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softsnzstuff · 2 years ago

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Doctor Eddie and nurse Steve going on their first vacation together and Steve falls sick on their first night there? He insists for Eddie to still go out and enjoy himself but Eddie stays in and takes care of Steve. Even if he’s sick, Eddie is determined to make this a nice self-care vacation 🥹

Yes okay this is so cute! I find the idea of being sick on vacation so good? Like they don’t even have the comforts of their own bed, and they’re limited to the clothes they packed. I mean they obviously weren’t *expecting* to get sick.

Anyways, this is another that’s been in my inbox far too long. Sorry LOL I get busy sometimes. -KB

*****

��Alright there Steve?”

“Hmm?” Steve looks up and realizes he’s been shifting uncomfortably in the taxi. “Uh yeah sorry. Just excited to be here.”

The younger man smiled and turned towards the window so Eddie wouldn’t see him wince as he swallowed. His throat started to feel weird on the plane, but by the time they’d touched down in Seattle, it was full on sore.

The yellow taxi slowed to a stop outside of the Holiday Inn. Steve reached for his wallet but Eddie pushed his hand down.

“I got it Steve.” He smiled at his boyfriend and pulled out his card, handing it to the driver.

While Eddie paid, Steve opened up the trunk and pulled out their suitcases and set them on the sidewalk. A tickle started to bloom in Steve’s sinuses. He scrunched his nose, pawing at it for a second.

Eddie stepped out of the taxi moments later, joining Steve by the suitcases. He put a hand on Steve’s shoulder. “Ready?”

“I- AESSHiew! iiTSCHew!” Steve pitched forward, bringing his elbow up towards his face.

“Bless you, bless you!” Eddie laughed, “Guess you’re not used to that West Coast air yet.”

Steve tried to play it off as nothing, “Yeah, must be. Let’s go check into the room!”

***

Their hotel room was clean and simple. Bathroom was to the immediate right of the door. If you kept walking straight you’d be met with a desk, two armchairs, and a king sized bed.

Steve looked at his watch - 5:30pm. “Hey Eds is it okay if I take a shower before we head out? I feel like I’m covered in plane…”

“Yeah go for it! I’m going to research some good options for dinner!”

Grabbing a change of clothes out of the suitcase, Steve shuffled into the bathroom and turned on the water. The steam slowly billowed through the small tiled room, fogging up the mirror.

As he rinsed off his body, he breathed in the steam, coughing slightly when his breath caught in his throat. The coughing must have loosened something within him, because congestion seemed to settle in his head.

He turned off the water and grabbed one of the fluffy hotel towels. He was drying off his body when another tickle blossomed deep in his sinuses. He squeezed his eyes shut, willing the urge to sneeze away.

God this was terrible timing. Eddie never took a day off work as is, and it was so hard to get him on this vacation. Now he was so excited about it and Steve went and got sick?? Just fucking perfect.

The tickle was intense, but Steve couldn’t sneeze or Eddie would hear. He pulled on a long sleeved shirt and then rubbed at his nose, sniffling.

“Huhhh… heh.. HEH!”

False start - Steve sighed with relief. He managed to hold back the sneeze for the time being as he put on his jeans and sniffled wetly.

Steam crept along the ceiling as Steve opened the bathroom door to join Eddie on the bed. The older man was sitting on the edge, looking at one of the little brochures the hotel provided.

“Find anything snf good?” Steve asked.

“Yeah I think so! Do you feel like anything in particular? There’s a few options…”

Steve’s attention span dissipated as it turned to the newly formed, intense tickle in his nose. He tried to focus on his breathing while also trying to listen to Eddie.

“…at the top of the Space Needle which sounds awesome, OR…”

“Hihh…” Steve started to breathe in quietly, but tried to stop it. Eddie continued listing off dinner options.

“…I know you like cheese so we could always try Beechers. But otherwise we could- are you even listening?” Eddie turned around just in time to see Steve lose the fight with the impending itch.

“HEH-iiTSHew! H’yeSHuhew! heh- HEH- h’EKTshyUE!….guhhh”

“Bless you! Christ..”

Steve’s arm hovered over his face. Eddie looked at him knowingly and used his own hand to gently lower Steve’s arm. A tendril of mess snapped away and the damp spot in the crook of his elbow was exposed.

“Aw Stevie… why didn’t you tell me you were sick?” He grabbed some tissues from the box by the bed and pushed them into Steve’s hands.

“I did’t start feeli’g sick until we landed.” He sniffled soupily against the tissues.

Eddie looked at Steve for a moment and then folded the brochure and set it down. “Let’s stay in tonight. We can order room service.”

“N’do Eddie we came all this way. You should go out still.”

“How about this: we stay in for dinner and if you still feel bad tomorrow, I’ll go to the Starbucks Reserve and get you some tea. Then I’m still technically sightseeing.”

Steve sniffled helplessly, “Deal.”

#s/tranger t/hings #doctors office au #kb au’s #e/ddie m/unson #s/teve h/arrington #doctor!eddie #nurse!steve #snzblr #steddiesnz #snz kink #ask box

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theunstuffedpepper · 3 years ago

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I am someone who really tries not to be a complainer. However. This winter weather is beating the absolute life out of my sinuses and I am about up to here with it. I think being pregnant is also compounding the issue, because I would normally notice significant relief with a humidifier, but even though I’m sleeping inches from one, it makes no difference. How can a nose be constantly congested and snotty and yet also so painfully dry? Not to mention the tiny cuts all over my hands from being dry as a bone. Biology, you dick.

You ever get the sensation that you’re on the hamster wheel, so to speak? Every day is the same? Get up, care for other people, work, juggle a bunch of tasks you have no energy for, think about how tired you are, eat, pray you get some sleep that night, go to bed, repeat. I’m definitely riding that wheel these days and I think the fact that it’s like 3*F outside all the time is making it more intense.

Thank goodness for things like a hot bowl of chili. And for my anatomy scan, which was yesterday, which went really well. It was awesome getting to have B there — he loved being able to see this one, since he couldn’t come to pep’s. I also got to see the doctor who delivered pep, which was great.

The last few days, pep has been running a fever resulting from the MMR and chicken pox vaccines he got recently. After speaking to the pediatrician yesterday, she set my mind at ease, but man I was freaking out there for a bit. It’s scary to see 103-104* on a thermometer while you’re doing everything you can to care for this tiny baby. It makes them seem all the more tiny and helpless and vulnerable. This morning we woke up and the fever had broken overnight. 98.7*. Talk about a huge sigh of relief. He’s still massively fussy — more so than when he actually had a fever — but I hope that’ll wear off.

I’m just now finishing up work for the day — off to do my mom duties for an hour or two before I can relax a bit before bed. I think tonight calls for some hot tea and honey and some comfort tv. Speaking of which: has anyone watched The Woman in the House across the Street from the Girl in the Window? It’s on Netflix and friends, I loved it. I love Kristen Bell, so I’m biased, but it’s worth a watch. Now we’re rewatching season 1 of The Righteous Gemstones so that we can roll right into season 2. Another great show.

Sending some love out to you, friends.. hope you’re staying warm. ❄️ ⛄️

#no reblogs please #oh and I didn’t actually let pep eat an apple #have no worries #momblr #pregblr #20w3d #020122

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harvestleaves · 4 years ago

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When you breathe, I wanna be the air for you

Summary: Alex has a cold and it’s making his childhood asthma act up, his friends are worried about him, but he’s used to handling things on his own.

A/N: This fic takes place around season 3. The song title is from the Bon Jovi song I’ll Be There For You. There might be a second chapter or a sequel if enough people are interested. @honeybee-babe enjoy! You can also read this on Ao3 here.

Rating: G

Word Count: 1,423

He couldn’t breathe through his nose, and his head was throbbing.

That was the first thing Alex noticed when he woke up on a rainy Friday morning in early November on Meredith’s couch. He had a 48-hour shift ahead of him, though, and he didn’t have time to deal with it.

Pushing himself to his feet, Alex made his way to the bathroom with the duffle bag he brought, closing the door in Izzie’s face with a sly smirk as the blonde huffed at him.

“Come on, Alex! You’re gonna take forever in there!” she called through the door, causing Alex to roll his eyes in annoyance.

“Calm down, Iz, I’m just gonna take a quick shower and brush my teeth,” Alex yelled back hoarsely before he turned to the medicine cabinet, opening to search for some type of pain reliever or cold medicine.

Spotting some Tylenol, he quickly checked the expiration date, noting how it was almost outdated. Shrugging, he shook two into his hand and swallowed the pills dry before he turned the water on in the shower to hot.

He stripped quickly as steam filled the room, hoping that the warm air would help clear his inflamed sinuses.

Alex made quick work of his shower and teeth brushing. Finishing in the bathroom in under ten minutes before he went back into the hallway, a few coughs slipping past his lips when the cool air entered his lungs. A harsh contrast to the steam he was just in.

