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tripleyeeet · 10 months

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IN ANOTHER UNIVERSE, MAYBE (2)

SUMMARY: It's always been hard being the sibling of a superhero. Lately though, it feels next to impossible.

PAIRING: Miguel O'Hara & Female Reader

WORD COUNT: 5,136

WARNINGS: Angst, enemies-to-lovers adjacent, descriptions of a panic attack/dissociate behaviours, inappropriate use of medication/alcohol consumption.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Okay, first of all, the amount of love I've received from this fic has been insane??? Like, y'all really knocked it out of the park, both here and on AO3 and I'm absolutely astounded? Thank you so much! You guys have literally motivated me so much so hopefully this chapter lives up to the hype of the first? :)

CHAPTER LIST / LAST CHAPTER / MASTERLIST

“God, I am never drinking again.”

You stumble into the living room with your hands against your eyes, palming the sockets roughly. It’s morning, maybe even early afternoon, and already the sun is pushing through the blinds, coating the apartment in enough light that it makes you squint. On the couch Miguel grumbles under the covers as you walk by, pulling the fabric over his head as he readjusts his position, directing himself away.

You’re surprised to see him there but say nothing, opting to wander into the kitchen to pour yourself a glass of water, noticing a fresh sticky note on the fridge: Call me when you’re up —Pete!

Hm, he must’ve gone over to MJ’s for the night.

Peeling the note away, you continue your trek for hydration, grabbing a glass that you fill and chug down twice before feeling satisfied enough to continue. Or at least, enough to survive considering just how sore you are. From your knees down you can feel the leftover aches from walking home; the many miles you’d managed to travel in your drunken state now heavy on your mind. There are at least one or two blisters on each foot thanks to your poor choice of footwear while the muscles surrounding your shins feel like they might actually be burning through your flesh.

As you walk back through the living room you try not to groan at the pain, turning your attention to Miguel who’s now reluctantly awake.

“Morning, grandpa.”

You walk over and press the sticky note to his forehead, ignoring the way he swears under his breath and looks at you with narrowed eyes.

“It’s not nice to assault people with sticky notes before they’ve had coffee.”

Shrugging in response, you walk back to your bedroom to grab your phone, listening to the creak of your couch as Miguel shifts out of place.

It’s weird that he’s still here. After everything that happened last month, you were certain you’d never have to see him again. Being Peter’s boss and not much else, he’d become nothing more than a disdainful memory as time went on. A poor impression from the past that Peter never talked about. If you were honest, you weren’t expecting to hear about him so soon, much less see him, especially without his mask.

So seeing him here, sitting so nonchalantly on your couch is a bit strange. Off-putting in a way that leaves you emotionally winded as you sit on the edge of your bed, staring at your notifications.

There’s about half a dozen apologies from Peter alone, each variation more extreme than the last. Mixed between there’s a few memes and a picture of him pretending to cry on MJ’s floor with the caption sorry for being the worst brother, which you immediately save for future use. There’s also one from Harry asking you to send him a work email that you ignore and another from Gwen once again asking you to come for brunch.

You glance at the time, noticing that it’s nearing eleven. She and Harry are probably already at their usual spot, munching away on overpriced, organic eggs and inhaling mimosas. (Something you'd normally enjoy but can’t quite fathom doing thanks to the pain currently rippling through your body.)

Groaning, you curl further into the bed, feeling your head shift like an ocean wave that sends you flying across the room. In response, you shut your eyes as tight as possible, hoping that if you roll with the movements you’ll get used to them faster.

Immunity through the power of will and all that.

“I see you’re still alive.”

You refuse to open your eyes. You need to focus on getting better —on pushing through the swirling motions that attack your brain because if you don’t you’ll be stuck here all day, helpless and in pain and way too dizzy. No longer will you be a person, but instead a shell. A fragile casing of sensitive flesh stretched over bruising bone that will slowly but surely deteriorate over time.

“Are you always this dramatic?”

The urge to argue persists, flowing through you just quick enough that you find yourself opening one eye, noticing his stance.

He’s standing nonchalantly in the centre of your room; hands placed neatly on his hips. On his face, the tiniest of smirks pokes out of the corner of his mouth, prompting you to lift your head, blinking at what feels like a rare sight.

“Are you always this hostile?”

“Only in the morning.”

“Even towards complete strangers?”

“Especially to strangers.”

“Makes sense why you don’t have many friends.”

“And how would you know that, stranger?”

He’s got that teasing tone that Harry always has. The one that sounds so condescending that it borders flirtation. Immediately it makes you roll your eyes and direct your attention back to your phone, realizing just how little you want to continue this conversation. You’re too hungover. Too sick and tired to do this whole back-and-forth thing, so instead you call Peter, putting the call on speakerphone with a sigh.

It rings twice before the other end clicks to life, a very joyful and awake Peter greeting the both of you. “Good morning friends, how are we doing on this beautiful morning?”

Almost in unison both of you grumble out a quiet fine that makes Peter laugh, prompting you to look at each other with shared disgust.

“Are you hungover?”

“What do you think?”

“Gwen called me this morning,” he says, changing the subject. “She wants to go for brunch.”

“That’s nice, but I will not be attending on the account of the fact that I’d rather die.”

“So dramatic,” Miguel chimes in.

Ignoring him, you place your phone onto the pillow next to you and tighten the covers around your throat.

Your head is still spinning but less so, the waves feeling more like lakeside tides than oceanic swells, leaving you thankful. There’s nothing worse than the spins after a night out. You can handle the stomach aches and even the vomiting but the second you can feel that mental drift you’re a goner.

“Okay well, MJ and I are going to go if you change your mind. Miguel, you're welcome to come too.”

“No thanks,” he says, unsurprisingly.

There’s a pause after that. One that lasts a solid five seconds but feels like a lifetime longer thanks to the way Miguel continues to stand there, staring at your pathetic frame tucked haphazardly beneath the covers.

“You know staring is rude, right?”

“Is it?”

“Yeah, and weird too considering I barely know you.”

“You saying it’s weird for strangers to stare at strangers?”

“A little, yeah, so knock it off.”

He gives in, his eyes diverting towards the window before they move to the door, motivating his body to leave the room without another word. Once he’s gone you let out a sigh of relief and listen to his footsteps, hearing the way they move through the living room and into the kitchen.

It makes you wonder why he’s even still here, taking up space in a home he isn’t really welcome in. You figured it was obvious from the beginning that he was nothing more than an overnight guest. A protective stand-in meant to slip away in the dead of night with no word or note. He was never meant to linger the way he is now and a part of you wonders if he already knows. If instead of picking up and applying said social cues, he’s opting to ignore them for some higher purpose.

It wouldn’t make much sense but then again, you don’t really know Miguel so maybe he’s just a lingerer. Maybe he’s socially awkward and doesn’t understand that when you’re being mean to him it means you want him to leave your house so you can vomit in peace.

“I see you guys are getting along.”

“Swimmingly.”

“Did you two have a good night?”

“Yes, oh my god it was amazing!”

“Really?”

You offer a fake laugh that Miguel walks in on, raising his brow in confusion. “No, we had a terrible time. Your boss is mean, Peter.”

Offended, Miguel opens his mouth to speak but quickly closes it, watching the way you smirk beneath the covers, watching his brows knit together.

“How am I mean? I walked you home didn’t I?”

“Sure, begrudgingly.”

He scoffs, his palms moving to encompass his hips again. “I didn’t realize I was supposed to enjoy walking you home. I’ll remember that next time.”

Next time?

You narrow your eyes and stare directly at him, noticing the way he mirrors your expression. It’s subtle at first, the way the crinkles of his eyes sort of deepen to match the lines across his forehead. His skin is rough —aged looking most likely due to the fact he probably slept terribly— and the bags beneath his eyes are the heaviest you’ve ever seen, even rivalling Peter’s on some of his rougher days. Like you, he looks more like a corpse than a person, his face devoid of anything other than the sickened frustration of having to deal with your attitude.

“I’m gonna be honest if you’re ever running late again, please call someone else.”

It’s obvious you’re talking to Peter but as you speak you continue staring at the man in front of you, glaring at the way his weight shifts beneath your gaze.

You hope he’s uncomfortable. You hope he’s embarrassed or at least feeling a little self-conscious for acting like such a child in a space that he hopefully never feels welcome in. If you were him you’d certainly be.

“Yeah, so, anyway, is that still a no to breakfast or…?”

You’re beginning to regret ever wanting to get involved in Peter’s double life. Or at least, its most recent developments. Up until last month, everything was fine. Simple and controlled and not at all hectic like it is now. Back then, everything was smooth sailing when it came to helping. Your only responsibilities being lie to May and make sure the window was always unlocked before you went to bed. Two very mundane tasks you could practically do in your sleep.

Nowadays, it feels like an endless loop of stress. Kind of like when you were eighteen and just finding out that your brother was a superhero for the first time. Everything is complicated again. The stakes feel higher than ever before knowing the truth that there’s a world out there just like yours, endlessly repeating. That instead of just one Spider-Man there’s probably a million variations doing the same thing Peter’s doing.

You’d be lying if you said it didn’t make you look at everything differently —intensively. With each new person you pass you wonder what their version is like somewhere else. Are they still male or female? Are they younger? Older?

As you walk into brunch alongside Peter and MJ, it’s all you can think about as you stare at Gwen, remembering her counterpart. How she looked so familiar but you couldn’t quite place it.

You realize now that it’s because she’s your Gwen, but not. A direct copy but a good decade younger. They have the same hair colour and eyes and that little gap between their front teeth and upon seeing her it makes you wearily shift into your seat, putting on your fakest smile.

She’s already a bit tipsy when you arrive, you can tell. Her eyes are half closed and the grin plastered across her face is hazardously wide.

“Oh, my god, hi! I’m so glad you came!”

If it weren’t for the table between you she’d be pulling you in for a hug, tightening her grip around your shoulders until the air inside you was gone. You inhale nervously at the thought, wondering if other Gwen would do the same.

It’s hard to tell what traits transfer over. Considering she’s a spider person in her universe it’s more than likely she’s completely different, right? Perhaps relating more to Peter. It’d make sense that all spider people kind of have the same vibe. Perhaps like your brother, they’re nerdy and into photography and have partners with nicknames that double as their initials. Like him they'd live double lives, trying their best to find the balance between being crime-fighting arachnids and regular civilians with the help of their sisters.

Or brothers. You figure in other universes you’re probably a guy too. Hell, maybe even in some you're the spider person having to navigate through life with the help of your brother.

“Sorry we’re late,” Pete grins, pulling out the chair beside you so that MJ can sit down. “Somebody had a bit too much to drink.”

You shoot him a look as he sits at the head of the table, sticking out his tongue for good measure.

You hope in the universe where you have superpowers you give him a hard time.

“It’s fine, we overdid it too,” Gwen says, looking at Harry who rolls his eyes and looks at Peter, the two of them sharing a knowing glance.

“Hope you wore a condom,” you say, at which MJ and Gwen gasp, both of their mouths curling into cheeky grins that you can’t help but share.

Its always been obvious that the two of them are together, even though neither of them would ever admit it. It’s weird but Gwen says it’s a part of the intrigue, having this unlabeled relationship that she can just ride without the responsibility of making it a bit deal.

Both you and MJ think it’s because she secretly likes the drama of it all, but knowing how she’d react to such a claim, neither of you says that out loud.

“Did you make it home okay?” Gwen changes the subject before anyone can even join in, making you sort of sad because you love to tease.

“Relatively. Threw up on the walk home but that’s New York, baby.”

“Walk home?” Harry questions.

You freeze, remembering Miguel. He doesn’t exist in this world. At least, not to anyone other than you and Pete and maybe MJ. You’re not entirely sure what he’s told her but you figure she knows in some capacity because he wouldn’t have called you otherwise.

“I mean drive, sorry, drive home. I’m still hungover.” You try to laugh it off but Harry and Gwen share that look. The familiar one where they think you’re lying but know better than to actually bring it up. It’s the same look they give you sometimes when you’re covering for Peter and you hate it, feeling your chest tighten every time it’s shared right in front of your face.

It reminds you of how you felt having Miguel around. Something about the way he looks at you every time you talk fills you with that familiar twang of insignificance. Like whatever you say isn’t good enough.

