#and now I’ll go frantically searching on ao3

[piniatafullofblood]

oh my god you just gave me an idea for a reversed roles dreamling fic

Currently fixating on caretaker who's not all human letting their voice drop as dark and monstrous as they can. They make unflinching eye contact with whumper, and with all the vitriol and burning rage in their body tell whumper, "Don't you fucking touch them."

It is not a warning, not even a command. It is a promise.

[samhainsflesh]

Midnight Hour (Cowboy!Logan x Fem!Reader — Western AU)

Summary: It’s past midnight. The saloon is closed and you’re fixing the mess that’s been left behind.But the night takes a twist when Logan uses the bar to hide from the town’s sheriff.

Tags: western, enemies to lovers, angst, sexual tension, passionate kissing, a bit of fluff.

Words: 2.3 k

A/C: I’ve been watching a bunch of westerns lately so I had to do something with Logan.

AO3 link:

✞﹏𓃗﹏✞

You are cleaning up the broken bottles and beer spills of that night after the saloon closed. The wooden doors are shut. Past midnight, death lingers in the valley; the only sounds are the distant howls of coyotes. Every now and then, you’d hear the crack of gunshots, the frantic pounding of horses’ hooves running from one place to other, or an occational scream cutting through the darkness. But not a single soul dares to interfere in the affairs of those who own the night. 

You take a glance out the window. The wind stirs up the dirt in clouds, carrying it across the streets. The full moon lights up the shape of two horses riding in the distance. It’s the sheriff and his right hand going their rounds, circling like wolves — searching for something, or someone. 

Out of curiosity, you lean out of the window for a better look, but as soon as you stick your head out, a hand covers your mouth. Your heart leaps as you find yourself face-to-face with a man with a cowboy hat, mutton chops and a plaid shirt looking at you dead in the eye.

"Let me in, darlin’. I’ll pay for the beers" he mutters.

You try to speak, but his hand tightens over your mouth as he gets closer to you.

"You don’t wanna get yourself hurt now, do ya?’

You shake your head.

“Atta’ girl. Open the door.”

With your trembling hand, you unlock the door. The man comes in a blink of an eye, asking you to lock the door again. He procedes to bring the window shutters down.

You run towards the counter, your eyes locking on a broken bottle lying on the floor. Grabbing it by the neck, you use the jagged edge like a weapon, pointing it at the stranger.

“What do you want?��� you tell him as you step closer.

He grins under the brim of his cowboy hat and leans back in one of the chairs, kicking his boots up onto the table.

“Relax, I don’t carry guns. Don’t like’em.” He says holding his hands up, showing you they’re empty. “You can put that down”

“What about a knife? you got one?”

He chuckles, quite amused, but his smile fades quickly “Look, I don’t have much time, I need you to listen carefully”.

“We don’t have much money if that’s what you’re after.”

“We?” he narrows his eyes “Is someone else here?”

“No” you answer way too quickly.

A noise that comes from the backroom of the saloon draws his attention.

“No?” he stands up towering you “I think you’re lyin’ to me sweetie” 

You try show you’re not afraid by sitting down besides him, holding his gaze. “Just tell me what you want, jackass” you say firmly, though yours hands shake a little. 

The stranger notices this. 

“You got some nerve in you” he leans back in his seat again.

“I deal with men like you every night”

He chuckles, “I don’t think you’ve ever met a man like me” he makes a brief pause “You can call me Logan”

“ I’m not telling you my name”

“That’s fine, the less we now about each other, the better”

“Agreed” You say, placing the broken bottle on the table but keeping it within reach.

“Alright, speak, girl” he says firmly. 

“That’s the owner of the saloon in the backroom. You don’t get to hurt him, you hear me? he’s old, he can barely hear a thing”

Logan’s expression softens just a bit “I won’t do anything to you or him, as long as you behave. Listen, I got into some trouble, alright? The sheriff’s out looking for me. I just need to lay low for a couple of hours, and then I’m gone. I’ve had enough of this damn town already.”

“Are you a bounty hunter?”

He scoffs. “I wish I was one. At least i’d get paid for this crap”. He leans closer to you, dropping his voice “Lock the old man up in the backroom. You’ll stay here and cover for me. And don’t even think about trying anything stupid, sweetheart” He continues “Also, I know everybody around here keeps a shotgun behind the counter, so you’re gonna hand over the one you’ve got ”. 

You narrow your eyes and rise slowly, your movements are delibarte. You head towards the counter, aware of his boots following behind you. The weight of his gaze presses against your back, and every time you glance over your shoulder, his eyes are locked on you, unflinching. 

You grab the shotgun from the counter and lay it down in front of him. “There you have it…Logan”. A smirk draws in his face as he hears his name coming from your lips.

“Wasn’t that hard, was it?”

Before you respond, The back door opens. The old man steps in. Panic flashes across his face. Though his hearing is far from perfect, his instincts are still sharp enough to grab the shotgun from the counter.

Instantly, Logan grabs you by the waist and pulls you firmly against him. His arms encircle you, holding you immobile. And then it happens. 

Claws cut from the flesh of his knuckles. The bones extent aiming the sharp ends at you.

The old man stares horrified in desbelief as he loads the gun “What… what are you?”

“Right now, I’m your fucking problem.” He says as the edge of his claws come close to your neck.“Put the gun down, it’s useless”.

Logan notices the genuine fear in your eyes, although you try to take hold of your trembling body. 

He leans closer to you. His warm breath brushing your ear as he whispers “Don’t worry beautiful. I’m not going to use it on ya. Just help me calm him down”. A weird mixture of unease and desire twistes in your insides.

“H-hey, leave the goddamn gun. He’s going to kill us both if you don’t, old man” you gesture the man as you speak to make your point. At first the old man resists. But he loosens his grip when he reads your lips saying : “please”. 

The second the old man lowers his guard, Logan knocks him out. 

As soon as the body hits the floor you run towards the man to check on him. He’s just momentarily passed out.

Anger clouds your thoughts as you stand up and sucker punch Logan straight in the face. 

“Damn. I deserved it, alright” he responds, rubbing his jaw.

You raise your hand to give him another swing but he grabs you by your wrists. His grip is firm enough to stop you but very careful so he doesn’t hurt you.

“Careful, darlin’” he warns in a serious tone

“Bastard” you spit on him.

“He’ll be okay” 

“He better be or-”

“Or what? you’ll kill me?” he interrupts, leaving you speechless.

Your head is a mess. Confusion, anger, attraction, everything at once. 

“I need your help” he speaks softly letting go of your wrists. “Just need to finish this and I’ll never bother you and that old fuck again.” You nod. “And don’t hit me again”.

He releases your wrists. You both stare each other for a second without uttering a single word.

“First, help me carry the old man upstairs. I’m not chaining him in the backroom” you demand.

Logan helps you lay the body of the old man in the bedroom upstairs. Time passes by in that small room as you both sit in silence, looking through the window.

“How can you do that? that thing with your bones” you finally break the ice again.

He shrugs “ I was born like this”. 

“Are there more like you?”

“Hey, I thought you said you didn’t want to know anything ‘bout me”

“That was 5 minutes ago, previous to the… claws” you pause “Do they hurt when they come out?”

“Every time” 

You get closer and closer to him. He’s very still, holding his arms crossed. He analises your movements with his eyes. You extent your hand to touch his knuckles but his first reaction is to pull away, a little scared. You notice there’s a vulnerable side to him, you know he’s scared to hurt you with his claws. His hands show no sign of damage, the skin is completely healed. “Fascinating”

You can sense his eyes locking in you with a soft gaze. “You ain’t scared?”

“Well, a bit” you respond with sincerity “but I’m mainly surprised” pause “Is this why they’re chasing you?”

“Well, it’s a lil complex…”

Your conversation gets interrupted by the sound of the pound of the horses’ hooves marching towards the saloon. The sheriff and his right hand nock the front door of the bar.

You grab him by the shirt and shove him into your closet. “Stay quiet” 

Dowstairs, the sheriff saluts you “G’night, girl. You were closing?.”

“Yes”

“I know it’s supposed to be closed by now but may we come in? We’ve been searching for this looney in town for hours and we’re thirsty as hell”

“I don’t know, I should ask the owner. I’m not allowed-”

“Come on, it’ll be just a minute” the right hand insists.

“ Just a minute”.

Both men enter the room as it was theirs. "Where’s that old timer of mine?"

“Sleeping. He was very tired”.

“Poor old man huh, always working. Serve us some beer please ” 

You hand them their drinks. As they finish the beers in a hurry, The sheriff’s wingman noticies a spot of blood on the floor and broken glass, alongside Logan’s hat.

“Tough night?”

“Yeah, some fellas got into a fight. One even forgot his hat. You know how those animals are”

“those pigs” replies the right hand.

As you try to keep the sheriff distracted, a loud creak echoes from upstairs. Your heart stops.

“What was that?”

“Just the old man. He sometimes moves in his sleep”

“Mind if I check upstairs?”

“No problem” you curse under your breath.

In the room, the old man snores. The sheriff scans the room with his eyes. Everything seems in order. He looks back at you. 

“You sure you’re alright, miss? You look a little pale.”

“yeah, it’s just a headache” 

“Alright, we won’t bother you no longer. Thanks for the drinks. If anything happens you let me know. Good night.”

Both men leave the place, riding their horses.

You quickly go upstairs. “Logan? Logan?” you call for him with a hint of despair in your voice.

The closet door creaks open, and Logan steps out, dusting himself off.

“This damn thing wasn’t built for a guy like me,” he mutters, glaring at the splintered wood.

You sit on the floor, overwhelmed by the situation. 

“You were worried about me weren’t ya?” he answers fixing himself up. “You actually helped a convict escape, that’s a federal crime ma´am”

You are still absorbed in your thoughts. 

“You’d make a hell of a sidekick, y’know ”

You glare at him without answering.

“Or a hell of a lover.” adds with a playful smirk

You stand abruptly. 

“I’d never be with someone like you” you reply as you go downstairs, avoiding him.

He follows your steps. “You wouldn’t date a freak?’”

“I wouldn’t date a criminal”

“So you don’t mind me being a freak but you do mind me being a criminal? you’re adorable ma’am”

“I’m not” you tell him while you pick up his hat from the floor trying to return it to him.

“You are” he gently grabs your chin with his fingers. 

You feel the sudden impulse to kiss him. Both your lips close in a gentle kiss that escalates into a more intense one. The rush of adrenaline accumulated from the previous tense situation makes you both desperate for each other. Although he was much stronger than you, he let himself be guided by you against the counter. He raises you like a feather over the bar, placing his body between your legs. His kisses run through your neck, your arms. Every now and then, your tongue reaches his mouth with unspeakable hunger.

You pull him away. 

“Something’s wrong?” he asks trying to catch his breath.

“No. Yes” you struggle to sort out you feelings.

“I’ve got a couple of hours left here, if you wanna… get into it. I don’t mind doing it on the counter.”

“What about him?” You nod toward the room upstairs.

“Well, we’d just have to keep it quiet, wouldn’t we?”

You chuckle at his playful manners, but your smile fades as reality sinks in.

“I think you should go Logan.” You reach up, fixing a strand of his hair that got messed up during your heated moment.

“ That’s what you really want?” he mutters softly, looking straight into your eyes.

“Well… no” you admit after a pause. “But he’s going to wake up anytime soon. I need to fix this mess. Next time you come here, we’ll finish our business”.

“It’s a deal”

You’re still on the counter, your legs loosely wrapped around his waist. You place his hat back on his head. He gives you a small, genuine smile. For a man who seemed so rough and dangerous, there’s a softness to him now that makes your chest tighten.

You place a goodbye kiss on his lips “You’re not that bad for an outlaw with… claws”

“Thank you for everything, sugar. I’m really sorry for all this.”

Before stepping out, he glances back at you. “You haven’t told me your name.”

“Not yet boy, You’ll have to wait till next time”

“Can’t wait, ma’am” He tips his hat with a smirk before disappearing into the night.

✞﹏𓃗﹏✞

[dreamingofep]

Forbidden Love pt. 2 💔❣️

Fandom: Elvis - Elvis (2022)

Prompt: Reuniting with Elvis was supposed to be the highlight of your summer, but with unresolved tensions between you two, things aren't what they seem. [Fem!Reader]

TW: Cussing, TENSION, kissing, grinding, fingering

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 5.3k

A/N: Hello everyone! I had originally wrote all of this part out a few months ago because this is where the idea sprang from! There’s so much more to uncover and this part definitely needs to be in Elvis’ perspective later on so be on the lookout for that. 🤭

Here are the songs I included in this part too! Listen if you haven’t heard “I’ll Never Let You Go (Little Darlin’)” It’s so sweet and I just pictured Elvis singing this soft and low on the piano. 🥹

If you'd like to read any of my other fics, start here or Ao3!

Hope you enjoy and message and comment what you think.

September 21, 1958

Your heart was heavy as you walked up the driveway. The house was illuminated by the lawn lights and the hum of people inside grew the closer you got to it. Graceland was always so beautiful, especially at night. The large Corinthian columns were so stunning and made the whole house stand out. It was made for Elvis you thought. No ordinary man could live here. It had to be someone as grand and special as Elvis Presley was. 

You walk up the steps to the front door and take a deep breath. Emotions were flowing through you today. You were going to say goodbye to one of your favorite people. Elvis was always there for you, in good times and bad, he would always listen. He was supposed to be gone for two years in the army. It couldn’t have been a worse time to be drafted. He was at the top of all the charts and his career was just taking off. You two had gotten close the last two years or so. You think it was a way to ground Elvis and keep him connected with the real world. You both loved to hang out with each other's family and have barbecues together. 

Now all of that was going to change. He was leaving and you knew you’d be a wreck without him. You don’t have a lot of friends as it is. But Elvis was special. There was no replacing him. You promised yourself you wouldn’t cry at this party. Elvis wanted everyone to have a good time and not think of it as his goodbye party. You took a deep breath before you decided to go in the house. You smoothed out your pale pink dress and opened the front door. 

The entire house was lively and some of the people that were standing by the stairs greeted you. Your eyes frantically search for Elvis. You wanted to spend as much time with him as possible before he left. Walking to the kitchen, you set down the bottle of champagne you brought. One of Elvis's housekeepers hugs you and tells you she’ll open the bottle for you. Someone hands you a flute already filled with champagne and you graciously take it. 

The bubbly drink danced on your tongue and went down smoothly. You squeeze your way through the sea of people and continue to search for Elvis. There had to be over fifty people crammed into the first floor of the house. You accidentally bump into a taller man and apologize for that. You decide to ask him if he knew where Elvis was. He has this awe-struck look in his eyes as he looks at you. You silently roll your eyes at him, you didn’t want to talk to him, all you wanted to do was spend time with Elvis. 

“I uhh… I don’t know. But you can hang out with me. I’m John, you’re y/n right?” He asks. You don’t have the patience to be making small talk with anyone tonight but you fear this guy won’t get the message. 

“Yeah, I am,” you say as you keep looking for Elvis and taking another sip of champagne. 

“Yeah, I’ve seen you around here. How long have you known Elvis?” He asks. You sigh unamused, you weren’t in the mood to have another one of Elvis’ friends hitting you. Maybe you would have actually given it a shot if it was another night but it was not the right time at all. Your mind was so focused on getting to Elvis. 

“Quite a while. He’s my best friend,” you say flatly. 

“Well, that’s something you and I have in common. He and I go way back. Can I get you another glass of champagne?” He asks pointing to your glass. 

To get through this conversation with you, I’m going to need ten, you think annoyed. 

“Yeah sure,” you say flatly, creeping your way in slowly to the living room. You stretch on your tippy toes to see if you can spot Elvis. He was almost always the tallest one in a crowd and you hoped you’d get a glimpse of his dark black hair. It was useless because all you see are other people’s heads and couldn’t see anything else. You huffed annoyed, time was ticking by and you hadn’t even greeted Elvis yet. 

You get tapped on your shoulder and you look up to find John with another champagne glass in his hand. 

“Thanks, see you around,” you say as you quickly push your way into the crowd and make your escape from the annoying man. 

The sound of the piano fills the living room and you just know that Elvis is the one playing on it. He did that so often at parties. He played so beautifully and loved to entertain even though it was his party. You finally squeeze yourself to the very front and see him. He looked so happy with all his friends around the piano waiting for him to burst out in song. He wore a white short-sleeved button-up that was ruffled on the chest and tucked into white pants. He cut his hair the shortest you’d ever seen it for boot camp but he still looks so handsome. 

His attention gets torn from his friends and he catches a glimpse of you. His face lights up when he sees you and instantly gets up from the piano bench. 

“There’s my favorite girl! Where have you been?” He asks excitedly, scooping you up in his arms and squeezing you tight. You can’t help but smile and giggle softly as you feel how happy he was to have you here. 

“I’ve been looking all over for you! You’re impossible to find in your own house,” you giggle.

He gently sets you down and looks at your outfit, taking your hand in his. “And you look like a million bucks too!” He says twirling you around. “Thank you for coming. I’m so glad you’re here!” He says gleefully.

“Of course, I wouldn’t miss it!” You say with a smile.

“Perfect timing too. I was just about to play some songs, and you get to sing with me,” he says cheekily, pulling you onto the piano bench with him. You get extremely nervous, you do not like to be in a crowd of people and have the main focus on you.

“Oh no no no Elvis please I cannot sing,” you say nervously, trying to scoot away from him.

He wraps his arm around your waist and keeps you right next to him.

“Oh no, you’re not running away from me. You just got here! Come on, please sing with me. I love it when you do,” he pleads. He looks at you with soft eyes and a cute cheeky smile. God, you couldn’t say no to this man even if you tried.

You sigh defeated, “Okay fine. Only for a few songs, and then I’m hiding in the corner again,” you say jokingly, taking another sip of champagne. He lets out a big boisterous laugh, bringing his hands to the piano’s keys, and plays a few chords to warm up. He plays so effortlessly, stretching his long fingers across the ivories. 

Well it’s one for the money

Two for the show

Three to get ready now go cat go

But don’t you step on my Blue Suede Shoes…

He radiates so much energy when he sings. There’s no way anyone could have a straight face while he performs. A huge smile forms on your face and you start clapping along to the beat. He bumps your shoulder to join in and you sing along with him softly. His mood is contagious and you can’t say no to him and join in. 

The longer he plays, the less nervous you become. You don’t pay attention to any of the surrounding people in the living room. Song after song, it felt like it was just you and Elvis singing to each other. Or he was just singing to you. You honestly lost track of time as he continued to play more songs and you kept drinking your champagne. And come to think of it, you lost track of how many drinks you had too. But you didn’t care, you were having too much fun singing with Elvis. He was handed a few drinks and he was drinking them too. It surprised you because he normally never drank but the mood in here was so joyful and fun, you were sure he didn’t care tonight.

Before you knew it, the living room was slowly clearing out and the house was getting increasingly quieter. People were saying their goodbyes to Elvis and telling him how much they’d miss him. Some of the guys were going to go out driving and invited you both to join them, but Elvis wanted to stay here. You didn’t want to leave either, every second you had with him was precious. 

It was past 1 am and Elvis started playing slower ballads while humming the tune. You could sit next to him for hours listening to him play. You were entranced by the way he played, how his fingers almost danced over the keys and the most melodious sounds rang out. You put down the last glass of champagne down and felt your head spin a bit. You tried not to focus on it too much and tried to draw your attention back to Elvis.

I’ll never let you go little darlin’

I’m so sorry, ‘cause I made you cry

I’ll never let you go because I love you

So please don’t ever say goodbye…

He plays the song so beautifully, letting the chords ring out fully before he sings the next line. You wish you could snap a picture of this moment and never let it fade away in your memory. Sitting here, listening to him sing a ballad as it pulls at your heartstrings. You were going to miss him so much. He wasn’t going to be down the street from you anymore. You couldn’t just stop by to see how he was. He was going to be thousands of miles away, in a different country, on a different continent. You promised yourself you weren’t going to cry, but you feel the tears well in your eyes as he finishes the song. Damn, the alcohol getting the best of you and your emotions.

Because I love you, pretty baby

I’m so sorry ‘cause I made you cry

I made you cry

Yeah, I’ll never let you go

“Cause I love you, little baby

So please don’t ever say good-bye

He finishes the song so beautifully and you both sit there in silence. A few tears were rolling down your cheeks and you don’t bother to wipe them away. He looks over at you and sees your tear-filled eyes.

“Aww y/n, what’s wrong? Why you cryin’?” He asks as he gently turns your head towards him. His thumbs gently wipe the rolling tears off of your face but that only makes it worse. You take a deep breath before speaking and try to hold it together.

“I’m just… I’m just going to miss you,” you say weakly. He instantly pulls you into his arms, your head resting in the crook of his neck. He rubs your back, trying to soothe you through your cries.

“I know, I am too. It’s going to be so different,” he admits.

“I don’t want you to go. You’re my best friend. Who am I going to talk to now?” You sob, holding onto his shirt.

“You’ll still have me. Write to me any time you want or put on one of my records when you’re lonely. Think of it as though I’m singin’ to you and only you. I love singin’ for you,” He coos. Your tears continue to pour down your face. That thought was too much. You couldn’t fathom the idea that the only way you were going to be able to hear his voice was on a record. You didn’t realize how spoiled you were that you could hear him sing right next to you any time you wanted.

You lift your head up off of him and nod your head. You look into his own tear-filled eyes and somehow his eyes look more blue and mesmerizing. Your head felt light after all the champagne but you didn’t care. Nothing could tear your focus away from Elvis right now. He wipes your tears away once more as his own fall down his cheeks.

“And what do I do if I find myself missin’ you?” He asks through sniffles.

You search for the right thing to say, not exactly sure what to say in a moment like this. You had nothing to offer Elvis. He was the man who had everything even though you both were so young. You look down at your hands, unsure what to do, and see your heart-shaped ring on your ring finger. It was something you found at a little boutique downtown. The band was gold with a black heart that had a sun and a small little diamond in the center. You thought it was cute and a nice find. You slide it off and lift it up for Elvis to see. 

“Then you take this with you. I’ll always be with you if you have this,” you say softly. He carefully takes it out of your hand and looks at it closely. He looks up at you in disbelief.

“Are you sure? I don’t want to take something so valuable to you,” you waivers. 

“No please, I insist. It’s the least I could give,” you sniffle.

He pulls you in for another hug, squeezing you tighter than he ever has before. You so desperately wanted to freeze time so you could live in this moment forever. You didn’t want to let go of him. You were terrified he would come back from the Army and become a totally different person. But you had to stop thinking that, just enjoy these last few moments with him.

“I’m gonna miss you so much,” he murmurs.

“Me too,” you say weakly.

“Don’t forget about me,” he whispers into your ear.

“Oh God I could never,” you tell him.

He breaks away from you, looking deeply into your eyes and placing his hand on your cheek. His thumb glides back and forth along your cheek and sighs to himself. You aren’t normally so close to him like this and can see so clearly how gorgeous he is. You swore his eyes sparkled when they looked at you. His nose was perfect and his skin was flawless. You watch as his eyes drift down to your lips and you do the same. Maybe you never consciously thought about it, but his lips were beautiful like the rest of him. They were full and plump with a soft pink color to them. They looked soft and pillowy almost. 

You can feel your breathing hitch in your throat the longer you stare at him. His hands tighten around your body but are still very gentle as though he’s afraid he’s going to break you. He leans in ever so slowly, biting his lower lips as he does so.

“Good, me too…I can’t forget you even if I tried,” he murmurs sensually.

The tension he is giving off makes your head spin more and you can’t wait any longer. You lean into him and crash your lips into his.

He felt like heaven. Each kiss was tender and soft and yet there was so much urgency behind it. You were right, his lips were softer than you could have ever imagined, and felt like you were kissing pillows. You can’t catch your breath as you both kiss each other with more passion. His hands roamed up and down your back, clutching onto the material of your dress. Oh, those hands, they felt so good on you. They were addictive and you wished you could feel them on your skin instead. You had no idea you needed his attention like this.

You boldly slip your hand into his shirt, feeling the soft chest hairs that resided there. He responds with a soft pleased groan into your mouth. Your heart races in your chest, not believing that this is happening right now. You felt on fire with the way he was kissing you. He was so needy and desperate for your attention as his hands kept moving along your body. He slips his tongue into your mouth and you both groan when he does so. You had never thought you needed him like this, you were always so adamant about staying friends. Maybe things could be different…

There was a throbbing developing in between your legs and was only growing worse by the second. It was so different than other times you’ve felt this way. You had felt this way in private moments by yourself but with Elvis, it was amplified to a whole other degree. Your chest heaves and you feel yourself become more needy. You slowly stand up and try to get Elvis to do the same thing. He breaks the kiss and looks at you a little perplexed. You push him backward to the couch that is right behind the piano. He quickly sits and stares up at you wide-eyed. He smooths out his pants and spreads his legs apart slightly. Your eyes drift to his long legs and how good he looks like this. He just exuded sensuality and temptation without even trying.

You notice how his length was hard and pushing up against his pants. Oh God, you’ve never felt more needy in your life. You wanted to feel what he was like underneath you. You quickly straddle his hips and scrunch up your dress before sitting down on him. Your core rests on top of his length and the heat from him makes it hard to breathe. You let out a small groan as you feel him underneath you. The straps of your dress slide off your shoulders and you’re left looking at Elvis’ luring eyes.

You both don’t say anything, just the sounds of your labored breaths fill the room. His hands drift from your back to the front of your body, gently cupping your breasts in his hands. You whimper softly, loving the way his hands feel on you. You look down as he does this, watching how his hands consume your soft breasts and have you reeling for more. He sighs as he continues to touch you, looking up at you with an awed gaze. You needed his lips once more and leaned in to kiss him again. The kisses somehow got even better with his hands on you like this. Your arms wrap around his neck and feel his soft hair with your fingertips.

Something instinctual takes over your body and your hips begin to move on him, grinding your core onto his hardened length. A bolt of electricity runs through you as you begin to move. You had no idea something like this could feel so satisfying. You break the kiss and gasp out, needing breath more than ever. Elvis lets out a deep groan and lets his head fall back with his eyes closed. Another wave of pleasure runs through you seeing him like this. He looked so attractive with satisfaction running through both you and him. His eyes pop back open with his mouth falling open slightly.

“Oh God honey… that feels so good,” he moans.

Honey.

Oh God he had never called you that before. Hearing that come from his lips made you feel like the actual word; a sweet sticky mess.

You nod your head at him and whimper in agreement as your breathing hitches. You keep eye contact with him as your core continues to throb with every movement of your hips.

“Elvis,” you whine.

He nods his head at you, his hands slithering to your back and grabbing handfuls of your ass. He helps you grind into him harder, his hands helping your hips move back and forth onto him. You gasp loudly, loving how this feels.