“That cough sounds bad. Are you okay?” Izzie asked as she reached out for his arm, frowning when Alex immediately moved away from her hand and passed her down the hallway.

“I’m fine. Just a throat tickle,” Alex explained, voice tight to keep from letting out another wheeze as he quickly made his way down the hall and back down to the kitchen for some coffee. He wrinkled his nose, however, at the sight of Meredith and Derek kissing.

“It is way too early to see you two sucking face.”

“You don’t live here. Therefore, you can’t comment on it,” Meredith shot back with a grin as she pulled back from Derek. Her grin quickly disappeared when she took note of how pale Alex’s face was and how his shoulders seemed to heave with every breath he took.

“You look like shit. Are you hungover from last night?”

Meredith made her way over to where Alex was pouring a mug of coffee and reached out to press the back of her hand to his forehead.

“You’re a little warm. You’re also wheezing, and you sound congested. Are you sick?” she asked, scrunching her brows together in concern.

“I’m not hungover, and I’m not sick. It’s probably just my asthma from the weather change,” Alex lied easily as he tried pushing her hand off of his forehead with a glare.

“That’s still not good. I didn’t know you have asthma. Do you have an inhaler in your bag?” Meredith asked, glancing between Alex and the worn duffle bag on the counter, reaching for it carefully.

“Nope, it’s in my locker. It’s not a big deal though, I can breathe fine. It’s just a little wheeze, I’m still moving air, and this wheeze should go away once I get some coffee in me. The caffeine will be enough until I can take the meds,” Alex rolled his eyes as he looked at Meredith, giving Derek a pointed look to back him up.

Looking between his girlfriend and Alex, Derek sighed before his face softened as he looked over Alex.

“I’ve got to agree with Mer on this one. You sound awful,” Derek admitted. Grabbing Meredith’s spare stethoscope from the kitchen table, Derek slid the tips into his ears and pressed the base to Alex’s back after warming it up. “Take some deep breaths,” he stated firmly, leaving no room for argument from the younger male.

“This is ridiculous,” Alex rolled his eyes before he started to cough again, gripping the counter tightly. His chest was heaving when the fit was over as he tried to take a few deep breaths, Derek’s firm hand steadying him in place as the other listened to his lungs.

“Yeah, I don’t think your inhaler is really going to help at this point. I’m off this morning. I can go with Alex to the ER for a breathing treatment if you want to let Bailey know he won’t be on shift today.”

“D-don’t you think I should have a say in this?” Alex grumbled breathlessly as George and Izzie made their way into the kitchen for breakfast.

“What’s wrong with him?�� George asked curiously as he glanced from Derek to Alex to Meredith, eyeing the stethoscope that Derek had looped back around his neck with a raised eyebrow.

“He’s sick. He was flushed and wheezing when I saw him after his shower in the hallway,” Izzie stated as she crossed her arms over her chest. Not even feeling the slightest bit bad for ratting out her friend.

“And his asthma’s acting up on top of it all. Whatever he caught has clearly settled itself into his lungs. He needs a nebulizer and probably some IV steroids for the tightness in his chest,” Derek stated as he handed Alex over to Meredith so she could lead him to one of the chairs at the kitchen table before he finished preparing the mug of coffee for Alex.

“Sip on this until we’re all ready to go. It’s not as good as your inhaler, but it should hold you over for a little longer. Did you take anything for your fever?” Meredith asked as she took the mug from Derek and handed it to Alex.

“Why didn’t you say that you weren’t feeling well?” George frowned in concern as he brought his own mug up to his mouth, having thought that the four of them, plus Cristina, had become closer since their internship had started.

Alex simply shrugged as he stared at his coffee, no longer interested in the beverage as the other four seemed to all be staring at him.

“I took two Tylenol, but they expire next month, so they might not be very effective. I didn’t want you all to worry, though. You all seem to like to coddle each other too much. I didn’t want or need to have you mother me,” Alex finally wheezed out as he ran a hand over his face in exhaustion, wincing when he tried to take a deep breath.

“Alex, you’re our friend. We’re always going to worry about you. Whether you like it or not,” Izzie sighed softly as she placed her hands on his shoulders to try and work out the knots she was positive were there from his strained breathing. “Now go put your shoes on so we can get you treated.”

Groaning, Alex shuffled to the living room to slip on his sneakers, sitting down on the couch when the tight feeling in his chest in his chest caused a wave of dizziness to fall over him.

Dropping his head to focus on catching his breath, Alex let out a shaky wheeze before he brought a hand up to his chest to rub at his sternum.

It was definitely getting harder for him to breathe, and though he’d never admit it to anyone. He was scared. He could deal with the bloodiest of surgeries at work, but asthma attacks always seemed to shake him to his core. It was that childhood fear that still lingered within him that one day he’d have an attack by himself, with his inhaler unable to help and he would suffocate. Alone. How he had lived most of his life.

“Ready to go?”

Alex lifted his head to look up at Meredith as she crouched in front of him, her hand resting gently on his heaving shoulder as a sign of support. I’m here for you. Meredith was always great under pressure, though he could see a softness in her eyes that was typically only reserved for Derek, Cristina, and her patients. In that order. And even though he resented her for pitying him, for caring about him when he’d been nothing but an ass to them all. There was just a small part of him that was thankful for having friends that seemed to genuinely care about his well-being.

“Y-yeah, I’m ready.”

And he was. For whatever life threw at him, because his friends were always going to be there for him.

#grey's anatomy #grey's anatomy fanfic #greys anatomy #greys anatomy fanfic #alex karev #meredith grey #derek shepherd #izzie stevens #george omalley

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shower-steamers · 3 years ago

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Soothing Shower Melts For Colds, Flu, Or Anytime

There’s a very nice line between enough witch hazel and an extreme amount of, and it just takes making a number of batches to get a feel for it. Stop adding witch hazel as soon as the combination holds collectively like moist sand. I’m making diy toiletry baskets for everybody this Christmas, the primary to-do is bathe steamers. I watched dozens of movies on it and read tons of blogs, however once I made my first batch and pressed them into my mold, they saved severely puffing up. I suppose the citric acid is reacting one way or the other and creating gasoline causing the puffing impact, however I don’t know what to change to repair it visit site.

I have been making some bathtub bombs and I’m having problems getting them to get hard. If you retain them wrapped and airtight like a regular bathtub bomb they should nonetheless fizz okay as a lot as about 6 months after they are made. Though the longer you could have them the less fizzing they may do. In a big bowl, combine 20 ounces of baking soda and 10 ounces of citric acid.

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iwritesickfic · 5 years ago

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1/2 Aaaaah I’ve fallen quickly in love with your writing, I love your style. A couple of prompts, since you asked for them: Peter thinks he’s recovering from a bad illness- genuinely so fed up of being ill that at this point he’s willing to pretend to himself and everyone else he’s feeling better. Meanwhile he’s still staying up late working, and one day he gets stuck in the rain on the way from class and needs some help... and Ashlyn is closest...

First, thank you!!!!!! Second, this is long as hell and I also got sucked into the DRAMA of it all so I hope you still enjoy it :) might write a second part if we’re feeling it? anyway, enjoy and thanks for the kind words and prompts :)

It seems like it’s been forever since Peter hasn’t felt like shit. It’s like his body is trying to make up for all the years he spent avoiding every cold and flu that went around. He has to admit though, the main reason he’s still ill is because he won’t really give himself the time to fully recover. As soon as he’s feeling halfway decent, he dives back into life as normal - which for him, is 6 hours sleep and living on coffee - and within a week he’s back to being practically bedridden.

Leo is fed up with it. Big time. At least that’s what Peter’s gathered. Leo’s never said as much, but Peter figures he must be getting tired of it by now. So much that Peter’s stopped telling him how he’s feeling. At first it was just lying by omission. Now it’s lying-lying.

Today, everything’s concentrated in his head. His sinuses are throbbing, and his eyes hurt to move. He’s been swapping between chills and feeling too hot all day, and he’s pretty sure everyone in his lecture class hates his guts for his constant sniffling. He ran out of tissues about an hour into the six hour course, so he’s stuck wiping his nose with the crumpled leftovers and the few napkins he finds in a pocket of his bag.

By the time there’s only an hour left in class, he’s lost all ability to absorb anything the professor is saying. He’s shaking so badly he can’t take notes even if he wanted to. He’s considered leaving early, but to be honest, he’d rather put off his walk to the train as long as possible. He decides when he gets home, he’s chugging some nyquil, taking a cold shower, and going the fuck to sleep. He’s got a date with Leo tonight but he’ll need to make some excuse.

When the professor finally ends the class, he gets a rush of dopamine at the thought he’s only a 15 minute walk and a 30 minute train ride from some relief.

He stares at his phone, trying to think of something to tell Leo.

something came up, can i see you thursday?

