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josiebelladonna · 5 months

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”the wandering jew”

this has been rolling around in my head for like… the last month, and all it took was ^that pic to coax it out 🫧

(takes place in the fever ‘verse)

“Hey, Alex, you want a beer?”

The words caught his attention before the photographer showed up to the bar before him, and he realized that he had been daydreaming this whole entire time. For a moment, he had had a brief lapse of memory, but one that seemed to last longer than a few seconds. It was sitting there at the bar, under the thick metallic skulls up on the shelf over the bar that made him think of the movie Alien, that brought him back to that encounter back there, in the one part of the building that no one really paid much attention to, and without any warning whatsoever. The mere sight of the interior, the way it all rose up into thick arches to make it seem as though they tucked themselves into the back part of some hideous alien like the way his feelings rose and welled up into thick arches as well...

It all happened so fast and yet it managed to etch itself into the side of his mind.

The euphoria. The intensity. The feeling of fire within him when he believed that it had died out some time prior to his twentieth birthday.

No longer a teen and now a young man, which meant the teenage dream had been laid to rest before he managed to bring it out in its entirety to the world at large. Where did the time go, he so often heard around him back home, and yet chances for him never really manifested themselves: he only had to focus on his playing as well as the band before him.

Such was the plight of the late bloomer, the boy who had the look but had his zipper all the way up to his collar, even as the lead guitarist.

He had his friends, and most of them female, but he could never gather the courage to really ask the one out on something nice. He never could gather the courage to ask any of them if they wanted to join them over there on the other side of the Pacific Rim for the next few weeks, and thus, he found himself alone most of the time. It was one of those nights on one of those long trips across the Pacific Ocean whereby the time seemed to slip sideways and he found himself a day ahead.

The culture was different. The language was different. The one thing that united him with the rest of Japan was the love of music as well as the sense of exploration. To walk the streets of Tokyo under the neon lights and find something that piqued his curiosity.

Oh, to find a loose leaf copy of Tropic of Cancer in one of the many bookstores around there in the center of town and tell Samantha all about it once they returned home. To find a copy of Tropic of Capricorn and read it to her aloud before they went to bed together.

He had no idea as to how to label his feelings for her, especially when she seemed so hung up on Cliff still, as well as her relationship with Joey. But there was no denying of the fact that whenever he looked on at her, he could feel something with her. Aside from his own unwillingness to even so much as walk on up to her, she always seemed so distant and preoccupied with something else at the moment. She had eyes for another man, anyway, and a huge piece of her heart remained six feet under. No way he could have more than a moment alone with her unless one of them cracked open a couple of brewskies and kept a back room open for each other so no one was looking in their direction.

The books would have to wait a while as he stepped out of the shop and into the cool afternoon and the bright sunshine over the crown of Tokyo. Though it wasn’t all that cold, he had wondered around the city with his hands tucked into jacket pockets and his long luxurious hair sprawled down all around his slender shoulders. The thin leather of his jacket proved to be more than enough for him as he walked up the block to the next crosswalk: somewhere in there was a view of Mount Fuji as well as the clusters of cherry trees near the edge of the city. He was told that the Giger Bar and the hotel next door were not too far from there.

The sleeves of the leather jacket were smooth with the slightest wrinkles near the elbows, and the black leather carried a gentle sheen to it courtesy of the soft neon lights of the city around him. The streets bustled with life, and he remembered that his band had pitched their tents not too far from that old red-light district as well. Not too far from the rows of adult bookstores and the brightly colored strip joints that seemed to blend in with the rest of the neighborhoods of downtown Tokyo. He gazed up to the wires stretched overhead to connect the buildings which stood across the street from each other, as if he stood at the mouth of a cave that presented him with his fate. The pearly white and bright red neon sign over his head showed off the kanji characters for all the world to see, followed by the word “Kabukichō.”

Off in the distance, past the bright neons along the sides of the street before him, the summit of Mount Fuji stood before him in all its cold power like the lines of block art, and he knew that he should have brought something with him for a snapshot back to the States. If only he could find a way to her, to confess to her of what resided within him.

“God, I wish she was here,” he muttered to himself, and he tucked a stray lock of black hair behind his ear.

Then again, the feelings seemed so far away, and he had no idea as to how to describe them, either. All he knew was something within him existed whenever he thought about her. And whenever he thought about her, there came about a deep itch inside him that he couldn’t seem to put his fingers upon.

Even with her feelings elsewhere, he still saw her as his friend, and even after the utter fiery path they took to reach the point of friendship as well. Samantha had her fingers clasped around the stems of the yellow tulips and the hat that Cliff gave her perched upon her head: it almost felt impure to break into her world with his black leather and the slender shock of silver on his head. He wasn’t anywhere the grim darkness that stood adjacent to his band and their hosted scene but he knew how they felt upon the thought of her. No lipstick, hairspray, or safety pins for him, but the shadows beckoned him, especially the ones cast by the neon lights in front of him.

A flash of wispy smoke, and the red lights dazzled before him. It felt as though he was entering the one venture of the house that was sealed off from him and his brother until they were eighteen, and he had crossed a threshold of sorts. He licked his lips and flexed his fingers inside of his coat pockets.

The ribbon of blacktop underneath his feet made him think of all those first shows, where he walked upon the stage with his guitar in hand and his black leather vest barely open to show off the plumes of dark hair on his chest. The initial feeling of nerves only to have it all subside away once the show got underway. The language barrier proved to be another ribbon for him, one that he hoped he could cut through once he had settled himself in for the time being. All the time he could ever ask for right then, and he let the zipper of his leather jacket slide down a bit. His long black curls cascaded around the crests of his shoulders like water, and the cool Japanese air caressed his skin. The smell of freshly poured bath water and burning incense followed him like the silky, forbidden feelings that lingered within him.

He stopped before the smoked glass entrance of the next place along the edge of the sidewalk. The hot pink kanji lettering struck him, while the translations remained right under the edge of the glass window. An alien boy looking on at an alien language scrawled across the glass, that is until he found something that he recognized.

“Soapland…” he muttered aloud. He looked up to the receded doorway and decided to explore things a bit. When he opened the door, the delicate aroma of matcha with the fresh soaps greeted him, as if he was meeting someone who had just climbed out of the shower. It was one of those places that made him think of burlesque but the sight of the bathtubs down in the floor made him think otherwise. The clean pink tiles under the thick soles of his shoes had been freshly scrubbed earlier that morning, and he held still out of slight concern over slipping across it all.

She sauntered on up to him with her hands tucked behind her back and a head of short black hair lined with bright red highlights around the bottom to where it resembled a tortoise shell. Her pale skin had been kissed with the caress of the sun and the summit of Mount Fuji, and her dark eyes drank him down like the back of the sunrise. She wore some little red scrubs lined with even richer red lace: her fingerless leather gloves made him think of something that he wasn’t all too familiar with.

She said something to him which beckoned a furrowing of his eyebrows to her.

“I’m sorry, I’m American,” he told her as his face grew warm with embarrassment.

She reached up and nudged his hair off his shoulder.

“So… very—kawaii.”

“Kawaii?” he echoed her, all while the corner of his mouth curled up to form a little smirk for her. She reached up and pushed a stray black ringlet over his ear, and then she fanned herself with that hand.

“Sekushī,” she remarked, and he raised his eyebrows at her.

“I don’t know much Japanese but I think I can figure out what that means,” he quipped to her, and he flashed her a wink. She giggled again, and that time, she brought a hand to her mouth. With her other hand, she caressed the top of his sleeve with nothing more than her exposed fingertips.

“Leather,” he whispered to her, to which she giggled at him again. “It’s really… sekushī when in the right context.” She showed him her gloves, to which he nodded at her.

“Nice dark red leather to go with my black,” he remarked. She clapped her hands right then, and the blinds drew over the windows behind him. She directed him to the one ground-level tub right behind them, the one with the rich royal blue floor and the still waters within.

“I wash?” she offered him with a gesture over to the pool, and he wondered as to what this place was, especially with the blinds pulled over the windows.

“Oh, yes, I would love to be scrubbed clean,” he told her in a low voice. “I’m a dirty American boy, after all.” He clasped onto the lapels of his jacket, and he tugged it off of him. She took the coat and draped it over the back of a chair closest to them. It was rather odd undressing in front of a girl, especially a girl whom he had just met and especially since he had never really done it before, either. He shivered as he kicked off his shoes and then dropped his pants down around his ankles and feet, and more so when he stripped off his shirt: it somewhat baffled him given it wasn’t very cold in that room, but he still could not ignore the feelings within his body.

“Short—too—” she advised him.

“You want me to take off my underwear, too?” he asked her with a sly grin on his face. He stuck his thumbs into the

One foot into the water before him, followed by the next one. He followed the steps down to the very bottom of the short pool filled with warm, aromatic water.

“The water is absolutely perfect,” he told her, and stray strands of his long black curls drifted off from his shoulders onto the surface of the water before him to where he resembled a merman who had emerged from under the water. Before he could even so much as lean forward to settle into the one nook of the pool big enough for his ass, she dipped her hands into the water on either side of him and rubbed it all over his shoulders. The water trickled down over his collar bones and bare nipples with the kiss of life and death. The spicy smell of her perfume was utterly intoxicating, and for a brief moment, he had forgotten all about Samantha.

When her fingers spread over his collar bones, and more water thus trickled down the front of his chest which in turn made him lean back against the wall of the pool, he parted his lips and let out a low whistle.

“Feels good?” she asked him as she picked out a sponge from the right side of the pool right next to him.

“It does,” he replied. “Feels really good on my back, especially.” He gestured to the crest of his shoulder as she gently scrubbed down his smooth skin with some soap that smelled of dried tea leaves with one hand: with her other hand, she dropped something bright green into the water before him for some suds in the thick of the warm water.

“Ooh, what is that?” he asked her as he moved his hands about in the water to help with the suds. “It smells divine, like green tea.”

“Shōga,” she replied. “Uh… ginger.”

“Oh, ginger! That fused with green tea. It smells absolutely delicious.”

She pressed the bar of soap onto the canvas part of the sponge and rubbed it on the crest of his shoulder. She leaned him forward and moved the sponge in circles around his back.

“Oh, my god, that feels so good,” he confessed to her, and he brought his face closer to the increasing pile of suds before him. His hair dangled forward into the warm waters and the soap suds, and yet he was more than willing to be in that water forever. Such light aromas in the tea bath bomb as well as the woody feeling of the soap in the sponge, and he didn’t want to leave right then. Indeed, there was a part of him that wanted to sink down into the waters around him with his eyes closed to relish in everything. She moved his head closer to her so she could wash his chest and his neck: he sank further down the inside of the wall towards the base of the pool so he could somewhat submerge himself in there. He closed his eyes and let the water surround his head, and then he rose up from under the surface so she could give him a good washing of his neck and shoulders.

“Utsukushī kubi,” she whispered to him, and her voice almost glided over his skin like the kiss of a breeze. She picked up some more water with the sponge and she rubbed it over his chest. She then brought it under the water’s surface to the top of his belly, which in turn tickled a bit.

“Ooh, yeah—that’s the spot right there,” he said with a smirk and a chuckle. “So good, so good.”

He could feel her body moving in closer to his back: her warm soft breasts pressed against his shoulder blades and the top of his spine. He licked his lips at the feeling of the water down the middle of his back and all around his chest and his upper arms. His hair clung onto his chest and his collar bones; he never knew that being drenched and washed clean could be so arousing but he could feel something between his thighs. Something that made him twitch ever so slightly, and he hoped that she would reach down into the water for a swipe.

She kissed him on the side of the neck, and before he could do anything else, she kissed him on the rim of his ear as well. He shivered and let out a low whistle from the feeling of her lips. Her hand found its way under the water’s surface once again, down onto his belly.

“Lower—” he begged her in a broken voice. “Go lower—please—”

She reached down below the surface of the water, still with the sponge in hand, until she lost her balance and tumbled forth into the water before him, head first. With the soap suds in the way, as far as he knew, she had taken a tumble and banged her head on the rim of the pool. He held back so she could return to the surface before him: she gasped for air as she clasped onto his shoulders. Meanwhile, the sponge floated upon the water next to them, still lightly covered in a few little soap suds.

“Oh my god! Are you okay?” He nudged her hair out from her eyes so he could look into her own.

But she laughed instead, and she pressed her lips onto his own as the water streamed down her face and onto her shoulders. He knew that she had hit her head but he was too enthralled by the sight of her before him, this little woman who barely spoke a word of English and the way that she touched him with the water all around them as their makeshift bed. She pointed down to the water’s surface and pinched her nose with her other hand.

“Want me to go under?” he asked her, to which she nodded. He took in a big breath of air before he held it, and then he bowed under the water’s surface. He kept his eyes closed as she did the same, and she pressed her hand onto his face and the side of his neck. Despite the soap embedded in the water around them, he could feel and taste her on his lips.

Her fingers trickled down his body to the space between his legs, right to the full length of his dick which firmed up from the feeling. Her fingers wrapped around the shaft and she gave him a hearty tug. He strove not to gasp lest he lose his breath under the soapy water’s surface, but she tugged on him again and that time, he jerked his head up towards the surface for some air. She tugged on him again, and that time she slipped the tip of her finger into that small hole of his head. It tickled him so much that he burst into a fit of hearty laughter.

