#Fainting mention

[little-peril-stories]

Febuwhump Day 22 - You Weren't Meant to Be There

From The Queen of Lies:

He heaved a sigh and pulled his hand away, then glanced at Curt and put it back down again, this time resting it over hers. “Are you ill, then? What happened? Tell me.”

You ripped that boy’s skin to shreds, Baden. That’s what happened.

“I came to speak to you about something,” she said, and she was ashamed of how her voice wobbled so piteously. “I didn’t know there was—that I would see—”

His jaw tightened, and she guessed from the slight widening of his eyes that he hadn’t realized until then that she’d been present for the thief’s flogging—that she’d witnessed everything. “Ah.”

“She fainted at the sight, sir.” Curt stood at attention, looking pale. “I—I take responsibility for this incident. I knew it would be distressing, sir, and I was in the middle of bringing her inside to wait for you in a more appropriate place, but I was delayed and, well…”

“Quiet.” Baden waved his hand, ever the commanding constable, and Curt fell silent. “My wife knows this is no place for her.” He turned his gaze to Breanna. “The conversation couldn’t wait until I returned home?”

The burning paper in her pocket, the literary society, the deadline to join—none of them seemed quite so extraordinarily important, not anymore. “I needed your signature for something.”

“I didn’t ask what you wanted. I asked you if it could wait.” Baden’s back had gone ramrod straight.

“I suppose it can wait,” she whispered. She hadn’t intended for her voice to come out so quietly. The words fluttered, barely audible, like feathery, fragile wingbeats in the air.

[incorrectjane-andthedragon]

*modern au*

Jane, waking up: What-what happened?

Gunther, laying on the ground next to her: You accidentally knocked yourself out while training, so I panicked and laid down next to you so people would think we were just resting. If you'd been out for much longer I would've gotten help.

Jane: Oh, thank you...!

Jane: Jester, what are you doing here?

Jester, laying next to Gunther: I was waiting for you to wake up so I can show you the video I filmed of you knocking yourself out.

[sudokufag]

I really don't know how to put this more elegantly... But. We need to get kinder and more aware about phobias. I don't know why it's happening but over time I've noticed people using trigger warnings progressively less and less. And when this is brought up you hear the "we can't account for every little rare phobia out there!" true but you should do your best to try. And "trigger warnings dont exist in the real world!" true and I have throughout my life experienced many panic attacks which have led to me fainting and/or throwing up in public. This isn't an issue I want to worry about online as well.

I really don't want to list my phobias online as to avoid having them used against me by potential future online bullies but like... My most severe one of the most common ones out there, I used to almost always be able to count on it being hidden but now I can't. Tumblr has an amazing tagging system, please, God, use it!!!

[shokujin-art]

Was on the way give Whitney some milkshake, forgetting I was kidnapped for a week by Remy. Didn't expect the hug 🥹 —

[kitamars]

enmi gintoki…………… orz

[magnusbae]

Hi! What about "Can you stay with me?" (and if you'd like it my bonus prompt is "drunk") 💗

The initial draft was written while I was quite literally fainting late at night & the second one fully rewritten while I am dazed and out of it. I would say that I was method writing Obi-Wan who is indeed very much drunk in this one, dearest anon. Thank you for the prompt~ 😊💖

+++

Obikin || 4,004w || Drunk Obi-Wan is agonized by the prospect of his freshly knighted Padawan leaving him behind— and more. 😌 Some flavors of gentle lime in this drink, very light, very sweet. 🍋💖

▾▾▾

"Can you stay with me?"

Obi-Wan Kenobi sounds properly pathetic and he knows it. Grasping at Anakin’s Tabards as he is, mind swirling in hazy circles around the notion he was doing his very best to avoid thinking about for the past few months. It is not long now that Anakin would look at his Master and see him for what he really was. Perhaps even today. Inebriated as he is, he makes for a good serving of disillusionment. All Anakin needs to do is look, and see, and then…

It seems inevitable—his Padawan will leave.

Former Padawan. Anakin is no longer his Padawan, and that is the heart of it, isn’t it? The severed braid was the firs step. Them having each a battalion of their own, stationed light years away from each other with only the occasional joint mission, a second. The third and final step would be for Anakin to finally open his eyes and look, and see.

