#cw: medical ailment
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snarp · 6 months ago
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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.
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alittlebitofloveliness · 11 months ago
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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.
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bisexualiteaa · 2 years ago
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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
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- 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
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- 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
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- 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. ❤️
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lyriumcoloredskies · 1 year ago
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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
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"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
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"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
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"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
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"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
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"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.
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jiubilant · 8 months ago
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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.
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shiki-jin · 2 months ago
Text
all yours, all mine ♡
diluc x fem! vampire! yandere! reader it's also on ao3 ! this hasn't been fully proofread so expect some mistakes
heavily self-indulgent, even though i don't actually care too much about diluc ??
~ 5.8k words
CWS INCLUDE — general yandere themes (possessiveness, manipulation, allusions to kidnapping, etc) general vampire themes (blood, violence, being treated like it's a disease), injuries (not descriptive), implied self worth issues, implied parental abuse, light religious themes, you let a bird die :(
you've been afflicted with vampirism for as long as you can remember, but it seems diluc might just be your cure. and you'd do anything to keep him by your side.
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diluc ragnvindr.
the man you had married.
oh, how much the gods loved you to wed you to him.
or perhaps it was justice — being afflicted with this strange condition, this bloodlust.
maybe the gods simply felt pity. like they were at fault for your troubles.
for your inability to stay healthy as a child, only able to recover from your ailment at night. even then, your frail body couldn't do much other than lay awake, staring at the moon and stars, the trees, the animals that would pass by.
frequently you found yourself bored on those nights, wishing for a companion to spend the night with. you wondered how everyone else dealt with this excruciating ennui.
eventually, after what felt like thousands of doctors, physicians, any medical practitioners your parents could get their hands on — you received an answer to your mysterious affliction.
that is, only technically. while you didn't get a name for your affliction, you got a pseudo-solution.
you were to be kept inside for every hour of the day, the curtains closed and all silver out of your sight. a hundred other restrictions were placed on you, and while you were made to memorize them as a child, you didn't care for them anymore.
while it worked — you felt less sick than usual, it wasn't a true solution. even now that you were able to move around without constant pain, you kept getting worse. and worse.
and worse.
you spent nearly every hour of your childhood in your room, decorated with fresh flowers, all the dresses you could want, porcelain dolls to play with at any time, personal servants to acquire whatever other toys you wanted, and yet…
it only ever felt boring. you can't count how many times you cursed at the deities your parents wanted you to worship. not out of anger, revenge, or any emotion as strong as those. only because you had nothing else to do.
one rainy evening, a small bird dropped onto your windowsill.
as fast as your frail body could, you got a chair to stand on and opened the window, the cold air and raindrops coming inside going unnoticed.
the small chick didn't move, and you saw its colours spilling onto the white sill.
red.
a deep, lively, cursed red.
it was mixing with the clear rainwater, and it felt wrong. like it was meant to stay pure.
your mentors taught you a small bit about the animals that passed your window — this was a crimson finch. it bled, meaning that it was dying.
rather than helping the pitiful thing, you reached for it and held it in your small hands, breathing in, out, in, out, and you put your mouth to it's wound.
you gulped down some of the thick, iron-tasting liquid that dripped from it.
you felt okay.
you licked up the puddle it had left.
you felt good.
you closed the window and quickly ran out of your room, your hands holding the dying bird laying on your chest, about to tell your father that you'd found your own cure — but he wasn't here.
you searched and searched, save for going inside any locked rooms you weren't supposed to, but found nobody. you licked your ichor-stained lips, and decided that exploring the outside world would be a good idea.
as you approached the main doors, you heard mumbling. footsteps. the doors opened and in walked your father, some servants, and — who's that?
a tall, ruggedy red-head who looked about as old as your father, together with a much smaller boy with the same hair.
they were talking about some important business, most likely, before your father noticed you standing before them. “child, what are you doing here!? need i remind you of —”
he paused and looked at his guests quickly, before turning back to you. “w—well, i suppose it isn't really an issue.” the man he called ragnvindr spoke up, “how about they play together in her room, while we discuss other matters?”
though hesitant, your father seemed to want to please the man, so he agreed. as he nodded, he shot you a familiar look. don't infect him.
“um, okay.” you timidly responded, not confident enough to talk about your findings anymore. you turned to the boy who had already walked up to you, only now seeing him up and close.
pretty.
“o-oh, uh, t-thank you..” he stammered out, blushing. oh, did i say that out loud? well, it is true.
that deep-red, fluffy hair that framed his face. his features that seemed to be handcrafted by the very gods you cursed. his soft, angelic voice that sounded like it could sing all your worries away.
“follow me.” you stated plainly, after spending some time looking at him. admiring him. you walked to your room, haphazardly discarding the bird onto your bed. you were going to chuck it out, but before you could stand up on the chair and open the window again, your playmate shrieked.
“w—wait, what's a bird doing here? and, why is it bleeding?”
you paused. you heard the boy walk up to the bird, likely assessing its wounds like a normal person might.
“well… it landed on my windowsill, and, i was going to ask my father for help to save it, but i got too scared. i think i have some… medicine and stuff somewhere, so i was gonna look for it.”
you lied through your teeth, but you couldn't help it. you had just seen your father try to present himself as a good person so that mr. ragnvindr would stay, so surely if you used the same technique, his son would also stay?
the boy nodded, “okay, um, just get some bandages for now…! also, do you have any food or water nearby? oh, and a light. we can't see well enough, otherwise!” he now held the little bird in his arms, but unlike you, he treated it with so much gentleness that you wanted to cry.
instead of crying, you got some bandages and a match, followed by a lantern that was at the very back of the closet and gave them over to the boy. he quickly wrapped up the injuries of the bird. then, he lit the lantern, and you stepped back towards your bedside table.
you took the uneaten bread from your plate, and placed it in front of him. “i don't have water, i think.”
you watched the boy work diligently to try and save the small creature, wondering why he'd care to put in so much effort into something that was likely entirely futile.
you watched as he fed the animal some crumbs, some more, and rechecked the bandages every few seconds. you watched as he moved the light around to see better, to maybe have a chance of helping the little bird to live.
you almost told him to give up, but knew that if you did, he wouldn't spend another second near you. after an eternity, he seemed to slow down and laid the bird on a pillow, on the chair you'd used to get up to the windowsill.
finally. “what do you wanna do?” you asked, excited for the first time in ages.
he looked around your room, cringing a bit at the extravagant ways that you'd dressed your dolls but saying nothing of it.
“w—well, i guess it's okay if we just lay down for a bit? i’m a bit tired, and i don't want to get too distracted and forget to check on the bird every so often.”
oh. that's fine, i guess.