With your friends you know it’s because you’re insecure about your lying capabilities. With Miguel though, it’s different. Yes, it feels the same physically but emotionally it’s an entirely new set of feelings. Ones that have you second-guessing their origins, remembering the way your stomach would twist each time he’d insult you. Each time he’d look at you with those dark eyes and pouting mouth.

Thinking about it now, he reminds you very little of Peter. Aside from the moniker of Spider-Man the only similarities (so far) you can confidently say that they share is the art of sarcasm and deflection. The way their voices can become so monotonous at the drop of a hat is unparalleled, even with all the tension, and it’s frustrating.

It makes you wish you didn’t wear your emotions on your sleeve. Like Peter and Miguel, you wish you could box it all up in the form of calm words so that nobody even got the chance to look at you the way Harry and Gwen still are.

Secretly, you wish you were the spider person of this universe. Not because you want to save lives, selfishly. No, you mostly just wish you were stronger like them. Less like yourself and more like your brother who sits at the head of the table holding MJ’s hand with the biggest smile you’ve ever seen.

And not so secretly, you want what he has. You want to be confident and to have people look at you in a way that’s filled with adoration. To have them survey you and conclude that you’re decent rather than picking out your flaws. You want May to look at you with fondness. You want her to be proud of you in the same way she’s proud of Peter and to affirm your belief that you’re doing alright for yourself even without filling her desires for grandkids.

You want Harry to look at you with respect. To stop looking through you just because you’re Parker’s sister who just so happens to be smart too. You want him to take him as seriously as he takes Gwen without the sex. Without the implication that to be valued, you need to provide him with something worthwhile.

You want Gwen to appreciate everything you do for her. To stop taking advantage of you at work and in life —to provide you with the comfort of an actual friend.

You want value, you decide. Whether that’s through the gain of superpowers or not. All you want is a little bit more than you’re given and you wish you could express that as you sit at the table, watching everyone talk and laugh as if you’re not really there.

Beside you, MJ leans into Peter as he talks, resting her chin on her hand in longing silence while the two across the table sit, completely engrossed. You try your best to listen in too, picking up that the story involves his boss over at the Bugle. Something about how his last few pictures of Spider-Man were so good he nearly fell off his chair.

You fight the urge to roll your eyes and pull out your phone, scanning the screen mindlessly, clicking on apps and profiles over and over again until the waitress shows up and asks for your order. You get a mimosa regardless of your hangover and a bagel breakfast sandwich with all the extra fixings, knowing you need it. Then you wait. Wordlessly exhausted, wishing that instead of deciding to tag along you’d stayed at home under the comfort of your covers.

Once you step over the threshold of your apartment you let out a sigh of relief and sink into the couch alongside Peter who rubs his face. By now your social battery is running at a negative ten, making your mind fill with nervous thoughts that have you frowning as you curl into yourself, clutching your knees to your chest.

You shouldn’t have gone, you decide then. Regardless of the extended invitation, it was obvious you were only invited because Gwen was drunk and felt bad. That’s usually how it went nowadays.

“They’re a lot, aren’t they?”

Peter’s always known how much you struggle with people —how you overthink every interaction after it’s happened. It’s how it’s always been and he’s used to it.

As you nod, you feel his hand against your shoulder, tightening. It’s a gesture of understanding but at the moment it feels like pity so you brush him off, frowning even harder.

“You okay?”

You aren’t. You’re overstimulated from the amount of interacting you’ve done in the last twenty-four hours. From Harry and Gwen to Miguel and back you haven’t had a break all day and you can feel your mask slipping. Physically, your chest is aching for a breath you can’t quite get, the realization of your interactions pushing you over the edge and all you want to do is scream.

You were such an asshole today. Sure, you’re always kind of mean but this morning specifically felt like a step above the rest with the way you argued with Miguel as if you knew him. As if last night was just another night between you, adding to countless others. You were brash and unwelcoming and rude, and despite how you feel about him sometimes, you still feel pretty shit about it.

“Do you need anything?”

“No.”

Your tone is stubborn, dripping with an arrogance that has Pete sighing because he knows he can’t do much. When you’re in these moods all he can really do is let you live through your anger —to explore the hate you feel inside in private. It’s how you’ve always done things. So when Peter looks at you with sympathy you can know that’s it. He won’t press the matter further. He’ll just get up and leave and go to MJ’s for the night. Check-in in the morning like he usually does.

As he stands you’re met with feelings of both relief and regret, watching the way he carefully pats your head and steps over your legs. Inside, your stomach drops as he wanders to the doorway, slipping on his shoes and coat without saying a word, knowing that it never solves anything —just makes it all messy.

Again, like always, you wish you were like him in these instances. Because maybe then you could have a normal relationship that doesn’t rely on boundaries you wish didn’t exist. Instead of pushing everyone away you could sit with them —talk to them. Express instead of repress. Prove to them that the love you want is the love you deserve.

If you were in any other universe you’re certain you could do it. In this one though?

You’re too scared.

When you’re alone, it happens, the calm before the storm.

As the hours move and you lay exhausted on the couch staring at your phone, you find yourself scrolling. Distracting yourself from the inevitable breaking point by watching YouTube video after YouTube video. First, you start with your usual poison, simple documentaries about things like haunted houses or murder cases that remained unsolved. Lazily, you click thumbnail and thumbnail, half absorbing all the names and dates and details as you lie prone, trying not to think about it.

It takes hours for you to fully accept your emotions and when you do it’s a mess. Now lying in bed, it’s nearing eight and your deep dive on unsolved mysteries has turned into videos discussing the topics of the multiverse. You’re not sure why you decided to delve into all that but regardless, as you do you’re in your head again, clutching a pillow tightly against your cheek as you try to steady your thoughts.

You bet Miguel’s world has a version of you that’s nicer. One that treats him with respect. They’re probably a spider person too which is why he looks at you with such disdain every time you argue. You’re a lesser version of them —no comparison. They’re better and it drives you insane, thinking that the approval of a man you hardly know is important.

Aside from Peter, there’s absolutely nothing connecting you. You’re from different worlds both literally and figuratively, so it doesn’t matter. It shouldn’t matter.

Except that it does, doesn’t it? Deep down, regardless of how well you know one another, this man has managed to find his way inside your skin. You’re not sure when or how or why but somehow he’s always there, lingering at the back of your mind like a memory. Like he’s absent until he’s not —until something reminds you that he exists and that he thinks you’re too inexperienced to understand that he doesn’t like you.

You figure he doesn’t like you because you’re stubborn. You’re sure there are other reasons but that’s the only one that really jumps out. The way he speaks to you is a direct example of that. Changing subjects often, he doesn’t like when you push his pull. Doesn’t like when you defy his authority or pry. He wants complete and total control and when you’re around he knows he doesn’t have that. You don’t trust him enough to give it.

His version of you probably gives him whatever he wants. Probably spoils him by following him around like some lost fucking puppy. They’re probably older than you —experienced— and have the backbone of an earthworm.

He probably loves it.

Shoving your face into your pillow you let out a loud groan, letting the tears well and overflow against the fabric of your pillowcase.

It’s sudden, the storm. Erupting out of nowhere over something that shouldn’t matter. Quickly, there’s a rage that fills inside you, quietly creeping from the depths of your soul in the form of breathless gasps and shaky hands.

You turn upwards to face the ceiling, the tears coating your eyes in a layer of disarray. You can’t see anything but the blurred beige above you. Everything moves like brushstrokes across the canvas, thick and liquidy and not quite good-looking. It makes you blink in annoyance and throw your forearms over your head, trying to stop the world from letting you see or shake or feel anything other than regret.

It’s painful, the storm. It feels like a deep wound being opened back up again. All the build-up of scar tissue is there, shoved amongst the perfectly good parts. Usually, they linger there together but as the wound is peeled open by your own hand, you can feel the worst of it start to push.

As it surfaces, you can feel the catalyst begin to wake. The rate at which the chemicals in your brain begin to increase, pushing you over the edge.

It fucking hurts.

By now your wound is gaping, ripping at the base of your chest. It’s hard to breathe under all the pressure of the damaged flesh. Under all the memories of a life you once thought was good. Decent

In another universe, you hope to god you feel just like this. Like the world is caving in and you’re the last survivor. At least then you wouldn’t feel so alone —so beside yourself while everyone else so carelessly continues moving.

It helps calm the storm. Thinking of you —another you. Regardless of if they’re better or worse or completely equal to you, the thought of this feeling extending across the expanse of a place you don’t quite understand fills you with ease.

It closes the hole in your chest —pushes all the tainted flesh back inside for safekeeping. Slowly, it settles into something you can handle again, sewing up the edges that’ll inevitably leave a new scar.

As you sit up from your bed, brushing past the tears to clear your vision, you feel your breath begin to steady. A slow one-through-five inhale, followed by another one-through-five exhale, each one becoming stronger than the last as you look towards the window, noticing the familiar blue and red spandex standing silently on your fire escape.

He doesn’t move when you notice him. Doesn’t fly through the air or duck out of sight. Standing there, it’s as if instead of flesh he’s made of stone, unwavering in his attempts to watch you carefully through the window. It’s scary if you’re honest. The way he looks so detached from the world. Even without seeing his face, it’s as if there’s nothing behind the angered design that adorns his features below. His emotions feel completely blank underneath the fabric, making you wonder.

What’s he thinking about?

As you inch toward the edge of the bed, you see him twitch. It’s subtle. The fingers of his right hand sort of jolt lightly in the air, and it’s over before you can even think about it, so you don’t. Instead choosing to forget as you move towards the window.

Surprisingly, he still doesn’t move. All he does is breathe, letting the rise and fall of his chest ruin the image of his fixed stance. He’s nervous, like you, you determine. Scared, like you.

It motivates your movements, pushing you through the room until you’re standing in front of the window, reaching for it with shaky hands.

Why hasn’t he left yet?

You push open the window, slowly, watching his body begin to move towards it, his leg pushing through the moment you step away.

“What are you doing here?”

He doesn’t respond. At first, you assume it’s because he’s embarrassed and doesn’t know what to say but then he moves. Lifelessly, he brushes past you and wanders into the living room, forcing you to follow as he drops onto the couch with a groan.

Seriously, why is he here?

You open your mouth to repeat your previous question but are interrupted by his mask. Almost instantly, it disintegrates before your very eyes, revealing fresh injuries that have you holding your tongue because laying there, he looks like Peter after a rough night. Maybe even worse thanks to the shiner that takes a good portion of his left eye.

“Do you have any painkillers?”

You don’t even respond before you leave the room, wandering into your bathroom to grab the usual meds you give Peter. They’re prescription, originally given to you for period cramps, but they do wonders on a battered body.

When you reenter, Miguel’s face is scrunched in pain, struggling to find comfort. Because of this, you practically run to the kitchen, grabbing all the usual items: water, ice packs, scotch, carrying it all in one go.

“What’s the scotch for?”

You untuck a glass from the crook of your elbow and settle on the floor beside the couch, pouring it halfway to the top before downing it.

“None for me?”

You pour another one. “You’re not meant to take it with pills but Peter always says it makes him sleep better.”

“Okay.”

You’re no doctor, but you’ve experienced this same formula countless times. If he takes one pill with one full glass of water then drinks the scotch, followed by another water he’ll be out like a light in no time.

“Pill, water, scotch, water,” you instruct, watching him closely as he follows suit, chugging back everything in under a minute.

After it’s done he settles into the couch again, tucking ice packs against his face and chest before glancing your way with a grin. “Stuff’s nice. Goes down good.”

He sounds like he’s been hit by a bus, his voice rubbed raw, scratching your brain in a way that makes you squint as you pour yourself another glass.

“Good cause it cost a pretty penny.”

“Yeah?”

You nod, opting to sip this one, still feeling the burn of the other radiating throughout your chest. “Ben bought it for me. A graduation present or something.”

“Wasn’t that ages ago?”

“Your point?”

All he does is grin and close his eyes.

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breannasfluff · 8 months

Text

Last Day

If I knew this was going to happen, I would have woken up earlier. I wouldn’t have slept in and I wouldn’t have been late packing. I would have cooked wildberry crepes for breakfast and I wouldn’t have pushed away Wind’s hug.

