#i would like to report that i remembered four out of five of these fic titles correctly when i went to look for links

[the-bad-batch-baroness]

Alright, and here's request #2

May I ask for Fives and Fox

with Prompt 14: Last Words

Where Fives is haunting Fox after his death. Where "the nightmares are over" is twisted to "the nightmare has just begun".

Girl, you helped me come up with this, you know what to write, lol

❤️ - @vodika-vibes

In Your Head

Fox

Summary: Fox has a hole in his memory that he can't seem to fix, and when he starts hallucinating about the clone he killed, it leads to dire consequences.

Pairing: none

Characters: Fox, Thorn, ghost!Fives

Tags & Warnings: character death, alcohol, drunkenness, hallucinations, paranoia, minor suicidal ideation, violence, whump

Word Count: 6.2k

Author's Note: First of all, I'm going to apologize for how long it's taken me to write one of these requests. Second, all of the requests are still sitting in my ask box. I haven't gotten rid of any of them and I still plan on writing all of them. It's just gonna take me a bit. To be honest, this fic is more Fox whump than Fives whump, but eh, it's still whump and it still includes one of the 501st boys, so that counts, right? As always, please enjoy 💚

Beta: @beating-a-dead-plot

Fox sits hunched over his desk and anxiously raps his stylus against the side of his data-pad. He's read the report five times now and each pass yields the same results. His CC number is littered throughout the paragraphs, but for the life of him, he can't remember any of it. He looks up at the chronometer again and shakes his head. Time has moved, but he hasn't. He's been sitting here at his desk doing flimsi-work since early morning, but the report states otherwise.

It's not just the strange lost time that concerns Fox either, or the fact that his CC number is in a report. That's normal. What bothers him about this report is the fact that it clearly states in paragraph four, line six, that he shot and killed a clone. And no matter how hard he racks his brain, he can't remember it. He hasn't moved from his desk, and yet, the timestamp puts the incident at an hour ago. An hour ago he was at his desk. An hour ago he was doing flimsi-work.

Fox raps his stylus faster and taps his foot to match the rhythm, the nervous energy in his body escaping through the repetitive movements. He wouldn't shoot a clone without a reason, would he? The Coruscant Guard has stunned countless rowdy and reckless, and even dangerous clones, but a brother doesn't shoot another brother with the intent to kill. That's not part of their culture. Even bad clones deserve to explain their actions, but those are few and far between.

It must be a mistake. A typo. There has to be a logical explanation as to why his CC number is in the report even though he wasn't there. Still, he has this odd sinking feeling scratching at the back of his mind that it might not be a mistake. The clone he allegedly shot was from the 501st, from Torrent Company. One of Rex's men. Fox sent a simple comm message to Rex, offering his condolence, but Rex's silence worries him. It's not like Rex to leave a comm unanswered.

Fox drops the data-pad onto his desk with a loud clack and his chair creaks when he leans back. He wipes the sweat off his forehead and brushes the damp curls out of his eyes. It must be a mistake. There is no other explanation. He doesn't have an explanation for the lost time, but there must be a reason for that as well. Maybe he fell asleep. It's not impossible since he doesn't get the best sleep. His caf is cold, so obviously time has passed since he last filled it.

The data-pad dings and Fox leans forward to see what the notification is for. He sighs and taps on the icon to open it, and his brows furrow as he reads the new information. A surveillance holo-recording of the incident is now available and has been attached to the report. Fox huffs. This should clear up everything. He taps the icon to play the recording and watches intently. It was probably some trigger-happy shiny that he'll have a stern talking to later on… but it's not.

Fox's breath hitches and his eyes widen. That's not some random corrie. That's him. That's his armor. He has the fleeting thought that someone stole his armor and impersonated him, but he quickly realizes he's still wearing it. He hasn't taken it off since he put it on this morning. Panic rises in his gut and he continues to watch the recording. He flinches at the moment he pulls the trigger. A blaster bolt leaving the barrel instead of a stun bolt. He killed him. He killed a brother.

That explains why Rex never commed him back. Rex's emotional plea, Fox don't, stabs him in the heart, turning his innocent condolence message into him just rubbing salt into an egregious wound. The report noted the clone killed as ARC-5555 – Fives – one of Rex's best. Fox only remembers the name because Rex sent him a holo-photo of his two new ARC troopers when they graduated. Rex was so proud. Then he lost one on Lola Sayu, and today, he lost the other.

Fox has seen and read enough. It was him, he knows that much, but he still doesn't remember being there. He doesn't remember aiming his blaster, or flicking the safety off, or giving a warning, or pulling the trigger. It's like he was sleep walking, even though not a single clone out of millions has ever been noted to do so on record. He finds it even more odd that he was on scene for the shooting and then left. It's not like him to leave a scene without getting statements or starting his report. Now that he thinks about it, he didn't even write this report. Who did?

Fox yells in frustration and kicks the leg of his desk. Why can't he remember? How could he forget he shot and killed a brother. How could he forget Rex's voice begging him not to? How could he forget leaving his office and coming back? Fox feels sick. Not only did he kill a brother, he killed one of Rex's. A beloved brother. With Rex's radio silence, he probably lost Rex too. Fox doesn't blame him. Not after watching the footage. He would hate himself too, and he does.

Fox pulls a ring of keys from his belt pouch and inserts one into the lock on the bottom desk drawer. It clicks and he pulls it open, revealing a small stash of alcohol resting against the back. The glass bottles clink as he searches for a specific one. Finding it, he pulls it out of the drawer and places it on his desk. He leans down to grab a glass, hesitates, then closes the drawer without taking it. He twists the cap off the bottle, grabs the neck, and tilts the opening to his lips.

"Fox?" Thorn whispers as he peeks into the dark office. "Are you in here?"

Fox groans in response. His torso rests on top of his desk and the side of his face lays on the cool surface with one hand loosely wrapped around an almost empty glass bottle.

Thorn sighs and shakes his head. "What are you doing, Fox?"

"Go away," Fox slurs. His body twitches at the sudden exertion.

Thorn ignores Fox's inebriated order and pulls up a chair to sit opposite Fox's desk.

"Talk to me," Thorn says.

"Nothin'... to talk about," Fox answers.

"You're drunk while on duty," Thorn says. He grabs the bottle out of Fox's loose grip and sets it out of reach. "Why don't we start with that?"

Fox slowly picks his head up to look at Thorn, and he struggles to keep it steady. "Usen'ye," he says, then lays his head back down onto the desk making the room stop spinning.

Thorn taps his fingers against the desk's surface next to Fox's head and Fox flinches at the magnified sound. "I read the report."

Fox groans, but this time with more indignation.

Thorn crosses his arms and sits back in his chair. "I've got all night."

"You're so… annoying," Fox slurs as he slowly picks his head back up to look at Thorn. "You know… that?"

Thorn smirks. "Part of my charm."

"Karking… banthas… have more charm," Fox says, his head swaying as he tries to keep it upright. "You're ugly… too."

Thorn rolls his eyes. "You're getting off topic."

"Why… are you… even here?" Fox asks. He reaches for the bottle and Thorn leans over to move it again.

"You killed a vod," Thorn says.

Fox huffs. "What... do you… know about it?"

"Nothing," Thorn says. "That's why I'm here. To talk to you about it, because clearly it's affecting you."

Fox reaches for the bottle again and Thorn moves it. "I'm… not effective."

"Yeah, I can see that," Thorn raises an eyebrow. "You can't even talk straight."

"Blow it out your… exhaust port," Fox sneers, then reaches for the bottle once more.

"Really?" Thorn asks, as he lifts the bottle up out of Fox's reach. "If I give you the bottle back, will you talk to me?"

Fox smirks through hooded eyes. "Sure."

Thorn places the bottle back down onto the desk and pushes it towards Fox. Fox grabs it, sits back in his chair, and shoots the last burning drops down his throat, then slams the empty bottle down onto the desk.

"Talk," Thorn says. "Why'd you kill a vod?"

Fox chuckles. "I don't know."

Thorn's eyes darken. "This isn't a game, Fox."

"Nah," Fox says with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Games… are fun. This... This isn't..."

Thorn tilts his head to the side and studies Fox for a moment. Even drunk, Fox usually makes some sense, but this particular time he's making zero sense. It's not that hard of a question, but his avoidance in answering it is making Thorn worry. There's something Fox isn't telling him and he needs to know what it is in order to help him get out of this slump and back to normal. Having a drunk Marshall Commander leading the Coruscant Guard is going to get them nowhere fast.

"Fox," Thorn prods.

"Don't Fox me," Fox spits in response. "How'd you… like it… if I said your name? Thorn. Thorn. Thorn. Thorn–"

"Alright, I get it," Thorn interjects. "Just tell me what happened."

"I don't know," Fox lazily shrugs.

"What do you mean you don't know?" Thorn asks.

"I don't remember," Fox says.

"You don't remember shooting a vod?" Thorn asks, narrowing his eyes.

"Nope," Fox says, making a popping sound on the second consonant.

Thorn pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs. "You have to remember something? You killed him. Don't you remember that? Were you drunk then, too?"

"No, I wasn't drunk," Fox says, his agitation growing at the continued questioning. "I just don't remember!" He pounds his fists on the desk, making Thorn flinch.

"Easy, vod," Thorns soothes and reaches out a hand to try and calm him down. "It's okay."

"No!" Fox yells with a jerk as he weakly bats Thorn's hand away. "Is not. I shot… a vod. I killed… a vod, and I can't… kriffin' remember!"

Thorn realizes he's not going to get anywhere with Fox being this drunk and worked up, so he decides to cut his losses and try again later. "Get some rest," he says before getting up from his chair. He looks down at Fox's dilapidated state, shakes his head, then turns to leave.

"Bring me… more booze," Fox demands.

Thorn turns around and scoffs. "You don't need any more of that."

Fox grabs the empty bottle and throws it towards Thorn, but it hits the wall by the door instead and shatters into a million pieces. "Shabuir," Fox snarls.

Thorn sighs. "We'll talk again when you're sober." He turns back towards the door and leaves Fox alone in his office.

Fox grumbles and lays his heavy head back down against the cool desk. He's not really angry at Thorn, as annoying as he is. No. He's angry at himself. Angry that he can't remember what his own two hands did. Angry that he can't remember where his own two feet took him. Angry that his brain won't put all of the pieces together or fill in the blanks. Where did his memory go? Did it grow legs and walk away from him? Did it leave him or did he leave it? Is that even possible?

Fox would stay laying against his desk all night if he could, but the ache in his back is beginning to overpower his drunken haze. Part of getting old, he guesses. He needs to try and make it to his couch where he can stretch out and fall asleep. At least while asleep he won't have to think about it. That was the idea behind the alcohol in the first place; drink to forget, but it didn't have the effect he was hoping for. If anything, it only made it worse. Then Thorn butted in and ruined it.

Fox tries to peel himself off of his desk, but his body is heavy. He manages to sit up, but then slumps back into his chair, whacking his head against the back of it. He groans at the pain and rubs the spot. When he opens his eyes, the room is spinning, and it makes him feel sick. Well, sicker than he already felt before he was drunk. He chuckles to himself. The good stuff was really good. He hasn't been this drunk since he was a shiny new commander hot off Kamino.

Trying again, Fox plants his hands squarely on his desk and rocks to push himself out of the chair. He tries once and can't get it. He tries twice and still can't get it. He tries thrice and finally he's on his feet, although he uses a little too much force and falls forward onto the desk. Maybe it's better if he crawls to the couch instead of walking there. He lets the weight of his lower body slide the rest of him off the desk until he's sitting on the ground and leaning against the desk.

He leans past the desk and turns his head to see where the couch is, but he leans a little too far and slumps over onto the ground. He groans. This was a terrible idea. He wishes he could get Thorn to come back and carry him to the couch, but that would bruise his ego into an irreparable state. No, he has to make it on his own. With a little wiggle of his hips, Fox rolls himself onto his stomach and crawls towards the couch. Usually, it's closer, but right now it feels klicks away.

Maker, he's tired. Why did he have to put the couch so far away from his desk? Or better yet, why can't it come to him? You'd think someone would've invented a moving couch by now, but no, the Galactic Republic is too busy making clones to do anything of real use in his lifetime. And yet, Fox continues to crawl towards his couch, cursing it every time he scoots closer. With one final push, he makes it, but accidentally bumps his head against the leg. He curses it again.

Now, it's just a matter of hoisting himself up onto the stupid thing so he can finally go to sleep. Once again, something that used to be so trivial is causing him grief. Why is it so high up? Why is the floor so far down? Why won't the room stop spinning? He wishes he could steady himself long enough to get a grip, but his body is heavy from the alcohol. However, with a little more effort and a lot more cursing, Fox grabs one of the cushions, pulls himself up, and flops onto the couch.

Thank the Maker, he finally made it. Fox rolls off of his stomach and situates himself with his back against the back of the couch so he doesn't suffocate himself within the couch cushions. Although, at this point, that doesn't sound like such a bad idea. He chuckles to himself about the thought. Thorn would kill him. He would find some way into the afterlife and kill him again for being such an idiot. Although, to him, it's a comforting thought; Thorn coming after him like that.

Even if Fox hates to admit it, Thorn is still his best friend. Some days they absolutely can't stand each other, but when push comes to shove, there's no one he'd rather have his back in this war. Perks of growing up together, he figures. Fox releases a wide yawn that makes his stomach churn, but he's happy that his body wants to rest. With a few slow breaths, he lets himself drift off to sleep, wondering if he'll wake up and finally remember or if his memory will still be adrift.

Fox groans as he stirs from his sleep. He slowly opens one eye and sees that it's still dark out, which means either he slept until the next evening or he barely slept at all. He doesn't feel drunk anymore, so maybe he did sleep for a while; an absolute miracle. Even more surprising is the fact that no one bothered him while he slept, which also means Thorn kept everyone away and covered for him. The idiot. He'll need to apologize and thank Thorn the next time he sees him.

Fox carefully shifts to sit himself up, holding the side of his head as it pounds from the hangover. He hasn't had a hangover like this in a very long time. He'll have to look at the label on the bottle and get himself another one of whatever it was. Blinking a few times to get rid of the glaze over his eyes, he looks around the room, but frowns when he sees the broken glass by the door. Oh yeah. I broke it. Guess he won't be buying another one of those anytime soon. What a shame.

With a deep breath, Fox hoists himself up off the couch and grabs the arm to steady his shaky legs. He doesn't feel woozy, but his body still feels heavy, like there are rocks in his head weighing him down. He rolls his neck, then his shoulders, and then arches his back to stretch it out. One of his vertebrae makes a popping sound and he groans. Even though he tried to lie down in a good position, couch-sleep is still not as nice as a bunk. He needs some ibuprofen.

Fox hobbles his way to the refresher connected to his office, and is, once again, thankful for the amenities he has access to as the Marshall Commander of the Coruscant Guard. It would be embarrassing to walk down to the guard barrack's communal refresher to compose himself. Thorn would get a good laugh, though, the jerk. He'd say something stupid just to piss him off. But that's the game they play, because Fox has embarrassed Thorn on multiple occasions too.

Fox steps into the refresher without flipping the light switch on, and twists the faucet knob to run the water cold. He cups the rushing water in his hands and splashes it onto his face. The cool water feels good on his hot skin and soothes his throbbing headache. He does that a few more times, and then one last good splash that he smooths over his unruly curls. He pats his face with the towel and stares at himself in the mirror, except something about his reflection is… off.

Fox rubs the towel across his face again, thinking he has some water stuck in his eyes making his vision blurry, but the reflection still looks odd. He then uses the towel to wipe down the mirror, leaving small streaks of water where he swiped, but that doesn't clear it either. Refusing to play with it any longer, Fox opens the mirror cabinet and grabs the bottle of ibuprofen. He pops a few and swallows them dry, wincing as he feels them go down his throat, then closes the cabinet.

Hi Fox , a voice says.

Fox startles and stumbles back, crashing against the opposite wall with a loud thud. "Kriff, Thorn!" Fox exclaims. He turns his head towards the refresher door to rip Thorn a new one, but he's not there. "Thorn?" he calls, but there's no answer. He peeks his head out of the refresher to see if there's anyone in his office, but it's still dark and empty. It's just him. He's never had a hangover that made him hear things before… he thinks. Fox's heart races with adrenaline.

Fox , the voice says.

Fox flinches at the sound of his name, and whips his head around to try and figure out who's calling him, but there's still no one there. "Thorn," Fox says. "I swear to the Maker, I will kill you."

So, you like to kill, huh? the voice says.

Fox freezes, his blood running cold. He didn't just hear that, did he? The sound of another clone talking to him, but he's still alone in the refresher. His instincts are screaming for him to run and find Thorn, because clearly he's hallucinating, or sick, or dying, or all three at once. He shouldn't be hearing voices, or at least he doesn't think he should be hearing voices. Fox closes his eyes and takes a couple deep breaths to calm himself and just hopes that whatever it is will go away.

It's rude to ignore people, you know , the voice says. Especially dead people.

Yup, he's crazy. He's one hundred percent certified crazy now. Not only is he hearing voices, but he's hearing voices of the dead . What did he do while he was drunk and asleep? Conjure a demon? Summon a spirit? Invite a deity to chat over some caf? How did he even do that? The other option is that he's still plastered and is hallucinating being sober. Honestly, both ideas sound equally as insane, but do they really make any less sense than him hearing voices?

"Whatever you are," Fox begins with a nervous voice, "I'm sorry for bothering you, but I'm going back to bed now."

Fox pushes himself off the wall and walks towards the refresher door to leave, but it slides shut before he can exit. He stares at the closed door and takes another deep breath, then releases it slowly. He slides his hands over his holsters, but the blasters are missing. They must have fallen out while he was sleeping and he didn't notice. He kicks himself for being so absentminded to leave them on the couch, but in his defense there aren't many who'd attack him in his own office.