He steadied himself against the edge of the pool so she could better grope him with both hands. He gasped and yelped out from the delicate feeling of her fingers on his shaft and right inside of the head. He held onto the edge of the pool with both hands and breathed harder with the rich feeling of euphoria within him. He let his tongue hang out from his mouth like a dog, the dirty dog he was and was born to be.

The warm water and the soft-smelling soap only added to the feeling: if anything, it just made the feeling within him well up even more. He slid down the wall of the pool right as she surfaced from under the water with his dick in both hands: his body lay flat before her, all for her. With one hand, she reached forward and raked her fingers down his chest and his belly. He gasped, and his head nearly sank under the water again: he caught himself and coughed and chuckled from the feeling.

She did it again, and that time, a small translucent bead of precum emerged from the head.

She then ran her fingertips over the top of his thigh, and she lowered her head towards his hips. The way she lingered over him made him think of a mermaid, a girl of the sea taking him under for her own pleasure.

He closed his eyes and he let her put her mouth around his head, followed by his shaft.

Her pleasure with his own, just so neither of them were alone for the time being.

“Alex!”

To hear Chuck's voice right then shattered the glass of his memory, and he opened his eyes and shook his head about.

“Hm? What?” He raised his dark eyebrows at him, to which Eric brought a hand to his mouth and giggled like a schoolgirl or rather, like the woman in the bathhouse. Bashful, Alex bowed his head a bit and shifted his weight in the chair.

“I asked if you wanted a beer or not,” Chuck repeated, and that time with a bit of laughter as well.

“I do,” he said with a clearing of his throat. Eric’s lips quivered as he tried to keep the laughter down but it was useless, however. He and Chuck erupted into a rouse of hearty laughter.

“It's not that funny!” Alex insisted.

#fanfic #fanfiction #fever in fever out #fever in fever out fanfic #fever ‘verse #one shot #kink tumblr #kink tag #kink tw #water kink #alex skolnick #testament #fan writing #writing #text #testament band #80s thrash

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feverinfeveroutfic · 1 year

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sunburn | third eye

The girl with the orange hair and the mask of black and white feathers on her face, with the boy of thick curls and the Great White shark teeth which shone under the lights.

The girl with the yellow tulip in her hair and the kiss of Picasso, with the boy from the Wild West and a matching tulip.

The mystery of it all, surrounded by the spirits and the souls of black, the light of indigo on their faces for the masquerade of life.

The sweetness and wilt of the season washes over them, as the feathers ride with the shark, and the tulip with the horse.

No one fears but nobody knows, as they dance in the shadows, and the caresses down to fingers and toes, the feelings waft from highs and from lows. The girls whisper while the boys growl from below, there’s so much to bereave, so much to bestow, as far in the burning as the feelings go.

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nuagederose · 1 year

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cannot believe we’re actually coming up on two years of fever here ❤️‍🔥

ig: badmotorartist

#fever in fever out #fever in fever out fanfic #fanfic art #fanfic #fanfiction #oc tag #oc art #alex skolnick #colored pencil art #ink and colored pencil #colored pencil #ink drawing #cartoon art #cartoon artist #artists on tumblr #badgalnirvhannahart

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creative-caramel-coffee · 22 days

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The Spiders Sister - Chapter 1

Summary: Reader gets caught hiding out in the avengers tower. In the end it turns out for the best.

TW: non-sexual nudity, illness, fainting, swearing

Words: 4.1K

A/n: Super long first chapter

маленький паук – Little Spider

It defiantly wasn’t part of your life plan to be living with your bother again in your adulthood.

You had spent an excellent few months on your own having finally moved out of May Parker’s apartment, it had been perfect. Well … as perfect as life could be for a parker.

Then … you guessed it … parker luck struck again. There was a huge fight, one you had been itching to join but your brother, peter parker, had it covered. And since nobody knew that you sometimes wore the spider-man suit when peter wasn’t able to, it would all be over if two Spider-Man’s ended up fighting some of the weird aliens that had invaded New York.

You see, you and your brother had more in common than most siblings did. Peter parker had been bitten by a radioactive spider on a school trip as was known to a few people. But, at the same time, you had been eighteen and chaperoning the field trip.

When peter had snuck off to the side you had gone after him. When he was bitten, so were you.

But for now, you had decided to try and stay away from the superhero lifestyle. But when the itch came, peter lent you his suit so you could scratch it.

You had helped him refine his web-fluid and had your own web shooters as well as one of his old suits just in case. May knew about you and peter after finding out a while ago. However, peter and you had kept everything about your existence from the avengers so you could live a semi-normal life. At least for now.

But the day the avengers were fighting off the aliens, New York had taken some heavy damage. You had been running a small illustration business out of your apartment in queens. Your apartment … which was now levelled in the fight was gone. Along with your business.

Since you had moved out young, May only had one spare bedroom in her apartment which peter was occupying. Leaving the Parker’s with one option.

As peter had a room in the avenger's tower, you could stay there or with aunt may. Peter being Peter didn’t want to ask tony if he could stay in the tower for the unforeseeable future without arousing questions. So, you had been secretly living in the tower for about three days now.

Peter brought you food and had bribed Jarvis to keep your existence a secret. You had his old suit if you wanted to leave the tower, you could swing away instead of walking through the building and getting caught.

It was a pretty solid plan and it had been working pretty well. Until the day you got sick.

Peters' bedroom in the tower was on the floor with the other avengers, meaning you had to be somewhat quiet so Natasha, clint or the others didn’t find you. But it had begun to get colder out, and Peters old suit didn’t have a heater. It had been made before tony had found out spiders, including peter and yourself, can't thermoregulate. And swinging around New York without a heater in the nippy winter air had left you with a pretty nasty cold.

Unlike peter your powers didn’t give you super healing. In fact, your powers differed from peters in more ways than one. For one thing you had small fangs which you could retract, they didn’t do much, but they were cool, and peter was mildly jealous. Another thing was you had taken on aspects of jumping spiders as you could jump higher due to your super strength and some weird spider quality peter lacked.

Like peter the bit had given your excellent eyesight, increased metabolism, a lack of thermoregulation, the weird sticky thing, the spider sense and super strength and the allergy to peppermint. But due to sharing the suit anytime you went out as “Spider-Man” you had to refrain from using your own unique powers, so you didn’t give anything away.

The thermoregulating thing may have finally come back to bite you now that you were in peters old suit. After taking one of his patrols for him so he could finish his assignment and you could get out of his room in the tower, the cold had made you sick. Heres the thing about having a high metabolism when you don’t have an increased healing factor. It went one of two ways. Either you had flash colds which were taken care of quickly and at a much faster rate than the average human, or if it was stronger than your immune system, it was quickly made into a bigger problem than it should have been due to your body processing things faster and speeding up its strength.

Anytime this had happened in the past, due to not being able to go to a regular hospital, you had thanked the gods for May choosing a career in nursing. Though she had been able to treat you superficially with regular medicine and not anything made for super soldiers or spiders as that was a Bruce banner specialty that was unique to the tower's med bay. So, you often just had to ride it out and if things got really bad, peter would try and smuggle you some of his medicine out of the tower for you.

So, this is where you ended up. Curled up in Peters bed in the tower, stifling rough sounding coughs into his pillow and making a mental note to wash his sheets soon. You were doing your best to remain quiet and not alert either of the super spies to your presence or any of the other avengers. You thanked Thor that only you and peter had super hearing which meant you could usually tell if someone was in the halls.

Feeling miserable you buried yourself further into the sheets and shivered, it was so cold but in reality, you probably had a high fever. Your lungs let out a wheezing noise whenever you exhaled, and you were beginning to think maybe your asthma was back. Unlike peter you had not been so lucky as to have had it cured by the bite.

Your asthma puffer was one of the few things that survived your apartment being destroyed. As you laid in bed feeling awful you thought back to that day.

You thanked the gods you had been out at the time. You had gone to a coffee shop downtown with your sketchbook, laptop and usual things you took out, including a range of art supplies and of course your emergency puffer which peter had managed to smuggle out which had doses that worked with your metabolism.

You were broken from your daydreams as another harsh coughing fit wracked your body. From what you could hear nobody was in the halls, but you did your best to keep quiet regardless. The wheezing that trailed after each breath was getting worse and your lungs were feeling tight.

You had been trying to use the puffer sparingly so it didn’t run out because you didn’t know if and or when peter could get you another. But as drawing breath grew harder you made the executive call to use it. You rolled over in the bed and threw an arm down to fish around for your red backpack. Finding it you fiddled with the zip before your fingers wrapped around the cool plastic of the device. Tony being tony had insisted it have a Spiderman case thinking it was peters which ended up being rather ironic as it was fitting for you too.

You tried fruitlessly one last time to draw breath before achieving nothing but a crackling wheeze. Screw it. You uncapped the red lid and held it to your lips, propping yourself up on an elbow in an attempt to sit u straight to take it.

You exhaled and inhaled repeating it once more before drawing in a lungful of the super-medicine. Almost straight away you began to feel better. Your fast metabolism speeding up the medicines process.

Feeling like you could breathe again you replaced the cap and put it on the nightstand before curling up in the sheets again feeling cold still but also slightly damp from the thin layer of sweat that had been forming all morning.

You were dressed in spider-man pjs which had a thin t-shirt and long pants. You had considered getting up to grab one of peters hoodies to get warm or another blanket but the idea of standing up made your head spin.

You nestled back into the sheets and let your eyes fall shut despite it being almost midday. The curtains were drawn and so it didn’t bother you too much. You began to drift off into a semi-peaceful sleep broken by harsh coughing fits which were becoming harder to stifle in your half asleep and fevered state.

Meanwhile the avengers had just finished their morning training session, one which Peter had joined for once. Peter being Peter had barely broken a sweat and as a result had opted to hang out on the communal floor while everyone went o freshen up.

Stark had designed the tower well. With Peter’s bedroom being on the same floor as Natasha’s who was rather protective of her younger spider counterpart as well as Wanda’s, Yelena’s, Kate’s and a few spares. The rest of the avengers were a floor above.

At first peter had been a bit miffed about being on a floor of just girls but he ended up liking it a lot. And he had a second bedroom in the master suite with tony and Pepper which he proffered anyway. The one on the avenger's floor was more for if Tony and Pepper were away, and he wanted to be around the others.

Natasha was headed for her room after waving goodbye to peter who had settled down to watch more star-wars, when she paused in the hallway.

Retracing her steps she found herself stood outside peters bedroom door. Frowning she pressed an ear to the door and froze. Someone was inside and coughing. Knowing it wasn’t peter, nat carefully twisted the door handle.

Peter being peter had prepared for almost anything. As soon as Natasha had set foot inside peters room Jarvis had alerted peter of her presence.

Meanwhile Natasha peered into the dimly lit room. The lump in the bed was wriggling around and coughing. Nat was on high alert by now. She realised this person was ill but how had they managed to get in without Jarvis knowing? And why were they in peters bed?

She crossed the threshold and walked over to the bed. Taking note of the backpack on the floor and puffer on the bedside table as well as your spider-man pjs which had been a gag gift from Peter last Christmas.

Nat stood and observed for a second. Looking down at your flushed face which was burning with fever and the harsh coughs that were wracking your weak form.

Nat watched helplessly for a second unsure of how to deal with a sick intruder.

She hesitated before extending a hand to your forehead and feeling a very high fever. She sucked a breath. Despite being an intruder she had some ideas as to why you may have been here. Your likeness to peter wasn’t hard to spot. Yet. She was unsure.

Peeling of the blankets to get a better look at you, as she did you made a small noise of discontent and curled into a shaking ball still fever addled and half asleep.

Before she could continue the door opened and peter looked in.

“Uhh M-Ms Romanoff…” Peter said looking guilty as he stepped in and closed the door again.

“Peter, do you know who this is?” Natasha asked getting straight to the point. Peter hesitated and rubbed the back of his neck.

“Y-yes.” He said looking at your sick form with a frown.

“Peter.” She said crossing her arms. “Care to share whats going on?” Nat said as she headed for Peter’s bathroom.

“Um… She … she’s,, my sister.” Peter said unsurely. Natasha returned after a second and nodded. Now holding the first aid kit from peters bathroom in her arms.

“Anything else i should know?” She asked walking over to the bed and sitting down to rifle through the first aid kit.

“Petey?” You mumbled hearing his voice.

Peter seemed to break out of his trance and came to your side. “I’m here Y/n.” He said.

“‘S cold.” You mumbled making peter frown.

“Actually, I think she has a fever.” Nat said as she found what she was looking for, pulling out a thermometer from the kit.

Nat gently placed the thermometer under your tongue and turned to look at peter.

“Pete, you’re not in trouble but i need some more information.” Natasha said.

“This is Y/n. She’s, my sister. Her apartment was levelled in the last attack and so she’s been staying here ever since. She’s not a threat I promise.” Peter said almost tripping over his words in order to explain.

Before Nat could respond the thermometer beeped and she removed it to look at the small screen, drawing another round of coughs from you. Natasha rubbed your back with one hand while frowning at the screen.

“Peter… she should be dead. This says 106. There’s more isn’t there.” Nat said with some urgency as she began peeling the rest of the blankets off you in an attempt to cool you down.

“Ahh … yes. She had powers. Like mine. She … she wears the suit sometimes.” Peter said standing nearby and watching with a worried expression.

