#caretaking
“look, you don’t have to stay. go do whatever you want. but I’mnot leaving them,not when they’re like this.”
❄Winter-themed hurt/comfort❄
- Person A walking home in the cold and being greeted at the door by Person B with a mug of cocoa
- Getting lost in the snow and having to wait for rescue
- Blanket fort
- “Don’t worry. It’s just a cold. I’m fine.” Person B going overboard caring for them anyway, and Person A not hating the extra attention as much as they claim.
- Waking up in the morning with a groan and a “Ugh. Person B, I’m not feeling too great.”
- Warming frozen toes in front of a crackling fire while huddled in an old quilt
- The much bigger Person A wrapping part of their coat around Person B to keep the wind from chilling them
- Warming a blanket in the dryer before wrapping Person A in it
- Hot tea with honey for a sore throat
- Snowbound in a cabin
- Person B buying a ton of Christmas lights because they don’t aggravate Person A’s migraines the way regular lights do
- Exhausted from holiday stress (bonus if someone notices and makes them take a few days off work to rest)
- Warm blanket and an old book since it’s too cold to go outside
When the whumpee gets hurt in a combat situation, and they can’t get to safety on their own, and they don’t think anybody is going to realize that they’re missing and come back for them. One of their teammates noticing that the whumpee is missing within a few minutes of their team starting to regroup, and them searching for the whumpee until they find them. Them getting a medic to the whumpee, and the whumpee passing out as they move them to somewhere to have their wounds treated. The whumpee waking up in a warm, soft bed, surrounded by their teammates, all of whom look overjoyed to see them awake, and realizing that their teammates care about them more than they had thought.
When the whumpee is finally safe and their team starts patching them up, but it’s painful enough that the whumpee can’t hold still, so their teammates have to hold them down. One of the whumpee’s teammates gently shushing them and stroking their hair in an attempt to soothe them as they lay there, promising that it would be over soon, and then they could get some rest. The whumpee closing their eyes and leaning into their teammate’s touch, trying to focus on it instead of the pain. When it’s all finally over, that teammate gently picking the whumpee up and carrying them to bed, then sitting with them and playing with their hair again as they fall asleep, hoping their presence brings the whumpee some comfort.
When the whumpee is finally safely home and their team starts to patch them up, and the whumpee is so exhausted that they don’t have the energy to do anything other than lay there and let them work. Their teammates being as gentle as they can as they care for the whumpee’s injuries, trying to cause them as little pain as possible. One teammate gently manhandling the whumpee so wounds can be bandaged more easily, and the whumpee just letting them, trusting them not to hurt them. The whumpee eventually dozing off as their teammates work, too tired to even stay awake until their teammate’s have finished tending to them, and their teammates finishing up as quickly as possible and settling them under blankets, then settling in to wait for them to wake up.
When the whumpee ends up stranded in the woods and is hurt badly enough that they’re unable to walk, so the caretaker has to carry them out. The caretaker stumbling their way through the underbrush, trying not to jostle the whumpee as they desperately try to get them to medical attention. The whumpee slowly becoming less and less aware of what’s going on around them, until they faint completely and the caretaker has to carry them the rest of the way to civilization so they can get medical attention. The whumpee waking up safely tucked into a bed, already having been patched up, and looking around to see the caretaker asleep sitting up in a chair bedside their bed, clearly having been too worried about them to leave.
When the whumpee is hurt badly enough that moving causes them pain, but they’re too restless to sit still. The caretaker doing everything they can think of to try to get the whumpee to settle down, but everything they try failing, until they try singing quietly to them, and holding them while playing with their hair. The whumpee finally being able to relax, letting the caretaker’s voice and touch lull them to sleep.
Please tag me or give credit if you use this prompt.
Because of what they went through at the hand of Whumper, Whumpee hasn’t spoken since being rescued. Now, Caretaker is hearing them speak for the first time. “I trust you.”
Fugue - Chapter 10 - Janekfan - Pokemon Legends: Arceus (Video Game) [Archive of Our Own]
“I don’t see why Adaman and Irida insist we “get to know each other as Wardens.”” Ingo ignored the lack of honorifics and derisive tone Melli used when talking about their leaders.
“I am certain they merely wish to ensure our ability to work together efficiently and effectively. Really, it is for the best if we expect to combine efforts.”
“I don’t want to combine efforts.” No. He wanted to spend the day polishing Lord Electrode to the most beautiful shine.
“I can tell.” The elegant Warden continued to prattle on, insulting everyone and everything around them and Ingo longed for the quiet company of his partner Pokemon. They’d both left their teams behind rather than risk an impromptu battle over Melli’s penchant for castigation. Ingo trailed afterwards, ears tuned to the sounds and cries of foraging creatures in the underbrush. So far, they’d managed to skirt and sneak their way around the countryside, both begrudgingly admitting that the other might just have some skills after all.
It was when things went eerily silent that Ingo started to worry. Melli didn’t seem to notice and brushed off his attempts at warning.
“Warden Melli, I do think it would be in our best interests to keep our voices down. Something seems to have spooked the other inhabitants and–”
“And what?” He turned, hands on hips. “What are you prattling on about you–”
“WATCH OUT!” Eyes wide and brimming with fear, Ingo caught him around the waist, throwing them both to the ground hard enough to knock the air out of their lungs. Ingo recovered first, catching sight of claws and teeth before rolling to his feet just in time to take the weight of a barreling Alpha Luxray in the chest like a freight train.
Man and beast went tumbling and Melli couldn’t tell which dark figure was which as they rolled end over end, frozen stare filled with visions of red, red, red eyes and gnashing fangs in a maw lit from within with bright electricity snapping over and over and over with only Ingo’s thumbs hooked in its lips keeping it from taking his head clean off. Something caught and tore, the ripping fabric suddenly louder than all else and, crazed, the Pokemon slashed again, wild, frenzied, and overshot to give him a slim opening.
Ingo jumped neatly to his feet, leading it away from where Melli still lay prone and terrified in the dirt when a massive paw hooked his leg and sent him spinning, rolling in the leaf litter, stones and clods of mud scattering every which way until he was pinned in place. Gouts of fire erupted from the Alpha’s jaws as it readied itself for the final blow only to be sent reeling when Ingo punched it in one massive temple, a rock fisted in his hand. Again and again and the thing howled its displeasure, stepped back, punching the breath audibly, painfully from his body –wasn’t the reason he was here in the first place because of a previous injury? Ingo coiled like a spring and kicked out with both legs, winding the Luxray enough that it backed away, shaking its enormous head in a vain attempt to clear it.
Melli couldn’t tear his eyes away, convinced he would be next and what a gorgeous meal he would make.
Fugue - Chapter 10 - Janekfan - Pokemon Legends: Arceus (Video Game) [Archive of Our Own]
“I don’t see why Adaman and Irida insist we “get to know each other as Wardens.”” Ingo ignored the lack of honorifics and derisive tone Melli used when talking about their leaders.
“I am certain they merely wish to ensure our ability to work together efficiently and effectively. Really, it is for the best if we expect to combine efforts.”
“I don’t want to combine efforts.” No. He wanted to spend the day polishing Lord Electrode to the most beautiful shine.
“I can tell.” The elegant Warden continued to prattle on, insulting everyone and everything around them and Ingo longed for the quiet company of his partner Pokemon. They’d both left their teams behind rather than risk an impromptu battle over Melli’s penchant for castigation. Ingo trailed afterwards, ears tuned to the sounds and cries of foraging creatures in the underbrush. So far, they’d managed to skirt and sneak their way around the countryside, both begrudgingly admitting that the other might just have some skills after all.
It was when things went eerily silent that Ingo started to worry. Melli didn’t seem to notice and brushed off his attempts at warning.
“Warden Melli, I do think it would be in our best interests to keep our voices down. Something seems to have spooked the other inhabitants and–”
“And what?” He turned, hands on hips. “What are you prattling on about you–”
“WATCH OUT!” Eyes wide and brimming with fear, Ingo caught him around the waist, throwing them both to the ground hard enough to knock the air out of their lungs. Ingo recovered first, catching sight of claws and teeth before rolling to his feet just in time to take the weight of a barreling Alpha Luxray in the chest like a freight train.