Fox runs his tongue across his teeth and puffs his chest out before turning around to face whatever it is that's messing with him, but when he does, there's no one else in the refresher besides him. He bites his lip and nods his head. It must be a dream. He's living in a dream and he can't wake up. That has to be the answer. There's no other explanation. Once he wakes up, he's going to find Thorn and make him get rid of all of his liquor, because this isn't worth the trip.

I'm still waiting , the voice says impatiently. Are you gonna answer me or not?

Fox grits his teeth and thinks for a moment. If he answers the voice of the dead, is something bad going to happen to him? It's not like his life could get any worse. He's a dog of the Republic, he's shot and killed a brother, and he's probably the most hated commander in the GAR. There's not much else they can do to him. Fox startles at a sudden realization. The voice of the dead… a dead clone. Voice of the dead… killed. Fox's heartbeat pounds ferociously in his ears.

He takes a few steps towards the sink and peers into the mirror, the same mirror where his reflection didn't look right. He was so groggy when he first came in the refresher that it didn't dawn on him what in the reflection was off, just that it didn't look right. He stares at his reflection, and tilts his head to the side, furrowing his eyebrows as he studies the image, but his eyes grow wide when he realizes that the reflection didn't follow the tilt of his head. He moves in closer.

Boo , the reflection says with a smirk.

"Kriffin' osik!" Fox screams and out of reflex he punches the mirror, cracking it. He heaves in his breaths and pulls his fist back from the mirror, his glove protecting his skin from getting cut by the broken shards.

The reflection sighs and side steps into the part of the mirror that isn't as broken. Really? the reflection asks.

Fox is on the verge of hyperventilating. Fear and adrenaline taking control of every muscle in his body. His reflection is talking to him. It's moving without him. But it's not even him. He can clearly see that now. Fox takes a moment to study the image in the mirror. The armor is white, like a shiny's, their head is shaven, they have a goatee, and an Aurebesh tattoo on their right temple not far from a small linear scar. Fox's jaw drops. It's him. It's the clone he shot and killed.

Figure it out yet? the reflection asks, almost bored.

"You're…" Fox tries to speak, but he's still unsure of what he's actually seeing.

The name's Fives , the reflection says while tapping his Aurebesh tattoo. You should remember, since you killed me.

Fox is speechless and wide-eyed. He feels sick to his stomach. He knows who Fives is, but he still doesn't remember shooting him. He's never met him, and the only images he has are of him in his ARC armor, not whatever it is he's wearing now. Fox thinks back to the recording that was attached to the report, and remembers seeing himself shoot the white-armored clone. He did find it strange at the time, and it made him wonder why, but not enough to hallucinate about him.

"This isn't real," Fox says as he backs away from the mirror. "You're not real! You're dead !"

The reflection snorts. What? No remorse? No, sorry I killed you?

"I don't remember killing you!" Fox yells, half in shock and half in self-defense. His back touches the hard durasteel wall and he slides down it until he's sitting on the floor.

Don't remember? the reflection asks. You shot me! How could you forget that?

Fox pulls his knees to his chest, clasps his hands over his ears, and squeezes his eyes shut. "Just leave me alone!" he yells again, trying to make the voice go away. "I said I don't remember!"

I'm not leaving , the voice says. Not until you remember what you did to me.

"Go away!" Fox practically screams. "Leave me alone!" His breathing becomes labored and he feels like he's going to pass out. "This is… a nightmare."

Oh, Fox , the reflection chuckles, then pushes out of the mirror and folds its arms to lean on the edge of the sink and stare down at Fox. Your nightmare has just begun.

The next rotation has Fox feeling insane. The voice inside the mirror isn't just a voice anymore. It's a full body apparition that follows him around wherever he goes. He can't even take a piss without that thing watching him. He still wonders if it's the actual Fives or if it's just a figment of his imagination; maybe the subconscious part of his brain conjured it up because of the guilt he feels for killing the clone. He wants to tell Thorn about it, but even Thorn has limits on disbelief.

Hour after hour, the apparition asks if he remembers killing it yet, and hour after hour, Fox still has the same answer – no. Maker, he wishes it would just take a hike and go haunt someone else, even if it's just for a couple of minutes. There's nothing worse than trying to work or sleep while it watches him from across the room with its dark, cold, dead eyes and smug expression. If this is the real Fives, then he doesn't understand why Rex liked him so much.

Although, today has been strangely quiet. The apparition is nowhere to be seen, or heard, and Fox is taking the much needed alone time to catch up on the reports he's been neglecting since it first appeared. It must have been a figment of his imagination brought on by stress or something along those lines. There's always a logical explanation for everything, or so he thinks. Fox looks up from his data-pad when he hears a soft knock on his office door frame.

"I brought you some caf," Thorn says with a friendly smile. "Can I come in?"

Fox nods.

Thorn walks into the office, places the cup down in front of Fox, and sits on the corner of his desk.

Fox grabs the cup of hot, black caf and deeply inhales its alluring aroma. "Is this a peace offering?"

Thorn snorts. "You should be bringing me a peace offering for all that name calling."

Fox winces at the vague memory, then takes a sip. "Sorry."

"Apology accepted," Thorn says. "You're still a di'kut, though."

"So are you," Fox smirks.

Is he a friend of yours? the apparition asks as it appears next to Fox.

Fox startles and accidentally drops the cup of caf onto his lap. "Kriff!"

Thorn also startles and jumps off the corner of Fox's desk. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah," Fox sighs. "Just grab me a towel, will ya?"

Thorn walks off towards the refresher to grab a towel.

He seems like a nice vod , the apparition says as it watches Thorn with interest. Is he your best friend?

Fox chooses to ignore the question and the ghost.

You know , the apparition continues. It hops up on the desk to sit in front of Fox, its legs dangling over the edge. I had a best friend once – actually two. They're both dead, now… Like me. Must be nice to have yours still alive, huh?

Fox glares at the apparition and snarls. "Don't you touch him!"

The apparition chuckles. I'm a ghost, remember? I can't even touch you. The apparition reaches out to touch Fox, but its hand goes straight through him. See? I'm not going to hurt your friend.

Fox continues to glare, not fully trusting what the apparition says. Thorn is his best friend, but this is his issue to deal with, and he's not going to drag Thorn down this insane hole of guilt and self-loathing with him. Even so, it would be great if Thorn could see the apparition too. Maybe then, he wouldn't feel so crazy about the whole situation. A little validation goes a long way in his mind. He just needs Thorn to see it once, then he can feel safe again, feel normal again.

"Fox?" Thorn asks in concern while handing him the towel. "Are you sure you're alright?"

Fox grabs the towel and pats himself and the chair dry. "Yeah, I'm fine."

Thorn isn't convinced, but doesn't argue.

I'm not fine , the apparition says. I'm dead .

Fox wants to say something in rebuttal, but Thorn's lack of comment about the elephant in the room makes him wonder. He turns his head to the apparition and then to Thorn, and then back again. "You don't see it, do you?"

"See what?" Thorn asks, a confused expression on his face.

"Nothing," Fox sighs and tosses the towel onto the desk before slumping back into his chair. "Nevermind."

"Fox," Thorn begins hesitantly. "I think you should see a medic. You've been acting strange lately and I'm worried."

Yeah, Fox , the apparition adds. You should see a medic for that missing memory issue . Maybe they can tell you why you killed me.

"I don't need a medic!" Fox exclaims. Thorn flinches and Fox bites his tongue. "Sorry. I'm just tired is all."

Thorn still isn't convinced, but he sighs and shakes his head. "Alright, I trust your judgment."

I don't , the apparition says. You shot me .

"Thanks," Fox says. His eye twitches. It's hard enough to keep his thoughts straight, but it's even harder when he has two people talking to him at once and only one of them is actually there.

"I'm here if you need me," Thorn says as he places a hand on Fox's shoulder. "Even if you just want to talk."

You can talk to me too , the apparition says.

"I appreciate that," Fox says, trying to give him his best fake smile.

Thorn throws Fox another look of concern, but turns and leaves his office all the same.

Fox immediately turns his attention to the apparition. "Can you just shut up?!"

No , the apparition says. That's the whole point of haunting. I'm supposed to be annoying.

Fox drops his head onto his desk and yells in frustration.

The apparition hops off the desk and kneels so it's face is on Fox's level. Just tell me why you killed me, Fox, it whispers. And I'll go away .

Fox clutches the sides of his head. "I'm trying," he chokes out. "But I can't remember."

It's been a week and Fox is on the verge of losing himself. He can't sleep. He can't eat. He can't do anything. The reports are piling up and questions are being asked. Thorn continues to check on him, and he appreciates it, but he wishes he'd stay away from him. Every time Thorn comes into his office, the apparition stares at him like he's a piece of meat. Fox knows the apparition can't hurt Thorn, at least, that's what he's been made to believe, but what if he's wrong?

He can't let it get Thorn, too. It can torment him all it wants, actually, it can even kill him if it wants, but he will not let anything happen to Thorn. Thorn is too good for this kind of torturous hell. Thorn hasn't killed any clones. He probably hasn't killed anyone . There's no reason for Thorn to be brought into this. It's him that the apparition wants. Its blood is on his hands, not Thorns. Thorn has nothing to do with any of this and Fox will do anything to protect him.

Hi Fox , the apparition says while leaning against the door frame of the office.

"What do you want?" Fox sneers from where he sits behind his desk.

The truth , the apparition says with a smug grin. You've been keeping it from me.

"Like I've said," Fox says. "I still don't remember."

Not good enough , the apparition says as it pushes itself off the door frame and approaches Fox's desk.

"I won't let you hurt Thorn," Fox says as he stands up.

What are you talking about? the apparition asks.

"Don't play dumb with me!" Fox exclaims. "I know you're going to hurt him to get back at me."

Are you alright, Fox? the apparition taunts. You seem a little off today.

"Get out of my head!" Fox yells as he clutches the sides of his head. "I know what you're doing!"

What's the matter? the apparition taunts. I've never seen you so unhinged before.

"Leave me alone!" Fox yells.

C'mon, Fox, the apparition walks closer. Tell me.

Fox draws one of his blasters and points it towards the ghostly figure. "Get away from me!"

Whoa, there, the apparition says, putting its hands up and taking a single step back. There's no need for that.

Fox breathes heavily. "I'm warning you!"

You won't shoot me, the apparition smirks. You have no reason to shoot me. Put the blaster down, Fox.

"I won't let you hurt him!" Fox yells, then fires a single bolt through the same spot as before, on the apparition's chest, through its heart. He watches as the apparition falls to its knees and clutches at its chest. That'll stop it. That'll shut it up. That'll make it leave him alone. That'll keep it from hurting– Thorn?

Fox pants with exasperation as his senses begin to clear. The vision of the apparition slowly dissipates, leaving behind the image of Thorn grasping at the hole in his chest. A look of pain, shock, horror, and confusion painted on his face as he looks at Fox. No. No, this can't be happening. He didn't. He couldn't. Did he shoot his best friend? It was the ghost. The ghost was right there. It was talking to him. It was taunting him. It was going to hurt Thorn.

"Fox," Thorn gasps. "Why?"

At the sound of Thorn's voice, the gravity of what Fox has done hits him like a ton of bricks. His eyes widen and his voice quivers. "Thorn."

Thorn collapses forward onto the floor and Fox rushes to his side.

"No, no, no, no," Fox rambles as he pulls his brother into his lap and applies pressure to the wound. "I need a medic!" he yells. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I… I didn't know it was you. There was a ghost and it was in my head and I couldn't remember." Tears begin to well in Fox's eyes as he tries desperately to explain.

Thorn reaches up a hand to touch Fox's cheek and Fox grabs it with his own.

"I'm… sorry," Thorn says weakly. "I… wish… I… could've… helped… you…" Thorn's hand drops as his body goes limp and he breathes his last breath.

"Where's my medic!" Fox yells, tears now streaming down his face unabated. "Hang on, vod." He pulls his brother's lifeless body close to his chest and rocks him back and forth. "Please, don't go. Don't leave me."

The apparition appears once again, crouches down in front of Fox, and looks apathetically at Thorn's lifeless body. It shakes its head. And to think all of this could've been avoided if you would've just told me what I wanted to know.

Fox looks at the apparition with murderous intent.

A vod for a vod , the apparition says with a smirk. At least you'll remember this one.

Event Masterlist

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[mylittleredgirl]

just learned ur scrooge mcduck post is about Sam/Jack and uhhhhhh… do you have fic recs

SURE DO!! there are infinite sam/jack fics to rec, so instead of attempting any kind of curated Top 5 list i'm just gonna shake my brain up like a soda can and see what sprays out first:

the furies wept by nanda (T, 30k) - i read this like nine times in a week. it's the third fic in a great series (first two are e for expliciiiit). each fic has a very different tone. this one is "okay, so what if after All That dysfunction they're Dating but also still Themselves, and then they have to go on the worst space road trip with jacob carter." a+++ can't recommend enough. i'm honestly incapable of being normal about @nandamai's fic.

a far better fate by newcrayons (WIP, M, currently 85k) - so i Do Not read WIPs and rarely read fics this long, but this came recommended! super fun series-long episode-related fic with illicit makeouts and feelings. this fic holds the honor of being literally the only ao3 subscription i have. i cracked open a new feature for this. i want to be friends with this author but i'm being really cool about it.

a small crime by @missparker (E, 5k) - feels good, feels organic. extra credit for jonas quinn.

the more things change by northernexposure (G, 6k) - this author likes to soak you in feelings and wring you out like a sponge. canon-compliant "point of view" episode chaser. extra credit for janet fraiser.

a star to steer her by by tremontaine (E, 24k) - all right this is a little ~spicier~ because it's got a d/s element that pops up midway through, but if you are neutral-to-positive on that then i recommend! something about this fic felt new, like i was viewing the same characters from two degrees to the left. i liked so so much about it.

bonus self-rec: home economics by mylittleredgirl (T, 5k) - the toaster fic.

enjoy!!! feel free to come back and shake the can again later!

[daycourtofficial]

I’m Still Stuck in the Moment

Summary: a mistake on a mission causes you to lose your memories from the last five years, including the new mating bond between you and Azriel. Can he help you get your memories back, or will you never remember the past five years?

Pairing: Azriel x reader

Author’s note: this has been a wip since October I really hope you guys like it. It’s also my longest fic to date - so please enjoy! 💕

“Stealth missions are so boring,” Cassian states from behind you.

“Maybe that’s why you usually don’t get assigned on stealth missions, dummy,” you reply while looking through the desk drawers.

“I’m not even sure what I’m supposed to be looking for. Sometimes Azriel talks and I just tune him out.” Cassian mimes with his hands a talking motion and rolls his eyes.

“Cassian, why are you even on this mission if you don’t know what we’re looking for and you don’t like stealth missions?” You ask not looking up at him as you search through the papers on the desk.

“Hmm,” he says, pretending to search through the papers as he drops his voice, “it’s been a while since we’ve hung out the two of us.”

You pause and turn to look at him, a big grin overtaking your face.

“You missed me,” you say, delight coating your voice.

“No, I didn’t say that. You’re twisting my words,” he says, pretending to be annoyed, going to search a different part of the room.

You had been a part of the inner circle for about three years when the mating bond snapped into place. All throughout those three years Cassian did everything he could think of to put you and Azriel together. He’d constantly ask you two to dinner and be ‘sick’ and then magically be okay the next day. He’d force you two to sit next to each other during every dinner, solstice, lunch, breakfast, meeting. Any event where you had to sit down, you had to sit next to each other. Anytime you had to be flown somewhere, Cassian would mysteriously have flown away, leaving Azriel to fly you. The cauldron works hard, but Cassian works harder.

No one else could figure out Cassian’s borderline obsession with the two of you. Whenever Rhys or Feyre or anyone would ask him, he’d simply shrug and say “I have a hunch” or, if he was feeling particularly chatty, “I think they’d have stunning children”.

The truth was Cassian loved the both of you so much that he wanted to see you two happy. He also knew there was something between the two of you, he just didn’t know what. He was there the day you and Azriel were introduced, and he felt something. He wasn’t sure if it was possible to feel someone else’s mating bond, but he could feel the potential between you two.

You laugh as you continue rifling through the desk. “You know Cassian if you want to spend time together all you had to do was ask-“

You’re cut off by a cloud of pink dust coming out of a drawer you opened and covering your face. You start coughing and backing away.

“Shit,” Cassian says, coming over to you. He starts looking you over, assessing for damage.

“I’m fine,” you say, in between coughs, “dusty old drawer.”

Cassian looks skeptical. “Yes, because pink dust is so common.”

You roll your eyes. “We’ve searched the room, there’s nothing here. Let’s go home.”

The mission debrief was short - not much to report. The two of you searched an abandoned outpost, seeing if anything of interest was left behind, finding nothing of value or interest.

You enjoyed stealth missions, but you especially loved coming home to your overly protective mate. You two had a tradition - your own personal debrief, where Azriel would inspect every inch of you for any sign of injury. Wherever you were injured, whether it be bruise, scrap, or cut, he would place long kisses on the spot.

“Better than a healer,” he’d say.

The length of the mission would determine how long the two of you stayed locked up in each other. You two usually spent double the length of the mission together uninterrupted.

Once, after a four day long mission, no one had seen either of you for a week. Rhys had to send a telepathic message to find proof of life from either of you.

That night, Azriel checked your wounds, which you’re not even sure you had any. You considered even “accidentally” cutting your finger, but decided against it.

