#vampire sickie

[angstyaches]

ooh i would adore 5 from the emoji requests for elliot!🍄

Ask Game

Number 5 was this: 🤒🛌🥵🛀😵‍💫🤢🤮😭🆘

CW: fever, sickness, multiple caretakers, body horror elements, vampire whump, loss of control, emeto, fear.

Word Count: 3,000+

___

🤒🛌 

Felix patted his jacket pocket, satisfied that his keys were tucked in there. He glimpsed his reflection in the hallway mirror; his two stubby pigtails poked out from underneath his woolly hat, and he had his scarf pulled up to his top lip in anticipation for the outdoors. It hadn’t dropped below 12 degrees Celsius all month, but Felix and his bad immune system were taking no risks. He needed to be in a good condition to take care of Elliott. 

Elli, he thought, grimacing as he glanced towards the front door. He needed to get going, but... He turned and trotted back up the stairs to the first floor. 

He passed Shayne’s door first; he wondered if he should have asked his cousin to come and help him today, since Elliott was indisposed, but Ryan seemed to be subtly cracking down on how much time Shayne was spending outside of the townhouse lately. 

Which meant that even more outside-world errands rested solely on Felix’s shoulders today. 

He opened the door to his and Elliott’s bedroom and shuffled inside. 

He had only left him twenty minutes ago, but it still wrung Felix’s heart to see his poor darling sprawled stiffly on the bed, eyes squeezed shut as though it pained him to keep them closed, but would pain him more to open them. The duvet was folded and put on top of the dresser, since Felix couldn’t bear seeing it kicked into a tangled mess on the bedroom floor. Nobody had needed to take Elliott’s temperature to know that he was burning up; Felix was convinced he could feel his partner’s body heat in the very air in the bedroom.  

“He-ey,” Felix whispered as he tiptoed closer to the bed.  

A curt grunt was his only response. 

“Can I do anything at all for you before I leave?” 

Elliott nodded without opening his eyes or releasing any of the tension in his face. His voice was strained, as though he were carrying something heavy and struggling to keep his muscles from ripping. “Could you let in a little light?” 

Felix wrung his hands, but still paced his way over to the window. “Are you certain you’re a vampire?” 

A half-hearted grunt came from the bed. 

“It won’t aggravate the nausea?” Felix asked as he took the curtains in his hands. 

“No nausea right now. Just the damn fever.” Elliott heaved each word out as though it winded him just to talk, so Felix didn’t prod him for any more information. He made a gap in the curtains, just a couple of inches wide, so that the morning glare created a strip of light through the room. At its furthest point, it almost reached the bedroom door, and it drew a line over Elliott’s ankles along the way. 

As he approached the bed again, Felix smiled to see that the frown on Elliott’s face had softened just slightly. In fact, he found himself being studied up and down, the dimples in Elliott’s cheeks appearing. 

“You look very cozy.” 

Felix smiled, tucking his chin a little deeper into his scarf.  

“Could I trouble you for a kiss?” 

“Of course, darling.” Felix found himself slipping into a whisper again; Elliott hadn’t looked quite so peaceful in a long time, and it felt like something that might shatter if he wasn’t careful. 

“Come.” The command was as delicate as a rose petal touching water, and Elliott’s dimples pressed harder into his cheeks as Felix leaned over him.  

Between the bristles of Elliott’s untamed beard and mustache, his lips were startling warm against Felix’s, as though he’d just had hot stones pressed against them. The strangest thing was that these recent fevers didn’t seem to make Elliott sweat excessively; Ryan had tried to explain that throughout all of the biological changes happening within Elliott’s body, no external waste was being generated, or something along those lines. 

“Go,” Elliott sighed once the kiss ended. And, with an air of wistfulness, “Go, and be useful.” 

“Oh, you are so useful, darling,” Felix whispered, dropping one last kiss on Elliott’s lips. As he slid from the bed, Felix let his fingers trace Elliott’s exposed waist and drift along the ridges of his hipbones, the suggestiveness of the touch only slightly diminished by the fact that his hands were in gloves. “If you rest up, I’ll make... excellent use of you when I return home.” 

“Hmm,” was all that Elliott said in response, but the way he narrowed his eyes and pulled his lower lip inward was enough. 

“See you in a tad,” Felix said softly, turning to leave before he became too distracted to complete his tasks. 

“Bye, gorgeous.” 

___ 

🥵🛀 

Felix gasped when he stepped back into the bedroom that afternoon, his heart skipping a beat at the sight of the empty bed. The duvet was still folded and put aside, but the top sheet was rumbled and the pillows seemed to have been rearranged. 

“Fee.” 

His name being spoken through the left-side wall made him jump and almost drop his cinnamon tea latte. He skittered over to the bathroom door and pulled it open, expecting to be hit with a wave of steam that never came. 

“Hi, gorgeous.” The back of Elliott’s head faced the door, and the rest of him was stretched out inside a bath full of water. Literally – full. If Elliott had moved his arms or legs at all, he would have sent a wave over the side of the bath and onto the tiled floor. 

“You knew it was me.” 

“Full vamp hearing is kicking in,” Elliott sighed, slowly turning his head. He looked exhausted, his yellow irises devoid of their amber light, eyelids sluggishly low, beard still untamed. He met Felix’s gaze for just a few seconds before looking pointedly at the cup in his hand. “I could hear you sipping away at that thing from the driveway.” 

Felix blushed and propped his latte beside their toothbrushes so he wouldn’t be tempted to inflict any more slurping on his partner’s senses.  

“You decided to take a bath?” 

Elliott nodded. “Stupid fever wouldn’t let up.”  

Felix dipped a pinkie finger into the bathwater and yanked it back, shaking it dry. “Gosh, that’s nippy, darling.” 

“That would be the point.” 

Felix considered that for a moment, wishing he still had his warm cup in his hands. “Well, has it helped?” 

Elliott raised his eyebrows, blinking slowly. “You tell me.” 

Felix smiled and crouched next to the bath, knees almost touching the ceramic, and pressed the back of his hand to Elliott’s forehead. Next, he leaned in and kissed that exact same spot. “I would say you’ve regressed from fresh McDonald’s apple pie filling to... a slice of toast still just hot enough to melt butter onto.” 

Elliott let out a soft, sputtering laugh, wincing just a bit. “I don’t know what other kind of answer I could have expected from you, but somehow, it wasn’t that.” 

“You feel a little cooler,” Felix conceded. 

“No, no. Don’t you dare dumb it down for me.” Elliott’s voice was still sitting at a lower register, his expressions and movements slowed.  

His gaze drifted towards Felix’s lips, which prompted the smaller boy to lean in. The kiss was neither hot nor cold now, but soft and safe and familiar and him. 

As he pulled away, though, Felix’s heart sank with the feeling that Elliott had wanted the kiss to last longer than Felix had intended. He remembered the teasing banter he’d initiated earlier, and his guilt  

“Darling, since Shayne’s on lockdown, and... since you seem to be feeling stronger, I feel I should go and visit my mother. But I can stay if you –” 

Elliott’s head lurched to the side in confusion, his eyes narrowing to a squint, as though he were trying to decide if he’d forgotten something or not. “What – what do you mean, lockdown? What did he do?” 

“I don’t think he's done anything, I’ve just... I’ve been noticing Ryan acting strangely when it comes to him leaving the house...” Felix shook his head, all at once realising how silly it sounded. “I’m sure that it’s nothing. Perhaps he’s just been feeling unwell. Regardless, it has been a while since I saw my mother, so...” 

Elliot nodded. “Of course. You should go.” 

“I’ll be a few hours at most. Would you like a hand getting out of the bath?” 

“Nah.” Elliott shut his eyes and rested the back of his head against the wall. His feet were firmly placed against the opposite side of the bath; at least Felix could rest assured that he wasn’t in danger of slipping under the water. “I’m going to sit here a while longer.” 

___ 

😵💫 

Shayne wasn’t sure why he had started taking so many naps. He wasn’t particularly tired; how could he be, since all he seemed to do was sleep? Some small part of him knew that this probably wasn’t good, but he had a firm list of things he hated, and introspection was one of them, so he tried not to think too much about it.  

He tried, instead, to figure out why he’d woken up as he did, feeling jumpy and paranoid. He had a faint memory of hearing a thump in his sleep; had that been a dream, or in real life? 

Sharing a wall with Elliott and Felix was like living in a very weird version of Hell at times, so he was reluctant to go investigating. Then again, the two of them always kept an ear out in case he ever needed anything, so it’d be kind of shitty if he didn’t at least attempt to do the same. So he pulled himself out of bed and went to the next door down the hall. He grew self-conscious at the last second that he was wearing an oversized hoodie of Charlie’s, and that he probably very much looked like someone who’d just woken up, but forced himself to knock anyway. 