“I know honey, I know,” he groans, “You feel so good on my cock,” he whimpers into your ear. 

You helplessly moan at just his words. You hold onto him tighter and move more as he helps you. The friction of your panties against his slacks made a coil in your belly form and it tightens with every move. You couldn’t get enough of him. You didn’t want to stop having him make you feel this way. He stills you and you look at him with needy eyes.

He takes one of his hands and moves it to the front of your body. He scrunches the material of your dress in his hand and looks up a you with pleading eyes.

“Can I touch you?” He asks softly. You nod your head quickly and help him lift up your dress. His fingertips graze your mound and move down to your folds. Wetness had pooled in your panties and you squirmed underneath him. Elvis moves his fingers slowly, taking his time exploring you.

“Jesus honey you’re soaked,” he groans. Your hips move with his curious fingers and moan in agreement. You feel his finger pull your panties to the side and continue to slide them through your wet folds. You cuss softly, loving how he’s making you feel. He pulls you in for a kiss again and you both moan when you feel each other’s lips. He puts more pressure on your clit, rubbing it in soft circles. Your body jolts forward with each touch and you are more breathless than you thought possible. You stare at him in awe as your pleasure builds and builds. He has a pleased smirk on his face as he watches you grind on his hand. You couldn’t imagine you could feel this good but it’s somehow possible with Elvis.

Your hands quickly work the buttons of his shirt and spread it open. You then work your way down to his pants and fidget with the button and slide down the zipper. Elvis stills you, not letting you go any further.

“Honey, wait,” Elvis sighs.

“Please, I want you,” you whimper.

“I know, so do I,” he grumbles into your neck.

“Please… please make me feel good. I want you,” you plead, grinding your hips onto him again. He lets out a loud groan, unable to denounce how good you feel. You move back a bit and your hand finds his length. You rub it softly, feeling how much heat is coming off of him and how it is throbbing from your touch. Your head spun when you felt him, you needed him more than anything. 

“Please honey, please. Make love to me,” you beg, looking up at him with needy eyes, your hands scratching down his arms. He looks at you in awe. He reacts to you like he’s never heard such beautiful words in his life. He looks like he’s feeling just as weak as you and his hand slowly comes out from underneath your dress.

His demeanor suddenly becomes sorrowful and melancholy. He lowers his gaze and shakes his head somberly.

“I can’t honey. We can’t right now,” he says low.

You can’t help but feel like you’ve been punched in the gut. Being rejected by him hurt. You could have sworn he wanted you just the same.

He can see how you’re a bit hurt and taken aback by his words.

“It’s not that I don’t want to honey. Trust me, I would love to as you can see,” he says as he glances down at his hard length. “It’s just not the right time. I don’t want you regretting this kind of thing. I don’t want it to be because I’m leavin’ tomorrow,” he explains.

“It’s not because of that I just-,” you try to insist but end up stopping yourself, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked for sucha thing,” you say embarrassed. You quickly get off of him and stand wobbly. Your head spins more than you were prepared for and almost stumble sideways. Elvis thankfully grabs you and holds you upright.

“I gotcha, it’s okay. I don’t mean to make you feel bad honey. You need to know I loved every second of that,” he says sweetly, taking your face in his hands and placing a soft, tender kiss on your lips. You sigh at the feeling once more, not wanting to forget how this feels. You gently pull away and take a deep breath.

“I guess I should be going,” you tell him.

“Oh no, you should not be driving like this. Just stay the night,” he insists.

You didn’t have any fight left in you and you just nodded your head. He keeps his arm around your waist and leads you up the stairs with him. It was a challenge walking up those stairs while the whole world was spinning. He opens his bedroom door and helps you in. 

His bedroom was warm and inviting. It smelled like him and made you want to put that scent into a candle. He turns on the lamp by his bed and you get a better view of the room. Most of his furnishings were black and there were piles of books on his dresser and on his nightstand. 

He’s such a little bookworm.

You glance at the clock on the wall and it is past two. You feel his arms go around your waist again and he steps in front of you.

“Did you want to go to the bathroom or anything? Or would you rather lie down?” He asks you.

“I’ll just lay down,” you say sleepily. He nods his head and turns to pull back the sheets for you. You reach your hand at the back of your dress as he does this and struggle to find the zipper. You let out frustrated little sighs and he turns back to face you, concerned with what you’re doing.

“Help me unzip this dress please,” you say defeated as you turn around and lift up your hair. Elvis doesn’t say anything, all you can feel is his fingers gently pull on the zipper and drag it down to the small of your back. He turns you around and he has that needy look in his eye. You reach up on your tippy toes to give him a small peck on the lips. You can feel the smile forming on his face as you do this. You step around him and go to the bed. Before stepping in, you let your dress fall at your feet and quickly get underneath the sheets. They were soft and silky and the heavy comforter made it feel extra cozy.

“I’ll sleep on the floor, honey. You let me know if you need anything,” Elvis tells you. You slowly roll over and give him a pouty face.

“No please, stay with me. You can sleep with me,” you insist. He looks like he’s going to denounce this request but you don’t let him. You hold the sheets across your chest and pull at his hand.

“Please, Elvis. I want you to sleep in your own bed before you leave,” you plead.

He lets out a frustrated sigh and nods his head.

“Okay, let me change real quick,” he says. You smile sweetly at him and close your eyes as you wait for him. The room still felt wobbly but lying down did feel better. You hear Elvis sift through his closet and walk back into the room fully changed. The shift of weight in the bed made your eyes pop back open to watch him get into bed. He was shirtless with only his underwear on. He was still hard and could clearly see the outline of his cock in these. You tried to subside the needy feeling you had for him and just focus on sleep. 

He lays down and gets underneath the sheet with you but leaves plenty of space between the two of you. You grumble annoyed, wanting him to get comfortable in his own bed.

You scoot closer to him, laying your head on his chest.

“You can get closer to me, I don’t bite,” you giggle. 

He chuckles softly to himself, “oh good I was worried about that,” he teases.

You feel his arms wrap around you as you start to close your eyes again. You had never felt so safe and comforted in someone’s arms before. 

“I’m gonna miss you,” he whispers.

“Mhmm, me too,” you slur sleepily.

“Don’t forget about me,” he says softly.

“Never,” you hum as you let the dark blanket of sleep take over.

*

The crack of sunlight shone in through the curtains making your eyes flutter open. You stretch your limbs and feel the soft silky sheets wrapped around you. Your eyes instantly pop open when you realize these do not feel like your sheets at home. 

“Shit,” you say as you sit up quickly in the bed. 

You look around and realize you’re in Elvis’ bedroom. You clutch the sheets around your chest and look down to realize you’re practically naked underneath them. Your heart hammers away, trying to scramble to remember what happened last night. 

Did we? No, we couldn’t have… you think to yourself. You feel you still have your panties on and see your dress crinkled on the floor next to the bed. You try to recollect last night’s events as best you can. You remember singing with Elvis on the piano, smiling and laughing at him. Then you remember those eyes. Those beautiful, seductive blue eyes peering into yours with an intense blazing heat… how good he felt underneath you as he moaned your name. The need that grew inside of you to have him take care of you in a way you didn’t know existed. 

But he stopped you… telling you that it wasn’t the right time. Your heart drops. That’s right, he stopped you from going any further. You sat there wishing he took care of you. Fulfilled the need he created inside of you. It still lingered in you as you sat there.

“Elvis?” You say out loud, seeing if he was still in the bedroom.

You frantically search for the clock and see it’s ten past ten. Your heart sinks again. Did he already leave? No, he couldn’t have, he would have said goodbye to you. You quickly put your dress back on and rush down the stairs.

Peeking into the dining room, the table was empty with not a trace anyone has been there. You go into the kitchen to see if you can find anyone there who might know where Elvis went to. You see one of his housekeepers at the sink rinsing off dishes. She hears you enter the kitchen and has a surprised look on her face.

“Oh hey darlin’! I didn’t know you were here!” She says excitedly.

“Yeah I stayed the night,” you say a bit timidly. “Where’s Elvis?” You ask.

She looks at you somberly, turning off the faucet and wiping her hands dry with a dish towel.

“Aww honey I’m sorry, you missed him. He left at dawn for New York. I’m sure he didn’t want to wake you. But you probably said your goodbyes last night right?” She tries to say positively.

You look down at the floor, trying to hide your flushing cheeks. Yeah, that was one hell of a way to say goodbye…

“Yes we did. I better get going. I’ll see you soon,” you tell her.

You make your way to the front door and stop dead in your tracks as you see an envelope on the side table with your name on it. You quickly grab it and make your way out the door. Your heart beats uncontrollably in your chest as you walk to your car. You quickly open the door and lock it as you stare at your name written in Elvis’ handwriting.

You hesitated to open it for some reason. A part of you thought he was going to confess how he regrets last night’s events. It scared you to see if that was the truth but had to see for yourself. You carefully tore the envelope open and pull the letter out. Your hands shook as you unfolded the paper.

My Girl,

I didn’t want to wake you this morning. You looked too peaceful. I had a wonderful night with you.

I’ll carry your ring with me wherever I go. It’s the greatest gift you could’ve ever given me.

I will be

With love,

Ep.

Tears roll down your cheeks as you stare at the words he wrote to you. You couldn’t help but feel like this was more than a goodbye letter. It was an end of an era for you two and he just put the nail in the coffin.

•

•

•

Tagging: @loving-elvis @neptuneismysister @velvetelvis @ccab @presleyenterprise@theresalwaysep

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@oldhOllywOod @hooked-on-elvis @livelovedilfs @sloppiest-of-jos @thisis-theway @gatheraheart @aphroditebabygirl @faeolwen

[forest-hashira]

Noble Blood - Chapter Ten

...hi guys. long time no see... i promise i didn't mean to make you guys wait almost two months for an update, but. i survived a hurricane and got a new puppy among other Life Things in the meantime, so. you know. also i had to split this chapter yet again, so the events i thought would be contained in one chapter (ch8) now spans four whole chapters, which means more for you guys to read! so i hope that makes up for it.

also, going forward, satoru's mother will be referred to as "gojo-hime", with "-hime" being an honorific used for high ranking/noble ladies. i am aware that gojohime is also a ship, but that is not what i'm referring to in this fic! for clarification purposes it will always include the hyphen in between the name and the honorific. anyways, hope you guys enjoy!

fic masterlist | read on ao3 | wc: ~6.2k | cw: gender neutral reader, the beginning of the aftermath of finding reader's dragon, satoru's dad is once again a dick, light angst, some crying, brief moment of light violence, i think that's it!

You exchanged a baffled look with your friends at the sound of your mother’s rage, though for a moment none of you moved, unsure of what you should do. When the sound of your mother’s voice grew closer, though, her anger practically rattling the walls, you nearly toppled out of your seat in your rush to meet her.

“Ma’am, you can’t go that way without—”

“I will search every inch of this estate if I have to!” your mother interrupted, and you opened the door to the dining room just in time to see her turn on the staff that were attempting to stop her. Her hair was a mess, a bit tangled and clearly unbrushed as it fell around her shoulders. She still wore her robe, a small bit of the fabric of her pajamas peeking out at the neck; it was unclear if she’d slept fitfully the night before, or if she’d even slept at all, but even with signs of sleep draped over her, she was a force to be reckoned with.

“If you do not tell me where my child is right this instant I will tear this house apart, starting right here in the hallway. I’ll pull the floorboards up with my bare hands. What has that man done with my baby?”

The servants in the hallway stood frozen in place, more than one of them having gone pale faced at your mother’s rage, but what drove you to call out to her wasn’t pity, it was the ache in your chest that had been there since you’d been commanded to stay the night away from home.

“I’m here, mom,” you said, stepping out of the dining room, still clutching Takara to your chest. “I’m right here.”

The sound of your voice had your mother whirling around again, her eyes wide as she finally caught sight of you. “Oh thank god,” she choked out, closing the distance between you in just a few steps and falling to her knees before you. With tears in her eyes, she looked you over for any sign of injury, taking your face in her hands and tilting your head back and forth, her voice nearly frantic as she repeatedly asked “What happened? Did they do anything to you? Are you hurt?”

“Nobody did anything to me, I’m not hurt,” you told her, your own eyes filling with tears now that you were reunited with your mother. “I’m okay.”

Your mother seemed to relax a bit at your reassurances, but when Takara let out a small, curious noise from her spot in your arms, your mother startled a bit and looked down. When she caught sight of the creature in your hold, her eyes flew wide again.

“What—”

“She’s mine,” you said quietly. “Her name is Takara.”

As you spoke, Takara shifted slightly in your hold, resting her chin on the side of your hand and looking back up at your mother. She didn’t make a sound, though her emerald eyes remained unblinking all the while.

After another moment of staring at the hatchling in disbelief, your mother lifted her gaze to yours again, and her expression softened a bit. “She’s lovely,” she said quietly. “I told you you’d find your dragon soon, didn’t I?” 

You nodded at her words, but when one of her hands released your face to stroke your hair, you felt your bottom lip begin to tremble as tears filled your eyes. “Yeah,” you agreed. “You did.” You didn’t protest as she carefully wiped away the tear that slipped down your cheek, though she didn’t otherwise acknowledge that you were crying, which you appreciated.

The moment between the two of you came to an abrupt end when Kenji and Niji raced out of the dining room, squeezing themselves between you and your mother, both of them sniffing you all over until the boys called them back. Seeing your friends’ dragons made you realize that your mother’s was absent.

“Where’s Spark?” you asked, brows furrowed slightly.

“Your father made him stay home,” she replied. “He wasn’t handling my mood very well, and probably would’ve just made the situation worse.” She stood, pulling her hands away from your face in the process, and offered you a smile. Exhaustion was plain as day on her face, but it was clear she was trying to hide it for your sake, so you said nothing. 

“Now,” she said, reaching towards you once again, as if to guide you down the hall and out the front door. “We should be getting home, don’t you think?”

Before you could give so much as a nod in response, a familiar voice set your heart racing with anxiety.

“They won’t be going anywhere for the next week,” Gojo-sama said, stepping into the hallway from who knew what room in the house. Despite the early hour, he looked as composed as ever, dressed in clothes that you could tell from barely a glance were more expensive than your family could ever hope to own, his greying hair combed back from his face, not a single strand out of place. His hands were tucked into the sleeves of his shirt, and he wore a placid yet stern expression.

Upon noticing his presence, the servants bowed deeply, then rushed to get out of his way. The rest of you – dragons included – turned to face him, practically frozen in place as you waited for him to speak again. Before you’d had to face him in the dragon housing the night before, you’d never fully understood why people feared your best friend’s father the way they did. It was clear to you now, though; his mere presence was enough to have you shaking, authority and muted anger practically radiating from him.

“And why, exactly, is that?” your mother asked. She was completely rigid at your side, but her voice was steady, not betraying any hesitance or fear she might have been feeling. 

“Because the first week spent with a dragon after bonding with them is an incredibly delicate time, as I’m sure you’re aware,” Gojo-sama replied, his voice dripping with condescension. “And historically, that period is especially precarious and important for metallic dragons and their riders. It’s best to disturb them and their surroundings as little as possible. Which means they’ll both have to stay here for the time being, I’m afraid. They need someone to keep an eye on them, to make sure nothing is going wrong, and that the whole process is as smooth as possible.”

“Are you insinuating that I am not capable of caring for my own child? That our own home isn’t suitable for them and their dragon?” Your mother’s voice was sharper now, a hard edge you weren’t used to hearing from here, even when she was scolding you or disagreeing with your father.

“What if I am? Metallic dragons and their riders deserve the best of everything the world has to offer, and you and I both know which of our families is capable of providing that.” 

The smug expression he wore didn’t last long. Her anger finally seeming to win against her fear of the man, your mother stormed towards Satoru's father and slapped him across the face before anyone else had a chance to stop her. 

You, Satoru, and Suguru watched, wide-eyed, as your mother lifted her hand as if preparing to strike him again, but this time he caught her wrist.

His eyes burned as he glared at her. “I would advise against trying that again,” he growled, voice low and simmering with danger. “Your luck will not be so good a second time.”

“And I would advise you release me right this instant,” your mother bit back. “If you don’t I’ll scream so loud the whole settlement will hear, and I’ll tell every single person that you kidnapped my child. That wouldn’t be a very good look for you, now would it?”

Gojo-sama’s face flushed bright red all over, briefly disguising the handprint your mother had left on his cheek. Even from several feet back, you could see the fury in his cold eyes – the same blue as Satoru’s, but completely lacking the playful warmth – and he only seemed to tighten his grip on your mother’s wrist.

The silence that blanketed the hallway was deafening, no one even seeming to breathe as the stalemate between the two adults dragged on. Just when it seemed that Gojo-sama had decided he was going to exact some sort of punishment against your mother for her behavior, another person stepped into the hallway.

“Goshujin-sama,” the woman called out softly, and your eyes went wide when you realized who she was. With her pale skin and long white hair – an even purer white than Satoru’s, somehow – there was no mistaking the lady of the house; Satoru’s mother, Gojo-hime. You dared a glance over at Satoru, unsure what his reaction would be to seeing his mother intervene in this conflict, especially since you’d gotten the feeling that Satoru didn’t often see his mother, much less outside her bedroom. 

Apparently equally as shocked by the woman’s appearance, both your mother and Satoru’s father turned to look at her. Your mother’s eyes were wide, and for the first time since she’d arrived, she looked almost embarrassed over her behavior. If Gojo-sama harbored such feelings, he did a much better job of disguising them. 

“Gojo-fujin,” the man replied, his tone measured, almost cautious, as he looked over at his wife. “Are you feeling well? I’m sorry if our… unexpected guest has disturbed you at all.” His words earned him a scowl from your mother, though she offered no actual argument, most likely in respect of the woman before her.

“A servant came to fetch me when they noticed your disagreement,” Gojo-hime explained, carefully making her way over to her husband. “I know you both want what is best for the child and their dragon,” she added, placing a hand lightly on her husband’s shoulder once she reached his side. “But you have differing opinions on how to give them that.”

Her gentle gaze landed on her husband’s, and she offered him a smile. “Why don’t you and I discuss it in a bit?” she suggested. “In the meantime, you should let this kind woman return home. She was just worried about her child when they didn’t come home last night. Weren’t you?” 

The last two words were directed at your mother, and she quickly nodded. “Yes, I was,” she agreed. “But I can see now that no harm has come to them. So if you would be so gracious to allow me to return home without argument, Gojo-sama, I will go willingly. And I will only return if I am summoned by you or Gojo-hime.”

Gojo-sama returned his gaze to your mother, clearly not thrilled by the proposal. He also seemed hesitant to disagree with his wife, though you weren’t entirely sure why; Satoru had never mentioned seeing his parents be even remotely affectionate with each other, and you found it hard to believe the man could actually feel love for another person, based on the way he’d treated you since you’d been caught with a metallic hatchling in your arms.

Eventually, though, he let out a sigh, and reluctantly released your mother’s wrist. “Very well,” he said, words clipped. “We will send for you once we’ve reached a decision on how to proceed." His eyes drifted to you for a moment, and he added, “Do not linger longer than you have to.” 

With a nod, your mother was quick to turn away from the man and hurry back to you. She pulled you into a hug, holding you tightly to her chest for as long as she dared. It wasn’t long enough to soothe the ache in your chest, even when she dropped a kiss to the top of your head before she released you.

She turned back to the heads of the family, bowing low and murmuring, “Thank you, Gojo-hime, Gojo-sama,” before making her way down the hall. You understood why she didn’t look back at you again, but every step she took brought you closer to tears.

You startled slightly when a hand landed on your shoulder, but relaxed again when you saw that it was Satoru. More than anything, you wanted to turn and fall into him, to let your tears fall and let him comfort you the way you knew he would, but the humiliation of showing such emotion – which no doubt would be perceived as weakness – in front of Gojo-sama made you feel sick to your stomach. So, instead, you offered your friend a small nod of thanks.

When Gojo-hime called your name, her voice just as soft as before, you both turned back to face her. The smile she gave you was gentle, her eyes warm and kind as she really took in the sight of you. “Would it be okay if we talked for a bit?” she asked. “We can go back to my room, if you’d like. We’ll have more privacy.”

The words had barely left her lips before Satoru’s hand was falling from your shoulder. You were quick to look over at him, and what you saw broke your heart all over again; you’d never seen him look so defeated, apparently resigned to the fact that he was likely never going to get any quality time with his mother ever again, even if other people did. 

Standing on the other side of the snowy haired boy, Suguru caught your attention, his expression painted with a worried frown that mirrored your own. Without even needing to exchange any words, you knew that the two of you were in agreement about what needed to happen.

“Only if Satoru can come with me.” As you spoke, you turned to face your friend’s mother, trying to remain respectful even as you asserted yourself.

Gojo-hime’s sparkling eyes drifted to her son, and her expression softened even more around the edges. “Of course he can come,” she agreed. “I would hate to separate you from your friends.”

Her words had your ears perking up a bit in interest. “Suguru can come too, then?” you asked hopefully; it didn’t seem fair to leave the other boy on his own if you and Satoru were to be whisked away for who knew how long.

“Absolutely, as long as that’s what he wants.” Her eyes drifted from her son to the dark haired boy then, her serene expression never changing. 

Suguru was quick to nod in agreement, though he said nothing.

“Very well then,” Gojo-hime hummed, her gaze meeting yours once again. “You can all follow me.”

Though he barely moved, the woman squeezed her husband’s shoulder for a moment. “I’m more than capable of handling them on my own, goshujin-sama,” she told him. Her smile seemed a bit tighter as she spoke, her words almost too sweet when addressing the man.

Despite obviously being displeased by the unvoiced rejection, Gojo-sama made no attempt to argue, only sighed and nodded. “We will speak about this again later.”

“Of course we will.”

With one last glance at you, the Gojo family patriarch took his leave, heading down an adjacent hallway, heading off to a different part of the estate to… do whatever it was he did all day, you supposed.

“Shall we?” Gojo-hime said, smiling at the three of you and tilting her head slightly in the direction she had first come from.

Wordlessly, you nodded, adjusting your hold on Takara to where she was secure in one arm. Once your other hand was free, you reached out and took Satoru’s hand, giving it a gentle squeeze before you started after the woman. There was a small sound of surprise from your friends behind you, but they quickly fell into step, Kenji and Niji taking up the rear of your little parade. At one point you glanced over your shoulder to see how the boys were feeling about the situation, and you noticed that Satoru’s other hand was gripping Suguru’s; for some reason seeing that made your heart give a little flip.

Soon enough, Gojo-hime came to a stop in front of a wooden door, delicately carved with what appeared to be cranes and lotus flowers. She turned the knob and pushed it open, then turned to the three of you and ushered you into the room first, only stepping inside herself and closing the door once again once Kenji and Niji had cleared the threshold. 

“Please, sit,” she encouraged, her smile never once leaving her face. “Wherever you’re most comfortable is fine, I don’t mind.”

The three of you sat down on some large floor cushions, all of them somehow both softer and more solid than you had expected. Once you were all settled, you realized you had wound up in between the boys, and for that you were privately relieved; having them on either side of you made you feel more secure. Kenji and Niji settled beside their respective masters, heads in their laps, eyes focused on Takara, where she now laid curled up in your own lap.

“Now, I know you’ve just had breakfast,” Satoru’s mother continued, “but would any of you like something to drink? Any tea, or anything like that?” When all three of you shook your heads, she settled down on her own cushion a few feet away, facing you. She spent a few moments in silence, apparently just taking all three of you in.

Feeling a bit uncomfortable under the weight of her gaze, no matter how kind, you allowed yourself to glance around the room. Despite the fact that the sun had risen a few hours before, the room was very dimly lit, the windows covered with heavy curtains, and the screens in the shoji door at the opposite end of the room seemed thicker than you were used to, not letting in as much light as the rest of the shoji doors in the rest of the house. You couldn’t help but wonder if the low lighting was because of her headaches. Satoru had told you before that, when he had his headaches, almost any amount of light felt like daggers in his eyes; maybe it was the same for his mother.

“I’m sorry you couldn’t go home with your mother.”

The words nearly made you jump with how quickly they drew you from your thoughts, and it took you a moment to realize they were directed at you.

“I’ll do my best to get you home to your parents as soon as possible,” Satoru’s mother promised. “But in the meantime, I’m glad to see that the clothes I sent for you this morning fit you.”

You nodded dumbly at her words, glancing down at your shirt. Seeing its color again had a question spilling from you before you could stop it. “Who do these clothes belong to? Satoru and Suguru don’t wear colors like this.”

Her expression grew sad at your enquiry and she dropped your gaze, though her smile remained intact. “I had a lot of clothes made when Satoru was very young,” she explained softly. “I… I had hoped for a long time that I would be able to have another baby, but it never happened.”

She met your eyes again with a small, bittersweet laugh. “But I accepted that years ago. I’m just glad the clothes won’t have to waste away in boxes anymore.”

Your throat felt tight as you listened to her speak, having not expected such an answer from her. It seemed almost miraculous that she could still be so kind after a hurt like that, and you were glad that she was so kind, so gentle, even if nobody would have blamed her if she’d grown bitter instead.

Maybe, you thought to yourself, she needs somewhere for all her love to go.

“Thank you,” you managed after a moment, blinking rapidly to keep from crying over what she had shared with you. “They’re very nice clothes, and I promise to take good care of them.”

“I wouldn’t be upset even if you destroyed them,” she assured you, then looked over at her son. “Satoru knows. He ruined more of his clothes when he was small than he would probably care to admit.”

When you turned to Satoru, you weren’t all that surprised to find he’d gone bright red, mumbling something under his breath about how it wasn’t his fault expensive clothes weren’t good to play in. The sight made you giggle, and you heard a soft chuckle from Suguru and another quiet, melodic laugh from Gojo-hime. With a groan, Satoru covered his face with his hands and flopped backwards, trying to escape the spotlight in any way he could.

Apparently deciding to have some mercy on her only child, Gojo-hime called your name again, waiting until your attention was back on her to speak again. “I really would like to know how you’re feeling about all this, and how you want to handle it.”

Your smile slipped at her words, and you took a moment to really consider what she was asking you. How did you feel? You weren’t really sure. Everything had happened so fast, you weren’t even entirely sure you’d processed all of it.

“Well,” you began tentatively. “It still doesn’t feel completely real, honestly. I mean… I’ve been waiting so long to meet my dragon, I guess I just kind of stopped thinking I ever would?” Your gaze dropped to Takara, who was already looking up at you, completely still except for her breathing. The corner of your lips twitched in the tiniest hint of a smile, and you stroked the top of her head lightly with a fingertip.

“I’m thrilled to finally have my dragon, of course, but… I just don’t understand why I’m the only person to bond with a metallic dragon in so long.” Your voice grew quieter and quieter as you spoke, until your words were barely above a whisper. “Why me? What makes me more special than anyone else? I’m not even from one of the big clans.”