I thought today…was supposed to be a nice day.

~~~

The enemy marked on the map isn’t a stone talus. It’s a white-maned Lynel and it greets them with a fireball that carves a path through the snow.

“Run!”

The group sprints and then scatters as arrows rain down from above.

“Shields!” Time yells, and the group scrambles to hold up protection. “Wild! Where can we go?”

Wild risks a glance behind him. The ground shudders with the thud of giant hooves. “I can take him?” It comes out as a question instead of a statement.

“No way, cub! You’re not taking that on without backup—duck!” Twilight nearly tackles Wild, pulling him out of the way of an arrow that hits his previous positions. “Better plan, get us out of here!”

Where can they go? The Gerudo Highlands are stepped with rocks, making it difficult to descend quickly. There’s little out here except the Yiga Hideout—

Wild abruptly changes directions. “Follow me!” It’s not close; not close enough for peace of mind, but it's closer than anything else out here. The lynel will let them go if they can get out of its sight.

The group trails after Wild, scrambling to accommodate the change of direction and still avoid arrows. Then they’re slipping and sliding down the first slope; snow cushioning the landing.

An arrow lands on the short plateau; still too close. “Keep going! Time!”

The last is because the old man has paused by Four, who’s swaying. An arrow is stuck in the shoulder of the tunic and, while it stopped the worst of the damage, when Time pulls it free it comes out red.

Wild curses, pausing to pull out his bow and shoot back at the lynel. It won’t be enough to take it down, but enough to distract it, at least.

Then Legend’s there, yanking on his arm and nearly ruining the shot. “Wild! You’re the only one who knows where we’re going!”

Torn, Wild glances at the lynel and then over his shoulder. “We’re heading to the Yiga hideout!” He lets off another arrow, then spins to wave a hand in the right direction. “We’ve got to descend a few more of these rock steps before we reach it!”

Legend yanks until he starts moving. “Then lead! The rest of us can watch for the others.”

Wild starts moving.

The next few minutes are a blur of calls and shouts, scrambling feet, and cold rock under his fingertips. They bunch up at one part, needing those with hookshots to anchor themselves and descend with another. Sky can use his cape and Wind pulls out a Deku leaf.

Unfortunately, the pause means the lynel catches up again and an arrow catches Warriors in the back of the thigh. He grunts but doesn’t slow down.

They finally hit the ground, panting and limping, in some cases. Four moans, sliding to the ground. Hyrule rushes to his side, wrestling with the Snowquill armor to check his wound. Warriors grimaces as Time pokes lightly at his wound, checking the arrow.

“I can pull it out, but it’s going to hurt. I’ve got a potion, though.”

“When don’t arrow wounds hurt,” he grumbles back but accepts the bottle. Hyrule has Four covered.

“Wild?” Sky catches his eye. “You said something about a hideout?”

He nods, and signs because his chest is still heaving with exertion and adrenaline. ‘Yiga hideout. Well, an old one. I helped the Gerudo clear it out after the Calamity. We can rest there and be out of the cold before we figure out a plan forward.’

Time frowns, patting Warriors as he chugs the potion. “Are you sure it’s empty?”

Nodding, Wild manages a weak smile. ‘Very sure. Riju was motivated.’

“Well, that sounds like our best bet, so lead on.”

With a final deep breath to steady his heart, Wild turns to lead them further up the canyon.

“Isn’t Wild’s world exciting?” Wind pipes up.

“If you call near-death experiences exciting one more time, I’m going to re-screw your head on for you.”

Read the rest here!

#linked moments #hurt/comfort #lu wild #lu time #lu sky #lu warriors #lu twilight #lu legend #lu hyrule #lu four #lu wind #linked universe #linkeduniverse #breannasfluff #my writing #yiga

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upsidedownwithsteve · 2 years

Note

I love your writing it’s so amazing!!! You are just so incredible and have an amazing talent of capturing Steve’s character! And Eddie! Oh wow so freaking good!!! 😍🧡🧡🧡

I was wondering if you’d possibly be willing to write a little blurb where Steve sees reader admiring flowers while shopping and he buys them for her and surprises her with them. Just something cute and wholesome and not at all a fantasy I wish a boy would do for me 👀😅

Thank you so much my lovely, you’re far too kind! 🥹

It’s not exact to what you sent, I’m sorry! I saw flowers and started rambling but I hope you like it 🧡

You’d had an awful day.

The worst in a while, actually. The morning had started with your alarm not going off, the sun shining through your bedroom window a little brighter than usual, higher in the sky and god, it had been almost eight o’clock before you’d tumbled into the shower.

You’d argued with your mom over breakfast, a half slice of toast between your teeth as you mumbled back your argument, because ‘no mom, I don’t have time to go to the post office, I’m already late’ and ‘yes mom, I know that’s my own fault.’

Then your car had broken down before you could even get it out the drive way, the engine clunking and sputtering before falling silent. Later, the sky had turned from blue to grey on your lunch, the wind whipping up from a light breeze to a colder burst and you’d pouted through your bowl of pasta, unable to sit outside and enjoy the warmth that you always missed when working in Hawkins book store.

But then Steve had popped in on his own break, always a little out of breath when he approached the counter ‘cause Family Video was four blocks away and he only had half an hour free.

But the boy would press his elbows to the counter and beckon your close, hands cupping your cheeks as you smiled, pressing a kiss to your lips for as long as you could both get away with it.

That’s all he usually had time for, but that day, Steve took note of the pucker between your brows, the downturn of your mouth and the heavy sigh of relief you gave him after a sweet kiss.

“Y’okay sweetheart?” He’d asked, voice laced with soft concern, “rough day?”

You felt stupid when you nodded, because the store was empty and quiet as always, just you and your piles of favourite books at the counter. But the frustration and rush of the morning caught up to you, tears brimming pathetically at your lash line.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Steve soothed, voice dropping to a low murmur, “baby, what’s wrong?”

You shook your head, a self-deprecating smile on your face as you waved away your boyfriends concerns. You wiped at your eyes, sniffling as you worried with a stack of papers on the counter instead of looking at Steve.

“It’s fine!” You told him, voice a little too high to be considered fine. “I’m fine, I’m just…” you blew out a breath, tired. “It’s just a bad day Steve and I think I’m getting my period and my tummy hurts and-”

You stopped, sighing again before deciding against your ranting. Steve looked worried, lips turned down into a pretty frown and he reached for your hand, making little sounds of comfort.

“Baby,” he soothed, “I’m sorry.”

He had nothing to apologise for and you both knew that but you nodded anyway, feeling smaller and softer and more delicate than you needed to. Your heart ached to look at him, brown eyes gentle on you, a thumb sweeping over the back of your hand.

“I’ll be fine,” you told him, smile still too watery for Steve’s liking. “I just need to give myself a shake.”

Steve frowned, reaching out to push at the soft of your cheek with his palm, a comforting touch that had you leaning into him immediately. His thumb stroked over your cheekbone and you could’ve whined with how nice it felt; warm touch, rough callouses, gentle intentions.

“How ‘bout I pick you when you’re finished? See if I can make it better.”

You didn’t doubt that, nodding with a smile that felt more real than it had before.

So when the clock above the cash desk turned to six, you said your goodbyes to your boss and eagerly stepped out into the quiet street. The sun had come back out, low and warm in the blue sky as if it returned to apologise to you.

Steve was already waiting, BMW parked on the curb, his body leaning against the passenger side door as he grinned at you, a pretty bouquet of flowers clutched in one hand.

You gasped, unable to help the shy smile that crept across your lips. You felt warm, startled at the gesture but your feet carried you over to the boy with quick, light steps. A flush fell on your chest, eyes coy, hands clasped together under your chin as you gazed up at Steve, your toes touching his.

“There’s my girl,” he greeted, voice all low and warm and it washed over you like the end of a summer day.

“Are those for me?” You couldn’t help the tone of surprise that laced your question. Steve had bought you many flowers before, amongst other gifts and treats, but usually for holidays, birthdays and sometimes just when you were stuck in bed sick. “They’re so pretty.”

And they were, delicate blooms of all the summer shades, lilacs and peaches, soft pinks and pristine white daisies with bright greenery mixed in. They were wrapped in brown paper, tied at the stems with a ribbon and they smelled incredible.

“‘Course they’re for you,” Steve murmured, smiling at your excitement. “Thought you could do with some cheering up, sweetheart.”

He inclined the flowers to you, laughing when you grasped them, pressing your face into the plush of petals. Steve took the opportunity to press a kiss to the crown of your head, stole another one when you looked back up at him beaming.

A low hum, a happy noise, slipping from the back of his throat when you pushed yourself up on your toes to chase him, a hand clutching your flowers as the other one fisted in his jacket collar, pulling the boy back to you.

He tasted like lemonade, smelled like lavender and peonies.

You smiled against Steve’s lips, nudging your nose into his, touch molten, soft and gooey with adoration. You wanted him to wrap you up in him.

“Thank you,” you murmured, messy kisses pressed onto his lips, his cheek, the corner of his mouth, along with your words.

#steve harrington #Steve baby blurb #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington fic #stranger things fic #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington blurb #ask

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whumping-valentine · 2 months

Text

🦌 Fawn and Hunter - Part 6 🦌

"Fawn and the Fog"

Content: Animal death, animal skeletons, threats, hunting, anxiety, defiant whumpee, spooked whumper, whumpee forced to kill, weird rural woodsy shit in true rural redneck fashion 💪

I may have German, Irish, and Slovak in my blood, but at the end of the day I am merely just a northeast yankee here to represent the horrors of the American woodland lol

2000 Words

Part six baby let's goooo. And only two days after part five, I'm on a roll!! If you're someone who wanted to see a more mean Hunter, especially after the last part, this is the chapter for you.

This is where the batshit paranormal stuff that I was talking about earlier starts happening. I am physically incapable of writing something grounded in reality, you guys aren't prepared for what this seemingly normal, woodsy whump series is gonna turn into.

Also shout out to you guys who leave comments on this. I appreciate the little words so much you don't even know, it really motivates me to keep going. There's only two of you atm, you know who you are. Thank you, truly.

Hope you enjoy! 💕

After a few days, Fawn began to overcome their illnesses, being oh so carefully tended to like the sickly little fawn they were. Being so busy nursing their pet back to health, Hunter had no time to gather or prepare food. They began running low on resources. Turns out feeding two people rather than one will cause you to run out of food faster. Who knew?

Now that Fawn was better, and was the very cause of their food drought in the first place, Hunter decided that it was about time they helped out around the cabin and made themself useful. They grabbed an extra gun and walked down to the basement, where Fawn was back to seeping on the old mattress.

Hunter threw the shotgun on the tattered bed. Fawn looked up at them in puzzlement.

“Don’t get any funny ideas, it’s not loaded.” Hunter said, “Though it will be, soon. You and I are going hunting.”

Fawn scoffed, “Absolutely not, you psycho.”

"That wasn't a question. Get up."

“Or what?”

“Or I’ll make you get up. Your choice.”

“You don’t scare me.” Fawn said, though they could feel their anxiety sparking up.

“Oh, so you’ve gotten too comfortable, have you? I can fix that.” Hunter said, leaning down as they grabbed a fistful of their hair, pulling Fawn to their feet as they yelped and winced. Hunter twisted their head to look up at them with those wide, big, deer-in-headlights eyes. They tugged on their hair, holding the gun to their chin with the other, “This is not a place to get comfortable in, or abuse my hesitance to kill you. I can be nice, so long as you're good. But be bad—” They pulled harder, “—and I’ll be your worst fucking nightmare. Got it?”

“Y-yes, Hunter.”

“Good.” They let go, “Now pick up the gun and follow me.” They turned to walk back up the stairs, and Fawn obeyed, following them meekly, their head down. They clutched the gun tightly in both of their hands, ascending the staircase. The two of them stepped outside into the crisp late Autumn air. A chill waved through the wind, an incredibly foggy and cloudy day.

The two walked through the misty woods in silence, leaves crunching beneath their feet. Fawn stuck close to Hunter, finding it incredibly hard to see.

Fawn grumbled to themself as they tried to hold back, but couldn’t help themself, and they broke the silence, “You sure picked a brilliant day to go hunting. Can’t even see a foot in front of me let alone a fucking deer.”

“Okay, smartass, you think you’re a more qualified hunter than me?”