“El? Fee? Everything okay?” He waited a couple of seconds, convincing himself that the room beyond the door was empty and that the noise had been in his imagination the whole time. 

And then he heard the groan, low and pained and carrying his name with it, and he pushed open the door. 

At first, it looked as though Elliott had decided to just sit down in the middle of the floor in his boxers and robe. It almost looked like he was bowing his head because he was reading something out of his lap, but there was nothing there for him to read. 

And besides, Elliott had a lot of bizarre sitting habits, but sitting on the floor wasn’t one of them. Elliott would rather bend his knees and hover in place than sit on a floor.  

Knowing this, Shayne moved a little closer, anxiety like a horrible grip on his insides. “El?” 

There was not a stir, not a sound, from Elliott besides a meagre, “Mmhmm.” 

“Fuck,” Shayne whispered to himself, his voice breaking. He glanced around for any signs that Felix was nearby, but couldn’t pinpoint anything. “I, um... Should I get Ryan?” 

Fucking fuck. Elliott was in a slump on the floor, and Shayne still couldn’t make a decision without wanting to check with him first. Gritting his teeth, he stood up again, deciding... deciding he would go and get Ryan – 

“N-no, no, n-no.” Elliott’s hand reached out, not quite making it to Shayne’s ankle. “Don’t bother, man, sh-she... She told me this might...” 

Shayne frowned and crouched again. “She told you what?” 

“Told me fainting was part of it, so...” Elliott seemed to be gathering himself, raising his head to actually look at Shayne as he spoke. His palms were now braced against the floorboards, as though he were getting ready to push himself up. 

“You fainted,” Shayne heard himself say redundantly.  

“Just for a moment.” Elliott squeezed his eyes shut and puffed out his cheeks. “Whoo. Alright. Shit. No, no, no.” He started to swipe at Shayne’s hands as Shayne was trying to figure out how to help steady him. “I’m fine, I’m fine.” 

“Yeah, you’re the fucking picture of health.” 

Elliott’s face contorted with a wince as he shifted his weight. Shayne could have sworn a heavy shadow slid over Elliott’s body, there and gone in the blink of an eye. 

“Shit. What’s wrong?” 

“Nothing. Just... everything.” 

“Everything?” 

“Fucking god damn everything,” Elliott whispered, his voice quivering with mirth as he caught Shayne’s eye. His mouth twisted into a weak smile. “Yeah, maybe I could use a hand.” 

Shayne suddenly started to question how much help he would be, considering Elliott’s weight compared to his, but Elliott didn’t seem to have any qualms about it, so he didn’t complain. He held out both hands. 

As soon as Elliott tried to grab on, his flesh dissolved in front of Shayne’s eyes. It started with his hand, which flickered out of sight from the fingertips to shoulder, a swirling darkness pulling back over muscle and bone until those dissolved, too. And then, all at once, Elliott’s entire body burst into a swirling vortex of tiny, fluttering bats.  

The transformation only lasted a couple of seconds before Elliott reformed. He was still slumped on the floor, but his arms were folded and his fingers were digging into his biceps. 

Shayne withdrew his hands, fear thrumming in his veins. He swallowed, keeping his gaze on Elliott, and held out his hands again. Slowly, Elliott looked up at him. 

“Thanks,” he rasped, reaching for Shayne’s hands. 

Shayne’s shoulders ached a bit and he had to set his feet firmly, but he got Elliott upright in a few seconds. And then a breathless Elliott drooped down on the edge of his bed and cradling his head in both hands.  

Instead of asking about the sudden, unexplained transformation, Shayne settled on something else. “Where’s Felix?” 

“Nursing home.” 

“Oh.” He would have gone with Felix to see Trish, and the others, if he’d been able to. Instead of lingering on that thought, Shayne forced himself to focus on Elliott. “Can I... do anything?” 

Elliott shook his head, so that it rocked slowly back and forth within his cupped palms. His hair was wet and slicked forward over his face, obscuring his expression now. “You don’t have to stay in here.” 

Shayne’s brain took that and translated it to, You shouldn’t be here. He took a step back from where Elliott sat. “Okay. I’m going.” 

“Mmm,” Elliott murmured. 

Shayne returned to the door slowly, in case Elliott changed his mind and asked for help again, but he didn’t. He went back to his room, thinking he’d probably get back into bed if he didn’t think of something else to do within the next minute. 

___ 

🤢🤮 

Elliott’s body shuddered in the few-second intervals between transformations, which only seemed to be getting closer together. The worst part wasn’t the physical sensation of shifting in and out of corporeality, but the switching of his senses themselves. As himself, he had only one set of eyes, which he kept firmly shut, but as the swarm of bats, he had more eyes than he could count, and although he was in control of all of them, none of them moved with any kind of unity. 

It was making his head spin whenever it reformed on his pillow. 

“Shit,” he growled to himself, digging his fingers into his arms. Aside from submerging his body in the bath, provoking a little bit of pain seemed to be the only way to keep himself... himself. He was grateful that Felix hadn’t seen him like this, and although Shayne had seen it happen just once, there was no way he’d guessed that it was happening so sporadically. He hoped he hadn’t been too short with the kid when he’d just been trying to help – 

“Ah,” Elliott exclaimed, heaving a deep breath once his body had remained intact for longer than a few seconds. He clung to how heavy, how solid he felt, hoping he would manifest the ability to remain –  

“Hurrghh,” he gasped, leaping upright and casting his head over the edge of the mattress. He’d completely missed the build-up of nausea in his stomach, the tingling in his cheeks, the wobbly feeling in his limbs. He’d missed the chance to dread this, the heaving, the splattering, the loss of control – 

His stomach contents formed a star-like shape on the floor, and Elliott’s vision teetered out into a million points of view, his weight drifting up from the mattress, his senses overwhelmed with the frantic battering of a thousand tiny wings. When he reformed again, he was curled even further forward, arms pressed to his stomach and his eyes squeezed shut.  

He darted from the bed as fast as he could, making for the bathroom, but he dissolved against before reaching the door.  

😭🆘 

When he reformed, he was down on one knee, trembling, convulsing. He felt himself gag, his belly cramping and his back arching forward, but that seemed like the least of his problems when he literally couldn’t hold himself together.  

He disliked the fear that rose in him, so he shoved it down and brought it back up as anger, encouraging himself with a few muttered curses. He ground his teeth into his knuckles, pinched the back of his hand, anything to keep physical sensation alive. 

When he started to move again, there were tears running down his face, gusts of breathing ripping deeply through his chest, and his guts kept sinking like he was going to dissolve through the floor. He tried for a growl of defiance, but felt his meagre grip on himself slip again, his vision flashing in and out of darkness.  

“Shit,” he choked out, palms thumping on the floorboards as he reformed. He’d sagged forward, tears dripping between his fingertips, his anger no longer a strong enough shield against the fear. He sank backwards, turning a hand as he flickered into a swarm of bats again, and passed through the wall. 

“Get Ryan,” Elliott gasped, barely giving himself time to materialise on Shayne’s floor. He winced as he dissolved out and back in again, twice in quick succession. “I think I need help.” 

[aller-geez]

Get to know: Blythe Nevrin

(owned by @thekinkyleopard )

31 // Female // She/Her/Hers // Lesbian // Succubus Cobra

Full name: Blythe Nevrin

Nickname: Bly, B, Bee, Bumble Bee

Date Of Birth:

Big Three: Virgo 🌞 Gemini 🌙 Leo ↗️

Physical Appearance —

Age: looks 24-25

Eye Color: Black Sceleras with Silver irises

Hair Color: Dark purple with lighter purple ombré tips

Weight: 125

Height: 5’6

Race: Succubus Demon

Distinguishing Marks or Characteristics: Large black circular horns and a pair of small straight horns protruding from forehead, Dimple piercings, labret, septum and right hand eyebrow piercing, Freya with wings tattooed on her collarbone

Personality —

Greatest Strength: Her charismatic charm she can get /almost/ anyone to tell her anything and do anything

Greatest Weakness: Horribly Clumsy susceptible to injury and illness

Soft Spot: Freya, Zeroh, Amara

Mannerisms/Traits: Comes off very strong, cocky, know it all and seductive but also incredibly forward, vindictive and manipulative and catty. She does have a softer side to her that is often saved for very few.

Miscellaneous Trivia —

Blythe tries to often be a better person than she is but by nature her response is to be selfish or animalistic she is a slave to her urges

While living in the woods building their home, Blythe learned magic and potions, how to use her new abilities given to her from Father Lucifer and it helped them survive

Zeroh trained Blythe how to manipulate the veil as Satan instructed him to. This was in order to insure she could spy when necessary undetected. Having spent about a year of time together, she learned to really respect him, and sometimes tries to get him to soften up on Zilya, her neighbor and friend. They have a mutual respect for each other as coworkers and Blythe views him as a mentor and first real male figure that doesn’t manipulate her. Often visiting him when she can and catching up on stories.