“okay.” you hop onto your bed, waiting for him to get onto the other side of it. when he does, bringing the lantern with him, you decide the best course of action is to study his face, his clothes, his hair, to remember him perfectly.
he seems confused by your intent and wordless staring, “is there… something on my face?”
you shake your head. “you’re just really pretty. it's like… you're fire, and i’m a moth. but i don't like fire, so… you're more like a magnet. and i’m the opposite magnet, or something.”
he was quiet for a while, and you swore you could see blood racing up and down his veins, heating his cheeks. “u-um, well, you're… you're really pretty too! i, uh, like your hair, and your eyes, and stuff…!”
no you don't. “thanks. but i’m not. not like you, at least… hey, what's your name?”
“diluc.” he seemed to have gone back to his senses, no longer blushing furiously.
“diluc, do you believe in gods? the archons?”
he was confused, but answered nonetheless. “...sure i do. why do you ask?”
“well, it's like you were handcrafted by gods. like, the geo archon created your bones, the hydro archon your blood, celestia your face.” you spoke so casually that he barely even registered your words for a good second or two, but when he did, he seemed to panic again while stumbling over his words.
“i—if anyone was made by a god, um, it'd be you. not me…!” you crawled a bit closer to him, and when he rejected your words, you sighed.
“with their left hand, maybe. they needed more people on the planet, so they threw me down here, but they wanted to make you. to sculpt you.”
he was going to interrupt, but you continued earnestly. “they made everyone and everything else just for you, because you're perfect. they made the ground to stabilize you, the gods to grant your wishes, me to see you. to experience you.”
that shut him up entirely. his brain seemed to be malfunctioning the entire rest of your ‘play-date’. once his father came to you room to get the boy — diluc — to bed, you waved your goodbye and looked over to the resting bird.
you walked up to it, and noticing that the bandages had gotten a bit bloody, decided to replace them.
when you got done, you walked out of your room and noticed a servant cleaning up the main hall. you approached her, and spoke up.
“miss,” she practically squeaked like a dog toy before turning around to see you, and stepped backwards a bit, but you didn't care this time. “i want to get rid of my dollies. and my bed to be softer.”
“ehm, right, i can do that for you, young lady. shouldn't you be on your way to bed, though?” she smiled awkwardly, quite obviously trying to get you as far away from her as possible.
you nodded, “okay.”
you walked away from her, i think he went over there…
you followed an imaginary path, and were able to find yourself in front of a door, behind which lay a lightly snoring diluc.
you opened and closed the door behind you quietly, and got into bed with him. “what are you doing?”, you ask lowly.
he didn't answer. maybe he had so much fun that he passed out? no, that probably isn't it…
“hey.” you waved your hand in front of his face, but he stays unresponsive. so, like usual, you stared and stared until morning came, but this time, you enjoyed yourself.
when your friend opened his eyes in the morning, he shrieked, nearly jumping off the bed.
“what were you doing all night?”, you asked with a curious look in your eyes. he seemed confused. “sleeping…?”
“but your eyes were closed. and i heard you breathing louder than normal.”
he deadpanned at you. “yeah? isn't that what sleeping is?”
now it was your turn to be confused. “no? sleeping is when you lay in bed, and wait until the sun goes up.”
“wha— wait, were you watching me the entire night!?”
“well yeah, you wouldn't open your eyes or play with me, so i got bored and waited. that was mean, by the way. mommy said making a lady wait is something you shouldn't do!”
he groaned, and sent you off to your own room so he could change. you found the woman who was teaching you, and decided to ask her about some things.
when you asked about diluc’s so-called sleeping, she confirmed what he said and seemed more confused about your question than anything.
so i’m the weird one? yeah, right! who would waste so many hours doing nothing? only weird people, that's who!
then, you asked your mentor about wanting to spend the rest of your life with someone else, and she asked if you'd fallen in love.
yes, love. that's what this heavy, painful, delightful feeling was.
. ————— .
the next time diluc came over, he was sure to ask you about how the bird was doing. you told him you'd nursed it back to health, that it'd flown back to its nest, and he seemed content with that.
you forgot to take care of it after he left, so you gulped down the last of its blood and hid the body in your garden. not like he'd know. you felt healthy for the next week, anyway.
when he looked around your room, he asked about where your dolls has gone. you said you'd gotten bored of them, and had given them away.
the servant apparently forgot to get rid of them, so you just broke them into pieces and buried them with the bird. at least she remembered to make your bed softer — he even commented on it!
after catching up, you were intent on finding out about all of his interests, his hobbies, what he liked and didn't, what his ideal partner was like.
he liked grape juice? what a coincidence, it's your favorite too!
he was trying to be the strongest knight in the kingdom? you had a training ground ready for him to use at any time he wanted!
he prefers an attentive and considerate partner? how lucky that you already were!
“hey, sleep in my room tonight.” you’d told him.
“you liked the bed, right? so sleep in it. my room is better than the guest rooms, anyway.”
while it took a few minutes, he was eventually convinced and you were laying down next to each other.
“sleep.”
“huh?”
“i said to sleep.”
“t—that’s not how it works!”
you grumbled something incoherent, and sunk a bit deeper into the covers. you kept staring at him, so he closed his eyes to avoid the awkward, silent eye-contact.
you eventually heard his light snoring, so you decided to see if he might be your cure.
you shifted closer and closer to him, quiet and careful to not “wake” him, as he'd put it. the closer you got, closer you wanted to be, the harder it was to not just jump onto him.
once you were near enough to smell him, you inhaled and nervously gave his neck a lick. it was supposed to be a test — to see if he'd notice something small, so you could try something more, but you noticed the skin you licked had become a tad bit darker, maybe more purple?
deciding to go for it, since diluc was still peacefully snoring, you sank your sharp teeth into his throat, careful to swallow all the blood you could.
at a certain point, you stopped feeling the desire to take his blood for yourself, so you looked around at how to clean the two small puncture wounds, but when you looked back at his neck, the wounds were gone, like they'd never existed in the first place.
