. Quickly, he steeled himself and resumed his words; it would not do to falter or drop his mask at this stage. And after all, what could stop The Great Plan now? Sidious had a thousand years of his Order’s planning behind his back. It wasn’t like the Jedi could think on such a grand scale.

–

Circa 1000 BBY

 The history of the Jedi Temple site may as well be a timeline of the Republic itself. With the ever-recurrent war that was fought over its location, and how often Coruscant changed hands, it wasn’t just built upon, but rebuilt, several times. The Grand Ziggurat of the High Republic era was built over the ashes and ruins of the Temple before it, reaching to the sky not far from where the newly built Senate District would form the seat of the Galaxy. A symbol of strength to a unified Galaxy that had defeated the evil of the Sith, once and for all.

--

 The Jedi Council scrambled to action, of course (in as dignified manner as they could). Even with their senses long-blinded by the veil that consistently hampered their sight, there was no missing the stirring beneath their feet. 

 “Awoken, something has,” Master Yoda was heard to declare.

–

Circa 3653 BBY

 The Soldiers’ Hall, as it came to be known, was a real anomaly. It was unearthed in the wake of the Treaty of Coruscant, and the Great Sacking of the Jedi Temple. The respite granted by the armistice with Sith Forces withdrawing from the world was a balm to the Coruscanti people, yes, but the Jedi had returned to a Temple filled with death and desecration. Their holiest relics had been plundered, and the numbers of dead were horrific; a toll only growing as they uncovered the deadly traps spiteful Sith had left behind to further ruin them. It was a painful experience for the survivors, not helped by the lack of justice and repercussions the treaty afforded them.

 With their returned forces in peacetime, however, it was decided to fully survey the Temple to account for all possible traps. The survey unearthed many lower chambers forgotten for centuries, which would soon be repurposed as bunkers for military assets. Naturally, the opportunity was also taken to strengthen ancient foundations with modern materials, which came with looking over the foundations of the ancient Temple grounds atop a mountain of Coruscant, and the Dark Shrine hidden there. It was known to the High Council alone that the old Temple had been built atop a Dark Vergence in the Force in an attempt to cleanse it, and a handful of masters yet survived to share that information to a select few. What surprised them more was the discovery of older ruins beneath the Shrine, built into the mountain itself, and seemingly dating to before the Alsakan conflicts, perhaps even the Jedi Order itself (though few dare voice this thought). The shift from precision, machine-poured duracrete that has been in use for millennia, to the more rough, hand-hewn stone is a sight that excites the archaeologically inclined allowed to see it. 

 Most of the tunnels are collapsed, but slowly, over several years of uneasy peace, a path is unearthed to a large atrium, central beneath the Dark Side Nexus. The discovery is shocking to those who uncover it; they’d gone from archiving very faded murals (amidst admonishment that such pre-Jedi religious teachings are not worth great regard), to cracking the door open to a great chamber filled with an army of statues. A thousand men – clearly soldiers – each expertly carved with incredible detail, each set of armour uniquely battle scarred and hand painted, each posed differently, and every single one perfectly preserved in defiance of their ancient surroundings. The warriors sat, or lay, or kneeled, in great concentric circles, facing inwards to a central figure, the only one not wearing armour; a Togruta woman, dressed simply, and with lightsabers resting at her hips. Where the soldiers were wrought from a pale white stone, she was crafted in warm terracotta in a relaxed pose, face bowed in conference with the Force. It was almost as if she were made of flesh.

 Despite the gathering of Masters who quickly investigated the room, none could quite manage to lay a hand upon her. The sense of foreboding was just too strong. Every gaze in the room was pointed towards her; an even thousand visors of solid stone, focused on this one woman, every one so lifelike as to be uncanny. In-fact, sometimes, in the corner of the Jedi’s eyes, it was almost like they moved; a chest rising and falling with breath, tiny fluctuations in the Force that evaded the senses, or flickers of dreams. Almost as if they were waiting for something.

