#el wrote a fic

[aowyn]

Summary:            

The prince of the Underworld, knelt in the dirt with a gardening trowel. Zagreus is his mother’s son.

His hands are brown in the wet, dark earth. Thanatos much prefers it to the blood he’s usually coated in when Zagreus calls upon him like this.

“Than! Great timing, as always. I need your expertise.”

“My expertise? ‘Weed-killer approaches,’ more like.”

Zagreus laughs, smile wide and eyes bright. “Not like that, Than.”

---

Zagreus asks Thanatos for help with a dying plant. Thanatos hasn't tried anything like this before, but he does his best.

I wrote a Hades fic! Thanatos/Zagreus, G, 2.3k. Zagreus teaches Thanatos to garden.

[thatonebirdwrites]

Cheating Death Part 2

Part 1 here.

Only seconds after Lena vanished in the portal, the Kryptonite cage melted into the floor. A yellow light pulsed so brightly, Kara had to close her eyes. Light infused her cells and pushed the pain of the Kryptonite away.

Lena's words echoed in Kara's head. How she'd stomped and shouted, the tears on her face, the desperation in her voice. How heartbroken she'd been when she'd said, "No, no you don't get to tell me who I am anymore."

She didn't know what to do. Lena had been hurting and grieving this entire time, and what had she and her friends done? Celebrated her brother's death, ignored Lena's increasingly isolating behaviors, and pretended everything was fine.

It wasn't fine.

Yet, the yellow light. Why had that activated? Was it Lena or the Fortress?

Kara ran through the Fortress to the control panel. She dug into the log and swiftly found Lena's code. It had been programmed to create the cage if Kara asked about Myriad, but then the yellow light was also programmed to heal Kara after Lena escaped. A note was annotated on that section of the code, and Kara's breath caught in her throat.

"I wish I could stop loving you. This hurts worse than death."

Tears dampened her cheeks and she wiped them away. What would she tell Alex? How can she explain any of this?

She didn't want her friends to turn on Lena, and Alex definitely would go after Lena if she knew about the cage. It'd been temporary, and Lena had programed a healing sun-bed equivalent burst for after. That alone gave her hope that she could still reach Lena.

Because even in her heartbreak, Lena did not want Kara dead.

She grabbed the weapon she needed, the same one Lena had used to stop Leviathan from killing Kara, and re-calibrated security. Her tears froze on her cheeks by the time she finished.

Kara flew out of the Fortress and high into the stratosphere. She listened for Lena's heartbeat, but heard nothing at first. Fear clenched her heart. Either Lena hid behind lead, or something terrible had gone wrong since she'd left. She hoped it was the former.

With a heavy heart, she flew to the DEO. Alex waited on a balcony.

"Kara?" Alex said, alarmed. "What the hell happened? Where's Lena?"

Kara held out the weapon. "It works as hoped. Sustained blast will keep Rama Khan down, and then attach the power dampeners."

Alex took the weapon with a frown. "Kara, what happened to Lena? Where is she?"

Kara shook her head. She couldn't voice it. She refused to believe Lena was lost to them. There had to be a way to save her, to bring her back, to repair what Kara had fucked up.

She pressed her hands against her face and flinched when Alex tried to touch her shoulder. "I got to find her," she whispered. "I got to make things right. I got to."

"Kara, I can't help if you don't tell me." Alex's voice held kindness, but Kara knew how quickly Alex could turn to anger. When it came to Kara's safety, Alex might cross a line she'd regret. Kara had done it for Alex a few times.

But with Lena? Kara had no boundaries. Lena held her heart in a way no one else did. She'd talked herself into settling for Mon-el, but it'd never been who she needed.

She needed Lena.

"Kara?" Alex tried again. "Kara, talk to me."

"She's the one who shot Lex." The words felt unreal.

Alex's brow wrinkled. "I thought he died when he fell."

Kara shook her head. "We never found a body or even parts from his suit, remember? If he had a portal watch, he could have gone anywhere."

Alex sucked in a breath. "And Lena was waiting for him?"

Kara nodded. "She shot him to protect us. She's been grieving and hurting all this time, and what have we done? Ignored her grief! Where were we for her pain?" She paced the balcony as fury at herself and everyone around her built up in her sternum. "I hurt her! I hurt her with my lies, and I have to fix this."

"Kara," Alex hefted the weapon. "Maybe let Lena have her space. We still have to deal with--"

"Alex, you didn't hear her!" Her pacing quickened and a groove appeared in the concrete from her superspeed.

Kara should tell Alex, and yet she couldn't. She needed to save Lena from Myriad herself, but to do that, she needed to find Lena. And she still couldn't hear her heartbeat.

She let out a shout of rage, her fist colliding with the wall and shattering the concrete. "I hurt the person I love! I have to fix this. I have to bring her back."

Her rage petered into sobs, and she fell to her knees.

Her, the strongest and fastest on the planet, brought to her knees by a Luthor.

She thinks of all the times she could have told Lena, and how she'd chickened out, afraid of losing her. Afraid of living a life without Lena's presence. Now a Lena-shaped hole had been carved in her chest, and she hurt.

It felt like Kryptonite all over again.

Was this how Lena had felt the past few months? This agony?

And yet, Lena had still helped. She'd still saved Kara's life. Still built devices that helped others. Why Myriad? Why use that monstrous device? Kara couldn't make sense of it. The months of pretending to be Kara's friend.

She should be angry at Lena. Furious at the betrayal, but she felt only grief. She'd started this with her lies, with leaving Lena in the dark. Lena could have helped so much more if she'd been in on it from the start. Then this never would have happened.

Kara sat there, silent, head-bowed long enough for Alex to leave and return with a cup of herbal tea. Rooibos since most other teas were too intense thanks to Kara's supertaste. Her fingers curled around the warm cup.

"I tasked Brainy and J'onn with the weapons. We'll deal with Leviathan." Alex smiled and squeezed Kara's shoulder. "You do what you need to do, Kara. I'm with you, okay?"

Kara nodded numbly. She sipped the tea and slowly became aware of a high-pitched beeping. "Wait, that's the signal watch," she murmured. She put down the cup and listened. It came from downtown. "Lena," she whispered.

Before Alex could respond, Kara blasted into the sky and broke the sound barrier. The crack whipped across the city and shook windows. She landed on Lena's balcony at L-Corp, ripped open the door, and dashed into a dark room. The beeping came from the stairwell.

Horror twisted her gut. She supersped down the stairs, all forty-three flights, until she reached the stairs just below ground level near the door to security.

She threw open the door and the thick scent of iron assaulted her nose.

Eve lay in a pool of blood, no heartbeat. Someone dressed in black lay crumbled near Eve, again no heartbeat. Blood coated the stairs from where Lena must have crawled.

Lena, her Lena, lay motionless, one hand on the top step. For a horrifyingly long second, Kara couldn't hear a heartbeat. She dropped next to Lena and pressed her fingers against Lena's pulse point.

No, there it was.

A faint badum-badum, the most precious sound in the universe.

