There's still a bit of time left in February, right?
Chasing Down a Daydream ‐ Febuwhump 2026
Chapter 1: Young Sky
Read on ao3
Wild doubled back along the single-file Chain, sure-footed, making sure no one got hurt along the rugged mountain path. He smiled sympathetically at Sky, puffing valiantly at the end of the line. “How you holding up, Sky? Need a stamina elixir?”
Sky returned a wan smile. “No, I’m okay. We’ll be–”
Kehehe-kehe
“Did you hear that?” Sky asked.
“Yeah,” Wild stared around the rocky scree, ears twitching. “It almost sounded like one of my wizzrobes.”
Plink
“What's a wizzrobe?” Sky asked.
Poink
“A monster that shoots balls of elemental energy,” Wild responded, distracted.
Plink
“Like a spume?”
“What? No, like– WATCH OUT!”
Sky turned too late, catching a dark ball of energy straight in the chest. The Master Sword chimed in anguish as he flew into the mountainside, propelled by the wizzrobe's blast. The impact jerked a shout from Sky's throat, pitching up as he fell.
Wild immediately pulled his bow and an ice arrow, but the shadowy wizzrobe had already disappeared in a haze of dark sparks, leaving a malicious giggle floating on the breeze.
Legend raced down the path, sharp violet eyes scanning the area. “I heard the Master Sword! What happened?”
“We were ambushed by a wizzrobe! It shot a blast of something at Sky then vanished.”
Wild put away his bow and called ahead to the rest of the Chain, then he and Legend turned to the pile of white and green laying motionless at the side of the path.
Legend picked up the dislodged Master Sword while Wild shifted Sky's sailcloth. “Hey Sky, you okay in there? That blast hit you pretty hard.”
Wide, bright blue eyes in a childish face met his gaze. Soft, downy hair the same color as Sky's fluttered around the boy's head.
The boy spoke, high voice quavering as tears shimmered into the expressive eyes. “W-who are you? Who's Sky? Where am I?”
“Uh…” Wild couldn’t wrap his head around what his eyes plainly saw, brain misfiring at Sky's eyes and hair in a child's face. “I’m Li…You can call me Wild, and, uh…”
The boy's lip trembled. Wow, I’m bad at this. “What’s your name, kid?”
“I’m Link.”
Wild's insides squirmed like chuchus. “Hey, uh, Lege?” he called carefully over his shoulder, “Can we talk?”
He rose and left the kid – Link? Sky?? – huddled by the path, dragging Legend by the sleeve to the other side.
“Hey! What's going on?”
Wild nodded over his shoulder, watching Legend make the discovery. “He's a kid?!” Legend whisper-shouted.
Wild could only nod.
Legend pinched the bridge of his nose. “Oh Nayru, you’ve done it now…” he muttered.
“What do we do?” Wild asked. “He doesn’t remember us at all, and he's scared.”
“I can’t babysit him!” Legend hissed. “I’m no good with kids!”
“You literally have a godson you helped name and raise.”
Legend flushed. “That's different!”
“At least you have experience with kids!” Wild snapped. “The only kids I’ve interacted with just wanted…to see–” Wild trailed off, eyes glazed.
Legend waited a moment, but Wild didn’t finish the thought. “’Hoy, Champ,” he waved a hand in front of Wild's face, “not a good time to get lost in a memory!”
Wild blinked, focusing. “No, no, it's not that,” he mumbled, pulling his slate from his hip and tapping its screen rapidly. "More like a flashback." With a triumphant a-ha! he replaced the slate and reached into his pouch, emerging with a few colorful butterflies cupped gently in his palms.
Carefully, he crouched next to the trembling child. “D'you wanna see something cool?” he asked.
Link sniffled and nodded, eyes brightening slightly.
Wild opened his hands and the butterflies fluttered around the pair. Link's eyes widened, and a delighted grin split his face. Maybe this won’t be so bad, Wild thought.
Then the wind – up to now gratefully silent on this high mountain pass – picked up. Uh-oh.
It hit like a physical wall, scooping up Wild's hair and yanking on Legend's hat, forcing the older heroes to brace themselves against its might. Wild's stomach dropped as the wind passed him by, continuing on toward the mountain's face and the child who still crouched beneath it. He turned, already shouting a warning. “Sky! No, Link! Watch out!”
He caught the boy's eyes right as the wind pulled at the sailcloth, still clasped tight around Link's throat and bundled around his smaller form.