Blythe meets Zilya when she and Freya find a spot in the woods they like to start building their forever home. At first the vampire was furious but melted under Blythe’s charm and they became fast friends who often exchange potions, ingredients, gossip and gab when they get the chance

Sneeze Content —

ALLERGIES

Dust

Moss

How severe are they?

She gets pretty stuffy and then have a few fits if continuously exposed

Do they get sick often?

Not too often but she also has quick remedies

How bad is it usually?

She can be a very sicky mess if she doesn’t remedy it with a potion quickly

Do they stifle?

Yes if she’s around others she will try to stifle them

How loud are their sneezes?

Not incredibly loud, medium but expressive

What do they sneeze into?

Palms or down her dress

How often do they sneeze?

Whenever presented by a trigger

How many times do they sneeze in a fit?

2 times at most 3

Do they have build-ups or are they sudden?

Sudden

Do they sneeze in public?

Nope, they’ve got a natural cover; The Veil

Some examples of their sneezes?

Backstory —

Blythe was born to Rochelle and Danny Neverin, two meth addicts that procreated purely by a drugged up accident. Children can be a blessing, in many ways. The second they could they were selling photos, videos of Blythe through various stages of her growth, selling off their daughter’s innocent body to monsters online. Eventually as their addictions escalated, so did their need to make money and thus they began selling Blythe out. Prostituting her from the ages of 13-17. They earned 5k per client and often kept her out for 10+ clients everyday. Though their lifestyle went front trailer parks to gated neighborhoods, the abuse never stopped and Blythe was never treated like a person let alone daughter. Through out her entire life, Blythe felt as though something or someone was watching her. God ? She thought. Often escaping death through insane unexplainable coincidences. Failed suicide after failed suicide and yet never truly feeling alone. It was when she turned 18 that her suspicions were confirmed and an angel by the name of Freya, exposed her existence to her. The angel spoke of an innate need to protect her, a confession of love, sincerity. Blythe felt like she already knew her, the angel’s presence comforting alone. Immediately Blythe knew she wanted to run away with this being and they did but found it very difficult to escape the wrath of God himself. Without much thought, Blythe had heard rumors of an old well and a well dressed man. Upon inquiring the old well, she met a hand of Satan who led her to meet him face to face due to her special circumstances. In order to protect them from the eyes of God, Satan offered her and Freya two necklaces powerful to shield them , but Blythe would have to sacrifice her humanity over to him and in exchange she would become the very thing that tormented her. Sin Incarnate. Turned into an insatiable Succubus she was now forced to be Lucifer’s very own eyes on earth. Yet, she finds herself compromised when tasked with the mission of reporting back about Alistar, Satan’s most rebellious son. While she reports what she is allotted, she can not report it all. Her and Alistar at a stand still. He won’t get them exposed to God, She won’t expose him to Satan. They work in balance but secretly despise each other.

Blythe loves potions, magic, and has the fet. She’s allergic to moss, rats, dust, and rosemary. She has a medium type immune system neither good or bad

[thetummyachechronicles]

Hello!

I just wanted to make a quick introductory post while I have the courage to dip my toes in the whump community (I’ve been lurking for a while, just shy). You can call me Drue. It/its pronouns please! I’m a longtime writer and occasional mediocre artist. I’m hoping that running this blog will inspire me and motivate me to create.

This is a whump/sickfic sideblog!

What to expect here: Writing, reblogs, and maybe occasional art. A mix of OCs and fandom stuff!

Fandoms I’m currently MOST interested in writing for: Good Omens, Broadchurch, Doctor Who (Ninth, Tenth, or Fourteenth Doctors), Hellaverse, and who knows what else, depending on my whims! I’ve also got lots of experience writing for the Vampire Chronicles, Community, Takin’ Over the Asylum, The Phantom of the Opera, and Labyrinth. I’m happy to take prompts for ANY of these fandoms, although I can’t always promise inspiration will strike.

My OCs tend to have a low fantasy vibe. Currently most interested in writing for my OCs for my modern Beauty and the Beast inspired universe. These include: Colin, Bonnie, Frankie, Claudia, and Aubrey. Other OCs may pop up as well.

I am comfortable/interested in writing:

Sickfics (including colds, flu, stomachaches/emeto, etc)

Injury fics

Emotional whump

Hurt/Comfort

Whumpee/Sickie and caregiver scenarios

Fantasy illness/injury

NOT interested in writing

Graphic sexual content

Pregnancy

Scat

Anything to do with allergic reactions, asthma attacks, or choking

I'm also usually not into scenarios involving whumpers and whumpees. I'm mostly distracted with writing sickfics instead 😂

I primarily focus on platonic/queerplatonic scenarios, but I’m not averse to writing romance with some characters (I will not write romance with my OC Bonnie, however).

There’s not likely to be anything super NSFW on this blog (I am aroace and just not super interested in NSFW content), but due to themes and the nature of whump, I would rather minors not follow me.

And that’s pretty much it! Hi! Feel free to to pop in and say hi, and I’ll try to have some of my writing up soon.

[zartharn]

taking sicky day means drinking a lot of fluids to heal me which means pissing all the time which means facing my horrible vampiric sick face self in the mirror

[franksfishies]

Doing an accidental Flanaverse October while in my sicky nest (ie I marathoned TFOTHOU in a day and immediately put on Hill House today and I imagine it'll continue.

Can I just say I love this shit. Generational trauma but also sometimes there is a ghost. The ghost isn't scary and is probably depressed and is probably a victim too. Sometimes the ghost is a Raven/Death. The vampires don't work here sm cause I feel like og vamp bro wasn't dealing with family issues but what do I know.

[legal-lost-boy]

Sorry for the whirlwind of rb's today of non vampire content. I've been struck with the tummy sickies and have been rotating between puking and shitting and laying in bed feeling like a zombie so

[nytehavyn-circle]

Sickie Tolaas (open)

It had been a week now and Tolaas still wasn't over the flu. Most other types of vampires really didn't get sick. Living Vampires did on occasion because even though they were vampires, the keyword was 'living'.

Unfortunately, being sick hit them harder than most.

And here was Tolaas, burritoed up in a blanket on his couch, sniffling, coughing, and moaning to himself. On the TV on the wall was an old John Wayne western. He wasn't sure which one because he'd only barely been paying attention to it. He'd been drifting in and out of sleep. He also hadn't contacted anyone he knew for the week because he was just too sick to do so.

On the table in front of him were several cups of water and juice, tea (even though he hated tea) and chicken broth.

"Uuunnnhhhh..." Tolas moaned to himself. He was about to drift off again, when he heard a knock at the door of his penthouse. "Hold on!" he shouted as best as he could.

Slowly, he sat up, got dizzy, sat there for a moment, then wrapped the blanket tighter around himself and stood. He shuffled over to the door, opened it, and gave a very weak smile. "Hi!" he said.

[cavewretch]

wretch / 26 / usa

marxist-leninist, can be found in bogs caves and wells . beware my soliloquies . if u know my actual name just play along :)

photosynthesis / photosynth is shorthand for my wip graphic novel <3

tag key ⬇️ (that i never fucking use) (i'll update this...at some point)

#wretchwork : my art

#wretched text : me talking

#sickie notes : chronic illness/disability posting

#photosynthesis : absorbing light and turning it into energy (inspiration/ocs/wips)

#brain creatures : welcome 2 my wretched mind

: politics/analysis/criticism

#psychic abrasions : internet specific crit

#culture melt : nostalgic absurdism crockpot

other tags : #art #felpsposting #save #ice #words #newsroll #wretch

nostalgic absurdism

growing up on the internet

[angstyaches]

1/2 I'd like to send a link to a fic prompt (If you're open to them 😊). It gives me Sharlie vibes, and even though there's sickness involved I think it's a good one for them to angst over each other - the not-sick one worrying about the sick one and trying to let them rest, but also stressing over why they weren't told and having to find them like this, and the sick one feeling guilty for being a bother but also being grateful. Good couple shit 😁

Aagghh, I'm sorry, I deviated a bit from the exact wording of the prompt and it became more of a starting point, but I hope you enjoy it!! Thank you for waiting 🖤

Prompt

Word Count: 3,000ish

CW: nightmare (skip to the first "___" ellipses to avoid it), fever, emeto, anxious caretaker, out-of-it sickie.

___

Charlie bobbed in and out of nightmares like a chunk of driftwood thrown in the ocean in a storm. He let the waves take him; being awake felt dreadful anyway. It wasn’t the most restful of sleep, but if he got enough of it, maybe his body would right itself. 