She could do nothing for the others, but she still had a chance to save Lena. A scan of her body revealed the bullet in her side, how it pierced a lung.

Kara gathered Lena into her arms, and ran through the security sector, hitting each door with her shoulder to wrench it open, until she finally made her way outside.

Lena's blood soaked into her suit, her head rolling in Kara's arms. She held her close and flew as fast as she dared toward the DEO. "Lena, please," she whispered, "please hold on. Don't you dare die on me. Not now. Not like this."

When her feet touched down, she heard Alex's voice shouting about a Rama Khan sighting. Agents poured into vehicles, and the team prepared to leave.

Kara ignored them. She walked through the bustle, and people parted for her.

Alex turned from where she studied Brainy's screens. Her eyes widened. "What the hell...?"

"Please. Help her." Tears clouded her vision.

"Medical now. Brainy J'onn's in charge." Alex grasped Kara's arm and maneuvered her through the mess of the control center. Technicians worked on last minute fine-tuning of weapons, and others manned screens plotting possible vectors. Activity that meant nothing to Kara, not if Lena died.

Not if she couldn't speak her last truth to Lena.

She laid Lena on the medical bed, and Alex ordered her nurses to get an IV in immediately. Kara began to pace, the blood drying on her suit. Alex cut away Lena's shirt and examined the wound.

"She needs surgery now."

"What do I do?" she asked Alex, anguished. "What do I do?"

Alex shook her head. "You can't help with this. Go help J'onn, and wear Lena's anti-kryptonite suit. I'm not sure how long I'll be in surgery."

"Can you save her?"

"I will try my best," Alex said. She refused to look at Kara, and that told her far too much.

Alex didn't think Lena would make it.

"Promise?" the words came out small, plaintive.

"Promise. Now get out of my way." Alex hooked the IV bag to the pole on one end of the bed, and rolled it toward an interior suite. Two nurses followed along with a second doctor.

Kara closed her eyes and listened to the most beautiful heartbeat in the universe -- it faintly hung on, slower and slower with each passing minute.

She couldn't stay and watch the medical team open up Lena. She couldn't.

Instead, she grabbed the anti-kryptonite suit. As it flowed over her, she almost wept again. It felt like Lena hugged her, the suit entirely her design and her nanites.

She flew outside and listened for J'onn. The fight was to the southeast by the docks.

Hadn't Leviathan been targeting Lena? She'd saved her once from them already. Maybe twice if she counted the break-in that had knocked Lena unconscious.

Now Lena was dying, and Kara didn't just want justice for Lena.

She wanted to tear apart whoever ordered that assassin.

The windows shook at the sonic boom, and the ground cratered when she landed.

Rama Khan and another Leviathan member battled J'onn and Dreamer, who had the weapon from the Fortress. Agents, with adjusted weaponry to match the power-disrupting frequency, scattered around the docks.

Kara didn't care about the risk. She didn't care about the Kryptonite weapons the assholes carried.

She crashed into Rama Khan and threw him into a dock building. The wall crumpled. "Did you hire Lena Luthor's killer?" she growled.

Rama Khan laughed and stood with hardly a mark on him and his ridiculous earth-toned suit. "Those who cross Leviathan do not live to tell the tale. Let you now join her, Supergirl." He extended his hand and the ground shook violently.

A blast from Dreamer's gun sent Rama Khan sprawling. Kara sped over and grabbed him by the throat. Her feet she stomped on his arms. "No one hurts Lena and survives," she growled. Her eyes glowed, and she let out a scream of grief and fury.

She blasted him and punched him again and again. Blood gushed from his face, but then he melted into the earth and stumbled into being a few feet away.

Only for Dreamer to blast him again. Kara pummeled him with the rage of a thousand suns. Her vision red, and the land ripped and shredded in their fight. Part of the pier demolished when Kara threw Rama Khan's accomplice into it. Another building fell when Rama blasted Kara into its walls.

Rama Khan slowed, each blast from the gun scrambled his powers long enough for Kara to rip into him until he bled from multiple places. She lost track of the others, so intent on eliminating the one who ordered Lena's hit.

"Kara!" J'onn clamped the power dampeners on the alien. "Kara, we got him."

Kara clenched Rama's neck and looked down to see the cuffs clasped to his wrists.

How much loss could a heart handle? Why did the universe seek to torture her so? Her entire planet, nearly all her friends, and now the woman she loves most -- loss melted through her crevices, filled her with a blinding fury.

She'd fought to keep everyone alive. It's why she needed to be in control, but that obsession of controlling everything, to make sure she never lost, had poisoned her. She couldn't control everything.

She couldn't even save Lena. The thought of Lena dying in surgery, of never hearing her voice again -- even Lena shouting in anger?

Her fingers crunched bone. Rama Khan tumbled from her grasp and hit the ground with a thump, motionless.

Dreamer and J'onn looked at her, but she didn't respond to their words or looks. Agents swarmed around them to secure the site, while Brainy set up the containment unit for Rama Khan and his accomplices. The ruckus roared like the sea in her ears.

She turned without a word and shot into the sky. She flew as high as she could, to where little to no oxygen existed. The fury burned in her, and she wanted to rip herself apart. She deactivated her helmet, turned off its life support systems, and let the lack of air suffocate her and her emotions.

She'd live. She'd always live, wouldn't she? While all she loved died.

She closed her eyes and let herself fall. Air whooshed around her body, screamed in her ears as she hit terminal velocity. For those brief moments, she heard nothing but the shrill wind, the rest of the Earth drowned out in her fall. A moment of release from the endless soundscape.

Halfway to the ground, she righted herself and flew to the edge of Earth's atmosphere. Again she let herself fall. For a third time, she soared high and fell.

Each time she let herself get closer and closer to hitting the ocean. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't outpace her fury at her own actions. At her failure.

This time she hit the water. She sunk into its depths.

Sea life swam around her, the distant calls of whales rippled through the water. What should delight her brought her sorrow.

No, she couldn't die. Her wretched powers, her curse, kept her alive. Kept her isolated from those she loved. Her careful, practiced control meant even in moments of extreme emotion, she still had to make sure not to hug too tightly. And kissing? How many noses had she broken?

All she wanted was Lena. Even if she could never be with Lena, she needed Lena to be alive. To be healthy and happy. Kara could live with just being on the sidelines, right? As long as Lena was alive.

She burst out of the ocean in a shower of sea water. She hung in the air and watched the waves below her. Her ears tuned to her favorite heartbeat, and there it was, faint, far too faint, but still pulsing.

A slither of hope wove into Kara's wretched spirit. She flew back to the DEO, the wind drying the moisture from the sea.

When she landed, Nia met her at the balcony's doors. "Kara," she breathed out as if she'd been running. "Been looking everywhere."

Kara crossed her arms over her chest. "What do you want?"

"It's Lena. Alex said to let you know the surgery is ongoing and Lena's handling it like a pro." Nia met her gaze, but worry painted across her face. "Don't lose hope yet. She may still live."

