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ayyy-pee · 5 months

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Pairing: Nanami Kento x Female Reader

Story Summary: Following his mothers passing, Nanami inherits his family's rundown bakery. With the bakery on its last leg, Nanami reluctantly takes on the task of trying to save what his family has worked to keep for decades, but he can't do it alone.

Genre: Bakery/Coffee Shop AU

Warnings: Workaholic meanie Nanami, employee x boss relationship, but also enemies to lovers, death, grief/mourning, profanity, jealousy, fluff, angst, Nanami owns a bakery, parental loss, Nanami is bad at feelings, I don’t know if I’ll do smut for this one but sexual tension, mutual pining, Nanami is sort of an asshole here

Art by: Ilameys + (Unknown artist (right pic). I'd love to credit the artist so if you know who it is, please let me know!)

Chapter 2 - Wienerbrød

Chapter Summary: You try to bake something new!

You kick your shoes off as you enter your apartment. With your phone wedged between your ear and your shoulder, you groan in irritation as you storm into your living room.

“I’m telling you, Shoko. This guy is such a fucking asshole. Shut me down the second I asked him a simple question,” you’re ranting as you flop down onto your couch. “He’s got to be the most pessimistic person I’ve ever met. He did nothing but pick apart the entire bakery and tell me how shitty it was, tried to establish some strange dominance thing in the kitchen after offering me the job… the kitchen,” you stress dramatically, wavering your arms as if Shoko can see you. “My domain! Can you believe him? He doesn’t give a shit about the actual bakery. He’s a total businessman type. Stiff, boring as hell and a dick. I don’t know why I said yes to the position. I’m going to hate my life.”

You exhale sharply once you’ve finished your tirade. On the other end of the line, you hear your friend inhale deeply. You didn’t have to ask to know she was sucking on a cigarette, likely almost finished with it and prepping her second, maybe third. After a short beat of silence, you hear her exhale. “Hmm, is he hot at least?”

“Extremely,” you admit through gritted teeth, rubbing away the tension quickly forming between your brows. “That’s the worst part.”

You hate to think it, you loathe to admit it, but Nanami was so very fucking attractive, like stupid hot and it pissed you off! Those thick arms practically bulging through his dress shirt, those veins that exposed themselves and ran enticingly along his forearms when he rolled his sleeves up. His chiseled features, those sharp cheekbones, even his frown was attractive. And god, you didn’t even want to think about his waist.

Anyone with eyes could see Nanami Kento was an insanely beautiful man, modelesque even. But it only served to piss you off more. His constant gloomy attitude was so off-putting, it almost took away from his beauty, like a rain cloud threatening to cover a blue sky.

“Anyway,” you sigh, putting a stop to your own thoughts as you stare up at the ceiling. “That’s beside the point, Shoko. He’s an asshole, but it’s obvious he needs help to get his bakery up and running. I think it’s family owned. He told me that he grew up in the bakery. Seemed miserable about it, though.”

“Interesting,” Shoko manages, though she sounds rather disinterested. “Well if he had to pick anyone, he definitely hired the best person for the job. You’re annoyingly positive.”

“Okay, rude.”

“I just mean you’ll balance his negativity well. Just try not to let him walk all over you. You’ve worked with plenty of dickheads before. What’s one more?”

You hum, your mind already accepting your fate. “I guess you’re right.”

“You know I am. The guy clearly needs help and you love this kind of thing - taking something old, miserable and rundown and making it loveable again.”

You hum again, listening as Shoko blows out another breath of smoke. “And who knows? Maybe you’ll do the same for the bakery, too.”

“Right. Wait– what?”

“I gotta go. I’ll call you later.” She says, voice light with humor. The line goes dead and you roll your eyes at your friends comments as you let the day's events wash over you. Nanami said he wanted to sample some of your desserts on Monday and see some new recipes. You can do that.

The moment you’d stepped into the bakery’s kitchen, your mind raced with possibilities. You felt at home there. The kitchen felt like it had been loved, like it was properly used and cared for, albeit old and a little rundown. That was okay. It gave the kitchen personality and you loved that. You wanted to continue giving the kitchen the love it deserved.

Nanami told you he’d grown up in that kitchen, but he truly seemed to hate even being in the building. You tried to picture a chubby little blonde boy with his arms crossed and a scowl etched across his face standing in the kitchen covered in flour and icing. Adorable, but definitely not the man you’d met today. You wondered how it came to be that he now owned this bakery when he seemed to despise it.

And you wondered if there was a way to get him to learn to love it again.

You shake your head, pushing the thought away. It wasn’t your job to turn his frown upside down, so to speak. It was your job to make sure the bakery was successful as it’s Head Baker and that’s what you intended to do.

- - - - - -

The weekend came and went just as quickly and now you find yourself standing in the kitchen of the bakery with Nanami as the sun barely begins to rise over the city. You pile your notebooks onto the large metal table in the center of the room. Nanami reaches over, taking the notebook sitting atop the stack.

“Are these your recipes?” He asks, flipping through the pages.

“Yep. These are some pastries I created on a whim. I was thinking we could go through and select what you like, maybe tweak some so that they fit more of the vibe you’re going for with the bakery. Or are there any pastries you’d like to keep from the previous owner?”

Nanami’s dark eyes shoot up from the notebook to look at you. You hold his gaze, trying to find anything behind those eyes aside from the clear hatred he holds for this bakery, but you don’t. It’s frustrating.

“No,” is all he says.

“Okay…well, we can start from scratch then. Let me know what you see that you may like.”

Nanami replies with something between a grunt and a hum. “I’ll review a few of these and will follow up. If you want to get comfortable and organize the kitchen to your liking, go ahead. Please try and have a sample pastry ready within the next few hours.”

He turns to go into his office without so much as a look back.

You sigh, trying to get used to this silence you were sure you’d be working in everyday whether Mr. Nanami was there or not. You couldn’t wait to establish a menu so you could bring staff on. At least then you wouldn’t feel so alone.

You wander through the kitchen with a notepad, looking through all of the smallwares and jotting down what you see in case you need to place an order. There seems to be many of the supplies you need here already and in good condition - spatulas, mixing bowls, flour sifters, icing tips. The bakeware also seems to be well supplied with an array of bread pans, muffin tins and cake pans. This place was fully stocked as far as you could tell.

You shuffle over to where three mixer appliances sit on a counter against the wall, setting your notepad down to inspect them. They’re a little older, but they turn on and mix just fine. You’d bet they mixed better than some of the newer models. You decide you’ll keep them.

As you lean one of the mixers over to check its condition, you find a small booklet lying underneath the stand. You pick it up, gently setting the mixer back down before you open it to inspect it. It’s a tiny black leatherbound journal with very faded gold lettering in a language you definitely don’t know.

And you? Well, you’re nosey as hell, so you carefully peel back the cover, taking in the elegant writing etched onto the first page.

To my baby boy

There’s some strange writing scrawled beneath this in what looks like English letters. You can’t really tell, but it seems to be some message in whatever language this is. You turn a couple of pages and let your eyes roam over what’s written within. The rest of the pages you can read fairly easily as they’re in English. You can see immediately that these are recipes. The booklet is full of pastry dishes, both sweet and savory. They appear to be foreign pastries and you feel your heart race with excitement as you imagine making them because while you were adventurous with your baking, you’re positive you haven’t tried to make any of these.

And Nanami did want to sample your baking, so why not give him something he’s not going to see in your portfolio?

Eagerly, you begin moving through the rest of the kitchen equipment, taking out what you need to begin.

- - - - - -

The kitchen is full with the smell of fresh dough baking. The quiet hum of the ovens working calms you as you sift through the recipe in the booklet you’d found earlier. You decided to make one of your original creations while also trying your hand at this new mystery pastry in case Mr. Nanami liked both…or one…or none. Shit, you didn’t want to imagine him not liking either.

You stare down at the ingredients already in the mixing machines.

“Alright. So, water, 2 large eggs, a teaspoon of salt, unsalted butter, active dry yeast…” You read through the remaining list of ingredients until you reach the end. “And now…flour?” You squint down at the notebook, the words scribbled messily on the paper, time having faded the ink. You can’t really make out the measurements written out. It looks like 2 ½ cups. You’ll try it and hey, if it doesn’t work, you’ll simply adjust the recipe to find the right mix. Easy.

Just as you’re sorting through the measuring cups, Nanami emerges from his office with your journals, mouth set in its usual hard line as he makes his way to you. He sets the books down, and you swear you see him inhale the sweet scent of the pastries currently baking in the oven before softly exhaling. You open your mouth to say something before quickly shutting it because he’s back to business in about .02 seconds. You really can’t read this guy, so you don’t try to. You redirect your focus back on to your task.

“These look good,” he tells you, his finger tapping on the book stacked on top. “I placed a post-it note on the recipes I think may work for the soft opening, but I’d like for you to make a sample of them beforehand. Maybe just a few a day.”

You nod, acknowledging his request but far too focused on scooping your guesstimate of flour. Nanami eyes you carefully, brown eyes staring as you carefully run your finger over the top of the flour. The excess falls carelessly onto the table and just before you pour it in, Nanami speaks, his voice halting your movements.

“What are you making now?”

“Hmm?” You ask, glancing over at him. “Oh, something called…” you peer down at the booklet, “Wee-ner-brod?” You’re one hundred percent positive you butchered that pronunciation, but how do you even pronounce ‘wienerbrød’?

Clearly Nanami knows because he surprisingly lets out an amused chuckle before he asks, “Wienerbrød?” With what you assume is perfect pronunciation. And you’re not sure why, but the sound of his deep baritone laugh makes your stomach twist in a strangely pleasant way.

“Yes! That!” You point to Nanami with your free finger. “I’m making…” you stumble your way through the pronunciation again and get another small laugh from Mr. Nanami which makes your own lips curl up in a smile.

“I didn’t know you knew how to make Danish pastries.”

“I don’t, but you don’t learn without trying.”

“True. What step are you on now?” Nanami asks curiously, coming up to stand next to you. This close to him, you can truly see just how large he is. Not to mention, he smells incredible. You ignore the way the mix of the aroma of baked goods and his cologne almost makes your eyes want to roll back. You’d never smelled something so tantalizing before.

Nanami calls your name and you clear your throat, trying to re-focus.

“Oh, um…well I’ve added mostly everything and now I need to incorporate the flour - about 2 ½ cups.”

“Your calculation is off.” He affirms gently, eyeing the measuring cup in your hand.

You snort, “Are you suddenly an expert in Danish baking or something?”

“I can throw a few things together.” He says and you peek over to see him rolling the sleeves of his very nice (and probably very expensive) shirt up to his elbows. Your eyes roam over, drinking in the sight of those thick veins that you couldn’t get out of your head over the weekend protruding from his forearms, the way his muscles flex with the slightest movement and you wonder for a moment what it would be like to grab onto those arms while he –

“As I was saying,” Nanami’s quiet voice interrupts your reverie. “2 ½ cups is close, but you actually need 2 ¾ cups for this recipe.” He reaches in front of you to grab a ¾ measuring cup and again, you’re assaulted with the scent of his cologne. Your mind erupts with thoughts of nothing appropriate for an employee to be thinking about their boss, but you can’t help it!

You blame it on that damn smile of his and that laugh. It’s thrown you off of your game.

Nanami takes the measuring cup you’re holding and replaces it with another. “You also need to use your hands to mix this.”

You might faint.

“Is that…” you lick your lips, mouth suddenly feeling dry. “Is that completely necessary?”

Nanami slowly adds small amounts of flour into the mixer bowl while kneading with his other hand. “It’s time consuming, of course, but it allows for more control over the dough. You can feel the dough's texture…if it’s too dry or if it’s too wet. From there you can determine if more water or more flour is needed.” You watch as his brows furrow in concentration, a little surprised by his knowledge around dough. Though it shouldn’t be surprising given that he grew up in this very same bakery. Of course he’d know.

And once again, your stomach does somersaults.

Damnit, he was definitely going to need to stay out of the kitchen if you were going to stay employed here.

As Nanami continues working through the recipe, you chat idly about general things. He tells you a bit about his time as a businessman, but doesn’t elaborate on what exactly led him to own a bakery. And you tell him a bit about yourself, trying to keep the conversation light as this was the most you’d both interacted since your interview and you’re surprised by how well it’s going. You don’t want to ruin it by poking and prodding.

As the conversation goes on, you watch him very carefully as he works the dough, ignoring the way your heart races watching him do the very thing you do almost daily.

“The end result should be somewhat sticky,” he states.

And oh god, something was getting sticky alright…and it lay between your legs. Your eyes are glued to the bulging muscles of Nanami’s forearms working the flour into a thick doughy substance between his large, thick fingers. Your gaze moves up his stupidly sexy arms, to his biceps straining against his shirt and you imagine him flexing so hard, it rips to shreds, falling in tatters to the floor. The cartoonish image almost makes you want to laugh. And you would have if your eyes hadn’t continued their journey, higher to his tight shoulders moving in circles as he presses his palms into the dough. Higher to the tension in his jaw, the muscles rippling as he grits his teeth with focus. The kitchen suddenly feels unbearably hot and you’re not sure if it’s the ovens running causing the temperature to rise or the view in front of you.

Nanami had never mentioned he knew how to bake. But why would he? It was your job to know. You also never thought to ask after the sour note your interview ended on despite you still being offered the position. You could not stand him upon first meeting and now here you were practically drooling into this batter over how incredibly sexy he was when he was baking.

Nanami slowly pours flour in again as he kneads the dough with expert precision. The way he grips it in his hands, the way his fingers deftly sprinkle flour into the mix. You wonder what else those big hands can do.

The oven timer dings and you snap out of your lewd thoughts, pretty sure sweat is forming on your forehead from your fantasies. You spin around quickly to slide on oven mitts before you pull the pans from the oven. You’d chosen to make miniature fruit tarts with a vanilla pastry cream. A simple recipe, but absolutely to die for. Setting the tray down, you return to Nanami’s side just as he finishes kneading the dough.

And you try to hide the frown pulling at the corner of your lips when you realize you’d lost your perfect view.

He moves to the sink to wash the remaining dough from his hands, returning with plastic wrap to cover the mixing bowl. “I hope you weren’t planning on completing that today,” He says before turning to head toward the walk-in refrigerator. When he emerges, you shoot him a questioning look.

“I was going to let the dough rise for a few hours while I worked on some other things.”

He hums in acknowledgment, but shakes his head. “For this dough, you need to do a long rise for the best result. Overnight is best.”

“Okay, you’re the expert Danish pastry baker apparently,” you tease, earning you another small chuckle from him and you feel your face heat up at the sound.

What is with you today?

“How did you come up with the idea to make Wienerbrød anyway?” He questions suddenly. “Just seems a bit random given what recipes you’d given me to review.”

“Oh!” You rush back over to the mixers excitedly and grab the booklet, holding it up for Nanami to see, a wide grin on your face. “I found this under one of the mixers. It has some strange language I can’t read in the front of it…I’m assuming it’s Danish? But some delicious sounding recipes from what I could understand when I skimmed through. I decided this would be a good idea to take myself out of my comfort zone to try something new.”

Nanami takes a step forward, squinting hard at the little journal in your hands. Suddenly, his eyes widen slightly and he snatches the book from your hold. He opens it to the first page, where the foreign message is scrawled down before he snaps the book shut, his lips pursing in displeasure.

He pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs in clear irritation. “Next time you find something that is very clearly a personal belonging, please bring it to me before you take it upon yourself to poke through something that isn’t yours,” he snaps, his voice clipped.

The shift in tone takes you aback.