Fractured shards of blue sky were flanked by darkness and rock. He was barefoot, teetering at the edge of an inky pool. His nerves were alight as though he were being watched, and dread rose up his throat as he lowered his gaze from the horizon, towards the surface of the water. He braced himself for Charlie Two’s image – skeletal, brittle, angular – to greet him instead of his own human reflection. This was, after all, the place where they had first met, where their souls had been bonded. 

What awaited him was much worse. 

The face of a child rippled and distorted in the black water, his skin blossoming with bruises, his blue eyes wide and terrified, his mouth hanging open in a silent, perpetual scream. 

In true nightmare fashion, Charlie tried to scream and found that he couldn’t. His mouth was already gaping, too, as though his younger self’s form were mimicking him. He tried to fling himself backwards, but instead, he sank head-first into the water, glimpsing the whites of his own eyes as he tumbled. 

When he fell, he spun, and he found he was in a living room that hadn’t been familiar to him in years. This was the last house he and Jon had both lived in, before Jon went away to boarding school. Charlie glided like silk through the room, as though he were one of the shadows cast through the room by the moonlight. A figure sat, hunched on the floor by the sofa, head buried between their knees. Charlie recognised the flop of dirty-blonde hair. This wasn’t a memory; he had never seen teenaged Jonathan cry, not even when Grandad had passed away. 

Jon, he tried to cry out, reaching for his brother’s shoulder. But Charlie was still a shadow that passed right over him. Jon’s lonely, anguished wailing only grew louder and louder.  

Jon, I’m here, I’m right here, I’m – 

Jonathan flung back his head and roared, his face contorting as sunlight suddenly pierced the front window. His features quickly became indiscernible, but those broad shoulders, those... those dark shadows that rose upwards until the tips of those awful wings touched the opposite walls of the room. 

Charlie once again tried to get purchase. He clawed at the ground, desperate to drag himself away before those wings could beat, before those talons could be wielded, before... before the shattered glass and the blood –  

He was incorporeal and yet he flailed, he shrieked, and he punched. 

___ 

“Charlie. Charlie, stop it, calm down!” 

Charlie’s lungs wrenched and he gulped thickly at the air. His hands pushed at the mattress just as they had been pushing at the creature’s chest before he’d awoken. The sheets were soaked, and for one horrible second, Charlie deduced that it must have been his blood, that the vampire must have clawed him open and left him to bleed out. 

It was only when he felt a thick, lukewarm droplet run down the back of his neck that he realised that it was sweat. He’d sweat right through the sheets. 

“Hey. It’s okay.” 

The fact that Shayne was sitting on the bed, right next to him, made Charlie jump, but being startled by his boyfriend was the least of his problems right now. His stomach was roiling, forcing a rumbling, wet belch up into his throat. 

Charlie badly wanted to reach for Shayne’s hand with his own, but one arm was trapped beneath his own body and the other was currently needed in front of his mouth. 

Oh, god.

Oh, fuck.

This was hell. This was the hell that he'd been avoiding by staying asleep.

“I’m – mmph, I’m gonna...” He broke off into a strangled retch. 

“It’s okay, Charlie.” 

A belch rolled up from his cramping gut, and a trickle of bile landed in his hand. Panic flared in the back of his skull. He felt Shayne rest a hand on his sweat-slick shoulder, and he whimpered in appreciation, and in expression of how awful he felt, and in apology for the mess he was about to make all over the bed. 

“Charlie. Bowl.” 

Charlie blinked, lowering his hand to find the designated sick bowl sitting just under his chin. No, not sitting. Shayne was holding it there, ready. 

Oh...

The glow of appreciation might have burned a little warmer in his chest if his chest hadn’t currently been burning with stomach acid and the remains of yesterday’s dinner.  

Charlie tried to take the bowl into his own grasp, but he was positioned at a terrible angle, practically propping himself up on his right shoulder. He tried to twist around and sit up, and only made it because Shayne leaned over and held him by the waist to support him. As it was, the movement took it out of him. He was out of breath and seeing spots, and now trembling with miserable anticipation. 

His fingers were slippery on the sides of the bowl, but steady enough to hold it in place while his belly forced a torrent of sick out of him. His insides were so wrought with sickness that all he had to do was leave his mouth hanging open – shit, no, don’t think about the nightmare rockpool – and more chunky, pale slop came gushing out of him. 

Shayne’s hands kept gentle hold of Charlie’s torso – one at his lower back, the other on his tummy – as though he might topple off the side of the bed otherwise. 

Honestly, Charlie felt dizzy enough that he might have. Plus, the illusion that he was being physically held in place by somebody who loved him was possibly keeping him from breaking down altogether. 

Rope after rope of stomach contents came clawing out of him, hot and slick and foul. Bubbles of gas were churned up in between gags, forcing up long, thick belches that made his body shudder even more than the cramps.  

“Hmm,” Shayne groaned, smoothing his hand over Charlie’s bare back after a particularly watery belch left him whimpering.  

Charlie had been out of breath before he’d puked; at this point, he felt ready to black out. His throat felt like it’d been punched by the time his stomach settled down. It still hurt, and gurgled uneasily under Shayne’s hand, but at least it was no longer trying to smash itself against Charlie’s windpipe. 

Shayne waited for about a minute, still moving the hand on Charlie’s back in a slow, soothing circle before taking the hand from Charlie’s belly and reaching for something on the nightstand. Charlie smacked his lips and spat weakly into the bowl, hoping Shayne was reaching for a glass of water.  

It was a tissue, though, which Shayne used to dab at Charlie’s hand.  

Charlie grunted softly and turned his hand over to be cleaned on the opposite side. He’d completely forgotten that he’d puked into it. That part felt as though it might have happened within his dreams. 

“Whoops,” Charlie murmured. 

“Don’t worry about it, love.” 

Charlie lifted his head up, briefly catching Shayne’s eye before his boyfriend returned to carefully cleaning the edges of the bowl. 

“How’d you know I was sick?” 

Shayne raised a dark eyebrow. “Impressed?” 

Charlie nodded. He loved this boy so much it hurt. More than having a sick tummy. 

“Don’t be. You were burning up,” Shayne said. “And I know you like to sleep, but you don’t usually sleep until the afternoon.” 

“It’s the afternoon?” Charlie exclaimed hoarsely. “Shit! Rin –” 

“I called her. She can do next weekend.” Shayne’s hand came to rest on the outside of the sick basin. “Is your stomach okay for now?” 

Charlie nodded again, feeling a flush rise to his face. Shayne handed him some more tissue, and Charlie sheepishly used it to wipe his mouth and dropped it into the basin before it was swept away and placed out of sight.  

“Oh, but wait,” Charlie groaned. “Next weekend you’re training with Elliott –” 

Shayne frowned and waved a hand to dismiss Charlie’s half-formed protest. “I’ll figure something out. You just focus on getting better, okay?” 

“I'm sorry," Charlie sighed. "Maybe we can go to you.” 

Shayne grunted at that. He leaned back a bit, so he was propped against the headrest of the bed. “A demon, a demon eater, and a redhead walk into a vampire’s Georgian townhouse. Sounds like the start of a bad joke that Felix would tell.” 

Charlie snuggled closer, hugging himself in an attempt to soothe his bubbling stomach. He shut his eyes and nuzzled his cheek into the flat expanse of Shayne’s belly. Shayne was wearing a pullover hoodie, so there was no zip to press into Charlie’s face; just fabric and softness and warmth. 

A concerned hum came from Shayne’s body. “You’re sure that’s comfy?” 

“Mmhmm,” Charlie giggled, even as shivers started to roll through him. His body ached and it felt like he’d puked up some of his organs along with the contents of his stomach, so he wasn’t quite sure where the energy to giggle was coming from. 

Shayne spent the next minute trying to adjust the corner of the duvet without disturbing Charlie too much, covering Charlie’s shoulders and making sure no draughts were getting to his back. Then he splayed his hand against Charlie’s upper back, keeping him scooped close.  

Charlie had already drifted off by the time he was tucked in. 

This time, his sleep was blissfully dreamless, occupied only by the faint rush of his boyfriend’s and his own bodily sounds. 

___ 

Shayne wasn’t sure if Charlie would actually slump away from him if he stopped holding his shoulder in place with his arm, but he wasn’t willing to take the risk. Idiot, he thought, examining the back of his boyfriend’s head as it lay across him. Why couldn’t he have been happy sleeping in a position that he couldn’t roll out of? 

Deep down, he really didn’t care, though. He’d never gotten over the sting of embarrassment whenever Charlie rested his head on – or even close to – his stomach, particularly since any amount of anxiety or stress could turn it into a churning, gurgling mess to be inflicted upon Charlie’s eardrums. 

