#[COUGHS AND HACKS VIOLENTLY]

[johnny-chaos]

Gordon is notably characterized by his obnoxious and deeply uncool behavior but he's also defined by an incredible earnestness and desire for things to be taken seriously . And Benrey, on the other hand, is obnoxious too but for the exact opposite reasons-- devaluing things that, by Gordon's standards, should be taken seriously (such as murder) while playing up the absurdity and inconsistent application of rules in general (and also acting like a fucking third grader).

In that way the two of them have a lot in common, but with that one major caveat of seriousness . Really, they're both pretty earnest, and they both just wanna make jokes n have fun-- Gordon wants to be a justin.tv streamer and he talks to himself like an anime protagonist (GORDON SPRINT!!) and Benrey's whole thing is having his day ruined bc he couldn't play games with his friends . But Benrey also knows treating the game like it's real is idiotic, while Gordon can't help but treat it as if it were (and Scorpy Socpens n Wayne R. TV use this for some extremely good comedy).

In addition to THAT, you have Coomer, who, over the course of the webseries, realizes his life is a lie and his world is fake - subsequently becoming more lucid, serious, and aloof. His character arc brings up the question of What Does It Truly Mean, To Be Alive? (a tried and true story point !) They're all functioning on different understandings of their world-- they all understand nothing matters, but Coomer is just now realizing, and Benrey's always known it, and Gordon method acts so hard that he almost forgets it.

With that context HLVRAI becomes an argument on existential nihilism -- Coomer presents the question "nothing is real so is living this life valuable?" and Benry's response is essentially "no- if nothing matters then why care ? Do whatever you want forever ." And Gordon's is "of COURSE it's valuable, fuck you, this may not matter but I can care and try and hope and LIVE, BABY!!! leave me and my magmar plush OUTTA THIS!!" Quite a 4chan vs Tumblr argume(I am shot and killed)

But even though I describe Gordon as v earnest and sincere, it's not enitrely accurate, bc while he has a lot of Genuine Expressions of Emotion, he also seems to use anger to mask laughter ("if i had a knife i would gut you" said with an audible smile). Makes him seem less genuine and more like he's playing up the reactivity, but you still get a rly potent feeling that these are people he enjoys being around, and I'm sure that's also just Wayne R. TV playing gmod with his friends bleeding through .

Coomer's obviously the MOST sincere, he has literally the only lines that are SUPPOSED to be taken seriously. And Benrey may not be very sincere, but he IS (in Wayne R TV's words) the most sentimental, which is REALLY weird. He's constantly talking bullshit, but Scorpy Socpens still gives him these moments where it seems like he might actually care ("we should turn back.. we're going further . into HELL" and "why are we here? ..what happened to your arm?!") LIKE!! he and the others are all entertainers, they're all supposed to make you laugh (except for Dr. Coomer at one point), but Benrey especially, as he's this manifestation of insincerity and irony and absurdity--and yet?? some semblance of motivation??

If hlvrai is an argument on nihilism, then it's ALSO about how what makes life worth living is the people around you actually . Because of benrey's "nothing matters" mentality he gains Gordon's ire and subsequently becomes the antagonist as his stupid shenanigans are reframed as actively hindering the group (even though yeah EVERYONE gets in the way of everything all the time). Thus he becomes the Big Bad even though he's really just, not cut out for it . he knows his actions don't have meaningful consequences, but that sentimentality inevitably slips out, and yeah, his whole purpose is to be funny. you can't be funny to yourself now that's just embarrassing. he has the powers to shapeshift and time travel but he only does it when it's relevant to Gordon. i am constantly thinking about how he says "it replenishes your electronics" in this calm, mellow voice like he's got nothing to worry about and is just enjoying the moment . he just wants to play games with people, man!!!

and even though Gordon is so SO fucking uncool, he's allowed to be because he actually gives a shit!! even though they're both annoying, Benrey is the one who becomes the villain because of how detached he is. Gordon can stumble over his words and be clumsy as hell but he cares so deeply-- about the others, about putting on a show-- that his embarrassing attempts at being the hotshot hero of the story don't detract from his value. yeah this world isn't real but my friends are. yeah nothing matters but we can still try to help each other out. you are supposed to care!!! bitch

[realrogerhours]

i was supposed to record for work tonight, but i'm worn out after the absolute marathon of working on that piece, i'm going to take it easy and not overdo it, probably watch some faiz later

[autismcupcake]

I have never felt more like a victorian dandy with consumption than I do at this moment

[mystellenia]

sleepy late nights with ellie ୨ৎ

summary: both you and ellie wake up in the middle of the night and cuddle your way back to sleep.

content: answer to this req!! nothing nsfw :] just fluffy and ellie being stupid

notes: sorry i havent posted in a while.. but yes finals are coming up so i’ll prob kms soon. but i have this class where i hate the teacher and after finals i'm done with him FINALLY YESSS

(wc 1.0k)

a loud coughing fit came from over your shoulder where you slept in bed, making you open your eyes to see if it would stop. it did not, instead intensifying after you look over your shoulder to find a hunched over ellie sitting up with her legs swung over the edge of the bed. she notices that her coughing woke you up and she quickly palms her mouth, hoping to muffle the volume of the coughs. 

she tries—and fails—to get an apology out in between her coughs: "fuck- i didn't mean- didn't mean to wake you up." 

you simply watch with your eyes wide and brows drawn in naked concern. finally, she calms down and lowers her voice to a whisper. "sorry baby." 

rolling onto your back, you extend your hand out towards her and then stop it midair, shocked at how unconcerned she seems at her previous death hacks. 

"um, hello? are you okay?" you whisper-yell. 

she lifts the covers to get back into bed, trying to rub her eyes of the sleep that was so violently interrupted. "i woke up with the worst cotton mouth so i just drank whatever was on my nightstand. it was soda. squirt to be exact. i think i just asphyxiated." 

"stupid- why would you drink soda for thirst? drink water," you scold her. 

"it was right there- i just needed anything! i would've drank chocolate milk if it was right there!" 

"dummy," you huffed. the blinking led lights of the clock on ellie's nightstand catches your eye—it was just past two in the morning. yawning, you say, "just come back, let's sleep." 

she didn't resist—she looked exhausted. ellie was anything but a morning person, and she got cranky if she didn't get a full night's rest.  

scooting down to get under the blanket, she pulls it up to her chin and turns on her side to face you staring back at her. she moves with a shimmy to get closer to your body, pushing her legs in between yours and tangling them as she nearly presses her nose to yours. with a content sigh, she nuzzles into her pillow and closes her eyes. 

softly chuckling at her apparent routine to get resituated, you huff out a laugh, making her open her eyes. 

"what?" she murmurs, confused at what you were laughing at. 

"el, what do you mean what? i'm exhaling right into your nose and inhaling your breath." 

"just say you don't love me," she pouts, theatrically turning over to face her back to you and yanking the blanket. 

"you're so annoying," you say and roll your eyes while sitting up to litter her face in kisses. "please come back so we can share germs?" 

"that's more like it." she returns to her previous position with her legs tangled in yours and face a centimeter from yours. 

her head pushes forward for a second to drop a kiss on your lips—just a quick goodnight. "'night, baby." 

you laugh, "good night, ellie." 

you settle into your pillow and close your eyes to begin to drift off to sleep when you feel the weight of ellie's head lift off of her pillow. after a second or two, you open your eyes to a squint to see ellie looking at you in disbelief. 

"can you give me a kiss back or should i roll back over and social distance again?" 

"oh my god, ellie, can we sleep?!" she raises her eyebrows in expectation, giving you her cheek to kiss. "my stupid big baby."  

you plant your hands on either side of her jaw, speaking and punctuating every few words with a kiss. "yes, i love you,"--kiss--"yes, i wanna exchange microorganisms with you,"--kiss--"no, i don't want us to sleep six feet apart,"--kiss--"...but... drinking squirt three seconds after you open your eyes is actually insane, baby." 

you see in her eyes how badly she wants to throw something back at you, but her cheeks are barely containing her suppressed smile, so instead she just giggles and lays her head back on her pillow, the tip of her nose tickling yours. 

"good nighttt," ellie whispers in a sing-songy tone, kissing your lips once, twice, three times before settling back in her nose-to-nose position. 

"you're so cute," you blurt out, pulling the blanket up and tucking it under your chin. 

her words started to slur, her syllables beginning to blend together by exhaustion. "d'you wanna order food tomorrow morning for breakfast in bed?" 

"it is tomorrow—it's, like, 2:30 now." 

she kisses her teeth in irritation. "you fuckin' smartass," she murmurs, a long yawn following. "do you want to or no?" 

"duh i want to. i can't wait to get fat together." 

she takes so long to respond that you think she's dozed off until she mutters out, "perfect," a sleepy smile taking over her face. 

"can... can we get caprisuns in the cup for him, too?" she adds on nonsensically. 

"baby, what?" you question, unable to make any sense of her... request? her statement? she's too tired to be speaking. 

ellie's breaths slow down again, making you think she's actually fallen asleep until she hums to get your attention. you hum back at her to show you're listening, and she starts to speak. 

"can we get a liter of squirt tomorrow with breakfast?" 

"what the fuck. bedtime now. good night," you say, shutting down her meaningless rambling to go to sleep. right before your eyes shut, you notice her soft pout at you silencing her, but it fades off into a smile as you fall asleep. 

@picklesarenice69

i dont have much to say!! gonna post now bc i have an appointment rn 😊😊😊😊😊😊😊😊😊😊😊😊😊😊😊😊😊😊😊😊

click here!! oh and here too!! ˶ᵔᵕᵔ˶

[mycological-mariner]

How does anyone deal with all the black mould in the UK?? I’ve just spent the better part of an hour scrubbing down an entire wall and part of the ceiling with bleach. Thing is, I’ve got piss poor eyesight and because my place never gets direct sunlight and only has one window, it’s usually pretty dark so I completely missed it. But how?? How does anyone deal with this?

There’s not a lot to be said for where I’m originally from but black mould even in small patches was call for alarm and it really only occurred after hurricane season.

[sealmaiden2000]

women be coughing

[sleepingdead96]

Prepared for Anything Pt. 3

Part 1, Part 2, Part 4, MasterPost

What was with Danny’s luck and fires? He wondered as he searched a warehouse he’d come across for survivors. He’d been flying home(invisibly of course) when a nearby building had exploded. Flames licked at the grease spattered floor and ate at old crates, but the biggest issue was the smoke. It billowed thickly like the smog that filled Gotham’s skies, and impeded even Danny’s enhanced vision. He could taste the ash in the air. He knew there were people here. He heard someone coughing and the sound of fighting going on ahead. 

He forged onward, dashing towards the sounds, and the layers of smoke lessened enough for Danny to see what was taking place.

