#i don't know how to end fics

[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

[stellamancer]

limitless (satoru gojo x reader)

notes: uh. should be working on my halloween fic lmaoo. but uh. thought i'd bang this out. inspired by a conversation with @shotorus about the names we use to refer to certain characters in narration. lmao.

contains: fem! reader (the only physical trait is that reader is shorter than gojo, gojo almost uses a gendered term for reader, but is cut off), established relationship (me: coughs up blood), typical gojo antics, nickname usage (darling, honey, sweetheart, babe), part of the infinite loop fic verse

wc: around 720

"...I have a question."

You look at Gojo expectantly. Normally, he just says whatever is on his mind without pause, without filter, so you don't get why he's standing on ceremony right now. "Yeah?"

"We're dating, aren't we?" he asks.

You nearly spit out your drink. He's not wrong; for better or worse, he is your boyfriend now. The fact of it is actually kind of unbelievable when you think about it. Not just you dating Satoru Gojo. But you dating Satoru Gojo. If you had told yourself that it would have come to this ten years ago, even five years ago, you would have thought yourself a liar.

Now he's the one giving you the expectant look, his lips curved upward that little smile that always manages to get your blood boiling. The cocky bastard probably just wants you to admit it.

You consider saying 'no' just for the hell of it.

You decide not to. It feels almost as if you’re pulling teeth when you respond, “...we…are.”

Gojo’s mouth puckers and you brace yourself knowing full well that he’s about to start whining about something. There’s always something with this guy…"If we’re dating, then why am I still just 'Gojo' to you? I call you by your first name!"

"You've always called me by my first name," you dead pan.

"That's because I've always loved you!"

You roll your eyes. You know that's a lie, but you don't intend to argue with him— at least not head on because you know that it’s just going to lead to a dead end. "No, you love disregarding proper social etiquette. Or rather, you don't see the point in it."

"Oh, darling, you know me so well!" Gojo gives you a saccharine smile and you almost gag.

"Don't call me that."

He pouts. "Well, if you say I always call you by name, shouldn't I call you something else to show how special you are to me?"

"...no, actually, just my name is fine." A nickname from Gojo sounds dangerous. The thought of being called some cutesy nickname in front of everyone you know is mortifying. In fact, Gojo would do it solely to embarrass you.

So, naturally, he ignores you. "If darling is no good, what about... babe? Honey?"

"Gojo, really, you don't—"

"Sweetheart? My love? Oh, I know, I bet you'd love to be called pr—"

"Satoru."

He immediately stops talking, his mouth hanging open in stunned silence. You didn't think that that would have that much of an effect to be honest. For once, it feels like you have the upper hand. You make sure to savor the moment because you know they are far and few in between.

"Just my name is fine," you repeat. "...okay?"

He gulps and answers, "...okay."

You try not to let your mind linger on the fact that his voice just now was lower than usual. "Good. So—"

"Say it again."

You blink. "Huh."

"My name," Gojo says, his voice thick with emotion. "Say it again."

When you don't say anything he takes a step toward you, the infinite cosmos in his eyes staring you down. You feel defiant. It's not fair of him to ask you anything when he looks and sounds like this. Gojo takes another step closer and you think that if you're adamant about not giving in to him you better do it before he gets too close.

"You've... " you start and hate how breathless you sound. This bastard knows exactly what he’s doing to you. "You've hit your daily limit."

Gojo pouts and takes another step. "Well, that's not fair."

"You're not fair," you retort.

He doesn't argue and you take that as Gojo admitting that he's playing dirty. "I think you should up the limit."

You hold your ground as he takes one more step closer.. "No. You think there shouldn't be a limit."

Gojo chuckles and leans down to bridge the rest of the distance between you. He cups your cheek, bringing your face closer to him. Your breath stills as you feel his own on you and it’s damn near intoxicating. His mouth is barely touching yours and your thoughts shift from trying to keep the banter going to how the slightest movement from either of you will result in a kiss.

“You’re right,” he murmurs, lips brushing against yours. “There shouldn’t.”

[theminecraftbee]

the "how to write a rec post or masterpost" post

i promised this a few days ago, so here it is: my brief guide on how to pitch yourself or someone else on tumblr to other people in such a way that they might actually click on it! this is what i've found is the most effective way to format a set of fic recs or your own masterpost will typically be, at least to me. this is meant for when you're listing multiple fics in one post, typically intending to help a reader choose one they want to read!

the biggest thing to remember is a rec post or masterpost is a tool for a potential reader. therefore, you want to include the information they need in the easiest-to-read way possible.

first off: if you are trying to list or rec more than one fic, do not use the tumblr 'link' embed function. like, you CAN, but ao3 link embeds get ugly when you have more than about one of them. instead, do an in-line link, like this! this will make a longer post much easier to read.

next, with each link, include the following information: a brief summary (it doesn't have to be the same as the summary/pitch you used for ao3, and probably shouldn't be; instead, a one or two sentence description of what the fic is about is best), the fandom it's in, a sense of the fic's length, and rating. (note that you DON'T need to include all the tags and trigger warnings--if someone is intrigued enough to read it, they'll click on the link, and from there they will see the tags and trigger warnings. this should only be enough information to get someone interested.)

finally, ESPECIALLY if it's a rec post, include at least one sentence about why someone should read it. why are you recommending it? this is different from the summary; if a summary of the fic is "joe hills gets stuck in a time loop", the sentence about why someone should read it shouldn't be "haven't you ever wanted to see joe in a time loop?"

the point of rec posts--and indeed promoing on tumblr--is that people trust word of mouth more than they trust a random summary. so give them that word of mouth! if it's a rec post, say something like "it's a fic that made me cry", or "i never thought i'd laugh so much at a fic until i read this", or "the character-voices are on point", or "i stayed up all night reading this". if it's your own master post. include something like "this might be the fic i'm the most proud of", or "this one is great if you like joe hills and enjoy tragedy", or "this one was an experiment in style". something that is NOT just further summary of the fic, but instead describes a good reason to read it!

so, for example, an entry in my own hypothetical master post might look like this:

to convey a certain brilliance, hermitcraft, T, 21k. joe hills and zombiecleo slowly, and through many death loops, drag their way out of their collapsed base to try to survive after a lunar apocalypse. this is the second hermitcraft fic i ever wrote and i wrote it before we knew how moon's big would end, inspired by super hostile; people still tell me it has some of their favorite joe characterization.

and an entry in a hypothetical rec post i might write could look like this:

the sky weighs heavy tonight by mawofthemagnetar, hermitcraft, T, 79k. an ensemble fic in which a plane being flown by keralis and zedaph crashes, and in which the world is still recovering from the scars of a deadly war. i LOVE snake's writing, and this fic was basically designed to capture me specifically; it has cool worldbuilding, body horror, PLANES, a really cool aircraft investigation plot, one of the best-executed ensemble casts in the fandom, and a fun tone! it's a fairly easy read even given it's length, too; if you haven't read it, you absolutely should.

my only remaining recommendation is that if you're writing a LONG fic rec post or a LONG masterpost, you organize it by categories. these categories can be whatever is most useful for you--by relationship tag, by fandom, by ship or not ship, by genre, etc., it's mostly just to make scanning through the post a little easier.

and hopefully this is helpful for some folks out there! if people are interested i can also do one on "how to promo my individual fic", i also have observations and opinions on that.