. ————— .
when his father passed, you received news of your beloved leaving mondstadt. he had left a note for you; he was going to find out the truth about his father's death, and he wasn't going to be back for a long time. he asked you to wait for him, that one day, he would be back to feel your arms around him, but that he understood it was selfish to expect.
once you read the note, you ripped it in half.
like hell he was going to leave you.
you'd tear celestia in half before you let that happen. so, you contacted a certain someone.
you had told them three things:
firstly, if any harm came to diluc, they would see their organization crumble to the ground.
secondly, to, every week, bring you a small vial of your dearest’s blood. sure, you could live off of any blood, but it felt sacreligious to even think of curing yourself with the fluids of anyone else.
thirdly, to tell you of his every movement. every place he visited, every conversation he had, every detail was to be reported back to you.
for three lonesome years, that is how it was. you would remain somewhat healthy, unconcerned for diluc’s own health, and waited for him to come back to you patiently.
you distracted yourself with training; if the knights of favonius had truly been so useless as to upset him, you would take on their responsibility, you would protect everyone.
when the moon shone down at you, you would wander around and take down any dangerous folks who tried harming the thing your beloved held most dear; mondstadt.
robbers would show up kneeling at the knights' headquarters, murderers’ severed heads would be found in the lake, and god forbid a member of the fatui came anywhere near the city.
somewhere a year or two in, your parents got into an accident while coming home. it didn't change much, but you had more responsibilities now. more pressure to marry into a good family to keep the business as successful as it was.
you decided that, yes, you should get married to a wealthy family’s son. and you had the perfect boy in mind.
you asked around for the highest quality ringshop, but since the shop was only open during day-time, you had to use a parasol to not get sunburnt when you visited.
ruby, and gold. those were your demands.
while rumours of who you'd be marrying soon spread, they subsided after over half a year of no news regarding it.
while the pressure increased, you couldn't care less. until your destined lover returned to your arms, you'd remain an unmarried lady.
. ————— .
when he came back to mondstadt, he paid you a visit. he was surprised to see the manor in such pristine condition, but was glad. when he learned of your parents’ deaths, he couldn't help but apologize again for being gone.
you told him it didn't matter, that all the only thing that mattered was that he was back. you told him that he had his very room waiting for him, that you'd kept mondstadt clean of any crimes while he was gone, that you had many a gifts for him.
of course, you had to spoil him with the most luxurious dinner you could get before anything else. his favorite drinks, food, desserts, everything had to be absolutely perfect. you wouldn't accept anything less.
you sat down on the large couch with him, offering a personal massage, seeing as he must be quite exhausted after fighting for three entire years. during which, you spoke.
“i’ve kept it with me all this time, y’know.”
he let out a short ‘hm?’, too busy enjoying his massage to say much else.
“your note,” you clarified. “though, all the letters you've sent me are locked away. i wouldn't be able to live with myself if they got damaged.”
“anyway, how did you find the dinner? was it alright? was everything to your liking?”
he chuckled, “it was more than alright, [name]. i appreciate it very much, i promise.”
god, your name felt a thousand — no, a billion times more beautiful when he spoke it.
“i’m glad… oh!”, you stopped your hand movements, standing up. “stay here, i’m going to go and get your last gift!”, you ran off, and he rolled his shoulders, making a mental note to ask you to give him another massage sometime.
when you came back, he was softly smiling at you, “i wonder how there could possibly be yet another gift. haven't you already gotten me everything there is to buy?”, he joked.
“well, now i might've. but that's alright — you deserve all of it.” you hid the ring box behind you, telling your lover to close his eyes, which he did.
you sat on his lap, and opened the box so it'd be the first thing he saw when he opened his eyes.
“okay, you can open them now.”
that day, he cried. you told him it was alright to wait, that you understood it was a big decision, but that you thought it to be the right one.
and he trusted you, with all of his heart and soul.
for his own sake, it was best that way.
he didn't need to know what you would've done had he said no, so now you could preserve his happiness, his pristine image of you, his sanity.
it seems all your hard work paid off.
. ————— .
he always thought you were a bit … strange.
from the day you two met, you always seemed off.
you professed your undying love for him — calling him beautiful in every way you knew possible.
the night of your second playdate, after you'd told him to “sleep” like a command, you got fussy after he didn't just immediately do as you'd said.
that morning, he felt weaker than usual, even managing to fall down once he stood up from the bed. (you caught him strangely fast, too.)
after his first time in your room, he never saw the dolls and their fancy dresses again, despite them being so clean and perfect that he assumed you treated them like your children.
even when he was helping to move your things to your shared room, he couldn't find them at the bottom of a single box.
it seemed like every little thing he said seemed to be the word of god to you, even the things he thought he'd never mentioned or implied you knew of.
maybe it was all the staring you'd do — could you see right through his skin, were you staring at his thoughts, at his brain? was it laid out perfectly clear like you were a scientist, he the experiment? were you an all-knowing god, he your creation?
. ————— .
your eyes open, and immediately you close them again.
trying to adjust to the bright light that feels like it's being shone straight in front of your eyes, you try to see where you are.
dirty walls, dirty brick floor, chains attached to the walls — your hands in those chains — and the three thief looking guys seemingly surprised you'd woken up, one of them holding a flashlight towards you.
another approached — a skinny, dark haired twenty-something. he had a uniform on, a fatui mask, a toolbelt, and a cryo delusion. he spoke with a low and confident tone. “good morning, honey.. we’ve just taken you out for a walk, no worries. if your dear husband pays up, no harm’ll come to you...”
“well actually, comrade…” a deep voiced guy spoke up, talking to the skinny dude before turning to you. “you're just too pretty of a thing to pass up, ya know!”
god, when is this drug going to wear off?
“shut up.”
they all stared for a second, two, three. “the fuck did you just say to me?”
with a quick tug, the chain connecting your cuffs snapped in half. “i told you to shut up.”
though your vision was still muddy, your legs wobbly, you stood up to face their angered forms. you held onto one side of the wall, a scowl rivalling theirs painting your face.
“you damned bitch, don't you dare move!”
the biggest guy ran up to you, a hammer forming with purple sparks surrounding his form. fuck. he's got a vision? delusion? ugh.
quickly, you ran forward and used your sharp nails to stab both of his eyes with not much precision, but still, it was enough to blind him. roaring in pain, he swung his hammer around randomly, managing to send you flying into the wall, probably having broken a rib or two.
whatever. you grit, and stand up again to run at him and cut up his arms, forcing him to drop his weapon. then, finally, you disabled him entirely with a stab to the heart.
you cough up some blood, shit. it's fine, it's fine, just end this damn fight already.
as the two other grunts shook in horror, you forced yourself upwards, to look them in the eyes, to be as intimidating as possible. maybe they'd run away crying instead of fighting you, then.
it didn't seem to work, as the two remaining agents were convinced that with the help of teamwork, they could win. thus, they ran at you with full speed.
you sighed, frustrated, but engaged in the battle anyway. not like you had much of a choice.
rocks and boulders were thrown at you, likely through the use of geo powers, but you managed to avoid enough of them to take down the guy who was aiming for you.
one more left.
you disregarded his heart, and instead hurt him enough to incapacitate — but not kill — him. he sunk down onto the floor, writhing in pain, but you approached him.
you lifted him off the ground by his collar, mustering up the most dangerous tone you could.
“where, the actual fuck, is my husband?”
he only cried in pain, until your nails got dangerously close to his throat.
“where. is. he.”
