Lucio/apprentice - Tumblr Posts
The Devil Cries Gold
//Warnings: NSFW, no gender specified. Blood mention, Plague Lucio//
It wasn't like you hadn't been up there before—the way his eyes widened with the blood red sclera almost let you see the whites of his eyes. Almost.
His body was frail looking; small in the big bed of his comforters as his head lolled side to side in an almost trance.
It wasn't like he could do anything else.
"You know, people usually either leave or come in here to stick something in me." his eyes were on you now, dried blood settled at the corners of his ever thinning lips, "you come in here to ogle? Take pity on me like some kind of wounded animal? You can keep it."
You heard the strain in his voice clearly, no matter how hard he tried to mask it, the dryness of his throat held out over the loosely threaded threats.
You didn't say a word, only moved closer as the doors closed behind you. The room was eerily quiet as you made it to the side of his bed, a hand reaching out to brush away the matted hair on the sides of his face and forehead.
"No, not in the slightest. I thought maybe.." You shifted against the edge, propping back on your hand as you watch him strain to shift under the heavy covers, "you could have some company..."
An almost silent scoff emanated from his lips, your lips following to his throat as he swallowed deeply to say his next words clearly.
"Company? I've been locked in here for three months and you think I want company?" A clear chuckle rumbled through him, his hands gripping the fabric beneath them as a unsettling cough swelled in his throat.
You stood sharply, watching his body shake as he leaned back against the pillows. You reached for the water dish beside the bed, grabbing a clean cloth as the blood trickled down either side of his mouth.
He didn't move as the cold water dabbed away at the crimson liquid, eyes set at the canopy above his bed as his thin fingers held purchase at the matching comforter.
Your hand shook slightly as you looked at him; the whites of his eyes overtook with the tell-tale sign and veins obvious and vast underneath his ever-paling skin.
"What" His voice startled you, his eyes looking at you now as you settled back, "You want to play doctor now? The best in the field can't take care of me but somehow you can..."
"No, that's not..." You cleared your throat, looking at the curtained windows along the wall "I just...dont like seeing you like this.." You smiled slightly, shaking your head as you stood. A small chuckle escaped you as you walked around the bed, a hand trailing lazily along the bannister. "Not that you care, you think everyone hates you.."
"And who are you to tell me they don't? You think anyone besides you has came up here and tried to speak peace to me? No. All I get are doctors coming in one right after the other to tell me the same thing: I'm dying." Your eyes met his as he sat up, making your way back to him as he leaned against the headboard.
The Devil Cries Gold
//Warnings: NSFW, no gender specified. Blood mention, Plague Lucio//
It wasn't like you hadn't been up there before—the way his eyes widened with the blood red sclera almost let you see the whites of his eyes. Almost.
His body was frail looking; small in the big bed of his comforters as his head lolled side to side in an almost trance.
It wasn't like he could do anything else.
"You know, people usually either leave or come in here to stick something in me." his eyes were on you now, dried blood settled at the corners of his ever thinning lips, "you come in here to ogle? Take pity on me like some kind of wounded animal? You can keep it."
You heard the strain in his voice clearly, no matter how hard he tried to mask it, the dryness of his throat held out over the loosely threaded threats.
You didn't say a word, only moved closer as the doors closed behind you. The room was eerily quiet as you made it to the side of his bed, a hand reaching out to brush away the matted hair on the sides of his face and forehead.
"No, not in the slightest. I thought maybe.." You shifted against the edge, propping back on your hand as you watch him strain to shift under the heavy covers, "you could have some company..."
An almost silent scoff emanated from his lips, your lips following to his throat as he swallowed deeply to say his next words clearly.
"Company? I've been locked in here for three months and you think I want company?" A clear chuckle rumbled through him, his hands gripping the fabric beneath them as a unsettling cough swelled in his throat.
You stood sharply, watching his body shake as he leaned back against the pillows. You reached for the water dish beside the bed, grabbing a clean cloth as the blood trickled down either side of his mouth.
He didn't move as the cold water dabbed away at the crimson liquid, eyes set at the canopy above his bed as his thin fingers held purchase at the matching comforter.
Your hand shook slightly as you looked at him; the whites of his eyes overtook with the tell-tale sign and veins obvious and vast underneath his ever-paling skin.
"What" His voice startled you, his eyes looking at you now as you settled back, "You want to play doctor now? The best in the field can't take care of me but somehow you can..."
"No, that's not..." You cleared your throat, looking at the curtained windows along the wall "I just...dont like seeing you like this.." You smiled slightly, shaking your head as you stood. A small chuckle escaped you as you walked around the bed, a hand trailing lazily along the bannister. "Not that you care, you think everyone hates you.."
"And who are you to tell me they don't? You think anyone besides you has came up here and tried to speak peace to me? No. All I get are doctors coming in one right after the other to tell me the same thing: I'm dying." Your eyes met his as he sat up, making your way back to him as he leaned against the headboard.
