#cw: medical ailment

[snarp]

Countries where the medical industry NEVER bothers to hire technical artists

and it's ALWAYS just fucking improperly-angled photos taken in a public restroom in Silent Hill, UNLESS they got someone out of Plato's Fucking Cave who has never seen ITEMS before to try and fucking TRACE said photos:

United States

UK

Canada

India

The implication is clear: the UK hates technical artists specializing in the medical field and so systematically eliminated them in all their colonies, ironically dooming all English speakers to die of some kind of misapplied ointment accident. This will happen by 2046. We're fucked.

[that-is-just-so-typically-me]

I was skimming a paragraph and read the words “medicine paste” as “medicinal pasta” and I just had the best idea

[ellecdc]

He Shoots & He Scores

hockey player!James Potter x team medic!reader who finds a diagnosis for James [1.9k words]

a/n: a little imagining from a while back with the queen of au's @maladaptiveescapism [who's going to be abandoning (kidding/affectionate) me soon to write her own fics 😭😭]

CW: fem!reader, swearing/cursing, James worried about making work weird for everyone, Remus being a little shit

James rapped his knuckles twice against the door to your office before gently pushing the door open, his smile faltering when he spotted Remus leaning his hip against your desk as he looked over a file in one hand as he took a bite from an apple held in his other. 

“This is getting embarrassing, Potts.” Remus offered with a snort as uncrossed his ankles and stood up straight. 

“I have no clue what you’re talking about.” James offered as primly as he could manage as he peered back down the hallway he just entered from in hopes of spotting you. 

“No?” Remus taunted. “Something I can help you with then? Or do you need to see the doctor?”

“Fuck off.” James let out, halfway between a laugh and a moan as he shoved at Remus’ arm playfully. 

“Why don’t you just tell her you have a crush on her and get it over with?” Remus asked as he returned to perch on the desk and mirrored James’ posture as they both waited for you to return - though Remus was gracious enough not to comment (a second time) on the fact that he knew James to be doing just that. 

“Because she’s my doctor.”

“She’s the team’s doctor.” Remus corrected as he took another bite of his apple. “And I believe her proper title is medic if you wanted to get into the nitty gritty.” 

“But isn’t that weird? To be crushing on your team medic?”

“Oh it absolutely is.” Remus agreed readily, causing James to groan miserably. 

“I don’t want to make her uncomfortable.” He muttered. 

“Well all this pining and finding bad excuses to spend time with her is making me uncomfortable. Ever think about that?”

“I swear to fucking god, Lupin, nothing works around here except for us.” They heard you mutter before either of them could continue in their conversation; James standing quickly at attention and Remus snorting at his expense. 

“Oh shit, sorry captain.” You offered James with a smirk that was equal parts teasing and bashful as you looked up at him briefly from the tablet in your hands. “I know you players aren’t used to hearing such profanity.” 

James let out a quick bark of nervous laughter that startled even himself before turning to look at Remus with an expression that he hoped screamed ‘holy fucking shit help me’.

“Please,” Remus cut in, answering James’ prayers, “did you hear that string Black came up with last game?” 

You snorted as you tapped a few more times at the iPad that was apparently causing you issues. “What was it again? Uhm, ‘son of a fucking cocksucking bitch ass hoe bag’?” 

“I want that written on my headstone.” Remus responded solemnly as he binned the core of his apple, earning him a hum of acknowledgement from you. 

“Alright, Potter?” You asked with your face still pointed at the tablet. 

“Hm?” He asked dumbly, gaining your gaze as you looked up at him with an arched eyebrow. 

“Are you alright? Or did you need something?”

“Oh! I- Uhm, actually yeah no I needed to see you about something.” He offered awkwardly, and you finally seemed to lose all interest in the faulty tablet in your hands. 

“Why? What’s wrong? Is everything alright?” You rapid-fired, (beautiful) eyes darting over his form as you scoured his frame for any signs of ailment or injury. 

“Oh, well, no I mean, I mean I’m fine, but-”

“You’re fine?” 

“Not fine, fine, but like, not… bad?” 

Remus actually looked pained on James' behalf - pained and also a little smug, and perhaps there was a side of mischief there in his amber eyes too. “Bad enough to see the doc, though.” He offered with faux sympathy; his lip jutting out in a theatric pout. 

James tried to scowl at him when he felt a gentle, cold finger dig into the flesh beneath his jaw bone. You used your thumb to tilt his face towards you and James felt like the air was being forced from his lungs as he now had you standing so close to him, brows furrowed in concern as you scanned his face. James sort of wanted to smooth out the divot between your brows with the pad of his thumb and kiss the displeased downturn of your lips with his own - but he refrained, because that would be weird. 

“Did you hit your head during practice?” You asked seriously, startling when Remus let out an uncharacteristic bark of laughter from behind you. 

He tried to play off his laugh as a cough when you turned to give him an incredulous look, but he continued staring at James with mirth in his eyes as you turned your attention back to James. 

“I’ll leave him in your very capable hands, doc.” 

“Lupin!” James hissed as Remus backed out of the office. 

“Sorry Potts! I’m just a PT!” He called back from further down the hall, and James hoped to the hockey gods you couldn’t hear his snickering as you held your finger up in front of James. 

“Look here, Potter.” 

James allowed himself the pleasure of staring uninhibitedly into your eyes as he leaned back against your desk so that the two of you were closer in height; your finger still tracking his pulse and his jaw still trapped in your grasp. 

“My finger, Potter.” You corrected with the hint of an upturn in your lips as you wiggled the finger he was supposed to be tracking to prove to you he didn’t have a concussion. 

“Sorry doc,” he started as he followed instructions, feeling emboldened by the humour in your eyes, “the view was just too good, I couldn’t help myself.” 

You bit your bottom lip as you smiled and shook your head at him fondly, though you continued watching his eyes as he watched your finger. “You’re such a flirt. I’m gonna flash a light.” You warned as your finger disappeared along with the rest of your hand into your team scrubs pocket and pulled out a small flashlight before shining it in his eyes. James’ gaze remained steadfast on you.  

“Alright. I didn’t think I saw you hit your head, and you’re showing no physical signs of a concussion, so what the hell are you doing in my office?” You declared with a breath - whether it was a tired sigh or a breath of relief, James didn’t know - as you moved to the other side of your desk and took a seat. 

There were two perfectly fine seats on the other side of your desk, but space wasn’t what James was after when he went in search of you, so he followed you around to your side of the desk and perched himself on the edge so that he was facing you instead. “I’m not allowed to come chat with the team medic?” 

You raised an eyebrow at him but didn’t deign to answer; you had one leg crossed over the other and you used the foot still on the ground to swivel your desk chair back and forth as you continued to stare at him sceptically. 

“Do I look good out there?” James asked quietly then - just for something to say, just to keep the conversation going. Hockey was safe, hockey was familiar; the two of you could talk about hockey, right? 

“Yes…” you started cautiously, still looking at him with one eyebrow raised. “But you know that. And Remus could’ve told you the same.” 

“He could have, but would Remus have told me the same?” James asked sceptically in return, earning him a snort of laughter from you. 

“No, he would have bullied you first. Would you like me to try again?”

“No,” James moaned, “that’s why I came to you.” 

“Why did you come to me?” You asked him again, quietly this time. Something about the way you were looking at him made him feel cut open and raw and vulnerable; you were suspicious, rightfully so, and so very much onto him. 

James shrugged and looked at the wall of books set up behind your desk - anatomy, kinesiology and sports medicine textbooks that you and Remus had collected over your educations and careers sitting on standby as resources should either of you need them. You never did though, James found. The two of you brilliant and confident, knowledgeable and assured enough to ask the other for feedback or input when you second guessed yourselves. You worked well together - you and Remus - James realised then. A team; much in the same way that the Lion’s were. He was lucky to have you on his team; they all were. 

“I like spending time with you.” James admitted then, still not looking over at you, though he couldn’t help but notice when you stopped swivelling back and forth in your chair. 

“So…you feigned a concussion in order to be alone with me?” You nearly whispered then, and all of James’ fears had come true. He’d made you uncomfortable, he’d freaked you out, pushed you away. You’d leave the team, or, or maybe you wouldn’t leave the team, but you’d certainly hand over James’ care to one of the leagues other medics.  

James screwed his eyes shut before turning to face you, ready to apologise and beg and vow to repent for his sins when he saw you with one hand covering your mouth and your eyes full of ill hidden humour. 

You were fucking with him. 

“I did not feign a concussion!” He barked back at you - though his voice was breathy with relief. “You assumed!”

You pulled your hand away from your mouth to display a wide smile as you pointed back at him in an accusatory manner. “You came in here acting like someone with a concussion!”

“I came in here acting like someone with a crush.” James both corrected and admitted; in for a penny, in for a pound and whatnot. 

You hummed in acknowledgement as you brought your hand back to your lips and continued swivelling in your chair. “My medical books never taught me to look for symptoms of a crush.” 

“Those are terrible textbooks then.” James added solemnly. “You should probably get your money back.” 

“Probably.” 

“They should take your licence away too.” He accused as he stood, and your mouth fell open in shock and offence. 

“James!” You chided, and James fought the urge to shiver at the way his given name sounded coming from your lips. 

“What kind of doctor doesn’t know how to diagnose a crush?” He scoffed. 

“Get the fuck out of my office.” You laughed, and James turned to wink at you and offer you a salute. 

“Doctors orders.” He said before slipping out of your office. 

He poked his head back in to see you still smiling towards the door like you’d been looking after him. 

“But... maybe I could message you later? You know…about that diagnosis?” 

You stopped swivelling in your chair as you smiled at him - more softly this time. “Sure, James.” 

James returned the smile and tapped twice on your doorframe. “Goodnight, doc.” 

“Night, cap.” You murmured in return, and James waited until he was outside in the team parking lot before pumping his fist and letting out celebratory holler. 

Unbeknownst to James, Remus started his own car only after James had gotten into his, shaking his head fondly and muttering something that sounded an awful lot like ‘fucking finally’ as he pulled away from the Lion’s arena.

[bisexualiteaa]

Getting interrupted 🤭

CW: smutty 18+! Suggestive themes, light mentions of/implied smut, getting caught, possible errors and possible OOC scenarios. Otherwise, enjoy! 🥰

John "Soap" MacTavish

- he was a sucker for someone in uniform, so it was no surprise that he would come and constantly visit you down at medical where you worked. It's how you both met and got together after all, so despite the pain and occasionally bad memories that came with it, it still held a place in his heart because you were there.

- he'd never admit it, but sometimes he would get himself hurt on purpose just to visit you, he always loved to see the smile on your face as you would shake your head and rest your hands on your hips before fixing him up perfectly, always having the cure to his every injury or ailment.

- sometimes these were the only moments where he'd get a chance alone with you, enjoying the way you'd always make a little time for him to talk and enjoy each others company for a little while afterwards.

- no one knew you guys were together, everyone knew he had a crush on you because, quite frankly, he wasn't very good at hiding it, but he didn't really want to either. But for the sake of your job, he didn't want to reveal anything should it get you in trouble.

- "you never stay out of trouble, do you?" You asked with a playful grin as you'd just finished stitching up a small gash on his arm. "If I stayed out a trouble, I'd never get the luxury t' see you" he replied with a flirty tone, making you chuckle. "Just be more careful please, I need you in one piece" you replied, kissing his cheek as you sat next to him, having just patched up his arm. "I will, don't worry your pretty head lass, I'll always come back t' you" he assured, making you smile and hum in appeasement before you leaned in, pulling him into a soft, loving kiss. His hand came to cup your cheek as you held his other one in your own, fingers intertwined as you shared in your moment together. When you two were alone together, the world finally felt at peace, no wars to think about, no stress weighing down on you, all you needed to think about was your Johnny.

- So it was no shock that your kiss took a turn to something a little deeper, a sigh leaving you as your free hand rested on his collarbone. "Careful bonnie, go on like tha' and I'll be walkin' outta here with a whole different problem" he said, making you giggle. "Wouldn't half mind fixing that either, too bad you don't know how to keep quiet" you quipped with a grin, making him laugh at your remark. "Cheeky bugger" he replied with a matching grin before pulling you in again, kissing you as if tomorrow you'd be gone.

- But sadly, even the best moments must come to an end, neither of you were expecting the way it had however.

