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I remember falling.
4.13 | Suspicion 6.12 | Recovery
#never not thinking about the shooting scene#and how buck was the last thing eddie thought he was ever going to see <3#*#buddie#eddie diaz#911#911edit#4.13#6.12#nde tag
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non-comprehensive list of potential reasons Sgt Sanderson was dubbed "Roach" and it stuck
extremely difficult to kill
undeterred by loss of limb (once lost a finger but they sewed it back on and it was mostly fine)
undeterred by attempted drowning (lung capacity go brr) (surprisingly good swimmer for a guy who doesn't like the water)
Fast and Sneaky When He Wants To Be
steals bites of any food left unprotected during meals
gets into other people's lunches left in the fridge/cabinets
drawn to booze
southern
thrives in the heat, miserable in the cold
personal space is a mess
common cause of jumpstartles on base (round a corner/turn around/look up and he's suddenly there in the corner)
voted must likely to survive the apocalypse (not for prepper reasons. bit of a survivalist though)
often seems like he could have just crawled out from under a gas station chest freezer
general indestructible insect vibes
brought to you in accordance with stuff I know about roaches
#gary roach sanderson#roach cod#cod#cod mw2#i just need him to be a grimy offputting guy sometimes#i personally think the root is a combination of these. mostly all the ndes + survivalist bs + vibes#maybe tbc idk I'm tired#leo.txt#queue tag
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Ohhhh it’s so hard to choose—
🍼🍼🍼🍼 & 🚁🚁🚁🚁
(It wasn’t hard at all you’re doing my two of my favorite things!!!) 🤣🫶
HAHAHA and then you chose both, I love that! Thank you smmm for sending them and for the tag <3 Let's start with 20 sentences of Little Blobs for you:
“Hen, you don’t think I’m…” Buck can’t even say it; the possibility had never crossed his mind, and yet… It feels like his brain is short-circuiting as he revisits his latest symptoms in his mind.
“Well, why not? You are a carrier, aren’t you? You told me that when you were debating if you could be a surrogate to your friends” She says, and Buck nods dumbly. “And, well, I know you and Tommy get… busy with each other very often.” “We…Well, yeah, but I take birth control” Buck says, frantically recalling the last few weeks in his mind and wondering if he could’ve forgotten to take the pill at some point. And then it dawns on him how frantic their wedding day had been, and yeah, he doesn’t remember taking it on that day. Or the day after. Or during their weekend honeymoon in San Diego (they had been… busy, as Hen would put it). “Oh, fuck, Hen, what if I’m pregnant?! I can’t be pregnant right now, it’s not the plan!” “Buckaroo, I don’t know what the plan is, but life doesn’t tend to care for it. Maybe you’re not; I’m just saying it’s a possibility and you should check it” Hen says placatingly. “If it’s positive, you and Tommy will figure it out; if it’s negative, you owe me 30 bucks for the tests”
--- And now for 20 sentences of CRASH!THAT!HELICOPTER! angst:
“You found your present” He says dumbly, his eyes not leaving the burgundy hoodie that’s so beautifully wrapped around Evan’s frame, making him look as cozy and adorable as Tommy expected. And, well. It might not have been the smartest thing to say, but he supposes there’s a lot of morphine going through his body right now.
“Well, yeah, after you told my sister where it was as your helicopter crashed? After you wished me Merry Christmas and Happy New Year as your parting words?! It wasn’t so difficult” He answers with a somewhat hysterical chuckle. “What the hell, Tommy?! You’re too much of a coward to actually let yourself be loved and see a future with me, but not to send a farewell message to me through dispatch?! You’re unbelievable!”
“Buck…” He starts, but it’s clear he won’t get to say anything this time. For one, his brain is still working a little too slow to translate thoughts into words. Evan seems to notice it, and lets out a defeated sigh.
“We… We’ll talk later, ok? Let’s get a doctor to check on you first. Sorry, that should have been the first thing I did” He says grumpily, and presses the button by Tommy’s bed.
From them on, it’s a flutter of doctors and nurses, and Tommy learns the extent of the damage: a broken femur, at least five crushed ribs and a small concussion, not to mention the thousand bruises that turned his whole left side black and blue; he hasn’t looked at a mirror yet, but it can’t be pretty. --- I hope you like it and have a wonderful week, my dear <3
#bucktommy#little blobs verse#christmas present verse#mpreg#tw: nde#helicopter crash#tommy kinard#evan buckley#gabby writes#gabby answers#make me write tag
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Say what you will about Taylor, but saying that she doesn't have interesting melodies and a nice voice is always so ??
