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bumpkinspice0 · 6 months

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Recovery Time: Chapter 1

Joel Miller x Fem!Reader

No use of y/n

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 4.5k

Summary: Ten years into the outbreak and you'd seen a lot. Through it all you'd managed to make a comfortable life for yourself in the end. A lonely life, but a comfortable one... then a bleeding man comes stumbling into it.

Warnings: dude in distress, serious injury, descriptions of wound care, blood, stitches, shock, I think that's it???

A/N: Let's see if I can write slow burn, kids! (please hold my hand) Got tired of just contemplating stuff in this story and just decided to post it to light a fire under my ass. This fic is inspired 25% by my love for The Last of Us (Games and series) 25% for my love for Pedro Pascal and 50% for my deep desire to abandon everything I know and live in the woods.

Series Masterlist

AO3

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Chapter 1: Mystery Man

Your ass has already gone numb from sitting in your barebones tree stand. It was little more than a seat strapped to a ladder strapped to a tree, but it got the job done— Less conspicuous than a proper deer stand, anyway. Even with numb ass cheeks and a runny nose brewing, the early fall breeze was still nice, not too bone-chilling. The sunrise was exceptionally beautiful today. You don’t recall the last time you watched the sunrise. You don’t really recall the last time you sat this still for this long.

It was too early in the season to start hunting, but you were feeling lucky. And, if you were being honest, just needed to get away from the cabin. From the monotony of daily life you’d created. This was as outside of the box you could think of— coming out to stare out a field while slowly freezing your ass off.

But it was nice… peaceful. A break from routine. Routine was all you had lately. Routine was safe. Routine kept you alive.

It started out as a little hike. Something to get your blood pumping. You had to justify it, of course, so you turned it into a hunting trip. Nothing can be done without purpose. Not in this world. What’s the worst thing that could happen— you actually bring some meat home?

Four hours without a single animal passing through your vantage point and you start to have your doubts. You would have been better off walking through trails and looking for rabbits, but something about just sitting sounded so fucking nice. Just sitting. Not doing a goddamn thing.

You both cherish and hate it at the same time.

Finally, you see movement just over the hill of the clearing. About damn time. Your grasp tightens around your bow in anticipation. You click your cheek to get Gus’s attention just below you. He’d more than likely fallen asleep by now. You look down the trunk to see your loyal companion's ears perk up. The black and white border collie rises and shakes off the leaves from his coat, ready to pounce and give chase as soon as your arrow flies. Both your eyes fixed on the movement in the clearing. It was big. You’re praying for a deer or, god willing, an elk. God, you’d be set through most of winter if you got an elk.

The animal stalks closer, a little over a hundred yards away. The tall golden grass obscures most of its body but once it takes a few more steps you can finally make it out— it’s definitely not any deer.

It’s a man. A very, very injured man. He’s limping, blood staining nearly every inch of him.

Holy shit. Holy fucking shit.

You’re instantly tense, a rush of adrenaline pumping you to full alert. This was the first person you’d seen in— you can’t recall how long— and look at him. Any inkling of him being a possible threat is instantly dismissed. He’s barely walking, if you could even call it that. The possibility of him being infected crosses your mind, but there’s too much purpose to his movements. Too much humanity still left in his face.

Then why was he out here?

The likelihood of this being a trap crosses your mind next, but you quickly abandon the thought when you see him drop his rifle and pack and take a good ten steps past them. If he was acting, he deserves an Academy Award. He looked absolutely exhausted. If his pitiful walking wasn’t convincing enough, his dirty, tattered body was.

You let out a gasp when he finally collapses with a nasty thud. Gus lets out a small ruff below— just as engrossed with the stranger as you. Now what?

What do you do with this? What the hell do you do?

You could help him— of course you could. That’s who you are, what you used to be at least. Someone who helped people. You have all the skills and necessities to do so. You want to help him. Everything in you is screaming to just go up to him— but you have to be smart. You don’t have the luxury of acting on kind will anymore.

The mystery man lies there motionless as you quickly weigh your options.

This could still be a trap. Even if he wasn’t the one setting it, he could be the bait. You hadn’t encountered it before but you’d heard stories of the raider's tactics. To lure people out with sympathy. Even if he was, Gus would have surely alerted you if there were more nearby by now.

You test this theory as you slowly crawl down from the tree stand and lurk low to the ground, Gus prowling beside you. You take a few steps into the grass and he doesn’t stop you. The coast must be clear. You always trust that dog's instincts above all. He hasn’t led you astray yet.

Still, there’s more to debate while you let a man bleed out in front of you.

He could have been followed, but something tells you that wasn’t likely either. Or at least if he had been, they would have easily caught up to him in his condition.

Or you’re just hoping that was true.

And the worst option… He could still be infected. You’d never seen an infected come out this far. Hell, regular people never came out this far. They just didn’t. Nothing about his movements or mannerisms suggested he could be infected. And again, Gus would have let you know. He knows their scent. Maybe he’s bitten but it hasn’t taken hold yet? There’s no way to tell.

And there’s really only one way to find out.

You take a deep breath, sliding your bow across your back. You run swiftly through the grass with your dog close at your side, doing your best to remain low and somewhat hidden by the foliage. This was insane. This was stupid. This is risking so much and yet you can’t stop yourself. Even after all these years, that need is still embedded in you. The need to help.

You kneel next to the mystery man and Gus circles the two of you, the ever-vigilant guard dog.

“Hey…Um, sir?” you say awkwardly as you tap the side of his face. There’s some small movement in his rugged features but nothing resembling consciousness. He’s out cold.

You quickly assess the obvious damage to him. Your hands lightly glide over his body, checking for broken bones, any bloodied wet spots…or bite marks. He’s bandaged something across his stomach with some ripped fabric and duct tape. You carefully peel back the soaked-through fabric to see two nasty lacerations stretch over his stomach, one on each side. You’re not sure how deep they are and you don’t want to dig your unsanitized hands in it to find out. That was the worst of it. He was covered in small scrapes and bruises. His knuckles were bloodied and bruised. He’d fought his way out of something. A twinge of fear pricks in the back of your mind that he may have been followed after all. You end your examination on his left ankle— definitely badly sprained if not broken entirely. The flesh around his boot was swollen and red.

But nothing that remotely resembled a bite. Gus gives him a good sniff over and you get the final approval. This man isn’t infected. Just mortality wounded— great.

You sling his gun and backpack across your back and lean over the stranger, giving yourself one final chance to debate all of this.

You could take his stuff and run. Leave him for the birds. Had the world really made you so bitter? No, you know it hadn’t. If you left him here, this man’s death would be on your conscience every day. A death you could have prevented. It’s just not in your nature to be so selfish, even after everything. Even if you couldn’t save him, you’d at least know you tried.

You had the means to get him back home. You’d wheeled out one of the small wagons with you in hopes you’d be bringing some fresh meat back. Well, you guess you still are— It’ll just be live meat. Hopefully live, at least.

If you help him, it’s another mouth to feed. Someone to take care of and bandage on top of your daily work. Are you willing to do it? You’d done it for others before, but that felt like a lifetime ago. Is it still worth it?

Yes, you decide.

“I’m gonna get you out of here.” You assure him as you hook your arms under his shoulders and start to drag him back into the tree line. Even if he can’t hear you, talking at least comforted you. You always talked to your patients anyway.

“Christ, you’re heavier than you look.” You wheeze, shuffling as quickly as you can back to the tree line.

Gus walks with you, still on edge. He sniffs at the curious stranger cautiously. You’re sure he’s not going to like any of this. Gus was never a fan of any of the men you brought home— not that you brought that many.

You awkwardly lift Mystery Man into your two-wheeled wagon and toss in all of your combined supplies. Time was of the essence if he’d lost as much blood as you thought he had— and your home was over a mile away. You take a moment to gather yourself before picking up the wagon handles and marching as quickly as possible through the wooded terrain back to the cabin.

At least the September air was still pleasant. Not too hot, not too cold. The humidity of summer dissipates as fall creeps into the woods. You wish you had time to admire the changing of the leaves, but not today. At least you got to watch the sunrise.

You’re absolutely drenched in sweat by the time the cabin’s finally in sight. You don’t recall ever being so happy to see it. No one’s followed you and Gus hasn’t alerted you to anyone else's presence. Well, that at least makes you feel a little better. You likely still won’t light a fire for the next few nights, just in case.

The journey isn't over yet, though. You drop the wagon with an angry thud against the porch.

“Here we are!” You say to the practical corpse of a man as you hoist his upper body back into your arms, “God, imagine how much you’d weigh with all your blood.”

You drag him to the living room floor, deciding to roll him into a proper bed once you clean his wounds and take care of whatever needs taking care of— a lot. A lot needed taking care of with him. First, you get his filthy flannel out of the way, unbuttoning it to reveal the full map of bruises across his toned torso. It just further confirms your suspicions of him being in a fight. A bad one.

“Don’t move!” You instruct the still man. You’re probably talking too much given the situation, but it’s helping you process it all. Gus waits silently at the door as you panickedly rush through your home. You start to boil two large pots of water over the wood stove. One empty and one with gauze and towels. Your water was decently filtered but you’re not taking any chances on possibly making this gravely injured man even sicker with an infection because you don’t have fucking chlorine in your water.

While the water boils you ready your other supplies. You grab your untouched medical supplies from the closet and drop them next to Mystery Man. You quickly dig through the old bag, praying you have any kind of antibiotics left. Luck seems to be on your side for once today, finding a still half-full bottle of amoxicillin in the bottom of the medical bag. You organize the chaos, lining up all your necessary supplies on a towel. It wasn’t an OR but it was…something. This wasn’t necessarily a sterile environment but it was the best you could do.

The water should be sanitized by now. You take the pots off the stove and gingerly place them next to your other supplies. Another few minutes to thoroughly wash your hands and you’re good to go. While this man had lost a lot of blood, his biggest risk factor at this point was infection— the slow painful death kind, not the walking fungus kind. Both are terrible options, really.

You kneel next to him amongst your scattered supplies, taking a deep breath to gather yourself once more before you begin your work. When was the last time you did this? Who was your last patient? It’d been years , what if you’d forgotten everything? Your isolation out in the woods could have slowly rotted your brain. Still, going through the process in your head, you can recall every step. Sure, it’d been a while but you knew what to do. Just because it’d been so long doesn’t mean your skills dried up like a well—right? You’re still a medic. You’ve got this.

