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manicmarsupial · 4 years

Text

Tiny Arthur

Sorry for the crappy title. My brain did a dumb and couldn’t think of anything better.

I think both @tiny-james and I are equally responsible for the shenaniganary that made me write this. I’m not happy with the last sentence, but whatever. On with the story

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

Hosea Matthews has seen a lot of shit in his life, not to put too fine of a point on it. But this takes the cake. And he’s stone cold sober…this time.

His sharp eyes track what appears to be a miniature person dart across the floor of the grimy saloon. He keeps his eyes on it as it stays skirting along the walls.

When a group of people leave a table, the little person bolts under, grabbing crumbs from the floor and stashing them into a bag. Hosea leaves his untouched glass at the bar and puts on a drunkard act, making wobbling steps toward the table. With deft fingers, he fumbles through his pocket, spilling coins as he pays the bartender, ensuring some of the fallen change rolls under the table.

“Oh dear, I’m all thumbs, aren’t I?” he gives a drunken laugh as the bartender grunts in reply.

Hosea crouches down and grabs the coins he had dropped, making sure to scoop up the tiny being as well.

Using the well-practised dexterity of a lifelong pickpocket, he drops the coins into his pocket and keeps his new passenger securely within his hands.

He maintains the alcoholic fool act until he’s out of sight of the saloon, feeling tiny fists pummelling his palms the entire time.

Once he reaches a secluded area, he unfurls his hands, his own eyes meeting the frightened blue ones of a teenager no bigger than his thumb.

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

At first, Hosea thought he was dreaming. It would have been convincing but for the slight weight in his hands. For once in his life, the eloquent silver-tongued con man is speechless.

“My word…” is all he manages to whisper after a long pause.

He moves his hands slightly closer to his face to get a better look at the tiny teenager, who unfortunately appears even more terrified by the slight movement.

“It’s okay. I won’t hurt you,” Hosea attempts to calm the small person in his hands.

Based on the fact the poor teenager is taking panicked breaths, it’s not working. Gently tipping the tiny human into one hand, Hosea rummages through his satchel and pulls out a broken bar of chocolate. He snaps an even smaller piece off and offers it to the frightened person, who backs away shaking his head.

“Take it. You must be hungry,” Hosea holds his hand flat, the small piece of chocolate resting on his fingertips.

The tiny teenager shakes his head again, but his stomach betrays him with a grumble which Hosea actually hears. The teen pouts and takes the chocolate. Hosea gives a slight smile as a look of delight passes over the tiny features as the teen gorges the chocolate.

It doesn’t take much thought for Hosea to decide that he’s going to take care of this tiny, half starved street kid. All that remains is gaining his trust. He waits until the teen finishes the chocolate.

“I’m just going to put you in my pocket. Don’t worry, you’ll be safe,” without waiting for an answer, Hosea slips the miniature human into his shirt pocket, feeling the little hands scrabble for purchase on his palms.

Quickly righting himself after dropping into the pocket, he begins fighting, attempting to escape the confining material.

It nearly breaks Hosea’s heart how averse this teenager is to kindness yet makes him set in his determination to care for the young man. He calls for his horse, trying to ignore the tiny fists punching his ribs. Mounting up, he sets his horse to a gentle trot, trying not to jostle his tiny passenger too much.

Sometime during the trip, the fighting stopped, replaced by faint soft snoring. The tiny teen exhausted himself, Hosea restrains the urge to laugh lest the shake wakes up his passenger.

After setting up camp in a secluded area, Hosea gently takes the tiny human out of his pocket. The teen grumbles, beginning to stir. Hosea softly brushes the teen’s dark blond hair with his finger, lulling the small person back to sleep. Using a glove and his neckerchief as a makeshift bed, he places the sleeping figure down before settling in for the night himself.

Arthur sits bolt upright. The last thing he remembers is being captured and dropped into a human’s pocket. Part of him wished the human had outright killed him, get it done quickly. But why give him chocolate? Red flags go off in Arthur’s mind. Maybe giving him a false sense of security before torturing him. Humans aren’t as nice as all that.

That didn’t explain why the human gave him a glove and a scarf as a fairly comfortable bed. He whirls around at a soft noise, biting back a yelp upon seeing the human frighteningly close to him. Although the man is asleep, he still towers over Arthur. Choosing not to linger, Arthur wriggles out of the glove.

Only a few steps and he pauses in thought. He was at his most vulnerable. Not only asleep, but asleep in a human’s pocket. Yet here he was, unharmed and in comfort. Ever wary of humans, Arthur turns to leave.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” a booming voice makes him jump and whirl around

The human is awake and sitting up.

“Why not?” Arthur demands with more bravery than he felt.

“You gonna hunt me down?”

“Me? Nah. I’d be more worried about coyotes,” the human sounds calm, almost friendly.

A chill goes through Arthur’s spine at the mention of those carnivores.

“I don’t much like coyotes…humans neither,” Arthur mumbles.

“Can’t say I blame you,” the human chuckles.

Arthur almost smiles. The human’s laugh seems so genuine.

“Ah, where are my manners?” the human exclaims.

“I’m Hosea Matthews. You got a name?”

“…Arthur”

“A good, strong name,” Hosea smiles.

Arthur stands still in confusion. This human, Hosea, is simply talking to him, making no attempt to harm him. Everything he’s heard about humans being cruel, soulless, Hosea is being anything but.

“You got family?” Hosea’s question interrupts Arthur’s thoughts.

Arthur shakes his head.

“Not anymore”

“I’m sorry,” Hosea replies softly.

“s’not your fault,” Arthur mutters.

“If you don’t mind me asking, how? You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”

“Humans caught ‘em. I never saw them again,” Arthur trembles as he holds back a sob.

He stares at the ground avoiding looking at Hosea.

As Hosea studies the tiny form of Arthur, he wants nothing more than to embrace and tell him he’ll be okay. As Arthur trembles, Hosea slowly places his hand behind the tiny teenager and gently strokes his back, hesitating as Arthur flinches.

“Hey, it’s alright. You’ll be okay, Arthur,” Hosea croons.

Arthur leans into Hosea’s hand, then buries his face into the older man’s palm, quietly sobbing. He doesn’t flinch as huge fingers wrap carefully around him.

“If you want, you can come with me.”

Arthur wipes his eyes and looks up.

“Is it safe?” he asks.

“Well, no. I have the law constantly after me.”

Arthur looks worried.

“But you’ll be safer from animals and being trod on,” Hosea digs through his satchel, taking out the chocolate bar, breaking off a piece.

“You’ll be better fed too,” he holds out the tidbit.

“Unless you’d rather keep having stale saloon leftovers.” Hosea smiles.

Arthur thinks about this. Before he knows what he’s doing, he’s taken the food from Hosea, then clambers into the older man’s palm, munching the chocolate.

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

It’s fair to say neither Hosea nor Arthur had planned their day to end up like this. It took a lot of negotiation for Hosea to think of a safe place for the much smaller Arthur that the teen was comfortable with. His pocket would’ve been too restrictive and riding on his hat would be too unsteady.

Arthur wakes up due to the noise Hosea was making packing up the camp.

“Good sleep, Arthur?” he smiles.

Arthur responds with a noncommittal grunt.

“We’ve got a long day’s ride ahead of us,” Hosea stands up, lifting the camp accessories onto his horse.

Arthur’s voice catches in his throat as the human stands to his full height. He knew humans were big, but to be so close to such a towering figure made Arthur’s stomach churn, terrifying him slightly. Seeing the human so casually lift up a bundle hundreds of times heavier and larger than he was. He shudders at the thought of what the human could do to him with strength like that.

Arthur flinches as Hosea turns around to face him, heart pounding as the human’s ground-shaking footfalls approach. He trembles a little as Hosea’s huge form crouches down.

“Ready to go, Arthur?” Hosea holds out his hand next to Arthur.

He nods and climbs onto the hand before him.

“Careful now. Hold on,” Hosea warns.

Arthur wraps his arms around Hosea’s thumb, the wind rushing through his hair as the human stands up. Awe fills his face as he looks around.

“You okay there?” Hosea asks softly.

“Y…yeah. Everything looks so different from here,” Arthur mutters.

“Hmm, I suppose it does. I haven’t given it much thought,” Hosea muses.

He moves his hand near his neck where there is a slight gap by his scarf.

“Go on, hop in, Arthur.”

Arthur slides off the hand, landing on Hosea’s shoulder. It’s not a bad spot. He can easily hide and see what’s going on. The scarf provides a nice wall against the chill breeze, and the human’s body heat is creating a nice warm area wrapped by the scarf.

Arthur’s slightly startled when he’s practically squashed against Hosea’s neck by the older man’s hand. He yelps as he feels a wide swinging motion, then a steady clopping. The pressure of the hand releases.

“You alright there, Arthur?” the closeness to Hosea’s booming voice, Arthur gives a frightened squeak.

“Sorry. I didn’t want you to fall while I mounted up,” Hosea apologises.

“’s alright. I’ll be fine,” Arthur mutters, trying to calm his racing heart.

“Why do you have the law after you?” Arthur pipes up.

He won’t admit that he likes this spot. He can still talk to Hosea without shouting, being seated below the man’s ear.

“My friend and I steal valuables from people who can afford to lose them.”

“Then what?”

“We give it to people who need it.”

“Why would the law chase you for that?”

“It’s complicated. Rich people don’t like having their stuff stolen, much less being given to the poor. The people who are supposed to keep the law…well…they like money. Whoever has the most money, has the law on their side,” Hosea explains.

“Humans are confusing,” Arthur replies.

‘My dear boy, you just said a cotton-pickin’ mouthful,” Hosea chuckles, the shaking of his chest jostling Arthur.

There hadn’t been much sound nor movement from the tiny person snuggled on Hosea’s shoulder. He was still there. Hosea could feel Arthur huddled under his scarf. Carefully turning his head, he sees the teen sound asleep, curled up under his shirt collar. He smiles and lightly brushes some stray locks away from Arthur’s eyes with his finger.

Arthur stretches with a groan. It only slightly shocks him that he’s right next to a human. If he were honest with himself, he should be worried at how quickly he got used to it.

“Comfortable there?” Hosea asks with a smile.

“No,” Arthur lies, yawning.

“You think we should stop for some food?” Hosea asks.

“I suppose,” Arthur mutters.

“Hold on then,” Hosea dismounts when he feels Arthur grab the scarf.

He takes his hat off and holds his hand up to his shoulder. Arthur clambers onto Hosea’s palm, holding on as the human places him on top of the hat.

“You will be safe there while I set up the fire,” Hosea gives Arthur a friendly smile.

Arthur had seen fire before, but never like this. Normally raging through a building, however in this case, slowly licking at some dry wood. The flickering was mesmerising and soothing.

“Arthur?” Hosea’s voice brings him back to reality.

“Hmm?”

‘I asked if you’ve ever tried rabbit.”

“Uh…no…”

“Now’s your chance.”

Arthur wouldn’t admit it to Hosea, but seeing the human rip apart the rabbit with his bare hands so easily honestly scared him, an uneasy feeling in his stomach as Hosea impales the chunk of meat with a knife. Continuing to remind Arthur of his insignificance alongside the towering human. He shudders despite the warmth of the fire. The sun has some bite to it, yet the chill seeps into his bones as he sits in Hosea’s looming shadow. Arthur quickly turns to face the fire, distracting himself from his terrifying thought processes,

“That should do it,” Hosea sits up, testing the meat tenderness with his fingers.

He slices off a sliver and hands it to Arthur. The tiny teen cautiously takes it, warily sinking his teeth into it. Admittedly it tastes quite nice, if a little weird.

“So, what do you think?” Arthur hadn’t realised Hosea was watching for his reaction.

“It’s alright, I suppose,” Arthur mutters.

He can’t help but look up as the human takes a bite of the rabbit meat. The chunk bitten off, he notices, is almost four times his size. His blood feels like it turned to ice seeing Hosea’s jaw move, his teeth probably bigger than Arthur’s head, no doubt mashing the meat into a pulp. He shudders at how easily this human could eat him, a mere snack, barely enough to fill his stomach.

Arthur feels the blood run from his face as he watches the mush descend as a lump down Hosea’s throat, disappearing under his collar, on its way to the digestive system.

“Arthur, you okay? You’ve gone pale,” Hosea looks concerned.

“I’m fine,” Arthur mumbles.

“We shall see,” Hosea says, reaching a finger toward Arthur.

‘Whoa, what are you doing?” Arthur protests.

“Relax, dear boy. I’m just seeing if you have a temperature.”

Arthur pouts as Hosea presses the pad of his finger to Arthur’s forehead.

“A bit low, but nothing to be alarmed about. Don’t want you to get sick,” Hosea scoops up the teen, gently depositing him between his neck and scarf.

Arthur holds on to the plush material as the huge form of Hosea packs up the camp and mounts onto the horse.

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

“Now, my friend may be loud and scary looking, but he won’t hurt you,” Hosea explains.

“But what if he does?” Arthur hesitates.

Hosea turns to face the tiny figure of Arthur.

“You can stay with me if you feel safer that way,” Hosea suggests.

Arthur nods and snuggles against Hosea’s neck as he approaches a campsite. Dismounting and securing his horse to a hitching post, he puts his hand to his shoulder.

“Come on, Arthur,” he urges softly.

Reluctantly Arthur climbs onto the offered hand, holding on to Hosea’s thumb as the human walks to a tent in the middle of the campsite using one hand to shield Arthur.

“Hey, Dutch,” Hosea calls to the man sitting under the tent.

Looking through the gaps between Hosea’s fingers, Arthur can see another man sitting down reading.

“Welcome back ‘Sea. Anything good?” the man looks up.

“Well, I may have found a new gang member,” Hosea replies.

“Really? You only went to scope out targets. Where are they, then?”

Heaving a sigh, Hose opens his hands to reveal Arthur to his friend.

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

Arthur thought he had mentally prepared himself enough to meet another human. He was wrong. This new man had an air of darkness surrounding him, whether due to his clothing choice, or the fact he was looking at Arthur like prey, just as a hawk or a snake studies a mouse. The smile Dutch suddenly makes doesn’t make Arthur feel any better. In fact, Arthur’s survival instincts kick in, and he goes to hide. The only place he can go is under Hosea’s shirt sleeve, causing a yelp from the older man as Arthur climbs up, stopping and hanging on for dear life near Hosea’s elbow.

‘I take it you didn’t expect that?” Dutch’s laugh thunders in Arthur’s ears.

“I didn’t expect him to be that scared of you, Dutch,” Hosea’s voice rumbles beside Arthur.

“You want to try saying ‘hello’ to Dutch again. You don’t have to go that close to him,” Hosea whispers.

Dutch smacks his friend’s arm.

It doesn’t take long for Arthur to poke his head out from under Hosea’s sleeve, then crawling onto the human’s palm, clutching the shirt material like a security blanket.

“Arthur, this is Dutch. Dutch, Arthur,” Hosea introduces, gesturing with his free hand.

“Pleasure to meet you, young man. Didn’t mean to scare you,” Dutch greets formally.

Arthur nods in acknowledgement, slightly tightening his grip on Hosea’s cuff. He can’t help but suspect that Dutch is a conniving sort.

#Red Dead Redemption 2 #RDR2 #RDR2 G/t #Arthur Morgan #but he's tiny #Hosea Matthews #totally would kidnap a tiny little malnourished street kid #only to take care of him #Dutch Van Der Linde #scares the poor little kid #The Curious Couple and their Unruly (tiny) Son #has a nice ring to it #Why do I make everything I touch G/t?#I can't help it #G/t #Giant/tiny #Giant #tiny

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jinterlude · 4 years

Text

Knock

→ Pairing: Kim Myungjun x Reader (female OC) [feat. Kim Seokjin and Park Jinwoo] → Genre(s): Romance, Fluff, Friendship, Humor, and & Slight-Angst → AUs/Tropes: Non-Idolverse, Fashionista!Reader, Fashion Editor!Reader, Accountant!Myungjun, Strangers to Lovers trope → Word Count: 5.6K → Warning(s) & Rating: alcohol, alcohol consumption, heartbreak, swearing, & shameless flirting from MJ | PG-15 → Summary: In what seemed like a normal meetup with a friend ended up changing your life forever... → A/N: The majority of this story is set in the past; hence, the past tense, but near the end, it does switch to present tense as the two leading characters finish reminiscing about their first meeting! I apologize in advance if it’s a bit confusing and/or hard to read! I will use some sort of line break to separate the past from the present to make it, hopefully, a tad easier! ☄ This one-shot is dedicated to an incredibly good friend of mine, Beanie @jinned, who is the sole reason why I even got into Astro and officially place MJ on my list of ULTS. He may or may not even be ult of ults. We will see!

“In the end, you’ll thank me as our marriage would’ve been a mistake...You know it. And I know it…”

That phrase knocked the wind out of you as you remained speechless ‒ practically mute ‒ while the loud and bustling noise of the fine dining restaurant continued in the background. You opened your mouth, desperate to form a coherent sentence. Shit. Even an audible word would suffice, but you honestly couldn’t.

The person you firmly believed, with all your heart, that he was the one for you, sat right across the table and declared that the wedding was off—terminated.

The wedding was scheduled to happen in just two months. Two...fucking...months…

“___,” Your fiancé began, breaking you away from your thoughts, “I honestly can’t express how deeply sorry I am for doing this to you, but it was the only way I can preserve our twenty-something friendship.”

“Friendship?” You scoffed, finally finding your voice. “You broke our year-long engagement so that you can PRESERVE OUR FRIENDSHIP?! Are you kidding me, Kim Seokjin?!” You practically boomed, alarming the patrons around you, but you didn’t care.

Seokjin tried to calm you but ultimately fails. Your emotions ran rampant throughout your body that nothing and no one could relax you. Well, Seokjin used to be able to, but since he’s the source of your fury, it’s pointless.

Forcing an airy chuckle, you reached over to your wine glass, drinking it all in seconds. The cool liquid hits the back of your throat but soon leaves behind this warm sensation. You felt that warmth settles within your cheeks, creating this pinkish hue, as you flag down a passing waiter and swiftly order another glass of your favorite wine. Within minutes, your second glass of wine appeared right in front of you. At first, you’re tempted to down it as you’ve done with the first glass, but then you opted against it. The last thing you needed to be was a drunken, heartbroken woman in a luxurious restaurant. At the same time, your ex-fiancé remained calm and collected. Then, the surrounding people - both the workers and customers ‒ would sympathize with him and utter phrases like, “Damn. He dodged a bullet. Look at the way she’s behaving, especially after he explained that he only wants to preserve their friendship.”

“God damn it…” You whispered, taking a long, deep breath, as you realize that Seokjin is right. Your marriage would be a mistake, especially if you’ve fallen out of love with him.

“___?” Seokjin questioned, noting this trance-like expression written all over your precious face.

“Why do you have to be right? Even up until the end of our relationship, you just have to be right…” You trailed on as a small, almost nostalgic-like smile slowly dances across your face.

Seokjin chuckled softly, “Well, someone has to be.”

“Yeah…” You nodded, maintaining that tiny grin as your eyes trail down to your ring finger. Slowly, you slid off the engagement ring, freeing yourself of this heavy burden that you’ve never known you had until tonight. Then, with your right hand, you placed it gently in front of Seokjin, saying one last farewell to him. You thanked him for being your first of every romantic milestone you’ve experienced.

As you stood up, placing a few twenty-dollar bills on the table, you said softly,

“I hope you find someone that will make you unconditionally happy.”

“I hope the same for you, ___. I truly do hope you find your soulmate.”

You uttered a quick thanks before walking from the table and towards a new chapter in your life.

An intriguing yet uncertain chapter where you explored the idea of being single again after so many years.

It should be a fun adventure, right?

Well, it was in the beginning. Yet like with everything else in life, it was only natural you’d experience some ‒ let’s just say ‒ writer’s block.

The first few pages contained incredible details of the first year since your breakup from Seokjin. You found yourself going back to school and majoring in fashion while finding the time to minor in journalism. During that good old university life, you met a person who you now considered a dear, close friend of yours.

Eun Byeol. Now that was a true definition of a “ride or die” friend. To this day, you still remember how you essentially handcuffed your roommate-turned-best friend to the closet door handle, preventing her from driving over to your ex-fiancé’s place and destroying his most prized possession. Yep. You guessed it—his 1960s candy red Jaguar E-Type car. Stereotypical of a fella valuing his vintage ride above anything else, but shit. Even you found yourself admiring that beautiful car once in a while.

But that was ancient history. Old news—just like your editorial on the most fashion show in Milan would be if you didn’t stop reminiscing about your first love and haul your ass.

Lightly shaking your head, forcing yourself back into reality, you cleared your throat a few times, sniffing the Tropical fruit scents that lingered around your office.

“I could really go for a mango shaved ice…” You muttered, blankly staring at your document as little to no inspiration enters your mind. You drummed your fingers against the keys, desperately hoping that something - anything - would jump right out of your brilliant mind and land directly on the page; thus, resulting in a finished article to hand over to the boss lady.

Yet here you sat for another couple of hours staring at the same paragraph. You were pretty sure that you edited that paragraph to the point that it wasn’t even a paragraph. You somehow managed to dwindle it down to a three-sentence summary of Emma Aruda, a rising top model, and how stunning she looked walking the runway. Great. Now your column was too short, thanks to your sudden need to edit before it was even completed.

“Come on, inspiration…” You groaned, slouching in your office chair as you swiveled back and forth, looking at the blanket of white that you called a ceiling.

“You know...the longer you keep your head positioned like that, the higher the chance of your brain cells leaving will be…” quipped a familiar voice, causing you to swivel towards your door.

Soon, a small grin formed on your face as you lightly scoffed at that person’s words.

“Well, hello to you too, Eun Byeol.” You greeted, sitting up straight but still resting your elbows on the arms of your chair.

Eun Byeol flashed a warm smile ‒ so warm and inviting that it could even get the coldest, most standoffish person to greet her back ‒ as she strode towards your desk and leaned against the edge.

“Dumb question, but what’s with frustration radiating off of you?”

“Oh, my brain stupidly remembered my relationship with Seokjin while I was in the middle of writing this article, and now I’m stuck…”

You heard Eun Byeol winced, grimacing as you went into details of the memories that resurfaced in your mind. As each word escaped your sweet lips, the more this unbearable stab pressed against the chest. To be more precise, this cruciating pain that invaded your heart.

“Damn, ___. It’s been like, what? Five years since he called off the engagement? I thought you were officially over that arrogant ass.” asked Eun Byeol, clearly fed up with your ex, as evidence in her tone of voice. You couldn’t help but shrink in your chair as each of your drear friend’s words grazed your soft skin.

Taking a long, deep breath before exhaling slowly, you tilted your head towards your friend, revealing a small and remorseful smile. You felt guilty mentioning him towards, fully aware of how she had rather colorful opinions of him.

“I am over him, but can you blame me for remembering the good old days I experienced with him?”

Now, it was your friend’s turn to feel a tad guilty for allowing and directing her fury towards you. Eun Byeol knew you were over him, but you fell victim to the old saying, “One never truly forgets their first love,” and that was Seokjin. He was your first love, and he might be even your last—unless her boyfriend’s longtime friend was still single.

Then, a lightbulb lit up in her devious mind as this scheming smirk danced across her face, instantly alerting you. That smirk usually led to some rather “exciting” shenanigans, and most often than not, you went home questioning your life choices and wondering how on Earth did your friendship with Eun Byeol last this long.

As you opened your mouth, ready to warn your friend, she beat you the punch.

“What are you doing tonight?”

“Uh, besides pulling an all-nighter to finish this article? Nothing. Why?” You asked with a wary expression. Your eyes slightly narrowed while your brows became knitted together.

“Wrong! You’re coming out with me for drinks at this bar Jinwoo and I usually frequent whenever our schedules allow it.” Eun Byeol announced, overly excited, further adding to your suspicions.

You swiftly glanced at your editorial piece before flickering your gaze back to your friend. You sucked in some air through your clenched teeth. Your mind desperately tried to find any, if at all, hidden motives behind Eun Byeol’s random invitation. Unfortunately, you came up with nothing. No secret plans that laid underneath the seemingly harmless invite that your brain could zero in on.

“It’s just the two of us, right?” You asked, feeling apprehensive towards Eun Byeol’s invite.

Eun Byeol simply nodded, smiling brightly as she promised you that it would be just the two of you, and that was all.

After mulling it over for a good minute or two, you whined loudly before agreeing to go out with her.

“But I’m stopping after two Whiskey Sours! I still have a deadline to meet, unlike someone who’s currently in my office and clearly being a bad influence.”

Eun Byeol snorted in response, “Please. If I was such a bad influence, would I suggest that we steal Seokjin’s car and take it on a joy ride?”

“Actually, you did. Like, several times.”

“Shut up and write your damn column.” Teased Eun Byeol before exiting your office. As she created enough distance between her and your office, she fished out her phone from the pocket of her black slacks and sent a quick text message to her boyfriend. A message that read,

“Hey, can you convince MJ to come to our favorite bar? I’d think he’d be perfect for ___!”

Not even a minute after pressing send, Eun Byeol received a response that said,

“I’ll do my best, but he’s been moping lately since his last date ghosted him without any warning. Plus, you can’t forget how soul-sucking our line of work is, babe.”

Eun Byeol giggled softly as she typed out,

“Even more reason to add a certain fashionista to his dull life. She’ll liven it up with her colorful and bright personality,”

She then scrolled through her list of emojis, picking the perfect one before sending it. After waiting for what seemed like ten minutes, her boyfriend didn’t reply, meaning that he was on board and hopefully planting the seed at that moment.

“Oh, please let them hit it off…” thought Eun Byeol as she journeyed back to her office, dying to know if her boyfriend executed his mission perfectly.

Yet like with any task, there were bound to be tiny hiccups as Jinwoo exhausted all his go-to methods to convince his close friend, Kim Myungjun. While Eun Byeol and ___ worked at one of the top fashion empires, he and Myungjun worked a regular office job, crunching numbers for their CEO.

Again, a soul-crushing type of profession, and it didn’t help that their office space was oddly white. Everywhere Jinwoo turned, it was just pure white. Apparently, someone thought it’d be a brilliant idea to add fluorescent lighting into the mi; the entire building gave off this abnormally cleanliness vibe.

Every day that Jinwoo walked into the office, he seriously felt that he entered that agency from the hit movie Men in Black, especially in his black and white two-piece suit that his company required the workers to wear. What was next? He’d get a cool gadget that wiped civilians’ memories?

“Oh, man. That’d be amazing…” He mumbled, unaware of someone standing behind him.

“What’d be amazing, JinJin?” asked an all too familiar voice belonging to a person that Jinwoo actually had to see.

The eager man turned his chair around, now face-to-face with his close friend and coworker—Myungjun.

Quickly clearing his throat, Jinwoo plastered on the warmest smile his face could handle and happily greeted his friend.

Myungjun, at first, felt weirded out by his friend’s sudden surge in energy but soon brushed it off. He then matched Jinwoo’s energy, capturing the attention of a few bystanders.

“So back to my question, what would be amazing?” questioned Myungjun, ignoring the strange glances he and Jinwoo earned from their coworkers.

