the cw/tw is a given i’m afraid

there’s still remnants of you

if you look in the right places

it’s in your brain

your bones

it’s made a home

and it will grow

spread

you don’t have long

or you might have infinity

it can’t be determined as friend or foe

it’s a waiting game

Your first name +

gets down on one knee

a gifset of planet facts because i rlly love space!!

every three months he'll post and in the author's note there's some shit like "sorry this took a while, i got shot seven times :/" or "i know it's been a minute, i literally got hit by a bus and then stabbed in the leg, but i'm all good!" or sometimes ned would log in and post with a note "hey i'm a friend posting on the author's behalf, they're healing from severe hypothermia but promised an update, so here it is!"

and the fic just gets increasingly more popular for the author notes alone. a good handful of the comments are something along the lines of "i'm not even in the star wars fandom, i'm just here to see if the author is good" or "every update i cheer for another day the author gets to live at this point"

and any reader who is a native new yorker kind of pieces together that holy shit the author might be spider-man because the timeline adds up, and they just fully embrace it. spider-man will stop a robbery and the guy behind the counter will ask when the next chapter will be up. spider-man returns a stolen backpack to a girl and she'll tell him that he "really got poe's voice down so well, it's really impressive."

ned thinks it is hilarious. mj finds out about the fic from twitter, to peter's absolute horror, and changes peter's contact name to "friendly neighborhood ao3 author". but the worst thing to happen is after an avengers battle where peter took a pretty big hit and ends up in med-bay. and during a press conference, when someone asks how spider-man is healing, tony just drops "spidey won't be down for too long. the star wars fic will be updated within the week, probably."

Something happens with Whumpee and they do what little best they can until someone better and gentler can come see about them, but they finally arrive they don't understand why Whumpee clings to them or begs them to still stay.

They don't see the gentleness inherent to the very core of their soul as they try to blot away the heat of the fever with a damp cloth or the way they tuck the bedclothes around whumpee's shaking form.

They only hear the rasp of disuse in their voice, not the patience in each repetition of assuring whumpee's safety or the earnest care as they offer each sip of water.

They call it merely a duty of care to knead out the sharp cramps and dull aches of the fever, to brew the tea, to sit up the night. To read aloud, to hold their hand.

feverish characters moaning and thrashing around, soaked in sweat and entangling themselves in their sheets

feverish characters shivering violently in warm rooms

feverish characters delirious and terrified while their caretakers desperately try to calm them down

feverish characters not realizing how sick they are until it’s too late