“You can still do this,” You assure yourself with another steady breath. You’d done this thousands of times before. He’s no different than the rest.

Your clean hands ghost over him, deciding where to start. The massive cuts on his sides seem like a good place. You need to clean them, both to get any filth out of them, but also just to see how serious it is. If this wound was deep enough to puncture any organs there’s a good possibility there’s nothing you could do for him.

Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.

The wound on his right stretches from his stomach to just below his ribs. The left one is smaller, stretching down vertically about 6 inches, stopping just above his hip. They look maybe 2 days old, based on the bruising and ridiculous amounts of dried blood. He may have saved his life with those shotty duct tape bandages in the field, but there was still a lot that needed to be done. You take a cup of clean water and pour it over the first wound. Blood and dirt trickle out of it. His muscles react to the sensation but he still doesn’t wake up. You pour more water over it and start dabbing it with a towel. You had to take this part slowly. You had to be gentle and observant just to see how bad it was.

You breathe a sigh of relief when there’s eventually only blood rinsing out. No pus or mystery liquid that should definitely be somewhere else. After a thorough cleaning, you feel confident enough to stitch him up. Fishing line is the best you have, but it’ll have to do.

You repeat the same process for the wound on his other side— also a clean cut.

Once he’s all cleaned up and closed, you tape a few layers of gauze over each one and a layer of compression bandages over that. You even top it off with a shot of amoxicillin. Better care than you were able to give some of your other patients, that’s for sure.

“God, I hope you’re not allergic to this,” You say as you inject the potential life-saving liquid. If that does its job, this guy might just have a chance.

His other wounds were trivial in comparison. Smaller cuts or bruises you couldn’t do anything about. Less life-threatening than the giant new holes around his stomach.

“Well, that’s the worst ones taken care of,” You sigh with little relief, wiping some sweat from your brow, “Unless you’re bleeding from somewhere else I can’t see.”

You looked down at his remaining blood-soaked clothes. If you had to guess you’d say he lost nearly a liter, but maybe not all of it was his— again, you try not to think about it right now.

You turn your attention to his other grave injury— his ankle. The skin around the joint is tender and red, swollen to nearly double the size of his other leg. You have to get his boot off. If you were treating this like a proper emergency situation you’d have just cut the boot off. Instead, you take the time to carefully unlace them completely and they slide off with no problem. Good boots are hard to come by and this guy's clothes are almost all trashed as it is. The stiffness of the leather boot may have just saved this man’s foot in the long run.

His ankle was badly sprained, if not broken. None of the tendons seem completely severed so he’ll walk again— thank god. Lord knows you don’t know how to perform actual surgery. The best option for it regardless is to stabilize it. You wrap his foot in compression bandages and immobilize it on each side with a ruler and a wooden spoon. It’s not pretty but it gets the job done just the same. You wished you had ice to help with the swelling. You’ll have to check and see if you have any anti-inflammatories left to help with that.

With his two main injuries stabilized you continue to look over and patch up any of his smaller wounds over the next hour. None as nasty as the cuts on his stomach, but plenty were just more risk for infection. Some are just scrapes… some look fairly similar to shallow stab wounds you’d seen before. You repeat the same process for all of them— Your two bowls of water slowly become crimson red as you work.

His breath remains steady the whole time. Whoever this guy is, he’s a fighter. The scars that already littered his skin were proof enough of that.

Once satisfied with your work you drag him over to your bedroom and wrap him in a few blankets. With no shirt and tremendous blood loss, he’s going to wake up cold. You do your best to hopefully make him comfortable.

That’s it. You’ve done everything you can do. All that was left was to wait.

More premature relief blankets over you as you wash your bloodied hands off in the bathroom sink, fingers trembling from the adrenaline coming down. Your mind drifts back to your brief time as a nurse— back when the world was whole. Within your first week in the ER, you’d seen dozens of injuries worse than his. After the breakout, you’d seen hundreds more. Still, your proper education was nearly ten years ago now.

The rest of your medical history was stuff like this. Injured folk at the end of the world who needed an actual doctor, but you were the best they had— and that’d been a long time ago too. You still can’t quite recall when your last patient was.

And of course, the first person you see in years just happens to end up a patient as well. A long-term patient.

With him tucked away and bandaged up, you turn your attention to his supplies. You unload his gun. Only four rounds left. You place the bullets in your junk drawer in the kitchen and drag all his gear into the room, placing it at the foot of the bed. Despite having hovered over him for the last few hours you finally take a moment to just… Look at him. He’s rather handsome, you suppose. For a guy living through the apocalypse. A strong chin and nose framed with a slowly peppering beard. Dusty curls with rich tan skin. If you had to guess you’d say his eyes were brown. The lines on his face are deep with character. Okay, he was very handsome.

Upon just observing him, more of your foolish decision-making hits you. You didn’t know this man, and you brought him into your home. You put him in your bed! You don’t know his past or what he’s capable of. In his condition, he wasn’t currently capable of much at all. You’re sure you could overpower him if it came to violence when he woke up. If that’s how it had to be, then that’s how it had to be. You pray it wouldn’t come to that, though.

If Art were still here, he’d be absolutely livid right now. Then again, there was very little that didn’t set him off. He’d be so disappointed in you if he’d seen what an idiot you’d been here. Probably both for bringing a stranger into his home and your shotty patch job.

“You don’t owe anyone anything, and neither do I. Not anymore,” Your old mentor’s voice rings in your head. Stubborn, brutish old man— you missed him so much.

You suddenly remember who your last actual patient was. You’d learned your lesson once. Helping people had a price. A physical one sometimes. Suddenly you can feel every ridge of the scars on your lower abdomen. A constant reminder of the risks something like this came with. Someone you tried to help took something away from you.

You hoped this man was different.

And really, what kind of asshole would wake up and murder the person that saved their life? A lot of assholes probably. This new world is full of them.

You decide to keep your hunting knife on your belt, just in case.

It’s hours later until anything happens.

You’re sitting in the living room when you hear a crash from the bedroom— followed by a pained grunt. Gus is there before you are, his hair raised and a defensive growl in his throat. You rush to the door and there he is, your mystery patient up and walking. Well, sort of.

He’s rolled out of the bed, knocking over a lamp that hasn’t been turned on in months in the process. He’s trashing in the tangled sheets, trying to get himself up.

“Easy!” You say first to him, “Easy!” You say again to Gus. The dog backs down, still standing defensively between your legs.

“Who are you?” The man wheezes out, “Where am I?” His voice is deep and raspy but there’s barely any power behind it. You can tell he’s trying to be threatening but he’s too weak to do much of anything. He’s shivering. His eyes are darting around the room, likely looking for anything he could use as a weapon.

He can’t manage to stand on his own two feet so you think you're probably safe.

You raise your hands and crouch down to his level. He’s tense— A panicked animal backed into a corner. You have to be calm, show him you’re not a threat. You slowly offer a hello and your name. “I saved your life. You’re beat up pretty—”

“Where am I?” He repeats with more force this time.

“Safe. My house.” You say calmly but with force, not letting him have control of this conversation, “I assume not far from wherever you got the shit beaten out of you.”

He flinches with a hiss of pain, grasping at his side. He’s going to open his stitches if he keeps thrashing around like this. You need to get him back into bed. He needs to rest. You need to calm him down.

You take a careful crouched step towards him.

“Don’t.” He snarls.

“Look, mister,” You sigh, sitting back on your heels, “Why would I have brought you here? Why wouldn’t I have just left you out there to die, hmm?”

“You might want somethin’. I don’t know what side you're on. Who you work for. ”

“Yes, because you have so much to offer right now,” You can’t help but roll your eyes, “I’m on the side that gets you in the bed and to stop writhing on the ground. You’re gonna—”

“You a raider?”

You raise your eyebrows and almost scoff at the accusation. Did you look like a raider? Is this what raiders looked like? You?

“I’m your fucking doctor and I’m ordering you to get back in that bed.”

You should be more patient with him. You really should. You have no idea what he’d seen or what really happened to him. You thought you had given him ample reason to trust you but you’re still a stranger to him. And he’s woken up in a strange place after god knows what.

Give him more reason to trust you. Kindness can still go a long way in this world. You believe that.

You reach over to the foot of the bed and drag his backpack and boots into view, “Here’s your stuff. I’m washing your shirt, though I’m not sure it’s salvageable at this point. Your rifle is there in the corner. I have the bullets for safekeeping.” You push the bag closer to him, “I saw you go down in a field about a mile north from here, I brought you here, I fixed you up. I’m nobody. I just want to help.”

You hold each other’s gaze for a moment, searching for answers in the other’s eyes. You were right, his were brown. He looks down, snagging the pack from your grasp. He riffles through it, taking a quick inventory of everything. Trust established— however minuscule it was.

Or that’s what you thought.

In the split second your guard is lowered he springs forward, pushing you out of the way and tumbling into the hallway. Luckily, he doesn’t get far. Gus bites at his pant leg almost needlessly. The stranger didn’t even have the strength left to make it to the kitchen.

“Have to get back. Have to—” he mumbles incoherently as you approach his curled-up form.

A sane person would cut their losses here, toss him out in the cold, and wash their hands of such a burden. Lucky for him, you hadn’t been completely sane in years. With another heavy sigh, you lean over to help him to his feet. He doesn’t fight you.

“Tess?” Mystery Man deliriously mumbles, limping back to the bedroom on your arm. Well, it seems like your entire interaction was a faded memory. It was common with this kind of trauma. He’s still in survival mode.

“No,” you grumble, laying him back down on the bed. “Not Tess.”

“I have to– Tommy—” his delirium continues, eyes fluttering open and closed just trying to grasp consciousness. Calling out to the people he knows, not you.

“Hey,” you lightly grab his shoulder. His attention focuses on you again, “You’ll see them again, I promise. Right now you have to rest.”

He studies you again and you start to wonder if he’s going to make another break for it. Thankfully, his only response is a single nod.

“I’ll be right back,” You quickly step out of the room and grab him a glass of water. You offer the glass and he studies it for a moment before chugging it down like a feverish child. He slowly rolls back into the bed with a heavy sigh. You take the empty glass back. “Rest for now. Call me when you're up again and you can have something to eat.”

He’s already passed out again before you finish your sentence.