“Um…” Jinwoo began, nervously chuckling, “It would be amazing if you and I go out for drinks tonight, especially after how shitty this week has been.”

“I don’t know, man, like you said, it’s been a shitty week, and I don’t think I’m up for going out and having a fun time with you and the rest of our buddies.”

“Come on, MJ, you’re still not moping about what’s her face? She’s not worth your time, especially when you weren’t worth hers.” Jinwoo retorted, hoping that his tough-love approach would entice him to come out and meet his girlfriend’s friend. Sadly, it didn’t. If anything, his words made Myungjun even more upset as this solemn expression washed over his once joyous face. Now, his friend looked as if someone took his heart right out of his chest and crushed it with their bare hands.

“Alright...new approach…” Jinwoo switched tactics, going for the more “brotherly advice” approach, “Look, I was out of line, and for that, I’m sorry MJ. But I honestly hate seeing you upset over her, so please come out with me tonight. Tomorrow, you can sit at home alone and mope on the couch. Deal?”

Myungjun made a face, weighing his options but ultimately leaning towards going out. After all, Jinwoo was right. His loneliness and favorite couch would be there tomorrow, so where was the harm in downing a few shots of Vodka to numb the hurt?

“Fine, deal. What’s this place called?”

“Ahora.”

A quizzical expression slowly washed over Myungjun’s face as he couldn’t help but question the intriguing choice of that bar name.

While the uncertainty still filled his entire body, something deep within told him that something ‒ or maybe someone ‒ would change his life after tonight.

Mustering his signature thousand-watt smile; his eyes practically disappeared as he did, Myungjun gave his friend a thumb’s up and said,

“Alright. See you tonight! Maybe you and I can finally see who can drink the most without acting goofy after the third drink!”

Jinwoo playfully shook his head, letting out a few light chuckles.

“I don’t know, my dude. I think I got you beat the last time we had our little drinking competition.” He teased, masking his hidden motive behind inviting his buddy out. Secretly, he hoped that Myungjun would ask like his goofy self since, according to Eun Byeol, you had a thing for comedic guys.

Now, the real question was, how would Myungjun successfully capture your heart?

“So, what should I wear?” Jinwoo heard Myungjun ask, forcibly removing him from his frenzy thoughts.

“Um…” Jinwoo paused, silently panicking since his girlfriend never told him what you were going to wear tonight or even your preferred style on men. “Do you still have that purple and black striped sweater? You know with that creamy-tan color as well? I think it might be cold.” He suggested though he was unsure of his own recommendation. Honestly, he began questioning his life choices when he said, “purple and black striped sweater.”

A faint hum emitted from Myungjun’s lips while he mulled over his buddy’s fashion suggestion. Then, he simply shrugged, going along with Jinwoo’s choice.

“Yeah, I think I have that sweater still. Wait.” The biggest grin danced across his handsome face, “I knew you loved that sweater on me!” He cheered, flinging his arms around Jinwoo’s neck and giving him the warmest hug known to man.

“Let go! People are staring at us weirdly!!”

“Let them stare! I want the entire world to know how amazing of a friend you are to me!”

“Damn, you just had to make it even creepier. Didn’t you?”

“You know me so well.”

Later that evening, while Myungjun knew what he’d wear on his night out with the fellas, you were the polar opposite. You rummaged through your walk-in closet, flinging every single clothing hanger you could get your hands on. You tossed aside the latest peacoats, dresses, wool sweaters, everything onto the floor because nothing matched the vision you had in your fashionista brain. While, yes, it was just going out for a few drinks with Eun Byeol, you still wanted to look reasonably decent just in case Mr. Right made an appearance.

Silently scolding yourself while you tap the pads of your fingers against one another as you desperately try to capture the perfect attire you envisioned yourself. Minutes had gone by, and you still drew a blank. You even pressed your cold lips against your fingers, slightly enjoying the warmth that radiated from your hands. Then, it finally dawned on you as millions of light bulbs lit up in your pretty mind like a beautiful and well-organized lamp display at a furniture store.

“I’m a dumbass.” You teased, softly chuckling as you pulled out this dark gray pin-striped black peacoat and gently draping it over your desk chair. Then, you flipped through your rack, your fingers grazing the fabric of your blouses, button-ups, and plain old t-shirts. Your eyes scanned each article of clothing until you found the perfect blouse that would compliment the jacket perfectly. You pulled out this satin white long-sleeved blouse with ruffles on the ends of both sleeves and the collar.

With a pleased smile, you gently laid the blouse over the jacket before grabbing a nice pair of navy blue slacks. The very same pair of slacks that Eun Byeol has dubbed “the highlighter” because apparently it perfectly accentuated the best parts of your body—whatever that meant.

Grabbing both the coat and blouse with your pants draped over your forearm, you made your way towards the restroom. Just as you’re about to disappear into the well-lit room, you commanded your Alexa to play your go-to “getting ready” song, “Rebirth of Slick (Cool Like Dat).” The second the opening beat dropped, you bobbed your head to the tune, even swaying your hips as you jammed out.

One by one, your lounge clothes dropped to the floor and soon replaced with your jaw-dropping outfit. You smoothed out any wrinkles that your eye instantly locked on before switching focus to your makeup.

Now, this might not be an easy task compared to picking out your current outfit. Any look would pair well with your fashion statement. You could go for a “girl next door” look, but did you really want to portray an innocent person tonight, especially with drinks involved? Probably not.

Suddenly, a short gasp exited your lips as you grabbed all the necessary components for your femme fatale look. Your outfit almost reminded you of the main heroine in a 1940s movie.

“Okay, let’s see how red I can get my lips this time.”

Meanwhile, on the other side of town, Myungjun wasn’t exactly having the time of his life. He remained still as a statue, staring blankly at his closet. Did he genuinely want to go out tonight? Part of him firmly believed that he only agreed to drink his sorrows away and forget about this girl that ghosted him a few weeks back. That was always his problem—he had the tendency to develop an infatuation before the girl does. It was honestly quite pathetic.

Just as he was a step away from backing out from the hangout, a high-tone pitch echoed throughout Myungjun’s condo.

With a curious expression, Myungjun shuffled his feet towards his phone, taking it off the charger. His brows perked up as he saw that he received a text message from Jinwoo.

“Huh. Maybe Jinwoo wants to back out.” He wishfully thought, unlocking his phone to read the message. It said,

“Hey man, I’m going to be a few minutes late, so you can get a head start on our little drinking competition!”

Nodding his head, Myungjun hit the message box. Just as he was about to type out his reply, a photo appeared. The image contained a person, who looked to be female, and to his dismay, her head was cropped out.

“Okay?” He thought, typing out his reply and asking his friend why he received a picture of a woman with excellent taste in clothing. Then, for laughs, Myungjun added, “Is that what you’re wearing, JinJin? I didn’t peg you as the type to wear a frilly blouse.”

Not even a minute later, the playful fellow received a response,

“Fuck you, MJ! And to answer your serious question, if you see this girl, can you politely let her know that Eun Byeol is also running late. Apparently, that lady is a college friend of Byeolie, and they coincidentally also wanted to meet at the bar we’re going to. Cool? Thanks!”

Slightly shaking his head, Myungjun replied with a thumb’s up emoji before locking his phone.

“Well, I guess you can’t back out now,” He muttered, opening his closet doors and revealing a wide array of clothing, coming in every color known to man. “What did that old man suggest earlier? Oh! Purple, cream-tan, and black pull-over!” Then, a sudden pause filled the air, “That was oddly specific of him to suggest…” He realized, thinking back to their conversation at work. Yet he merely shrugged it off, thinking nothing of it except his friend perhaps wanted him to look good just in case he’d were to meet his Miss Right.

“Alright, MJ. Pick up the pace. We don’t want the pretty lady waiting too long, do we?”

Sadly, that happened, and to put it frankly, you were pissed off at Eun Byeol for making you awkwardly wait for what seemed like forever. Granted, it was only an hour that you waited for her, but that was beside the point.

Nope. The long wait time was not the sole reason behind your agitation. Nuh-uh. It was the fact that your oh-so-dear-friend failed to mention that every couple known to man appeared at the bar tonight. Thus, resulted in you nervously sitting alone at the bar, running the tip of your finger against the rim of your whiskey sour. You then gulped down the last remaining sips before almost slamming it on the counter. With a sour expression, you held up one finger and politely asked for another glass. Just as you mumbled a quick thanks, you felt someone tap your shoulder.

Instead of giving the “drunken” stranger, more than likely looking for a one-night stand, you wave the person away, citing that you were already waiting for someone.

“I mean, from the looks of it, I don’t think your friend is coming.” pointed out the stranger, with an unusual high-pitch voice. Though, to give the person the benefit of the doubt, you were used to deep, manly voices. This unknown bystander’s voice was honestly a breath of fresh air.

Reaching for your second glass of the evening, you swiveled in your seat, coming face-to-face with the stranger. But the moment your eyes landed on him, you felt your jaw drop slightly, forming a tiny “o.” Holy crap, this guy is incredibly gorgeous.

Quickly snapping out of your gaze, you cleared your throat.

“I’m sorry? I. Um. What do you mean my friend is not coming?”

“Just that. I mean, originally, I was supposed to be here 45 minutes ago and give you a heads up that Eun Byeol was running late. Still, I lost track of time getting ready to meet my friend here. However…” he trailed on, looking around. He, too, noticed all the couples chatting it up everywhere and anywhere in the bar that evening. “I’m starting to think that we were set up on a blind date.”

You softly giggled, “Yeah, I’m getting that hunch as well...I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name.” You replied, unknowingly disregarding the fact that Myungjun mentioned your best friend’s name.

“Oh! I’m Kim Myungjun, but my friends call me MJ,” Then he playfully winked at you, flashing a bright smile, “I can’t forget pretty girls, like yourself, as well.”

You snorted, shaking your head in disbelief, “Well, I’ll think about it, but thank you for that disclaimer. Also, you can call me ____.”

“What? No playful yet flirtatious tactic like me?”

“Maybe. Maybe not. The night is still young, MJ.”

Hearing his nickname slip past your innocent lips, Myungjun couldn’t help but raise a brow with an interested gleam in his eyes. One corner of his mouth curved upwards as he observed your body language. He silently hoped for your non-verbal cues would give him the “okay” to continue his flirting. When he didn’t see any signs of uncomfortableness radiating off you, he took that as the first and ‒ hopefully ‒ of many positive reactions he’d gained from you throughout the evening.

Clearing his throat, the suddenly nervous young man glanced around the busy establishment, looking for a vacant booth for the two of you to occupy. Lucky must be on his side as his focused gaze immediately locked on an empty stall in the far right corner. With pursed lips, he swiftly analyzed the location and the atmosphere that surrounded it. Myungjun noted how dimly lit that corner was. With the added candles, that location had this romantic aura swarming it and those who sat in that spot.

It was perfect for this sudden blind date.

“So, would you like to sit over there?” asked Myungjun, pointing towards the only empty booth.

You followed his finger and landed on the isolated corner that screamed passion. Instantly, your eyes widened as your heart rapidly drummed against your chest. Oh, you weren’t prepared for this, but at the same time, you couldn’t help but feel this unexplainable excitement and giddiness. A few emotions that you hadn’t felt in a long time—not since your relationship with Seokjin. Yet to be quite honest, you didn’t feel scared. In fact, you were ready to take that plunge into the deep romantic ocean. You weren’t worried about drowning or hitting a bunch of jagged rocks. You just wanted to take that leap of faith and, perhaps, maybe Myungjun would catch you.

With a long, drawn-out breath, you steadied your racing heart before answering him,

“Yeah, let’s do it.”

In return, Myungjun greeted with his signature thousand-watt smile, resulting in this warm sensation creeping on your pale cheeks.

“Positive reaction number 2.” He silently cheered as he abruptly held out his hand, hoping you’d take it. “After you, m’lady,” said Myungjun with a hint of playfulness.

You couldn’t help but chuckle, slightly shaking your head in the process.

“Why, thank you, my kind sir.” You played along, gently grasping his hand and curling your fingers around his. The second you did that, this unspeakable spark shot through both of your arms, surging through your entire body. What made that reaction spectacular was that he interlaced your fingers together as he softly smiled with a genuine warm expression written all over his handsome face. With that smile alone, all recent thoughts about Seokjin and any doubts caused by your former relationship evaporated into thin air. Now, it was just you and Myungjun.

You took a mental note to thank Eun Byeol for setting up this blind date as you guided your bodies towards the booth. Naturally, you picked up the pace as you didn’t want anyone else to steal that perfect spot meant for the both of you.

Little by little, you pushed through the sea of people, swiftly closing the gap between your bodies and the table.

“Which side do you want?” You politely asked as you couldn’t help but notice a defeated couple look for somewhere else to sit. Huh. Perfect timing on your part.

Myungjun softly tapped his chin with his free hand as this faint hum emitted from his lips. Then, a bold idea appeared in his mind. Depending on how you’d answer, he could either make incredible progress or back to square one with you. Well, it was time to find out.

“I have a better idea. Why don’t I sit right next to you? You know so that you can hear me better, especially with how noisy it is right now.”

A tiny squeal escaped your lips as your eyes went round. Your face flushed from Myungjun’s boldness.

“Okay, ____. You need to form a string of coherent words.” You chastised yourself, feeling a tad foolish that you’re this nervous to the point that you can’t even form a simple sentence. “You can do it. All you need to say is, “Sure. You can sit next to me.” Is that so damn hard?” You mumbled to yourself—or so you thought.

“Um. I don’t know, sweetheart. Is it tough to say that you want to sit next to me?”

“Uh...no?”

“Really? You don’t sound so sure of yourself.”

“I mean, yes, we should sit right next to each other.”

You nervously chuckled as you entered the booth, placing your drink on the edge of the table just before shuffling towards the middle of the table with Myungjun following after. You then kindly ask him if he could slide your almost finished Whiskey Sour to you, which he did but not without some playful quips towards you. He teased you for acting like a nervous wreck, blaming the fact that you probably had one too many drinks already. You argued back, stating that you only had two drinks and that it was all his fault for making you this worked up.

Myungjun chuckled in response but soon, that boyish grin vanished from his face and was replaced with a scheming yet charming smirk. What was he planning? And as soon as you parted your sweet lips, Myungjun’s face was inches away from yours. One wrong you move and the two of you would lock lips right then and there. That’s how close you were to each other.

“Oh? So, it’s my fault, then how are you feeling now?” He whispered. His warm breath fanned your cheeks as his gaze darted between your doe-like stare and your apple-red lips. “Am I making you extremely worked up—”

“Hold up! That’s not how our first date went, MJ.” You say, interrupting your boyfriend’s somewhat exaggerated story. You’re almost sure that he’s currently telling a rendition of what he wishes occurred on your first date.

Myungjun scoffs, putting on the theatrics, clearly finding your words offensive.

“It is so! I distinctly remember you had two drinks that evening; hence, you becoming a blushing mess around me. Ooh! You can’t forget the fact that you wanted to kiss me as well.” He argues, acting like a child debating who’s the better superhero, Superman or Batman, with a school friend. You don’t know how you’ve managed to last an entire year with this dramatic fool.

“JinJin! Tell her how wrong she is!” Myungjun whines to his close friend and boyfriend of Eun Byeol.

You shoot Jinwoo a look, questioning why he’s even there on your anniversary date.

Jinwoo pauses, silently sipping his Coca-Cola as he still needs to drive home after he’s done hiding from his girlfriend, who he accidentally angered. A look of hesitation washes over his face as the poor fella absolutely does not want to get in the middle of your guys’ argument. After all, Myungjun is the reason why he’s able to safely hide from his furious significant other. But also, that stupid pretty boy is the cause of his and Eun Byeol’s argument in the first place.

So…

“Well, first of all, you’re both misremembering your first date because it actually wasn’t a blind date. You two had met previously at mine and Eun Byeol’s housewarming party. Then, you two decided to start out as friends because,” Jinwoo points to you, “You're in a relationship with Seokjin. Myungjun was seeing some random chick that I’ve forgotten the name for her.” He stated, debunking the first part of your love story. Before continuing with his explanation, Jinwoo chugs the rest of his soda and holds up a finger, flagging down a waiter to order another glass of Coke.

“Alright, now where was I?” He releases a tiny burp as he continues his journey of stating the facts of your relationship, making Myungjun protest and whine.

Then, your dork of a boyfriend leans towards you, his lips hovering over your ear.

“Why did I let him tag along with us again?”

“Because you two are tighter than a clam’s ass. That’s how close you two are to one another. It’s quite freaky at times.”

Myungjun, being his dramatic self, gawked, stumbling over his words,

“W-what? Name one-time that JinJin was with us.”

“Last night.”

Suddenly, Myungjun’s face becomes blank. Checkmate.

“And another thing! I wasn’t even the one who convinced you to go out that evening! It was Eunwoo!”

#kwritersworldnet #kdiarynet #/mystories #astro #astro fanfic #astro x reader #astro mj #astro myungjun #astro au #kim myungjun #myungjun #myungjun fanfic #myungjun x reader #mj #mj x reader #mj x you #mj fanfiction #mj scenarios #mj au

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softrozene · 4 years

Note

I really like what you do, thank you for your writing! 🧡🌞 May I request headcanons for Mihawk, Crocodile and Kuzan getting jealous of men who get too close to their female s/o, please?

I FINALLY GOT TO THIS ONE (Can you see my excitement?) Thank you for saying so- And thank you for reading my content! I had fun with these because I can imagine these three easily just soaking in their jealousy as they pretend they are not jealous. I hope you enjoy these Lovely!

Crocodile, Kuzan, Mihawk x Female Reader

Warnings: Jealousy (in real life be wary of this trait please. You can never be too careful of toxic traits in relationships so take care of yourselves!) Fluff, comedic teasing, Croco boy is a bit of a psychopath and there are red flags

Words: 998

Crocodile-

Okay this man says he does not get jealous, but he does constantly

He always has an eye on his partner and let me emphasis the word: his

If he is not watching you, somebody is for him- So when Crocodile finds out that someone is getting too close to his woman- You can easily bet that there could be possible bloodshed

To Crocodile- It does not matter if the person getting close to you is a man or a woman- He will get jealous and angry because he should be the only one close to you *imagine the sparkly emoji here for some psychotic effect lmao*

However, a jealous Crocodile is frankly a terrifying one. Why?

He does not lash out immediately

He lets himself boil until the jealousy gets the better of him (and he is very strategic with how to use his jealousy)

Usually, he is able to calm himself but when it concerns his partner- anger is usually his top reaction because he wants her to be just safe and sound

You can always tell if he has reacted to it negatively. Such as the person is suddenly gone (big shocker- note the sarcasm), he suddenly giving you more expensive gifts than usual, or he is clingy (he is never clingy so this is the biggest reaction of them all)

He will never take out his jealousy on you though- but he does manipulate you in a way to where he paints others in a bad picture and him in a good light

Whatever he does do though- He would never blame you or restrict your freedom or anything as what some controlling jealous partners would do.

If you do point out his jealousy he will straight up ignore you for days out of slight embarrassment of being seen like that because Crocodile does not get jealous according to himself

He knows that his jealous trait is on the toxic side, but he does not care

In other words- Crocodile getting jealous is just: t e r r i f y i n g

Kuzan (Aokiji)-

Honestly, I can see Kuzan getting petty when he is jealous

Like he is already not that much of a talker (unless it is you) but he will be even colder (pun intended lmao) to those around him

He will have a shorter temper and will not hesitate to freeze people in their place if they misspeak to him

He knows jealousy isn’t a good look and he hates getting jealous (so it is rare for him to be so) but he loves his partner so much that he does have that slight fear that his partner would go for someone who doesn’t have an ice-like heart

Much like Crocodile (and Mihawk) he would never take it out on you

No, he just freezes others in place lol

However, if he knows the person getting close to you (for Kuzan he only cares if it is a man getting close to you) he will not hesitate to go talk to them

It will be a light conversation at first, getting the confession out of him such as agreeing to how beautiful you are or how amazing your personality is but the second the guy does confess this or goes too far in complimenting you- he becomes an icicle

When he is with you- The one way you can tell something is wrong is how quiet he is around you

Because around you, he can freely talk (or sleep) without unease so the second he treats you as if you were another marine- the act is up

You will have to remind him that he is the only one in your life (and he knows this but I like to imagine again that he has slight insecurity because of how aloof he is)

It may take a while but he will warm up to you again but when he does you can finally joke with him

“Awe, I told you your heart was not cold!”

Cue the embarrassment and “shut ups” as it makes you braver in your relentless teasing

Dracule Mihawk-

Okay this one is my favorite because I do not think he can ever be jealous UNLESS it is Shanks being the one close to you

If it were any other man he would be like: whatever

Only because he has full trust in you lmao so if it is his best friend the freaking Casanova, then yeah, he will be worried as all hell because he knows how smooth that man is

He does trust you (and Shanks because he knows Shanks would NEVER do him dirty like that) but it is a small illogical fear he has so he does get jealous and it is only noticeable to you and Shanks

Shanks like the idiot friend he is will 100% tease the hell out of him until Mihawk’s breaking point because their friendship is that great

Shanks will be more touchy with you- Wrapping an arm around you- flirting with you- It may seem like a jerk move but he is just teasing Mihawk for allowing emotion to come through since the man like to be an emotionless robot the majority of his life

You on the other hand will do whatever it takes to soothe Mihawk’s slight fear- So when Shanks gets out of control with his teasing it is up to you to get angry for both you and Mihawk (to which Shanks apologizes profoundly before you all share a good laugh)

Mihawk is all grunts during his jealous moment- He refuses to speak and only drinks his wine

After his friend leaves, Mihawk will feel a lot better and he will apologize for showing such an ugly side

You do not see why he is apologizing because he is only human, and you are happy (despite the sad situation of it all) that he loves you enough to show his jealousy

#my writing #one piece #one piece x reader #dracule mihawk #crocodile #kuzan #aokiji #fanfiction #headcanons #one piece fanfiction #one piece headcanons #female reader #dracule mihawk x reader #crocodile x reader #kuzan x reader #jealousy #fluff

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mirohlixie · 3 years

Text

Never Enough (Hyunlix) Pt. 2

Pairing: Felix x Hyunjin Word Count: 1.6K Genre: AU, love, dystopia

Synopsis: In a world where being different from the conventional gender and sexuality rules means death, the gay youngster Felix struggles to hide his true sexuality. He is doing well until he meets Hyunjin, an undercover hitman hired by the government to get rid of all the "different" people in hiding. The moment the two meet each other, both of their lives change forever, but will it be enough?

Content warnings: AU, homophobia, discrimination against LGBTQ+, explicit language.

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Hyunjin would’ve never thought his victim would present himself so quickly, and definitely not in the shape of a 5’7 blonde boy who seemed even younger than he was himself. Usually, the others didn’t have themselves figured out this much at such a young age, but this boy could be no older than eighteen, which was his own age.

Hyunjin accidentally kicked a rock and the boy turned around in shock, fear flashing over his face. It was as if he knew that it would be over for him now. He’d been overheard. His secret was now no longer his secret because someone else knew it too. That’s what Hyunjin thought before he finally got a good view of the boy’s face, and felt his own eyes widen.

He was met by a friendly, fairy-like face. Brown Bambi eyes stared straight into his soul as his gaze fell on the freckles decorating the boy’s cheekbones and nose. It was the prettiest and most unreal face he’d ever seen, and for a moment he could feel his breath being taken away by the unfamiliarity of these feelings.

Never before in his life had such a simple glance awakened so many different emotions inside of him and it terrified him. What was this feeling?

All his plans to question the boy first-hand had faded and he now just stared at him with a wondering look in his eyes, not able to bring out any word. This was strange, considering Hyunjin would always have an answer to anything usually.

“Fuck,” the boy muttered. “I- Please tell me you didn’t hear that?”

“I did,” Hyunjin admitted.

“It was a joke!” The boy stuttered. “I swear it was a joke. I’m normal, not different. Please,” the desperation seeped through his voice and his eyes had started to shimmer, tears of panic forming in them. “Please don’t report me. I swear I’m normal,” something in his voice broke Hyunjin’s heart and at that moment he knew that he couldn’t go through with his initial plan now.

“I won’t, I promise,” he whispered, feeling embarrassed. He hoped nobody would hear him say this, because he’d definitely be seen of part of the resistance. “I won’t tell a living soul, I promise,” he wasn’t sure why he was making promises to a total stranger. There was something about the boy that made him do it.

“Thank you,” the boy whispered, his eyes still a bit wary. “I can’t die- My family they-” he bit his lip. “I don’t want them to think I’m different,” he used think instead of know, Hyunjin noticed. He’s still trying to keep up the lie, even though it had been pretty clear the boy had been serious. He was alone, he sounded upset. There was no way he hadn’t been telling the truth just now before he’d noticed Hyunjin.

“It’s okay,” Hyunjin nodded slightly, not sure what to do next. He was still quite lost for words and had no idea how to proceed from here.

He couldn’t let this opportunity slide. Against all odds, he’d found a mole so quickly and he knew it would be very hard to find another one. If he didn’t report this one or at least kill him, he’d never earn the money that would save his mother. He just had to make sure the boy would trust him first and then do it later. That sounded like a good enough plan for him for now.

“What are you doing out here?” The still nameless boy wondered, slowly starting to walk back to the town again. “The weather is terrible today.”

“I was just clearing my mind,” Hyunjin lied. “You know, times are tough recently. I just needed to be away from it all, even if it’s just for a little.”

“I can relate to that,” the blond boy said. “Same here. I needed to clear my head because I was tired of being around my family all the time,” he looked at his feet as he walked, biting his lip. Hyunjin averted his gaze, now also looking at his feet. What the hell was wrong with him? “Are you…?” He heard the reluctance in the boy's voice. “Are you different?”

“No!” Hyunjin quickly spoke. “No, I’m normal,” he’d always been so sure he was, so he definitely would be now. He liked girls and only girls. Not boys.

“Me too,” the boy said. “As normal as they come,” he chuckled softly, turning his head away to hide his flushed cheeks, but Hyunjin saw them. And even though this should be a major red flag to him, and even though he should’ve taken action on the spot, he couldn’t. He just could not perform his task and end this pretty boy’s life. It was dumb, but the truth.

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Felix still couldn’t get the fear out of his body. The appearance showing up behind him only minutes ago had startled the life out of him, ironically enough. At that moment he’d thought it was all over now. He’d be brought to court and executed without his family ever knowing he’d had a preference for men. It would kill them. Yet this boy had told him that wasn’t his intention. He wasn’t different though, he’d said.

Felix didn’t know whether he should believe him or not. Was he really not a mole? Why didn’t he take action then? Everyone knew there was a reward for bringing in the moles, that was the biggest threat for the different. Why would this boy who was barely older than him spare him? It was none of his business, though. He should be happy it hadn’t happened yet.

“I guess I’m just going to go home now,” Felix announced, fumbling with his fingers as he tried to keep them warm in the cold air. “My family is probably waiting for me, anyway.”