“Ok. So, she has spider powers? High metabolism, super strength, etc.” Nat said and Peter nodded. “Why hasn’t her healing fixed this?” Nat said feeling your forehead again.

“She doesn’t have it. Her powers differ slightly.” Peter explained as Nat cursed softly in Russian.

“Her fever’s still rising.” Nat said making a decision. “We need to cool her down fast before she gets too hot for her own good. Jarvis?” Natasha said and peter looked panicked for a second worried about more people finding out about you.

“Ms Romanoff-“ he started.

“Pete, we need to cool her down stat. I need some help.” She said and peter nodded still looking nervous. “Jarvis call wanda to Peter’s bedroom.” Nat said and peter relaxed slightly. Wanda was ok. She would be good for the situation.

“What are you going to do?” Peter asked.

“She needs a bath and I doubt you want to do that.” She said with a small smirk and Peter flushed for a second.

“Defiantly not.” He said shaking his head.

“Is there someone we can call? Someone who she’d be ok with dressing her once we cool her down. She may be sick but i don’t want to invade her privacy.” Nat said as she scooped you up from the bed and into her lap while they waited for wanda to arrive. You cough harshly again and wheezed making nat frown and look to peter.

“Asthma.” He said.

“Runs in the family huh?” She joked reaching over for the puffer on the bedside table.

“Uh… about that.” Peter said looking guilty. “Mine was cured by the bite. I need the puffers for her.” He said looking sheepish. Expecting Nat to be mad she grinned.

“You’re a good brother.” She said as she uncapped the device and pressed it to your lips.

“Exhale.” She instructed and by some small miracle you complied. When you went to inhale, she administered the medicine and told you to hold.

Recapping the device, she rubbed a hand up and down your arm. “Good job sweetie.” She said and felt you relax into her arms some more as you let out a breath.

The two sat in silence for another second before the door opened again and wanda slipped inside.

She was freshly showered, her hair damp and she smelt like jasmine and honey. She was dressed in a simple faded black t-shirt and grey track pants.

“Whats-“ she began before pausing, her eyes caught on you laid in Natashas lap half asleep.

“Wanda,” Nat said. “Meet Y/n. Peter’s older sister.” She said.

“Okay…” Wanda said looking lost before her expression morphed to concern as you coughed. “Is she ok?” Wanda asked.

“No. That’s why you’re here. Long story short, peter smuggled her into the tower, and she has spider powers and her fever is really high. We need to cool her down.” Nat said and wanda swallowed and nodded. “Peter?” Nat said turning to the younger parker.

“Yes?” He said looking up from where he had been studying his shoes closely.

“You never answered my question. Is there someone we can call to come and get her dressed after wanda and i bathe her?” Nat asked and peter blushed again and nodded.

“I can call May. It’s her day off.” He said and Nat nodded.

“You do that. Wanda and I will look after Y/n. We promise not to go further than her outer clothes.” She said and scooped you up into her arms. She headed for Peter’s bathroom with wanda trailing behind. You remained limp in her arms snuggled into her chest in an unconscious need for companionship.

Once the two redheads had you in the bathroom wanda looked at nat. “Now what?” She asked and Natasha smirked.

“Now we take her clothes off.” She said and gently she lifted your arms from where you were laid on the floor in her lap and pulled the spider-man t-shirt off over your head. Wanda blushed slightly at the sight of your red sports bra despite having seen Nat and herself train in about the same if not less clothes.

“You wanna help?” Nat asked with a grin that only served to make Wanda’s blush deepen. You squirmed slighting in Nat’s lap but stopped when she gently rubbed your arm after you buried your warm face into her stomach.

Wanda rolled her eyes in an attempt to feign nonchalance despite being way past that point.

She lifted her hands, and the familiar red glow of magic surrounded her hands. Her magic lifted your hips so Nat could slide off your pants. Wanda blushed again at the sight of your Black Widow boxers. Natasha however grinned at them finding it both adorable and very cute.

After a beat Wanda met Nat’s eyes again. “Now what?”

“We get her in the bath. She needs to be cooled down Asap.” Nat said hoisting you into her arms again as you wriggled, turning and grumbling into her chest.

“Not gonna lie she’s pretty cute.” Nat said and Wanda avoided her eyes as she used her magic to fill the bath with tepid water.

Natasha gently lowered you into the tub ignoring your whining protests and running her hands through your hair which seemed to calm you down as you relaxed again.

“So … now we wait?” Wanda guessed and Natasha nodded.

“Yep. Unless you really want to steal May’s job of getting her dressed again.” Nat teased making Wanda splutter slightly. “Im kidding.” Nat said. “I know what hot women do to your brain.” She winked and wanda slouched slightly.

After a second you grumbled and blearily opened your eyes, squinting at the two women.

“Peter is so dead.” You mumbled before letting your eyes drift shut again. There was a pause before wanda and nat both started laughing.

You groaned. “Peter!” You yelled before coughing again making Wanda and Nat frown. But before they could do anything the door opened to show a beat red peter with his hands covering his eyes.

“Yes?” He said in a small voice.

“When I get out of here, you’re dead.” You mumbled with a foggy glare sent in his direction.

“Hey. Peter did the right thing.” Another voice said from behind Peter.

“May?” You called. “Oh, wtf is going on right now.” You mumbled.

“Whats going on kiddo is that, once again, you failed to ask for help which landed you here.” May said entering the bathroom with a change of clothes.

“Nice to see you Ms Parker.” Nat said and wanda echoed.

“Please. Call me May. And thank you for looking after her.” May said and you groaned.

“I hate all of you.” You said hiding your face in your hands.

“Uh huh. Sure, you do.” May teased.

“It was no problem. Ms- May.” Wanda said. “We’ll wait in peters bedroom while you… yeah.” Wanda said before making a hasty retreat. Nat laughed and followed her out.

May gave you a disappointed frown once she had shut the door and turned back to you with a sigh.

“Honey.” She said.

“I know… I know.” You said still feeling like death but slightly less so. “Did the black widow and scarlet witch just really see me in my underpants?” You asked.

“Yes, and I serves you right for hiding illness … again!” She said as she came over, rolling up her sleeves and helping you out, practically holding all your weight for you as your head spun.

May frowned and guided you over to the covered toilet seat to dress you again.

Gently she began to towel you off and change you into fresh clothes.

“I can do it myself.” You whined but May shot you a look and you knew better than to challenge the angry Parker and you and peter had called her as kids when she was upset at you for something.

“Now, once you’re dressed you are going to thank those two for their kindness and your coming home with me.” May said.

“But-“ you began.

“No buts.” She said and helped you up, now fully dressed.

She helped you over to the door opening it despite still holding you up. The two of you shuffled into the room where Peter, Nat and Wanda were sat on Peter’s bed talking in hushed voices.

“Pete. I love you but I can hear everything you’re saying dumbass.” You said rolling your eyes and May lightly hit your arm.

“Right.” He said rubbing his neck. “Super hearing.” He nodded.

“I’ll add it to the list.” Nat grinned and you groaned before May jabbed you in the side and looked at the two girls.

You coughed at her actions making her frown but quickly got it under control for the sake of your already fragile image.

“Thank you, Wanda and Natasha, for helping me.” You said still leaning heavily on May. Now you had been standing for a bit the room began to spin. Your face went a shade paler making Natasha frown and stand. It was a split second before you stumbled, almost bringing May down with you in the process. Luckily strong arms wrapped around you, and you looked up into Nat’s pale green and worried eyes.

“Y/n?” You finally registered she was talking to you. “Y/n?” She asked again a little louder.

You let out a soft groan and she huffed. “Right. Up we go.” She said hoisting you into your arms and making the room spin again as you buried your face in her arm.

You felt her gently set you down on the bed and feel your forehead.

Distantly you heard May saying something along the lines of taking you home and the sound of Natasha arguing they were better equipped to help with your powers and sickness. May relented and you went back to dozing.

“What happened?” Peter asked from where he was stood by the door.

“Probably got too dizzy from standing up. Her body’s already trying to fight off sickness.” Natasha said and Wanda nodded.

“Peter? Don’t you have a super high metabolism?” Wanda asked.

“Yeah?” He said looking lost as May seemed to catch on.

“Y/n when did you last eat?” May asked and you groaned and buried your face in the pillow. “Well, that answers that.” May said rolling her eyes.

“Peter, do you have any of those energy bars that steve uses?” Wanda asked and peter nodded and headed for his bedside drawer.

He fished around and pulled out one of them and passed it to nat. She unwrapped it and shoved it into your hands.

“Eat.” She said and you made a groan of protest. “It’ll help.” She said in a softer tone.

“Fine.” You said sitting up against the headboard and nibbling on it slowly.

“Better.” Nat said and you frowned.

“You know you’re cute when you’re mad.” Wanda said looking surprised by her own words and blushing at Natasha’s knowing gaze.

“Get some rest маленький паук” Nat said once you had finished eating, and she begun to shepherd everyone out of the room.

PART 2

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esbee-daisy · 7 months

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When A is woken up in the middle of the night and at first they’re not sure why. They rub their eyes and look around blearily; all looks in order. But damn they’re hot. And as soon as that thought appears, they realize with a start it’s coming from next to them - and they look down in horror at B, laying curled into their side. B is absolutely radiating heat - so much so that A is sweaty just from being pressed against them, though no where near as drenched as B. B is shaking and whimpering pathetically, and looks pale even in the low light of the moon, with bright red spots high on their cheeks. A realizes they must not have been feeling well for a while and not mentioned anything, because with a fever like this there’s no way B didn’t go to bed feeling terribly unwell. And A hadn’t noticed.

A tries to wake B up gently, knowing they need to take their temperature and get them some water and meds, but after a few gentle hair strokes and rubbing of B’s arm, they realize B isn’t rousing at all. And if anything their face seems more pained and frightened than it had a minute ago. A starts getting frantic, shaking B harder and calling their name in a panic. They see B’s eyes flutter beneath the lids briefly, then stop as their head dropped even more towards the bed. A’s stomach drops when they realize their aren’t able to rouse B at all. Uh oh.

#fainting #passing out #sickfic #burning up #fever #caretaker #sickfic prompts #whump #whump prompt #unconcious #sick fic #sickie #Whumpee #sick whump #sick Whumpee #collapsed #fever fanfic

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manfuckthisimout · 14 days

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This look RAHHHHHH

Your relationship with your boss was an odd one. It was obvious to everyone in the precinct that you and the detective were more than just boss and secretary. But you would never admit that, and August D had a weird way of showing his fondness. It was the same way every workday—come in at 6:30, find the detective already at his desk, make him coffee, start the day. He would fuss and scold you for little things, make excuses to stay at your desk and talk to you.

You two kind of danced around each other, an unspoken possessive from the detective, and you playing coy until he finally fesses up that he likes you.

He storms out of his office while you’re scheduling his next meeting.

“Didn’t I tell you not to mix up these documents?” he says, holding up a manila file folder. He looks quite frustrated, cigarette hanging loosely from his mouth, suit jacket off and sleeves rolled past his forearms.

Yelling at you like this does virtually nothing in his favor—if anything it just makes you rub your thighs together. “I’m sorry sir,” you smooth out, batting your eyelashes up at him. “I thought your desk needed some tidying, and you were out in a case so..” He gives you a pointed look. “That doesn’t give you a reason to touch anything in my office. If I want you to tidy anything of mine, I’ll ask you to.” You nod, turning your attention back to the computer screen in front of you.

“Did you schedule my meeting with Captain Jung?” He asks, leaning over the front of your desk. You can feel him staring into your forehead, almost trying to make you squirm in your seat. “Of course sir, I just finished. Your meeting is for 4:30 today.” “Good.” He gives you one last long look over before pushing off your desk and walking back into his office.

You look up from your computer, staring at the deep mahogany that separates you and your boss. “Y’know, we have a running bet pool on which of you is gonna confess first.” Your coworker, Su-min slides over to your desk and props her hand under her chin. “What are you talking about? There’s nothing going on between me and him,” you sigh. “Sure. Tell it to the rest of us.” She chides back. “Don’t you have a case to be doing right now? That missing girl right? How long has it been?” “About a week or so. I really hope we can find her alive, but it’s starting to look grim.” She grimaces. “I hope you end up finding her either way—“

“Y/N! My office, now!”

Suddenly his door was cracked, and you could see him walking back to his desk, waiting for you.

You turn to Su-min and grimace. “Duty calls. Tell me about the case after I get done with this.” She grins at you. “Don’t start fooling around in there, keep it PG!” You roll your eyes, standing from your desk and walking into the detective’s office.

“You called for me detective?” You answer sweetly. “Sit. I have something to talk to you about.” You sit in one of the leather chairs in front of his desk, feeling his eyes on you the whole time. He gets up and rounds the front of his desk, leaning against it to look at you better. “We’ve known each other for quite sometime now,” he starts, arms folded and head down. He smirks. “You and I both know that I’ve been dancing around you these past years-“ “Is that what you call it sir?” He pauses. “Excuse me?” “Is that what you call it, this situation I mean. I was very aware of your feelings about me from the day we met sir. The whole precinct knows how you act around me.” “..I’ve been that bad at hiding it then?” “Pretty much.”

