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liz-allyn · 1 year

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sugar and vice, pt. 23 [mob!tasm!peter x fem!oc]

summary: in the beginning, there was darkness...

words: 5.1k

chapter warning: gratuitously deep philosophical nonsense.

series warnings: mob-typical bang bang violence, hurt/comfort. smut. Spicy situations. spousal / domestic abuse. family trauma. verbal abuse. PTSD, psychotic breaks/episodes, drug use. coercion. manipulation. kidnapping. gore. blood. possessive!peter, protective!peter. toxic/yandere!peter (maybe, sorta), negative self-talk, shameless forced proximity trope. ‘only ten one bed oops’ trope, imprisonment. slowest burn. a dash of questionable and/or morally grey intentions. extremely toxic relationships. having happiness ripped away from you.

This version of TASM Peter is not canon. The relationships and characters here are not healthy.

Don't date a mob boss.™️

18+ You’re responsible for your own media consumption, but if you think that this symbol

is the logo of some off-shoot programming block on Nickelodeon, then you're wrong. But are you? Regardless, live a little and come back later.

Part 23

Tick... Tick... Tick... Tick...

Peter thought of the elements.

Tick... Tick... Tick... Tick...

The Greats. Earth. Wind. Water. Fire. Space. Born out of Hinduism’s sacred literature. Also, Captain Planet’s sidekicks.

Tick... Tick... Tick...

The Chemical Elements. Only 118 of them have even been discovered. Only 95 of those are primordial, whereas the rest are man-made.

His dad used to talk for hours about this stuff.

Tick... Tick... Tick...

The interrogation room he was in was dark, despite the flickering fluorescent bulbs. The buzz of the lights sounded like a buzzsaw. The air was cold, too. The thin NYPD-branded, crew neck tee that Peter had been given to wear didn’t help much.

Tick... Tick... Tick

The lights flickered again, this time with a greenish hue.

Argon. Symbol: Ar. Number 18. A noble gas. Mercury. Hg, number 80. Also known as quicksilver. Highly toxic. Phosphorous. Number 15.

In his class, he was Number 2.

Atoms aren’t even as old as people assume. After the Big Bang, the universe was still nothingness—white, hot light that scorched everything out of existence. The heat was uninhabitable. Hydrogen didn’t make its appearance until roughly 370,000 years later.

370,000 years of hot, blinding nothingness.

Tick... Tick... Tick...

Hour after hour, they came at him like waves of radioactive light.

First, there were two detectives—both a bit too junior to be assigned to such a high-profile case, but Peter figured that they didn’t know that. A reserved Eagle Scout named Sousa and a snarky blonde female named Carter.

Or just ‘Sharon,’ as her boss Alexander Pierce referred to her, to her thinly-veiled ire.

The Commissioner waltzed into the room mid-interrogation and essentially asked his naive detectives to go back to coloring while the adults talked. Both detectives walked out of the interrogation room with a scowl on their faces.

They probably didn’t know it, but Pierce wasn’t concerned about their abilities as detectives, or the integrity of the case. All he needed was to get Peter behind bars, where crooked guards and violent inmates could take over. Where he could give Peter the same welcome that Miguel had.

They probably didn’t know it, but Peter could tell by the scent of Pierce’s cologne: a $1,200 bottle of Bond 9 Dubai that not even New York’s police commissioner could afford.

Peter recognized the scent. It was Wilson Fisk’s favorite gift to give his friends.

They probably didn’t know it, but Peter did.

Pierce had no intention of letting him make it to trial.

Peter was disconnected. Drained. Eventually, even Matt’s voice became static which blended into the tone of the room, and droned beneath the ticking of the clock and the god-awful buzz of the lights.

“—he’s in’a world’a trouble...”

“... absolutely no evidence —not even formal charges have been presented...”

It might not have been productive, but Peter allowed himself to tune out. Matt was a good lawyer.

“—lucky we’re not pressing charges against the department after Captain Stacy’s unwarranted attack on my client, whom he’s been stalking for years—”

Oh man, that’ll piss George off when it gets back to him. A very good lawyer.

Despite his earlier act, he still felt a great amount of sorrow for George Stacy. Not exactly sympathy... and not quite guilt. Just sorrow.

Looking into his eyes was like looking down into a sinkhole. Or passing a destroyed car on the highway. Unidentifiable. Cold. Hollow. Empty. Somehow the emptiness in Gwen’s father always triggered an empty feeling in him. It was a secret weapon that George had over Peter that his estranged father-in-law didn’t even know he had.

On the outside, Peter could wear a mask that projected cockiness and make lewd comments about the man’s wife. On the inside, George could eviscerate Peter with a look.

370,000 years of nothingness. Nothing but white, hot rage.

Peter tuned back in for a moment when Pierce said the name Walker. He hadn’t even heard the question fully and already his blood was boiling. He wished that he was guilty of that bastard’s murder. He wished that he had killed him. He tried to focus on something that Felicia said months back which resonated with him: about how Honey needed a chance to stand up for herself.

Maybe Felicia was right. Maybe it was just a terrible thing that needed to be done, and Honey was the one that needed to do it.

Honey wasn’t Gwen.

The history she shared with that dead asshole was a far cry from the tragic turn of events that led Gwen to shove a man off the ledge of a clock tower.

Honey wasn’t Gwen.

The look of heartbreak in her eyes. He’d never forget it.

George looked at Peter that way once, too—after a closed-casket funeral when he laid his daughter in the dirt.

They looked the way Peter felt all the time. Devastation. Ruin.

How could Peter possibly be capable of such cruelty? The world was full of monsters. Sometimes Peter was one of them.

Honey wasn’t Gwen.

In the beginning, there was darkness. Then, there was an explosion. Then there was an inferno that burned so hot, even the basic building blocks of the universe could not begin to form.

Honey wasn’t Gwen; she was Peter’s universe. The stars in his sky. She was a vast, endless expanse that surrounded him. That held him in an ever-growing, outwardly-expanding gravitational orbit. She was everything, and outside of that, there was nothing.

And every second in that room he felt himself getting further away from her.

Peter’s bones hurt. His back was in so much pain it was difficult to sit still. On top of that, he was weary. He was traumatized. He was grieving the loss of his security, his home. Grieving Eddie.

Despite that, Peter could toss the table like a Coke can. He could punch a hole in the wall and stroll out if he wanted to. Or crawl across the ceiling, to Pierce’s astonishment and horror.

Pierce was staring at him again. This time, there was a self-satisfied smirk on his lips.

Even if Peter did escape, he had too much to lose. Peter knew it. Pierce did, too.

In all the ways that mattered, he was trapped in his own web.

After several more minutes (or hours, maybe) of grandstanding on both sides, the door to the interrogation room swung open. A stocky figure silhouetted the doorway. Intense features, sharp lines in his jaw, brow, and aquiline nose, as much shadow spilling over him as there was light.

The temperature of the room shifted. Matt and Pierce stopped talking. Peter froze, lifting his chin as he met the dark glare of Manhattan’s district attorney.

“Frank,” Pierce said with a tinge of discomfort. “I wasn’t aware you’d be joining us so soon.”

Matt’s voice warmed but maintained a snarky edge. “Ah, is that the Honorable Francis Castiglione?” he bitingly beamed.

Despite the smile on Murdock’s face, Peter could hear the pace of his lawyer’s heart pick up. Which... wasn’t a great sign. Even Pierce started to sweat.

“Mr. Murdock,” New York’s toughest DA replied without batting an eye. Unswayed. Uncompromising. Undefeated. He held a stone, straight-laced expression. Even beneath a conservative black suit and tie, he was one of the most intimidating men Peter had ever laid eyes on. He was at least a solid 170 pounds, Peter supposed, of solid muscle and righteous fervor.

“Just having a little fun, Mr. Castle,” Matt charmed with obnoxious flair. “How could I forget your name with all of the posters still hanging around? ‘Stand Your Ground.’ Great campaign slogan, by the way. Especially for a pacifist who managed to ban every firearm in the five boroughs. Although, I’m certain you won’t be getting any gift baskets from the gun lobby—”

“I wanna speak with your client alone.” Frank’s deep voice rolled through the room like the first tremors of an impending avalanche. The other men stared back, blinking silently.

Matt’s sunny disposition dimmed as his jaw tightened. Pierce’s hackles were raised, although he tried to suppress it. Wordlessly, they blinked and flinched and tried to wrap their heads around the request.

A humorless laugh left Matt’s lips. “Yeah. That’s not gonna happen—”

“That’s fine,” Peter answered. He and his lawyer spoke simultaneously, their voices crossing each other in converse directions.

Matt turned his head towards Peter’s side of the room, his whole body going stiff. The flesh behind his light stubble turned pale. “Um,” Matt subtly cleared his throat while his heartbeat hurled alarmed profanities at Peter. “Uh, that is... not advisable.”

“S’okay, Matt,” Peter calmly replied, keeping his eyes locked on Frank. He could hear the sounds of his lawyer’s brain overheating while trying to reboot. Pierce pinched his lips in an anxious pout, avoiding looking directly at the district attorney.

Matt gripped the head of his cane tight enough to nearly break it. “Uh... Um. Oh-okay.” Awkwardly, Matt pushed his chair back as he came to a stand, shuffling to his feet.

Leaning back into the chair rest, Pierce visibly relaxed until Frank sternly added, “You too, Commissioner.”

The irritation in Pierce’s eyes didn’t go unnoticed. Shoulders tensed, teeth gritted, the man stood from his chair. He mirrored Matt as he sidestepped from the table and towards the exit.

Matt lingered for a moment at Peter’s side while his nails anxiously scored the cane. Peter noted the pinched expression behind Matt’s ruby-colored glasses.

“It’s okay,” Peter murmured under his breath, repeating an earlier sentiment that Murdock was skeptical to believe. And with that, Matt was powerless. Hesitantly, he gave them a parting nod, and followed Pierce out of the room.

The metal door echoed as it slammed shut, leaving the two of them alone in the cell.

Peter threaded his fingers together, the metal in his chains clinking, and leaned back as far as his restraints would let him. Thighs spread and chin tilted off axis, he fixed Frank with an unimpressed glare as a smirk played on his lips.

The prosecutor shifted like a monolith unearthing itself. Frank measured the cocky, sharp-tongued mafia ringleader with eyes colder than steel as he strode to the table. He pulled out a chair across from the prisoner and lowered himself down into it.

The two of them sat quietly for a moment on opposite sides of the room. But it was their positions on opposite sides of the law that created friction.

Frank was at least a decade older than Peter, but Peter seemed even more juvenile by comparison. The mob boss looked and acted like a young prince, leaned back in his seat with a smug face. Alternatively, Frank glowered down at him with the authoritative scrutiny of judge, jury, and executioner.

“Hot daaamn,” Peter said, mouth curved into a smile. “You put on some weight since I last saw ya, bub.” Waggling his eyebrows, his eyes flicked over the other man’s form. “You been workin’ out? Crossfit, maybe?” He let out a mirthless laugh. “Forget bein’ the scourge of New York’s underworld— Bro, you must be killin’ it in the gym.”

Unfazed, Frank disregarded the remarks without a single blink. His dark eyes bored into Peter, and he remained more than comfortable with the uncomfortable silence that followed.

Peter glared at him with darkening eyes, balling his fists against the table. “Is it safe to assume the cameras are off at this point?” Animosity sharpened his voice to a razor’s edge. “I mean, that’s the only way you’d ever allow yourself to be seen fraternizing with a criminal like me, right?”

The temperature of the room pitched downwards even further. Icy waves surged off of Peter. Frank was a stone wall, letting each wave crash over him and fall back into the surf.

“I’m not the one who put you in those cuffs, Peter,” Frank answered, nonconfrontational. “I’m not the bad guy here. And I never wanted to be your enemy.” He kept his voice soft and respectful, wisdom shining from his eyes. “You and I—we’re not so different. We’re not monsters; we’re men. We’re bound by the law. Both of us, judged by the law.”

The smile faded from Peter’s lips. “Well," he glowered, bitter frost in his bite, "aren’t you a modern-day Moses on the Mountain.” His words were punctuated with ire as he scrutinized him with disdain. “Y’know, they told me ya caught religion, but I didn’t realize what a holy roller you were. When we’re done here, I’ll give ya Matt’s number. Give ya tons to talk about. Bet'chu two would be a hoot at parties.”

Peter sneered at him a moment longer, then let out a bored, depreciating sigh. “M’not much of a Bible thumper, myself,” he half-shrugged. “Only verses I know by heart are Ezekiel 25:17... and, uh... whatever that bullshit was in Shawshank.”

Frank glanced down, deep in thought. “‘His Judgment Cometh and That Right Soon’,’' he said, recalling the prop he referenced. It was a tapestry embroidered with the Bible verse hanging in the corrupt Warden’s office—a MacGuffin in the film’s plot.

“That's not a real verse,” Castle noted, matter-of-factly. “You’re probably thinkin’ of Psalm 98:9—’Let them sing Before the Lord; for he cometh to judge the earth: With righteousness shall he judge the world and all of its people equally.’”

Peter’s eyes narrowed. “Well.” The word tasted bitter on his tongue as resentment spread through his chest like a tumor. “I’m Jewish. And even then, I never drank the Kool-Aid. S’not really my thing.”

He waited, expecting Frank to take offense. To Peter’s dismay, he remained as peaceful as a lake on a windless day.

“I get that,” the older man mused somberly. Contemplative, he looked up at Peter with sympathy coloring his face. “If what happened to you, happened to me,” he said, “I don’t know if I’d like who I’d become either.”

As he said it, his gentle eyes settled in on Peter with a knowing expression. Pity. It made Peter's teeth grind and his temper burn. It took all of his self-restraint not to break out of his chains and (re)break the prosecutor’s nose. Indignation writhed inside of his chest, souring his face and his stomach.

“Heard you were gunnin’ f’me real hard, too,” Peter muttered bitterly, tossing words like daggers. “Really put the heat on me— M'actually flattered.” Salaciously, he flashed his canines with a wink. “But ya didn’t hafta go to all that trouble, Frank. If y'wanted to get me alone in a dark room, y'coulda just hit me up on Grindr.”

“Are you done?” he replied witheringly.

“Oh, c’mon,” Peter taunted, equal parts threatening and scandalous. “I mean—they don’t call ya ‘The Punisher’ for nothin’, right? Well, go on. Punish me, Daddy. Why doncha just bend me over your knee?”