#she's not a strong vocalist. but she has a nice emotive voice#ill take that over someone who hits the high notes but sounds lifeless (aka ar/ana gr/nde) <- just censoring so it wont show up on her tag
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Thanks for the tags that's so interesting! I'm really happy you survived and that you're still alive :>
I wish I could have a free trial of death just to see if it's worth it
#unironically I've survived two ndes where i was resuscitated after my heart gave out and after surviving an accidental overdose#when you come back after being resuscitated everything HURTS#you know how your hands or feet can go numb and then hurts and feels like static??#yeah youre Entire Body will feel like that#and I remember gasping painfully and choking when I was back#the first time I remember seeing my body on the ground from outside of my body#the second time everything was just nothingness before I came back#everything faded like I was passing out#so my guess was the second time was not as severe than my first and I didnt fully leave my body yet#the first time was insane#anyway i put this in the tags to not take over your post#just wanted to add my 2¢#:)
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Tidbit Tuesday
the wonderful @playinginthunderstorms tagged me to share something I've got in the works (thank you, charlie!), so I bring you the freak4freak buddie/nde/blood kink/buckfidelity monstrosity that's been occupying my brain as i try not to freak out about the us election.
pls enjoy
He pulls himself up to sit while Buck crouches in front of him, hands fluttering everywhere like he’ll be able to tell if Eddie’s hurt from touch alone. Eddie knows what he’s taking in. Wet, shivering shoulders, hair plastered to his forehead, blood all over his face from a cut high on his forehead– a split lip. Hen and Chimney work on Hattie behind him, one of them yelling that they’ll be right over. Eddie doesn’t mind. He’s fine. But Buck is– he’s– Eddie’s own hands come up to Buck’s jaw, shaking with adrenaline. “Buck–” he starts, starting to panic. “Your neck–” It’s cut. He’s bleeding. It’s sluggish and red, sluicing down his neck. Eddie can hear it, like he’s been hearing the relentless crash of the waves under him, behind him, building up to take him under and make him disappear for good. He can’t disappear. Not now, not when Buck’s here and warm and safe and alive. He needs– His own blood rushes loudly in his ears, and he knows Buck’s trying to say something. Trying to talk to him, but all Eddie can hear is the blood. just like before. Out on the street in front of Charlie Manning’s apartment, the bullet slicing hot through Eddie’s shoulder. The blood spraying all over Buck, his open mouth. Buck, confessing in the dim light of Eddie’s kitchen. I tasted it, Eddie. tequila sour on his breath as they traded the bottle again. Another horrible day without Chris. Another shift ended with Eddie’s bandaged wounds. It was all I could taste for days. Now, when you get hurt— i- I can taste it all over again. Eddie returning a lie for the admission. I didn’t know that. Really don’t remember much. If Buck knows– If he’s already— Then Eddie needs to. He needs it like he needs to breathe. Like he needs Buck against him. Like he needs to keep him. “Hey, hey, no,” Buck is trying to assure him. “I’m fine, I promise, just let m-” The blood rushes louder in Eddie’s ears and he pitches forward, fits his mouth to the wound. Warmth explodes on his tongue and he might moan or he might just try. Either way, Buck makes a strangled noise above him, and he doesn’t pull away. Doesn’t tell Eddie to stop, so he doesn’t. He drags his tongue over Buck’s pale skin, trying to clean up what’s already staining him, taking in the taste of copper and warmth and Buck. He’s shaking with it, needs Buck all over, inside him, filling him up. Buck’s already his, right? All Eddie has to do is ask. He told himself he was going to ask. “Eddie,” Buck says, his voice thick. “Fuck,”
no pressure tagging a few writer mutuals if y'all wanna share! @divine-victory @semperama @littlefreakbuckley @dracculaura
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Ficlet, post 8x06 Buddie nde.
Tags: angst, injury
Eddie doesn’t know what brand of absolute fucking stupid it takes to decide that bow hunting within shot of a walking trail is a good idea, but Jesus. Bows and arrows like this guy thinks he’s fucking Robin Hood and him and Buck - it had been a nice morning. Eddie was still almost high on joy - not even joy, not really, just the idea that he could have it if he wanted, so close to grasp that it felt intoxicating. At Eddie’s house, early enough in the morning that the sky was still murky blue-orange, Buck had his post-breakup brave face on and Eddie thought - fresh air. Exercise, get them both out of the house. Hiking.
There had been almost no sound. A thud, soft and solid, and Buck had stopped talking. Then a shout, from a distance, a man running towards them and Buck was on the ground.
They weren’t that far out of the city, but far enough it’ll take a minute for the EMTs to get to them - he knows Robin Hood called them, can hear him choking back wet, guilt-ridden platitudes down the phone to Dispatch. And meanwhile, Eddie is holding Buck’s insides in with his hands. There’s blood everywhere, soaking them both and the dirt that he’s kneeling in, and this is taking too long.
Eddie can see just for a moment in the corner of his eye, still frame, Buck’s funeral. Chris, eyes downcast, in a new suit. They’ll have to go shopping - he’s gotten so big nothing fits anymore. He’ll hate that. And Eddie - Eddie scooped out and hollow and with no one by his side. Not that day or the next day or any of the other days of his entire life, Buck not there. He’s meant to be finding joy. How the hell can there be joy when he’s cut in half, fundamental piece of him taken away?
