#much like the show i want the relationship between hater n peepers to be so strong its magical. i want there to be love

[narfin-frood]

can we see some more hater and peepers interactions in your au? :)

trying not to spoil anything, but yes! i'm working on another little project right now , maybe will finish & animate a bit maybe not & i'll post what i have once i've decided. i have many swap deathglare thoughts in my brain and my mind

[storiesbybest]

The Anniversary

Fandom: Wander Over Yonder

Summary: Wander wakes up with a present, and Sylvia learns a little more about his past.

Notes: Part 1 of ???, 2176 words

This is the rough of a Wander/Hat (still need a good name for that ship...) wishing star fic using one of @woyprompts rarepair ship prompts. This is very rough, mind, but I wanted something for the day.

******

Wander woke up to a small box on his belly, white, with a green ribbon tied around it. He slithered out of his hat and set the box carefully on the ground with a quiet thank you. He then put his hat on his head and got to his morning routine, which got progressively longer the more people he met in this galaxy.

When he came back, breakfast for Sylvia in hand, he saw she was already up. The box was in her hand.

“You got a secret admirer?” she asked, holding it up for him. “Or someone who really hates you…”

Wander giggled. “Why would a box mean someone hates me?” he asked as he swapped the breakfast for the box. “And no, it’s not a secret admirer. I know who it’s from.”

Instead of explaining further, Wander set the box at his knee and dug into his own breakfast, partially to hide the smile on his face. He could feel Sylvia’s stare as she practically chewed on her tongue to not give into the urge to ask. But while she was good with temptation most days, today just wasn’t one of them. And who could resist an unopened box?

“Okay, who’s it from?”

“Ahaha, I don’t kiss ‘n’ tell,” Wander said, tutting at Sylvia.

Sylvia’s eyes lit up as she realized what Wander was doing. “Oh, so it’s someone you already know -- and are apparently dating.”

“Sorta.”

“That girl from La Moura.” Wander shook his head. “Lindsey the watchdog.” Another negative. “Peepers?” Wander grinned, but shook his head. “Hm…. Hater? Have you been having a secret affair with him?”

Wander snorted. “I wish! That’d make bein’ best buds way easier.”

Sylvia fell silent, running out of people Wander might be in a relationship with. They traveled so often, and she’d never seen him consistently with anyone but Hater, Peepers, and herself. And so far as she knew, she wasn’t dating him nor had she gotten him anything. Which left a different approach. “So… what’s in the box?”

“Iunno. Let’s see.” Wander set his plate aside to be washed and carefully undid the bow, then peeked into the box. After checking what it was, he opened it properly, revealing a pile of crystals that shifted between several different warm, rainbow shades sitting in a dark green velvet nest.

“What are those?”

“Ah, they’re honey chips! Thank you, hat!” Wander pulled the brim down in front of his face to place a smooch on the soft, black underside of it.

“What sort of honey --” Sylvia cut herself off as she realized what else Wander had said. “The hat? That’s who gave you the gift?”

Wander’s tongue poked out as he realized his slip up. “Whoops. Yeah, we’ve been together for years ‘n’ years ‘n’ years.”

“You said you were dating.”

“Sorta,” Wander repeated. “I mean, it ain’t like we go out to dinners or things, but I do love my hat, ‘n’ my hat loves me, don’t ya buddy?” He pulled his hat from his head to hug, and the opening looked like it was smiling in agreement as Wander nuzzled against it. Sylvia wasn’t entirely sure Wander knew what dating implied, or, more likely, he didn’t care. It was the easiest way to explain a relationship like… whatever theirs’ was.

“So how did…. All this turn into a relationship?”

“Well dig on in, and I’ll tell ya,” Wander chirped, offering her the box to help herself to some of the chips.

Sylvia took one and examined it while Wander tuned his banjo for musical accompaniment. It smelled like honey, with some sort of mulling spice undertone. She licked it, then popped it in her mouth. It tasted warm and comforting, like some sort of memory from when she was little, though she knew she’d never had these before.

Wander began his story. “It started a few galaxies-- no, gosh, a few dozen galaxies back, when folks called me Traveler. Like I mentioned before, there was this civil war going on, and I just had to help the poor hat right in the middle of it all...”

******

Tears clung to the edges of Traveler’s eyes, and he felt like he was going to be sick or pass out or both. The artifact he’d grabbed looked to be in even worse shape, though. It was a bag, blue and patterned with stars, with a golden cord that fed through it, keeping it closed. The velvet had been rubbed bare in places, and the tassel of the cord was fraying.

He sank down against the pillar he’d ducked behind and bit his tongue on any noises that wanted to come out. Guards were prowling every corridor, and he imagined sooner rather than later they’d realize what he’d done. A bag that looked nearly identical to this one was on its pedestal in Lord Iifa’s chambers, the innermost sanctum of the citadel. It wasn’t a perfect copy, and, more tellingly, the instant he tried to use it to create anything he wanted, he’d realize Traveler had swapped the bags.

He’d stolen it. Rescued it, Traveler reminded himself. Lord Delva was waiting for him to deliver it, but Traveler had known going into this that he wouldn’t. The poor bag had just looked so sad no matter who had it and was waving it around, declaring his supremacy on every airwave to a tired, beaten down galactic population. Traveler couldn’t watch it change hands again, when one was just as bad as the other. So he was stealing twice over.

His desire to help only strengthened when the bag…. Malfunctioned, he supposed was the word. An entire moon turned junkyard within minutes, soldiers and civilians alike buried. It had been horrible, would have been worse if he hadn’t gotten involved. Traveler wouldn’t let that happen again.

The bag wasn’t his either, yet here he was, doing just what they’d done. He had no intention of conquering anyone or using it for anything, but it still turned his stomach to think of. Just taking what wasn’t his, without asking for permission. But there hadn’t been time. He could see how upset the bag had been, and nobody else seemed to care.