Frank’s eyes flicked to the black, mirrored glass window, shaking his head in frustration. “Always a comedian,” Castle huffed, annoyed. “Between you and Wade Wilson, it’s like watchin’ a hundred-car pile-up of clown cars. Can’t even be just a little real, not even for a second—”

“That’s not true,” he pouted. “My tits are real...”

Fed up, Castle shook his head and grumbled, “Y’think everything's is a joke! Can you at least pretend like you give a shit about any of this—?”

Peter’s temper flared suddenly, hitting a flashpoint that boiled the humor out of their rapport. “Y’know what I think?” he snapped back, eyes dark with rage. “I think you’re a God-damn hypocrite! That’s what I think! You and this whole corrupt, bullshit organization. That’s the joke.”

Frank shook his head, grinding his teeth. “There you go. Always a martyr.”

“Again, with the religious talk?” Peter rolled his eyes into the back of his head while letting out a dramatic sigh. “Look, ‘m’not interested in joining your little MLM cult-club, alright?”

“‘Mob Boss,’ my ass,” Frank scoffed. “Ya act like a fuckin’ child! Always whining about being the victim! Like you’re the only one in this city who's ever lost somethin’! Arrogant prick, I did three tours in Iraq while you were doodling in your diary! I was washing the blood of my brothers off my uniform while you were crying into your pillow at night! People die! Thousands of ‘em, every day! All tragedies, all the time, yet— somehow—yours is special!”

Frank’s voice boomed off the concrete walls, patience shattered. “You wanna talk about hypocrisy?” Castle said sharply. “Punishment?! How about three weeks ago in Forest Hills? Right in your backyard. Cops got a call about a domestic dispute. When they got there, the perp somehow ended up with a bullet hole in the back of his head, even though no one in the house owned a gun. You know anything about that?”

Peter straightened his lips into a thin line, lifting his chin. “Sounds like the dispute was resolved.”

“How about that hedge fund manager that committed suicide last spring?” Frank said, skewering him with his gaze. “The one that decided to swallow a container full of gasoline and light up a cigarette before jumpin’ off a roof on Park Avenue?”

“Tragic,” Peter replied, deadpan. “I read about it in the news. Guess the shame of stealing $8 million dollars of pension money from a firefighters union must’ve really burned him up inside.”

Agitated, Frank scowled with his eyes narrowed into slits. “How ‘bout in Brooklyn last fall? How do three seasoned drug pushers end up OD’ing on half their own supply of Fentanyl?”

Peter remained expressionless. “Dunno, Frank. Guess the Lord works in mysterious ways." The attorney huffed with nostrils flaring. By contrast, Peter idly see-sawed his head. "Rather poetic," he said, "as far as justice goes.”

“That’s what I call ‘punishment,’ Parker. Not justice! Vengeance! Plain. Simple. And cold-blooded.”

Peter sat up, leaning forward as his colorless eyes flashed with rage. “Before you accuse me of anything else you can’t prove—especially the messes that New York’s Finest shoulda handled—how ‘bout you explain to me how two innocent women were butchered and burned to death in Midtown and not a single arrest has been made?”

Frank turned silent.

“How ‘bout the dozens of immigrant families who’re bein’ forced against their will to launder the Mayor’s drug money so he can spend it on campaign ads?”

The other man’s jaw clenched while Peter continued his attack. “Let’s keep goin’ shall we?” he hissed. “Tell me how a Russian oligarch and his buddies park a yacht in the harbor—filled with stolen girls—children, practically—and somehow just... get away?” Veins protruded from his neck as anger rippled through his chest.

“Got any answers for me, Counselor?” Peter spat harshly, jabbing his index finger at Castle as far as he could while in handcuffs. “Wanna phone a friend? How ‘bout you call your boss, yeah? Why don’t you ask Wilson Fisk? Ask yourself! If you’re such a holy man, then how can you work for the Devil?! How can you even sleep at night, huh?I”

Outwardly, Frank was stoic with nothing but a crease between his brows to telegraph his thoughts. Inwardly, Peter could hear the attorney’s heart rate drumming up as Peter relentlessly dressed him down. Castle’s jaw was locked tight, holding his breath.

“And tell me one more thing,” Peter added, eyes flashing with rage. “How many times do you think about what woulda happened if I hadn’t been in the Park that night?” He blurted out the statement with a livid snarl and a dry throat. “What if I hadn’t intervened in the Blacksmith deal? What woulda happened if I hadn’t gotten your wife and kids outta there before the guns started goin’ off? You ever think about that!?”

Peter’s voice buckled on the last word. Memories of the violent night in Central Park five years ago flooded them both, bringing a tidal wave of conflicting emotion that swallowed him up.

It was Peter that covertly led the FBI to a plan to eliminate several gangs (and Peter’s enemies) at once. Practically a gift from the gods, it seemed, to take out all of Peter’s competition in one swoop.

Once it was clear to the young mob boss that the FBI cared more about making headlines than making sure the park was clear of innocent people, Peter chose to intervene. In the end, it was a disaster anyway.

When the other gangs realized they were being set up, a shootout erupted. Lives were lost. Peter saved as many people as he could, including Frank Castle and his family. For everyone else, it was still a tragedy.

Gwen included.

It was the first and last time the two men had met. And subsequently, a night that neither of them ever talked about.

Until now.

Peter’s eyes glazed over, tortured by the consequences of his choices. A tidal wave of conflicting emotions swallowed him up as his mind flooded with horrible thoughts. Betrayal, and resentment, and bitter, evil, disgusting jealousy that Peter could save Frank’s family but not his own.

Peter looked contemplative, then. Haunted. He fixed his weary eyes on Frank, continuing to unravel.

“And I’m gonna level with ya, pal,” Peter said in an unnervingly soft tone of voice. “Fuck. You. If you think that you and I are the same. You and I are not the same. Never will be.” Heartache pierced his throat, compressing his voice. He jerked his thumb toward himself. “Because somebody saved you.”

Tears glistened as Peter breathed hotly through flared nostrils. “Fuck your judgment!” he growled. “Because if what happened to my family happened to your family—ya wouldn't last a goddamn day! You’d be a nut job! You'd be beggin' for a bullet in ya head, rather than see what I’ve seen!”

Fury vibrated through the younger man’s being, indignation piercing each sentence. “I don’t give a shit what nickname they call you,” Peter seethed, “in the media... in the Marines... not even in the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade! When it’s your family filled with bullet holes—believe me— that shit hits different.”

Peter’s eyes were wild—black with anger, wet with tears. “‘You wouldn't like who you'd become either?’” he repeated, muttering spitefully. “Fuck you!" Peter’s voice echoed, bouncing off the walls and reverberating in Frank’s chest.

He took a measured breath. His throat bobbed, cords pulled tight. "I may not be a religious man," Peter added as his chest heaved, "but I pray you never have to find out.” His volume abruptly dropped, adding a foreboding sentiment to the words. Like whispering a dark secret. A warning.

Blinding, white hot rage obliterating everything in its path. Scouring any sign of life before its existence.

Castle sat stoically with his arms crossed. Breathless from his outburst, Peter slowly retracted himself back into his seat. Frank studied him with a contemplative gaze and a tight-lipped mouth.

Until he broke his silence. “Every night.”

It was barely a whisper. Peter blinked at him with a crooked brow while the other man held Peter in his gaze.

“Every single night,” Frank answered, a little louder, “I think about what would’ve happened to my family if you hadn’t been there.”

Peter pressed his lips together, jaw flexing stiffly. Mist gathered on his lashes. He drew a shaky breath, lip trembling. To keep his eyes from betraying him further, he hardened his brow.

“You’re a hero, Peter,” Castle said simply. It was just a fact. “And a good man.”

Peter averted his gaze, casting it down while he swallowed a thick lump in his throat.

“You have the power to do good,” he said. “So much more than you realize.” Frank’s eyes swelled with something like reverence and admiration for his antithetical counterpart. “And yeah,” he noted matter-of-factly, “I do pray." He watched him placidly and empathetic. "And when I do, I pray that one day, other people will see you for the man you really are. And maybe... just maybe—you'll see it, too.”

Shooting pain in his fingers alerted Peter to the fact that his knuckles were clenched white. He kept his head lowered, eyes hidden and fixed on the shackles around his wrists.

“I pray that you find faith in yourself,” Castle said, then. His soft voice sliced through Peter’s toughened heart. The older man’s lip tightened into a line, his deep voice thick with sorrow. “And salvation... from yourself.”

Peter looked upward. The attorney gazed back at him in earnest. The silence which followed felt like the end of an era.

“You and I want the same thing,” Frank then said, returning to a sense of formality. “You want to expose Wilson Fisk as the Kingpin. So do I.”

Peter studied Frank’s heart—and his own. Steady. True.

“The only difference,” Castle added, “is I want to do it right: by the law. Justice. Not revenge.” Peter couldn't help but roll his eyes. “Because if we can’t do this right, then it’s not worth doing at all.”

“The only difference is,” Peter countered, “when I take Fisk down, he’s gonna stay down.”

Frank gazed at him incredulously. “That’s nice. Good stuff. You want me to write that down and read it at your funeral?” Peter glared bitterly but had nothing to say.

“Cards on the table,” Frank explained. “I don’t have enough evidence to charge you. Not today. Now you can walk outta here, go back to your old ways. End up in a casket, or in a jail cell sooner or later. Take my word, there are plenty of people in this building that want you dead. You won’t last a night at Ryker’s without someone tryin’ to stab a broken toothbrush through that giraffe neck of yours.”

“Sounds like it’s gonna be painful,” Peter muttered in a low voice. “For them.”

Frank fixed him with a stern glare. “Alright, smartass. Then what? These people are comin’ for blood. And they’re not going to stop with just yours.” He paused, then added, “You should know that, more than anybody.”

Peter had nothing to say to that. The thought alone stole his breath.

“You wanna fight the system?” Frank said. “You wanna take down Fisk? Then you bring me proof to put ‘em away. All of ‘em. Fisk, Pierce, his little ‘Shield’ SS hit squad. Every last one of them.”

Peter bit his tongue, contemplating the idea.

“And most importantly, you keep your hands clean,” Frank declared sternly. “No more dead car thieves in the river. No more pimps gettin’ scraped off the subway tracks.” His tone was cold, eyes sharp as he skewered Peter threateningly. “There’s enough killing in this city as it is. You cross that line, and I will come for you, you understand? Deal or no deal, our history be damned—you are not allowed to take the law into your own hands. You got that?”

Peter raised his chin, peering at him through the fringe of his slitted eyes.

The clock ticked on. Primordial elements as old as time surrounded them. And for reasons that Peter could not fully understand, he walked into a coffee shop one day and walked out with hope. A dangerous seed.

A force that could save the whole city. The world.

Maybe even his own soul.

The district attorney came to a stand, holding the mob boss in his stare. “You’re a free man, Peter,” Frank said. “What happens next is up to you.”

After another moment, he headed for the door. As soon as he placed his hand on the doorknob, he glanced back at the man who he owed his life. With a stone expression, Castle made one final plea.

“Whatever you do... Don’t let me catch you.”

It was half past noon when Honey walked into her modest apartment in the Theater District off 45th Street.

Flipping on the lights, she peered hesitantly inside. Stepping through the threshold felt like tumbling down a wormhole through time.

More or less, the studio apartment looked exactly the same as it did nearly a half-year ago, when she left for work at the coffee shop.

It was a bit tidier than how she’d left it—her cheetah print throw blanket neatly folded on the edge of her thrifted loveseat. The smell confirmed that all the perishable food had been discarded. An empty vase sat alone on a scuffed, white, gateleg table that was crammed into a corner of her kitchen. The daisies that it once held had wilted and been tossed long ago.

The world was alien to her. It was like walking through a dream, or onto a theater set piece constructed for a play about her life. These were the possessions of a person she didn’t know anymore.

“We had someone come by earlier with groceries,” a voice said from behind her. She turned as Karen Page strolled into the apartment wearing camel wide-leg wool trousers and a matching double-breasted blazer from The Row paired with Salvatore Ferragamo Vara-bow pumps. “A maid came in once a week to tidy up, but other than that everything should be as you left it.”

Honey blinked with wide eyes as she watched the strawberry-blonde haired woman breeze through her home—former home. She pulled a rolling carry-on case behind her filled with a small portion of Honey’s wardrobe. Karen came to a stop in the center of the apartment. With neatly manicured nails, she produced a keyring from her blazer pocket.

“New keys,” she explained, handing it over to Honey. “Any pertinent mail has been left for you on the counter. The new wifi password is on the sticky note next to it, along with your new cell phone number.”

She had almost forgotten. Honey reached into her coat pocket and pulled out the latest model of iPhone. She stared down at the foreign object queasily. This one had no spider decal, she noted.

“There’s also a debit card, too,” Karen explained methodically, as if reciting a monotonous dialogue. “New bank account information is in the folder. We’ve made a small deposit to compensate you for your troubles, at least until you find a new job. But you shouldn’t have any more problems from here on out.”

A few seconds of silence passed as Karen eyed the peeling paint on the walls. “Well. I’ll leave you to it, then,” she said, straightforward.

Honey’s eyes darted over to Karen as the woman turned to leave mouth “Wait!” she called out, her forehead creased and mouth hung agape. Karen stopped in front of the doorway. “Wait... is that it?” she said, dismayed.

Karen blinked her radiant blue eyes. “Was there something else you needed?”

Her nose crinkled at that. “What about Peter?” Honey said, almost in a demanding tone. “What happens to him?”

Karen cast her eyes to the floor, sighing uncomfortably. “I’m afraid I don’t have an answer for that.”

Honey glared at her crossly. “Well, can I at least talk to him—?”

“It would be best to limit contact at this time.” The pleasant formality of her voice made Honey want to punch her.

“For how long?” she scoffed.

Karen gazed at her for several moments of silence. Which continued on, until Honey realized that an answer wasn’t coming.

“We’ll be in touch,” Karen added gently.

As the woman stepped out into the tenement corridor, Honey nearly jolted after her. “Wait... M-Ms. Page?”

She waited.

“What do I do now?” she asked meekly. Her voice sounded timid to her own ears.

Karen stared back at her then lifted up one of her shoulders. “Whatever you want.”

And with that, Honey was left alone for the day.

And the next.

Continue to Epilogue

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your-old-sins-tournament · 1 year

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OC NAVAL WARFARE BRACKETS

Rules:

Tie sweeps given to polls with a 0.2% percentage. Also I'm allowed to come up with the most messed up name possible for future polls

Propaganda is encouraged! I will reblog propaganda reblogs, as well as any propaganda that @s me. However, for the polls themselves, I will be using the propaganda submitted to me through the google form. If a ship was submitted twice with different propaganda, I will use both pieces of propaganda

Fandom ships will not be tagged with the fandom tag

Please be nice to each other. Do not tear down other ships. I will not reblog any propaganda remotely like that.