[kneelingshadowsalome]

so, i’m currently taking a west civics class in college, and i am currently researching ancient greek civilizations, most notably, the arts and culture of ancient greece. i know you have written a fic based on its mythological stories, with minotaur könig (bless your beautiful soul).

but through my readings, i couldn’t help but come up with such a dirty daydreams while in class. i couldn’t stop myself from thinking about könig and… the ancient olympics…

i know, realistically speaking, women were not allowed to attend or watch these games for the most part. so, in a universe where könig’s dedication not only falls upon him being a top man, but being the perfect man in honor of being recognized by the god of strength himself, he becomes so enticing in the way he trains and readies himself for such a significant event of his life. he’s never really had much to care for, neither does he need to prioritize anything that isn’t him or his training. he’s a workhorse, nothing stopping him from being the best, most valuable follower of zeus. that is… until…

well, it was your fault, and you admit that, but he wasn’t stopping you either. i mean, who could blame you, this little thing sneaking and peeping at a man who’s at work in order to provide to cute women like yourself. in fact, you argue that this was your way of appreciating a man, to observe them in their element in such a loving gaze. it didn’t help that könig was a man who preferred to train naked too, in all his glory, so of course there was no missing you, you were just too obvious for a man like him to notice you.

and with every grunt he’d give after each swing of a fist or a blade, a mew is what you’d give in return, your own form of a cheer for him to keep going. and you promised you didn’t mean to stare and make distracting noises, but an innocent maiden like yourself was just too hypnotized by this new anatomy that was found between this man’s legs. so outspoken, so dirty for your mouth to spew such beautiful filth to a stranger.

was this könig’s new test of endurance? part of the program to make him stronger for the olympic event that was just around the corner. he has heard man advising others to refrain from sex before the games, but he hadn’t even been given the chance to work on that since no one was bold enough to approach him like you did. he wonders, does fucking before a game really make a man weak, does thinking about shoving his big dumb cock in his soon-to-be wife distract him too much to succeed? perhaps, perhaps not, one thing he does know though, he’s got someone else to honor and worship, which makes his training all the more necessary.

Oh my god….. I’m totes not getting caught up in the fact that women were not allowed to participate in these activities….

This led me to think, what if some misbehaving little creature decided to peep at this Hercules reborn? She gets caught one day, but because she’s absolutely carefree and unhinged, she asks König if he could show her how to train.

CW: Nudity, implied sexism/misogyny (Ancient Greek society thang), teasing König to the point where he gets a boner and growls

Our Olympian hero gets so confused that he forgets he was supposed to report you or throw you out of the gym. Outside, where birds fly free and the sun tortures the trainees, he has picked a spot where he can train in solitude and silence: for some reason, other people’s stares make him uncomfortable… Until this curious, sweet little nymph came around, perched atop a wide rock, munching some wild mountain herb as she watched him train.

He allowed her to watch him train for two days, but on the third, he marched over to her and told her she needs to leave. Women are not allowed here, doesn’t she know that? Where are her parents? Does she have a husband?

No, no husband, and her parents don’t really care what she does. Well, this explains why she’s behaving this way. Running around the hillside so untame, watching men train—can’t she see she’s putting herself in danger? Any one of these men could decide to just take her on the barren land if she’s not careful.

She just giggles and asks, would he like to take her? Then points out that men shouldn’t waste their seed before a big competition. Also, Zeus’s wife would not think well of him if she saw him rut innocent women on the hill... There’s nothing but heaven above them, surely someone would see. The gods could curse him with a weak ankle, or a sprained muscle, a failing heart or a snake bite…

“All right, all right, that’s enough,” he says, but there’s even worse to come.

Next, she asks if he could show her how to lift those smaller rocks, how to throw a javelin or a discus. Could he teach her how to wrestle…?

“Absolutely not,” he scoffs while his groin floods with warmth at the thought of wrestling with this pretty, wonton woman. She’s absolutely disgraceful, and yet, he doubts she’s running from man to man, teasing them to death. She’s not begging to get raped, she’s just… a little gullible, or something. Happened to take interest in him, little thing. As she should, after all, he’s the pride of this city...

“You fear I’ll become better than you?” She asks with little stars in her stare.

“Bah. Don’t be ridiculous...”

They’re both smiling, now. This kind of banter and games he has never experienced with a lady, she’s making him extremely uncomfortable and at the same time, fly high like Icarus. He’ll have to be careful he doesn’t get burned…

When he still refuses to show her how to train, she shrugs and goes over to the wooden javelin that’s taller than her. Picking it up, he expects the gods to smite her down with a sudden hail or thunder, but nothing happens. The sun keeps on shining, and the sheep keep on baaing. She weighs it with two hands, then starts to look for a spot to try and throw it.

“Wait,” he calls after her, but she only looks back at him with a smile. Picks off to run, with the javelin securely in her right hand, she runs like a deer while he lumbers after her, completely perplexed.

Insufferable woman… He’s growing hard from the cock as he runs, somehow aroused by this silly chase. Like Apollo trying to court Daphne, but his Daphne is not meek and unwilling; she’s giggling as he huffs and runs after her like a stumbling giant.

At a distant field of nothing but rock and weather-beaten flowers, she stops. Shields her eyes as she looks for a perfect spot, she’s not even breathless when he finally catches her. She turns around to look at her hero, catching his breath in the sun.

“You’re not fit enough for a marathon,” she comments. “Did you lift too many weights?”

“Give me the javelin,” he pants, dismissing her blunt analysis of his weaknesses. Stepping towards her, he extends his hand, offering her a chance to return it to him without fuss.

“Wrestle it from me,” she smiles, so playfully and brightly that his cock suffers another throb.

Gods damn this woman... She’s toying, playing with him, teasing him to the point where he’s left no choice.