Kara said nothing. She heard the rebuke in Nia's words, but she didn't regret her actions. For Lena, there was no boundaries. She'd destroy a thousand Rama Khans if it meant saving Lena.

She followed Nia down the hall, through two intersections, and into the medical bay. Most of the beds were occupied by injured agents from the Leviathan battle. It was the surgery room that occupied all of Kara's attention.

Lena's heart beat still in those glass walls.

Kara walked up to them and pressed a hand against the cool glass. Lena looked so pale. So fragile.

The tears returned. Her chest constricted with a Lena-shaped hole that ached with each beat of her heart.

She didn't move from that spot for the rest of the surgery. Kara held vigil in silence, unmoving. She'd given Lena revenge on those who tried to kill her, and now Kara waited.

Waited for hope to dawn once more.

/end part 2

[existwound]

found you in my head again

M | 13k | Complete | Keith/Lance

Summary:

“What the fuck did you just call me?” Keith asks angrily, rubbing at his own hand, his eyes wide with confusion. “I didn’t say anything!” Lance defends, gaze flicking between Keith and the mage. He genuinely doesn’t know what the hell is going on. The mage bows lightly, clasping their hands in front of their chest. “The ritual seems to have worked as expected. Worry not, Paladins, your new bond will vanish by itself once you’ve strengthened the preexisting bond between the two of you enough.” Lance shivers. What? What fucking bond? Keith seems equally as bewildered when he looks back at him.

or:  Keith and Lance get magically bonded against their will. Whenever they touch, they can hear each other’s thoughts.

read now on ao3!

[lar-mx]

El murciélago bañado por las sombras y el ángel de la muerte (Nombre temporal).

Entonces tengo esta idea loca desde hace unas horas.

El Surgimiento de la idea:

en algún momento escuche este concepto de que cada persona tiene su propio ángel de la muerte el cual se encarga de recoger el alma de la persona fallecida cuando llega su hora, a veces cuando alguien enfrenta una situación en la que casi muere, realmente muere por un tiempo o uno de esos momento donde su vida pasa frente a sus ojos por así decirlo pueden verlo.

la mayoría no lo recuerda y los pocos que si lo hacen no hablan de ello.

esto anterior mas un recuerdo vago de un capitulo de un fic de DP donde danny escribe un poema acerca de una platica que tubo con la muerte donde esta le dice que no puede llevarse a danny (aunque no recuerdo si es porque danny es el rey fantasma o por ser un halfa).

La Idea como tal:

de estas dos ideas se me ocurrió lo siguiente.

Danny siendo el angel de la muerte de cass, pero si bien danny es el angel de la muerte de cass el nunca podra llevarla al lugar que le corresponda para descansar por la eternidad y si te preguntas el porque pues porque el destino y la vida se niegan a dejar morir y descansar a ciertas personas.

Por fortuna(?) la mayoría de los héroes son algunas de estas personas y por desgracia(?) un buen numero de villanos también.

la situación es tal que no importa el que o el como pero esa persona selecciona escapara de apenas con vida de una muerte segura o volverá a la vida unos segundo, unos minutos o algunos meses e incluso algunos años después.

el método para que vuelvan puede ser cualquiera pero al final siempre escapan de las manos de su ángel de la muerte.

cass es una de esas pocas personas que pueden recordar a su ángel de la muerte.

aquí es donde por mi parte pierdo el hilo de como quiero escribir ( jaja no puedo escribirlo aunque mi vida dependa de ello) esta idea.

Porque por un lado me encantaría que esto fuera un cass x danny donde los únicos momento donde ellos pueden interactuar y hablar es cuando cass esta en una situación cercana a la muerte pero nunca podran estar verdaderamente juntos por que el destino y las propias convicciones de cass le impiden morir o permanecer muerta.

lo que me lleva a la idea de que cass escriba cartas o poemas para su ángel(?) para dárselos en esos raros momento en los que se encuentran, pero el problema es que cass es demasiado buena para enfrentar regularmente ese tipo de situaciones donde se puedan encontrar.

y por otro lado esta la idea de que sean algo asi como amigos y/o danny sea una especie de mentor de cass desde que ella era joven y escapo de las garras de su progenitor.

ya que cuando era mas joven enfrento varias llamadas cercanas debido a la desnutrición y/o enfermedades debido andar escapando la mayor parte del tiempo de la persecución de david (creo que así se llama).

estoy seguro que existen otras rutas para llevar esto e incluso otros barcos, pero con mis habilidades actuales no puedo llevar a cabo esta idea asique la comparto con ustedes para que agreguen o la usen a su antojo.

Saludos.

tag some people I follow, in case they like the concept.->

@satoshy12 @zylev-blog @bet-on-me-13 @hdgnj @dcxdpdabbles @wandixx

[lemonlimestar]

now personally, i think as far as compelling romantic dynamics go from yj98 i think i lean more towards cissie and cassie (ALSO anitas big ass crush on cissie lmao) + kon and bart (aka kon’s big ass crush on bart) but i will say i still enjoy tim and kon’s friendship in it.

they’re so funny because they so obviously like each other. they’re best friends! or at least kon considers tim his best friend! but they’re so so so bad at showing it. they would gag excessively if they knew about the “you’re my robin…” scene. wdym you’re saying you like that guy??? just tape his favorite show while he’s in space on an insane mission??? simply beat up (or attempt to beat up) a guy on his behalf multiple times???

i dunno i just feel like kon’s viewpoint on the importance of trust and tim not telling the team his real identity is really interesting to explore. especially paralleled with adventure comics #3. the way tim so easily pulls down his cowl v.s. how it felt like pulllng teeth for him every time kon brought up secret identity issues. and mind you! a lot of that was match, but it still obviously really hurt him! especially with the entirety of what happens in owaw! (my beloved <3)

i cannot for the life of me think of the issue number but during sins of youth when kon and clark are switched and they talk about clark not bringing up his secret identity. and despite his chill demeanor, kon seems pretty hurt by it. he likes to know he’s trusted. it’s kind of the same thing with the legion in early sb94. i think his lack of secret identity initially also plays into this. like, he can talk about everything in his personal life because, well, his personal life and professional life are essentially the same thing. now cut to tim complaining about having to lie to his dad. and his friends (including young justice and even bruce). and his girlfriend(s).

their dynamic is obviously heavily impacted by where they are in their lives at that point and it’s so compelling to me specifically.

+ the way kon latches onto being able to say tim’s real name soooo bad after wwyj. like. okay girl…!

[toxinoire]

Kara never thought of it when Lena first asked her this question.

"What if someone says; in like a few years maybe, I'd be...gone?" Lena asks, staring at the distance.

Kara got confused at this question. But decided to answer anyway. "Well, I'd most likely, punch them or something. I'm not letting that happen."

Lena chuckled. "You're right...I guess it's just another existential crisis."

"Want to talk about it?" Kara asks softly. Lena just smiles at her. "No, darling. It's alright. It's just one of those times."

"Well, if you need anything...food, movies, a hug, I'm right here."

Lena laughs and nods. "Got that."

