#FUCKING FEVER DREAMS

[katabay]

ONCE UPON A TIME, THERE WAS A KNIGHT...

the visual inspiration for this was a combination of Frederic William Burton's Meeting on the Turret Stairs and also Bernardo Cavallino's The vision of St. Dominic receiving the Rosary from the Virgin

this was supposed to be just a one off illustration to get the thoughts out of my system, but then I started thinking about medieval politics and warfare and plagues and a castle and home as both a place of refuge, a prison, and a tomb, so perhaps they will end up as ex voto characters as well.

you may say, hey! that rosary looks like it has too many beads! it's a fifteen decade rosary, probably. dominicans are really into marian devotions. it works out.

also. spiral style stair cases. oh boy. it was that unexpectedly more difficult than I originally thought it would be to draw. the more I think about it, the less I understand them, even though I had a million photos of the stairs in front of me while I was drawing it.

⭐ I have a tip jar (ko-fi)!

⭐ and other places I’m at! bsky / pixiv / pillowfort /cohost / cara.app

#the economy and my bank account are in shambles and i ended up stress drawing this whole thing in one go #its so many lines. the next time i draw this. because i will be revisiting this composition. i want to use a different inking brush #i think. but the next time i draw this it will be with solid blacks on the stair case steps i think #hey here's a fun fact for those of you who aren't catholic. did you know that kissing the ring of the pope/a cardinal/etc #grants you an indulgence. cardinals also used to kiss the pope on the mouth. also foot and hand iirc. anyway #there are no cardinals in this drawing but im saying if you write medieval/renaissance smut about men of the cloth #you can really amp up the friction between holy and seductive with a lot of the (gestures vaguely) that. #actually another fun fact about cardinals. their fun sun hat (it's called a galero) has some fucking weird as hell fever dream (literally) #origin lore. so if seductive isn't your thing. the horror of a thing that you wear is also extremely fun #esp when you get into medieval gender performances of clothes and how they define a person etc #generic medieval tag #original tag

[lotus-pear]

lore accurate chuuya canonically drives a 2006 sparkly barbie motorcycle

#for the love of god someone pls take away my artist privileges #this came to me in a fever dream except i wasn't actually sick just delusional #the pink leather jacket was a gift from kouyou for his sixteenth birthday and he's obliged to wear it everytime he takes the motorcycle out #dazai finds it absolutely fucking hilarious and probably takes blackmail photos except you can't blackmail a bad bitch like chuuya so #every time you open his photos he's probably the only one getting embarrassed bc it's all pics of his partner👹 #anyway he looks so bbygirl in pink i wish he changed his outfit for smth other than official art #but alas #bungou stray dogs #bungo stray dogs #nakahara chuuya #chuuya nakahara #lotus draws

[zvaigzdelasas]

Millions of solar panels are piling up in warehouses across the Continent because of a manufacturing battle in China, where cut-throat competition has driven the world’s biggest panel-makers to expand production far faster than they can be installed.

The supply glut has caused solar panel prices to halve. This sounds like great news for the EU, which recently pledged to triple its solar power capacity to 672 gigawatts by 2030. That’s roughly equivalent to 200 large nuclear power stations.

In reality, though, it has caused a crisis. Under the EU’s “Green Deal Industrial Plan”, 40pc of the panels to be spread across European fields and roofs were meant to be made by European manufacturers.

However, the influx of cheap Chinese alternatives means that instead of tooling up, manufacturers are pulling out of the market or becoming insolvent. Last year 97pc of the solar panels installed across Europe came from China.[...]

The best estimates suggest that about 90 gigawatts worth of solar panels are stashed around Europe. That solar power capacity roughly equates to 25 large nuclear power stations the size of Hinkley Point C.[...]

The sheer scale of the problem was revealed in a recent report from the International Energy Agency (IEA).

It warned that although the world was installing at record rates of around 400 gigawatts a year, manufacturing capacity was growing far faster.

By the end of this year solar panel factories, mostly in China, will be capable of churning out 1,100 gigawatts a year – nearly three times more than the world is ready [sic] for. For comparison, that’s about 11 times [!!!!] the UK’s entire generating capacity.

For some solar power installers, it’s a dream come true. Sagar Adani is building solar farms across India’s deserts, with 54 in operation and another 12 being built.

His company, Adani Green Energy, is constructing one solar farm so large that it will cover an area five times the size of Paris and have a capacity of 30 gigawatts – equal to a third of the UK’s entire generating capacity.

“I am installing tens of millions of solar panels across these projects,” says Adani. “Almost all of them will have been imported from China. There is nowhere else that can supply them in such numbers or at such prices.

