#gs!au

[0-xbellex-0]

The things you think up at 3 am-

Diesel(Gas station Au!Eclipse) and beige belong to @nekojaf

Rocli(Rocker!Eclipse) belongs to @zarigi

Audio: Me, you, and Steve

Some shots pfft

[calcium-cat]

Since I’ve got some GrowthSpurt!AU stuff to post, I’ve decided to reblog the old AU posts for some context, so get ready for a teen Dream spam tomorrow! 

[hardlyaprime]

it wouldnt leave my head im so sorry sev

Battling through the monsters that had invaded Carter's ship in his absence, everyone locks eyes with each other. It seems silly, but everything that your group has done for each of its members binds you to each other.

Later, in the safety of the freshly cleaned cabin, you all make a pact, promising never to betray or leave each other. The loyalties you've sworn are to each other--

--and not to Tim and his group.

Which is probably why Tim eyes you with suspicion whenever you walk into the room.

When you fight battles, he relies more on his own comrades to protect his blind sides than on any of yours, including Electra. Whatever trust he may have had in you two while the two of you were children is gone now.

The pact that Syn, Electra, Carter, and you have made is still fresh in your mind, which is why you don't blame Tim whenever he shifts away from you standing over his shoulder. You can feel it from his demeanor. He's scared of you, who has fought alongside the two fierce warriors of the Mars Clan, the very people who were his enemies. He's scared of Carter, the mysterious long-living Lemurian descended from an ancient people. He's scared of Syn, who fell from the sky with no memory of her origins.

Electra might just be the only one he doesn't fear. Her distrust of Saturos and Menardi ran deep all during the time she spent with them. She identifies with Tim, and his fears, best.

At times, you yourself wonder if you fear Tim as much as he fears you.

Clint holds up his hand, a silly grin on his face.

"Hold on, you guys. Now that Thana's with us, don't you think we need something to celebrate this moment?" he asks, laughing as he gives Thana a wink. The Shadar-Kai blinks slowly and looks down.

Tim catches Clint's eye and raises an eyebrow at him.

"I know you're thinking 'What makes this any different from when Lancelot joined', but come on! Look!" Clint throws an arm around Tim, pointing at Thana. "She's a girl!"

With an audible sigh, Tim smacks his own forehead, though a smile spreads across his features.

"I read in a book somewhere that the first explorers of Gondowan made a compact to stay loyal to each other? We're technically exploring places we've never gone before, so why not do that?" Lancelot offers.

"Lance, you're such a nerd," Clint replies.

"I am not!"

"I think that's a good idea," Thana says, smiling at the two arguing boys. "Wouldn't you agree, Tim?"

The Venus adept nods his consent and holds out a gloved hand.

Everyone else lays their hand on his, and they take a moment to stare at the hands layered on each other. There's Tim's leathery gloved hand, which looks similar to Clint's, only smaller. Lancelot's own gloves are a lighter brown, and they look expensive compared to Clint's worn out ones. And then Thana's hand looks out of place, what with it being the only blue one. It seems to be an amazing sight to them, symbolic of the new partnership they were about to form.

Tim looks down with determined brown eyes, a promise in them to lead the group safely and to the best of his abilities.

His determination encourages the others to speak their part, with Clint being the first to loudly proclaim his undying love and loyalty to the group.

Lancelot follows next, with an annoyed expression on his face as he says his part more seriously than Clint had. Thana is last, her voice clear and strong as she swears on her clan that she would be loyal always.

It was the four of them who had sworn to each other.

Not the eight of them.

There are times where you're absolutely sure things will go fine, but that's rare in itself. There are times where you want to open your mouth and say something, anything, to fix what shattered after what happened in Sol Sanctum, but not once has that ever surfaced. You can remember the look of shock on Tim's eyes, the flickering of disbelief, and then sadness, and then the final understanding on how you'd betrayed all of them.

Now that they're helping you--that you're helping them--you thought that look would go away.

You were sorely wrong.

Tim is still wary, and something breaks inside of you every time he takes a step away, every time he decides to stand closer to Clint--Clint, who never left, and who would probably have crawled back to Vale with his nails clawing in the dirt if everyone presumed him dead and he survived.

"He ran all the way in the rain to find you help, you know," Electra told you once, her hands untying her ponytail, hair tumbling over her shoulders. "Back then. He loved you as much as I do."

It's the past tense that ruined you.

Normally you look at your team and you realize that you're okay with this, with the separation, with the idea that nothing's going to ever be the same again.

But every morning it gets a little harder, and every morning you can feel Tim slipping farther and farther away.

Carter looks at you because he knows; and though the two of you are related, distantly, somehow, you're still not very comfortable with the idea of him being wiser than you are. He grabbed you, at some point, fingers curling around your shoulder and voice nothing but a murmur, and said a few simple words:

"You're both Earth adepts, aren't you? Bond over that."