Man and beast went tumbling and Melli couldn’t tell which dark figure was which as they rolled end over end, frozen stare filled with visions of red, red, red eyes and gnashing fangs in a maw lit from within with bright electricity snapping over and over and over with only Ingo’s thumbs hooked in its lips keeping it from taking his head clean off. Something caught and tore, the ripping fabric suddenly louder than all else and, crazed, the Pokemon slashed again, wild, frenzied, and overshot to give him a slim opening.
Ingo jumped neatly to his feet, leading it away from where Melli still lay prone and terrified in the dirt when a massive paw hooked his leg and sent him spinning, rolling in the leaf litter, stones and clods of mud scattering every which way until he was pinned in place. Gouts of fire erupted from the Alpha’s jaws as it readied itself for the final blow only to be sent reeling when Ingo punched it in one massive temple, a rock fisted in his hand. Again and again and the thing howled its displeasure, stepped back, punching the breath audibly, painfully from his body –wasn’t the reason he was here in the first place because of a previous injury? Ingo coiled like a spring and kicked out with both legs, winding the Luxray enough that it backed away, shaking its enormous head in a vain attempt to clear it.
Melli couldn’t tear his eyes away, convinced he would be next and what a gorgeous meal he would make.
“MOVE!” Ingo grabbed his wrist in a steel grip, pulling him up and along and away from the danger still contemplating pursuit and by the time the odd Warden stopped forcing him to run, Melli was mere seconds from passing out. Instead, he sank gracefully, gratefully to the patch of grass beneath his feet.
“Wh’what, with your bare hands, what were you thinking?” Interspersed with deep ragged breaths, Melli only had air enough to wonder out loud about what miracle he’d just witnessed happen.
“I must admit, I do not think I was. There was only time to act but I do believe we are safe here.” Ingo was panting, holding his side, even as he remained alert and aware, pale gaze scanning the horizon line, head tilted to listen to the ambient sounds once again around them.
Hat. That strange hat. Still perched upon his head.
“Ingo…you’re bleeding.”
The man looked down, confused, pulling his hand away from the awful stitch in his side, from all the running. It came away red, garish and painting the surface of his palm.
“Hm.” Staggering just a bit on newborn Ponyta legs, acknowledging the wound made the pain flood his overtaxed system. “That does appear to be so.” Ingo slipped to his knees in slow motion, fingers digging back into the sopping warmth of his own blood-soaked Pearl Clan tunic. “I will be fine. Luxray are not. Not poisonous.”
“As if that matters you, you–”
Ingo collapsed, unconscious at his booted feet and Melli sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose despite the sensation of his heart doing its level best to hammer out of his chest like a caged Starly.
“Let none say that I’ve shirked my duties.”
The wound was deep. A claw-scrawl Melli could barely see for the blood pouring from it. He’d torn another strip from the Sneasler Warden’s precious coat but didn’t have time to feel bad about it, balling it up and pressing with real strength, enough to jolt Ingo back into wakefulness, against the gash.
“Hold this.” Ingo fumbled with cold hands, slipping in fresh, sticky red, trembling. “Hold it, Ingo!” Having to perform emergency first aid in the field was never optimal but well, Melli couldn’t say he hadn’t come prepared. They both had.
Needle. Cascoon silk. Bandages.
Melli removed the sodden rag from Ingo’s weak grip and poured the remains of his canteen over the area, just enough to see. Just to see when there was so much red in the way. He swiped at the sweat sheeting down his face, smudging it with crimson streaks.
“Okay. Okayokay.”
The sound Ingo made–
Melli was going to be sick.
“I ‘member someone, someone with this. Theeese.” Ingo tugged, giggling?! with that stoic expression, tired eyes dozy and soft, on the length of Melli’s hair, not enough to hurt, but enough to be annoying. A small price to pay when they were still a pair. Two Wardens in these desolate foothills. How close had they come to, what was the fool always saying? Coming uncoupled? Permanently?
With both of them cleaned up best Melli could, the faller was laying with his head in his lap, drugged to the gills with painkillers and other medicines to fight infection, fingers still filthy with dried rust tangled in his hair. Looking at him as he was now, Melli may have overdone it considering the amount of blood remaining in Ingo’s body but Electrode’s Warden was still too close to blood-slicked fingers needles thread pulled taut through pale skin bitten-off whimpers to care. He’d been as neat as possible which was to say the stitching was beautifully even, but Ingo would be left with a nasty scar where the Alpha Luxray’s keen claws tore open his side, just above the bone of his hip. There was no question, Ingo would be hurting tomorrow, for several tomorrows, bruised and battered, and just as soon as he could, Melli would shove him off onto Lady Sneasler.
“Than’kyou…”
“It’s only natural to give praise to the Great Melli.”
“Mmm. Mean, mean iiit.” Watching Ingo’s face contort as he attempted to find and fit words in his mouth to slur at him was infuriatingly endearing. He was usually so verbose, seeing him rendered nearly speechless was rich.
“Shut up. Drink this.” Tea flavored with berries and some Crunchy Salt. “Get your blood back.”
“Wh’res it gone?”
“Almighty and powerful Sinnoh above–everywhere! You idiot!” If he wasn’t mistaken, Melli would say there was a hint of a smile in Ingo’s otherwise impassive expression.
“Tase…tastes f’milar.” Melli forced as much on him as possible, until Ingo couldn’t keep his eyes open any longer and a thick wave of sleep dragged him under.
They were safe, relatively speaking, with the fire going and their backs to a cliff face. In the morning, Melli would call for Lady Sneasler. Call him paranoid, but he didn’t want to move Ingo too much, too soon.
For now, he got comfortable, Ingo a warm weight in his lap, delicate fingers passing gently through silver hair.
Fugue - Chapter 7 - Janekfan - Pokemon Legends: Arceus (Video Game) [Archive of Our Own]
“I am Emmet. I lost together with Ingo.” Ingo. Who hadn’t battled his best today. “Your combination is the best, perfect!” Not that he’d made any obvious mistakes. They lost sometimes. It happened. “You’re verrry strong.” But Emmet thought they had this one in the bag. It wasn’t until Ingo chose– cut it out. No use traveling down that track to nowhere. “Yup! It was so much fun!“ Emmet ushered them from the car, glancing sidelong at his brother taking care of their partners. Chandelure in particular bore the brunt of it and despite his calm exterior, Ingo was visibly upset, murmuring soothing things and accepting her into his arms when she pushed her glass against his chest. All forgiven. Their partners loved battling as much as they did, after all.
“I apologize, Emmet. I was. I let myself become inattentive and it caused us to lose the match.”
“I am Emmet. And I do like winning more than anything. But, what is wrong? You are not yourself today.” Archeops pushed a scaly nose into the palm of his hand before digging his way into his pocket only to get a shock from a stowaway Joltik.
“I am merely distracted.”
“Why?” Emmet cocked his head, smile dimming into something more reassuring. Ingo could tell him anything. Instead he hesitated, tugging his hat firmer onto his head.
“Is it not cold in the cab today?”
“You are standing verrry close to Chandelure.” As a ghost pokemon, despite the flames, she could emit a chill. Ingo stroked his thumb across her banded surface, seeming to think.
“I will perform better after the lunch break.” It did not escape Emmet that Ingo had avoided his questions instead of answering them directly. He could be verbose, that was true, but even if it had been a bad day, Ingo would admit it outright. Very odd. He dropped it.
“Okay.” For now. They disembarked together and Emmet decided against paperwork, thank you very much, choosing to spoil the resident station pokemon by sharing bits of crust from his slice. Pulling on his gloves after letting a lagging Drilbur lick his fingers clean (Ingo didn’t have to know), Emmet performed his safety checks and approached the platform. The next train was arriving and despite seeing it dozens of times a day, his heart still sped up at the sight.
Where was Ingo?
Fugue - Chapter 7 - Janekfan - Pokemon Legends: Arceus (Video Game) [Archive of Our Own]
“I am Emmet. I lost together with Ingo.” Ingo. Who hadn’t battled his best today. “Your combination is the best, perfect!” Not that he’d made any obvious mistakes. They lost sometimes. It happened. “You’re verrry strong.” But Emmet thought they had this one in the bag. It wasn’t until Ingo chose– cut it out. No use traveling down that track to nowhere. “Yup! It was so much fun!“ Emmet ushered them from the car, glancing sidelong at his brother taking care of their partners. Chandelure in particular bore the brunt of it and despite his calm exterior, Ingo was visibly upset, murmuring soothing things and accepting her into his arms when she pushed her glass against his chest. All forgiven. Their partners loved battling as much as they did, after all.