While he lay there, he listened to Charlie’s breathing and felt tentatively thankful for the fact that he wasn’t groaning and twitching like he had been before. Shayne’s chest hurt a little at the fact that Charlie had been attempting to just sleep through whatever this was, instead of telling Shayne that anything was wrong. Should he have realised sooner? Should he have woken Charlie earlier, gotten him a cool cloth to soothe his fever before it had a chance to wreak havoc on him? Gotten him hydrated, gotten –? 

“Shit,” Shayne hissed gently to himself. He glanced towards the bedside locker. There were tissues, there was paracetamol (which hadn’t seemed wise to offer Charlie while he was still so nauseous), there was a thermometer (which he hadn’t needed to use to know that Charlie was burning up) – there was even a dry cloth that he’d brought with the intention of running under some cold water, but had never gotten around to. Charlie had started heaving so quickly that it’d slipped his mind. He hadn’t even thought to bring him any water to drink. 

Fuck. He was shit at this.  

Shayne tensed his back and stomach muscles to ease himself up. He cupped the back of Charlie’s head, supporting it as best he could while slipping out from underneath it. He dragged a pillow down from the headrest and propped it under Charlie’s cheek. 

Charlie inhaled sharply. His eyes seemed to try opening, but only made it halfway before they fluttered shut again. He made a soft whimpering noise that sounded vaguely like a question. Guilt tugged at the pit of Shayne’s stomach; if he had planned everything better, he wouldn’t have had to disturb Charlie’s nap at all. 

“Sorry, love.” Shayne curled forward, kissing Charlie on the head. “I’m just...” 

He shut himself up. Charlie was asleep anyway, and explaining himself would just disturb him even more. Shayne swallowed nervously. Please, no more bad dreams. 

He couldn’t remember ever being in such a state of hyperfocus whilst walking downstairs to fill a glass with water from the kitchen tap. He even grabbed one of the silicon straws Charlie had bought for his iced coffees in the summer, in case Charlie didn’t want to sit up to drink, but the whole thing felt instinctual and automated. It just made sense. It felt like no time at all had passed by the time he returned to the bedroom, but clearly it had, because Charlie was sitting up now. 

He was sort of reclining on his side, his torso and left arm making him into a right-angle triangle with the mattress. His free hand rubbed at his face. 

“Charlie?” 

“The... pull the tuna into the boat,” Charlie mumbled. 

“The what now?” 

“Turn the car around, the...”  

Shayne raised an eyebrow and waited a couple of seconds. He was kind of interested to know where this was going, but Charlie didn’t finish that sentence. Instead, he groaned and lay down again, pushing his face into the pillow that Shayne had left for him near the centre of the bed.  

Shayne carefully sat down. He frowned as he stroked Charlie’s hair. There was still heat radiating from his head. It broke his heart to think about disturbing him yet again, but with the sweating and the vomiting, Charlie was bound to be dehydrated. 

“I’m so sorry, light of my life. Can you sit up and drink something real quick?” 

Another groan. Charlie rolled his head back slightly. Bleary blue eyes squinted at Shayne for a couple of seconds. “What’d you call me?” 

Shayne’s heart thumped. 

“Absolutely nothing,” he said, moving the glass of water into Charlie’s line of sight. He turned the straw towards Charlie’s face. “You want some of this, or no?” 

Charlie nodded promptly and closed his eyes. He murmured wordlessly to himself as he pushed himself up into the triangular position again. He stayed a little lower this time. 

“Little sips,” Shayne told him, bringing the straw to Charlie’s mouth.  

Charlie closed his lips around it and took a few steady pulls before flicking the straw away with his tongue. He exhaled slowly through pursed lips, as though it was taking some physical effort not to let the water slip right back up and out his mouth. 

Shayne grimaced and laid a hand on Charlie’s shoulder to let him know he was rooting for him. “Still pretty sick to your stomach?” 

A nod, slow and careful like the steadying breaths. 

No chance of getting any paracetamol into him, then. At least, none that were likely to go down and stay down.  

“Probably enough water for now, then,” he murmured, more to himself than anyone, as he twisted away to place the glass on the bedside table. It was getting crowded up there now. When he turned back, Charlie’s were barely open, but he was still sitting part of the way up. He met Shayne’s gaze and managed a weak little smile. 

“Thank you so much, lovely,” he whispered.  

Shayne quickly shook his head, hating that Charlie was thanking him for doing the bare minimum – and at the last fucking minute, too. He also hated that the sleepy, adoring look in Charlie’s eyes was making his stomach flutter. 

“Lie back down and get comfy again,” he instructed as softly as he could. “I’m going to try to get your fever down.” 

“’Kay...” 

He took the cloth from the bedside table and brought it into the adjoining bathroom. In the mirror, he was still able to see Charlie on the bed, and he began to get concerned when the boy made no move to put his head back on the pillow or settle back down in any way. 

Shayne hurriedly wet and wrung out the cloth and returned to the side of the bed. 

"Charlie?” He crouched down to Charlie’s eye level and got ready to reach for the basin again. “Are you okay, love?”  

“Mmph...” came the distressed response. 

“Talk to me. What’s up?” 

Charlie blinked heavily, his glassy eyes roaming over the opposite side of the bed. He seemed to know exactly what he wanted to say, but was struggling to put it into words.  

He finally parted his lips to say, “Is the tummy pillow coming back?” 

Heat flooded Shayne’s head. “Oh. Um...” 

Charlie rubbed at his eyes with the heel of his hand. The arm that was propping him up was starting to tremble visibly with the effort. If this was the quickest way to get the idiot to lie back down again – 

“Okay. Yeah, it is,” Shayne nodded. “Just let me put this on your head, okay? You're roasting.” 

Charlie placidly allowed Shayne to smooth the cloth across his forehead; he even lifted his eye-rubbing hand to hold the cloth in place while he was still sitting up at an angle. The faintest of smiles crossed his face, tugging gently at his tired eyes, as he watched Shayne take the pillow away and replace it with himself.  

He put his head down, cheek-first, and left the cloth sitting across the right side of his forehead. Shayne wondered, for a few seconds, if he would lose any of the benefit of the cloth if it was off-centre, but quickly realised that thought was probably even more ridiculous than Charlie's rambling about tuna and cars.

A contented hum rumbled through Charlie’s throat, making Shayne jump slightly as he felt it in his stomach muscles. He wrapped his arm around Charlie’s shoulder again, and brushed the fingers of his other hand through Charlie’s hair as a quick apology for getting startled. 

“Go back to sleep,” he whispered. “Go... turn the car around, and pull the tuna into the boat.” 

Charlie grunted. “What the fuck are you talking about?” 

Shayne bit his lip to keep from snorting with laughter and jolting Charlie’s head from his belly. “Nothing. I love you.” 

Charlie let out three more consecutive little hums. 

[galesdevoteewife]

Crafting List

Sooo I have way too many drafts piling up, and I'm having a bit of decision paralysis here 😅 Thought I would make a list of them. For the sake of my personal notes and perhaps some community help on choosing? Feel free to let me know if anything interested you! <3

! Spoiler ahead, all the way to epilogue !

Pregame

The Proud Arch Wizard

1. "Mine was a popular hand at the annual Blackstaff's Ball" -Yet Gale was the one who couldn't be won by anyone, for magic was his one true love. 2. Imagining his character at the time, how he had been "many things to many people." - "Chosen one" Finished: - Imagining baby Gale - Imagining teenager Gale

Zilvera’s Past

1. The chained elephants. In Menzoberranzan, an enslaver is nothing but a slave to another. There is no innocent in the cursed cycle. 2. Her friendship with a myconid. 3. A series of sicky dark romance with her ex-mistress.

Quarantined Gale’s Life

1. How he was frustrated by becoming a weave-thirst abomination. Finished: - Doodles of the seclusive wizard

Act 1

Some relationship curves, about how Zilvera was ironically learning there are other things besides survival from Gale. And how she was confused by the springing affection.

1. Cooking. 2. The names of the stars. 3. The hand that feeds. 4. The song of a friend. - Vibrating collar Finished: - Late night chat - Gale's Snack pouch - Gale complaining about being stealthy

Non-Romance

- Astarion’s vampire reveal -bloody and violent, yet only goblins died, so not too bad, I guess? -> something like this - Tav's tent design kit Finished: - Just a drawing of Astarion and Zilvera - Shower time

Act 2

Where the romance is getting real.

2-3 Sweetest dream you ever have Finished: - But I've got so many - My take on Act 2 cutscene. - The first morning together - The new couple still getting used to seeing each other's skin - Chatting with Astarion after first night

Act 3

A series of relationship bonding, a bit of bittersweet as they were so in love, but any day could be their last.