He sighs. “I know I haven’t been…vocal..about my feelings for you. I’d like to fix that. Do you want to go to lunch with me sometime?” You smile at his bluntness. He’s always been bad with words like this, saving his poetical vocabulary for high-stress situations with criminals. “What’s so funny?” He asks, brow raised, smile on his face. “You are. You’re so bad with words sir..” You giggle. He leans down, gripping either side of the arms on the chair. He’s so close to you now, noses almost touching. “I am, hm? And that’s funny?” You nod. He chuckles. “I’m looking forward to getting to know you.” “Lunch right? What time?” “Lunch time.” You grimace. “Well, I assumed that much. 12 or 1?” “12:30.” “12:30 it is. I’ll mark it on your personal calendar.”

He lifts himself from his position, rounding his desk again and sitting in his chair. He stares at you longingly. “I’d suggest you get back out there. Wouldn’t want to keep the office waiting on who won that bet.” You chuckle. “Yes sir.”

Second fic rawr

This came to me in a feverish daydream

Also because of boredom

Hope you like!!

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sickiehugs · 3 months

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When a character is feeling super sick and shitty but they don't have a fever, so they aren't taking it seriously or resting because to them, they aren't really sick unless there's visible proof. Maybe it comes from when they were growing up, and their family never took their illness seriously unless there was a fever. Maybe they would accuse them of lying to get out of things. So now, they worry if that really is the case. They work themselves to the bone and feel like they're going to collapse, but they aren't really sick unless they have a fever.

Bonus points if they have a partner who cares about their well-being, and as soon as they see them in the state they're in, they immediately make a fuss and insist that they rest. The character somehow feels good, even though they don't want their partner worrying, because someone is finally making it a big deal. It's finally real, it's finally serious.

#totally not projecting #sickfic #whump #whumpblr #fever whump #illness whump #fever #sickfic prompts #sickie #sickfic tropes #sick fanfic #promptiehugs #this is secretly a vent post shhhh /hj #turns out i was chronically ill this whole time so fuck you mom #i want a partner who can tuck me into bed #child neglect tw

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flowercrowngods · 2 months

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knightmærs

love: saying "i love you" even when you're scared written for @steddielovemonth day 20 (@quinns-shadowy-arts)

M | ~3.1k | tags: medieval-ish au, prince!steve, lovers to enemies who are still lovers but it’s intrigue cw: torture (both implied and explicit), past & on-screen brainwashing, manipulation, angst, violence, open ending, mild gore, traditional fairytale imagery

princemær

It is not the sensation of cold steel touching his throat that makes him halt, the blade against his skin a feeling so familiar these days that he barely falters in his steps anymore. Nor is it the clearly spoken threat of, “One wrong move, Kas, and I will paint the soil with your blood so that something good may come of your existence after all.”

Original, that. Eddie is not loath to admit it.

And were this valiant knight anyone else, he surely would have worked his clever tongue to make it count, at the very least, that they should have caught him at last. Judging by the determination in the man’s hazel eyes and the absolute calm in his hand, sword unwavering against Eddie’s throat, he would have paid gravely for it.

As it is, though, Eddie can only stare into the eyes of his imminent captor, frozen to the spot and freezing yet more when he finds no trace of recognition in those eyes.

What did they do to you? he wonders desperately, so forlorn in the throes of distress he finds no wherewithal to struggle against four men of the Prince’s guard as they roughly disarm and bind him. He doesn’t take his eyes off the Prince, aching for just a hint of recognition, even a glint of betrayal and hatred – but all he can find is cold nothingness as the Prince holds his gaze, looking down at Eddie from his royal mare. It’s not one Eddie recognises, and he is reminded of the years he has gone without those eyes in his life.

“The King is expecting your return,” says the Prince, sheathing his sword when one of his men binds Eddie to the back of his horse; the first of many tortures, he is sure.

Or rather, the second, with the way the Prince is looking at him, speaking to him without that familiar melody to his voice. It is monotonous now, and Eddie wants to become the monster again that they all make him out to be, if only to rip out the throat of the person who did this to him. The person who took the Prince’s voice, his smile, his memories.

He would gladly become a monster for him all over again.

“A sword has been made for your head, after all. And a feast for your demise.”

And with that, the Prince spurs his mare into a trot, his loyal guardsmen following just behind him, pulling Eddie with them. It is a small miracle that he does not stumble and fall, the floor beneath his feet unsteady as cotton as all feeling leaves his body and the world rewrites itself around him and this very moment.

Prince Steven wants him publicly executed. That is not what leaves Eddie’s stomach with a wave of nausea he barely manages to swallow down, panting and gasping for air as he is from running after the horses.

No, what leaves him with a frozen bloodstream and a panicked paralysis of the mind is that Prince Steven recognises him no longer. Remembers not the history that lies between them. The sacrifices made.

Were the situation any different, allowing for tears and curses cried into the dark of night without threat of detection, Eddie would have wailed. Wept at the realisation that he should have never left Steve to the claws of the King and his advisor.

What did they do to you? he agonises, staring at the familiar blues that attire the Prince so tragically familiar. And how do I get you back before you spell doom for yourself with my own blood?

***

Foolishly, Eddie has spent years of his life thinking he would never be presented with this view again: The palace in all its glory, sandstone nary white and golden, shining and gleaming in ways more sublime than the sun herself. It stole many a night from him, the thought of this vision and the heart it holds inside, a keep more than a palace, and just as out of reach for the hands of a man deemed a traitor to the kingdom.

But now here he is, stumbling on bleeding feet as the horse drags him into the courtyard of what used to be his home so many winters ago he has lost count. People gave gathered in the streets and alleys and up by the windows, chancing a look at the man condemned, sweat and tears dried and crusted on his cheeks, ripped clothes showing bleeding wounds from falling when the Prince demanded they ride faster.

He can scarcely hold his own weight anymore, his feet aching and burning, his entire body on fire and dehydrated, the world around him spinning just quickly enough that he takes too long to realise it when the Prince cuts the rope from the horse’s saddle and takes a hold of it instead. Holding Eddie like a mutt on a leash – and he’s panting like one, too.

Still he catches his breath long enough to lift his chin and look at the Prince, showing defiance in one simple act that in another lifetime counted as devotion. But he wants to look at him. Wants to drink him in, changed though he might be.

“Will you lead me to death now, Your Majesty?”

The Prince says nothing as he rebinds Eddie’s wrists, securing them to his chest so he can’t easily break free and the Prince’s neck in the process. A wave of pride washes over him, even as he realises that he must succumb to being a prisoner for now with no means to escape.

“I am but your humble subject. Where you lead, I will follow,” Eddie says with a wavering voice, just barely resisting to bow before his Prince for dramatic effect and hoping that would conceal the truth to his words.

“One more word, snake,” he says, cold eyes boring into Eddie’s like a blade of ice and leaving trickles of fear in their wake, “and I will personally see to your death being so slow and painful, you will have forgotten your own name just before I am done, leaving you not enough time to remember. You will spend eternity wandering and finding no peace. Finding not even your name, as all you are has been replaced with pain.”

Eddie flinches away from him unwittingly, hating the cold smirk that infests that beautiful face. His Prince wouldn’t talk like that. His Prince would not resort to threats of torture, inflicting fear wherever he sets foot.

He had heard the stories, tales of a Prince changed, accounts of the Golden Prince dimmed and dulled, a tender heart hardened and smooth edges roughened to hurt whoever dared to touch him. The first few years he had heard the tales, and still he had chosen disbelief and doubt. Refusal to believe it.

His Prince would never. Stevie could never.

And yet.

“What happened to you?” he whispers, the words leaving his mouth before he can stop them, and he watches as something shutters behind those familiar eyes.

“You cut out my heart. All those years ago, when you killed him. I intend to do the same to you.”

Eddie swallows, the words not making sense. He has killed many a man, those who deserved it and those who did not, but whom could he have killed to elicit such a response from the Prince?

“Whom?” he dares ask, preparing for a blade in his stomach or a fist in his face, ready for the guards to pull him back and pummel him until he does indeed forget his name and the rest of the world for a while.

But the Prince stands his ground, his cold gaze nary lifeless even as Eddie’s vision swims.

“Eddie.”

And all the blood flees his body in a rush as understanding dawns on him, leaving yet more confusion as he hears his own name fall from the Prince’s lips with such barely concealed grief and sadness that it makes his knees buckle.

“I intend to repay you for what you have taken from me. Settle the blood debt. Three days from now, it shall be my hand on the sword that will have your head.”

Eddie is too stunned to speak, too exhausted from two days on his feet, dragged on his feet and on his back, and the unfamiliar sensation of fear grips his whole body and intensifies the aches and pains he feels until his legs give out and he lands on his knees in front of his Prince, close to weeping once more.

A hand comes to rest on his chin, tipping up his face so he can meet those royal eyes, and Eddie finds himself wishing for the blade instead.

“Good,” Prince Steven says, his voice quiet, only for Eddie to hear. “I want to hear you beg for your life.”

Eddie cannot keep a hold of the tear that breaks free and rolls down his face, leaving a trace for the Prince to follow as he undoubtedly marvels at having the great Betrayer on his knees and at a loss for words.

And Eddie knows he will beg. But not for his life.

***

Torture does come, but not from his Prince.

Instead it is Henry, the King’s advisor, who takes great pleasure in taunting him, leaving his body bloodied and bruised before he applies whatever concoction he cooked up that will leave Eddie feeling like his insides have turned to flames, leaving him to grunt and bite down on his screams as Henry weaves tales out of thin air laced with blood, sweat and tears.

“You were always so gullible, the both of you,” Henry continues, though Eddie must have missed the beginning of his words, as even these ones barely reach him through the pain.

“What did you do to him?” he asks around a mouthful of blood, spitting at Henry’s feet, revealing in the sick twist of his mouth that Eddie can just barely make out as his vision blurs dangerously.

“What did we do to him? Oh, even a decade later you are still the same stupid boy you were then, hmm? It is you who did this to him. It is you who betrayed him, killing Eddie Munson and becoming Kas The Betrayer. Do you not recall?”

His world tilts suddenly as Henry fills his mouth with a bitter liquid, clamping his mouth shut so Eddie has no choice but to swallow it all.

“Surely you do remember the way you shoved your blade between Munson’s ribs on your way out of this cell all these years ago, cutting out his heart and making it your first feast of your newly-won freedom. Surely you remember betraying the Prince’s trust and then killing his lover and his best friend. You must remember, stupid boy, and know that your execution will bring freedom to the Prince’s mind that is so trapped in its vengefulness.”

Nausea overcomes him and he retches, but Henry prevents him from throwing up and emptying his bowels to rid himself from whatever the alchemist uses to cloud his senses and reshape the world to his very own liking.

“Shut up,” Eddie wheezes, earning a well-placed punch for his troubles. “Don’t touch him. Don’t you… Don’t you touch him.”

A smile fills his vision as Henry comes close to hum as he turns Eddie’s face this way and that, keeping him from shaking it as images of a false history manifest in his mind.

“Oh, I won’t have to touch him. See, he will realise what he has done on the scaffold. The veil over his eyes will be lifted when your heart stops beating, all the pieces will fall into place, but still he will be blind, for the veil will be replaced with the ghost of you, slowly fading beneath him.”

Henry is circling him, stalking him like a predator his prey. Eddie has not been prey in so long. He does not know how to suppress the shivers or the horror at the tale woven around him.

“And then, sword still in hand as it drips with your blood, despair will overcome him and he will follow you. The kingdom will be freed of the King’s pest of an heir, and I will lend his grieving Majesty a helping hand in ruling his kingdom. That is, of course, until he, too, ultimately succumbs to grief for his only son, leaving only myself to rebuild and reshape first the kingdom and then the whole world just the way I want.”

He comes to a stop in front of him, another dark green flask in his hand.

“You are but a pawn in this, Kas.”

More of the bitter liquid flows down his throat and Eddie almost chokes on it, coughing it up and trying to resist, but Henry is stronger than he is. Always has been.

And with poison in his ears and his bloodstream alike, Henry’s words grow truths inside Kas’s mind; the memory of Eddie Munson dying on his blade, the blood dripping down his fingers as he takes a bite of the man’s heart, and the prince’s screams in his ear at this ultimate betrayal, for that heart belonged to him.

When he loses his grasp on consciousness, out of breath and out of his mind with pain, he wishes for the scaffold. He wishes for the Prince to take his life and settle the debt. Avenge his love. Avenge what Kas can only ever dream about.

***

Gradually, over the span of only three days spent in either sensory deprivation or torture, Henry manages to drain the dredges of Eddie’s false identity and replace them with what really happened; replace them with Kas. With guilt, with shame, with a debt so severe it could never be paid back as long as Kas remains alive.

He forgets about most of Henry’s visits, wakes up with new injuries and new memories, the reserves of water left for him tasting bitter and wrong, but he is always so desperate for it, he has not the luxury of choice.

The Prince never comes.

***

The third sun rises and finds Kas a broken man.

They lead him out in chains and shackles, like he poses any risk of escaping. Like he doesn’t welcome what is about to come. Like he doesn’t—

He…

Kas falters in his steps the very second he lays eyes on the Prince, hand resting on the hilt of a broadword that looks to be expertly crafted. A sword has been made for your head, after all. He swallows, ignoring the guard that kicks him in the shin and punches him in the neck, telling him to move forward.