-

You woke up to a dark room, feeling a heavy presence wrapped around you. Whoever it was was massive, incredibly warm, and had quite the grip on you.

You’re not crazy about casual flings, but it’s not too unheard of, especially considering you spent last night drinking with Cassian and Mor at Rita’s. Mor loved playing matchmaker with you, trying to set you up with the most eligible males she could find.

You look around the room, the realization of being naked hitting you. You spot a pile of clothes on the floor and gently lift the arm off of you and slip out from under the male. You grab the clothes, putting the shirt on first. It seems to be the mystery male’s - it’s incredibly long on you, smelling of pine and mist.

“Going somewhere?” the male asks, rising up from the bed to meet you where you stand.

“Yes, I’m uh I’m so sorry but I don’t remember getting here, so I’m just going to head home.” You say, walking backwards towards the door. As the male comes closer, you recognize him.

“Azriel?” You ask.

“Yes, who else would I be?” Azriel replies, a hint of confusion dancing in his eyes, “come back to bed, you’re probably just confused after a dream.”

“Uh, wow, um I-“ you dart your eyes around the room “I’m so sorry but I don’t remember how I got here, let me go back to my room.”

He stops, all signs of playfulness gone. “You don’t have a room. This is your room. This is our room.”

“What are you talking about?���

“Sweetheart, you moved into my room a few years ago. Your room is just another guest room now.”

You blush at the nickname. Despite your best efforts, he had hardly said much to you in the time you’ve known him. Despite the nickname, the weight of his words starts to settle on you.

“Um, no I have a room here. This isn’t a very good joke, Az.” You say, opening the door to go to your room across the hall. Your feet carry you to your room, your hand resting on the knob as Azriel reaches for you, calling for you. You’re not sure why there’s such confusion in his tone. You open the door to what used to be your room, only to find it devoid of any signs you had lived in it.

The room looked like it had the day you moved in, sans the welcome basket Feyre and Rhys had assembled for you and left on the bed. The blue barren walls stare back at you, the four poster bed neatly made.

No hearth in the fire, no books on the nightstand, no flowers on the desk. Even your beloved stuffed wolf that Cassian teased you about was nowhere to be seen.

“Azriel, where is my stuff?”

Azriel stares at you, in utter shock and disbelief. He grabs your hand, leading you through the house. You’re forced to follow him, due to both his tight but gentle grip on you and your curiosity at where all of your things went. The sounds of his footsteps echo through the hall, a level of noise you’ve never heard from him. Usually he glides through these halls, not a trace of noise made to alert anyone of his presence.

“Azriel, what’s wrong?” You keep asking, and he won’t reply until you’re face to face with Rhys’s bedroom door, where Azriel starts banging fiercely on it.

Cassian is the first to poke his head out, his door down the hall from Rhys’s. Once he sees Azriel is the one causing all the commotion, he comes out into the hall, looking around for any unseen threats.

Rhys opens the door, a pair of sweatpants hastily put on as he allows the three of you entry. You assume Rhys had the same reaction to Cassian, annoyance quickly changing to concern at Azriel’s tone.

You assume that Azriel, Rhys, and Feyre are all communicating telepathically because it is dead silent in the room until Feyre comes up and tells you to have a seat in one of their chairs by the fire.

“Okay, now tell me, what happened?” Rhys asked, putting his hands on your shoulders in reassurance.

“Well I um think I’m missing a few pieces but uh last night I went to Rita’s with Cassian and Mor, I got pretty drunk, and I woke up naked in Azriel’s room. I woke up, I tried to leave, only to find out my room is gone.”

Cassian looks at you, concern etching his face, “we went to Rita’s?” He asks, pointing a finger between you and him.

“Yeah,” you say, “you had been out to see Devlen and when you came back you asked if Mor and I wanted to go out with you. No one else was here.” You look to Feyre and Rhys, becoming even more confused. “Why are you guys all back so early?”

“What do you mean “back early”?”

“Well, Azriel had some mission on the continent, and Feyre and Rhys were visiting the summer court with Amren.”

“Mother help us,” Cassian muttered, as he realized his error, dragging a hand across his face. “On our mission yesterday, she breathed in an unknown powder. It had slipped my mind, she seemed so fine, I didn’t think anything of it.”

You could feel the anger vibrating off of Azriel as he turned to Cassian, spitting “What do you mean you didn’t think anything of it? You didn’t think anything of my mate on your mission?”

Azriel’s words don’t register with you as you were too focused on Cassian’s. “But I didn’t go on any missions yesterday. I spent the day at the library, doing research. Cassian found me, asked me to go to Rita’s, and I told him I’d pay for all of his drinks if he went down to the bottom level of the library.”

“Oh, Mother.” Cassian muttered. “Let’s stop for a moment.” Rhys said, crouching in front of you. His violet eyes shone with kindness and concern as he tells you, “Feyre and I went to the summer court with Amren five years ago.”

“That’s not possible” you scoff, “you guys just left three days ago.”

You look towards Azriel, his usual stoicism a thing of comfort in times like this. Instead you’re met with deep despair as he looks back at you, and somehow you can feel that despair deep in your chest.

Rhys moves away from you as Azriel walks towards you and crouches down in front of you, looking at you like you hold his entire life in the palm of your hands, “Sweetheart,” he starts, “what am I to you?”

Your cheeks flare with heat. You start stammering, his gaze overwhelming. He wants some specific answer, this you know. His gaze is piercing and you can’t look away.

“When we were in the summer court,” Feyre starts musing, “that was… before, right?”

“Before what?” You ask, while Azriel nods his head, confirming Feyre’s question.

The room has grown silent again, before Azriel takes your hands and says “before we became mates.”

Your cheeks are on fire now, wishing you could be having this conversation in private, instead of in front of your family.

“Wait, is that why you came back early? You realized we were mates when you were on the continent?” You whisper the last part as of it’s a secret.

As if Azriel’s face couldn’t show you anymore devastation, he replies, “Sweetheart, we’ve been mated for two years.”

You couldn’t have heard him correctly. “I’m sorry,” you say, “have you been keeping it from me for two years? I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Rhys steps in, sparing Azriel the pain of further explaining this to you, “you two have been mates for two years. The war with Hybern is over.”

You look into everyone’s eyes, trying to find a trace of humor, “this isn’t a funny joke, it’s quite cruel.”

“No one is joking,” Cassian says. You stand up, beginning to pace the room.

“No no no, you have to be, because either Mor thought this would be a funny joke because of my crush on Azriel or I’ve forgotten the last five years of my life, including getting a mate and surviving the war.”

You look around the room, everyone looking at either you or Azriel, not a trace of humor in the room.

“This has to be a joke because how cruel would it be for Azriel to find a mate just for them to forget everything about him. Five years! Five years of my life are gone! Up to this point in time, Azriel has said maybe five words to me!”

You are hyperventilating by this point, pacing the room, shaking.

“Rhys,” Azriel says, “please.”

Rhys envelops you in a hug, and everything goes dark for you as you slump into his arms. He picks you up, gently laying you on their couch, draping a blanket over you.

Everyone in the room is just staring at you, praying for you to just jump up and tell them this was all a joke. Azriel just sits on the floor next to you, holding your hand, tears streaming down his face.

“I-“ he starts saying quietly, “I-uh I always wondered how the Cauldron would make me suffer for making her my mate. I always knew it would take her away from me in the end, but not like this. I never could have dreamt of this outcome. I never.. never could have imagined how painful it’d be to see her forget me.”

No one is dry-eyed. Everyone is devastated for you, but especially for Azriel. Cassian, Feyre, and Rhys leave the bedroom, allowing Azriel to stay with you while Rhys keeps you under. They all head to Rhys’ study.

“There is some good news in this.”

Cassian and Feyre snap their heads to look at him, urging him to continue.

“When I was in her mind to sedate her, I could tell she still had memories of the past five years. Some of them were memories so ingrained to her that she has no idea what they are. Another thing is that I could tell the memories were there, they’re just… locked up.”

“Locked up? Like a prisoner?” Feyre asks.

“Yes,” Rhys replies, “like a prisoner.”

“So this powder is keeping her memories hostage?”

He sighs, looking towards the door, thinking about his brother’s face. “It would appear that way.”

Madja was called to look over you in your unconscious state, and after she found nothing wrong, they decided to wake you back up.

While you were unconscious, they decided that Mor and Cassian would watch over you unless you ask otherwise. Rhys wakes you up gently, asking if you need anything. After you decline, he leaves you alone with Mor and Cassian.

“So, um..” you start, not sure where to begin. “Five years?”

Mor nods.

“The war is over?”

Cassian smiles solemnly and nods.

“And Az and I?”

Cassian’s grin widens as he looks at you, thinking about the love you share with his brother. You play with your thumbs, unsure what to ask.

“What do you guys, uh, think of us? Do we seem happy?”

Cassian snorts while Mor replies, “oh we adore the two of you. Cassian is convinced he knew of your mating bond the day you two met.”

Cassian puffs out his chest in pride. “I most certainly knew, years before they did.”

“What made you know?” You ask, curiosity filling your eyes as you sat up.

“Well,” Cassian says, “the two of you didn’t interact much the first few years. Azriel needs time to warm up to people, and he’s worried he’ll scare people off if he comes on too strong. But I could just tell that he so desperately wanted to be your friend.”

“Hmm,” you muse, looking at Cassian in a confused way, “I always assumed he didn’t like me.”

Cassian looks at you quizzically, “and why is that?”

You sigh. “I always thought he found me… too soft. Too delicate.” You look out the window, and Cassian feels a pang of guilt. He knew Azriel could be a bit icy at times, but he hadn’t remembered what it felt like to not have that friendship.

Cassian studies you, “Why’d you think that?”

“I don’t know, it was just little things, I suppose. He’d never laugh at my jokes or talk to me much. Once you had paired us to be sparring partners and he just told you no and walked away to work with someone else.”

You remember a version of Azriel who hardly knew you. You’ve been placed in time right before Cassian started forcing you two to spend time together. For you, Azriel is practically a stranger.

Tears start rolling down your cheeks, “I don’t know him,” you say, “but it’s like my body knows him. I don’t.. know him.”

You take a deep breath, looking around the room to avoid Cassian’s sad face. “But I want him here. I don’t know why, maybe it’s the bond, but I just… want him here.”

You look down sighing, “I feel so bad that this is happening to him, he doesn’t deserve this. Even if I don’t know him.”

Cassian didn’t think his heart could break anymore, but he was wrong. Watching you cry over Azriel’s predicament but not your own gutted him. He moved to sit next to you on the couch and pulled you into his lap, letting you cry for a while.

After several hours of sitting with Mor and Cassian, Elain had recommended you get some fresh air, take a walk in the gardens. You ask if Azriel can join you, so he is staying near you, keeping an eye on you, but not too close.

You walked slowly, not sure if you wanted Azriel to catch up to you or to stay back. You felt gutted that this would happen to Azriel, despite your next to non-existent relationship with him up to this point.

The male trailed behind you, keeping the same distance in spite of your constantly changing pace. Your thoughts whirled and swirled, much like the shadows that dance around your mate. Your mate. You have a mate. And he’s here. That realization caused you to take some deep breaths, trying to keep yourself from spiraling into a panic.

Your brain can’t recall these things, but your body calls for him, wanting you to reach out and grab his hand. It is telling you that you stand on his left normally, allowing free range of motion for his dominant hand. It is telling you to let him lay on top of you, resting his head on your chest while he dozes off to nap. It is telling you to reach out and cup his jaw, that he will smile as you do so and pull you closer to him.

You don’t have memories of him, you have imprints of him, leaving whispers into your skin of how you were made for him. The yearning becomes too much and you need to hear him, so you turn to him and ask, “who did it snap for first?”

He blinks, a bit taken aback by your talking to him. He hasn’t heard you speak since the realization in Rhys’s office, much less speak to him directly. He takes longer strides, catching up to you quickly. He clears his throat and looks at you, “it snapped for me first, and I got to watch it snap for you.”

A soft smile graces his lips as he recalls the moment, so clearly in his memories he wishes he could send it directly to you. He can, he thinks, deciding that if you don’t have your memories, he’ll provide them for you.

“I bought you a locket for your birthday. A bit presumptuous, I know, but I had Feyre do a tiny portrait of myself to put in the locket. I also had a tiny piece of one of my siphons placed in the center so you could carry a piece of me everywhere.

“Your face lit up, but I was so nervous. I was trembling as I gave it to you. I almost dropped it when you asked me to clasp it around your neck. You hugged me so tightly, the locket pressing to my chest siphon and my siphon glowed.”

He smiles and reaches for your hand out of instinct, and you don’t pull away. When he notices what he’s done, he goes to retract his hand, but you clasp onto him harder.

“You had told me you would carry your loved ones in your pocket if you could and I got you the closest thing I could to that. I also had a shadow stay in the locket, they rotate who gets to be in the locket, but they like being close to you too. And in case of emergency they can slip out and find me.”

He pulls at the collar of his shirt, pulling out his own chain with a heart locket at the end. “You gave me one a week later. No siphon, but you used some of your light magic to embue a tiny stone so that it will glow forever.”

The locket looks so familiar, as if it was in a fairy tale you had read as a child. Your hand twitches, as if it wants to touch the locket. “You gave me the locket and when you saw it on my chest, your eyes lit up and I could feel you in my chest.”

You motion to a bench in the garden, and the two of you sit underneath a beautiful cherry blossom tree, its petals falling in the wind.

He moves his collar to tuck the necklace back in, pats it to his chest, then asks, “I’m guessing this is a lot to take in?”

You nod, “I mean it’s just been what five years? I have a hot mate that up until now he’s had no idea I’m hopelessly in love with him, the war is over, I missed Feyre and Rhys’s mating ceremony. It’s all sunshines and rainbows.”

He looks at you, “if it makes you feel better, they snuck out and did the ceremony in secret.”

He hears you grumble, “bastards” under your breath, making him chuckle.

“As for the hot mate who had no idea you were in love with him,” he pauses, watching your cheeks heat up with embarrassment, “he was the same way.”

You gape at him, hitting him on the shoulder, “don’t tell me things just to try to make me feel better!”

He laughs, “I’m not lying!”

You scoff, “You’ve spoken to me three times! One of those times you had asked me to move.”

He looks down, “okay maybe I wasn’t great at conveying it to you, but I thought about you constantly.”

You scoff again, thumping his chest, “you did not!”

“I did so!” He replies, just as childishly as you, “I spent so much of my energy trying to keep my shadows from harassing you at all hours. They kept pulling me, trying to coerce me into rooms you were in.”

He turns to look at you, your eyes a gateway to the before.

“I thought you were so pretty when you first showed up, I forgot how to breathe.”

Your cheeks heat as you look down at the ground, Azriel’s undivided attention being too much.

You look up at him, “okay, well if you were soooo in love with me, how come you refused to spar with me?”

You cross your arms over your chest, looking at the shadowsinger next to you, unable to believe that he’s your mate.

His wings flare ever so slightly, as he quietly tells you, “because being that close to you was too much.”

You look at him quizically, not quite getting what he’s referencing.

Azriel, for all his credit, is trying to be as coy as possible. The you from the present has an absolutely filthy mouth, the dirty talk between you two could strip paint off of walls. But this version of you? It feels wrong, violating almost. You’re not some innocent doe, far from it, but the way you two speak now was built on years of trust, a foundation that doesn’t exist for the version of you he’s looking at.

He sighs, coughing as he says, “I knew if I were to get that close to you, I’d have a hard time and I didn’t want to make a fool of myself in front of you.”

You bring your hand up to your mouth, giggling. “Aww the big, scary shadowsinger is afraid he’ll get a hard on while sparring. Do you have these fears with anyone else? Cassian, perhaps?”

He laughs, the first genuine laugh since you woke up yesterday morning. “Can’t say I’ve ever had that concern with him.” He shakes his head, “but also Cassian isn’t a pretty female.”

You smile, “no, I guess not. He’s not pretty, not like you.” You clamp your mouth shut, despite knowing you’ve been seeing him for years. Parts of you know this, but other parts feel the newness, the uncertainty.

He smiles, looking at you through the side of his eye. “You think I’m pretty?” It’s a sentiment you’ve told him before, but this version of you thinking it too is fascinating.

“Oh yeah, prettiest male I’ve ever seen.” You blush, deciding to tell him everything, “I uh- I asked Mor to make sure I can always sit next to you when we go out.”

Your confession causes him to pause, something he never knew about you. “Oh?” He asks, curious about this new information.

“Yeah, once she even pushed Cassian out of a seat so I could make it in time.” You laugh, remembering the shock on his face as he laid on the ground and you quickly grabbed his seat. “I thought if I sat next to you, you’d uh- fall in love with me.” You rush out the last part, your voice going quiet.

“But uh, I actually told her to forget about it, just last night. Or whenever that was….” You trail off, remembering your current predicament.

But Azriel was stuck in the past, stuck on your latest admission. “Wait, why did you tell her to let it go?”

You sigh, picking up a dandelion out of the grass, “well, I’d try really hard to get you to notice me or talk to me, but you never did.” You pick at the petals of the flower. “I figured I was annoying you, or you hated that I was keeping other girls from being able to chat you up. So I told her to let it go.”

Azriel balks at your admission, having no idea the extent of his effect on you. “I had no idea how to talk to you! You were so pretty, especially whenever we were at Rita’s.” He sighs, remembering how he’d overanalyze how to reapond to you, only to never say anything.

“It wasn’t until… Cassian.” He pauses, trailing off. “Cassian what?” You asked, crossing your arms over your chest at the slight breeze.

“Cassian told me he spent a lot of time trying to seat us next to each other, to get me to talk to you. I wonder if he… got the idea after talking to you last night about it.”

You shake your head, “no, I only told Mor that - no way he knows.”