1. "If you need a moon, I will be one for you" – comforting Gale who was having doubts about his decision. 2. My take on Act 3 cutscene. Zilvera was feeling hurt by the way Gale phrased his request. 3. Gale was keen on studying...'anthropology'. He went consulting the professionals. - "Oh Mystra, goddess of the weave, mother of all magic... You think you are the only one playing the game. What will you say when I finally stand in an equal term with you..." Finished: - Kissing the wizard - "Marriage? What's that?" - Halsin's offer - "All I want is a life to share with you..." Jealous and bitter Gale - Zilvera's submissive kink reveal - The orb offer - Last kiss

Non-Romance

1. Astarion’s ritual choice. 2. Some doodles with the companions. 3. Zilvera left with Astarion in a rush at the dock. They spent some time saying goodbyes. Finished: - Astarion needed a 'mirror' so... - Zilvera's endgame character sheet

Postgame

Life in Waterdeep

1. Going home. 2. Propose. 3. *Wedding (which I have no idea how it should be yet lol) 4. Highest Ambition. 5. "I want to be who's best for you, but the more I try, the more I realize... I might never be the one." -Zilvera was frustrated, jealous, and scared. For Gale no longer needed to be saved, and she didn't know how else she could keep him. 6. Jealousy - a series of little stories where one of Gale’s apprentices, who was staying in his tower with them, had a crush on Zil. 7. A queue of stories where Zil was figuring out her place and finding goals. 8. Moments with Tara/Morena/Gale’s acquaintances, etc. ∞ Endless list of small sweet moments in life xD Finished: - Doodle about braiding hair - Christmas knitting competition [1] | [2]

God Romance AU

As the divinity roots deeper and deeper, they sometimes forget the reasons for holding hands. Still, there is hope since they have forever.

1. Some good days. 2. A means to an end - Gale was granting his love to his chosen, but he was also the one who felt hurt and confronting Zil for not saying anything. 3. How Gale’s insecurity was eating him and the God of Ambition was a possessive, jealous type of lover. - GodGale Epilogue Finished: - Just a drawing of crowning

Non-Romance

- The chosen: "Your spells single-handedly rebuilt half the Upper City. Baldur's Gate is your proof." What's everyone up to: - Astarion + Sebastian - Karlach + Wyll: "Hey it's Dammon!!!" - Wyll + Duke: Ration supply for the pride of the gate

I also want to create some nicely finished pieces, magic kink NSFW ideas, animatics, dividers, modern AU doodles, and, and... Did I ever mention they're constantly turning in my head 24/7???

[caddy-whump-us]

Etienne is more mobile now, which is good, but he’s still being extremely disobedient, which is bad. Viktor calls the doctor back to see to Etienne since Etienne is not eating. Re: Etienne’s crutch, please picture something more like what Tiny Tim might have than a real modern crutch, something that’s like a tall cane, with a padded T-shaped top, and one handle sticking out from it partway down.

Caution/TW: force-feeding (depicted), gagging (depicted), and mentions of vomiting (does not actually occur). I know these are major triggers for some people, so please be careful!

---

With his leg healing, slowly, Etienne could crutch his way around the house, slowly. So he was let out of the Rose Room, at last, bathed with a hard scrub, and had his crutch set under his arm to follow after his master.

And that was expected of him: Viktor would make his rounds of the house every evening, attending to this matter or that problem, dispatching postulants to keep the house, writing letters to masons or carpenters (which would be delivered by a postulant in the morning; these workmen would never see the master of the house themselves). He would attend to the household accounts. He would speak to Lucien, who was the unofficial head of the postulants. 

And Etienne was expected to follow after him, like a dog at heel, silent but present.

Those had been his first steps out of the cellars when he had first arrived: collared and leashed like a dog, with Viktor still carrying a switch in his hand, he had been taught to heel behind his master as Viktor went about the household. The leash and the switch were put away after a time, but not the collar--not until Viktor had put Etienne in the cage in the library. And now--or, at least, as it had been--sometimes Viktor did not demand Etienne follow after him. Instead, he left Etienne in the cage and saw to the house himself, leaving Etienne caged but also to his own devices.

But now Etienne was expected to heel like a dog again, tapping his way along with his leg held up from the floor. The crutch dug into his arm and his chest. He tottered on it. He dared to put the foot of his damaged leg against the floor and Viktor shot him a hard look. And so Etienne went back to tottering along, clicking out with uneven steps: a soft padding step for the slipper on one foot, the sharp tap of the crutch for the other.

And Viktor would take sharp turns down hallways or suddenly climb a flight of stairs, leaving Etienne to struggle along behind him. Stairs were wretched, trying to balance on one foot, then lift himself up with the crutch under his arm. He had fallen more than once since he’d been allowed out of the Rose Room. But if he delayed too long, Viktor would punish him with a slap across the face. It had been three so far this evening. He was to heel, not to wander after.

And, so, panting and hobbling, Etienne tried to heel.

Viktor turned aside near the kitchens (where a few postulants were busy around the fire and table) and into a small whitewashed stone room. A few chairs and a long table stood there, and two lanterns were burning on the table. There was only darkness to be seen through the window set high in the wall. Some larder, perhaps, or scullery, but now left almost empty and scrubbed clean.

Etienne followed after Viktor as quickly as he could but stopped in the doorway, panting, and reaching across his body to grip his crutch with both hands. He moved slowly towards the middle of the room.

“Sit,” Viktor said and gestured toward the chair that stood alongside the table. And Etienne did as he was told. He set his crutch aside, balanced against the table. 

“And stay,” Viktor said, before slipping out of the room.

I am a dog again, Etienne thought.

The room was chill; he wrapped his arms around himself and waited.

Viktor was not gone long and, when he returned, the masked doctor was following after him, carrying his black kit bag. 

“I didn’t expect to see you again so soon,” the doctor said, setting their bag on the table. 

Etienne said nothing. The doctor opened the bag and began to sort through the instruments inside.

Two postulants came into the room then, each carrying a covered tray which they set down on the table as well. 

Etienne reached for his crutch, but kept his eyes on the postulants and the doctor. 

“No,” Viktor said and Etienne looked over to him. Viktor’s eyes were cold. Etienne set his crutch back against the table, but now he kept his eyes on Viktor.

“Move these,” the doctor was saying, waving at the covers and dishes on the trays. “I’ll want the tray. The table won’t do.” 

The postulants began to clear a tray. Viktor interrupted them:

“Wolfram, will you?” and he pointed generally to Etienne.

One of the postulants--larger and more broad-shouldered than the other--took something from one of the trays and stepped toward Etienne.

Etienne leaned away from him, hard, against the back of the chair. The postulant came forward and showed he carried a length of rope coiled in his hand. Etienne shrank down, hunching in the chair, and threw a worried look to Viktor. But Viktor seemed impassive, unconcerned.

The postulant was just as impassive as Etienne looked up at his face (strong, square-jawed--how did he find himself here?). He settled Etienne’s hands down the back legs of the chair and began wrapping the rope around him, spiralling, spiralling, down around his chest, down to his wrists, across the tops of his legs.

“Just keep the one leg from moving. He should know better than to try it with the other one. After all,” he said, “He could break it again.”

The rope was surprisingly, unexpectedly long, but also soft (just as unexpected). The postulant tied it off at Etienne’s ankle and stepped back. 

“Come behind him, Wolfram. He may yet need to be held still.”

Etienne looked to the masked doctor who had turned from the tray and the instruments to watch. Etienne tried to find the eyes behind the smoked glass in the mask--no such luck. 

“Why are you here? What are you doing?”

The masked doctor held up their hands. “Your master bid me to come.”

“What?”

The doctor took on a low tone, like a schoolmaster smiling while still scolding: “You can’t be as much of a fool as that. I’ve been at your master’s beck and call since long before you came to his house.”

“Of course,” Viktor said, and Etienne whipped his head around to face him. “Who do you think I called on when one of my servants was ill with a fever or had taken a bad fall?”

“And I was glad to be of service.” The doctor took a shallow bow.

The smaller postulant had taken the cover off the tray: bowls, eggs (still in their shells) in a small dish, spoons, a whisk.

“But why are you here now?” Etienne said. His throat was going dry.

“Your master,” the doctor said, holding out their hands, like crows’ wings, “has told me that you’re not well. You aren’t eating.” They stepped closer and took Etienne’s chin in one hand and turned his face from side to side. “And it certainly looks like you haven’t been eating to me.” They clicked their tongue. “It’s best to act now rather than let him waste away.” They looked up to Viktor. “You were right to send for me when you did, my lord.”

Etienne pulled his chin out of the doctor’s hand. He flexed his hands against the legs of the chair, pulled against the ropes. 

“And what do you recommend, doctor?” The voice of a stage actor, of one who knows already what’s to be said.

“He must be fed, even if he will not eat.”

Etienne scowled at the doctor and set his teeth together. The doctor reached out and patted Etienne’s knee.

“You needn’t worry,” they said. “We’ll get you fed and strong again.”

