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thesunshineriptide · 2 years ago

Note

Could I request the vice housewardens + Ruggie play fighting with the reader, is there a certain way they initiate if they play fight at all? Do they smack talk? I NEED TO KNOW

Also don't forget to drink water and consume your fruits and veggies 💛

This request made me so happy and it was hilarious to think about someone fighting a bunch of cryptids for fun. Anyway yes absolutely I hope this if acceptable and thank you for reminding me, I am currently drinking water now

Okay so the vice housewardens (or second in commands, which is more accurate) are the feistiest group at NRC. They are all shady or ready to deck someone which makes me think that it’s simply a trait housewardens look for. I’d imagine they all play-fight, but where and how varies greatly. Also the tags look so gnarly but I swear none of them are that violent

Hit me with your best shot

Characters: Trey, Ruggie, Jade, Jamil, Rook, Ortho, Lilia, Floyd (mentioned)

Tw// fighting, violence, drowning (mentions), biting, hunting, Rook typical behavior, Leech typical behavior, food, bruises/marks, blood mention

Trey

Definitely a play fighter in the casual way.

Most likely to poke at you, smack you with a pillow, throw something at you, etc.

He’s probably the second gentlest in this regard because he’s human and not training to beat the fuck out of someone

When you play fight it’s probably because one of you is being snippy after a long day of dealing with other peoples bullshit.

You aren’t likely to end up actually injured or bruised or anything, but you may end up wrestling on the floor of Trey’s room or smacking each other with pillows.

He’s an older brother so he knows restraint but the urge to pull hair and smack the shit out of someone is strong.

Instead he just pins you to the ground and dramatically lays on you to keep you there

You guy definitely have a food fight.

Not like, with finished dishes or anything, but in a ‘I dropped some ice from the freezer and instead of kicking it under the fridge, we’re playing ice soccer in the kitchen at 3 am’ kind of way.

Or sometimes when you have leftover frosting from a cake he’s made you end up flinging it at each other.

If you ever cover his mouth he will lick it and give you an evil smirk

His trash talk is somehow both very good and very bad at the same time.

He gets into it but he also uses stupid insults like “you’re a poopface” mostly because he wants you to know he’s joking because onetime he called riddle an asshole and he cried so now he’s careful

Please take a boxing class with him you two would have so much fun

Ruggie

Initiates by walking up and biting your shoulder or sometimes just shoving you and running.

If you accept playfighting him at least once be prepared he’s going to do it a lot.

He has so much pent up aggression.

Half of the fighting is smack talk and boy does he have a MOUTH.

Hopefully you have thick skin because otherwise when he says shit like “you look like a gazelle ass fucked a cactus” you might actually cry

Definitely rougher when he plays.

Expect claw marks, bites, bruises, and sore limbs when you’re done fighting.

Try to ignore the stares you get from everyone when they see a bite mark on your shoulder because how do you explain you didn’t do that you were actually just beating the shit out of each other

He will start a fight literally anywhere and you two probably go at it for at least an hour before he gives up

If he ends up drawing blood he’s frantically making sure you’re alright and patching you up

Probably play fights with you as warmup for spelldrive practice.

This entails him coming to your room, pouncing on you to wake you up, then maniacally laughing when you fight him off with a scowl.

But on the bright side, he brought you breakfast (Leona paid for it, shhh) so it wasn’t for nothing

Jade

Jade isn’t one to play fight normally, he has a reputation to keep up.

So he won’t usually initiate that.

If you start to goad him into it, he just gives you a menacing smile then turns you over to Floyd to play like that.

If you still insist on playing with him, he will literally just pick you up and sling you over his shoulder until you promise to stop.

Then he drops you on the ground.

Now, that’s how it goes on land, anyway. But in water? Hooboy, hope you can hold your breath.

Jade’s third favorite thing to do is drag people underwater (the first two are hiking in the mountains and teasing Azul) and luckily for you, he remembers just how much you like play fighting!

And since Jade’s in the water, chances are Floyd is too.

They rarely do fun things without each other.

So now you’re going to be fighting for your life from two mischievous mer-eels.

Jade wears a darkly serene expression as he asks you whatever could be the matter and Floyd looks like he’s won the fucking jackpot when you surface from getting dragged into the water with them

You will not win this playfight, because there is little distinguishing it from a real one.

The only difference is that they aren’t actually trying to harm you, but you probably won’t realize that when Jade repeatedly drags you under water to see how long you can hold your breath, trapping your legs with his tail.

He finds the way you beat at him with your fists pretty adorable, which is lucky because that means you won’t drown today!

You will receive 0 aftercare from him for this traumatic experience, but he may invite you to do it again.

Don’t accept it’s a tr-

Jamil

You’re not so much play-fighting Jamil as you’re training with him.

Which is probably good, it means there’s rule and a time limit.

Anyway, most of his comments are half trash talk and half trying to get a rise out of you.

Very “is that the best you’ve got?”

Sparring with him is fucking exhausting so you likely do it mostly in the evenings or when Jamil is training some other students.

Sometimes he gets way too into it and ends up mixing breakdance moves and martial arts to kick your ass.

He has knocked your feet out from under you before and he will do it again

Moves so confidently and quickly you think he might moonlight as an assassin

Chances are you’re not gonna beat him, he’s got years of experience, but you’re getting stronger and faster when you’re with him.

If he ends up hitting you too hard he apologizes quickly and you don’t usually have many bruises due to the fact he makes you wear padding and you spar on a mat

Dude can totally take a hit so you don’t really have to hold back (he prefers if you don’t, it tests him more)

so don’t be afraid to smack him around.

Genuinely appreciative of you doing this with him and makes sure to let you know every time you take up his offer to practice together

He repays you buy providing you with snacks light on the stomach after you’re done working out together, usually some lightly chilled water and a piece of fruit.

Also sends you home with leftovers of whatever he made for dinner that night

Rook

Hahahaha….oh dear lord. So listen, there’s two types of play fighting.

There’s the one you initiate, then there’s the one he initiates.

One of them is fun!

The other is straight from a horror movie

If you initiate, he’s happy to indulge, and he hits a littler harder than he means to sometimes but overall it’s pretty chill.

You two end up chasing each other around campus, playing what could be described as a really intense, violent game of tag.

By the time you’re done, you’re both covered in dirt of mud and have sticks and leaves sticking to you.

If he initiates, please don’t take his offer.

This is the scary one.

His version of play fighting is chasing you through the woods behind campus with a bow and arrow and yelling vague threats about “ahh, you’re close! I can almost smell you~” and occasionally shooting an arrow that is ENTIRELY TOO CLOSE for comfort.

If he catches up to you - or just decides this is the right moment - he’s tackling you to the ground.

He’ll tease you for losing before attacking you with tickles, the most terrifying of all weapons.

So maybe it isn’t scary in the end, since he was never gonna hurt you, but running through the forest with nobody nearby except for a guy armed with a long ranged weapon is absolutely terrifying, and there’s always the slim chance he misses….

Ortho

Gentlest of the list.

He’s more sure how much pressure to apply when play fighting, so it mostly ends up being pillow fights, or something else that’s soft.

Poking, bumping into you, very very gentle punching, that’s all on the table.

If you try to initiate, Idia will get very pissed.

All of his internal components are extremely sensitive, you can’t just smack him! And besides that, he’s tiny, and his brother! Why would you do this?

Idia is genuinely terrifying when his entire attention is focused on you, and hes pissed.

The flames of his hair are growing and flickering wildly as his gold eyes glare down into yours.

The only thing that calms him down is when Ortho begs him to

So you don’t really get to physically play fight with him anymore, but you do get to game together.

With Idia’s supervision.

He’s not going to be letting Ortho around you anymore since you decided to fight a literal innocent child

Lilia

I’m fairly certain that play fighting is Lilia’s love language.

He loves to beat the shit out of people.

Least gentle next to Jade, because he will literally grab you and throw you in the air.

You’re not in danger, but his awareness of the human limits is limited, unlike Jade.

Probably isn’t a fan of shit-talking in person, but definitely does it when he’s gaming late at night.

Probably play fight in the Diasomnia lounge.

There’s an audience there to watch you get your ass kicked by an old man, as well as to see you fling the five foot nothing bat across the room.

Most intense play fighting imaginable.

He’s a big fan of flipping people and literally just throwing people around.

He’s completely fine with people doing it back to him, he finds it fun.

Playing with him is like trying to fight black widow, except if you call for a time out he’ll let you.

Silver and Sebek both try and warn you not to do this.

They literally trained with him as children they know he does not fuck around.

You ignore their advice and end up with a broken leg and a bowl of Lilia’s soup.

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britishassistant · 4 years ago

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The Villainous Paranoiac Needs a New Uniform

You hate magic.

You hate magic, you hate magic, you hate magic, you hate magic, you hate magic, you hate magic, you hate magic, you hate magic, you hate magic, you hate magic so so so much.

You especially hate magic when it’s being used by an off-his-rocker prince with a persecution complex the size of Shibuya to disintegrate you because you’re trying to stop him from being consumed by evil magic waste and turning this dumb boy’s school into a desert over a sports tournament.

Your left side throbs around the grit of the sand buried in it as you desperately scramble upwards. All around you the formerly stable bleachers are wavering, tonnes of metal and support slowly crumbling to dust from the ground up with every second that passes.

“Prefect! Are you okay?!” Deuce has begun taking a few steps towards the bleachers—

Turning his back on Kingscholar.

“DEUCE, GET DOWN!!” You scream.

One of Cater-senpai’s clones trips him up, only to scream in agony as the magic blast intended for Deuce disintegrates it instead.

You try not to retch as you heave yourself up onto the commentator’s box roof.

“Pay attention, dumbass!” You faintly hear Ace bark. “You can’t just forget about the crazy overblot! We’re in the middle of a battle here!!”

“But my minion’s stuck up there!” Grim wails back, “We gotta do something!”

Buchie-senpai says something you can’t hear in reply, because you’re too busy hollering, “Howl-san, MOVE!!”

Howl-san only narrowly dodges the incoming attack despite his speed. The sand slams into the already weakened bleachers, causing you to stumble as the roof shakes under you, tilting at an alarming angle.

“Sorry, am I interrupting?” Kingscholar mocks, creepy hollow voice clearly audible despite the distance. “Didn’t I tell you herbivores to be prepared?”

You fight the urge to flip him off with great difficulty.

This is so much worse than Rosehearts-senpai’s Overblot. The ligament in your right ankle still gives twinges that show it’s not fully healed yet, but at least you weren’t the only one roughed up in that battle, as the dorm head lashed out at everyone and everything in his rage.

Kingscholar is aiming for you specifically. Which means that this overblot can think enough to recognize threats beyond those flinging magic attacks at it.

And exploit the fact that the you’re weak and in danger to force the others to choose between saving you and taking him down.

Your teeth sink into your thumb. You don’t wanna die here, you refuse to die here, so what are your options??

Option one; focus on directing the battle and try to stick it out up here until Kingscholar is defeated.

A bad plan right off the bat, if the tremors underneath you are any indication.

If you try to hold out until the end of the fight, the sand will finish eating through the bleachers’ supports just like it’s eating into your thigh and hip right now. You will not survive the fall onto the jagged steel and rebar below.

The others might manage not to get distracted by your messy death, but if they haven’t finished off Kingscholar by then, they’ll be sitting ducks if they can’t agree on a strategy.

Ace and Grim are down there.

There’s no way they’re not dead if you bite the dust.

And all that’s on the very generous assumption that Kingscholar won’t just King’s Roar you right here and now. He’s certainly smirking like he wouldn’t be opposed to the idea, the cocky bastard.

So option two; get the others to help you down ASAP, preferably while Kingscholar is distracted.

Marginally better than option one, but not by much. If they all come to help you, Kingscholar can just pick them off at his leisure, even if Cater-senpai uses his clones to try and confuse who’s who. While all of you are struggling to see in the sandstorm, the accuracy of the overblot’s attacks show that the storm isn’t affecting his eyesight one bit.

Plus, the more of your allies get on the bleachers, the higher the likelihood of the bleachers collapsing faster and crushing them and you with it.

Even if you try to have one or two of them split off from the group to help get you down while the others try to keep him occupied, Kingscholar can target you, the splinter group before they can get to you, or even wipe out the remainder of the attacking formation who won’t have the necessary magic to defend themselves from a head-on assault.

Divide and conquer. As expected of a might makes right fanatic.

Kingscholar-senpai, you decide, is one of the biggest bag of dicks you’ve ever laid eyes on. Even counting the ones you’re related to.

All that’s left is option three.

If you want a job done right, do it yourself.

“Eyes on the Overblot guys, nobody break formation no matter what you think you see or hear!” You wince as you strip your blazer off, feeling fresh blood soak into your side. It’s tattered around the edges where King’s Roar tore into you, but the body of the jacket seems whole enough at least. “I’ll be fine, so just focus on Kingscholar!”

You grit your teeth as you tie the sleeves together. “Buchie-senpai, I need you to use Laugh With Me to keep him still so Rosehearts-senpai can Off With His Head. Howl-san, Cater-senpai, Deuce, Grim, you need to hit him then with everything you’ve got! I’ll signal when by telling Ace what he needs to do! No more holding back, we need to end this, understood?!”

“Loud and clear!” Buchie-senpai calls back, brandishing his magic pen.

“You better not be planning anything too crazy Yuu-chan~” Cater-senpai calls up, his exhaustion evident through his usual bravado.

Kingscholar chuckles. “If this is something you think you can fight back against, just try to fight it! I’ll turn all of your meaningless efforts to sand!”

The sandstorm picks up in response to his words, the small grains burning your eyes and scraping across your skin.

“On my mark!” You yell, bracing yourself.

The roof shrieks in protest under you.

“Ace—“ You hold the ragged edges of your blazer tight in your hands. “Give me some wind!!”

You start running.

You jump.

You vaguely hear yelling below you, beyond the swoop of your stomach and the roar of the bleachers collapsing into rubble behind you. Your makeshift parachute feels like it’s on the verge of tearing itself out of your grip. You think you’re screaming.

Oh god, this was a mistake, this was a horrible, horrible mistake. You don’t wanna die, you don’t wanna die, you don’t wanna die, you don’t wanna die, you don’t wanna die, you don’t wanna die, you don’t wanna die, you don’t wanna die, you don’t wanna die, you don’t wanna die, you don’t wanna die—

The wind picks up in your ears, but it’s not enough, you’re barely slowing down, why did you think this was a good idea, you saw it in a video game for the love of god, you’re going to die, you’re going to break your legs and die—

Small pricks of pain seize onto your hair, your shoulders, your back, and your uninjured leg. Several small and hard somethings start hitting you in the face repeatedly.

Huh. You thought bats were nocturnal. What are they doing here in the middle of the day?

Wait, before that, why are there even bats in a sandstorm in the first place?! And whey are they all latched onto you like you’re a piece of fruit they’re trying to carry off??

“Sebek, if you would~?”

You shriek as something clamps down hard around your injured thighs and waist, the wind half knocked out of you as a shoulder is driven into your stomach.

“Stop screaming, human!!” The loud green-haired Diasomnia member roars at you. “Be grateful Lilia-sama saw fit to sav—”

“Yes, yes, I’m very thankful, just hold on a sec!” You babble, twisting in his grip. The sandstorm’s weakened a lot, and while Kingscholar’s looking a lot worse for wear than he did before you leapt, he’s not down for the count just yet.

But you know exactly the combo to finish him off.

“Grim, Ace, Deuce!!” You yell. “Fire-tornado-cauldron him!!”

“Leave it to me, fnagh!” Grim crows as Ace shouts, “We have GOT to come up with a cooler name than that!!”

The overblot dodges out of the way of the aptly-named fire tornado, still smug if tired and badly scorched. However, as he races forward to counterattack, it becomes clear that he forgot about the third part of the combo you yelled.

“TAKE THIS!!” Deuce screams.

The look on Kingscholar-senpai’s face before the cauldron lands on him is something you’re gonna treasure for weeks.

“King...I’ll...be...” The lion prince staggers, and finally, finally collapses.

There’s a quiet moment as the sand storm slows to a gradual stop.

Kingscholar doesn’t get back up, the giant lion dissipating like a mirage and the grey and black leeching from him.

“It...it’s over.” You pant. “We...we beat him...!”

Rosehearts-senpai doesn’t lower his magic pen. Instead, he wheels around and points it at you with a thunderous “OFF WITH YOUR HEAD!!!”

The heavy metal collar snaps shut around your neck. “ACK!”

“Prefect!”

The Diasomnia guy actually drops you at the sight of Rosehearts-senpai storming over, face redder than a strawberry tart and eyes burning with fury.

Please God, don’t make you have to deal with another Overblot after just beating an extremely painful one.

“YOU— YUU— YOU— WHAT WERE YOU THINKING, JUMPING OFF THE BLEACHERS LIKE THAT?!” He screeches. “THAT'S A FORTY FOOT DROP, AT LEAST!! YOU COULD'VE BROKEN EVERY BONE IN YOUR BODY, OR, OR BEEN KILLED, ARE-ARE YOU INSANE?!”

“No, I just didn’t want to get impaled!” You bristle, gesturing at the rubble. “If I jumped, I at least had a small chance of surviving—”

“Sure, because that’s what you falling with that dumb torn jacket was!” Ace snarls, popping up over his dorm head’s shoulder. “It was everything I could do to even make you slow down some—‘give me some wind’ my ASS!”

“It certainly was interesting though.” The Diasomnia vice dorm head pipes up from behind you. “I was almost worried for a minute there that my bats wouldn’t be able to rescue you and you’d be a smear on the playing field.”

“Th-THAT'S RIGHT!! MAGICLESS HUMAN!! PROPERLY PAY YOUR RESPECTS TO THE GREAT LILIA SAMA FOR DEIGNING TO SAVE YOUR WORTHLESS LIFE!!” The green-haired Diasomnia guy screams in your ear.

“The hell d’ya think yer calling ‘worthless’, hah?!” Deuce growls, storming over to him.

“Yeah, don’t insult my minion, fgnah!!” Grim barrels into your good side, hissing at the Diasomnia guy from under your arm, conveniently turning you into a shield.

“WHY YOU LITTLE—!”

“WHAT IN THE WORLD HAPPENED TO THE BLEACHERS??” The dumb bird headmaster’s shriek rises over the din. “OH HOW COULD SOMETHING SO TERRIBLE HAVE HAPPENED TO ME, THE MOST GRACIOUS OF HEADMASTERS?!”

You flop onto your back. The pain from where King’s Roar tore into your left side is returning full-force, now there’s no threat to divert your attention from it. The collar around your neck only adds to the pain with its weight, and all the yelling is giving you a headache.

You hate magic.

You hate magic so much.

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tatooedlaura-blog · 4 years ago

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Sidebar Nonsense

This one follows up ‘Memento Mori’ ... There’s cancer and angst and light humor and tears ... all rolled into one ...

Our Moment Chapter 1: Five Words Chapter 2: Sidebar Nonsense

@today-in-fic @laurenclare88

&&&&&&&&&&&&&

Scully held it together as she walked away, slippered feet silent in the 5am halls, robe tied tight, shoulders held high. She could feel his eyes following her so she didn’t give in until she turned the corner. Immediately, she tilted against the wall, three deep breaths in, trying to keep the vomit from rising past the point of no return, from landing in a splashing nightmare all over the linoleum floor. Her head felt like it was about to split, sweat breaking out on her cold skin, running down her back and between her breasts. Gathering strength and wondering how the hell she made it through sitting with Penny and through her hallway confessional with Mulder, she got back to her room, cold water on her face and more deep breaths as she gripped the edge of the sink. Calming her stomach enough to be able to get dressed, she rested against the bed, exhausted to the bone, the last few days a whirlwind nightmare of medication, loss, fear, and pain. She wanted nothing more than to go to sleep but not about to settle back on the bed behind her, she stood, got her bearings and went to meet Mulder.

She knew he’d be outside her door, waiting. He wouldn’t come in without knocking but four years together told her he would be standing guard whenever she had finished packing and, true to form, he held out his hand to take her bag. “Do you have to let anyone know your leaving?”

Lying through her teeth because she couldn’t take the thought of discharge paperwork and follow-up care, “yes, I took care of it last night.”

He saw through the lie but didn’t question her about it, instead aiming his partner towards the elevator, “do you think you can handle the ride home? It’s going to be about four hours.”

The thought of that had her shutting her eyes, leaning on the jamb of the elevator, “four?”

“At least.” All the knowledge in the world couldn’t have prepared him for just how tired she looked. She’d looked tired as she walked away from him twenty minutes earlier, but now, she looked about to drop. Her face had been pale, the skin around her eyes a light gray smudge but now, she was white and sweaty, eyes glassy, the surrounding gray had deepened to dark and foreboding, “we can get a hotel here for the night, if you’d like? I’ll even spring for a good one, my treat.”

Shallow breath in, she exhaled slowly, gathering every bit of strength she could find, before meeting his gaze, “I’d like to go home, please.”

Willing to do anything she asked, he nodded, “then let’s go. I conned the security people to let me park by the doors.”

Never, ever, had she been so happy to see a rental car in her life, to lay the passenger seat back fully, to feel Mulder drape his coat over her, to give one heavy sigh before shutting her eyes, to fall asleep before they hit the freeway.

She didn’t move until he pulled up to her front door, having slept through gas station stops, bathroom breaks, and McDonald’s breakfast sandwiches consumed with surprising gusto. Getting out, he moved to her side of the car, opening the door, coaxing her awake with a soft voice and a gently shake, “hey, Scully, we’re home.”