The first thing he noticed was the scuffle. About a dozen of what were clearly henchmen fired guns and grappled with. . .

Danny sighed.

More vigilantes.

One wore purple and had long, blonde hair. The other wore black with gold accents, and a mask covered her face. Both sides of the fight wore rebreathers.

The second thing Danny noticed was the red vigilante with bandoliers across his chest, bound with chains, and hanging by the ceiling. He hung over a vat of boiling oil that was alit with flames.

. . .

. . .

What was this? Some scene from a childrens’ cartoon?

Danny hurried forward, egged on by the lung Red was hacking up, one who very much was not wearing a rebreather.

Danny pointed a finger at the chain suspending the poor vigilante, and shot a small ecto-blast from the tip. The chain broke.

The vigilante screamed as he fell towards the boiling vat and Danny leapt to intercept him mid-air.

“Huu—“ The vigilante huffed at the impact, Danny’s shoes squealing as he landed and skidded to a halt.

The red guy wheezed. “Thanks.”

“Sure. Couldn’t just leave you hanging around, now could I?” Danny grinned.

Tim groaned.

Danny didn’t think the vigilante had room to complain.

Immediately, they were beset by attackers.

“Oop.” Danny dodged a bullet, shifting only the needed inch to avoid it. “Hey! Watch it! I’ve got cargo!”

“Carg—?!” The vigilante tried, only to hack again. He sounded offended. Danny didn’t really care.

A few goons were closing in on them from all sides, and Danny found it highly annoying that they were interfering with his mission to get this damsel in distress outside to fresh air. It wouldn’t take too long to knock ‘em out, but still.

One of the lackeys raised his weapon and Danny prepared to—

Flying in from the left came a foot, clocking the man in the jaw. Danny watched a small and lithe black figure move like she was the manifestation of violent, deadly grace itself. Danny was in awe as she took the man out, gliding and dancing as if it was all she breathed and all she lived. Her movements were efficient and so quick, Danny could barely catch the motions taking out the next three men after.  She tore through them like they were nothing. They fell at her feet as if they were insignificant gnats, as if one look was enough from the goddess of death over here to kill them.

She turned to Danny when she’d cleared his immediate attackers, and he stared at her, mouth slightly agape. His heart fluttered.

“That was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. . .” Danny muttered mostly to himself. He could watch her do that over and over and over again and never get tired of it. It was captivating.

The black vigilante went still for a moment, her eyes seeming to lock with his through her mask, before motioning for him to flee.

“Right.” Danny dashed past her, lugging the red one in a bridal carry. A fireman’s carry would probably be hard on his lungs.

“Wh—at w—s tha—t?!” The red one coughed up. Danny couldn’t tell if he was laughing at him or judging him. Or both.

“Shush.”

Danny blew through the nearest doors of the warehouse to meet fresh air and sucked in a deep breath. The smoke didn’t bother him, but this was still nice. He distanced himself from the warehouse quickly, worried about wasting time and risking this dude’s life. Or health. Danny had no idea how bad the smoke inhalation was. Pretty bad, he was guessing.

Danny laid him down in some alley. Mechanical whirring announced who had arrived. Danny looked up as the purple and black vigilantes dropped down from the roofs.

Danny’s eyes briefly glanced over Purple to rest on Black.

“Oh, hey. That was quick.”

The purple one shrugged. “We were almost done any—where did that come from?”

Danny uncoiled the tube to the oxygen tank and mask, fixing it over the baffled face of Red.

“Huh?” Danny fiddled with the knob on the tank and Red took deep breaths.

“You just have an oxygen tank on you at all times?” The purple one laughed.

“You don’t?” Danny countered. He tried not to smirk as Purple choked on her laugh.

“I was joking!”

Danny shrugged.

“Good job.” Black complimented and Danny’s heart palpitated. Her voice was so soft and gentle and the most melodious thing he’s ever heard.

“Yeah, thanks, I mean, no problem, just passing by, I'm in burning buildings all the time, wasn't any trouble." Danny rambled as he went back to fumbling with the knobs.

"Wait, what?" Red croaked.

Purple took in a long breath, as if hit with some amazing bit of realization.

Danny abruptly stood where he’d been sitting on the ground next to Red.

“Here. These are for you.” Danny thrust his hand out to Black, holding a bouquet of exotic, beautiful flowers, native to the Infinite Realms, and at least six times the size of his head.

Purple nearly seized back. “What the—?! Where are these things coming from?!”

Danny had received a multitude of bouquets for his coronation and he was suddenly very glad that he’d frozen them in time to decorate his keep with. Jazz had insisted it would brighten up the place.

“Ah, well, you never know when you might need a professionally done, extravagant bouquet of exotic wildflowers to present to your rescuer. You were my knight in shining. . .whatever kinda armour that is. . .”

Purple’s jaw went slack. Black seemed to pause before shrugging lightly and looking away, curling a little into herself as if embarrassed. Her body language said she was still happy, though. She carefully took the bouquet from him.

Danny was gonna die again. The butterflies were going to mutate and burst out of his stomach.

“Oh my gosh! Stop flirting over my dying body!” Red interrupted.

Danny spluttered. “I am not—“

“You totally are!!” Purple cackled as if this was the most entertainment she’s had in weeks.

Danny ignored her. “Anyway, can I have your name?” He asked Black.

“Wait. . .”Purple tried to get herself under control. “You don’t know who we are?”

Danny shrugged. “I’m, uh. . .from outta town.”

“Well, that was kinda obvious.” Red said.

“Orphan.” Black gestured to herself.

Danny paused. He blinked. Alright, that was. . .that was some oddly personal information to go straight to, but okay.

“I’m. . .sorry for your loss.”

Purple guffawed and slapped a hand over her mouth. Red hacked up another lung. He was gonna run out soon.

Black shook ever so subtly with her own laughter and Danny nearly melted.

“No. Name.” She gestured to herself. “Orphan.”

“It’s her vigilante name.” Purple was still laughing.

“Ah. . .yes. . .right.” Danny blushed. “My name’s Danny. It’s nice to meet y'all.” His words implied he spoke to all of them, but he looked only at Orphan.

“Yeah, I’m lucky you were there to grab me. I don’t know how that chain broke.” Red said from where he’d sat up from the ground. Danny’s lips pursed. He honestly kept forgetting about him.

Purple took a steadying breath, warding off the laughter still treading her words. “We should probably get him some medical attention.”

“Psh, I’m fine.”

“I thought you said you were dying?” Danny asked.

“That was like, ten seconds ago, I’m fine now.”

“Yeah, about as fine as a chain smoker with a drinking problem. Have you heard yourself? It’s like you swallowed a sword and gave it a good swishing around down there.” Purple retorted.

Red scoffed.

Danny backed out of the alley, flashing Orphan a smile before disappearing.

<><><><>

“What happened to all your food?!”

Danny came home to Jason(AKA Red Hood. {The wacky ectoplasm kinda made it obvious. Danny was working on that}) peering into his fridge judgementally as if it was an a affront to his person. “I loaded it up just a couple days ago!”

Danny reached past his friend to grab the orange juice and poured himself a glass. He went to sit at the counter. “I ate it all. Duh.”

“There was a week’s worth in there!” Jason gestured indignantly at the empty fridge, staring at Danny.

Danny took a long sip of his juice, keeping eye contact with Jason all the while. When his thirst was parched, he set the cup down with a quiet clink. He leaned his elbows on the counter to hold his face. 

“Obviously not, because I ate it all.”

Jason pinched his nose and sighed before letting the fridge door drift closed. He poured the kettle he must’ve boiled earlier into a prepared mug.

Danny stared down at his half-emptied glass. “I think I’m in love.” He murmured thoughtfully into it.

The tea bag bobbing in Jason’s mug paused, before continuing. “Oh?”

“Yeah.” Danny sighed, mournfully. He wondered if Orphan would care if he was half-dead or from another dimension. Would he meet her again? He really, really hoped so. “I met her in a burning building.”

“. . .What?”

“Yeah, what an amazing coincidence, right?”

“That’s not—“

“She was so cool.”

“. . .kaaay?”

How did Danny get her attention? He couldn’t just show up wherever she was vigilante-ing, could he? He didn’t want her to feel like he was stalking her.

Danny shuddered and made a face. Ugh. Ew.

No. He needed to find another way.

A small smile wound it’s way over his lips as an idea came to him.

“What’s her name?” Jason asked.

“Umm, you’ve probably heard of her. She said her name was Orphan.”

Jason choked on his tea.

[stxneflxwers]

off-colored.

⋯⁂ summary. Aventurine woke up sick, now you're full of determination to keep him home – the place where he's allowed to be himself (and so you can take care of him.)

⋯⁂ a/n. barely edited lol. i wrote this in the tumblr post editor... :') anyway. SICK FIC TIME!!!!! I WANNA BABY HIM GRRRR

⋯⁂ characters. aventurine. gn reader.

⋯⁂ w.c. 971.

⋯⁂ cw. fluff/hurt comfort. established relationship. sickness and its side dishes. all lowercase. mentions of nudity. mentions of past trauma. (both are non-descriptive).

aventurine.

🌌 needless to say, he's not exactly thrilled to be sick – if anything, it makes his heart jump into his throat (and subsequently make him cough and choke on his own saliva even more).

🌌 for a split second, he thinks he's dying – but no, all that happened was him rolling off the bed and crashing to the floor with the blanket tangled around him. and then promptly getting thrown into a violent coughing fit.

🌌 you were, for a split moment, considering getting on his case for hogging the blanket again – and then you heard him hacking away for a solid few moments before he releases a very loud, stuffy sigh. uh oh, you think, that last long mission he had must've gotten him sick.

🌌 but then... you realize how you can take advantage of this and force him to stay home for once (definitely not because you want more time with him or anything. totally not.) you grin to yourself, believing it's your turn to win for once – he's hardly a sore loser when it comes to you.

you roll to his side of the bed and peek over the edge, "you sound sick." you blurt out – soft, unimposing.

"huh? uh... nuh uh!" he then sneezes behind his clothed arm after barely managing to detangle himself from the blanket.

"yeah, sure, totally and completely not sick at all. i definitely believe you." you scowl, although it's more playful than genuine.

"but... i've got work today–"

"you say that every day."

"but it's true!" he sniffles and wipes at his nose with the back of his black fabric sleeve.

"yeah, well, too bad!" you say and hop to your feet, already feeling excited over the notion of babying him all day. "you're staying home – coworkers and boss be damned."

he whines your name pathetically, "pleaaaaase..."

"no."

"pretty please?"

"no!"

"...with a cherry on top–"

"oh, shush. and don't you try to sneak out of the house." you cross your arms with an atmosphere of determination – all to make sure he gets better soon, instead of exacerbating any pain and malaise.