Viktor turned a chair towards his side of the room and sat down, throwing one elbow over the back of the chair. 

“My lord,” the doctor said, “May I?” and they gestured to the smaller postulant.

“Camille, assist the doctor.” He pointed to her languidly and she bowed.

And then there was quiet, with only the sound of Etienne breathing hard through his clenched teeth. Then the sound of dishes; the doctor was pointing out things on the tray. The postulant cracked an egg into a bowl and beat it, then spooned in something soft and pale (porridge perhaps). The doctor pointed again and she began to pour milk into the bowl--the doctor motioned for her to stop. She beat the mixture again. And Etienne turned to look at Viktor again.

He turned back only because he heard the sound of metal against the metal of the trays. The postulant was holding the bowl with both her hands cupped around it, as if to warm herself. The sound had come from the doctor lifting a tin funnel and a length of dark red rubber tube up from the tray. They checked both with care, examining the tube especially for any holes.

Etienne turned to Viktor again. “You can’t be serious.”

Viktor was silent.

“You can’t be serious,” Etienne said again, his voice rising with fear.

“Now then,” the doctor said, passing the funnel to Camille. They pointed to Wolfram and then to Etienne. Wolfram took up a handful of Etienne’s hair and pulled his head back. Etienne kept his jaw tight and his teeth closed.

“Ah,” the doctor said, tossing up their hands. “What am I thinking?” 

They turned back to the tray, turned around again with a green glass jar no bigger than their palm. The lid was off and they were dipping the end of the tube into whatever lay within. 

“We shall need,” they said, still dipping, “a bit of grease to ease the way.” And the jar went back onto the tray. 

Wolfram took up a tighter grip on Etienne’s hair and set his other hand on Etienne’s shoulder. Etienne, for his part, pulled back as far as he could; he was beginning to shake. The doctor leaned over him, the beak of their black mask almost touching Etienne’s nose. And now Etienne could see the eyes behind the smoked glass, blinking--human eyes, eyelashes, moving. The doctor held up the greased end of the tubing between them.

“If you swallow, it will go down easier. If you don’t swallow, it will still go down. And I will take as much time as is needed to get it down. Do you understand?”

Etienne said nothing, but only locked his eyes with the doctor’s. The doctor looked up at Wolfram and nodded. Wolfram gripped harder at Etienne’s hair.

The doctor brought the tube up to Etienne’s nose--it smelt of fish, of fat, and Etienne twisted away as best he could with Wolfram’s hand in his hair. The doctor caught him by his chin and held him. Etienne twisted again, but the doctor caught him again, held him, and looked him in the eyes.

“You’ve hardly eaten for the better part of two weeks,” they said. “You’re not so strong as you might think.”

Again the doctor put the tube to his nose. This time, Etienne was held still. 

Slowly, inch by inch, the doctor began to push the tube into Etienne’s nose. Etienne gagged, coughed. Still the doctor went on pushing the tubing in. Etienne shut his eyes and wriggled against the sensation--like something, a worm or a slug or a snake, crawling up his nose. He shivered. His foot, his good foot, was tensing and twisting, scraping his toes across the floor. 

He coughed again, hard, and the doctor leaned over him again and said, “Swallow.”

Etienne closed his eyes and did, tasting fish at the back of his throat.

“Go on,” the doctor said and slid another inch of tubing in, which began to burn as it went down. Etienne’s eyes watered. His fingers gripped at the legs of the chair.

The doctor looked behind them, toward Camille. “We’ve a cloth here, haven’t we?”

Camille brought it to them and the doctor paused, wiping Etienne’s eyes. 

“Swallow,” they said and went on pushing in the tube.

It was slow and it was agony--coughing, gagging, and the burning in his face, the doctor demanding he swallow (to swallow the tube itself). Etienne was left gasping, all attempts to keep his mouth shut long gone.

The doctor left him to gag and gasp and swallow on the feeling of something caught halfway down his throat. They held up the tube where a band of thread was wrapped around the tube--a few inches out, still, but not so many. Etienne stared at it, his eyes still streaming. The doctor wiped his face again.

“We need only this much more,” they said. “You can stand it.”

At the table, he heard Camille stirring the bowl again and it distracted him from seeing the doctor push the next inch of tubing down his throat. He gagged again, harder this time. 

“Swallow,” the doctor said, until the thread was just at the tip of Etienne’s nose.

They held up the other end of the tubing, still quite a length and held it out to Camille who took it, holding it up as the doctor had. Etienne was still gasping, almost choking, at this thing, this tube running down the back of his throat. The doctor came over and pushed gently against his stomach (despite the rope holding him to the chair) and nodded and wiped Etienne’s eyes again.

Wolfram still had a grip on Etienne’s hair, but it seemed looser now. Etienne went on swallowing, gasping, gagging, swallowing again. 

The doctor took up the funnel and set it in the end of the tube. Etienne pinched his eyes shut and lolled his head, such as he could.

When he opened his eyes again, Camille had come over with the bowl and the doctor tipped it into the funnel--a few spoonfuls at first. Etienne dared cast a glance towards Viktor, who hasn’t moved in all this time. 

They all watched at the first spoonfuls of porridge and raw egg and milk traveled down the tube, turning the dark red rubber darker as it passed. The doctor held the funnel higher and Etienne felt it, cold, passing down his throat against all his will, and then, still cold, down into his stomach. 

Etienne watched as another few spoonfuls slipped down the tube and into him. Again he gagged and again the doctor told him, “Swallow.”

As slow, perhaps slower than sliding the tube into his gut, the doctor poured the mixture into him--in spoonful and cupfuls, it slid down the tube and hit his stomach, cold. His stomach clenched, he closed his eyes.

The bowl, at last, was empty. The doctor passed it to Camille. Etienne leaned back against the chair, panting.

“Mix another batch,” the doctor said.

Etienne sat up and opened his mouth--the doctor put their hand over it. 

“Don’t speak or you might choke and your master would think very ill of you then.”

Camille cracked the second egg, beat it, added the porridge, poured in the milk, and stirred. Etienne leaned back against the chair again, squeezing his eyes shut. 

He did not see the doctor pour the first cupful into the funnel and into the tube, but he did feel it. Again, by spoonfuls and cupfuls, the bowl was poured down the funnel, down the tube, and into Etienne’s gut.

When the bowl was, at last, empty, Etienne fell back against the chair again, breathing hard. The doctor passed the bowl to Camille and came back to wipe Etienne’s mouth.

“And one more, I think,” they said, “but no need for the egg.”

As she set to work, Etienne caught the doctor’s eyes again and shook his head, no no no no no no.

The doctor leaned close to him again, still holding the tube and funnel aloft, and said, “Yes. Your master will have you fed. And if you do not eat when you are given meals by your master, then I will come back and I will feed you--as often as is needed.” And he went on pouring in another few spoonful of the milk and porridge and egg.

Though Etienne couldn’t drop his head as he would have liked, he closed his eyes again. He heard Camille stirring the bowl--porridge and milk this time and waited to feel it.

A few spoonful and his stomach began to ache--stretched and bloated. He shook his head, to beg, to plead for some mercy, but the doctor went on, pouring in the last bowlful faster than the first two until Etienne was shaking.

He sat still when, at last, the bowl was empty, breathing fast and shallow. The doctor handed the bowl back to Camille and, mercifully, did not ask her to mix another bowlful. 

The doctor shooed Wolfram away and he let go of Etienne’s hair and Etienne only realized then how tightly he had been holding it. 

The doctor leaned in close again. “You could have done better. But you did well enough. And I will come back if your master sends for me again. Now lean your head back.”

He did as the doctor said and, slowly, the doctor began to pull the tubing up and out of him again. He could feel it rising up, like sickness, and gagged as it passed through the back of his throat, and could smell the porridge and milk as it passed from his nose. His eyes watered. The doctor set the tubing on the tray again. He gagged again, sneezed.

“Oh, there there,” the doctor said, and came back with the cloth. “Blow your nose.” 

Etienne still felt as if he had either been sick or had been sobbing: his eyes were wet, his nose was sore. Worst of all his stomach felt fit to burst.

The doctor leaned over him again and felt at his stomach, squeezing. Etienne made small sounds of protest and found his throat was scratchy and sore. 

“You should be able to untie him now,” the doctor said. 

Viktor waved to him and Wolfram did as he was told. Etienne immediately slouched forward in the chair, his head on his knees, and immediately regretted it and sat up again. His stomach bulged. He leaned against the back of the chair again instead.

The postulants gathered the dishes and slipped back into the kitchen again. The doctor was wiping off the rubber tube and the funnel.

Something clenched in Etienne’s stomach, he leaned forward halfway, beginning to retch. He clapped a hand over his mouth--and Viktor caught him by the back of his shirt collar.