“Same here,” the mysterious boy nodded. “Besides, it’s starting to get cold out here,” the two found out they had to go in similar directions and decided to walk home together. They didn’t talk much, but somehow the company of a stranger was more comforting now than it had ever been before. They exchanged little nothings and irrelevant facts about themselves. Felix was scared that too much information would give him away and the boy also didn’t seem too eager to tell Felix a lot about himself. It was okay though. Ironically enough, it wasn’t even awkward. He felt comfortable around the stranger, even more so than around his family. Maybe that was because his family was way better at figuring him out, but he liked to believe it was because of the boy’s calming aura.

If the circumstances had been different, Felix would’ve been disappointed that the boy wasn’t a mole. He was the most beautiful person he’d ever seen in his life. Even before the fear went through his mind just now when they’d met, he was taken back by the unreal figure standing in front of him.

His skin was clear; clearer than that of most people he knew. His eyes were different than what he knew. They were mysterious and didn’t give anything away. His facial features resembled that of a model and he was tall too. Taller than Felix was himself. He could only imagine what the boy would look like under his big coat.

“You’re nice,” he blurted out without meaning to. “Nice to talk to, I mean,” he quickly added. “Different from others that I met, but in a good way.”

“Oh,” the boy said, smiling a little. “So are you. You’re good company,” this made Felix smile a little. He hadn’t been in company for a while now and this change was very welcome. He’d needed to see some other faces than those of his family and himself, and this person had somehow presented himself in the exact right moment. Felix prayed he wasn’t one of them; one of the secret forces hired by the government. That would break him.

“This is my place,” Felix said, looking up to see he’d reached his home again. “Thank you, you know?” He mumbled. “I really appreciate it.”

“No big deal,” the boy shrugged it off. “Small effort, isn’t it?” His smile was a bit uneasy, but Felix decided to blame that on the fact they didn’t know each other that well yet. “Anyways, I should be heading home now,” he bit his lips and was about to turn around when it seemed like he suddenly remembered something. “Can we maybe exchange phone numbers or so? Only if you want, of course,” he blushed a little. “It would be nice to have a new friend.”

Felix blushed profusely before nodding and taking his phone out of his pocket. “Sure, just say it and I’ll put it in,” he was too scared to give the stranger his phone. Who knew what would pop up the moment he held it? The boy started saying the digits to his phone number and Felix wrote them down before the boy did the same to his number.

“Okay, then that’s taken care of,” Felix said. “I guess I’ll see you around sometime, then,” the other boy smiled and nodded.

“Definitely. Well, have a good evening,” he muttered before turning around again and walking away.

“Wait!” Felix called, causing the mysterious boy to look over his shoulder.

“What is your name? I need to put it in with the phone number,” he smiled a bit, feeling dumb for not asking before. They’d talked about all these things without even knowing each other’s names.

“Hyunjin,” the boy said. “Hwang Hyunjin, you?”

“Lee Felix,” the blond boy said with a small smile. “But you can call me Felix.”

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avengerscompound · 4 years

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Running to a Standstill -4

Running to a Standstill: A Captain America Fanfic

Masterlist PREVIOUS //

Buy me a ☕ Character Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Steve Rogers x F!Reader

Word Count: 1827

Rating: E

Square filled: @star-spangled-bingo - "Am I renting a bed and breakfast for a bikergang?"

Warnings: none

Synopsis: While on the run from an unknown organization trying to take your son, you meet two super-soldiers. While they try to help you get to the bottom of who is hunting you and your son, feelings come out and admissions are made that make your personal life even more tricky.

Chapter 4

“Well, well, well, what have you boys been up to?”

Tony’s voice pulled Bucky out of his sleep. He’d been wrapped around you and Steve’s hand was on his hip, and for a moment he thought someone had drugged him. Tony kept clattering around the common room followed by a rather exasperated looking Pepper. Bucky sat up and tried to go over exactly what had happened last night because, for all intents and purposes, he should absolutely not have slept as well as he had.

He’d gone out to ask the guy who had been standing in the alley what he was doing. The dude had shot at him and the van parked across the road had taken off. Natasha had come vaulting down the fire escape chasing after the dude with the gun and Bucky had chased down the van. It had taken him a while but he’d eventually caught up with him. When the guy wouldn’t talk, Bucky had called Fury for a collection and then dragged himself back to the tower where he was surprised to find you, Steve, and Geo were all camped out in the common room rather than in Steve’s apartment. He’d really assumed that you’d just shack up with Steve. The two of you had been dating after all.

He’d been aching when he got back and he’d sat down on the fold-out couch beside you because Geo had stuff spread out all over the other one. Besides he hadn’t intended to stay. He was just going to eat, hang out for a bit, and go to bed. When you’d fallen asleep Steve had admitted he’d set up in the common room because the two of you hadn’t even kissed yet and he wanted to make sure you felt safe. Bucky had remembered feeling an odd sense of relief hearing that and he wasn’t sure why. Then he’d finished eating and gone to leave and you’d asked him to stay.

He had gone to sleep expecting to sleep badly. He’d always slept badly. He’d been doing a lot of work with therapists and while it had been helping, the nightmares still came. Not every night, but too often. He’d assumed that if he ever shared a bed with anyone that the fear that he hurt them in his sleep would keep him awake. Instead, he’d slept right through. There had been nothing that would explain that except that he’d been relaxed.

“You could have at least cleaned up after your orgy,” Tony said, picking up the empty food containers strewn over the coffee table. “Am I renting a bed and breakfast for a biker gang?”

Steve sat up and sighed in that very special way he reserved for Tony, and you sat up beside him pulling the covers up and looking extremely embarrassed.

“Tony, can we dial back the o-r-g-y talk in front of the small child?” Pepper asked.

Tony spun around and saw Geo sitting up, yawning and rubbing his eyes. “Small person,” Tony said, sounding shocked. “When did you get here?”

“Tony, that’s Geo. We told you about him,” Steve said, stretching and getting up.

Tony looked from Steve, to you, to Geo. “Oh wow, “ he said crouching down. “Hey, buddy. You like to talk to computers, huh?”

Bucky hadn’t seen a baseline human move as quickly as you did at that moment. You scrambled up and dashed over to the couch, picking Geo up. Geo struggled in your arms but then seemed to just flop all his weight in your arms, obviously used to your protective panic.

Steve moved to your side and put his hand in the middle of your back. “Why don’t you go up to my floor. FRIDAY will let you in. You can have a shower or a bath. Make some breakfast. I’ll come up and check on you in a little while.”

“I don’t… what if…?” You said, quietly.

“No one can get in or out without us knowing about it. This building is the most secure place you can find,” he assured you. “FRIDAY is everywhere. She knows who is here and she controls the locks.”

You looked at him uncertainly and gave a small nod. You grabbed your go bag as you passed Tony and went straight to the elevator. When the elevator closed Tony went right back to tidying up. “She’s a mite jumpy, isn’t she?” He said.

“There were people watching her last night. When Bucky went to approach them, they shot at him and took off,” Steve explained as he began folding up the blankets and putting them away. “I don’t blame her for being wary. Even of us.”

“Did you catch them?” Tony asked.

“Yeah, Fury has them. Figured he was the best legal way to hold them,” Bucky said. “He said he’d question them.”

“The boy can really communicate with electronics?” Tony asked.

“Why don’t you ask FRIDAY?” Bucky asked.

“Oh good idea, tin man,” Tony said. “FRIDAY, dear. Has the boy been speaking with you?”

“Yes, Tony,” the AI replied. “It comes through almost like binary. But that doesn’t quite describe it properly.”

“Damn,” Tony said and dumped the containers into the trash chute. “I would love to run some tests.”

“There is no way she’s gonna let you or anyone else run tests on that boy,” Steve said. “Besides what he can do is irrelevant. The only thing we need to know is who is after them and how we can keep them safe.”

“Right you are,” Tony said and went into the kitchen, getting out the french press and turning on the kettle. “So what was going on with you three? You all -” he made an obscene hand gesture with his index fingers and thumb.

Tony rolled his eyes. “You got me, Tony,” he deadpanned. “That’s exactly what we were doing.”

Pepper started laughing and got out the coffee cups. “They aren’t you, Tony,” she said.

The elevator doors opened again and Hill came striding out with a handful of folders and a clipboard. She was already dressed and completely together and Bucky vaguely wondered if she ever actually slept. “There you are,” she said, beelining straight to Steve. “We have bad news.”

“They’re not talking?” Steve asked.

“You could say that,” Hill answered, gesturing for Steve to take a seat. They both sat down on the now-folded up couch and she put the files on the table in front of him. “They’re dead.”

“What the hell?” Bucky said, moving to sit next to Steve and looking over his shoulder.

“Cyanide capsules. We left them alone to think and confer with each other about what they’d said and when we got back they were both dead,” Hill explained.

“No. I checked them. I always check them for that,” Bucky said.

“So do we,” Hill said and Tony came over and took a seat on the recliner. Pepper kissed his cheek. “I’ll go to the office. This seems like official Avengers stuff.”

“Shall we have lunch?” Tony asked.

“Sure,” Pepper said. “I’ll call you when I’m taking it.”

She headed to the elevator and everyone turned back to the files on the table. “You sure no one on your end gave them to them?” Steve asked.

“Positive. I reviewed the tapes. It was in their teeth. I’m assuming it’s something new,” she explained and opened up one of the files, with a series of photos showing the men knocking their teeth free.

“They didn’t give you anything first?” Steve asked.

“Not a lot,” Hill said. “Both stuck with stories that they weren’t doing anything. Eventually, the guy in the van changed it to being hired by someone, but wouldn’t give a name. And given the suicide, I’m going to assume that was a lie.”

“If it was cyanide that means HYDRA right?” Bucky said. “HYDRA do that.”

“It’s definitely a HYDRA thing, but they aren’t the only ones,” Hill agreed.

“But, Steve, didn’t you say she said there were things like super strength and telepathy. That sounds like what they were doing with Wanda and her brother,” Bucky argued. “And well, the whole super-soldier program.”

“We’re not ruling out HYDRA. This is newer than Wanda and Pietro,” Hill explained and opened another folder. “I didn’t have a lot to go off. You won’t let me question her and I didn’t have dates, the name of the college, nor do I even know what her name actually is. But I’ve been looking into things based on how old the kid is. I did find an experiment that ran at Stanford. It was based on some work by a couple of professors from the University of Manchester named Albert and Lousie Thompson back in the seventies and sponsored by a company called IGH. That stands for Industrial Garments and Handling which is obviously a red flag already. The files were all erased and no one is talking but from what I gather it was a program for ‘unlocking the potential people already hold’ for short periods. Which sounds like a combat enhancement to me. If you could let me question her...”

Steve shook his head. “She’ll shut down. Let me talk to her. I’ll at least get you dates and names.”

Hill nodded. “I’ll check the file Natasha released from HYDRA and what we have on the experiments on the twins. That all goes back further than this but perhaps there are links.”

“Thank you, Hill,” Steve said. “Tell Fury thanks for the assist too. We’ll have to be more thorough about checking for suicide pills from now on.”

Hill stood. “I’ll get on it. Let me know what you find out.”

She strode back out of the room and Tony leaned back in his chair and cracked his knuckles. “Legolas sure does have a way of dropping everyone into the middle of shit doesn’t he?”

Bucky couldn’t help but laugh while Steve shook his head. “She needs help. So we’ll help her.”

“From what I saw that’s not the only thing she needs,” Tony teased. “Gonna give her that too? That’s some outstanding service you offer, Cap.”

“Get your head out of the gutter would you?” Steve said getting up. “I’m gonna go up and talk to her. I’ll let you know if we need any help.”

“Sure,” Tony said. “You know where I am. I might see if FRIDAY can figure out what it is about the kid that lets him talk to her like that. Don’t get your hopes up though, it’s not her standard functions.”

Steve started heading to the elevator when he stopped and looked back at Bucky. “You coming?”

“Oh,” Bucky said, slightly startled. He had thought that Steve was going to talk to her in private. The fact Steve had just assumed Bucky would be part of the gentle questioning was both a shock and slightly flattering. “You sure?”

“Yes,” Steve said, matter-of-factly. “Who else is gonna make pancakes?”

// NEXT

#SSB2020 #steve rogers #bucky barnes #steve rogers x reader #bucky barnes x reader #stucky #steve rogers x bucky barnes #stucky x reader #steve rogers x reader x bucky barnes #captain america fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction #reader insert #running to a standstill

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optimismrpt · 4 years

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HOW RIGBY RUNS A ROLEPLAY : A VERY SPECIFIC GUIDE ( OF SORTS )

BONUS CONTENT: ACCEPTANCE DAY

I think it’s essentially to start with this disclaimer: This is merely how I run a rp and I’m not saying by any means it is how a rp should be run. I have found success through these methods all in combination and I can’t promise that they work all the time.

IMPORTANT ! if you use this guide as a basis for your rp please credit back to me somewhere on your front page, rules, or plot! this is a very specific type of rp (small limited run plot heavy skeleton rp) that i have worked very hard to develop over the past five years. i want you to learn from my successes and failures, and please give credit where it is due!

It is a lot of work! Like A LOT! And if you don’t have time to admin with full commitment this is not the right type of rp to attempt.

With that in mind, let’s go!

FULL GUIDE IN THE SOURCE LINK!

BEFORE THE ACTUAL DAY

First of all, getting apps is fun and it’s easy to get wrapped up in the excitement and want to move things forward as soon as possible. However, I recommend you don’t rush! Do not move up your acceptance date or the date that you close the inbox! This isn’t fair to the people who were planning on finishing up their apps before the original deadline who now have to crunch to meet the new deadline or may not be able to make the new deadline at all because of irl responsibilities. It’s always good to give lots of warning for the inbox closing and stick to it!

I also recommend that you do not lower the threshold of people needed to open. Sometimes it can be disheartening to set an app threshold at ten and then only get six apps, even if the days grind on with no new apps, stick it out and keep promoting! Opening with less than eight characters (and for apples I’d say 15 characters) is going to make activity lackluster. It’s better to delay opening for the sake of having a grand first day than to jump the gun and end up making the rp fizzle before it can even start.

About 52 hours before acceptances are set to take place I like to write out a to-do list and put it in my drafts. It usually involves ‘write acceptance posts, update skeletons, update main, post acceptances, post follows, post opening note’. Just having everything you need to do between then and opening written out in order is so helpful. And being able to check things off the list creates both a feeling of relief and excitement. So make a plan, determine how soon everything needs to be done, and work through it meticulously. In the rush of opening day it can be easy to forget important things like updating the triggers page.

If I have time I try to write everything hours in advance. When it comes to things like opening announcements and plot drops I try to write those at least 24 hours of their release time. And this is why I like, for competitive rps, to close the inbox and then give myself at least two hours to deliberate. But I’d even encourage giving yourself 6 hours between the inbox closing and posting acceptances. I know that’s a while to make people wait but apps can get pretty long and reading them all (and probably rereading a few of them multiple times) can be a lengthy process!

I always try not to read the apps at all before the deliberation time. I find that if I read an app when it comes in that gives the first person an advantage because they have more time for me to adapt to their vision and start to assimilate it and get attached. And that’s not fair to the people who may have stumbled upon the rp later. So I just read the app far enough to get the info for the app count.

Just as a general rule I like to post important dates and times in at least two different timezones. For example ‘Acceptances are at 6am GMT / 1pm EST / 10pm PST ’. That way you can show that you are keeping other timezones in mind. And plus it’s nice to just to the conversion work so your applicants don’t have to.

DELIBERATION TIME

Start by reading the apps which don’t have competition. These ones are easiest because it’s not a matter of determining whether they are the best of the bunch, it’s just deciding whether or not they are are passable. So I always read those first and then write their acceptance post immediately after I make my decision so that at least I’ll have that to post at the set acceptance date. That way, even if I haven’t made a decision on all the apps I’ll have something to post to show that I am reading apps and trying to stick to schedule!

When your are dealing with competitive apps there are a few things I look for in an application:

The most important is that the applicant seems willing to talk to you. This could be asks, ims, or even a little note in the app! Writers who want to make it clear what their intentions/desires/goals are ooc are going to be the easiest to work with! Plus it gives you an idea of how flexible they are! Those who dig their heels in when you offer up alternative suggestions are probably not good to work with. You want to find someone who has direction, intention, and ideas but don’t treat your ideas (or anyone else’s) as lesser than their own.

Call for humor! I’ve found that I have trouble with people who take themselves and their characters too seriously. This means that they often won’t be up for plotting since they don’t want their character to be anything less than graceful. Humor is a really good sign that a writer is fun, creative, and understands their character.

I also get wary of people who overhype the rp. Making edits/adding memes in the talk tag is all very nice, but when it looks like an rpt is promoting my rp just to give themselves an advantage over other applicants I tend to count that against them. I don’t like the idea of an rpt trying to use their signal boosting and popularity in the rpc as leverage over me.

One of the biggest red flags is someone not sticking to the skeleton! If someone blatantly disregards one or more aspects of the skeleton that is an instant strike against them. I don’t like it when people have ocs that they adapt to fit a skeleton because most of the time that means that they don’t really care about the skeleton and your ideas. However, if they contact me about changes to the skeleton in advance and ask if some edits are alright then that’s actually a really good sign! I want people to play a character that they are happy about and I’m willing to change up any skeleton. I just need to know the applicant is willing to work with me instead of against me.

Do not be afraid to deny applications. I used to never do this because I felt it was too mean and judgmental but now I realize I reserve the right as an admin to deny any app or character that I don’t vibe with. Go with your gut, and if the application is making you uncomfortable or nervous in any way, do not accept them. Sometimes it’s better to have one role go unwritten than to have someone who isn’t good for the group. Because both ic and ooc dynamics contribute to the effectiveness and survival of the group, you need to be excited to work with everyone and their characters.

One of the ways that I protect myself from muns who may not be right for the rp is by putting a password in the rules. Often the apps that make me uncomfortable are the ones that disregard or contradict the skeleton or plot. It’s clear that the mun either wasn’t paying attention, reading the pages carefully, or just chose to ignore what they read. It’s often That the apps that I don’t vibe with end up being the ones that don’t read the rules and therefor don’t put the password. So not only is it a good indicator to me that the mun might not be very considerate but it’s also a great default reason to deny an app without having to tell the mun directly that you didn’t like other aspects of their app. Most often I allow them to reapply if they’d like to but their acceptance won’t be immediate, so that there’s a chance someone else might apply for the same role with an application than doesn’t skeeve me out.

ONCE YOU’VE MADE THE DECISION

Write out your acceptance notes. I try to write a full paragraph for everyone when I am accepting for a skeleton rp. If there’s more than 20 characters being accepted then obviously don’t, since that’s way too much to ask of you. But if it’s a small group I always endorse writing a little welcome the chosen mun saying what ti was about their appt hat you gravitated towards. It’s kind of a way to also provide feedback to those who were denied as to what their app might have been missing. Plus, it’s just a good way to get the right vibes going for the ooc portion of the rp. Muns need to feel appreciated! After all they put in the work to get there!

I also like to offer feedback to those who were denied but with a disclaimer that most apps are chosen based on how they mesh with the other apps, since that’s something no one can anticipate. Usually the quality of the writing isn’t as big of a factor as how the character plays into dynamics with the others and whether or not their desired plots and connections with your vision and everyone else’s. Most of the time people won’t take you up on it, but be kind and thoughtful to those who do. However, if they are aggressive towards you in any way because they are upset about being denied block them immediately. Just trust me on that one.

Keep everyone updated as to your progress! Just telling everyone where you are at (in the process of reading apps, writing the acceptance notes, or taking a break) is a good way to put everyone’s minds at ease. It’s especially important to let people know if you are logging off for a while on acceptance day. That way people aren’t stuck refreshing the page and dreading that you might be ignoring them. On acceptance day I like to make a post every time I come online or go offline. It may seem like oversharing but it’s honestly so helpful to both you and the applicants.

POST-ACCEPTANCES

Once you are about to start posting acceptance notes, turn off anon. I know that anon can be very useful for those shy and curious folks that don’t want to im you directly, but this is another case where you’re just gonna have to trust me. For your mental health turn off anon and keep it off for at least 48 hours. I usually keep it off permanently unless there are more roles that need to be filled in a second round of acceptances. There aren’t really any questions that should need to be asked anonymously once you have a full roster of muns and this is a good way to get people used to asking you questions via discord, im, or dm. To prevent nasties from bullying you and to open the line of communication between you and your members, turn off anon!

And finally, once you have posted acceptances, close your laptop or turn off your monitor and don’t come back to it for at least an hour. I like to give myself two hours to go on a walk, eat some food, and just do non-rp things for a while. Acceptances are stressful and it’s important not to get swept up in it and feel overwhelmed. Taking a step back and remembering you exist outside of rp and outside of being an admin is so important. It’s hard to resist temptation, but if you have anon off really the only thing that’ll come into your inbox are follow messages and those can wait for two hours (or more)! But like I said above, keep everyone updated that you are going to log off for a bit and you’ll be back. Just so no one assumes the worst.

Just remember to be kind to your applicants and to yourself! It’s a stressful time for everyone!

#rpc #rpt #rph #how rigby runs a roleplay !#advice !#guide

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ilguna · 4 years

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Metanoia - Chapter Fourteen (f.o)

Summary: you will be crowned victor of the 75th hunger games.

Word Count; 5k

Warnings; swearing, mention of murder and torture

NOTES: i give reader a last name to fit the world.

–

If the career districts had their hands on books like these, you would have been forced to read them. Mercilessly. Like, a whole couple of units just studying these useless things. They’re mostly published for the Capitol citizens--which is why they’re not supplied in districts--but imagine having everything you could possibly need to know, in a couple of books.

These handbooks are genius. Even if they’re meant for entertainment and not practical use, they’re fucking fantastic.

Every nine years, one of these books comes out. Inside, they have every tribute that had gone in for those nine years--which comes out to be two hundred and sixteen tributes in total. They have the names, ages, weights, heights, eye and hair colors. Who their mentor, stylist, prep team and district representative was, and so much more.

For example, for the year you won, they start with the tributes and their information.

District One, Deimos Chambers. Black hair, brown eyes. He was seventeen, six-foot-one, with a weight of one hundred and seventy five. His mentor was Gloss, and as for the rest, it seems a little unimportant to you. However, his go-to weapon during training was always a sword, and he seemed to be very skilled in hand-to-hand combat.

Which all career tributes are skilled in, but whatever. You’re all taught to be proficient in something, and it’s mainly hand-to-hand. You’ll hardly see a career tribute try and do shit from far away. You know you wouldn’t bother all that much. From far away, you risk the chances of missing, up close, you can kill them in one goddamn shot.

Deimos’ score was a whopping ten, which is basically what all the comprehensive people had gotten. In his interview he wore all black, and when the lights had been shut off momentarily, the glow in the dark constellations came to life. And it wasn’t that bullshit green color either. It was white, and looked like there were actual lightbulbs behind it all, but the stylist was just creative.

It lists the people he chose to be allies with: Alhena, Zeke, and yourself. How many he killed during the bloodbath, which was one. But in total from start to finish it was three to four, counting assist kills. It says how he died, how many days he survived for, and what he placed.

Next is Alhena Hurley. Brown hair, blue eyes. She was sixteen, five-foot-seven, weighing in at one hundred and thirty five. Her mentor was Cashmere, respectively. Her chosen weapon inside of the training center was a mace, and her special note was that she was strong.

“Not emotionally.” you mutter, snickering to yourself as you continue reading.

Alhena got a score of nine, her interview dress was silver, with black specks on it--which is more or less the opposite of what Deimos had. She killed two people in the bloodbath, and that would stay her number for the rest of the games. She died because she got killed on the third day by someone who was hiding in the trees.

On the District One page, it holds both Deimos and Alhena. Pictures of what they wore during the reaping, train station, parade, interview and inside of the arena. Along with their special picture that would indicate that they were dead. The next page holds their family and friend interviews--if they had any--with the questions that Caesar asked and the answers given by their loved ones.

Then, there’s District Two, starting off strong with Zeke. Blonde hair, brown eyes. Seventeen, six foot on the dot, weighing roughly one hundred and sixty pounds. You guys had the same mentor, so it was Enobaria. He was boring and chose a sword, and his special skill was that he was always moving. More or less, he was quick.

Training score of ten, his suit was a bronze color, while the dress shirt was actually black. It was sorta metallic in the light. Zeke managed to kill one person in the bloodbath, and came out to two to three at the end. And he obviously placed second, because you were the one that killed him so that you could win.

And then there’s yourself. (Y/n) Rosecelli, sixteen. You had fairly short hair when you went inside of the arena--just so that it wouldn’t be grabbed and used against you. You were pretty tall, around the recommended weight group--although, that didn’t really matter in the end--and your mentor was Enobaria. Your chosen weapon inside of the training center was the sai’s and your special talent was being a know-it-all.

You scored a ten, got the same metallic bronze color of a dress with the matching black. Inside of the arena you had killed eight people, placing number one. At the very top of the page it says ‘WINNER!’, like it’s some fucked up game and not a fight for your survival.

It had the pictures and interviews as the others did, but with yours it’s extra special. You get the second interview by Caesar and what outfit you had worn for it. A small section for all the highlights inside of the arena, and then the victory tour, with the celebration at the mansion. All the headlines that you had gotten for being inside of the Capitol ‘willingly’.

And there’s also close-up pictures of all the tattoos you had gotten while you were there too.

It makes you sick knowing that they had produced these for entertainment, when it really could have been for the betterment of future tributes. Apart from all the useless shit they had for profiling the tributes, they literally had their battle plans.

Like for Finnick, it says that he used a fishing net while he and the opponent were in water. He’d get them tangled, and then when he was sure they couldn’t hurt him, he’d just kill them with his super expensive trident. And all the tributes didn’t know to be afraid of him until it was too late.

Just like with Johanna too. She played stupid for her entire time inside of the Capitol, and a little bit into the games to draw people in. She purposely scored low on her private training session--which is no doubt a big setback sponsor-wise. But then she became a killing machine, and almost a legend of sorts.

It made tributes wary of those who pretended to be stupid like that. Gave away their entire motive, because Johanna had done it first, and she won because of it. Anyone who did pose a threat early on would get killed.

It’s the exact reason why you went after the District Four tributes when you did. Your games were directly after Finnick’s, and the thought of one of those fish-eating fuckers getting their hands on you like that was terrifying. So, the only way to eliminate the chance of that happening, is to get rid of the only people who really know their way around water, and nets, and fishing.

Finnick likely hated that, the fact that you went after them specifically when you had the chance. However, you know deep-down that he appreciated that you wouldn’t let them suffer. You just wanted them dead immediately to get rid of the chance of them still being alive. You wouldn’t move from the bodies until the cannons had gone off.

Honestly, your allies should have killed you when they had the chance. If you were smart enough to stand over tributes to make sure that they were dead before moving on, that should have been a red flag. Even when they had wanted to leave tributes to bleed out and die, you’d be the one to finish them off.

Not to mention, you marking your arm after every broadcast of The Fallen was a whole new level of insane. And it’s not like they didn’t notice it or anything, they just chose not to point it out. They knew what it was for and all, but they didn’t say anything.

Someone clears their throat, making you look up from the handbook. You’re not really surprised to see Finnick standing there, in the same white scrubs that you’re wearing.

“Good afternoon.” you flip the page, landing right onto the District Four tributes from your games, “Or evening, I can’t tell in this coffin anymore.”

“The nurses tell me you haven’t left your room in a couple of days.” he doesn’t move from the doorway.

