#mild injuries

[elitadream]

Sing for Absolution - Part 5

(previous)

[vaard]

After chatting with @pridemother-scribbles, we realized her druid Almaeth and Vaard most likely encountered each other at the Exodar crash where she was helping rescue survivors, and could have been the one that dug Vaard out of the wreckage. One ‘what if’ led to another and now the talbuk plush was repaired and sporting a new button eye from her own armor, one of the few things he had left after losing everything.

He barely remembers anything about the crash and the days following, and to her he was just another face among hundreds she had passed, but we both had to immediately draw afterwards to get the feels out and this is the result from mine.

[orbital-inclination]

Narrow Escape! Nightmare and his gang are hot on their trail, oh no!

i originally sketched this out last September for Inktobertale. (for the bones shatter prompt) i felt like finishing it up today. Also playing around with lighting a bit. I have no idea what I’m doing! :) Ink sans @.comyet Dream @.joku US Sans @.p0pcornpr1nce

[pixlokita]

It’s been like 80 years but finally….Page 34

Previous - next - first

[artdunk]

[byrdblood]

"lifetime achievement award" but playing from, like, 3 apartments down at a frat party and you've had the worst day of your life

[cckittycreative]

I really love this version of the song and I just really wanted to do a lyric comic to it for Cult of the Lamb. I'm pretty happy that I made it through this entire project as I tend to falter midway through these kinds of things and they never get finished. Apologies for the faint watermark - I attempted to run this through Glaze before posting it and, while I knew there'd be artifacts, I didn't realize just how badly it would affect the transparency and blur of certain panels and it....looked really bad. So I opted to put a faint watermark over each panel as low as I could make it.

[shkika]

These two slug cats have a lot of parallels to me so I really enjoy them. I love how they are the two starting downpour slug cats yet they are complete opposites.

You have Gourmand enjoying life, crafting and making use of the wonderful little things in life. Going back home and sharing those wonders with others. And (in my headcanons at least) Gourmand starts a family even. (The two little slug pups at the end of the campaign).

Artificer's campaign starts with losing family and subsequently losing yourself. Dedicating yourself to spreading the hurt and pain that was dealt to you. Finding your way into the deepest of parts of where the enemy resides until it's not even about the pups anymore.

[starry-bi-sky]

my body's aching like a knock-down drag-out

and my poor heart is an open wound A Childhood Friends Au snippet that very briefly delves into Danny's life post-accident. CW: Mild Mentions of Blood, Violence, VERY mild gore ig. Danny briefly recalls getting impaled during a fight.

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

What they don't tell you about being dead is that it hurts. That it can hurt. That it can hurt more than when you were alive. That when you die, the emotions you die with stick with you like a leech that just won't let go. That emotions are ugly little thorns that stick their barbs into you and grow beneath your skin; or, at least, whatever’s left of it. 

Danny is familiar with anger. It kept him warm in Gotham, when his parents weren't home from work and he and Jason were crowding Crime Alley with their presence. It kept him warm in Amity, when the fresh sting of moving was still needling into his heart and he wanted nothing more than to rip and tear into the closest person next to him.

He's familiar with violence. With fights. With death. He's seen people die in Crime Alley probably every day. From overdose, from gunshots, from stab wounds; anything that can kill, rest assured he's seen it. He's familiar with getting his own knuckles rough and bloody when other kids turn and bare their teeth at him and Jason; they're all just starving dogs stuck in a fighting pit, primed and ready to rip out each other's throats. 

Black eyes, stomped hands, bloody noses. You name it; he’s had it. Gotham is paved with the blood of her children, and Danny likes to imagine that when he was born, the doctors handed his mother a file and told her; “Take it. He’s going to need it for his teeth.” 

Danny’s mom (and dad, for that matter) was too busy trying to keep him and Jazz fed, so Danny stole the file from her drawer with Jazz’s help, and did it himself.  

He’s familiar with anger, he thought he was getting better at it these days. It doesn’t come to him as easily as it did before. Of course, that was before Jason died. 

Danny is less familiar with grief. Caring kills and Gotham kills the caring, so Danny cares very little about other people. Or he tries to. But grief hurts. His grief hurts. It hurts too much. It hurts like a bug trying to crawl out of his chest; like a rat chewing a hole through his heart. Some days he wants to dig his hands into his hair and split himself down the middle. Some days he just wants to scream. 

He’s dead. He’s dead. He’s dead. 

He wants the whole city to hear him wailing, some days. It sticks itself in the back of his throat like bile, and Danny is one wrong retch away from letting it loose. It sticks in his lungs like all the tar he’s smoked in since he was nine. It pushes and aches at his temples, in his head, like his brain is trying to swell out of his skull. His thoughts becoming so loud they threaten to commandeer his tongue.  

He has no mouth, but he must scream. 

