#I live for whump when I know there's a happy ending
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(Gif originally by @shadow0-1)
Today. Yesterday. Tomorrow. Again.
(Soap x GN! Reader)
Rating: Mature
Wordcount: 5400
Tags: Doomed Narrative, Time Loop AU, Heavy Angst, Blood and Injury, Self-Sacrifice, Whump, Hurt Very Little Comfort, Happy Ending, (I PROMISE THERE'S A HAPPY ENDING!!)
Warnings: Major character death. That's...literally the plot
A/N: Hi here's the doomed timelines AU nobody asked for
Call of Duty Masterlist
Summary:
The 23rd time you meet Soap, you don’t bother to smile. You know how this ends.
“Nice to meet you, Soap.” You say for the 23rd time, words that have passed your lips in more lifetimes that you wish you didn’t remember. “I look forward to working with you.”
And I don’t look forward to watching you die.
The first time you meet Soap, it’s how you expect.
It’s a warm spring day, the kind where you need to shed layers in the brightness of afternoon, only to don them again come sunset. He stands just beyond the shade of the barracks, awash in sunlight that seems to catch the blue of his eyes. You blink as you take him in, and it’s the only barest indication you give at the instant impression that he’s handsome.
“Sergeant John MacTavish, at your service.” He tells you with a grin, leaning forward to extend his hand to you. You reach for it automatically, remember yourself and offer a pleasant smile in return, along with your name.
“Looking forward to working with you, John.” You reply, and John- Johnny, as you’d come to call him in the tender moments between you, chuckles.
“Call me ‘Soap’.” He tells you easily, and you smile a bit wryly, tilting your head at him.
“The hell kind of name is ‘Soap’?”
- - - - -
It’s easy to work with Soap. He has a cheery, bright demeanor to him that is immediately endearing. He’s friendly, outgoing. His smile is contagious, and the bark of his laughter becomes familiar to you. You listen and guffaw at his jokes over the comms, try vainly to hide your smile when he says them before you.
It only makes his eyes twinkle to see you try and conceal your amusement, and that becomes familiar too- the sparkle of his irises with endless mirth.
He catches you during your duties, sidles up beside you during weapons training, becomes the first to suggest himself as your partner during drills. The company he offers is warm, welcome, lifting the dusky heaviness of your heart into something more tender, fragile. You hold it for him, feel his grin bleed into yours, lay awake at night and sometimes think about the shake of his shoulders when you get him to laugh.
You feel endlessly special when he devotes his time to you, feel as if Soap treats you like you’re the only person in the world. Even in the presence of others he finds ways to indulge himself in you. A nudge of his boot against yours under the table of the briefing room, tossing you an extra round of ammo as you gear up for a mission, finding an excuse to sit next to you on the chopper ride home. Soap feels like a breath of fresh air, the first taste of a cool breeze during summer, a respite from the weight of the world.
Like two stars in orbit, you circle each other, drawing closer into the gravity of each other’s gazes. You try at first to resist, to hold yourself away from the feelings of the other sergeant, knowing at any moment that he could be taken from you. It’s written in the wheels of fate, your destinies as soldiers. If you’re lucky, if you stay alert, if you train hard enough, if chance smiles upon you, maybe you’ll both live to a day where the sound of rockets and bullet-fire doesn’t haunt your waking dreams.
Yet you can’t resist him. When you fall asleep against his shoulder after a days long mission with hardly any sleep, when he playfully grapples with you over the last slice of pizza during movie night, when he gives you that smile during a rare night off-base at the pub- how can you resist?
Gravity pulses between you when you at last fall into him, feel his breath against your lips as your fingers comb through his mohawk. He breathes the blessing of your name against the corner of your mouth in a panting gasp, flexes his fingers across the small of your back when he drags you even closer. The taste of him is honey and ale, a sweetness with a beloved bitter aftertaste, one you drink down greedily in the form of his moans against your flesh.
When you lay in bed together after, sweaty limbs tangled together, you watch the tender, soulful smile form across the handsome planes of his face, and you know.
He’s yours.
There’s kisses stolen in the hangar before take off, moments hidden in the shadows of safehouses. He cups your face and lifts it to him in the aftermath of battle, smears ash against your cheek with his gloved thumb. You try to carve each moment into your heart, never fail to try and memorize the glint of his eyes, the soft slope of his smile. You know the shape of him in the darkness of his bedroom, know the sound of his voice even blinded by the brightness of his mere presence.
Johnny is the sun- emanating a gentle, beckoning warmth from afar. Yet when you get closer you see the glory of his inferno, see the flashing burn of his eyes in the midst of battle. The solar flare of his battle cry seems to carry you like soar of Helios's chariot upwards into the heavens of his devotion. When you touch him, you’re seared, branded by his fingers as they trace sentimental sketches across the dip of your waist. You want to bask in him, feel the ember of his stare as he gazes at you silently across the table of the restaurant he takes you to for your official first date.
“What?” You ask him, averting your eyes a little bashfully, catching his shrug in your periphery.
“Just lookin’.” He replies with a grin, his cheek smushed as he balances on his hand. “Just seeing how pretty you are.”
You kiss him for that, and when he laughs you kiss him again.
You kiss him a thousand times, each as sweet and passionate as the last, know the curve of his smile on your lips. You kiss him before your next mission, when he holds you against the wall of the armory and tells you how he can’t wait until you both get back.
He doesn’t. He doesn’t come back.
He’s looking at you in the chopper when you hear the sound of the RPG. The explosion has him backlit for all of a moment before the world is spinning, the roar of the dying engine in your ears and Price’s holler to “BAIL BAIL BAIL-!!”
You reach for the rope, glance behind you to see Soap not out of his seat- a breed of panic in his eyes unlike that you’ve ever seen from him. The jammed clasp of his strap is caught in his hands as he tugs at it desperately, and you meet his gaze for all of a moment, seeing the imminent knowledge of what comes next in his beautiful blue eyes.
You fall, without him, are caught by the canopy of trees where the snap of branches under you muffles the distant sound of the helicopter exploding as it lands.
You ignore Price’s orders, run desperately for the wreckage, only to be greeted by an inferno that stretches towards the sky.
Johnny is on fire, and this time when you reach for the burn of him the flames are real. They scorch your flesh and you shout his name even as you try to reach him, already knowing it’s too late. When Ghost and the others haul you back you fall to your knees, grip the scorched earth beneath your fingers and scream.
And then you wake up.
Warm springtime.
“Sergeant John MacTavish, at your service.” He tells you with a grin, leaning forward to extend his hand to you.
You blink, heart still hammering in your chest, feeling the warmth of flames chase you even as songbirds sing in the trees. Yet Johnny is alive before you, whole, smiling, looking so much like the man he was when you met him for the very first time.
“Was it a nightmare?” You ask him breathlessly, and Johnny- Soap- merely arches a bewildered eyebrow at you.
“What?”
Nightmares, you come to learn, are so much more kind.
It happens all as it did before. The jokes over comms, the glancing gazes over drills, the bump of elbows in the mess hall. It’s familiar, sweet, amorous…
And you know something is terribly, terribly wrong.
Back to the start, somehow. You don’t know how, you don’t know why- but there’s no denying what has happened. Johnny died. You went back, and now you have a chance to save him.
It’s months before the helicopter crash. You replay the scene over and over again in your mind, and you keep arriving back to the look in Johnny’s eyes as realization washed across them. Everyone who dies a sudden death is confused, scared, not ready, and the knowledge and horror you saw in his stare haunts your waking dreams.
Yet Johnny falls in love with you just as he did before, and you fall into him so readily, desperate to accept his warmth in the wake of his death. Orpheus embracing Eurydice, you try to trace him into your skin, imbue the memory of him into the marrow of your bones and pray that you can reverse his fate. The gears of destiny tick in the back of your mind even as he stares at you over the restaurant table on the evening before your departure.
“Just lookin’.” He tells you when you return his stare, mistaking your concern for confusion. “Just seeing how pretty you are.”
When you kiss him, you try to swallow the sob in your throat.
When you get on the helicopter, you point out his jammed strap with shaking fingers, and he blinks in astonishment.
“Hell’s bells.” He huffs, fiddling with it before it comes loose, and it stays that way for the remainder of your journey. “That coulda been terrible, ey bonnie?”
He makes it out this time, and when he rises from the forest floor he rushes to you, cups your face in his hands and stares down with eyes glinting in concern.
“Sweetheart.” He breathes, chest heaving with exhilaration. “Are you hur-”
He jerks back at the sound of a gunshot, and you drop automatically, crawl to him just in time to catch his hand as he reaches for you. The bullet wound at his collarbone gushes red, red, red, and your hands are coated in it as you plead, tell him he’s going to be okay-
The light fades from his eyes, still staring up at you, the last thing he sees.
You still feel his heartbeat on your hands when you wake up.
“Sergeant John MacTavish, at your service.” He tells you with a grin, leaning forward to extend his hand to you. You tremble, take it and see him blink in surprise when he feels the uncontrollable shake of your palm against his.
The second time, you think it’s a fluke, a horrible prank.
He steps on a landmine, scattered to the four winds.
The third time, you’re petrified.
A man hidden in the darkness, he lunges for you. Johnny pushes him aside. The blade wedges between his ribs.
The fourth time, you beg destiny for answers.
You make it to the compound, the fence lights him up like a firework.
The fifth time, you try to tell him, only to find your throat clogged, unable to speak. You try to tell him a hundred more times in the months that follow, and each time the words are stolen from your breath, as if fate forbids you to inform him of his doomed destiny.
“...Nothing.” You tell him when he asks after you’ve tried to speak over the restaurant table, your food barely touched.
Johnny shrugs. “Doesna matter, too busy looking at how pretty you are.”
You cry silently that night in his bed, while he dozes gently next to you, unaware of what awaits him.
You can’t tell him. You don’t know how to save him. You still love him.
He’ll forget he knows you, forget he loves you by the time he wakes up
You’ve found eight ways for Soap to die, and have taken years to defy all of them. You have to write them down everytime you wake up unless you somehow forget. The notebook is filled with scribbled reminders, ever present in your pocket even as he steals the last slice of pizza out from under you.
He doesn’t have enough ammo. Remind him to take extra clips
He put his knife on the wrong strap that he usually does, fix it for him.
He steps on the landmine fourteen steps after the creek. Stop him.
You can’t stop trying. Not when it’s him.
Yet each time you find a way to outsmart the latest execution of him, fate finds one more thing to steal him out from under you. Unstoppable, imminent, condemned to wake up and see his smiling face mere moments after his heartbeat slows to nothingness.
“I love you.” You whisper as you cradle his head in your lap, knowing he already can’t hear you, glassy eyes staring up at the sky. “I’ll see you soon.”
You burst into tears by the 19th time, buckling in on yourself much to the shock of the men around you, relaying startled looks of confusion between them. You excuse yourself, find a dark corner to fold into and sob, knowing this time you’ll fail too.
It’s Soap who finds you, sits beside you, says barely a word when you cry into his shoulder even though he doesn’t know you. Not yet.
Falling in love with him each time is painful. Your heart beats for him and him alone, but you know it’s only a matter of time before you lose him again. You’ll go right back to the start, to him having just met you, not yet falling into gravity with you, even as you hear the tick of gears turning ever closer to the moment you’ll watch him die.
“Don’t you know me?” You want to ask him, want to bunch his shirt between your fists and let tears stream down your face. “Don’t you know you loved me?”
His smile doesn’t waver. He jokes and laughs and playfully teases you and it hurts. It’s a balm that burns, heals your heart and yet doesn’t erase the scar. He’s your only comfort, the only thing you have as you feel your soul chipped a little further each time he leaves you. You can’t tell him why you cry into his arms, can’t confess to him that you’ve seen him die more ways than you care to remember, that you’ve tried to save him in dozens of lifetimes and he doesn’t even know.
He holds you even though he doesn’t understand, hushes sweet endearments into your hair and comforts you, not knowing how this will end.
“I love you.” He tells you softly as you hiccup against his chest, not knowing what else to say. “Ever since the moment I first saw you, I’ve loved you.”
Your tears drip into the fancy china at the restaurant he takes you to and Johnny looks afraid.
The 23rd time you meet Soap, you don’t bother to smile. You know how this ends.
“Nice to meet you, Soap.” You say for the 23rd time, words that have passed your lips in more lifetimes that you wish you didn’t remember. “I look forward to working with you.”
And I don’t look forward to watching you die.
He looks at you, blinks. His brow furrows.
“How’d you know my name?”
This time, you forget to warn him about the rigged doorway, and he vanishes in a flash and puff of smoke.
“Don’t cry.” He wheezes when you bend over him, words pouring from your lips in a ceaseless mantra. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. “I always hated watching ye cry.”
You wake up. Everything happens as it did before. You meet him, you listen to the sound of his laugh, you finish one of his jokes over the comms and he groans.
“Don’t tell me ye know that one too!” He grouses, and when you smile your chest aches with the force of thirty lifetimes.
You place a palm against his back, unable to help yourself as you enter the compound, wanting to feel the frame of his body just one more time before destiny finds a new way to kill him. He looks at you over his shoulder, smiles even as uncertainty colors the blueness of his gaze.
“Yer like my guardian angel.” He tells you, still smiling even after all this time. “Dannea what I’d do w’out ye.”
A grenade at the staircase. He pushes you out of the way. He doesn’t duck out of the way in time.
You close your eyes when you wake up. You can’t bear to look at him, knowing you’ll just lose him again.
You try to keep him from loving you, thinking perhaps that is the crime to warrant this eternal punishment. You can’t stop loving him, but maybe, maybe you can stop him from loving you. Maybe if you never have him to begin with, maybe you can save him.
Yet Johnny is drawn to you anyways, sucked in by the way your smile doesn’t reach your eyes, like a moth to an infant flame. He hovers at the fringes of your soul, tries desperately to find his way inside, and you can’t help but let him. He comforts you when you cry against the futility of it all, and there’s nothing you can say to him to explain. You wet his shirt with your tears, knowing it’ll be the one he dies in.
The next time, you force yourself to not speak to him, to try and avoid him at all costs, try everything to drive him away. If he never loved you to start, then maybe he’ll live. He seems pre-ordained to find a way to confess to you, ask why you hate him so, look at you through glistening eyes and ask “What did I do?”
You wonder if maybe that’s destiny too, if it’s truly Soap falling in love with you, or his strings being pulled by the same machinations that inscribe his death.
When he asks you again, tries to approach you with flowers and apologies, and offers to take you to dinner on the eve of his death, you wheel on him in desperate fury.
“You don’t actually love me!” You cry, face hot with tears. “Can’t you see that?! All this time it’s just- it’s just the story we’re in. Just because you’re supposed to love me doesn’t mean you do. It’s all just a fucking lie.”
Soap is stunned, too shocked to speak. In all the dozens of lives you’d lived, you’ve never ever yelled at him before.
Hurt flashes across his eyes. His eyes drop along with his hands, the bouquet limp in his grip. The bitterness of his smile as he refuses to look at you threatens to shatter your heart like glass.
“You hate me.” He murmurs, as if to himself. “I’m…I’m sorry. I didn’t mean tae…”
He falls silent, and eventually he walks away.
You don’t get on the chopper this time. You can’t stand to watch him die again.
You try to tell him again, ask him why. Why does he have to torture you like this? Why love you, why allow you to love him so deeply, only for him to leave at the end of this doomed story bound to repeat? Why would he love you?
He looks torn. He’s hurt. He wants to comfort you. He doesn’t know what to say
“Why wouldn’t I love you?” He asks in a whisper, devastated by your outburst.
You can’t speak. You’re forbidden to tell him. You want to. You can’t.
“Bonnie-” He tries, stepping forward, trying to embrace you as if that will somehow solve everything.
“No.” You manage, pressing backwards as he reaches for you, wrapping your arms around yourself protectively. Pain dances across his eyes. “Go away, Johnny.”
He leaves.
He dies anyway.
When you wake up, your body feels weighed down with the passage of a hundred lifetimes, and your legs fall out from under you without warning. Johnny hauls you into his arms, his blue stare flickering with concern.
You forgot how much you love being held by him.
This time, you don’t push him away. In fact, you never do again.
Yet things are different now. It’s subtle at first, things you take for granted. Something in this story has changed, and in turn it’s changed him. Johnny walks into rooms and seems to forget why he’s there. He asks what day it is and frowns in confusion when Ghost replies blandly for the second time that day.
“Didn’t you already tell us this?” He asks of Price during a meeting, and Gaz’s head snaps to him, to the smartness of his tone towards your captain.
“No.” Price responds gruffly, succinctly, and continues on. You watch Soap, see the way he doesn’t seem to understand. His fingers tap on the table, and it’s a small gesture meant to conceal the worry in his eyes- the knowledge that maybe, maybe he’s been here before.
“I saw you in a dream, once.” He tells you one night as you both clamber onto the roof of the barracks to stare at the stars. “Before I even met you.”
You stare at him, and he laughs a little nervously, rubbing at his nape. “A bit crazy, eh? Sounds like am’ off ma heid.”
You shake your head, slide your hand over his, feel your heart thump when he looks at you in surprise. “Tell me.” You whisper, and when he smiles you shudder, feel the weight of destiny press heavy on your shoulders.
“I saw you crying.” He murmurs, and his eyes are a little distant, like he’s looking back at a life that no longer exists. “I told you not to cry.”
“Don’t cry.” He wheezes when you bend over him, words pouring from your lips in a ceaseless mantra. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. “I always hated watching ye cry.”
This time, you nearly die beside him, and almost wish fate would take you too.
He has nightmares now. He thrashes in his bed, a cold sweat dampening his skin when he wakes. You ask him what it was, what vision plagues him, and he only shakes his head, eyes distant and terrified. He clings to you like he’s a little boy frightened by shadows, gazes at something you can’t see but know all the same. He doesn’t have the words, but he doesn’t need them.
You roll over one night, startled to find him wide awake, eyes unblinking as he stares at you. His voice sounds like an echo of himself, a dark magic winding through his words that sound like an all too familiar prophecy.
“I saw myself die.” He tells you, in a voice you’ve never heard- one you’ll never forget. “You were there- and then you weren’t.”
He finds bruises on himself the next morning, in the same places you watched him become riddled with bullet holes.
You’re running out of time. You don’t know when you’ll wake up and he won’t be there. You don’t know if this will be the last time you ever see him.
“Please.” You beg him, tugging on the straps of his vest as he steps towards the chopper. “Johnny please, don’t. Stay here. Don’t go.”
His eyes shine with worry at the sudden, fervent desperation in your words, and he opens his mouth to respond-
Only for his eyes to take on that foreign, distant stare once more.
“Why wouldn’t I?” He asks, and once more you’re forbidden to tell him.
Because you’ll die. Because I’ll be forced to watch. Because I have no way to stop it. Because I’ve seen it happen a hundred times and I can’t do it anymore.
Inevitably, you arrive here, and this singular moment in time, at the place where you’ve yet to find the part in which he survives.
It always ends like this.
You survive the crash, fend off the ensuing ambush, weave past the landmines and the soldiers patrolling the perimeter, disable the electric fence and disarm the rigged door. You make it inside, stop him before he triggers the tripwire, disarm the pressure plate, lob the grenade back up the stairs, open fire on the door to his left before he passes it. You anticipate the reinforcements at your back, fix the radio when you signal for ex-fil, remember to give him your extra ammo. You know when the roof collapses and drag him to safety, point out the missed charge in his demolitions package, take out the turret before he even spots it-
Then you arrive here.
“The detonator doesn’t work.” He tells you for the thirty sixth time, out of a hundred and forty eight lifetimes. You know what comes next. The chopper will get here, you will be overrun, and Johnny will kiss you one last time with an apology, push you into Gaz’s arms even as you scream. Then he’ll make his way to the control room without you all, will stay behind and make it his final, valiant act.
Then you’ll watch the facility explode with him still inside, hear the gears of fate click and send you hurtling back to the beginning.
If you stop him, you’ll all be shot down. You’ll be the only survivor of the crash, and will see the broken bodies of your teammates join him. Or someone else will take his place, and your rescue chopper will be shot down anyways.
There’s no escape. This is always the moment that you can’t save him from. Thirty six lifetimes and you know in just a few minutes you’ll wake up, will hear his voice begin it all again, over and over until one day you wake up and he isn’t there.
“Sergeant John MacTavish, at your service.” He tells you with a grin, leaning forward to extend his hand to you.
You had a dream last time. You were both sitting at the restaurant table, and you spoke before he could.
“Are you going to tell me how pretty I am?” You asked him, swallowing down grief, feeling it bloom like a macabre bouquet when the sound of his joyous laughter tickled your soul.
“Stole the words right from mah mouth.” He chuckled.
You blinked, and the seat across from you was suddenly empty.
You close your eyes, in this moment, try once more to find the part where you all make it out alive. You try to find the part where you don’t lose him. Where you’ll go back to that restaurant and it’ll be the last time.
You’ve had enough.
“I’m going to stay.” Soap declares, eyes grim with resolve.
He turns to you.
You close the distance, reach up and kiss him. You tangle your fingers in his mohawk like you did the very first time, listen to his shocked gasp as you try and drink in the taste of him just one more time. Just one more time.
Honey and ale. A bittersweet goodbye.
You snatch the detonator from his hands, raise your hands to his shoulders and push.
He topples backwards, nearly colliding with Price, and it gives you just enough time to bolt for the door leading towards the control room, locking it behind you.
Soap screams your name, hurls himself at the door, frantic desperation coloring his beautiful blue eyes. The color of a sky in summer time, of a fresh breeze that reminds you so much of him.
There’s a nervous smile on his lips, one that doesn’t reach his eyes. He thinks it’s a prank, another joke between you two, and he says just as much, voice wavering when he asks you to unlock the door.
“I’m sorry, Johnny.” You whisper, tears warming your eyes. “I can’t lose you again.”
Confusion makes him pause, but it’s only for a moment.
“Open the door.” He demands then, jiggling the lock uselessly as his voice rises. “OPEN THE DAMN DOOR!!”
“I love you.” You whisper, raising your hand to the glass pane, your splayed palm against his closed fist and the world between them. “In this lifetime, and the one before. Ever since the day I met you, I’ve loved you, Johnny.”
He calls your name, voice cracking in desperation and he begs you to come back. You take a few more moments, and think to yourself how unkind it is that the last time you see him will be like this. Afraid, broken, desperate.
Terrified.
Just like how he was all that time ago, the first time you failed to save him.
Not this time.
“Don’t cry.” You tell him quietly. “I always hated watching you cry.”
You leave him even as he screams after you, running in the direction of the control room.
You don’t know this part. You’ve only ever watched Johnny or one of them vanish in this direction. You aren’t prepared for this the way you are with the rest of this story. You’re not ready for the hail of gunfire that greets you, the bullets ripping through flesh. Your blood drips red onto the floor, you run low on ammo, and yet somehow you press on.
Not this time. You think. Not ever again. You can’t take him from me any longer. I won’t allow it.
You’re limping, heavily wounded, riddled with bullet holes, chest seizing and smearing an abstract of crimson behind you as you finally make it to the control room. By the time you dispatch the remaining soldiers you’re on the floor, feeling the corners of your vision pulse red and black as the gears turn, as the clock ticks down.
The timer has just enough time to make it out once you start it. You know you won’t be able to.
So you watch the numbers click on the countdown, flop onto your back and cry.
You didn’t want this.
You wanted just a little more time. Maybe you should have let him go, let him finish this if only he can wake up and not know you. Maybe you should have let him die one more time, if only to get the chance to fall asleep in his arms months into the future and past, knowing he was going to die.
It’s too late now, and as the numbers click down, as your heartbeat thrums in your ears and your vision pulses red, you can only try to remember the feeling of his smile against your lips, the sound of his laughter, your name breathed into your skin as he wraps his arms around you, safe from destiny in his embrace.
“Ever since the moment I first saw you, I’ve loved you.”
You love him. You’ve always loved him. In this lifetime, in the hundred lifetimes before. In a thousand lifetimes to come you will still love him. Even if you go back, wake up again to that warm spring day, you know you will only love him once more.
You wish he was here, at the end, and wish that even if he was he’d find a way to live without you.
When you exhale, it’s the sound of his name, the memory of his eyes as they stare across you from the restaurant table, full of endless devotion.
The world goes dark.
And then you wake up.
It’s bright.
You don’t expect what comes next.
There’s no birdsong. No springtime warmth. Only the beep of a heart monitor, the feeling of cottony sheets tucked into a hospital bed, the fluorescent glow of overhead lights.
And the sound of a voice.
Johnny is holding your hand, head bowed, tears falling freely down his face.
“I did it.” He sobs, words choking his throat, shoulders trembling.
Whole. Alive. Just like you.
“I did it.” He cries again, looking up and finding your eyes with his that swim with emotion. When he speaks, it sounds like the weight of a hundred lifetimes presses down on him.
“This time. This time, I saved you.”
Taglist: @soapskneebrace @guyfieriii @writeforfandoms @alicesfracturedmirror
#john soap mactavish#johnny soap mactavish#john soap mctavish x reader#Soap x reader#soap mactavish x reader#my writing#my fic#to add to masterlist#Alex play Dumb Ways to Die
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For Him - [P.P.]
Pairings: Peter Parker x Depressed!Reader
Summary: You were fine. He doesn’t understand. You were fine. You had been a little distant lately, but he had learned that was a pattern for you. When the months got colder and the nights got longer, you needed an adjustment period. Your space would get messy, and your naps would get longer. But you were always fine.
Word Count: 7.0k
Content: THIS FIC IS CENTERED AROUND A DEPRESSIVE EPISODE. YOU ARE RESPONSIBLE FOR YOUR OWN MEDIA CONSUMTION.
Depression, language, Mentions of self-harm, Mentions of suicide ideation, friends to...open to being more?, Whump comfort, No actual harm comes to the reader, Happy Ending
( Masterlist )
A/N: I'm trying to get back into writing (I know I've said that before) and while my series are on pause, I've been trying to get back into a schedule with it. This piece is very personal to me and is very much something I wrote for myself. I'm sharing this only because I hope it can bring others the comfort it brought me. Or something close to it.
“Peter- Peter, please fix it!” Peter watched you helplessly as you continued to sob.
Your cries ripped from your chest, and you wished to reach inside the fresh gashes, grasp your heart, and grind it to dust. Anything to make it stop. It felt as if the tissue of your cardiac muscle was pulling itself apart, each painful pump shredding the fragile tissue further. You weren’t sure how much more you could take- how many beats you had left in you. You felt delirious.
It’s common knowledge that when your body is going through immense pain, such as breaking a bone, it goes into shock. Your sympathetic nervous system shuts off momentarily because your brain makes the executive decision that you can’t handle it. You wondered how much pain you could withstand before your body tapped out.
Everything was too much. Your brain couldn’t keep up. Neither could Peter. He watched on in horror as you screamed, clawing at the carpet, pushing your face into the ground, cradling your stomach, and rolling back and forth.
You were fine. He doesn’t understand. You were fine. You had been a little distant lately, but he had learned that was a pattern for you. When the months got colder and the nights got longer, you needed an adjustment period. Your space would get messy, and your naps would get longer. But you were always fine.
You had been ghosting Peter for six days (after two weeks of not seeing each other and you flaking on plans), and he had had enough. In his line of work, he tended to worry, however irrational that worry was, it was still there, palpable. You hadn’t been to class all week, he went to your job to surprise you, but you weren’t there either. He thought maybe you were upset with him, but the nagging thoughts racing through his mind couldn’t let you be. If something was wrong, he needed to know.