“I apologize, Emmet. I was. I let myself become inattentive and it caused us to lose the match.”
“I am Emmet. And I do like winning more than anything. But, what is wrong? You are not yourself today.” Archeops pushed a scaly nose into the palm of his hand before digging his way into his pocket only to get a shock from a stowaway Joltik.
“I am merely distracted.”
“Why?” Emmet cocked his head, smile dimming into something more reassuring. Ingo could tell him anything. Instead he hesitated, tugging his hat firmer onto his head.
“Is it not cold in the cab today?”
“You are standing verrry close to Chandelure.” As a ghost pokemon, despite the flames, she could emit a chill. Ingo stroked his thumb across her banded surface, seeming to think.
“I will perform better after the lunch break.” It did not escape Emmet that Ingo had avoided his questions instead of answering them directly. He could be verbose, that was true, but even if it had been a bad day, Ingo would admit it outright. Very odd. He dropped it.
“Okay.” For now. They disembarked together and Emmet decided against paperwork, thank you very much, choosing to spoil the resident station pokemon by sharing bits of crust from his slice. Pulling on his gloves after letting a lagging Drilbur lick his fingers clean (Ingo didn’t have to know), Emmet performed his safety checks and approached the platform. The next train was arriving and despite seeing it dozens of times a day, his heart still sped up at the sight.
Where was Ingo?
The platform edge doors slid open.
Where was his brother?
“This line is closed.” Without waiting for confirmation from the attendant, he hurried off. Ingo was never late. Never. Which meant something was wrong.
Why wouldn’t Ingo tell him?
“Brother?!” Emmet burst into the office. Already thinking the worst.
“Wha’Emmet?” When he lifted his head from the desk, the stray ticket stub stuck to his face and ink smeared across his cheek did little to calm Emmet. To him, this was yet more evidence that something was horribly wrong. Ingo was never anything less than tidy and neat and here he was, clothes rumpled, hair damp with sweat. A faint flush high in his face set off the unnatural pallor of his skin. How had he missed this? “Emm–!” The palm of his hand colliding with Ingo’s forehead sounded off with a faint smack!
“We are going home.” Stunned silence, a beat. Two. Emmet couldn’t blame him. Not when Ingo’s brain was obviously melting from the heat of a verrry impressive fever.
“I do not. I. No.” His meek (and when was he ever??) attempts at protest fell on deaf ears. “Th’the station…”
“Will be here Monday.”
“Monday!?” Ah. There was his volume. Neither one of them enjoyed taking time off. Or slowing down for that matter and nothing stopped their trains as fast as a sick day. Perish the thought. Emmet’s ears were ringing.
“I know you do not like it.” Did Ingo even realize how much of his weight Emmet had hold of? Or which way was up? With the way he swayed, he didn’t think so. “I will stay with you.” Because Ingo would not rest otherwise. He’d be up and about doing all manner of paperwork and strategy.
“I do not like it…but…” Now the hand not gripping Emmet’s shoulder for dear life rose to his temple as he closed his eyes against the no doubt spinning office. “Now that I am standing…it is disagreeable.” Worried, Emmet steadied him further with an arm around his waist, eyeing fluttering lashes with concern.
“Ingo?”
“All is, well, not well, but I will be fine after some rest.” The words faded in and out as though echoing down one of the longer tunnels.
“We will take a taxi.” Ingo didn’t argue.
Ingo was panting harshly by the time Emmet helped him kick his shoes off, swallowing hard and navigating by touch to his bedroom with his help. Headache. Nausea. Emmet had the sneaking suspicion he’d come down with the flu sweeping like a runaway train through the depot.
“Sit here, Ingo.” Gentle, quiet. His brother nodded miserably against his neck as he sat on the bed, shivering with chills once Emmet withdrew his body heat. “Change, I will be back with some medicine. Should help.”
“Hm.” Uncharacteristically quiet. Emmet did not like it.
Nor did he like that Ingo was in the same spot and still dressed in his uniform. He set the bottles of medications and glass of water aside, kneeling to get a better look at his face. Carefully, Emmet lifted the hat away, running ungloved fingers through tangled, sweaty silver-gray locks, grinning at the way Ingo leaned into his hand. He was very, very warm though very, very cold at the same time judging by his trembling and he whined when Emmet pulled away to loosen his tie and guide his arms out of the long coat trapping all the heat in.
“S’cold…”
“I am Emmet and I will tuck you in soon.” Pausing in getting Ingo comfortable for bed, he had him take some fever reducers with a few sips of water. “Slow, brother, too fast and you will be sick.” Next, his stiff uniform trousers, socks and button down, leaving him in his sweat-soaked undershirt and briefs. “This will not do.” Keeping a hand on his knee to steady him as Ingo’s fingers were already digging into the mattress for balance, Emmet fumbled in the bedside drawer for a comfortable sleep shirt.
“‘M’met.”
“What do you need, Ingo?” He wrestled his arms out and then in, cupping his too-warm cheek to glance into glassy, fever-bright eyes.
“I do not…not feel well.” He made a soft, sad sound that tore at Emmet’s heart. “Need’a. Lay down.”
“Okay. We can do that.” Emmet held the glass for one more shaky swallow, not admitting he was feeling shaky himself, before helping Ingo under the quilts. It had been a long time since either of them were this sick.
“Sorry…” exhaled on a shuddering breath, Ingo melted under the cold cloth Emmet folded over his eyes.
“None of that. You get some sleep and I will check on you later.”
Emmet kept the door cracked so he could hear his brother if he called out, peeking in now and then to make certain he slept peacefully. Despite the slight wheeze on his breath, Ingo rested deep and well, weighted down by the proper combination of medications. Right on schedule he woke an exhausted Ingo for another dose and some water, swiping down his much cooler face with a refreshed cloth before turning in himself just across the hall.
Not long after midnight Emmet jolted awake to a figure wavering in the dimly lit doorway.
“Ingo?” As the younger brother (even by just shy of ten minutes, it counts, Ingo) Emmet was the more likely of the two to crawl into the other’s bed after a nightmare or hard time sleeping. He’d already drawn back the covers before his sleep-rough voice drifted over the shadows.
“I cannot sleep.” He was wrapped in his own comforter and flopped into the space Emmet made for him. “I have been having trouble sleeping for longer than I would like to admit.” Ingo spoke to the ceiling and the tree limbs in their shady lattice. He didn’t flinch when Emmet tested his temperature with the back of his fingers. Much improved but he would need another round in the morning. And sleep. As many naps as Emmet could get him to take. Bouts of insomnia weren’t uncommon for Ingo. It was no wonder he was knocked down so hard. “I thought I could get through the day but it appears as though I was wrong.” He sighed and it was full of sorrow. “I let Chandelure become hurt because of it.” Emmet thought his eyes were suspiciously bright in the reflected light filtering in from the window.
“We will do better next time.” He tugged his burritoed brother into his arms, tucking his forehead into the space between his shoulder and neck. “Next time you will tell me when it is hard to sleep and I, Emmet, will make you that tea you like.” Moisture slipped down his collarbone. He ran his hand up and down the shallow seam of Ingo’s spine.
“I can make it for myself.” Emmet laughed and held his brother tighter.
“I can make it much better.”
Fugue - Chapter 12 - Janekfan - Pokemon Legends: Arceus (Video Game) [Archive of Our Own]
“Bravo! Excellent!!” Ingo felt slow, heavy. Like the words he knew by heart were filtering out of him through honey. “I am glad that I fought so hard against a wonderful Trainer like you.” In truth he had barely been a challenge. He wondered if they were disappointed. “That’s right! You grow stronger by matching yourself against a strong opponent.” For a split second he forgot what was supposed to come next despite having recited these words hundreds if not thousands of times before. He ducked his head to shield aching eyes from the harsh lights of the battle subway. Think. Just. Think. Did they notice? How out of sorts he was? Perhaps Emmet was right and it was too soon to come back after the Team Plasma attack just a few short weeks ago. But he was languishing at home. Unable to sleep. Full of nerves and worried he wouldn’t be ready for the next time. Especially if he wasn’t even there.
Ah. The words had seen fit to return.
