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waynes-multiverse · 16 days ago

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Time After Time – Chapter 1

Summary: Unable to control your abilities, you’re stuck in the present with Billy Butcher, his team, and America’s first asshole. At this point, you’ve become Soldier Boy’s personal punching bag. But when an accident leaves you stranded in 1942, you run into a familiar face and suddenly rely on your future tormentor’s help as your only hope.

Pairing: Soldier Boy x supe!Reader

Warnings: 18+ for language, angst, Soldier Boy being an insufferable ass, reader is a supe with chronokinesis (time manipulation), post S3 alternate ending, enemies to lovers & slow burn, set partially in 1942

Word Count: 6.0k

Posted on Patreon March 1, 2025

A/N: Weeee, so excited to finally share the first part of this series with all of you! From mortal enemies to classic romance, crazy and angsty time travel theories, and a glimpse behind the green suit (in both ways), we're gonna have a lot of fun with this one 😉💕

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Chapter 1: Of All the Gin Joints...

“Move, or I’ll move you.”

Annoyed, you huffed a sigh and lifted your feet off the coffee table, shifting a few inches to the right, so Soldier Boy could pass by with a deep grumble. You rolled your eyes back slightly when he plopped down next to you on the worn, old couch in the office of the Flatiron Building.

“A ‘please’ wouldn’t hurt you every once in a while,” you muttered with a glare at the supe.

“Disagree,” he huffed.

When Butcher and his team tracked you down and recruited you almost a year ago, you surely hadn’t signed up to spend your days with a fossil from the past century. All they had wanted you to do was find the weapon that could destroy Homelander. That weapon turned out to be Soldier Boy.

And you had found him, freed the man from forty years of Russian torture without receiving so much as a ‘thank you,’ and helped the team take down Homelander, who was currently powerless and safely locked up in a CIA black site. Now, you were still here – as was Soldier Boy.

To your dismay, he wasn’t just the most powerful supe on the planet, especially after his own son’s steep fall from grace, but he was also the biggest motherfucking asshole that ever walked the earth.

Soldier Boy was obnoxious, loud, rude, sexist, racist, lazy, arrogant, selfish, cruel, deceitful, complacent, vindictive, inconsiderate, paranoid, ruthless and unsympathetic. Honestly, you’d need a whole dictionary just to get through every single character trait you hated about that man.

This morning he’d been particularly belligerent as soon as he had set foot inside the office and Hughie bumped into him, causing Soldier Boy to spill his iced latte. To be fair, the guy had just been standing in the doorway like a moron for a full three minutes – he’d stared at you the whole time, probably thinking of new ways to torture you.

Today marked your 30th birthday of all things, so it was only natural your over six-feet playground tormentor would be present for the occasion.

“Led Zeppelin, huh?” he noted with an arched brow, eyeing your choice of outfit. You mostly wore band shirts from tours you’d been to from your time traveling adventures.

“Yeah, I got it for my twenty-fifth birthday. I went to Zeppelin’s first tour in 1969. Only wear it on special occasions,” you told him with a smile.

In some rare moments, it was actually possible to have a normal fucking conversation with him. You hoped it was one of those. Aside from his grumpiness in the morning, maybe he’d decided to give you a break on your birthday.

“Oh, yeah, right…” He rolled his eyes and scoffed. “Happy fucking birthday, I guess.”

“That is so sweet of you, thank you,” you replied wryly.

He knew what you were doing. His smile rose – and then morphed into a provocative smirk. “So, thirty, huh? How’s that feminist bullshit working out for your biological clock, sweetheart?”

“Don’t kill him,” Annie reminded you of the office mantra with calm in her voice as she sat behind you at her desk, causing Soldier Boy to snort a laugh.

“Isn’t it time for your nap, gramps? You’re sundowning,” you retorted instead with a teasing smile.

You took his taunts lightheartedly. After all, you didn’t think you’d have to worry in that department – much like him. For some reason, you didn’t age… a lot. At least, it was slower than the average supe and human. You figured it might have to do with dropping in and out of wormholes. You had aged just fine as a kid but it progressively began to slow around your sixteenth birthday – the first time you’d traveled through time and jumped to Nirvana’s MTV Unplugged show in New York of December 1993.

You remembered your parents had been fighting behind the broken and yellowing partition slider of a trailer you had called your home. You’d lain on the pull-out bed with your headphones on and a Walkmen, trying to drown out their screaming. You listened to that record and wished you could be there – and then you were.

You’d found your ruby slippers.

To this day, you still got ID’ed at every bar, club, and liquor store alike. Soldier Boy had never been carded. He’d once claimed it was because he was famous, to which you’d almost spat out your drink and told him the wrinkles didn’t lie. Least to say, that little joke hadn’t flown well with the supe.

“You know, doll, if you ever need that tension to disappear from your shoulders, I’m right here.” Soldier Boy smirked cockily at you and spread his legs a little further apart. Not a day passed by when he didn’t hit on you either – or anything with tits, really. “Just say the word, and I fuck it right outta you. I do like ‘em older, you know, so I don’t give shit. But if you wanna get cracking on this baby thing, we better fuck on this couch right now.”

“Please don’t,” Hughie pleaded in a high-pitched sigh, glued in his spot next to Annie.

“No, thanks,” you scoffed and scrunched your nose in disgust. “You’re a fucking pig.”

“Hey, c’mon, I know you want to,” replied Soldier Boy without an ounce of self-reflection, his smirk only widening as his hand crawled up your thigh. “Bet you’ve been waiting for a big dick like mine, haven’t you?”

“Get your fucking hands off of me!” You slapped his fingers away, huffing in frustration.

Not even your kindergarten bully had been this fucking annoying – and that kid threw a dodge ball at your face and broke your nose.

Fortunately, while your own powers were on the fritz, you still had some superhuman strength. Sure, not as much as Soldier Boy, but if he shoved, you could at least push back enough for him to leave you alone.

For, like, five seconds.

Soldier Boy laughed loudly at your rejection. “I do like ‘em feisty,” he murmured with a sultry voice, invading your space even more as he shifted closer on the couch. Lion king on the prowl. “You know, you’d be less useless if you spread your legs every once in a while.”

Jumping up from your seat, you rounded the table to bring space between you and face him properly. It was always smarter when he was in your view at all times and you could watch his brazen hands with an eagle eye – the same hands that currently began to roll a blunt on the coffee table.

“Hey, if it weren’t for me, you’d still be frozen solid in a box in Russia,” you bit.

“Well, we’d like to think we would’ve found him eventually, love,” Butcher threw in from across the room, the sly grin on his face telling you he was enjoying the show.

“See?” Soldier Boy sneered complacently. “Fucking useless.”

“You’re fucking useless!” you yelled, anger surging through every inch of your body. “No one fucking likes you! You don’t have friends, you don’t have family, and everyone in this room fucking despises you – just like your old team!”

Slowly, he rose from his spot on the couch, nostrils flaring, his sheer height imposing as he towered over you like the Empire State. A part of you was glad there was still a piece of furniture between you – even though that wouldn’t stop him in the slightest.

“You take that fucking back,” he snarled, one hand balling into a fist by his side while the other pointed a warning finger at you.

However, you stood your ground, crossing your arms in front of your chest, a challenging look in your eyes but a subtle swallow in your throat. “No,” you said defiantly and bristled. “I’ll drop you into the fucking Jurassic era where you belong, fossil. Watch you become a T-Rex’s fucking chew toy.”

Soldier Boy’s grin boldly widened, green eyes shimmering daringly. “Do. It.”

“Oy, simmer down, kids,” Butcher assuaged but didn’t even bother to glance up from the newspaper in his hands. Instead, the Brit leaned back in his chair and threw his legs up on the desk, settling into a more comfortable position.

Soldier Boy threw him a dismissive look, annoyed at the interruption, before his attention turned back to you with a spiteful sneer. “You know, if I were you, I would’ve used those powers properly. I would’ve gone back and fucking killed baby Hitler or some shit.”

You scoffed a humorless chuckle. “Yeah, not surprising you would’ve killed a fucking baby,” you retorted dryly.

“See, this is why you’re a fucking failure,” he taunted and stepped closer, his face only inches away from yours now. You could feel his hot breath against your skin. “Those powers were clearly wasted on you, doll. Women are too fucking soft.”

You snorted, shaking your head. You didn’t even know why you still argued with that asshole. He’d never change. And you sure as hell couldn’t say shit like:

What d’you know? You’ve never seen a war zone from the inside, you fucking bigoted coward.

“I’m not soft,” you insisted instead, narrowing your eyes to a glare.

“Prove it.”

“I wouldn’t hesitate to go back in time and fucking kill you!”

At this point, you wouldn’t. You really wouldn’t fucking mind at all.

However, Soldier Boy only laughed in your face like you were the bug about to hit his shield. “Oh, you can certainly try, sweetheart. But you can’t, can ya? ‘Cause you’re fucking broken. Like I said, useless,” he reiterated harshly, his sneer widening when his hand reached out and clasped your chin between his fingers. “Don’t worry. I’ll find some good use for you. Especially for that mouth.”

Furiously, you thwarted his advances once more. “I said don’t fucking touch me!”

“Yo, Soldier Boy, c’mon! Leave her alone now,” MM warned, finally getting fed up too. He usually avoided the supe to the best of his abilities, only snapping every once in a while when the asshole took it too far.

This time, MM only got involved because Hughie kept sending him frantic looks of panic during your heated exchange, probably worried you’d antagonize the supe so much he’d detonate the whole building.

“Mind your own fucking business, punk,” Soldier Boy dismissed the intervention, his venomous eyes still fixed on you.

The anger was storming through your body and closing your throat with a tight chokehold. You could barely breathe as your chest heaved and your ears rang. It was always worse when you got angry. Unfortunately for you, Soldier Boy had a way of pushing your buttons and setting off your triggers.

Your superpowers had the ability to control and bend time – or at least they used to. You had mostly used it to stop the clock and get an extension on your homework deadlines. But technically, you could also travel through time.

Once you had found out how that worked, well, you quickly became addicted. You went to concerts of bands that didn’t tour anymore, you’d shamelessly make money on Wall Street and placed bets on football games, and sometimes, you even ate dessert twice.

It was all about the little things.

But that all stopped when you accidentally cast yourself into the Middle Ages and almost got burned at the stake for witchcraft. For some reason, your powers wouldn’t work until the last second – you figured extreme distress had been a factor.

When you closed your eyes at night, you could still feel the scorching heat underneath your bare soles and smell the smoke reaching your nose and lungs.

Afterward, you didn’t want to use your powers any longer – not that you could. PTSD was a real bitch sometimes.

You had lived quietly and alone in a cabin near Montréal for years. After your parents found out they couldn’t make money off of you, they kicked you to the curb. And when you knocked on Vought’s doors, asking for help, they told you not to use your abilities – before they tried to kill you. That was the moment you’d realized you might be more powerful than you’d initially surmised. Until then, you had only used your powers for your pleasure and the occasional personal gain.

So, maybe, Soldier Boy was right when he said you had never used your gift wisely.

After your flight from Vought, you lived under a fake name and took up online college classes in physics and history to understand your abilities better and avoid grave mistakes.

And boy, time travel was a fucking bitch.

Years of study could be summarized to this, however: If you even so much so as killed the wrong fly in 1783, the whole world could go extinct.

Or in Vought’s terms: If you accidentally fucked up history, it might fuck with their business and money.

That was the reason why they had been trying to get rid of you for the longest time – until Butcher showed up on your doorstep. You had no idea how the Brit could’ve found you or even known about your powers in the first place. After your escape, Vought had kept your existence quiet. They knew if the wrong people found you, it would end direly for them.

Wrong people like William Butcher.

At first, he wanted you to go back in time and, in his words, “kill the chubby, little cape cunt.” Needless to say, you had declined. Even if Homelander was the worst creature to ever walk this earth, excluding his sperm donor, you wouldn’t kill a baby. You wouldn’t kill anything or anyone, really.

If anything, you could be classified as a bit of hedonist – or “a fucking hippie,” as Soldier Boy once had put it. Which, granted, was probably a trait you both shared. Although, Soldier Boy took the whole fucking cake and ate it, too. At least all you ever did was steal a tiny slice every once in a while.

In the end, you had never asked for these powers. You were just trying to make the best out of a bad situation.

But when Butcher then asked you if you could at least “hop back” to retrieve the weapon that had neutralized Soldier Boy in 1984, you finally told him you were essentially useless.

A part of you wanted to help, though. While you had closed yourself off from the rest of the world, you had still followed the news. You knew it had gotten bad out there. You could see Homelander spinning out of control and threatening to burn the world. You knew soon enough your house would burn, too.

You knew the monster needed to be stopped.

So, you offered Billy Butcher the only thing you could – a glimpse into the past, so he could find the weapon in the present.

And you did. You saw how Soldier Boy’s own team had despised him so much they handed him off to the Russians during an ambush in Nicaragua – but they hadn’t killed him.

The diabolical smirk on Butcher’s face had scared you. You knew he’d realized in that moment that you could be valuable after all. So, naturally, he threatened to give up your location to Vought if you didn’t join his team.

And well, here you were.

You’d traveled to Russia, you’d freed Soldier Boy, and you’d defeated Homelander. But even after the job was done, you stuck around.

Hughie, Annie, MM, Frenchie, Kimiko, and even Butcher – they had all sort of become your friends. And they protected you, even though Vought had sworn they were done hunting you. No one trusted Stan Edgar, and you knew he would probably still rather have you buried six-feet-deep if he ever got the chance.

So it was nice to know the whole team stood behind you. Well, all but one.

Part of the deal with Edgar had been a request to keep Soldier Boy away from Vought’s business. The guy was smart enough to know he wanted nothing to do with the ticking time bomb, either.

“And what are we supposed to do with that wanker, huh?” Butcher had asked as all of you stood in a very breezy office at Vought Tower – which had still been under heavy construction after the fallout.

“Let him play hero, keep an eye on him, and I’m sure we’ll have no issues, Mr. Butcher.” Edgar had smiled cunningly, his eyes flickering to you.

Afterward, you had decided to pack up like Maeve and finally live your life. You’d even applied as a physics professor at a small college. But then Soldier Boy made his own request: Either you’d stay, or he’d walk. And if he had walked, your deal with Edgar would’ve fallen through.

Soldier Boy was a bully. In fact, he could teach master classes in it. You didn’t think there was one good bone in his body. So far, you could count the times the guy had actually been nice to you on one hand – two fingers to be exact.