He doesn’t want to hurt her, which means the “wrestling” becomes an awkward battle of snickers and limbs. His cock gets in the way, and to an outsider, this might look like a scene of an oddly gentle, upcoming rape… This little minx is giving him such an ache in his head and his loins that he’s gritting his teeth by the time he gets his hands around the wooden spear. By then, she has her legs wrapped around his waist, her arms above her head as she’s lying on her back with him on top of her.

“I’m not letting go,” she laughs as they both hold the spear, his erection now blissfully trapped between her legs.

“Who sent you,” he grunts, head spinning as he tries to figure out which of the gods is trying to give him trouble this time.

“What do you mean…?”

“You’re here to thwart and tease me. Tell me who sent you, now.”

“You think I’m sent by some angry god?”

Her eyes sparkle even more, if possible. She even giggles under him and under the sun, her laugh like a thousand little bells in his ears.

“That’s so cute…!”

His grunts turn into a hollow, painful growl – even Tartaros is better than this.

“Train me, and I’ll let you have your silly javelin,” she smiles, even licking her lips before they purse together innocently.

But he knows she’s far from innocent. She has to be a curse of some sort, a plight sent here to torment him, because he finds himself sighing, “Alright…”

He gives her one condition: she has to wear clothes; no flaunting herself around him and especially not around the other men if they were to ever see her. They will both get flogged or worse if this mockery comes to daylight… She gives him a soft, adoring smile this time, and says of course, whatever he says.

The next day, she’s waiting for him at the training grounds, javelin in her hands…

Completely, utterly naked.

[chiropteracupola]

granby + iskierka + keynes

[triglycercule]

nightmare viewing the murder time three as little toys but more in like a little spoiled kid kinda way. because it would be funny and if you take into the account that he was like 6 before getting corrupted and do some mental loopholes it would be even funnier. like these are his dolls (killer dust and horror) and this is their barbie dreamhouse (his castle). they all have to stay in one room because nightmare needs to keep his toys in a toy box. the toys only ever come out when he wants to play but oh damn it they keep on breaking out!! silly toys,,, and then he locks them into the room again.

nightmare serves them food with plastic tea cups and plastic plates and there is no food. there is no tea. they have to imagine the food because dolls can't literally eat. there are food containers and stuff in the house but its all just a bunch of empty boxes. horror starts tweaking out after he scavenges the kitchen and finds a cereal box and milk carton that have NOTHING in it (why keep empty boxes?????)

they have to go where he wants them to go. nightmare gets to dress them up in whatever he wants because theyre his dolls they can wear anything he wants. it gets incredibly embarrassing when the trio is forced to wear pink pretty dresses and fight like that. or they have to go around the castle doing stupid fucking roleplays and it gets weird because theyre being forced to reenact a bullying scene and nightmare's giving them the death stare if they don't get it right (is this projection. this must be some form of coping mechanism dust theorizes)

and then you know nightmare's not exactly the best toy owner so he loses a few of his dolls here and there. maybe they get destroyed when he was playing a bit too rough with them! (killer dies in battle for like the 29th time) but its okay because he can just go back on down to the store (something new) and buy. wait no. steal another doll and then put it back in his dreamhouse and BOOM he has a full set again!! so sweet so cute. his dolls don't have consciousness what are you talking about theyre begging to be let go?? that's all just your imagination. what do you mean you're asking about the several slowly dying bodies with removed arms or legs in his dungeon. oh that's just where the broken but not yet destroyed toys go dw theyre fine its humane

[crow-with-a-pencil]

Hi @naffeclipse I'm very normal about your fic. Have some frantic midnight sketches as extra kudos along with some tag rambling :)

[winged-self-indulgence]

Dearly beloved we are gathered here today to honour @queeniesblog, who enables the demon living rent free in my brain. Consider this an early-early-early gift. 1.9K words, AFAB!MC, Favor VN wedding night DLC lmao

Z insists on carrying you across the threshold. You’re not even sure where he heard about the tradition, antiquated as it was. Perhaps the demon had overheard one of your more imaginative bridesmaids daydreaming about it, or maybe Z had crashed some medieval wedding in Europe and liked the idea of tossing his chosen human over his shoulder and making off with them like a beast out of the darkest folktales. You hadn’t been able to get a straight answer out of the demon, which was such a common occurrence you wondered why you'd even tried in the first place.

“You only had to carry me into the house,” you roll your eyes, wrapping your arms tighter around Z’s broad shoulders. “Not all the way from the wedding venue. I didn’t have to be in your lap for the whole trip.”

He’s partly shifted, the transformation dial swinging somewhere between the mostly human veneer you met them as and the massive abyssal creature you’ve only seen when the demon slips into your dreams. Even then, the shape was unclear, leaving only the vague sense of being utterly dwarfed by a thing so far beyond human comprehension that your brain struggled to put the separate pieces together.

This form is easier to perceive. At the very least, the 7ft 5” frame didn’t make your brain struggle with the wretchedness of the chthonic depths.

Z’s arms tighten around your frame, tar-drenched hands sliding over the pearl-studded filigree of your snow-white gown – their idea of a joke – to squeeze the plush underside of your thighs.

“And let those weaklings doubt my claim over you?” Z’s lips pull down into an exaggerated moue of distaste. “Perish the thought, Dove. Besides, you were the one who vetoed the other ritual–”

“I’m not letting you fuck me in front of your entire court!” You cut him off, face hot with what you are choosing to label as pure mortification. The lascivious flash of Z’s teeth tells you otherwise and you do your best to glare right back. “It’s not happening, you horndog!”

“Mm, I don’t know sweetheart,” Z murmurs and holds you closer, pulling you flush against his frame. Curved fangs nudge at your throat, exerting a sharp pressure through the delicate collar wrapped around vulnerable flesh. It’s a heady reminder. It is also a delicious threat. You shudder, a breath hitching somewhere in your chest, and the demon laughs at the sound, breath hot against your skin and sending another shiver down your spine. “I bet I could figure out some way to convince you.”

As soon as the door to the bedroom opens, Z’s lips are on yours. The kiss is fervent, devouring, an arrogant forked tongue pressing into your mouth with intent that has you squirming in place. Your own hormones and the weight of his huge frame pin you to the bed while rough hands roam over your body, greedy and insatiable, the demon unable to control the sheer voracity of their appetite for you. They caress the shape of your body through your clothes, groping with palms that feel burning hot even through layers of beading and silk.

Their tongue traces a slick trail up to the sensitive skin behind your ear. The jagged pinch of canines against the helix of your ear has you choking back a desperate whimper, and the demon retracts long enough to click his teeth. “Nuh-uh. Whine for me, baby. I wanna hear every sound out of that pretty little mouth.”

The next bite is far less gentle, and the wordless cry that falls from your lips burns your cheeks. You want to retaliate somehow, but Z’s tail is infuriatingly out of reach, lashing back and forth behind the demon’s back in a manner that betrays their obvious excitement.