“I think I’m smarter than you, yeah.” Fawn said, and Hunter kicked their feet out from under them, causing them to fall backwards.

“You’re not the one who gets to be sassy here, in case you’ve forgotten.”

"I can do whatever the fuck I want, I'm not your pet and I never will be. In case you've forgotten." They stood back up.

"Oh, I haven't forgotten your defiance. How could I when you make your resistance so clear? Though I do remember you were letting me hold and comfort you so softly just a few days ago."

"Oh, fuck off."

Hunter ignored them, "You turn into such a helpless baby when you're sick. You should be like that more often. But I guess your dramatics are quite entertaining."

"How in all of fucking hell have I been dramatic? I think I act perfectly fucking reasonable, all things considered."

"Oh, well firstly, I've killed people who were far less pissy than you. Secondly, a pretty thing like you should cut the swears."

"Yeah, how about you go and kill me, too, that'll fucking stop them. Maybe I'll just do it more to piss you off. Fucking shit ass bitch, suck a cock, dick."

"Don't make me wash that mouth out with soap."

"I'd be surprised if you even owned soap, you filthy dirtbag."

Hunter shot a bullet at the ground, next to their feet. Fawn yelped and jumped back as their adrenaline spiked. The boom echoed through the trees.

"I let you get away with saying a lot of shit. I'm starting to get tired of it. Have you already forgotten the little chat we had earlier? You have no idea what I’m capable of, baby. I guess I’ll need to show you later.” They said, a threat laced in their voice.

Fawn literally growled in fear and anger, “I will run off into these fucking woods! I can do it! I’ll— I’ll fucking leave!”

"Threatening to run away like some angsty teenager? Oh, no, by all means, go ahead." Hunter said, gesturing out into the misty woods, "Run off. Find your way home. I'm sure you'll be able to."

Fawn glared at them in wide-eyed hatred, biting their lip in anger. Hunter found it adorable, which only contributed to Fawn’s disdain.

“Come on,” Hunter said, roughly nudging their shoulder with the shotgun, “Keep moving.”

Fawn glared back at them, rubbing their shoulder, angry tears in their eyes. Hunter wore a smug smile, and Fawn wanted nothing more than to punch it off their stupid face. Wanted to just turn the gun around on themself and shoot. That would be better than this. But they couldn't even have the luxury of death, holding an unloaded gun. They wished there were two bullets so they could take both of them out all at once.

They continued on through the endless woods, Fawn's involuntary anxiety growing by the second. They hated that they couldn't control it. Couldn't stop their heart from beating so fast, stop that dreadful feeling in their arms and chest. They didn't want to be afraid. Anxiety is such a bitch.

“Shh, shh.” Hunter hushed suddenly as they pulled on Fawn's arm, crouching them both down into the bushes. Their eyes were locked on a beautiful doe. The same doe with a coat pattern of hearts that Fawn had fed those many weeks prior. A pit opened in their stomach.

Hunter loaded a single bullet into Fawn's gun, and guided their hands to point it at the doe, who stared down Fawn right in the eyes, almost in recognition. Fawn’s hands were trembling as Hunter held them tight, smirking as their warm breath trickled Fawn’s neck. Hunter guided their fingers to the trigger, and forced them to pull it.

A loud gunshot rang through the air, as Fawn winced and trembled. The deer was dead, and the forest ran silent. Fawn stared blankly ahead as their eyes locked onto the carcass, trembling hands still gripping the gun as Hunter went over to look at their catch.

Crows gathered around out of nowhere as they sat silently in the barren trees, as if to pay respects to the fallen, and condemn Fawn for their actions. They'd never felt guilt quite like this.

Tears welled in their eyes behind the cracked glasses they wore. The gun dropped from their hands as they shook uncontrollably. As the pure shock of the deed began to wear off, they slowly broke down into tears, and before long, they were sobbing uncontrollably.

It begins to lightly rain in a mist, and all around the massive murder of crows sat and watched in continuous silence. Though neither seemed to notice.

Hunter threw the deer over their shoulders like it was nothing. “Enough of the crying. Get up.” They kicked Fawn in the ribs with their foot.

Fawn again, growled like an angry animal, and they snapped, “Fuck you! Fuck you all the way to Hell, you bastard!” They yelled, voice cracking as tears streamed down their cheeks, “I hope you die in a fucking fire! At the edge of a cliff, covered in burns, poisoned, coughing up blood, with no one to fucking love you!!”

They buried their face into their hands as they sobbed. Hunter stared at them with a blank, neutral expression. They reached down and grabbed the scruff of their sweater, pulling them to their feet in one swift motion.

“No!” Fawn yelled, “Get away from me!” They pushed them away, falling backwards into the bush they were crouched behind. A burr bush.

Fawn had burrs all over their clothes, and in their hair. Hunter shook their head, unamused, “How many times do I have to tell you, Fawn? These are the consequences of your actions. Now get up."

“Fuck you!!”

“I won’t ask you again.”

“No!”

“Get up.”

“AAAAAAAHHHHH!!” They screamed.

“Oh, so now you’re gonna just throw a tantrum like a child. Is that what you are, a child? Keep screaming and crying, it isn’t gonna get you out of that bush or out of these woods.”

"I'd rather die in this bush!"

"Then go ahead and be my guest." Hunter said, fed up, rolling their eyes, "Stop being dramatic."

Fawn grumbled and kicked their feet as they struggled to get up, Hunter watching the pathetic act apathetically. The bush pulled on the threads of their clothes, and their hair, ruining them and causing pain. Once they were back on their feet, they held back a pout before roughly kicking Hunter in the ankle, quickly walking back the way they came. Hunter gave no reaction, following behind them in a thoughtful stalk.

Fawn stomped through the trees, angry, upset, and anxious. They hoped if they'd move fast enough, they'd lose the hunter through the fog, the deer slowing them down, where they could somehow find their way home. Though somewhere along the way, they suddenly stopped in their tracks, gripping the shotgun tightly, staring intensely through the thick blanket of white mist.

Hunter caught up to them, "What?" They asked. Fawn just stared. Hunter squinted their eyes and could faintly make out what looked to be a skeleton of some kind.

Hunter went ahead of them and approached it, only to find it wasn’t just some normal kind of animal remains, no. Not only were the bones perfectly picked clean, in perfect skeletal formation, but it was huge. Not just a large buck, either. More so the size of a car. The skull itself was almost bigger than Hunter.

“What the hell?” Hunter muttered to themself in shock. They’d lived out in these woods for years, and never had they ever seen anything like it before. They were stunned, at a loss for words, and above all else, frightened. At first they thought it might be fake, or some kind of art piece. They'd seen those before.

But something deep down inside said that wasn't the case.

They slowly backed away from it and returned to Fawn, watching it disappear through the mist. Hunter didn’t say a word, and just continued walking, trusting Fawn would follow. This caused Fawn great unease. Hunter had been out here for years. They’ve killed people. What on Earth could possibly have them spooked?

The misty rain slowly turned to gentle flakes of snow, the wind picking up as it grew colder and darker. They made it back to the cabin as the snow began to stick and fall heavier, the wind howling through the growing darkness of the late evening.

Hunter plopped the deer down on the table and turned to look at Fawn. The look on the hunter's face almost made them shiver, and not from the cold. Seeing your own captor frightened by something wasn't something you'd exactly want to see. They ran a hand through their long, messy hair, shaking their head as they pulled themself back down to earth.

“Come on,” they said, “let’s pick those nasty things off you.” They said, and led them down into the basement. Fawn was far too spooked and exhausted to fight back anymore. They stood still as Hunter meticulously picked off all the tiny brussels and burrs, until they were finally free of them.

Hunter pushed Fawn down onto the mattress roughly before locking both of them down in the basement. Hunter sat on a chair, clutching their gun tightly in their hands as it laid across their lap. They stared intensely at the door, frightened that something they couldn’t explain may come down it. Fawn looked over at them from the mattress which they slept.

They hated that their presence made them feel safer.

Taglist: @parasitebunny

If you want added or removed, lmk!

Thanks for reading !!!

#fawn and hunter #whump #whump blog #whump community #whumpblr #my writing #whump writing #rural whump

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assortedvillainvault · 2 years

Note

can i get a captain hook or jafar headcannon with a bubbly innocent reader ! i absolutely love your writing !

Hey! So sorry for the delay, life has had me in a chokehold. One order of Hook & Jafar with a bubbly reader coming up!

Captain Hook x Innocent!Reader

Ok so the Captain is one of those Villians where the...'villainy' for want of a better word? Isn't on display 24/7.

Actually he really loves getting to play up his gentleman tendencies, it's a nice escape from a chip full of brutes and an island full of children. So a cheerful and more innocent leaning partner is something he latches onto with delight!

FINALLY he gets to have a lovely thing on his arm who will laugh at his jokes and blush at his good manners! SMEE!! Get the good cutlery and crack out the candles, you're being treated to a candle lit dinner THIS INSTANT!!

Let! Him! Dote! On! You!

He loves that you tend to think on the lighter side and assume the best. Not only does it bring out a much more protective side of him, but the crew are extremely appreciative of the balance you're bringing to the ships atmosphere. They're violent and bad tempered, sure, but nobody wants to live on a hair trigger every day for forever - or however long they're going to be trapped on Neverland for, which is already 200+ years at this point and climbing.

There have been, instances, shall we say, where a crewmate or mermaid has been less than welcoming. It flew over your head, innocence has it's disadvantages after all, but the Captain can shoot a target over 100 yards in any direction without even bloody LOOKING, so they were short lived at best.

Being forced to pull your friends corpse out to sea does tend to put the fear of death back in one Captain James Hook.

Your laugh makes his face hurt from smiling so much. His nerves have never been so soothed.

Smee has already decided that if you ever make any moves to leave he's chaining you to the mast. Sorry not sorry, you're stuck here now. He may be the friendliest face on the ship, but you don't get to 60+ on a pirate ship without some tricks up your sleeve.

And managing Hook's fraying sanity is Smee's biggest and best trick to date.

Jafar x Innocent!Reader:

You are simultaneously Jafar's rock and his day to day grievances rolled into one.

One one had, OH you make his job so much easier. Your bright and bubbly attitude lights up the palace and distracts the Sultan from effusing any of the idiot's thoughtless noise in Jafar's general direction. Jasmine's stand offish behaviour melts away under your smile, and the servants will agree to almost anything you ask.

On the other hand, Reader PLEASE He has spent DECADES perfecting his slease, his charms, his sultry yet intimidating stalk through the halls, learning how to swish and snarl just so to get his way and now you're latched to his arm beaming and babbling away and all his carefully crafted mystique is waving goodbye on the desert winds.

When you frst met his frustration was unending. You were too innocent to catch any of the double meanings and secret overtures under his words and you would not be threatened By ALLAH WHAT does he have to do for some unease in this godamn palace?!

The worst part wasn't even that you weren't catching it. It was that he wanted you so badly to catch it. Unlike the sultan he could see the intelligence behind your eyes. You and he were so close to a real, proper, genuine connection and the lack of comprehension in your gaze made his hands itch with the urge to break you.

Of course, he couldn't do much. Hypnotism isn't as effective as you think, it only really works on people who are weak willed or already over halfway to doing what he wants.

With nothing left to do, he resorts to avoiding you. Too bad you've decided you like him and the servants are always willing to tell you where he is isn't it? Even his 'secret' lair isn't safe. Never underestimate how much the staff know, they're the ones who can hear his mad laughter at 3 in the morning through the walls.

In private he's much more willing to accept affection, especially of the physical kind. Your touch is addictive at this point, and the sensation of all your attention soley on him strokes his ego something wicked.

AndsomethigelsecoughCOUGH

Reader I will be honest...I don't think you'll be remaining innocent for very long. In any sense.

#thalassa responds #headcannons ahoy #thank you so much for the ask #disney villains #villains x reader #jafar #Captain Hook #jafar is such a strong corrupting influence and Hook just wants to put the love on his SO

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asukamood · 7 months

Text

Fond Memories

(Cross birthday special)

***

I almost forgot that October 10th was Cross’s birthday, goodness that was close.