Link let out a startled yelp as the tangled fabric took to the wind like wings, lifting him bodily into the air. Wild arrived too late, grasping fruitlessly at one dangling boot; the boy's shriek echoed in his ears as the wind, guided by an unseen hand, dragged him up the mountain and out of sight.
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Napoleon snorts, glancing up at the Russian. “You mean besides the broken ribs and the fact that we’re stuck in this shithole for another hour until exfil gets here? I’m doing just great, Kuryakin. How are you?”
Illya doesn’t answer, doesn’t even look at him, just reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls something out. Napoleon raises an eyebrow at the sight of the small flask, one corner of his mouth turning up into a surprised grin.
“Well, well. You been holding out on me, Peril? Do you always bring alcohol on missions?”
“Only the ones where I am stuck with you.”
Napoleon chuckles, immediately regretting it as it sends waves of pain through the right side of his chest. “Ouch. Don’t make me laugh. Give me some of that, will you?”
Illya tosses the flask and Napoleon catches it with both hands, quickly undoing the lid. He takes a long swig, nodding approvingly as the stuff burns down his throat.
“That’s good liquor,” he says, taking another drink before he replaces the cap. “Thank you. You want some?”
Illya shakes his head once. He isn’t looking at Napoleon, instead staring out the window, his whole body stiff. He looks to be on high alert, and Napoleon feels himself tense.
“Is there someone out there?” he says, voice barely above a whisper.
Illya still doesn’t respond, worrying Napoleon further, and he stands. Immediately he’s hit by a wave of dizziness, and for a split second he thinks he must have stood too quickly. But that isn’t it at all. He knows this feeling--the tingling in his hands and toes, the static in his ears, the rapidly growing fog in his mind. He knows what this is, but he doesn’t understand…
“Illya?” he says, and his voice sounds distant and strange. He takes an unsteady step forward. “Illya, what the hell is going on?”
Illya finally looks up, and there’s a blankness in his expression that sends daggers through Napoleon’s heart.
“You should sit,” the Russian agent says flatly.
The whole world seems to tilt as Napoleon forces himself to take another step forward, fighting through the dizziness and the black that’s starting to encroach on the edges of his vision. His heart is hammering, making his chest ache, and it isn’t just because of the drug that’s flooding his system.
“Kuryakin, what the fuck did you do?” he demands, barely hearing himself over the ringing in his ears. And then his foot catches on something and he’s falling and his reaction time is completely fucked and he can’t make his arms move to catch himself. His head smacks into the cracked cement and everything goes black.
xxx
“-olo? I think he’s waking up!”
Napoleon’s eyes fly open and he groans immediately at the pain in his chest and skull. He reaches up with one hand and brushes it against his left eyebrow, annoyed when his fingers come away bloody. He tries to sit up, but his vision goes black and fuzzy and then he’s flat on his back, staring up into the concerned face of Ellis, the TAC team medic.
“Take it easy, Agent Solo,” he says. “You’ve been unconscious for some time, I’m worried about a concussion.”
“‘m not concussed,” Napoleon says, closing his eyes as a wave of nausea washes over him--lingering effects of whatever Illya had put into the drink.
“Where is Agent Kuryakin?” It’s Enzo, the team leader, who asks.
Napoleon feels a hot surge of anger at the mention of the Russian, and something else too. Something he tries desperately to ignore, because admitting that he’s hurt means admitting that he cares, and that’s something he’s not going to do. Not with this lot, anyway.
“He’s gone.”
“Gone? Gone where? Was he taken?”
Napoleon opens his eyes and glares up at the little Italian. “No, he left.”
Enzo looks genuinely baffled. Frankly, Napoleon is a little (a lot) confused himself, but he isn’t going to admit that either.
“I wasn’t unconscious because I’m concussed; I was unconscious because he drugged me,” Napoleon says matter-of-factly, trying not to let the betrayal he’s feeling leech into the words. He tries to sit up again, and Ellis grabs his elbow.
“Concussed or not, Agent Solo, I would advise you to take things slowly.”
“I’m fine,” Napoleon snaps, pulling his arm from the medic’s grip as he pushes himself up into a sitting position. It takes some effort not to let out a pained sound at the movement of his aching ribs.
“Did Agent Kuryakin say anything to you? Give any indication as to where he was going, or why?” Enzo asks.
“No,” Napoleon says, and he can feel the anger growing, mixing with other feelings--embarrassment, shame. Betrayal. “I don’t know what he’s doing.”