All polls are one week!

If i need to change anything, please send me a ask. I will change it I swear.

The main tag will be: #oc ship tournament

LIST OF SHIPS BELOW;

ROUND 1

Valley Ghost (Felix Tawfic/Griffith) vs. Aurel * Kiki (critical)

Solshuu (Solaria Aoi/Shu Kurenai) vs. Elitheocecily (Elijah Scott * Theodore Churchill * Cecily Churchill, @failboyfriend)

HG^2 (Charlie "Chuck" Beaumont/Octavian "Tavi Osborne, @the-random-phan + @cabincryptid51) vs. Geheneres (Teneres/"Gehenna", @i-hear-a-sound)

LuNal (Luca/Petra/Nails, Tass) vs. Maisther (Esther/Maidy, @cafe-au-tism)

[TIE; ships will go on under the name of LuNal-Maisther!]

SpicyFlowerSnakeNoodles (Red Son/Lotus/Nyrel/MK, Fan + Hue) vs. Dexereign (Dex/Sovereign, @caekhoi)

Eraser (Ezra/Ace, Ren) vs. Anthony Mitchetti/Emily Valentino (@sing-the-beginning-of-moana)

Pruett Pennbum/Remedy Espina (Harvey Millipedia) vs. Vargas (Edgar Vargas * Scriabin, @zarla-s)

Jax * Elin (@sypersweet) vs. Amariya (Amaya/Mariya, @what-if-i-just-did-this + anon)

Ravery (Raven Scofflaw/Avery Fracas, @what-if-i-just-did-this) vs. Dairyun (Darian/Daiyu)

Acid Dragon (VSB * ESB, @silviaflowers) vs. Pip the Jackal/Agent 27 (@squidthechaotickid)

Watercolor Dreams (Oliver Fernsby & Princess Guinevere, @hermannsprecursors) vs. Graveyards (Olly Graves * Susan Yards, @thatonegaybastard)

Golden Fleece (Yang Xiao Long/Eirian Esna, @dragynkeep) vs. Blade of Justice (Jasper Jones/Ikeda Saigo, @hermannsprecursors)

Lavender (Lavon + Devion Taillien, @mx-yippeee) vs. Featherfluff (Virtue Courtenlock/Comet Mhorlborne, @timetokrill)

Archangel (Gabriel Trinh/Raphael Madsen, @gelatinous-jellyfish) vs. Ginatré/Žydrūnas (@the-land-of-eternal-winter-novel)

Marleksei (Marlowe * Aleksei, @cowboymkb) vs. Montcia (Alex Garcia * Jules Montgomery, @gelatinous-jellyfish)

Icefang/Greatness (vox) vs. Luna * Jade * Ciela * Them (@iwillstealyourjawbone)

ROUND 2

Dairyun (Darian/Daiyu) vs. Acid Dragon (VSB * ESB, @silviaflowers)

Watercolor Dreams (Oliver Fernsby & Princess Guinevere, @hermannsprecursors) and Graveyards (Olly Graves * Susan Yards, @thatonegaybastard) vs. Golden Fleece (Yang Xiao Long/Eirian Esna, @dragynkeep)

Lavender (Lavon + Devion Taillien, @mx-yippeee) vs. Archangel (Gabriel Trinh/Raphael Madsen, @gelatinous-jellyfish)

Montcia (Alex Garcia * Jules Montgomery, @gelatinous-jellyfish) vs. Luna * Jade * Ciela * Them (@iwillstealyourjawbone)

Aurel * Kiki (critical) vs. Elitheocecily (Elijah Scott * Theodore Churchill * Cecily Churchill, @failboyfriend)

HG^2 (Charlie "Chuck" Beaumont/Octavian "Tavi Osborne, @the-random-phan + @cabincryptid51) vs. LuNal (Luca/Petra/Nails, Tass) and Maisther (Esther/Maidy, @cafe-au-tism)

Dexereign (Dex/Sovereign, @caekhoi) vs. Eraser (Ezra/Ace, Ren)

Pruett Pennbum/Remedy Espina (Harvey Millipedia) vs. Jax * Elin (@sypersweet)

ROUND 3

Dairyun (Darian/Daiyu, @vwnz and @bowie556) vs. Golden Fleece (Yang Xiao Long/Eirian Esna, @dragynkeep)

Lavender (Lavon + Devion Taillien, @mx-yippeee) vs. Montcia (Alex Garcia * Jules Montgomery, @gelatinous-jellyfish)

Elitheocecily (Elijah Scott * Theodore Churchill * Cecily Churchill, @failboyfriend) vs. HG^2 (Charlie "Chuck" Beaumont/Octavian "Tavi Osborne, @the-random-phan + @cabincryptid51)

Eraser (Ezra/Ace, Ren) vs. Jax * Elin (@sypersweet)

For some reason tumblr wont let me put the rest of the results here so here's the link to Round 4 and beyond

#oc ships #oc ship tournament #important #qpr ship #romantic ship #familial ship #unlabelled ship #uh. i dont think i'll tag every ship here.#oh to bear the burden of submitting the only qpr ship here #also yes i did submit my own ship i miscounted and we needed another one so. i decided to add some qpr spice #rules #tumblr tournament #bracket tournament #character tournament #bracket

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glacierheart · 2 months

Note

❛ see? you have a talent for this. ❜ ( hg verse ! )

┊ * ― from : 𝑺𝑷𝑰𝑹𝑰𝑻𝑬𝑫 𝑨𝑾𝑨𝒀 𝑺𝑬𝑵𝑻𝑬𝑵𝑪𝑬 𝑺𝑻𝑨𝑹𝑻𝑬𝑹𝑺. ┊ * ― status : always accepting.

expressions dropped, blue hues turning to ice. had the other meant that in a genuine or a menacing way? regardless, the son of the president would be quick to jump to offense. it was in his nature he must've inherited from a kind woman who only had short time being his mother– to go directly to offense after so many years being seen; JUDGED as the duplicated monster that was his father.

all because he was a civilian to the CAPITOL and the SON to the tyrant president of the country. caspian, admittedly, knew it was a sore subject. the quickest topic to hit a nerve. sometimes, he felt so stupid for being so sensitive to what people thought about him. for being sensitive at all, especially growing up being taught emotions made you weak and pathetic.

he didn't want to side with his father, despite doing it... so he'd maybe one day stop saying he was a poor excuse for a son. so he could keep his life as he had a terrible unsettling fear he would not hesitate to cut his tongue out or worse. send him into an arena, for acting so district. he should sweep it under the rug, give a passable laugh it off reaction. but he couldn't, he took the opportunity to use what he knew about this victor against him in this moment. all those tactics.

caspian couldn't just let having a talent 'about the games' go, not when it infuriated him into defensively thinking the other was consciously or maybe not consciously implying being so much like his father. either way, he didn't want to BE him and now he needed to retaliate. so a smirk twitched at his lips before he bitterly retorted,

❝ just like you have a talent for killing people? ❞ .. @threecardtrick

#omgggg THANK YOU FOR SENDING THIS kdsnk #im not sure what he might've said to made him sooo mad lmao (it doesnt take much) so i kept it vague BUT YEAH this is so good skdns #╰ ❄ ┊ 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐭'𝐬 𝐬𝐨𝐧. ╱ verse: the hunger games.#threecardtrick

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uraharashouten · 7 months

Note

Saunters about the Shoten's emporium, perusing through the Gundam assembling kit aisle, situated proximal to the rear of the expanse, with meticulously scrutinizing eyne. " Have you received any recently launched models, by chance, Urahara? " he inquires the instant he senses the proprietor of the establishment 'round his attendance.

A shiver ran down his spine as though someone had stepped across his shadow— ah, no, that was just the peculiar yet familiar reiatsu he was detecting that lent to the slight brisk aura to the air. It had been some time since the youthful captain had darkened the door of his shop, and there was a warm smile on Kisuke's face as he entered, as though to melt the iciest and unlikeliest of repeat customers.

"Anything new, you ask?" He bit back a crack about any recently launched Gundams most likely to be in orbit by now. "Well, as a matter of fact—"

Temu had certainly made stocking Shōten standards a cinch, hadn't they? Alas for the Soul Society and for them, despite the company's now-global presence in the Living World, they failed to recognize the kan as legal currency. But that had presented him the unique opportunity to facilitate online shopping via the smart phones he'd supplied the Seireitei... purchases required but a few clicks, currency exchange was handled, and delivery was guaranteed—but perhaps Hitsugaya preferred to do his shopping in person. There were always those who were suspicious of technology, weren't there? Well if it was the quality of his presence that mattered most—or at least the convenient and immediate presence of the item in the purchaser's hands the moment the transaction was completed—the shopkeeper would oblige.

He directed the captain's attention to a particular box. "The HG 1/144 Gundam Perfect Strike Freedom Rouge has only been out for a month. It's perfect for Valentine's Day, don't you think? And quite the bargain at 1800 kan!* No model says I love Gundam quite like those rosy hues~"

#* the current exchange rate is 1.5¥ to 1 kan.#ERA::Forward();#MUSE::Kisuke #ryusxnka

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dorbyofficial · 9 months

Text

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#frosty white laminate #laminate #best laminates in india

0 notes

lightsovermonaco · 3 years

Note

I'm back and respectfully asking for another sneak peek cuz I'm bored 🔪🔪 (preferably hgs?)

Waking up to soft kisses will never get old. Thirty years from now when Pierre was retired and you fell asleep each night with his arms around you, you'd still yearn for the brush of his lips to your cheeks, neck, and shoulders to rouse you from the violet shores of sleep.

"Good morning," you mumble, a sentiment which Pierre echoes with his gruff, sleep tinged voice. "Sleep well?"

"Best sleep I've ever gotten. You tired me out last night." You both grin at the reminder. Fueled by a slight tinge of jealousy after the women at the restaurant made eyes at him, you had refused to let him tumble into bed until well past midnight, when you both were well and truly exhausted. Thursday is press day, nothing strenuous that he couldn't afford to be a little sore for.

Pierre rolls to straddle your hips, lips capturing yours for a proper kiss. The taste of freshly brushed mint makes your skin tingle when he tugs your lip between his teeth.

"It's too early for that." You throw your arms around his neck and urge him to bend his elbows until he falls atop you. It takes him a moment to snuggle in, his head on your chest and his arms sliding under your middle.

You're convinced that ten minutes in this position can cure any ailments, physical or mental. The weight of your soulmate pressing into you, forcing you to focus on breathing instead of whatever might be bothering you. It's easy to forget about the outside world when everything you require to be happy is wrapped around you like a blanket.

You stroke a hand over Pierre's hair until his breathing evens out, only rousing him when the sun peeks over the harbor. Amiable silence fills the space as hues of orange and pink paint Pierre in swaths of color. Suddenly you're seeing him for the first time, completely enamored by the angles of his cheekbones and the sharp cut of his stubbled jaw. The golden hour of dawn shines on it's golden boy, his lashes brushing his cheeks as he turns towards the warmth calling him home.

"Pyry and I are going for a run soon if you'd like to come with us."

You cringe. Running used to be fun when you were in school, but seeing as you hadn't properly trained in years you doubted you could keep up with a pair of professionals. "How about you text me when you're back and I'll come to the gym with you? It looks fancy, if George's snaps are anything to go by."

Pierre trails kisses up your sternum, over your neck and only speaks once he's reached your lips. "Looking at other men, are you?"

#i am once again too lazy to italicize individual paragraphs #but chapter 18 should be up after work today!#his good sweater #asks

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transskywardsword · 2 years

Text

Dawning

the prologue for Heroes' Gate, an 'all links meet' au. Learn more about Lana's chosen at the main page for Heroes' Gate here!

The world Link found himself in was too vivid to be anything other than a vision. He stood in the center of a battlefield, the ground slick with rain and blood, his body somehow both solid and vaporous. Hylian soldiers dressed in gray and blue swarmed around him, fighting beside Gorons, Sheikah, and other races that Link had never seen before, some with fins and scales and others with markings etched in neon across their bodies. The sheer numbers astounded him—there had to be more soldiers here than people in Skyloft. Link didn’t recognize every monster the soldiers fought, but he could feel Demise’s touch on each of them regardless. Wherever, whenever, this was, Demise’s influence was strong; the thought filled Link with a thickening unease.

This couldn’t be the future to come. Link had lost too much to let that happen.

Demise’s curse echoed in his ears, laughing at Link for his naivety—lost too much, it scoffed, as if that mattered.

(My hate never perishes, Demise rumbled deep in his brain, my hate never perishes, my hate—)

There was a shout as a moblin hit a soldier in the ribs with a spiked two-handed club. The soldier stumbled back and managed to take off the creature’s head before almost collapsing; Link ran to his side, cursing when his hands phased threw him. The man needed help and he needed it now. Link was beginning to panic, watching blood pour from the holes in the person’s side, when Link saw her. The woman rushed to the soldier’s side and took his hand, squeezing it before kneeling and laying a hand on the soldier’s bloody side. Her hand lit up a cobalt blue and the soldier’s eyes fluttered shut. A sorceress. She had to be one, with the way she exuded magic and divinity. He could taste the same electricity as the Gates of Time, and feel the touch of the divine radiating off her skin. She was slight in stature, with dark skin and blue hair tied atop her head, the flyaways plastered to her face from the frigid rain. Her white skirt was soaked with mud and blood, though not her own, and her face was set with determination.

“It will only hold for so long,” she said. Her voice was higher than he thought it would be, more a girl than a woman. “You need proper medical attention. Fall back—it is better you retreat than be dead.” She wiped the soldier’ blood on her thighs and stood, extending a hand to the soldier who gladly took it.

The soldier scampered off and the woman straightened, flipping open the book Link hadn’t noticed hanging from her waist. The tome was unlike any book Link had ever seen: large, leather-bound, thicker than a brick but elegantly decorated with arcane symbols and lettering in the script of the Gods. Link had only seen that lettering in the oldest and most sacred of places in his journey. The thought of a mere mortal girl, sorceress or not, knowing the language was impossible. The book dripped with so much magic that it practically glowed. Looking at it reminded Link of timeshift stones; he was never the best when it came to identifying magic, not like Zelda, but he could feel the distinct pulsing he associated with the Gates of Time. The book’s wielder felt touched by the cosmos and the movement of time itself. Whoever this woman was, she was more powerful than her bright hair and soft, high voice made her seem.