You shook your head at him in response, telling him it wasn't that easy.

Carter snorted and said something about 'drama queens', and then he'd moved on.

Tim sits on the floor of the deck, hands opening and closing, fingers curling and uncurling. Everyone's asleep below deck, Lance is comfortable in his hammock despite arguing with Clint over who took top, and Thana is meditating instead of sleeping. The waters make little noises, and he misses the feel of ground beneath his feet. Part of him wonders if Seven feels the same. The other part tells him to stop caring.

There're the sounds of boots hitting the wood, but Tim doesn't lift his head to say 'hello'. The nerves in his skin flare with recognition, with the acknowledgment of power that's similar to his. There is only one other Earth adept on this ship, and he sits beside Tim because there's nowhere he can run anymore.

"Don't like sea travel," Seven says. "Makes me nauseous."

Tim is quiet, head ducked down, hands stilled on his thighs.

"You probably feel the same," he mentions, and his voice is softer than before. "Maybe it's in our blood to miss the Earth."

Tim feels like he's missing something here. Drawing on similarities isn't Seven's style--or at least, it wasn't, when Tim last felt he knew him. He lifts his head and a couple of stray bangs brush against the skin of his forehead, and he tries not to sound hostile as he asks: "What are you doing?"

Seven opens his mouth to speak, but stops, his lips pressing together and a thoughtful look coming to his face. He shrugs his shoulders.

"Bonding," he answers, "over being an Earth adept."

Tim is silent again, staring at Seven like he can't believe what he's hearing, and then a smile curls on his lips and he shakes his head. He's not sure what to say in response.

A hand falls on his shoulder, and Tim flinches, but looks up at the other male once more with a question in his eyes.

"You and me," Seven begins, his palm trembling slightly, "let's make a pact."

Tim blinks slowly. "A pact," he repeats.

"What, do I have to say it a second time?" Seven's eyes glitter with a familiar humor, one Tim hasn't seen in years. It makes him feel a little warmer on the inside. "Is this the Gondowan pact, Gallahad?" The nickname tastes foreign on his tongue, dusty after years of unuse, but it makes something spark in Seven's face--makes the pulse in his fingers flutter where they press insistently into the curve of Tim's shoulder.

He snorts, though. "Hell no. It's a you and me pact."

Tim can't help but smile. "And how does that work out? What're we swearing to?" he asks, but then his heart rate jumps when Seven's fingers trail, lightly tracing the outline of his jaw. They stop just beneath his ear, stilling.

"To never part," Seven says in response. "That we'll be us again, and always."

Memories flash in Tim's mind, ones that make his heart stammer and his resolve break, but then his head ends up ducking and he shifts away from the other male, confusion errant in his chest.

He leaves Seven alone that night, still afraid.

He hopes he understands.

You're all battered and bruised and the battle is over.

The lighthouses are lit, Elliot is gone, and the promise of Vale looms ahead.

People are celebrating, of course. Clint's arm is around Carter's shoulder (much to his annoyance), Thana and Syn are both adequately confused at how cheerful Electra is, and Lancelot walks with a smile on his face, like he knew this was going to happen. Tim is grasping his shoulder because he swung a battle ax too hard. You're not faring any better.

You all find an inn to stay in, and are separated four and four. It's expected. You feel connected, now that you've all done something together, but the stronger bonds will always resurface.

It's before dawn when you're awoken by a hand on your shoulder, a pair of lips pressing insistently against yours.

Instinct makes you pull the smaller frame closer, and now there are knees on either side of your hips, and your gloved hands find your way into soft hair, before trailing down and feeling everything else.

Tim pulls away, but keeps your foreheads pressed together.

"What the hell are you doing?" you can't help but ask, your lips twitching in amusement. They're still warm, tingling, and you wonder if Tim feels the same.

You both know you're each other's firsts.

It's a little exhilarating.

Tim kisses you again, soft and a little more tentative, his hands holding your head. You return it in earnest, that is, until he pulls away again and finds your fingers, twining them with his own.

"A pact," he replies, nervously. "An us pact."

You're quiet, for a while, and then memories of the ship and the conversation and the touches come dawning in your brain. Something brightens inside of you, and you grin and pull him tighter, kissing him again, holding him close again.

"Good," you say. "Good choice, Merlin."

Later, Tim and Seven push two tables together at breakfast, eight chairs arranged around two squares. Both sit at either ends, and the other adepts talk, though the strain there is present.

Tim looks up from his bread to meet Seven's gaze across.

They just need a little push, Seven's eyes say.

I know, Tim replies.

When Electra yells at Clint for stealing from her plate, everyone laughs.

It won't be soon before long.