. ————— .
you forced yourself through the halls, leaning on every brick wall you could with your arm for support. your other hand was busy clutching onto your stomach, and you regularly got to taste your own blood, which only worsened your condition.
just get out of here, you told yourself. over and over and over and again and again and again.
finally, after what felt like aeons, you saw two wide doors with a sharp light peeking through them.
shit, was it really midday? couldn't it have been any other time?
looking down at your tattered body, you decided the pain and sunburns and sickness was a necessary trade for getting home quicker — for getting to diluc faster.
you groaned, but pushed the doors open, revealing the hot summer sun to your already aching body. you almost curled up into a ball, but knew better. you'd already felt the worst instance, and if you could handle this, you could surely handle the rest.
did those bastards plan this? no, they'd have no way of knowing about my condition, right? gods, what does it matter, just go, just get the fuck home!
now without a wall to lean on, you struggled even more to keep upright, but the trees on your way helped just enough.
finally, you saw the familiar grapevines and the house you called home. just a few more steps, a few more minutes, and you'd be inside, safe, with your husband and with a doctor.
you black out.
. ————— .
you awake in a familiar room. your head is still reeling.
while your stomach doesn't hurt as much, it's still aching, so you sigh and try to drag your hand towards it.
you can't. then, you look over and see a pile of red hair resting on the side of your bed. you notice he's holding onto both of your hands.
you inhale. red creeps across your face. you shakily exhale.
you stare. and stare. and stare.
his quiet snores let you hear the voice of gods, every last hair strand spread out letting you see the strings woven by celestia, his hands reaching out like he was your saviour — and considering your previous situation, he likely was.
surely he wouldn't mind if…
you lifted your head slightly, turning it towards one of diluc's hands. you opened your mouth, fangs on display, and licked a small part of his wrist.
your saliva acted like a sort of numbing cream, to make sure he wouldn't wake up. you held his hand in yours for a bit, admiring every last vein you could see.
you bit down, puncturing his perfect skin, and licked up all the blood that flowed.
soon enough, you felt your energy replenishing and your aches starting to lessen, so you healed your lover's wrist. you layed back down, wondering whether to wake him up or not.
you eventually decided you should, and freed one of your hands to sift through his hair with.
you look around, noticing an IV connected to your other arm that was injecting you with blood. the bag of blood — and some other clear liquid — hung on a metal pole on the opposite side of the bed. your attention went back to the sleeping mess of red in front of you.
“diluc,” you softly called.
he seemed to register his name, but his eyes remained closed.
“beloved, wake up.” you took the hand you drank from, and nuzzled into it like a cat might. finally, he looked to be waking up. you heard some light noises before he pushed himself up, his eyes widening when he saw you looking at him.
almost immediately, he straightened up. “you’re— you're awake, thank the gods, are— are you feeling alright, [name]? do you need the doctor?”
you smiled, “i’m perfectly fine, love. hold me? while i'm not in pain, i don't quite have the energy to pull myself up, not yet.”
he sighed, relieved. “of course…,” he put an arm behind your back, the other supporting you from the front. he pulled you up gently, careful to not hurt you. you leaned against him with your head laying on his neck, not caring for whether you might reopen your wound by laying in a wrong position.
his neck — it smelled, looked, felt divine.
you reached out to trail your fingers down the side of it, feeling diluc wrap his arms around you lightly. he laid his head on your shoulder, lowly whispering his thanks to the gods above.
“if it's alright to ask… what happened? i’m aware of the fatui's involvement, to some degree, but…” he trailed off, unsure of how to word his worries at the state you were in.
as if it were nothing, you spoke, “well, they kidnapped me, drugged me, chained me up… i think they just wanted me for ransom? can't quite remember… oh, whatever, why would it matter now?”
his hold around you tightened ever so slightly at your words, while you trailed your thumb down his jawline, holding his cheek as if it were fragile porcelain. “it’s alright. i'm back now, aren't i?”
he sighed, “still, i was barely able to help — you basically had to claw your way out of their base. you nearly died, you could've—”
his words were sharply interrupted by your close-eyed kiss, and you barely gave him a chance to breathe — let alone speak — in between your kisses. though hesitant, he returned them eventually.
your eyes return to his throat for only a second, before moving closer to him, signalling for him to sit down so you could sit on his lap. while he moved, he looked down in shame. noticing, you spoke. “hey, look at me.”
he silently refused, still drowning in his self-doubt and guilt.
“hey.”
you put your hand against his cheek, go to lift his head upwards, but he doesn't let you. you see a tear starting to form in his right eye. you wipe it away, your voice changing its tone into something much more dangerous.
“look at me or i’ll rip this fucking IV out.”
it works — he looks at you, but with a shocked, almost horrified expression, hand reaching out to hold yours. “p—please don't do that, i’m sorry, i just — i felt guilty, but please don't hurt yourself—”
you smile at him, “i was only kidding, love,” you give him a few pecks on the cheek. he swallows, trying to force a smile, “r—right…”
when you climb onto his thighs, he holds you in place, gently. the IV connected to your arm moves, but still, it's nestled into your skin perfectly fine.
you spot a small scar that drags vertically behind his ear. it's new. you scowl, though he can't see it. “did you have a fight with someone?”
“hm? the fatui, of course. once you… returned, i felt compelled to fight your captors — or the people demanding your ransom, at the very least. i didn't, before, since i was scared your true captors might find out and hurt you as revenge.”
you trailed a finger down the scar, aware that the perpetrator was already either heavily injured or dead, but you still wanted to take revenge against those who dared to hurt you most prized possession.
maybe you could find out their identity, bury their body somewhere nobody could find so that they'd have a body-less funeral. maybe you could burn or injure their dead body so that they'd be unrecognizable, maybe —
a soft hand wrapping around your waist made your thoughts pause.
later, you decided. you'd deal with their punishment later. for now, lightening up the mood was probably a good thing to do. you stared for only a second, before lightly biting your husband's ear.
he made a noise so cute you could die, and quickly took your hand into his, away from his ear. “we shouldn't do this, not here, not now, sweet…”
“not now? what do you mean by that?”
he sighed, “while you're recovering. we could accidentally open your wound again, or —”
he’s still bothered by it?
you interrupt. “do you trust me?”
he was surprised, though didn't hesitate when he answered. “yes, of course i do. more than anyone else.”
your eyes narrowed, “then, why not believe me when i say i’m alright? i know it looks bad, but truly, i’m fine. the wound won't reopen, i’m not going to be in pain, i’m going to enjoy it.”
after a few seconds of silence, you smirk. “besides, who said i’d be participating? toying with you is as fun as it can get, ’luc.”
proving your point, you lowered your head to be near his chest, and undid a few of the highest buttons on his shirt. once you got about halfway, you pressed a kiss to his skin, leaving a trail of them as you went downwards.
you hear him sharply inhale and swallow, bringing up his hand to cover his mouth. you stifle a laugh, enjoying yourself thoroughly. you run a finger over his left nipple, making sure to suck on it a bit when you give it a kiss.