The first time had been the very first night you’d spent together in that rundown motel after he’d killed Crimson Countess. You took over the nightshift of babysitting while Hughie and Butcher took a snooze in the adjoining room. That night, Soldier Boy had shown you a glimpse of a human being.

“Well, currently, there are two working theories on time travel: The closed loop theory and the alternate timelines theory,” you’d explained after he had asked you how actual time travel worked. Most people gave up after a minute, but he had still been in it after five.

“What the fuck does that mean?”

“Well, lemme see…” Musingly, you had pursed your lips and thought for a moment. “Terminator came out in ‘83, right? You’ve seen it?”

His lips had slowly risen to a smile. “Yeah… Actually one of the last fucking movies I watched before the fucking Reds got me.”

“Right.” You’d nodded. “Still remember what happened?”

He’d scoffed and rolled his eyes a little. “I’m not that old…”

“Well, it’s been forty years since you’ve seen it…”

“Schwarzenegger comes from the future to kill that blonde chick,” he’d summarized with a cocky smirk that should’ve proven to you he wasn’t demented.

“Yeah, remember the soldier who came back to save her, too?”

“Oh. Yeah, that guy…” His nose had scrunched slightly. Of course he’d be rooting for the killing machine. “What about that fucking wimp?”

“The Terminator was supposed to kill Sarah because her yet-unborn son would defeat the robots in the future, but the soldier who came back to save her is actually the baby’s father.” There had been no way you could’ve explained it any simpler than that. “So, the Terminator actually created the circumstance, which made him go back in the first place. That’s a closed loop. Does that make sense?”

He’d nodded slowly, his brow creasing heavily in concentration. “Yeah, I think it fucking does…”

For hours, he’d asked you questions about your powers, and when he was through all of that, he even asked you about your life, what you did for work, and how you ended up here. And you’d figured he was trying to schmooze up to you to use you for his gain – or maybe he’d just been coming down from all the drugs he’d taken that day.

Either way, after what you’d seen the Russians do to him, you could understand why someone like him might want to turn back time and get a redo. The unpleasant images, the inhumane torture he’d endured, actually caused you to have sympathy for the supe.

For a second.

When you’d tried bringing it up and be his friend, he had quickly shot you down. He’d been an even bigger dick since then, as if the sheer thought of someone seeing his weaknesses scared him.

Yes, a little, gray mouse like you apparently fucking terrified the biggest and strongest elephant in this world.

Honestly, you didn’t know why the supe had insisted on your presence. Maybe he just needed the perfect victim to antagonize as he passed the time. Sometimes, you did feel like the new Black Noir of Payback.

There’d only been one other incident where he’d shown something remotely resembling kindness:

He’d complimented you.

A real, sweet compliment – and he’d actually meant it – and he hadn’t hit on you in the same breath.

One night, a few weeks ago, Annie and Frenchie had dragged everyone of you to a karaoke bar to “decompress.” Even Soldier Boy tagged along and seemed in somewhat good spirits all night – there’d been no heinous taunting, only the usual flirtatious teasing.

One of those flirtatious attempts had been a dare for you to sing.

“Oh, c’mon! One song,” he’d begged and shifted closer to you on the small leather sofa in the corner of the bar. “How about something from the fucking 80s? Like Cyndi Lauper! I’m sure you’d like that, huh?”

“What, you want me to sing ‘Girls Just Wanna Have Fun’? Really? You?” You’d arched a brow at him.

He’d chuckled, and it’d been a sweet sound instead of a mocking one. “Hey, look, I’m all about the girls having some fucking fun,” he’d said coolly before a lick of his lips turned him a bit more serious, mysterious even. “How about something a little slower… Time After Time!” He’d grinned proudly and raised his expensive whiskey glass to your cheap beer. “That’s fucking perfect for you!”

And then you actually went on stage and sung. You weren’t a bad singer, either, but you were by far no Mariah. However, you could see Soldier Boy watching you intently the whole time with that strange look he sometimes carried whenever he was staring at you – something he did quite often.

In fact, he’d stared at you pretty intensely when he’d first walked out of his cryo-chamber, too. It gave you the creeps the same way that naked homeless man had once done in a subway after 1 AM. And then, he had fucking detonated, which had freaked you out so much you’d accidentally disappeared back to New York with a five minute time difference forward – the only time you’d actually managed to travel into the future.

But after your performance, Soldier Boy had passed you on your way down from the stage and intercepted you by placing a tentative hand on your arm.

“You have a really beautiful voice,” he’d said and even gifted you a small but genuine smile.

“Thank you.”

Sweetly, you’d even mirrored his smile after no other insults or advances followed. You’d been practically baffled. As you had glanced at him more carefully, though, you’d noticed something gleaming in his eyes, almost melancholic. You’d supposed after 104 years, he had probably been experiencing a ton of déjà vu.

“You okay there, gramps?” you’d checked with a bit of a teasing smile, and maybe that’d been your mistake.

“‘M fucking fine,” he’d huffed. He’d suddenly turned cold again, the hard lines on his freckled face crestfallen. He’d spun around, marched out of the bar, and ditched you there on the spot.

So, that was what you had done for the past few months – babysit Soldier Boy and keep the bomb from exploding. Which brought you back to this exact moment:

“What the fuck is wrong with you, huh? Seriously!” you snapped, feeling the fury overtaking you. “What the fuck happened in your life to turn you into such a miserable, toxic, overbearing, narcissistic, insufferable piece of shit?!”

“Insufferable?” He scoffed as if your words didn’t affect him, but you could see it was starting to get to him. “You’re the one who’s fucking insufferable, doll. Probably because you haven’t been fucked in a while by a real man.”

Exasperatedly, you gripped your temples. “Oh, it all trickles down to that, doesn’t it?” you deadpanned. “You sound like a fucking broken record, gramps!”

“Oh, you wanna fucking jump on me badly right now, don’t you?” he gritted through his pearly-white teeth, a challenging smirk playing on his plush lips as he leaned closer, his face only inches away from yours now.

“Please, it’s not gonna fucking make me like you more. Your dick’s not a magic eraser,” you bit sharply, your voice low and poisonous. “God knows you fucked your last girlfriend for years, and she still fucking hated you.”

Growling, he bristled, his jaw ticking. Mentioning Crimson Countess always hit a nerve. You knew as much.

“You’re just a drug-addicted loser with daddy issues. Nothing more, nothing less,” you nonetheless continued bitterly. “No one likes you! And believe me, asshole, I fucking hate you!”

As you looked up at him, you could tell he was close to exploding. Kimiko even desperately tugged on your arm to drag you out of the blast zone – not that it would’ve mattered.

“Butcher…”

Hughie’s panicked voice and wide eyes reached the Brit, who finally got out of his chair and slammed the paper on the desk.

“Oy, you two! Fucking stop it!”

And somehow, that had miraculously seemed to work. Soldier Boy managed to snap out of his temper tantrum, his breathing steadying, his smirk reappearing.

His lips twitched as he dipped his head and whispered into your ear, “You’re not fucking worth it.”

His thick fingers trailed up your hips before he grabbed your waist and pushed you closer to his body. You tried to shove him away, but this time he used his full strength on you to keep you caged.

“Get off of me!”

“Butcher!”

“Oy! What did I fucking tell you lot?!”

Kimiko tried to pull you away harder, but that only made Soldier Boy chuckle more.

“I said stop it! Get the fuck off of me!” you yelled louder, and he finally let go with a cunning laugh.

“Alright, you’ve had your bloody fun, mate. Why don’t you take a bit of a time-out now, huh?” It was the most Butcher could do as far as an intervention went. Everyone in the room knew Soldier Boy couldn’t be stopped.

“Fine,” the supe relented with a roll of his green eyes, but then his gaze landed back on you.

You hated to admit that he had gotten to you, but it was hard to deny when your whole body was trembling and tears stung your eyes.

“Fucking Christ on a cross, are you actually gonna fucking cry now?” Soldier Boy snorted condescendingly.

“Fuck you. Leave me alone,” you snapped with what little strength you had left and wiped the burning tears out of your eyes.

“Exactly why I said you’re fucking useless. This is the problem with women. Can’t even take a goddamn joke,” he ranted. The more he got to you, the more pleasure he took out of it. You could see it by the vicious twinkle in his eyes. “You keep talking how everyone hates me, but what about you, huh? You’ve got fucking no one, too. Your own fucking parents didn’t want you, and I don’t see an army of men lining up to take care of you, either.”

“Shut up!”

“Wanna know why? ‘Cause you’re a broken, useless, stupid, weak–“

“Stop it!”

But he didn’t. You couldn’t even hear the words properly anymore as they strung together into one explosion of abuse. Your vision blurred, and the ringing in your ears only got stronger.

“C’mon, fucking show me what you can do! Prove to me you’re not fucking useless! Do it!”

“I said fucking stop it!” you screamed loudly till he fell silent.

And then, poof. You were gone.

Soldier Boy blinked at the suddenly empty space before him. Knitting his brow, he shrugged your disappearance off only a second later and plopped down on the couch with an exhaustive groan.

“Fucking finally… Took her long enough,” he commented dryly and stretched out on the small two-seater, sighing blissfully.

“This isn’t fucking funny,” Hughie threw in, the anxious expression on his face only causing Soldier Boy to roll his eyes once more.

“Relax, squirt, she’ll be back,” the supe quipped, snickering. “Probably.”

“Y/N’s got PTSD, okay? She can’t control it,” Hughie argued, placing his hands on his hips in upset, his gaze scolding. “You know, you’d think you of all people would be a little more sympathetic to that.”

Soldier Boy’s eyes glowered darkly. “What the fuck are you talking about? I don’t have that shit. I told you.”

“You know, kid’s right,” Butcher chimed in, catching the ancient supe’s attention. “I’d be a little more worried if I were you.”

“Why? Not my fucking problem. And like I said, she’ll be fine,” he reiterated with a careless grumble.

“I’m sure you’re right, mate,” Butcher replied with a conniving smirk and a casualness that made the supe wary. “Let’s just hope our little Y/N doesn’t take your advice to heart about the proper use of her abilities. But if I were bloody you, I’d hope old-me watches me back.”

Soldier Boy snorted a laugh of amusement. “Oh, I’d like to see her try,” he replied arrogantly and stretched his spine with a yawn. “Well, anyways, I’m taking my fucking nap now. Just wake me when she gets back. I’m not fucking finished with her yet…”

Hughie and the others hurried around Butcher’s desk, their voices only whispers as not to disturb the grumpy supe, and the Brit knew by the worried looks on his team’s faces that he’d have to deal with this bloody problem now.

“Butcher, what are we gonna do?” Hughie asked, eyes still wide and kind heart surely beating a marathon on his sleeve.

“Yeah, how are we gonna get her back?” Annie agreed, calmer than her boyfriend, questioningly folding her arms and arching a brow.

“Mon dieu, what if she changes the timeline, Butcher? I don’t want to wake up speaking German,” Frenchie threw in.

“And I don’t want fucking slavery back,” MM added.

“Oy, calm down,” Butcher spoke with placating hands. “Y/N’s a smart girl. She knows more about this shite than anyone of you. I’m sure she’ll fucking figure it out.”

“What if she doesn’t, Butcher?” Annie pressed.

“Well, then, let’s hope worst she does is kill the snoring cunt over there.” Butcher smirked devilishly and gestured to Soldier Boy fast asleep on the couch as if he were hoping for that outcome. “God knows I’d be bloody fine with it.”

It took less than a second, a blink of an eye, but you felt it immediately, knew instantly what had happened as gravity itself stretched out its tentacles and wound them around your limbs, tearing and tugging until you ripped at the seams and atoms spilled out of you.

There was a stark drop in temperature – that was the first thing you’d noticed. Goosebumps formed within a beat on the bare skin of your arms, the biting cold making you not only shiver but fear for your life.

Please don’t be the Pleistocene... Death by saber-tooth? No, thank you.

But to your relief, you heard a strange, but familiar set of sounds around you – animated chatter, chiming bells and closing doors, and the occasional low rumble of a car. Your heart was pounding a furious and relentless rhythm in your ribcage as your eyes fluttered open and warily scanned your strange surroundings.

You’d landed on a street, your feet safely planted on a sidewalk. Glistening white snow covered the pavement in a thick veil, the sky a dull gray blanket above. Icicles hung from lampposts with patriotic banners flying in the chill, proclaiming messages to buy war bonds and save scrap metal.

Huh…

Powdered flakes swirled around you as a streetcar clattered past you on a cobbled street, the sound muffled by the snow. Storefronts and shops lined both sides of the road, shoppers bustling by you in coats, hats, and scarves. Your brow furrowed softly at the row of parked, snow-covered cars that looked a tad… old.

Oh no…

You had definitely traveled back a smidge, but luckily not as far as the Middle Ages again. Judging by the moderately busy street, you assumed you were at least still in New York City. A paperboy was shouting loudly further down, but you couldn’t understand him from the distance. The only word that was plastered everywhere was war.

World War I or World War II, maybe?

Wherever – or whenever – you were, you couldn’t get stuck here. Your short-lived fascination with your new environment was then quickly replaced by a rising panic in your throat.

You had to get home somehow.

Squeezing your eyes shut as tightly as you could, you tried to wish yourself back – unfortunately, you didn’t possess your pair of ruby slippers anymore that you could simply click. The more you tried and failed, the more anxious you became, and you knew a full-on panic attack was just waiting for you around the corner.

“Whoa! Hey, careful…”

With your hands on your knees, you bumped backwards into a man, your lungs constricting so much they barely let any air pass. You spun around, eyes wide and body trembling as a set of hands landed gently on your shoulders and waist for support.

“Miss? Are you alright?”

What little breath you had got caught in your throat as you stared into an all-too familiar set of outlandishly green eyes.

Soldier Boy.

“Don’t fucking touch me!”

It was a reflex at this point to slap his hands away and keep them as far from your body as possible. Of course the guy couldn’t leave you alone in any era.

Admittedly, he was hardly recognizable, though. While he was just as tall as his 21st century counterpart, he wasn’t as broad. Instead of the signature green outfit, he wore a long, black wool coat over a three-piece suit and a checkered flat cap. His hair was maybe an inch shorter, his beard replaced by a clean-shaven face. And while Soldier Boy surely didn’t look a 104, he didn’t look as young as the guy in front of you either. No furious lines from decades of anger management issues decorated his freckle-dusted face yet.

