#sitting here waiting for another version of this since I like things in threes

[linipikk]

Aziraphale shielding Crowley from water

and Crowley shielding Aziraphale from fire

[bueckets]

Prophecy | Finale

Pairing: Paige Bueckers x Reader

Parts: Part One | Two | Three (you're here)

Description: Following the viral video of Paige and Azzi, you spend the next three months redefining what perfect means. Each shot becomes a statement, each swish echoing with something colder than precision. Your teammates watch you stay late every night, turning heartbreak into headlines, until even UConn's dynasty seems breakable.

The game approaches like destiny. Harvard versus UConn in the Final Four, a collision course that ESPN calls "The Game Women's Basketball Has Been Waiting For." Twenty thousand tickets sell out in minutes. The whole sport holds its breath.

You haven't spoken to Paige since that night in the snow. Haven't read her texts or opened her letter. Instead, you let your game speak - 47 against Princeton, 51 against Yale, perfect shooting in both. They call it The Revenge Tour, though you never bother correcting them.

Now Dallas looms like a storm on the horizon. One game to prove that some things break you, and some things make you unbreakable.

This is the story of which one you become.

WC: 11k

WEEK ONE

After that night in the gym, you don’t miss. Not once.

Every shot is a calculation, a release, a fury of physics and heartbreak. Each arc is perfect, each swish feels like vengeance. The ball obeys because it has to. Because it’s the only thing left that makes sense.

Paige’s texts come in like a storm. Desperate, raw, and relentless:

Monday (3:47 AM): please just let me explain.

Monday (4:15 AM): it wasn't what it looked like.

Monday (4:22 AM): i miss you.

Monday (4:45 AM): please answer.

You sit on your bed staring at the ceiling, the blue glow of your phone lighting the room like a taunt. Sierra grabs it from your hands and sets it face down on your desk. “Nope.”

By Tuesday, the messages get sharper, more frantic

Tuesday (2:13 AM): i know you’re mad. i’d be mad too.

Tuesday (3:01 AM): rocket, please. you mean everything to me.

Tuesday (3:45 AM): i never meant to hurt you. i’d do anything to take it back.

By Wednesday, she calls. Seventeen times. Sierra’s thumb hovers over the block button. Jasmine glances at you, but you just lace up your shoes and head for the gym.

Thursday, the texts shift to something softer, almost pleading:

"i know you're reading these."

"just tell me you're okay."

"god, i miss you."

"please just talk to me"

Sierra and Jasmine take turns deleting the messages before you can see them, but you know. You always know.

“She’s hurting,” Jasmine says carefully one night, her voice soft like she’s walking a tightrope.

"Good," you respond, and sink another three.

WEEK TWO

The texts get longer, more rambling.

"i know i screwed up. i don’t even know how to start fixing it. all i know is that i want to."

"i miss how you made me feel like the best version of myself. like i could do anything."

"i miss you solving equations while watching film. i miss your voice. i miss you."

"rocket, i love you. i don’t care if you don’t believe me right now, but it’s the truth. i love you."

"please just tell me to fuck off or something. anything is better than this silence."

You don’t read them, but Sierra does. She updates you with clipped summaries: “She’s still apologizing. Still desperate.” You just nod, focusing on your form. Release. Swish.

“She says she loves you,” Sierra says one day, her voice careful.

“Doesn’t matter,” you reply, grabbing another ball.

WEEK THREE

Thursday evening, it snows. Heavy, wet flakes that stick to the ground and blanket campus in white. You’re in the gym, as always, the only sound the steady rhythm of the ball hitting the floor, then the net.

Sierra bursts in, out of breath, snowflakes clinging to her jacket.

“She’s here,” she says, voice strained.

You pause mid-shot, the ball resting heavy in your hands. “What?”

“Paige,” Sierra says. “She’s outside. Just standing there. She’s not leaving until you talk to her.”

You blink, your pulse quickening. “In the snow?”

“Yes. In the snow,” Sierra snaps. “Want me to handle it?”

You glance at the door, at the faint glow of the snowstorm through the windows. Your chest feels tight.

“I’ll do it,” you say quietly.

Sierra looks surprised but doesn’t argue. “You sure?”

You nod, dropping the ball onto the rack. “Yeah. I’ve got it.”

You push open the gym door, and the cold hits you like a slap. The snow is coming down hard now, heavy flakes swirling in the wind and catching in your hair, on your lashes, melting instantly on your skin. The air bites at your face, sharp and unforgiving, and you pull your sweatshirt tighter around you as you step into the storm.

Paige is there.

She’s standing under the dim glow of the parking lot light, a lone figure against the blanketed white. Her coat is too thin for this weather, her arms crossed tightly over her chest as if that could keep the cold out. Snowflakes dust her hair, her shoulders, even her lashes, sticking there like delicate glass. Her nose and cheeks are red, raw from the wind, and her breath comes out in uneven clouds that catch the faint light before disappearing.

Your heart pounds as you take her in. It’s not fair, how seeing her still makes your chest tighten, how her very presence feels like it could knock you off balance. You feel your feet ache against the frozen pavement, the sting of cold air in your lungs, but it’s nothing compared to the burn in your chest.

She looks up as you approach, her eyes locking onto yours immediately. They’re red, glassy, the unmistakable sheen of unshed tears making them glisten. She uncrosses her arms, her hands trembling, and takes a single step forward.

“Rocket,” she says, and her voice cracks. Just that one word, and it’s enough to make your knees threaten to buckle.

You stop a few feet away, planting your sneakers firmly into the snow to keep steady. Your throat feels tight, your tongue heavy. For a moment, you can’t speak. You just stare at her, the silence between you as thick as the snow falling all around.

“What are you doing here?” you manage finally. Your voice is sharper than you intended, but the lump in your throat makes it hard to sound anything but cold.

She shifts, wiping her hands on her coat as if that’ll stop them from shaking. “I—I had to see you,” she stammers. “You weren’t answering, and I just—” Her voice breaks again, and she swallows hard, trying to steady herself. “I just needed to try.”

The words hang in the air, weighty and raw. You bite the inside of your cheek, forcing yourself to stay grounded, to not let your emotions spiral. The wind picks up, whipping snowflakes against your face, and you blink hard against the sting.

“You’ve said enough,” you say, your voice flat.

“I know,” she says quickly, stepping forward again. Her boots crunch against the snow, and the sound feels deafening in the quiet. “I know I’ve said everything wrong. I don’t even know if there’s anything left to say. I just—” She takes a shaky breath, her hands balling into fists at her sides. “I need you to know how sorry I am. How I got into my head leading up to it. I was scared. I’m sorry. For everything. For ruining us.”

Your breath catches at that, and your chest tightens even more. Her words hit like a weight, heavy and suffocating, and for a moment, you don’t trust yourself to respond. You feel the sting in your fingers, the way the cold air pinches your ears, the dull ache in your feet from standing still too long.

“It wasn’t just a mistake, Paige,” you say finally, your voice trembling despite your effort to sound steady. “It was trust. It was everything we had.”

She nods quickly, tears finally spilling over. She swipes at her face with the sleeve of her hoodie, trying to hide it, but her hands are shaking too much. “I know,” she whispers, her voice barely audible over the wind. “I know I broke it. And I hate myself for it. I hate myself for hurting you.”

The tears keep falling, streaking down her red cheeks, and she doesn’t bother wiping them anymore. Her shoulders shake, but she doesn’t look away from you. You want to turn away, to stop seeing her like this, but you can’t. Your eyes burn, your throat feels raw, and the weight in your chest only grows heavier.

“I loved you,” you say softly, the words slipping out before you can stop them. Her breath catches audibly, and you see her shoulders slump further, like the words are knives she’s been bracing for.

“I love you,” she says, her voice breaking entirely. “I still love you. I’ll always love you.”

The snow falls harder now, coating everything in a thick, suffocating white. You feel it collect on your shoulders, your hair, melting down your neck. Paige shivers, wrapping her arms tightly around herself, her breaths coming out in ragged clouds.

You swallow hard, the lump in your throat threatening to choke you as you stare at Paige. The snow falls heavier now, landing on her lashes and melting against her flushed cheeks. Her nose is red, her hands trembling as they clench at her sides. The cold bites at your skin, your ears pinching, your feet aching, but none of it feels as sharp as the weight in your chest.

“Go home,” you say, your voice cracking slightly despite your attempt to sound firm.

Paige doesn’t move. Her wide, red-rimmed eyes stay locked on yours, brimming with fresh tears. Her lips part, but no words come, just a soft, shaky breath. Then:

“Please,” she whispers, barely audible over the wind. Her voice is raw, broken, and it hits you like a punch. She takes a step closer, her boots crunching in the snow, her hands twitching at her sides like she wants to reach for you but knows she can’t. “Please,” she says again, the word shaking with everything she’s trying to say but can’t.

You inhale sharply, your chest tightening as you force yourself to stand your ground. “Paige,” you say, softer now, almost pleading yourself. “Go home.”

She flinches, like the words physically hurt, but she doesn’t argue this time. She nods slowly, blinking hard against the tears streaming down her face. Her shoulders slump as she turns away, her steps hesitant, dragging in the snow like she’s leaving pieces of herself behind with every step.

You watch her walk toward the far end of the parking lot, her figure blurry through the curtain of falling snow. She stops once, just for a moment, her back to you. She swipes at her face with the sleeve of her hoodie, but the motion is weak, almost futile. Then she moves again, trudging toward the lone car parked under the faint glow of a streetlamp.

The driver’s side window rolls down as Paige approaches, and you see KK leaning out, her face a mix of concern and frustration. KK says something—low and sharp, the words lost in the wind—and Paige shakes her head, opening the passenger door and climbing in without another glance in your direction.

The car idles for a moment, exhaust puffing into the frozen air, and you catch a glimpse of KK glancing your way, her gaze hard but questioning, like she’s debating whether to come out and say something. But she doesn’t.

The brake lights flare as the car shifts into gear, and then they’re gone, disappearing down the snow-covered road.

You stay rooted to the spot, the cold seeping through your clothes, the sound of their departure fading into silence. You don’t move for a long time, staring at the empty space where they’d been, your chest heaving as you try to catch your breath.

You stand there long after the car disappears into the swirling snow, the cold seeping into your bones. Your feet ache from standing still, your fingers sting from the frost, and your chest feels like it’s caving in on itself. You force yourself to turn, your legs heavy as you walk back toward the gym, the door looming like a safe haven you don’t feel like you deserve.

The moment you push it open, the heat rushes out to meet you, thick and suffocating. It hits your face like a wall, and suddenly, you realize how cold you were—how raw your skin feels, how your ears throb with the warmth sinking in. You blink against the hot air, your vision blurring, and that’s when you feel it. The damp streaks on your cheeks, the burning in your eyes.

You were crying.

The thought stuns you for a moment, but there’s no time to process it. Your feet move automatically, carrying you deeper into the gym. The echo of your footsteps bounces off the empty court, the sound sharp and hollow in the stillness. You make your way to the locker room, the familiar scent of sweat and rubber hitting you like a memory you didn’t ask for.

Inside, Sierra and Jasmine are waiting. They’re sitting on one of the benches, their expressions tight and unsure, like they don’t know what to say—or if they should say anything at all.

Your eyes meet Sierra’s first, and the look she gives you is soft, pitying, like she’s trying to hold you together with just her gaze. Jasmine looks away quickly, her hands fiddling with the strings of her hoodie, her shoulders tense with unspoken guilt.

Neither of them says a word.

You don’t either. You don’t have the energy.

You walk past them, your legs threatening to give out, and sink onto the bench in front of your locker. The cold from outside is still in your body, lingering in your muscles, making everything ache. You press your hands to your knees, trying to ground yourself, but the weight in your chest is too much.

It breaks.

You bury your face in your hands, your shoulders shaking as the sobs finally come. They tear out of you, raw and uncontrollable, and you can’t stop them even if you wanted to. The locker room fills with the sound of your crying—ugly, unfiltered, and nothing like The Prophecy at all.

Sierra shifts behind you, and for a moment, you think she’s going to say something. But she doesn’t. Neither of them does. They just sit there, giving you space to break apart, their quiet presence the only thing holding you from completely falling apart.

Your tears soak into your palms, your breath coming in gasps, and for the first time in weeks, you let yourself feel the full weight of it all. The cold, the betrayal, the way her voice cracked when she said, “I love you.” It crashes over you, relentless and unrelenting.

And you let it.

Because in this moment, you don’t have to be perfect. You don’t have to calculate the pain away or turn it into fuel.

For now, you just let yourself break.

WEEK SIX

Her last attempt comes in the form of a letter. Handwritten. Twelve pages. Sierra finds it slipped under your door one gray morning, the paper just slightly bent, as though it had been clenched tightly before being left there.

“Want me to burn it?” Sierra asks, holding it up like it’s fragile, like even touching it too long might do damage.

You don’t answer at first, your eyes fixed on the envelope. Your name is written in Paige’s handwriting, unmistakably hers—soft, looping, careful. It looks like she spent a long time on just that one word. The ink is smudged in places, faint blotches where you know she must have paused, maybe wiped her eyes.

“Rocket?” Sierra asks again, her voice gentler this time.

You reach out, hesitating before your fingers brush the paper. The weight of it feels heavier than it should, like it’s holding every unsaid word she couldn’t force into those desperate texts, every plea she couldn’t voice the last time she saw you.

“No,” you say quietly, your voice firm despite the knot in your chest. “Don’t burn it.”

Sierra doesn’t press. “What should I do with it?”

You swallow hard, still staring at the envelope like it might crack open on its own. “Keep it,” you murmur finally. “For after March.”

The corner of her mouth twitches in a faint, understanding nod. She tucks the letter carefully into her bag without another word.

Because that’s what this has all been about, hasn’t it? Every ignored call, every perfect shot, every breath you’ve taken since that night in the gym has been leading to one thing: March.

Two weeks later, the bracket drops.

Harvard vs. UConn. Sweet Sixteen.

You hear whispers everywhere—teammates speculating, reporters asking veiled questions about how you feel about the matchup. You stay quiet, dodging the noise with an unshakable focus that keeps the world at bay.

Paige doesn’t text. She doesn’t call. But one night, you see it.

It’s subtle, so subtle you almost miss it: a photo on her Instagram story.

She’s sitting on the floor of her dorm, the soft golden light of a bedside lamp pooling around her. Her knees are drawn to her chest, her head resting on her arms. There’s no caption, no obvious sign of you. But in the corner of the frame, hanging off the back of a chair, is your Harvard hoodie.

The air leaves your lungs.

It’s so small, so quiet, but it feels loud in your chest.

Sierra notices you staring at your phone and gives you a sharp look. “Don’t,” she warns.

“I’m not,” you reply, locking your phone and sliding it across the table.

And you aren’t.

Instead, you lace up your sneakers and head to the gym.

30 DAYS TO MARCH MADNESS

The bracket predictions start rolling in. Every analyst has the same storyline: Harvard and UConn are destined to meet in the championship.

ESPN calls it "The Game Women's Basketball Has Been Waiting For."

You don’t watch their coverage. You don’t need to. You just shoot.

Paige’s last text comes at 2 AM:

“i still miss you.”

You delete it without reading. (Sierra tells you about it later anyway.)

25 DAYS

“Did you hear?” Jasmine says as she slides into the locker room after practice, her voice quieter than usual.

You don’t look up. “Hear what?”

“Paige was at some party last night. Someone saw her with... someone.”

You pause mid-lace, your fingers tightening. “And?”

“She’s... moving on. Or trying to.”

Later, Sierra shows you the photo: Paige with her arm around a tall blonde, both laughing like the world doesn’t hurt them.

You close your phone, drop it in your bag, and hit the gym for 200 straight shots. Each one lands, clean and precise, but your chest tightens with every swish.

At midnight, Sierra finds you still there. “She’s doing this on purpose,” she says softly.

“Doing what?”

“Trying to make you feel what she’s feeling.”

You grab another ball, square your shoulders. “Bold of her to assume I still care.”

(You do. God, you do.)

20 DAYS

Your game is evolving. Whatever limits you thought existed don’t anymore. You’re not just making shots—you’re erasing boundaries.

Reporters ask Coach about it after Harvard crushes Penn by 30 points. “Have you ever seen anything like it?”

She shakes her head, her voice filled with awe. “She’s playing like someone who has nothing left to lose.”

Because you don’t.

15 DAYS

Another photo surfaces: Paige dancing at a club, the same blonde close enough to blur the line between friendly and intimate. The image spreads through whispers, not headlines, but it’s enough to reach you.

The next morning, Jasmine deletes all your social media apps. “Focus on what matters,” she says, her tone leaving no room for argument.

So you do:

47 points against Princeton.

51 against Yale.

Perfect shooting in both games.

The whispers around you grow louder. People call it The Revenge Tour, though you don’t bother correcting them.

You let your game speak for itself.

10 DAYS

Harvard enters March Madness ranked #1 for the first time in school history. UConn is #2.

The narrative writes itself:

Ice vs Fire.

You hear the buzz but tune it out. Paige posts a hype video for the tournament. There’s no sign of you in her clips, but you don’t need to be.

That night, you shoot until your arms shake. The sound of each swish reverberates through the gym, the echoes cutting through your chest like heartbreak.

5 DAYS

The tournament begins, and you burn through the first two rounds like wildfire:

45 points against Florida State.

52 against Tennessee.

You still haven’t missed.

UConn advances too. Paige plays like she’s on fire, dropping 38 against Duke and 41 against LSU. But she misses. She stumbles. She’s human. She’s flawed.

You tell yourself that’s why she couldn’t keep you. Because perfection is lonely.

2 DAYS

The Final Four is set: Harvard vs. UConn. The matchup everyone’s been waiting for.

Your teammates feel the weight of it, the buzz of history swirling around them, but you stay quiet. Focused.

“Are you ready?” Coach asks after practice.

You glance at her, your expression steady. “Always.”

1 DAY

The press conference is brutal. Every question is a thinly veiled attempt to dig into the drama. Paige. The rumors. 

You give them nothing.

“I’m here to play basketball,” you say flatly. “Nothing else matters.”

Later that night, alone in your hotel room, you stare at the letter Sierra saved weeks ago. It sits on the desk like it’s daring you to open it.

Your hands shake as you unfold the pages.

The first three lines hit harder than you expect:

"I know I don’t deserve forgiveness. I know I broke something perfect. I know I lost the best thing that ever happened to me."

You stop reading. You don’t need to see the rest.

The paper burns easily in the sink, the edges curling in on themselves like the words are folding into ash.

Tomorrow isn’t about forgiveness.

It’s about proving that some things break you.

And some things make you unbreakable.

Time to show her which one you are.

THE FINAL FOUR: HARVARD VS UCONN

The arena in Dallas feels alive, like it has a pulse of its own. Twenty thousand fans pack the stands, and the roar of the crowd is more than sound—it’s energy, crackling in the air, vibrating through the floor. You can feel it in your chest, in the way your heart beats a little faster as you stand in the tunnel, waiting.

This is the game. The one people will talk about for decades.

“Harvard vs. UConn,” ESPN’s voices echo faintly from the screens overhead, carrying over the din “The Game Women’s Basketball Has Been Waiting For.”

“Harvard’s perfect season against UConn’s dynasty.”

“Two programs. Two stars. One unmissable collision course.”

You don’t look at the screens. Don’t let the noise creep in. You focus instead on the rhythm of your breathing, the weight of the ball in your hands, the perfect arcs playing out in your mind. Force vectors, trajectories, momentum. The physics of what’s about to happen.

Sierra steps up beside you, her face all business, her game face as sharp as you’ve ever seen it. “You good?”

You nod once. She doesn’t ask if you’re sure. She’s seen you these past weeks—seen the extra hours, the obsession, the way you’ve turned heartbreak into something almost unrecognizable. She’s seen you rewrite what’s possible when perfect turns to steel.

“They’re out there,” Jasmine says quietly, stepping up on your other side.

Your stomach tightens, but you don’t let it show. 

“You’re sure you’re good?” Sierra presses, glancing at you out of the corner of her eye.

“I’m perfect,” you say flatly, the word cold and sharp.

The crowd’s roar deepens, and you know UConn must be taking the court for warmups. You can picture it without looking: Paige leading them out, her stride confident, her expression poised. She feeds off this energy, always has, like she was built for these moments.

You think about everything—every ignored text, every late-night practice, every time Paige’s name appeared on your phone screen and you turned away. You think about the letter, folded and burned, its words turned to ash: "I know I broke something perfect."

“I’m ready,” you say, voice steady.

Coach nods. “Good.” She turns to the team. “Ladies, listen up. Everything we’ve worked for comes down to tonight. They’re bigger, they’re stronger, and they’ve got more banners in their gym than we’ll ever see. But we’ve got something they don’t.”

She looks at you, and there's something fierce in her eyes.

"We've got perfect."

The team huddles up, hands in. But before they can do their usual chant, you speak. It's the first time you've addressed them all day.

"When we take that court," your voice is quiet but carries weight, "you're going to hear a lot of noise. They're going to talk about everything except basketball. But that's not why we're here."

Your teammates lean in closer.

"We're here because I made you all a promise three years ago. That we'd make history. That we'd show the world what Harvard basketball really is. That we'd be perfect when it matters most."

You look each of them in the eye.

"Tonight, we keep that promise."

The tunnel erupts in fierce agreement. Your teammates are ready for war.

"One minute!" calls the official.

You close your eyes for a moment, center yourself. Think about all the shots that led here. All the nights in empty gyms. All the physics problems solved between free throws. All the moments that built The Prophecy.

And yes, you think about her. About early mornings in her dorm. Late nights watching film. The way she said your name like it was something precious. The way she looked at someone else the same way.

The anger rises, cold and precise. You use it, let it sharpen your focus until everything else falls away.

The tunnel lights flicker as the official signals. It’s time.

"Ready?" Sierra asks one last time.

You step toward the light of the arena, toward the noise, toward destiny.

"Perfect," you say.

And then you emerge into madness.

The sound hits you like a wave the second you step onto the court. It’s not just noise; it’s a force, a physical thing that presses against you, vibrating in your chest.

"THE PROPHECY! THE PROPHECY! THE PROPHECY!"

The chant rolls through the arena like thunder, swelling as the crowd rises to their feet. Signs wave above the sea of faces:

"PERFECTION WEARS CRIMSON"

"847-2: THE PROPHECY SPEAKS"

Your entrance stops UConn's warmups cold. Every player freezes mid-drill, even the legendary Geno Auriemma turns to watch. You catch Paige's reaction in your peripheral vision—the way she stumbles slightly, ball slipping from her fingers. But you don't look at her. Won't give her that.

The Harvard section is delirious, but it's more than that. The neutral fans, the media, even some UConn supporters are on their feet. This is what happens when you spend three months turning heartbreak into headlines, when you take "perfect" and make it look easy.

Your teammates hit the court, their warmups sharper, fueled by the energy of the crowd. But your routine is different. Quieter. Singular.

You start at the three-point line, the ball resting in your hands. The noise fades as you focus, your heartbeat steadying. One shot.

Swish.

The explosion of noise is deafening. You don't react. Just catch, shoot, swish. Again. Again. Again.

On the other end, UConn's trying to maintain their composure, but you can feel their eyes on you. Feel the way their usual swagger has been replaced by something else. Something that looks like doubt.

Your teammates are feeding off the energy now. Sierra drills a corner three, the ball cutting through the net with a satisfying snap. Jasmine blocks one of Taylor’s layups in a mock defensive drill, both of them grinning fiercely.

"Focus on our game!" Geno barks, but even he keeps glancing your way.

The media's having a field day. Every camera in the building is trained on you, catching every perfect shot, every ice-cold expression. ESPN's commentary carries over the speakers:

"We're watching something unprecedented here, Rebecca. The Prophecy isn't just perfect anymore—she's transcendent. Look at the way UConn's players are watching her. They're supposed to be the dynasty, the standard-bearers, but right now they look shook—"

And still, you don’t look at Paige.

The crowd's volume keeps building, impossibly louder with each perfect shot you make. NBA players sitting courtside are shaking their heads in disbelief. Olympic champions in the stands are filming on their phones. This isn't just a warmup anymore—it's a statement.

Finally, mercifully for UConn, the buzzer sounds to clear the court for final preparations. As the teams head to their benches, you allow yourself one glance at their side. Just one.

Paige is standing near the sideline, her hands resting on her hips, her gaze fixed on you. For a split second, your eyes meet. Her expression shifts—shock, pain, something that might be regret.

You hold her gaze for a beat longer, then turn away, your face unreadable.

You turn away, face impassive. But inside, the cold fire burns hotter.

Because this isn’t about her anymore.

This isn’t about heartbreak or revenge.

This is about showing the world what happens when perfect stops trying to be loved.

And starts trying to be legendary.

The starting lineups are about to be announced, and the arena hums with anticipation, the kind of energy that makes the hair on your arms stand on end. It’s not just loud—it’s electric, like the walls themselves are holding their breath. Every cheer, every chant, every flash of a camera feels sharper, brighter, heavier. History is about to be made.

The announcer’s voice booms, reverberating through the cavernous space, calling out names that blur into the roar of the crowd. You barely hear them—don’t need to. You’re locked in. You can feel the ball’s weight in your hand even though you’re not holding it, the phantom rhythm of your dribble steadying your pulse.

The Prophecy is about to speak.

And everyone—Paige, UConn, the world—is about to listen.

Sierra wins the tip with authority, the ball snapping to Maria like it’s been rehearsed a thousand times. Harvard’s ball. The crowd leans forward collectively, the sound dropping to an expectant hum as you cross half court, their energy feeding into the moment.

UConn’s defense is already set. You see it as soon as you step over the timeline: box-and-one. Four players sagging into a tight zone, leaving Paige on you.

Of course they’d make her guard you. Of course.

She’s close, closer than you expected, the kind of tight defense that borders on personal. Her eyes flicker for a moment, uncertainty bleeding through her usual focus.

“Please…” she whispers, so quiet it almost gets lost in the noise. “Can we just—”

You don’t let her finish.

A crossover—quick, precise, lethal—cuts her off mid-sentence. The crowd gasps, a collective intake of breath, as Paige stumbles, her footing faltering for just a second. But a second is all you need.

You rise up from 25 feet, the motion as natural as breathing. Perfect form. Perfect rotation.

Swish.

The crowd detonates.

3-0 Harvard.

"THE PROPHECY STRIKES FIRST!" The announcer can barely contain himself. "ICE COLD FROM DEEP!"

UConn pushes the ball upcourt fast, their transition game as polished as ever. Paige has that look now—the one that used to make your chest tighten, the one that once made you believe she could do anything. Now, it’s just data to process, another variable in the equation you’ve already solved.

She drives hard to the right, her speed and body control flawless. She’s counting on you to back off, to avoid contact, to give her just enough room for the pull-up jumper she’s perfected.

But you don’t.

Your body stays with hers, every step mirrored, every shift anticipated. When she rises for the shot, your hand is already there, contesting at the perfect angle. The ball leaves her hands, spinning slightly off-axis.

Clank.

The sound of the ball hitting the rim feels louder than it should, the miss reverberating through the arena like a misstep in a symphony.

“REJECTION!” The crowd erupts again, their voices rising to a fever pitch. “THE PROPHECY WITH THE PERFECT DEFENSE ON THE PRINCE!”

Maria grabs the rebound and pushes the break. You trail deliberately, your movements fluid, waiting for the play to unfold. The ball swings to you on the wing. Another catch. Another perfect release.

Swish.

6-0 Harvard.

Geno Auriemma doesn’t hesitate. Timeout, 47 seconds in. His voice carries across the court, sharp and commanding as he pulls his players in, trying to steady a ship that’s already rocking.

The ESPN commentators are incredulous. “I’ve never seen anything like this! The Prophecy isn’t just scoring—she’s controlling the entire game. And having Paige Bueckers guard her it’s psychological warfare at its finest.”

In the huddle, Coach Matthews stays calm, her voice steady amidst the chaos. “Keep executing. They’re rattled.”

Your teammates nod, feeding off her composure. You don’t say anything, don’t need to. The look in your eyes says enough.

Back on the court, UConn shifts their defense. KK Arnold takes over guarding you, her physicality immediately apparent. Paige shifts to Jasmine, but you feel her eyes on you anyway, like a weight pressing against your back.

You make her pay for it.

A quick backdoor cut—sharp, timed to perfection—leaves her a step behind. Maria sees it instantly, the lob arcing perfectly into your hands. You lay it in cleanly, barely breaking stride.

8-0 Harvard.

The UConn section is restless now, the nervous energy rippling through their chants.

From the crowd you hear, “She's not that special! Lock her up!"

The next time down, you catch the ball at the top of the key, KK’s hand pressing into your hip. You rise anyway, unfazed. The ball barely brushes the net on its way through.

11-0 Harvard.

Geno is furious, calling out defensive adjustments. But there's something different about UConn's energy—they're not just trailing, they're shook.

Paige tries to take over, driving hard to the rim with an intensity that feels more desperate than controlled. Her first step is sharp, her movements calculated, but there’s something frantic in the way she moves—like she’s trying to match you shot for shot, trying to prove something to herself as much as to the crowd.

Her floater arcs high but catches the back iron and rolls out.

The crowd groans, the sound rippling through the UConn section like a wave of disbelief. Paige’s jaw tightens as she sprints back on defense, but you’ve already moved on, focused, untouchable.

On the next possession, she pulls up for a three. It’s a clean look, her form textbook, but the ball rims out again, drawing a gasp from the fans and a loud clank that echoes through the arena.

Then she drives again, barreling into the paint, trying to force her way through Sierra’s perfect positioning. The ball pops loose, Sierra’s quick hands stripping it clean, and the Harvard section explodes in cheers.

Meanwhile, you’re somewhere else entirely.

Athletes talk about it, but few ever get there: the space where time slows, where the game feels less like competition and more like art. The roar of the crowd fades into a low hum, the edges of the court softening as everything sharpens around the ball in your hands.

It’s not just instinct—it’s control, precision, the physics of perfection in every step. Each shot feels inevitable, each movement unfolding like an equation you’ve already solved.