#joel miller #joel tlou #tlou #the last of us #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #Recovery Time Fic

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imakemywings · 8 months

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How to Kink Meme 101

I think that for fans who never used Dreamwidth and didn't grow up on LiveJournal, kink memes can be a little intimidating (I know I was intimidated initially). But I've also never seen a format that works better for hosting one that Dreamwidth. So here is a quick guide to get you reading and posting on kink memes (and YES, there ARE still active kink memes on DW--and if your fandom's isn't, make a new one!)

And just to cover upfront: Despite the name, requests and fills generally do not have to be sexual in nature (a kink meme will state in the rules if requests are required to be sexual). You can usually request anything on the kink meme, from the smuttiest smut to the fluffiest fluff and everything in between.

The first step is always to review that kink meme's rules. Most of them will be common sense--don't bash, don't out another poster, stay on topic, etc. But it's always good to check in case there's something you didn't expect (ex: some kink memes require you to put certain trigger warnings in the title of a request).

TO REQUEST:

Find the active prompt post. Many kink memes for larger fandoms will have multiple prompt posts. When one gets too long, mods will close it to new requests and start a new one. They will usually try to make it very clear which is the active one. Here's an example from the Dragon Age kink meme:

Part 8 is where you go to prompt. Other parts may still be open for fills, but are closed for new prompts. Here's another example from the Mass Effect kink meme:

Here, the current post is stickied to the top of the page, and is tagged "current part" to let you know it's the active prompt post.

2. Once you select the right prompt post, make sure you're replying to the prompt post itself, not to someone else's comment. DW pages vary in style, but that reply button can reliably be found at the bottom of the page. Here's another example from the DAO page:

The "reply" option WITHIN that bottom request will respond directly to that comment. The "reply" option in the bar at the bottom will reply to the entire thread. That's the one you want to hit.

Here's another example from The Silmarillion kink meme:

And one more from Middle-earth kink:

3. Okay so you've hit reply and you're ready to type out your idea. The one most important requirement of all kink memes is anonymity. Anonymity in requests, and in posting. Even if you feel comfortable posting with your username attached, you need to post anonymously. You can de-anon somewhere else and even link to that, but the post on the kink meme should be anonymous. That's where this button comes in:

"More options." You hit that, and you'll get the option to make an anonymous post:

And now you're really ready to go. Put something short and descriptive in the title (Ex: "Kirk/Spock Coffee Shop AU" or "Iron Bull get pegged") and give a longer description (as needed) in the body. Requests can be as short as a sentence or as long as several paragraphs--whatever you feel like is necessary.

Make sure to include any "do not wants" here! If you aren't sure what that means, check below.

NB: Generally, it's considered polite to keep a reasonable ratio of requests::fills. That is, if you're making a lot of requests, you should be trying to fill some from others. It doesn't have to be only fic either--if you're better at drawing than writing, a fanart fill most often works too!

TO FILL:

Okay, so there's requests...but say you find an idea you really like and you want to give OP a fill. It's going to be the same deal as before, except in the body of your post you'll put the fic rather than a request. DW has a character limit per comment, so it's not unusual to break even a relatively short fill into multiple posts. Nor do you have to post the whole fill at once--updating as you do with a fic elsewhere is totally fine. Here's what it will look like when multiple fill posts nest:

And that's really all there is to the basics! DW is an older, more barebones site, so if you're accustomed to the newer web, it may seem clunky and hard to navigate, but once you've posted a time or two it will seem very simple and the kink meme community is a lot of fun!

ADDITIONAL NOTES:

"Do not derail" - Generally it's common courtesy on the kink meme not to derail a request. That is, if someone wants "A/B outdoor temple sex" it's considered rude to comment "Would love to see this with A/C!" If you like the idea but want something changed, it's better to just post your own request, even if it's very similar.

Asking for clarification - It's totally fine if you want to ask OP for clarification on a point before making a fill. Keeping it anonymous, you can just respond to the original prompt to see if they meant X or Y, or if they would be okay with Z thing in the fic.

"Bonus" requests - It's pretty common to see "bonus" requests in a prompt. That is, things OP would like to see, but are fine not receiving. You can put as many of these as you like in your requests, and as a filler, can choose to include or not include as many of them as you want. Here's what that might look like:

5. DNW - "Do not wants." This is where you put anything that would be a deal-breaker for you: something that would cause you to not read the fic at all, or not to enjoy it. Again, you can put as many as you want, or none. Here are some examples of that:

6. Commenting!! - If someone fills your prompt, you should make sure to thank them! Even if the fill wasn't exactly what you wanted, it's nice to find something kind to say about it, since someone spent the time to write something for you. And of course, feel free to comment even if the prompt wasn't yours!

7. Multiple fills - There is absolutely no problem with doing multiple fills on a prompt! If the prompt inspires you, go for it! I've definitely written fills for prompts that already had two or three fills. Usually, OP is delighted to have more than one fill ^.^ I think it's really interesting to see where different authors take the same prompt, and some prompts are open to a variety of characters.

8. Fill posts - Some kink memes also have a separate "fill post," somewhere you drop links to fills. This is just a neat way of collecting them, so if you fill a prompt, try to drop a link there, just to get more eyes on it!

9. De-anoning - So you've written a fill anonymously, but you want to share on your AO3/tumblr/Twitter/wtv. Feel free! You can out yourself as the author of a fill wherever else you want, and "de-anon from the kink meme" was a pretty common author's note to see back in the day. You can even comment on the original kink meme fill with a link to other places you've posted it. Personally, I usually come back and drop an AO3 link to any fills I crosspost.

10. Timing - Some kink memes are quite old, with requests going back 10+ years. The OP of that prompt may no longer be checking it, but that shouldn't stop you from filling the prompt if you like it--you're almost sure to find another audience owo

11. Alerts - DW is pretty limited in the "notifications" you can receive from it, but if you have or make a DW account and want to get notified of updates on a kink meme, you'll want to first subscribe to that page.

(I'm already subscribed here, but that little journal will show a green checkmark if you aren't yet subscribed, and you just hit that so that any new posts on the meme will go into your DW feed.)

However, because kink memes operate more on comments than posts, you'll also want to get alerts for any new comments from the active prompt post. Find the active prompt post, and hit this bell button:

You'll get this pop-up:

And you can go ahead with the email notif, or if you're like me and want DW notifications to stay on DW and out of my email, hit "More Options" and uncheck the email notif. This way, any new comments will only show up in your DW inbox as an unread message.

And that's everything! Or at least everything I can think of. If you have another question please feel free to comment. I think kink memes are a lot of fun and I hate to think of anyone unable to participate because they're not familiar with the format.

Enjoy!

Kink memes in this post (+ some others):

Dragon Age main page (Origins, II, Inquisition)

Middle-earth kink

Silm kink meme

Arcane kink meme

Mass Effect kink

Skyrim kink meme

#mine #idk if anyone was looking for this lol #but I was fretting about people being left out so

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butch-with-a-deep-voice · 5 months

Note

What made you feel like using the term “butch” to describe yourself despite some of your obvious feminine qualities? (This is an absolutely genuine question coming from somebody who is trying their best to figure out “which box” they fit into).

I guess I’m having a hard time figuring out if I’m “butch enough” which I know sounds ridiculous. I know that there’s such a spectrum and not everybody is strictly “butch” or “femme” but I guess I feel called to butchhood. But I invalidate my own feelings by finding all the ways in which I’m “too feminine” for it.

I’m genderqueer as well so it can be hard for me to find the right balance between my masculine and feminine features that make me feel euphoric.

Hey anon, so this is a very good question, and one I really want to take some time with. As such, I will provide two answers. A short copout answer if you don't have the energy to read a lot, and a long answer.

Short answer, and I really hate when I have to pull out this answer but well...

It's no different than gender euphoria in of itself. Each person is different, and it is based off of well, vibes. It's things like how I can be beside my he/they nonbinary friend, let's call him C, in the exact same outfit as him, and all our friends are like "yup, Nomi looks butch, and C looks boy-adjacent". It's vibes, and there's no real easy way to explain it further than that.

Now lovely anon/reader, if you want something a little more... nuanced (and just as inconclusive), strap in. Pun fully intended.

So I've been mulling over this for a few hours already before typing, and of course my overly analytic ass started scripting this whole thing around exploring the history of butch and femme identities, the gender politics of the matter, the racial contexts, etc. before realizing that doesn't answer your question; how did I specifically, a trans-feminine two-spirit person, reach butch being where I felt the most at home in myself despite apparent feminine aspects of myself? Understanding the history, cultural implications, and other nuanced portions of "butch" as an identity was a huge part of how I got there, and so I'll briefly go over that, but it's also important to keep my copout answer in mind as well. You know yourself best. It's well, vibes.

Let's start with the barebones identity of butch. I think a good place to start is understanding that while all butches are masculine, not all mascs are butch. Same with femme vs. feminine. It's something you claim, you embody. It's well, an identity. For many, myself included, it's an inseparable part of ones gender identity to boot. And like all identities, it is often intersectional with other facets of your life. Gender, sexuality, race/ethnicity, culture, etc. For me, Butch ties directly to my Two-Spirit identity. Part of being a Michif (Métis) Two-Spirit person is holding both the masculine and feminine at all times. While not necessarily a woman in the western sense, I feel woman-adjacent. My "feminine spirit" comes from feeling woman-adjacent, and honestly when around other Michif women, like a Michif woman (but that's a conversation for another day). My "masculine spirit" comes from being a butch Michif lesbian, amongst other things. If I had to describe how my gender "feels", Two-Spirit Butch feels honestly the most accurate, even if that doesn't fit into a Western queer lens that nicely. I may have, as you said anon, apparent feminine aspects to myself that counter my masculinity, but part of being Two-Spirit is holding those with love, honor, and compassion. Feminine spirit doesn't negate my queer masculinity, if anything it augments it. But, exploration of my Two-Spirit identity and how it relates to being butch likely won't be of much help to most of the non-indigenous readers.

Let's look at a more Western approach, because Butch is just that, a rather Western queer term. I do want to preface that as a trans-feminine person there are many within queer spaces that believe I do not have the right to claim butch for myself. To them I counter, bugger off terfs. I would also like to point out that while in a modern sense butch more or less refers to a masculine lesbian identity, that was not always the case. Butch for many many years was an identity to describe queer masculinity as a baseline, regardless of lesbian, gay, bisexual, etc. Especially in queer BIPOC communities. Butch becoming a lesbian-centric term is much newer within the queer lexicon (with some pointing to white queer culture stealing a term from BIPOC queer culture, but that is a topic I do not have the expertise to go into). While both butch itself, and queer masculinity as a whole have evolved since those times, I think keeping that historical context in mind is important.