Feeling like lead, she had trouble comprehending words, turning her head in his direction and groaning lightly, falling back to sleep even as she opened her mouth to form a curt ‘go away’. Several attempts on his part later, she was upstairs, standing in the middle of her living room, wondering where to go next.

He would be worried about her after he got her to bed. Moving her down the hall with hands on arms, he went to turn her right into the bedroom, but she fought him suddenly, turning left towards the bathroom, skidding on the rug as she dropped, kneeling in front of the toilet and letting loose. Stunned, he watched her back arch, knuckles turn white as they gripped the seat, trying to keep herself from tipping over or tipping forward.

What the hell was he doing?

Dropping her bag, he took two strides to get beside her, then another to step over her, sitting on the edge of the bathtub, hand now gently on the back of her neck, “you’re okay.”

The moment he touched her, she said his name, garbled and graveled, using precious moments between puking jags to call to him.

Second round was bad, third had her back cracking from top to bottom. Finally quieting after round four, she settled her head on the toilet seat, Mulder’s leg against her side the only thing keeping her from sliding to the floor. Reaching over her head, he flushed one last time, before twisting, grabbing a washcloth to wet in the bathtub. Wringing it out, he first held it to her nose before, “I need you to sit back or this is never going to stop bleeding.”

She was in some kind of limbo at the moment, hearing words and obeying commands but not comprehending a damn thing. ‘Sit’ sounded familiar so she tilted back, the world skewed sideways as she felt Mulder move her hand to the washcloth with an order to ‘hold’ then felt his hand on her back and legs, scooting her against the wall. Once there, solid surface keeping her upright, more words drifted in but choosing to ignore them, she instead felt him wiping her nose, her sweaty face and neck. The water was warm but it chilled her, tile leeching heat from her, replacing with shiver-inducing cold. Feeling a towel go around her shoulders, then his arm, she assumed clean-up was done and saying his name once more, she passed out against his shoulder.

She drifted back in when she heard his voice echoing, “okay. Thank you.”

‘Hhhmming’ sound in her throat made her presence known and Mulder rubbed her arm, hand drifting up to run a thumb along the edge of her ear, over her temple, “you back?”

Her head was now in his lap, the floor still cold beneath her hip, “what?”

“You checked out for a few minutes so I called the hospital, rustled up somebody we know and asked them if I needed to bring you in.” Thumb now methodically stroking her jawline, “but you’re awake now and Genevieve said that this is a common side-effect and you just need to sleep some more. She also said to call if you were still nauseous and they’d give you something.” Meeting her side-eye staring up at him, “how’s your stomach?”

She had to think about it but, “okay for now. My head hurts and my eyes.” She’d been looking up at him but it hurts, “why do my eyes hurt?”

“You blew a few blood vessels. You look like something out of a sci-fi flick. They got kind of bulgy, too. I’d like to never see that happen again, if it’s okay with you.”

Banter was not cutting it right now. “Can you help me to bed and get me some Tylenol, aspirin, mallet, please?”

He would curb the small talk until later, “yup. Hold on.” It took some maneuvering but soon she was sitting on the edge of the bed, gripping tightly the mattress edge, wondering how long she could keep herself upright.

Not long but as soon as the slither to the ground began, Mulder was back, drugs and water in hand, “whoo, hang on.” Catching her by the upper arms, he kept one hand on her while he gave her the hastily put down and semi-spilled water and pills, “take these and then we’ll get you in some dry clothes. You’re still shivering.”

“Why am I wet?”

While groping for pajamas at the end of the bed, “you sweated right through them. I could have wrung a bucket of water out of you when you were done.”

She would be embarrassed by that later, and handing him back the empty glass, she took a deep breath, “turn around so I can change but don’t go anywhere, okay?”

Doing as asked, he stood against her, back of his thighs against her bent knees, keeping her on the bed as she slowly changed, arms too heavy to hold up for long. Pants were more difficult but she allowed to help with those, Mulder tucked her in bed a few minutes later, her eyes already blinking shut, “I’m sorry. I didn’t want you to see me like this.”

“I just see you, Scully, nothing else. The rest is just … it’s just …” he couldn’t get past the sentence at first and voice cracking, “the rest is just sidebar nonsense that you deal with when you love somebody.”

She would have cried had she had the strength but she did manage her final request of the day, “will you come keep me warm?”

Nodding, he found his ‘staying the night’ sweatpants and, blinds closed and drapes drawn, dropping a dark shadow over the room, he slipped in beside her, not wanting to jostle the bed. Reaching towards her, he rubbed her back for a moment, “good night.”

Last ounce of energy, she scooted back a few inches, “meet me in the middle.” Drained by those few inches, Mulder had to do most of the moving but soon, they were together, Scully instantly relaxing into the heat of him. Out in seconds, Mulder felt her drift off and before he followed, he kissed the back of her neck, “I’ll be here when you wake up.”

#msr #my writing #MulderNScully #Memento Mori #sidebar nonsense #xfiles fanfic

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viviae · 5 years ago

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The Red Plague: An Analysis

Ok, I’m to preface this that I am not at ALL a student of medicine or science I am just a humble blogger who really likes diseases, literary analysis, and the science behind death. This will also be a STUPIDLY long post so I am letting you all live by putting it behind a readmore this time

This goes without saying but there is a content warning to this. I’m talking about death, stages of decay, rotting, corpses, vomit, and other gross medical stuff. There will be NO images however. I subjected myself to viewing those images and I will not condemn you all to view them.

I’m going to start this off making sure everyone is on the same page and post an image from the art book about the Red Plague itself

So let’s start with the canonical facts about the plague first

Average life expectancy was 3-7 days once symptoms show, Averages are also liars which means it could’ve taken a little bit more than 7 days or under 3 days to die.

Spread by the plague beetles, exact method of transfer is unknown but Julian was force fed one and contracted the plague however they are safe to keep in containment.

Plague beetles also infected nonhuman objects like the water supply which is shown as a thick ichor. This ichor no longer possesses infectious properties at the time of the story

Julian believed that it had to do with a corruption in the blood hence the usage of leeches

The Lazarus started as a containment center before becoming a crematorium, meaning people believed that it was spread from contact or things like that

HOWEVER This is not the first appearance of the plague as it would show up at locations Lucio stayed for too long but no note if it spread from these locations.

It’s not a disease, its a curse.

So, this is one nasty plague on our hands. Most diseases that are this lethal would never be able to spread as much as it did unless it could spread from corpse contact or through other means like a carrier. I think that it could be spread through a combination of both which would add an additional need for cremation.

Corpse Disposal & Spreading

Historically during plagues you would simply toss bodies into mass graves or ‘plague pits’. This would be, substantially, easier than what they do in Vesuvia. Cremation is not an easy process and is an art form. The heat needed for a cremation alone is incredibly hot and needs special methods to be contained. Not to mention the tedious cleaning process to make sure ashes don’t damage the heat element. So you are telling me that Vesuvia... went through the process of rowing away their dead to the middle of a lake to do mass cremations because it was the easiest? Yes they would’ve run out of grave space a while ago but no one is saying they can’t go make a plague pit out in the woods for half the work.

Now granted, I understand the imagery of making Asra wade through bodies of rotting corpses to find the apprentice’s bloated corpse is uh,,, graphic. Or making us stumble upon an open plague pit of bones in the woods with you LI is not what most people call romantic. (you’re welcome for that image) So they could’ve just made mass cremations on a separate island for tone reasons but that’s BORING.

Not a lot of diseases are actually capable of surviving in dead body simply because when we die our bodies lose the necessary high heats for them to multiply and survive. But this isn’t a disease in a traditional sense, its a curse to Lucio. And this is Lucio we are talking about, some one who is famously afraid of death and dying, which was grafted by a demon of pestilence who is obsessed with worms (cough maggot symbolism and death by disease cough). So I propose that the plague is spread in addition to plague beetles but by dead bodies themselves. This would put additional pressure on proper corpse disposal and the need for cremation. This fact would also explain why plague doctors were present at the boats leading to the Lazarus instead of simple plague carters (rowers?) as doctors would probably have to keep a closer eye on proper disposal of bodies.

As for how I think the beetles themselves spread the plague, I think it’s probably in a similar way as to how Lyme Disease is spread. I can’t name any disease that is spread by beetles themselves off the top of my head but ticks are pretty similar to beetles (I am not an entomologist). Lyme disease is spread by infected ticks biting into the hosts skin and regurgitating its stomach contents that includes the bacterium for the disease.

This would explain why Julian got the plague pretty awful real quick. He consumed all of the plague beetle’s contents and Lucio didn’t have to try and force a beetle to bite Julian, which would’ve given Julian time to fight back. This is also working with the fact Lucio got bit by a plague beetle when running from Morga in his tale. He most likely contracted the plague, or perhaps he contracted the curse then and later on got re bit, in that bite. This would also explain the ichor that infects the water in the south end. Beetles are significantly larger than ticks, and so they might have a need to empty their stomach contents more and its more waste produced.

Symptoms and Inspirations

The Red Plague is obviously, influenced by the Bubonic Plague in terms of symptoms and Tuberculous in treatment. I will list some of the common symptoms of Black Plague and signs and be comparing these to the Red Plague. I cannot stress enough that I do not have any knowledge in medicine but I don’t think the dev’s are all doctors so we are on even ground.

There are generally speaking three types of plagues; Bubonic (Most common type of The Black Plague and mainly targets your lymphatic system), Pneumonic (When the Plague enters and infects the lungs), and Septicemic (When the plague enters the blood stream, either form can lead to Septicemic)

Bolded Symptoms are what are obvious symptoms the Red Plague has taken from these three variations of plague. Italic is Lucio specific.

High Fevers

Chills

Headache

Muscle Pain

Weakness

Seizures

Swollen black lymph nodes known as Buboes (Bubonic)

Internal Bleeding (Septicemic)

Gangrene (Septicemic)

Shock (Septicemic)

Vomiting Blood (Bubonic & Septicemic)

Coughing Blood & Mucus (Pneumonic)

Shortness of breath (Pneumonic)

The Red Eyes

By far the most obvious symptom of the plague and its trademark. Consider this the equivalent of Buboes to the black plague. This is the first obvious symptom that marks you for dead and probably one of the first symptoms to show after a possible resting phase.

Apparently it takes each eye individually as seen with Julian or it may not take both? The stage we see Julian in isn’t the clearest but I’m assuming he was rather early on with a pretty serious case.

It’s also a debate of what exactly is going on with the red stringy bits under neath the eyes. For the sprite models it appears to be veins under the eyes that have been aggravated. While in the concept art above it has a more liquid and viscous look which is probably blood. And in Julian’s CG of him dying of the plague he has no marks around his eyes. So I’m saying its a fun combo of all of the above.

Essentially I think that the plague is causing the blood vessels in the eyes to pop and do serious damage. There can also be a foreign growth to occur behind the eyes or just magical nonsense, doing additional damage to the veins surrounding the eyes and cause bleeding from putting stress on the veins.

The Arms and Lower Extremities

Ok, remember how I talked about Lucio’s fear of death and how its incredibly likely that the plague is manipulating his fear? In death there are various stages of decay, and different functions occur at each stage. And one of these functions is Livor Mortis.

Livor Mortis is when your blood cells rupture out of your veins and die. These dead blood cells sink down to your body based off of gravity where they settle. This is seen as a purple color on the skin based on gravity, normally the back. This can be disrupted by any disruption to the body, but depending on time you are likely to receive lighter marks based on its previous position.

What I think is going on all over the body is veins are rupturing and the body is going through an extreme form of living Livor Mortis. Just that it’s in red and not purple because this is the “Red Plague” and not the purple plague. And due to the patients still being alive when Livor Mortis is occurring it simply pools into the extremities instead of one specific location, with the fingers and bottom of the foot being the most severe. To add to the veins popping suddenly the subtle bruising through origin points to where the red vein-y look begins remind me of my own experience of having four veins burst in my arm.

Julian had reason to believe he could use leeches to treat the plague and in typical plague doctor fashion of “They were right but not exactly” he was on the right track! Using leeches to drink the settled and dead blood would be beneficial to the patient. As likely leaving these areas to accumulate dead blood would put it at serious risk of rot, since maggots first grow on open wounds and areas affected by Livor Mortis.

Julian might not have been curing the plague but what he was probably doing is preventing a lot of people from developing gangrene and needing amputations. A beneficial skill for a previous combat medic to utilize and what might have drawn additional attention to him. Julian’s uses of leeches could also explain why Lucio does not have any of these red marks since Julian is his personal doctor and Lucio would spare no expense for his treatment.

Lucio’s Unique Symptoms

Portia’s route mentions that due to Lucio’s longer surviving time he developed unique symptoms. We don’t know much details about this besides he was extra miserable and was confined to his bedroom most the time. From my provided list above I think that generally speaking the Red Plague is a combination of Bubonic + Septicemic plagues.

However, Pnuemonic plagues were considered especially deadly, but rarer. Lucio is described as having a cough when he has the plague and generally a wheezy voice. It wouldn’t be odd to think the plague had spread into his lungs due to the increase longevity he had.

There is a dramatic irony in Lucio losing his lungs to sickness as well. Morga tells us about how when Lucio was very young he almost drowned and that instilled a fear of death in him at a young age. He’s also a man with a lot of stamina who can run in the freezing cold carrying a fully grown apprentice on his shoulder or run away from Morga who also possesses a lot of energy. Lucio has trained his lungs to be stronger more so than the average person, and now with his downfall he loses them.

It goes along with his general want of having a new body as well. You can rebuild muscle mass although hard, but recovering from illnesses that target your lungs? You’ll almost never get back to the same degree you previously were.

The imagery of the dead is also present in the animal itself used to spread the plague. Although the beetle comes from Lucio’s tribe, beetles play a role in decomposition. Beetles like to come after the body has been nearly completely rotten, after the maggots and wasps consume most of the dead flesh beetles come in and eat the scraps. Beetles are also used in skeletonizing items, one example I think of off my head is a man who had his amputated foot skeletonized by beetles for keeping. So these beetles are coming in and spreading a plague that forces the body to go through stages of decay while living, for their own food. Just like Lucio’s tribe came in and slaughtered other tribes for their own need to eat.

The plague was handcrafted to torture Lucio for his inability to finish his end of the deal. That’s why it uses imagery of dead bodies, it steals Lucio’s lungs from him, and why even the dead can cause severe damage.

Of course this is all my own theory and analysis of the plague but thank you for reading all of this.

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trashmenofmarvel · 4 years ago

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Branded - Chapter 43

Pairing: Demon!Bucky Barnes x Reader

(This is a fan AU of Falling’s Just Another Way to Fly by araniaart . Please check out this incredible series for all of your demon Bucky needs.)

Chapter Warnings: Heavy angst

AO3

You didn’t know how it was possible that Bucky was awake, but you knew it in your bones and in the steady thrumming of your shoulder.

The mark had been benign and latent for weeks, and it was making a considerable fuss now. From the stinging wetness on your shoulder and the glimpse of red when you turned the mark toward you made it obvious that it was bleeding too. Agitated, inflamed, and letting you know it was as awake as the demon it was bound to. Something you had wished for, but now filled you with dread. You couldn’t imagine what state of mind Bucky would be in when he awoke to find you in agony across your connection, and then being told you’d gone missing.

He was going to come for you, you had no doubt about that, but you wished he would stay away. Bucky was being lured into a trap, and you had no way of warning him.

Your head thunked back against the table. Zemo had left you here, and from your glance around the room you couldn’t see any signs of the Alp. You struggled at your restraints, but your muscles were fatigued, bones acting in the aftermath of your torture. All you wanted to do was close your eyes and sleep.

Holding back as long as you could, you fidgeted with the metal shackles until your wrists and ankles twinged in sharp pain. You couldn’t wriggle out of them, not even with cold sweat dotting your skin. And as the minutes wore on, you could hardly keep your eyes open to the point of alarm.

You were cold all over but your sigil burned and throbbed, leaving you with two uncomfortable extremes. Giving in to the exhaustion, you closed your eyes and silently tried to send Bucky a message. A sign. Anything to make him stay away or at least warn him about what he was walking into.

The heavy weight of unconsciousness dragged you down as the fire in your shoulder continued to burn. You wondered if it would consume you. The thought should have jerked you awake, but you were so, so tired…

Slowly, so gradually you didn’t notice for a while, warmth built in your chest and chased the chill away. It was comforting, safe… and very familiar.

Hold on, it seemed to say. I’m coming. Just hold on.

Don’t, you tried to call back, even as it hurt so badly to say it. Stay away…

The warmth didn’t vanish, only increased, and you held onto it, terrified of slipping away just to wake up in your cell and find it was all a wishful dream.

But it didn’t disappear like a half-remembered dream. The warmth manifested into a physical sensation: hands on your arms, one rougher than the other but both carefully avoiding your shoulder before cupping your face.

“No, please, I can’t be too late. I can’t.” The voice was beautifully familiar, dark and husky with panic.

You wanted to answer, to shout, but you could barely move. Your limbs were heavy, your confused mind picturing you covered with frost as the warmth leeched from your bones.

Why were you so cold?

“Please, please, open your eyes, sweetheart. You gotta open your eyes.”

That voice, so full of desperate fear when it should sound warm with amusement, teasing you with unmistakable fondness, was what finally forced you to open your eyes.

A blurry image was defined against the lightbulbs overhead, vaguely human except for the swept-back horns and the hovering, half-curled wings.

“Bucky…”

He retracted his hands from your face and you nearly cried out, please, don’t go! But then you felt a tug at each ankle and wrist as Bucky shattered the chains of your manacles. Arms lifted you into a sitting position, and you groaned with relief as those arms, and a pair of wings, wrapped tightly around you.

“I’m so—fuck, I’m so sorry.” He spoke into your hair, his embrace everywhere around you. Your cold, clammy skin was on fire but you wouldn’t have traded it for anything. You just wanted to remain like that forever, your sluggish thoughts almost slipping away from the urgent, desperate things you had to tell him.

As quickly as he’d hugged you, Bucky pulled back just enough to scan you, his wings still cradled across your back. His brows were deep with worry, his lips pulled into a flat line. His voice wavered.

“Did… did they do anything else to you? Any experiments? Rituals? Did they—did they try to turn you into a demon?”

You blinked slowly and shook your head, trying to clear it as much as tell him he was wrong. Your voice was little more than a rasp from all the screaming.

“Zemo.” You coughed into your hand, struggling to get the words out past your dry throat. You were dehydrated on top of everything else. “His name is Helmut Zemo.”

“It… it’s just one guy?” Bucky raised his head to look at the expansive missile silo. “Where’s the rest of HYDRA? Strange and Wong and the rest are searching the place, but there’s some kind of crazy wards keeping them out. Steve and I could get through, but we had to split up to find you—“

That. That was the thing you couldn’t focus on, that slid from your mind like oil.

“It’s a trap!” You tried to push him away from you, but you might as well have been shoving against a boulder. “He-he wants you! That’s why he took me, he just wants you.”

“Good,” Bucky growled, gently helping you down to the ground. You could barely stand, so he held on tight. “He’s got me. Fucker won’t live to regret it.”

Next to your feet was a large dark red puddle, and the mystery as to why you were so cold and sluggish was solved. You must have bled more than you realized.

But beyond that… was arguably something worse.

“Bucky…”

He followed your gaze to the white chalk line that encircled the entire table. Now that you could actually see what they were and you weren’t being strapped down to a table, you noted the complicated glyphs were drawn into the concentric rings. It didn’t take a wizard or a demon expert to know what they meant.

With a small noise of panic, you tried to rub at the lines of chalk with your socked heel, but the lines stayed firmly in place. Bucky grabbed you by the shoulders, carefully moving you between the table and his half-spread wings as he faced the room.

“Listen to me, and do exactly what I say.” His command was low, nearly a growl as he never took his eyes from the exits. “Steve and Strange should be here soon. You take this—“

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a walkie-talkie, holding it backwards for you to grab.

“—and run as fast as you can.”

“What?” You stared up at him. Surely, you hadn’t heard right.

“I’m not walking out of here,” he said, lips pulled into a grimace. “You need to run, find any stairs you can that lead upward. We’re too deep for that radio signal to penetrate the stone, so you need to get close enough to the others to alert them to your position. You get to safety first—“

“—Bucky, no!—“

“—and then they can come back for me.” He turned his head to give you a piercing glare out of the side of his eye. “You do not want to be here right now.”

“I’m not leaving you!” You pushed yourself between his wings, face pressed in the middle of his shoulders blades. The familiar musky, earthy smell hit your nostrils, and you yearned for him so badly it hurt worse than the torture. “Not again!”

A shudder moved through him, and instead of yelling at you to leave, his tail wrapped around your waist and held you tightly to him.

“Not when I just got you back,” you whispered into his vest. It wasn’t one you’d seen him wear in person before, but you recognized it from the shared memory. The Winter Soldier tactical vest. If you’d had time, you’d wondered where he’d gotten a new one.

“I know.” His voice wavered. “I don’t want to be separated from you again either, but… this room. That table. I’ve been here before. There’s only one weapon that could make that kind of wound on a demon mark. And let me guess… he’s got a red book with a black pentagram on the cover.”

You held onto him tighter and nodded.

“Yes. He does.”

“Then he has everything he needs to bind me to him. He could make me do anything he wants and I would be helpless to stop him. He could… he could make me kill you.”

Maybe it was because you were so physically close that you were able to feel Bucky’s horror and sorrow, curling in your chest as if it was your own.

“You gotta go, sweetheart,” he said again, voice strained almost to the point of cracking. “Get to safety. I’ve got enough firepower on me that if he gets stupid enough to show his face, I’ll shoot it off before he’ll get the chance. But you can’t… can’t be anywhere near me. He’ll just use you for leverage.”