On defense, you can feel the tension radiating from UConn, their movements tighter, their communication louder. When Emma finally scores off a put-back—muscling through a sea of Harvard defenders—the UConn section celebrates like it’s a game-winner.

11-2 Harvard.

You glance at the scoreboard, then at your teammates, your calm focus unshaken. They know what’s coming next.

You show UConn what victory really looks like.

KK Arnold presses into you as you bring the ball up the court, her hands swiping aggressively, trying to throw you off balance. You shift your weight left, plant your foot, and cross over so quickly it sends her stumbling, her arms flailing for balance as the crowd gasps.

You take one step back, rising effortlessly over Caroline’s outstretched arms as she contests, her fingertips barely brushing the air beneath the ball.

Swish.

16-2 Harvard.

The Harvard bench leaps to their feet, arms raised, while the UConn section sits frozen, unsure of how to react. Geno is pacing now, barking orders to his team, his sharp voice cutting through the tension.

"We're watching history," the announcer's voice trembles with excitement. "The Prophecy isn't just winning—she's rewriting what's possible in this sport."

Paige is pressing harder, trying to shoulder the burden of momentum, but it’s slipping through her fingers. She forces another drive, this time straight into Sierra, who holds her ground like a wall. The whistle doesn’t blow, and Paige stumbles as the ball goes loose again, Maria scooping it up and feeding you on the wing.

The moment your hands touch the ball, you already know what’s going to happen.

Perfect rhythm. Perfect form. Perfect swish.

UConn tries everything: double teams, traps, full-court pressure. Nothing works. You split defenders like they're standing still, find teammates for open shots when they sell out to stop you, and when they give you any space at all.

The quarter ends with one final dagger. UConn tries to hold for the last shot, but you read Paige's eyes—you always could read her eyes—and jump the passing lane. The steal leads to a breakaway with three seconds left.

Most players would lay it in. Safe. Smart.

But The Prophecy isn't most players.

You take off from just inside the free-throw line, rising up as the buzzer sounds. The ball leaves your hands at the perfect angle, with the perfect spin, following the perfect arc.

Swish. As time expires.

29-10 Harvard.

The arena absolutely detonates. Your teammates mob you as you walk calmly to the bench. Even Coach Matthews cracks a smile.

In their huddle, you can see Geno gesturing frantically, see Paige's head hanging.

But none of that matters.

Because this isn't about them anymore.

This is about perfect.

And perfect is just getting started.

The second quarter opens with UConn desperate to change the momentum. Their energy is sharp, frantic, the kind that comes from a team not used to being punched first. Geno has abandoned the box-and-one, switching to a triangle-and-two defense. It’s designed to suffocate you—two defenders shadowing your every step, cutting off your air, daring the rest of your team to beat them.

You glance at Paige and KK as they close in, their feet shuffling in sync. Paige’s jaw is tight, her expression unreadable, but there’s tension in her shoulders, the kind you’ve seen in every film session this week. KK is louder, her movements brash, barking orders at the rest of the defense.

The first possession, you take the ball at the top of the key, waiting for the defense to swarm. KK gets there first, her hands low and active, trying to force you left. Paige closes in immediately after, her presence suffocating.

You don’t flinch. You shift just enough to pull both defenders with you, then flick a no-look pass to Sierra cutting baseline. The ball drops into her hands, and she lays it in cleanly, untouched.

31-10 Harvard.

"The Prophecy showing she can dominate without scoring!" ESPN's excitement builds. "This is basketball genius at its finest!"

Then it happens.

Four minutes into the quarter. Harvard up 37-15. You shake loose from the double team, slicing through the defense like a knife through fabric. Sierra's screen creating the perfect angle of separation (47 degrees, optimal for catch-and-shoot scenarios), your feet set precisely shoulder-width apart, knees bent at the textbook 110-degree angle.

The ball feels good leaving your hands—perfect, even. The rotation is clean, the arc flawless, the trajectory straight out of a physics textbook. It’s the kind of shot you’ve made thousands of times. The kind of shot you don’t even need to watch to know it’s good.

But sometimes, the universe has other plans.

The ball hits the back rim, bouncing straight up, a little too high, a little too slow. It hovers for an agonizing second.

The entire arena holds its breath. Twenty thousand people frozen, watching the impossible happen. The ball hangs there, defying gravity for one more precious second, before falling away.

You’ve missed.

The UConn bench explodes, their cheers wild and unfiltered, like they’ve just won the championship. Their fans echo the celebration, chants swelling and overlapping.

"SHE’S HUMAN! SHE’S HUMAN!”

Paige takes a step toward you, instinct guiding her more than logic. It’s the same look you’ve seen in practices, in dorm rooms, in quiet moments when her guard was down. She wants to reach out, to say something, to bridge the gap between who you were to each other and who you are now.

But she stops herself. Her foot hovers for half a second before she steps back, her hand falling limp at her side. She remembers where she is. Who she’s supposed to be to you now.

And still, everyone waits.

Your teammates glance at you nervously. They’ve seen what happens when you miss. They know the last time you broke. They know why.

But you're not the same person who broke in that dark gym.

Instead of shattering, you do something no one expects.

You smile.

It’s small, controlled, more ice than warmth, but it’s enough to send a ripple through the arena. The silence shifts into something sharper, heavier.

The message is clear: Missing doesn’t break me anymore.

Nothing does.

"Oh my," the ESPN announcer’s voice is barely above a whisper. "That might be the scariest smile I’ve ever seen in basketball."

Next possession.

You take the ball at half court, KK and Paige closing in again. Their energy is different now—more cautious, less certain. They’re waiting for you to pass, waiting for you to hesitate, waiting for the doubt to creep in.

But it doesn’t.

You glance at the defense sagging just slightly, expecting hesitation, and then you do the thing no one else would.

You rise from the logo, the shot pure and effortless, the ball spinning through the air like it was destined to fall.

Swish.

40-15 Harvard.

The arena erupts.

Your teammates are screaming, their hands raised in disbelief. Coach Matthews stands for the first time all game, clipboard forgotten, her face a rare mix of awe and pride.

"THAT'S HOW YOU RESPOND TO ADVERSITY!" ESPN's voice cracks with excitement. "The Prophecy isn't just perfect anymore—she’s unstoppable!"

UConn calls timeout, but it's too late. They've lost whatever psychological edge they thought they'd gained. The rest of the quarter becomes a masterclass:

You hit threes over double teams.

Thread passes through impossible angles.

Turn their defense into a highlight reel of broken ankles and shattered hopes.

By halftime, the score is 52-27 Harvard. You've got 31 points, 8 assists, and a message that's louder than any perfect streak:

Some things break you.

Some things make you unbreakable.

And sometimes, becoming unbreakable is better than being perfect.

The teams head to their locker rooms, but the story of the second quarter isn't the score. It's the smile after the miss. The logo three that followed. The moment when The Prophecy proved that she's not just a perfect player.

HALFTIME

The locker room feels like it’s vibrating, the energy practically bouncing off the walls. Your teammates are loud, voices overlapping in a chaotic chorus of disbelief and celebration. Sierra’s pacing, too hyped to sit, while Jasmine reenacts your logo three for the tenth time, miming your shooting form with exaggerated flair.

"DID YOU SEE THEIR FACES?" Sierra's practically dancing. "When you smiled after that miss? I thought they were gonna pass out!"

"That logo three was DISGUSTING," Jasmine adds, mimicking your shooting form. "The disrespect!"

You let their voices wash over you, grounding yourself in the chaos without joining it. Sitting on the bench, you pull a water bottle to your lips, its coolness a sharp contrast to the heat radiating from your skin.

But Coach Matthews raises her hand for quiet. "They're going to come out desperate. Geno's never been down this much in a Final Four. Expect everything."

You nod slightly, her words steadying you. She’s right. The storm is coming. You can feel it brewing beyond the walls, the hum of the arena like distant thunder.

Through the locker room door, the halftime show filters in faintly. ESPN’s voices carry over the noise of the crowd:

“Harvard leads UConn 52-27 in the most lopsided first half of a Final Four in recent history…”

“31 points, 8 assists, 12-of-13 shooting, 5 steals. These aren’t just numbers; they’re history in the making…”

“And it’s not just the stats. That smile after the miss? That was the moment The Prophecy stopped being perfect and became something more. Something immortal.”

Sierra catches you listening and grins, holding up her phone. “You’re trending worldwide. Again.”

You wave her off. You don’t care about that. You’ve never cared about that.

But then Jasmine nudges you, her expression shifting from playful to serious as she shows you another text. This one’s from KK.

Paige is crying in the bathroom. Whole team’s shook. 

Good.

THIRD QUARTER

The second you see UConn retake the court, you can tell they’ve changed. There’s a new energy to them—sharper, more desperate. Paige’s eyes are slightly red, a telltale glint betraying her earlier tears. But there’s also something dangerous in her expression, the kind of desperation that makes even the best players reckless.

Geno’s thrown everything at the wall. UConn opens with a full-court press, their defenders swarming like bees, aggressive and chaotic.

It’s laughable.

You slice through them on the first possession like they’re standing still. A quick pass to Maria in the corner. Perfect release.

55-27 Harvard.

Paige tries to respond immediately, driving hard to the basket with her head down. The play is pure determination, her shoulders hunched as she barrels into the lane, but you’re ready.

Sliding over, you plant yourself perfectly, your feet set, your body immovable. When she crashes into you, the impact reverberates through your chest, but you don’t budge.

The whistle blows. Offensive foul.

Paige hits the floor hard, her hands slapping against the hardwood. For a split second, instinct kicks in—the memory of a hundred practices where you’d help her up, offer her a hand, a joke, a smile.

But that was then.

Now, you simply turn and walk away, your expression colder than the ice under her feet.

“Ice. Cold,” the announcer breathes, the disbelief palpable.

On the next possession, Paige picks you up full court, her body language bristling with frustration. She presses in close, practically stepping on your toes, her voice low and cracking.

“Please,” she whispers. “Just look at me. Just once.”

You don’t respond.

Instead, you hit her with a combination that feels less like basketball and more like poetry:

Crossover right.

Behind the back left.

Through the legs.

Step-back three.

The crowd doesn’t even wait for the ball to hit the net. The moment Paige stumbles backward, they’re on their feet, screaming.

The shot, of course, is perfect.

58-27 Harvard.

The UConn section is dead silent now. Even Geno has stopped pacing, his arms folded as he stares helplessly at the court. Paige glances toward their bench, her eyes briefly meeting Geno’s, but he has no answers either

Next possession, you wave off the screen, motioning for everyone to clear out. The court feels impossibly wide as Paige crouches in her defensive stance, her body coiled with tension. You can see the tears threatening at the corners of her eyes, the way her breathing hitches as she exhales.

Time slows.

Can see the tears threatening at the corners of Paige's eyes.

Can feel twenty thousand people holding their breath.

Perfect isn't about not missing anymore.

Perfect is about what you do next.

The move is pure poetry.

Crossover so quick the cameras barely catch it.

Through the legs at half speed, letting her think she's got you.

Then the acceleration – zero to legendary in a heartbeat.

Paige lunges, trying to stay in front.

The crowd rises as one.

But they don't matter.

Nothing matters except the physics of this moment.

You rise up from 30 feet, Paige's hand right in your face.

Time stops.

The ball arcs through the air like destiny.

Swish.

The arena detonates.

Your teammates mob you as you jog back, their faces alight with disbelief. Even the referees exchange glances, one shaking his head like he’s just witnessed the impossible.

61-33 Harvard.

Paige doesn’t move. She stays rooted to the spot where you left her, her head bowed, her hands on her knees. The weight of the game—of the moment—presses her into the hardwood.

The UConn bench looks like a graveyard.

Perfect breaks back.

The quarter ends with Harvard up 73-41. You've got 45 points on a shot chart that looks like abstract art. Each bucket more impossible than the last. Each move designed to teach them all the same lesson.

FOURTH QUARTER

Ten minutes left in the biggest game in women’s college basketball history. Harvard up 73-41. The crowd buzzes with anticipation, sensing the inevitable.

Paige opens the quarter like someone with nothing left to lose. Her movements are sharper now, more fluid, like she’s untethered from the weight of expectation. There’s desperation in her eyes, but also glimpses of what made her special.

What made her yours, once upon a time.

She hits a deep three. Then another. Her teammates respond, pressing full court, fighting for every inch, clawing for one last stand.

On the next possession, UConn doubles you at half court, but you see the opening before they do. A quick bounce pass threads the needle, hitting Sierra in stride for an uncontested layup.

75-44 Harvard.

The press comes hard again, but you stay poised, letting it collapse around you before sending a no-look pass over your shoulder to Maria in the corner. She drains the three, and the crowd explodes.

78-44 Harvard.

Paige tries to answer with a contested jumper at the other end, and it rattles in. She’s pressing now, forcing every play, trying to drag her team back into a game that’s already slipping away.

Back on offense, you hesitate near the arc, drawing in the defense before flipping a behind-the-back pass to Jasmine cutting baseline. The ball barely touches her hands before it’s in the net.

80-46 Harvard.

Coach Matthews calls timeout to sub you out with 1:32 left. The ovation is deafening—every single person in the arena on their feet, cheering until their voices crack. You’ve got 34 points, 15 assists, and 7 steals, but the numbers barely scratch the surface of what just happened.

You jog to the bench, your teammates mobbing you, their hands slapping your back, their voices a chaotic blur of celebration.

As you pass Paige one last time, there are no words. No need.

You both know what this moment is.

The final buzzer sounds: Harvard 89, UConn 51.

Confetti falls, a blizzard of crimson and gold, as your teammates tackle you in a storm of laughter and tears. Cameras flash everywhere, their lenses capturing history in real time.

You stand at center court, calm amidst the chaos, the weight of the moment settling over you.

Because you did it. You won.

The locker room is a storm of joy, the kind that only comes from rewriting history. Music blasts from a speaker in the corner. Sierra’s leading a conga line with the championship trophy hoisted high. Jasmine and Maria are filming every second, screaming into their phones about being “FINAL FOUR CHAMPIONS, BABY!”

You should be reveling in it. You are, to an extent—smiling as Sierra shoves a bottle of sparkling cider into your hands, laughing as Jasmine accidentally sprays half the team with the foam.

But deep down, there’s an itch you can’t scratch.

You made the statement. You dominated the game. You won the war.

But the battle inside you—the one that started long before tonight—is still unresolved.

Later, when the celebration starts to wind down, you find yourself leaning against a corner of the locker room, still clutching the now-empty bottle of cider. The room feels quieter, though the energy still hums faintly in the air. Your teammates are scattered—some FaceTiming family, others sprawled on benches in blissful exhaustion.

Sierra catches your eye from across the room. She doesn’t say anything, just tilts her head slightly, a silent question.

You shake your head. Not yet.

An hour later, you’re back in your hotel room, the championship hat still perched on your head, your phone buzzing endlessly with texts and notifications. Most are from reporters, friends, family. A few from Jasmine and Sierra, who are probably still partying somewhere downstairs.

You scroll through them aimlessly, not sure what you’re looking for until you see her name.

Paige.

She hasn't texted. Not since before the game. Her name sits there like a ghost in your messages, daring you to make the first move. To break the silence that's grown between you like a wall.

For a while, you just sit there, staring at the empty message thread. You replay every moment of the game in your mind—the way her voice cracked when she guarded you, the way she pressed harder and harder as the score slipped further out of reach. The way she nodded, warrior to warrior, as if she knew what you’d just written into history.

And yet, it doesn’t feel complete. Not entirely.

Before you can overthink it, you start typing.

you can come by if you want

The message is simple. No explanations, no context. You don’t even wait to see if she reads it before tossing your phone onto the bed and heading to the bathroom to wash off the night.

When you come back, the screen is lit with her reply:

where?

Your heart stumbles over itself as you type the room number. You sit on the edge of the bed, fingers playing with the hem of your sweatshirt, trying to ignore how your pulse picks up with each passing minute.

The knock, when it comes, is so soft you almost miss it.

For a second, you just stare at the door, your pulse thudding in your ears. The part of you that has spent months building walls tells you not to answer, not to let her in.

But tonight isn’t about walls.

You open the door.

She’s standing there, still in her UConn travel gear, hair tucked under a beanie. Her eyes are tired, rimmed with dark circles, but there’s something in them—something vulnerable, tentative—that catches you off guard.

“Hi,” she says softly.

“Hi.”

You step aside to let her in. She moves hesitantly, as if unsure whether she belongs here.

For a moment, neither of you speaks. The room feels heavy with unspoken words, with everything the game couldn’t settle.

“You played…” Paige starts, then stops, biting her lip. “You were unbelievable.”

“Thanks.” You cross your arms, leaning against the desk. “You weren’t bad yourself.”

She lets out a breathy laugh, the sound awkward and raw. “I tried.”

Silence stretches between you again. The words you want to say stick to the back of your throat, stubborn and heavy. You watch her hands fidget with the strings of her hoodie, a nervous tell you used to find endearing. Now it just makes your chest ache.

Finally, it’s Paige who breaks the tension.

“I thought it would feel better,” she admits, her voice cracking slightly. “Losing, I mean. Seeing you win. It’s like I needed you to win. I needed you to be okay without me. But it didn’t make it hurt any less.”

Her honesty feels like a gut punch. You unfold your arms, suddenly unable to stay distant. “Paige…”

“I’m sorry,” she rushes out, words tumbling over themselves.“For all of it. For hurting you, for not fighting harder, for—”

“I know,” you cut her off gently, your voice quieter now. “I know.”

She looks at you, her eyes shiny with unshed tears. “Do you?”

You nod, stepping closer. “Yeah. I do. And I…” You take a shaky breath. “I’m tired of being angry. I don’t want to carry it anymore.”

Her shoulders slump, the tension leaving her body all at once. “I don’t either.”

For a moment, the two of you just stand there, the weight of everything unsaid filling the room.

And then, slowly, you reach out, your hand brushing hers. She looks down at the contact, her lips trembling, and you feel something shift.

Forgiveness isn’t instant. It’s not easy. But it starts here, in this quiet room, with the two of you trying to find your way back to something that feels whole.

“Sit,” you say softly, gesturing to the bed.

She hesitates, then sits down, and for the first time in months, the space between you feels less like a chasm and more like a bridge.

And maybe, just maybe, you’re ready to cross it.

She sits on the edge of the bed, her hands clasped tightly in her lap, her shoulders hunched like she’s bracing for something. You grab a water bottle from the mini-fridge, needing something to do with your hands.

“Want one?” you ask, holding it up.

Paige glances at you, nodding slightly. “Yeah. Thanks.”

You hand it to her, and your fingers brush—just for a second. It’s such a small, fleeting touch, but it makes the air between you feel charged, like something fragile and important is hanging there.

She twists the cap off the bottle but doesn’t drink, just stares at it like it holds answers. “I wasn’t sure if you’d actually let me in,” she says softly.

“Neither was I,” you admit, sitting down beside her. The bed dips slightly under your weight, and for a moment, you’re hyper-aware of the small space between you.

Her lips curve into a faint, rueful smile. “Fair.”

The quiet stretches, not uncomfortable but heavy with unspoken things. You look at her out of the corner of your eye—the way her hands tremble slightly as she holds the water bottle, the way her hair falls messily over her shoulders, the way her shoulders rise and fall with each shallow breath.

“I meant what I said earlier,” Paige murmurs, breaking the silence. “You were… unbelievable tonight. I mean, you always are, but tonight…” She trails off, shaking her head like she can’t find the words.

“Thanks,” you say softly.

“I wasn’t just talking about the game,” she adds, her voice quieter now. “The way you handled everything—the pressure, the expectations, even me. It was like watching someone I didn’t even know existed.”

You glance at her sharply, caught off guard by the rawness in her voice. “You know me better than anyone.”

“I thought I did,” she says, her lips twitching into something that’s not quite a smile. “But I think I only knew the parts of you that let me in. And I don’t think I earned the rest.”

Her words hit something deep inside you, something you’ve been trying to bury. You look down at your hands, twisting the cap on your water bottle. “You didn’t need to earn it,” you say quietly. “It was always yours.”

She turns her head to look at you, her eyes wide and vulnerable, and you can feel her staring, feel her trying to read between the lines of your words.

“I should’ve fought harder,” Paige whispers. Her voice cracks, and she drops her gaze back to her lap. “For us. For you. I should’ve—”

“Stop,” you interrupt gently, surprising even yourself with the softness in your tone. “You don’t have to keep apologizing. I’ve already forgiven you.”

She lets out a shaky breath, her shoulders slumping like a weight has just been lifted. “Really?”

You nod, your throat tightening. “Yeah.”

For a moment, neither of you speaks. The sound of her breathing fills the room, slow and uneven, and the faint hum of the city outside filters in through the window.

“It’s weird,” you say after a while, breaking the silence. “I thought beating you tonight would feel like closure. Like I could finally move on. But it didn’t.”

Paige looks up at you, her brows furrowed. “What did it feel like?”

You hesitate, the words catching in your throat. “Like I was still waiting for something.”

She doesn’t ask what, doesn’t press, but the way she looks at you tells you she knows.

The silence stretches again, but this time it feels different—like the space between you is slowly shrinking, like the air is shifting.

You shift slightly on the bed, your knee brushing hers. The touch is small, accidental, but neither of you pulls away.

“Do you want to stay?” you ask suddenly, the words tumbling out before you can overthink them.

Paige blinks, her eyes widening in surprise. “What?”

“Stay,” you repeat, your voice steadier now. “Just for tonight.”

She looks at you, searching your face for something—hesitation, doubt, anything that might make her say no. But she doesn’t find it.

“Okay,” she says finally, her voice barely above a whisper.

You nod, standing up and grabbing a spare blanket from the closet. “You can take the bed. I’ll—”

“No,” she interrupts quickly, shaking her head. “I mean, we can… share. If that’s okay.”

You hesitate for a moment, then nod again. “Yeah. Okay.”

The bed feels impossibly small as you both lie down, the silence stretching between you like a fragile thread. You’re on your back, staring at the ceiling, trying not to think about how close she is. Paige shifts slightly, the mattress dipping under her weight, and you catch the faint scent of her shampoo.

You try to focus on anything else—the faint hum of the city outside, the muffled sound of someone laughing in the hallway, the rhythm of your own breathing. But your mind keeps circling back to her.

“Hey,” Paige whispers after a while, her voice tentative in the dark.

“Yeah?”

“Can I…?” She trails off, and you turn your head to look at her. Her eyes are wide, uncertain, the soft light from the window catching the gold flecks in them. “Can I hold you?”

The question catches you off guard, but only for a second. Then you nod, shifting onto your side to face her.

She hesitates, like she’s still waiting for you to pull away, and then she closes the space between you. Her arms wrap around you carefully, like she’s afraid you’ll break, and you feel the warmth of her body settle against yours.

You exhale slowly, your head resting against her shoulder, your hand curling slightly against her chest. Her heartbeat is steady, grounding, and for the first time all night, you feel your own racing pulse start to calm.

“Is this okay?” she asks softly, her breath warm against your hair.

“Yeah,” you murmur, letting your eyes close. “It’s okay.”

For a while, neither of you speaks. The quiet hum of the room wraps around you like a cocoon, the world outside fading into the background. You focus on the small details—the way her fingers trace absent patterns against your back, the steady rise and fall of her breathing, the way her cheek brushes against your temple.

“I missed this,” she whispers, the words barely audible.

You don’t answer right away, your throat tightening with emotions you’re not ready to name. Instead, you shift closer, tucking your face into the crook of her neck. “Me too.”

Her arms tighten slightly around you, and you feel the faintest press of her lips against your hair. It’s not a kiss, not really—just a gentle, fleeting touch, like she’s afraid to ask for more.

You stay like that for what feels like hours, the weight of everything unsaid hanging in the air. But for now, it’s enough. Enough to share the silence, to let yourselves be close again, to let the cracks start to heal.

“I don’t want this to be the end,” she says quietly, breaking the silence.

You open your eyes, your gaze meeting hers in the dim light. “Maybe it doesn’t have to be.”

The faintest smile tugs at her lips, hopeful and tentative, and you let yourself smile back.

For now, it’s enough.

For tonight, it’s everything.

The End

A Note from the Me

Thank you for following The Prophecy's story through these three parts. Your comments, messages, and support have meant the world to me. You've helped shape this story of what happens when perfect meets human, when physics equations meet matters of the heart, when being unbreakable becomes more important than being flawless.

Thank you for being part of this journey (cornball moment lol). If enough people want I can do a 6 year time jump as a short story where they're married.

[sweetimpurity]

💓 day 23!! I have been waiting for this one and the next three days!! this is a continuation of THIS sweet thought that everyone was asking for a part 2 of!

So the next three days are gonna be a mini series off of that!! I recommend reading that before you read this so it makes sense!

cw: yandere themes, obsession

PART 1

Earth-731

Mig’s been watching you for months. Managed to tap into the feed of multiple Miguel’s across the multiverse. Connections to his dimension are tricky since a rogue anomaly came a while back and threw off the timeline only slightly. So things are glitchy. He feels glitchy all the time. Like there’s a flicker in his head and in his bones. Searching for the thing that would make everything right again, make him feel okay, and he can only look to you. Perfect you. You don’t exist in his timeline. Yet in almost every other dimension, you’re there with a version of him that’s much luckier than he’s ever been. 

It’s obsessive at this point. He watches you all day long. Watching you with your Miguel. Or rather watching you get left behind. He watches Miguel-928 miss out on important events, forget anniversaries and birthdays, watches you going to bed alone for nights at a time. But he also watches the good times, the nights in, date nights you two share together, the laughs, the love. Forcing himself to turn the feed off when it seems your version of him will get even luckier. 

It’s torture. To have fallen for you when he’s never even spoken to you before. But you love him in another timeline right? So why couldn’t you love him in this one?  

“Hah…” He sighs, running fingers through his hair and getting up from his seat. Pacing around his office in Alchemax. In this dimension, he’s not the leader of the Spider Society. He’s a geneticist working for a tyrant CEO in a bright sterile lab in Nueva York. And not a single person knows of his genetic predisposition. 

He wakes up, goes to work, overworks, goes home, checks the police feed he’s hacked into and listens to where he’s needed. Going out in the night to catch crooks and criminals because that’s all he can do. He hasn’t been able to figure out how to jump dimensions since the anomaly left his timeline glitching and cut off. But religiously he watches back a video feed he captured of another Miguel on Earth-378, constructing a portal generator. 

Since he doesn’t have the instructions himself, he’s dissected and analyzed this video over and over for months. Trying to copy it to the letter and make a portal generator of his own so he can finally get out of this place. He’s collected parts and worked countless hours in his apartment trying to make this work. 

Originally his destination in mind was anywhere but here. But ever since he found you while combing through multiversal feeds, he knows you’re his first stop. He’s taking you with him no matter where he goes. Your Miguel doesn’t treat you right anyway. 

Heading home, he stumbles through the door carrying a new discarded piece of machinery from work. There’s a circuit board with a specific wiring he thinks will be the right piece for the generator. Lugging it down the hallway to the spare bedroom which is now his makeshift lab. His half constructed generator on a bench there. Putting the piece down and flicking a few switches to bring the lab to life. Lights flickering on and some machines humming. Multiple screens on his computer awaken and he walks right over to one, scanning his fingerprint. Pushing up his glasses and typing on the screen to bring up the feed labeled with your name. Pressing on it and tuning in to see what you’re doing. 

He sits down, focusing on the screen and zooming out to see you’re still at work in your dimension. Looking so pretty and perfect. His heart flutters just seeing you after the long day he’s had. He wishes he could talk to you. 

He sits at his desk, fiddling with the machine to remove the parts and watching the feed like TV. Listening to your voice through the screen and seeing you leave work, street cameras picking up your route home. His eyes lock on any suspicious characters on the street and making sure you get there safely. Even though he’s dimensions away, he always watches to make sure you get home safe. 

And almost like it’s his favorite part of the movie, he leans forward, waiting for the surveillance in your apartment to pick up your expression as you enter the door. A smile on his face, admiring you adoringly at that relief in your expression. That gladness he knows you feel being home after a long day. It’s a good thing your Miguel installed all that surveillance in the apartment. Because now he can watch you worlds away. He’d probably do the same thing if he knew if could keep you protected. 

The night goes on and clearly your Miguel isn’t coming home until late again. Most likely on patrol all day or at the Society Headquarters like he always is. Hardly seeing you at all in a day. Mig watches you make dinner for yourself. He watches you watch a show for a while, listens to you singing to yourself as you do the dishes, watches the bathroom door when you’re taking a shower and then switches the feed to the empty kitchen while you’re getting changed in the bedroom. All the while he’s working on removing the pieces from this machine, finally getting it undone by the time you’re calling your Miguel to ask when or if he’ll be home tonight. You’re already in your pajamas ready for bed and he’s not even back yet. 

“Shit… damn it..” Mig huffs when the circuit board doesn’t fit where he needs it. All that work and now he’ll have to find a different piece in scrap somewhere. He sighs, forcing himself not to chuck the piece across the room, instead discarding it calmly in the junk metal bin. He huffs, sitting down at his desk and running his hands through his hair again. He stays that way for a few minutes. He’s tired.

Sitting with his head in his hands and hearing the sounds of you getting ready for bed. His eyes closed and listening to you brush your teeth, wash your face, do all the things he watches you do every night. And then the sheets when you’re getting in bed. Feeling heavy himself. 

Your moans fill his ears, infiltrating his mind. Your body which could only be soft and warm and plush. Under him and accepting him over and over. His cock hugged and loved through your tight walls, his tip kissing your sweet spot every single time. Making you tremble, making you moan for him. Moaning his name. “Mmmmiguel!” You gasp and it makes him shiver. His face dipping into your neck and inhaling your scent which he can only imagine is so sweet and pleasant. 