It won’t be hard to unveil the carefully crafted Jedi Master facade Obi-Wan had cultivated for the past decade. No, it won’t be hard at all. If Anakin were to stop glorifying him, stop shaping him to be what ever form of idol he had needed for while growing up, if only he were to take an unbiased look at him…

There will no longer be, Kenobi and Skywalker.

For the naked truth was, Anakin had outgrown him, had become more powerful and capable than his Master. There’s little left that Obi-Wan could still offer, still teach. He should be proud. The only one still refusing to see it, is Anakin himself. Once that revelation comes to pass however, it will be complete. A true break, as befitting the Jedi way. Obi-Wan finds no peace in the thought, no completion nor satisfaction in the successful completion of his Padawan’s training—a symbol of his own Mastery.

Not when it means losing him. Not then.

Given his state of drunkenness, words slurred and feet unsteady, he thinks that it’s worth putting to question whatever or not he was a good Jedi at all, least of all a Master. Try as he might, he finds it hard to ponder further. His choice to look inward is as always an avoidance, an escape. An easy detour from looking outward, from looking at Anakin. Anakin who’s eyes he can feel like a physical touch, boring into his very soul.

Obi-Wan’s avoidance is nearly as strong as Anakin’s natural magnetism. One is counseling him to avoid looking, save himself the pain of witnessing the exact moment in which the realization dawns upon the boy. The second, stronger still, demands his undivided attention on him, demands him to look. Demands him. 

Obi-Wan looks up, he meets those eyes, his demise.

Anakin’s eyes widen and he blinks, endless blue clearing as if coming out of some sort of shock.

“Can I—” Anakin splutters “—Obi-Wan, even if the council explicitly ordered me to go save the entire karkin universe just now, I wouldn’t be leaving your side— stars you’ve any idea what you look like right now?

Obi-Wan’s tongue is heavy but he parts his lips to answer, something clever to be sure, he always finds something to say.

“No, never mind.” Anakin cuts in before he could speak. There’s such decisiveness in his tone, such confidence. His former Padawan stands tall, his arms are strong and sure as he handles Obi-Wan closer, making him lean more of his weight against his chest. It’s broad and firm. Obi-Wan should not be noticing those things, should not be aware of those things. It is a further evidence that his Padawan is well and truly grown. Further evidence of his own failing as a Jedi, as a Master, as a…man. Obi-Wan should not be inhaling and smelling home. Should not be leaning closer, itching all over for more, more.

“You’re so wasted that I am surprised you’ve even recognized me at all.” Anakin continues talking, as if the universe is not shifting beneath Obi-Wan’s feet as it is him who finally looks with his gaze unbiased. “The drunken messages though, those you will be seeing tomorrow” there’s dark mirth in that dear voice. “I bet you wanted to send them to— someone else.” Anakin glances at him, eyes narrowed.

Obi-Wan’s offenses at Anakin’s assumption he could ever not recognize him dies over under his gaze, dark and rich, his eyes are captivating. Before Anakin, he did not know that a blue can hold such multitudes. Both the clear morning sky, and the moon lit sky. Beautiful. They loosens his tongue as well as any truth serum would. That or the bottle he had finished on his own finally soaked through.

“I will always—”  His voice comes out so thick that he coughs, starting Anakin from his dark contemplations, whichever those might be. His eyebrows furrow and he quickly snatches a cup of something clear off of a passing robo-waitress’s tray. Irritated with the distraction, Obi-Wan accepts it and drinks if only to make way for the words to follow. He will not let it go. Not now that he’d started. “I will always recognize you, Padawan Mine, drugged, beaten, or otherwise preoccupied— I will always—” “Drugged?!” Anakin cuts in again, arms tightening around Obi-Wan and strangling the annoyed huff at being cut again “You did not mention anything about being drugged, what the kark’ Obi-Wan?!”

Obi-Wan’s mouth is dry, similar to how being drugged would feel. His mind swims and all he sees is Anakin. There’s warmth in his chest, there’s a burn in his gut, there’s a tug in his— 

“It’s hard to tell” he says sheepishly, embarrassed, eyes straying away from Anakin’s strong jaw and up, up to the lights on the ceiling. He should not be thinking of how Anakin’s proximity is enough to replicate a strong drug. How out of orbit he feels around him as of late. “They all start the same, so…” 

Anakin is hardly listening. Instead he is surveying the club with a look of fury that is bordering on homicidal, freeing one hand to rest it on his lightsaber. There’s the distinct feeling of Anakin stretching his force signature out, covering the room, no doubt attempting to locate anyone within their proximity who might have dared drug his former Master. Oh if only he knew that he was the culprit all along. 