“China saw the opportunity before others, it looked forward to what the world is going to set up 10 years on. And because they scaled up in the way they did, they were able to reduce costs substantially as well.”

That scaling up meant the capital cost of installing solar power fell from around £1.25m per megawatt of generating capacity in 2015 to around £600,000 today – a decrease of more than 50pc – making it cheaper than almost any other form of generation, including wind.[...]

“Up to 2012 there was a healthy looking European solar panel industry but it was actually very reliant on subsidies and preferential treatment.

“But then European governments and other customers started buying from China because their products were so much cheaper. And China still has cheap labour and cheap energy plus a massive domestic market. It’s hard to see Europe recovering from those disadvantages.”

Trying sososo hard to make this sound like a bad thing [23 Mar 24]

#sowwy ur nationalistic fever dream got outcompeted #free market innit #now shut up and install the fucking panels #shocking revelation: combatting a global problem isnt most efficiently done through local solutions #'we cant install that many' yeah you can lol #wheres that 'become an accompished scientist' meme

[chibiveneficus]

SCREAMS

#I FUCKING LOVE THIS SHOW!!!!!!! #GOOD FOR THEM #the fucking ending song playing fhgajjga #bang brave bang bravern spoilers #bang brave bang bravern #spoilers #this episode was very much like a fevered dream #i don't think i'll recover by next weeks episode tbh

[spn2006]

“supernatural doesnt have any good queer representation” did the gay couple that sam and dean saved who were cosplaying sam and dean together at the first ever supernatural convention mean NOTHING to you???

#that episode is a fucking fever dream so i understand if ppl forgot that that happened #but it did in fact happen #spn #supernatural #s5e9 #5x09 #the real ghostbusters #season five #sam winchester #dean winchester #chuck shurley #samdean #wincest #sam/dean #rambles

[sage-lights]

EVERYONE WAKE UP WAKE UP WAKE UP WHAT THE FUCKKKKKK

#shayne topp #courtney miller #smoshblr #shourtney #THIS IS A FUCKING FEVER DREAM #OMG I CANT BELIEVE THIS #I SWEAR TO GOD IF THIS IS A PRANK #I WILL CRY #brennan iketani #i was there man

[medeaaasworld]

Can't stop thinking about Nora saying that Jean is so much like Neil and so that if he spent more time with Andrew they'd get along well....

#tell me i didn't imagine that #if i did then it's the best fucking fever dream #can we talk more about josten&moreau similarities??? #andrew&jean friendship??? #kinda sorta #jean moreau #neil josten #andrew minyard #aftg #all for the game #the sunshine court #tsc #the foxhole court #the kings men #the raven king

[buckypascal]

Got to see and interact with Mando and Grogu at Disneyland and it was everything I've ever dreamed of 🥹😭

#hearing Pedro's lines that close was honestly a whole ass fever dream and it had me just 🫠🫠🫠🫠 #i straight up died when he looked at me with the helmet 💀 #talking to grogu was the best fucking thing in the whole world HIS LITTLE NOISES 😭😭😭😭 #the mandalorian #disneyland #star wars #grogu #din grogu #grogu djarin #din djarin #pedro pascal #galaxys edge

[mikrotyalm13]

there could be grammatical errors here 'm sorry i wrote this at like 2am. there's a pretty brief mention of fingering but overall vague description of getting hot'n'bothered & dicked down while watching at yourself through the eyes of a godly creature in a form of a.. i dunno? hypnosis? anyways have fun :З

he hovers over you in the deafening silence of the empty room, his palms holding your face. the eyes on his little wings slowly roll back and close as the feathers twitch faintly... the sight would be haunting for anyone else, but not for you. finally, he bares his countenance and whispers:

"let me into your mind."

and with a simple nod of your head, you let him in. you let him see through your eyes, and in return, he lets you see through his own. he loves to get inside your head, making you watch how he gets you worked up. your mind already left your body by now, but you can still see and feel yourself. even if there's not a single though in your head, just a white noise in the background, you can still feel how he presses his whole body against yours while his hands roam all over your smaller frame. it's suffocating, yet somehow hypnotizing.

you know you're not helpless right now, you can snap back to reality at any point. he doesn't want to overwhelm you too much or do something you wouldn't be comfortable with. but you choose to sink deeper anyway, further into his touch, allowing yourself to be vulnerable and exposed to the creature before you.

he takes it slow at first, allows you to watch how he stretches your pretty cunt with his fingers. the look on your face, combined with your dilated pupils, was so feverishly mesmerising. timid, but so shameless and obvious in expressing your own desires and needs, you writhe weakly on your bed, lips parted in a silent plea that doesn't go unnoticed by gavriil.

by the time he's done with you and carefully leaves your conscience, he's already admiring you from above again. your hair, now messy and tangled, your flushed, sweat-soaked skin. there's nothing more pleasing to him than helping you come back down from your high. as if it wasn't him who stripped you away from every bit of your guilt and shame, ravaging you so intensely immediately afterwards, he gazed at your face with such an affectionate look in his eyes. everything about you felt so raw and real to him.

everything felt right.