“Anakin…” Obi-Wan starts softly. “Anakin let’s just take a moment okay?”
Anakin paces around, nostrils flared and teeth grit together.
“How dare they?” he seethes.
When Anakin gets like this, it is hard to get him out of it. It is like he is overcome. Telling him to focus or to let go only ever fuels the fires of his rage.
Losing Control (Whumptober Day 17 - Alternative 1)
Written in Blood Masterlist
To the anon who asked about drunk/high Vincent - I couldn’t stop thinking about your ask and so this happened :D It’s not canon though, because as I already said - Vincent would never get drunk or high in front of Jonah, but here is what might happen if he did.
CW: alcohol, chained to the bed, beating, swearing
He had literally begged Vincent not to be left with Domenic and eventually, he had agreed. Already prepared to be locked up in the soundproof cell again, Jonah was even more surprised when Vincent led him into the bedroom and put a bottle of water and a few crackers on the nightstand, next to the book the younger one had just started reading. When Vincent reached for the chain that was still dangling from the wall behind the bed, he moaned silently.
'I'll only fasten it to your everyday collar, don't worry. I don't think we'll need the steel one any longer.'
That was at least a bit of a relief and Jonah waited patiently until he was done; the prospect of spending a quiet evening without his captor was absolutely worth it.
'Goodbye darling,' Vincent smiled and kissed Jonah's forehead, 'I don't think it'll get too late but you don't have to stay up and wait for me.'
'Goodbye,' he replied, knowing that it was expected of him, made himself as comfortable as possible and grabbed his book.
Finally a peaceful and quiet evening…
***
After watching the sunset through the huge window right next to their bed and eating a few crackers, Jonah decided to sleep early; this way, he wouldn’t have to talk to Vincent again when he returned from his company event. He was a tiny bit annoyed that he couldn’t change into his pyjamas and had to sleep in his jeans and button-down shirt now, but sharing a bed with Vincent while only wearing his briefs wasn’t an alternative either.
He woke up in the middle of the night to a loud noise coming from downstairs
‘Jonah!’
That was Vincent. Why did he call him, he knew that he was in the bedroom, had to be in the bedroom!
‘JONAH!’
He was talking in a slurred voice and seemed to be angry. Jonah sat up and stared at the bedroom door in fear. He had never seen Vincent drunk and he already knew that this was anything but good…
‘I’m in the bedroom!’ he shouted.
‘Come down!’
‘I can’t!’
‘You do what I say!’
‘Vincent, you chained me to the bed, I can’t come down!’
The ground floor remained silent for a while, then he heard a clatter on the stairs until Vincent appeared in the door frame, almost toppling over.
‘What are you doing there? Why are you dressed? Did you try to run away?’
‘Vincent, you chained me to the bed before you left, I can’t get up and so I couldn’t change into my pyjamas either before I went to sleep,’ Jonah tried to calm him down and held up the chain. ‘See?’
‘You’re lying.’
‘No, I’m not, I’m-’
‘Shut up! You did that yourself, if I did that I would have a key on me! And I don’t have a key! Damn, didn’t think I’d leave early, huh? Take off that chain and kneel, this won’t go unpunished.’
‘I don’t have a key! You took it with you when you left!’
It took him a while, but finally he managed to turn the pockets of his trousers inside out.
‘See? No key, you fucking liar!’
He lunged out and hit Jonah’s face. Once. Twice. Three times.
‘I was just sitting here!’ the younger one yelled and tried to duck away to escape the blows, but Vincent crawled onto the bed and kept hitting him.
In his despair, Jonah pushed him away. Vincent tumbled, got caught in the bedsheets and fell off the bed. The younger one huddled up on the far end of the bed and kept watching for his captor to get up again, but he remained on the floor, not moving and finally silent. He had never seen him drunk before and what he had just experienced had scared him. Maybe things would be better when he woke up tomorrow… The only thing he knew was that it was going to be a long night.
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Steve woke up from the hardest punch yet, but remained flat on his bearded face, inhaling the rotten Titan soil. A tremendous ache weighed down his body and he had to order it to move three times before it actually did. He raised his eyes. The spider kid was on his left, not moving. The Guardians were on his right – they were unconscious, too. Strange was ahead, also on the left and Tony – Tony was fighting Thanos all by himself. And that was when Thanos ripped off part of Tony’s own suit, and skewered him with it.