Something they don’t tell you about being dead is that it hurts. That it hurts more than when you were alive. Something they don’t tell you about being dead is that it’s violent. That it’s bloody. Or as bloody as it can be when everyone has no blood. 

Another thing they don’t tell you about being dead, is that it’s a lot like Gotham that way.

With no threat of death, Danny’s enemies forget death itself. Blood comes easy, like water, and teeth are encouraged. Bring your own fangs to the fight. Dying is something you can just walk off. 

Danny’s been dead for three months. He can’t say he’s been walking it off easy. He’s perfected the art of turning his nails into claws since his heart was still beating, but he can’t say he’s perfected fighting other ghosts. 

Scrappy is just not enough. 

He feels like he’s back in Gotham again. Back in her death-shroud alleyways, fighting someone bigger than him. But there’s no Jason to watch his back, and Danny has to get himself out of there alone. Or he might just not get up at all. 

Black eyes, busted lips. It’s familiar to him like an old scent, Danny isn’t quite sure that he’s missed it. It’s more familiar than his fights with Dash. 

But there’s no one else who can do it but him. Not Sam, not Tucker. He can’t lose them too. He can’t. He can’t. He can’t. His heart can’t take another break, he already feels like he’s going insane. 

With no threat of death, Danny’s enemies fight like death themself. He learns why when Technus puts a street sign through his stomach one day. It pins him to the asphalt like a moth pinned by its wings. 

Danny claws at the metal like how an animal caught in a trap chews off its leg, and every move is blinding pain. He thinks he was howling, but it’s hard to tell. He couldn’t recognize the sound of his voice. 

He bleeds green. It mixes in black with the pitch blackhole in his heart, which throbs and twists and cries in time with his reckless panic. The finger-choking terror of dying again strangles out the air he doesn’t need. His blood evaporates, only to reabsorb into him. It just bleeds out again, cycling like a snake eating its own tail. 

Danny breaks his nails clawing at the metal, and eventually gets it in his mind to pull it out. So he does, and the end drips ectoplasm green as he gets to his feet. In red-vision, Danny sends the sign back with snarling, vicious fervor. The pain is irrelevant in his rage.

Only after the fight does the hole the pole left start to close. Danny doesn’t shift human until it’s gone. Unlike other injuries, a scar stays behind. Ugly; mottled, it aches for a week with every twist and stretch his body makes. He hates it. 

Being dead is agony. 

Every part of him is in pain. Every step, every word he speaks, everything he does, it is prerequisite with pain. The body is temporary, but the soul is forever, and death has carved into it with its freezing green hands and left him with never-ending heartache. It has torn from him and stolen what of him it could, and in return it’s left him with sorrow. 

His pain is his grief, and he’s sobbed in the safety of his room more times than he can count. It’s still as fresh as the day he heard the news of Jason’s death. He knows, instinctively, that it will stay fresh forever. 

In his room, Danny shoves his hands over his mouth and shrieks in whatever, muffled way he can into his pillow. It’s not enough. It’s never enough. He needs to be louder. He needs to be heard. He refuses to be. 

Being dead hurts. 

[sarcasticmothdraws]

⚠️ Content Warning: Gore

Specifically head injury/blunt force trauma(?)

Vash is fine btw.

Btw this is not really an au or anything, more like redraws. I don't think the trigun gang matches these characters, I just thought it would be funny to put them in the saw bathroom.

[steddieas-shegoes]

uh. what?

for @steddielovemonth prompt 'love is healing wounds'

rated m | 1,782 words | cw: injury recovery, mild blood, recreational drug use | tags: post s4, hurt/comfort, getting together, fade to black

💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖

The stitches pulled and he couldn't get comfortable. He almost wished Robin hadn't made him get checked over, but anything that required this many stitches probably would've killed him if he hadn't. At least that's what Nancy said when he complained to her about it.

But now, Steve couldn't sleep, and sleep was apparently very important for healing.

The alarm clock next to his bed said 2:07 am, so calling someone was out. Going somewhere was also out, unless he wanted to go to the 24 hour diner alone.

Fresh air sounded good until he realized he'd have to either go for a walk in the middle of the night alone or sit by the pool alone.

He didn't want to be alone.

His phone started to ring just when he was considering taking a shower out of boredom.

"Harrington residence, this is Steve."

"So formal for two in the morning, Stevie," Eddie's laugh rang through the line and Steve couldn't help smiling. Something about Eddie's energy was contagious, a beacon of light when all he had was the darkness of his room.

"Didn't know if it was an international business partner for my parents. Happens sometimes when they forget time zones." Steve moved to the edge of his bed so the cord didn't have to stretch as far. "What are you doing up?"

"Had a dream about being eaten alive again. This time they managed to eat both of my nipples." Eddie scoffed. "Isn't one enough?"

Steve chuckled. "And you can't go back to sleep because you're scared they'll come take your other nipple?"