“Oh. I’m sorry, Mr. Nanami. It just seemed to belong to someone who knew their way around baking so I–”

“I didn’t ask for the reasoning behind your nosiness,” he cuts you off and you feel your own irritation begin to slowly rise. “Is this a habit of yours? Digging through people’s belongings and taking things that aren’t yours?”

You scoff, folding your arms across your chest defensively. “If you’d let me finish, I’m trying to apologize –”

“I don’t want an apology. I want you to show up here, bake and leave. Not spend your time digging through someone else’s belongings.”

You inhale sharply, trying to gather your thoughts. This conversation has taken an unpleasant turn and the last thing you want to do is have a blow up with your boss. You feel like you’ve actually made progress with him today and this feels like a setback waiting to happen.

“Again, Mr. Nanami, that wasn’t my intention. I just wanted to try something new. I had no idea this book…” you wave your hand in his direction. “...would be such a sore spot for you.”

At this, Nanami seems to bristle. “My sore spot,” he stresses the words, “is nosey employees who don’t just do the job I asked them to do. I asked you to make a sample pastry –”

“And I did,” you cut him off, gesturing to your tarts cooling on the table. “And I had enough time to try my hand at something new, which is why I wanted to try something new and present it to you.”

You sigh when Nanami meets your response with silence.

“What’s the issue here? You had no problem with helping me make this until you saw that book,” you say, pointing at the small black journal he holds. Your gazes lock in an intense staredown and even as Nanami annoys you, you can’t help but find his frustratingly pretty brown eyes completely mesmerizing.

Ugh, stop.

“The issue,” Nanami stresses, “is you sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong.”

“Excuse me? It’s just a recipe book. Why are you so upset about it? Is it yours or something?”

“Again, poking your nose where it doesn’t belong.”

“Mr. Nanami, with all due…respect,” you grit out the last word because he was really starting to piss you off, “if we’re going to be working together as closely as we are, there needs to be some trust here. It’s just a recipe book. I apologize for overstepping, but you can tell me why referencing this book to make Weenerbrod is such a big deal.”

You could swear you see the ghost of a smile on his lips just before he rolls his eyes, correcting your pronunciation of the pastry again, just as he turns his back to you. “You are my employee, I am your employer and that’s it. My helping you to bake a simple bread does not make us friends. Please complete the sample pastries I requested of you and we can reconvene once they’re finished. End of discussion.”

Nanami heads to his office without another word, slamming the door behind him.

You can only watch him disappear from your sight, seething. Left standing in the kitchen alone after yet another faceoff with your new boss, you’re suddenly reminded of your earlier conversation with Shoko.

Just try not to let him walk all over you. You’ve worked with plenty of dickheads before. What’s one more?

You resist going after Nanami and giving him a piece of your mind, instead following his instructions to finish your samples. You won’t push him. Clearly that little book meant something to him and he had no intention of sharing. And he was right. It wasn’t your business to know…

…But you can’t help feeling upset that the light mood of earlier is now gone.

You sigh, ignoring the pit in your stomach as your anger begins to subside. Instead, you move to the walk in refrigerator, gathering the ingredients to make the vanilla cream for your tarts.

Your mind is still racing with the conversation that just took place even as you mix your ingredients and pack the cream into the icing decorating bags. You realize for the first time since meeting Nanami that he wasn’t only this stoic tyrant that enjoys barking orders. He was someone with interests, someone with depth, someone who clearly enjoyed the art of baking the same way you do. You saw the look in his eyes as he guided you through making this pastry. And while you’ve barely known Nanami, you’re familiar with the look on someone’s face when they’ve participated in their passion. He looked…happy. Clearly, there’s more to Nanami than you know.

More to him than what he was willing to show you. For now.

You’re annoyingly positive.

Shoko’s words make you roll your eyes as they echo in her head. Because you know she’s right.

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loveinhawkins · 1 year

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Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

They cling to each other for a long time. Gradually, Eddie’s breathing stops catching with sobs, and he becomes aware of other impressions: the water dampening his jeans as he sits on the tiles, the muffled chaos on the other side of the bathroom door—people calling desperately for loved ones, hospital staff shouting orders.

And as Eddie calms, he feels when the hug shifts, when Dustin starts to shake, and it turns more into Eddie holding him than the other way around.

Eddie takes a few deep breaths, only stuttering slightly. Swallows and tries to gather himself. “What happened to your face, man, you okay?”

Dustin nods over his shoulder. “One of the windows blew at Ste—at the house when the… when the gates...”

“Shit.” Eddie pulls back a little, and he can see the evidence of it now, little pieces of glass littering Dustin’s hair. “Where’s everyone else?”

“They’re fine, they stayed there. It was just one window, the house barely got hit compared to…” Dustin trails off with a shrug that Eddie takes to mean compared to the whole town. “There was an old bike in the garage, so…”

“You biked here? By yourself?” Eddie had half been hoping that he’d somehow hailed a cab or something equally miraculous, can’t fathom just how dangerous it currently is to travel alone, so exposed, if the whole town is anything like the trailer park—

The ground splitting, blood red light, Steve’s blank eyes—

Eddie shakes his head. “Jesus, Henderson. You’re damn lucky you didn’t break something.” Or worse.

“I don’t care.” Dustin lets go and fixes Eddie with a fierce stare, eyes wet. “I—Eddie.” His voice breaks. “I said I hated him.”

They’re both avoiding using Steve’s name, like saying it out loud will mean they have to face the terrible reality of it.

Eddie pushes down another wave of grief. Dustin needs to hear this. “That’s—Dustin. He knew that wasn’t true.”

“Yeah.” A harsh laugh of self-loathing, and Eddie’s heart breaks at the sound. “But I still said it. That—that says—”

“That doesn’t say anything about you,” Eddie says fiercely. “You hear me? Not a fucking thing. You…” He pulls Dustin into another hug, feels the tremors of him crying. Squeezes tight. “You were just scared. No crime in that, all right?”

“Sorry, Eddie, I—I’m just. I’m really fucking scared.”

He has no idea if Dustin is really listening, wonders distantly if this is how Wayne has felt over the years, when faced with him. He just holds onto Dustin, hopes that it’s enough, hopes that it says all that he means. Christ, kid, can’t you see how much he loved you? He’d have done anything for you.

Eddie strokes a hand through Dustin’s hair, carefully removing pieces of glass. Oh, he’d have done anything for you.

And he did.

It’s only when they pull themselves up off the floor that he notices Dustin’s limp.

“You did break something.”

“I don’t think so.” Dustin stands on the foot experimentally, then winces with a quickly stifled cry.

“Hey, don’t! Here, just…”

He gives Dustin his arm to lean on, and they walk in silence. Eddie finds that he doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t know what balance to strike. His usual joking would just ring false, but what he actually wants to do, which is keep double checking that Dustin is okay, feels too close to… to something that Steve would do.

He doesn’t want to be a reminder of all that they’ve lost.

They find Robin waiting for them outside the restrooms. Her face is pale, blotchy, and when she runs to Dustin, wraps her arms around him, Eddie remembers—

Robin’s arms tight around his chest, holding him back. He had caught the ambulance driver glancing at his watch, realised it was to check for the time of death, and now he's making a mournful keening noise he didn’t know he was capable of.

Denial flooding him, painful, overwhelming. He can’t accept it, suddenly, even though another part of him repeats ‘he’s gone, he’s gone, he’s gone’ like a lament; wants to scream, “You don't understand, he can’t be—he was just talking to me—”

“Why are you just—someone fucking help him!” He's reaching for Steve, but Robin's grip is strong; he just brushes Steve’s fingers, and they’re cold, why are they—

“Eddie,” Robin is whispering brokenly. “Eddie, stop, it's—it's not him anymore.”

Eddie breathes, presses his back against the wall as Robin takes Dustin’s weight with a concerned expression.

“He needs someone to take a look at that,” Eddie says, nodding at Dustin’s leg. His voice sounds normal, if a little flat. Oh. He’s numb, he thinks.

When Robin replies, she sounds similar, looks grateful at being given a task, something to do. “They're taking minor wounds on the floor below.” She gives ‘minor wounds’ a skeptical air quote with one hand.

They start heading towards the elevator, and then Eddie sees it out of the corner of his eye. Denim jacket, a flash of plaid.

He makes sure Robin is still holding Dustin before he starts to run. People jostle against him, unseeing, slamming into his shoulders, and he keeps fighting against the tide, because—

“Wayne!” he calls desperately, feeling suddenly very young.

Up ahead, someone turns. And then there is a familiar warmth around him, ushering him to the side, away from people.

“Eddie,” his uncle says, and he looks exhausted and shaken, but otherwise unharmed.

The sight of him triggers a rush of emotion all over again, and the only thing Eddie can say is a choked, “I didn't kill her.”

Wayne’s eyes soften. “C'mon, son. You know me better than that.”

Eddie’s breath hitches again. Wayne holds him, holds him like he did when he was a child and had bad dreams, a hand cupping his head like there, now. We’ll make this right.

And then Wayne pulls back, eyes flickering over Eddie. “Christ, Eddie. You hurt?”

There’s a split second of confusion; Eddie glances down at himself, sees the blood and vomit on his shirt. Sways a little, and Wayne grabs onto him in alarm.

“No, it's not—I'm fine, Wayne. Promise.” He breathes through a lump in his throat and gets out, “A friend died,” which feels so inadequate for the enormity of what had happened.

Wayne stares at him for a long moment. Then he says, very gently, “This is something big, ain't it?” He gestures to the thronging corridor, to the windows. “What you got mixed up in?”

Eddie almost laughs at that. From Wayne’s phrasing, it sounds like he just got mixed up in the wrong crowd at school, when really, just a few days ago, lost in despair, he'd somehow found the strangest, best people in the world.

And now, he's lost one of them.

“Fuck, Wayne, there's—there's so much I want to tell you,” he says. “But I—I don't know if I can. Not yet.”

It hurts to say; Wayne’s always upheld the fact that Eddie can tell him anything and everything. He can see that Wayne is about to reply as much, but then he must spot something on Eddie's face, sense the fear.

“All right, Eddie,” he says calmly. “Not yet.” Then his eyes widen a fraction, and he moves forward, as if to shield him. “Aren't the cops still looking for you?”

“I...” Eddie shakes his head. He recalls having a very distant thought that he might get arrested as they arrived at the hospital, but it had gone as quickly as it came; because he’d seen Steve—seen the body get covered with a sheet, and Nancy's hand had gripped around Eddie’s wrist like she needed an anchor, nails piercing his skin.

“Not sure,” he finishes honestly. “I—I don't think so. I don't know why.”

Wayne studies him, then sighs. “All right,” he repeats. He doesn't sound happy about it, but he can read Eddie, read that there's somehow even bigger things to worry about. “You got people here?”

“Yeah.” Eddie blinks away the image of Steve's glassy stare, thinks of Dustin—Dustin, who still needs him. “Yeah, I...”

Wayne nods. “Go. Some folks got banged up at the plant, one of the nurses said they need volunteers.” He lets go of Eddie with reluctance. “Stay in the building, all right? I'll come find you.”

Eddie nods. It’s one of the hardest things in the world, to walk away from Wayne. He didn’t think he’d ever have this back. “I love you.”

Wayne tsks, brings Eddie in for a brief, fierce embrace. “I love you, too.”

It’s not Dustin that Eddie finds first as he retraces his steps, but Nancy, taking a call. He sees her lips move: “Mike.” Something changes. She goes very still, her grip on the phone tightening. Then, whatever she’s saying is delivered rapidly; she slams the phone down and runs right into Eddie.

“Woah, where's the fire, Wheeler?” Eddie says. His heart is already in his throat at the sight of her; she’s white as a sheet. What fucking now?

She breathes in and out, then grabs his hand. “Come on.”

They run together. Nancy doesn't provide any explanation as they hurtle up the staircase, as she leads him to a very quiet corridor in the ICU.

“Just...” She takes a breath, collects herself. “Wait here. I'll be right back.”

And she storms through another set of doors. Eddie stands there, frozen. It’s the longest fifteen minutes of his life. When she comes back, she’s much slower, and she sits down opposite him, puts her head between her knees.

“What's...? Shit, Wheeler, you're scaring me.”

She looks up. Surprisingly, her eyes are dry. “I'm about to tell you something,” she says, “and... Eddie, I'd only tell you if I was sure.”

Eddie blinks. “Shoot.”

“Okay. They—Steve. He was being taken away. To the...” Nancy's eyes dart to a sign, and Eddie fights back nausea. To the morgue. “But then they... They've found a pulse.”

The words take a while to truly hit Eddie, as if they come from a long tunnel. When they do, he feels his legs buckle, and he slides down to the floor. He's glad Dustin isn’t here; hope, false hope, is cruel.

“Nancy,” he says, through gritted teeth. "That—that’s not possible. I—I felt him—” He can’t even say it. I felt him die.

Nancy leans forward, puts her hand on one of his knees and squeezes. “I know,” she says simply. Then she stands. “Come with me.”

But Eddie doesn't want to move. He wonders if it's all been too much, if this is a trick, if Nancy’s had enough and is finally turning him in. But then he remembers how she had held onto him as they celebrated the communication with Dustin in The Upside Down. And he sees her eyes now, sharp and earnest.

So he lets her guide him onwards.

He comes to a halt outside a room. Feels a weight in the pit of his stomach, like he’s at a turning point; that maybe this is all in his head, and he'll go right back to his bedroom, and Steve will—Steve will—

Nancy’s hand slips into his. She raises her eyebrows, and it’s not quite a smile she gives him, but the expression seems to say, Together?

As one, they walk inside.

“Jesus Christ,” Eddie whispers.

In a bed lies a body that looks remarkably like Steve Harrington. There’s a cast on one of his legs, but what draws Eddie’s attention is his face, the waxy pallor of it, the mask fitted tightly around his mouth. That awful stare has gone; someone has closed his eyes. Eddie doesn’t realise that he’s holding his breath until he sees the slightest movement of Steve’s chest, the weakest rise and fall... but it's there.

Eddie turns away and retches. Nothing comes up. Nancy rubs at his back.

“I spoke to some... there’s doctors who—they know about. Everything. They told me that they're not really worried about his leg, it just seems like a normal break,” she says. Her voice wavers slightly, like she's fighting tears. “The... the bites on his stomach stopped bleeding, but... it's his lungs, they think.” She nods at the mask. “They're giving him the same stuff they gave Will, after he was in The Upside Down. They say it's the best chance he's got.”

Eddie thinks about Steve throwing up. His gasping breaths. Panicking. Fuck, he can’t breathe. Then—

“He was coughing,” he says. The memory feels hazy, as if it happened years ago. “When we were… on the bikes, to my trailer. I could hear him.”

He feels shaky again. Nancy draws up two chairs, close to Steve’s bed, and they sit.

He is aware, suddenly, of a slow but steady beeping. A heart monitor.

It doesn’t feel real. Eddie pinches the skin on the back of his hand hard, half expects to see a clock instead of…

“Fucking hell, Wheeler,” he sighs. “What are we gonna do?”

“Make sure he’s not alone,” Nancy says.

They keep a silent vigil. At some point, Nancy rises, flits out of the room. Eddie hears hushed conversation just outside, and then Dustin and Robin come in, Dustin hobbling on crutches. Robin makes a wounded noise, reaches forward and holds Steve’s hand so gently.

Eddie doesn’t dare touch him. Something in the back of his mind whispers that he might break the spell, that Steve might crumble away into nothing if he so much as—

“It doesn’t look like him,” Dustin says. He sounds torn between anger and despair. “He looks… gone.”

Eddie sucks in a breath. “I know.” Because Dustin has voiced his precise fear: that this is all that remains. A different death, but a death all the same.