"haha..." he chuckles weakly (and dryly from his parched throat), "alright, you win."

"yay!" you cheer and help him sit on the edge of the mattress (that will certainly need to have its sheets changed soon), "good boy." you pat his head with such soft and slow strokes that he can feel the love melt into his bones and heart.

"aw... you just wanted to hear me say that you win, huh?" he teases – despite his ailed state – and smiles up at you, somehow even more charmingly than usual. "sure, sure, take advantage of the sick guy–"

"shush, you! it's not such a bad thing to have you home with me for once, anyway..." you sigh, a soft pout protruding from your bottom lip – your hand stills for a fleeting moment, making his heart lurch right back into his throat again.

"i'm sorry, i'm sorry – don't be mad–" he pleads, something he rarely does, but you've dealt with a sick kakavasha once before, you can do it as many times as you need to.

you smile sadly, your eyes pinching with apology, "don't worry – i'm not upset at all. i've just...missed you more than words can describe." you resume petting his soft hair – he's always taken such good care of his pretty blonde locks.

"i...i missed you too, babe." he sighs in relief, his heart settling back into its rightful place.

🌌 he's surprisingly compliant for the rest of the day – of course, he has his playful and teasing comebacks, but he never truly puts up a fight. even if he felt capable enough, he still wouldn't – not against you.

🌌 you do just about anything for him as he recovers – to drive home the point that you love him dearly and deeply. he barely asks for anything, though, so you end up going above and beyond for him – as a part of some weird, personal gamble with yourself. has he been rubbing off on you? you're not sure.

🌌 one of the worst (read: most difficult) parts of taking care of him is making him eat. he'll complain with a whine or groan and try to hide under a pillow or blanket. you're not sure if it's trauma-related or him just being a big baby over some minor nausea, but no worries, you've got it handled.

🌌 after a bit of half-hearted arguing, he succumbs to your demands and eats at least half of what you made him. he has an arguably small appetite and stomach due to his past, so you let him eat as much as he's comfortable with – as long as he actually eats.

🌌 one of the other worst parts of taking care of him is getting him to bathe with you helping him. he insists he won't fall asleep in the bath, but you don't trust his awkward laugh and blatant lie (or his half-asleep expression). once you've pulled your final straw, you give him a hard, long stare until he finally puts up his white flag and – yet again – succumbs to letting you help him out.

🌌 he's very shy when you're naked around each other – it immediately makes his whole face red, his blush even reaching his neck and upper chest. you giggle a little at him and he pouts, all you do is pinch his burning, red cheek. yet your gentle, loving teasing eases his aversion to any and all vulnerability. he, from thereon, complies with the rest of the bathing process.

🌌 when night falls upon your shared home, he's practically dead asleep. you feel fulfilled. and he's already looking better than he did this morning – the color in his skin slowly returning.

yeah, you definitely won.

[xanasaurusrex]

clarisse freaking out when you're sick clarisse la rue x sick!reader a/n: i'm gonna do a part 2 where she's taking care of reader (:

clarisse was freaking out.

a mere five minutes ago, someone from y/n's cabin had approached her, with a nervous look on their face.

clarisse had immediately demanded to know what was wrong, and was disturbed by the feeling in her gut that it had something to do with you.

"uh... it's y/n," the boy muttered. "she's... very sick, and showed up to sword practice. we're trying to get her to go back to the cabin, but she's not listening to any of us, so... we thought maybe you could help?"

that was all clarisse needed to hear to rush towards the sword practice area.

and of course, there she was, swaying on her feet, with a sword in hand.

it looked like she was arguing with another one of her siblings, who was desperately trying to get the sword out of her hand.

clarisse sped up as she crested the hill where sword practice was being held.

y/n flipped around angrily at the sound of footsteps, but the anger dissipated when she saw who it was. a wide smile broke out on her face, causing clarisse to smile despite the fact that she was a little bit upset at the moment.

y/n started walking towards clarisse, but she was unsteady, and tripped over a lumpy patch of grass. in seconds, she was careening towards clarisse, who caught her, thank gods.

"hey baby?" clarisse began gently, her arms wrapping around y/n's waist and pulling their bodies closer together. "are you okay?"

y/n gave clarisse a wide smile as she draped her arms around clarisse's shoulders. "i'm doing great!" her smile turned into a scowl quickly. "except nobody will let me do sword practice!" she rolled her eyes dramatically.

clarisse glanced over her shoulder to the collection of people in the sword fighting area looking at her hopelessly.

y/n laid her head on clarisse's shoulder as she slumped against her body slightly, and clarisse subconsciously leaned her head against hers, beginning to soothingly rub her hand up and down y/n's back. she wasn't sure what to do, not wanting y/n here in the sword fighting area, and just wanting to lay her down in a bed in her cabin.

y/n let out a loud yawn that she tried to muffle against clarisse's shoulder. a few seconds later, y/n started coughing violently, a hacking cough that rattled her whole body.

seeing y/n like that freaked clarisse out even more, and her urgency to get her girlfriend back to her cabin and tucked under some comfy blankets and asleep increased tenfold.

suddenly clarisse had an idea, something that y/n often used on her when she refused to go to bed.

clarisse gently pulled y/n away from where her head had been resting on her shoulder. she smiled softly at the way y/n reluctantly pulled herself away from the comfort of clarisse's shoulder with a small frown.

"hey baby?" clarisse began, catching y/n's attention. "i'm getting kinda tired. do you wanna come lay down with me?"

all the concerned faces surrounding the two immediately relaxed as they realized what clarisse was trying to get y/n to do. one of y/n's siblings began inching herself forward, hands reaching towards the sword still dangling from y/n's fingers.

"you are?" y/n asked, concern immediately taking over her features. "are you okay? you never get tired during the day?"

clarisse had to close her eyes to keep from laughing at the way y/n immediately became concerned about her when she was currently unable to stand.

"i'm fine, baby," clarisse said, making sure she was speaking in soothing tones, unaware of the fact that everybody around them was shocked at hearing clarisse sound so loving and gentle. "i just need a little power nap. do you wanna come lay down with me?" she repeated the question from earlier, with a bit more urgency this time, hoping that y/n would just come with her.

y/n seemed to think for a minute. "i mean... i guess, but... what about sword practice?" her words were practically slurring at this point.

"don't worry about sword practice," your sibling said from behind you. "we've got this all covered, right guys?" everyone immediately started nodding.

it was clear nobody was eager to have a loopy y/n running around swinging a sword, which was fair. clarisse certainly didn't want that either, the fear of y/n possibly hurting others or, gods forbid, herself was too great.

after the all-clear from everyone was given, clarisse turned back to her girlfriend. "see? everyone's gonna be okay for one day without you. it'll be hard, but they'll manage. can you come lay down with me please?"

clarisse engaged the puppy dog eyes she only ever used when trying to get y/n to do something, making sure to lay it on thick as she really just wanted y/n to lay down.

y/n looked at clarisse for a few seconds, clearly falling under the spell of the puppy dog eyes, and then threw her head back dramatically before saying, "alright, let's go you big baby,"

clarisse couldn't hold back the chuckle this time.

"alright, thank you baby," she said, letting go of y/n's waist in favor of holding her hand, hopefully to lead her back to her cabin as quickly as possible.

they ran into a problem rather quickly when y/n began stumbling, and would've hit the ground if it wasn't for clarisse's quick reflexes.

"baby, why are you falling? are you okay?" there was an urgency in clarisse's voice. they were a little bit away from the group of other demigods at this point, but everyone could hear the fear in clarisse's voice.

y/n yawned as she leaned against clarisse. "yeah... i just..." she yawned again. "i took some medicine before i left the cabin, and i thought it was dayquil but it was actually nyquil,"

clarisse closed her eyes for a second to process this information.

"so. you're telling me..." clarisse let out a small chuckle. "you took nyquil, a medicine that makes you fall asleep, and then you went to sword practice?"

y/n scoffed. "you make that sound like it's a bad thing. it's called dedication, actually,"

clarisse closed her eyes again so she could roll them. "okay baby, yeah," she said soothingly. "you're very dedicated, but i still need to lay down, remember? can i carry you?"

y/n rolled her eyes, or at least... it looked that way. clarisse figured it also could be her eyes rolling back into her head, it was becoming increasingly clear just how tired her girlfriend was, seeing as everytime she closed her eyes they stayed closed for a few extra seconds.

clarisse would be worried she was dying if she hadn't just been told that she had taken nyquil before going to sword practice.

y/n nodded eventually, and clarisse didn't hesitate to throw y/n's arm around her shoulder before tucking her arm under her knees and hoisting her up into her hold.

clarisse paused to give y/n a kiss on her hair before taking off for her cabin.

"we're gonna take a nice nap together, and then hopefully when we wake up we'll both feel better," she whispered into her ear.

"yeah," y/n yawned. "that sounds nice,"

everyone back at the sword fighting area looked on the situation with a feeling of curiosity and also confusion, because none of them had ever seen clarisse act this way before. clarisse was known for being brash and mean; they weren't accustomed to this softer side of clarisse, and it was a bit jarring.

it was definitely interesting to see, though.

taglist: @asvterias @lvrue

[casualheizouenjoyers]

- secrets i have held in my heart

featuring: jing yuan, bailu, yanqing, reader

warnings: a bit angsty ig, hanahaki au, blood, sickness, throwing up, coughing and just general sick stuff

Orchids grow where others cannot.

This phrase reigns especially true when orchids begin to grow in your body. Scratching your throat and clogging up your lungs. 

You try to laugh it off as a small cough, a small sickness, as if the whole thing didn’t fill you with dread when you thought about the invasive plant infesting your every breath. 

It isn’t until finally you violently cough over your sink that a bloodied white orchid petal came fluttering out.

Were… you some form of mara struck? You wondered in confusion at the collection of petals that grew with each hack of your lungs. 

The high elder —Bailu— immediately takes up your case. Which is potentially concerning as you’ve gone to about possibly any doctor that will see you for some kind of explanation to your floral fever and none of them have had anything good to say. 

In fact, they have nothing to say about your illness. No one knew what was causing the orchids to bloom, making a home of your decaying body; a pretty parasite taking you ahold. 

The little Vidyadhara girl frowned upon seeing the collection of whole flowers and crumbled petals, all coated with a splattered layer of dried blood. 

Bailu’s eyes squinted as she observed the floral. 

Perhaps, it was some kind of achievement that you had every doctor and healer on the luofu stumped at your conditions? 

It isn’t until you’re coughing out another flower, this time red covering it was still vibrant and liquid, that the healer decided you were some form of mara struck and needed to be monitored closely. Even as she wrote out her prescription and made you promise to come back the next week, you could tell she wasn’t too sure about what she was saying.

That did absolutely nothing to calm your nerves. 

You go home after collecting your prescription and puke out leaves and stems along with the flowers. 