- "Sorry to bother doc, got room to squeeze in a- woah!" Spoke Gaz as he pulled back the curtain, seeing your form loomed over the side of the exam bed, kissing his comrade. You gave a short gasp as you both jumped apart, blushing wildly after being caught red handed. "Shit, I'm SO so sorry!" You spoke, bumping into your cart in your panicked frenzy as you tried to back away and button your uniform back up as to not look suspicious, but it was already too late.

- "Sorry Gaz, appointment got prolonged. Doctors, am I right? Gotta poke around an' check everywhere for some reason" Johnny spoke, nervously rubbing the back of his neck with a slight blush but trying to joke his way out of things, as per usual. Gaz gave a chuckle. "Explains why you come down here so often. Here I thought you were just trying to get a good record built up for disability, didn't know you had a Dr. Feel Good situation goin' on" he teased with a grin. "I'm gonna get in so much trouble.." You muttered, holding your face in your hands out of embarrassment. "Relax doc, your secret's safe with me. I promise. It's about time you finally went for" Gaz assured you before offering a genuinely happy smile to Johnny. "I know all to well of the draw of the uniform myself" he added, looking towards one of the other doctors, her offering a giggle and flirty wave his way. "Well I'll be damned" Johnny spoke with a chuckle. "And looks like she's got an opening, so you two just earned yourself some more alone time" Gaz said, making you and Johnny both chuckle. "I owe ya one" Johnny spoke before Gaz walked away, turning back to you as you closed the curtain again, alotting you both some privacy for just a little bit longer.

König

- You were in his room, laying in bed together, enjoying the time alone after months of him being away.

- It started out innocent enough, just enjoying a movie together, but one innocent kiss turned to two, and when wandering hands found their way down your sides to your ass, playful giggles soon turned to quiet moans and it wasn't long before things turned just a little more heated.

- You were on top of him, straddling his lap as his kisses began littering down your neck, his large, rough hands at your hips moving you back and forth against him. A quiet moan and sigh fell from you, both of you doing your best to keep quiet as not to raise suspicions.

- "How I missed you, schatz" he told you, making you smile with drunken love in your eyes. "Missed you too, Kö" you replied sweetly, your lips now trailing down his neck to his bare chest in a way that he swore injected fire straight into his veins.

- You were topless as you sat there straddling him, indulging in one of those moments of kissing one another deeply, only stopping at the feel of each other smiling before resuming. Light, breathy giggles and quiet sighs of pleasure leaving you as you both were caught up in the heat of the moment.

- That was when you both heard the knock at the door, making you both jump. "Shit" you said quietly but in a panic. "Hide" he replied, getting up to put on a pair of pants, allowing you some time to scramble to grab your shirt and any trace you were here and hide in his bathroom, staying dead silent as you did.

- You heard the sound of him talking to Captain Price as you were hidden, relief washing over you once the door had finally closed and he walked away. You peaked back out from the bathroom, seeing König look at you as the look of panic finally fell from his face. "Close call" you spoke with a grin. "Way too close" he replied as you came back to him. "Ya know, if you just came over to my place, we wouldn't have to sneak around and worry about getting caught" you mused, making him chuckle as he leaned down. "Maybe I like the thrill a little bit" he admitted, making you giggle lightly before kissing him once more, your arms draped over his shoulders as you did.

- "Just keep it down in there" Price's voice spoke from the other side of his door, making you panic once more. "König! This is why we should be at my house!" You said, face red as a beet from fluster, and König couldnt help but grin at your embarrassment. Price gave a laugh as he walked away.

Simon "Ghost" Riley

- Everyone knew you were his, he made it very clear that he would break the neck of anyone who would dare try to have a piece of you, or even look in your direction with malintent.

- He didn't need PDA to show it either, when you both were out with his comrades, or out in public, a protective arm laid around your waist yes, but even when it didn't, all it took was one look from Simon for someone to deeply reconsider their intentions with you.

- So one night, when you were both coming out to his truck for a smoke from a night out drinking with friends, the liquid courage seeping through your veins, you decided to push his buttons a little.

- There he stood, leaned against his truck, having just finished taking drags off of his cigarette before putting it out with his foot. His balaclava was still pulled up to rest on the bridge of his nose, showing off the lower half of his face, so you took the chance.

- You smiled as he grinned when your fingers slid along his jaw and up under the balaclava just a little, keeping it up so that you could kiss him. The taste of smoke, tobacco, and whiskey mixed together in a taste that was just so *him.* You couldn't help the surge of butterflies that came through you as his hands rested on your hips, the way he kissed you always left your mind reeling as they were always so intimate, so shameless.

- "Just couldn't wait, could ya?" He asked, making you chuckle as you bit your lip, your cheeks heating up from the drinks buzzing in you as well as the heat that always burned in you anytime he kissed you. "You know what bourbon does to me, and you know what *you* do to me" you replied with a playful grin, making him chuckle once more as you said it, poking his chest to prove your point before dragging your finger down some. "I'm very aware" he replied.

- Your finger looped into his belt, giving a strong tug to pull him closer to you, your lips just centimetres apart now before you closed the distance once more. "You're playing a dangerous game, lovie" he spoke in a low tone, making your grin only stretch wider. "That so? Gonna put me in my place then?" You challenged bravely, making his eyes hold a different intensity. Hunger, a predatory one at that. "Get your ass in the truck. Now" he ordered.

- Needless to say, it was no shock to him that you both managed to find your way in the back seat of his truck, music playing just loud enough in the background to add to the atmosphere as your panting from the deep kiss filled the air in the car.

- You grinned far too devilishly as you rolled your hips in time to the beat of the song, enjoying your moment of power over him. But he was there to remind you that even if you were on top and straddling him, that did not, by any stretch of the imagination, mean you were in control. His hand came to the back of your head, fingers tangling in your hair as he tugged it back, making your head dip back as he did. You gave a sinful moan as he did, roughly thrusting his hips up into you. "Your misbehavin' has gotten a bit out of hand, love. Someone oughtta teach you some fuckin' manners" he damn near *growled* in response, making you whimper as his hips stilled completely. "Gonna be good f' me? Stop bein' a fuckin' brat?" He asked, making you nod your head yes vigorously, earning another yank on your hair and a powerful thrust up into you. "Answer properly" he ordered. "Yes sir, gonna be good for you, I promise!" you let out, his hand leaving your hair as he started his pace up again. "Then be a doll and take it" he spoke, making your eyes roll to the back of your head as he continued his brutal pace.

- Anyone on the outside wouldn't have known, the music, not too loud to be suspicious, but perfectly loud enough to cover your joint symphony of moans, pants, and grunts, paired with the sounds of skin against skin. So Soap being none the wiser, thought it'd be safe to go to Ghost's truck to tease you both for being gone for so long.

- Then a hand came to the foggy window, smearing enough of the condensation away to reveal the both of you in the back seat. What he wasn't anticipating was the sight of you on top of him, fully clothed thankfully, but it was clear what was going on. "Shit!" You exclaimed when you saw Soap's eyes widen before he looked away, knowing he'd be in deep shit for catching you both. Simon's eyes followed yours to the window, catching sight of the reason why you were hiding your face in your hands. A devious grin came to his lips, deciding to roll the window down some, not too much to show too much, but enough to send you into a panic. "Si! What the hell are you doing??" You asked, making the scot give a chuckle. "Was comin' t' check an' see if you two were still alive, but clearly you're takin' more than a smoke break" he replied. "Started off as one anyway.." You spoke with a nervous look, making him chuckle once again before turning around and walking back. "Try not to kill 'er" Soap spoke before walking back inside.

- You certainly learned your lesson that night, hiding your face that burned bright red as you left the back seat, Simon of course delighted in your torture as you both went back inside to sit back at the table, getting to take in all the knowing grins from his friends as they all teased you for the rest of the night. To Simon's standards of course, he'd never let anyone take it too far. ❤️

[lyriumcoloredskies]

Overdrive ft. (Law, Sanji, Zoro, Kid, Nami)

Pairing: Multi-character pairings ft. Law x Reader, Sanji x Reader, Zoro x Reader, Kid x Reader, Nami x Reader WC: 1.2k Summary: Things that drive the OP characters wild. CW: 18+ MDNI Suggestive but no smut, teasing, mild not very descriptive violence in Kid's, food and eating mention in Sanji's, swearing, reader is described with breasts, no beta. AN: I've gotten way sicker and I feel like a small sickly victorian child, hoping that the country air will help my ailment. D:

Trafalgar D. Water Law

"Let me whisper in your ear, tell you something you might like to hear"

It’s been hours since Law decided to hole up in his office, sinking all his attention into a thick medical textbook. He’s halfway through a page when he feels a pair of soft warm lips press onto his neck. Instantly he feels his body erupt into gooseflesh.

His breath catches in his throat when he feels your warm hands make their way across his sides, lifting his shirt, before caressing his bare chest. Your lips work their way up his neck, stamping his skin with searing hot kisses, the slight smacking noise sending tingles down the base of his spine. As you grow closer to his ear, Law can hear your soft breathing, the sound going straight to his groin. Law stifles a moan that threatens to escape his lips as your feverish tongue makes contact with his ear lobe, slowly trailing its way up the shell of his ear. The obscene wet noises near his ear sends static through his brain, down his spine, and straight to his cock which continues to grow hard at your teasing.  “How about you take a break?” you whisper before pinching his left nipple with one of your roaming hands, the other finding its way down his happy trail. Law quickly realizes he has no choice but to oblige.

Vinsmoke Sanji

"With the taste of a poison paradise, I'm addicted to you"

For the last few weeks, dinner has proven to be a difficult time for Sanji. It isn’t because he’s hit a creative slump with recipes or because he has to fight off a hungry Luffy from sneaking snacks. His troubles all stem from a certain other crew member – you. Sanji’s grip on his cutlery tightens as you let out a practically pornographic moan the moment a bite of his Poulet a la Provencal hits your tongue. You let out a few more obscene noises as you chew. Sanji swears the room is spinning. “Sanji~ this tastes divine, the chicken is so moist! And this sauce is just orgasmic~” you sigh out before dipping your finger in said sauce. Sanji nearly drops his fork as he watches your pink tongue dart out to lick off some of the sauce from the digit before you suckle it clean. Sanji thickly swallows at the sight, “A-ah thank you for the compliment y/n-swan!”. You let out a giggle before returning your attention back to your plate. Sanji is suddenly aware of how hot the room is and how tight his pants feel. Sanji tries to compose himself, taking a few deep breaths before returning to his own plate in front of him. He gets a few bites in before he nearly chokes on a piece of chicken when he feels a roaming foot caressing his inner thigh, he looks up only to catch your seductive gaze, a teasing smile plastered on your lips. Dinner would be another torturous affair.

Roronoa Zoro

"Girl you look so good, won't you back that ass up?"

Zoro loses count of his reps for the third time this workout. It’s been this way for the last few months. He would start his workouts with the full intent of giving everything he had, only for his eyes to wander, watching as the sweat traces a path down your body. Today was no different. His eyes graze over the curves of your butt as you work on your squats in front of him. Your muscles shake in effort as you let out several loud breaths. The entire thing turns Zoro on, his grey sweatpants no longer doing a good job at hiding his erection. He watches for a few more moments, carefully palming his length over his sweatpants. That’s when he sees you stutter a little bit in your last set. His body moves instinctively, stepping closer to you, your body only a few inches from pressing into his as he hovers his arms near the barbell bar. “Here, let me spot you” Zoro grumbles out. You give him a nod, adjusting your stance and grip. Zoro dutifully watches as you go in for another squat, only for your tight ass to brush Zoro’s erection as you went down and came back up. The pressure causes a filthy moan to rip out of Zoro’s mouth. In his embarrassment he can see you look back at him, a knowing smirk on your face. He had fallen right into your trap.