#microtya's kids #just out there. casually fucking the unknown #i imagine it would feel like a massive fever dream idk #or a home video. but you know. with skipping the step of actually recording it #this idea is two years old btw #oh gods i'm thrusting over my character non stop for over two years #yeah i'm not getting a gf any time soon. #monsterfucker #monster fucker #monster x human #monster boyfriend #monster lover #monster smut #teratophillia #god x human #he's more of an annoying prick than a god imma be honest

[pencap]

they warned me that i cannot want you. mother told me wanting you would get me hurt. father told me wanting you would get me scarred. you told me wanting you would get me killed.

foolish heart, do you think i do not know? i have known from the moment that i laid eyes upon you and the devouring void in my chest woke up and named itself wanting and stretched and stretched and never stopped stretching that you would be the death of me.

foolish heart, i am not afraid.

it was always going to get me killed, this life of mine this life of yours this life of ours. and if you are going to be the death of me ( you are, you are, you are ) i would rather die for wanting you than die for hating you. i would rather die for the hope of having you than die for the fear of having you.

be my sun, my winds, my ocean and i will make myself icarus and i will find my joy in your blinding light and i will find my freedom in your touch and i will find my death in your waiting arms.

and you can melt me down like a candle under the flame or you can cast me about like a leaf in the skies or you can swallow me whole like a memory.

i will still be yours and wanting and wanting and wanting.

#spilled ink #poets on tumblr #poems on tumblr #writeblr #writers on tumblr #poetics #i feel like i wrote this in a fever dream #barely actually remember writing it #been in my drafts for a while finally remembered to clean it up and post #i am back to my “fuck titles” phase once more

[f1xmeinfortyfive]

I wanna publicly thank /saturdaystardust on TikTok for having nerves of steel and delivering the most amazing shot of Pavlove last night

#i'm still in disbelief about what happened yesterday #feels like a fever dream tbh #what the fuck #fall out boy #patrick stump #pete wentz #joe trohman #andy hurley #fob #so much (for) stardust #so much for stardust #so much for (tour) dust #so much for tour dust #smfs #fob8 #tourdust spoilers #stardust era #pavlove #folie a deux

[alohaasaloevera]

Pidge and Lance reading Reddit stories:

Pidge: Wait, look at this one

Lance: Ok, ok— “My friend keeps trying to imitate the “I’m feeling romantical” meme when we meet up, and I feel very uncomfortable. What should I do?”

Pidge: Wait wait wait what’s the first reply?

*Lance scrolls to the first reply*

Hang up on your computer call, and come and kiss him on his hot mouth

OP: Noted.

*they burst into laughter*

Lance: What if it’s Keith?

Pidge: What?

Lance: Y’know, because you dared me to say that to him for a month?

Pidge: Good point. But that was half a year ago, and this post was just a week ago. So unless…

Lance: …

Pidge: Oh my fucking quiznak, how long have you been doing this?

Lance: I…haven’t stopped.

Pidge: LANCE?!

Lance: You still haven’t figured out if it’s Keith or not!

Pidge: It says here that…cryptids, other stuff, knife— ok, yeah, it’s definitely Keith.

Lance: Shit. I’m screwed.

Pidge: I thought you’d like that?

Lance: Go to hell.

*the sound of a key turning in a lock can be heard from where they are sitting, promptly scaring the shit out of them*

Pidge: I guess we have to find out. *pushes Lance to the door*

Lance: WAITWAIT NO—

*the door opens, revealing none other than Keith.*

Keith: Huh?

Lance: I’m feeling romantical—

Keith: Shit. *kisses him straight on the lips*

Lance: *pulls away* So it was you!

Keith: What?

Lance: The askReddit??? Red_The—

Keith: Oh. OH! You saw that!?

Lance: YEAH I DID?? WHY DID YOU EVEN LISTEN TO THAT PERSON’S ADVICE??

Keith: MAYBE BECAUSE I WANTED TO KISS YOU??

Pidge: What?

Lance: What??

Keith: What???

*the two stare into each other’s eyes longingly, before they crash together and make increasingly more graphic sounds as Pidge just watches in a state of pure horror*

Pidge: Why the fuck did we even get chosen to be Voltron Paladins?