Finding your hands with his and lacing his fingers with yours. Hands entwined above your head, as close as he’s always yearned to be. Pumping you full with everything he’s been keeping for you. Your cunt he’s longed to taste, to fill. Your sweet soft skin he’s needed to kiss and bite. Kissing down your jaw, your neck, your sternum and finding your perked mound, sucking the hardened nip into his mouth and sucking. Drawing the sweetest, most erotic sounds from your lips he can even imagine. Your shaking legs wrapping around his waist and pulling him deeper, is that’s even possible. Like he could never be separated from you. Even though he’s never not been separated from you before. 

“Oh please Mig!” You sigh, and he looks up at your face, your features quirked in pleasure. He keeps with the rhythm, knowing it’s bringing you pleasure, bringing you closer to orgasm. And he wants to feel you come apart on him. He’s wanted it for so so long.

“Come on sweet girl…” He whispers, but the sound doesn’t leave his chest. It rumbles but it stays. Like the words won’t reach the air.

He shakes awake when his elbow knocks a tool off his desk. The metal clanking and ringing through the room. “hah!” He flinches, lifting his head from where it was resting in his hands. Having fallen asleep watching you sleep. It was a dream. No it was a tease. His mind taunting him with what he will never have.

Except your moans don’t cease. They don’t stop. That’s not in his head. He looks up at the screen. Seeing the time, trying to decipher what’s going on. Your desperate cries coming in through the monitor. And there you are in bed. Your Miguel finally returned home from wherever he was all day ignoring you. The two of you having loud sex under the blankets. He’s confused. Caught off guard. Slamming a few buttons and shutting the feed off. That’s enough taunting for one night.

Taglist!! love my sweeties!

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if you'd like to be added/dropped from the taglist, please comment on my masterlist post. Or else I might not see it! thank you! 🩷

plus those who requested a part 2:

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[gloomy0x0phantom]

Nightmare chapter one

ʚ synopsis ɞ You haven't been able to sleep for a while, and Bepo has the solution to your problem. As you develop a friendship with the polar bear, you fail to notice the jealousy of a certain captain.

pairings : Bepo & Fem!Reader / Trafalgar D. Water Law x Fem!Reader

words count : 5.2k

content : fluff, a very tired reader, mention of nightmares.

note : Here's the rewrite of the first chapter of Nigthmare! I hope you like it ♡ I decided to keep the old version up cuz I don't want to lose all the nice comments 😭 A huge thank you to WesNest for being my beta reader!! English is not my first language

Next chapter // Chapter index

In the middle of the ocean, on a small island lost in thick fog, lay the crews of the Straw Hat and Heart Pirates. Once again their paths crossed, much to Trafalgar Law's misfortune and Monkey D. Luffy's delight. Despite having seen each other a few weeks ago, Luffy insisted that this umpteenth encounter should be celebrated with a big feast, a bonfire, and music. The Hearts, equally fond of a good night's drinking, gladly accepted the offer without consulting their captain, who had expressed reservations about the idea. Although Law was hesitant, his crewmates knew he didn't harbor animosity towards the Straw Hats and that he would be unable to resist an evening with them. Why? Well, let's just say they were well aware of their captain's weak spot... a weak spot concealed within the opposing crew.

A cheerful melody of violin fills the night air. Between the beach and the tropical forest, a towering fire illuminates the faces gathered around it. Luffy, Penguin, Shachi, Usopp, Bepo, and Hakugan dance enthusiastically around the flames, waving their arms and reveling in the moment. Even after a hearty meal the guys find the energy to twirl and celebrate. Chopper, his belly full, peacefully dozes in Robin's embrace while she talks with Jean Bart and Jinbe. Brook plays the violin while Franky joins in with an old tune. Nami, Zoro, Uni and Clione are competing to see who can best hold their liquor, with the redhead taking the lead of course. After completing his cooking duties, Sanji approached Ikkaku, expressing that he doesn't have the opportunity to see her often and desires to cherish every moment in her delightful company throughout the evening. Although unimpressed by the blond's flattery, the young woman allowed him to continue to be around her. Leaning against a tree, Law observes the pirates with a bored expression, yet a faint smile betrays his true feelings.  And you? You sit slightly apart from the others, quietly observing the festivities.

The others made efforts to include you in their activities, and you almost succumbed to Usopp's invitation; however, you opted to take it easy instead. Despite your desire to join the dance, you feel too drained to participate. While you find the drinking competition entertaining to watch, your distaste for alcohol prevents you from taking part. Although you enjoy listening to Robin's stories, there's a risk of nodding off while she speaks. Right now, despite your body craving it, sleep is the last thing on your mind.

You're glad to see your friends unwinding and enjoying themselves; everyone needs it. It's a relief that the Sunny has stopped at a deserted island. Since leaving Wano, you've encountered one unpleasant situation after another with pirates who believed they can defeat Luffy. Additionally, you've had to hastily depart from the last three islands as the Navy was covertly lying in wait for you. It feels like the crew's every move is being meticulously tracked. Nami insisted on searching the Sunny in case a camera had been planted on board. Thankfully, nothing was found, but it's clear that every member of the crew is exhausted. Meeting the Hearts provides the much needed distraction to unwind.

You can sense that Law isn't pleased with this coincidence. At least he's smiling. You noticed it when your gaze landed on him. The fire casts such a beautiful glow on his skin. He's dressed in a white tank top that showcases his black tattoos. You're secretly admiring the artwork - well, you think you're being subtle, but you soon realize that Law is watching you. Caught red-handed, you quickly avert your gaze. Despite this, you can still sense his eyes on you, and it's embarrassing.

“Chronicler-san!”

You are surprised when you hear your nickname cheerfully shouted by the Heart navigator. The guys halt their dancing while Brook takes a break to stretch his bones. Bepo, exhausted and needing to catch his breath, settles down next to you. You greet him with a warm smile. The polar bear is someone you appreciate, even though you've never had time to chat for more than a few minutes. It's not as if you've had the opportunity in the past. You're constantly in dangerous situations or caught up in Law and Luffy's plans. Come to think of it, this is probably the first time you've all been together outside of a mission.

"It's a beautiful night!" he says, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand. He's breathing hard, which is not surprising given his size, but he still takes the trouble to ask if you're okay between breaths.

"I'm fine, and you? Life with your crew isn't too hard?" you reply in a playful tone.

"I could ask you the same question about yours," he replies, laughing. "I'm fine, a little out of breath."

"A little?" you say, raising your eyebrows and smiling, gently teasing him. You've just witnessed him dancing for a solid thirty minutes. It was quite entertaining. It's a good thing everyone was dressed casually; otherwise, you're sure Bepo would have fainted. He might have even ended up in the fire. There's always something wild happening at parties.

Bepo usually chooses to be by his captain's side, so you get the impression that he hasn't come to see you by chance. You're curious about why he's here, but based on what little you know of him, you can tell he's likely searching for the right words. You choose to keep the conversation going.

"How's your journey been since Wano? I hope you haven't run into too much trouble with the new bounties, unlike us."

"We came across a few annoying cases, but Captain is so strong, he wiped them out in a heartbeat!" Bepo gestures animatedly as he speaks with such admirationI. It's cute. "To avoid drawing any attention, we stayed underwater most of the time. Otherwise, the Marines would have chased us too."

"Oh Bepo!" you gasp, and it's his turn to jump. "Would you trade places with me? I'd do anything to live underwater for a while and vanish from the Marines' radar!"

"I don't think the captain would be happy about losing his navigator!" He chuckles, glancing at Law, who once again looks your way, though you remain unaware.

"Don't worry, I've got a plan," you wink at Bepo and motion for him to lean in. As his ear draws near, you whisper, "I'm going to dress up as a polar bear, and you're going to wear a wig. No one will suspect a thing!"

Bepo straightens up with a laugh. "Do you even have any navigation skills?"

"No, but that's a detail!"

You both laugh at this outlandish idea. Pulling off such a plan would be next to impossible, but the thought of wearing a polar bear suit and casually strolling around the Polar Tang brings a smile to your face. You can imagine the amused reactions of the Heart Pirates, except for Law. As for Luffy, you know he'd be thrilled to have Bepo join your crew simply because he's a mink.

"What brought you out of hiding?" You ask. 

“Hm?”

"Why did you surface and come to this island?"

"Oh! Um... Well... It's kind of my fault. I enjoy being on the Polar Tang, but after a while, I start craving some sun and fresh air. My body can't handle the heat of the submarine. Maybe I complained a bit too much to the captain, and he agreed to stop at the next island, which happened to be this one." The navigator scratches the back of his head, embarrassed.

"I'm sure the others wanted some fresh air too. Just look at them!"

The two of you take a moment to observe the Heart Pirates. All you see are smiling faces, including Hakugan's mask. To you, this scene appears ordinary, but for Bepo, it holds significant meaning. They spent months without their captain, wondering if he would come back alive. And when he did, they had to face two emperors, which could have ended badly. Bepo smiles proudly. Their captain is healthy, and everyone is safe. They emerged victorious.

"I was so relieved when I saw the Polar Tang in the distance." you murmur as you continue to look at the others.

"Really?" asks Bepo, curious to know the reason.

"Yeah... I'm tired of all the fighting. We haven't had a break in ages. When I saw the submarine, my body just relaxed. I know you won't harm us. I feel safe with you guys." You glance at Bepo with a wide smile and flushed cheeks. Suddenly, you realize the magnitude of your words. "B-But I know we're not... I mean, we're enemies."

“Right, enemies…”

As if you shared the same brain, your attention shift to Law and then Luffy. Finally, you meet each other's eyes and hold back a laugh. Yeah, enemies. Luffy can't consider Law a real enemy, not after all they've been through. And honestly, you'd like the alliance to be renewed, someday. It may never reach the same level as when Law lived aboard the Thousand Sunny, but having him as an ally is comforting.

"I'm glad you feel this way with us. I feel safe with you too!"

You're taken aback by his declaration, and even more so by the wide grin Bepo offers in return. You don't doubt his sincerity. Your heart races, and your cheeks ache from smiling so much. Then, you hear a small voice in the back of your head saying, "He shouldn't."

You look at the fire, and gradually your smile loses its brightness. Returning to the boat would be a wise choice. The conversation is enjoyable, but you shouldn't continue. You're enemies, despite everyone getting along well. It's only a matter of time before Law betrays Luffy again.

Bepo noticed the sudden shift. “Alright, now would be a good time to intervene,” he thought. But how? It's not for nothing that he decided to approach you. While he was dancing, he noticed that his captain was watching you intently. The subtle frown of his eyebrows meant he saw something wrong with you. And it must have been very important, given the tension in his shoulders and his clenched jaw. As his second mate, it was his duty to find out what was wrong with you, for the sake of his captain's sanity! 

Now that he's close to you, he sees what his captain noticed.

"Are you sure everything's alright? Your dark circles are starting to look like the Captain's, and that's never a good sign," Bepo jokes, trying to lighten the mood with his question.

"It's a bit unsettling, isn't it?" you ask, with a dry laugh. "I don't sleep very well."

"B-because of the attacks?"

You hesitate for a moment. "Partly."

Bepo senses there's something more, but he's uncertain how to encourage you to open up without crossing any lines. Yes, he's eager to assist his captain, but... Bepo genuinely wants to help you. He's always held a fondness for you. He recalls your initial interaction: you were kind and appreciative. His mink instincts don't fool him; he's adept at sensing energies that humans might overlook.

"Captain could prescribe you some sleeping pills," he suggested in a hushed tone.

"I don't want to sleep," you confessed darkly.

Instantly, Bepo understands.

"Nightmares."

You nod in agreement. Bepo has known Law since childhood, and living with someone who suffers from chronic nightmares alters one's perception of sleep. For Law, sleep isn't refreshing. Bepo has seen him push himself to stay awake to the brink, and it's not a pleasant sight. So when you mention that you're reluctant to sleep because of nightmares, the navigator believes he can understand the root of the issue. However, he doesn't plan to pry further with any probing questions.

"As a doctor's assistant, I feel obliged to list all the reasons why sleep is important, but I suppose you already know them all."

You tilt your head slightly and regard him with curiosity. "You help Law during surgery? I had no clue! How long have you been studying medicine?"

"Oh, well, everyone in the crew knows how to assist the captain during surgery! It's crucial knowledge that enables us to handle situations both on and off the submarine. I've been learning for - You've changed the subject."

You look down, embarrassed.

“I did. Sorry…”

"N-no! I'm the one who's sorry!" Bepo attempts to reassure you, his tone gentle. He doesn't want you to think he's mad at you.

"Please, don't be. I'm the one who tried to fool you."

Bepo sighs, concern etched across his features as he observes you. He notices your trembling hands, the dark circles under your eyes... You don't resemble the vibrant young woman he met at Sabaody. Reflecting on it, even during your time in Wano, you seemed burdened by stress, much like everyone else.

"How many hours have you been awake...?"

"About... 60 hours, I think. Actually no, that's not true. I sleep 5 to 15 minutes every few hours, it's never a deep sleep. I wake up as soon as I hear a noise. The adrenaline rush from the fights keeps me going, pushing myself beyond my limits. But I feel strange. My heart feels like it's pounding everywhere, I can't focus on writing, food's lost its appeal, Sanji has saved my ass a few times during fights because I'm not paying full attention, sometimes my vision gets blurry and I see things in the corner of my vision. But otherwise I feel fine."

In one breath, you spill out your words, leaving Bepo staring at you with wide eyes, clearly shocked by your extreme lifestyle. He shouldn't be so surprised; enduring 60 hours without sleep is far from healthy, but for you, it seems, this is just another day in the life.

"Have you discussed it with the others...?"

"They're aware of my nightmares; that's nothing new. But I haven't brought up my current issue. It'd be foolish for Monkey D. Luffy to have a crewmate who can't sleep due to stupid nightmares... I don't want to embarrass him."

"Nightmares are not something to be taken lightly, especially the ones that are-" Bepo stops abruptly, his expression twisting into a grimace. "Uh.. Don't feel ashamed. Capt-," he halts once more, grunting in frustration. His lips clamp shut as he bites down on them, then he resumes, "I know someone incredibly strong and respected who dealt with nightmares. They'll never be seen as weak or a disgrace in my eyes. They're truly remarkable, destined to become the king of—" Bepo abruptly cuts himself off, covering his mouth with his hand. He's let slip more than intended.

The navigator's reaction is cute. It's clear he's referring to Law. You appreciate what he's trying to say. You understand why the Heart Pirates hold the polar bear in such high regard; he truly has a talent for making people feel at ease with his attentive listening and open-mindedness. You can't help but wonder if he also serves as a psychologist on board the submarine; it wouldn't be surprising.

Slowly, you lower your head, resting your elbows on your knees and concealing your face behind your hands, assuming a vulnerable posture. With your back bent and your shoulders trembling, it's a sight that catches Bepo off guard. Panic grips him, and he quickly scans the surroundings, ensuring that no Straw Hat crew member is watching. You're... You're crying. And he's the one to blame! He feels a pang of guilt wash over him. He's replaying what he said to you, he doesn't know what could have provoked such a reaction! He wouldn't dare hurt you on purpose!

Bepo's hands fidget nervously as he mutters a string of "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry!" His entire focus is on you, but he can sense his captain's frustration looming in the background, only adding to his anxiety. If you were part of his crew, he'd instinctively reach out to hug you, offering comfort and reassurance. But you're not part of his team, and he hesitates, unsure if such a gesture would be appropriate. After all, he doesn't know you well enough to gauge your comfort level with physical contact.

“Can I... hold her? Give her a hug?” Bepo's thoughts race frantically as he considers the consequences. “I've seen her snap a man's neck with one kick—I don't want to die!” But the fear of the Straw Hat discovering her tears fills him with dread. “If they see her crying, they'll know I'm the cause... they'll kill me!” He shudders at the thought of facing the wrath of the redhead. “I don't want to provoke her wrath, she's terrifying!” Panic grips him as he wrestles with his dilemma. “Oh no, what am I doing? WHAT AM I DOING??? I'M SO SORRY!”

Behind your hands, a sound that doesn't resemble crying catches Bepo's attention, halting his panic. He tilts his head, intrigued, and whispers your name. Swiftly, you unveil your face to reveal a broad smile, tears glistening in the corners of your eyes. You don't look sad, on the contrary, you're laughing! Relief floods through the navigator as he releases a breath he didn't realize he was holding. For a moment, Bepo had feared the worst—walking the plank and sparking a conflict between Law and Luffy. But now, seeing your smile, he knows everything's alright.

You wipe away your tears of laughter and jest, "What kind of spell have you cast on me, Bepo? I never allow myself to broach this subject with my friends, yet here I am, spilling my heart out to you without a second thought!"

From the look on his face, you realize you've startled him. You let out a soft giggle and gently pat his back. Predictably, Bepo hangs his head and apologizes. Wanting to reassure him, you decide to do what comes naturally to you: offer a hug. You're not sure if he enjoys being cuddled, but he seems like the type who appreciates a good hug. After all, you've witnessed him embrace several members of his crew before.

Since the navigator towers over you by several heads, you have to stand up to reach his neck. Bepo quickly catches on to what you're trying to do and bends over slightly to make it easier for you, allowing you to control the strength of the embrace. As your arms encircle his neck and your face brushes against his fur, you freeze.

"B-Bepo..." you whisper.

The mink senses the tension in your body and quickly pulls away, fearing he's made you uncomfortable. But as he looks at you, he sees anything but discomfort in your expression. You stare at him as if he were your soulmate, as if he were an oasis in the desert, as if he were the most delicious treat in the world!

"Bepo!" you shout, disregarding the volume of your voice entirely. "You're... you're... so..."

"Y-yes?"

"You're so... FLUFFY!!!"

Once again, Bepo relaxes. "Thank you! We polar bear minks are known for having very soft fur," he responds, his tone tinged with pride as he puffs out his chest.

His pride comes to an abrupt halt when he hears you say, "Give me your fur!"

"Huh?! No way!"

You burst out laughing at his reaction.

"You can touch me, if you like. But you can't have my fur!"

"Really?" you say, hopeful.

Bepo nods eagerly, a wide smile spreading across his face, showcasing his beautiful, sharp teeth. Seeing his joy, you can't help but smile too. Driven by a sudden warmth in your chest, you decide to climb onto the polar bear and settle in his lap. It's impossible to wrap your legs around his waist, his stature is impressive, but that doesn't stop you from trying. You can't stop giggling like a child. Your fingers trace down Bepo's arms to his shoulders, and you even muster the courage to touch his round cheeks. It strikes you as surprising that this is the first time you've thought of cuddling him, and you find yourself wishing you'd done it sooner!

Struggling to remain composed, you fight the urge to cling to the navigator and squeeze him like a cuddly stuffed toy. It's not the first time you've had such an impulse. In the past, you nearly suffocated Chopper in your embrace when he donned a cow costume; and poor Karoo fell victim to your accidental feather-plucking. You've always been wary of approaching small animals (and even larger ones) for fear of inadvertently harming them with your overwhelming cute aggression.

You don't want to hurt Bepo, but you want him to know how much his fluffiness messes with your brain. 

"You're so cute and soft! I want to bite you!"

Bepo flinches and lets out a little cry of fear. "Please don't!"

You squeeze him with all your strength and rub your face on his furry chest, releasing a high-pitched squeal of delight. Your statement catches him off guard; while he's accustomed to receiving compliments on his fur, being told that someone wants to bite him for it is a first. Unsure of how to respond verbally, Bepo reacts instinctively, wrapping his arms around you and rubbing his head against yours. The two of you share smiles and giggles, caught up in the moment. He couldn't be more adorable!

You let out another cry of joy, causing heads to turn in your direction. The music abruptly stops, and you feel a pang of regret for disturbing everyone. You hadn't realized you were being so noisy.

Suddenly, rubbery arms wrap around you and Bepo, pulling you both into an even tighter embrace. Luffy's body collides with yours, almost knocking the breath out of you. Like a true monkey, the young man clings to you, laughing gleefully in your ear.

"Oi bear, you are fluffy shishishi!"

As you catch your breath, Penguin, Shachi, Hakugan, Franky, and Brook all join the hug. You're completely crushed under the weight of all the men—and the skeleton—but you don't mind. It's a shower of love that you happily accept!

"Yohoho, your fur is so soft! Oh, but I can't feel it, I have no skin yohohoho!" exclaims Brook. 

You roll your eyes, a gesture Brook can't mimic, at his classic skeleton joke. 

"Bepo is the fluffiest!" declares Penguin.

"Yeah, he's the best mink!" adds Shachi.

The boys return to dancing and singing, leaving you alone with Bepo. His face is flushed with embarrassment, but there's also a hint of happiness in his expression knowing he caused this adorable moment. You're the last one to remain in his arms, cherishing the warmth of the embrace.

You release a long, contented sigh and allow your eyes to drift shut. Gradually, your body begins to relax. You immerse yourself in the sounds around you—the crackling of the fire, Bepo's steady heartbeat, Brook's music, the chatter of voices—and find the atmosphere to be perfect. Feeling a protective hand resting on your back, you take it as confirmation that Bepo doesn't mind your presence on his lap. Whatever worries you had earlier, they slip away from your mind. Normally, you'd muster the strength to snap yourself out of such a relaxed state, perhaps with a sharp slap to the cheeks, but right now, you find yourself unable to resist the pull of fatigue.

Before long, you fall asleep. It feels like being cradled by a giant teddy bear, shielded from the demons of the night. Bepo becomes your protector, kicking away any bad memories and nightmares, ensuring you're safe and sound in his arms. Almost unable to believe it, Bepo watches you sleep, feeling a sense of happiness wash over him. 60 hours awake... If you had continued, you could have slipped into psychosis.

A little further away from the duo, Law sits with his arms crossed and jaw clenched. He attempts to focus on the fire, seeking distraction, but his gaze inevitably returns to you. Your face is nestled against Bepo's chest, mouth slightly parted, hands grasping the bear's fur. A stray lock of your hair appears to tickle your nose; he has the urge to step forward and gently tuck it behind your ear, but refrains. Instead, the captain remains seated against a tree, determined not to retreat back to the submarine.

Of course, Bepo would notice your fatigue; it was obvious. It was the first thing Law noticed when you walked onto the beach.

You stepped off the Thousand Sunny with a radiant smile. You were looking at your feet, a habit he noticed, to avoid falling or running into someone else. Ikkaku took you in her arms, the lucky girl. That's when he saw it. Right there. Your hands, resting on the young woman's back, trembled ever so slightly. Were you that eager to see his crew? No, it couldn't be; when you're excited you tend to hop to your feet, and would have thrown yourself at Ikkaku to cuddle her. His suspicions were confirmed as you stepped back to chat with the brunette—your eyes were heavily bagged. So you were tired. When you're working on the logbook or writing a story, sometimes you get so immersed in your work, you end up pulling an all-nighter. Maybe you've been working a lot the last few days? While plausible, he couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to it.

Law recalls something peculiar about your behavior earlier in the day. You frequently glanced behind you in a manner that appeared paranoid. Moreover, you seemed more on edge, visibly flinching when Clione tapped you on the shoulder and even when Sanji placed a glass down in front of you at dinner. Nami's earlier conversation with Shachi may shed some light on this.

"People are insane for wanting to test Luffy's power! Ever since his new, stupid poster came out, wannabe pirates have been constantly coming at us! One group even had the audacity to attack us during the night! Zoro was pissed. We thought we could rest on the next island, but nope! The Marine was waiting for us. Sanji didn't even have time to buy food; the boys had to fish every day! I'm sick of eating fish! The Marines pulled the same stunt two other times, but at least on the last island we had enough time to roam around for a few hours and stock up. I decided to change course completely, and that's how we ended up here. So if you attack us, I swear, I'll electrocute you all."

Your nervousness could be attributed to the constant presence of enemies. Yeah, that's likely it. Tonight no one's going to attack you—Law's going to ensure that.

In the ongoing competition, Nami and Zoro are the final contenders. The swordsman eyes the opportunity to pocket some money, and he's adamant about seizing it. Though he's never emerged victorious before, tonight might just be his chance. Meanwhile, Nami has no plans of letting him walk away with the prize without a challenge, but she enjoys seeing him give it his all until he eventually succumbs to sleep.

But, Nami suddenly stops drinking, leaving a glass half-full.

"What? Now you're going to give up? I knew you were going to lose," says Clione, clearly intoxicated.

The redhead doesn't seem to hear; she's bewildered by what she sees across the fire. Has she indulged in too much alcohol, leading to hallucinations, or is it actually you sleeping? Doubtful of her own condition to discern reality, she slaps Zoro's shoulder and gestures towards you. Gradually, the swordsman follows her gesture and frowns in confusion.

"Am I crazy or...?"

"You are crazy, but it's real," replies Zoro. He waves his arm to get his captain's attention. "Oi, Luffy."

The young man tilts his head to the side and stops playing with the guys. He follows the navigator's finger and a huge grin spreads across his face when he sees you sleeping in Bepo's arms. Finally!

"The party's over."

Brook and Franky immediately stop playing music, leaving only the sounds of the fire and nature. The Hearts are visibly intrigued by this drastic change of mood. When Luffy says the party's over, something's wrong.

"What's going on?" Ikkaku asks, a worried look on her face.

Robin stands up while keeping the little reindeer in her arms, gently stroking his head.

"The recent events have affected the sleep of the whole crew, but (y/n) is the one suffering the most. We've tried to help her by giving her chamomile tea and exhausting her with training, but it's not working. Bepo, would you be willing to spend the night with her?"

All eyes are on Bepo, who must deliver an answer quickly. He's feeling the pressure of the Straw Hats. Disappointing them is the least of his concerns; the navigator considers that he owes them nothing. The alliance has dissolved in Wano, and there's nothing compelling him to comply with Nico Robin's request, but... The thing, or rather the person, that makes him hesitate is just a few meters away. Bepo doesn't dare turn to his captain, as it might raise doubts, but he can sense a negative energy emanating from his direction.

"Are you sure this is a good idea? Uh... S-she might wake up if I move."

"No problem; you just have to stay in this exact spot and not move a muscle," Nami replies, her arms crossed and a tone of finality in her voice, indicating she's not open to negotiation.

"Okay... B-but she might get sick if we stay outside!"

"Don't worry bro, I'll go get some blankets, no one will get sick." adds Franky with a thumbs-up.

Bepo lowers his gaze to your sleeping face. You look really comfortable... And with everything you've told him, it would be a shame to wake you up.

"Bepo, you have the right to refuse," Robin finally says, sounding sincere.

Did he truly have a choice? Because right now, he feels like murder will be committed if he refuses. Bepo doesn't mind sharing a sleeping space with you; you're not heavy, you smell good and he trusts you. Law is the problem. Bepo isn't the only one harboring this thought; Penguin and Shachi are visibly nervous as well.

"Bepo will stay with her," Law declares before anyone else can continue the conversation, thus putting an end to the negotiation.

"C-captain?" asks Bepo, uncertain and surprised.

"But only for tonight. My navigator is not at your beck and call," Law adds firmly.

"Of course, Torao." agrees Robin with a mysterious smile. "Franky."

"Yes! I'll be right back with the blankets, I'll be suuuuuuuuper quick!"

"SHH! You'll wake her up if you scream!" Sanji warns.

"Sorry! I'll be suuuuper fast!" murmurs Franky without losing his excitement.

"You're the one who's loud, shitty cook."

"What did you say mosshead!?"

"SHUT UP, BOTH OF YOU!"

"Sorry Nami-san!"

The pirates walk away, their voices ranging from hushed murmurs to boisterous chatter. The Straw Hats aren't good at going unnoticed - they never have been. In contrast, the Heart Pirates are accustomed to lurking in the shadows, making silence second nature to them. Most of them bid Bepo a good night, but Shachi and Penguin restrain themselves from voicing the myriad thoughts swirling in their minds. They know that uttering those thoughts could provoke their captain's wrath. They certainly don't want to risk being swapped for the night or, worse, dismembered. So, they remain silent, merely waving their hands in farewell.

And Law? He uses his power to return to the Polar Tang, without uttering a word.

tag list : smokeprincess24, phsycochan, miloonepiece, stuckinthewrongworld, metonimia-de-bellota, tolkienlovee, norasincubi, theladyofmanyfandomsfanfiction, awkwardspontaneity, sleepykittycx, perilous-pasta, shadowserpent4444, songinabottle, fireinyoureye, someobsessionrequired, dummyegg, undermoonlightwalk, latanyalove, rebeccawinters, stormruff, shuujin, elen-alambil, amortentiaz, nemisimp, saybeyonce, corazon-lover, shamrockfish, dark-swedish-suitcase-blog, dionysiachan, stachelrose, btsvtxtenha, thestrawartsofreading, beebeesthings, pottedloam, bluebunny002, ravendgie, nonominchan, bluebreadenthusiast, justone-piece, emmaiscool22

[badkitty3000]

You Can't Go Home Again

Chapter 6

Link to Chapter Five

Link to Chapters 3 and 4

Link to Chapters 1 and 2

Link to Chapter 7

All Five wants to do is rest. But when yet another apocalypse threatens to doom them all, he doesn't have that luxury. This time, the only solution for the Hargreeves to try and save the world is to unite Five with another, alternate version of himself.

Five starts to spiral when he is faced with the alternate life that he could have had, if only he hadn't gone and ruined everything. But maybe, just maybe, there's still time for him to obtain the happy ending he deserves.

An alternate season three rewrite for a request I received.

Warnings: None

More chapters will be posted as I continue writing this multi-chapter fic. Enjoy!

Chapter Six: Running Out Of Time

After another long night, and another painful transfer of powers, the second watch was complete. It wasn’t entirely necessary to build the second one, but it seemed like a good idea for backup, and since both Fives had contributed so much to making them, it only seemed fair that they both had one. This meant that Five and his siblings could return home with relative safety and correct both timelines. Once they were out of the timeline they were in now, with the Sparrows, things should return to how they were before the kugelblitz was activated. In theory, anyway. There was only one problem preventing them from going now.

“What do you mean Klaus is not here?” Five hissed through gritted teeth, leaning into Luther’s personal space and staring menacingly up at him.

“Uh, well…” Luther started, rubbing the back of his neck; clearly intimidated by his much smaller brother. “He said he was getting bored and he wanted to get out of the house.”

“And you just let him go?!”