Obi-Wan snorts, finding an odd sense of humor in it.

Anakin’s gaze darts back to him, sharp and accusing. He looks so handsome under the colorful, dim lights. He looks so… 

“Ah-nakin.” Obi-Wan sighs out and shuts his eyes lest his spinning head forces him to sober up in the most un-jedi manner.  

“Stay with me,” the request comes so easy, what was it that he was so afraid of? It’s so easy, too easy. Frighteningly so, to reach and touch Anakin’s forearm. There’s skin beneath his touch, warm and human, tense muscles beneath. “Ah” Obi-Wan sighs out in realization. Anakin had rolled the sleeves, so very unofficial for a Jedi and yet so very Anakin of him.

Master Windu would have hated it. It wouldn’t surprise Obi-Wan if this was exact reason why Anakin did it to begin with, after all, he was most adept to handling heat and was not bothered by it even while all else were. Obi-Wan really should have reprimanded the boy more often, should have stopped Anakin from executing all those harmless little vendettas of his while growing up.

If only he did not find them to be so endearing, so amusing. If only he was a better Master, a proper Master. He would have. 

His brain is foggy and he had already forgotten what was it it that he had hoped to achieve by touching Anakin, only that his fingers are circling his wrist and touching the spot at which he can feel his life pulsing. What a terrible habit it is, being intoxicated while negotiating. You should only ever drink enough to appear drunk, never more. How is he to get what he wants, when he has no ideas what it was? 

Obi-Wan’s eyelids are heavy when he tries to blink them open and focus on Anakin. There’s the signature frown, so familiar Obi-Wan can’t help but smile. Anakin is chewing his lips, a compulsion he had never managed to rid himself of. He looks torn between the need to locate and deal with the ‘enemy’, and…. Obi-Wan. 

The way Anakin looks, that should not be reminiscent of the targets Obi-Wan opts for charm as the main form of negotiation with. Should not stir the excitement of a hunt, of a game to be won. Obi-Wan should not use his looks to achieve his goals, he should not use them to get what he wants, he should be a better man than that.

Obi-wan is not a better man. 

Licking his own dry lips, he let’s go off of Anakin’s wrist and reaches for Anakin’s cheeks. There’s a tremble in the touch, his, Anakin’s? He is not certain. 

“Dear One, you can chase your enemies tomorrow.” He speaks in a hushed murmur, he hopes he sounds soft and alluring “Tonight, will you guard this drunk Master of yours?” he looks up, through his lashes, breathing shallowly, feeling hot, hot, hot all over. 

Anakin let’s go off of the lightsaber. It’s an answer enough to what he had picked. It still is deeply gratifying to feel the boy’s hand cover his own, guide it until he wraps his arm around Anakin’s shoulders. It’s an awkward angle, with Anakin being taller than he— he cares very little for it when Anakin wraps an arm around his waist. 

“Let’s go.” He is tight lipped and determined, guiding Obi-Wan out and into a speeder that is parked not far off. If Obi-Wan was even slightly more aware, he’d realize just how much attention the pair of them had draw, how all of the eyes had followed them out. Sometimes he forgets, how famous they had become during this accursed war. Sometimes, he is glad to not remember. 

Anakin is terribly efficient at getting them to the Temple. One blink of an eye they’re flying through the busy highways of Coruscant, the next he is tossed unceremoniously onto a bed that feels and smells familiar. His bed.

They’re in his quarters. Their quarters until very recently. He is breathing harder and he does not dare to think of why. If he does not think, it does not exist. He is self aware enough only to feel how disheveled his robes feel on his body, how messy his hair is, how hot his skin feels all over. He is a mess. 

“Dear one?” he questions. He refuses to acknowledge how his own tone drops, refuses to admit he is rolling his vowels in a way he knows thickens his accent in the most attractive of ways. He doesn’t know why he is flirting with Anakin Skywalker when the boy is barely out of his knighthood and is Anakin. His Anakin, his Anakin on whom he just looked in a way he really should not be looking at, through his eyelashes, with a heavy, wanting gaze. 

