#BLOWS UP MY SINUSES WITH MY MIND

[vind3miat0r]

manifesting Gavin sick comfort

[moonstruckme]

Hey Mae!!! I saw that the requests were open so I thought I would request something but if I misread it or something then please ignore this!

I was wondering if you could write something with reader not used to being taken care of? Like they have always taken care of others and have never had the opportunity to be taken care of so when someone else does they feel the need to do something for them in return? I was thinking of maybe Remus for this one? Or maybe a poly! Ship but you can write whoever you want!!

I understand if this is not a topic you would like to write about but I just love your writing and thought I would give it a try. Thank you for reading this anyway and I hope you have a wonderful day/night!

(Sorry it’s such a long request)

No you were right lovely! Thanks for your request :)

roommate!Remus x fem!reader ♡ 625 words

You pad into the kitchen, blanket around your shoulders and half-dissolved lozenge tucked into your cheek, to find the sink clear of dishes yet again. Guilt grows like winding vines around your ribcage. 

You put on the kettle. Stand over it as the steam starts to rise, breathing in the thick air and imagining you can feel the pressure in your sinuses lessening slightly. You make a cup of turmeric tea with honey for yourself, and English breakfast for Remus, stirring in a tiny bit of sugar the way he likes. You’re careful to keep it well away from you and your potential contagious-ness while you carry it upstairs. 

You knock softly in case, but Remus is awake, as you knew he’d be. 

“Morning,” he says, looking up from his book with a smile. The sight of him, sleep-rumpled and happy to see you, is almost too much. His eyes flicker down to the mugs you’re carrying, eyebrows lifting. “For me?” 

“Mhm.” You pass it to him, ignoring his soft tutting when you turn it in your grip so the handle is facing out towards him. 

“Thanks, sweetheart,” he says warmly. He blows steam off the top, honeyed eyes on yours. “I should be the one getting up to make you tea, really. How are you?” 

“I’m okay.” You shrug, taking a sip of your tea. The heat dissolves your lozenge faster, double soothing for your throat. “And you’ve done more than enough already. Sorry about the dishes.” 

Remus’ expression clouds with confusion for a moment before he realizes what you’re talking about. “Oh, I don’t mind. I wouldn’t be doing dishes if I was unwell, either.” 

“Thanks for doing them for me,” you say softly. Or you try to, but it ends in a rasp, your throat contracting against a cough that doesn’t form. You clear it embarrassedly. 

Your roommate’s brows bend with sympathy. “Don’t worry about it,” he tells you. “It’s really no problem. You don’t need to bring me tea just because I did a few of your dishes.” 

“I want to make it up to you.” 

His expression softens. “There’s nothing to make up, love. It’s not a debt that needs to be repaid.” 

You frown, chewing your lozenge. “At least let me make you breakfast. Is there anything you’re craving?” 

“No.” Remus smiles at you. Not quite confused, almost disbelieving. “You don’t need to make me anything. You should be resting.” 

“I’ve been resting.” You sniff, wincing at the pain it sends through your head. You’ve been either in bed or on the couch for days, and meanwhile Remus has been cleaning up your messes, keeping quiet so you can sleep, and bringing you soup from that place you like down the street. 

“It’s my turn to help now,” you say. 

“It’ll be your turn when I’m poorly and miserable.” Remus sets a hand to your forehead, humming disapprovingly. You use every scrap of willpower you have left not to melt into his bed. “Listen to me, alright? I don’t mind looking after you. It’s not transactional. I washed your dishes because they were there and I had the time, and—” He gives you a playful look. “—because I know that if I were up all night coughing, I wouldn’t want to worry about dishes. Okay?” 

His eyes hold yours. You feel perhaps the most out of it you have since this illness came on. Drunk, almost. “Okay,” you capitulate. 

Remus smiles. “Thank you. So you can stop trying to think up ways to get even.” He picks up his tea. “I can see that head of yours working. Leave it alone, it’s going through enough.” 

You smile back, caught. “Thanks for all your help.” 

“Don’t worry about it, love.”

[reds-writings]

OH MY GAWD YOU ARE SO FREAKIN TALENTED!

Seriously, every time you post, I immediately get this happy tingle inside. I think it’s basically a pavlov dog kind of instinct by now.

Everything you write feels so real. You take time with the details, with characterisation, you even write out the accents. It’s got this very meticulous quality to it, which is really rare and enthralling.

If you are feeling inspired by this prompt from the miscellaneous list, I would be thrilled to see what you can come up with

“The residual fear and anxiety after waking from a nightmare.”

thank you!! this is such a high compliment i am positively giddy. for this one i kinda did something different. reader gets comforted for once as opposed to rust! this drabble includes a bit of a sneak peek of what she went through after he left for alaska. fair to say it's a little heavy! hope you enjoy!

Nightmares visited you sparingly with the amount of attended therapy and self-care efforts you had made towards yourself over the past decade. It unfortunately hadn’t meant that they’d ever release your tired mind for good. Always involving the same scenario. July of 03. The Bayou. Those girls. Deafening gunfire riddling anything it could find. The searing pain of Lenny Broussard’s vengeful knife. You as the tragically doomed target. That stench of death burning your nostrils something sinister, stomach made to twist unforgivably. One way or another, you were forced to relive it on repeat in the inescapable realm of sleep. 

You’d had one tonight. It had maybe been a month or two since the last one but it shook you all the same. Ironically, the longer in between these nightmares the harder the come down was when they made their attack once again. Sweat stuck to you like some sickly second skin and your hands couldn’t cease their trembling no matter how hard you balled your fists. Defenses always remained high after these fits, like you’d somehow be unlucky enough to find yourself sent back in time to suffer the consequences of that failed raid in one torturously hellish loop. 

It had been raining hard outside for a while now. Using the violent downpour as white noise to helplessly quiet your unsteady mind, you had been curled in on yourself on the couch for God only knows how long now. The buzz of adrenaline had numbed your skin, keeping you locked in place like some petrified statue. The silent tears that once ran blood hot now stained your swollen face in a dry track as you fought off any lingering tremors. 

The sound of shuffling footsteps on hardwood had your aching muscles tightening up again and sinuses stinging with the threat of incoming saltwater. A hesitant hand came to rest on your hair, freezing in place at your sudden jolt at the contact. But you knew that touch. That veil of cigarette smoke and cologne that was so uniquely Rust. He hadn’t ever seen you like this before. Ever. The both of you hadn’t been able to really talk about all that he missed from Alaska. The window of opportunity had no room to present itself in the midst of you giving your all to making sure he healed successfully over the past several weeks.

His careful fingers brushed the curtain of hair obscuring your troubled face to tuck what they could behind your neck. He’d gotten a glimpse of some of the old scars from the gruesome attack here and there but you were careful to keep most out of view for his fragile sake. The one taking up most of the left side of your face often rendered him painfully remorseful whenever he really focused on it. An unmerciful marker to remind you both of the near-fatal blow that almost robbed you of life once and for all. His throat would always find itself tightening at the thought of having been so casually unaware of what horrors had occurred due to his ill-fated cowardice. From what he gathered, you had gone at it all alone minus the initial help from your sister living in New Orleans. Marty hadn’t offered much on the story. Whether it was because he didn’t feel like it was his place to share or he wasn’t around for much of it at the time, Rust hadn’t the nerve to ask. 

When you made no further shuddering movements, he gently maneuvered your trembling form into the haven of his lap. His other hand came to guide your head to his erratically beating heart. Discovering you so visibly small and frightened did plenty to set him off. You always cared for everyone else more than you ever would for yourself. It was a rare occurrence for him to be the one cradling you as opposed to any other scenario where it always seemed to be the other way around. 

“It’s okay, baby.” He kept his tone hushed as he gently rocked you back and forth. The tenderness of the notion had your body wracking in reviving sobs. All he could do was continue to sway and mumble words of comfort so that he may just ease your mind by a fraction. 

“We’re safe. You gotta breathe for me, baby. Breathe. Just like that.” Rust exaggerated inhaling and exhaling for you to follow. Soft kisses dotted your hairline as your hands unfurled to wrap around his sturdy midsection. If you had half the mind, you’d be embarrassed to find yourself balled up like some baby in your lover’s arms. You couldn’t find it in you to care one bit. No one could do what he was currently doing for you now in all the time you had been alone. 

Once your breaths had started to calm down again he moved your head so that he could see you more clearly despite still being shrouded in the dark. You were sure you were a grisly sight. Snotty, sniffly, puffy, and all. He didn’t give a shit about any of it. His heart burned all the brighter at the vulnerability you entrusted him with enough to display. The calloused pad of his thumb drew itself feather-light over your scar, making your eyes flutter shut. Not much about you had changed, not much could with an eternal beauty like yours, he decided. 

He brought himself down to kiss your marred cheek, then reverently once more to your forehead, before tugging you closer into his body as if to act as a shield against the world around you. 

“I’m sorry.” It seemed to be the only thing he could say lately. You just shook your head and nuzzled in as much as you were physically able, sticking to him like makeshift velcro. You just wanted to feel less at a distance from everything with him by your side. 

Rust was your tether and he’d be damned to ever let you go again. 

[gelatinouscubed]

Overkill

I'm a long time lurker, first time (snz) writer. I wanted to try my hand at writing something like this, and decided to pull out a couple ocs I've had for a bit. Kinda experimental, dipping my toes in the world of writing for this kink so any feedback is appreciated!

Only about 1k words, background is that Jay and Elliot are both students at the same college and roommates and that's pretty much it! Their relationship is not romantic yet, unsure of if it will be but idk, I'll see how it goes.

Cw: contagion mention, fever

God, Jay wishes his professor would just shut up about Greek mythology already. 

In his foggy mind, those stupid fucking stories from this stupid fucking lecture are the only things that seem to stick. Icarus with his wax wings, flying too close to the sun. He feels a sort of kinship to that doomed boy, his hubris, his downfall. If Jay is Icarus, Elliot is his Daedelus. Setting a bottle of Dayquil on the counter seemed like such a nice gesture at the time, too, considering his roommate was the patient zero to this nightmare plague. 

Jay usually has such good impulse control.

With a cold from hell, too much medicine sounded like an oxymoron. Anything would have to be a step up from drowning in his own mucus. 

A shiver shoots up his spine, but he barely shifts from his slumped position on the desk in the back of this classroom. With the edge of his sweater over his hand, pressed against his sluggishly leaking nose, he sniffles. He feels and hears a pitiful squeak of pressure stab through his sinuses, ears crackling loudly as he swallows. 

He's not sure if it's better or worse, being too dazed to fully comprehend just how disgusting he must be right now. Through the thick haze in his mind, he can vaguely feel the stinging of his rubbed raw and chapped nose, abused by the rough wool of his shirt sleeve. In any other case, he'd be too self-conscious to do this openly, too afraid to be seen as gross by his peers.

Now, as his head periodically bops back up after slowly drifting down, exhausted eyes trying their best not to close, he can't quite muster up the energy to care. 

“hhHIT’sschUE!” 

He wrenches forward into his elbow, sneezing for what feels like the hundredth time since he's woken up. A couple hoarse, grating coughs follow after, and if he weren't in public he would've allowed himself to groan in misery. 

People are probably staring at him, he knows. It's cold and flu season, and he's basically Typhoid Mary right now. 

Let them. If the teacher hadn't made this lecture mandatory attendance, he wouldn't have shown up at all. Through red rimmed, watery eyes, he glares at her with as much rage as he can muster. He hopes someone coughs on her doorknob. 

One of his knuckles paws at the side of his nose weakly, letting out a small sigh of annoyance at the inevitable. His breath hitches. 

“HhHhuhhggh’shkew!! HtxcHH-shEWW!” Hands cupped around his face, his fingertips rest against overheated cheeks brush against the bottom of his teary eyes. God this sucks.

Something taps his shoulder, breaking him out of his dazed self-pity. His head lazily swivels around, vision swimming sickeningly for a short moment. 

A figure comes into focus- Jenn, one of Elliots's friends, he vaguely notes- holding something out to him wordlessly. Tired eyes dart down, and out of pure relief, he almost feels himself sober up a bit. 

It's a pack of tissues. He could cry. He might cry. 

He accepts them readily. 

“Thangks.” He rasps, at least attempting to blow his nose. It barely budges, but it's still nice to clean his upper lip with something besides his clothes. 

“Of course man. You um… you alright?” Jenn questions, what little attention she'd been paying to the lecture replaced with concern. 

Jay sighs, keeping the tissue wadded in his hand as his shoulders slump.

“Fidne.” He grumbles, turning to cough weakly into the tissue. 

“Elliot finally gave you his cold?”

Jay scoffs. 

“How'd you figure that ode out? Thought I was hidi’g it well.” He complains, punctuating it with a blocked sniffle. Jenn tuts sympathetically, patting him gently on the shoulder. He knows he must be out of it, as he doesn't move away. She seems to notice this too, her eyes darting to the large digital clock on the wall. 

“Think you can tough it out for fifteen more minutes?” She asks, getting a half-hearted shrug in response.

“It wod't kill mbe.” He mumbles.

Nodding in understanding, Jay pulls out her phone.

“I'll let him know to come pick you up. No offense dude, but you probably shouldn't be driving right now.” Knowing him, she expects at least a little push back from this, as he's been historically against anything even vaguely considered coddling. 

He simply sniffles, wipes his nose, and nods weakly, trying hard not to pay attention to the room spinning as he does. 

“Sou'ds gguhh…

hhuh-ghhTCH'SSCHUEww!” Oh god that one was so loud. He can tell Jenn is looking at him without turning to her, even as he lets out a breathy, congested groan into his hands hiding his face. 

The professor launches into some lengthy discussion about Sisyphus when Jay completely tunes her out again. All he has to do is make it fifteen minutes.

———

Jay finds himself blinking back into semi-awareness after a bit, not having realized he'd dozed off.

“Snrk- wuh… huh?”  He mumbles, distantly feeling the cold touch of a palm against his forehead.

Before he could do anything too embarrassing like lean into the hand, he turns to cough, reaching up a hand to rub his throat with a swallow and a wince. The sleep did nothing but make him feel even more clogged.

When he finally blinks his watery eyes clear, his roommate's form finally becomes visible. He knows he should feel mortified, at least a bit more than he is right now. 

But, at least that means he's got a ride home now. The thought of finally laying in his bed is almost enough to make him sob with relief. 

“El…” He practically whines, feeling the much larger man's arm gently guide him out of the desk by his shoulder. 

“Looks like this thing's kicking your ass, huh?” Elliot comments, the slight amusement in his tone not appreciated by Jay.

“You gave mbe this shit, jackass.” He grumbles with what little anger he can muster. His head resting on Elliot's shoulder as he's guided away certainly doesn't help his case.

“Hey, I warned you. Not my fault you didn't take the multivitamins I offered.” 

Jay lets out a single, breathy laugh.

“You act like you're fifty.” He comments, breaking off to muffle a couple coughs into his fist at the end. 

“At least my cold wasn't this bad. You look like death.”

“Gee, thangks.” Jay knows Elliot is probably right, though. Which is only more embarrassing given that he knows Elliot still managed to look like a runway model even while running 101°. That man has to be blessed.

Speaking of, Jay stalls for a moment, causing Elliot to stop as well. Jay's breath hitches, one hand weakly coming to cup his face, leaning into his roommate's supportive frame as his eyes flutter. 

“HhhhITSCH-UEe! hhgsh'TCHEWww!! Hhhhuhhh…nghohgod-” He groans, stumbling back with the force of the sneezes, lightheaded and drained. 

Elliot's hold around Jay's shoulders tighten, noticing him falter. Unintentionally he pulls the smaller man closer, Jay's face towards Elliot's body as he curls into himself. 

“Oh hey, easy man. We can just-” Before Elliot can finish, Jay snaps forward into Elliot's shirt.

“hhhhHIITSCH’HEWW!!” 

Jay doesn't need to cup his face anymore. Any potential mess has been contained, right into Elliots chest. 

Immediately Jay's already overheated and feverish cheeks somehow redden further, shame permeating that constant bleariness for once.

“Nghh- shit. I'mb sorry, that's- that's so fucki'g gross.” He mumbles into Elliot's shirt, not wanting to look up in fear of his friend's possible expression. 

The chest beneath his hands and nose stutters a couple times in a chuckle. A hand pats him on the back, and he looks up. 

“Hey, I already had it once, so I'm basically immune to it now. No harm no foul.” Elliot offers, a soft smile on his lips. 

A set of coughs release themselves from Jay's lungs, a weak fist half-heartedly covering it. Elliot hums in worry, and nudges Jay to keep walking with him. 

“C’mon, we're almost home. A little sleep will do you some wonders.” 

Jay wanted to retort with the fact that his little nap in the classroom did nothing but make the problem worse, but can't bring himself to. With little to no other choice, Jay allows himself to be guided back to Elliot's car, face still half buried in the man's shirt.

Tomorrow he'll blame it on the medication. But he feels unfairly safe in his roommate's arms. 

[goldenempyrean]

Unfiltered Beauty

〚 Notes - So! I totally forgot that I wrote this ngl, oops. Anyway it hasn’t been edited so excuse the errors :) 〛

〚 Pairing - Scarlett Johansson x Reader 〛

〚 Summary - Scarlett’s sick but powers through her livestream, leaving it up to you to take care of her afterwards. 〛

〚 Wordcount - 880 〛

〘 Check Out My Masterlist! 〙

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“Are you sure you’re up to this baby?” You asked again as the blonde next to you blew her nose loudly, trying to rid the congestion from her voice, “Nobody will mind if we have to cancel.” 

Scarlett sniffled, “It’ll be fine, do you know how to set this gizmo up?” 