It happens much later, when Dustin has been shepherded back to Steve’s house by Nancy and Robin. “We’ll check on the kids,” Nancy had said, “and then we’ll be back.”

“Take your time,” Eddie told her, noting the sunken, fatigued look to all of them.

They’ve been gone for just over an hour when Eddie, fighting sleep, realises that he hasn’t told Wayne about the state of the trailer. He almost wants to search for him, but he doesn’t dare leave the room, even if he can only really look at the hospital sheets, his eyes darting away from Steve’s face. Dustin’s right; he looks gone.

He hears it half in a dream, eyes closing despite himself. A radio, faintly, from another room, a cleaner leaving the door ajar.

Leaving nothing but the dead and dying back in my little town. Nothing but the dead and dying back in my little town.

He jolts awake sharply, as if his body is already aware of something before his mind has understood. Still blinking away sleep, this time he does not look away when his eyes land on…

It’s barely there. But Eddie sees it: the faintest of creases on Steve’s forehead.

Eddie stares. Then it clicks.

“Holy shit,” he says, hushed, afraid that if he speaks too loudly, it will all stop. He doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry—he ends up doing a mixture of both. “Harrington, is this your fucking song?”

The sound of the radio fades away, and with it so does the tiniest of frowns. Desperately, Eddie picks up the chorus himself, stumbling over the words in his haste; and this time, he sees it happen, the change from an unnatural laxness to…

A little pinch in between Steve’s brows, subtle, but there.

“Fuck, it’s really you,” Eddie says. “You’re still in there.” His eyes burn with tears. He reaches for Steve’s hand, holds on despite the lingering coldness to his skin. “Christ, please keep fighting, man. Please.”

#the self sacrificial steve agenda #steddie fic #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #steve x eddie #nancy wheeler #dustin henderson #robin buckley #wayne munson

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thosewildcharms · 15 days

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Just broke my own heart thinking about Rick being absent for Lori’s pregnancy with Judith since he was, understandably, emotionally checked out AND being completely absent with Michonne’s for RJ and how he missed welcoming them both into the world, plus not seeing them grow up as he said, for a man that only cares about his family he must carry so much guilt over that or feel cursed… also thought about Michonne probably being extremely anxious when RJ turned the age Andre was when he died and she had no one to talk to about it. Thinking about her having to deal with it all while being a grieving single mother of 2 leading a community also made me sad. lol I know they’re both resilient fighters but damn all of that is so heavy! I’m so happy they’re all back together now and can start some healing

ANON BESTIE WHAT THE FUCK?

well okay sure. let's be depressing for a bit but then we should go back to grimes family headcanons okay?

it's honestly so tragic that rick was not able to see the birth of the child he wanted so badly, that he didn't even know RJ existed for almost a decade. the length of that time jump is honestly so evil - like yes, on one level it heightens the intensity of their bond, the way that they never even considered anyone else over all those years and stayed completely in love throughout that absence and distance. but god, it's just a really fucking long time. it's devastating!

it's also why I love that scene in the towl finale where rick expresses how angry he is about it, how just for a minute he lets himself say out loud that he just wants to be selfish for once and say fuck it let's go home, because he doesn't want to miss any more time than he already has. i also love the way andy played the reunion with judith and rj: the quiet grief in his face because he's mourning the time lost even while they're right in front of him, maybe even more so. like, of course he was distraught over how much he missed. this man held a shard of glass to his neck when he truly thought he could never see his family again (which i think we moved on from a bit too quickly tbh). his love for his family is his motivation for everything. keeping him away from them is the worst thing you could do to him, which is btw is why i'm not mad okafor is dead.

as for michonne. well my god anon did you have to go there with that andre/rj thing? i mean, yes you're absolutely right and you're completely brilliant but jfc that hurt. i honestly can't even think about those six years michonne spent grieving rick and raising their kids and protecting that community and getting that scar and everything else without getting upset. i genuinely hate it so much. i'm also constantly thinking about the scene where she finds evidence that rick is alive, the specific way her face contorts as she holds that phone like she's scared to even dare to hope, even though she never fully believed he was gone in the first place. we already saw how much she was struggling but that scene makes me want to set myself on fire. it's all just so fucking sad.

so yes. they better be left alone to heal in peace forever no more Situations no more near death experiences no more wars or fascist megalomaniacs with armies to overthrow. they've done enough!

#richonne #the ones who live #side note anon:#i'm a bit confused about what you mean by rick being absent for judith's birth because he was emotionally distant #like yes he was obviously but am i remembering incorrectly or did lori give birth unexpectedly while the prison was under attack?#like i thought he was straight up just unaware it was even happening. i like to think he would have been there if he knew/was able #but maybe i'm giving him too much credit lol #or am i just being obtuse and that's exactly what you're mean by him feeling cursed? because he missed both due to ~circumstances?#not arguing with you btw because i agree either way he's prone to emotionally self-flagellating i'm just wondering if i'm missing something

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likecanyoujustnot · 2 months

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Jude’s trial, Cardan’s pov

A/n: I’m supposed to be getting ready for my birthday party but I have massive procrastination issues. And this picks off right where the letter ended. Kinda long.

“What do you mean he is dead?”

There were tears in Taryn’s eyes as I paced in front of her.

“He washed up on the beach near our house.” She sniffed. “I don’t know how it happened.”

“When did you notice he was missing?”

I had last seen him two days ago. Entertaining a group of young faeries.

“He didn’t come home after last night and that’s nothing out of the ordinary, you know how he is.”

Yes I did.

“What are you going to do about it?” She looks at me cautiously.

“Hold a trial, I want to find who did this.” I may hate his cheating guts but I wanted to know who in my court thought it was a good idea to kill off my master of revels.

She froze. “Am I a suspect?”

“For now, until we can rule out your innocence.”

She nodded slowly. “What if it was Jude?”

It was my turn to freeze. “What makes you think it was her?”

“She doesn’t like him, and she doesn’t like you much at the moment either, this could be her way of sending a message.”

Not likely. If she wanted to send a message she would’ve crept into my rooms and slit my throat while I slept. This wasn’t her style.

“Trials begin at the beginning of the week, in two days, you are first Taryn.”

She nodded and walked off, a slight tremble in her hands.

Dammit.

Valerian and Locke. Both dead. I didn’t mourn valerian and I doubted I would mourn Locke. They were both awful. But it was now just me and Nicasia. I would probably have to tell her of the murder. She’d probably believe it to be Jude. I don’t know how Taryn could sell out that it might be her twin sister.

I didn’t think it was, but still.

I gave instructions to the guards and Randalin and went back off to my room.

My head was pounding and I wanted nothing more than to just sleep.

I was the king. I could do whatever I wanted.

And so I slept.

The next few days passed without hassle, until the day of the inquest came.

I saw Nicasia first.

She looked awful. Tired and distant. A dress the colours of the sea on her. And next to her stood my mother.

It was night time, the first of the stars visible when a mortal woman walked up to where we stood.

She wore a bronze dress and had a hood pulled over her head.

Taryn looked so much like Jude it hurt. I wonder what would happen if I just left and ran off to the mortal lands to find my wife.

The cold voice of one of my personal guards cut through the chatter. “Taryn Duarte. Wife of Locke. You must stand in the place of petitioners.”

She moved to where she was indicated to stand.

“Taryn?” I asked.

She raises her eyes to me and I am struck by a realisation.

That’s not Taryn.

That’s Jude.

The high queen of faerie.

My wife.

My heart skipped a beat.

“Your majesty.” She said.

“We recognise your grief.” I did my best to keep my voice even. “We would not disturb your mourning were it not for questions over the cause of your husband’s death.” Though I supposed I’m her husband.

Jude.

Here.

“Do you really think she’s sad.” Nicasia cut in. I almost roll my eyes. She steps closer to Taryn- no, Jude- and I tense. Nicasia had a tendency to be irrational, had he friend had just been murdered, making her even more unpredictable. “Did you kill Locke yourself? Or did you get your sister to do it for you?”

“Jude is in exile.” Her words are soft, and I yet again marvel at how easily she can lie. “And I’ve never hurt Locke.”

“No?” I interjected. I leant forward on the throne. My tail twitched. She’s lying again. If she is truly Jude, which she is, she has hurt Locke in the past.

“I lov…” Jude stopped. To anyone else it would look like she was grieving, as though the words were too hard to say.

But I knew better. She was having to force herself to say it.

“I loved him.” She lets out a little sob.

“Sometimes I believed you did yes.” I force my tone to be absentminded, as though I didn’t care. I did believe she loved Locke. And I hated her, for loving him and not me, Locke for tricking her, and myself for not being good enough. “But you could be lying. I am going to put a glamour on you. All it will do is force you to tell us the truth.” I curved my hand and magic shimmered in the air.

“Now, tell me only the truth. What is your name?”

If she wears no protection, under the glamour, she will be forced to admit her title as well. Jude Duarte Greenbriar, High Queen of Elfhame, wife of Cardan.

And that would cause a huge problem.

“Taryn Duarte.” She curtsied. “Daughter of Madoc, wife of Locke, subject of the High King of Elfhame.

Liar. She had to be Jude. I smiled. “What fine courtly manners.”

“I was well instructed.” We were instructed together.

“Did you murder Locke?” There is a silence following my words. The folk quiet in apprehension.

“No.” She said, she gave a pointed look to Nicasia. “Nor did I orchestrate his death. Perhaps we ought to look to the sea, where he was found.”

I wanted to laugh at the poeticness of this moment. Either Taryn had killed Locke and didn’t want anyone to know, or Jude killed both of them and was know planning my own demise. That didn’t scare me as much as it should have.

Nicasia turns to me. “We know Jude murdered Balekin. She confessed as much. And I have long suspected her of killing Valerian.” I wondered how she would react if I told her she had killed him. “If Taryn isn’t the culprit then Jude must be. Queen Orlagh, my mother, swore a truce with you. What possible gain could sue have from the murder of your master of revels? She knew he was your friend- and mine.” Her voice breaks at the end, her grief palpable.

I peer back down at Jude. “Well, what do you think? Did your sister do it? And don’t tell me what I already know. Yes I sent Jude into exile. That may or may not have deterred her.”

She looks like she wants to punch me. “She had no reason to hate Locke, I don’t think she wished him ill.”

“Is that so?” I knew for a fact she did.

“Perhaps it is only court gossip, but there is a popular tale about you, your sister and Locke.” I wanted to snap at my mother for bringing herself into a conversation where she is not needed. “She loved him, but he chose you. Some sisters cannot bear to see the other happy.”

I glanced at her.

“Jude never loved Locke.” Her face went a slight pink. “She loved someone else. He’s the one she’d want dead.”

I flinched at both meanings to her words. She wanted me dead, and she loved me.

I wasn’t sure which alarmed me more.

She loved me

Loved.

As in past tense

“Enough.” I said before she could keep talking. “I have heard all I care to on this subject-”

“No!” Nicasia interrupted. Everyone stirred a little. She cut me off. The high king. She seems to realise it as she goes on. “Taryn could have a charm on her, something that makes her resistant to glamours.”

I glared at Nicasia for undermining my authority. I look back to Jude and give her a cruel smile. “I suppose she’ll have to be searched.”

I could sense Nicasia’s sneer.

Jude stood up taller in a position that reminded me of Oriana. “My husband was murdered. And whether or not you believe me, I do mourn him. I will not make a spectacle of myself for the court’s amusement when his body is barely cold.”

I admired the sheer will and determination in her voice.

My smile only grew. This is was chance to get her alone. “As you wish. Then I suppose I will have to examine you alone in my chambers.”

I could barely keep myself from smiling in glee. Jude was back. And she was following me to my rooms. And there I would ask her why she stayed away so long. Why she didn’t come home to me.

She was nervous, she had no clue I knew she wasn’t Taryn. And that scared her. She knew that if I had her undressed I would know her body. Her scars and imperfections.

Never mind I could tell who she was just off of her face.

I passed a hooded servant carrying pale green wine.

There was a cry and a crash behind me and I wip around. Jude is on the floor, the servant with her. Her dress soaked in wine and the shattered glass around them.

Jude helped the servant girl sweep up debris before she says. “Oh no, my lady, your pardon, you ought not lower yourself.”

One of my guards catches her arm. “Come along,” he said as he lifted her to her feet, and we continued walking.

Two servants open the heavy doors to my chambers and I threw myself down in a low couch in the parlour, Jude stood awkwardly in the centre of the room.

My feet rested on the stone table. “Well.” I said, patting the couch beside me, an invitation for her to sit. “Didn’t you get my letters?”

“What?” She croaked.

“You never replied to a one. I began to wonder if you’d misplaced your ambition in the mortal world.”

“Your majesty.” Her said, voice stiff. “I thought you brought me here to assure yourself I had neither charm nor amulet.”

I raised an eyebrow and my smile deepened. “I will if you like. Shall I command you to remove your clothes? I don’t mind.” Not in the slightest.

“What are you doing.” She’s desperate now. “What are you playing at?”

She still thought she can convince me she’s Taryn. It was adorable. “Jude, you can’t really think I don’t know it’s you. I knew you from the moment you walked in the brugh.”

She shook her head. “That’s not possible.”

I stood, watching her intently. “Come closer.”

She took a step back.

I frowned. “My councillors told me that you met with an ambassador from the court of teeth, that you must be working with Madoc now. I was unwilling to believe it, but seeing the way you look at me, pervades I must.” She was angry, and rightfully so, looking like she wanted to run me through with a knife. “Tell me it’s not true.” It could not be true, she wouldn’t plot against me, would she? Though if I died, she would be free to rule without me, Madoc whispering in her ear.

“I’m not the betrayer here.”

“Are you angry about-” I stopped, studying her face more carefully. “No, you’re afraid. But why would you be afraid of me?” I’d never done anything for her to fear.

“I’m not.” She trembled. “I hate you. You sent me into exile. Everything you say to me, everything you promise, it’s all a trick. And I, stupid enough to believe you once.”

“Of course it was a trick-” I noted that she was now holding a blade. Sheathed, but it looked deadly.

Suddenly everything shook. An explosion that was close enough to cause us both to stumble. Books fell and crystal orbs rolled onto the floor. I looked at her, surprised, before I realised, she could have done this. My eyes narrowed.

Then there’s the sound of metal striking metal, swords.

“Stay here.” She drew the blade.

No. “Jude, don’t-” I call after her as she slipped out of the room.

Dammit.

I had Jude back, and I would not loose her again. I drew into my power, commanding it to listen, to reshape the burgh. Commanding the doorways to crack and shrink. From the screams of the guards I knew that vines, roots and leaves were clicking them, starting to creep around their necks, strangling them.

They had taken Jude.

And they would not forget it.

#cardan greenbriar #the cruel prince #judes trial cardans pov #the queen of nothing #queen of nothing #the folk of the air #folk of the air #jude duarte #jurdan #jurdan fanfic

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humanpurposes · 9 months

Text

Just for a Moment, part iv

Tom Bennett has a habit of climbing through her bedroom window whenever he's in trouble // Main Masterlist

Tom Bennett x OFC

Warnings: 18+, mentions of war and death, friends to lovers, angst, fluff, smut, Tom Bennett's daddy issues, death, mourning/grief

Words: 8100

A/n: This acts as a final part and an epilogue. Also available to read on AO3.

In early June, Lois Bennett knocks on the Wheelans’ front door. She has tears in her bright blue eyes and her hands are shaking.

“It’s our Tom,” she says, when Kitty has sat her down at the kitchen table and made her a cup of strong tea. “He’s missing.”

A hole tears itself in her chest.