Her hands roamed around the pages as she scanned the battlefield before looking to the largest Time Gate Link had ever seen. It was almost the size of Skyloft’s Goddess statue, spinning with golden and blue light, so fast it seemed to sing. The sorceress was too distracted to notice the stalfos until it barreled into her. She stumbled back, spell book flying into the crowd, and caught herself in a deft roll. Her curls fell from their tie and her hair whipped around in the storm’s violent wind. She stood and flung out a hand; walls of blue light circled around the stalfos and with immeasurable grace, she bounded from wall to wall before they exploded in a shower of light and electricity. The bones dissolved, but more creatures rose to take their place. Link ran to her, forgetting for a moment that in this world he was as useful in a fight as a wet remlit, but suddenly the vision took fast hold of him, gripping his chin and yanking his attention from the sorceress to her abandoned tome.

The book lay open in the mud a few yards away, the pages untouched by rain and glowing slightly, as three monsters approached. They certainly seemed more intelligent than the ones Link knew as they flipped quickly between spells before squealing in excitement at a certain section. They babbled to each other for a moment before coming to some sort of agreement, the leader moving quickly and efficiently as they hid the book in the folds of their cloak.

“No!” The sorceress bolted towards them, other monsters forgotten, and flung out her hands, summoning a giant cube of light and sending it rolling toward the creatures. Two were caught under the electrified light but the leader escaped the attack and sprinted further into the brawling. The sorceress took off after them, face twisted with alarm, until they reached the Time Gate. The woman let out a wordless cry of furious despair as the monster ran into the rift in time-space, taking the spell book with them. The woman stood horrified, perfectly still in a battlefield, and around her, the world faded to black.

It took Link a moment to realize he wasn’t breathing; his lungs had stopped, as had his heart, as if in this dark plane his body was frozen in time. He blinked, eyelids sluggish and the sorceress suddenly stood before him, short layered skirt replaced with ornated white and purple robes, her hair hidden beneath a two-pronged cap. Whoever this woman was, there was no way she was mortal.

“I’m sorry for invading your sleep. There isn’t much time for us to talk; I have a lot of dreams to visit tonight.” She gave a nervous smile; under her full attention, the pressure of magic was almost unbearable. “I am the Guardian of Time, a devotee of the Goddess of Time. It is my duty to watch over this realm and ensure the safety of the timeline from a place of pure neutrality—though, I suppose I haven’t exactly been very neutral lately. Sorry about that. That battle you saw is from the War of Ages. It is many, many millennia from where you stand now.”

“Demise,” Link said, cutting to the most important part. “I felt him.”

The devotee’s smile turned sad. “I’m afraid his curse proves successful, Link. Centuries after you die, his hatred will be resurrected through Ganon, a beast determined to lay claim to the Triforce. I’m—I’m sorry.”

Link balled his fists. He wanted to scream, wanted to yell until his lungs shattered, wanted to smash and cut and break. Demise may not be back, but a creature of his making was. Nothing. An entire quest for nothing. The devotee reached forward as if to cup his face, then decided better and brushed a flyaway behind his ear.

“I’m really sorry. I truly am. But my tome—in it is a collection of the most powerful time spells known to practically anybody, even some of the Gods. The creation of Time Gates, dimensional magic, the resurrection of the dead—that and more. With the power Ganon’s followers stole… they could open Time Gates to every spot in the timeline where a Ganon has been defeated and resurrect him. They could destroy the timeline as we know it and eradicate everything. As we speak, I can feel Gate after Gate opening; soon, who knows what will be left of the timeline. I need a Champion, a bearer of the Hero’s Spirit, to stop them and close each gate before Goddess knows how many Ganons are freed to be let loose on the world.”

“Can’t be any harder than killing Demise,” Link said, tilting his chin up. “I’ve done it once, I can do it again.”

“I appreciate your dedication, but I’m afraid this is more than you alone can do, even with the Hero’s Spirit. The scope of time and space is simply too vast—”

“What? No, I’m Hylia’s Chosen, this is my—”

Lana held up a hand. “We don’t have the time to argue. With those Gates, these monsters can revive every incarnation of Ganon to have existed. Every single one from every single timeline. How many do you think you could fight before you fall? One? Seven? Twelve? Not many, I can promise you that.”

“So, what, you came here to tell me my efforts to build Hyrule are over before they even started because hundreds of sequels to Demise are going to pour out of space-time while I sit and twiddle my thumbs? I’m going to help, regardless of what you think.”

The devotee’s smile was insultingly large. “I knew you’d be determined to help, Link. You always are. You just need a little help this time. If Ganon’s minions want to travel through time then darn it, we will too! Twelve heroes, all coming from different times and lands, brought together now to prevent Ganon’s infinite revival. I’m going to send eleven heroes from the future to you; all of you bear the same Spirit, same Triforce, and same Courage. Together, I know you will succeed. I’m sorry, but I can’t stay any longer. The Goddess of Time grows impatient; while she has blessed my plan, she is unhappy with my continued insistence to interfere in Hylia’s world.” She did cup his face this time, and her hand was brilliantly warm in the way all the divine were. “Be safe, Link, Hero of the Skies. I know you and my chosen will do great things.”

There was a clap of thunder and then the blackness was gone, replaced by the ceiling of Link’s bedroom. The devotee was gone, leaving just him in his blankets, the roaring of a thunderstorm outside, and Zelda beside him in bed, snuggled around her pillow and looking perfect even in sleep. Her beaded braids were a tangled halo around her head, and her soft snores were drowned out by the sound of rain on the roof.

“Zelda,” he whispered into the gloom. It was swallowed by the rain. He gently shook her shoulder. “Zelda, sunbeam, I need you to wake up.” She groaned and swatted at him, then rolled over, taking the covers with her.

“I had a vision.”

Her eyes opened immediately. She knew that tone. Even six years after their return from sealing Demise, she would never forget it. It spoke of determination and destiny and courage, as well as an omen of bad things to come. Divinely ordained things to come.

“Are you sure?” She said, all traces of sleep gone from her face.

“Do you doubt me?”

“Never.”

“Yes. I’m sure. I was on a battlefield, Hylians fighting against creatures of Demise. There was a woman, a sorceress who called herself the Guardian of Time. Her weapon, a magic book, was taken by some kind of creature. She told me with that book, they could resurrect every iteration of Demise’s future incarnations to ever exist.”

“Demise’s future incarnations… so his curse will come to fruition,” Zelda said bitterly. She bit her lip and Link gently pulled it free with his thumb. “All that pain, all your suffering… everything you did for Hylia—all for nothing.”

“I did it for you, not Hylia.” He said. Zelda smiled softly, a sad, small thing, and Link rolled on top of her and kissed her gently. Zelda pushed him back and rested the pads of her fingertips on his face. Thunder exploded, lightning casting deep shadows on their faces.

“You defeated Demise once before. You can do it again,” she said with complete confidence. Warmth bloomed in Link’s gut. She trusted him, and had such unwavering faith, unlike anyone else ever had. It was impossible not to love her when she looked at him like this, eyes shining and strong, the corners crinkled, mouth turned up and proud. He had to stop himself from kissing her again.

“According to the Guardian of Time, I can’t. Not this time. If these minions succeed, who knows how many different versions of Ganon—Demise’s creature of choice— with rise. No one man can stop that. The Guardian said she’s sending eleven others, all ‘heroes.’ My spiritual successors.” Link said. The ones I damned, he couldn’t help himself from adding now that he knew for sure Demise would get the last word in. As if she could see the thought behind his eyes, Zelda pulled him down, hands hot on his cheeks, and kissed him again, harder this time. Her hands crept up to his hair and she slotted her fingers behind his head.

“When are you leaving?” She asked against his mouth. Link sat up, untangled her fingers from his hair, and brought them to his mouth.

“Tonight, I assume,” he said, his breath tickling her knuckles. “I think I’m going to draw the Master Sword. It seems right to bring Fi along.”

“Tonight!?” Zelda ripped back her hands and sat up so fast she almost smacked his head with her own. “We’re not ready! We have to pack, and buy potions, and I need my sword sharpened and shield reinforced, and father—”

“We? Zelda—”

“Yes, we, I’m not letting you go on another Gods' damned mission alone.”

“Sunbeam—”

“Don’t ‘sunbeam’ me—”

“The Guardian already said the Goddess of Time was unhappy with her sending the heroes here—”

“So, this Guardian is acting against the wishes of her own Goddess!?”

Link gave her an unamused look. “How many times have I acted against Hylia’s wishes?”

“Not as much as you should.”

Link slid out of bed and Zelda followed. “If you think this is too dangerous for me—” She said, voice rising.

“I think we don’t know what we’re up against—”

“So endangering yourself is okay—”

“Yes! Yes, it is! I am Hylia’s knight reborn; it is expected that I endanger myself for the good of the world no matter what. But even if I wasn't, someone needs to protect the Surface while I am gone, and I only trust you to do so.”

Zelda glowered at him and Link moved out of the bedroom to the den, sliding his boots onto his feet and throwing on the coat lying on the floor.

“Link—”

But he was already out the door, stomping through the dark corridors of their small makeshift home on the Surface and throwing open the front door, stepping into the night. Rain pelted him as he made his way through the trees of Faron. The vision of monsters with time magic in their claws filled his mind, and Link made the walk to the Sealed Grounds in a haze. He was grateful when he finally made it to the descent to the seal, now the Goddess statue’s resting place. The statue towered, beautiful and ominous as lightning lit up Hylia’s delicately carved face. Her fat rolls were chiseled with care, the feathers of her wings dripping with detail, and every fold of her dress seemed to flutter despite being stone. The statue spoke of love, of adoration. It looked nothing like Zelda. It looked exactly like Zelda.

Link breathed out a prayer, mostly on instinct, and moved forward towards the entrance of the Goddess statue's base, but before he could get far the world seemed to freeze, the rain hovering in the sky and the thunder stopping mid-rumble. There was a buzzing in the air—Link recognized it as time magic, recognized the feel of Time Gates and timestones and summoning spells. There was a crack and the world trembled for just a moment, then seemed to shatter. A Time Gate flickered to life, just for a moment, enough to see the blue and purple of its power, and then it was gone, leaving in its place a gasping man. Link desperately wished he’d been given the time to draw Fi before all this shit started.

The man straightened—he was clearly a soldier, dressed in chain mail with a sword on his back and a blue scarf tied around his throat. His pale blue eyes were piercing in the gloom of the night, and his face was silver with burns. Link raised his fists; he may not have a sword, but he could still fight. The soldier held up his hands in peace. He moved his hands upward and gently wiggled his fingers.

‘Friendly.’ He signed again, wiggling his fingers and repeating the sign a third time. ‘Friendly. Do you know sign?’

Link nodded, lowering his fists. “Hylian sign, some Sheikah.”

The man seemed spurred on by that. ‘Is your name L-I-N-K?’

Link nodded. “Is it yours?”

‘I had a vision. Did you?’

“A woman with blue hair calling herself a Time Guardian—”

‘Lana,’ the soldier signed with a sigh of relief. ‘Her name is Lana. Good, so her spell worked. She sent me here to meet the Hero of the Skies—is that you?’

Link debated not answering, but finally nodded.

The soldier smiled. ‘I’m Link, Hero of Ages.’ He signed, then extended a hand. Link took it. The man—Link?—‘s hand vibrated with lingering magic.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Hero of Ages.”

---

Link-the-soldier warmed himself by the fireplace in the den as the sky emptied itself outside, the other Link sitting at the table behind him while Zelda paced from wall to wall.

“You’re going to burn a trail into the floor pacing like that,” Link said, watching his fiancé move with nervous energy.

“I didn’t expect it all to start so soon,” She mumbled, chewing on her lip. Link longed to reach forward and gently pull her lip free. “Link—” Both men looked expectantly toward her. Link-the-soldier ran a hand through his damp hair.

‘Obviously, we can’t keep doing this.’ Link-the-soldier signed, ‘We’re both Link, and ten more are coming. It’ll be ridiculous trying to talk to each other like this. We need new names.’

Link brow furrowed. He rather liked his name, thank you very much, but Link-the-soldier had a point. He couldn’t be Link-the-soldier forever. Link knew next to nothing about the other man, but he did know who he was—a Hero dedicated to protecting the Sky and the Surface, heaven and earth. The Hero of the Sky, as dubbed by the Goddess Herself.

“I’m called the Hero of the Skies here,” Link said, “so perhaps Sky?”

The soldier slowly nodded. ‘Where I’m from, I grained the Triforce in the War of Ages. Ages sounds... stupid— maybe Era then?’ He signed

Sky snorted, and Zelda’s glum expression finally started to shift.

“Yes! Sky and Era, that will work perfectly.” Zelda said. Her smile was tight.

“So, this Time Guardian—”

‘—Lana, that’s her name—’

“Lana; you know her?”

Era felt his scarf from where it hung by the flames, checking to see if it had dried. It hadn’t.

‘We served together during the War of Ages.’

“I thought she said Time Guardians were supposed to remain neutral?”

Era laughed a bright, hardy thing. ‘Oh, they are, but Gods forbid she not stick her nose into everything. During the war… another…’ Era’s hands rose and fell, clearing thinking hard on what his next words should be. ‘Originally, there was a Time Guardian named Cia. She was… manipulated, exploited by Ganondorf, and expelled the light left in her so she could carry out his bidding without the interference of the Goddess of Time. That light became Lana. Cia opened major Time Gates to gain followers and almost destroyed the timeline in the process. So, unfortunately, I have a bit of experience in the timeline destruction part of adventures.’

“So you’re just left in the middle of a war?” Sky spluttered. Lana had been mid-battle in the vision—Hyrule needed Era! How could she pull him from his place as Hero when he was most needed?

Era shook his head. ‘It’s been three months since I sealed Ganondorf. Lana… time doesn’t work in a linear way for her. There is no straightforward line—honestly, it’s impossible for anyone but a fellow follower of the Goddess of Time to understand how she thinks—’

“Ganondorf.” Zelda interrupted. “Is that the same creature as Ganon that Lana mentioned?”

Era blinked at her. ‘You don’t know who Ganondorf is?’

“Obviously,” Zelda said, and only Sky could pick up the self-consciousness hiding in her voice. “Lana mentioned Ganon, but we’ve never…”

“We’ve never faced such a creature. Just Demise.” Sky finished for her. Era’s eyes went wide.

‘Of course-- you, you’re that Hero of the Sky,’ he signed, hands soft. ‘I—it’s an honor to meet you.’

“Honor--?”