Leo texts back almost immediately.

we already rescheduled twice are you sure you cant make it?

Peter bites his lip.

it’s a thesis thing. im sorry i promise thursday night.

He starts to pack his bag, and his phone buzzes.

ok, good luck love x

He pushes down the wave of guilt he feels and slings his bag over his shoulder. His heart drops into his stomach when he gets to the building’s lobby. It’s raining. Really raining, not just drizzling, but pouring. He swears, and sits down on one of the benches. He can wait.

Ten minutes later, the rain still hasn’t let up, and he knows if he doesn’t get up now he’s going to end up asleep on this bench whether he likes it or not. When he stands, the world starts to spin, and he has to bite back a whine at the way his headache worsens.

He pulls his hood on, even though it won’t make much of a difference, and takes a step outside. It’s not even five minutes before he’s soaked. At first, the rain almost felt nice on his fevered skin, but now he’s freezing. The cold’s worsened the way his nose is running, there’s mess all over his upper lip, and he can’t stop sneezing. His hair is stuck to his forehead, water gathered in his eyelashes. It’s another five minutes before he realizes he’s not getting to the train. His knees give out, and he has to catch himself against a bus shelter. He manages to make it to the bench inside, and sinks down, hyperventilating. He looks around aimlessly, hoping something will catch his eye and give him some semblance of a plan. And it does.

He’s on 110th and Amsterdam. That’s a block from Ashlynn’s apartment. Less than a block. He stands up, waiting for the world to stop spinning before making an attempt to walk. He tries not to think about the cold, or the way he can’t feel his toes, or the pounding in his head. Just focuses on one foot in front of the other.

He finds himself at her building. He presses her buzzer with shaking fingers, praying she’s home. He doesn’t have to wait even 30 seconds before the lobby door opens.

he steps inside, unable to hold back the heavy sigh of relief at the sudden warmth. He stands there for a moment, swaying slightly, before making his way to the elevator. Somehow, he finds himself at her door, and knocks. he hears her footsteps padding closer and closer before she’s standing right there, in front of him.

“Peter?” she looks puzzled until the world starts to tilt and he grips the doorframe to stay upright. “Whoa, hey, are you alright?” He opens his mouth to speak but three harsh sneezes come out instead, and he buries them into the wet sleeve of his hoodie. “Ok, c’mere.” She pulls him inside, and before he really knows what’s going on, he’s sitting at her kitchen table.

“S’raining,” he mumbles, and she hums in response.”M’cold.”

“I can tell. Here -” She starts to strip off his hoodie, which is totally soaked through. His shivering worsens, and she palms his forehead. “Shit, Peter.” She takes the hem of his t shirt and hesitates. “Can I...?” He nods, and she peels it off. She unties his sneakers and pulls off his socks, then bites her lip. “I can grab you a pair of my roommate’s sweatpants and you can change in the bathroom, yeah?” He shakes his head. There is no way he’s walking anywhere right now. She goes red. “You want me to...”

“M’gonna pass out if I try to stand up, Ash.”

Carefully, she unbuttons his jeans, tugging them off until he’s sitting in his underwear. She disappears for a moment before coming back with a towel, and wraps it around his shoulders. She places a box of tissues on his lap, and sits down in the chair across from him.

“What’s going on?”

“M’sick.” She laughs softly. Peter gingerly starts to wipe his nose, wincing at the raw, chapped soreness. He blows, and a spike of pain hits him between the eyes.

“Yeah, I can tell. Why were you -”

“Walking home from class,” he mumbles, and she nods. She stands up, and reappears with a thermometer. “Can we not?”

“If you wanna stay here then you’re gonna have to let me baby you,” she says, and if it didn’t hurt so bad he’d roll his eyes. He lets her stick the device under his tongue, and while she’s waiting for the reading she starts heating up water for tea. The thermometer beeps and she removes it gently. She frowns.

“What?” She takes a deep breath.

“It’s high, that’s all.” He raises his eyebrows at her. “102.2.”

“Not so bad,” he murmurs. He’s struggling to keep his eyes open. Sitting here in the warmth of the kitchen his body is finally deciding it’s had enough. The sudden warmth is also making his nose run. He sniffles.

“I’m not even gonna comment on that. C’mon, you can lay down on the couch. I’d offer you my bed but I don’t think you’ll make it that far to be honest.” He nods, and she pulls him upright. He manages to make it the few feet to the couch, and lands heavily. She swaps the towel for a blanket, and he’s never felt something better than the way it feels on his freezing, damp skin. Dry and warm and heavy. He curls up on his side, holding a tissue under his still-leaking nose, and he doesn’t last 30 seconds before falling asleep.

He’s awakened suddenly by the harsh ring of his cell phone. His headache is worse, despite the rest, and though his nose has stopped running it seems, his head is fully, hopelessly congested. He digs through his bag to find his phone, and frowns when he sees it’s Leo. He considers letting the call go to voicemail, but that’s before he sees the 5 previous missed calls.

“Hello?” He hates the way his voice sounds - sick and congested and torn up.

“Peter, what the fuck is going on?”

“I’m uh...I’m home working on thesis.” It takes him a moment to remember his lie from earlier.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Why then do I see a photo of you, shirtless, on Ashlynn’s couch?” Peter knows immediately that he has fucked up, big time. “Do I really need to explain to you why that makes me upset?”

“Leo -”

“You better have a good fucking explanation for this.” Maybe it’s the fever, maybe it’s the fact he hasn’t seen Leo in weeks, or maybe it’s the build up of all the guilt he’s felt lying to him, but Peter feels tears start to fall. He breaks into sobs, and they make his headache exponentially worse.

“Leo, p-please, I -” He can barely speak around his tears. “Please don’t be mad.”

“Mad at you for what?” His voice is cold. “Tell me. I want to hear you tell me.”

“It’s...it’s not -”

“Tell me, Peter.”

“I didn’t want...I didn’t want you to be mad at me.” His fevered brain can’t quite string together the right words.

“How would...” He trails off. “How would sleeping with Ashlynn not make me mad?”

“I didn’t - we...it wasn’t...I know you’re tired of taking care of me, so -”

“What?” Leo’s tone has shifted.

“I know you’re sick of me being sick, so I was gonna just go home and sleep and then it was raining, and I was so fucking dizzy, and I was on 110th street -”

“Wait. Stop. Let me get this straight. You’re ill?”

“Yeah,” he says, and the guilt is absolutely eating him up. “I didn’t want to bother -”

“Love, why would that be bothering me?” Leo sounds almost sad.

“You-you’re so busy, and -”

“Peter, I don’t know what kind of miscommunication happened here but I’m not...I wouldn’t be bothered if I knew you weren’t feeling well. I mean, I’d be upset but just because I don’t want you to feel bad. I wouldn’t be mad at you or angry with you or something like that. Why would you have that idea?”

“I’d hate me if I was you,” he chokes out, and Leo sighs.

“Peter...Look, can I come get you?”

“You don’t have to.”

“I know that, that’s not why I asked.” He pauses. “Where’s Ashlynn?”

That’s a good question. Peter isn’t sure. At class, maybe?

“Not uh...not here.”

“Ok, I’m gonna call you back. I love you, ok?”

“Mmhm. Love you too.”

“Ok, just relax. Everything’s alright. Hang tight.”

“Ok.”

#my writing #oc peter #oc leo #snz #sickfic

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of-another-broken-heart · 4 years ago

Text

It’s a bad brain, no energy, sad day for me.

Yesterday was my mom’s birthday. Also my Nana’s. It was a nice day, all things considered. But I did spend a LOT of time cooking and cleaning (and fucking up, because of course). We went to the cemetery for a little bit.

I spent a full 12 fucking hours in bed. Tossing and turning the whole time.

Temperatures have dropped, finally, which is great. But my nose and sinuses haven’t adjusted, so I’ve been struggling with congestion and dry-air sneezing.

My bed is still the same six inches of two-decade-old springs lifted on a simple frame of parallel metal bars, with no padding and only one pillow. Vaguely in the middle of the clearest/cleanest part of the basement, with no walls or headboard. Not that I could use a headboard anyway - I’ve got too much trauma with parasitic bugs making colonies in any fibrous material, and SURPRISE we still have bed bugs because we have nowhere else to go to actually have this place properly treated, nor the money to afford such treatment, and it’s not like the landlord will do anything about it until we’re long gone.

All that to say, I sleep like shit. Rolling over physically hurts at this point because of how stiff my back gets and how tense and cramped my muscles end up, trying to get even a little comfortable. And it’s loud. Every time I move, the springs crunch on their own, and creak against the bed frame itself.