 The Council ordered the chamber sealed; what markings upon the soldiers that could be identified were Mandalorian in origin, so clearly this was some work of those great adversaries and their common allies, the Sith. That those forces combined had so recently sacked their home likely aided this decision. Knowledge and warnings were recorded within the Council’s private library only, and would be lost some centuries hence by the passing of those who saw the sight and another sacking of the upper Temple.

 Beneath them all, the feared warriors continued to sleep.

--

 The sounds of shattering stone echoed within the long-forgotten chamber, even as dust filled the air from the broken remains. This noise was swiftly drowned out by a thousand throats all drawing breath at once.

–

Circa 5000 BBY

 Recapturing Coruscant was not the final victory of what came to be called the Great Hyperspace Wars, but it was perhaps the most important, given that all that followed became much easier with forces scattering. However, there was an interesting discovery made upon their landing; an empty Shrine, where once the Sacred Spire peak of Mount Satorl had stood.

 The destruction of the Sacred Spire had been one of the opening gambits of the conflict, so this was expected. The Jedi amongst the Republic Forces were most dismayed that the legendary Vergence in the Force that had rested there had been twisted into a Dark nexus, but this too had been rumoured by spies and propaganda. No, what was surprising was the lack of occupants, particularly Sith acolytes. This was a powerful nexus in the Dark Side, and a clear site of investment to build the new Shrine, but there was nobody present; just the signs of conflict that predated Republic arrival to the planet.

 Eventual interrogation of Sith Forces revealed rumours of a ‘curse’ upon the site; no force had managed to occupy the site for long, somehow always turning up dead. Construction of the Shrine had taken several years, and a great many slow attempts, always stymied by poor fortune.

 The Jedi took this as a sign that the Force itself resisted the corruptive attempts for as long as possible, and when granted a boon for their aid in the war, chose to claim the land for themselves. There, they built a new Temple, in the hope that the presence of many Jedi may once again cleanse this place that had long been sacred to a great many religious and Force-sensitive sects throughout the Galaxy. The Jedi Order would build their new headquarters at the heart of the Republic and therefore claim the site instead of any other religion having access.

 Of course, throughout construction, there was plenty of investigation of the ruins being built over (padawans got bored hanging around and waiting, naturally, and the Galaxy’s archaeologists were most invested in seeing how this location had suffered under Sith rule). Of particular note is a surviving chamber of the old Sacred Spire that is unearthed; a grand chamber filled with statues. Sadly, no records from prior to the Sith occupation persist, but a great many experts descend on the room to catalogue what they can of the astoundingly beautiful find that is far more interesting than dusty old clay vessels. The General’s Legion, they are quickly dubbed, given the militaristic bent.

 They bring in first art experts, then body language experts, even a scholar on Mandalorian culture once some symbols are defined. Most of the markings they find mean nothing, however; while Mandalorian symbols are identified a few dozen times, including Jaig Eyes on one of the more prominent soldiers directly facing The General, there’s no real commonality with any clan, or any real consistency. Many more besides are marked with nonsense; a loose word or number in some language, even some unrecognised languages that cause head scratching. The holstered blasters cause them to bring in antique weapons dealers to unsuccessfully identify them, causing yet more headaches at the clear mass-manufacturing on display, since most the soldiers bear the same weapons, but they are entirely unfamiliar. Artists are baffled at how perfectly detailed and well-preserved the figures are; the level of work on display would have taken hundreds of artists thousands of hours, but the style implies a singular sculptor. The historians flail wildly at whether these soldiers throw all the old theories about the Taung originating Mandalorian culture into doubt.

 The only experts who could agree upon something were those who attempted to psychoanalyse the figures; the way the men were arranged was with deference for the General, and those closest to her were the officers with the most decoration and adornment (and battle scars), while those nearest the edge were the lowest ranks. Originally, they thought the much smaller central figure was being threatened by the soldiers, but she sat in such a relaxed pose of confidence it seemed more clearly a commander’s position.