Traveler brought his knees up and curled tightly into himself, cocooning the bag.

“It’s okay,” he whispered, both for himself and to the bag. “It’ll be okay.”

He flinched as a guard glided past on fluttering tendrils. Traveler squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for those tendrils to wrap around him and yank him from his hiding spot and, inevitably, to an execution. Traveler had no delusions about how this would end if he was caught. Lord Iifa had trusted him. He’d betrayed that trust, and Lord Iifa wasn’t known for his mercy.

When the sound of the guard faded, Traveler wiped away his tears and peeked out from the pillar, checking if the coast was clear. Two halls further at an unlocked window his rendezvous was waiting to take him and the bag to Lord Delva. Traveler wasn’t going that way.

He scrambled for the kitchens, bag bundled up as small as he could make it. Every second he expected something to grab his arm, or wrap around his neck, but by luck alone, Traveler made it to the kitchens which were full of people too busy to pay the strange little alien in their midst much mind. Now he just had to get out the door with the trash, and he’d be home free.

That was when all the lights went out, only to come back on angry and red. The sounds of blast shields dropping echoed all throughout the citadel, moments before an alarm blared, causing everyone to freeze.

Traveler bolted for the door, but just barely missed his chance. He stared at the metal plates between him and escape, arms squeezing the bag painfully tight. The instant they did a sweep, he’d be found out.

He looked around frantically as he heard the telltale whisper of more guards. On such a uniform planet, it would be easy to find the one, orange fuzzball. He was basically dead already. He hoped at least his ride had had the sense to peel out when he didn’t show and the alarms were tripped.

Traveler spotted a compost bin and, with a whispered apology, shoved the bag in it just as soon as a spotlight hit him. He spun around. Lord Iifa loomed, taller and more voluminous than his guards, and the kitchen staff around him parted like an ocean.

“Hiya, Lord Iifa,” Traveler said with a shaky grin, trying to appear nonchalant. “What brings ya here?”

Lord Iifa’s eyestalks drifted around the gathered servants, then over Traveler, before settling on his arms. Traveler glanced down. Bits of chopped vegetables and dark juices coated his fur.

“Step aside, Traveler,” he said, words like water rushing through reeds, but carrying a heaviness that scared Traveler.

“I -- I’m afraid I can’t, y’ see….” he trailed off, trying to think of how to continue that. “It’s garbage. Wouldn’t do to expose your lovely fluttery bits to that.”

Lord Iifa’s lovely fluttery bits gained a flattered shimmer of purple, but he just waved a guard over who forced Traveler away on threat of stinging tendril to the face. This was it. The bag’d be found and it’d be back to being a pawn in this, pardon his language though he felt about now some strong language was called for, flarping stupid war for it.

A tendril came to rest across Traveler’s shoulders, spines tucked away though he knew they were there, just beneath the gelatinous surface, and he glanced up at Lord Iifa nervously. His eyestalks were glued on the compost bin.

“What,” he said flatly, drawing Traveler’s attention to the bin. The guard hadn’t pulled out the bag, but a hat. Green, stained, torn, with one blobby star on it. Hardly the tool of tyrants and despots.

“What,” Traveler repeated. “I -- my hat!” he corrected quickly, disengaging himself from Lord Iifa’s grip and going over to take the hat from the guard. “I accidentally knocked it in there earlier, y’ know, when all this happened.”

Lord Iifa pulled at the hat, though Traveler refused to let go until he was shown a tendril that glinted with spines about an inch from his eyes.

“You’ve never worn a hat before, Traveler.”

“I know,” Traveler said like they were talking over lunch, though inside he was dying of panic as Lord Iifa examined the hat carefully. “I figured it was time to shake things up, ‘n when I saw this hat here, I thought it was a good fit. Bit rumpled like me.”

Lord Iifa reached into the hat, and Traveler tasted the sweet ichor of blood on his tongue where he’d bitten too hard. Lord Iifa’s tendril came out with nothing. Traveler let out a sigh.

The hat was handed over to him with some barely hidden disgust at its state.

“You will be confined to your chambers,” Lord Iifa announced before sweeping back out. “Until we find the bag.”

“Oh, sure thing!” Traveler chirped, hugging his, he guessed, hat to his chest. First chance he got, he was out of here. Somehow.

******

Back in the room with guards posted and doors locked, Traveler set about cleaning both himself and the hat. The blast shields were still down, blocking him from the brilliant moonlight that he’d become accustomed to here. He set the hat on the bed and went to the bathroom to fill the sink with warm water.

He approached the bed. The hat flinched away from Traveler as he reached out to gently touch it. His heart twisted at the obvious pain it was in, drinking in its crumpled, ripped and torn state. He whispered, “It’s okay… I won’t… I will never hurt you…”

His words weren’t going to sway the hat, he knew, not after what it had been through, but he wanted it to know. From beginning to end, Traveler would stick to that.

Traveler returned to the sink and soaked a cloth, then sat on the bed near the hat, but not touching it. He could wait.

To pass the time, Traveler scrubbed himself clean, then scatted a bit, patting his knees to keep the rhythm as he made random noises in some sort of loose tune, not looking in any particular direction. He put on as calm of an air as he could manage, though internally he was having a meltdown. Lord Iifa knew, and he knew Traveler knew, so what was this, some sort of game? If he made it out alive, he’d have to send so many apology letters.

Soon, he felt a soft weight on his arm, and he glanced down at the hat, which had flopped its rounded top from the other side toward him. Traveler lifted the cloth.

“Mind if I give you a bit of a cleanin’?” he asked, careful not to move too much, like he was dealing with a wild animal. And maybe he was. He didn’t know a whole lot about his new friend here.