The Devil Cries Gold
//Warnings: NSFW, no gender specified. Blood mention, Plague Lucio//
It wasn't like you hadn't been up there before—the way his eyes widened with the blood red sclera almost let you see the whites of his eyes. Almost.
His body was frail looking; small in the big bed of his comforters as his head lolled side to side in an almost trance.
It wasn't like he could do anything else.
"You know, people usually either leave or come in here to stick something in me." his eyes were on you now, dried blood settled at the corners of his ever thinning lips, "you come in here to ogle? Take pity on me like some kind of wounded animal? You can keep it."
You heard the strain in his voice clearly, no matter how hard he tried to mask it, the dryness of his throat held out over the loosely threaded threats.
You didn't say a word, only moved closer as the doors closed behind you. The room was eerily quiet as you made it to the side of his bed, a hand reaching out to brush away the matted hair on the sides of his face and forehead.
"No, not in the slightest. I thought maybe.." You shifted against the edge, propping back on your hand as you watch him strain to shift under the heavy covers, "you could have some company..."
An almost silent scoff emanated from his lips, your lips following to his throat as he swallowed deeply to say his next words clearly.
"Company? I've been locked in here for three months and you think I want company?" A clear chuckle rumbled through him, his hands gripping the fabric beneath them as a unsettling cough swelled in his throat.
You stood sharply, watching his body shake as he leaned back against the pillows. You reached for the water dish beside the bed, grabbing a clean cloth as the blood trickled down either side of his mouth.
He didn't move as the cold water dabbed away at the crimson liquid, eyes set at the canopy above his bed as his thin fingers held purchase at the matching comforter.
Your hand shook slightly as you looked at him; the whites of his eyes overtook with the tell-tale sign and veins obvious and vast underneath his ever-paling skin.
"What" His voice startled you, his eyes looking at you now as you settled back, "You want to play doctor now? The best in the field can't take care of me but somehow you can..."
"No, that's not..." You cleared your throat, looking at the curtained windows along the wall "I just...dont like seeing you like this.." You smiled slightly, shaking your head as you stood. A small chuckle escaped you as you walked around the bed, a hand trailing lazily along the bannister. "Not that you care, you think everyone hates you.."
"And who are you to tell me they don't? You think anyone besides you has came up here and tried to speak peace to me? No. All I get are doctors coming in one right after the other to tell me the same thing: I'm dying." Your eyes met his as he sat up, making your way back to him as he leaned against the headboard.
To the consternation and absolute dismay of the palace staff, the count of Vesuvia was declared to be non-contagious and therefore safe to be around for longer than a few seconds.
The doctors caution the servants to still keep their masks on and available at all times. Roanna keeps her mask on, but not because of any particular fear of the Red Plague.
See, she didn’t have to school her expression with the mask on. A godsend when Count Lucio fucking Morgasson is throwing his fourth tantrum of the week, his emaciated limbs showing surprising strength as he hurls his third vase of the week at the opposite wall. It’s fucking Thursday.
OR: Pre-canon story of Lucio being the worst in the height of his plague era and the girlmediocre that takes care of him.
To the consternation and absolute dismay of the palace staff, the count of Vesuvia was declared to be non-contagious and therefore safe to be around for longer than a few seconds.
The doctors caution the servants to still keep their masks on and available at all times. Roanna keeps her mask on, but not because of any particular fear of the Red Plague.
See, she didn’t have to school her expression with the mask on. A godsend when Count Lucio fucking Morgasson is throwing his fourth tantrum of the week, his emaciated limbs showing surprising strength as he hurls his third vase of the week at the opposite wall. It’s fucking Thursday.
OR: Pre-canon story of Lucio being the worst in the height of his plague era and the girlmediocre that takes care of him.
To the consternation and absolute dismay of the palace staff, the count of Vesuvia was declared to be non-contagious and therefore safe to be around for longer than a few seconds.
The doctors caution the servants to still keep their masks on and available at all times. Roanna keeps her mask on, but not because of any particular fear of the Red Plague.
See, she didn’t have to school her expression with the mask on. A godsend when Count Lucio fucking Morgasson is throwing his fourth tantrum of the week, his emaciated limbs showing surprising strength as he hurls his third vase of the week at the opposite wall. It’s fucking Thursday.
OR: Pre-canon story of Lucio being the worst in the height of his plague era and the girlmediocre that takes care of him.
Summary:
To the consternation and absolute dismay of the palace staff, the count of Vesuvia was declared to be non-contagious and therefore safe to be around for longer than a few seconds. The doctors caution the servants to still keep their masks on and available at all times. Roanna keeps her mask on, but not because of any particular fear of the Red Plague. See, she didn’t have to school her expression with the mask on. A godsend when Count Lucio fucking Morgasson is throwing his fourth tantrum of the week, his emaciated limbs showing surprising strength as he hurls his third vase of the week at the opposite wall. It’s fucking Thursday. OR: Pre-canon story of Lucio being the worst in the height of his plague era and the girl-mediocre that reluctantly looks after him.