 Still, as time goes on, their observations are recorded and stored in the new Jedi library, and a towering new Temple is built over the ruins. Gradually, this fills with masters, knights and younglings looking forward to a new era of peace and prosperity. The past is not forgotten, but it is not the focus of an Order trying to rebuild after centuries of conflict. And so, the statues sit in their atrium, still and silent. Masters study them for decades, photos and essays are included in the new archives; they are a fascination, a mysterious piece of history.

 But, time passes, and slowly the fascination fades. The wider galaxy captures attention, the Regions are expanding in a new era of colonisation and there is great need for Jedi aid. Only those particularly intrigued by art and archaeology look through the old archives. The statues become more of a ghost story.

 Padawans sometimes gossip about them over latemeal. They dare each other to sneak down to the lower levels, and walk between the rows upon rows of sleeping soldiers. The truly brave (or reckless) of the classes make the journey, past the point where the air lifts reach, down long staircases and through the dusty thick air. Lightsabers raised high over their heads, they tiptoe between the first few rows, twisting wildly at jumping shadows cast over the room. Some stare petrified into the visors of the men, convinced that if you peer close enough, you can see eyes peering back at you. 

 Very, very few brave padawans make it all the way to The General – one or two per generation – but those that do, swear they hear her breathing.

 Over the years, those children grow into knights, into masters and grandmasters, and then they pass into the Force. Still, the tradition survives, for a time, until one day, when the new Temple has become old and known many Councils, the chamber passes from memory, and is lost for many centuries to come.

 But still, the soldiers look to their General for orders.

--

 The first breath is the hardest.

 Going out, the air feels abrasive and dust-filled, and her throat is drier than a desert. Then, she must try and breath in, and it’s an effort to fill lungs that have sat still for so very, very long. She coughs once, and then struggles through it, going through the motions a few times as she slowly registers her montrals ringing from the similar sounds about her.

 Finally, she looks up, eyes open and awake.

 “Orders, sir?” Rex asks.

 “Form up.”

–

Circa ??? BBY

 The Mountains were a safe place. A sacred place, to many. So when war came to Coruscant, it was to the mountains people fled.

The One-Thousand-And-One, a group of warriors who spoke no language anyone understood, but under whose strength, Coruscant stood against Alsakan [– Tion instead?]. They could never leave the Mountain, though.

—

And that’s all I managed to write out, couldn’t quite figure a) what I wanted their arrival period to be like/what they did there, and b) how I wanted the present-time to work out (likely marching on the Senate building and demanding Sidious’ surrender). Ended up with some Jedi-negative things in there that I'm not entirely sure where they came from (probably something emerging from my frustrations with Christianisation on mythology). May have been a bit uncharitable.

Much as I kinda like the framing of current day swapping back and forth with older and older eras, I don't think I'm coming back to this version - I think I prefer the more recent ideas related to the chamber's unveiling in more modern eras, and drama resulting therefrom.

[browniefox]

There’s something wrong.

Curly struggles to name what is wrong as awareness comes to him. ‘Sleep’ feels like much too generous a term for what he experiences. He’s always struggled with sleep, and no longer having an eyelid on his remaining eye has not helped it, nor has the constant and all encompassing pain.

The red of the digital sunset washes over Curly, as it has for months now. He takes a breath in and he lets it out.

THere is something wrong.

He feels… uncomfortable, like there’s something on top of him. Uncomfortable, but in a strangley comfortable way. No, that doesn’t make sense. He doesn’t have to make sense. He has no one to explain his thoughts to. The red sunset burns into him, fries his eye. Is it stronger, brighter than before? There’s something… fresh, about the dryness of his eye and throat.

“Captain?”

Breath out. Anya. She’s here to give him his pill. He doesn’t need one right now, but she can’t know that. All he can do is scream, his only form of communication. He isn’t screaming, the pain is not unbearable, the shadows do not snake out from under his bed and wrap around him. Jimmy does not loom over him.