“I mean, yeah…it’s Klaus! He’s always wandering off, but eventually he comes back.”

“Great!” Five said as he threw his hands in the air and let them drop to his sides again. “Just fantastic!” He turned to Luther again. “You know, as the leader of this family, you really do a piss poor job of actually leading.”

“Hey, don’t yell at him!” Diego interjected. “We can’t all just sit around waiting for your next order. Who do you think you are? Dad?”

Five laughed sarcastically. “Dad may have been a heartless asshole, but at least he knew how to keep you people in line. And now that I know what trying to accomplish that is like, I actually have a little more respect for the old man.”

“Come on, Five, that’s not fair,” Viktor said.

Realizing he probably was being a bit too harsh, Five backed off a little. After taking a deep breath, he spoke very evenly, trying to keep his anger in check. “Ok, let’s regroup here. Now, did Klaus tell anyone where he was going?”

The rest of the siblings exchanged glances that told Five, no, he did not tell them where he was going. As he let out a loud sigh, Jack appeared in the middle of the room with a big smile on his face. He was still very proud of his new blinking skills.

“I know where he went,” the little boy offered.

Five smiled. “Great, Jack. Where?”

“He said something about meeting a girl.”

“A girl?”

Jack blinked to the other side of the room, just to show off. “Yeah…her name is Mary Jane.”

At first there was a second of confusion and then the light bulb went on for everyone at the same time. Five groaned. “Damn it…of course our idiot brother decides to go get stoned when the world is ending.”

“As opposed to drinking himself half to death. Yeah, what an asshole,” Lila snarked with her arms folded across her chest.

Five rolled his eyes. “Fine, point taken. But we need to find Klaus so we can get out of here. I don’t know when the next kugel wave is going to come, but we’re already overdue for one so we probably don’t have much time.”

Luther raised a hand to speak. “Ok, but how are we going to know where to start? How would Klaus even know where to go in this timeline? Everything here is different.”

“It’s Klaus, he’s very resourceful,” Diego said. “I’m sure he’d figure something out…wait! Holy shit, I bet that fucker went back to the hotel.”

Allison frowned. “You think?”

“Yeah, why not? You saw all the weirdos that were there, and that used to be his hangout back in the day. It makes sense.”

“Ok, Diego and I will go find Klaus,” Five told them. “The rest of you stay here. The other me is still working downstairs and I want to make sure someone is here with Marie and the kids if another wave hits.”

“Aw…you do care! I knew it!” Luther gushed with a smile that quickly faded after the glare he received from his brother.

“Of course, I care, idiot. Despite what you all think, I’m not some monster that gets off on watching innocent kids die.”

Jack had blinked out of the room while the adults had been talking, but he suddenly appeared again right when Five was in the middle of his sentence. This time, his sister Maddie was with him. They both looked up at the group with horrified faces.

“We’re going to die?” Jack asked.

Allison jumped in. “No! No no no no…of course not, sweetie.”

“But that’s what you said. We might die.” Jack’s voice trembled and he put a protective hand on his little sister’s shoulder.

Maddie’s eyes started to well up with tears and Five tipped his head back with an exasperated sigh. “Christ.” He turned toward the kids. “Look, no one is dying, ok? At least not if I can help it. And I know your dad would never let that happen, either, ok?”

There was a very small nod from both kids, but it wasn’t very convincing. Five continued, using a much softer voice than his normal brusque one. “I need you both to stay here and be brave, ok? As long as you’re with our family, nothing bad is going to happen. Do you believe me?”

Again, there was a very slight nod, but they still looked terrified. It occurred to Five that maybe their parents had been keeping them in the dark about the severity of the situation. And now he’d gone and screwed that up. Great. Just what I need. More shit to feel guilty about.

“Who wants to play Yahtzee?” Luther asked enthusiastically as he tried to unsuccessfully change the subject. The rest of the adults, as well as the kids, just stared at him with various expressions of bewilderment. His shoulders drooped. “Ok…maybe not the best time.”

Five pinched the bridge of his nose with his fingers. “The plan stands. Diego, you and I are going to the hotel.”

“I’m coming too,” Allison said firmly, standing up with that pose that meant she wasn’t going to take no for an answer.

“Fine,” Five said, just to move things along. “Let’s go then.”

**********************

The outside world was bleak, and getting bleaker by the hour. Each new wave from the kugelblitz brought more destruction to the city and the world around them. The streets were deserted of people, with cars left in the middle of the road after their drivers had evaporated. Buildings were starting to crumble and crack, trees were being uprooted, and the sky was turning all sorts of interesting colors. It looked like Doomsday for sure.

As the three siblings walked along the couple miles to the hotel, Five got lost in his own thoughts again. When they had left, the other Five was still doing a few last minute adjustments to both watches, and Five knew that once those were finished there was no time to waste. He needed to get his family out of there before anything else happened. He had nothing really to base it on except for a strong hunch, but he suspected that he and his siblings, along with anyone else that had powers, were going to be the last to go when the world collapsed in on itself. Which meant this would at least buy his other self and his kids a little more time. He wasn’t sure about Marie, but maybe her proximity to them would be enough.

As Five trudged along with his brother and sister, Diego suddenly spoke up. “Hey, this is like old times. The three of us doing some recon together? Just like with Gerald Jenkins.”

“Harold,” both Five and Allison corrected in unison.

“Whatever,” Diego grumbled, taking out a knife that had been strapped to the outside of his leg and flipping it in the air as he walked. “I’m just saying, this is the good stuff, right here. Us, working together, solving crimes and shit.”

“We’re just trying to find Klaus,” Five mumbled, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

“Well, it’s almost like solving a crime.” Diego was silent for a minute before speaking again, this time quieter. “You know, what you said back at the house…that’s not true.”

Five looked up. “What are you talking about?”

“You said we think you’re a monster. That’s not true.”

Five was silent and then Allison piped up. “He’s right. You’re not a monster, Five. An asshole, maybe, but not a monster. You’re our brother.”

Five didn’t know what to say. He was not used to having to show emotions, let alone express them out loud. The only person he’d ever poured his heart out to was Dolores, so this was definitely new territory. Say thank you or something, idiot! They’re being nice. Be nice back!

“Yeah…” Five cleared his throat. “Ok,” he managed to rasp out, still looking at the ground as he walked. That was all he could get out at the moment, but he hoped they’d be able to read between the lines of those two lame little words. Thank you. Thank you for caring.

No one spoke the rest of the way to the hotel, but Five could see Diego and Allison exchanging glances over his head. He should have brought a flask.

As soon as they entered the lobby of the Hotel Obsidian, something felt off. Which was saying a lot, considering what a weird place it was to begin with. It was quiet. And empty. At first glance there was no sign of Klaus, either.

“Klaus!” Diego yelled out, his voice booming and echoing through the vast lobby.

Right on cue, Klaus’s head popped out from behind a red velvet couch he had been sleeping on. He looked dazed, but otherwise ok.

“Oh, hey guys,” he said airily as he sat up and turned around to face them. “What are you doing here?”

Diego threw his hands in the air. “Jesus Christ, Klaus! What are YOU doing here?”

“Well, you know…I was getting antsy in that house, so I decided to take a little walk.”

“You went to get high,” Five stated flatly.

“Well, there was that, too. But, as I’m sure you’ve noticed, there’s not a lot of people to ask for such products these days.”

The four of them took a look around the lobby again, confirming they were still the only people there.

“What happened?” Allison asked.

Klaus shrugged, standing up and stretching. “Kugel-ed I guess? It was like this when I got here. Except guess who was here? Dad.”

“What? Dad was here?” Diego asked, holding his knife in a way that meant he was ready for an attack.

“Did you talk to him?” Five asked.

Klaus nodded and then laughed. “He said we sucked so bad back in Dallas that he made sure not to adopt us as babies. Then he wanted to recruit me for some experiment or something. Oblivion something. I don’t know, I didn’t understand completely. He said it would save the world and stop the kugelblitz.”

Five looked around nervously, expecting Reginald to come striding around the corner at any moment.

“Don’t worry, he left. Said he’ll be back with the Sparrows, though. But he wanted me to wait here for him.”

“Klaus…” Allison said warily. “You weren’t waiting here for Dad, were you?”

Klaus looked guiltily to the side but when Diego and Five made disappointed groaning noises, he started to plead his case. “Listen, this Reggie is way nicer than our version ever was! And you had to be there, but what he was saying made sense. Dad always told us we were going to save the world. Well, I think this is what he meant.”

Diego stepped close to him, getting in his face and pointing the knife at his chest. “Klaus, I swear to god, you better not be considering listening to that bastard. He tortured us! Don’t you remember how many times he locked you in that mausoleum and left you there?”

“Of course I remember!” Klaus shot back. “But this is not that guy. I told you, he’s a much softer Reginald.”

Five sighed heavily. “Fuck, Klaus…we don’t have time for whatever Daddy issues you’re trying to work out here. Reginald is a conniving bastard in any timeline and we need to go!”

“But what if he’s right? What if you’re wrong and Dad is right?”

“Klaus, you can’t possibly think that, can you?” Allison asked in a slightly gentler voice than her brothers’. “Think about it. Are you really going to trust him over Five?”

“Dad has never done shit for us. But at least Five has tried. And he’s trying again, so you need to trust him.” Diego added, still in Klaus’s face.

Five’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. He hadn’t really thought about the fact that his siblings may actually trust him. Not after what happened the last two times. He assumed they were just going along with whatever he said because they had no other choice. But now they did have a choice. And it seemed they were choosing him.

No one spoke for a minute while Klaus’s eyes darted from Five to Allison, and then back to Diego. He let out a long sigh and his shoulders dropped forward.

“You’re right. I’m sorry.” He turned to Five. “You really think you and the other, hotter you, can get us back?”

“I do,” Five said with a nod. “But we have to leave. Now.”

As Diego backed off, Klaus nodded. “Alright, then. Lead the way, Cinco.”

As the four of them left out the revolving door, getting stuck only once, Klaus took one last look back at the hotel before moving on.

Diego noticed. “So, what exactly did Dad say to you to try and convince you?”

Klaus looked up with a sad smile. “He said I was truly exceptional and would be a great asset to him. Which, I realize isn’t a big deal under normal circumstances, but it was coming from Dad. Can you even think of a time when he complimented any of us?”

“Yeah, I guess I see your point,” Diego answered with shake of his head. “Damn, he really fucked us all up if that’s the biggest compliment he’s ever given his own kids.”

Five nodded as he walked quickly along. “The man is diabolical, there’s no doubt about that.” He turned to Klaus, uncharacteristically sincere. “I’m sorry you had to speak with him, I know that wasn’t easy. Thank you for trusting me.”

Klaus grinned and clapped his smaller brother on his shoulder, earning him a glare and a swat at his hand. “Hey, if anyone can get us out of here and back home, it’s you my little brosef. And might I add, I cannot wait until you are the same age as that other you, because damn…you are one smoking piece of a—”

The other three siblings groaned, cutting him off, and Five looked up at Klaus with a disgusted look on his face. “Please. Never say that again.”

“Yeah, dude, that’s pretty weird. He’s your brother,” Diego said. Then he looked at Allison. “No offense.”

She rolled her eyes but then she laughed and shrugged. “God, we are a weird fucking family.”

“That’s for damn sure,” Five muttered.

*********************************

As the small group of siblings continued down the street, another pulsing wave rushed over them and their surroundings. More buildings started to fall and giant cracks were forming in the pavement of the streets. It had been gradual, but they noticed the sky was starting to turn black with dark clouds and flashes of orange light. Allison jumped out of the way as a falling brick nearly bashed her in the head.

“Fuck,” Five exhaled. “We have to go.”

Allison brushed off the concrete dust that had fallen on her shoulder. “What if that wave just took out everyone else at the house?”

Five nodded nervously. “I’m a little concerned about that myself.” He glanced around at the other three. “We need to get there fast.”

Diego moaned when he realized what Five meant. “Oh…not again! You know I’m going to get sick, right?”

“It doesn’t matter, we’re running out of time.” Yanking Klaus closer by his wrist, and holding Allison’s hand with his other, Five gave a pointed look toward Diego.

Groaning again, Diego reluctantly grabbed onto Klaus’s arm. “I really hate this—,” he started to say before being swept up in one of Five’s blinks.

As soon as they were dropped out of the portal into the middle of the living room at the house, Diego lurched forward, holding his stomach.

“Oh god, out of the way!” he warned as he went sprinting to the bathroom.

Lila looked after him with a small shake of her head. “Giant baby.”

The other three looked around, silently counting all of the bodies in the room. It appeared that no one was missing. Even the other Five, Marie, and the kids were there. Everyone was safe. For now, at least.

“Klaus!” Viktor cried with a smile. “Oh, I’m so happy they found you.”

With a quiet laugh, Klaus flapped a hand at him. “You know me, I always come back. Like a stray cat.”

“So, you were at the hotel?” Luther asked.

Klaus nodded, but before he could explain himself, Five interjected. “Yes, he was. And he met Dad, who is definitely up to something nefarious. It’s just another reason we need to get out of here as quickly as possible. If we can restore this timeline back to normal, hopefully Reggie won’t be able to carry out whatever he has planned.”

The other Five, who had been standing with an arm around his wife’s waist, was listening intently. At the mention of Reginald’s name, he instantly tensed.

“What was he planning?” he asked Klaus; his jaw already set in anger.

“I’m not sure, but he said he needed me and the Sparrows to carry it out.” Klaus swallowed hard and looked over at Five and Allison. “Actually, he didn’t just say he needed me. He said he needed all of us. Something to do with needing as many of our powers as possible.”

Allison put a hand on her hip. “Klaus, what the hell? Why didn’t you tell us that?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know! I didn’t want you to get all weird and I figured it didn’t matter anyway. We weren’t staying.”

“I knew it,” the older-looking Five said, stepping away from his wife and balling his hands into fists at his side. “I’ve known that bastard has been up to something for years, and here’s the proof.” He looked down at his kids who were understandably worried and crowded in next to their mother. “I’ll be goddamned if I let that bastard get a hold of me or my kids.” He scanned the rest of the faces in the room. “Or any of you, for that matter. He needs to be stopped.”

Five shook his head. “It won’t matter once we can get out of here. Things will return to normal.”

Just as he said that, another wave ripped through the house and reversed itself, leaving everyone with a strange tingling feeling throughout their bodies. The kids screamed, but when the wave passed, everyone was still accounted for and the house was still standing. Outside, a large tree cracked in half and fell across the small front lawn. In the distance, more rumblings of falling buildings and cracking concrete could be heard. An eerie, orange glow seeped through the windows.

“Go get the watches,” Five told his doppelganger. “We have to go.”

The other Five hesitated. Determination and anger were written all over his face and he seemed to not even hear Five. He was lost in his own head.

“Five!” Marie said loudly, snapping him out of his thoughts. “Go! Hurry!”

He turned to her, his eyes filling with tears. “Right.” Then he took her chin in his hand and kissed her softly with a smile before bending down to hug and kiss each one of his kids. “I love you all.” Before his confused wife could respond, he was gone in a blast of blue light.

“That was weird,” Luther said under his breath to Viktor, who nodded in agreement.

“Diego!” Lila yelled out. “Are you still alive?”

“Yeah,” came his weak voice from the bathroom. “Barely.”

“Well, chuck it all up and get on with it! We gotta go!”

Five looked around nervously. Something was wrong, he could feel it. And the way his other self just acted was not sitting well with him.

“Shit,” he said to himself. Then he looked up at Marie. “I think he’s gone.”

“What do you mean he’s gone?” she asked with wide eyes.

“Come on!”

Five hurried toward the basement steps, with Marie and Klaus right behind him. When they got to the bottom of the stairs, Five saw what he was afraid of. No other Five. And only one watch on the table.

“Shit,” he groaned again.

“Oh my god,” Marie whispered as tears started to form in her eyes. “Why would he leave us like this?”

Five walked over to the desk where he had found the file folder containing the other Five’s collection of Reggie-related things. He opened the drawer and pulled the folder out, holding it up for Marie to see.

“Do you know about this?”

She shook her head. “No, what is it?”

“He’s been tracking Reginald for years. I wasn’t sure why before, but the fact that he kept it a secret from you, and his reaction just now to what Klaus told him, tells me that it’s not anything good. The watch is missing, too.” He ran a hand through his hair and exhaled a long breath. “Fuck…I think I know where he went.”

“How do you know?” Klaus asked.

“Because he’s a version of me, remember?”

Marie wiped at the tears on her face as Klaus put an arm around her shoulder. “The whole world is falling apart and he just left us? I can’t believe he would do that. I can’t…you have to get him back…I need him here. I just…please…” she cried while covering her face with her hands.

“I have the other watch and I’ll bring him back. I promise,” Five told her; his voice gentle but firm.

“I’m coming with you,” Klaus said. Five opened his mouth to argue and Klaus held up a hand. “Don’t even try arguing, old man. I’m not letting you go by yourself.”

Five thought about telling him no, but decided it would take up too much precious time. They needed to find the other Five and bring him back to his family. So, he just nodded at his brother and grabbed the other watch off the table. He strapped it to his wrist and held it up to start setting the coordinates of where he was 99% sure his other self had gone.

“So, where are we going, anyway?” Klaus asked, as he gently let Marie go and put a hand on Five’s shoulder so he could be transported along with him.

Five looked up at Klaus with a worried face. “The Academy. November 11, 2002.”

********************************

Five had been troubled by his other self’s obsession with their father, but only from the standpoint that he knew it wasn’t healthy. He understood being angry and resentful towards Reggie; that was a given. All of his kids had some lasting trauma from him. Even the stupid Sparrows probably didn’t have much love for the man. But Five had decades alone to work through his anger, whereas this version of himself had been carrying it around with him ever since he had been thrown out onto the street as a kid. It was understandable that he had a big chip on his shoulder.

But Five could see now that this obsession had reached a new level as soon as Klaus told him about Reggie needing their powers. Of course he was going to be protective of his kids, Five certainly understood that. They weren’t even his kids, but he still felt a strong connection to them. So, just the thought of Reggie trying to harm them in any way was the push his other self had needed to make him take action. Even if that meant leaving his family and placing himself in danger in order to protect them all.

Five had hoped he had set the watch correctly, because the last thing he needed was another show down with the Sparrows, even if they were only kids. So, when he and Klaus appeared in the basement of the Academy, he was relieved to see he’d calculated it correctly. They were alone, as predicted, with the everyone in the house presumably at the dinner table.

“Wow, this is weird,” Klaus said, looking around at the familiar surroundings. “It looks the same.”

Five was already on the move, creeping quietly to the stairs. When he realized Klaus wasn’t following him, he loudly whispered, “Klaus! Come on!”

“Right,” his brother said, hurrying to catch up with him. “So what’s the plan?”

“We need to get upstairs without being seen, first of all. Then, we need to find my other self before he does something stupid.”

“Are you sure he’s even here?”

Five shrugged as he made his way up the stairs. “No, I’m not. But stick close to me in case we need to jump out of here fast, ok?”

With a nod, Klaus crept in closer to Five, stepping on his heel and bumping into the back of him, almost knocking him over. Five stopped and turned around with his usual irksome glare at his sibling. “Not that close.”

“Sorry,” Klaus said with a guilty smile.

As they arrived on the main level, Five held a hand out behind him to stop Klaus until he did a quick surveillance of the area. They were in the main foyer area, with the doors to the living room closed. Five could smell their mother’s cooking again, so he knew they must be at the dining table. That feeling of regret and shame started to wash over him again. They may have been in a completely different timeline, but the day and time were the same, and it was one Five would never forget.

“Now what?” Klaus whispered.

Five was about to answer when they heard a small shuffling noise nearby. Five motioned to Klaus to follow him, making his way down one of the hallways. It was dimly lit, just like everything else in the house, but they could clearly make out a figure sitting on the floor  against one of the walls.

As they approached, the figure of the other Five became clearer. He was hunched on the ground, his back against the wall, knees drawn to his chest, and arms folded across the top of them. His forehead was resting on his forearms with his eyes closed. In the hand that was closest to Five and Klaus was a pistol.

Five hesitated. He recognized the gun as Reginald’s that was kept in one of the chests near the front door. It was always kept loaded inside the drawer, for emergencies, or at least that’s what Pogo had told the children. It had never occurred to their father to be concerned for the safety of small children in the home with easy access to a loaded weapon.

“Shit,” Five whispered under his breath, glancing quickly at Klaus with a worried expression.

Five and Klaus quietly made their way closer to the Five on the floor. He seemed smaller than normal, like a child, with the way he was huddled up and curling in on himself. Five worried about the gun, and he didn’t want to make any loud or sudden movements.

When the two brothers came within a few feet of the other Five, he must have sensed their presence. With his head bolting up, the pistol was immediately aimed at their heads. The older-looking Five kept his finger on the trigger, his eyes wide and manic. Five and Klaus both froze in place and when the other Five recognized them, his eyes clouded with confusion.

He kept the gun aimed at them, but he had moved his finger off the trigger. “What are you doing here?” he hissed, trying to keep his voice down.

“Stopping you from making a big mistake,” Five whispered. “Get up off the floor and let’s go.”

His other self shook his head slowly and then looked in the direction of the front door. “He needs to be stopped. So he can’t hurt anyone anymore.”

Five swallowed. He tried to imagine himself doing this exact same thing if their past paths hadn’t deviated so drastically from one another. But Five had worked so hard for so long to get back to his family that he had a hard time imagining abandoning them in order to exact revenge on their father. But yet, that was him on the floor looking deranged and pointing a gun at him and Klaus, so it must be what he would have done.

“Five, listen…” Klaus started. “I know how you feel. Believe me, if anyone has envisioned blasting a bullet through dear old Dad’s monocle, it’s me. But after a while…it just doesn’t matter anymore.”

“He’s right,” Five said. “I wish I could change so many things from my past, but we just can’t. What has happened has happened. You can kill Reggie, but it’s not going to make you feel any better.”

The other Five laughed. “I’m quite certain I would feel loads better knowing that shit head isn’t going to be out there, torturing other kids, and ruining their lives.”

Five looked incredulous at that statement. “Ruining their lives? Your life was anything but ruined, you absolute shit-for-brains! Do you realize what you have? What most people would do to have your life? What I would do?”

His other self didn’t say anything, but he lowered the gun. His eyes remained dark and angry and he swallowed hard, looking away from the other two.

“From the looks of it, I think you already know that, don’t you?” Klaus asked softly. “Because if you were going to go through with it, you wouldn’t be sitting here looking all sad and pathetic.”

The other Five glared up at Klaus. “Maybe I hesitated, that’s true. But there’s still time.”

Five looked up and shook his head before looking back down at his other self. “Fuck…that’s the thing! There’s always time! We have infinite time at our disposal; we always have. But nothing we do is going to change what happened to us.”

“I don’t care,” the other Five snarled.

Five sighed. “Alright, how about this? What if killing Reginald right now, today, alters the world? We know the butterfly effect can do some crazy ass things, so let’s say you blow him away today and you feel better about yourself. But then you return home to find out your wife isn’t your wife and your kids never existed. What then?”

His other self looked away again, gripping and re-gripping the pistol in his hand nervously. “I don’t know.”

“But it’s entirely possible and you know it. That’s why you’re sitting here in the dark instead of doing what you set out to do.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “What do you think Marie would say about you being here? Do you think she’d be proud to hear you killed him?”

“Don’t talk about my wife! You know nothing about her…or me!”

“You’re right, I don’t know her. But I do know she’s at home in tears because she thinks you left her and your kids when the world is ending. And as for me not knowing you? I know you all too well, unfortunately. I know the way your mind works and how you operate. I know how every little thing that you have screwed up in your life eats at you until you feel like you want to crawl out of your skin. Why do you think I’m a fall down drunk half the time? For fun? No, because I want to forget every shitty thing that’s ever happened to me. I want to erase it from my mind. But all I’ve managed to do is alienate my family and become a cynical, jaded old man.”

“That’s all true,” Klaus pointed out, helpfully.

After an identical annoyed look at Klaus, both Fives faced each other again. “But he has tortured so many of us over so many timelines. He needs to be stopped,” the other Five said without as much conviction behind his words as before.

Five shook his head. “No, he doesn’t. Reginald will always be Reginald no matter what. You can destroy this one and another one will pop up again somewhere else. That’s just how it works.” He took another step closer to his other self. “Remember your first kill for the Academy? When we were eleven?”

The other Five nodded slowly. “Yeah…I remember. Snapped that guy’s neck.”

“And we had nightmares about him for weeks.”

“Yeah, and then we killed a few more, and it wasn’t as bad. What’s your point?”

“After you left the Academy, you’ve never had to kill again. And that’s because no one was forcing you into it for your own survival.” Five let out a long exhale and raked his hand through his hair. “You don’t want to do this. Because once you start killing again, you’re going to be that same, messed up eleven year-old kid again. That part never goes away, no matter how many lives you take. So, do yourself a favor. Be grateful for once in your goddamn life and go home. Go home to your family and your house, your parents that loved you, your career that you’re proud of. Don’t waste it all because of one asshole in the world that called himself our father at one point in our lives. Don’t let him define who you are.”

Neither Five said anything for a moment, and then Klaus tapped Five on the shoulder and whispered nervously to him, “I think we need to go. Listen.”

The sound of footsteps and voices started to get closer to the hallway they had been hiding in. They could make out the familiar sound of Ben’s voice and then the ominous caw of a crow.

“Shit,” Five mumbled before holding out his hand to his other self. “Come on, fuck wad, if you’re coming, we have to go. Now!”

After a few more tense seconds of the voices and bird noises growing closer, and Klaus becoming visibly agitated, the other Five grabbed Five’s hand and let him pull him off the ground. Klaus clasped onto his brother’s shoulder and the three of them were gone in a popping flash of light.

@kaybreezy3000 @lunalovesangst

[panie-wanie-dean-bean]

Ok, sorry, I just need to rant about my version of Swap Sans

So, to me, the main building blocks of Underswap is that the characters who are swapped swap both their vibe and their place. What does this mean? Well, the place thing is easy, it just means that whenever you're supposed to meet a character you will meet their swapped counter part instead (That's why Asgore is in the Ruins) The vibes thing is a little trickier

I say vibes rather than personality for a reason, they don't swap personalities in my version of the au. Sans still loves puns, Papyrus is still a little obsessed with humans and puzzles, and Asgore still loves to garden! Their vibes are just a little different. Sans actually has the motivation to get up in the morning, Papyrus can now sit still on occasion, stuff like that. But they're still themselves, and that's what I find so fun about them

See, when you get to Snowdin town the boss you have to beat to get to Waterfall is Sans, as you may expect. But this Sans is still the Sans you meet in Undertale proper, and we all know how he can fight when he goes all out. So he doesn't!

So long as you're doing a neutral or pacifist run his fight is more like a test! He straight up tells you that he has 1 HP and any hit will kill him, so you'll need to show him how good you are at ACTing and talking your way out of fights. This is for a few reasons, but one I'll mention is that he's still really close to Toriel in this au. And some part of him wants to hope that maybe, maybe if you're skilled enough, his friend won't have to kill another human and break herself down even further

So it's a pretty easy fight, about as easy as the Papyrus fight in Undertale. He even offers to take you on a date for all the trouble, which is just as silly as the Papyrus date. But all of that is assuming that you play along

If you take your chance to attack him during the fight, he'll dodge out of the way. He'll scold you but chalk it up to butter fingers and let you off the hook. Do it three times though, and his eyelights go out. His smile drops. and he lets out a great sigh

"Huh, I don't know what I expected. Jokes on me for thinking it might be different this time I guess. Alright kid, you want a fight? I'll give you one"

And the fun little fight you were supposed to have early in the game goes full genocide run. He does not hold back, he does not show mercy, and he will taunt you about how many times he's killed you if you try hitting him again once you respawn. This Sans is VERY aware of your timeline shenanigans and unlike Undertale Sans, he has the motivation to cut your little game short before you can do any real harm

If you're doing a geno run he doesn't even pretend to like you once Pap is out of ear shot. He wants you dead, and the only reason he waits at all when he sees you step out of the Ruins covered in dust is because of how much faith he has in his brother. Surely someone as nice, and confident, and cool and Papyrus could get you to turn your ways around, right? If you were doing a geno run but don't clear out all the monsters before you fight Sans he'll have something to say about it

"Wow, look at you. Honestly, I didn't think it would work, but look at you! You've changed a lot huh? Sure, all that dust won't come out easy, but you haven't added to it since you got here. Want a medal? Look, I still don't trust you, but you've shown me there's at least some part of you that doesn't want to murder anything that moves. So I'll let you pass though to Waterfall, we don't even have to fight. Just hit that Spare button and we walk away like none of this ever happened"

He's true to his word too. You can go on a neutral run from here. But if you take this moment of Mercy to show Sans your true colors, he isn't prepared for it. Your attack hits him hard, bringing him to his knees as he starts to bleed. He laughs, telling you he should have expected as much from you, giving you one last warning to stay the fuck away from his brother before walking off screen. Getting to the tree line before his dust scatters into the snow, only leaving his little blue bandana for Papyrus to find later

[fizzing-imagines]

Hellfire After Hours | Billy Hargrove x Plus Size! Alt! Reader

Notes: I've tried uploading this 20 times now until I realized that tumblr won't let me post until I delete the entire smut scene. So here y'all have the censored version (u can dm me for the smut scene lol). Please note that reader is female in this and don't be hard on me, this is my first time writing smut. Big thank you to @billyssillywilly for helping me out. Enjoy!

Bad End: Here

Good End: Here

Warnings: Bullying, Swearing and sexual innuendos

Word Count: 2.5k-ish

Billy wasn't supposed to look twice when you passed by him. You hung out with the freaks, blasted Black Sabbath when pulling into the parking lot, wore dark makeup and ripped clothes. In addition, you had a few extra pounds to you. There was nothing he should be attracted to, but yet he was. He couldn't stop imagining your blood red lips wrapped around his dick, and grabbing your plushy hips while slamming into you. He wanted nothing more than to rip your clothes even further while making you tell him what you do with your freak-friend Gareth Emerson every other day after school. And he hated you for it. He despised you more than anyone else in the school for something that was entirely his fault. And he has tried everything to get you down. Billy has called you a cow, fatso, lard-ass, you name it, he said it to you. But last time, when he called you a quarter pounder, all you said was "At least I get pounded." and it made his dick twitch. And he hated Gareth for getting what he wanted so desperately, but what he hated more was that Gareth not only didn't care what he had to say but also that you protected him. That freak wasn't even your boyfriend, for fuck sake.