She didn't ask that question for no reason. She isn't sure if Kara already figured this fact out already, but their time is limited. Because Kara won't die unless she gets killed with Kryptonite or the day the yellow sun flying over them dies.

Lena knows there's a chance that Kara's life could be at stake at any given moment, but at the same time...there's a possibility that she could have Kara for the rest of her life. While Kara won't have Lena, nor the rest of their family for the rest of her life.

See here's the thing, Kara knew that. But ignorance is a bliss, as they say. She pretends that the day won't come.

But...maybe she indulged herself too much.

Because right now, Kara, swear to Rao, drops the car she's currently carrying as her eyes widen in fear. Through a window, not that big, but big enough for her to witness it firsthand.

Lena, sweet, gentle, beautiful Lena, with a knife pierced through her neck. She heard the enemy responsible for it, the one who's back is facing the window, laugh. Fucking laugh. Kara and Lena make eye contact through the window, Lena smiling gently, softly, warmly, at her. Muttering something no human could hear, but Kara heard so clearly. Her voice as soft as her gaze.

"I love you."

Kara barges in, breaking the whole wall, she rushes to her, hoping she could still save her. Hoping she wouldn't lose her. She can't lose Lena, she just can't.

However, it was too late. The knife stabbed a very fatal spot, and Kara witnesses Lena drop to the ground.

Kara can no longer hear her heartbeat.

"Aww, look at Supergirl. The Paragon of Hope, looking hopeless-"

Before this asshole can finish, Kara pushes him, actually pushes him off the broken wall, she hears him scream and plummet down, but she doesn't care.

"Lena?"

Nothing.

"Please, no. No. Fuck. Please don't leave me, don't take her too, please." Kara tries to get help, but to no avail.

Lena Luthor's death was publicly announced two days later. Many were happy at the fact that there was not a single Luthor left. The Superfriends grieved in their own ways. At least some people in the city actually acknowledged what Lena did for the world and paid their respects. The Superfriends tried to comfort Kara. She appreciates it, of course, but it won't bring Lena, Kara's...everything, back to her.

Now everywhere she goes, Kara just sees Lena.

She would try to go to Big Belly Burger, she just remembers that time they celebrated Lena's birthday there. Noonan's? She just sees Lena's smile when Kara gives her coffee from that place. The park in National City? That time Lena used her magic fully for the first time. CatCo? She remembers every hall Lena ever walked in. She sees a book? She remembers Lena giving her one.

Her own apartment also reminds her of Lena, all the times they had there. Certain foods remind her of Lena. Everything around her is now just a ghost of Lena. Even fucking kryptonite reminds her of Lena.

She's everywhere Kara goes.

No one in the city realized how much Supergirl was so torn over the loss of Lena Luthor.

Some dickwads actually thought she was happy about it, which some idiot reporter asked her one day.

"You must be really relieved that the last Luthor is no longer a threat."

Kara stays silent, yet her eyes emmit everything she wants to say.

Kelly holds back an angry Alex from hitting someone, but Kelly herself is yelling about how insensitive that was, about how this reporter is disrespecting the dead, about how they forgot that Lena worked with Supergirl. Both Brainy and Nia list down everything that Lena has done to save the city.

Kara? She's been silent, before taking a deep breath, looking at the reporter, knowing there are cameras surrounding her, she says,

"This world is nothing without her."

Then, she flies away, higher into the blue skies and screams.

Would you look at that, world. There's a Luthor that successfully broke a Super.

[cheriekos]

“my self-sufficiency will be the death of me” [timkon ficlet]

goooooood afternoon timkonners. Really wanted to get into the habit of writing a little bit everyday again, so I’m filling out some whumptober-adjacent prompts (courtesy of scealaiscoite). This may be eventually cross-posted to my ao3, who knows, this is mostly just to keep my writing skills in check after a really rough few months of work + to get me out of my writing slump on my larger fic projects. This has been very lightly edited, and is extremely unbeta’d. Anyways, enjoy! Prompt: blood swirling down a shower drain. Content warnings for light descriptions of a knife injury & medical treatment related to that.

The ceiling is that awful popcorn texture. It's yellowed over time. There's a spreading stain over corner, likely some water damage from the unit above. There's some rust at the corner of the shower curtain rod and some odd looking spots at the bottom of the flimsy plastic curtain that has him groaning because he's going to have to look into this, he lives here, other people live here, and clearly the landlord spruced up his apartment but not the others and this needs to be taken care of but it's another thing to take care of -

His breath catches in his throat, a barely held gasp just eeking out past his lips. Every time he tries to breathe low into his belly, his chest spasms. Bruised ribs, he catalogues. Another thing to take care of.

Tim's fingers shake over the left side of his chest, right above the torn parts of his uniform, right where his emergency beacon was slashed through. He lost the one on his wrist sometime between Falcone's latest hidden warehouse and the apartment building. If he reaches down to his boot, he can press the one still intact. He can press it, and someone will come and get him.

He can't move his hand.

Well - It's not that he can't. He's still got some feeling left, which is good. But he can't stop staring at the ceiling. The thought of even moving his head makes him feel so - so tired. It feels as if someone has scooped out his bones and filled him with dense liquid. He tries to will himself to move, to slam down on the emergency beacon and suffer through the indignity of having to be saved by Robin and sit through a thorough dissection of everything he did wrong tonight. He doesn't mind it so much anymore, really - but he's just - he's too tired. He's too tired.

When he closes his eyes, it feels good - the rest that calls to him feels like the kind after a particularly long day of running around as a kid. When you've probably spent too much time in the sun and your chest hurts, the phantom pain of deep laughter following you to your bed. He believes it, for a moment. That he's really just closing his eyes after playing too much and too long and his mom will be there in just a moment to brush his hair out of his eyes and tell him don't let the bed bugs -

He presses down on the knife wound along his abdomen to keep himself awake.

Only an inch deep, but three inches long - they got messy trying to pull it out, he thinks. Another wound. Another thing to take care of. Which he won't be able to take care of if he passes out in this dingy bathroom that's probably going to give him an infection.

His fingers feel cold. He can't tell if he's going into shock or if he's been sitting under the spray of the shower so long that the hot waters run out.

He can't die like this. Not like this. Lying in a mold covered bathroom, shredded to pieces. Not like this.

It's painful, it makes him flush with a deeply buried shame that he tried hard not to face - but he chokes out his name anyway.

"Superboy," he says. "Kon."

There's a moment - one painful, awful moment - where there is nothing but the sound of the shower and his own, ragged breathing. Then, somewhere further inside there's the sound of a window opening, the stumbling of leather boots against hardwood floor - and then Kon's there, right there next to him, and Tim has never felt so relieved and so ashamed at the same time.

"Shit," Kon says, holding Tim's face. He looks down at Tim's hands, shaking against the wound in his side, and follows the blood going down the shower drain. "Shit."

"Good t'see y'too." Tim mumbles.

Kon's staring - or at least, Tim thinks he is. He thinks time is slowing down, maybe. Between one blink and the next, Kon's face morphs from wide-eyed worry to a grim sort of determination. The grip on Tim's face tightens - not unkindly.