You lifted your head to meet Gojo-hime’s gaze yet again; though her eyes were so much darker than Satoru’s, you could see the same warmth in them, the same openness. Despite your best efforts, you felt tears spring to your eyes once more. “Why did it have to be me? I never wanted to be anything special. I just wanted to meet my dragon and go back to how things were, living at home with my parents and spending time with my friends. I didn’t want to be anyone important, I just wanted to be me.”

By the time you finished speaking, your vision was completely blurred over and tears were pouring down your cheeks. Your breathing turned shallower, more like hiccups than regular breathing, and when you felt two sets of arms wrap around you, two warm, steady presences holding you between them, you only began to cry harder. Everything you’d kept bottled up, even beyond the previous day’s events, came pouring out of you, and you were powerless to stop it at all.

The feeling of two soft, slender hands cradling your cheeks caused you to finally lift your head from where it had fallen against Satoru’s shoulder, and you sniffled weakly as Gojo-hime carefully wiped your tears away.

“Oh, sweetheart,” she cooed, thumbs stroking lightly over your cheekbones. “You were always going to be important. Everyone is important in their own way.”

“But some people are really important,” you replied quietly, still trying to quell your tears.

She only shook her head at you. “Everyone is equally important, okay? Everyone. I’m not more important than the three of you, or more important than any of the staff that work here at the estate. None of us can do what we do without each other.”

You were silent for a moment, but eventually you gave a small nod. “Okay…” you whispered. Sniffling again, you let yourself lean into her touch, your eyes fluttering shut as she continued to wipe your tears away.

“I don’t know why it was you,” she continued after a moment. “I wish I had an answer for that, but I don’t. But I do know that you’re going to do great things. Whatever reason you were chosen for, no matter what it is, you will be more than capable of living up to it.”

“How do you know that?”

Gojo-hime just smiled at you, her genuine affection for you spilling out in her words. “Because you won’t have to do it alone. The people who love you will help you through it all.”

You wanted to ask how she could be so sure, ask her why she was so confident that you would eventually be able to do whatever needed to be done, but you didn’t want to argue. Knowing she had faith in you was enough for the moment, and you nodded slightly, allowing her words to reassure you, at least for the time being.

Once she was convinced you believed her, Gojo-hime pulled her hands from your cheeks, moving back to her seat. She allowed you a moment to compose yourself and wipe the few remaining tears from your face before she changed subjects a bit.

“How do you want to handle this, sweetheart?” she asked. “I can’t guarantee that I’ll be able to convince my husband to agree to everything, but if I know where to start, it will be a bit easier to get him to compromise.”

“I want to go home,” you answered, almost before she finished speaking. “I miss my parents, and I want to go home. As soon as possible.”

“Of course. It’s clear that your mother wants you back home as soon as possible, too, so I will do my best to make that happen. Anything else?”

Knowing she would sit patiently and wait for however long it took for you to come up with an answer did a great deal to ease your mind, and took off the pressure to already know exactly what you wanted. “I think… it would probably be good for me to train with Yaga-sensei. My parents will help me as much as they can, I know, but… metallic dragons don’t show up for no reason, right? And I need to be as prepared as possible for whatever is coming.”

Hearing yourself say those words aloud was almost surreal; it was a mature take on the situation, a logical next step, but you weren’t ready to be mature like that yet. You wanted to be a kid for a little while longer, to spend time with your friends without responsibilities for another year or two, but that clearly was no longer in the cards for you. Growing up was coming sooner rather than later.

You spent a bit longer considering what you wanted and telling Gojo-hime those things as you decided them. She’d said she probably wouldn’t be able to get you everything you wanted, but she had promised to try her best, so you had hope. It was hard to gauge exactly how long you’d spent in the room, due to the reduced amount of light, but it felt like you’d been there for ages. Not in a bad way, though; being around Gojo-hime with your friends beside you and your dragon in your lap was rather peaceful, actually, even if the situation wasn’t ideal. 

When you finally felt you had covered all your bases, you glanced over at Satoru, the smile he offered you doing wonders to boost your confidence that you’d done well. Suguru wore a smile for you, too, when you turned and looked at him. Though his smile was a bit softer than Satoru’s, it was no less encouraging, and you felt the last bit of tension bleed from your shoulders.

“Thank you, Gojo-hime,” you said, turning back to face the woman. “I feel a lot better now that I’ve gotten to talk it out a bit.”

“You’re very welcome, sweetheart. I know this is a lot, and I wanted to give you an opportunity to take it in.” She hadn’t said anything about it in all the time you and your friends had been in the room with her, but you could tell how tired she was. “I won’t keep you here any longer, though. You can go if you’re ready.”

You nodded, picking Takara up with one hand and carefully standing from your seat. The hatchling shifted in your hold, making a small mumbling noise before falling back asleep. You could hear your friends standing from their seats just behind you, and you bowed to the Gojo matriarch as you thanked her once again.

She waved you off with a quiet laugh. “There’s no need for those kinds of formalities when Gojo-sama isn’t around,” she promised. 

A bit embarrassed, you nodded, then turned with the boys to leave the room and give Gojo-hime a chance to rest. You turned back almost instantly though, a question you were eager to have answered jumping to the front of your mind. “Where is your dragon?” you asked curiously. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you with a dragon before.”

Her expression brightened a bit as she answered, “Oh, she stays in one of the housing buildings on the other side of the estate. You met her last night.”

Your brows furrowed in confusion. “I did?”

“You did,” she confirmed. “Takara is her daughter.”

Eyes flying wide with shock, you blinked dumbly a few times, before uttering a very intelligent, “Oh.” 

Your response drew another soft laugh from the woman’s lips, though it was clear she wasn’t making fun of you. “Funny how those things work out sometimes, hm?” she mused, then pushed herself to her feet.

“Yeah,” you agreed quietly, once again turning to give Gojo-hime her space back. Before you’d taken more than just a couple of steps, though, you heard her voice call out again.

“Satoru, could you come here for a moment, please?”

Pausing, you exchanged a look with your best friend, only continuing on when he gave you a nod. Suguru opened the door, and you stepped out into the hallway, Suguru and Niji close behind. You turned back towards the room as Suguru pulled the door closed behind himself, and in the crack of the open doorway, you caught a glimpse of Satoru hugging his mother tightly, her arms wrapped around him as she pressed a kiss to the top of his head. You were quick to look away, not wanting to intrude on such a private moment.

The next day, after what you could only assume was a very long discussion with his wife, Gojo-sama summoned your mother back to the estate to discuss his proposal for your life going forward; thankfully you were in the room for the discussion, too. Gojo-hime had been right when she’d told you her husband wouldn’t agree to everything you’d asked for, but he had conceded to more than you had thought.

“Your child will stay here at the estate for the remainder of the bonding period, but after that they can return home with you for a while. Once their dragon is big enough to begin training under Yaga, they will live here for most of the week, but will be allowed to return home to you and your husband a day or two each week.”

“That is not acceptable,” your mother was quick to interrupt, already beginning to scowl at Satoru’s father.

“Which part specifically?” he asked, already looking a bit exasperated with the whole situation. 

“Expecting my child to live away from me most of the week for the foreseeable future. I won’t stand for it.” As stubborn as your mother was, you knew that this was one thing she would not allow Gojo-sama to deny her.

He let out a long sigh through his nose, closing his eyes for a moment as he asked, “What would you suggest as an alternative, then? Because it was your child’s idea to train with Yaga in the first place, and I doubt you want to deny them that opportunity any more than I do.”

Apparently a bit surprised that you were the one who had suggested training at the estate, your mother glanced at you briefly before returning her attention to the man before you. “I want them home every night for dinner and to sleep in their own bed,” she said. “They can be here during the day for training, and even for academic lessons, if that’s something they want, but they will be home to eat dinner with myself and my husband every evening, without exception, and will get to sleep in their own bed overnight.”

For a long moment – one that seemed to stretch on for hours rather than seconds – the two adults stared each other down, neither of them apparently willing to back down on the subject. The apparent stalemate they were in made you worry; what would your mother do if Gojo-sama told her no? And what would Gojo-sama do if your mother caused a scene? You were fairly certain you didn’t want to know.

Eventually, the man seemed to resign himself to the fact that this was not an argument he was willing to have, at least not right that second. “Fine,” he huffed. “They will spend their days here, and evenings at home with you.” He turned his attention to you, then continued. “Do you want to attend academic lessons with Satoru and Geto-kun?”

It rubbed you the wrong way that he didn’t refer to Suguru by his first name, even after the boy had been living in his house for nearly three years, but at the same time you were more than a little glad there was no apparent sense of familiarity between them. “…May I have some time to consider it?” you asked after a moment, hoping he would agree, because really, you didn’t know what you wanted just then. You felt your shoulders sag slightly with relief when he gave you a short nod before returning his attention to your mother.

“Once the bonding period has come to an end and the festival is over, I will see them escorted home to you. Are those terms satisfactory?”

“Festival?” you and your mother parroted together. Nothing had been said to you about a festival, so you were beyond confused.

“Yes, the festival,” Gojo-sama confirmed. “There has always been an elaborate celebration held when a metallic dragon appears and bonds with a human.”

“But nobody said anything about—” you began, but were swiftly cut off.

“And I apologize for that,” the man said, looking at you once again with his cold blue eyes. “But the whole celebration is non negotiable, I’m afraid. It is going to happen after your bonding period is over. That is final.”

His tone left no room for argument, and you felt your words of protest die in your throat. Tears burned your eyes as you nodded, whispering a small, “Yes, Gojo-sama,” as you dropped your gaze to your lap, where Takara lay curled up and sound asleep. The rest of the conversation between the two adults faded to background noise as you fought not to cry; you knew your mother would fill you in later on anything you missed or didn’t understand. 

When the two of you were finally dismissed, all you felt was relief. You kept your head down as you stood from where you’d been kneeling on the floor and followed your mother out of the room. She stopped once she heard the door shut behind the two of you, turning to face you in an instant and pulling you close, though she was careful not to crush Takara between you.

Unable to hold back any longer, you cried into your mother’s shirt, hiccuping nearly nonsensical statements about how you didn’t want to be the center of attention, didn’t want to be the reason for a festival; about how you wanted to go home and be with her and your father because you missed them.

“I know, baby. I know,” your mother soothed, rubbing your back and resting her cheek atop your head. “It’s all going to be just fine, though, I promise. Everything will be over and you’ll be back home before you even know it.”

“But it feels like so long,” you wept, words muffled by fabric since you didn’t bother to lift your head from her chest. “I feel like I’ve already been here forever.”

“It’s just a few more days though,” she assured you. “And besides, you have your friends here with you to pass the time. You’re going to be alright.”

“Do you promise?” you asked, finally peeking up from her chest. 

“Yes,” she murmured, kissing your forehead. “I promise.”

ok so, while i am in the process of learning japanese currently, i am by no means fluent, so the titles/honorifics that satoru's parents use for each other are based on some research i did! honorifics are confusing so i think i used them correctly, if not please don't skin me. also they are intentionally kind of archaic/ obsolete/overly formal, to fit with the traditions and dynamics of the family and the semi-historical setting of the fic.

taglist: @mitsuristoleme @redlikerozez @oceaneyesinla

@dr-runs-with-scissors @entirelysein-e @witchbybirth @sugurei @peachdues 

@whatthefucksatan @gods-landing @lu-dao-writes @roselleviennesstuff

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[quintessenceofdust88]

Life is Changin' Tides, ch. 3 🌊

[Ch. 1] [Ch. 2]

[Read on AO3]

"People lie in gurneys and makeshift beds, hurt and struggling, while nurses speak loudly to each other over the chaos, doctors and paramedics rush past, and the cries of people searching for loved ones cut through it all. There are many people looking around in the same frantic way that Buck is, and his heart squeezes in his chest. How many families has this tsunami pulled apart? How many will wake up without one of their members the next day? At this point, all he can do is pray that the Diaz family doesn’t become one of them. Or Vivie’s family." __ Buck and Vivie look for Chris and Sal. Tommy looks for Vivie. Eddie looks for Buck.

When Buck and Genevieve are almost at the field hospital, it’s clear the little girl is reaching her limit; to be fair, so is Buck, but he is the grown-up, and he has a responsibility to two children now, so he’ll just have to hold on to whatever ounce of strength he can find within himself until Vivie is safely delivered to her uncle and he finds Chris. 

He feels a small tug on his hand, and looks down to see Vivie looking at him with exhausted eyes filled with tears. Her little face is pale, and she’s blinking heavily. 

“Mr Evan… My legs hurt…” She whispers, and Buck’s heart shatters for her. 

They’ve been walking for more than an hour with very few breaks, and she’s just a little thing. Buck can’t imagine how exhausting it must be for her, and even though he’s tired himself, he has to do something. 

“Hey, Vivie,” he crouches down to her level, ignoring the way his knees protest and how much he wishes for a bed or even a chair at this point. Hell, he’d take a nap at the back of an ambulance if he could. “We’re almost there, ok? Do you think you can keep going just a little more?”

“But… But what if uncle Sal and Christopher are not here? Then we just have to keep walking, and walking, and walking, and I don’t think I can walk anymore!” She tells him, tears already flowing down her cheeks, and before he knows what he’s doing, Buck’s picking her up in his arms, shooshing her gently. His arms feel like jelly, and he doesn’t know for how long he can carry her, but he’ll try if that’s what Vivie needs.

“Hey, shh, okay, sweetheart.” Buck tells her. “How about we look for them in here, and if we don’t find them, we stop a little? Have some water, I’ll try to get us something to eat, and we sit down just for a little bit? Sounds good?”

Genevieve sniffles and nods against his shoulder, and Buck tries not to feel guilty by his decision. He knows time is of essence in moments like this, but the truth is they can’t just keep going around like this. He needs to stop and think about things more clearly (what he really needs is to call Maddie and cry for about an hour, but he can’t do that while watching Genevieve), and Vivie needs to rest for a little. So that’s what they’ll do.

Buck’s actually proud of himself for taking the kind of decision that would make Maddie and Bobby proud of him, and it is with renewed energy he enters the triage center. His eyes widen as he takes it all in; there are so many people there, more than he thought, and Buck wonders if he looks like them: wet, covered in dirt and sea grime, exhaustion weighing on his shoulders. 

People lie in gurneys and makeshift beds, hurt and struggling, while nurses speak loudly to each other over the chaos, doctors and paramedics rush past, and the cries of people searching for loved ones cut through it all. There are many people looking around in the same frantic way that Buck is, and his heart squeezes in his chest. How many families has this tsunami pulled apart? How many will wake up without one of their members the next day? At this point, all he can do is pray that the Diaz family doesn’t become one of them. Or Vivie’s family. 

A few steps away, he spots a woman holding a clipboard, and his heartbeat intensifies. That’s it, their best chance to find Chris and Vivie’s uncle is right there. Buck jogs to her, ignoring the throbbing in his leg which is growing stronger by the minute at this point, his arms still wrapped around Vivie, who’s looking around in surprise. 

“Excuse me” Buck says, his voice breaking from sheer exhaustion, but the woman turns to him anyway. “I… I am looking f-for two people… Christopher Diaz and…” 

Buck trails off, looking at Genevieve with a frown as the woman checks her list for Christopher’s name. It’s so idiotic, but he’s just now realizing he never asked what’s her uncle’s full name. She just called him Sal, and Buck just went with it. 

“Vivie, sweetie. Can you tell me your uncle Sal’s last name? Is it the same as yours? Kinard?” Buck asks, and Vivie shakes her head. 

“N-no. But… But I d-don’t know, mr. Evan! Uncle Sal is just uncle Sal…” She says with a sniffle, and Buck sighs deeply, squeezing his eyes and trying to swallow his frustration. Of course, he shouldn’t have expected a five-year-old to have that information, but it would be ridiculously helpful.  

“It’s alright, sweetheart” Buck reassures her, rubbing her back soothingly, and still staring expectantly at the woman. After checking her list twice, she looks up at him. 

“We do have a Salvatore Deluca. Do you think this might be who you’re looking for?” She asks, and Buck looks at Vivie trying to find a sign of recognition. 

“Vivie? Could that be your uncle Sal’s name?” He asks, and she frowns for a minute as if she’s trying hard to remember. 

“I… I think so… I think sometimes Daddy calls him Deluca… But I don’t know…” She trails off, but it’s good enough for Buck. It’s their best lead, and he’ll grab on to it fiercely.

 However, Buck is far from relieved, considering the woman’s silence regarding the other name he gave her. He’s almost too afraid to ask, but he knows he has to. Taking a deep sigh, he gathers enough courage to utter the words.

“What about the other one? Christopher Diaz? H-he’s a seven year old boy.” Buck further elaborates, and the woman’s expression makes his heart fall to his knees. 

She checks her list one more time, painfully slow. Buck’s holding his breath the entire time, not even noticing that he’s running a hand on Genevieve’s hair. Her arms are wrapped around his neck, and she’s also looking at the woman with the clipboard, her blue eyes wide in expectancy. 

When she looks back up at them, Buck already feels like crying from her expression alone.

“I’m sorry, but I don’t have a Christopher Diaz on my list. You might wanna check the black tents.” She tells him, her voice soft and almost sorrowful, and Buck feels like he’s been punched in his gut. 

“B-black tents, isn’t that?...”

“The morgue.” She completes, and sighs at them before walking away towards somewhere she’s being summoned. 

Buck wraps his arms tighter around Vivie’s small frame, trying to force the tears away from his eyes. God, she can’t… She has to be wrong, right? Christopher can’t… There’s no way he… 

“Mr. Evan, what’s a morgue?” Vivie asks, clearly unaware of the weight of her question, and Buck squeezes his eyes shut. God, it’s so unfair that someone so innocent has to be living through this horror. 

His mind keeps going back to Christopher. Christopher, who always has a smile on his face no matter how dire the situation is. Christopher, who Eddie thought could cheer Buck up, get him out of his head. Christopher, who was safe on top of that truck and would have remained so if Buck hadn’t decided to play the goddamn hero. 

For the first time since rescuing Genevieve, he lets self-doubt creep up. Why did he even take her in the first place? Was it out of true desire to help, or just a twisted desire to make up for losing Chris? To keep playing the hero since he’s not allowed to do it at work anymore? What made him think he could help this little girl? He’s no hero; he’s failed Christopher, and he’ll fail Vivie. 

“Mr. Evan?” She calls gently once more, and Buck is brought to reality with a jolt.

She’s staring at him with widened eyes, filled with fear, and Buck realizes he’s doing what he does best: making things about himself. He doesn’t have time to wonder now; Vivie needs him, Christopher needs him. He can blame himself for all his stupid decisions once both these kids are safe. 

“D-doesn’t matter what a morgue is, baby.” He says, and puts her down, kneeling to her eye level. His eyes keep darting back to the black tent, and Buck forces himself to look away. He’ll not think about it. He won’t. “I’ll tell you what. We’ll take a walk around and you have to pay lots of attention, cause we’ll be trying to find your uncle Sal, alright? If you see him, you let me know right away. Deal?”

“Deal, mr. Evan! Will you be looking for Christopher too?!” She asks, almost excitedly, almost as if trying to find the people they lost in this mess is a game they’ll play together. 

She’s entirely unaware of the stab it sends through Buck’s chest to hear this question, and he’s not about to let her know. He takes a deep breath and nods briskly, making a monumental effort to keep from breaking into tears. 

“Yeah, Vivie, I’ll be looking for C-Christopher too. Let’s see who we find first, hm?” He tells her, and Genevieve nods. Buck picks her up again, ignoring the ache in his shoulders. It’ll be easier for her to look around like this. 

She settles easily in his arms, and Buck starts walking, bracing himself for leg pain. At this point it’s like a constant companion that he barely notices but at random steps he’ll feel like he’s being stabbed all the way from his ankle up to his knee.  

A lot more slowly than he’d like, Buck starts walking around, his eyes registering every person in the beds and gurneys. Even though the woman said Christopher is not there, Buck can’t help but look for a hint of brown curls or a red sweater. He’s also hoping fervently that this Salvatore Deluca is Vivie’s uncle Sal, and that he’s not too hurt for her to recognize him. God, Buck hadn’t thought about that. Is he going to traumatize this child? He keeps screwing things up, no matter how good his intentions are.

They’ve walked through some tents, and Buck is about to suggest they take a small break (his shoulders are really starting to hurt and he’s afraid he’ll drop Vivie). However, when he’s about to say that to Vivie, he comes face to face with the last person he wants to see right now. 

“Buck?!”  -------

Tommy has always been good at masking his emotions, even for the ones who know him best. He managed to play tough in front of Sal, but the truth is, he’s terrified. Sal is the toughest guy Tommy knows; if the tsunami could do a number like this on him, God knows what it could do to Tommy’s five-year-old little girl? His little girl who has just managed to tie her shoes and button her shirt might be out in the world, alone, and that fills him with such despair that all he wants to do is curl up and sob. 

But he can’t. He can’t, because Vivie needs him. With a deep breath, he thinks about her beautiful curls, her adorable button nose, her blue eyes that always look at Tommy as if he has all the answers. The image of his daughter gives Tommy strength, and he crosses the tents to get to a woman who’s looking frazzled and exhausted, a clipboard in her hand. Tommy wonders how many times she’s given bad news to today, and he hopes to God he won’t be one of them. 

“E-excuse me” Tommy tells her, and she looks up at him questioningly. If Vivie was conscious, she’d definitely be able to give her name, so he decides to be optimistic for all of two seconds and give it a shot. “I’m looking for a little girl. G-genevieve Kinard? Do you know if someone brought her in? She’s only five...”

The woman nods briskly, and looks at her papers for what feels like forever. When she looks back up, her expression sends a chill down Tommy’s spine, because it’s one he knows very well as a first responder. It’s that expression of when you really don’t have good news, but things are too chaotic for you to properly let yourself care.

“I don’t have this name here, I’m sorry” She says, and after a brief hesitation, she continues. “You might want to check the black tents. I am truly sorry, sir”

She’s gone before Tommy can ask, but he doesn’t have to. The minute he spots the black tents and the bags piled up under them, he knows exactly what they are, and he can’t breathe anymore. He looks at the black plastic bags, nameless and faceless, listens to their faint rustles as more and more keep being added, and he can't think of Vivie being in one of them. 

Not his little girl that used to fit into the palm of his hand. Not his baby daughter who used to smile every time he made chopper sounds to try and make her eat. Not his bright little lady who insists on helping him read her bedtime stories because she knows the alphabet now. 

She’s just learned the alphabet, and she’s five, and Tommy can’t think of her life being over, he just can’t. It’s impossible to imagine a world where Genevieve doesn’t jump into his bed every morning, where she doesn’t sing Disney songs when he takes her to school, where she doesn’t curl into his lap at the end of a long day so he can read her a bedtime story, where…

When Tommy comes to himself, his throat is sore from sobbing, his face is covered in tears, and his knees hurt. That’s when he realizes he’s been kneeling on the concrete floor for God knows how long. And also that there’s a hand on his shoulder. Tommy raises his eyes to find Captain Bobby Nash standing over him, his eyes filled with compassion. Hen and Howie are standing behind him, and the three of them are looking at Tommy with eyes filled with concern. 

“Tommy. What are you doing here, in your civies, and crying as if…” Nash doesn’t finish, but Tommy knows. ‘As if you’ve lost someone’ is what he doesn’t say, but Tommy feels it anyway.

He closes his eyes, another sob wrecking to his body, and he knows he should get up, greet them properly, but he doesn’t have the strength to do so. The captain exchanges a helpless look with Hen and Howie, and Hen is the one who speaks next.

“Is there anything we can help you with?” She asks gently, and Tommy doesn’t even know where to begin. 

“It’s… It’s my daughter. G-genevieve.” He says, and their eyes widen with horror. They’ve known of Vivie from the time they worked together, and Howie and Hen have even met her when she was little. 

Hen and Bobby give him the look of sympathy only a parent could, and Howie sighs, shaking his head. He places a hand on Tommy’s shoulder. 

“Tommy, are… Are you sure that she’s…?” He asks delicately, and Tommy does feel some relief as he shakes his head. 

“N-no, I’m not. She was out with Sal, and they got separated. H-he got hurt and ended up here, but… But Vivie didn’t. Unless she’s…” He helplessly points to the black tents, trying to hold back the tears that are still threatening to spill. 

“Don’t lose your hope, Tommy” Nash says, and Tommy is surprised to notice he’s choked up. He’s never known the captain to be an emotional man. “She’ll be found”

“Yeah, man, we’ll send an alert to all the stations in the area” Howie offers, helping Tommy up. His legs don’t tremble, which he takes as a good sign. “My girlfriend is at dispatch, I can ask her to keep her ears open.”

“I… I already did that, thank you, Howie” Tommy offers weakly. “I asked for Harbor to be alerted if they found her, but…”

He looks helplessly at his phone, but there hasn’t been any new calls, which means no one at Harbor heard from Vivie. Tommy’s completely in the dark, just like when he started, and the thought is despairing and has his heartbeat quickening. 

He takes a broken sigh, and then looks at his old team. They’re good people, and Tommy’s glad he ran into them, because otherwise he doesn’t think he’d be able to put himself together to keep going. 

“T-thank you for the help. I truly appreciate it.” Tommy tells them, and they just nod in understanding. And as much as he’d love to stay and catch up, Tommy’s on a mission for his daughter. “I… I have to go and look for her.”

“Tommy” Nash says levelly, and Tommy knows he’s about to try and convince Tommy of something he definitely doesn’t want to be convinced of. “You know that’s not a good idea. Do you even know where to start?”

And there it is. If Nash thinks Tommy will stand by while Vivie is out there, he doesn’t know Tommy at all. Hen seems to sense he’s about to argue, because she looks at him with sympathy and raises her hand placatingly. 

“Bobby’s right, Tommy. If you don’t have a lead, you’re just going to run yourself sick. And you won’t be any help to Genevieve like that. Come with us; we’re just picking up one of our guys who was helping as a medic and then we’ll be back out there.”

Tommy clenches his fists, his mind racing. He knows they’re right—knows running out there without a plan is useless—but the thought of standing still feels unbearable. 

“It’s better to do it with help than alone, man” Howie reasons, and Tommy knows they have a point, he knows. But it feels like every second he loses is one more second Vivie is suffering. Besides, what kind of father would it make him if he can’t find her on his own? What kind of father lets other people do the hard work when it comes to saving their children? Nash clearly notices Tommy’s indecision, and he nods resolutely, as if he knows what he has to do.

“Hen, Chim. Why don’t you go ahead and find Eddie? I’ll be right with you.” He says, and the two of them nod at him, sensing his captain wants space to talk to Tommy. The two of them squeeze Tommy’s shoulder on their way, and then they’re gone to the sea of patients, first responders and crew. 