Buck wheezes underneath his palms and Eddie’s hands, slick and blood hot, slip a little. Eddie sobs, hiccups, presses down again, hard. His face is wet and he’s not sure if it’s blood or tears. He thinks – hopes? – thinks he can hear sirens in the distance. He glances up to make some sort of reassurance, an it’s ok, it’ll all be ok, but he sees Buck’s face, pale, blood specked lips and eyes fluttering fluttering closed. Prepackaged reassurances don’t come out, instead it’s this voice he can barely own as being his: “You’re not going anywhere. You can’t leave me now, not like this, don’t leave - Buck don’t leave me - ”
There are definitely sirens now, Robin Hood is shouting and waving his arms. Eddie hears the crunch of tyres and the slam of doors. Eddie can’t see them, can’t look up - away. A scattered few seconds, a few sluggish heartbeats and someone else’s hands are pushing away his hands and there’s pulling at his shoulders and Eddie goes, he goes out of their way but he still can’t look away as they get to work. A woman in a Captain’s helmet is talking to him but he can’t hear. He thinks he’s shaking.
Later, some amount of time that Eddie hasn’t been able to measure in minutes but only in the breadth of the gaping mess of his life imagined without Buck in it - Later. He recognises that he’s sitting in one of those awful fucking hospital chairs. It’s warm and the lights are low; it might be night time, Eddie can’t be quite sure. He’s holding Buck’s hand, too tightly, he knows - but he can’t seem to ease the grip of his fingers.
Eddie’s entire world has shifted an inch to the left. All is now in sharp focus; yesterday he hadn’t even noticed the blur. He knows what he wants now and he’s terrified, but it’s that terror that comes at the top of a rollercoaster, the terror of any-second exhilaration. He remembers having conversations somewhere between the hiking trail and this chair - white coats and scrubs and calm, measured words that Eddie can’t recall exactly, but he knows all he has to do is wait and Buck’s eyes will open and they’ll be back together again.
Eddie has already decided how the next part goes. He’s sure, grounded, settled in a place in himself that has always felt in flux. They’re going to get Buck out of the hospital and then they’re going to go to Texas and get their son back. Then - god, then - Eddie is going to love this man with everything he has for the rest of his life.
Now though, just for now, Buck’s heart monitor beats out a steady, comforting rhythm, and Eddie’s heart beats along right in time.
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All this buddie NDE spec…is it based on real spoilers, or purely fan made???
It’s mostly fan spec based off of the emergencies shown in the promos. I put in the spoiler tag for those who want to avoid discussions about the latest episodes because they haven’t watched it yet and those who don’t watch the promos.
But it basically started back when the 8x06 promo aired after 8x05, which showed the child down the drainage pipe. Which we noticed was parallel to the main emergency of the child down the well in Eddie begins. Considering those are almost exactly the same in terms of the emergency, I personally think it would be weird to have that without that direct connection, since it is such an odd emergency.
And then it was further spiraled when the promo for 8x07 aired last week where it showed the actor on the Hot Shots set dangling from the rig much like Buck did when he was struck by lightning. Again, almost too specific to be a coincidence.
With that, we can spec that there might be an allusion to the shooting in the winter finale.
There is also that picture Oliver shared on his instagram that was of a car accident, which I believe he said was about episode 8, but I heard that second hand so it could be incorrect.
I hope that answered your question
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A slight complaint
I get that some BuckTommy shippers want to talk about Buck or Tommy potentially getting seriously hurt as fuel for the ship, but can you tag it or something with "hurt tommy" or "hurt buck" because I fucking hate seeing those posts.
For real, I've seen way too many queer characters be tortured and killed on television that has contributed to depressive episodes, so seeing either Tommy or Buck getting seriously hurt is not my thing.
I just saw a post that caught me the fuck off guard about Buck crying and trying to save Tommy while being pulled away by others, and it just reminded me of all those awful deaths I've seen throughout my life, and it's not cute.
I get that people like different things, but wanting to see queer characters nearly die and their partners breaking down over is fucking weird to me. BuckTommy is my happy OTP, and I get that 9-1-1 is a trauma show, which is why I cherry pick which scenes to watch.
But please tag your posts or something. I don't want those images in my head. At some point, I'm just going to start blocking folks because y'all really think that it's fun to imagine all the horrible ways two very traumatized queer characters can be traumatized again.
The posts are becoming more frequent, and it's getting fucking annoying. Did none of y'all remember all the shit that went down back in 2016 when queer characters were being killed off damn near every week? It's not cute.
Note: This is own personal opinion, and I'm bitching and complaining because I feel like it. I'm also judging because I'm seeing it a lot more now, and it's just ugh. Angst is okay, but NDEs aren't something I enjoy for queer characters (or characters of color). It reminds me of Hap from The OA.
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Season 5 countdown tag game
For @lonestar-s5countdown disasters week
(1) What is your favorite 911 Lone Star disaster or emergency?
The ice storm arc is my favorite in terms of how well done everything was. Even though those cliffhangers were killing me for those first 3 episodes.
Because I am also here for silliness my other favorite is the volcano episode because prehistoric volcano in central Texas suddenly being active again is so ridiculous
(2) Is there a disaster the show hasn't already done that you'd like to see?