“not going to let me hear you? i’ll drag your voice out of you if i have to, love.” you softly coo, creating what was probably your third hickey already, and while he lowered his hand, diluc’s mouth still remained shut.
this’ll be fun.
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merbear25 · 1 year ago
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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.
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xcyphoz0a · 1 year ago
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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
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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.
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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.
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cheriecelestial · 1 year ago
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Ephemeral Infinity Of Spring
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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
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𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐎𝐧𝐞
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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
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artificial-sleep · 1 month ago
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Thinking about dead dove drug use again lol
CW// Hard drug use. Specifically LSD. Sam/OMC, past SamDean, Sam's experimental phase lol, incest kink
Sam had agreed to take the tablet at a party, and he'd been tripping balls ever since. He'd never really thought about the fact that he'd never done a psychedelic before, but it hardly registered. He'd taken pills as they were handed to him from the time he was a boy, his father refusing to see doctors but always having an assortment of medications for seemingly every ailment. He'd only found out later that his dad got his pain meds under the table, which is why they were never taken as prescribed; there was no prescription to begin with. It was always pop two or three here and mix with the cheap liquor to cut the pain fast. Or a tab or two of this to stay alert and focused on the hunt, just something to pair with the adrenaline so you didn't crash when it mattered. This wasn't too different, he thought, especially when the lights and colors in the room seemed to creep up under his skin, wrapping him up in a slew of sensation that was sheer bliss. He was mostly giggles, not really in control of his reactions, but the feeling of fingers brushing against his skin felt electric and ignited a spark within him in a way that he could taste. The man sitting next to him, now incessantly flirting with him, was tempting beyond belief, and Sam wasn't above fucking in the middle of a crowd, he was suddenly decided, never mind the fact that he'd been teasing this guy after cutting off sleeping with him all week. This guy was tall, handsome, dark hair a bit long in the front where it hung close to his eyes in a fringe. The back was neatly shaved, and the unwarranted thought that came to him every time he noticed was how he could seemingly make any hair type out to look like Dean's if he really focused. Every masculine hair cut had some aspect of his in one way or another, and Sam liked that about fucking around with guys.
Just like he liked this song and the way his nerves felt so sensitive and vibrant, like his very mind was ticklish, and every brush of it drew a moan from his lips. This guy had a thing for incest. Loved pretending like he was Sam's dad or big brother. Loved pretending like he'd known Sam forever, that there was this natural imbalance in power that distinguished their roles. Sam liked that, played along more than a few times. It's why he'd trailed him along for a week even after deciding he wanted to stop. It was too good to stop, even when the rest of it was terrible. The guy was ready to go home. Sam was, too, all of a sudden, decidedly not caring what anything but the sex felt like. Tonight, it was only the sex that mattered as he was led out into the night and lead toward the dorms. Sam was laughing, swaying slightly as the guy put his hands all over him. "You alright, sweetheart? S'it good?" The man murmured in a hushed town against Sam's neck, breathing there, and Sam gasped with an elated grin on his face, pushing and shoving but only tangling their limbs further, unable to escape the ecstasy of having someone else's hands on him.
Sam's back hitting the bed, and they're undressing quickly, prep fast and putting Sam out of his mind quicker than ever before. Every part of this feels so much better, his skin alight with how good hands feel and how lovely the warmth is and the way the guy's breath sweeps against his sensitive skin on his neck and his chest and his cheek. "Wanna pretend like you're my big brother," Sam begs, and the guy grunts as he strips his pants down.
"Yeah, baby? We can do that. You like that so much, huh? Such a little slut for your big brother's cock?"
"Mmhmm," Sam keens, pinching his eyes shut as his hips start to rock.
"You know I've done it before?" Sam starts before he can stop himself, the truth tumbling out of him. "I've really actually done it. It was s'good," he slurs, throwing his head back.
"Yeah?" asks the guy, probably not caring what Sam is babbling about as he slips inside of Sam's tight hole once more.
"Nngh, yeah! Yeah, I've dunnit before. Really did fuck my big brother." The guy chuckles a little bit, probably thinking he's joking or that he's hallucinating a time where he thinks he has fucked his brother. But that's not fair because Sam means it. He has done it actually. "Was s'good. Best I've ever had. He fucked me so hard. Shoulda seen it."
"Mm, yeah, baby. Wish I could have seen it, little brother." But Sam just keeps insisting and starts explaining in graphic detail basically what it felt like when Dean fucked him, and it gets the guy off before he realizes that this probably wasn't just for the sake of the fantasy and that Sam might actually be serious.
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theoraeeken · 2 years ago
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please! anything but the mess that is motorsport today
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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.
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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!!
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teine-mallaichte · 7 months ago
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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
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deviatory · 10 months ago
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@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.
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carnivorousyandeere · 2 years ago
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oh my goddd this girl is actually SICK 😭😭 i love her sm. would a darling have high chances of dying under penny's care? like with her accidentally overdosing them with her drugs or something?
also... random scenario but maybe drugged-up/chemsex stuff? 😳
Hehehe I’m glad you like her too 🤭
CW: death, dying, illness, drugs, poisons, induced illness, medical stuff, dubcon/sex under the influence
I’d say that the chances of Darling actually dying under Penny’s care is low, simply due to her level of expertise and precision with poisons, healthcare, and the fact that her greenhouse is so carefully locked up. In the extremely rare chance that Pen’s Darling becomes legitimately ill from her “treatments,” or most common ailments, Penny does know actual medical treatments to bring them back from the brink.
She found out her distaste for blood from nursing school. Aside from that squeamishness (which she can swallow down for her Darling’s sake to perform any procedure they might need), she was practically the top of her class and a very promising candidate for a number of prestigious hospitals and research facilities.
~~~
As for drugged-sex…. Pen has a high amount of self-control when it comes to you. But the more you cling to her when you feel unwell, the more you beg her to stay… the more she wants to give in and help you feel a little better…
“Just stay still for me, angel, this’ll help you feel better… I promise.”
And that’s not even getting into the possibility of aphrodisiacs 😇
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vixnovacoda · 2 years ago
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Doctor's Medicine || Chapter 6
Hannibal Lecter x Original Character
Word Count: ~3.5k
CW/TW: NSFW 18+, graphic, disturbing content, dissociation, canon-typical violence.