The truth was bitter, but no less true for it. Zemo had used you once; he would use you again without hesitation. All he wanted was Bucky so he could take vengeance on superheroes who could handle this situation far better than you could. Bucky was right, and the best thing you could do for him was to find the wizards or Rogers.

“Okay,” you said. The adrenaline had helped, you were more alert now than you were before, but you still sounded weak. Felt weak too, and not just because of the blood loss. You were tired of being the source of Bucky’s anguish, and you wouldn’t cause him any more pain if you could help it. “I’ll find them.”

“I know you will.” He didn’t face you, couldn’t when he had to watch the entire room with his hands rested on the pistols strapped to his thighs, but he still gave you an encouraging squeeze of his tail. And then he let you go, folding his wings inwards to give you room to walk away.

It was the hardest thing you’d ever done, turning away from Bucky and stepping over that white line. Your hands shook around the radio, and your legs were boneless and without strength.

You weren’t sure you were going to make it to the end of the room, which was just as well, because you didn’t.

Black smoke popped into your vision, and before your brain could process was what was happening, dark furred arms grabbed you, spun you around, and laid razor sharp claws against your neck.

Bucky’s head whipped around and he let loose a terrifying roar. Wings spread, he leapt toward the Alp—and immediately hit an invisible surface. He was knocked backwards, hitting the table and making it strain where it was bolted to the floor.

You didn’t dare speak or move a muscle. The hand over your neck had a firm grip, and the tips of its talons lay directly over your pulse point. Bucky was trapped within the chalked circle, helpless to do anything more than growl menacingly at the demon that held you by the throat, his tail lashing back and forth like an angry cat.

An old speaker system crackled to life, Zemo’s voice echoing disturbingly around the cylindrical room.

“Sergeant Barnes, it is an honor,” he said, opening a viewing window from what appeared to be a control room. ��Even if you did keep me waiting.”

Before he was done speaking, Bucky pulled out one of his pistols and fired, a bullet sparking across the glass dead center of where Zemo’s forehead would be.

The man clicked his tongue, unimpressed.

“Please, Sergeant. The Soviets built this chamber to withstand the launch blast of UR-100 rockets. Not even that arm of yours could put a dent in it. It’s no matter; I will find better uses for it.”

He peered at Bucky like a scientist would at a fascinating experiment. Your skin crawled unpleasantly.

“Now…” Zemo said, “disarm yourself of all your weapons and throw them outside the circle. You’re a smart man—you do still consider yourself a man, don’t you?—and I’m certain you know what will happen if you do not cooperate. But I will say it, anyway.”

Zemo’s gaze slid past Bucky and onto you.

“Refuse to follow my orders, and she dies.”

Bucky lifted his lips in a snarl but said nothing as he began to strip his weapons, of which he had many. Pistols, knives, even a combat grenade launcher and several small explosives you didn’t recognize as any kind of traditional grenade.

“Thank you for your cooperation.” Zemo gave a ghost of a smile before shutting the viewing window. You only had a few seconds to act.

“Captain America and the sorcerers are here,” you said under your breath. Bucky, ears twitching as he turned his head to stare at you, furrowed his brows in confusion. But you weren’t talking to him. “You have to lead them here. You know if he…if he binds Bucky, he won’t keep you around for long. Find Strange.”

The Alp made a noise, a rumbly one you didn’t understand, but Bucky’s gaze went wide. He opened his mouth but immediately closed it as Zemo’s footsteps preceded him.

He was carrying the red book in one hand, and the onyx blade in the other. Your stomach turned and you broke your rule not to move. Thankfully, the demon holding you didn’t let you cut yourself on his claws, but he did hold you tighter to still your struggles.

Bucky crouched on the ground, teeth bared as his tail twitched, wings half-unfurled as if about to pounce. But Zemo continued to walk forward, completely indifferent to the display of aggression. He stood outside of the circle, opened the book to a page marked with a colorful tab, and began to read aloud.

The words were Latin, or at least they sounded Latin, but there was a strange, musical quality to them. It made your skin want to crawl right off your body, but the effect it had on you was nothing compared to Bucky. He dropped fully onto his knees, hands raised towards his ears as if to cover them, and then they fell to the floor as if he didn’t have the strength to hold them up. He was trembling, panting, and terror resonated across your bond.

You shouted to be heard over the ritual, begging Zemo to stop, but he ignored you. Facing Bucky’s left side, Zemo brought the knife down and slashed a mark across one of the pentagram lines on his demonic arm. The knife cut through the plating like butter, and Bucky cried out through clenched teeth.

The pain exploded in your own mark, and you weren’t nearly as quiet as Bucky. The Alp was having a difficult time holding you still—the same murderous fever haze came over you as it had in the Sanctum, and you clawed and bit at the demon to get to Bucky. It may have suffered a bite or a few scratches, but it still wouldn’t let you go.

Bucky was able to barely raise his head, only enough to make eye contact, his expression full of regret and sadness. That look of hopelessness fueled your rage, and you screamed wordlessly at the man who had Bucky on his knees.

Zemo was focused solely on his task, continuing the strange Latin as he cut into his own palm. Deep in your bones, you knew how wrong this was. And there was nothing you could do to stop it.

Slamming his hand down onto Bucky’s bleeding mark, agony exploded inside your shoulder. The pain ruptured through your whole body, filling your very being with fire and acid. The golden rope that connected you was burned to a cinder, but not entirely. Something of it remained, but you couldn’t focus on it long enough to figure out what it was.

Panting and trembling, you realized the Alp was holding you up more than you were. Your world had been pulled out from under you, but all you could do was stare at Bucky.

He was disturbingly quiet and still, on his knees with his head bowed. Not even his tail, restless as it was, moved, lying on the ground like a dead thing. For a moment, you were terrified that’s exactly what he was.

And then Bucky slowly rose to his feet, his expression blank as he stared forward, blue eyes as warm as ice.

You’d seen this version of Bucky before. The air left your lungs as if you’d been punched in the gut.

Zemo walked in front of him, head tilted curiously.

“Солдат?” he softly asked.

"Я жду приказаний,” Bucky answered, voice gravel and entirely inhuman.

“Incredible,” Zemo breathed out in a reverent whisper. “With a rebinding, it seems you have taken on your old persona. The ritual should have given me your body, not your mind. HYDRA’s programming runs deeper than even I imagined.”

Something burned in the back of your throat, and when your stomach heaved, you leaned over and vomited. The noise drew Zemo’s attention.

“My offer still stands,” he said, eyes half-lidded as he stared down at you. You felt very small. “You may continue to be his food source, if you so choose. Unfortunately, this version of Sergeant Barnes will, most likely, no longer recognize you. I cannot guarantee there won’t be rough treatment, even with my commands.”

That certainly didn’t help the queasiness of your stomach, the absolute wrongness of the situation. The blank look on Bucky’s face and the emptiness in his eyes.

No, not entirely empty. Bucky assessed the room and each of its occupants with a cold, detached expression. When his icy gaze fell on you, there wasn’t even a flicker. No glance of warmth or love or even recognition. You were a stranger. No, worse, you were nothing to him.

“I hope he turns on you,” you said to Zemo while still meeting Bucky’s eye, voice low and filled with hate. “I hope he rips you to fucking pieces.”

Zemo gave a sardonic sort of smile.

“I suppose I have your answer, then. Let her go.”

The Alp released you, and you barely avoided the dirtied floor as you collapsed onto your legs. Bucky’s expression never changed, and when Zemo ordered, “Come, Soldat,” he turned to follow his new master without hesitation.

You reached out, desperate to stop them from leaving, when the large iron door burst open at the end of the room. In came Steve Rogers in full Captain America regalia, complete with his signature shield. His eyes widened when he spotted Bucky, and he didn’t hesitate to walk forward, incorrectly believing Zemo was the most immediate threat.

“Hold on, Buck, I’m coming!”

“Rogers!” you screamed. “Don’t! It’s not Bucky!”

He came to a quick stop, immediately bringing up his shield before him, expression troubled.

“Buck? What’s going on?”

The Winter Soldier said nothing, not an ounce of recognition in his gaze. Zemo gave the tiniest smirk.

“Steve Rogers, how good it is to see you.” He turned to his newest demon slave. “Time to put your skills through their paces. Let’s see how you fare against the great Captain America.”

Like a hound let off its leash, Bucky strode forward, spread his wings, and launched himself at his best friend.

Next Chapter

#branded #bucky barnes x reader #demon!bucky barnes #demon!bucky x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #my writing #my fanfiction

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bakugousbabygirl · 4 years ago

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Tower Of Mistakes

pairings: bakugou x uraraka mentions, bakugou x ex!gf reader

genre: pure angst

word count: 1,623

cw: cursing|| mentions of self hatred|| jealously || self deprecation|| mirror punching

sypnosis: in which the reader realizes the split between bakugou and herself was her own undoing and she reminisces on where it all went wrong

short little song fic because i was bored also i didnt know how to end it so sorry that the ending is shit lmao😹😹

"Maybe you're better off with her?"

Her smile beamed brightening up the entire room, infecting everyone around her making them all smile and laugh also. She'd just given Bakugou a beaded bracelet for their 6-month anniversary making the blond boy blush and grow flustered as his friends gathered around to see the gift.

"Get the fuck away from us you dumb extras!" He yelled, but by now the "Baku-squad" as they'd been dubbed knew there was no real malice behind his harsh words.

"Cmon bakubro, let us see what Uraraka-Kun got you."Kirishima said playfully nudging him in an attempt to see the bracelet.

Behind Bakugou's yelling, you could see the slight smile that tugged at the corner of his lips. He was happy, he deserved it. She was good for him. So why do you still feel that sharp pang in your chest, the festering feeling of jealousy crawling through your veins?

Not being able to stand the joyous sight you get up from your seat trying not to make a scene calmly exiting the classroom. As soon as the door slides close behind you, you run. Tears cloud your vision-obscuring your view as you navigate your way to the bathroom luckily not bumping into anyone along the way.

Entering the restroom you slam and lock the heavy wooden door behind you making sure nobody can come in and ruin your pity party. God, you felt so pathetic like this. Crying over your ex who's obviously moved on. Raising your head to look at your reflection in the mirror you hate what you saw.

The bags under your eyes prominent and puffy due to the immense lack of sleep you've been getting and the constant crying in bed every night. Your skin was starting to break out from the stress and that glow you once held in your eyes was now dull. It angered you, what exactly? You couldn't pinpoint.

Was it the fact he was happy? Maybe it was that he got with Ms.Perfect and you felt as if you paled in comparison to her? How his face lights up every time he saw her approaching giving her a small smile that he never gave you? Or even the fact that this was all your fault? Yeah, that sounds about right. What angered you most is that you were the cause of this. You were the reason for the split. You're why he's with little miss sunshine and you're now left lonely and bitter.

" I had to use you to make me feel strong"

You were a leech, a parasite, nothing more than a pest who drained all of Bakugou's energy. While yes you were in class 1-A at the most elite hero school you were significantly weaker than your classmates. Your quirk was nothing to be scoffed at but by no means but you didn't know how to make it work efficiently and reach your full potential.

While your classmates excelled and grew it was like you were on the decline and Bakugou being the great boyfriend he was he refused to let you fail. Did you need help with your physical strength? Bet, he's waking you up at 6 am before classes start to workout with him. The physical recoil of your quirk wearing you out? No problem he's in your dorm room giving you a message to get all the kinks out of you back and brought over some food he cooked for you.

He saw no problem with doing any of this for you because he was your boyfriend but it was all give and no take for him. He was amazing for you but you were too consumed in your own need to get better you never paid him any attention unless you needed something.

He had an exam and he needed to stay up late to study for? You just gave him a kiss on the cheek and wished him good luck instead of bringing him snacks and water opting to sleep in his room that night like he would've done for you. The sweet caramel scent of his sweat after practice attracting bugs to his dorm room? You just laugh and tell him to "sleep tight and don't let the bugs bite" instead of getting him bug repellent like he would've done for you.

It was just the same level of effort he gave to you was never reciprocated. This frayed your relationship making you two grow more distant from one another as he stopped going the extra mile for you and returned the same amount of effort you gave him. That's when you started paying more attention to him. Vying for more of his time when one afternoon it all came to ahead.

Bakugou was getting ready to leave when you were pestering him to come to your dorm and cuddle with you when he snapped accusing you of only using him as your personal assistant and of course you clapped back with how he's been ignoring you lately.

"Duh, you fucking dumbass! I haven't been giving you any attention because that's what you've always fucking done for me! Nothing," He yelled in your face pushing your hand off him making you stagger back a bit. If looks could kill you'd be 6 feet under right now. The look he gave you was full of disgust and contempt.

"It's pretty fucking shitty that you only notice I'm gone when I'm not doing something that benefits you. you know what though (y/n) fuck you. I'm done with this shit." He said no longer yelling but the voice still full of anger as he shook his head exiting your dorm room.

" I see a tower built out of my mistakes and it all comes crashing down."

The realization hit you full force making a loud sob rack through your chest. It took you 6 months to realize you'd been a shitty neglectful girlfriend. Looking at yourself in the mirror only fueled your self-hatred and anger making you punch the mirror making it shatter and splinter into pieces as small shards broke off and fell on to the floor. The remaining pieces showing a broken image of yourself akin to how you feel inside making you give a small forced laugh. A sudden sting made you look down at your hand and see your knuckles were badly cut and oozing blood but you couldn't be bothered right now.

You stumbled back into the door of the stalls sliding down on to the cold tiled floor, the chill cooling down your burning body. Catching your breath from your previous sobbing you thought back on all the times he went the extra mile for you. He was a good boyfriend to you right down to the wire. You felt like such a fuck up and the worst part is you knew he didn't hate you.

After wallowing in your sadness you got up and went to your locker opting to just bandage up your hand instead of going to recovery girls' office and hear her nagging. With 30 minutes left of the free period you made your way back to class, you'd only been gone for 15 minutes but it seemed like an hour. Upon re-entering the room a few glances were on your hand but the demeanor you held stopped anyone from questioning you as you slowly sat back down in your seat.

Laying your head down on the desk folded your arms around yourself blocking out the rest of the world beginning to doze off.

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whumping-every-day · 5 years ago

Text

Vampire Whump 9: Healing

I still cannot believe the support this series has garnered. My deepest thanks to each and every one of you for your patience!

Content Warnings for this one: Questionable medical know-how, muzzles, reluctant caretaking, dehumanization, the briefest allusion to/mention of sexual assault. (nothing graphic, it’s a blink-and-you-miss-it kind of deal).

Masterlist

The water is warm, trickling down the vampire’s shoulders. Callum dunks the sponge back into the bucket, just like he’s been doing for the past fifteen minutes, but the vampire still flinches.

It’s on its knees, still naked, and the creature shivers as the water cools. It’s filthy, it knows; its skin is coated in a sticky layer of grime and sweat and blood. It smells, too, like piss and death and stale terror. It doesn’t understand why the hunter is touching it. It doesn’t understand why anyone would touch it.

At this point, the creature has begun to wonder if the hunter has well and truly lost his mind. It’s not supposed to wonder anything, it knows, and it tries not to. But sometimes, when the man does such strange things… sometimes it’s hard.

Only a madman would bring a vampire into the comfort of his home, leave it unrestrained, and then try to bathe it.

The vampire is shivering, but there’s a certain level of disconnection between the creature and its body. Compliance has earned it mercy until now, but punishment will come soon, and right now the hunter is touching it.

For the moment, though, it’s almost like the man isn’t trying to hurt it. But that is blasphemous. Every touch the vampire can remember has always brought it pain. It remembers Callum’s hands on it the day before, wrenching and pulling and shoving, and it feels sick.

“Hmm. We’re going to have to cut this, I think.” The hunter reaches up and slides his fingers into its hair, and it’s so sudden that the vampire cries out in blind panic and recoils. It’s been grabbed like this before – foreign hands gripping its hair, holding it down, pulling and wrenching and yanking. The vampire’s hair is matted and filthy, and when it shies away, Callum’s fingers get caught in the knots. Its scalp lights up with pain, and the far too familiar sensation hurtles the creature into a flashback.

The sense-memory floods its awareness without warning, and abruptly it’s held aloft, chains digging into every limb, agony eating into its face. In real time, the vampire gives a bitten-off cry and lurches forward on its knees. It doesn’t even notice as the hunter yanks his hand back, cursing colorfully, a few brown strands caught in his fingers. It’s quick; one moment the creature is tense but stationary, and the next all it can sense is the surrounding crowds, and the violent, unrelenting passage of day and night, and the burning— burning, burning, it would never stop burning, and the hands on it would never relent, not until they’d consumed every last part of it –

“Whoa, hey!” Callum’s heart has kicked into overdrive at the vampire’s sudden movement, but it doesn’t even seem like the creature is seeing him.

Instead it whimpers and gags on the next inhale, cowering in place, and its gasps for air are only getting thinner. It can feel the memory of the sun, burning its skin off layer by layer as the assembled humans watch, as they laugh. It can taste the blood from screaming too loud for too long, and it can taste the helplessness when the screaming stopped but the pain didn’t.

There’s a sudden, sharp blow to its cheek, and the vampire abruptly snaps back into the present. It’s wheezing on every inhale, head turned to the side. The hunter is crouched across from it, one hand extended. It shudders and gasps, feeling the echoing memory of being burned alive.

“Hey. Hey, yeah, there you go.” The hunter’s talking, but the vampire feels like it’s spinning in wild circles, nothing to hold it down. “Hey bud, try and focus on me, okay? You’re right here. They’re not… You’re not there anymore. I’m not going to hurt you.”

The air feels like sandpaper as the vampire cowers, and it whimpers a pathetic apology. Only some of the words make sense. It feels like it’s trembling from the inside out, like its core has decided to shake apart.

It registers only belatedly that the hunter has finally struck it, and of all the things, the vampire is grateful. It is used to much harsher correction than an open hand.

“You back with me, bud?” The man’s low baritone has the vampire shrinking inwards again. “Hey, little bat. I need to know if you’re hearing me. Nod yes if you are, okay?” It’s phrased strangely, but there’s an order cloaked within the words, and the creature quickly jerks its head in a nod. “Okay, good. That’s good.”

The vampire does not dare look any higher than the hunter’s knees, and when Callum crouches down it cringes away.

It knows its place, it does. It doesn’t need to be reminded.

“Easy,” the hunter murmurs. “I don’t know where you went, kid, but it’s over now.” There’s silence for a moment, and the vampire quivers and waits. “… I have to finish washing you,” the hunter says, apparently deciding that he’s waited long enough. “Nod if you understand.”

Sometimes, it’s easier to disappear into its own head. The vampire understands that the question isn’t really a question, and even if it was, there would only be one answer to give.

The human is careful with it, and the creature is grateful. But it still goes fuzzy and glassy-eyed as Callum returns to sponging the filth and dirt off its skin.

By the time Callum is finished, the vampire’s skin is three shades lighter, the water in the bucket is nearly black, and there are spots of fresh blood beading up around its neck and wrists. It’s not perfectly clean, but it’s clean enough that the abuse is starker, without the cover of filth. The hunter grimaces and gently dabs at its throat again, and the vampire trembles and endures it.

“Okay. That’s as good as it’s going to get, I think.”

Water still drips in rivets from the vampire’s bare skin, and it tracks the motion of Callum’s hands as the hunter drops the sponge into the bucket. Then the man stands up, and the creature flinches habitually.

“I’ll be right back,” the hunter mutters. “Stay.”

The vampire is unaccustomed to being spoken to – but whenever Callum gives an instruction it can understand, the creature latches onto it like a lifeline. The other hunters had not cared whether it obeyed or not; it would be hurt just the same either way. But this hunter gives commands, and he speaks to it, and he offers lenience in exchange for obedience.

It’s more mercy than the vampire deserves.

The door is not locked, but it stays where it was put, even as the hunter’s steps fade. In the man’s absence, the creature dares to glance around at its surroundings.

The walls are stone, and there’s a drain in the floor. There is a shelf on the opposite wall with soap and a second sponge, and a wooden stool tucked beneath it. Beyond that the room is bare, and the vampire wraps its good arm around its middle, trying uselessly to conserve warmth.

The door screeches back open, and the vampire’s back hits the far wall before Callum is even fully in the room.

“Hey,” the man says softly. “Easy, pointy. It’s just me.” The words aren’t reassuring, but the vampire only whimpers when the man takes a step closer. Callum hesitates at the sound, and after a moment he drops down into a crouch, holding up the bundle he’s holding.

“I brought towels,” he says. “There are clothes waiting in your room. Let’s get you dry. Then we can take another crack at fixing you up.”

It’s too much information all at once. Clothes and towels and fixing are not things meant for filthy, bloodsucking leeches. And why bother fixing it up, if the hunter would only break it apart again after? The creature trembles under the weight of its own confusion. This is a trick, certainly, a test.

Eventually, the hunter sighs.

“Alright. How about this? You, come here.” The hunter snaps his fingers and then taps the ground at his feet, and relief floods the creature like cool water, because that, at least, is a command it understands.

This man hasn’t punished it for obeying yet, but it still cowers low as it drags itself across the floor. The thought of walking is laughable; instead it moves in an awkward, dragging crawl, and after several moments it drops into a pile at the hunter’s feet. Crooked fingers tremble a mere few inches from the hunter’s boots.

“Okay, good,” the man murmurs. Something settles around bony shoulders, and the vampire shrinks away and whines piteously. It’s being still and obedient, but it doesn’t understand.

The hunter finishes wrapping the towel around its torso, and the vampire shivers and stays put.