"It's a genuine concern, Steve! I have big dreams of piercing this thing and if they take it from me, what do I have left?"

"I think you'd probably just find something else to pierce," Steve shook thoughts of what that might be out of his head before they could take over. "So you can't sleep. You thought you'd call and wake me up to suffer with you?"

Eddie was silent for a moment before responding. "Did I wake you up?"

"No," Steve said quickly, not wanting Eddie to feel bad. "I was awake."

"Nightmare?"

"No, stitches are bothering me."

"You wanna come over? I found my hidden stash. Might help with the stitches," Eddie offered.

Steve probably shouldn't. He was on some pain meds already and if he got too fucked up, he'd probably cry. That's what happened last time he had some of whatever Eddie was selling.

"I'll come over, but probably shouldn't have anything. Robin would kill me if I end up in the hospital," Steve gave a half-truth.

"Yeah, she's terrifying. I'll leave the door unlocked."

Before Steve could tell him that was a bad idea, he hung up.

********

When Steve got to Eddie's, he let out the breath he'd been holding the entire drive. Eddie was sitting on the porch, alone, his guitar by his side.

Maybe he'd been playing already, or maybe he planned to play to help distract Steve from the way his skin felt like it was too much.

He got out of the car and waved when Eddie looked over at him with a smile.

"Didn't think you'd get here so quick," Eddie didn't bother standing up, Steve just knew to go sit by him.

But the steps on the Munson's porch were rickety at best, "temporary" according to the government officials who had stuck them here because they didn't think it was worth putting them in a home across town, and Steve's eyes hadn't quite adjusted to the dull glow of the light by the front door. He missed the top step and immediately fell, barely catching himself on the wood of the porch.

Eddie was helping him up immediately, doing his best not to make his own injuries worse.

"Shit, you okay? Wayne tried fixing it, but it just keeps getting loose."

Steve felt a stinging pain on his side, and when his hand grazed over the worst of his bites, he felt something warm and wet on his fingers.

"Shit," without looking, he knew he'd torn his stitches. "Eddie, I need a towel or something."

"Shit, that's a lot of blood. That's a lot of blood. It shouldn't be that much, right? Like even tearing your stitches, it shouldn't be-"

"Eddie." Steve poked his arm, stayed as calm as he could. He bled easy, so sometimes even small things looked worse than they were. "Towel."

"Right, yeah. Should you come with me?" Eddie shook his head. "I mean can you move? Should you stay here?"

"I'll sit here until I have a towel. Don't wanna get blood on the carpet."

"Got it."

Eddie still seemed unsure about leaving him, but must have noticed how much blood was soaking through Steve's shirt and rushed inside. He was back in less than a minute, a black towel in his hand.

"It's clean. It's the one I usually use for my hair, but I didn't get to fold it from the dryer yet. Um, just put pressure on it."

Steve knew what to do, was used to putting pressure on wounds, but appreciated Eddie trying to triage it anyway.

"You got a needle and thread, right?" Steve asked once he took his shirt off and put pressure on the bite. It was already bleeding much less, a positive sign that maybe it wouldn't be too bad.

"I mean, I do. I don't have medical tools that have been sanitized properly."

"You have water to boil and vodka?"

"Steve. I'm not fucking performing a medical procedure on your stomach," Eddie shook his head. "Do you have a death wish or something?"

"I trust you."

The words hung heavy between them, despite the fact it wasn't exactly news to either of them. They'd been through it all together, why wouldn't he trust him?

"Okay, let's get inside and I'll get everything ready."

Getting inside was easier said than done. The bleeding had mostly stopped, but the pain had really started to set in and every breath felt like knives stabbing into him.

"Deep breath, Stevie," Eddie said as he sat him down on the couch and helped him lay back. "I'll get you something for the pain."

"Something" was an edible, and Eddie seemed hesitant to give it to him, but all reservations Steve previously had went out the window as he felt his hands shaking from the pain.

Eddie prepared everything while the edible kicked in, checking in with Steve every few minutes to make sure he hadn't passed out or started bleeding again.

When the room started to feel blurry and his head felt light, Steve smiled over at Eddie, who looked nervous.

"Ready for your magic hands," Steve wiggled his brows.

Eddie made a strangled sound before leaning over the wound and wiping some of the blood away gently so he could see where to stitch him back up.

He worked as quickly as possible, humming softly to distract himself and Steve from what was happening.

Steve was high.

He was high and he was feeling good despite the needle in his skin.

He drifted for a bit, couldn't be sure how long, but eventually, Eddie was touching his cheek and making him open his eyes.

"Think you should stand up so I can wrap a bandage on it. Then you can try to shower off some of the blood if you want. Wayne got one of those removable showerheads. Feels fancy," Eddie said as he moved the hair off of Steve's face.