‘You’re the first of us. The best of us.’

Sky flushed. “I’m just as mortal as anyone else.” Era shook his head.

‘When Cia opened the Time Gates, one opened to Skyloft and parts of the Surface—I saw the world you saved, the creatures you faced. I heard of your victory against Demise from Fi herself.’

“I…” Sky forced himself to swallow. “You met Fi?”

‘Served beside her.’

Sky felt Zelda’s hands on his shoulder, warm and grounding. Fi, Fi, Fi.

“Was she alright? Did she…”

‘She spoke highly of you. She seemed to miss you dearly.’

Sky’s hands trembled under the table. Zelda squeezed his shoulders. Of course, she noticed his subtle pained longing; she was Zelda. Warm, brilliant, blinding Zelda, his Goddess incarnate. The talk of Fi was waking up something sentimental in him, and he was thankful when Zelda shifted the subject.

“Did Lana say anything to you? She didn’t say much to Link—to Sky.”

‘She said she was bringing together twelve of us, and opened a Time Gate instead of answering questions. Just like her.’ Era answered, lip quirked. There was a fondness there that Sky wasn’t being given access to.

“So, what, we just wait out in the rain? Search around the Goddess statue where I found you all night for another hero to appear?”

Era raised his hands to answer, but suddenly the fire stopped, froze mid-flicker, still as sand, and the pressure in the room grew with the presence of magic. There was a crack, the flash of blue of a Time Gate, and a thud as a figure fell from the ceiling straight onto the table.

It yelped as it slammed into the wood and Sky jumped back as the figure tumbled off his table. Era’s sword was in hand in an instant, pointed at the lump of… teenager? on the floor. The teen stood with a groan, rubbing the red mark on his face that would surely be a bruise in a few hours.

“No swords please?” He said, holding up his hands. “Not my fault I got shoved through that thing.”

‘L-I-N-K?’ Era signed. The teen—Link—nodded.

‘Link,’ Era pointed to himself, ‘Link,’ and to Sky.

“Well great. Now there’s six of us.” The kid shook out his limbs. His colorful leather doublet was covered in pockets and pouches, and his vitiligo turned his face into an elegant patchwork quilt.

“Link, Link, nice to meet you. Now whose table did I land on?”

Sky raised his hand. “Mine.”

"The boys have been discussing names," Zelda said, looking at this Link's height-- or lack thereof. This... this was a child.

Era nodded. "We chose nicknames. Since, you know, we are up to three Links and potentially twelve."

The new Link grinned. One of his teeth was chipped, giving his smile a mischievous slant. “I’ve been told I’m terribly unoriginal at nicknames. This will be fun.”

“Sky,” Sky said, holding out a hand. “as in Hero of the Skies.”

Link’s grin grew. His handshake was on the weaker side. “The Chosen Hero himself. An honor, sir.”

‘Era,’ Era signed. ‘I served in the War of Ages.’

Link bit his lip, twirling a strand of hair as he thought. “So, names… Quartet. Because I’m a quartet.” He finally decided. Both older men looked at him, curiosity piqued. “Wait till it’s not raining and I’ll show you. It would be a little cramped in here.” He patted the hilt of the sword at his waist. “Four Sword. Useful in combat and puzzle solving.” He said, as if that answered everything.

Zelda sighed. “Since it seems like I might be getting visitors all night, I might as well put on a pot for tea. Or coffee, if you’d prefer. Hot chocolate? Juice?”

‘Tea is fine, ma’am.’ Era signed. ‘Thank you. And some ice for Quartet’s cheek.’

Quartet nodded with a scowl, poking his darkening cheek. “Damn dimensional travel. Never gets any easier.” Zelda pressed a kiss to Sky’s hair before leaving the living room for the kitchen. Outside, it continued to pour.

---

The sky would have been lightening by now if not for the onslaught coming from above. It never rained like this on Skyloft with so many of the clouds below them. Here though, in the settlements scattered through the Faron region, storm clouds were present more often than not. No wonder the forest was so lush.

Much of Skyloft had settled in Faron, building close-knit settlements whose buildings had to be rebuilt two or three times as the Skylofitians and their architecture adjusted to the new climate. Architecture, agriculture, weather, even the cloud cover… adjusting to life below the clouds had not been easy, but it had been worth it. Only Link and Zelda’s home was so far from Faron and so close to the Sealed Grounds. The brick walls were just a brisk walk from the Goddess statue’s final resting place; Sky said it was because he wanted to be close to Fi—really it was because he couldn’t bear to let the Imprisoned’s old seal out of his sight. Not that any of it mattered, apparently. Demise won in the end; this Ganon will be destroying his land for millennia, all because Sky hadn’t cut out Demise’s damn heart before he could utter those horrible words.

My hate never perishes. An incarnation of my hatred shall ever follow your kind, dooming them to wander a blood-soaked sea of darkness for all time!

Sky had doomed Hyrule before it even had the chance to live.

The four of them had been tossing back ideas on their next steps once the heroes arrived, if they even did, when the knock came. Era and Sky both stood; Quartet just took a loud slurp of his juice before following the older men from the den to the home’s entrance. Era reached the door before Sky and slowly opened it, hand on his sword hilt. Sky rolled his eyes. Dramatic. On the other side of the door stood two youths, one a small child and the second in his young twenties. The eldest was sopping wet, mostly because he was holding most of his short cloak over the child. In the morning light, the scarring creeping out from his shirt collar and across his cheeks was clear, along with his missing ear. But most noticeable was his arm, or lack thereof. Instead of flesh was a glowing prosthetic, unlike anything Sky had seen before. The child was one of the shortest eleven-year-olds Sky had ever seen, and he was glad to see them wearing their own cape and a leather apron—at least they must be somewhat warm in the cold rain.

‘L-I-N-K?’ Era signed.

‘L-I-N-K’ The teen signed back. Era ushered them out of the rain.

“Let me guess,” Sky started once the two shook out their hair, “you had a vision and then were—”

The young man slipped a strange, glowing slate off his hip and it chirped as it lit up a cobalt blue. His fingers flew across the screen before a bright, feminine, robotic voice said from the slate:

‘Shoved unceremoniously through some portal? Yeah.’ A text-to-speech machine? Sky had never seen anything like it, used to those who didn't speak utilizing signs or the written word. It reminded him of the robotic Sheikah creations he'd seen in the Surface's past. The child tried to hide a giggle at the young man's unimpressed huff and failed. Sky was already enamored with them. Sky loved children, always had, and daydreamed of his own, of pressing his hand on Zelda’s stomach to feel for a kick, of pressing a kiss to his child’s forehead as they climbed onto a loftwing for the first time, of smothering them with all the love a father could give. He didn’t know if Zelda felt the same; despite all his divine courage, he was terrified to start the conversation. What if she disagreed? What if she didn’t see a future with small hands and grubby smiles? He didn’t think he could recover from that.

‘That’s Lana for you,’ Era signed, ushering them into the den. The heroes sat, scattered about the crowded room. ‘Never good at patience or explanations. This is Sky and Quartet, and I’m Era. We've been playing around with nicknames; multiple Links get confusing very quickly.’

Era quickly explained the details behind each name, and the child’s eyes brightened when they heard who Sky was—did every hero know him? Did they know what he’d done to them? How he had damned them all? Sleep was starting to pull at Sky’s eyes. It had been late when the vision came to him and he’d lost hours of sleep, and with the lack of rest, yesterday’s pain was beginning to return too fast for his liking.

‘Minish’ the child signed, fingers slow.

“Minish?” Quartet asked, wiping away a juice mustache.

‘Minish. Small, mousey creatures. Leave rupees in grass, hide kinstones for children to find. Helped me on adventure.’

Quartet laughed. “Minish—Mini! Because you’re tiny!” Era swatted him on the back of the head and Minish flushed, sneaking behind Sky, but they didn’t seem genuinely upset by his comment.

The soaking scarred man leaned against the wall, chewing on his cuticles.

“What about you,” Quartet asked, and the man examined his raw fingers thoughtfully. Apparently, the chewing was a frequent habit. “Any ideas?”

For a moment the only sound was the tapping of his fingers on the screen, and then, ‘The monks… they called me the Hero of the Wild.' Sky’s brow furrowed thoughtfully. Monks… like his dragons, perhaps? Or Impa?

“Wilds.” Quartet said, leaning back in his chair. “Easy enough.”

The man—Wilds—seemed unsure, but nodded. Suddenly, Sky noticed a quiet that hadn’t been present for hours. He let out a relieved sigh.

“It’s stopped raining.”

‘Thank the Goddess,’ Era signed, moving to the window and looking out at the glittering dampness that clung to everything. The rain was gone, and it seemed right to start an adventure with the end of a storm.

Era grabbed his scarf, now dry and warm, and wrapped it around his neck, sticking the ends in his belt.

“Where are you going?” Sky asked.

‘Quartet said he’d show off his sword, didn’t he?’

All the heroes looked to Quartet, whose smile was impish and crooked, his chipped tooth right there for all to see. “Well, the sun is coming out.”

He stood, stretched, and once they piled in the entryway to Sky’s quickly becoming too-small home, held the door for them, dipping into a bow. Wilds rolled his eyes but followed anyway. Outside, the grass was damp, and Sky’s gardens had been turned to mud. Quartet gestured for them to circle around and placed a hand on the hilt of the sword at his side. His smile was blinding.

“Stand back, sometimes we come out a little scattered.”

He drew the sword. The world seemed to vibrate, the air shimmering and spotted, like one had pressed the heels of their hands into their closed eyes for a tad too long, conjuring up dancing colors and starbursts. The sensation lasted only a few seconds before fading, and where Quartet had stood there were—four Quartets?

Each seemed identical at first glance, but with a closer observation small differences came to light: the discoloring on his skin was just the littlest bit different between faces, moving from over an eyebrow to over an eye, or switching the corner of a mouth. His hair, originally deeply curly and pulled into a tight ponytail at the nape of his neck, was different from boy to boy, braided on one head or hanging free on another. Instead of Quartet’s colorful doublet, each boy’s leather doublet was a single color: red, blue, green, and violet.

“Good sirs,” the green Quartet said with a cheeky smile and an exaggerated flourish, “the power of the Four Sword!”

The violet Quartet rolled his eyes. “The Four Sword splits the soul of whoever wields it. Please, call me Vio. This is Red, Green, and Blue—easy enough to remember.”

“We’re quite skilled in nicknaming, as you can see,” Blue said, and Red laughed.

“Just wonderful,” Red echoed, the joke obviously holding history between the four of them. Vio jabbed him in the side.

‘So the four in Four Sword is quite literal,’ Era signed. Blue nodded enthusiastically.

“It took a long time to learn how to work together, but when we do, we’re unstoppable!” He said with a wide grin, and Green clapped him on the back.

“No one is a match for the Four Sword,” he agreed.

‘Is it confusing?’ Wilds slate chirped, ‘When you become one again, I mean.’

“It took some getting used to,” Red admitted, “All four different memories of your adventure being shoved into your head at once… it’s…”

“Debilitating,” Vio finished for him. The other three nodded.

“Our Zelda, Goddesses bless her, helped more than I think she knows,” Green said. The look on his face was almost wistful. “Zelda, she was the first to notice something was wrong when we fused after sealing Ganon. Shoved us in a broom closet and demanded an explanation.” He laughed. “The look on her face when we unfused and let her see all four of us…”

Vio cleared his throat. “Alright, we’ve had our fun. There are more important things going on than this sword right now,” He said “like the five potentially remaining heroes waiting to darken our doorstep. And my colors can get annoying quickly—” the three other boys shouted in disagreement—“we should meld before someone else shows up.”

Vio took the sword in his hand and pointed it towards the others, who begrudgingly followed suit with their own blades; they all joined the tips of their blade, and the starbursts and vibrations were back for a fraction of a moment before Quartet, and just Quartet, stood before them.

‘Quartet indeed,’ Era signed, and Quartet laughed, face bright.

“My colors can be a bit much to handle—trust me, you can only put up with Blue for so long before you want to punch him in the face. And Vio can be… abrasive. And Red is emotional to the point of being exhausting, and Green is just a tad too full of himself.”

“You don’t seem to like ‘your colors’ very much,” Sky said.

Quartet smiled, all chipped teeth and crooked corners. “Of course I like them—there me! I’m just self-aware enough to know they’re all asses too. They’re unbalanced and overly simplified. They have no depth, and that can make them a pain to deal with.”

‘Who do you think will be next?’ Wilds said with his slate. ‘I don’t know much history.’

‘I spent most of the war in the times of the Hero of Twilight, Hero of Time, and Hero of the Sky, though Cia and Lana’s gates were open in far more places along the timeline. My bet is on the Hero of Twilight.’ Era said, face upturned to the sun. He looked less chiseled in the sunlight, less like a soldier and more like a young man. Sky had the urge to paint him like this, sunlight glittering off his chainmail, his scarf a beautiful sapphire blue. His eyes were less piercing, gentler, and without the chill of the rain, lip stain was visible on his lips. He was beautiful in a way Sky rarely saw men. Era turned, noticing Sky staring, and Sky looked away, feeling rather rude. Era’s barest smile still managed to light up the man’s face. Yes, Sky wanted to paint him desperately.

“There’s no point standing around on my front doorstep,” Sky said. “Come, let me show you the Goddess statue. I have an old friend waiting for me inside.”

He turned to the house—it would be nice to change out of pajamas before he left—to find Zelda outside leaning against the edge of the front door’s frame. She looked divine in the rain-soaked dawn—literally. Even barefoot, with dark circles under her eyes and her braids unstyled, piled atop her head, still wearing her sleep clothes, she gave off the aura of something distinctly otherworldly. Something worth venerating, worth protecting— worth dying for. When Sky descended to the Surface it wasn’t for Hylia. When he fought Ghirahim, when he sealed Demise, when he fought the Imprisoned over and over… it wasn’t for Hylia. It was for her. The headmaster’s daughter with the blood of the Goddess. His Zelda.

“Leaving?” She asked. “I suppose someone should wait here in case any other heroes come knocking.” Sky moved to her and took her hand, pressing the back of it to his lips. She smirked.

“Okay, okay, sleepyhead. Go ogle your pretty sword.”

Sky nodded and watched her move back inside before turning back to the group. They already seemed raring to go; day clothes later then.

“It’s a short hike—no match for a couple of seasoned adventurers!”

Wilds, who had been mostly quiet so far, smiled. It was surprisingly bright. Sky decided that there was someone equally bright under Wilds’ quiet exterior, and he was excited to find him.

‘Lead the way,’ he typed.