You nodded and positioned your camera up on the tripod on the table infront of you whilst Scarlett rearranged her products, ready for her to show them off. 

Checked everything over, you made sure things looked good before nudging your wife’s shoulders and handing her the tissue box to keep beside her out of view of the camera. 

Scarlett gave you a weak smile and dabbed at her runny nose with a tissue. "Thanks, baby.” She murmured, her voice still tinged with congestion. She took a deep breath, trying to gather her energy and enthusiasm for the upcoming live stream.  

“Is everything ready?” The camera blinked in anticipation as you made sure to check everything over a final time and with an approving nod, you pressed start. 

"Hello, everyone!" Scarlett greeted her awaiting online audience, her voice slightly hoarse as she spoke. “I hope you're all doing well. Please excuse my voice today, I’m not feeling so well but everything’ll be fine. Anyway! Today, I have some amazing products to share with you." She picked up a jar of a skincare cream and began explaining its benefits, her passion for beauty evident even in her current state. 

As Scarlett continued her product demonstration, her enthusiasm and knowledge shone through despite her stuffy nose. However, as she reached for another jar, a sudden tickle overwhelmed her sinuses. Her eyes widened, and she desperately tried to stifle the sneeze that was building up within her. 

She quickly glanced at you, panic evident in her expression. Without missing a beat, you reached for the tissue box and passed it to her discreetly, just in time. Scarlett cupped her hand over her nose, her face contorting as she let out a loud, muffled sneeze into the tissue. 

Sitting behind the camera, you gave her a sympathetic smile and mouthed a silent “Bless you” and judging by the grateful look in her eyes, you knew she was thankful. 

"Excuse me!" she exclaimed, her voice slightly muffled from her hand covering her mouth. She turned back to the camera, cheeks flushed with embarrassment. "Sorry about that, folks. It seems my cold has a mind of its own today." 

Just as she was about to resume her presentation, another tickle assaulted her nose, signaling another imminent sneeze. Her eyes widened, and she looked at you with a mix of desperation and resignation. You swiftly reached for another tissue from the box and held it out to her, your expression filled with understanding. 

Scarlett grabbed the tissue just in time, but this time the sneeze was even stronger than before. She released a series of rapid sneezes that she tried to muffle as best she could. The force of the sneezes made her shoulders shake, and she closed her eyes tightly, hoping to relieve the tickle in her nose. 

Once the fit subsided, your wife let out a sigh of relief and turned back to the camera, her cheeks now even more flushed. She chuckled nervously apologised, “Sorry guys, this is so embarrassing.”  

As the live stream went on, Scarlett's energy and passion gradually overshadowed her initial embarrassment. Her genuine love for the products and her dedication to sharing her knowledge with her audience were evident in every word she spoke, even as she occasionally had to pause to sneeze or blow her nose. 

Meanwhile, the online audience responded with warmth and understanding. They flooded the chat with messages of support, telling Scarlett not to worry and that they appreciated her authenticity. 

Eventually though, you could see the exhaustion getting too her and came into frame as you sat down beside her, “Well I’d like to thank everyone who tuned in to see everything but I’m afraid this lovely lady here needs to go lay down” 

Scarlett leaned against you, her tired eyes reflecting both disappointment and gratitude. "Thank you all so much for your understanding. I promise to make it up to you when I'm feeling better." She mustered a weak smile, her voice barely above a whisper. 

You reached out to turn off the camera, ending the live stream. As the screen went black, you gently guided Scarlett to stand up, supporting her weight as she swayed slightly from exhaustion. 

Together, you made your way to the bedroom, where Scarlett settled herself under the covers. She snuggled into the pillows, finding comfort in the warmth and softness that enveloped her. 

You sat by her side, running a gentle hand through her hair. "Rest now, my love," you whispered soothingly. "You just get comfy, alright?" 

Scarlett nodded weakly, her eyelids heavy with fatigue. "Thanks baby" she murmured, her voice filled with both love and fatigue. 

You smiled tenderly at her, placing a gentle kiss on her forehead. "You're welcome, my love. I'll take care of you." With that, you dimmed the lights and ensured she had everything she needed within reach before quietly leaving the room, allowing her to rest undisturbed. 

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[carmyberzattosjournal]

S2 Entry 3: One Thousand Short Lives

Photo Credit: Pinterest

Summary: Christmas trees don’t sit well with Carmy (679 Words).

Warnings: Swearing, panic attack, vomiting (not graphic), hurt, fem reader/lass who is a trauma surgeon, she/her pronouns, mentions of Syd, mentions of Richie, mentions of Donna Berzatto, mentions of Mikey Berzatto.

Notes: Thank you for reading and sharing! This is a work in CB Journals Season 2 and will be tagged with #cb journals s2.

Sideblog for commentary and social stuff: @m-z-shoroi

Prompt: Pine needles

Richie was trying to kill me, I’m sure of it.

Why the fuck else would he have secured a dwarf fucking Christmas tree to put in the dining hall? Here, I thought I was getting to the kitchen extra early to take a stab at the 3 recipes that Syd left a thousand notes on—the second of which was just a “no” without any elaboration. Very helpful—and instead, I get assaulted by a barrage of memories, wraiths from my history, from the one thousand short lives I’ve endured. All the chill of that morning (it’s frozen hell season) was annihilated by a surge of red-hot… I don’t even know, was it rage? Was it hurt? Was it frustration? Some amalgam of fiery emotions, all furled together into this tangled mess of heat. Boiling. I was boiling. I had flames pouring down my throat.

The fucking pine needles were strewn all over the fucking floor around the tree, some cursed confetti that’d fallen off the branches while it sat overnight in the miserable fucking corner where there used to be a two-top, lurking for me to find while it familiarized itself with its deathbed. Dressed to the nines in garland, sparkly tinsel, ornaments in blues, silvers, golds, reds, greens, string lights—off at the moment—adorned with a star on top, leaning precariously to one side. Carmy, fix the star. Ma, ask Mikey to do it, he’s tall enough. He never fucking does anything right, now fix the fucking star; we need to take photos.

I could almost feel the ghost of a glass bulb crunching under my heel, exploding with a pop, grinding into my shoe tread as I took a step back. Then the flash of a camera—in my mind? A car going by? How am I supposed to know—the smell of ma’s perfume, so sickly sweet, so saturated in florals and mixed with stale cigarette smoke, that they might as well have been her fucking funeral sprays, invaded my sinuses, damn near crawled down my throat and seized my stomach in a vice grip. My feet carried me on autopilot to the bathroom, where I collapsed next to the toilet, vision blurred, breaths caught in my throat, chest and stomach twisting in pain, are you motherfuckers okay? Some awful, foul beast, an eldritch abomination, swelled under my ribs, but nothing would move past my larynx—not air, not sound, not bile. Warmth trailed down my cheeks.

The light makes a buzzing sound. It’s faint, inaudible any time other than early morning or late night, drowned out by even the traffic outside. I could hear Darling’s voice in my head, almost see her crouched on the floor in front of me. Breathe, baby. Breathe. You’re okay. You’re going to be okay. I hunted for the sound through the twisting of my insides and eventually found myself drawing in and blowing out shaky breaths. That’s it, pretty boy. There you go. My head still spun. Everything still hurt. Tears still welled up and spilled down my face. But I was breathing.

I fumbled my phone out of my jacket, intending to call Darling. It was early. She was probably headed out the door or was already on the road headed to the hospital. She didn’t need me to worry her, did she? No, but I needed her. I needed Darling like I needed air. I couldn’t fucking do this, not alone, not today. Especially not today. Fuck you, Richie. Fuck, I felt so fucking alone. I just wanted to hide in her sweater, inhale her scent, hear her coo and hum at me while she rubbed my back. Darling, baby, I had a bad one. I really just need to hear your voice right now. Please. Tell me it’s okay. Tell me I’m okay. Tell me you love me. Tell me another story of Cookie the dog.

I caught sight of a pine needle on the floor that I’d tracked in.

I hurled bile into the toilet bowl.

Okay. Fine.

Dish two is a no.

Tags: @carmenberzattosgf @jess248 @catharticconsolation @persymons @morgthemagpie @glitch0o0 @nox-is-thename @forgechildofheph @leminjelly @fridavacado @lumoslemon @cyarskj1899

[ladyosiriscreates]

Goodness I just read your amazing Soap one shot! So good! Could I ask for Gaz taking care of an unwell female reader (totally not based on my current situation at all)? Thank you 🖤

I kept looking at this so many times in just pure disbelief. HELLO GREATSTORMCAT I love reading your drabbles they're truly a treat to read. Also I love Gaz he is one of my favorites. Rudy Parra is also my beloved. and if you would like something NSFW from him just leave another ask/idea and I will write it because I have FEELINGS AND IDEAS.

I'm in a Sickbed, but at least it's Yours.

Gaz x Fem!Reader for the opulent @greatstormcat (3.2k words)

Tags: Illness, insecurity, fluff, comfort, so much fucking comfort, this man was made to love someone, mutual pining that just boils over,

You had known it was coming. The dregs of winter that brought along pressure drops that threatened to blow your sinuses through the rest of your head. Fever, aches, chills and the incessant fog around your head that clouded everything and led your body to exhaustion… man fuck that.

For the first few days, you thought you might be dying.

But today, you certainly wished it was so. Because surely it would be a greater mercy than whatever fuckery your body was fighting off. 

And that was what led you to now, standing in the kitchen of an apartment that wasn’t yours, wearing soft pajamas that certainly didn’t belong to you, and staring at a fridge that looked familiar- but also wasn’t yours. 

“...C’mon luv, you’ve been staring at my closed fridge door for the better part of fifteen minutes. And as fucking hilarious as it might be to see you disassociate to the hum of it, I’m half afraid you’ll keel over if you take another step.” Came a kind voice, soft laughter permeating the hazy, unpleasant fog of ick that hung around your brain. Turning your head, you met the warm, impossibly dark eyes of one Kyle Garrick. Your long term friend.

Friend.

Why had he always been just a friend?

You two had revolved around each other from the moment you met, always within each others orbit though barely ever colliding.

For that matter… how had you gotten here? And when?

“Gaz?” You slurred, voice light as you grabbed onto the counter. “Don’t think I’m home right now.” Gentle arms encircled your body, coaxing you into his chest despite your weak protests. “No you can’t, ‘m sick, and if you get sick i’m damn near certain your team’ll hunt me for sport. And I promise that is not how I’d like to be hunted.”

But your protests fell on deaf ears as you were lifted into his arms. Which seemed to be for the better with how the room spun as he did. “S’alright, I’m on leave for the next two weeks anyways. I can afford a little bit of sickness. But I believe you when you say you’re not home.” He teased. “Not a whole lot goin’ on in that pretty little head?”

“Well it fuckin’ hurts.” You retorted with a scoff, arms easing around his shoulders as you nestled into the crook of his neck. The gentle scent of mint and earth churned at your senses, weaving their way through your stuffed sinuses to bring comfort to your humming mind. “You think my head is pretty?”

“That’s what you got out of that?” Kyle chuckled in return, shaking his head as he took you past the threshold of his own bedroom and laying you against his bed, sitting at its edge. But you didn’t let go. Like a lifeline you clung to his neck, keeping him bent over you before pulling your head back to meet his gaze.

Perhaps it was the soft light cascading through the window, pale gold in the setting sun, but he shimmered in your vision- elegance and refined beauty. “...If I were more selfish a woman, I’d tell you what I’m thinking.” you whispered, eyes flitting in a triangle between his own eyes, and the lips that were now pursed.

“If I were more selfish a man, luv, I’d keep you in this bed- my bed, and never let you up from it. But maybe that’s just your fever talking…” He soothed, reaching up to untangle your arms from his shoulders and laying you back down. When you protested, he cupped your cheek, thumb rubbing small circles into the feverish skin. “You don’t know how worried I was when you texted me.”

Your brows furrowed, lips parting slightly as you glanced around. “I… texted you?” Surely not- but actually… where was your phone again?

“I’m not sure what you were trying to say, but the words help, medicine and sick were all in it. And all misspelled. You had me worried, and the state I found you in wasn’t much better. Laying under a heap of blankets and groaning to yourself about how death would be better than this?” He teased, but beneath the lighthearted nature, even now you could see it, that concern. The genuine care he possessed. Selfishly, you wished it was only for you.

“So you came?” you asked, unable to hide your own surprise.

“Of course.” Gaz whispered, huffing out a small laugh. “I always come when you call. Kinda wish you’d call more, sweetheart.” 

Finally, you allowed yourself to surrender back into the softness of his bed, suddenly enveloped by an almost overwhelming sense of him. “I have a fever.” You explained quietly.

“Yes, I know this.” he replied.

“I’m hoping it’s high enough I won’t remember this tomorrow, depending on how it goes.” You muttered, lifting a hand to drag across your congested and stuffy nose- what a great way to start things. “...I hate you. No. wait. No, that's definitely not right.” You scoffed, clenching your jaw. “I hate… when you’re not around. I hate being apart from you. I hate the way you make me feel when I know you’re just being kind and genuine. I hate wanting you more than a plant craves the sun-”

Kyle’s eyes grew wider as you spoke, these words the clearest to fall from your tongue since he’d picked you up this morning. And though it seemed you weren’t done speaking, he carefully stole your hand from your face, placing your fingertips to his lips for a moment. “My turn?”

“Your turn.” came your reply, meek beneath the sudden warmth of his voice.

“I hate being apart from you too. I hate feeling like we’re in this dance but always with different partners, and at most I can catch your eye from the other side of a ballroom- but your card is always full and I’m never sure if there’s more room for me.” He hummed, massaging your palm as he held your hand delicately within his own. “I hate that you keep me at arms length because you’re afraid of seeming weak, that the world has made you so afraid to be vulnerable- while you still crave the ability to be so.”

His words floated through your sick-addled brain, finding yourself eager to drown in the sound of his voice. “It’s hard..”

“I know luv. But I want you to let me in. I want to be there for you. I’d drop everything and run if you called my name for even a moment.” He promised, reaching up to push sweat slicked strands of hair from your face.

“I’m a mess.” You argued.

“Then let me help you clean it up. I’m by no means perfect either, as much as you might try to put me on a pedestal. Seeing each other clearly is the best thing we could do, because…  I… I want more. Maybe I always have. But falling into step with you is easier than falling into anything else.” he exclaimed, glancing toward his window at the golden light that began to fade, growing warmer as the sun dipped beneath the horizon. “I won’t say I can fix you, because I don’t fucking think you’re broken. The fact you’re still here is proof of that.”

Tears stung at the corners of your eyes, the feeling dulled by the fog of exhaustion that had snuck its way around your body. “Am i dreaming?”

“Do you want to be?” He asked, voice barely above a whisper.

“...I don’t know. I’m scared.”

“Me too, but honestly- I’m more terrified of going through life wondering what this could have been if I hadn’t told you.” Kyle admitted, his weight making the bed dip, your body rolling slightly in towards him.

“Kyle…” you breathed, forcing your eyes open, desperate to meet his. “Tell me again when I wake up in the morning. Promise me it isn’t a dream then… because if you say it again, I’ll believe you. God, I want to believe you.” You exclaimed, voice pitched as your lids fell heavy again. “My walls have always been made of glass when it came to you… and you, fucking… stupid, handsome, pure as sunlight you… carried a hammer with you all along.”

Kyle nearly gawked in return, your words painting a most vivid landscape and technicolor sky. A lilac sunrise when he hadn’t known purple was his favorite color.  “Luv, I’ll tell it to you every day until you have no choice but to believe it. So for now, sleep. I’ll bring you back some medicine and warm ginger tea…”

“But… you don’t even like tea?” you mumbled, a bit of surprise coloring your tone.

“Yeah, but I like you. You’d be surprised at the pieces of you I keep with me when I wasn’t able to have the real thing.” He explained, resting a hand atop your head so that he might soothingly stroke at your hair, the repeated notion lulling you into slumber. “...but I’ll admit none of it compares to having you here and now.”

When morning came there was a soft weight on your chest- warm, but not unpleasant. Different than the weight of stuffiness and congestion, of the phlegm and cough that had been plaguing you. As your eyes opened and you shifted up to prop yourself on an elbow, you found Gaz beside you in a chair, his head resting on your hip as he slumbered. It couldn’t have been comfortable, draping himself over the edge of his own bed. But like a flood the memories returned, gentle touches and words spoken beneath a setting sun. Every piece of him draped in gold and idolatry.

You pressed your hand to his cheek, before turning your head into your shoulder and coughing. Not truly the way you would have preferred it, but the end goal was the same as he lifted his head, giving you a dizzying smile as he pushed himself up on his arms.

“Mornin’ sweetheart. Get some better sleep last night?” He hummed, voice a bit warmer and gravelly than usual.

For once you’re happy that you don’t currently possess a hold of all your mental faculties,  as otherwise you very well may have jumped him right there. But instead, like a reasonably more dignified moron, you found yourself nodding. “...I’m in your bed.”

“Astute observation skills, you should be a detective with that level of perception.” He taunted, reaching to the bedside table and bringing back a mug of now cooled, half drank tea. “It’ll be bitter as hell, but let’s get a bit of fluid into you before you try to get up, sweetheart.”

“Kyle, I'm in your bed.” You stressed again. 

“Yes and it’s about time, really.” He sighed, grin cheeky as he watched you go through phases of surprise and confusion. “Alright, alright, calm down Inspector Gadget. You’re gonna give yourself an aneurysm thinking that hard.”

With a steady hand you stole the mug of tea, that even cold, you could tell was your favorite, made just the way you’d prepare it- how long had he known such fine minutiae of your being. How long had he been memorizing the way you existed so he could mimic it for your comfort. “...am not.” You muttered, giving him a half-hearted withering glare over the mug of tea.