Today I’m sad. I’m tired. I’m not hungry - mostly thanks to last night’s birthday dinner and its leftovers - but I’m craving vegetables and protein. But I’m an exhausted pauper whose exhaustive list of “stuff I have access to, and can make for myself” is... cheap ramen noodles, tuna sandwich, and... instant oatmeal, I guess. I’m almost out of oatmeal, though. And, like everything else, that’s expensive to replace now. Especially if you want something more than plain oats. You can spend $10 on a basic small container of “quick cook oats” or you can take those same $10 and buy two boxes of instant oatmeal with some spices and flavor mixed in. Ten fucking dollars.

I actually bought some canned soups yesterday. They were supposed to be on sale 4 for $4 - a seriously good sale, since the fucking things are normally $3-4 a piece. But part of that sale price was a store coupon which apparently requires 24 hours advance notice to use (digital coupon). So they were 4 for $6 instead and I immediately regretted buying them. Poverty trauma sure is fun!

It’s all the same shit. Nothing is different, nothing is better.

I am running out of my disease meds.

I’ve been trying for 2 months now to get my “6-month follow-up” appointment and blood lab referral, because treatment for my incurable life-long disease is gatekept behind check-ins STILL, during this PANDEMIC, which I am ESPECIALLY SUSCEPTIBLE TO DIE IN. It’s supposed to be a remote appointment. My last one was via zoom. And I did have to physically go to the blood lab, because... duh.

I don’t know what else to do. Kinda just bracing for potentially fatal withdrawal symptoms, because that’s healthy, right? Healthcare so inaccessible that’s the only option I’ve got left for myself, haha. Totally normal!

I just cannot realistically fathom how any of this is going to ever get better.

I’m sad. I’m tired. I’m hopeless.

#personal #food mention

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noah-kalani · 5 years ago

Text

Breathe | Noah & Simon

PARTIES: @inconvenientsimonstrocity and @noah-kalani SUMMARY: The one where Winn is still missing and Noah’s hand is still broken.

Takes place directly after this solo

Simon hadn’t been home for very long after a weirdly-tiring day at work - between Winn’s disappearance, Simon himself trying to make sure no one was making irrational decisions and denying his own irrational decision to keep Beans despite some… valid protests, he felt somewhat run-down, more-so than usual and certainly reflecting how he was sure he came across to people on the outside with his disheveled appearance. Despite all that and how he felt, the dog was as excited as ever to see him and he couldn’t help but smile, ruffling his fur with pianist’s fingers and verbally agreeing to let the dog out. That was when, as he leaned against the side of his house and watched Beans tear through the brush, he received the text from Noah. It was vague, distressing. Simon could immediately feel the hair on the back of his neck stand up and he corralled Beans back inside, feeding him with a few gentle pats before grabbing his keys and heading out. He fished through his glove compartment as he drove to the location Noah told him, eventually finding a bottle of medication that… didn’t have as many pills in it as he hoped but it would have to do and he downed all four of them, tossing the empty bottle into the backseat.

The drive wasn’t too distant and Simon saw Noah sitting there as he arrived, his sore eyes doing a quick scan to gather information as he got out of his car and headed toward the young wolf; broken pier, the water didn’t look any more disturbed than the wind against it. The faint smell of blood that managed to creep into his nose briefly.

It was safe to say Noah had been really lucky to have had foresight to leave his cellphone in the pocket of his backpack. And obviously lucky that he had been talking to Simon all this week, the older wolf reminding him that there were people other there that really do care. About him, and about others. Watching as the other man approached Noah stood, hoping he looked dry enough to avoid too many questions. “Uh thank you, for uh coming to get me,” Noah started quietly, not really knowing what else to say in the moment. “I would have called my aunt but she would have definitely freaked out about...” He trailed off eyes darting to his swollen hand, the bones already trying to knit themselves together with the last few drops of his werewolf energy. The closer Simon got to Noah, the more a latent sense of concern and irritation filled his expression and sinuses, respectively and he quickly ducked his head into the crook of his arm to stifle a sneeze as the smell of wet dog - wet werewolf, whatever - greeted his nose. Not right now. Just… for, like, FOUR minutes, please. He didn’t reply immediately but he kept his eyes on Noah’s hand as soon as he was close enough, reaching out and touching it very carefully, examining the injury. He was still getting used to their wolfish regeneration but Noah still needed at least a splint - hand injuries weren’t anything to mess around with regardless of ‘super’ healing. “It’s okay,” was what he said first with his usual, quiet delivery, voice thick and somehow even more gravelly than where it usually sat. “It’s okay.” He repeated with a clear of his throat, now moving his glance upwards to look Noah in the eye for at least a few moments, hoping to convey the worry that was in his gaze as his brow went from furrowed to slack, his expression becoming gentler. “What happened?” He found himself asking next though it seemed obvious between the general location and the splintered pier. “You’re--” His head turned sharply and he smothered another sneeze into his jacket. “Wet.” Or he was; despite how dry he may have been now, Simon’s nose wasn’t something so easily fooled and now that they were so close, the older man could also catch faint traces of alcohol through the congestion. Well, he knew what they said about when it was raining.

Noah would be lying if he pretended his hand didn’t hurt like hell. Because it did, a lot, and even more so as Simon examined it. But Noah had been in enough pain–shit he’d been in enough hospitals for that matter–to know that sometimes he had to just grit his teeth and hold still. “I-I” Noah stammered trying to figure out how to explain without having to, well, explain. And it wasn’t that he didn’t want to tell Simon. He just, didn’t really know where to begin. There were so many layers to what had happened, things that he barely wanted to admit to himself let alone someone he just met (even if that someone reminded him of his father, and somehow seemed to know exactly what to say to make the situation seem better) “I took a long walk off a short pier?” The younger man continued with a slight question to his tone before realizing how that definitely could have sounded, especially with the alcohol still on his breath. Shit “On accident of course.” He held up his good hand, to try to quell the questions he knew would come. “I’m not, like, wanting to uh like..” He trailed off eyes settling downward, not wanting to see the disappointment in Simon’s eyes. Or worse. Pity. He listened carefully to every word Noah said, when he stopped, how he sounded, the words he used. Simon’s forensic mind started replaying what roughly might’ve happened going off what he could observe and what fractured pieces Noah gave him - he had either already been drinking before he came here or he started once he arrived. Probably the former given the lack of bottles. He punched the pier before going in - that was evident by the lack of blood on his bruised, swollen hand. He got the feeling, distant as it was, that Noah had actually fallen in on accident - or, if he jumped on purpose, his rationale or survival instinct kicked in and he pulled himself out. He loosed a quiet, raspy exhale and started to sit where he faced the water, placing a hand on Noah’s shoulder to follow suit. He never was good at eye contact and, observing over the years that sometimes… most of the time, people who were going through what Noah was feeling didn’t like being looked at, as if they were being scrutinized or judged. So he looked out over the water’s surface in silence next to Noah. “It’s okay,” he finally said after several minutes of nothing but the gentle breeze and the water licking at the shore. “It’s okay to be upset,” He continued calmly, quietly as he kept his blue eyes looking ahead. “It’s okay to be confused and to feel hurt because of feeling abandoned.” He did turn his head slightly, not looking into Noah’s eye but instead around his leg/hand area. “Just breathe,” He instructed, his tone devoid of malice, intensity or harshness. “Do what you couldn’t do in the water; do what you can’t do when you’re being crushed. Just… breathe.”

Feeling the hand on his shoulder Noah didn’t realize just how much energy he was using to just stand, this body practically crumpling on to the pavement the instant it was given permission. Cradling his broken hand into his lap Noah curled his knees up to his chin, the large man becoming a small boy in only a few movements. It’s okay. Just… breathe. Noah clung to these words like a mantra as he tried to calm his mind, tried to ground himself with Simon’s presence, and gentle advice. But no matter what he did he just came back to his lungs filled with water. His heart aching for a family he’d never get to see again. To Winn leaving without even saying as much as a goodbye. “I don't think I know how.” Noah whispered out a single tear staining his cheek. He wasn’t too sure what he was referencing, the breathing part, or the okay part, but either way the sentiment stood. He didn’t know how to do either. “I mean i thought I did but” He sniffed wiping at the tears now rolling freely down his cheeks as he stared out at those stupid fucking nightmarish waves. “Its been 10 years but I still miss them, every single fucking day. And I can’t,” He paused sniffling, still trying to hold all his seams together. “I don’t know what I would do if Winn doesn't come back.” He shook his head with a large gulping breath “I mean I know he will eventually. But I just.” He sniffled again, chest tightening with the force of trying to hold back the tears. Though it would’ve sounded cruel to say aloud, Simon was hoping for this sort of reaction; he knew, he knew that every wolf had its problems, whether it be hunters or instincts or loss... the essence of what they were was steeped in tragedy and Noah was no exception. He wasn’t sure exactly where Noah’s roots were, where he came from, how he got there but it was evident even by their few interactions that Noah tried to be the rock, whether it was because of expectations he set for himself to distract himself from his own trauma or because that was the expectation that was given to him. Simon never liked telling people explicitly to smile - that sometimes carried negative connotations and sometimes, you just couldn’t. Though he expressed some mild hesitation on his part that started with a pause, he eventually reached out and placed his very human hand on Noah’s head, running his spidery fingers through the boy’s human, thick dark hair, still damp from his fall. His skin connected to Noah’s scalp as he messaged it for just a moment, almost feeling the ghost of his mother’s hand on his own head. Gradually, his hand traveled to Noah’s neck, feeling the sinews and muscles under the skin and applying a gentle pressure to it as if it would anchor the young wolf before moving it down to his shoulder where he applied the same pressure. “Don’t hold it back,” He said this time, still keeping his voice low. He felt… like he wasn’t doing enough, frankly; he didn’t have any sage advice, at least none that he could think of right now but he was torn in two on whether or not Noah needed to hear a lecture at that moment; he… didn’t, at least not now. Simon had a feeling that he knew what Noah DID need and that was to be honest. “Release. In... out. Cry. It’s okay.” He paused. “You’re okay.” Heaven help both of them as they sat on the beach.