(HOWEVER WHAT I DID FORGET IS TO UPLOAD IT ON TUMBLR.)

This is going to take place in the past, like the early timelines of X-Tale so we can see more of Frisk, Chara, him, and Papyrus being best friends because we were robbed of that.

Enjoy your reading!

***

Warnings: There should not be any, maybe mention of food but apart from that...

Synopsis: “Why do you two have to fight so often? We are all friends, aren’t we?” Papyrus sniffed, making them both panic. “Can’t you two make an exception for once so Cross can spend a nice birthday?”

Chara’s eyes widened. “Wait, It’s Cross’s birthday today?!”

***

Cross was frowning.

Was it him or was Undyne being particularly and unnecessarily demanding of him today? Should it not be the opposite? Since it was his birthday and all?

“Come on Cross, you can do better than that!” Undyne yelled across the field Cross was running on, her voice barely audible with the wind howling in his ears.

The weight of his armor was really starting to bother him, it was so heavy.

“I'm doing my best already Undyne!” Cross yelled back, heaving his body upward in vain effort. It was in moments like this that he sometimes wondered why he let Chara and Frisk convince him that getting into the royal guard was a clever idea.

Well, it is pretty fun when they fight and everything but just doing endurance training like that was so boring.

On his birthday too? Was Life against him after all?

As he questioned his existence, he did not even notice the fact he reached Undyne, who blew into the whistle, signaling the end of the test. Cross’s legs slowed down before eventually coming to a stop, almost giving out beneath his weight. Thankfully, sheer willpower was still enough to keep him balanced and not embarrass himself in front of the captain. That really would have been the worst thing to happen, especially so close to the final test.

“Good work!” Undyne slapped his back with a concerning loud cracking noise that she did not seem to hear. “You can go change back to your civilian outfit now, and don’t forget to take a shower too!” She swayed her hair onto her back, fixing some rebel strands on her face before bidding goodbye and walking away.

Cross heaved a loud sigh before he forced his body to move in the direction of the changing rooms where he could see Papyrus anxiously looking at his watch every few seconds, tapping the ground with his foot occasionally.

Cross would have called out to him, if not for the fact he was absolutely exhausted.

So, he just walked up to him silently, wondering how long it would take him to notice him.

Papyrus had grown taller than him that year, somehow.

Cross was supposed to be the oldest, how did that even happen?

He did not have the time to further dwell on these thoughts as his little brother’s face brightened up with a grin as he finally noticed him approaching. “Brother!” He waved his hand excitedly, Cross trying to repeat the gesture with less energy.

“You took your sweet time.” Chara, whom Cross had yet to notice by that point teased, his back pressed against the wall. “What happened to the champion of tag you’re it?”

Cross rolled his eyes, a little smile on his face. “He’s still ready to kick your ass, idiot.”

“You know you shouldn’t say bad words, Cross.” Papyrus lightly scolded him, before turning to face Frisk, who was hidden behind his tall figure. “You’re not going to say anything to Chara?” He tilted his head to the side innocently.

The last member of their squad finally stepped out of the tallest boy’s shadow, purple and red eye looking his brother up and down before he turned back to Papyrus. “No, I don’t see why I should.”

Said brother smirked widely as Cross let out a protest. “If he’s not going to get Frisk on his back for being immature, then why should I?” He fumed. “That’s so unfair!”

“Quit being a baby Cross.” Chara playfully elbowed him, earning a dramatic yelp. “Just because my brother likes me better than yours do doesn’t mean you have to throw a tantrum over it.”

“That’s not true!” Papyrus and Cross shouted at the same time. The two brothers blinked before turning back to face their common ‘enemy.’

The tallest of them curled his hands into fists, resting them on his hips as if to give his words more meaning thanks to his ‘authoritarian’ posture. “I do love Cross as a brother very much but as his sibling, it is in my duty to make sure he does not set himself on a path he will regret.”

“While I totally think you’re exaggerating on that end part, I totally agree with you on the beginning, Paps.” The shorter sibling crossed his arms around his chest, his arms resting uncomfortably against the metal of his armor he had yet to take off, having been interrupted earlier by the three others. “Besides, I don’t think love can really be compa---”

“Oh my Asgore!” Chara exclaimed, throwing his arms in the air, exasperated. “I get it! No need to get me deaf with your gross speech!” He stuck his tongue out, the pair giving him an unimpressed look.

Even Frisk facepalmed.

At the gesture, Chara gasped, offended. “Frisk! I thought you loved me!”

“Look, there’s only so much one man can take in five consecutive hours of hearing you ramble about how stepping on a Lego should be considered a good enough reason to get in the Emergency Room.”

“WE’RE TWELVE, WHAT DO YOU MEAN A MAN?” Chara shouted back, making Cross wince as he stepped back, rubbing his forehead.

“I love how you didn’t even deny having had that conversation with me.” Frisk snickered, much to Chara’s dismay. However, before he could think of throwing another tantrum or snapping at him with his girl-ish voice, Papyrus held up a hand to his mouth and stopped him, frowning.

He had noticed Cross.

“Are you okay Cross?” At the worried tone, Chara and Frisk also turned toward him, their faces reflecting Papyrus’ expression.

“You don’t look too good.” Chara observed, stepping closer to him, and trying to inspect his face closer. “You alright?”

“Did Undyne go too hard on you?” Frisk questioned too, rubbing his shoulder with a hand. “You know we can talk to Gaster if--” Cross halted the idea immediately, shaking his head no.

Embarrassing himself like that by having to ask for his father’s help was not how he was going to let things happen, that would cost him too much pride.

“It’s fine.” He croaked out at one point, shooing off the two younger siblings who took a step back to dodge his ‘hits,’ if they could even be called that. “I just have a little headache after listening to Captain Undyne screaming at the top of her lungs for an hour... or rather, I think it was an hour.”

“We’ve been waiting for an hour and a half but yeah, that’s fair.” Chara tapped Cross on the shoulder before backing away in his original place, his brother soon following his example.

“But don’t hesitate to ask for something if you need anything, okay?” Papyrus looked at him worryingly and Cross smiled, getting on his tip toes and thankfully managed to pat the other after some rather pitiful tries.

“Thanks Papas but it really won’t be necessary.” Before the other could think of giving the pats back, Cross quickly retreated to the side. Of the two of them, he was undeniably the fastest. “Anyway, what has gotten into the three of you to try and take care of me like that?” Cross raised an eyebrow, slightly amused.

“I’m the oldest, that’s supposed to be my job, I hope you three are aware?” Papyrus shrugged.

“I do not think it is something that relates to age. If one of us is feeling unwell, the others will take care of them, that will always be the case, whether the person is the oldest or not.” He said, quickly followed by Frisk who added his own grain of salt into the mix.

“Besides, you’ve taken care of us plenty before, so I think it’s only fair if we get to do the same now.” Cross smiled.

“Aw you guy--”

“Besides, you look like dog shit.” Chara added with a grin, making Papyrus shout out another ‘language!’ and Frisk facepalm.

Cross clicked his tongue. “You know, I was starting to feel appreciated and felt like we were having a very beautiful bonding moment before you intervened.” Chara gave him a thumbs up.

“You’re welcome for preventing you to cry like a baby.”

“F off, will you?” Papyrus gave him a sideways glance.

“What did we just talk about brother?” Cross threw his hands in the air in frustration, barely holding back a growl.

“I did not even say the word! It was just a letter!” Frisk hummed, looking at Cross’s raised arms. “Is a letter considered a curse word now?”

“Well, no but--”

“Weird, I could have sworn Chara did the exact same thing a few minutes ago...” Said one scoffed, rolling his eyes.

“I told you all Cross was a copycat. "He feigned to flip his non-existent long hair, like the mean girls from that TV show he has been obsessed with for a while, grinning. “But I can’t exactly blame him either, who would not want to be like me?”

“Sometimes, I wonder how you put up with such a diva, Frisk.” Cross ignored Chara and turned to his brother instead, who was seen sighing. “I think I would have genuinely murdered him if he was my brother.”

“Bold of you to assume I wouldn’t have killed you first!” Papyrus frowned at the interaction, genuinely upset.

“Why do you two have to fight so often? We are all friends, aren’t we?” Papyrus sniffed, making them both panic. “Can’t you two make an exception for once so Cross can spend a nice birthday?”

Chara’s eyes widened. “Wait, It’s Cross’s birthday today?!”

“I- HOW DID YOU NOT KNOW?” Frisk suddenly shouted incredulously, attracting the attention of several animals who were just passing by. “Did you just think we were here to pick up Cross from training just because??”

“...” Chara smiled nervously. “Yes?”

A beat of silence passed before Frisk facepalmed for what felt like the hundredth time today. “Idiot.” He flicked him on the forehead, earning a yelp.

The interaction cheered Papyrus up who snickered but that was nothing compared to the loud snort Cross let out at the sight of Frisk insulting Chara for once.

The latter sent him a death glare that he pretended not to notice.

“Anyway, what did you guys have planned for me this year?” He asked nonchalantly, hoping one of them would fall into the trap he set them.

“We can’t--” Frisk began before Papyrus cut him off excitedly.

“We’re going to your favorite restaurant!” Cross grinned mischievously as Chara hissed his name. The taller child raised an eyebrow. “What?”

“It was a surprise, Paps!” His face fell but before it could escalate Cross dragged them all toward the exit.

“Then what are we waiting for? I am starving!”

While on the road, Chara tugged on the birthday boy’s sleeve. He turned around, eyebrow raised. “Hey Cross?”

“Mhm?” He replied, a sort of warm grin on his face.

“Sorry for forgetting your birthday.” He scratched his neck but yelped as he got slapped on the back.

“Don’t worry about it, just don’t forget it next time!”

Then they all walked away, promising that next year’s surprise would be kept this time.

***

“... Hey Cross?” At the call of his name, the soldier turned cold eyes toward Chara.

“What?” He hissed, making it obvious that whatever it was that he wanted, he was going to have to make it quick. Nightmare was not going to wait for much longer.

Chara looked away from him. “Happy Birthday.”

The latter stopped in his tracks; a foot still mid-air as he looked incredulously at him. A few seconds later though, he resumed his walking. “... Thank you.”

#cross sans #xtale au #xtale #xtale sans #xtale chara #xtale papyrus #xtale frisk #utmv #fluff #happy bday #bday

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maybestoryideas · 6 months

Text

Welcome Home - Imagine #1

What do you think happens to Wally after someone says his name and the camera cuts? Warning for spoilers and speculation.

Okay, what does that one look like?

Which one?

That one. There, see?

Hmm… Let me think…

Don’t think too long, Frank, or it’ll drift away.

Well I would say it most closely resembles... a fish. See how the cloud fans out like a tail fin at the end?

Oh yeah! I do see it. And that one there looks like a rabbit.

I don’t know about that. The neck looks far too long to belong to a rabbit. I’d say it looks more like a deer, or maybe a donkey.

No way, look at it. It’s even soft and fluffy like a little bunny-rabbit. And if it could talk right now, it’d be asking you for some of those carrots in your garden.

Well, as much fun as this has been, I really must get back to my errands.

Aw, can’t you stay a little longer?

No can do, I’m afraid. Unlike some of you, I can’t spend the entire day with my… head in the clouds.

Ha! Fine, you can go free just for that line alone. See ya later, Frank!

Take care, you two.

Bye! Hey, does that cloud look like anything to you, Wally?

You waited for a response.

“Wally?”

Absolute silence.

Confused, you sat up from the grass and looked over to your friend. Maybe he just fell asleep? It makes sense, the sun’s out and there’s a slight breeze; it’s the perfect weather for a nice afternoon nap. That idea is shut down when you see him staring up at the clouds.

But rather than the lazy, half-lidded gaze you’ve come to expect from Wally, his eyes are pulled wide open, practically shaking in his sockets. In fact, it’s the only part of him that’s moving at all. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he was-

“Wally!”

You wave a hand in front of him, and he finally blinks back. His brow crinkles together in confusion, but at least he doesn’t have that manic stare anymore.

“Where did Frank go?” He asks, sitting up and looking around the now empty hills.

“He just left. Didn’t you hear him say goodbye?” Didn’t he hear that clever joke about the clouds? The answer to both your questions is a slow shake of his head. How long was he just looking like that?

“Is everything okay, Wally?” Now might not be the best time to ask, and the answer might not be a good one, but you feel like you have to. He stays quiet, mouth curled into what you would say is the worst smile he’s ever made; it’s the first time you’ve seen him make such a face.