His head aches the longer he watches the Prince, the world around him becoming hazy as guilt and shame wash over him, the feeling that this is right, this is what he deserves. And still, underneath it all, when Prince Steven meets his eyes, there is the nagging feeling that none of this is right at all. That the Prince should not be looking at him like that, should not be holding onto that sword, should not be his own executioner.

It splits his head, but still he is helpless against the shackles, cannot struggle when the guards pull him along instead.

The Prince says not a word until Kas the Betrayer kneels before him, and once again there is a wave of familiarity that comes from this action, but he cannot place it. Kas has never knelt for anyone, so it must be wrong. It must be instinct, the last desperate flare of a dying flame, leaving him disoriented, his head flooded with visions of how life could have been.

The headache mingles with a new wave of fevered need to live, to rip apart these shackles and kill every guardsman and the King himself before he leaves the sandstone castle behind him once more.

But there is also a strange sensation of calmness that tells him he is willing to let it happen like it must. He is willing to give this to the Prince and repent. He is willing to give it all up and give in to this.

Kas the Betrayer is ready to die. He is too tired to alter the course of fate any longer.

But then? Oh, a lone man’s willingness is not force strong enough to defy the will of Fate herself.

Because when Prince Steven opens his mouth, all the bitterness leaves Eddie’s mouth, all the visions become unveiled at the sound of that voice that for decades now has held him through pain and pleasure alike, the voice that whispered promises of a future together of even just five minutes away from prying eyes.

When Prince Steven opens his mouth, Kas becomes Eddie once more, coming to life again inside his own tired, exhausted, agonised head.

“Any last wish?”

For those to be the words that save him carries a strange sense of irony, and Eddie knows it’s too late. He knows the plan will commence. Maybe it’s for the better. Ten years he has suffered without his heart, ten years spent shunned and banished and labeled a traitor to all kingdoms simply because he dared to love his Prince more than his King. Ten years that have left him tired and worn out, without a purpose to his ways.

And Steve, subjected to Henry and his alchemy, his poisons and potions, his bitterness that will turn your insides to flames. Steve, tortured and manipulated for ten years without Eddie there to protect him.

Maybe it’s for the best that it should end now. That it should end like this. He has no strength left in his body, could not free himself or the Prince even if he were foolish enough to try.

Still he finds himself relieved that he should die inside his own head this time. That small mercies and miracles alike will grant him this. Looking at Steve as he takes his last breaths.

So, does he have any last wish?

“Yes,” he croaks, daring to look up into those once so beautiful eyes that hold no warmth anymore.

Tell me what they did to you. A kiss from my Prince. Don’t turn this blade on yourself when this life has left my body. Believe me when I say this is a trap, and I am not who you think I am.

But he says none of that. Wishes for something else. Wishes not for himself.

He swallows, straightening his back. “I wish that you would… That you would just, just listen to me.” Fear overcomes him, and he knows these will be his last words.

The Prince inclines his head, intent at least on listening. Good. That’s good.

Because now, for the first time in a decade, Eddie will utter these words to ears that will listen. Fear grips his heart, squeezing around it until it stops. And still he speaks.

“I love you. And I forgive you.”

tagging: @skiddit @inklessletter @aringofsalt @hellion-child @hotluncheddie @gutterflower77 @auroraplume @steddieonbigboy @n0-1-important @stevesjockstrap @brainvines @puppy-steve @madigoround @izzy2210 @itsall-taken @mangoinacan13 (i have a permanent tag list now, lmk if you want on or off 🤍 these are only the ones who commented on the post) (sorry the first tag should be so fucked up mwah)

note: i posted this last night but then wanted to double check with the lovely lovely mod of steddielovemonth (kith for you!) if this was okay to post, and she said yes, so fever dream round 2! sorry for the inconvenience, thank you for the patience! 🤍

#steddie fic #steddie #steddie fanfic #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddielovemonth #this is still a fever dream of a fic #this one goes out to all the blorbos from my notes who wished for this to come back 🤍#i could (and probably should) make this a 10k thing but i kinda love the lack of context of background that comes w these types of stories #we just vibin with fucked up dynamics and more questions than the text could answer yesss #(but i keep wanting to add to it help. anyone know what's going on? no? me neither come join the club the words just be happening)#dark!fic #<- not really but the themes are there yknow #konrad von würzburg would be proud of me for this #dio words #dio's steddie ramblings

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amethystina · 11 months

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The Devil Judge Meta: Introducing Kang Yo Han and Kim Ga On

Hello. I'm sick with a fever and you all know what that means — another needlessly long and detailed meta about The Devil Judge. Because sometimes I like to be predictable.

Last time we looked at The Bus Scene and this time we'll be focusing on Kang Yo Han and Kim Ga On's character introductions and what we find out about these two characters during them. And, to some degree, how they mirror and differ from each other. Spoilers: it's glorious.

Disclaimer: This is by no means a complete meta. I know next to nothing about filmmaking and all that goes into it, so this focuses mostly on the characters and what an amateur like me can observe during the respective scenes. But I might miss or skip over certain details, especially things related to cinematography and such. I'm a librarian, not a director, and I just want to yell about characters I love and how absolutely SPECTACULAR this drama is at presentation and storytelling. So sue me.

Second Disclaimer: I was, once again, left unsupervised with Photoshop while having a fever. So I, once again, take no responsibility for the resulting screenshots.

Third Disclaimer: This meta will not be entirely chronological but instead focus on one aspect of their introduction at a time, so there will be some jumps back and forth. But, hopefully, it will still be easy to follow.

And so, without further ado, you will find more under the cut!

Now. The first thing the drama wants to establish is that Kang Yo Han and Kim Ga On are very different characters in terms of personality, experience, status etc. And how do they do this, you ask? By putting them in similar situations during their introductions but having several key differences that highlight their respective characterisation. This allows the viewer to more easily compare them and draw the desired conclusion — it might even happen subconsciously for some. Because, yes, their introductions are mirrored in so, so many ways and it's very effective once you put them side by side and actually study them more closely.

The devil's in the details, so to speak — pun ENTIRELY intended.

So! The first time we see them, they're on a mode of transportation, currently travelling through a tunnel. In Yo Han's case, it's a tunnel for cars:

In Ga On's case, we don't get a clear shot of the tunnel itself until later, but one can quickly deduce that he's in one given the details during the first second he's on screen:

Most people recognise this as a subway train and that the lighting must mean that they're either underground or inside a tunnel.

Now, here's where the fun begins since while they're both in dark tunnels, there are already some noticeable and important differences. Yo Han is in an expensive car — a vehicle he drives himself — and not only is he alone inside it, but practically alone on the road as well, with only the distant headlights of an oncoming car in sight. There are no cars (that we can see during this first shot) heading in the same direction as Yo Han.

Ga On, on the other hand? He is, as mentioned, on a subway car, driven by someone else, surrounded by other commuters. People who, in other words, might not be heading to the exact same destination as him, but at least in the same direction. They're all on the same train together.

So, even here, within literal seconds, while they're still both in this dark tunnel — unrevealed to the world, if you will — we are told several important things about these two characters:

Their current level of power over their own destiny (driving themselves vs. a mere passenger)

Their existence in society (solitary vs. one of the people)

Their social economic status (fancy car vs. subway train)

And, finally, the direction their moving (against the tide vs. the same as everyone else)

Beautiful, isn't it?

And this stark contrast continues once they emerge from their respective tunnels as well, with Yo Han driving out into the night:

And Ga On arriving to a burst of morning sunlight:

The consistent theme of Yo Han as darkness and Ga On as light will never not make me go feral, okay? I LIVE for that shit. And I'm still struggling against the impulse to write a meta about it because it would be insanely long and probably devolve into incoherent babbling at some point.

BUT I DIGRESS.

Once leaving the tunnel, they both find themselves on a bridge, crossing a wide expanse of… well, pitch-black darkness in Yo Han's case and water in Ga On's. Crossing a bridge is often meant to symbolise a transition or the start of something new. So, clearly, both Yo Han and Ga On are embarking on a new journey and we, the viewers, are invited to follow along during it. They begin these journeys roughly at the same time and, not so surprisingly, we soon find out that their paths are destined to cross. So while their journeys may have started separately, they'll eventually end up entwining and continuing forward together.

(… because we needed to make this drama sound even more like a star-crossed lovers romance, I guess?)

But where are they going then, you ask?

Well, that's another beauty of this introduction since you, as the viewer, aren't quite sure where Yo Han is heading, are you? Everything is just darkness. He could be going anywhere. We can assume he's heading to the fancy party we see in between the shots of Yo Han, sure, but we can't be certain. He's still very mysterious because, at this point, he's inside a car and we haven't seen how he's dressed or even his full face. His purpose is unknown — as is his final destination.

And that, as we all know, will actually remain more or less hidden from us until the very last episode. So I guess it's good that they establish his unpredictability from the very start? xD

Anyhow. They keep us in suspense for quite some time where Yo Han is concerned, having us watch him drive across Seoul. But one consistent thing is that he remains mostly alone on the road, even if we sometimes see other cars in the background. And, quite often, he's seen driving across or against the other cars, paving his own way, if you will.

(This is, of course, also because it's easier for the viewer to follow a single car as opposed to one in crowded traffic. So there are definitely productional reasons as well, but I do love the extra spice it adds to the reading of Yo Han's character)

We have no idea where Yo Han is headed and he could make a turn at any time, changing the direction of the car if he so chooses.

This is quite different from Ga On since all the context clues surrounding him — his clothes, the practical backpack, the number of other commuters on the train, the dusky morning sunlight — quickly leads to the assumption that he's heading to work. We might not know where he works yet, but there are still a lot fewer questions and uncertainties about his destination. Ga On's journey is, at least at first glance, predictable and mundane, especially compared to Yo Han's.

Ga On is on a train he's not driving, moving on a track with only one way to go. It's so predictable it's almost boring, the outcome set before it even began. If Ga On wants to change his path, his only option is to get off the train — that's how little control and influence he has. He's not without control — there is a choice involved, in getting on the subway in the first place — but it's a far cry from Yo Han who's in complete control, driving himself to wherever he's heading.

(And yes, do take a moment to ponder the beautiful new layer this adds to Yo Han telling Ga On to drive them to the fundraising gala. Made even more intriguing by that stunt Yo Han pulled by suddenly yanking on the wheel, testing Ga On's control over the car. And the significance of Ga On getting inside the car with Yo Han when he's telling Professor Min that he's eloping with his sugar daddy switching sides. Go on. Ponder it. I'll wait.)

Now, moving on to their faces.

Here we have two very different approaches. With Yo Han, we see glimpses of his face throughout his car ride, like this right here:

We can only barely make out his features with the majority of his face being in shadow. And this theme continues, showing us one piece here, another there, but never his fully lit face. Some parts are always hidden, outside of view, or in shadow. We get fractures of the man rather than the complete picture.

And then, of course, they hit us with this one:

Which (if you can tear your gaze away from, well, The Gaze) you'll find is about four cityscapes, twisted, mirrored, or layered on top of/next to each other. Which is, of course, very cool and pretty, but also an indication of Yo Han's character and the topsy-turvy ride we're about to go on with this man. Especially when you add the fact that we haven't even seen his entire face ONCE so far.

Translation: This bitch be complicated, fam.

Basically, Yo Han has layers upon layers and even if we're shown several parts of the whole and can assume we know what we'll find at the end, it might be a mistake to think we know him.

(I also like this shot because I can't help but wonder if this is what the inside of Yo Han's mind looks like. I mean, how he might look at a situation from different angles, layered on top of each other, flipped and tipped to its side or even upside down. Idk. It's an interesting thought.)

This build-up of not showing Yo Han's face continues for a long time, not just during the car ride but also after he arrives at the venue, where he's seen walking the halls. Again, just like while he was driving, he's often walking alone, past other people — even on the other side of a pane of glass at one point — to once again highlight his solitary and contrary path in life.

All of this makes it almost anti-climactic that the first time we see Yo Han's at least adequately lit face — when it's not being split up by shadows or camera angles — is this:

It's not even a particularly clear shot and he's surrounded by other people to the point where he's still sort of obscured. It's almost a little disorienting after all that build-up, especially since we see him relaxed and smiling, comfortably walking through a crowd of shouting people. It's in no way as flashy as that build-up made us believe. Why all that secrecy if this is how he's finally introduced? Wasn't it supposed to be special?

(Or maybe he's still hiding? Maybe this isn't his real face, either? The plot thickens!)

Ga On, in contrast, has an incredibly short build-up. We see him open the train door, walk a couple of steps, grab a handrail, and BAM.

No cheeky glimpses, fancy shots, or prolonged tension. Just: "Here he is — your boy."

(Thank you — we will treasure him)

Which, when put next to Yo Han's long and layered reveal, is pretty telling. Here's someone straightforward, to-the-point, and, most likely, honest. He doesn't need a long, complex introduction because what you see is what you get. There's something almost comforting in that clarity and it helps make Ga On feel more approachable and relatable, especially in comparison to Yo Han.

(May I also point out the hilarity of this being the first time we see Ga On's face and he's already looking at Yo Han? Better start early, I guess?)

And, obviously, instead of the darkness, artificial lights, and camera flashes of Yo Han's intro, Ga On gets this:

He is soft and warm like mash potato.