Azriel looks at you, “And how is the biggest gossip and busybody you know?”

Your eyes widen, realization hitting you, “oh my god,” you whine. “He heard me! He heard how pathetic I am!”

Azriel rolls his eyes, but you continue, “I was so drunk! I kept talking about you - and how you smell, and your hands, and your legs, oh my god.”

Your cheeks flare in heat, and your voice drops to a whisper. “I told Mor I had a dirty dream about you the other day - in detail!”

He smirks, “and what were we doing in this dirty dream?”

Your cheeks flame tomato red, as he laughs at you. “I guarantee you, sweetheart, whatever it was, we’ve done dirtier.”

He’s always enjoyed making you flustered, but this is an opportunity to fluster past you, one he will not let go to waste.

“About that,” you start, a sheepish grin adorning the cherry red of your cheeks. “How is our sex life? Is it good?” You ask, your voice lowered.

He laughs, “we make Cassian look like a prude with the amount of sex we have.” You gasp, approval for this future version of yourself. He leans in close to your ear, and whispers, “genuinely the best sex of my life.”

You bite your lip, but he continues. “Our general rule is for every night I’m gone on a mission, when I come back I have to make you finish at least once per day I’m gone.”

He chuckles low, the memory coming to him so easily. “I was once gone for twelve nights.” He pulled back, looking into your eyes. “And yes, all in one night.”

Your eyes widen, and you take a quick glimpse down towards his crotch. He watches you check him out, a smile ghosting on his lips.

You spent several days like that, most of your time spent with Azriel. You asked him about your lives together - where you two lived, what your days looked like together, what your lives with the Inner Circle looked like.

“Have I been able to convince you to take a day off?” You ask, the two of you eating at your favorite cafe in Velaris. Rhys had encouraged you to explore the city, hopeful it’s constant changing is able to jog something in you.

He smiles at you, chewing his croissant. “Actually, yes.” He says after swallowing. “We actually took a vacation to Summer during this past winter.”

You gasp, your eyes widening in excitement. “I’ve always wanted to go to Summer! How was it? Did we see any mermaids?”

He chuckles, “no, much to your disappointment.”

You huff, crossing your arms over your chest. “Can’t believe I didn’t get to see a mermaid.”

He smiles at your childish antics, looking at your pouting face. He still couldn’t process it - this was you, but it wasn’t his mate. You weren’t taking a bite of his croissant for yourself, you weren’t touching his knee with yours, you weren’t making up terrible excuses to hold his hand in yours.

Looking at you was excruciating, questions plagueing his mind as he looked. Will you ever remember him? Your life together? The late nights, the early mornings, the small moments that made up your relationship?

Or were you destined to be this past version of yourself forever? Would you develop new habits? Would you even fall in love with him, this version of himself who knows everything about you?

“Did we have a mating ceremony?”

He’s jolted back to the present, his mind finding itself in the past that your mind resides in. He smiles, warmth flooding his heart at the meer mention of that day. He gazes at you, telling you all about it. How all of Velaris loved you so much the town was covered in flowers, much to Cassian’s annoyance.

“I was so nervous, the whole day my hands kept shaking. The minutes before I saw you it got so bad my wings started shaking.”

“Why were you nervous?”

He breathes in deeply, surprised that tidbit came out of his mouth. He had never told you how nervous he had been - he didn’t want you to misconstrue it as reservations about you or your relationship.

He exhales, looking at his empty plate. “Being so vulnerable so publicly, declaring for everyone to know that I am yours and you are mine, felt so… intimidating.”

He grabs a napkin and starts shredding it, an effort to keep his hands occupied to keep them from shaking like they did that day. The shadowsinger rarely showed such nerves, but he always allowed you to see past the cool exterior he usually wore. “I was so scared. No one has ever loved me as openly as you do. My brothers love me, Feyre, Nesta, Mor - they love me. Elain, the Valkyries. All of them love me, but you wear your love on your sleeve. It’s practically on your face.”

He laughs as your hands reach up to your face, as if there was some physical marking there conveying your deep love.

“I’ve never had that. It made me a little scared.”

Without meaning to your hand reaches out to his, halting his napkin shredding. It’s the first time you’ve touched him since you woke up five days ago, and it lights Azriel’s heart aglow. He hadn’t realized how much he had been needing your soothing touch, the one way to know you were here with him.

He doesn’t move, allowing you to process what you’ve done as you see fit. He expects you to pull your hand back, retreating back into yourself as you used to do in the early stages of your relationship.

Your hand stays on his, your eyes meeting his. Your thumb grazes over the scarred skin, as if you could soothe the injury from centuries ago with a delicate touch.

It is quiet between you two, the sounds of the other patrons filling his ears. The soft clinking of spoons on plates, the murmured chatter, the scraping of chairs against the floor.

You’re looking at him like you know him, like you remember it all. He feels his heart in his throat, hoping to hear those words from you. You open your mouth and tell him, “I’m sure I was nervous too.”

The moment is gone, you pull your hand away to stir your coffee once more. Suddenly the patrons are too loud, their conversations too idiotic, the smell of the coffee is overwhelming.

A few days later you wake up to an empty bed in a room you aren’t familiar with. It takes you a moment to remember that you’re in Azriel’s room.

Your room.

The room around you is proof that this wasn’t a dream, despite almost two weeks having passed since your memory was lost. You get up, your nightgown grazing your thighs as you take in the room. You walk in front of the bookshelves, fingers grazing the titles.

Azriel really likes detective novels, you think. You’re continuing through when you find some unmarked books. Opening them, you find your own handwriting back at you.

Entries dated 2 years into your future, 3 years in your past. You’re skimming through the journal, Cassian having done something to annoy you to write several paragraphs until you find a new paragraph.

“Azriel.

Azriel is my mate. My mate. He gave me a locket. We stood on the balcony, just watching the stars. He told me about how the stars led him through the depths of his childhood, and how he would spend most of his nights gazing at the moon, hoping, praying for better days.

“Did you find better days?” I had asked him, and he told me, “I found you, didn’t I?”

You shut the notebook, Azriel’s words invading your sense.

“I found you, didn’t I?”

You hear his voice and are transported back, back to that rooftop, back to that cool night where he laid everything bare for you. That cool night where he draped his wings over you to keep you warm, to keep you wrapped in his arms.

You two spent all night on that roof, talking, making out like two teenagers, staying until the sun began to rose and the citizens of Velaris began waking.

You can smell the scent of cedar and mist, a smell you recognize as Azriel. You can see the slight pink hue dusting his cheeks as you kissed his face, littering his cheeks with dozens of kisses.

It all comes flooding back to you as you drop your journal, racing out of your room. You take the stairs down, searching, needing to hold him.

Him.

Your precious mate.

The male who holds an infinite amount of patience for you.

You see him as you round the corner of the kitchen, launching yourself into his arms. He catches you with a soft oof as your legs wrap around his waist. He holds you there, breathing you in, and you whisper in his ear, “I found you, didn’t I?”

Azriel grip on you tightens, a soft sob escaping him as clutches you, holding you like the world could be collapsing around him and it wouldn’t matter.

“I would have done everything to make you fall in love with me again,” he tells you, kissing your cheeks, his tears mixing with yours.

“And I would have kept falling in love with you.” You grab his face, and kiss him, pouring everything into it and down the bond. He responds with his own love and adoration down the bond, his lips soft and delicate against yours as he does so.

You two hear a groan from the doorway, but don’t pull apart. “We make food in here!” Cassian groans, stepping past you two, “go somewhere else!” He picks up a piece of a cookie and throws it at you, hitting you in the forehead.

You grumble, turning to face him, your eyebrows knitted together and a scowl on your lips. Cassian gasps, “you remember!”

You jump off of Azriel and start running towards Cassian, throwing bits of cookie at him as he runs away, “I remember you telling my mate you wish it was your memories gone so you wouldn’t have to be reminded how annoying I am!”

You chase him around the house, threatening him as you do so, until Azriel reached an arm out, pulling you into his chest, and just holds you there.

[syndxlla]

best friends don’t look at each other the way we do

A low stakes, high reward and self-indulgent Zelink fan fiction. Canon-compliant. Takes place between BOTW and TOTK

Chapter Five: My North Star

Read chapter four here

My masterlist

Song: August by Taylor Swift

Summary: Link and Zelda get a visitor from an old friend, and start to remember how to live for the hope of it all.

Warnings: brief and non graphic mentions of death and dead bodies, canon-typical violence and horror, PTSD (always for this fan fic)

Word Count: 3.3k words

Authors Note: finally some happy moments lol. Also this is unedited!! ALSO I KNOW I HAVE SO MANY UNANSWERED ASKS RN I PROMISE I AM NOT IGNORING YOU IM JUST BUSY AND LAZY kloveyoubye

It takes only three more days for Impa to arrive at their door, angrily pounding her staff on the wooden plank. It’s early, she beats the rooster, and Link is rubbing sleep out of his eyes as he stumbles to the door from his makeshift bed he’s made adjacent to the kitchen.

He’s shocked to see the old woman staring up at him, as far as he knows, she hasn’t left Kakariko village in decades.

“You completed the mission and your first instinct was NOT to come and tell me?” She asks, her wrinkled lips pressed firmly into a frown. Link looks up to see Cado, apologetic. His hair is down, shirt is off, and he’s barely wearing trousers. He yawns.

“Good morning, Master Impa.” He bows deeply to her and she just whacks his skull with her cane in the same manner she did the door. Link yelps and rubs the top of his head. “What was that for?” He asks.

“Where’s the princess?”

“She’s sleeping still, it’s barely sunrise.” Link rubs some more sleep from his lashes, his hand in a tight fist. “You know, most people say good morning when you see them first thing…”

Impa then lets herself into the house, pushing past him like the angry ball of spunk she is. “I’ll have tea.” She states, “And I’d like to see my friend.” Link and Cado look at each other, the Sheikah man staring at him apologetically.

Link nods, walking to the furnace and kneeling in front of it. He blows on the dying embers from the night before, placing a small log on them. Flames catch, and he’s setting the kettle over them, still full of water from yesterday. Cado closes the door and sits across from Impa at the table. Link eyes his bed roll in the corner of the room, kicking some blankets around in an attempt to make it look less disheveled, but the elderly woman just squints at the state of the house. If only she had seen it a week ago. Link was starting to feel proud of he and Zelda’s progress, wildflowers being placed in a vase on the table, and their plates polished and put away neatly for the first time. After Impa’s scrutinizing gaze, however, he was feeling all sorts of insecure again.

The air is stagnant.

“She's still sleeping…still.” Link clears his throat, his voice hushed. “She needs to rest because-“

“Link, two bodies were found just outside of the castle two days ago, the man who found them also reports seeing a Shadowy Figure, covered in what he suspects is malice.” Impa interrupts him.

“What?” He asks, startled.

“I didn’t want to lead with that, but it cannot be ignored.” She spoke in the same hushed tone. They didn’t want to wake the Princess, and they especially didn’t want to scare her.

“Treasure hunters? I mean it's still a war zone there, it wasn’t anything else… right? He was lying, surely. All the Malice disappeared…” Link asks, feeling the blood go from his face.

“The man was Me.” Cado frowns. He would never lie. “After we got your message from Purah, I traveled to the castle to confirm that the Calamity was destroyed. The bodies were hylian, two young people. A boy and a girl… I thought it was..”

Cado’s voice became too loud, and Link hushed him.

“We want to think it was leftover spells, but we don’t know. We don’t know who else to ask to investigate.” Impa says.

“Now that Hyrule is safe, it's time we start reestablishing civility, democracy.” Cado steps in.

“It’s been eleven days since I defeated him.” Link crosses his arms, “I’m still not sleeping through the nights, Zelda doesn’t have her full strength back yet. You promised me I would get to rest when it was all over.” He looks at the Sheikah Chief.

“Don’t lie to me, Link.” Impa shakes her head, “I know you can’t stay in one place for too long. No matter how hard you try.” She states. She wasn’t wrong, but recently Link has started to feel different.

The kettle starts to whistle. Link swallows his frustration and takes it off the heat, preparing three cups of green bell tea. Everyone feels discomfort. “Did the figure do anything?” Link asks as he pours the hot water into the cups, his back turned to the Sheikah.

“It just stared at me, it was tall, hunched over.” Cado describes, one could easily hear the fear in his voice. “We stared at each other, I couldn’t tell if it was from this world or not.”

“Tall like a Zora or tall like a Gerudo?” Link asks, still turned away.

“Gerudo.” Cado struggled to say it. “I drew my sword, and as soon as I did, it turned away from me and walked into the mist to the south. I never saw it again.”

Link swallows and then turns around finally, carrying the cups to the table. “And the bodies?”

“Cause of death was unknown, I checked for a pulse multiple times but they were both long gone. They were dressed in traveler's garb. Their dress seemed to be from the north.”

“If they have families they need to know.” Link sits, holding the mug of tea in his hands.

“You’re the only one who could inform them about such a thing.” Impa says. “Tabantha is a long way, but you could be there and back in an hour if you warp. We’ll stay here until you-“

“The sheikah slate is utterly destroyed.” Link admits. “I left it with Purah but she essentially told me it's beyond repair.”

“You’d have to go on foot like the rest of us.” Cado smirks.

“Why would I?” Link asks, perhaps too forcefully. “I did my quest.”

Impa stares at him, silent for a moment, “You don’t really feel that way.” She shakes her head, “And if you do, then you are not the same man who woke up three years ago.”

“I’m not!” Link almost shouts, and they all bite their tongues, listening for any sound from upstairs. “Impa… you know I care. You know I want to go find whatever that figure was, but I am tired.” His voice cracks. “I can’t just sleep this one off.” He can’t look at her, if he does, he’ll break. “This is much deeper than exhaustion. It’s… it’s traumatic.

I still see him. His eyes, the way His heat radiated and burned my skin, the sound of His laughter. He Haunts me at night, I swear He finds ways into my dreams and taunts me there. Like it was all just a game to Him. Because it was. It always was. He’ll do it again a hundred times, and we can’t ever stop Him. There will be countless more Links who lose their hearing and can’t sleep and won't even look themselves in a mirror because as long as the triforce exists, He will mock us all with His deviance.”

Link stares into his tea.

“Impa…” A quiet voice says from the stairs, and all three of them are turning to see her. Long, blonde hair draped over her shoulder, eyes sleepy and confused, hands at her sides.

She nearly trips down the stairs as she runs to the woman, wrapping her hands around her neck and crying. Impa immediately holds her back, laughing, taking an old, bony hand and stroking the top of her friend's head with it.

“Good Morning, my dear.”

Link and Cado share one more glance.

The day is spent with hugs and laughter and Zelda looking into Impa’s eyes and crying every time she sees that they’re still the same eyes. Link cooks for them, and gets as quiet as he was at the start of this war. It’s all he can think about. Did it return for other Links? Did it return this early?

Zelda must have noticed his distance because while Impa is telling Zelda all about the man she married, the Princess is glancing at Link. His shoulders tense, his head down, his voice silent. She frowns, deciding to ask him about it later.

Cado was delighted to meet the woman, bowing deeply for her. He eventually got on a tangent about his children while they ate the omelets Link prepared, but Link stayed silent. He glances over at the Master Sword, leaning against the corner of the room, staring back at him.

He distracts himself the rest of the day with Epona, tending to her constantly while Zelda tells Impa every single detail about her time sealed away. The two prayed over each other a few times. The sun gets low in the sky, Link stays silent.

They come back inside, and before Impa and Cado enter from the outside to begin their next hour of catching up, Zelda places a gentle hand on Link’s shoulder. “Link,”

He turns to look at her, everything about him immediately softening as her green eyes stare at him.

“You’re upset?” She says, her voice soothing.

“No I’m not.” He denies. She raises an eyebrow.

“I know you.” Link becomes acutely aware of her thumb that starts rubbing circles into his muscle and he has to remind himself how to stand. ”Talk to me.”

He knows he can’t tell her about this, not yet. “Later?” He asks. She smiles and nods.

“I’m here for you.”

Link begins dinner, and Zelda washes up, leaving the three alone for the first time since early morning.

Impa stares, Cado uncomfortably clears his throat. Link looks at them, frowning, knowing what they want.

He sighs deeply.

“I will return to the castle. Zelda and I briefly discussed returning the Champion’s weapons to their people, and can do it then.” He finally says. “Tell every leader to warn their people to avoid the castle at all costs.”

“Good.” Impa nods.

“But-“ Link holds his hand up, “I’m not going until both she and I are ready.” He says.

“What do you mean by ready?” That old woman was always so pushy.

“When Zel and I both feel ready to return to those places without it absolutely crushing our spirits, we will go. Together.”

“Hylia knows when that will be.” Cado scoffs.

“Exactly.” Link says. “Unless more deaths are reported or this shadow is seen again, it can wait. Everyone has been avoiding the castle for a century, what’s a little while longer?” Link states, silently proud of himself for sticking up for himself and not just being the obedient soldier he was trained to be. “Besides, no one should be there anyways, it’s not safe.”

“You’re in love with the Princess.” Impa states with a chuckle and Link sputters, the wind knocking out of him.

“What? Why would you say that?” He asks.

“I saw you two. The way you look at her.” Impa smirks. Link feels his ears heat up, Cado stifles a laugh.

“You are so rude.” Link replies.

“I think you two need each other.” Impa shrugs, “But do not let any worldly affection keep you in the way of what really matters here: Hyrule and its people.”

Impa always knew exactly how to remind Link that he is just a soldier.

“We will leave before we eat. At this rate we will not return home until late into the night.” Impa states, standing back up.

They say their goodbyes. Zelda promises to visit, Impa gives her a kiss on the forehead, Cado bows again. And just as the sun begins to set, the pair is headed through the bridge.