Despite your sickness, work is work, you decided, and working as a tutor was fulfilling for you. You hope —prayed— that the sight of your favorite student, Yanqing, would bring you some form of joy. The lesson went smoothly, though it was clear your student’s mind was up in the clouds, but you didn’t comment about it as yours was rooted deep elsewhere. 

With the closing of the textbook, Yanqing’s eyes light up. 

“Can we swordfight now?” The teenaged boy asked.

You almost said no.

You had realized early on that Yanqing would do his work and pay attention better if you found a way to relate it to swordsmanship, or if you promised that the two of you would spar a little after a lesson. 

There was a growing weakness in your body. It seemed that describing the flowers as a parasite wasn’t inaccurate, as every day went on you felt them drain the energy out of you. 

Yanqing waited for your response.

You nodded, standing up and picking up your sword from where it rested on a wall. Once, you had used it as a cloud knight, now it only ever saw use when teaching the blonde boy. 

Yanqing excitedly ran to the other side of the room, drawing his sword and getting into position. He paused, looking over at you.

When did your eyes become so sunken in? Your hand shook as you held your sword up and it became increasingly clear to Yanqing that you were in no position to swordfight. 

Your student called out your name, a hint of concern in his voice. 

“I— Give me a moment—” You called out, placing a hand on your head as a sudden headache came, making your vision blur and your legs lose balance as you head tumbling for the floor.

Yanqing tossed his sword far away as he slid to catch you. 

Bailu is halfway through her yearly appointment with the general when you come in with Yanqing by your side.

You mumbled apologies for the interruption and swore on your life you were fine. 

You had honestly not realized how bad things had gotten in the few days from the last time you had seen the healer.

Your heart fluttered at the sight of Jing Yuan.

The orchid also fluttered out of your mouth in a set of coughs that leave you out of breath on the ground, Yanqing down at your side again. 

There are multiple voices speaking but your mind can focus on none of them. 

Jing Yuan helped you up and you feel your heart clench up as a choke comes to your throat.

More orchids. 

He whispered to you in a soft voice, trying to help you through this coughing fit as Yanqing explained the situation that had happened just a few minutes before. 

Bailu watched this, shock painted on the girls face as she realized two truths.

You were indeed mara struck, just with a rare mutation that had gone out thousands of years ago. 

You were also in love with the general

and it was going to be the death of you.

[hismourningflower]

YOU'RE NOT HER | genshin impact fanfiction. zhongli x gn!reader — heavy angst, hanahaki disease, hurt/no comfort, mentions of blood & gagging (almost vomit), death, ‘unrequited’ love

idle chatter. this is a reupload from my old blog so if you want to argue that i'm stealing, i'm literally robbing myself <3 library waiting list. @lovingluxury @dumbificat @starryshinyskies @ryuryuryuyurboat @ainescribe @bfjax @soleillunne @sangoqueenkoko

aventurine's addition. "alexi, darling, don't forget to link 'you should have been her' for the readers. it is the infamous second part, after all."

oh that man, that gorgeous, benevolent man you’d fell in love with all those moons ago; with dark hair that fades into a glowing orange, resemblant of the sunset and his own geo vision. you had fell in love, yes - you thought he had too. the thought crosses your mind whenever he’s not by your side, not within your grasp like he usually is. typically, the man was serving his job at the wangsheng funeral parlour as a consultant.

you grimace when the tight feeling in your ribcage suffocates you. it’s getting stronger as time goes on, knocking the breath right out of your lungs and leaving you hacking up blood into a white handkerchief. zhongli had expressed no ends of concern about the situation when he’d find the bloodied handkerchiefs scattered around your shared home, ushering you to doctor baizhu as soon as possible.

you had begged baizhu not to utter a word of your condition to zhongli. he returned your pleads with a sorrowful look.

how could your love be so unrequited? had you been the only one true to your word this whole time? the mere thought stings at your eyes, tears threatening to spill as you shakily wash the dishes. zhongli isn’t home, not for a few more hours. he said he had business to attend to - that meant it wasn’t work related. was he cheating? you shake the sour thought away from your head, scowling.

you wonder if the oh-so-wise man could ever read the wrinkles appearing on your skin, aging you with every passing concern that you don’t voice aloud, with every day that goes by where you’re suffocating from the inside out. he never mentions it, perhaps he simply does not care. you feel the knot in your throat, sickening as you gag and splutter into the soapy water of the sink. you keep gagging, the knot doesn’t budge and you’re filled with an overwhelming sense of nausea.

your body grows tired. you slip down to your knees, banging elbows and other limp limbs against kitchen cabinets as you go down. finally, with one last cough, the knot exits your mouth. it falls to the wood floorboards beneath you, slimy and covered in blood but undoubtedly recognised as a glaze lily. its petals are shut, you understand that there is no music, no lullaby to be heard to lull the glaze lily to bloom. it’s an ancient flower, one you always used to admire before this curse laid upon you.

the front door to your house opens, keys jingling in a specific man’s gloved hands as he enters. you hurry to throw the glaze lily out of the kitchen window, submerging your hands in the sink once more as the metallic taste of blood and lingering aftermath of a floral tang swarms your mouth. you hold your breath, hoping you didn’t have the appearance of someone who had just coughed up a flower so violently.

a pair of strong arms wrap around your waist, suddenly you’re hit with the faint smell of aged wine and familiar scent of freshly dug earth. you smile at the thought, leaning back into his chest despite the pain tearing at your lungs and the burning sensation left behind in your throat.

“you’ve been coughing again—” zhongli’s voice reverberates close to your ear, hot breath fanning over your skin and your eyes raise from the dirty water to your reflection in the kitchen window, where zhongli’s warm amber eyes are staring at you so deeply.

“it’s okay, my love, i promise,” you lie through your teeth, hoping the man sincerely couldn’t read through you the way he used to, “this time it was a smaller amount than the last…”

you try to sound cheerful in your approach to the topic, careful to maintain that personality he’d apparently fell in love with one day in liyue harbour. zhongli makes a noise - is he doubting you? you watch as a gloved hand raises, nearing your face before his thumb wipes gently at a trickle of blood leading from the corner of your lips.

“i’ll speak to doctor baizhu in the morning,” zhongli states firmly, you almost bite back the words that taste bitter about him ‘caring’ for you, “perhaps you need a higher dose of your medication.”

the medication in question surely had been a ruse to fool the man, though you did not expect it to have worked. changsheng had uttered that you could not leave the bubu pharmacy without some form of medication, it’d look absurd in the eyes of the wangsheng funeral parlour consultant. in agreement, baizhu had qiqi mix violetgrass powder with sugar - the instructions were simple, mix it into the hot tea you’d drink with zhongli every evening.

it was sweet, not at all bitter and the scent of violetgrass made it bearable. apparently the inclusion of herbal properties was enough to fool your dearest partner or so you thought.

—

it’s hard to understand the fine line between a lie and a truth when the past few months, you’d been dating a man for someone whomst he was not. it was a struggle to understand the situation but it kept you up for endless nights, counting stars and tending to the numerous flora you’d planted in the garden underneath the moonlight - courtesy of your friend the traveler for appearing with so many countless seeds of blooms from across teyvat.

yet as you sit on the grass, staring at the pile of dead - and dying - glaze lilies you had acquired, the stars twinkling endlessly above you, you understood why he’d done it. he was judicious, hoping to protect you from his past yet keep you as his future. the thought made that pain in your chest tighten. you let out a futile whimper into the quiet night.

as you ponder zhongli’s status as liyue’s archon - the geo archon of all people, you begin to question your previous doubts. your breaths become struggled, your chest heaving as you lay on your back for some relief. trembling fingertips brush amongst blades of grass, hoping for a distraction as tears spill down your cheeks.

liyue is a beautiful country with vast mountains and yellowed plains that seem to stretch endlessly. its civilisation had become fruitful at the expense of liyue harbor, bustling with trade and the thing your partner had appeared to love the most; contracts. he has every right to be proud of the nation liyue had built to this day, despite claiming that he’d ultimately retired - “the people can do without me, they’ve proved that much.”

blood trickles from your mouth but it’s not gentle, it’s a rush, like a waterfall as it spills down the sides of your face and pools on the grass below you. it’s littered in an array of blue and white petals, matching that of glaze lilies - a flower you’d grown to hate. you struggle to get oxygen into your lungs with the rising level of blood that doesn’t dissipate from your parted lips, suffocating you as you try to no ends to breathe through your nose.

that is, if there was room in your lungs for such oxygen. twists and turns of branches and roots that climb to the walls of your organs, painting them with glaze lilies and filling them with fallen petals every time a flower wilts from the unreasonable conditions inside your body.

you’re proud of liyue; the magnificent, beautiful nation of geo that you got to experience in all of its glory. zhongli often times referred to liyue with feminine pronouns and as the light dies from your eyes and your chest ceases to rise, you can only think one thing with your last dying breath.

you’re not her.

⊹˚₊‧───────────────‧₊˚⊹

© thexianzhoujade 2024. | reblogs appreciated | do not re-upload, copy, translate, etc. my works on any form of media.

[arctrooper69]

As Iron Sharpens Iron

"As iron sharpens iron, so one person sharpens another." Proverbs 27:17

Chapter 14:

Previous // Next

Warnings: Canon violence

--------------------------------------------------

The trip back to your small shuttle seemed to take twice as long.

“... yeah the shuttle’s still there…”

The subtle echo of voices and gear drifted across the rocky terrain and you froze. For a moment it disappeared and you’d almost convinced yourself that once again this moon was playing tricks on you.

A haggard, hacking cough sounded from around the corner where piles of slag leaned and stacked over each other creating some sort of natural shelter beside the mouth of yet another cavernous mineshaft.

You dove behind a large boulder. Kriff. Cid had said the planet was uninhabited.

Is someone else after the jewels too?

Cid hadn't mentioned that either. You were going to have a serious talk with her when you got back.

If I even make it back in one piece. You rubbed your aching shoulder. From the way this mission was going, you weren't sure just how intact you'd be.

This place is a death trap. At least I have the jewels. Hard part’s over.

The roving light of a headlamp flickered against the rocks before blinking out.

“Karabast!” came a growling curse, “Those kriffing rocks better be worth as much as you say they are, woman!”

“Relax, Nakan.” a female voice snapped, sounding exasperated. “You’ll get your money.”

Two other voices squabled further away.

“Enj! Rico! Get your asses over here!” the female shouted. She sounded human, or at least humanoid.

Crawling slowly, you peered through the cracks of the boulder, to get a better look.

A human woman paced the ground and a large Nikto crouched a few feet from the edge of a mineshaft beneath the craggy overhang of shale. Nakan, the woman had called him.