The bed dipped again as he sat upon it, pulling you forward by your shoulder before pressing his lips to your forehead. Time itself seemed to suspend, small bits of dust hanging in the air as you relished in the feeling of soft lips and a gentler hand upon your forehead. “I think your fevers finally broken… which makes sense, you seem a bit more with it this morning. I’m relieved.”

Dumbfounded, you lifted your gaze to his lips as he pulled back, before finding their way ever higher to meet the amused deep brown eyes that could churn you like the earth itself. “I feel a bit better today.” You finally admitted, finding your voice again- as thick as it was. “I can probably head home-”

“No.” He exclaimed, shaking his head. “Shoulda known the first thing you’d try to do is free yourself like you think you’re a burden at my side.” Kyle sighed, clenching his jaw for a moment before standing up. Fear struck you, like a white hot iron at your spine. You didn’t want him to leave.

The fear was only present for a moment before you were lifted by your hips and pushed back against the headboard, Kyle climbing atop the bed to straddle your waist and pin your shoulders. “I need you to pay attention, sweetheart.”

Inhaling sharply, you could do little but nod, meeting his gaze with wide eyes and blown pupils. If you weren’t still sick, the places your mind went would trail ever darker. Even now, you could imagine the feel of his lips attacking every sensitive spot from your throat to inner wrist.

“You told me I had to tell you this again, and I should have known you were serious.” He exclaimed, one hand climbing until he cradled your chin between his thumb, pointer and middle finger. “I’m in love with you- and trust me, falling in love with one of my best friends hadn’t been the plan, but God above it was so easy. You are so easy to love, not just for the positive attributes you put on display for everyone, but for the pieces of yourself you show me when we’re alone. For the way you allow yourself to crumble and break just a little bit when you’re with me. For being my safe space. So yes, I meant it last night when I said I wanted you to stay and be with me. Because I’m in love with your dense ass. Just like you’re in love with me. I hate being apart from you. And I hate that we overthink ourselves into these goddamn ruts and it’s kept us apart for even longer than-”

His words were more than enough, but the mounting desperation in his voice, his gaze was enough to spurn you, hands reaching up and cradling his cheeks. “You’re right.” you interrupted softly. “I’m in love with you. Your diligence, your determination… I love all of it, Kyle. When we’re out with friends all I care about is seeing you, because if you’re enjoying yourself then I feel like I can enjoy things too. You make my soul sing, and when it does it’s just trying to mimic whatever you’re humming.”

Kyle’s face broke into a grin, the corner of his eyes crinkling as he pulled your forehead to his. “We’re idiots.” He admitted. “Took us far too long to get here.”

“What matters is that we got here- and I-” unceremoniously the moment was shattered as you abruptly turned away and coughed, groaning through the interrupted moment. “Fuck.”

“You fuck?”

“I take it back, I hate you.” You groaned, hearing the musical rumble of his laugh as he let up off of you, popping out two pills from the packaging on the bedside table. 

“No you don’t.” Kyle teased, taking a sip from your mug and tossing the pills into his mouth before grabbing your chin and inclining your head. There was barely a moment to question it before you were met with the feeling of lukewarm tea and medicine pouring past your lips. It was nearly seamless, only a few droplets slipping from your lips as you swallowed back the tea. But for a moment, you both lingered there, the taste of ginger and orange stinging at your lips before leaning into him, unwilling to part with what you’d finally found.

No, you didn’t hate Kyle Garrick. There was little he could do to truly anger you, so hating him was out of the question. He accepted your surrender by wrapping his arms around your waist, pulling you closer into his arms as he deepened the kiss. It was warm, making up for lost time. Like two galaxies finally collapsing into each other and spinning into something beautiful and new. You didn’t part until you were breathless, which was unfortunately much sooner than you would have liked.

“You’re gonna get sick.” you whispered.

“If that means I get to stay in bed with you for the rest of my leave, I think it’ll be worth it.” He promised, slowly slumping over onto his side before drawing you into his embrace. He massaged slow, soothing circles into your lower back, his other hand keeping your head tucked against his chest. “I made some soup for you last night, pots on the stove so I can get it simmering again soon.” Kyle murmured. “Stay with me? Ride this out- just stay for the rest of my leave?”

Your laugh, as small as it was, seemed like true music to his ears. A heavenly chorus to a man who hadn’t believed in years. “I’ll stay. Maybe I’ll get the turn to play caretaker once you get sick from kissing me, dumbass.”

“All part of the plan.”

“There’s no plan, Kyle.” You snorted, though your gaze was warm and soft as you both stayed trapped against the sheets.

“Well… just existing with you is good too.” He promised, lips turning up as he brought your foreheads together.

The next two days were spent in a most confusing sort of reverie. Anytime you moved, Kyle shadowed you, his hands covering and guiding yours. Grabbing things before you could think to want them, even carrying you from his bed to his couch as he bundled you up before situating himself beside you. He kept you hydrated, setting timers for your meds and keeping you nearby when your weakened body slept. But as your body grew stronger, the telltale signs of illness began to take their toll on Kyle.

You laughed, as three days later you were nearly normal, and he was standing in the kitchen, head bowed and lips pouty as he looked at you beneath thick lashes.

“I did warn you.” You chastised, moving forward to press a chaste kiss to his lips.

“No regrets.” He grumbled, spinning you in his arms to rest his head atop yours, and keep his hands on your waist. “Think of it as a return on investment.”

“Then I guess we’ll be investing forever, hm?” You teased, chuckling softly as you allowed your weight to lean back into his.

“Rich in love and rich in life… I love you.” Kyle sighed, somehow looking forward to the rest of the week and a half ahead of them, even with the misery of illness looming over him.

“I love you too, forever and always.” You promised.

“Forever and always.”

[witchersmistress]

Battered and Broken

Hello my darlings, Happy Friday!!! Monster August and Walter are still in time out for being stubborn and no copperating.. bad bad boys

Trigger Warnings: the biggest one is going to be irritation with me, youll forgive me shorty i promise, blood, violence and masturbation

Word count: 7.6 K

its a long one so buckleup and hang on tight

August’s pov

The world comes back slow, like water gathering momentum. I hear voices and soft squeaks and a steady, monotonous beeping. It’s sickeningly familiar. It crashes in fast, like a wave that’s been building. I sit up, my heartbeat sending a machine into a frenzy. I start yanking at the tubes and wires in my face, my arm, my chest. So many fucking ties binding me to life. The squeaks come faster, and a hoard of nurses rushes in, shoving me back when I fight, pinning me to the bed, banging on the button to give me more meds, to sedate me. I don’t want to go under. There’s something important— And then it’s gone. When I wake again, I’m groggy, but I open my eyes this time. My brother is sitting beside me, scrolling on his phone, that damn sucker tucked into his cheek. “Where is she?” I ask. His head jerks up, his gaze flying to mine and then to the door, where our father is standing, his phone held to his ear. Baron takes his sucker out and puts a finger to his lips, turning his back to him so only I can see. “Who?” he asks aloud. Our father makes a ‘hold on’ gesture to us and then steps into the hall. “What the fuck am I doing here?” I demand. “You tell me,” Baron says. “We dropped you off at home and went out, and the next day when we woke up, we saw all these texts from Father saying you were in the ER with a concussion and a fractured skull. Again.” A little more comes back. Calling Dynamo. Meeting Colin alone at the Slaughter Pen. Throwing just enough punches to make him think I was trying. How right his fists felt connecting to my face, almost orgasmic. “When?” I ask, pushing up. I have to get her. The thought is quick and clear, a blow to the solar plexus. “A couple days ago,” Baron says, shoving the sucker back in his mouth. “Fuck,” I say, yanking the tape off my hand and jerking the IV free. Blood spurts from my vein, and my brain doubles back. Blood on Duke’s mouth. Blood on Baron’s dick. Blood on her thighs. “What are you doing?” Baron demands. “Chill the fuck out. You’re drugged out of your mind right now. Just go back to sleep.”

 “Where’s Harper?”

He glances at the door and lowers his voice. “Where we left her. She’s probably dead by now.” I shake my head. No. She can’t be dead. “I have to get her.” “You wanted her dead,” Baron reminds me. “You were going to kill her. I’m the one who told you not to. Remember?” I don’t want to remember that because then I have to remember what she did, the truth Baron showed me on her phone—hundreds of messages laid out over months, revealing the most personal, most shameful details of my life to a stranger on the internet. No, not a stranger. An enemy. She is an enemy. I don’t know why my body keeps fighting even when I remember that. But I have to get out, have to find her, have to know the truth, the reason. I yank the tube in my nose, but it hits the back of my sinuses and makes my head swim. Baron slams his chest down on mine, smacking a call button. “What the fuck,” he growls. “You’re intubated. You can’t pull that out. You’ll rupture your fucking esophagus or something.” I’m still fighting when the fucking army shows up, the nurses in pale blue scrubs that feature in too many of my nightmares already. I fucking hate hospitals. The drugs that cloud your mind, the helplessness, the way they keep you alive when you don’t want any fucking part of it. It’s all way too familiar by now. The way they think they’re saving you, but they’re destroying you. The way they keep you from saving her after you destroyed her.

Harper's POV

The first few days are hard. I don’t get out of bed except to use the bathroom, which is excruciating. There’s no point in objecting. What I want doesn’t matter. It never did. August kept telling me, but I didn’t understand. Now I do.. He never takes off the mask. He takes pictures of my face and body each day. I don’t protest. What’s the point? I sleep when he’s not asking anything of me. I appreciate, in some detached way, how little he wants, how little he bothers me, he asks for nothing, not even a response. I think if he demanded intimacy of any kind, I’d shatter completely. But he doesn’t. He barely touches me. He wakes me and dresses me and brings me to the table each day. He cooks fancy meals for me, but I don’t taste them. I eat, and when I’m done, he carries me to bed, where I curl up under the blankets. The lulling voices on Local News with Jackie fill my head as they drone on about the cost of gasoline and someone overdosing on a new street drug. I don’t hear anything about a missing girl. I fall asleep praying I won’t wake up this time. It’s around the seventh evening, as I’m slumped at the island eating some fancy herbed potatoes with glazed Brussel sprouts and salmon, when my savior and captor lays down his fork. “I have to go out for a while tomorrow,” he says. I don’t answer. I don’t care where he goes. I sleep most of the day. Sometimes the apartment is quiet, and sometimes I hear him exercising or clicking away at his keyboard in the big, open loft where he has a standing desk against one wall. I haven’t wondered where he goes or what he’s doing when he’s gone. It doesn’t matter. “Do you need to go home and get your clothes or anything?” he asks. I shrug. “I’ll buy you some clothes,” he says decisively. I don’t answer. 

“Where do you live, anyway?”

 “Mill Street.”

 My voice sounds creaky and unused. I clear my throat

 “Right.” He sips his wine and watches me for a minute.

 “I’m glad I wore a condom.” 

I don’t say anything. What is there to say? 

“Do you live alone?”

 “Yes”

He leans his elbows on the island, closing his eyes. “Thank fuck.” He always sits me on his good side, but I know why he hides under the mask. He’s a monster under the mask, disfigured and ugly. I push a bite of salmon into my mouth. It’s flaky and salty, but I don’t taste anything. The corners of my mouth have healed, and the angry red tracks across my cheeks from the ropes are gone when I look in the mirror. My body takes in food and water and heals itself. But whatever’s broken beneath the surface doesn’t change. At least you can tell, looking at him, that he’s suffered. “So will, ” he says after chewing and swallowing slowly. “Will anyone be looking for you?” I shake my head no, the only man i cared about left me for dead “Have you talked to anyone?

 “With what?” “Fuck,” he says, raising his hand like he might run it over his face. When he touches the mask, he drops his hand to his lap. “I’ll get you a phone tomorrow.” I shrug. I decide I’ll call him the Phantom, like the masked man from the opera.

 “Why hasn’t anyone called the cops?” “probably because of my job, i'm always gone for weeks at a time” 

“Oh.” He sits back on the barstool, working his tongue around inside his mouth. “That's slightly terrifying” I don’t argue.

 “I’m going up to water my plants before it gets dark,” he says, rising from the island to take his plate to the sink. “Why don’t you come? Get some air. It’ll be good for you.” He takes my plate and wine glass without asking if I’m done. I sit at the island while he cleans up. Each morning, he dresses like he’s going to an office, but every time I wake, I can hear him moving around his apartment, living. His closet is full of different shades of grey slacks and pressed dress shirts in every color. He rolls his sleeves up tan forearms before rinsing the plates and setting them neatly in the stainless-steel dishwasher. Everything here is immaculately clean and organized. I can’t imagine him getting his hands dirty. He opens a door and pulls a small tool bag from a shelf, then gestures for me to follow. I think about staying, but there’s no reason to disobey. He pulls down a drop ladder, and we climb up into a tiny attic space with exposed insulation and a door.  Opening it, he steps through into the blue evening. The door opens onto a flat roof that’s full of potted plants in different sized containers. Leaving me in the doorway, the Phantom unwinds a hose from a spool, turns on a faucet knob against the wall near the door, and starts spraying water over a rectangular box filled with curly purple and pink flowers. Their perfume lures me out onto the roof. I haven’t breathed outdoor air in a week. It’s moist and heavy, clinging to my bare arms like algae. I can hear traffic in the distance, but from the roof, I see only the same field that I can see from the huge windows in the loft below. The grass is tall and brown from winter, but green pokes up in small patches on the ground. I walk to the edge of the roof. I wonder if he’d stop me if I stepped over. There isn’t even a railing. It would be so easy. It would all be over.

I look back at the man who pulled me from the swamp, who went to such lengths to find me and bring me back. He crouches to poke in a big, round pot. His back is to me as he pulls on a pair of gloves from his bag. I could do it. It would be quick. “I got you an appointment at the women’s clinic on Wednesday,” he says. “To be tested for STDs. You can take my truck and bring it back when you’re done.” I step closer to the edge, until my toes are even with the end of the flat roof. I look down at the parking lot below. Try to remember why being up here is better than down there. I lift one foot, watching it hang suspended in the air, like a diver. He looks up when I don’t answer. His gaze moves to the edge of the roof and back to my face. Our eyes meet, and I know he can tell what I’m about to do. I wait for him to say something, to be angry or afraid. To demand to know what I’m doing, if I want to die. “I’ll bring a chair for you next time,” he says, unfolding slowly, cautiously, from his crouched position next to some sprouting plants. I watch him move, how comfortable he is in his body, how confident. He’s quick but unhurried; tall and slender, painfully elegant. He’s built like a dancer, all slim lines and measured grace. He’s at my side before I know what’s happening. His strong hands are gentle on my upper arms as they pull me back. “Good girl,” he says softly, drawing my shoulder blades flush with his chest. I know he’s thanking me for not jumping, for letting him pull me away, but in truth, I don’t have any more desire to die than I have to live. It’s not worth the effort. “You can come up here with me every day,” he says when I don’t answer. “You could use some sun.” We stare out at the overgrown lot next to his building without speaking. His breath is even, his hands barely holding on. But I can feel his heart thudding rapidly against my back with each heavy beat. I scared him. The thought registers in some distant way. He wants me to live. What I want seems equally irrelevant to both of us. There’s no point in telling him, so I don’t, and he doesn’t ask

August pov

“Where have you been?” I spin toward the voice, my hands fisting, adrenaline pumping. I don’t like being taken by surprise. “Out,” I growl. “What the fuck are you doing sitting in the dark?” Baron switches on the lamp beside the couch. Duke is sprawled across the loveseat, his eyes glassy, a tumbler of whiskey in one hand. “You’re going to get us caught,” Baron says. He picks up a sucker and begins to unwrap it slowly, his elbows resting on his knees and his eyes fixed on me. “This is a small town. It’s not New York. It’s harder to hide a murder when there are only a couple a year.” “We didn’t murder anyone,” I snap, hating that he’s the reason for that. He reminded me that death is too kind. That we don’t kill Darlings. “That’s right,” Duke says. “And I’m not afraid of the cops. They’re not NYPD. They’re hicks. What can they do to us?” “If we don’t get sloppy, nothing,” I say. “No one but the three of us know what happened.” The twins glance at each other, that fucking twin telepathy thing that pisses me the fuck off. “Right?” I grind out. “Right,” Duke says. “We didn’t say anything to anyone at work. We’re not stupid.” No, not stupid. They’ve just never done this shit before. Sometimes I forget how little blood is on their hands. And that’s by design. 

Protect our brothers. King would despise me if he knew what we’d done, what I’d let them become. I should have killed her like I wanted, kept them from her, kept myself from having to admit this truth about them—that I knew what they’d do to Harper when I finally let them have her after six months of denying them. It was both their reward for respecting my previous claim and her punishment for betrayal. But I can’t remember when they became the kind of people whose attention is a punishment. The twins look up to King, though, and I’m supposed to fill his shoes. I think of what he’d say, not because I want to be like him, but because it will comfort them. Duke needs that, at least. I’m not sure Baron has whatever it is that makes a person seek comfort. “We didn’t do anything the Darlings wouldn’t have done to us,” I point out. “We eliminated a threat to the family. That’s all. A man has a right to protect his family.” That’s not what she was, and we all know it, just like we all know Crystal’s blood is on my hands. Harper was no threat to my family. She was a threat to me. I finally, truly understand what they went through with Mabel. When it happened, I saw it from the outside, and I felt for my brothers, but I didn’t get it. I thought they were fuckwits for thinking of her as human at all. I didn’t think I was capable of caring about a Darling. But now I know what the Darling girls do to a person when they set their sights on you, when they decide to play. I know how they lie and twist everything until you start to believe that against every odd, even though you know it’s impossible, someone could give a fuck.