Walking far slower than he normally would to help the heroes keep up, Sky took them out of view of the house, deeper into the jungles of Faron to the remains of the temple that guarded the Sealed Grounds. Faron was alive after the rain, blessed butterflies fluttering through the air, green squishing underfoot. Wilds ran a hand down the trunk of a tree as they walked, brow thoughtful.

‘These trees… they’re old, older than what you’d see even in well-established forests. Wherever we are, I wouldn’t be surprised if this forest has been around a millennium, maybe more.’ Wilds said. He rubbed a pinch of moss between his fingers, staining his fingertips green. He licked a small piece, then nodded. ‘Some of these you can only find at the Spring of Courage.’

“The Sealing Grounds are some of the oldest and most sacred places on the Surface outside of a purification spring. These forests have been along longer than Skyloft has been in the air.” Sky said in reply, pretending he didn’t just see this stranger stick an unknown plant in his mouth.

“My birthplace,” Sky supplied at the one or two confused faces when he mentioned Skyloft, “It was an island in the sky.”

Wilds eyes brightened. 'In the sky? Where? How high? Why move below to the surface?'

--Which led to Sky explaining in simple, vague terms his childhood above the clouds, Wilds listening with an unsettling intensity.

It took little time to reach the temple ruins, though, with Faron’s already present humidity and the fresh rainstorm, they were slick through with sweat. Only Wilds seemed unaffected by the hike. Sky felt an ache begin to grow between his shoulder blades. He was going to regret not getting enough sleep.

Era whistled as Sky pushed open the towering stone doors of the temple. Groose had been working to restore the crumbled building to its former glory, or at least a fraction of it. The walls had been braced, the ceiling gaps filled, and the whole place rigorously cleaned, as well as a memorial for Impa added that both Groose and Zelda had agreed was absolutely necessary. Wilds' eyes were bright as he took in the ruins, and Minish squatted down to watch some of the beetles crawling through the floor mosaics with glee, occasionally poking one and lighting up as it rolled into a ball. Adorable. Quartet wandered away from the group, Wilds following after, and Era seemed content to just soak in the heroes’ excitement. His face clouded over in a way Sky didn’t quite understand once he noticed the memorial. He stepped carefully towards it then kneeled, running gentle, hesitant fingers over the gifts left by Groose.

‘I have an Impa too.’ He signed. He looked almost… shaken. ‘She was the general I served under during the war, and a close friend of Princess Zelda. Lovers even. She was a perfect soldier if there ever was one.’ He looked over his shoulder to Sky. ‘All these Links and Zeldas I can understand, can accept, but two Impas? Is there any part of our life that is original? Is everything just recycled, over and over?’

Sky opened his mouth to try and find a way to answer when a crack echoed through the air, followed by a thunderous crash. The two men bolted toward the rest of the heroes.

“Found one!” Quartet shouted. There, on top of a pile of bricks being used to patch a hole in the ceiling, was a teenager. Quartet grimaced. “He hit the bricks pretty hard when he dropped outta the portal. Hey, hey kid, are you okay?” He knelt down to the teen's side and shook his shoulder. The kid groaned, eyelids fluttering. He looked to be 19 and was covered in scars, missing two and a half fingers, with clothes made for warm humid weather. He was tatted up his entire left arm, shoulder to fingertips, but the most noticeable thing was the simple, wooden prosthetic where his right leg should be. The kid mumbled something before finally opening his eyes and squinting up at them.

“Come on, big guy, up you go,” Quartet said, pulling the kid up by his armpit.

“Fuuuck,” he finally managed to slur and blinked a few times before reaching up to feel the back of his head. “That hurt like a bitch.”

Sky clapped his hands over Minish’s ears; Minish promptly ducked out from in between them.

“Links?” The teen asked, squinting between the five of them. Quartet nodded.

“Yup. You one too?”

The kid nodded, then groaned, instantly regretting the movement.

“I’m Quartet—well, I’m Link, but twelve Links will get confusing fast, so Sky and Era (those two) decided on nicknames. So, Quartet—me— Sky, Era, and Wilds, and that little one there is Minish. We've just kinda been winging it with nicknames; Wilds and Sky used their hero title, Mini’s is from an ally on their adventure, Era chose the name of some war, and I sort of have four souls, so Quartet!”

The kid took the information in stride. He ran a hand through his hair, feeling for bumps. “Technically I’m the Hero of Winds, but nobody uses that other than old dead boats. Waker, maybe?”

“Waker sounds wonderful,” Sky said, giving what he hoped was a disarming smile. Quartet threw an arm over Waker’s shoulders.

“Good to meet you, Waker. Welcome to the courage club.”

Wilds snorted. ‘Courage club?’

“I think it’s catchy,” Waker said. He shot Quartet a crooked grin. “Has some snazz to it.”

“See? Waker thinks it has snazz.”

‘Waker is already proving to have bad taste.’

“Hey!”

The three continued to bicker, all in light spirits, as Sky led them through the temple to the beginning of the descent to the Goddess statue. Wilds eyes went wide as a full moon as he took in her towering majesty.

‘She’s…’ His typing seemed to fail him, and Sky laughed.

“Beautiful. I know.”

They moved down the spiral pathway, and if anyone noticed Sky stop to grab a stamina fruit off the ground and take a small bite, no one said anything. Hell, they had all seen Wilds eat moss. His shoulder ached. Cure quests and their bad timing. Still, Sky smiled as they reached the base of the Goddess statue. Coming here felt like coming home, almost as much as holding Zelda did. But then, Hylia and Zelda were one and the same, so it shouldn’t be too surprising. Towering above them, the Goddess statue promised the Master Sword—promised Fi—should Sky just be brave enough to draw her from her pedestal. He’d visited the sword often, but actually taking it in hand had seemed like a bad idea. Now though, it seemed like a vital one.

He walked quickly inside (his shoulder hurt, his left arm dragged, his lungs weighted on his spine like iron blocks, he was so tired, couldn’t Lana have let him sleep) and the sight of Fi there, resting elegantly in her pedestal, filled him with joy.

“Hello, friend.” He said, walking closer. He had reached out a hand to take her hilt when Waker called out.

“Hey! Hey kid!”

The heroes all turned. Creeping out of the Goddess statue was a kid—no, wait. While he was short enough to be a kid at first glance, he was actually a teen, nineteen at the oldest. Something about his body didn’t look right, even covered by his oversized green sweater, only the tips of his fingers visible under the sleeves. Two things stood out instantly—the leather eyepatch covering his left eye, and the scaring across his face. Sky had thought the colorful markings were tattoos at first, but no, they had to be scars, two that curled under each eye and one that curved across his forehead.

The kid’s eye went wide, and then he bolted. With surprising speed, Quartet tackled him. The kid bit his wrist hard enough to draw blood and Quartet swore. Up the kid popped, this time drawing an elegant sword dripping with fairy magic.

Era held up his hands, gesturing for the kid to sheath the weapon.

‘We mean no harm.’ He signed. ‘I’m sorry for my friend’s impulsiveness.’

“No harm? He bit me!”

‘We’re looking for some people. Have you seen anyone named Link?’

The kid stiffened and Waker sighed. “You’re named Link, aren’t you.”

The kid seemed to realize he couldn’t sign and hold a sword and warily tucked it under his arm.

‘What does it matter if I am?’ he signed with a sneer. The heroes exchanged a look. Yup. Definitely a Link.

‘If you are Link, then you know we’ve been called on a quest.’ Era signed, slowly stepping forward as if facing a cornered animal. At the sight of Era, Link’s eyes went wide. Huh.

‘Do—do I know you?’ Era signed, studying Link’s face.

Link shook his head. Era looked unconvinced.

"Regardless, we need you," Quartet said, nursing his wrist. "The Goddess of Time needs you. Hyrule needs you.’

‘I don’t want anything to do with a deity as fickle as the Goddess of Time,’ Link signed.

‘If you know anything about time, then you must understand the importance of this quest.’ Era replied. If Sky didn’t know any better, he’d say Era looked almost pained. Huh.

‘I’m done with quests.’

“So, you’d let people suffer?” Quartet cried, looking thoroughly disgusted with Link. Sky slapped a hand over his mouth; Quartet licked his palm. That comment at least seemed to make Link slightly more hesitant about leaving.

‘If you are Link,’ Era signed, ‘then you won’t let people die. You have a chance to save lives. Please. Use it.’

Link swallowed before finally slumping in reluctant acceptance.

‘So, I take it you are all the Links Lana mentioned?’ He signed. Era twitched at the mention of her name. How could the kid possibly know her name? None of the others had.… but Link had already moved on, and no one else seemed to draw attention to Link’s slip-up.

‘Yes; using Link for all of us gets confusing quickly, so we’ve been using nicknames. My name is Era. This is Sky, Quartet, Minish, Wilds, and Waker. It’s a pleasure to meet you.’

Link snorted. ‘I’m sure it is.’

‘We’ve been using—’

‘Mask.’ Link signed before Era could even finish. Era flinched, and Link—Mask—looked away. Huh. Obviously, something else was happening here, but Sky wasn’t going to pry. Everyone had secrets, especially heroes. Era prattled on in a way Sky had never seen before, hands almost nervous, explaining which hero was which, and Mask’s eyes never left his face.

“Which one are you?” Quartet asked. “Pretty sure I’m early in the timeline.”

Mask straightened, face unreadable. His facial scars seemed to glow in the dim light of the inside of the Goddess statue.

‘I’m the Hero of Time.’

The words ‘Hero of Time’ meant nothing to Sky—unsurprising given he was the first of all of them—but they clearly did to Era. For a moment he looked like he’d been struck between the eyes before he drew himself to his full height, face going stiff and blank. Sky wondered if this was what he looked like on the battlefield.

Mask leaned against an ornate stone pillar, done humoring Era with conversation, and Sky turned his attention to the real reason they were here. Fi.

She sat, elegant and silent, in her pedestal, and Wilds eyed her warily. Had all of them wielded her? Quartet fought with the Four Sword, not the Master Sword, but had the rest of them held her with a reverent grip as he had?

Sky took her hilt in hand and lifted the sword from the pedestal in one smooth, clean motion. She sang in his hand, glad to be held by her master again.

‘It is beautiful sword.’ Minish signed. So, they hadn’t all seen her before then. ‘Well crafted. Made with care.’ The leather apron they wore looked like something a blacksmith apprentice would wear—the little one probably knew what a well-crafted sword looked like, and Sky preened under the praise. The Master Sword had been forged in divine flame, and Sky had tempered it with more care than he’d given to anything in his life other than Zelda herself. Minish reached forward to examine the blade, only to have their wrist snatched and arm yanked away.

“Don’t!” Mask shouted. It was the first word Sky had heard him say. He hadn’t thought the hero had been able to talk. “Don’t touch that.”

“It’s fine,” Sky said with a calming smile. “I won’t let them cut themselves.”

“Not. Safe.” Mask growled. “They’re too young. Who knows what the damn thing will do.”

Sky bristled. “The Master Sword is not some ‘damn thing’—”

Mask scoffed. Minish squirreled out of his grip, stuck their tongue out at him, and stomped behind Sky, peering out at Mask from between Sky’s legs.

“You know nothing about this sword, nothing—” Sky said, struggling to keep his voice level

‘I know enough!’ Mask signed with a sneer.

“Guys, guys,” Waker said, stepping between them, hands out in a placating manner. “It’s just a sword. There’s no need to fight over a sword.”

“It’s not just a sword!” Sky shouted just as Mask signed the same thing.

“It’s divine,” Sky said Waker.

‘It’s dangerous,’ Mask signed at the same time. Sky fought the urge to glare at him. He would not glare at the nineteen-year-old. He was too old for that. He opened his mouth again when he heard someone calling out from the entry of the statue’s interior.

“Hello? Heroes of all sorts of ages?” the man at the entryway called. “I heard yelling and let myself in. Hope you don’t mind.”

He was young, wearing clothes far more fashionable than what Sky thought of when he thought of the Heroes’ Spirit, with purple accents and a plush, hand-knit scarf of deep green and gold.

“I’m Link—I’m assuming the seven of you are too?” He said, one hand on his hip. “It’s been a while since I’ve jumped dimensions and portals always give me heartburn; forgive me if I’m a bit blunt.”

This Link seemed entirely unphased by the time-hopping and ‘multiple Links’ situation, even more so than Era, who had known Lana personally. Link blew his bangs out of his face and grinned. “Savior of Lorule. Pleased to meet you all.”

‘Not pleased to meet him.’ Minish signed, pouting, before pointing at Mask. The teen rolled his eyes. Link let out a low whistle.

“Never thought I’d see that blade again,” he said. He stepped closer and gestured to Sky.

“May I?”

“Sure,” Sky said, noting the warmth in Link’s voice.

“Hello, old friend,” Link said, taking the Master Sword in hand. “Never thought I would see you again.” He tossed the hilt a few times, fingers spry, and turned back to Sky with a good-natured smile. Sky decided he liked this hero.

“So—who am I working with? I’m not much of a history fan, so I’m rather lacking in the ‘knowing heroes’ department, but I ought to at least know some of you.”

The growing number of Links listed off their names and titles, Link’s perfectly sculpted eyebrows raising at a few of those titles, particularly Mask’s.

“I suppose I get a name now, don’t I?” Link said, smiling. “Alright, Hue.”

“Hugh?” Quartet said incredulously. “Like the old man’s name?”

Link laughed, eyes bright. “No, dummy. Hue. Like paint colors.”

“What, is your Master Sword a paintbrush or something?” Quartet asked, and Hue fingered the old-looking gold bracelet on his wrist.

“Something like that.”

“We should get back to your beau,” Quartet said to Sky. “Now that you’ve got your fancy sword.”

‘Maybe somebody turned up while we were away,’ Wilds echoed. The look of pained nostalgia and—confusion?— that had come across his face when he first saw the Fi had finally faded.

The group seemed to agree to that and, Master Sword on his back, Sky led them out of the Goddess statue and into the muggy greenery of Faron’s forest.

---

Someone had, indeed, showed up in their absence, and had been promptly ushered into Sky’s home by his fiancé, deposited in front of the fire, and forced to accept a mug of tea. Zelda’s form of hospitality was… aggressive. The younger one sat happily on the sofa, nursing some black tea with far too much sugar, Zelda’s specialty. Her posture was perfect, her face polite, and she was getting motor grease all over Sky’s couch. She was dressed in some sort of uniform, maybe a mechanic's or an engineer’s, with dirty goggles perched on her forehead. Beside her was a man, the eldest hero Sky had seen so far, maybe just a year or two younger than him. His clothes were the green of the Hero, but a comfortable country cut instead of that iconic tunic Sky had worn, and stuffed into his belt was a pelt of some kind. Wolf, maybe?