"Help?" Steve managed to ask.

"Yeah, I can help you with the wrap and start the shower for you," Eddie nodded.

"In the shower?" Steve asked.

Eddie paused. "I can keep us dressed?"

"But." Steve huffed. "Blood."

Eddie couldn't help but laugh at his confusion, Steve's lips pouting out and his eyes squinting. "Okay, okay. If you're okay with it, I'm okay with it. You're high as shit, man."

"I'm standing right on the ground," Steve waved his arms around him. "Or is the ground standing on me but the other way?"

"God, this is the best. Okay, let's go."

"Wait!" Steve grabbed Eddie's arms. "You should know something."

Eddie raised his brows in question. "Go on."

"I'm very in love with you. And also kinda hard."

Eddie blinked, not processing. Now he felt high.

"Uh. What?"

"I have an erection." Steve made a disgusted face. "Hate that word. Sounds so middle school sex ed."

"It is." Eddie shook his head. "I guess I meant more like, how and why and what the hell do you mean by it."

Steve giggled. "I said you had magic hands and I was right."

"Dude, I was literally giving you stitches. I am failing to see why that would make you hard."

"It's cuz you're so gentle and your tongue sticks out when you're trying to focus. And also I started thinking about what you'd do if I couldn't move," Steve sighed dreamily. "You have handcuffs."

"Okay. Let's pause." Eddie let out a small hysterical laugh. "You want me to help you in the shower because you love me? Do you even need help?"

"Probably. But I also want help. And also you're a helper for me."

"What does that even mean? Where's Robin when you need her to decode what the hell you're talking about?"

"You're a helper for me! Because you help me be better about asking for help! And then you help!"

"Okay, that's. Good. I'm still not sure what's happening."

"You're gonna help me shower. I'm gonna try very hard not to come. We sleep?" Steve looked around Eddie out the window, like he was checking if it was still night time. "And then in the morning I wake up and get yelled at by Robin."

"Why would she-"

"The stitches. And the telling you I love you thing. She's gonna be real mad about that."

"Why?" Eddie felt like he was losing it. What was even happening anymore? How had he completely lost control of the night?

"She wanted to help me do a speech thing."

This was just getting more wild.

Steve needed a shower, and he needed sleep. Eddie needed a minute to gather his own thoughts.

"Shower. Sleep. Talk in the morning." Eddie raised his hand to cup Steve's neck. "Robin murders you after we talk."

"Deal." Steve's face sank, but he quickly perked back up. "But shower?"

"Yes, shower. Go, horndog."

Steve laughed as he half-limped to the bathroom, clearly feeling some pain even with the drugs in his system. Eddie followed and resisted touching Steve as much as possible.

Which ended up being about two minutes.

[theendisneat]

Arranged Marriage [pt.1.3 (The In-Between)]

Pairing: Zhongli x gn!reader

Warnings: Mild blood, mild sexual content, injury, semi-graphic depiction of illness

“Why is it so difficult for you to dodge?” You muttered, stitching another of your husband’s wounds. “I mean, you’re a martial god, your prowess is second to none, yet you couldn’t dodge the very visible spear heading your way?”

The stab wound on Morax’s side was already beginning to heal, you could tell, but your hands needed something to do to cover their shaking. You settled for cleaning and disinfecting the wound, stitching it up and slathering it in salve before wrapping gauze tightly around his abdomen.

“The spear was not entirely visible-”

At the sight of your unimpressed stare, Morax fell silent.

You sigh, finishing the bandages. You move to stand in front of him, tenderly cupping his face, bringing his forehead to your own. “Honestly, it’s almost like you go looking for fights that present a struggle. With how little you care about your own well-being you’d better be happy that I learned the medicinal arts. Just because you’re a powerful being does not mean you should be tanking damage!”

His hands fall to your waist. You felt his clawed fingernails dig into your sides. “I will abstain from being so careless next time-”

“Next time?!”

“And I will train proficiently in dodging to avoid this scenario from repeating.” He said it with such determined assurance you couldn’t help but sigh, your eye twitching from stress.

“I suppose that’s the best I can ask for. I’m not even going to bother with ‘be more careful’.” You poked his nose, his eyes crossing to focus on your finger. “But you’re not going into another battle until that wound is completely healed, and you better not try to speed it up! I’ll know.”

“That is acceptable.” His hands circle your waist bringing you into a hug, his head resting on your shoulder, nuzzling the crook of your neck.

You stood between his legs, arms crossed as you refused to hug him back. “I am still mildly annoyed at your recklessness, why do you think you get cuddles?”

“Because no matter how angry they are, my spouse always relents to cuddles.” Morax muttered, almost petulantly.

“You are very lucky this situation was not worse.” You grumble but relent, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and bringing him closer. With his chest squished to your own, your necklace tapped between, you could feel the slow thumps of his heartbeat.