“NO!” Steve cried. His voice came out in a whimper.
Thanos walked Tony backward until he collapsed, then put his massive gauntlet on his head. “You have my respect, Stark,” said the Titan. “When I’m done, half of humanity will still be alive.” He shoved Tony away, and Stark gasped. “I hope they remember you,” Thanos continued, standing tall. Blood rained from Tony’s mouth.
“No,” Steve cried again. He tried to stand, but only managed to do a push up. That power stone sure packed a punch.
Thanos raised the gauntlet. In seconds there would be no more Tony Stark.
“Stop!” said a new voice. Steve looked to his left and saw that Strange was sitting up. “Spare his life, and I will give you the stone.”
Steve’s stomach flipped, then sunk.
“No tricks.”
Strange shook his head.
“Don’t,” said Steve, at the exact same time as Tony. As much as Steve cared for his friend, not even Tony Stark’s life was worth half the universe.
Strange raised his right hand and the time stone appeared between his fingers. Steve fought his way up to his knees, then up to his feet. He stepped forward, desperate to tackle Thanos – to do anything – but his left knee gave out and he collapsed.
Strange surrendered the stone. The Titan added it to his gauntlet. “One to go.”
Steve summoned the last of his strength. He got up and started to walk – started to jog – started to run – but Quill flew out in front of him, towards Thanos. The Titan disappeared through a portal. Steve changed directions and sprinted to Tony’s side. He knelt beside his friend and clasped the back of his head with his right hand, and Tony’s hand with his left. “TONY!”
Tony’s blood-soaked lips formed words, but didn’t speak them. He looked into Steve’s eyes, his own bouncing back and forth between dazed and distant, and narrowed and focused. “C-Cap,” he finally slurred, “get it out of me.”
“We – we don’t have any bandages. You’ll bleed to death.”
“Trust me,” Tony insisted. “Steve – get it out, now!”
The sword was larger than Steve’s arm. He gently wrapped his left hand around it, then looked at Tony’s whitening face. “Hold on to me,” he instructed. Tony wrapped his arms around Steve’s neck and pushed his nose against his blue uniform. Steve counted to three, and pulled.
Tony screamed, nearly deafening his friend. His arms went limp, followed by the rest of his body, and he collapsed against Cap.
“Tony!”
“Is a’righ…” Tony said. He regained a bit of strength and sat up, his left arm against Steve’s right arm. “Is a’righ, C-Cap…” Tony aimed what was left of the suit that covered his right hand, and sprayed what looked like a thick mist of chemicals against his wound. The bleeding instantly stopped. Steve touched the sealant, mesmerized. It was warm. Tony took the device off his hand, then, and handed it to Steve. “Press your middle and forefinger down and to the left,” he instructed. Steve, realizing what Tony wanted him to do, put the device around his hand, gently leaned Tony forward so that he could get to his back, and applied the sealant to the exit wound. Tony grunted and coughed. He put his face in his hands and groaned, then leaned, once again, against Steve’s chest.
Then, Tony reached past the pain and returned to reality. He sat up with a start and stared back at a wide-eyed Quill. “Did we just lose?”
Tony rotated his body so that he could see past Steve to Strange. “Why would you do that?” he whispered.
Strange didn’t even look sorry. “We’re in the endgame, now,” he said.
The other Guardians ran over. Peter rushed to Tony’s left side and, after looking back and forth between him and Steve, decided that it was a moment to shut up.
Steve was grasping at straws, and he knew it, but he still tried to put on a brave face, for Tony’s sake. “The others – Wanda, Bruce, Nat… Maybe Thor returned… They’ll stop him. They’ll protect Vision.”
Tony looked at him, emotionless.
“We’ll… We’ll get home – back to Earth. We’ll get home, and we’ll help.”
Tony blinked. He pursed his lips together once in a deep flex, then allowed his mouth to open part way. “I…” he started to say. Then he shook his head and lowered his chin to his chest. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.
“For what?” Steve asked. “Tony?”
“I should’ve done more…”
Steve looked at Peter, who shrugged slightly. “Tony…”
Tony looked at him. There were tears in his eyes. “I… I had a vision, once. You and the others – earth – invasion… You told me I could’ve saved you… You asked me why I didn’t do more…” A tear dropped onto Tony’s bloody face. “I should’ve done more… I – I lost.”