That's not to say that Ga On is without depth or layers, however. If we continue on the concept that light is very important in this drama (which we know it is) there are a couple of seconds here during Ga On's intro that are VERY intriguing. Because he, much like Yo Han, does get a moment of foreshadowing as well — of conflicts and reveals to come.

I present: The Three Stages of Kim Ga On

Shown in the order they appear in the drama, mere seconds apart. And, depending on how you choose to view the ending of the drama, could perhaps be said to show the progression of his character.

Anyway. Feel free to interpret this as a cheeky little wink, hinting at Ga On's hidden darkness. If you're into that kind of thing — which I clearly am. Because they didn't have to make the entire subway car go almost completely dark there for a second, but they did. And I, for one, am delighted.

(Yes, I'm having the time of my life, thank you for asking)

Now, perhaps you're tempted to argue that there wasn't much of that infamous mirroring here, with their situations being similar but with important differences in the key details. But that's only because I've been holding out on these two screenshots, showing both Yo Han and Ga On the seconds before their faces are revealed:

Just look at that. Look at the similarities and marvellous, wonderful differences that help establish who these two characters are — and how they contrast each other.

Yo Han arrives in a fancy suit to a red carpet event, people cheering, cameras flashing, and priceless art just on the edge of the shot. It's colourful, it's expensive, and it's important. There are even ropes separating him from the onlookers, signifying that his arrival is expected — he's the main event. The whole shot reeks of money, power, and prestige.

Meanwhile, Ga On is wearing a thick coat and backpack on a drab, dimly lit subway train, with graffiti on the walls, sleepy commuters lounging in their seats, and no one paying attention to him. Ga On is right there, amongst the rest of the people, and it's in no way important. He is in no way significant. He's just a normal guy — one more commuter on the train, heading to work.

Just these two shots alone tell you so much about these characters and what to expect from them. It is, quite frankly, masterful character establishment, especially when you put them one after the other like this.

Because, dear LORD, from a framing perspective? Both having objects on each side, framing them in, and people occupying roughly the same space? (though they're lower on Ga On's and higher on Yo Han's which, of course *chef's kiss*) And how the lines of the red carpet line up with the lights from Ga On's subway, turning them almost into literal mirrors of each other? Except instead of showing a reflection, it shows the rich vs. the poor — the high society vs. the low.

K, take the wheel, I'm going to need a moment.

(*pterodactyl screech*)

MOVING ON.

Even if Ga On's coat looks nice and all, they still make sure to establish that, yes, he's from a poor background. Partly through his mode of transportation but also this shot (which is one of my favourites):

Very often, the use of stairs, escalators, and elevators symbolise a character's status and their climb upwards or fall from grace. In Ga On's case, we see him riding the escalator on this journey he's embarked on, essentially showing us how he's moving up in the world — that he's heading somewhere new, to a place he's not originally from. To a level of influence and power he's not had before. This new job is Important. Which is only further strengthened later during the day, when he has to descend a cracked, dimly lit staircase in a bad neighbourhood on his way home, taking him back to the level where he originally came from.

Yo Han, meanwhile, stays the same almost the entire time, both while driving and walking through the venue. His journey is unchanged in terms of status, fame, and riches. The only exception is a brief moment of him walking up a staircase but it's short enough to have less of an impact than Ga On's ascent.

There's also the added layer of Ga On not walking up these steps and instead being taken there on an escalator — once again showing us that he's not really picking his destination on his own. He's just following along.

And, finally, of course: the lighting. The gorgeous lighting.

Ga On, as always, symbolises light though here I'd argue it has the additional meaning of rich vs. poor and, considering the advertisement slapped on the wall, influence vs. powerlessness. He's emerging from the dark into the light, the edge almost sharp enough to touch.

Just like stairs and elevators can symbolise status, to draw a line — literal or otherwise — and have a character interact with it says a lot about their personality, actions, and coming journey. An abundance of storytelling can be hidden in these lines, to show differences in status, influence, and opinions. It's also a very good way to build tension and create conflict.

And, in Ga On's case, he's crossing it. This is a step on his journey — one of the bridges he's crossing on the way to the new beginning he's facing. With this, Ga On is heading out into a world on a completely different level than he initially grew up in.

And he looks so hopeful, too! Gazing upward, into the light.

(This screenshot wasn't entirely necessary to prove my point, I just think he's cute)

And this brings us to the last area I want to focus on, which is their position/standing with the people and within society. Since this, too, is made very clear to the viewer during their introductions. Partly through the social-economic differences we've already touched on, but also how they interact with other people.

We see both of these men pass by the signs of unrest in their country and, quite quickly, their respective standings are established. Yo Han, for example, is seen driving through the chaotic, burning streets of Seoul:

But, clearly, he's not really touched by it. First of all, he's got the protection of the car to shield him from the literal blaze and, second, the car itself shows just how far removed he is from this. The contrast between the fancy car and the burning streets is wonderful (or, well, horrible, actually, but you know what I mean). Also, since he's inside the car, we don't get to see his reaction to any of this. Is he horrified? Outraged? Sad? Neutral? We have no idea.

There's even this shot to further hammer home just how distant Yo Han is from the struggle of the everyday people:

Not only are they separated by a wall which, as you can see, creates another line. But, unlike Ga On, neither Yo Han nor the people are crossing it. They're staying on their separate sides for now, within sight of each other but not touching or challenging the status quo.

And, once again, Yo Han's car shows the opulent world he comes from, while the people protesting are walking. You can also see that Yo Han is heading in the completely opposite direction from everyone else. And, of course, you have the added bonus of the people walking into the light — symbolising hope and righteousness — and Yo Han is driving, well, we can't quite see where, but it looks like it's going to be dark.

Absolute goddamn poetry.

And what about Ga On, you ask? Unsurprisingly, his reaction — and relationship — to the protesting people is completely different.

Not only is he walking — just like they were — but he's right there, next to them. He's one of them. He even acknowledges the protest by looking at the man's sign. And, unlike Yo Han, we get to see his reaction which, while subtle, shows quite a lot of discomfort. He keeps walking without pausing, sure, but it's clear that he's uncomfortable. He almost looks ashamed, even, since he tilts his head down as he walks past the protesting people.

That hopeful, bright-eyed optimism is suddenly nowhere to be seen and, very quickly, establishes one of Ga On's main conflicts, i.e. his desire to help the people but lack of power to do so since he is one of the people. He's not rich and famous like Yo Han.

Which is only further proved when Ga On passes yet another line — this one even guarded by men with guns, showing just how few are allowed the privilege:

This line is even clearer than the one when he emerged from the subway and the way he crosses it, without hesitation, says a lot about his bravery and boldness. But we can also see that it takes him past the protests, away from the people, and into the safe, guarded world of the rich and powerful. It doesn't mean he has to stay there, but its shows, once again, that he's going somewhere new, crossing boundaries and expectations.

And, just to emphasise this a little bit more, in case we didn't catch on yet, this happens:

He immediately gets stopped and asked to prove why he should be allowed in this space. Implying that he doesn't belong. But we quickly find out that, despite his origins, this is actually where he's supposed to be — he's just new. He's reached the destination of his journey (for now).

It's also important to note that we don't get to follow Yo Han on his route to work even if they both crossed that bridge at the start. Because while they're both embarking on something new, Yo Han's journey was taking him to the venue where he's named the new chief judge of the Live Court Show, but going in to work at the Supreme Court? Clearly nothing new to Yo Han. He's already there when Ga On arrives, even, showing that Yo Han, unlike Ga On, is comfortably where he belongs. Yo Han has existed in this world for quite some time already.

Ga On's arrival at the Supreme Court also shows just how much of a nobody he is. His face isn't recognised, so he's clearly not famous. Meanwhile, Yo Han showed up at his destination to applause and a red carpet and, before long, got this framing:

He is, quite literally, above the regular people, signifying not only how rich he is, but his status and importance. So while both Yo Han and all the organisers of the Live Court Show keep insisting that it's for the people, this shot here tells you everything you need to know. Because Yo Han is still untouchable to these people, in his fancy suit, broadcast on a huge TV screen. He's not one of them, even if he claims to represent them. His peers — i.e. the only people in the same room as him, who aren't seeing him through a TV broadcast — are other rich people or reporters. Telling, much?

I also love the added detail of how bright the screen is, like a beacon of hope in the dark, but it's artificial light, created by man, so how true is it? This is very different from Ga On who is often bathed in natural sunlight, making his light and the hope he offers seem much more sincere.

Anyhow! Let's also take a (quick) detour to discuss colours because they, too, play a role. While both of them start in more or less the same colour scheme (dark, muted blues, greens, greys, and black) they quickly head in different directions once they emerge from their respective tunnels.

Yo Han gets bright sparks of colours — some of them even fluorescent — though, most notably, glowing oranges and angry reds. There is a lot of colour in Yo Han's introduction, making it very rich, warm, and luxurious, especially once he arrives at the venue. But it's all so bright it almost feels fake. And, perhaps more importantly, you have all the fires and chaos. While both introductions show protests and unrest, Yo Han's portray a much more violent and angry side of it — a much more frightening one. And, perhaps, a bit of foreshadowing as to what kind of person Yo Han is.

Ga On, on the other hand, stays in that more neutral colour space aside from some bright glimpses of warm, natural sunlight. It's calm and unassuming, if also a bit grey and mundane, showing his low status. But it's also less artificial, which makes him feel more like an honest, ordinary person. The red pops up here, too, though, on the protest signs, connecting back to the chaos and anger we saw in Yo Han's colouring. So while we can see that they both exist in the same world that blends together at times, they are kept separate through their colouring during their introduction.

In conclusion: It's often said that how you introduce a character is vital since whatever a viewer sees first will, most likely, colour their understanding of the character for the duration of the story. It can of course evolve as more information is gathered but, in the long run, that first introduction is incredibly important.

And it's clear from what we've seen here that a lot of thought has been put into these introductions. Not only are they meant to tell us who these characters are with all the context clues and details, but also how they mirror each other. And, by extension, their relationship to each other. One on its own would still say much about that character, but it's only when you view them together that you can get the full depth and meaning behind them. Only when you contrast Yo Han's mysterious and flashy intro to Ga On's muted, more natural entrance can you fully grasp the scope of these characters — and how they're meant to be played against and complement each other.

Made even clearer by how both of their introductions involve an initial journey — a new beginning — but it's only once both of them have completed it (Ga On's taking place the morning after Yo Han's) that their introductions are finished and the rest of the story begins. There's a certain kind of beauty in how these scenes show two different journeys — when they took place, how they took place, who embarked on them — but they still reached the same destination in the end. Yo Han and Ga On's journeys both take them to the Supreme Court and, more specifically, the Live Court Show. That is where their paths are destined to cross.

And that, right there, is the core of their story and this entire goddamn drama. And also the one thing I want you all to take with you as you leave this meta.

The introduction of Kang Yo Han and Kim Ga On is ultimately done with one overarching goal in mind.

To bring them together and allow for their shared journey to begin.

*Mic drop*

#The Devil Judge #The Devil Judge Meta #Kang Yo Han #Kim Ga On #Gahan #It's funny how I can't always write fanfics while having a fever #But I can apparently write detailed and complex metas #What even?#Also #Not going to lie #I'm currently cackling at the thought of a crack The Bachelor AU #Like #With Ga On infiltrating the show as a contestant #To figure out what the eligible and morally grey bachelor is up to #On Professor Min's request of course #And Yo Han just having the time of his life leading Ga On on #And shamelessly flirting with the cute guy he knows is a spy #Until he accidentally catches feelings #(as he does when Ga On is involved)#I have absolutely no idea why this would even be a thing #I think I just want to be able to make the joke of:#Ga On I think you've misunderstood the definition of 'under cover'#It doesn't actually involve beds to the degree you seem to think it does #Or alternatively:#Get out from underneath that sugar daddy or so help me god #(my sense of humour is ATROCIOUS I know)#(I blame the fever)

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gomzwrites · 11 months

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100 Followers Special: Fic Marathon

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── Paper Rings ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

more info on the fic marathon check out this post :) Day 1: Kyle Gaz Garrick

Tags: fluff, reader is insecure about themselves, xgn!reader Notes: ・❥・reader's texts are in purple ・❥・dividers drawn by @gomzdraws ・❥・ this fic was heavily inspired by this twitter post

a/n: starting off nice and sweet with Gaz our bb <;3

●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●

Man, this burger really slaps

Damn right

You were both hanging out at a burger joint during the weekend after finally getting a break from Price. Gaz often invites you out to hang out outside missions, and since then, both of you have been close. Sometimes you were the one that called him up for outings, just casual lunch sessions or visiting each other’s flat. You clicked well with him, and conversation flows easily between you two since you’re both the youngest in 141.

Somewhere along the line, you realised you might have been harbouring feelings for him, but knowing in this field of job being operators and such, relationships are not something that can come easily, and really, with how long you guys have known each other, you’re too afraid to ruin the friendship between you and him. You’d think he thought of you as nothing more than a close friend, a working partner, or just buddies despite already knowing each other for two years or so.

If anything, you already deemed yourself unfit for him and out of his league. You’re not dumb; you have seen the people he has hooked up with, and their attributes were, if not the complete opposite of what you have, but there is one thing that stayed consistent with his partners.

They all have dark hair like yours.

Maybe that’s why you couldn’t move on; because that one detail is enough to fuel your hopes and dreams, that perhaps one day you’ll have a chance.