“Who was she talking to, though?” Duke asks. “Because he might figure it out.” “I don’t think we need to worry about him,” Baron says, sliding the sucker into his mouth. “She hadn’t talked to him in weeks. She cut him off. He won’t think anything unless it makes the news.” “So, it’s our job to make sure it doesn’t,” I remind them. Our eyes meet. He gets it. He may not have blood on his hands, but he’s got the stomach for it. “Exactly,” he says. He picks up the bottle of whiskey and pours a finger into a glass, then looks me over, his gaze taking in my wet jeans and shoes. “So, again, where were you? Because we’re being careful. But parking beside the road and walking across a huge-ass rice field into the swamp is going to get us caught a hell of a lot faster than anything we might say in the locker room.” “I was looking for her phone.” “Fuck,” Baron says, leaning back and closing his eyes. “She dropped it when she was fighting us.” I nod. Even a dead phone is easily traceable. It doesn’t matter if it is at the bottom of the swamp and will never work again. They can still track it. If the Darlings go looking for her, they’ll get the law involved. They don’t play by our rules, taking care of their own problems. They have no honor. Only a person without honor could do what she did, exploiting someone’s helplessness for their own gain. For a fucking scholarship of all things. Such a pathetic, pedestrian thing. All along, she was nothing but a gold digger. We thought she didn’t know she was Darling, but she must have known. Even if she didn’t, and she really didn’t know who she was talking to, he must have known. And if he gets the cops involved, and they suspect murder, they’ll get the FBI involved. And the FBI will find her phone.

 So we have to make sure no one else looks for her. “You didn’t find her phone?” Duke asks. “No,” I say, scowling at his drunk ass. “I didn’t find it.” “We should tell Father,” Baron says. “He’ll know what to do.” “No,” I say, holding up a hand. “If we need his help, we’ll tell him then.” “Okay,” Baron says, looking skeptical. “So, what now?” “Where’d you put her clothes?” “Shit,” Duke says. “They’re in my bag.” “That’s the kind of sloppy shit we can’t do,” I say. That, and letting her drop her phone in the swamp. If they find that, they’ll search the swamp, and they’ll find her. At least… I think they will. They’ll have a whole team, dogs and infrared gear and shit that I don’t have. I’ve been in that swamp exactly once before today, and it was night by the time we left, and I was… Not entirely present. I barely remember walking into the swamp. I was in survival mode, like those months after Crystal died that I barely remember, and the ones before that I don’t remember at all. I let the monster take care of me, take care of what needed to be done, of what I couldn’t. I was weak, and he was strong. Maybe if I put him in control, he can find her. I’ll have to go back again. But I have a good reason. I looked today, my first day home from the hospital, searching until after dark, but with only my phone’s flashlight and a vague memory of being there before, I couldn’t find where we’d left her. I couldn’t find her.

“What are you thinking?” Baron asks, sitting up straight and setting his whiskey on the coffee table. “Burn her clothes?” “Yes,” I say, stepping into the living room. “She was a Darling. We need to act like it.” I’ll burn everything that ever reminded me of her, all the random shit she left at my house, my notebooks where I wrote poems about her like some pathetic lovesick dog chasing after a bitch in heat. We should burn the whole fucking town to the ground with all the Darlings in it. “She’s one of the disowned Darlings’ kids,” Duke says. “They don’t care about her.” Duke isn’t good with the aftermath, the cleanup, the details. He’s there for the fun and games, but he forgets that after the games, it’s real. “One of them cared enough to find her,” I say. “Even if the grandfather cut them off, one of them reached out to her.” “Or he did,” Duke says. “Well, she’s an adult.” Baron says, trading his sucker for the whiskey. “And her dad doesn't give a shit anyway. Right?” “We need to act like everything’s normal,” I say. For a minute, we’re frozen in confusion. None of us have the slightest idea how to be normal. “No skipping work, though. Now that August’s back, we have to act like it was just about him.” Irritation flares in me, but he’s right. I can’t be the one to go off the deep end over this. Not when it means the twins will go down with me. I should have fucking left them out of it. What was I thinking? I could have done it myself, slit her throat and dropped her in the river. But I didn’t want her in the same river where Crystal drowned. That water is sacred. She deserved swamp water. “I’ll talk to her dad.” “What?” Duke asks, sitting up straight. “Are you fucking crazy?” “No,” Baron says, holding up a hand, his eyes on me. “He’s right. That’s what a normal person would do if his ex disappeared from work. Bring back her shit, ask her dad if she’s okay. Act like you think she went back to Faulkner High.” “And in the process, see what he knows,” I say. And see if Harper’s there. I don’t add that part aloud. I don’t want my brothers to worry. We left her tied to a tree somewhere in that snake-infested swamp. I barely made it out without being bitten by one of the vipers. She couldn’t have gotten away from the ropes, let alone gotten past the snakes and hiked twenty miles back to town without shoes or clothes. Could she? If there’s one person on earth who’s tough and resourceful enough to do that after what we did to her, it’s Harper. And she’ll be out for revenge. So, if she’s alive, why hasn’t she called the cops? And if she’s dead, why can’t I find her body?

[crystalsnow95z]

Drabble written within two hours just because inspiration struck. Posting as is because I'm so lazy.

Sickie; Yoongi with bad cold.

Caretaker: mostly Jin

Why do they have to be so loud? Yoongi puts in his earpieces to try to muffle the sound of Jimin, Taehyung, and Jungkook warming up their voices. They were singing nursery songs, but singing it at a higher octave with each line, seeing who could hit the highest note.

He usually isn't bothered by their playful nature, but even after taking medicine, he still felt pressure behind his eyes, the high pitch sounds making it worse. A tickle in his throat made him cough again, trying to muffle it. Maybe the medicine just wore off..

"Are you sure you're feeling up to this Yoongi?" Jin asks voice thick with worry. "You've been coughing all morning.." He swore that Yoongi had been running a fever when he woke him up, but when staff checked when they got to the venue, he was only a fee degrees warmer than usual.

"I can do it, it's been three years since we've been here, and I don't know when we can come back. It's just my voice. It's fine Hyungie.." Yoongi coughs into his arm, wincing at the pain. "I'll just leave the shouting to the others.."

"It's time for the sound check." A staff member tells them, giving Yoongi his escape from his only hyung.

"Okay, we're coming, thank you.." Namjoon answers with a bow. "If you change your mind no one will blame you okay? Sometimes you're just unlucky.."

"I'll ask staff for some medicine after the sound check. I'll be okay." Maybe if I say it enough, it'll be true.. Yoongi goes with the others onto the stage, staying close to Hoseok, leaning against him. Hoseok's takes Yoongi's hand, giving it a squeeze. "Your energy being low before the concert even started isn't a good sign." J-hope frets over him, pushing a lock of hair behind his ear.

"The crowd will give me energy. I'll be.. Heh'ehhitchew..!" A sneeze cuts him off, wiping his nose with his sleeve, sighing with irritation.

"Hyung just admit it. This isn't just a little cold.." Hoseok finds a tissue. "If you're going to go at least try to clear your nose.."

"I'll be fine." Yoongi tries to feign confidence, clearing his throat to try to stop from coughing. Yesterday, it was an annoying tickle, but today, he was completely congested, his sinuses leaving pain behind his eyes. He turns his head away from Hoseok blowing the mucus out the best he can. "Gross.." he murmurs, throwing it into the waste bin.

"Take it easy, okay?"Hoseok squeezes his hand, feeling a little more at ease when Yoongi's breathing comes softer than before. "Please don't push yourself, please?"

"Hey hey.." Namjoon's voice through his mic makes the crowd roar with excitement, making Yoongi bite his lip as the pain flares up, pinching the bridge of his nose. I can do this. It's fine..

Everyone had started playfully talking to army, but when Yoongi goes to take his turn, instead of his voice coming out, he nearly coughs into the mic, quickly pulling the mic away and coughing into his fist.

"Min Yoongi. Min Yoongi.." The crowd screams his name, giving him the strength he needs. They're so excited to see me. I have to push through.

"Army are you ready for tonight?" Yoongi usually yells the words, but couldn't get his voice above his normal speaking voice. "Make some noise!"

The screams sounded louder to Yoongi than it did any of the previous shows they've done that month, but he couldn't tell if it was from his aching head or if army were actually louder.

The crowd chanted and screamed as the other members walked around the stage, making hearts and blowing kisses, showering army with affection as they sang their parts.

Yoongi pushes through his part, ignoring the urge to cough and pressing his fingers on his chest as he finishes, going to the edge of the stage for water. I sounded so bad..My voice cracked at the end.. He smiled when he made eye contact with someone trying to push away his negative thoughts, regretting it when they let out a shrill scream.

He goes back by the other members, feeling a wave of nausea from the pain, swaying into someone. Yoongi felt someone's foot under his, apologizing when he saw Taehyung next to him, looking at him with a worried expression. He's not doing well..I gotta do something.. he's swaying.."Hyungie.."

Yoongi's eyes were dulling, and tears were forming. His skin glowed with sweat, and Taehyung could see his hand trembling.

"Hyung lean on me okay?" Taehyung orders gently, removing one of Yoongi's earpieces to speak with him, unsure if he even understood him.

My vision..everything's fading.. I'm gonna faint.. I'm so dizzy.. Yoongi involuntarily let's out a soft moan, leaning into Taehyung just to stay on his feet. Despite Taehyung being right behind him his voice sounds far away, as if he were listening underwater.

Taehyung keeps his hands firmly on Yoongi as he quickly moves to hug him from behind, holding Yoongi by the waist as he sings his part, singing a half second behind the music. Army squeal loudly to see Taehyung's sudden display of affection of the Daegu rapper, unaware it wasn't just love that made Taehyung hold him so tightly.

Yoongi's knees were threatening to buckle from underneath him, and Taehyung holding him was the only thing that was keeping him on his feet. Taehyung hides this fact by making it look like he's just playing,lightly swinging Yoongi to the beat of the music,but the other members look over with concern when they see Yoongi not putting up any fight.

Yoongi is completely out of it for another minute before recovering, panicked for a moment when he momentarily forgot where he was. Pulling away from Taehyung to stand on his own, he takes a few deep breaths to clear his head.

"I'm okay.." Yoongi whispers to Taehyung, just in time for Jimin to finish the last verse of the song, just barely recovering on time. My visions still fuzzy..but I can't let the crowd know.. Taehyung lets go of his waist but grabs Yoongi's hand, the seven boys meeting up center stage to say a quick 'see you later' and return to back stage. Taehyung keeps his arm around Yoongi as they bow, not risking him falling forward, leading him down the steps.

"Yoongi-hyung fainted on stage." Taehyung blurts to the other members as soon as they enter the back room.

"Seriously?" Hoseok's eyes widen, putting his hand on Yoongi's back. "Hyung you can't do this if you're already that weak..

"What? That's why you were holding him?" Jungkook questions, reaching to touch Yoongi's cheek.

"You should sit down." Jin orders softly.

"We need to get a doctor." Namjoon tries to control the situation. "Give him some space guys.."

The members all started talking at once, making Yoongi's head spin once more. He steps back, trying to escape all the grasping hands and worried team. Please be quiet..

"I was just dizzy for a few seconds, that's all. It's no big deal. He's just overreacting." Yoongi tried to calm their worries, giving a glare at the younger Daegu boy for telling them this. It took every ounce of willpower he had to regain consciousness, but he didn't want the others to know.

"I'm just worried about you.."Taehyung squeezes Yoongi's hand, but Yoongi pulls his away from him, putting his hands in his pockets.

"Well, worry about yourself. You already messed up during sound check."Yoongi didn't want Taehyung or the others making mistakes, but his voice came out more aggressive than he intended instantly, regretting his harsh tone when he met Taehyung's misty eyes.

"I'm just worried about you.." Taehyung blinks quickly to fight off the tears, pointing his nose upwards.

Jin notices it too, wrapping his arm around the vocalist. "Yoongi-yah, I know how frustrating it can be to not be in good condition before a show, but you don't have to take it out on us. Apologize to Taehyung.."

"I'm sorry, Taehyung-ah.." Yoongi says sincerely, placing his hand on his shoulder. He usually didn't lose his patience so easily, especially not with the youngest of members. "I should've said that.. I just have a headache and it's making me irritable.."

"It's okay.."Taehyung hugs Yoongi. "I know i messed up my timing, but i couldn't let you fall in front of our fans."

"I know, and I'm grateful.. I'm just pissed at the situation not you..." Yoongi pushes Taehyung away, coughing into his elbow.

Their's short embrace was enough to get the others set back on track with the core problem. Could Yoongi perform?

"Yoongi-hyung, you've been coughing all day and hardly ate the past few days.." J-hope frets over Yoongi, helping staff dry the sweat off his face. "And you look pretty pale. Are you sure you can do this?"

"I just need to take some medicine, I already talked to staff this morning, and it's just a cold. I'll be fine." Yoongi tries to calm Hoseok, trying to not get frustrated with Hoseok too. It's the same conversation i had with Hyung earlier... "Don't worry about me, just focus on getting ready for the show. I'll take it easy. Okay?"

"Alright, just.. know your limits, okay?"Hoseok hugs Yoongi before going to get changed for the concert. He's so stubborn, but there's nothing I can do..

Yoongi changes into his set clothes, not realizing how much he was shaking until he tried to put his earrings in, almost stabbing his earlobe.

"Let hyung do it." Yoongi jumped in surprise when he heard Jin's voice next to him, taking the hoop from his unsteady hand and putting it in place, doing the same for the other side. "I brought you some medicine and some vitamins." Jin tells yoongi while opening the bottles, putting a mixture of tablets into his palm. "These should help keep your strength up and help with that migraine.."

"Thanks, hyung.."Yoongi sniffles then sighs. "I hope i can at least get better by day three..my voice sounds so congested.."Yoongi takes the cocktail of tablets with a gulp of water. "Heh'ehhitchaaugh.." Yoongi sneezes with an annoyed whine at the end.

"If you need to stop at any point during the show, you need to tell us, okay? Your health comes first above anything else. If you don't feel like you can do it, we can work around it." Jin says, sounding like a concerned parent, rubbing his thumbs gently over Yoongi's temples. The soft motion ebbs some of the pain away.

"If it gets to that point, I'll let you know..thanks hyung.." Yoongi coughs into his fist, Jin rubbing his back. He can feel the eyes of the other members looking at him, sighing. "I hate this.."

"I know yoon, but just remember no one blames you. Rest up until it's time to go. Hyung will wake you up in time to warm up." Jin says, taking his jacket and balling it up on the floor as a pillow. Yoongi obeys, his body instantly growing heavier as soon as he lays down.

"I love you yoongi." Jin gives him a quick kiss on the top of his head, brow furrowing with worry when he notices Yoongi's eyes already closed. He's exhausted..

"You too.." He murmurs his reply, already half asleep.

"Yoongi really isn't well.." Yoongi hears Namjoon whispering, but he felt too groggy to open his eyes. "He's got a fever and his coughing hasn't let up much."

A fever? No. No.. Sh*t.. I gotta pull myself together.. Yoongi sits up slowly, Namjoon's jacket falling off him. When did he cover me up? How long have I been asleep?

"Namjoon-ah, don't worry about it, I'm feeling better now.." Yoongi wasn't lying, but it wasn't by much. His headache dulled down, and it didn't hurt as much to talk, but his body still ached all over, and he felt freezing despite the fact it was so hot backstage. I have to perform..

"You don't look like you're feeling better, but you know your limits more than I do, just pace yourself okay? I don't want you to pass out again, hyung." Namjoon says, ignoring his gut feeling to tell him to stay back. He knew how much this meant to Yoongi all too well.

"I won't. I can do this.." Yoongi tells Namjoon, but it was more for himself, he holds out his hand for Namjoon to pull him to his feet.

"Staff called five minutes, we were just coming to wake you. We wanted to let you rest as long as you could." Jin gives Yoongi a cup of green tea with lemon. "Maybe this will help your voice a bit.."

Yoongi sips it,wincing when he swallows. Its gotten worse..it didn't hurt to drink before..The liquid did nothing to soothe his swollen throat, but he thanked Jin nonetheless.

The members gathered together, chanting to psych themselves up, Yoongi biting his lip to avoid coughing, adding his two fingers to the pile but not shouting with the others.

The seven boys go to the steps leading to the stage, yoongi staying close to his only hyung.

"My poor Yoongi.." Jin squeezes his shoulder. "Please take it easy, okay?"

Yoongi nods, soaking in the cheers of the crowd when they enter the stage, quickly getting into position, starting with black swan. He closes his eyes, letting his body go through the motions from muscle memory when he wasn't rapping, the synergy of the crowd giving him the strength he needed. His voice was drowned out over the background music, army having to be quiet to hear him.

He was okay for the first two songs, but when he was on the sidelines for mic drop, he couldn't suppress his cough anymore. He felt Namjoon take his mic from his hand when he doubled over so his coughing wasn't caught on the mic.

No. It can't come back yet.. it hasn't even been that long..His cough made the pulsating headache return, him rubbing at his temples for the few seconds he had to spare before his part came brushing his back against Hoseok when they switched who was rapping, his voice came out with a cough for the first few words but quickly recovered.

Namjoon was ready to back him up, holding his mic close to his mouth, but Yoongi already had several voices singing with him.

Army had joined him, Yoongi taking out one of his earpieces to hear them, letting them sing the last line, walking to get his tea to dry to soothe his throat.

"You did well."

"You got this!"

"We love you min Yoongi."

"It's okay!"

Army shout encouraging words in several languages, but instead of making him feel better, he felt the pressure to try harder. These army traveled from all over the world.. i have to try harder.. Yoongi takes a deep breath, putting his cup down and running to his spot.