“We’ll definitely need to cut your hair,” he muses absently. He’s got a second towel out, squeezing the worst of the moisture out of the creature’s matted hair. The towel comes back dirty, and the hunter tisks.

Callum had removed the belt holding the vampire’s left arm in place so that he can wash it, and the limb feels disconnected and heavy. There is a numbness extending down the vampire’s arm and into its fingers, but there are still enough other hurts that it hardly notices.

“Okay, easy does it. Now let me see your arm…” Callum takes its wrist, and the vampire gives a small, broken warble. It remembers the strength in those hands as the human had snapped its shoulder. It had been so easy, like the vampire was just a broken doll.

“Shh,” the hunter murmurs. “You’re doing fine, kid. I don’t want to hurt you.” I don’t want to hurt you. The creature muffles another little whimper, because it knows that those words are a lie. “I have to see if your shoulder is healing properly,” comes next, and the vampire flinches, drops its eyes.

It doesn’t try to escape, but the vampire can’t help the way it cowers under the hunter’s shadow. Its wrist is still horribly swollen, even though the bone has been set, and the vampire whimpers softly as Callum carefully prods at it.

“Try moving your fingers for me.” The creature tries to twitch its fingers and is met with limited success. “Hmm,” the hunter muses, watching as the creature struggles to move its ring finger. The vampire gives a little whimper in response. This isn’t the result Callum wants, and the human has given it so few commands thus far; just stay and quiet and do as you’re told.

It remembers too late that the man wants it silent, and the creature sinks lower to the floor and bites its tongue to stop its whining. Its wrist is still awkwardly extended, held out for the hunter to examine, or to hurt. There is more light prodding, and the vampire swallows the urge to retch and squeezes its eyes shut.

Callum’s grip changes, then, and more pain flares up from its bad shoulder, and the vampire’s whole body crunches inwards with the effort of staying still and quiet. The pain rolls through it in sickening pulses, and there is more just around the corner, as soon as the man decides to pull or yank or squeeze. The creature can only tremble in place and wait.

“That’s got to hurt,” the hunter mutters. “Try moving your fingers again? One at a time, there you go.” The vampire is confused and terrified, but it marshals its energy and obeys.

Its left thumb and index finger move without issue; its middle finger is stiff, and it shakes with exertion. More than one of the digits is crooked, but those are old injuries, none of them fresh enough to hurt.

Its ring finger and pinky won’t move at all. The vampire tries, but that numbing sensation from earlier is back, shooting all the way from its brutalized shoulder down into its hand.

The vampire muffles a little whimper and tries to curl all its fingers into a fist, but only the first three respond.

“Alright, okay. That’s enough.” It’s such a small thing to do, but the vampire’s shoulders slump as it gives up. The weakness is like a living thing, weighing down its limbs. “So there’s some nerve damage. Interesting.”

The hunter seems neither pleased nor displeased, and the vampire hangs in limbo and waits for his mood to swing one way or the other. Instead, Callum bends to scoop up the discarded belt. “This has to go back on for at least another four days. There’s not much I can do about the nerve damage. We’ll just have to wait and see if your body can repair itself.”

The vampire isn’t listening. Of course, it tries at first – but the information is coming too quickly, and in too harsh a juxtaposition to what it’s used to.

It exists to be hurt, so that its betters can delight in its suffering. The creature knows this, and it does not understand why it hasn’t been beaten yet, or worse.

It is toweled dry gingerly, and then its bad arm is secured against its torso with the belt.

“I know you’re exhausted,” the man says. “I’m going to let you rest very soon. But I have to take a look at the rest of the damage first. Let’s get you somewhere more comfortable…”

The vampire squeezes its eyes shut when the man reaches for it, but it doesn’t struggle when it’s picked up. The position puts its face right next to the hunter’s neck, and the creature smells flesh and veins and blood, and it whimpers and twists its face away.

So far, the hunter has been merciful and allowed it to remain unmuzzled. But in order to keep such a privilege, the creature must be absolutely harmless.

“Now, this is going to twinge, and I am not going to get bitten by accident.” The hunter is calm and assured as he nudges the cell open and deposits the vampire back on the thin cot. There are several somethings waiting on the stool; water, bandages, metal and leather – the muzzle.

Even knowing that the device isn’t made of iron, the vampire can’t help but whimper.

“Yeah, that’s kind of what I figured,” Callum muses. “But I need to clean up your back. And your feet.” The hunter draws in another breath, like he’s about to add something else, then changes his mind, shakes his head. “We already know your ribs are a nightmare. But I don’t know how much I can do about that.”

The vampire isn’t sure if it’s meant to respond to the information. But it understands what bitten by accident means, and when Callum takes a step closer the vampire whimpers and shies away.

“Easy,” the hunter says. “Don’t go making this difficult, now.” It’s a reminder, of course; a reminder that there will be no escaping whatever the hunter has planned for it. It’s the gentlest of such reminders than the creature can remember, and it sinks lower on the cot in response and whines its obedience.

Callum knows he’s looming, but the vampire is shrinking away from him so hard that it’s impossible not to. “I thought we could do this a one-or-the-other type way… but it looks like you might not be up for choices, huh.” He’s not surprised, anymore, by the lack of response. The vampire is nearly bestial in the way it responds to him; as far as Callum can tell, beyond yes or no questions, it reacts more to his tone than to what he says.

It’s animalistic. And Callum would be tempted to keep thinking of the creature that way, except for the naked, human terror in its eyes whenever he moves too quickly or speaks too harshly.

“Same deal as last time,” he mutters. “You go where you’re put, and I’ll make this quick.” He picks up the muzzle and undoes the straps, and watches the vampire swallow a whimper.

He’s gentler, this time, when he puts the muzzle on, despite the danger of having his fingers so close to the creature’s teeth. He’d taken the bit out that morning, and Callum adjusts the smooth curve of leather to make sure nothing pinches before buckling it closed. The vampire is completely docile while he works.

“There we go, good,” he murmurs. It feels natural to talk to the creature, even if Callum is still unsure of how much it understands. But he is fairly certain that he hasn’t imagined the vampire’s response. Some of the constant, numbing terror seems to ease just a little when it knows that Callum is pleased.

Of course, he thinks bitterly, that makes sense. He wonders what a difference in treatment it would have made, before, if those other hunters had been pleased or not.

“Now down,” he murmurs, and he turns the creature and presses, and it folds under the direction like paper. There’s a nearly inaudible whine as the vampire settles belly-down on the cot, and Callum hushes it softly. He goes to pat the creature’s bare flank, like he would to calm his horse, but the skin there is concave, stretched too thin over pulped ribs. He grits his teeth, turns away.

“Stay,” he says, and all movement from the vampire immediately ceases.

The coming operation would be a lot easier in his lab, but Callum’s not sure he can handle the creature’s terrorized, hollow-eyed stare again so soon. And he’s sure the vampire appreciates being on the cot instead of the cold exam table.

There’s clean water, alcohol, and a cloth waiting, as well as bandages and an assortment of sutures and creams.

Callum has a wary alliance with the town’s doctor where Callum treats his own injuries, unless he’s been hurt badly enough that he physically can’t... and on those occasions when he shows up on the doc’s doorstep bleeding too heavily to staunch, he pays the doctor triple, and after he limps out the back door on his own power. But there’s no amount of gold that would convince a human doctor to see a vampire, even if the risk factor wasn’t so great. So Callum and this little vampire are on their own.

“Fuck, kid,” he mutters as he crouches down beside the cot. The creature’s rib cage is visibly misshapen, even (or especially) when seen from the back. The knobs of its spine protrude grotesquely from its body, like its skin has been suctioned right down to its bones. Some of the scars are old, raised and textured, and some aren’t scars at all, still open and oozing. Many are somewhere in between, but all dealt with the same casual cruelty that Callum has come to expect. There’s nothing deliberate about the injuries; this damage had been dealt carelessly, angrily. Hatefully.

The vampire is quivering as it waits, and when Callum carefully touches a patch of bruised skin, it twitches and lets out a muffled sob.

“C’mon, now,” Callum says. “I’m not hurting you.” Not yet, anyway. Not on purpose. “It won’t be like yesterday,” he murmurs. “I’m just cleaning out these open wounds, and I need to see what’s broken.” It’s not a question of if, just of what. “If you haven’t bled out already, I don’t think you need stitches.”

The vampire flinches minutely, and then there’s nothing left to say.

Most of the damage is visible to the naked eye, what with how gaunt the creature it, but Callum checks anyway. Its pelvis is in one piece, its hips are where they should be – although the vampire gasps and whines piteously as Callum tests the one on the left. He doesn’t like the way its ribs crunch and move with every inhale.

“Alright, it’s alright,” he murmurs as the examination goes lower. It turns his stomach, but Callum braces himself and checks for signs of a different kind of assault. There is nothing – or at least, there is no evidence present.

Below that, the vampire’s knees are swollen, and there’s a visible dent in the bone of its right shin. Callum frowns, then prods, very gently. There’s no reaction from the creature; an old break, then. Further examination reveals that it’s the vampire’s tibia bone, and it was caved inwards and then healed incorrectly.

The creature won’t be able to walk until it heals, but then, that also applies to its recently set hip joint. And, Callum discovers as he continues, it also applies to the soles of the vampire’s feet.

Tatters. That’s the only word Callum can think of describe the state they’re in. He takes one of the creature’s ankles, skinny and knobby, and the flesh there is still open and raw from the iron manacles. The vampire flinches at the contact, and its foot jerks, like it might pull away – but it quickly goes still again.

“That’s it, little bat,” Callum soothes as he looks over the damage. “You’re doing fine.” There’s still dirt caked in the open wounds, and Callum lets out a sigh, runs a hand down his face. He’ll need to clean its feet. But first he completes the rest of the exam. The creature’s cranium is intact, no dents or bumps, although there’s a nasty, crusted bruise on the back of its skull. His fingers come away bloody, and the vampire flinches and whines.

“This part is going to hurt,” he says when he’s done. There’s a delayed, wounded sort of whimper, but the creature only clenches its fingers in the blanket and squeezes its eyes shut.

Callum drags the water closer and wishes he was anywhere else.

The creature screams as he cleans its feet. There’s no way to make it painless; the flesh on the bottom of its feet isn’t burned, it’s sliced. Some skin comes away in a ribbon as Callum squeezes water out over it, and he forces down his gag reflex. There’s grit and dirt particles stuck in the cuts, and even though he had brought two extra pots of clean water, he goes through all of it.

The water is pink by the time he’s done, and the vampire is panting and sobbing into the lumpy mattress.

“I know,” Callum mutters. “I know, pointy, I’m sorry.”

Somehow, throughout all the pain, the vampire has managed to remain mostly still. But this time, when he catches one of those slender ankles, it cries out and twists. All it takes is a warning squeeze, and the creature sobs desperately but falls still and silent again.

It’s the cream next; if the creature were human, Callum would have to follow the water up with alcohol, and then bandage it. But the possibility of an infection has had a long head start – months of it. If infection could kill the creature, it would have done so already. So Callum dabs a cream made for soothing and pain-relief onto the cuts, and the creature twitches and flinches through it.

He makes sure to get the vampire’s raw ankles too, and then everything from the ankle down is wrapped in clean bandages.

“There we go,” Callum says as he sits back. The vampire is still shaking, hiding its face in its good arm. “Almost done,” he adds.

He cleans the open wounds on the vampire’s back, and the knot on the back of its skull, but he knows they aren’t the biggest threat.

The creature’s rib cage is in bad shape. Callum can see the way its ribs shift and move with each inhale, and there’s one doesn’t even seem to be attached to its sternum anymore. Some are crooked, and there’s one poking up against the skin – not piercing, but threatening to.

“Jesus Christ,” he mutters. If any internal organs had been punctured, the creature should be dead – but then, that assumes that vampires even have working organs. That assumes they can even die from things like internal bleeding or sepsis or a collapsed lung. “This would be a lot easier if I knew what I was dealing with,” he thinks out loud.

There’s a faint wheeze every time the vampire inhales, and Callum knows that it hasn’t just started. Injuries like this would kill a human, would have killed a human, probably a long time ago. And because it would have killed a human, Callum isn’t sure how to treat them. Support from the outside, certainly – but that won’t do much good, if the ribs are splintered inwards.

It’s too much, all of a sudden. Callum pushes to his feet and steps away, inhales sharply, clenches his teeth.

He doesn’t know how to fix this.

“We’re – hnnk.” His voice catches, and Callum coughs. “I’m going to wrap your ribs, and we’ll call that it for the day.” Because right now, that’s all he can do. None of these injuries can heal until all the misaligned bones are back where they should be.

He might have to cut it open, Callum thinks – and the thought horrifies him. He’s got nothing to put it under with, doesn’t even know what substances or chemical compounds might affect a vampire, aside from iron and silver. There would be nothing to dull the pain as he peeled it open and dug around for its misplaced ribs.

On the thin little cot, the vampire is huddled as small as it can go and still be flat on its stomach. The hunter had put it there, and the creature hasn’t dared to move. It hadn’t, not even when the man had poured what felt like boiling acid over its feet. Not when it stung and burned and made tears prick in its eyes.

“Alright, over you go.” Callum does not wait for it to obey; instead he helps it move, and the creature gasps as pain lances through it. There’s still so much of it, coming from so many different places. The hunter leans it against the cold wall, and mutters a quick, “Stay.”

The vampire stays, and Callum retrieves the largest two rolls of bandages and starts carefully winding them around its torso.

When it’s done, the creature looks almost human. The grit has been cleaned off its skin, the worst open wounds have been bandaged. Callum unbuckles the muzzle when it’s over, and he steadies the creature’s jaw as it comes free.

The vampire wets its lip habitually, but instead of charred flesh, all it tastes is the lingering tint of steel. It had forgotten that the hunter had muzzled it; after wearing one for so long, its bare face feels stranger than the leather and metal.

“Now let’s get you into some clothes.” There’s a pile waiting by the door, soft, earthy colors and stiff cotton. The vampire’s eyes skip over it uncomprehendingly, unable to even process the words.

The creature recoils when the hunter reaches for it. There is fabric looped carefully over its wrist, and the vampire swallows another whimper. Maybe it’s just cloth – or maybe he’ll hang it from its bad arm, make it whimper and scream. Maybe he’ll break the other one, so it matches, and the vampire knows that it deserves the pain, but it’s so tired of hurting.

Instead the fabric is pulled up, still careful, and then it’s being guided down over the creature’s head, and – a shift?

“Okay, good.” Callum is patient with the vampire’s confusion, and with its fumbling when it finally figures out what it’s supposed to do. The fabric is bundled up under its chin, but it’s clothing, not a rope or a restraint, or some kind of new torture implement.

The vampire lets out a shuddering breath as Callum tugs the garment into place. It’s not a shirt so much as a loose cotton drape, and the hunter ties it below its bad shoulder, and then the vampire is clothed for the first time in its memory.

The fabric feels too tight, too heavy against its skin.

Pants are next; the creature still cannot stand, so the hunter has to awkwardly hold it while they tug on a set of Callum’s old breeches. The vampire knows they are Callum’s, because the fabric is soft with use and mended in places, and it smells like sun and the desert.

Every little motion makes its injuries sing with pain, and every second the vampire expects the hunter to make it worse – dig his fingers into its side, maybe, or its back.

“That’s better,” the hunter says instead, and the vampire can only blink at his shoes in bewilderment. It does not understand the continued commentary. But better is a stepping-stone from bad to good, so the vampire clings to it and hopes.

“I’m going out for a little while.” The hunter’s voice comes again as he steps away, picks up the dirty water, gatherings up the other supplies. “I have someone to visit. When I get back I’ll have blood for you.”

Just the mention of blood makes the vampire’s gums prick, and it whines softly.

“Yeah,” the hunter agrees absently. “You need more than I can give you. So… hold tight. Just for a little longer.”

Callum takes the muzzle with him, and the creature watches with wide, baffled eyes as he goes.

The cell door closes, and once again the vampire is left bewildered, marooned, adrift in a sea of its own confusion. It understands, on some level, that this man has been nothing but careful with it. And yet pain and torment are the only things the creature understands, so it doesn’t understand this.

The lack of pain feels like a missing limb, for how used to it the creature has gotten. And in the absence of it, the vampire isn’t sure what’s left. It doesn’t know what it has left to offer, what it still has for the man to take from it or use it for.

But this hunter seems to have dedicated himself to finding out.

[END]

Previous, Next

@wildfaewhump @pepperonyscience @robinshouseofwhump @angelsuperwholock @pennsss @silver-sparrow-462 @silverinkgoldenquill @kestrelsparverius @learningtowhump @shameless-whumper @latenightcupsofcoffee @thebluejayswhump @what-huh-imconfused @lostbetweenvampiresandmusic @pink-and-purple-flowers @gonna-feel-that-tomorrow @whump-em @umniyah-s @adventuresofacreesty @scarheart @kyra-plays @lionhxartx @blue-flare10 @whumpywhumper @doityourselfbombs @pastry-case @maybeawhumpblog @httyd-chocolate @maqcyloup @yyyee-haw @to-hurt-and-comfort @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight @manip-loki @dungeons-and-dragons-and-whump @ariirenn @poetofswords86 @whumpity--whump--whump @swagjudgehandsdragon @machimaquiaveli @theladyoffangorn @oracle-of-maybe @cuddlycryptid @the-potato-beeper @insanitycheshire @slam-whump @sweeterthanadonut @ffaerie-dustt @whump-in-the-night @elfo8792 @kinda-bad-poet @crackedskel @deluxewhump @this-zombie-will-eat-you @a-moment-to-write @stoic-whumpee @paradigmparadoxical @burtlederp

#whump #nonhuman whumpee #obedience #fear #muzzle #reluctant caretaker #vampire whump series #my writing #editing six months later for world building purposes #O.ooo

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3rdgymbros · 5 years ago

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— pairing; fuegoleon vermillion x reader

— summary; in which fuegoleon wakes up, and saves you

You’re jerked awake in the middle of the night by the door being forced open and a cacophony of heavy boots thundering towards you. Legs tangled up in the blankets, you tumble off the spindly sofa in a panic; the hard landing shocks the dregs of sleep from your mind.

Your voice trembles as you push yourself to your feet. “What’s going on?”

“The sky is red. The capital is burning,” The newest recruit to the Crimson Lions, a small, delicately boned youth with dark burning eyes, draws your attention to your windows.

You’d thrown the shutters back the night before, pushing aside the blackout cloth, and now, in horror, you gaze out into the deep pink sky. Above the black silhouettes of trees, the sky is alight with fiery reflection. The night seems to come alive with pain and suffering.

And yet, you know there’s more. There’s always more. A bad feeling hovers over your gut, icy fingers of dread tightening your bowels. “What else?”

“Vice Captain Randall’s gone berserk and he’s started attacking!” Another member of the squad blurts out. You don’t know his name, though you should by now. “It’s not just him, some others – They all have these strange markings – Leopold went to hold them off, but –”

“Alone?” You cry out in alarm. Worry frays the edges of your voice.

“Some others went with him, but –”

“Stay here. Protect Fuegoleon.” You motion to the man slumbering in bed – your hands and feet already up and moving in a flurry of desperation, grabbing your grimoire off the desk – you’re so absorbed that you don’t notice a hitch in Fuegoleon’s breathing, the twitching of his toes under the thin white sheets.

“Miss ( Last Name ), what are you –”

“I’m going to help Leo. Stay here.”

One of them protests feebly. “But Captain Fuegoleon would never forgive us if you were injured –”

“Stay here.” A delicately sharpened edge comes into your voice. You’re baring your fangs again, showing some hint of a backbone. Mereleona would be proud. “That’s an order.”

It’s with eyes full of pain and apology that you gaze down at Fuegoleon, squeezing his hand for what might be the last time, wishing you were brave enough to kiss him, but again hating yourself for being unable to, and the thoughts echo in your head as you rush from the room in your thin nightgown, forgetting, in your haste, to slip on a pair of shoes. You stumble barefoot on the cold stone floor, not slowing down even when the scrapes and scratches of the stones beneath your feet draw blood.

You burst onto the courtyard in a whirl of white skirts and red silk; almost immediately, you see Leo. His face is a mass of small cuts, and there’s a bloody tear in his trousers, but relief floods through you – he’s alive.

You don’t know how you would have answered to Fuegoleon and Mereleona otherwise.

“Song Magic – Musical Shield!”

Upon your shrieked out command, your magic wraps itself around Leo in a protective cocoon; Randall’s next attack bounces harmlessly off your shield. Randall’s eyes narrow, the flurry of attacks only increasing with intensity. You use the chance to slip close to Leo, grabbing at his arm in worry.

“Leo!”

Relief blooms over his face. “( Your Name )? You shouldn’t –”

“Leo, listen to me. We don’t have much time.” You cut him off mid-sentence. Your eyes burn with renewed intensity as you lean forwards, loosening your grip on his arm and holding onto his hands instead. “I’m going to find the rest of the squad – the ones like Randall, and I’m going to stop them before they can do more damage. We have to keep them here, before they escape and hurt civilians. But I need you to take care of Randall. Can you do that for me?”

“I –”

A crack near you forces your head up to investigate; your eyes widen, your face blanching as you realize that your shield won’t hold out for much longer. Your ears pop, but all you can hear is a train’s approach. A huge, angry train whistling to you right on a collision course.

You have to raise your voice to be heard over the wind. “Leo. Can you take him? Yes or no.”

Leo swallows. You think he might falter, but then he seems to remember the red cloak around both his shoulders, and you can read the stubborn pride spreading over his face. “Yes.”