Peter has had a key to your place since you moved in. He was the only person you trusted, and you knew that sometimes he hated going home, finding it hard to leave “work” at work. You loved that your apartment was a safe place for him. Somewhere, he could rest his head and forget, for a moment, about Spider-Man and return to Peter Parker.
To say your place was a mess was an understatement. You were respectfully tidy; your space consistently looked lived-in, as opposed to Harry’s place, which always looked like a catalogue.
The smell of rotting food triggered his gag reflex momentarily. He soon got his bearings and saw dishes piled everywhere; the full plates looked almost untouched. Various fast food containers littered every surface. Clothes were draped over random furniture, and he could smell you too. He didn’t smell your strawberry shampoo and cocoa butter lotion but rather sweat and musk.
He entered cautiously, calling out to you, but heard no response. He surveyed his surroundings, looking for any possible distress. He worried for a minute that his Spidey-Sense™ wasn’t working. Obviously, something was wrong, but his sixth sense remained dormant in his nerves.
Then he heard it, breathing, a heartbeat. He moved in its direction, slowly approaching the couch. Curled up in a ball, you lay there, surrounded by malodorous clutter. You looked very uncomfortable slotting yourself between mounds of tupperware and dirty clothes. He called out to you again but got no response.
He lept over the back of the couch, landing in front of you, disregarding anything in his path. He brought a hand to your face and the other to your exposed wrist, checking for a pulse. You turned your face away from him, and he felt a rush of emotions surge through him.
Firstly, he was elated: you were alive, your pulsed drummed with the precision of a seasoned battlefield drummer, and you didn’t seem to have a fever or show any other indications of illness.
Secondly, he was angry: he hadn’t heard from you in a week, but he sees your phone on the floor in front of him. You were trying to move away from his touch as if his hand on your face was the broccoli your mother demanded you eat before leaving the table. And when he called to you, you didn’t respond- despite very obviously being awake.
Then, he was worried: he watched as your fingers trembled, your hand limp as he held your wrist. You looked dull, as if someone had turned down your saturation, drowning you out in the background of surrounding hues. Your eyes were glassy, seemingly unfocused as you stared ahead. You looked despondent, a husk of his dear friend.
He called out to you again, and you let out a small whimper. He was beginning to panic. You, on the other hand, were trying to find the will. The will to care, to respond, to look at him, to live.
“(Y/n), can you hear me?” again, you gave him nothing, and he felt panic rise in him again.
“(Y/n), come on, you gotta give me some sign of life.” You focused all of your energy, fighting desperately against your brain, and blinked, long and slow.
“Was that on purpose? Was that your response?” You blinked again, and Peter felt his chest tighten.
“Are you okay? You’re freaking me out, Bubs.” You blinked twice, and Peter stopped for a moment.
“Is two blinks a ‘no’?” You blinked again.
Peter ran a hand through his hair, and you realised he was stressed. You wanted to care so badly. Your friend was hurting, and it was your fault, and you couldn’t even care. Some friend you are. Peter deserved someone better, someone who could be there for him, someone who didn’t completely fall apart when the world became too heavy, someone who could convince themselves that breathing was a good thing. You felt someone shaking you.
“Hey! (Y/n), come back to me, buddy!” You blinked again, and the shaking stopped, but you could still feel his eyes boring into you.
“I asked if you were on drugs. Are you overdosing right now?” You blinked twice. You were feeling tired again. How ridiculous that you can lay here all day, but having to blink is too exhausting? You let out a yawn, and Peter relaxes some.
“(Y/n), can you try and talk to me? I’m freaking out here.” With a great amount of effort, you opened your mouth.
“I’m sorry.”
It was barely audible; your voice croaked due to its inactivity. You blinked a few times, forcing yourself to look at him. His brows were furrowed, and his eyes were wet. You had done that. The ache in your bones grew and spread at the realisation. Peter just shook his head.
“I don’t need you to be sorry; you need to tell me what’s going on.”
To anyone else, he would have sounded cold, but you knew this tone. Peter was working a case, searching for clues, answers. You were dealing with Spider-man. You felt bad that you had drawn that out of him, that he was so distressed he had to put on his suit of armour.
How could you tell him? There was nothing going on. Not one thing, at least. It was a bunch of small things that you were handling like a baby. Your parents were upset with you, your grades were slipping, your job was stressful, you were constantly fatigued, and everything just felt like so much work. Work that you didn’t sign up for. Work that you were done doing.
“(Y/n), what’s going on?”
He hadn’t meant to raise his voice at you, but he was growing annoyed with your crypticness. He wanted to help you- wanted to make sure you’re okay- and he couldn’t do that if you didn’t tell him.
You let out some sharp breaths that almost resembled crying, but no tears left your eyes. You wondered if you had run out; if your brain had decided you had met your quota and had cut off your supply. Or maybe you were just so dehydrated that you didn’t have enough water to spare.
You watched as a single tear rolled down his cheek. You had made him cry. You were uncaring and cruel. You were hurting him. You were a shitty friend. He was so worried about you, and you did nothing to ease his concern. He had called you many times, and you would watch as your phone danced on the table. You would listen to his voicemails, at first light-hearted before quickly turning to panic. You stopped listening to them three days ago, unable to process his emotions as well as your own.
“Bubba, please. What is going on with you? You haven’t answered my texts, you haven’t been to class, you haven’t been to work. I’m really worried. Please, please talk to me.”
He was begging and the thought broke your wretched heart. You attempted to curl more into the couch, to hide away from the pain you saw in his eyes. His hand on your shoulder stopped you, and you didn’t have the strength to resist.
“I’m sorry.”
You watched as Peter’s face contorted wildly between emotions: anger, fear, concern, sorrow. He chewed on his lip as he looked you over again. His mouth gaped as if he was tripping over his words before they could even leave his mind.
“Why? What-? Did you do something?”
You shrugged your shoulders.
How could he even ask that? He knows what you did. He had just listed half of your offences. How could he even stand to look at you? You were a monster, vile and vicious.
You blinked again, and Peter frowned. You knew he wanted to hear you speak, that it would ease his worry, but you couldn’t. Saying the words is hard, flexing all those muscles to use your voice. Too much. It was all too much.
“What did you do?”
You can hear the fear in his voice. It makes you sick to your empty stomach. The weight of his question weighed on your chest.
You knew what he was asking. It was a question you had been asked many times by your parents, by professionals, and your friends. You had lost many over the question. Some of them running away screaming at your honesty. Others have told you it’s not your fault, they just can’t carry the weight. So they leave you to carry it on your own.
You recognised the way his eyes quickly darted to your wrist, then moved to any possible exposed skin. You saw the way he checked his surroundings, looking for anything there. You knew what he was looking for, even if he didn't.
You almost wanted to laugh at that. It was funny to your fucked up brain. They always want to know. They insist on it. They have to know if you’ve done something to yourself as if their knowledge could rewrite time and change futures. As if they know they have the special combination of words that would make you see the light and bring you back. As if they could say something-- anything --you hadn’t heard before. But that wasn’t the funny part. The funny part was being right.
You knew that it was getting bad again. You knew if Peter saw you like this, he would get scared. You knew he would assume the worst. And here he was, doing just that. The funny part was knowing that when people see depression, they expect it to just be this, and if it’s not, you’re fine. And when it does look like this, you must be suicidal.
And honestly, you wish you were. And you shouldn’t say that, but it’s true. At least then you could do something with it. But instead, you’re curled up on your couch, immobilised, waiting for the storm to pass. You look and feel pathetic. But for now, it’s funny. Mostly because you can’t handle how frustrating this is.
You tug your sleeve down, and Peter’s eyes track the movement, tracing over the smooth skin as it’s revealed. His body remains tense even as you stop. You move the other one, and he’s just as attentive. When both wrists are revealed to be fine, you expect him to relax, but he doesn’t.
You watch as his chest rises and falls, not quickly but noticeably. As if he’s trying to stay calm. You appreciate that, though feeling like a bit of an ass for it.
He takes a deep breath, his fingers coming up to pinch the bridge of his nose, “So then, why are you sorry?”
He looked at you expectantly, and you felt like crying again. It was too much. You knew what you had done, how shitty you had been. It’s all you could think about as his calls continued to go unanswered and your filth continued to pile around you. But he was asking too much. You didn’t want those words to leave your lips. You didn’t want him to hear them.
If he did, he might realise you’re right. He’d leave you here, and you’d never hear from him again. He’d be another soul lost to your devastation. Another broken person you made by knowing you. He’d realise how you tainted him, recognise you as sickness, and cut you off. And you couldn’t be mad at him when he did it. Because he would be right.
Or he would defend you. All that Peter Parker love pouring from him, insisting that everyone is good and deserves a chance. He would ignore all of your words, writing them off as nonsense. And maybe, maybe you’d start to believe him. You’d let him convince you that you’re okay. But soon, he would realise that he was wrong about you.
Either way, he would leave you. So maybe if you push him now, it won’t hurt so bad later. If you don’t let him build you up, you won’t fall as far.
So you said nothing, holding his gaze until you couldn’t anymore. His face shifted again, and you couldn’t take it. It was too much. It was your fault. You managed to roll over from your side to your stomach. You paid no mind to the various objects falling off the couch; you didn’t care that Peter had to dodge the debris. Especially when it distracted him long enough to let you hide. You buried your face into your crossed arms but didn’t close your eyes, the dark pocket you created being more than enough.
You felt hollow. Like life had finally broken you, taken everything that you were. You weren’t yourself anymore, just a husk. One that wouldn’t eat, or change clothes, or leave the house. But you weren’t empty. No, you had been carved out, but disgust and anger filled you now. But those big feelings left you feeling tired, tired constantly. No sleep was restful, no break long enough. It was baked in, carried in your bone marrow.
Peter was silent and you listened closely to his breathing. You couldn’t understand why he hadn’t given up yet, why he was sticking by your side. So you told him to leave.
You waited patiently for him to shout, for his footsteps to fade away, but he didn’t. He remained there, where you could feel his eyes on you. It was pissing you off.
“Leave!” you tried again, the sharpness of your tone muffled by the couch cushions.
You waited again, and this time, you heard movement. You heard a piece of silverware land softly on the coffee table and trash move around the floor. Finally, you thought. But then you felt a weight lean against the couch, then soft noises coming from a phone.
You peeked your head out to see Peter sitting on the floor, his back against the couch, scrolling through Instagram. He didn’t chuckle or laugh. He wasn’t really looking at his phone. His eyes were darting over to you every few seconds. You knew he knew you were watching him. This game went on for a long time. Nearly an hour passed in silence, one watching the other.
“I’m not leaving,” he said eventually, “not without you.”
That exhaustion was melting now, and all that left you with was anger.
“Fuck you,” you spit, then tucked your head back into your arms.
“I don’t think you mean that.”
Oh, fuck him. You snapped up, your arms supporting your body as you glared at him from the couch. He looked surprised, but not frightened. Peter had put himself in a terrible position. You were swirling with hatred, and now he had made himself a target. You couldn’t help the words tumbling from your mouth.
“You don’t get to tell me what I mean!” you shouted, your voice crackling like flames. “You don’t get to tell me how I feel! You don’t get to come in here where you’re not wanted and fuck with me. I don’t want you here! I don’t want to see you again!”
He winced at your words, and that made you feel a little powerful. You were hurting so much, seeing him feel a fraction of it made it feel smaller.
“I haven’t talked to you in days and you think, ‘Oh, I’ll just pop over.’ What a fucking joke!”
You laugh, though there’s no humour in it.
“I was worried.”
His eyes are wet again– his voice is so small –like he was seconds from breaking.
Good. Let him break as I have. Maybe then he can see, and understand. Or maybe he’ll leave, get the hell out of dodge. Doesn’t matter.
“No, you were selfish,” You bite. “You got lonely and figured I would be there. You didn’t want to think I just didn’t want you anymore, so you showed up. Because you know no one comes looking for you. Not without the suit.”
You watch as he recoils. He’s looking at you like a monster, and he should. You are. His mouth hangs open, his eyes locked onto yours. The air feels stiff, like a sheet of glass waiting to be shattered. He sniffled a little, and suddenly you didn’t feel so powerful. The game’s not fun if he’s not yelling back. He’s not telling you that you’re right or wrong, he’s not mad. He’s just hurt.
The anger drops from your face and now your eyes are wet too. You feel like you might vomit, but you know that’s just a bluff. You can’t remember the last time you ate something. Or more than three bites. Food doesn’t smell yummy anymore; it doesn’t taste flavorful. Your empty stomach isn’t as noticeable, and chewing is too much work for such little payoff.
Peter’s eyes soften slightly, like something’s clicked for him. His brows pull down and his lips pout.
Pity. He’s showing pity. You’ve hurt him, and he pities you.
You rise quickly, and Peter is quick to his feet to meet you there.
“I’m sorry,” you say, covering your mouth as you feel your breath quicken. You were going to break down again. “You should leave.”
You pushed past him, ignoring his calls after you. You beat him to your bedroom, where you shut and lock the door. Both hands cover your mouth as the tears begin falling and your chest starts heaving. It hurts; the muscles sore from how often this seems to happen.
You hear him jiggle the handle, calling your name through the door, begging you to open it. You sink down, your shirt bunching against the wood as you descend. But you wait. You can’t let it out now, not with him here. He shouldn’t have to see this. He shouldn’t have to put up with it.
Eventually, the knocking stops, and you hear him walk away. You wait longer still until you finally hear the front door open and close.
Then you scream.
It’s deep and guttural. A middle finger to the universe. It’s pure agony released from your throat. It’s all the words you can’t say fast enough. A battle cry from a broken soldier.
You continue to weep, crawling towards your bed, littered with clean clothes you haven’t folded, books you haven’t picked up, and various other trinkets you haven’t put away. But then the exhaustion comes back.
You curl in around yourself, crying out again in frustration.
You’re weak. You’re tired. You’re cruel. You’re pathetic. You’re fat. You’re too skinny. You’re disgusting. You’re heedless. You’re everything, but never enough.
Peter had never felt so defeated. He could see that you needed him, but you didn’t want him. That wasn’t a new feeling to Peter. He had long ago abandoned any hope that you would see him as more than a friend. Even if everyone you ever dated left much to be desired, you didn’t want him.
But this was different. This was something he hadn’t seen before.
He had gotten close. May had gotten pretty close herself. But it was never that. Whatever you were dealing with-- however you were dealing with it-- he didn’t know what to do with it.
You had never looked at him like that before, so full of hate. You had ripped him to shreds on your living room floor. Your words hurt, and it looked like you wanted them to. Like you enjoyed hurting him. It was scary. But then he saw it. That glint of fear in your eyes. The regret falling on your brows. And when you looked like you might cry, he knew.
That was something he did recognise, something he had seen in himself many years ago. The need to hurt. That primal urge to rip everything around you to ribbons. So it can look as ugly as you.
He followed you to your door, beginning to understand the hurt you were feeling. He didn’t want that for you. He wished he could remove it like a faulty wire, but you shut yourself off. He could hear your ragged breathing on the other side of the door, even through his pounding and shouting. But you wouldn’t open up, and he couldn’t do anything until you did.
He weighed his options and tried his best to leave. He wanted to trust that you would be okay, that you would someday unlock the door, but for now, he had to leave you be.
He picked up his stuff, made a mental note to come back and help you clean, and stepped outside. Before he released the handle, he heard you scream. A very real scream. He moved with urgency, panic rising in him. He fumbled with the key in his hands painted with red and blue nail polish. It was chipped from the many years of hanging on his keychain.
He called out to you but got no response. You continued to howl from the other room, and he rushed there. Trying the handle, he cursed, finding it still locked. He had never heard a noise like that before. Your guttural wailing filled his mind. He had one thought, banging and pulsing through his head: Save her. Save her. Save her. Save her.
He didn’t want to kick down the door and frighten you, so he spun hopelessly outside it, fingers tangled in his hair as he tried to make use of his big brain. There was pounding mixing in with your cries now, and Peter felt scared that you were reaching a peak he wouldn’t be able to get you down from.
He threw his backpack to the floor and began opening pockets. His eyes glanced over his wallet, and then he dove for it, pulling out the library card you made him get. You had drawn on it because he complained about how boring it looked. It was the spiderweb in the corner that caught his eye now. From it hung a little spider, but its abdomen was shaped like a heart. He had teased you relentlessly for it at the time, pointing out its anatomical incorrectness. You told him it was a reminder, but for what you never said.
He pushed the thought aside, sliding the card between the door jamb and the lock latch, wiggling it until he felt it release. Your cries could be heard from the other side, so he steeled himself. You needed him, and you needed him strong. He could do that for you. He could do anything for you.
He was taken aback, for a moment, by the display before him, his lips parting in a gasp. You thrashed about, showing rage in your despair. He felt a wave of disgust for himself. He supposed he had let this happen, let you stew too long.
All this time, he thought you were fine. In the same way he was always ‘fine’. But every time he wasn’t, you were there. You were by his side, ready to talk him down. But him? He just waited for you to do it on your own.
He would see the signs and put his head in the sand, remembering how embarrassing it is when someone notices and asks. Remembering the rage that would boil up in him, as if this person could even begin to understand where he was coming from. But he forgot how much he needed it too. How much that small kindness meant. He forgot the value of a shoulder to cry on and an ear to hear, even if they don’t understand.
But he couldn’t dwell on that now. He can’t focus on what he could have done, only what he can now. Because you’re here now, and he wants you around later.
He drops to his knees, his hands coming out to hold you before he stops himself. He calls out softly instead.
It’s apparent to him that you didn’t realise he was there, your wild eyes scanning over him, trying to decipher if he’s real. Your chest heaves as you lay on the ground, your face swollen and red. His heart breaks, for a moment, whispering an apology you don’t hear.
It hurts to have him look at you like that– to see you like this. But this is what you were afraid of, him seeing you and running. But so far, he hasn’t. And you’re selfish, bordering on desperate. It doesn’t matter why he’s here; it just matters that he is. And as much as you desperately want him to leave, to forget you and move on, you can’t help clinging to him.
The one ray of sunshine you have. The one who always gets it even if he doesn’t. The one that remembers to get things in your favourite colour and reminds you to change your water filter. Your rock. And you could use a rock right now, and you can't bring yourself to worry about it destroying him.
You begin heaving again, and Peter panics, still unsure how to help you. His eyes are too much, so you roll around onto your belly, your legs curled up underneath, your forehead against the carpet. Your hands are wrapped around your gut as everything in you comes out. All the rage, and despair, and confusion leaking through your broken cries.
Peter only intervenes when your fists start slamming down against your stomach. You can feel his hand trembling as it grabs yours, and you scream again. His hand retracts, uncertain how to move forward.
Snot is running down your face, and you can feel some dribble on your chin. You feel like a child. You feel like a disgusting mess. He shouldn’t have to see you like this.
It hurts, god, it hurts so much!
His name leaves your lips, broken and frayed around the consonants, and he scoots closer.
“What?” He asks, sounding nearly as broken as you. “What can I do?”.
“Peter- Peter, please fix it!”
You’re not sure why you asked. You weren’t sure what he could do. But you knew he would do it. That’s what he does, fix things. He fixed your laptop, and May’s stove, and your bad study habits, and your sour mood. He always did and asked for nothing in return.
But maybe this was too big of an ask. How could he fix this- A chemical imbalance that you’ve been fighting your entire life? How could he fix what doctors hadn’t? What if you couldn’t be fixed?
You slammed your fist back into you, each hit punctuated with an insult.
Disgusting Pathetic Selfish Broken Useless Dumb Weak
But then, you felt gentle, shaking hands once again. His touch was warm but different from the fire you felt inside. It didn’t burn, but sooth. He had come up behind you and guided your arms tighter around yourself, using his to keep them there, coaxing you into sitting up and resting against him.
He was all around you now; his heart beat steadily against your back, even as yours pounded fiercely. You screamed again, but this time Peter didn’t let go. He held you tighter, hoping desperately that if he held on harder, he could keep you from slipping away. That you would feel his love on your skin. That he could shove the broken pieces back together enough to help you set them right.
Your head hurts; pressure building behind your eyes. But you felt safe, even in this pain. Because Peter was here, holding you tightly. He was here, even if he shouldn’t be. He was here. And you found yourself relaxing into his hold, melting against him.
Your sobbing fell into a quiet whimpering, letting him soothe you with gentle shushes and his forehead resting on the side of yours. He readjusted his hold on you, rubbing up and down on your arm with one hand and pulling you closer with the other. You hung loosely like you had lost the strength to hold yourself up. Peter swore you wouldn’t have to.
“I got you,” he whispered, placing a kiss where his head once was.
Soon, your cries became sniffles, and you turned around to face Peter. His face seemed sad, maybe even tired, but he smiled at you nonetheless. It wasn’t out of sympathy, but true and genuine. That was still too much, feeling embarrassed by your current state, so you hid.
Peter let you wrap your arms and legs around him, trying not to shiver as your nose rubbed against his neck. He pulled you into his lap, relishing in your tight hold. You were coming back to him.
He rubbed soothing patterns on your back, resting his head against yours while whispering encouragements.
“Good job, sweetie, you’re breathing so well for me. That’s right, big breaths, you got it.”
The world slowly stopped spinning, and your body stopped spazzing. You got the feeling back in your fingertips, running them in circles across Peter’s back, trying to recalibrate. He breathed with you, praising for each one you took.
Then, you were still, your eyelids heavy with exhaustion. Peter could feel your eyelashes slowly brush against his neck as you blinked.
“Hey,” he called softly. You hummed, and he was grateful. “I know you're tired, but you should take a bath first.”
You shook your head no, curling into him deeper. His heart panged, wanting desperately to hold onto you longer, but not like this.
He scooped you up, and you whined, wrapping your legs around him tighter as his arm came around to hold your hips. You knew he wouldn’t drop you, but you weren’t used to being toted around.
He let you cling to him as he began filling the bath, making sure the water was warm but wouldn’t hurt. He then travelled to the laundry room to grab some fresh towels and threw in some bubble bath he had found under the sink.
“Come on, baby,” he tried, “In the bath, you go.”
You felt your cheeks warm at the nickname and tried not to think about how much you didn’t want Peter to let go.
It’s not him, You told yourself, he’s just here.
But it didn’t sound very convincing, not even to you. But regardless of your wishes, you knew he wouldn't always be, and what would you do when he left? You’d probably end up on the floor again, or worse.
“I’ll still be here when you’re done,” He said, as if he could read your thoughts, “I promise a bath will make you feel better.”
You took a deep breath, raising your head to look into his eyes. Galaxies lived there, swirling and teeming with life. Every emotion, every thought, bubbling in his irises. And one came through over all of them, ringing through the silence.
Love.
You saw it there as he looked at you. How could this be?
Love.
Had he not seen how monstrous you could be, how depraved and insane you truly were? How could he possibly find it in him to still love you? And how could you let something like that go? He had a love for you that you didn’t have for yourself, but you needed it.
You nodded your head, pushing the thought aside, as you rose on shaking legs. Peter smiled, then left, grinning at you through the crack in the door.
“Thank you,” he said before closing it behind him.
You peeled off your sweat-soaked clothes, feeling embarrassed once again when you realised you were only in a t-shirt and a pair of underwear this entire time. Peter was a very good friend, and you couldn’t imagine why he was thanking you for anything.
You got into the water, your muscles relaxing as soon as they broke the barrier. You stretched, letting yourself sink deeper into the water. You lay there for a moment, relishing in the peace, in the momentary break in misery.
You dunk your head under the water, holding your breath and counting. You come up gasping, feeling the adrenaline coursing through your veins. You feel alive again.
You do that a few more times before actually washing your body. You try not to wince as you scrub the film from your body and hair. You took the time to pamper yourself, letting the lavender scent surround you. You even shaved so you could curl up in your fuzzy blanket later and just feel the softness. Peter was right- a bath made you feel a lot better.
You wrapped yourself up in your towel, feeling fresh and a lot less heavy, and opened the door. Peter was there sitting on your floor, thumbing through your record collection. You gasped at the vision around you, and Peter jumped up, a smile on his face.
“Hey, you’re back!” He saw your surprise and hastily apologized, “I hope you don’t mind. Just thought I’d put on some music.”
You shook your head at the man, ignoring his apology completely. You didn't care about the music. Your eyes wandered around the made bed, with fresh sheets, and the clothes that once occupied them neatly folded. The dirty clothes on your floor were gone, the hamper was empty, and when you listened carefully, you could hear the washing machine running in the other room.
“You didn’t have to clean up,” you said, embarrassment rising to your cheeks.
“It’s all good,” he brushed off, like it was nothing. “I pulled these out for you to change into, but you can- you can wear whatever, of course. And...I don't have to tell you that.”
The way he fumbled over his words was adorable, but you remembered then that you were only in a towel, standing in front of your best friend. You clutched it tighter, and he seemed to notice then too. Redness grew from his neck to his cheeks, and he quickly turned around.
“Sorry!” He shouted. Then calmly, “Sorry, I’ll uh- I’ll let you change.”
You reached for the pyjamas he set out and slipped them on. It felt nice. I mean, the pj’s weren’t new, but wearing something Peter picked out for you, with you in mind, felt…sweet. And they were extremely comfortable. You smiled softly as you smoothed out the fabric, then opened the door.
Peter was standing just on the other side with his back turned to it, but upon hearing the handle, he turned. His eyes quickly skated over your form before he beamed at you. You invited him into your room and turned down the record he had put on so it was softly playing in the background.
He stood awkwardly in your room, hands in his pockets, like he didn't know what to do next. You felt a similar way, sitting back on your bed. The silence was loud; both of you stuck between wanting to ask a million questions and not sure how to make the words right.
You figured he had done enough of the work today; you could try for him.
“I’m sorry,” you began.
He turned to you, worry written across his brows and a retort on his lips, but you cut him off.
“I- I was cruel to you. You didn’t deserve that.”
His face falls as he sighs, then trudges over to sit at your side with heavy feet.
“It’s okay-” he begins.
“Don’t say that,” You spit, some of that anger you tried to bury coming back. Peter stilled, and you felt bad, but he had to hear you. It was important. “Don’t say that how I treated you was acceptable because it wasn’t. You don’t deserve that from anyone. If I had seen someone speak to you that way– or ignore you the way I did –I would have killed them. I don’t get to lash out at you like that, okay?”
Peter’s eyes were twinkling again, and you couldn’t understand it.
“You- you shouldn’t have to put with it,” you continue shakily, “and I don’t think you should stick around.”
Peter rolled his eyes, chuckling.
“Tough luck.”
You look at him baffled, but he remains unfazed.
“You can’t get rid of me that easy,” he explains, “I spend most of my days chasing people who actually want me dead. You having a little outburst because you’re hurting and you don’t know how to say it? I can handle that.”
He grabs your hand, and you try to stop the butterflies taking flight within you.
“You disappearing for a few days? That’s nothing. Me leaving?” He laughs full-on now; it rolls through him, blooming from his chest, “That’s never gonna happen.”
“Peter-” you try, but it’s he who cuts you off now.
“No, I’m not hearing any of it. I’m not going anywhere,” he insists. “I’m not leaving you again. I will be right here, for as long as you need me, and even when you don’t.”
His hold on your hand is tighter now, as if he’s trying to press the promise into you. Placing it in your hand and hoping you never let it go. Or maybe it was more than the promise. You look into his eyes, and you see it again– love. You can’t make sense of it. Over and over again, that look. One you’ve seen so many times. Why?
“Because you shouldn’t have to do it alone.” He answers your silent question, “Because I don’t want you to do it alone, not when I’m right here.”
He lifts your hand and puts it over his heart. You can feel how fast it’s beating. Yours flutters in a similar way. It’s terrifying and thrilling, this promise he makes. You want Peter there, always. That’s why he has a key, free to pop into your life whenever he finds the time. Because you always want him there. It’s why he’s your emergency contact and the only person you trust (other than May, but you would never ask it of her) to water your plants when you’re away.