Billy Hargrove hated you like nothing else in Hawkins High.

"He's starring again.", Gareth mumbled to you at lunch. The two of you were seated at your table, waiting for your other friends to join. "Who?", you asked with a half-full mouth of mac and cheese. "Hargrove.", your friend-with-benefits replied. All you did was shrug your shoulders and put another fork full of your food in your mouth. "Let him. What is he gonna do, tell me to eat less food?" The last three words were spoken in a mocking tone. Gareth chuckled at your words and looked back at his food, but not before sneaking a glance at your boobs that were practically squeezing out of your Coroded Coffin tube top. You didn't comment since you couldn't blame him. One thing you were confident in is your looks - and you knew that Billy has been thirsting after you. Did you hate him? Yes, absolutely, but knowing that he secretly wanted to bang you was hilarious and such a treat. Speaking of the devil:

"Hey fattie.", Billy called over before standing next to you. "You ain't gonna loose weight if you keep eating junk like a pig." All you did was giggle at his words before replying: "Are you sure you want me to loose weight? My tits would be so much smaller, and I know how much you love starring at them." Billy was flabbergasted for a good second before scoffing and turning heel to walk away, but not before calling you a cow. "You know, I think you'll eventually regret talking to him like that.", Gareth said before eating a fork full of salad. "Oh really? What is the big manbaby gonna do?" You laughed and continued eating.

Just like your friends, you were in the Hellfire Club. Eddie had another campaign, a really good one, but your sorcerer died in a kamikaze attack to save Gareth the Great just an hour into the game. It frustrated you that you had to sit there for two more hours without doing anything, even though you loved listening to how Eddie led his campaign. The party and the campaign were finished after three hours total, leaving you as the next dungeon master for the following two sessions. As always, you volunteered to clean up after everyone so you left last. What you didn't expect was the basketball team to finish at the same time today. They were always done long before Hellfire finished up, so you saw them loading their cars as you walked out of the school. You threw your D&D books in your trunk while hearing the remaining cars driving away. Just as you thought you were alone while slamming your trunk shut, someone stood next to you. "What do you want?", you asked in a condescending tone while putting your school bag into the passenger seat. "You got a real big mouth, you know that?" He fumbled a cigarette out while talking - and he looked pissed. "You know, for someone who will always be a single imbecile. You should be nice, at least if you have to be fat." You scoffed at his words while leaning against your car. Any other day than today you would've made a passing comment, get behind the wheel and drive away. But now, after having your character be killed at the beginning of the campaign, being yelled at by your gym teacher and now Billy saying this you've had it. "You know, you're gonna be one of those husbands who yells at his wife to make him a sandwich and get divorced three times." He glared at you, even though he provoked you. "And your kids won't talk to you. They'll let you rot away in a nursing home while you wonder why nobody loves you." He got closer and looked down on you, probably hoping to intimidate you. It didn't work. "You'll never get the pleasure of a wife who will make you lunch for work and homemade cookies for desert. There is nothing but sadness, Billy." He blew the smoke from his cigarette in your face and pit it out on the roof of your car. "What are you gonna do, huh? Punch me? Do it. Fucking do it, you pussy." You didn't care anymore, the words were spit from your mouth, right at his face. You were fed up with him and his bullshit. But Billy, who cares too much, grabbed you by your jaw and pushed your back against your own car. Admittedly, you were a bit scared now but in some sick way...it made you horny. He looked beyond pissed, a storm was brewing in his eyes, his jaw clenched and nostrils widened. And you couldn't think of anything more attractive. "I hate you, so much.", he hissed out. "How can you not be miserable, looking the way you do." It wasn't a question towards you. More so, he asked himself how you can be happy while he had to suffer by himself. Billy felt how a lump formed in his throat, but he knew he couldn't cry. Not in public, and especially not in front of you.

What you didn't know was that Neil shoved Billy into his bookshelf this morning. He shoved him so hard that the bookshelf almost fell on top of him and his back was bruised. But he couldn't cry - he had to get Max and him to school. All day, it kept building up. His team lost in gym class, he failed math and had to explain that to Neil now, he got detention and now you read him like a book. Everything build up, and it became too much. He needed a way to let it out. That way was you.

"Dude, it's okay to cry.", you told him with a raised eyebrow. "Just do that shit in your car. I'm not your therapist." Billy let you push him off of you easily, giving you the chance to get in your car and drive off.

After that incident, Billy left you alone for two weeks. Even when his friends wanted to tease you, he just told them that you're not worth it and walked away. Gareth, knowing you enough, noticed it at the beginning of week two. "What's with Hargrove?", he asked you while giving you his desert cookie. With a grin, you took it from him while saying: "What's supposed to be with him?" Gareth looked past your head to see Billy eating at the popular kids table without starting a conversation. Only a short glance at you sometimes. "Keeps looking at you, but hasn't said anything in, what, a week?" You smirked at Gareth, winked at him and asked: "Jealous?", which was followed by your other friends at the table, aka Corroded Coffin, making gagging noises. "No seriously, what is it with him?", Gareth kept pushing. You haven't told any of them what had happened with Billy, you didn't want to tell nor have them know. But now that Gareth noticed, they won't stop asking until you told them what had happened. So you told them, whispered everything you could remember to them just quietly enough for nobody to overhear, conveniently leaving out the part where his anger turned you on. Jeff sat open-mouthed without saying a word, Gareth and his best friend started talking about how much of an asshole he is while Eddie sat and watched the other react. "It's not a big deal, seriously.", you reassured them while unpacking your cookie. "His ego is bruised, so what? Big deal." The four guys shared a look while you took a bite of your cookie. What were they on about now? "What?", you asked with a mouth full of food. "Nothing, jeez.", Gareth said before starting to eat his own food again. Eddie changed the topic to D&D after a while, saying he was excited to finish your own campaign later today.

The rest of the day went by fast, but not only for you. Billy couldn't get you out of his mind ever since he pinned you against your car. He was angry at first, not wanting to admit his attraction to you and still asking himself, why you? Then his anger directed itself at your friend, fucking Gareth Emerson, who got anything he wanted from you. At the same time fear got the best of him, because what if Gareth got to you first? What if he took what he thought was his, even though you didn't even pay attention to him when he didn't try to provoke you. And he was convinced that he only wanted to fuck you, but when he thought of you being with Gareth, kissing him, holding his hand or going to some stupid prom with him it made him furious. He didn't want that to happen. So then he got sad, because any chance he might have had with you was out of the window. Who would date someone that called them fat on a regular basis? And since when did he want to date anybody? Nothing made sense to him anymore, so he decided to get to his senses after your D&D session. He patiently waited in front of the theatre room, where your club held it's sessions and listened to you leading the campaign through the door. Your voice was filled with nothing but happiness and excitement as you spoke, and your laugh sounded heavenly to him. His heart started beating faster as he heard the party celebrate their victory and pack up their things. Once again, you volunteered to clean up their leftover cans, snacks and put the figurines away. All four other party members let out a disapproving scoff as they saw Billy leaning against the wall next to the door but he just ignored them and glared at Gareth before going in.

Your back was turned as you sorted the little figurines to each member of Hellfire. You made all of them put their initials on the bottom of each figure that belonged to them after switching figurines up regularly. Eddie started calling you mom after that in a joking manner, even though you were a year younger than him. Not even the door shutting concerned you since you thought it were the boys leaving. Only when you heard a familiar voice say "Quite the view." you turned around to see Billy standing in the room. "What do you want?", you asked him in an annoyed tone. Hellfire Club was the only place where he left you alone, and you wanted to keep it that way. "Look, I'm not here to fight, okay? Just wanna talk." He came closer to you and placed a hand on each side of the table next to you, cornering you once more. "You can do that while respecting my personal space.", you said to him while pressing your back into the table. "You'd run off if I did.", he said. "Listen, (Y/N), I have something to tell you." You can't remember a scenario where he called you by your first name. "The times I was mean to you-" You interrupted him. "You bullied me. Or tried to." Billy just nodded once before continuing "Yeah, bullied you, I guess." What a good start, he thought. "I was...trying to get you to hate me-" You interrupted him once more. "I kind of do, actually." He sighted at your interruption. "Let me finish, please.", he said while trying to hold back his annoyed tone. You simply nodded and let him continue. "I was trying to get you to hate me, because I didn't want to admit to the fact that I like you." He waited for you reaction, but all you did was grin and giggle. "Oh, I know you like me Billy.", you said. "You made it very obvious." There was silence between you two before you spoke again. "I'll let you get in my pants if you promise to be a good boy afterwards." Billy grinned at you, lifted you up the table and started kissing you.

The next hour was a blur. All you could remember was how good you felt, that you moaned his name over and over again and begged him for more. "You okay?", Billy asked you while picking up his and your clothes. "Can't feel my legs..", you mumbled in a tired tone. He chuckled, helped you to sit up on the table and got you dressed. "Let me drive you home.", he said while pulling your shirt over your head. "Are your parents home or anyone I need to make an excuse for?" He lifted your legs up to get your thong back on you. "No, they're in Austin for some business conference. Big sister moved to Tampa years ago, just me and my pet frog." Billy helped you get up from the table, you stood on shaky legs as you looked around the room. "Need to sort the figurines again.", you mumbled as you walked over to the table like a baby deer. "Let me help you, sweetheart." Billy picked up the figurines and dice that were scattered on the ground. "There's the boys initials on the bottom, just put them in piles." You were too distracted with not collapsing due to your legs giving out that you didn't noticed how Billy snagged one of Gareths figurines.

After cleaning up, Billy drove you home. He got you into your room, helped you remove your makeup and get changed into your pyjamas. "Didn't you say that you liked me?", you asked as he tucked you in. "I did, yeah.", he replied with a smile. "Wanna stay the night?" Billy looked down on you. He saw you without your dark makeup for the first time, and you were still so beautiful to him. "If I can take you out after school.", he said while taking off his clothes. You thought about it for a bit before agreeing and he slipped into bed next to you. "Sleep well, sweetheart.", Billy whispered. He turned off your nightlight, gave you a kiss on your forehead and wrapped his arms around your body before both of you drifted off to sleep.

It's been a month since that incident. Billy held his promise and started taking you out every other day, didn't make comments in school anymore and told everyone who tried to to fuck off. First, you stopped having sex with Gareth after week one, then Eddie eventually caught you and Billy making out after school so you had to tell them that you have been seeing him behind their back. And it took them a while to cope with it, especially because this was Billy Hargrove dating a freak, but they accepted it when they saw that you were even happier than before. Billy officially asked you to be his girlfriend a few days ago, much to your friends dismay. "(Y/N), look at this.", Gareth said while looking at something in his locker next to you. His D&D figurine, the one of his character, was laying in his locker. "Told you it would turn up again.", you said to him with a grin. You never told any of the boys what happened that night on the table, and you assumed Billy stole the figure for whatever reason. "Maybe one of the theatre kids found it.", you added while going back to your locker. "Yeah, but it's been, what, three weeks? A month?", your friend continued. "Just be happy it's back." You picked out the books for your next class and put them in your bag, then fished out a plastic bag filled with cookies you and your father made last night. Billy has walked past your locker between every 4th and 5th period since he asked you to be his girlfriend, so you just waited for him to pass by. "See you later.", Gareth said to you while shutting his locker and walking off to his next class. "See ya.", you said while fixing your hair in the mirror you had in your locker. "Hey, sweetheart.", a familiar voice behind you said. The reflection of Billy was in your mirror, to what you turned around with a smile. "Hey there.", you said with a smile. The two of you shared a kiss before you handed him the bag. "I made this for you.", you proudly told him, still smiling. Billy took the ziplock bag from your hands, looked at the content inside it and smiled. "Thought I'd never have the pleasure of homemade cookies.", he said in a teasing tone.

"Well, you earned that pleasure."

[butterflyintochains]

One Missing Piece

Another addition to my Penguins Familyverse, been a while since I dipped my feet into this end of my Butterfly Effect stories. This is what happens when two living legends bring a younger version of them both into their lives when he didn't know he needed them to. Been wanting to write this fic for ages, and attempted it twice before, so I think it's finally time to make this concept work.

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

I. The Call Up

Jack didn't quite know what to think or expect when that call came from Kyle. Ryan Graves is injured, and won't finish the season. So, here he is, becoming a full blown Penguin three quarters the way through the season. The rush of it hasn't worn off yet, and probably won't for quite some time. He's a Penguin now, and playing with two icons. He's given the tour of the training arena while the rest of his new teammates are on the ice, informed of gameplans, and caught up to speed on general team stuff. Then, he gets suited up, and joins the rest on the ice. Wilkes Barre is one thing, this is so much bigger. Sully introduces him to his new partner - Ryan Shea - and they get on with drills.

Over on the bench, Kris and Erik watch the new kid intently, as they do with everyone else. But, they've never seen someone who so effortlessly mixes their game styles together. He's got the endurance of both of them, but Kris' offence, and Erik's traffic direction. He even looks like them from a decade ago as well. ''Are you thinking what I'm thinking, hjartat?'' Erik asks his husband.

Kris nods, putting his gloves back on for his shift. ''I might just be, amour.'' Could they be looking at the future of the team's defence? For some remote time in the future when they're both retired. Perhaps.

After training, the team grabs lunch, Jack seems a bit unsure of who to sit with, so just joins the rest of the defencemen. Kris and Erik holding court at the table as they always do. ''You were looking good out there, Jack.'' Marcus says.

Jack says. ''Thanks, Petey.'' He spots the rings on Kris and Erik's fingers now, two simple bands of gold. ''Nice rings, wedding rings?'' He asks.

Erik nods, and says. ''Yeah, Kris and I have been together for just over thirteen years now, married for almost three.'' That intrigues Jack further, thirteen years? Kris says, smiling fondly at his wedding ring. ''Funny how one All Star Game can change your whole life, isn't it?''

Jack asks them, because everyone knows about Sid and Geno, and they've been teammates forever. ''How have you made this work while you were on different teams, though?''

Kris says, turning his ring on his finger. ''We just love each other, kid, that's all we've ever needed.'' Kris says, bringing the conversation around to the newcomer. ''Anyway, let's hear your story.'' Jack tells the table about himself, childhood in California, Volleyball, being drafted - and ignored - by the Flyers. ''Can't wait to get started here, though, and to play with two of my heroes.''

Erik smiles at his husband, and says. ''Well, we're happy to have you here, if you need anything, just call the two of us.''

Jack nods, thankful to finally be in good hands. ''Will do, thanks, Erik.''

Kris says, seemingly stunned to be the new kid's childhood hero. ''Welcome to Pittsburgh, Jack.'' Jack nods again, and says to his new leader. ''Just call me 'Ivy', everyone in Wilkes does... or did, I guess.''

Kris says. ''Duly noted.'' This is going to be fun, for all three of them.

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

II. First Game

Here they are, Dallas, with a first game on the forecast. And, Jack looks anxious as soon as they arrive. Kris and Erik both acutely remember their first games, and how scared they were the entire day before those two games. Those nerves are all too familiar to any hockey player. So, they keep an eye on him during breakfast, and morning skate. They know how easy it can be to crumble under those nerves. But, to Jack's credit, he's not letting things get to him just yet, doing drills with Drew the same way Kris does with Sid. Something that makes Kris stop and watch, as if he's looking a decade back in time. Erik shoots him that glance again, to which Kris just smiles brightly. Erik says quietly. ''Nostalgic, hjartat?''

Kris laughs, slipping his hand into Erik's. ''A little, yeah. It's weird, that was me and Sid when we were that age.''

Erik smiles fondly, and says. ''And myself and Stone, before the drama that forced me out.''

They grab lunch, and head back to the hotel to rest up for tonight. Then, it's go time. They wait outside the hotel for the bus to the arena, Kris notices Jack holding back from the rest, and approaches him with Erik. ''You okay, Ivy?'' Kris asks.

Jack nods, clearly trying to hide his nerves, something Kris recognizes instantly, but doesn't comment on. ''Yeah, just... wanted some quiet with my thoughts.''

Erik asks, spotting the telltale signs of anxiety a mile off. ''You're nervous for tonight, aren't you?'' Jack nods, looking embarrassed about it. Here he is, anxious in front of two living legends, one of whom has the word embroidered on his gloves. ''Yeah, it's a lot, y'know? First game, and look who I'm playing with! It's so dumb, but I'm nervous.''

Kris says, assuring the rookie he sees so much of them both in. ''It's not dumb, I was terrified before my first game back in 2006, I'd been waiting for it for ages in the minors, just like you. But, when it came, I was terrified.''

Erik adds, telling his own story, seeing that same anxiety he had back in 2009. ''So was I, I'd flown all the way from Frolunda, finally getting my shot in Ottawa, but I barely slept before the game.'' Jack looks surprised at that, two hall of famers were scared? He asks them both, in need of some advice. ''How did you deal with it?''

Erik says, matter of fact as always. ''I stuck with Danny like glue, followed everything he did, and listened to everything he said.'' Kris nods, and relays his own story. ''I made sure to stick to Guerin, and I found my three brothers too.''

Jack asks, one last question before they board the bus. ''Should I shadow you two then? You two are the best of your generation, right?''

Kris nods, and says. ''If you want to, we're always here. Just: do your best, don't get hurt, and stick with us.'' Jack nods, and boards the bus with his new team, the team that actually wanted to give him a fair shot.

And, true enough, Jack does stick with them. Sitting near them on the bench so he can discuss strategy with them, watching them both intently during their shifts, making mental notes. And, for their part, while the third pair are up, Kris and Erik are keeping an eye on the kid as well, but for different reasons. It's not everyday you get to look back in time, is it? To before the trophies and reputations. To those days where they were trying to keep their relationship under wraps. ''Remember those days, Kris, when that was us?'' Erik asks.

Kris smiles, that one reserved for Erik alone. ''Yeah, I remember.'' They do lose that game, 4-2, but they give Dallas one hell of a fight in the process. ''Good job on tonight, Ivy.'' Erik says.

Jack gives them both a beaming smile. ''Thanks, Erik. And, thank you both for being so patient with me tonight as well.''

Kris laughs, 'patient' isn't how he'd describe himself and his husband, that's for sure. ''No need to thank us, Ivy, that's what we're here for.''

On the bus back to the hotel, Sid and Geno throw the look their way from across the aisle. The look the four of them share with each other when words aren't allowed. The look that asks: is the family getting bigger? And, maybe it is.

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

III. Stray Cat

The day after the team get back from the road trip, Kris and Erik are having a chilled out day to themselves at home, in desperate need of that after all the chaos lately. Erik catches up on some Arsenal games while Kris goes over some stuff from recent PA meetings. A comfortable quiet between them. Kris shakes his hand out, it's been hurting a lot more lately, but there's no time to get anything done about it. The team needs both of them the same way it needs Sid and Geno. And, perhaps selfishly, Kris isn't ready for a game apart from Erik yet, they went through too much to get here. Ivy also needs them both present, so the sore hand will need to wait until whenever they're done. They get a knock at the door, Erik goes to answer it. ''Jack, hi, come in!''

They come through to the living room, Jack looking slightly tired for some reason, but aren't they all? Something weighing down his hoodie as well. ''Hi, guys, sorry for dropping in on you, PO said you'd be best for advice on this.''

Kris furrows his brows, putting his laptop away. ''That's fine, Ivy, that's what we're here for. Advice on what?''

Jack sits down in an armchair, hand supporting the weight in his hoodie. ''So... uhh, this happened last night?'' He gently takes out the sweetest black kitten they've ever seen. It looks healthy, and wakes up at the change of environment. ''Been up with her all night, hoping she'll be okay.''

Erik says, not an expert on cats, but he is impressed. ''You've done a good job, did you take her to the vet?''

Jack nods, and lets the kitten sit on his lap. ''Yeah, the emergency vet was open, gave her shots, she's healthy.'' He tells them the story too. ''I was going to go on a night run, but found her outside my building. She looked so scared, I couldn't leave her like that.''

Kris smiles proudly, and reaches over to pet the little one behind the ears, Buddha and Freya won't like that, but he's a cat person too. ''She's beautiful, and you've done a great job so far.'' Jack smiles, and looks down at his new friend. ''She reminded me of myself, the Flyers left me to dry, and now I have a home, and so does she.''

Erik advises him, a farm boy to his bones despite the two decades of city life. ''Just, look after her, she'll need you for the first while, make sure someone in your building can look after her while we're away too.''

Kris asks, intrigued that she doesn't seem to have a name yet. ''What d'you wanna name her?''

Jack says, petting her behind her ears as she curls up close to him. ''I was thinking Penny, after the team.'' Kris and Erik laugh, out of affection for the rookie. ''Suits her.'' Kris says. Penny meows softly, as though accepting her new name. Two strays who needed a home, one abandoned by a team the other by an old owner, finally have a home together.

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

IV. No Motorbikes

A long, long time has passed since 2008, the year they both were set down this path to each other. The new team's first cup final together, even if only three of them remain from that time. The year Erik got drafted by the Senators. And, everything since has been setting the two defencemen on their path to each other. But, that spring and summer wasn't a happy one for Kris, that public grief, losing his best friend, flinching at the sound of motorbikes for years after that. Only finding Erik helped heal that wound. He can't believe he actually wanted one of those things when he was younger, the things are death traps, and nothing else. The worst of the grief passed years ago, but that doesn't mean he's over it completely. They get in for training one day, things are going slightly better for the team now that there's the new voice and presence in the room. Kris is a bit confused when he finds an open laptop in the team common area. Drew and Bunts are having something to eat, talking about strategy. ''Good morning, boys, whose laptop is that?'' Kris asks.

Drew says. ''Ivy's, he was looking at something, now he's with Shea. We told him not to look into what he was, but he didn't listen to us.''

Erik furrows his brows, Sid and Geno come in - last to arrive as usual. ''What was he looking at, Drew?''

Bunts finishes eating, and says. ''Motorbike stuff, I think?'' Sid almost drops his phone, Geno turns white, but Kris nearly faints. Erik helps his husband sit down, and rubs his shoulders. ''Motorbikes? Why?'' Erik asks. All three of them have visited Luc with Kris, every time they go to Montreal, it's the first thing they do together.

Drew shrugs, and says. ''I guess he wants one someday? Was looking at Ducati bikes, I think.''

As if on cue, Jack wanders in, none the wiser as to what he's just brought back for Kris. ''Good morning, guys, what's up?'' Kris finds his voice again, and speaks calmly. ''Motorbikes, huh, Jack?''

Jack says, shutting his laptop down. ''Yeah, was thinking of getting one someday.''

Kris says, still keeping his voice calm, but getting straight to the point. ''So did I, but I didn't... wanna know why I didn't?'' Jack silently shakes his head, that bravado melting away quickly. ''In 2008, during the playoffs, I lost my best friend - Luc Bourdon - in a motorcycle accident. He was a Canuck, we were teammates in Val D'Or. I lived in that grief for three years.''

Jack asks, looking heartbroken for Kris. ''What made it go away?'' Kris simply says, placing his hands over Erik's. ''Meeting Erik.''

Erik adds, feeling the need to finish the story. ''The four of us go to his grave each time we're in Montreal, I'd have loved to meet him, but all we have is that grave.''

Jack's dark eyes well up, he says, apologetic. ''Wow... God, guys, I am so sorry. I didn't know, had I known, I'd have not been interested.'' Kris takes a deep breath, and assures the rookie. ''That's fine, Ivy, just... I lost one person I care about to those things, and can't lose another.''

PO comes in, with the 'I told you so' face on, not the sunny smile he normally has. ''I told you that was a stupid idea, Ives.'' Jack gets defensive, saying. ''I didn't know, did I?''

Erik mediates, something he's learned very quickly in this league. ''We've sorted it now, let's get onto the ice, shall we?'' They head through to the dressing room, and get onto the ice. Running through sequences with Sully, Kris still looks a bit shaken, but works it off with his usual brutal skating drills with Erik. Jack joins them for their endurance drills, determined to figure out how the hell they can both skate half a game into their thirties. ''Look, I'm really, really sorry about the motorbike thing...''

Kris assures him, a gentle hand on his shoulder. ''Don't be. Hell, don't let us tell you what to do, if you want one, get one. Just be careful on the things.''

Jack shakes his head, one death is too many, especially with how young Luc would have been at the time. ''No, not after the story about Luc. There's plenty of nice car brands instead.''

Erik shouts over from the center line where they start their laps from. ''Hjartat, Ivy, you ready for round two?'' Kris and Jack share a look between themselves, and join Erik for round two. Five laps backwards around the rink.

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

V. The Guest Room

Just after a frustrating loss at home, Kris and Erik decide to honour an old tradition that neither have taken part in for years. A defence and goalies dinner and gossip night. Kris, Brooks, and Flower used to have them every month back in the day. All six healthy defencemen and both goalies gather at their house for dinner. No forwards allowed tonight. Marcus did complain a bit about needing to leave Ricky out, but they got him on side really quickly. Drew was equally miffed that his new roommate had prior engagements, but PO lived with Kris first. It's now that Jack learns that Erik has a shoes off policy in the house, a European thing probably. And, that Erik and Kris know each other's languages. They switch effortlessly between French and Swedish in the kitchen, as though the two languages themselves got married that summer. He looks at the three Norris trophies and the Masterton as he helps set the table. ''God, those are incredible.'' He says.

Tristan nods, there's a replica Masterton with Kris' name on it in the arena museum too. ''Yeah, then there's Kris' three cup rings too, and the rest of it.''

Marcus asks, surely there's another history lesson coming. ''But, you know what they're proudest of on those shelves?'' Jack shakes his head, and says. ''No, what?''

Marcus leads him to the shelves, and points to four knotted velvet cords. In red, white, blue, and gold. ''Those, and their wedding rings.'' Jack asks, but doesn't dare touch them. ''What are they?'' They're on a shelf with their wedding pictures and a framed copy of what must be their vows. ''Our handfasting ties.'' Erik says.

They're regaled with the story over dinner, Erik starting. ''We first agreed to get married in 2020 over lockdown, we started planning everything in secret during the next season. Then, that summer, we flew out to Sweden with four witnesses, and got married.''

Kris says, sipping his wine. ''The next season after that summer was fun, everyone was going nuts trying to figure us out.'' Even Ned is shocked at that, he'd heard the stories, but not in that depth. ''No one knew about you yet?''

Erik says. ''Our secret keepers were there: Flower, Victor Hedman, Daniel Alfredsson, and Pascal Dupuis. That's all we wanted, so, we made sure we got it.''

Jack is in awe of that whole thing, planning a wedding in secret, from across the league, during a pandemic. ''So, you planned a secret wedding, across two conferences, during a pandemic?'' Kris proudly nods, and affirms. ''Yeah, and here we are. We also orchestrated Erik's trade after my second stroke.''

PO says, finishing his dinner, and nursing his beer. ''Welcome to the D-Corps, lead by two batshit crazy masterminds.''

Ryan Shea laughs, and says. ''A match made in heaven.'' Jack needs a minute or two to process all that, not only the wedding stuff, but the trade as well? Immediately, though, Marcus starts talking about some stuff from friends in Anaheim. PO adding gossip from his brother in Ottawa, and stuff Marino tells him about New Jersey. ''Flower texted me yesterday about some prank he wanted to play on Middsy, dunno what he's planning, but it's gonna be good.'' Tristan says.

Kris laughs, and says. ''Sounds about right, hope he keeps us posted.''

Jack asks, Flower's legacy casts a huge shadow over the team. ''What sort of stuff would Flower do back in the day?''

Kris says, nostalgia all over his face. ''We'd fill our coaches' cars with packing peanuts, move hotel room furniture into the hallway for fun. Flower had this thing where he'd tape all your gear together. Even got me a few times early on.''

Ned seems intrigued, and asks. ''What did he do to you?'' Kris laughs, and says. ''All sorts of stuff. Cut my ties up, hide my clothes, nail my shoes to walls.''

Dinner ends, and some of the guys begin to file out, back to their places. Jack has the long drive back to Wilkes Barre, and he's dreading it in the dark like this. ''Hey, Ivy, it's almost ten, that drive is brutal in the dark.'' Kris says, speaking from his drive backs after visiting Mario back in the day.

Erik offers, in a way only a veteran can. ''You're welcome to crash in our guest room tonight if you want.''

Jack's eyes blow wide, two living legends are opening their home to him of all people? ''Really?'' They both nod, Jack goes out to grab his backpack from their last fly away. ''Thank you both so much, I'll be out of here in the morning.''

Erik smiles brightly, and says. ''Don't thank us, that's what the four of us are here for. You're having breakfast before you leave, though.'' The room is the first on the left, and Jack gets some rest. Kris and Erik head to bed not long later. ''So, we a boarding house for rookies now, darling?'' Kris asks his husband.

Erik joins him in bed, kissing his cheek. ''Wouldn't be the first time, sweetheart.'' He adds, watching as Kris takes his night medications. ''And, probably won't be the last time, either.''

Kris chuckles, and kisses his husband. ''I guess you're right.'' They decide to get some sleep themselves, three people in the house for a change.

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

VI. First Training Camp

This is weird, really weird. Last time he came to Pittsburgh for training camp, it was as a minor league player with no real shot at making the big team. Now, he's back as a Pittsburgh Penguin with a shiny new three year contract with the team, and the guidance of two living legends. Who, really, did not need to be so nice to him this past spring, but they were, and Jack has never been more thankful for anything in his life. But, he has no idea who to hang out with anymore, he spots Kris and Erik deep in conversation with Drew and Bunts, they both look upset, and everyone knows why. PO is gone now, down south in St Louis, Kyle didn't even bother to give him an offer sheet. That was the shock of all shocks. They wave Jack over to join them, he approaches the quartet, feeling the gazes of the Wilkes Barre and Wheeling boys at the other end of the rink. ''Hi, guys, excited to be home?''