[Chapter 1][Chapter 2][Chapter 3][Chapter 4][Chapter 5]
[ao3 version here]
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Doctors prescribe all sorts of things for all sorts of ailments. Packaged with various side effects and tried-and-tested rules. The first hard rule: never mix medications. Never under any circumstance. There are no exceptions. Not even for the tired, mist-plagued, lone-drifting author who did so regardless. Well, Emma never found fitting in an easy feat, anyway. Rules were for blending in, cooperating. So was medication. Dull the mind, dull the self. Float down the stream instead of up it. 
Therapy, medication, and self-medication (work). Individually, they worked.
Combined? When desperate times called for it, what was the worst that could happen?
Whatever the result, Emma didn’t care.
Pills and water.
She wanted normal.
Swallow.
Whatever the high cost, she’d pay it.
The plastic white cap twisted close. The acrid taste still present in the back of her mouth as gravel crunched, thought-out steps approaching her side. “I see we’re medicating. After what Crawford did, I don’t blame you. Mind if I join in?” hearing no reply, the blonde-haired associate took her non-verbal response for agreement, cementing his boots to the stone. Not that she could argue or move elsewhere without being rude (it didn’t help that at this late evening, there was nowhere else to go in this secluded home than the driveway). “So, what’s your poison?” queried the usually friendly Thomas while reaching into his pocket.
“Saphris. Courtesy of the good Doctor Hannibal Lecter.” Pills rustled as the declared bottle shook before returning to Emma’s bag. “Yours?” she returned, matching his tired energy, and a flame whirred to life, lighting the chemical-filled tobacco tube placed between Thomas’ teeth.
“Marlboro nicotine. Courtesy of Gas Station Attendant Stu.” Wisps of lung-clinging smoke exited, followed up by a long effortless drag. Ash curdled at the cigarette’s end in contemplation. “Asenapine, mood stabiliser. Maybe I should get Dr. Lecter to give me some too,” he puffed, releasing the mused on comment, and Emma – realising she knew little about the man – doubted he was a patient of his. The clenched jaw, tensed hand; the tells of dislike. Clearly, if anything, they were associates. Hannibal being the coworker whose presence you tolerated because you had no other choice. He admired the work ethic, but not the man.
Side-eye. Testing waters. “Your current habit not working for you, then?”
“That’s just what smoking is, a habit. A little thing that feels a little bit good.” Unchecked displeasure rose from cracks in his voice. “You have to have many to feel anything,” he stated, like it was a revelation he had already discovered. White flecks flew about with each avid hand gesticulation. Neurosis – or plain tiredness. Hard to tell. It was the same for Emma, except she didn’t smoke (disliked it ever since Alex made her try, and it clogged her lungs akin to saltwater). She wrote and worked and therapised, and that just felt like enough. Thomas probably did something similar, but it felt as if he had cracked the code. He fitted in, and the list of what habits people such as them could have ran through her brain. She wondered, toying with ideas.
What did he, the father of a presumed daughter, the crime scene investigator, the diehard La Belle Mort fan do to feel normal?
Under moonlight and the glow of a cigarette, plain clothed Thomas Fowl held a thousand possibilities. Harsh water-coloured eyes saw a million terrible fates. Laugh lines told a billion stories about thinly smiled joys. The dried bright flakes on his hand led to one thing.
“You paint?” Emma conferred, registering the paint’s signature cracking.
“Oils, when I can.” Thomas lifted the nauseating hue under the light. “Allows me to shut out the troubles of the world and attune myself. It's almost like this primordial sense,” said he, admiring the red colour with a thirst. He couldn’t get enough of it. All artists were like that, she supposed.
“The Detective in La Belle Mort said something similar.” (By proxy, so did she).
He stubbed out the half-finished cigarette. “So I recall. You know, her paintings, the colour descriptions, her quirks, the little details. It's what makes me think she's been behind all the cases she solved.” A new spark lit on uncharted waters. This was his biggest habit; his thing. He shared that in common with her fictional character.
“You think she's the killer?”
“Well, she is a killer. Is it not a possibility?”
Emma let a smile emerge. He was very like her indeed. “Wouldn’t want to spoil anything,” she diverged, hands up to claim no part.
“Course not. Then again, the trainee thought the same in The Bone Church until she got shot. So perhaps I'm wrong or you're tricking us.” A sly crease tore the stitches of his mouth and he regarded her as he did to the paint, in admiration. Her character impressed him.
“Who knows,” she said.
Rubber tires trampled the driveway gravel. Blinding headlights turned Emma’s attention as its point of origin pulled up. The black Land Rover fitting in at its old home. The ever-tired, yet presentable Marcus, with his classy frames and slicked hair, sat at the wheel. Her ride away from this corrupt place.
The corruption reeked and tainted everything inside. That’s why she had chosen to wait outside. Its rosy, muscle-textured mould spores condensed into her lungs like a Marlboro cigarette. She didn’t understand how Hannibal or Will withstood it. Both left behind, fermenting, while Emma headed further and further away. It didn’t seem to bother Thomas either. In fact, deep under the flesh layers of discoloured tiredness, he appeared thrilled.
“And Thomas,” started Emma, turning around, “the Detective, her obsessive behaviour cost people their lives. I hope for your sake and your child's that the same doesn't happen to you.” With those daunting parting words which she recounts as a hard-learned truth, she climbed inside the tinted car. The disproportionate car door closed behind her, and a strange taste lingered ever still, one she isn’t sure will ever go away.
———
Diving. A jump of calculated faith. 
Above water, the jump was a flying motion towards a perilous destination, wind buffeting against wingless arms causing that strange sickness to form. Gravity pulled and hastened in a sense more akin to falling. And the faith was hope. A hope that the impact wouldn’t crush her bones, as that deep smooth film of liquid got closer and closer and closer, tearing apart. 
Under the water, salt seeped through gasps. The cold surrounded puckered flesh, pleasantly calming and full of tantalising pain. The dive was no more than a dip, a soak. Ocean sunk into skin that pruned after each passing minute; no more could it absorb.
Her head bobbed along the surface, silence filling the air and an empty horizon bled across the water and what once was blue was now a dark crimson. The water on her face dripped like blood as, all the while, a figure loomed on in the distance. Familiar in shape. This place, familiar in feel; she’d been here before, and what should have felt eerie and off-putting felt neither good nor bad.
Just… nothing.
A maddening calm, nothing.
———
“This silence. I find myself needing to apologise,” said Dr. Lecter.
Emma ran a finger over a shelved red spine. “Whatever for?”
“Jack Crawford. You,” he said, watching her on the mezzanine from his designated seat, “are punishing me for not stopping Jack Crawford sooner.” Not once had she looked at him since entering his office at the dead of night. She refused to face him.
Her words: distant. “Punishing? No.”