The redness of Anakin’s cheeks is evidence enough that he hears and understands the situation well enough. That he is very much aware of what his Master is doing. That he is… perhaps affected. 

Obi-Wan swallows, trying to push himself up to his elbows. He needs to sober up, he must tell him that he is merely jesting, that it is all a little tease, a little laugh, nothing more, just….

Anakin cuts him to it. Before he can excuse, or joke, or explain.

“Not while you’re drunk.” Anakin bites, sounding frustrated, lips swollen red from biting. Obi-Wan startles, surprised. 

What did Anakin just say? Imply?

Blatantly threw straight into his face, more like. 

Yes, but not while he is drunk.

Absurdly, a swell of pride fills his chest to the brim. Anakin’s manners and chivalry surprises him, pleases him. He had raised him well after all, he did not fail him, at least not in this.

His pleasure must bleed into the Force as Anakin regards him with a dark, baffled look. It’s so dark, most would find it intimidating, but for Obi-Wan it’s… dear. He can see the gentleness in that look, the care. There’s warmth in the force when Anakin insist on tucking him in, fingers methodical in the short, careful gestures. Tucking him in as if he was a child. Him, his Master. Former. 

Obi-Wan was tucked in only once in his lifetime, at least as far as he can remember. His first night in the Jedi Temple. So tense he was, so out of his depth, that the he was taken pity of, tucked in with a quiet promise of everything making sense soon. It helped.

It had never happen again. 

“Ahnakin.” he tries to protest, tries to pull a face of offended indigence. It’s hard to do when he is practically shining within the force. A single look from his apprentice is enough to quiet him down. 

“Master.” Anakin replies, and there’s a little eyeroll there. His cheeks are still flushed but he seems as determined as Obi-Wan to not address the Bantha in the room. “You really should be more careful” he lectures him in a way Obi-Wan can distinctly remember doing a few years back, when Anakin had gotten drunk for the first time. 

He leaves then, without a word. Obi-Wan’s throat closes and there’s a pang of pain in his heart. No this. He remembers now. Him. Leaving. That was the whole reason, that was why—

“Master?” Anakin sounds concerned, a glass of water and a container of what looks to be painkillers in his hands. “Are you sick?” a few strides and he is by Obi-Wan’s bed again, placing he glass and container at the bedside table. He looks well and truly worried. 

Unthinking, Obi-Wan sits up. So sudden that he does feel sick from the motion. He ignores it. He reaches for Anakin’s face with both hands, cupping his cheeks with a grip that is too strong, too desperate. A Jedi should not hold onto things with such fervor. 

All it takes for him to lean is to Anakin, is to stop resisting if only for a moment. Anakin’s pull was always there, stronger and stronger until it had become a daily challenge to ignore it, to pretend he does not feel it. All it takes is to stop resisting and his lips find Anakin’s, pressing against that plush softness, inhaling his exhale and finally, finally feeling anchored, inside the orbit he was always meant to circle.

He tilts his chin, leans in, knowing his beard will scratch pleasantly against the smooth jaw, kisses in deeper—

“Mahster—!” Anakin gasps into the kiss, a pang of shock and uncertainty clouding the force around them, sipping through the open nerves of their broken bond.  He does not want to take advantage of his Master, does not want him to end up hating him, does not want him to wake up and be disgusted, appalled— but he wants, he wants so badly. 

“Oh, Anakin.” Obi-Wan breathes out, unsure if it’s endearment of relief that fills him up with warmth, with lightness. One thing he is certain of, no one had ever been, or will be, as sweet, as kind, as dear as Anakin is to him. “I could never hate him.” There’s a drunken lisp to his voice, he needs a moment to correct himself. “You.” He manages, meeting Anakin’s eyes and not blinking, not wanting to miss a single moment. Wanting to see the exact moment in which Anakin realizes he is serious, that he is the most honest he’s been in years. 

Anakin seems to be realizing it too, his eyes widening and cheeks coloring a deeper red than before, he bites his lip.