He lets his head tilt towards the screen, away from Anya, hiding his face as much as he is able. The pain in his neck doens’t come. WHy is that? Where has it gone? Is it so delayed? Has he somehow, finally, made it past the pain?

“How are you feeling?”

Anya.

She’s closer now.

Why is Anya here? How is she speaking? Terrible wet coughing surfaces in Curely’s mind, a wheezing voice of a dying woman.

The red sunset glares into Curly, will wash Anya in its blood.

“Captain?”

No one has called him by that title in months. Is she mocking him? She has never been the type, but she does have the right. And well, what can Curly do about that?

Breath in. Breath out.

Something is wrong here.

“Maybe you hit your head harder than I thought. Let me…”

Anya moves to somewhere else in the infirmary. Cabinets and drawers open and close as she searches for something.

Curly watches the sunset. Like everything else, there is something changed about it. The sun… is getting lower.

His mind playing tricks on him, surely.

Yet the sun sinks down down down, slipping beneath the water. The sky shifts from orange to purple, with the first few stars dotting the darkest part of the sky. No, the ship’s day-night cycle was halted. What…? Did they fix it? Why would they, when there’s so much work to be done? And who would’ve fixed it? Daisuke and Swansea are-

“Curly, can you look at me, please?”

Curly’s eyes dart up to Anya. There is a lack of blood on her face. Her sad eyes look at him with something akin to worry. In her hand she has a little light. She flashes it in Curly’s left eye and then.

Then Anya does something truly impossible.

She shines the light in Curly’s right eye.

“Well, pupil dilation looks like it’s normal,” She mutters, more to herself it seems than to curly. “C-Captain, is something wrong?”

More worry fills her voice, but CUrly hardly notices. Breath in. Breath out. Breath in. Breath in. Breath in.

She’s done something impossible, done it as if it were simple. As had the sunset, sinking below the ocean as if it always did that. Curly himself tries something impossible.

He blinks.

Relief washes over his dry eyes. He blinks again, just to make sure it wasn’t a fluke, his imagination playing tricks on him, his brain turned against him as it has before. His eyelids respond quickly, as if to mock Curly. His breathing picks up. One of the things wrong. One of the things that is so very wrong. His gums don’t feel dry. They aren’t exposed. Does he dare try to close his lips? He lets his tongue dart out. They find a piece of skin that is dried and chapped, the faint taste of iron, but it… it’s his mouth. It’s there.

No.

What?

How can…

He’s dead.

Air leaves Curly in a rush, jumbling up through his lungs, hopping through his throat, and bursting out of him. His chest shakes. His face feels wet and damp and cold.

He’s dead. That’s it. That’s the answer. It’s what he’s wanted and longed for and dreaded. It’s finally happened.

The rough, broken, wheezing laughter comes out of Curly without pause, taking all of his air with it, bt he can’t stop. The nightmare is over. How he somehow ended up in the same afterlife as Anya, he is not the judge. It doesn’t seem fair to her or to him, in some measure if not another.

[lonelysa1lor]

Teenage girl time travels after fighting in a war and finds her future dad looking more chill than ever. Terrifying

[otterandterrierwrites]

Trick or treat! 🎃 👻 🍬 🍫

I'll give you what Breha actually thinks of Han in the time-travel AU:

It wasn’t hard for Breha to imagine Leia falling for a type like Solo, and not just because he—well, she had to admit it: the man had a roguish look that made him as attractive as an illicit ride on the back of a speeder bike. So far he had been somewhat stiff with what she guessed was self-imposed restraint, and a mix of awkward and unintentionally irreverent when he forgot himself. But she had no doubt that he could turn up an air of danger or charm, according to the situation.