“There’s my Dove,” Z coos against your lips, smirking at your overheated expression. “Poor thing, you must be so uncomfortable in all those layers, darling. Here, let me help you get those pesky clothes off.”

A hand grabs the front of your strapless dress and yanks, filling the room with the sound of tearing fabric. Before you can open your mouth complain, Z’s mouth is on your exposed breasts, and your mind instantly goes blank. Your back arched, head falling back against the pillow as the demon laves his tongue over your nipples, drawing them deep into mouth and sucking as though by sheer dedication he can force your tits to grow swollen with milk.

Muscular arms reach down to hitch your hips around Z’s waist. It’s a stretch in this form, huge as he is, and your thighs split embarrassingly wide. You gasp, feeling the solid weight of his bulge prodding against your barely clothed cunt and you can’t stop yourself from pushing harder against the thick length. The lingerie you’d worn for your wedding night was designed more for form than actual function, hardly more than a few thin pieces of pearl-white lace held together by thinner ribbons. A single tug from your fingers would send it fluttering to pieces.

Already sheer enough to narrowly fit the definition of underwear, your juices have turned the fabric nearly transparent, moulding it against the lips of your pussy. In the face of that, Z’s cock seems like overkill – prominent veins grinding back into the motion of your hips with enough force to knock the breath from you.

“Look at you, getting my cock all nice and slick,” Z groans into your ear, an arm hiking your left leg higher while the other pinches your chin and drags your face to meet his fiery gaze. “Fuck, you’re drenched baby. Such a needy hole, huh?”

“Z!” You spit out the demon’s name, fed up with their teasing. “I need–! Just put it in already!”

“Put what in?” He taunts, blinking those amber eyes innocently while a fat glob of precum pools at the tip of his cock. You feel the obscene warmth when it reaches the sodden cloth barely protecting what’s left of your chastity. You open your mouth to repeat your demands, but another jerk of Z’s hips has you whining again. When he speaks again, his voice drips with false regret. “Whoops, I’m so sorry Dove, I didn’t mean to. Come on, use your words baby. I’m listening. Where exactly do you want me to put my cock?”

“I-Inside,” you gasp, struggling to hook your ankles at Z’s back so you can draw the demon closer to you. “Please, I need you inside!”

“Then get those pretty panties off, Dove,” Z pushes themselves up, taking the weight off their arms and off you. The sudden change fills you with a strange sense of loss, until you lift your head and find the demon still looming over your, eyes still fixed on your debauched state with terrifying intensity. It’s inhuman; a flat, hungry stare that promises to swallow you whole – bones and all.

A hand is wrapped around their cock, rhythmically squeezing dark flesh up and down and occasionally pausing to thumb the bulbous tip that oozes sticky precum. The sight makes your mouth water, until Z lets out a dark chuckle.

“Dove,” he croons, hand never stopping or slowing down, “you know how impatient I can be. Unless you want me to shove my cock down your throat instead of that pretty little cunt, I’d advise you to stop looking at me like that.”

Huffing, you manage to tear your eyes away and focus on reaching for your underwear. It’s practically tissue at this point, scarcely more than scraps clinging to your cunt, and yet the act of peeling them away feels somehow obscene. Instinctively, you try to inch your legs shut, but a large hand catches you by the ankle and drags you into the embrace of an inferno.

You catch yourself against Z’s broad chest, yelping when you find yourself back in a variant of your earlier pose – this time balanced upright in the demon’s lap instead of pinned prone on the bed. Z’s cock finds itself back against your pussy lips, this time without even the minuscule protection of your underwear. A glance down reveals the sheer difference in size between the two of you, his cockhead reaching beyond your navel.

“You can take it, honey,” Z hums, reaching down to press two fingers through your slick folds. The stretch has you gasping his name, wrapping your arms tighter around his shoulders as your pussy squeezes around Z’s pointer and middle digits. He stretches you out, whispering filth into your ear while he fondles you with a teasingly condescending sort of affection. “Aw, is it too much for you, pet? You can handle a little more for me, can’t you? Oh no, no, no, don’t you dare hide your face from me, darling. You’re so cute when you cry. That’s it, give it to me.”

Z jams his thumb against your clit, curling his fingers at the same time. Your vision goes white, blurry with tears, as you careen into an orgasm so intense that you swear you see entire galaxies spinning before you. When you manage to come back to yourself, the head of his cock his lined up with your hole. A pleading moan is all the acquiescence Z requires before it pops in, and you scramble to cling to your sanity.

The stretch burns, a pleasurable heat that arches your back and forces another inch of Z’s cock into your cunt. “Shit,” the demon curses, an arm holding up your weight and the talons of the other gripping the mattress below in a concerted effort to hold back as best he can. “Fuck don’t do that, Dove. So goddamn tight, you’ll make me come if you don’t stop squeezing me like that.”

“Feels too good,” you moan back, fighting the urge to obey gravity and sink down onto the girth splitting you open. Only Z’s grip on your waist prevents that from happening, and it’s your turn to grow impatient. “You said I could have anything as long as I asked. Are you going to deny me on our wedding night?”

“Hm, I see someone’s grown spoiled,” Z smirks down at you, unmoving despite the flush high on his cheeks. Behind him, his tail thrashes back and forth, belying his smug words. “Ask me nicely pet.”

You barely refrain from rolling your eyes, before biting back a sardonic look of your own. Leaning closer, you force yourself to balance on your knees – dislodging Z’s cock completely, causing him to curse under his breath – and press your lips to his ear.

“Pretty please, oh Great Marquis, won’t you please come inside my cunt?” You whine in the most breathy, put-upon, amateur porno actress voice you can muster. “I’m so wet for you, and I need you to shove your fat cock into my tiny little pussy and fill me up so much that I can’t even stand. Please Z, please fuck my wet little – ah!”

“Be careful what you ask for,” Z hissed, spearing you on his cock. Once again, your world vanishes, reduced to nothing else beyond broken moans and the burning pleasure of Z’s swollen cock abusing your aching cunt. “Don’t worry, Dove, I’ll make it up to you. Since you want my come so badly, I’ll make sure to fuck you niiiice and full. After all, we have all the time in the world…”

[separatist-apologist]

How do you keep boundaries and find balance around your fandom experience?

I feel so bad saying this bc everyone is so nice but I feel pressure to keep up with and promote mutuals’ work and its starting to burn me out from being able to write

I hear this all the time and maybe this is the depression talking but oh man I want to respond to this.