His ship had been part of the evacuation at Dunkirk– a triumph, so the headlines say. But that’s the way of the world, she thinks, men lay down their lives, others have their lives taken from them by force, and all the while the press and the politicians declare each one a step towards peace.

“You think Churchill and Hitler give a flying fuck about peace?” her father says one night as he nurses a glass of whisky. “They want victory.”

Every night as she lies in bed, she imagines some new possibility. Tom could have run to safety, sought refuge in the town or gone elsewhere. Maybe he’s just biding his time, maybe he’s on his way back to her.

He can’t be dead. He just can’t be.

He promised he would come home to her.

Monday 2nd September, 1940

She doesn’t think she’ll ever get used to the sirens, that blunt, whirring, wailing noise that sparks a primal fear in her chest. Somehow she always wakes up before they go off, like her instincts can alert her of what’s coming just a second before the noise begins.

The baby starts to scream from the space beside her– since Lois has started working as an ambulance driver, she leaves Vera with them most nights. With shaking hands, Kitty takes her into her arms, keeping her close to her chest as she fixes a woolly hat over her head.

“I’m sorry darling, I know,” she says, pulling the hat over Vera’s ears. She keeps meaning to buy some earmuffs for her, but then, it’s not her baby.

It’s pitch black in the house, it has to be. No lights or candles allowed unless you want the Germans to drop a bomb on your house. Kitty keeps one hand on the wall as she finds the stairs, and hurries down to the kitchen. Mam and dad’s footsteps follow behind her.

They have a routine by now. Dad grabs a coleman and a box of matches, mam grabs a photo from the front room and a basket with bread and blackberry jam, and Kitty holds tight to Vera. Then they file out the back door, into the garden, down the ladder into the shelter. Dad shuts the door, lights the lamp, and finally they can all see each other.

Then comes the waiting. Some nights dad sings The Fields of Athenry and Kitty joins in. Vera seems to love singing, her eyes go wide and she lays completely still against Kitty, hypnotised by the humming in her chest.

After a few slices of bread to keep them going, dad lies along the bench and closes his eyes and mam takes Vera into her arms. “Get some rest, love,” she tells Kitty.

How can she? Beyond the shelter the world is nothing but uncertainty, sirens sounding, bombs booming, spotlights and distant fires cutting through the darkness. Only the morning will tell what the true damage is, once the sun starts to rise and the smoke and dust have settled. Houses and livelihoods will be left as rubble. More lives lost, people who didn’t sign up, people who couldn’t, people who thought they might at least be safe in their own homes.

She looks at the photograph mam always brings in from the house. It’s of the four of them, Eddie, Art, Stevie and Kitty, lined up in the front room before the eldest two Wheelans left for the continent, over a year ago now. Eddie and Art look handsome in their uniforms and Stevie is uncharacteristically glum. He hated that he didn’t sign up sooner, he said he didn’t want to look like the one being left behind.

They all came home after Dunkirk, a few precious weeks when the world felt normal again.

Only not quite.

Because she still spent every night alone, and Tom Bennett was still gone.

“Where’s Douglas?”

Kitty snaps her attention to mam, as dad starts to stir on the bench.

“Eh?” he grumbles, “he’ll be along now in a minute, I’m sure.”

They wait.

And keep waiting.

The bombs dropping on Longsight are louder than they’ve ever been before. Closer than they’ve ever been before. Each thunderous crash rocks the ground and the walls of their shelter.

BOOM– the roof trembles.

BOOM– dust and dirt fall from above them.

“We’ll be alright, here,” dad says, beckoning Kitty to sit between the two of them.

They huddle together. Kitty curls her knees into her chest like a child and leans into her father’s embrace. Mam has Vera on her lap and places a hand on Kitty’s knee.

BOOM– mam whimpers and Vera is crying again. Dad holds her tighter.

BOOM– Kitty reaches for one of Vera’s tiny hands, and she clutches tightly onto her finger.

Then a final, earsplitting BOOM. The bench jolts beneath them. Kitty clings to her family and squeezes her eyes shut, waiting for something awful to happen.

Only it doesn’t. The bombs become fainter.

They slowly pull away from each other, looking each other in the eyes and nodding, to make sure they’re all alright– as much as they can be.

When the all clear sounds, they make their way back into the house.

Glass litters the floor of the front room. The windows are shattered, so is the glass cabinet with mam’s best china, photographs are cracked. Anything that isn’t broken has been blown back by the force of a hit.

Through the tatters of the curtains and a haze of smoke, a fire burns out on the street.

Dad calls her name as she runs for the front door and yanks it open, but she can’t bring herself to step past the threshold.

The feels the heat against her face, as number 27 has been reduced to a pile of burning rubble.

The AFS arrives in time to stop dad from digging through the remains in search of Douglas himself.

Everything that belongs to the Bennetts is crushed under brick or goes up in flames.

It’s like losing Tom all over again. The house where he grew up, the kitchen where Josie used to feed the Bennett and Wheelan kids ginger beer and sandwiches, the bedroom that smelled of cigarette smoke, where he told her he loved her, exist only as memories.

She doesn’t go to bed that night– there are only a few hours until daylight anyway. She sweeps up the glass in the front room and the bedrooms while dad boards up the window frames. Hardly any light reaches inside the house, the air is still thick and hazy with lingering smoke, so they keep the back door open. It airs the place out, but lets in the cold too.

When Kitty answers the door in the morning, Lois’ back is facing her. She’s still in her uniform with her hair in a neat bun and a helmet in her hand.

“Lois?”

She turns towards Kitty with her lips slightly parted in a passive expression. “Dad’s gone,” she mutters. And once she says it the vacancy melts into grief. “He’s gone,” she cries, “everything’s gone!”

Kitty leads her into the house, but there’s nowhere comfortable to sit. The front room is in tatters and the kitchen is a mess with everything they’ve managed to salvage piled onto the table and chairs.

“Tea?” Kitty asks quietly, but she feels stupid for asking.

Lois leans against the wall and holds her face in her hand as she cries.

Kitty unsurely places a hand on Lois’ shoulder and tries to think of something to say, but all she can think of is “I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

First her mam, then Harry, then Tom, now her dad. She must feel like her life is slipping away.

Mam appears from upstairs, dressed for the factory with Vera in her arms.

Kitty frowns as she hands the baby to her. Lois has lost her father and her home in one night, and her mother hardly looks phased.

“There’s still work to be done, Kitty,” she says, grabbing her coat before she leaves through the front door with her head and shoulders straight.

But this is just war. Men die in trenches and on beaches, bombs fall on cities, tragedy unfolds and they Keep Calm and Carry On.

Kitty carries Vera into the kitchen, but she doesn’t like the sound of her mother crying. Her little face goes red and twists before she makes a sound, then she’s crying too, burying her head into Kitty’s chest and clinging to her arms with those small, pudgy hands.

Lois doesn’t look up, like she can’t hear her daughter crying at all.

Sunday 29th September, 1940

Weeks go by. Douglas is interred with his wife, in the churchyard of St Jospeh’s. Kitty spends her days in the shop and her nights in the shelter, rocking Vera through the air raids, humming lullabies and muttering stories about her brave mam and her fearless uncle Tom.

The Wheelans never used to go to church every week, but mam insists now, anything for their family to be kept safe. As they head home, Kitty looks up the hill, to the gravestone she knows is marked Josie Bennett. She pictures Tom and Lois standing by the graveside at the funeral, twelve years ago now. It doesn’t feel that long ago they were all children.

She walks ahead of her parents– dad’s been having trouble with his knees and it slows him down. Her head is hung, she’s staring at her shoes, the same black pair of shoes she wears everywhere.

What’s she got to walk so fast for anyway? Their house doesn’t feel much like a home anymore. They at least have the windows fixed, but she tends to keep her curtains drawn, because where she used to look out to Tom’s bedroom window, there’s just empty space.

What’s the point in rushing home to a house that isn’t safe? That’s ghostly and quiet? That has a bomb shelter instead of a garden? What’s the point in carrying on when surviving the night is something they have to hope for? When each day brings a possibility that Eddie, Art or Steive could be missing or dead? What’s the point in clinging onto hope if Tom is truly gone? What’s the point? What’s the point? What’s the point?

Someone knocks frantically on one of the doors ahead, their door she realises. Her vision is blurry through tears, but she can make out the shape of a tall man, with dirty blond hair.

She blinks.

“Tom?”

His body collides into hers. He hugs her so tightly he crushes her chest but she doesn’t care. He could squeeze the life from her and she wouldn’t care, as long as she gets to hold him. Her hands find their way to grasp at his neck and his hair, pulling him closer and crying silently into his neck.

He doesn’t smell like cigarettes, which she finds unusual. He smells like dirt and sweat, and when he pulls away from her she realises he’s dressed in a khaki blazer, slacks that are too big for him and a mismatching grey shirt.

“What happened–”

He looks frantic, stroking his hands over her hair and down to cup the sides of her face. “Kitty, I’m sorry, I know it’s been a mad few months but where are they, dad and Lois? Are they safe?”

He doesn’t know. How could he? Lois tried to send a letter. Where would it be now? Collecting dust or sitting at the bottom of a pile of unimportant paperwork in a naval office because there was nowhere for it to go.

Her eyes well with tears all over again. His face is leaner, the lines of his jaw and cheeks more defined, the left side of his face littered with bruises and scars. She traces her fingers over his cheekbone, and down to the coarse, blond stubble along his jaw.

“Kitty,” he says, shortly, taking her hand away from his face. “Kitty, where are they? Tell me they’re okay.”

She glances over her shoulder. Mam and dad are approaching them now. Their faces mirror each other, confused, horrified, sympathetic.

“Come on,” she mutters, taking Tom’s hand and dragging him with her as she walks solemnly up Slade Grove.

They stayed joined at the hip as they walk, Kitty curling slightly into his arm, their legs brushing with every stride, bumping into each other and pulling themselves back in.

His hand is warm and his grip is firm, but she can’t stop herself from shivering. As much as she wants to gaze up at him, melt into his embrace again, kiss every inch of his face, she can’t help but feel guilty. He doesn’t ask any more questions, or so much as speak a word, but the concern is written all over him, the clenched jaw and the stiff shoulders that don’t sway as he walks.

She won’t be the one to tell him, she can’t be.

Lois has been living in a boarding house with Connie since the bomb hit. Mam had offered her a place at their house, but Lois wouldn’t take it. Luckily the house isn’t too far away, and when Lois opens the door, she’s utterly stunned.

Kitty waits outside, with her hands behind her back, leaning against the brick wall. Now her hands and her skin feel cold, so she tugs at her coat, keeping it tight around her body to keep out the autumn chill.

For a few moments she wonders if she hasn’t just made the whole thing up; Tom, waiting outside her door, running into her arms and vanishing again. She rubs her fingertips together. She had felt him as she feels her own skin now, she’s sure of it, the scars, the stubble, the hair on the back of his hand.

Tom Bennett, her Tom Bennett, though not quite the same man he was, before whatever happened at Dunkirk, before the war, when his place in her life was vague but at least it was consistent. She knows things will be different again when he comes out of that house.

She hears raised voices through the door, the unmistakable, raspy bass of Tom’s anger. Lois shouts back. Then it goes quiet again.

Her heart leaps out of her chest when the door swings open. Tom slams it shut and turns his head around, frantically, before his eyes find her.

He opens his arms and falls into her.

He lets out a few short gasps for breath as he leans his forehead against her shoulder and wraps his arms tightly around her waist.

She stays like that for as long as he needs, until he pulls back for breath. His face is red, it only makes his eyes seem brighter.

“Sorry,” he mutters with a sniff, “haven’t even said a proper ‘hello’ to you yet.”

Given the circumstances, she thinks that’s forgivable. She runs her hands over the sides of his face, his ears and his overgrown mop of hair.

“Hello,” she says.

Tom smiles, taking one of her hands in hiss and placing a peck to her knuckles. “Hello.”

They walk slowly back to Slade Grove. Tom is a little more subdued, but not quite settled.

She can only imagine the thoughts racing through his head. He wasn’t here to save his father, he wasn’t at the funeral, there was nothing he could save from his own home. Time has slipped by, the formalities have been carried out and Tom couldn’t have stopped any of it from happening.

Mam opens the door, takes one look at Tom, and purses her lips.

Kitty rolls her eyes and pulls Tom into the hallway.

The house has been cleared up a little better recently. They’ve gotten rid of everything that was broken, mended the curtains and the tears in the sofas, only the front room feels empty and impersonal without the china cabinet and the photographs they couldn’t save.

They walk on through to the kitchen, where dad is sitting by the wireless. He stands to take Tom’s hand. “Sorry for your loss, lad,” he says, giving it a short, firm shake.

“Cheers,” Tom mutters, “good to see you again, Mr Wheelan.”

Kitty makes tea and splits her rations of bacon and eggs between her and Tom.

“We were part of the evacuation effort from Dunkirk,” Tom explains, looking up to Kitty as she sits beside him. “I don’t remember much, but I woke up in a hospital in Paris, bullets and shrapnel in my chest, and the doctors were telling me the Nazis had taken the city.”

“Bloody hell,” dad sighs.

Mam sits stiffly in her chair and sips her tea.

“They were telling me I had to register as a prisoner of war, but there was this American bloke, a doctor, he told me they were trying out an escape route through Gibraltar.”

“We thought you were dead,” Kitty says. “Lois showed us the telegram. We all thought you were dead.”

She can see Tom’s hand flinch as if to reach out to her, but he stops himself and clenches his fist. He turns back to her parents across the table. “I had to die, officially like, they had some spare bodies and put my name to some poor bastard with 80% burns–”

Mam clears her throat.

“Sorry,” Tom says, trying not to smile. “Had to walk to Spain, then hitched a ride with these two blokes to Gibraltar. Onto Plymouth from there, and then…” he trails off. He has a distant look in his eyes that reminds her of Lois.

“Home?” dad says.

Tom shrugs his shoulders. “Yeah, ‘spose so.”

“Will you stay with Lois?” Kitty asks.

Tom gives her a pointed look.

The raised voices, the slammed door. Maybe not.

“You could stay with us,” she says.

Mam tilts her head. “Now wait a moment–”

“Of course,” dad says, “we’ve got three empty beds upstairs, I’m sure we’ll be able to spare one.”

“I wouldn’t want to intrude,” Tom says, slipping his hand under the table and brushing his fingers over Kitty’s knee. She checks her parents aren’t looking at her and tries not to smile.

Dad holds up his hand in the way that means his decision is final. “Not at all, lad. We’ve known you since you were a childer, I think it’s the least we could do for you now.”

Lois drops Vera off at 5 o’clock, the usual time. She doesn’t ask about Tom, in fact she hardly looks Kitty in the eye as she hands the baby into her arms and places a bag by her feet. She presses a quick kiss to Vera’s head, and then she’s gone.

Tom is in the front room, splayed out on one of the sofas, flicking an unlit cigarette through his fingers– because if he smoked in the house, mam would actually kill him. He sits up when Kitty walks in with the baby on her hip.

She sits beside him and places Vera on her lap.

Tom takes one of her little hands, and his thumb is almost the size of her palm. “Can’t believe she named the kid after my fucking canary,” he grumbles.

“Tom,” Kitty chides.

“Fuck, sorry– fuck.”

Vera lets out a vague gurgling sound and Kitty giggles. “Say it enough, it might be her first word.”

He chuckles, and gently waves Vera’s arm about. “When do babies usually start talking?”

“Give her a chance, she can’t even sit up yet.”

He strokes his finger along the baby’s cheek, and grins when he coaxes a smile out of her. But it’s like he stops himself, pressing his lips together as his eyes darken.