“Good.” Ignoring the sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach, you give Leo’s hand a final squeeze, almost mirroring the way you’d tenderly held onto his brother’s hand just moments before. “Are you ready?”

“Leave it to me.”

And just as your shield shatters into pieces, Leo sends up a spiral column of flames, and you dart away. Behind you, you hear Randall’s voice shrieking high alarm, screaming out unfamiliar names and demands to stop you before you can escape.

Good, you think grimly to yourself, leaving a trail of bloodied footprints in your wake. Come after me.

The pounding of you heart thunders through your body, but you’re not sure if it’s caused by excitement or panic or dread or some combination of the three. Despite the chill in the air, your skin feels cold and clammy. The smell of ash and burning flesh hangs heavily in the air; Leo’s flames give the scene a weak illumination, and it’s in the glow of these flames that you see how they’ve herded you into a corner, prey herded into a trap.

But when you turn around, on your next breath, you are strong and sure and ready to rise. You wrap yourself around the same silent mantra, the words repeating and reverberating through you. I will not die. I will not die. I have to go back and help Leo. I have to go back to Fuegoleon. I will not die. I will not die.

“Song Magic – Mother’s Lullaby!”

Your grimoire flutters open in a burst of light, the rustling of the white pages filling you with comfort. Thrusting out your hands, you start to sing. Your voice clings to them like a silk shawl, light and cool. You barely have to sing the first bar of the lullaby before they collapse to the ground like dominoes, one after another.

Is that all of them? How many members of the squad are like Randall? Your mind races, trying to find solutions and answers to the problem which you have no idea how to solve.

You hear the splash of cool water before you feel it, but when it envelopes you, it turns your skin to ice, pouring into your still screaming mouth. In a throb of panic, you find yourself reaching for your grimoire, but you only end up gulping down even more water when you open your mouth to cast a spell. It’s a simple but effective way of incapacitating you, and you might even be impressed if the situation wasn’t so dire. Your lungs begin to burn and scream for air, black spots dancing before your eyes.

White-hot pain lances through you, sharp spikes of ice shooting up and piercing through skin. Blood stains the clear water with burgundy poison. Your voice refuses to work as pain, all-consuming pain shoots through your brain, stopping your heart, freezing your blood, killing your mind.

Your mind becomes fuzzy as something orange flashes in the corner of your eye. The freezing temperature of the water changes to a balmy warmth, and despite yourself, you relax, the tension leeching out of your frame. I’m sorry Leo, but it looks like I’m going to be with your brother now. You vaguely realise that the light is moving and that its blurred outline resembles a body before the bubble of water surrounding you vanishes in a cloud of steam.

Your body crumples, but just as you expect to hit the ground with a sickening thud, you’re cradled gently in a pair of warm arms, one made of flesh, and another made of flames. The heat is gentle against the ruined cotton of your chemise, but you wince when fabric brushes over the tender wounds and sticks to the blood painting your body red.

“( Your Name ).”

The affection in that familiar voice is enough for your breath to catch in your throat, your heart faltering in your chest. You’re imagining things. It can’t be him. It isn’t the first time that the pain has gone to your head. But even as you think it, you know that it isn’t in your head, that it’s the same voice you’ve begged God to give you another chance to hear.

Your eyelids feel stitched together, but you force them open, catching a glimpse of red silk, of a shirt in midnight blue. Auburn hair pulled back from a tanned sharp-edged face, eyes the colour of violets.

Those same violet eyes, alight in worry, running up and down the torn flesh of your form, but then hastily averting when he realizes you’re almost naked. He sheds his cloak and wraps you up in it, shielding you from the freezing air. The darkness glows orange, and you feel warmth engulf you, the clatter of footsteps below your back.

“( Your Name ), you’ve gotten strong, haven’t you?”

“If – If you wake up,” You say, gathering your resolve, and reaching out to hold onto his hand, “I’ll practice my magic. I’ll – I’ll work hard. I’ll become strong. And I won’t cry anymore. Please.”

The words wrench a sob from you that you can’t control. You bury your face into the crook of his neck, and break down, his words cutting to the very center of you.

“Fuegoleon. You came back.”

“I won’t leave you again,” He promises, but all you do is cry harder, enveloped in his warmth.

#fuegoleon vermillion #fuegoleon vermillion x reader #burakku kurōbā #black clover imagines #black clover x reader #black clover imagine #black clover scenarios #black clover scenario #black clover reader insert #black clover reader inserts #burakku kuroba scenarios #burakku kuroba x reader #❋ M I N E ❋#ｐａｉｎｔａｐｉｃｔｕｒｅｆｏｒｍｅ | my reader inserts

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anomander-dragnipurake · 4 years ago

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Possessed Part 2 Chapter Two: Stuck

Just a heads up content warning for ‘attempted murder that looks like attempted suicide’. It's pretty graphic, definitely the most graphic thing I've written in years, so if you'd prefer not to read it, read up until King Boo says 'Actually, maybe I don’t need a painting of you after all.’ and then skip to the 'Two weeks later' break.

We should go to E. Gadd. Luigi finally suggested.

‘No, absolutely not!’ King Boo would rather do almost anything else.

Even stay stuck like this? It had been well over an hour since they’d found out about their predicament and all King Boo had done was pace around in his bedroom – if it could be called that when it didn’t have an actual bed – and occasionally try to free himself from Luigi’s body. Failing every time and causing nothing but pain and discomfort for both of them.

‘I’ll figure something out.’ What though? He’d never possessed a living being before. He hadn’t known it was possible to get stuck in them, if he had he probably wouldn’t have attempted it. … Luigi would’ve far preferred that.

What else can you try? E. Gadd’s an expert on ghost stuff, I’m sure he can find a way to fix it. And if that’s how the problem got solved then Luigi would be… No, he shouldn’t think about it because then King Boo would know the thought too. … It was too late though, wasn’t it?

‘Yep. I’m not giving you up yet. I’ll find a way to fix this and then… Actually, maybe I don’t need a painting of you after all.’ Even before completing the thought, King Boo reached into his suit pocket to pull out a butterfly knife he’d stolen from someone the other day because he’d wanted to ‘play with it’. The most surefire way to free a soul from a living body was to kill the body.

He flipped it open and… Out of sheer desperation and fear Luigi somehow managed to stop it a few inches away from his neck. That was all he could do though. His hand shook as he held it there, pointed at his throat, straining against King Boo’s control.

King Boo growled out loud and internally. Luigi was leeching off his magic to fight his will; how dare he? … Luigi had no idea how he was doing it, nor did he really care right now, he was much more concerned with not dying.

‘You’re going to die whether you like it not!’ King Boo started pushing harder, pushing his will against Luigi’s.

Luigi managed to hold it there for several seconds but… King Boo was strong and determined and…

‘You’re pathetic! You know you can’t win so stop trying!’ It was King Boo’s voice but it was the kind of thing his anxiety would say to him because well, it was true. There was no way he could win this battle when it took everything, he had to just hold the knife still.

He whimpered internally as the knife inched closer. King Boo’s rage at Luigi being able to fight him even this much and leeching off his magic to do it radiated from him in a way that felt almost physical, heightening Luigi’s fear and distress. … Maybe if Luigi could move his other hand over to help push the knife down… Nope, trying just gave King Boo more leverage to overpower him.

His will broke as soon as the knife touched his flesh; he’d never been very strong. Hot blood gushed around his hand as King Boo pressed the knife in as deep as it would go, going for the jugular because even he knew that was a weak point for the living.

It hurt unbearably so but not with the all-consuming pain he’d have imagined a fatal blow to be. It quickly grew so much worse though as King Boo started dragging it across his neck. It was sharp but apparently not sharp enough; it met a fair bit of resistance that King Boo had to force it through before reaching the other side and finally pulling it out.

‘That should do it.’ Even in his own head, King Boo’s voice sounded distant behind the pain and the blood gushing from his throat as he struggled to breath. His body barely even reacted though; King Boo was in control and he wasn’t going whine about a little bit of pain even if it was bad enough now to make him uncomfortable too.

Blessed blackness ate at Luigi’s vision. He welcomed it but… King Boo didn’t. Pulling on his magic enough to make crown glow brighter, he pushed it away because… he wanted Luigi to suffer for fighting him and leeching off his magic and because being stuck in his body for any length of time was rage inducing. … Luigi could only whimper at that and at the sight of his front as King Boo looked down. There was an awful lot of blood soaking into the once white suit, some of it leaked down his throat too; hot and uncomfortable, drowning him.

Please… please… just… make it stop… please.

‘No. I’m going to tell Mario about this next time I see him. I want a good story to share since I won’t have my painting.’ And he was curious about how long it would take for Luigi to die and what it would feel like for him when it happened.

That was even worse. Please… No amount of begging would get him anywhere though so with the last bit of willpower he had left, he made himself stop; he didn’t want to give King Boo any more satisfaction.

The next… however long was absolute torture. Effected by the body’s weakness as blood poured out of it, King Boo did soon end up lying down on the couch.

All Luigi could do was moan and whimper internally as overtime his entire body grew numb and cold, adding to his discomfort and misery. It wasn’t dignified, he’d rather go out in stubborn defiant silence but that was far too much to ask from himself. Instead he found what small comfort he could in the fact that it annoyed King Boo.

But despite how annoying he found it, King Boo didn’t complain as his rage faded over time. He didn’t even say anything; he could let Luigi have his misery while he was dying. It was a shame but nothing else could be done, better him dead than King Boo trapped forever in his meat suit.

Except… death never came for him. What had to have been hours passed and yet Luigi was still alive and King Boo was still trapped in his body. He even actively tried to escape again, several times, all to no avail. Even using his magic to manually repress Luigi’s erratic off rhythm heartbeat did nothing, it just restarted as soon as he let go of that magic.

‘You don’t seem to be dying,’ King Boo finally broke the silence. ‘I’m not even sure you’re losing blood anymore.’ A lot of blood had soaked into his clothing and the couch beneath him, filling the air with an unpleasant coppery smell. How was it possible for someone to lose that much blood and still be alive, let alone conscious? He wasn’t even really breathing anymore, how was he still alive?

Unable to form a coherent proper reply, Luigi whimpered again. He still felt like he was dying but didn’t seem to be. Why? Probably something to do with King Boo possessing him, right?

‘Yeah, probably. It’s not something I have control of though because I would really prefer you die already.’

Luigi wasn’t in total disagreement. He wanted this torment be over, if that meant death then so be it. But as in all things in his life now, he didn’t have a say in it.

King Bow scowled. ‘We’ll have to figure something else out then.’

Two weeks later

From the car, King Boo glared at E. Gadd’s lab. He really didn’t want to go to him of all people for help but he was the only ghost expert either of them knew of. King Boo had tried to find another one but failed at every turn. He’d even tried killing Luigi a few more ways, none succeeding.

Just go in already. Luigi was tired and frustrated and just wanted this to be over with. He wasn’t even sure if any of the anger he felt was truly his own or if it all came from King Boo. It seemed to get harder to fully separate their emotions with each passing day. It was scary and made them both increasingly desperate to be free of each other.

‘We could try jumping into a pool of lava.’ … What if that destroyed him too though? It would certainly destroy his crown; it helped him channel and even amplified his power a little so he’d prefer not to surrender it unless he absolutely had to. So… E. Gadd it was. His anger about that warred with Luigi’s hope for rescue.

With a disgusted half growl half gag, King Boo exited the car at last. Scowling, he slammed the door shut before starting up the driveway, crossing his arms.

Can I…

‘Yeah, fine, whatever, you can talk to him. I don’t fucking care.’ And he’d rather not ask one of his arch nemeses for help anyway.

Luigi wanted to be fully happy about that but King Boo’s grumpiness made it hard. On the bright side though, said grumpiness was dampened by his feelings. King Boo wasn’t completely in control of this situation anymore.

He rang the doorbell this time. When no one answered after several seconds, King Boo pressed it again. Still nothing though so… King Boo started spamming it. If E. Gadd didn’t answer the door soon, he was going to…

Loud barking came from the other side followed by E. Gadd’s muffled voice shouting, “I’m coming, I’m coming, hold on a sec.”

King Boo would’ve kept ringing the bell out of spite but Luigi asserted a bit of his will and made him stop, pulling his had back to clinch in a fist at his side. Whatever was going on between them allowed Luigi to access some of King Boo’s magic as he’d discovered two weeks earlier and it had only gotten easier to do since then. Which of course made King Boo mad but there was nothing he do about it so he could suck it up.

‘My will’s stronger though. So if it came to a fight for control, I’d win every time.’

Luigi wasn’t sure about that. King Boo wasn’t fully sure of that either though; he was just trying to be intimidating. It would’ve worked a few weeks ago but not anymore, not when Luigi’s normally fragile confidence was bolstered by King Boo’s tendency to be overconfident.

Before King Boo could try to regain some intimidation, the door opened at last. E. Gadd gasped and flinched at the sight of them, before his expression settled into an angry glare. Polterpup stood at his feet, growling.

“You’re back,” E. Gadd said. His face was still a little bruised, considering how long it had to have been, that had to mean it was really bad before. “What do you want this time?”

“I-I’m so sorry professor,” Luigi said, instinctively taking control even as King Boo let him. His voice was a bit rough and it hurt to speak, the wound on his throat was rapidly healing but it was still there. He didn’t care right now though, he needed to apologize.

E. Gadd’s brows’ rose as Polterpup’s growling faltered. “Luigi?”

Luigi nodded as he grasped the doorframe, sagging into it. E. Gadd jumped up and babbled incoherently for a second or two before rushing inside, gesturing for Luigi to follow.

Inside, the monitoring room was still a mess, it was least essential though so of course it would be fixed last. Luigi didn’t have time to follow E. Gadd into the lab proper to see how it was though before E. Gadd was rushing back out of it with a chair.

“Have a seat sonny, you look worn out,” E. Gadd said, particularly vibrating with excitement.

Fighting the strong desire to stay standing that came from King Boo, Luigi sat, sinking into it. He almost felt like he might tear up with exhausted relief; this was the first time he’d been in full control of his body since King Boo had initially possessed him. … If he did start crying King Boo was going to take that control away though because as long as they were stuck in the same vessel together, there would be no physical tears, they were gross.

“How did you do it?” E. Gadd asked. “How did you banish King Boo from your body?” He clarified when Luigi gave him a blank stare.

“Uh… I didn’t.”

“Oh! You wrested control from him then! I didn’t think you had it in you to best him, good job.”

“Uh… I didn’t really do that either.” ‘And couldn’t if you tried.’ Hush! “It’s more uh… he doesn’t want to talk to you so he’s letting me. I… uh… we need your help. He’s kind of stuck in my body and wants out but can’t get out on his own so… here we are.” Should he say anything about whatever their thoughts and emotions were doing? … No, no one needed to know about that unless absolutely necessary. … And Luigi didn’t want to talk about the whole attempted murder, resulting in finding out he apparently couldn’t die now thing either so that was all he was gonna mention for now.

E. Gadd’s excitement died down for a few seconds before his borderline evil scientist grin returned. “Really? I don’t think I’ve ever heard such a phenomenon. To be fair though, I don’t think many ghosts or boos possess the living, especially for so long. We’ll have to look into it. Come along!” He hopped back and dashed back towards the lab proper, clearly expecting Luigi to get up and follow him.

With a tired sigh, Luigi looked down at Polterpup who was staring up at him. “Puppy?” he said, reaching a hand out towards him in an offer for pets. Polterpup snuck closer and sniffed at it hesitantly. He apparently didn’t like whatever he smelled thought as he growled softly and backed up again. … He smelled like boos and King Boo specifically, what more did he expect? … Probably a fair point, especially considering their last interaction.

“Get in here!” E. Gadd said as he poked his head back into the room.

Holding back a groan, Luigi forced himself up and into the lab.

It was still a mess. Luigi flinched at the sight of it, trying not to feel King Boo’s pride over it. It was obviously on its way to being cleaned up and fixed but… it would take a while, most of everything was still little more than rubble.

It being such a wreck will probably make it harder for him to help us. … Oh, King Boo hadn’t considered that. That would’ve been a valid reason not to come and continue to seek other solutions. … It was too late now though. … If he couldn’t help them, King Boo would kill him after all.

No, absolutely not! Luigi wouldn’t allow it. … That battle for control might become a thing after all then.

And I’ll win. They thought at each other in perfect unison; it didn’t even feel like separate thoughts but one shared thought. … Neither of them liked it and would rather never do it again.

‘Stop thinking and feeling the same things am I.’ King Boo growled internally. ‘I want you out of my head.’ Luigi couldn’t agree with that sentiment more with the added bonus of wanting King Boo out of his body.

A loud snap right in their face pulled them both back towards the outside world.

“Look alive sonny, we got tests to run,” E. Gadd said, stepping back. “Lucky for you, one of the first things I fixed is the scanner equipment. I was modified it to keep track of where you were. I lost you for while but then but you came right back to my door. With a few more tweaks to it, I might be able to figure out what’s up with King Boo being stuck in your body.” And knowing that, hopefully be able to fix it. If he couldn’t then… that wasn’t something either of them had any desire to consider.

#My writing #super mario bros #Luigi's Mansion #Booigi #attempted murder #looks like suicide #blood and gore #graphic throat slashing #Poor Luigi #He needs a hug #he doesn't get one here though #maybe later ;)

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yourdeepestfathoms · 5 years ago

Text

Skin, Bone, and Scales

(Read Anne as Courtney!Anne)

This is just 75% fire figurative language

Word count: 6098

TW: Blood and pus, minor body horror (as in: sunburns and peeling skin)

———————

“Oh my god, you’re like a tomato with hair!”

The peculiar call caught Anne’s attention as she was changing into better shoes for rehearsals. She furrowed her eyebrows in both complexity and amusement, recognizing the voice as her little cousin. A smile formed on her lips, shaking her head at what could have possibly elicited such a strange comment.

When she walked out to the room they rehearsed in, she quickly realized what the context was and that it made perfect sense.

—

Joan had never been so hot before.

Her skin was baking, studded with blisters and boils along her shoulders and forearms and back like scales, as if she were a reptile and not a fleshy mammal. Her limbs were sacks of hot stones and smoldering embers that she had to drag around with her, and her ears simply felt as if they were lit on fire. Her cheeks, however, were by far the worst. It was like someone was holding hot iron to the sides of her face and wouldn’t let go, no matter how loud she screamed.

To put it simply, Joan felt like a roasted lamb on a spit, rotating slowly above hungry flames. Sometimes, she had fallen into their orange-gold mouths. She could almost feel the flaming tongues licking at her skin.

So, yeah. Joan wasn’t all that comfortable at the moment. And Kitty’s loud, obnoxious comments about it certainly didn’t help at all.

“It’s, like—peeling,” Kitty felt the need to declare openly. She reaches for Joan’s shoulder, but her knuckles get swatted, and she pulls away. “Oh, gross!” She laughed. “Did you put anything on it?”

“That’s not your business,” Joan hissed. The fire that has lit in her stomach flashes higher, and she could almost feel whorls of smoke wreathing out of her nose and ears. “Stop trying to touch me!” She hit Kitty’s hand away again. “And stop looking at me like that!”

As much as she hated it, she didn’t blame Kitty or anyone else for staring- she would have, too, if it were one of them that came into work glowing neon red from head to toe.

“Sorry, I don’t speak lobster!” Kitty laughed loudly and then finally backed down. She spread her hands in front of her in a peace offering. “It's just funny!”

“It really isn’t.” Joan grumbled more to herself than to the girl in front of her.

“I told you to put on sunscreen,” Jane helpfully spoke up from where she was doing some warmup stretches. Joan dared to shoot her a distasteful look.

“I did!” Joan cried woefully.

“Not enough.” Kitty giggled. ”Make sure you do next time! We don't want you animorphing into a lobster!”

Joan scowled at her grinning face and imagined what it would be like to blow hot embers in her eyes. She erased the thought quickly- not because it made her feel bad for thinking something so morbid, but because she didn’t want to give the pink queen that much of her attention.

“Moving on,” She rumbled. Her throat and nose ached in a fierce, raw way as if they had been scraped out with a jagged branding tool. She lumbered sluggishly over to the piano in the far corner and delicately touched one of the cold, smooth keys, almost expecting it to melt beneath her fingertips. When it didn't, she sat down at the bench and considered it safe for her to play. “Let’s begin.”

—

The scaly blisters that are bristled across Joan’s back prickle painfully against her shirt. She wanted to scratch them so badly, but she knew her nails would sink in like a heated knife in butter the second she barely brushed the bumpy skin. It would be a mess of pus and blood that she wouldn’t be able to hide since she was wearing a simple white tank top (she couldn’t bear to have anything touching her shoulders, and white did reflect sunlight, so she thought it would be fine). So, she just had to grin and bear it.

But she couldn’t even fucking grin! Smiling pulled the dry skin around her mouth taut, to the point where it felt like it was cracking and flaking off. She was constantly licking her lips because of this, which set off tiny flames in them each time she did so (and didn’t help at all, mind you).

What’s worse- she felt something welling up within her. It was an uncomfortable sort of sensation like someone had released thousands of fire ants inside of her. It took her so long to realize that this was how she usually felt with a fever because of how hot she already was.

Joan blinked her eyes quickly, suddenly feeling very dizzy. She stared down at her hands resting on the piano keys and thought she saw light grey smoke hissing from underneath her fingertips. She gingerly raised her fingers and saw no damage- she must have just imagined it.