Eustass Kid

"She's hatin' 'cause I'm up and you can tell on her face"

Kid sits sprawled out in a booth with Killer on his right. His crew sits around him, everyone occupying nearby tables with a plethora of drinks flowing between them. He’s only half paying attention to Killer before their conversation is interrupted by a woman sliding up on his left side. He doesn’t bother to pay her any attention as she presses her hand to his chest and whispers in his ear asking if he would like some company. He waits patiently, secretly growing excited for what was to come. That’s when he hears you slam two mugs of beer on the table, liquid sloshing out everywhere. You were back from your run to the bartender. “Get the fuck off of my man you fucking whore!” you snarl out as you reach for the woman, grabbing her by the hair as you rip her off of Kid. There it was. Kid feels the first rush of blood to his cock as the atmosphere becomes fueled by adrenaline. The woman screams obscenities at you, flailing helplessly, while the crew eggs you on by yelling out vulgar encouragement. The whole scene turns him on, and he soon finds himself rock hard as he watches you throw the woman out the bar door. Your face is thunderous as you stomp back, gnashing out the crudest angry words at the woman’s gall. You don’t skip a beat as you down whatever was left in both the beer mugs before sliding into your rightful spot next to him, smashing your lips into his in a forceful hungry kiss. Fuck, Kid loved when you got possessive.

Nami

"I'm the First Lady of Juicy Couture, got a little cash now so the skirt is Dior"

Nami’s smile hasn’t left her face since she ushered you into the women’s dormitory, her arms overflowing with her latest clothing haul. “Y/n-chan~ you have to try these on! I picked them out just for you!” she says, pushing the bags into your arms. She relishes in the way heat takes over your cheeks as your eyes widen at the amount of shopping bags, clearly flattered at Nami's generous gesture. Despite your bashful look, you don’t say no to Nami’s demands, quickly stepping behind the changing screen in the corner of the room. Nami’s eyes trace over your shadowed figure behind the screen as you peel off every bit of your clothing, heat rushes to her core. “N-Nami? A-are you sure you handed me the right bag?” you ask, your voice full of anxiety. Nami is patient, flooding you with words of encouragement. She’s rewarded when you step out from the screen. Your body barely covered by the most vulgar bikini money could buy. Nami’s eyes greedily soak up the sight of your breasts, spilling out over the small triangle top, your hard nipples barely covered. You’re so cute as you fidget in the bikini, your face red in embarrassment. “D-does it look g-good Nami?” “Hmm it looks okay, but I bet it looks better on the floor.” One outfit down, 26 more to go.

[alittlebitofloveliness]

Ponyboy and Addiction

CW: mentions of drugs and alcohol abuse

For a fandom that really seems to like Ponyboy angst people don't really talk much about how the book very carefully but consistently planted the seeds of what could be Ponyboy's downfall in the east side, the main thing that could fuck up his plans for college or any sort of better life: Ponyboy has an addictive personality. The biggest evidence of this is, of course, his nicotine addiction and love of cigarettes which he is scarcely without throughout the book. Yes, all the greasers smoke, and yes, he uses it as a way to calm down in incredibly stressful situations, but the truth of the matter is that Ponyboy is a fourteen year old who cannot go more than a few hours without nicotine. Even after a cigarette lit the church on fire, even when he's recovering from a major concussion, he's still smoking in his bed, and not only a little bit either. Darry tells him he'd 'skin him' if 'he smoked more than a pack' when he's literally confined to bed rest. That's a lot of smokes (I know this is set in the 1960s but a pack a day for a kid who was literally being treated for smoke inhalation earlier in the book is still excessive). However, cigarettes are not the only evidence we have of Ponyboy having the potential for addiction to become a major issue. While it's mentioned he doesn't like alcohol, he does at one point self medicate with asprin, taking far more than the recommended dose-- 5 pills. In the same passage he also offhandedly claims this is something he does frequently, not to help with headaches or anything like that, but to help him fall asleep. Ponyboy is literally self medicating at fourteen with cigarettes and over the counter medication, to treat unrelated ailments-- and is actively hiding this fact from his brothers. It's not touched on far beyond these instances, but its very clear textual evidence of the fact that were Ponyboy to end up getting involved with the wrong crowd or trying the wrong thing, he could very easily destroy his life and any chance of getting out of the east side. In the end, it won't matter if Ponyboy decides to stay gold or not if he gets hooked on the wrong substance. "Oh but lovely, all the greasers are like this"- aside from Two-bit, no one else in the main seven is characterized as having a severe dependence on any sort of substance. Canonically, Soda doesn't drink, we never see Steve, Dally, or Darry inebriated on page, although they all do occasionally drink; and while all of them smoke, Ponyboy is constantly and repeatedly referred to as the 'weed fiend' of his family and to some extent the gang. Ponyboy Curtis and Two-bit Matthews are the two members of the gang with addictive personalities, addiction has the potential to be Ponyboy's undoing and I will die on this hill.

[jiubilant]

cw: brief blood mention, child experiencing medical emergency (asthma attack)

He supposes that the child will die before its father will allow him upstairs. The mother and an ancient steward had hurried him into the vestibule, stammering dire prophecies like priests in a Hlaalu play: the boy was purple, he couldn’t breathe, he could only weep and cough and choke on draughts of honeyed shein. Save him, the mother had begged. Save him and I shall pay you double.

The healer lashes his tail, impatient, and digs a hand into the bowl of dates on the antique stand. The steward wrings his hands by the staircase. Upstairs, the child’s father shouts something insulting and familiar.

“He’s a healer,” the mother protests. “A Guild healer, Moder, of good standing—”

More than half of the healer’s house calls in Ald’ruhn start and end like this. He cracks the pit of a date between his teeth, one of the few violences that his vow allows, and gives the steward a cloying smile. “Will my services be required after all, sera?”

“Oh, yes,” says the old man, clacking the yellow fingerbones of his prayer-string. His eyes are red and watery as tavern wine. “Oh, yes, Argonian. I pray you’ll wait. Please, the master is, is”—the prayer-string shakes in his hands—“is only concerned for his son—Tisa!”

The thing flying down the steps, the healer deduces after a startled pause, is likely Tisa: a wan and curly-headed child in the sackcloth of a Temple novice, her face wild, her eyes puffy and red. The steward tries to catch her. She ducks him, nimble as a nix, and skids to a halt before the healer.

“You’re wanted upstairs,” she says, breathless. No honorific, of course. She lifts her chin like a pale little Rilms. “Ama and Ada bid you come at once.”

More shouts echo down the stairwell. The healer gives the lying creature an incredulous look. “Ama and Ada bid nothing of the sort.”

The girl hesitates. Then, with a look of repulsed determination, she takes his sticky hand.

“Please, kena,” she says. Her face quivers. “He’s only three.”

He lets her tug him up the stairs. Double, the mother had said. The healer only gambles when he likes the odds. The boy’s cough—a thin, strangled rattle, just audible beneath his parents’ noise—is one he knows well.

“In here,” whispers his escort, and pulls him into a chamber with all the usual charms of a sickroom: the sour air, the family flapping around like cliff racers, the suffering child swaddled seizing and choking on the pallet—

“You fools,” the healer snaps, pushing the parents aside like ninepins. “You smoke-sniffing s’wits—sit him up!”

It’s the girl Tisa who leaps to do his bidding. The father’s outraged spluttering he ignores with a practiced ear; he’s already deep in his bag, rummaging for the ingredients of the vapor that he mixes often for himself. Oil of corkbulb, oil of kurroot. Spirit of hartshorn, imported. The hovering steward, at his command, rushes in a bowl of water; the healer infuses it with a dropper, boils it with a snap of his fingers, and thrusts the steaming bowl under the child’s nose.

“Deep breaths,” he says, watching the child’s struggling face. “Through your nose. Your nose,” he repeats sharply, for the boy is still gulping for air like a landed fish.

Pious Tisa, holding her brother under the armpits, gives the healer a look that could peel paint. “Don’t snip at him!”

“What’s it doing to him?” demands the master of the house.

The healer wishes briefly and fervently for more date pits. He passes the bowl to the girl, checking first that the boy’s turned a healthier hue, and bows to the affronted man with his hand on his heart.

“Muthsera,” he says with his most sycophantic smile, “the child suffers from an ailment of the lungs. I’ve treated it before. To ease his breathing, muthsera, I’ve mixed a remedy—”

“It smells,” says the boy in a weak, scratchy voice, then sniffles. His sister sobs in relief and throws her arms around him, nearly spilling the bowl.

“Hold that steady,” the healer snaps, then pastes the smile back on. “In cases such as this, muthsera, much that enters the passages of the lungs can choke them. Most dangerous are ash and dust, smoke—even sanctified smoke—bottled scents, strong spices, excessive exertion or excitement—”

“How long must he breathe of this remedy,” the mother interrupts, her voice hoarse, “before he is cured?”

“This ailment can be soothed,” says the healer. “It can’t be cured. Anyone who tells you otherwise is a charlatan.”

“If it can’t be cured,” says the master of the house, his face hard as a Redoran club, “why should I pay you?”

The healer looks to the child’s mother. Like the light slanting in from the window-slit, her eyes slide to the ground.

* * *

He’s so disgusted with the whole business that he slips around the house to the kitchen. The family’s servants—elves all, but elves more bent and deferent than their masters—greet him with effusive kenas and more work: he lances several boils, draws a splinter like Rangidil’s sword from a houseboy’s thumb, and smiles politely at the cook’s goiter. When he spells the swelling from the steward’s knees, the old man weeps and tries to embrace him. He dodges the spindly arms and hurries to the Rat in the Pot for supper.

“My Wit,” says the so-called Nerevarine when he drags his cushion to her table. When she smiles, her single sharp eye all but disappears in the folds of her face. “I thought you had forgotten me.”

“Pah.” With an ill-tempered jab of his eating-knife, the healer spears a slice of curried yam from her bowl. “I have nightmares about you.”

The eye twinkles. “Will you come tomorrow?”

“To watch Bolvyn Venim gut you in ritual combat?”

“The other way around,” the Nerevarine suggests, smiling. “If I am what I will be. Many touchstones try the stranger.”

She’s trying him. After an hour of trying to outdrink her, she asks with amused sobriety about Skink; he pays stiffly for their greef, bundles his face, and wobbles out. A wind kicks dust and ash down the lamplit street. The three-year-old will be coughing again, unless Saint Tisa has the sense to stuff the windows.

He’ll leave the Black Isle, he thinks with a sudden shiver, like that of a fever. The filthy wind stirs his feathers. He’ll beg Skink for a post in some Niben guildhall—no, he’ll board a ship to Akavir as surgeon, salve the scrapes of merchant-mates, and the air he’ll breathe a thousand leagues from Morrowind will be clean and salty-sweet.

“Kena,” a sweet, fluting voice calls from the alley.

Every feather on the nape of the healer’s neck prickles. He turns.

What sways like a sleepwalker into the lamplight is, he sees at once, no longer a man. The knife in its jerking hand is red and wet. He knows no remedy but one for a dreamer of the Sharmat’s dreams, which drip like the knife with blood.

“We see you,” it whispers, trembling with rabid joy. “With our eye.”

Most dangerous, the healer thinks, are ash and dust. Exertion and excitement. He takes a deep, even breath—

The thing springs. Drink makes the healer slow. It’s almost on him before he throws out a hand, seeking with his magicka through the hallways of its body: capillaries, veins, the great orchestral chambers of the heart.

The knife flashes. He closes his hand into a fist.

He’s examining the body afterwards—and wondering, between breaths ragged with shock, what he will tell the guard if they appear—when heavy footsteps crunch to him through gravel and ash. The Nerevarine claps him on the back with a huge hand.

“Well done,” she says, sportsmanlike, as though he and the dead man had been playing quoits. She kneels beside him to inspect the corpse’s knife—a rusted kitchen tool, useless to her—then flicks it aside into the dust. “Did you do to him what you did to those smugglers in Gnaar Mok?”

The healer breathes with rigid calm through his nose, through the scarf spelled to catch the worst of the ash. The breaths come in rasps, as if through a hand around his throat. “Yes.”

“And to that necromancer your Master Wizard set you on?”

He remembers Skink’s praise, that sibilant voice like silk drawn through a golden ring. He grimaces. “Yes.”

“Leaves no trace.” The Nerevarine stands with a grunt, dusting her knees. “The duel with Venim is scheduled for high sun, in the battle-pit under Skar.”

For the first time, he half-believes her the true incarnation of Nerevar. She takes no chances. She’s asking him, in the middle of a street in Ald’ruhn, if he will stop the heart of the Archmaster of House Redoran.

It’s shortness of breath, the healer thinks, that’s made him so weary in so short a time. And the greef. He closes his eyes. Every bone in his body aches for the hard, communal pallet in the Guild of Mages’ dormitory—not the one across the street, but the one in Balmora, where he wakes to Ranis’s barking and the rich, dark smell of Ajira’s coffee.