To me, part of why I claimed "Butch" specifically is how it relates to non-conformity of expected womanhood. While I do not claim woman in the Western sense, during the early phases of transition, I began by identifying as a woman, and trying to abandon all of masculinity and what it came with. You can find a bit more of how that went in this post. I dove headfirst into femininity and hit my head on the floor of the pool so hard I ended up right back in dysphoria central, just a different kind. But, that exploration of womanhood and femininity were integral in why I claimed butch for myself. I don't think I ever would have claimed it had I not. One of the common factors with every AFAB butch I've met is a rejection of the expectations of womanhood that Western culture thrusts upon them. Personally, I don't think it would have been right for me to claim butch without having first explored Western femininity and it's expectations to the extent I had.

Eventually I finally admitted to myself that, while I knew for certain I wasn't a man, I didn't feel right as a feminine (Western) woman either. So, what was I? I felt more at home, more welcome, and more loved amongst queer women, lesbians especially, than I ever had with queer men. Hard androgyny and genderqueer (which btw I do not identify with genderqueer, not upset with you though) didn't feel right either. There were aspects of classical womanhood from a physical standpoint I knew were in line with myself after many years of HRT. Breasts, my waist line, my now feminine skin texture, my legs, honestly my entire estrogen-sculpted body. Hell, while I haven't gotten full vaginoplasty for medical reasons, I would if I could, Stone Top identity aside. I felt at home around women and lesbians, as a Michif woman/lesbian, but not in femininity. As described in the post I linked in the previous paragraph, the first true step was reclaiming masculinity, and making room for healthy queer masculinity separate from gender.

I want to bring up this exploration of the meaning behind the colours of the lesbian flag for a moment. For me, Butch and all it encompasses, is a part of all of these. Gender non-conformity I think is self explanatory. I am a walking defiance of gender norms and expectation at this point, and butchness as a whole is as well. Independence can mean many different things to different people, but I feel self sufficient as a butch. I feel competent. I feel secure. Mostly importantly though, it is an identity I feel independent in. For years and years I let my expression of gender and sexuality be defined by those around me. Past partners, friends, family, coworkers, etc. I could not claim butch until I took a step away from all of those. I stopped letting them dictate who I was, and let myself learn who I was independently. Community and butch is always going to be linked. Butch is a community-centric identity. When I tell someone in the queer community I'm butch, they know what it means. In a single word I can describe large swathes of my experience and how I relate to the world. But it also comes with community role and responsibilities. Butches and Femmes protect eachother. Butches provide safe masculinity in queer spaces that heals wounds for so many people, including other butches. Butches take up space in a room to ensure other non-butch women have space. We protect, we heal, we love. Butch love is so fucking unique and important to a community. Butch comes with a community meaning, but also community role and responsibility, and to me that is a big part of why I feel comfortable claiming it. Serenity and Peace is so many things. Both internal and external. I have peace within myself as a butch. I feel more peace with myself now than I did for so many years. When I finally said it outloud, said I was a butch lesbian, and people affirmed that, it was like a weight I never even knew existed was lifted. I've felt happier in my time openly being butch than I have in ages, and everyone around me as noticed it too. Friends, family, coworkers all comment on just how happy, confident, and at peace internally I've been. Love and Sex this is a doozy of a topic that I truthfully do not have the desire to explore right now. It is important, but I am not in the headspace for it. But butch love is unique in itself. As for sex, well. Please refer to the wild swathes of queer theory and discourse out there. As an off-hand example relating to myself though, see Stone Butch. Unique Relationships to Womanhood/Feminity. I explicitly wanted to link these together. As a Two-Spirit butch, and a trans-femme one at that, my relationship to womanhood and femininity is unique, complicated, and at times inexplicable. The fact that I can say I don't identify as a Western woman, but with other Michif woman I do feel like a woman, is one confusing way. The fact that butch being a gender identity to me is another. But one aspect I want to explore is this notion that masculine and feminine are antithetical to eachother, when I don't think they need to be. I'm not androgynous. I hold both masculine and feminine, not a middle thing. My masculinity is queer masculinity, and I genuinely think queer masculinity MUST be in some way shape or form partially feminine. There is a softness to queer masculinity. A vulnerability. A tenderness. Queer masculinity is often gentle, loving, soothing. All things associated with Western notions of femininity, not masculinity. But queer masculinity, non-Western masculinity, makes room for those things. You wouldn't look at a mother bear protecting her cubs and say "that's not motherly behaviour, that's not womanhood". My relationship to my feminine self is in relationship to my masculine self. They are tied, and being butch, being a soft butch at that, encompasses it.

I think finally a topic I've been dancing around, though alluded to multiple times, is that first copout answer. Vibes, and gender euphoria as a part of vibes. From the vibes standpoint, what I have to offer is this anecdotal piece. When I told my friends that I was mulling around with the idea of claiming butch, basically every single one went "... yeah? You didn't know that?" Off of vibes alone every single one of my queer friends already knew I was butch. From behaviour, to what I was most comfortable in fashion wise, to how I related to others, they all knew that my "vibes" were butch already, well before I had even remotely considered it. As for the other hard to define aspect... As a non-cis person yourself anon, you mentioned it already. Gender euphoria is a weirdly difficult to attain thing. I spent years on years of experimentation, exploration, and rumination trying to find my euphoria. Trying to find the spot I'm in now, where I find myself loving what's in the mirror every single day. Butch got me to the point that I legitimately look in my mirror and love what I see Every. Single. Day. I take selfies of myself because I love what I look like, even in just a hoodie in sweats, every day now. I put more casual care into how I look now, because I love myself, more than I ever did before. I take better care of my health. I have more self confidence. I'm happier and more stable emotionally. Hell, I'm a better friend, coworker, and community member now as a butch than I ever had capacity to be beforehand. It's not just me noticing that too. Near everyone in my life started making note of it anytime I took another step into fully claiming butch for myself. The biggest reason I feel right in claiming butch is that frankly, how can you look at secure, holistic, stable happiness like this and not say it's right.

There's a lot more I want to say here, but I've already been at this for nearly three hours, and that's on top of the two hours I spent just thinking on the matter to boot. I hope I was able to answer your question at least partially anon, and that it helps you with your own gender expression/identity journey. I think the only other thing I want to say is that it's okay if what you identify with now changes. It doesn't invalidate what you feel now, just like how you are now doesn't invalidate what you felt was right for your say, 5 years ago. Human experience and identity evolves, it grows, it changes. If you feel right with butch now, excellent. If you end up realizing that it was just a stepping stone in discovering your unique patch of gender euphoria, that is just as excellent. Rootin' for ya anon 💕

#holy crap i went way harder on this than i meant to #but i also think this is a topic that deserved some effort #thank you for the thoughtful ask anon #bite me #ask nomi #trans #transgender #butch #trans butch #lesbian #nonbinary #two spirit #sapphic #stone butch #queer #queer theory #gender

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galactiquest · 10 months

Text

Unexpected Waltz

Fandom: Trigun Pairing: Millions Knives x Reader Other Characters: None Notes: So ummm... Hi!!! I’ve been quiet on this blog for a while because I’ve been hemming and hawing about whether I want to keep participating in this community with others (I haven’t had a whole lot of good experiences tbh) but... I decided to whip up a little Knives x Reader for old time’s sake. Please enjoy! Also, this song inspired the title and general feel. Word count: 921

Warnings: None, just some dancing and a semi-established relationship. And maybe very slightly out of character Knives but this is my house and I get to decide how Knives talks.

[Also crossposted to AO3!]

“I see no point to the task of dancing.”

Millions Knives, the Plant who was forever unconvinced that there was any substance to be taken from extraneous activities and pastimes of humans. And you, the human who loved him and desperately wanted him to do something nice with you.

You knew there’d be a rift between your worlds the moment you met him, regardless of whether that led to a relationship or not. Knives was just so convinced that he was different that he couldn’t fathom partaking in any sort of human activity.

Which, at first, you didn’t really mind–you wouldn’t push him, and he wouldn’t push you. Most of the time.But today, you really wanted to dance with him. Everything felt right, but he stayed stiff as a board on the other side of the room, arms crossed as crackly music came from the record player.

“Come on,” you huffed, mirroring his pout. “Just one little dance won’t kill you, you know.”

“Waste of energy,” Knives added. “Waste of time. All of it, a waste.”

“You said the same thing about kissing and hugging and cuddling at night.”

“And I’m still right,” he snided. “But it’s beneficial to you. That kind of contact releases oxycontin, a critical chemical for your wellbeing.”

“And you don’t feel even a little nice when we do it?”

Knives closed his eyes and refused to answer.

“Well. Dancing feels good, for one. It’s nice to move your body in a rhythmic fashion.” You spun around a little. “Humans have developed a multitude of dancing styles, both for music and without music. Some dances are sacred and used to tell stories, while others are just for fun.”

“...So it’s important.” He was looking away, but had a slight quirk to his lip that could imply a smile–the I’m-not-interested-but-since-it’s-with-you-and-I-like-you smile.

“To me, at least.” You held out a hand. “Will you at least try it? Just once?”

Something he’d heard a lot. When you urged him to take a bite of your cooking, or to draw on some scrap paper, or read a book that wasn’t another tome full of boring nonsense. And every time, he’d groan and lament about how you were expecting too much out of his greatness, how he shouldn’t bother with these things–but he’d still do them, so who was the real winner?

Both of you, actually. He just refused to admit that he’d both lost and won.

After a moment of hesitation, he approached, putting his hand in yours. Ever so gently.

That was the one far cry of the Knives that stayed in your house and laid in your bed from the one that used to be in the elements of the desert–he was gentle in most everything he did, despite his cruelty before, despite the harshness in his words. Maybe he knew that you were human and mortal, and you could only handle a mere fraction of his power before snapping. Maybe he really didn’t want you to break, because he finally found someone who could hear him.

Maybe he didn’t want to be alone.

You placed his hand on your shoulder, reaching the matching one on your side to his hip (his shoulder was far too high to hold comfortably) and interlacing fingers on the other side.

“I’ll lead us, okay?” You were alright with dancing–not an expert, but not completely clueless, either. A simple step would be fine.