“What happened with you and Lois?” Kitty asks.

Tom heaves a heavy breath and takes his hand away from Vera. “I lashed out.”

“Christ, Tom.”

“She left dad alone,” he says.

If she didn’t have a baby in her lap, she thinks she could throttle him. “It wasn’t her fault,” Kitty snaps. “She couldn’t have saved him. No one could have.

He turns to face her with a devastated look in his eyes, the kind of look he makes when he knows she’s right. “How did it happen?”

She shifts Vera in her lap. “We didn’t see, we were in the shelter. We heard the bombs getting closer, and when we heard the all clear…” she blinks a few tears from her eyes. She doesn’t mean to cry, and she feels ridiculous, crying over Tom’s father when he’s sitting beside her.

Tom shifts closer to her, and wipes her cheeks with his thumbs.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, “I’m so sorry.”

Tom nods, running his hand over Vera’s head. “He died thinking I was gone. He didn’t know I was alright.” He draws his tongue between his lips. “But he’ll be happy now, with mum and that.”

“I hope so,” she says.

“And I didn’t leave things on a bad note,” he says, keeping his eyes on Vera, “like you told me. I shook his hand before I left.”

“See? When has my advice ever let you down?” she says, trying to sound as lighthearted as possible through the thick feeling in her throat.

Tom keeps his chin tilted down but he looks up to her. He looks more peaceful than he did this morning. His lips are settled in their natural curve, his brow is soft, and there’s a sadness in his eyes that he won’t allow to become more than a glisten.

“Never has,” he says with a smile.

He shuffles closer to her, cautiously cupping the side of her face like he’s forgotten how.

She instantly leans into him, bringing their foreheads together until she can feel his breath echoing over her lips.

It’s been so long since she’s felt him in the way she wants. She’s hardly given herself a moment to even realise that he’s here, that her months of anguish are finally done because he’s safe, he’s alive, and he still didn’t break his promise to her.

“I missed you,” she whispers. If she speaks any louder she worries her voice might falter.

Tom draws his thumb over her cheek and nudges his nose against hers. “Kitty,” he utters. His lips twitch like he can’t quite find the words he wants.

“I know,” she breathes. “I know.”

He angles his head a little before he leans in closer and presses a soft kiss to her lips, and her heart breaks a hundred times over. She feels his sadness in the tentative movements of his mouth, like he’s still scared, like he’s waiting for something bad to happen.

So she pours all her longing and reassurance into him, as far as she can without speaking or pausing for breath. She holds onto his neck and deepens their kiss with firm lips and a deft tongue.

She wants to feel him, long after they’ve parted. She wants to remember how he feels, the warmth he gives her, the way his little hums make her feel weightless and set her skin alight.

Now, in this moment, the world feels perfect.

Until Vera makes a whining noise that means she wants attention.

Kitty pulls away with a short gasp, moving Vera to her hip and she stands and tries to bounce her into content.

“She’s probably hungry,” Kitty says, and nods to the bag Lois dropped off earlier. “Her formula’s in there, bring it into the kitchen.”

Tom does as he’s told and pulls the tub out of the bag. He walks into the corridor first, and as Kitty goes to follow he stops, and turns to her.

“You look good with a baby by the way,” he says with a grin.

She scorns herself for the thrill it sends through her stomach. “Don’t, you’ll give my mam a heart attack.”

At 6 o’clock, they put the lights out for the blackout, with only the fading sunset to light the kitchen as Kitty makes a vegetable stew and spuds for dinner. Thankfully they have some beef stock she can throw in as well, which stops dad from complaining that “just veg doesn’t count as a meal.”

Evenings are tense and uncertain now. They all try to make small talk with each other over dinner, but silences are frequent and imposing.

Once they’ve eaten, Kitty puts Vera to bed and mam and dad head upstairs shortly after, hoping to get as much sleep as they can before the sirens start.

Tom sits in the lounge, on a sofa by the window, keeping the curtains open just an inch, but all there is to see is black.

“It’s cloudy,” he says as Kitty appears in the doorway in her nightie. “Can’t even see the moon.”

She comes to join him, curling up into his lap and placing her head on his shoulder. “That’s good news for us.”

Tom wraps his arms around her and kisses her head.

The sky stays cloudy and quiet all night, no droning of planes, no sirens.

All she hears is the sound of his breathing and his lips against her skin as he nuzzles into her neck, kissing and nipping at her skin.

“Did you miss me?” she finds herself saying.

Tom pauses and pulls his face away from her with a furrowed brow. “Do you really think I thought of anything else?” he says. “It was all that got me through, the thought of coming home to you.”

In the morning she wakes with a sliver of sunlight creeping over her eyes, still in Tom’s arms, still clinging to him.

Lois comes to collect Vera before Kitty leaves for her shift at the shop.

“Is Tom with you?” Lois asks as kitty lowers Vera into the pram.

Kitty hesitates. “Yes,” she says, bracing herself for Lois to storm in and start shouting at him.

He appears in the doorway, with his head down and his hands in his pockets.

“I’m going to the churchyard,” Lois says to him, “if you’d like to see mum and dad.”

Tom looks to Kitty and she sighs, overemphasising the movement of her chest as she breathes. Don’t leave it on a bad note.

He looks back to Lois and forces a small smile. “Yeah.”

Tom stays with the Wheelans, sleeping in the boys’ bedroom, in the bed closest to the door. Each night, once Vera and her parents are asleep, Kitty steals into his bedroom and tucks herself into the space beside him.

“It feels funny like this, doesn’t it?” she whispers to him, brushing her lips over his cheek as she throws her arms around him and presses herself into his back.

“What, you being the one sneaking around?” he says, falling onto his back so she can drape herself over his bare chest.

“It’s exciting,” she says, kissing a path along his jaw and down his neck. “I don’t see why you got to have all the fun.”

“Made it worth your while, didn’t I?” She can hear him grinning as she reaches the hollow of his throat. She swipes her tongue over his skin and delights when he suppresses a grunt and grasps at her hips.

She sits herself up, letting her nightgown hitch up to her hips as she starts to rock against him.

Tom slips a hand between her thighs and smiles when he swipes his thumb over her bare cunt. “Right little whore I’ve turned you into, hmm?”

Kitty braces herself against her chest and nods, as Tom presses into her, dragging from her entrance to her pearl.

“So fucking wet,” he whispers. “All for me?”

“All for you,” she breathes as he starts to circle over her most sensitive spot. “Fuck–”

Tom places a finger to her lips as he keeps working over her. “Shh, you have to be quiet, you know that.”

She nods again, dreamily, moving her hips against him, adding and withdrawing pressure to his movements, treading the line between pleasure and longing. Until she falls apart, shuddering, pressing her lips together tightly and snatching back the one wanton whimper that sounds in her throat.

“Good girl,” Tom snarls. His hips are bucking against her and his jaw is tight. “Good fucking girl.”

She wastes no time slipping his cock free from his briefs and sinks herself down onto his length. He’s done for with only a few rolls of her hips, pulling out before he finishes and spilling himself onto her stomach.

He’s so pretty when he comes, with a silent sigh, his jaw hanging open and his nostrils flaring. Every part of his body tenses, his abs, his neck, his shoulders, as he squeezes his eyes shut tight and throws his head back against the pillows.

Another perfect moment, she thinks, bright and beautiful, and already slipping away.

He registers with the navy again, and in a few weeks he has his next assignment.

Before he leaves, Kitty insists on getting out Eddie’s camera (even though he’d kill her if he knew he went near it), and takes some photos of Vera for Tom to keep while he’s away.

She takes some of him too. They’re hardly high art– he wouldn’t stop laughing at his own snarky comments, but she manages one ‘serious’ one.

His mouth is halfway to a smirk, his smile lines apparent around his mouth, but his eyes are dark and almost sinister. He hates it but there’s nothing he can do to stop her from keeping it in the envelope of one of his letters, under her pillow for safekeeping with the rest of the pieces she has of him.

He has leave in the new year, and then he’s back in October, just over two years since he first left.

By then Lois is gone. She had come into the shop, with a letter for Tom and Kitty in the pram. She had said she was going to leave her with Robina.

“Over my dead body you are,” Kitty said before she could think it through. Mam and dad were slightly horrified when she came home early from work with baby Vera in a pram and all of her belongings in a bag.

Vera is a right little character now, a stubborn but happy girl. When Tom comes back to Longsight, he stays with the Wheelans again, and he’s utterly devoted to his niece. When Kitty’s at work, he walks into the shop with Vera in his arms to buy her a bar of Cadbury’s ration chocolate. It’s awful and bitter, but it’s the only kind Vera has known and she treats it like gold dust.

When Mr Gregory gives Kitty a few days off, she and Tom take her for walks to the park. It’s freezing, but she’s happy enough wrapped up in a coat and a woolly hat, squealing with delight when Tom picks her up and places her on his shoulders.

How remarkable are kids, that they can so easily forget about worries and fears, as long as they have something that keeps them happy.

Even with Douglas and Lois gone, she hopes Tom knows that something still remains.

Time slips away too quickly. Suddenly Tom’s in his uniform again, ditty slung over his shoulder. He takes Vera into his arms and hugs her tightly into his chest. “Be good for your aunty Kitty,” he says, “and take care of her until I get back.”

Vera nods frantically.

He says goodbye to dad like an old friend, and even mam has warmed to him a bit now. Kitty sees the way her mother looks between her and Tom, the knowing nod of her head. It’s acceptance, and she’ll take it.

“Shall we?” Tom says, taking Kitty’s hand and leading her through the door.

It’s a short walk to the bus stop, then a twenty minute ride into the city. She keeps a tight hold of Tom’s hand the entire way.

They settle in seats at the back of the bus. It’s the middle of the day, kids are in school and their parents are at work. Only a few other seats are filled.

“Thank you,” Tom says as the bus pulls away from the stop.

“For what?” Kitty says.

“For being there,” he says, “for looking out for dad when he was around, for taking care of Vera, and me.”

She wants to frown, but can’t bring herself to. “Of course,” she says, stroking her thumb over the back of his hand. “Of course.”

Tom’s been assigned to HMS Prince of Wales, docked at Scapa Flow in Scotland. His train leaves within the hour, and the moment they step off the bus onto the busy streets of Manchester, she feels herself walking slower.

Tom keeps going, letting her fall behind him slightly, but never letting go of her.

No matter how she tries to drag this out, she cannot stop time altogether and they eventually reach the train station.

She could spend an eternity in his arms, cheek to cheek, breathing along with the rise and fall of his chest.

“I want to do right by you,” Tom says.

“What do you mean?” she mutters.

They still hold each other close; she doesn’t think she could bear to look at his face.

“Once the war is over, I’ll save up my wages, get us a place of our own. It’ll just be the two of us.”

“And Vera,” she adds.

“Yeah,” he says, stroking his hand up and down her back. “I’ll get a proper job. You should do that clerical training you’ve always talked about.”

No more sneaking around. No more nights cut short when he has to leave her.

He pulls away from her, keeping his hands on her waist. “I know your parents don’t trust me and your brothers think I’m a no-good-thieving-bastard. But I love you, Kitty, and I don’t know what I’d ever do without you.”

“Once the war is over?” she says.

“As soon as.”

“Tom,” she sighs. She doesn’t want to imagine the possibility, or speak it into existence, but it’s still there. “What if you don’t come back?”

Tom smiles with a small hum. “I’ve died once before, didn’t stop me coming back to you, did it?”

Kitty believes him wholeheartedly.

Thursday 11th December, 1941

Vera’s being fussy about her nap again. No matter how much Kitty tries to hush her, rock her, or hum a few lullabies, she just won’t settle.

Eventually she tries just holding Vera close to her chest, letting the side of her little head nestle just over her heart. She stops crying almost immediately.

“How hard could it be to look after a baby?” she asked herself when she refused to let Lois leave her daughter with Robina Chase. Quite hard, as it turns out.

The peace doesn’t last for long. Mam’s shoes come clattering down the stairs, the doorbell rings and Vera starts wailing again.

“Oh come here,” mam coos, taking Vera from Kitty’s arms. “You get the door, I’ll see this one gets her nap, eh?”

Kitty takes a quick breath before she opens the door. Hearing Vera cry makes her want to cry too.

The postman stands below the front step with a telegram in his hands.

“Catherine,” he says with a polite smile, “haven’t seen you in a while.”

“Been… busy,” she says through Vera’s wails.

The postman hands her the telegram and she reads over the address: Lois Bennett, 27 Slade Grove, Longsight, Manchester, only there’s no house for it to be delivered to, and no Lois to take it.

She feels the tears start to prickle in her eyes as she waves him off, and when she shuts the door she can no longer stand. Suddenly she’s on the floor, her back against the door, unable to catch her breath as hot, stinging tears stream down her face and the telegram crumples under her fist.

She thinks maybe Vera keeps crying and mam calls her name, trying to get her to stand but she can’t. She just… can’t. A sinking feeling washes over her and keeps her pinned down, like the waves pummeling against the shore, over and over again.

If there’s a telegram addressed to Lois, it can only mean one thing.

Tom.

Monday 24th December, 1945

The bus to Longsight stops outside the shop. She lifts Vera under the arms of her little red coat, onto the pavement, and takes a mittened hand in hers as they head inside. Mr Gregory sold it a few months ago and she doesn’t know the name of the new owners.

The woman behind the counter smiles down at Vera. “Aren’t you a gorgeous little madam?” she coos.

Vera rolls her eyes. “I’m not a baby, I’m five,” she says.

Kitty smiles to herself. “Bottle of sherry and a bag of Yorkshire mix, please,” she says. She crouches down beside Vera and spots a shelf of Christmas wrapping. “Go and pick out some ribbon for the bottle,” she whispers.

She pays for their items and Vera comes back with a bright red ribbon.

“Perfect,” Kitty says, and ties it into a bow around the neck.

As they walk towards Slade Grove, Kitty picks out some red sweets for Vera and a pear drop for herself. The rest she saves for later, finding she now prefers the sweets she never used to eat.

It’s nice and warm inside number 28. A Chorus of Christmas carols plays through the wireless from the kitchen, a backdrop to the bustle of the house. Mam is in the kitchen, making her final preparations for tomorrow’s dinner. Art helps her, albeit, his version of helping is pouring out gin and tonics. Dad, Eddie, Stevie and Connie are sat around the table, engrossed in a game of cards. But everyone stops when Vera comes bounding into the room, Kitty close behind her.

They each take their turns to smother her, and it feels good. Stevie practically jumps up and down as he hugs her, Art hands her a drink and Eddie hugs her the tightest.

She manages a sip of her drink and places it on the table as she goes to greet her dad, still mulling over his hand of cards as he kisses her cheek. Then she goes to her mam, and hands her the bottle of sherry.

“I chose the bow!” Vera proclaims proudly.

“And a lovely bow it is!” mam beams, placing the bottle amongst their Christmas stash of whisky, gin and dessert wine. “I have something for you, love,” she says.

“Oh?” Kitty asks as mam disappears into the front room. She comes back with a pot of poinsettias in a red pot, thick green leaves with bursts of blood red petals and golden seeds at their hearts.

“I thought we could put them out, tonight,” mam says.

Kitty opens her mouth to thank her, but she can’t. She nods as mam places her hand on her arm.

Even months after the war has ended, meat is still scarce, especially at this time of year, but mam had saved up her rations for a beautiful joint of beef, which she presents in the centre of the table.

It’s a cheerful occasion. The boys are rowdy, dad is quizzing Connie on her latest gig with her new band, mam is fussing over Vera.