As soon as they’re gone, Nash comes closer to Tommy, placing a hand on the man’s shoulder. His brown eyes bore into Tommy’s blue ones, and his steadiness makes Tommy feel calmer at least for a second.. 

“Tommy. I know what it is to feel helpless as a parent. To feel guilty. You don’t have to feel that way.” He says, and Tommy can feel the tears start to flow down his cheeks, because that’s exactly how he feels. 

“N-no? If I hadn’t gone to work, she’d be safe at home. And now I can’t even go looking for her without losing it.” Tommy confides, and Nash shakes his head. 

“Tommy, she’s your everything, of course you’re losing it. And that’s why you need help. You need someone who isn’t so emotionally compromised and who has the right equipment. We can help you, kid. And trust me, we’ll find your daughter as fast as we can.” He promises, and Tommy feels a warmth in his chest. 

The fact that they want to help him, that they’re willing to take on what’s probably a pointless mission to look for his daughter in the sea of devastation left behind by the tsunami, is what cements Tommy’s decision. He’ll get to Vivie much faster with LAFD resources anyway, and it’ll feel good to know he’s not alone, at least for now. That there’s someone behind him when things go wrong.

“Okay. I… I’ll stay with you.” He decides, and then, with heartfelt honesty, adds, “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it, Tommy. You may not be with the 118 anymore, but we don’t abandon our own.”

—

Nothing could have prepared Buck for the despair in Eddie’s eyes when he runs into him. It’s like a punch to the gut, and every muscle of his body feels numb and cold. Eddie looks at him with a desperate frown on his face, his eyes looking at and around Buck frantically. It’s almost as if he’s thinking Buck is hiding Chris in his pocket or something equally absurd that Buck would give anything in the world to be true.

“What are you doing here?! Who’s that?!” Eddie asks, gesturing at Vivie. Then, with his voice cracking, he asks the one question Buck irrationally hoped he wouldn’t. “Where’s Christopher?”

Buck doesn’t know what to say. He should be honest, he should tell Eddie that he failed Christopher, he should tell Eddie that he failed him as well, but he’s a coward. And he doesn’t want his best friend to hate him. 

“E-eddie…” He stammers, and Eddie crosses his arms, his eyes never leaving Buck’s, but Buck doesn’t know how to go on. For the first time since he and Eddie became friends, Buck doesn’t know how to talk to him. “C-christopher’s… Eddie, we were at the pier, and… T-the wave hit, and…”

“And what?!” Eddie demands, his arms crossed in urgency. “Where is he, Buck?!”

“I don’t know!” The words burst out before Buck can stop them, and his voice breaks. “The wave hit, and—. I tried—I swear I tried to—” His breath hitches, tears threatening to spill, but he forces them back. He doesn’t deserve to cry. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

For a second, Eddie just stares at him, his expression unreadable. Then his gaze sharpens, focused on something past Buck’s shoulder. “Oh my God,” Eddie breathes, his voice barely above a whisper. “Christopher?!”

Buck puts Vivie down and turns around so fast his neck snaps. And right there, coming out from an ambulance in a woman’s arms, is Christopher. Christopher who’s alive, and miraculously unharmed. 

Eddie is by his side in an instant, picking the boy up, and Buck feels like there is a ton-sized backpack being removed from his shoulders.He’s numb with complete relief, because Christopher is okay. He’s in Eddie’s arms and he’s not hurt and he’s okay.

“Mr. Evan?” A small voice brings him back to reality, and Buck looks down at Vivie to find her gently tugging at his sleeve, her eyes widened with fear and exhaustion. “We go find uncle Sal now that Christopher is ok? You… You’re still gonna help me find him?”

Buck finds himself nodding before she even finishes the question. Seeing Eddie with Christopher has taken away all the adrenaline from Buck’s body, and he’s left with nothing but exhaustion and pain, but he has a promise to keep. 

“Of course I will, sweetheart. I promised, didn’t I?”

“Buck!” A voice calls for him, a familiar voice that makes Buck turn around.

Chim and Hen are approaching, their eyes filled with concern. Buck looks at them, his mind vaguely wondering how they ended up there. Their eyes flick from Buck to Christopher, a few meters away in Eddie’s arms, and then back to Vivie.

“Buck, are you okay? What happened? And who’s this?” Hen asks sharply. 

He has a responsibility to Genevieve, and he’ll fulfill it if it’s the last thing he does. Even if he has to limp all the way to her uncle Sal. But he owes an explanation to his crew, to his family, before taking off, and maybe they’ll help him and Vivie get at least some water before they resume their search. 

Buck swallows hard. “T-this is Genevieve. S-she got lost from her uncle, and I promised I’d help her get to him.” His voice wavers, and he feels dizzy, the effort to stay upright taking everything he has. “We just n-need…”

“What did you say her name was?!” Chim interrupts him, and then he looks down at Vivie with sudden recognition. He and Hen exchange one of their infuriating glances that says they figured something out. 

“Sweetie, can you tell us your daddy’s name?” Hen asks, and Buck frowns; how is that going to help anything? 

“I-it’s Tommy…” She says shyly, and Chim and Hen gasp, exchanging another one of those looks. 

“Guys, what’s going on?!” Buck asks frantically, but before they get a chance to explain, a sharp voice cuts through the air. 

“Oh my God!” 

Buck raises his head to see Bobby is coming towards them, followed closely by a man in a plaid shirt. As soon as they spot the rest of them, the man’s eyes lock into Vivie’s, and his pace quickening to the point of almost running.

“Oh my God, Genevieve?!”

Vivie’s head snaps up at the sound of the voice, and she gasps delightedly, a smile brightening her young face.She lets go of Buck’s leg, rushing towards him as fast as her little legs allow her.

“Daddy!” She exclaims, and now everything makes sense to Buck.

Then her dad is picking her up, pressing her against his chest, tears running down his face. He runs a hand down her hair, rocking her from one side to the other, his eyes wide as if he can’t quite believe he has her in his arms.

“Vivie, Vivie, oh my God, baby, let me look at you” He’s muttering against her hair, pressing kisses to her face and her hair. “You’re safe, sweetheart.” He says in wonder, and Vivie nods, then looks at Buck. 

“Mr. Evan rescued me, Daddy. Rescue came, just like you always said it would!” She tells excitedly, and everyone turns to look at Buck, especially Vivie’s dad, whose expression carries so much gratitude it makes Buck blush.

“Y-you kept her safe. Thank you will never ever be enough.” He says, his voice thick with emotion.  

It’s true, Buck realizes, he’s kept Vivie safe. Christopher is safe, Genevieve is safe. They’re found, and both of them are in their father’s arms, and they don’t need him to be strong anymore. 

He means to answer the man, to tell him that no thanks are necessary, really, Buck did what anyone would do. But as relief and exhaustion finally overtake him, everything starts spinning around, and the world fades to black before he can. 

------

Tag list (let me know if you'd like to be added or removed):

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[l0singsdogs]

when the masks fell by mercuriiovenus.

Justice League → No information available. Try searching for "judicial system" or "football league." Gotham vigilante → No reports of vigilantes in Gotham. Breaking news: Oswald Cobblepot has been found guilty of multiple crimes and mafia associations. Life sentence expected. Nightwing → Urban myth or a term linked to aerial acrobatics. Did you mean: Nightwing Gymnastics Academy? Robin → A small red-breasted bird. Would you like to learn more about robins?

Tim Drake is the first to start searching, scanning every corner of the internet—or so he hopes—because the laptop resting on his legs feels off. The technology here isn’t what they’re used to, that much is clear. Their phones, usually advanced tools for gathering intel, seem… ordinary. The search results are strange. But more than that, everything feels strange.

Bruce, Tim, and Damian are absorbed in their frantic search, eyes darting across screens as if a different result might suddenly appear if they refresh enough times. But if anyone took a moment to step back and look —they’d see it. The same passcodes unlock their phones, but the content inside is different.

Jason and Dick are the only ones who seem lost in the photo galleries.

Grayson scrolls through pictures, searching for some thread of recognition, but everything is hazy—just out of reach. There are endless images of him: standing on podiums, dressed in gymnastics gear, grinning with medals hanging around his neck. There are pictures with friends, too—so many of Wally West, Donna Troy, and Kory Anders. He smiles despite himself, but the feeling twisting in his gut is unfamiliar. This isn’t his life. It’s a life , yes. But not his.

Jason… Jason is worse off. He stares at the images on his screen as if they’re mocking him. There are pictures of him traveling, laughing, and existing. He finds shots of himself with Roy Harper and Artemis—his chest tightens at that—but there are also faces he doesn’t recognize, memories he never made. Birthday celebrations, candid moments, snapshots of him curled up with a book. There are so many pictures of him smiling . And that’s what finally breaks something deep inside him.

It’s impossible. It’s impossible.

His grip tightens around the phone as rage coils hot in his chest. He flicks his gaze toward Grayson, catching the same confusion in his brother’s expression.

None of this is real.

Without a word, Jason pushes himself up from the couch, drawing everyone’s attention.

Tim and Damian’s argument hums in the background—Tim snapping at Damian to search properly, Damian snapping back that everything is useless.

Jason doesn’t care.

"Have any of you seen Alfred? Or the others?" His voice is sharp, cutting through the tension. "We're sitting here like idiots, but Thomas, Brown, and Cassandra were with us. Where the hell are they?"

Bruce watches his second son carefully. It's difficult— painful —to look at him. He seems younger, lighter, like a version of himself that never carried so much weight. A version Bruce last saw when he held Jason’s broken body in his arms.

"Have you found anything else?" Bruce finally asks, voice steady, unreadable.

Everyone shakes their heads. They're still searching, still trying to figure out where the hell they are and what kind of reality they’ve landed in.

"I’ll look for Alfred," Jason announces. He knows the protocol, but right now, he just needs to see a familiar face—something to ground him after staring at the images on his phone, images that feel like a life he never lived. "Come with me, Grayson."

Dick glances at him, hesitant. He doesn’t want to leave, not yet. He needs to keep digging, to figure out what the hell is going on. But Jason doesn’t give him the option.

"Come. Now."

WHEN THE MASKS FELL AO3.

[morganski-19]

Chills Right to the Marrow Part 62

ao3 link| part 1 . . . part 59, part 60, part 61

the first part takes place somewhere between parts part 37 and part 39, the second part takes place during part 40, and the last part takes place sometime between part 40 and part 41.

“No, no, no,” Steve complains as the radio just keeps talking. He had switched it to the game while he was making dinner, seeing if it was anything worth watching. “Come on.”

Considering how bad they were losing, it might give him more stress to watch it happen.

“Something goin’ on,” Wayne asks, rummaging around the fridge to find something to eat before going to work.

“Nothing serious. Just a bunch of idiots who can’t seem to actually score anything good.”

“Listening to the game?”

Steve laughs. “Yeah. Might just turn it off, it’s pissing me off.”

“Oh, I know the feeling. I normally listen to the game on my way to work, find myself turning it off when I can’t take it anymore.”

He turns to stir the stir fry he was making in the pan. Lowering the heat so it doesn’t burn. “If there’s nothing good in the fridge, you can have some of this. I made too much for myself anyway.”

“Thanks.” Wayne grabs a bowl. “If it won’t piss you off too much, we could go and watch some of the game before I have to leave.”

Something in that makes Steve freeze for a moment. No one ever offers to watch the games with him. Nancy would sometimes, back when they were dating, but was never really into it. Back when he was friends with Tommy and Carol, they would sneak off halfway through. And just the mere mention of watching it now makes Robin gag, and Dustin roll his eyes.

The only person he can remember watching it with was once with his dad. He was seven and his dad called him into the living room, made him sit down. Asked somewhere between the fifth and sixth inning if Steve ever wanted to play. He knew, then, that if he did, it would make his dad proud. He said yes.

He never liked playing baseball as much as watching it, though. He switched to basketball and swimming in middle school, played that the rest of the way through high school. But that moment was one of the only nice memories he had of his dad.

“Yeah,” he says. Trying to play off whatever he was feeling. “That would be nice.”

Wayne walks away, waiting for Steve as he searches for the channel on the TV. Steve sits down on the other end of the couch. Watching the train wreck of a game, but that’s not what he was focusing on anymore.

It’s stupid, he knows. But somewhere, right now, that hole in his chest fills a little bit. For a moment he can pretend that he’s seven years old again, watching the game with his dad. It’s better this time, though. Now it’s with someone who cares.

“If you ever wanted to make this a little sweeter, a small bit of honey goes a long way,” Wayne offers during a commercial break.

“Really.”

Wayne nods. “Just a little bit, don’t need to go wasting it. But it just adds a little more flavor to it.”

Steve smiles. “I’ll have to try that next time.”

. . .

Steve’s out in the garage when he hears it. Someone in the house calling out his name. The closer he gets, the more distressed it sounds. He tries to remain calm as he finds who it is, but the panic is there.

And then he realizes that it’s Dustin, and everything starts to crumble.

“Dustin,” he says, trying to mask the panic in his voice.

Dustin’s just standing there in the hall, tears streaming down his face. He opens his mouth to try to say something, but all that comes out is a sob. His knees buckle and Steve rushes forward to catch him.

“What’s wrong,” the panic asks. “Are you hurt?”

“You—” is all Dustin says, the words broken off with another sob.

Steve holds him upright and brings him to the living room. Gets him to sit down, calm down. When he starts to breath less frantically, Steve leaves to go get some water from the kitchen. He finds Dustin’s backpack, the radio inside going off like crazy.

“Dustin,” Mike’s voice cracks through. “Dustin, do you copy?”

He finds the walkie. “It’s Steve, he’s at my place.”

“Oh thank God. He just ran off; we didn’t know where he went.”

“Is he ok,” Lucas speaks over Mike to ask.

“Doesn’t look like he’s injured, I’m pretty sure he had a panic attack, though. I’m making sure he’s ok.”

“Ok. Thanks, Steve.”

He returns to the living room, finally gets Dustin to tell him what happened. All of this started because Steve wasn’t at work. Because he called out. The panic on his face says something different, though. Something deeper.

“Dustin, talk to me,” he tries to coax. “What’s going on?”

“No one tell me anything,” Dustin practically yells. “I have to find out everything from someone else, or days, or weeks later. I never get told anything by the person themselves. I’m always the last to know.”

“Dustin—” Steve tries to explain.

Dustin doesn’t let him, though. “No. I’m tired of the excuses. I’m tired of you saying that it’s not my thing to worry about. Because I do. No matter how hard you think you shield me from it, I worry about it. Every day I wake up and wonder if your head is killing you. If when I see you later, you’re going to be how you were before, or a ghost of yourself. If I’m going to look at you push yourself for my betterment. When I know that you’re in pain.”

Stupidly, Steve thought he was hiding it well enough. There was that little bit Dustin saw last week, but that was a one-time thing. He didn’t need to know more; he didn’t need to worry about Steve.

“You’re like a brother to me, Steve. You’re family. I don’t know why you think you can just get away with hiding this from me, but you can’t. Because I love you and all I’m asking is to know what is going on with you. Is that such a big thing to ask?”

Brother, family. Hearing those from Dustin hits Steve harder than he thought they would. Because, deep down, he knew that. He knew that him and Dustin were close, and that they acted like brothers would. There was just that voice in his head that told him it was all fake. That Steve couldn’t really mean that much to Dustin, not when he had a family of his own.

Steve pulls Dustin into a hug, holding him closer than he needs to. But really, he does need to. “I’m sorry.” It doesn’t feel like enough, but it’s a start. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.”

. . .

Steve shoots out of his sleep, sitting upright. Breaths leaving his lungs faster than he can suck them in. Heart beating so fast, it could run right out of his chest.

A trembling hand reaches out to click the lamp on his bedside. Three things. The swim trophy he won in his senior year. The picture of the party on his desk. His overflowing laundry basket. All things that can’t be in that place. They are all too new.

He wasn’t there. He was home.

In for four, out for eight. Until his breathing slows, his heart calms. The jittering comes to a steady pace. He won’t be able to go back to sleep. But he’s at least not panicking.

Well, not as much as he was.

Because he needs to do something, he stands and grabs the laundry. Takes it to the laundry room and throws it in. Stops to go and change his clothes, before shoving them in the washer too. It isn’t enough.

He heads to the kitchen, pulls out a book and opens the dog-eared page. Begins a recipe that he probably knew by heart by now, but needs to read. Because the steps, the simplicity, the method, it was calming in a way he couldn’t voice.

Robin was the first person Steve ever baked with. She had come over one day back in the summer complaining that her mom was trying this new health trend, and refused to buy any chocolate chips. And well, since he had an empty house, and at that point a hefty food budget from his parents, he offered to get the stuff to make it.

At first, they used the recipe on the back of the bag. Spent most of the time laughing, and spilling half the ingredients on the floor. He didn’t care. It was the first time that the house felt alive again.

What he didn’t realize, then, was how calming baking could be. How following a recipe precisely could calm nerves. Place the fear into something productive, and give it away. Steve didn’t make much, sometimes he would stray from the simple recipe, but nothing brough comfort like homemade chocolate chip cookies. Nothing reminded him how much he wasn’t alone.  

“We have to stop meeting like this, Steve,” Eddie’s voice echoes through the kitchen. He walks over to the island, taking a seat. “What will the town say?”

Steve smiles. “I don’t care for what the town says about me anymore.”

Eddie stares at him for a moment, thinking that Steve doesn’t notice. He does. It was painfully obvious, but Steve didn’t care. It’s been so long that someone stared at him for who he is, instead of who they want him to be. The look made Steve feel alive, in a way, like he was still capable of something.

And really, if Steve wanted to push, it could mean that the ignited heat that traveled with each stare might lead to something. Because, if his peripheral wasn’t fooling him, Eddie looked at him with such adoration it made Steve simultaneously melt and feel like a phony. How someone as amazing as Eddie looked at him like that, he didn’t know. But he felt like he didn’t deserve it.

“What are you making,” Eddie asks as Steve cracks the second egg into the bowl.

“Chocolate chip cookies.”

Eddie hums. “Didn’t take you as much of a baker. Especially a midnight baker. There’s a backstory to that one, I’m sure. Let me see.”

He does this thing, sometimes, where he just goes off on a tangent of one thought melding together with the next. Creative thoughts stringing together in one story, much larger than it needs to be. Steve likes listening to it, though. It’s kinda cute.

“So either,” Eddie continues, “you are so ashamed of your secret love for baking that you only allow yourself to partake in such activities in the dead of night. Or. You are secretly a night owl, which is why you are so perky in the morning. You’ve already been up for hours, and are not tired.”

He laughs. “I’m not that perky in the mornings.”

“If you smile at me before eight am, that therefore makes you perky.”

“Maybe I just like smiling at you. Ever think of that?” He looks at Eddie when he says that. Sees the teasing smile turn into shock. Unexpected shock, but not unpleasant.

Steve’s reckless with his feelings sometimes. It makes him say things like that. Makes that beating of his heart come back. But instead of fear, it pumps him full of something else. Something terrified him in a way he was comfortable with.

And it meant that Eddie looked at him like that, and let Steve know it. It made Steve think that maybe, just maybe, he isn’t crazy for this. He hasn’t lost his mind. He isn’t making a stupid mistake. He might just be making the right decision for once.

The oven beeps that it’s done preheating, breaking Steve away. He hopes that it doesn’t mean Eddie does too.

“How’d I do,” Eddie asks as Steve starts to place cookies on the sheet pan. “With my guesses.”

“Not entirely wrong, I am up for longer than you think I am, sometimes. But not because I’m secret night owl.”

Eddie reaches out and steals the spatula. Hesitating for a moment to see if Steve would stop him. He doesn’t. “Why then?”

“Nightmares.”

The room falls to silence except for the clicking of the scoop.

Steve sighs. “When I get a bad one, I need to do something to get my mind off it. If it’s light out, I go for a run, or a drive. If it’s night, I bake. Sometimes I clean, but that never really helps as much as baking does. Not sure why that sticks so much.”

“I get it,” Eddie almost whispers as Steve slides the cookies into the oven. “Before, when my hands didn’t actively hate me, if I couldn’t sleep, I would play something on my acoustic. It helped calm me down. Playing songs I knew by heart, feeling the motions of my hand playing the notes, it was the most calm I ever felt.”

He wishes he was there to watch Eddie play. He could only hear it, just slightly able to differentiate the live playing from the recording. Steve can imagine what he looked like, but he wished he didn’t have to.

“You’re going to be able to play again, you know.” He doesn’t know what compels him to say it, but he really believes it. “With your determination, I think you could do anything.”

Eddie scoffs, rich in pain. “I wish I was as optimistic as you are.”

“Just because you think that it won’t ever happen again, doesn’t mean it won’t. That pool out there, I haven’t been able to fill it for two years. Something happened in there that made me never want to fill it again. But I did. And maybe when I stop thinking something’s going to pull me into another dimension, I’ll be able to swim in it again.” He turns to look out the kitchen window, seeing the moonlight reflect on the water. “I used to love to swim.”

He did. Before the upside down, when it was just a normal life that were giving him problems, he would swim lap after lap. Until his muscles were sore and his body still felt the waves of the water even when on land. Each time his arm crashed into the water, his frustrations melted away.

“Maybe both of us could find a way to love what we used to again,” Steve finishes.

He turns back to look at Eddie, seeing a mix of emotions in his face. The thing that stands out the most is the want to believe him. The want to believe that the weakness in his hands won’t stop him from playing again. That somewhere in the future, it could be possible to.

Steve really believes that it’s possible. It will just take time. Far too much time, creating nothing but frustration and anger. But it is possible. He believes that. And maybe, just maybe, if Steve could still be lucky enough to have Eddie in his life, he could witness it happen.

If the secondary look that Eddie’s giving him is any solace that what Steve feels isn’t one sided, maybe it could guarantee that. Maybe, if Steve could find the words and tell him, or lean forward and just take a chance, he could see if it’s possible.

The timer beeps, breaking whatever moment they had. It’s for the best, really. Steve can’t lose a friendship over the possibility of maybe. He’s lost too much already to that.

apparently my goal when writing this is how much I can make myself cry, because that bit with Wayne and Dustin definitely got me there

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[ghostwise]

Matacuervos, ch. 7 - A heavy thing Rated M, 1.6k words - cw: death, canon-typical violence, discussions of trauma, slavery, and child abuse After Rocio murders their target outside El milagro, Zevran and Hamal contend with the fallout, and with an entirely unexpected circumstance. Read update on AO3 - Read from ch. 1 - thank you @rowanthefierce for beta-reading this chapter!

Hamal sprinted down the stairs two steps at a time, leaping over the last of them. He rushed through the front door, out where the air was cold by Antivan standards, but balmy yet for him.

“Zevran!” he called out. Where had he gone?

Hamal nervously rearranged his grip on his bow, looking down the street towards the brothel—but before he could investigate, a soft, pained noise came from behind the cart, and caught his attention. He stepped carefully around the stunned horses, behind the carriage wheels.

“Nadia?”

“¡Maldito mago!”

She was on the ground, partway beneath the carriage, her arms and knees scraped from the fall. Nadia groaned as she lifted a shaking hand to the back of her head. Hamal knelt beside her and gently eased her up. He could see her scalp was sticky with blood, and a lump was already forming under the skin.

“You’re hurt,” he observed in his meager Antivan, scrambling for the correct words and wishing he had more time to piece the language together. He understood it more than he could speak it, and even that was difficult with Nadia’s rapid-fire and distinct dialect. “Not good! Your head!”

“I’ll be alright!” She waved him off. “Where is Zevran?”

“He… looks for the man. I don’t know.”

Again, Hamal’s gaze drifted in the direction of the brothel, eager for any sight of Zevran. He could not see much from this position, but he could hear a rhythmic sound, like something being struck repeatedly, like metal hitting wet stone. He didn’t have to say what was on both their minds: this wasn’t what they had planned.

“Thank you,” Nadia said softly, leaning against him. She took a shuddering breath. “We should search the carriage. Quick! El carruaje.” She repeated the words, seeing his confused look, and tapped the carriage a few times. “Carruaje.”

A new word to him, though he’d never get the damn r’s right. Hamal did as he was told. He pulled open the carriage door and looked inside. There was no translation for the soft and pitiable sound he made then, but the feeling was something Nadia understood.

“Oh… d’alen.”

He and Nadia looked in on a sleeping child. The little girl was slumped against the back seat of the carriage. She looked to be about eight years old. A sliver of blood trickled from her nose, and her small, pointed ears poked through a mess of dark curls. Besides her, a bag of supplies lay on the floor.

Nadia exclaimed something in frantic Antivan, but Hamal only understood, “Help me!”

“The spell,” Hamal murmured to himself, as he pulled the child carefully out of the carriage. “That bastard used his magic near her. But I think she’s only stunned. She’s breathing.” He looked at Nadia, though she couldn’t understand his Elvhen, so perhaps he was saying it for his own sake: “She’s alright.”

Nadia nodded, sniffling. She roughly wiped at her face, her bloodied hands smearing red diluted tears over her skin.

But it was more the shock than her injury which troubled her now. She hadn’t truly had any doubts about what Zevran and Hamal had told her, but it had all come on so quickly; just this morning she had been carrying on with business as usual. To be embroiled now in a plot against slavers in her very home was overwhelming.

Together, she and Hamal brought the child out of the carriage, and they wrapped her up in Hamal’s cloak.

The girl was safe now. She’d never go to where she was headed, or return to where she’d hailed from.

Outside El milagro, Rocio was hunched over on the ground, her cane now discarded at her side. She did not react as Nadia and Hamal joined them, but Zevran, through his pounding headache, hurried to meet them.

“You’re alright,” Zevran said, relieved. He would have embraced Hamal and kissed him, but he noticed the child in his arms and his breath caught in his throat. “Where did- was that child in the carriage?”

“Yes,” Hamal said. “She’s unconscious, but alive. Nadia is hurt.”

“I am fine,” Nadia said, hearing her name through the stream of Common exchanged between the two men. “The girl is what matters. Maker only knows, if we had not found her tonight…”

Zevran gave her a short nod, taking in the information. This was what their efforts had amounted to. They may have lost their informant. But a child was saved!

“Nadia, you both need a doctor,” Zevran said firmly.

“We need to handle things here first,” Nadia said, aiming a pointed look at the corpse. It was not her first time seeing a dead man, and yet, her stomach turned at the sight of his bashed-in face. She gestured with her hands out. “What’s happened? Who killed him?

Rocio looked up from her perch upon the blood-soaked stones. “I did,” she croaked out. “He deserved it.”

“It complicates things,” Nadia said with a grimace.

“What’s complicated about it? You say he stole that child!”