Maybe your reaction was ill-advised, considering the power he wielded. You figured any past version of the supe was even more ruthless than the current one you’d gotten to know. Moreover, you didn’t have the advantage of being spared because you had saved him from an ice box.

To your surprise, however, there was no detection of malice or offense on his features. To the contrary, he seemed strangely taken aback by your aggressive response, his hands swiftly shooting back as if your very skin was made out of scorching coals. They raised in surrender.

Surrender.

Well, that was new. He had never, ever, ever done that before. Did you land in some alternate timeline where Soldier Boy was a nice guy?

“I-I’m so sorry, miss. Please forgive me… I was just checking if you were okay,” he stammered and forced a reassuring smile, his hands still held high in good faith.

“Just stay away from me. Leave me alone, okay?”

You backed farther away from him, your eyes desperately flickering around for an exit. Your voice jittered in sync with your body before you bolted down the street and sought shelter in a dark and quiet alley.

“Miss! Wait!” he called after you, his hands picking something up in the snow that you’d dropped during your flight. “You’ve lost your–”

His brow furrowed as he twisted the thin, rectangular device in his hand, his thumb wiping bits of melting snowflakes off the sleek, black glass. As he glanced more closely at it, it lit up brightly and vibrated in his hold. He startled at the unexpected tremble, almost dropping it into a pool of mud by his shoes. Fuddled, his gaze lifted down the busy street in search of you.

“What the hell…”

▶️ Chapter 2: Is This the 40s?

I think his curiosity is piqued lol... What did you think of his 1942 version vs. the, uhm, less nice future dickbag? 👀

Coming Up:

Ready to fend him off, you were surprised to find his grip wasn’t strong by any means. It was barely a brush before he dropped his hand again and looked at you remorsefully.

“I’m sorry! I just-… Please let me help you,” he reiterated with imploring green eyes. “Look, you clearly seem lost. Just tell me where you live, and I can get you home safely, okay? C’mon, you can’t do this to me.” He tried to loosen you up with a charming smile and a puppy dog look. “If you leave like this, I’m going to be up all night, worrying you’ve died of hypothermia out here.”

And my God, he seemed sincere! No wonder he had gotten attention from women like a goddamn bunny in a petting zoo.

Musingly, you then chewed on your lower lip and assessed the man in front of you. The people who strolled by you threw you the occasional weird looks – you’d chosen a bad day to wear a Led Zeppelin t-shirt and ripped jeans.

Admittedly, you could use a little help here. Maybe if you were being careful with the timeline – and him – you could risk it.

🚀 Read up to 4 chapters ahead on Patreon now

Tag List Pt 1.:

@alwaystiredandconfused @xlynnbbyx @lyarr24 @deans-spinster-witch @blackcherrywhiskey

@deansbbyx @foxyjwls007 @ladysparkles78 @roseblue373 @zepskies

@agalliasi @yvonneeeee @hobby27 @iamsapphine @globetrotter28

@lori19 @lacilou @feyresqueen @suckitands33 @onlyangel-444

@syrma-sensei @perpetualabsurdity @yoobusgoobus @jessjad @dayhsdreaming

@hunter-or-the-hunted @k-slla @just-levyy @mrsjenniferwinchester @illicithallways

@muhahaha303 @ultimatecin73 @nancymcl @leigh70 @brightlilith

@nesnejwritings @samslvrgirl @xx-spooky-little-vampire-xx @fromcaintodean @barewithme02

@impala67rollingthroughtown @star-yawnznn @spnaquakindgdom @thej2report @americanvenom13

@lamentationsofalonelypotato @supernotnatural2005 @stoneyggirl2 @little-diable @kr804573

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roosterr · 2 years ago

Text

white flag ✹ ch 3

note: (･ω･)

pairing: ghost x gn!reader

wc: 3.5k

no use of y/n reader's callsign is 'stingray'

summary: the 141 goes on your first mission since the fire, and you're forced to face your fear head on. when you fall short and ghost has to save you, your already fragile relationship seems to fall apart at the seams.

warnings: canon-typical violence, angst, pyrophobia, panic attacks, hurt/minimal comfort, argruments, ghost is mean again, reader has a little breakdown

ao3

【prev】 || 【next】

you can do this.

the mantra plays on repeat in your head as you stare holes into the opposite wall of the helo. you can do this, despite the objective being to demolish an enemy facility, which almost certainly meant that there would be fire, which you were certainly not afraid of.

you had to do this because nobody knew, and they couldn't find out. what kind of soldier is afraid of fire? considering all the things you've done, it should be trivial; you've stared down the barrel of a gun more times than you can remember, had a knife to your throat the same amount, and yet the simple thought of being near a fire has your heart beating out of control.

ghost's figure passing in front of you snaps you out of your thoughts, illuminated by the red lights as he stops at the edge of the ramp. the night behind him is foreboding, no stars to be seen and the wind cold against your skin as it rushes into the back of the helo.

"bravo team," his gruff voice cuts through the noise of the wind and the blades, "let's move."

you look across to where soap sits, exchanging a brief nod before you both stand and dutifully follow after your lieutenant. clutching your rifle to your chest with one hand, you use the other to lower the night-vision goggles over your eyes, casting an uneasy green glow over the environment. you keep yourself low as you follow after ghost and soap, making your way quickly to the cover of the treeline.

the facility you were here to demolish was between the three of you and the site gaz and the captain had landed at. the plan was to sweep from opposite sides of the building, planting charges as you go and regrouping in the middle – preferably with minimal enemy interference, but you were expecting them to put up a fight.

ideally, you could be out of the building and far enough away before the charges go off, and your phobia wouldn't be an issue; but that's only if luck was on your side, and lately it's been feeling like it's decidedly not.

your rifle is wedged into the crook of your shoulder as you follow behind soap, listening intently for any signs of movement other than the three of you. goosebumps prickle at your skin even under the many layers of your gear – caused by the temperature or your nerves, you're not sure.

ghost raises his hand in a gesture for you to stop, crouching just before the break in the trees. you follow suit and so does soap, gazing up at the building looming in front of you, a dark shadow against the night sky.

"bravo's in position," ghost says, keeping his voice low, "waitin' on you, alpha."

the radio stays silent. you roll your shoulders to release some of the tension, but you only breath a small sigh of relief when you hear price's voice cut through the static a moment later.

"solid copy," the captain responds, "had some company, let's get this done before they find the bodies."

"affirm. out here." ghost's monotone reply ends the correspondence, and he gestures once more to continue. you make sure to stay low and keep your head on swivel as the three of you creep closer to the large warehouse.

thankfully, you don't run into much trouble as you make your way inside; there's a few stragglers around the perimeter, but they're expertly dispatched with very little commotion.

your entrance is a lone side door, pried open as quietly as possible for the three of you to rush into. you make sure there aren't any hostiles waiting in the shadows before you head towards the support pillars along the centre of the room.

you secure the explosive to the base of the pillar, listening for the faint beep as you arm it, and stand back up to watch as ghost and soap do the same. with the first three charges set, ghost nods at the two of you, a silent affirmation to keep moving forward.

you fall into place behind soap again, the barely-there crunch of gravel under your boots is the only sound as you weave through the warehouse.

passing through another doorway into a smaller room, you fall into place next to ghost as soap takes his other side, the three of you beelining for the load-bearing wall to the north.

you arm the final set of charges with precision, turning to ghost and nodding at his signal to push forward again. the next room was where you'd regroup with gaz and price before heading to the exfil site.

as you're about to round the corner after them, you hear a noise from behind, the way you'd come in. you turn on your heel and raise your gun to look through the sights at where the sound came from, but you don't see any movement as you scan the area.

an uneasy feeling settles in your stomach, but you don't get to voice your concerns to the others before you're thrown to the ground but the force of an explosion.

you're momentarily blinded by your night vision goggles when you pry your eyes open, the heat from the fire washing over you as you push yourself up and stumble backwards a few steps. shoving the goggles away from your eyes, you blink the disorientation away and whip your head around, searching for your teammates.

you breathe a shaky sigh of relief when you find them brushing themselves off and mostly unharmed; ghost and soap were helping each other up, and gaz was running towards you from the other end of the room while price fired at an unknown threat beyond where you could see.

the panic only sets in when you realise that they're on one side of the fire, and you're alone on the other.

"you've gotta jump through!" gaz shouts to you, his concerned face just about visible through the licks of orange flames between you.

your chest is tight, simply drawing a breath feels like wading through white water, and all of a sudden you're back in your room with black smoke filling your lungs.

"for fucks sake, sting!" a gruff shout echoes around you, but your mind is too foggy to register the words.

the heat on your face is far too much, the sound of your teammates shouting and the blood in your ears, the flickering light if the fire, its all

too

much.

even as you stumble backwards and fall on your arse your gaze is transfixed on the blaze in front of you, it feels impossible to tear your eyes away.

as you feel yourself completely succumbing to your panic, a dark figure cuts through the wall of flame and comes barrelling towards you, his features indistinguishable from the shadows at the corners of your eyes.

you feel him grab the strap on the back of your vest, and he roughly pulls you up to stand on your feet. the stark white of the skull mask fills your vision, tearing your focus away from the flames.

"get up, sergeant!" he growls, and in the back of your mind you register that it's ghost grabbing you by the shoulders and shaking you. "move!"

his hand goes to the strap again and before you can protest he's pulling you along with him, shielding you from the fire as he shoves you through to the other side.

the sprint back to the helo is a misty blur; one moment you're being dragged along with a knife shoved into your hand, the next you're leaning back against the metal siding and kyle is holding an oxygen mask to your face with an upsettingly worried expression.

you want to cry, but the tears don't come no matter how much you will them to.

ghost doesn't even look at you. he passes by where you're slumped next to gaz, heading straight to the cockpit without so much as a glance. your heart sinks to your stomach as you watch him go, knowing any attempt to talk to him would be futile.

the flight home is unbearably quiet, aside from the sound of the engines and your laboured breathing. eventually the tension leaves your shoulders and you're left with a bone-deep exhaustion that you know you'll be feeling for days after this is done.

when you finally land, ghost is the first down the ramp, again without a hint of acknowledgement to the rest of you. soap jogs to catch up with him as you follow them out, keeping his voice low as he tries to reason with the lieutenant.

they stop a little ways down the runway, and you take the opportunity to catch up to him. johnny shoots you an apprehensive look as you draw a deep, shaky breath, but before you can get a single word out, ghost whips around to face you.

"what the fuck was that!?" he spits, meeting your eyes with a glare so frantically venomous it sends a twinge of pain through your heart.

"i– i'm sorry, i don't know wh–" you sputter, desperate to explain yourself, but he cuts you off.

"i don't want excuses, sergeant!" he growls, gesturing angrily with his arms as he takes a step closer to you. "you can't just freeze like that in the field!"

"plea–"

"why?!" he's shouting at you now, invading your personal space. "what the fuck happened out there?!" he gets closer again, and all you can see is pure emotion in his eyes, something so raw you can't name it. "you could've died, for fucks sake! we all could've died!"

"ghost, c'mon…" soap places a gentle hand on his shoulder, an attempt to calm him that goes entirely unnoticed as ghost brushes him off. you try to take a step back and put some space between you, but he follows to stay uncomfortably close.

"what then, eh? what if i hadn't been there to come to the rescue?!" he's so close you can feel the heat radiating from him, see the reflection of your distraught expression in his dark eyes. "i can't babysit you every time we go on a mission, sergeant!"

…babysit? is that really what he thought of you?

the words feel like a knife in your chest.

he glowers at you with such intensity you have to squeeze you eyes shut to escape it – and as a desperate attempt to hold back the flood of tears threatening to spill over.

a heavy silence falls over you, more tense than you've ever felt it.

he stares at you, looking straight past you and into your soul, his eyes so intense it makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. over ghost's shoulder, you see price stalking towards the two of you, a stern look creasing his face.

"simon, that's enough!" price commands, grabbing his elbow and pulling him roughly away from you.

now that you have room to breathe, you allow your eyes fall to your boots, but it's no use, the tears have already started rolling down your cheeks. you cover your face with a hand and brush past ghost and the captain,

"sting–" gaz calls out to you as you march into the building, but you can't face any of them right now – you need to be alone, there's too many eyes on you, it makes your skin crawl.

they know now.

they know you're afraid of fire, there's no way price won't bench you after this. you nearly jeopardised the entire mission – in fact, if it hadn't been for ghost, you probably wouldn't have made it out in one piece.

there's no way he would ever forgive you for such a monumental fuck up.

your vision is foggy through the tears, but the urge to get away is all you need as you push through door after door. you do your best to ignore the stares the other soldiers give you when you rush past them.

their eyes follow you as you go, you feel them burning into your skin, and it only serves to make you feel even worse about the whole ordeal. it was only a matter of time until what happened reaches the rumour mill, and you're not sure you'd be able to stop yourself if one of them decides to bring it up to you.

there has to be somewhere you can go where they won't find you, somewhere you can escape.

in your haste to get away, you end up following wherever your subconscious leads you. you come back to your senses outside again, on the turf behind one of the many buildings on base.

your legs give out and you collapse into the grass, knocking your head against the wall with how hard you throw yourself down. sobs wrack your body as you dig the heels of your palms into your eyes, a desperate attempt to block out the world around you that only leaves your vision scattered.

you fucked up – badly. you're not sure how you're going to recover from the utter humiliation of it all.

if ghost hated you before, you were certain he loathed you now.

to him, this was just another entry on the long list of your mistakes. but to you, not only were you a failure of a soldier, you'd also managed to ruin whatever progress you'd made with getting him to trust you. you don't think you've ever heard ghost so pissed. sure, he's yelled at you before, but to experience such unfiltered anger, it came as a shock to you, as well as the others it seemed.

the sound of footsteps from your right prompts you to hide your face in your hands again. whoever it is, you don't want them to see you like this.

"sting," price's voice calls out to you, as soft as the captain can manage. a small part of you is disappointed it wasn't ghost, coming to apologise, but you know that would never happen. he said it himself, he has no desire to babysit you.

that's all you were to him; a burden, thrust upon him against his wishes, someone he was obligated to look after despite how much of a chore it was.

you just wish you hadn't been so naively optimistic as to assume that he would ever come around to you. that he would ever change.

your spiralling thoughts only make the tears fall even harder. price approaches, you hear rustle of fabric as he sits himself next to you.

a heavy arm rests over your shoulders, the weight of it comforting in an odd way. "it's alright, you're alright." price murmurs.

a moment passes before you lift your head, watching him from the corner of your eye.