Noah didn’t realize just how badly he needed the gentle touch of someone supportive until it was there, Simon’s spindly fingers moving through his hair. It was an act he didn’t know how much he missed until it was gone, the memories of his own dad’s hand hitting him like a brick to the face. Noah didn’t know much about Simon, but he knew one thing for sure this man would be a great dad, if he wasn’t already. Leaning his crumpled worn out body towards the older wolf, Noah let himself fall again, but this time there was a shoulder there to catch him. Someone there to whisper softly that he could let it out. And so he did.

The younger man didn’t know how long they sat there like that, or how long it took him to calm but finally he took his last ragged breath leaning on Simon’s shoulder. He felt… not better. Clearly not better. But now he felt like he could at least face the rest of the night, which was a marked improvement. Wiping at his face he straightened a little, taking his weight off of Simon. “Sorry. I-” Noah wiped at his tear stained cheek, “I don’t cry a lot. So when I do it’s all” he circled his good hand around his clearly snotty and ruined face.

Simon tried to recall if he’d ever been in a situation like this before but he quickly came to the conclusion that he hadn’t - this was, how they say, ‘uncharted territory’ for him. So he just… did what felt right and he found his arm moving around to Noah’s shoulder, almost subconsciously pulling him closer as the younger wolf leaned against him. He remained steady, keeping his eyes on the water as the latter cried and finally… expressed himself. There were so many people that didn’t understand the importance of emotional release and he knew even as Noah started calming down that it wouldn’t fix everything but it was a way to ease some of the tension. He waited until Noah choked out an unneeded apology before he felt the ghost of a smile cross his angled face and he fished around in his jacket pockets with his other hand, managing to find an unused packet of tissues and he offered it to Noah. “Please don’t apologise,” He replied softly, turning his head slightly. “Thank you for--” He turned his head sharply to face away from Noah and he sneezed twice more. Damn, and he was doing so well, too. “Being honest.” It was his turn to sniffle, useless as the endeavour was. He loosened his other arm from around Noah though he still kept it present just in case the other wanted or needed it, still; he was in no way rushing anything about this. He had all the time in the world.

Taking one of the tissues offered to him Noah gently wiped his face down with his good hand, feeling a bit better now that the saltiness was cleaned off that part of his skin. Noticing the sneezes though, he handed the packet of tissues back to Simon, brown eyes giving the older man a look that read something like ‘looks like you need this more than I do.’ Sitting there Noah let the silence wash over them for a second, looking out at the sea... Simon saying something about being honest. Oh yea. Honesty. “I wouldn’t thank me yet.” Noah started straightening a little, needing the comforting touch just a little less than before. “I mean you don’t even know like 75 percent of the story.” Yea. Simon knew practically nothing about Noah’s past, and practically nothing about what had happened past the fact that Noah was wet, intoxicated and falling apart. But yet he still came. He still let a stupid 20 something cry on his shoulder. “You know you remind me of my dad,” Noah said quietly, looking over at Simon. “He was very patient and understanding too.” Simon took back the packet, tilting his head as he noticed Noah’s subtle change in body movement; had he said something offensive or wrong? He felt his eyebrow twitch and he gave a gentle smile. “It doesn’t matter,” He replied softly. “Not right now. Right now, it’s you and how you feel. No matter what the other 75 percent of the story is, you allowed yourself to feel right now.” He felt his expression saddened by Noah’s use of past-tense when bringing up his father. Passed on? Missing? Was he a source of why Noah felt abandoned? He… wasn’t sure how to respond to that part; while he felt something like happiness at being referred to with such a title - he remembered looking up to his father with reverence - he also felt undeserving of it. He hadn’t done anything to earn reminding anyone of anyone. “I…” He felt his insides twisting. He wasn’t anticipating this. He liked it better when they were focusing on Noah. “...appreciate that,” He finished quietly, taking one of the tissues for himself and wiping his nose.

“Yea, but how I feel is connected to that 75 percent of the story,” Noah countered, body curling back into itself again, trying to make himself as small as possible without jostling his injured hand. Averting his gaze a bit Noah listened to the other man sniffle, the silence almost deafening between them. He knew he didn’t have to talk about it, Simon had made that abundantly clear. But maybe tonight was the night to just get it all out anyway, the older wolf proving after all that he was a safe and caring shoulder. “I was in a pretty severe boating accident when I was 13.” Noah started quietly, the words still catching slightly in his throat even 10 years later “I survived but my dad, mom, and brother weren’t so lucky. That's the 75 percent you don’t know.” He didn’t know why he was still talking. But part of him felt like he owed it to Simon. He owed it to the older wolf to give him a little bit more context, to speak to him like he would his father. “When I tell people, it changes how they think of me.” Noah started again, picking at a random thread on his jeans if only to give his good hand something to do .“Sometimes for the good, but most of the time for the bad. But it's a part of my past. It is a lot of the reason behind everything I do, and everything I feel. And I just.” Noah paused biting at his lip a bit. “I don't hate the sea because I’m a weirdo. I hate it because I know how it feels to drown. It’s the same reason why I’m not angry at Winn for leaving. I’m angry because I know how it feels to be left.” There was a furrow of his brow as Simon listened, keeping his watery blue eyes on Noah as the latter seemed to spill everything once he got started, feeling his heart hurting more with every sentence Noah entrusted to him. He already had the feeling that he learned this before but his belief that Bitten wolves struggled with a unique form of suffering was reinforced as in one night-- one explanation, Noah opened himself up to the older wolf. Being the sole survivor in any capacity was… almost unbearable. He was silent for a long moment, not holding Noah anymore but still making sure they were making contact, though subtle rubbing of shoulders. He exhaled, breath catching in a web of phlegm. He had so many things he wanted to say with this information, so many consolations to give, so many words of encouragement but… “I understand,” He ended up saying instead. “And that’s fine.” He nudged his shoulder against Noah gently. “You’re completely justified.” He felt like he was floundering to help at this point, like he shouldn’t keep talking, like he was uncertain that everything he could say would be taken wrong. This was a delicate situation. “Your past is yours.” Why did he say that? “Your past is instrumental to who you are now.” Stop. Stop. “But the decisions you make now are still yours to make.” Ugh, this was going downhill. At least it was nice sitting in silence with Noah while it lasted. “I’m not going to treat you differently; you’re still Noah; compassionate, kind, sweet. I know you think that 75 percent of your past might make you seem weak or… I dunno, undeserving to be mad but that’s not true; it takes immense strength for you to be how you are despite that 75 percent.” God, he hoped he didn’t just screw this up.

Simon’s words echoed in Noah’s mind as he spoke, ears focusing on just one word. Justified. And it was weird how just hearing the word aloud somehow made Noah actually believe it. Believe that this wasn't some sort of overreaction, or his broken mind playing tricks on him. Not that he had really thought that, but it was different. Having someone validate your feelings after they sat and listened to you explain why you felt that way. It was definitely some powerful stuff. And Simon did it effortlessly, for someone he barely knew no less. “Thank you” Noah started quietly, knocking into the older man’s shoulder gently. He didn’t know if Simon could feel the sincerity in his tone, but he hoped he did. “Honestly, thank you Simon. It really means a lot to me to hear these things out loud.�� Because it did. It truly and honestly did. Leaning over slightly Noah reached in his backpack for his phone to check the time, hoping he hadn’t wasted too much of the other’s night. But that wasn’t before promptly forgetting that leaning over to get said backpack required moving parts of his body that were cradling his broken hand. “Fuck.” Noah muttered under his breath as the pain radiated up his arm. The sigh of quiet relief that raggedly exited Simon’s mouth couldn’t represent how the weight of incoming failure and feeling as though he’d said the wrong things was lifted from him. He gave a gentle smile to the younger wolf, indeed catching the sincerity. “Anytime, Noah,” He replied before Noah made a motion to reach for something and starkly remembered himself that Noah’s hand was busted up. “Oh, right…” He started to stand, putting a hand on Noah’s back as if to encourage him to stand, too. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to-- I mean, we should’ve taken you to a hospital first,” He chuckled nervously. “Here, I can drive you… would that be okay?” He asked; he knew the two had just spent an indeterminate amount of time together on the beach and he really should’ve been asking himself if that was okay given that his car would likely smell like wet dog for several days after the fact at least but he had admittedly more pressing concerns on his mind at the moment.