Nadia blinked at her. For a moment, she pretended she already knew the young woman; pretended she was a coworker or a neighbor she saw often. It was a skill that aided her, in her line of work. Compassion. Exercising it now, she saw pieces of the story in the painful angle of Rocio’s leg, and the fury in her wet eyes. Perhaps a reflection of herself, too, albeit one from decades ago.

“What’s your name?” she asked softly.

“Rocio Ciriani.”

“Rocio. Have you ever taken a man’s life before?”

“No.” The admission came out, low and hoarse. Rocio gazed up at Nadia, then looked at Zevran and Hamal in turn, lingering, finally, on the child. “I haven’t.”

“It’s a heavy thing. At this rate, the city guard will be called, if they aren’t already on their way,” Nadia said evenly. “But a murder at a brothel is nothing they haven’t seen before. It can be explained away. A drunk customer. A jealous lover. A rape.”

“Braska.” Zevran seethed quietly. “And what of the children he was going to buy tonight?”

He crouched over the man, staring into his face with a keen desperation, though the life was gone from him already. “Give me a name,” he urged quietly. “I know who you work with. But where do you meet them? How often? An address. A contact. Anything!”

For Zevran’s part, he was distressed. A few hours ago, his only goal had been to locate an informant, interrogate him, and kill him later; to dispose of the body in a river, or a charnel house. He’d have killed Gloria Amilcar, too, if it hadn’t been for Nadia’s involvement. He thought, also, of what he’d learned tonight about his father’s death. This had ballooned far out of proportion, and try as he did, he could not pinpoint where he’d gone wrong.

Hamal leaned in to speak to him.

“We need to go,” he said gently in the language that they shared, but which was neither of their native tongues. “The city guard won’t care about a shem selling elves to the Crows, but they will care about a dead shem with a Dalish arrow sticking out of him.”

Zevran wrenched the arrow from the man’s broken form. There was sense in his husband’s words, but his head was swimming.

“I’m not going to run,” he said, and he repeated himself in Antivan for Nadia and Rocio’s benefit. “No voy a huir.”

“I’m not asking you to,” Nadia said.

“I won’t run either,” Rocio forced out in her tear-soaked voice. “And I won’t lie to the guard. Everyone should know what has happened! What is the point if nobody knows? We have so much proof!”

“Proof or no, you will go to jail!” Nadia told her. “And still, there will be no guarantee that the guard will care, or do anything to help. What’s the point of that? I have worked this brothel for thirty years. This is how things are. A whore can be replaced.”

“The way things are must change. This is my life.” Rocio, unmoving, let out a hiss of air. “If it makes even a little bit of difference, I have to try.” There was a cold edge to her words.

“Brave girl,” Zevran murmured.

Then there was nothing more to say. There was no convincing a determined Antivan. This, he knew.

Nadia rolled her shoulders, feeling quite lightheaded. Her neck throbbed. She looked up at Zevran and Hamal, these men who had so disrupted El milagro ’s routine.

“To think, you returned without anyone asking you to, and in a single night made a mess of everything.”

Zevran’s eyes flitted to her, hurt. But she looked back at him with the strangest combination of pride and sorrow.

“Thank you,” she said, emphatically. “You came to help us, and you have. You made us aware of horrors that needed to be exposed. Leave Gloria to me; I will help Rocio turn her in. Leave Rocio to her fate, for she chose it. Now take that child with you. And go.”

Zevran rose to his feet. He exchanged a look with his husband before asking, “Where would you have us take her?”

And so the plan for the child was crafted in the mismatched pieces of Common, Antivan, and Elvhen they shared. Stitched together with a potent need for justice and a measure of patience.

In Hamal’s arms, the child slept dreamlessly. The spell had been strong enough to stun a horse and two grown adults, and it would take her time to recover her senses.

[koolkat9]

Sick and Tired

Rating: T

Relationship: Germania + German Bros

Word Count: 775

Read on AO3

Author's Note: This was supposed to be fore German Bros week, but it turned more into a Gil and Germania fic than a Gil and Lud fic. So it will be it's own separate thing. But still...I wanted to release it on the same day. Based on a teen dad prussia au I have.

It had been a long day and a long night. Poor Ludwig had come down with his first cold, and given it was the weekend, it was Gilbert’s turn to take care of him. Gilbert had finally gotten him to sleep and was sitting down to start on his studying when a raspy cry rattled down the hall.

“Shit,” Gilbert muttered under his breath.

He tried to focus on his textbook and the notebook in front of him. He read the sentence over and over, the meaning of the words getting drowned out by the cries.

“In 1741, Frederick the Great…” he read aloud, hoping that would get him to focus. “Fredrick the Great achieved…Agh.”

He pressed his hands against his ears, screwing his eyes shut.

When the crying continued, Gilbert finally shot up and strode down the hallway. He threw open the door, it slammed against the nearby wall. For a moment, Ludwig stopped crying. Until he started right up again after getting over his shock. Gilbert groaned.

He picked up the baby and began rocking him. Bouncing him back and forth, frustrated.

“Shhhhh,” Gilbert hushed, “You’re fine. It’s fine. You’ll feel better if you sleep, you know?”

Rock and plead, rock and plead. It went on for an hour. But with his tired brain and Ludwig’s constant screaming, time was lost on Gilbert.

“Just please be quiet,” Gilbert begged, vision blurring with tears. “Please… please… please.”

Gilbert swayed slightly. He couldn’t tell if he was dizzy from being overwhelmed or tired or maybe he hadn’t drunk enough water today. He pulled himself over to the rocking chair and began rocking Ludwig once more.

But no matter what, Ludwig wouldn’t stop crying, face beet red.

Gilbert sniffed, pulling Ludwig closer and just breaking down into sobs.

“What’s going on–” A voice started to ask, only to cut himself off. A shadow shuffled amongst the darkened room.

“Papa…” Gilbert blubbered, finding his father kneeling in front of him.

“Someone still not feeling too good?” Adalbert asked, rubbing Ludwig’s head.

Gilbert shook his head no, swallowing thickly. “I’m sorry.”

“Hush now.”

Adalbert’s hand came to rest on Ludwig’s forehead. “Fever.”

He nodded to himself, rising to his feet, and headed to Ludwig’s closet. He pulled out a thinner set of PJs.

“Give him to me,” Adalbert instructed.

Gilbert handed Ludwig over tiredly. He collapsed back into the rocking chair. He couldn’t watch as his father dressed Ludwig in the lighter closed. He buried his head in his hands, tears soaking his palms. Why couldn’t he stop?

He hadn’t even noticed that Adalbert had taken Ludwig out of the room. When Gilbert finally looked up, he scoured the room frantically.

Luckily Adalbert returned a few minutes into Gilbert’s search.

“Don’t worry, I just was giving him a little lukewarm bath,” Adalbert explained, “Did wonders for you when you were a baby.”

And it seemed Ludwig took after Gilbert in that way. He was already dozing off in Adalbert’s arms.

“I’m sorry,” Gilbert mumbled wetly.

“You have nothing to apologize for. You did your best. Especially considering you’re under stress about that test. Speaking of…” He placed Ludwig back in the crib. “You should have come to me. I could have taken care of him today.”

“But he’s my responsibility, I–”

“Gilbert.” Adalbert’s voice was stern and his eyes cool. Gilbert winced. “When we decided to go through with this, you promised your studies would come first and I’d support you and Ludwig to make that happen.”

“But we also said the weekend would be my time to take care of him.”

Adalbert sighed. “Yes. But the importance of your studies trumps that. So right now, I want you to go to bed and sleep. I’ll take care of Ludwig tomorrow until you finish studying.”

Gilbert wanted to argue, feeling like a failure and that his father was angry at him. But he knew it was fruitless. He joined Adalbert beside the crib, wanting to at least check Ludwig one more time.

He looked so peaceful now. Still a little sick, but at least he wasn’t sobbing. Tears burned behind Gilbert’s eyes.

“I think he likes you better,” Gilbert choked.

Adalbert put a hand on his shoulder. “I think he likes you just as much.”

Ludwig cooed at them, little hands reaching out, not to Adalbert but to Gilbert. Gilbert quirked a brow. Cautiously, Gilbert reached out, letting Ludwig grasp his finger. After a few minutes, Ludwig closed his eyes and was fast asleep.

When Gilbert turned back to his father, Adalbert had a small smile on his face. “What did I tell you?”

Gilbert returned the smile. 

[loveandpeaceanddoughnuts]

For my insomniac: Erwin Smith x Reader [Ch. 3]

(Ch. 1-2 here) Erwin keeps vigil at your bedside as you fight through vivid nightmares in the infirmary and tries to keep you safe in the waking world. The feelings rising in you both are growing too strong to ignore, and too dangerous to admit.

an: ongoing fic originally posted on ao3! // cw: canon-typical violence/gore/horror

Your maneuver gear is dead weight, the last of the gas used up in a pathetic little puff that sent you hurtling toward the ground. You were always bad at gauging what you had left, and right now you don’t have the luxury of mourning the loss. You hit the ground hard, a wet snap somewhere below your waist. Another thing you can’t afford to care about right now. 

You drag yourself to the relative safety of a stand of trees, sliding your blades out with a grating schhhck before shrugging off the rest of the gear. Your body is on fire, only the deepest of impulses still pulsing in your brain, to survive survive survive. You can feel the incoming titans before you see them, the ground shaking under their mindless steps. There are too many. There are always too many.

Your frantic eyes land on a smear of blood in the clearing to your left, following it to the pile of steaming viscera that was once your comrade. You bend double and dry heave until acid trickles past your lips, coating your teeth. You don’t have time for this. There is never enough time.

You force your eyes back up to scan the area, searching for any signs of life. You can’t be the last one left alive, you can’t be alone out here- there. A human figure is lying face-down in the clearing. You run for them, momentarily forgetting the titans as you flee the shelter of the trees. Lightning bolts of pain spike up your leg from whatever you broke in your fall, but you ignore it. Getting out of here with most of your limbs intact would be a blessing. 

“Hey! HEY!” You shout and wave your arms frantically as you run, stumbling and picking yourself back up over and over until your good leg gives out. But you have to keep moving. You claw yourself forward over the battleground, your splintering nails a drop of discomfort in the agony that has become your body. You can see now that the figure is clad in a shredded Scout jacket, the wings of freedom in tatters on their twisted shoulders. As you near them, you’re hit with the overwhelming smell of rot: sun-baked decay and hot metal blood. 

Your stomach seizes again when you see the shock of blonde hair, recognizable even through the layers of matted dirt. “Commander?” The words tear through your throat but leave your lips as a strangled whisper, a fist squeezing your lungs. “Commander! Can you hear me?” You try to flip him over, desperate to see his face. 

His body moves much too easily, light as kindling. A cloud of flies engulfs you as you turn him, disturbed from their resting place in the slick pool of Erwin’s blood. You look around wildly for someone, anyone else to help, to witness this, but you’re alone. The corpses of your comrades litter the field like stones. Your eyes skip over his body each time you try to look, your mind fighting to protect you. You force yourself to stare down, to see him- and immediately turn and retch into the dirt. 

Erwin is gone. Most of Erwin is gone, that is. His face is somehow intact, but everything below his shoulders is a sickening smear of torn flesh and open wounds. Turning him over seems to have disturbed whatever trick of gravity had managed to hold him together. The ropy pink of intestines slop over his abdomen, and you wonder hysterically if you could push it all back in, put him back together.

You drag your gaze back to his face, your mind going blank in an effort to keep you sane. You’re staring at him, shock-numb and frozen, when his eyes open. “Erwin…? Commander!” You lean over him, heart racing. “I’m here, I’m here. I’ll get you out of here…” Again, your voice is squeezed and warped on its way out of your mouth. Your reassurance twists into a ragged groan, an inhuman noise.

The Commander’s feverish eyes lock on you, their sky blue clouded with mists of blood. His features distort into a mask of absolute horror. You watch in shock as he tries to scrabble upright with a pulpy mess of limbs that are no longer there, flinging himself backward in an attempt to get away from you. Utter terror propels his broken body, and he makes it a few feet before you reach out, trying to soothe him, to stop your Commander from smearing his own cooling corpse across the battlefield.  

A titan’s hand reaches for Erwin, coming from behind you. You spin around, readying your blades, but there’s nothing there. You whirl back to him, increasingly panicked, incoherent pleas spilling out. “Please, Commander, calm down, we have to get you out of here, I’ll stop them, I swear, just stop fighting…”

The huge hand stretches out once more, almost as if it were trying to stroke his cheek. Erwin screams, and you wish that you had died before you had to hear the sound. He’s reaching blindly with the fingers he has left for blades that aren’t there, ready to die fighting. You move to cover your mouth, to hold in the scream that’s building. The massive hand of a titan swings up and presses over your lips. Your hand. 

No, no, no, this can’t be- you squeeze your eyes shut and suck in a breath, then look back down at your hands. The huge, obscene hands of a titan. You look back to Erwin, propped on his elbows now and staring at you with searing hate, panting through the foamy blood at his lips.

“Erwin…” your whisper dissipates. Your voice is forgotten. You raise your ODM sword, the ultrahard steel glinting dully in the vast expanse of your grip. “Have mercy,” you can’t say. “Forgive me,” you can’t think. You reach back and slash the blade across the nape of your neck, falling forward, the Commander’s name a prayer that flashes across the last synapse of your dying brain.

You bolt awake with a strangled scream. Oxygen pours into your lungs, your hands flung out in front of you, somehow still responding to your severed spinal cord- no, not severed. Your hands are your own, raw-bitten nail beds and old scars. Nausea floods over you and you hang over the edge of the cot- an infirmary cot, you’re in the barracks?- to vomit your empty stomach into a bucket.

A strong hand is at your back, another holding back your hair as you gag. The contact makes you shudder, whip around defensively, teeth bared for a fight, but the adrenaline leaves you in a rush as you see the Commander. He’s pale, but the fear in his eyes is for you, not of you.

“You’re safe. You’re safe,” he rumbles, his hand squeezing yours. All you can see when you look up at him is the vision of his torn body on the battlefield, his corpse trying to escape you, the blood, the gore… you shudder, tears spilling over your lashes. 

“Erwin… Commander!” You’re fully back to yourself now, horrified that you whispered his first name. The guilt mixes with your relief to be back in reality.

The Commander doesn’t reprimand you. His eyes, blessedly clear of blood, remain on you as you stare at your entwined hands, confusion and exhaustion written across your face. His heart is pounding madly in his chest, the sound of you whispering his name echoing in his ears, though he doesn’t show it. He stays quiet for a moment, letting you get your bearings as he grounds himself. 

He finally speaks, his voice low and steady. “You had a nightmare, Captain. I tried to wake you,” he swallows and looks away, his hand squeezing yours. “You were calling for me.” 

You move to pull your hand away, trying to distance yourself from the impropriety. “Please forgive my boldness, sir.” Erwin’s grip tightens, refusing to let you go.

“Forgive you?” He echoes. “You have nothing to be sorry for. You were dreaming, in pain, disoriented. Do not apologize.” There’s no anger in his gaze, just concern and something softer. He speaks slowly, choosing his words with care. “Captain, I am aware that you have not been sleeping. I had my suspicions based on your recent performance, but the medic informed me that you are severely deprived. Is this why? Do you often have these dreams?”

Your face crumpled, the weight of keeping the secret suddenly gone. “Yes,” you whisper bitterly. “Every night, sir. There are some differences, but the horror of it- that’s always the same. Sometimes I’d rather stay awake than face it, weak as that makes me.”

Erwin nodded. “I understand. And it doesn’t make you weak.” His voice is firm. “You aren’t the only soldier that fights this battle, Captain.” You look up at him, glassy-eyed. 

“...sir?”

His tone is gentle, but his words sting. “Do you imagine you are the only person in this regiment with nightmares? The only one with memories pushed so far down that they surface the moment sleep strips your defenses? That you’re the only one who sees them?”

You squeeze your eyes shut in a vain attempt to hide the faces of the Scouts lost on your last mission, conjured by his words. “No, sir.” His thumb traces patterns on the back of your hand. 

“You can’t shoulder this alone, Captain. You owe your soldiers more than that. You owe yourself more than that. I…” he catches himself and looks down, uncharacteristic conflict on his face. “The Scouts. We need you.”

Your breath catches, not just from your fractured ribs. “Yes, sir.” 

Erwin nods firmly and stands up, suddenly all business again. “It seems the medication caused you to sleep, but the nightmare kept you from truly resting. I will speak to the medic about alternative treatment.” He slides his hand out of yours without comment, but you see a shiver run across his broad shoulders. 

“Thank you, sir. I appreciate your concern.” You try your best to match his professionalism, still reeling from the moment of vulnerability. You have the fleeting, wild desire to make him stay, but can’t think of anything to justify it. He’s wasted enough time with you.

The Commander inclines his head to you and straightens his jacket as he prepares to leave. He’s halfway to the door when he says over his shoulder, “Don’t forget what we have spoken about, Captain. I wish you a speedy recovery.” Then he’s gone. 

Erwin strides out of the infirmary, keeping his face perfectly composed until he’s safely behind the door of his quarters. As soon as the door is shut and locked, he presses his forehead against the thick wood. “Goddamn it.” That was a mistake. He should have waited to see you, let the medic handle your recovery and send another officer to check on you a week from now. Anything but spend hours at your bedside, holding your hand, watching you breathe. He closed his eyes, but still saw you lying on the cot, tossing in your sleep. Still heard the sound of his first name on your lips, your sweet voice pleading for him, ragged in fear. 

A dull headache settled at the base of his skull. How long had it been since he had stooped so low? Had shown such weakness in front of a subordinate? Whatever it was, it had to stop here. It was far too dangerous to feel what he was feeling for you, this soft-edged burn in his chest.

Three days passed in relative peace. There were no casualties from the missions currently outside the walls, and the soldiers within the barracks were civil and productive. Erwin was kept busy with his usual duties, but while his body was occupied his mind was filled with thoughts of you. He badly wanted to check on your recovery, but was afraid to encourage what was blossoming inside of him to grow.

For your part, you had been largely dead to the world. A fever had taken hold of your sleep-deprived body, leaving you indefinitely confined to the infirmary. You were almost grateful for the illness in your lucid moments, able to push away the mess of thoughts and feelings that your last encounter with the Commander had brought about. The longer you languished in your cot, the more fuzzy-edged the memory of his hand in yours became. Had you imagined it all? A fever-dream?

But you couldn’t have dreamed up the way the memory made your heart race. The way the thought of his steel-blue eyes made your vague, ever-present nausea coalesce into butterflies. Your nightmares used to cycle through the many faces of your comrades each night, the same plot reenacted with different victims. Since your encounter with Erwin, however, the broken figure on the battlefield was always him . He was always the victim of your monstrosity, and you didn’t dare to dwell on what that meant.

Erwin had been immediately informed of your condition. Though he was determined to keep his distance, he had ordered the medic to send him regular updates, and was anxiously waiting to hear that your fever had broken. He was signing death notices in his office when a soldier ran in, breathless with news.

“Commander, the Captain is delirious and combative. The medic is requesting your immediate intervention. They can’t handle her, sir.” Erwin is already out the door, the soldier trotting at his side to keep up.

“Have they administered the medication we discussed? Something non-sedating for sleep?”

The soldier shook his head, looking scared to answer. “N-no, sir. I heard them say she was too unstable for it.”

Erwin swore under his breath. “Understood. You’re dismissed.” The soldier gratefully ran in the other direction of the Commander’s war path. Erwin stormed into your infirmary room, clenching his jaw as he absorbed the scene of overturned furniture and strewn bedding.  

You were struggling against the medic who was manhandling you into bed, all flailing limbs and teeth. They had a syringe aimed at the inside of your left arm and slammed the plunger down just as Erwin made it to your side. The medic stepped back, unapologetic as they met the Commander’s fury. “They were out of control, sir.”

“It’s your job to handle that, is it not?”

“My job is to run this infirmary and patch up your soldiers, sir. I can’t do either with your Captain trying to kill me and my team.” Erwin clenched his fists but gave a curt nod.

“I see. Please excuse us.” The medic silently left the room. 

The Commander’s figure swam in and out of focus, backlit in a halo of candlelight as you stared up at him woozily. You smiled softly, not recognizing him through the fever-fog. 

“You’re so beautiful. Are you an angel?” You reach up to cup his cheek in one clammy palm. “Am I dying?”

The angel trembles, his calloused hand gently prying yours away. “Captain. You’re sick, but you’re not dying. I won’t let you.” 

You try to sit up, reaching for him again, but your body fails you. You collapse against the bed, gasping at the pain that knifes through your chest. The angel leans forward, pressing against your shoulder in an attempt to keep you still. “Try not to move. That’s an order.”

The sound of the grim directive allows your brain to name the angel, a flash of duty-bound recognition. “Commander…” You look up at him in awe, only coherent enough for the truth. “I’m so tired. It hurts.”

“I know,” he murmurs. “I’m sorry.” He brushes sweat-soaked hair off your forehead with the back of his hand, the other still holding your shoulder firm. “I told you that I wouldn’t let them sedate you again, and I failed.”

Your chest aches at the look on his face, and you offer what you hope is a reassuring smile. “It’s okay. I feel all warm and floaty.” You try to remember what could be wrong with the fuzzy-headed medicine, and frown. “But I can’t sleep. If I sleep I’ll have bad dreams…”

“I know,” Erwin says again. He stares down at you, the fever blushing your hollow cheeks as you meet his gaze with heartbreaking trust. He steps back, the weight of your faith in him suddenly crushing.

Your eyelids start to close against your will. You’re too weak to resist. All you can do is keep your eyes on your Commander as you’re pulled under, trying to carry the image of his unbroken body into the nightmare that awaits you.

[lifblogs]

May They Be Remembered

@ailesswhumptober Day 15 Waterboarding, Removing Body Parts, "Don't break down on me yet."

Fandom: The Bad Batch Rating: Mature Word Count: 5936 Summary: Emerie is interrogated by Hemlock as he believes she aided in Omega trying to escape Tantiss once again. This leads to Omega being caught and dragged to sub-level containment. She is given a cruel ultimatum. All the while, battle rages outside. Author's note: I understand there is a lot of whump in this, but I promise the ending is absolutely beautiful. WARNINGS: Graphic Depictions of Violence, Major Character Death, Gore, Forced Amputation, Torture, Interrogation, Burns, Execution READ ON AO3

Emerie’s gaze frantically searched the cell she was brought to. A camera, a table with restraints, only one way out, and it was ray-shielded.

Emerie had seen countless clones restrained to these tables, and her heart was beating so fast she could barely breathe, as she was now restrained to it.

The troopers weren’t gentle, and Emerie’s struggles didn’t help. She could feel their hands like the bruises were already beneath her skin.

Once she was restrained, they each took up a position on either side of the room.

A TK trooper arrived, and with him…

Hemlock.

Emerie was confused, and felt herself shaking.

“Why am I here?” she asked, voice devoid of all confidence. It was a weak, wavering thing.

Hemlock glared, and Emerie felt it into her bones.

She had only seen him like this with others. Never her. She was slowly realizing that he was not in fact kind to her, but at the same time she couldn’t see what else could be wrong with how she was treated.

“You know why.”

Oh no. The tool she’d brought into Omega’s cell so Omega could swipe it from her. Did that mean…?

Was Omega trying to escape at this moment?

Emerie had heard the laser cannons, had felt the shuddering through the mountain. Was… was Clone Force 99 here as well?

Emerie had only done one small thing. That was it! Like the small things she’d done with Crosshair so he could send his distress signal to the rest of his squad.

There was a pang in her heart as she thought of them, thought of the love she’d heard in Omega’s voice when she spoke of them. All Emerie wanted was to be loved like that.

“Now tell me, where is Omega?”

A solid guess came to Emerie’s mind, but she tried to ignore it.

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

Hemlock growled, slamming his fists down on the table beside her, making her jolt.

He breathed in, then said, “Fine. I was hoping we could have a respectful conversation, but I see that is not the case. And I am running out of time. I have no patience for you today. Commander Scorch, get the tools I requested.”

The TK trooper seemed to glare at Emerie under his helmet, then nodded, and left.

“While we wait, how about we try this again?” Hemlock asked. “I’ll start first. You were reported by one of the other doctors. You entered Omega’s cell with unnecessary tools, and one was missing when you came back out. Care to tell me why that is?”

“Clearly she stole it,” Emerie argued.

“No, we need to go back a little in this story. You were the one who provided the tool that she stole, and now she is missing from her cell.”

“I had nothing to do with that,” she asserted.

“Fine. We’ll just wait for Commander Scorch, and perhaps your answers will change.” He huffed out a laugh, and started pacing, massaging his left hand. “I have been more than generous to you, Dr. Karr. I took you under my wing when Nala Se discarded you, a mere child. I have provided you with everything you need: clothes, food, a place to sleep, work to keep you occupied, and this is how you repay me? I could have thrown you in a cell like this one years ago. But did I? I was even kind enough to not punish you for your missteps with Omega, and CT-9904. But… it’s my fault to have expected more from you. You’re a clone, just like every single prisoner here. You’re nothing but property, and this betrayal shows that I have not sufficiently cowed you yet. But the time for that is over. I will not be gentle, Emerie, and I will get what I came here for. That is a promise.”

Commander Scorch returned with a tray, and he held it out for Hemlock. Emerie was shaking, turning her head away so she couldn’t see what Hemlock was planning for her.

A scrape of metal against metal.

“Forgive me for my barbaric methods,” Hemlock said. “I need this done quickly.”

Emerie tried to squirm, and held in a cry as Hemlock grabbed her left wrist.

What was he going to do? What was he going to do?

Emerie squeezed her eyes shut.

She cried out at the slice of a scalpel through her wrist.

“Where is Omega?” he asked.

Tears welled in Emerie’s eyes, and she whimpered, trembling as they rolled down her cheeks.

“I don’t know, I don’t know!”

The last word turned into a scream as Hemlock sliced deep into her hand.

“Where is she?”

The mountain shook.

“Please, please. All I did was let her steal the tool.”

“Oh, and what did you think she would do with it?”

Emerie couldn’t breathe, felt herself hyperventilating, the room spinning.

She couldn’t speak, couldn’t catch her breath enough to.

Hemlock dug the point of the scalpel into the underside of her pointer finger till it touched the bone.

Emerie tried to free herself of her restraints, screaming, sobbing.

“I do not have patience for you,” Hemlock warned, leaning in.

Emerie tried to steel herself, but the sharp pain across her wrist and hand, and the deep ache in her finger was all she could think about.

“Open your eyes.”

Emerie had no choice but to listen to his commanding voice. She had done so for years.

He held up the scalpel, and she flinched from her own hot blood dripping onto her face.

And then all her thoughts were busy wondering where he would hurt her next.

Hemlock seemed to know this.

He grabbed her face, and leaned in.

“I always knew you were too sentimental. I tried to rid you of it, but I see now. You’re nothing but a failure. No wonder Nala Se discarded you.”