People write SO. FAST. Can you imagine if I got angry every time one of my mutuals didn't reblog/comment/read one of my fics? I'd have no mutuals, no friends, nothing at all. Like at some point you have to trust your mutuals are actually your friends and they're not going to get upset if you don't hype every project they do.

And if they DO get upset, well...thats a reciprocal relationship built on a foundation of weeds and if it can crumble so easily, were you ever actually friends/mutuals at all? I know this is common in fandom spaces and I talk to people all the time who are like, so-and-so doesn't interact with me anymore since I didn't review/read/WHATEVER their last fic and I'm always like. Couldn't be me.

There are a million fics I'd like to read and a million more I'm 10+ chapters behind on. It's just not possible. And I think about like...me and @ablogofsapphicpanic who has only read the fics I've written FOR her. We talk every single day about everything and nothing at all. Or me and @the-lonelybarricade who spent so much time beta-ing for each other that if you went through our work during that time period, you'd probably find SO much overlap in our phrasing/structuring/whatever else. It was never a conscious decision to stop, just kind of a mutual recognition we were busy with our own things but were supporting the other (loudly!) from the sidelines.

My POINT is that this is your hobby! And of course engagement is important- we should hype up our mutuals whenever possible, and read their excellent work because we like what they do. And I think its okay to free yourself from the pressure of trying to do ALL of it, all of the time.

[total-drama-brainrot]

uhaam. like a dog by ferry. rk noah. Am i insane

I saw this ask, blacked out, and woke up to this on my screen.

So I think we're both a little insane. (The song, for context.)

[graveposting]

me when

me hwhen the------

the brainworms-

[cartwrong]

Whumptober / Day 22 / Tourniquet

"Oh, that's not good."

“Roddy, that’s not fucking helping!” Shirley sneered, and River thought she might strangle the tech expert if her hands weren’t currently covered in River’s blood.

“What? It’s not,” Roddy said, offended as he turned a shade paler.

River didn’t need to be told things were dire; the pain and the large amount of blood staining his jeans were enough to tell him that. Well, that and the bullet hole in his thigh.

“Give me your belt,” Shirley yelled at the tech whiz, holding her hand out impatiently, leaving one still pressed against River’s wound.

“It’s Gucci,” Ho scoffed.

“I don’t give a shit. If you don’t give it to me right fucking now, I’m going to strangle you with it.”

It would be quite amusing to watch Shirley threaten Roddy’s life if River wasn’t also concerned about bleeding to death.

“You’re buying me a new one,” Roddy said as he reluctantly unbuckled his belt before sliding it from his jeans but holding on a second too long for Shirley to rip it violently from his hand. “That hurt!”

“Oh, does that hurt?” River yelled, pressing harder to the bullet wound in his thigh while Shirley wound it around his upper leg. “I’m sorry my gunshot wound led to a little rope burn!”

River groaned in pain, his vision going white as Shirley tightened the belt around his thigh, just above the hole in his pants, before inserting the empty clip from his gun into it and twisting.

“Fuck! Did you have to tighten it that much?” he asked once he recovered, his breath coming in heaving gasps.

“If you don’t want to bleed out, I did,” Shirley answered, and that was fair enough. “Where the fuck is the ambulance?”

As if on cue, Marcus returned, paramedics trailing behind him.

“Thank fuck,” Shirley said, waving them over. “Took you fucking long enough.”

“I couldn’t make them appear faster now, could I?” Marcus argued.

“Look at him, he looks half dead,” Shirley replied.

“I can hear you,” River slurred.

Shirley ignored him and turned to the paramedics checking her watch, “I just applied the tourniquet a few minutes ago.”

River found it more difficult to follow what they were saying as he realised the pain in his leg had begun to lessen. That had to be a good thing, right? Only now was he suddenly freezing, his body beginning to shiver slightly as the first paramedic, a man around his mum’s age, knelt beside him.

“Does he have any medication allergies?”

“Fuck if I know,” Shirley answered.

“No,” River said, his voice quiet.

“What was that?” the other paramedic, a woman a few years younger than him, asked.

“No,” River said, attempting to be louder.

He was getting tired now, and the paramedics were here, so maybe he could rest his eyes a bit.

“Wait!” he said, his eyes flying open as a surge of adrenaline coursed through him. “You should leave. Lamb–Lamb’ll be mad. Go.”

He tried to lift his hand and shoo them away, but his limb wasn’t cooperating. He tried again, his hand merely twitching on the blood-stained concrete beside him. Well, that was annoying. He tried, but he couldn’t make them move now; it was up to them if they didn’t want to be fired.

Again.

He let his eyes slip shut, the pain now almost gone, though he was colder than before.

“River, wake up!”

“Tired,” he mumbled.

The other voices blended together. Some he knew, some he didn’t. He hoped they were listening to him. Roddy Ho’s unmistakable voice was the last thing he heard before he succumbed entirely to the darkness.

“Can I have my belt back now?”

[yujeong]

I've made my fascination with filth and how it connects to VP loud and clear at least three times on my blog, but I seriously can't state enough how much it occupies my mind. There's just something really powerful about someone not only being not grossed out by your filth, but, on the contrary, being attracted to it. Pulled into it. Turned on by it. That's what happens to Vegas at the safehouse. Pete is at the worst state he's ever been (debatable, since we don't know much about his past), and yet it's at these moments Vegas starts to become obsessed with him. I love how it's kind of subtle in its presentation. After all, KinnPorsche The Series is a very polished and "clean" show. Everyone is dressed nicely and the fight scenes never get too dirty or too bloody. The sex scenes never get too messy, either. And yet, at the safehouse, Pete is allowed to show parts of his filth to the audience. His hair is greasy, his skin is feverish, his lips are parched, there's black under his eyes, his voice changes, not even mentioning the dirt on him and the blood trickling down his chest. The rest is implied: the bad breath, the yellow teeth, the smell, the digestive problems he 100% has. What's implied is more important, because it's those filthy parts of Pete that Vegas embraces with fervor: he kisses a pill into Pete's unwashed mouth, and he eats Pete's unwashed ass. I love thinking about the juxtaposition of internal vs external filth as well, because to me, the VP arc kind of flips them on their head: Pete's filth is, as I explained above, external. He's filthy in appearance, in body, while Vegas' filth is internal, in his mind, in his heart. By the end of the show, Vegas ends up with external filth (another thing I've posted about that got some mixed reactions lol) that he has to find how to navigate his life with, and this time, it's Pete who embraces it. Don't get me wrong here. Both of these men have internal filth. Pete isn't some innocent, pure angel and he knows it, and Vegas does, too. Self-loathing just doesn't let him remember it most of the time. I'm going to end this post with this screenshot, which is probably one of my favourite VP moments (besides the sex itself), and that's because it's one of the most beautiful things I've ever witnessed on my screen. Look at the pores on their skin, at Vegas' bags under his eyes, at Pete's wet hair above his ear, at the stubble on Pete's chin and Vegas' upper lip. Look at them being filthy and at home. Aren't they gorgeous?