"Not funny, Tim," Kon says, lowly.

Tim just swallows, barely wincing at the acrid taste of copper on his tongue. He tilts his chin with what little energy he has, indicating his stomach.

"Knife wound," he says. "Bruised ribs. Gotta check for - for concussion -"

"Stop talking -"

"Need - stitches -"

"Stop talking."

Tim's mouth clicks shut. He feels something burn at his chest - not pain, but something more akin to anger flaring beneath his skin. The urge to crawl out of the tub, to rip away from Kon and get his own goddamn medical kit was making his stomach roll. But God, his bones were like lead and his head was so heavy - the overwhelming relief of being gathered up into Kon's arms was almost enough to distract him. Almost.

"I'm taking you back to your house -"

"Can't."

"Why?"

"Got - my own - my own place -"

Kon freezes as he leaves the old bathroom, pausing briefly to scrunch his eyes tight and mutter a small Jesus Christ before readjusting Tim in his hold, gently.

"You need help, Tim, and you've lost a lot of blood -"

"Not too much -"

"Tim -"

"Kon," Tim says, strained. "The longer we stand here arguing, the more blood I lose. Take me - take me back to my apartment."

Time really slows down then. Kon's bright, bright eyes bore into his, a completely open book. Tim can see the way he swallows down his words, the way his jaw twitches as he grinds his teeth - the way his eyes shine with worry. Tim holds his gaze, focusing on the pain blooming across his ribs in order to avoid thinking about just how much Kin's gaze unsettled something within him.

"You're gonna be the death of me," Kon mutters.

"Not if I die first," Tim says, softly. Kon doesn't laugh - doesn't so much as smirk. Then, he's bounding out the door faster than Tim could blink.

Tim feels a wave of vertigo and he does everything he can to stop the bile rising in his throat. He digs his nails into the worn leather of Kon's sleeve, groaning with his lips shut tight. Kon's thumb rubs a soft circle where he holds him - a gesture so gentle that it takes Tim by surprise. He doesn't get to relish in it for long before Kon's laying him against his new dining table; Tim mourns the clean wood. He'll be scraping out blood from the grooves for the next few months.

"My medkit -" Tim's hand reaches out, weakly. "Get me - needle -"

"Are you out of your mind?" Kon damn near shouts. "You're not sewing yourself up."

"I can and - I will -"

"No," Kon says firmly, hand wrapped around Tim's wrist. "Can you - can you just let someone help you for once?"

No - it's the reply right on the tip of his tongue. Help. There was a time when people surrounded Tim, when he could reach out a hand and find another reaching out to him. But the longer he does this, the more he loses, the more people start to disappear - the more that he finds that the only hands he has are his own. The hands that will stitch him up and prop him up straight, the ones that get things done.

But another, tiny part of him sighs. A little part of him sags with relief, maybe with exhaustion- because yes, he would like some help. His fingers are cold and cannot stop shaking and Kon is steady.

"Fine," Tim finally says. "Help me."

Kon smiles. That irritating, crooked grin lights up his face and Tim chest constricts at the familiarity of it.

“Was that so hard?” Kon says, a teasing lilt to his voice.

“Yes,” Tim groans.

Kon moves swiftly - more assured, more practiced than he had been months ago when he first had to deal with some bad scrapes while out on a mission with the team. His hands don’t flit about wildly, searching for something to make it better. He takes off his own gloves and washes his hands before cutting through the tightly woven Kevlar of Tim’s suit, gently washing the cut, and letting Tim dig crescent shaped divets into his bicep while he threaded Tim’s skin back together.

“You’ve gotta breathe, Tim - “

“I’m trying, asshole - “

“Don’t call the guy with the needle and thread an asshole, asshole - “

Tim barely notices that Kon has already snipped the medical thread and has started placing bandages across his side. Tim watches as he moves, quick, tearing medical tape and snipping bandages with determination, and then carefully placing them where Tim still bleeds. Tim’s mouth goes dry - he looks up at the ceiling instead.

“How’s your hearing? Seeing double?” Kon asks, flashing the little emergency flashlight in Tim’s eyes. Tim resists the urge to bat him away.

“Just fine,” Tim blinks. “God help me if I - if I ever have to deal with - two of you.”

“Twice the fun,” Kon remarks.

“Twice the headache,” Tim says, with little heat. “Kon - painkillers - “

Kon rattles a small bottle, labeled meticulously in Alfred’s familiar handwriting. “These ones?”

“Yes,” Tim says, breathlessly. He tries to put one hand under him, arm shaking with the effort to try and pull his own body weight up.

“Hold on - “

“I can - get up by myself - “

“Tim,” Kon says, warm hands curling around Tim’s arm. “Let me help you. Please.”

There’s an earnestness to Kon that is so disarming that it peels away the remaining resistance in Tim. He uses his last bits of energy to wrap an arm around Kon’s neck, a flush traveling across his cheeks as he mutters okay and lets himself be held again. This time, he lets himself melt a little further into Kon, pointedly ignoring the unfurling, winding feelings in his gut - he neatly packs that feeling away for later in the corner of his brain. He focuses on breathing, on the steady rhythm of Kon’s heartbeat, and the soothing hands that hold him.

He blinks rapidly, realizing that he’s been placed on his couch and that Kon has managed to rummage up the eye-sore of a blanket that Dick had given him as house-warming gift a while back. Kon’s in the kitchen, then suddenly by his side, waving a small glass of water and the painkillers in front of Tim.

“Drink up, Timmy,”

“Don’t call me Timmy,” Tim grumbles, and downs the pills and water in one swift movement.

When he sits back, it’s like every bit of adrenaline keeping him awake has left him. The last dredges of it disappear and all he can do is curl against the headrest, the scratchy, awful blanket giving him an odd sense of comfort. He blinks, slow, trying to get a good word out before sleep could take him. To tell Kon he’s got it handled, that he needs to report back to Dick about the stake-out going wrong - but he can’t. He just looks up at Kon, illuminated by the bright lights of Gotham from the window behind, and he feels a deep, deep ache in his sternum. A sudden urgency fills him - a worry. That when he wakes up, Kon will be gone and something about that makes Tim feel sick.

He moves his fingers slightly, flushing with embarrassment as he croaks out “Stay?”

Kon doesn’t hesitate. There’s barely enough time for a thought before Kon’s hand tangles with Tim’s, the rough pads of his thumbs, slowly becoming calloused from farm work, begins to rub against Tim’s knuckles. Tim’s breath catches in his throat.

“Of course,” Kon whispers. “You don’t even have to ask.”

Tim breathes out. “Oh.”

There’s a smile on Kon’s face - a little knowing, a little sad. Something childish blooms in Tim; he wants to reach out and hold his face, wants to pull at the edges of his cheeks until the sadness went away. But rest tugs at him, the exhaustion in his bones pulling him down, down, down until the feeling of Kon’s hand in his was a distant sensation, his last words something like out of a dream.