"i'm sorry…" your voice is strained, hoarse from the tears and your exhaustion.

he shakes his head. "no need to apologise." he responds, giving your shoulder an affirming pat. you sniffle, fixing him with a questioning look.

"but… i fucked up," you reply, your confusion obvious; you'd expected him to be pissed like ghost, his nonchalance was certainly unexpected. "and we almost died because of me…"

"but we didn't," with the arm around your shoulders he gives you a gentle shake, "the mission was a success, wasn't it?"

"i… yeah?"

"then you got nothin' to be sorry for, have you? people get hurt, that's par for the course, sting." he moves his hand to ruffle your hair, giving you a reassuring smile. "so you can stop with the waterworks an'all,"

you huff, a half-hearted attempt at a laugh, and wipe your eyes with the sleeves of your jacket.

"come on mate, let's get you checked out, yeah?" price stands, grabbing one of your arms and pulling you up with him.

you don't talk on the way to the infirmary, trailing behind him feeling wholly like a child having been scolded. you felt pathetic, and you're glad you have the captain's massive frame to hide yourself behind.

one step through the doors and you're bombarded by the smell of antiseptics and artificial air freshener. the nurse greets you, her placid voice and the gentle hand that guides you to one of the many beds causing your muscles to go rigid.

the captain stands with you, arms crossed over his chest and out of the way of the nurse as she checks you over and runs various checks. you do your best to stay calm, but the cold, clinical environment has a distressing effect on you.

the door opens and shuts behind you. the warning look on price's face tells you exactly who came in. the thick tension is back in the air in an instant

"you–" ghost begins, but you interrupt before he can get another word out.

"i know. i fucking get it, alright?" you snap, rubbing your already bloodshot eyes in exasperation. "you don't have to keep goin' on." your voice gets weaker, a betrayal of how you really feel about his outburst.

heartache.

"i just…" ghost goes to speak again, but price shakes his head at him in a wordless exchange.

he doesn't try again. the door swings open and shut again with his exit.

somehow, your heart aches even more.

the nurse clears you with no major injuries, just scrapes and bruises – nothing you weren't used to. some of your gear was a little singed from the fire, but you'd managed to escape without any burns.

it appeared lady luck had a sense of humour.

you still don't say a word as price leads the way to his office. there's a few people milling around in the corridors, their eyes on you feeling like needles in your skin. you keep your head down and try not to think about the talk you're about to have.

you hear laughter, and lift your head to see that there's a group of three recruits standing against the wall up ahead. the one who appears to be the ringleader watches you approach, snickering with his buddies in a way that has your eyes narrowing. you can tell he's up to something even before he moves, sharing a look with his friends.

has has a lighter in his hand. he waits until you're right in front of him before he ignites it and shoves it in your face, laughing obnoxiously when you flinch away from the gesture.

"ooh, scared, are ya?" his voice is high pitched and infuriatingly mocking. you slap his hand holding the lighter out of your face, and the two recruits behind him laugh at you as well, nudging each other like they're funny.

it makes your blood boil.

the condescending looks, the way they clearly think they're above you, the highschool bully attitude – you just see red.

grabbing him harshly by the front of his jacket, you shove him up against the wall with such aggression it shakes the picture frames.

"shut up–" you seethe, allowing every ounce of pent up frustration and anger and desperation to bleed into your voice, "shut the fuck up!" you pull him back and slam him back into the wall. you find a great deal of satisfaction in the sound his head makes when it collides with the wall.

his friends have stopped laughing, in fact you can't hear anything except the blood rushing in your ears as you repeatedly hit his head against the brick, over and over again.

too much,

it's all too. much.

you're yanked away from him, but your eyes stay locked on the way he clutches the back of his head and shuffles back from you like a dog with its tail between its legs.

it was almost cathartic, you would've smiled, if not for price turning you to face him with a hand on your shoulder. you blink back to your senses, but you can't find it in yourself to feel bad. he had it coming.

"my office. now." his face is hard as he addresses you, looking to the recruits with a similarly displeased look. "and i'll be back for you."

by the hand on your shoulder you're guided away from the wide-eyed recruits, your head still feeling light with the anger the recruit evoked from you.

you're not used to feeling so helpless; the whole situation is frustrating enough, but the feeling of not being able to do anything just makes it all the more infuriating.

you shouldn't have lashed out like that, but it's all been building to a point and it was bound to blow up in your face sooner or later. the last couple of weeks, your struggles with ghost and the fact that you'd fucked it all up again, the general stress of the job – you should've seen this coming, really.

it feels like you're all the way back at square one, and you don't have it in you to try anymore.

taglist: @sofasoap , @siilvan , @mockerycrow , @i-love-ghost , @projectdreamwalker , @achelois-is-here , @adamsloverboyy , @thatchickwiththecamera , @chickensandwich69 , @batmanunicorns523 , @tiny-kasper , @dezibou , @pampeop , @cumbermovels , @goth-boi-atlas , @berryjuicyy , @guiltgoreglory , @postmodernrevolutionist , @untoldshortsofthefandoms , @delilah-grimes , @sunflowerqueen1416 , @luvssemma , @ghostslittlegf , @imonmykneessir , @kenz-ee , @eistro-phobia , @rzmarona , @alanalanalanalanalanna , @cathnoneofyourbusiness , @madsothree , @geisterfvhrer , @lazyninjaphilosopher , @aliilium , @koi-feish , @chaoticgoblindev , @clear-your-mind-and-dream , @thrivig-n-jiving , @lesterous , @glitterypirateduck , @slu77ym4nw415ts , @livelaugh-light , @trulylavendedarling , @stateofcatatonia , @rivalriotrenegade

if your name is crossed out, i can't tag you for whatever reason, sorry! ༼ つ ◕_◕ ༽つ

#ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #mw2 x reader #cod x reader #141 x reader #call of duty x reader #mw2 #cod mw2 #call of duty #simon ghost riley #mw2 ghost #roosterr writes

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theoneandonlylobster · 26 days ago

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Azula in the Spirit Temple proves Azula is ready for a "redemption arc"

Was just rereading Azula in the Spirit Temple again last night, you know, as one does, and I was struck by the function Mai and Ty Lee serve throughout the narrative. Over and over, they serve to remind her that what she's seeing isn't real, even if what she's seeing is really nice and enjoyable. (There's definitely at least a hint at both Ty Zula and Maizula but I think at this point Repressed Lesbian Azula isn't so much subtext or text as a giant neon sign across everything Azula has ever done.)

However, as the comic progresses, both Ty Lee and Mai get harsher and harsher about delivering their reality check-ins. Azula of course is someone who at this point in time is going to be a seasoned pro at not taking reality at face value, anyway, though the spirit says something to the effect of, "Why not get lost in a dream if it's pleasant?" multiple times to her (a pretty good indicator early on to the reader that this is not a spirit to be trusted, particularly around Azula, and whatever reason it got called to her, it was not ultimately to offer redemption). Anyway, the turning point for when Mai and Ty Lee's check-ins go from mean to downright hostile occurs in the following two panels.

This is after Azula and Ty Lee are talking about "the old days" which, according to the Ty Lee Subconscious mouthpiece were stressful and anxiety inducing (like, literally S2 of the show) to which Azula verbally counters that they all "loved it" although she does note that then Mai had to go and "ruin it" for a "stupid boy" (emphasis hers, she doubles down on this and says, "stupid Zuzu" as well). How super duper straight of you to say, Azula. We're all buying it. Then Subconscious Mouthpiece Ty Lee says, "Maybe you should get help?" and that specifically is what sets Azula to attacking her.

So of course it's not the phrasing here that's harsh or over the top but the suggestion itself. It's notable that Azula's mind puts it in Ty Lee's mouth and not Mai’s (we'll get to that in a bit). But Azula has at this point been running from help and instead fomenting domestic terrorism for years for her own twisted and convoluted reasons and not because most of the comics are shit. And she's a noted liar. Of course, she's not the liar the show builds her up to be, or the liar she herself brags about being. We don't actually see Azula lie all that often in the show and when we do, there's usually a pretty decent explanation (like she's overthrowing an enemy city).

It's important to note that Zuko is being ridiculous in his flashback in Zuko Alone - that's my favorite episode but eight years olds developmentally cannot control when they lie or often even distinguish that they've done so (ten year olds can usually distinguish when they're lying better, but not by much). Zuko at ten and 16 gets a pass because he knows nothing about child development and I'm sure his little mantra didn't spontaneously generate; I suspect Iroh or Ursa handed it to him at some point. But we as viewers know better and cannot take, "Azula always lies," as any kind of proof of anything beyond the abusive nature of both of their childhoods. And given that the nature of these "lies" at the time probably mostly consisted of either ways to avoid punishment, or things she legitimately didn't even do but nobody believed, I think eight year old Azula gets a pass at the time. I had a childhood that was in many ways similar to Azula's. It creates a self-fulfilling prophecy. If the people around you decide you're lying all the time, you're like, "OK, bet."

But that really gets to why Ty Lee's words are so harsh in these panels. Because when you grow up like that, as Azula has, the person you end up lying to the most is yourself. And she's still not ready to face that even by the end of the comic. She's aware she needs help, but it's too scary to reach out for it when in reality nobody is there for her and she's all alone, by her own doing (another thing the comic drives home).

In fact, Azula's subconscious chooses to drive that fact home through Mai. And Subconscious Mai is a lot less nice in her phrasing than Subconscious Ty Lee. I don't think that's an accident. Irl, Azula probably looked to Mai as a gauge for when she was going too far. "Oh, Mai wouldn't go in the slurry... well, okay, fair. I can see by looking at Ty Lee that that was pretty disgusting... And she got stuck in it by that Water peasant anyway, so it was pointless too." "I hated that stupid bear too." Etc etc. Essentially, she could trust Mai to call her on her bs. Which is what Mai did at the Boiling Rock, and Azula's subconscious knows it (but who's our princess best at lying to? Say it with me! Herself!).

And there's nobody she hates more than herself, either. (Actually, given Mai and Ty Lee's roles in this comic I think it's pretty clear that at least on a subconscious level, Azula really wants to make amends with them, which hurts, because... they don't.) The whole thing made me really just want to give her a hug. She needs one. I've been there.

I'm curious to see if she'll make an appearance in Ashes of the Academy. I actually think, given what was presented in Azula in the Spirit Temple, that she wants to change and grow into a better, more healthy person. Obviously that's going to look very different from Zuko's arc. Villain to antihero is not the same arc as antihero to hero. I think she's ready now to start walking that path, though, if she is approached by the right person. (Ty Lee or Mai.) Mai seems to be the more likely of the two to be willing just in terms of how their relationship has always been, how she currently feels about Azula, and given that she's prominent in the upcoming comic. Fingers crossed for some good material!

#avatar #atla #azula #azula character study #azula in the spirit temple #my analysis #mai #ty lee #ty lee x azula #mai x azula #lesbian azula #atla meta

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bradshawssugarbaby · 1 year ago

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Meet The Teacher - Bradley Bradshaw x Reader

summary: Bradley Bradshaw's re-entering civilian life with a new mission - teaching second grade.

a/n: thank you to @nerdgirljen for suggesting the idea with her breakdown of Bradley's military file, and thank you to @floydsmuse, @mamachasesmayhem, and @purelyfiction for reading this over for me last night 😅

pairing: teacher!Bradley Bradshaw x single mom!reader (last name is given to reader) warnings/content: mentions of trauma/injury, mentions of death/parent loss, Bradley pining for a student's mom, allusions to smut (masturbating (m)).

word count: 2.9k

taglist: @avengersfan25 @nouis-bum @sorchathered @hangmansgbaby @sarahsmi13s @jessicab1991 @atarmychick007 @b-bradshaw @djs8891 @primroseluna @silversprings-mp3 @drxgxnslxyer @gardenavenue @seitmai @unhinged-bitch @mattyskies

“You’ve got this, Bradshaw. You’ve got this. It’s just two dozen second graders. You’ve flown fighter jets and stared enemy aircraft in the eye, shot them down midair, you can handle a classroom of second graders.”

Bradley repeated his mantra over and over in the rearview mirror of his car, taking a deep breath as he nodded his head. He adjusted the collar on his baby blue and white striped dress shirt, fingers tracing over the silver chain of his dog tags. His breath hitched in his throat as he ran his fingertip over the beaded chain, letting it out in a strained sigh. He was venturing into uncharted waters here, and he was beginning to wonder if he was in over his head.

Six months ago, he was flying planes, one of the US Navy’s finest aviators. He’d never cared much about what he could have been doing if he hadn’t become a pilot - he’d known as long as he could remember that he wanted to fly. Since his accident though, he began to process all the things he’d let himself miss out on over the past 18 years. At 40 years old, he knew he was pushing his body to its limits, but he didn’t think he’d reached that threshold yet.

He was wrong.

It’d been a routine flight exercise, the kind he’d done about 40,000 times before in his career. His plane’s engine cut out, a mechanical failure beyond anyone’s control that couldn’t have been predicted. He kept his composure, pulled the ejection handle and parachuted his way to the ground below. In an ideal situation, he would have landed perfectly, safe and sound and taken to the hospital for observation but released the next day.

Instead, he’d blown his knee out on his landing, making walking next to impossible, let alone flying.

Presented with his options, returning to flying seemed unlikely. His knee would only likely get worse, and he realized, he sort of liked the idea of settling down someday — he knew forty was a little late in life to realize it, but damn it, he did want a family. He didn’t want to be that dad who couldn’t keep up with his kid. He wanted to be an active, fun parent like he’d remembered his mom being in her lifetime. He wanted to be able to dance with his new bride at his wedding, if it ever happened, and he couldn’t do any of that if his knee was fucked beyond repair.

Dreams of coaching Little League and dancing around kitchens in the soft, yellow glow of overhead lights had suddenly flashed before him in his hospital room, and when the proposition of an honourable discharge came up, an offer absolving him of any guilt for abandoning his post in the pursuit of a civilian little fairytale life, he seized it. He loved flying, but he knew he couldn’t do it forever, despite his best efforts. He needed something to fall back on. And if these hopes and dreams suddenly crossing his mind — having a wife and a family, being a doting dad — were to come true, he needed to start somewhere.

Bradley always swore he’d never leave a wife and family behind. He’d seen what happened when a service member didn’t come home first hand - his dad was killed in a training incident when he was just over two years old, and he’d seen how his whole world turned on its side when it happened. Even as a toddler, he remembered a lot of crying from his mother, and suddenly noticing a huge absence in his life that couldn’t be explained.