“Please do your best and run toward the destination, an even higher state.” The trainer thanked him and left.
And not a moment too soon. Haxorus caught him as he stumbled and he let himself hang there in her arms for a moment, willing his stomach to settle. Nauseated since setting foot in the cab, Ingo wondered if he’d in fact come down with something. The train slid into the station; Ingo fought the desire to slide to the floor, instead straightening with intent and righting his cap, taking comfort in the familiar actions.
“Let us get you taken care of.” He patted Haxorus on a sturdy armored plate before recalling her and stepping purposefully onto the platform.
“Bad run today, Boss?” Ingo nodded, regretting it when Gear Station swirled around him. “Better luck tomorrow!”
“Yes, I certainly hope so.” It wasn’t fun for anyone if he couldn’t even put up a fight. Squinting against the light emanating from the screen in front of him, Ingo debated putting off the paperwork for one more day. According to his timeline, he was late. Everyone else’s, he still had days. It rankled, leaving things unfinished but even though he had the time, he didn’t seem to have the wherewithal.
Failing the station, again.
A foolish thought considering Ingo was doing no such thing, especially by putting off paperwork, but no matter how frequently he reminded himself, it never seemed to change his mind.
Fugue - Chapter 12 - Janekfan - Pokemon Legends: Arceus (Video Game) [Archive of Our Own]
“Bravo! Excellent!!” Ingo felt slow, heavy. Like the words he knew by heart were filtering out of him through honey. “I am glad that I fought so hard against a wonderful Trainer like you.” In truth he had barely been a challenge. He wondered if they were disappointed. “That’s right! You grow stronger by matching yourself against a strong opponent.” For a split second he forgot what was supposed to come next despite having recited these words hundreds if not thousands of times before. He ducked his head to shield aching eyes from the harsh lights of the battle subway. Think. Just. Think. Did they notice? How out of sorts he was? Perhaps Emmet was right and it was too soon to come back after the Team Plasma attack just a few short weeks ago. But he was languishing at home. Unable to sleep. Full of nerves and worried he wouldn’t be ready for the next time. Especially if he wasn’t even there.
Ah. The words had seen fit to return.
“Please do your best and run toward the destination, an even higher state.” The trainer thanked him and left.
And not a moment too soon. Haxorus caught him as he stumbled and he let himself hang there in her arms for a moment, willing his stomach to settle. Nauseated since setting foot in the cab, Ingo wondered if he’d in fact come down with something. The train slid into the station; Ingo fought the desire to slide to the floor, instead straightening with intent and righting his cap, taking comfort in the familiar actions.
“Let us get you taken care of.” He patted Haxorus on a sturdy armored plate before recalling her and stepping purposefully onto the platform.
“Bad run today, Boss?” Ingo nodded, regretting it when Gear Station swirled around him. “Better luck tomorrow!”
“Yes, I certainly hope so.” It wasn’t fun for anyone if he couldn’t even put up a fight. Squinting against the light emanating from the screen in front of him, Ingo debated putting off the paperwork for one more day. According to his timeline, he was late. Everyone else’s, he still had days. It rankled, leaving things unfinished but even though he had the time, he didn’t seem to have the wherewithal.
Failing the station, again.
A foolish thought considering Ingo was doing no such thing, especially by putting off paperwork, but no matter how frequently he reminded himself, it never seemed to change his mind.
Ingo slipped quietly into the apartment, not wanting to disturb Emmet if he was napping and indeed, saw him cascooned on the couch, head pillowed on Galvantula and broken leg elevated via Durant’s strong back. It was a far cry from the drugged oblivion he’d experienced when first arriving home, but while recovering from a concussion, his younger brother still needed his rest. Ingo toed off his shoes and hung up his coat, waving a silent hello when Durant threatened to move. Cap on its peg and tie pulled loose, Ingo touched the backs of his fingers to Emmet’s forehead, just below the fading bruise at his hairline. No fever. Good. Meant he was healing right on schedule. With such a complicated break the surgeon had been worried about post operative infection.
“I am Emmet.” Bleary-eyed, he came awake under Ingo’s hand, yawning. “How was work? Any strong challengers?”
“Always.” He paused before admitting, “some of them are too strong.” Ingo didn’t want to go into how distracted he’d become. How he’d been soundly defeated more often than was his wont. How he was ruining their reputation. “How are you feeling?”
“Hm. Leg hurts. But not too badly today.” A tiny squeak heralded the rustling and Ingo raised a brow when a small yellow furball full of static crept sheepishly out of the wide leg of his brother’s pajama bottoms.
“Emmet?”
“I am Emmet, yes.”
“Why is there a Joltik in your pants?”
“They are helping!”
“There are more?”
“Can I take a shower?” Ignoring that the response did not answer his questions, Ingo frowned. “I am gross.”
“Yes.”
“Mean!” Pulling Emmet up, Ingo helped him stand on his one good leg, acting as a human walking stick with an arm slung around his waist. A bevy of tiny creatures crawled back from whence they came. “Electric current helps.”
“Do not get your cast wet.” Especially if there were additional stowaways hidden. His little brother flapped a hand in his direction, already peeling off his sleep shirt. Emmet was bruised nearly all over, a patchwork of healing purples, greens, and yellows, and while Ingo’s own skin was nearly a mirror image, he couldn’t stand to see his younger brother so stiff and sore. The hot water would help. “Call out when you are finished. I will make something to eat.”
It was strange.
Gear Station should be bustling with patrons and yet.
The lights were off. The trains silent. The offices closed and locked. Ingo checked the time and couldn’t read his xtransceiver but even so, there should always be someone here, someone on duty even in the dead of night. It wasn’t. Ingo was certain he’d left the apartment at the correct hour.
“Hello?” Experimentally, he cried out, wincing at the booming sound of his voice echoing down the tunnels. It was too quiet in here and when he turned around to leave he found himself face to face with a pile of rubble. “Emmet!”
Not again.
Not again.
Not again!
Ingo threw himself at the mountain of rock and stone, clawing desperately with already dislocated and broken fingers. He hadn’t been able to wear his gloves since the first attack, still waiting to remove the splints and this would set him back further but Emmet was trapped in there. Ask him how he knew and he’d be unable to explain but as a big brother!!
“Emmet! Emmet, answer me right now!”
“I am Emmet.” Ingo whirled around, breathing harsh, dust like razors slashing up the inside of his throat until he tasted copper on his tongue. “I am fine.” Shaking, wide eyed in the dark, Ingo stepped forward on quaking legs.
“Brother, you–”
Something was horribly wrong.
Emmet was horribly wrong.
Twisted and malformed, crooked grin lined with far too many teeth stretching from ear to ear.
“Were you scared? Ingo?” Entirely too still. Unnaturally still. “I was. Yup!”
“I, no. We found–” His breath bubbled in a hollow, caved-in chest. Frothing down his chin as he laughed with a sound like drowning.
“Stop staring!” Reflexively, Ingo snapped his head to the side so fast it hurt but Emmet was there too, face pale and wet with crimson, tears carving a glittering path through the gore. Smile like a wound. “You did not even look for me.”
“No! No, I swear it, Emmet! I swear I looked!”
“You are looking now.”
“Emmet!”
“You left me.”
No.
“You left me.”
No no no.
“Have you always hated me?”
Nonononono!
“NO!”
Ingo jolted so badly he crashed out of bed and onto the floor, scrambling into the space between chest of drawers and corner, gripping his hair and pulling, pulling, pulling until the pain cleared the darkness from his mind. The image of his little brother–
“No.” Whispered, salt on his lips. He let his head fall to the side, pressing his forehead against the cool paint, an anchor point as everything reeled around him. Calm down. No good to anyone like this. Had to calm down. He could read the clock now. Barely an hour had passed since he’d fallen asleep and when he tried a slow breath, it came as a sob. Again. Again. Again. Until the pounding in his temples quieted and the air in his lungs became useful.
Emmet.
Dragging himself to his feet, Ingo made his way across the hall, covering his face with his palms as he sank into the desk chair. Eelektross tilted its head in confusion and Ingo couldn’t bring himself to answer the silent question, afraid that if he opened his mouth he’d start screaming and never be able to stop.
Emmet.
Here and whole and healing.
Ingo hugged himself tightly, until he could feel an ache in his fingers, held himself there, stiff and silent until the sun rose, casting rosy light onto the opposite wall.