The elder stood when the others entered and extended a hand. “Link, Hero of Twilight. Miss Zelda has been filling us in.”

Sky shook his hand; he had a firm, firm grip. “This young person is Link, Hero of the Spirit Tracks. We’ve decided on Twilight and Spirit for nicknames. Simple and self-explanatory.” He smiled, exposing crooked teeth that seemed just a little too pointed. Sky decided he liked him. Quickly he introduced the rest of the party.

“I’ll put on some eggs or something,” Zelda said, giving Sky a peck on the cheek. “It’s still breakfast time for a few more hours and I’m starving.”

‘Oh, ma’am, let me.’ Wilds said, brightening. ‘You’ve been such a wonderful host, you deserve to sit down and relax.’

“I couldn’t make a guest cook—”

‘I’m a hero; I’m never a guest.’

Not waiting for a reply or rebuttal, Wilds pushed his way into the kitchen, and with a sigh, Zelda led them all after him. The dining table in the corner of the kitchen was usually used by just the two of them, occasionally Groose as well, and right now the thought of all of them fitting there was laughable.

“I’ll go find seats!” Quartet said, and Waker darted after him, laughing.

Slowly, with much chaos, the kitchen table (and the bedroom end table, and the living room coffee table, and…) gained enough mix match of chairs to seat thirteen.

‘I’ll be sure to make extra for the two left.’ Wilds typed out, then pulled off his gloves and rolled up his sleeves. The kitchen was well loved and well stocked; after settling down on the Surface, Sky spent much of his time baking to help with the late-night nightmares, and while he had turned to mostly painting now as a coping mechanism, the kitchen was still a safe space for Sky. Wilds washed his hands and the group watched as the man pulled the black and blue glowing slate off from his hip. He tapped it a few times and the heroes all watched, eyes wide, as blue light poured out. Dozen of eggs, truffles, honey, still warm bread… the materials kept coming and coming until there was a sizable pile of ingredients spilling across the counter.

‘How’s omelets sound?’

Shaking himself out of his awe, Sky nodded. “Omelets sound delicious.”

Wilds smiled brightly and went to work, moving with efficient yet graceful motions. Sky was proud of his cooking and baking. He knew he was good in the kitchen. In that moment, he was positive Wilds was great.

“So,” Twilight said after taking a sip of tea, “while we wait for our lovely chef and two other Links, anyone up for a game of cards?”

Era grinned. ‘A soldier’s favorite pastime.’

Twilight pulled out a deck of cards and began to deal for a game of candyman. Waker groaned.

“Candyman? That’s for kids! You can’t bet in candyman.”

“Who said anything about betting?” Twilight said with a raised eyebrow.

“I did. It ain’t a card game without betting. Deal us out for bullshit.”

“Waker! There are children present!” Twilight said.

‘Oh please,’ Mask signed, ‘everyone knows kids curse when grownups aren’t around.’

Grownups. Sky bit back a small smile. The term seemed awfully childish for a nineteen-year-old. Sky accepted his seven cards—so they were playing bullshit, after all—and watched Mask over the edge of them. Mask’s tongue peeked out as he counted his cards painfully slowly; at first glance, Sky assumed the teen was being extra thorough with his cards, but now that Sky was paying closer attention… was Mask struggling to read his cards? Era seemed to be watching Mask too, and the longing on his face was painful to see. There was something there between these two. There had to be.

Wilds began to hum to himself as Waker put down an outrageous amount of rupees for a kid his age. He was what, eighteen? Nineteen at most? Where did he get that kind of cash?

“Go big or go home,” he said with a shit-eating grin and cackled when Minish subtly tried to swipe a red rupee. “A pirate in the making! You’ll do just fine, kid. Does everyone know the rules?” There was a chorus of yeses and Waker nodded, putting an ace down face up.

“So,” Quartet said, leaning back in his chair and keeping his cards close to his chest. “Goddess knows how long we’ll all be together—we should get to know each other. Go around the circle and introduce ourselves or something. Or say something about our adventure. Or something like that; I think I’m fairly early in the timeline because I consider myself quite the history buff and Sky and Mini are the only heroes I’ve heard of.”

“My country flooded and everyone drowned and our history disappeared,” Waker said nonchalantly, putting down a card. “So frankly, I’ve got no idea who any of you people are. Seven.”

“Well, I’m the Hero of the Four Sword. Vaati, a wind mage, busted out of this sword and teamed up with Ganon to wreak havoc. I drew the sword to battle him and the magic in it split my soul, and technically body? into four. Some of y’all have met them: Red, the emotional core of my soul, Blue, the moral core, Green, a core of leadership, and Vio, the logical core. Pricks, all of them. Very useful in battle—after all, four swords are better than one. The next time we find a bokoblin I’ll split for you guys and you can meet my colors properly. Nine.”

‘Hero of Minish.’ Minish signed. They put down a card. ‘Ten. I sealed Vaati in your sword. I guess I didn’t do good enough. Sorry.’

“No, no no no, sweetheart, don’t be sorry! The seal had been weakened by a combination of a century of negligence and Ganon’s influence. It’s impossible to be your fault— you knew Vaati?”

‘Sealed him. Turned Zelda to stone to take Light Force in her. Me and Ezlo—Minish friend—forged Four Sword and sealed him away. Vaati was a sad, sad creature. Desperate and lonely.’

Quartet scoffed. “Lonely. Sure.”

“Did most of you wield the Master Sword?” Sky asked. He put down a two. “Queen.”

“BS!” Twilight called, and Mask rolled his eyes.

‘It doesn’t count if you don’t say bullshit.’

“I’m not saying that, there are children present—”

‘I’m not a kid! Eleven! And Ezlo said bullshit all the time.’ Minish said, turning their nose up at Twilight. Sky couldn’t help but smile as he took the card pile, shuffling it into his own pile. Drat.

“Eleven is very much still a kid,” Twilight said, putting down a card. “This one is actually a queen, Sky.”

“I was drinking at twelve, I wouldn’t call eleven a kid,” Waker said.

“You were what?!” Twilight cried as Minish enthusiastically nodded.

‘Not a kid!’ They signed with a grin, cards bleeding.

“Drinking at twelve—”

‘Childhood is subjective,’ Mask signed, and Era rolled his eyes. Twilight continued to rant, Minish now on their feet with excitement while Waker cackled.

“Ace” Spirit called, breaking the three up. Twilight rubbed his temples, and Minish’s smile was positively devilish.

Hue had just put down a card when the air seemed to freeze. The fly in the kitchen froze in the air and the flame under Wilds’ pan stopped crackling. There was a crack, a flash of blue Time Gate, and then in the center of the kitchen stood a person who looked as if she had just bit into a raw onion.

“What the fuck is this?” She said, and while there was no doubt in Sky’s mind that she was a Link, she wasn't the Link Sky expected. She looked normal enough, with pink hair, red mail, and pegasus boots, but looked older, maybe even close to thirty, and felt deeply of magic, something not a single other Link did.

‘Omelets. It’s omelets.’ Mask signed as Wilds began putting plates in front of all of them. There was movement from behind her and Sky realized she was hiding a person. The person stuck their head out—not just a person, but a child. They looked to be a small fourteen, with olive skin covered in freckles, and as they pushed free of Link, Sky noted skinned knees and a pink shoulder cloak lined with white fur, dirty but obviously cared for.

‘I saved you both some.’ Wilds said.

“They’re really fucking good,” Waker said around the eggs in his mouth, and Wilds flushed with pride just as Twilight flicked Waker’s ear.

“Hey!”

“Children. Present.”

Sky stood and offered a hand. “You must be our last two Links. I am also Link. Obviously. Hero of the Sky. Come, sit, Wilds made omelets and if the noises Waker is making are anything to go by, they’re delicious.”

Link just stared at Sky’s offered hand. “I’m retired.”

‘Unfortunately, Gods don’t care about that,’ Mask signed. The pros of sign language were being able to talk with your mouth full. ‘Especially time gods.’

“This is Mask,” Twilight said, giving a disarming smile. “And that is Waker, Quartet, Minish, Hue, Era, and Spirit, and Wilds is the one over there. Come, sit, Wilds made plenty.”

Link didn’t move but the teen did, eagerly sitting and stuffing their mouth with egg with their bare, unwashed hands. And unwashed they were—the kid was covered with a thin layer of dirt.

“Careful, or you’ll choke. Slower, that’s it.” Twilight said, and the kid slowly swallowed. “What’s your name?”

Link, Sky guessed.

“Link,” Link said.

‘Listen, all I’m saying, as someone with a great dislike of the Goddess of Time, once they start throwing you in portals, you’re screwed.’ Mask signed. He held up a plate to bigger Link. ‘Eat.’

Warily, older Link sat. A plate was put in front of her, then a fork and napkin. Scowling, she took a bite.

“I’m retired,” she said, “I haven’t been on an adventure since I was seventeen. I’m a scholar and a magician, not an adventurer. There isn’t any use for me here,” Mask shrugged.

‘Tough shit.’

‘I know the Time Guardian who sent us on this quest,’ Era signed. ‘Her name is Lana. If she says things are dire, then I promise you they are. Please. We can’t do this without you.”

Link scoffed. “There are ten of you. You clearly can.”

Little Link looked up from their eggs. “The blue lady was kind, and very scared. I know what it’s like to be kind and very scared. I’m going to make Hyrule a place where no one is scared ever again, and if these followers of Ganon try to stop that from happening then I will crawl through every portal and gate I need to and rip them apart with my bare hands.”

The room was silent. Finally, older Link sighed. “Retire, Zelda said, it will make life easier, Zelda said.” She mumbled under her breath. Era began to explain names and titles, and little Link wiped their mouth on their sleeve.

“Well, I don’t really have a title back at home. Sometimes the Hero of Hyrule, but only the princesses call me that. I guess the Old Man by my cave who gave me my sword used to call me ‘little bramble’. So, Bramble would be nice.”

“Bramble it is,” Waker kindly. He ruffled the kid’s hair. The other Link frowned.

“They… well, in the few countries I’ve been to I am called the Hero of Legend—”

“Legend as a name? I see, reaaal self-absorbed.” Quartet said with a grin. Legend flushed.

“I am not calling myself a legend—”

“It’s cool, it’s cool, I get it. Some people just know their worth.”

“I am NOT calling myself a legend!”

Quartet cackled, Waker and Wilds quickly joining in. Legend’s cheeks were the color of an apple. As the four of them went around in circles, Zelda took Sky’s hand.

“So, if this is all twelve, then I bet we’ll be leaving soon.” She said. “We better start packing.”

“Zelda…” Sky said softly.

“Don’t you dare say you’re going to leave without me.”

“Zelda—”

“Don’t you dare leave me down here alone on this hunk of rock again, don’t you dare.”

‘Ma’am… Zelda. If I may—I served with Lana in the War of Eras. I know what her Time Gates are like; they are highly specialized, unlike any Time Gate you might have seen before. She is the right hand of the Goddess of Time, after all. Nothing she doesn’t explicitly want to be there will be let through. Including…’ Era trailed off, but Zelda knew what he meant.

“I just don’t want you to be alone again,” Zelda whispered. “You were already alone for so long. I don’t want you to be alone ever again.”

Sky took her face in his hands. “There are twelve of us,” he said softly, kindly. “I won’t be alone.”

Zelda kissed him hard, and suddenly everyone was looking everywhere but the two of them. “Stay safe. Come back.” Zelda mumbled against his lips.

“I promise,” Sky said back. Zelda stepped back and blinked the wetness from her eyes.

“Then I guess I have to help you heroes pack.” Sky knew what Zelda sounded like when she wanted to be alone. He let her flee the kitchen and kept an ear open for her as the group dealt Legend and Bramble in. They didn’t know when Lana’s gate would be coming, or where the Time Guardian wanted them next—Sky didn’t know what an adventure based in so much time travel would even look like, let alone what the twelve of them would be expected to do. But until then they had omelets and bullshit. Hue called Spirit’s bluff and failed, grumbling as he took the card pile, and for the first time, Spirit replied with something brighter than a polite smile. Sky wasn’t sure if you could be friends with your own soul, wasn’t sure if the other heroes would want anything to do with him if they knew how he’d let Demise curse them all, but right now he just had to focus on calling the next card.

He hoped the rest of the Lana’s chosen were content to do the same.

#heroes gate #lana's chosen #hg sky #hg mini #hg quartet #hg mask #hg twilight #hg waker #hg spirit #hg legend #hg hue #hg bramble #hg wilds #hg era

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missis-maple394 · 4 years

Photo

REV H. MAXWELL Reference sheet (2021 = redesigned)

Author’s note: *Please DO NOT REPOST/EDIT/TRACE my art from other sites.

Previously, i didn't like how i added green palette design for him and i revised this design for him. It focuses on more his closest hue

Name: Rev H. Maxwell / / レブ⋅保坂⋅マクスウェル (KT) / れぶ⋅保坂⋅まくすう~える (HG)

Alias: Chief Hazard, Reverie / Rebu, Max, Engine idiot, Wolf Asshole

Gender/Height: Male / 5'11” ft = 180cm

Birthday/Age: September 21, 21 years old

Nationality: American/Japanese

Eye color/Hair Color: Magenta eyes/ Black hair with pink highlights

Occupation: Ganghood leader, Leader of Fandango Feral No. 1, Foster animal worker

Hobbies: Parkour, Wall graffiti, Urban explorations, Gambling, Destroying public/private properties, Competitive fighting other groups, Training his squads, Fostering animals

About Rev Housaka Maxwell:

Personality: Vigilant, troublemaker, foul-mouthed and competitive gang leader; yet extremely short-tempered man when he gets lose from the battle or bickering arguing. With his naughty, rude brawler and reckless strategist; He is tenacious and dedicated to protect his gang for his strong comradeship.

Despite of his gritty and ruffian to others, he is seen to have his feeling of distraught for not being recognized his “Anti-Hero” to the community. It can show his humorous and little naïve side when he was doing his hobbies, even with his squad when he wants to get involved to enjoy.

Rev hails from Magenta State and calls himself the founder of 'Fandango Feral,' a group of youths he rescued. His rag-tag group will lead the charge into the violent Crimson City to find the Crimson Court to take over but uncovering the truth of the mysterious homicides and plans.