He didn’t understand what happened until he turned five, when he finally worked up the courage to ask his mom where his dad was. Why he left. Why he didn’t want to be home with Bradley. The moment he was old enough to decide his career path, he knew he wouldn’t be able to put a wife and children through the things he and his mom had been through. He was better off alone if he was serving. And it suited him just fine for the most part. The odd pang of jealousy when a colleague got married, the occasional feeling that he was missing out on something each time someone he knew announced the arrival of a new baby — they were easy enough to ignore when he focused his attention on his work.

Now, sitting in his parked car, an hour before the start of the school year, he was talking himself through how to survive his first day in his chosen back-up profession — teaching.

He’d minored in education studies at university when he went. He’d promised his mother when he was applying to colleges that he’d pick a good back-up option to flying, just in case he didn’t get into the academy, and everyone knew he was great with kids. He’d often babysat for his mom’s friends, volunteered to coach softball teams and run summer camps at the community centre throughout high school. Teaching seemed like a no-brainer.

He let out a heavy sigh as he strolled into the school, his head held high, lesson plans tucked neatly in a file folder under his arm, his coffee cup in the other hand. He was ready to face the day, and whatever these seven-year-olds had to throw at him.

The day went on without a hitch, much to Bradley’s relief. Twenty-three little darlings sat in their desks, on their best behaviour for their first day of class. He knew it was unlikely that they’d continue to be so well-behaved, but he savoured it while it lasted. His co-workers seemed laidback and relaxed, friendly smiles and waves exchanged frequently in passing, words of advice and encouragement spoken at length over lunch and prep times.

Three o’clock came faster than anticipated, and Bradley felt like he’d barely covered any of his plans for the day. At dismissal, he’d politely waved goodbye to each and every child, introducing himself to the parents he’d missed that morning at drop off, and greeting the ones he’d already met with brief updates about their child’s day. The last child to be picked up was a sweet little boy, with blonde hair and hazel eyes, freckles dotted across the bridge of his nose. Bradley’s brown eyes scanned over the attendance record in his hand. Wells Montgomery.

At 3:10, Wells had grown bored of kicking his soccer ball around the grassy area around the side of the school. He picked his ball up under his arm and hurried back to Bradley.

“Mr. Bradshaw, is my mom here yet?”

“Not yet, bud. She’s probably stuck in traffic coming over the bridge into town. You know, it gets really busy around now. Do you want to come inside and read for a little bit in the classroom?” Bradley squinted, the sun shining brightly into his eyes as he scanned the parking lot for anyone who might be Wells’ mother.

“Ok,” Wells said with a heavy sigh. Bradley furrowed his brow for a moment before looking back to Wells as the two of them headed back into the building.

By 3:20, Bradley was beginning to worry about his new pupil. He didn’t anticipate a parent going missing-in-action on him on his first day of teaching, but faced with the possibility, he began going through the list of possible actions he could take. Just as he pondered over the idea of taking Wells down to the staff room to rummage the cupboards for a still-at-school-after-school snack, you came practically flying through the door, a panicked expression on your face, cheeks reddening when you saw Wells sitting at his desk, quietly reading.

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry! I got held up in a meeting until 2:45, and then traffic was a nightmare, everything was backed up and there’s only two ways onto the island but I couldn’t ditch my car to take the ferry over, I’m so sorry,” you apologized profusely, nodding your head as you looked from Wells, to the teacher seated in the desk and back again, unsure who you needed to apologize to more.

Bradley turned to face you, his eyes raking over you as he assessed the situation. Dressed in a fitted lilac coloured pencil skirt, white tank-top and matching lilac coloured blazer, you looked like something out of a dream to him. He’d never given much thought about what his type in women was before. He’d dated blondes, brunettes, redheads, the occasional girl with bright pink hair, curvy girls, petite girls, mid-sized girls - he never had much of a preference one way or the other as far as appearances went, but God, if he had to sum up his dream girl right now - you were it.

“It’s alright, honestly,” Bradley nodded his head, smiling warmly at you in an effort to ease your concerns. “I’m Mr. Bradshaw, Wells’ teacher for second grade. He’s had a great day today, we were just about to head down to the staff room and see if there were any rogue granola bars hiding in the cupboard for him and I to share.”

“Thank you,” you nodded, your expression softening as Bradley spoke, an instant wave of relief washing over you. “You ready to go, Wellsy?”

“Mom, please,” Wells whined, shaking his head as he grabbed his book and shoved it into his backpack. “She thinks I’m a baby,” he griped, turning to Bradley for a sympathetic smile.

“Moms, huh? Mine was the same way with me.” Bradley laughed softly, waving as you and Wells headed out.

Later that night, Bradley sat on his couch, settling in to watch a baseball game as he poured over the plans for the upcoming week. Cracking open his beer bottle, he sipped the drink, sighing tiredly as he read over the social studies plan, visiting the list of important historical figures he was expected to familiarize the class with over the course of the school year. With one hand, shakily written notes were made in a notebook, scribbling out ideas for fun ways to engage the kids with each important person he was required to introduce.

Setting the beer down on a coaster, he exchanged it for a slice of greasy pizza, his reward for himself at the end of a successful first day of school. He shovelled it into his mouth, sighing as he watched the baseball game unfold. The Padres were down 3-7 in the bottom of the eighth, with not much hope left for them to pull through tonight. Bradley swallowed his mouthful, brushing the grease off his hands onto the leg of his grey sweatpants.

Bradley yawned, tired bleary eyes blinking as he padded down the hallway to his bedroom. He sighed softly and settled into bed, his mind wandering as his head rested on the pillow. Before he realized it, you were on his mind. He’d thought about you a lot that evening, brief intrusions of your smile flashing through his mind as he tried to plan out the upcoming week.

This time though, as he laid there looking up at his ceiling, he thought about your apologies for being late, how it felt like you were pleading with him or Wells to not be upset with you. He thought about how your hair, although tousled from clearly running through parking lots to your car and to the school, framed your face perfectly, and how even in the harsh fluorescent lighting of the classroom, you managed to look nothing short of beautiful.

He thought about how well the soft, purple hue of your skirt and blazer suited you, bringing out the glow of your skin and the colour of your eyes. He thought about how it hugged your curves as you left, hand in hand with Wells, the swish of your hips as you walked down the hallway. He thought about how he was pretty sure he didn’t see a wedding band on your finger, but also admonished himself for even checking. He couldn’t date a student’s parent. He knew better than that.

But still, he couldn’t help but think about you.

The next couple of weeks went by and Bradley’s interest in you grew fonder. He’d begun watching for you subtly at morning drop-offs and pick-ups, hoping to at least say hello once a day. On the last Friday of the month, you stopped him as he headed for his car, watching as Wells played on the playground equipment facing the parking lot.

“Mr. Bradshaw!” you called out, and Bradley couldn’t help but feel like you were making his name sound like a chorus of angels singing.

“Hey, Mrs. Montgomery! Is everything ok?” Bradley asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Everything’s fine, yes,” you nodded, smiling as you gently corrected him about your name. You hadn’t been Mrs. Montgomery in two years, but, you couldn’t fault Bradley for slipping up, you knew the school secretary likely didn’t alert him ahead of time. You stifled a giggle as Bradley’s cheeks flushed red with embarrassment, now his turn to apologize profusely to you.

You waved a hand dismissively and smiled, turning to watch Wells play once again.

“You know, it may have only been a few weeks, but Wells speaks very highly of you,” you started, nodding in confirmation as you watched him play, your gaze turning to land on Bradley for a moment, “He hasn’t been this interested in anything since his dad moved across the country.”

“Oh? I’m glad I could help him enjoy school again. I try my best to keep things fun and exciting in the classroom — kids learn better when they’re excited and interested in something. No one has fun being read to from a textbook over and over again all day,” Bradley explained.

“Well, Mr. Bradshaw, you’re doing a really good job of it. He came home excited to tell me that he learned about George Washington yesterday. I’m pretty sure two days ago he had no idea who that was.”

“Please,” Bradley laughed softly, shaking his head, “You can call me Bradley. It’s less formal.”

“Bradley,” you repeated, nodding as you chuckled to yourself, “Bradley Bradshaw?”

“My dad had a sense of humour,” Bradley shrugged, looking out at the playground as Wells chased one of his friends around. “He’s a good kid, you know. Wells.”

“I know, I’m proud of how well he’s handling things now that his dad got relocated. Pensacola’s a lot further than he anticipated. He was hoping for Corpus Christi at least.”

Bradley’s ears piqued at the mention of Wells’ dad relocating. Pensacola and Corpus Christi both housed Naval Air bases, he was more than familiar with both of them. He’d only ever been stationed between Oceana, Miramar and North Island, but in his eighteen years of service, he’d met plenty of service members who hailed from one of the two bases originally.

“Wells’ dad is a pilot?”

“Mhmm, well, mechanic, actually. He doesn’t fly them in combat,” you commented, raising an eyebrow at Bradley. “You seemed to guess that really well. Most people don’t guess pilot.”

“I used to be a Naval pilot, m’am,” he nodded, smiling proudly as he thought about his accomplished Naval career once again. “Lieutenant Commander Bradley Bradshaw, US Naval Air Force. I was stationed at NAS Oceana, transferred here to North Island, wrecked my knee, now I’m a teacher.”

“That’s quite the pipeline into teaching, Lieutenant Commander.”

“Please, it’s Bradley. It’s nice not going by my rank, actually.”

“Well, Bradley, I’d love to hear how exactly you landed on teaching second grade as a backup to flying F/A-18s for the United States Navy some day.” You nodded, hoping Bradley wouldn’t take offence to the suggestion of getting together at some point. Even if it was just as friends, you’d welcome it.

“That sounds like a good idea to me, actually. I’d love to.”

As Bradley headed to his car, he felt a little bounce in his step. He couldn’t help himself. Even if this just turned into a friendship and nothing more, he felt grateful that you wanted to spend time getting to know him better.

His drive home was filled with more thoughts of you, thoughts of your pretty pastel coloured outfits you always seemed to favour, thoughts of your perfect smile, always beaming and cheerful, bright enough to brighten his entire day in a way that should make the sun jealous, thoughts of your hair, how it always looked so perfectly imperfect.

In bed that night, Bradley thought about your legs, how they were long and lean, curving at your thigh. He thought about how good your ass looked in your skirt earlier today, how the material hugged it tightly. He thought about your thighs, how they looked so perfectly smooth and soft, how your plain white t-shirt that was tucked into your skirt did little to hide the swell of your breasts, and the way the curve of your neck looked irresistible, how badly he wanted to plant his lips on your skin and cover you in a trail of kisses.

Bradley thought about you in a lot of ways that night. None of them were ways he was proud of. But as he stared up at the ceiling this time, you were the only thing on his mind. He didn’t know much about how he’d go about this newfound infatuation with you. All he knew was that if he was going to settle down with anyone, he was almost positive it would be with you.

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oliversrarebooks · 5 months ago

Text

Human Resistance: Pair Bond

tw: mind control, drugging, kidnapping, brainwashing

Masterlist

You are obedient.

"I am obedient."

Zach felt so warm and drowsy, his cot so much softer than it normally was, almost like the sleep-pod that he tried so hard not to remember. Something was gently stroking his hair, making him feel calm and peaceful. Even better, there were strong arms wrapped around him, keeping him secure. He really didn't want to open his heavy eyes, but there was something nagging at him, something he needed to do.

You are docile.

"I am docile."

Yes. He felt docile in a way he shouldn't be. Docile was what the enemy wanted, he'd been reminded so many times. He had to fight. He had to lead.

But somehow, right now, it felt like it was all going to be okay.

A little tug in his mind tried to alert him that there was someone else there, someone mumbling those words near his ear. Someone familiar. Zach opened his eyes just enough to see his second-in-command and sworn friend Jesse, lying there in a daze.

Jesse looked utterly relaxed, in a way that Zach had rarely seen him, certainly not since Zach had been "rescued" and so much responsibility had fallen on his shoulders. He tried not to show it, but he was always worrying about the resistance. He had so many things on his mind at all times, from upcoming missions to dwindling supplies to shoring up defenses. It was nice to see him relaxed.

At least, until he remembered why Jesse was so relaxed.

You will comply.

"I will comply," said Jesse in a slow, sleepy mumble.

Zach remembered, once more, that he'd been captured, along with Jesse. He remembered why they'd both been captured -- that Jesse had insisted on coming along on his near-suicide mission for supplies, Zach's way of atoning for the mess he'd left behind and then brought back. It was his fault that Jesse had been captured, and this time…

This time, he knew there would be no going back, not for him. The detox and deprogramming, the surgery to remove the collar from his neck, the nightmares and hallucinations and the feeling like he was going out of his mind -- it was barely successful the first time, and there was no way he'd be able to deal with it again, if the remnants of the resistance even bothered to try. If the aliens got their hooks in him, and it sure seemed like they already had, it would be over for him. He'd be a pet forever.

And the fact that he was torn between horror and relief only sealed his conviction that he was done for.

Jesse was curled up in his arms, just as Zach was curled up in maddeningly familiar tentacles, deep under their spell and saying their mantras, already so lost. Zach wondered what would become of him. Would he be a pet, a servant, a worker? Would they ever see each other again? He'd often seen former resistance members in the pet care areas, but for many, he had no idea where they were.

All Zach knew for sure was that he'd failed Jesse, failed the entire human resistance. He hadn't won them their freedom as he had promised so many times. All he'd done was delay their servitude.

Jesse had trusted him, even after everything, and Zach had failed to save him, and now he was theirs.

Maybe he'll be better this way, happier.

That was the alien programming intruding into his mind again, so easily now that he was floating in the residual effects of a dose of their mind-bending venom. Zach's hard fight to pull himself out of the brainwashing was eroding so quickly, like a sandcastle in the waves. Maybe a sandcastle was all it had ever been.

The aliens didn't seem to mind as he stirred and shifted to get a better look out of one of the windows, perhaps correctly deciding that Zach was no threat. They were in one of the small transport crafts with about a dozen other aliens and a handful of other captured humans, all dazed and dreamy.

He should fight. He should try to rescue these people. But he knew that all it would earn him is a stronger dose of sedatives. He could tell himself that he was holding back, waiting for an opening, even though he knew the opening would never actually come.