And I'll also say that this is harder than I thought because Breha can't ask any obvious things and Han can't tell her anything about the future, so I need to come up with more things for her to ask to find out what kind of person he is and I'm like 🤡 this isn't what I signed up for.

trick or treat! 🎃

[virgil-anon]

WIP Tag Game

Thanks for the tag @sri-verse

I'm tagging: @catjar91 and @wretchedanddivinee

This is a snippet of the first part of chapter 10 of a touch of fate (I'm currently editing this chapter)

Cedric found himself falling into an easy routine here, so easy in fact, that he barely noticed when a month had gone by. Time was racing by, which was ironic, because time wasn’t something they had a lot of, not if they wanted to complete their mission.  He knew this wasn’t his original time, his original life, but he was comfortable here. He would always miss his father and his friends, but he found comfort and companionship with his family in this time, and with Harry. The friends he was making here were both similar and different from his friends back home. His House was so familiar that it felt like coming home.  Dividing his time between Harry, his friends, quidditch, and classes, he was fairly busy. Not too busy, however, to notice that a certain Black was watching him. It started last night during Astronomy. Cedric had noticed Alphard in the class before (since so many students dropped it after fifth year, their classes were combined), usually sitting close to the other Slytherins, but he hadn’t thought much of it. After all, he’d resolutely ignored him after Cedric offended him during quidditch tryouts.  But last night he’d been staring at Cedric more often than the stars. Cedric couldn’t say he knew the oldest Black boy, but he seemed to love Astronomy (as did the rest of his family). He didn’t think he was more interesting than celestial bodies, but he assumed this was something he was put up to. Harry told him Alphard had been following and watching him all of the sudden, and they both knew who was the mastermind behind that.  That was just as well, since he’d been looking for an excuse to talk to him again, anyway.  The library was mostly empty during Cedric’s free period on Thursday. He chose a table in the middle of the room, so when Alphard walked into the library he could see him immediately, and vice versa.  He wasted some time in the nearby stacks, but Cedric knew he was watching him. Although, he didn’t draw attention to him, but instead kept working on his potions essay. Slughorn was a much nicer person than Snape, but he still graded with the same level of harshness and high expectations.  Cedric was so engrossed in his work that he hadn’t noticed when Alphard finally joined him, pulling out the chair across from him. He glanced up and smiled. “Hey, Alphard.”  “Diggory,” he replied, voice stiff and terse.  Oh no, that wouldn’t do at all. He leaned forward, folding his arms over his book. “I have a first name, you know, that I’d rather you use.”  “That’s rather informal,” Alphard replied. “We barely know each other.” Cedric shrugged. “I’m not forcing you to speak with me. Why sit with me if you wish to remain so formal?” He asked, voice laced with faint amusement.  Alphard bristled. “Don’t flatter yourself on my behalf. What if I’m not here for you?”  Cedric couldn’t help but chuckle. He reminded him a bit of Cho, with their similar raven hair (albeit Alphard had pretty curls as opposed to Cho’s straight hair), fair skin, and their studious yet shy nature. He glanced down—yes, down, since Alphard was also short, around Cho’s height, the top of his head reaching his chin—and grinned.

[susanoosama01]

"Do I–" Anakin takes a breath and furrows his brows. "know you? You look familiar somehow."

The young man smiles, eyes shining bright under Coruscant's setting sun. "I am afraid not, Knight Skywalker. But I know you. Everyone does."

Anakin doesn't feel any less confused.

"You can call me Luke. Master Jedi, I was a watchman around the planet Dagobah." The man explains, never tearing his gaze away from Anakin.

All the other Masters look at each other.

Or Luke Skywalker time travel AU! He goes back to the Clone Wars Era!

[mikibwrites]

Can't believe it, I'm back again! I'm queuing this on Tuesday night even! Thank you @strandnreyes for the tag 🖤 More from time travel au, which has a working title but I'm not married to it yet so I won't share it.

“Let me give that to you,” is what he says into the fine fabric of Henry’s collar, still not touching except where his hands rest lightly, but so close he can feel the tingle of the fibers against his chin. “Let me know you, and…” Alex pauses, pushes it out because time is up and there’s no point in being a coward at this stage. “and love you like you deserve.” 