“I might be…” Obi-Wan’s gaze drops to Anakin’s lips and he thinks about… “intoxicated…” he forces himself to look up, away from temptation, away from sin. “Drugged, possibly.” He is still not fully certain if he is, or it truly is just Anakin with a touch of alcohol. “But I am very much aware that…” he smiles before completing the sentence, it widens so much further with the words to come “…my Padawan simply cannot take advantage of his Master…” there’s really no need to be using this many terms of belonging, especially when they are outdated and irrelevant, but he just cannot… “On the contrary, I am the one who should be deeply ashamed for…mnnn-” 

Anakin’s lips quiet him up, he was never a patient listener, never could hear his Master finish a thought. This is the most effective he had ever been at cutting Obi-Wan’s line of thought, by far. He kisses him in a way Obi-Wan would have never guessed him capable of— it’s soft, sweet, patient. A tender thing, careful, loving. Obi-Wan gasps. Thinking, dazedly of how Anakin will grow to be an amazing lover, so attentive, a beast holding back his fangs in favor of gentle lips… 

The thought sets a burning coil of arousal deep in Obi-Wan’s gut.

Not good. Beyond not good. He should…. 

The thought is present and yet he licks at Anakin’s lips, asking for permission. He is granted one without resistance, without hesitance. Anakin’s lips part and he can taste him and oh, oh. Obi-Wan groans, muscles tensing as he shifts to sit straighter, moving a hand to Anakin’s nape and pulling him closer.

He nearly chokes when the boy sucks on his tongue, arousal shocking him into near soberness. 

“Anakin…” he knows, there’s not enough alcohol in the universe to convince him that this is not going too far, he knows and yet… 

He kisses Anakin again, a little hungrier, a little more wanting.

He must stop this madness. To think that he had started it, to think that he had taken advantage of his trusting, sweet—

“No, Master.” Anakin answers, and Obi-Wan wonders just how much of his shields is truly left if his thoughts can be read so easily, so plainly. “You’ve asked me to stay, and I will stay.” That assuredness is back, firm and leaving no space for argument. This is the same man who leads men on a battlefield, who commands, who leads. Obi-Wan finds it impossibly, undeniably, devastatingly attractive.

“You will sleep.” Anakin decides then, tearing his eyes away from Obi-Wan long enough to gesture at the lights, turning them off with the force. “And I will stay with you.” His eyes land back to Obi-Wan, dark mirth dancing in what Obi-Wan can still see of him. “To keep you safe, Master.” He is teasing him, the little devil.

“How will it even…” Obi-Wan doesn’t want to mention how narrow the bed really is, Anakin would know, with his constant complaints about how leg room and… 

“Don’t worry about that.” Anakin answers, confidence so cocky, so boyish that Obi-Wan huffs a surprised laughter, breaking into giggling when Anakin practically falls on top of him. They struggle like that, laughter mixing, limbs tangling, hair in a mouth and fingers against sides— Anakin captures him then, they’re on their sides, Anakin’s back is firm as he pulls Obi-Wan all the way to himself, forming….

“Absolutely not!” Obi-Wan’s voice raises and breaks a little, attempting to wriggle out of the trap he inadvertently fell into. There’s still some pride life in him. He will not permit this Jedi Knight, his former Padawan no less, big spoon him, 16 years his senior and former Master. Force be his witness, he will not allow it.

Anakin makes a suffering, exasperated exhale when Obi-Wan manages to slip out of his grip— only to be yanked back by the force. All he manages is a choked gasp of protest before the air is knocked out of him, his back hitting a firm chest a little too hard. There’s a vindictive sort of satisfaction in hearing Anakin chokes out a surprised exhale too, clearly, he did not account for the impact being this strong.

“Karkin’ hell…” he hears the boy muttering and snorts out, laughing even while Anakin wraps his mechno-arm around him, pulling him back into the not-as-offensive as before little spoon position. Fine, he thinks. He’ll allow it, just for this one night…. 

His eyes close and he shudders when Anakin’s nose press against his nape, he can feel the slow, deep inhale— can feel the content exhale that follows. 

“Finally.” Anakin breathes out, as if he was waiting for this moment longer than the few minutes  just now. Like he needed it, himself. Like it was not Obi-Wan, pathetic and alone, messaging his former Padawan while drunk beyond reason that led him here, but his own needs, own wants. Like he needed this too, him. Like he needs him. Obi-Wan. 