You give him a glance, “Why would I? Peeing in my own bathroom is just the same as the one down the hall. Both have cold toilet seats and smell like cleaning products.”

Finnick cracks a smile, coming into the room now, “What’re you reading?”

“Hunger games handbooks.” you hold it up for him to see briefly, “This is the year I won, and these are the tributes you mentored.”

Finnick comes over, and you turn the book so he can read it a little.

Brook Giles, fifteen, five-foot-eight, around one hundred and fifty six pounds. He has bleached brown hair and blue eyes. His training score was a nine, he wore a classic light blue and white suit during his interviews. His go-to weapon was a sword inside of the training center and he died on the first day because you killed him.

“One of my first takeouts,” you watch his face, wondering if he’ll get mad if you talk about it so carelessly, “It was almost fun.”

Finnick meets your eyes, “You were scared, just like the rest of them.”

“I killed him because he reminded me of you.” you then turn to the girl, “And so did she.”

Mira Osborne, sixteen, blonde hair and green eyes. Five-foot-five, one hundred and forty pounds. She wore a white dress that barely went to her knees, some blue accents here and there. She scored an eight, her go-to weapon was a spear. One kill, and only a few days later she’d die because you’d find her hiding in a cove.

“I was fifteen when I watched you win, and I knew that the following year I’d likely be picked to volunteer. I realized that I didn’t know how to swim at all, and the thought of ending up in a net, scared and drowning was more terrifying than anything I had come across up until that point of my life.” you smile, looking at Finnick now, “So, I dug a hole in my backyard, filled it with water and taught myself how to swim.”

Finnick stares, as if he doesn’t know if you’re kidding or not.

You aren’t.

“Of course, as extra precaution I chose to go after them first. Anyone who got in the way was an added bonus to my kill streak. I hunted Mira like she was a fucking deer and I was starving.” Finnick’s silence is what you expected for telling him information like this, and you’re not even done yet, “And had you not been my soulmate, you, Mags, Katniss, Peeta and Johanna would have ended up just like her.

“And I wouldn’t have stopped until you were all dead.”

Finnick straightens up, stiff. He opens his mouth like he wants to say something, but snaps his mouth shut.

Smug, you smirk, “What? Did you suddenly realize that I’m exactly who I told you I was?”

Finnick turns to leave, and you wait patiently as he goes towards the door frame. But then he grabs the chair by it, and takes a seat. Although, just by looking at his body language, he doesn’t want to be here. And he doesn’t want to let you win this either.

You laugh, rolling your eyes as you flip the book open again, “You’re making a grave mistake.”

“Stop telling me that.”

You glance up, “Is it because you know that I’m right and you don’t want to admit it? You know you’re leaving a nice, capable girl that would love to settle down, have kids and grow old with you. For someone who’s an insufferable bitch that hates the life she’s been given, and everything that she’s ever cared for gets killed or leaves her.”

“Is that why you won’t let me at least be friends with you?”

You take in a deep breath, “No, I don’t want you near me at all because you’re you. You’re Finnick Odair, darling of the Capitol. You’re Finnick Odair, the youngest victor in history who was also given the most expensive gift ever sent inside of the arena.” you laugh, “Oh! And you’re Finnick Odair, the man who also exposed Snow for who he is. Which lets you be in the spotlight more times that you’re worthy of.”

“So you think you’re not worthy?”

It’s like a blinding rage for a split second as you hurl the twenty-five pound book straight at Finnick, “I can’t fucking stand you!”

Finnick catches the book just barely before it hits him in the face, “(Y/n)--”

“No.” you cut him off, “No, you don’t get to pretend like you’re the voice of reason here, because you’re not. I’m a fucking nightmare, and even I know when enough is enough.” You get up and off of the bed, grabbing a hold of the necklace Tanith gifted you. As you begin to leave your safe place, you point at him, “I know what the fuck is wrong with you.

“You hopped from what you think is one broken girl to another. But news flash, Finnick, I’ve lost much more people,” you get down to his eye level, “I lost my entire family when I got home to District Two after I won my games. And it wasn’t just my immediate family, it was distant aunts and uncles and cousins and grandparents. Everyone who was even a shred related to me, is now dead. I’m the only one left of my fucking bloodline.”

You stand up now, “Losing Tanith is nothing compared to what I had lost then. I wish I had grown a pair and stepped off the fucking hovercraft to bury her, because doing that wouldn’t have been nearly as much as a hassle compared to dealing with you.”

Finnick doesn’t say anything, and you don’t wait to see if he does either. You go straight out, ignoring the nurses that stare at you, because it really is the first time you’ve left the room in days. Everything is delivered to you, if there’s something you want, they’ll go and get it.

You have a vague idea of where you want to go, just getting there is going to be the problem. Typically, even if you do leave the room, someone will follow you out to keep an eye on you. You remember very vividly, a certain nurse standing at an arm's distance from you, during Coin’s last speech. When she announced the liberation of the prisoned victors.

A joke. This whole place is one fucking circus.

Just as you expected, the floor is pretty vacant. Here and there, someone will wander in and out, but that’s really it. You give a look behind you, confirming that there isn’t a nurse following you just yet. Then, you take off towards the elevator.

You barely remember how that one doctor used it, but it shouldn’t be that hard. You press the button, bringing the lift to you. When it stops and makes the annoying sound, you pull the guard rail up, and then step inside. Pulling it down again, you can see one of the nurses round the corner.

You give her a bright smile, punching the top floor, “Tata.”

The elevator starts moving up, and you give her a wave. Then, she’s blocked out by the cement flooring.

For the rest of the ride up, you cross your arms and wait, staring straight ahead. Your game plan is to head to the woods and don’t stop walking until you’re lost. Hopefully, no one will think to follow you out there.

The elevator stops at the top floor, allowing you to be met face to face with a band of people. They’re pulling up the guard rail before you even have a chance to reach for it.

Katniss is on a stretcher, her sister is hovering over her. Haymitch, Beetee, Gale and Boggs are nearby. Not to mention all the other people behind them.

“Geez.” you move out of the way, allowing Katniss to be wheeled in. Beetee and Gale fit themselves on, but Boggs and Haymitch don’t follow.

There’s not nearly enough room for them all to fit on the elevator, anyway. And apparently it gives Boggs to grab a hold of you before you can escape.

“Where are you going?”

You give him a kind smile, “I was given the okay to clear my head for a little.”

“Why are you still in scrubs, then?”

You make a face, shrugging, “Don’t ask me, they’re the ones that told me I was free to go whenever.”

Boggs doesn’t look convinced, and honestly, neither does Haymitch.

“Fine, I made a breakaway because I can’t fucking stand it in there.” you pull your arm from Bogg’s grasp, “For a district that’s all about equality, I don’t see why it should matter if I come up here to disappear for a little while. Or the fact that I’m being followed around when I do leave my room because you guys think I’m some sort of Capitol bootlicker.”

Haymitch laughs, “Same old (Y/n).”

“That’s rich, coming from you.” you then look at Boggs, “Don’t send anyone to follow me. I’ll come back when I feel like I’m ready to breathe stale air and eat shit for dinner.”

“Had you expressed your distaste for District Thirteen earlier, we might have taken you right back to District Two.” Boggs says.

You raise your eyebrows, “Earlier? When did you go?”

“A couple hours ago.” Haymitch says, “We just got back.”

You laugh, shaking your head, “Great, my only way out of this shithole and I wasn’t even aware of it. It’s funny how you brought the guy in the wheelchair and not the girl who literally grew up there her entire life.”

“I’ll keep that in mind next time.” Bogg says, “Enjoy your walk.”

The elevator is back, and they step on. You turn around and leave, heading straight towards the opening. You can already hear the chirps of the birds and you’re nowhere near the door.

You pick up the pace, jogging right past the people that work out here. One of them waves, and you raise your hand in acknowledgement. The smile doesn’t even come across your face until the sun is in your eyes.

You take a sharp left, taking the trail for the most part. When you’re out of the sight of those inside of the building, you slow your pace, taking your time with getting lost.

You’re not even kidding when you say that it’s literal fresh air. This smells and tastes nothing like what goes underground. It’s stale, and out here it’s sweet. It must have rained a couple days ago or something because the plants have that smell to them--petrichor.

After a while, you detour from the trail, heading into the trees some more. You weren’t kidding when you said that you’d like to get lost. Being out here, wandering for hours on end is going to be more entertaining than reading those depressing handbooks. On top of that, you won’t have to see Finnick’s face for a while.

He really does get on your nerves. Him pretending that he knows every single detail about you, and claiming the opposite of what you tell him is pissing you off. You’re a lot of things, but a liar isn’t one of them. You’d rather be told the heartbreaking truth than have someone lie through their teeth. So, you assume other people like it that way too. It cuts out a lot of unnecessary drama.

Unless it’s another person’s lie, then you’ll play along. If they want to fabricate things for their own gain, then have at it. Who are you to say no to them?

With Finnick, you’ve told him several times, over and over that you can’t stand him. And he acts as if that’s all going to magically change if he forces you to get used to his company or whatever. And you even dumbed it down for him, explained what the deal was. You don’t want him, you don’t need him. You want or need the help.

He doesn’t need to stick around after that wish has been fulfilled. All he’s doing is hurting his own feelings.

At this point, it might just be the challenge of getting you to like him. Show some kind of friendship just so he can drop it. You wonder if you fake it, he’ll finally leave you alone. You might just have to try that out until he realizes that you’ve had an entire personality flip.

Finnick would probably see that it’s a facade but might go along with it just to see how long you can keep it up for.

It’ll be your own personal game. How long can you be nice on the outside and calm on the inside until Finnick does something completely absurd that it makes you flip your shit? The time starts now.

You take a deep breath, going down the hill carefully, because you can clearly see the river. Off to the left some more are shoeprints and the trail that you had supposedly detached yourself from. It doesn’t really matter anymore, as long as you can sit here and be by yourself, you’re fine.

You get as close to the water as possible, taking off the shoes and rolling up the scrubs. You let your legs sit in the water as you lean back on your hands, staring at the scenery. It truly is a beautiful place here, but you’d never want to stay. Even if District Two is in shambles, you want to go back.

It’s your home. It holds so much grief and terror, and yet you just want to be back in the comforts of your own town. You want to see all your old neighbors before your victory. And see Victor’s Village overflowing with people always, no matter how annoying they were.

They’re all dead now. The only surviving victors from District Two is Lyme, and yourself. Everyone else is dead. Enobaria, Neysa, Tanith, Sorcha, Brutus, Edmond, Zavian and everyone else. Lyme had filled you in, that Snow had them all killed, and anyone else who proved valuable went with him.

Lyme and Paylor are lucky to be alive.

You’d literally give anything to talk to one of them again. To relive Tanith showing up uninvited in your house the morning of the reaping. You would have been so much more gentle than usual if you had known that it would have been the last real conversation without gloom hanging over your heads.

At least you’re lucky to say that your final goodbyes to her and Zavian wasn’t terrible at all. You were able to hug them both and tell them just how much they meant to you. Even if it wasn’t really heartfelt for Zavian, it wasn’t the worst thing in the world he could have heard.

And now they’re gone, and you’re still alive.

“Lucky me.” you murmur, finding a rock and tossing it into the water.

It’s funny how you only feel bad after all those people are dead. You would never in your right mind would have ever thought of being kind to those people until now. You’ve got some genuine guilt on your hands.

Edmond and Neysa really had tried to act in your best interest. They knew your limits, but you like to think that you can push it. Like Edmond making sure you’d be sober and not make a fool of yourself in front of all those people at the train station. He wasn’t doing it to restrict you. And even though he didn’t show it the best way, you could have at least tried to understand.

Neysa just wanted you to get good allies. She wanted to give you a fighting chance, and had you just followed what she wanted, you wouldn’t have been so waist-deep in shit with distrust from Finnick’s alliance. She knew something you didn’t when it came to the fact that you shouldn’t go off alone inside of the arena.

And yet you like to be independent.

There’s a crunching of leaves beneath boots, making you dip your head for a moment. You sigh through your nose, raise your head and then look over your shoulder. It’s exactly who you thought it would be, but he’s not wearing those white scrubs anymore. He’s also got some clothes draped over his arm.

You squint at him, “Are you wearing a suit?”

“Not the reaction I was expecting.” Finnick’s got his signature smile on his face, showing off his dimples.

You turn away before you can say something mean.

“I figured you’d rather run away in something much more fashionable.” Finnick stops behind you.

“How’d you know?”

You stare at the water for another moment, before pushing yourself up, brushing off the dirt from your butt, knowing full well that it’s still going to be there. In Finnick’s hands sit some familiar ripped black jeans, but a navy blue shirt.

“I see they have a pattern.” you hold up the shirt to see, “And it has a breast pocket too.”

“The pink shirt was thrown away since you destroyed the hem.”

“I was anxious.” you reason, placing the shirt back.

You take off the white scrub shirt, making Finnick turn his head away. A smile appears on your face, because he acts like he literally hasn’t seen you naked before--cough cough, after you got bit by spiders. Butt ass naked, it wasn’t just Finnick who saw you completely nude. You flashed the whole fucking country.

They probably couldn’t keep that in, and had to change the camera perspective after that.

You pull on the shirt, and then you pull off the bottoms, being sure to wipe your muddy feet on them to clean off your feet.

“So what made you follow me out here this time?” you ask, taking the jeans and pulling them on.

“Your stunning personality, as always.” Finnick looks over now, “And the fact that Haymitch and Boggs wanted me to follow you out here. I tried to tell them it wasn’t the brightest idea, but they had me do it anyway, gave you a thirty minute head start first, though.”

“Smart of them. I’m assuming you saw Katniss, then?”

“Seems like she’s been taking hit after hit lately.”

“Imagine getting strangled by your fiance.” you laugh, and Finnick joins in.

“Imagine getting punched by your soulmate.” Finnick gives you a look.

You roll your eyes, “Okay, you have to admit that you deserved it.”

“Whatever makes you feel better about yourself.”

You press your lips together, stomping your foot into the boots since you’re too lazy to untie them. You repeat the process with your left foot, which takes a lot longer. Finnick just laughs at you the entire time, since you refuse to go down and fix it yourself.

“Let’s get serious for a moment.” you look at Finnick, and he looks a little afraid, “It’s nothing bad, you might even think I’m lying for a second.”

“That’s not--why would you say that?” he laughs.

You take your dirty scrubs from his hands, “Because I think ahead.” you tap the side of your head, “Anyway, I honestly want to apologize for what I said earlier.”

Finnick’s eyebrows skyrocket, and you can’t help but to laugh, “You’re being serious?”

“I am.” you start towards the trail, “And I would also like to apologize for everything that I’ve said before that. And all my actions too, like if I punched you or threw something at you.”

“Where’s all this coming from?” Finnick asks, “I mean, I accept but you gotta tell me why.”

You look at him, “I was thinking before you came out here--obviously--that people aren’t really out to get me. I don’t have to be independent and fight by myself anymore, not when there’s people with the same… struggles. You get it, right?”

Finnick’s impressed, “I do.”

“You know, a genius once told me that I’m not as dislikable as I like to think.”

It takes Finnick a moment before it clicks in his head. He’s the one that said it to you.

“A genius, huh?”

“Don’t let it get to your head.”

He nods, “Well, if we’re apologizing for things--”

“We’re cool, you don’t have to.”

Finnick ignores you, “--I’m sorry for approaching you so strongly.”

“You thought that it was the only way to get through to me, I get it. If someone has their walls up, sometimes the only way to get them down is if you meet their energy.”

“Do I even know you?” Finnick laughs.

“Oh, the glory of having an epiphany.” you smile, giving him a look, “So what are we dressed up for?”

“Your newfound freedom.”

“The fuck?” you laugh.

“Haymitch and Boggs convinced Coin to get you a little more freedom, which means that they weaseled me in too. We get a dorm, get to eat with the others and we can come up here whenever we want.”

“I have a feeling this is a little bit of bullshit.”

Finnick chuckles, “How did you know?”

“You can’t deceive me, I see through most of the shit you and your buddies do. I pay attention. I knew you, Johanna and the others were in an alliance before it was formed. And I also knew that you were planning a rebellion, and all you asked is if I was a loyalist.” you get back to walking, “You could even say that I’m a little insightful.”

“I’ll give you that one.” Finnick agrees, “Also, before we go back inside, you should know something else.”

“What did you do this time?” you look at Finnick.

He’s stopped walking, and so you do too, “I’ve ended things with Annie completely.”

#ilguna #finnick odair #finnick odair imagine #finnick odair x reader #finnick odair fanfic #finnick odair oneshot #finnick odair metanoia #metanoia #metanoia chapter fourteen

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carewyncromwell · 4 years

Photo

Next installation of the POTC AU, at long last! Sorry for the delay...RL has been a bit of a hindrance, and I also had to kind of restructure some things in the storyline to help with flow and such, and that resulted in me having to draw another drawing, and yeah, blah blah, Tory lost her sense of rhythm and pretty much daily update schedule in the process. XD; Mea culpa!

In this part, we’ll have focus on both sides of the “divide,” with both Carewyn and her new ally Davy Jones/Finn McGarry @theguythatdraws and Charlie Weasley (pictured above in an even more pirate-y coat and hat than we saw last) and his sloop’s passenger Chiara Dalma. Will our pirate friends be able to reach Shipwreck Cove before they’re cut off by our non-pirate ones?

Interestingly enough, there was a pirate called Moody in the 1700s, though this one was Christopher Moody, not Alastor. Not much is known about him aside from his brutality (refusing to take prisoners), his unique Jolly Roger flag (which was red and gold rather than black), and his death by hanging in 1722. Pirate!Mad-Eye is going to be much more like his book/movie/game counterpart, but I just thought it was a fun coincidence. (Particularly his red/gold color scheme for his flag, which of course are Gryffindor colors!!)

Jules Farrier-Weasley belongs to @cursebreakerfarrier, last part is here, and whole tag is here! Hope you enjoy!

x~x~x~x

Carewyn knew there was no way she would be able to get Jones’s heart as long as her men were guarding the Chest -- yet, at the same time, she couldn’t just order them to abandon it without cause...and she’d need that time, if she wanted to unlock it without stealing the key from Rakepick. And so she’d need a proper diversion.

Davy Jones himself came up with a solution. If the Flying Dutchman was engaged in battle, then the soldiers might have to jump in to help defend it. All they’d have to make sure of was that the enemy they engaged in battle was one Cutler Beckett would approve of -- namely, one of the more wanted pirates in the Caribbean, and someone who could end up being one of the Pirate Lords.

“I do not know any of the pirates’ current list of so-called ‘Lords,’” said Jones, “but if I were to guess, I would say your brother’s a viable candidate.”

Carewyn shook her head. “Rakepick blew up the Tower Raven. Jacob managed to escape, but he only has one other person with him and he won’t have a ship.”

“Not his flagship, perhaps, but the rest of his fleet would have still survived,” pointed out Jones. “And the more ships there are, the most justification there would be for your Navy reinforcements. Once I have my heart returned, I can always call off the attack -- there’s no need for me to capture or kill them, aside from following Beckett’s direction.”

And so it was very reluctantly that Carewyn agreed to let Jones covertly seek out the remainder of the Tower Raven’s fleet while supposedly looking for Shipwreck Cove. Little did Carewyn know that the Tower Raven’s fleet was likewise headed for Shipwreck Cove, and that they were on a collision course with a tiny red sloop steered by Charlie Weasley.

When Charlie came upon the fleet of pirate ships, he initially wasn’t too worried. Yeah, naturally, they dwarfed his vessel easily, but he presumed that they were heading for Shipwreck Cove as well, and they didn’t have much reason to attack a small sloop like his. What Charlie hadn’t factored in was that the captain of one of those ships -- Alastor “Mad-Eye” Moody -- had gone through his fair share of trauma when he used to be in the Navy and was something of a paranoid sort...and so within minutes, the little sloop Charlie and Chia Dalma were on was soon pursued by Moody’s much larger galleon, called the Phoenix.

Fortunately Charlie was more than talented enough of a sailor to keep his head. Using the advantage of his boat’s size, he weaved expertly through the remainder of the Tower Raven’s ships to evade the Phoenix’s cannon fire.

“Oi!” Charlie bellowed up at one of the ships he was hiding behind. “Tell your mate to bugger off! I’m not with the bloody Navy!”

Chia made no move to help Charlie: instead she stood on the other side of the sloop, watching the seas with a wary eye. There was something troubling on the wind -- something in the air...

A pirate from the Phoenix came up to the railing to look down at Charlie and Chia on their sloop as Charlie sailed it around his galleon. He was a broad-shouldered man about Charlie’s age with dark red hair under a black bandana and small emerald green eyes, and he was dressed in a burgundy-colored coat.

“Hey -- you!” the pirate bellowed down at him. “Down there! Shout up your name!”

Charlie hesitated at first. He knew it was unlikely that most pirates would recognize his name as being that of a pirate -- if anything, the name “Weasley” was associated more with the Navy, even if he, Jules, and Bill had recently been branded criminals.

‘Even so,’ he thought, ‘I’m never going to be able to build a reputation as anything other than a Navy veteran if I don’t use my name. And well, these guys answer to Carey’s brother -- it should be safe...’

“I’m Charlie Weasley!” he shouted back. “Quartermaster of the Revolution under Captain Jules Farrier-We -- ack!”

Before Charlie could even finish, both he and Chia had gotten a net thrown over them and they were hauled aboard the Phoenix.

As Charlie had feared, the name “Weasley” made everyone on the Phoenix tense up with suspicion. Charlie’s “twin,” it turned out, had been swept up by Cutler Beckett, who was now flaunting the fact that the famous, brilliant young Commodore Carey Weasley was answering to him and helping him with his new anti-piracy campaign. Charlie knew full well the only reason Carewyn could be associating with Beckett was to try to sabotage him, but the Phoenix’s Captain Moody seemed doubtful of that explanation. His First Mate, Barnaby Lee -- the young man who had first demanded Charlie’s name -- seemed noticeably less suspicious, but wasn’t half as assertive or articulate as Moody, so the Captain’s conclusion won out among the crew.

Charlie and Chia were soon hauled down to the brig with the thought that once the fleet arrived in Shipwreck Cove, Moody’s superior, Black Jack Roberts -- were he still alive -- would be able to discern how best to deal with them. Charlie hadn’t been too surprised that Jacob hadn’t told everyone in his fleet that “Carey Weasley” was really his sister, but he couldn’t help but curse the fact that Jacob had merely ordered that his men not “damage anyone with the name ‘Weasley’ and immediately bring them to him to deal with.” Even if he had to keep up a “tough guy” image, it would’ve been nice if Jacob had factored in the possibility that he wouldn’t be leading his fleet.

Unfortunately Moody’s suspicion had a real cost. Because of his focus on Charlie and Chia Dalma, he wasn’t focusing on the turbulence of the seas and skies that Chia picked up on -- and so had no warning whatsoever when the Flying Dutchman attacked. Soon the entire fleet of ships that once sailed under the Tower Raven was hotly engaged in battle with the infamous ship of the damned, pirates facing off against both cursed sailors and Navy officers.

While Davy Jones, his crew, and the Navy’s officers were fighting on the upper deck, Carewyn had stowed away below deck to where the Dead Man’s Chest had been left. After sending the remainder of the patrol above deck to help with the sea battle, Carewyn immediately got to work picking the lock on the Chest. Although it was a bit trickier to do it on her own than it had been with Percy, that hindrance was counteracted somewhat by her having unlocked the Chest once before. Within fifteen minutes, Carewyn had unlocked the two-sided lock and opened the Chest.

But when she opened it, she found it completely empty.

“It seems we truly are as alike as I thought.”

Carewyn whirled around.

Rakepick was leaning her shoulder against the door frame. She’d discarded her tricorn hat just as Carewyn had since they were no longer on deck, and her dark blue eyes were locked on the Commodore’s face as though it were a target.

Carewyn immediately pulled out her pistol, pointing it right at Rakepick.

“Where is the heart?” she said very coldly.

“I confiscated it,” said Rakepick simply, “back when I checked to make sure Jones’s key works.”

“On Beckett’s orders?” asked Carewyn.

Had she truly not fooled Beckett, after all? Had Rakepick been sent to watch her as well as Jones? Her face blanched at this thought.

“For my own benefit,” said Rakepick. “Just as I daresay your attempt to steal the heart also was.”

Carewyn’s eyes narrowed. “I’m not stealing anything.”

”I don’t know what else you’d call picking the lock on a Chest that’s in the custody of the British Navy,” said Rakepick with a rather cool smile.

Carewyn clicked her pistol and pointed it right at Rakepick’s head.

“Hand over the heart,” she murmured, “now.”

Rather than looking the least bit intimidated, however, Rakepick almost looked more pleased. She eased herself off the door frame and took a few steps closer to Carewyn.

“You intend to kill me, Commodore?” she said.

“I would prefer not to,” Carewyn answered icily. “But I suggest you don’t push me -- I can still shoot you in plenty of places that would be extremely painful or deadly, if left untreated. And no one would come to help you with your wounds -- there’s more than enough noise above deck to muffle any gun shots that might come from down here.”

Rakepick’s lips spread into an even fuller, satisfied smile as she came to a halt just a foot from Carewyn. “I see. If I’m dead, you won’t learn where the heart is. Very astute, Miss Weasley.”

Carewyn stiffened sharply.

“I knew it as soon as I saw you,” said Rakepick softly. “I daresay because your family is poor, you didn’t have enough prospects to just marry into money. Probably were too independent and self-sufficient to settle for that, as well....so you joined your brothers in the Navy by dressing as another son. I suppose ‘Carey’ is just a play on your real name -- is it Cara? Or Carina?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Carewyn whispered.

She tried to obscure her fear with anger, but it was proving difficult -- her face was as white as a sheet.

Rakepick couldn’t fight back a scoff. “Now, really, Commodore -- do you truly think you’re the only woman who realized how few opportunities there are, for us to get ahead in this world run by men? I dressed as a man and joined the Navy myself during the War, fighting the French off the coast of Africa as a privateer for his Majesty’s Navy.”

She started striding in a leisurely circle around Carewyn, even as the Commodore kept a beady eye on her.

“‘Patrick Rakepick,’ I was called then. I probably would’ve continued that way too, had privateering not been outlawed with the end of the War. Suddenly all of the skills I had learned -- just as with all privateers -- became illegal and therefore useless. I was at the bottom once again, even worse off than before, thanks to the time lost and the injuries suffered. So I did what many other privateers did -- I became a pirate, so I could continue using those skills the Crown had taught me to support myself -- ”

“By pillaging merchant ships and attacking innocent people,” Carewyn spat. She wished she’d been able to keep her temper, but the mental image of this woman shooting Jacob in the back and pushing him overboard had rippled through her mind and it was a knife to her heart she couldn’t bear.

“We all have to do things we’re not proud of in order to survive, Miss Weasley,” said Rakepick very quietly. “That’s the reason you’ve stayed in line with Beckett yourself, is it not?”

Carewyn’s eyes narrowed. Rakepick took her silence as an excuse to press further.