Both Link and Zelda stand in the doorway as they watch them leave. Zelda starts to sniffle, wiping a tear.

“Hey, hey, hey.” Link says in a comforting tone when he sees her cry, turning to face her. “It’s okay, we’re gonna see her again real soon.” He reassures. Zelda sighs.

“She got so old, without me.” She tries to swallow her sob but fails. She presses her tear-stained face into the crook of Link’s neck, and he just holds her for as long she needs. Zelda is the one to pull away after a moment of comfort. “I’m sorry… I know there's something troubling you, too. I shouldn’t be so selfish.” Zelda sighs.

Link swallows, “It’s nothing. Not for tonight.”

“You're sure?”

“Positive.” Link nods. “Can I show you something?” He asks, and Zelda is nodding as he takes her hand and leads her up stairs. He pushes open a hatch on the ceiling in the corner, and a rickety ladder slides down. Some dust and cobwebs fly down, but when the air clears, Link is climbing up onto the roof of their house. He helps Zelda up next, and she’s looking up at the night sky with bright eyes. It’s still not totally dark yet, but the first few stars are starting to shine.

The roof is slightly slanted, but not enough to cause either of them concern. They both comfortably find a position on the tiles, facing south, noses pointed at the heavens. There’s about a foot of space between them, and Link wants to scoot closer into her, but chooses not to. He closes the hatch from the outside, so the warm light of the house doesn’t pollute their view.

“I like to come up here to clear my head.” He says. “It doesn’t hold a candle to the night sky in Hebra or out in the desert, but it's still pretty spectacular.”

Zelda hums, “You’ll have to take me someday.” She stays looking at the sky but Link looks at her. Her profile is beautiful, hair long and cascading, ears pointed and blushed. Surely she knew he was staring, but neither of them did anything to stop.

“One day.” He nods before looking away and laying on his back. He rests his arms behind his head, crossing an ankle over his bended knee. “That one is called Haru.” He points to an especially bright star, “It’s part of the constellation Nabooru.” He then traces the warrior constellation with his finger.

“I remember, yes.” Zelda scoots into him, and he tries to stifle his smile. She doesn’t lay next to him, but now they’re a mere inches apart.

“And this is the North Star.” Link cranes his neck back to see it. “It moves though, did you know that? True north changes over time, so that one was the North Star when we were born, but over time the celestial bodies shifted and now it's that one. They didn’t even know that until I came back, because I was following the original one and ended up in Lanayru instead of Eldin. I talked with Purah and Robbie and they agreed, isn’t that fascinating?” He asks with a smile.

Zelda smiles so wide she thinks her cheeks will burst. “I never heard you speak like that before. With so much passion and eloquence.”

Link looks at her and just chuckles, “Now everyone follows the new star, but it didn’t have a name yet….”

“We should name it!” She gasps.

“Oh…I already did.” Link frowns, “I named it after I got my first memory back.” He shrugs. “I”m sorry. But there are plenty of stars without names anymore. A lot of the scientific research got destroyed with the…” He stops himself, “Well you know why. No one these days even knows the constellations anymore. I’m the only one.”

“What did you name it?” Zelda smiles.

Link looks at her again, “Zelda.”

She just about passes out from flattery, smiling down at her knees which are bent into her chest, blushing a little. “That’s very nice.”

“It was my true north.” He says. “I’d have been lost without it.”

It was fully dark now, and the sky lit up with the twinkling lights, the moon was a small sliver of a crescent and hung low in the sky near the sea.

“When did you remember the constellations?” She asked.

“They come to me slowly. It was required for all knights to know them, as I’m sure you remember.” Link described, looking to the heavens again. “I still can’t think of half of them.”

“Well isn’t that one Navi?” She points to another star.

“No, that one is Navi.” Link scoots up to her level, closing the gap further between them, and takes his hand to move her arm to the right star, his calloused and scarred flesh rough against her soft skin. “That one is the top of the constellation Hylia-“

“-Hylia”

They say it together. Perfectly in tune.

Their faces turn towards one another, locking eyes. The air freezes, time itself seems to hold.

Their hearts simultaneously skip a beat, and a soft blow of warm wind passes by, brushing through their hair.

Link makes the mistake of looking at her lips and for a split second he swears she leans in, but before anything goes any further, she’s moving away and laying down next to him.

He supposes this is alright, too.

“I wonder what she thinks of all this.” Link says.

Zelda is quiet ....“I sometimes wonder if the God’s regret making man.”

“What do you mean?” Link asks, looking at her.

“Well… man is what caused the curse of the loop anyways. If it weren’t for us, Hyrule wouldn’t have to be rebuilt every ten thousand years.” She frowns. “Maybe they wish they had left their creation to rest without our feeble beings.”

“I don’t think that.” Link shakes his head. ��I think they put us here because we are flawed, not in spite of it.

I think our mistakes, our sins, our curses are what makes us special. Life would be futile if we were perfect. There would be no motivation. No growth. No passion.

You cannot have good without evil, or light without dark, or joy without pain.

That’s what’s so beautiful about life. I think the God’s know that. I think they love us because of it. That is a luxury they don’t have. I see it as a gift. To live for the hope of it all.”

Link rambles, and Zelda is stunned for a moment. She turns her head to look at him, this time he’s the one with wonder-filled eyes staring up, ignoring the gaze of the other.

“I really think you should wield the triforce of wisdom.” Zelda teases.

Link looks at her, their noses almost touching. “Oh no, I’m only profound when I’m around you.” He shakes his head, giggling. “You should see me try to talk my way through Gerudo town, there's nothing wise about it.” His tone is playful, and they both laugh over it. “I accidentally told a woman she looked pregnant instead of ordering a drink at the bar.” Link explains and then says the two phrases in Gerudo, Zelda can admit they have very similar pronunciations and the both of them are full-belly laughing at the situation. Zelda asks how he managed to get out of that situation, and Link had to describe further that he was in disguise, which made everything harder to get through. Zelda couldn’t get the image of Link in a woman’s clothing out of her mind, and Link only sets her off further when he finishes the story with him getting slapped by an elderly Gerudo Woman. It isn’t much longer until she has tears welling down her face, but this time they are finally tears of laughter and joy.

When they both finally pull themselves together, Zelda smiles at him, wiping a tear from the corner of her eyes. “Thank you.” She sighs, her stomach aching from laughter.

Zelda then takes a risk, and snakes her hand in between them before wrapping it around Link’s. They don’t lock fingers, and it isn’t even necessarily classified as a romantic gesture, but she just squeezes his hand, thankful for cheering her up, thankful for reminding her that there is still hope.

There is hope in balance.

She tries to pull it away, not wanting to overstep, but Link is holding her hand tighter, keeping it in his grip. Zelda happily obliges, and they keep their hands clasped at their sides the whole night.

—

Chapter Six

[apprenticestanheight]

Post Bathroom trap! Adam Stanheight x gn! reader headcanons

allllll right!! An anon came into my inbox and got me thinking about Adam as a vet as he mentioned wanting to be one the original saw script, and now this exists! Thank you to that anon for spurring on this idea (though you had no idea you did, and I have no idea if you're reading this) this was fun to write!

this fic was ALSO an excuse to imagine adam in this style of glasses (I can admit that I am entirely biased as a glasses wearer myself but I thought about it for two seconds and then was like "this will never cease to be my favorite thing ever." so now we're here)

Fic type- fluff

Warnings- mentions of PTSD related avoidance (adam refuses to go back to the part of the city where the trap was located), mentions of nightmares/anxiety and ptsd being tripped up by something unspecified, mentions of dehydration and starvation after Adam was rescued. Also, this set of headcanons was longer than I had meant for it to be so oops.

Okay, so!!

Adam is found by the police with Lawrences help (also john kramers--a guilt ridden Lawrence Gordon would BEG for Adams life to be saved and for the spare key to the cuff on Adams ankle and you cannot ever convince me otherwise) and insistence from you (who had filed a missing persons report after a day of missed calls, texts that never delivered, and the stray cat Adam occasionally looked after was found mewing at his door, begging to be allowed entrance to his apartment) after four days. He's starving and dehydrated as all fucking hell, but he dimly registers being lifted onto a gurney and the sound of your voice as you tell him you love him and that he's alive, that he's okay.

He goes through surgery (y'know, bullet wounds and all) and wakes up to be told that, due to the spot in his shoulder where the bullet wound up, he's probably going to deal with consistent pain there the rest of his life.

He's just grateful to be out, really. Grateful that Lawrence kept his word, grateful that you harassed the police, in essence, because you cared so much about him.

He's rehydrated with fluids and eats until he's not hungry anymore, still finding the time within exhaustion and it's interruptions with food and your company to fret about seeing Lawrence in the hospital.

I mean--Lawrence does come to see him, but only when he's asleep because stressing Adam out is not a good idea when he's been out of the trap for two days and is going to be in the hospital for another five at minimum.

Lawrence writes Adam a letter of apology, though, and Adam reads it while you've gone home to shower and to feed the stray that comes by his apartment. He doesn't want to accept Lawrences apology to his face, but he decides that some part of him understands why Lawrence did it as he did, and internally accepts Lawrences apology, deciding to let himself move on from it as best he can.

Adam gets discharged from the hospital after a week, at which point he's like "okay. to start, I need to stop doing freelance. That shit almost got me killed."

He's also traumatized and VERY anxious about going to the part of Jersey where the trap is located. Being freelance might mean he has to go to that area, which plays a bigger part than he's willing to admit.

He's sitting in your apartment one day, having been too anxious to go back to his even after he'd been assured that Jigsaw believed how grateful he'd managed to become and would not test him again unless he did something that Jigsaw deemed worthy of such a test.

He starts thinking about life while sitting at your kitchen table, open and closing his fist while doing that "powpowpowpowpow!!" sound that you do when you're messing with kittens as the stray you'd taken in after finding her covered in oil on the side of the road had found herself on your kitchen table.

He looks at you, having just ordered your favorite takeout, and goes "Remember high school?"

You nod at this, anxious but excited to see where, exactly, he plans to take the conversation.

"We started dating in October of sophomore year," you said. "You dropped out March of junior year, Adam. I remember it."

Adam remembers it, too, watching you walk across the stage as a high school graduate where he'd dropped out because he was flunking. He remembers feeling proud of you, supporting you with forehead kisses and promises to order your favorite food if you studied, helping you work your way through your college degree.

"What's got you thinking about it?" you'd ask as Adam lifted the stray orange tabby kitten into his arms, tucking her under his chin.

"I was thinking... remember how I wanted to be a vet?"

You look at him, head tilted, mouth slightly agape. Of course you'd remembered, but those dreams were ones you thought he'd given up on.

"Yeah," you nod. "Yeah. I remember. Why?"

"I was looking into it and I think I'm going to get my GED," Adam says. "Might also look into taking the SATs, I heard that a decent score will help me get a bachelors degree. Once I get my bachelors, I'll go to vet school."

"Adam," you whisper, a little stunned. "Oh my God. Are you serious?"

Adam grins, gaze meeting yours as he nods.

You have a like,, like,, you're just...

you're SO HAPPY because you have loved that man for a literal DECADE by the time he's like "okay yeah. I'm going to get my life together."

You stand up and head to the kitchen, delighting in the sound of Adams laughter as you go.

"Grabbing the good whiskey?" He calls.

"The best stuff in our cabinets!" you call back.

So the cycle starts.

Adam gets himself enrolled in the GED program your old high school offers, and many nights are spent with Adam, glasses on his face and cat dubbed Spice sitting on the couch cushion behind him, studying to make sure he gets the materials right.

You help him take practice tests and kiss him senseless the first time he gets a near perfect score, and from then it only seems like things get better.

Adam aces the GED test and gets the diploma, lets himself smoke a cigarette for the first time since the trap to celebrate the victory because, even if he didn't get the diploma until eight years after he should've graduated and gotten it, he still got it.

Then, you help him study for the SATs and Spice the cat bats at his notes and the textbooks he studies from whenever one of their corners is hanging off the coffee table.

You get VERY USED to the sight of Adam in his glasses because,, studying and wearing CONTACTS?? no. that sounds like a nightmare.

he gets a good score on the SATs and then applies to a decent college in the city to do a bachelors in science with a focus on zoology.

GUESS WHAT?? He's in college doing his bachelors and working part time as a secretary at the local vets office so that he can sort of get a feel for the environment he'll be expecting post vet school.

You're at his side throughout the entirety of it, and when Adam starts going to therapy (lets be honest--he busies himself with first his GED, then the SATS, then applying and getting into the college he wants for his bachelors and also working part time at the vets offices to avoid thinking about his experience in the bathroom trap) you're supportive of him throughout every step because he supported you through high school, and college, and the long nights spent making sure your career went how you wanted it to go.

He and Lawrence develop a friendship after some time as well, which is nice, and eventually, without realizing it, Adam has developed his own little support system.

Granted, by the time he's hitting 30 and graduating with his bachelors, it's 2008 and his support system is made up of his partner, a doctor with whom he was trapped by the oh-so infamous Jigsaw, and an orange tabby cat who you lovingly washed free of oil and ticks with dawn dish soap when she was two weeks old, but it counts.

He gets into vet school and you hug-tackle him when he tells you the news.

You knock his glasses onto the floor and the two of you end up kissing, breathless on the couch of the apartment you'd moved into together, both because your old one was heading steadfastly into disrepair and remaining unfixed by the landlord, and to celebrate that he'd finished the bachelors degree at which he had worked tirelessly.

The two of you watch Spice the cat bat his glasses around, breathless but completely and utterly elated.

Adam goes to a vet school in the state and it's more studying, more forehead kisses and a lot of restless nights consumed by kissing whenever he correctly guesses the answer from one of his study flashcards, making jokes and laughing just a bit at one anothers expenses, crying into Spice the cats fur whenever it all gets too overwhelming.

he graduates the vet school in 2012, and at that point he has an 'oh shit' moment where he's like

"okay wait. so. I am thirty four. I have been dating Y/N since we were sixteen. we've been dating for eighteen years and haven't gotten married?? what??"

SO HE'S LIKE: 'okay. vets make decent money. I am going to buy them a ring and it's gonna be amazing.'

realistically, he's thirty four and realizing at that point (when the two of you are financially stable enough to be looking at fucking HOUSES in the early 2010s) that the two of you have been together for more than half of your lives and he's making good enough money that money and making the rent isn't a concern anymore and it's a genuine shock.

John Kramer died (which was a story that broke national news) and Adam has had the time to heal, which he finds even odder but it's--it's a nice kind of odd.

So, he starts working as a vet at the office where he used to be a secretary and with his first paycheck, he BUYS YOU A RING. SWEET SWEET MAN.

He proposes in February of 2013 (not on valentines day, but on the 26th because that's your nineteen year anniversary) at the place where you had your first date

the place?? a bookstore that sold used cameras at a discount. Adam proposed to you with a book of memories and photographs he'd taken chronicling those memories. At the end it has the words 'will you marry me?' and a photo of Spice the cat asleep on a sign that says 'look up' so then you do

AND BOOM. HE'S ON HIS KNEE. A BOX IS OPEN IN HIS HAND. A RING IS IN THAT BOX.

You laugh a little and pull a ring out of your pocket, offering it to him as you try to fend off the urge to comment about how unserious it seems despite how serious it is.

ADAM IS AS SHOCKED AS YOU WERE WHEN HE BROUGHT UP GETTING HIS GED.

He's like "a ring? why would they--OH SHIT. THEY HAD THE SAME IDEA."

The two of you just...silently laugh in the bookstore while you nod and slip the rings you bought onto the others finger, kissing and hugging because what even was that day. what.

You get married on that day in 2014, when the two of you have been together for a literal whole entire TWENTY FUCKING YEARS because you're just that cool.

It's also a little weird for Adam--he's 36 at this point, the anniversary of his escaping the trap will come around in late November.

Its good weird, though. He's still privy to weed on occasion--particularly nights where the nightmares come back and he can't sleep, or when he sees something that trips him up and sends him back to that bathroom, cuffed by the ankle to a pipe, the key having gone skittering down the drain--but he doesn't smoke nearly as often as he did during his mid-twenties.

man rakes in 125,000 american dollars, has a fucking MORTGAGE AND CAR INSURANCE BILL and on the day of the wedding you two are looking back at 2004 and are just like "woah. A lot has changed in the last decade"

Adam has gotten to become the person that the guy who was cuffed by the ankle never thought he'd be, though, so he's super proud of himself and his accomplishments.

you're proud of him, too--you have a cat, a mortgage, a car insurance bill and aren't worried about the paying of any of those bills in the slightest. Marrying him is one of your greatest accomplishments because?? hello?? marrying the love of your life who turned his life around in less than six thousand days?? he is. he is amazing. and you just. you just love him wholeheartedly

all in all, it's a good existence and I have to believe Adam would've done good for himself after surviving the trap because if I don't then I can't sleep at night lolz

[entumtum]

Chapter Two: Partners

pairing: toji x afab reader (used y/n in the fic)

content: jjk college au, fluff, a bit nonsensical, gets a little more suggestive in this one (like 5%? huhuhu)

kinda proofread already hehe

chapter one | chapter three | chapter four | chapter five

-----

“ughh…” the morning rays were peeking through your window as you groaned, smacked your alarm off and regretted drinking so much at dinner the night before. you were invited to eat with your new college friends and wanted them to like you. of course, there was another reason to join them, right? 

korean barbeque gave them a chance to see how skilled you were at grilling meat and making sure that everyone was filled and satisfied by the end of the night. obviously, it also gave you a chance to slip Toji more meat slices than the others - your genius (?), subtle way of flirting. you blushed at the thought of your actions and covered your face with the blanket. you remember feeling a blend of pride and embarrassment coursing through your veins as you served him - and was he smirking when you did that? you hope that he was just buzzed from the drinks.

you got ready for your morning lecture, mentally resolving to not be late for anymore classes this term. after a quick shower, you threw on the first things you saw in the closet, grabbed your glasses (the salty dinner made you wake up with puffy eyes that were not lens-ready) and sprang out of the room with your backpack. thank god that there wasn’t a line at the coffeeshop. “one iced latte, extra shot, please,” you mumbled. you couldn’t wait for the caffeine to kick in.

yesss, i made it. the classroom was almost empty and you chose a seat at the back. as you took a few more sips of your coffee and started taking out your stationery, the doors opened and more sleepy students shuffled in. a few girls from your class yesterday, a couple of boys who look like they stayed up all night playing video games, and him. 

oh… OH. you did a double-take.