She sighed and scratched her itchy knuckles. A new stinging pain shivered through her tendons at this stupid decision, like thick, globby fire leeches were suckered on her skin and dissolving it into a soupy, gory mess. She squirmed awkwardly in her seat at its oppressive tingling and tried to keep her eyes open, but it felt as if a talon of fire was pressing into the socket, so she had no choice but to squeeze them shut. Sweat beads on her brow from the exertion of her simply trying to ward off the unwanted sensation and right as she thought she started to feel a little better...

Blinding pain.

“Hey, are we gonna get to my song or what?” Cleves had been saying loudly. “I’ve wanted to try out this new move-” And then she slapped Joan’s shoulder in a friendly way.

But it came off as a lot less friendly to Joan.

Flames burst through that shoulder, sprinting fast across her rash and setting the scales ablaze with fresh agony. It welled up in her throat like she was about to vomit molten lava and clouded her eyes with smoky hazes that usually came with near-unconsciousness. Her teeth dug into her chapped lips, cracking them with the pressure, but she wasn’t able to hold back a yelp.

“What the FUCK?!” She cried. She was half expecting fire to come out when she spoke, but no trace of flames appeared in her mouth. They remained deep inside the furnace that was her scorched body.

Cleves grimaced, although there was still amusement glinting in her eyes. She lifted her hand, and a comically pale print was momentarily left on Joan’s bright red shoulder before being devoured by the sunburn. It securely plated its blisters and scales back over the mark, spreading like a crimson wildfire until it was inflamed and itchy once again.

“Whoops- sorry!” Cleves said. She was genuinely apologetic, but it seemed worthless because she was still laughing about what she did.

“Are you- mmmmm.” Joan gave up on arguing, instead of turning to a much better option- grumbling like a teenage fire dragon that just got part of its hoard confiscated by its parent fire dragons for accidentally eating one of the sheep that was supposed to be saved for the fire dragon dinner.

(She didn’t like being a fire dragon. If she were ever to draw Killer Frost as a fire dragon, she knew it would throw a fit or come out of the sketchbook and strangle her with its bare claws.)

“It’s—fine. It’s fine!” Joan finally snapped. She glared down at the piano, not wanting to see everyone else’s expressions. She knew that would be finding this funny, and that made her want to shove hot coals up all of their noses until it turned their faces into a charred, tarry goop and they couldn’t smile or smirk or laugh anymore. “Let’s just move on!”

Her voice was coming out too loud. It was biting, but not in a cold way. It came out in a smooth, warm, sunny way that nobody could take seriously. They saw her as a baby sheep that was trying to bleat at a butterfly in its flower patch.

But she just saw herself as a sheep with its wool on fire.

Smothering, encompassing, suffocating, asphyxiating- the white-gold flames press in on her. She’s a ball of fire, fleece ablaze, hooves smoldered, horns like pillars of pyre. She opens her mouth to scream, and flames come pouring out. Her insides are bloated with smoke and ash, charred and singed, and she can taste their tarry remains on the sediments of her shriveled, black tongue. When she hooked her nails in her neck and tore open holes, thick streams of smog so grey they looked black come floating out.

Joan was screaming, clawing, burning two inches away from everyone’s faces, and yet they were blind to the golden inferno embracing her body.

( “They think it’s funny,” Killer Frost would probably say if it weren’t hidden beneath the hellfire consuming Joan’s entire being. “They think it’s just a little sunburn. Nothing more. But if it were Kitty that was as red as a fresh apple in spring...”)

Her subconscious’ distant words are drowned out by the overwhelming sound of the incendiary. Torches are sent flaring through her nerves like pinpricks of hot needles before extinguishing enough for her to realize she had been playing the piano throughout that entire conflagration.

Somehow.

Joan breathed out a soft, shaky breath. That feverish feeling reignited itself once again- or maybe it’s always been there, and she just hadn’t noticed. At this point, as her brain was melting inside of her skull, she didn’t know much anymore. She was working purely on muscle memory, but that would soon go, too, as her tendons and nerves and muscles would dry up from the heat and become stiff, fragile, prettified remnants of what they used to be.

She gulped dryly, as there was barely any saliva left in her mouth, and it felt as if she had just swallowed igneous rocks. They landed heavily in her stomach and set the bile into an uncomfortable simmer. She began to worry if the lining would catch fire and burn her from the inside out or melt open holes and douse all her other organs in the boiling acid.

Joan swallowed again, and whatever flaming creature had been trying to crawl its way up her esophagus and out through her mouth raked its claws down her throat on its way back down. Then, she coughed and was surprised to not see a plume of ash come out.

God, she needed water. She needed to get out of these clothes, too. Her legs were nowhere near as bad as her back and shoulders, but her pants were rubbing the scarred flesh uncomfortably raw and she would just prefer to have them off.

Joan bounced her knee, feeling miserable. Her skin was melting off of her bones, her stomach was boiling, she was running a fucking fever, she was somehow shivering, and, good lord, was the heater on or something?!

She couldn’t take it anymore.

Joan stood up, wincing as she felt crackles and flickers and pops go off in her legs. She walked on eggshells on the way to the bathroom after calling a break- if those eggshells were on fire and actually pointy lava rocks.

Right about now, Joan would really prefer actual eggshells because, what the fuck, were the soles of her feet sunburnt, too?!

She careened into the bathroom, clipping her shoulder on the corner wall in the process and sending that smoky haze from before momentarily hissing across her vision. She braced herself up against one of the sinks, pressing her palms down on the smooth, cold granite as hard as she could to soak up the coolness, and glared at her puffy, inflamed, red face in the mirror.

God, no wonder everyone was laughing at her.

She was like a poor immolation to the overpowering pyrolatry. A lamb to the slaughter, a ram to the flames, a ewe to the end of a burning knife-

A piece of charred meat in the mouth of hungry flames.

Joan slowly eased herself back, removing all the weight she had been putting on her hands. It felt as if she were rubbing bituminous coals against her palms, so she turned on the sink and let it run over her hands and fingers and wrists. She carefully dabs some of the cold water on her hot cheeks and sighed softly in content. For just a brief, fleeting moment, the stinging seized and was snuffed out by a torrent of coolness.

That lasted for only a few seconds, though. The water ran warm when it dribbled down the sides of her face, much to her dismay. It was stupid of her to think she could even get a moment of comfort.

As if to prove that, Joan’s back tingles again and, this time, she didn’t care about ignoring it. She reached her arm around and under her tank top and scratched fervently at one of her shoulder blades, hoping to relieve some discomfort.

Her efforts, of course, did the exact opposite.

Joan couldn’t help the startled cry that escaped her lips. She ripped her hand away, and it came back wet and sticky and absolutely dripping with pus and blood.

It was as if her touch was heated- the minute her nails came in contact with her shoulder blade, the flesh peeled back, blisters popped, and fluids came angrily billowing out of the abscess like hundreds of wasps from a destroyed hive.

Joan dissolved into pathetic whimpers as tears came streaming free. They were gasoline on her flaming cheeks- increasing the stinging until it felt like holes were being melted open in the sides of her face, and she frantically squabbled to wipe her eyes. The rough brush against her cheeks agitated the inflamed flesh, and it punishes her foolishness by breaking open and spilling its red tears down her face.

Joan would scream if she could, but the hellfire had her by the throat. So she just wheezed like the scorched furnace she had become and let the liquid fire drool out of gaping, fleshy ventilation systems.

What else could you do when in the mouth of an inferno?

———

Anne will admit that it had been her idea to go to the beach, but in her defense, Kitty made it happen. That’s exactly why she had consulted the girl about her idea because she knew nobody in their house could say no to her. Besides, it was going to be alarmingly hot for a spring day in England, so why stay in a house with no AC when you could go swimming? It was a brilliant plan! And it worked out perfectly! Except for the part where Joan fried like an egg in the sun, of course.

But still, in her defense, Anne had no idea the girl was so sensitive to sunlight! She had seen her put on at least ten layers of sunscreen every thirty minutes! How was she supposed to know she would shrivel up and die?!

Oh, who was she kidding? Not even her internal yelling debate could ease the guilt gnawing away at her.

Joan tagging along with them wasn’t her fault- that blame was shifted onto Kitty and Maggie, who were never a good duo when they got together, when they insisted that the “gang had to stick together”- but she still felt bad when she saw the girl’s awful sunburn. It was funny at first, but then she noticed the permanent grimace plastered on her face and the way she stiffly played the piano like she had lit matches dug into her skin, and the situation became a lot more worrying.

It was clear Joan was on edge and uncomfortable- they all noticed that. They just didn’t think of doing anything. A sunburn wasn’t exactly something you could just pop some pain pills for- it took time to go away and let the skin heal itself of the blemish. So, the others just didn’t pay it any mind (even if it was tough not to gawk at Joan’s firetruck red complexion).

Anne tried to do the same. She told herself there was nothing she could do and she should just laugh about it with everyone else, and she was so close to settling fully into that state of mind.

But then Joan called a sudden break and left the room without a word, and Anne was yanked right out of that belief.

Something was very, very wrong.

Now, believe it or not, despite her (slightly aggravating) stage persona, she knew what boundaries and personal space were. And she knew when to not bother a female. There’s several cases of when you shouldn’t bother a woman: when she’s breastfeeding, when she’s on their period, when she’s pregnant, when she’s being cheated on- but especially when she’s in pain and it was making her aggressive.

It’s, in a weird sort of way, like the time she found a stray cat on her family’s property when she was younger. She had cornered the frightened little thing and it arched its spine and hissed at her to stay back, but she was desperate for a pet, so she grabbed for it anyway. Naturally, she got scratched and that night, as her mother was cleaning the cuts, she was told to never approach a scared, cornered animal. It made them more likely to lash out, but if you wait and let them know you weren’t a threat, then they may calm down. And Anne has used this advice since then, and she still uses it with the queens and ladies in waiting when something is wrong with one of them.

Except right now, though. Because Joan has been in the bathroom for half an hour, now, and absolutely no one was batting an eye. Anne knew the girl was more likely to die and turn into a skeleton before anyone decided they wanted to check on her, so she excused herself from the game of Statues that Maria had started and walked out.

Now, Anne has seen a lot of shocking things in her life: the actual proof of Aragon’s divorce, her first miscarried baby’s withered corpse, Henry’s penis....but the musical’s bright red music director hunched in the bathroom with blood on her shirt and face and hands might take the cake.

In the bright bathroom lights, Joan looked a lot worse than she did in the rehearsal room. She wasn’t just red- she was raw.

The easiest way to explain it is to imagine a human being that just got all its skin peeled off and then was stung by at least two hundred bees in very specific areas. Scarlet stained almost every inch of her body, aside from underneath her jaw, amazingly. The burn was lighter in some places and darker in others, but her shoulders and upper back were by far the worst. There, scarlet faded into rings of dark crimson and blotches of maroon, both of which are spotted with tiny red dots, as if someone had crushed up rubies and sprinkled the shards over her to make the menagerie of sunburnt flesh look less like an eyesore. Paper-thin, translucent strips of varying sizes are frayed around the edges of the bigger blemishes, revealing raw pink hiding underneath.

To put it simply, Joan looked like a scorpion without its exoskeleton.

“Joan!” Anne cried in shock and worry. She leaped towards the girl and immediately picked up on the heat coming off of her. It was like standing too close to an active volcano. “Are you alright?”

Joan looked up in surprise. She had just been swaying there with her hands running under the sink when Anne came in. Anne guessed she was cleaning the angry red patch on her cheek, which was still crusted with blood around the edges.

“I’m— I’m, uhh—”

Anne couldn’t even tell if she was blushing in embarrassment or not, but it didn’t matter. Flustered or not, Joan needed some help.

“Honey, you don’t look so good,” Anne said gently. She reached out to grab Joan’s forearms so she could steady her, but the natural warmth from her hands seemed to set fire to Joan’s arms and she jerked away with a soft hiss. “Sorry! I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.”

“It’s fine,” Joan whispered. She didn’t snap at Anne as she had done to Kitty and Cleves. Perhaps she liked Anne more than them, or perhaps she was just in too much pain to be angry- Anne couldn’t really tell. “I’m sorry— Everyone is waiting for me, aren’t they?”

“Yeah,” Anne said. “But forget that right now, alright? You look like you’re about to keel over from heatstroke.”

Joan actually managed to laugh weakly, but it quickly broke off into a keen-like noise as pain flitted across her burnt facial features.

“What’s wrong?” Anne asked. “Aside from, you know,” She gestured vaguely.

“I— I don’t know.” Joan whispered. “I-I think I have a fever...”

“Are you sure you’re not just hot from-” She gestured vaguely once more, but this time with a lot more enunciation in her movements.

“N-no, Anne, I’m—” She’s starting to shiver. Joan was fucking shivering. She reached out a hand to lean against the sink counter. “I— I just-” She pressed a hand to her forehead, breathing shallowly.

Anne frowned in worry at the girl’s inability to explain how she felt to her. Whether it was from embarrassment or deliriousness thanks to the pain, she didn’t know, but she had to do something, so she stepped forward and carefully placed her hand on the back of Joan’s forehead.

As expected, it was burning hot. She wished she could have said that it felt a little warmer than a normal sunburn, confirming that Joan did have a fever, but she honestly couldn’t tell. So, she convinced Joan to help her find the thermometer kept in the theater first aid kit so she could take her temperature.

38.8. That was the temperature displayed on the thermometer and Anne worriedly glanced over it to the weary-looking girl sitting in front of her. When she was caught staring, Joan looked up at her with grey eyes and red sockets.

“38.8.” Anne said, showing her. “I think you may have sun poisoning, love.” Joan tensed and Anne quickly went on, “No, no! It’s okay! That means we know how to treat it!”

“W-we do?” Joan stammered nervously.

“Well. I do.” Anne said. “The things I need aren’t here, but I know we have aloe gel at the house. So we’ll get you fixed up in no time!”

Joan didn’t look too happy to have to go over to the queen’s house in her current state, but Anne managed to convince her to ditch rehearsals early so they would at least be alone for the majority of the treatment.

When they arrived, Anne had to point out the elephant in the room- the stained mess on Joan’s back. She had been putting off calling it out, but now they had to do something about it. And she knew Joan was going to hate every second of it.

“Alright, how much do you like this tank top?” Anne asked Joan, who was sitting on the toilet seat in the master bathroom (Jane’s bathroom. It was technically Jane’s bathroom, but Joan didn’t need to know that. They needed space, and it was big, so Anne could take the fit Jane would surely throw when she found out later). “Because if you can’t move your arms, I can cut it off.”

“I think I can get it off myself...” Joan said although she didn’t exactly trust herself to do that.

Still, she grabbed the hem of the tank top, pulled it over her head, and Anne watched in concern as the skin upon her upper back cracked, contracted, and split open in a way that made it seem like the girl was about to sprout wings. It made her own shoulder blades tingle in discomfort.

“Ow.” Joan whispered. She shoulders shudder, flesh-scales bristling and flaking.

“Okay,” Anne started, looking at the gooey scratch fanned open on Joan’s left shoulder blade. It looked like a tiny pool of creamy pus, which was just barely managing to not spill over the edges. “Yeah... You’re not gonna like this part, sweetheart. In fact, you may hate me after it’s over.”

“Why?” Joan squeaked fearfully, but then she watched as Anne pulled a bottle of disinfectant out from under the sink cabinet. Her face went as pale as it possibly could with the sunburn coating it like a second skin. “O-oh.”

“Yeah,” Anne smiled pitifully. She wets a small rag that she hopes Jane doesn’t use to clean her body with (mainly for Joan’s sake). “Ready?”

Joan white knuckles a towel she had grabbed for grounding and nodded shakily. She couldn’t even be embarrassed over being shirtless in front of Anne, as she was too worried over the pain she was about to face.

The cry Joan makes is heartbreaking. It felt as if burning claws were stabbing and stabbing and stabbing Anne’s heart the longer she had to hear it and the longer she had to be the cause of it. But it had to be done and, after a few moments of flushing out the scratch with disinfectant, she pulled the rag back. It’s now covered in a thin film of yellow-white pus and brown blood.

“Now your cheek,” Anne said. She wets the clean side of the rag and gently lifts Joan’s chin. The claws return to her heart when she stares into the girl’s glossy grey eyes. “Take a deep breath, honey.”

She gave Joan a moment, then pressed the rag to the blemish on her cheek. Joan keened sharply and instinctively shook her head, but Anne managed to hold it still enough to clean her face. She could feel hot tears slip down against her fingers and she finished as quickly as she could.

“There,” Anne said. “All done, sweetheart. I’m all done.” She delicately brushed away Joan’s tears. “Shh, shh... You’re okay. You’re okay, Joan...”

“Fuck you,” Joan hissed weakly.

“I deserve that.” Anne laughed slightly. “I’m going to go grab the aloe vera, alright? And a change of clothes for you. I’m sure Kitty’s will fit you.”

She’s gone for maybe five minutes and by the time she returns, the little blonde fireball she left sitting obediently on the toilet seat seemed to look even more miserable: she was hunched slightly, sunburnt flesh-scales bristling in a painful way along her shoulder blades and upper back. Her eyes are slightly glazed over, reminding Anne of the fever she had, and she was starting to shiver again. Anne just hoped it was because she was shirtless in a cold house.

“Hey, sweet girl,” Anne’s hand hovered comically over Joan’s sunburnt knee, then her sunburnt shoulder, then her sunburnt back, and then she decides to just pat her head. It makes Joan look up at her with a weak smile. It reminds Anne of a picture Cathy once sent her of a lamb grinning. “I brought some water if you’re thirsty.” She frowned when Joan shook her head. She watches the girl lean over to the sink counter and bury her head against her folded arms resting there. “Joan? What’s wrong?”

“N-nothing,” Joan whispered weakly. “Just a little nauseous.”

Oh dear.

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart,” Anne said, worry evident in her voice. “I also brought some ice. You gotta stay dehydrated, so do you think you could at least suck on a piece?”

Joan agrees and slips a chip of ice into her mouth. Before she can return her head to its burrow in her arms, Anne asks her to change into the shorts she brought in, so she sheds her itchy pants and gratefully swaps them for the airier bottoms.

“I’m going to put the gel on your back now, alright?” Anne said. “Then you can lay down in my room. How does that sound?”

Joan just nods weakly.

Anne gives her a warm smile, then dips her fingers into the bottle of aloe vera she had with her and gingerly smears it on Joan’s shoulders.

As gentle as she was, it seemed she just about poked Joan with a hot rod.

Joan yanked away with a yelp, nearly falling off of the toilet seat. Anne pulled back, meeting her eyes with a worried glance.

“Sorry. It hurts that much?”

“N-no, it—” It definitely hurt that much. Joan just didn’t want to admit it. “J-just warn me next time.”

“Okay.” Anne nodded. “Here goes.”

She put her hand to Joan’s shoulder again, much slower this time. Her fingers barely touch the girl before she’s curling in on herself like a distressed armadillo.

“Hey, sit still,” Anne said.

“I’m trying!” Joan takes a deep breath and closes her eyes, steeling herself best as she can. “Okay, okay. I’m- I’m ready.”

Still, she can’t help but flinch when the next stroke sears a prickling line across her back.

“I’m sorry,” Joan squeaked when Anne pulled back. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry-” She scrambled up to her feet. “I-I should just go. I didn’t mean to cause you so much trouble-”

“Hey, hey,” Anne tried to grab her forearms, but stopped herself from making contact. “You aren’t doing anything wrong. You’re in pain, Joan. You’re going to flinch.”

“B-but I’m annoying you,” Joan whispered. She lowered her gaze, but Anne slips a finger under her chin and lifts her chin.

“You’re not annoying me, honey.” Anne assured her. “I promise. I want to help you. So can you please sit back down?”

Joan nodded and sat back down. Anne didn’t miss the fresh glimmer in her eyes and she couldn’t help but feel so bad about how insecure and nervous the poor girl was.

“Ready, sweetheart? I’m going to start now.”

Joan’s muscles tensed up as soon as the touch came. The balm stings on her skin and in her nose- a sharp, airy scent of aloe. She bites down on her shredded, raw lip, trying hard to stop herself from whining, but a few pathetic sounds still escape her.

“One part done,” Anne said, her voice as soft as her fingers.

Joan just makes a noise through clenched teeth, pressing her face back into her folded arms. Anne’s touch is light, barely there over the biting of the salve. Every now and then, she stops to take more from the bottle, always muttering a quick warning before she continues. She’s going slow, steadily rubbing small circles all over Joan’s shoulder blades. The weird minty chill numbs the skin wherever her hands glide, to and fro, covering every inch.

“I’m almost done with this part, sweet girl,” Anne cooed. “You’re doing so good.”

Beneath her hands, Joan’s flesh was rough and bumpy. It was like rubbing lotion on the back of a horny toad lizard. It was so hot, too, like a piece of the sun was permanently burning inside of the poor girl. Luckily, the aloe vera seemed to soothe the cinders billowing about Joan’s body. The flames licking through her would flicker their way over to the cold, wet barrier and slow down, prodding the goop in a disgruntled manner. And then, they’re smothered by a glob of sharp-scented aloe, wisps and embers flying out in shock before they, too, are put out.

Anne moves to Joan’s legs next, then her arms, and then her neck and ears. Finally, she began to smear the gel onto Joan’s face, hearing her sigh softly in relief as she did so.

“All done,” Anne smiled. “I’m proud of you, sweetheart.”

Joan was definitely blushing- Anne could tell just by the way she hunched her shoulders around her neck and looked away shyly.

“Come on. Put this tank top on and then you can lay down. Or you can stay up. Wanna watch a movie?”

Joan nodded. She stood up and her nose wrinkled. She was basically wearing a full body suit of aloe vera.

“I feel slimy.” She said. “Like a snail.”

Anne laughed. Her heart melted at how adorable the girl before her was.