After mic drop, they did their greeting, bowing to army. "Hello, we are BTS!" The members go down the line with individual introductions. We aren't even halfway over yet..and there's the rap medley..

Yoongi sits on the stage, closing his eyes. The stress only made him feel worse. He was freezing, though he was sweating under the stage lights. Nausea washed over him, wrapping his arm around his stomach.

Jin takes a seat behind him, pulling him to lean into him. "You need to calm down, Yoon.." Jin whispers. "If you keep worrying like this, I'll have to pull you. You're doing fine. Army understands. You have to understand, too. They don't care about just the music. They care about you."

Yoongi takes a few deep breaths to calm himself. Only just now hearing army never stopped chanting for him.

"Army doesn't want you worrying about being good. They just want you to be happy and healthy." Jimin tells Yoongi, his words making army scream with agreement.

"Army.." Yoongi talks into his mic, the crowd falling silent. "I have to admit it, i can't give you my all, but I'll give what I can, but I'll need you to help me"

[moonchildreads]

small town

Chapter 12 - Fortress Around Your Heart

IN THIS CHAPTER: A mysterious card, allergy pills, and Wayne conspires against his nephew [7.1k]

WARNINGS: eddie being a lil sick (nothing serious), vague mentions of financial hardship

A/N: a huge shout out and thank you to two of my fairy godmothers and biggest cheerleaders, my beloved @justahappycloud and my loveliest @gutterratt for vibechecking wayne's dialogue in this chapter. it takes a village to build a small town! i love you both, deeply, madly, truly.

masterlist - prev - next | playlist

And if I built this fortress around your heart Encircled you in trenches and barbed wire Then let me build a bridge

Tuesday, May 6th - 1986

Five days. Five days without a single drop of rain. Not a light shower, not a thunderstorm, not a drizzle in sight, and Dottie felt like she was losing her goddamned mind. Before moving to Hawkins, she was sure she dreaded rainy days; New York smelled like a sewer, the subway was muggy as hell, and she was perpetually tired of people bumping their umbrellas into her head when she walked home from school. But rainy days in Indiana? Absolute bliss. She’d gotten so used to the fresh smell of wet soil, to sitting on her window seat with a book, a moody record playing in the background, thunder rumbling and lulling her to sleep. Rainy days meant driving home with Eddie and Gareth, huddling under tin roofs with Jeff for warmth while Donny smoked a cig, sharing a hand-knitted blanket with her Dad while they consumed anything and everything that was on TV after dinner. Rain was comforting and homey, and as the weather continued to get warmer and humidity levels kept climbing, she couldn’t wait until that night’s forecasted thunderstorm to hit the small town she had grown to love in only a couple of months. Eddie, on the other hand, was once more contemplating on moving to the middle of the desert and never having to see a raindrop again in his life.

“Man, you look like shit,” Gareth said, sliding into his usual seat at their lunch table.

“I’ve been telling him to go to the nurse since second period but you know how he is,” Donny shook his head disapprovingly.

“I don’t need to go to the nurse,” Eddie told him, accepting the sandwich Donny was offering so Eddie would share his chocolate covered peanuts with him in return. “It’s just allergies.”

“I think I have allergy meds in my locker if you want some,” Dottie said.

“Why do you always have pills on you? Are you a fuckin’ pharmacist or what?” Gareth teased her.

“Okay, asshole, next time all those weird fumes in the lab give you a headache, get your own painkillers,” she said, pushing his lunch tray away from him and down the table, just barely out of his reach.

“D’you really think they’ll help? Your meds?” Eddie asked, finally caving in, eyes squinting under the fluorescent cafeteria lights.

“I mean, I’m not a doctor, but it’s worth a try. They make you really sleepy though, so maybe take them after school?”

“Okay,” he rubbed his eyes with two fists. “I’ll take them when we get home.”

During the past couple of years, Eddie had developed this random allergy that seemed to get progressively worse whenever the weather changed. As the air was becoming more and more oppressive with the kind of humidity one forgets could be experienced after the colder months, Eddie was more often than not showing up to school with red eyes that had nothing to do with the weed he liked to indulge in after hours. Eating his sandwich and peanuts without really tasting anything because of how clogged his sinuses were, he considered stealing a wad of toilet paper to survive his upcoming Biology lesson after depleting Dottie’s generous stash of tissues during their back-to-back shared periods before lunch. The skin on the sides of his nose was becoming raw and red from blowing it so many times, and his head felt like it was stuck inside a bucket, his ears sensitive to loud noises and his throat scratchy.

By the time the final bell had rung and they were driving towards his trailer, Dottie theorized he might have developed a cold last Saturday morning when his water heater had died on him mid shower. Thankfully, Wayne was nothing if not resourceful and had gotten it up and running again that same day, but if Eddie had really gotten sick from washing himself with freezing water, there was little anyone could do except wait for the illness to pass on its own.

“Boy, you look like shit,” Wayne said from his armchair, watching his nephew shrug off his coat as he stepped into the trailer.

“Thanks, Wayne, hadn’t noticed,” Eddie replied dryly.

“Come on, let’s get you to bed,” Dottie started guiding him towards his room.

“No! No, you can’t go in there,” he immediately blocked her path, arms braced on the walls of the small hallway to stop her from marching on.

“Ed, I don’t care if it’s mes-”

“It’s not- I mean, it is a mess but-” he blubbered, watching her cross her arms and cock her hip to the side in defiance. “Nuh-uh, nope, can’t have you seeing that shit right now. No way.”

“Eddie.”

“You can’t argue with a sick man, princess, that’s illegal.”

“God, you’re-,” she threw her hands in the air, exasperated. “Fine, have it your way. Go sit on the couch.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he conceded, sinking into the cushions next to Wayne who was very amused by the entire situation but had the decency to act like he wasn’t paying attention. “Where do you keep your stash?”

“There’s a hidden pocket at the back, look for small round yellow pills.”

Dottie busied herself rinsing a mug in the kitchen sink and filling it up with water from a pitcher that was in the fridge while he snooped around her belongings, her brown corduroy backpack pulled into his lap. He was taking a couple of notebooks out to get better access to the small concealed zipper sewn onto the back panel when a baby pink envelope fell from one of them, landing next to his ratty sneakers. Always a curious one, Eddie picked it up, instantly noticed red hearts on the glossy paper inside and hurried to put it back where it had fallen from before she could catch him being nosy.

Trying to focus back on his initial task, he began rifling through the contents of the pocket, pulling out of a waterproof pouch that held various types of pills and tiny plastic bottles. He would have asked what they were for, always eager to know more about Dottie, but his brain was stuck in a constant loop of questions. Was that a love letter? Does she know who it’s from? There weren’t any names on it, is it a secret admirer situation? Why wouldn’t she tell me? Is it-

“Here you go,” she kneeled on the carpet next to his feet, pushing the plastic McDonald’s mug into his line of sight. “Did you find them?”

“Uh- yeah, these ones?” he asked, shaking a blister with pills that matched the description she’d given, making them rattle.

“What’s that?” Wayne asked, pretending like he hadn’t noticed his nephew having a mild stroke in front of his very eyes by the mere sight of an envelope.

“My allergy meds,” Dottie explained, resting an arm on Eddie’s knees. “I get really sniffly when seasons start changing so I thought maybe they’d help with Eddie’s too. I take those once a day when it starts acting up, and then I also have a nasal spray. I used to have two different ones, but I ran out of the prescribed one and haven’t replaced it yet.”

“You take a lot of pills, kid?” the older man said, curious.

“I try not to ‘cause I’ve heard it’s bad, like the bugs build resistance to the drugs or something? But I was a babysitter so I got used to carrying stuff around. Can’t really look after a screaming toddler if I’ve got a sudden headache, you know?” she explained before turning to look up at her friend. “You can keep those if you want, I’ve got a ton at home. They’re cheaper than a doctor’s appointment.”

“Thanks,” he said, staring at the blister. There were only three pills missing, and one of them was currently inside his body. “D’you wanna get started on homework?”

“We can take a day off if you’re not feeling well.”

“No, no, I’m okay. I can work on my drawings, I guess? Something that doesn’t require a lot of thinking would be great right now.”

“Okay, but you’re definitely gonna need a nap in about an hour,” she patted his knee and got up from the floor, moving to sit next to him before busying herself with her own work.

“I’m gonna go make some soup,” Wayne announced, shuffling into the kitchen before muttering to himself. “See if that saves us a visit to the doctor’s office.”

Wayne Munson was a simple man with simple needs. He considered himself lucky in the sense that he’d always had a roof over his head, and he’d always been able to provide for those he loved, fancy cooking be damned. He didn’t need three course meals or top of the line equipment to make his boy feel better as long as he knew how to make a good chicken rice soup, just like the one his mother used to make. They might not have lived in a real house with a big backyard and a bedroom for both, but as long as his meals were warm, his beers were cold and Eddie was smiling, it was enough for him.

He’d always thought of his nephew as a happy kid, one that chose to see the best in everything even when life had dealt him shitty card after shitty card, but Wayne had to admit that in the twelve years he’d been responsible for Eddie, he had never seen him act the way he did when Dottie was around. The youngest Munson was a ball of energy, always gesticulating wildly, not knowing how to control his own voice whenever he got going, leg perpetually bouncing when he was quiet. It was strange to see how subdued he was whenever his newest friend was around, and even more so considering she could also be loud and animated when given the opportunity. There was a gentle quality to their interactions, as if they were both toeing an invisible line that separated them, wishing the other one would cross it first but being afraid of overstepping.

As the old man leaned to get a couple of carrots that desperately needed to be eaten from the bottom of the fridge, he noticed once again the water pitcher on the door. He had never once seen Eddie choose water over any kind of cheap soda he could get his hands on, and yet this ancient plastic pitcher that hadn’t been used in years had somehow found its way into their fridge when Dottie started hanging out at the trailer. Wayne had only known the girl for a few short days, but felt that their shared time had already been enough to form a strong opinion. He liked Dottie. He liked how she was simultaneously polite but quick to make herself at home, how she was always helping around just because she wanted to and not because anyone asked her to, how everything she did came with a heap of kindness. He liked how she kept up with Eddie’s humor, how they calmed each other down, how she made him smile and want to try harder. And perhaps, above all, he liked how easily she dissipated Eddie’s fears of not being enough. Wayne loved the boys in the Hellfire Club, he really did, but he knew that his nephew compared himself to them, with their loving families, their houses in residential neighborhoods, their homemade lunches that did not consist of leftovers or whatever snack was left in the pantry.

The eldest Munson wasn’t one to pry, but he knew something was different with Dottie when she showed up on Monday with a handful of coupons from that day’s newspaper. “Ed said he likes mushrooms and my Dad can’t eat them without getting sick so I brought you these. I hate when coupons go to waste. Do you like mushroom soup, Mr. Wayne?” she had asked. It might have been an assessment made with personal bias, but Wayne was certain that no kid who didn’t go through any financial turmoil in their lives could be so into couponing that they hated not using them before their expiration date.

Around 45 minutes after Eddie took his medicine, his speech started to slur and his eyes kept trying to close themselves no matter how hard he fought to keep them open.

“Time for a nap, sleepy head,” Dottie pushed his thigh with her sock-clad foot.

“M’fine, don’t worry ‘bout it,” he said, and immediately yawned.

“You were saying?”

“Ugh, fine. Jus’ a short nap, gotta get you home,” he muttered, tucking himself into the couch cushions.

“Ed, you need to rest if you want to get better,” she insisted, pulling him onto his feet with her hands on his wrists. “That means sleeping in your bed, not on the couch.”

“Room’s dirty,” he said, standing on wobbly feet. “Don’ wan’ you to look.”

“Okay, I won’t look. I swear.”

Satisfied with a promise that she obviously did not intend to keep, Eddie let her lead him towards his room at the other end of the trailer. Nothing could have prepared her for what she saw when she opened the door. It was like his closet had exploded onto the floor, clothes strewn everywhere, no indication as to which ones were clean and which ones were not. His bed was unmade and his bedsheets were rumpled into a ball in the middle of the mattress, an overflowing ashtray sat on his bedside table and a thin sheen of dust covered the objects he clearly did not use very often. Dottie helped him shrug his hoodie off and helped him get comfortable under his blankets, already making a list of things she could straighten up without waking him up once he was safely on his way to DreamLand. He turned to his side and coughed a few times.

“I’ll get you some water,” she said, but before she could stand, he shot out a hand to grab her wrist.

“No, stay,” he muttered. Dottie was very familiar with the particular kind of drowsy associated with her allergy meds and knew that he was somewhere between awake and completely unconscious. He was gonna be out like a light in a few if she had her math right. “M’legs feel weird.”

“They feel heavy?” he nodded. “Go to sleep, silly. You’re gonna feel better when you wake up.”

“Okay,” was the last thing he said before his eyes finally closed and his breathing evened out.

Dottie knew it wasn’t right, but she couldn’t help but stare at him for a few moments as he slept. He looked so peaceful, his long eyelashes almost touching the top of his cheeks, soft freckles decorating his skin. He didn’t move when she stood up, didn’t even flinch when she tucked his hair behind his ear and pulled the covers up higher. Surveying the room around her, she spotted a white plastic bag underneath his desk and quickly retrieved it, starting to clean up some of his mess. First thing to go into the bag were the cigarette butts; then the few cans lying around, the crumpled snack wrappings and pencil shavings on his desk. She was in the middle of picking up a denim jacket strewn on his desk while suppressing a snort at the busted handcuffs hanging from the wall - and oh, did she want to ask about them some time -  when she noticed a black shadow hovering above her head.

“Oh, shit,” she whispered to herself, recognizing instantly what it was.

In the corner of Eddie’s room, displayed like a piece of art, was the most likely cause of his long-lived allergies: black mold. Dottie could have kicked herself at not paying attention when she walked in; the stain was so big she wondered how she had missed it in the first place. Immediately remembering her Uncle Johnny’s retelling of his encounter with black mold behind an old broken washing machine back in ‘69, she looked back at Eddie wondering if he would listen if she told him to get rid of it. Judging by the state of his bedroom, he wouldn’t, so she steeled herself for what was possibly gonna be a very awkward conversation and hoped to the stars she’d come out on the other side as a victor.

“Mr. Wayne?” she asked, stepping back into the main area of the trailer. “I- I’m sorry, I don’t want to be disrespectful but did you know there’s mold in Eddie’s bedroom?”

“Yeah,” he scratched his head, lowering the fire on the stove to let the soup simmer. “Been tellin’ Ed he should clean that up but you know how he is. I think the only reason he listened when I told him to patch up the roof was so it wouldn’t rain on that fancy guitar of his.”

“Sounds like Eddie,” she smiled. “In any case, if he’s not gonna do it himself, would you be okay with me cleaning it up for him? I think that’s what’s causing his allergies and he could get very sick if he keeps breathing that stuff in.”

“Don’t know what my nephew has told you but you are a guest here, not a maid,” Wayne said, pointing with his head at the trash bag in her hand.

“I’m a friend,” she said, like it was the simplest fact known to man. “This is what friends do for each other. They help out, even if they are as stubborn as Eddie. Especially when they are as stubborn as Eddie.”

“Don’t I know that,” he snorted, his features softening. “He can be hard to be around sometimes, but he’s got a good heart.”

“Yeah, he does. I can see where he gets it from.”

Wayne liked to think of himself as a man of few but intentional words. As he looked at the young girl in front of him, he realized that they both knew exactly what was happening in this conversation and they were both on the same page. Eddie didn’t often ask for help; in fact, help was almost always simply thrust upon him disguised as a nonchalant act or a trade, and the eldest Munson knew that this request was as much for his nephew as it was for Dottie. He stirred the soup for a few seconds, and finally set down his wooden spoon.

“Y’know he’s gonna get mad when he sees what you did.”

“I’d rather deal with an angry Ed than have him start coughing up blood,” Dottie said. “But I won’t do it if it bothers you. This is your home and I’m aware I’m overstepping just by asking about it.”

“Well, it’s like you said, right? Friends help out,” he shrugged, the corner of his mouth lifting into half a smile. “So what do you need?”

“I just need him out of the trailer for an hour. He’s not gonna let me do it otherwise, he didn’t even want me in there in the first place.”

“I’ll get him out of your hair, don’t worry ‘bout it. Need a ride home?”

“Oh, no, thank you. You’re busy with dinner, I can ask my Dad to pick me up if you let me borrow your phone for a second.”

“All yours, kid,” he pointed behind her to where the phone was hanging from and went back to his cooking.

Fifteen minutes later, Wayne was in the middle of explaining his soup recipe to Dottie when a car horn interrupted their talk. The older man walked her outside and waved at James, who waved back at him from the front seat of his car.

“Tell Ed I said bye!” she said, skipping down the front steps to the trailer.

“Bye, Dot. See you on Thursday,” he said, resting an arm on the door frame. “Say hi to your dad for me.”

Dottie stopped at the last step for half a second before hurrying up the stairs again and wrapping her arms around the eldest Munson with a bright smile on her face. She squeezed him tightly before letting go, her expression sincere and yet a little bit embarrassed.

“Thank you, Mr. Wayne. See you on Thursday,” was all she said, before disappearing into her dad’s car and leaving down the dirt road.

He watched them leave, sitting on his doorstep and fishing a cig out of the front pocket of his work shirt. He chuckled to himself after taking the first drag, thinking about his nephew taking a nap in his room, about the black stain he kept telling him to clean up to no avail, and about the girl who refused to take no for an answer. About how there was definitely something different about Dorothy Burke, and how maybe, just maybe, what separated her from all the other kids her age was exactly what made her so similar to Eddie after all.