But if he stays, you’ll grow attached. More attached, at least. He’s seen one of many battles in a war you’ve been losing for as long as you can remember. He’s crazy enough to think he can handle more when you barely can yourself. But maybe that’s what you need, someone to fight with you. Someone to fight for.
You bring your arm around his neck, pulling him into a jarring hug. He accepts it, pulling you closer. You’re trembling ever so slightly, but you’re not fighting him anymore. He knows what this means. You’re letting him stay, and he’s so grateful.
You allow yourself to just breathe with him- to let him be here, and hold you. You never got that before, and accepting it now is hard, but you can do it.
“Do you wanna stay the night and watch some b-horror films?” you asked.
Peter smiled against you, and your heart leapt at the action.
“I thought you’d never ask.”
You feel a bit selfish as he steps into the bathroom to change into comfier clothes, as he crawls into bed and lets you curl into him, as he drapes his arm around you and holds you close. You can’t give him what he wants right now, what he deserves, but you want to. It’s hard, it’s terrifying, but you know that you can. You can do it for him. You're strong enough.
Tag List: @actuallypeterparker, @barbecuetiddy, @cherriescherriesred25, @heejinw0rld, @ilovemoonknight, @Isshecrazyorissheclever, @mirrorballin24, @miwagila, @negasonic-teenage-asshole, @onlyangel-444, @preciousbabypeter, @purple-amaranthe, @raajali3, @remuslupinsdocs, @rudy-the-winged-wolf, @supernerdycookietrashblrr, @wannapizzamymindposts, @whoreforklitz
#rancid writes#tasm peter parker x reader#andrew peter parker#peter parker#peter parker fanfiction#peter parker fluff#peter parker x reader#peter parker x y/n#peter parker x you#tasm peter parker#tasm peter x reader#peter parker imagine#spiderman x reader#andrew garfield#andrew garfield spiderman x reader#peter parker fic#tasm!spiderman x reader#tasm imagine#tasm!peter x you#tasm 2#tasm!spiderman x you#tasm!peter x y/n#tasm!peter imagine#the amazing spider man#spiderman#tasm#peter Parker imagines#spider-man imagines#spiderman x y/n#spider man x reader
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Lost Without You
Whump Rating: 2/5
TW: Depression
The shadow is defeated. A portal appears and the Chain knows, this is the final one. Tears are shed, promises and light-hearted threats are made, and everyone gives a last hug goodbye. Then, one by one, they step through the portal and vanish.
They were already in Wild’s world. He’d already gone through his last portal without realizing it. The blackness swirls, sucks in, and vanishes. The champion stands in the grass field, alone. The breeze blows through the grass, turning it into waves over the low hills. Far away, a wild horse whinnies. Then silence falls again.
Wild stares at the spot where his family vanished for a long time before finally turning in the direction of home.
Things aren’t the same after the journey ends. Link—no need for a nickname, now—goes through the motions. He helps Zelda, speaks with Purah, and tries to fall into the rhythm of life. The little house in Hateno, despite how he loved it previously, is too empty, now. Each corner is filled with memories of eight other boys and men laughing, joking, and filling his life with joy.
He can’t sleep in his bed without remembering times Wolfie curled up at his feet, or Hyrule crawled in and clung to his arm after a bad dream. The horse shed reminds him of Time, chewing on a piece of straw and telling ridiculous stories they couldn’t discount. With the old man, anything could be true.
Finally, Link gives the house to Zelda for her research and sets out to circle Hyrule. He’ll check in with the other races and towns. Maybe there he’ll find the meaning he lost. Yet each place holds the happiness of people moving on, while he is stuck in the same place.
Friends marry, break up, learn new skills, and build homes. Families change; growing and shrinking, yet never dying. Their lives are ever-churning onward. With each town, Link finds himself looking forward to the next less and less. He no longer has a family to visit. Well, it’s not a bad idea to travel the wilds. He’s often more comfortable there than anywhere else.
At first, it’s a good idea. The wilds are quiet and he falls into the rhythm of nature. There are no travelers out here and he can go days without needing to speak. After a while, he starts chatting to the air, telling his missing companions about his travels.
“There’s a fox mother in a den over there. I snuck up and looked at the kits. I think she noticed me, but I made sure not to get too close. Oh, some grasshoppers; I should catch them for making elixirs in the future. You know, I really cleaned out my stores making potions for everyone.”
The only answer is the wind. Link is quiet for the rest of the day.
The weeks blend together and he fully gives up on seeking out towns. Even traveling is losing its appeal. What’s the rush? There’s no goal; no people who need him to check in. He told Zelda when he left he’d be off the grid for a while.
What’s the use of a hero after the journey is over? He’d barely had time to settle after the first one before he was dumped into the Chain. Now, an eternity without his family looms. Each day, Link rests a little more. For each meal, he has a little less. He’s just…not hungry.
Slowly, he numbs to his surroundings. He takes an infrequent wash when he comes across a lake, but there’s no one to worry about. Link wakes tired and lays on his bedroll for hours, debating getting up and moving further. He collects less until he’s only depleting his supplies, not adding to it. Well, that’s easy enough to fix; he’s not hungry anyway.
Link doesn’t know how long he’s been out here. He could warp home; warm to a shrine or a town. Maybe he should be around people. But the idea of talking to people? Socializing? Keeping up the persona of a hero? It’s exhausting.
Mostly, Link sleeps. Maybe, one day, he’ll climb back into the shrine and they can suck the life back out of him. This body is on loan, anyway. Maybe next time, they’ll find a better hero to fill it with. Someone whose family is still around to support him.
Someone is screaming.
This is odd for a variety of reasons, not the least of which is that Link is in the middle of nowhere. Someone could have encountered a rare enemy, but the scream is…excited? And raising in pitch and volume.
“Where is he?”
“The gem should take us right to him!”
“Do you think he’s underground?”
“What—where do you come up with these things?”
“Like a cave—wait, look over there.”
Huh. That sounds a lot like Wind and Warriors. Silly, because they are gone. Everyone is gone. Maybe this is it. His mind snapped and now he’s hearing voices.
Footsteps get louder and Warriors looks down at him in the grass, hands on his hips. “What in hyrule are you doing down there?”
Wind’s face pops into view, showing off straight white teeth when he grins. “Hey Wild! We missed—hey.” The smile fades, excitement seeping out. “Did something happen to you? You look, uh…”
“You look like shit,” Warriors finishes. He leans down, reaching out a hand. “You good? What happened?”
Link doesn’t take the hand, just stares at them. “That’s it,” he whispers. “I’ve gone crazy. Hallucinations.”
Wind socks him in the shoulder, much too hard to be a hallucination. “Get up! Warriors got a crystal! We need to get the others!”
“What…?” Link finally sits up, then stands. Woah, his legs are kind of shaky. Warriors grabs him, then hisses as his hand closes on a shoulder.
“How skinny are you? Wild, seriously, what happened?”
He transfers his gaze to the captain, slowly tracing over familiar features. “You left.”
“Yeah? Didn’t you have people to come home to?”
Link shrugs. “Not my family.”
“Wild? Are you okay?” Wind tugs on his tunic sleeve. “Did you miss us?”
“Yeah.” He closes his eyes for a long moment. “A lot. How—how are you here?”
The captain snorts and waves a gem on a chain. Took a while, but I got Cia to make a gem that will let heroes open portals. We’re picking everyone up to see how things are going.” He looks Link up and down. “You, my friend, are in dire need of some help.”
Link stares at his feet. “I don’t…know what to do anymore.”
Wind leans against his side, wrapping him in a half hug. “You rely on your brothers. We’ll get you back on your feet, okay? Twi is never going to let you out of his sight again.”
For the first time in a while, Wild smiles. “Let’s go see our family.”
#tw: depression#found family#whumptober2023#linked universe#linkeduniverse#lu whumptober#breannasfluff#mywriting#lu wild#lu wind#lu warriors
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I have seen S3!! It cost me dearly (oh god my sleep schedule and body) but I'm so glad I did because I LOVED IT. so much!! I didn't know they had it in them but aaaaaaaa. Spoilers under the cut!
- I loved the relationships. I LOVED THEM. I could come on board with Geralt-Yen, I really enjoyed both Geralt-Ciri and Yen-Ciri (she's her mum 😭) and Ciri-Jaskier was everything I ever wanted. There were other things happening this season (👀) but that was the absolute highlight for me + Geralt actually showing that he cares for Jaskier and their relationship f i n a l l y being portrayed as the deep and meaningful friendship/bond that it is. I watch the witcher for a lot of reasons but mostly for the found family and VINDICATION aaaaa
- this was such a good Jaskier season, my love, me eternal light, the reason why I fell in love with this show - he had a PLOT, he had his wits, he had agency, he's still so anxious but was there as bait (they!! adressed his trauma in the little ways!) and I love that they went the route of Jaskier telling Geralt about Phillippa, honestly guys, I can die happy now, especially with-
- BI BARD BI BARD BI BARD BI BARD (nearly everything has been said about this, just. This fuels me. I needed this so bad, t h a n k you netflix for going through with what you started in S1). I can't shake the feeling that things are going to end quite badly but then I also. like to whump the bard. sooo, if I end up right.. 👀
- I might have sniffed a little when they made Geralt cry because he didn't want his mum to hurt?? Don't do this to me I am not strong enough, that got me. That really got me.
- Geralt might have murdered some people this seasons (and was SO DOWN to kill Stregebor, I crackled, I love himmmmm) but he was such a good moral compass for Ciri this season? Had so much integrity? Did they actually manage to keep him of his path of neutrality? WISE MAN GERALT? EMOTIONAL DEPTH GERALT??
- Ciri really grew on me this season! They really did her good
- Yen didn't need to grow on me, but ohhhh SHE DID. I loved her storyline. I loved her introspection
- family goat Geralt I am crying
- the costumes were not perfect but honestly most of the time they were slaying and Geralts armour is now sooo much better, I'd say, improvements there too!
- black horsie is a Roach too (with subtitles on) I can forgive them
- Otto out there with the plague of '21 ??? Brooooooooo
- Fringilla absolutely deserves to live her best life, yes queen. Also Cahirs first little breakdown??
- so many book scenes I enjoyed gosh YES. I already said that but the Jaskier&Ciri one guys I melted-
- the pacing felt at times a little weird? With weird interceptions of scenes at times, like the wild hunt one at the end of episode 3(?). But that was just a minor thing that made me go. Hmm? 🤨
- I LOVE THAT VALDO IS JUST A GUY. He is just a guy! A funny little man that sings the equivalent of medieval, sappy, cliched boyband songs about love, ppfpfpf. Jaskier you PETTY bitch it's like wanting the Taylor Swift of the continent to die and I love him for it
- this is the first season that I could just. watch again? right after finishing??? what a quality improvement!!
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In the mood for...
Link Limit Reached! Check out replies for more recs ^^
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1. Any fics where wwx dies and becomes a water spirit? Or any plain water spirit wwx stories?
the past drifts away with the waves by thelastdboy (E, 5k, wangxian, WWX & Wen remnants, LWJ & LSZ & WWX, graphic depictions of violence, major character death, canon divergence, fall of lotus pier, major characger undeath, YZY being an asshole, implied/referenced child abuse, minor character death, major character injury, amputation, loss of limbs, transformation, merpeople, fierce corpse WWX, kind of, merperson WWX, resentful creature WWX, undead WWX, riverspirit WWX, it gets worse before it gets better, heavy angst w happy ending, no sunshot, hurt/comfort, politics, not cultivation world friendly, slow burn, getting together, revenge, demonic cultivation, WWX pov, dark WWX, monsterfucker LWJ, wen remnants live, sect leader WQ, WIP) i recently started this story
You still sound like a song by Moominmammashandbag (M, 64k, wangxian, WIP, Ghost!WWX, Mystery, LWJ plays inquiry, AU from after the Wens came to Lotus Pier, Most people lived, not everybody died, Angst with a Happy Ending, river spirit!WWX, Angst and Feels, description of murder, imminent smut, Execution, bad dog names, Poisons, Discussion of Attempted Murder, BAMF WWX, Family Feels)
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2. Hi! I recently saw the rec about a fic where WWX was pregnant and didn’t know, it was called blood, google and love, I believe, and I‘ve read that, and the fic inspired by the same post. So now I‘m in the mood for that „he didn’t know he was pregnant“ scenario. I don’t really care who the one pregnant is. Thank you so much! @desperation-is-my-middle-name
Little fall of rain by luckymoonly (M, 10k, wangxian, canon divergence, fix-it, WWX didn’t now he was pregnant, mpreg, family feels, soft LQR, misunderstandings, jealous LWJ, fluff & angst, happy ending, smut, breastfeeding, thirsty granny, JGS being usual self)
Impermanence, Transience, Permanence by Best Bepsy (BepsyGray) (E, 39k, wangxian, canon divergence, unplanned pregnancy, mpreg, gore, sunshot campaign, assumed miscarriage, medical procedures, childbirth, golden core reveal) And there's the, "I didn't know I was /still/ pregnant" fic
Surprise Baby! by trulywicked (M, 10k, wangxian, modern cultivation, ABO, mpreg, unplanned pregnancy, accidental baby acquisation, didn’t know he was pregnant, birthing scene, blood, established relationship, fluff)
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3. hello!! can you guys suggest some hidden/secret child or any stories like lwj didnt know he had a child with wwx
The time we’ve lost by Anye (T, 54k, WIP, WangXian, Modern AU, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Everyone Is Alive, But they don't know that, Eventual Happy Ending, Slow Build, Twins, Misunderstandings)
Nothing but your heart by airinshaw (E, 21k, wangxian, modern, ABO, implied mpreg, first time, getting together, drama, angst w happy ending, anal sex, whump, breeding kink)
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4. Hello! If this ask is repeated please ignore it I’ve got a memory as bad as wwx and I forgot if I asked this already or not (Not to worry even if it WAS a repeat ask! ITMF posts have a lot of popular asks cycling through frequently ☺️ Repeats are even encouraged since there might have been found even more fics fitting those asks later on ~Mod L)
Anyways, for the itmf I’d like some kind of time travel but starring their parents, like Madam Lan or Canse or Wei Chanze or even Qinghengjun. But please it’s gotta have at least a little bit of wangxian too
Thank! Again sorry if I already asked this
🧡 All will be well when the day is done by abCEE (T, 76k, wangxian, time travel, canon divergence, fix it, not YZY friendly, not Jiang friendly, butterfly effect, no sunshot, madam lan lives, lan WWX) /technically/ a YZY time travel fic?
An Inch of Grass, and All The Sunshine of Spring by ChilianXianzi (T, 1k, wangxian, CSSR/WCZ, CSSR & LWJ &WCZ, time travel, grief/mourning, parent-child relationship, found family, fluff & angst, CSSR & WCZ live, WIP) Does it count if it’s to the future? Either way, CSSR/WCZ time travel
The Long Winding Road Home by Admiranda (T, 12k, CSSR/WCZ, wangxian, time travel, post-canon, not JC friendly, fluff, family reunion, mocking LQR to his face, mocking JC to his face, wild rumours) another CSSR/WCZ travel forward in time
Love you always, in any form you come in by YumichanHamano (G, 7k, wangxian, CSSR/WCZ, post-canon, time travel, fluff) CSSR/WCZ time traveling forward again
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5. Hey ! This is a request for a very specific fic (not a fic finder ) Modern setting is preferred!
Is there any story where either lwj or wwx struggle with understanding social cues /jokes having trouble not being able to hold small talk etc.and people ( friends) making mean comments reactions to , etc..
Like struggling with mental health or
Basically struggling with neurodivergency not knowing their condition/ late diagnosis .
The Bunny Next Door by detailsinthefabric (E, 43k, WangXian, Modern AU, Bottom LWJ, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, LWJ Has Feelings, Soft WangXian, Internally Screaming LWJ, Neighbours)
this author writes neurodivergent wangxian in a very soft and gentle way her fics are locked to the archive so I don't know if I can link any fics?
leave all your love and your longing behind by ScarlettStorm (E, 143k, WangXian, Modern AU, no magic, Meet-Ugly, Panic Attacks, autistic lwj, neurodivergent wwx, the neighborhood asshole dog, if you’ve met one then you know, Hurt/Comfort, Pining, Minor Angst, major shenanigans, Happy Ending, for everyone including the asshole dog, Eventual Smut, switch rights, Sex Toys, horny yearning, Masturbation)
maybe together we can get somewhere (any place is better) by AlfAlfAlfAlfAlf, tardigradeschool (T, 49k, LXC & LWJ, wangxian, LXC/NMJ, LWJ & LQE & LXC, modern, coming of age, QHJ raises his kids, child neglect, implied/referenced child abuse, teen romance, angst w happy ending, first kiss, implied/referenced suicide, implied/referenced self-harm, neurodivergent wangxian)
When we were small by deliciousblizzardshark (T, 7k, LXC & LQR & LWJ, LQR & WWX, modern, kid fic, good uncle LQR, neurodivergent LWJ, baby LWJ, baby WWX, parenthood, homophobia, implied/referenced child abuse, LQR pov, implied/referenced underage sex, grief/mourning, hurt/comfort)
deliciousblizzardshark also writes neurodivergent wangxian as well !
Lan Wangji and the Artificial Phallus by deliciousblizzardshark (E, 15k, wangxian, LWJ & MM, LWJ & LXC, modern, neurodivergent LWJ, virgin LWJ, WWX has ADHD, single parent WWX, trans WWX, implied/referenced trans male pregnancy, getting together, fluff & humor, panic attacks, anxiety, implied/referenced ableism, unreliable narrator, masturbation, bottom LWJ)
Heaven, Wait by sunflowersfield (T, 2k, wangxian, modern, fluff, angst, hurt/comfort, neurodiversity, falling in love, getting together, happy ending, first dates, first kiss, hyperfixations, strangers to lovers, meet-cute)
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6. Hi. I’m kinda new to the whole tumbler asking and all 😅. But I would like to know if you have an fic where it
A) yu ziyuan bashing or the whole jiang family bashing
B) Everyone loving Wei ying and protective of him
C) The junior squad ABSOLUTELY LOVING wei ying ( i LOVE this prompt 😅🥹)
6A)
💖 Lessons relearned by Iamnotawriter (T, 44k, WangXian, LQR & WWX, Not Madam Yu Friendly, Time Travel Fix-It, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Inventor WWX, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, No Golden Core Transfer, YZY Bashing) link in #10
A Curse Upon Your House (Nearly Worn Wings Take Flight) by Preludian_Staves (T, 5k, wangxian, canon divergence, curses, not YZY friendly, off-screen death, rogue cultivator WWX, happy ending, canon-typical violence, no war au, WWX leaves Jiang sect, JFM chooses YZY over WWX)
💖 Hoards and treasures by apathyinreverie (T, 21k, WangXian, Siblings, Family, not particularly Jiang friendly, YZY Bashing, slightly darker Gusu Lans, LXC being the best brother, Some manipulation, But with the best of intentions, and not between wangxian, Dragon LWJ, Fox WWX, Smitten LWJ, Fluff, perfect happiness, adorable WWX, Romance, Some worldbuilding, courting)
Through the Storm by marhikit (T, 33k, WangXian, Wen Xu/Male OC, WWX has siblings, Canon Divergence, Not Jiang Family Friendly, No golden core transfer, JZX & WWX friendship)
Debts of a Child by Hauntcats (M, 115k, WangXian, dark, YZY Bashing, Not Jiang Family Friendly, Angst and Feels, lots of anger, JC Bashing, not Jiang friendly, Angst with a Happy Ending, Content warning for icky spiders in later chapters.)
🧡 All will be well when the day is done by abCEE (T, 76k, wangxian, time travel, canon divergence, fix it, not YZY friendly, not Jiang friendly, butterfly effect, no sunshot, madam lan lives, lan WWX) link in #4
💖 Let the Heavens be the judge) by A_Mirror_of_memories (T, 4k, wangxian, time travel, fix-it, not JC friendly, not YZY friendly)
the world wags on by justdoityoufucker (T, 5k, WCZ & WWX, WCZ & LQR, WCZ/LQR, canon divergence, pre-canon, WCZ lives, not everyone dies au, not Jiang friendly, past child abuse, canon Jiang family dynamics, not YZY friendly, parent- child relationship)
Haunted by FlautistsandPeonies (M, 8k, CSSR/WCZ, CSSR & WWX & WCZ, canon divergence, revenge, not YZY friendly, not JC friendly, not Jiang friendly, non-linear narrative, canonical child abuse, child neglect, WIP but chapters can stand alone)
💖 Xiao-Ying of the Third Refugee Village by abCEE (T, 31k, wangxian, WWX banished from Jiang sect, not Jiang friendly, found family, mpreg, fluff, flirting)
💖 Light Source by abCEE (M, 31k, wangxian, not Jiang friendly, no golden core transfer, fall of the jiang sect, happy ending)
💖 in payment, a hand series by justdoityoufucker (M, 10k, wangxian, not jiang friendly, amputation, injury recovery, self reflection, abusive YZY, families of choice)
💖 To Speak Up by Vrishchika (M, 7k, wangxian, modern, child abuse, child neglect, not jiang friendly)
💖 crying like a fire in the sun by cl410 (T, 10k, wangxian, runaway WWX, not YZY friendly, rogue cultivator WWX, post-cloud recesses study, grandmother BSSR, angst w/ happy ending)
re 6a, I think we have Jiang Cheng bashing comp lol which might be up their alley
6C)
🧡 the stone-filled sea by yukla (T, 9k, WangXian, LSZ & WWX, Post-Canon, senior wei defense squad, [Podfic] the stone-filled sea by yukla by Beria1021,
the stone-filled sea [Podfic] by BrickGrass) THIS ONE for #6c (junior squad loving wwx) but it’s mostly sizhui and jingyi
The Absolutely True Story of the Yiling Patriarch: A Manifesto in Many Parts by aubreyli (T, 19k, WangXian, In-Universe RPF, Romance Novel, Post-Canon Fix-It, The Absolutely True Story of the Yiling Patriarch: A Manifesto in Many Parts by aubreyli [Podfic] by Rhea314 (Rhea))
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7. Hellooo, for the next itmf; I'm looking for a fic with alpha wwx and omega lwj. preferably a long fic but it doesn't really matter. Thank you!
Until There Was You Series by farawayanddreaming, InTheGreySpaces (E, 50k, WangXian, LXC & LWJ, Omega Verse, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, LWJ In Denial About Sexuality, Bottom LWJ, Omega LWJ, Beta LXC, Sibling Incest, Sex as Therapy, LXC is the Best Brother, Worldbuilding, Lore creation, Canon Divergence, Submissive LWJ, but only kind of, Jade-cest, Chronic Pain, Terminal Illnesses, Grief/Mourning, Heavy Angst, Gentle Dominant WWX, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Top/Bottom Versatile | Switch WangXian)
to eclipse the night by quillifer (E, 15k, WangXian, Courtesan AU, alpha courtesan wwx, Omega LWJ, Bottom LWJ, Top WWX, Canon-era AU, light Violence, off-screen mentioned noncon (not btwn main ship), noncon, A/B/O, minor mentions of future mpreg)
your heart of shadows, your eyes like stars by DrPanda99 (E, 62k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Omega LWJ, Alpha WWX, Bottom LWJ, Top WWX, YLLZ WWX, LWJ Has a YLLZ Kink, Immortal WWX, Identity Porn, Humiliation, Voyeurism, Overstimulation, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Canon-Typical Violence, Strangers to Friends to Lovers, Slow Burn, Mildly Dubious Consent, Happy Ending, Alternate Sunshot Campaign, Marriage)
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8. Any fanfic about Lan Wangji not growing up in the Lans? WangXian centric if possible. @catmaid-san
The Dreams of Youth by sami (E, 86k, wangxian, time travel, fix-it, family, not lan sect friendly, canon typical violence & gore, childhood friends to lovers, hurt/comfort, mothers who live, some people live/not everyone dies, [Podfic] Cold read of The Dreams of Youth by kisahawklin) Lwj leaves the lan sect and is raised by his mother.
My Boy Builds Coffins by enbysaurus_rex (Not Rated, 48k, WangXian, Coffin Maker AU, YL WWX, Location: Yílíng, LWJ builds coffins, Autistic LWJ, falling in love over a coffin, Hurt WWX, Mutual Pining, LWJ Has Feelings, Deathscapes, Death as a bittersweet community thing, accidental ecofiction, Farmer LWJ)
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9. Hi, please recommend some of the best dark lwj fan fiction @dog-89
A Matter of Time by mrcformoso (E, 34k, WIP, WangXian, Time Travel Fix-It, POV LWJ, POV JC, Dark LWJ, Manipulation, Grooming, WangXian Get a Happy Ending, Consensual Underage Sex, Except problematic please read warning in first chapter, Blood and Violence, Insane LWJ, Manic LWJ, Conditioning, WWX is a Lán, Minor Character Death, Confused JC, Golden Core Reveal, Good Friend NHS, WWX Isn't Adopted by the Jiāngs, Abusive Jiāng Family, Jiāng Family Bashing, Jiāng Family Critical, POV NHS, Dark NHS, Anal Sex, Marathon Sex, Dual Cultivation, Qīnghéng-jūn Lives, LWJ Has a Big Dick, WWX Self-Lubricates, Plot Twists, Porn With Plot, Scheming NHS, Manipulative NHS, BAMF LWJ, BAMF WWX) After slaughtering many cultivators lwj travels back in time and takes wwx for himself.
Not dark as in cruel, but on the dark end if morally grey- lwj kills anyone who tries to get in the way of him and wwx
💖 Ominous by 3neetee (T, 5k, wangxian, pre-relationship, established relationship, character death, fae & fairies, changelings, dark LWJ, dark WWX, BAMF WWX, graphic description, suicide, implied/referenced domestic violence)
💖 I just wanted to see you so bad by Blackberreh, ThatOnePlatypus (T, 1k, wangxian, canon divergence, dark LWJ, minor character death, blood)
💖 demons run when a good man goes to war by Miranda_Aurelia (T, 20k, wangxian, LWJ & NHS, JYL/JZX, canon divergence, angst w happy ending, NHS & LWJ friendship, not JGY friendly, dark LWJ, revenge, (presumed) major character death, not LXC friendly)
💖 Somewhere Sits an Empty Throne by Siamesa (E, 19k, WangXian, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, tgcf fusion, Gods & Goddesses, Ghosts, Romance, vengeance, Dark LWJ, Grief/Mourning, Explicit Sexual Content, Angst with a Happy Ending)
💖 Do you want to hear by allollipoppins, dameauxgentianes (T, 12k, wangxian, time travel fix-it, canon divergence, not everyone dies au, epistolary, Madam Lan lives, minor character death, dark LWJ, Lan WWX, bad parents JFM & YZY, good uncle LQR, no sunshot campaign)
💖 Like the sea loves the shore by Say (E, 15k, wangxian, LQY & WWX, implied/referenced WWX/WC, F/F, rule 63, dark LWJ, protective LWJ, sirens, childhood friends to lovers, fluff, angst w/ happy ending, eventual smut, human WWX, siren LWJ, age difference, non-human genitalia, minor character death)
💖 Buried in the Sky, Hallowed by thy Depths by themunchking (T, 9k, wangxian, supernatural elements, sirens, dark wangxian, canon-typical violence)
💖 The Way You Tremble by themunchking (E, 6k, wangxian, murder husbands, vampires, blood, violence, supernatural elements)
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10. In the mood for a timetravel AU where it's not wangxian that timetravels but someone else.