He’ll always want that pallet, wherever he goes. He sighs and rubs his forehead. “I’ll come.”

The Nerevarine, with a kagouti’s smile, helps him to his feet. “I’ll walk you to the guildhall.”

He stifles a cough in the scarf. The road-dust ripples like the sea.

[merbear25]

Surviving a D&D AU

The world is filled with twists and turns, and you can easily find youself with unfavorable outcomes. That being said, you meet someone to help ease the worries and woes of the harsh world.

CW: SFW, gn!reader, some fighting, light cursing in Kid's, headcanons + drabbles

Zoro, Robin, Nami, Law, Kid, Ace

A/N: I added a lot of links to the races I headcanoned them as, so if you are interested in learning about them, you can! :)

I tried not to make each drabble super long. I sincerely hope y'all like it!!!

Zoro: goliath (barbarian): Goliaths are known nomads who don't build trust and friendships easily. They specialize in athletics and have a very determined nature; that being to earn their place in the tribe or die trying. Despite him not being as harsh as the goliaths, he still very much values 'pulling your weight' and would adhere to their 'fair play'.

Climbing the rocky terrain was proving to be more than you were physically capable of. The injury you'd got from the earlier ambush was worsening. In spite of just reaching the top of the mountain, you felt no relief. There were still many more obsticals to overcome if you were going to find a place to set up camp before nightfall.

Trekking forward, you heard branches snapping in the distance. Quickly ducking behind a fallen tree, you observed those approaching―ready to attack if necessary. One of them broke away from the group. As his foot steps grew nearer, you gripped your weapon tightly. The crunch of his path halted right before the tree you were crouching behind. Hesitation could mean death, so acting on impulse, you sprang over the bark, and swung your weapon down on your anticipated enemy.

Acting on instinct, however, your opponent easily blocked your blow. Shoving you to the ground, he only showed annoyance and inconvenience. Despite this, you lurched at him again. However, this time your physical ailment would prove to be a hinderence. You winced from the pain, but showed no sign of letting up.

Taking notice in your perserverance, he grapped your weapon this time and pulled you in for a closer look. Studying your face, the dedication you had to survive was piercing. Then he examined your leg and told you that you were in need of immediate medical attention.

Without having a minute to process this, he swooped you up and over his shoulder. Even though you were clearly flustered and shaken from his sudden behavior, he calmly told you that they had medics who could help you.

When reaching the medical tent, he eased you off his shoulder, still ignoring your many protests to having done it in the first place. Your wild nature wasn't wearing him down, though. In fact, he liked when others, especially ones of different races, were filled with passion and the will to, not only live, but to survive.

Although he was staring at you with such intensity, you weren't going to let that stop you from tearing into him. He was irritated by your lack of gratitude, sure, but he liked seeing how lively you were, even with a hurt leg.

"You can't go out in this weater," ignoring your frustration.

"And why not?"

His eye twitched at your relentlessness, "Because there's going to be a storm rolling in soon. You won't be able to find shelter soon enough."

Feeling a bit rediculous now, you asked what he'd suggest.

"You should stay in our village until it passes."

"How long is that going to be?"

Thinking it over, he told you, "At least a week."

Robin: shadar-kai (fighter/paladin): Robin has always had prestine perception abilities. Her class would favor her in battle, continuing to let her be quick and limber in combat. As for her race, I believe the Blessing of the Raven Queen would serve as a good substitute for her Devil's Fruit abilities by letting her swiftly approach and evade enemies with the added ability of the misty step.

You had lost your way to the tavern you were supposed to be rendezvousing with the other group members. It was already dark, and the streets were poorly lit. The cobble stoned streets were still slick from that afternoon's rainfall and panic was starting to set in.

Each building seemed to have no difference between the others. The rows of rooftops and stone walls all merged together, causing you to feel faint and dizzy. Being as out of sorts as you were, you failed to notice a group of goblins approaching you. They were cackling about their most recent tussle, but with you stumbling about the street, they couldn't help shifting their attention to you.

"Oi, oi! What's up with you now? Shaking in your boots, are you?" One mocked.

You didn't respond and instead tried to focus on keeping your footing.

"You look like you might got some nice trinkets on you, don't you lot think?" Another commented. "Why don't you just hand over what you got and we'll let you off easy, yeah?"

Backing away from them, you were hesitant to fight, but you knew you'd have to seeing as you didn't actually have much on you. However, you felt a wisp of air rush past you and the goblins had suddenly been knocked back. Groans from them rose as they struggled to get back on their feet.

Standing before you was a hooded figure with a shortsword. When the agressors finally came back around, the stranger promptly warned them to return where they came from and not to cause any more trouble. One of the goblins snorted at this but was then met with the tip of her blade pressed againt their chest. She'd appeared before him so quickly that it put the group of them in a state of shock―momentarily paralized from fear. Analyzing the situation, they begrudgingly agreed to leave you alone.

After making sure they wouldn't turn back around, the stranger glanced back at you, "Are you alright?"

You were still sat on the ground, in awe of your savior's grace and kindness. Nodding in response, she offered you a hand.

"What are you doing out here all by yourself?"

After explaining your perdicimate, she began, "That's quite a way from where we are now." Your face felt hot from the sheer embarrassment of it all, but she suggested accompaning you there. Of course, you wanted to repay the favor in anyway you could but she wouldn't accept any. Instead reassuring, "Knowing those goblins won't pick on you again will be thanks enough."

Nami: high elf (rogue): Even though the Tabaxi race was a close second, I believe high elves suit Nami more. Despite their holier than you attitudes, they have a strong sense of cultural pride and kindness. Nami doesn't always give the best first impressions, but she cares deeply about others' safety. Her being a rogue is self-explanitory as she'll be able to trick enemies out of great fortunes.

Wandering around the market, you eyed the plentiful fruit, vegetables, bread, and sweets that lined the streets. Today's haul would be enough to tide you over for at least a week. Practically drooling, you snapped back to reality when you saw one of the vendors step away from their booth. Taking your chance, you were mindful of your pace. Approaching the table, you pretended to be contemplating what to buy. The man's back was still facing you, so you snatched a loaf of bread.

Before shoving it into your bag, an old woman, who'd been sitting in the back corner, shouted "Thief!" Dropping the bread, you hastily looked around. You knew the consequences of stealing but life had presented you with no other choice.

Turning to run, you instantly bumped into a tall woman, causing you to stumble back a few steps. She peered down at you, seemingly judging you harshly.

The old man was now on top of you and ready to flag down the authorities. However, a soft, even voice questioned, "What's the problem here?"

The husband and wife shouted that that thief must be dealt with properly.

She grinned at them and said that there must be some misunderstanding, "They're actually a friend of mine. I'm sure they were just grabbing the bread to have me permit purchasing it. We'll gladly pay for it now."

Neither of them were particularly happy with this, seeing as they were going to hold a grudge against you. Nevertheless, they accepted payment and let you go.

When you distanced yourself enough from the vendors, you asked her why she did that.

"No one should have to go hungry." Shooting you a cheeky smile, she lifted her cloak, "Plus, I swipped more than enough to break even on that bread."

Eager to quench your hunger, you reached out for the abundent of food she'd stolen. She pulled back, though and now that gleeful look turned into a solemn one, "I'll only let you have it if you promise to be more careful."

Once accepting these terms, she gladly handed the food over to you. "Don't you have anyone to help you get out of trouble?"

Shaking your head, you prefered not to go into details. Inspite of this, the pain you were carrying was more than apparent.

She sighed, "I guess you leave me no choice but to teach you how to be a proper rogue."

Law: Dark elf (sorcerer): Dark elves tend to lean more towards chaotic and lawful evil, however, that's not always the case. Depite this race being deemed as such, I could see Law renouncing Lolth and following the teachings of Eilistraee. This would be a great parallel to his story in OP. In terms of class, being a sorcerer would allow him healing abilities, not just aiding in combat.

Journeying into a cave wasn't your idea of scouting for a treasure map, but you were outvoted by the rest of your group. Sulking about how dark and cramped it was, you hadn't realized there was a short drop coming up.

Letting out a yelp, you landed on your wrist. Turning over in agony, you dreaded the reality―breaking it. Shakily bringing your other hand to it, you flinched and cried out in pain. Cursing obsenitites at your group, but especially at that damn ledge.

After taking a few minutes to catch your breath, you rolled over to ease yourself up. Your torch had fallen to the side, still lit but quickly dying out. You clumsily jerked towards it, accidentally kicking dirt on it, putting it out. Numerous f-bombs were dropped as you fumbled around in your pockets in search of a match.

But then you fell silent. There were footsteps echoing throughout the cave. You attempted to silence your whimpers of fear of what was looming towards you. Surely, it was something venemous and undoubtedly carnivorous, as well. Feeling helpless in your current state, you tried to prepare for combat regardless.

Bringing your dagger out of its holder, you waited till the moment to pounce was right. The last step seemed to be right up on you, so without hesitation you lunged at the unknown threat. However, you had sadly misjudged them. You hadn't had enough time to consider the, very likely, possibility that they had nightvision.

This dawns on you far too late, and instead of plunging your weapon into them, they easily evaded your attack, which made you fall face first into the dishevelled soil. Scrambling to get your bearings, you lunged at them again, only this time you made contact with the moistened rocks.

"Can you stop that?" A male voice came from behind you, clearly annoyed by your anticts.

Slashing at the air, you retorted, "What're you up to? What do you want from me?"

"I was passing through and you attacked me," now exasperated beyond belief.

"Where are you? Show yourself!"

Knowing he wasn't going to talk sense into you if you were quite literally left in the dark about him, he kneeled down and lit your torch for you.

Your eyes winced at its flame and adjusted as they laid on the stranger holding it out for you to take. Even though you demanded for him to show himself, you wouldn't have guessed for him to be a dark elf.

The uncertainty and distrust you had for him was written all over your face. Rolling his eyes at you he foreced the torch into your hand, unfortunately choosing the one that was broken. Seething from the rush of agony, it was dropped on the cave floor. Not having seen that you were injured, he swiftly motioned his hand over your wrist.

You backed away, thinking that he was about to cast a curse, but you went against your better judgement, not shying away entirely. There was a flash of light, alleviating any discomfort you were in. Blinking at the formerly bruised area, you gawked at him in wonder.

This made him regret taking this path, and he wished you good luck before turning to leave.

"Wait!"

He raised an eyebrow at you.

"Could you...help me find something? Please?"

Kid: half-orc (barbarian): half-orcs, similar to full-blooded ones, feel emotions more intensely than humans. Their personalities tend to be more bold and they take action more quickly. Action (usually in the form of fists) is the prefered method to resolving problems, which is why I thought this suited Kid nicely. Not to mention, they have proficiency in intimidation.

How much longer till you arrived at the tavern? It felt like you'd been walking for hours. When you finally laid eyes on that universally beat up sign, you could hardly contain your excitement. You sprinted the rest of the way, completely ignoring how sore your legs were. With that in mind, your legs buckled under you right as you pushed open the door―a loud crash and enraged shouting followed shortly after.

"What the hell was that for?" The fiery haired half-orc shot out of his seat and gripped the elf's collar.

"It wasn't my fault! That..." but before he could point you out, the agressor slammed his fist into the elf's face, swiftly knocking him out.

The furious red-head was still looking for a fight, and anyone who made eye contact was next in line to be pummled. In this case, you decided your best option was to play dead.

"You, what's your problem? Get off the damn floor, you idiot!" Although you were lying face down on the floor, you knew that it was directed at you. Carefully, you got up but refrained from having your gaze meet his.

"Sorry," you began, "I suppose I was overwhelmed by your inate strength and fainted."

You could feel the onlookers staring, their eyes darting back and forth between the two of you.

Finally, he let out a booming laugh, "Ha! How rediculous! I do have that effect on some, now that I think of it." Loosing sight of how he was riled up earlier, your compliment made him change gears.

Now that you were able to avoid turning black and blue, you debated whether or not to find another tavern. However, you heard him call to the barkeep, "Get us another round for the table! Oh, and throw in an extra for the one who's weak in the knees!" The request was followed by yet another series of laughter from him and now his friends.

You weren't going to be able to leave now, as doing so would mean setting off that ticking time bomb of a temper of his. Turning around, you attempted to be as happy as ever.

Going towards the table, he points out, "You look like shit by the way! What the hell did you get into?"