Off in his own thoughts, fluorescent lighting casting an odd shadow over him, Hannibal glanced aside. “I’ve come to expect your silence. It’s admirable. As a society where words hold worship, your words contain power and you choose with care when and what you say during moments forced upon you.” His hands folded over each other in his lap. “But you arranged this session,” he added as all the clocks in the world, mental and physical, ticked closer and closer to the midnight hour. They had been here for the course of an hour, most of which was occupied by that bewildering silence that, otherwise, he would not have allowed, not especially at this time of night and with how she had put great distance between them, despite the compulsion compelling otherwise. She was here on her own accord, after all. 
So, perhaps the punishment was for pushing her too far, too soon. “If I harboured resentment or dislike, my punishment towards you would be more on that holy scale, not the wordless kind,” said Emma. Truth be told, Hannibal could think whatever he pleased and still miss that the punishment wasn’t for him, but for her. Around him she felt an urge – she always had, except now it bled visibly before her eyes – which caused her to redraw a line in the sand. Simply put, it was easier to distance herself from him like this than to stop altogether. She enjoyed the ease he gave her. “Our session before was cut short, and I couldn’t sleep. Somehow, I thought this would make me feel better,” admitted she, toying with the book’s spine.
He motioned for her to continue, and though she couldn’t see it, she could feel it in his lack of speech.
“My thoughts, as of late, have… tasted different.”
“Expanding our palettes, are we?”
A fleeting smile graced her lips, playing along to an inside joke she wasn’t privy to. “It tastes foreign. They’re not my own, yet I’m aware I’m the source.” She scrunched her brow as the words freely flowed forth with a sporadic rhythm. “Isn’t that maddening? Because the idea that it doesn’t is driving me mad. And maybe that’s why I’m here instead of resting, or writing, or talking to someone, anyone else.”
“Lest the unprepared see something they shouldn’t.” His calm cadence washed over her like a wave, calling to her to breathe.
And breathe she did, thoughts coalescing as she spoke. “Lest they find a reason to cast me away.” A breath for what she said was true. Had anyone other than Dr. Lecter knew what he did, they would do just that and drug her up. She was sure Agent Crawford sat at home right now, questioning what option better suited him: her in a padded cell or freely out and about, investigating.
“I wouldn’t let them do that,” stated Hannibal so matter-of-factly it took Emma aback.
“Are you saying you’d lie for me?” she looked over her shoulder at him.
“I’m saying I’d be truthful,” he said with an earnestness present in his manner, “as truthful as a recent disciple has been.”
“Honesty is a blessing.”
“A blessing I receive in fluctuating abundance from yourself.” Collected steps crossed the floor. He stood below her, shadows distilling his familiar figure as he followed her to the ladder. “When we are silent, we deny the truth and betray ourselves. You came here, seeking my counsel to expel a truth. So, while under the cover of the night’s dark grace, let’s be honest. A noticeable difference occurred midway through your explanation of the body to Jack Crawford,” he said, eyeing her whole. “What happened?”
She glanced at her shoulder, the memories resurfacing. “I… was overcome by flashes of the past,” she answered before meeting his steady gaze. “I got too close, spotted something in the pit. A recreation I’d recognise anywhere; a replica; a shoulder joint, fractured and perfectly placed; the mirrored image of an old gunshot wound.
“People assume The Detective character in La Belle Mort is based on myself. Very few are aware of the truth – Alex, my former editor, being one of them. She was there during my trainee days, when I stuck my head in places I shouldn’t have and got shot and scarred. Forever a reminder about the dangers of getting close to things I shouldn’t.” She thought she’d have learnt that by now since the last time, but old habits were hard to kill. She never should have written that story and never got involved. The phantom pains struck for a reason. “Still feel it occasionally, I guess,” added Emma. Even now she could still feel the stabbing guilt Alex drove through her stomach. Pain was everlasting, she concluded.
Hannibal saw the way her face twisted at undisclosed thoughts and how she tried to brush it off, but, after all the silence, he wouldn’t halt this development. “When you were shot, how did it make you feel?”
More silence. A mere few seconds. “Betrayed.” Hurt.
“And how do you feel now?”
Emma traced her fingers along the wavelike grooves in the bannister beside her. “Strange. I feel simultaneously like myself and not. I’m afraid and calm. I am both here and… somewhere else.”
A hand rested on the ladder’s side, testing the line, yearning for more. “What do you hear in this other place?”
“Waves, lapping against a boat. The sea breeze air. It’s quiet. It’s.” Her hand stopped as their eyes locked with each other in the shadows of their faces.
“A peaceful memory?” asked Hannibal like he knew her thoughts, like he knew her on some deep level she wasn’t aware of, and perhaps he did.
“Yes.” Emma sat a few steps down on the ladder. “Not happy, just peaceful.” Their eyes dilated and merged, dark waters searching for more of that easeful darkness. An understanding formed. The self-imposed distance closing, as they were eye-to-eye. This was a habit, Emma realised, that she didn’t mind repeating; it was akin to letting herself go free to graze in an open field where she didn’t bother to check for hungry predators. If he was to be her downfall, then so be it; oddly enough, she did not mind, for a part of her trusted him enough to believe he wouldn’t. 
And he didn’t have to prod for more, not verbally. His words slipped into her mind like they were her own, asking to know the memory, and the words that left her were his to take. “The ocean was the only place my father and I would happily occupy together. Though we never did anything there together. He’d fish, and I’d sit. He’d reel his hook, and I’d listen to the waves. He’d gut his prize, knife glistening red as he bled the meat and mutilated it. I’d taste the salt on my tongue, watching as parts were slashed and entrails exposed. There, I am calm. Here…” When she blinked, the image shifted. The red-tie-donned Hannibal Lecter replaced the man across from her, and the meat became a larger flesh carcass, and an office light switched out the moon’s bulb as the small boat drifted without paddle or engine. Here, she was calm. “I don’t know why,”
“Well,” began Hannibal, waves lapping at the sides of dark wood, “water makes up a large sum of our bodies. The purest form of ourselves. The truest reflection mankind can ever find that allows us inside; to submerge ourselves in the deep ocean’s melody where waves call. Our beginnings and ends are a familiarity the ocean recognises. It homes them as the water in our bodies does, and there is a calmness in being understood.” The body between them laid still, mimicking the shape of the doppelgänger – no, the body was her, Emma. A bleeding, alternate version of herself laid between the Doctor and his patient while curiosity bent a minute slope in his spine. “Or perhaps, you already knew why.”
Blood covered her hands, a familiar substance in a familiar pattern; artistic, morbid and twisted. He was right; she did already know. “La Belle Mort.” An echo followed her utterance, The Beautiful Death. She had followed it her whole life, from that moment of gutting fish to gutting autopsied bodies, fictional and real. Others usually found her disposition strange because they did not understand – they were right, nonetheless.