Toji scanned the entire room and his eyes met yours. did he see me? maybe if i looked away, he would think it wasn’t me? (so much for genius, subtle flirting the night before.) you slowly directed your eyes back to your bag and started pulling out your laptop; from the corner of your eyes, you saw him bound up the steps, two at a time, till he reached your row. don’t come here. he walked towards you. don’t sit next to me. he pulled out the chair next to you and plopped down. 

“morning.”

you turn to look at him, taking in his messy jet black hair and pretty (so pretty) green eyes, and he gave you a gentle smile, the scar on the right side of his mouth moving up. 

“oh, hi…” you began, trying your best to commit to the ‘calm’ persona you showed your new friends the day before. “i thought you were a finance major, what are you doing in a psych class?”

“it’s an elective - psych’s interesting,” he replied. there was a slight pause as he peered at your face. “nice glasses by the way, they're cute,” he commented nonchalantly as he turned to his bag to take out his course materials.

you almost choked as his compliment threw you off guard. “th-thanks, i didn’t feel like stabbing my eyes with lenses this morning.” he let out a small laugh. what is happening right now? 

the class was in session and you did your best to pay attention. your eyes kept shifting towards whatever he laid out on the table as you tried to find out more about him - his laptop had a black case, notebook was black, pen ink was black… i can’t read him at all. he didn’t write anything throughout class too, but when he started typing notes, you imagined what those thick, veiny arms could do to you…

“last item i wanted to raise: there will be a report due right before finals that requires you to find one other person to work with. i know some of you joined this class with your friends so i’ll give you the freedom to choose your partners but for the love of god, if you fall out after this, don’t come find me,” your professor warned. you and Toji chuckled.

“i guess we’re partners for this then.”

“hmm? what?”

“doesn’t look like you joined this class with anyone, neither did i. let’s be partners.”

you blinked twice, thrice at Toji and managed a small “sure!” before turning back to your lecturer. you don’t remember how she closed the session nor how everyone started packing up and leaving. Toji stayed seated next to you as most of the students filed out and only then did you start shuffling things into your bag, still reeling from what you agreed to five minutes ago.

“what classes do you have after this?”

“oh! uhh… i’m free the rest of the day,” you said cheerfully, forcing your voice to not crack.

“let’s go for lunch,” Toji said while standing up, his right hand ruffling your hair, causing a bolt of electricity to shoot through your body. you were glad that he was walking away so he didn’t see your face burst into flames.

[bucky-h0e]

The Many Lives of Bucky and Alpine | Main Masterlist

This is a multi-series fic. Based around Bucky and Human! Alpine and the different lives they lead. The main story is Serendipity - this follows the 'canon' timeline, however the other variants will have their own canon events and timelines as well. Bare in mind that Serendipity will most likely get the most updates because of this.

This is a long-term, on going project - if you would like to request something, please do! Just be a little patient with me :)

Each timeline is separate from one another and has their own 'plot' and attributes, you don't have to read them all! Sometimes I will update with an Alternate Narrative - this will be marked clearly and is not vital to the timeline - just a bit of fun!

Remember, these are NOT shipping fics!

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Serendipity

Neighbour!Alpine and Bucky. This follows The Falcon and The Winter Soldier's events; post, pre and during.

Bucky Barnes now faces a difficult task indeed, navigating the 21st Century whilst making amends for his actions as the Winter Soldier. Left alone to his own devices, he fears he may continue the life of solitude, pushing away all who try to help. But what happens when a stubborn 106 year old meets a similarly stubborn (and downright bizarre) 21 year old? And for God's sake, what is her real name?

Read Here

○○○○

You Feel Like Home

Half-Romanian! Alpine and Bucky. This starts just after Captain America: The Winter Soldier and through Captain America: Civil War; post, pre and during.

On the run from both HYDRA and SHIELD, James Bucky Barnes finds shelter in Bucharest and creates 6 rules for himself to ensure his survival.

One: Make no noise.

Two: Stay out of sight.

Three: Use only cash. Spend only when absolutely necessary.

Four: Follow the news reports. Any mention of his name, MOVE.

Five: Do not get attached to his neighbour's neglected, sick daughter.

Six: Stop breaking rule number 5.

Read Here

○○○○

The Winter Soldier and his Angel

Avenger! Alpine and Bucky. Follows the Captain America Sequels, with Alpine as an Avenger and Steve's ex-handler.

Alpine Doe. Codename: Angel. Bought from the Red Room by a man who wanted his own version of Charlie's Angels. Hired by SHIELD under Natasha Romanoff's insistence after assisting them in bringing the scumbag in. Placed as Steve Rogers' handler and guides (drags) him into to the 21st Century. Now she fights alongside the Avengers, mainly Steve, and feels like she owes everything to them. She when Steve's once thought dead best friend shows up to kill them, she'll stop at nothing to reunite the two. She just wished he'd stop trying to stab her.

Read Here

○○○○

Bucky Barnes: ex-Winter Soldier, now DILF.

Biological Child! Alpine and Bucky. Loosely follows The Falcon and The Winter Soldier with some minor (major) changes.

James Buchanan Barnes is no longer the Winter Soldier. Steve Rogers is considering retirement. Tony Stark retired and is expecting a second child. Natasha Romanoff is on a well deserved holiday. The World has not ended. Finally, Bucky can begin the journey to find himself once more. The same self that used to be quite the ladies man, not that he was complaining. Of course, that is until an mildly annoyed woman knocks on his door with a positive pregnancy test makes him realise just how much the super-soldier serum had affected his body and DNA.

Read Here

○○○○

Pimp My ... Buzz Wagon?

Medic! Alpine and Bucky. Follows Captain America: The First Avenger.

The Howling Commandos are a very special breed indeed. Not only are they almost singlehandedly helping tilt the war effort to favour the allies, they are also somehow managing to get home safely despite the wounds that come with the territory. Annoyed at their lack of concern because Steve Rogers "...can heal a lot faster now!", Agent Carter recruits a medic to join the group. Whilst the less super-soldiery of the group have no real big complaints, Bucky Barnes can't help but argue with the fact that their new medic is an underaged girl.

Read here

○○○○

For You, I'll Set This Place Ablaze

HYDRA Prisoner! Alpine and Winter Soldier! Bucky. This one roughly follows the plot of Captain America: The Winter Soldier.

HYDRA is irritated. Wiping the Asset's mind is becoming tedious. They need a killing machine, with some level of cognitive function, not a mindless fool incapable of executing simple missions. Slowly but surely, the Asset's memories come back - each time quicker than the last. They are desperate. Perhaps, there is another way to make him behave. Their plan? Give him what he desires. A family. A support system. Make him believe the child is his. She knows no better. Give him something to cherish and to protect. Then rip it away when he fails. Soon, he will learn. HYDRA will always prevail. HAIL HYDRA.

Read Here

[iobsessoverfictionalmen]

Midnight Roses (6)

This fic contains canon-typical violence and behaviours, manipulation, mentions of death, murder, orphans, pain, blood, blood drinking, memory manipulation, torture, prison, and criminals.

Epilogue

“Bella!”  Eric Yorkie called to her over the roar of noise in their college cafeteria, “Over here!”  He beckoned.  Bella set her tray down on the table before sitting on the uncomfortable chair that accompanied the table.

“I’ve definitely got it this time!”  Eric crowed excitedly.

Bella dug into her meal and rolled her eyes.  Angela made a face at her boyfriend, “The last time that you thought you had ‘it,’ your proof was just a slightly unsymmetrical pair of footprints that were larger than average.”

“Bigfoot is real!” Eric protested, digging into his food.  “One day I’ll prove he exists!”

“There are ‘researchers’ who have been promising that for more than thirty years.  Welcome to a not-so-exclusive club.”  Angela quipped.  “By the way, I doubt Bigfoot lives in or visits Seattle.”  It had been four years since Bella graduated high school.  She and her friends had reunited after it felt like they all woke up from a long sleep.  Bella had a vague memory of a family called the Cullens but when she was unable to put faces to names, she dismissed the surname as unimportant.  Neither she nor Jacob could remember why they both felt lingering feelings of tension but over time, those feelings vanished as if they had never existed in the first place.

“Earth to Bella.  Don’t make me suffer through Eric’s conspiracy theories by myself,” Angela pouted.  “I need the support.”

“Do continue Eric,” Bella instructed uninterestedly.

“I’m going to ignore your tone and focus on the words that left your mouth just then,” Eric said.  “Get this.  Three weeks ago, a local reporter uncovers a story about a fisherman claiming that he saw a being taller than Mount St Helens.  It parted waves effortlessly and reached down into the depths of the sea.”

“That’s it?  That’s your proof?”  Bella asked disbelievingly.

“No, that’s not all my doubting friend.  This being was defeated by smaller beings who ran so fast it was like they were blurs.  The fisherman swears he saw them run on water.”

“And their eyes?”  Bella had no idea why those words left her mouth.  She just knew they were significant somehow.

“They were as red as blood.”  Eric revealed, thrilled that he had got the reaction he had been hoping for.  Then Eric paused, “Except for two of the five members of the group.  As far as the fisherman could tell one member of the group had glowing, vibrant green eyes and the other member’s eyes were normal if you ignore the fact that the fisherman said they swirled with long forgotten secrets.”

Something about that sentence didn’t sit right with Bella and she had the peculiar feeling that she had known someone with golden eyes in her past.  “I’m thinking of Charlie,” Bella reassured herself.  “When the sunlight hits his brown eyes a certain way, they appear almost golden.”

Angela still wasn’t convinced, “How did you find out about this anyway?  It wasn’t on the local news.  And we all know that the internet is nowhere near being one hundred percent accurate when it comes to information.”

“My cousin was in Greece searching for an old friend of hers.  She told me everything she overheard from the reporter and the fisherman.”

“Does this cousin have a name?”  Angela asked.

“As a matter of fact, she does,” Eric commented blithely.  “It would have been very hard for her to get through life without one.”

“Well?  What is it?  Don’t leave us in suspense.”

“Oh, now you’re interested.  I see how it is.”

“Eric,” Bella warned him impatiently.

“Fine.  My cousin’s name is Drew Tanaka.”

[icescrabblerjerky]

twenty questions for fic writers

tagged by @senseandaccountability THANK YOU!

1. How many works do you have on AO3? 200 exactly! I did not know this until I just went and checked.

2. What’s your total AO3 word count? 1,222,468 - I too have been at it for a long time, about fifteen years (and there is more of it on other sites lol)

3. What fandoms do you write for? Rusty Quill Gaming, Baldur's Gate 3, SWTOR (and other star wars related fandoms), Dragon Age, The Magnus Archives, Final Fantasy XIV, uh... and lots of little one offs for books and tiny podcast fandoms.

4. What are your top five fics by kudos?

The Mbmbam Archives (mbmbam/magnus crossover) with 949 (this still makes me laugh so much)

Seven Days (RQGaming, Zolf/Oscar) at 458

Sex, Death and Plants or: Four Seasons Total Landscaping (RQGaming AU, Zolf/Oscar/Grizzop) at 425

Willing to Wait for It (RQGaming, genfic) at 394

and

A Little Help (RQGaming, again Zoscar) at 384

Rusty Quill Gaming folks are super super supportive and awesome and I'm forever grateful they went on my dumb journeys with these characters with me.

5. Do you respond to comments? Always! I hope! I know sometimes I miss them when I'm away from my computer but they are definitely always read.

6. What’s the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending? Mmmm, angsty-est?? I'm not one really for angsty endings, although I like angst in all the other bits. Probably the fic I wrote where Zolf is mourning Oscar. I honestly can't remember what it was called.

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending? Sex Death and Plants ends in a massive polycule and the take down of a fascist asshole billionaire so I think it deffo qualifies as the happiest of my endings :D.

8. Do you get hate on fics? Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm LOL. Never directly. I have reports of people who dislike what I write but they never tell me to my face for some reason, it always gets around to me, usually about two years later, on the underground.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind? I do. I love writing smut. I don't write very graphic smut as a general rule but most of my fics will have one or two scenes in it and I've done a couple of kinktobers. Love it.

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written? I've got a couple. One Dragon Age/Lucifer crossover that I wrote specifically for a friend. One aborted Firefly/Dragon Age Crossover that lives on FF.net I think if that site hasn't destroyed itself.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen? Not that I know of.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated? I've had enquiries about translating some into Russian but I've never actually seen if they followed through.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before? Yes! Quite a few actually. Some of them haven't been published :D.

14. What’s your all-time favorite ship? I should say Zoscar. So I will. I love them your honour.

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish, but doubt you ever will? Gods I got a comment on my old Rebels fic "Talking to Strangers" and I read it again and went "this shit's good I should finish it" but that would involve me actually watching the rest of Rebels and I don't really watch TV any more and it just ends up being too hard.

16. What are your writing strengths? Dialogue and character voices, I think - at least for fic. I have a lot of fun trying to make what characters say feel like it could be lifted directly from the source material but isn't.

17. What are your writing weaknesses? Description. Fucken' hate it. I'll do it but I'll moan about it for every single sentence.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic? Very risky IMO and not something I'll do any more although I used to when I first started out. These days I'll write it in English but indicate which language it should be in in other ways.

19. First fandom you wrote for? If we wanna get technical I wrote my first fanfic when I was about ten years old. It was Sherlock Holmes fanfiction (the stories, not the series, since the series didn't come out for another twenty five years lol). Self insert time travel fic. I may still have it somewhere lol.

20. Favorite fic you’ve ever written? I love all my fanfictions equally (I really don't care for Mbmbam Archives). No that was a joke, I really do love all of them, my favourite tends to be the one I'm writing at the present moment. That said honourable mention should go to The Nature of Crystal (G'raha/WOL smut) because that one just arrived fully formed in my head one morning and tickled me.

I'll tag @feralkwe, @wishflower4, @zombolouge @makesometime and anyone else who would like to do it!

[kitkatt0430]

so I had the 'what if Iris got car-wrecked into a visual novel' fic idea, but.......

There's also the 'reincarnated as the villainess' sub genre there and just. Caitlin. She's a medical student who is very much suffering from burn out and has been trying to stave it off by obsessing over this otome game where the main character is this really adorable girl called Iris West and of course there's the usual four guys with a fifth hidden route and Caitlin has played three routes so far. Ronnie/Iris, Eddie/Iris, and Cisco/Iris... and she knows there's also Julian/Iris and the final 'true' path of Barry/Iris, which only unlocks when all four base paths are completed.

But then Caitlin (if that was really her name in the RL, usually they're original lives go nameless in this genre) gets hit by a car and dies. On Earth. In the world of An Iris for the Heroes, Killer Frost wakes up after a pre-game fight with the Flash where she hit her head and barely got away... and remembers being Caitlin Snow.

It's a super hero/high school AU with secret identities and so no one knows that mild mannered Barry Allen is the brash hero the Flash, who has a particular soft spot for his childhood friend and reporter for the school newspaper, Iris West. Caitlin Snow, whose identity as Killer Frost was also a secret until the end of some of the routes where she's either arrested or killed, was the villain. A school bully towards Iris by day and pain in the ass for the Flash and Vibe and toxic friend for Alchemy by night. She features little in the Cobalt Blue path and is a love rival in the FIRESTORM path - though Caitlin only knows some of the details.

She also knows now that Caitlin Snow of the An Iris for Heroes world had an abusive home life until her powers manifested and accidentally killed her parents. She decided that must make her a horrible person, which was why Killer Frost chose to become a villain. Feeling like her parents deaths at her hands, no matter how they treated her, made her irredeemable. But now this new personality is in charge and she had a relatively stable, if somewhat neglected, home life and she doesn't think being a villainess is all she deserves. She wants to survive, become a doctor, and save lives in turn.

So obviously the first life she has to save is her own. She's living on her own, the previous version of her having already been emancipated from her Aunt over the summer. And so she would be starting as a new student at the same school as the rest of the main cast from the game in a week. Which gives her some time to write down all the events she remembers either from playing the game itself or from reading spoilers online.

She stops going out as Killer Frost, but learns that if she doesn't use her powers once a day, she suffers side effects. Once school starts, Caitlin figures that all she needs to do is not team up with Alchemy - Julian - and not bully Iris and she'll be golden. Unless this really is a game world and it might be harder.

She winds up paired as lab partners with Julian and does find she likes him but quickly notes that he, uh... likes her more than she likes him. Thankfully she also meets Cisco and they become fast friends and it's very definitely a platonic besties deal. Except Cisco is also besties with Barry and Caitlin is wary 'cause... the Flash. But also the closer she gets to Iris' circle the more she worries about some kind of fate shoving her into the villainess role no matter what she does.