“Oh Force…” Obi-Wan calls upon it without realizing, without meaning it. Only the force can stand witness to this moment, judge it, measure it. Guide him, tell him right from wrong. “Force.” His voice trembles with it, realizing for the first time that Anakin does see him, in truth, does and still…

“It’s fine with it.” Anakin remarks, nonchalant, amusement coloring the timbre of his voice. “You don’t have to shout at her, I don’t think she like it very much” Anakin refers to the Force differently every time, Obi-Wan suspects he does it simply for the joy of throwing off the younglings.

It unsettles Obi-Wan as well, he will not admit that much, though. Anakin’s connection with the force was always stronger, always different than anyone else’s. If he’s saying that the Force is not finding this offensive…. Obi-Wan will trust him. Anakin enjoys messing around at times, stretching the truth about how the Force works, but he’d never lie about this, not to him. 

Obi-Wan’s body relaxes so completely that he practically sags into Anakin, relief, so much relief. It feels…. Good. There’s rightness to it that even without the Force humming pleasantly in his ears, he’d recognize. Like sharing a sleeping cot in the war zones, minus the blood and gore and pain… it feels secure, it feels…good…. 

He feels himself being lulled to what he suspects will be a long and restful sleep. Such a luxury as of late. “Mnh..” He jolts a little when a hand moves across his side, resting at his hip bone and then back up to his side. He should not permit Anakin this much leeway with him and yet…. He likes it… oh he likes it.

So he doesn’t comment it, allowing him to continue, to stroke him and care for him, and hold him. He is not leaving. 

Sleep comes ease, as easy as an inhale. One moment he is aware of all that surrounds him, the scent and warmth, the weight and touch. The next he is sinking into the open embrace of rest. Distantly, he feels the touch of a Force Signature he knows as well as his own. It is the only half of it, after all. Accepting it, is as easy as breathing too. 

There’s a distant shift, even in sleep he can feel the bond snapping back into place, like moons falling into a familiar route, circling a singular sun. Maybe it was not Anakin who was the sun around which Obi-wan was revolving all along, but their shared….

[h-didanart]

Me: oh boy, finally some free time! I can finally work on the stuff I have to work in! I could add more ideas to Family Weekend Camping 4 or maybe work more on Empty Gaze, I know people would appreciate it, ooh, I know! I could fully write that really important chapter for Moon and Sun Show! What’s more, I have two major Bloodmoon drawings to do, a gift for a mutual, a yearly redraw for pride month, and the Virus!Jack story. So much to work through, I’m sure I can pick one of these to complete!

Brain: Bloodmoon Chaos House

Me: …

Me: …

Me: >:/

Bloodmoon chaos house, a place where I store my AU Bloodmoons at apparently. There’s the three pairs I usually draw, the two canon interpretations, and a handful of the ones I talked about in that ‘how many bloodmoons do you have’ ask.

Important designs:

To the left, Ruby and Vermillion (previously Scarlet but I changed their name), the amnesiac Bloodmoon without bloodlust. To the right, The Sturgeon Moon and The Harvest Moon— they probably have other names but they refuse to be called anything else— the magical Bloodmoon.

Left and middle, currently unnamed, the fantasy world Bloodmoon version 1 and 2. To the right, Bloody, Scythe, Harvest, and Rabies, the Bloodmoon from the ocean au.

Now you get doodles (and included are the actor//youtuber au twins who I didn’t make a reference for)

I blame @achickennamedcheese for this

You made me think about them

How dare you

(I’m being silly, you’re fine, I had a lot of fun with these)

[sskk-manifesto]

It always makes me crack how Kyouka carrying Atsushi's sensless body just launches herself for several meters straight into the sea, and Kunikida somehow manages to catch them exactly on the fly. How are they still alive

[cyberwaii]

YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND THEM LIKE I DO TT TT

[blackrosesandwhump]

Febuwhump Day 15: Who Did This to You?

CW: 2nd pov, injured, blood mention, unconsciousness

Something happened to you.

Your consciousness is nothing but a grey haze, letting certain sensations and noises through: pain in your head and neck, footsteps, voices, a low roar that could be wind or traffic. You’re conscious enough to realize that something’s wrong, and that’s it. No strength, no willpower, barely enough breath in your lungs.

The voices grow clearer. One of them filters through the strange haze that has you in its numbing grip.