The only one I can think of that they haven't done but would still be plausible is some sort of water rescue. We do see Marjan jump off a bridge into water to save someone for a second in the pilot so we know she can do it.
(3) If you're keeping up with BTS/spoilers, which season 5 disaster are you most looking forward to?
Honestly all of it. I am simply looking forward to how ridiculous and bonkers all of these disasters are.
(4) Which three main characters would you want with you in the event of a massive natural disaster and why?
Tommy, Judd, Paul
All very knowledgeable and level headed and able to figure things out. A well rounded team to save us all.
(5) Which three main characters would you least want with you in the event of a massive natural disaster and why?
Owen and TK for sure - after thinking about it I don't think I want to be caught up in whatever nde one or both of them have a high likelihood of experiencing. Also they are indestructible but the people near them tend to get hurt or die pretty often (2x02, 3x08, I'm sure there's more examples lol)
For the third person maybe Grace - she doesn't have medical training and isn't even in the field experiencing the emergency most of the time.
I was tagged by @bonheur-cafe and will tag @sugdenlovesdingle @lemonlyman-dotcom @thisbuildinghasfeelings @ladytessa74 @captain-gillian @nisbanisba @tellmegoodbye @ironheartwriter @nancys-braids @carlos-in-glasses and of course an open tag 💜
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pulmonary
buddie | 4.5k words | mature temporary character death, CPR, first kiss, implied breathplay
The sun is shining down, blacktop blurring in the heat of midday, a slight breeze is picking up soot and ash and whirling it through the air, and Eddie's lips taste like blood. Of course they do. He's dead, after all.
Buck counts seconds.
#have had this in my drafts for weeks. it's time to say goodbye to it :)#happy hiatus!#yay.#911#911 fic#buddie#buddie fic#nde tag#*#*f#f
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la cucaracha 🫶
#to me 🫶#gary roach sanderson#roach cod#roach call of duty#many such tags smh#cod#call of duty#cod mw2#roach sanderson#when. when you're just a guy who's had a bajillion NDEs. when your strength is your adaptability#when you were always afraid you'd be the last man standing#also when you are a chainsmoker LOL#pov you are ghost in the first one 🤨#anyway. i care him#he was very nearly blond 🙃#crucially. he can and should shave that stache djdnkdjdjf#leo.draws
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The Stratagem Strain - Part IV
Plot summary: Arriving at Hogwarts for an advanced graduate program on the direct appointment of the Minister for Magic himself, Paisley Gallos anticipates a successful sixth year of classes. Unbeknownst to her, she is a pawn in a sinister ploy orchestrated long before the start of the school year.
Tags: violence | angst | blood | vampires | tragedy | forced proximity | regret | denial of feelings | NDEs | eventual smut | dark magic | accidental death | read on AO3
WARNING: This chapter contains blood and the death of an animal.
The tide enveloped me, entirely. Wholly.
Finally.
Tendrils of light striations ebbed with the waves and seafoam lapped over the shell of my existence, fragility evident in my motionless form. With limbs tethered to invisible weights, angled vertically, reaching towards the unknown depths, I stared down into that abyss, so deep and dark and bottomless beneath me, and prayed for it to stare back.
Warmth folded over my spine as I sunk, an intangible grasp arriving to gather and claim what was sorely overdue—a meal promised but delayed, the hunger now demanded sustenance. Flashbacks of my childhood, of falling overboard reminded me how close death had lingered in my peripherals. Here and now, however, that narrow brush was no longer a feared outcome, but a caress with intent.
Descending somehow brought with it more light, no direct rays to make sense of it—the ocean aglow from below, backlit with phthalo serenity. How I ever feared death was a foolish notion when it chaperoned me there with the promise of love.
For the very first time, it was familiar.
And then it all went wrong.
Crimson blossomed abruptly underfoot, swallowing the beautiful hues of blue and green with a riot of red, loud and violent.
One by one, the tethers snapped and I floated upwards, my back breaching the surface, and everything was gone.
Sebastian could tell, from where he stood, that Paisley was dead. With her expression frozen in an echo of peace, the absolute stillness of her body tied a bitter knot in his throat. They were barely acquaintances, but seeing his fellow Slytherin lying on her side in a secluded patch of bloodstained clover, missing her robe, legs all akimbo and arms holding herself in a final, futile attempt of comfort, her neck a mess of rusty carmine...
Bile rose in his chest and he lurched, chest heaving as he stepped back and vomited behind a tree trunk. With his head throbbing under the gravity of the situation, Sebastian waited until his breath came and went more reliably, wiping his mouth on his sleeve, hands shaking as they rested on his knees.
How did this happen? Or, perhaps more critically, why?
Guilt fermented in his chest as his thoughts spiralled. Earlier, Paisley aired her concerns of Harlow following them about Hogsmeade, and he quickly dismissed the notion. Now, her blood was on his hands in both the metaphorical and literal sense, as he flipped her onto her back to further assess the damage.