“Oh! Sweet Arceus!! Ingo!” Emmet sat up, swinging his broken leg carefully over the side of the bed with a wince and leaning forward, cupping Ingo’s cold face with both hands. “What are you doing? Are you okay??”
“Could not sleep.” No need to mention the nightmares. The fear that he’d kill him with his negligence. His weakness. Ingo couldn’t even meet his eyes. The thumb ghosting over his cheek blistered and burned and he could feel Emmet searching his expression in an attempt to glean information.
“Remain home today.” Ingo shook his head, pulling away in a daze. “Ingo?” Damn his leg, by the time he’d wrestled his way onto his crutches, his brother was gone.
Grateful there were very few challengers today, Ingo sat huddled on a battle subway bench shivering in his coat and trying to maintain control of himself. He’d been nearly sick on the train because of the wheels pounding along tracks and enclosed space echoing with attacks and commands. The light flashing past the windows was like a strobe and made him ill just looking at it.
He wanted to lay down. He wanted to go home.
And abandon them, just like you did Emmet.
More so than before, Ingo struggled to find his balance in the subway car. Where usually it was a comforting sway, now he was more akin to a small boat at sea, tossed relentlessly around by the waves. When the platform doors parted, he fell into the agent manning this station.
“Boss? You alright?” The depot agent frowned as he quickly righted himself, coming to their own conclusion easily enough. “No, no, you’re not. You haven’t been for a while. I’m calling Other Boss.”
“No!” He’d grabbed them by the shoulders before he even knew he was moving. “No.” Withdrew gently, tried to find equilibrium in fixing his cap. “Please. I. You are correct. I apologize for needing the remainder of my shift off.”
“It’s really no problem. We understand.” They offered him up a sad smile. “Just get some rest, okay? You’re exhausted, Boss. We, all of us, we’re worried for you.”
Because he couldn’t keep himself together.
Head spinning, hurting fit to fracture, Ingo couldn’t seem to remember how exactly he got home, not with the sidewalk dodging out from under his feet like it had, or what he was supposed to be doing at the moment. All he knew was the ache in his skull, his upset stomach and its threat to rebel as he closed his eyes against the rolling walls of his room. Chandelure chirped in worry, her cool arm pressed against the back of his neck which helped, but not enough, not nearly enough.
“Ingo? You in here?” The light streaming through the open door lit a fire behind his eyes and he bit back a whimper. “The Station called. Wanted to make sure you got home?” The noise and the light combined were too, too much and Ingo heaved over the wastebasket in his arms. “Ingo!”
His older brother was curled up around a bin with his back pressed against the wall. How had he missed this? Ingo groaned in misery, laying a cheek on the rim of the basket and closing his eyes.
“’Pologize for w'waking you, Emmet.” Ingo shook with delicate tremors, caught between someplace too cold and too hot and the effort of staying quiet. His voice betrayed him further, shaky and small, fading in and out. He hadn’t made a move to get up, fingers tightening on the plastic and breath quickening. “Need to… you n'need your rest.” His throat clicked with a heavy swallow.
“Brother?” Emmet crept further into the room, shutting the door behind him. “What about you?” Softly, softly, lest he spook him. Something was verrry wrong. “We should see a doctor.” While he longed to fold Ingo up and keep him safe, he had no other option but to sit on the bed. If even he made it to the floor, Ingo was in no state to just pick him up again. They needed help.
It was good that Elesa had a key.
“I knew it was too soon.” She kept her voice down, barely a whisper, shut the door quickly, and Ingo’s shoulders still hunched around his ears.
“He will not get up.” Emmet couldn’t keep the note of panic out of his voice. He’d been sitting. Watching. Useless while Ingo grew worse, grew pale and sick and weepy. “He will not agree to go to the hospital.”
“He won’t talk to you?”
“I do not think he can.”
“Ingo?” Elesa knelt beside him, resting a hand on the nape of his neck and giving a reassuring nod to a near frantic Chandelure. “Did you forget?” Meaningfully, she glanced at Emmet, mouthing an apology before turning back to his twin. “Your brother has an appointment today.” Ingo looked up at her, eyes bright, as though he might cry. “I’ve called a car. We can all go together. Here, let me help you up.” Tall and lanky, it took the assistance of his Pokemon to get him to his unsteady feet and he leaned heavy, shaky on Elesa.
The sunlight had him hissing through his teeth and Elesa got him into the vehicle as quickly as possible before bundling Emmet in with his crutches. She’d called ahead to the hospital that treated them after the attack and may have used a connection or two to get them into a room and out of sight of the public before their presence caused a scene.
If Ingo hadn’t already been in obvious pain, Emmet would have smacked him himself. He’d missed his last two appointments and thankfully, now that the doctor had him she wouldn’t let him leave but he wasn’t keen on cooperating. Likely, she explained, something to do with the concussion he’d sustained during the cave-in not healing correctly. Emmet didn’t understand completely, but he understood enough to know Ingo had neglected to care for himself in his efforts to care for him. Currently, the doctor was trying to cajole him into removing his button down for an exam.
“Why?” Missing a lot of words and it was never a good thing when Emmet’s words outnumbered his older brother’s.
“We are twins! Yep!” Emmet tried to keep his tone light, sincere. “The doctor needs to compare.”
“Bright in, i'nere…” It wasn’t. Ingo’s fingers fumbled on the buttons and before he could get frustrated, Emmet reached out.
“Let me.”
Emmet narrowed his eyes as he swept them over the bruises for the first time. Extensive and still dark, they spread down his back in mottled patterns like a Spinda’s spots and while Ingo was quiet under the doctor’s gentle hands, Emmet fought against demanding answers from him.
Why had he kept this pain a secret? Emmet could have, would have helped! Did Ingo think he wouldn’t have?
When she shined a penlight into Ingo’s eyes to check his pupils, he yelped, turning aside immediately to dry heave and finally she stopped in her examination of him. Tugging Emmet back into the small, private room where Elesa was waiting, she explained a nurse would help Ingo get settled.
“I want to observe Ingo overnight. He’s rundown and exhibiting a lot of post concussion symptoms.” She marked down some notes on her own xtransceiver and hummed thoughtfully. “Your brother has lost more than a few pounds since you were both here last. When did he return to work?”
“Too soon.” Elesa crossed her arms, worry evident in her expression despite the ire in her words.
“Alright. I’m going to prescribe him something for sleep. Sometimes, strange as it sounds, head injuries can cause insomnia.” Emmet should have known. Should have asked. Ingo was prone to insomnia even at the peak of health. “It doesn’t look as though he’s been sleeping well and with parts of his brain trying to overcompensate for jobs they’ve never done before, he’s likely exhausted.”
“What. What does that mean?”
“I’ll send you home with some information, but it means he’ll need to rest and let himself heal.” Emmet caught Elesa’s eyes. He didn’t want to leave Ingo here, alone. What if he woke up and he wasn’t here? Or he became confused? Or upset?
“Emmet?” Despite the gentle touch he nearly jumped out of his skin. “They’re going to take care of him, okay? We’re going to go home and get things ready for tomorrow so Ingo doesn’t have to worry about a thing!”
“Your friend is right.”
“I am Emmet. Want to see him.”
“Of course.” He didn’t wait, let Elesa take care of collecting Ingo’s prescription, shouldering his way back into Ingo’s dark room and not missing how he looked nearly as bad as the days following the attack. He’d slept a long time and now they were here again. “You can touch him.” The doctor had followed. “You won’t hurt him.”
“I know that!” He didn’t mean to snap at her, really. But the very idea– “I am Emmet. Ingo is my brother.” Carefully, he traced one of the ink-dark shadows beneath Ingo’s closed eyes before grabbing hold of his hand, mindful of the line taped to the back of it.
“For rehydration, some vitamins and other medications to help make him comfortable.”
“Ingo can come home tomorrow?” At her nod, Emmet leaned down, pressing their foreheads together for a brief moment and blinking away tears. “Okay.”
Elesa tucked Ingo in while Emmet continued his memorization of the pamphlets the doc had given him yesterday. Ingo didn’t want to sleep but the medication he’d taken was like boarding a non-stop train to oblivion.
“Emmet…needs…” Petulant, Ingo tried to knuckle the sleep out of his eyes, grateful that the pain had markedly decreased since. Yesterday? Memories were fuzzy and he had little desire to parse through them at the moment.