“I don’t know.” The words come out slowly and quietly, and he keeps his eyes down to the ground. Like a child too afraid to look their parents in the eye. “I haven’t been feeling like myself.”

“What do you mean? Are you sick or something?” Even the birds and wind have gone silent, waiting for a response. If you had known he wasn’t feeling up for it, you never would’ve dragged Wally outside in the first place.

“No, that’s not it. It feels like…” He drags his knees up to his chest, one hand gripping the grass. “I don’t know what it feels like. I’m sorry.”

It’s not out of the ordinary for Wally to get a little absentminded, but this is different. Part of you wants to scoop him up in your arms and hold him until that look goes away. Instead, you take his hand in yours and give him a soft squeeze.

“You don’t have to apologize, you didn’t do anything wrong. And if you start to feel that way again, you can always come talk to me.” You duck down so he can get a good look at you. Even if you don’t know whatever that was, you can at least help him feel better afterwards. “Is that okay, Wally?”

He squeezes your hand back and gives a smile. Small and unsteady, but there all the same. “Okay. I’ll tell you when it happens again.”

When. Not if. You'll try not to dwell on his choice of words, at least no right now.

He lets go of your hand and stands up.

“I'm going home. Goodbye.”

He’s already walking away before you even get a word out. Without so much as a wave goodbye, he walks down to the dirt path and heads back the way you two came, getting smaller and smaller until he disappears from sight.

The sun’s still out, there’s a breeze in the air, and the clouds look like they’re about to go gray soon.

“It looked like a flower a second ago.”

#Welcome Home #Frank Frankly #Wally Darling #Reader #Welcome Home x Reader

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undertheopensky · 7 months

Text

Wildlife 2

Whumptober Day 5: “It’s broken,” though elements of Pinned Down also snuck in

Characters: Blue Link, Red Link

Trigger warnings: Violence to a child, broken bones, mentions of slavery, but nothing happens

Read on Ao3!

Missed the first instalment? Read here!

-----

“Blue~! If you sleep much longer, Vio’s gonna try cooking again!”

Blue grunts and flails. “I’m up, I’m up, keep him away from the stove -”

His hand hits grass instead of fabric and suddenly he’s awake, jolting upright and blinking in the cold grey light.

Red’s singsong fades with the last wisps of the dream. He’s still alone. Still trapped in a sectioned-off forest with no supplies or equipment or any idea how to get home.

His stomach growls.

…and he’s still hungry.

Blue rolls into a sit and wraps his arms around himself. The constant ache in his back and shoulders and hips is annoying, but he’s almost getting used to it. It’s just one more thing making shit hard. Like the way his head hurts, and he’s sometimes racked with shivers despite the warm temperatures.

Sooo, are you gonna get up, or are you just gonna sit there and complain that you’re hungry?

Blue sighs theatrically. “Yeah, yeah.”

He knows it’s not real - that Green’s voice is just his memory playing familiar sounds. That he’s playing pretend like a child. He just -

He’s never been alone this long. Not since their last adventure, when they’d split not just in body but in mind, and never (wanted to) rejoin. Not since wind screaming, snow in his boots, hands numb with cold where they wrap around his sword hilt, shadow at his back and he - can’t - move -

His fingers tighten. At least it’s not cold here.

C’mon Blue! What do you want for breakfast?

“Bread,” Blue mutters, reluctantly dragging himself to his feet. “Apples. Goddess I miss apples.”

There’s no bread to be had here, though, and he doesn’t have the mental stamina to go through the laborious process of gathering enough wood and kindling and lighting a goddamn fire to cook a fish, so it’ll be tubers and greens. At least he’s found something that looks and tastes like a dandelion, though it never flowers - means he doesn’t have to eat spruce needles like a starving deer.

(Blue hates them, and may never drink lemonade again.)

Foraging for breakfast at least means doing something. That’s almost the worst part - the boredom. That’s when the voices in Blue’s head get a little too loud and a little too real, and he’s left scratching at his own skin with all the wrongness of being alone. Sometimes when it gets too much he’ll practice drills from their squire days, waving his favourite stick like it’s a badly-balanced sword with his brothers giggling in his ears, or run the perimeter like there’s a chance something will have changed. But more and more often, Blue finds himself just - stopping, in the middle of doing something, and thinking, I’m so tired.

Your stomach doesn’t care that you’re tired. Vio’s brisk as ever.

“I know, I know.” Blue hauls up the tuber plant he’d been digging and stands, ignoring the damp that’s soaked into the knees of his worn pyjama pants. It’s a big one - if he can find enough dandelions then all he’ll have to do is park his ass by the stream to wash everything, and then he won’t have to move for a while.

What, sure you don’t wanna practice later? Bet I can do more drills than you!

“Too tired, Green.” Truth is, Blue is probably losing strength, but he’s doing his best, dammit. Everything just feels weighed down, lead-heavy and slow. It’s almost all he can do just to sit here on the bank, rinsing dandelion leaves and trying to put more into the ‘later’ stack than into his mouth.

Building and maintaining muscle requires a better diet than you’ve been getting lately. It’s no wonder you’re tired.

“That’s nice, Vio.” The roof of his mouth itches. Blue scrubs his tongue over the ridges there, frowning. He better not be developing an allergy to the not-dandelions. He does not want to go back to eating spruce tips for greens.

The tingling fades. Blue cleans another leaf, a little more thoroughly, and chews it slowly, paying attention to the feel in his mouth. This time, there’s nothing, so he shrugs it off as a weird-body thing and turns to getting all the flour-fine dirt out of his tubers.

The comforting chatter of the water is soothing, almost drowning out the emptiness of the surrounding forest. There’s no birds, no small mammals, just plants and fish and Blue, and it’s always too quiet and too still.

From the corner of his eye, maroon flickers between two trees.

Blue blinks, for a second disbelieving, then looks up, because he can swear he hears footsteps -

Instinct makes him grab for his stick.

“Hey - hey, you! Do you know where we are? I was travelling through the forest near Lake Hylia and now I can’t find the road!”

Blue stares, uncomprehending. He hasn’t seen another Hylian in over a week. He hasn’t seen another living creature besides fish in nearly as long. It’s - something in his brain is hitting on person right in front of me and stumbling, reaching for normal interaction and finding only empty shelves.

Where did they even come from?

“Are you listening?! I’m lost!” The stranger staggers out of the underbrush, shaking off a last clinging branch, and Blue finally gets a good look at the person shouting at him.

Hard-wearing travel gear, good leather boots, the kind of warm vest he usually sees on merchants who travel long distances - brown hair, dark eyes, not familiar. If he was following the Lake Hylia road he’s likely a travelling merchant from Labrynna, as that’s the main pathway between the two kingdoms.

Thanks Vio, that’s very helpful, Blue thinks.

Always welcome, brother dearest.

The probable-merchant look up from pulling a stick out of his boot and focuses on Blue. “Hey, you’re just a kid!” The light in his eyes shifts then, to something almost greedy that makes Blue’s hackles rise in response. Abruptly feeling vulnerable, he stands and takes two steps sideways from the stream. Securing his footing.

“What’re you doing out here all alone, huh?” The man takes a couple steps forward, arms held away from his sides in a way that should read as unthreatening. Blue wants to bare his teeth instead.

“What, got nothing to say? Where’s your family, kiddo?”

The stranger rushes him.

Well if he wants to fight that bad, Blue’s got a week’s worth of disquiet and frustration to work out.

He sidesteps the rush, uses both hands on his stick to shove, and knocks the man cleanly away. (He catches himself before he lands in the stream, to Blue’s private disappointment.)

Back off, he thinks.

“Are you all alone?”

He ignores the words, ducks the grasping hands and shoves his shoulder into the guy’s gut, getting a pained grunt. The hands try to secure a grip in his hair; Blue twists away.

What does this idiot even want? They’re stuck here. It’s not like he could be dragged off to be sold into Labrynna’s slave trade -

- unless he hasn’t realised that yet.

Fuck.

Blue steps back, and back, mind racing in circles of no way out no way to get him out no way out. The merchant - the slaver - thinks he’s running scared. He’s following, smirking, just waiting for Blue to back himself into a corner, bump into a tree - trunks are thick around them and there are plenty of trip hazards in the form of shallow roots.

The man suddenly lunges. Without thinking Blue jams his stick down and across to block him, maybe trip him.

Instead the thin pine gives way with an audible crack.

Blue catches a blow on his cheekbone that has him seeing stars but it doesn’t hurt as much as his fist does when it makes contact, fuck. Must have got him in the face. The brief moment of disorientation hampers Blue more, because there’s hard hands at his shoulders and a foot between his own, and then they’re falling, Blue crushed beneath the heavy weight of a full grown male.

Real terror surges through him. He doesn’t know this person but they feel wrong and they’re much bigger and stronger and he doesn’t have a weapon -

He thrashes, kicks, scratches, and bites, all to little effect through the man’s sturdy clothes. Then, desperation overriding caution, he slams his head forward.

There’s a shriek of pain, a spatter of wet heat. Blue kicks free of the stranger’s weight and scrambles back. Pain radiates from the point his head made contact, white-hot and dizzying. His shoulder hits a tree; he grabs for it, misses, finds purchase and uses it to drag himself upright and damn the black spots that bloom in his vision, he is not lying down for this -

Things have gone eerily quiet.

And when Blue blinks the stars out of his eyes for good, he’s alone.

He spins all the way round. There’s no sign of the stranger in the trees, no flickers of colours or moving foliage. Blue remembers the horrible light in his eyes and knows there’s no way he’d just - given up -

He - he can’t have hallucinated an entire fight, right?! No, the grass is torn up. And there’s blood from the guy’s nose, splattered on the ground and on his skin, and Blue isn’t bleeding at all. The guy’s just… gone. Without a trace.

(Like the fish appearing in the stream, but in reverse. Like they’d always been there; like he’d never been there in the first place.)

Distantly Blue’s aware that he’s shaking. His head throbs, and his vision’s still a bit wobbly. Trying to squint through the trees makes him nauseous, so he lets his eyes drop to the torn-up grass, where the broken pieces of his trusty stick still lie.

And it’s so fucking stupid, but that’s what makes his eyes overflow.

It’s just a stick, and he can get another just like it, but he’s had this one since first being dropped here. It was his main tool, long enough to drag down overhead branches when he wanted or to poke through bushes, stout enough to help with digging when the dirt is stubborn. And now it’s broken, because some fuckwit saw a lone kid and decided to be an asshole about it.

C’mon, Blue. It’ll be okay.

Red’s voice is so real Blue nearly calls out to him. Stifles it at the last minute, heart panging. He misses them, suddenly, more fiercely than ever. Green wouldn’t have made the mistake that ended with Blue nearly pinned and helpless. Vio would have talked his way out of the fight completely. And Red - Blue huffs, and sniffles. Red would have been perfectly earnest and polite, right up until the first lunge - at which point everything would have gone to hellfire and screaming.

He misses them. He wants to go home.

Blue’s face hurts, a steady throb of heat up the side. It’s more evidence of the fact that there was someone here, however briefly. He wasn’t alone.

(He hates that he can’t decide if it’s a good or bad thing.)

-----

That night Blue jerks awake multiple times, heart racing.

Sometimes he moves, making his face spike with pain. Sometimes he thinks he’s hearing noises - rustles of leaves, the puff of air from someone breathing way too close. Other times, shadows in his dreams steal close and crush the life out of him, hissing warnings about the road to Labrynna, and waking to the complete darkness of the forest doesn’t help to dispel them. His eyes are open and the weight is gone but he can’t see and he can’t breathe and he can’t hold his eyelids up forever -

It’s a bad night.

-----

Blue pauses in another fishing expedition when the air shifts.

The air in this place is unnaturally still; there’s no breezes, no winds, nothing to brush the leaves or stir hair. It means that when something does move, it feels super fucking obvious. And something in the air just shifted.

Snatching up his new stick, Blue wades out of the stream and heads for drier ground. He is not getting caught off guard again. There’s a thicket of nasty spiky shrubs not far off just waiting to make a nuisance of themselves.

He freezes in his tracks when someone wails.

It’s thin and breathy and agonised, the kind of noise an animal makes when it’s horribly wounded, a sound that forces its way out of you because the pain can’t be held in.

Worst of all - he thinks it’s familiar.