A few cuts and scrapes, but nothing so deadly as the gash on her neck, the dried blood flaking off her collarbone, other than the trio of slices down her jaw. With startling certainty, he realized that her injuries didn’t appear to be caused by magic, or at least any spell that he was privy to.
Fisting his sleeve, Sebastian brushed the ruined skin of her throat, grimacing with a pang of sympathy and muttering “Sorry, sorry…” as he got a better look at the wound. Remorse stung behind his eyes as he traced a crescent impression of teeth marring her skin, which only posed more questions instead of shedding light on possibilities. Was she attacked by an animal after Harlow defeated her? Were mongrels known to bite like this?
He needed to get her back to the castle. Leaving her in the Forbidden Forest as a final resting place was not an option, as all manner of wildlife and vermin would disturb her peace without hesitation. It was the least he could do for his classmate, whose life was now lost due to his negligence.
Tentatively, as if avoiding the action might somehow prevent him from acknowledging the devastating truth, Sebastian lifted Paisley’s wrist to check for a pulse.
And inhaled sharply when, to his surprise, he found one.
Sebastian shook her shoulders then, choking on the sudden intake of air from his gasp, panic sweeping over as he scrambled to rouse her to consciousness. “Paisley! Come on, Pais—come on…”
She was unresponsive. He checked again for the heartbeat he felt, worried he initially mistook it as his own racing at his fingertips, but the second guess confirmed his shock. By some gracious hope within the fucked-up circumstance at play, Paisley was still alive, even with the total absence of breath to sustain her.
Her heartbeat, however, was uneven. Slow. Wrong.
All manner of ailments carded through Sebastian’s mind. Surely she was cursed; the absurd amount of knowledge stuffed in his skull regarding curses had posed the possibility before anything else, and he was indexing and ruling out culprits one after the other in rapid succession. Perhaps something administered was keeping her comatose.
As the young wizard lifted Paisley upright, he noticed how considerably solid she felt, given her small stature, while her limbs began to twitch startlingly at random, a bizarre and macabre development. Mustering strength his body wasn’t accustomed to exerting, Sebastian flung her arms over his shoulders like a rucksack, shuffling with a quick gait out of the trees and back on the path.
Owls hooted in the distance, punctuating the cadence of crickets as Sebastian exited the Forbidden Forest with an unconscious Paisley weighing on his back. Curfew had long since set in and cleared the castle halls. He surmised that saving a student from certain death ought to waive the standard detention and reduction of house points.
Shouldering her weight more comfortably over his mantle, the sight of the castle across the Black Lake did little to provide relief. His back protested with an ache as he muttered an expletive to himself. “Care to switch?” Sebastian breathed, directing the sarcasm at his unresponsive companion, scoffing half-heartedly at the grim situation.
The road back to Hogwarts was barren, eerily so. No seventh-years sneaking out for a snog, no villagers of the nearby hamlets taking an after-supper stroll—even the travelling merchant from Iran had abandoned his post, the enchanted crates that would expand to showcase his wares left stacked by the path in a haphazard jumble.
Suddenly, he heard a growl. Sebastian halted, dragging pebbles underfoot, shifting his grasp on Paisley’s wrists into one hand while the other produced his wand. His head snapped around with wary, wide-eyes wrenched agape to find the source of the sinister sound. Having taken out his Ashwinder pal, Harlow had likely doubled back to deliver poetic justice.
However, the sound was far too close, accompanied by a deep, threatening inhale. Sebastian craned his neck to look over his shoulder at Paisley, her chin jutting into his trapezius, and found her looking back.
The moon shone brighter than usual, almost mimicking daylight. Perhaps it had always been this luminous; only now could she appreciate its full brilliance.
A veritable mountain of thoughts accumulated at the forefront of Paisley’s mind, as if the assembly line were blocked off by the massive boulder lodged in her esophagus. She swallowed on it, but with each attempt to clear her airways, a blaze accompanied the muscle movement, and pain catapulted through her with every breath she took.
Up until that point in her life, the most hunger Paisley knew was in the weeks following the capsize of her father’s fishing vessel. With no alternative means to earn a living between the sanctioned fishing seasons, her family resorted to rations in the interim. But eventually, those ran out, and her final gift of hardtack was digesting like a brick in her belly, unaware that it would be the last food she ate for four gruelling days.
In contrast, that level of starvation was purgatory. The newfound ache that now screamed for sustenance was agonizing.
Especially when a mouthwatering heartbeat beckoned for a bite.
Paisley’s snarl rent the air, and with a speed that contested the laws of physics, she snapped her teeth toward Sebastian, who promptly dropped her and distanced himself. “P-Pais?” He stammered as he whipped around, his wand clenched in a tight, trembling hand, still not caught up to the reality of the situation as his robe swished with each disjointed movement.
Paisley knew he was afraid because she could smell it—a sour douse over the most succulent of scents, a decadent dessert drowned in vinegar. It provided a momentary lapse in her judgement, and that alone propelled her to back away from Sebastian with alarming, physics-defying speed. She blinked with the backstep and lurched with a sway as she cleared four meters before blinking again.
She still had a voice, right?