“Right now, you need to rest.” Elesa watched him fight it, miserable, torn between responsibility and total collapse. “You’re going to close your eyes. And if you’re lucky, I’ll get take out from that place you like tomorrow.” She smiled softly as his body went lax. He’d be lucky. He deserved it and when he shuffled out of his room more than fifteen hours later Elesa wasted no time placing their regular order.
“Ingo!” By virtue of Galvantula in his lap, Emmet couldn’t even attempt to leap to his feet. “How do you feel?” His older brother looked thoughtful and, honestly, much better than before.
“Somehow, still very tired. That does not seem right.” Ingo very nearly whined as he took his spot on the couch. Too weary to sit up, he leaned on Emmet to read over his shoulder and almost immediately passed out again. There’d be time to go over things later considering they were both on mandatory leave for the next two weeks at minimum. Ingo would need the doctor to sign off on his return to the station. He’d bristled at the restriction a split second before Emmet laid into him.
“I feel I must apologize to you both and to all our friends and coworkers at Gear Station.” The trio were gathered in the living room, shoveling noodles into their faces while some train documentary or another ran quietly in the background when Ingo paused. “As your older brother, I should have handled this whole situation better and I am so sorry for my negligence. I should have protected you, Emmet.”
“Ingo.”
“I had a responsibility to you and I failed. You were badly hurt and I. I.” He clenched his teeth. “I am supposed to take care of you. I am supposed to keep you safe.”
“You did. You do!” Emmet didn’t want Ingo to feel this way, especially when it wasn’t true! He wouldn’t hear this for a minute more!
“Did you forget you were injured too, Bidoofus?” Before Ingo could gear up to argue, Elesa continued. “Working yourself into the ground was very irresponsible!”
“Verry irresponsible!”
“And even if you’d walked out of the station without a scratch–Ingo. You still deserve rest.” She dashed the tears from her eyes. “Please stop punishing yourself for situations outside of your control.” He stiffened at the expectation of a bone-crushing hug, melting into her arms when it was instead gentle and warm. She had a point and now that he was thinking more clearly, he could nearly make it out. “I’m going to call Emmet everyday to make sure you’re taking care of yourself.”
“That’s a threat!”
“Emmet meant to say promise.”
“I am Emmet! It can be both!” There was a beat of silence before Ingo shook with laughter, relenting to their special brand of care. He didn’t think he’d ever be able to stop putting his little brother first, but for the both of them, he would try to let him return the favor.
Before the Morning Sun
G, 13k, wangxian, jiang cheng & lan wangji
Summary:Jiang Cheng wakes up to a perfectly fine, perfectly normal day… and a six year old brother-in-law. It falls to him to take care of Lan Wangji, who has only just lost his mother, is wary of being touched, and doesn’t ask as many questions as he should. Can Jiang Cheng put history aside or will old bitter memories get the better of him?
My comments: Ah, this was so sweet.
Excerpt:A-Zhan carefully inspects the dozens of stuffed pandas, dragons, and monkeys, and eventually reaches for – a plush watermelon. It has, horrifyingly, arms and legs, as well as one single glass bead as an eye. The other eye is missing, probably fell down out of shame over being part of such a crappy toy.
“That one,” A-Zhan says.
Although he has learned a lot today, Jin Ling proves that he still has a long way to go by saying, “Really? Are you sure? But they have way better ones!”
Jiang Cheng wholeheartedly agrees, but he also knows this is not going to work. Predictably, A-Zhan shakes his head, clutches the creepy watermelon thing to his chest, and repeats, “That one.”
“Fine,” Jin Ling says, paying for it like he promised while A-Zhan cuddles the toy triumphantly. One of its arms falls off; undeterred, A-Zhan picks it up, brushes off the dirt, and clumsily reattaches it. Watching him like this, Jiang Cheng is suddenly struck by a revelation. For the first time, he thinks he knows just how Lan Wangji could fall in love with someone as terrible as Wei Wuxian.
age regression/de-aging, child lan wangji, six-year-old lan wangji, caretaking, jiang cheng has a good heart, fluff, light angst, eating ice cream, trust, jiang cheng’s avuncular powers, protective jiang cheng, how jiang cheng and lan wangji begin to repair their relationship, post canon, @vamillepudding
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Some Sort of Risk
by Silvarbelle
M, 37k, wangxian
Summary:Someone tried to set up Jiang Wanyin. Wei Wuxian took the fall - and key players took the chance to send him to prison to get too-smart-for-his-own-good Wei Ying out of the way. Thirteen years into his sentence, he’s released from prison and disappears. Three years after that: Lan Wangji finds him by chance. Unfortunately, he’s brought a fresh round of trouble with him. The two of them have to fix their friendship, fix a sabotaged airplane, and then fix everything else as it happens.
My comments: Starts with a bang, wwx running away and lwj tackling him into an undignified fight that goes all over the yard. There is A Past - a reason why wwx has been away for so long and is no longer a part of the aerial firefighting community, but rather a struggling mechanic and paroled felon.
While wangxian figure themselves out, sabotage and a continuation of a 20-year-old plot come to light. The climax moves fast and involves lqr being a dick, another plot, wwx being stupidly sacrificial, a wildfire and an aerial attack. Exciting stuff!
modern au, pilot au, aerial firefighters, angst, caretaking, doting lan wangji, self-worth issues, communication, sabotage, myster, case fic, affection, non-sexual intimacy, first kiss, love confessions, ouyang zizhen being a duckling, jiang sibling feels, xuanli lives, protective lan wangji, protective wei wuxian, attempted murder, supportive lan wangji, happy ending, @silvarbelle
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❤️the thing with feathers
G, 43k, wangxian, Part 1ofHope
Summary:A night hunt gone wrong leaves Wei Wuxian facing life without a husband and son. He refuses. Using an experimental array, he attempts temporal transmigration, but it goes wrong. He sends himself back to the age of ten, and the strain on his young body and mind requires another desperate use of resentful energy… which also goes wrong. A different sort of time travel fic.
My comments: Oh, wow, I loved this so much! I’m really looking forward to more in the series, because I could happily drown myself in 50k more words of it.
Wwx sends himself back in time, but this story is different, in that once he enters his 10-year-old self (which is pretty traumatic) he ends up with amnesia, so really IS just a child. The chain of events this sets off is fabulous. While he’s in a coma and things are touch-and-go, Madam Yu has an opportunity to examine her poor treatment of this boy in the past and set about making some changes. Because he’s crying out for “Lan Zhan”, the Lans are invited to try to clear away the resentful energy (they think it was cast at him as a curse in an attack), and Lan Qiren brings both his nephews.
The story covers about a season, and POV jumps around, which is wonderful, because everyone is GROWING. They are changing, their worlds are different, and they’re being exposed to different people and different ideas. Madam Yu and Lan Qiren go through perhaps the biggest development arcs, but seriously, EVERYONE is affected. (And none of this is done with a heavy hand, either: the focus is on the story, and the growth is all organic.)
Little Lan Wangji opens up like he never has before, Jiang Yanli starts to learn to be a healer and LQR teachers her musical cultivation… the ripple effect of change is simply fascinating. The Lans become less rigid, and the Jiangs more loving. And young wwx is the nexus and the catalyst. Especially when he ‘remembers’ a few things that make them believe he’s become precognitive.
time travel, fix it, child wei wuxian, madam yu is good, POV multiple, child lan wangji, hurt wei wuxian, sick wei wuxian, angst, amnesia, jiang family feels, caretaking, illness recovery, character growth, (all of them - they are growing and becoming better people), social change, adoption, lan qiren is good, sharing a bed, nightmares, emotional hurt/comfort, hurt/comfort, doting lan wangji, street orphans, gege jiang cheng, didi wei wuxian, jiang wuxian, betrothal, arranged marriage, grief, sect politics, protective madam yu, protective lan wangji, protective everyone, favorite, @rosethornewrites
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best things in life
T, 37k, wangxian, 6 works, series in progress
Summary (Part 1): There is a deep inhale, and Lan Wangji knows immediately who is on the other end of the line. His breath catches in his throat and, out of the corner of his eye, he sees Jingyi jump up and leave the room at a dead run. Sizhui is rooted to his spot, staring at him with wide, fearful eyes.