Wednesday, May 7th - 1986

Hawkins High’s library wasn’t as big as her former school’s library, but had so far proved sufficient enough for all her researching needs. Thus, Dottie found herself perusing the Home Economics section after claiming to need a book for an essay, resorting to little white lies in the hopes that Eddie wouldn’t look too much into them. He seemed to be in brighter spirits that day, still sniffling and occasionally coughing into his elbow, but his eyes were less swollen and teary with the help of his newly acquired allergy meds. Still, Dottie insisted (perhaps a bit too much, but he wasn’t about to fight her about it) that he take a nap during their shared free period in an effort to get back to full health as quickly as possible. He didn’t even think about how unusual it was for her to even suggest it before resting his head on his balled up jacket, arms folded on top of their secluded table at the back of the room.

“Do you need any help, sweetie?” Mrs. James, the school’s librarian, said, startling Dottie from her trance scanning the table of contents in what looked to be yet another useless book. “You’ve been going through every shelf in this section, maybe I can help you find what you need?”

“Oh, thank you, I didn’t think to ask,” Dottie smiled at the old lady. “I’m trying to do some research on mold and I’m stumped.”

“Mold? Why, I think you ought to be looking in the science section then! Is this for a Biology class? Maybe you can ask Mr. Brooke if he has any recommendations.”

“Actually, I was looking into mold removal for Home Ec? You know, like in old houses or bathrooms!”

“Hmmm, can’t say I recall any books like that off the top of my head but let me check. There must be something about home repairs somewhere,” she walked away towards the front desk, muttering to herself.

Dottie followed her into the main area of the library, always keeping an eye on the path towards the table where Eddie was resting upon, blissfully unconscious and unaware of his surroundings. Mrs. James rummaged through a set of drawers full of neat cards, nodded once and promptly disappeared through a back door behind her desk. Dottie waited, her hopes dwindling as she stared at the clock on the wall counting down the minutes until the bell rang.

She was distracted, rapping her chipped sparkly red nails on the wooden surface in front of her when she felt a weight settle across her shoulders, and smelled her sleepy friend before she even saw him. Eddie’s clothes generally had faint traces of smoke hidden behind Old Spice after shave, generously applied cheap woodsy cologne and gentle laundry detergent, his battle vest adding a hint of pungent weed to the mix. She had only noticed a few days prior that his hair always smelled like green apple in the mornings, most likely thanks to his predilection of showering as a way of waking himself up. Dottie knew that if it had belonged to anyone else, she wouldn’t have found the mix of aromas as charming as she did - she thought of it as a side effect of that newly discovered pesky little crush she consciously chose not to dwell too much about.

“Well, that was a hell of a nap,” he muttered into her hair, voice and limbs still heavy with sleep.

“And you woke up on your own before the bell rang, I’m impressed,” she said.

“So… what are we waitin’ for?”

“Mrs. James is looking something up for me in the back, you can wait at the table if you want.”

“Nah, I’m cozy,” he said, putting all his weight onto her shoulders, her knees wobbling a little bit before she caught herself on the desk.

Dottie was sure he’d dozed off while standing up and the way he jumped when the bell rang didn’t really convince her otherwise. It was still ringing when Mrs. James reappeared from wherever she had been hiding in her backrooms, a small book with a bit of a lengthy title in white letters at the front. She waved it around as if it were a valuable carnival prize.

“I’m not sure it’ll be of much help, but I think it’s the closest you’ll find here,” she admitted. “Just sign this, you can fill in the rest when you return it. You don’t want to be late for class!”

“Thank you!” Dottie hurried to sign the form attached to a clipboard and tucked the book into her chest to hide the front from Eddie. “I’ll let you know if it helped.”

“Oh, please do! If it doesn’t, maybe you could check the local library? It’s much bigger than this one, I bet they’ll have what you need.”

“I will, thank you. I’ll bring this one back tomorrow, I promise.”

“You can keep it for a week, sweetie, don’t worry. Now go on, get to class you two!”

“Did you get the feeling she was trying to get rid of us or was it just me?” Eddie muttered, a sly smile on his face while they gathered their things and left the library.

“Just doing her duty in helping you to graduate, that’s all,” Dottie joked back, shoving her newly acquired book deep into her backpack.

“See you at lunch?” he said, walking backwards through the quickly emptying hallway.

“Of course! See ya!”

She watched him nod once and bolt towards his Latin class when the second warning bell rang. Dottie took a second to take a deep breath before walking into her World History classroom where Jeff was already waiting for her, his usual calm smile on his face. She really didn’t like hiding things from her friends, but since she only had Eddie’s benefit in mind, she hoped he wouldn’t be as pissed off as she feared he would be when he found out.

Gareth’s house had big windows on the west side that opened up to a medium sized backyard, thick green grass extending until the end of the property. His parents had debated on building a pool back when the kids were younger, but as it turned out, pools were much more expensive than what they were willing to spend at that moment. They had ended up getting a blow up pool that served its purpose perfectly for a few hot summers until Gareth crashed his bike into it at age 12 and punctured it.

Eddie felt marginally better than the day before and was looking forward to taking his second dose of allergy meds once he got home, but for now, he was content to tuck himself into his friend’s armchair and read through Jeff’s Biology notes. Besides, having the girl he was hard crushing on in his line of sight was always a plus. Dottie, on the other hand, wished Eddie would just fall the fuck asleep so she could skim her damn book without him noticing. Homeowner’s Quick-repair and Emergency Guide by Max Alth was still carefully hidden between her other possessions in her backpack when Jeff plopped down on the seat across from hers at the dining table.

“Heyyyy,” he said, awkwardly.

“Hey?”

“I, uh, I need advice on something but if you don’t wanna talk about it, just… tell me to fuck off, okay? I won’t hold it against you, I promise.”

“Okay?” Dottie stared at him like he had grown two heads overnight.

“So, I remember you mentioning you have a book about Victorian flower language?” he waited for her to nod in confirmation before continuing. “I was hoping you could tell me what to get, y’know, for Mother’s Day.”

“Oh! Of course, I’d love to help! What did you have in mind?” she smiled, understanding now where his hesitance was coming from.

“Just something nice, doesn’t really matter if it’s expensive. Bobby’s coming home, said he’s pitching in.”

“Aw, that’s cool. I’m sure your Mom will be happy to have both her boys home.”

“Yeah, I guess,” he shrugged. “Haven’t told him about Virginia yet, I’m kinda terrified he’s gonna get pissy about it and ruin the day for Mom. He can be… intense about the military stuff, even more than my Dad. It’s so annoying.”

“Well, that’s his own fucking problem,” she scoffed. “You didn’t do anything wrong, not your fault he can’t see you are not a kid anymore and can make your own choices. But never mind Bobby, we were talking about your Mom! I’ll bring my book to school tomorrow, we can look through it together if you want, find something cute.”

“That sounds great, thank you!” he smiled wide, his braces full on display. He couldn’t wait until he got them removed. “Are you… Like… Man, I don’t know if this is okay to ask-”

“Jeff, it’s okay,” she patted his hand across the table. “You can ask, I don’t mind.”

“I was just wondering if you celebrate or anything like that.”

“I do, in my own way.”

From his comfy spot on the couch, Eddie watched Dottie pull her backpack into her lap and rummage through her books, finding a baby pink envelope between them and sliding it over to Jeff with a shy smile. His heart rate picked up, could it be…? Was she showing him what she had received or was she giving it to Jeff? Maybe there had never been a secret admirer, maybe… maybe Dottie had always just liked Jeff and Eddie had been so far up his own ass he’d never noticed it before. And who could blame her? Jeff was kind, gentle in ways that Eddie couldn’t fathom being. He was going to a good college, had a bright future ahead of him, came from a nice family. He watched them talk; Dottie leaned over the table, pointing something out to him on the card. Jeff was polite, a fantastic singer, a great friend. One of Eddie’s best friends, actually. Fuck, I’m such an idiot, I can’t ruin this for them, I’m-

Jeff carefully put the card back into the envelope and gave it back to her, stopping to grab her hand, giving it a comforting squeeze. Eddie’s pulse returned somewhat to its normal rhythm when Dottie put the pink paper inside her backpack, tucked into the same spot she’d taken it out from. Donny got up from his spot on the floor, books forgotten, and slid himself into the chair next to Dottie’s, arm resting behind her. She leaned into his shoulder using his arm as a neck pillow, the three friends now engaged in animated conversation. Eddie caught a few words as their voices raised: the boys were trying to talk her into going to next week’s gig at The Hideout. He looked down at Jeff’s Biology notes resting on his thighs and ran a hand over his eyes. Everything was normal, nothing had changed, and yet everything felt different for him anyways.

Eddie had always been proud of his ability to hold his shit together no matter what. He considered himself an expert in bottling up, shoving things under the rug until they could no longer be seen. But this mystery card situation? It was absolutely messing him up. If he had discovered something about himself in the past two days, it was that even though he wasn’t a jealous asshole, he could still be a jealous man, and that knowledge embarrassed him to the bone. He didn’t like the way all his insecurities screamed at him whenever he compared himself to his best friends, detailing all his shortcomings and failures, constricting his chest and leaving him breathless. In his mad panic, a lone image of having to watch Dottie fall in love with someone else while he got left behind kicked him square in the chest.

Dottie turned her head to the side, looked at him sitting alone on the couch and beckoned him over with her hand, a soft smile gracing her features. He realized right there, as loud thunder cracked open the sky and the long awaited rain made its return to Hawkins, that he could take a step to the side if she needed him to. He would let her be happy with someone else, even if it was with one of his best friends. Even if it pained him to imagine it. But he also realized that Eddie Munson wasn’t going to go down without trying. Once they were alone tomorrow, he was gonna ask about the card and if her answer turned out to be less than favorable for him, he’d be supportive and encouraging. He would be a good friend, just like she’d always been to him. And most importantly, if she happened to choose Jeff, or Gareth, or Donny, he would never let it come between him and his band mates. All his friendships would remain intact, he would make damn sure of it. But he couldn’t quit before he tried.

Eddie joined them at the table, mirroring Donny’s position and letting his arm fall behind on Jeff’s chair. Jeff leaned into his shoulder and batted his eyes at him, clearly making fun of Dottie who chucked an eraser at his chest in response. Everything will work itself out, Eddie thought, watching Gareth pull up a chair to the table. We’ll be fine.

“Honey, can you set the table?” James called from the kitchen, hands busy finishing dinner.

“Yeah,” Dottie replied, barely loud enough for him to hear her.

James took the chicken out of the oven, setting it on the empty stove top and transferred it from the sheet pan to a more appropriate container that wouldn’t burn the surface of the wooden table when placed upon the tablecloth. He was adding the final touches to his roasted potatoes when he lifted his head and noticed his daughter hadn’t yet moved from her spot on the couch, legs dangling from the arm, book propped on her thighs. This wasn’t an unusual sight in the Burke household; Dottie had an affinity towards never sitting like a normal person, something that he’d always found extremely amusing. James leaned out of the passthrough window to call her attention again.

“Can Her Majesty please set the table today if she wishes to eat while it’s hot?”

“I’m coming, hold on,” she finally got up, book still in her hand and being held open by her thumb in the middle of the gutter.

“What are you reading?”

“Something I got from the school’s library. I think it’s a bust but it’s the only one they had on this topic.”

“What topic?” he asked, and Dottie lifted the cover so he could see. “Homeowner’s Guide? Did you buy a house I wasn’t aware of?”

“Yeah, you know that blue Victorian mansion on Morehead Street? Got it at a discount because someone got murdered in there,” Dottie said in a deadpan tone.

“You hate haunted houses but you’re gonna live in one?” he snorted, watching her come in and out of the kitchen to the living room carrying plates and cups with only one hand.

“Nah, I’m gonna fix it up and turn a profit.”

“That’s my girl,” he said, proudly.

Once they were seated at the dinner table, plates full and cheeks stuffed with homemade bread, Dottie went back to her reading, going back and forth from the table of contents to various pages she was marking with her fingers. This was also not unusual behavior coming from the teenager; James was very much used to her being absorbed in whatever she was reading at any given time, so much so that sometimes she’d make herself a snack or a cup of tea to enjoy while getting lost in her fantasy worlds and completely forget about it until hours later. He supposed he only had himself to blame for that, having encouraged reading since she had learned to sound out her own name. It was, however, extremely strange to see her this engrossed in non-fiction, particularly about a subject that she had never really shown much interest in before. She loved baking and cooking, sewing, knitting and doing various kinds of crafty things, but she’d never been curious about home repairs. Sometimes she’d wait for days until James changed a lightbulb for her, claiming she didn’t want to do it herself because she was probably gonna get electrocuted. James supposed that was also his fault, pampering his daughter so much that she had never really needed to learn how to do it in the first place.

“I’d like to talk with my daughter during dinner like a normal family, please,” he said, tapping the top of her book.

“Sorry, it’s… I’m doing research on mold removal and I’m getting nowhere,” she huffed, finally setting the offending pages aside and looking up at him. “This book sucks, can’t believe this guy’s advice for an intruder is to get a dog.”

“We’re not getting a dog.”

“Do you enjoy ruining my fun?”

“I signed a contract, it’s my duty as your Dad,” James grinned. “Why do you want to learn about mold removal?”

“Remember I told you about Eddie’s allergies? He has mold in his room, Wayne said I could clean it but I don’t really know how.”

“Wayne asked you to clean Eddie’s moldy room?”

“No, of course not!” she glared at her dad like he was insane for even suggesting it. “I asked for permission to do it. I’m worried about Eddie, he could get really sick if he keeps breathing that stuff in. I just- I wanted to do something nice for him, that’s all. He’s always driving me around and doesn’t let me pay him for gas, it feels like I’m taking advantage of him.”

“A good deed for a good deed?” James said, softening.

“I was thinking about it more like payment in kind.”

“And you said the book isn’t helping?”

“Nope,” she said, popping the P. “Not a single mention of mold but plenty on wasps.”

“Why don’t you ask Uncle Johnny? He cleaned up the mold behind the washer and it never came back, he might remember how he did it.”

“Huh, hadn’t thought of asking him. Thanks.”

After dinner, Dottie hurried to wash all the dishes before dialing a very familiar number she was sure she’d remember her entire life. Sat on one of the kitchen island stools, pompom pen in one hand and cord stretched to its limit, she heard the phone ring once, twice, thrice before someone picked up from the other side.

“Hello?”

“Hi Uncle Johnny, it’s me!”

“Hey tiny, how’s it going? How’s your Dad?” his voice was soft and warm just like it always was; Dottie could hear his smile in every word.

“Good, good, he’s taking a shower. I was actually calling because I need help with something important.”

“Uh oh, do you want me to get Mary Elizabeth?”

Johnny and Mary Elizabeth had gotten married the summer after Dottie turned five; she got to fulfill the role of flower girl at the modest but gorgeous wedding, stealing all the looks as she danced with her Dad all night and fell asleep before the cake was cut. The couple had been friends since their first year at college, but they had started dating only a year before Johnny proposed during a cheap last minute holiday in Vermont. They had the kind of relationship that made Dottie believe in true love: two best friends who supported one another through financial turmoil, illnesses, debts, and grief, and kept choosing each other every day despite the hardships. Every time she saw them, she hoped that someday she’d get as lucky as they did when they found each other.

“No, I need your expertise this time,” she said, twirling the stretched cord around her pen. “Remember when you got rid of that mold behind the washer? A friend of mine has a mold issue and I was wondering if you could tell me how to clean that up.”

“Hell yeah, I remember, that stuff was gross. Got something to take notes on?” he asked, getting comfy in his armchair back in New York.

Around fifteen minutes later, James popped into the kitchen in his pjs with a ball of dirty clothes under his arm. He stepped around the island and threw the pile into a half filled basket in the laundry room for him to sort out the next day while he listened to Dottie on the phone.

“What do you mean it’s toxic?” she asked, and crossed something in her notebook. “Oh, okay, I won’t. Yeah, I think so. Two. One might be stuck but I know the big one opens-” she paused, listening. “Great, I’ll do that then. Thank you so much! Yes, I’ll call you tomorrow. Okay. Okay, I’ll tell him you said that,” she rolled her eyes. “Bye, love you! Say hi to Mary Elizabeth and Rosie for me. Thank you again!”

“Everything okay?”

“He says that he saw that movie you told him to watch and it sucked.”

“I know. That’s why I told him to watch it,” James grinned. “Did he help with the mold thing?”

“Big time,” she said, her sly smile matching her Dad’s. “That ceiling is gonna look brand new when I’m done with it, I promise.”

taglist (let me know if you want me to add you!): @munsonology

[babybearsnz]

hello, I hope your requests are open, otherwise it will be embarrassing. can you write a fic about felix and jisung (skz) where they are alone in the dorm with some super sneezy cold. and they have to look after each other despite their condition.

thank you for advance!!

Stupid nose

Sickies: Jisung and Felix

Caretakers: Jisung and Felix

Relationship: Platonic

Felix’s pov:

“Alright, sickos, we’re heading out.” Chan came over to the couch and gave Han and I each a kiss on the head while the other members made their way to the cars. “Can I get you two anything else before we go?”

I shook my head. Han just stretched his arms out, requesting a hug which Chan happily delivered.

“Take good care of each other,” he said. “Call if you need anything. Love you both!” He called from the doorway.

And then we were alone, bummed we couldn’t attend the day’s interviews. We had caught colds, and they were rough. Headcolds in which the only symptoms were terrible congestion and incredibly itchy noses. A headache pounded in my sinuses.

“Sungie, I’m getting up to take more meds.” Han was curled up in a blanket beside me, scrubbing at his nose. “Is there anything I should grab for you?”