The ones she’d called Enj and Rico were Weequay - male and female. The female spat on the ground. “We’re wasting our time out here, Boss. There’s nothing here.”

“There will be!” The human crossed her arms, “You just have to trust me!”

The male Weequay said something that you couldn’t quite hear and she nodded. The Nikto got to his feet and followed the others as they continued to search for a different mine.

The voices faded off into the distance, but you waited a little longer before coming out of hiding.

Dust floated through the air, forcing itself deep into your lungs and you choked. Eyes watering, you instinctively reached, pulling the fabric of your shirt to cover your mouth and nose.

Even the air is getting worse. It burnt your lungs. Almost there.

A brief flash of alarmed confusion was the only warning before you found yourself violently acquainted with the ground once again, head forced into the dirt and arms wrenched painfully behind your back, drawing a pained squeal as air was forced from your lungs.

“Hey, boss! Look what I found!” Scaled hands dragged you to your feet, maintaining the iron grip that trapped your arms painfully behind you.

“Get off, asshole!” You spit dirt from your mouth, throwing your shoulders forward to try and yank yourself free.

A sudden click and your jaw snapped shut. The hot dedlanite barrel of a blaster burned into the skin of your forehead. Muscles stiffened as the woman from before brought the blaster down your face, resting it just below your chin, forcing it up so that she could see your face.

“Just when I thought my luck had run out!” she chuckled, “You look like shit and you know what that tells me?”

You glared.

She continued anyway, “That tells me that you’ve been spelunking around here. You find any shiny rocks?”

Any fear left in your worn out mind hardened to a spiteful anger.

Get your own shiny rocks, bitch. These are mine.

Despite the dryness of the air or how your lips cracked and screamed for relief, you spat. “Kriff off!”

Pain exploded from your cheekbone, radiating down your neck as she whipped the blaster without warning.

She slowly wiped the spit from her cheek. “Fine. We’ll do this your way then.”

She turned to one of the Weequays. “Search her. Take what you want then get rid of her.”

The Nikto merely grunted as you kicked your foot back, struggling to gain some semblance of control as he pulled already screaming shoulders ever tighter, binding your hands behind your back.

Nausea flooded passages already inhabited with the adrenaline fueled struggle. It made you dizzy.

A hand jerked the pouch from your belt, renewing the fight to aching muscles. You threw back your head, connecting with the face of the Weequay who’d stolen the stones from your belt. He cursed, dropping the stones, hands flying instinctively to his broken nose.

You reached desperately for the bag of jewels, fingers just barely brushing the fabric.

If I can’t have them, then you definitely can’t.

Another tremor rattled the ground and you watched with numb satisfaction as the small bag tumbled from the ledge into the abyss below.

The woman slammed your head into the ground once more and your vision went white.

“Go in there and get those damn stones!” she snapped over her shoulder, “I’ll take care of her myself!”

The ground began to rumble. A larger quake this time. Stones and dust were violently tossed into the air.

“Shit, just go! Get out!”

Everything was silent then, so slow that it felt as if you were floating - propelled from the edge not by a boot, but by a gentle wind.

***

The Marauder lay so peaceful after that mission.

The memory came to you suddenly as if you’d slipped into a dream, mind desperately grasping to cushion a cruel reality as you tumbled down into the dark.

Omega and Wrecker were laughing because a stray piece of Mantell Mix had landed directly in Tech’s unruly curls and stayed there unmoving. Tech had moved on into the cockpit, yet still that sticky sweet stayed put. It was only when Hunter could no longer keep the grin from his lips nor the laughter from his eyes, that he’d noticed.

That’s the part that played like a holofilm over and over again. The subtly raised eyebrow at Omega’s joyfully hidden giggles. That spark of laughter in eyes that had been serious for too long. The muscles that rippled along his neck and jaw as he held back laughter that soon broke loose and the way he breathed so easily again - momentarily free from the weight of an ever changing galaxy. He was happy.

Oh, what you would do to give him that once more.

I’m sorry, Hunter.

--------------------------------------------------

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[https-furina]

✎ you’re not her. ft. zhongli x fem!reader content. heavy angst, hanahaki disease, hurt/no comfort, mentions of blood & gagging (almost vomit), death, ‘unrequited’ love. w.c. tba.

you should have been her — part two.

oh that man, that gorgeous, benevolent man you’d fell in love with all those moons ago; with dark hair that fades into a glowing orange, resemblant of the sunset and his own geo vision. you had fell in love, yes - you thought he had too. the thought crosses your mind whenever he’s not by your side, not within your grasp like he usually is. typically, the man was serving his job at the wangsheng funeral parlour as a consultant.

you grimace when the tight feeling in your ribcage suffocates you. it’s getting stronger as time goes on, knocking the breath right out of your lungs and leaving you hacking up blood into a white handkerchief. zhongli had expressed no ends of concern about the situation when he’d find the bloodied handkerchiefs scattered around your shared home, ushering you to doctor baizhu as soon as possible.

you had begged baizhu not to utter a word of your condition to zhongli. he returned your pleads with a sorrowful look.

how could your love be so unrequited? had you been the only one true to your word this whole time? the mere thought stings at your eyes, tears threatening to spill as you shakily wash the dishes. zhongli isn’t home, not for a few more hours. he said he had business to attend to - that meant it wasn’t work related. was he cheating? you shake the sour thought away from your head, scowling.

you wonder if the oh-so-wise man could ever read the wrinkles appearing on your skin, aging you with every passing concern that you don’t voice aloud, with every day that goes by where you’re suffocating from the inside out. he never mentions it, perhaps he simply does not care. you feel the knot in your throat, sickening as you gag and splutter into the soapy water of the sink. you keep gagging, the knot doesn’t budge and you’re filled with an overwhelming sense of nausea.

your body grows tired. you slip down to your knees, banging elbows and other limp limbs against kitchen cabinets as you go down. finally, with one last cough, the knot exits your mouth. it falls to the wood floorboards beneath you, slimy and covered in blood but undoubtedly recognised as a glaze lily. its petals are shut, you understand that there is no music, no lullaby to be heard to lull the glaze lily to bloom. it’s an ancient flower, one you always used to admire before this curse laid upon you.

the front door to your house opens, keys jingling in a specific man’s gloved hands as he enters. you hurry to throw the glaze lily out of the kitchen window, submerging your hands in the sink once more as the metallic taste of blood and lingering aftermath of a floral tang swarms your mouth. you hold your breath, hoping you didn’t have the appearance of someone who had just coughed up a flower so violently.

a pair of strong arms wrap around your waist, suddenly you’re hit with the faint smell of aged wine and familiar scent of freshly dug earth. you smile at the thought, leaning back into his chest despite the pain tearing at your lungs and the burning sensation left behind in your throat.

“you’ve been coughing again—” zhongli’s voice reverberates close to your ear, hot breath fanning over your skin and your eyes raise from the dirty water to your reflection in the kitchen window, where zhongli’s warm amber eyes are staring at you so deeply.

“it’s okay, my love, i promise,” you lie through your teeth, hoping the man sincerely couldn’t read through you the way he used to, “this time it was a smaller amount than the last…”

you try to sound cheerful in your approach to the topic, careful to maintain that personality he’d apparently fell in love with one day in liyue harbour. zhongli makes a noise - is he doubting you? you watch as a gloved hand raises, nearing your face before his thumb wipes gently at a trickle of blood leading from the corner of your lips.

“i’ll speak to doctor baizhu in the morning,” zhongli states firmly, you almost bite back the words that taste bitter about him ‘caring’ for you, “perhaps you need a higher dose of your medication.”

the medication in question surely had been a ruse to fool the man, though you did not expect it to have worked. changsheng had uttered that you could not leave the bubu pharmacy without some form of medication, it’d look absurd in the eyes of the wangsheng funeral parlour consultant. in agreement, baizhu had qiqi mix violetgrass powder with sugar - the instructions were simple, mix it into the hot tea you’d drink with zhongli every evening.

it was sweet, not at all bitter and the scent of violetgrass made it bearable. apparently the inclusion of herbal properties was enough to fool your dearest partner or so you thought.

—

it’s hard to understand the fine line between a lie and a truth when the past few months, you’d been dating a man for someone whomst he was not. it was a struggle to understand the situation but it kept you up for endless nights, counting stars and tending to the numerous flora you’d planted in the garden underneath the moonlight - courtesy of your friend the traveler for appearing with so many countless seeds of blooms from across teyvat.

yet as you sit on the grass, staring at the pile of dead - and dying - glaze lilies you had acquired, the stars twinkling endlessly above you, you understood why he’d done it. he was judicious, hoping to protect you from his past yet keep you as his future. the thought made that pain in your chest tighten. you let out a futile whimper into the quiet night.

as you ponder zhongli’s status as liyue’s archon - the geo archon of all people, you begin to question your previous doubts. your breaths become struggled, your chest heaving as you lay on your back for some relief. trembling fingertips brush amongst blades of grass, hoping for a distraction as tears spill down your cheeks.

liyue is a beautiful country with vast mountains and yellowed plains that seem to stretch endlessly. its civilisation had become fruitful at the expense of liyue harbor, bustling with trade and the thing your partner had appeared to love the most; contracts. he has every right to be proud of the nation liyue had built to this day, despite claiming that he’d ultimately retired - “the people can do without me, they’ve proved that much.”

blood trickles from your mouth but it’s not gentle, it’s a rush, like a waterfall as it spills down the sides of your face and pools on the grass below you. it’s littered in an array of blue and white petals, matching that of glaze lilies - a flower you’d grown to hate. you struggle to get oxygen into your lungs with the rising level of blood that doesn’t dissipate from your parted lips, suffocating you as you try to no ends to breathe through your nose.

that is, if there was room in your lungs for such oxygen. twists and turns of branches and roots that climb to the walls of your organs, painting them with glaze lilies and filling them with fallen petals every time a flower wilts from the unreasonable conditions inside your body.

you’re proud of liyue; the magnificent, beautiful nation of geo that you got to experience in all of its glory. zhongli often times referred to liyue with feminine pronouns and as the light dies from your eyes and your chest ceases to rise, you can only think one thing with your last dying breath.

you’re not her.

© https-furina 2023.

[iovesia]

❛⠀SEEING DOUBLES.

kinktober 2023. — entry three.

synopsis. don't answer the door, don't leave the house, don't pick up the phone, but most of all, don't scream.

✶⠀ ׅ⠀ ࣪⠀warnings. ghostface!john wick 𝑥 f!reader 𝑥 ghostface!john constantine — threesome. breaking and entering. extremely dubious consent. non con elements. use of knives. oral (m receiving). reader's hair can be grabbed.

josie's little note .. ignore the fact that this is a month late.. i'm so sorry y'all. i hate writing threesomes, so probs my last time doing it LMAO but i hope you guys enjoy !!