“I’ve got you, Tim. I’ve got you.”

[aowyn]

Fic Stats Game

Rules: Give us the links to your fics with the most hits, second most kudos, third most bookmarks, fourth most comments, fifth most words, and your fic with the least amount of words.

tagged by the lovely fairy @child-of-the-fairy-folk ! <3 thanks for tagging me!!! :D

first most hits: and though the winter came it hurt them not

Show me your true appearance, Wen Kexing had said at dinner, looking up at Zhou Zishu through half-lidded eyes. His long fingers were cool against Zhou Zishu’s, who clutched his wine cup for dear life. And I’ll tell you what I want. I know what you want, Zhou Zishu didn’t say. It’s written all over your face. Wen Kexing invites Zhou Zishu to his rooms, and Zhou Zishu forgets about the nails.

i wrote this in the VERY early days of word of honor fandom, when you could count the number of english-language fics on one hand. as a result, this fic became very popular because there literally wasn't anything else to read LOL. (if you go in the word of honor fandom tag on ao3, limit to english language, then go to the very last page, it's there!

second most kudos: all the fires faded and were quenched

“I’m losing my senses, Lao Wen,” he said, with a hoarse bluntness that was perhaps a little cruel. He paused, and took a deep breath. Wen Kexing stared, still silent, black eyes wide with a distressed devotion that caused Zhou Zishu’s stomach to fill with hot shame. “I’m dying.” --- Zhou Zishu can't smell Wen Kexing anymore.

similar situation to the first fic! this story is on the third to last page of english word of honor fics sorted by date rather than the last one XD

third most bookmarks: silent and immutable as snow

He reaches for Wen Kexing's hands; touching Wen Kexing has become as natural as breathing, or perhaps it's the other way around. Being with Wen Kexing means being alive, or maybe not something quite so all-consuming as being alive, but rather the many smaller intimacies that coalesce into a life: Wen Kexing is the click of chopsticks at a common table and the rustle of blankets in a shared bed. Wen Kexing's hands are cooler than normal. At first, Zhou Zishu attributes it to the chill of the room, but when he feels for a pulse in his wrist and finds nothing, his stomach curdles like souring milk.

i wrote this story to cope with how the word of honor finale made me feel, and it resonated with a lot of people!

fourth most comments: rivers have not kept their courses

Across the ashy remains of the campfire, Wen Kexing sat on a log, playing his jade xiao. To Zhou Zishu’s sleep-addled mind, he looked to be made of sunlight, daybreak setting the white silk of his fine clothing aglow with pinks and pale yellows. It seemed a full night of sleep turned Zhou Zishu into a sappy poet. He resolved to never fall asleep to Wen Kexing’s flute again lest that affliction became incurable.

similar situation to the first and second fics! this story is on the second to last page of english word of honor fics on ao3 XD

fifth most words: sky above, crowned with sun

An olive tree, trunk gnarled and black. The mortals would call it ancient, but time is not so fast for gods, and Persephone counts not the years. All she knows is that the tree is as old as her dead son.

this is a hades fic i wrote for the extreme timed challenge gift exchange, where you have 48 hours after receiving your giftee's prompt to complete a fanwork for them. i wrote 2.2k words!

least amount of words: saudade

They lay together, in the time-worn quiet of the Four Seasons Manor—Zhou Zishu refused to call it a ruin, because it stopped being one as soon as the three of them came back to live in it.

on tumblr a few years ago i wrote double drabbles for people who left an ask with a cool word and a word of honor character, and this is one of them!

i tag @maebird-melody @morluin @morifiinwe @feanor @andreth-with-a-sword @garden-holic @raine-kai @vryivs @aredhels @gayjaytodd @rose-ncrantz and anyone else who would like to do this game! (and also no obligation to do it if i've tagged you!) <3

[didhewinkback]

fav friends to lovers fic recs? I’m searching but can’t find anything

something old

i am absolutely kidding ! thank you for this question i read so much fic i have been WAITING for someone to ask me to rec so i can flex my skills. okay turns out this prompt has so many of my FAVES so here is a list im definitely forgetting some but its late so im leaving it as is and will add as i remember:

jamaica me happy by @for-fucks-sake-h one of THE PINNACLE friends to lovers fics if you have already read it just read again

trick of the light by @andwhenshesays just go read it and have your life be Changed also close quarters im counting as friends to lovers bc its an all timer for me so

watashi no sakura by @soysauceharry ugh so sweet and lovely and depending your definition of friends to lovers i will also put all things yet to come bc its one of the greatest stories i've ever read and im jealous if you haven't experienced it yet

spinning out by @harrytheehottie okay i would count work colleagues - friends - lovers as part of this category this fic is so lovely and fun i cant wait to see where it goes omg also tis the damn season counts in my boook its an absolute all time fic go read now

liar, liar by @harrystylesgotmefuckedup i for some reason only discovered this fic last week ?! and read it in one sitting. its hot, sweet and the banter is fire. go read its so good

this baby blurb childhood best friend by @oh-honey-styles never leaves my brain i think about it truly all the time its just so sweet it makes me scream and then just go read everything annes written u wont regret it

soft place to fall by @hslllot oohhhh its just so lovely i just want to dive into the whole world of this story and live there forever cant wait to read more

infatuation on a mutual level by @harrygoeswest soooo sweet and lovely i truly read it in one sitting i couldnt help myself read it right now

all of nikki's blurbs @harrysblackcoat but here is a specific best friend one just for u

wow what an absolutely all star list of fics here happy happy reading

[solarmorrigan]

Little epilogue to the “Steve crochets Eddie a scarf” story (I promise I’m done now)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Ao3

“What are you working on?” El asks, leaning slightly into Eddie’s space to watch as he works.

Eddie pulls his latest stitch tight and tilts the fabric a bit so El can see the patch he’s securing. “I’m putting my new battle vest together,” he says. “Since someone bled all over the last one.”

“You knew I was bleeding when you gave it to me!” Steve snaps from the other end of the couch. “Anyway, we salvaged most of the patches, I don’t see why you have to keep complaining about it.”

“Because you’re so pretty when you’re irritated,” Eddie says, and he can hear Will give a snort of laughter from where he’s bent over a sketchpad on the floor.

Baby Byers is the latest addition to their little group of creatives; he doesn’t do anything with yarn or thread, but he does set up with colored pencils or, sometimes, a little set of watercolors and listens while Steve and Joyce gossip.

(His presence has stumped Steve’s continued efforts at naming the group, however.

“Five people probably makes up, like, an actual circle, but he doesn’t do… fabric-related things,” Steve ponders.

“Call it a craft pentagram,” Eddie suggests.

“No,” Steve vetoes immediately. “Besides, it’s six when Murray shows up.”

Right. That guy.

Eddie isn’t quite sure what he thinks of Murray Bauman just yet; he doesn’t appreciate the relentless roasting of his and Steve’s “honeymoon phase” (Bauman’s words, not his), but it is funny watching him threaten to teach Steve how to knit. In either case, Bauman and Joyce are good friends, so he’ll have to be included in the final group count.