Except Barry's kinda cool and fun and Caitlin winds up friends with him anyway. And then she meets Iris and Iris is every bit as cool as Caitlin remembers her being from the game. Truth was, Caitlin liked to imagine she was the one Iris was romancing every time she played the game and now... but of course, Iris is clearly straight. Having five male love interests and no flirtations with the ladies makes that pretty clear. The only real F/F ship in the fandom was Iris/Linda and, in universe, Iris sets her best friend Linda up with her younger brother Wally.

Except, one night, in her new 'definitely not Killer Frost' outfit, working out some of her ice power build up from the day, Caitlin kinda... rescues the Flash from Alchemy. He shouldn't need her help, but then in the game this fight was Flash vs Killer Frost and Alchemy and he managed to win by causing Killer Frost to accidentally freeze Alchemy and she had to run off to safely defrost him. Just Alchemy vs the Flash, however, allowed Alchemy to really let loose and the Flash is knocked out and almost unmasked. Caitlin manages to scare Alchemy off and then freaks out because she doesn't know where to take Barry for safety. In her panic, the only place Caitlin can think of is... Iris West's home.

I'm thinking this would be... Snowestallen + Cisco/Ronnie + Wallinda + Julian/Hartley (who was, of course, a minor antagonist in the game for Vibe's path) + some overarching villain that is probably Eobard since Barry's path is the 'true path' from the game

[mint-yooxgi]

Hello！Can you please do pt.4(？) on taeyong, jaehyun and yuta fic？ it's ok if you don't want to, thank you！

Part One, Part Two

***

Two hours, and four drinks, later, you find yourself sitting in a booth with the three men who can’t seem to take their eyes off of you. Every little thing you do, they notice, their gazes intense and honestly, making you a bit self conscious of the movements you do make. The more time passes, the more obvious they become. At least they had been subtle before.

Taeyong sits directly in front of you, followed by Jaehyun who sits right beside him, with Yuta to your left. Of course, when you first sat down, Yuta jumped at the opportunity to be the one that slid in the booth beside you, much to the other two’s discontent. If only they had been faster, then maybe they would be the one sitting so close to you. What bothers them more is that you don’t really seem to mind.

Currently, you find yourselves playing a round of ‘never have I ever’ and taking shots. So far, you’re losing.

“Damn, I never realized just how unique my experiences were until now,” you joke, a chuckle falling from your lips.

“Sounds to me like you just like to have fun,” Yuta grins, nudging your shoulder with his own, much to the annoyance of the two males sitting across from the two of you.

“Either that or you guys just enjoy ganging up on me.” You roll your eyes for a dramatic effect, failing to notice the way Taeyong stiffens slightly across from you.

This night is not going at all how he planned, though he supposes it’s on him for bringing up the idea of going for drinks in front of the other two. If only they hadn’t taken their sweet time packing up after the meeting, but Taeyong knows that if he were in their shoes, he would have done the exact same thing. Like hell he’d ever purposefully leave you alone in a room with the other two. Both of them are bad enough, but the idea of seeing you with one of them, of seeing you with anyone but him sets his heart pounding. He’ll make sure that that will never happen.

“My turn,” Taeyong says, and he revels in the fact that your full attention is now on him. “Never have I ever had a hangover at work.”

Both you and Jaehyun take a shot, and once you put your glass back on the table, your brows raise.

“Really?” Your curious stare meets Jaehyun’s gaze. “I would have thought this one-” you point to Yuta beside you, “would have, but mister prim and proper?”

“Hey!” Yuta whines, about to defend himself before Jaehyun speaking beats him to it.

“There’s a lot of things you don’t know about me.” He smiles, somewhat mischievously at you and you shoot him an amused look.

“I have to hear this story.” You lean forward slightly, and Jaehyun practically melts at the fact that you want to know more about him.

He shrugs, leaning back slightly in his seat as he meets your gaze once more, “was my friend’s birthday, we got smashed. Woke up in his bathtub ten minutes before I was supposed to be in the office, and managed to make it in with a minute to spare. Thank fuck it was casual Friday, otherwise I would not have made it in time.”

“Oh my god,” your jaw drops, “I think I remember that. You were hungover that day?”

“If you can believe it,” he chuckles, and you fail to see the way Yuta purses his lips beside you. “Had the worst headache of my life but I still managed to complete my reports that day.”

“Now that I believe,” you nod, lip quirked upwards at the side.

“I think I was typing like a third grader though, and I'm pretty sure I had to spell micromanagement five times before I got it right,” he continues, “then I ended up printing the reports and realized I had misspelled my name.”

“Wait, is that why Hyunjin calls you Jaehyum all the time?” You cannot keep the smile off of your lips as you watch the tips of his ears turn red and he nods. You burst out laughing. “That’s gold, oh my god.”

Both Yuta and Taeyong absolutely hate the way you’ve seemingly forgot all about them in this moment. Only, they hate the fact that it was Jaehyun that’s made you laugh like this even more.

“Okay, okay, okay,” you wave your hand in front of yourself as a few more chuckles fall from your lips. “My turn now. Let’s see...” You pause as you hum, “I know!” A grin tugs at the corner of your lips, figuring none of them will be able to take a shot from your next words. “Never have I ever fallen in love with a coworker.”

Your jaw practically falls open as the three of them throw their heads back and down their alcohol practically at the same time. You've never seen any of them talk about past flings or current crushes in the workplace. Well at least, not around you, so to say this comes as a shock would be a severe understatement.

Looking between the three of them, your curiosity gets the best of you. With wide eyes, you ask the single question that sets their hearts racing.

“Who?”

[sabraeal]

To My Esteemed Enemy

[Read on AO3]

My third holiday gift this year, and this time it’s for a different fandom, and a new-to-me pairing! Kazasen originally tied with Alan/Katerina (Hamefura) for second place, and then tied for first with Jiro/Nanami (Kamisama Kiss) in the run off. It was a close race for concept with this one, but eventually the epistolary fic won out...and then I had to resign myself to this being a VERY long fic with shorter chapters 🤣

To the Esteemed Elders of Kazama, with All the Blessings That Humble Yase Can Convey--

It is with both heart both heavy and steeled that brush is committed to paper, so that those of the clan Kazama who act with great wisdom may be warned of the misconduct of the demon who calls himself their head and speaks with the authority of their ancestors. In the pursuit of taking an uninterested and unwilling female demon in Yase’s domain, Kazama Chikage has violated demonkind’s greatest taboo: he has meddled in man’s affairs.

While in service to Satsuma, Kazama Chikage committed acts both violent and base, engaging with human men in combat for reasons personal and pertaining to his unwanted attention toward the female demon. Were this only a single instance, Yase would be willing to turn its gaze aside, but his attempts have grown so numerous and vicious that they risk drawing attention to the places our shadows fill in this world.

Kazama is a noble and storied clan, one of the original blood, and Yase is prepared to be lenient in this matter. So long as the demon known as Chikage is kept within the confines of the village and commits no more infractions upon the code, Yase will not bring the council’s attention onto his actions. However, should these terms be violated, know that his offenses are terrible and numerous, enough that disbandment might not only be considered, but surely recommended.

As a show of good faith, Yase asks that Kazama report on the behavior and location of the demon known as Chikage, and--

“Is this why I’m here?” The page shrinks as he speaks, the collar of his too-big tunic nearly swallowing him whole. “To listen to the whimpers of lesser clans?”

“Yase is not simply putting their hands on their swords, Chikage-sama.” Masanori spits out the honorific like the shell from a seed, an unpleasant dressing necessary to reach the meat of the matter. “If you do not cease your meddling, they will see us disbanded, scattered to the four winds just as they did to-- to--”

Hatsushimo. Five hundred years and these cowards still can’t speak the name.

Humor peels his lips from his teeth, but there’s smile behind them. “They can try. Kazama will not be so easy a carcass to pick clean.”

The elders shift on their fattened cushions, old bones speaking just as much as their glances. “Although the strength of Kazama is undeniable, truth makes for more pleasant music than threats.”

When Kazusane speaks, it is measured, more like poetry than conversation. His most beloved tutor in boyhood, and his most dreaded one in adolescence. Now, he’s only a bore. “The alliance will favor the words of Yase, for they are known for their honesty and their shrewdness.”

“And you are only known for your crudeness and impulsivity,” Masanori adds, his wrinkled face knitted as if one of his esteemed colleagues passed foul wind in the hall. All Chikage smells is old man and death.

“And Kazama is known for tolerating no insult. For paying back what is owed.” He snorts, leaning a cheek on his fist. “I don’t remember any of you complaining when the elders of other clans would bow before you. When even warriors would tremble as long as you trailed in my wake.”

“And now they will laugh.” Sadahira’s age weighs heavily on him, making his words slow, ponderous. He’d been old when Chikage’s father had been a boy, and now every wind threatens to scatter him to dust. “How else could they act when they hear that Kazama’s proud prince has been brought low, traipsing after some...female demon?”

His teeth creak as he grins, wishing he could wear them all to points. “Isn’t that what you have all been asking me to do? Find some acceptable wife and beget my heir upon her?”

“There are any number of suitable candidates you have already turned away, rude enough that we are lucky their fathers and brothers do not knock down our doors.” Masanori wears his jealousy the same way a his anger: poorly. Red splotches bloom unevenly up his neck, leaving the man as piebald as the mongrels that roamed the outskirts of the village. “And now you find some whore with water for blood, and we are supposed to--”

“The girl is the last of the Yukimura.” Rage might make some men sloppy, but for Chikage it is the furnace that hones him to a thin edge, that burns away the impurities that make other men brittle. “You may sit pretty, dressed up in your silks and picked clean of fleas, but her blood runs so pure it makes the rest of you look like the filthy curs you are. If you think I’ll let a mate of the original bloodlines slip through my fingers just because Yasehime--”

“That is not what we wish to speak of.” Amagiri’s edge might be blunted with his politeness, but they cut through his words with ease. He bows over his knees, a ridiculous pose for a man as big as him. “Forgive us, elders, but we did not come to talk to you about Yukimura Chizuru.”

As a boy, he dreaded Kazusane’s disapproval. Even the faintest frown would send him back to study, hoping to earn his praise, but now-- now he wishes he could care less, his stomach still twisting as the man’s bushy brows draw tight over his nose.

“Amagiri-dono, you do this child a service by speaking for him. However, he has been called here to answer for the blade his actions have hung above us. The one he risks dropping even now.” Kazusane’s eyes are not the pure crimson of a true Kazama, but they burn as they press upon him, his anger hardly banked. “For what other reason would Chikage-sama dare leave this village, save to seek out this girl?”

“The fakes.” Even now the word hisses from his lips, leaving a foul taste behind. And yet, there is no reaction from the elders.

Sadahira turns his trembling head toward where Amagiri sits, the picture of obedience. “What does he mean?”

“The rasetsu,” he explains with a calm Chikage could never summon for such abominations. “While allied with the bafuku, Yukimura Kodo engaged in experimentation with demon blood, creating from their ranks creatures that defy the natural order. Not men, and not demon, craving the life that their bodies lack.”

“They are an insult to demonkind,” Chikage snaps. “They cannot be suffered to live.”

A murmur of distaste washes through the room, but still, Sadahira shakes his head. “It is unfortunate that mortal men have devised of such unnatural creatures, but it is hardly our business what they choose to do with these...rasetsu.”

A short-sighted answer, typical of a man who would not live to see its consequence. “It was a demon who made these, even his blood was watered down to barely more than piss.”

“And it would be the duty of his clan to see to it that the danger was handled,” Sadahira informs him, unbothered. “There is no reason for Kazama to overextend itself to see to Yukimura’s problems.”

Chikage stares, uncomprehending. “There is no more Yukimura.”

Masanori smiles wide, like a wolf about to feast. “I thought you said this girl of yours was the last?”

At that, even Amagiri stirs. “But she’s just one girl!”

“Then she should hope that these men she has thrown in with can measure up to half a demon.” Masanori’s mouth curves, the way it always did when he thought a lesson would land the way it ought. “Do not concern yourself with man’s problems. Stay in the village, write this Yase-hime her letters, and pray that she forgets your transgressions.”

“But these fakes will--”

“Our ancestors did not stop men from forging swords just because they could cut themselves on them.” Sadahira speaks with steel in his words, and no little fear. “Let them learn the way children learn best, and worry more about what you can do to keep your people safe.”

“Tch.” Yasehime’s even characters stretch across the paper, as pedantic as the girl herself. Kazama crumples it in his palm, tossing it to the floor along with his kimono. “Cowards. To think they would tell me to grovel at the feet of Yase. As if I were some piss-blood demon, not one of the most storied lines in all of--”

“You would do well to take counsel from the elders.” Amagiri stoops to scoop up the fabric, straightening it out with a sigh. “It is their duty to think of what would be best interest for the clan, not just--”

“They are thinking like flies on a dead pig’s backside.” His juban slips from his shoulders, crumpling in a silken pile behind him. “Their tiny minds cannot comprehend more than this moment’s feast, not whether the whole hog is rotting away beneath us.”

The man’s breath is as stiff as his spine when he bends, grunting from the strain of not bowing and scraping for those old relics. “That may be so. But they are not wrong. We no longer answer to just them, but Sen-hime--”

A hiss catches between his teeth. “I grow weary of Yase-hime and her threats. Is she the one who led Kazama in the years since my father died? No. And we have prospered. Meanwhile Yase still lives on their knees, beholden to an emperor who is barely old enough to shave himself.”

Amagiri may make his faces, but when Chikage holds out his hand, he does not wait long for the clothes to fill them. These Western fabrics are not so fine as his own, scratching his hands as he pulls them over his head, but it is what is necessary now to walk among Kyoto’s streets, to hear what these people will say.

“Yase is not a clan of warriors,” Amagiri grunts, finally. “Their power does not come from numbers, or blades, but from secrets. And if you are not careful, Sen-hime will use those secrets to take your own out from beneath you.”

He scoffs, skinning these strange Western hakama up his legs. “I do not fear weak words, and certainly not from a female.”

The big man silences him with a shake of his head. “You do not know what it is to lose your people and leave the home of your ancestors, living on the kindness-- and sufferance-- of others.” That dark gaze pins him as thoroughly as his grip. “Amagiri lost only its land, and even now we carry that pain with us. I cannot imagine it would be any less than agony to be separated as a people too, forced to scatter with the wind.”

Chikage tears away with a grimace. That gaze is too much sorrow to bear, even borrowed.

“Tch,” he clucks, hastily buttoning up these strange clothes. “That is too much power for one woman. To think you said she might make a suitable companion.”

Amagiri holds out his coat. “That opinion has not changed.”

Chikage whips his head over his shoulder. “Even after all this? She’s threatened to disband Kazama over a trifle.”

He doesn’t deserve the weary look he receives. “That she wields so much power only proves that she is your equal. Her bloodline is unchanged--”

“And so is her personality.” He smooths his hands over the coat, if only to keep from gathering them to fists. “Women who know their own mind are tiresome. We would not suit.”

Amagiri is silent for a long while, long enough that it seems this topic of conversation might be over. An illusion Chikage is allowed to believe until his hands busy themselves with tying his blade to his hip. “More unfitting matches have been made in my time.”

Chikage’s mouth thins. “We have other work to be doing. Something much more pleasurable than being harangued by that harpy. Let’s go.”

The big man stiffens. “The elders said--”

“The elders advised me to beg Yase’s forgiveness.” He grins, sliding open the shogi. “And I will do it gladly once we have culled these fakes from Kodo’s ranks.”

[latenightdislyte]

Hi! Could you do a Falken x reader fic where the reader is recovering from some injuries but refuses to sit still for too long so Falken has to keep an eye on them to get them to recover properly? I too am obsessed with this man and I’m sad that there aren’t a lot of fics about him. 😔

I apologize if this sounded weird or doesn’t make sense, this is my first time requesting a fic and couldn’t figure out a good prompt to give. Love your fics btw!😁

Buh, I had a page and a half written for this and my brain tried to say 'but what if we did this instead' like, no brain I've already rewritten this once, we're sticking with this, fuck off with your shenanigans. I'll have to work on writing for Falken more so sorry if he seems ooc.

I'm glad that I'm the first person you've made a request to. It makes me happy! This was a good prompt and I think Falken fits it perfectly. Thank you for the support! <3

Anyway hope you enjoy!

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

Working for the Esper Union always had its risks, especially for those who weren’t espers. Some of us in the offices worked with some sensitive paperwork and reports making us targets for those wanting information, like the Shadow Decree. I myself had never had a problem with anything or anyone. Until recently, that is. I was only supposed to be working a five hour shift that day, but was asked to stay and make it a nine hour. With the shift extension, I was required to take a lunch break at the time I was originally supposed to get off, not knowing that I had some… company waiting for me.

The Shadow Decree had been tipped off to the times certain people were supposed to be off work and waited to follow them a safe distance away from the Union HQ before attacking. Unknown to them, I was just going to lunch and still had a specific device on me. One that allowed me to contact certain members of the Union regarding paperwork and questions.

I had already been messed up pretty bad by the time I remembered that I had it. Thankfully it hadn’t been broken and I quickly used it to tell them what was going on before it had been snatched out of my hands. Not too long after my device had been taken from me, Commander Falken and a couple Union Ops Chiefs had arrived and quickly took care of the Decree members with only a couple of them getting away. Falken had taken me to the med bay himself while the Ops Chiefs stayed behind to clean up the mess and make sure there wasn’t anyone lingering about.

That leaves me in the state I’m currently in. I had received some bad injuries here and there, but the main ones were a large gash on my leg and a spot on my head where I had been hit hard. The whole incident happened three or four days ago and they didn’t hurt that bad anymore, only on occasion when I step or turn wrong with that specific leg or swing my head too fast. I figured that, as long as I was careful, I could be at work. Wouldn’t want to get too behind on reports and paperwork and I felt bad that they might have shoved all of my work on someone else.