One of the enormous colony ships was gradually coming into view over the horizon. All of the colony ships had differences in size and structure, and Zach recognized this one easily. He'd seen it out the window many times when going on trips with his Superior. It was home.

No, not home. It was the colony ship where he'd been imprisoned. They were taking him back there.

Were they returning him to his Superior? Would his Superior even want him back, after his "rescue", or was he too much of a liability, damaged goods? As much as he dreaded the idea of being turned back into a helpless pet, the thought of being discarded by his Superior still hurt. There was a part of him that still wanted to see his owner again, a part of him that the deprogramming had never totally rooted out.

Zach's mind couldn't help but drift to memories of his time as a pet. The plentiful, fresh food in the cafeteria, as much as he could ever want. The warm and comfortable sleep pod in his owner's chamber, lulling him into a gentle slumber with no nightmares. The days spent lounging on the ship deck with no responsibilities, doing enrichment puzzles or watching videos of far-off planets.

It made him want to give up so badly, and that scared him. He had to do something about it. He had to do something, anything, before he was lost forever to himself.

He had to…

…he had to comply…

He tried to shake his head free of the compulsion that consumed him, but it was already buried deep. The aliens had put him under his grasp, and it was already too late. He struggled in his mind, fought with everything he had, to pull himself free of the tentacles surrounding him. If he could get free, if he could surprise them, maybe he could get to the controls of the transport ship and do something. Even ejecting out over the ocean would give him a better chance of his mind surviving than if he let them take him into the colony ship.

He had to do it, not just for himself, but for Jesse. It was all his fault Jesse was going to be a pet too.

With everything he had, Zach forced his arms to move, pushing against the tentacle holding him fast.

It didn't even budge.

Both his muscles and his mind gave out from the effort, and he collapsed back into the alien's grip, his last hope quenched. It was over.

Just a few moments later, while Zach was stewing in his failure, the transport ship docked and the door at the back opened up, the aliens picking up their human captives.

"What… what's going on…?" said Jesse as he was stirred, still out of it.

"We're at the colony ship," said Zach.

"Colony ship…!"

Zach could see Jesse's face contort as he went through the familiar routine of trying to struggle and fight and realizing that you can't, because you need to comply. Jesse's arms and legs flailed uselessly, weak, as both he and Zach were taken to the exit.

"Ugh, why can't I…" said Jesse in utter frustration.

"Because we're already under their control," said Zach. It was too late, and he didn't know how he'd be able to tell Jesse that. Maybe Jesse could keep his fire, resist in ways that Zach couldn't manage. Maybe he'd be the one to break out. At any rate, Zach owed it to him to help him however he could, as long as he was able. Depending on where the aliens took them, they might not ever see each other again after this day.

The docking area of the colony ship was enormous, the size of a football stadium, filled with ships of all sizes, aliens, and human workers and pets. The transport ship they'd just arrived on was immediately swarmed by a group of human maintenance workers with cheery smiles on their faces. Zach wondered who they used to be, if they were actually happy working on alien ships.

Maybe they were. Maybe their old jobs were worse than what they had now. Maybe they didn't even need to be brainwashed -- although the aliens would brainwash them anyway.

Zach's thoughts were pulled out of orbit by something both startling and familiar, terrifying and comforting. Something he would recognize anywhere.

It was his Superior.

He couldn't really recognize his owner by sight -- whatever physical differences there were with the aliens, they were generally too subtle for humans to notice -- but he could tell from the presence. Zach could feel the anticipation, too. His owner was waiting here, eager for his pet to be returned, and Zach had only moments left before he was turned back into a pet for good. Revulsion and resistance warred in his mind with that treacherous desire for comfort, and in a daze, he tried once more to push away from the tentacles holding him.

And then a familiar eye bloomed before him, filled with patterns that instantly subdued him, and the fight was over.

Zach's body went limp and lax as he was handed over to his Superior, the familiar rhythm of its thoughts lulling him into a stupor. He was home.

Little one, said the voice in his head. You will comply.

"I will comply," Zach repeated with no hesitation.

His Superior was turning him over in its arms, and Zach could feel himself being examined. Where is your collar?

"They removed it from me," he said, eager for his Superior to know that it wasn't his choice. "They did surgery on me without my consent and took it." Somewhere behind him, he could hear Jesse's sharp intake of breath.

His Superior didn't respond, and the steady waves of its thoughts indicated that it was considering what Zach had said. Tentacles wrapped around his body as he was directed to look into its hypnotic eye once more, losing himself in its depths.

You're in my command. You will tell the truth.

Zach's eyes were wide, his mind open and absorbing. "I will tell the truth."

Why didn't you return to me when commanded?

"I tried," he said. All of the suffering of his rescue and rehabilitation was flooding his mind, and he knew his Superior could read it from him. "My friends at the human resistance restrained and drugged me. They removed my collar and tried to undo all of my training. They were just trying to help me. They don't understand."

For a long moment, his Superior was quiet, thinking once more. Are you currently harmed? You must report to me if there is a problem.

"No. I'm just tired and hungry."

Your pet seems to be in fair condition. One of the aliens who had captured Zach was chiming in. The capture was clean and easy.

Even in his daze, Zach bristled a bit at the notion that his capture was easy. He should've been better than that.

Good. I will send my pet for recollaring, and then to the infirmary for examination. It will require reconditioning.

Zach could almost laugh. He was being collared again, just like that, after all of the pain and effort involved with deprogramming him, the dangerous surgery they'd performed on him to get the alien collar out of his spine. He could've died or been paralyzed, and it was all for nothing, undone so easily.

His Superior was taking him back. It believed that Zach had been taken against his will, and it seemed like he wasn't even being punished for it. He was finally going home.

Even as Zach let himself sink into his Superior's hold, he heard a muffled cry behind him. Jesse was still being held by the aliens who had captured Zach, flailing more than ever in an effort to free himself.

"It's all right, Jesse. You're going to be okay," said Zach, hoping to comfort his second-in-command even while feeling the sting of separation. Unless Jesse remained in this same region of the colony ship, this might be the last time they saw each other.

These two humans may be pair bonded, said one of the aliens who had captured them. They provided touch for each other while resting in the transport ship. It was endearing.

Humans are social creatures, added the alien holding Jesse. They do best in groups of two to four.

Jesse stopped struggling, looking at Zach expectantly as he realized what was happening. Hope rose in Zach's chest. If his Superior could be convinced to take Jesse as well, then Jesse would be guaranteed a good owner and a comfortable life. Zach had failed to protect Jesse, but this way, he could help ease him into this new world.

It has been considered before, his Superior responded. I was reluctant to acquire any additional pet. I have an unusually large amount of work and responsibility. I doubt I have time to care for two humans.

Before Zach could open his mouth in a possibly futile attempt to convince his Superior, even knowing how little the opinion of a pet was worth, the alien carrying Jesse spoke up again. I own three human pets. It is just as easy to take care of two as one. They spend time entertaining and caring for each other.

This little one does require frequent enrichment. His Superior was deliberating over the decision, waves of thought rolling through Zach like music. Your assessment may be correct.

They will both need conditioning. They could take their conditioning together. It is often easier that way. Your old pet can guide your new pet. The alien holding Jesse moved closer, and Zach could see the mix of fear and expectation in Jesse's eyes. I could give you this little one now, and report that it has been acquired.

Zach and Jesse were both holding their breath, staring at each other, their fates out of their hands.

After what seemed like an eternity, his Superior responded. That is acceptable. I will take them both to be collared. It took Jesse in its arms and placed him right next to Zach.

Zach breathed a sigh of relief as they were carried through the docking station. At least Jesse was safe. "Are you okay?" he whispered, knowing his Superior could hear him and read his thoughts regardless.

"No, I'm not okay," Jesse hissed back. "I've been captured by the enemy, they keep putting the whammy on my brain, and I'm about to be turned into a pet." He took a ragged breath. "But I'm glad they didn't separate us."

"Me too." He couldn't deny anything that Jesse had said, but the worry kept slipping through his mind, impossible to hold onto. He was home.

"What happens now? Am I going to be this thing's pet?"

"Our Superior," Zach corrected reflexively, ignoring Jesse's look of disgust. "Yeah, I think so. I think it's taking you to be its pet, too."

"It's taking us to be collared, Zach, you heard it! You can't just let them collar you again! And they're going to collar me, and then I'll be -- I'll be --"

Zach knew what Jesse was thinking. He could only imagine how pathetic he had looked in the infirmary, crying and trying to escape, with one of the alien enslavement collars beaming commands straight into his brain. It had been far less humiliating when he was on the ship and everyone around him had one, but he knew that would be cold comfort.

He didn't get a chance to comfort Jesse, though, because his Superior had apparently had enough of his new pet's panic. Tentacles gripped Jesse tighter as several hypnotic eyes opened in front of his face, and within seconds, Jesse was wide-eyed and entranced. Be still and calm, his Superior commanded, and Jesse nodded.

Even though the eyes were't directed at him, Zach couldn't help but look and lose himself a bit, his surroundings settling into blurry calm as his Superior carried them both off.

He only became alert again when they entered a new room, one filled with pods containing dazed humans. It wasn't the huge and bustling processing center Zach had been sent to the first time he was captured, one clearly meant for mass processing of humans. This was much smaller and quieter, one of the usual training rooms.

A pair of aliens stopped his Superior near the entrance, and the group was chatting in their own language. Living in what seemed to be his Superior's combined living quarters and workspace, Zach had become very used to the background noise of alien speech from endless meetings and calls.

His Superior turned Zach over, and he could feel a tentacle prodding at the scar left by the surgery to remove his collar. His calm left him a bit as he was examined. Would this be an issue? He didn't know what they did to humans they couldn't collar, and he didn't want to find out. Maybe his Superior would simply take Jesse as a replacement, a shiny new pet.

After more incomprehensible discussion, one of the aliens took Jesse from his Superior's tentacles. Jesse stirred, and Zach could tell he was trying to break himself free of the hypnotic spell, but he knew how futile it was. Fear rose in his eyes as he was taken to a nearby pod. "No," he said, voice rising. "No, no, no… !"

"It's all right, Jesse," said Zach, trying to channel the voice of confident leadership he used to know so well. "It isn't going to hurt. It'll all be over soon."

"No, you can't let them do this!" Even as he began to struggle, he was placed into the pod and the cover sealed. Through the translucent blue cover, Zach could see Jesse slam his palms against the pod before mechanical appendages grabbed his limbs and held him fast. The thin metal band snapped around his neck, Jesse's eyes going wide, and it was done.

Zach knew what would come next, because he remembered when it had happened to him, strangely vivid compared to other memories of his time being programmed. The conditioning would start, now augmented by a direct line into Jesse's mind, and it wouldn't be long before his thoughts slipped and his mind sank into that comfortable, pleasant haze that Zach knew all too well.

Zach wasn't going to be watching, though, because now his Superior directed him to where the aliens were setting up a different sort of apparatus, a chair that wasn't surrounded by a pod. Zach reflexively looked to his Superior for hope of guidance or an explanation.

There is damage to your neck, his Superior said. It will be corrected. While you are still damaged, you will be given a temporary collar.

"What damage? What needs correcting?" said Zach, recalling his involuntary knee surgery. But that was all his Superior was interested in telling him. He was set down gently in the chair, and a kind of tube encased his left arm. Before Zach could become too worried, one of the other aliens subdued him with its beautiful eyes, and those warm, padded headphones were put on his head. He heard a sort of chime -- the same sound that always occurred at the beginning of the programming -- and Zach was immediately lost to it, sinking limp and loose into the chair.

You are home.

Brief images flashed through Zach's mind of all the places he'd called home in the past. The human resistance base in better days, when it was full of people and enthusiasm and genuine hope of success. The small apartment he'd had back when aliens had been the stuff of sci-fi, with its ratty brown carpets and tiny kitchen and shower that constantly ran out of hot water. His parents' house, when he was a child, full of clutter and the smell of his mom's cooking.

And now, the colony ship was home, with its round corridors and human enrichment stations and windows to the sky.

Something slipped around Zach's wrist, a metal band that felt just like his collar had felt, and when the chimes next sounded, they went straight to his brain.

Masterlist

There's at least one more followup part with Jesse, and then potentially some additional stories. Thanks for reading!

#whump #whump writing #aliens #alien abduction #mind control #brainwashing #human resistance #zach #jesse

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glowettee · 1 month ago

Note

Hey girl, I'm happy with a man he is legit the loml but I keep having relationship anxiety and self sabtoging I kept fearing he is going to leave me any tips to overcome this it's driving me insane thanks

love isn’t supposed to feel like a test

hi sweetheart, it's mindy. i know what it feels like to overthink love. to go from “this is perfect” to “what if it all disappears?” in a single heartbeat. relationship anxiety makes you feel like you have to earn love over and over again like one wrong move will make it all fall apart. but real love? the kind that’s healthy, safe, and meant for you? it doesn’t ask you to walk on eggshells. it doesn’t test you. it lets you breathe.

so let’s talk about this. how to stop sabotaging something good. how to trust love without feeling like it’s slipping through your fingers. because you deserve a love that feels soft, not like a battle in your mind. - mindy

✧˖° ➼ how to stop self-sabotaging in a healthy relationship

first of all, breathe. you’re not crazy, and you’re not broken for feeling this way. relationship anxiety isn’t about whether your relationship is “good enough” or whether you “love him enough” it’s about your mind struggling to trust stability.

if you’ve been hurt before, if love has felt unsafe, temporary, or uncertain in the past. your brain might be on high alert, waiting for the moment everything falls apart. but here’s the truth:

➼ love isn’t something you have to earn. it’s something you allow yourself to receive. ➼ fear doesn’t protect you from pain. it only steals your ability to enjoy the good moments. ➼ if he’s the loml, treat him like it. don’t let anxiety make you act like he’s your enemy.

✧˖° ➼ step 1: identify your fear loops

(if you can predict your anxiety, you can control it.)

relationship anxiety usually follows patterns. same thoughts, same triggers, same reactions. and if you can spot it before it spirals, you can stop it from controlling you.

✧ what are your intrusive thoughts? “he’s going to leave,” “he secretly hates me,” “i’m not good enough for him.” ✧ what triggers them? does it happen when he takes longer to reply? when you feel extra emotional? ✧ how do you react? do you pull away? over-apologize? test him to “prove” he loves you?

📌 homework: start keeping a relationship anxiety log. whenever you feel yourself spiraling, write down: → what triggered it → what you’re scared of → what actually happened after

this helps your brain realize that most of your fears never actually come true.