Ace: tiefling (sorcerer): Despite their scary appearance, many tieflings are not quick to solve conflict with force. They do not trust easily, however, they are extremely loyal and will move heaven and earth to protect those they care about. Ace has shown similar qualities what with his devotion to White Beard and his brothers. He could relate to how the tieflings are looked at: with distrust, suspicion, and hatred.

You'd crashed your boat into the rocks off the coast during a terrible storm, which now left you washed up on the beach and unconscious. You faintly remember voices over you, but you couldn't make out what was being said. You could barely feel someone gently lifting you, carrying you somewhere you could not protest to.

Upon wakening, you saw that your injuries had been tended to and you'd been given an IV. A disagreement seemed to be unfolding outside of the room, so you did your best to comprehend their exchanges. The door opened though, startling you.

You forced your eyes shut again, hoping your nerves wouldn't give you away. You sensed that their presence was just at the foot of your bed. Not being able to resist the temptation, you lifted your eyelids to see a horned figure staring back at you. Unable to hold back your surprise, your eyes widened and dread sunk in.

He must have picked up on this as his face fell slightly, "You seem better." Nodding at you, he motioned away.

"Did you save me?"

Glaring at you, mostly out of anticipation of the trechory you would inevitably pull, he simply gave you a, "I did."

Before he rushed off you were sure to tell him, "T-thank you! I'm so grateful."

The sincerity behind your words stung, but he still appreciated your gratitude.

Luckily, your wounds weren't too serious and you were healthy enough to leave the following week. You wanted to give him another thank you before you went off again on your own, but he was nowhere to be found.

Searching the halls, you heard a ruckus just outside of the hospital's gates. There was a group of humans demanding to be treated, but were being refused entry by your horned savior. You could see where things were heading, so you rushed to join them.

"Why won't you treat us? Can't you see we have someone who's gravely ill here?"

"You're carrying weapons that are forbidden to be taken past the gates and you're blatently refusing to hand them over."

"Well, forgive us if we're not so quick to trust you lot."

"How dare you demand treatment when you're so quick to cast judgement and spew hatred!" His hands started glowing a vibrant red which were then ignited into flames.

Thankfully, you showed up just in time to help ease the tension. Cutting between the both of them, you helped to explain that the rules aren't discriminatory and even the tieflings must adhere to them. You reminded the humans that their friend was in dire need of medical assistance, and they wouldn't be able to afford to prolong his treat for much longer.

This brought them back to the reason why they were there. They apologized, even if it was said behind gritted teeth, and willingly gave up their weapons.

As the group found their way inside, you looked at the horned man fondly. Impressed by your willingness to step in during the heat of an argument earned you a bit of his trust, and he returned your fond gaze.

[xcyphoz0a]

We’ll meet again

Gender neutral reader, angst TW/CW: you die, yeah. Character(s): Tighnari Word count: 1411 Proofread: n/a | Love is felt the most at times of farewells. | A/N: So I hit everyone with angst at the starting week of 2024, hehe. i quite literally wrote this at the asscrack of dawn so this might not have the best grammar

It’s quite common to hear the most affectionate, loving yet heartbreaking wails when people fall into the hands of farewells and departures, separated from each other.

You– being one of the nurses in the Akademiya run hospital, Bimarstan– knew it quite well.

You’ve heard more prayers to the archons in the hospital’s walls more than you’ve ever heard when you had visited Mondstadt’s cathedral.

Since then, you knew that these partings, goodbyes, were the situations when one had felt the emotion, ‘love’, the strongest.

Perhaps, it could also be felt the most at the most joyous and wonderful times– but it also depended on the person.

An individual could feel the most emotion when the two takes coerced separate ways, or vice versa.

Maybe this was the reason why so much fiction of star-crossed lovers were popular; holding the most emotion and grief that one could ever pour into words and paragraphs, bringing a reader to tears and puddles of overwhelming sorrow.

You would never have expected for this exact situation to happen to you– out of all the people in Teyvat, it had to be you, forced to live as a bedridden patient in the familar, alcohol scented walls of the hospital.

It was probably more likely that you would’ve lived life, awaiting your own death on the cold hospital bed, watching as your family members come and go, leaving flowers and heartfelt messages on the bedside. You wouldn’t have really felt much emotion of that common ‘love’ that you’ve ever wished for since you were little.

You wouldn’t have, though it wasn’t the trajectory that you had followed; rather something more meaningful, as you watched your lover take your hand, tracing the colder knuckles with his own warm hands– you know that when your time would grace your frail lying form, that emotion, that feeling of love, warmth and affection would wash over you with waves and waves of anguish and grief, spraying you with the cold while the warmth you missed would be pulling away and away from you, watching you with those wicked eyes, waiting for you to crash as the string you held frayed away, dropping you to the cold, hard arms of death itself.

Tighnari, by all means, was no idiot to the obvious signs of creeping death that had started to crawl its way into your health. He knew when your temperature started to drop, your breaths becoming rapid, how you started to lack the most simplest and the necessary energy to even lift your hand–he knew that it was best for you to let the dreams of normal life go, and give you time to accept yourself slowly into the arms of eternal slumber.

He disliked the feeling.

He wanted you to live more; he wanted you to become better.

Yet he knew that this ailment of yours would be something that current medical technology wouldn’t be able to fix. You knew– you knew from the start.

You had told him– and he remembers every last bit, that you wanted to live until the cold had finally taken over, slowly wiping his tears away gingerly as you smiled in response, attempting to reassure him.

He’d rather have you have Eleazar instead– at least that had something for someone to live, but this… this illness that only seldom heard about, wasn’t fixable, curable– it had no medication to alleviate whatever you had temporarily.

Despite the raging negativity swirling in his mind like sandstorms, your own reassuring had allowed him to find at least a source of comfort– ironic, he thinks, when he’s the one perfectly fine, and you’re on the bed, waiting for the time to come.

Though he thinks for the better– at least he had met you before the bedridden stage, at least he knows how bright yet calm you are, at least, he found someone to love– someone that taught him the new knowledge and emotion of love, affection, adoration…

He’s still grateful for your impact in his own life.

You’d tell him every night, when he visits, for him to find someone else, for him to find someone that has interests and activities aligned to his– for him to find someone to love again, more actively and more affectionately instead of someone on their deathbed–like you. Nevertheless he’d shake his head, ears swishing from left to right as he raises your hand to his mouth, mumbling how he’d never leave or find someone even after the the end of your time– how he wouldn’t, couldn’t, forget you.

In no given circumstances would Tighnari leave you forever. He reminds you, fennec foxes are partners for life, and I’d never leave you.

You’d always chuckle, finding the negation to your words amusing and adorable, wanting to take your hand and brush through the soft locks of his hair– but it takes too much energy in doing so. He knows. He’d notice the small twitches that your fingers would make, and bring your hand to his head, aiding you as you make small movements to brush his hair and ears–which no one had the privilege to, except for you.

The days and nights pass, and he’s always there, at your bedside as you two make little quiet jokes.

Soon enough, you find how even breathing becomes taxing–your muscles wanting you to rest, as you notice how talking becomes impossible without you stretching out the syllables to form a word.

Tighnari still comes and visits, staying near your bed until the red orange sun peeks through. He notices how you’ve become more quiet, and how you’d only stare at him with tired eyes as he speaks, talking about his day and how Collei, Cyno and the others are doing.

Sometimes the traveller visits along with Paimon, wishing you the best as you form a small smile, staring at your lover who talks in your stead.

Other times, Collei shuffles in with your partner, eyes scrunched in concern and worry for the two of you as she’d sometimes take a small nap near your side as you smile.

Seldom comes Cyno, with his busy schedule, still makes time to bid you the best, attempting to make some good and horrible jokes here and there to liven up the mood.

On the rare days, Alhaitham comes with Kaveh in tow, brought in by a much more tired Tighnari, wishing you the best as the two bicker, bringing out a small tired smile from you and your lover.

And perhaps, on one day does the small dendro archon come in with a slightly irked puppet, enjoying talking to you about her day while the Wanderer–or Scaramouche was it? – sits near his so called caretaker, both providing you their own farewell and wishes as Nahida holds your colder hand with her smaller pair, telling you how she hopes your dreams come true.

Your lover sits at the opposite side of the bed as he watches you interact with your visitors and friends, smiling at how despite the lack of communication, they all–including him, can feel the gratitude swooning from the bottom of your heart.

And despite the more uplifted mood with your visitors, you’d like your last moments to be with Tighnari, as he holds your hands, leant over as he presses a kiss on your lips, watching you take deep breaths, forming a sentence albeit slowly than the normal person, yet he waits.

“I… love… you… so…” you take another breath in, finding the weight on your chest increase exponentially.

“...much. …We…’ll… meet… again…”

You force your eyes to open as you feel the warmth of your lover’s tears on the side of your cheek, listening a faint, 

“I love you too… (Y/n).”

You close your eyes, finding peace as the room is filled with chokes and wails from the dark green haired man as he hugs your form tighter and tighter, awaiting for the smallest response– and he wishes at that moment, for your words to be real, as he helplessly latches on to your form as the waves of desolation comes and crashes in colossal waves, grappling on to him as it pulls him into the arms of grief.

Yet nothing happens, as he’s met with the chirps of birds and the sunlight that shines into the little window of the room that seem to mock him from afar, revelling in his grief and anguish in the alcohol scented walls of the hospital room.

[eruden-writes]

Desperation's Summit - Part 13

widowed troll x human raising triplets enemies-ish to lovers? on-going

Summary:

What happens when a rich human woman gets kidnapped by a troll in the mountains? The troll claims it was an accident, but is that really true?

cw: spousal death backstory

❄ Part 1 ❄ Masterlist ❄ Previous ❄

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

When Cordelia awoke the next morning, it was to a pounding head, a lung wracking cough, and a fever. After a loud sniffle, she added 'sticky congestion' to her list of ailments. Trying to ignore the agitation of being ill, she shifted and her eyes slid around the room.

Upon entering Rakash's room last night, she found a rough-hewn desk and chair a top of pelt-like rug and books in an array of amateurish to professional binding. She didn't know if the books belonged to Karina or if they were legitimately bound Trollish texts and her exhaustion had outweighed her curiosity. There had also been a large fireplace, attached to the one in the main cabin room, she thought.

It took her a few minutes to locate the stairs that led to the mezzanine-like partial floor above, where his more bed and dressing area resided.

On the left side of the bed, morning light squeezed between panels of a curtained window. A large, foldable privacy screen sectioned off a small area of the room, flanked by a heavy, crudely made armoire. Her eye caught on the occasional tunic or discarded sock, reminding her she was in Rakash's domain. As if the scent lingering in his blankets wasn't reminder enough.

Vague snatches of last night danced through her mind. Her run-in with the thrall, the magic that had sizzled from her fingers, Rakash's confessional backstory.

Cordelia rubbed her fingers against the blankets swaddling her, as if she could erase the phantom sensations still burning there. While getting the medicine for Ebra, she had quietly sworn to not indulge Rakash, flirtatiously or carnally. He had disappointed her. She didn't bed people who disappointed her. Or that's what she told herself.

Avoiding the thoughts lurking at the edges of her thoughts, she considered whether she should attempt to venture down the stairs, despite her body's preemptive twinges, and to the kitchen for food.

"How're you feeling?" As if summoned by her consciousness and appetite, Rakash appeared from the stairway with a tray gripped in his hands. The shadows under his eyes had returned, making his features as grim-faced as the first time they met.

Strangely, something felt something was softer about him. Though that might just be thanks to her illness.

"Peachy," Cordelia croaked, her throat aching. Uncomfortable heat, unconnected to her illness, crept into her cheeks as she remembered her impromptu bath last night.

Rakash brought the tray closer, setting it on the bedside table with a soft clack. Without warning, he pressed his palm to her forehead. It took Cordelia a breathless beat to understand what he was doing just before he hummed in consternation, "I was worried this would happen."

"What?" As he stepped back, relieving her of his cooler palm, Cordelia eyed the offerings on the tray. Thick greyish glop steamed in the bowl. She presumed it was oatmeal or gruel. A mug with a greenish yellow hue that was hopefully tea. A piece of toasted bread and - amusingly - a small bowl of fruit sauce.

Faintly, she wondered if a trolling or three had assisted on this breakfast. If so, then they were all feeling well. That eased an unexpected knot in her chest.