The scream dies before he can get close. His heart goes cold and so does his skin, almost tingling-numb with terror so he can’t feel the thin leaves of the shrubs whipping past. No no no goddesses please don’t let him be too late -

Then the sobbing gets past the ringing in his ears and his heart thunders back to life just as bright colour comes visible through the woods.

He’d known it was Red from the first echo of sound but it doesn’t feel real. His brother is here, bawling on the grass in an awkward sprawl, the soft pink of his pyjamas filthy with grass stains and dirt and blood -

The word tears itself from his throat. “Red!”

Red flinches back then shrieks when the movement pulls at his leg.

“Red, no - don’t - don’t move -” Blue stumbles to kneel beside him, hands hovering like he’s - fuck like he’s scared to make contact because he is, where is he hurt?

Red flails a hand, smacks Blue on the neck with it. “Blue - you’re - you’re real, aren’t you?”

“I’m real, I’m here, I’ve got you -”

Red’s arm hooks around him in a clumsy hug. “I missed you so much,” he wails, trying to get his other arm up and around but whimpering when trying to roll hurts him. “I missed you!”

And Blue had missed him too, so fucking much, that he can’t stop himself from leaning in and hugging him back, tight and guilty. His brother is trapped here too, trapped and injured, and all he can feel is relief.

“Lemme see,” he says, pulling back. His left leg is obvious cause for concern, twisted and swollen under thin linen. Red whimpers as Blue pulls the fabric away. He can only be glad Red favours a loose fit.

He does not like what he sees underneath. Not as much blood as he was expecting, heavy bruising from dark angry red through blue-black and edged with green, and not even the swelling can hide the way his shin bends in the middle.

“Red, this is definitely broken.”

“No shit!” Red says tearfully. Then he bursts into fresh tears. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry I know you’re trying to help -”

“You’re in pain, you’re allowed to be grumpy,” Blue says, pulling up his other pant leg for inspection. Some cuts and grazes, but so far he hasn’t found anything worth the smears of blood that had caught his eye first. “Red, where are you bleeding from? Do you have a cut somewhere?”

“I - no, it’s - I can’t - I can’t walk,” Red admits, like not being able to walk on a broken leg is somehow shameful, the little idiot, “an’ I grazed my knees crawling to water. They hurt, Blue.”

“Washing them out’s gonna hurt worse.” Blue finds the wounds, and yow. Red hasn’t just grazed them, he’s stripped the skin right off a palm-sized section of both legs, still oozing clear fluid. Not for the first time, he wishes for potions, but wishing won’t get them anywhere. Work with what you’ve got.

The broken halves of his first tool-stick will be just about perfect, he thinks. “Red, wait here, I’m gonna grab a splint -”

“NO!” Red screams and hurls himself at Blue, “don’t leave me!”

Blue freezes. Partly it’s the contact, which is again sparking a weird and not entirely comfortable tingling. Partly it’s Red and the potential damage he could do to himself moving suddenly. And partly it’s because his heart just fell into the fucking dark world.

“Red, you scared the shit out of me,” he grunts, wrapping a supporting arm around Red’s shoulders.

“‘M sorry,” Red sniffles, “don’t go. I’ll lose you - you’ll disappear - how do I know you’re real - can’t I just go with you?”

“Red, your leg is broken, you really shouldn’t move it.”

Red sniffs and gives Blue as dry a look he can manage while drowning in his own tears. “I’ve been dragging it around for the last five days, I don’t think dragging it the last however far to your camp’s gonna do it any more harm.”

He would - Blue knows he’s been here longer than that. He hasn’t taken to cutting tally marks into a tree yet, only because he doesn’t have a damn knife, but it’s been at least ten days since he woke up in this strange, enclosed forest. But right now, he doesn’t care enough to do the math, and in the face of his brother’s injuries it’s low priority anyway.

“I don’t have anything to camp with,” Blue says dryly, “but there’s a stream further in. Think you can make it that far if I help?”

Red nods, determined.

“Then deep breath, and don’t bite your tongue - up we go.”

Red swoons a little at the gravity shift.

Blue holds him up, wishing Red wasn’t hurt, and feeling guiltier than ever at how comforting Red feels pressed up close like this. He smells like dirt and sour-pain and the sticky-pine of the forest, but under it there’s smoke and iron and home.

A few shuddery breaths later, Red lifts his head from where he’d let it fall to Blue’s shoulder. “‘M okay.”

“Then let’s go.” Strategically Blue arranges them so most of Red’s weight is on him, arms over shoulders for support. “The stream’s not too far away - it even has fish in it.”

“Fish?” Red’s eyes light up almost comically. He’s probably been restricted to whatever he could reach from his prone state on the ground, and Blue’s stomach lurches again with combined guilt-horror-relief.

“Yeah,” he says, through the tightness in his throat, “I’m getting pretty good at catching them. I’m still shit at lighting fires, though. Think you can give me a hand?”

Red grins at him, shyly hopeful, and Blue hugs him a little tighter.

-----

Read Part 3 here!

#lu blue #lu red #blue link #red link #linked universe #four swords #whumptober 2023 #as usual this was not supposed to get this long #skies writes

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masterqwertster · 9 months

Note

Hi! I’m absolutely OBSESSED with your hurt/comfort fics just now! Thank you so much for those spots of sunshine in my days. You might’ve already done this one, but I would absolutely LOVE to see a #2 (druidcraft) with Orym and Ashton please. (If you feel like it that is lol). <3 <3 <3

(can you tell I’ve never requested a fic before lol, anxietyyyyy)

Prompt Thank you for the compliment and I'm glad you're enjoying them 😊 No need to feel anxious. I put the prompts out specifically so people will drop an ask, so you're doing great! Now I'm trying to play more in my AU sandbox for (personal) shits and giggles, so I'm going to take this into the Ashton of the Ashari AU.

2 Druidcraft

Whispering to the spirits of nature, you create one of the following effects within range:

You create a tiny, harmless sensory effect that predicts what the weather will be at your location for the next 24 hours. The effect might manifest as a golden orb for clear skies, a cloud for rain, falling snowflakes for snow, and so on. This effect persists for 1 round.

You instantly make a flower blossom, a seed pod open, or a leaf bud bloom.

You create an instantaneous, harmless sensory effect, such as falling leaves, a puff of wind, the sound of a small animal, or the faint odor of skunk. The effect must fit in a 5-foot cube.

You instantly light or snuff out a candle, a torch, or a small campfire.

Orym... probably shouldn't be doing this.

Dad had made it clear that the new kid next door, Ashton, needed to be treated carefully since their old home wasn't respectful of the dangers of elementals and the elemental planes. Dangerous ideas that didn't need to be fed means to act on them.

But it's just druidcraft. The worst the kid can get up to with it is some pranks. Which is hardly as dangerous as the animalistic elementals Ashton often attracts and plays with like other little kids play with pets or imaginary friends.

And Orym really just needs them to sit down for a little while.

Training to be a Tempest Blade is certainly honing his body for peak physical condition, but Ashton is about the same height as Orym and a lot more energetic. So getting roped into afternoon babysitting after a morning training is not a time when Orym is up for running around chasing a ten-year-old brimming with energy. He'd really rather sit down and read a history book. But Ashton is his responsibility right now, and that kid definitely has no interest in Orym's most recent selection.

Still, this impromptu lesson isn't so bad.

As much as Orym struggled to learn this small bit of magic, he's always glad he took the time for it. Making flowers at a whim is such a nice way to show his care for others. And his difficulty in acquiring the skill means that Orym has heard just about every trick in the book for bringing the ability to cast druidcraft to fruition.

Not that all those myriad tricks seem necessary.

Ashton struggles for a while at the start, but once he got his first little bud to form, it seems to click. He doesn't fail to start the growth of any flowers after that, though Orym is still working Ashton through creating specific flowers and plants, rather than churning out whatever happens to cross his mind in that moment.

Orym has found that druidcrafting flower crowns is a helpful exercise in that regard. When you go one flower at a time and have a shifting pattern to follow, you have to be on-point with what you're druidcrafting. And there's the colorful crown itself at the end as a reward for completing the exercise. Given Ashton likes colorful and pretty things, it's perfect, really.

So they while the hours away making flowers and increasingly elaborate crowns. It's peaceful and relaxing and Orym thinks next time he'll try to rope Will into joining them. Possibly as their flower crown model since the half-elf boy isn't particularly good at weaving crowns.

When Miss Mola comes to pick Ashton up, Orym waves goodbye with promises of more duidcraft flower crown sessions next time.

#MQ&A #MQfic #MQ AU machine #ashton of the ashari au #critical role #ashton greymoore #orym of the air ashari #spell hurt/comfort prompt

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focsle · 1 year

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“I wish you a Merry Christmass at Home” 2nd mate of the whaleship Arnolda Benjamin Boodry wrote in the margins for his entry on this day in 1852. He consoled himself with his lot with a refrain he wrote often over the years: “But it is not for life if it is for 4 years”. On Christmas eve, he shared where his subconscious was spending its time:

“A pleasant dream about home and loved ones I wish I was there to night I think I should call on some of my friends if it was not to late But there is many a calm, squall, and gale to pass over my devoted head before that day comes.”

Holidays tended to bring out the sentimentality in many whalers who were so long and far from what they felt was home. Here are a handful:

Allen Newman, Edward, 1848

“I wish all my friends A merey Christmus which is more than I anticipate for myself.”

Mary Lawrence, Addison, 1858

“Christmas Day reminds us of home and friends. Minnie wished to hang up her stocking as usual, and as I had a tin of candies which her grandpa put up for her, “Santa Claus” managed to fill it very well. We sat down to a Christmas dinner of two roast turkeys, sweet and Irish potatoes, boiled onions, stewed pumpkin and cranberries, pickles, and a nice indian pudding made of milk and eggs. Had a goat killed for the benefit of those living in the forecastle, to which, I should think, they did ample justice as there are but two legs remaining.”

Joseph Dias, Ocmulgee, 1847

“Comes with strong breezes from the westward and overcast weather, steering S.E. with all sail set. This day I am 25 years old 25 what and not married yet are like to be shocking. But this is not all I am disapointed in. For I have been keeping Marys cake to celebrate my birth day with and this morning I took it out for the pourpus of eating but when I come to cut it I found it was spoiled a sad disappointment. But what grieves me most is to think I let it spoil after Mary took so much panes with it Oh dear Mary I hope you will not spoil so soon for the want of some one to take care of you.”

John Winslow, Wave, 1852

“Comes with a strong gale of wind from the E.ward this day My Wife is 26 years old if she is living and has got a poor sailor for a husband but it is not the worst for her for that May she live to enjoy many more years of Life and may they prove to be far happier than those that are past”

[Dec 26th]

“O if I could make 250 dollars this voyage I would not go to sea any more for it is a dogs life and sometimes when I think of the comforts of my home with my Wife and children I almost resolve never to go to sea again let me get a home of my own and I will stay by it.”

J.T. Langdon, St Peter, 1849

“The first part calm not a breath of air ruffled the face of the stormy deep. But with an ever rolling motion rocks our old ship like a vast cradle and the surface of the deep is like a vast mirror reflecting objects on its surface The first part ends Christmas and how many melancholy reflections come around unbidden and unasked for One year ago I was at home enjoying every pleasure that heart could wish friends to cheer and schoolmates to greet with a merry Christmas but now I am far away on the stormy ocean Many thousand miles intervene between this and my once happy Home”

John Martin, Lucy Ann, 1841

“As fine a day as we have had since we left the Capes of Delaware. The Watch on deck was employed in breaking out from the hold, bread, water, vinegar & other stores. We had Turtle Sea Pie for dinner. Take it altogether we spent a merry Christmas & more to my satisfaction than many a one I spent on shore.”

Benjamin Bourne, Annawann II, 1859

“[in the margins, alongside a stamp of a whale’s flukes] This Whale aught to have been saved - stove the boat Wish All a Mary Christmas Begins with a strong wind Bark steering S at 3 pm wind shifted to the Estrd a heavey rain squall took in sail to a close reef Main Topsail & staysails luffed to the wind heading SSE. Lat part at 9am saw a large sperm whale going slow into the SW so ends this day. [With an addendum on Jan 29th, 1899] I thought I was having a hard time 40 years ago but it was the best of my life.

Silliman Ives, Sunbeam, 1868