Steve cupped his cheek. “WE lost…” The two teammates nodded at each other. Tony sat up straighter and pressed a series of buttons on the chamber on his chest. The nanotech – what was left of it - slowly floated across his skin into their home. Steve and Peter helped Tony stand up.
Just then, the mantis girl suddenly said, “Something’s happening.” Seconds later she – she just dissolved. Her body morphed into ash, and she just floated away…
Every mouth dropped in shock. “Oh, god,” Steve whispered.
The muscled man disappeared next. Quill looked at Tony with wide, scared eyes. “Steady, Quill!” Tony said.
“Oh, man…” Quill was gone.
“Tony.” Steve and Tony turned around. Strange still sat on the ground, looking at them, blood on his cheek. He shook his head and said, with a confidence neither man understood, “There was no other way.” And then he was gone, too.
“Mr. Stark.” Steve and Tony turned again. The kid – Peter – was staggering towards them looking, dumbfounded, at his hands.
“Oh, no,” Steve whispered.
“Mr. Stark, I don’t feel so good.”
“You’re all right.”
“I don’t know what’s happening.” The kid collapsed forward into Tony’s arms. Steve put his hand against Tony’s back to steady him. “I don’t wanna go. I don’t wanna go, Mr. Stark, please, I don’t wanna go.” Then the kid went limp, and Tony did his best to lower his body gently to the ground. Steve followed, kneeling on Tony’s left.
Peter looked at Tony with an expression Steve couldn’t identify. “Sorry,” he whispered. And then he was gone, too.
Tony collapsed forward, Peter’s body no longer supporting him. Steve grabbed his shoulder and turned him around before he smacked his forehead into the rocks. Tony sat flat, then looked at his own palms. Steve did the same thing. Both men waited a full ten seconds – waited to see if they would die, too.
“He did it,” the blue woman said. Tony folded forward in frustration. Then he put his hands to his mouth – then he shut his eyes – and then a small tear exited his right eye.
Steve sat on the ground beside Tony and put his hand on his friend’s shoulder.
A minute passed, and then suddenly Tony started breathing deeper and faster, deeper and faster, deeper and faster, like he was having a panic attack. He gave Steve a flabbergasted look, and in that moment Steve knew that the blood loss had caught up to him. He immediately rotated his body so that they were chest-to-chest.
Tony’s eyes rolled back into his skull, and he collapsed forward into Steve’s arms.
Rating/Warnings: Teen || Canon Temporary Character Death
Relationships: Satoru Gojo/Suguru Geto
Characters: Satoru Gojo, Suguru Geto
Additional Genres/Tags: Emotional Whump, Angst, Hurt No Comfort
Summary: What’s the point in having six eyes if Satoru still doesn’t see.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
There’s before, and there’s after.
Before: Satoru carries the heavy burden of being the Gojo clan heir, with a bounty on his head nearly the moment he learns how to walk. At first, he’s assigned protection, but it becomes very clear very quickly that he doesn’t actually need it.
He doesn’t need anyone, really. And when he’s finally of an age where he’s heard when he says as much, he’s pinned as a cocky little bastard. Nobody says it to his face, but he has eyes. People have a bad habit of giving their thoughts away on their faces, as if they’re written in blazing letters on frowning foreheads.
It’s not so much cockiness as a fact, but Satoru can’t force anyone to accept that truth with words alone. The burden of being is a heavy one, and it takes enough of his energy to shoulder it that he doesn’t want to expend any more on useless arguments. So, he doesn’t.
The weather is sunny and bright the day Masamichi Yaga introduces a new student to Satoru’s class at Jujutsu High.
After: well. It’s a gradual change, and Satoru can’t pinpoint an exact time, really.
Suguru Geto doesn’t exactly give two fucks about Satoru’s title of being the strongest, and instead seems to take pleasure in challenging him at every step. Mentally, physically, who has the bigger ego—it doesn’t seem to matter. At first, Satoru thinks it’s just cockiness, because it’s just a fact that Satoru is the strongest. It’s his burden.
But on their first actually challenging mission together, when everything clicks together like two halves of a whole as they fight cursed spirits with teamwork so effortless that Satoru questions everything about himself, as if they’ve been doing this together all along—something shifts.
The strongest duo.
For the first time in Satoru’s life, he gets a taste of what it’s like to not actually be alone.
He’s pretty sure whatever they have between them now is more than just friendship. He knows it’s a mistake. And even though he knows he’s getting far too attached for someone with so much responsibility, Satoru does something selfish for once in his life. He holds on, and he refuses to let go.