Eddie and Steve decide to think on the name a little longer.)

“What is a battle vest?” El asks.

“It’s a metal thing. You put stuff like patches and pins onto a vest to show off the bands you like, the stuff you support, the stuff you don’t support – shit like that.” Eddie spreads the vest out a bit more to show El what he’s gotten done so far; he’s collected a few more patches since this spring, and he’s still considering what he wants to do with the pack panel, but he thinks it’s really coming together.

El runs a finger over the Motörhead patch. “And you sew it yourself?”

“That’s the only way to do it, kid.” Eddie grins. “My uncle Wayne taught me to sew when I came to stay with him. Said it was something everyone should know how to do.” Here, El nods wisely, and Eddie can see both Steve and Joyce grinning in his periphery. “I’m pretty sure I fidgeted and fussed through every single lesson, but he was right. I was glad I at least knew the basics once I started putting my first vest together.”

El studies his work a little longer before declaring, “It’s bitchin’,” and startling a bark of laughter out of Eddie.

“Thank you very much,” he says, pulling the vest back into his lap. “At least someone appreciates it.”

“Not taking the bait,” Steve drawls.

“Did you do these, too?” El draws Eddie’s attention back; she’s brushing a thumb over the bottom hem of the vest, where Eddie has sewn in a tiny swarm of bats in purple thread.

“Oh. Yeah, those are mine,” Eddie says. “That’s a little different from what I’m doing with the patches. Just some dumb embroidery.”

“I like it,” El says, looking up at him. “Would you show me how?”

Eddie blinks, taken aback by the sincerity in the request. “Uh – well, yeah, sure. I think I’ve got some extra stuff at home I can bring next time. I’m not, like, the best at it, but–”

“Thank you.” El cuts off Eddie’s uncertainty with a smile. “And I can show you how to crochet.”

Eddie can’t say he’s ever really wanted to learn how to crochet – or that he’d even really known what it was until a few months ago; he’s mostly been content to leave that particular craft to Steve.

He glances over to where Steve is sitting now, frowning over the blanket (afghan?) he’s finally decided to try his hand at; despite what Steve says about not being sure about what he’s doing, it’s coming out beautifully. Eddie knows it’s going to end up a prized possession on Buckley’s bed when it’s done.

From the chair beside Steve’s end of the couch, Joyce catches Eddie’s eye and gives him a sly smile he finds he can’t help but return.

And as Eddie thinks about it, it’s a gift all on its own, isn’t it? Getting to teach someone something you know, getting to learn something from them, too. And hell, you can never have too many hobbies.

“Yeah,” Eddie finally says, turning back to El. “Why not?”

[gretahayes]

Number 3 for the devotion prompt ask game with timkon maybe? <3

3. “I would follow you to the ends of the earth. I would follow you off of them.”

"Oh, bite me," Tim mutters, hands stilling on his keyboard.

"Is that a request?" Kon teases, rolling over and floating Tim’s laptop away so he can lay his head on his lap. "What's wrong?"

Tim gives him a half-hearted glare, then sighs. "Kon," he says. "Do you think I'm evil?"

Kon stills. Frowns. "Not particularly?"

"Are you sure?" Tim presses. "Jason said-"

"Of course it's Jason," Kon cuts him off, rolling his eyes. "It's always Jason. Jason has not successfully done anything noteworthy with his life. Stop taking his input on yours."

Tim snorts. "I keep forgetting your beef with Jason." His hands cup Kon's face. "Alright then. Someone who thinks he has the right to an opinion on my life said that I wasn't. Good. Amongst other things."

"That person's an idiot," Kon says curtly. Tim lets out a surprised snort-laugh. "I'm being serious! Tim. Rob. Look at me."

Kon grabs Tim's face. Tim looks down at him, tiredly amused and curious. Kon schools his own face into one of solemnity. "I would follow you to the ends of the earth. I would follow you off of them. I would know if you weren't good. Do you believe that?"

"You are the most good person I know," Tim muses, fond. He caresses Kon's face lightly.

"That goes to Bart," Kon says, breaking his solemn expression to grin. "You're just flattering me."

"Then you're the prettiest person I know," Tim amends, intent on giving a compliment. "The prettiest boy I know. It's both flattering and the truth."

Kon blushes, then, and Tim, the asshole he is, has the gall to look satisfied. "You blush so pretty too," he continues, lowly, appraisingly. "Have I ever told you that?"

Kon lets Tim tilt his head. "No," he says, feeling impossibly bashful all of a sudden. "I could stand to be told more often."

"I will," Tim promises. His fingers ghost along Kon's jaw, and he presses a careful, gentle kiss to Kon's lips, then moves away and smiles.

"That wasn't the only thing, though," Kon says after a pause, after he's remembered how to breathe and can trust himself to speak.

Tim sighs, but he's not really annoyed, just a bit tired, and frowns. Kon drags him down to kiss the frown off his face.

Tim laughs into the kiss, hands finding their way on their side of Kon's head, and Kon smiles, satisfied. "You're an idiot," Tim says against Kon's lips.

"I thought I was pretty," Kon says, pulling away reluctantly.

"You're both," Tim says, still hovering over Kon. "My pretty idiot."

Kon tangles his hands in Tim's soft, long hair, and pulls him in for another kiss. "You love me," he says, when Tim leaves his lips. Tim stays close, they're still sharing air. He giggles breathlessly, "you so love me. You're like, in love with me."

"Yeah," Tim admits, also breathless, smiling small and stupid. "I'm in love with you." He hits their heads together. "Pretty boy."

"In love enough to tell me what's wrong?" Kon asks.

Tim pecks him on the lips. "Doesn't matter anymore." Then, when Kon frowns, "seriously. It was just something not going the way I wanted it to."

Kon cocks an eyebrow, tugging lightly on Tim’s hair. "This makes up for it?"

"You make up for it," Tim says, then leans down to kiss him again.

(ask game)

[jaegerisim]

When 11 year old Mike Wheeler boarded the Hogwarts express with his best friend Will Byers, all he could think about was how happy being here made him.

Being a Wheeler meant his life was already laid before him: get sorted into Gryffindor, marry another pure blood witch, have kids with her and continue the family line of Gryffindors.

All his family had been Gryffindors, which meant that they were one of the most anti-Slytherin families in the whole Wizarding World.

That wasn't a problem for him though, because his best friend was going to be sorted into Hufflepuff like his brother and mother, Professor Joyce Byers. Although he could be sorted in Gryffindor, like his father, Lonnie Byers, an Auror. Lonnie had been a well known Auror but after a terrible accident, the man had become violent and abusive. Fortunately, in drunken ire, Lonnie had decided to run off into the Muggle world, never to be seen again.

While on the train ride, they met: Lucas Sinclair; a sweet Black boy, his friend Dustin Henderson; a curly-haired boy with an impish grin and a pet cat called Mews, El Hopper; a gentle and shy girl whose father, Jim Hopper, was head of the Gryffindor house; and Max Mayfield; a girl with a strong personality and hot temper that matched her red hair.