[glitterrosesnzz]

I saw you might accept tiny drabble reqs for Wanderer?

What about Sethos, Traveler, or even Childe (if you wanna go Scaramouche) finding a "malfunction" in his body that when triggered immediately causes a sneeze/sneeze fit, no matter what. Could be tweaking a certain mechanism, could be a surge of elemental energy (specific element or not), could be dragging a touch in a specific line or rythym along his face/nose?

Might suck idk

this went through so many rewrites that i felt like i was bordering on losing it entirely. i cut off a huge chunk of words cause i just couldn't figure out how to conclude it through that route. maybe i'll reuse it for a different fic later....

anyways. i took creative liberties when it came to what the "malfunction" was hope u don't mind-

"Hh'InKkyYSHhii!"

A particularly strong breeze ruffled Sethos' hair as he startled, almost dropping the cat in his arms as he spun around to stare at the Wanderer, who had been standing behind him. Of all the responses Sethos' could've gotten to off-handedly comparing the other to the cute little kitten in his arms, he hadn't been expecting that.

It was obvious the Wanderer hadn't been expecting it either, if the startled and slightly hazy look on his face was any indication. Sethos opened his mouth to ask- and was interrupted before he could even begin as the Wanderer snapped forwards with two more drawn out sneezes, the resulting pulses of anemo making the loose edges of his clothes flutter.

"HihH'KksShHnii! Hh-heEH-hH'iikKSHyhn-tii!" The Wanderer pressed the back of his hand against his nose, rubbing it for a moment before stopping and just letting his hand rest there, pressed against his nose.

"Woah, are you okay? Those sound way worse than normal." Sethos finally managed to ask- and, as he sort of predicted, the Wanderer responded to that by glaring at him.

"Tch, I'm fine." The Wanderer's voice also sounded different than usual, though Sethos couldn't really place his finger on what, exactly, was different. "Just ihH- ...ignore it-hH'IinNkSHhiiu!!"

"Kinda hard to ignore it when you keep doing it." Sethos said, trying to fix the strands of his hair that'd been blown out of place- and oh, now he knows why the Wanderer's voice sounded off- "You sound a bit congested- are you sick?"

"Wh- no. I-I'm not."

"Then what's up with you?"

"It's just- hH-hiH-.... a-a cat allergy."

"...A cat allergy." Sethos deadpanned, glancing down at the cat in his arms to see if it was believing this complete bullshit before looking back up at the Wanderer, who avoided his eyes.

"What, do you need me to... to repeat it?" The Wanderer rubbed slightly more intensely at his nose, clearly trying to hold back another sneeze.

"No no no, it's just- well, I've seen you hanging out with cats before, and there's never been any-"

"HhiH'KkyYSHhii! Fuck!" The Wanderer swore, before rapidly turning and starting to hurriedly walk away from Sethos.

"Wait, hey! Where are you going?!"

"None of your business!"

~

Over the past three days, Sethos had come to collect a mental list of the Wanderer's supposed 'allergies'. Cats, dust, Sumeru roses, a passerby's perfume, and... sand.

Sethos took issue with that last one specifically, he was absolutely certain that one was not possible, and besides, they're in the city. Sethos has been staying in a rented room and hasn't been back to the desert in over a week- there's not even any sand here to be allergic to!

So, overall, Sethos is 99.8% sure the Wanderer is just outright lying, and should really really be resting in a bed, because he did not seem to be getting better- and the redness of his face, whenever Sethos managed to catch a good glimpse of it from under the Wanderer's hat, was just red enough to indicate a fever.

And, of course, this conclusion is what led Sethos to, at the first opportunity, grab hold of the Wanderer's arm and start practically dragging him back to the Sanctuary of Surasthana.

From the moment he grabbed hold of him, Sethos couldn't help but note that it felt like the Wanderer was shaking.

Shockingly enough, the Wanderer had stopped protesting after the first few minutes, obediently letting himself be pulled along in silence. Or, well, near silence- the Wanderer sneezing intermittently as they walked upward.

(There was also a faint sort of... whirring noise that Sethos couldn't place. He chose to ignore it for now, focusing on the Wanderer's obvious illness first).

Nahida standing at the entryway to the Sanctuary with her arms crossed wasn't much of a surprise.

Aether standing next to her in the exact same pose kinda-sorta was though.

"Hey," Aether said, sliding up between Sethos and the Wanderer, "Hand Mr. Hat Guy over to me while you explain... whatever is going on to Nahida."

After a moment, Sethos obediently handed the Wanderer over (the Wanderer himself too busy focusing on holding his breath in an attempt to keep himself from sneezing to protest), and then turned to begin to explain the situation to Nahida, not even noticing Aether leading the Wanderer off to the side.

"You have to tell him." Aether whispered, "You can't keep this up forever."

The Wanderer, still holding his breath, shook his head no.

"No as in you don't wanna tell him, or no as in you agree that you can't keep this up?"

Aether smirked as the Wanderer glared at him, before turning to pay more attention to Sethos' explanation.

"-and he keeps insisting that he's just allergic-"

"Ha, allergic to blushing maybe." Aether mumbled. The Wanderer harshly elbowed him in the chest, before snapping to the side with a sneeze.

"Hh-hIH'KksSHhyii!! HehH-" The Wanderer's wavering breath was quick to hitch again, and he hurriedly pinched his nose shut, attempting to hold his breath again. Aether noticed with some amusement that the whirring noise that had arrived with the Wanderer had just gotten considerably louder.

"Y'see!" Sethos said loudly, snapping both Aether and the Wanderer's attention back to him. "He clearly needs to be in bed!"

"I-I'm finehH-hH'iikKSHyhn-tii!! Hh'InKkyYSHhii!!"

"His room is on the right, five doors down the left hallway." Nahida said, ignoring the Wanderer's sputtered attempts at protest through hitching breaths. Sethos promptly thanked her, and wasted no time in snatching the Wanderer's wrist and dragging him into the Sanctuary. Aether walked back up to stand beside Nahida as they both watched the Wanderer willingly get led to the left and then vanish down the hallway.

"Y'know." Aether started, "I don't think he hates this treatment, as much as he's trying to make it seem otherwise. ...How long do you think until he tells him-"

"-that his systems are overreacting to being flustered, and the whirring vibration is affecting him in very unsubtle ways?" Nahida finished for him, "Hm... I'd say about a week."

"You wanna bet on it?"

"Sure!"