“Who did this to you?”

You recognize the voice. Someone you care about, maybe. It sends a ripple of desperation through your veins, desperation to get up, open your eyes, do something, but all you can manage is a slurred “I…don’t know.”

“Who did this? I’ll kill them.” A pair of hands clamp onto you, heaving you upright. Your legs buckle; the hands grip tighter. An arm braces against your back. And now you taste something: blood, metallic and bitter. Your own blood.

Something happened to you. But what? And why do you feel like death?

[cheriecelestial]

i saw ur fic! very nice writing :D you fleshed out the parts i was too lazy to write because i didn’t want to draw more panels lol

rlly interesting mc, i admittedly did not give much thought as to who jacob was before he died

i’ll check ur blog for updates!

AAAAAAAAAAAAAA

STOP I’M FANGIRLING SO HARD RN AFSJSHAGSJSGV.

Ps: The MC has some traits that he will be using to his advantage in the future chapters. Also I’m half way done on pt2

[dvsconocvdo]

closed / not accepting replies

A. after the canoeing event (blood, fainting tw)

Amrita couldn't remember a time she felt so tired, so hot, and so sweaty. After losing in the archery event, she was more than willing to sit out the other events, but when Jonah had mentioned how he wanted to win the canoe race her mindset suddenly changed. After throwing rocks, and duplicating herself she was feeling light headed. Deciding to use shadow magic to fight back against Aiyla's tactics had definitely drained her of any remaining energy. She was thankful things were slowing down a bit. But her nose continued to bleed, and she was sure she might faint soon. Bumping into someone as she attempted to keep her head raised up high, she mumbled a quick apology. "I'm so sorry. I'll get out of your way." A pause. "Actually, do you know where one might finds snacks? I'm a bit turned around."

B. during horse riding (injury tw)

"So, like did you fucking know we had a whole equestrian set up in town? This has to be a rich person thing, yeah? Like. I can't believe there were this many horses in town." Noel was holding some blue pom poms to cheer for her team as she was definitely sitting this one out. She had never ridden a horse, and today wasn't going to be the first time. "Also, I gotta say. What are the odds of someone sabotaging the other team and causing someone else to just eat shit?"

C. during the wolf bbq (time soup; alcohol & camera shaking in gif tw)

"All I'm saying is they love to see the underdog win. We just gave the people the performance they wanted." She bragged with ease before taking a sip of her cup. "And just because our team ate it up, I say we do shots then feast like the victors that we are." Noel patted the shoulders of her teammate in comradery.

[eggst]

is this real

[caspersickfanfics]

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Warnings: Vomiting, amnesia, mentions of other symptoms including headaches/brain fog/passing out, mentions of blood, speculated poisoning, trauma response

A/N: Yeah so... this is none of the WIPs I've been working on for months, actually, but I just Needed to get something done this weekend, so. Here we are. I have Ideas for a part 2 for this and if you read closely you might be able to pick up on some intentional loose ends but also I'd feel irresponsible adding to my WIP list at this point. We'll see. Anyway, this is for @monthofsick day 21: Sleepy Sickie

It’s the dead of night, amidst a humid summer heat, when Cyno shows up at Tighnari’s doorstep, feverish and ill. He’s trembling all over, downtrodden, and exhausted. His hair is sweat damp, his face marred by tear tracks, just barely visible in the lamplight.

Tighnari guides him inside. He has Cyno sit, and then wordlessly checks that his body is in one piece. For the most part, yes, it is, but he makes quick work bandaging a dozen or so surface level wounds. By the time he’s done, the matra has dozed off, slumped back against the chair with his head lolling on his chest. Tighnari wants him to rest, but worries about his fever and gently wakes him to gather more information.

“Hey,” Tighnari says quietly. “Can you tell me what happened?”

“Tighnari?”

“Mhm.”

There’s a flash of panic across his face, and Cyno’s muscles tighten. Responding immediately, Tighnari places a firm hand on his chest, and while Cyno stops struggling to stand, the tension doesn’t fade, his eyes searching Tighnari’s face. Tighnari feels his brow furrow when Cyno asks, “Where are we?”

“We’re at home,” he states. His voice is masked with a carefully curated calm. He can feel Cyno’s heart rushing far too quickly under his hand. “We’re safe.”