Heliocentric by Aki_no_hikari (T, 13k, Time Travel Fix-It, slight angst at the beginning, badass wq, Murder, dark!wq, although not as dark as she could be) Wen Qing time travel
Who You Condemn by osiesaur (M, 53k, LXC/NMJ, LXC & LWJ, LXC & JGY, wangxian, time travel, canon divergence, semi-successful fix-it, 3zun dynamics, grief/mourning, chronic illness, angst w happy ending,not everyone dies au, WIP) LXC time travels (the other two fics in the series also have non-wangxian time travel)
Lynchpin by ShanaStoryteller (Not Rated, 103k, WangXian, JC & WWX, Time Travel, Fix-It, Lynchpin [PODFIC] by Opalsong, [PODFIC] Lynchpin by Gwogobo)
Baby Of Mine by pupeez4eva (G, 3k, wangxian, time travel, humor, canon divergence, everyone lives, gusu school days, family) I really like this one where baby a-yuan time travels
💖 Alternative Choices by StarClearWaters (Readoutloud) (T, 20k, wangxian, time travel, butterfly effect, LXC pov, protective LXC, temporary character death, mpreg, panic attacks) LXC time travels multiple times
💖 Lessons relearned by Iamnotawriter (T, 44k, WangXian, LQR & WWX, Not Madam Yu Friendly, Time Travel Fix-It, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Inventor WWX, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, No Golden Core Transfer, YZY Bashing) LQR time travels
💖 The blame game by apathyinreverie (T, 13k, wangxian, LXC & LWJ, LSZ & WWX, WWX & WQ, LXC & WWX, canon divergence, time travel fix-it, possessive LWJ, oblivious WWX, fluff, siblings, romance, golden core reveal, golden core fix-it) LXC time travels, link in #16B
💖 secondhand regrets by spookykingdomstarlight (T, 18k, JGY/NHS, wangxian, NHS/WWX, time travel fix-it, canon divergence, curses, cloud recesses study arc, jealousy, misunderstandings, petty LWJ, pining, minor romantic experimentation between NHS/WWX, jealous LWJ) NHS time travels
💖 With Surgical Precision by metisket (T, 20k, WQ & WN, WQ & WWX, WangXian, Time Travel, Families of Choice, sibling bonding through murder) WQ time traveling
Jiang Rising by eebee (M, 134k, wangxian, JC & WWX & JYL, JC&WQ, JYL/LXC/NMJ, canon divergence, time travel fix-it, JYL is out of fucks, WQ never even had many, epistolary, polyamory negotiations, WIP) JYL time travels
Keeping Our Promises Unbroken by ColdBloodedReptile (M, 80k, JYL/JZX, wangxian, JC/WQ, JYL & WWX & JC, JYL & WQ, LWJ & JYL, canon divergence, time travel, fix-it of sorts, not everyone dies, angst w eventual happy ending, fluff, family feels, slow burn, JYL pov, found family, sibling bonding, protective siblings, occasional LWJ pov, canon-typical violence, WIP) here's a Yanli (and surprise other) time travel fic
💖 How Much Love Has the Inch Long Grass by Vainwyrm (M, 12k, WIP, WangXian, ZhuiLingYi, XuanLi, Time Travel Fix-It, Permanent Injury, Disability, Canon Disabled Character, Physical Disability, Non-canon disabled character, Self-Worth Issues) The juniors time travel
💖 The Stuff of Legend by pupeez4eva (T, 21k, wangxian, JYL/JZX, time travel, humor, cloud recesses study days, post-canon, matchmaking, misunderstandings, WIP) Another time travel for juniors
💖 Who Ever Said the Past is Set in Stone? by Tekia (T, 24k, time travel, not a fix-it, and then a fix-it, canon-typical violence, sunshot campaign, canon divergence, suicidal ideation, suicidal thoughts, depression) juniors time travel multiple times
💖 The night sky is vast and wide by RedWritingHood (not rated, 5k, WC & WWX, canon divergence, time travel fix-it, WC the embodiment of fear and anxiety, PTSD, WC suffering, WC & WWX... friendship?, concerned WWX, frightened WC, sweetheart WN) Wen Chao ends up time traveling
💖 the peaceful old broad river by Sienne (not rated, 11k, WQ & WWX & WN, WQ pov, time travel, found family, family feels, no golden core transfer) WQ time travels in this one!
💖 A Brother's Choice by Admiranda (G, 8k, gen, time travel, yiling bros, animal death, minor character death, WN has no time for fools, YZY’s canonical cruelty, post-canon setting) WN time travels
💖 aim to repaint these days by NinthFeather (T, 2k, time travel fix-it, junior shenanigans, humor, sunshot campaign) Juniors again
💖 Drag Me Into Your Coffin (I Will Drag Your Sins Into the Light) by the5leggedCricket (G, 2k, canon divergence, temporary character death, time travel fix-it, BAMF LXC) LXC time travels
💖 Back in time by LilacNeko (T, 32k, wangxian, time travel fix-it of sorts, angst, family feels, good kid LSZ, sad JL)
💖 i’ll keep walking by justdoityoufucker (orphan_account) (T, 2k, WQ &WWX & WN, wangxian, time travel fix-it, not JC friendly, everyone lives au, found family)
💖 parent trap by tongzhi (T, 23k, JL & LSZ & LJY & OYZZ, wangxian, JYL/JZX, time travel, cloud recesses study arc, humor, bad matchmaking)
💖 无别无离 | Without Farewells, Without Parting by dragongirlG (M, 30k, Junior Quartet, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Time Travel, Fix-It of Sorts, Burial Mounds Settlement Days, POV Alternating, Jin Ling’s Hundredth Day Celebration, qiongqi path, Family Feels, Hopeful Ending)
💖 Mission: Ensure A Better Future by a_dancer (Not rated, 21k, wangxian, junior quartet, time travel)
💖 Truth, Like an Arrow by Nahiel (T, 3k, wangxian, character death, time travel fix-it, WN is a good boy)
To Fix Your Twisted Reflection by Dgcakes (ficsnfun) (M, 167k, 3zun, time travel fix-it, slow burn, trust, healthy relationships, or at least trying)
Snapping brushes by Kayo_San (T, 63k, NHS & NMJ, time travel fix-it, Nie sect theories)
from the top, this time with personality by thunderwear (G, 15k, JYL/JZX, wangxian, time travel, JYL stands up for herself, family feels, WIP)
Sunlight Through Pines by handsofstardust (M, 66k, JGY/NMJ, wangxian, JZX/JYL, JC/NHS, time travel, eventual romance, pining, verbal abuse)
Wandering Eyes series by AstaraelWeeps (M, 14k, JGY & NHS, NHS & NMJ, JGY & NMJ & LXC, 3zun, time travel fix-it, outsider pov in the first part, JGY pov, murder, JGS being a creep, self-assigned honeypot, dub con, attempted rape/non-con, scheming NHS)
You might like fics in #4 and #16B also
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11. ITMF request! (for when AO3 returns from the war): I am looking for WangXian fic that includes very close and loving Twin Jades (not Jadecest). Fics where LXC mercilessly teases his didi, where LWJ makes it his mission to pull his brother out of seclusion post-canon, where LXC and LWJ are "battle bros" of the highest order, where they try their damnedest to embarrass each other in front of other people in the most stoic, staid, subtle Lan way possible! @kimboo-york
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12. i wanted to ask if there are any recs for fics in which wwx is saved by lwj, like from the jiangs or whatever, doesn't even have to be heavy whump, but very much jiang slandering.
(not yanli or jiang chen necessarily, but feel free to include anti madam and fengmian propaganda :3)!! @clawmark
🧡 rain falls and soaks into the earth series by RoseThorne (T, 48k, WangXian, WIP, Near Death Experience, Attempt Drowning, Madam Yu Bashing, Recovery, No war AU) also preludian_staves
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13. In the mood for fics where people mistake Lan Sizhui as the biological son of WangXian / Lan Sizhui showing habits & similarities to WangXian (based off a reply to a previous ask - Mod C) @ihaveasoftspotfora-yuan
the-marathon-continues-nip: 13a, I have a fic that fits this in my bookmarks , I just have to find it , can the requester bookmark this post cause I might take a couple days to find it. it's a modern AU and it was a 5 times type thing where the premise was 5 times lan zhan got mistaken for being wen yuans dad or something like that over the years. it's very sweet. maybe somebody might remember it?
Just Like His Father by narikanyan (G, 2k, WangXian, Kid Fic, Mistaken Identity, A-Yuan is WWX's, Fluff, Falling In Love) I found it !!
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14. Hi! For the next ITMF I wanted to ask for fics where WWX relates to YZY when he has to hide A-Yuan to save him at the siege (I don't even know if there's a fic like this lol) Like, both of them had to make the difficult decision to leave alone their child and go back to fight, and that was the last time they saw their children before dying. Thank you mods! @jiangclaritybell
~*~
15. Hi, I'm looking for stories where Lan Zhan overprotects Lan Sizhui. He is so overprotective that he won't let him leave Cloud Recesses without company. Sometimes he won't even let it out.If you can find stories that deal with that would be amazing. Thank you. @majhe2026
~*~
16. itmf for outsider pov fics
A) wangxian's relationship development through an outside perspective
B) time travel (doesn't matter who time travels back) through an outsider's perspective
16A)
💙 Su She Eats his Heart Out by KizuKatana (T, 16k, WangXian, 3rd person pov, implied offscreen wangxian sex)
16B)
I Have Been Selfish, Too by osiesaur (M, 176k, 3zun, JGY & NHS, JGY & JZX & MXY & QS, canon divergence, time travel fix-it, everyone lives au, outsider pov, happy ending, fluff & angst, scheming NHS, protective NHS, 3zun dynamics, anxiety, PTSD, mental health issues, chronic pain, chronic illness, canon-typical abuse & bigotry)
💖 That Moment When You Find Out That Your Classmates Apparently Have a Fighting Kink by BonBonWaifu (T, 2k, wangxian, canon divergence, time travel, outsider pov, NHS pov, sexual tension, fighting kink, cloud recesses study arc)
💖 Marry for Love by tuesday (T, 3k, JYL/NHS, canon divergence, time travel fix-it, minor character death, outsider pov, political marriage)
💖 The blame game by apathyinreverie (T, 13k, wangxian, LXC & LWJ, LSZ & WWX, WWX & WQ, LXC & WWX, canon divergence, time travel fix-it, possessive LWJ, oblivious WWX, fluff, siblings, romance, golden core reveal, golden core fix-it)
💖 Who Ever Said the Past is Set in Stone? by Tekia (T, 24k, time travel, not a fix-it, and then a fix-it, canon-typical violence, sunshot campaign, canon divergence, suicidal ideation, suicidal thoughts, depression) IIRC this one fits here too, link in #10
💖 bleed by justdoityoufucker (T, 5k, WangXian, Sunshot Campaign, Canon Divergence, Time Travel, Post-Sunshot Campaign, Families of Choice, Love Confessions, First Kiss, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Canon JC Characteristics, Not Jiāng Chéng Friendly)
💖 Targets by nirejseki (G, 10k, NHS & NMJ, JC & WWX & JYL, NHS & WWX & JC, canon divergence, time travel, outsider POV, families of choice, unexpected consequences)
💖 things happen, don’t ask by MarbleGlove (T, 6k, wangxian, time travel, outsider POV, Mojo’s post)
💖 rerun from the outside by Eicas (T, 2k, wangxian, time travel, outsider pov, jiang cheng POV, Mojo’s post)
💖 Wei Wuxian’s Terrible, Horrible, No Good First Meeting With His Future by Enigmatree (T, 3k, wangxian, time travel, outsider pov, YLLZ WWX)
Wandering Eyes series by AstaraelWeeps (M, 14k, JGY & NHS, NHS & NMJ, JGY & NMJ & LXC, 3zun, time travel fix-it, outsider pov in the first part, JGY pov, murder, JGS being a creep, self-assigned honeypot, dub con, attempted rape/non-con, scheming NHS)
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17. ITMF teen wangxian shenanigans
Fentao-laoshi's Guide to Cut-Sleeve Pleasures by occultings (microcomets) (E, 31k, wangxian, canon divergence, pining while fucking, friends w benefits, cloud recesses study arc, first time, practise kissing, sharing a bed, smut, loss of virginity, getting together, confessions, happy ending)
Wei Laoshi, Poonslayer by FeelsForBreakfast (E, 6k, WangXian, Cloud Recesses Study Arc, POV LWJ, straight boy wwx, Loss of Virginity, Getting Together)
when you love somebody, bite your tongue by sophiahelix (E, 17k, wangxian, cloud recesses study arc, first time, just the tip, only one bed, horny teenagers, sharing a bed, fantasizing, size kink)
your petals that bloom in the snow by lulu_kitty (T, 10k, wangxian, modern w magic, cloud recesses study arc, skaterboy WWX, everyone lives au)
Conjunction by DrJLecter (T, 12k, wangxian, cloud recesses study arc, soulmates au, soulmate identifying song, WWX is a menace, pining, supportive LXC, meddling LXC, LWJ pov)
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If you didn’t get an answer to your ask here, don’t forget to make use of @mdzs-kinkmeme and MDZS KINK MEME on Dreamwidth. Authors actually do use them for ideas. You may get what you order!***Your prompt doesn’t have to be kink! Fluff, crack, whatever - it’s all good!***
#wangxian#mdzs#wangxian fic recs#i'm in the mood for a fic#the untamed#wangxian fic search#wangxianficfinder#long post
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Whumptober Day 16: "Don't go where I can't follow" (Pt. 1)
Summary: Hyrule and Wild are time travelers trying to run away from their past. They seem to be doing a pretty good job at it until they stumble across a family they don't want to leave behind.
They end up leaving anyway, but unlike every other time they've left people behind, the Lon family doesn't seem content to stay in the past.
AN: This is fairly tame as far as whump goes. Mostly just emotional whump, but there is some human experimentation/slavery in the flashbacks
Read on AO3 | Part 2
~~~
“Hyrule, are you seeing what I’m seeing?”
“The apple we sent forward in time is sitting in front of us.”
“Yeah.”
“Wild, we sent this forward in time a month ago.”
“Mhmm.”
“The spell worked?”
“It worked. Hyrule!”
“Wild! We did it!”
”Oh my gods! Are- are you-”
“The apple is still fresh! There’s no sign of rotting.”
“Are- are you feeling okay though? Not feeling woozy or anything?”
“My magic feels just fine. The spell was completely reliant on that magical battery. All I had to do was set the magic going in the right direction, and let it run. It didn’t drain anything from me at all. What about you?”
“You know I’m fine, ‘Rule. I don't have the power needed to do something like this. All I’m good for is fine-tuning. If the spell had been operating off my power, it wouldn’t have even worked in the first place.”
“...”
“I wonder what those stuck up Sheikah scientists would do if they knew?”
“Probably try to take credit for our work. Two teenagers with magic invent a fictional time travel spell before they can? They would kill us.”
“Not funny, Hyrule.”
“I wasn’t really joking.”
“...”
“Wild, do you know what this means? Now that we know the spell works, we can leave! Well, we need to get our hands on another battery. Preferably one that won't run out of power and explode like the last one did, and who knows how long that’s going to take, but-!”
“But afterwards we can leave! We can travel back to before this gods-forsaken building was even built and just walk away. And I don’t think it’ll take us long to get a hold of a strong enough battery.”
“What do you mean?”
“I swear, you need to start paying more attention to the scientists, Hyrule.”
“That’s kind of hard to do when I’m nearly unconscious every time they finish their… experiments. It’s hard to listen to their conversations if I can’t hear anything.”
“Right, sorry.”
“It’s okay. What were you saying?”
“They found a new artifact. They’ve been testing it for a month and still haven't found the limits of its power. They think it might be regenerating the power on its own. Supposedly it’s a combination of ancient Sheikah tech and magic. They’re calling it the Sheikah Slate.”
“A self-regenerating power source? That’s almost too good to be true.”
“Yeah. So…. How long will it take you to steal it, ‘Rule?”
“Just point me in the direction of the room they’re keeping it in, and I’ll have it to you within twenty-four hours.”
“...“
“Wipe that grin off your face, Wild!”
“Why shouldn't I be happy? We’re finally getting out!”
~~~
Wild and Hyrule.
Hyrule and Wild.
It had always been the two of them. They were brothers. Maybe not biologically, but they had suffered and survived together, and now they were doing more than surviving. They were living.
They traveled together, always one step ahead of harm and one spell away from safety. They were filled with a longing to explore the world, and neither of them had a reason to ignore that longing, so they simply didn’t.
They had a thirst to see, to know, to experience, and they had the power to do all that and more at their fingertips.
It was kind of ironic that the time travel spell turned out to be so simple in the end. Hyrule provided the force behind the spell, the Slate provided the raw power, and Wild did the fine-tuning to get them exactly where and when they wanted to go. After casting the spell hundreds of times, it was second nature to them. They could slip through the fabric of time with less effort than a sewing needle slipping through loosely woven cloth.
The Slate had been a blessing from the gods. They never would’ve escaped that laboratory. Not only did it provide a steady source of power that never seemed to run dry- no matter how often they jumped through time- it was also able to store items and money within it. It made their lives so much easier.
The two of them had been everywhere and everywhen. All over the world, in all different time periods. Sometimes they traveled back to the time when humans were nothing more than apes living in the trees, and spent weeks living off the land. Sometimes they stopped in busy cities to enjoy the rush of the crowds. Occasionally they would wander into a library, pull the first history book they saw off the shelf, then travel to the time period the book was about.
The entire world was open to them, and they could do whatever they wanted to.
Well, mostly. There were some limitations.
They couldn't change the past. As much as they wanted to, they couldn’t stop wars from breaking out or plagues from spreading. They also couldn’t go back and prevent their own personal tragedies from happening. Doing that would cause their pasts to change too much, and they might end up not existing in the first place.
Neither of them were exactly eager to cause a paradox, so neither of them tried to play the hero, and they stayed away from times and places they’d already been to before.
They also couldn’t travel beyond the late 2200s. That was when functional time travel technology had finally been discovered, and then promptly outlawed for normal citizens. They’d learned that the hard way when they’d nearly been arrested in 2311 for illegal time travel.
Getting arrested was the last thing they needed. Wild said that he could think of plenty of governments that would love to get their hands on two of the most powerful mages in the world. Hyrule squawked in protest at being called one of the most powerful mages, but there was no refuting that Wild was probably right.
There were very few mages left by the 2200s. Wild and Hyrule probably were the strongest ones left by that time. Any mage that was still living a free life after magic was outlawed would be too weak to be noticed by the government. (Well… technically magic was never completely outlawed, but it was only legal if you were using it in the service of the government. It was a nice way of saying that if you showed any signs of having magic, you were taken into state custody and you stayed there. Forever.)
To their relief, the pair had never seen any other time travelers before the 2240s. They didn’t know why, but they weren’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth. As long as they stayed in time periods before then, they were safe from the government, or anyone else for that matter, coming after them.
The fact that time travel was only discovered in the late 2200s offered them a bit of smug satisfaction. They had figured out time travel first, and they did it long before anyone else had. Nearly a hundred years before anyone else.
On top of that, the scientists obviously never cracked the secrets of magical time travel. Their time travel was purely technology-based. When Wild realized that, he gloated for a whole hour. Even Hyrule had smiled with a sense of sick satisfaction. Those scientists never got anything useful out of them.
Good.
~~~
There had been a time Before. There had been a time when they hadn’t known each other. There had been a time when they’d had loving families and normal lives ahead of them. Wild had lived with his mom, dad, and little sister. Hyrule had been cared for by his mama and aunties and countless cousins.
Then it had all fallen apart.
They were both young when their magic came in- only five or six years old, by their recollection. It had started slowly, as it always did. Little sparks would dance across Hyrule’s fingers, and Wild’s eyes would glow an eerie teal in the dark.
Small, harmless things that marked them for slaughter.
Wild’s parents hadn’t been brave enough to fight for him.
They hadn’t wanted to face the consequences of harboring a magic user, even if that person was their own son. They had their other child to worry about, after all. They couldn't risk having his sister taken away from them as well.
So, at the young age of five, mere days after he had started showing the fit signs of magic, Wild’s parents had given him away with little fuss. It was one of Wild’s earliest memories. (Which was saying something, since he didn’t remember much of his childhood.)
His parents both wore sorrowful expressions that day. Wild remembered being confused, but not commenting on it. His parents had been acting strangely for a while, after all. They had woken him up early, gotten him dressed, and handed him a backpack filled with some of his clothes. Then they had taken him to their living room where an official-looking stranger had been waiting.
Wild hadn’t known what was going on at the time, so he had watched silently as his parents had signed the necessary paperwork to transfer custody of him over to the state.
That had been the last time he had seen either of them. He hadn’t even gotten a chance to say goodbye to his little sister.
Hyrule’s mother had been braver. Hyrule had been her only child, and she was not so willing to give him up.
When she’d seen him use his magic for the first time, she’d screamed and cried in despair. Her reaction had frightened Hyrule so badly he’d ran away and hid under his bed. The two of them had left their house soon after that, selling it to one of his aunts.
They moved out to the middle of the woods and learned how to grow and hunt most of the things they would need so they didn't need to go into town as much. His mama had started homeschooling him.
His mama had tried so hard to keep it a secret. She’d done everything she could have done. And it had worked for a time. The pair of them spent three years living in seclusion, but it wasn’t enough in the end.
Hyrule never learned how the secret got leaked. Maybe one of his cousins had figured it out and blabbed. Maybe one of their neighbors had seen him doing magic in the woods one day. Hyrule didn’t know.
In the end, it didn’t matter how it had happened, only that it did. Their little cabin was raided, and Hyrule was forcibly removed from his mother's care, and made a ward of the state.
That was how the two met at the age of nine, causing their fates to be changed forever.
~~~
It was rare for the two of them to stay in one place for longer than a month. They both had itchy feet, and nothing seemed to hold their interest for very long. Usually, they arrived, saw what they came to see, and then grew bored and moved on.
No one expected them to stay, no one expected them to go. No one expected them to do anything. After years of being observed and examined through a microscope, it was a novel feeling to blend into the background.
It was even easier to blend in during the earlier time periods. Back then, people hadn’t looked twice at strangers wandering into town with no documentation. The pair had tried to rent an apartment in the 1980s once. That hadn’t turned out well when they realized neither of them had any paperwork. Like, say, a birth certificate, driver’s license, or any kind of identification.
In general, it was less of a risk in general to exist in the 1800s or earlier, when no one had cameras or access to the internet, and no one cared if they ran into two teenagers living in the woods.
It was also easier to earn money if they needed to.
The pair didn’t shy away from stealing if it was necessary, though they were careful to try to only steal from people who wouldn't miss it too much. However, when they decided to stay in one place for a while, they typically tried to find a steady source of income instead.
After they had spent so long wandering, they had both picked up a wide variety of skills. Neither of them were true masters of any one trade, but they could perform the basic tasks well enough to serve as assistants in most kinds of workshops. They could work in the fields, tend livestock, butcher animals, harvest, hunt, and fish. They knew enough to do the busy work in leatherworking, baking, stonemasonry, shoemaking, and all other sorts of crafts.
Wild had learned how to fletch arrows, which was always a talent in high demand in the eras where people still used bows. Hyrule had studied under a cartographer for a few months. They both became proficient with swords, bows, and spears. They learned how to use their bodies as weapons if needed. They even learned how to fire guns, even if they were rarely in a time period where guns existed.
Fighting was the topic they’d studied the most diligently. They learned and relearned until they didn’t even need their magic to defend themselves anymore. Not as long as they had weapons in their hands. (The phantom feeling of the weight of the magic suppressors on their ankles was ever-present. Never again would they be that helpless without their magic.)
Growing up with a basic understanding of modern medicine put them miles ahead of even the most educated doctors in the 1500s. Having a basic understanding of what germs were would do that, but Hyrule had taken the time to translate that modern knowledge into a form that could be applied using the materials that were available in the pre-modern era. He also, thankfully, learned how to use that medical knowledge in a way that wouldn't get them hung for being witches when he provided a miracle cure to some disease or injury.
If they really needed to, they could even find a small city and become street performers or put on a show in a tavern or pub. Hyrule had slowly taught himself how to play the ocarina and flute, and Wild could sing. They didn’t even have to make up their own songs. All they had to do was play music from the modern era, and the foreign rhythms of the songs drew attention to them automatically. The amount of money you could get from playing an instrumental version of Britney Spears’ Toxic in 1432 was truly a wonder.
In short, there was always something they could do to earn some money if they wanted to.
~~~
Wild sat on the edge of his bed and watched dispassionately as the new kid sobbed into the tiled floor. Wild’s feet didn't reach the floor, so he idly swung them back and forth as he observed. His fingers, restless and still numb from the freeze spell he’d been forced to cast over and over today, fiddled with the edge of the soft blanket he sat on top of.
A small part of him wanted to go help the boy, even if he knew it would be pointless. Wild had been here for years, and he’d seen plenty of other kids come and go. Some of them were quiet when they entered the room for the first time, nodding to Wild and putting away their meager selection of clothing in the dresser they would share with Wild while they lived here. Those were the ones who had already been in state custody for a while.
Then there were others, like this boy, who were forced into the room by the guards. Sometimes they screamed, sometimes they cried, sometimes they clawed at the door desperately, like wild animals. Those were the ones who had just been dragged away from their families.
Wild knew that trying to offer comfort never actually helped. Nothing he could say could make it better, and some things he would say could make it a whole lot worse
The boy was one of the ones who simply cried. He hadn’t even bothered to stand once he had been shoved into the room, instead lying defeated on the floor.
The boy looked sweet, with thick brown curls and freckles covering every inch of available skin.
He was probably right around Wild’s age too, which was somewhat of a rarity. Sometimes his roommates were as young as five, sometimes as old as fourteen or fifteen. Having a roommate his own age would be nice.
Wild wondered if the two of them would get along. It was always a hit or miss as to whether he would get along with his roommate, but as long as the boy didn’t try and kill Wild, then it would be fine.
Eventually, the boy’s wails died down into uncontrollable hiccups. Soon even those faded, leaving just uneven breaths, and Wild realized that the boy had fallen asleep. Wild wasn't even sure if the boy knew there was someone else in the room. Probably not, or he wouldn't allow himself to fall asleep and leave himself so vulnerable to Wild.
Not that Wild would hurt him! But the boy didn’t know that.
When the boy had been quiet for a few minutes, Wild hopped down from his bed, walking closer to get a better look. The boy was really a mess. His face was covered in tear tracks and snot. His shirt and shirts were dirt-stained and torn, and he wore no shoes, his feet calloused and muddy. A magic suppressant cuff was secured tightly around his ankle. The blue light that indicated the device was turned on was blinking steadily.
Wild reached down to try to move the boy into a more comfortable position but hesitated. The dirt that covered the boy made Wild twitch and reconsider touching him. It wasn’t anything like the clean and sterile environment he’d been surrounded with for the last four years. He couldn’t figure out if he liked it or not.
It didn’t matter either way.
Tomorrow, the guards would come and get the boy and take him to the washroom to get clean. The boy would become just as sterile as everything else in here, whether the boy wanted to or not. The scientists didn't like it when the person they were studying was dirty, and they would no doubt want to take a look at the new addition as soon as possible.
The ruined clothing would be replaced tomorrow too, and Wild hoped for the boy’s sake that the guards would give him some socks and shoes. The tile floor in their room got cold even in the summer.
Wild wondered if the boy was cold, laying on the tiles. He shuffled over to the bed opposite his- the one that this boy would be sleeping in from now on- and dragged the blanket off. With a flourish, he draped the blanket over the boy.
The blanket was large enough that it seemed to swallow the boy whole. Or maybe the boy was just small.