[32girassoisdevangogh]

[the-ace-with-spades]

Another unhinged buddie fic idea - amnesia Eddie at his best and dumbest

So Eddie gets hurt, hits his head, is unconscious for like two weeks and when he finally wakes up, he thinks it's 2018, he's almost finishing fire academy and his parents are still saying he should let them take Chris away permanently.

To say he panics is an understatement — his muscles are weak after the lack of stimuli but he still puts a fight with the nurse that's trying to take his blood pressure.

He keeps on asking about where he is and where is Chris, only gets a you're in Cedars Sinai MC in Los Angeles and doesn't take for answer anything that tells him to stay still or to be careful with the IV, until the nurse says, "Your partner is right outside, I'm sure he's arranged something for your son."

He freezes. "My partner? I don't have a partner. Who is taking care of my kid?"

The nurse's face changes and there are suddenly more and more questions about what he remembers last, what year he thinks is, and does he remember his partner's name. He tells her - he fell asleep in his bed, 2018, he doesn't have a partner because he's been separated from his wife for a few years now.

Apparently, the year is 2023, he was on a call with his fire crew and got hurt, his partner is definitely his partner because he's his power of attorney, next of kin, and has been taking care of his kid.

So the nurse leaves to talk to the doctor and his partner who is still outside, with said doctor.

(Eddie doesn't know that but the nurse was either absolutely sure this is what Buck is because there are assumptions and there are legal medical documents or she is sure this is the mythical firefighters' bond and they're just very close work partners - your pick. Either way, Eddie thinks she means romantic life partner.)

Meanwhile, Eddie goes through all stages of grief because his apparent partner he acquired in the past five years is a he and apparently such a sure thing he's in all of Eddie's medical documents.

A guy. What kind of a guy he would have to be for Eddie to choose him as his partner?

Then the nurse comes back with a very tall, very handsome guy built like a brick wall but also making a face that makes him look like an eager but sad golden retriever and—

Oh. That explains some stuff. If just looking at him makes Eddie feel like it, then he can't even phantom what being with him feels like.

The guy stops mid-room, not going for a hug like Eddie expected him to. "Heard you don't remember me."

And he sounds so sad that Eddie reaches his hand out and the guy — his partner — is instantly at his side, gripping his hand, and Eddie doesn't let him go until he gets the point and pulls a chair closer and sits with him.

"I don't. So a name would be nice."

"Buck. Well, Evan Buckley, but everyone calls me Buck."

And like, Eddie's never been big for pet names but even in this short moment Buck seems so bright he wants to call him mi sol. "I call you Buck?"

Buck chuckles. "Yeah, you call me Buck. Unless you're really serious, then you call me, you call me Evan."

"Evan," he tests out. "Sounds like you're in trouble."

And Buck smiles at him so softly Eddie is melting in that bed, warmth hitting him where he's still holding Buck's hand hostage and traveling up. "Not to me."

Bobby, who is apparently their captain — even though Eddie has a feeling like he's talking to his in-laws again the whole time he is there — brings Chris to the hospital and he's so big, already eleven, and so sassy with Eddie.

He's also very, very familiar with Buck, which calms him down - he talks about the funny sandwich cutters Buck's been using the whole time Eddie was in the hospital to cheer him up and tentatively admits how they slept in the same bed the first week because Chris had nightmares.

And even though his dad landed in the hospital — again, apparently? — Chris seems very, well, very well-adjusted to the situation at hand, even if Eddie can see he's being a bit clingy with both Eddie and Buck. Like the adults in his life are doing a good job at shielding him.

Buck is the one who has all the hard conversations with him, about Shanon, about his parents, about his abuela moving to Texas because of a whole pandemic, about the accident he had at work, and what will happen once he leaves the hospital.

It's really reassuring, that it's Buck telling him all that.

If he had any doubts about Buck being a very, very good and very, very close partner, all of it disappears when they go back home from the hospital.

His whole house has signs of Buck living their best lives in there — there are photos, cookbooks, cooking utensils Eddie doesn't even know the names of, Buck's clothes mixed in his wardrobe, cards from Chris for the both of them. It's very clear Buck is not only a big part of their life but also lives with them full-time, too.

He knows where everything in the kitchen is — "I have a system, Eddie" — and he knows where all Eddie's insurance paperwork is, knows the PINs to his phone, his cards and accounts, he knows all about Chris' medical needs. He knows how Eddie likes his coffee, how Chirs likes his toasts, which shaving cream Eddie likes, which toothbrush is Eddie's, which pair of shoes Eddie's only bought because they were on discount and never worn, which of Christopher's notebooks is the one for math.

He doesn't remember the past five years but he can't imagine not having Buck as his partner. Knowing he is there doesn't make him anxious like he thought it would — it makes him calm, settled.

So he's offended when the first night comes and Buck tries to bring spare blankets onto their couch. He wants him in their bed.

He gets that Buck is trying to give him space since Eddie doesn't really remember all the years they've been together, but that's a bit much. They're partners, and pretty solid ones at that, not just a new couple figuring stuff out, they must have slept together a million times.

So Eddie tells him to go off the couch and sleep in bed with him. It takes some convincing but eventually, Buck agrees. They lie down, Buck is being unnecessarily awkward, turning his back on Eddie in the dark. Eddie is not having this — turns towards him and spoons him, holding him in his arms. He's pretty sure Eddie getting hurt and forgetting five years is stressful on Buck, too, even if he doesn't show it. He deserves the comfort of his partner, even if said partner doesn't remember all of their life together.

It happens again the night after, and the night after that, until Buck stops tensing up whenever Eddie wraps his arms around him.

Because Eddie was unconscious for so long, he still needs PT, and Buck somehow manages to arrange that Eddie's and Chris' PT is at the same time and Buck oscillates between staying with either of them for the duration. There's one time when the receptionist at the therapy center asks him why he comes in so often when he looks fine — she's flirting with him, Eddie knows, which makes him glare at her, and Buck just tells her, "I'm just the chauffer for my boys." And Eddie calms down.

They assessed him at the hospital and he's supposed to have someone's handheld assistance or use a stick or a frame when he walks, until the PT gets his legs to the state from before. Using either the stick or the frame makes him feel like an old man, and the feeling doubles when Buck, the hunk of a man that he is, is nearby, so he refuses to use it when Buck is around. Which ends with Buck helping him around by placing an arm around his back and holding his hand with the other whenever Eddie needs to move.

Which is an absolutely amazing feeling because Buck is both the gentlest of giants, always knowing when Eddie needs reassurance and so freaking fit and big, Eddie can just rest against his chest whenever he feels wobbly or needs comfort from the embarrassment. It's a very contrasting feeling because it makes Eddie want to be held and pecked all over his face and thrown into the wall to make out.