“...Alright.” Knives usually hated relinquishing control, but he had extremely barebones dancing skills, if any at all, and didn’t want to step on your toes. Literally or figuratively.

Slowly, you moved your feet to the beat of the music, letting Knives follow in your footsteps. He was able to pick up the rhythm easily, though he was primarily just copying what you were doing. You took him around the room, spinning gently, watching his unmoving expression as he stared at you. There was a slight gleam in his eye–the gleam of I-like-you-but-I’m-trying-not-to-show-it.

As the music continued, you pulled away from him slightly, twirling yourself around his arm. He seemed a bit confused, but your smile was enough for him to allow this to happen. There was a certain warmth in his chest that came from his hand on your shoulder, your hand on his waist, and the other hands intertwined to the side. It felt nice, as much as he loathed to admit it. Knives almost wanted the music to last forever, but it was coming to an end.

“I’m gonna dip you!” You said, bracing your hand behind his waist.

Knives sort of knew this move. He wanted to make some kind of remark, one along the lines of you won’t be able to hold me up, but his body reacted before he made up his mind. He fell backwards, letting you keep him close with one arm. You still strained against his weight–how can one man be so dense, you wondered–but were able to hold the move for a few seconds until the needle bumped itself off the record, music stopping.

Knives stood up, partially taking you with him as you slid off of him.

“Well? What did you think?” You asked, grinning up at him.

Knives huffed out of his nose, then replied. “It… Wasn’t that bad. But don’t expect me to do it again.”

The tiniest smile formed on his face as he turned away. I want to do it again so badly! Please dance with me again!

You knew him too well by now.

#galactifics #trigun x reader #reader insert #trigun imagines #millions knives x reader #knives x reader #those tags should be sufficient. now EAT #text #oh and feel free to send me an ask if you want...? maybe...? i'd love to try interacting with the community more i don't bite i prommy

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danses-with-dogmeat · 10 months

Text

D is for -- Deacon

DEEKS!

Okay, sorry, had to get that out, I just... I love Deacon, that's what he does to me, I just love him. Though I was surprised that Danse was less of an adversary in the voting 🤔, but I digress. Anyway though, without further ado, here's this! It's... well, sad, but I hope you like it anyway! <3

And here is the 2k event masterlist, for your browsing pleasure!

Also, just a quick TW for suicidal thoughts! Stay safe out there, I love you all ❤️😊

Pair: Deacon x g/n! Sole

Dialogue: "I can't lose you too."

Word: Devastation

Rating: SFW

Category: Hurt/Comfort

Word Count: 1.2k

“Dammit, I should’ve been there.” Sole’s fingers stroked lightly over the back of Deacon’s hand where it dangled loosely from the medical cot. They savored the touch between them, the feeling unfamiliar, as they comforted their unconscious companion in a way he’d never have allowed, were he awake.

“Should’ve helped. Then maybe… Maybe you wouldn’t be like this, and maybe Glory would still be…” Sole sighed, and the tears that’d been lingering in their waterline, barely managing to keep from spilling down their cheeks, finally gave way.

“If the Brotherhood had gotten you too, I… I don’t know what I would’ve done.”

They kept whispering to him, in the dim of the Railroad’s latest hideout.

Carrington had fallen asleep sitting up in a folding chair on the other side of the small room, where he remained now, his chin resting on his chest and his arms folded around himself limply. The work had been nonstop since the attack on the church, and even after all of it, the doctor had told Sole that Deacon was only up to fate now. He’d done all he could for the spy, but his injuries were extensive, and he hadn’t woken up once in the three days since the Brotherhood had invaded.

Sole had been here for two of those days, nagging Carrington, hovering over their partner, speaking to him, holding his hand, hoping, beyond hope, that his eyes would open, that he’d say their name, and then some sarcastic comment through gritted teeth.

A voice sounded from the other room, tearing them from their thoughts.

Desdemona.

She’d only just woken up herself, they noted. Everyone who’d managed to make it out alive seemed to have only just begun to come down from the boost of adrenaline they’d gotten from the fight; and now, after the loudness of the battle, of their fear and rage and grief, most everyone in this barebones, concrete bunker had collapsed.

Sole’s own eyes itched for the solace of sleep, but their mind couldn't comprehend leaving, even for a moment, even with Deacon's hand still in theirs, even with their fingers firmly set upon his pulse. If they woke up and he was gone…

“I can’t…" They spoke aloud with a sniffle, "After everything, everyone that I’ve…”

The sound of their shaky sigh echoed through the silent room, the only noise beyond Des’s muffled, whispered words across the way.

“I... I just can’t lose you too. I don't think I'd be able to... go on, after.”

Sole's eyes were closed, their forehead leaning down against the side of the mattress as they spoke into the fabric in a hushed tone. Their cheeks felt cold with the wetness still upon them, the tears had run out, and all that was left was an empty feeling deep within their chest.

Until they felt Deacon’s fingers twitch against their palm.

“Don’t gotta worry about that quite yet, partner.” His voice rasped from above them, and Sole jolted backwards in their chair, nearly toppling over in their haste to see if they'd truly heard him.

“Deacon, oh my god.” Their voice barely managed to leave them with any sort of breath behind it, coming out almost as a squeak, that left Deacon with a silly little grin on his face.

It was surreal. Seeing him, seeing him smile nonetheless, after days of blank expressions, of light, unconscious grimaces, and labored breaths that were so close to being his last. Hearing him too, that voice they loved, that they weren't sure they'd have the chance to hear again. To hear him joking, whispering, laughing, and yes, even the lying they'd missed those past few days. Now though, it was like they were in a dream, floating in their own hopes and the beliefs they'd been manifesting since they'd sat themself beside their injured partner all those restless hours ago.

Without thinking, Sole threw their outstretched arms around their companion’s shoulders, and with the gentlest touch they could manage in their desperation, they pulled him into a tight embrace.

“Ah, okay, yeah…” He cleared his throat and Sole could feel the way his ravaged body tensed at the new contact. But they couldn't bring themself to pull away. Not with the fresh tears springing from their eyes, not with the way their lip trembled and their hands shook.

“That’s… okay." He chuckled, still sounding strained. "Yep, just get it all out."

A deep breath rattled Sole's chest, and to their surprise, Deacon’s hands slowly returned their gesture; and furthering their wonder, he didn’t say another word to attenuate their shared contact.

“I’m sorry.” Sole whispered to him after a long moment. “I’m sorry about everything, about you, about not being here, I’m sorry about... G-Glory and the church, about the Brotherhood. Just… I should have been with you, and I know that, and I'm just--.”

“What, so you can have one of these cots too?" They felt him gesture down to the bed with one hand, and finally, managed to pull themself back.

"They’re really not that comfortable," he continued with that smirk that made their heart soar. "I’m tellin’ ya. You didn’t miss out on much.”

Despite themself, despite the tears they could still feel sliding down their cheeks, Sole felt a laugh force itself from their chest.

“That’s good to hear.” They said back, as relief continued to cloud their voice. “But still, I can’t help but feel guilty, Deacon… All that you’ve suffered, all that the Railroad has gone through, and here I am–”

“Yeah, here you are.” He managed through the pain in his battered chest, even injecting hints of humor into the words. As he always did best. “Never having suffered a day in your life. Where were you, anyways? The bahamas? Des was right about you. A freeloader through and through.”

Despite the dripping sarcasm, Sole couldn’t help but close their eyes to the words.

I may as well have been, for all the use I was to the people who needed me.

They’d been out on a mission, sure, but did that matter now? Now that the Brotherhood had already gone through with the very plan they’d been out investigating.

They hadn't been quick enough, thorough enough, they’d failed. And now… Well, Glory’s death was as much on them as it was on those steel-coated bastards, wasn’t it?

“Hey.” Their partner’s voice was softer now, less ‘humorous sting’ than they’d come to expect, more serious than they'd --maybe ever-- heard him. “It’s not your fault, Sole. You’re not psychic, you couldn’t have predicted this as much as anyone else. We all messed up, somehow, but… We’re gonna pay them back.”

His eyes closed, maybe from the effort of speaking, of the actions that he had promised. Yet still, even said through gritted teeth, even said in exhaustion and filled to the brim with malice, Sole felt his words instill a hope in their own mind, their own heart.

“We are.” They promised, and moved their hand to grasp firmly with his again. “And this time, I’m gonna be there for it. No matter what.”

"Hmm." They heard him hum, as Deacon settled back against the too-flat pillow on his cot. "Me too." He finished, and Sole could only smile, return their fingers to the pulse point on his wrist, and hope that both of them were telling the truth.

#2k event #2k celebration #secret event #fallout #fallout companions #fallout 4 #fallout 4 companions #fallout deacon #deacon fo4 #deacon fallout 4 #deacon x sole survivor

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braimrotting · 10 months

Text

im so glad the crows got fed yesterday. i love making my severely paranoid old man even more paranoid and traumatised.

just the little feeling in the back of his mind questioning all his childrens actions - are these my kids? cc!phil is far too sure of himself and his recognition of the eggs for it to impact too much but even little mentions is enough to show that theres more trauma to give!

i just wanna say i knew it was sus that the code only took pictures of phils base and no one elses. they had it planned to mimic chay + lulah for days. im trying so hard to think of why tho. base level, it seems obvious bc maybe they needed 2 codes are these 2 spend all their time together when awake. additionally they were 100% not going to attend the dinner so the codes didnt have to worry about them showing up and ruining the plan.

but they had such barebones knowledge of how the eggs act? surely they mustve known they would be found out quickly (i could maybe get them not expecting phil to figure them out in 1 minute tho) UNLESS they were relying on phil not assuming they were imposters bc this situation had never happened before. that seems like a pretty big risk but the only other thing i can think of is them knowing that phil is somewhat isolated and would not go around telling everyone - which was true bc he only told fit + forever.

the codes were acting so wrong i was genuinely shaking while watching it live. chayanne was taking off his armour + following too close to phil + hitting phil + most importantly not listening to him. tallulah was shaking her maracas constantly + not talking to phil + she also was not listening to him and running away. it was so uncanny and genuinely put me on edge especially when he went back to check their beds and they were still there. they are the most well-behaved eggs and follow phil so diligently, i find it strange the codes didnt look into their personalities at all - i wonder if they got their information from the federation status updates on the eggs and that was it. (this would actually explain why the update came at all actually)

anyways loved the Horrors getting to phil. so unexpected bc everyone was convinced it was going to be a canditates attack - phil was prepping support items. though there was crazy foreshadowing with him walking in and saying it looked like a boss battle. ALSO i saw someone say he may have been targeted for his complete refusal of the federation by not voting at all. extra layer of angst bc he did that to protect the eggs + make sure no one could use them against him.

god i need phil to talk to the order ! he has so much info + theories. whats so wrong w a lil crow wanting the blorbo to be hyper vigilant and a paranoid wreck

#qsmp #qsmp philza #qsmp chayanne #qsmp tallulah

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meatwormfanfics · 2 years

Note

hello m!