“I saw the way you treated the prisoners from Tortuga. You did not treat them as Jones would, or even as any other officer would. You insisted they be fed and watered consistently, despite their large numbers and their shortened lifespans. You gave one a Bible, on request. You even moved a woman into a different cell so she could be with her husband for the rest of the voyage back to Port Royal, without even being asked.”

Rakepick’s dark blue eyes surveyed Carewyn with something interested, almost admiring, as she came to a halt just behind the shorter young woman.

“You have the heart of a guardian, Miss Weasley. Something not frequently seen in any line of work I’ve ever been part of -- privateering, piracy, or pirate hunting...and something never found among men like Cutler Beckett. It makes you want to protect others as well as yourself. It makes you a natural leader -- one that anyone would be foolish to deny their proper place.”

“I don’t need your flattery, Rakepick,” Carewyn said coldly, turning on her heel to face the older woman once again.

“This is not flattery,” Rakepick answered just as coldly. “It’s advice from someone who has been in your shoes. It’s not easy for anyone without money and status to get ahead in this world, but it’s even harder for a woman. Even when she’s able to acquire those things, there’ll always be a man attempting to clip her wings, so as to make him feel more powerful -- more in control. Even the tale of the goddess Calypso herself proves this. She ruled the seas, until the Pirate King and his Brethren Court ‘bound her’ into human form and stole control for themselves. They were powerless in the face of the Crowns of Europe...and so they exerted power over someone they could hurt.”

“Yet Cutler Beckett hired you, regardless of your sex,” said Carewyn, raising her eyebrows.

Rakepick crossed her arms over his chest. “Cutler Beckett will clip anyone’s wings, female or otherwise, if it benefits himself. Hence why I need this leverage over him.”

“Seems like the leverage is much more over Jones, considering you hold his life in your hands,” Carewyn cut her off harshly. “Now enough stalling -- give me Jones’s heart.”

Rakepick gave a half-frustrated, half-exhausted sigh. “Miss Weasley, do you truly think I wouldn’t have handed the heart over to you already, if I could? I’ve already made it more than clear I trust Beckett as little as you do. I’m not in this fight for him. I have no more love for either the Navy or the pirates than you do. I assure you -- we’re on the same side in this.”

‘Doubtful,’ Carewyn thought spitefully.

Nonetheless she could tell that she’d been outmaneuvered. Rakepick wasn’t going to hand over Jones’s heart, whether because it wasn’t on the ship or Rakepick was just too brave to give in to any threats she might make. She’d lost the element of surprise completely...and if force wasn’t going to work, then a new strategy was clearly needed. She needed to find out the heart’s new location. So, very reluctantly, she tucked her pistol back into its holster.

“If you’re so out for yourself,” said Carewyn coldly, “and you believe me to be just as out for myself...then we can’t be on the same side, Rakepick.”

Rakepick’s eyebrows rose over her narrowing dark blue eyes.

“I never said you were out for yourself, Miss Weasley -- merely that we are alike.”

She swept past Carewyn and headed for the door. When she reached the door frame, however, she paused. Turning her head back toward Carewyn, she spoke a bit more seriously.

“The battle between the Navy and the Pirate Brethren Court is going to be a fierce one. It would truly be in your best interest to get and stay off the Dutchman, before that fight begins.”

Carewyn shot a suspicious look over her shoulder without turning around.

“What battle?” she asked lowly.

“The place where all pirates will have to make their final stand.”

“You’re so assured of that? We haven’t even found Shipwreck Cove,” Carewyn pointed out. “Come to think of it...shouldn’t you know where Shipwreck Cove is, since you were a pirate yourself?”

Rakepick’s eyes flashed.

“I’m afraid not,” she said, her voice noticeably icier than it had been previously.

The question seemed to have gotten under Rakepick’s skin, and Carewyn suspected she knew exactly why. Only pirate captains were generally told the the location of Shipwreck Cove -- since she hadn’t assumed captainship through “Code-sanctioned” means, Rakepick couldn’t have been told by anyone else on the crew of Howell Davis’s ship where Shipwreck Cove was.

‘Serves you right, for what you did to Jacob,’ Carewyn thought, and she couldn’t completely fight back a small smirk.

“Regardless,” said Rakepick, “it won’t take long to find it. You saw the map Beckett designed, in your office -- it’s been finished, since you last saw it. The world’s edges have been drawn and charted, and so too have all of the places pirates could’ve once hidden. Now that they’ve been fenced in and the British Crown has allocated its Navy to the East India Trading Company’s war on piracy...it’s only a matter of time before all pirates face extinction. Those in power will not surrender it peacefully...least of all to those they’ve decided to treat as inferiors...so they’ll use every bit of that power they’ve accrued to try to quash any resistance. Those remaining pirates will have to either adapt to this terrifying new world their rebellion has molded...or perish.”

Rakepick turned away.

“And you, Miss Weasley...should not remain on the Dutchman. You don’t belong on a ship like this.”

Even as Rakepick left, Carewyn remained where she was, standing straight-backed in the center of the room with her fists clenched. Then, after a long moment, she brought a hand up to the lid of the empty Dead Man’s Chest and shut it with a harsh SNAP.

The sea battle up above raged. Captain Moody, it seemed, was truly a force to be reckoned with, despite his age and wooden limbs. When Navy officers and Dutchman pirates found their way onto the Phoenix, he fought four of them off single-handed, even going so far as to yank a blunderbuss out of his pants and shoot one of them right in the head before smacking two of the others with it as if it were a club. It was just fortunate that Charlie -- newly escaped from the brig thanks to a charm of Chia Dalma’s -- was able to block the sword belonging to the last of them with his own dragon-hilted blade.

Despite this, the Phoenix and the rest of the Tower Raven’s old fleet was severely outmatched, since Jones’s crew couldn’t die. Many ships had already started to flee, only for the Flying Dutchman to cut them down with cannon fire. Even though the Dutchman was no larger than the pirate galleons, it seemed to have the supernatural ability to heal any damage dealt to it within the span of a few minutes -- an ability not shared by Captain Moody, when he swung over to the Dutchman and pursued Jones with singular, irrational focus, only to finally be overpowered and killed by Jones himself.

“NO!” bellowed Barnaby.

Charlie straightened up sharply, his eyes widening in horror, at the sight of Moody falling to his knees, Jones’s blade stuck right through his chest.

Jones regarded the old man with a grim expression.

“Alastor Moody,” he murmured, “do you fear death?”

Moody glared up at Jones with his one good eye, but was clearly too badly injured to speak. So instead he spat at his feet.

Jones looked almost jaded by the reaction -- the way any embodiment of Death would likely be, whenever anyone got mad at them for doing their job.

“Clearly not.”

With this, he rather callously tossed Moody back over onto the deck of the Phoenix and whirled back to his crew.

“Ready the cannons!”

Barnaby immediately rushed to his captain’s side to help him up.

“Captain -- Captain, are you -- ?”

Alas, Moody was still too injured to speak clearly. When he opened his mouth, all he could do was cough up blood. Charlie rushed over too.

“He’s hurt bad,” he muttered. He turned to Chia. “Is there anything you -- ?”

Chia shook her head, her gray eyes very solemn. “I’m sorry, Charles Weasley. There’s no more time I can give him.”

Charlie was startled by the sensation of someone grabbing the collar of his shirt. Moody pulled him down closer to him, trying to whisper into his ear.

"You -- ” he choked through the blood in his mouth, “ -- have the Pacific Ocean’s Piece of Eight -- ?”

Charlie blinked in surprise. He glanced down at the anchor-trimmed “S” button Chia gave him, which he’d pinned to his vest for safe keeping until he could properly sew it somewhere more secure.

“...Yeah,” said Charlie. “Chia Dalma gave it to me.”

Moody squinted up at Charlie.

“...Shipwreck Cove -- is due west, of here. Fifty miles -- through the D-Devil’s -- Throat. Take -- the crew there.”

Charlie was completely blind-sided. “What?”

“Lead them. Take them to -- Shipwreck Cove. To the rest of the Court. To -- Black Jack.”

Charlie’s brown eyes rippled with sadness, seeing how much difficulty Moody was having talking. He was out of time, as Chia had said -- and yet, here he was, putting his crew first.

‘For all of his faults,’ thought Charlie, ‘Mad-Eye Moody is a good captain.’

The second-eldest Weasley took Moody’s wizened hand in both of his and gave it a squeeze.

“I will,” he said firmly. “I promise.”

Blood streamed from Moody’s lips as they curled up in a pained smile. “That’s a good lad...”

He coughed, trying hard to take another breath. This time, however, the blood blocked his throat enough that no oxygen could reach him. And so Moody, in the last shreds of his life, bravely raised his eyes to the sky with a smile.

Barnaby had brought his two large fists up to obscure his face as he started to cry. Charlie hung his head respectfully over the fallen captain of the Phoenix. After a moment, he brought up a hand to close Moody’s eyes and then rose to his feet, his eyes blazing with determination.

“ALL HANDS, PREPARE THE CANNONS!” he bellowed. “We need all the explosives and smoke bombs we have -- we’re getting the Hell out of here!”

Charlie’s strategy was to assault the Flying Dutchman with two waves of attack. The first would be to damage the ship enough that it would need a few minutes to repair itself -- the second would be a smokescreen, so as to hopefully put enough distance between the Phoenix and the Flying Dutchman that the second couldn’t actively take down the first with its cannon fire. When Charlie ran to the edge of the Phoenix beside Chia Dalma to make the order to fire, he was startled momentarily by who he saw coming up onto the deck of the Dutchman.

It was Carewyn.

Jones confronted her immediately, his eyes narrowed sharply as he barked something to her -- Carewyn looked rather frustrated herself, but Charlie couldn’t make out what they were saying. Within seconds, however, both Jones and Carewyn turned their focus to the battle -- and they both caught sight of the two people at the railing.

Jones’s eyes flickered with shock, disbelief, and something oddly more vulnerable. He’d never seen the human woman on that ship’s railing in his life...but he knew those gray eyes...

“Ca...lypso...?”

Chia Dalma’s hands clutched the railing as her eyes filled with tears and a weak smile prickled at her features.

“Finn,” she breathed.

Carewyn, meanwhile, had met Charlie’s gaze straight on. Her eyes were very wide at the sight of him, just as much as Charlie’s was at the sight of her.

“Carey!” cried Charlie.

His heart felt like it was fit to burst, seeing his surrogate twin again. Part of him just wanted to throw himself over his ship’s railing over to her and pull her into the biggest hug, and yet --

She was on the Dutchman -- the Flying Dutchman, the ship of the damned --

Carewyn’s eyes flooded with fear as she shot her head around, taking in her soldiers fighting off pirates from the rest of the Tower Raven’s fleet on the deck of her ship and the Phoenix’s cannons being turned into the proper position.

Her gaze then shot back to Charlie’s face with urgency.

“BECKETT IS COMING!” she mouthed to him desperately. “BECKETT IS COMING! GO!”

She then yanked her pistol out of her belt and purposefully shot right over Charlie’s head, to make her point. Clenching his jaw, Charlie nonetheless nodded firmly, blinking back some traces of tears as he whirled on his crew.

“FIRST WAVE, FIRE ALL!” he roared.

With the Dutchman effectively hampered by both waves of attack, the Phoenix was able to successfully put a respectable distance between it and the Flying Dutchman. Carewyn tried to keep their focus on the rest of the fleet and on capturing prisoners from those vessels, but Rakepick contradicted her, ordering the Dutchman to shadow the Phoenix in case it was heading to Shipwreck Cove. What Carewyn did not expect was Jones agreeing with Rakepick.

“I want everyone on board the Phoenix locked in my brig,” said the captain of the damned icily, his gaze flaring with raw emotion as he glared at Carewyn. “I will not let them escape me.”

Carewyn knew she’d been outmaneuvered again. There was nothing more she could do, to protect everyone now. It was all up to Charlie now, to warn Bill, Jules, and Jacob...to warn Orion...

The memory of the pirate captain’s calm, dark eyes made Carewyn’s heart clench with longing and pain. He’d always made her feel so much stronger, whenever she felt most useless and hopeless...but right now, more than anything, she longed to have him at her side -- to feel his shoulder resting against hers and see his soft smile once more...

Rakepick was right -- the final battle was coming, sooner than anyone could’ve ever predicted. It was all up to Charlie to warn the Brethren Court now.

#potc au #au #pirates of the caribbean #my art #my writing #charlie weasley #carewyn cromwell #chiara lobosca #Mad-Eye Moody #barnaby lee #finn mcgarry #jules farrier #bill weasley #patricia rakepick #damn it rakepick!#sadly we couldn't afford to set finn free just yet though #gotta get closer to shipwreck cove and reunite him with chia :3 #but yay captain charlie weasley of the phoenix!#he may or may not change the name to something more dragon-like later XD #but yeah technically you gotta be a captain to be a pirate lord #one reason moody gave charlie captainship #and also because as great as barnaby is I think he makes a better First Mate than a Captain #just like bill does XDD #I love putting rakepick and carey in a room together #wonder if you guys can guess who the brethren court members are...#hint: two of them are mc's who have done content for the au #(another mc is the keeper of the code >:3)#four are hphm canon characters #(one of those is charlie of course)#and the last is one of my kiddos >:3

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honeyhenry · 5 years

Text

Brother Bubba

this was my first piece of writing so I'm extremely nervous posting! pls be kind if offering any feedback. also this took way longer to write than I intended so I’m sorry if anyone has been waiting for it!

word count: 2k+

warnings: pregnant!reader, lots of fluff, copious amounts of Dodger Evans

enjoy!

Chris sighs as he pulls the large BMW into the driveway. He had of course, ensured that the journey from the hospital was cautious and careful - completely different from the journey taken from home to the hospital only 2 days ago. In his defence, you had yelled at him, telling him to “step on it, I refuse to have this baby in a car Chris I swear!!”

So this time, on the journey back to the large 5-bedroom house, he stays vigilant despite being away for most of the last 48 hours, wary of every turn on the drive home, holding the most precious cargo that at one point he could only possibly dream of. His wife and newborn son.

His family.

For the majority of his career, Chris had been known as one of America’s finest bachelors. Sure, he had friends to hang out with, and a schedule that led to a series of relationships burning out, or indeed them lighting his house on fire with him trapped inside. Metaphorically, of course. And so it had been just him, until one life changing moment a few years ago. Suddenly, it wasn’t just him, anymore.

Because then came Dodger.

Chris’ best friend in the whole world and someone who he could rely on for company, loyalty, and comfort. Chris wanted the whole “picket fence” life, and had thought that he may as well be a step ahead with adopting a fun energetic dog. There had been an instantaneous love and trust between the two, and so Chris reckoned that anyone who he wanted to keep in his life for the long-term, had to pass the Dodger test. Anything less than love and respect shown by and towards the sweet dog, was a small but still quite blaring red flag.

But Dodger had taken to you, almost instantly in fact. He saw you as wholesome and trustworthy, even when Chris himself was still working out what your relationship was blossoming into. Whether Dodger’s adoration of you was due to your character, or the fact that you always loved to sneak him some treats whenever his owner wasn’t looking, Chris couldn’t be sure. But he was glad of Dodger’s approval even during the awkward “what exactly are we?” stage in the beginning.

It was safe to say that the pup had in fact deduced your character, as even though the treats had eventually been halted - ”Y/N, he’s getting a bit of a belly and we’re running low on treats” - Dodger made sure to have a toy or pillow just to give to you when you started going round to Chris’ place more. You were so good to Chris - you made him question if he’d ever fully lived before meeting you, and so Dodger didn’t mind that he was kept out of his owner’s room every now and then. As long as it was made up for in the morning with snuggles that Dodger knew he could get from you. Whenever Chris would leave to go to the bathroom, he’d come back to find that you’d let Dodger in to cuddle and pet him.

“You’re gonna replace me with Dodge, Y/N? Really? My own mutt?” he’d ask, mock hurt while you giggled from between the sheets, stroking Dodger’s soft fur.

“Well it’s hardly my fault you Evans boys are so whiny for cuddles”

And so, after two happy, loving years spent with Chris and his closest buddy, navigating through this new life you’d created together, Chris knew you were the one.

He’d have told Dodger the proposal plans, alongside a couple of your and his own family members.

“S’not just gonna be you and me anymore bubba; but that’s a good thing I promise. Gonna make sure you have lots of friends to play with though, a bigger house and a bigger yard to run around in. Mom and I are gonna be forever bubba, and you’re always in the picture, i promise.”

And he fully kept his promise, only delighted to do so when you cried and said yes as he had got down on one knee. The wedding was held a year on from that night he proposed, and only a month following your honeymoon, you found out that Dodger would have a little friend to play with after all.

During your pregnancy, Dodger was incredibly protective of you. Sometimes not even Chris was allowed past Dodger, particularly after a day at work when he’d been working and ended up smelling or looking different to his normal dusky scent and fresh face. Dodger liked to bark and growl at whoever got what he deemed to be too close, to make sure you weren’t left vulnerable and alone with nothing but a belly full of Evans.

You never had to complain about a lack of love or protection - not with your two boys almost fighting over you for cuddles or kisses. Most nights, Dodger would put his big fluffy head on your stomach and rest there, being as close as he could to his growing friend. It was fair to say that Dodger’s big head and Chris’ hands fought for who got to feel the baby move around the most.

Baby Evans would be completely impartial of course, rolling around for anyone who brought a sense of comfort. Nobody missed out - you were all family.

Therefore, as Dodger has truly been part of so much of your life, it was only fair that Chris felt bad for leaving him for the past 2 days. Of course, his sister had come over to feed him and play with him, however Chris wanted to make sure that his bubba knew he’d not been forgotten by you or him.

But leaving had been worth it, as this time, you and Chris now return to your family home with someone brand new for your lovable dog to meet.

After parking the car, he turns to face you in the backseat as you gaze fondly over the tiny person wrapped up and buckled into the big clunky safe car seat. Your little angel, your honeymoon baby who was most definitely conceived in the villa you’d rented out for 3 weeks in The Bahamas for your honeymoon.

Your husband smiles at you, watching you interact with your son. You feel his gaze on you and you look up to him, not even the impact of the sheer exhaustion you felt course through your body, could change how lovingly he looked at you. It still makes you blush.

“I love him so much.” You whisper, to Chris, to yourself, to anyone who will listen. “ And yes, before you ask, he’s totally fine, still hasn’t woken up. he’s even clutching his tiny teddy.” Chris looks at you the same way you’ve been looking at your newborn son. In utter adoration.

However he soon springs into action, helping you out of the car, using his strength to lift out the baby carrier from the backseat. He gently fixes the blanket on top of his son’s tiny body, a blanket knitted for the newborn Evans by his Chris’ own Ma - now a Grandma to his own child, not just his nieces and nephews. He smiles at the thought of his whole family getting to meet his son, and his son getting to grow up in a huge family full of love and laughter. Putting the carrier next to you at the front door, he retrieves the rest of the luggage, before he grabbing his keys to open the door.

He hears a bark. Then another. And then, a few excitable, louder woofs.

You can both hear Dodger jumping up at the door and so mutually decide for Chris to enter first, going straight to the mutt, cuddling him and letting him jump around in excitement. Chris fluffs his pup’s ears as he laughs at Dodger’s rambunctious behaviour, getting all his pent up energy out while you try to sneak past the two of them having their moment, taking the baby carrier to the living room.

“Hey Dodge! Yeah it’s me, your old man, and Mom is here too!!! Yeah Mommy’s here!! And we have a big surprise for you - we’re gonna introduce you to your new brother! Your baby brother huh, yeah that’s right bubba!” Chris smiles, still laughing and talking away to Dodger who he’s missed just as much the past couple of days. It makes you so happy to see the bond between your man and his ever loyal dog.

Before you know it, Dodger has lost interest in Chris - “Sorry Chris, I guess I’m his favourite now” you had said when you first got together - keen to see you and whatever the new smelling thing is that you’ve brought home.

Finally, the momentous occasion had arrived. the first meeting of Chris’ special boys. You had both been a little nervous for the newest arrival to be introduced to Dodger, given how loving and excitable he could be. But you both trusted him, and your gut instincts, and decided that if you wanted everything to be as normal as possible, then Dodger was going to be with you all from the first day you bring the baby home, and start their sure to be close bond from then.

You take your son out, cradling him close to your chest. From Dodger’s viewpoint, he can see Mom, but also two tiny socked feet. Chris is holding his bubba’s collar, but only loosely as Dodger settles down beside you quickly and quietly.

“Okay easy bud, we’re gonna introduce you now to someone really special. Good boy, Dodge, nice and calm.” Dodger sits patiently, still sniffing at the new smell, but can tell that whatever is happening is important.

You smile, thankful that your pup is staying true to his kind nature. “It’s ok Chris, he’s fine. Dodge honey - this is CJ.”

You lower down your sweet baby to your lap where Dodger can see. CJ is a small, delicate bundle, with a soft mop of dark hair, while his long delicate lashes rest on soft cheeks. You’ve only seen his little peepers once today as you changed him before you left the hospital, but it’s only when Dodger nudges a foot with his nose that CJ opens his eyes again. You smile, and Chris breathes a sigh of relief as Dodger makes no plans to act suddenly or nastily.

“Yeah sweetheart” you address the bundle on your lap, “that’s Dodger. That’s your big brother. He’s been looking after you so much already, and you’re gonna have so much fun with him.” Dodger rests his head on your lap by the sweet boy and sniffs at him, while CJ slowly flutters his big eyes, sleep planning to take him once more.

“Good boy Dodge...good job buddy” Chris pats Dodger, as he watches the scene before him slowly unfold, just as it had in his dreams. Dodgers big eyes are just staring at the baby, and apart from the odd sniff now and then, he doesn’t move. Already, he wants to make sure that his little buddy is good.

You turn to Chris. “See, I told you he’d be fine”.

CJ closes his eyes ready for some more sleep and Dodger turns to look at Chris, which makes him laugh softly.

“Yeah bud he can’t play right now, not like your old man here. But give him a little while and he’ll be chasing you round the garden like nobody’s business.”

Chris goes to give his oldest bud more pats, wanting to let him know what a good job he’s doing already, but quickly Dodger rushes off, only to return with his favourite toy lion, planting it on your lap right next to your newborn son.

“Ohhh thank you bubba”, you nearly cry at the sweet gesture. “What do you say CJ? We say ‘Thank you Dodger’”.

Chris smiles. He’ll take the hospital stuff upstairs later but for now you’re his priority. Well, not just you now, but baby CJ too. His family.

He looks at Dodger resting his head by his lion and CJ, knowing already that the loyal pup would do anything for his little brother. He made no mistake in starting this family with a loveable, trustworthy dog.

He couldn’t have chosen a better best friend and protector for his son, Chris reckons.

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

let me know what you think!

i am also taking requests for drabbles & lists!

#chris evans x reader #chris evans writing #chris evans au #dodger evans #daddy!chris evans #daddy!chris #chris evans #my writing

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lucisfavoritedemon · 5 years

Text

Accidental Attachment

Title: Accidental Attachment

Summary: Imagine being in love with Steve, but being too afraid to tell him how you really feel.

Pairings: Steve x reader, Tony x Platonic!reader

Word Count: 1741

Warnings: Swearing.

A/N: This is written for @propertyofpoeandbucky for Lani’s 2nd Mysterious Writing Challenge. I got a dialogue prompt which will be bolded in the text. This is also my first time writing Marvel. I’m sort of new to the fandom and don’t know a whole lot, but i thought this would be a good challenge for myself. All mistakes are mine. Hope you enjoy!

A/N2: I've decided to make this a mini series. Because there is just a lot I want to add to make the title make sense (I will try to keep up with this one).

It had been a long day. I spent most of it training alone. Most people find that weird that I fight with a team yet prefer to work alone. I like the alone time though, it gives me a chance to process things. Be able to think and concentrate. That is until there is an interruption.

“Hey there Y/L/N.” Tony hollered walking in.

“Hey Stark.” I said in the most irritable way possible.

“Look I know today you wanted to be on your own, but you know how important it is to stay fit?”

“Yes. Look I may seem irritable right now, but I didn’t sleep well last night. You know the usual.”

“Yeah. I get that, but you know who could help with that?”

“Absolutely not. You bring him into this and I will end you.”

"I know, but you do realise you have talk to him about this sooner or later right?" Tony gave me a serious look. The most genuine serious look he has ever given me.

"Yes I do. And eventually I will, but right now I have more to focus on than that."

I wanted to change the subject as fast as I could because I know Steve was booked in here in the next 20 minutes. I didn't want to risk being in this conversation when he walked in. I didn't need him questioning us. Or questioning period.

"This is true. I just don't get why you haven't told him yet?"

"Come on. Give me one reason as to why and then I'll leave you alone."

"Because Stark, I don't date selfish, narcissistic, dunderheads."

"Wow I wouldn't want to be the guy on the other end of that conversation." Steve said walking in 5 minutes early.

"Yeah no some guys can just be really full of themselves. And ignorant, and overall just really douchey." I said going to grab my stuff and head out.

"Wait your time isn't up yet? I came in here just to get a head start because I have somewhere to be after this and wanted to get as much time in as I could. Before I had to clean up and head out."

"No, Steve you're fine. I was getting ready to leave anyways when Stark walked in."

"Okay I just wanted to make sure I wasn't intruding on your work out."

I gathered the rest of my things and waved goodbye to the guys before I head back to my apartment.

It was small and hardly big enough for one person, but it was home all the same. I sat my stuff down and went to go wash up. A nice cool shower to help relax me a little before I went on with my day.

As I finished up in the bathroom there was a knock on my door. I dreaded going to answer it knowing that I didn't want to face the outside world just yet. I peeked through the peephole to see who awaited my answering on the other side.

It was none other than Mr. Tony Stark himself. I huffed before opening the door slowly.

"Yes?" I said already irritated, and it clearly showed through my enthusiasm.

"You. Dinner. Tonight." He ordered me.

"In your dreams Stark." I rolled my eyes and went to shut the door when his hand stopped it from closing.

"Nice try Y/N, but it wasn't optional. Plus it isn't a date. I just want you to come over and eat dinner with me and Pepper tonight. We need to discuss what happened earlier anyways because we left things on a bad note."

"Fine. As long as Pepper is there and there aren't any surprise guests." I know how Tony works and if I don't set my boundaries he will apeshit.

"Deal. No surprise guests and no selfish,narcissistic dunderheads. Just the three of us. I got it." Tony joked which was so like him in a situation like this to do.

"Good."

"So, we will see you 6:30 sharp don't be late." Tony ordered before heading down the hall.

"When am I ever?" I yelled to him.

~*~

I felt like something unexpected was gonna happen and I dreaded even wanting to go. But I negotiated and now I needed to hold up my end. Still, Stark seemed so adamant on getting over there for dinner. Red flags were going off all over.

Yeah he would invite me once in a while, but I just went over there last week. It was just off. Yet again, everything about Tony is off, so I really shouldn't be to wary.

I finished getting ready and was getting ready to leave when there was a knock on the door.

'Who could it be now?'

I slumped over to the door and check through the peephole. It was a man in an all black suit. He looked very professional, and I figured he was probably at the wrong apartment.

"Yes? How can I help you?" I asked answering the door, trying to be as polite as possible.

"Are you Y/N Y/L/N? Mr. Stark sent me." The man answered reading a piece of paper, with my name on it, slowly so he wouldn't butcher it.