More tears slipped free at that, her lips quivering. A held-in sob turned into a whine in her throat.

“This is your last chance to be helpful before I make this much, much worse. And believe me, I can. I have no qualms with doing what is necessary to achieve my goals. You’re just in my way.”

“I-I thought maybe she could get into the walls, maybe even reprogram the medical droid that came by for testing,” Emerie got out through the ache in her throat. 

For a second, she had to think like Omega. This was the girl who had gotten herself and Crosshair out before, and in such an imaginative way. There were no limits for Omega. And Emerie wished she could see her escape, wished that her sister would be okay. Maybe… maybe if Hemlock found her then she could be safe again.

But it felt like something in her chest was caving in and breaking.

Tantiss was not safe.

Hemlock was not safe.

For a second the lights and ray shield sputtered out, and flared back to life.

Hemlock straightened, looking around.

“Commander Scorch, gather a team and head to the vault. Check that our asset is under control.”

“Yes, sir.”

With a nod, Commander Scorch left, hurrying off.

Then it hit Emerie. The zillo beast.

“Omega’s released the zillo beast,” Emerie blurted out. Her words didn’t feel like much of a betrayal because Hemlock already suspected it.

Hemlock turned to her again, holding that scalpel over her face once more.

“And did she tell you any of her other plans?”

“No,” Emerie said with full honesty.

Hemlock sighed. “I believe you. But, after today, things are going to change. I now realize I gave you too big of a leash. Perhaps you need a collar that’ll make you choke.”

She started as he wiped the sides of the scalpel off on her face, then carelessly dropped it so it sliced into her arm. A cry scraped out of her, forcing its way past her clenched teeth.

Hemlock said to one of the troopers, “Come with me. I need to activate all our operatives. Let them deal with this.”

Hemlock turned back to Emerie as he was leaving. She expected a disappointed word, something. All she earned was a sneer.

Omega was captured by Hemlock and one of the CX troopers before she could even make it out of the base, or out to her family.

She was put in a room to wait, and wait, and wait.

Her stomach was in knots, and whenever she stood she felt like she would faint. What if her family was being killed right now? What if they were being tortured, imprisoned, used?

The operative she’d turned herself in to to get here finally arrived, and he put binders on her before dragging her along.

“Where are you taking me?” Omega asked.

No answer.

Oh, he was good.

Omega wished she could make a dash for it, but she’d escaped once. She knew everything up against her, and this night, the firepower of Tantiss was much, much worse.

She was taken to a strange room she’d never been allowed in before, but had seen Crosshair walk out of it day after day, his hours filled with some unspeakable torment.

The room was circular, and inside was a lift up to a domed room that looked down at the entrance.

She was dragged inside, and up.

Omega didn’t have to search the room to figure out what was going on. Crosshair was before her, restrained in some odd contraption.

Hemlock was already there, hands behind his back, smiling in a way that had always deeply disturbed her.

“Omega, good of you to join us,” he said.

The trooper shoved her to the center of the room, but released her, going over to Hemlock.

“How did you know I was escaping?” Omega asked.

“That question will be answered presently. CX-2, show in our other prisoner.”

“Yes, sir,” he said, voice deeply modulated by his vocoder.

Omega frowned at him, wondering why he felt familiar, as he had when he brought her back to Tantiss.

He left for only a moment before returning, and Omega gasped at who he brought in with him.

Emerie was bound and bleeding, keeping her head down, shoulders hunched in.

“What did you do to her?” Omega demanded of Hemlock.

She wanted to race to him, to hurt him, but she knew it would be futile.

She tried slowly going to Emerie, hoping her movements wouldn’t be thought of as anything to stop or worry about.

CX-2 pulled a blaster on her.

Crosshair started struggling hard.

Hemlock sighed, pressed a button, and then electric pulses were shooting into Crosshair’s temples. Choked screams left him.

Omega immediately went back to her space in the middle of the room.

“Stop! Stop! Please stop! He didn’t do anything!”

“Not entirely true,” Hemlock said. “After all, he broke into my facility, hoping to rescue you. He doesn’t understand that now you are a specimen, and one of great importance to me.”

“What do you want?” she asked, voice low, glaring. “And how does it involve Emerie?”

Hemlock laughed, walking over to CX-2 and Emerie. “Oh, can’t you see? She gave you up.”

Omega’s breath caught in her chest, eyes welling up with tears.

“Emerie?” she asked, her voice breaking.

She wouldn’t look at her. Omega just wanted her to look at her, to see her eyes, to see if this was the truth.

“I’m sorry, Omega.”

But Omega looked at all the blood from her hand, the trail it had made into the room. The sense of betrayal eased, and all she felt was sad. Terribly, horribly sad.

“It’s okay,” she told her.

Emerie glanced up then, holding Omega’s gaze.

But only for a fleeting moment, a matter of seconds.

Hemlock rolled his eyes.

“Kill her.”

CX-2 drew a knife, and Omega screamed as he slit Emerie’s throat.

Blood spurted, and her lifeless body fell to the floor.

The last look on Emerie’s face wasn’t that of terror, or surprise, but of yearning. She had wanted to be loved. That was all she had wanted. Omega knew that, had seen it in her face when she talked about Omega somehow being safe here, had seen it whenever she’d finally grown bored enough to reach out and tell Emerie of her family.

Omega had somehow been hoping that Emerie would make it, that she could have what she wanted.

She didn’t know why she’d hoped.

It was as if everything shifted in such a small moment.

Omega wasn’t sure what she thought she was doing as she ran over to CX-2, grabbing his wrist, and screaming at him wordlessly.

He held his knife to her throat, and she immediately seized up. He backed her up to the center of the room.

“Stay. Put,” he told her before backing away, back to Hemlock’s side.

Omega ground her teeth together, her hands in tight fists, promising herself that she would kill him. Along with Hemlock.

“Now that we’ve concluded that business,” Hemlock said, “I have something to show you. You too, CT-9904, so pay attention.”

He grinned, then turned to the trooper. “CX-2, kindly remove your helmet.”

CX-2 holstered his sidearm, and did as Hemlock ordered.

Omega fell to her knees, and didn’t even feel the impact against the hard durasteel.

Looking out at her was… was…

She gasped.

Her world upended. The galaxy upended.

She watched her brother fall, resigning himself to death, felt her heart break and break and keep breaking as she was forced to leave him behind, forced to let him die.

“Tech?”

“No,” Crosshair cried. “It can’t be.”

Tech’s left eye was cybernetic, jagged scars running along his cheek, almost down to his mouth. She couldn’t see any other differences. But there was no use denying it. That was his face. His slightly wider eye shape, his straight chin, his sharp cheekbone, and hard jawline.

There was no recognition in his eyes; eyes as brown as hers.

Omega felt like she was staring at a machine, a ghost.

Yet he was a person. He breathed, he looked at her, at Crosshair.

Crosshair was struggling to get free.

“This is a trick, I know it,” he cried. “It has to be.”

“No tricks this time, CT-9904. This was CT-9902, but is now CX-2. Mine. He succeeded where you failed.”

“How—” Omega began to ask.

Hemlock walked behind CX-2, running a hand across his shoulders.

“It’s quite a long story, and one I have no interest in telling. Let’s just say, I found him when you abandoned him.”

Omega was crying as she argued, “We didn’t. That’s not how it happened!”

“I suppose it doesn’t matter much anymore. CX-2 can’t remember the event with much clarity. Or you.” Then he turned to Crosshair and added, “Or you.

“Now, to business,” he went on. “You will not escape this facility, and you will cooperate with all tests I see fit to run on you. Is that understood?”

Omega, usually so ready to talk, couldn’t say anything, not as she looked back and forth between Tech, and Crosshair.

“It would seem I can’t trust those who work for me, and you clearly have no lack of imagination. So instead, I am going to make a bargain with you.”

Omega shifted on her knees. “And that is?”

Hemlock just looked at Tech, and tilted his head to Crosshair.

Before Omega or Crosshair knew what was happening, Tech grabbed Crosshair’s trembling right hand, and chopped off part of his pointer finger, right before it hit the knuckle.

Omega was on her hands and knees, begging, and pleading, screaming, wishing she could turn back time. Crosshair’s face was scrunched up in pain, his jaw tightly clenched, blood coming from his mouth from a bitten tongue as he screamed.

Hemlock came forward, got down on one knee, and grabbed Omega by the chin, grip bruising.

“Cooperate and CT-9904 won’t have to lose more parts of himself at CT-9902’s hands. Look at how you’re torturing them.”

“I—”

“I have no lack of creativity when it comes to pain. Perhaps I’ll bring back your precious Tech.” He leaned in, breath hot against her face, making her squirm and wince. “And then he’ll have to live with what he’s done. If I were you, I would accept my generous offer before it’s too late.”

“Don’t do it, Omega!” Crosshair cried. “Please, not for me.”

Hemlock just motioned to Tech with a hand, not even looking back.

“No, wait!” Omega screamed.

But it was too late. Tech’s arm raised, and then fell. More of Crosshair’s pointer finger was cut off.

Omega couldn’t breathe, and all she saw was Hemlock’s face as she trembled, and listened to Crosshair’s screams.

She felt like she was going to be sick.

She swallowed roughly, really hoping she wouldn’t be.

And Tech. Did any part of him know what he was doing? At all?

Omega didn’t know what to do. She had thought she’d known. She was going to escape, she was going to be with her family.

But it was all so wrong.

Emerie was dead, body in her peripheral vision, Crosshair was losing parts of his hand, the very knife held by Tech, who was Hemlock’s to control. She didn’t even know how Tech was alive, didn’t know how any of what she was seeing was real.

Hemlock wiped away one of her tears with a thumb, and she shuddered, but met him with hard, unforgiving eyes.

“I see you don’t believe all this,” he said. “A shame. I always thought you were too unbreakable—annoyingly so, I might add. Perhaps you require more convincing.”

He rose, his grip dragging her with him, to her feet.

Omega shook him off, a mixture of horror, anger, fear, and pain clashing in her body, roaring like the storms on Kamino, unforgivable lightning, and crashing waves as tall as mountains.

She didn’t know how, but she would get out of here. Crosshair would walk out of this room, and so would Tech.

She looked to Tech now, at the blankness in his eyes.

“I’m going to save you,” she promised him.

Hemlock laughed. “How adorable.” Then his tone changed, becoming a cold thing like a shiver in the middle of the night. “This is going too slow.” He nodded at Tech. “Cut off his hand.”

“Wait, no!” Omega cried.

Crosshair didn’t beg. Yet the eyes he laid on her were wide, so full of terror it could have drowned a planet.

Omega felt it stab through her, her limbs going numb..

He just nodded, and she froze, mouth open.

She knew Crosshair well enough to recognize what he was telling her:

Don’t give yourself up for me.

“Please,” she begged, the word now for him.

Crosshair ground out two words that had already torn Omega’s life apart once: “Plan Ninety-Nine.”

Tech cut off his hand.

Omega only saw gushing blood through her tears, falling to her hands and knees again.

Crosshair had passed out, but Omega was still awake to see all the blood, to see his hand on the floor rather than with the rest of his body.

And she couldn’t take it back. She could not go back from this moment. Her life for months had been one torment after another after another.

This one was too grotesque.

Omega threw up, and sobbed through it.

“Please, Tech,” she cried. “I’m your family. Crosshair’s your family. You don’t have to listen to him.”

“What… does she mean?” Tech asked, voice the same as ever, a voice that soundly landed a blow right to her chest.

Omega lifted her head up, watching him.

A frown fell on his face, one Omega recognized. He was thinking, hard.

Hemlock was watching him with a stern gaze, brows lowered.

“Why would Omega claim to know me? Did I have a family? I… realize I don’t know where I came from.”

“It’s because you don’t need to know,” Hemlock said, drawing a blaster he’d had hidden on him.

“Wait!” Omega cried.

“Oh, it’s far too late for that. Seems you’ve broken my favorite toy. I fear he is in need of more… re-education.”

He fired, Omega rising up, as if she could stop the blast. And then he fired two more times, a third.

All stun blasts.

Tech fell to the bloody floor.

Hemlock stooped to retrieve his vibroblade. He twirled it.

“I see there is only one way to continue this business.”

He raised the blade.

“What should I do to CT-9904 next, Omega?” he said, voice raised. “Should I cut off his other hand, remove an eye, take out his tongue, start working on his internal organs, castrate him?”

A whine left Omega, and all she could think to say in her fear that was starting to leave her brain completely blank, “Don’t.”

“Will you submit?”

Omega started hyperventilating, seeing Tech on the floor, Crosshair still bleeding from his forced amputation, face tight with pain in his unconsciousness, sweat on his brow, his face pale. And she looked around her. No way out. Emerie had tried to help her, and now she was dead.

Omega was going to break in this room. Maybe she already had.

Perhaps Crosshair wasn’t the one who should make the sacrifice.

She looked at Tech, remembering his bravery. She could do it too—sacrifice herself—she could, but… was it what Tech would have wanted? He had sentenced himself to what they had all thought was certain death to save her, to save their family. Would Omega be betraying him by letting herself be Hemlock’s willing, submissive specimen?

Oh, of course she would.

He had sacrificed himself to save Crosshair. But… if she sacrificed herself, then Tech’s mission would truly be complete.

Though… Tantiss would still exist, so perhaps not.

And all the other clones would still be tortured every day. More clones would be imprisoned, more children.

She realized what she had to do.

“I’m waiting,” Hemlock said, voice stern.

Omega raised her head, no more tears in her eyes as she stared him down.

Quietly, she promised, “I will never submit to you.”

The walls burst in, heat, and flame, and pressure ripping across the room. Omega was thrown against one of the contraptions Crosshair was caught in, pain slamming into her side, her ribs. She was sure she felt them crack, felt the fractures through her entire body. The room tilted. Fire spread in, so fierce Omega was sweating in seconds, finding it hard to breathe as the oxygen was sucked up.

She struggled as the room continued to tilt, the contraption she was stuck on now her only hope. She cried out as she reached forward, putting more pressure on her broken ribs. She exhaled, trying to keep her lungs from expanding towards her ribs in case she was injured enough for them to puncture. She managed to loop her bound wrists around part of the contraption.

She cried out as Tech’s unconscious body landed on transparisteel that cracked under his weight.

Crosshair had come to, looking sick, and in agony. And that contraption was falling.

Hemlock had caught himself on some broken transparisteel and was bleeding as he held on, screaming. That sound was one of the greatest things she had ever heard.

Emerie’s body had fallen, flames licking across it. The smoke had Omega throwing up again, terrified the whole time that her lungs woiuld get punctured by her broken ribs.

Crosshair was barely conscious, and he was trapped. And Tech…

Omega soon didn’t have to choose between the two because Hunter, Echo, and Rex were quickly dropping down into the room from a ship she hadn’t been able to see through the destruction and smoke.

“Help Crosshair!” Omega cried.

Rex got to it, and Hunter rushed to her.

“Hey, it’s okay. We’re gonna get you out of here.”

“Guys,” Echo called. Omega looked past Hunter, to see Echo trembling where he stood.

His eyes were on Tech.

Hemlock cried out louder as glass bit further into his hands. Then he was growling, attempting to move. A blaster lay dangerously close to him.

He reached for it.

“Watch out!” Omega cried.

Hunter drew a blaster, faster than she could comprehend, and before she knew it a blast had gone right through Hemlock’s gloved left hand.

He screamed, falling.

Guessing by his voice, the fall hadn’t killed him. She wondered if the fire soon would.

Omega coughed, and Hunter grabbed her, freeing her from the binders.

“Careful,” she breathed out. “I think my ribs are broken.”

Hunter grabbed her, and Rex had gotten Crosshair free. He draped him over his shoulders, and nearly slipped in all his blood.

Hunter looked to where Echo was hauling Tech to safety.

“I… don’t understand,” Echo said.

Hunter looked at Tech, but then looked around, the room groaned. Blasts lit up the night sky. The mountain shuddered. Omega hoped it would shudder to its own demise. She would love for nothing more than to have this mountain fall.

“Just take him, and go!” Hunter ordered. “We don’t have time. This room is collapsing. And we have to get the other prisoners.”

“I want to help,” Omega said as Hunter got her over to a line to get her onto the ship.

He put a hand on her shoulder. “You’ve done enough, kid.”

Omega saw Emerie’s burning body, saw Tech unconscious, and Crosshair bleeding, missing a hand.

She felt like she hadn’t done anything at all.

Hemlock screams turned into ones of pure agony.

Echo, shouldering Tech said, “Do we just let him burn to death?”

Hunter drew both his blasters. “No.”

“Wait,” Omega said, reaching out a hand, and then wincing at the strain on her ribs.

“What?”

“I…” Amidst all this chaos she felt herself blush with shame. “I want to do it,” she admitted.

Echo shook his head, as if to say there was no time for this.

“The hangar’s still not under our control,” Rex reported, clearly on comms with someone.

The room tilted further, and Omega would have slid if she hadn’t been holding onto the line. Hunter, Echo, and Rex wobbled.

“Get them to safety,” he told them regarding Tech, and Crosshair.

They nodded. Hunter came in close, and took his helmet off despite all the smoke.

She found that a sob ripped free from her at seeing his face again.

He cupped her cheek.

“Omega, we are here to save you. And if I let you kill him, well, then I haven’t done my job. You’re just a child. And that’s okay. That’s wonderful. You have so much life ahead of you. I… I wouldn’t be your father if I let you do this.”

“I don’t feel like a child,” she admitted. It wasn’t just because she was trained, smart, and capable. It was because of all she had been through, it was because of Tantiss, and what had taken place in this room.

“I know,” he told her. “I understand. I do. But I need you to be more than a soldier. I need you to be Omega.” His thumb rubbed against her cheek. Voice lower, open, and vulnerable, he went on, “I need you to be my daughter.”

“Hunter, I already am.” He might have sobbed as he held her. “Just let me watch,” she begged..

Hunter sighed, but Omega could see he would acquiesce.

“Get up to the ship. I’ll grab him.”

“And you won’t kill him yet?”

Hunter shook his head.

“Promise?”

He held out his hand, and Omega took it. “I promise.”

As the line began to rise a sudden fear gripped her as she watched Hunter, and he looked up at her.

What if… what if he didn’t come back?

“Hunter,” she cried.

“Omega?”

“Just make sure you come back, okay? You’ll come back.”

He gave her a two-fingered salute, then put his helmet on, and turned to where Hemlock had fallen.

As the line rose Omega could see the sky even more clearly. A new fear—one of battle—gripped her. Yet all those ships firing on Tantiss—it was one of the most beautiful things she had ever seen.

Before she could take it all in, Rex was helping her onto the ship. A medic was tending to Crosshair, and Tech rested along the deck in binders.

Omega tried to rush over to the both of them, but the pain in her side was too much.

She paused, one of her hands hovering just over her broken ribs. She couldn’t breathe well, felt like the bottom parts of her lungs weren’t getting air.

She fell into Echo’s embrace.

He called for a medic, but there was only one on the ship, and they couldn’t let Crosshair bleed out or die of shock.

“It’s okay, Omega. It’s gonna be okay.”

She nodded, looking past him, looking at Crosshair, just wanting him to be all right. And Tech.

Long minutes seemed to pass, or perhaps it had been seconds. Omega’s brain had started going foggy.

Hunter arrived with an unconscious bound prisoner she recognized as Hemlock, though half his face was burned, like smoldering melted wax, and his left eye was nothing but red, burned viscera.

“All right, let’s go!” Hunter said.

Rex reported to his men that they had Hemlock captive.

Wrecker burst into the room.

“Where is she?”

Omega thought maybe she smiled at seeing him, but the world was floating away from her.

“Omega, why are you turning blue?”

Wrecker surveyed the rest of his family, and stood there, unable to move.

“Did you stop the bleeding?” Hunter asked the medic.

“Yes, sir.”

“Help Omega. Please.”

Echo gently lowered Omega to the deck.

The ship was on the move, the engines seeming to hum through the floor. Battle flared around them. Omega couldn’t remember much else for a bit, an oxygen mask placed over her face.

Fear seemed to lift from her, like a dark cloud breaking up from a strong wind.

When she did come to, her ribs were wrapped with her right arm immobilized against her side.

There was a fuzzy sensation in her body, but as she moved, pain hit her.

Hunter entered, and Omega thought she spied daylight and a surprisingly blue sky outside.

“Hey, I was just coming to get you.”

“Is the battle over?”

“Yes.”

“Did we… win?”

Hunter nodded, and held out his hand for her.

“It’s time,” he told her.

Hunter led Omega off the ship, into a brilliant day, white birds flying through the air, Tantiss a smoking ruin.

They were all congregated at the main hangar. Omega, her family, even Crosshair, who was being helped to stand by Wrecker. 

And then she saw them. The gray clothing, the large mass of clones who had been prisoners. And the other kids were there too, Eva holding Rex’s hand.

Omega’s breath caught, tears blurring her vision at just how many prisoners there had been. They all looked grim, half of them barely able to stand, but were present anyway. Their hatred was leveled at one man, the man bound to a post erected in the hangar. He was gagged so his lies and cruelty couldn’t spill forth. But Omega had wanted to hear him beg.

His head was lifted, facing the hatred, the pain of the hundreds of clones he had wronged.

And he still didn’t care.

His hatred seemed even stronger than the pain of the burns. But tight shivers were running through him, she noticed. His hands hadn’t been bound, and were still bleeding. Yet it was all nothing compared to how he felt for his prisoners.

Omega’s tears slid down her cheeks, seeing all the clones together, at seeing how many had been wronged. And she saw that they were alive, saw their strength as they stood there and waited for it to finally be over.

Hunter stood before them, Omega going up to Crosshair’s side, careful to avoid his heavily bandaged stump. Her fingers trembled as she gently took his arm. Crosshair gazed down at her, and she up at him. She squeezed a little tighter, letting him know they were in this together, that he was no alone, and never would be again.

“You may not know me,” Hunter began, drawing Omega’s attention back to him. “I’m a Ninety-Nine. So that would make sense. But I know you. I know that what was done to you here was unspeakable and that nothing can take away your months of pain, nothing will truly be enough to avenge it. But I see you all today, my brothers, and I want to let you know that I am with you. Men like Captain Rex, and Echo, and Captain Howzer are with you. I… I didn’t always like regs—regular clones—but today I see you, and I embrace you all. What the Empire has done to you is wrong. We are not Imperial property. We are not anyone’s property. We belong to ourselves, to each other. I look out at you now, and I finally understand the fight you all began. Your sacrifice can never be repaid. I am honored to be your brother, and…” he looked to Omega, smiling, even as tears welled in his eyes. “I am honored to be a father.” Omega beamed at him, and he turned back to the crowd, the brave army before them. “There is no fixing what was done to you,” he said. “But, we can start somewhere. This—this is for all of us—not just for who I see here today, but also in the names of those who aren’t.” 

Many clones started murmuring names, their voices loud as one, getting louder and louder as everyone joined together, voicing the fallen. They were like a broken chorus, weaving a melody through the chaos from their shared losses. It overwhelmed Omega, as if through their remembrance the spirits of those brutally and carelessly killed were by their sides, holding their hands.

“Emerie,” Omega joined in.

Crosshair beside her said, “Mayday.”

“May they be remembered…” Hunter went on. His burning eyes landed on Hemlock. “And may their vengeance find you even after death.”

Hunter took out a blaster, Hemlock beyond screaming. He seemed to know his defeat, even as he quivered with pain from his burns. Omega forced herself to look at him, to keep her head high, to soak in his agony.

Hunter started walking over to them. For a moment Omega was worried and hopeful that he was going to give the blaster to her.

He offered it to Crosshair.

“Would you do the honors?”

Crosshair had a hard time grabbing the blaster, and eventually he said, “We’ll do it together.”

Clapping broke out as Crosshair began his physically laborious journey to the center of the hangar, Hunter helping him.

Omega wished to bow her head then, to cry. Her family was so brave, and they were finally being recognized.

Omega didn’t need to look at Hemlock as Hunter and Crosshair fired the blaster together, again and again. Just had to look at her family who had come together, for her, for this fight. She searched for relief on Crosshair’s face. There was only stony resignation, and burning hatred.

The cheers of the clones was deafening. Omega made her way to Crosshair, and Hunter, as the other clones crowded forward, everyone wanting to see Hemlock’s body.

“It’s over?” she asked.

Hunter looked back to the ship, to where Tech lay.

“Well… not quite.”

And they smiled.

[heartsonfire7]

The Awakening

Chapter 1 (Part 4)

Disappointment crossed Mike’s face. He looked down at the withering flowers that were at one time, bright yellow and purple. The same flowers he had picked for El a week ago, were now dead.

Mike looked back up at El, searching her eyes for answers.

“You don’t need me anymore... do you?” he asked in a low voice.

El kindly smiled as she touched Mike’s face. In this moment, she recalled Will and his painting. How devoted he had been to spending endless hours getting it “just right”. He never wanted to show her or anyone what he was working on. Will had been acting so strange about it, that she had a feeling he liked someone and was going to gift his painting to them. Now, it was clear to El who that someone was.

“Not like that. You have helped me in so many ways,” El replied. “I needed to find myself; to love myself. I’m doing that. With your help, I did that. I have my family now who need me and I need them just as much. But I do love you for everything you’ve been to me, Mike. For being there when I had no one.”

El looked to the side. “And I see now, that there’s someone else who needs you more than I ever could.”

Mike was bewildered by El’s words. He didn’t know what or who she meant. All that registered was losing her and that it felt so real. He didn’t think they could ever return to the way they used to be.

“What?? No. There’s no one,” Mike insisted. “I don’t even know what you mean...”

He trailed off as El reached for his hands. The sky was growing darker and more ominous by the minute.

“Mike. He’s always been there for you, and he needs you now more than ever. If anything, you’re his superhero,” El said.

Mike raised his eyebrows as he frantically searched her eyes.

“Mike. Will painted it for you.”

**Please scroll up to find Part 5!! This post got misplaced. It’s right above the last post for Chapter 1- Part 11. Then scroll back down for Part 6 😊 you can also find the pinned post at the top of my page for the link to AO3. I’ll be posting chapters there over time as well as on Tumblr 💙💛

[akariarda]

Funny gift

Tell me if I should do the second part!

Sensei Garmadon was injured on a mission and has now been transferred to the hospital. Misako and Lloyd are taking care of him there. Ninjas sebted him a gift, a stuffed tiger is a gift. No one expected sensei Garmadon's reactions to that.

Request from ao3!!

"I'm.. going to...be...good..." Sensei Garmadon groaned as he was taken to the hospital. He had been injured on a mission and needed to be transferred to the medical facility.

"I'll kill you," Misako said fearfully while gripping his hand.

"Will you be okay, Dad?" Lloyd worriedly circled around.