-

It’s a quiet morning. The surrounding gardens of you and your husband’s abode sway with a pleasant, cool breeze. Flowers tremble, leaves dance. The water rustles ever so slightly, the little fish swimming in slow loops, playfully chasing after each other.

A blanket is spread beneath you, soft and thick, padding your knees and you kneel behind your sitting husband. Your fingers brush through his hair, detangling it from the top of his head to where it falls to his waist. Your hand goes to the pile of little flowers by your side, carefully, you chose one and braided it into Morax’s hair.

He sat still as you continued, flower after flower, until his head looked like an avant-garde mess of petals and intricately woven braids. Thin strands of hair you couldn’t tie back fell to frame his face, softening his sharp, draconic features.

“Very pretty.” You murmur absentmindedly from behind him, and he felt something swell within his chest. A light dust of pink coated his cheeks and didn’t restrain the smile on his lips.

-

“Stay away from me!” His voice was low, a shaking, snarling, timber. His lips were pulled back over his sharpened teeth, eyes slitted and bright gold. The small horns that normally rested on his head had branched out like antlers, the tips as pointed and deadly as a dagger.

He was crouched over, his hands pressed against the ground and legs behind him in a distinctly inhuman, animalistic position. Brown scales with a gold shimmer came in patches along his bare torso, a whipping tail of similar color with a puff of gold fur at the end sprouting from just over the waistband of his pants.

Something had happened out in the field, what, you didn’t know, but it left your husband stumbling home, unable to keep his cool, practically exploding with rage as he walked through the threshold. At first you were thoroughly startled, flinching when a bang echoed throughout the house and Morax fell to the ground in your living room, writing as if in pain.

Now you stood a few feet away from him, a tight curl in your chest. “Morax, just tell me what’s wrong, let me help you.”

“Get away!” He growled. “It’s an enhancer! It aggravates all my primal instincts as a dragon.” He groaned, his forehead falling to rest against the cool floor. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Oh don’t be ridiculous Morax! If your primal instincts are being enhanced, don’t you think that as your spouse you’d feel protective towards me instead of angry? The fear of hurting me and the irritation towards the situation are clouding your mind. You need to calm down.” You sit on the ground, your legs crossed, and wave your hands. “Come on.”

He hesitates for a moment, his eyes gleaming unsurely, but relents and crawls over, his claws making little indents in the floors. You hold your arms out and he slots himself in your lap. His head goes over your shoulder, something you’re glad about as it keeps the antlers out of your face, his arms around your waist, and his legs hanging over your thighs.

His breath is heavy, hands shaking, and you know he’s trying to keep any lingering anger under control, trying to funnel the emotion into protectiveness, joy, anything that would keep him from harming you.

You buried one hand in his hair, gently scratching his scalp, and the other went around his waist so you could hold him close. His chest rumbled with aggravated growls and his hands were tense from trying not to dig them into your delicate flesh. “I’ve got you.” You whispered soothingly. “I’ve got you.”

“Sing… for me.” He managed to choke out, his heavy breath hitting your neck. “Your voice… it helps.”

“Morax, you know I’m not a good singer.”

“Please.” You looked down to see his head resting limply against your shoulder, nose pressed to your neck, with wide, blown out eyes. He looked miserable, uncomfortable, and almost… scared.

“Alright, alright.” You tilted your head so it was leaning on his. “My love, my love, my fearless love…”

-

The dark night sky contrasted greatly with the warmth of your bedroom. Surrounded by dark browns and golds, the warm glow of the candles bouncing off the walls. You and your husbands were wrapped in the heavy blankets of your bed, winter chilling you to the bone.

You snuggled close to Morax, constricting yourself around him like a boa as you attempted to soak up his warmth. But his body was lukewarm at best and it seemed that any warmth that existed between the two of you was being given to him.

“Why are you not warm?” You groan. “You are a dragon.”

“I am a reptile, my love. That’s not how my body works.” Your husband mumbles. His eyes drooping and hair splayed across the pillows haphazardly was a wonderful sight and yet you couldn’t enjoy it as a shiver wracked your body.

Finally, having had enough you got out of bed. Going to the kitchen, you filled several cylindrical glass bottles full of warm water and wrapped each bottle of a thick towel. Carrying them all back to bed, you swiftly yanked all the pillows off. Your husband stayed perfectly still, his breath shallow but even, as you secured the bottles around the bed and then covered them in blankets. After tucking the blankets around the bottles and Morax, you shimmied into the bed yourself, sighing contently when you could feel the warmth from the bottles near your feet begin to sink into the sheets.

Snuggling into Morax, you brought one of the many fur blankets up to his shoulder. “Better?”

“Much.” He breathed out.

With that, the both of you were able to fall into a restful sleep.