Erik nods, smiling softly at Kris. ''Yeah, never knew how good coming home together could feel until now.''

Jack asks them. ''How are you doing after PO left?''

Kris sighs, he's had experience with his rookies leaving, but this one had to hurt most. ''It's rough, but shit happens. At least there's a new member of the family now.''

Drew says, excited for Jack. ''Oh, you're in now! That's what Sid and Geno said to me last summer.'' He's in now? Part of the legendary Penguins family? The Flyers reject has a place here? Rusty joins them, a cheeky smile on his face. ''Just wait until these two have nicknames for you, Ivy. Sid and Geno have nicknames for me, Jake, and Drew. Flower had one for Tristan too.''

Jack takes some deep breaths, barely able to believe what he's hearing. ''Sid and Geno have nicknames for you two and Jake? What are they?''

Drew says. ''In English, Rusty is 'champion', Jake is 'superstar', and I'm 'sunshine'.''

Rusty says, leaning against the boards next to Drew. ''In Russian, our nicknames translate to 'Little Bear', 'Little Fox', and 'Sun ray' - in that order.''

Jack laughs, and asks. ''What was Flower's nickname for Jars, then?'' Kris says, a fond smile on his face. ''He called him 'Souris', French for mouse, still does whenever Minny come east to us, or when we go to them.''

Jack also asks, full of questions for his two leaders, though content if they don't want to answer this particular one. ''How did those ones you call each other come about?''

Erik says, a wistful and nostalgic look in his eyes, Jack knows he's asking for deep history, but he's so curious. ''They just sort of happened naturally, I think? Once we became official in 2012.''

Jack would inquire further, but the coaches arriving puts a temporary kibosh on that. He's used to Sully now, and Erik was really excited about Coach Quinn in the team's group chat this summer. And, Erik has been around long enough to know who the good coaches are. Kris seems to be happy with the hire too, and he's basically the conscience of this entire team. They get done with a massive scrimmage game, having to manoeuver three teams at once must be difficult, and go for lunch. ''Nice goal, Ivy! Think we know who the third right side is gonna be.'' Sid says.

Jack laughs, joining the group at the table. ''That's not up to me, but thanks, captain.''

Kris says, wanting to encourage the kid he sees so much of them both in, Kris spent a season in the minors, and Erik had that extra year in Sweden. ''Oh, you're getting that spot, trust us, Ivy.''

Geno adds, a beaming smile on his face. ''Welcome to the family, Jack.'' Jack nods, he's in a family now, an entire universe away from the toxicity of the Flyers system.

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

VII. A French Nickname...

He made it this time, he actually made the big team this season, and he can hardly believe his luck. Jack never had a hope in hell at graduating from Lehigh Valley to Philadelphia. And, in his short time with the Penguins system, he's been treated better than he ever was out east. He's a Pittsburgh Penguin now, forever enshrined in the team's ledgers. However, as he arrives for training just before the season opener, Rusty's heads up to him lingers in his head. He knows Kris and Erik have nicknames for each other, he's heard them often enough at work and when staying with them. But, nicknames for him? That seems a little bit of a reach, but stranger things have happened, right? He's not heard of any petnames Kris gave to his previous three rookies, so why would the fourth be any different? At any rate, there's work to be done, so Jack gets on with it. Hanging on Quinn's every word, and sticking by Kris and Erik as much as he can. Watching everything they do on ice. And, doing his best to keep up. ''Good transitions, Ives! Keep it up!'' Sully says, and Jack does as told.

During a short break, some of the young guns on the team play a makeshift capture the flag game while the elders watch. Drew leading one team, Jack leading the other. ''Give them hell, mon dauphin!'' Kris shouts from his seat on the boards, Erik beams at him as he says that.

Rusty shouts to Drew from the bench. ''It happened today, you owe me twenty!''

Drew furrows his brows. ''No, I don't? Only one of them happened today.''

Rusty argues. ''Doesn't matter, you owe me twenty!'' Drew rolls his eyes, and gets back on with the game. Jack's head is spinning, what did that mean? He gets the sense that he's going to have to figure this one out for himself.

They stop for showers and lunch, during which Jack asks Kris. ''Kris... what did that thing you called me just now mean? I did Spanish at school, not French.'' All kids in California do Spanish instead of French, unless they actively choose French.

Kris just laughs, and puts a hand on Jack's shoulder. ''That is for us to know, and you to find out.''

Jack figured he'd say that, Kris is like that sometimes. So, find out, he does. Sitting at a quieter table, he plugs the word into google translate. Finding it means 'dolphin'. Which seems... odd, to say the least. So, he keeps digging, finding a Wikipedia page about the word. There's a page linked about heirs to the French throne, princes... oh, okay. Then, all at once, it hits him. ''Kris, did you call me 'prince'? Is that what you called me?''

Kris nods affectionately. ''If the title fits, use it, y'know?'' Jack smiles to himself, certain neither of the ones who came before him got that nickname, if any. He's part of hockey's royal family now, isn't he? And, to his surprise, he couldn't be happier.

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

VIII. And A Swedish One!

Acquiring his French nickname from Kris has left Jack sort of expecting his Swedish one from Erik basically any day now. And, some not so small part of him is excited for it. He's seen the look in Kris' eyes when Erik uses his for Kris, all it takes is that simple 'hjartat mitt' and Kris melts. Likewise, all it takes to have Erik blushing is that 'mon amour' most of the time. They sound so natural as well, as natural as their given names do, like they've been calling each other those names since the beginning of time. The team arrived in Toronto yesterday after a big win in Montreal. Feeling good, cautiously optimistic for the game against the Leafs. Morning skate goes by quietly, just upkeep of things, making sure everyone is square for tonight. Now, they arrive at the arena for the game itself. Jack is on the third pair tonight, and it seems to oddly perfect that he, Erik, and Kris are all right defencemen. Sully does the read, and they get out for warmups.

Then, the game gets going. Kris leans over to Jack while the second unit are up. ''See how Erik's directing traffic away from Tito?'' Jack nods, and watches the play, awaiting his shift. ''That's what you need to do on your shift as well, don't be afraid to get involved.''

Jack asks. ''How involved do I get, though?''

Kris laughs, and says. ''Don't do anything stupid, but don't be afraid to lay down the law.''

Jack nods, and takes a drink of gatorade. ''Got it.'' He takes his shift, Erik returning to the bench.

They end up taking a loss 4-2 to the Leafs. And, no one is especially pleased about it, Kris got a beautiful goal on the powerplay, but they still lost. Jack sits back in his stall after the game, thinking back on his multiple missed chances this game. But, Erik takes him out of that spiral. ''I know what you're thinking, skatten mitt, but this loss was none of your fault. Shit happens, we just need to re-group.'' Erik says, sitting beside him. Kris laughs from his stall two down. Well... at least one good thing came of tonight. ''So... do I need to figure out what that means, or will you tell me?''

Erik laughs, and says. ''Where's the fun in just telling you?''

Back at the hotel that night, Jack looks up his new petname, a simple google translate search is enough this time around. No Wikipedia needed. The result makes his eyes well up; 'my treasure'. If he had any doubts before, he knows now, he's the surrogate son to one with three cups and a Masterton, and another with three Norrises. This is his family now. Before he sleeps, he signs up for French and Swedish on Duolingo, he'll not tell them yet, this is going to be his surprise.

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

IX. Dramatic First Meeting

That was... a lot. Flower's last start in his real home, the family are back together (for want of a nail) at last. And, there was a fight tonight as well. An everything and the kitchen sink type game, but all Kris and Erik are thinking about is a weird mixture of pride and worry. Jack did such a good job in his fight, and absolutely won as well. But, Kris at least knows all too well that fights beget fights. So, after media, they sit with their rookie, and check him over a bit. Jack just laughs, they're going to be late for dinner if they keep fussing over him like this, but it seems they'll not be stopped. ''How are you feeling, mon dauphin?'' Kris asks.

Jack says, feeling better than he ever has. ''Good, feel like I could run a marathon. That was fun. Should have seen Faber's face.''

Erik says, reminding him of the unit as it was at the time of the fight. ''Believe me, skatten mitt, I did see Faber's face. I was sort of there.'' Jack nods, he sort of forgot that in the rush of it all. To be honest, he didn't want to have his first fight in front of Marc-Andre Fleury of all people. But, Faber was asking for it with that dirty check on Sid. ''He was asking for it, he fucked around, and found out.''

Kris nods, and says, being flung back to the Battle of Pennsylvania days of 2012 and 2013. Those big fights against Voracek, Simmonds, Schenn, and Giroux. ''We know, and we agree, that hit was filthy. Just, for our sake and yours, be careful. Fights beget more fights, just be aware of that.''

Erik adds, bringing some much needed levity to the little conversation. ''I think we know who Sid's favourite nephew is now at least.''

Kris concedes that point to his husband, when Erik's right, God is he ever right. ''Yeah, I don't remember Olli, Johnny, or PO dropping them for him - that's normally my job.''

They head out to meet the rest by the exit, Flower flashes Jack a beaming smile from his chat with Joel. ''Well... nice to meet you, Ivy. I did wonder whose rookie you were, looks like my answer came tonight.''

Jack laughs, massaging his split knuckles. ''Yeah, I guess it did.'' Kris jokes with his brother, a look back into how things must have been before Vegas ruined everything. ''Sid couldn't parent a defenceman, mon frere, I don't think he wants more grey hairs.''

Sid chimes in from talking to Max Talbot. ''Hey! You don't know that! You just never let me try.''

Geno pipes up. ''I think Legend is right this time, zolotse.''

Max asks. ''Karl, what d'you think? You think the Two Headed Monster could raise Ivy?''

Erik puts his hands up, and shakes his head. ''Don't get me involved, it's my second season here.''

Jack laughs, agreeing with Erik completely. ''Honestly, I'm just glad the Penguins actually wanted me, the Flyers didn't.'' Flower cocks an eyebrow, and rolls his eyes. ''Doesn't surprise me much, kid, the Flyers don't want anyone who doesn't fit in. That's why we won those cups, and they didn't.''

As they head to their cars, Jack says, a slight bashful about earlier tonight. ''Sorry about Faber, by the way.'' Flower just laughs, and assures him. ''He's Spurgeon's responsibility, kid, not mine.''

They get to the restaurant, a slight bit later than the rest of the team, but no one calls them up for it. And, for the remaining members of that golden core, assembled by the original legend of the team, it's like nothing has changed.

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

X. The Promotion

This isn't ideal, to put it lightly. Kris is sick, and the entire defence has had to be re-shuffled to make up for it. Jack knew that Kris was essential to the team, that they couldn't go without him. But, he never knew quite how essential he was until now. This should be the last game they play without him, and thank God he's on the mend. But, it's really fascinating now one player being out can change the chemistry of a team. Erik has adapted to being on the top pair like a duck to water, experience from Ottawa and San Jose coming in useful. But, Jack taking Erik's place on the second pair is huge, and he's been trying not to let it get to him. But, how can he not? The one nagging thing, though, is a feeling that someone is missing. He's never seen Erik so quiet in the dressing room before. It makes sense, twelve years apart, and these are their first games without each other since the trade. Jack hangs back as they arrive from the house for the game against Tampa. ''Are you okay, Erik? You've been quiet.''

Erik gives him a reassuring smile, and says. ''I'm fine, skatten, I just hate being away from Kris while he's sick. He could need me, and I'm not there.''

Jack says, he will probably never know how those two strokes have affected them both. ''He's at home, and we'll get back to him later. He'll be okay.''

Erik laughs, and says. ''I know, Ivy, it's just... history, y'know? I wasn't there for his first stroke, and had to fly here for his second. I can't help but want to be with him all the time now.''

They play the game, and give the Bolts- led by two members of the family as well - one hell of a fight. But, they lose 3-2 in overtime. It's a point they're thankful for. And, hopefully their last game without Kris. Even Sid and Geno look out of sorts without him. But, after the game, there's a little get together with Victor and Jake. ''We've missed you, superstar.'' Sid says, hugging him tight.

Jake says, smiling brightly. ''I miss you guys too, at least I'm still in the east, though. Where's Kris?''

Geno says to their middle boy. ''In bed, sick at home, lisichka.''

Jake grimaces, he was also around for the difficult times. ''Shit, hope he's back soon.'' He looks to Jack, and says. ''Take it this is my new cousin Drew texted me about last night.''

Erik says, smiling proudly. ''Jack, this is Jake Guentzel.'' Jack says, accepting Jake's hug. ''Sid and Geno never shut up about you, by the way.''

Jake jokes, a cheeky glint in his blue eyes. ''They never shut up about all three of us. Kris and Erik are probably like that with you too.'' Jack concedes that point, because it's true.

Erik says, introducing Jack to Victor. ''And, Ivy, this is Victor Hedman. My brother and best friend.'' He shakes Victor's hand, Victor seems nice, if a bit intimidating. ''Nice to put a name to a face, Erik always talks about you.'' Jack says.

Erik says, a big smile on his face. ''What can I say? I'm proud of you becoming captain.''

Victor laughs, and says, turning the black ring on his finger. ''And, I'm proud of you for finally arriving here. Hope Kris gets better soon, was hoping to catch him too.''

Jack assures Victor. ''He's almost better, he'll be asleep by the time we get home probably.''

Erik asks, a sad look on his face at spotting Victor fiddling with the ring on his finger. ''How are you and Steven handling this? Can't be easy for you two after all this time. I know those years apart hurt us, but this is just horrible.'' Victor sighs, and gets a far away look in his eyes. ''We're doing okay, it's just... weird, I feel like I'm going around without one of my limbs sometimes.''

Jack says, trying to inject some positivity. ''At least you're together in the ways that matter, right?''

Victor chuckles, he thinks he likes his new nephew, and clearly Kris and Erik have been doing an incredible job with him too. ''Yeah, kid, we are.''

Erik hugs him tight, those two boys from Vetlanda and Ornskoldsvik who both became captains, and whose marriages have gone in opposite directions. ''Call us if you need to vent, okay? Kris and I are always here, we know what this feels like.''

They get home to Kris, who is sitting up in bed reading while nursing some tea. Jack hugs him, and Erik kisses his cheek. They tell him about the game, not in super great detail so as not to stress him out about returning too quickly. ''Met Jake and Victor for the first time too! Jake's super nice, and misses us a lot.'' Jack says.

Kris smiles, and sips his tea, his book now totally put aside. ''I miss him too, he was such a joy to play with. How's Victor doing? Handling the captaincy and distance okay?''

Erik says, tucking some locks of hair back behind Kris' ear. ''He's doing well, said he's hoping you're back soon. The captaincy is going great. He misses Steven though, the same way we missed each other all those years.''

Kris says, putting his empty mug on the nightstand. ''I can imagine, I mean, eleven years together, and now they're apart?''

Jack says, not as up to speed on the history, but he can understand enough without being told. ''It must be horrible, being together all that time, and then that happens. Victor looked so upset, said he felt like he was missing a limb.''

Erik says, no hint of that nostalgia in his face. ''That's how it felt for us.''

Kris nods, and adjusts the blanket around his shoulders. ''Yeah, that's one thing I'll never get nostalgic for. Hope Vic and Stammer can make this work, though, I'd hate for this to break them.''

Jack says, looking like he's deep in thought about something. ''They will, you both did, for twelve years, right?'' Kris and Erik share a look, the situation might be different, but the thing at the core of it isn't. Jack is right about that. Kris sends them downstairs to eat something. Then, Erik joins his husband in bed, and Jack heads to his room. No one knows when the guest room became his, but do they care? Not really.

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

XI. Sent Down

The house is quiet when they get home from training after the Florida game. Normally there would be three of them coming home from Cranberry. But, today there's just two. Sully took them aside this morning about the plans for Jack's stint in the minors, it seems to be just a conditioning stint right now, and they'll not be parted for too long. Just when Kris is on this heater, and wants their boy to see them both at their best, this happens. Some small and petty part of them can't help but envy Sid and Geno for getting to have Rusty and Drew around at all times. But, they get inside from the car, and put their coats up. They pet the dogs, who must be missing Jack and little Penny as well, not that they're showing it. Kris sits down on the couch, and opens his arms to his husband. Erik curls up beside him, taking a long breath out. ''Well... this fucking sucks.'' Erik says.

Kris presses his lips to Erik's cheek, and says. ''Yeah, yeah it does, alskad mitt.''

Erik asks, worry thick in his normally happy voice. ''He'll be okay without us, won't he, mon coeur?'' Kris sniffles, the congestion from his illness not quite gone yet most likely. ''Yeah, hopefully.'' They've promised to call him every other day until he's back with them, though the bitter part of them says they shouldn't need to. ''I just... didn't think it'd feel this shitty, that's all.'' Erik says.

Kris runs his hands up and down Erik's back, in some effort to ease the tension he seems to always carry there. ''I know, I've been there, three times now. Sucks the same way each time. But, this won't be permanent.''

Erik leans up to kiss Kris properly, at least they've got each other to lean on. ''Je t'aime, mon coeur.'' He says.

Kris runs his fingers through Erik's hair. ''Jag alskar dig, alskad mitt.'' After some time to rest, they get dinner going. Then, settle down in the living room with a movie. Kris gets the sense that Erik wants to tell him something, but isn't for whatever reason. He brings it up when they get into bed. ''Erik, is there something you wanna tell me?''

Erik sighs, and says. ''Yeah, but you'll hate me for it, Kris.'' That is impossible, this love runs down to Kris' very atoms, and always has. ''Never gonna happen, darling, I'm not wired that way to you. Talk to me.''

Erik runs his hand through his hair, the flow that drives Kris nuts in all the best ways. ''I've been thinking of getting a haircut when we go to Ottawa, is that okay with you, sweetheart?''

Kris shrugs, they've been together long enough. ''Mine was okay with you, wasn't it? If you want to, go for it.'' They share a kiss, and get settled for some well earned sleep. The house slightly emptier than normal, and quieter now. But, the love within is just the same.

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

XII. The Junior Terrors

They will be the first ones to admit that they had no idea what would happen when PO and Jack were reunited after the re-trade from St Louis. They were both terrified that the boys would be hostile to each other, PO would feel replaced, or Jack would withdraw. But, thank God, their worries were left unfounded. It's as though the trade never even happened to begin with. They're not as hands on with helping PO navigate the league, he's in the same position Rusty is now, needing his leaders less. But, Jack needs them most, and that's okay. To their credit, the boys are dangerous together. Already thinking of ways to annoy the younger forwards together. Just like how Kris and Flower would back in the day. At any rate, Kris and Erik are just happy to have some of the family back together. Sid was a bit miffed that Jake can't come home, but he's in good hands with Victor, and that seven year contract would be a bitch to negotiate over. Sully hosts a skate for the boys, and invites some of the injured Wilkes boys over as well. PO finally notices Drew's head. ''Hey, OC, what did you do to your hair?''

Jack laughs, and says. ''That's what I said!''

Drew sheepishly admits to them both. ''Shaved it off... no, I don't know why either. Impulsive thing, y'know?''

Jack shrugs, and runs a hand through his own hair. ''Not something I'd ever do, but you do you I guess.''

Rusty says, sitting up on the boards. ''I tried to talk him out of it, but he didn't listen to me.''

Tristan looks up from a conversation with Ned, the goalies are oddly inseparable lately, and it doesn't take a genius to figure out why. ''Has living with Kris and Erik got you precious about your hair, Ives?''

Jack says, downing some water. ''Perhaps.'' PO hops up onto the boards next to Rusty. ''I take it the guest room is yours now, right?'' Jack looks a bit worried about answering that. So, Erik does it for him. ''We have a five bedroom house, PO. Jack gets one, you can have another.''

PO laughs, and says. ''I'm just messin' with you, Ives. I'm about a day off closing for a nice apartment close to here. About time I did that, right?''

Kris assures him. ''You're always welcome at ours though, you know that, right?''

PO nods, and affirms. ''Yeah, I know. I'm just glad to be home. St Louis was great, but this is where I belong.''

Sid says, a beaming smile on his face. ''The family that Mario built.'' Ain't that the truth?

After the family skate, everyone splits off to their homes. Christmas is coming up, and Kris and Erik have no idea what to get for PO and Jack. They want these gifts to mean something, and be something useful. There's loads of time for watches and such. So, they go in search of spare house keys. It's only right that the boys have access to the house if they need it, right? Just their luck, they've got exactly two spare keys. ''Do you think they'll like these as gifts, Kris?'' Erik says, finding some small boxes to put them in.

Kris beams, and nods, sharing a memory he has from their seasons apart, the ultimate rite of passage for a young Penguin. ''Yeah, Sid and Geno gave their boys keys to their place, and we all have keys to Mario's too. It's a rite of passage for us.''

Erik laughs, of course this is a ritual, what isn't in this team? ''Danny did the same for me, after I moved out in 2011.'' It's funny how hockey is sometimes. All these rituals and stuff. But, what would the sport be without it?

The boys come over for dinner the following night, talk goes around the table about the team's Christmas dinner at Mario's place, one holiday 'Papa Penguin' always hosts. ''So... what are you getting us?'' PO asks, curiosity in his face.

Kris laughs, this isn't the first time that's been used on him this month. ''It's a surprise.''

Jack says, feeding some chicken to little Penny. ''Come on, tell us!'' Erik chuckles to himself, and sips his wine. ''Where's the fun in that, skatten mitt?''

The boys, dubbed The Junior Terrors by the team, after Kris and Erik's nickname The Twin Terrors, share a scheming glance between themselves. ''Don't even think about it, boys.'' Kris warns them.

Jack just shrugs, and says. ''You'll tell somebody eventually, we can just ask them.''

PO nods, and says. ''Good idea, Ives.'' Kris looks to Erik, they had to deal with both of them this spring, but they get the sense that things will be even more chaotic now. If that's even possible.

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

XIII. Four Nations

They landed from Pittsburgh in Montreal yesterday. Two days behind Erik. This is their surprise for him. The only one of the defence branch of the Pittsburgh Family selected for Four Nations. PO is on vacation with his brother in Florida right now, so it's just Kris and Jack here. Kris is impressed with Jack's French progress so far, managing to get through customs without needing help. It's the tiny bits of Swedish he's going to need tonight. They arrive at the Bell Center. Suited and booted, wearing ties striped in blue and gold. Though, Jack still has a pin with the stars and stripes on his jacket, likewise for Kris with the Canadian flag. They get checked in, and escorted to their seats. The crowd a sea of both Canadian and Swedish support. ''I feel a bit overdressed, Kris.'' Jack says, sipping his water.

Kris just laughs, and says. ''Are we overdressed, or is everyone else underdressed, mon dauphin?''

Jack concedes, just as the arena goes dark for player introductions. ''Good point.'' Team Canada are introduced first, captained by Sid, because of course they are, who else would do it? ''29, that's MacKinnon, right? The one who thinks he could replace Geno?'' Jack asks.

Kris laughs, if only Geno was here today, he's flying in for the final if Canada make it. ''Yeah, I'll need to tell Geno you said that.'' Then, Team Sweden are introduced, captained by Erik, as if anyone else could do it. Kris looks at his husband, his Erik, his forever, looking radiant as always. ''You should see your face!'' Jack says.

Kris says, coming out of his reverie. ''Times may change, but the love never does, mon dauphin.'' Jack nods, understanding. He'd have loved to have been there that weekend, to see when it all happened, to see the first time the lights went on.

The game gets going after the ceremonial captains' faceoff, the two brothers-in-law friendly as always, with no idea who's watching them. Elias Pettersson gets Sweden on the board early for 1-0. He's on the top unit with Erik. And, Sweden are clearly having a good defensive day too, Canada staying off the board until Marchand gets the breakthrough seventeen minutes in. They come out of the period tied 1-1. ''I think we might be in for a good one.'' Jack says. ''Ullmark is incredible.''

Kris nods, looking up from texting the team. ''Yeah, he is. Binnington is looking off though. He's not Flower, that's for sure.''

Jack says. ''It's bullshit that Flower isn't in this. Same goes for you too, actually.''

Kris appreciates the sentiment, but jokes. ''Me, Sid, and Flower? You've gotta give the rest some degree of hope, Jack.''

If the first was a stiff period, the second is like a dam has broken. Sid netting his first goal five minutes in on a breakaway for 2-1 to Canada. Zibanejad dekes out both Canada defenders to level it 2-2 two minutes later. Victor nets a beautiful powerplay goal at twelve minutes for 3-2. ''Wow... that was incredible.'' Jack says, awestruck. Nate then closes the period with a buzzer beater for 3-3. ''This should be the final.'' Jack says.

Kris nods, fixing his hair. ''Yeah, seems like it, huh?''

Down on the ice, the third period is a bit dry until halfway in, and McDavid outpaces the whole Swedish unit to fire a goal through for 4-3. While the third units are both up, Victor elbows Erik. ''Erik, look at the jumbotron, quick.'' Erik looks up, and sees his husband and Jack on the big screen. Suited up, wearing his colours on their ties. ''Wow.'' He says, drying his eyes.

Mika asks. ''Did they tell you they were here?''

Erik shakes his head. ''No, not even a little bit.''

Late into the period, Erik assists Elias for his second of the night, and into overtime they go.

Up in the stands, Kris and Jack can barely look as overtime gets going. Sweden start with Mika, Forsling, and Erik. The puck drops, and it's off to the races. Erik weaves around McDavid and MacKinnon, scoring on a breakaway. He somehow finds them, pointing up to them. Kris dries his eyes, and says. ''We worked on that for days before this.''

Jack laughs. ''You know you're Canadian, right?''

Kris nods, and says. ''Of course I do, but the love of my life is Swedish. I support both.''

They meet Erik backstage, he's freshly showered and changed after media, and embraces them both. He also kisses Kris on the lips in front of the whole team. ''Why didn't you tell me you'd be here?'' Kris says, taking his hand. ''We wanted it to be a surprise. PO is in Miami with Mathieu, so here we are!''

Erik says, eyes misty again. ''I'm glad you are, did Geno and the boys fly up with you?''

Jack shakes his head. ''Nope, said Sid told them not to unless Canada made the final.''

Erik just bursts out laughing, quite the emotional day all around, isn't it? ''Typical Sid, superstitions everywhere.''

Kris hums, a cheeky glint in his eyes. ''Says one of us, amour! Remember the days of The Rule?'' Erik rolls his eyes, those days ended just after they got married, and became domesticated. ''God, hjartat, don't remind me.''

Now, Jack is confused again, there's so much history he still doesn't know anything about, so he asks. ''What Rule was that?'' Kris says, sitting the three of them down. ''Back before we got married, we had a no-contact rule before games, so we'd actually be productive on game day.''

Erik adds. ''We dropped it after our wedding, we just outgrew it.'' Erik changes the subject back to their presence today. ''You two look very nice as well, best dressed people here, no doubt.''

Kris beams, and says, kissing his cheek. ''Well, you've got your jersey, so we have to have our ties, right? We're family, aren't we?'' Jack smiles to himself, both happy to be a Penguin, and out of a sense of karma for the Flyers dropping him. Erik nods, and says. ''We are, and long may that continue.''

They head for dinner with Team Sweden after seeing Sid. It's strange, what someone joining the enemy team in the state can do to a family, but the Penguins will never complain about it. Their house is united, that one missing piece finally snapped into place.

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

Finally!! I did this! Oh, my God. This is, I think, my third attempt at writing this story. I have tried to get this story done twice before, but could never get the tone right for some reason. Going into a fic like this, you know it has to be a certain way, and I finally made it work! The last few snapshots were a mad dash to the end, I knew I wanted 13 of them, one for each year Kris and Erik were together before Jack came into their life. And, here it is! Finally!

Enjoy!

[thebestofoneshots]

WHEN I TELL YOU I SCREAMED WHEN YOU SAID I WAS A SLY FOX!?!??? GOD I LOVE THIS STORY AND THAT JUST PROVES SO MUCH THAT I WAS THINKING ABOUT!!!! IM LITERALLY SCREAMING!!!! I LOVE IT SO MUCH!!! AND THE COVER FOR THE BOOK?!?!? ABSOLUTELY GORGEOUS!!! ITS SO PRETTY!!! BUT ALSO I DIVED DEEPER LIKE YOU SAID I NOTICED SOME HIDDEN CLUES!!!

ok so first of all right off the bat i noticed the little fox on the bottom! but also above that is “A labyrinth of lost souls” (now i know this might be reaching but idk!) so i looked up “a labyrinth of lost souls” and immediately got a bunch of links talking about assassins creed! and i quickly read over one of the links and saw that there’s a ring involved?!?!? and i immediately thought of the ring that y/n got from her mother! but i also saw there’s another game called wizardry: labyrinth of lost souls! so that could also be what you’re talking about!!! idk if either of those are relevant but for now this is just a quick rundown of what i can gather right now!

ok next are the the little moons in the top corners with the woman sitting in them! idk what meaning you have behind them rn but what i got from them is the fact that they are not full moons and she’s sitting inside of them while it kids looks like the moon is curving into her in a way? like trying to reach to her? idk again just the vibe i’m getting! ALSO THERES STARS IN THE MOON!!! WOLFSTAR!!! not only are there stars in the moon but there’s a single star outside of the moon but also in it? with the woman! it almost looks like the woman is sitting inside the moon admiring the star!!! idk!

MOVING ON BECAUSE THIS ISNT A DEEP DIVE JUST WHAT I CAN GATHER NOW!! I WILL DO A DEEP DIVE LATER!!! OK THE CONSTELLATIONS!!! I NOTICE THREE OF THEM AND I IMMEDIATELY LOOKED UP SIRIUS’ CONSTELLATION!!! AND WHAT DID I FIND?!?!??? THATS RIGHT CANIS MAJOR!!! THAT LOOKS LIKE A DOG!!! WHICH HAS SIRIUS’ CONSTELLATION IN IT!!! and where do i see a dog like constellation?!?!? ON THE LEFT OF THE COVER!!!

i believe the constellation in the middle is cassiopeia but i could be wrong. i don’t know for sure i looked up the story and don’t see how it fits in right now but maybe later in the story? hmmm

i can’t figure out what the one on the right is but hopefully i will find out soon!!! like i said this is just be briefly looking at the cover because i got so excited and couldn’t wait!!!