#mapledraws #art #digital art #digital drawing #illustration #msmapleocs #characterdesign #character designs #character sheet #CMYK STATES: DANGER GANGHOOD #missmapleart #msm2021 #MSM-ARTPORTFOLIO

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mrsren · 4 years

Note

Could you do a Tom+Hermione fic rec please? I’m just starting to get into it and I’ve read some good ones but I’d always love more (can never have too many fics you know?)

Tom Riddle/Hermione Granger is my OTP, and I haven’t read all the fics that are about them, but I’ve read a healthy amount. After writing out this rec list, I realized that I didn’t organize the categories very well, but I hope you find something you enjoy! I included the summaries as well.

I tried to tag the users I know, but tumblr was not working with me. If the links are formatted incorrectly, I’ll fix them after work.

If you’re looking for more organized asks, check out tomionefinds! They’re fantastic.

If you’re looking for fics over 100k that are currently completed:

Somewhere In Time by Serpent In Red

Sent back in time by a mysterious person and trapped in the past with a missing Dumbledore and an overbearing, charismatic Dark Lord, they had no idea how much they could dabble with before the world they had known shattered into pieces.

All the Wrong Choices by Queen of Dreamers

Hermione is kidnapped by Severus Snape and taken to Lord Voldemort, who behaves in a bizarrely familiar manner with Hermione. When she's rocketed back in time by Voldemort, she realises just why he knew her so well in the 1990s - it was because he'd known her very well indeed, as Tom Riddle, in an entirely different time. She had to go back because she'd been there. Re-upload.

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12803416/1/All-the-Wrong-Choices

Serpentine Moves by betagyre

Medieval Norman Conquest AU.

Fourteen years after eloping with a Muggle, Merope Riddle, of an English wizarding noble family, discovers that she and her son are the last of the line, so she petitions for her title and fiefdom back. Meanwhile Lord and Lady Granger are minor nobility who want their daughter taught magic, but Lord Malfoy, appointed by William the Conqueror to rule English wizards, won’t allow an unattached Muggle-born to study alongside young purebloods at Hogwarts. Merope and the Grangers make common cause and betroth their children, thwarting him for now. But war is coming, and a long, dark path lies ahead.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/11078427

Nightmare by provocative_envy

A broken time turner shouldn't have sent me back so far. It was unprecedented. Stepping on it--smashing it--nothing should have happened. At most, I should have lost a week. At worst, I should have disappeared altogether. I shouldn't have traveled back fifty-two years; half a bloody century.

This should not have happened.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/805856/chapters/1520166

School Days by meowmers

They meet on the playground. Ron told her that if she doesn't fight for herself no one will ever leave her alone so she's just trying to follow his advice. "Are you crying?" He asks. She musters all the fury in her 7-year-old body and channels it into her voice when she speaks through the tears. "So what? I'll still kick your arse." Tomione. AU. Rated M for future chapters.

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12020392/1/School-Days

unsphere the stars by cocoartist

When you can't change time, but you can't go forward, what is left? Hermione learns how to be the protagonist of her own story. [Tomione] COMPLETE!

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/7728303/1/unsphere-the-stars

Pygmalion by colubrina

When Tom Riddle walked through a doorway one fall afternoon everything changed and he found himself in a world wholly unprepared for him. "Something about you makes my brain itch," Hermione Granger said. "As if an earthquake had shifted everything sharply two feet to the left and then back again and it didn't all fit back quite right." Tomione. AU. COMPLETE.

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/11248015/1/Pygmalion

Choosing Grey by betagyre

Hermione has always been a warrior for the Light. But when an attempt to salvage more than a Pyrrhic victory lands her in 1944, she quickly realizes that sometimes it is best to allow a lesser evil to flourish, because defeating it only creates the conditions for a greater one to rise. With conspiracies, schemes, and difficult choices in every corner, and a charismatic young Tom Riddle who is increasingly interested in her, she will eventually have to answer the question: How much darkness and grey in him can she accept?

https://archiveofourown.org/works/5121731/chapters/11782721

And the sequel, A Marked Deck by betagyre

Minister for Magic Tom Riddle has a family and a position of immense political power, and he must adapt to the responsibility that comes with both. But Hermione has much to adjust to as well, married to someone who is still very much a power-hungry Dark wizard. Follows Choosing Grey.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/6638233/chapters/15186799

If you are looking for fics less than 100k. (After making this list, I realized this wasn’t the best way to break it up. Whoops.)

Blitz by crochetaway

Tom Riddle charms everyone, but he hates Hermione Granger because she's a bossy, know-it-all; until she does something impossible and Tom is desperate to know how she did it... because he can do impossible things too. As a Muggle war rages outside of Britains' borders, Tom and Hermione attend Hogwarts and navigate the wizarding world and it's xenophobic politics the best way they know how. When Grindelwald's rise threatens to overshadow them all, what will Tom and Hermione do to survive? And will they change the fabric of the wizarding world while they do it? Complete!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/19845391/chapters/46993501

The Experiment by thekarmapolice

She entered his shop one rainy afternoon.

A Tomione story. AU.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/11013591/chapters/24540165#workskin

Besotted by Sharkdiver1980

A story in which Lord Voldemort is accidentally given a love potion meant for Bellatrix Lestrange, by none other than his faithful servant, Wormtail. When said love potion is ingested while interrogating a prisoner, all hell breaks loose. HG/LV

https://archiveofourown.org/works/7368442/chapters/16736299

Dark Seduction by crochetaway

As Tom Riddle is hunting for the diadem in Albania, he stumbles across a strange artifact he's never seen before. Hermione Granger is a lowly Ministry employee on vacation in the mountains of Albania. She's found the perfect cabin for a week of relaxing, hiking and reading. Until a stranger shows up in her living room. Wearing a time-turner. Complete!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/15949214/chapters/37193711

Linen Rope by Brightki

Hermione is an upper sixth student at the highly elite Hogwarts School, and she needs extra hours working in the school’s science labs for her pre-admission to Oxford the next year. However, she has to get the approval from the chemistry teacher, Dr. Snape, as well as the support of the man in charge of the science department - Dr. Tom Riddle. *NOW COMPLETE*

https://archiveofourown.org/works/4108204/chapters/9257791#workskin

A Big Ball is Wibbly-Wobbly by Colubrina

The war is over, the good guys have won, and Hermione Granger goes to sleep in her lovely flat only to wake up in 1953 in the bed of someone she'd really much rather were dead. "I'm working on the 'kill Lord Voldemort now, work out the temporal paradox issues later' plan," she tells him. He laughs. Tomione. COMPLETE.

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/11508846/1/A-Big-Ball-of-Wibbly-Wobbly

Anamoran by crochetaway

Tom Riddle finds a mysterious girl on the steps of Hogwarts. When he finds out she's from the future, he decides he can't live without her. Written for the very first Tomione Fest hosted by Tomione Fanfics on FB!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/13091940/chapters/29951430

Tempora Abducto by Flaignhan

Inconveniently it's the things that need fixing the most which are often irreparable.

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/5500156/1/Tempora-Abducto

Just Another Girl Alone at the Bar by elbowless-rubber-duck

“Oh Ron-Ron, you're too funny," a feminine voice says, giggling. Hermione thinks she might vomit. In which Hermione pretends Tom is her boyfriend until he actually is.

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/11871950/1/Just-Another-Girl-Alone-at-the-Bar

If you’re looking for oneshots, these are my favorites.

Not Friends, Some Benefits by devdevlin

She hated the way he never asked for his coffee, instead outstretching a wide palm as he passed her desk in the morning as if getting it for him was her first priority of the day.

She hated the way his overpriced shoes would click obnoxiously against the floors whenever he passed.

She absolutely loathed the way the others in the firm would hang onto his every word, vying for his attention as if he were some sort of celebrity, as if they would better themselves by merely being seen to associate with him.

But what she hated the very most about Tom Riddle, was that he was an unbelievable fuck.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/21657055

The Summoning by Lovely Villain

Hermione never meant for this to happen. No one was supposed to get hurt. She was summoning an Angel after all...

She forgot to read the fine print.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/15843480

Tainted by nekositting

“I’ve been curious.”

“Oh?” Hermione inquired with a lift of a brow, a spark of adrenaline bolting through her at the heat in his eyes. He was aroused even if she couldn’t tell apart his pupils from the rest of his irises. His cheeks had taken on a flushed hue, and his mouth—

His teeth caught his bottom lip before letting it go.

Hermione’s insides warmed, anticipating what it was he was about to say.

“What is the most sexually deviant thing you’ve ever done?”

https://archiveofourown.org/works/18114545

Shattered Glass by betagyre

As Head of Magical Law Enforcement, Tom has been up to no good, and Hermione is irritated about it. She decides to try an experiment with him involving a different outlet for power… and he is delighted at the idea.

Occurs during early events of A Marked Deck. Part of the same AU but a separate fic for tag reasons.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/7018264

Ringing Satan’s Doorbell by PenelopeGrace

Instead of designing weapons for humanity, Satan keeps hearing a persistent call from the girl-next-door.

Demons AU + Tomione

https://archiveofourown.org/works/14692209

Youth In Retrospect by provocative_envy

She’s buying a box of condoms when she meets him.

“Those are shit, you know,” he says, jerking his chin at the pale purple box in her hand. “Can’t feel anything.”

She stares at him for a moment too long. The bell above the door jingles merrily as a rowdy group of schoolboys enters the store.

“Excuse you,” she replies, cheeks turning pink.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/2889506

The Graduates by Orphicus [triad + Draco]

Hermione is having a difficult time controlling her raging libido around her two hot roommates/best friends-Draco Malfoy and Tom Riddle. But it soon turns out she isn't the only one who wants a good shag. Threesome. DMHGTR. Smut. AU.

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/11659126/1/The-Graduates

Peeping Tom by Nekositting

“Tom.”

Hermione blinked through the haze, confusion and something like annoyance replacing it.

What did that even mean?

“My name. It’s best you become familiar with it now because you will be screaming it rather shortly.”

https://archiveofourown.org/works/16733037

Be My Blood by LadyKenz347

Hermione travels back in time to change the course of history.

An AU for MrsRen's day of birth!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/19786201

Mr. Riddle by dreamsofdramione

Girls like Hermione Granger don’t belong in places like Felix Felicius.

Girls like Hermione belong in posh tea houses with their ankles primly crossed and their pinkies extended as they took delicate sips of tasteless teas, feigning interest in whatever society gossip the gaggle of her peers were circulating that day.

Girls like Hermione were raised to be prim and proper, to lay napkins across their lips at their meals, and make polite conversation with strangers even if it bored them to tears.

Yet, despite her social status as a wellborn English girl, Hermione craved the daring edge of ruffling feathers, of uncrossing those tired ankles and spreading her legs wide in the dim light of clubs well past any semblance of a decent hour.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/21617293

Philophobia by weestarmeggie

Or five times it was just sex and the one time it wasn't.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/16041974

She Noticed Him In First Year by weestarmeggie

Hermione noticed Tom in first year, not when he started playing quidditch, which is when everyone else seemed to notice him too.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/13431633

This is my TBR list. Some have been started, some have not, but I’m looking forward to all of them!

The Department of Magical Law Enforcement by devdevlin

What if Voldemort survived the Battle of Hogwarts? Flight instead of fight? Seven years after the Battle of Hogwarts, Hermione is appointed to the team given the task of tracking him down. But when an attractive young man, who Harry is strangely suspicious of, is appointed as her boss, things quickly get out of hand…

https://archiveofourown.org/works/13162611

peccatophilia by LovelyVillain

Hermione has a terrible secret, the past won’t let her go. Neither will her brother. A tale of obsession told in three parts.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/15881256/chapters/37004997

Madam Umbridge Home for Wayward Girls by LovelyVillain

Hermione’s life takes a dark turn after the death of her parents, leaving her at the mercy of a tyrannical Matron. Her new home is more prison than sanctuary, haunted by ghosts bearing terrible, bloody secrets. And though she's surrounded by troubled young women, it’s the men in her life who teach her freedom comes at the greatest price of all.

Victorian AU, Tomione, Dramione, no triad

https://archiveofourown.org/works/15176684/chapters/35195090

Stepbrother by cherry-cup

AU. The Grangers adopt a young Tom Riddle, and seal their daughter's fate forever. Set in the 30s-40s.

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/11185107/1/Stepbrother

Fostering A Nightmare by Ninja Fairy

A ten-year-old foster child named Tom Riddle showed up on the Granger's front doorstep with his social worker in the summer of 1990. Hermione spent the following years adjusting to life with her new foster brother; so, she never realized how often he kept an eye on her. "I've always watched you, Hermione; and you've always been mine." [Magical AU]

https://archiveofourown.org/works/12169509/chapters/27621588#workskin

Two Steps From Hell by ssserpenssotia

The road to hell is often paved with good intentions. LV/HG, Complete

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/10946650/1/Two-Steps-From-Hell

Daddy Dearest by ImmortalObsession

It is 1895 in England. Purebloods are the supremacy. Dumbledore rules them all. Lord Malfoy, one of his many devout followers, has a daughter no one has ever seen. The daughter herself, Hermione Malfoy, never questions the strict rules standing between her and everyone else – that is, until Master Riddle arrives and makes her think twice. AU/OOC/Rated M for dark themes.

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/9219929/1/Daddy-Dearest

Renatus by frozenbeans

“His name is Professor Riddle, and at least for now, no matter who you ask, nobody knows anything more. Professor Riddle, the new Defence Against the Dark Arts Teacher.”

[Golden Trio Era Professor Riddle AU]

https://archiveofourown.org/works/14655447/chapters/33857754

His Persephone by Reneehart

Hermione Granger is in a losing war, one causing the world to fall apart at the seams. Ever since the Battle of Hogwarts, things have only grown more dim, with Voldemort creating even more horcruxes and his army growing larger still. The order has been disbanded and those she loved are either dead or soon to be dead. But even when the world is at its darkest, light will find a way to break free, and she may be the key to turning the war around- long before it took a turn for the worst.

"1943? And you'd like me to...kill Tom Riddle?" Dumbledore shook his head, that annoying twinkle glowing thrice as bright as before. "No, my dear. I'd like you to join him."

https://archiveofourown.org/works/5286116/chapters/12202283#workskin

Please, Save Me by winterblume

AU Tomione. No time travel no time turners. - 'Are you not scared of him? Tom Riddle has got a rather peculiar reputation. But I'm sure it's all stupid talk. He's Head Boy after all.' - 'What kind of a reputation' - 'Er… he's… well, he seems kinda dark.'

https://archiveofourown.org/works/420241/chapters/700341

#tom riddle/hermione granger #tomione #fic rec list

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