Kitty watches them all. It’s hard not to feel like a ghost, an outlier, simply observing. Sometimes she thinks the others are still too scared to talk to her, in case she bursts into tears or shatters completely. She knows she won’t though. It’s Christmas. She’s supposed to be happy, surrounded by family and people she loves.

“We’re going to see her daddy for dinner tomorrow,” Vera says, stabbing at her boiled carrots.

“What’s Christmas dinner with Robina Chase like?” Stevie asks Kitty.

Her face freezes into a terrified smile to the others’ amusement. “No, it’s fine really,” she says. “Your grandma spoils you rotten, doesn’t she missus?”

Vera nods enthusiastically.

She’s such an easy girl to love. She has bright blue eyes, plump, rosy cheeks and dark brown curls, like her mother’s, kept in pigtails. But while her face is deceptively sweet, she has an awful habit for mischief and stubbornness. Kitty doesn’t mind that though. Girls should be stubborn, she thinks.

Stevie and Connie are expecting now. Dad insists it’s going to be a boy because he saw four magpies in the garden last week. They have a modest little house a few streets away and they’ve made it nice and homely. She’s had tea there and helped Stevie set up a crib for the nursery.

After they’ve eaten, dad insists they all go to midnight mass, as he does every year, despite Kitty’s insistence that it’s much too late for Vera. Still, she puts her in a pretty blue dress and shiny black leather shoes, and makes Stevie promise he’ll be the one to carry her home.

The church is mostly shadows at night, a few candles and lamps doing their best to fight off the darkness and the cold. Vera hates it. She pulls her woolly hat over her ears, swings her legs and on three occasions asks “is he done talking yet?” She likes the hymns though, even if she doesn’t know the words, mouthing some kind of nonsense that has them all in fits of giggles.

And once it’s over, they don’t follow the path down to the street. Kitty leads the way, with the pot of poinsettias in her hands. Stevie follows behind her, carrying a sleepy Vera in his arms, curled into his chest.

She stops before the grave she first stood by seventeen years ago.

Josie Bennett

Douglas Bennett

and in loving memory of Thomas Bennett, 1919-1941

Kitty crouches down to lay the poinsettias down when Vera gives a little squeak in protest. “I want to do it!” she cries.

“Come on then, missus,” Kitty says.

Stevie lowers Vera and she rubs her tired eyes as she staggers to Kitty. She tries to take the pot but with her mittens she can’t get a good grip on it.

“Together?” Kitty asks.

“Yes please,” Vera says.

They place the flowers down together, making sure they don’t obstruct the names.

“There,” Vera says with a little huff. She reaches out and puts her hand on the stone, brushing over the names of her granny and granddad Bennett, and then she traces over the letters of Tom’s name.

Even seeing it written in stone, she doesn’t think it will ever truly sink in.

A report said Tom had been in the makeshift aid centre on the main deck of the HMS Prince of Wales, when the final bomb hit. He could have run for the lifeboats. He would have had plenty of time. But he didn’t. He died to save his injured crewmates, men who would have never seen their families again.

For all the times he told her he would come back, for the life he promised they would make together, for all the nights she clung onto hope, she wanted to hate him for throwing it away.

She knows now that she can’t hate him. She could never hate him.

Vera falls back into Kitty’s arms. She catches her and places a gentle kiss to her soft cheek. “They would have loved you, you know,” Kitty says. “They would have loved that you’re brave, and funny, and that you drive everybody round the bend.”

Vera giggles and turns around, flinging her arms around her neck. “I love you, aunty Kitty,” she says.

Kitty hugs her tightly into her chest, with that strange sort of urge to just squeeze her and squeeze her and never let her go. “I love you too,” she whispers, so Vera won’t hear the tears threatening to spill from her eyes.

Vera manages to walk down to the gate before Stevie has to carry her, and by the time they get back to the house, she’s fast asleep.

Kitty takes her in her arms and carries her up to the little box room. Connie and Stevie have the other big bedroom, and Eddie and Art are roughing it on the sofas in the lounge.

She places Vera down in the bed, as gently as she can, and takes off her shoes and coat so she won’t have to sleep in them.

It’s almost like a ritual now, but every time she finds herself in her old bedroom, she unlocks the window and brushes her fingers over the scuff mark on the windowsill.

Vera stirs slightly when she joins her, curling into Kitty when she places an arm around her. The bed is hardly big enough for the two of them, how she and Tom ever managed to fit seems somewhat miraculous.

Tom Bennett should have been hers to keep. They should have spent all their savings on a little terraced house or a flat in Manchester, squabbling over the things husbands and wives argue about and making up between the bedsheets. In the winters they would have walked home from the pub through the snow, hand in hand, and huddled for warmth at night. In the summers they would have spent their evenings in the park with a punnet of strawberries, taking the train to the coast on the weekends, to Southport or Blackpool. Maybe they would have had kids of their own. She often pictures a little girl with big blue eyes and a bright smile. They might have named her Josie, after Tom’s mother, and Vera would adore her.

There is so little left of him now, the bomb that hit the Bennett’s house ensured that well enough. She would have liked to have kept his lighter, his wristwatch, maybe some of his shirts.

Instead, she finds other ways to remember him. She reads his letters every night tracing over his terrible handwriting, the imprint of the words in the paper and his fingerprint in a smudge of ink. And she has the photo she took of him on Eddie’s camera. She keeps it framed, proudly on display on the mantle in their flat in the city.

She feels him, in the smell of grass, the flick of a lighter, the smoke from a cigarette, whispered secrets between lovers and Vera Bennett’s laugh, the way she squints her eyes and shows her teeth, just like he did.

Two decades of friendship and it wasn’t enough time. They should have known sooner, she should have knocked on his door more often and he should have spent less time getting into trouble. She should have told him to join the pacifists while it was still an option, she should have convinced him not to go away, she should have held him tighter and never, never have let him go.

In the end though, she doesn’t linger on the times they weren’t together. She remembers them being children together. She remembers the first night he climbed through her window. She remembers his warmth and his infuriating smirk. She remembers the first time they kissed and the nights they spent together, when she couldn’t tell where she ended and he began. She remembers every time he told her he loved her, and she remembers every time she said it back.

She falls asleep to Vera’s fluttering breaths, the sound of the lads and Connie in the front room and the hymns playing on the radio.

The world is cruel and cold, but through it all she finds moments like these, when the tightness in her chest is replaced by something light and hopeful.

She clings to that feeling because tomorrow she’ll wake up surrounded by her family, and Vera’s little face will light up when she sees the gifts they’ve been saving for her. Dinner with Robina Chase will be worth it for the moments Harry will get with his little girl, and in the evening she’ll come home and laugh herself silly over glasses of whisky with her brothers.

For all the grief she remembers how he loved her. She’ll keep clinging to that feeling because Tom Bennett was hers, if only just for a moment.

Disclaimer: I only skimmed through the episodes that Tom wasn’t in and don’t actually know what Lois’ deal was, so I’m taking some creative liberties here.

Tags (comment to be added to either)

General taglist: @randomdragonfires @jamespotterismydaddy @theoneeyedprince @tsujifreya

Series taglist: @hanula18 @azxulaa @whoknows333

#my fics #tom bennett #tom bennett fanfiction #tom bennett fanfic #world on fire #wof #world on fire bbc #world on fire season 2 #world on fire fanfiction #tom bennett x ofc #tom bennett x female reader #tom bennett x y/n #tom bennet x reader #ewan mitchell #tom bennett smut

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emelinstriker · 11 months

Text

Macaque ♤ No Response Pt.2

Art drawn by me + the OC is mine. c:

Macaque is making things right.

CW: topic of death ig- i mean it's hanahaki pt.2

♢ Part 1

♤ ~ Comfort ~ ♤

"Hm. That was one abrupt ending... Even with the accelerator keeping up with the schedule. But does this case qualify as being my turn or yours?"

"Their story doesn't continue in death, Reaper."

"Eh, true. Suit yourself then, man..."

-.-.-

It's been six days since your passing, and Macaque was unable to get much done... Or rather, anything at all. Your death took a giant toll on his mental health as he believed it was all his fault. It didn't help that his guilt lead him to the constant reminder that he did indeed love you. MK and his friends actually did take notice of Macaque's sudden disappearance from the face of the earth. The noodle boy tried getting in contact with him through his phone, but to no avail. Even Monkey King was on edge, unsure whether or not his sworn brother was back to his usual scheming self...

At least, that was until one of his monkeys found Macaque rather curled up on a tree branch on Flower Fruit Mountain. He was in the middle of being comforted by a group of little monkeys who noticed his sadness and came to cheer him up. Wukong decided to cautiously approach him from beneath the branches, while having a monkey on his own shoulders.

"Macaque? Are you okay up there? What are you doing here?" He asked, not noticing the other's grief. The dark-furred simian on the other hand simply glared at him before looking away again, hugging a little monkey in his arms.

"Leave me alone, Wukong... Go bother MK or whatever", Macaque responded, trying to ignore the other monkey. But of course, the Monkey King refused to give up. So he decided to join the shadow monkey up in the tree crown. After placing his monkey on the ground, he swiftly jumped up, landing nearly perfect on a branch just a bit to the side of the other demon. The branch he landed on was also a bit more elevated than the one Macaque was on. Meanwhile, the shadow monkey merely glanced in his direction once he landed before looking back towards the little monkey in his arms.

Monkey King made himself comfortable as he sat down. "What's wrong, bud? You've been awfully quiet this week. Did something happen? You know, you can talk to me", he offered. However, the only response he got in return was a grunt. The orange-furred simian's frown deepened.

"Macaque..."

The shadow monkey sighed, "...Ugh. Fine. I'll tell you." He gently scratched the top of the small monkey's head before eyeing the Monkey King sitting on the higher branch. "Someone very close to me passed away. There. Are you happy now?" He hissed out, glaring once more.

Wukong was shocked. But knowing the pain and grief of losing a mortal friend, he absolutely understood how Macaque felt. Though, he didn't even know his brother had anyone else close to him...

Not knowing how to approach this topic without upsetting him further, he decided to silently comfort him. Carefully hopping onto the branch Macaque was sitting on, he sat down right next to him. He then proceeded to pull the shadow monkey close to him while loosely wrapping his tail around the other's.

"I'm sorry... I... didn't know you had someone else close to you, besides MK", he said softly.

Despite not being able to see his expression from his position, he could clearly feel Macaque's body and tail stiffen up for a moment. However, he slowly started to relax again, eventually leaning into his brother's comforting hold while his tail gave his brother's tail a light squeeze. He didn't think he needed this, but he did.

"...Thanks."

While Macaque was still mourning, he did somewhat start to get better with Monkey King's help. Wukong tried to be there for him as much as he could while also giving him space to breathe and think. He did tell his successor about the situation and basically told his friends not to upset the other monkey. The group was actually very understanding and made sure he didn't feel uncomfortable around them.

At least he was able to move around more without feeling guilty... right?

Well, that was until he one night was woken up in a tree by the presence of a cloaked entity... The aura they gave off sent shivers down his spine. They did not touch him. They did not speak. They just... stared up at him from beneath the branches. What seemed to be a red fox mask with a veil in the back hid away their features.

He sat up, alerted by the fact they even managed to roam Flower Fruit Mountain undetected. "Who are you? What are you doing here?"

The cloaked entity began to move their arm. out of the darkness of the fabric, revealing a clawed hand that was shades darker than their black cloak. They were holding what seemed to be a high-tech watch. The entity had a somewhat corrupted male voice.

"Oracle. I am here to give you this", 'he' responded before throwing the item up into the tree. The shadow monkey caught it, even if only out of reflex. He glanced at it, not understanding why 'he' would need to give him a watch. "It has a one-time use. Be mindful, Liu-Er Mihou."

Macaque's back straightened at the mention of his name. But when he looked back at the stranger... 'he' was gone.

...Well, if this wasn't the most suspiciously cryptic encounter he's had in years.

He decided to take a closer look at the watch to at least find a reason as to why it was given to him... And he found his answer right away once he figured out how to turn it on. The small screen displayed the logo of what he assumed was the manufacturer before it changed to it saying "Go back to what once was. Change date and time to destination. No return." Then it proceeded to display a field to insert a date and a field to insert a time.

Sure, it could just be asking for him to insert the current date and time like how one would set a normal watch... But the fact that it mentioned a destination as well as telling him to go back to what once was... It seemed like a risky opportunity. Perhaps the entity was a time god from the Celestial Realm who knew about his struggles?

That gave him an idea.

If this watch was an actual way of time travel, he could go back and fix so many mistakes he made. He could even change past events... Like Sun Wukong killing him... He could avoid dying! He could avoid becoming the Lady Bone Demon's pawn! He could-

His heart sank in his chest as an image of you smiling flashed before his eyes.

...No.

If he changed time before ever meeting you, he probably would've never met you in the first place. And that knowledge would only eat away at his conscience further... The dark-furred simian's eyes glanced up at the moonlight sneaking in past the leaves in thought.

...He'll do it.

Macaque wrapped the watch around his wrist. When he inserted the date of your death, he began to strategize. If he never sends the message, he would not have to tell you about ever having a date planned. He could mend your relationship with him. After double-checking the time he sent the meeting message on his phone, he decided to remove an extra ten minutes to make sure he wasn't in the middle of typing it out. Macaque took a deep breath, mentally praying to whatever god was in charge of the flow of time that nothing goes wrong, before ultimately selecting 'OK'.

"Loading... Initiating time warp", the watch read.

He closed his eyes, preparing himself for whatever was going to happen next...

He was hit with a strong, yet rather warm breeze...

...

Beep-Beep

...

...It just went off?

"Huh?" Confused, he opened his eyes... And was actually surprised that the sun was now in the sky. Did the watch only skip to the morning?

But that's when he noticed, the sun wasn't rising. It was actually setting.

He checked his phone and-

...It worked.

And as that realization kicked in, he noticed how the watch suddenly turned to some form of black slime before becoming solid and being blown away by the wind like ash. He couldn't help but narrow his eyebrows in disgust at the feeling on his wrist, flailing it around to try get any other slime off.

Wait, shit- He was under the assumption that he would end up in the same spot as he was when he was about to text you. Now panicked, he quickly used a shadow portal to return to Megapolis, going straight for your apartment.

Luckily it didn't take long for him to arrive at your front door. He took a deep breath, relieved that he can still change your future. However, he wasn't quite certain who the person was you were in love with. After all, usually Hanahaki would take between days to months to fully develop. So while there was a chance you were in love with him and died after realizing he was going on a date, there was also a chance that you were interested in someone else and the timing was just awful. He would have to test some things to confirm anything. Because let's face it, he knew you well enough to know that you would try weasel your way out of the conversation if he brought it up.

Macaque looked down at his phone and noticed a new message. But it wasn't from you. It was from the person he was supposed to go on a date with later that day. Ah, right, they did text him before that.

'hi handsome can you come over for a sec before the date? <3'

'i need your raw strength rq <3'

He looked at the messages in disgust, remembering how they asked him to come over to move furniture for them right before his meetup with you. Though, he knew what to text back this time. 'You can move that furniture yourself. Got no interest in dating you either', he texted back before searching for the block button. But before he pressed it, he got one last message.

'what. WHY??? and how did you know??????'

Blocked.

Feeling like a heavy burden was lifted off his chest, he felt confident enough to see you again. So, he knocked on your door.

"I'll be right there!" The voice he missed so much called out from inside. The door finally opened to reveal you in your casual wear. You gave him a surprised look. "Oh! I didn't expect you to stop by todaaaayy..." You trailed off as you looked at his expression. Macaque just... looked at you in awe. He couldn't believe you were here, in front of him, alive and well. His staring confused you. "Uh... Earth to Mac-Mac, are you there?" You said as you waved your hand in front of his face, bringing him back to reality.