Also among the food was her bound journal. An odd offering, she thought, before she remembered. It was the journal with the proportions for the medication scrawled in it. Rakash picked it up, waggling it in the air gently. "Tell me the measurements."

She blinked up at him, not quite understanding before realization hit her. Ah... it waswritten in Common, wasn't it?

That didn't explain why he wanted to know about the medicine now. Her eyebrows furrowed further, a slow mounting dread sinking into her chest. "Why? Your kids are fine, aren't they?"

"For you." Rakash tipped the journal closer to her head but stopped shy of lightly bopping her on the forehead.

Oh, that was why? Cordelia swallowed down a sigh of relief, that cold dread dissipating. Not even looking at Rakash, she dismissively waved her hand. "I'll be fine. It's just a cold."

Rakash narrowed his eyes, his features darkening for a second. He supposed he should be relieved she was back to being obstinate, but her tone rubbed him the wrong way. Something lurked between the words. It reminded him of her words the other night, when she asked if she looked like a "creepy, death-dealing mage."

He realized it hadn't been disgust that colored her tone then. It was disbelief. How could she be a mage? It seemed strange that Cordelia couldn't imagine herself being something.

Quietly, he watched her daintily spoon some of the fruit sauce – a concoction the kids swore she'd enjoy – into her mouth. She swallowed slowly, face pinching with a subdued flinch indicating her throat was raw. At least she went for another bite, which would hopefully fuel the fight inside her.

As he watched her eat, he considered how to convince her to allow him to help her. Maybe she didn't want to rely on him. Or maybe she just liked lording her abilities and capabilities over him. Though, that didn't seem the case, given the last twenty-four hours they'd endured. So why would she fight his assistance?

He supposed it didn't really matter. Cordelia was an adult and could do what she wanted, even if it caused detriment to herself. But something about how she spoke of herself nagged at his thoughts. Further, if she did get worse, would she be able to tell him the correct instructions for the medicine? His lips thinned at that thought. He really didn't want to lose her thanks to her own stubbornness, let alone to an illness he had medicines to combat.

Medicines he possessed specifically because of her.

An idea sparked through his head, forceful and warm. Before he thought too long in it, Rakash stepped forward, grabbed Cordelia by her chin, and stooped over her.

Her body went rigid at his touch. Heat bit at her cheeks and she wildly wondered if this was a fever or blush. Either way, a surprised squeak left her as he forced her gaze up. "What are you doi—!?"

Cordelia's body froze as Rakash swept down and caught her lips. She became very aware of the weight of the tray on her lap, torn between tossing it at the troll and holding it tight to ground herself. She also became agonizingly aware of the chill on one shoulder, where her nightgown had slipped low.

His heat eased the stiff ache in her muscles, the cold from her bones. Tired and weak, Cordelia let her eyes flutter shut, leaning into the kiss, and tilting her head a little. Her cheek brushed against one of his tusks as his tongue breached across her lips.

Despite the suddenness, the kiss was achingly tender. The affection made Cordelia twinge with need on a level entirely different than carnal. Something that battled against the pangs of illness, craving more simple touches versus salacious need.

When Rakash pulled away, Cordelia's eyes dazedly blinked open. She was greeted with his grin spread beneath his tusks.

"Oh no, I've been exposed to this highly contagious sickness." His deadpan words couldn't hide the smug glint in his eye as he leaned back. Once more he held up the journal and waved it in Cordelia's line of sight. "And if I get ill while my children's nanny is sick, there will be no one to care for the triplets."

She blinked up at him, eyes round and cheeks aching where his stubble razed her softer skin. Trying to ignore the embarrassment rising in her, her eyes narrowed. "Oh, you are absolutely wretched."

"As you've said before," Rakash sighed, though the slight curve of his lips betrayed his self-congratulations. Again, he waggled the journal in front of her. "The measurements?"

Cordelia had half a mind to ignore him. Stubbornness and spite didn't want to give into him, especially after he'd kissed her without consent! A small part of her knew she didn't actually mind, since it was Rakash. She shoved that small part to the deeper recesses of her brain, hoping it would never be seen again. He was just looking out for her stubborn self, since without her he'd be alone to care for his kids.

With that thought in mind, Cordelia sighed and relented.

"Zalmir and Kazri got quarter doses as precaution, while Ebra got a half dose for symptoms. Adult humans get full doses. I'm not sure about adult trolls, but I bought enough for ten human adults, just in case." Taking the journal, she flipped to the pages with the doctor's directions. After she indicated the measurements, describing how to differentiate between the ingredients through description or labeling, she shot him a withering look. "Happy now?"

Rakash took a moment to consider her instructions as he rubbed his chin. Once he relieved her of the journal, she pressed back against the pillows, glaring down into the bowl of oatmeal. She fought to convince herself that the way he mumbled the instructions back to himself, personalized for his own understanding, was not making her heart flutter.

When Rakash was certain he had a strong understanding, he flipped the journal shut – keeping a finger on the page to keep his spot – and glanced down at Cordelia. She refused to look at him. Her cheeks were a deeper shade of pink than a fever warranted and small bead of guilt pulsed through him.

It wasn't enough guilt to regret forcing her hand. Still, his voice was soft and gentle as he said, "I think I have it. Thank you."

Only when Rakash turned to leave did Cordelia bring her eyes up, glowering after him. As he descended down the stairs, and out of her sight, she remembered her food. Forcing her attention to the tray, she forced herself to eat while fending off nausea and suffering her sore throat. Another uncomfortable sensation had taken root alongside the queasiness. Something that she, yet again, didn't want to look too closely at.

x x x

Days passed and Cordelia's health slowly climbed closer to what one could call healthy. It was aggravatingly slow compared to Ebra's exuberant return to boisterous health. When she accused Rakash of getting the medicine measurements wrong for her, he calmly reminded her she also had a run-in with a thrall, which may have slowed her healing process. Even more infuriating was the fact she couldn't argue against that.

Even with her sniping, Rakash continued to bring her food, a change of clothes, and an allotment of medicine every day. His attentive behavior made the feelings in her chest tangle even tighter.

Worse, he always settled on the edge of the bed, side to side with her, watching closely as she drank the tonic. It was like he didn't trust her to take her medicine and on a few occasions she had half a mind to spit it at him. She never did, of course. It would have been a waste of medicine, but the temptation was there.

These were Cordelia's musings as she accepted the tonic from Rakash and as he settled beside her on the bed.

Imagining the shock that would paint his face made Cordelia vaguely smile. Of course, then his shock would give way to anger. Maybe even a scowl or a baring of teeth with a curled lip.

Cordelia had fallen silent, as she was wont to do during their newfound morning routine. Rakash chalked it up to her not being fully awake just yet. However, a few days had passed and she'd gotten better over that time, making him want to gauge her health.

He settled on the edge of the bed, leaning back against the headboard but not looking straight at the human woman. "How are you feeling today, Delwi?"

Thankfully, Cordelia had already gulped down the remedy, or else she may have choked. Heat sparked up her, hearing him call her the nickname she grudgingly allowed the trollings to use. The rush of blood to her cheeks made her skin burn as she shot a glare up at Rakash. "You do not call me that!"

"Why not? My kids do." He bit down a grin, watching from the corner of his gaze as the woman visibly bristled. A few days ago, she wouldn't have taken the bait. Opting instead to burrow further into the blankets, while half-heartedly complaining about his stench on them.

"This may come as a surprise to you, but theyare toddlers whereas you are not." Cordelia sniffed disapprovingly at him, settling the cup to the side as she dragged her spoon through the broth he had brought for the midday meal.

"So you noticed," he returned, the ghost of a smile dancing at his lips as his eyes hooded suggestively.

If this was how he interacted with his late wife, Cordelia could almost see his appeal. The irate edge of his voice had softened over the last few days, sounding far smoother than it had since she arrived. Rolling her eyes, she ignored the observation and clung to agitation. "I've barely noticed the difference."

To that, Rakash snorted.

"What?" Cordelia shot back at him.

"You either haven't met many children or know some awfully large ones if you could mistake me for a toddler." He leaned toward her, raising his eyebrows. At some point in their conversation, he had extended an arm behind her shoulders, along the top of the headboard. With her hair plaited and pulled over her shoulder, a vague thought realized he could coast his fingertips along the nape of her neck.

If he wanted to, of course.

"This may be hard for you to understand but I was speaking figuratively, not literally. You do understand the difference, don't you?" She narrowed her eyes at him, funneling haughtiness into her tone. Part of her didn't think he was listening. His gaze seemed angled behind her and Cordelia suddenly felt the open air on her bared skin there. The ambient heat of his arm taunted her.

"Barely." Rakash leaned closer toward her, arm sliding further along the headboard in an attempt to ease the itch in his fingers. Her body language tensed, the faint pink on her cheeks darkening as she turned away from him with a huff and returned to her soup. Like how his body heat teased Cordelia, hers tempted him. The last few days of taking care of her, coupled with his gratitude for her interference, had further softened him to this arrogant woman. It didn't help that his 'stench' and her scent were intertwined in his bed now.

He found his eyes drawn to her lips more often, especially as she ate, recalling the smallest of sounds she had made during their sudden kiss. His fingers curled, knowing how soft she was from that very first night. When he had accidentally stolen her away. Sitting with her under his arm, Rakash knew he would have willingly made the same mistake again.

The thought struck him like a club over the head and he sat straight, averting his gaze with his arm falling off the headboard and to his own side. Rakash had to remind himself Cordelia was not happy with the circumstances. Even if he wouldn't change his actions, she'd surely wish otherwise. That notion spun around his head, even when she shot him a curious look as he retreated.

If he was a lesser man, he could have convinced himself she was disappointed at him moving away.

They sat in silence for a few moments, Cordelia quietly eating and wondering why he'd suddenly pulled away. Rakash continued to sit on the edge of the bed, leaned back against the headboard. A safe buffer of space had squeezed between them.

It was Rakash who broke the amicable silence as he turned toward Cordelia. "Do you feel well enough to get out of bed today?"

She paused, shooting him a suspicious look with her spoon clamped in her mouth. The momentary relief of his eyes being turned away from her as she ate fled as a breathless sort of apprehension crawled back into her chest. Why she suddenly felt fidgety under Rakash's gaze, Cordelia didn't understand.

With that though securely in place, her eyebrow raised cynically as she eased the spoon from her lips. "So eager to put me back to work?"

Only with willful determination did Rakash not let his eyes drop to Cordelia's lips and watch the utensil slip from between her lips. Well, determination and curiosity to see her reaction to what he had planned. "No, I have something to show you."

Cordelia's nose wrinkled with preemptive disapproval, her thoughts swinging back to their previous discussion. She ignored the bite of heat on her cheeks as she said, "This doesn't have anything to do with you proving you're bigger than a toddler, does it?"

"No," he snorted and shook his head, unable to keep his lips from twitching into a grin. "Though, if you ask nicely, I might be inclined t—"

His teasing words were cut off as a flustered Cordelia flung a pillow into his face. As he chuckled into the cushion, she faintly realized that weeks ago she'd been perversely curious how Rakash looked when he smiled, when he laughed. Now, she was woefully unprepared for that expression on his lips, so close to her own face.

She could have leaned over, closed that distance, and—

Before Rakash fully lowered the pillow, a mass of blankets rained down on him. Cordelia scrambled from the bed, moving her bowl of soup to the bedside table with her mug of tea.

"A momentary change of scenery should be fine," she primly trilled as she staggered on semi-wobbly legs to the little heap of her clothes that sat on a small chest by the privacy screen. In her effort to gain distance from Rakash, Cordelia didn't notice when he pushed the blankets off. Nor did she notice how his eyes followed her.

With the light from the window through the thin material of her chemise, memories of her nude form kneeling beside him washed over Rakash's thoughts. A lump formed in his throat as heat raged in his center. When did it become so warm in the room? Taking a deep breath through his nose, he averted his gaze and stood.

"I'll wait for you below as you get ready," he said and headed for the stairs. She didn't seem to care or notice, he thought, as he descended to the safety below.

Sorting carelessly through her clothes, not really seeing what she was picking up, Cordelia listened to Rakash leave. Try as she might, she couldn't ignore heart thrumming noisomely in her chest.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

If you like my content, please consider supporting me on: 

*:･ﾟ✧ Patreon or  Ko-Fi *:･ﾟ✧

[victormcdicktor]

Hello everyone, I have another campaign to share.