YOU WERE HOME ALONE. 

How cliché.

The muffled sound of the ads on tv filled the eerie silence in your house. You laid comfortably on your couch, flicking through your newest edition of 'Seventeen’ magazine. Your roomates were out for a night in the city, leaving your recluse self to enjoy proper solitude for once.

The landline snaps you from your reading as the obnoxious ring echoes through your desolate house. You groan annoyedly, tossing your magazine to the side as you lazily stroll to the kitchen. 

“Who the hell is calling me now?” you huff. 

Taking the white phone off the wall, you put it to your ear, gently toying with the phone cord. 

“Hello?” You sigh, a tinge of annoyance in your voice. The hoarse breathing on the other end makes you quirk your brow. “Uh… hellloooo?”

The voice breathes hoarsely before clearing its throat, then a gravely melody follows. “Hello.”

A long silence fills the phone line. A sudden crackle of the popcorn cooking on the pan snaps you into conversation. “Who is this?”

“Who’s this?” The gravelly voice repeats my words back. 

“You called me, man,” you roll your eyes, resting your head against the wall. The raspy voice just breathes quietly on the other line, slowly ticking you off. A second wave of silence washes over this dry exchange. “Okay, then…”

You hang up the phone. Just as you turn away, the damn landline starts ringing violently again. With another groan, you harshly grab the landline. “Hello?” Your tone switched 180, getting more irritated the longer you’re away from rotting on the couch with your magazine.

“What’re you up to?” The same raspy voice chuckles softly. You squint your eyes, raising a brow as an incredulous laugh escapes your throat. 

“Is this your pickup line? Calling random strangers and asking what they’re up to?” You retort, holding the landline with your shoulder as you walk further into the kitchen and rummage through some snacks. 

“Aw, I wouldn’t say we’re strangers,” the unknown man replies with faux-hurt in his voice. Resisting to roll the eyes out of your skull, you hum in response. You take out a small packet of popcorn.

“Oh yeah? You don’t even know my name,” you scoff, using your teeth to rip the plastic wrap before carelessly tossing the popcorn package into the microwave.

“I’d like to,” the raspy voice teases, and you can envision the cheeky grin. The gravely stranger finally manages to weasel out a weak laugh from you. 

“Is that so?”

“Don’t be a tease.. How about we play a game for it?” The voice offers. Now you were intrigued. The microwave beeps in the background as you rest against your marble countertop. There’s a pregnant pause before you shrug.

“Fine, what the hell,” you indulge this stranger. “What game?”

“20 questions. Think of someone, and I’ll guess.”

A snort and giggle comes through your nose. Jesus, how old is he? 

You take a brief glance out your kitchen window, eyeing the empty garden and illuminated pool in your backyard. You roll your shoulders back, elbow resting on the countertop. There’s quiet breathing on the other end again before it coughs. 

“Ew,” you whisper at the sound of the hacking cough.

“Are they a woman?” The voice murmurs in your ear. 

“Yeah,” you smirk. Trying to screw with this guy a little, you think of yourself, knowing this random stranger would never get it. 

“Are they famous?”

“I wish,” you snicker, enjoying your own little inside joke. Your childish snickers suddenly died at this mysterious stranger’s next words. 

“Do they like to read girly Seventeen magazines, like the one on your couch?”

Beep. Beep. Your popcorn finished snapping in your microwave.

The landline nearly fell from your hand as you froze. You felt your chest tighten, and you furrow your brows in confusion. “What did you say?” Your voice drops to a mere whisper, the colour draining from your face. Goosebumps swim on your skin, and out the corner of your eye, you glance back at the living room.

The magazine was gone.

“I’m more of a Playboy guy myself,” The voice continues, completely ignoring your worried tone. “Maybe I’ll see you on the cover one day,” he teases.

“This isn’t funny, asshole!” You blurt angrily, but the voice cracks alert him of your fear. Your mystery caller simply laughs at your cursing, his voice sounding more ominous than playful by the second.

“At least now we’re not strangers anymore.”

“I’m calling the cops,” the threat is empty, but you hope to strike fear into this (hopefully) prank-caller. Your bare feet pad against the wooden floor, rushing to the front door and checking the locks. 

“Aw, but I still have 16 questions left..” the voice pouts mockingly. 

“Fuck you,” you spit, hanging up the phone with a trembling hand. The sound of your shaky breath fills the vacant home. Crickets chirping out the window fail to ease your nerves as they set in your unfortunate reality. 

You’re home alone.

Immediately, you rush to your porch to make sure the door’s lock and immediately come to see a dark figure standing by your lit pool. A bloodcurdling scream erupts from your throat at the sight, and you stumble over your feet to lock the glass sliding door. 

The light of the pool barely illuminated the figure’s face— a mask. The pale white mask, with a long mouth, and big blacked out eyes. His silhouette was concealed by the long black cloak.. Like a babadook. The face of a ghost. The unknown stranger lifts his hand up, revealing a small black flip phone. He waves it mockingly before holding it to his ear.

Ring. Ring.

Your landline rings again, unbreaking your eye contact with the looming stranger in your backyard. Cautiously and carefully stepping back from the glass door, you reach for the phone once again.

“H—”

“Hang up on me again and I’ll gut you like a fish,” this time the voice was at least 4 octaves lower, and growled at you. Your lower lip trembled, as your eyes stung with tears. 

“W-What do you want?” You whisper, swallowing a lump in your throat. 

“Next question..” the voice pauses. “Does she have an unlocked backdoor?”

Suddenly, a booming crack of wood followed by the sound of shattering glass echoed in the back of the home. Another weak squeal leaves your lips when you instinctively turn your head to the hallway, seeing a broken vase on the ground. When you turn your head back to the porch, and scream again when the stranger is pressed up against the glass door. His mask now flashing in all its plastic glory.

“Let me in, baby..” his disgusting pet name only makes you whimper. Your big eyes well up with fearful tears and you quake right where you're standing.

“Go away.. Please go away..” you sob. 

His black gloved hand pressed against the glass, his index finger tapping in a rhythm against the transparent door. Your brows furrowed in confusion, more sobs falling from your quivering lips. 

A breath hits your neck.

You watch as the stranger pressed against the door starts laughing, his head lolling back and his ominous laughter rings in your ear. Turning around painfully slowly, the landline falls from your hand, smashing to the ground. 

Any sound dies in your throat, jaw dropping when you crane your neck up to a twin of your intruder on the porch. With the same jarring ghostface mask, and long black cloak, the second stranger tilts his head to the side. 

Your wobbling legs only take you so far back away from the nightmarish figure, a pair of arms wrapped around your waist. Held in his vice grip, you instinctively start kicking and sobbing desperately, accidentally (yet successful) managing to shove your foot into the groin of the second intruder.

He lets out a sharp groan, barely bending in pain as the first intruder continues holding you in his tight grip. He’s unrelenting in his hold and damn near picks you off the ground, as if you were a sack of flour. 

“Oh, now you’re gonna get it.”

The once comforting feel of your living room carpet felt like smaller daggers as the broken glass of your porch door dug into your knees. The two matching intruders towered over you, the shorter one holds a tight grip on your hair, while his blade rests under your chin. 

“Please—” Your begs were silenced when the blade pressed against your delicate skin, a small slice stinging your neck. The taller masked figure’s scratchy gloved fingers stroke the side of your tear covered face. 

“Question 15... is she a pretty crier?” the slightly shorter ghostfaced figure tugs your hair, making you whimper. 

“Enough, Constantine,” the other chimes in. His voice much lower than his partner in crime’s— a baritone, authoritative sound that did nothing to soothe your fears. It’s clear the accomplice with a death grip on your scalp was the one on the phone, his husky voice that was a melody to your ears, had this been under any other circumstance.

“I thought we said no names, Wick.”

Constantine and Wick. You finally matched names to the two psychos.

“It’s not like she’ll be alive to remember them.” 

The two go back and forth, their argument silenced when “John” grabs the bottom of his plastic mask, and whips it off his face. Your lips part slightly, eyes widened at the sight. An older man, mid 40s at most. His short black beard decorated across his lower face, and his piercing black eyes piercing down at your trembling figure. His calloused hand reached for your chin, redirecting your head side to side, as if you were cattle being inspected.

“She’s pretty,” he hums, almost sounding impressed. This older man speaks as if you’re not even forcibly knelt down before him. The other man, who you now know to be Constantine, tugs your hair once again and this time makes you gasp sharply. 

“Ow—”

“Be quiet,” Constantine hisses, the blade pressing an millimetre deeper, releasing a few droplets onto your tight t-shirt. The cool metal shifts from under your neck, and now presses against your cheek, a faint crimson line staining your face. 

“Please just let me go. I won’t say anything!” your voice is shaking, as you desperately plead with the two burglars. “Take whatever you want! I won’t say anything! I promise!”

A pregnant pause fills the air, and the two men share a sly glance. The sinister look in their matching dark irises only made you squirm more. Like a mouse caught under the sharp metal trap.

“Anything we want?” Wick raises a brow, his monotonous tone barely masks the innuendo in his words. The older man nods to Constantine, and your second assailant finally reveals himself, taking off his own ghost mask. 

Constantine was presumably a few years younger than Wick, lacking in the facial hair department with only a 5 o’clock shadow, but it defined his sharp jawline more. He almost mimicked Wick to a T. 

The sinister look in their matching dark irises only made you squirm more.

“I think you need to apologise for your little tantrum earlier,” Constantine taunts, his tug on your hair, forcing you to crane your neck fully upwards to Wick. Horror hits you like a bucket of ice water when Wick’s large hand slowly rubs over his clothed groin. “Maybe you should kiss it better—”

“Fuck you!” You blurt out, absolutely appalled at the suggestion from these two devilish older men. Another pathetic whimper echoes from you as Constantine, still death gripping your hair, shoves your face against the rough felt material of his cloak. The sadistic asshole only chuckles at your whimpers whereas Wick remained stoic, and unreadable.

“You can either make it up to my friend here,” Constantine’s taunting tone shifts to menacing, “or we’ll find out what your insides look like with this little thing,” he pats the cold blade on your each with each word. 

A bead of sweat rolls down your face, mixing in with your salty tears. The hiccups and measly cries release from your frozen figure. Helplessly you watch as Wick rolls his cloak up to his hips, the sharp sound of the belt unbuckling jumps your heartbeat. 

“Just one little kiss..” Constantine coos with mockery, his hand finally loosening ever so slightly. Wick’s eyes betray his stone demeanour when you notice a cruel glint in his iris. Biles builds in your throat at the ominous zip of his jeans opening. 

Your eyes grew in disbelief when Wick actually took his cock out from under his pants. His cock was flushed, and already hardening. A thick vein ran from the bottom of his thick shaft all the way up to his pink mushroom tip that leaked pre-cum. You look up at him tearfully, almost begging for mercy, only for him to shoot it down by tapping his large dick against your cheek and lips.