My comments: Sweet story with reconciliation at its core that focuses on what happens with and around wwx after being terribly injured in a car accident. The thing is, his emergency contact is still Jiang Cheng, although the two have been estranged for many years and wwx is convinced that jc hates him. This is… patently not the case, as lwj, jc and the juniors sit awkwardly in the waiting room to hear the result of the surgeries, or later, when jc sits in the room (silent and glowering, but still) or hosts the juniors at lotus during the nights while lwj stays with his husband.
Three stories in the series so far (but feels sufficiently finished, so no worries).** NOW WITH 6 WORKS **
modern au, modern cultivators, car accidents, hurt wei wuxian, injured wei wuxian, hurt/comfort, established relationship, adorable juniors, brotherly feels, jiang brothers, adorable juniors and their friendship, insecure wei wuxian, self-esteem issues, oblivious wei wuxian, emotionally constipated jiang cheng, doting lan wangji, protective lan wangji, sickfic, self-worth issues, fluff, caretaking, emotional hurt/comfort, jiang cheng needs a hug, @belovedmuerto
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❤️in the arms of the angel
E, 38k, wangxian
Summary:So there was this jar, and it had so much peanut butter still in it, and when his fox nose scented it and didn’t catch any poison or spoilage, what was he supposed to do? Not avail himself of this gift? No. He shoved his delicate little snout right in there and got to licking, but, you know… Elegantly. Definitely not snarfing and making horrible little fox sounds and rolling around on the ground while he went ham on the jar. Sure, he had to work a little bit to get at the last of it, but anything good is worth working for, right? So finally, triumphant, no longer starving, and maybe a little thirsty now from eating half a cup of peanut butter in about two minutes, he’d tried to remove his head from the jar.
Operative word tried.
Or: Wei Ying gets stuck. Lan Zhan helps.
My comments: Well, now, this was a hoot and a ride, due to being inside wwx’s head for the whole story (along with his colony of over-caffeinated squirrels and the eighteen trains of thought he has going in and out of his brain depot). He’s a feral cuddle-monster as a fox and an insecure and anxious human if he thinks too much, and there’s zero filter at all, so he often uses mouth words when no mouth words should have been used, and it’s hilarious.
Luckily, Lan Zhan is really *really* into that.
Excerpt 1: He thinks, briefly, about shifting into his human form. Would he just sort of… explode out of the jar? Or would he end up with his human-sized head stuck inside this fox-sized peanut butter jar? That is genuinely the most horrifying thought he’s ever had in his life. No fucking way. Shifting is right out! Not today Satan, not today!
Excerpt 2: He reaches one gloved hand in and murmurs, “Don’t worry, Xiao-gua, I’ll take you somewhere safe.”
Wei Ying dies a little inside and doesn’t think he can be blamed for it. Anyone would feel the same way after hearing that voice coming out of that face calling an angry possum “Little Melon” in Chinese. The possum apparently agrees, because it stops hissing and goes docile, settling into a corner of the box and blinking up at Hot Animal Hero with sleepy eyes. “Good job,” Hot Animal Hero tells the possum. “You’re doing very well.”
Wei Ying is going to fucking marry this man. Tall, hot, smells good, good with animals? He’s gone. He’s done. The crush he develops is instant and all-consuming.
fox wei wuxian, modern au, modern with magic, poverty, humor, chaotic wei wuxian, adhd wei wuxian, wildlife animal rescuer lan wangji, human/fox disaster wei wuxian, shananigans & hijinks, flirting, crushes, hurt wei wuxian, in that his head is stuck in a jar for a long time, caretaking, huli jing, shapeshifting, POV wei wuxian, THIS IS SO FUCKING FUNNY, insecure wei wuxian, protective lan wangji, thirsty lan wangji, empath lan wangji, touch telepathy, getting to know each other, getting together, meet cute, cuddling, first kiss, first time, scenting, scent kink, enthusiastic consent, hurt/comfort, communication, favorite
(You may wish to REBLOG as a signal boost for this author if you like – or think others might like – this story.)
Whumpee struggled through the forest late at night. They were stranded, freezing, exhausted, alone.
They walked until they didn’t have any energy. They staggered until they spent energy they didn’t even have. Their mind began to wander, unaware of their surroundings, bumping into trees, clipping heels on roots.
So long as their feet were still moving, it was going to be alright.
Right?
The ground turned smooth and the trees thinned out. It was strange, hearing a screeching sound grating their ears, followed by a deafening horn blasting through the air. A bright light shone in their face as they covered their eyes with their elbow. They glanced up, seeing two large beaming lights hovering just inches away.
“Are you insane!? You can’t just walk out onto the middle of the road! I could have killed you!-” An angry voice shouted at them.
Whumpee blinked, trying to understand what just happened.
“Hey… Look, I-I didn’t mean to yell. Are you alright? … You look pretty roughed up. Can I call s-”
Yet before whumpee could piece together what they were saying, they felt their whole body collapse and slam against the cold wet pavement in front of the stranger.
Taglist:@grizzlie70 @lave-whump@amethysts-sideblog @whump-it-like-its-hot @thingsthatgowhumpinthenight@yet-another-heathen@whatwhumpcomments @hamiltonwhumpdump @as-a-matter-of-whump@whumpasaurus101@lonesome–hunter@digitalart-dwa@mabledonut@myst-in-the-mirror @melancholy-in-the-morning@anonintrovert @sunflower1000 @shywhumpauthor @dont-touch-my-soup@batfacedliar-yetagain @uvanuva
The unsettling closeness between a stranger caretaker, and a severely wounded whumpee:
- The stranger picks them up and carries them when they can’t walk. Whumpee hasn’t felt a shred of kindness in so long they blindly cling to it, tucking their face under their chin to hide.
- Unspoken trust as caretaker patches them up; but even though it hurts, whumpee stays silent and still.
- Seemingly alien conversations when caretaker asks if they’re okay with being carried or touched. They tell them beforehand everything they do before they do it, not surprising or starting them with any pain.
- Taking a damp cloth to whumpee’s face, lathering off sweat, blood, dirt, or all three. Whumpee’s too flustered to say anything, they just lower their head shy of speaking.
- The night falls cold and whumpee starts shivering. They hold their breath and curl up against the back of the stranger, hoping they aren’t angry when they wake up…
imagine usually quiet, polite, patient, calm and composed whumpees undergoing drastic (temporary) personality changes when they’re sick
A notices B’s been irritated and annoyed the whole day, only giving them sparing, snappy answers. finally, they can’t stand it. ‘hey, B, what’s bothering you?’
‘nothing,’ B says frustratedly. ‘what’s wrong with you? you’ve been asking me questions nonstop. i’m just tired, okay?’
that’s when A notices it - the faint flush on B’s face, the way they fold their arms around themselves, the little tinge of hoarseness in their voice, a small sneeze here and there
A reaches out and gently touches B’s forehead, causing B to flinch a little, and maybe bat away the hand in annoyance. ‘what?’
‘you have a fever.’
‘oh,’ B says, in a very small voice.
‘come on, let’s get you home.’
later at home, with A reading in bed and B snuggling up to them, drowsy from both the sickness and the medicine: ‘hey… A…’
‘what is it? is your headache still bothering you?’
‘just a little, but… i’m sorry for being so rude to you just now.’
‘it’s okay, don’t worry, okay? just focus on resting.’
‘i- i’m sorry for causing all this and ruining your day…’ small apologies won’t stop slipping out of B’s mouth and A keeps reassuring them constantly - it’s okay, you’re fine, don’t worry.
eventually, B drifts off to sleep, and A can’t help but wonder how they fell in love with this dork who acts so differently when they’re sick. they’re glad that they’re here though, so that B doesn’t have to be alone.
So like, those characters who are so afraid of annoying people with their symptoms, or being too demanding, or - heaven forbid - passing their germs along to someone else. They do their best to hide and downplay everything. They isolate themselves as soon as they think they might be contagious. They apologize for everything to the point where that’s the potentially more irritating part.
But their caretakers are patient and understanding. They get it. Maybe the sickie didn’t have people who took care of them when they were young. Maybe they’ve had a bad experience with this sort of thing. Maybe they’ve got abandonment issues or just general anxiety.