"I will be, kiddo, don’t worry," Sensei Garmadon assured him in a hoarse voice, squeezing Misako's hand to calm her.

Lloyd and Misako stayed by Sensei Garmadon’s side for half the night. When things finally settled down, Misako and Sensei Garmadon insisted that Lloyd go get some rest.

~~~~~~

As soon as he woke up, Lloyd began to prepare to go see his father in the hospital.

"Lloyd," Kai knocked on the door and the ninjas entered.

"Are you okay?" Nya asked him, wrapping him in a hug.

"Yeah..." Lloyd sighed. "I’m just tired..."

"Are you going to the hospital now?" Jay asked him.

"Yeah..." Lloyd replied wearily. "I was just about to head out."

"Take this to Sensei G." Cole said, handing Lloyd a package.

"What’s this?" Lloyd asked, confused.

"You'll see when you get there!" Jay laughed.

"Anyway, we’ll come as soon as we finish training," Zane said, patting Lloyd on the shoulder.

~~~~~~

"Dad? Mom?" Lloyd whispered as he entered the hospital room.

Sensei Garmadon was asleep on the bed, and Misako knelt beside him. She had her hands on the bed and had just woken up when Lloyd arrived.

"Is Dad okay?" Lloyd knelt beside Misako and placed his hand on her shoulder.

"I am, son," Sensei Garmadon said, startling Lloyd.

"I thought you were sleeping!"

"I thought so too," Sensei Garmadon coughed. "Unfortunately, they’ll keep me for at least a few more days..."

"That’s a long time," Misako sighed. "I hope it really isn't anything serious."

"You should go get some rest yourself," Sensei Garmadon said, grabbing her hand. Lloyd looked at her and realized she hadn’t slept much that night.

"Dad is right." Lloyd hugged Misako. "I'll keep an eye on him..."

"Okay." Misako sighed wearily. "But I'll come back after a couple of hours..."

"Just make sure you rest properly." Sensei Garmadon smiled at her. "I’ll be fine."

They watched Misako leave, looking worried.

"She really worries too much," Sensei Garmadon smiled.

"You can't blame her." Lloyd frowned. "You’ve worried us all quite a bit..."

"I know, I know." Sensei Garmadon looked Lloyd in the eye. "But promise me if anything like this happens again, don’t let her tire herself out because of me. The same goes for you."

"I’ll look after her," Lloyd promised. "But we can’t leave you..."

"You have a good and caring heart for her," Sensei Garmadon smiled tenderly.

"I almost forgot!" Lloyd said, handing Sensei Garmadon the package. "This is from the ninjas."

"Should I be afraid?" Sensei Garmadon looked at the package, puzzled.

"I don’t know," Lloyd replied honestly. Sensei Garmadon shrugged and opened it.

"A plush tiger?!" Sensei Garmadon turned it over, searching for some secret. "Strange..." Sensei Garmadon frowned.

"It really is..." Lloyd began, but he was interrupted by a call.

"Lloyd!" Nya’s voice came from the other end, sounding worried. "I know you're with your dad, but we really need your help!"

"I..." Lloyd swallowed. He wanted to help but couldn’t leave...

"Go!" Sensei Garmadon coughed again.

"But..." Lloyd hesitated.

"I... Lloyd!! AGHH!" Nya shouted, and the call dropped.

"Nya! Pick up!" Lloyd frantically tried to call her back.

"I told you to go!" Sensei Garmadon said seriously.

"But... I can’t leave you!" Lloyd said desperately.

"I’ll be fine!" Sensei Garmadon said and coughed again.

"But Mom..."

"Misako will understand." Sensei Garmadon smiled gently at him. "Now go and save the day, son!"

~~~~~~

"Preventing this theft was exhausting," Jay sighed.

"How did Sensei react to the gift?" Kai smiled.

"I'll get you!" Lloyd started laughing. "He was confused, but I didn’t get to see his full reaction..."

"God, he’s going to throw that at us when we get there!" Cole laughed.

~~~~~~

"Dad?" Lloyd whispered as he peeked into the room.

"Guys, you have to see this!" Lloyd smiled.

"What?" Jay shouted.

"PST!!" Lloyd put his finger to his lips. "You’ll wake him!"

Once everyone was quiet, they carefully entered and saw Sensei Garmadon sleeping, wrapped around the plush tiger.

His arm was around it, and he had rested his head against it.

"How sweet..." Nya smiled.

"What do you think he’ll name it?" Kai quietly asked.

"He’ll probably get mad," Zane suggested.

"What’s going on?" Misako entered, covering her mouth with her hands. She still looked tired, but a bit more rested.

"What?" Misako smiled and looked at the ninjas.

"That was our little gift..." Jay scratched his head. Misako raised an eyebrow at that.

"It should have been a joke." Cole defended them.

"What do you think he’ll do when he wakes up?" Lloyd whispered to Misako. "Will he be angry?"

"I think he’ll keep it," Misako smiled, stroking Lloyd's hair. "Actually, I hope so; it’s too cute."

"Uhm..." Sensei Garmadon looked around, confused as he woke up. "Misako? Lloyd?"

[radiaurapple]

Lucid Dreams of New Orleans: Chapter 4

CHAPTER SUMMARY: IN WHICH Alastor opens his eyes. The last time Lucifer saw his father, he was granted a fragment of His divine power — a punishment in the guise of a blessing — that he might serve as steward of the wayward souls cast down into Hell. It is a cruel gift, designed to ensure that he will always be haunted by his mistakes; Lucifer has endured the past seven thousand years by avoiding its use at all costs. But in the aftermath of the fight with Adam, Alastor's worsening injury threatens the foundations of his daughter's dream. Lucifer does what any good father would do: he uses his long-forgotten power to deliver Alastor's soul from the brink of destruction. In turn, knowing Alastor — with all his sins, past lives, and heartbreaks — teaches Lucifer a little more about what it means to be human.

[AO3 LINK]

Hiiiii guys here's my latest chapter!! so excited to share, and made another promo art! next chapter is dropping in a week! 📻🍎

Chapter preview below!

Alastor’s consciousness returns in fragmented pieces — the sound of distant footfalls, the ticking of a clock. A warm thumb pressed against his wrist. 

His chest burns; his shoulder aches; his head pounds like the sound of a gun. He groans.

“Alastor?” 

The voice is familiar, but Alastor struggles to place the name. He blinks, but the light is too bright — he shields his eyes with his free hand. 

“Hollis?” he manages. 

“Ah — no,” the voice says. “It’s me. Lucifer.”

Lucifer. Alastor peers around the room: the bloodstained sheets, the tattered curtains, the window cracked open to the red sky. The two figures at his bedside. He blinks to bring them into focus. 

One is Lucifer — a flood of conflicting emotions wells up in Alastor’s throat, mostly in hues of anger. Then the other name swims to the surface: Charlie. 

“Did I die?” 

“No,” Charlie says — at the same time Lucifer says, “Yes.”

Charlie shoots Lucifer a glance, but Lucifer misses it, his attention fixed on Alastor.

“You died almost a hundred years ago,” Lucifer says.

Alastor remembers the dogs now. He takes a deep breath, the air shuddering in his lungs — he brings a hand up to his throat, but the skin is smooth and unbroken. 

Then the hard truth settles over him.

Hollis and his mother — they are both gone. It has been a hundred years since he last saw them, spoke to them — he closes his eyes as though darkness could call back the dream. 

The thumb gently strokes Alastor’s wrist, once. He opens his eyes and follows the hand back to Lucifer’s face. He frowns, and Lucifer at least has the decency to look sheepish and release him.

“Well.” Lucifer claps his hands together. “It looks like the crisis has been averted! So I’ll just — ah — be going.”

Lucifer crosses the room and freezes at the door. He snaps his fingers; the glove on Alastor’s bed disappears and reappears on Lucifer’s hand. 

“Let me know if I’m needed, Charlie,” he says softly, then disappears into the hall.

Alastor’s head is spinning, retracing the steps taken from his arrival in Hell that have landed him here, in this hotel, on the brink of death after a brief, experimental dalliance with self-sacrifice. He grasps for his final moments of wakefulness — he remembers kneeling on the carpet of his room, gasping, struggling frantically to hold his chest together as blood poured between his fingers. He glances down at his chest. 

A thin, purple scar bisects his torso where the angelic wound once festered. 

“It’s gone,” he gasps. 

“My dad spent all night healing you,” Charlie says.

The Lucifer in his dream — worming his way into Alastor’s life, incessantly questioning him about his attachments, his preferences. 

He glances at Charlie sharply.

“What did he do to me?” 

“He healed you,” Charlie says, with obvious patience. “That’s why the wound is gone.” 

Alastor searches her face, but finds no sign of concealment, her wide eyes painfully earnest. Deceit has never been dear Charlie’s strength; whatever Lucifer did to take advantage of Alastor’s moment of weakness, Charlie is ignorant.  

“I’m glad you’re okay,” Charlie says softly. 

It is only at this moment that Alastor realizes he has been speaking without his radio filter. 

“As am I,” Alastor says, and is relieved when the filter comes out smooth — no static, pops, or clicks. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to change into something clean.”

“Oh — of course!” Charlie backs away, toward the door. “When you’re feeling up to it, you should come downstairs! Everyone’s gonna be so glad you’re okay.” 

Charlie slips through the door; Alastor is left to the sound of his own breathing, to the breeze rustling through the curtains, to the ticking of the clock. To his questions.

He sits up in his bed. Phantom pain flickers across his chest, but it is a mere whisper of the agony he remembers. 

Too many questions. The New Orleans of his childhood still breathes in the corners of his mind, nearer than it has felt in any of the ninety years since his death. 

He shrugs his stiff, blood-crusted shirt off of his shoulders. 

How many decades have passed since he last called to memory the fire in Hollis’s eyes when he raised his trumpet to his lips? The way he could speak volumes with a single glance across a dinner table; that crooked smile from some private joke, for which Alastor had gladly razed the earth. 

Lucifer’s unearthly blue eyes, glowing in darkness. 

To what end did the Devil call back these long-dead memories? 

Alastor staggers to his feet, leaning against his headboard. His Shadow follows meekly behind him, cowed, obedient — a promising sign for his other powers. He snaps his ruined shirt and sheets out of existence, and breathes a sigh of relief when the angelic wound does not reopen. 

Still, he is tired. He goes about the remainder of his preparations the traditional way, stumbling about and rifling through his closet of identical shirts and trousers.

With every passing moment, the inevitability becomes clearer. Alastor’s questions are too many — and the answers are vanishingly few.

He adjusts his bowtie, smiles, and steps through the door of his room to seek out the Devil.

[AO3 LINK]

[softshrimpy]

How To Woo A Hot Principal

Step 12: The Start of Recovery

Summary: Working at the Weathervane was exactly what you needed. The routine, the people, your co-workers. It certainly helped that a certain tall, blonde, fucking gorgeous woman happened to frequent the cafe. Now some may call hopelessly flirting with your customers inappropriate behavior.

But truly, when it came to Larissa Weems, who could blame you?

I'm so sorry this update took forever, life has been hectic. But! Here we are. 🦐✨

Tags: @variant-2402 @the-bagel24 @eveymay @kimiinou @muffintopxs @h-doodles @bbykens @lilfartbox1 @bigolgay @winterfireblond @gela123 @i-like-reading @hopelessly-sapphic @alder-saan

(pls let me know if you want to be tagged/ I missed you!)

Chapter 11

Cross Posted to AO3 Here

HWTAHP Masterlist

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Someone was screaming.

This time you could tell it was a woman. The scream was coming from somewhere behind you. You turn, confused and slightly annoyed. It was your mother. She looked terrified. You were staring up at her, reaching your arms out for her and frowning when she took a step back. She wasn’t looking at you though. She was looking at something behind you. You turn around then, eyes searching for whatever has your mother so freaked out.

Oh right.

There on the ground lay your babysitter. You couldn’t remember her name, you think it was something like Lily? Lauren? Anyway, that didn’t matter currently. No, what mattered was that she was very much not moving and alarmingly pale. It's then that you realize you can taste blood. You bring your hands to wipe your mouth and notice they’re covered in blood along with your shirt. You lick your lips, confirming that your mouth is also covered in blood, and find yourself surprised when the taste doesn’t make you nauseous.

You tentatively crouch down by her body noticing the small bite mark on her neck that’s got a bit of blood smeared around it, but it’s not bleeding. You poke her arm, getting progressively more freaked out by her lack of movement. You're turned around by strong hands, coming face to face with your father. He’s saying something but his words feel so far away. You start crying, the gravity of what's happened finally hitting you.

You know the two of you were watching something a few moments ago. And then you remember being starved. And then you had just…bitten her neck. You remember the feeling of your teeth digging into her flesh, the way her blood had gushed into your mouth and your hunger had slowly left. It had tasted so good. And you had been so, so hungry.

You had killed her.

——————

You wake with a start, gasping as you half sit up. You don’t make it very far however thanks to the tight restraints around your wrists. You tug frantically at them, your panic from whatever hellscape of a nightmare you had just had being made oh so much worse by the idea of being tied down to a hospital bed. You’re so busy freaking the fuck out that you didn’t notice James until he’s right in front of you, gently squeezing your shoulder and offering you a sympathetic smile.

“Hey, hey. Deep breaths hon. You’re okay.” He soothes.

“What- Where am I? Whats-Whats going on? What happened?” you question.

“Woah, woah, slow down bestie. I’ll explain everything in a moment you just need to calm down a bit if you can yeah?” he says.

You manage to take a few breaths and lay back against the bed. You close your eyes, taking one last shuddering breath before opening your eyes and staring at James expectantly. He scoots his chair closer and sighs.

“What’s the last thing you remember?” he asks.

“I…I was uhm….I was in the woods I think? I was crying I remember that… and then someone yelled I think and then I remember being in a fuck ton of pain in my chest. That’s the last thing I remember.” You explain.

He nods and hums at that before continuing, “Yeah uh, so you were attacked. You were pretty close to uhm to-“ he chokes up at that shaking his head.

“You uh you almost died. And uh you’ve been-you’ve been in a coma for like two weeks now. Larissa was here every day actually. She was camped out in your room the whole time, I don’t think I’ve ever seen her so frazzled-“

“She was here every day?” you ask, your voice much more fragile than you wanted it to be.

“I know you two got into an argument the night you got uh…attacked. I don’t know what it was about but I’m sure you two can work it out. I mean she was really worried about you, would barely leave your side the whole time. She isn’t even upset that you bit her-“

“What?” you interrupted.

“It’s really no biggie babes. I mean I’m a little miffed you didn’t tell me you were a vampire but if you hadn’t even told Larissa about it-“ he explains.

“I-What?” you so eloquently repeat. “I'm not a- What the fuck do you mean I bit Larissa?? Is she okay? What the fuck is going on here James???”

He pauses for a moment, staring at you as he connects the dots. He squints at your very obviously freaked the fuck out expression before he mutters a drawn-out ‘oh.’

“You didn’t know you were a vampire before I just told you, did you?” he asks.

“I’m not a fucking vampire dude! Surely I would fucking know-“ You stop, suddenly remembering the dream you had.

It had felt so real and so familiar. You had thought it was just a really shitty and vivid recurring nightmare but now you weren’t so sure. But surely there would have been physical signs? You sure as shit didn’t have fangs. And you didn’t drink blood. Although you did like your steak borderline raw and as bloody as it could be. And you remember Yoko saying something about you smelling weird. Holy fuck were you actually a vampire?? How the fuck hadn’t you known? How the fuck had you survived without drinking blood for as long as you had?? What-

“I honestly know very little about this whole thing. I’m sure Larissa and your three kids will have answers for you when they get here. But yeah babes, turns out you’re not as boring as we all thought.” He grins

You very lamely flip him off, the restraints around your wrist making it hard to do so. The two of you sit in silence for a bit as you sift through the mess your brain is in. Eventually you sigh, flopping back against the hospital bed and staring up at the ceiling.

“So I bit Larissa huh?” you murmur.

“Yeah, the doctors said it was probably just your body’s reaction to waking up after having blood for the first time in years. They said it was almost like bloodlust? Luckily your girlfriend is one strong woman so she managed to throw you off soon after the shock had happened, and then shortly after the doctor arrived and sedated you.” He says.

“I don’t know that she’s my girlfriend anymore.” You mutter, closing your eyes against the nausea and fresh wave of tears.

“Don’t say that babes, she understands it wasn’t your fault. The only reason she’s not here right now is because they’re stitching her up and making sure she’s alright. She wasn’t even remotely upset with you.”

You simply shake your head at his words. His reassurances are sweet and you are confused about why she would have been visiting you every day if she truly hated you. But a large part of you keeps replaying her words from that night on repeat. You know you’re not the ‘hyde’ she had spoken of, that much was clear now, but you weren’t human. You had attacked her after she had been kind enough to stay by your side. And you couldn’t be sure you hadn’t killed or attacked anyone else. If your lovely resurfaced memory was anything to go by you had certainly killed at least one person. Did that not make you every bit the monster Larissa had accused you of being? Were you not the monster she thought you were?

You're broken from your endless spiral of misery by the sound of the door to your room being opened. Your gaze snaps towards the sound, finding none other than Larissa standing in the doorway. Her eyes are scanning you over, brimming with tears as she rushes towards you. You flinch at her sudden closeness, doing your best to sink back into the thin hospital mattress. Your eyes land on the bandage wrapped around her neck. It covers a fucking huge area and is slightly dark from blood. Your heart squeezes painfully in your chest at the sight, knowing that you’re the one who hurt her. She reaches your side and reaches out to touch your arm, frowning when you rather poorly wriggle away.

“Darling…?” she questions, a hurt look crossing her face.

“I don’t- I don’t want to hurt you again please-“ you let out, your voice wavering.

“Darling I’m fine it wasn’t your- what on earth…?” she mutters, her gaze fixed on your hand that is tied down at your side.

Her expression quickly morphs from concern to anger, her whole body going rigid. She swears under her breath before shooting you a soft smile and saying she’ll be right back. She then exits the room rather quickly leading you and James to share a look of confusion. The confusion is soon answered by Larissa’s angry yell from the hallway outside. You then witness a very heated conversation between her and who you assume is a doctor during which Larissa angrily gestures towards you.

“She’ll be returning to Nevermore with me so that she can receive the help she actually needs. If she goes to whatever institution you plan on sending her not only will that be removing her from the place and people she knows but you’ll almost certainly be locking her up like some kind of criminal? Absolutely not. She is leaving with me and that’s final.” Larissa hisses.

“Miss Weems, with all due respect, she did attack-“ the doctor tries.

“No, she was attacked. And truly thank you for everything you did to keep her alive. But I am taking her home with me today and that is final.” She utters, levelling the poor doctor with a look that would make the strongest person wither and die.

The two exchange a few more words before the doctor leaves. Larissa stands there for a moment, her posture softening as she takes a deep breath. She then comes back into the room, her severe expression softening further. She comes back to your side opting not to touch you and instead resting her hand on the rail of your bed.

“The doctors sorting out a few more things and then you’ll be free to go. I-If you would like you are more than welcome to stay at Nevermore. Not-Not with me of course. I just- It may help to be around other outcasts and there are a few other vampires who may be able to help you with your situation.” She explains, not making eye contact with you and instead focusing intently on the floor.

“I can just go home if it would be easier-“ you murmur.

“I would rather you stay with me- with us at Nevermore. If that’s alright with you?” she asks.

“I think you should go to Nevermore,” James butts in, “It would give me peace of mind knowing you’re not all on your own.”

You nod, agreeing that it would probably be best if you had some help figuring out what you should do going forward now that you know you’re a vampire. And it would seem the students at Nevermore knew a fair bit more about your condition than you did. Larissa seemed relieved by your answer, her shoulders relaxing. James left a few minutes later, saying he was going to pick up some stuff from your place and would bring it round to Nevermore later.

A little while later a nurse comes in, undoing your restraints and explaining what your recovery process should entail. Larissa seems to be paying keen attention to what she’s saying, asking questions that you know you should be paying more attention to. Honestly, you’re feeling far too overwhelmed and tired to listen to what she’s talking about. Your head actually hurts trying to process everything that you’ve learned in the last hour.

You snap back to the present when Larissa gently touches your shoulder, telling you that you’re leaving. You sit up, absentmindedly rubbing at your aching wrists. You turn to stand, swinging your legs to hang over the side of the bed. You attempt to stand up, keyword attempt. The moment you put some of your weight on your feet you all but collapse. Luckily Larissa is there and she catches you, her arms wrapping around your waist and making your stomach flip. You stare up at her, your heart somehow both racing and aching terribly at the same time.

The nurse brings round a wheelchair, explaining that this sort of thing is very normal in patients who’ve been bedridden for as long as you have. She says something about you being back to normal in a few days, simply needing your body to readjust to everything. Larissa gently squeezes your hand, thanking her for all her help before wheeling you away.

You don’t know what the fuck has happened in the last two weeks. You don’t know how you’ve been a vampire your whole fucking life and had no clue. Suffice to say, you don’t know much. But you do know that even after everything that’s happened, you still love Larissa Weems. And you’re willing to do whatever it takes to make things right between you.

——————

Your recovery was going well, all things considered. You had been out of the hospital and at Nevermore for about a week now. The day after Larissa had brought you back from the hospital you were introduced to Coach Vlad, apparently, not only was he rather skilled in physical therapy but was also a very old vampire. He had essentially taken you under his wing so to speak, telling you an awful lot about vampire history and teaching you about where most vamps got their blood from, how much they needed each day and all that.

Yoko, Enid and Wednesday had taken to visiting you in the evenings. The first night they had explained everything they knew and how they found it out. You were slightly disturbed Wednesday had been keeping such close tabs on you but were ultimately grateful. Yoko had explained that she had only ever heard of the practice you had been subjected to and was quite horrified it still happened in this day and age.

When they had left you then spent the night laying in your rather godddamn comfortable bed staring up at the ceiling as you essentially screamed internally. You were quite honestly flipping the fuck out. You kept asking yourself how you had missed it. How you could have possibly gone for so long not having any fucking clue. And that led to questions like how much your parents knew. They had to know you were a vampire and they had to have been the ones to…well try and change you to be more ‘normal.’ And if that wasn’t an extra large dose of parental trauma to add to the ever-growing list. What fun times.

You had booked an appointment with Dr. Kinbott the next morning.

You were currently deep in conversation with Vlad, taking a walk around campus to get your legs working again. You were taking a break in the quad when you turned just a bit too far and ended up wincing as the scars on your chest throbbed. Ever the attentive friend Vlad immediately checked you over and started asking a million questions.

“Vlad, I’m fine its just the scars. No big deal.” You huffed.

“Hmm, your healing should get better overtime. You have been without blood for a very long time. I’ll chat to Mari and see if she can’t whip up something with those plants of hers,” he comments.

“Mari?”

“Yeah, that’s what most of us call Marilyn. She’s a bit odd that one but a great teacher.” He hums.

“Oh…OHHH. OH wow, I am serving hella dyslexic right now. Oh my god.”

“I’ve been exposed to your silly words for a week now and yet you still come up with things that confuse the shit out of me,” he sighs.

“I thought you spelt her name like Mary – Lin. This whole time. I look dyslexic as fuck right now.”

“…Are you not dyslexic as fuck?” he grins.

You slap him, snorting and grumbling. The two of you take a seat on one of the benches, basking in an amicable silence. You turn when you hear a set of heels echoing against the stone of the hallways, You catch a glimpse of white hair disappearing around a corner and slump in your seat. Vlad notices and nudges you, raising a brow at your sudden down demeanour.

That was the one fuck up in your otherwise stellar recovery; Larissa was avoiding you. She had helped you settle in on the first evening but soon left you to your own devices. Part of you was relieved, if she was around you two would have to have a super difficult conversation or multiple difficult conversations. And you honestly didn’t know if you could handle that on top of everything else. On the other hand, you missed her dearly, you wanted to talk to her and just be with her. You wanted to share your worries with her, talk to her about everything that was going on in your mind. And know what was going on in hers. Know how she was feeling if she was upset with you or hurting. You missed her so much.

“She misses you too,” Vlad comments, breaking you from your silent musings.

“I’m not sure she does. I’m not sure I blame her if she doesn’t,” you sigh.

“Look, I don’t know what happened between the two of you. But I have worked with Larissa for a long time. She definitely cares deeply about you, anyone can see that. She’s just withdrawing to protect herself, and she probably thinks to protect you. She is a remarkable woman but she has been hurt so deeply by so many. She truly believes she is the cause of everyone’s problems. Take some time to figure out your feelings, but don’t give up on her, on the two of you.”

“Wow…I didn’t know you had it in you to do the deep and meaningfuls.I had assumed you were the ‘I don’t talk about my feelings, I am a rock’ type,” you joke.

“Yeah yeah, you can keep your feeling masking humour. Just promise you actually listened to what I said,” He snorts.

“I’m listening, I promise.” You huff, crossing your arms, “But if she does hate me then you’re buying me fuck tons of ice cream.”

“Deal,” he smirks.

“So, am I ever going to get a pair of sick fangs or…?” you grin.

“They should come back after some time, due to the enhanced healing,” he remarks, “I for one can’t wait until they come in and you sound like an even bigger dumbass trying to talk around them.”

“Yeah that’s sic- wait what?”

[dreamdepot]

Dreams of the Kingdom - Chapter 22: Another Age

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AO3 Wattpad or below!

The corridor through time seemed endless, but now, it was much less foreboding. Time guided you across the eras. In little windows you caught glimpses of other times, some that you had been to, some you had only heard of in stories. Some even seemed to be alternate timelines that only further proved the curse or the cycle wasn’t perfect. In one, you saw a hero from another world saving Zelda from Ganon, though the hero only had a single hour once a week to do it before returning to their world. In another, you saw a Ganon that seemed to be a giant plush toy, getting sliced up by people for fun. You shook your head and tried to focus on the task at hand.

“Sorry if I’m quiet,” Time laughed uneasily. “I’m not used to traveling with company. Sometimes forget how overwhelming this can be.”

You nodded, though your head was elsewhere. The more you thought about what you had left to do, the more you thought about Link.

Time seemed to read your mind. “Homesickness?”

“A bit, yeah.”

“That’s normal. One of these days, I’ll head back myself.” Time let his words hang in the air, their meaning not lost on you.

“Time, if you go back…”

“I know.”

“But-”

Time shushed you. “I know my fate is to die soon, but with what I have left I plan to do what I can to help Hyrule.” He took a deep breath. “If I change time to live longer, what would that do to the rest of our history? To the Hero of Twilight? To you?” Your heart sank. He placed his hand on your shoulder. “Hey, I’m not dead yet, and I’m gonna make the most of what I have left. And besides, from what I hear, I’m pretty active for a dead guy – something I think you can understand.”