OK FOR NOW THATS ALL IM GONNA TALK ABOUT I WILL FIND MORE THINGS LATER!!! BUT OMG THIS IS SO MUCH FUN!!! TO LIKE LOOK FOR LITTLE DETAILS!!! ALSO THE WHOLE PRIZE THING?!?!??? I SCREAMED OMG!!! I WOULD ACTUALLY KILL TO BE A CHARACTER IN YOUR STORY!!! ITS LITERALLY AMAZING!!!! AND I HAVE SO MUCH MORE TO SAY BUT I NEED TO GET TO BED BUT JUST KNOW IM IN LOVE WITH YOUR WRITING AND EVERYTHING YOU DO ITS AMAZING!!!!

OK LOVE YA BYE!!!!

Tinny little fun fact so you don’t rack your brain over this one: Labyrinth of Souls was actually my second top option for naming Gilded Constellations, I wanted it to have a very David Bowie-esque vibe which is why Labyrinth (literally from the movie The Labyrinth, was just perfect, but I felt it was too corny (especially when the first iteration was Labyrinth of Hearts) that I went for Gilded Constellations instead.

Gilded being inspired by Golden Years from Bowie, and constellations because our babies are our moon and stars. In Spanish we have a word that’s “Astros” which roughly translates to “all the things in the sky” but there is no cool version of it in English so constellations it was in the end.

Aaaalso, theories are so freaking fun, I thought I’d let you guys run with them, so I’m helping you recruit some of my other readers, especially the ones that always approach me with theories since I feel like you could have lots of fun together theorizing over the cover: @moonyunebi @starchaser-lily @blacksgarden @loving-and-dreaming @imdoingbetternow (no pressure btw)

Lovelies, this is a follow up to this post, and I’m also adding the cover here again for your convenience ♡

But in short, I was telling Comet that I had designed this cover and that is just as filled with easter eggs, foreshadowing and secrets, as the story itself… So you may or may not find clues for the story here ☆

Also taking this chance to invite everyone who has not sent questions for the future Q&A, to send as many as you want ૮꒰ ˶• ༝ •˶꒱ა ♡

Lastly, there will be a mini contest later on, so Comet will not be the only one receiving a price, stay tuned, and send in all your theories…

Ps, That’s not Cassiopeia, perhaps you should look closer to where the swans swim…

Ps2, thanks for the rose and love kit, you’re lovely ꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱₊˚⊹

[thetragicallynerdy]

WIP weekend

Time to do a WIP weekend!! I got tagged by @zombiethingy, and finally have time to write today (and this whole week really), and need some inspiration, so here we go! Thanks so much for the tag friend!!

In a reblog of this post (so people can find you in the notes) or new thread (w/ rules attached) if you want to play on your own, post up to five (5) filenames of your WIPs; not titles, file names.

Post a snippet from one of them. Snippet must be words you wrote in the last 7 days. We’re posting progress here. If you haven’t made any, go make some and come back to play!

After you’ve posted, people can send you an ask with one of your file names. You must then write 3 sentences in that file. If the filename is one you can’t share from (for example, an event or gift fic), write 3 sentences on it anyway, and then 3 more on another to share.

That’s it! You can invite others to join in, or just post. I’ll be searching the reblogs to find people to send asks to!

My WIPs are:

garlic soup week planning - subtitle "Sunday AND Tuesday – Soulmate AU + First Meetings – soulmates seeing in colour version. Jim/Archie/Olu/Zheng."

garlic soup week planning - subtitle "Wednesday – Fighting | Hurt/Comfort – Jim insomnia fic - WEREWOLF AU PACK PACK PACK"

garlic soup week planning - subtitle "Friday  - Garlic (NSFW) - Group Sex | Exploring a new kink  AND Saturday – Mix up the pairings/dealer’s choice – Jim/Zheng with Olu/Archie watching."

Concussion – unfinished, unposted (OFMD, Jim-centric)

blood part 4 (OFMD)

For "OFMD garlic soup week is in 6 weeks and I want to have at least a few fics done" reasons, three of my WIPs are for that XD (but they're all in one document because i'm terrible, so they get subtitles too)

Tagging, but only if you want to (and if you don't I am handing you an oven-warm cookie instead)! @alfalfairy, @yourlocal-charlatan, @yerbamansa, @redxluna, @petrichorca - and anyone who sees this and wants to do it! (Feels like a long while since I've tagged writer pals, so I can't remember who all of you that like to do this sort of thing are XD)

Snippet below the cut:

from concussion (which is an exploration of long-term concussion & disability through ofmd)

The first miracle happens – a man comes back to life. It’s not the man you hoped it would be, but it’s a joyful occasion nonetheless. Joyful, and fearful, because you don’t know what you’ll do if Blackbeard or Izzy finds out.

It’s Lucius. You stumble back to your cabin early one evening, because if you don’t lie down you might pass out, and Fang insists he’ll cover for you and shoos you away. You slide open the door and find Lucius sprawling on your bed, whispering to Frenchie who sits on the floor darning the pants he’d torn at the knee the day before.

They both freeze, staring at you like a rabbit caught in a snare.

“Jim,” Frenchie says, stumbling over his words, darning set carefully aside as he scrambles to his feet. “I can explain –“

You stumble into the room, closing the door and lurching towards the bed. Lucius sits up, and you can see now that he’s skinny, filthy too, a full beard covering his face. You can’t believe he’s alive. You can’t believe he’s here.

“I need to lie down,” is all you can say, because if you say anything else you’re going to burst into tears, and if you wrap him up in a hug you might shatter apart.

“No, yeah, absolutely,” Lucius stammers out, sitting up. “I can go –“

You don’t wait. You just crawl onto the mattress beside him and lay down, curling onto your side, dragging the pillow from where it lay and shoving it under your head. It hurts to keep your eyes open, so you close them, press your palms overtop for good measure. The warmth of them helps, and the way they block out the light helps even more. “Stay.”

Silence follows, or maybe you just can’t hear the creaking of his weight shifting on the bed or the looks he and Frenchie exchange over the thudding of your pulse in your ears. Slowly, carefully, not touching you at all, Lucius lays back down.

Two fingers touch the back of your hand, feather-light. “Are you alright?”

A lump grows in your throat. You squeeze your eyes shut tighter. “Don’t ask me that.”

“Sorry -” The touch disappears. Before he can move away completely you reach out, fumble for his hand. Grab it, and hold it so tight your hand hurts.

“Stay,” you mumble again.

So Lucius does.

[xaharadesert]

Kidnapped MC Turned Bandit Leader - Headcanon Pt 1

Julian Devorak x MC

TW: like 1 swear

A/N: this is another year old, pretty specific anon request that I’m only now getting to. The essential premise that was requested was for MC to be kidnapped, only to show up a few months later totally fine and leading a group of bandits— the initial request asked for Julian, Portia, and Asra, but since there’s a lot of content to cover, I’ll be splitting this into 3 parts :) also, special shout out to the two anons who both sent me some version of “hydrate or die” within moments of each other— also also everyone say thank you to the anon who said they bet I couldn’t finish this draft even though I’ve been staring at it for ten minutes, you’re the real MVP here

❤️Julian❤️

When you initially went missing, this man obviously went into no-sleep panic mode

He immediately swore to search every corner of the Earth until you were found

Nadia convinced him to stay put for at least a few days, since it was unlikely that you could be taken far in a short period of time, and her guards were more likely to find you than he was alone

Shockingly, this was one of the exceedingly rare instances in which Nadia was wrong

Her guards did not find you, and this only increased Julian’s ungodly level of panic

He hadn’t slept since you were taken, save for the 16 hours he was passed out after smacking his head into a low doorway while pacing

Honestly, he wasn’t even borderline delirious, this man had passed clearly into hysteria territory

So needless to say, he began his travels to find you

However, with no clear direction, and no clues to go off of, the nonexistent trail quickly grew cold

The countless letters from his friends in Vesuvia were what brought him back, and even then, it was mostly Nadia’s point that if you were to ever escape of your own accord, you would likely make your way home

When he returned, his mental health only continued to decline

He felt useless— he couldn’t do anything to help you; all he did was sit and wait, and it was driving him insane

The only times he could be dragged out of his home were when Portia or Mazelinka made him

For a usually sociable man with a tendency to hide his self hatred behind humour and charisma, this was a terrifying change

He made absolutely no attempt to move on with his life, and insisted that everyone should leave him to wallow

Of course, they did not

It was on one of the rare occasions that Portia managed to pull him out to the Rowdy Raven that you finally returned

Honestly, he thought he was hallucinating until Portia confirmed his hopes by asking “Holy shit, is that them?!”

You looked completely fine; in fact, you looked like you were having fun

Julian still couldn’t quite believe his eyes, and stared, open-mouthed, as he tried to process that, yes, this was really you

(Portia gave him a little shove to get him started)

When your eyes locked with his, he felt all the excitement and anxiety of new love all over again. It was like all the emotions that he had felt over the months that you were gone came crashing back into him all at once

So needless to say, it was a tearful reunion, especially on his part

You didn’t stay at the tavern much longer than that; Julian really wasn’t in the right headspace for drinking or chatting with friends

The two of you went him, with him clinging to you like a koala

Obviously you were in for a long night of explaining yourself

He listened to every detail, never interrupting

Once your story was finished, he felt his heart settle in a way that it hadn’t since you left

And of course, with that sense of calm came all the exhaustion of having the world’s worst sleep schedule

He wanted to pass out immediately, preferably in bed beside you, but first, he had a few choice things to say to you

One, how dare you have such an amazing adventure without him?

Two, how dare you risk your life with bandits for months?

Three, how dare you do all of the above without contacting him?

And finally four, he loves you so so so much, please never scare him like that again, and obviously he doesn’t blame you for being kidnapped because that’s not your fault so please don’t blame yourself, but also please come home faster and don’t get involved with bandits, because believe him, he’s been down that road and it can get really messy really quick, and while he knows you can take care of yourself he really doesn’t want you to get hurt without him even knowing

He got a bit ramble-y at the end, but he was so tired that he really couldn’t process his own grammar

He asked you to come to bed, which the promise that you would talk more thoroughly in the morning when he could think properly again

And by morning, he meant like 24 hours later, because this man was practically in a coma

Later on, he would ask to meet the members of your bandit crew

He phrased it as wanting to “meet your friends”, but really he was heavily judging them to decide whether or not you were safe with them

Julian isn’t really known for being on the right side of the law, so he wouldn’t dare lecture you for your legal choices, but he does need to know that you’re being relatively safe

If this is the life you want to lead, then obviously he’s coming with you

Seeing you happy, and being with you, was more than enough for him

[idontplaytrack]

MY CHARMED ONE [2]

Capri Donahue x Harper Sibling!fem reader

Warnings: implied smut, coarse language

Second part in the My Charmed One series. Capri finds out why she stayed instead of moving on to the other side.

"Did you see the news?" Asked Darby.

"I heard it on the radio on my way here." Alex said back while you were walking down the stairs with Capri right on your tail. He sees the two of you already, "Okay, y'all need to fill me in because we've only been able to see deados. Not people who are in comas."

"Are you telling me I might die? Again?" Capri asked, her arms crossed.

"Hey, I'm not telling you anything." Alex stops her, "I'm just stating the facts we have right now. So far, I know y/n feels whatever you feel, and that she can see you. What else happened while I was on my way here?"

Darby snorted a laugh, earning a pissed off glare from Capri. "A lot. But uh, to sum it up. The two of them seem to have feelings for each other, do you think that's why y/n can see her and feel whatever she feels?"

"That could be why. y/n, you could be her 'unfinished business', or in this case, what she needs to work out before she can regain her consciousness. Or die."

"What?" You ask.

"Just a guess, but your reaction to her confession could determine if she lives or die. And-"

"Oh, that's super reassuring, donut guy." Capri scoffs.

"Okay, do you know Charmed?"

"The TV show? What the hell does that have to do with this?"

"Actually, quite possibly almost everything. That show may be fiction, but it gave me the idea that something like this was possible."

"I swear if you're just trying to call me a witch-"

Darby cuts her off, "Yeah, Alex, she's a bitch not a witch."

Capri rolled her eyes, and so did you.

"You're staying because you need to know what she feels about you. That's the 'unfinished business'- your biggest question mark." Alex began, "You're in between worlds now because your body isn't awake, but your mind is. I don't know exactly why y/n's feeling your emotions and all, but again- another guess, this whole situation has connected the two of you with some sort of bond. It's forcing either of you to speak up and resolve the question. Darby says you have powers?"

"Yeah." Capri nodded, flicking a box of tissues off of the coffee table.

"Okay- that- we'll have to wait and see if you still have it after you wake up." Alex shrugs, "There's no way of knowing right now but since the confession went well- I'm assuming- you should be waking up."

"It did." You answered quicker than you could think. But until then, with you feeling the same things Capri did, it made you exactly like her, but you had moments where your own shy personality still snuck through.

————

Alex drove you and Darby to the hospital. And once you found out where they'd situated Capri, that's where you rushed towards. She was in the high-dependency ward, so you couldn't just walk in there. Alex, Darby and Capri stood behind you as you watched Capri laying lifelessly on the hospital bed. Seeing her in front of you and in the reflection was honestly such a mind fuck. "Well, what do I have to do?" Capri asked. "Go in, get inside your body." Alex instructed. "Are you sure it'll work?"

"We won't know a thing till you try." Darby whispers. You tilted your head towards the room, "Go on."

Capri finally moves from her spot right behind you, floating right through the door. She was inside the room within seconds, watching herself for a moment. Then, she turned her head to look at you before reaching out to touch her body. The three of you saw a soft, pink glow when she did. "It's working." You mouthed, feeling the excitement build up within yourself. Capri sit down onto the bed- actually on, and then right through her body...the pink glow vanishes as she does. The well-dressed version of her that's been following you around, not the sickly looking one. Once she'd disappeared from your sight, you got lightheaded and felt overheated, as your vision became distorted. Within seconds, you'd passed out but felt a pair of arms catch you.

When you woke up, you were seated on a plastic chair outside Capri's ward. Remembering the events leading up to you fainting, you asked Darby in a hurry if Capri's woken up. "Yes, she's awake. The doctor's are checking her out now to make sure everything's fine."

"Oh, thank god." You heaved a sigh of relief, "Why the hell did I pass out?"

"Probably just a thing that happened because it worked- the peculiar bond between you and Capri has broken." Darby guesses. "What do you feel now?"

"Nothing." You said firmly.

"It worked- you're okay. And so is she." Darby hugs you.

Once the doctor exits the room, he tells you that Capri's asking for you. So, you went in there- alone. And instantly, the strong smell of antiseptic attacks your nostrils making you cringe. She smiled, "Looks like we're going on a date."

"Oh, God, I'm so happy you're awake." You cautiously caressed her cheek, not knowing where she was affected by the electrocution.

"And I'm so happy to see you." She admits- this was the first time she was actually vulnerable with you. First time she actually talked to you, and not just her in-between-worlds self. "You helped me. You helped me figure out what the hell I was doing as a spirit or whatever I was. But most of all, I'm glad that major question's finally answered."

You gave Capri an agreeing nod, "Though it wasn't an ideal situation."

"I know. I freaking lost my balance and got nearly shocked to death." She jokes. You narrowed your eyes at her.

"Too soon? Oops."

"Did they tell you when you could go home?"

"My right palm has some scarring, but I basically came out of it unscathed. My vitals are perfect, scans didn't show anything wrong internally so, they said after tonight, I'm good to go home." She explains.

"You wanna see my hand, don't you?"

You said yes but looked at her, confused, "Oh, my God- please don't tell me I can still feel whatever you feel."

"No, but your face gave your curiousity away." Capri chuckles, flipping her hand over so you could see her palm.

It didn't look too gnarly. "Does it hurt?"

"I can no longer feel a thing in those areas of my palm that has scars." She tells you, "It's not bandaged up right now but they need to redo the dressing in a minute."

"Okay." You replied, "Can I ask you something?"

"Yeah."

"Did you give me the dream?"

"Yup." She answers knowingly.

"So you knew I was going to say yes?"

"No." She replies in her usual fashion, "I was hoping you would, but if you didn't I would've moved on so you didn't need to keep getting reminded of me. Okay, enough of that depressing shit. You wanna see something cool?"

"Okay..." You eyed her suspisciously.

"Watch the box of gloves on the wall." Capri said, pointing to it and looking at the blinds to make sure they were closed. She had her index and middle fingers raised and flicked them to the right, a latex glove flies out from the box and onto the floor.

"Okay, respectfully, what the fuck." Your mouth hung agape as you tried to process this- the fact that she still had her powers.

Capri giggles, "I think it's great."

"It's freaking cool, but what-" You reply, she cuts you off.

She shrugs, "Guess Alex can call me witch for real now."

"Why is this so funny to you?"

"Cause it kinda is. Maybe he manifested it." Capri snorts, "Relax or I'll make you."

"No fucking way I'll be letting you do that here." You told her decisively.

"Wow, I must've really rubbed off on you, babe." She raised her brows, a smirk plastered on her face. You rolled your eyes at her, letting a laugh slip.

"Admit it- I have. God, you were so bold in bed. Didn't know you were like that, y/n. You're the quiet, good kid with good grades, so innocent looking...i never would've thought."

[kalisseo]

the mirror in you

okay so i wrote a one shot about this idea here, this is basically how it goes in the regular au, with some differences but the main idea is this i just felt like writing with this version because why not. i hope the three people that know the au lore enjoy this

(if it's low-key ass idgaf I'm sleepy)

___________

another normal lunch break in clone high high school: students walking around, eating at the cafeteria, or just passing time sitting in the grass with their friends, average activities for the average student.

except for two students: chris and hannah.

chris was walking around trying to find something interesting, like every other month, he was trying to make it big in a new field, and this time it was journalism! in a school full of clones of historical figures there must be something interesting to put in a newspaper, right?

hannah was outside the principal's office, trying to hear the best she could the conversation going on inside, she also had a recorder to record any valuable information, that has been her routine these past days, since a week ago she heard about some "secret plan", "world leaders" and this weird thing about a "new agenda".

chris casually walked to the same hall she was in. perfect! a clone that checked all his boxes for an interesting article! a mysterious reserved girl...doing something weird!? and outside the principal's office too...and not just that! she had a recorder with her! there was something definitely juicy going on with her.

chris squeaked of joy, walking towards her, since he was behind she couldn't see him, not until chris pulled his own recorder out of his pocket and talked to her.

"hello, tubman!" he said in a cheerful voice, Hannah couldn't do anything but scream, jeez! chris wasn't that scary. "uh, are you oka-?" a hand covering his mouth shut him up.

"SHH! silence!" she whispered in an angry tone, followed with a face of terror when she heard steps getting closer to the door. "shit! they're gonna catch us" hannah took her hand off chris mouth to cover her own.

"hey, do you know my mom is-?"

"SHH" hannah looked around and grabbed chris by the arm, she found the perfect place to hide, the janitors closet.

hannah slammed the door and basically threw chris there.

hannha was sweating, she could feel her heart beating violently, meanwhile chris stared at her in confusion.

"so...harriet tub-!" he said turning his recorder on.

"hannah."

"come on! can you let me finish my sentences for once!?"

"my name's hannah, you should respect how other people want to be called, you know? being popular doesn't entitle you to do whatever you want." she scolded chris, god, she found popular kids so stupid.

chris only rolled his eyes "so...hannah, something interesting you wanna share?" he pointed at her face with her recorder and a big smile "you seemed really suspicious out there."

"what are you, a journalist?" she crossed her arms trying to figure out what he wanted.

"well, actually! trying to, if i find something interesting enough I could be famous!"

"wait, come again? something interesting?" maybe popular kids weren't that bad, if this whole journalism thing could help her on her mission to save the school.

chris nodded his head, and before speaking again hannah grabbed him by the collar of his shirt, pulling him closer to her, but not that much, her expression changed drastically.

"I do have something for you!"

"really!?" he yelled, finally! his eyes were shiny for excitement.

"yes! interesting, and DANGEROUS! but I need you to believe me, I have proof!" she was talking so fast that chris could barely keep up with what she was saying.

"give it to me then!" hannah left him go, chris composed himself a little, fixing the collar of his shirt, suddenly hanna handed him her phone.

"just don't swipe off too much" she asked nervously "anywho, i discovered the truth about this school, sure, we all know we're experiments but we were made with a purpose, become leaders and weapons! isn't that crazy? and they're planning on erasing our memories soon with a laser!" the words coming out of her mouth were messy and barely made sense, chris was confused, he kept checking out the photos on her phone, it was documents, and photos of a laboratory, and some kind of laser, he could assume that was the laser hannah was referring to. "I tried to warn joan, but she made fun of me, she always makes fun of me and thinks I'm joking, but she will be the one begging for my attention once I save her." all the bitter words were lost in the air, chris didn't really paid attention to her, he only focused on the name that was on one of those documents: candide sampson.

"hey, candide is my mom!"

"that's perfect! you could be a spy!" the obvious thing flew over hannah's head, if it was a revelation for her, it was gonna be ten times worse for chris.

"my mom wouldn't do that...i mean sure she's a cold woman who only cares about her job that I don't know anything about other than is just casually government related and even more casually related to this school but, but she wouldn't be like that, you know?"

"well, maybe everything's a LIE! Wouldn't it be weird to have a school of clones without a purpose?"

"i don't know, maybe they were bored!"

"or maybe they were lying to us!"

chris stared in disbelief at the photos of those documents, until hannah snatched her phone out of his hands.

"meet me here tomorrow if you want to save people, unlike joan."

hannah opened the door and left, this was going to be difficult for chris.

[prouvaireafterdark]

Practical Ethics || Chapter Nine

In which Armand waits.

| One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six | Seven | Eight |

Also on AO3!

***

The jazz music filtering through the speaker above Armand’s head does little to soothe him where he sits in a bleak hospital waiting room. He’s holding himself close, his legs drawn up toward his chest and his chin resting on his knees, too paralyzed by the sickening worry churning in his stomach to move. He thinks he felt his phone vibrate in his pocket a little while ago, but he can’t bring himself to check it—even though it’s been nearly an hour since he’d scrubbed his hands raw in the bathroom down the hall, he swears he can still feel Louis’ blood between his fingers and it’s hard to think about anything else.

He swallows thickly as he remembers it—those long, agonizing minutes it took for the ambulance to arrive, Louis’ blood leaking sluggishly through his fingers as he did his best to apply ample pressure to his wound. It didn’t even seem to be a very large cut—less than an inch long where it was located just along the edge of his hairline—but there was so much blood…

Such things had never bothered Armand before, not after all those years of living with the Children of Satan. He was so young when he was taken, he can hardly remember a time when it did. He had long ago gotten used to its sickening metallic tang—the scent of it in the air, the taste of it on his tongue. Countless times, he had cleaned it off of altars and spilled it into chalices, again and again and again, as often as his coven required it for their darkest of rituals. 

But as he sits now in this hospital and thinks of Louis lying motionless in his office, a spreading pool of crimson seeping into his carpet, well… 

It bothers him now.

Armand shakes the gruesome image from his mind, pulling his arms a little tighter across his shins. He’d answered the EMTs’ questions as best he could when they finally arrived—“No, I don’t know what happened”—“Yes, he just fainted and hit his head on the way down,”—“No, I don’t know who his next of kin is, but he told me he has a partner”—and now all there is to do is wait.

There’s a dip in the music as one song ends and another begins where the unpleasant hum of the fluorescent lights becomes unbearable and Armand wonders what he’s even doing here.  After all, he isn’t Louis’ family. He doubts these people will even tell him anything about Louis’ status once they do have more information.

But mere moments after he watched them load Louis’ barely conscious body into the ambulance and begin to take him to the hospital, Armand was on the back of his Vespa and following close behind them before he had even registered what he was doing. There simply hadn’t been any other choice to make. 

So he stays, waiting and praying for some word that Louis is going to be okay. For more reasons than one, he really, really isn’t sure what he’ll do if he isn’t.

His eyes begin to mist with tears as he thinks about that possibility. Louis is the first mentor Armand has ever had who only ever wanted to help him be his best self, not mold him into whatever version of him was most convenient or pleasing to them. 

And beyond that, at some point along the way Armand has come not just to need Louis, but to like him as well. He’s never met anyone quite like him before. More than just supportive of his work, Louis is friendly and charming when he wants to be, and often shares deep thoughts about philosophy, literature, and religion that make Armand’s mind spin for hours after he leaves his lectures or has a chat with him in his office. He enriches Armand’s life in ways he never would have expected. 

If he doesn’t make it through this, what is Armand going to do without him?

That troubling thought lingers in Armand’s mind for a moment before the doors to the emergency room burst open with all the force of a hurricane. 

Armand turns to look, startled by the sudden noise, and sees a man who looks like he just blew in from eighteenth century France—face powder and all—rush up to the front desk.

A man who is definitely, unmistakably Lestat de Lioncourt.

“Where is Louis de Pointe du Lac?!” he bellows in French at the receptionist, his chest heaving as his palms brace on the top of the counter.

The receptionist holds up a hand to tell him to wait a moment while she finishes speaking to her caller, but Lestat grabs the phone right out of her grip and slams it down onto the receiver.

“Where is my husband?!” Lestat screams, in English this time, his voice broken and tearful. “I got a call that he was admitted here. Where is he?!” 

Armand blinks as Lestat’s words hit his ears.

Son of a bitch, he realizes, with no small amount of incredulity. Daniel was right.

There is no illicit affair taking place between Louis and Lestat. There never has been. They are, and apparently have been for quite some time, married to each other. 

Oh, Daniel is going to be so insufferable about this.

“Sir, do I need to call security?” the woman behind the desk asks, breaking Armand from his thoughts. 

Lestat still stands in front of the desk, every inch of him trembling with barely restrained emotion. 

Armand jumps up from his seat and intervenes before Lestat can make matters worse for himself.

“That won’t be necessary, ma’am,” he says, casually stepping into place beside Lestat and placing a hand on his arm. 

Lestat flinches reflexively under his touch and his striking blue eyes widen almost comically as he sees who has come to his aid.

“You,” Lestat says, and his inflection makes it hard to tell whether he means it as a question or exclamation.

Armand ignores him, his attention entirely focused on the receptionist. 

“What Monsieur de Lioncourt here means to say is that he would like to know Louis de Pointe du Lac’s room number and get an update on his status from his physician,” Armand says, letting his voice go calm, his eyes wide and disarming in that way that so often has people doing what he wants them to. “As his husband, surely he is entitled to that information?”

The receptionist stares at them in an agonizing moment of deliberation and Armand keeps his grip on Lestat’s arm tight in the hope that he will convince him to refrain from jumping over the desk and searching through the computer himself. 

“Please,” Lestat whispers at last, his eyes wet with unshed tears, seeming to understand at last that he really will catch more flies with honey. “I need to know if he is okay.”

“Alright,” she sighs, her posture relaxing as she seems to decide that Lestat is going to behave himself. “You said his name was Louis de—”

“Pointe du Lac,” Lestat finishes, spelling out each word for her without waiting to be asked, as if on auto-pilot—like he’s come to expect the question and answers it often. 

Armand supposes that, after so many years as Louis’ husband, he probably has. 

“Okay,” she says and begins searching for his records. “Why don’t you have a seat over there and I’ll see if I can get an update for you from his doctor.” 

“Thank you for your help,” Armand tells her and tugs Lestat over to the waiting area.

To his surprise, Lestat follows him without complaint. 

Armand returns to his seat, but Lestat stays standing and begins to pace back and forth in front of where Armand sits, too anxious to stay still.

Armand takes the opportunity to really look at Lestat then. His costume is ridiculous, though exceptionally well-made—an eighteenth century justaucorps cut from pearlescent white fabric, its polished brass buttons and golden embroidery gleaming under the fluorescent lights, and a pair of satin pants and hose to match. His overcoat and vest are both unbuttoned and his delicate lace jabot has been shoved haphazardly into his pocket, as if he left the fitting room before fully dressing himself or undid them in a hurry on the way here. Armand imagines it was the latter, the circumstances suffocating enough without the added constriction of having something physically tied around his neck. 

At that thought, Armand looks past the satin and lace at the man himself. He’s sure he’s never seen him in such a state, not even on that one afternoon he saw him smoking outside of Trinity Hall. Hot tears are beginning to slip down his cheeks now, no longer able to cling to his soft, blonde lashes, his waterproof makeup working overtime to stay in place. He paces back and forth like a caged animal, anxiety and misery haunting his every step. His chest heaves with each panicked breath and his heart is pounding so hard, Armand swears he can see his pulse jumping in his throat. He might be able to hear it, too, if he tries hard enough to listen. 

As the two of them wait in this excruciating purgatory with Louis’ life hanging in the balance, it is abundantly clear that Lestat is suffering and it is unbearable for Armand to watch.

“He’ll be alright,” he offers, desperate to take away Lestat’s pain in any way he can. His voice buckles under the weight of such a meaningless platitude, the words ringing as hollowly as Armand feels them.

Lestat scoffs at him, a wretched sound that comes out more like a sob, but at least it makes him pause his efforts at wearing a hole through the cheap linoleum floor. He turns and fixes Armand with a scathing look instead.

“Alright?” he seethes, baring his teeth as anguish simmers his blood, so voluminous that he has nowhere else to put it. “How would you know, you little gremlin?”

Armand’s jaw clenches with a spike of annoyance at that, but he chooses to ignore it. Lestat is a wounded dog right now, lashing out at whatever comes too close, he tells himself. He can’t imagine that he would be in a much different state if it were Daniel in this hospital right now. In any case, he can wait until things have returned to normal—and Lestat isn’t wearing high heels—to remind him that he is actually two inches taller than him.

“Why are you even here?” Lestat asks him suddenly, as if the question has only just occurred to him.