“You are too cute,” She said. “Come on. Put the shirt on.” She tossed a basic pink tank top to Joan, who quickly pulled it on. She saw the fabric cling to the aloe vera almost instantly and Joan’s nose wrinkled once again. “Yeah, it’s gonna do that.”

After quickly cleaning up, Anne led Joan to her bedroom. Joan was hesitant to get into the bed, but Anne assured her that a little aloe rubbing off on the sheets wasn’t going to bother her, so she clambered in after the queen. They end up deciding to watch The Princess and The Frog right as the front door opened and closed from downstairs and several voices filled the house.

Anne expected Joan to get nervous or say she should leave, but, instead, the girl just scoots a little closer to Anne, who leans away in fear of hurting her burns. Joan seems offended.

“It’s gonna hurt if I touch you.” Anne reminded her.

“I don’t care,” Joan grumbled. Her fever and exhaustion was making her adorably grumpy. “Please just hold me...”

Anne’s heart fluttered- she couldn’t say no to those eyes!

As expected, Joan hissed when Anne put her arms around her and pulled her close to her, but then she sighed softly and rested her head against the queen’s chest.

“Thank you,” Joan whispered. “For helping me. I didn’t think anyone...”

“It’s no problem, Joan.” Anne quickly cut off her nervous comment. “I care about you.”

“...I like being cared for.”

Anne glanced worriedly down at the top of the frizzy blonde head resting on her chest. She pulled Joan even closer and pressed a kiss to her hair.

“You deserve it, Joan.” She said. “You deserve care and so much more. Never forget that.”

“Stop it,” Joan whined weakly. “You’re gonna make me cry on you...”

“Cry, sweetheart. It’s alright.” Anne said. “It’s not going to change what I think.”

“Thank you,” Joan choked out through whimpers. “Thank you so much...”

“No need to thank me,” Anne said. “Besides. You have my robe. It’s official. You’re, like, mine, now.”

“Your what?” Joan looked up at Anne timidly.

Anne shrugged. “Niece? Goddaughter? Granddaughter? Robe stealer?” She kissed Joan’s forehead, making her smile shyly. “We’ll figure it out.”

“I like all of those options,” Joan whispered, tucking her head back under Anne’s chin. “But I...I want to be your-”

“Annie!!”

Anne’s bedroom door swung open and Joan lurched away from Anne. She sat up straight, still, staring at the TV as young Tiana goes running out of her bedroom after a frog croaks at her. She doesn’t want to see whatever expression Kitty has on her face.

“What’s up, Kit?” Anne said cooly.

“Oh, I was just wondering where you were,” Kitty said, then glanced at Joan skeptically. Her nose twitched a little, but she quickly turned back to her cousin. “Cathy is cooking tonight. She wants to know if you still want to learn how to make that really good soup she made?”

Anne saw Joan’s shoulders droop just slightly. She quickly makes up her mind.

“Maybe some other time,” She said. “Call me when it’s ready, alright?”

Kitty blinked. She glanced at Joan one more time.

“Alright.”

Then, she’s gone. Joan still doesn’t move, so Anne has to ease her back into her arms, now stroking her hair soothingly.

“I could have left,” Joan whispered.

“I don’t want you to leave,” Anne reprimanded. “I want you to stay right here with me.”

Where you belong.

Joan swallowed a lump of emotion rising in her throat and nodded. She nuzzled closer to Anne, not caring about how it agitated the burnt skin on her nose.

“Thank you,” She mumbled. “I-I...”

“Shh...” Anne soothed her. “It’s okay, sweet girl. No need to thank me or anything. Just relax, okay? If you’re tired, sleep. I’ll be right here.”

Joan felt heat bubble up inside of her, but this time she knew it wasn’t from the sunburn or the fever, rather the heat came from the giddy blush that glows a refreshing pink along her flesh-scales.

“I’m... I’m glad.”

#six the musical #six the musical fanfiction #six the musical fanfic #six fanfic #six fic #six fanfiction #anne boleyn #katherine howard #joan on the keys #anna of cleves #jane seymour #tw: blood #tw: pus #tw: body horror #nana boleyn #skin bone and scales

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youralternantpersonality · 4 years ago

Text

Everlasting Love

Part 1: Eternal Love

Part 2: Everlasting Love

Part 3: Endless Love

Part 4: Enduring Love

***

Y/n POV

It’s getting darker and darker by the second. It feels like it’s dropped 30 degrees in a matter of 20 minutes. I stopped hearing Snout’s barking but instead, I would see him. He looked like a ghost almost. Foggy but I could tell it’s my baby. We were playing until it started to get darker and colder. Now, I’m under this tree that I’ve run around countless times. Holding myself together to create warmth. Snout comes up to me and although he is a ghost-like figure, I can feel his warmth, feel his heart beating out of his chest. His face pressed up against my neck while I hold on.

I want to let go. I’m tired, lost, and don’t know what is going on. I kept running around this forest, but it never ends. I’m alone… if this is my death, then all I ask is for one thing.

Let my family and friends know I love them.

Paul POV

The ride home is silent. Sam says nothing and I won't attempt to start anything. I replay the conversation that we just had in Y/n room. She can change, but can’t be on La Push grounds, even if she’s resistant towards humans. Normally, I’d say “fuck this” to anything that has to do with immortality. But because my one reason for being happy at this point is on the verge of leaving, I’m willing to throw in the towel just to have her in my arms again.

We pull up to my house. Dad’s not home (shocking) so it won’t be hard to grab some stuff and leave without playing a million questions.

“I’ll be back in an hour. Or if you’re hungry, just stop by our place and we can leave from there.” I nod my head and head inside. As soon as I close the front door, I lean back on it and breathe. I let go of everything right there and attempt to hold myself together. It took me a minute, but I eventually made it to my room and started packing my stuff. As I was doing so, I was brought back to what happened earlier that day.

Before everything went downhill.

Morning of the Accident: August 24th, 2020

Dad came home late last night, again, and we started to argue that morning about the mess HE made that I was supposed to know about THE NEXT MORNING. So, like I normally do, I (unwillingly) clean up the shit he did and headed over to Y/n place in Forks. We were supposed to meet up later, but after the shitty morning my dad decided to put me through, I didn’t care too much about it.

As I pull up, Mrs. Vargas—her neighbor— and Y/n group home “mom”, Chrysanthemum (Chrys), was walking out of the house laughing to something I didn’t care to pay attention to. I step out of my truck and it grabs their attention. I can hear Chrys’s heartbeat twice as fast. Yeah…. I have that effect on people.

“Good morning ladies. Is Y/n awake? Or is the still snoring like a lion?” I smile and they chuckle a little bit.

“No, she’s awake, just being lazy,” Chrys says pointing toward the house. “Go on in, maybe then she’d get up.” She smiles.

“One can only hope. I will see you guys later.” I gave a polite smile and headed upstairs. I go through the garage entrance and wave to Kyle (group home dad) and a few of the boys nearby. I exchange a few words with them and went inside. Before I could reach the stairs, I can hear her coming down.

“PAUL!!!” She runs down, damn nearly tripping, falling into my arms. “Hi.” Is all she says, looking up at me with her cute smile that shows her small dimple on her left cheek. I can’t help but smile down at her and kiss her nose.

“Hi, troublemaker. Want to do something today until later or be lazy?”

“Can we be lazy. I love the pack, but I need to mentally prepare for what’s going to happen.” I laugh with her going up the stairs.

“What? It’s just painting.”

“Yes, but it’s you guys. Babe, I love each of you guys and hope you never change, but dear Lord…Emily, Kim, Clair, and I have to clean up after you guys like five-year-olds.” She says looking at me lazily. I smile,

“But, I’m your five-year-old.” I smile at her. She rolls her eyes and points to the bed, where we continue to have a lazy afternoon.

Current Day: August 30th, 2020

I was interrupted by my thought by knocking at my bedroom door. I turn to see my dad, surprisingly, looking at me with bloodshot eyes. I turned away, not in the mood to deal with everything. But what shocks the hell out of me is when he catches me off guard by grabbing my arm and pulling me into a hug. I stand there frozen for a few seconds before I hear him say,

“You’re not alone son. I’m sorry. I’m sorry for how I’ve treated you since your mother died. And I’m sorry for what happened to Y/n. You’re going to be okay in the end.” I didn’t realize until he finished talking that I was holding onto him too and crying with tears that I thought that had run out. You never realize what you need until it hits you full force.

After mom died, dad turned to drinking and drugs. I grew up with this hell since I was eight. And all it took was to see my pain, the same pain he experiences, to get the love from a man I used to look up to. The thoughts scared me. If I lost Y/n, would I be him? I stepped away from those thoughts as we heard the doorbell ring. Dad went to go open the door and I grabbed the last bit of my things and headed to the front of the house.

“You’re ready?” Sam asked. I just nodded my head and headed towards the truck.

“Paul!” I turn to see dad walking up to me, “Here. Take this.” He hands me a ring. “It was your mothers. She’d want you to have it.” he places it in my hand. I look up at him and he smiles at me. “Go get her…son.” Tears form in my eyes as I give one last hug to my dad and head off to the Cullen’s house to test faith with the future.

As we pull up to the Cullen’s oversized mansion—seriously? Who needs a place this big? —Sam and I sit in the car. After what just happened, after everything that just happened, I look over to Sam and ask,

“Take care of him. Make sure he gets help…and to know that I love him. Always have, always will.” Sam nodded at me and promised he would as I headed out of the truck. Before I could take a step, the little pixie leech was in front of me.

“Everything will be okay. Your father will be fine, and so will you.” She says smiling.

“How is she.” I blurt out. Not specifically at her, but at anyone who knew. The Good Doctor Cullen replied,

“She’s stable. She’s recovering perfectly after the procedure. How are you though Paul?” I shrug my shoulders. I look at all of them and I bite my tongue. I hate how I had to turn to them, but I hate that I had no other choice. Either we both stay on this earth, or we both go. Not one or the other.

“Let’s go. The faster we get there, the faster we can start the transformation. Our plane leaves in an hour.” Edward said. He hugged Bella and their kid before getting in the car. I followed and before I knew it, I was back to my memories of before I even met Y/n. Before hell broke loose. Before my mom died.

12 years ago

Mom and Mrs. Black went to the store for the BBQ we were having later tonight on the beach. I was with Jacob and Embry wrestling outside after our mom’s told us to not get our clothes dirty. It wasn’t even 20 minutes later after they left, did Mr. Nhavio, our next-door neighbor ran up to Billy and my dad yelling something about my mom and Mrs. Black. Without a glance at us, they took off. We all looked at them and ran after them. Embry was a little slow, and Jacob wasn’t any faster. But I was able to keep up with them.

I wish I hadn’t.

There I saw, Mrs. Black’s car, tangled with a tree and another car that was rammed into the guardrail. I looked up and saw dad and Billy run to Mrs. Black’s car but was stopped by the police. Something told me something was wrong. It wasn’t until I got a better look that I saw red spots, dripping, out of the broken window. Blood. I saw the blood. And before I knew it, I was running up to the car and screamed for my mom. I dodged everyone and made it to her. She looked up at me with a smile before her eyes closed forever. I didn’t know who grabbed me, but I fought them. I fought until I was out of their arms, but I didn’t make it that far. Eventually, I was in my father’s arms.

Later that night, everything was silent. Dad and Billy went to the hospital and Jake and I stayed with Mrs. Call. I never told Jake what I saw, no matter how much he begged, no matter how much he pleaded, I wouldn’t budge. What I saw was horrifying. Something that haunted me for years. The nightmare that consumed me. Eventually, Jake did see what I saw. He understood why I didn’t say anything. There was a silent understanding afterward. I didn’t mean to show him, I was just lost in my thoughts. Luckily, the nightmares ended, and I saw and remembered mom differently. But that only happened because of her. My Y/n cleared all the darkness and pain away weeks after getting to know her. And I couldn’t be any more grateful.

Current Day: August 30th, 2020—At the Airport; Cullen’s private jet.

At least I can say I rode a jet, a private one at that. It was weird, again, just plain weird to be anywhere around the lee-Cullens longer than 5 minutes. I figure the least I could do is call them by their name and not call them out their name. They don’t have to do this. So, the least I could do is be grateful.

“Do not fret about its Paul. We are happy to help in any way we can.” Edward said. I forgot; they have the mind reader.

“Can I get some privacy?” I tell him, attempting to control my anger. He nods his head and turns to Carlisle to discuss whatever they need to talk about. After a while the soothing motion of the plane lulls me to sleep, and it may not have been a restful one, it was at least one that I needed.

My Love (for the series)

Masterlist

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ladyhierophant · 4 years ago

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TIME/LOCATION: late evening; just outside the dining hall STATUS: open to all!

To be an inferni was to be constantly aware of the ticking hand of time; to feel the cold embrace of the Undying One grow a little tighter each day. Kithri had accepted this inevitability long before she had stepped foot into Castle Tyrholm, but it was a reality which often lurked in pre-consciousness: never forgotten, but occasionally ignored for favor of more pressing thoughts. In the wake of the failed attempt on the King’s life, the thought of death had leapt into full consciousness and inserted itself as her forced companion for the evening.

It was not a question of if she would be accused, but when. The fire which had consumed the would-be assassins promised as much. The bulk of Kithri’s exasperation with this truth was not that her head might soon loose itself from her neck -- though of course she was not fond of the idea -- but instead that there was a possibility she would be unable to burn the castle and all of its blue-blooded leeches before that occurred.

She was not a politicker, but tried to play at one as she sat in her bed and awaited the guard. How would she avoid the accusation? How would she kill them before they killed her? When her mind failed her and no guardsmen appeared, hunger lured her from the humble dwellings and into the dining hall. The mage was quick-footed as she sought out some small foodstuff to take back with her to her room; she could feel eyes on her even as she found her bit of fruit and swiftly made her way from the space.

It was unsurprising when another pair of feet accompanied her footfalls -- the only signal of alarm was the torches that lined the stone walls, which seemed to momentarily glow larger and hotter before dimming to their previous state.

“I have no need for an escort to my room,” the mage said, her tone already hard and hinting at latent anger. “Say what you will, and leave me be.”

#dishonoredstart #i think it is important i let u guys all know now that i have......so few gifs (:#c

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monstersdownthepath · 5 years ago

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Spiritual Spotlight: Ghlaunder, the Gossamer King

Chaotic Evil God of Infection, Parasites, and Stagnation

Domains: Air, Animal, Chaos, Destruction, Evil Subdomains: Catastrophe, Cloud, Demon, Fur, Insect, Plague, Rage, Wind

Inner Sea Faiths, pg. 40~45

Obedience: Craft a small poppet in the shape of a flea, tick, stirge, or other such plague-carrying creature, using natural materials such as straw, and mixing your blood with foul-smelling mud or dung to bind the poppet together. As it dries over the course of an hour, recite verses invoking virulence, filth, and affliction on the living while applying leeches to your flesh. At the end of the hour, burn the poppet and the leeches, inhaling the foul vapors while meditating on the purging effects of disease on the living while your leech-drawn blood burns in sacrifice to Ghlaunder. Benefit: If you are affected by a disease, any ability score damage or drain you would take from that disease today is halved; if you would take 1 point of ability score damage, you instead take none. You can still contract diseases and spread them to others as normal.

christ in heaven alright

Look at that! Nearly two paragraphs of details you need to follow to the letter, with basically NONE of the wiggle room we can usually expect! Every day, you must make and burn a poppet made of grass, sticks, or straw, which is glued together with stinky mud or poop. Then, while your foul effigy hardens, you have to apply leeches to yourself while praising Ghlaunder, and at the end of it all? Burn everything! Nope, you don’t get to reuse any of that stuff! Not even the leeches! I think, out of all of this, getting an endless supply of leeches is going to be the most difficult part to do and the most obnoxious to maintain.

Just living near a swamp or slow-moving river is your best bet, really, collecting as many of the buggers as you can before moving on. Dipping your feet in the water to allow them to come to you and just baking whoever takes a nibble also works. At the very least, “leeches” means you can’t get away with using just one, but you CAN get away with using just two, stretching your supply a bit further. Really, though, Ghlaunder is somehow just as difficult for an adventurer to serve as Apollyon, but for the opposite reason; Apollyon thrives on the sickened traveler spreading his works from place to place, while Ghlaunder encourages his faithful to find a good spot to rest and stay there. Fitting for a God of Stagnation, but it also means an adventurer serving him is probably better off avoiding Deific Obedience... Unless you operate out of a convenient hub location.

Or the DM just handwaves your access to an endless supply of leeches.

Anyway, the rest of his Obedience is no less frustrating, but I tend to fixate on any ritual portion that consumes its resources, especially if those resources are living creatures. Gluing your foul idol together specifically requires “foul-smelling mud” or dung, two things difficult to hide from prying eyes.... and prying noses. You’ll need to find yourself a nice, secluded spot to keep people from wondering why you’re playing with poop, especially when you start burning it and inhaling the fumes. Eugh... AND you have to chant about disease and grunge all spooky-like! There’s some frustrating irony in a god that prides himself on being subtle with his undermining of resident faiths turns around and makes his Obedience so goddang hard to keep under wraps or excuse if someone walks in on it.

Anyway, the benefit. The benefit is probably one of the most unique across many books, providing no numerical bonuses to any stats but instead affecting any diseases you may be suffering from. Normally, “unique” doesn’t directly translate to “good,” and indeed the first sentence is a bit discouraging: You must already be suffering from a disease(s) to reap the rewards. If something you catch has an onset time of “immediate,” this benefit does not protect you from its initial damage, but it does offer some protection from whatever lingering effects it may have later. In addition, without magic or someone making Heal checks on you (including yourself), you won’t naturally recover any damage you take from your collection of woes (scroll a bit to “Effect,” it’s in the last sentence!), which can make collecting all your cool diseases pretty hazardous... But note how this ability is written. “Damage you would take is halved today; if you would take 1 damage, you take none instead.”

The reduction happens after the halving! This, quite generously, means that a disease will have to do at least 4 damage to have any actual effect on your scores. Many lesser diseases such as Filth Fever will fail to affect you at all, while more powerful diseases with secondary effects (Cackle Fever, Slimy Doom, Bubonic Plague) often have their effects canceled out entirely. Nice! You’ll probably still want to cure anything that has a chance of damaging your Con, though...

Boons are acquired slowly: the first once you reach 12 hit dice, the second at 16, and the third at 20. However, the Evangelist, Exalted, and Sentinel Prestige Classes can be entered as early as level 5; doing so grants you the Boons at levels 8, 11, and 14 instead. As Ghlaunder is a true deity and does not require Fiendish Obedience, you earn the right to enter the classes earlier than those who serve fiends!

------ EVANGELIST ------

Boon 1: Cult of Contagion. Gain Ray of Sickening 3/day, Pox Pustules 2/day, or Contagion 1/day

I’m just going to outright ignore Ray of Sickening; the penalty it inflicts loses serious punch at around the time you get it, and it’s entirely negated by a save. Pox Pustules is also on the weak side, inflicting sickness and imparting a -4 Dex penalty to its victim from Close range. The intimidation factor is alright, though, and you can time it to make it seem like it’s some form of divine judgment when an enemy of yours is boasting and blaspheming, but again, the sickened condition starts falling off by the time you gain access to this spell. That leaves the final one!

Contagion is the most fitting for a cultist of Ghlaunder, especially since a single casting of the spell can easily spell doom for a low-level peasant town. Slimy Doom is especially useful in this regard, spreading via simple contact from one infected to another. Bubonic Plague also spreads through proximity with the infected and, of course, through the bites of infested wildlife. If forced to use it in combat, Blinding Sickness has a 50% chance of striking the infected victim permanently blind and Bubonic Plague can instantly fatigue its victim. However, given that it’s a touch attack and is negated by a Fortitude save, I’d prefer using it out of combat to blight enemy (or civilian) fortifications. Infecting a single flea-infested rat with the Bubonic Plague, shoving it into a Sack Of Rats for a while, and then releasing the whole mess of infected vermin is perfectly viable.

What? It is! You’re Evil! And yes, Contagion’s mystically conjured illnesses are indeed as infectious as their natural counterparts; the duration is ‘instantaneous’ and the diseases progress as normal once they’re formed inside your victim. “but only Mythic Contagion and Epidemic say the disease is contagious--” No!!! Those two say that the disease becomes so supernaturally virulent that casual contact will spread it! They can still spread through their normal methods!

Also, yes, infecting yourself with Contagion and allowing the disease to spread outwards from you is perfectly doable, but remember that Ghlaunder’s blessing doesn’t protect you from the initial damage.

Boon 2: Nauseating Strike. 3/day before you roll an attack, you can declare that it will be a Nauseating Strike. If you miss, the ability is wasted. If you hit, the victim must make a Fortitude save (DC 10 + 1/2 your HD) or be nauseated for 1d4 rounds, in addition to the weapon’s normal effects and damage.

Off to a mediocre start, I think. The Evangelist can be born from any class from martial to caster, so whether or not this ability will actually work for you is a bit up in the air. However, it can be passed on through both melee and ranged weapons, and the nauseated condition is one of the most punishing things you could inflict on anything, even if it IS just for a round. The fact you can use it three times per day means you can chain the ability into itself to keep a single powerful enemy nauseated for the entire battle!

The major disappointment here is the scaling. Unlike almost every other Boon with a saving throw attached, this ability doesn’t scale off any ability modifier and assures that its DC is capped out at 20 (or, rather, around 17 or so for most sessions). That’s just plain awful! It dramatically lessens its chance to affect anything worth affecting once you reach levels 13+ and may have already begun struggling to keep up with the mounting Fortitude saves most enemies possess past level 10, though at the very least it’ll be reliable against humanoid casters for a while still. Still, the lack of scaling puts a serious damper on what would otherwise be a great combat ability!