You had to laugh a little at that. The two of you continued on, though soon, you found the soft blue of your pathway starting to turn an unsettling red. “Is that normal?”

“No… I don’t like this.” Time’s hand moved to his sword. “Stay behind me.”

Normally you’d want to stand your ground, but considering you were unarmed, you took a defensive stance. Suddenly, a Gloom Hand appeared. “Don’t let it grab you! Kill all the hands at once, and then it will become a Phantom Ganon.” You explained. “This one’s different though, it has fewer hands.”

“Must be because you’re weakening Ganondorf’s influence,” Time said, easily blocking the Hands with his shield. “Don’t worry about me, I’ve dealt with creepy hands for quite a while.”

He shield-bashed the Hands back, but one managed to sneak around, snagging your ankle. The gloom hissed as it burned your skin, but that was the least of your worries. It pulled you to the ground. As you fought and kicked at it, you suddenly felt yourself falling out of time.

“Prince [Y/n]!”

==============================

Landing on rock was not fun. You groaned as you sat up. “Time? Time?!” You frantically searched, but the Hero of Time was gone. “Great.” You patted yourself down. The skirmish with the Gloom Hands made you lose some non-essential supplies. On the bright side, you still had the armor Queen Zelda had gifted you. “Let’s see where we are then… wait a second.”

Looking around, the rock formations were more than familiar, you had crossed them with Link only weeks before. “The Breach of Demise, I’m home! …I think?” You walked along the canyon, looking for any clues. Something didn’t make sense to you; there were battlements along the canyon, which as far as you knew, there wasn’t any in recent history.

Recent… you had to laugh. Your perspective on “recent” had certainly changed.

The Breach of Demise, even in a peaceful Hyrule, wasn’t the most welcoming place, so you soon started the long walk east to the castle. The battlements were seemingly abandoned, and the pass was eerily devoid of life. You came across a toy slingshot, left behind in a wagon rut. “Someone must’ve been in a hurry,” You muttered. “Ah well, beats no weapon at all, I guess.” The silence was shattered, stopping you in your tracks, as you heard something you hadn’t heard for a long time. The song of an accordion echoed across the canyon, though you couldn’t tell where from. Frantically, you followed the golden voice accompanying it.  

…For Calamity-y lurks near

Monsters and gloom pillage our land

Hyrule cries for help

Yet we hide in fe-a-ar

Til two he-eroes rise

To face the blight, to free the light

And bring back hope to our land

They shall save us a-a-all!

They did fight

‘Til Ganon died

Triumphant Hyrule rise!

To-ge-ther bound in arms

The Prince and the Kni-i-ight!

Suddenly, it stopped. High atop one of the cliffs, you could just make out a tall blue Rito. “Ah! Your majesty, is that you?!”

You could have leaped for joy hearing that familiar voice. “Kass! Kass! Thank the goddesses, it’s you!”

The bard dropped from the sky, pulling you into a hug even before his feet touched the ground. “I have never been happier to see you! Please tell me, is my family okay? Is Amali okay?”

“She’s fine, the girls are fine. They’re all doing great now actually.”

“Thank goodness, I’ve been so worried,” He sighed. “I’ve been completely lost flying in circles. Nothing makes sense.”

“What do you mean?”

“You haven’t noticed?” Kass asked. “I mean, it’s fairly-” Both of you froze. A terrifying chime filled the air, one you knew all too well but had hoped to never hear again. A red targeting reticle suddenly locked in on Kass.

“Get down!” You shoved Kass down behind a rock as a blast of light narrowly missed you. You poked your head out, seeing a corrupted Guardian Stalker rapidly approaching you. “What the…” You then realized Kass was groaning. “Kass, are you okay?”

Kass winced. “For the most part, but I think I might have sprained my wing when I landed.”

“Shit, sorry. Once we’re safe, we’ll get that looked at.”

“Please don’t worry. You saved my life.” Another beam of light shot by, sending a spray of debris over you. “Prince [Y/n], what are we going to do?”

You instinctively reached for your sword but groaned as you remembered you were unarmed... mostly. Instead, you snatched up the slingshot and loaded it with a pebble. Your eyes fell on a spooked horse just beyond the Guardian, still latched to a pole and hooked up to a cart. “Okay Kass, get ready to run.” Pulling the slingshot back for max power, you let the pebble fly, smacking into the Guardian’s eye.

The Guardian squealed as it rebooted. “C’mon!” You ran with Kass on your heels. You calmed the horse as best you could as Kass climbed in back. You heard the Guardian beep behind you. Wasting no time, you vaulted to the saddle and snatched the reins. “Hyah!”

The cart lurched as the horse bolted downhill. You did your best to steer the frightened steed, but you were more trying to hang on. Kass hunkered down in the cart the best he could. The wheels skidded, taking the corner far sharper than you wanted, bounding and bouncing on the rocks. You could hear the Guardian charging behind you as you raced out of the canyon and across Carok Bridge. You knew you couldn’t outrun it for much longer, bracing yourself.

A volley of arrows dropped out of the sky, knocking the corrupted Guardian off-kilter before a massive gust pushed it just enough to destabilize it, knocking it into the Regencia River. You brought the horse and cart to a stop as the archer descended from the sky. He preened as you stared in shock. “You have nothing to fear as long as you have Hyrule’s greatest archer looking out for you.”

“Great skies,” Kass said in near reverence, “Is that…?”

You were off the saddle before you knew your legs were moving, embracing the Rito Champion. “Revali, I never thought I’d be so happy to see you.”

Revali, on the other hand, went rigid. “Okay, let go. I know my prowess is astounding, but do you hug every stranger you meet?”

“Stranger? Don’t you remember me?” You asked. “Oh, this is another prank, isn’t it! Just like how you talk about how Zelda is the Crown Princess and I’m just there – which, by the way, shut up.”

Revali looked you up and down. “I’ve never met you in my life. I tend to remember attractive people who praise me.”

“What do you mean- wait, attractive?! Who are you, and what have you done with Revali?”

Kass stepped down from the cart and gently nudged you. “I have an idea. Champion Revali, perhaps you could help us. We’re a bit disoriented. Could you direct us to where we might find someone like Master Sharpe?”

Revali scoffed. “Sharpe? Who is that?”

“The royal maestro, of course?”

“The royal maestro’s name is Flat, everyone knows that,” Revali said.

Kass looked shellshocked. “Maybe we should speak to Zelda,” you offered. “I’m sure she’d know what’s going on.”

“That I can do. Just follow me back to our camp.” And with a wink, the champion shot into the air on his signature updraft.

==============================

Revali led you back to the military base camp at the Central Hyrule Tower. Kass marveled at the bustling towns. “Sheikah Towers, Guardians… Even if it is nice to see Hyrule as it was, it’s not exactly a pleasant trip down memory lane,” Kass said.

“You can say that again,” you muttered. You brought the cart to a halt outside the main tents. You patted and thanked the horse, which was far more interested in the feed trough at the moment.

“This way,” Revali said, leading the two of you into the main tent. Parting the flap revealed something you’d only recently seen in your dreams. The Champions, Zelda, and Link stood around the strategy table. Even with the world as strange as it was now, you fought back tears seeing the Champions all together once more. “Princess, I’ve brought a couple visitors who you need to speak with.”

“Thank you Revali.” Zelda nodded, though she looked confused. “I am Princess Zelda, who might you be?”

Zelda looked at you as though she had never met you in her life. You fumbled for words. Kass noticed and kindly took the opportunity to speak first. “Oh, my name is Kass, traveling bard, researcher, and songwriter. I am a close friend of His Majesty too!”

“His… majesty?” Zelda asked.

“My name is [Y/n] Daltus Hyrule,” you said, heart pounding. “Son of King Rhoam Bosphoramus Hyrule and Queen Tetralyn von Labyrnna… or at least in my time. I’ve been time traveling to stop Ganondorf in the future. I’m not sure why I’m here instead of my own past.”

The Champions looked to each other at a loss for words. Kass shifted awkwardly next to you. Zelda opened and shut her mouth several times, unsure of how to begin. You meanwhile looked at Link. It was surreal to see Link in soldier armor, stoic and reserved – almost like he was when he first returned after training with the Master Sword when you were young. It had only been a few days, but it felt like a month since the last time you saw your boyfriend. “Link… do… do you know me?”

The soldier looked you over and shook his head, though he seemed a bit regretful. It stung a little, but after living through one bout of amnesia with Link, it wasn’t so bad. Zelda on the other hand… “I apologize, but I do not know you either. You say that you are a prince of Hyrule?”

“Yes, I…” Your mind raced. Did you change the past too much? Did you accidentally erase your own existence?

Kass thought for a moment. “Your majesty, I wonder, perhaps this version of our world isn’t the past, but rather a completely different world?”

“It’s possible,” both you and Zelda said at the same time. She gestured to you, and you continued. “As my sister and Purah have often theorized, time travel may not be simply traveling up and down a road, but rather passing through an endless hallway of doors leading to different possibilities. Instead of you and I traveling along the path that led to our world, maybe we went through the wrong door.”

She looked at you in surprise before her gaze softened. “I couldn’t have said it better myself.”

“I wish the Hero of Time was still here, he’d probably know all about how this works,” You muttered. “I hope he’s alright.”

“The Hero of Time?!” Zelda gasped, her composure dropping in an instant. “Wait, how far back did you go? You have to tell me everything. Can you take me back in time?”

You burst out laughing, much to the surprise of everyone else. “Sorry, but my time or not, you’re still Zelda!” Suddenly, you realized something was sitting on Zelda’s shoulder. It looked like a egg with Guardian legs. “Um, hello?”

The little Guardian chirped inquisitively, crawling onto Zelda’s hand as she explained. “Oh, this little one is also a time traveler, though for what purpose, I am afraid we’re still finding out. That said, I believe it came to warn us. Perhaps it’s good that both of you are here then.” Zelda’s face fell into a practiced neutral expression, one you knew well from before the Calamity. She would use it whenever she was trying to be brave. “In your time, did… did I unlock my powers in time?”

You found your face mirroring hers. “Perhaps we should talk privately.”

The Champions took the hint. Revali took Kass to the nearest medic to have his wing examined. Kass was more than happy for the rest as well, not being accustomed to battle like you. Soon, only you, Zelda, Link, and the little Guardian were left. “I assume that the answer isn’t good?”

“You have to understand that what happens in my time isn’t destined to happen here.” You smiled at the little Guardian. “I don’t exist in your timeline, and this little guy doesn’t exist in mine as far as I know. Who knows what else is different?” The little Guardian hopped from Zelda and scuttled up to your shoulder with a happy chirp.

It was enough to get a genuine smile out of Zelda. “I did always want an older brother.”

You patted the little guy. “I can’t stay here long, Kass and I need to keep looking for other ways to get home and save our friends, but while I’m here, I’ll help you as much as I can. Alternate world or not, this is still Hyrule.”

“I can’t ask you to stay!” Zelda protested.

“And I can’t leave my little sister in danger… or her knight.” You said, shooting Link a wry smile. “In my time the three of us faced evil before, least I can do is help to level the playing field, especially if time is warped here too.”

Zelda took your hand. “I can’t thank you enough.”

Link reached out to shake your hand too. “Thank you,” he said simply.

You took Link’s hand and suddenly both of you were knocked off your feet. “Ouch,” you groaned, rubbing your hand. “What was that?”

“No ide- WHAT IS THAT?!” Link yelped, scrambling to his feet and drawing his sword. The little Guardian whistled indignantly as it crawled back to Zelda, shielding her.

A copy of Link floated motionless before you, made entirely of blue light. It almost looked like how Link would appear right before teleporting with the Purah Pad, a wireframe of blue ribbons. This Link slowly opened his eyes, which were merely two balls of white light. “What…? Where am I?” The second Link asked. His voice sounded distant as if calling to you from a deep cave. “[Y/n]?”

You climbed to your feet, taking the second Link’s hand. It felt fragile, almost like it was made of tissue and twigs. You looked deep into his eyes. “Link? My Link?”

The light in his eyes seemed to soften. “Hey handsome, what are you doing out? You’re supposed to be resting.”

You pulled him into a hug, careful not to crush the light construct. “Link… Link you’re okay!”

“Yeah, why wouldn’t I be? Last thing I remember, I was talking to…” His voice trailed off as he looked at his hand. “My Prince, why am I blue?”

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” you soothed. “We’ll figure this out.”

He then looked up at the other Link. Despite being made of light, you caught the way his eyebrow quirked and his hand twitched. “Who is he? Did Ganondorf make a copy of me again?”

“Is that me?” the other Link asked. Zelda simply watched in shock.

You winced. “Yes and no. Link, uh… okay. My Link, bear with me. You’re frozen in our time, and I’ve been using the Gate of Time to try to find a cure.” You could practically feel Zelda vibrate with excitement at hearing about another lost relic. “This is apparently an alternate past, one where I don’t exist and where the Calamity came early. Zelda and uh, Calamity Link? This is my Link, my boyfriend.” You interlaced his fingers in yours.

Zelda suddenly blushed furiously. Calamity Link, however, was unfazed. “I’m made of light in your time?”

“No silly,” Zelda said. She carefully inspected Light Link head to toe. “This is fascinating, I’d love to research you further... I’m sorry, that’s rude.”

“I’m used to it,” your Link said. “Any ideas?”

Zelda tapped her chin. “If I had to guess, two different versions of the same Link can’t exist at the same time. When my Link touched Prince [Y/n], that created a paradox. Time tried to correct itself by creating an echo of the Prince’s Link.” She turned to you. “Though to make a paradox, you’d have to have something of the other Link with you in this time. Something that doesn’t belong that my Link also has.” She blushed again, at saying “my Link.”

“Isn’t that my hair band?” Light Link asked. “It looks good on you.”

You blushed. “That would be it then. It did always feel like I had a bit of you with me. I’m just glad to have you back.”

“I’ll always be with you, no matter what.” Link leaned forward and kissed you on the cheek. It felt more like a gentle brush but having him back in any form was enough to warm you. He turned to the others and crossed his arms. “Okay, so, Calamity Link and Zelda, what’s going on? Not sure how much I can fight like this, but this is still Hyrule. How can we help?”

==============================

“A second Calamity?” You asked, looking at the map. The little guardian happily pointed out each of the sightings to you, chirping and singing.

“Yes, it’s taken the form of a giant boar,” Zelda explained. “But this one is different, it isn’t like the other aspects of the Calamity we’ve faced so far. Our soldiers seem to be injured just from being near it.”

“Gloom; that makes things interesting. Our Ganondorf must be trying to help out your Ganon.”

“We took him on before,” your Link said, floating over your shoulder. Ever since appearing, he refused to leave your side. There seemed to be an unspoken dialogue between him and Calamity Link as they were almost stapled to their respective royal – not that you minded. Whether it was showing off their partner or some kind of bro code remained a mystery.

“You mean, you took him on.”

Even if you couldn’t see his mouth, you could tell he was grinning. “Please, you did half the work by making sure all those Guardians didn’t sneak up while we were fighting.” Both of you elected to leave out that you did die doing that. “With two Links, my Prince, and Princess Zelda – not to mention the Champions, the Calamity doesn’t stand a chance.”

You smiled back. “He’s right. Link and I can help fix your timeline by sealing this fake Calamity.”

“That’s all we need,” Zelda said. “Defeating it will give us enough time to shore up our forces to strike at the real Calamity and seal him forever. Link – or, err – both Links, perhaps you should go and take a look at some of the armor and weapons we have so you can prepare.”

Calamity Link gave Zelda a simple salute. Your Link however patted your shoulder. “We’ll get him, promise.”

Once both were gone, Zelda stood next to you. “Are you sure you don’t need our help with the main Calamity too?” you asked.

Zelda sighed. “I wish I could ask you to, but I worry. If time is weakened as you say, and both you and the little Guardian have made your way here, I fear what else might. It already appears that our Calamity, or its avatars are using time against us as well. If we keep pushing the boundaries…”

“Yes, I understand. I’ve been worrying about that too.”

Both of you stood in silence, but Zelda started to squirm a bit. “So,” she murmured, “I see your Link gets a bit more muscley in the future… and thicker…”

“What can I say, our knights like making sure they are strong enough for any challenge,” You said innocently. You then leaned in to whisper, “Believe me, peak cuddling, especially since he likes cuddling naked.” You held your laugh as Zelda started to splutter. “I better go take a look at the weapons too. You just think of the possibilities.” Zelda clearly was, as her face turned nearly as red as Urbosa’s hair.

==============================

You found your Link in the armory tent, clearly unhappy. “Well, this sucks.”

“What?”

Link’s hand passed through all of the shiny weapons in the armory. “No weapons for me.”

“Join the club,” you groaned. “Lost that Blue Lynel Reaver you made for me somewhere in the Great Sea.”

“It’s okay, I’ll make you another one. For now though, I guess I can just ride along with you like the Champion spirits did.” He stopped, and you could sense the shit-eating grin. “Hey, this means I kinda died, right?”

“No.”

“Erased from time? Yeah, I think so. Now you’re not the only one who can joke about dying.”

“Please don’t.”

“Not so funny now, is it?” He laughed as you tested the draw weight of the bows. The light in his eyes dimmed slightly as he leaned forward and pressed his forehead against yours. “I love you, so much. Not sure which goddesses decided I was worthy to be with you, but man, I’m so lucky.”

You laughed. “Where’s this coming from?”

“You literally jumped through time to save me.”

“Says the guy who saved the entire kingdom and my life multiple times.”

Link hummed. “I think we may have a bit of an unusual relationship.”

“Just a bit. Hey, watch the door for a sec? Need to change armor.” You slipped out of the Royal Guard Armor, switching to the Royal Armor that Queen Zelda had given you. Straightening the circlet, you turned to Link. “What do you think?”

“Where did you get that?” Link asked in awe.

You laughed. “I’ve got a lot of stories to tell you later. Do I look alright?”

“Like an avenging angel,” Link sighed.

Just then, Calamity Link entered your tent. “We’re about ready to get going. All set?”

You grabbed a trusty Royal Claymore and Royal Bow. “Let’s go.”

==============================

You and Calamity Link sat astride horses. Your Link meanwhile floated next to you. “You know, I can get used to this.”

“Oh great, there’s two of them,” Revali groaned.

Mipha was much more intrigued. “Why yes, there is.”

Urbosa shook her head. “Focus everyone. We should be thankful for the extra assistance. Remember, we are to encircle the dark beast and drive it away from the town. Sir Link and our guest will lead the charge, everyone else will support. Any questions?”

“Just hope our new buddies can keep up!” Daruk guffawed.

Just then, a roar shook the ground. “Sounds like our time’s up, ready?” Calamity Link asked.

“Born ready.” You cracked the reins, galloping down the streets towards Hyrule Field. Just beyond the walls, a massive boar made of malice stomped across the plains. Your lungs burned from the gloom mist in the air. “Okay he’s a lot bigger than I thought.”

Link floated beside you, his form a bit more condensed. “It’s okay, he’s fairly easy to take down. He has the same weak spots as any boar, just like normal hunting.”

“Bow, got it,” Calamity Link said, switching his weapons.

“Please, if anyone is going to land the final arrow, it’s me.” Revali sniffed, rising high into the sky.

“Guess he never changes,” Link muttered. Calamity Link could only nod. The Hyrulean Army charged around you, flanking on both sides. “Aim for the eye, then charge along the side and aim between the ribs!”

You and Calamity Link followed, firing your bows in sync. The Champions and military attacked from the other side. The charge looked successful, but as you peeled away for another firing run, you realized the beast was hardly touched. You swung back, passing along next to the Champions.

“I don’t understand, why aren’t our attacks working?” Mipha asked.

“Maybe we need to hit it harder?” Daruk suggested.

“Of course you’d say that,” Revali muttered. “Any suggestions down there?”

Calamity Link brought his horse alongside you. “Is this what happened in your time?”

“No,” your Link said. “Then again, I had the Bow of Light, but that attack should’ve hurt it.” Suddenly the beast roared, turning towards you. You nudged your horse into a gallop as the beast began to charge.

You braced yourself for the Calamity’s next attack, but you felt a weird tingle as for the first time since Ganondorf, your vision blurred. This time, the vision was not of the distant past, but your own Link facing the dark beast with the Bow of Light. As your vision snapped back to the present, your head whipped around, looking for the source. A glimmer of purple light came from the edge of the battlefield.

“Hold up, we’ve got company,” you muttered to Link. You shouted to the others. “Hold the line!” You leaped off your horse and charged into the tree line.

“Wait!” Link shouted. He darted alongside you, his body shrinking into a blue ball of light. “Are you sure this is a good idea? The Calamity is back there!”

“Yeah, but something strange is going on here, and I think I found the source.” You skidded around a tree, coming face to face with a mysterious figure. He wore dark robes rimmed with gold. He watched you with sickly eyes set in a pale face. In his hand floated an orb that looked like a corrupted Ancient Core, pulsating with dark energy. “You. You’re behind this.”

“Astute observation, whoever you are,” he muttered back. “You are an unaccounted variable. You shouldn’t be here.”

“Something tells me you shouldn’t either.” You readied your claymore.

“No matter,” he growled. “A nuisance like you won’t stop the coming of the great Ganon! I will end you myself!” He brandished his orb, summoning dark pools of malice, bursting across the trees.

“Look out!” Link said. “Wait… it’s not gloom?”

“It’s weaker,” you muttered.

“Don’t underestimate him,” Link warned as you charged in. You dodged his next attack, rolling to the side. “Hmm, he’s slow. Those attacks must take a lot out of him.”

“Then that’s my chance!” You dodged another burst of malice, before charging in, striking with a flurry rush and knocking him back against a tree.

“Pest!” He sneered.

Suddenly, your vision blurred. For a brief second, you could see the shadow of Ganondorf hovering over that orb. “So that’s your game.”

He sent another wave after you. You circled around, slashing his back. You dodged a burst of energy, as he created a shield around himself. Malice-filled puppets of the Champions rose from the ground.

“Hollows,” you muttered. “You can’t even throw the real thing at us. Malice is nothing to us.” You shoulder-checked the Hollow Mipha before smashing her with the claymore, launching her into the Hollow Urbosa.

“Behind you!” Link shouted.

“Thanks,” you said, switching to your bow and sniping the Hollow Revali. Hollow Daruk began to roll, and you easily dodged, sending him smashing through the mage’s shield. You wasted no time charging in with your sword and knocking him back again.

“What are you?!” The dark wizard hissed.

“No one important,” you said, letting the arrow fly. “Just the one who will see Ganondorf gone forever.”

The arrow shattered the orb, sending a wave of energy across Hyrule Field. With that, the dark beast hollow disappeared.

“You…” He growled, clawing at his face. “I will… destroy this kingdom if it’s the last thing I do!”

“Not today, and not ever.” You said. The Champions and Calamity Link were fast approaching. With a screech, the dark wizard disappeared in a cloud of malice.

“[Y/n],” Zelda shouted, pushing to the front. “Are you okay?”

“Fine here, is everyone else okay?”

Zelda gave you a soft smile. “The monster is gone. How can we ever thank you?”

“Don’t worry about it,” you said, fighting the urge to hug her as you reminded yourself that this wasn’t your sister. “I’m sorry that we haven’t finished the job though. That guy got away.”

Calamity Link shook his head. “Don’t worry about it, we can take care of him. Getting rid of that monster gives us a huge step forward.” Calamity Link’s Master Sword began to glow. “What’s this?” As he drew it, a blue flame arose from the blade, flowing into your chest.

“[Y/n]!” Both Links shouted.

You held up your hands. “It’s alright, I promise. That makes two.” The blue flame was oddly cool but felt more energizing than the first.

Your Link simply gawked at you. “How much did I miss?”

You just laughed. “Believe me, I’ve got some stories to tell.”

==============================

Back at the camp, Kass greeted you. “I can’t believe I missed the Calamity battle.”

“Probably for the best. You need to rest up.”

“Still frustrating,” Kass sighed. “Think of all the inspiration for a new song!”

“Look no further for inspiration than here,” Revali said, flourishing his wings. “If you ever find your way back to our time, maybe you could stop by Rito Village and tell me how amazing I am again.”

“Afraid I’m taken,” you said, wondering if somewhere along the line Ravio’s genes had somehow made it into this version of Revali.

Revali looked at Kass. “Hmm… I can see why. You are quite the pretty bird.”

Kass’s feathers fluffed up. “Oh, me? No, no, I’m married. Prince [Y/n] is with Sir Link!” Link, of course, took it as the perfect opportunity to embrace you.

Revali could have been knocked over with a feather.

Zelda took your hands as the other Champions broke down in laughter. “I wish you could stay longer, I would like to get to know you better. Do you think you might be able to visit again?”

“I can’t guarantee it, but I hope so.”

Calamity Link chose not to take your hand, probably for the best. “Take care.”

“You too, and take care of Zelda,” you said with a wink. Both Zelda and Calamity Link blushed. “Now… how to get home.”

“Can’t you just do what you did to get here?” Your Link asked.

“Without the Hero of Time, it might be a bit tough to find a new way across time. I guess we could try to find another Gate, but I’m not even sure where to begin looking.” You stopped. “Wait, Kass, how did you get here anyway?”

“Oh, that’s right! I never got to tell you.” Kass reached into his pack, pulling out perhaps the last thing you expected to see.

“Kass.”

“Yes, your majesty?”

“Why do you have the Harp of Ages?” It was tarnished a bit with age and neglect, but it was clear Kass was working on restoring it. He reverently polished some of the brass.

“Well, my quest was to find the legendary musical artifacts of Hyrule, of course, and I happened to come across this. I tried playing a song that Master Sharpe wrote for Princess Zelda. Obviously, that didn’t work. Since then, I’ve been here, not exactly keen to try playing it again and ending up somewhere even farther away.”

Link looked at the harp. “Better than nothing, but I can’t play like this.”

“I can’t play either, not with a broken wing,” Kass said. “Your majesty, would you do the honors?”

“I…” You gently took the harp. “I only played a little, I only know one song.”

“Which one?”

“The Ballad of the Goddess,” you replied. “Mother wanted to make sure Zelda and I both knew it.”

“Sounds like our best shot then,” Link said.

“Okay, stay close guys, I’m a bit rusty.” You took a deep breath and started to strum. Slowly the buildings of the Hyrule of your past began to fade away, replaced one by one with towering trees and jungle vines.

==============================

A/N: Why yes, I am still bitter Kass isn’t in Tears of the Kingdom, how did you know?

I have a headcanon that each incarnation of Link is somehow a genius with musical instruments (especially when you consider the Hero of Legend plays an ocarina, two types of harps (standing and lyre), a horn, a triangle, a cello, an organ, a bell, a drum and a marimba.) In other words, our Link absolutely could play the Harp of Ages and probably make it sound like heaven.

Next week, it’s back to where it all began, for the curse and for you.