“You know what to do..” Wick finally speaks, his baritone voice was soft on your ears. The salty pre-cum made you grimace as Wick pressed his tip against your plump lips, slowly penetrating your mouth. You let out a loud gag and couch, your lips fully stretched around Wick’s cock, and his tip almost hitting the back of your throat.

Constantine’s hand grips your hair tightly again, guiding your harsh movements like a ragdoll. He tugs you back and forth on the older man’s cock, before suddenly forcing your nose against Wick’s short pubes, his shaft fully lodged in your throat. 

Guttural moans fall from Wick’s lips, as he clenches his cloak tight, his knuckles widening. You struggle to breathe as you gag on the intrusion in your mouth. Your fingernails found their way to Wick’s thighs, pinching through his jeans. Constantine holds you in this position, until your eyes begin to roll backwards. 

“She’s already crying...” Constantine scoffs when he tugs you back. A thick string of spit and saliva connects from your puffy lips to Wick’s glistening cock. You cough harshly, as your throat already begins to ache, and globs of spit dribble down your chin.

“I think you can do better than that..” Wick purrs, his large hand grips your jaw, before gently patting your cheek. You hiccup on your spit, eyes fully blurred with tears when Wick presses the tip of his cock back onto your lips. You flatten your tongue against the underside of Wick’s shaft, taking kitten licks to stall time. Swirling your tongue around his tip, tasting his pre-cum once again, you elicit another husky groan from Wick.

Meanwhile Constantine’s hands venture down from your hair and lower on your body as he kneels behind you, his gloved fingers meticulously feeling each bump of your spine before reaching the swell of your ass. His hot breath hits the back of your neck, and his intruding fingers slide in between your legs, over your silk pajamas shorts.

You squeal suddenly, turning your head to look over your shoulder. Wick grabs your hair once again, focusing your attention back on him, his dick promptly thrusted right back in your mouth. 

“I think she’s enjoying this,” Constantine’s chuckles darkly, his thick fingers sliding under your flimsy shorts, feeling the damp spot on your panties with his digits. He presses hard on your bundle of nerves, and a girly whimper is muffled by Wick’s intrusion. Your toes curl, and your hips involuntarily buck when Constantine’s digits move in a slow circle. 

“So pretty with my cock in her mouth..” Wick says with a smug smile on his lips, his hand pushing your head aggressively. Your head bobs up and down Wick’s thick cock, your throat sore and your jaw aching as you cling to the fat of his thighs for support. 

“She does fucking like it. What a dirty little girl..” Constantine’s slippery fingers managed to hook your panties to the side, your juices coating his digits and only making him laugh cruelly at your expense. Two of his thick fingers slide past your folds, and your spongy walls clenched tightly. 

This seesaw movement of your hips grinding on Constantine’s hand as Wick abuses your mouth, has your body trembling, and legs burning from the uncomfortable position. But the two older men drink in every whimper, every cry and every tear— sickeningly getting off on your pain.

Your hair is ruthlessly pulled once again by Constantine. Coughs fill your lungs as you try to catch your breath, your lips completely smeared in spit and pre-cum. Wick’s fingers gather the globs of white spit and shoved into mouth, making you choke. Your throat throbbed, eyes borderline fluttering closed, and your knees were definitely bruised. 

Like a fucked out doll, your body was rendering submissive to your two burglars. 

“Last question..” Constantine snickers, his lips pressed against your ear. 

“How long can she last before she breaks?”

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Fin.

— taglist. @alwaysinblck @sickzmbie @nyxblessed @hearteyedbambi @worldsgreatestsinner @slutforsoldierboy @rizunaur @alox @sughcashsaiki @cillivnz @starrgurl46 @beansricejc @97keanu @the-trash-site @keanuthot @sulibbyyyyy @20s7nn @aerangi @alyssagames01 @nogr4vity @gea-chan96

[the-case-book-of-fanfiction]

Best Unremembered

Love Bites, Chapter 1 // Love Bites {Masterlist}

Ship: Astarion Ancunin x fem!vampire spawn!elf!Tav/reader

Summary: Waking up with a spotty memory and the only person you do remember is jarring enough—but it only gets worse when the people who remember you are monsters and strangers.

Word Count: 3,095 words

Warnings: exposition chapter, vampire spawn, Astarion lies, amnesia for the reader

Note: This is the first chapter of a nine chapter fic! It will be updated weekly. Check the posting schedule on my {Updates Page} and enjoy the fic! Please be warned it does contain some heavy themes related to Astarion's trauma.

☟ Continue below the fold ☟

Rough hands grabbed you from the comforting darkness surrounding you, ripping you violently from deep sleep. As your eyes fluttered open, you became aware of a constant, throbbing ache throughout your body. You were quite certain, without apparent reason, that your rest had not been all that restful.

He was nothing but a shadowed figure above you, his white hair a glowing halo around his head, outlined by the sun, as he shook you awake. He hovered above you and you couldn’t see his face, but you could tell he was afraid—he gripped your shoulders with a tightness that suggested he was afraid you’d disintegrate if he let you go. In fact, the fear radiated so strongly from him you were certain you could smell it. 

Your name. He was saying it, calling to you, begging you to wake up. The moment he realized your eyes had cracked open, he relaxed, his head dropping to your chest and a sob of relief escaping him. Without thinking about it, you put your hand in his hair; the move felt natural and practiced, like you’d been doing it all your life.

But who the hell was this man and why was he crying on your chest?

“What—” You coughed; your lungs felt heavy and full of…something. Your voice was rough as you asked, “What happened?” The words had barely gotten out when you started to wheeze. Suddenly very certain you were going to throw up, you sat up quickly, throwing him off and rolling onto your side. At first you dry-heaved, aware of his hand on your back.

“Let it out,” he told you, patting your back. “Trust me, you’ll feel better once you do.”

His words were magic. Perhaps it was simply how familiar he suddenly was or how silky smooth that voice was, but your body listened to him. You hacked up everything: slime and black dirt and congealed blood. He held you as you heaved. When you finally stopped coughing, you leaned back into his chest.

“Astarion,” you breathed, his name and his person once again firmly in your mind. You knew him, you trusted him, and by gods, you loved him.

“I’m right here,” he soothed. “Oh, darling.” He leaned his head into your shoulder. “Are you alright?”

“I’m not sure,” you panted. “Gods, what happened to me? Where the hells are we?”

You looked around, taking in the dirt path the two of you were sitting on, tall plants and trees casting some shadows across the path. You sat in the blaring sun, both of you dusty. And you recognized absolutely none of it.

“I wish I knew,” Astarion said. “We were on that ship—”

You practically choked. You turned in his lap to stare at him. “A ship?”

Astarion brushed your hair out of your face, nodding as he did, and you got your first good look at him. His silver hair was covered in a fine layer of dust and he squinted his crimson eyes to stare at you. He was paler than the Astarion you remembered, the skin around his eyes darker than they were on the face that had smiled at you in your childhood. 

Your eyes dipped to his neck out of wary instinct. You saw the twin puncture wounds and your memory seemed to play catch-up. Your Astarion, your elf—now a vampire. You reached out one hand to touch his scars and he flinched. Unfazed, you brought your hand to your own neck and found with your fingers the same marks on your neck.

“You don’t remember very much, do you?” he said.

“I… I don’t know.” Your chest seemed very tight. “Astarion, I don’t know what I don’t remember, everything’s all…all jumbled!”

Astarion seemed to catch on to your panicking before even you did. “Hey, hey, hey. Darling, look at me. It’s alright. We’ll figure it out together. What’s the last thing you remember?”

You wracked your brain. “Well…I remember drinking together last night. I remember you taking me to bed. And then…nothing. Just waking up right here, right now.”

He looked disappointed. “Is that all you remember of me?”

“What? Oh, no! That’s just the last thing I remember. We…we grew up together, didn’t we? We’ve been together since we were little.”

Relief crossed his face. It was a strange sight; some of it seemed genuine, and some of it seemed very forced. You chalked it up to your spotty memory as he hugged you tightly to his chest. You wrapped your arms around him as one of his arms curled around your waist, melting into his hold. Despite the building panic in your chest over the gaps in your memory, you felt yourself relax the longer he held you.

“Oh, thank gods,” he breathed. “I’d hate to have to start from scratch again. It would be a little bit difficult to catch up on two hundred some-odd years, eh?”

You cuddled into him. “Astarion?”

“Yes, dear?”

“How are we in the sun?”

He froze. After a moment, he pulled away from you and cupped your face. “Darling?”

You touched the marks on your neck again. “We’re vampires, aren’t we?” He nodded, biting his lip a bit guiltily; the sight of his fangs led you to run your tongue across your own, confirming your suspicion. “So how the hell are we in the sun? How is this possible?”

He hesitated, a frown forming on his beautiful face. “Well, I—I don’t know, but I suppose it has something to do with what happened on the ship.”

You sighed. “I don’t remember a ship, Astarion, what the hells are you talking about?”

Astarion pulled you to your feet. “We should find you some water—it might help you remember what happened—”

You stopped, not letting him drag you down the dirt path. “Astarion, please!” He froze, glancing back at you. It took only a few seconds before your lower lip started to wobble and for tears to start to spill over. He immediately pulled you into his arms. “I don’t remember anything. I don’t remember being turned into a vampire, I don’t remember what we’ve been doing for two hundred fucking years, my body aches and I have no clue why, and I certainly don’t remember a ship, so please, for the love of every god I couldn’t possibly name, tell me what happened last night and tell me why I don’t remember anything.”

He kissed the crown of your head, pulling you in and keeping you close to his chest. “Oh, darling. We went out last night. We were drinking. We were…” He huffed out an embarrassed laugh. “We were very drunk, love. I suppose that’s why we…went out again last night. After we…made love. Gods, if we had just stayed in…”

You looked up and searched his face; regret had overwhelmed his features and his eyes had filled with tears. “Asty?” The nickname came naturally and seemed to bring him out of his memories and back to you.

“They stole us from the street,” he said thickly. “We’d gone out for a…a walk. Like we always do, in the last few hours of night. And then those—those Mind Flayers took us and put parasites in our eyes. I…I don’t know what they do, but it can’t be good.”

“Can’t it?” you asked. “We can walk in the sun again. Isn’t that good?”

“Well, yes, but we know nothing else about it,” he said, biting his lip. “I don’t trust it.”

Some part of you wanted to argue, but you could sense his agitation and dropped it. “So what happened to the ship? How’d we get to the dirt?”

“It crashed,” he said simply. “Someone—or something—must have found a way to force us to crash land. We were thrown a ways away, and then I dragged you out of the rubble to try and wake you.” Astarion cupped your face in his hands and pressed your foreheads together. “Gods, I was so scared I was going to lose you.”