Wild climbed back onto his bed and resumed his previous position, watching the boy with a burning curiosity.
He wondered what his name was.
~~~
Even Hyrule and Wild sometimes grew tired of it all. They would grow bored of the constantly changing scenery and want to rest for a while. Whenever they felt the urge to stop and smell the roses for a while, they would find somewhere to settle for a while. They would find lodging with a family kind enough to open their home to them or work for their room and board. They would put away the Slate and, for the most part, stop using their magic.
They met people, made friends, formed bonds, and inevitably broke those bonds when they left.
They never knew how long they would stay. Sometimes it would be a month, sometimes as long as a year, but in the end, they always had to leave. They were driven ever onward, both by their own restlessness and the knowledge that they never truly belonged anywhere. They couldn’t look backward, couldn’t dwell on the past.
(They were both painfully aware of the irony of that statement. Time travelers who couldn’t afford to think about the past. What a joke.)
Sometimes they did the familiar song and dance of telling people they were leaving. They would break the news to their new friends that they were leaving, and listen as they were begged to stay.
Most of the time they tried to avoid that heartbreak. Most of the time they left silently in the middle of the night and left behind no hint that they ever existed. Maybe it was cruel to leave without a trace, and leave behind those who cared about them, but Hyrule and Wild had done this many, many times. It would always be difficult, no matter how they left. Leaving quietly spared them a bit of the pain, so they didn't have to see the pain their departure caused.
Sometimes Wild wondered why they bothered interacting with other people at all. It would be easier if they didn’t. It would spare them the heartache. Yet somehow they ended up making connections again and again. Hyrule said that everyone, even traumatized time travelers, needed human contact. Wild personally thought that was bullshit.
(Yet, he never protested when they wandered into a town and decided to stay for a while. Because in the end, they were both lonely.)
Hyrule never forgot the names and faces of the people they’ve met. Before they started time traveling, it had been Wild who had the better memory regarding people, their names, and their faces. It wasn’t like that anymore. Now, it seemed things like that slipped out of his mind easily.
Sometimes Wild asked Hyrule to tell him stories about the people they’d befriended. It was always a toss-up if the stories would end with them laughing and happily reminiscing, or sitting close together, drenching in misery as they ached for forgotten friendships.
It was difficult. Difficult to form connections knowing they would have to end, and difficult to break those connections when the time came.
There were times when it became too much. Times when they wanted to stop for a little while, but didn’t want the burden of human connection. At those times, it was easier to find a nice, uninhabited forest to make their home for a few weeks.
Having lived in the woods for a good part of his childhood, Hyrule was already more than comfortable doing that. Wild took a bit longer to adjust but once he did, he was as at home in the woods as Hyrule was.
As long as it wasn’t the middle of winter- and it never was, for them- the woods offered them the perfect place to enjoy the freedom that came with being wanderers
~~~
Today had been a bad day so far, and Hyrule didn’t foresee it getting any better.
He’d woken up sluggish, inexplicably tired despite the fact that he’d slept like a rock the night before. The rest of the morning hadn’t been much better, for no perceivable reason. Everything had proceeded like it always did in the mornings.
One at a time, the guards had escorted Hyrule and Wild to the washroom to shower and get ready for the day. Once they were both back in the room and dressed, Breakfast had been brought to them by the guards.
They’d given pancakes with maple syrup and a side of fruit and a few slices of bacon for breakfast today. The pancakes and maple syrup usually would’ve excited Hyrule- he had an infamous sweet tooth- but today he could hardly muster up a smile at the sight of it.
Wild noticed his lack of enthusiasm and sent him a concerned look, but Hyrule had shrugged it off and kept his gaze firmly on his plate for the rest of the meal. He didn’t want to worry Wild for no reason. He doubted he was actually sick, so there was no need to say anything and there was nothing Wild could do if he did.
After they ate, their plates and utensils had been taken away. Wild and Hyrule had more privileges than most mages in this research facility did. It was a perk that came with being two of the residents that had lived there the longest- eight years for Wild, and four years for Hyrule- but they still weren’t allowed to keep the dull plastic knives they were given to eat with.
A shame. Hyrule would have loved to keep one of them tucked under his mattress with the rest of his contraband items, but the guards always double-checked that all of the utensils were returned after every meal.
Then they were left alone for a half hour or so, as was usual. It was a tense period of time as they waited to see if the researchers had anything planned for them today, or if they got to spend their day inside their room, entertaining themselves.
When the guards returned, Hyrule was the only one called out of the room. Wild was left sitting on his bed, face passive as he watched Hyrule leave. The only reason Hyrule could tell the other boy was both relieved he hadn’t been summoned and a little worried for Hyrule was because he’d known Wild for so long.
Wild had a habit of going stone-faced whenever one of the guards or scientists were around. Hyrule couldn’t blame him for that. The two of them had already gotten enough of their privacy taken away from them. They didn’t need to give the scientists a front-row seat to their inner thoughts and feelings as well.
Hyrule followed the guards at a sedate pace, not able to muster up the energy to move any faster. (He was careful not to move too slowly, though. He knew from experience that the guards wouldn’t hesitate to drag him if they felt he was moving slowly on purpose.) A familiar feeling of anxiety bubbled in his stomach. He wondered what he would be made to do today. Hopefully, it wouldn't be anything too strenuous.
He was taken to one of the standard testing rooms. There were several of these rooms in the building, and Hyrule was well acquainted with all of them. They all looked the same, with white cinderblock walls, a concrete floor, and one wall being made entirely of a one-way window so the researchers could observe him. The only furnishings in the rooms were a table and chair off to one side which were bolted to the floor and a speaker tucked up in one of the corners of the ceiling.
Hyrule, used to this routine after so many years, went and took a seat in the chair. As always, one of the researchers came to take his blood pressure and listen to his breathing. They did these sorts of physical exams before every test they performed on him, and it was so routine that Hyrule barely registered when it happened anymore.
Soon, the researcher was done jotting things down on their clipboard and exited the room. Hyrule sighed and slumped in his seat a little. All he wanted to do was curl up in his bed and sleep. Maybe when he got back to their room, he could ask Wild to read aloud to him from the physics textbooks they’d been given. Learning about momentum and friction usually put Hyrule right to sleep, even if Wild loved it. (For some weird reason.)
That was the one upside of being a mage, Hyrule thought sarcastically as he stared dully at his reflection in the window across the room from him. Once the government found out you had magic, you never had to worry about school ever again. They were given textbooks and notebooks to keep themselves entertained when they weren’t needed for experiments, but they weren’t actually expected to know any of the material. Which was good, because Hyrule couldn’t imagine having to take exams on this stuff. He never managed to stay away for more than the first chapter of that stupid physics textbook-
A sudden noise crackled through the overhead speaker, startling Hyrule out of his thoughts.
“Alright, Hyrule. We’re just going to be doing some energy tests today. Standard stuff, okay?” When he registered the voice and what it had said, he breathed a sigh of relief. He knew that voice, and he was glad that this scientist would be the one running his tests today.
There was a constantly rotating staff of researchers that Wild and Hyrule interacted with on a near-daily basis, but there were three main scientists who seemed to be in charge of the facility. The one they saw the most often was a positively ancient man with a rather eccentric personality. Every time Hyrule saw the man, he grew more and more surprised that he hadn’t passed away from old age yet. The second was a severe-looking woman in her mid-forties who never spoke to them unless it was to give them an order. Both Wild and Hyrule agreed she was the worst to deal with.
The last, and the one who was apparently overseeing his tests today, was a young woman in her twenties that Hyrule suspected was an apprentice of sorts to the other two. (Probably a replacement for when the old man finally kicked the bucket, Hyrule thought snidely.) Hyrule didn’t know what her name was, though Wild probably did. He was always better at paying attention to and remembering details than Hyrule was.
Everything about the third scientist was soft. From her voice, to her mannerisms, to the way she treated the two of them. Hyrule rarely got a chance to look at her- or any of the other scientists- but when he did, he thought that she even looked soft. She had a rounded face and softly curling white hair that fell to her shoulders. Her face was faintly familiar, and every time Hyrule looked at her, he was reminded of his mother.
He hated her for that, a little bit.
“Hyrule? Are you ready?” Hyrule blinked, the woman’s voice startling him back to reality once again. He hadn’t given any form of acknowledgement to her previous statement, he realized.
‘Yeah, I’m ready,“ he confirmed.
“Okay, great!” The bit of warmth in her voice made Hyrule want to melt into the floor. He pushed that urge away. “We’re going to bring in the first artifact now. I’ll run you through the procedure as always, but I know you’re a pro at this by now, so we should get done pretty quickly.”
She was right- testing magical artifacts, figuring out what their purpose was, and trying to find a limit to their power was one of the most common things they had him and Wild do. It was usually an easy and painless job, as long as the magic cast on the objects was inherently harmful. (if it was- well, that was a different story.)
Hyrule turned his gaze toward the door. Like clockwork, a man wearing a hazmat suit wheeled in a cart with an ancient-looking wooden box sitting on it. That must be the first item he’d be working with today. Once the cart was in the middle of the room, the man approached him with a familiar device in his hands. Hyrule, still on autopilot, lifted his leg, allowing the man to wave the device over this magic suppression cuff, deactivating it.
Instantly, Hyrule felt a wave of relief wash over him. His magic, which the cuff had been suppressing, swelled up within himself. When the cuff was active it squished his magic down. Hyrule could still feel it, but he couldn’t access it.
Hyrule didn’t know how the cuffs worked. All he knew was that he hated everything about them. Being unable to access his magic was like one of his limbs had been paralyzed. He knew it was still there, but he wasn’t able to make it do anything.
When the researcher was done turning off the cuff, he shuffled off to the side of the room. Hyrule knew he would wait until the tests were done, and then reactivate the cuff before Hyrule was let out of the room. The only door out of the room would remain locked until then.
Testing was the only time the suppression cuffs were turned off. They had to be deactivated to allow Wild and Hyrule to use their magic for the tests. The scientists were always careful to only turn the cuffs off when they were locked in a secure room with a locked door, and under constant scrutiny.
They were a little bit stupid, in Hyrule's opinion. It didn’t matter if he was in a locked room and under constant watch. When he had his magic, he could simply unlock the doors, or force the guards to turn their attention away from him. When he was finished with whatever he needed to do, he could walk right back to where he’d been before, and no one would be any wiser.
Honestly, given how adept both Wild and Hyrule had become at making themselves unnoticeable, it would be stupidly easy to get out of the facility,
The only reason they stayed was the fact that they knew they’d gotten off easily. Some mages got shipped off to use their magic to fight in wars. The fact that the two of them were only in a research facility where they got three healthy meals a day and a comfortable place to sleep wasn't something to be overlooked. Hyrule knew they wouldn’t be as lucky if they tried to escape and got caught a second time.
They’d seen what happened to mages who managed to escape from research facilities and then were caught again, and it wasn’t pretty. What they needed was a guaranteed permanent ticket out of here. So far, they’d come up empty.
The overhead speaker crackled to life once again, the scientist speaking the first instructions, and Hyrule heaved himself to his feet.
Gods, he hoped the scientist was right, and they would be able to finish early today.
He was so tired.
~~~
When Wild and Hyrule stumbled across the Lon family’s house, they hadn’t been looking for civilization, and they certainly weren’t expecting civilization to find them, but that’s exactly what happened.
Neither of them realized their feet had found a well-worn path until they were stumbling out of the woods. The trees surrounding them slowly transitioned from naturally planted oaks and maples and pines to neat rows of apple and pear trees. The pair slowed as they walked through the orchard, confused. They knew there was a town within a day’s walk of here, but they hadn’t expected to find any civilization in this forest.
Soon, the trees fell away, turning into a large field with a house and a barn tucked away near the edge of the woods. A garden filled to bursting with vegetables lay near the house, and a paddock with a few horses and goats stretched out as far as they could see into the field.
It was a large property and very well taken care of, especially for this time period. Wild and Hyrule exchanged glances, smiles creeping across their faces.
“Hyrule, when was the last time we ate fresh pears?”
“Couldn't tell you.” Despite Hyrule’s short answer, they both knew what the other was thinking. The owners of the house wouldn’t miss two or three pears, especially if they didn’t see Hyrule and Wild take the fruit. No one was outside, and if they were quick they might be able to take some and leave before anyone came out of the house or barn.
In no time at all, Wild had climbed up into one of the pear trees and was tossing the fruit down to Hyrule. He had just thrown down the third one when a shout sounded from behind them.
“What the hell are you two doing?!”
“Oh, shit!” Wild yelped, nearly falling out of the tree as he was startled. He managed to turn his fall into a somewhat controlled descent, landing awkwardly next to Hyrule, who’d already turned to face off with the person who had yelled.
A boy, maybe a few years older than them, was stomping across the field from the direction of the house. He had strawberry blonde hair and was wearing a red tunic, and he looked pissed.
Wild and Hyrule winced, glancing at each other.
Busted.
“Those are my trees! The pears only just started to ripen, and you come in here and try to take advantage of my hard work? Oh, no, absolutely not.” As the boy stomped closer, his anger seemed to drain out of him. Wild could feel him examining the pair of them, and taking stock of their dirty appearances and slightly-too-thin bodies. By the time he had drawn to a stop in front of them, he seemed to have deflated.
The teen didn’t look irritated anymore, but the pity in his eyes was almost worse.
Hyrule and Wild liked their lifestyle, even if it maybe wasn't the best for them. It was better than the alternative. They might have gotten three square meals a day in the research facility, but they would take their freedom over that anytime, even if it meant going hungry occasionally.
If anyone wanted to pity them over their appearance, their usual reaction was to leave. There was no reason to stick around where they would be drowning in that sticky sweet emotion known as pity. It wasn’t like anyone could stop them from leaving, anyway.
Then the stranger seemed to make up his mind, and the pity vanished from his face, being replaced by an expression of irritation. Wild couldn’t tell if the teen was actually irritated or if he was putting on a mask to hide his true emotions.
He didn't get the time to figure it out, because in no time at all Wild and Hyrule were on their knees in the garden, pulling weeds. Neither of them were quite sure how they got there. The stranger- apparently named Legend- had steamrolled any of their protests. He insisted they helped as a repayment for the pears they took.
Since they had nothing better to do, they hadn’t protested too much.
After they were done in the garden, Legend offered to let them clean up using his family's bath house. When they were hesitant, he insisted, saying that since they were only so dirty because he had them working in the garden all afternoon, he should let them bathe.
When they’d finished and returned back to the house, there were steaming mugs of tea waiting for them. By the time they were finished with the tea, there was a pot of stew bubbling over the fire. Legend wordlessly shoved bowls of thick venison stew into their hands, refusing to meet their eyes.
Wild narrowed his eyes at the bowl suspiciously. Had it been drugged, or poisoned? Why was Legend being so weirdly nice to them and giving them food? There must be something wrong with the soup. Wild quickly flicked his magic out, testing the food, looking for anything wrong with the stew.
Just as quickly as he sent it out, his magic withdrew into his body and settled calmly within him, curling up contently. There was nothing wrong with the stew, so Wild reluctantly ate. It was a bit flavorless, but still filling.
He missed how Legend’s eyes narrowed in his direction for a moment when he had used his magic to test the soup.
After they had all finished dinner- awkwardly and in silence- it was already dark, and rain was pattering softly against the windows of the house. Neither Wild nor Hyrule made an effort to excuse themselves from Legend’s house, as neither of them were eager to go out in the rain. They would continue abusing Legend’s generosity for as long as he would let them.
Surprisingly, Legend’s generosity extended further than expected. He offered them his family’s spare mattress, dragging it out from the storeroom and leaving it in the living room, close to the fire. He huffed a gruff goodnight and retreated to the second floor of the house. Wild got the impression that Legend half expected the pair of them to have left by the time morning came.
The mattress was small. It clearly wasn't made for two people, but neither of them minded. They were clean, full, warm, and their magic was giving them no warnings of danger. They were more comfortable than they had been in a while, no matter how cramped the bed was.
They were more than used to sleeping curled around each other anyway.
Wild was ready to drift off to sleep like that, curled around Hyrule and warmed by the embers in the fireplace at his back. Hyrule seemed to have a different idea, though, his voice breaking Wild from the content haze that had settled over his mind.
“I think Legend is a mage.”
That certainly caught Wild’s attention. Wild stiffened, anty semblance of sleep being yanked away from him. He hadn’t even considered that as a possibility. Was that why Legend was being so kind? Because he knew they had magic and he was trying to be kind to his fellow mages who looked down on their luck?
“Why would you think that?” He asked.
“I can just feel it. When he looks at us… It feels like he's actually seeing us. The real us. And he doesn't feel like a normal human. It’s not exactly the same as the other mages we’ve seen, but I’m pretty sure he has magic.”
Wild didn’t respond, and eventually, Hyrule drifted off to sleep. There really wasn’t anything more to say about that. Either Hyrule was right or he was wrong. Either Legend had magic or he didn’t.
It didn’t really matter. The two of them would be gone soon, anyway.
When they woke the next morning, they found Legend sitting at the table, waiting for them with another pot of tea.
So they had breakfast with him and then helped him with chores around the house. The next thing they knew, Legend’s father and brothers (all five of them) had returned from whatever errand they had been running the previous day. They had been surprised to return home to find three people in the house when they were expecting only one, but it had all been smoothed over easily.
Before Wild and Hyrule knew it, they were being offered a place to stay. As long as they earned their keep, they could live with the Lon family as long as they wished.
Hyrule was insistent they would be leaving soon, though Wild had his doubts. He didn’t say anything to Hyrule, but he knew how easily staying one day turned into staying two, then a week, and then a month, and then longer. He suspected they would be living with the Lons for much longer than planned.
So they did. A few weeks into their stay, they came back to the house to find their mattress moved into what had previously been a spare room. They had become a permanent fixture in the house now. Dread slowly crept through Wild when he realized that.
The Lon family was kind. They got along well with Wild and Hyrule, even if there was more teasing exchanged than kind words. Now the Lon family thought that WIld and Hyrule were going to stay.
And Wild knew they couldn't.
They could never stay anywhere.
But a few weeks turned into a month. Then a month turned into half a year, and the leaves had long since turned to bright golds and brilliant reds and then fallen from the trees, and there was a fire burning in the hearth more often than not.
Wild and Hyrule both knew they should leave and spare themselves the heartache of growing close to someone before eventually having to leave them.
But they didn’t.
~~~
Wild let out a jaw-cracking yawn, tucking his head under Hyrule’s chin. The two of them were curled up together on Wild’s bed. It was a bit awkward to cuddle like this, given that Wild was half a foot taller than Hyrule, and the bed was made to only fit one person, but they made it work.
The pair of them didn’t sleep in the same bed every night, but it wasn't unusual. For the most part, the only friendly physical contact they could expect to receive was from each other, and sometimes they needed more than a brief hug. Some nights, it was an overwhelming sense of loneliness that drove them together. Some nights, one of them would wake up shivering with fear from a nightmare, and crawl into the other’s bed.
And some nights, like tonight, one of them would come back from testing and be too tired to even support their own weight.
Usually, it was Hyrule who was subjected to the more draining experiments. He was the more magically powerful of the two, after all. Recently, however, Wild has been receiving more attention from the scientists.
It was leading to more situations like this, where Wild was left lying prone on his bed, barely able to muster the energy to speak. Just as Wild usually did for him, Hyrule gathered all the blankets and pillows from his bed and took them over to Hyrule’s. After he got Wild comfortably situated, he climbed into the bed after him.
It took nearly a half hour of laying in silence for Wild to gain the energy to speak. “They’re becoming more and more interested in my time magic. I think they’re starting a new project.” His voice was muffled, spoken into Hyrule’s shoulder.
“I’ll be honest, Wild, I really don’t care about what the scientists are working on.”
Wild huffed. Hyrule could see he was irritated. It made Hyrule curious- normally, Wild didn’t care anymore than he did about the experiments the researchers were doing. If he was trying to tell Hurue about them now, when he was obviously exhausted, it must be something important.
“I think they’re trying to figure-” Wild was interrupted by another large yawn. Hyrule was about to tell him that he could tell him tomorrow, but he needed to go to sleep now, but Wild finished before he could. “They’re trying to figure out time travel.“
Hyrule frowned. “That’s not possible. Magic can do a lot of stuff, but time travel? There’s no way…”
Wild shrugged. ‘I dunno. I can slow time down a little bit. It’s not out of the question that if we combined our magic, we could stop time for a little bit. And that’s pretty close to time travel.“
Wild fell asleep soon after that, but Hyrule was kept awake, ideas swirling through his head.
Time travel?
Hmmm….
~~~
There was no doubt in Wild or Hyrule’s minds that the Lon family was a coven.
There was no other reason for seven mages to be living together, especially when most of them weren’t even related. (Everyone knew that Twilight was the only one of Time’s gaggle of children that was biologically his. Everyone knew that the man cared for them all equally anyways.)
Covens were groups of mages who had bound their magic together. The process of joining a coven made your magic more powerful. It came with the side effect of tying your soul permanently to your coven mates. If they died, it would feel like part of your soul was being torn out. But many found the risk was worth it for the increased power, and the promise of family. Because if nothing else, your coven was your family.
There weren’t any covens left in the time period the two had come from. After magic had been exposed to the world, and all mages were being hunted down to serve their governments, groups of mages congregating together became too dangerous.
The two had run into a few covens while they had been traveling. Some of the covens were generous to who they perceived as two covenless young mages with no guidance. Priceless knowledge could be learned from them. If Hyrule and Wild stuck-around long enough to be taught, that is.
Some covens were more secretive, barely acknowledging Hyrule and Wild also had magic. Neither of them could blame the covens that choose to disregard their shared magic. Even before magic had been revealed to the world, mages were secretive. (After seeing what happened when magic was finally revealed, Hyrule and Wild knew they were right to be.)
So, when the Lon family hadn't breathed a word about magic to them after they had been living there for six months, Hyrule and Wild knew better than to bring it up themselves. Both parties knew that the others were mages, but neither spoke of it. If the Lons didn’t want to bring up their magic, Wild and Hyrule certainly weren't going to do it either.
Hyrule had been the first one to pick up on the fact that the family they were staying with was magical. He’d told Wild his suspicions the first night they’d stayed in the house. At the time, Wild hadn’t cared. But the longer the pair stayed with the family, the more convinced Wild became that Hyrule was right.
There were the little things that were just unnatural enough to be noticed. The garden was too well kept for how little time the family spent tending to it. Somehow the flowers continued to bloom and the grass remained lush and green long after the autumn frost had started to set in. The food the family had available was too high quality for this time period, especially for people who lived in the woods with the nearest town being barely more than a village. Somehow the house was kept spotless, though neither of them ever saw anyone cleaning.
Then there were the bigger things. Hyrule had caught both Wind and Four having full conversations with no one, speaking into thin air as if they were talking with spirits. There was the strangely tame wolf who only seemed to turn up around the house when Twilight was gone. There was the chest full of enchanted masks that Time kept under his bed.
There was all that- the big things, the little things, and all things in between- and then there was the fact that Wild was quite sure the family could see past their glamor magic.
Normally, the magic they surrounded themselves with disguised both their clothes and their modern mannerisms. It translated their words into something understandable to those who were listening.
Although the coven had welcomed Hyrule and Wild into their home, they’d stared for too long at the pair's strange outfits. Most people’s eyes usually slid off their modern clothing without even seeing it in the first place. It was the same with modern terms and slang words. When Wild had slipped up and mentioned “texting” to Wind, the boy should have heard “writing a letter,” or something similar. Based on Wind’s confused face and the conversation Wild later overheard where Wind asked Warriors what a “text message” was, that hadn’t happened.
It was plain to see that the coven could see straight through their magic, but it was also plain that the coven was ignoring it, purposefully not mentioning their strange behavior, clothing, and language.
There was no way their host family actually understood why Wild and Hyrule acted so strangely- time travel wasn’t the first thing that popped into people’s heads when they saw someone acting strangely, even if they did know about magic. It was more likely the family thought that they were foreigners, and were using their magic to try and hide that fact.
Still…
Through their silence, the family had made it clear that they knew about Wild and Hyrule’s magic. It also made it clear that they weren’t going to bring it up.
And if they weren’t going to, then Wild and Hyrule wouldn’t either.
~~~
“Hyrule, I think the tests are getting worse.”
“...”
“See, this is what I mean. Half the time you return from testing, you’re unconscious. It makes me look weird, talking out loud to no one like this.”
“...”
“I don’t know how much longer either of us can live like this, Hyrule. You can barely stay awake in the evenings, and I… I can’t remember what I did yesterday. My memories just keep slipping away, and it gets worse every time I get taken for experimentation. We need to find a way we can get out of here. Permanently.”
“...”
~~~
There wasn’t a singular moment that made Wild decide enough was enough. It had been coming for a while, that creeping feeling of dread that told him they had to leave soon if they wanted to be able to leave at all. They’d already become attached to this family so if they didn’t leave soon, they would never leave.
He knew it would already hurt more to leave this family than any other. Wild would miss cuddling near the fire with Wolfie, would miss cooking dinner every night for more than two people, would miss the loud camaraderie and the quiet companionship he had found in this house.
But they had to leave. They didn’t belong here.
Wild had had enough. He was leaving. And where he went, Hyrule went.
It was an early spring night, nearly nine months after they had arrived. The whole family was gathered in the main room of the house, each absorbed in their own tasks. Hyrule was curled next to Legend and nearly half asleep. Wild was sitting on the floor in front of the chair Time was sitting in. His legs stretched out in front of him to put his feet near the warmth of the hearth, and Wild would almost say he was content, except for the little fact that he knew this peace couldn’t last.
He could tell Hyrule wasn’t happy when Wild shot him that look. The look that said, “I’m done, I can't do this anymore, We have to go.” Hyrule glared back at Wild and then closed his eyes, ignoring Wild on purpose.
Looks like they would be talking about it later, then. (Not that they could talk about it now, given that they were in a room with seven other people.) Wild leaned back against Time’s legs. He looked nonchalant, as if the exchange the two had didn’t happen, but there was tension in him now, because now he knew they were on their way out of this house and the lives of its inhabitants.
It turns out “later” means that very night, after everyone else had gone to bed.
Hyrule might have been acting like he was unhappy with Wild’s decision, but he knew just as well as Wild did that it was time to leave. They barely had to exchange words before they were both packing up the belongings they were going to take with them.
They left behind most of the things they had gained while they were staying here. They wouldn’t need most of it, and they didn’t want to steal from the Lon family. They had been so kind to them, they didn’t deserve to have the two of them steal from them.
Soon, everything they were going to take with them was packed up. They stood shoulder to shoulder in their room, looking down at the bed they’d been sharing for the last nine months.
Eventually, Hyrule turned to Wild. “Ready?‘ he whispered.
“Yes,” Wild lied. Neither of them moved for quite some time, neither wanting to make the first move to leave.
This time, it was Wild who broke the silence. He shuffled over to their mattress, lifting it up and pulling the Slate out from under it. They hadn’t needed it while they’d been staying here, but now they had a use for it again. “Do you think we’ll ever find a place we’ll want to stay forever?”
“I doubt it. If that was going to happen, it would have happened already.” Hyrule murmured back to him, not meeting his eyes.
“You’re probably right.” Wild flicked the Slate in the direction of their belonging, sucking them into the Slate to be safely stored away until they needed them again.
With that, they turned to each other, instinctually getting into position to cast their spell. Wild could see Hyrule’s grip on the Slate was so tight his knuckles were bone-white. He didn’t look up, knowing if he did, he would see tears trickling down Hyrule’s face.
“Now,” he whispered.
In a shower of blue sparks, the two disappeared, gone from the lives of the Lon coven forever.