Smiling through the pain Noah just shook his head at the older man “My hand will survive. It was my mind that needed immediate attention.” Because it was mostly true. Noah needed the pep talk and understanding more than he needed a trip to the ER. But as he struggled slightly to pull himself up next to Simon, the pain grating on his nervous system, Noah figured that yea, it was probably time to go get his hand looked at. “Yea actually, I’d like that.” He nodded with complete sincerity. “If you don’t mind,” he added hastily, hyper aware of all the time he had already taken up. It didn’t seem like Simon did though, which was nice. It had been a long time since Noah had had another adult than just his Aunt invested in his well being, it was kinda nice Walking to Simon’s car Noah slid carefully into the passenger side, trying not to get everything wet as they drove to the hospital.

#noah: chatzys #inconvenientsimonstrocity #//love love love simon

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bigsnzstanacct · 5 years ago

Text

Hayfever Story (sneezing + nose blowing)

I... don’t know what you all will think of this one. This is part one of two, though I’m not entirely certain how part two should go. This one is mostly setup but there’s plenty of sneezing at the top. Honestly it is almost all sneeze talk or description. The sneezer is described as male, but the narrator’s gender is left ambiguous: imagine whatever excites you the most.

This is unedited, obviously, but I may go through and take another pass at it at some point.

—-

I could hear him down the block.

“AAAHHHHCCHHH-HHOOOOOOO!!” The bellow was dimmed somewhat by distance and the walls between us, but I still heard it, clear as day. He’d be winding up for another one now, frozen in place, captive to his big, protruding proboscis. The handkerchief clutched in two hands, spread wide as his head tipped back and back and back until his shoulder got into it, his wide nostrils flaring absurdly as he gasped... and gasped... and gasped... until...

“EEEEEEAAAYYYYYATTCCHHOOOOOOOOOOO!!!” Even louder this time! He would have delivered it right into the handkerchief, so that he could transition, seamlessly, fluidly, almost... professionally into the window rattling roar of his great lawnmower honk of a nose blow, sonorous as a trombone, surely so because of the unusual architecture of his cavernous nostrils, which provided plenty of room for the great crashing blow to echo and resound and build in noise. The first great two-nostril honk taken care of, he’d press one nostril shut and blow his trumpet blast out the other, then switch sides, in a sort of aftershock to the first great blow. I could barely even hear them through the walls. But I knew after that would come the last big blow. First, an enormous lung-swelling long smooth inward gasp of air, his shoulders rising, rib cage expanding to let in more and more and more air. Then, a silent moment of preparation, practically like a prayer, his eyes scrunching shut, face flying into the waiting hankie and then...

The real foghorn, a nasal blast that dwarfed his sneeze in volume. His “big blows” as we called them existed less to expel moisture or whatever else might be lurking in his nasal passages, and more to cleanse the terrible itch with the sheer sound of it, as though by making his whole sinuses vibrate with the sonorous force of the blow, he could chase that twinging tickle into every nook and cranny of his nose, and in doing so scratch the itch into submission.

He’d be walking again now. Would there be another sneeze before he arrived at the door, would he in fact reach the door even as the ragweed and grass pollen and all the terrible floral irritations of spring reignited that desperate desire in him, left the poor exhausted man with no choice but to unleash another:

“HEEEEEAAAAAAHHHHHHSSHHH-OOOOOOOOO!!!” This was an angry sneeze. The sneeze of a man exhausted by his nose and a nose exhausted by the itch. It was the sort of sneeze he released only when he at last forgot about the noise and disruption his nose could cause—did cause, all throughout hayfever season—and could think only of finally relieving the terrible itch. I swung the door open, and was greeted by the sight, no longer in my imagination but in the flesh, of his reddened, dripping nose, his tired, sagging eyes—oh it was so obvious he was in the grips of an absolutely miserable allergy attack, and I could only reach out to him, press him into a tight embrace, even as, over my shoulder, he spread it out—oh, not a handkerchief at all, but one of those big red bandanas he used when his poor nose wore him out, when even his hankies seemed too small and too fragile to stand up to the ferocity of his allergic response. I barely noticed before he crushed his nose into his hand and, uncontrollably, right next to my ear blasted out a honk that I swear nearly made my go deaf.

Of course, if that were going to happen, it would have long since happened by now.

“Oh hodey...” he said, sniffing, as he straightened up. “Hodey I’b so sorry bud by dose...”

“Shhh, shhh,” I cooed at him, guiding him into the living room and down onto the sofa. “It’s fine, darling, I understand. Your hayfever...”

“Id’s terrible!” He announced, as though every centimeter of his face was not making the announcement for him, from the downturn of his lips to his constantly working, practically buzzing nose. “Wud sec godda blow...”

He said this with banal literalness—he was going to blow his nose. And yet I couldn’t help but think that “gonna blow” seemed accurate for any and everything pertaining to his nose, which resembled nothing so much as his personal Vesuvius, a volcano always on the edge of an eruption.

He held forth with a blow that put the others to shame, or perhaps that was just me being able to appreciate it properly now, neither muffled by walls nor so all-consumingly close that its relative volume was masked. De-stuffed a bit by the blow, he continued: “I had to sneeze so badly all day, darling, you wouldn’t believe it. I hate hayfever!” He said it with conviction, so much so that I couldn’t help but hate it too, even if his hayfever, this particular specimen, also thrilled me. “I don’t know how I got any work done, always having to duck into the bathroom to... t-tuhhh... huuuhhh.... HUUUUUHHHH... HUUUUUAAAAASSSHHHOOOOOOOOO!!!”

“To do that?”

“Mm.” He replied, congested again. Our flow of conversation ebbed for the moment, making way for his great trumpeting blows, always the same pattern: a great two nostril honk, a series of cleansing blows of each nostril individually, alternately, and then a final great tickle-chasing honk. Although this time even that pattern didn’t seem to be enough. “Cad you ged me adother h-hadker... hadker... hehhHH... AAAASSSSHHHOOOOOOOOOO!!”

He didn’t have to tell me twice, though as I heard the thumping on our ceiling from our neighbor above, already fed up with his nasal exuberance, I couldn’t help but hope, for the sake of peace in our little block of apartments if nothing else, that the next cleansing blow managed to clear out some of that infernal pollen and ease his allergies some.

Although, as he heard him snuffling and sniffing, surely hunting for any dry spot left on the great bandana, I didn’t hold out much hope.

—

He’d really had a terrible hayfever day, though it did calm at least somewhat after he’d been home for a while, with our humidifier and air filters all around. He explained that he’d had to sneeze all day at work, constantly ducking into the toilets to let one loose, fighting not to blast one of his rather disruptive and distinctive sneezes in the open office. He’d sworn he wouldn’t be known primarily by his nose, not at this workplace, unlike many of his others. Even then, he hadn’t felt like he could blow his nose, not fully, not properly, even in the toilets. On the bus home, he’d fought not to explode but his hayfever was just unbearable and before he knew it he was belting out sneeze after sneeze, so loud in the enclosed space he was afraid he’d startle the driver or something. The other passengers glaring daggers at him didn’t help. So he’d walked a good deal of the way home, which only succeeded in allowing his big nose to suck up even more allergens, to drive him even crazier with the urge to blow them all out.

By that evening, his nose had largely calmed down, its outbursts coming once or twice an hour rather than every few minutes. I gave him the tea that always helped, wiped his face with a warm cloth, did my best to soothe the allergic beast inside him, the little demon of nasal irritation that took up residence in his nose—a spacious abode—that tormented him and took over him body til his whole body used all its force to exorcize the demon in a blasting sneeze or trumpeting blow. There was something nice about it, the feeling that it was we two in a battle against his hayfever. Sure, it was him on the front lines, cajoling and managing and denying and satiating his itchy nose and its allergic demands. But I was there too, supporting and assisting and fetching bandanas and grabbing things out of his hands when a sudden blinding urge to sneeze robbed him of every other thought. I liked helping him in that way. It was plain to see those great galumphing sneezes took it out of the poor man. And though he always seemed pleased, satisfied after a good strong session of blowing, that too must have required energy. He’d tried to teach me on more than one occasion, when I caught bad colds, how to blow my nose as thoroughly and authoritatively as he did. I’d gotten quite a bit better—no longer the sniffer and snuffler I was when we met—but still, I could never quite manage the sheer ferocity of his nose blowing, let alone the power, let alone the volume. He was in another category for that.