-

A flash of green and black smoke interrupted your reading. Looking up from your book, you saw a man you knew wasn’t as young as he appeared. Green hair falling in feathered cuts, golden eyes sharp and attentive, and the stance of someone ready to fight at all times.

He was at your wedding, looking particularly indifferent about the circumstances, but you had never spoken to him directly. Now he stood in front of you.

“Where is Rex Lapis?” Despite being so small and young looking, his voice was fairly raspy.

“Ask nicely.” You closed your book and set it to the side, placing your hands in your lap and looking at him expectantly.

His cheeks fluttered as he clenched his teeth and his eyes narrowed. He gave a shallow bow and spoke, his tone more agreeable. “I’m looking for Rex Lapis, have you seen him?”

You smile. “He’s not here.” Seeing the Adeptus’ eyes flash you chuckled. “But he will be soon, so sit down. I’ll get you something nice.”

Not wanting to disobey orders from his master’s spouse, he kneeled down in front of the low table, his back stiff and face blank.

You went to the kitchen and grabbed a treat you had been saving for yourself, but didn’t mind sharing. You placed it in front of the Adeptus. “Here, it’s not too sweet. Very pleasant. My mother taught me how to make it when she was still alive.”

Hesitantly, he began to eat, his face still blank. “It is good.”

“Thank you. It’s called almond tofu. You can enjoy it while we wait for my husband to get here.” You kneeled down on the opposite side of the table and once again, picked up your book. The atmosphere was quiet, yet not oppressively silent. The both of you enjoyed the quiet time together until Morax came home and looked upon the scene with confusion.

-

You cried as your coughed up blood, the thick liquid plopping into the bucket that had been placed by the bed. Your body shook, covered in a thin sheen of sweat as your breath rattled horribly in your chest. You flopped back down on the bed, arms too weak to hold you up and the fuzz around your eyes only growing.

Morax was by your side. His fingers threaded through your hair in an attempt to comfort you. He could only watch as his lover fell apart, watch as their body slowly grew thinner, as they stopped eating or moving or smiling. It pained him greatly to see the state they had been brought to because of this illness. He was only lucky that his Adeptus body was not affected by human illnesses and thus could stay by your side with no fear of contracting it himself.

You rolled over, and even though it felt like it had taken too much energy, and draped yourself over Morax. Despite being sweaty, and at risk of coughing up blood again, your husband didn’t push you away, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you close for you to soak up the coolness of his body.

“Morax… Morax… the medicine, when will it be ready?” Your muttering sounded almost delirious, breathy and disconnected. A glaze settled in your eyes.

“Soon, my love. The doctor is saying that this illness is rather difficult to deal with and has to create a new medicinal formula to aid you, but he’s positive that he’ll be able to do it. You’ll be just fine soon enough.”

-

Clawed hands slid up your trembling legs, slightly digging into the plump flesh. A long, slitted tongue infiltrated your mouth, filling your head with cotton as it explored from behind your teeth to the back of your throat.

Your gasps between kisses were heady and your hands were clingy, nails sinking into the hard contours of his back, his hips grinding against yours. His touch was intoxicating, filling your mind till all you could think of was him.

Even in his neediness, he was gentle, his claws not daring to rip off clothing as he slowly peeled you bare, until you laid before him like a newly bloomed flower. Your face was red, chest heaving with gasping breaths after you had just been kissed senseless. With no time to think, hot kisses, more akin to bites, trailed down your neck, sharp canines teasing you, and you couldn’t but wish they would clamp down and give you a pretty bruise to admire later.

You couldn’t take the slowness. Hooking your knee around his waist, you used all your body weight to flip the two of you over. Now, sitting on his stomach, hands pressing down on his chest, you got a good look at how debauched your husband was. Eyes blown so wide there was only a ring of amber around the pupil. His hair was messy, knotted from your tight grip, and there was a dark blush high on his cheeks.

Your hands trailed all over his body. From his face down to his neck, chest, arms, and pelvis. He was sensitive, you realized, as he shivered pleasantly with each graze of your fingertips, head tilted back, leaving his neck free.

Unlike Morax, you had no reservations about how much your husband could take. While he was constantly worried about harming you with his draconic features, you couldn’t share the same concerns. You sucked harsh kisses to his neck and left your husband mottled with red bruises slowly darkening and little indents from your teeth. A particular bite behind his ear had him moaning, his hands clenched around your waist.

Overcome with adoration, you nibbled on his ear, whispering praises and various forms of ‘I love you’ that had him melting into a pile of goo, a lovestruck smile on his face.

[bubblebaath]

too much sugar

[marskiiii]

tw mild blood

hello 00-1

[blackcherryvelvet0909]

Silent Reverence (Rollo x GN!Reader)

Content Warning: Mild injury, light angst (arguing), Glorious Masquerade event mentioned Note: Can you spot the two movie references in this fic?

“Irk!” 