I read your headcanon(s) and intro and you seem like a interesting writer!

This may be

OOC but pls write headcanons on how muzan would act around a child 🛐 thank you!

Omg Hiiii, Ya I can write that. I assume you meant his kid btw 💀 (this may be a lil occ sorry)

On with the hcs then ‼️

[ Muzan with a child ]

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

-Muzan as your dad?? That's actually cool ngl

-So I feel like he would be a strict father, Not very extremely strict but still strict y'know??

-Even if he is strict he does still try to be a good father to you though.

-He's the type of parent to either always see you as his baby or see you as a full grown adult the second you hit 13 or something, No in-between.

-You can't tell me that he's not somewhat traditional, Like cmon he's like 1000. He definitely has some traditional parenting tactics.

-Occasionally he'll take you out to get lunch or to go shopping for bonding experiences

-He picked out the best name/nickname he could think of for you, Can't have his pride and joy having a name he hates. He definitely looked into all the meanings and stuff too just so he could find the best name possible 💀

-He teaches you about foreign languages and other little things he knows.

-He probably introduces you to the upper moons when you are at least old enough to know what is going on, So like maybe a toddler?

-Bro he will never tell you about demon slayers or anything like that 💀, You simply do not know what they are and he will keep it like that for as long as he can.

-Muzan isn't totally against the idea of you helping locate the blue spider lily though, But he'll definitely lie to you about what it's for and why he needs to walk in the sun. Incase you have the audacity to disagree with him or *gasp* defy him

-If you can't walk in the sun either that would probably just be more motivation for him to find the blue spider lily.

-He's probably has a soft spot for you. Just sayin

-Overall a decent father.

(I'm sorry if this is a lil rushed or barebones, I really had no clue how to write him and it's currently 12am 😭😭, Hope you guys like it anyway tho‼️‼️)

#demon slayer #demon slayer fanfic #muzan kibutsuji #Dad muzan #Muzan x child reader #fanfiction #kny #Meatwormfanfic

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driderwife · 3 months

Text

Ok so here’s extremely barebones info about my Tav cuz ppl are asking and I wanna ramble about dumb fan character stuff cuz it’s fun lol and I actually love this OC now, im probably gonna use him for regular DnD shit when im done with BG3. Sorry for being cringe but like. I’m free and im gonna play this game how I want.

His name is Valence and he’s a half drow storm sorcerer (He should have a drow name but I like hate trying to make them work im not crazy about drow names). I’ve only figured out like, the very basics of his backstory but he was raised in the underdark instead of being banished or killed for his high elf blood, because there’s magic inherent in his bloodline on his drow fathers side so he was deemed useful. I don’t know his early life yet but obviously he was Bullied and Oppressed because duh he’s a little male drow half elf freak.

What I have written so far is that later in his life as an adult he studied and worked under an elderly Matriarch who like whipped and paddled and spanked him. So he’s particularly scared of old women and just submits to women in general. for a lot of his in game choices if a woman is showing authority toward him I just like have him do whatever she says LOL. Hes like I sat my Gray ass down and LISTENED.

As for the romance stuff I have a soap opera going in my head where Valence is like completely enamored with Astarion bc Astarion took his virginity at the ripe age of Old Man & Valence is like easily manipulated by anyone talking him up bc his name is Mud in drow society and usually nobody likes him. also he’s a revenge driven half drow so he lets Astarion do the ascension plot & when that goes sour in their relationship shit Valence is like, do whatever you want to me be evil. Women beated me for fun im a wet napkin for you.

Also you shouldn’t feel bad for valence at all im playing him kinda evil and vindictive and letting him making nasty in game choices. Let the old traumatized twinks be toxic they need to fight it out.

But im also gonna romance Halsin as a poly thing i just haven’t thoroughly plotted that in my head bc i didn’t get very far in his arc yet it takes a WHILE.

Anyways im just having fun with making a truly pathetic dude. Also I love drow men theyre really the Kens of DND universe.

Anyways pls don’t be shy if u wanna tell me about your guys too I think it’s so fun.

#bg3 #bg3 tav #my art #drow #dnd #oc #valence #bg3 spoilers //

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ge · 10 months

Note

what do you like about rotmhs? like what draws you in?

GAHH IM SO GLAD YOU ASKEDDD at the top of my head thhe top three things i felt really drew me into and made me fall in love w rotmhs is the found family/bonds before blood narrative, the action/fight scenes, and the comedy..

rotmhs is not a romance and i feel like that really pushes people away from reading it, especially folks who were first introduced to east asian novels through bl (specifically mxtxs novels like mdzs tgcf etc etc) which i feel is incredibly disappointing because yallre missing out on a certain depth of writing and nuance you otherwise wouldnt get in a romance focused novel. (orv is another extremely popular knovel with no romance.. if you like orv PLEASE give rotmhs a shot)

rotmhs is about a dead man resurrected a hundred years into the future having to come to terms w the fact that everyone he loved is dead and that the only home he ever had was destroyed, its inhabitants and centuries worth of teachings burned to the ground, and that it was partially his fault these things happened, so in order to prevent a future catastrophe he knows is on the horizon, he trains the youth of this new generation and finds a new home surrounded by ghosts in the wreckage of his home of his past

⬆️…very dramatic but somewhat accurate barebones synopsis of rotmhs which is fairly faithful enough methinks.. rotmhs doesnt make a point of going ‘heyy these guys are family nowww theyre brothers and sisters and love each other like familyyy’ LOL the growth is very subtle and before u can really blink ur like ‘oh man.. chung myung would kill for these kids. obliviously though. i dont think he knows he even likes them’ all the while hes still aching w the loss of his loved ones before.. if we’re being really really honest chung myung, the mc, truly is the star of the show and a character i got attached to incredibly quickly.. hes so stupid but so smart he has so many issues i want to hit him with my car then nurse him back to health just to hit him again

chung myung himself is a whole other thing i could get into but he has so many layers.. so much depth.. on the surface ud look at him and think what a punk but look a little closer and then ud think oh this punk has depression ptsd survivors guilt hallucinations etc etc LIKE DAMN.. I THIUGHT HE WAS JUST A FUNNY LITTLE GUY WHYD I GET SUCKER PUNCHED

what was i even talking about. OH right romance. please please dont let the lack of romance dissuade you, imo it is soooo refreshing to read something that isnt focused on romance like i love yaoi like the next bl reading bitch but damn.. ive always been into found family and while the bl novels i have read did always have a little hint of it, i always wanted more and rotmhs fills that void

(that being said i cant stop yall from shipping if yall want LOL im guilty of shipping charas too despite everythiing i just said… if yall want yalls yaoiyuri fix may i direct yalls attention to the ‘doomed by the narrative, tragic best-friends-to-almost-lovers tangchung’ & ‘love at first sight sweethearts iseolsoso’ ….. :SMILES: I LOVE TANGCHUNG..!!!!!!)

NEXT, the action and fight scenes in rotmhs, even in written text form, are sublime to say the least.. my fail cis dudebro trait is that i love crazy insane adrenaline rushing heart pumping shounen-esque battles so much that i could typically care less for the rest of that specific piece of media as long as the fights are good.. FORTUNATELY FOR ME rotmhs is crazy good at balancing its comedy, action, and otherwise more ‘mundane’ scenes together so harmoniously that its such fun read even when theres no swords crossing or heads being beaten in

also important to note, despite being a knovel w korean naming of characters/places, rotmhs actually takes place in ancient china in a wuxia setting so jumping head first into it wont be all that confusing for first time readers/cmedia fans and u can use ur knowledge of cnovels to fill in the gaps.

theres not really much more i have to say on the topic of fighting, im just personally a huge fan of the crazy spectacles rotmhs brings to the table.

saved this for last but THE COMEDY…!!!!!!!! after being soo dramatic w all my previous points and comments ur probably thnkng rotmhs is heavy and somber w no breathing room.. WELL YOURE WRONG. ROTMHS IS FUNNY AS HELL quips and jokes and simple funny actions and scenes litter nearly every page. i mentioned this novel balances its action and comedy well and im NOT LYING youd think maybe the heavy action and light comedy would awkwardly clash but u cldnt be more further from the truth.. rotmhs wears action and comedy like a pair of twin gloves

rotmhs handles its action and comedy in equal doses and it all fits together like matching puzzle pieces, like i really cant stress enough how fun it is to read. not every fight scene is somber, most of the time its chung myung oneshotting someone by hitting them across the head so hard they pass out..

unfortunately im not really the best at listing instances so its be better for u to go read it for urself but this scene from one of the later chapters is soo funny every time i read it i start giggling

(LIGHT/MINOR SPOILERS FOR THE NOVEL it probably doesnt even matter u wont even remember this when u start reading)

right so i think thats most of it.. too lazy to read through everything i just wrote so if nothing makes sense… well. …well!

rotmhs deserves to have the same amount of fame as ORV and MDZS and TGCF have and it is my civil duty as one of the oldest mxtx novel outlets on tumblr to put yall on it..

my thumbs hurt from typing so im done now but if u have anymore questions PLEASE ASK IM SO DESPERATE TO TALK ABOUT ROTMHS ok byyyeeeeeeee

#rotmhs #rotbb #return of the blossoming blade #return of the mount hua sect

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nocturnesmoon · 5 months

Text

And if you die, I wanna die with you

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader Word count: 4.8k Tags: Angst, Hurt/No comfort, Heavy injuries, Flashbacks, Established relationship, Medical inaccuracies in terms of wounds and severity CW: Major character death, no happy ending, Canon Typical Violence A/N: ✨And if you go, i wanna go with you, and if you die, i wanna die with you, take your hand and walk away✨ (Read on Ao3) - "Would you still love me if i was a worm?" "Would you still love me if i was a Ghost?" -

The world is muted.