"Yeah? Did Tony specify why he got me a ride?" I asked more red flags going off in my head.

"He wants you to show up looking your best." The guy said with a smile.

"Okay, let's get this over with." I said rolling my eyes and going to shout my door to grab my keys to lock up.

"Your ride will be downstairs waiting for you." The man said before I shut the door, and he headed down the hall.

"it's just been one surprise after the next with this guy. Tony you better have a good explanation." I mumbled to myself as I went to lock up and head downstairs.

The ride wasn't that bad. He ordered me a small car. It still didn't add up why Tony was doing this though.

The driver pulled into Tony's place and got out to open my door. I don't want to say I enjoyed being a little pampered, but it was a nice change of pace.

"Here you go Miss. Mr. Stark knows you are here. He should be down any second."

"Thank you."

Just as I turned around to head towards the doors, Tony came out and greeted me.

"There she is. Thank you so much for going and getting her for me. I really do appreciate it." Tony said handing the guy some cash.

"Okay I appreciate the ride and everything, but was it really necessary?" I was so skeptical of Tony right now. If I could squeeze out every last piece of information from him I would.

"Look, I don't need you going all flamethrower on my ass, but I wanted to discuss business with you that's all. I knew if I told you that earlier you wouldn't have come over." He admitted, but I still didn't truly believe it.

"Tony? Had you asked me to come over to discuss business I would have been on board. I wouldn't have fought it at all. But the ride made it seem like it was more than that." I said still giving him the look of disbelief.

"Look I know, but I felt it was professional and a bit of an apology from earlier today." He said giving me an apologetic look.

"Okay I forgive you I guess." I said jokingly and cracking a smile.

"Perfect! Now let's head in," he perked up real quick and lead us inside.

There Pepper was adding the finishing touches to dinner and had a bottle of wine popped open on the counter with some glasses. I grabbed a glass and helped myself. After a day like today I need something to calm my nerves.

I couldn't help but think of how horrible I felt calling Steve selfish and narcissistic. He has been such a good friend to me and treating him like is horrible of me, especially behind his back. He was so unsuspecting that the conversation was about him. Maybe tomorrow I could go up to the gym and apologize for my actions. Maybe even invite to go get coffee with me sometime. I don't know. I'm going about this whole thing all wrong.

"Yeah, I'll be right there." I heard Tony say which snapped me from my thoughts.

"Is everything all right?" I asked concerned maybe hoping just a little too much he would cancel this dinner, or postpone it for another night.

"Yeah I just gotta run downstairs real quick. Ieft something there." He said aost stuttering to come up with an excuse, like he was nervous.

I knew he was up to something, but it wasn't till he came back up that I knew what he was hiding.

"And look who has joined us. It's your go ol' pal Steve." Tony said knowing very well he was on my last nerve. This was the last straw.

"Tony Stark! For the last time, I don't date selfish, narcissistic dunderheads. You apparently didn't get that the last time we talked."

There I go and now he is well aware. There goes my chance of ever truly telling him that I really do care about him. I just have a hard time showing it.

"Okay. You two come with me and this isn't optional either." Tony said leading to a set of doors.

He opened them and let me and Steve go first. This was a huge mistake. As I entered the room behind Steve Tony slammed the doors shut.

"Tony Stark you let us out right now!" I demanded banging on the door.

"Not till you two admit to each other how you feel. And you Y/N learn how to control your temper. Sorry I hate to play bad guy, but this is how it has to be."

I heard footsteps walking away. I knew this needed to be done, but I didn't want it to happen like this. Now we were trapped in the same room together till we both admit it. Which is a good thing I guess. Because it means Steve feels the same way. Yet I still felt like I needed to brace myself for the worst.

"So we gonna talk or are you gonna keep facing the door?"

#lanis2ndmysteriouswritingchallenge #steve rogers #steve x reader #tony stark

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gnostic-heretic · 6 years

Text

And when I say a lot of t*rf posts end up on my dashboard I mean it and it’s always so hard to try to separate between the people who are ultimately well meaning and didn’t know and those who spread this stuff maliciously. That post is right tho if you know what r*dfem transmisogyny and transphobia looks and sounds like it’s harder to fall for these posts... the shitty thing about t*rf shit is that it trickles down, in a progressive scale from their blogs to seemingly “neutral” (but never actually neutral*) blogs that maybe sound a little iffy but never outright call themselves g/ender critical or name trans people, onto complicit popular discourse blogs and then on people’s dashboards. *Hell one time I saw a blog that seemed like an innocent supergirl femslash blog just to find she reblogged constantly from t*rfs posts that were just on the borderline and never outright mentioned trans people, only buzzwords and this is what I mean by “neutral” blogs that are actually complicit. This blog has a lot of followers. How many of them reblog these posts uncritically? And I wish there were more lists of said buzzwords and how to recognise them but

The reality is that we trans people especially trans women have to be constantly on the watch for shit like this. We know the arguments and we know why they’re bullshit. Meanwhile cis people don’t really know the specifics of their ideology and seem to fall for it over and over. And the worst thing about it is that t*rfs use this as confirmation bias that their ideas are actually good and everyone would agree with them if they just present it without the slurs and mocking. But the slurs demeaning and mocking are a fundamental part of it, and of trans exclusion in general. Fear mongering and dehumanising trans people are the mean to wiping us out of existence.

I won’t explain why those ideas are wrong because I’m starting from the assumption that my followers are not transphobic and don’t find statements like “trans women are women” controversial, but buzzwords include (warning for blunt discussions of transphobia):

- expressing “concern” about men invading women’s spaces or the “purity” of said spaces (they don’t use the word purity but as a concept in general). This concern is never explained, only stated, because once you look into it you find that it’s actually about trans women. As a side note, the whole “invasion” thing is a popular one and it is reminiscent of white s*premacist bullshit ... this idea that since gay trans people are “actually straight” we will eventually outnumber “the real” gay people by calling ourselves gay and invading their spaces. the more you know ... if this doesn’t ring a bell you need to look into actual n*zi theories like “the gre//at re\\placement” and then we can talk again. The jump from t*rf to alt-ri/ght trad mom is shorter and swifter than either of those groups would have you believe

- “males can’t be lesbians” a pretty non controversial statement if it wasn’t that male is code for trans women. “Men who fetishise lesbians” is also a tricky one because while this is indeed a real issue, they’re referring to “auto/g/ynephilia” aka the idea that the reason lesbian and bi trans women transition at all is just because they fetishise the idea of themselves as a woman/lesbian (contrapoints has a good in depth video about this that explains better than I ever could) — on the same note talk about how “male sexuality” is something inherently corrupt, oppressing, and violent, and cannot be healthy ever, without any other context given is also usually code for “trans women are perverts and sexual predators” . The word “p//ornsick” also comes up often so watch out for it.

- the pervasive idea that a group of “straight people fetishising being gay/a lesbian” is out there and threatening REAL gay/lesbian spaces starts from here. I’ve mentioned a/utogy/nephilia but “fujoshi” is usually code for gay trans men, with a similar idea behind it. We’re not really gay men, just straight women who fetishise the idea of ourselves as a gay man... at least that’s the idea behind it.

- which brings us to the point. “straight people invading gay spaces” is usually if not always code for gay trans people.

- kinda related to the above point, honestly you’re all fools if you think the whole ace discourse bullshit wasn’t just eventually a path to trans and bisexual exclusion. Trans and bi people have been saying this for years but no one wants to listen. That’s not to say that exclusionists are t*rfs but those ideas were popularised by them... that’s just to say learn where your ideology comes from before you endorse it and embrace it

- similarly “queer is a slur” started there so you might want to reconsider why you’ve been convinced to tag your posts “q slur” by people who use other homophobic slurs pretty liberally lol . “Queer means straight people invade our spaces!” + any talk about gnc straight men/women and how it doesn’t make them queer or lgbt, Yeah, this was about never about “gnc” it was trans people all along. The implication is that trans people don’t exist, so we can be nothing but gnc “males/females”. Congrats! You’re a fool! Now don’t make me read this bullshit ever again.

- stuff that makes fun of said “gnc people” “queers” , man buns, undercuts, brightly coloured hair, specific names (aiden comes to my mind) careful about posts that mock the concept of “queering heterosexuality” they’re usually about gay couples with one trans and one cis person, or where both people are trans but with different asab. (ie a gay trans man dating a pan cis man, a trans woman and an afab nb person dating will get mocked as “straight people” who are just pretending to be anything but) sometimes it’s also about bi people jsyk but...

- “forcing young lesbians to not identify as lesbians”/“stop telling young lesbians they should be/are men” is also a big thing. implies that trans people are out there recruiting teenagers who would otherwise be cis lesbians (or more rarely cis gay men) and forcing them into identifying as trans. “young lesbians” also doesn’t always mean young lesbians it’s usually meant to misgender trans men who already identify as men (but in this theoretical framework trans as a concept is nonexistent, a perversion, a delusion, so what could we be but porn/sick straight people or delusional, misguided cis gays who fall victim of a conspiracy)

- entire blogs dedicated to d/etransition (or “reidentifi/cation” as they call it now) experiences that don’t bother to acknowledge that their experience is not universal and au contraire seem to want to push detransition as the one way to happiness especially for afab people. Yes I do think that people who detransition should be able to talk about it, but if the conclusions you draw are “this didn’t work for me so it’s toxic and bad for everyone”, and openly advocate against trans people’s existence, you’re full of shit. Only a small percentage of trans people detransition: over 90% of us are satisfied with the results. It’s all just concern trolling.

- posts about how dysphoria is either a “delusion” or a “normal female experience”, posts that sound a lot like body positivity but they’re actually pushing for detransition (ie you should accept your body as is, surgery is mutilation of your already perfect body etc etc) this is also tricky but it’s all in the language. Phrases like “young women who undergo surgery to fix their already good bodies” could refer to a variety of things but it’s all in the context. Words like “reconnect” “reidentification” are usually presented as alternative. Dysphoria is usually not named and referred to as a delusion or social pressure and something that should never be considered real, ie if you see something like “young women undergo surgery to chase a delusion” it probably comes from a t*rf. be wary of any surgery talk in general is my point because it’s usually presenting gcs as on the same level of lip fillers and Botox (ignoring that trans people face infinite struggles to access surgery and social ostracism for pursuing medical transition so it’s not the same AT ALL)

- talk about stuff like “hrt is dangerous actually” and “binding is horrible actually”? Yeah. You can guess where it comes from. It’s important to acknowledge the risks of hrt/binding but sensationalism about how it’s dangerous and could kill you and so on... it’s just overblown concern trolling to convince people that medical transition is mutilation and a conspiracy to kill the above mentioned “young lesbians”

- sentiments akin to “t*rf is a slur used against lesbians” even if not presented this way are also a red flag, sorry. If you don’t want to be called a t*rf, maybe don’t speak and act like one.

- the sad news is in the end there’s no way to discern whether someone is a t*rf or not because a lot of the time these same talking points come from blogs that have little “t*rfs don’t interact tee hee!” Banners on their description. A lot of r/adfem blogs out there are side blogs of people you wouldn’t usually suspect. Maybe they are vocal against trans exclusion, and in support of trans people, and then switch accounts to hurl about how horrible it is that they feel forced to welcome us “sexual pervert straight people” into their spaces. That’s why imo it’s more important to recognise the ideology than it is to look for clues. Again, if it sounds like one, it’s probably one :’)

#sorry i had tk get it out there #discourse /////

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doodlelolly0910 · 6 years

Text

Close Encounters of the Spiritual Kind

Summary: Emma Nolan spent a lot of time alone, and that was fine by her. Because one is never truly alone. She should know. She can talk to dead people. What she didn’t expect was one of these spiritual encounters to hang around, taking her down a rabbit hole of missing women, revenge, and, least expected, love. Can she save the day and Killian Jones? Is there even another choice?

Read it from the beginning on AO3 and FFN!

A/N: *pokes head in* Hi guys! So some of you may have noticed there wasn't an update from me last week. If you follow me on here, you already knew there wouldn't be one, but I thought I would acknowledge that here as well. I struggled a lot with this chapter, and had a lot of personal issues with writing in general over the last week. I definitely apologize and appreciate all of your patience while I worked through my mental kinks. If you ever have any questions, or you just want to know what's going on with me or my writing, just send em a message or an ask. My inboxes are always open. You can follow me here as well, I’m usually moaning about my writing woes on my blog anyhow lol. More than ever this week, thank you thank you thank you to my wonderful beta and friend @kmomof4 for being so awesome and supportive, and also I will forever be in melting fangirl joy over the beautiful art that @courtorderedcake made for this story. Give her some love, and read all her stuff. She's amazing. And last, but not least, thank YOU, my lovely readers. The fact that y'all take time out of your day to read anything of mine just fills me with joy. So thank you. So much. Without further ado, here's chapter 16!

Chapter 16

Why she was still so affected by a stupid kiss, Emma would never know.

But here she was, studiously avoiding looking over to where Hook was standing with a small, rotund man called Smee of all things (oh, the irony) in order to obtain something that was not very easy to obtain. Which was apparently what William Smee excelled at, obtaining hard to get objects. She hazarded a glance at the two men, simply to find out what was taking so damn long, and immediately regretted it.

Smee was scrutinizing her, his distrust clear as day, but that wasn't what threw her. It was the set of bright blue eyes that were locked on her rapidly reheating face and the peek of tongue that slipped past Hook's lips as he swiped it over them. He thumbed the scruff on the edge of his jaw, responding to something Smee said half heartedly, his gaze staying resolutely on her face.

She couldn't look away fast enough.

Good man, Milah whispered without warning. Emma jumped, her face reddening further, utterly embarrassed to be caught in some sort of moment with Hook by his dead ex-lover. Slowly, the scent of jasmine filtered into her senses.

“Hello to you, too,” Emma grumbled, then froze, her eyes widening and her brows climbing her forehead.

Did she know about the kiss?!

Yes, Milah murmured and Emma felt her stomach turn as the spirit answered her unasked question. Good man. Worthy.

Emma's heart stuttered through a change in gears in her chest before ramping up in speed. She swallowed thickly, trying to think of a response but coming up entirely empty. She looked to where the two men talked out of the corner of her eye and saw them turn and walk into the building.

“Can you just… not… do that. We get along now. That's enough,” Emma said through gritted teeth. A silence descended in the car around Emma.

Good man.

The final whispered words faded away along with the scent of Milah’s perfume and Emma was alone again. She sighed heavily, Milah's words weighing on her already heavy mind.

Emma startled as the door opened to the passenger side of the bug, but she recovered quickly as Hook settled himself in beside her. He didn't appear to have anything new with him and Emma's brow knitted together in confusion. He glanced at her face and then quickly away and she just knew that he had done something she didn't approve of.

“All set, Swan, let's go,” he said, patting the dashboard with his good hand and shifting in his seat. She didn't move to start the car, only staring at him intently, trying to figure out just what it was that he was hiding.

He exhaled sharply through his nose and turned his head only slightly to get a better look at her stone faced expression.

“You know, vehicles usually function better once they're running.” He gestured to the ignition with his hooked arm, still not making eye contact.

“What did you do?” she asked bluntly and Killian looked genuinely surprised before steeling his features once more.

“Well you saw most of it. We had a chat, went inside, and now it's time to leave.”

“And what happened while you were inside, Killian?” He winced at her use of his given name.

“Business,” he replied, his tone clipped. He turned back to look out the windshield.

“What kind of business?”

“The kind you needn’t concern yourself with, love,” he said softly, but his tone brokered no arguments. Emma studied him for a moment longer. The way his dark hair fell over his forehead, his bright blue eyes avoiding hers. His jaw ticked, not in anger, but frustration. Her senses still fired off red flags that he had done something he shouldn’t have, but Emma recognized his behavior for what it was. He was trying to protect her.

So she let it go.

For now.

Wordlessly, she reached up and turned the keys dangling from the ignition, the engine to the little yellow bug rumbling to life behind them, and she drove them back to the compound. As soon as they had gotten back, Emma hadn’t even needed to worry about putting space between them. Twilight had already descended around them and Hook wasted no time in disappearing into the shadows between buildings.

“Get some rest. You’ll need it for tomorrow,” he said before he vanished. He was obviously avoiding her, but that was fine by Emma. If he hadn’t put the space between them, she would have, certainly.

Emma made her way back into the living quarters, staying clear of the office area in case that was where Hook had escaped to, making her way into the bedroom Hook had led her to before. She was tired. So very tired. These kinds of things tended to happen, though, when you hadn’t slept in a week and sustained more than one head injury. The cut on her head throbbed with her heartbeat a few times at the thought, but Emma ignored it. She was getting good at ignoring the small things. She had to stay singularly focused. There was no room for anything else.

She spied the blanket, sheet, and pillow that Hook had left out at the foot of the bed, for her, she presumed, and picked it up, setting it on the ground. She wasn’t a hundred percent sure whose bed this was, exactly, but she was almost positive it was Hook’s and she wasn’t looking to put him out. She just wanted to relax a moment. Setting the pillow against the wall where the headboard would have gone, had there been one, she toed off her boots and spread the sheet down over the top of the already crisply made up mattress. She walked across the room to where a small card table sat, empty of all things except her messenger bag.

She wasn’t sure what had possessed her to bring in her sketchbook from the car, but she had, and now she knew it would bring her the comfort she sought in this moment. She grabbed only one pencil from her bag and flipped open the book to a blank page before settling onto the bed. The moment the pencil touched the paper, she was lost in the motion of the drawing, unsure of what she was even sketching until a flower began to take form over the page. Long, thin, pointed petals began to fill the space in the shape of a star. She shaded a bit and began another. And another when that one was finished.

Suddenly, she was in a field of flowers like the ones she had been drawing. Instead of leaning against the wall, her back was against the rough bark of a large tree, her sketchbook having disappeared entirely. The hairs on the back of her neck stood to attention, goosebumps exploding over her skin despite the warmth of her surroundings, and she knew she wasn’t alone. Emma eased to her feet, finding she wasn’t nearly as sore as before, and turned around, laying eyes on the tall man standing off to her left.

Liam’s mouth was set in a firm line as he watched her get to her feet and approach him and Emma grew wary of the obvious disapproval in his stare.

“Hello, Liam,” she greeted him warmly all the same.

“Emma,” he returned coolly. “Would you care to explain why you were snogging my little brother in the street today?”

Emma blinked rapidly at his blunt words before the anger and embarrassment swirled in her abdomen again.

“You know, between you and Milah, I’m beginning to think I don’t have a moment’s privacy. Do you watch me shower as well? Keep track of my toilet habits?” she snapped, folding her arms across her chest. Liam blushed but his expression remained stern.

“I don’t keep track of your anything, unless it has to do with Killian. What were you thinking?” he asked tersely. Emma’s patience was already wearing thin. As she brushed her long blonde hair over her shoulder, her hands found their place on her jean clad hips.

“I was thinking that your brother is an insufferable ass who needed a dose of his own medicine. It was just a kiss to shut him up. And he kissed me first, by the way.” A thin honey colored brow arched high on her forehead.

Liam made a low humming sound, as if he didn’t entirely believe her. She wasn’t sure she entirely believed herself.

“There is a fine line that you’re flirting with, Emma.” He folded his arms over his broad chest.

“Pun intended?” she snarked.

“I mean it. You’re not here to fraternize with Killian. He is in real trouble, and if you’re only going to complicate things rather than help him, maybe it’s best if you bow out.”

“Not a chance in hell,” she growled, kicking the flowers at her feet. They exploded into a flurry of white petals, looking much like snow swirling between them.

They glared at each other for a long minute before Liam let out a sigh.

“Listen, lass, I know you’re under a lot of pressure. You’re tired, maybe not thinking straight, but I’m telling you now, getting involved with Killian is a mistake. For him and for you. Don’t forget, at the end of all of this, you’ll be going your separate ways. Think of your own heart, if nothing else,” he murmured, taking a step closer to her, and Emma scoffed.

“My heart is just fine. Your brother has become a friend, at best. You know, you and Milah, you guys came to me for help. Not the other way around,” she reminded him. Liam nodded.

“As you’re well aware, I’m sure, options to reach out from beyond are… limited. At best.” Liam’s brow pinched, deep furrows of concern working their way into his forehead. “I need to know that your priorities are straight.”

“That is one thing you never need to worry about. And, sorry to disappoint, but Killian is not my top priority right now. Finishing this case is. Finding these missing girls is. Taking down that bastard Gold is my number one priority. And nothing, not even your brother, and especially not some stupid, fucking kiss, is going to push me off my path,” Emma said, now shaking with the weight of the words pouring from her. Liam’s face was unchanged.

“You say that, Emma, but I see my brother. I watch him every day. And his heart is definitely on the line here. I’d bet my eternal soul that yours is, too,” he said, more gently this time. That statement struck Emma hard, her breath evaporating from her lungs.

His eternal soul.

The only thing he had left. The only thing that truly mattered in anyone’s life. His slate blue eyes stared into her jade green, the intensity of his words washing over the moment. There was no other way to answer him but honestly.

“I won’t let any feelings from Killian or myself get in the way of what I need to do,” she replied quietly and Liam’s shoulders sagged in relief. “And Killian will come around. We will fix this.”

“I truly hope so, lass,” Liam said, reaching out to pat her on the shoulder. “Get some rest. You’ll need it for tomorrow.” Emma smirked at his echoing of his younger brother’s words from earlier. The Jones men were so alike sometimes, and then others, they couldn’t be more different. Emma looked down to pick a white flower from the field, and when she looked up, Liam was gone.

Emma decided that she was going to take advantage of the beautiful dreamscape she found herself in, turning to head back to the tree, but as soon as she made the rotation, the scene was gone as well. She was at her apartment building, at the end of the hallway by the elevator on her floor, but there was a red string in front of her door. Her eyes followed the string down, down, down until she saw the other end laying at her feet.

She bent down, the flower in her grasp fluttering to the ground beside her, replacing it with the red string between her fingers. She began following the string, one hand on it at all times, passing it to the other and back again as she walked towards her apartment. The door was open and she followed the string inside.

She wasn’t prepared for what she saw.

Women, naked women, battered and bruised, and lifeless, their eyes staring blankly into the void of her living room, piled atop one another in a heap, all of them bearing faces that she'd only seen in case files. Emma stood frozen in the doorway, her mouth hanging open in utter horror and the string gripped tightly in her fists. Limbs stuck out in every direction, cuts and bruises marring the flesh. Suddenly, from the middle of the pile, one of the hands began to move, just a slight twitch of the fingers. Emma ran towards the indication of life, desperately moving arms and legs and hair to reach whoever she could still save.

A woman with short, dark hair in front of her face was at the other end of the movement. Emma swept her hair away to look at her pale, blemished features. She recognized her immediately. Ivy Belfrey. The most recent woman to go missing. Her big brown eyes were dimming, her life force fading like all the rest, and Emma grasped her hand tightly.

“Stay with me, Ivy, I'm gonna get you help,” Emma told her and a single fat tear rolled down Ivy's cheek.

“Why didn't you save us?” Ivy asked on a cracked whisper. Emma's throat closed up at her words and her green eyes blew wide. Ivy's expression twisted into something dark and angry and she reared up from her place within the corpses. “WHY DIDN'T YOU SAVE US?” she screamed. Before Emma could answer, Ivy had reached down and yanked the string from Emma's hand.

The entire room blew apart in a fiery explosion and Emma screamed…

“EMMA!”

Emma's eyes snapped open and she sat up in the bed she was in, looking around frantically. She was still at the compound. Her eyes cleared from the haze of her dream and found Killian, staring at her in the dark of the room, concern etched into his features. Tentatively, he reached up with his hand and brushed a wild snarl of blonde curls out of her face, his knuckles skimming her cheek soothingly as he withdrew, but Emma instinctively leaned into his calming touch. At her motion, Killian moved closer to her, wrapping his arm around her shoulders and pulling her into his side.

Then Emma did something she hadn’t done in years in front of another living soul. She cried. She turned her face into his chest and her tears were immediately soaked up by the cotton of his t-shirt. She wasn’t sure when he slipped further up onto the bed, or when she’d ended up curled up half in his lap, him murmuring soft, calming things in her ear as sobs racked her body, but she did know one thing: she felt the safest she had since this whole ordeal started right there in Killian Jones’ arms.

#Close Encounters of the Spiritual Kind #chapter 16 #Monday update #csff #cs ff au #cs ff #CSSNS #Captain Swan #Captain swan supernatural summer #i am so sorry for the delay

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elvendara · 6 years

Text

Yooran Halloween Week 2018

Putting most of this under the cut, I got carried away, again.

TRIGGER WARNING: SUICIDE, DEATH, DEPRESSION, SUICIDAL THOUGHTS

Day 4: Ghostly Light

“Um, hi, hello there.” The being smiled at the new arrival. He looked sullen and agitated. These were the newcomers they always gave to him because he was such a calming presence. Things didn’t always go well, but the being enjoyed the role he played. Helping people come to terms with their new reality and integrating them into the new world.

“Where the hell am I?” the red head growled.

“You’ve crossed over. It will take your mind some time to adjust.”

“What the hell are you?” the man took a step back, amber eyes wide and wary. He was not afraid, humans were always afraid. This one was different.

The being hovered above the makeshift ground, fog swirling beneath. It was easier giving them something familiar upon their arrival. His ghostly light illuminated him from the inside out, his vague form was humanoid with pits for eyes, slits for a nose, and a gaping mouth.

“I am your guide, here to hel…” his words failed as the soul flickered out of existence. The being tilted his head in a very human way.

“What the fuck!” the man reappeared, eyes blinking in confusion. “What just happen…” he disappeared again, and the being was flabbergasted. He flipped through his book, unsure what to do. Yes, there was the name. Saeran Choi, he had the right person, but then why was he disappearing?

The man popped back in and this time the being grabbed onto him, intent on keeping him there. Amber eyes flashed towards him, a grimace on his face as he once more blinked away. The being looked around, but there was no one to confer with. He could call one of the greater beings for help, but he assumed time was of the essence with this soul. Without a second thought, and knowing he would surely get into trouble, he tilted into the mortal world, homing in on the lost soul.

The man was on the ground, in the middle of the road. Clearly, he had been struck by a vehicle, yet there was none to be seen. A hit and run then, the being had seen many of those deaths. Amber eyes locked on him and the being knelt by the man, grasping his hand. There was blood dribbling from his mouth and a pool directly under his shoulders. His other arm appeared to be broken, as it lay in an unnatural way.

“What is keeping you here? What is it?” the being whispered.

“Noth…ing…pl…ease…please…” he gurgled.

The being could tell the man wanted to die, but his will was keeping him bound to his mortal body. He’d never seen anything like this, when a soul’s mind was so conflicted. The eyes he was looking into went dead, life fully drained, but seconds later, they were alive and pained. The being made a decision, one he knew he might regret, but he’d come this far, might as well go all the way.

He lay his ghostly hand on the man and forced healing energy into his body. The visible wounds healed, and the mangled arm righted itself. The man’s breathing became easier and less labored.

“Wh..what did you do?” he gasped. “No! No…don’t leave me!” he wailed as the being began to fade away. Mortal eyes could not see his visage, unless they were close to death.

“I shall watch over you. Live…live!” the being whispered.