"Oh- Sorry", he responded as he gently pushed your hand away. "I was in the area and just wanted to do a surprise visit." Your mouth formed an 'o' before you stepped aside with a welcoming smile.

"Wanna hang out and watch a show then?"

Gladly taking you up on the offer, the shadow monkey entered your home, taking a deep breath as he appreciated being able to take in your scent again. While he took up his usual spot on the couch, you pulled out some chips from your snack cabinet, accompanied by a bowl. "Sorry, I don't have any plum-flavored snacks at the moment. I hope the basic snacks are good enough", you told him as you filled up the bowl with your chips.

Macaque nodded with a grin, "It's alright. I'm fine with anything you give me."

You blinked at him, surprised. "I thought you were picky about your flavors?"

He let out a small nervous chuckle before replying, "I just had a change of heart, is all. Been trying to test more stuff recently." You hummed before sitting down next to him, leaving some space between you two. This was actually how you two would usually sit. However, the dark-furred simian was craving for your warming touch after having felt the cold of your corpse. He scooted closer to you, but his movements were seemingly undetected as you were busy looking for something to watch on your TV... That was until his thigh made contact with yours.

Confused, your gaze trailed from his thigh to his eyes. He simply stared at you with what looked like a fond smile while his tail positioned itself around your waist, almost like an arm. You raised an eyebrow at him. While you didn't exactly mind the attention your crush-friend was giving you, you did find his sudden change in behavior... strange. After all, he was acting a lot more different last time you hung out with him.

"...Okay, spill it. What happened that makes you act this... affectionate today? Are you the real Six-Eared Macaque? Am I dreaming?"

"If you're dreaming then I'm truly flattered that you would dream about me, sugarplum. Buuut, this isn't a dream", he replied as he crossed his arms. "Am I not allowed to appreciate being here with my favorite mortal?"

You blushed at his words before looking down at your lap in embarrassment... This was the first time he called you sugarplum- Or any pet name in general. "Did you just call me sugarplum?" And considering he loved plums, it just made you question things.

Macaque's tail somewhat stiffened up, indicating he was a little nervous all of a sudden. "Oh- Uh- Do you... not like it? I-I can just call you by your name again if-" "Mac-Mac. I... kinda like it", you cut him off with a shy smile. He returned it with a fanged grin of his own.

"So...", you trailed off as you picked a show you both binged together before. "Anything you got planned for later?"

Well, since he basically cancelled his supposed-to-be date...

He scoffed, "Obviously not. I'd rather spend the evening with you, sugarplum." The shadow monkey started to lean against you, making his tail sneak a little further around your waist. You decided to give into the urge of giving him a sudden hug at his affection. However, you pulled away rather quickly since you knew he wasn't really into people touching him out of nowhere. But before you could fully pull away and apologize, he pulled you right back into his chest, this time with his arms around your frame.

"...Thanks for not leaving me this time", he said softly as he nuzzled your head. You were about to ask what the hell he was talking about, when he added, "...I didn't even get to tell you how much I love you..."

Pause.

Did he... Did the Six-Eared Macaque just confess to you-? Did your crush-friend just return your feelings??

...But why did he sound so sad then?

You turned your head a bit upward to look at his face only to see that he was actually crying, but with a soft smile. Concerned, you placed your hand on his cheek. "Mac-Mac... Are you okay?"

He huffed at the irony of his visit's reasons before wiping away his tears with his sleeve, then placing his own hand on yours. "...Yeah, never been better."

Though, he was not expecting the sudden kiss on the cheek you gave him. Shocked, he stared at you with wide eyes. You pulled away as your own face started to heat up from embarrassment... This one reaction of yours was all the evidence he needed to be sure of how to avoid your Hanahaki. "Eeeeeehhh... S-Sorry- I-I thought it would help like healing a wound-" That's when the demon returned the favor by placing his hand behind your head, pulling you closer before kissing your forehead.

"Well, it did help... And your heartbeat is going crazy right now. I'm guessing the feeling's mutual?" You gave him a bright smile as you nodded. Happy with your response, Macaque wrapped his arms around you once more, this time with you hugging you back.

"I won't make the same mistake again... I love you, sugarplum..."

> Masterlist <

#lmk x reader #macaque x reader #six eared macaque #lego monkie kid #lmk macaque #lmk macaque x reader #hurt/comfort #comfort #six eared macaque x reader #liu er mihou #macaque fanart #six eared macaque fanart #lmk fanart #divine obelisk #divineobelisk

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floralifetime · 1 year

Text

Toruk Makto’s Sister

Warning: very bad writing, maybe some gramatical error (English is not my first language, so please be gentle), angst, death of a major charapter, grief, bad words.

Next Chapter

⚠️⚠️The sentence is not mine, credits go to the author⚠️⚠️

Chapter n.1 Goodbye Tommy, I love you.

"The pain suffered at your death is the price for having loved you so much in life"

I still can't believe it happened, Tommy my beloved older brother, is dead. He was treacherously killed by a thief who tried to steal his wallet, given my career in the military I shouldn't be so hurt by someone leaving, I mean, death happens every day from various causes, not all natural, but it's also true that you never really worry about something like this until it affects your loved ones. We were three, now we are only two. Too bad Jakey is on Earth, while I'm on Pandora, not exactly around the corner and so I find myself alone. "Y/N are you here? Can we come in?"

No, not really alone, there's my best friend Trudy and my pseudo-mentor, Grace. Yet since Tommy was killed I find it hard to even think about them, I love them both very much but I feel alienated, as if I see everything and everyone as a mere spectator, as if I don't really live. I hear the sound of the door opening and footsteps approaching my bunk, probably knowing me they didn't wait for permission. "Aww Y/N, it's terrible to lose a brother like this. I know." Trudy's voice acts as a switch and in an instant the blockage of my throat melts allowing me to cry all the tears I was trying to hold back to show myself strong in front of the others, to avoid their looks of compassion, their pity. I don't like to be pitied, both here in Pandora base and on Earth, it's just not for me, I've always wanted to be like my two brothers, my role models, my heroes, I think almost all younger sisters have this idea of their brothers, and I had mine. Tommy and Jake are my life and so are Trudy and Grace, I would give my life for them and here I am, mourning the death of someone I love so much and couldn't save. I who have always taken care of their wounds, be they physical or emotional, who have kept their confidences, who have brightened their days and lightened the weights on their shoulders, if they had any. I did everything I could to protect my brother after his injury and I only came here when I was sure Jakey would be okay, because that's how I've always wanted to do, who I've always wanted to be, who cares about those who love and who sacrifice themselves for them, desiring their happiness. And now what do I have left? Tommy's gone, treacherously killed by a bastard that if I ever find him, his life will be over. I should have helped him, I should have been there with him because I could defend myself with a respectable military career behind me. I should have been there, he died alone and even if I couldn't save him, at least I would have comforted him in his last moments and I didn't do that either. My screams, screams and moans fill the room and I only realize it when I notice Grace has buried her head between her shoulders, trying not to hear my cries of pain, I wish I could help but it's so much difficult. "I know it's not easy Y/N, and you're sick, I understand, but we need you." Grace's voice is calm and bordering on insensitive, the opposite of the storm of anger and pain that surges through me when I usually appreciate Grace's calmness, this time it drives me into a rage. This scares me, it's not like me to think so badly of Grace, this isn't me… Pain transforms you when it overwhelms you I suppose. I frown and start to argue, but Trudy is faster than me. "Don't you think losing a brother like this is hard enough in itself, without constantly reminding her of what is expected of her!?" Trudy is annoyed by Grace's rush to resume her studies and research, I know deep down that Grace doesn't want to be mean, but now is not the time. I need some time to process the pain, the mourning, but unfortunately I don't have this advantage, I don't have this time. "I'm sorry Grace, I don't think I'm in a position to resume my studies, my research or whatever you have in mind, I'm sorry." Trudy nods, running a hand down my back, while Grace just looks at me. "I didn't think someone with your career could have such a meltdown" Trudy hits the scientist, I don't even have the strength to do it anymore, I'm usually stronger than that, yet Tom's death drained me. "This was bad Grace you know Y/N is proud of her career and for good reason." I served in the military with Jakey as a sniper, then he was recognized as a perfect fit for the Avatar program due to my adaptable nature and my abilities outside strictly the sniper field due to my endless curiosity about everything, I love to read and inform me . I'm in Pandora training because, as a "prize of honor" during a particularly dangerous operation, I was given the opportunity to conduct training directly at Pandora's base. At first I was reluctant, I didn't want to separate from my brothers, I accepted only because Tommy threatened me that if I didn't do it he would be ashamed of me for the rest of his life. Ironic, huh? He didn't have long to live, apparently. I've been here ever since and only had a break when I learned of Jakey's injury, then I returned to Earth and then returned to the Avatar program when I had confirmation that my brother was handling himself, not a second ago. I ignored the health problems I might experience during these various planet-to-planet journeys, I didn't care what might happen to me, as long as Jakey knew he was loved and had someone by his side to help him, I would pay any price to help my brother and I would do it again, I have not regretted it and I never will. Only Grace and Trudy know that I have actually had various health problems that could have slowed my training were it not for my intelligence and willpower, Grace's words. "I know, and I also know you're right to be proud of yourself, I mean I didn't expect subjects accustomed to death to feel its effects so violently." I sighed, not looking into her eyes "What you're saying doesn't make sense, Grace. This is different and you know it too!" I answer. "What would be different, Y/N?" she replies her. "That he was and is my brother, maybe? It doesn't matter that I'm in the military, it doesn't mean a thing, when you lose someone dear, it really affects you despite the career you've decided to pursue. And you also know the reasons that prompted me towards a military career." Initially my career was to focus on the medical side of the military, which leaned more towards my personality, then after an attack that killed everyone but me, miraculously saved by the beams that protected me as the building I was in collapsed, I decided to totally change course and engage in combat, in some form. Grace raises an eyebrow and nods. "I guess what you're saying makes sense, Y/N. I'm sorry, maybe I should have paid more attention." "I definitely agree with you, Grace!" Trudy throws daggers at her with a look, even though I love them, I can't stand their fights right now. "Girls, I'm sorry but if you have to fight, please get out, I... I really don't have the strength, forgive me." Trudy and Grace look at me, my favorite thing about them is that they don't show pity, no compassion, they certainly feel it because they don't have stones for hearts, but they are discreet enough not to throw it in my face, which calms me down. They both just nod, while Trudy smiles sweetly, saying, "We're here for you, no matter what we say to each other, we're always here for you." Grace continues to nod at her words. "What did I do wrong? Why did Tommy die?! What did I do wrong, what did he do wrong to deserve this!? He wasn't a bad person, why kill him!?" I cry out of control, I feel like I will soon lose the calm in my voice. "He IS a bloody poor man, that's why he took him away from you." Trudy runs her hands down my back, trying to comfort me, to coax me into a calm that I don't have. "F-For what? For scraps of paper in the wallet?! Is it possible that printed paper is worth more than one life?!" I answer in kind, despite the choked voice that I find myself, the dry throat that itches as if I had swallowed a cactus whole. "Those pieces of paper have been making the world go round since they were invented Y/N, I know you're smarter than that, it's just the pain that speaks for you." Trudy rolls her eyes at Grace's apparent insensitivity, but she's like that, she's a scientist, she's normal to be skeptical and rational in every situation, "I don't think she would want to see you suffer so much, you know your brother loved your smile." Trudy speaks again as she takes my face and wipes my tears, delicate for her. "Trudy… Why did he die? I should have been there, what did I do wrong?" the doubt of having done something wrong, of being absent when I should have been present eats me up. "You didn't do anything wrong, you couldn't know it, he died because some motherfucker thought the card was worth more than your brother's life, but he never really quit T/N, he'll always stay." My favorite driver has been trying to sound reassuring, but he doesn't seem to be reassuring enough to calm me down. The strangled, moaning sound I make is unsettling, I don't even recognize it as my own voice, but that's the least of my problems as I finally wrap my arms around Trudy's neck, continuing to cry into her arms until I fall over I didn't even realize I was completely unconscious.

Tommy was cremated but I didn't even get to see him, just as I can't see Jakey until he comes here because another trip would compromise my health too much, already affected by the various trips previously made both by the fact that you have to be totally fit to deal with shifts like that, and I'm not. Adding insult to injury, I'm sure it will take longer to heal from the pain for this, if I could have seen him one last time I'm sure I could have healed sooner. I think it's cruel of life not to be able to see my brother one last time before he is finally cremated, Tommy has been destroyed and here I am, helpless, watching and not being able to do anything for him or for Jakey, it's like pour salt on an open wound.

It's torture and every time I think about it, I burst into uncontrolled crying and I have to stop whatever I'm doing, because the tears come down so copious that I'm blind, I cry so much that it seems impossible to stop, I only succeed when I have no more tears . It's suffocating, during the night I dream of our memories, during the day everything I do reminds me of him, everything I see in photos or read in books to complete my training makes me think of him and how much he loved to read and study with me, that intelligent glint in his eye every time he told me something he had read and learned, he had this amazing ability to draw you in and make you love whatever topic he was on, no matter what. I envied him for that, and I can't help but smile when I think back to our lessons together, when he corrected me with a demanding but gentle tone and a tug of hair. In everything I do I see him again and now more than ever I realize I look so much like him, I've never paid much attention to this aspect, I mean, I always had him in front of me I didn't need to think about these similarities, but now that I don't there is more these similarities haunt me as if they were ghosts. It's suffocating but the pain must be experienced completely and deeply to be truly overcome.

Despite everything I've resumed working next to Grace and spending a lot of my free time next to Trudy and her flying jewels, they distract me and help me, I thank them for their more or less visible but always present support. The pain of Tommy's disappearance is still there but I live with it, I have to live with it. Tommy won't come back, a thief took him away from me but he won't be able to steal my photos and memories, I keep them stored in a special casket, my heart, where they will remain as long as I live, safe.

Someone mentioned my brother Jakey coming here to Pandora to replace Tommy, I already knew about it and can't wait to see him, I miss him dearly, but I also wish I could see him again in better circumstances than these, Tommy's death is not the happiest reason to see Jakey again but maybe it's better than nothing because the letters we managed to exchange, with so much effort considering where we both are, weren't enough and still aren't enough.

So this was the first chapter, this is my first time writing to publish something, so please be kind.

@avatarbyamara I promised you, sorry if it's a bit slow but otherwise the first chapter would have been TOO long.

#tsu'tey x reader #Tsu'tey #Avatar #jake sully x sister reader

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wangxianficfinder · 1 year

Text

In the mood for a Fic...

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1. hiiiii i hope all of you are having a wonderful dayyy! for the next itmf, could i request any modern zombie apocalypse fics? I just read The Edge of Night by Hobbsy3 and now i’m craving more 😅could wangxian be the main pairing and no character deaths between them? thank youuuu ♡

❤️ A Corpse Called By Name by jaemyun (Not rated, 60k, wangxian, angst w/ happy ending, zombie apocalypse, zombie WWX, yunmeng trio)

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2. do you know any wangxian fics where Lan Xichen is also in love with Wei Wuxian? NOT WWX/LZ/LX, just where Xichen also falls for WWX

Melody of the Lost and Found by esama (T, 48k, WIP, XiXian, WangXian, Time Travel, Canon Divergence, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Grief/Mourning, YLLZ WWX, There are two WWXs in this)

Is this a Shakespearean Comedy, because I'm in love with the wrong person by firesonic152 (E, 7k, WangXian, Arranged Marriage, Adultery, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Divergence, Sneaking Around, Requited Love, Mutual Pining, Explicit Sexual Content, Bittersweet Ending)

Burning Bridges by Keysmashed (E, 12k, wangxian, arranged marriage, misunderstandings, pining, angst w/ happy ending, family drama, swordfighting, non-graphic smut, emotional rollercoaster, love confessions, everyone lives au)

Over and Over Again by Miss_Writers_Block (T, 1k, WangXian, WWX/Everyone, Everyone Loves WWX, Unrequited Love, except for one, and its the obvious one, Canon Compliant) there is this classic!