“S-stay back!” The warning was shaky, lacking confidence. There was no telling what she would do. She had no idea herself.
Sebastian was reluctant to argue but wholly prepared to ask a thousand questions. “A-are you alright? Can you not try to bite me for a moment?”
Those were complicated ventures, Paisley thought. Overall, besides the blinding need to gorge on warmth alone, she felt alive. Given the recent encounter that had her otherwise anticipating death, it was a surprising turn of events. “I’m not sure yet,” She eventually replied, screwing her eyes shut so she couldn’t see the vibrations of Sebastian’s pulse radiating from his body.
Something had to give, and Paisley could tell that both of them were silently trying to outstubborn the other. With a swish of movement, she sprinted into the trees, a blur of shadows, branches bending with her devastating dash. She moved with the same unparalleled speed that Harlow had employed to snatch her up and sprint into the Forbidden Forest.
“Wait!” Sebastian huffed and panted in a pathetic attempt to keep up with her, trampling through withered brambles and twigs, his cloak catching on the branches of foliage.
Paisley growled in frustration when she noticed he had followed her. “Sebastian, stop!” her voice echoed in and around the pillars of tree trunks, hoping like hell he would heed her warnings, knowing that she couldn’t trust herself in this state. But for what reason? All the sounds of the forest were more crisp, higher decibels, a previously calming din now a clamour rattling against her eardrums.
And even with the critters and creatures bustling about, she could still make out each exhale of her companion’s breath nearby, his blood rushing from exertion in his veins like river rapids…
More distance was necessary. Before the thought concluded, Paisley was already vaulting between the trees, clinging to climb with nails that shredded through bark like chisels.
“Bloody hell,” Sebastian panted as he watched her leap from tree to tree in baffled disbelief. “Not a curse.”
Unless there was a curse in existence that permitted defying the laws of physics.
“Get to the castle,” Paisley hollered down to him, hoping the distance and height would muffle the emotion and fear in her voice. “I don’t want to hurt you!”
Sebastian folded his arms across his chest, looking up at the monolithic English oak she perched on like a giant fwooper. “What happened to you, Pais?”
A loaded question, though not unwarranted. Paisley swallowed with a wince, covering her nose with her palm to stifle the scent that made her imagine the taste of Sebastian’s windpipe. “Can't… think…”
Motion, soft and timid, stirred the undergrowth behind Sebastian. Despite the dark of night, Paisley could distinctly make out the patterns in the downy fur of a rabbit, the brindle coat shifting with its delicate pulse. Her motives were rerouted so abruptly that her brain shook in her skull. A new scent flooded her lungs, and her priorities shifted.
Small. Weak.
Sweet.
Squatting on the branch, Paisley leapt forward from the treetop, hurdling over Sebastian’s head towards the animal. Landing silently on her feet, she grabbed the hare and bit into its side without a plan. The rabbit thrashed about, but mercifully, Paisley’s vice grip snapped its neck, putting the creature out of its misery as she drank its blood with a string of hot exhales through her nose. Still unfamiliar with the act, she struggled to keep its blood from dripping everywhere, holding it away from her, neck craned all awkward and cumbersome, reminiscent of a child devouring a ripe slice of watermelon.
Mortified, Sebastian maintained his distance while approaching with measured steps. “Pais… is that still you? ”
She continued drinking, eyes closed, consumed by the need to satiate her thirst. Sebastian couldn’t help but watch the transactional withdrawal take place, both out of morbid curiosity and attempting to anticipate her next course of action, despite being entirely unprepared for whatever would happen next. There was an eerie stillness between them as Paisley drained the small mammal with a grunt, and all at once, a sombre awareness shrouded her.
She looked down at the small lump of fur in her hands, ravaged by her own blind madness, and fell to her knees with a sob.
Seconds passed as Sebastian tried to decide how to feel about… well, everything that transpired in the last ten minutes. Horror ebbed his rationality, inquisition fraught for answers… and sympathy squeezed his heart. Paisley had travelled to London alone, began her Hogwarts enrollment alone, and would now have to endure whatever cruel hand she was dealt on her own. He couldn't help but draw a parallel to when Anne was pulled from classes because of her curse. Sebastian was never a social butterfly; Were it not for Ominis, his time at Hogwarts would be far more secluded.
He wouldn’t resign her to that same fate. Not if he had any say in the matter.
Against survival instincts, Sebastian crouched down next to Paisley, studying her expression and prone form in an attempt to measure the trace of humanity now evident in her emotional state. Avoiding sudden movements, his palm rested on her back, her face buried in freshly bloodstained hands.
“Sebastian,” Paisley whimpered, her voice garbled with mucous and shallow-drawn breaths from crying. “I’m scared...”
Sebastian had to level with her. “So am I.”
She looked up then, and had it not been for the smear of red along her chin that dribbled down her neck, he would have thought she appeared entirely normal. Entirely human, still. “What do I do?”
“I haven’t the slightest clue. But for now, we need to get back to the castle. I’m willing to bet that if I don’t have something in my research that explores this, then the library’s restricted section ought to shed some light.”