Your heart jumped at the sudden sound, then sank when you realized it was one of pain. “Do you need me to walk slower?” you asked, stalling your pace for a moment. 

The man, whose arm was slung around your shoulder for support, practically hopping on one foot with you as his crutch, scoffed the suggestion. “You think me too weak to keep up such a undermanding pace?” 

“That’s not what I-”

“I do not require such coddling.” Those dark, cold eyes stared ahead as he took one clumsy step - hop - forward. “Come - we are close to a seat.” 

He said it as though he were the one leading you. Honestly, when did his audacity end? You kept your frustrations to yourself as you guided him along, right up to an empty bench near the pool. Thankfully the area there was shaded, or the concrete below your feet would have scalded both your heels by now. With zero grace, you both slumped onto the long bench; a sigh released from you two as the weight of the other was lifted as you separated. For a brief minute, you simply sat there and caught your breath. Before that respite was even over, however, you rolled your head to the side to look at the one beside you. 

“Rollo,” he hazarded you a glance as you spoke, “do you want some water? You can sip on it while I go get some bandages; I don’t want you to get dehydrated.”

There was a flicker of irritation in those gray orbs, but he didn’t voice it for the time being. He just sighed as he leaned his head back against the wall behind the bench, sun hat now slumped to one side, and answered with, “If you would.” 

Though your legs protested as you stood, you went out in search of the refreshing beverage. While you had to shell out eight madol for the small bottles of water, you didn’t complain. Instead, you quickly went back to Rollo and handed him one of the plastic bottles. He opened his eyes to greet you, and gave a small nod in what you supposed was thanks as he took it from you. You watched him hastily, yet elegantly open the bottle and take three big gulps. Just like that, half the water was gone - a third of yours was to follow as you drank from your bottle. After a deep exhale, you closed your bottle and spoke to Rollo again. 

“I’m going to go to the lobby and ask the receptionist if they can lend me a first aid kit. I’ll be right back - don’t move.” 

“Tch,” Rollo clicked his tongue with a roll of his eye. “As if I were fit to do anything more.” 

So, off you went to get those medical supplies - all whilst trying to suppress the irritation that grew within you. 

***

“Ah!” Rollo’s sharp yelp was followed by a hiss as he glared down at you. “That hurts!” 

“Well, it wouldn’t hurt if you’d stay still!” you shot back, tone just as cutting. 

Rollo’s face morphed into a scowled as he practically growled in anger. “Well, you and those you call housewardens should have kept a closer eye on your students. If you had, I would not be in this predicament!” 

It took all your strength not to throw the roll of bandages in his face. “You were the one running around the edge of the pool, where a ‘No Running’ sign was plastered on every wall. Riddle was just about to take care of Ace, and I Grim, when you came stomping over. As the president of your school’s student council, I thought you would pay more attention to bright white signs with big black letters and a slipping stick figure on them.”

Just as you were about to finish the tie on Rollo’s bandage, he suddenly stood. His hands were balled into fists, teeth grit so hard you thought they might crack. Despite that angry look, his tone was level, authoritative - he spoke to you as if you were some child. “I have had quite enough of you. Step aside - I will seek care else-”

Before he could finish his sentence, you shot up in front of him, face mere inches from his. Your eyes were like knives as they bore into him, pierced his very soul. So, too, was your voice level and demanding, though it came with a pointed edge that, if you were calm enough, would shock even you. “Sit down and shut up.” Rollo’s scowl melted into a stunned look, likely because no one had spoken to him in such a way before. He said not a word as he kept your stern gaze and slowly lowered himself back onto the bench. You followed him down, and when you knelt before him again, you threatened, “Move out of that seat, speak to me like that again, and I’ll give you something worse than a sprained ankle.”

There was a long silence between the two of you after that. In that time, you finished wrapping Rollo’s ankle, which had now begun to bruise. You were tempted to tie the knot a little tighter than what was required, just to get back at him, but you refrained. Despite how he spoke to you, Rollo was injured - you couldn’t be too petty. When you made sure the knot was secure, you quietly packed the bandages and pain relief ointment back into the little bag the receptionist had given you. As you closed the bag with the snap, you said, “Your ankle will probably swell a bit for a few days. Just keep off of it as much as you can; if it gets too painful, or if the bruise becomes worse than normal, you might want to see a doctor.” 

You didn’t even look up to see if Rollo heard you; his eyes had been upon you since he sat down, so you knew you had his full attention. As you stood from your spot on the ground and dusted off your knees, you added, “I’ll tell you vice president and assistant where you are. You said they were by the lazy river?” 

“...yes.” Rollo’s voice was hushed, as though he were hesitant to answer. 

“It shouldn’t take them too long to get here and help you up then.” You still refused to look at him as you turned to leave. “Hope your ankle heals soon.” You took a step away from the bench -

“[Y/n].” 