“More tissues.” He sniffled and his mouth opened slightly. He always sneezed a lot when he was sick and I heard his breath hitch as I walked away. I frowned, expecting one of his small fits.

I was getting a glass of water to take the pills with when I heard him. “TCHhuu! TCHhuh! hadETCHhuu! TCHhuu!”

“Bless you!” I called.

He yelled back, thanking me, shortly before I returned to the living room.

“You okay?” I asked and handed him a box of tissues.

He nodded and blew his nose. “It’s just annoying that I sneeze this much.”

I sat back down and cuddled up next to him. “My nose is super itchy but not nearly as bad as yours, I guess.” I shrugged.

“I always get like this,” he rolled his eyes. “hehTCHhu! HESHhuu!”

“Oh, bless you.” I coughed and sighed.

Han sniffled again and held a knuckle up to his nose. “Thank you.” He stretched. “Are you hungry?”

“I could eat,” I replied.

He stood from the couch. “I was thinking of making ramyeon. It might help your stuffiness.”

I thanked him and turned on the TV while Han went to make us lunch.

Jisung’s pov:

I put a pot on the stove and started on our food. The steam made my nose run and I had to stop a few times to blow my nose. I decided against a spicier recipe because I had already sneezed plenty.

“What do you want to watch?” Felix called from the couch.

“Pick whatever, I don’t mind.” I answered. “Big bowl or small?”

He didn’t answer and I looked up in confusion. “S—small’s fi—f—fine. huhRESHhuhh! Oh, excuse me.”

“God bless you, Lixie.” I started portioning the food.

“Thanks.” I heard the fridge open and turned to see Felix getting out ice tea. He poured me some as well and headed back toward the couch, stopping in his tracks in the hallway.

“Lix?” I followed him with the food.

“hahISHHuuh! Jeez, sorry.”

I laughed and the two of us sat for our meal.

I had to keep sniffling while I ate. My nose was running from the steam and I eventually switched to holding a tissue up to my nose.

Soon enough, the tickle in my nose grew. “TCHheh! TCHhuu! hehNGXTtch! hihNGXT!” I groaned, the sneezes giving me little time in between to breathe.

“Wow, bless you, hyung.” Felix patted my shoulder and I blew my nose again, sneezing tiredly twice more.

I thanked him with a nod and continued eating. “Is it good?”

Felix nodded and took another bite. “Mhm, you did well.” He reached over and ruffled my hair before turning to the side. “huETCHhuh! huESHH!”

I was mid bite. “M’bless you.”

He sniffled a few times. “Thanks,” he mumbled.

“This is the worst,” I said and scrubbed harshly at my nose. “I have to sneeze so bad all the time.” My breath wavered and I let out an involuntary whimper.

Felix had finished eating and pulled me over to lean on him. He put an arm around me. “You’re feeling worse than me, huh?”

I shrugged. “It’s just my stupid nose.” My breath hitched. “I don’t know why when I’m sick I s—sneeze so mu—much.”

“Oh, Hannie.” Felix rubbed my arm and pulled me in tight.

I cupped my hands over my face. “hehTCHhuu! huhTCHH! hahTCHH! hehTCHH! hehTCHH! heh-heh—haah, haTCHhiew! heTCHhiee!”

Felix rested his head on mine. “Bless you, bless you. You must be exhausted after that.”

“Mm,” I groaned and shut my eyes. Lixie rubbed my back until I was able to fall asleep, itchy nose and all.

[obsessedwithkpopfics]

Sickie: Woozi

Caretaker: Hoshi

Hoshi p.o.v

It wasn't often that Woozi was this bad at dancing. Yes, it sounds horrible, but I don't know how else to describe it. It was like he lost all sense of rhythm overnight. It seemed like I wasn't the only one who noticed though because halfway through our practice Chan stopped, "Jihoon hyung, focus!" Woozi didn't even seem to notice he was being spoken to. He continued to stare at the wall as if he was waiting for something to happen. I went over to him, "Jihoon!" I tapped his shoulder. He flinched, and I mentally noted how strange he was acting. He glanced at me, "What's going on? Your moves are so off today." He mumbled an apology. "It's okay, just try and focus better." It seemed like my words weren't going through to him. I looked around at Chan, trying to explain the situation to him. He looked just as confused as I did. "Okay, let's just take a break, everyone take 5."

Woozi p.o.v

Ever since I woke up, I knew it wasn't gonna be a good day though I couldn't quite pinpoint what it was. My head felt stuffy and it seemed difficult to keep my eyes open. Well, I still had to go to practice so I pushed the uneasy feeling to the back of my mind and started getting ready for the day. I internally groaned when Cheol told us we were gonna have a dance practice as well as the group recording today. This day was really not working out for me. Dance practice was pure torture. I managed to annoy even Chan who was known to not get mad no matter how much you mess up the choreography. While he was talking to me possibly about how much I was messing up, I began zoning out. There was an ever-present tickle at the back of my sinuses, and my head was stuffed up making it very difficult to focus. It got to the point where Soonyoung had to come up and tap my shoulder to get my attention. He asked me what was wrong and told me that my moves were off. "I'm sorry," I whispered and I didn't think he could hear. He told me it was fine before announcing to the group to take a break.

I was relieved that Hoshi called for a break because I really needed to blow my nose. Plus another four hours of sleep would be nice, but I'd settle for a tissue right now. I informed Cheol that I had to use the bathroom. I went to the nearest one and took a handful of paper towels and blew my nose. I cringed at the feeling. Glancing at my phone, I realized I had 3 mins left. I blew my nose again and stuffed some tissues into my pocket. Leaving the bathroom, I was about halfway to the practice room when the tickle that had been bothering me all morning decided to fully come out. "Hhktchhu!- Hektchuh!- hh-Hhtkcchu!-"

"Bless you." I flinched at the voice. It was a girl's and it came from behind me. I turned around and saw one of the Le Sserafim members, (Chaewon, I think was her name) "Thank you."

"Are you alright, Sunbaenim? You're kinda pale." She looked concerned. I smiled at the young girl's concern, "Yes, just a cold." She nodded. "Feel better, Sunbae."

"Thank you." She bowed and walked into the bathroom. Once she left, I took a few of the tissues out of my pocket and blew my nose. It was already starting to hurt, the skin around my nose growing raw. I cringed and sniffled one last time before I went back to the practice room.

"You're late," Soonyoung said, his arms crossed over his chest. I glanced at the clock, "By like 1 minute."

"Still." he looked half irritated, half concerned. "Well sorry!" I shook my head, feeling irritated at him. It's just a minute for goodness sake. I rolled my eyes to myself. "This isn't like you Jihoon. You're a lot more serious than this. I don't know what's gotten into you. If you think, just because you write our music, you get to slack off, I'm sorry. In my opinion, everyone here is practicing hard except you and I would like you to be serious." That little speech made me completely lose my patience because frankly, I'd had enough of Soonyoung nagging me that day. "Who the hell gave you the right to decide who's slacking off and who's not?! I may be off today and everyone has those days. Who the fuck are you to nag me about that! Just because you make the choreography doesn't mean you can belittle people who don’t pick up on it quickly. Heck, Chan's definitely a better teacher than you. At least he tries to sympathize with his members, unlike you who's stuck in his own fucking world where everything's perfect. Well, I'm sorry to crush your dreams but everything in this world can't be done according to you!" Every single member went silent and stared at us. Soonyoung's eyes were damp with what looked like tears. I instantly regretted what I said. "Soonyoung-"

"I think we're done for today." he interrupted me, his voice cold. The entire room fell into a heavy and awkward silence. "Let's head back to the dorms," Cheol said, trying to break the awkward atmosphere. The whole group began moving. Little conversations broke out between the members, but Soonyoung remained silent. I went over to him and tapped him on the shoulder. "Soon-"

"Jihoon, I don't really want to talk to you right now and I would like you to respect that." I nodded. I felt guilty, but I couldn't blame him.

On the way to the car, I stopped by the bathroom to blow my nose in private. I felt bad that I had lost my temper like that, I didn't want to make it worse by drawing unnecessary attention to myself.

Hoshi p.o.v

I was hurt, I felt like crying, a bit angry, but above all just confused. I couldn't figure out what I'd done to make Jihoon snap like that. Like, yeah, I was a bit irritated but I didn't think I deserved… all that. This was one of the very few actual fights I had with Jihoon. Sure we bickered sometimes but Jihoon has almost never been this mad at me before. The thought itself made me wanna curl up into a ball and cry. I was very close to Jihoon, and the fight we just had was really breaking my heart. I know he probably didn't mean what he said to me, but a part of me wondered 'what if he did.' I think my obvious hurt and confusion were showing on my face as Cheol came up to me, looking concerned. "What happened back there?" The concern in the leader's voice made my eyes burn with oncoming tears which I quickly blinked back. "I don't know, hyung. I don't know what I did to make him that mad at me." Cheol patted me on the back comfortingly. "You okay?" I nodded, trying to force the tears away. "Maybe you should talk to him?" The leader suggested, "I really don't want to," I admitted quietly, "I understand that but maybe he had a good reason," Cheol said. I nodded, "Is he still here?"

"I think so. Think he's in his studio." I nodded, "So will you talk to him?" Cheol asked as he started leaving the room. "I'll try. Thanks hyung."

"No problem, I just want you guys to figure stuff out. I'd hate to see you guys fight."

"For the record, he started it." Seungcheol shook his head at me, "Just go talk to him," he said, a hint of a laugh in his voice. "The rest of us are heading back to the dorm. It's just you guys." I nodded, "If you need someone to pick you up just let me know and I'll send someone." "Thanks hyung."

"No problem. I gotta go. The others are waiting for me. But you go talk to him." I waved at the leader as he left.

Woozi p.o.v

Even though I was supposed to be heading back to the dorm, I took a detour to my studio. It felt more like home there anyway. There's also the fact that I didn't want to deal with the others just yet. This situation had been hard enough, I didn't need them making it an even bigger deal than it already was. Plus, there was also the fact that I was trying to hide a cold from them which wouldn't go too well, especially with how fast-moving it was. Right now, I could barely see anything as my eyes were watering so much, plus the ever-present tickle in my sinuses. I turned on my computer, in hopes of losing myself in the music when the tickle suddenly decided to make itself known. "Hhkktschu!- 'snf' Hettschu!- Hh..hkhhschu!-"

"Bless you, Jihoon-ah." I flinched at the voice and whipped around and saw Soonyoung standing in the doorway of my studio. "Soonnie I'm sorry," I stood up and walked over to him. "I didn't mean anything I said. And none of it is true. You're not a bad teacher and I know you were just trying to help. I'm really sorry. I don't know what's wrong with me." I was angry at myself as I felt a tear roll down my cheek. I quickly brushed it off, accidentally hitting my nose causing my breath to hitch once again, "HhkTCHhu!- HhtcHshuH!- HhktChHuh!- HhtKKtchu!-" I sniffled, feeling my sneezes get harsher than they were before.

"Bless you and I forgive you. And I'm sorry for losing my patience with you." I stepped closer and hugged him, he seemed a bit surprised, and I couldn't blame him, I wasn't really the clingy type. He let me hug him and wrapped his arms around my waist.

Hoshi p.o.v

Saying I was surprised by Jihoon's hug was an understatement. But what was even more surprising was the noticeable warmth I felt once I was touching him. I immediately placed my palm on his forehead, checking his temperature. "Jihoonie, you're burning up."

"I am? Hadn't realized." Said the producer. I internally groaned. This was so much like Jihoon. Ignoring and hiding any sign of weakness till it gets to this. "Okay, Ji, I need you to tell me how exactly you are feeling. And don’t lie, I can see right through that." I heard him sigh softly. "Okay, I feel awful, my head is stuffed up and I also have a slight headache, I can barely keep my eyes open. I also feel like I'm gonna sneeze any second, and my nose feels like a faucet I can't control." Wow, I didn't expect all that. 'He must have been feeling like this in dance practice too', I thought. No wonder he couldn't keep up with the rhythm if his head was stuffed up and he could barely see through his eyes. And no wonder he was late, he must've been blowing his nose or something as he was determined to hide this from the others. I mentally beat myself up again for getting irritated but Jihoon needed me and I couldn't wallow in self-pity right now. A soft gasp interrupted my thoughts as I looked down and saw Jihoon, his eyes closed, turning away from me, his breath hitching. "Ahh…hhtKSshu!- HhhktsCHuu!- HhHKtshuu!- HhktsCHhu!- Ugh, 'snf'-" I flinched at how harsh his sneezes had become in a matter of minutes, he must be exhausted.

"Bless you, c'mon let's get you home. You need rest, like a lot of it." Jihoon nodded as I took out my phone and called Cheol. He answered the call in about 2 rings. "Hey Soon, what's up?"

"Cheol, could you send one of the members to pick us up? Jihoon's sick." I said, giving Jihoon a quick glance, he looked half asleep already, and knowing Cheol, he probably knew that too. "Sure thing. See you then,"

"Bye," I said and cut the call. "Cheol is sending someone to pick us up," I said, turning to Jihoon.

"I was gonna finish this first though." He said sniffling against his wrist. "Jihoon, you're sick. You need t-"

"HhhktCShhu!- HhkKtcHHu!- HhttTchuH!-"

"Bless you. You need to go home and rest."

"I know. I'm just bad at resting sometimes, " He said, laughing lightly. I sat down next to him and put my arm around his shoulder. "I know. But let me help you relax. You need to rest. You'll never get better if you don't sleep." I handed him a tissue from the box on his desk, he thanked me and blew his nose wetly. I tried not to cringe but it sounded painful and messy. He coughed after, which sounded equally as painful. I patted his back. "You alright?"

"Sick." He said under his breath. I smiled and brushed the hair off of his face, "I know."

Woozi p.o.v

I knew Soonyoung was worried. He didn't show it too much so as not to overwhelm me but I could see that he was worried about me. It made me feel both happy that he cared about me and guilty for bothering him with something so small. He must've seen the change in my expression as he smiled softly, "Hey, it's fine. It's not your fault you're sick and I don't mind taking care of you." I smiled too. In a few minutes, a car had pulled up in front of my studio. "C'mon, let's go." I quickly gathered up my stuff, shut down my laptop and turned off the lights. When we got to the gate, I saw Jeonghan wave at us. I smiled at him slightly. "Hey, Seungcheol said you were sick. How're you feeling?"

"I'm fine, really hyung, it's just a bad- Hhh…hhtKStshuu!- HhkSHtshu!- 'snf' Hhh…hhhtskshCHu!- It's just a bad cold." I said, sniffling, my nose completely rubbed raw by now. "I can definitely see that," Said Jeonghan, patting my arm lightly. "C'mon, let's get you guys home." He said climbing into the car.

Hoshi p.o.v

I got in the back seat of the car and Jihoon climbed in after me. The manager looked in the rearview mirror, "Is he okay?"

"I-

"HhhktCShhu!-HhkKtcHHu!-HhttTchuH!-"

"Bless you, I think he's got a bit of a cold."

"Does he have a fever?" Jeonghan asked from the front. I reached over and placed my hand on his forehead, "Yep, feels like it," I noticed the way that Jihoon leaned into my touch. "We need to get you home and resting, ok." He sniffled, "Sounds good to me." He cleared his throat, "Can I take a nap on the way home?"

"Sure, Ji." I said, softly.

He laid his head on my shoulder and fell asleep quickly.

Once we arrived back at the dorm I gently shook his arm to wake him up. His eyes opened for a second as he looked around in confusion, before they fluttered shut and he ducked his head towards his shoulder. "Hh-ktchUH!-TCchu!-kktCHshu!-tTch!SHhu!-"

"Bless you!" I patted his shoulder. He sniffled and rubbed his eyes. His pink nose and pale skin made him look much younger and even cuter than normal. "Let's get you to bed, Ji," he nodded, attesting even further to how tired he was. "Thank you, Soonie," he said softly as I half carried him to his room, I smiled and kissed his forehead, "No problem. Just want you to feel better. " The two of us made it to his room, and I got him in bed. There was a bit of a struggle to get the half asleep sickie to change out of his sweaty practice clothes. But finally, I got him into his pajamas and into bed. He seemed very dazed as I did so, and when I moved to leave the room, I felt his small fingers wrap around my arm. "Please stay. I don't really want to be alone." I smiled softly. "Sure thing, Ji." I climbed into the bed next to him and allowed him to curl up with me. I smiled and began running my fingers through his hair. "Feel better, Jihoonie."

💖👾

[inevitablemoment]

What Else is There to Do When You're Sick on Valentine's Day?

Word Count: 598

Warnings: Sinus infection, sick character

Fandom: Ghostbusters

Pairings: Egon Spengler x Cathleen Paige Spengler

Did I write this while dealing with a sinus infection of my own? Yes.

Did I write the end bit because I want to imagine what it would be like to meet Jim Henson? Yes.

Enjoy!

————————

Valentine's Day 1988

Cathleen coughed into her elbow, wincing at the feeling deep in her throat. She reached for her glass of water and took a sip; the cold water helped a bit, but not by much. And it still hurt to swallow.

Yesterday, she had hoped that her sinuses would clear up and her throat would stop hurting. But, then again, she had only started her antibiotic two days before, and she had woken up with a sore throat on Wednesday.

She grabbed another tissue to blow her nose as she saw Egon coming in from the kitchen with her dinner-- a bowl of her favorite stew with a plate of saltines on the side. She tightly wrapped her blanket around her as she tried to adjust herself to a sitting position. She considered taking another bath, even if she had taken one earlier that morning.

"Here you go-- careful," Egon advised as he handed the tray to her.

"Thank you," she rasped out.

Immediately, Cathleen took a saltine and dipped it into the stew. The heat soothing on her throat, and she needed her voice to recover as soon as possible.