But today is not that day, or is it?

I really shouldn't have ordered that many fries

Gaz held his stomach as you laughed and shoved his shoulder.

Yeah, but are you still up for desserts? I think the central park had some food trucks around; one of them sells croffles, and I want to try it.

Hm, I think by the time we walk there, I’ll probably have space for it then.

You grin as he gives his tummy a rub. Both of you decided to walk down the street until you reached the town square, which branches off into gardens and other market stores with a fountain in the middle. You looked around with him until you spotted the truck.

Hey, how bout you find a seat, and I’ll get us two croffles, any flavours you want?

Erm, I don’t know. What kinds do they have?

Blueberry cheese, peanut butter almond, strawberry yoghurt, and banana nutella I think there’s one with chocolate as well.

Gaz pondered for a moment before finally deciding on the strawberry yoghurt croffle as he found a spot to sit on the concrete benches near the fountain.

You quickly went ahead and ordered it and returned with both croffles. You ordered the blueberry cheese since it was their top-selling product.

Oh! These look good; how much was it?

Gaz lightens up as he takes the croffle from you and reads the receipt. He nods at the appropriate prices before finally taking a bite, humming and enjoying the dessert as you giggle and take yours as well. You do take a bite from his, and he’ll do the same with yours, until a loud scream catches both of your attentions. You instinctively rise from the seat as you follow the source of the voice.

"Yes!! I do!!"

It was a public proposal done by a couple. You give a sigh as you grumble slightly, relieved but also annoyed. Gaz gives you a nudge as he, too, relaxes his shoulder and watches the scene unfold before you two.

It was quite a grand gesture; one of the partners was kneeling on the ground with a big bouquet of roses, and speaking of roses, there were rose petals surrounding the fountain, the other person was happily crying as they wore a ring and hugged their partners.

How nice.

You scoff at the thought and sit back on the benches as Gaz asks you a question that caught you off guard.

Have you ever thought about marriage?

You stopped biting into your croffle as you stared back at him with a bewildered expression.

Marriage? When was the last time you ever thought about things like that? But it is a nice thought—too nice of a thought because you know your days are numbered ever since you stepped into the military. It also doesn’t help when your past relationships ended terribly. But you won’t lie; it is an idea you’ve imagined before.

Retired and with the one you love, spend the rest of your life somewhere quiet, where nothing can harm you or disturb your peace. To enjoy and share those moments with someone you can trust and rely on.

I have… But I can’t say I’ll do it; I wouldn't even marry myself.

You answer vaguely as he gives a "hmmm" as a response as he leans in close and asks another question with curiosity.

Why not?

You laughed at the question as you sighed and munched on the dessert. You looked at him from the corner of your eye as you rubbed your neck awkwardly.

Too much to handle, to say the least.

You answered back honestly as he blinks and just nods quietly after a while. You noticed he was doing something with his hands, though, and sure enough, he gives you a bright smile as he bumps your shoulder.

Give me your hand.

Why?

Just trust me.

Are you going to dip my hands into something weird again?

Not this time.

….

You narrowed your eyes at him suspiciously as he gave you a puppy eye and a tilt of his head. You gave in as you raised your left arm for him as he took your palm and slid something into your hand. You held it up as you looked at what on earth he just did-

I’d marry you with paper rings.

Your eyes widen and your breath hitches at your throat as you look at the receipt paper from before it was rolled and folded into a ring-like shape, sitting snugly on your fourth finger. You slowly turn your head as you try to remain calm, but you can feel your neck burning up slowly.

You’re an idiot.

He laughed, laughed hard as he shook his head and flashed you a wink as he stood up.

Already heard that one before; maybe try something else, yeah?

There it is, that charming smile of his whenever he is happy, the one that always makes you fall for him harder, a wide grin that flashes his canine and crinkles up the corner of his eyes, this time you can almost spot just a shade of color blooming in his cheeks. You were about to give back another comment before a ringtone stopped you.

Gaz picks up the call as he frowns.

This is Gaz speaking....okay, yes sir, yes... Alright, on our way, sir. Ah y/n, Price just called us in; we needed to be back at base in 10 for a briefing session, then we needed to be sent to another mission again.

You give a nod as both of you promptly leave and walk back to his car.

You’re thankful Price interjected, because if that hadn’t happened, he could probably see how red your ears had become.

He doesn’t know, but you wore the paper ring to the mission too, just covered by your gloves.

Maybe it was great that you didn’t give up on the hope of being something more than just friends with him. You plan to ask him out after the mission :)

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next fic: Captain John Price :]

taglist: @cathnoneofyourbusiness | @land-lord-lol like and reblog if you enjoyed this fic :D have a good day/night!

#cod #cod mw2 #cod mwii #cod fanfic #mw2 imagine #cod imagines #cod x reader #call of duty x reader #mw2 x reader #mw2 fanfic #gaz x reader #kyle gaz garrick #kyle gaz garrick x reader #gomzwrites #im down with fever but luckily every fic is finished alr #just need to physically get out of bed and post em lol

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josiebelladonna · 2 years

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1000 reads. that’s a first (not counting the hits on the amped and wired comic, of course—i don’t really count that one, though, because it’s a comic. so, 1000 hits on a piece of writing)

by the way, i could probably have this thing signed and sealed by next friday, with the rate that i’m going at. that’s crazy.

#fever in fever out #fever in fever out fanfic #fanfic #testament #testament band #anthrax #metallica #ao3 #ao3 fanfic #text

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feverinfeveroutfic · 1 year

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sunburn | ashes to ashes

THE RETURN OF FEVER! I have had these rolling around in the back of my mind ever since fever ended last summer. it was nine books, but there were a myriad of moments where i could have added a little more intimacy to it. mind, i’ve always considered myself more a storyteller than anything, but i was experiencing a lot of emotional distress then, questioning my sexuality and unpacking way too many bad feelings associated with it… i still struggle with it a lot but it’s not as awful as it used to be. (besides, whenever i write anything sexual, it’s meant to help me feel better about myself). i’m feeling 30 stories here and, though we have kinktober as well as kinkmas and fuckuary, i often wonder why we don’t have kink-related stuff for springtime, what with “spring fever” and everything.

“I’m home!”

She thought she would never hear those words again after Metallica had embarked on their tour. It was one of those fears that followed her wherever she went, especially whenever she left New York to visit her parents over there in Reno or even a little trip anywhere in New York City. Cliff had had a narrow escape already at a venue the night before, as someone had tried to nick him with a knife the size of a loaf of bread. He had called her and told her about it after it happened but she knew that it was enough to strike the fear of god into her.

She had hung up the phone and buried her face in her hands even though she was alone in her Bronx apartment. She thought of all the bad things that could have happened while he was out there on the road, and she didn’t want to think of those bad things, either. She slid her fingers down her face and peered out the window to the sunbathed street below. The people of the Bronx out there on the sidewalks, minds of their own, worlds of their own, families and stories of their own, private lives of their own…

Sam had never been one to be very sexual in the past: she had touched herself before, but there was so much that she had to overcome in the meantime. While Cliff had been away on the road with the boys, she had looked on at herself in the mirror in disbelief. She would take off her clothes to examine every inch of her body, and yet she wondered how in the world anyone would love this body, to feel it, to hold it, to love it, to make it feel welcome and like it has a place in this bizarre thing called life. She would listen to The Cherry Suicides’ album given their lyrics had that feeling to them but she still couldn’t feel it for herself. A feeling that oft eluded her no matter how much she wanted to feel it for herself.

Cliff was without question the first boy she had ever really had a crush on in her life, even at the ripe age of twenty-two. She always had the strangest looks whenever she would tell someone about her absence of a first kiss. How could someone that young be so beautiful and yet so undersexed, and she never could say as to why, either. At times, it felt as though there was a language that she had never learned before that very moment there in her apartment

But since she had moved to New York the year before, and she had met Anthrax as well as Metallica and those neighboring bands out of the Bay Area, Exodus, Death Angel, and The Legacy, she knew that she would have to change things at some point.

Sam sauntered over to the windowsill for a glimpse out there to the street. She merely lived on the third floor but the people down on the sidewalks made her think of army ants. If only she could share her art with some of them somewhere along the line, and she could be the one to watch and desire herself, and she could be the miasma that was the “it” girl.

Such was the life of the artist in uptown New York.

She spotted Zelda and Louie down on the sidewalk right across the street, and she smiled to herself at the sight of them. Something about Louie cheating on his girlfriend with such a hot babe like Zelda made so much sense that Sam almost didn’t have to think about it twice. That short black hair with that slender wiry body, slender from several years of pounding on drums to stay out of the streets of Narragansett and Providence, slender from living rather poor and isolated most of her life. Louie, meanwhile, had that long smooth hair down past his shoulders with that part that swept across the side of his forehead.

Still very much a boy, and Zelda only made him appear that much younger by being next to him.

Sam saw Louie mouth the words “Hold my hand” to her. Zelda showed him a smile and said something to him. Sam was eager to hear Zelda’s Rhode Island accent again after a time. There was something so satisfying about it, especially with Sam having hailed from the West Coast where accents muddied out and sounded homogenous. She watched them cross the street together, and she wondered where they were headed. After the phone call with Cliff, there was no way that she could waste another moment up there in her apartment.

She swiped her keys from the stand and hastily locked the front door. She hoped to catch Zelda and Louie before they headed up the street as she nearly dropped the keys. Everything blurred around her as she sprinted down the stairs to the landing down below. She breezed past Emile’s apartment door, and she never bothered to take a peek inside to find out if Aurora was in there and she needn’t look, anyway.

The front door squeaked open as she emerged into the bright morning sunlight. The glare caused her to squint her eyes but she looked on at the street before her.

“Zelda!” she called out to her, and she and Louie turned their attention to her, and their faces lit up as a result.

“Hey, Sam I Am!” Zelda’s voice sailed through the noise of the street behind them like a high wave of the beaches of Narragansett. Sam padded down the steps to meet up with them with her arms wide open. Louie showed her a little smile as she embraced Zelda.

“Oh, man—it’s only been a few weeks since we saw each other!” Zelda declared.

“I can’t hug my best friends?” Sam asked her as she rested a hand on her shoulder for a moment.

“Of course you can—this was just sort of—”

“Unexpected like me?” Louie chimed in.

“Exactly, yeah!” Zelda laughed at that as Sam put her arms around him and he returned the favor.

“I actually wanted to give you guys a hug because Cliff called me last night to tell me that he got mugged right outside of the concert hall,” Sam explained.

“Holy shit!” Louie declared.

“Oh, my god, is he alright?” Zelda asked her, stunned.

“Yeah, he’s okay—” And Sam shuddered with the feeling of fear once again as she stroked her upper arm with her fingers. “—the guy threatened him with a huge knife, though. Had to give up his belt buckle because he didn’t have anything else on his person to give to him.” She then turned to Zelda, the working class girl from the smallest state in the country who had been intimate with herself from day one. “I also wanted to ask you, Zelda—about something… on the sexual side.”

She glanced over at Louie, who gave his hair a toss with a flick of his head as if he was about to pounce across the front of Playgirl magazine.

“Well, I’m a small town girl from New England,” Zelda told her in a low enough voice for her to hear for herself. “I know my way around that part’a town.”

“I want to do something hot—for Cliff,” Sam sputtered out. “Can we do that?”

“Yes, we can,” Zelda assured her with a twinkle in her eye, and she turned her attention to Louie. “And sweet little Luciano here is more than welcome.”

“Gladly,” Louie proclaimed.

It was a wind, flash, and a blur as Sam followed Zelda and Louie to the place where she had only ever dreamed of going to before as a young kid in California and Nevada, the one street that seemed so seedy and cast in shadow all the time, even at high noon when the sun hung high in the sky and cast everything in the brightest light possible. She was glad that she had locked the door prior to leaving because she knew that they would be in the red light district for a while. She was amazed that she lived so close to it, given it struck her as a mere regular street of New York whilst in passing.

“This is where Mo and Min used to come to when they were working on the weekends,” Zelda explained over the noise of the street. “They couldn’t last long because they missed Narragansett too much and decided to join me in making music instead. I’m glad they did ‘cause I dunno how long I could’ve lasted without my best friends at my side.”

“Music saves, you know,” Louie pointed out.

“It’s saved all of our lives,” Zelda assured him as they strode past a low building on the corner with blacked out windows and bright red buzzing neon on the outside. Sam brought her hand to her upper arm once again as if to protect her chest. They seemed to line the streets all around her as they strode along the sidewalk, all of them faceless, all of them with the presence that sent a chill up her spine as well as the pervading feeling of guilt.

They passed an erotic bakery before they reached the lingerie shop: the first thing that Sam spotted upon Louie holding the door for her and Zelda was a series of sex toys and blindfolds on display. The mere sight of them made her blush as well as breathe at a faster pace. The door closed behind her and the three of them were enshrouded in lush red light, as red as the feeling of the fever.

The toys came in small sets, complete with smoothly crafted special boxes as if someone could take them on a picnic at some point. Sam held a hand to her chest to feel the pounding of her heart from within. It was all happening so fast, and with such conviction that she had no idea as to where to begin with it all. She watched Zelda pick out a new camisole for herself.