Boon 3: Debilitating Blight. 1/day, you can cast Greater Contagion as a spell-like ability. The save DC is increased by 4, and in addition to the normal effects of the disease, the target is instantly wracked with terrible coughs and painful sores that inflict a -2 penalty to attack rolls, weapon damage rolls, saving throws, skill checks, and ability modifiers for a number of rounds equal to your Hit Dice.

The DC to resist this spell is 19+Cha mod thanks to this ability. Because of how it’s worded in the book, the save DC to avoid secondary infection from the disease if it’s passed to another is also increased by 4. Fun!

So every good thing I had to say about Contagion above? Tack that onto this, but add on that you can cast it from a range, the disease’s cure DC is 5 higher than normal, and the disease can’t be cured without magic. It doesn’t matter how many saving throws you make, bud; if you don’t have someone with Remove Disease or similar, you’re stuck with that illness for the rest of your miserable life. If you thought the Black Death was a nightmare before, imagine knowing it’s never going to get better. While it’s not in typical player character style, Contagion’s utility as a civilization-swatting spell with a bit of creative application is extremely powerful if you’re in a proper situation to use or need it, and Greater Contagion is endlessly stronger in every regard. Common priests won’t be able to deal with what you’ve caused, allowing you to slide in and preach to the ill masses about how to deal with their new sickness: Pledge their lives to the Gossamer King!

In combat, its utility is much the same as its base version. While the number of monsters immune to disease is frankly insulting at higher levels, you can still make the lives of Humanoids and most Monstrous Humanoids miserable. Blinding Sickness and Bubonic Plague are your go-tos if you want someone dead quickly. It has the added benefit of striking your victim with boils, though, inflicting a -4 penalty onto every single roll they make for 14+ rounds! “Wait, it only says -2!” I hear you say, as I hover a magnifying glass over this portion:

“... saving throws, skill checks, and ability modifiers.” Those must be some NASTY boils if they affect the targets ability scores directly, applying a -2 penalty directly to every one of their modifiers! That means this ability actually inflicts -4; -2 at base, and -2 from reducing the ability modifiers directly. Also, the wording on this ability implies that the disease itself, not the spell, transmits these nasty boils and cough, so everyone it passes on to is struck with the debilitating infection for a minute or so. If that is indeed how your DM interprets this ability, you can get a HUGE amount of use out of this power by infecting yourself and going out of your way to smear your blood (etc) on your weapons and slashing your victims, or hauling off and biting them, coughing on them, or spitting on them. Exposure prompts an instant saving throw versus infection (which is heightened by +4), meaning you can get a quick and dirty -4 to your foes rolls with a bit of preparation and luck!

I like plague tactics, alright? They don’t get used nearly enough in Pathfinder, but they’re fun if pulled off right!

------ EXALTED ------

Boon 1: Infectious Blighter. Gain Inflict Light Wounds 3/day, Accelerate Poison 2/day, or Nauseating Trail 1/day.

Accelerate Poison is an interesting little one. It either makes a delayed poison happen instantly, or doubles the rate at which a poison tears its victim apart. In a dedicated poison build, it’s absolutely a spell you’d never prepare but would love to have. Unfortunately, you are the caster-aligned Exalted and aren’t likely to want to get close enough to use the spell’s touch range. Its standard action casting time is also agonizing as you’re forced to keep up with your target if they flee or--more importantly--forced to waste your action slapping them with a save-negated spell. It had better be a damn good poison to justify taking this spell.

Hell, even Inflict Light Wounds can be better if you have Undead on your side. If you don’t, don’t even bother. Nauseating Trail is the way to go here, affecting a single willing target with body odor so vile that it nauseates anyone who fails their save against it for 1d4+1 rounds, and your ally (or yourself) can scamper around like a mud-spattered dog, trailing this mist of noxious fumes behind you to form walls of the stuff. Anyone who enters these misty walls must save against the nausea, letting you form a punishing cage around your enemies and contain foes with Scent behind a stinky screen that lingers for a full round/level.

I’ll hammer on this point until it gets dull: Nausea is a powerful status effect, and anything that can cause it--especially to a whole crowd of enemies--is not to be overlooked! It’s a bit harder to use than Stinking Cloud, yeah, but if you can apply it to a creature that can’t be targeted with Attacks of Opportunity, you can get the stink vapors directly into an enemy’s space without the risk of blasting your allies with the stench. That’s worth something!

Boon 2: Blighting Channel. 3/day when channeling negative energy, you may have it damage plants and Plant creatures instead of healing Undead. Plant creatures within range take 1d6 damage, plus 1d6 damage for every 2 Cleric levels you possess (max 10d6 at 20th level). Normal plants within range wither and die immediately, with no save.

Eeeeeeeewwwwww

You can tell Ghlaunder is one of deities from when Paizo was first toying with Obediences, because like a fool they tied this ability to the base class they expected everyone to go with when becoming an Exalted. They didn’t even give an ounce of consideration to the poor Oracle, Druid, Paladin, Ranger, or Inquisitor! This ability is useless to anyone but a Cleric, even if you somehow gain the ability to channel energy outside of your class, because its damage scales with your Cleric level. This also means entering the Exalted Prestige Class puts a cap on what this ability can do, not that it can really do much.

Channel Energy coming from an Evil source, you may or may not be aware, harms all living creatures within its radius anyway. If you very specifically want to hurt Plants, good job, I guess? Ghlaunder is the right guy for you, for some reason??? Why DOES he want to blight plants, anyway? You’d think his Exalted would gain the power to, I dunno, fly like a mosquito, or summon a swarm of pests, or commune with peoples diseases for information. This ability belongs more to Treerazer than the King of Parasites! I’d even say it’s kind of goofy for him to have!

Blasting a 30ft circle of vegetation to death has its uses, I suppose, but I don’t feel like that’s nearly Boon-worthy, especially since it’s so harshly restricted to you being a Cleric.

Boon 3: Polluted Servant. 1/day as a standard action, you can summon a Hezrou Demon to your side. It dutifully obeys your orders for 1 minute per Hit Dice you have before vanishing back to the Abyss, but will not perform any actions that would make it behave in an overly Good way, and if an order is especially egregious in that regard, it may attack you.

And your reward for either having no second Boon or a disappointing one is to summon one big stinky boy to your aid! Lazy but powerful, a Hezrou makes a decent tank for your party but also an excellent long-ranged offensive caster if you’re against Lawful and/or Good opponents thanks to its at-will Chaos Hammer and Unholy Blight spells. If you’ve found yourself surrounded by the forces of Heaven (or Nirvana or Elysium or--), your toady boy can also let loose a blasphemous croak to send them all flying back to their gods.

At CR 11, you’ll likely be around level 14 when you first get this power, meaning your Hezrou is likely still tough enough to stand against the enemies you’ll be facing, with the biggest downside being that its Stench will affect your allies whenever you call it to your side. A secondary downside is that it always appears by your side; no summoning it right next to a fragile enemy!

You’ll be able to enjoy its wretched presence for quite a while before it stops being viable to call against endbosses, but it’ll still likely be beefy enough to go toe-to-toe with minions and the like. A decent enough final Boon! Not quite worth dealing with the second Boon, though, so I believe we can say the Exalted is currently in last place.

------ SENTINEL ------

Boon 1: Poisonous Penitent. Gain Nauseating Dart 3/day, Pernicious Poison 2/day, or Poison 1/day.

None of these are really that great! I’ve harped on Poison before, noting that its casting and immediate effect means that using it as a tool for a stealthy assassination isn’t truly viable, and that using it in combat is also a poor use of one’s action when you could instead knife someone. It has niche use against creatures with Regeneration or even just Fast Healing that outpaces your damage potential, but once again I’ll reiterate that it’s unlikely to really deal with the threat for one reason (immunity to poison) or another (a Con score that exceeds 12, which is Poison’s average damage).

Pernicious Poison weakens a victim against poisons, inflicting a -4 penalty to them for 10 min/level and increasing the number of ticks of poison the victim feels by 2. This makes it much more attractive for stealthy assassinations and much more fitting for a cultist of Ghlaunder, as a simple touch has no visible effect on the victim. It’s only when they’re eventually exposed to poison that the magic reveals itself, and even then, the magic’s effects are subtle enough that onlookers won’t even realize you’ve done anything, which is the best outcome you can hope for. It also inflicts a -4 penalty to anyone trying to cure the poison with magic or skill, helping assure the victim will suffer its full effects.

To reiterate, not great, but it’s incredibly flexible depending on the poisons you have access to and is damned reliable, as it offers no saving throw against its effects. It does mean you have to use poisons, though, which struggle to remain viable at higher levels, which is why Nauseating Dart is also on the Meh pile. It’s a poison effect, deals a whopping 1d2 damage on a hit, and nauseates the victim for one round. While nausea is an amazing status effect, this spell requires both a successful attack roll from you AND a failed Fortitude save from your enemy, when you--the Sentinel--are likely much better off simply attacking 2~4 times with your weapon. It’s also, again, listed as a poison effect, so it may not even work against the enemies you need it to work on.

It’s an odd world we live in when Pernicious Poison is the most attractive option on a spell list. If you plan ahead and play with fellow Evil folk, you can tag-team with your party’s Eldritch Poisoner Alchemist to make one fool’s life very miserable and very short.

Boon 2: Bloodletter. You gain a +1 profane bonus on all attack and damage rolls with a spear. In addition, when you confirm a critical hit, your target takes 1 point of bleed damage for every 2 character levels you have. The bleeding can be stopped with a successful DC 15 Heal check or the application of any effect that heals hit point damage. Bleed damage from this ability or any other effect does not stack with itself.

Oho? A Sentinel Boon that actually rewards attacking with a weapon? What a concept! But Ghlaunder here gets it, and pulls it off better than most. Poison is niche use, but any creature with blood/ichor/sap/etc is typically vulnerable to bleed damage! While this ability does, disappointingly, rely on being able to deliver and confirm critical hits, your victim receives no secondary save against the bleed and begins spraying the battlefield for 5+ damage a round. It’s not much, but it will rack up quickly, and it’s automatic damage they need some form of healing to overcome.

Plus, even if they do heal it, you’ll probably trigger it again at some point during the fight. And it they run off, you now have a convenient trail of blood to track them with! Also, if you want to get pedantic, you could say that “the application of any effect that heals hit point damage” doesn’t count Regeneration and Fast Healing, as those effects are often not being applied, but are already present. You can definitely make a case for it with Fast Healing, but not really with Regeneration; wounds closing on their own tend to stem the tide of precious life fluid a little bit.

Of all the “trigger on crit” abilities we’ve seen so far this isn’t nearly the strongest, but I place it on a pedestal specifically because unlike, say, Yhidothrus, it works on a much wider variety of foes (beware Constructs and Undead), has no daily limit to its uses, consumes no extra actions from you, and can’t be avoided with a saving throw. AND! And, it comes with a free +1 to attack and damage rolls! Nice!

Boon 3: Horrible Blow. 1/day, before you roll an attack, you can declare that it will be a Horrible Blow. If you miss, the ability is wasted. If you hit, the victim is affected as if struck with Horrid Wilting in addition to the normal weapon effect.

The wording on this ability is ambiguous about whether it allows a saving throw, given that the book says “ affected as if the subject of Horrid Wilting;” that makes it sound like they’re not being targeted by the spell itself but are just struck with the effect instantly. I certainly hope so! Because otherwise, this falls a bit behind other final Boons.

Horrid Wilting is a nasty spell, but its primary power is the ability to strike an entire crowd of creatures at once. When it’s only able to hit one victim it loses a lot of its appeal. On the plus side, it deals 1d6 untyped damage per level (so 14d6 if you get it ASAP) to any living creature it hits, but on the down side, it specifies living creatures. As always, Constructs and Undead are, as always, able to laugh in the face of this effect without issue. Plant creatures, though, take extra damage! Yeah, take THAT, stupid trees!

Unfortunately, this ability is just sort of boring to talk about. In the end, it’s just a huge burst of untyped damage against a single target 1/day, and missing with the attack costs you the ability for the day. Nothing really special, beyond the fact Horrid Wilting gruesomely mummifies creatures it affects, meaning killing blows with this ability are especially hard for onlookers to watch. It’s not a super strong or fancy Boon, so I’d give it a solid 4/10, with a +1 to it if indeed it offers no saving throw.

You can read more about Ghlaunder here.

#Spiritual Spotlight #Sinister Spotlight #insects #parasites #Pathfinder #Dungeons and Dragons

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sides-of-demigods · 5 years ago

Text

The Ones You Can't See

Word Count: 1,874

Warning(s): Trigger Warnings so far: PTSD, panic attacks, abandonment, blood, self-harm, anxiety, self-deprecation, depression, light cursing, trigger

Author's Note: I experimented a bit with style with this one, for example I change perspective often and quickly. In case that's hard to follow each point of view change has a couple of these guys ~~~~ that will be a specific color. Red just before Roman's POV and purple before Virgil's. Title from NVM by Faith Marie.

~~~~~~~~~~

Roman was scared. Terrified, actually.

He tore out of the Big House, barely a destination in his mind. There was a couple new campers and one asked them each what it felt like when they were claimed. Gods, Roman hadn't even THOUGHT about Virgil. Of course something like that would trigger him. Ugh, how could he be so stupid. He just milled around the living room and didn't even realize Virgil had disappeared until afterward. Some boyfriend (Were they boyfriend?) he was.

Being claimed had always been a big trigger for Virgil, even to this day. He'd gotten better, at least in Roman's opinion, but it wasn't something he could just get over. Virgil was only twelve when he was claimed and he saw all of the people he was starting to think of as family look at him with pure horror and disgust. He lost nearly all the friends he had made and was told by basically the entire camp that he was destined to be evil, just like his dad. As ashamed as he was of it, Roman had been a large contributor to that.

Now though, the Camp was a lot more accepting and people, Roman included, came around to the boy with the purple hair. That kind of thing happening to you at such a young age and while you were particularly vulnerable...well it leaves a lasting scar. Logan had even compared it to PTSD once. And Roman could definitely see the similarities. He didn't want Virgil to be alone through this, especially since that's exactly what hurt him before and caused this. That was the last thing he needed.

Thankfully, Roman had a pretty good idea of where he went.

~~~~~~~~~~

Virgil was scared. Terrified, really.

It felt like the walls were closing in on him, which made no sense considering he was outside. Everything felt off, like something was wrong with the world itself. It felt hostile and cold and unforgiving. So Virgil ran. He ran from the Big House, he ran away from that kid, he tried to run away from the fear, tried to run away from the memories. Instead they bombarded him on all sides, no matter how hard or fast his feet hit the ground or how many people he bumped into.

Every person he passed could feel it too, if only for a moment. His anxiety was consuming him, causing his power to leech off him in waves. People would feel chills down their spine or like someone was watching them, and pure unaltered fear if Virgil actually touched them. He had to get himself under control.

His feet carried him through the camp, his eyes not even processing what he was seeing. He had no control over where his feet were carrying him until he fell to his knees with a thump. He wrapped his arms around himself and dug his fingers into his biceps, desperate for something, anything, to ground him. One hand ended up in his hair and gripped hard, but he could barely feel it.

Virgil just wanted it to stop.

~~~~~~~~~~

Roman was surprised, but relieved.

He had guesses Virgil would be at the beach, but was still so so glad that his guess had been correct. He recognized the spot easily. One night, Patton declared that the four of them needed to spend time together as a group, considering it usually ended up being pairs. Training was done with one or two cabins at an activity at a time and at meals and the campfire you had to sit with your cabin mates. So Patton managed to persuade Thomas into letting the four sneak off to the beach and have a picnic by the waves. Patton had picked a secluded spot that was usually a little too close to the woods for campers to hang out there, but the four were confident that if anything happened they could handle it.

This was years ago, yet Roman knew all of them regarded it as one of their fondest memories. Not just with each other, but ever. In that moment Logan and Roman were bickering entirely goodnaturedly, smiling the entire time. Patton was telling jokes left and right that caused even Logan to crack a smile. Roman and Virgil weren't fighting at all, and Virgil actually actively participated in conversation with them, which was a feat back then. So he wasn't surprised that this would be where Virgil would run to. A place where he felt safe, warm, loved, not alone.

He saw the boy kneeling in the sand, hand in his hair, and Roman's air left him all at once like a punch to the gut. It hurt to see him like that. He knew it was going to be bad, but seeing Virgil curled in on himself, desperate, practically rocking back and forth, it just broke Roman's heart. Before he knew it he was kneeling next to Virgil in the sand, trying to figure out if he should touch him or if that would make it worse. He glanced at Virgil's hand where it was clenching his bicep.

He threw caution to the wind when he saw the blood.

~~~~~~~~~~

Virgil was surprised, but relieved.

He heard frantic footsteps behind him but could barely register them over the rush of blood in his ears and the crashing of the waves. His brain was just stuck on a constant loop no matter how hard he tugged his hair or squeezed his fist. He didn't even realize his finger nails broke the skin until he felt the warm wetness of blood on his fingers. It wasn't a lot, so Virgil couldn't bring himself to worry about it at the moment.

Suddenly he felt strong, callused, and familiar hands rip his away from his body and his head whipped up in shock. There his eyes met the wide green eyes that were mirroring his own fear, but the kind of fear that comes with concern. Roman. He'd followed him. Honestly, Virgil hadn't expected him to. He knew that he could be frustrating if not down right infuriating during his panic attacks, and at this point figured the others would just leave him to work through them on his own. But he was so so glad Roman found him. He really didn't think he could be alone right now.

His breath caught in his throat, still reeling from Roman so abruptly seizing his hands. Usually, Virgil would be scolding him or freaking out but seeing the full out panic in Roman's expression, the full realization of what exactly he had been doing crashed down on him.

He'd struggled with self-harm for a long time, both intentional and unintentional. But with the others help he had been getting better. Hell, he'd been clean going on four months now. Well, not anymore. He'd just set back all the progress he'd made the last few years. At least, that's what he was telling himself. Roman squeezed his hands as the two just looked at each other, both breathing heavily for different reasons.

Then came the tears.

~~~~~~~~~~

Roman felt powerless.

As he seized hands, he cursed himself for taking so long to follow him. If he had just been faster, noticed Virgil was gone sooner, realized the question would trigger him. If he had done anything more to help Virgil avoid this, maybe it wouldn't have gotten this bad, maybe Virgil wouldn't have spiraled so deep. No, he couldn't focus on his mistakes, now he had to be with Virgil. He had to help him. He looked in Virgil's eyes, seeing nothing but fear and pain and shame staring back at him and almost started crying himself. He settled for squeezing the other boy's hands, trying to pull him from the daze he seemed to be in, just staring at Roman as if he didn't fully comprehend he was there. And then the tears started.

Out of nowhere Virgil just broke. It wasn't gradual or slow it just burst out of him like a broken dam. Tears fell down his face faster than the waves could move, followed by horrible, gut-wrenching sobs tearing themselves out of his throat. He slumped forward, practically folded in half and Roman pulled him towards him.

Virgil buried his face in Roman's t-shirt as the son of Apollo wrapped his arms around him, clutching him close. He didn't say anything, neither of them had, but he hoped against all hope that he was conveying reassuring, promising Virgil that he was here, that he wasn't going anywhere, that he was sorry for ever letting Virgil think otherwise. Soon, Roman had his nose in Virgil's hair, breathing him in as tears silently fell from his eyes.

He didn't plan on letting go anytime soon.

~~~~~~~~~~

Virgil felt powerless.

Something in him finally caved as he fell forward, was pulled into Roman's chest. His hands free, they found purchase in the fluorescent orange camp shirt, holding on for dear life. At the moment, it felt like Roman's arms around him were the only thing keeping him afloat, like a rock Virgil clung to to keep from being washed out to sea. He was drowning in the storm, everything coming at him from all sides with no time to recover, Roman his only purchase, his only shield.

He found himself mumbling a bunch of things resembling apologies, his words slurring together and barely forming sentence fragments. What he was apologizing for Virgil wasn't entirely sure. For his weakness? For relapsing? For letting them down? For not being better yet? He didn't even know anymore, the words just spilled out of him, completely without his control.

He was tempted to just force it all down, to tamp it out and pretend it never existed. But he knew that wasn't healthy, and he was just tired. So he didn't stop and let himself feel. Let himself feel the pain and the loneliness and the fear, until he worried he'd have nothing left to feel. His hands slowly loosened their grip on Roman's shirt as his sobs began to subside. Eventually they stopped altogether. He closed his eyes and leaned against Roman, not quite bringing himself to bring away. The son of Apollo smelled comforting, like the generic camp soap, the sea air, and something distinctly Roman, almost like Roman. He felt safe and warm, and if Roman was any indication, the other boy didn't want to let go yet either.

He didn't plan to let go anytime soon.

~~~~~~~~~~

Roman felt grateful.

He felt Virgil fall against him and simply adjusted his grip, holding the other against him. He knew that it wasn't this simple, that Virgil was suddenly okay. He'd be tired and probably dehydrated and he'd still be dealing with this for a while. Patton and Logan were probably starting to get worried, and would be looking for them if they didn't get back soon. But for now Roman was content to simply stay on their little secluded beach, wrapped up in each other and listening to the sea.

He didn't plan to let go anytime soon.

~~~~~~~~~~

"Roman?"

~~~~~~~~~~

"Hm?"

~~~~~~~~~~

"Thank you."

~~~~~~~~~~

"Anything for you, Virgil. Anything."

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