Of course, that presented its problems. And there was another area in which I could help, in which it was I instead of him on the front lines of battle: the neighbors.

Now we’d been lucky enough to escape complaints in many if not most of the places we lived, though surely his nasal exertions were audible through the walls. And to his credit, most of the year, with the exception of lazy afternoons where gave his nose free reign and let his great bellowing sneezes rip as they pleased, he kept his nose to.... well not quite a polite acceptable volume, but at least a dull roar during quieter hours. But this was our second hayfever season in this apartment. And when hayfever season strikes that nose of his, all bets are off. I thought we’d come to blows with at least two of our neighbors by the end of the season, but although we narrowly avoided that, we did have to speak to the apartment management about noise complaints. They couldn’t, of course, kick us out of our apartment over hayfever. But to keep the peace, we agreed to try our very best to keep the noise down late at night, even during hayfever season. His nose had free reign until ten pm. It would be cruel to expect anything else. But his hayfever was too severe to let him sleep sometimes. I’d been awakened, more times than I could count, with a great bellowing sneeze, a desperate, whispered apology and then a trumpeting nose blow. Half-asleep, it never occurred to him to tamp down the violence... all he could think of was chasing away the terrible itch.

So, in those moments where he awoke at night, itchy and sneezy and desperate, it fell to me. Then I took the front lines in the battle against his allergies, or at least the battle to avoid coming to blows with Mr and Mrs Cadwallader upstairs.

I suspected, from the moment I heard him coming down the way to our apartment, that tonight would end up being just such a night. So I’d taken the bandana he normally hid under his pillow and hid it under mine. If he were about to sneeze, even in half-asleep stupor, he’d reach for that, and so it was that I was awakened at 2am, not by his nose, but by his mouth:

“—Quickly!! I n-need to snehhh... sneeze!”

#snz fic #sneeze story #male allergies

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lailannajacobs · 6 years ago

Text

Roman Holiday

Pairing: Loki X Reader

Request: Could you please do Loki and reader where the reader is really sick and Loki takes care of them? :3

Warnings: Mostly fluff!

Word Count: 1.8k

A/N: Thanks for this request my lovely anon, I had a blast writing it <3 Feedback and requests are always appreciated and welcome!

You felt like crap. Complete and utter crap. You hadn’t managed to get out of bed all morning and didn’t think you’d be able to for the rest of the day. But you knew you’d have to, you really had to pee.

You heaved a breath and pushed yourself out of bed. Every part of your body ached and every dizzying step you took towards the bathroom felt as if you were walking through quicksand. You spent as little time in the bathroom as necessary, swallowing a couple pills, not bothering to look at yourself in the mirror. You didn’t need the mirror to know that you probably looked as bad as you felt.

You were trudging back to your room when you were stopped by two hands on either sides of your body. The sick haze you had been walking through made you completely oblivious to Loki, who was now looking over every inch of you.

He said something, but you couldn’t focus. You shrugged. You needed to go back to bed. He nodded his agreement, which meant you must have spoken aloud. The next step you took almost sent you to the ground, but he caught you, slinging an arm around your waist.

You had no idea why he was here. You and Loki had never quite gotten along and if you remembered right, there was something else he was supposed to be doing right now. You couldn’t figure it out. It was on the tip of your tongue.

“I’m sick.” You mentioned, just in case he didn’t know.

He ushered you along gently, “I’m well aware (y/n).”

“Then why,” you paused, pulling him to a stop with you. “Are you still here?”

“You need to get to bed,” was all he said before pulling you along.

You followed, mainly because you had no choice, your head throbbing with each step. Being sick was the worst. At least you hadn’t thrown up yet. At least you hadn’t thrown up on him. Not that you’d feel too bad about it if you did. Maybe you should. He always made your life a living hell when you were sparing, using every one of his little tricks to make your life harder. Maybe he deserved it.

You shivered.

His hand went to your forehead.

He muttered something under his breath but you couldn’t hear. You recognized that tone though. It was his disappointed tone. You would have rolled your eyes if you knew it wouldn’t give you a splitting headache. You had your damned congested sinuses to thank for that.

“It’s not my fault.” You sassed, even though you knew it could never match his tone.

He sighed and shook his head. The movement only made the world spin so you closed your eyes. Before you had any idea what was going on, he lifted you off your feet and into his arms. You wanted to fight him off but you didn’t have the energy for it. You abandoned that thought completely when you felt yourself sink into your plush mattress.

“Sleep.” he ordered.

You scoffed. “You don’t get to tell me what to do.”

He might have answered, but you didn’t hear it, you were already asleep.

“Why do I always get paired up with him?” You whined, looking around the room for any one else to spar with.

“Because nobody else wants to.” Thor laughed, winking in his brother’s direction.

Loki only rolled his eyes in response.

“And you think I want to? He doesn’t fight fair.”

“Life’s not fair. Stop wasting time.” Loki said, beckoning to start the fight.

“He’s right,” Thor dodged a punch being thrown his way, “he’ll make you a better fighter.”

You took in a deep breath and stared down your opponent. The same opponent you seemed to be stuck with every couple days when you all came down to get a little workout in. It didn’t matter that he basically ignored you if you were anywhere else in the compound. Here, he couldn’t, so he made your fights as hard, if not harder, than they had to be.

You didn’t mind it so much, other than the horribly sore body the next day. And Thor was right, he did help you become a better fighter. Only he made it clear that he didn’t like you very much. Actually, not at all. That didn’t bother you so much either. You didn’t like him much either. He was grumpy most of the time and when he wasn’t, he ignored you anyways.

He never struck first. Like the gentleman he pretended to be, he always waited for you. The longer you took, the more irritated he would get. You had tried testing his patience, hoping to get him to strike first but it had never worked out. It had only meant that your fight had been that much harder.

“Will you do something? Or are you waiting for me to die of old age first? “ Loki demanded impatiently. “Just so you know, I still wouldn’t consider that a win.”

“Oh get over it.”

You swung a dagger up toward his face. It hadn’t taken long for you to adopt his way of fighting. You didn’t bring fists to a knife fight, and you always had to assume that he’d be fighting with a pair. That was the only way in which he was predictable.

You had been holding your own until sweat was pouring down your brow. It wasn’t every day you managed to get him to work, at least a little, to keep you at bay. Your satisfaction didn’t last much longer. He fell back, duplicated himself for barely a moment, just long enough to throw your concentration, before he had you flipped onto the mat, pinned underneath him.

‘I win.” He whispered as if he had never said it to you before.

You answered, “Fine.” but you both knew it was a promise to beat him next time.

A promise he repeated. “Fine.”

You opened your eyes but everything was dark. It took your eyes a second to adjust and a second longer to realize where you were. Your throat was scratchy and dry, you couldn’t breath out of your left nostril, barely out of the right, but you felt somewhat better than you had this morning.

On your beside table was a glass of blue liquid and two tiny pills. Past that, was Loki sprawled on a chair, fast asleep. You blinked, trying to remember why he was here. Why he looked so peaceful and harmless. It came back slowly. He had helped you back to your room and had most likely brought you the little gifts on your table but it still didn’t explain why he was here. Or why he had done any of that in the first place. Your brain hurt too much to even try to figure it out.

As much as you didn’t want to put a single thing in your body, you knew you had to take the pills. You’d only feel worse if you didn’t. Popping them in, you took a large gulp of the liquid, and apparently air too, because you started choking, trying your hardest not to spit it out everywhere. You managed to swallow but were still coughing when you noticed Loki side glance at you, as if it was too much work to turn his head completely, especially that you had just woken him up from his nap.

“I don’t recommend dying. It would be a pretty mortifying way to go.” He mentioned before closing his eyes again.

“Thanks for…the…concern.” you managed between coughs.

Once you had your hacking under control, you took in a long deep breath, in and out, through the mouth. Sitting up felt like a challenge but you remained that way, not wanting to seem weak in front of Loki. Although if you were being honest, he had seen worse earlier this morning.

“What are you doing here anyways?”

He didn’t open his eyes, “making sure you don’t die.”

“Sure,” you scoffed. “Cause you did a bang up job of it just now.”

“Thank you.” He smirked.

“Why would you care if I lived or died anyways? Not that I’m going to die, it’s just a cold. A really bad cold.”

“And you’re handling it with such dignity.”

You wanted to smack him. You didn’t, only because you didn’t have the arm strength to, but you wanted to. Really wanted to. “You didn’t answer my question.”

He leaned further back in the chair, “and you sound like you’ve eaten a frog.”

You rolled your eyes even if it sent the whole room spinning, “That’s an interesting comparison. And you’d know that how exactly?”

Even with his eyes closed, the crazy smile on his face spoke volumes towards his mischievous nature. “Let’s just say that Thor wasn’t too pleased when he realized that what he had eaten wasn’t his favourite dessert.”