Egon brushed a few locks of her hair out of her eyes; her hair had become a complete rat's nest in the last couple of days. And the dark circles under her eyes didn't need to confirm to him the rough time that she had getting to sleep. She had to take two Benadryl along with her night dose of antibiotic to knock herself out at night. Her nose was red and irritated, even though he had picked up the tissues with lotion in them. He hated seeing her so miserable.

Cathleen sighed as much as she could with her stuffed-up nose. Egon had sent Callie to stay with Ray because she had been so excited to spend the night at his place while her parents enjoyed Valentine's Day. Besides, Cathleen definitely deserved a kid-free night.

She was a bit relieved when Egon was so insistent that they cancel their Valentine's Day plans and stayed home that night. She felt too woozy and feverish to put on makeup and play dress-up (as much as she loved that). Staying out past midnight did not sound very appealing when she only seemed to be getting three hours of sleep.

Her stomach let out a growl that sounded as pathetic as she felt as she scooped up more of her stew with a cracker. "Egon, I'm sorry that we couldn't go out tonight."

"I don't mind," he assured her. "Even if you weren't sick, I would've been happy to just stay in. I'm just sorry that you're not feeling well."

"Not as sorry as me," Cathleen told him. "I feel like shit."

She held up a finger before grabbing another tissue and sneezing loudly into it, then blowing her nose again. She took another sip of water. She sneezed two more times before looking blearily at her husband.

"You can't possibly find me attractive right now," she said.

"Of course I do," Egon told her. "Cath, you're beautiful, even when you're covered in our daughter's vomit."

She smiled. "That's sweet to hear-- but, also, a little gross."

After Cathleen finished her dinner and Egon washed the dishes, the two of them snuggled on the couch, watching Muppets Take Manhattan.

"Wasn't it nice of Jim Henson to send us this advance copy after we ran into him filming that summer?" Cathleen asked.

Egon smiled. "Cath, we didn't just run into him-- you actively sought out where they were filming."

[dontfeeltoohot]

Have a little 2k thing I wrote for my YTAU. Steve and Eddie are both sick, set in March 2023, 7 months into their relationship.

XXX

Eddie presses his face to his shoulder, rubbing his nose into his black Helloween tee. He’s over halfway done with his second client; some girl in her twenties who wanted flowers on her collarbones- how original. Sniffling, he wipes down the tattoo with his green soap solution and then goes back to shading the side of a leaf. His throat’s worse than earlier back at home, when he’d been curled up with Steve, both of the men sick and tired. 

Sometimes the tattoo artists wishes work didn’t exist, as he scrunches his nose up when a tickle winds its way through his sinuses. Picking up the gun and turning as far away as he possibly can, craning his neck, Eddie brings his arm up to his face. 

“iiHGkSH’ew! hihKTchuhEW! hh’GKtSCH’uhew!” Sniffling soupily, the long haired man grabs a paper towel from his station and blows his nose, wincing at the noise. “Let’s take a five minute break sweetheart, I need to wash up, and it’ll give you a rest from the pain,” he smiles.

“Yeah, sounds good. Bless you, by the way.” 

The way she looks him up and down has him giving her an awkward nod, knowing now that she’s flirting with him. Clearing his throat and wincing as it scrapes, he stands and throws the paper towel and his black nitrile gloves away in the wastebasket, then heads to the back where the bathrooms are. Yanking his phone out, Eddie clicks quickly to his and Steve’s text thread, then hits the voice message button, nostrils twitching. 

“hiKTsch’ew! snf! huhIhGKschEW! eh’IGkTCHew! SNDF!” He sneezes into his shirt so the sound isn’t as muffled, then clicks the stop button on his phone. 

Hope you enjoy, princess. Couldn’t catch a couple a few minutes ago, but hope these make up for them. 

Pressing send, it’s then he notices there’s an audio from Steve, too. Biting his lip, he makes sure his sound is down almost all the way, then puts the speaker up to his ear. 

“huhRESHHH’uh! EISHHuh!” There’s barely a pause between the loud, harsh sneezes, and Eddie squirms, imagining his boyfriend snapping at the waist, completely at the mercy of his worsening cold. 

“Fuck, Steve,” he grumbles, sniffling and scrubbing his nose with his wrist before looking back at the screen and typing. 

Also, bless you. Those sounded like you needed them. Can’t wait till we’re home and I can coax more out of you 😏😏

Peeing and washing his hands, Eddie sighs at the throbbing in his sinuses and the sluggish mess that’s making its way closer to the edge of his nostrils. This cold is by far the worst he’s endured in the string of Steve-born illnesses in the past seven months. 

The walk back to his station includes Peter stopping him and asking him if he’s free tomorrow; his day off, to be an extra set of hands for walk ins. 

“Oh, uh…” Eddie scrubs at his face. “Lemme get back to you? Think I’m comin’ down with something man, don’t wanna spread it around.” 

“Steve really is a germ magnet isn’t he?” Bryson pipes up from his station a few feet down, working on a man’s back. 

“Yeah, it’d be endearing if I could side step getting it too,” the artist jokes, even though realistically he doesn’t mind. 

“Oh well, maybe it’ll end up building up your immunity in the long run.” 

“My immune system was perfect before him,” Eddie chuckles. “But it’s ok. Just means spending time with my boyfriend curled up on the couch. He’s not a terrible patient like Alyssa is,” he gives Bryson a look, referring to the man’s girlfriend. 

“God she’s the worst. Like just rest for twenty damn minutes!” 

Eddie heads back to his area, pulling more gloves on. “You ready to finish up? We should be done soon.” 

“Yeah! But it’s really not that bad. I don’t know why people claim it hurts so much, it feels good to me.” She shimmies her shirt off again, revealing just a bandeau top, easy access to her clavicle. 

“Mm, probably just have a higher pain tolerance,” he explains, not wanting to play into her games. He starts his tattoo gun back up, dips the needles into the ink again, and goes to work. 

An hour and a half later, the musician is saying goodbye to Anna, smiling at the $80 tip she’s just handed him. At least that’s a plus. Shoving it into his pocket, he switches the money for his insulin pump, checking it quickly. When his numbers seem good, Eddie blows his nose again and coughs, shivering. A noise from his phone grabs his attention and he unlocks the screen. 

Audio message- 4 seconds

Audio message- 11 seconds 

Audio message - 7 seconds 

Audio message- 22 seconds

Jesus Christ. 

You trying to kill me at work? I can’t even listen right now. 

Just thought you’d wanna hear how my cold is 😇

Harrington, you little shit, you’re going to be the death of me. 🍆👅🤤

Nose running, Eddie sighs and rips yet another paper towel from the roll, pressing it right to his pink, oversensitive nostrils, blowing thickly. He can feel the paper get wet and grimaces- he finds mess from other people hot, but himself? Not so much. He drops down into his chair and lets his forehead thunk against his table, curls falling everywhere around his face. 

“Maybe you should head home early,” Liz, their only female in the shop, observes. 

“Nah, s’just a cold, don’t need to leave for it,” Eddie picks his head up slowly, feeling congestion shift as he does. “F-Fuck hold ohhhn-“ the tattooist turns away and pulls the neck of his shirt up over his face, aiming downward towards his chest. 

“hihGhKschew! sndf! Ugh, s-sorry that wahhs hehIHGKshhuhew! iiEIshuhew! Fuck! snfSNDF! That was gross.” 

“Yep,” Liz grimaces. “But like, also who cares? You’re sick, what’re you meant to do? Those tiny little kitten sneezes? Gotta at least get that shit out,” she shrugs.

Eddie’s acutely aware of how weird this conversation is. Either the woman is just that vanilla, or she’s fucking with him and into it. Because no regular person is going to just…say those words. Right? He rubs at his nose with the inside of his sleeve cuff, nose too sore to want to bother with another paper towel. 

“Stop germing your shirt up,” the bright pink haired girl rolls her eyes fondly. 

“Quit being a mom, I get that enough from St-sndf! Steve.” 

“Then quit being a bad sick person.” 

“Fuck you, I’m an Angel. I’m the best sick person.” 

“Says the guy who just rubbed snot all over his shirt.” 

Point 1- Liz. 

XXX

Steve’s been holed up in the back office of Not Just Coffee all morning with his tissues and cough drops, trying to reorganize some of their recipe files they’ve been keeping. As he squints at the computer screen, his nose scrunches up involuntarily and he scrubs at it with his knuckles. This fucking cold is going to make him lose his mind. It’s constantly teasing him, buzzing in his sinuses and head in a way that’s keeping him on edge. Slowly he inhales through his stuffy nose, triggering yet another itch to ignite. He taps the record button on his phone that’s been open to his messages all morning. 

“eHISHHooh! hhrIHDSTCHuh!” He rubs his nose harshly with the back of his hand, jiggling the tip and his septum, desperate for even slight relief. Steve’s sure Eddie will hear him rubbing at it. He stops it after a sickly sounding sniffle that makes him cough. 

Robin comes in looking worried a minute later, carrying a large mug full of something steaming. 

“I know you hate tea, but you should drink some. Will even made it special for you,” she says pointedly. “Stop being an idiot and try to not wallow in icky germs.” 

Steve raises an eyebrow, laughing a little. “Icky germs?” His voice is raspy and congested and Robin screws her face up, setting the mug down and backing up dramatically. 

“Just…drink the tea, and try not to infect every inch of the office,” Robin walks out quickly. 

“Great best friend you are!” He calls after her, but starts coughing by the last word. 

Glancing at the tea when his throat throbs, the barista sighs and brings it close, sipping on it. His face still screws up at the bitter taste, but even he can admit it feels good on his swollen throat, the warmth of the cup even feels good on his hands. Throughout the day, he manages to catch several more sneezes, even a few that turn into full blown fits, and the texts he gets back from his boyfriend make him blush. 

The brunette is half asleep in the desk chair when Robin comes in again, holding the till in her hands hours later. 

“Dingus, wake up enough to count the till. I’m not touching the keyboard,” she says resolutely, prodding Steve’s shoulder with her finger. 

“Nngh, fi’de…” Steve sits up and starts going through the task of counting the till, making change, sealing the money bag and putting everything in the safe. 

“You know you’re not coming in tomorrow right?” 

“Honestly? Wasn’t even gonna ask,” he admits, snuffling into a couple of tissues in his hand, blowing his nose and wincing as his ears pop. “Ugh, let’s get out of here.” 

By the time Steve’s walking into Eddie’s apartment; Robin’s up with Chrissy, he’s ready to collapse. Shutting the door behind him, Steve coughs and throws his bag by the couch, debating if he wants to shower or lay down. His boyfriend's big couch and cozy blankets win out, and soon the barista is burrowing under them, sweatpants and sweatshirt now replacing his work clothes. Not ten minutes into Hunger Games, he’s asleep. 

XXX

They need more medicine, Eddie realizes as he backs out of his parking spot behind the tattoo shop. Medicine, tissues, tea, soup. This morning they were sick but sure as hell not this sick. He makes the three mile drive to Target, slipping his sweatshirt on before he heads inside, knowing he probably looks awful. Oh fucking well, he can cough on anyone who might look at him wrong. 

He grabs both DayQuil and NyQuil, Tylenol, sugar free cherry cough drops, tissues, some earl grey tea, and then the musician stands in front of the ridiculous number of soups, staring blankly at it. Steve likes tomato soup and grilled cheese, so they can do that tomorrow. Eddie doesn’t really want anything tonight, let alone soup, but he grabs two cans of chicken noodle and a can of vegetable, head aching too much to try and focus more. 

By the time the artist is heading to the register, a few people around him have given him looks as he’s sniffled and coughed. His nose is running and he can feel the same coldish tickle that’s been bothering him all day start to grow. There’s a couple people in front of him for the self checkout line, so he pulls the neck of his dark grey sweatshirt up and his eyes flutter shut. 

“ihIKtSCHuhew! hh’Igkshuhew! ih’IHgKSHuh!!” The last one is louder than he means it to be, and the sniffle he gives after makes him cringe at how wet it is. 

Twenty minutes and six sneezes later, he’s walking inside his apartment, happy that Steve’s there. All he wants is to cuddle, which, yeah alright, maybe that’s a little sappy but he’s so damn tired and he feels gross and cuddling Steve always helps. When he sees a lump on the couch, he sets the bags down on the table and moves straight for the other man. 

“Stevie…baby I’m home,” he murmurs to the business owner, sitting on the very edge of the couch. “Steve, sweetheart. Come on…there we go, I’m sorry I woke you,” he smiles at Steve’s pouty huff, head barely peeking out of the blanket nest. 

“Y’home?” 

“Yeah baby, m’hone,” Eddie nods, bending closer so he can rub his face into Steve’s shoulder. 

“Mm, come join me. Think this cold is kicking my ass.” 

“Doin’ the same to me. I’ll change and be right with you okay? Don’t fall back asleep till I’m with you.” 

By the time Eddie’s back in the living room, Steve’s asleep, drooling on his pillow. Eddie chuckles and snaps a photo, setting it at his Lock Screen before crawling in next to him. 

[hurt-care]

A little bit of a short scene with my OC Francis and his lovely missus Caroline. For context, he’s a gentleman in the early 1900s with bad hayfever/asthma and Caroline is his wife. You can read my past stories of them here and here and here -

M, cold (head and chest cold)-

Caroline opens the door a crack and peers into the bedroom. The drapes are drawn against the daylight and only the fireplace is lit, casting a glow across the room. The bed curtains are mostly pulled shut except for right at the head of the bed, where they're open to allow a view of the patient. Her husband, Francis, is lying propped up by several pillows.

He sees her looking in and gestures for her to enter.

“I wasn't sure if you were awake,” she says softly, approaching the bedside. He's in a battle against another cold that has settled in his asthma-weakened chest and allergy-weakened sinuses. The accompanying fever hasn't let up and his doctor has prescribed strict bedrest with frequent cool compresses and several bitter medicines in glass bottles that sit lined up on Francis' bedside table.

“I'm awake,” Francis says wearily. “Sore from coughing and sore from lying in bed all day. But better now that you're here.”

She smiles and leans in to kiss him on the cheek. He's clammy but not overly warm.

“Do you need anything? Tea? Fresh handkerchiefs?”

“Martin brought up a fresh stack of handkerchiefs about an hour ago so I'm good for a while,” he replies. “If you don't mind staying with me a little, I would cherish the company.”

“Of course,” she says. “Let me change and I'll come with with you.”

She loosens the laces of her dress and sheds layers until she's only in her chemise and drawers. From the wardrobe, she fetches her dressing gown and puts it on overtop before climbing into the opposite side of the bed.

“There we are,” she says, setting in at his side. “Shall I read to you or hold you or...?”

He doesn't answer, but instead is distracted by his nose which is visibly twitching as he tucks a handkerchief over it and he sneezes sharply.

Ehh-TSGHHTTTT!

He coughs twice, heavy and congested after the outburst and clutches at his chest.

Caroline extends a hand to put over his, holding it there against his chest. The cold sounds brutally damp compared to the usual dry ticklish timbre of his hayfever. Francis blows his nose into the handkerchief with a thick, gurgling sound and then exhales audibly from his mouth, unable to get any breath through his clogged nose.

“Would some sort of poultice help with the congestion?” she asks gently.

“I don't know,” he says wearily. “I'm just so sore. My ribs ache.”

“What if I rub some of that mentholated cream in?” she offers. “Are you warmed enough to take off your shirt for a bit?

He nods and shifts to sit up more in the bed. She leans over him and grabs a jar from the nightstand, uncapping it to reveal a thick oily lotion that stinks of camphor and mint.

“We'll do your back first,” she says, setting the jar down to help him remove his nightshirt. He sits with his legs still tucked under the quilts and she hands him a pillow. “Hug that to your chest and lean forward a bit.”

He does as he is instructed and Caroline examines the familiar curve of his back and the pale freckled skin. Dipping a hand into the cream, she smooths it across his back between his shoulder blades, pressing gently on the muscles. He exhales noisily and coughs a few times into the pillow. His back shudders under Caroline's touch and she presses firmer into the spasming muscles, willing them to relax.

The heavy scent of the lotion hangs in the air and she can hear Francis sniffle periodically as it starts to loosen up his nose.

“Hold on – I ...” he starts to say but it's too late. He snaps forward, sneezing into the pillow.

Hurhh'TSGHH!

There's a blossom of damp on the white eyelet-trimmed pillowcase and he sniffles thickly, followed by a miserable groan.

“Here love,” she says, passing him a fresh handkerchief from the stack. He blows his nose again, filling the handkerchief, and he discards it onto the nightstand.

His back is shiny and coated with the cream and she gently starts up and over his shoulders, running her hands down onto his collarbones. He relaxes into her touch, slumping forward with the pillow still clutched against himself.

“Time to lie back down,” she coaxes, stacking the pillows up into a proper support and helping him to recline. She straightens the blankets around his legs before scooping a fresh handful of cream out of the jar and spreading it across his chest.

She gently rubs it into his pecs and down across his ribs, tracing the lines of his chest with her fingertips. He wheezes and she can feel the congestion rattle against her hands. He reaches out for another handkerchief and puts it to his mouth to block a rattling cough. She pauses, spreading her palm against his sternum and holding it there comfortingly.

When the coughing dies down, she resumes the massage, rubbing the cream into his skin until it is shiny from the oils. Then, she tucks the blankets up tightly around him, trapping the vapours against his chest.

“There,” she says, leaning in to kiss his brow. “Better?'

He nods. “Much, thank you.”

[straightyuri]

It's kind of crazy how clothes is made for like 1 kind of person in mind n no one else. You can't even be short, much less fat. Am i using much less correctly i don't feel i am but my head hurts from blowing up my sinuses or whatever