You held his wrists and kissed the tips of his fingers. “There are others, then? Other people from the ship?”

“If any of them survived, yes.”

“We should find them,” you said firmly. “Maybe they can help us figure out if these…parasites, or whatever they are, are good or bad.”

“You want to find other people? As vampires walking around in the full light of day?”

You considered his fear for a moment, then tugged his collar up to hide the punctures better. You did the same for yourself. “If we’re careful, no one will suspect us. If we don’t tell them we’re vampires, how will they know? We’re out and about in the sun. Perhaps we’re just really, really pale elves.” You rubbed your neck cautiously. The wound, though closed, was tender. “I can’t believe I don’t remember being turned. That’s the sort of thing someone would remember, right?”

Astarion shrugged. “Those Mind Flayers may have messed with your mind. They certainly poked around in my head too much for my liking.”

You rubbed your arms and leaned into his chest again. He hummed softly and wrapped you in a cool embrace. “Even if I don’t remember much, I’m glad you’re here with me. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

He kissed your cheek. “I’m glad—” He frowned. “Did you hear that?”

“Hear what?”

“Shouting.”

The two of you listened, bodies pressed close together, until the sound came again: a man’s voice, shouting for help. You spared a quick glance at Astarion and chose to ignore the apprehension on his face before dragging him in the direction of the shouting.

Just over the crest of a steep hill, you found yourself staring straight into a hole in the stone mountainside, glowing and pulsing with a deep purple magic—and a hand sticking out of it.

“Hello? Hello! A little help here!”

You and Astarion exchanged a glance. He shrugged. You rolled your eyes and took the man’s hand. You grit your teeth as you tugged. It was only when you slid toward the portal that Astarion grabbed on, too, and yanked you back—and the man out with you.

He dusted off his deep purple robes and stood up straight, smiling at you and Astarion. His smile wavered when he realized the two of you were little more than distressed vagabonds. But he brought it back up to his face and waved. “Hello! I’m Gale of Waterdeep. Who might you be?”

You blinked at him, then gave your name and stated that you were a barkeep in Baldur’s Gate, pleased that you had remembered even something about yourself, and introduced Astarion as your partner and husband. You noted how pleased he looked and wondered if you were exaggerating the truth a little bit—after all, Astarion claimed you had spent over two hundred years together, but you didn’t remember a wedding.

“Pleased to meet you!” Gale said, cheery. “Now how did you two come to be, well, here?”

You glanced at Astarion. “I, um, don’t remember much, but it’s got something to do with Mind Flayers and parasites.”

~❊~

In all your adventuring, with all your gaps in your memory, you hadn’t felt such an innate fear until the moment you stepped into the Szarr Palace. The feeling worsened as you followed Astarion deeper into its walls, feeling very certain you’d done this before, despite Astarion’s promise that he had kept you as far away from your vampiric master as he could, taking the brunt of Cazador’s rage. Such was why your back did not bear the same scars as your lover’s, scars you had painstakingly translated and attempted to soothe with balms and creams. 

As for Astarion, he was faring no better. In fact, he was much worse than you, his fingers trembling viciously and his eyes darting from shadow to shadow as if he expected Cazador himself to leap out of them. For all you knew, perhaps he would. 

The sickness in your stomach reached its peak as soon as you saw the cages. They bore other spawn and you knew that you and your lover had once been behind those bars, hard as it was to picture. Seeing the filth and hatred and despair that hung like a cloud over the spawn, accompanied by the thick smell of decay and rot, you were suddenly glad the Mind Flayers had decided to relieve you of much of your memory. You knew they had not been so kind to your lover; Astarion woke often from nightmares of this place and everything Cazador had done to him—putrid blood, physical torture, claustrophobic stone walls. The very same thing Astarion had protected you from.

“Astarion, what is this?” you whispered, moving closer to his side.

“I don’t know,” he said. “Cazador hid this from me. And the others. I never saw this while I was his…”

“He didn’t do this to us, then?” 

Astarion shook his head. “No. They…must be part of his ritual. But how did they get here?”

As soon as the spawn saw you and your little group, the shrieking started, so at odds with their blank, hollow faces. In amongst the screams of fear, of anticipation, of sick and twisted delight, you heard your own name and Astarion’s passed around. Spawn pressed themselves against the bars to get a closer look. One in particular, clad in a destroyed red frock, his dirty face half-hidden by matted, dirty grey hair, seemed to recognize Astarion. He pushed to the front and you caught sight of a rune carved into him—matching some of the ones on Astarion’s back. 

“You. I know you.”

You glanced at Astarion. He was staring at the spawn with a mixture of disgust and confusion. 

“You’re the one from the tavern. You smiled and joked and…got me drunk.”

Your stomach twisted. You looked between the two of them; Astarion’s confusion was melting away into horror, and the spawn stared at him with such bitter hatred that you knew he wasn’t wrong. He knew Astarion. 

“You— No. You’re dead,” Astarion insisted. Guilt crossed his face. A weight like lead sunk from your chest to your stomach. Astarion had talked, in fits and starts, about what Cazador had made him do, explaining why you remembered so few nights spent with him. Was it possible this spawn was one of his many conquests? One of the victims Cazador had forced him to bring back?

Had Cazador really kept them alive for this long? 

“You called me so many sweet things,” the spawn continued, his voice broken. “My name sounded like a lyric on your tongue.”

Astarion squeezed his eyes shut. “Sebastian.” Gods above, it really was beautiful to hear him say it. And you, better than anyone, knew just how sweet Astarion could be.

“You remember me,” the spawn—Sebastian—whispered, amazed.

“You were handsome,” Astarion remembered. “Shy. You’d never been kissed.”

Sebastian was almost nodding. “You taught me how.” Your heart shattered in your chest. “And then you destroyed me.” The spawn screamed, lunging, his hand reaching through the bars to grab at Astarion. But he was just out of reach. In his despair, Sebastian fell to his knees.

“It can’t be,” Astarion whispered, his face falling. “He kept them. He kept them all. My conquests. He told us he was feeding on them, not that he was turning them!” His eyes scanned the locked up spawn. “I know so many of these faces. I don’t… Gods.”

“How long?” Sebastian demanded.

“What?” Astarion asked, startled.

“How long have I been down here?” Sebastian asked, getting back to his feet. 

Astarion looked at his feet, then back up at him. “One hundred and seventy years,” he said, his voice heavy. You released a slow breath, feeling the weight of every one of those years harshly, even if you remembered very little of them. “You were one of my first.”

“My family,” Sebastian whimpered. “My friends… They’re gone. You took them from me. You took everything from me!”

“We can help them, can’t we?” you asked, looking at Astarion. His lower lip trembled. “Can’t we?”

“Help? Help? There’s no helping us while that monster lives,” Sebastian spat. 

“That’s why we’re here—to destroy Cazador,” Astarion explained.

“You can’t. It’s not possible.” Sebastian’s eyes landed on you. “You tried it once. And look what came of it.”

Your skin crawled. “What? Astarion, what does he mean?”

Astarion wouldn’t meet your eyes.

Sebastian barked out a terrible laugh, roughened by years of intermittent screams and silence. “He hasn’t told you? Of course not. And you don’t remember. Most of us don’t. It’s like he breaks us, ruins us and our minds when he turns us, feeds on us.”

“Astarion!” Your voice was rising with alarm. “What the hells is he talking about?”

“We thought you might be the answer,” Sebastian whispered, his glowing red eyes fixed firmly on you now. “You were so strong. So brave. You faced him with a smile, even though you were crying. None of us were like that. We all screamed as we went to our graves. So we…hoped. It was a mistake to hope that you could change things.”

You took a step back, swallowing harshly. You were trembling. “Sebastian, please… We’ll free you from this nightmare. We just need to know where Cazador is so we can kill him.”

“Kill him?” he questioned, almost scoffing. “It’s not possible. You of all people should know that. You tried to run. And Cazador took you anyway. Because of him.”

His last growl was directed at Astarion. 

Your heart dropped to your feet. Every gnawing feeling you’d ever had that Astarion wasn’t being completely honest with you rushed back, hitting you so heavily it was hard to believe you’d ever ignored your doubts. You kept your eyes glued to Sebastian, not sure you wanted to see your lover’s face. “Astarion. What is he talking about?”

Please. You had no idea who you were praying to, but you knew you were. Please, let me be wrong. Let Sebastian be wrong. 

“Why do they know me, Astarion?” you asked. “Why do they remember me, when I don’t remember them?”

At last, you looked at him. His eyes were fixed on you, shining with tears, his guilt even more obvious than it had ever been. It felt as if your body was collapsing in on itself. A steady ringing built in your ears as he whispered your name, the first of his tears falling, and it was lost in Sebastian’s terrible, terrible laugh.

☞ ❊ ☜

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Baldur's Gate 3 // Astarion Ancunin

Taglist: {comment and let me know if you'd like to be added to the Astarion taglist!} @wayward-hel@cheeslyy@ofmyth-andmagicart@neetheslayer@whispering-depths@freesidexjunkie@lightsinmycity@the0ldmann@gobbodoggo@oooof-ifellforyou@beeblisss@fangboner@aquaarietes@fiercest-eigengrau-skies@niqhtfell@call-me-nyxx@lueji-m@ceres-xiv@tricksy-trinity@graynstairs@rosa-rubus@ynisthatyou@thegoodwitchs-blog@catching-fire-in-the-wind

[viscerawizard]

The roof of the walmart echoes with coughs.

The vibe of the cookout has shifted, slowly, easily, with the smoothness of a fleet snake slipping into a lake.

Every clone of me, nineteen of them in total, is doubled over hacking up blood. Plates have been dropped. Something is in one of their mouths that squirms like it's still alive.

Their hair - normally purple - is streaked with a dark and brooding red.

Their robes, long and regal, are stained the same.

The long, typically purple and striped tails are undergoing the same manner of warping as the hair.

And then they start to hum and grumble, groan and mumble, all with the same voice at once, a scratchy thing, a violent thing shot through with a hunger deeper than deep.

@aroace-wizard @amethyst-aster @ratticus-overlord @good-wizard @verylegalwizard @yourlocalbreadenthusiast @exispencer-crisis @thewanderingshapebetweenrealms @officialwizardnews @be-gentle-with-littluns @a-goose-in-a-trenchcoat @littlepawzbigheart @combustion-witch @monsterfucker-research-wizard @wild-magic-wizard @crickled-thorn-thug @fattocatto-wizard @alchemical-overreaction @odd-animated-armor @the-silliest-sorcerer @hnoc-system @lead-sorcerer @the-moth-wizard-of-mayhem @aurelia-robowizard @helpfulapprentice @detective-disco @im-a-wizard-who-dont-crime