“Do not bring it back up,” Viktor said, coldly and into Etienne’s ear. “You needed to be fed and you were fed. You should be grateful that I gave you so much. I gave you more than you needed. I gave to you, generously, from my hand and my table.”

Etienne sat still for a long moment with his face hidden in his hands, with Viktor still holding his collar. He panted, he swallowed hard, he whined and groaned, he shook and sweated, but, as ordered, he was not sick.

The doctor was packing their things away again in their black bag. They bowed again to Viktor and left the room as quietly as they had come into it, their long black coat sweeping behind them.

Viktor stood over Etienne until his shaking eased and then said, “Come.”

With his stomach churning, Etienne took up his crutch and, weakly, followed after him.

[dr-ground-zero]

i don’t care if its only september, here’s some snz/sickie ideas I have containing monsters

a human meeting a person of the fae (fairyfolk) and being allergic to their magic (yes fairy dust, not it doesn’t make them fly) fae dust is like and aura the fae gives off and it follows them. A werewolf who’s nose is very sensitive and used for searching around and keeping them from getting lost being too clogged up by a cold for them to hunt or really go anywhere without getting lost. 

A siren with a sore throat (need I say more on this topic)

a vampire who’s usually very cold (in body temp speaking), being overly warm from a fever so if they bite their companion they can feel how hot their lips are. Werewolf making a comfort next full of their partner clothes to try and get any trace of their scent. growling also hurts their throat but if someone is looking at their partner-who’s looking for something to help with this cold- the wrong way. Sore throat be-damned they’re gonna growl at the person till they get the hint.

ghost who snzs ectoplasm, has terrible allergies to moonflowers.

sick tentacle monster is so disoriented that despite the amount of arms that could be grabbing a tissue they hardly ever manage to cover their wet sneezes and exorcist who snzes when an aberration is around

[tinytinybumblebee]

hc that baby viago will put literally anything in his mouth (from sticks to dirt to dust bunnies to Deacon's whole knee), and somehow manages to eat some human food and ends up being very sick and Vlad and Deacon have to take care of their baby (whilst simultaneously hunting down whoever left the human food out within his reach so that they can get revenge)

Im wheezing at the image of Deacon just, knitting at the table then suddenly he feels something warm on his knee and looks down and sees Viago just chillin' like, "Hi Tata" (And that's when Deacon learns that when Vlad said "he'll put anything in his mouth" he literally meant anything xD)

But awww oh nooo, it's probably those candies that look like rocks

So tiny Viago is just like "yeaaah rocks, the good minerals" but then he like, puts some in his mouth and uh oh he chomps down curiously and,,it is human food ;0;

Watch it be like, one of their recent victims and they had left it in the front room, so no revenge can technically be done (but, they count drinking them as a good amount of revenge-) which, is good in a way because then they can give all their attention to their sickie vampire ;w; the whole time Viago not knowing whyyy his tummy hurts but, he's got his Papa's right there by his side so, it's not all that bad♡♡♡

[thefangirl-16-blog]

More vampire au

There aren't many planned out moments in the vampire au. However there are a few most of which are mostly plot and angst based

For example the common trope in these types of au and vampire romance in general where the vampire feeds off of the romantic interest because something something trust something something somepeole think its hot.

It's probably the angstyist thing I've been bothered to actually think about happening in the au and is going to take way too long to explain it so most of it's under the cut also trigger warning for blood because I mean it's a vampire au bloods a pretty common thing

So after the races, as meantioned before, everyone is on high alert for any crime related activity this means that people are keeping a closer eye on BV.

Obviously the whole being a vampire thing is significantly harder when suspicion is high and people are aware that you're a criminal so naturally stockpiling stolen blood became basically impossible without potentially exposing himself.

After not being able to bring himself to feed off an animal (since they're so small it would be incredibly hard to not end up just killing it) and having zero critical thinking skills, he decides to just lock himself away in his house(?) until he can come up with an alternative solution so as to not just snap and bite someone - he probably pulls a sicky to get out of work as well.

It does not take a genius to work out that this is not a good course of action.

Important side note that I'm just gonna put here: in this au if a vampire goes too long without drinking blood they become more vampire-y for lack of a better term and considering that blood consumption is going by the same rules as vampire bats, it doesn't take long for this too happen and after rough 2ish day they just straight up die for real this time.

At this point Elektra realises that they havent seen their boyfriend in a while and does some looking around and ultimately ends up at Bee's house.

It goes without saying that this a bad situation.

Initially BV freaks the fuck out since he was hiding to avoid situations like this, he  attempts to get as far away from Lektra as posible and (maybe even throws a few things at them) as while yelling at them to get out and leave him alone.

This ends up having the opposite effect though, Elektra obviously immediately clocks that BV is acting incredibly out of sorts and his eyes are glowing brighter than ever and comes the obvious conclusion that something is seriously up and that something is probably vampire related, since no one else knows about Bee being a vampire and just steps inside anyway, silently also freaking out whole time beause o fuck whats going on with my bf

Elektra ends up just standing by the door until BV starts to run out of things to yell/throw at them before approaching but still keeping a distance.

Queue angsty Bee monologue explaining stuff and how he feels about it all, both of them are still kinds freaking out about this since they're basically looking at BV dying or giving in and potentially killing someone else.

Using the net zero braincells the couple have, Elektra says that Bee should just feed of them while he's still acting (mostly) like himself.

This is a pretty dumb decision since Elektra literally has a repair truck and just ask Wrench to sneek some blood asap it's not like Bee is gonna drop dead in the next five minutes

Bee immediately refuses but Elektra tells him that they trust him and it'll be fine, after some more back and forth BV hesitantly agrees.

It doesnt go the best though, BV is super hungry so its hard to actually control himself and Elektra doesnt want to push BV off before he's had all he needs so it does end up going a bit too far, though nothing that life threatening.

Elektra almost passes out and as soon Bee notices this he stops and all but flings himself as a far as possible just in case.

Luckly there's no serious lasting damage and Bee eventually crawls back to Elektra's side to give them a proper once over, shortly followed by fluff and working out what they're gonna do to prevent this happening again

This is probably about as far on the angst train I can currently manage lol

[a-vamp-and-a-half]

“I don’t know, it was really old. It was from before we were euhm, a vampire. It had all these fancy grooves and stuff. We didn’t need it so much anymore for the sickies, but we were using it a lot now again” she says quietly

Bits and bops of information, given piece by piece

“We also had a spoon, but that one’s disappeared into nowhere! One day it was there and now? Just poof. It had a flower on it, it was really fancy. Oh the bee farm! I forgot the beeeeees” distracted once more, off collecting flowers

Hmm.

Dark: Bing, could you check through Sia's old photo albums for a star mug and flower spoon?

Bing: Uhhhhhh what

Dark: Odette is talking about them. They miss them.

Bing: You're talking to Odette?

Dark: We're playing Minecraft.

Bing: WHAT

Dark closes the texting app and goes back to playing, leaving Bing to his freakout. "Should we build a roof for the bees? A stone fence to keep their flowers safe? I don't know if the cows can eat eat flowers or not..."

[chaneajoyyy]

Hello my lovely librarian! Would you be able to direct me to any supernatural erik fanfics or ones that take place in a graveyard at some point with erik?

Hey babe!! I sure do!! 

SUPERNATURAL!ERIK FICS (some occure in a graveyard at some point)

- fictober day 26-”but if you cannot see it, is it realy there?”, fictober day 28: “i felt that, you know what i mean?” (occurs at a graveyard at some point), santa can’t bring me what i need (with t’challa and m’baku)-  @eerythingisshaka

- screams in the night series, mr. telephone man series,  @supersizemeplz

- sight series- @ghostfacekill-monger

- dirty little secrets seroiest (mindreader!erik)- @goddessofthundathighs

- illuminate series (with trevante), hearteyes zone series- @hearteyes-for-killmonger

- the lagoon series,  @eye-raq

- mob boss zaddy series-@theegoldenchild

- an illusion series- @justauthoring

- the bookstore series, vampire!erik headcannons, i can handle it, sicky vicky,  happy new years, halloween, i guess we’re even, bite back, beg for it,  teething, i wanna be like you, baby brain-  @wawakanda-btch

- darkness- @honeyandpeaches

- vampire!erik series- @shakespearedidnothavecumsh0ts

- blood bound series- @oshaia

- faerie and vampr series, vampire erik origin series soulmate series, incbus!erik series- @nahimjustfeelingit-writes

- vampires in brooklyn series- @blackpantherismyish

- memories, wakanda as warewolves imagines, wakanda supernatural aus/imagines haunted hearts series- @youreallyshouldtalkmore

- origin series- @big-flop-energy

- moonbound series- @erikkilldispussy

- the deal series (demon!erik)- @wakandamama

**PLEASE HIT ME UP TO ADD MORE!!**