Eddie's physical fitness improves and he misses Buck's touch the second his therapist says he can start moving without assistance.

That's the only problem Eddie has — Buck refuses to touch him. Again, he knows it's a bit weird with Eddie not remembering. At first, he thought it was just Buck giving him the lead on how much he wants them to do but then Buck keeps on ducking out any time Eddie initiates something.

He goes in for a kiss when Buck is drinking coffee and he dodges, standing up before Eddie can try again. Eddie gives Chris a kiss goodbye and goes to give Buck one, where he's standing next to their kid, and Buck skips out the door, telling him he's going to start the AC in the car. He tries to curl up against his side on the couch and Buck gets up with an excuse of making popcorn or tea or anything else possible. When Eddie slips into the shower while Buck is brushing his teeth, he leaves the bathroom with the toothbrush still in hand. Buck pretends to be asleep when he kisses his neck and swats Eddie's hands off when he moves them under his t-shirt when they're spooning, always calls out Eddie in the dark, like he isn't sure Eddie is comprehending what he's doing.

(Buck is pretty sure Eddie is trying to kill him — just make him have a heart attack or something — even if not deliberately. He isn't suspecting a thing about Eddie's partners assumption.)

It's like Eddie has a partner that loves him but without the bits that are funny. Like, he thought life-affirming sex is a thing and he is cleared for physical activity now and still out of work and going stir-crazy.

He doesn't get it and he can't talk about this with Buck because it almost feels like Buck is rejecting him, every time he ducks away from Eddie's affection or doesn't reciprocate it.

"Buck is—He loves me, right? He hasn't stopped after the accident, he's—He finds me attractive, he wants me, right?"

(Hen, sweet Hen, thinks he figured out Buck is in love with him now that he has a bit of an outsider perspective, and mutters, "Oh boy," cursing in her head because it's too early for this conversation. She isn't even suspecting Eddie heard partners once and ran wild with it.)

"I don't see where you're going with this," Hen says diplomatically.

"It's just, he's not doing anything about it," he explains. "It feels like he's barely touching me."

Hen is freaking out because of all times, Eddie had to realize now—"Do you... want him to touch you?"

"Have you seen him?" Eddie asks and then frowns. "Oh, right, playing for a different team."

"You just had a brain injury," she points out, hoping Eddie will find his brain somewhere, actually, and think.

"It's been almost two months, the doctors say I'm fine, memories aside," he says stubbornly.

"Eddie, I don't think Buck is going to make any first moves when you don't remember the past five years you guys—" She needs to change the track because she's saying too much. "Why don't you just talk to him about it?"

"And say what? Please bend me over our kitchen table? Please shower with me? Please give me kisses goodbye? Please hold me at night?"

"You probably should start with something more...tame," Hen suggests.

He's tried tame — he's tried initiating kisses and hugs and Buck doesn't respond. It's like he is afraid to touch him and Eddie isn't made of glass.

He needs to do something drastic.

So at night, he waits for Buck to come to bed, lights dimmed, and when Buck pulls the covers away to slide into bed with him, Eddie is naked — he can't be more blunt, if this flies over Buck's head, he'll be worried.

"Oh my god," Buck keeps on repeating, not looking at Eddie, blindly trying to put the covers over Eddie.

"Oh, come on, I can't be more obvious," he complains. "Why can't you just touch me, Evan?"

He's taking deep breaths, not looking at Eddie at all and this is the opposite of what he aimed for. "You don't want me, Eddie, you don't even know me."

"I definitely want you," he protests, irritated. He knows what he wants, it's Buck who's been missing the signals right and left. "And I know you, you're my partner, my Buck—I know you want this, too."

It's the truth — when he thinks Eddie can't notice, he looks at him like Eddie is everything he could ask for. He wants him to look at him like that now, too. He knows Buck, even if memories aren't there.

"We're not doing anything until you get your memories back and you actually know who I am."

"What if I never get my memories back?"

Buck doesn't reply and for a second Eddie think he got him, but then Buck stands up from the bed and says, "I think I should move out."

"What?" Eddie protests because that's definitely not what he was aiming for. Buck's place is with them, even if things in their relationship are a bit dry or stilled. "And where exactly would you go?"

"I do actually have my own place, you know?"

And how Eddie was supposed to know? He lives with them. He should not have a back-up place to go.

"I think I'm sending you mixed signals and you obviously don't remember enough to interpret them with clarity in your head," he tells Eddie and leaves.

He actually leaves the house, too, no matter how much he's asking to just sit down and listen to him. He spends the night trashing from side to side, expecting Buck to be back any moment but never getting him back.

(Meanwhile, Buck doesn't go to the loft because everything is dusty in there since he's moved into Eddie's place when he had to take care of Chris when he was still unconscious. Instead, he goes to Maddie's and complains to her over a glass of wine, aiming to stay on her couch overnight. "You didn't see him, Maddie, he was just lying there like a starfish, completely naked, going all, now you can touch me all you want—" and Chim wakes up Jee with how hard he drops the pans he was pretending to clean while eavesdropping.)

Buck comes back in the morning to take Chris to school — he doesn't offer Eddie to take him together and they don't talk at all.

Eddie needs to talk to someone about this because he might have somehow ruined the relationship with the man he's pretty sure he'd like to marry one day. By wanting him to touch him, of all things. But everyone is at work.

Pepa is retired, though. The problem is, Eddie isn't about to tell her Buck had threatened to move out because Eddie wanted him to fuck him.

So he asks the more appropriate question, "Why are we not married yet, actually?"

Maybe if they were married, Buck wouldn't have some secret place to escape. Maybe he'd feel like he can touch Eddie because Eddie is his on paper, too.

Pepa gives him a look that says he's crazy. "Who?"

"Buck and I, obviously." Forget crazy, Pepa stares at him like he's insane. "What? Does Buck—not want to get married? Did I say anything about this to you?"

"Mijo," she says, sounding like it pains her to do so. "You and Buck are not—you're not together, Eddie."

Eddie laughs because that's—that's not possible, they're partners, Buck's been taking care of him and Chris since Eddie woke up, and long, long before that even if Eddie doesn't remember it. He's Eddie's power of attorney and next of kin and he's in Eddie's will, he's all but a step away from adopting Chris, knows all of Chris' and Eddie's medical history, their allergies, their likes and dislikes. He's Eddie's partner.

Pepa is not laughing, just looking at him with that pitying expression on her face,

"But—he loves me, he loves Chris, he loves us," he says dumbly.

"Believe me, I know, we all know," she says. "We've tried stirring you in the right way but you're very stubborn, mijo."