Will and Max quickly befriended each other and Mike would be lying if he said that their immediate friendship didn't make him a little jealous. So Mike would constantly try to pry Will's attention away from the girl, winning himself a snarky remark or two.

By the end of the ride, all of them had become an inseparable group of friends. Mike had found El, extremely charming but his favorite would always be Will; with his big hazel eyes, endearing bowl cut and warm demeanor, who could blame Mike.

As they entered The Great Hall, all the first years stared at the enchanted ceiling with awe and wonder, yet Mike only had eyes for the young Byers.

The Sorting began and Mike trembled with anticipation, even though he already knew what house he'd be sorted into.

"Byers, Will!" called Professor Hopper.

Will squealed with excitement and ran over to sit on the stool.

Mike gave Will a reassuring grin and suddenly someone caught his eye. A blonde young man stared at Will with a pair of cold, blue eyes. Mike didn't think much of it, since he was more interested in his best friends head being swallowed whole by the Sorting Hat.

A minute of silenced passed until the Sorting Hat yelled "Slytherin!"

Mike's eyes widened. Slytherin? How could the purest, most angelic being be sorted into the house of villains? Surely that must be some sort of mistake! Mike waited for the Sorting Hat to laugh and say, "Just kidding, Hufflepuff!" But no, no such thing happened. For a fleeting moment, Joyce's eyes met Mike's and he noticed the woman's confused state.

Will didn't seem to mind being sorted into that house, apparently, as he skipped towards his table being met with enthusiastic cheers and pats on the back. An older girl with dirty blonde hair whispered something to him and he giggled, whispering something back. He recognized the girl, her name was Robin Buckley and his sister would always complain about how annoying her jokes were and how she couldn't stand her.

The Sorting continued as if nothing were wrong, as if the Sorting Hat hadn't made a mistake! It infuriated Mike to no end how nobody was speaking up about Will. Not even his brother or mother.

Mike was sorted into Gryffindor (surprising no one), Lucas was too, El was sorted into Hufflepuff, Dustin into Ravenclaw and finally Max into Slytherin. Mike couldn't help but notice how Lucas deflated a bit when Max went to high-five Will, earning a hug from him and Robin. Billy Hargrove, a 4th year Slytherin with a nasty attitude and Max's stepbrother, smirked at them with disdain.

Mike fell asleep feeling something was terribly wrong. Will couldn't possibly be evil! He was such a nice and caring soul! Still, he was determined to not let Will being a Slytherin ruin their friendship, especially since they shared Potions and Herbology together.

Mike detested Potions and Professor Creel seemed to detest Mike even more.

"Well done, Mr. Byers! What a wonderful potion, indeed." Professor Creel patted a delighted Will on the back "10 points to Slytherin"

Max and Will cheered and Professor Creel smiled proudly. A smile that disappeared the moment he saw Mike's own potion.

"Mr Wheeler that isn't a potion, that's your mother's stew!" cackled Professor Creel "5 points from Gryffindor and Mr Sinclair that potion is going to explode any second now"

Both Lucas and Mike's potions, promptly exploded. Mike thought he heard Will snicker softly.

The months passed until finals were just around the corner. So The Party was sitting in the library studying.

"Will! Can't you tell your mom to go easy on our Transfiguration test?" asked Mike.

"No, you know how Mom is super strict about not showing favoritism to me and Jonathan." chided Will, straightening his green and silver tie.

Mike felt a pang of pain whenever he thought about the snake embroidered onto Will's cloak or the green and silver colors adorning his uniform.

"Anyways, are you going to come to the Quidditch match this Sunday? It's the final between Slytherin and Gryffindor!" Lucas interrupted popping up from behind them.

"Of course!" piped up Will "Personally, I think we're gonna win the cup this year. Billy is such a good seeker and Tommy is a menace as a Beater! Although Nancy is a brilliant keeper and Jason is a great Team Captain"

Mike really wasn't interested in Quidditch but since Will was going, he supposed he would too.

He went to the Quidditch match sticking close to El who wasn't interested in it either. They'd grown pretty close this past year and people, mainly Lucas, were insisting on how they both looked like a couple. Mike really didn't understand why they said that but he played along with it.

Max and Will sat next to each other laughing and cheering their team on, booing whenever Gryffindor scored and clapping when Tommy took down Gryffindor's Chaser with a Bludgeon to the ribs.

Mike's insides burned with jealousy. It was obvious Will had found a new best friend in Max but hopefully that wouldn't mean he'd stop wanting to be Mike's best friend.

[sunnycanwrite]

Wanting to write a short sequel to my Timkon clonebaby fic. But also being a hot mess with hand pain, and writer block for years

[pokimoko]

Hey everyone! The exclusivity period for the @moon-knight-zine Lunar Labyrinth is over, so I can now share with all of you the two fics I wrote for it. I hope you enjoy!

hold me fast and fear me not

Word Count: 1.8K

Rating: Teen and Up Audiences

Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply

Relationships: Layla El-Faouly/Marc Spector, Layla El-Faouly/Steven Grant, Layla El-Faouly & Jake Lockley

Characters: Layla El-Faouly, Marc Spector, Steven Grant (Marvel), Jake Lockley

Tags: Dissociative Identity Disorder, Post-Season/Series 01, Protective Layla El-Faouly, POV Layla El-Faouly, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fae & Fairies, Fae Magic, Inspired by Tam Lin, Ballad 39: Tam Lin, Illusions, Mind Manipulation, Hand Holding: The Fic, Lunar Labyrinth Moon Knight Zine Fic

Summary: As they make to leave the realm of Avalon, Layla and the boys find themselves caught up in the machinations of the fae.

May You Bury Me

Word Count: 2K

Rating: Teen and Up Audiences

Warning: Graphic Depictions of Violence

Characters: Layla El-Faouly, Background & Cameo Characters

Tags: Minor Character Death, POV Layla El-Faouly, Layla El-Faouly-centric, Protective Layla El-Faouly, Post-Moon Knight (TV 2022) Season 01, Post-Season/Series 01, Mentioned Marc Spector, Mentioned Steven Grant (Marvel), Mentioned Jake Lockley, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Parent-Child Relationship, Loss of Parent(s), Layla El-Faouly is Taweret's Avatar, (and Taweret is a god of several things), Mother-Daughter Relationship, Father-Daughter Relationship, Mentioned Abdallah El-Faouly, Lunar Labyrinth Moon Knight Zine Fic

Summary: Layla helps a mother and child, and discovers what it truly means to be an Avatar of Taweret.

[pinkbelugacollective]

what if… lophi/kon/bart where kon still doesn’t sleep with lophi, but bart gets to sleep with them both so lophi can finally get some dick after all these years, and tbh, so does kon. bart moves in, they enter a throuple arrangement, everyone gets their own bedroom, and bart rotates between lophi and kon’s bedrooms at night cuz he sucks at farming. BUT he’s a good dad, a good husband, and can cook. lophi has two more kids. bartkon don’t leave, and bartkonlophi live happily ever after.