#mint's fanfiction#linked universe#lu wild#lu hyrule#lu legend#lu wind#lu warriors#lu time#lu wild angst#time travel#angst
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Can you pls do more ideas for vampire and human whump? But more like, the vampire is the whumpee?
Absolutely!
(Im sorry this took a while I was struggling idk why)
Anyway
Vampires have been hunting humans for centuries, it's no surprise that as soon as folks get the chance, they're all too eager to take their revenge.
The best a vampire can hope for anymore is to be a mercenary. There's...mixed feelings about that from both humans and vampires, but hey, it keeps them from becoming some kind of demented trophy.
Their healing abilities and supernatural strength are often taken for granted and over used. Then, the vampire gets shamed for not being in a fit state to continue. It doesn't help that most of humanity wants to eradicate vampires entirely, no one is exactly eager to help them
Because vampires live for so long, those captured by vampire hunters find themselves serving their children and their children's children. That gets beyond infuriating, if one doesn't simply become numb. Aside from being subjected to constant hatred for being monsters and parasites, a lot of vampires end up starving, either at the hands of a human or because of how difficult it's become to get the nourishment they need. Sometimes, with vampires in captivity, the humans will give them something to drink and in their urgency to feed the poor vampire gets stopped and only further harassed for not bothering to ask where it came from. Constantly pounding in the narrative that these creatures are amoral and incapable of empathy, until even the vampires start to hate themselves for it. "You're not even going to check if it's animal blood? You don't want to be a monster, right? You wouldn't want to hurt a person would you? Do you not care?"
Lot of humans love to see just how far they can push the "monsters". Whether it be teasing with food, pushing them to the edge of their life sustaining abilities, or going so far as to turn vampires into little more than vicious, unthinking monsters everyone used to fear them as through "training".
At some point, highly influential people start using their vampires to turn humans who they're upset with/having problems with. Of course, not only does that ruin that person's life, it just adds to the vampires' self loathing. They are literally the humans dumpster now
We all know humans just love exerting power. The worst part is, vampires aren't even viewed as kindly as pets. Most of these vampires weren't even around when they were still hunting humans. Even if they were, how is that any different from humans eating meat? It's just life!
I hope you like it! If you wanted a specific scenario I'm sorry but I'd be happy to write one :)
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Best Medicine
Pairing: Din Djarin x reader (AFAB | fem pronouns, but fairly neutral)
Words: 7.7k
Rating: Teen/Mature, 18+ (spicy first half) (K'oyacyi, sweet minors)
Warnings: Implied sensual release, grinding, cuddling, love confessions, carbonite sickness, language, memory loss, emotional hurt/comfort, survivor’s guilt, sleep intimacy, talks of consent/taking advantage, FEELINGS, the helmet comes off, Mandalorian marriages, Din deserves everything wonderful, Fluff/Hurt/Comfort roller coaster ride, angst with a happy(ish?) ending~
//set in pre and post- Season Two | The Mandalorian and the Book of Boba Fett (time jump)...// Translations included at end of work//
A/N & credits: Honorable mentions to @writerlyhabits for helping my mind run wild with carbonite sickness headcanons, and for inspiring me to write out this emotional ride of comfort-HURT-comfort for you all. It’s not often I make any form of whump, my Tumblr lovelies, so be kind and apologies in advance for this… It was both a challenge and an adventure to write~ I promised there’s a lovely silver lining in all my works, and I hope this one is enjoyable!
✨May the 4th be with y'all✨
Need more Star Wars fics? Get your fix w/my masterlist HERE!
Read on AO3
Summary: These are the soft moments you live for: each caress and light word of banter chisel the dark heaviness of life away, chip by chip. Tonight’s no different– you are swept up into the arms of Mando who’s taken your bait, and loving every minute of it. You’re overdue for a break and some quality time.
The quiet cabin of the Razor Crest gave you the space for cozy confessions, to learn more of his mother tongue, and give in to your tendency to get carried away like teenagers, if just for a spell.
Laughter is the best medicine: from the dead of hyperspace, to whatever bed you've landed on while on the run. Yet will that be the case– as the cruelty of time and circumstance test it?
"Ho-okay, c'mere you."
Relishing in your giggles as you wedged your hand in between his newly exposed ribcage, the Mandalorian let out the catch in his throat and quickly picked you up by your thighs– the perfect way to toss you up on one shoulder. You squealed and couldn't stop laughing even as he groused about your ‘cheeky hands where I can see them’, and walked you over to his quarters.
He swung you back down so that you plopped with a bounce on the recently laundered bunk. It’s tidy – well, was, before you fell onto it– and still smells fresh and windblown from your last stop. Pliant under his shadow, he towered over you with a hand on each side of your head. It didn’t matter that he wasn’t wearing armor; he’s still impressive.
"Do I have to teach you to mind your manners, too?" The rasp came out as annoyed, but you knew better.
He chides the kiddo all the time. 'Quit picking at things', 'don't give her that attitude'; all the magic words have to be instilled in him, as well as just keeping to himself and not being a nuisance. Munchkin has to be taught such things; they're juvenile.
That's not what he means with you. He's talking about the glances, the bounce of your foot taunting him when your legs cross, the playing with your belt which then tugs your neckline… when you line up your scope just right, just as he taught you, and you give him all the credit.
You really don't have to try hard at all to get Mando’s attention– it's the game of keeping a step away that leads into a chase that gets under his skin. Especially when he just knows you're up to it.
You have a few hours to kill until the next leg of your adventure begins. It’s bound to be a restless one when you touchdown planetside, so spoil him, you shall.
You couldn't stop smiling when he caught you.
"C'mon, you can't blame me, space cowboy. You're fun to tease."
Since you were taken down, you brushed your hair back, let your arms hang above your head, toying with him through your eye’s bat.
The visor transfixed on you told you everything you needed to know: you were practically gift-wrapped under him, and he’s obsessed with the view. That was by design.
Your laughter died down to little hums as you watched him glance to the wall, back to you, then again toward the shelf. He finally decided to palm the panel brusquely to shut the door behind him: encasing you both in automatic darkness.
You heard the click of the underside of his helmet. A relaxed, hollowed chuckle transitioned to a bright one to fill the silence.
Jackpot.
Strong arms came slowly down to the bed to hold you, with a warm, -now ungloved- hand brushing more hair back that had framed your face every which way.
The Mandalorian cooed down at you with a saccharine smile you knew had to be there,
"I love hearing you laugh…"
Hearing and touch senses honed in, you reached tentatively to where his shoulder would be, pulling him in and inviting him to lay in his newly claimed spot between your legs. The Mandalorian followed so, gingerly.
You murmured an affirmation as a questioning reply, coupled with a breathy string of chuckles to confirm his desires. Truly your eyes couldn't know the difference between open and closed in total blackness, anyway.
"--and I love listening to you sing," he praised you again. “I can hear you better this way.”
You hummed sweetly,
"Aww, so you do enjoy being serenaded huh? Big, scary bounty hunter brought to his knees by a wannabe wordsmith with a funny accent?"
Eager lips laid their caring touch to your forehead.
“Every time." He pressed little cheek kisses to you, too, explaining his untold, priceless comforts in between, "The minute you put the kid to bed is my favorite part of the day."
He feels your fingers trail up to his hair, nails taking through the crimped mess of curls there. He froze his affections the moment you did that. You ease moans out of him at one, singular touch.
He doesn't care how small he sounds, you think. All he knows is ‘I’m safe.’
"And this, is mine:" you said with a softness reserved for him. All teasing is set aside when you do choose to be serious. You shifted so he can let down more weight onto you in the newly shared room, "Taking care of the one man who puts everything and everyone else before himself. It's quite the honor, for me."
Sighs fall from him so easily. You'd imagine his eyes shut at that.
“It’s you who honors me,” Mando countered.
You wanted these moments to count: taking any chance you could to affirm and provide whatever comfort you can with the little downtime you had.
You know he won't show you, but it doesn't keep you from wondering… when he's so close, you wonder what he looks like under the helm. What kind of hair, how long. What breaks in the skin have cut into him after wearing it for so long, or did he have any prior to swearing on the names of his Ancestors.
What of his eyes alone? There's the usual gemlike hues, earthy tones; or there's always the artificial overlays people use to disguise themselves or the retinal scans– it's just a special effect they use in those holovids you watch on the weekends. Just the kind he mocked when he caught you watching them. 'Silly and pointless and ridiculously scripted.' And yet while he sassed about the waste of time, you often corralled him enough so that he'd at least sit with you while he cleaned off the carbon scoring of his rifles, to watch them passively by your side… he'd caved to your whims if you so much as touched him. That's what got you here.
With him at his most docile, you felt brave enough to ask what has always mystified you,
"What color are your eyes, hon?"
You heard Mando’s head tilt up with its sleepy intake of breath. A flash of worry that you overstepped hit you, feeling his form rise from its concave state under your touch… but he didn't go away. Fingers wound their way to cup the back of your neck instead–
–to prepare to taste yours in just a few moments.
"Purple," he answered.
You snorted at the lie. It's just a little bluff, but you'll entertain it… you both are teetering in the realm of what's permitted within his Creed anyway.
His lips are a breath from yours. You played along; like you'd won the guessing game,
"I knew it."
Your winner’s kiss was the touch of warmth he'd needed all day.
Eh, maybe he'd tell you the truth one day, maybe not– besides, you don't have any brainpower left to wonder when he's kissing you.
One turned into two and more, with the Mandalorian’s hands roaming your features until they reached low enough to switch spots and roll you over onto his chest instead. His palm’s exploration over your shoulder gave you the chance to pull away for a breath, leaving you to process the shivers he's causing and taking the time to relish his touch.
"I really do have to thank you," Mando confessed between deep breaths. Deep, like he was really breathing for the first time today. "I've– never felt so.. safe. Ever -in all my life- than when I'm with you."
You melted, until he said more.
"Feels like I’ve cheated the Fates to even be left standing, much less lie down without needing to keep an eye open. I never-- really thought I.. deserve this."
You wondered why. Your browline tensed with worry, why he would be so self-deprecating even after a career like his… littered with wins and paygrades and beskar trophies?
"Ill-deserving of what?" You asked plainly. "--having someone care about you?"
Your Mandalorian fell quiet, simply running a hand up and down your back with complete tenderness. Where his blunted nails caught your skin on the backstrokes, the pads of his glove-worn hands soothed the loving scratches’ path.
This silent confirmation wouldn’t cut your questions: it’s still a force of habit, Mando using actions to show what he means.
"You give me kindness. Kindness that," Mando spoke of the wonder of this feeling, "I had to convince my heart to accept. Who'd dare refuse a gift from you… But I can't help feeling it's wasted on someone like me."
Someone like him: a hunter? Or a Mandalorian? Folks frowned upon both mantles. You knew the biases, but you treated him fairly, made him feel valid– even before your feelings for him grew into something much sweeter than a working coexistence. Thank the Stars, you were so happy to find your chemistry was a feeling Mando shared after a late night with a too-close call. A feeling he was apparently still getting used to- hence the apparent guilt of what ‘gift’ he'd been given by having someone so generous like you for a partner.
This broke your heart every time. Not just hearing his affirmations and words of appreciation when they catch you off guard– but how he’d thank you for the most basic needs of his own.
"Honey," you leaned down your forehead to his, "You matter. Whether you believe it or not, you're loved and not alone in this galaxy. Your words, feelings, they matter to me. It's not wasted, any of it, baby. I'm honored to be the one who gets to love you on the day-to-day basis, yeah, but... even if I wasn't in the picture, I should hope you’d still seek out getting your needs met. That's all anyone wants, I think."
You caressed his stubbled jaw line with your thumb as it slid and traced down the seams to his chest. Something inspiring bumbled around in your head, so you tried working it out.
"You know as well as I do... these days can blur together so fast when we're moving too fast. We– get in the way of our own thoughts, and that can make our minds a messy place. It’s easy then, we forget how needed our wants are, sometimes.”
The hands caressing you stilled; reverent to every word you said.
“Keep your word, settle your debts, all that’s still true,” you shook your head, “But please don't forget this part, hon... You matter, and that includes the softer things you want. The nice things. What the amazing, kind- hearted man underneath needs."
No person has ever respected him so much. To honor his creed and what it entails, to support what he did, the lifestyle he chose-especially one as taxing as this. He wouldn't call himself a kind man; he was a killer, detached and for the longest time, keen to remain that way.. But if this woman so dear to him said so, maybe he was learning to be gentle after all.
You wished more than ever that you could stare him in the eyes so you'd know he heard you– but you swung for the next best thing: you held your hand right on top of his heart. Its beat was faint under his padded underarmour, but there.
His breath faltered at the touch.
Mando reached his to find the digits caressing him and dancing his along each one: skin to skin. Has no one really ever told him that? A little huff of air escaped him; you felt his head shake from the motion rustling the pillow beneath him.
"Hell, you're sweet," Mando brought your fingers off and laced them to his lips. "You mean that."
"Of course I do. I don't say it to prove I'm being right. I want you to know the truth."
He was quiet again. Only this time, a purposeful finger ran along your side to coax you out. Tickle, more like.
"Ok, sometimes I like being right!!" you rushed out to make him stop.
"I have a running list of wagers a mile long that says otherwise, cyar'ika. You fool no one, let alone me."
Mando amused himself every now and then, a sound you loved like a drug, too. You took control and dove up for another kiss, his deep laugh turning into something stronger, deeper. He always kissed you like he was drowning and you were his source of life and air. As if you'd fly away at any minute.
His hands pulled you tightly to him, demanding closeness with firm, undulating grips on your thigh and on your neck to direct you. Kiss after kiss, you eventually led from your point of leverage to start kissing down his neck as an experiment. He'd gasped at first, but the good kind. The kind that begged, not stalled for less.
“Loving on me,” Mando rasped, “Is that wha’ you– you’re calling nngthis?”
Your boy needed reassurance, something awful, tonight.
You'd normally tease him as you go, gauging his response to touching these new places, but were kind about it tonight. As touch-starved as your Mandalorian is, you didn't want to overwhelm him.
So you merely paused, gave a sweet “Sir, yes, sir~” and carried on after a quick peck on the cheek.
You couldn’t help but let your giddiness escape again when you reached a soft spot on his neck; one that made him say your name in an awestruck cry. Soft on the clips, long on the vowels. God, you love the sound of it, bobbing under your waiting lips as you worship the space. He's warm, stubbled, and just perfect.
"The way you say my name,” you beamed, “I'm starting to think you like me or something, honey."
Mando sighed out, moving a hand to the back of your head to get your attention:
"Din."
You still kissed him, asking him to repeat with a little hum.
"m'... m' name."
The loving haze blew away, and you with it. A zing thrummed to life in your chest. He’s never told you his name– ‘anonymity was his strength’ dictating the secrecy, after all. Despite the dark, you leaned up on an elbow.
Your eyes went wide, looking into nowhere at the wall, breathless at the discovery.
"Your name is Din?"
He was just as breathless beneath you, equally rendered mute as you were. Made sense, it was the first time he'd said the word to anyone in years; the proof lay in how his chest was heaving, "Yes."
"...Din."
He melted at the sound of it on your tongue.
"Din Djarin." he offered up his family name.
"Din Djarin." so you honored the clan, just the same.
He shuddered, "Fuck, yes".
In a surge, Din Djarin -no longer just the man you affectionately called ‘hey you’- pulled you back to his lips. Heated minutes passed with his hands all over you and your delighted, soft laughs breaking your kisses from pure happiness.
You now knew his name. Two words that coded him in a way few knew, and you were one of the select recipients of such intimate knowledge. This would take your bond to new heights tonight, and you could barely stand the euphoria that flooded you.
You'd started shuffling about with your hips instinctively over his once as much as your perch allowed and when they settled as an unintentional roll, Din sighed deeply and with a tighter grip. One hand gathered up your hair in his hand, where he could relish the waves in it and hold you back enough where he could lap at your neck as you'd done to him. Your hips found permission to work their magic and you were met with a carnal side of the Mandalorian you'd anticipated he held back all along. Even though his thick trousers and your leggings separated you two entirely, it was enough to scratch the itch and blind him even more to anything around him in a matter of seconds.
Little phrases passed Din’s lips; sweet nothings you thought, with no idea for their meaning. But with him talking, you didn't care if he was reciting the alphabet, his dinner order, or the damn 'Ode to the Empire’. He was practically praying hotly in your ear, and that was a buzz you'd never try to stop and put a pin in the moment to demand a pocket translator.
"Mesh’la, cyar’ika. Ka'ra jaon'kov, cuy’gar mesh’la. B’d jate... Jatne o'r ner sur'haai…"
One deep roll sent him gripping you tight so he bucked back. The sensation hit you in a special place too; you cried out a bit louder than you anticipated. Before you could even think to be shy about it, Din sucked hard on your neck– and your surprise jumped an octave.
"That's it, sweetheart." Din swallowed, "Kriff, that's a good girl."
He set a pace that you had no control of anymore. You'd be losing control yourself soon enough.
A bit helplessly, you whimpered along with the rolls, listening to his begs,
"Din, I ---nnnguhhh"
"What is it, sweet girl? Rejorhaa'ir ni. Does that feel good, huh?"
"Mhmmm.. it feels good,"
"You sound good. Heavens, you sound amazing. So.. so fucking pretty.." Din sought a sloppy makeout that you happily fell into.
From the warmth buzzing in your face through your body, you shot away breathless in a tiny whine into his cheek; something was going to burst inside.
"Ohmygodohmygod, Mand– Din, I can't..."
He ground up a bit faster, "Ni ganar’e, cyare, I've got you. Let go. Let me hear you, c'mon."
You'd whined again, shaking your head against your better judgment.
Sensing the fight in you, Din fisted the hand on your hair into a deliciously tight hold– his loving, seductive mouth speaking into the soft flesh by your jaw while his hand explored its way down to your thigh.
"C'mon, I know you're close. C'mon." The bass in his voice turned it into a growl easily. He was desperate too. "Be my best girl, like I know you are."
Oh God that tempted you. You'd been grinding faster, yourself. Not unlike hearing the pre-flight tells you catch when the engines cycle power in the cockpit: you're racing the lighting inside you while still trying to be conscious of the moment. Staying centered on him.
On Din. Din Djarin.
And with another suckling, lazy kiss to your neck, you'd cried out. The tremors jolted within you, subsiding into trembling shakes even when you quit thrashing against him.
Din's hand dropped to brace your back after your rush, keeping up his pace while you fought for breath. His voice choked out fast, too, ending his chase in a hard groan and his own hips rutting against you a few times harder than the rest, then fell back altogether. Your highs concluded quickly– with the mellow clang of his head thunking against the bar at the top of his bunk as he fell back.
You didn’t mean to, but you chuckled at his small 'ow', so you cupped your hand up to cradle his head. Massage it, to comfort. Even he, the man who takes vibroblades to the flesh and barely sheds a tear, feels vulnerable enough to give a little whine out to play for sympathy.
Catching your breath has never felt so good.
Soon enough though, you felt both his hands slide to your hips and push up a bit.
You lifted gingerly, "Oh, am I hurting you?"
"I.. I uh,... made a mess." Din sounded so winded.
You ran hot at that admission.
"Oh. Heh, sorry ‘bout that."
"Oh hell, don't you apologize for that," You could hear the smile, albeit the awkward stumbling behind it. "Wait- wait here."
He tipped you on your side and kissed you quick.
"Eyes closed?”
You nuzzled his forehead pressed onto yours, "Already there."
"Atta girl." Din leaned into another kiss.
He left and changed quickly. Gave you enough time for you to collect your hair up and over the pillow from where it got mussed, hugging a pillow to yourself in his place, still giddy at making the Mandalorian lose himself.
Making Din lose himself.
By his dulled footsteps and overhead bar of light painting a Mandalorian-shaped shadow onto the door again, you hid in your pillow dramatically. The rumbles of his voice carried to you as the door closed and he crawled back to you as before; bare to the room once more and laughing at your comical eagerness for him to shed the helmet again.
"Ok–" Din’s welcoming hand pulled your arm down; familiar, to when he'd collected your hands at the start.
"Hey you." You cooed shyly.
"Hey you." He purred back.
You lifted up into another kiss, this one much calmer and softer, having been sated in the most tender way with him.
Settling back, breathless you muttered out a quick 'hey' to bring him back to the present. "Teach me how to say something?"
Obeying your pause, he slowed to a stop. "In Mando'a?” he asked.
"Mhm?"
Interest piqued his tone, “What do you want to say?”
What your heart’s been singing for months every moment he has his back turned. What you’ve meant and said a thousand different ways other than the three standard words. Only this time, you want him to be in on the secret, too. You wanted to be able to tell him this in a way that will only resonate with him:
“..I wanna say 'I love you'.”
Din went rigid. Then straightening up, he brushed your hair back soothingly, falling to a whisper- another secret.
"We would say..ni kar'tayl gar darrasuum."
“Ni cart ah-"
He chuckled, "ni kar'tayl,"
"ni kar'tayl,"
"gar,"
"gar?"
"darrasuum."
"darrasuum."
"That's it. All together?" Din guided.
You tried for all three, and when it did , it slid perfectly off your tongue so that a happy, wet sound left him. Something about it must have stung his eyes you couldn't see. You pressed a couple small kisses to his lips.
Mando’a was a gorgeous, sonorous language– and quite possibly the trickiest to pick up.
Then your tone turned curious, "Haven't… you been saying that to me? All this time?"
"You remembered." He nuzzled your forehead, but shook his head a little to answer, ‘not quite’ teased in his motion. "Kar'tayl means 'to know', or another way... It means to care deeply, to care for. Mandalorians use it for many things, depending who they speak it to. There is no word for 'love', so... "
"To really know someone is to love them." You finished sweetly.
You hit the nail on the head, and speaking that core tenet earned you a loving sweep of Din’s thumb across your cheek.
It’s inevitable; your chest was going to burst.
"That's beautiful, Din." You blissfully sighed. He snuck both arms around you, pulling you forward. “Din Djarin.”
"It means so much," he whispered, "--coming from you..."
In that moment, you hoped his heart could rest…
FIVE MONTHS LATER
Din lays at your back, having nestled up subconsciously overnight.
His arm -the perfectly still, bracing one he relies on when he scouts- found its place so easily spooned beneath yours. Proof you are part of a matching set: intwined in love and bond and safety, even in sleep– at least to him, who you knew once felt he didn’t deserve such sweetness and warmth.
This would have been nothing out of the ordinary, nothing out of character for Din to do with you in bed. He cuddled you nightly, religiously, from that first evening onward, sharing your bed and souls alike since you spoke your first word of love to him. Normally, you’d welcome it, you always welcome him.
But– not now. Now, it set you on edge. Since his last shift of the blankets when he rolled over, you haven’t been able to fall back asleep. In uneasiness, you lie awake and aware of how a once tender act was wrong. Your conscience nags at your gut: no, no, no.
Not like this.
He doesn't know what he's doing.
Stop him.
Tell him to move.
Move him.
You willed yourself awake when Din curled in; you really shouldn’t allow this. But for the sake of his rest as all the docs all say he needs, you let him seek his peace however makes him the most comfortable, content enough to watch the ongoing lanes of traffic of early and late commuters of the Ring out your window’s slats.
Sleep wasn’t easy for you now anyway– not with this every present knot in your throat. It’s set to burst when your mind wanders too far towards what got you here…
There were two callsigns you memorized since meeting Din– not as a request or favor, but a demand. One of course, was his, and the other belonged to one of the last Mandalorians standing from his former covert as a last resort. One that he quizzed you on over and over about answering, ‘should anything ever happen to me’.
One day, that callsign just pinged you– and sent a good bit of ice into your stomach when you greet a wide-cut blue helm filling your holo.
“Master Vizsla.”
“Lady Djarin,” Paz greeted with a warm-enough familiarity.
Something in the way he chose how he delivered his words around you told you that he’s perhaps making an effort to appear personable over a holomessage, whereas he may put on fewer airs face-to-face.
You were honest,
“I feel like there’s few reasons someone like you would call me, and none of those reasons strike me well…”
“ I’ve only said two words, little bird. Your intuition is a curious one,” his helmet shook a little, “-though, not misplaced...”
You leveled your face, waiting to hear what he had to say.
“I have news. I recovered your riduur. He is alive, though not in the same state as when he left you.”
Now that is a curious response.
You outsourced yourself for a job and have taken a good, six-week-long hiatus from your shared space rented on the Glavis Ringworld pursuing your own contracts. Although confident in this share of responsibility, it’s been harder being away from each other than either of you anticipated. You spoke on comms for each other’s voices about every other rotation in your separation, though never nearly as far from each other’s mind. But this was your marriage, one you honored in every way- together or apart.
And anything to bring in some extra credits, and… take your mind off the kiddo’s absence… has been a welcome distraction.
Only now, with Paz’s news, you’re both relieved and far more anxious to learn just why Din hasn’t answered your hails from an unusual, weeklong stretch of radio silence…
“Sorry, not the same– state?” you asked, “what do you mean? What about his state…”
Before your headspace had the chance to spin– running wild with concern over his body, what he could have suffered, could have fought, could have breathed, ingested, poisoned–
“...state of mind, I fear.” was Paz’s cool answer. “He has lost his Path, and you need to help him guide it back where it belongs.”
This, as it would turn out, was not so easy a malady to heal.
You met Paz at his transmitted coordinates to collect your husband and work through what was to become the biggest challenge this -or any relationship in your life- has ever faced:
Fekking carbonite sickness. Or whatever corrupted version of it Din Djarin had quite literally trapped himself into.
While on his own mission, Paz recovered a poorly thrown together carbonite freezer that a petty gang abandoned, with a select few targets within. One of which entombed none other than his own kih’vod. The reason why he described it as ‘a botched job’ was that the alchemical readouts of said carbonite chamber pointed to a tainted solution: not pure in ingredients that typically secure a clean, minimally-invasive freezing process. When you start cutting corners to save costs, you compromise the effectiveness of the flashfreeze. Some sentients did not survive this treatment; though it was a blessing Din clearly did– though not before taking a unique toll.
Typically, carbonite would blitz your vision, your extremities; make you feel like a ten-ton transport has dragged you across the Dune Sea then set you spinning through a wash cycle, expecting you to walk a few miles blindfolded as a cool down without a single misstep.
It makes you drowsy– not lose your short-term memory.
When Din awoke, the questions posed to him concerning what events led him to his present predicament went unanswered. Not from a place of obstinance, but complete confusion. He’s unsatisfied with himself, the frailty he feels. Being stripped of the mind stung equally as bad as if it had his body– which conveniently, was also hurting.
He got angry, Paz said– furious as to what could have altered his head and made him feel so out-of-body. There were decent chunks of recent days, weeks he claimed he could not recall. That list grew as he couldn’t even say what his last paygrade was, what he’d done with the Guild for the last year, what had become of the covert on Nevarro. When he glanced at a darkly mirrored reflection of himself, he didn’t know how he procured the newer portions of his chromed armor.
The bad news continued to careen out of control. He didn’t recognize the mudhorn etched on his shoulder; had to ask the Armorer why that creature was added. To her immovable surprise, she sobered at how serious this truly was. He didn’t know his Clan? Of its addition?
He didn’t..--he didn’t know the name Grogu. Never even heard of such a species.
When shown a holopic of the kid, he simply looked at you and asked if something like that could speak- could maybe answer to what happened to him. That nearly broke you on the spot if the Armorer hadn’t ushered a still-throbbing Din to sit and receive a medical consult and diverted your attention. The whole scene was a heartbreaking one, though Vizsla spared you most of the big questions you wanted to ask by ripping off the emotional bandaids himself.