Chapter Two of two very flawed people who narrate their lives through a very distorted lens trying to communicate with each other. Except neither is trying very hard and both are so completely different that the results are forever hit or miss.
Summary:
To the consternation and absolute dismay of the palace staff, the count of Vesuvia was declared to be non-contagious and therefore safe to be around for longer than a few seconds. The doctors caution the servants to still keep their masks on and available at all times. Roanna keeps her mask on, but not because of any particular fear of the Red Plague. See, she didn’t have to school her expression with the mask on. A godsend when Count Lucio fucking Morgasson is throwing his fourth tantrum of the week, his emaciated limbs showing surprising strength as he hurls his third vase of the week at the opposite wall. It’s fucking Thursday. OR: Pre-canon story of Lucio being the worst in the height of his plague era and the girl-mediocre that reluctantly looks after him.
Chapter Two of two very flawed people who narrate their lives through a very distorted lens trying to communicate with each other. Except neither is trying very hard and both are so completely different that the results are forever hit or miss.
Summary:
To the consternation and absolute dismay of the palace staff, the count of Vesuvia was declared to be non-contagious and therefore safe to be around for longer than a few seconds. The doctors caution the servants to still keep their masks on and available at all times. Roanna keeps her mask on, but not because of any particular fear of the Red Plague. See, she didn’t have to school her expression with the mask on. A godsend when Count Lucio fucking Morgasson is throwing his fourth tantrum of the week, his emaciated limbs showing surprising strength as he hurls his third vase of the week at the opposite wall. It’s fucking Thursday. OR: Pre-canon story of Lucio being the worst in the height of his plague era and the girl-mediocre that reluctantly looks after him.
Chapter Two of two very flawed people who narrate their lives through a very distorted lens trying to communicate with each other. Except neither is trying very hard and both are so completely different that the results are forever hit or miss.
Summary:
To the consternation and absolute dismay of the palace staff, the count of Vesuvia was declared to be non-contagious and therefore safe to be around for longer than a few seconds. The doctors caution the servants to still keep their masks on and available at all times. Roanna keeps her mask on, but not because of any particular fear of the Red Plague. See, she didn’t have to school her expression with the mask on. A godsend when Count Lucio fucking Morgasson is throwing his fourth tantrum of the week, his emaciated limbs showing surprising strength as he hurls his third vase of the week at the opposite wall. It’s fucking Thursday. OR: Pre-canon story of Lucio being the worst in the height of his plague era and the girl-mediocre that reluctantly looks after him.
Chapter Two of two very flawed people who narrate their lives through a very distorted lens trying to communicate with each other. Except neither is trying very hard and both are so completely different that the results are forever hit or miss.
To the consternation and absolute dismay of the palace staff, the count of Vesuvia was declared to be non-contagious and therefore safe to be around for longer than a few seconds. The doctors caution the servants to still keep their masks on and available at all times. Roanna keeps her mask on, but not because of any particular fear of the Red Plague. See, she didn’t have to school her expression with the mask on. A godsend when Count Lucio fucking Morgasson is throwing his fourth tantrum of the week, his emaciated limbs showing surprising strength as he hurls his third vase of the week at the opposite wall. It’s fucking Thursday. OR: Pre-canon story of Lucio being the worst in the height of his plague era and the girl-mediocre that reluctantly looks after him.
Chapter 3 is up!
Mostly some filler before we get into the juicier stuff happening in the next chapter >:)
To the consternation and absolute dismay of the palace staff, the count of Vesuvia was declared to be non-contagious and therefore safe to be around for longer than a few seconds. The doctors caution the servants to still keep their masks on and available at all times. Roanna keeps her mask on, but not because of any particular fear of the Red Plague. See, she didn’t have to school her expression with the mask on. A godsend when Count Lucio fucking Morgasson is throwing his fourth tantrum of the week, his emaciated limbs showing surprising strength as he hurls his third vase of the week at the opposite wall. It’s fucking Thursday. OR: Pre-canon story of Lucio being the worst in the height of his plague era and the girl-mediocre that reluctantly looks after him.
Chapter 3 is up!
Mostly some filler before we get into the juicier stuff happening in the next chapter >:)
To the consternation and absolute dismay of the palace staff, the count of Vesuvia was declared to be non-contagious and therefore safe to be around for longer than a few seconds. The doctors caution the servants to still keep their masks on and available at all times. Roanna keeps her mask on, but not because of any particular fear of the Red Plague. See, she didn’t have to school her expression with the mask on. A godsend when Count Lucio fucking Morgasson is throwing his fourth tantrum of the week, his emaciated limbs showing surprising strength as he hurls his third vase of the week at the opposite wall. It’s fucking Thursday. OR: Pre-canon story of Lucio being the worst in the height of his plague era and the girl-mediocre that reluctantly looks after him.
Chapter 3 is up!
Mostly some filler before we get into the juicier stuff happening in the next chapter >:)