“The wheels of time have made another revolution and Christmas “Merry Christmas” is with us once again, although I can’t complain of being particularly merry, on the contrary I am rather inclined to feel somewhat sad. O Fate! Inexorable fate! that compels me to spend this holiday miles away from home and kindred, far out upon the surging billows of the Atlantic. Little did I think while enjoying the pleasures and amenities of this festival season one year ago among relatives and friends, that to day would find me here. But it is not given us to know the future, and it is a wise providence that withholds from us such knowledge, for had I known this was to be my destiny, any joy would have been sadly marred during that happy period. I wonder if the dear ones at home as they greet each other this morning, and exchange those endearing mementos common to this day, have a thought for their wild and reckless though still loving son, and brother, and cousin, who to day is separated from their hearths and homes by leagues and leagues of blue water. As the incense arises from off the family altar on this Christmas morning, is there a prayer breathed for the wanderer? I believe there is. Love conquers distance and in their hearts and their prayers he has his accustomed place.”

#long post //#awhalin #GOT KINDA SAD COMPILING THESE….love all u….#I’m fine and used to spending holidays alone but there is somethin about….goin through the journals of these lads also spendin them alone #LOVE ALL U LADS SO MUCH….

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cedricssoftpillow · 1 year

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Coffee Shop - Cedric A. Diggory

Summary: (f) Reader meets Cedric Diggory at a cozy coffee shop and instantly gets swept off of her feet by his unrelenting charm and good looks.

After a long, gloomy time spent at work, all I wanted to do was have a drink and wind down. I found myself craving a warm cup of hot chocolate and made the decision to go to a coffee shop not far from where I was.

I soon got to the entrance and walked in slowly. I immediately scanned the place, prepared for the worst. It was only a habit that I was a cautious person, considering I worked as a detective.

I noticed a brunette man in a hefty coat and hat. I was confused as to why he did not take the pieces of clothing off, considering it was raining not long ago. He was busy typing on a fairly new MacBook.

I didn't notice how long I was staring at him until I was interrupted by the barista asking me if I wanted anything. I told him I'd just like a cup of hot chocolate and he soon started to prepare it.

I searched the rest of the room, looking for a good place to sit. I mentally slapped myself for having only looked at that man. I found that the rest of the shop was empty, so I decided to sit at a table not far from the man.

I was glad that there were employees here to ensure that he and I were not left alone in this place. To be quite honest, I found him unnerving.

I opened up my briefcase and took out my laptop finishing up some extra work before my name was called by the barista, making it known to everyone in the room. I sighed.. that strange looking man knows my name now.

I went up to the counter to grab my drink and thanked the barista. I quickly sat down to drink my hot chocolate as fast as possible, wanting to leave this place. It was not that I didn't like it here, for I thought it was a relatively welcoming little shop, I just did not really like being alone with that man.

"I know I'm being dramatic," I thought to myself. "But what if he's a threat?" I looked over at him...he took off that dreadful excuse for a hat, revealing a very handsome face underneath. I sighed audibly and he looked over at me, we shared eye contact for a split second before each of us looked away.

I continued sparing small, fugitive glances at him from time to time until I finished my drink. I closed my laptop, packing it up in my briefcase, and getting ready to leave.

I noticed he was also getting ready to leave. I was concerned but I dismissed the growing apprehension in my stomach. I also noticed that the baristas were not at the counter.. they were nowhere to be seen. I was about to reach the door handle before I felt myself tripping over my heels. I fell over, very noisily at that. I felt myself being picked up and opened my eyes to see the man holding me upright.

"Are you alright?" he asked. "Yes I'm fine, your kindness is very much appreciated," I blushed. We stared at each other for longer than we should've been. I finally got a hold of myself and waved a brief goodbye to him.

I felt a sharp pain near my hip. I knew something had happened to me when I fell. I almost fell again but he caught me...again. "It seems you are having the slightest bit of trouble walking," he smiled. "You think so?" I said sarcastically. He giggled.

"So, who are you anyways and why are you being so nice to me?" I questioned. "The name's Diggory. Cedric Diggory, that is." he smiled. "I suppose I should be asking the same thing but I already know yours. Y/N Y/L/N," he winked.

"Pretty name for a pretty girl," I blushed at the cheesy comment. "Do you have a car?" he asked me. I blushed, ashamed that it wasn't here with me. "Not at the moment," I smiled feebly.

"That's alright, I can drive you home if you'd like," he smiled. I looked at him suspiciously, raising my eyebrows. "And why should I trust that you won't try anything?" I frowned.

"I guess there's only way to find out," he winked. I laughed at his foolish remark. I decided to let him drive me home but it was not without hesitance.

I told him where my address was and we were soon on our way to my house. I had to endure all of his cheesy flirting and silly puns but I must admit, the stupidity of them had me giggling like a schoolgirl. I had to be assisted in getting out of my own car which was humiliating in itself but I dismissed the shame because being in his arms had my blood rushing to my cheeks, making them hot and planting a rosy pink on each of them.

I gave him my keys and he unlocked the door for me. I was just short of closing the door in his face but he then exclaimed, "Wait! Can't we talk for a bit?!"

"What is there to talk about?" I rolled my eyes. He thought for a moment, I saw his hands rubbing the back of his neck and his cheeks turning pink. I blushed at his flushed state.

"Come in," I sighed in annoyance. He smiled and winked at me, stepping inside my house, making sure to wipe his muddy shoes on the mat and take them off. I smiled, seeing him look around in awe.

"You have such a nice house but not a car?" he remarked foolishly. I gave him a sharp glare and he recoiled in shame. "I apologize, Y/N," he breathed. I chuckled, "Well, if you must know, my car is currently in the shop being repaired. My tires gave out."

He apologized again. I told him his words were already forgiven. I led him to the couch and told him to sit down and relax and I'd make him some food for driving me home. "I can help you darling, I'm sure your hip is still hurt," he looked at me.

I looked back at him and said, "I'll be fine walking, although you might need to help me walk up the stairs." He blushed as I winked at him. I went to make us some "arroz con pollo". Some time passed and I carried two plates of food to the living room, where I saw him watching television.

"He looks so cute sitting there watching television," I thought to myself. I quickly realized I was staring at him for far too long and went to give him one of the plates I was carrying.

We both ate in comfortable silence. I suppose he didn't like to talk while eating, considering that in any other situation he'd probably be pestering me.

I smiled at him and he soon saw me looking at him and winked to me. I blushed, cursing myself for staring. I moved a bit closer to him so that I could put my plate on the coffee table which was closest to where he was.

Obviously, he took it as a sign that I wanted to be near him and he said playfully, "Can't stand being away from me?" "Don't get too ahead of yourself, Diggory," I retorted.

"Oh so now we're on a last name basis? I understand," he feigned hurt. I rolled my eyes and playfully poked him on his side with my elbow. "OW!" he groaned dramatically. "Goodness aren't you theatrical?"

I laughed stopping only to look him in the eyes. Pretty eyes, they were. Grey like the clouds on a stormy day. Although his personality was the opposite of what his eyes represented. He was the sunshine peering into your window on an early summer morning. He was a calm, cloudless summer day.

I couldn't get enough of the sweet innocence of his expression. He was also looking into my eyes, almost as if he was trying to peer into my soul. He was beautiful. It felt like what could've been an eternity staring at only him.

I sensed the tension growing in between us and I was positive he could as well. He looked down at my lips only to resume his earlier position looking at my eyes. I reciprocated his actions, noticing he had just licked his rosy lips, wetting them. I wanted to kiss him. So I did.

It didn't take long for him to respond, kissing me back with an untamed vigor. Our limbs were soon tangled together in a passionate embrace. He cupped my face. I felt small compared to his large frame. He rubbed his large thumb against my cheek and I tangled my fingers in his hair and tugged on it, causing him to let out a small groan.

My whole body felt like it was on fire. Every part of my body was hot, anticipating his every move. We soon realized that we were both wearing far too many layers of clothing. "We should maybe go upstairs if you wanna.." he breathed. I nodded frantically.

I let him carry me to the second floor of my house and I gave him directions to where exactly my bedroom was. He gently laid me down on my bed and said, "Would you like to know what I think?" "What?" I took in a breath, concerned. "I think you're wearing far too much clothing, darling," he smirked. It took barely a second for me to pull him in for another kiss by the collar of his shirt. "I could say the same thing to you, Ced," I breathed.

We soon worked to remove each other's clothing and once I was fully nude, he took a few glances at my body, making me feel quite insecure. I suppose it showed because he soon assured me that my body was beautiful.

I blushed working to take off his trousers and then his underwear. I saw his hard member and could've sworn I drooled. "Take a picture, it'll last longer," he grinned. "Shut up," I playfully smacked him. He grabbed my hands with one of his and grabbed my chin with the other and said, "Well that's not very nice, is it?"

I looked down in embarrassment at his remark. He soon got on top of me again and started kissing me roughly. He moved his lips down to my neck and sucked on the tender skin, being sure to leave a few hickeys.

He moved his gaze down to my breasts and looked at my hard nipples, taking one in his mouth. I moaned softly at the contact. He soon gave my other nipple the same treatment. Soon his hands were kneading my breasts and I grew impatient at his relentless teasing.

I whined loudly, letting him know I wanted more. He moved his head closer and closer to where I needed him most, kissing every single part of me until he got to my soaking core. He spread my legs wider and grinned, "All this for me, love?" "Please Ced," I moaned.

He licked a stripe up my core making me cry out. He soon started working on my clit, making sure to alternate between licking and sucking on it. His fingers gathered some wetness from my entrance before he slipped one into me. He started thrusting his fingers inside me at a perfect pace, hitting all of my spots. I felt my stomach tightening, signaling my orgasm was quickly approaching.

With his mouth working on my clit and his fingers thrusting into me, it didn't take long for the tension in my stomach to snap, making me cry out. He continued working on my throbbing core, letting me ride out my high.

He pulled his fingers out in fear of overstimulating me. "Was that okay?" he asked, eager for feedback. "It was more than okay, Ced, it was amazing," I smiled lazily up at him. He climbed on top of me yet again and started to kiss me, stroking my cheek softly.

He grabbed his member and I noticed his tip was leaking with pre-cum. I gathered some on my fingers, tasting it. It had a sort of salty taste to it. I laid back down, closing my eyes and felt his member start to tease my entrance, rubbing his tip slowly up and down my core. I felt his tip on my clit and I whined softly at the sensation. He lined his member up to my entrance and his eyes asked, "Are you ready?"

I nodded, and gave him a sultry look that told him everything he needed to know. He slipped his member inside of me, making me moan softly. He gave me a minute to adjust before he started thrusting into me relentlessly, groaning with each thrust.

I grabbed onto his shoulders and wrapped my legs around his rear. I couldn't help but cry out loudly as he pounded into me. I opened my eyes to look at the small beads of sweat resting atop his furrowed brows. He was blushing furiously quite like I was. We looked into each other's eyes and he leaned down to kiss me.

"You're doing so well for me sweetheart," he groaned. His words of praise only brought me closer to my release. I moaned out as I felt my orgasm quickly approaching. "Don't stop, please," I whimpered.

I was so close to the edge when he started to pound into me at a faster pace making me cry out as I came, my core throbbing on his cock. He thrust into me at an erratic pace, signaling he was close. He shot hot spurts of cum inside me not long after.

We were both breathing heavily, trying to recollect ourselves after the mind-blowing sex. "You felt so good darling," he sighed. I giggled, praising him as well. I felt the mattress dip as he laid down next to me. He started to stroke my hair. He peppered soft kisses all over my cheeks. His body was so warm and comforting I couldn't help but fall asleep in his arms.

END

#cedric diggory #smut #harry potter #harry potter smut #coffee shop #modern au #cedric diggory is hot

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