Once he was back in his own realm he sighed, pleased with himself. He watched, through the fog, as the man rose and without incident, made his way home. He continued to watch for days, weeks, months, time was meaningless to him. The man still seemed sad, but he was making an effort. His brother helped immensely in that department and the being was thankful there was someone that could take care of him physically.

“Do you have any idea what you’ve done?” a voice boomed behind him as another apparition materialized, red eyes glaring, white hair and wings shaking with anger. His alabaster body trembled, his hand grasping at air as if wishing he held the sword on his hip in it, ready to smite the being.

“Hyun!” the being held his hands up in attrition as the angel grasped his arm and yanked him close. The disappeared and reappeared in the garden. The being gasped, this was bad, the garden was bad.

“Consequences! Actions have consequences, did you not think about that? His name was written in the book, it was his day to die. That was not a choice!”

“But...he…his will was strong, he wanted to live.”

“Not HIS choice!” the angel roared. “Nor was it yours!” he led the being through the shifting path of the garden, his stride long and hurried. “Someone had to take his place young one. Someone who was not yet fated to die. Another life cut short for your insolence.”

The being gasped, that had not occurred to him, of course there needed to be a balance. Life and death, always a balance.

“Not only that, but because the boy’s name is already written in the book with the date of his death in the past, he is not fated to die again.”

“Bb…I…di…” the being stilled his tongue, there was nothing he could say or do to make this right now. What did that mean for Saeran? Was he now immortal?

Hyun threw him down and the being crumpled to the grassy ground. A pair of silver boots manifested before his eyes and he gulped in fear.

“You will pay for your dereliction of duty.” The husky voice uttered. The being lifted his head and stared into the grey orbs of his destruction. There was no use in begging. He would pay the price; his only regret was that he would not know what would happen to Saeran.

Jumin’s hand descended on him, he placed it over his indistinct forehead. A brilliant light flashed, and the being was blinded.

“You shall be missed young one.”

………………

There was…something…it…what…was this pain? Yes…pain…he had heard about it, listened to the description of the sensation. This was assuredly pain. Eyes flared wide and he grasped at his neck. Something was digging into his…flesh…this was flesh! He’d felt it often enough. Something snapped above him, and he fell, his chest heaving. Lungs, these were lungs and they needed to be filled with air, air he hadn’t been able to intake because of the…rope around his neck. He yanked it off and threw it on the floor. A hardwood floor. He looked around, his mind disjointed, unclear, terrified. Yet another sensation he had never felt before. It was a small room. A rumpled bed, dirty clothes on the floor, a desk with a laptop on it and a small chest of drawers.

He looked at himself, thin arms and legs clothed in jeans, sneakers, and a blue hoodie. He scrambled up and on gangly legs, made his way to the mirror above the dresser. His visage came into view. Ruffled blonde hair, pale skin, large amethyst eyes, pink lips, a lithe body. Human, he was human. This was his punishment.

He touched himself, astonished at the soft velvety feel of himself. His fingers traced the red mark around his neck. This boy had committed suicide. That is why they had chosen this body, its soul was long gone.

He searched the room, looking for clues as to who this boy had been. He turned the laptop on, but it was password protected.

“Fuck.” He uttered then slapped a hand across his mouth. His voice was high, higher than he would think a boy this age would have. Perhaps there was damage done to his vocal chords. He closed his eyes and tried to access the boy’s memories. His soul was gone, but his brain still had residual awareness.

He typed “supermanyoosung981” into the laptop and it opened immediately. Yoosung, Yoosung Kim, that was his name, good to know. He opened files, scoured bookmarks, researched history and social media, until he had a descent idea of who this boy had been. He was currently in University studying to be a veterinarian. The death of his cousin had sent him on a downward spiral, which was too bad really, the boy was smart with so much to live for. His family was close, but not close enough. He had been depressed and desperate for so long, but no one had noticed. The thought filled him with anguish.

Something rang through the air and Yoosung fell off the chair, heart racing. It was going to take a long time to get used to these new feelings. He pinpointed the culprit and picked it up, flipping it open.

“Hh…hello?” he ventured.

“Yoosung! What the fuck! Where the hell have you been? I’ve been trying to get a hold of you for the past two days! You’ve missed work and if you don’t show up for your shift today, they’re going to fire you! I covered for you, but I can’t do it again!” the woman’s voice was high and shrill.

“Oh, uh, yeah, I’m…I’m…on my way?” he asked.

“Well I should fucking hope so!”

“Just, if you could, tell me, where?”

“Are you kidding me?” the woman’s voice rose even higher. “Get your ass here NOW!” there was a dial tone that echoed finality.

Yoosung blinked and flipped through the phone and found what his new brain told him was the name of his workplace. He riffled through the drawers and found a turtleneck to wear to hide the red gash around his throat.

He made his way to work, might as well start living, right? He was sure he would need money to live. The more he thought about it, the more he was looking forward to learning new things. Maybe this wasn’t so bad, except for the aches and pains, the emotional roller-coaster, and all things mortal. His mood suddenly flagged, and he entered the coffee shop with sagging shoulders.

“There you are!” a woman with dark brown hair grabbed his arm and yanked him around a large counter with a dairy and bakery case. “Where’s your apron? And your visor? Jesus Christ Yoosung!” she slipped behind a swinging door and was back in less than a minute shoving an apron over him and slamming a visor onto his head. “Ow!” he exclaimed.

“Stop being such a baby. You’re doing and extended shift and closing, got it?”

“Uh, sure.” He looked nervously at the cash register and the complicated looking coffee machines. He needn’t have worried, his fingers knew exactly what to do and before he knew it, he was flying through the hours. It was actually enjoyable, interacting with humans in this way. When the doorbell rang above the door he looked up and welcomed in the new customers, the words died in his throat. Saeran walked in behind his brother, who he had learned was named Saeyoung but for some reason, preferred to be called Seven.

“Saeran!” he blurted, ecstatic to see the man again.

“Do I know you?” Saeran asked, looking at him as if to a piece of dung on the bottom of his shoe.

Of course he didn’t recognize him.

“Oh, uh, no, I guess not…”

“You have a fan little brother, be nice.” Seven chided his brother, who only rolled his eyes and focused on the bakery items.

They placed their orders and Yoosung could feel the temperature rising several degrees, well, he could add embarrassment to his new emotional abilities. He couldn’t help but keep glancing at the men while they ate their confectionaries. He would look away when their eyes met. Every time it happened, Seven would laugh and tease Saeran, who looked surlier and surlier. He tried to stop, but he couldn’t seem to.

The rest of the evening went by too slowly, the excitement having worn off and his feeling’s having been hurt. How did humans survive? This was awful!

He was relieved when it was time to close and he locked the shop up. It was almost midnight according to the numbers on his phone.

“How do you know me?” came a voice from the alley next to the shop. Yoosung was startled and he jumped, his foot hit the curb and he lost his balance. He flailed his arms but then was caught by a pair of strong arms, red hair flashing across his eyesight. He was righted, and the hands left his body.

“You…you scared me.” He huffed.

“How?”

“Because I didn’t see you there!”

Saeran rolled his eyes and shook his head, “How do you know me?” he reiterated, slowly, as if he was talking to an imbecile. Yoosung felt his face grow hot again, was this body just overly sensitive to temperature?

“Oh, right. You wouldn’t recognize me in this body.”

“This body?”

“I…I was the one who saved you.”

“My guide?” Saeran clarified.

“Yes.”

“I knew it, I knew there was something familiar about you! But, how?” he looked at Yoosung up and down.

“What I did was forbidden. I broke the rules, and I had to pay the price.”

“So they made you human?”

“Yes.”

“Fully grown?” Saeran was perplexed.

“This human killed himself, his soul no longer inhabits it, that’s how they were able to do it.”

“Oh, that’s…sad…”

“It is, especially since there was so much potential in him.”

“Do you know why?”

“He lost someone, someone very close, and no one saw how lost and adrift he’d become. He tried to ask for help, but no one heard him.”

“I’m so sorry.” Saeran whispered, his eyes welling with tears.

“As am I. It…has been difficult navigating this world. I thought I knew everything about it because I’ve been observing it since it began, but…” he shrugged.

“I suppose it is a completely different thing to observe it than to live in it.” Saeran grinned.

“So it seems.” Yoosung smiled self-deprecatingly.

“I tell you what, you keep guiding me, and I’ll help you navigate.”

“That sounds wonderful!” Yoosung beamed, his insides roiling chaotically. His smile slipped, and he looked nauseous.

“What’s wrong?” Saeran asked worried.

“I don’t know. My insides…feel…funny.”

“Funny how?”

Yoosung shrugged, “Like, there’s something rolling around in there, and, why is it always getting so hot?” he looked pleadingly at Saeran who only chuckled.

“Let me guess,” he tilted Yoosung chin up with his forefinger and thumb, “does it get worse the closer I am?” he stood so close Yoosung could smell the gum he’d been chewing still on his breath.

“Yes…” he admitted, his palms were now sweaty, and his heart pounded so loud it muffled all sound.

“Interesting, we’ll have to explore that.” Saeran grinned and stepped away from him. Yoosung was suddenly cold and shivering. Interesting indeed.

#My posts #Yooran #Yoosung #Saeran #Yooran Halloween Week #Yooran fanfic #ghosts #death #dark theme #suicide #suicidal thoughts #mysme #mystic messenger #mysme fanfic

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squirenonny · 7 years

Text

Child of the Night Sky

Ships: Established Shallura and Klance, vaguely implied Hunay Rating: G Warnings: Implied/Referenced Character Death

After a mysterious signal leads the paladins to an uninhabited moon, an intruder appears in the Black Lion's hangar.

Oddly, Black doesn't seem to mind.

[Read it on AO3!]

Commission fic for @confused-bird as part of their next gen AU. Find out more about the AU and the characters here!

Shiro stood on a barren ridge overlooking a sprawling valley dotted here and there with scraggly brown plants. The landscape had the feel of an old western, painted in sepia tones, the thin air tinged yellow near the horizon. The castle-ship sat a little over a mile behind him, gleaming silver spires unnaturally crisp against the backdrop.

“Where exactly did this signal come from?” Shiro asked, reaching out to steady Lance as a section of loose gravel crumbled underfoot. The weak sunlight reflected off his visor, which was sealed against the moon’s oxygen-poor atmosphere.

The clatter of keys echoed in Shiro’s ear. “Ten feet, maybe?” Pidge said. “Seriously, you guys are right on top of it.”

“Yeah...” Lance exchanged looks with Shiro, then spread his arms to encompass the barren valley. Nothing larger than coral-like plants lived on this moon; even the air remained stagnant around them. “I think there might be something wrong with your scanners, Pidge. There’s nothing here.”

“I’ll run the scan again, but I’m telling you, you’re there.”

“Nothing personal, Pidge,” Shiro said, placing a hand on Lance’s shoulder to quiet him. “We just want to be sure.”

They grunted, then fell silent as they worked. It was pure chance Green’s scanners had picked up the signal in the first place. A single burst of Quintessence, too weak to reach beyond the edge of the solar system and so quick the castle’s main scanners had flagged it as unremarkable.

“Don’t let your guard down,” Keith said, his voice clipped. “This could still be a trap.” Shiro didn’t have a visual on the bridge, where Keith, Pidge, and Coran were gathered to help direct Shiro and Lance, but he imagined Keith was wearing a hole in the floor pacing behind Pidge’s station. He’d wanted to bring the lions on this expedition, but Lance had draped himself over Keith’s shoulder and whispered something that made Keith flush and grudgingly agree to hold off on the heavy firepower, though he’d promised to come get them in Red the second things got sketchy.

Pidge’s frantic typing slowed. “You know we don’t actually know Lotor’s involved, right?”

Keith snorted. “Better to assume the worst,” he said. “Hunk, Allura, you still there?”

“Hear you loud and clear, buddy,” Hunk said. “Allura’s schmoozing up to the locals, but we’re two minutes from Yellow if you need us.”

“Good.”

Shiro’s eyes went to the dusty red crescent that dominated the sky. Hunk and Allura had remained on Dovrura while the others took the castle-ship to the larger of the two moons to investigate the anomaly. Allura had been concerned for their safety, but she trusted her team. She trusted Shiro. So as much as he wanted to ask her how the talks were going, he forced himself to focus on the task at hand.

“We don’t know what this is,” he said evenly. “That's why we're here. And we are being careful, I promise.”

Lance grinned in the direction of the castle-ship, as though Keith could see him out the window. “You heard the man, samurai. We’ll be fine—unless Lotor’s found a way to weaponize pebbles.”

Keith was quiet for a long moment, then laughed softly. “Fine,” he said. “But you owe me a massage when you get back.”

Shiro forced a smile for Lance, who remained at the alert, his bayard tapping against his thigh. The fact they’d encountered nothing overtly hostile on the trek out here wasn’t as reassuring as it should have been, when the anomaly looked so much like the dimensional rift the team had encountered while Shiro was gone and the energy signature of Lotor’s ship.

“Okay,” Pidge said after a time. “I double-checked the scans, and I was right. You’re standing literally on top of the origin point.”

Lance met Shiro’s eyes, then glanced pointedly at the dusty rock underfoot. “Secret bunker?”

“The castle’s not detecting any sizeable cavities in the area,” Coran said, “But if it’s small enough we might not be able to pick it up at this range.”

“Right,” said Pidge. “Shiro?”

“Way ahead of you.” Shiro took out the portable scanner Pidge had given him and set it on the ground. Three small legs immediately extended from the base and dug into the ground to stabilize the device. But five minutes later when the device finished its scans, it showed nothing new.

Pidge sighed. “Well, I guess that’s it, then. Lotor didn’t build anything here.”

“I still don’t like this,” Keith said.

Shiro smiled. “Noted. We’ll keep an eye on the scanners just in case the anomaly crops up again, all right?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“Good.” Shiro clapped Lance on the shoulder as the younger man dismissed his bayard. “In that case, we’re gonna head back. See you soon.”

The rough terrain made for slow going, but Shiro and Lance made it back to the castle without incident. Keith and Pidge were waiting in the entrance hall when they arrived, Pidge seated on the staircase with their computer, Keith pacing nearby. He stopped when he caught sight of Lance and made a beeline for him, tension melting away.

“So. Back to Dovrura?” Lance asked, lacing his fingers with Keith's.

Shiro nodded. “I’ve left Allura at the mercy of politicians for long enough, I think.”

Pidge snorted, not looking up from their work. “Please. She’s got the entire planet rallying behind Voltron by now, just watch.”

“Yeah...” Shiro bit down on a smile, ignoring the look Keith and Lance shared. As though they had room to talk, when it had taken less than fifteen seconds for Lance to coax Keith into leaning back against him—Keith’s arms crossed over his chest, one of Lance’s draped over Keith’s shoulder. Shiro met them pointed look for pointed look, then connected to the bridge comms. “Whenever you’re ready, Coran.”

“Roger that! Just another tick and--”

An insistent chime interrupted Coran, and Shiro tensed. Not for the alarm itself, but for the rumble that started in his feet, raced up his spine, and settled in beside his heart. The others didn’t hear it—but they wouldn’t have, any more than he would have heard the call of the other lions.

“What was that?” Pidge asked.

Shiro was off running before Coran had a chance to check what had triggered the alarm. Keith straightened, Lance called Shiro's name, and Pidge yelped, fumbling their laptop as they surged to their feet. Shiro didn’t slow for any of it, just raced for the elevator.

“There’s an intruder!” Coran cried. “Down in the Black Lion’s--”

Shiro silenced his comms with a thought as the elevator door slid open. The lights were at half power, but they flickered on at his arrival, illuminating Black, who crouched in her usual spot at the center of the hangar, her voice vibrating in the air in a mix of confusion and wariness. Her chin rested on the ground, and a figure stood before her, hand on her nose.

Another light turned on, hitting the stranger like a spotlight. They gave a start, snatching their hand back from the Black Lion’s nose, and spun to face Shiro. They wore an opaque mask that reminded Shiro vaguely of the Blades’ suits: it was molded to the stranger’s head, with a luminous slit at the level of the eyes and a slight bulge over the mouth that might have been an oxygen mask or voice modulator of some sort. The rest of their attire was similarly matched black, white, and gray armor; slim-fitting and flexible like Allura’s battle suit.

The stranger’s hand dropped to their hip, and Shiro moved on instinct, hand coming alight. He charged toward the intruder, low to the ground, as he’d learned to do in the Arena. Assume the enemy is stronger than they appear. Make them fight for every hit. Most importantly, strike hard and fast. The longer a fight went on, the more chances you had to die.

The stranger froze, just for an instant, as Shiro approached. It was impossible to gauge emotion with that mask of theirs, but their hand lifted away from their hip and their spine went stiff, as though they hadn’t expected a fight.

The moment passed, and the intruder dodged back, footwork light and quick as they led Shiro around the hangar, slapping his arm aside with a palm to the inside of his elbow when his strikes got too close. They were obviously used to close-quarters, and they showed a wariness for his arm that suggested they’d seen it in action—or at least heard tales of what it could do.

Yet for all their skill, the intruder made no move to strike back at Shiro. They made a sound once, like they wanted to say something, but the word stalled in their throat, and they had to retreat as Shiro came in for another pass.

Black rumbled a warning, and Shiro shot a glance her way. The intruder had come here for her, a fact that would have been concerning in its own right even without the fact that Black had dropped her shields. She hadn’t opened up, but would that have lasted? Could this person have hacked the lion somehow, implanted a line of code that made Black think of them as a friend?

Shiro shifted, careful to keep himself between the intruder and the Black Lion as they danced across the hangar floor.

“Wait!” the intruder said, holding up their hands as a space opened between them. “Please—I don’t want to fight you.”

“I’m sure you don’t.” Shiro feinted to the left, then spun around, reaching out with his cybernetic hand for a nob near the jaw of the stranger’s mask. Shiro’s touch melted the electronics inside the control node, causing the mask to flicker and vanish. The intruder gasped, eyes going wide, and stumbled backward, reaching up with one hand to check the controls. They snatched their hand back at once, wincing as sparks snapped at their fingertips.

Shiro himself stood frozen, searching the stranger’s face. For the space of one heartbeat, he thought he recognized them—their short, dark hair with pale bangs; the piercing eyes; the stark red line across the bridge of their nose that curled up toward the outer corners of their eyes.

They were… human?

No.

Shiro stopped breathing.

With a roar, Allura was there, her staff flashing in the hangar lights as she swung. It cracked against the intruder’s head. Shiro cried out in horror, lifting one hand toward them, but he was too late, and the intruder dropped to the floor.

Allura barely spared them a second glance before she crossed to Shiro, grabbing his chin and forcing him to meet her eyes.

“Shiro,” she said. “Shiro. Are you all right?”

Shiro blinked, his gaze drifting back to the fallen form behind Allura. “Fine,” he said. “Are they okay?”

Allura frowned at him, then at the intruder. Hunk had knelt beside them—Shiro hadn’t even noticed the Yellow Lion’s arrival in the commotion.

“Holy--” Hunk clapped a hand to his mouth. “Guys.” He squeaked as the elevator door opened. Keith charged out ahead of the others, sword in hand.

“Shiro! Are you okay? What happened?”

“Guys,” Hunk repeated, breathless.

“Fine,” Shiro said. “What is it, Hunk?” Shiro paused long enough to kiss Allura’s cheek, meeting her eyes and willing her to see that he was okay, then hurried over to Hunk and the stranger. One look at the crumpled form, and at Hunk’s pale face, told him he been right.

Hunk reached out as though to touch the stranger’s red facial markings—not just under their eyes, but a small vertical band on their lower lip, as well—but hesitated at the last minute as Coran joined them, his usual calm disrupted at the sight of the stranger.

“Quiznak!”

Allura turned, grip on her staff tightening as she did so. “What?” she demanded. “What’s wrong?”

“Not… wrong, exactly,” Hunk said slowly, staring at Coran like he expected the man to shatter at any moment. “It’s just… They’re Altean.”

What followed was ten minutes of chaos. Everyone crowded around the intruder, exclaiming with varying degrees of shock, suspicion, and excitement as Coran numbly confirmed Hunk’s assessment. The stranger’s ears were a bit shorter than Allura’s or Coran’s, their facial markings not quite so brightly colored—but the scanner in the med bay confirmed their Altean heritage.

Allura had insisted on restraints, though she’d seemed to be fighting herself on the matter, and Coran had put the stranger into a cryopod to clear up a minor concussion. That left them twenty dobashes to figure out how to approach the situation—and to theorize about their presence on the castle.

“Well, obviously they’re the source of that weird reading earlier,” Pidge said, pulling up the data from the med scan on their laptop. They’d all relocated to the rec room, though so far only Pidge, Hunk, and Lance had taken advantage of the couch. The others stood or paced the room, tension thick in the air.

Hunk leaned over Pidge’s shoulder, frowning. “I’m not seeing anything like the anomaly here.”

Pidge pursed their lips. “I know. Maybe they have some kind of magic. You know, like Haggar’s?”

“Yeah, or they could be working for Lotor,” Keith said. “I don’t trust them.”

“The first surviving Altean we’ve seen?” Allura asked. She had one arm wrapped around her midsection, the other hand hovering near her mouth so she could worry a hangnail. Shiro edged closer to her, placing his hand in the small of her back. She smiled weakly at him. “I suppose it’s possible, but… Lotor’s father destroyed our entire people. Why would they work for him?”

“They may not have a choice,” Keith said.

“I suppose...”

Lance kicked his feet up onto Hunk’s lap, crossing his arms behind his head. “Maybe they’re from the Mirror Universe.”

“Mirror Universe?” Shiro arched an eyebrow. “The other reality?”

Allura shivered, her eyes fluttering closed. “I hope not.”

“I doubt anyone could have made it over here without Voltron, anyway,” Pidge said.

Hunk glanced toward Coran, who stood at a computer terminal along the wall, monitoring the intruder’s status remotely. He seemed not to notice the conversation going on around him.

“I don’t know you guys,” Hunk said, tearing his eyes away from Coran. “You’re all assuming they’re an enemy. But Black was cool with them, right? Maybe we should give them a chance.”

There was muttered dissent at that, but Lance looked thoughtful and Shiro couldn’t help but think about Black’s distress when the stranger had gone down. It had been her prodding more than anything that got the intruder to the med bay for a scan.

Coran’s computer beeped, and the others immediately turned toward him, the same silent question etched into every face.

“They’re coming out of it.” Coran switched off the computer and turned, pasting on a smile. “If it’s all right with you, Princess, I’d like to speak with them first. Alone.”

Keith looked like he was going to argue, but a glare from Lance stopped him. Allura nodded, albeit reluctantly. “Alright, but if they try anything, we’re handing them over to the Blade.”

Keith nodded once, satisfied, and Coran’s smile turned strained. But he acquiesced and left without another word. Allura put up a feed from the med bay on one wall, and Shiro rubbed her back as Coran appeared there, catching the intruder as they fell from the pod.

“Easy now,” he said, steadying them with a hand under their elbow. The stranger reached for their head, but the handcuffs pulled tight. They froze, eyes flying open.

Allura stiffened.

“I don’t think they’re dangerous,” Shiro told her in a low voice. “They weren’t trying to hurt me earlier when we fought.”

Allura pursed her lips, still staring at the video feed, where the intruder had finally lifted their head, staring at Coran in shock.

“I’m terribly sorry for all this,” Coran said, guiding the stranger toward a seat against the wall. He crouched down like they were a frightened child rather than a grown adult. “I’m afraid you gave us a bit of a fright back there. We’ve got a number of enemies who would have reason to infiltrate this ship.”

The intruder dropped their eyes to their wrists, tugging half-heartedly at the restraints. “Believe me, I know.” They smiled wryly as Coran’s brow pinched in confusion, then leaned back in their chair until they were practically lounging. “So what do I need to do to convince you I’m a friend?”

“You could start with a name,” Coran said.

The smile twitched wider, and the stranger’s eyes drifted skyward. “My name? Aeron í Allura Altea.”

Allura jerked away from the screen so violently Shiro had to take her by the arm before she tripped over the step behind her. She’d gone ashen, her eyes wide with shock that quickly turned to outrage. She turned on her heel, wrenched out of Shiro’s grasp, and stalked toward the door.

“Allura…?” Lance asked, sitting upright on the couch as she passed. He shot a look at Keith, who in turn looked at Shiro, who frowned and followed after Allura, the other paladins falling into step behind him. A hundred questions crowded his mind, and he didn’t dare ask a single one as Allura jabbed the button for the elevator.

You trust this person, Shiro thought in the direction of his lion. Don’t you?

The Black Lion didn’t answer.

Aeron í Allura Altea.

The name echoed in Allura’s ears with each step, a mockery of all logic, a slap in the face for someone who had lost her entire people. They finally discovered the existence of another Altean and this was how they presented themself? With taunts and brazen lies? Claiming a name they could not possibly hold?

The elevator ride down two floors to the med bay was interminable, not least of all for the anxious silence of her friends. Allura crossed her arms and leaned away from Shiro’s tentative touch, and when the door slid open, she stormed out of the elevator, down the corridor, and into the med bay. Coran still knelt before “Aeron,” one hand on their arm in a paternal gesture that stoked Allura’s ire.

Aeron looked up, eyes darting to Shiro before returning to Allura and locking there. They began to rise, mouth open to spew further lies, but Allura jabbed a finger in their direction.

“You,” she said sharply, “are not Aeron í Allura Altea.”

Aeron’s gaping mouth snapped shut, and something flashed behind their eyes. “I am, though.”

“Impossible.” Allura crossed her arms. “Where did you come from?”

“The Castle of Lions.”

Allura’s shoulders hitched toward her shoulders, a shout building in her throat. Coran smoothly inserted himself between Aeron and Allura, his eyes sharp with suspicion though he maintained the same warm demeanor he’d had since Aeron awoke. “Funny,” he said lightly. “I haven’t seen you around before.”

“Well, no. I haven’t been born yet.”

Shouts of surprise and incredulous questions burst out of the gathered paladins, but Allura hardly heard. She took a single step backward, head spinning. Time travel. Time travel? It made no sense—and yet that name. Aeron í Allura Altea.

Aeron, child of Allura of Altea.

Her child.

“Impossible.”

Her voice was barely a whisper, indistinguishable in the roar of voices, but Aeron looked at her and smiled as though they’d heard. A moment later, they huffed at the continuing furor and raised their hands. “One at a time. One at a time!” The room slowly quieted, and Aeron settled back in their seat. “Thank you. Now, who wants to start?”

Pidge leaned forward, eyes shining, but Keith was faster.

“Do you really expect us to trust you?” he demanded. The lights on the thigh of his armor were glowing, an unspoken warning that he was ready to summon his bayard—and from Aeron’s grim expression, they knew it.

“It’s the truth.”

Keith’s face darkened. “You really expect us to believe you’re—what? A time traveler? Seriously? Lotor probably sent you to steal the lions.”

“Which is why I’m here,” they said dryly. “Lionless.”

“I never said you were a good thief.”

Aeron rolled their eyes. “There’s no need to be rude, Uncle Keith.”

Keith choked on air, his eyes going wide as Aeron grinned—a brief moment of devious glee, quickly smothered. It reminded Allura all too much of herself. Of having to grow up too quickly, of snatching joy when it came, of constant awareness of the face she presented to the world.