When she didn’t respond, he rose to his feet again, reaching out to help her up. “I’m confident we can fix whatever this is,” He lied, more to himself than to her.
Paisley blinked up at him before finally taking his hand with an uttered thanks. “I’m not sure I trust myself to be around others right now.”
“Me either.”
An abrupt smack was administered to his bicep then, and had the circumstances been less foreboding, he might have laughed more than the mere scoff he breathed in response. “Just maintaining transparency,” Sebastian sighed. “How do you feel, after… that?”
Paisley couldn't respond at first, tasked with figuring out how to slow her step to match Sebastian’s speed. “...better, but not great.”
“It’s a start.”
The walk from the forest back onto the dirt path towards Hogwarts was made without much conversation, the only words spoken by Paisley as she cast scouring charms to tidy her filthy uniform, attempting to get the matted blood from her hair. “I’ve never needed a shower more in my life.”
Sebastian huffed at her attempt to lighten the mood. It was appreciated, and necessary. “You might need to hold off on that for now. How do you feel around me, at this second?”
Confusion knit her brows. “Well, I’m not blindsided by the desire to tear your throat out, but I could still do so if I felt like it.”
Though Sebastian let out a sound of aired disgust, Paisley chuckled as she continued. “I think I’m alright.”
“That’s what I’m worried about,” he replied as they passed through the front gate and entered the school grounds. “I’m not confident going on a think for this. Imagine the aftermath if you killed a classmate. Imagine if you were caught.”
The concern was palpable. “What am I supposed to do then?” Paisley glanced around the castle’s exterior, hoping an answer would make itself known so she didn’t have to rattle her already exhausted brain. “I suppose I could find somewhere to hide out here…”
“Actually,” Sebastian smirked, “I know a place. Follow me.”
#the stratagem strain#hogwarts legacy#hogwarts legacy fanfic#hogwarts legacy fanfiction#hl fanfic#sebastian sallow#ominis gaunt#garreth weasley#amit thakkar#hogwarts legacy oc#natsai onai#hogwarts au#harry potter fanfiction#hogwarts fanfiction#paisley gallos
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Fully crying from all the love on my fics today I literally love everyone so much and hey I wrote like 7k on the unnamed AU today (which someone totally guessed in the tags already lol) and the Eddiemaddie NDE is like super close to being fully edited so!!!
Yay?
Yay.
#seriously#everyone’s been so nice#it’s not like unbelievable amounts of love#but it’s still a lot to meeee#and I’m traveling for work tomorrow so guess what I’m gonna do#writeeeee#on a plane#or an airport#one of those
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Neapaulatan's Writeblr & Artblr Introduction!
[ID in the alt]
Hello beautiful people~
i'm paula or neapaulatan!
she/they
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aspiring illustrator and graphic novelist
digital illustration: photoshop, procreate, clip studio paint, illustrator
I'm open for commissions! See here!
Find me on:
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Favorite Books/Comics/Graphic Novels: The Adventure Zone, Persepolis, The Outsiders
Favorite Video Games: Skyrim, Horizon Zero Dawn & Forbidden West, God of War Series, Minecraft
Favorite Anime/Manga: InuYasha, FMA:B, Miss Kobayashi's Dragon Maid
Favorite Artists: Gabriel Picolo, Gretel Lusky, Danica Sills, Roger Witt
Current WIPs Below!
(Let me know if you'd like to be added to a taglist for one or multiple!)
Where Demons Hide
Genre: YA fantasy
Tropes/themes: found family, good vs. evil, destiny, redemption
Content warnings: blood/gore, racism, homophobia, kidnapping, implications of rape, mental illness trauma, death
Status: Drafting
Blog tag: #wdh
When twins Mira and Vera discover they have magical powers, they uncover the truth that their late mother was a fae, and their long-lost father is a demon. Their father comes after them for their rare and newly emerging powers, but when they try to run, Vera is kidnapped and Mira is thrown into the fae realm with nothing but a mysterious grimoire by their mother. Mira must maneuver this new, magical realm, find her sister, and stop her father, or else lose the last family she has left.
Cool & Hotshot
Genre: high fantasy, superheroes
Tropes/themes: fighting against religion/tradition, love, sacrifice, who's the real villain?
Content warnings: blood/gore, torture, mental illness, trauma, death
Status: Outlining
Blog tag: #c&h
When pryomancer Mel skips an important sacrifice at the temple, he runs into a rebellious cryomancer, Jessie, who only gets him into more trouble. She's wanted by the government, and when they're caught, they're given an ultimatum: become government-sanctioned superheroes and fight terrorism, or die. In choosing to live, their previous identities disappear and they emerge as dynamic duo, Cool and Hotshot. But when they're tasked with taking down a mysterious rebel leader known only as Void, Cool and Hotshot begin to question whose side they should really be on.
Near Death Experiences
Genre: fantasy, slice of life
Tropes/themes: death, being friendships with extraordinary circumstances
Content warning: death, mild sexual content
Status: One comic strip done
Blog tag: #nde
Will is a shy 20 year old fighting depression just trying to get by. But when Death accidentally kills her, they have to make it up to her—by bringing her back to life and becoming her best friend. Join Will on her daily adventures as she maneuvers learning how to be friends with Death and teach them how to act human enough to not get caught.