Sam swallowed, and then, completely on impulse, she reached for the black tin lunchbox closest to her. She held her breath and took a glimpse inside to find a black satin blindfold, a bottle of lubricant, a silicone dildo, a pair of green metal balls the size of nickels, and what to looked to be a vibrator but about the size of a cork straight from a bottle of wine. She swallowed again, and she couldn’t recall a time where she never felt thirstier before. She skirted along the side of shelf to meet up with Louie, who was looking on at the leather teddies as well as the blow-up dolls hung up on the rack on the wall.

Sam closed the box and gasped for air. Though it wasn’t very warm in the shop, she swore that she was about to suffocate if she breathed a little too hard. She closed her eyes and fanned herself with the tips of her fingers. It was a real struggle to try and contain herself and the anxiety within her. If only she could just relax and feel the sexuality within her, like those metal boys and like the Cherry Suicides themselves—

“Sam, are you alright? You look like you’re about to pass out.” She opened her eyes to find Louie and the look of concern on his face.

“Yeah, I’m just—not really used to this sort of thing,” Sam confessed, and she let out a low whistle.

“Little bit of anxiety?”

She nodded her head.

“I know the feeling,” he said with a raise of his eyebrows at her. “And it sucks, too.”

She gasped and swallowed, as if she had been submerged in water and she struggled to find a single iota of air.

“Believe me when I say this,” he assured her. “The more you get exposed to it, the more you get used to it. The more you get used to it, the more you want to see it.” He flashed her a wink, and the smirk returned to him again. Right at that moment, Zelda stepped out of the dressing room donned in a white camisole that seemed a little extra small than she had warranted: she was so thin that the smallest size they had on hand was still a little too big. Sam glanced down at her own heavier body and wondered how Cliff could found a body like her own attractive.

Then again, Louie and Cliff were two completely different men. The feeling really did overcome her, and she hoped that this little black box could help bring her some peace of mind as well as comfort with Cliff.

And yet, the box sat on her shelf over the couch for a few days, this lingering demon that tempted her from clear across the room when she walked in for the morning. A big black spot against the soft eggshell white color of the walls, and thus, there was no way that she could miss it, even when she bowed her head away from it.

On the third evening, and she had curled up on the couch with a book on her lap, she peered up at the shelf and the end of the box closest to her. It wasn’t that high above her, but she knew that she had to reach up to take it off and open it up once again. She paid more attention to her book, however: only every so often, she glanced up there above her head for a look.

It was if it taunted her all the while, the little repressed girl who froze and flushed at the mere mention of having a first kiss. The mere thought of that spread into more thoughts, and then more and more until she reached the point that she could scarcely concentrate on the words on the page. She lay the book across her lap and looked up at the box. The apartment was silent save for the low hum of the refrigerator in the next room as well as the noise on the street and the neighbors down the hall.

No one was paying attention to her.

Sam tucked the bookmark into the book and set it on the coffee table next to her. Careful not to fall, she stood up on the couch cushion and picked the box off the shelf. She climbed off the couch and took her seat with it in her lap. With another swallow, she opened the lid.

The smooth faces of the Ben wa balls shone under the warm light of the lamp next to her. The satin on the blindfold shimmered with the feeling of being brand-new. She picked up the lubricant, and she knew right away that it was meant for her ass—

A knock on the door broke her concentration, and she hastily closed the lid and tucked it around the arm of the couch, out of sight lest anyone walk into the kitchen for something. She fanned herself once again and straightened out her hair with a swipe of her hand.

Sam fixed the bottom of her shirt as she padded on over to the front door. There he was, wrapped in light denim and with the cowboy hat upon his head to better accentuate the soft hair which spread over his slender shoulders. He towered over her but he showed her the bouquet of yellow tulips all for her and accompanied it with a smile.

“There he is!” she declared.

“Here I am!” He opened his arms for her, and she put her arms around him and rested her head on his chest. Cliff bowed his head as if he was about to blanket her with his hair.

Sam lifted her head and showed him a smile.

“God… I really missed you,” she confessed.

“I really missed you more, though,” he retorted with a kiss on her lips, a move which sent a chill down her spine. Her first kiss for real at that point.

“Is that a challenge?” she asked him.

“Only if you want it to be,” he retorted once more, and once more with another kiss on the lips. It happened all too quickly, and yet it was a pace that she could work with because the anxious feeling had moved along rather quickly as well. She moved back away from his face for a look into those luminous eyes.

“I have a little surprise for you,” she told him in a soft voice. Sam took him by the hand and guided him over to the couch. He kept the smile on his face as he gazed up at her: he reached up for the crown of his hat, but she wagged a finger at him.

“Hat stays on,” she told him: she spoke from the flesh. Sam then reached for the box behind the couch, and she placed it on the coffee table before him. She never thought twice about it as she unbuttoned her jeans and let them slide down her legs to her feet. Cliff leaned back and crossed his legs for her. Sam locked eyes with him as she reached for the Ben wa balls. He raised his eyebrows at them.

“What’re you doing with those, babe?” he asked her in a near whisper. She glanced down at those smooth little orbs, attached together by a narrow string and as smooth as glass. The woman in the shop said they should just slip into her little lips without a drop of lubricant.

She sighed through her nose and peeled off her underwear so she was exposed to him. His eyes widened at the sight.

The first one did in fact slip into her lips, and the second one stayed in place right behind her clit. The cold smooth feeling only made her straighten her spine and buck her hips a little bit in his direction.

“Holy shit,” Cliff breathed.

Sam then reached into the box again, that time for the blindfold. Her mouth was dry once again but she persisted. She slipped the blindfold over her head and eyes, and she was surrounded by complete blackness.

There was nothing behind her, and thus, she sank down to the floor: the balls kept her from closing her legs all the way, and she knew that she was wide open for him.

The rustling of denim caught her ear. Though everything was dark, she could feel his presence there before her. She had only just kissed him, but they had been a thing for months at that point. It was time, her time now.

“I want you to slip it out,” she told him in a low, husky voice. It felt rather odd for it to enunciate itself from her lips, but she still said it to him, and she said it with the utmost seriousness that she could provide for him. The feeling in between her legs was only coupled with a feeling of rising, a feeling of being on the come-up.

She never moved a muscle. She relaxed every inch of her legs, and then she could feel his fingers there. She wanted to close her legs but there was no way she could. Cliff slipped out the Ben wa balls and she treated him to a low, euphoric moan. The fact she couldn’t see it only added to the feeling.

“Shit, I wish I was having as much fun as you just now,” he said; she could feel his soft lips kiss the inside of her thigh. The little line of fuzz on his upper lip only made her rise again.

“I think there’s something in there for you,” she told him, out of breath. A brief pause.

“This little ring here?”

“That’s the one,” she sputtered out.

“This ain’t gonna fit on me, babe,” Cliff assured her. “I’m too big.”

Sam opened her lips to say something but she was cut off by the feeling of his lips on the inside of her thighs. The feeling of anxiety welled up within her once again, but at least she could only see the veil of blackness all around her, and the anxiety had risen in junction with the real feeling that she wanted, and that was his lips on her own for the second orgasm. Sam tilted her head back and let out another moan as he stuck his tongue inside first.

A third and biggest orgasm was coming as she could feel his tongue hit the head of her clit. She needn’t see it as she came twice more for him.

Her elbows shook from holding herself up for so long, and she lay down on the carpet, flat on her back. She could feel his body on top of her own, and it took her a second to realize that he had taken off his shirt at some point: his bare skin caressed over her own.

The darkness lifted away for her to gaze on into his handsome face.

“Stay with me forever,” she whispered to him, and he kissed her on the lips again.

“You know I will,” he vowed, also in a whisper.

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nuagederose · 2 years

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“no one will ever love you the way i have loved you.”

it all started with alex himself doing his old live-streams last february and i was so inspired by him that i had to make a cartoon for him - the one in the upper left corner, to be specific. (it helped that it was valentine’s weekend, too)

he shared it on valentine’s day and i went, “that’s it.” i started writing on the 17th. i wanted it to be low and slow, too, because he just kind of struck me as the “slow burn” kind of guy: i had been wanting to write a slow burn, too, just to challenge myself. simmering, smoldering, and very, very sensual, and it gave me the chance to flex my storytelling muscles a bit more with the girls and the peripheral bands.

17 months, 225 chapters, some rather interesting moments on ig live and stories between me and him from that point onward, 1.1 million words, and a whole lot of coffee and pringles later, and she is marked finished on july 20, 2022 at 11:11.

don’t worry: i have plenty of art left to make here (it gets a lot more scenic in the later books, and i really, REALLY want to draw the epilogue, too, so tender and emotional and easily the sexiest thing i have ever written). i’m also going to let the coals simmer and smolder for a bit before i stoke them again for a new fire 😉😘

[x]

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factorialsotherfandoms · 5 months

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It's warm in Soulfire's underground base, no matter how cold the surface is. There's lava below the earth and fires burning in the corners, their little patch of greenery and safety in the burning wastes of purgatory.

Pac sits between Forever and Mike, a bowl of melted ice on his lap. He swaps the rags on their foreheads for fresh ones, and looks over the group - so many of their team have fallen sick, the frozen outsides coming to spite them. Somehow, Pac has avoided it; Fit has as well, and Bad is pretending not to be suffering for the sake of morale. Tubbo worked through the worst of it and is nearly back to full form, Bagi is just starting to come down with it in turn...

Tina fell sick most recently, caring for everyone else both taking its toll and exposing her. Pac wonders if he'll follow her soon - and if he does, if Fit will catch him when he falls.

ElQuackity he isn't sure about, the man having already left before everyone else woke up.

Luzu (Arin) vanished a few days in, and nobody knows what happened to him at all.

"Will you be alright?" Bagi asks, eyes checking him over.

"Yes," Pac nods as he says it. "You go to the meeting; I'll look after them."

"You sure, king?" it's Tubbo asking. "You don't need someone else to stay too?"

"The eye said everyone available," Fit points out. "Even leaving Pac is pushing it; and if we disobey..."

It doesn't really bare thinking about; Pac smiles at them, "go get this all sorted. Good luck, Tubbo, I hope you win and save the eggs."

Pac knows Richarlyson is as safe as possible - Cellbit is awake and on their opposition, and, for all his recent crimes, will save their son if there is any chance, plus Philza will account for Felps (he hopes, if only because Philza will be praying Missa is counted by Soulfire). And even if three are in fever dreams and Pac himself is caring for them, he trusts Tubbo to remember how many of the boy's fathers had his back.

It's Dapper, and Ramon, and Leo, and Chayanne and Tallulah, that people are really fighting over.

"Tell me if anything happens?" Pac asks.

"Of course," Fit promises first.

"We need to head out," Tubbo says, checking his comms. "You shouldn't have trouble, but call if you do?"

"We'll come straight back," Bagi promises. "Just stay safe, okay? Even if they break the truce, they've never hurt the sick before - just hide."

"I know," Pac... trusts the enemy just enough to know only he is in any danger. "You should go."

"Later!" Tubbo calls, and the rest also make their farewells. It's Fit who lingers longest, saying nothing else but meeting Pac's eyes.

Pac wants to reach out and squeeze his hands for reassurance, for safety, for protection - instead he wrings out another cloth, and leans over to wipe down Mike's face.

By the time he swaps to Forever, the others are gone; he's careful they don't see the strange nether-marks on Forever's cheek. Those seem to come with their own sickness, for Forever's fever sits deeper than the rest, his sleep more restless, his dreams more terrifying and more desperate. Pac soothes what he can, and then stands.

He doesn't want to, but there are more than just his two fellow Brazilians to attend.

Tina did so well keeping the group together, but suffers so much now - he redoes the braids keeping her hair from her face, a little confused Bagi did not do it before leaving. Rivers is half-awake when he gets to her, so he gives her some painkillers and a glass of water to help.

They're taken without complaint, and Pac is pretty sure that means it's bad.

Pol and Lenay, Mariana and Pierre, Kameto and Niki and Missa - the last is hard, because Pac knows he shouldn't remove his mask. Rather than intrude on privacy he does as Tina did, and tucks the cloth behind his neck instead.

He checks on everyone, before quickly stepping outside. He collects more water, sees the burning red sky, and quickly flees back inside.

Unless something changes, they'll be alright for a little while; Pac still sits himself between Mike and Forever, one hand clinging to each of them.

Mike was in the hospital even before they were all dragged out here, thrown into purgatory unconscious and having not woken up since. Forever... Was doing better at the start, but the burning heat of sickness has been building all these two weeks.

Pac just prays that, after whatever meeting the eye summoned them for, everyone can go home. The island is terrible, but at least there's medicine and beds and no worries your neighbours will come murder you in your sleep because a great Eye has stated that you kill or your children die.

Just a few hours more, and they can get everyone proper medicine. And beds. And they can find out if the reason he hasn't seen Felps all week - and so many others - is also sickness and being hidden away to recover, or something else.

A few more hours, and everyone will be safe. Just a few more hours to hold on - Pac clings to his friends and promises himself its just a few hours more.

#qsmp fanfic #qsmp pac #qsmp purgatory #angst #yeah sorry pac its not going to work out okay #on any of the levels you thought it might #whumpcember2023 #day 1: fever #I'm not aiming to do every day probably #but I've got ideas for a few #... fainting is half written and going to be fun I promise #anything else not even I know #and I do want to get some other bits done if I have spoons and time...#half tempted to put a poll for which characters get most attention in the whump event #but like eh

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