You froze at the sound of your name - of Rollo calling you by name. In the past, he only called you Prefect, or some other formal title you couldn’t recall. Sometimes you even wondered if he knew your name; his utterance of it just answered your suspicions. For the first time in the past several minutes, you glanced over at him. His expression appeared monotone, the usual for him, but there was a distinct…softness about it. In those dark gray orbs was a plea for forgiveness - a hidden respect. Well, that was something you never expected, especially in your direction. 

“Thank you,” his gaze flicked down to his ankle, “for your care.” 

You pushed the surprise to the back of your mind as you gave a shrug of your shoulders. “There was a possibility no one else would, at least when it comes to the ones from NRC. While you did apologize at the end of the masquerade, there are many who don’t hold you in a high regard.” Your eyes narrowed in a show of warning. “Unless you start treating the students like you would your own, instead of dogs or, as you put it, ‘heathens’, that opinion will never change.”

“If you will permit me to ask,” your gazes locked once more as he questioned, “why is your opinion any different?” 

You thought it over for a moment… “Honestly, I don’t know,” you admitted. A light chuckle fluttered at the edge of your words as you suggested, “Maybe I’m a sucker for punishment? It would fit for all things I’ve put up with since enrolling at the college - since I got there.” Although some of that previous frustration still lingered within you, a smile twitched at your lips. “Or maybe because, like me, everyone deserves a chance to prove themselves. You said you would repent for your mistakes, right?” 

“That is my intention,” Rollo affirmed with a small nod of his head. 

“Well, you have your chance.” You turned to leave, but not without a final warning. “Don’t screw it up with your ego.” 

Then you walked away without another word. Rollo also remained silent, though you could feel his eyes follow you until you disappeared back into the hotel. They did not cut into your back like a knife, as they had many times before; instead, you felt as though it was out of something else. You couldn’t say what, however. For now, you simply let it slip from your mind as you went to inform Rollo’s cohorts of his accident. Maybe, just maybe, you could also convince Ace and Grim not to gossip about Rollo’s fall. 

***

“Henchmen!” Grim called out from beside the door to your hotel room. “There’s a lady here - she’s got something for you.” 

Your face scrunched in confusion as you approached the door. A bit of dread lingered in your heart as well. You really hoped it wouldn’t be something from Crowley, likely asking you to take on some task while you were supposed to be vacationing with the others. This was a school-wide trip, after all, and that included you. You swore, if this was yet another chore, you’d-!

“Can I help you?” you asked the lady at the door, in the most polite way despite the plots of doom that swirled in your head. 

“These are for you.” The lady, one you recognized from the hotel lobby, presented a bouquet of flowers with a smile. It was huge! To prevent it from falling to the ground, you had to cradle it like a baby! 

“U-Um…thank you?” You felt a little awkward at the whole situation. “Why am I receiving these?” 

“A young man asked for them to be delivered to you,” she replied. “You can check the notecard in the flowers.” She gave you a small bow before she turned to depart. “Have a good day!” 

“Y-You too.” You had to kick the door to close it - you didn’t want to risk dropping the flowers. Thankfully, Grim stepped out of your way as you headed to your bed, but he followed close behind.

“Why would someone send you flowers?” Those big blue eyes narrowed as he placed his paws on his hips. “What did you do?” 

“No idea,” you answered to both his questions. Now sitting on the bed, you examined the bouquet closely. There were various types of flowers: pink roses, lavender, blue hyacinths, lily of the valley, white tulips, forget-me-nots. This was certainly an expensive bouquet, a well-crafted one as well. You were sure there was some meaning to them; not too long ago, Rook had expressed to you the language of flowers. You made a note to visit him later for an analysis. You plucked the notecard the lady had mentioned before and added, “But we’re about to find out.” 

Grim hopped up onto the bed and took a seat next to you. You could feel him peek around you to try and get a look at the card - the one that now had your mouth agape. “What? What is it?!” Grim struggled to get a better look. “Let me see!” 

His words were like whispers in the wind. The message was not exactly what froze you on the spot - it was the signature below it. The identity of the sender of this generous, meticulously crafted bouquet, specially made for you. 

I hope this bouquet is not ill gotten by you; that it is sent at an inopportune time. I pray it finds you in good health, that it may express my gratitude for your service the day prior - and my deepest apologies for my behavior. I realize you are not one to be taken lightly…not one I should look down upon. These flowers are ones I grow in a garden back on my campus. Let them spell out the words I am unable to utter in your presence. Pray, too, that they are to your liking. May the rest of your days on this trip be filled with respite and peace. 

-Rollo Flamm

[calamitys-child]

Love the concept that hobbies are supposed to be fun and crafts are supposed to be soothing. I've never reached such genuinely dangerous levels of stress and anger and misery and loathing both towards myself and the entire world as I have when attempting to work on a fun craft project