#Pidge: oh my fucking fuck #aloe vera does it again guys #she did the thing where she makes a fever dream #shitpost #voltron shitpost #voltron #vld #vld lance #vld keith #lance mcclain #keith kogane #klance #laith #incorrect quotes

[rocketrouquine]

The way they gave us these 3 first episodes is actually so satisfying because I feel like I got a whole season already with all this shit happening (especially with this ending) and now I’ll have to wait several months (or a year or more) in a brain rot to know/see what’s next. But, wait ! Actually NO, that’s next week and I just SQUEEEEEEE !

#ofmd #our flag means death #ofmd s2 #ofmd season 2 #ofmd spoilers #our flag means death season 2 #there was SO MUCH going on #i was going up and down on the couch like fucking Tom cruise at Oprah’s #my husband was silently judging me #he was also loving this don’t get me wrong #but the level I was at was unprecedented #i mean I had to pause and rewind several times because I didn’t hear or saw something properly #or because I was talking #or SCREAMING #like Ed’s fever dream and stede talking to him to make him come back I was shouting THAT WAS MY THEORY OMAGAD #and the whole ass beginning dream sequence when I was THEY’RE GUVING US FANFICTION THEY’RE FUCKING TROLLING US #but it was the good trolling because they gave us EVERYTHING instead of mocking us and giving us nothing #i need to rewatch this at least 50 times for the next days to come #fucking mermaid #he IS a fucking mermaid

[flowercrowngods]

knightmærs

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

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

princemær

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*** 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His Prince would never. Stevie could never. 

And yet. 

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

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

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

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

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

“Eddie.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*** 

Torture does come, but not from his Prince. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You are but a pawn in this, Kas.” 

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

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

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

***

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

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

The Prince never comes. 

*** 

The third sun rises and finds Kas a broken man. 

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

He… 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Any last wish?” 

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

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

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

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

So, does he have any last wish? 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I love you. And I forgive you.” 

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

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

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

[chronicowboy]

i'm sorry but i actually cannot get over do more. like just. buck's the loud one, the one that digs through forty feet of mud whilst screaming, the one that yells at you to hang on as he army crawls towards you in an active shooter situation. eddie's the quiet one, the one that locks everything away so he can work, the one that disassociates as soon as his job is done. but when eddie is rolled into the hospital, buck freezes and when mehta asks him if he's okay he can only whisper a broken no. then when buck is rolled into the hospital, eddie goes to follow and shouts a desperate do more after the doctors promise to do their best for him. do you understand?

#sami rambles #i actually cannot do this #was the do more real? like was that actually real? i didn't imagine it? #did i manifest it into existence or is it another mass hallucination fever dream? #fuck someone HELP ME #i hate this show #911 show #911 spoilers #911 fox #evan buckley #eddie diaz #buck x eddie #buddie

[dootznbootz]

Odysseus runs so much but it's always to or for Penelope. But he stays put once with her.

I'm fucking losing it. I'm not fucking coherent but skldfj

I plan to write Penelope thinking Odysseus isn't serious about her, despite the fact that he's never been more serious about anything else in his life. She's thinking "We're both tricksters. He's known for his cruel rejections, he's probably just excited about the chase more than me."

But he waits for her response. He made his desires clear. He wants to marry her.

He runs for her. Against her father so then they could marry. BUT THEN THERE'S NO OTHER CHASE FOR HIM; he has all he's wanted. He has his wife, his son, and his kingdom. He only runs to pick up and save their son from the plow. From then on he's always rushing and racing. Practically cutting corners with war crimes to just finish the war. To get it done so then he could go HOME.

EVEN WHILE RACING DURING PATROCLUS' FUNERAL GAMES, HOMER WRITES A NOD TOWARDS PENELOPE. She's the weaver!

(Book 23, Johnston)

Then he runs again. This time from island to island, monster to monster, enemy to enemy. Even held by force or fear, he wants to go home.

I know he's seen as a wanderer at heart but no, he has a fucking destination that he wants to go to. THAT'S why he runs. He will not move from their palace where his love takes root. His bed, his love, his life, is rooted there. He will always return to his roots.

#I'm going insane. I doubt this fucking makes sense but lskfj d #Don't fucking talk about the Tele-GONE-y. That's a fever dream and not real. #Is it bad to go insane about your own fic? Because I was writing it and then this fucking hit me and now I'm nuts. #Mad rambles #shot by odysseus #essay #<- kind of??? #odypen #penelope #odysseus #epic the musical #odyssey #tagamemnon #greek mythology #iliad #chewing on electrical cords