✧˖° ➼ step 2: separate anxiety from reality

(feelings aren’t always facts.)

anxiety lies. it makes worst-case scenarios feel like future certainties. so when you start spiraling, try this:

➼ pause. don’t react immediately. give yourself space. ➼ fact-check. what proof do you actually have that he’s leaving? ➼ reframe. instead of “he’s pulling away,” try “he’s probably tired” or “he’s just busy.”

💡 mantra: just because i feel anxious doesn’t mean something is wrong.

✧˖° ➼ step 3: stop testing his love

(love isn’t proven through survival. it’s shown through consistency.)

self-sabotage happens when anxiety tricks you into pushing him away to see if he comes back. things like: ✧ ignoring him to see if he notices ✧ picking fights just to see if he stays ✧ constantly asking if he still loves you

this might feel like “protection,” but it actually creates the instability you fear. instead of making him “prove” his love, try trusting what he’s already shown you.

💬 ask yourself: if i fully believed he loved me, how would i act? → then, act like that version of yourself.

✧˖° ➼ step 4: build emotional safety within yourself

(confidence in love starts with self-trust.)

if you don’t feel safe within yourself, no amount of reassurance from him will ever feel like enough. the goal isn’t to make him “prove” he won’t leave. it’s to make your own security unshakable.

try this: ➼ inner child check-in. if younger you believed love was unstable, remind her: “this is different. we are safe.” ➼ affirmations for security. “i am worthy of love, even when i’m anxious.” “i can trust love without controlling it.” ➼ hold yourself accountable. when you feel yourself spiraling, pause. don’t act on impulse. choose a response that aligns with the calm, secure version of you.

your relationship can’t be healthier than your self-trust. make it strong.

✧˖° ➼ step 5: communicate without fear

instead of bottling up your fears or acting out of anxiety, talk to him. not in a “please fix me” way, but in an “i want to grow with you” way.

how to express anxiety without pushing him away:➼ use “i” statements → instead of “you never text me,” try “i feel anxious when i don’t hear from you.” ➼ own your feelings, but don’t assume his intentions. tell him what you feel, not what he is doing wrong. ➼ ask for support, not solutions. let him know when you need comfort instead of logic.

💡 reminder: someone who loves you won’t get annoyed by your emotions. they’ll want to understand them.

✧˖° ➼ step 6: shift your focus back to you

if your whole emotional world revolves around him, anxiety will always feel like a threat. instead, build a life so full that your happiness isn’t dependent on his every text or action. this is important.

ways to ground yourself in your own life:➼ create rituals that are yours. a morning routine, hobbies, self-care habits that don’t revolve around him. ➼ spend time with other people. make sure your entire social life isn’t just him.➼ set personal goals. give yourself something to focus on outside the relationship.

📌 homework: make a list of 10 things that bring you joy that have nothing to do with him. then, do more of those.

✧˖° ➼ final thoughts:

(you deserve a love that feels like home, not a war zone.)

your anxiety isn’t trying to ruin your relationship. it’s trying to protect you from pain. but love isn’t supposed to be fear management. it’s supposed to be a space where you can feel safe, soft, and loved.

i hope this helped you, i don't usually make posts about relationships, but i'm so happy to start now. if you need any other tips from me please ask me!! <3 i also love researching about this topic <33

xoxo mindy

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skyward-floored · 2 years ago

Text

Whumptober Day 10: Aftermath of failure

Continuation to day 4! (...finally. This is so late)

Soooo this was actually originally split into two days, and it kinda shows. But I didn’t want to have to keep stretching this out, and decided putting them together was okay, even if they don’t fit together perfectly.

Enjoy your extra angst hehe—

Day 4 (previous)

Read on ao3

Warnings: blood, mentions of injuries, a panic attack, and brief mention of vomit.

————————————————————

Legend was asleep.

Warriors repeated it to himself like a mantra, watching as Hyrule crouched over the veteran and finished bandaging his middle. He knew Legend was asleep because Hyrule wasn’t acting panicked at all, and he could see his chest going up and down even from here.

He was breathing. He was asleep.

Something buzzed in his ear, same as it had on and off for a while now, but Warriors couldn’t make it out. He was pretty sure it was Sky trying to talk to him, the same as he’d been for a while, but he couldn’t focus on what he was saying, couldn’t take his eyes off of where Legend was laying in the grass.

His chest was still going up and down. He was asleep, unconscious maybe, due to shock. But he was breathing, eyes closed, face twisted slightly in pain with his bangs falling over his face. Hyrule was still bandaging his middle, and he’d pulled his bloodstained tunic out of the—

Warriors’ breath stuttered, and his gaze flicked to the blood coating his hands.

Legend’s blood.

Legend’s blood that he’d spilled.

Legend’s blood that his sword had ripped out of him after he’d plunged it into his chest, all because he wasn’t strong enough to resist whatever magic had attacked him, and made him think Legend had betrayed them all.

“Please, I’m not your enemy!”

Warriors felt his breath catch again, swallowing thickly. The memories were still blurry of what exactly he’d done, but he remembered in stark detail Legend’s chest under his foot, his eyes blown wide with an unusual fear as he’d practically begged him to wake up, his scream when he’d stabbed—

“Link, hey.”

Hands clutched at his wrists, trying to get a reaction out of him, the skin cold against his own. Warriors stared at them blankly, palms streaked with faint burns and cuts, and watched as some of Legend’s blood dripped off his fingers and onto his tunic, joining the crimson that was already coated all over his front.

He lurched over and retched.

The hands let go of his wrists, and gently grabbed his shoulder instead, waiting until he was finished. An overwhelming swell of horror and regret swamped over him as he stopped, and Warriors could barely breath, his scarf feeling like it was constricting him.

He’d almost killed Legend. He’d almost killed a fellow hero, a brother, all because of a spell he was too weak to resist.

“Captain, take a deep breath, please.”

Warriors tried, managing a shaking gasp, and what he finally recognized as Sky’s voice tried to get him to take in another. A sting of embarrassment leaked through the horror as Sky gently spoke, and Warriors felt his fingernails bite into his palm as he clenched his fist.

He needed to calm down. He was better than this, he knew how to be calm in situations like this, he’d been trained how to calm down, he needed to remember his training—

Your training that nearly killed Legend.

Warriors heaved in another breath, frantically trying to get himself to calm down. He couldn’t think about it. He just needed to focus on something else.

The hand was still on his shoulder, and Warriors focused only on that, on the small circles it was rubbing, the gentle motions of the fingers going back and forth. He kept his mind firmly from anything else that had or was happening, and eventually managed to pull his breathing under control, taking slower breaths as he calmed his heart.

After a long time, he slowly raised his head and looked at Sky’s face.

The other knight’s face was pale, making the usual eye bags he had stick out even more sharply under his eyes. A bit of blood was drying in his hair, and his lip was split, blood trickling down his chin, but more obvious than any injury was the haunted look in his eyes.

But somehow he still managed to dredge up a smile to send at Warriors.

“Hey Captain,” he said in a soft voice, and Warriors stared at him blankly. “You back with me?”

Warriors’ breath hitched again.

“I almost killed him,” he rasped, the horror starting to trickle back through the temporary wall he’d put up.

Sky’s smile faded, and Warriors swallowed, his throat stinging with bile. He hadn’t meant to say that.

Sky hesitated, and looked like he was trying to think of something to say, and Warriors felt another overwhelming swell of panic and horror overwhelm him, crashing over him like a tsunami.

“Gods Sky,” he choked out, his breath catching in his lungs, “I nearly killed him, I stabbed Legend Sky, he’s only a kid I—”

Sky clutched at his hands again, and Warriors looked at Legend’s blood still drying on his palms.

“You— we, weren’t ourselves,” Sky said in a voice only slightly more steady than Warriors’, sounding like he was forcing his voice not to break. “It was the wizzrobe. We can’t... we can’t take the blame here Wars, it’ll... it’ll tear us apart.”

Warriors let out a truly bitter laugh, and didn’t reply. It already is.

“Link,” Sky continued, his voice agonized. “Don’t—”

“I thought he was one of them Sky,” Warriors interrupted, voice shaking. “A traitor. Someone who’d gone against everything I stand for, kidnapped Zelda or— or something, I can’t even remember, but I thought he was one of them Sky, I—”

His voice cracked, and he closed his eyes, shaking his head.

I’m the traitor.

The irony wasn’t lost on him.

Sky stayed silent, and Warriors felt bile rise in his throat again as his eyes flicked to the bloodstained grass Legend was lying in, but he swallowed it back, staring down at his hands. Sky’s own were still clasped at his wrists, and Warriors realized his were the ones with the burns and cuts on them, red and painful looking.

“You’re hurt,” he said numbly, and Sky shrugged a little, turning his hands so the burns were harder to see.

“Not too badly. Fi was only helping, and Wind’s a better brawler than I am.” He rubbed his jaw, a softer expression crossing his face. “He can sure hit hard for having such small fists.”

Warriors felt a flicker of pride towards Wind, but the warmth from the emotion didn’t last long. The others really had fought their hardest to keep them all away from Legend.

Look how that turned out.

He breathed out heavily, feeling less panicked and more wrung out all of a sudden, and Warriors raised his head and looked around at their group.

Wind was sitting next to Four and helping him wrap a bandage around his side, the smithy’s tunic bloody and torn. Wind himself had a black eye, and a small cut on his cheek, with half-dried blood staining his chin as well. He was holding a bottle and trying to get Four to take it, but the smithy kept shaking his head and pushing it back towards him.

Hyrule had finished with Legend, and was talking to Time, though Hyrule was pointedly positioned between the downed veteran and the older hero. Both of them were sporting multiple injuries, but before Warriors could study them further, a choked noise made him startle.

He and Sky both turned to look, and saw Wild curled in on himself at the base of a nearby tree, his head in his hands and his forearm bleeding. Twilight was kneeled next to him, talking in quiet tones, and Wild muffled a keening noise in his hands, curling up tighter.

Warriors looked away from Wild, but found himself scanning all of Twilight’s injuries, remembering in an almost detached way that he’d been the one to inflict most of them.

“Keep them away from Legend!”

His gaze went back to the veteran against his will, and he stared in silence at his chest, bandages going steadily up and down, the same as earlier. His face was pale, but Hyrule must have cleaned the blood from it as it was clean, and Legend’s expression had eased a little further.

Warriors swallowed, watching him. Legend looked so small from over here, pale and bloodstained. He may have claimed the title of veteran, but he truly was still a kid, younger then when Warriors had joined the army.

How old was he when he had started saving people?

Warriors jumped at a sudden hand in his face, and he almost fell backwards before he realized it was Sky, holding a cloth in his hand.

“You’re still bleeding,” he apologized quietly, and Warriors hesitated, then nodded, closing his eyes as Sky began to clean the blood off his forehead and cheek. He normally disliked anyone touching his face, but Sky was gentle, and Warriors stayed still as he worked, blinking his eyes against the sudden sting in them.

“Wars wake up! You’d never hurt any of us!”

“It wasn’t you, Captain. It wasn’t your fault,” Sky whispered as he continued, and Warriors couldn’t look him in the eye.

Maybe he was right. Maybe not.

But either way, Legend’s screams wouldn’t be fading from his mind anytime soon.

And he would never forgive himself for hurting him that way.

Warriors looked down at his hands one more time, the smell of blood still sharp in his nose, and Sky continued to clean off his face, hand faintly trembling.

If blood didn’t end up being the only liquid that was wiped from his cheek, then Sky didn’t comment on it.

(...)

It was dark when Legend finally woke up.

He blinked his eyes open, lids feeling unusually heavy as he stared up at the night sky, but he found himself having trouble remembering what had happened before he fell asleep. He felt tired, and heavy, and for some reason there was a heavy feeling of wrongness settled around him. But...

Legend frowned, and turned his head to look around camp.

It was mostly dark and quiet, a campfire providing a bit of warmth and light. Legend blinked his eyes open a little further, and looked around at the others, the sense of wrongness only growing stronger.

Hyrule was tucked beside him, dead asleep with his arm resting on top of Legend’s. He looked exhausted, and his face held a deep frown, his other hand held near his sword. Wind was next to him, and Four stretched out nearby, the smithy sporting several bandages at his side.

On the opposite side of the clearing, Wild was curled into a tight ball under his blanket, barely visible, and Sky was next to him, his face tightly pinched in his sleep. Wolfie sat close by, but was surprisingly far away from Wild, and seemed rather on edge.

Time sat closest to the fire, and Legend couldn’t help but stare at how the older hero was holding Warriors’ shoulders, their foreheads nearly touching as he talked to him in a low voice.

He couldn’t make out the words, but they sounded urgent.

Legend blinked, feeling dizzy and a bit cold, and he tried to sit up, gasping in surprise as the pain he hadn’t even noticed in his middle spiked. Memories came flooding back as he looked down at his bandaged chest, and his breath hitched as Warriors and Time both turned and looked at him, their eyes shining in the firelight.

For a moment, all he could see was armor glinting in the sun, blank eyes focused on him in a glare, a sword raised to stab him through—

You killed the wizzrobe, he reminded himself as his breath caught, they’re not your enemies, they won’t turn on you, they won’t...

Twilight seemed to notice his distress, and he quickly hopped up and padded to his side, using his big head to gently push him back to lying down.

“I’m fine you big lug,” Legend said in a voice that ended up more shaky then he would have preferred, but Twilight ignored him, twitching his tail once, then settled himself on the opposite side of him from where Hyrule was.

Legend exhaled, and ran a hand through the wolf’s thick fur, unable to stop himself from still watching Time and Warriors. Looking at them without their armor on made it easier to separate them from the memories he had of them from earlier, but...

“Traitor to the crown!”

Not entirely.

Time noticed him staring, and met his eyes, looking at him with something that Legend wasn’t sure how to decipher. The older hero turned and said something to Warriors, but the captain looked away, and Time slowly got to his feet, approaching Legend.

He felt himself tense as Time drew near, but Twilight stayed firmly by his side, and the presence of the large wolf helped greatly with keeping him steady. Twilight won’t let him attack.

...not that he will, because the spell is broken, remember?

“How are you doing, Veteran?” Time asked softly as he reached him, sitting far enough away to not make Legend too uncomfortable.

“Fine.”

Time raised an eyebrow at the response, but didn’t push, offering him a water skin. Legend realized then he was rather parched, and slowly sat up again, reaching out to take it. He winced as a flicker of pain struck through his middle, but at Time’s worried look, firmly took the water skin as if daring him to argue.