Completely muffled to your damaged ears, the aftershocks of the explosion were still fresh on your body. The sharp pain in your arm indicated most likely a broken bone, you couldn't even pinpoint where the rest of the screaming pain was coming from. Every little movement you tried to make send white hot pain through your skull.

"G- h…ost" you gasped for air, the sound of his callsign was supposed to be a yell, but it fell only on a whisper. You tried to look around, to locate the person you needed to see, but everything in your line of sight was rubble and debris, a distant fire and smoke. Each agonizing second that passed taunting you with the fact he wasn't responding.

You slowly raised yourself upwards, moving every limb that wasn't broken and supporting yourself against the ruined wall you had been pushed against. The air in your lungs stung, every breath you took reminding you of your state. You reach for your radio, trying to locate the box that should be strapped to your torso, but it was gone.

A groan bubbled up in your throat, it was hard to think when your own head felt like it was cracked wide open. You were rolling completely on barebones instincts, your only thought being to find him, to make sure he's okay.

You can still hear the occasional gunshots from somewhere else, everything is dampened, as if cotton has been stuffed in your ears. The probability of hearing damage becomes a much scarier reality the more you get back in tune with your senses.

You push it into the back of your mind, it's not important right now, it's a probability you can process later. The wall behind you is half crumbled down, too much pressure makes it threaten to spill right over you. You push against it, slowly raising yourself up to standing once again, your knees barely wanted to obey your internal commands. Everything in your body was delayed, your body wasn't listening to you.

Even as you commanded your arms to shield your fall, they weren't fast enough when your knees buckled under you and you faceplanted right into the dirt once again. "F- uck" you groaned, you didn't want to let the fear take hold, but you could feel its cold hands clawing at your ankles. Your eyes honed in on the rubble of debris in the corner, the place he'd pushed you away from in the last second.

One arm in front of the other your clawed at the ground, wincing at the feeling of your broken nails. In slow motions you began to move, crawling across the room that now felt so much larger. You still couldn't fathom that he had pushed you out of the way, you should've taken the fall, but he took your place.

It wasn't supposed to go like this whatsoever, he wasn't supposed to take your place, he was never supposed to take your place in danger. Air eludes you, making you gasp and sputter as you reach the mountain of broken ceiling and furniture.

"Simon…" you rasp hoping that he somehow could hear your strained voice from wherever he was. There was no response, only the muffled sound of the blearing wind, the distant fight and the screaming in your own mind. You caught sight of your bloodied hand, latched onto a chunk of the debris as you did your best to pull, you couldn't help the shaking, the innate fear that he might never respond.

Some of the stone and dirt trickle off, the piece pulls aside, and you notice the small critters crushed underneath. Some bugs you can't name, a roach that almost made it out. A worm, half its body mashed to liquid and other half still wiggling in desperate search of escape.

"Would you still love me if I was a worm?"

Simon looks up from his phone, a little caught off guard by the sudden intrusion of the silence. "Seriously?" he asks unimpressed, not having expected you to throw him that question of all things. He rolled his shoulders back, working out the tensing that had formed from laying at such an awkward angle in the bed.

"C'mon answer the question!" you swatted his arm, inching closer to him as you waited for his answer, "Would you love me if I was a worm?". You rolled onto your stomach and leaned closer to him, propping yourself up on your elbows and placing your chin in the palm of your hand.

"No"

You let out an exaggerated gasp of offence, "Why not?" you moved yourself even closer so you could place your head on his stomach, angling your body sideways in his bed. He sighed and put his phone away, his eyes flickering to you and giving you his undivided attention.

"Cause you'd be a worm, I'd probably crush you by accident" he gently ran a hand through your hair, rubbing his calloused fingers over your scalp. Your eyes fluttered from the sensation, the feeling of goosebumps going down your back.

Still, you manage to let out scoff in mock offence, "Mean." You pout and turn your body to lay on your back again, ignoring the way Simon fakes the sound of being crushed under your weight. You've seen him carry another soldier the size of himself, he would be fine.

He keeps his hand resting on your head, gently nudging you a little further up so you weren't laying it directly on his stomach. "Would you still love me if i was a Ghost?" he asks, countering your own silly question with one of his own. You raised a brow at that, curious that he was now indulging you in your sappy feelings.

"An actual ghost?"

"Yeah"

You turned your head to watch the curling smile on his lips, how you'd love to kiss the teasing grin right off. You blow out air through your nose, your shoulders jolting just a little in amusement. The question didn't sound like it needed a serious answer, it was obviously just a ploy on his own callsign. Yet you were out to annoy him right back, so you gave it some serious thought.

"Yeah, I think I would," you say with a grin on your face, "I mean I know you'd always watch over me." His smirk widens at your answer, looking at you as if he didn't quite believe your sentiment. "Even if I couldn't see you, I'd love the fuck out of your ghost," you roll your body again, letting out a satisfied huff when you settle atop of him, and he starts complaining again.

You always knew it wasn't serious, his complaining amounting to nothing because instead of pushing you right off he pulls you closer. Cuddling you tight as he mumbles his complaints in your ear, while you can still hear the teasing smirk on his lips.

Your mouth feels like it's full of sand, the dry heat stirs your discomfort to a new level. The sting in your eyes is no longer from the impact, and you bite back on your tongue to muffle a cry. A cry for him to hear, the one only he could soothe, the ache only he knew how to quell.

A newfound strength burrowed itself in your bones from your agony, the drive to pull chunk after chunk. Every little piece brought you closer and closer to your goal, to something that was terrifyingly far away. Every piece hurt; every stone made your hands bleed even more. Every new area uncovered that didn't show sign of him festered in your heart, every moment you didn't find him stabbed a knife into your wretched heart.

Your own lungs couldn't contain you, the need to scream his name bubbled up and was just barely suppressed when you saw that familiar glove. The one you had studied in your own hand time and time again, the hand it usually encompassed wasn't there. His skeleton gloves having been pulled off during the tumble. Your own shaking hands grab it and hold it close to your chest, it was full of dirt and blood, the bone markings ripped, and some parts were even peeling off.

You quickly pocketed the gloves, intent on giving them back to him as soon as you both got out of here. They meant a lot to him, even if it was for silly reasons, he always wore them, they were his. The mountain of rocks felt like an impossible task, but he had to be here, you had to get to him quick.

There was no way to know what kind of state he was in, but guessing from your own injuries his would be even worse. The cold dread started to form in the pits of your stomach, you wanted to throw up. This was never supposed to happen to either of you, you were supposed to be invincible, you were supposed to be able to protect each other from harm.

That was the problem, he had protected you from harm, in the one moment where you wished he didn't. You removed another piece of debris and felt your heart spike in your throat. His hand was covered in a layer of grey dust, his blood coating a thin streak right over his palm. You felt your panic take hold, the creeping fear now sinking its cold teeth into your back.

Piece after piece after piece is removed in a haste, and you let out a cry of frustration when some of it tumbles in the wrong direction. You uncover his arm; the fabric of his shirt is torn but you no longer pay attention to the extent of the damage. The rest of the rubble covering him is easily removed, and you settle next to him, frantically searching his body for wounds before checking his lucidity.

His mask is torn in half, his balaclava ruined and giving a view of the bruises underneath. You choke back on a sob, seeing the mangled state he was in sent spikes straight into your heart. "No no no," you move your shaking hands to his face, gently sliding his mask fully off so you could cradle his face.

Tears filled your eyes making it hard to see, what was right in front of you. You tried to gently shake him, while trying to hold back what would become hysterical sobbing. He wasn't moving, you couldn't see if he was breathing, he wasn't responding. "No no no! You can't leave me, i can't do this without you!" you cried out for him, "Simon!"

"I can't do this without you" you sobbed, your pouring tears mixing with the downfall of rain. It was all too climactic, too cheesy and movie like, you hated it more than anything, because the pain in your heart didn't feel like when you watched those movies. This was real, and it held unfathomable power over you, a single person’s answer being able to either make the rain stop or tear your world in half.

He stood in front of you motionless, he looked something akin to a statue in the darkness. You desperately wished he would be more expressive, at least for you, at least in this moment. His clothes were soaked through, his balaclava sticking uncomfortably to his face no doubt. You had no idea how long he had been out here waiting for you.

"I don't want to do this without you Simon," you pleaded with him, "I know you said it wouldn't end well, and that my feelings would pass but i know they won't." You spoke pathetically through your tears, you wanted to scream at him, blame him for getting you into this but you knew it wasn't just his fault. You were just as much to blame, for the developing of your feelings.

It had started off as a simple arrangement, something to get both of your frustrations out after missions. However, it quickly developed into so much more, you had promised each other to keep it on a tight leash, to not let it become more than that. You both knew after that first night that it wouldn't be possible to keep it from running loose.

"I love you."

Your eyes were desperately searching him, looking for anything that could be deciphered as an answer. He drove you crazy, every single part of his existence drove you to that line of madness. A love, an obsession, a devotion so strong it was breaking you to know he didn't want to feel the same.

"I don't want to just forget about you, i want you, all of you," you continued, consciously glancing away as you couldn't take his piercing stare anymore. "I want us to be together, to grow together, to die together," you feel the cracks in your voice get worse, "I know you said we shouldn't fall in love, but i want to love you SimMmh-"

You feel his rough lips crash unto yours, forcing you to step backwards in shock but he would only follow. In all your years knowing him, you never understood how he moved so much muscle so effortlessly, and so quietly, nonetheless. You hadn't even noticed how he had bolted forward in the middle of your grand speech, how he had ripped off his balaclava and exposed his hair to the rain.

You only felt how his lips moved feverishly against your own, how his hands grabbed your face and waist and pulled you closer. His grip was strong, there was no escape even though you didn't even want one. You move in sync with him, feeling his caressing tongue, his digging fingers, and his soft groan. He kissed you like you were the only person in the world.

"You're a bloody fool" he whispered against your lips, resting his forehead against yours as you pulled in air. "To not see how much I love you too, how fuckin' enamored I am with you," his dark brown eyes stare straight into your own, "Don't you understand just how much I would do for you? It scares me to love you, because I know I would do anything you'd ever ask of me, I’d give you my heart, my soul, I’d tear my own flesh if you wished it of me."