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3. Hello there, I was wondering if there was any fanfiction [regardless of the website] about time travel to the past wei wuxian , but when he goes back the past mdzs has to deal with his depressing or suicidal side (here I mean wei wuxian becomes younger) , or yiling laozu time travel and meets his past self and family

How did I end up with this Frozen Heart? by Grace_ShadowWolf (TaubeLePigeon) (T, 53k, WIP, WangXian, Time Travel, Fix-It, PTSD, Angst with a Happy Ending, YP!WWX, twin prides of yunmeng are horrified at the relationship between their future selves, YP!WWX has short hair, Canon Divergence, Self-Indulgent, wangxian get together early, Songfic, JC Bashing, LXC Bashing)

The Wild Geese's Tomb by The Feels Whale (miscellea) (T, 66k, WangXian, Time Travel AU, fixit, Temporary Character Death)

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4. Hi! "In the mood" ask...I was wondering if anyone knows of any fics where someone (I was thinking Lan Qiren but it doesn't have to be) starts having suspicions that Lan Wangji is "following in his father's footsteps" and that Wei Wuxian isn't a willing partner in their relationship - a wrong assumption, but I'd like to see people opposing LWJ to be protective on WWX's behalf! @therealscarymarlowe

Every Mother's Son by Chrononautical (T, 11k, WangXian, Madam Lán Lives, Madam Lán Deserves Better, Madam Lán Leaves Cloud Recesses, mentions of rape/non-con between Madam Lan & Qingheng-Jun) the former Madam Lan returns to 'rescue' WWX

Unbreakable Heaven, Luminous Earth by carolyncaves (M, 96k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Secret Identity, almost to the point of uncomfortable identity theft, Sharing a Bed, Literal Sleeping Together, Mutual Pining, Getting Together, Suicidal Thoughts, that's for WWX after Nightless City and is not pervasive throughout the fic, Blood and Injury, Hurt/Comfort, Caretaking, Sexual Content, Domestic Fluff, Angst with a Happy Ending, Power Imbalance, mainly between WWX and JGY in an entirely nonsexual manner, oh jyl lives, Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies)

Hold Truth to the Light by SoManyJacks (E, 15k, WangXian, Light Angst, Fluff, idiot plot kind of, switch!lwj, service top!wwx, Accusations of rape, False Accusations, nasty rumors, Alcohol, arranged marriage sideplot, Painful Sex, Anal Sex, POV Alternating, Light Dom/sub, Post-Canon, Based on the novel, Flip Fuck, gratuitous epilogues, uhhh also donkey)

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5. Hii! I hope you are doing well, and Mod Kay, i hope you have a swift recovery!! So, I recently read a fic with wen xu being a decent guy and i was wondering if you had anymore fics where the wen sons aren't complete assholes and actually bond with wwx?? Thank you in advance!!! @flexible-racoon

All Things Belong by kuroi_atropos (M, 64k, WIP, WRH & WWX, WangXian, WWX is a Wēn, Abuse, Whipping, Manipulations, Warning: WRH, Smart WWX, Possessive Behavior, Warning: JGS, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Past Rape/Non-con)

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6. Hi!!!! Any recommendations about wwx adopting a puppy/dog or wwx overcoming his phobia about dogs??? Thank you so much

Imprints by Lisa_Telramor (G, 47k, wangxian, post-canon, accidental puppy acquisition, humor, panic attacks, phobia recovery, JC & WWX reconciliation, poor life choices, self acceptance, developing relationship, fluff)

🧡 Rabbit Heart by Suaine (M, 56k, WangXian, during the separation in ep50, some animal cruelty (not committed by main characters), WWX adopts a puppy (YES I KNOW), Family Issues, Sexual Content)

I'm Alright 'Cuz I Have You Here With Me by wwx-lwj-ai-ni (TDKeh16) (T, 17k, WangXian, Modern AU, WWX Has a Fear of Dogs, Friends to Lovers, Domestic Fluff, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Facing Fears, Supportive Friendship, Mention of childhood dog attack, Pining LWJ, Oblivious WWX, Sharing a Bed)

Must Love Dogs by northebee, wingedwords (T, 17k, WangXian, Modern AU, Fluff, Humor, Light Angst, WWX Has a Fear of Dogs, Panic Attack, Hurt/Comfort)

Silver bells and cockle shells by teawater (T, 97k, WangXian, Family Fluff, JC's Birthday party, Reincarnations, Pets, Facing Fears, One-sided attraction, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Night Hunts, some actual Angst, I really mean it, mainly for side charas tho)

leave all your love and your longing behind by ScarlettStorm (E, 143k, WangXian, Modern AU, no magic, Meet-Ugly, Panic Attacks, autistic lwj, neurodivergent wwx, the neighborhood asshole dog, if you’ve met one then you know, Hurt/Comfort, Pining, Minor Angst, major shenanigans, Happy Ending, for everyone including the asshole dog, Eventual Smut, switch rights, Sex Toys, horny yearning, Masturbation)

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7. Do you have a list of stories with ‘modern/present’ Wei Wuxian and ‘ancient/xianxia’ Lan Wangji?

It doesn’t particularly matter if Lan Wangji meets present day Wei Wuxian thanks to being immortal, suspended animation, time travel, dimension hopping, or something else. It’s just the clash of modern and ‘ancient’ sensibilities that makes it fun. I’m delighted every time I come across one!

(I’m not really sure what I would search for to find more of that sort of story myself, since the mechanism of their meeting has been so different each time I’ve found one). @ladysunami

take me back to a time by DizziDreams (T, 143k, WangXian, Modern AU, College/University, Modern with Magic, Time Travel, Sharing a Bed, Angst with a Happy Ending, Student!WWX, Time-Traveling Wizard!LWJ, Slow Burn, Character Death, Angstreference to abuse, Canonical Character Death, Canonical Abuse, Canon!LWJ, Canon-Typical Violence, Mutual Pining, Chronic Illness, Not A Fix-It, Case Fic, implied 3zun, Transmigration, America, [Podfic of] take me back to a time by dreamhazer)

The Life Cycle of the Frog and the Fish by Aerlalaith (T, 53k, WangXian, Reincarnation, Fairy Tale Elements, Fairy Tale Retellings, Sort Of, Reincarnation, Mystery, Fluff and Angst, Humor, Illnesses Curses, References to Illness, Modern with Magic)

Wrong Turn, Right Place by diamondbruise (E, 71k, WangXian, Time Travel, kind of, modern wwx, cultivator lwj, Mutual Pining, Angst with a Happy Ending, Jealousy, Idiots in Love, Slow Burn, Misunderstandings, Cultural Differences, Miscommunication, LWJ Has a Big Dick, Anal Sex)

an impromptu visit to the city by bosbie (T, 12k, WangXian, Modern AU, Canon Divergence, Time Travel, Fluff, Humor, First Meetings, Falling In Love, Getting Together)

That Nasty Wei Wuxian by Avescor (T, 38k, WangXian, Modern AU, Time Travel, shirtless lwj, Chaotic WWX, Disaster friend JC, Character Development, Pre-Relationship, Adorable teenage cultivators, WWX messes with Cloud Recesses, Unreliable Narrator, chaotic evil WWX, Smoll WWX, trying to cope LWJ, Life lessons from an internet troll)

the song remains the same by la_muerta (T, 4k, WangXian, Reincarnation, Post CQL-canon, Angst with a Happy Ending)

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8. itmf lwj breaks down crying in front of wwx, bonus point if we get to know wwx's reaction towards seeing the usually-stoic lwj suddenly showing so much emotion

Regrets by antebunny (G, 37k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Miscommunication, Misunderstandings, Time Travel, Fix-It, Temporary Character Death, Angst, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Explicit Descriptions of Love, and other squishy feeling, Angst with a Happy Ending) maybe regrets by antebunny, towards the end lwj cries and they confess😊

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9. Hi for itmf are there any fics that takes place after Wangxian marry and while on a night wwx gets hurt badly and this leads to jc and wwx reconcile with Lwj taking care of wwx

Thanks! @elainaparker

can people untie themselves, uncurling like flowers by annemari (T, 19k, JC & WWX, WangXian, Post-Canon, Yunmeng Bros Reconciliation, Family, Hugs, Hurt/Comfort, Getting Together)

some good mistakes by Lise (T, 18k, WangXian, JC & WWX, JC & LWJ, Road Trips, (terrible road trips), Post-Canon, Rescue Missions, Hurt/Comfort, ish, Awkward Conversations, POV JC, JC & WWX Reconciliation, (ish they're working on it)

Hindsight by Unicornelia96 (M, 15k, JC & WWX, WangXian, Hurt/Comfort, Yunmeng Bros Reconciliation, WWX Has Self-Esteem Issues, POV WWX, Hurt WWX, Burial Mounds, reference to possible cannibalism, Cannibalism, Major Character Injury, Serious Injuries, Angst with a Happy Ending, ish)

Although I'm not sure if any of my recs for 9 are specifically after they married. Pretty sure they're from before, but still post-canon

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10. Can u pls refer fics which are similar to divulgences by ataraxistence

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11. For the next ITMF do you have any fic where both LWJ and WWX died and are brought back to life? Bonus points if their families feel guilty about what happened

The Young Masters of Four Seasons Manor by gaotamao (G, 91k, WangXian, WenZhou, YeRong, Time Regression fix-it, WKX raises monstrous sons, Not Jiang Sect Friendly, No Golden Core Transfer) but without the bonus point op mentioned

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12. hii! im itmf fics where wangxian kinda know the other likes them before Officially Getting Together, like in canon, or similarly if it's more of a gradual falling together than a big shocking confession. thank you!!

❤️ I Started From the Bottom/And Now I’m Rich by x_los (E, 58k, wangxian, incidental and hilarious wwx/others that only result in death not anything sexual) it is a crack fic kinda, with wwx time travel. But wwx acknowledges mentally their romantic tension and the potential for something, before a wangxian typical confession occurs

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13. I was wondering is there any fics where after getting told off by lwj to not pester him anymore wwx does exactly that and stops paying him so much attention but it bothers lwj for some reason and he doesn't. like. that. at all.

Twitter threadfic by @/Cosmicmilktea

The Taste Of Cherry by chiyukimei (E, 6k, WangXian, Cherry Magic AU, Not JC Friendly, Lots of kissing, Cloud Recesses Study Arc, Soft LQR) has a brief (very brief) moment like that

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14. Hi i m in the mood for a fic for social media aus specially those that has those fake posts or smthing but any works thanks!

Gremlin BF twitter thread by nyanxian this one is one twt, but one of my faves (Podfic: Gremlin Twitter Boyfriend by bluegeekEM, cantarina, duckgirlie, EosRose, exmanhater, fleurrochard, GoLBCollabs (GodOfLaundryBaskets), Gondolinpod (Gondolin), isweedan, knight_tracer, nyanxian, Opalsong, RevolutionaryJo, Rhea314 (Rhea), Rindle, sisi_rambles, Syr, Vorvayne_reads (Vorvayne))

My mom says I can marry whoever I want, and I want to marry this random guy I met on tumblr by Admiranda, miixz (T, 45k, WangXian, WN/OFC, MM/MM's Husband, Modern AU, Social Media, Chatting & Messaging, Texting, Getting to Know Each Other, Getting Together, Falling In Love, Fluff, Female WN, Internet Fights, Implied Reincarnation, modern au with cultivation, not the jc friendliest because of our fandom opinions but he's not really here)

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15. Yoooooo!!! Love you all, thankful for all the hard work you do for us fans! I don't know if this is ITMF or a compilation-related but I noticed the last time-travel compilation (part 3) is from over a year ago. Have any new time travel fic hit the charts over the past 12+ months? 😁 @kimboo-york

Never Again by Hauntcats (T, 67k, WangXian, WQ & WN & WWX, Canon Divergence, Angst, Golden Core Transfer Fix-It, Time Travel Fix-it, Not JC Friendly, Dark, BAMF WWX, mentions of abuse, Canon JC traits, Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies, Cw for character death)

❤️ the thing with feathers by RoseThorne (G, 43k, wangxian, Transmigration, Time Travel Fix-It, Illnesses, Family, Scars, Memory Loss, Angst, Fear, Recovery, Sharing a Bed, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Good Parent YZY, Referenced Sexual Slavery, Blood and Gore, Sexual Tension, Arranged Marriage, Grief, Adoption, POV Third Person, POV Alternating, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Good Parent LQR, Clairvoyance, Butterfly Effect)

The blame game by apathyinreverie (T, 13k, wangxian, time travel fix-it, possessive LWJ, oblivious WWX, fluff, romance, golden core reveal, golden core fix-it)

Here With Me by iamwish (T, 58k, WangXian, Time Travel Fix-It, Canon-Typical Violence, Period-Typical Homophobia, Bad Parent YZY, POV WWX, POV LWJ, POV JC, Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies, WWX Has PTSD, and also depression sometimes, Unreliable Narrator)

Lessons relearned by Iamnotawriter (T, 44k, WangXian, LQR & WWX, Not Madam Yu Friendly, Time Travel Fix-It, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Inventor WWX, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, No Golden Core Transfer, YZY Bashing)

Pocketful of Soul by Jenrose (T, 182k, WangXian, Time Travel Fix-It, Canon Divergence, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, BAMF MXY, MXY Lives, Genderfluid MXY, MXY Backstory, POV MXY, If At First You Don’t Succeed Try Try Again and Again and Again, Wangxian Speedrun, times three because time travel, Found Family, Genius MXY, Genius WWX, Not particularly JGY friendly, CQL-based)

Ad Oblivione by Baph, HikariNoHimeWriter (M, 70k, WangXian, Time Travel Fix-It, Temporary Character Death, Canon-Typical Violence, POV Multiple, Hurt/Comfort, Grief/Mourning, Identity Reveal, Golden Core Reveal, Cultivation World Critical, Not JC Friendly, Abusive YZY, Angst with a Happy Ending)

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16. ITMF Wei Ying raising jin ling canon divergence/ canonverse/ alternate Universe. All will do @whateverweilanlovechild

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17. Hi!!! I hope you all doing well! I just wanna ask for a recommendations (if there is one) about Lan elders forcing LWJ to take in someone (a girl) to atleast bear his child (it doesn’t matter to them if LWJ is married to WWX as long as lwj bears an heir). Thank you so much for your hardwork!

The light of you will stay by orphan_account (M, 74k, WangXian, LWJ/OFC, Arranged Marriage, Arranged Marriage between LWJ and Fem!OC, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt, Canonical Character Death, Angst with a Happy Ending, Angst, Wangxian is endgame, the consumation of the marriage is mentioned, there is no explicit het sex here, Implied Het Sex, because pregnancy)

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If you didn’t get an answer to your ask here, don’t forget to make use of @mdzs-kinkmeme and MDZS KINK MEME on Dreamwidth. Authors actually do use them for ideas. You may get what you order!***Your prompt doesn’t have to be kink! Fluff, crack, whatever - it’s all good!***

#wangxian #mdzs #wangxian fic recs #i'm in the mood for a fic #the untamed #wangxian fic search #wangxianficfinder #long post

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