“No.” Allura shoved aside the questions and formless desires creeping into her mind and forced herself to think rationally. “Time travel isn’t possible.” She hesitated in the face of Aeron’s fathomless stare and glanced to Pidge and Hunk. “Is it?”

Pidge spread their hands helplessly. “You tell me. Our scientists theorized that it's possible with wormholes—we just can't create a stable one. Or travel through without getting ripped apart.”

Hunk nodded thoughtfully, tapping his chin. “Yeah, but you’ve obviously got that figured out. We use wormholes like, every day. And space-time is pretty flexible, guys. If we can travel across the universe in two seconds, there’s no theoretical reason you couldn’t also travel back in time.”

“Except for the issue of temporal navigation,” Coran said. He paused, smoothing his mustache. “Or vortex monsters.”

Lance’s eyebrows shot up. “Vortex monsters?”

“Urban legends,” Aeron said. “Early Altean experiments with time travel were universal failures. Nothing ever got to the point in time it was supposed to reach, regardless of which direction it was traveling. Some people said there were creatures that hunted the timestream and ate anything that ventured outside the normal current.” They lifted one shoulder. “But I made it, so I’m betting it was more an issue of the proto-time-travelers missing their marks by a few light years. Or a few millennia.”

“Right.” Shiro held up one hand and shook his head. “Sorry. Even assuming time travel is theoretically possible, what proof is there that you traveled back—how long?”

Aeron scanned the room, their gaze resting on Shiro for only a fraction of an instant before it continued on to Pidge and Hunk. “Judging by how young you all look? I’d say about thirty years.”

“Uh-huh,” Keith said. “Sure.”

Lance planted his palm on the side of Keith’s face and pushed him out of the way so he could sidle up to Aeron, flashing a smile. “So what’s future me like? Dashing? Famous? How big’s my fan club?”

“And how did you end up here?” Pidge added. “Does someone really invent time travel in the next thirty years?”

Aeron averted their eyes and scratched the back of their neck. “I don’t actually know how I got here. But I have pictures from my time if you...” They trailed off, glancing down at the plain white medsuit they wore. “Correction: I have pictures in my armor… Where is my armor?”

Coran retrieved the armor from a storage compartment, ignoring Keith’s protests. Aeron took the breastplate and fished out what looked like a white echo cube. A flick of the finger brought up a digital menu, and a holographic image appeared in the air above Aeron’s hands. For a moment, Allura thought it was an image of her mother—tall, stately, a glimmer of a smile hinting at political savvy.

A chill raced down Allura’s back as she realized it wasn’t her mother. It was Allura, aged by several decades, with lines at the corners of her eyes and strain weighing down her shoulders.

“Ohmygosh!” Pidge lunged forward, stars in their eyes. “Is that derived from the holoprojector on the bridge?”

“Augmented with Olkari tech?” Aeron asked. “Yeah. Pretty neat, huh?”

“The colors are so crisp!” Pidge bounced on their toes as Aeron twirled the cube between their fingers. The image of Allura flickered, replaced by one of a young girl, dark-haired and gap-toothed. She was sprawled across the Red Lion’s paw, beaming at the camera. Then she was gone, and the older Allura was back, this time with a young Altean man—her son?

Allura closed her eyes, seeking calm. “You could have faked those,” she said. “You could have--”

She broke off as Lance gasped. Allura opened her eyes and found herself looking at a wedding photo. Oh, the details were off, but she could still see the Altean traditions at the heart of it: the colored motes of light that gave the scene a soft aura, the clusters of crystals dotting the rafters of the old atrium at the heart of the castle.

“Is that…?” Hunk glanced from the smiling couple, dressed in dark suits of an unfamiliar cut, fingers interlaced and matching smiles on their faces, to Keith and Lance.

Lance’s hands covered his mouth, tears gathering in the corners of his eyes, and he reached out blindly for Keith, who looked shell-shocked, his eyes riveted to what very much looked like a picture of their wedding day.

Keith licked his lips, tearing his eyes away from the holo with obvious effort. “Allura’s right. These prove nothing.”

“Okay.” Aeron tapped the holocube, and the image vanished. They tilted their head to the side, eyes sliding almost—but not quite—to Shiro. “There’s one more thing I can show you.”

“And what’s that?”

“The black bayard.” Aeron held out their hand, and a bayard appeared. The paladins stiffened, Keith automatically summoning his own bayard. Shiro held out his hand, pressing it against Keith’s chest.

After a moment’s pause, Shiro stepped forward, held out his hand, and summoned his bayard. “Pidge, can you tell if that’s the genuine article?”

“Sure,” they said. “Just give me a few minutes.”

Aeron’s bayard was real.

Shiro had to hear it twice—from both Pidge and Coran—before he could wrap his head around it. The bayards were ancient, complex devices inexorably linked to the lions. The thought of there being two black bayards was incomprehensible, and that along with Black’s reaction to Aeron cinched it. Aeron was, impossibly, telling the truth.

Hunk was the last to cling to his skepticism, rambling on about how someone might create a forgery that could fool all their resident tech wizards. He mentioned Quintessence modulation and pocket dimensions, but Shiro hardly heard him. Nor, it seemed, did Keith, who stormed forward and snatched Aeron’s bayard out of Pidge’s hands. A familiar sword appeared in a flash of light, indistinguishable from his usual weapon. Keith’s scowl deepened.

“It’s real,” Aeron said, sounding bored. They looked vaguely irritated by the debates, but had been remarkably patient, all things considered. They glanced now at Keith, gauging his reaction. “I promise, I’m not lying to you.”

“You’re from the future,” Shiro said, numb.

Aeron glanced at him, then quickly away. “Yes.”

“And Allura is…?”

“My mother? Yep.”

Shiro’s eyes lingered on Aeron’s facial markings, and the scar across his own nose prickled. “And...” Shiro cleared his throat as every eye in the room turned his way. Every eye, that was, but Aeron’s. “What about your father?”

Aeron stiffened, a scowl darkening their face. “I’ve probably said enough already. Spoilers, right? Don’t want to screw up the timeline.”

The flat dismissal felt like a slap to the face, and Shiro was too stunned to do anything but nod and say, “Sure.”

Was he… not Aeron’s father? He and Allura hadn’t talked much about the future, but the thought that they might not be together—might not even be on good terms—hurt more than Shiro would have thought possible.

Shiro didn’t have long to consider the possibility. As Coran removed Aeron’s restraints, Allura turned and stalked from the room. Aeron watched her go.

“You know...” Hunk pushed his fingertips together as he edged forward with Pidge. “I know we said no spoilers and all, but tech is an exception, right?”

“Yeah,” said Pidge. “We have to figure out how you got here if we’re going to send you home.”

Aeron blinked several times, then chuckled, but Shiro didn’t stay to hear their reply. Instead, he followed after Allura, following the soft, quick beat of her footsteps, which led him to the elevator. He caught the door as it began to close.

“Are you okay?” he asked, joining Allura inside.

She smiled, but it was strained. “I’m fine, Shiro,” she said, leaning into him. “It’s just a lot to take in.”

“I know.” Shiro wrapped his arms around Allura, a lump rising in his throat. “I know. But, hey! Looks like your kid ends up becoming the black paladin. That’s something to be proud of, right?”

Allura pulled back, a solemn expression on her face. Her kid. Not theirs. At least Shiro wasn't the only one upset by that. “Shiro…”

“This doesn’t change anything,” he said, stealing a kiss. “I’m here to stay. I promise.”

“So… exactly how many pictures can you fit on that cube thingy of yours?”

Lance tried not to fidget as Aeron looked at him, one eyebrow arched in near perfect imitation of Shiro’s Dad Face. Lance hadn’t yet pinned down what the deal was between them—Aeron had made a conspicuous effort not to be left alone in a room with Shiro, but still watched him across the room when the whole team was gathered together. Maybe Shiro wasn’t their dad, maybe, but Lance was positive Aeron had known him growing up.

So what had happened?

“Are you asking me because you’ve suddenly developed an interest in tech,” Aeron asked, “or because you want to know more about the future?”

Lance’s eyes widened. “What? Me? Pssh. I don’t care about the future.”

“Uh-huh…” Aeron glanced around the room, which was empty except for the two of them. Coran, Pidge, and Hunk were all busy working out theories for how to get Aeron home, Shiro and Allura were on the bridge, and Keith had spent most of the last two days on the training deck—for no particular reason, of course. Definitely not because he was freaked out by the wedding photo.

Wedding photo! Lance couldn’t believe it. He and Keith were married! At least… he thought they were. He was pretty sure, and as giddy as that made him, he couldn’t tell what Keith was feeling. He’d been trying to figure out how to broach the subject with Keith, but when he came up blank, he’d decided to go fishing for more information.

“Sorry.” Lance rubbed the back of his head. “I shouldn’t have--”

“Okay,” Aeron said.

Lance blinked. “What?”

“Okay. Just—don’t tell my mother.”

Lance snapped his mouth shut and nodded hastily, leaning forward. “My lips are sealed! You-- What--?”

Before Lance could formulate a question, Aeron had pulled out their projection cube. A hologram appeared in the air between the two of them. Lance and Keith, now middle-aged, smiled at the camera. Each had an arm around the woman in braids between them, who flashed a charming smile at the camera as she fired off finger guns. Lance held a much younger child on his hip, though she seemed to be trying her hardest to wriggle away. Her dark hair was escaping her pigtails, and she was missing a tooth.

“That’s Rose,” Aeron said, pointing to the woman in the center. “She’s a few years older than me, tough as nails. My brother’s only a year older than her, and he took it on himself to try to reign her in.” A smile tugged at Aeron’s lips, and they bit down on it. “Can’t say I made his life any easier, to be honest. At least I knew better than to try to imitate daddy before I had any training.”

“Oh, no.”

“Yeah… I’m pretty sure she would have taken the Trials at age six if Uncle Keith let her. Anyway, she’s my red paladin. Sometimes I want to strangle her, but I don’t know what I’d do without her.” Aeron flipped their hand, then pointed to the girl hanging off Lance in the picture. “This little cutie is Claudia. Now, look. We've all played The Floor is Lava, but Claudia raised it to an art form. Not sure how much longer she can persuade people to let her climb all over them, though.”

Lance laughed, tears gathering in the corner of his eyes. He had a family. He had a husband and two beautiful daughters, and there they all were, smiling so bright their joy was infectious. “Hey, Aeron? Am I… Am I good dad?”

Aeron’s smile softened, and they flipped over to a different picture, one that showed Keith holding a tiny bundle. He seemed awestruck, handling the baby like she was made of glass, while Lance kissed the side of his head.

“You’re a great dad,” Aeron said. “Both of you. There’s been fights, sure. Lots of big personalities in your family, and Rose was the definition of a rebellious teen. But at the end of the day, Rose and Claudia both know you love them. Rose still calls home every day, you know. Don’t tell her I told you, but I think she’s a little homesick.”

Lance’s vision blurred, and he blinked furiously, trying to memorize the image of him and Keith with their daughter. “Thank you,” he whispered, smiling at Aeron. “Really.”

They switched off the projector, nodding. “It’s family,” they said, as though that explained everything. Lance frowned, but Aeron only shook their head and stared down at the cube in their palm, blinking back tears.

Things were awkward between Allura and Aeron for the first few days. Aeron spent most of their time with Coran—and often Hunk and Pidge—trying to work out the mechanics of time travel. Allura had hung around the fringes of these conversations enough to have heard all the theories: mineral deposits on Dovrura’s moon, Quintessence flows in the system, odd energy signals coming off the sun. The castle in Aeron’s time had been nowhere near Dovrura, so it was likely they’d been pulled to this system by the castle-ship itself.

The intervening days had done wonders for the awkwardness Allura had first felt around Aeron. It was still surreal, of course. Even when she was able to forget, for a moment, that they were a time traveler—and her child—they were still the first Altean she’d seen from this universe other than Coran and Haggar, and she found herself tearing up at the oddest moments.

Aeron was considerate, though, and they avoided talking about the future. They talked instead about Aeron, about Allura and Coran, about Altea of old. Aeron had grown up on stories of their people’s planet, and they were hungry for more, and Allura found it liberating to talk to someone who felt that same intangible connection to the past.

By the end of the first week, Aeron had settled into the castle routine. They theorized with Coran and Pidge and Hunk, they talked with Allura about the past, they snuck off with Lance—and both got cagey when asked what it was they did when they barricaded themselves in the rec room. Even Keith began to warm to the new arrival, though it was usually Lance who enticed him to be social. The mice found Aeron to be a particularly comfortable perch, and Allura was saddened, if not surprised, to realize Aeron had never met these mice—or if they had, they’d been too young to remember.

The only one Aeron hadn’t connected with was Shiro.

He poked his head into the bridge now, hesitating for a moment when he caught sight of Aeron. Pain flickered across his face, but he covered it up as Aeron turned toward him. Allura’s heart ached. Shiro didn’t want to push Aeron, and Allura understood that, but she’d seen the way Aeron looked at him when his back was turned. They’d all seen those looks. Even now, the quiet conversation between Hunk, Pidge, and Coran petered out as Aeron caught sight of Shiro and stiffened. They gaze dropped to the floor, and Shiro shied away.

“Sorry for interrupting,” he said, forcing levity. “I was looking for Allura.”

Aeron stood, rubbing the back of their neck. “That’s fine. I should probably go.”

“You don’t have to--” Shiro began, but Aeron waved him off.

“I’m meeting Lance soon anyway. It’s fine.”

Shiro watched them go, and Allura felt another pang. She stood, approaching Shiro and wrapping an arm around his waist. “You should talk to them.”

He frowned at her. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Why not?” Hunk piped up from the other side of the room. Pidge eeped and ducked their head when Shiro and Allura turned. They clearly didn’t want to seem like they’d been eavesdropping. Hunk was less bashful. “Have you seen the way they look at you, dude? I don’t know what’s going on there, but they want to talk to you.”

“Who wants to talk to who now?” Lance asked, strolling in with Keith.

“Aeron wants to talk to Shiro,” Hunk said.

“Oh.” Lance chuckled. “Well, yeah. Is there such a thing as dad-pining? Cause holy quiznak, it’s worse than when you were trying to work up the courage to ask Allura out. Ow.” Lance’s smile vanished as Keith smacked the back of his head.

Shiro crossed his arms. “You’re imagining things,” he said flatly. “And what are you doing here, anyway? Aeron just left to look for you.”

“Me?” Lance asked.

Keith frowned. “I’m pretty sure they were heading for the training deck, actually.”

Shiro pursed his lips.

“Go,” Allura said, giving him a gentle nudge.

Shiro opened his mouth, then hesitated. “I don’t know...”

“Go. Trust me. You both need this.”

Shiro stared at her for a long moment, then sighed. “Fine,” he said. “I’ll give it a try.”

Shiro found Aeron on the training deck, sparring with a gladiator. Watching them fight was mesmerizing. Their grace and power reminded him of Allura, though at the moment Aeron was fighting unarmed. Shiro hadn’t yet seen the form the bayard took for them; he didn’t think anyone had. Aeron preferred to train in private.

When they executed a flawless takedown, stealing the gladiator's sword and running it through—the exact move Shiro had taught himself in the Arena—Shiro understood the wish for privacy.

“Not bad,” he said, entering the room as the castle reclaimed the damaged gladiator. Aeron stiffened, spinning around with a guarded look on their face. Shiro held up his hands. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to surprise you.”

Aeron turned away, wiping sweat from their brow. “It’s fine,” they said. “Someone looking for me?”

“Just me.” Shiro hesitated just inside the door, searching for tact. But he’d been tactful for the last week, always giving Aeron an out, always deferring to whatever wall it was dividing them. Suddenly Shiro found he just wanted answers. “Am I your father, Aeron?”

Aeron lifted their head, eyes wide and wild. “Are you…?” They licked their lips. “I told you, I shouldn’t say too much about the future.”

A flare of anger tightened Shiro’s jaw, and he forced himself to breathe through it. “Please, Aeron. I’m just trying to figure out what I did to make you hate me.”

That, finally, got a reaction out of them. They stared at him, lips parted, and pain crept into their expression. “You didn’t do anything.”

Shiro closed his eyes. “Clearly I did. I… I don’t know what. If I—if I left you and your mother, if I let the team down, if...” If the things I did in the Arena finally caught up to me, Shiro thought. “I don’t want to believe I would do that to you—to anyone. So, please, if Allura married someone else, it’s fine. I just need to know.”

Aeron was still staring at him, their lips pressed together so the stripe of red across their bottom lip stood out. “No,” they said. “She—you are my dad.”

Relief loosed the vice around Shiro’s heart, but cold dread flooded in soon after. “Then...”

“I’m sorry.” Aeron breathed out a ragged breath and made a break for the door, head ducked so Shiro couldn’t read their expression. “I can’t.”

“Wait!” Shiro lunged after them as they fled, catching their arm. “I don't understand, Aeron! If I'm supposed to be your father, why are you avoiding me?”

They whirled, and Shiro was stunned into silence by the tears tracing paths down their cheeks. “Because you died!”

“What?”

Aeron pulled out of Shiro’s grip, wrapping their arms around their midsection. “You died,” they repeated, softer now. Their breath hitched, and they swiped at their eyes. “The last time I saw you, you were dying in my arms, and there was nothing I could do to save you.”

Shiro’s mouth ran dry. He stumbled forward, off-kilter, and reached for Aeron before he had time to think that they might not want his comfort. The instant his hand came down on their shoulder, though, they fell into his arms and clung to him like—well, like he was all they had left of their father.

“I’m sorry, Aeron,” Shiro whispered, pulling them closer. He felt their knees give out and lowered them both to the floor, never giving up his hold on them. On his child. The child he’d left fatherless.

The knowledge left a sour taste on his tongue, and he couldn’t bring himself to ask for more details. A morbid part of him wanted to know everything—when it had happened, how, whether his death had meant anything. There was a thought of changing things, but it faded quickly into the rush of emotion. Who was to say the future could be changed?

So he said nothing, just held his child as they cried and told them everything was going to be okay.

Aeron breathed in the crisp, recycled air of the Black Lion’s cockpit. Her steady presence settled into a familiar place in their mind, and for a moment they could almost forget she wasn’t quite the Black they knew. Thirty years wasn’t much to a Voltron Lion, but the death of a pilot—the death of Aeron’s father, who had been so closely bonded to Black that his death had left deep scars—was not something that could be ignored.

Eight years had not dulled the ache of loss.

That day was burned into their memory. A diplomatic mission, one of the first Aeron had been allowed to participate in… Even now, they didn’t know what had gone wrong, whether deception on the part of the locals or a Galra plot. They just remembered the explosion. Coran had been caught up in the blast, and Aeron’s father had gone in to save him. Aeron followed, and only narrowly avoided being caught in the building’s collapse.

Funny, how being back here with Shiro could make them feel like a child again.

But he’d been there, as earnest as ever, every line of his body speaking to concern for their happiness, every word dripping with a desire to make things right. Aeron’s father had poured everything he had into his family.

They'd almost forgotten how much they'd missed him.

They felt lighter now that they'd told him, though slightly embarrassed by their breakdown.

Black rumbled reassurance, and Aeron smiled. It had been Shiro’s idea to take Black out for a spin, and Aeron had been afraid Black would refuse, as she’d refused to open for Aeron when they first arrived in this time. But she’d welcomed them, and the flight had loosened knots Aeron hadn’t even realized they’d been carrying. Their father was dead, and they dared not hope that would change, but if nothing else, they had at least found closure.

An alarm startled Aeron out of their thoughts. They spun the Black Lion around, scanning the stars, and spotted spotted it at the edge of the system: a Galra fleet. Heart pounding, they hailed the castle.

“Paladins, to your lions! Galra fleet incoming!”

It wasn’t until Keith jumped on the comms with a curse that Aeron remembered they weren’t in their own time. For a moment, they panicked. They’d never been into battle without Rose at their side, without their brother back on the castle-ship to provide support. They couldn’t—they couldn’t do this.

“Shiro.” Aeron faltered, bit their lip. “Dad. I’m going to hold them off until the others are out here, then I’ll trade places with you and you can--”

“No.”

Aeron hesitated. “What?”

“No,” Shiro repeated. “You’re already out there, and you’re just as much the black paladin as I am. You can do this, Aeron. I trust you.”

Mingled pride and grief stirred in Aeron’s chest, but they nodded, pulling out Black’s wing-blades as the Galra fleet formed up and headed toward Dovrura. Ships burned around them, and Black roared in Aeron’s head as they held the line. In moments, the Red Lion was there, arriving in a swirl of flame. The castle’s lasers joined the fray with pinpoint accuracy, knocking down ship after ship as the other paladins fell into formation.

Rose and Myhrin weren’t here. The rest of Aeron’s team wasn’t here. But their parents were, and these people were--or would be--Aeron's family. When they needed someone to take a shot, Lance was there; when they asked for scans of the battle cruiser, Pidge had them ready before the words were fully out of Aeron’s mouth. They flew in tandem with Keith, and Hunk caught a shot from their blind spot.

They cleared out the fleet quickly, Allura called out a warning as the battle cruiser began to charge its cannon, the barrel aimed directly at Dovrura.

“We can’t let them get that shot off,” Aeron called. “Everyone together now—form Voltron!”

They didn’t expect it to work. There were always hiccups when you added someone new to the formation. It took time, and it took a willingness to be open with each other—something Aeron just couldn’t bring themself to do, not when they knew so much about these people’s future.

But in a way, there was nothing new about this. Aeron knew Keith and Hunk and Lance and Pidge. They knew a version of them, anyway. And the other paladins knew Aeron’s parents. There were thirty years between them—but what was thirty years to Voltron?

The bond took root, and Aeron directed them toward the battle cruiser.

“Keith! Form sword!”

Power surged as the sword materialized. Hunk and Lance pivoted, and Keith sliced through the barrel of the ion cannon. Pidge latched onto the cruiser as Voltron drifted past, and they pivoted again, Keith reversing and bringing the sword up from below.

It sliced cleanly through the cruiser, leaving two halves drifting, the shredded shields flickering once, twice, before the power failed entirely.

Stillness returned to the system, and Aeron breathed a sigh of relief.

“That was some fine flying, everyone,” Shiro said warmly. “Good work. And Aeron—thank you. You’re team’s lucky to have you.”

By the following morning, they had the solution they'd been hunting for. However Aeron had ended up in the past, it had left an impression. A path they ought to be able to follow home. All they had to do was reopen the portal. To that end, Coran and Hunk had adapted the teludav technology, and Pidge had programmed it based on the energy spike from Aeron’s arrival.

“It’s going to take a lot of Quintessence to power this thing,” Pidge warned. The team had gathered at the point where Aeron had appeared, helmets sealed against the thin atmosphere. Aeron glanced at Allura.

“Well, what do you say, Mom? Together?”

Allura nodded and they stepped up to the device Hunk and Coran had built. It didn’t look like much; just a small silver cube with a single pedestal rising from the top. Allura laid one hand atop the pedestal, Aeron placed their hand over hers, and they both channeled their Quintessence into the device.

A ripple appeared in the air, then split into a milky blue portal tall enough to walk through.

“I guess this is it, then,” Aeron said, turning back to the paladins. Hunk sniffled, then surged forward, lifting Aeron off their feet. They wheezed, smiling despite themself. “Oh, come on, Uncle Hunk. I’m gonna be born in about seven years. That’s not so long.”

Hunk laughed, and as he pulled back, Pidge took his place. Keith and Lance were next, and Aeron pressed a small disk into Lance’s hand as they broke apart. Lance frowned, looking down at the device, and Aeron winked.

“A little memento,” they whispered, too quiet for even Keith to hear. “For when you’re homesick for something that hasn’t happened yet.”

Lance’s lip trembled, and he squeezed Aeron tight enough to force the air from their lungs. “Thank you.”

Aeron smiled, squeezing Lance back. By the time they parted, Coran was there, his smile sorrowful. Aeron’s breath quickened, and now the tears came. They remembered Coran as a pillar of their childhood, as good as a grandfather to all the paladins’ kids—right up until the day he died.

This version was virtually unchanged from the man Aeron had known. Not so many wrinkles, perhaps, and not yet any gray in his hair, but the same kind smile. The same ready hugs and gentle prodding that made Aeron spill everything.

He alone of anyone in this time had heard the full story of his death, and Shiro’s. Aeron hadn’t meant to say anything, and even now they told themself it wouldn’t change anything. But maybe…

Maybe.

Aeron clung to Coran, burying their face in the curve of his neck. “I’m going to miss you,” they whispered.

Coran sighed. “As will I. But we’ll see each other again, Aeron.”

“I hope so.”

Then all that remained was saying goodbye to their parents. Allura and Shiro stood together, radiant with pride and affection, and Aeron felt their tears spill over. Aeron focused on breathing and surged forward to hug them. Blinking against the tears, Aeron folded Shiro’s fingers over another projection disk, this one containing a picture of Aeron with their parents and brother.

“Don’t forget to have me, okay? And Myhrin, too.”

Allura laughed, then held out a necklace. Aeron recognized it as belonging to their grandmother; their mother wore it nearly every day. Their eyes widened. “I can’t--”

“Take it,” Allura said. “I want you to have a piece of me, whatever else happens.”

Aeron said nothing, just nodded, clutching the necklace to their chest, and stepped backward toward the portal. They got one last look at the team, happy and whole and hopeful, before they stepped out of time.

The castle was just the same as Aeron remembered it, albeit quieter. Med kits in every room—added after Rose’s... eventful childhood. Old finger paintings permanently emblazoned on the walls. The familiar sigh of the ventilation system, and the hum of Quintessence running through the conduits.

Aeron stepped out of the portal into the Black Lion’s hangar, unchanged down to the jacket Aeron had left draped over a chair. They went looking for their team, a corner of their mind irrationally convinced they’d come back ten thousand years too late, and everyone they’d know was long dead.

Voices in the distance led them to the rec room, where they found a crowd. Not just the other paladins, but many of their parents as well. Keith and Lance had claimed a corner of the couch; Hunk and Shay and the Holts were huddled by the wall, talking in low tones.

But it was Rose, pacing by the door and chewing on a fingernail, who noticed Aeron first. She stopped, mouth dropping open.

Then she shrieked, loud enough to shatter glass, and sprinted toward Aeron. “You big, stupid jerk!” she cried, slamming into them and spinning around. “Do you have any idea how worried we were?” Rose pulled back, punching Aeron in the shoulder. “You’re not allowed to do that again.”

Aeron chuckled, rubbing their arm. “Sorry,” they said, beaming as everyone else streamed forward to join in on the group hug. “I’m home now, though.”

A hand settled between Aeron’s shoulder blades, warm and heavy, and they began to turn, only to freeze when a familiar voice said, “You’re right.”

Aeron forgot how to breathe. It was only then that they spotted Coran across the room, smiling into his hand. There was gray in his hair, more than Aeron remembered, but his eyes sparkled mischievously as he came forward and put an arm around Allura’s shoulders.

Aeron turned.

“Dad?”

Their voice came out small, tears streaming down their face, but their father only smiled, pulling them against him. “Welcome home, kiddo.”

#voltron #vld #shallura #klance #next gen au #time travel au

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