Cyno looks completely lost, but after checking and double checking his surroundings - as if he doesn’t believe his eyes - slowly relaxes. He still looks off-kilter.

Tighnari’s unease heightens. “You don’t remember why you came here?”

The matra’s face scrunches up, confused and distressed. “I don’t even remember coming here,” he mumbles. He hardly sounds like himself, voice even lower than usual, words slightly slurred. A shiver runs through him.

“It’s alright,” Tighnari reassures. “Let’s not worry about that. If I give you a list of possible symptoms, can you let me know which ones you’re experiencing, or if I'm missing any?”

Cyno agrees with a nod, and proceeds to respond to the rest of Tighnari’s questioning in a similar fashion. Headache, muscle pain, stomach ache, nausea, hot flashes, shivering, weakness, lightheadedness, fatigue, brain fog… Tighnari clocks the silent but affirmative responses to each item on the list with a growing sense of dread.

“You don’t remember if you ate anything suspicious recently, do you?”

“Don’t know.” It’s clear he’s running out of energy. When his head dips forward, Tighnari cups Cyno’s cheek in his hand. “Wanna sleep, Nari.”

Again, Tighnari wants to let him sleep, but Cyno’s needs take priority. “Not yet. Stay awake for me, love - can you do that?” 

Cyno sniffles sadly, but his eyes remain open, if glazed. They’re certainly bloodshot.

Tighnari cleans him up. He hopes to help ground him. Sometimes Cyno needs time to settle in a given location, and things like a warm bath can help.

It doesn’t seem to make much of a difference this time, but at least he’s no longer covered in mud and blood and… well, the sweat reappears quickly enough. Cyno all but falls into the bed, sending his partner a look of utter betrayal when Tighnari guides him to sit rather than lying down right away. He smiles in apology and squeezes Cyno’s hand. “Just a bit longer, hm? You’re doing so well.”

When Tighnari offers him water, though, any color left in Cyno’s face drains in an instant, and the next, he’s pitching forward with a retch.

“Oh–” Tighnari quickly steps back, sets the glass on a table, and helps Cyno over the edge of the bed. Nothing comes up, and it’s just strands of saliva dripping to the ground, but he heaves again and again. There’s a strangled noise, like he’s trying to speak. Tighnari tries to quiet him.

“Shhh, Cyno. Settle. It’s okay.”

“I— hurrrrgh!” His body is relentless, abdomen clenching in a cruel attempt to expel something that simply isn’t there. He groans.

“I can’t,” Cyno grates out. It hurts him to do, and he’s thrown into a violent coughing fit that devolves into more heaving and more pain. He’s shaking horribly.

“It’s okay,” Tighnari repeats. He'd do just about anything to make this stop, and yet, the only thing to do is wait it out. “Oh, Cyno… just breathe.”

When he finally regains control of himself, Cyno is gutted in a way that he can’t put words to. Instead, he takes a deep breath, and releases a single sob. Tears stream down his face - and he doesn’t understand why. Tighnari is alarmed, checking him again for injury, asking about whether he’s hurt himself internally. He shakes his head and pushes Tighnari's hands away, because there's nothing they can do to fix this.

“Need to sleep,” he moans, and it’s desperate. His stomach is going to start revolting again if he stays awake much longer, or maybe he’ll simply pass out. And he craves sleep. So, so badly. After a moment, Tighnari nods.

“That's alright, love. I’ll be right here if you need me.”

–––

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[botanybulbasaur]

yo, fellas,,

cooked up a mediocre fanfic idea (vertin × schneider × sonetto [would’ve included matilda, but.. 4 year age gap between matilda and schneider. yeesh.])

schneider, vertin and sonetto are all going to some fancy event thing— so, they all need to dress up real nice.

schneider and sonetto end up in the same changing room (oh boy..). gay stuff happens man idk (maybe something along the lines of “you’re dressed inappropriately” “i don’t mind, and i don’t think tk does either” “..does timekeeper really like,,?” “women?? sí, of course. now lets get you a dress that’ll catch her eyes”)

also maybe a little “why are you so obsessed with the timekeeper?!” / possessive sonetto and then a little “i can be obsessed with you instead if you want me to” lmaoao

yuri love triangle save me,, save me yuri love triangle,,, yuri love triangle,,,