#writeblr#writeblr intro#writers on tumblr#writeblr community#artblr intro#writerblr#writer community#writing community#writblr#artblr#graphic novel#fantasy writing#writers of tumblr#amwriting#wip#comics#writing#fantasy#wtwcommunity#wip intro
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your thoughts on the other (popular) yuuji pairings? 👀
How many hours do you have 👀
I love too many Yuuji ships for my own good, honestly. But I'm not much of a multishipper, so everything else comes secondary to goyuu. Buuuut JJK is also the first fandom for which I've liked multiple ships enough to try and write more than just my OTP, so it's safe to say I like these Yuuji ships a hell of a lot.
Putting it under a cut because concision and I are arch-enemies. Also, I don't want to clog up the ship tags with my ramblings, so before you click through, know that this talks about nanayuu, chosoita, itafushi, and sukuita.
Caveat that I've read very, very few JJK fics, so I'll be talking mostly in relation to canon and my own writing.
Here goes, in order of adoration:
Nanami/Yuuji
Their canon dynamic is so good; I love how Yuuji's exuberance contrasts with Nanami's reticence, and more than that, I love how they're both intrinsically kind in a really similar way, even if Nanami's version has been tempered by the harsh realities of their world. Plus, it never gets old just how much Nanami lets Yuuji get away with—I mean, Nanamin, seriously. He protests once and then goes "well, guess I'm Nanamin now." Amazing. Predictably, Shibuya did unholy things to my poor heart. When the "You've got it from here" scene gets animated, I will lose my entire goddamn mind.
That said, I started out liking them platonically, but well, other than vertical incest, there's no relationship dynamic that's safe from my gremlin hands, so I wound up shipping them sooner than later. Specifically, I wrote a goyuu fic with a heavy focus on platonic Nanami&Yuuji and plummeted headfirst into shipping them, so now I've got like three different ideas that's a mix of nanayuu and goyuu. If I don't write at least one of them, someone should punch me.
Chōsō/Yuuji
Listen, brocon just comes very naturally when Chōsō is involved, and it doesn't help that sibling incest with fuckery potential has always lit up my brain (Sam/Dean from SPN, Vash/Knives from Trigun, etc.). What I like about their canon relationship is the...imbalance that's kind of there, especially at the beginning. Chōsō has family revelations after hallucinating one near-death-experience-induced (and Yuuji's NDE at that) picnic scene and is immediately ride or die, while Yuuji's just there going "???" He's treated complete strangers with more delicacy than he affords Chōsō when they're alone in Shibuya, which makes perfect sense given the circumstances and Yuuji's mental state at the time. And even once Yuuji seems to remember his "mum" and realize Chōsō is his brother, there's the distinct sense that Chōsō's attachment is a hell of a lot more intense and more explicitly connected to the blood relation, as opposed to Yuuji's usual warmth to an ally and friend. And that contrast of complete, immediate devotion and cautious, burgeoning affection makes me want to do unholy things to them both.
Which is why Chōsō is currently getting enthusiastically eaten and eaten out by Yuuji in my Word document. It's not even subtle as far as metaphors go.
Megumi/Yuuji
A friend described my thing for this as a "tiny, doting crush," and it's pretty accurate. Canon sells this pretty hard from the get-go, and something that struck me is that, a lot of the time when you have a shonen hero who's dragged into a new world, it's a female character, usually the future love interest/main heroine/first girl, that does it. In JJK, you have Megumi in that role—fun all over. Also, the narrative is highly consistent about highlighting both of their complicated feelings about their involvement in the other's current predicament. Their interactions are also interesting from the beginning, both the lighthearted moments and the heavier stuff. And the manga panel split between a freshly Sukunafied Megumi and a very horrified Yuuji remains one of my favorites.
Thing is, since canon feeds me pretty well in terms of this ship, I don't feel much of an urge to read or write it. I have one(1) idea that's a mix of goyuu+gofushi+itafushi+goitafushi (it's...complicated), but it's pretty low on the priority list.
Sukuna/Yuuji
I'll be frank: I want to like this ship a lot more than I actually do. And that's mostly because Sukuna is a bit hit-and-miss for me. There are parts in the story where I've loved him and parts where I wanted to step on his face—not in the fun way either. And ever since he took over Megumi, I've been in "step on his face" mode. Their canon relationship appeals to me mostly because Sukuna brings out a side of Yuuji that only Mahito has managed, and their scant interactions while sharing a mind and body were pretty interesting. The blend of hostility and humor was nice, and I kind of like that there's pretty much zero chance of it getting resolved like with, say, Kurama and Naruto.
Anyway, I do see a lot of potential in this ship for hate sex, except what I'd like to see is a very specific dynamic that I haven't been able to find—and one that's complicated enough that I'm not sure I could write it either. I might try some day, especially if inspiration strikes.
Thanks for asking, anon ❤
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