Mai and her family are fighting to survive the genocide in Ghazza. They were displaced from their home; leaving their belongings and jobs behind.

They are barely able to afford food and hygiene products due to the skyrocketing prices and their lack of income. The only water they can get is often unfit for consumption.

Everywhere they flee is overrun with disease, pestilence, and garbage. Sickness cannot be treated since medical supplies are nearly impossible to get. Mai's mother and brother are also both suffering from extra ailments; her mother needs medication which she's unable to get, and her brother is suffering from a severe wound on his arm.

In order for Mai and her family to evacuate, they need to raise $40,000 USD. So far, they've only raised $213; their last donation was 3 hours ago.

Please help then in any way you're able. Donate if you can and share their campaign; any help you can provide is invaluable to their survival.

VETTED HERE

(cw, there is an image of Mai's brother's injury before it was sewn in the campaign description)

TAG LIST (DM me for removal)

@whisperingmedows @writerdoublein @e @rykerpuppy @renmemberme @t0w0bey @teddycuba @yogurtcake2000 @uchorusa @imp-panada @irunkefir @insufferablepilled @ichor-arrows @passion2lovvers @awesomepeoplehangingouttogether @dirkcapitationn @fatalbloomsinmoon @nabulsi @90-ghost @el-shab-hussein @aria-ashryver @northgazaupdates2 @sar-soor @flower-tea-fairies @palestinegenocide @gazagfmboost @palestine-info-uncensored @heba-20 @aces-and-angels @fairycosmos @greenpinkstraw @ibtisams @radicalgraff @r4ms3yy @thestrugglerrr @shug888 @decolonize-the-everything @fototingobug @gaza-evacuation-funds @g3wgaw @greydrits @gainnecorpse @gasfuzbj @hamsterdads @himbo-noxx @heijegerkannibal @juliccardi @jvstcallmespade @kk3o2 @katylokk @keff-fr @literallyneurodivergentandaminor @lenaeeessshhh @la7ma-mafrooma @lutielutik @certified-dentist @cemetaryvampire @chemautopsy @cryptid-catnip @vetted-gaza-funds @vantisanjo @blu-berriez @neptunerings @neatleaf @meit1

@fancysmudges @brokenbackmountain @mothblossoms @aleciosun @fluoresensitive @khizuo @lesbiandardevil @transmutationisms @schoolhater @timogsilangan @appsa @buttercuparry @sayruq @malcriada @palestinegenocide @sar-soor @akajustmerry @feluka @tortiefrancis @flower-tea-fairies @tsaricides @riding-with-the-wild-hunt @visenyasdragon @belleandsaintsebastian @ear-motif @kordeliiius @raelyn-dreams @troythecatfish @theropoda @tamarrud @4ft10tvlandfangirl @queerstudiesnatural @northgazaupdates2 @skatezophrenic @awetistic-things @baby-girl-aaron-dessner @nabulsi @sygold @junglejim4322 @heritageposts @chososhairbuns @palistani @dlxxv-vetted-donations @illuminated-runas @imjustheretotrytohelp

(sorry for the randomness of the tags, I just used what popped up. If anyone has advice on how to make a good taglist please tell me)

[cheriecelestial]

Ephemeral Infinity Of Spring

pairing *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ patient!satoru gojo x med school student!geto suguru

genre *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ drama,comedy,angst. romance, fluff.

cw *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ angst, strong language, typos, grammatical errors, cliché moments , violence, potential medical malpractice

a/n : *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ so it’s inspired by ' In another life' - a bokuaka fanfiction by LittleLuxray on ao3 .

╰ ┈➤ Chapter List

╰ ┈➤ Master list

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐎𝐧𝐞

𝕴t hadn't been long since Geto Suguru had been to a concert hospital . Not because he was suffering from any ailments rather he had the misfortune of being a medical student . Visiting a hospital regularly for assignments to help with his GPA and other related future prospects was one of his responsibilities as a med school student .  The cold February wind ruffled Suguru's dark hair. The radiant hues of horizon reflected in his dead eyes. Standing at the edge of the high rise building with his portfolio and other necessities. He was stuck with the honor he never asked for. Being the envious golden student born into a family of doctors , he should be happy and grateful, but he's not. Only he knew the pain when his heart wanted to live but he wanted to die. All these years living life for someone, he'd lost himself in this world. His life felt somewhat was colorless.

The hospital was a place of both life and death . Within these brightly lit hallways laced with doors on both side spreading like labyrinth expanding into the fabric of universe itself. It was pretty ironic. People take their first open their eyes here, not even being able to recognise faces of their own family, within these sterile white walls and die here, leaving their loved ones behind. A heartless farewell . Suguru disliked both . To him , little children were considered  an unnecessary economic liability . It was sickening to be surrounded by all of this and often more sickening than the disease you are expected to cure as a doctor . These white walls of hospital were grey. Doctors and Nurses bustled through the hallway like train in its track, unstopping and moving, not even budging to look at the state of people hurled up in the waiting room . The receptionist's hands moved like tongs on the desk , mechanically creating a bundle of thousands of signed receipts like a printer. Someone coughed. Someone cried, but overall it was just the silence and the plight of patients in the waiting room, devoid of laughter and happiness. Everything there was mechanical. Like clockwork.

The pungent stench of antiseptic lingered in the air. If that wasn't enough to make him want to gag, well, there was a floor cleaner pricking his nose. Suguru composed himself and told himself 'I'm used to it', yet he couldn't hold himself from frowning.

" Um Geto Suguru-san ?" He heard a voice , causing him to whip his head towards the source . It was woman with long dark hair which glowed with a hint of purple under the blue tinted hospital lights . Some strands tied behind her head and was sporting a scar on the right side of her face that crossed the bridge of her nose. She was a little older than him considering she was wearing a receptionist's outfit . " Uh yes that's me" The woman nodded at his words and asked him to follow her . While walking to her work station , she gave him a rundown of the hospital and how great it was - something Suguru paid no attention to . In about fifteen minutes or so , all paperwork was sorted out and he was officially signed up . No going back I guess , he thought to himself .

The woman had been babbling for long enough for his ears to become numb to it. What was it? 30 minutes? 20 minutes? The sound of her voice was nothing more than background noise to Suguru's ears at this point and he'd totally lost comprehension of her words . This was precisely being lost in an abyss of nothingness, treading aimless. "Found you" A smug voice shone in stark contrast through the darkness like guiding sunshine. He turned and saw the profile of an unfamiliar young man of  his age . Conventionally, this new guy would be considered a very tall man but Suguru being 6'1" himself was only a couple inches shorter in comparison.

His striking delicate but sharp features were mesmerizing with almost feminine perfection . Perhaps it was his snowy white hair that fell on his forehead, or the way his circular shades rested on his nose or perhaps his smug grin, or who knows, lollipop propped between his teeth ? No, it was his lips dyed fainted blue that Suguru couldn't help detach his eyes away from . This guy had a total air of a snob about him, he was the cool type of popular kid at highschool who'd die without attention. Suguru steered away from such people. They were walking natural disasters. Despite that, Suguru couldn't help being mildly curious about him at the same time. 'What am I even thinking? Focus.' he told himself but then his gaze fell on the guy's clothes. A white and blue patterned clothing. 'He's a patient' Suguru noticed.

" I'm sorry but do i know you ?" Suguru tilted his head and asked . " Nope but -" The man grinned taking his lollipop from between his lips and cocking it in Suguru's direction causing the ebony haired man to reflexively cringe away . " my hottie radar said there was a hot single in this area and my senses - " he haughtily pointed his index finger at the tip of his nose and continued " are never wrong and I think of it as my duty to check them out " Suguru felt his eye twitch as he stared back at the man . There is no way he just said that . Suguru considered himself quite a patient man; he had to skipped a year through college and coming home to a mountain of homework and having to deal with his parent's and his own expectations – he was not easily flustered or overwhelmed when faced with a unusual personalities . However nothing in life could prepare him for the current situation he was in . " So you mean to say you're a public nuisance who's liable to getting booked for harassment ?" The white haired man pulled the shades resting on the bridge of his nose down and stared at him in bewilderment . Suguru bit his tongue instantly regretting his words . There goes my good impression , he lamented internally . He didn't dare look to his side to see the nurse's reaction . He expected the man to get offended and yell at him , but instead he burst out laughing . So hard he almost doubled over .

" Yo Utahime I'm keeping this one , he's just too fun", He grabbed Suguru's shoulders , still laughing and the nurse just sighed at this incorrigible Jack Frost imposter, that was what Suguru labeled him in his mind, she shook her head . " Do as you see fit ." His wide grin became even wider . Think of the devil reincarnate . Before the poor medical student could even comprehend half the things happening around him, it was too late for him to plead his case. He started in vain, " But miss I am an intern , I'm not supposed to -"

" One of the duties of interns is to look after patients babygirl" Jack Frost imposter said as he dragged him away . The dark haired man looked to the nurse for help who just passed him a mournful unempathetic glance that said, 'You're on your own, kid' and turned away to continue working .

He felt hurt at being ditched. But then again, he was used to it. All of it. He irritatedly walked behind the chirpy extravert, who waved and smiled at everyone that passed by. This guy seemed to literally be familiar with everyone in this place. Finally, the two men with contrasting personality stopped in front of the more colorful part of the hospital, the pediatrics ward, and the man smiled proudly ," This is where you will be working"

" But I'm a neurology major ! This isn't my field of interest or expertise"

" Seriously, who cares ?"

" B-but I have no experience- " he panicked.

"Then let's get it"

taglist: @sleepykittycx / @kentply

[kinardgo]

please! anything but the mess that is motorsport today

Okay but honestly, best ask ever.

(CW: discussions of fairly gross medical procedures below)

SO. Here's the story about how Blackbeard might have had syphilis.

In the early eighteenth century, Edward Teach - Blackbeard - was sailing around the Atlantic in a former French slave ship called the Queen Anne's Revenge. Most people are probably fairly familiar with stories of Blackbeard - he's been in pretty much every popular piece of pirate media in the last century in some form or another. Icon. Burning fuses in the beard guy.

A lot of the stories we have of Blackbeard are directly drawn from a book, A General History of the Pyrates, which is one of the broadest accounts of piracy of this era, and then from personal accounts of people who knew him or knew of him. Remember that A General History is detail-accurate in some places, and totally fictional in others, and that Blackbeard had a serious reputation in the eighteenth century, so how accurate these stories are is really up for debate, and a lot of it has been blown up in sensationalism and fanaticism. There are almost no accounts of Blackbeard actually killing anyone, so reports of his untamed violence were probably landowners and local officials attempting to sway public opinion against him as they were so terrified of him looting them. However, one thing that people can generally agree on is that by the end of his career, Blackbeard had 'gone a bit mad'.

This is just historical context.

During the 1717 blockade of Charleston, South Carolina, as part of a random demand, he asked for a crate of medical supplies, including syringes and mercury.

The 1996 excavation on the Queen Anne's Revenge, just off the shores of Beaufort Inlet, North Carolina, revealed 240,000 artefacts, including a pewter syringe with mercury traces in it.

Getting to the main point: syphilis is a pretty nasty STD, caused by the bacteria treponema pallidum.

Now, today, syphilis is treatable with penicillin. However, in the eighteenth century - two centuries before penicillin was discovered - a common 'cure' for this was injected mercury into the urethra. This is not effective, I think it goes without saying. It would have been agony, and probably made things much worse, although I can't comment on what exposure to mercury actually does to treponema pallidum.

The thing is, when left untreated, syphilis can turn into neurosyphilis. This is when the bacteria starts to effect the nervous system though tissue in the spine and brain. I am not a medical professional so I can't explain the process with any degree of accuracy. However, what I can say is that neurosyphilis generally presents as depression, mania, personality changes, and dementia.

The latter part of Blackbeard's days mostly involve crashing his ship, finding a pardon, then returning to piracy and ultimately being killed.

However, accounts of his behaviour combined with the historical accounts and archaeological evidence do point to Blackbeard potentially suffering from syphilis. Normally, these theories are based almost entirely on folklore and slander, but I think this one has real credence. Which, as an archaeologist, makes it uniquely fascinating to me. Obviously, I'm not the first person to come up with this, and it's by no means proven, but it is very interesting.

Further reading for those interested:

This is a very good article from the Smithsonian on the last days of Blackbeard. It's quite long, but it's very readable. Please be aware that there are some discussions of slavery in this, and violence enacted against enslaved Africans.