“I’m alright,” Legend repeated, and took a long draught of water. It was cold as it went down his throat, but the relief was worth it. “How’s everyone else?”

Time sighed, heavy and tired. “About as well as you’d expect. Four was the worst off besides yourself, and Warriors and Twilight were both hurt more then they realized. But nobody’s in danger.”

Legend swallowed. Are they though?

It was silent between them for a minute while Legend finished drinking, shivering slightly as he finished. He could tell he had lost a lot of blood. That was something even Hyrule couldn’t fix, and he would have to just rest and regain it naturally.

Pretty annoying though, he grumbled, tugging his blanket tighter around his shoulders. He hated how cold he always felt after losing a bunch of blood.

The memory of being stabbed flickered in his memory, and his eyes slid over to Warriors, the captain staring blankly at the fire. He wondered how much he remembered of what had happened. The captain had seemed dazed after... everything, and while he’d obviously realized what he’d done, that didn’t really mean he truly remembered.

I hope he doesn’t remember a thing.

“Legend... do you know what that wizzrobe did?” Time asked quietly, and Legend felt a chill go up his spine. “Hyrule mentioned you freezing up, has this... spell, happened before?”

Do we need to be prepared for it to happen again? was the unspoken question.

Legend bit his lip. Hyrule knew why he had frozen up— he’d told him one time after finding a wanted sign with Legend’s face on it— but he’d obviously not elaborated on why to the others.

“I think... it reactivated an old spell through me somehow,” Legend murmured, drawing his blanket closer. “On... on my first quest, there was a sorcerer, a servant of Ganon, who took over the castle. He brainwashed all the soldiers and knights, and they thought I was the enemy for a long time.”

He swallowed.

“But I... I guess the wizzrobe hit me first, and it affected you all, because... you’re knights.”

Understanding dawned on Time’s face, and he leaned back, putting a hand on his chin. “My knighthood is only a title, I haven’t done much to deserve it,” he murmured, brows lowered. “But the spell didn’t differentiate regardless...”

He met Legend’s gaze again, and the veteran startled at the remorse all over his face.

“I’m so sorry Veteran.”

Legend shook his head, and looked down at the bandages covering most of his chest.

“It wasn’t your fault,” he whispered. “The wizzrobe did it. It was infected... that must have granted it extra magic ability.”

Twilight shifted a little closer to him, and Legend ran his hand through his fur again, calming himself down with the motions. Time was silent for a while, watching his hand card along, then sighed, and got to his feet.

Legend flinched in spite of himself.

“I think the captain needs to hear that,” Time finally replied, his voice quiet. “Is it okay if he comes over here?”

No, no it’s not, his mind immediately screamed, glaring eyes and cold words flashing through his mind, a blade stabbing deep through his chest as he choked on his own blood and Warriors’ horrified gaze as he stared at his hands—

“Yeah,” he said in a voice that was much too casual.

Time and Twilight both gave him a look, but didn’t do anything further then that, and Time nodded and moved away.

Legend didn’t watch him reach Warriors, or talk to try and convince him to come over to where Legend was sitting, keeping his eyes firmly on his lap, or Wolfie’s soft fur. Not until a set of footsteps approached again did Legend flick his eyes up, and he felt his heart freeze as Warriors looked down at him.

Suddenly it was earlier again, and Warriors’ face had become a smooth glare, his sword plunging downwards into his chest, and Legend couldn’t breathe through the blood, his vision going dark—

“This— this was a bad idea,” Warriors said, stumbling over his words as Legend tried to get ahold of himself. “I don’t—”

“Stay,” Legend finally managed to get out, determined to beat this. And despite his instincts begging him to just leave, to run, to get away, he looked up and met Warriors’ eyes. “Please.”

Warriors swallowed, and Time’s hand landed on his shoulder, nearly pushing the captain down to sit next to Legend. He was a bit closer than Legend would have preferred, but he swallowed back the fear and distrust that were still trying to choke him, and stayed where he was.

Time looked between them, then left, far away enough to give them privacy, but close enough to help if there was a problem.

Which Warriors was obviously afraid there would be.

Twilight stayed where he was, silent and still, and Legend kept running his hand through his fur, wondering a bit at the fact that he was letting him pet him so much. But mostly he was just glad for the grounding feel of the fur between his fingers.

The silence between him and Warriors stretched on, and Legend avoided looking at him, still staring at his lap. He was afraid he would see those same blank eyes again if he looked up, and he didn’t move, didn’t say anything.

“Legend, I...” Warriors finally began, but his voice cracked, and he shook his head, staring at the ground.

The silence came back with a vengeance, and Legend hesitated, his stomach hurting with more than just his injury. He firmly gathered his courage, and finally looked over at Warriors, and was shocked to see a tear slip down his cheek.

Twilight quietly whined, and Warriors let out a laugh that was really more of a sob.

“I betrayed you, Legend,” he managed to continue, voice more broken then Legend had ever heard it. “I shouldn’t even be over here in case— in case it happens again. I can’t be trusted, I... I nearly killed you, and there aren’t enough words in the world to convey how sorry—”

Legend swallowed, and before he could scare himself out of doing it, leaned forward and pressed his head against Warriors’ chest.

The captain made a choked noise, and Legend squeezed his eyes shut.

“It wasn’t you,” he said, not bothering to hide the tremble in his voice. “It was the wizzrobe Captain, it was a spell, an infected one, I know— I know you would never hurt any of us.”

Horribly enough, Legend felt his eyes begin to sting, but he forced the tears back, and stayed with his head pressed to Warriors’ chest, listening to him try not to cry either.

“Nobody could have resisted that,” Legend choked out, firmly blaming the sudden crash of emotions on his exhausted physical state. “Nobody. So don’t— don't. Don’t blame y-yourself.”

Something shakily rested on his back after a minute, and Legend realized it was Warriors’ arm, eventually joined by the other. Part of him wanted to break away from the contact, his mind screaming that he couldn’t trust the arms encircling him. But the part that was fighting so hard to pound it into Warriors’ head that it wasn’t his fault hung on, and enjoyed the contact, as awkward and messy as it was.

He knew it was just as hard for Warriors to be this close to him as it was for Legend to be near him, and he firmly ignored every memory of blood and swords and screaming, and focused on breathing, his brother’s arms around him.

Not threatening. Not wielding a sword.

Safe.

Twilight moved himself a little closer to the both of them, so that his fur wasn’t just pressed to Legend’s side, and Warriors let out another unsteady breath, trembling slightly.

It would take more time then this to patch back what had fractured, for all of them, but this...

Legend fought back a sob, and felt Warriors’ grip hesitate, then tighten.

This was a good start.

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writeforfandoms · 2 years ago

Text

Warrior Song 11

Find the series masterlist

We find out what's really going on, and go beyond canon. Plot dead ahead!

Warnings: Swearing, canon typical violence, post-canon.

Word count: 1.6k

Fernando had barely set the Pelican down, ramp lowering, when the Spartans walked briskly up and in. None of them looked injured, which was something of a relief.

“What happened?” Fernando called back from the pilot seat.

“We’ll tell you on the go,” Joy said as Chief walked past you to Fernando. “We need to move.”

Fernando glanced at the little hologram but nodded, getting the Pelican up in the air again.

“Atriox is alive.” Chief spoke first, flat and toneless. You stared at his back, eyes wide. “He released the Endless.”

“That’s bad,” Fernando muttered. “What do they want?”

“Unknown.” Fred answered that time, coming up behind you and putting a hand on your back to help steady you.

“Sounded like Atriox is still on his warpath to destroy humanity,” Joy added, sounding a touch nervous. “But we don’t know for sure. The Endless took him with them.”

This was all so bad. So very bad. “What’s the plan?” You couldn’t quite hide the nerves in your voice, but Fred standing next to you was oddly reassuring.

“Follow them,” Chief answered briefly. “Stop them. Whatever it takes.”

That sent a cold chill down your spine. That… was very final. You just had to hope it didn’t become so dire.

“I see them,” Fernando said, voice tight. “They’re still moving.”

Chief nodded once, one hand on the back of Fernando’s seat. “Which direction?”

“Not towards the Reverie, at least,” Fernando muttered. “They’re heading to one of the other entrances into the Halo. I think. One of the ones you haven’t blown up yet.”

You frowned, trying to remember everything you and Joy had talked about. This Halo wasn’t operational because of the giant hole in it, and Chief had disabled the repair parts. (Probably, anyway.) The giant hole also likely prevented the Halo from moving.

So why would they need to get to the interior of the Halo? They couldn’t use it as a weapon, at least not the way it was designed.

You didn’t have a chance to ask, though. The Pelican swerved and Fernando swore.

“Looks like they don’t like us following,” he said, attempting humor and falling a little short.

You swallowed hard as the Pelican dipped, and Fred moved his grip to your shoulder, nudging you into a seat. Really, you envied the Spartans their ease in these situations - you felt like you might implode from the tension.

“Blue Team,” Chief started, low and commanding, “let’s go.” The ramp opened as Chief turned, the sudden wind making you cling harder to the seat. Chief was the first one out, long strides sending him past you and out the back of the Pelican. Linda was next, then Kelly. Fred patted your shoulder one last time before he threw himself out after the others.

As soon as the ramp was up and you were sure you weren’t going to just slide out the back of the Pelican, you scrambled up to the front, throwing yourself into the copilot seat.

Blue Team had landed safely on the ground and were moving steadily towards the entrance, fighting through the swarm of Endless.

“That’s a lot of enemies,” you murmured, hands tightening on the safety straps.

Fernando didn’t respond, mouth tight and hands nearly white-knuckling the controls. “They’ll be fine,” he said, almost like a mantra. “We need to get out of here, we’re a liability otherwise.”

It hurt your heart to leave them, but you knew you couldn’t do anything to help. So you clenched your jaw tight, staying silent as Fernando piloted away from the fight.

“We should warn base camp.” You were a bit surprised when your voice came out relatively normal, considering the way your pulse was thrumming in your throat.

“Right.” Fernando took a deep breath. “Right. Hold on.” The Pelican sped up, moving fast. Long-range COMs were still out of commission, so you’d need to get within short-range to pass the message along.

Either that, or one of you would have to physically go into camp.

You eyed Fernando. He was still weird around camp, practically refusing to be on his own. You had no idea what that was about, but… You could make things easier for him.

“Drop me off when we get close.”

“What?” He looked at you, wide-eyed.

“You need to be on call, so to speak, for Blue Team. I’ll walk to camp and update them.”

“And if one of them needs a medic when I pick them up?” He was drumming his fingers against the controls though.

“They all know how to use biofoam, and they’re all remarkably good at patching themselves and each other up.” Your smile was definitely a bit grim. “They’ll manage until you can fly them back to camp. But camp needs to be updated, and I’m currently the best candidate.”

Fernando looked like he wanted to argue, but then he sighed. “Fine,” he agreed. “But if you get yourself hurt or killed…”

You huffed a little laugh. “I’ll be safer in camp than you will be flying around,” you pointed out, entirely reasonably. “I’ll be fine.”

Fernando just nodded once. “I’ll drop you close by,” he said, glancing over at you and then down at your thigh meaningfully.

“Appreciated.” You grimaced a little. Now was a really bad time to be hobbled. But there was nothing to be done about it. You’d just have to do the best you could.

Hopefully that would be enough.

The rest of the flight was quiet and tense, with Fernando pushing the Pelican and you holding tight to your seat.

Finally, the Pelican set down outside of camp, the ramp lowering.

“You take care of yourself,” you said firmly to Fernando as you stood. “Okay?”

“I will.” He looked up at you for a moment, something vulnerable in his eyes.

You grabbed him, hugging him awkwardly across the seat. But he held on gratefully, muttering something in Spanish.

“Be safe,” he murmured when you finally pulled back.

You nodded to him and took a deep breath. Squaring your shoulders, you limped out of the Pelican, heading towards camp. You did not turn and look as you heard the Pelican lift off behind you, flying away again.

You both had jobs to do, now. And you’d be damned if you didn’t get yours done.

It didn’t take long for your thigh to start throbbing, angry at the exercise. You gritted your teeth and kept on, ignoring everyone around you as you walked through camp.

You were actively grimacing and sweating a little with pain by the time you limped into the makeshift command office. The CO did a double take when he saw you.

“What happened?” he demanded, getting to his feet.

“Blue Team found the Endless,” you said, leaning against the nearest desk. Your leg fucking hurt now, and it was a bit hard to focus past that. “They’re currently in pursuit, but there are a lot of Endless. We don’t know their end goal.”

He nodded, standing. “Anything else?”

You hesitated for a moment. This would be demoralizing, and you knew it, but they needed to know. “Atriox isn’t dead. He’s with the Endless. As far as we can tell, he’s the one that freed them.”

All the blood drained from the CO’s face and for a moment it was so quiet you could hear a pin drop. Then he swallowed and nodded, rallying.

“Shepherd, I want everyone on alert. Double patrols.”

One man nodded, running out of the office.

“Kalls, inform the medbay and armory, have them prepped for anything.”

Another underling ran out of the room.

Finally, the CO looked at you. “Thank you. Get some rest - we may need you in medbay.”

“Yes, sir.” You limped back out of the room, unashamedly using the wall to help you along. Honestly, that had been easier than you expected. You’d thought he’d have more questions, but… preparations came first, apparently.

Everyone in camp ignored you, which was just fine by you. As word spread, they got busier, rushing around. You, by contrast, were moving slower, trying to walk without putting weight on your leg if you could help it. Which you couldn’t, not really. So you just took it slow, making your way back to your quarters.

It was only after you sank onto your bed with a sound of relief that you realized you’d left your datapad on the Pelican, leaving Fernando no way to contact you. You huffed. That was now a later problem. For now, you needed to make sure your thigh wasn’t injured any worse from all the activity.

Fortunately, your thigh was not much worse off - you had definitely started bleeding again, but with some rest the scab would solidify again. Groaning softly, you lay back against the bed, closing your eyes. Healing was a pain in the ass - it left you tired. You made a mental note not to get shot again, and then ended up cackling at yourself.

Yeah. As if you’d have a choice.

You intended to just close your eyes for a few minutes, just take a little break before you got up and got food, see if you could find a way to get in contact with Fernando–

But when you opened your eyes again, all was dark and quiet.

You had a very bad feeling about this.

#warrior song #john-117 x reader #master chief x reader #f!reader

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