Breathing in the still air of reality, Emma combed her clean hands through the red waves on her head. “You must think I’m strange,” she said, an awkward smile reaching her lips.
“Quite the contrary, by my understanding you seem normal,” declared Hannibal and he held out a hand to help her down. Those wild strands of hair delicately caressed his forehead, and the shadows of the room twisted him into a deadly, tempting visage. Cruel; otherworldly; like shadows she could never touch, not for long anyway. Wanting what you could not have. Is this that divine punishment she earlier mentioned?
A flutter beat against her chest. This was not like her. “Must be the medication.”
“Or the therapy.”
“Or the therapy.” Yes, the therapy, she thought. After all, what was the difference? Therapy is a form of medication, and he – being around him – was her medicine. She could not get enough of it if she tried.
She took his help, and as his hand cradled hers, she pondered what the next big wave that came to rock the boat would be. There would always be more, and someone will end up drowning, as they always did in these christened waters.
But on that night where darkness hides secrets, not another wave would hit.
———
The morning, however, would later arrive on rough waters.
Sleep was a calm ease, and Emma should have realised then that morning when walking through the halls of the labs what loomed nearby; it is always quietest before the storm. Her tiredness erased. An early coffee in hand. Running on the highs of the previous night's medication, she couldn’t have been any less aware as Beverly saddled up beside her. “Someone seems different today,” she stated.
Instinctively. “I’m fine—”
“—fine?” finishing her sentence simultaneously, Beverly cocked a joking brow. “Relax, I’m not here to psychoanalyse or fangirl like Fowl.” 
Emma couldn’t tell if that was supposed to make her feel better. It almost didn’t, but Beverly came across as a genuine carer – she just wasn’t used to it, from Beverly that is, made a nervous chuckle escape her lips. “Sorry, I’m usually better at this socialising stuff after my coffee,” said Emma.
“Long night, huh?” queried Beverly, who looked like the spitting image of a person acting on little sleep. “Can’t say I blame you after the way Jack yelled at you. But if it’s any consolation, since he won’t admit it, we never would have found the second body and our first lead without your help.” She gave her a playful nudge, careful not to cause a spill on her white lab coat. The praise was nice and not entirely true. Eventually, they would have got there. Beverly had been the closest to figuring it out (carpets did hide secrets).
“Believe it or not, it didn’t bother me that much. I’m used to it. So, no, I overslept, hence the,” explained her, taking an immediate regretful sip from her cup. Sour, pure bitterness – she should have known then; another omen when what’s usually heavenly is ruined. “… ugh, shit coffee.”
“Coffee pot down the hall?”
Grimacing, Emma nodded.
A curled lip. “Figures, next time you’re not late, I’ll show you something that’s actually safe for human consumption.” Anything would bound to be better than the liquid crap she continued to gargle down her throat, though having someone familiar with the area would garner better results than Emma ever could. And in a wordless acceptance of the offer, she mirrored the pull of her lips, drawing her own smile. Genuine in cadence, hesitant in the execution – after Alex, she wasn’t sure if she could handle her or any other associates, Hannibal Lecter included (his want to help her was an addiction. Too much of him, and she’d overdose). A friendship like theirs was hard to untangle from. Being entwined with someone so deeply cuts and scars when one has to leave, and Emma didn’t want to get hurt again.
A chill ran over her, heeding an incoming storm.
Less than aware, with an adrenaline pep in her step, Beverly led Emma to the crowded lab room and spoke over her shoulder. “Anyway, I’d say you got here just in time. We found a DNA match. At first, I thought we had a natural blonde, but it turns out she’s a brunette.” 
Brunette. She should have known right there and then, as well, put the details together and seen the obvious warnings. Dark grey were the warning clouds obscuring all light overhead. Don’t, warned some deep sense. Don’t look. Don’t ask.
But it was too late as she stood in the doorway.
“Who’s the match?” Were the words that would have left her. Instead: spilt liquid; the crashing thunder of a cup replaced any sound she could have made as her eyes met those familiar too-good-for-this-world hazel eyes stuck on the board, widening at the brown-curled, amber-skinned visage. Lightning struck and paralyzed her.
The woman – the suspect, the victim; the DNA match. Emma would recognise her from anywhere.
Alexandra Bennet, but to Emma, she was just Alex.
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redd956 · 2 years ago
Text
CW: Redd ranting about psychology frustrations
Thinking about swapping my art minor into a psychology minor (I already completed the starter classes in high school), but self diagnosis culture already gets my blood pressure up and I don’t anymore of a reason to hate it.
I see the same damn arguments defending it, which is wild alone, and it irks me even more as someone who grew up so dirt poor. People need to learn that: their symptoms ARE valid and that the self diagnosis ISN’T.
There is a reason as to why you require a medical professional and lots of work to get a diagnosis. Yes there are bad psychiatrist, doctors, everything out there. Yes the American healthcare system is from the bottom level of hell. Yes the DSM-5 is a fucking mess and needs an entire revamp for so many reasons.
None of that means self diagnosing is going to help you in any way. Your symptoms are valid, if assurance and validity is what you’re looking for. Seeing shit? Don’t presume you have schizophrenia. It could be schizo-affective disorder, hypnogenic hallucinations, PTSD, a bad blunt whatever, it could even be a physical ailment. You seeing shit is valid though. It is a terrifying and valid experience, and looking into that and doing research can really help you.
Looking into particular disorders and stuff can also help you, as it can guide you into the future were you might want to take a diagnosis or tackle a symptom if you see fit.
Going I most definitely have this leads to stereotyping, misinformation, difficulty for treatment for those that the disorder, increases ableism against those diagnosed, doctors and medical workers becoming skeptical, ruining and invading on the culture of those actually with the disorder (I primarily see this with ASPD), making difficult in the future to continue research on mental health.
Of course its all a different story if its a disorder that is so blatantly obvious no one can ignore it. You should be mad at the United States healthcare system and not people against self diagnosis if you are unable to reach or afford proper mental healthcare or good doctors.
I myself am struggling with my current one, because they focusing on symptom for too long, and not what I want to look into. It happens. I’ve had bad primary care physicians too but I’m not going to go home and diagnose my physical ailments.
Not to mention how deadly it is. If you self diagnose and then go to a doctor and they roll with it, you could get treatment for something you don’t have and that can really really really mess you up. You also could be consuming the treatment products of a disorder you don’t have, that other people need. The United States runs out of healthcare stuff a lot, and you’d be surprised that it’s mostly because trends have caused people to bullrush particular medical products.
It invalidatess and makes the jobs more difficult for the good doctors actually out there, and people looking to become doctors. 
YOUR SYMPTOMS ARE VALID
YOUR DIAGNOSIS COULD NOT BE
Anyway I’m done ranting, because again it gets my blood pressure up.
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