All in the same moment, Henry sucks in a gasp, flutters his eyes like he might faint, and pushes back that scant inch to send him into Alex’s chest with enough force to make Alex stumble, except he doesn’t. He’s solid and strong behind Henry, holding him, protecting him, shielding him from whatever Alex’s puny body can do against the world and the inevitable passage of time. Henry’s eyes focus back on his in the mirror, and they’ve gone just past hazy into something Alex thinks might end him. He’s got his answer, Henry wants him too, wants to give himself to Alex in a way he’s never given himself to anyone. It’s heady and terrifying and Alex is going to do his best not to fuck it up. 

He slides his hands down Henry’s arms, tangles their fingers together lightly. He dares to nose at the small patch of skin behind Henry’s ear, keeping his eyes on the mirror to see Henry’s eyes slide shut and a full body shudder rake through him. He smells like the biting ocean air, and clean cotton, and herby Pears soap. He moves their linked hands up and around Henry’s chest, pulling him in tight, feeling his breathing quicken against their arms, his heartbeat pounding through several layers of fancy dinner dress. He holds Henry there a moment, watching him in the mirror, and he sees blue eyes reappear and they are even more hazy than before. Their nervousness is gone, replaced with want and need and surrender. 

He turns Henry gently in his arms, dropping their hands to reach up and cup his flushed cheeks, dry and chapped from their walk outside. He rubs his thumbs over the swell of a soft cheekbone, up into the blond hair at his temples. Alex breathes for a moment, savoring the before, knowing that the after will likely alter some fundamental part of him. He’s never felt like this about anyone, and it still scares him, but not enough to make him shy away. 

Gently, slowly, he pulls Henry in, and Henry goes. Their lips catch and slide against each other before sealing properly together, and Alex is lost in it.

no pressure tags! @thesleepyskipper @onthewaytosomewhere @anincompletelist @firstprincehornyramblings @bonheur-cafe I'd love to see what you're working on, if anything!

Also as always (because I take these more often than not) OPEN TAG! Share with the class, if you so desire :)

[larluce]

Wip Game

Thank you @tansyuduri for tagging me 😊

Rules: Make a new post with the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. Let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them, and then post a little snippet or tell them something about it! And then tag as many people as you have WIPs.

I actually do have a lot of drafts of each story I have. I don't mind sharing snippets if you don't mind spoilers, of course. So I'm going to catagorize them as this:

Drafts of my fic "From the Grave to the Cradle" (because yes, I'm still working on it, I havent forgotten it):

Chapter 6: So far and yet so close (incomplete)

Merlin and Arthur after Emry's dead

Merlin and Gaius after Arthur is discovered as "The Lost Prince"

Arthur's confinement in his Royal Chambers

Morgana meets Kilgharrah

After war with Essetir

Merlin kills impostor knights

Merlin discovers Gwaine

And eye for and eye

The real prophecy

Memory transferency

Arthur hides Merlin's dagger

(I'm willing to share more of this one cause the story has been on pause for too long and I think it's the least you deserve)

2. Drafts of my fic "Dragonlord's son series" (or rather the sequel of it, "Loving the Dragonlord's son"):

Reconciliation (kind of the end of the saga, I already published the summaries of all the chapters in a previous post. I needed to have the end clear to know where I was going)

3. Drafts of my "Arthur and Merlin travel back in time without knowing the other is from the future too AU"

"The sins of a father"

Alternative "La morte of Arthur"

4. Drafts of my "Merlin as Arthur's familiar/Arthur's shapeshifter falcon AU"

Arthur arrests King Carleon's cousin

5. MerlinxThe son of The Song of Achilles AU

@theroundbartable , @star-rie , @evadne01 , @that-nerd-who-writes-fanfiction , @ramblings-of-a-chaotic-neutral