Their caregivers tell them they don’t need to apologize. Drag them out of isolation, or just join them in their room, expressing nothing but quiet concern when a symptom crops up. Assuring them they don’t care when the sickie objects - self-consciously - that ‘I’m gross’ or ‘this has to be so boring for you’ or ‘I’m gonna get you sick’. They gently order the sickie to rest, let me do it for you, I’ve got it.
And they do this every time, again and again. Patient. Hoping by the end of this round the sickie will trust their promises, but understanding if that never really happens.
Heyoooo, I haven’t written anything in a hot minute! Here, have some actual husbands Sh/eith! As usual, a big thank you to my dear @vcepsis for beta reading this!
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Keith sighed, biting his bottom lip nervously.
Shiro was asleep on the couch next to him, snoring loudly. He normally didn’t snore that bad, but that monster of a cold had completely messed up his breathing.
Keith stared at his husband pensively, deep lines of worry running across his brow.
Rarely he had seen Shiro so miserable.
Sure, Keith had stayed by his side during a couple of flu bugs that had left his beloved husband completely wiped, but this… this sounded miserable, and Keith was sick and tired of it.
They were three weeks in that awful cold, and it still didn’t show any signs of clearing up.
It had begun as an innocent sore throat and runny nose, that had quickly deteriorated and become an awful head cold, leaving Shiro a sneezy, sniffling mess. He was constantly battling the pain in his sinuses and the annoying buzzing in his ears.
Then, after a few days, Shiro’s cold had decided to take a trip and settle into his chest too, leaving the poor man to deal with an alarming range of rattling and wheezing sounds coming straight from his lungs.
“You sound like a broken tea kettle. I think you should go to the doctor before you drown in your own bodily fluids” Keith had tried to suggest, but Shiro had scoffed, action that had left him in the throes of a vicious, rough coughing fit.
“I’m okay, Keith. Just a cold and a bit of a cough. It’ll go away on its own eventually.”
Keith had tried to argue, but had ended up giving up.
How he wished he had insisted.
They had decided to watch a movie after dinner, a relaxing, domestic evening, but Shiro had fallen asleep during the first half of the movie.
The man looked absolutely spent, and Keith had been happy to see his beloved finally getting some rest. That peace was destined to be short lived.
Shiro was mouth breathing, he did that on good days, due to the massive scar across his nose, but when colds ravaged his sinuses, he was loud. So loud that Keith could barely hear the dialogues of the movie. He gently poked Shiro’s side with a finger, and the man jumped awake, startled.
The air caught into his throat, sending him coughing. Deep, painful rattles shaking his whole being, leaving him breathless.
“That… doesn’t sound good” Keith observed worriedly, as he rubbed Shiro’s back through the fit.
Eventually, Shiro’s lungs stopped spasming, and Keith managed to take a glimpse of his husband, before the latter buried his face into a handful of tissues. He looked absolutely wrecked.
“Do you want me to make you some tea, Kashi?” he offered, trying to help.
Shiro tried to reply, but he only managed a small, hoarse rasp of approval. Man, all the coughing had destroyed his throat.
Keith went to the kitchen, setting the water to boil. He was busy choosing the most fitting tea for Shiro, when a big, beefy blanket wrap trudged through the kitchen, half collapsing on a chair.
Keith clicked his tongue.
“It was not necessary for you to come with me, you know.”
The blanket burrito stayed silent for a few seconds, then sniffled wetly, and a congested voice came from the depths of it.
“…Felt lonely.”
The poor man sounded so sad and miserable, that Keith couldn’t help but feel a pang of deep affection for Shiro. He was just so sweet. He was miserable with that cold, but even then, he was… meek. He had been feeling horrible for weeks, and it showed, but Shiro never complained, never felt sorry for himself. He had just accepted it, trying to make the healing process the least annoying possible, for both of them.
He didn’t want Keith to worry.
And Keith knew it. But Keith also knew that Shiro was feeling awful. They had been married for two years, he always knew when his husband was unwell, no matter how hard Shiro tried to conceal it. His actions spoke for him.
Keith kissed the top of Shiro’s head fondly. Or at least, the point of the blanket burrito where he estimated Shiro’s head was.
“Go lie down, Kashi. I’ll be there in a minute. Why don’t you choose another movie in the meantime? Something fun and easier to watch than this one.”
The blanket burrito nodded, and dragged itself back to the couch, sniffling miserably. A couple of loud sneezes reverberated through the apartment, as Keith brewed the tea, the lovely scent of mint and thyme filling the air.
When Keith brought back two mugs of tea, Shiro had already made his choice.
Keith stared at the tv, reluctantly.
“Coco? But you know that the ending makes you cry.”
“Maybe crying will help me unclog my sinuses for a while. Worth trying.”
Keith chuckled, and settled down on the couch, but then stood up again.
“Ah, we almost forgot. We have to try the new nebulizer treatment they gave you at the doctor’s office today. Hopefully, this one works.”
Shiro groaned.
“Can I do that tomorrow? I’m so tired…”
“No, starlight. You do it now. The sooner you start with it, the sooner you’ll get better. And I want you to get better.”
Shiro looked at Keith from his nest of blankets, defeated.
“Okay. Just because you asked me so nicely. And because you called me… heh…” Shiro let out a throat scraping sneeze, immediately hiding his face beneath a handful of blankets. Ugh, gross. He reached out to the tissue box on the coffee table, swiftly grasping a wad of tissues, and promptly blowing his nose.
Gosh. The more he blew, the more he wanted to blow, even if the skin of his nose was absolutely ruined at this point.
While Shiro busied himself with the tissues, Keith set up the nebulizer.
Shiro gave him puppy eyes, but Keith didn’t fall for it.
“Don’t give me those eyes. You know the drill.”
Shiro coughed deeply into his fist, resigned, before picking up the mouthpiece of the nebulizer and cuddling against Keith’s side, pressing the play button on the remote and switching on the nebulizer at the same time.
“Sometimes, I think I’m cursed. ‘Cause of something that happened before I was even born. See, a long time ago, there was this family. The Papa, he was a musician…”
Shiro relaxed, focusing his full attention on the movie, while the medication worked its magic.
Sometimes, the mist would tickle his lungs just right, sending him into a coughing fit and prompting Keith to gently pound on his back or rub circles on his chest, congestion shifting noticeably under Keith’s hand. He couldn’t help but think that his husband sounded absolutely terrible, and that maybe that was a bit more than just a cold. After several minutes of coughing and sniffling, Shiro’s lungs stopped spasming, the medication finally starting to soothe the itch in his chest and throat.
Slowly, Shiro started to drift off, eyelids heavy with sleep. The hand holding up the mouthpiece started to go limp, dispersing the mist in the air.
Keith chuckled, holding the small plastic tube in place himself.
He focused on the movie, while his fingers slowly brushed through Shiro’s hair.
Keith hadn’t even realized that he had fallen asleep, but when he woke up again, there was static on the tv screen, and Shiro was still sleeping, still leaning against him.
He smiled, and kissed the top of Shiro’s head. He seemed to be breathing easier.
Keith turned off the tv, and slowly shifted to better accommodate Shiro’s body. He was heavy, but it was a pleasant weight, warm and comforting.
Keith slipped into a comfortable sleep, hugging the man he loved.
He had never felt so safe in his entire life.
“Stay with me?” Whumpee asks, rather hesitantly. It’s not that they don’t trust Teammate, but they’ve never been in this position before. They’ve never needed somebody to stay this badly.
Teammate nods. “Of course,” they say, like it wasn’t even a question. They settle in next to them, giving Whumpee’s hand a reassuring squeeze. “For as long as you want.”
Whumpee’s teeth chatter despite all efforts to silence them, and they pull their jacket tighter around them. “I can’t get warm,” they tell Teammate, shivering uncontrollably.
“Neither can I,” they whisper back, but shed their jacket and wrap it over Whumpee’s shoulders anyway.
Whumpee having their first hot meal in what feels like forever, wolfing it down so fast that Caretaker barely has time to protest that they’ll burn their mouth and hands
“I’m not sleeping on the floor.” Villain declared immediately.
“Neither am I.” Hero vowed.
The two turned to look at one another.
“It seems we have come to an impasse.”
They had been so ready to die. So much time running, so much time crying, failing to sleep… They’d been ready for the end of the hunt.
Yet, here Hero was.
Villain Collapsing Into Hero’s Arms
Villain Collapsing Into Hero’s Arms Pt. 2