It was by Paz’s explanation that Din had been told that you were his wife, his riduur. For some strange reason, he accepted that quickly. Explained straight away why you stuck around. But in the hours and days that followed, your partner was far from the cozy and nurturing man you’ve known for so long. Even if he tolerated you, he still appeared to consider you a stranger. You knew why, and therefore didn’t blame him one bit. He was hard enough on himself for his failings on a good day. Getting himself into such a vulnerable situation and having to nurse this blasted headache everyday that barely seemed to let up would naturally only make that self-image worse. His steps fall heavier, carrying weight unseen.
It was clear a depression was setting in as the hard first days melted into a week. Into two. The man you loved walked through your shared home as a cold, distant shell of himself, filled to the brim with unspoken anger, confusion, guilt, and lost pain.
While in your company every day, you led most of the talking- just about practical things. Suggestions when he lost his train of thought, simple choices, graciously avoiding the oliphant in the room by keeping topics in the moment with your usual, helpful nature. It’s your default and, so, hard to break; but for the most part, Din Djarin accepted that too with nods and hums of agreement. He poured himself into some easy reconnaissance missions and errands to try and pull himself out of the dark, but he offered very little depth of dialogue with you, claiming he’s focusing on meditation. Centering himself.
But you knew better. Centering, introspection– that takes a different form with Din when he’s in a bad headspace. He’s hating himself, punishing: for being a disappointment, to be your problem.
Though… oddly enough… your nighttime routine had not really changed. That’s the most bittersweet feeling of all of this.
When it came that first night to talk about your living arrangement, he insisted that nothing change: for you to keep your bed, and he would busy himself elsewhere. But as you both just talked things through about what your next steps should be, sitting side by side against the headboard watching the nightlife stream in through the porthole of your room, your drowsiness took root, and he somehow fell asleep right beside you– as though nothing had changed.
In the silence of morning, he didn’t speak on it; you carried about your days as before, getting by. But sure enough, when you’d catch up at the end of the day, the same sinking feeling around you would hit at the same hour, you’d lie down, wake with him having never left his side of the bed, and the cycle would repeat.
A poignant, if painful, reminder of what connection still stood between you– and what little comfort the universe was offering you in the midst of a horrible situation through your Mandalorian’s touch.
Still, you know it’s not the same. It’s instinctual, not intentional. You don’t cry anymore about it. You’re all sniffled out, though your throat hasn’t gotten the memo. It seizes every time he calls you by name instead of Cyar'ika.
So here, he sleeps behind you: seemingly none the wiser about the more amorous nights that bombarded your god-awful, precious memories. These dreams, they keep you awake at all hours of the early morning when even Din’s subconscious cries out to hold you. To allow him to sleep by your side when surely his entire world felt numb and unfamiliar? It was his blessing, and your nightly curse.
A noise, finally. A little catch, high behind your neck- a barely-there attempt to wake up. In trying, he squeezes you in, then settles with a soothed groan. Din’s nuzzling between your shoulders. The scent of your conditioner must be the only thing keeping him in such a drowsy state. On the edge of sleep, he’s still able to make you melt with his rarely-seen gentle nature.
And despite the circumstances, you laugh at this, softly.
"What are you doing?" you ask of yourself more than him: but he answers…
"Mmmm... y'r warm.."
Now that’s your Din. That’s your Darling talking.
It’s him… and not.
"Djar…” you sighed with a catch in your chest, “Honey, wake up."
You’d shown him where he stowed his helmet on the shelf while you slept and that you’d never get up before him, so he didn’t feel exposed. It was torture though– you always woke up before him now and were subject to his snuggly nature: sans the intimacy you once shared by turning into each other. That wouldn’t be fair now, wouldn’t be right, even if it was what you craved the most about mornings with him. For now, you’d face away, until he was ready.
Din stirred again. His limbs gave a quivering squeeze to wakefulness. You knew it the moment he must have opened his eyes, because his breaths seized. He’s aware, then... even more aware.
"Oh,” he broke through his morning voice with a rush, “I'm so sorry-- I was just-"
"It's ok, just relax,” you threw confidence into your voice, “How’s the head?"
“It um.. It’s ok. Kind of achey.”
“C'mon. Lay down and rest.” You’re selfish and can’t help settling in, "It's not like we have to get up yet. Paz still has the speeder, so we can stick to this side of town until he brings it back."
You held onto his wrist carefully, returning it to its lax spot between your breasts, just where it fits. You just want him lucid; even if he doesn’t hold you as tight as he used to.
After the Grogu holo incident, you couldn’t bear to ask him more about what he does or doesn’t recognize. You couldn’t bear to ask him if he remembered you, and you wouldn’t, even now. How could he, after all? If he didn’t even know the face of his own son, what chance did you have? You’d met him months after taking on his charge. Based on the gap of time Din struggled to remember, you certainly fell within that ocean of nothingness. No, you didn’t bother to ask him things of that nature. You simply accepted his companionship and moved along.
At your word, Din nests back in, presumably to get a few more minutes of sleep. But then, he breathes in, and you sense it’s not purely therapeutic, the way he’s settled into you. He’s scooted closer, and not to readjust his posture. He’s moved your hair, and not to get it out of his face for his comfort–
He starts– kriff, he’s kissing you. Kissing you like he means it. Little pecks. Your neck, your shoulder, and– you stop him.
"D- babe,- you don't have to,” the warning lights fire off in your brain, holding his wrist firmly now.
Din mumbles more between presses, "I want to.”
"Mando, you-"
"Call me Djarin again."
The way he hushes you, so fekking softly, it sounds like him… dank ferrick. .
Stars, it’s weird. This whole thing is weird. When was this supposed to let up, a vague ‘week or two, come back for a new assessment and we will review the prognosis’? You try to hope he’s feeling more like himself after a good night’s rest, but you can’t really explain this behavior.
Your restraint now is a testament, a promise to protect him as he’s always protected you:
" You’re–” you shoot yourself in the foot and craft the words as they break your heart. “You're not yourself. I can't ignore that. I know it, even if you don't."
You’ll curse this blasted phase in the future, when everything settles and eventually goes back to normal. But this is the one time you’d ever call such tender treatment truly insufferable. He pauses in his affections,
"--No," Din then counters, gentle and curious, "I… I remember this part..."
Remember what? You’ve shown him video still after still when he asks, letting him lead his own recovery journey as he wills. You obviously do your best, but it hurts you– and you’re not so sure he doesn’t notice judging by the sweet ways he apologizes for troubling you.
You’re sure he’s being kind. "Do you, now."
Facing the wall with empty focus, you kept your sights down, ignoring how he braced himself on one arm and attempted to turn you onto your back. You followed the give of his hand’s press on you, but not much. And of course, you still didn’t look at him. Can’t stomach him revealing himself to you when you assume he’s doing it out of duty; what’s expected of him as an unwilling, ‘newfound’ spouse.
But when he spoke again, the barest of touches skidded along your collarbones, up the neck…
"You were born with these,” Din shares with a reverence. “Here. Little Ones, from the sun. But this: this was an accident. When you were small; your skin was too new."
Your eyes honed on a red traffic light outside– the sight of it mimicked your alarm. He’s brushing a scarline– yes, from a childhood incident you told him about… months ago…
"You really can't see it unless your face turns red. Pretty sure I’ve seen that,” Din trails off, sets to brushing your cheek, “Turns white, against the curve. You get embarrassed, but I remember telling you to quit–”
"--to not worry about it." you finished as a whisper. “Din.”
‘Makes you who you are. Pretty as a picture, meshla. Think of it as a brushstroke, when the Maker was putting on the finishing touches of you.’
He knows. He does know you. He hasn’t forgotten?
Your eyes stung when you tried to blink the memory away. This makes no sense…
"I’m sorry- you remember that…” you shake in awe, “But– not?…"
Grogu?
"I know." His brow furrowed, "or.. rather, I don't."
His hand set atop your bicep– something grounding.
“I want to," he begs of you, "Truly, I want to say I feel like I’m nearly there. If only to convince you to look at me.”
You laid flat the rest of the way. Mostly so you could better hear him and not make him think you’re hiding, but also, you could now reach him more comfortably.
Bittersweet tenderness braided you two together-- here in an unbelievable turn of events.
You lifted your eyes to him at last. Din whispers again,
“Angel Eyes…”
The endearment makes you nearly sob. Dammit, he does remember. Relief, grief, it’s all muddy.
"I don't remember my foundling’s name.” you’re crushed at how mournful he sounds, “-which is a sin in its own right…" But he speaks with life-rendering conviction, "But I know I told you mine. I know where we stood, which light panel on the Crest I turned off, how you- h-how you kissed me back that day.”
Your foreheads touch, the invisible string pulls you to do it. The lids of your eyes shut on contact with the ebb of a hurricane behind your eyes.
“Please use it-" Din asks of you, "-until I can remember all of the rest. Until I can remember every time I have ever told you ‘I loved you’-- and revive it, tenfold."
The tsunami's pressure strikes you down. You bury your sob down your windpipe and lunge for him– to kiss sense into him if it's the last thing you do.
And kiss, you do: for the release, for answers, for solace in an unfair time. For whatever reason, your riduur finds the same comfort, though he is desperate at the other end of the spectrum. You, in knowing a shred of him still exists and rejoicing in that; in him, grasping onto that one fact like it’s the only thing he has.
His entire energy is sad beyond belief, but he looks at you like you're his lifeline when you part. Din wets his lips- masking a tremble by how he bites it.
"This is the only thing that feels normal. Feels right. I don't understand it…"
The shadow of his humility shines, even as he wallows in his present struggle.
"You'll get there,” you swore through tears- not all of them sad anymore. “If this is any proof, you'll get there. Won’t last forever."
You share another kiss for healing. By how his brows seem to even out, you wonder if it’s actually helping to ease the pain after all. It’s firm, longing. It’s all you have to give him.
Din looks you over as he’s in close proximity- refamiliarizing himself with every high point in your face, every contour, and gives a genuine smile.
“Pretty sure…” he worked through the whirl of ideas behind that dreamy gaze, “... had a dream about that kid. Kept taking that– did he try to take the gear shift off the Crest? Y’know, the ball end? Think it was a toy?”
And finally: you laughed for the first time in weeks.
“Yes, he did! It’s the one thing that survived the crash!” you burst into happy tears. “Oh my God, I can’t believe it~ see? You’re–”
"You haven't laughed. Not in days," Din interrupts– "I like it when you laugh."
You hear it once more, plain as day:
I love hearing you laugh.
–like it was yesterday…
"I know you do." you calm yourself. "Maybe one of these days, you'll remember how you bring it out of me."
He considers you, and a funny little aire of critique passes across his face.
“Something tells me that’s not hard to do. I’ll try my best,” he scrunches his perfect nose, “M’not a comedian though, fair warning. ”
“That’s ok. It’s your delivery that’s the funniest part. Munchkin thinks so,” you reminded with hope. You worded it like a question, hoping Din would visualize the instance easier if you made it sound casual.
“Seems to favor testing me, more like– what you've told me so far.” Din trails off on his own. His brow twitches, showing his head may be pulsing, but he’s fighting through it. “Better be one to mind his manners the next time we see him. Wonder if the Jedi teach that, too.”
Understanding just how many times he'd looked your way expressionless under the guise of armor, he'd learned the benefits of using words when you came into his life and makeshift home. It was a change of perspective that was all too necessary; that he could truly speak his mind and that you would listen anytime- day or night. The way he communicated was truly poetic once he felt comfortable to release the matters of his heart through his mouth.
So now, even when his mind has split and you were left to patiently wait out for his memories to return in full force, you'd simply hold his hand and keep the anchor set so his heartstrings could untangle themselves.
You smile despite the gap in understanding the gravity of what he'd just spoken- that Grogu was with a Jedi without hope of any visitation date that you knew of. It's still so hard without him– another pain you feel that you're shouldering alone…
“Have I said that before?" Din's flare of insecurity flared like the ebb of his headache. "I'm not making things easier by opening my damn mouth, am I…”
You sift the thoughts away, out from the forefront, "No…" you say, to ease his worry.
You're reminded of how much he is still the same Din. The power of his gentle words and the potency of laughter: the best medicine he could take. With knowing tears lining your eyes, you answered with a massage to his temple,
“It just means more, coming from you."
Translations:
Mesh’la, cyar’ika = Beautiful, sweetheart.
Ka'ra jaon'kov, cuy’gar mesh’la = Stars above, you're beautiful.
B’d jate = So (good)
Jatne o'r ner sur'haai = Perfect (good, superlative) in my eyes.
Rejorhaa'ir ni = Tell me
Ni ganar’e, cyare = I have you, my sweetheart
#the mandalorian#din djarin#din djarin x you#din djarin x reader#the mandalorian fanfiction#star wars fanfiction#the mandalorian x you#the mandalorian x reader#may the fourth be with you#i wrote something sad for once#but i promise i landed the plane#angst with a happy ending#din djarin smut#din djarin fluff
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Ep. 15 "The Cavalry Has Arrived" Review
To say that I am happy is an understatement. I am beyond satisfied with the finale of TBB. For me, it was perfect and I cried several times. This was about a family. Of course, there are small things I would've liked to see more of, but that's more nitpicking. I watched the finale twice today and I am happy. I guess if I had to say anything, it's that I wanted more. I love these characters and I could spend hours with them.
From a more constructive criticism side (just to get it out of the way): I definitely think the writers needed more time overall with this show. There are corners that had to be cut and you can see it. The pacing is rushed at times. While I'm still happy with the final result, you can tell it really needed more time for character moments. I don't necessarily blame the writers; I blame Disney for not giving them more time. Jen and Brad are very capable of both action and character depth, but it's clear they didn't have the time for both.
On another note, the music and animation were phenomenal. The rain animation looked so real to me, especially when dripping off of the characters. Everything was stunning. And the music, like my gosh. The Kiners popped off here. Crosshair's theme and Omega's theme are two absolutely beautiful pieces of music and I really enjoyed hearing them throughout the episode. And my gosh, tension during the final stand against Hemlock was perfect. The music was incredible and I rewatch that sequence because of it (and other things).
Spoiler time; you know the drill 😎 This will be long, fair warning.
Crosshair's conversation with Wrecker and Hunter was truly heartbreaking. You can hear the guilt in his voice, especially when he admits he feels like he deserves to 'Plan 99' himself. To hear Crosshair admit that hurt. His past mistakes weigh heavily on him. However, I loved that Hunter stepped up and told him no. Family sticks together no matter what. It's a far cry from S1, where Hunter and Cross both left each other. But now, nothing will split their little family up. Crosshair's theme playing over that whole sequence had me in shambles.
The whole fight sequences with the operatives was also really well done. I can't imagine what would've happened if Hemlock managed to condition the boys. Omega got Cross out at the right time; if he'd stay'd there a few weeks longer, then Hemlock would've definitely adjusted the conditioning machine in time to fully break him. Luckily, Crosshair avoided that fate. Still, to know that he suffered in that machine for 5 months is heartbreaking. The operatives are true killing machines, devoid of life.
I can't believe I live in a world where Crosshair got Jaime Lannister'd. AND IM A HARDCORE JAIME STAN. This wasn't on my 2024 bingo card! I will say though, I can see why some people personally don't agree with it as a writing decision. Cutting off his had doesn't magically "fix" anything; it honestly will just add to his trauma. But at the same time, I love whump and there is symbolism of Crosshair being truly free. He is now just Crosshair and that's enough.
Omega really learned from the best, didn't she? Seeing her help the other kids and free the Zillo was epic. I got so many Ezra vibes from her as she slipped in and out of the vents of Tantiss. The faith and trust she has in her brothers is truly heartwarming. And it makes the epilogue feel even sweeter. Omega knows they raised her well and she can take care of herself because of that. She's grown so much since that first time seeing her on Kamino. It feels like looking in a mirror sometimes, at least for me. I see a lot of my life reflected in her, just like I do with Crosshair. It hits home.
The final standoff with Hemlock was definitely my favorite part outside the ending. I loved the music, the animation, and seeing Hunter and Crosshair work together. There is such trust between the brothers and Omega. Despite Crosshair's worries, there is no moment that Hunter doubts Crosshair's abilities. Hunter knows Cross will make it. He assures Cross that Omega also trusts her brother's abilities. And the hug after Hemlock died was so beautiful. I love that Omega hugged Crosshair first; he needed that.
Hemlock's demise was perfect. I kept joking that I just wanted him to fall off of Tantiss because it would be so pathetic. And guess what? He did fall off of Tantiss (after getting shot before hand).
Echo of course was awesome! Loved how he commented that he knew Omega was the one to release the Zillo. I also loved how he did get to fulfill his wish of freeing the clones and even lead them into battle against the operatives. The last domino still stands and I couldn't be happier. (Also glad that Emerie lived. She deserved it after realizing how messed up everything was).
Nala Se and Rampart were also handled well. Rampart never changed and I'm glad he didn't. Some people are just not nice, even after getting served humble juice. Meanwhile, I will cut Nala Se some slack. I will never forget Fives. However, she did save Omega so there's that. And she took out Rampart.
Overall, I'm just really glad that everyone made it out in the end. I would've been fine with a sacrifice, but the Batch was constantly being forcibly split apart, I'm glad that they now get a break and can be family. (Tech lives on in all their hearts). They will be ok and they know that. TBB was my comfort show and seeing that final shot of the Batch reminded me that I will be ok. Stuff happens, but somehow, things will work themselves out.
And the epilogue! I wish we got old man Crosshair and Wrecker (maybe one day we will), but it makes sense why it was only Hunter and Omega. He's her primary father figure and their relationship has been one of the driving forces of the show. For so long, Hunter has been very protective Omega, almost going too far at times. However, he learns to let her go and trusts that she will be ok. He is at peace knowing he, Wrecker, and Crosshair (and Tech + Echo) raised her well. It reminded me so much of my own experiences with my parents and I couldn't have asked for a more perfect epilogue. It also hit hard seeing Omega as an adult; she was so tiny in the beginning.
Anyways, that was a long review. I am overall thrilled with the final and I'm glad everything wrapped up neatly. I'm sure we will see Wolffe, Cody, and Rex in another project; their story isn't over. But Clone Force 99's is. They struggled so much and are now finally able to rest. The epilogue confirms that Hunter, Wrecker, and Crosshair got to grow old and watch their kid grow up. For me, there's such a beauty to that. In a galaxy that is riddled by war and darkness, there is hope for a better future. The Bad Batch started as a group of "defective" clones, but in the end, they became something so much more: a family. And in my eyes, that is the perfect ending.
#star wars#the bad batch#tbb crosshair#tbb omega#tbb wrecker#tbb hunter#tbb echo#tbb tech#he lives on in our hearts you guys#tbb season 3 spoilers#tbb season 3#tbb spoilers
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Hey could you please recommend your favorite hannigram fanfics? sorry if you already mentioned it <3
i'd be happy to! :] keep in mind that these all differ in rating, but i've linked them so you can see the ratings and tags for yourself
Love is Blind by meraki_arcane is one that isn't finished, but i still love it. it was one of the first Hannibal fics i read, actually!
it's about Hannibal being a sort of gorgon creature that a village sacrifices people to in order to keep his wrath from destroying them, but when Will gets sacrificed to him, he lives to tell the tale.
each according to its kind by chaparral_crown is one of my all time favorites.
it follows a plotline i absolutely love in Hannibal fics, in which after Will gets released from the BSHCI, he decides he's had enough of everyone and moves away without telling a soul where he's gone. this leads to Hannibal trying to use any clue he can find to find and reunite with Will. it's a longer read, but in my opinion it's so worth it. i absolutely love the depiction of Will's father (and how both Grahams end up punching Hannibal in the face, but that's besides the point)
Keep Me Warm by nbcravenstag is another all time favorite!
this one is a one shot, in which Will ends up stuck in the cold for a while, and by the time he comes home, Hannibal gets stuck in a PTSD flashback in which he thinks he has to keep his sister warm.
A Clutch at Balance by Devereuxs_Disease is one i haven't read in a while, but i remember thinking it was hilarious.
this is basically a fake dating AU where Hannibal comes up with a "plan" to pretend to date Will so that Will may prove to Alana that he is a perfectly stable and capable partner. you can guess where this goes.
Bram Stoker's HANNIBAL by DBMars, another lengthy read that i would be remiss not to add to this list.
as i'm sure you can imagine, it follows the plotline of Bram Stoker's Dracula, with various Hannibal characters in place of the book characters. it's still in progress, but it's easy to become obsessed with it.
Family of Strays by justheretoreadhannibalfics is perfect for people who love Dark!Will who was dark before he even met Hannibal
it essentially follows Will collecting fledgling killers like strays, adding them to a little "family" in which he'll look out for all of them in exchange for a favor someday. Hannibal ends up catching onto this phenomenon, and seeks to find out more about this mystery man that his young animalistic patient has latched onto.
take my hand (show me to the door) by antiheroblake is a hurt/comfort one shot i occasionally come back to.
it follows post-fall Hannigram, in which Will has yet to take off his wedding ring from his marriage to Molly, and the feeling it gives Hannibal is akin to a cursed object that scorches his skin with every touch. obviously, Hannibal being Hannibal, good decisions are not made.
Provoking the Lamb by nbcravenstag is a very smutty fic for people who love the idea of post-fall Hannigram being the ones to remove and serve Bedelia's leg, with Will and Bedelia being their bitchy selves to each other.
essentially, Bedelia provokes a very potent jealousy in Will, and he decides to take matters into his own hands to remind her which of them truly belongs at Hannibal's side.
Hosanna in the Highest by Cynthia_Cross, a hurt-no-comfort Hannibal whump that scratched every itch in my brain i didn't know was there.
with the most vivid descriptions of senses you can imagine, it follows post-fall Will trying to take care of Hannibal's injuries, with both of them realizing how easily Will accepts this position of power over him. the ending hit me like a goddamn bus, whatever i thought was coming, it wasn't that, and yet i was absolutely not disappointed.
i saw your burning body, waiting by antiheroblake, some nice post-fall injury angst.
Will is recovering a lot better than Hannibal is, given the nature of their injuries. Will felt it almost just to let him suffer in his delirium, until he finally decides to check on him.
Crime of Passion by sourweather
listen to me. listen. i do not typically like A/B/O fics, much less Hannigram ones, because they typically involve just about every fic thing that i can't stand. this fic, however, is the one A/B/O fic that i've not only enjoyed, but have come back to repeatedly. it's a fake dating trope with alpha Will and omega Hannibal, and it's just so perfect to me.
Only When You're Near by sourweather
an angsty post-fall fic where Hannibal realizes Will not only has been sleeping extremely poorly, but also refuses to leave his side. Hannibal fears that Will is either unhappy with their life together or thinks that he doesn't have freedom to move as he pleases, only for the actual reason to be somehow more heartwrenching, but something that can be dealt with.
Hold Me, Don't Let Go by sourweather
post-fall Will realizes that Hannibal has probably not had solid physical contact with another person in an incredibly long time. heartbroken, he seeks to remedy that immediately
something of the wolf about you by nbcravenstag
a werewolf!Will AU, specifically involving Louisiana's Rougarou mythology. love me some solid worldbuilding
The Lamb and His Monster by petrodactyl352
i can't not include petro's fic here. this follows Will and Hannibal in Florence around the 90s, both of them students, meeting in the Uffzi gallery and becoming obsessed with one another. Will gets asked by his professor to help consult on Il Mostro cases, all while the very beast is courting him.
Prescription for Judas by Artemiaz
post-fall, Will still can't come to terms with his complicated feelings for Hannibal. he shouldn't enjoy his presence, he shouldn't be comfortable around him. when it gets brought up, Hannibal challenges this idea, as per usual, and suggests that the two must navigate each other's pain in order to enjoy their compassion.
SnowStorm by reflectiveless
Hannibal happens to stop by Will's house just before a snowstorm hits and the power goes out, sending Hannibal deep into a PTSD flashback. Will does everything he can to make sure the man is comfortable, even while Hannibal is cowering in his closet.
Scent of a Woman by Devereuxs_Disease
post-fall, Will had thought things would grow more intimate between them. instead, Hannibal comes home with tattered clothes, smelling of jasmine perfume. Will handles that exactly as expected.
Room For Two by Devereuxs_Disease
a delicious crackfic where Hannibal ensured that he, Will, and Jack would be stranded by a motel during a case, with only two rooms available with one bed each. his plans are foiled when Jack decides that he and Will shall room together, and Hannibal must improvise. i couldn't stop laughing through this one.
touch me, i'm cold (unable to control) by Naomi_Riddle
this one is just starting out, but i'm already obsessed. Hannibal's a bit in-denial about his own need for intimate contact in any way, especially with Will, even when Abigail clocks his feelings. surely having the two move in with him won't complicate things for him, right?
settling the score by honeybeebear
i tell you, the Hannigram fistfight-to-smut pipeline is insane. this fic does that beautifully.
i went through all my bookmarks to try and grab my favorites, hope you enjoy! :]
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I had a dream of a Danny x Cass slowburn no capes AU, where Danny took up composing music after being diagnosed with a heart disease. He uses music to let out his emotions and frustrations. Most of them felt sad and hopeless.
Cass, who is a ballerina, uses one of his compositions for one of her recitals, which went viral when Tim or Dick or Bruce tweeted online about how proud of her they were.
And when the ballet company releases full videos, many people cry at how sad and beautiful the song and dance managed to make them feel. Danny felt all the emotions rushing back at him again, but he could never take his eyes off of Cass, who feels the music, but also seems to be comforting him through her dance. Even he cried during this performance, but not because he felt sad, but because he suddenly felt revitalized, born again, eager to live more of his life.
Danny then became popular, but now when he writes his music, his passion becomes related to people being able to dance to it (that maybe Cass would dance to it again). His music becomes a little bit more happy and hopeful. He even allows himself back to his passions of astronomy, that though he cannot reach the stars, maybe one day one of his music will.
Maybe a few years later, Danny gets invited by Bruce Wayne himself to perform at one of his Galas.
He plays an improvisation of what Cass had danced to, because that's where it all began. Instead of it being sad and hopeless, this time it sounds happy and thankful.
And when he finished, he finds Cass crying with a smile towards him.
Of course, because this is an AU about music and I mentioned the heart disease, we cannot forget the whump and angst that may come later should the two of them decide to get to know each other and pursue a relationship.
Thankfully, my dream just showed me the end, where Cass was holding Danny's hand while Danny lays on his hospital bed. Danny asks about Cass' calluses on her fingers. Then, she lets go of him to bring out a guitar.
Out of everyone in the family, Tim was the one who showed interest in learning how to play an instrument, specifically the guitar. And Cass wanted to learn, too. Since she wasn't allowed to dance in Danny's hospital room, she wanted another way to show her love, and it was this. She learned, and she practiced, and finally she can play. She can play an instrument for Danny.
In Danny's hospital room, she plays her and Danny's song.
The song that started it all.
Once she stopped, Danny cried, and the two lay together on his bed while waiting for the time of Danny's heart transplant.
I wake up, and hope that the transplant was a success (because I'm a sucker for happy endings, man 😭😭😭😭😭)
Oh my gosh... 🥺 This is a wonderful dream that you had and now I wish I had it too. I wish I knew anything about music. I did ballet like... forever ago, so I can kinda smidge it but I cannot even read music notes, so this is very AWWWW and "awwww I don't know how to write that..."
If you ever wrote it, just know that I would go feral over it. Even still, I am so happy you could record all this down before you forgot all the details. And, more than that, you could share it with me too. 🥰
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Too Little, Too Late - P3
Whump Rating: 3/5 (first paragraphs sad, then comfort)
TW: MCD (kinda), suicide, we reach the happy ending!
When Hyrule reaches Legend, there’s only dull apathy as he looks at Four, prone on the ground. Even from here, he can see the swelling disfiguring his head. He never should have let the smith walk away.