“Why are you dressed as a French aristocrat?” Armand deflects, crossing his arms over his chest.

“I am a French aristocrat,” Lestat answers, drawing himself up a little taller, his agony fading to the background for just a moment as a pompous air of indignation overtakes him. 

He’s never looked more unforgivably French. 

“But I am also an actor, hence the costume,” he continues, waving a hand over his own body with a characteristic flourish. “I received the call from the hospital as I was preparing for a matinée performance.”

The gears in Armand’s mind start turning at that. “You wouldn’t happen to be playing the lead in Dom Juan, would you?”

Armand finds some small satisfaction in the expression of surprise Lestat wears at his question. 

“I am,” he says, eyeing him suspiciously.

Ah, Armand thinks. A few more pieces fall into place as he recalls the titles of the books hidden in Louis’ desk and the conversation he had with him today. For Louis’ sake, Armand hopes Lestat is not a method actor.

“How did you know that?” Lestat asks him, crossing his arms over his chest and shifting to one foot.

“Lucky guess,” Armand answers with a cryptic smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.

“You never answered my question.” Lestat points out a beat later. “What are you doing here?”

Armand swallows tensely. He supposes he can’t put it off any longer. “I was with Louis when he fell.”

Lestat takes a step closer and opens his mouth to speak, but Armand cuts him off before he can say anything.

“I was leaving my meeting with him to talk about my paper and, before you ask, I don’t know what made him faint,” he continues, “But he… hit his head on the way down.”

“He hit his head?” Lestat asks, somehow growing even more pale beneath the white greasepaint covering his face. “On what, the floor?”

“No,” Armand shakes his head. “On the sharp corner of that fancy Keurig he has by his desk. I did my best to stop the bleeding until the ambulance came.”

For perhaps the first time in his life, Lestat is speechless. Armand watches his jaw work as he processes all that Armand has told him, which are likely the most specific details he’s gotten so far about what happened to Louis this afternoon.

“Thank you,” Lestat says after a moment, his voice uncharacteristically sincere. “But why are you here? Why did you come to the hospital?”

“I wanted to make sure he was alright,” Armand answers.

“Why?” Lestat presses, taking another step closer. Armand has to look up at him now. “He’s your teacher.”

“He’s more than that,” Armand says, standing up to look Lestat in the eye. “He’s—he’s my friend.”

As those words leave his mouth, the truth of them hits Armand for the first time. Yes, Louis may be his teacher, but somewhere along the way he also became his friend.

“Whatever happened to the ethical imperative of keeping relationships between faculty and graduate students strictly professional?” Lestat asks him, something smug about the set of his mouth—as if something he’s long suspected has turned out to be true. “Don’t tell me you weren’t paying attention in class, Armand. Louis will be very disappointed.”

“I don’t think you want to compare notes on ethical behavior, Lestat,” Armand responds coolly, crossing his arms over his chest once more. “I have a feeling you aren’t going to come out on top.”

A broad smile stretches out across Lestat’s face, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Wrong again, Armand,” Lestat chastises him with a feigned sense of playfulness poorly befitting their setting or their circumstances. “Just ask Louis. He’ll tell you how often I’m on top.” 

Armand nearly rolls his eyes right out of his skull. 

“I don’t think Louis he would, actually,” Armand says, “given how long you two have been hiding your relationship from the rest of our class.”

The cruel smile drops from Lestat’s face as a hardened look overtakes his expression. 

“I was never hiding anything,” he says, his voice rough and wounded like Armand has struck a nerve. 

Well, that’s true enough, Armand supposes. Lestat can be accused of many things, but subtlety is not one of them—if he was trying to hide his feelings for Louis, he was doing a very poor job of it.

Armand watches Lestat’s eyes again begin to fill with miserable tears and he deflates at the sight, his annoyance fading as his own heart once more pangs with sympathy. He has the sudden urge to reach up and wipe his cheeks, to step closer, even, and take him into his arms to soothe him. He doesn’t imagine Lestat will receive that particular offer very well, however, and so Armand tries to distract him instead.

“Tell me how you met, then,” he says, returning to his seat and gesturing for Lestat to take the chair beside him.

“What?” Lestat sniffles, taken aback by the turn in conversation.

“If you have nothing to hide, tell me how you met,” Armand says again. 

“Why should I?” Lestat challenges. 

Lestat’s tears have stopped, Armand notices, but he says nothing of it. Instead, he merely shrugs and says, “I’m curious.” 

“And you expect me to satisfy your curiosity at a time like this?” Lestat asks incredulously.

Armand looks pointedly around the waiting room, at the scattered few people who are reading magazines and trying to ignore their argument, and asks, “Do you have something better to do right now?”

Lestat huffs angrily, and for a moment Armand thinks he’s gone too far and said the wrong thing, but then Lestat surprises him by taking the seat next to him in the row of chairs against the wall.

He’s quiet for a long moment—so long Armand thinks he has decided to simply ignore him—before at last he starts to tell their story.

“We met at Tulane,” Lestat begins, his eyes fixed on a spot on the floor between his feet. “I was seeking out the shade beneath one of the large oak trees on campus, not yet accustomed to the oppressive heat of early autumn in New Orleans, when I heard two men arguing on the path nearby. It was Louis and another man who owed him money, but was refusing to pay.”

There’s a pause in his story as Lestat sniffles again and quickly wipes a tear from his cheek with a brush of his finger. When he continues, his voice is soft and full of pain.

“I loved him the moment I saw him,” he tells Armand. “He was beautiful and confident and as I watched him get close to this man with a closed switchblade held discreetly between his fingers, I knew… I knew I would never be the same. He had awoken something in me, something that I had thought was lost forever. I wanted him more than anyone I’d ever met.” 

Armand blinks at that.

“I’m sorry, Louis was threatening to stab him?” he asks, struggling to picture it. Forgetting the insane fact that Lestat apparently fell in love at first sight with someone while they were threatening bodily harm, the Louis he knows today would never.

“Hm?” Lestat asks, as if he had been lost in thought, before he shakes his head and answers, “Oh, no. He was threatening to report him for academic dishonesty. The boy had commissioned Louis to write a paper for him and was refusing to pay him. The knife was merely a little extra encouragement.” 

Armand nods slowly, trying to make sense of this version of Louis with the one he’s come to know, and Lestat laughs at him.

“Oh, don’t look so scandalized, Armand,” he chides, turning to face him more directly. “The boy was never in any real danger. The moment he tossed Louis the cash from his wallet and scampered off down the path, Louis flipped open his switchblade and do you know what it was?”

“What?” Armand asks.

“A comb,” Lestat answers, grinning now at the absurdity of it. “I laughed so hard I nearly wept.”

Armand smiles at the visual. “I don’t imagine Louis appreciated that very much.”

“Oh, he was delightfully furious,” Lestat confirms. “‘Somethin’ funny to you?’ he asked me, and of course that only made me laugh harder.”

Having been on the receiving end of Lestat’s inappropriate laughter himself, that part isn’t hard at all for Armand to believe.

“I thought to myself, ‘Who is this man?’” Lestat continues, “but by the time I regained control of myself, he was gone. I simply had to know more so I asked around about him and I learned he was seeing a woman named Lily. 

“Now, Lily was in the most exclusive sorority on campus and well known by many so she was much easier to find. I sat with her in the student commons and struck up a conversation. I lamented my poor English and difficulty with assignments and she suggested I meet her friend, Louis, who was always willing to help those in need for the right price. I assured her that money and the will to spend it are two things I will never lack and so she texted him to meet us.

“He was… not so pleased to see me, at first, especially as I was sitting so close to Lily, but…” Lestat pauses then, as if choosing his words carefully. He meets Armand’s eyes and the weight of his gaze feels meaningful, sending a shiver down Armand’s spine as he says, “I know how I look. I know how people look at me when they want me. Louis tried to hide it, but I could tell he was interested in me.”

Armand tries not to shift in his seat as he asks, “What happened then?” 

“He agreed to help me,” Lestat tells him. “For a price, of course, and I was more than willing to pay. I was taking a class on Shakespeare, my favorite playwright, at the time and so I was worried he would see that I didn’t actually need the help I claimed to, but he didn’t. Or at least he didn’t call me on it. I think he secretly relished the excuse to speak about those plays together just as much as I did.”

“What makes you think that?” Armand asks.

“He was studying Economics and dreadfully bored of it,” Lestat explains. “Louis’ heart is and has always been with the Humanities. Each night we met to study together, I watched him come alive as he talked about the text. Our arguments over our interpretations were nothing less than exhilarating.”

The thought of Lestat being invested in anything academic is difficult for Armand to accept, but he supposes he also doesn’t know him very well. 

“So Louis started out as your tutor?” Armand asks. He can’t help but wonder about the ethics of that.

“At first,” Lestat replies. “It wasn’t long before our weekly study sessions gave way to friendly nights out enjoying all the music and culture New Orleans has to offer. Though I had been living in the French Quarter for a few weeks, I was still new to his city and Louis had much to share with me. We became very good friends.”

“How did you end up getting together then?” Armand asks, curious to know how this arrangement turned into a romance.

The corner of Lestat’s mouth quirks upward at the question for just a moment before the smile fades.

“We danced around each other for ages,” he answers. “I am not, by nature, a very patient man, but… with Louis still painfully in the closet and pretending to be with Lily, I had no choice but to wait for him to come to me. I didn’t want to scare him off by being too forward.” 

“You really didn’t make a move on him that whole time?” Armand asks him. Given the filth he’s overheard come out of Lestat’s mouth, he kind of doubts it.

“I said I was patient, not a saint,” Lestat deadpans with a roll of his eyes. “Anyway, it all came to a head when he insisted I come to his family home for Thanksgiving. He wanted me to experience an ‘iconic American holiday' now that I had moved to this side of the Atlantic.”

“He wanted you to meet his family?” Armand asks. He remembers Louis’ comments about his sister and distantly wonders if anyone has told her about what happened today.

“Mhm,” Lestat nods. “Believe me, I was as surprised as you are now, but I was determined to make a good impression.”

“Did you?” Armand asks.

“No,” Lestat says with a grimace. “His brother caused a scene and I left before dessert. Louis walked me home and came inside for a drink.”

Something about the expression on Lestat’s face makes Armand press further.

“Just a drink?” he asks skeptically.

A wider smile breaks across Lestat’s face at that. 

“No,” he answers, and Armand has never heard one syllable imply so much. “We spent the night together.”

“And the rest is history?” Armand guesses.

Lestat’s answering sigh is a little wistful. “If only,” he says. “When I woke, I found myself alone in my bed.”

Armand tries not to think of all the times he’s done that exact thing to Daniel as he asks, “Did he give you an explanation?”

“Not at first,” Lestat answers. “He later confided in me that he grew up in a very religious home and that being intimate with me had caused him to have a crisis of faith. I suppose I should have taken it as a compliment, but at the time all I knew was that the man I had fallen humiliatingly in love with was refusing to speak to me and wouldn’t even tell me why. He forgot to turn his read receipts off, too, so I knew exactly when he had read my text messages and then chose to ignore them. It was maddening.” 

Armand tries to imagine it: a younger Lestat waking up after a night with Louis, only to find himself in an empty bed, cut from Louis’ life with no explanation. Looking at Lestat now, at the tremble in his lower lip and the crease at the center of his brow, Armand can tell that there is still a part of him that’s haunted by Louis’ rejection, even so many years later. 

“That must have been very difficult,” Armand says, his voice soft and sympathetic. 

Lestat nods.

“He broke my heart,” he adds quietly. “I didn’t know what to do without him. I couldn’t imagine my life without him in it anymore.” Armand watches Lestat’s eyes fill with tears once more as he whispers, “I still can’t.”

“Lestat…” Armand says, his own heart breaking as he watches the tears begin to spill over Lestat’s cheeks, as he remembers why they are here, pouring their hearts out to each other in the waiting room of a San Francisco Hospital. 

As far as either of them know… Louis might not make it.

Lestat begins to cry in earnest as that possibility hits him like a sharp blow to the gut. He curls in on himself, his shoulders shaking with each heart wrenching sob that claws its way out of his chest, and it is more than Armand can bear.

He pulls Lestat into his arms before he can think better of it. Lestat fights weakly against his hold before he sags against him, letting Armand take his weight as all of the emotions he’s been feeling since he got that phone call come to the surface.  

“I can’t lose him,” Lestat cries in French, the words muffled by Armand’s shirt. “Not now, not—” 

“Shh, shh,” Armand whispers in kind, his own cheeks wet with tears now. “You won’t lose him. He’ll be okay, you’ll see. It’ll be okay.” 

He cards his fingers through Lestat’s hair as he tries to allay his fears and finds the strands even softer than he’d imagined as they slip across his skin. It’s one of the most surreal experiences of Armand’s life, comforting this man who has treated him with nothing but contempt this entire semester, feeling him cling to his shirt as he sobs into his shoulder. 

Armand cannot explain the hows or whys, but he feels connected to Lestat, as if their hearts have been bound together by the concern they share for Louis and something else, something deeper that he does not yet understand. He’s so caught up in it that he doesn’t hear the sound of the door to the rest of the ward swinging open and closed.

“Excuse me?” a man asks from somewhere nearby.

“What?” Armand snaps, wrapping his arms instinctively tighter around Lestat’s shoulders as he looks up to see a handsome man with shoulder-length dark hair dressed in a long white coat. 

“Is one of you Mr. Lioncourt?” the doctor asks, looking back and forth between them.

Lestat jerks out of Armand’s arms at the question and gets to his feet. Armand ignores the pang of hurt he feels in his chest as he does it and stands beside him, waiting to hear the news.

“I am,” Lestat says, his voice painfully hoarse as he takes another step forward with his arms crossed tightly over his chest. “Please, tell me, is Louis…” 

The words die in Lestat’s mouth as his voice cracks over Louis’ name. 

“Your husband is in stable condition,” the doctor assures him. “My name is Dr. Fareed Bhansali and I’ve been overseeing his care. He has a concussion and had to get some stitches, but he’s awake now and resting in his room. I expect he’ll be feeling much better in about two weeks with proper rest and a little TLC.”

The relief Armand feels at that news is powerful, nearly bowling him over. 

Louis is stable. 

He’s going to be okay.

Lestat is similarly affected—he lets out a shuddering breath, a few more tears rolling down his cheeks. He makes no move to wipe them from his face.

“What happened to him?” Lestat asks. “I know he hit his head, but… What made him pass out in the first place?”

“We’re going to run a few more tests to make sure there’s nothing more serious going on beneath the surface,” Dr. Bhansali begins, “but it looks like he’s suffering from iron-deficiency anemia.”

“What?” Lestat blinks. 

“Iron-deficiency anemia,” he repeats. “It happens sometimes with people who cut meat out of their diet and don’t find another way to replenish their iron levels. When your body doesn’t get enough iron, it can’t produce hemoglobin, which is what allows your red blood cells to carry oxygen throughout your body. You might have noticed changes in his mood and activity levels over the last few months.”

“So his veganism did this to him,” Lestat concludes, his voice pitched low in a way that makes the hair on Armand’s arm stand on end.

“That is the likely cause, yes,” he answers hesitantly. “Though there are ways to follow a vegan diet and maintain healthy iron levels. I can provide you both with some resources when he’s discharged if—” 

“That won’t be necessary,” Lestat interrupts him. “His experiment has gone on long enough, I think.”

There’s an awkward beat of silence before Dr. Bhansali continues, “I’m going to recommend that Louis stays here for the night for observation so we can monitor his concussion symptoms.”

“I can’t take him home?” Lestat asks, sounding distressed at the thought.

“Well, you can, but you’ll need to watch him closely and if he develops complications you’ll have to take him back right away,” Dr. Bhansali explains. “If the cost of a hospital stay isn’t too much of a burden, I would advise him to remain under our care so we can intervene sooner in the event that he does experience any issues within the next twenty four hours.”

“Alright,” Lestat nods. “Money is no object where Louis is concerned. I will talk to him—he will stay the night if he wants to.”

“Wonderful,” Dr. Bhansali says, making a note on his clipboard.

“Now may I see him?” Lestat asks, predictably impatient.

“Of course,” Dr. Bhansali nods. “I’ll show you to his room, it’s on my way.”

The doctor begins to walk back toward the entrance to the ward, beckoning Lestat to join him. 

Armand stays behind. Although he wishes to see the proof of Louis’ good health with his own two eyes, this is one private moment he does not wish to intrude upon. 

Lestat spares a glance back at him as he reaches the door. Their eyes meet and Lestat tips his head in Armand’s direction—a small gesture, one easy to miss—but he wastes no time in following Dr. Bhansali over the threshold and into the ward.

The door swings shut behind them with a sense of finality. Armand digs his phone out of his pocket to check the time and grimaces as he finds several missed texts from Daniel, each with more emojis than the last. 

He supposes he has some explaining to do.

It’s much later than he’d promised it would be when Armand finally unlocks his apartment and steps inside. He finds Daniel sitting back on his couch, listening to music with a bottle of whiskey sitting half-empty on the coffee table in front of him. 

Armand has no idea where he’s gotten it from, as he certainly doesn’t keep alcohol in his apartment for himself. No glass in sight either, so he must be drinking it straight from the bottle. 

Daniel has always had an… enthusiasm for drugs and alcohol that Armand has never understood, and to see him like this now after fussing over Louis’ health for the last few hours is… well. It certainly isn’t helping his blood pressure. 

At Armand’s approach, Daniel rolls his head along the back of the couch to look at him. He smiles instantly as soon as he catches sight of him through lidded eyes, his unguarded expression lighting up so sweetly it would touch Armand’s heart if he wasn’t also so obviously drunk.

“There you are,” Daniel slurs, peeling himself up off the couch and stumbling over to him. He throws his arms around Armand’s neck and pulls him into a kiss that tastes of cheap liquor. “Was beginning to think you forgot about me,” he mumbles against his mouth.

Armand suppresses a grimace at the state of his breath and pulls back to look at him properly. Daniel’s curls are a wild mess, his eyes glassy and red. He wonders if he’s taken anything else tonight. Knowing Daniel, the probability is likely.

“Hey, what’s on your shirt?” Daniel asks suddenly, his eyes caught on Armand’s shoulder. 

Armand follows his gaze and sees that white makeup has stained the fabric. He breathes out a heavy sigh.

“Nevermind that,” he tells him. “Have you eaten?”

“What?” Daniel cocks his head.

“Have you eaten?” he says again, a little harsher than he means to.

“Oh,” Daniel answers. “No. Was waiting for you.”

Armand sighs unhappily. Excellent. He’s been drinking on an empty stomach. 

He heads straight to the kitchen and opens the fridge, looking through it to see what he has. He hasn’t done a big shop in a while so he’s running low on ingredients, but there must be something he can work with.

He’s so focused on his task, he doesn’t register the sound of Daniel following him into the kitchen until he’s standing right behind him.

“What’s going on, boss?” he asks.

Armand feels a familiar palm sliding down his back as Daniel tries to coax him into answering his question, but he ignores him, taking out the carton of eggs, some shredded mozzarella cheese, and the leftover bag of spinach he’d opened for his smoothie earlier. It’s the closest thing to a complete and balanced meal he can make right now and he remembers that Daniel had liked the omelet he’d made him last weekend.

Spinach has a lot of iron in it, doesn’t it? he thinks as he places the food on the counter with some butter from the door of the fridge. He sets about looking for a small pan to cook it in next, opening the cabinet he keeps his cookware in. 

“You’re angry with me,” Daniel says, sounding sad and confused about it.

That gets Armand’s attention.

“I’m not angry,” he snaps, accidentally slamming the small pan he’s chosen on top of the stove. 

He almost jumps at the loud noise it makes, and when he turns to look at Daniel, he finds him staring at him with wide eyes. 

Armand slumps against the counter, guilt washing over him. He hadn’t meant to frighten him. 

“Come here,” he says softly, opening his arms.

After the briefest moment of hesitation, Daniel steps into his arms and as soon as he pulls him close, Armand can feel some invisible weight lifting from his own chest. Armand breathes him in, pressing kisses against Daniel’s neck and shoulder until Daniel relaxes into his embrace.

“I’m not angry with you,” Armand assures him, whispering the words gently against his flushed cheek. “It’s just…” Armand’s throat clicks as he swallows down the emotion simmering beneath the surface. “It’s been a long day.”

Daniel’s arms wind a little tighter around Armand’s waist. “I’m sorry.”

Armand shakes his head. “Don’t be,” he says. “I just need you to take better care of yourself. I won’t always be here to make sure that you do.”

“What?” Daniel asks.

“It’s nothing,” Armand tells him. “We’ll talk about it later.”

Daniel hums. “If you insist.”

“I do,” Armand says. He cannot even begin to imagine untangling the web of what happened earlier today with Daniel like this. “Are you ready to eat?”

“Mhmm,” Daniel nods.

“Let me make you something, then. Have a seat at the table,” Armand instructs him and Daniel steps out of his arms and goes where he’s told.

Once Armand has some butter heating in a pan, he fills up a tall glass with water and brings it to Daniel, placing it on the table in front of him.

“Finish this before I come back,” he says, pressing a kiss to the top of Daniel’s head before he turns to leave so he can finish making dinner. 

“Or what?” Daniel asks, because he can never really help himself, can he?

Armand stops where he stands, turning on the spot with an eyebrow raised at Daniel’s cheek. Well, if Daniel won’t take care of himself all on his own, Armand can certainly help sweeten the deal.

He walks back up to him and tips Daniel’s chin up with two fingers so he can look at him more directly, the angle probably uncomfortable.

“Or I will be angry with you,” he says, voice low, but with the barest hint of a smile curling his lips. “Now be a good boy and do as you're told.”

He watches Daniel’s pupil’s dilate in arousal, but before he can say anything else, Armand presses a quick kiss to his forehead and heads back into the kitchen without another word.

He cracks some eggs into a bowl and begins whisking them together with some spices he pulls from the cupboard. When he takes a peek over his shoulder to check on Daniel, he sees him with his glass raised obediently to his lips, taking large sips of water to appease him. 

He seems at home here, Armand thinks, taking in the way Daniel fills his seat at the table with a sense of ease, the sight filling his chest with a cozy warmth that is very welcome after the harrowing day he’s had.

They’ll have to revisit the issue of Daniel moving in with him another time—preferably when he’s sober. For now, it’s enough for Armand to see him safe and fed. If he’s learned anything today, it’s that such things should never be taken for granted.

[chrollogy]

sitting with you kicking my feet waiting to hear about all the yuscara lore

OOO OKAY OKAY !! so like this focuses more on future!yuscara since it’s been on my mind lately >< des im smooching u sm thanj you for coming here !!

yuscara lore below the cut heh

IAHSKSS basically kuni was kinda hesitant to enter a relationship with me because he KNOWS that humans aren’t eternal—they’re bound to die at some point or another. and with how kuni has experienced that with his past three betrayals, it kinda puts him in an awkward position (more of his internal conflict with himself). like, he wants to be with me but at the same time doesn’t want to get attached because he knows how it ends eventually. with him all alone again. nonetheless, after some long and hard thinking, he starts to slowly accept the fact that death is inevitable for humans and gets into a relationship w me <3 (i think its very brave of him to do so). he decided that enjoying the rest of my human lifespan w me is the best possible choice even if it meant being alone in the end with my empty vision that he keeps in his pocket all the time.

and as much as kuni hates the element of electro, he’d do ANYTHING to see my vision light up in purple again </3 also whenever he goes on strolls outside, he sees a sumeru rose and immediately thinks of me (one time we were in the forest and he gave me a padisarah while i put a sumeru rose in his hair ^^)

i also have this hc i discussed w my friends where genshin!yue gets reincarnated and meets kuni again >< so like we’d both introduce ourselves to one another again (even though he knows me already) and basically he already knows all my likes and dislikes + my personality like the back of his hand but reincarnated!yue doesn’t know that so kuni takes his time and becomes patient with everything despite knowing all that information already (he’d relearn everything about me if it meant finding me again after many years </3).

BUT the thing is !! he can’t help but compare reincarnated!yue to the original yue he met before—like, its still the same face, same voice, same everything but some personality traits differ! and some things i liked in the past, reincarnated!yue doesn’t like (e.g. i’m a big fan of sweets but reincarnated version of me doesn’t like sweets or like the reincarnated me wielding a completely different vision ><). and kuni gets sad at those little things because he knows he’ll never meet the original one again </3

[hypnotisedfireflies]

I was just wondering if you had any more delegated scenes from The Legend of Charro?

I am rabid from some Western AU!

Oh! I was going to share more of these and clean forgot. Thank you for reminding me. Yes, I do have some more cutting room floor bits. (And thank you for wanting to read more!!!)

I honestly don't know now where this one originally fit, but it was likely a middle chapter since the relationship is established. I actually have three cut versions of this scene but this is the better one. I wanted to include how they got engaged, but I couldn't make it work. I think I wrote they were engaged for around 18 months?? (because he was away, and her mother passed, etc) so they're about 17-odd here, and it's around?? a 18 months?? before the trouble started. (I think??) Anyway, it stops abruptly when I realised it wasn't working.

I also wanted to hint at the postmaster and Isobel colluding early by reading their mail, but it didn't seem that important to include when the rest came together.

Anyway, here's another outtake from The Legend of Charro, my Tessjoel Western AU:

Tess stepped up on the long wooden walkway connecting the general store, the doctor’s clinic and the post office.  She pulled her shawl a little closer and tried to keep her steps even and slow, but it was hard when she knew there might be another letter waiting for her.  She had a little stack of them in her pocket, tied together with string.  Joel was writing whenever he could.  He was somewhere west now with Sheriff Hocking, getting all that good experience for when it was his turn to keep the law of the land.  She was so proud.

She turned into the building and went right up to the counter.  The postmaster sure took his time getting up from his desk, but he smiled behind his half-moon glasses.

“Good afternoon, Miss Carradine.”

“Good morning,” she answered, wanting to leap over the counter herself and check the pigeon holes.  She knew which one was theirs, and she could see a letter sitting there.  “My ma sent me, she’s hopin’ for a letter from her sister in Boston?”

“Just this one,” he answered, plucking the envelope from it place.  It looked pretty beat-up, but had been pressed flat for her.  “Don’t think it’s from Boston, and it’s for you,” he looked like he knew exactly what she’d come for.

“Thank you, sir,” she answered, and tried not to snatch the letter from his fingers.  “Give my best to Isobel,” she added.

Tess hurried out, opening the letter as she went.  The seal gave easily beneath her trembling fingers and she tugged out the page inside.  She sat down on the side of the walkway to read, heedless of being in anyone’s way, uncaring of being found.  Everyone knew they were writing.  Why, her mother was even reading the letters, just to make sure there was nothing untoward. 

She smiled as she read through his brief descriptions of where he was and what he was learning, the things he saw and wished he could show her.  He always wrote that – some version of carrying her with him so that, in a way, she really could see what he saw.  The idea that he could be out there amongst so much and still thinking of her dazzled Tess.  And then she came to the last line and –

“Tess.”

“In a minute, Nathaniel.  I’m readin’.”

She leaned closer to the letter.  Had she really read that last bit right?

“Tess!”

“Can you give me a goddamn minute, I am tryin’ to read!”  She looked up in a fury, pulling her letter close in case he tried to take it away from her.

Nathaniel scoffed and held out his hand.  “Come on.”

“It’s for me!”

“He’s back, Tess.  He’s over at the jailhouse right now.”

“He’s back?  But I just got a letter.”

“Well, he beat it home.”  He shook his hand in the air.  “Come on.”

Tess took her brother’s hand with a slow grin and dexterously folded up the letter with her free hand.  She was still holding it when he escorted her into the sheriff's office, where the sheriff himself was sitting on the edge of his desk and chatting to his oldest son, standing before him with hands on hips.

What polite conversation took place for Nathaniel and Sheriff Miller to leave them alone was utterly lost on Tess.  She and Joel beamed at one another as the dust danced in the sunlight between them, too charged to settle on the boards. 

“When’d you get back?”

“This mornin’.  You look nice.”

Tess shook her head quickly and looked down, still smiling away.  “No, I’m all dirty.  I rode in with Nathaniel and – and we only just got in.”

“I’m all dirty, too,” he explained, passing through the sunlight to reach her.  “Only just come on back.”

He stopped when they were toe-to-toe.  Tess felt a little thrill loop around her stomach.  He glanced past her to the closed door.  Soft voices out there, hoof beats on a dusty street.  He was going to kiss her and that excitement, that moment right before they did it, never waned.  She especially liked the way he kissed her after he’d been gone a little while.  Tess curled her fingers around his necktie and he tugged her to him by the waist.  They kissed as long and deeply as they dared when the door could open any minute.

“You all right?”  Joel asked, short of breath and a little dazed when they broke for air.  “You been good while I was gone?”

She shook her head.  “No.  I’ve been bored and lonely.”

“You poor little thing,”  he grinned and kissed her some more.  “I missed you.”

The way his hands swept her back and skirt was nothing short of indecent.  Tess made the mistake of moaning and he broke the kiss, lifting his hands from her body to her hair instead.  He rested his head against hers and watched it pool and overflow in his fingers. 

“I’ll ride out to you tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?!”

He chuckled and lifted her to sit on the edge of his desk.  “Can’t you wait?”

“Can’t you?  Or you been callin’ on all those pretty girls out there?”

“No.” He shook his head slightly.  “Don’t talk like that.  Had all them others laughin’ at me while I stayed back to write you while they did all their whorin’.”

“… kept all your letters.”  Tess held up the one still crumpled in her hand.

“What you got there?” 

“That’s one of yours.”

“It only just come?”

“Mm hm.”

Joel leaned in to look at it.  She saw his confidence careen sideways when he realised which one it was.  His eyes flitted between hers and the ink.

“So … so what do you think?”

“I think … I think maybe I’d like that.”

“You’d like that?”  He broke out into a grin, shy and relieved, like he couldn’t quite believe it either.  Then he straightened up, all business.  “You know it can’t be right away.”

“That’s all right.  I can wait,” she eagerly replied.

“I have to ride away again.  Even as soon as next week. Don't look at me like that."