And this is a medical report on a casestudy with someone with neurosyphilis if you're interested in it. Obviously, there are long discussions of medical ailments and procedures. However, the article itself is only 3 pages, and I didn't struggle with it as someone with next to no foundational knowledge of medicine.

I have a small library of other Golden Age of Piracy related texts because of my uni project right now, so if there is anything else than anyone would like to know, let me know and I can see if I can find the books and articles for you lmao. Anything to wring the most out of my university online library access for the last few weeks!!

[seth-whumps]

🫵 I am unfortunately too sick to have the brain cells to give you a specific prompt, but why are so many of your fandoms my long time SpIns?? Like wth, are we like the same same person or smth?! /lh /silly

(that said feels weird to not give a prompt so- you should cover one of your favourites in blood iyw /nf)

anon I love you /p. did you know that. did you

anyway you're so correct and I will be doing that.

here is Prompto whump with Ignis covered in blood. promnis if you want to but they'd do this even if they weren't gonna kiss lmao

-- CW: lots of blood, gore, restraining, emergency surgery, unconsciousness --

When Prompto's eyes flutter open, the sun is blinding.

Not a surprise, given how he's flat on his back and he can't move. Two hands press hard on his chest, digging him into the dirt. He struggles and finds it's useless, because it fucking hurts.

Like how a writhing worm of pure white hot fire pouring into his gut hurts. Not a little pinprick, slipping the knife in training. It's agony in a purified, distilled formula and poured straight into his stomach, like he's been cut open on a surgery table just for the acid to eat through him.

His ears are ringing and he wants to raise a hand to bat at the sound, but someone restrains him there too, wrists straining uselessly.

Prompto tries to speak, to ask why, beg to be let go, and finds his words are occupied by screaming.

Ah. That's the ringing in his ears.

A jolt in his acid-filled stomach and any attempts to stop the yelling are forgone in favor of the pain flooding his senses, and he pulls against the people holding him down, get away, it hurts, fuck it hurts--

"--Shh, shh," and that voice is familiar, soothing, it doesn't stop the pain but he can hear it and he tries to still his movements. Ignis wouldn't hurt him, not without reason. Ignis wouldn't--

Well.

The sun filters and the silhouette he sees blinking through blurry tears is bloody.

Ignis, smooth jaw, square chin, sharp eyes, is soaked through with red. Each angle is dark with the stuff, pouring through the collar of his shirt, running below his nose in rivers. It drips artfully to the grass below his fingertips.

"Shh, Prompto, dear, I'm so sorry," he whispers, and with how rough his throat is, he's been saying that for a long time. "Almost done."

There's no reason why he should be so bloody. Not when Prompto's got the open acid gut like a vivisection on the medical table. It doesn't make sense, but the nails on his hands are caked and there are wet tracks down his cheeks, pulling down the crimson to meet the mess of his neck.

Ignis runs a bloody hand through his pale blond hair, and damn him, he looks like a painting below the silhouetting sun, an angel of vitae and his savior all in one. Fuck. Prompto must be delirious.

"Shh," Ignis whispers again, eyes down, a thumbprint of red on his cheekbone. "It's going to be alright."

"Ig--" he tries, but cuts himself off with another scream.

The acid in his gut is hands, and he knows who they belong to.

"Go to sleep," and Ignis is begging, heartbroken, terrified. "It'll hurt less. I'm so sorry, dear Prompto."

He fights it. Needs to know what's happening to him, why he's broken on the ground, why he can't even move his hands.

But the thought of no pain is sweeter than a drug, and Ignis caresses his cheek with a bloody hand.

The sun filters red, and then black, as he passes out.

--

anon I hope you feel better soon!!! and I hope this was helpful to your ailments 💙

[teine-mallaichte]

OK my prompt fill for day 28 of @whumpmasinjuly-archive got inside my head...

so here's part 2

part 1

authors note: I was that person during both my bio med degree and graduate medicine. The one who struggled to make ends meet, who never socialised - what was the point I couldn’t go on the night's out anyway, I was at work. The one with the out of date textbooks, who was always late to class but somehow still got good grades. The one who would watch the other students, the ones who were not the first in their family to go to uni, the ones who's parents sent them money, the ones who - from my limited perspective - have everything simply given to them.

I got over it eventually... mainly.

And spoiler alert I am not a doctor 😅 as it's pointed out in this fic "med school is hard when you're struggling to even afford food."

CW - captive whumpee, doctor whumpee, sadistic whumper, revenge whump.

Jake stared at the sutures he had so painstakingly stitched. A few days had passed, and despite his efforts, the signs of infection were unmistakable. The skin around the wounds was reddening, swelling, and beginning to emit a faint, foul odour.

"You don't look well, doctor," the man's voice seemed to echo slightly.

Jake looked up at the man, unsure exactly when he had arrived.

"An infection?" The man shook his head disapprovingly. "It seems even the best of us can fall victim to such simple ailments," he continued, his tone mocking. He crouched down, bringing his face level with Jake's. "Tell me, doctor, how does it feel to be on the other side of the table?"

"You know damn well how it feels," Jake shot back.

The man’s lips twisted into a cruel smile. "You still don't remember who I am, do you?"

Jake's brow furrowed in confusion. Something about the man's voice, the mocking tone, felt hauntingly familiar. He struggled to piece together fragments of memory, but they slipped through his grasp like sand.

The man’s eyes gleamed with a twisted satisfaction. "Fitting that you would not remember..." The man stood and walked to a table, moving items with a metallic click. "For years, we studied together. You just breezed through—popular, smart, rich," the man paused, taking a few deep breaths. "Do you know how hard med school is when you can barely afford to eat? I had two jobs," he yelled his voice echoing in the small space.

Jake's mind raced, trying to recall the details of his med school days. Faces and names flashed through his memory, but none matched the man before him. The man’s bitterness and anger, however, were unmistakable. Then, a memory surfaced—a student always on the edge of exhaustion, his face drawn with fatigue. The student has seemed to be a loner, never joining the rest of them on nights out, rarely socialising outside if the mandated group assignments.

"You were always the golden boy," the man continued, his voice now a low, dangerous whisper. "Everyone admired you, envied you. I desperately tried to keep up, and when I made one mistake—a small error that you could have easily ignored—what did you do?"

Jake's heart pounded as the pieces began to fall into place. A vague memory of a minor mistake in a lab that Jake had reported. At the time, it had seemed like the right thing to do—a way to ensure standards were met. He hadn't considered the consequences for the student involved.

"You reported me," the man spat, confirming Jake's recollection. "And now look at us. You are a doctor... because of course you are. And me? Well, not many people are looking to hire a guy with 90% of a medical degree."

The man turned away, rummaging through the medical supplies on the table. Jake's eyes darted around the room, seeking anything that could help him, any potential weapon or tool. But there was nothing within reach, nothing that could turn the tide in his favor.

"You never had to struggle for anything in your life," the man said, his back still turned. "The hunger, the exhaustion, the hopelessness. You've never known what it is like to have your dreams torn away."

Jake's breath came in shallow, painful gasps as he absorbed the man's words. The overwhelming guilt and fear coiled tightly within him, making it hard to think clearly. He could see now how his actions, which he had thought were justified and necessary, had shattered this man's life.

"I'm sorry," Jake managed to say, his voice cracking. "I never meant to—"

"Save your apologies," the man interrupted, turning back to face Jake, a scalpel now glinting in his hand.

Jake’s pulse quickened at the sight of the scalpel, the cold metal reflecting the dim light of the basement. The man approached slowly, a predatory gleam in his eyes.

"Sorry doesn’t change anything," he said softly, the blade gliding through the air with a deadly grace. "It doesn't undo the years I lost, the opportunities that slipped through my fingers because of you."

"What do you want?" Jake's voice trembled slightly.

The man grinned. "I want you to feel what I did." He stopped mere inches from Jake, the blade hovering dangerously close to his face. "I want balance," the man whispered. "I want the golden boy to know what it's like to feel hunger, exhaustion, despair... hopelessness."

The man pressed the scalpel lightly against Jake's cheek, not enough to cut, but enough to send a clear message. "I could have been a great doctor, you know," he said, his voice laced with bitterness.

Whumpmas In July 2024 posts

[deviatory]

@helllords asked : aloe :   how does your muse handle grief ? (for malachi)

Okay meme is question is getting its own post because it's a large piece of lore for the last century, and two, it's a contains some very dark and triggering subject matter.

SO cw for : r*pe mention, drug use, abuse, attempted suic*de mention, mental illness and medical procedure

Malachi has never dealt with grief… well. At this point I doubt he’ll ever be able to properly, again, however to understand this there has to be context.

It should be stated that the current Malachi does not react the same way as he would have over a century ago. Malachi was failing mentally after Qaqu’s death and his new found duties. He had been forced to race in his equine form prior to Qaqu’s shootout to earn his keep amongst the ageing witches, however his own advancing age found little success and left him volatile, with periods where he would become “uncooperative” and avoidant. It hadn’t been the first time. He had been used and abused his whole life, and suddenly he had inherited a role where he had been placed in charge of not only his sisters’ wellbeing but also that of the family who had abused him. However it would be the stress brought upon by sudden reappearance of his son in 1930, Mordecai, after forty years forcing him to come to terms with his r.ape which would leave him in a complete state of helplessness, anxiety and depression that led into sharp mood swings, unusual behaviour, insomnia and triggered aggressive behaviour. 

The sum and stress caught up with him and he suffered to a point where his friends, a young Wesley, Jack and Sarah fearing for his own safety as due to what he was were forced to chemically restrain him with opioids and keep him contained within his room for a time. It would eventually come to a headway with Malachi, having attempted to slit his wrists with pen nib, unwilling to live in this state, with his pain or “inherit the madness of his father” would come to beg Wesley to end his life where he would refuse and threaten that if his mental state did not improve he would have had no choice but to permanently physically restrain him. Malachi would slowly seem to “recover” after this, Wesley providing Malachi regularly with sedatives until he’d returned to a “functional” state to administer himself, although the occasional period of depression would still occur. His focus would become determined to provide the witch family with a comfortable quality of life, knowing as time had told him before some would be inflicted ailments of Alzheimer's disease. 

Sarah would marry, Jack would disappear, and Wesley would move away after a falling out with Malachi to continue his studies as a doctor in New York state, perhaps prompted by Malachi to pursue his field in psychiatry. The last witch would die in 1954, and Malachi would start living with Sarah after her husband would pass in 1956. Unfortunately issues with his mental health would start to rise again, with Sarah’s declining health and a growing tolerance to opioids after decades of use would leave Malachi increasingly neurotic. 

In 1974 Sarah passed away while he was away during a business trip. He shuts down emotionally. There’s a nickname he gains due to his initial response after Sarah’s death that I haven’t really touched (because mainly I haven’t had a thread which explored that moment in time) : the hollow man. Grief becomes cold. He doesn’t appear to even care. He does not cry, he shows no emotions or any kindness. He becomes reactive, and this often becomes one of the few times we see Malachi become intentionally cruel. Sometimes he has periods where he will break out of this into a period of intense mood swings and involuntary transformations, often beginning with him engaging in a moment of violent behaviour and ending in him literally running away. 

During one of these periods he would seek out Wesley, who had at this point become a teacher, at his office and collapse. Over the next few days, and an argumentative back and forth Malachi would eventually ask Wesley to recommend him for a lobotomy, despite the doctor’s proclamations that the procedure was largely being considered dangerous, outlawed in many states and ineffective with the theory that because of his accelerated regeneration it might not work the way Malachi wanted. Despite that Wesley made the arrangements for the procedure to be performed privately due to Malachi’s inhuman potential. The surgery went ahead without issue, and his temperament improved. Sadly, it was not the result Malachi wanted and the pain he’d felt was still in him, revealing during his recovery that he had simply hoped it would “leave him with nothing”. Despondent, Malachi would leave Wesley to his life without a goodbye and return to his sisters in California. He would suffer some cognitive issues affecting his ability to read, focus, yet he would create unusual routines for himself in the time after. Maria would later note he was never quite with them anymore and found him “austere, annoyingly unhelpful, but easy to direct” for the first few years until he began to become more lucid and gradually show a great range of emotion by the end of the decade.

Arguably it could be considered one of the few reasons how he became so easily manipulated by Setepen-it.