Legend sits next to him, running his hand through the smith’s hair. He doesn’t look up when Hyrule settles next to him.
“Are you hurt?”
The vet shakes his head. “Where are the others?”
“Dead.” Maybe he shouldn’t drop the truth like that. But Hyrule is numbing to everything. Too much has happened in too short a time.
“You’re alive.”
“Yeah.”
Legend finally looks at him. “You didn’t save them.”
He squeezes his eyes shut and curls over his knees. “I know.”
“What’s the point of all this? This journey? If this was the end goal, why did the goddesses send us on this journey?” Legend’s next words are as sharp as a blade. “Why didn’t you save us?”
“I tried,” he sobs. “I tried Ledge. I promise. I just—I’m out of magic and—
“Excuses.”
“What? No, it’s the truth!” He looks up to find disgust on his predecessor's face.
“If you cared about us, you would have tried harder.”
“I did! I did, I swear, I did!”
The vet pulls a knife from his hip and slowly turns it. The blade catches the light, reflecting back red. Then he offers it to Hyrule. “If you were a true hero, you’d remove yourself from the equation.”
Hyrule stares, heart sinking. “You want me to—” to kill myself, hangs unspoken. “You’d really ask me to do that? For, for not trying hard enough?”
Legend shrugs, still holding out the knife. “Your blood carries a curse, doesn’t it? Killing yourself is the least you can do. This whole battle?” He gestures at the field and bodies of the heroes, cast aside to lie with monsters. “This is all because of you.”
Shaking his head, Hyrule scoots backward. “No. No, that’s not true. Something is wrong with you; with this situation.”
The vet snorts and finally pulls the knife back. “Figures you’d say that. I can’t have my line continue to spawn such a pathetic excuse for a hero.” He fixes Hyrule with a glare. “You are a coward, Link.”
Then he stabs the dagger into his chest.
“No! No, no, Legend!” Hyrule throws himself on his friend’s body, even as it slumps into the grass. How many times has hot blood stained his hands today?
“Please! I’m sorry! I’m sorry, okay? You’re right, it’s all my fault. I should have told you about the curse! I should have—look, there’s a lot of things I should have done, okay? Just, please, don’t go where I can’t follow.”
Legend takes a ragged breath, face paling. He stares at Hyrule, disappointment thick. “Why didn’t you save us?”
Then his eyes roll back and he lies still.
“No, no! Legend! No! Please I can’t—I can’t live without you all! Please! Come back! Legend! Anyone! Please!”
There is no answer. Hyrule is alone.
Someone is screaming. There are hands on his shoulders and voices, but all Hyrule can hear is the screaming.
“What’s going on?”
“It’s the curse!”
“Hyrule! Snap out of it!”
“Time, what do we do?”
“Just hold him still so he doesn’t hurt himself! Wars, see what healing supplies we have!”
Hyrule tries to move, only to find hands holding his limbs in place. He struggles against them, but it’s hard to concentrate past the screaming. His throat is sore.
A blurred shape enters his line of sight. “Hang in there, Hyrule! You’re okay! You were hit by a curse, just try to breathe.”
The screaming cuts off as the traveler tries to follow the instructions. Oh. That was him screaming.
“That’s it, just breathe.”
“Here, I’ve got the potion!” Glass nudges his lips and he takes an obedient swallow. It helps settle the racing of his heart and he takes another.
“There we go. See? You’re okay.”
Hyrule blinks and the Chain shimmers into focus. Warriors and Time lean over him, surrounded by the rest of the group. Looking up shows Legend supporting his head in his lap. One hand gently pets his hair.
The vet smiles at him. “Hey Rulie, you back with us?”
Hyrule meets each of their eyes—alive and worried—and bursts into tears.
“Shh, I’ve got you.” Legend curls over him, one hand cupping his cheek and wiping away tears. “Everything is going to be okay.”
“B-but I couldn’t save you and—and—”
“That’s just the curse. None of that happened.”
Hyrule continues to sob, unable to process the vivid memories still pulsing in his head. “I’m so sorry, Ledge. I never wanted to disappoint you!”
“You didn’t.” The vet plants a soft kiss on his forehead and gives him a gentle smile. “You’ll never disappoint me. I’m proud of you, Link.”
Despite the tears that still stream down his face, Hyrule tucks the words deep in his heart.
By the time Hyrule is allowed to move around, he’s hugged all the heroes at least twice. “I thought you were dead,” he sobs into their shoulders. “I couldn’t save you!”
“Nothing is getting me down!” Wind says, but all the traveler can remember is how scared the sailor was.
When Wild offers food he turns it down. The last thing he needs is to be sick. Curse or no curse, the memories flare bright in his mind. Blood, injury, agony—gruesome detail on replay.
It’s not real, he tells himself. It was just the curse. Somehow, it doesn’t help.
“Got space for a few more?”
Hyrule looks up from where he’s staring at his blanket to find Legend with his sleeping mat and blanket. He nods and the vet sets up his bed directly next to Hyrule.
“I get the other side!” Wild joins him, dropping his bedding on Hyrule’s other side.
The traveler frowns at the motion. Wild normally sleeps by Twilight, curling up into his wolf pelt. The champion shoots him a sunny smile. In hyrule’s memory, his throat gapes. No, that’s not real.
Sky is next. “No fair! I wanted to cuddle!”
“You get a head or feet.”
Sticking out his tongue at Legend, Sky sets up by his head.
The rest of the chain join him, jostling and grumbling to set up their beds in a circle around him. Hyrule finds himself completely sandwiched on all sides.
“Move over!”
“You’re shoving me!”
“Sky, your elbow is poking me.”
“Let me hold you, then.”
Legend is pushed into his side and, while he grumbles, he doesn’t move. One hand digs under the blankets to find Hyrule’s, squeezing tight.
The traveler squeezes back, running a finger over the ring bands within reach.
On his other side, Wild chuffs and burrows into his side, trapping an arm within his. Sky, with Four now clutched to his chest, reaches up and pats Hyrule’s hair. The rest of the Chain settle, most with a hand on Hyrule somewhere.
By the time their breathing is evening into sleep, he can finally let go of some of the lingering tension. With so many close bodies it’s impossible not to feel their hearts beat, their lungs breath, and life—vibrant and rich—in all of them.
Hyrule isn’t trapped in a cursed vision. He’s here, with his family, tucked at the center like something precious to be protected.
No matter what, he will give everything he has to save his brothers. And in return, they will support Hyrule if he breaks.
He’s not alone.
#don't go where I can't follow#tw blood#tw injury#happy ending!#comfort#whumptober2023#linked universe#linkeduniverse#lu whumptober#breannasfluff#mywriting#lu hyrule#lu time#lu legend#lu wild
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Comfort
Chapter 6
I may retitle this later, chapter titles are a pain and this is what I could come up with ¯\_(ツ)_/¯.
This isn't in response to anything that happened in previous chapters. Asher had a bad day but I didn’t write it out because I didn’t really have inspiration for it.
CW: BBU, pet whump, conditioned whumpee
It had been a particularly bad day at work today.
Asher had felt like the end of his shift couldn’t come soon enough. Even when it did come, the end of the workday wasn’t enough to improve his mood much. He’d driven home in distress.
Asher sat in the car for a few moments, as if staying there doing nothing could somehow help his mood. He got out with a huff.
He didn’t want to deal with this. He just wanted a break from…everything. He felt overwhelmed and unhappy and distressed. He really needed some kind of comfort.
Once Asher was inside his home, it didn’t take long for his owner to notice that he wasn’t feeling great.
“You seem agitated today, bud,” Master observed with a look of gentle concern, “something the matter?”
“It was a hard day at work today. I’m still kinda high strung and upset from it.” Asher admitted.
“Aw,” Master breathed sympathetically. He leaned over and stroked Asher soothingly. Asher leaned his head into the touch, he loved it, it was safe. “You know you can always quit if you want to. I’ll take care of you no matter what.”
“I know, Master. Thank you,” Asher murmured. “But I like the life I have now.”
“Whatever makes you happy, buddy. Go sit on the couch, we’re having a movie night tonight.” He patted Asher’s cheek.
Asher obeyed. Not long after, his owner entered the living room carrying a plate of dinner for each of them. He handed one to Asher and sat down next to him. Master turned on the TV and started clicking through the options, and selected a movie without asking what Asher would like to watch. At times like this, that was the right call: Asher needed a break from having things—even little things like an opinion—required of him. He spent a lot of time in the in-between state of being a pet but acting as a person, and parts of it could be draining. Too much to handle when he was also dealing with the kinds of difficulties he’d had to today. It would help Asher feel better if he had some time to be just a pet, and nothing more. Master could tell that was what Asher needed. He knew how to take care of his pet. Master could make the choices and Asher could be a good pet and just let it all happen.
“Eat,” Master ordered, and orders were comfortable, another way Asher could be just a pet for now. He started eating his dinner. He gradually calmed down as he obeyed and the movie played.
Asher finished his meal and set the plate aside, freeing himself up to change positions. He shifted closer to his owner and curled up against him, leaning his head on Master’s side. Master started petting Asher’s hair lightly.
By the time the movie ended, the day’s earlier difficulties seemed further away. Asher felt almost drowsy from the warmth of his owner next to him and the soft touches on his scalp. The pet was cuddled up closely against Master.
Master smiled down at him, the look on his face warm and soft. “You’re a good boy, Asher.” His fingers toyed lightly with Asher’s curls. The touch was soothing.
Asher was feeling much better now. Comforted. Master knew how to take good care of his pet. Asher looked up at his owner’s face and smiled. “I love you, Master.”
Master leaned down and planted a small kiss on Asher’s forehead. “Come on. Let’s get you to bed.”
#pet whump#whump fluff#box boy universe#BBU#whump#whump writing#original fic#writing#fiction#oc#my writing#my posts#Asher#Asher series
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What are your thoughts on an AU where Kudou never came for Yoichi and eventually Yoichi gives into Afo?
Not exactly a villain AU, but Yoichi’s hope in his brother being kind just dies down over the years and his hopeful spirit dies too
Now this one I was holding off on answering until I FINALLY was done with the holidays. Because OH BOY!!! I HAVE IDEAS~! :DDD
Since you aren't looking for a Villain AU but rather Yoichi gives in let us go from there. *cracks knuckles*
Where Hope goes to Die:
In this AU, AFO finds out the rebels are trying to break in where Yoichi is and promptly kills them. So Yoichi never meets the heroes nor did he even know rebels were about to come in. It did, however, make AFO reconsider leaving his brother in some vault where he can't see him. Though also his brother still hasn't submitted either and stopped so he basically decides to just keep a closer eye on him.
Days turn into weeks, and weeks turn into months. Yoichi is going insane inside the vault screaming, crying and cursing his brother. Every time he comes yet also becoming desperate whenever his brother leaves him. Being force fed and 'cared' for against his will whenever he tries to starve or kill himself. Until eventually he just- breaks.
He doesn't respond, he doesn't fight, he can't even bring himself to cry anymore even when his brother manhandles him. Because he realized there were no heroes coming to save him. And that he was completely alone, his brother refuses to let him out as long as he fights so he just... Stops trying.
This is more or less good enough for All for One. It a bit odd but he allows him out on the criteria that if still doesn't want to do 'villainy' with him then he can at least be safe and look pretty more or less. Hence since Yoichi in pretty HORRID conditions by this point from isolation/Vault time he sets him up in a nice mansion/home much better then that vault. All for One has his personal doctor take care of him since does note he isn't looking too well.
Cue learning that Yoichi's life is in terrible condition despite AFO attempt to care for him personally. This is also when they discover he did have a quirk similar to AFO. But it basically useless, weird discovery but whatever. He has the doctor find a way to give Yoichi more quirks safely so can live just as long and 'happily' as he is despite his poor health.
Basically Yoichi is a husk of a person and probably a bit on edge. He lives like a ghost in this mansion with quirks that keep him alive but he doesn't really 'talk' to his brother anymore. And All for One certainly does try but he barely responds, but at least he is at his side so AFO tolerates it.
So how is Yoichi feeling? He basically wants to die, his brother is still doing evil and has forced quirks on him to keep him alive. Attempts to leave are given with threats of returning to the vault or even morbid jokes of a quirk to make sure they are one if wants to fight. He isn't sure if they are jokes or his brother truly means it.
He's basically given up on trying to reform his older brother. His brother has 'tested' this resolve more then a few time. Even bringing victims to his home to 'negotiate' just to see if Yoichi won't try to warn them. Though AFO regrets this when Yoichi upon seeing this basically runs to grab a knife, at first thinking was trying to kill him which he planned to laugh about, only for Yoichi to try and kill himself in front of everyone-
This AU is basically a WHUMP and grimdark fate for Yoichi. As every reminder of his brother evil and his own failure to 'reform' him just cements more his misery. While AFO is confused as hell when thought everything was fine only for Yoichi attempt to end himself. Leading to a strong struggle as AFO wants him to live while Yoichi literally has no hope in the future anymore thus wishes to end it all. There is no happy ending as it a struggle between them.
Extra musing:
Well- It could be worse. AFO can bring in a nephew for his brother to guilt Yoichi in staying as out of spite gives the nephew the happiest life ever. While Yoichi is horrified watching AFO allowing his son to be a hero and everything. While AFO looks at him like, see? I can be nice~
But Yoichi knows... The moment the nephew no longer plays nice he will end up here too. Though maybe seeing Izuku actually loving his dad but also not ok might inspire hope once more. I could leave it on a depressing note, but even if hope dies it can always come back~
#Suicide mention#Yoly's AU#Yoly's talks#All for One#Yoichi Shigaraki#Where hope goes to die#Dad for One#I always have to add some DFO.
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I just came across your wonderful little community. I believe my daughter may be one of you. She always expresses delight at watching her favorite characters getting injured or ending up in a state of peril, in particular loves anything from the superhero genre for that very reason. I've never been concerned by it as I quite enjoy a bit of hurt/comfort myself.
My sister in law was recently over when my daughter was watching Tangled and asked to rewatch the stabbing part. She was horrified and we ended up having an argument after started demanding that I take her to see a therapist because it's not normal for someone to enjoy watching others suffer so much, as if despite being the sweetest, gentlest child she's about to turn into a serial killer.
Anyway, I'm glad to find there is a term for it and you lot seem like a lovely bunch.
This message made my heart feel so full nonny!!! Welcome to our own little corner of tumblr! I don't know how old your daughter is but if she ever wants to join she'd be welcome with open arms! And you as well should you wish to join! This community if full of wonderful, kind, accepting, and supportive people, We of course have our moments of discourse (as any large fandom will) but the moments of kindness and support far outweigh any negative. It's the best community I have ever been a part of. You won't find anyone kinder than a whump lover. Honest.
I love that your daughter is into this genre and not only do you see nothing wrong with it (because there definitely isn't!) but that you defend her. Not all of us have been so lucky to have such loving and supportive and understanding people in our lives. Bless you for defending her against your sister in law. I've had my fair share of "you need therapy" comments from people who don't understand and it can hurt. It's lovely to have a parent who supports and defends their childs love of this genre. You make my heart very happy, nonny.
Also your daughter has great taste because that stabbing scene in Tangled is one of the best whump scenes. I have definitely watched it on repeat may times lol.
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The 107th motorcycle club has been the protector of their collective hometown for many, many years — shouldering all the bloodshed and loss that came with it.
Little did you know, you'd become the President's own twisted version of an angel on his shoulder; the tips of your angelic wings tinged red by your own demons.
⠈⠂⠄⠄ 𝑪𝑶𝑳𝑳𝑬𝑪𝑻𝑰𝑶𝑵 𝑷𝑨𝑰𝑹𝑰𝑵𝑮
✰ Biker!Bucky Barnes x F!Reader
⠈⠂⠄⠄ 𝑪𝑶𝑳𝑳𝑬𝑪𝑻𝑰𝑶𝑵 𝑲𝑬𝒀
✰ 𝐀 + 𝐖 + 𝐈 + 𝐃 + 𝐊 + 𝐅 + 𝐒
⠈⠂⠄⠄ 𝑪𝑶𝑳𝑳𝑬𝑪𝑻𝑰𝑶𝑵 𝑭𝑰𝑪 𝑪𝑶𝑼𝑵𝑻
✰ 35
⠈⠂⠄⠄ 𝑪𝑶𝑳𝑳𝑬𝑪𝑻𝑰𝑶𝑵 𝑾𝑶𝑹𝑫 𝑪𝑶𝑼𝑵𝑻
✰ 83,191
⠈⠂⠄⠄ 𝑪𝑶𝑳𝑳𝑬𝑪𝑻𝑰𝑶𝑵 𝑵𝑶𝑻𝑬
✰ My first AU and first collection — definitely the biggest one I have.
⠈⠂⠄⠄ 𝑪𝑶𝑳𝑳𝑬𝑪𝑻𝑰𝑶𝑵 𝑷𝑳𝑨𝒀𝑳𝑰𝑺𝑻
✰ 𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄
⠈⠂⠄⠄ 𝑨𝑹𝑪𝑯𝑰𝑽𝑬 𝑶𝑭 𝑶𝑼𝑹 𝑶𝑾𝑵
✰ 𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄
𝐁𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐁𝐮𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐭𝐬 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─── 𝐊𝐄𝐘 ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───
— 𝐀 = angst
— 𝐖 = whump
— 𝐈 = sick fic
— 𝐃 = dark
— 𝐃² = dead dove
— 𝐏 = poly
— 𝐊 = kid fic
— 𝐅 = fluff
— 𝐒 = smut
These are in timeline order - this is subject to change as I add entries.
✰ 𝐓𝐫𝐢𝐮𝐦𝐩𝐡
⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄ 𝐅
Trips down memory lane were always difficult, until finally a memory shined through the shadows — reminding him of just where he belonged.
✰ 𝐀 𝐋𝐞𝐚𝐩 𝐨𝐟 𝐅𝐚𝐢𝐭𝐡
⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄ 𝐅
You hadn’t been convinced by the vicious rumours circling through the town of the local motorcycle club.
Surely the club wasn’t as ominous as the townsfolk thought, right?
✰ 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐊𝐞𝐲𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐝𝐨𝐦
⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄ 𝐅
Being the girlfriend of the President of a club had its perks — but when a rivalry between Bucky and an old friend flares at a meet, all you could do was hope that it wouldn't explode.
✰ 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬, 𝐌𝐢𝐧𝐞
⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄ 𝐀 + 𝐅
An unexpected turn in the club’s luck leaves you questioning whether or not you belonged. It’s safe to say that a certain biker was not going to let those thoughts destroy what you both had created.
✰ 𝐀 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐞
⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄ 𝐀 + 𝐅
Promises were not to be broken in this family, no matter what.
✰ 𝐂𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐂𝐫𝐨𝐰𝐧
⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄ 𝐀 + 𝐅 + 𝐒
Sometimes the King needed his Queen to take care of him, and you were more than happy to oblige.
✰ 𝐔𝐧𝐬𝐮𝐧𝐠 𝐇𝐞𝐫𝐨
⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄ 𝐀 + 𝐅
An unexpected end to a day out leaves you reeling, but somehow, as it always is, everything would be okay in the end — one way or another.
✰ 𝐋𝐮𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐛𝐲 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐚 𝐒𝐨𝐥𝐝𝐢𝐞𝐫
⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄ 𝐀 + 𝐅
Bucky needed you — he needed the arms of an angel to lift him up, and with grace and love, you did so.
✰ 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐐𝐮𝐞𝐞𝐧'𝐬 𝐅𝐮𝐫𝐲
⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄ 𝐀 + 𝐖 + 𝐅
There was no place on earth that the bastards could hide from your retribution after they hurt your King, but first, you had to make sure Bucky would live to tell the tale. Karma would let you rain hellfire on them, all in good time.
✰ 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐠'𝐬 𝐖𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐡
⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄ 𝐀 + 𝐃 + 𝐅
The quick, blackened hand of wrath scorched all in its wake, including you. With the blood-stained floor, and his one rule broken — you could only help the fallout didn’t mean all hell would break loose.
✰ 𝐈𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐀𝐫𝐦𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐚𝐧 𝐀𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐥
⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄ 𝐀 + 𝐖 + 𝐅
Bucky swore — he swore — that no harm would ever befall you, but he couldn’t fight against your own body. It would not stop him from tearing down mountains and breaking every law to keep you alive, though.
✰ 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐍𝐞𝐰 𝐑𝐮𝐝𝐨𝐥𝐩𝐡
⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄ 𝐅
You know Dasher and Dancer, Prancer and Vixen, Comet and Cupid, and Donner and Blitzen, sure, but do you recall the most famous reindeer of all?
Bucky.
It’s Bucky.
✰ 𝐇𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐥𝐞
⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄ 𝐅
Rockin' around the Christmas tree is all well and good, but when mistletoe is hung where everyone can see, every couple tries to stop.
✰ 𝐀 𝐇𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞, 𝐀 𝐇𝐨𝐦𝐞
⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄ 𝐅
Molasses and marshmallows, sugar and flour; a recipe for a house, a home.
✰ 𝐎𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐂𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐭 𝐂𝐡𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐦𝐚𝐬
⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄ 𝐅
It was a practice, an art, to hide presents. And Heaven above, did Bucky need a Christmas miracle to pull this off without the help of any elves singing their Christmas cheer.
✰ 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞, 𝐓𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐭, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐏𝐢𝐱𝐢𝐞 𝐃𝐮𝐬𝐭
⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄ 𝐅
He was all you needed tonight, here under the Christmas lights.
✰ 𝐒𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐚'𝐬 𝐇𝐞𝐥𝐩𝐞𝐫
⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄ 𝐅
Santa Claus means to give a gift to all, with every stocking hung on the wall, it didn’t matter if they were big, or if they were small.
✰ 𝐀𝐧 𝐔𝐠𝐥𝐲 𝐓𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧
⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄ 𝐅
There was no way that you would let this Christmas go by with no sense of ancient tradition, much to your King’s annoyance.
✰ 𝐒𝐮𝐠𝐚𝐫, 𝐒𝐩𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐒𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐍𝐢𝐜𝐞
⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄ 𝐅
You didn’t want snow, you didn’t want to send a list to Saint Nick — all you wanted was your King, all for your own.
✰ 𝐆𝐧𝐨𝐞𝐥, 𝐆𝐧𝐨𝐞𝐥, 𝐆𝐧𝐨𝐞𝐥
⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄ 𝐅
Little Soldiers, come one and all, for when there are Christmas pranks to be had, no one shall lose out.
✰ 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐀𝐜𝐭𝐮𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲, 𝐀𝐥𝐥 𝐀𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝
⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄ 𝐀 + 𝐅
Nine stories, nine opportunities to find your way deep down to your King’s heart — with a bit of help from the best Christmas movie.
✰ 𝐀 𝐋𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐓𝐨𝐨 𝐉𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐲
⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄ 𝐅
Indulging in the Christmas spirit doesn’t always go to plan, but it’s a good thing you’re always there to save the day.
✰ 𝐍𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐲 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐍𝐢𝐜𝐞
⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄ 𝐅 + 𝐒
Presents took on many shapes and forms, this one, however, was likely to be your favourite.
✰ 𝐂𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐧 𝐅𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐲
⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄ 𝐀 + 𝐅
Christmas was a time for family — for being grateful. It just so happened that your family were the biggest bunch of misfits and black sheep, but you wouldn’t have them any other way.
✰ 𝐁𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚 𝐁𝐮𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐭
⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄ 𝐀 + 𝐅
Threatening Bucky’s club — his family — would only lead to the reaper knocking on your door. Nothing would stop him from burning the world to the ground if it meant his family would be safe.
It’s a pity the poor fool didn’t realise this, until it was too late.
✰ 𝐀𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐭
⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄ 𝐅 + 𝐒
Playing innocent with Bucky never worked — it didn’t mean you wouldn’t try, not when the payoff was precisely what you craved.
✰ 𝐀𝐧 𝐀𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐥'𝐬 𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐟𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧
⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄ 𝐅 + 𝐒
Being the Angel on Bucky’s shoulder meant you were the voice of calm, of reason — it did not mean the most sinful chants would fall from your lips and render both of you speechless. Until the day that it did.
✰ 𝐓𝐚𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐁𝐮𝐫𝐝𝐞𝐧
⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄ 𝐅
Few dared to cross such a dangerous man — not when they would end up on the wrong end of the barrel of Bucky’s gun, but not you. You were the one that toed the line, broke it, and it was just what he needed.
✰ 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐁𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐨𝐟 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐞
⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄ 𝐀 + 𝐅
A house of cards only needed the slightest touch to fall to pieces, to crumble to the floor in a heap. It turned out, as the Queen, you only needed that same nudge.
✰ 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐖𝐡𝐢𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐟 𝐚 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐞
⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄ 𝐅
Miracles and surprises were never in short supply around Christmas, you had learned that during the last Christmas you spent with Bucky and the club; your own family. But, what if something came along, uprooting your certainty, and presenting all of the questions you were beyond nervous to find the answers for?
You knew one thing was for certain, though. Your heart, while full of love and adoration for the man you called your own, maybe, just maybe, had room for another special someone.
✰ 𝐆𝐮𝐢𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐫
⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄ 𝐅
As the President of his club, Bucky always made sure that he made it home, whether it be for his brother’s, or to just keep his legacy alive one more day.
But it was not just that anymore, not after he had you as his guiding light — a beacon so bright that he knew he’d be a fool to act reckless, when he knew you were waiting for him back home.
✰ 𝐀 𝐌𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐌𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐞
⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄ 𝐅
A battle raged and weapons clashed on that festive day, and only one of the two warriors would make it out alive.
You were determined to make your opponent fall to his knees and beg for mercy — only then would you celebrate the victory. But first? Wade through the plight of the treacherous terrain and land that one hit.
✰ 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞, 𝐒𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐬
⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄ 𝐀 + 𝐅
Bucky was adept at making the best of a situation; a rain of bullets or his pain, it did not matter. A comedic, blasé brush off of whatever was wrong, and he was on his way.
Though, that trick didn’t work on you. And you always saw straight through it.
✰ 𝐒𝐅𝐖 𝐀𝐥𝐩𝐡𝐚𝐛𝐞𝐭
⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄ 𝐁𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐲
✰ 𝐍𝐒𝐅𝐖 𝐀𝐥𝐩𝐡𝐚𝐛𝐞𝐭
⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄ 𝐁𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐲
✰
✰ 𝐀𝐬𝐤 𝟏
⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄ Favourite game and song
✰ 𝐀𝐬𝐤 𝟐
⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄ Manifesting our boy for all of us
✰ 𝐀𝐬𝐤 𝟑
⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄ That damned tongue
✰ 𝐌𝐨𝐨𝐝𝐛𝐨𝐚𝐫𝐝
✰ 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐆𝐢𝐟𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐊𝐞𝐞𝐩𝐬 𝐨𝐧 𝐆𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠
⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄ 𝐅 + 𝐒
Some birthday smut.
— 𝐌𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐅𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐢𝐧’ 𝐂𝐡𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐦𝐚𝐬
⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄ 𝐀 + 𝐅 + 𝐒
No one ever, ever, turned down the opportunity to celebrate and party through the festive season over the years, but with your help, the 107th Motorcycle Club was going to learn that tradition was just as important as a loaded gun.
These entries belong in this universe, but they aren't in the timeline.
✰ 𝐂𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐨 𝐀𝐫𝐦𝐬
⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄ 𝐀 + 𝐖
Karma’s scythe comes too close for comfort and Bucky has to rely on a plea for help — whether the cavalry arrives in time to save him from being buried six feet under, well, sometimes God did listen to the prayers of a sinner.
✰ 𝐁𝐫𝐨𝐤𝐞𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐒𝐡𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝
⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄ 𝐀 + 𝐖 + 𝐅
There was no such thing as a peaceful day in your world — this one was by far the worst one yet. But your family was there to help you every step of the way.
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