I made my way to my desk, ignoring the slight burning coming from my leg injury. No one seemed concerned about my condition, they just welcomed me back glad that I was ok. As long as I didn’t run into a certain someone I should be able to get through the work day with no problem. I didn’t need him worrying about me while he had plenty of work to do himself after all. He has a tendency to fret too much.

I stretched my injured leg out in front of me after sitting down, situating a small trash can under it to prop it up, and began to work. I was right about the build up of work and am glad I chose to come in today, anymore and I would have to put in overtime while skipping some breaks to catch up. First things first, I needed to get the paperwork organized and make sure it was all in order from when it was placed here.

Short time skip

I hadn’t been working for too long when I felt my stomach rumble. I’ll admit, I didn’t eat much for breakfast, coffee makes me feel full for some reason. Pushing my chair back, I stood and stretched before making a b-line to the lounge. There was always someone who brought snacks for everyone and if something wasn’t to my taste I could just hit up the vending machine.

Entering the lounge, I froze. Great, of course he was here at this time. Falken stood looking out the window as usual, it was something you could find him doing quite often. A favorite pastime of his. Maybe I could get past him without him noticing me. Last time I got the least bit hurt around him he wouldn’t leave me alone ‘til I let him tend to it. It was a cardstock cut. A little over the top if you ask me. Seeing as how he knew about my current state, he would undoubtedly be on my case about being here today, especially after insisting that I stay home ‘til I was better.

I quietly made my way to the fridge, not wanting to draw his attention to myself. I’ll leave him to his thoughts. “I had heard you had come in today, though I was hoping they were mistaken.” Damn it. I turned to the slim man still facing the window, my eyes meeting his through the reflection. “Commander Falken, I’m fine. Really. I just take care of paper and computer work, not much else.” He turned, stepping a foot back to face me. “It’s the stress and exertion of energy that is the problem, energy your body needs to heal itself. You’d be better much sooner if you were at home resting.” I turned back to the fridge and finally saw something that caught my attention. “I already have plenty of work piled up from just, what, three or four days? I can get caught up today and maybe take tomorrow off. I can come in every other day. How’s that?” I turned back to him, snack in hand, just in time to see him shake his head, eyes closed. “Unacceptable. Come on. Time to go.” “What? Falken, come on, I’m fine. Just let me- Ow!”I hissed and jerked away. He had made his way over to me and pressed my side, pain spiking from a forgotten wound right under my rib cage. “Well yeah it’s gonna hurt when ya do that. Ow, damn.” He stepped to the side and gestured for me to go. I sighed.

Falken followed me to my desk, where I closed down the computer and gathered the less confidential papers to take with me. “Follow me for a moment, I’d like to swing by my office and grab a couple of things.” I was confused, why would he want me to go with him. He just wanted me to go home and rest right? “Uh, ok.” We went to his office and he went through some papers and leaned over his desk, clicking a couple of things on his computer before straightening up and stretching his arms in front of him.

He grabbed a shoulder bag from a hanger on the wall. “Alright, sorry about that. Let’s go.” “Wait. What are you doing?” He stopped and blinked at me, tilting his head. “Well I’m taking you home. I’d like to make sure you’re actually resting and are properly taken care of so I’ll be accompanying you.” Heat engulfed my face and I froze. Falken was… what? Shit. It was a struggle enough to keep my composer from the sight of him at work. Now he’s gonna be with me at home. Hoo boi.

The whole walk Falken silently stayed close to my side, every now and then getting a notification and typing away on his device. I walked mindlessly, trying not to think about the situation or the pain building up in my leg. My head also started to become just a bit woozy, I’d been standing too long at this point. I hadn’t realized where we were going until I had stepped through the door. That’s when it hit me. This wasn’t my place.

“Falken? I thought we were going to my place.” He turned back to me. “Hm? Ah, apologies. I forgot to mention that. Why don’t you come sit on the couch, I’ll get you some tea.” “I- sure, I guess.” Did he just change the subject on me. Whatever, I’m already here. I made my way to the living room and sat down, resting my head in my hands for a moment. “What kind of tea do you prefer: lavender chamomile, earl grey, green tea, peppermint, oh, I just got this new blueberry hibiscus herbal tea.” Without thinking I got up, a slight burn blooming from the injury, and made my way to where his voice was coming from, leading me to the kitchen. I went over to see what all he had. “What are you doing?” “Huh?” “Go lay down on the couch, I’ll get you some tea and something to eat. You need to stay off that leg and rest your head.” He shooed me away. “Now go.” I squinted at him. “Green tea or lavender chamomile sounds good.”

I sat on the couch again this time laying along it. Falken entered not too long after with two mugs, placing one on the coffee table in front of me and the other on a stand between the couch and a chair. He left momentarily, returning with the bag he had brought with him, pulling out a laptop and making himself comfortable in the chair. “Thank you, Falken.” “You’re welcome, I hope you like it. You should get some sleep after you’ve finished, your wounds will heal faster.” 

I drank the tea while scrolling around on my phone, nothing really catching my interest. Setting the now empty mug down I stared at the ceiling, mind wandering aimlessly. Until a melody played in my head. I knew instantly what it was and I smiled, no better way to pass the time than by watching movies. I searched through my movie app and quickly found it. Alice in Wonderland, the live action from many years ago. Making myself comfy, I started the movie, keeping the volume low so as to not bother Falken. 

I was about twenty minutes in when he spoke up, I think just realizing that I was watching something. “What are you doing? You should be trying to sleep.” “I just wanted to watch a movie, the song kept playing in my head and wouldn’t leave me alone. Besides, I’ll probably fall asleep while watching this anyway, so...” He sighed. “Fine, but just this one. Then you’ll get some sleep. Alright?” “Mhm!” I started the movie again smiling as it played, unaware of Falken glancing at me from his laptop with a small smile forming under the face mask he wore.

Within thirty minutes I was almost completely out, the movie still playing as my phone fell from my hands. The thunk it made woke me slightly, but I didn’t bother to pick it up. Instead opting to continue laying there and going back to sleep. I could hear movement from Falken, footsteps approaching the couch. The rustling of fabric giving away him crouching next to me, picking up my phone and placing it on the table. A gentle touch caressed my cheek, thumb stroking my cheekbone, before tucking some hair behind my ear. Then the lightest feeling brushed against my forehead and the scent of his cologne invaded my senses, my heart now pounding in my chest. 

I smiled and snuggled into the blanket I had pulled from the back of the couch, hoping that he would just brush it off as me moving in my sleep. Finally beginning to drift off, I hoped I would remember this moment when I woke up.

[whumpy-bi]

Sci-Fi Prison Whump--Five Days

Note: this is based on several scenes from a Star Wars fic I’ve been working on for years with a friend. However, no previous knowledge is really needed to understand this snippet. I just felt really inspired to hurt Jake.

Tropes: science fiction whump, prisoner whump, isolation, solitary confinement, space prison, implied torture, mentions of claustrophobia, shock collar

5:00. The harsh, piercing alarm echoed throughout the sprawling, metallic halls of the prison ship.

A young man rolled onto his side, cringing at the sound as he pressed his nose against the cold, dark wall. That’s the fifth time. Five days. 

Soon, he pulled himself up and listened to the monotone announcer over the speakers. A cold woman ordering certain numbers to go to certain places, for droids to report to certain rooms. He imagined them all moving—troopers and prisoners running through the winding halls to go where instructed. He nearly felt jealous of them, the people who were able to walk around the ship. He’d never considered how much he’d miss eating with other people.

Hell, he missed looking at other people.

Five days.

He finally stood up, stretching his arms and cracking his neck. The lights were still bright in his cell—they always were, reflecting off the metal walls—but he’d managed to sleep despite them. His eyes closed for a moment, and he finally spoke in a low, rumbled whisper. 

“I’m Jake. Still Jake. I’m not gonna go crazy. It’s been five days. I’m gonna get out of here. I’m not gonna go crazy. I’ll find a way.”

This had become part of his morning routine, reminding himself of the basics. He could feel panic constantly gnawing at the edge of his brain, like a nasty headache beginning to form. It jostled a memory of his teen years, when he’d gotten trapped in a narrow part of a cave for the better part of an hour.

He’d panicked, then. He’d begun flailing, wheezing, pushing in every direction with his entire body. He’d screamed, in both languages he knew, hoping anyone would hear him. He’d sobbed, heaved, he’d felt sick. He couldn’t quite remember anymore, but he might have even called out for his mother. Ultimately—a nearby fisherman had found him, and managed to shift the stones enough to pull Jake out. He’d given him half of what he’d found in the cave—some old coins and rocks, all he had to bargain with. The man had sent him on his way, seemingly satisfied with the interaction.

He was no less trapped here. Some part of him even felt more trapped than he had in that cave.

It had been five days. Five days with four walls and a door. A box, easily half the size of his bedroom back home. Lights he could never turn off. No music, no village noise to lull him back to sleep every morning before work. He was alone in the box, floating through space, with a shock collar around his neck. Whenever he thought about it for more than a few moments, he could swear the collar was tightening. That the cell was getting smaller. Threatening to strangle him, to leave him without any air or any way out—just like the cave. 

Except, here, in his box, Jake knew nobody would come to help him if they heard him screaming.

Five days, and he had to remind himself not to go insane. He already felt like he was lying to himself. Nobody had told him how long he was supposed to be here—when he attempted to ask, they had activated the collar and sent him to his knees. The thought kept coming back to him, making his stomach churn every time.

He wants me here forever. Of course he does.

Jake began to pace, humming loudly to himself as he moved. He needed the noise, he needed to move. Just as his legs began to hurt, the door to his cell slid open. For the past four days, he’d encountered a droid every morning—a blank, sleek face, emotionlessly handing him his food and water. Today, though, he actually made eye contact with a person. A human person, one of their officers. They all looked the same to Jake, skinny pale men dressed in black. His suit was pressed and tailored, a contrast to Jake’s ill fitting gray jumpsuit.

The officer didn’t bother introducing himself, instead he opted to hold out a pair of handcuffs. When Jake stared at him in confusion, he let out a huff of air.

“The commander wants to test you in the common area. Let’s not keep him waiting.”

Jake felt something rising in the back of his throat. Five days. Five days of this, and he didn’t expect it to get any worse. And yet, it had.

[unhinged-summer-fun]

tired

just a quick frankie morales x reader drabble.

it's a very iykyk kinda fic. i've been dealing with some shit and needed to get it out. i feel lighter but not yet like i'm drowning. no taglist for this. tw includes implied MST and retraumatization, as well as bureaucratic bullshit.

whatever.

Ok.

Submit.

"It's done," you whispered, watching the screen kick over from Submitting documents, please do not close your browser to Documents successfully submitted. "I guess." You sounded hollow. You felt hollow.

"What's wrong?"

Frankie brushed the tears from your eyes, ones you had no idea you were shedding. He held your face, and you held his wrists.

"Why do I feel like this is never going to be over? No matter how many steps I take, doors I open, boxes I check? I had to describe what happened five different times in five different forms, and..." you looked down, voice leaving you. "It was never enough. I felt like a rat ready to be studied. What if it gets rejected?"

"Then we'll appeal it."

"The appeal process takes a whole year on average, I can't... I don't know if I..." you swallowed more tears, feeling shame and self-hatred bubble up in your chest and threaten to spill over, making a burning mess of the hands he held you so gently with.

"Shh, shh, that's okay. I hear some guys find lawyers that help them get the help they need."

"They never even investigated my report, never sent me to counseling or for care or--"

"Honey, you don't need to--"

"They let me work forty feet from him for months," you sobbed. "I thought I was dying every time I saw him walk by. Thought a hundred people would stand up from their desks to watch me collapse."

"But you're out now, remember you're out now, you've moved three times since then. He can't find you."

"But what if I see him again? I don't even know if he's moved..." you choked out, tears coming anew. You were overwhelmed with the what-if possibilities that played out in your nightmares. Seeing him, reliving that night, reliving the trauma, paying the price for letting him in when you should have kept that door closed.

"C'mere, baby." Frankie gathered you in his arms, pulling you into his lap and curling you up nice and tight where you felt secure and small and protected again. "Soon the VA will call and get you set up with that referral, and--"

"The last referral told me I was self-obsessed and that I was only sad and scared because I let myself be."

"And she's been reported to the ethics board, remember? You did that all on your own, you stood up for yourself, and I couldn't be more proud."

"What if the next one is like that too? What if I'm just the problem, and I'm too weak, I was always too weak to--"

"That's just not true." The hitch in his voice quieted your next protest. He almost never let the emotions he was feeling bleed over into his words. You looked up at him, finding a serious expression, but his eyes gave him away. He was saddened by your tears, saddened that you still felt rocked by the ripples of pain that came from a splash that had long since reached the sea floor.

"I'm sorry," you whispered, biting down another sob that rose in your chest.

"You don't have anything to be sorry about. I... I understand your pain, I understand you. I know the weight you carry, and how hard it is to define it in words, I know the insult that comes when you have to boil down your life into four letters that can't possibly hold the breadth of terror you had to live with, live in, for so long." He strokes your hair, looking between your eyes, pleading for you to understand him enough to reach for his support.

The fog your brain had been walking through the last few hours (veteran burden: 1.5 hours, my ass) was beginning to clear the longer you talked to him, opened up about how you were feeling. The weight felt less and less as time went on, and by the time he'd had to turn on the lights from the sun setting, you felt like you could breathe without the usual terrible stones on your lungs.

He made you tacos. He gave you two beers, not one. He made sure you were okay before you took a shower, and he gathered you in his arms that night, kissing your forehead and reminding you of how much he loved you, and you didn't even have to tell yourself it was enough. You knew it simply was.

[m1ckeyb3rry]

🌫tbh i’m curious can we have sneak peeks of anything to do with your upcoming works 👀

sure!!! i don’t have anything written for to mourn a wild elephant (gladiator levi fic) yet, but i’ll give teasers for four of my stories that will be getting updates soon, including the still-unreleased jaegerist reader fic, hostis humani generis

maiden tag:

“Eren Jaeger!” you shouted, stomping down the hallways, fists clenched by your sides, “Mark my words, I will kill you! You are going to suffer an agonizing death by my hands! I’m going to fucking decapitate you!”

“That’s provided you can even catch me,” he said teasingly over his shoulder, “Anyways, what do you say I show this to Mr. Ackerman? What do you think he would say?”

“You sorry excuse for a man! You stupid, ugly, greasy-haired, disgusting Heath Ledger wannabe! Show that to Mr. Ackerman and I swear I will kick you so hard in the balls that your great-grandchildren will still be feeling it! That is, if you can even still reproduce!” you screeched.

ship in the harbor:

Perhaps the time away from them had altered your perspective; certainly, you did not remember Colt being quite so broad. Even Friedrich, always far more slender than Colt, had filled out, the muscles under his skin always taut, always ready for a fight.

Staring at yourself in the mirror of my room in the base, you thought that maybe you had changed, too. Or at least you hoped you had — you were done with looking so much more childish than you felt. Tilting your head, though, hoping for an alternate perspective, you found nothing. You looked the same.

Maybe that was why Colt barely glanced at you when you returned.

He had strode past you and Friedrich, a hardness to his expression, which melted into surprise only briefly at the sight of you two. You waited for him to say something, but he only turned away, marching towards an exit, a squadron of soldiers following doggedly behind him. They looked comedic: a bunch of adult men trotting after a teenage boy. You watched them go, the unsaid greeting still lingering on your lips.

Friedrich had been unruffled, telling you he’d report to General Magath and then all but shoving you into your room, where you now sat, naked on your bed, head in your hands as you tried to puzzle out this latest mystery.

swear:

Eren did not wake up for many days; you stayed by his bedside faithfully until he did. This was partially out of loyalty and partially procrastination — you were waiting for your summons. The nobility would surely call for your presence in the court soon, but at the present, they were too busy trying to clean up the mess that was Stohess to even bother.

You were a part of that mess, but a part that could wait. It wasn’t like you could run — where would you go? They knew that you knew your fate was sealed. The waiting was a part of the game, really, one you were forced to play. So you spent your hours with Eren’s unconscious body, waiting, waiting, waiting.

In truth, you were weary of waiting, but there was nothing else to do. Occasionally, Mikasa or Tullia would come, and sometimes Armin and Jean, but the four were in much demand — they had been instrumental to the plan that ended with Annie’s capture, after all, so it was rare for them to have a free moment. Often, they were busy getting questioned or giving witness statements. They visited when they could, but it was not enough to make a significant impact.

Levi only came once, and even then it was less to check on Eren and more to make sure you were eating and drinking enough. You were not, certainly you were not, but you were good enough at lying that he accepted it. Either that or he did not have the strength to question you; the bags under his eyes were bruised a dark plum shade, his perpetual frown carved even deeper into his skin.

hostis humani generis:

You were about five years old, the first time your father tried to kill you. You remembered it vividly; a knife to the throat, drops of blood welling where the skin broke, and then nothing. He could not go through with it, so he only scoffed, spitting at your feet and then storming off to take care of your brother.

Your brother, who was not really your brother but was your father’s favorite child anyways. He was prodigal; your father had discovered him when he was young and had honed him into the perfect weapon. You, your father’s flesh-and-blood, were an afterthought. Given to him by a whore-mother that died giving birth, the only reason he even accepted your relation was that you both had the same sharpness to yuur expressions, and anyways only his daughter would be so terribly monstrous.

Monstrous: you were told that you had caused your surrogate’s breasts to bleed when you had suckled from her, over and over until your bite was scarred into her skin and she had killed herself for nursing a witch. You weren’t sure if you were a witch or not. Probably you weren’t; if you were, you’d have used some magic by now, to escape the darkness and your father.