You stared back in shock, taking in his words like were they priced possessions you would never get again, "I just want to be with you, I don't want to be alone anymore". You couldn't tell what was rain and what was tears on your wet cheeks anymore, but the way he held you, so carefully wiping tear and rain away, like you might break if he moved the wrong way did things to your heart.

"Then that's what we'll do, no more hiding from each other" he whispered close to you, the overpowering sound of pattering rain deafening the world around you. Creating a bubble of safety that consisted just of two, "You'll never have to be alone again".

The sound of his rasp cough made you jerk your hands away from him. In one quick motion your wiped away the tears that blurred your vision so you could focus on him. He looked so pale, his eyes half lidded as he slowly moved his head.

"Oh god, oh my god Simon, why did you do that!" you can't help your outburst and the tears that come along with it, you shake him not thinking of his injuries, "You can't just do that!" A weak hand gently grazed your arm to make you stop.

"E- Easy" he struggled to get his words out, he was no doubt still adjusting to the disorienting feeling. The hollow look in his eyes terrified you, and you quickly grabbed his hand squeezing it tight in your own.

"Simon, you're…" your teeth sink into your own lip, you hadn't checked the extent of his injuries, you hadn't checked where he was bleeding or if it was all blunt. Your eyes scan him but it's hard to see in the darkness, his black gear and attire blending in with the grey shadows engulfing you both.

You feel him trying to squeeze you back, but the force is so feint, if you didn't know any better you'd think there's no intent behind it. "M…okay…" his voice is so quiet in your ears, even more muffled than the rest of the world around you.

"No no you’re not!" you have no idea whether you’re shouting or screaming or crying, it's probably a mix of all three. Your free hand starts moving around his torn clothes, pushing it aside to get a look at the scratches and cuts on his body. Your eyes fall to his stomach, the place where his shirt is clamping to something wet.

Your heart catches in your throat and you choke out a pathetic noise. You didn't want to raise his shirt, you already knew what you would find, but you didn't want to know what it would mean for you right now. "Hey…" his voice sounded so solemn, as if he already knew, as if he already had it figured out how it would end.

"S'ok…" he mumbled quietly, trying to squeeze against your hand. He sounded almost floaty, the pain going through him must be immense, enough to mess with his head if the fall didn't do it. "B- Breathe darling…need you to stay strong, okay?" you hadn't even noticed the way you were starting to panic again.

You never understood how he did it, how he managed to stay so calm during such crucial situations. You were good at keeping a level head in most types of life-threatening situations, but this was different, too different. "Why did you do that? Why did you push me away," you bite down on your tongue intentionally, now desperately wishing you had a better control over your emotions.

"M'always gonna push you away from the danger," he says quietly, a smile that was barely visible resting on his lips. "It's what we agreed wasn't it?" his hand gently comes up to graze your cheek, the weak nature of his shaking hand only made you cry harder.

"Not like this, it wasn't supposed to be like this," You cup his hand that's resting against your cheek. His thumb gently vibes away the falling tears, and you feel the way it runs over a bruise. It hurts but it's nothing like the ache in your heart.

"And you?" he asked quietly, the soft glow of the cigarette bud illuminating him in the night, "Would you give your life f'mine?" The conversation had come up during your nightly ramblings, going over everything and nothing, however the mood strikes.

"Without hesitation," you say determinedly, reaching out to grab the cigarette from him so you could take a puff. "I'd trade my life for yours any day" you tell him again after your drag. He looks at you with an amused glint in his eyes.

"No hesitation, huh?" he leans back against the wall behind him, watching your expression as he contemplates it. "I think, if it came down to it, I’d be okay with dying if it was with you" he says after a moment of thought, he takes the cigarette back and flicks off the gathering ash.

"Hmm" your noise of disagreement wasn't lost on him; you move in front of him walking into his space and staring at him with narrowed eyes. "Yeah, but you're not dying" you say and press a finger against his chest, almost accusatorily.

He lets out a scratchy chuckle, clearing his throat before returning your stare in an amused way. "Not planning on it anytime soon sweetheart" he takes your hand in his own before bringing it to his lips, "How could I ever let you be alone like that."

"I know…I know," he hates the sound of your cries, it feels worse than the blearing pain his stomach. "Love…are you injured?" every word he speaks becomes harder and harder to force out. His body isn't working with him, and he despite how much he doesn't want to accept it, he knows it's no use. His only chance now is making you realize you need to get out of here.

"No….yes…..I…fuck.." it's hard to think when it feels like everything you ever cared about is on the line. "I'm okay…I’ll live…" he nods slowly in response, his eyes clenching shut as he bites back on a groan of pain. He knows what he's about to ask of you is gonna cause undesired feelings to stir within you, he doesn't even know if he can convince you, but he has to.

"Listen to me darling," your eyes snap to his droopy ones, he envied your awareness, "You need to survive….you need to go." Your eyebrows furrow, a frown falling onto your lips as you realize what he's asking you to do.

When you just think the situations, severity couldn't dawn on your harder, it does. Your stomach churns with nausea, a million different scenarios going through your head to think it through, but it all boils down to it, there's no way you can get him out of here.

"No no wait just let me think I can…" you rub your hands frantically over your face, trying to force some sort of epiphany to happen in your brain. The one thing that could save you both, anything that would not have you leave him here to die. "Shit, your radio, do you still have it? Mine broke doing my fall but if yours…" you move his shredded gear around to look for a sign of his radio.

You had no idea whether the radio would even work out here, it was a likely scenario that there is some kind of jammer up by now. But if there's even a sliver of hope, a small chance you could call for evac, or backup, or anyone, you'd take it. There was no way you were carrying him out here on your own.

All you had to do was find his radio, and pray it wasn't crushed under the debris.

"Darling…darling no….stop" he tries to catch your frantic hands, but his movements are too slow to do it before you move them to a new place. It's as if he can feel his own heart start to slow, every single second that passes he knows it's just a few more until he'll close his eyes. "Stop," his authoritative tone is so different on your ears, but it still makes you listen like a spellbound command.

The radio is nowhere to be found, in bits and pieces alongside most of his other gear. Crushing the hope, you had along with it, taking your final chance at saving him right out of your grip. It makes you freeze faster than any of his commands ever has done before.

He presses you to his chest, successfully maneuvering you into an awkward position that's halfway into his lap. The fall he took when the debris crushed him from above, left him in a weird almost sitting position.

You latch onto him, angling your hands to put pressure on the wound hiding beneath his shirt. You desperately wish it would help, as if by some comedic divine intervention would heal his wound and you could go on home. That if you just believed hard it enough then maybe this wouldn't be happening to you or to him.

"S'ok, s'gonna be okay love."

The cough that escapes his lips betrays his words of assurance; you look up from your place against his chest. Red blood smears down his chin, indicating of how little time you could have left. You don't want him to go, there's still so much you want to do with him, this isn't how it was supposed to end.

"M'gonna marry you someday," he mumbled sleepily into the crook of your neck. He was heavy on top of you, all of his weight relaxed unto your body and giving you the grounding, you needed. A long time ago he would be worried he would crush you, now he relishes in the feeling of relief he can give you, and the soft scalp scratches he gets for it.

"What?" you ask dumbfounded, it had been total silence between the two of you. You had been sure he had been asleep in all honesty, and then his voice rumbles out. Not just catching you off guard by him being half-awake, but the nature of the statement aswell.

"M'gonna get you a wedding ring, n' m'gonna marry you," he continues his mumbled rambling. You wonder if he even knows he's telling you this, if he's in that state between awake and sleep, his walls of defenses completely gone as you hold him.

If it was possible to have hearts for pupils, that's probably what'd you look like in this moment. So drunk off of his love, and he wasn't even awake to witness it. "You want to marry me?" you had already gotten your answer, but you wanted to hear it again, and again and again. Right up until that fated moment at the altar when you would finally hear the words.

"I do"

"M'sorry I couldn't marry you," his shaking hand cradles your face as you cry into his chest, using all the strength he has left to comfort you and assure you. Despite the way he's starting to dip in and out of consciousness.

The engagement ring, hanging in the chain you wear under all your gear, normally safely nestled against your chest, now burned like a thousand suns against your flesh. The promise that was supposed to be fulfilled a year from now, the promise of something better, a future in each other’s arms no matter what the world would throw at you.

"I can still see it, the little cabin we would retire to, the animals you'd insist on keeping, our nights spent on a porch watching a sunset"

"Please…Si…"

His smile is crooked, the blood coating his dried and dusted lips hurts to look at. It's not supposed to be there, it's not supposed to be his. Everything you had promised him would fade into dust, every little whisper of something better would mean nothing. Your relationship falling into the dark corners of your memory.

"It's gonna be okay….we'll…see each other again….I'll always watch over you…remember…" he tries to cheer you up, to lessen the impact he knows his inevitable demise will have on you. He can see it in your face, the betrayal and hurt, the uncertainty and pure devastation. "C'mon, lemme see that beautiful smile," he urges you.

When you don't comply he tries to do a dramatic pout, mimicking your own behavior in an argument with him. You can't decide if you appreciate his less serious side in this moment, you don't know how to feel yourself.

"C'mon," he says again, "Why don't blind folk skydive? Cause it'd scare the shit out of their dogs." The joke is old, used, but it's so him you can't help the small smile that tugs on your lips. "There it is, that gorgeous smile," he mirrors it, smiling brighter through the pain in hopes of you doing the same.

"Simon," there's a longing in your voice, the look in your eye so full of sadness it doesn't even escape your smile. He knows what you’re thinking, all the inevitabilities that'll happen after this moment. How desperately he wishes he could be there for you, that he could do something, anything to alleviate the situation.

The calm acceptance is already rolling through his brain, his quiet thoughts preparing him for the darkness his mind is slowly pulling him towards. You come impossibly closer to him, soaking up to him and taking every moment as the last. Your forehead gently rests against his, and he takes initiative himself to taste your lips one final time.

It's a slow agonizing kiss, every thought, every emotion, every promise is poured into it. His lips connected with yours, allowing you peek at his mind, his darkest fears becoming a frightening reality that you're going to be left with.

"I love you"

He holds you close for a long time, and you stay even longer. Even when his arms slowly go lax around you, even as his eyes close, even as his movements seizes. You don't find it in yourself to let him go, even as his body goes cold and his last breath is exhaled. You stay in his cold embrace, his name falling from your lips in silent prayer. A prayer directed to anyone that could hear you, that they might give back your lost love.

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