“I can’t believe your brother has never stabbed you.” ��You shook your head.

“Well,” his smile lessened a little, “let’s just say that I’m usually the one doing the stabbing.”

You’d gathered enough strength and threw one of your throw pillows at him. After all, it wasn’t like you did anything bad, it was in their name. “I’d like to be the one to stab you right now.”

He slid the bright red pillow off his body as if it was a dirty rag, “all this hostility even after I take care of you. How ungrateful.”

His words reminded you that you still had no idea why he took care of you all day. “You never did answer my question Loki.”

“And you never said thank you. I am missing my training today because of your,” he waved his hand dramatically. “Human illness.”

You let your body flop back onto the bed, exhausted from all the sitting.

He sat up, “what’s the matter?”

He was looking at you, with what you could only imagine was concern in his eyes. Not that you would know for sure what it looked like. Even after he spent an hour throwing you to the ground during sparing practice, he never once looked at you the way he was now. You were weirded out by it but also a little flattered.

“(y/n)?”

“I’m fine.” You said, “just tired.”

“Oh.” he melted back into the chair and closed his eyes again. “You should get some rest then.”

“Okay…” You weren’t sure what else to say. You had never seen Loki like this. “I will.”

He wrung his hands, “do.. you need anything else? If you died in your sleep, that would be mortifying for me.”

“Because my own death wouldn’t be a bad thing for me?” you shook your head, a small smile on your lips. “But no, I’m fine, thank you.”

“Do you want me to leave?” He sat up as if expecting that he should have left a long time ago.

“No,” you shrug. “I’m fine.”

“Fine.” He huffed a little laugh and settled back down.

Within seconds, you were fast asleep.

Part 2

Tags:

@lokislilcaribbeanprincess @lokixme @crescent-night @jessiejunebug @thatkidofwarandpeace @thathedonistgirl @lemonie2 @thatkidofwarandpeace @bbcsassdeadass

#Loki Laufeyson #loki #loki fanfic #loki fanfiction #loki x reader #MCU fic #MCU fanfiction #fan fiction #fanfic #marvel fanfiction

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honeybee-babe · 6 years ago

Text

Sharing is Caring (Except When You’re Sick) Chapter 7 (Sick Luther and Klaus)

Part 7 of my collab with @hargreevesstyles, sick Luther and sick Klaus, can also be read on her blog, yadda yadda yadda

bada bing bada boom

Allison made Luther drink three glasses of water before she put him back to bed, pulling the blankets back up to his chin. He was shaking a bit, and his forehead was a little bit damp, but she chalked it up to dehydration. She left the now-empty garbage bin by his side, just to be safe.

She frowned at the way Luther kept clutching at his throat and wincing, even as he drifted off to sleep. She considered giving him some more throat spray or some more cough syrup, but she decided against it. Gag reflex factor ran way too high with those, and she’d rather have him suffer through a sore throat than risk the chance of him losing any more of his body’s water content.

Then Allison thought to take his temperature again. She went to go find a thermometer. As she walked past Klaus’ room she heard Five talking to Klaus and Klaus responding with a few harsh sneezes. Allison chuckled to herself as she heard Klaus scold Five for not blessing him. So much for him getting some sleep.

Allison found a thermometer in the kitchen and then brought it back up to Luther’s room. He was fast asleep on his bed, but Allison decided she still needed to know his temperature. She slipped the thermometer through his parted lips, they were dry and cracked. She made a mental note to pick up some chapstick—Klaus’ lips had been chapped as well.

Luther’s temperature read back as 104.3 and Allison nearly lost her shit. She scrambled to the kitchen, remembering that that was where they left Diego. He wasn’t there. Allison frantically ran about the house shouting for him. As she strode past the front door she slammed into Vanya who was just returning from rehearsal.

“Oh my god Vanya Luther’s temperature is so high it’s almost the same as Klaus’ when he passed out and I don’t know what to do I can’t find Diego and Five is watching over Klaus and-“

“What the hell? Klaus passed out?”

Allison nodded, not realizing how much Vanya had missed.

“That’s it I’m canceling my lessons for today.” Vanya whipped her phone out and started sending messages as Allison lead her upstairs to Luther’s room. “How is Klaus doing? How long has it been since he passed out? Is he okay?”

“Five is in there with him, Vanya,” Allison said. She felt bad but her concern was really focused on Luther for the time being.

The two girls entered Luther’s room. Allison has helped prop him up so in case he did start vomitif again he at least wouldn’t choke on it. He was so flushed. As soon as they entered, Vanya immediately announced that she was going to get some cold compresses and as many fans as she could find to try and lower Luther’s temperature.

It was now that Allison realized how different this was to Klaus having a high temperature. Klaus was long but he was skinny as all hell and therefore it was easy to manipulate his weak or limp body. Luther however, was quite a bit bigger than Klaus in both respects. It would take all of the Hargreeves siblings to carry Luther to the bath to cool him off.

When Vanya returned with the supplies, they set Luther up as best as they could.

“Alright I think that’s the best we can do for now. We should probably leave him to get some rest,” Vanya said.

Allison hesitated. “Uh, I think I’m gonna say with him for a bit. Let me know if you need me though, okay?”

Vanya nodded and then left without another word. She walked down the hallway to Klaus’ bedroom and knocked on his door. A hoarse voice called for her to come in so she did quietly. She saw how terrible Klaus looked. His face looked...puffy, like she could see how congested he was. He was grabbing a tissue off of the bedside table as Vanya stepped farther into the room, having shut the door behind her.

“Hhietshiew! Hihhihhisshiew-hehhNXGT’uh!” Klaus smothered the messy sneezed into the tissue he had just picked up.

Vanya joked, “Wow, not even a ‘hello’?”

Her teasing caused Klaus to laugh and then clear his throat with a liquidy sniffle tacked onto the end. “Sorry,” he croaked, “hey Vanya. How was rehearsal?”

“It was okay. I was worried about you, though. How are you feeling?” She sat down on the edge of Klaus’ bed and held onto his hand.

“Been better,” Klaus said with a small sniffle, wincing slightly when it only added to the pressure in his sinuses. “But really, it’s not that bad.”

“Allison said you passed out,” Vanya said softly, squeezing Klaus’ hand. He responded with a reluctant nod and a little sigh, only to cringe and cough a second later when it irritated his throat. “Do you still feel dizzy at all?”

“No. Just really stuffed up.”

“You sound so hoarse. I’ll get you some of that throat spray."

“No, Luther said it doesn’t work, remember?” Klaus reminded her. Vanya turned her head towards the door for a split second at the mention of Luther; Klaus followed her gaze. “How is he, have you seen him?”

“He’s asleep,” Vanya said quickly, squeezing Klaus’ hand again. “His fever went down, don’t worry about him.” It technically wasn’t a lie; she just neglected to mention that it had gone back up again. She really didn’t need Klaus to be worrying about him right now, he needed to focus on himself. Thankfully, he seemed to buy it.

“Good, good. He needs his sleep… hh’Dtshiew!”

“Bless you!” An unfamiliar female voice came from the hallway. Vanya looked at Klaus in confusion, then fear. Klaus just stared at her blankly; he’d assumed it was a ghost.

“Klaus? You up?” Diego’s voice came in from the hallway. And then he was stepping into the room, followed by a woman with a low ponytail, dressed in a turtleneck.

“Hey, Diego,” Klaus rasped.

“You must be Klaus. And, um, Vanya?” the woman in the turtleneck spoke. They looked at each other and nodded tentatively. “Hi, I’m Eudora Patch. But just call me Patch”

“Hi,” Vanya said quietly, eyes darting back and forth between Diego and this ‘Patch.’

“Eudora is my friend from the police academy,” Diego explained. The woman’s face fell a bit at that description. “I asked her to help me look after you, Klaus.”

“Ha!” the woman rolled her eyes. “That’s not what happened at all.”

To Diego’s dismay, Patch explained to them exactly what had happened. When Diego woke up on the living room floor, he’d been pretty pent up about everything. He’d felt like hurting Luther and Five, an to stop himself, he’d called his “friend” Patch (though Klaus and Vanya could pick up on the sexual tension emanating off of them in waves). They had an agreement: when he got like this, he’d call her up and she’d drive him around and talk it out until he calmed down (yup, definitely just “friends”). He’d explained to her what happened, and when talking didn’t calm down his anxiety about Klaus, she’d suggested she drop by and help him take care of him. Which is exactly what they were doing.

Vanya narrowed her eyes at him, ignoring the stranger.

“So what, you don’t trust us to look after him?”

“Sorry, no. Seeing as you knocked me out earlier over a little argument, I don’t trust you to look after our incredibly fragile brother.”

“I’m not -hhh’xgchu-nxgt! fr-ackstju!- fragile.”

“Are you hearing yourself, right now?” Diego rushed over and put a hand to Klaus’ forehead. “You’re still warm -- where’s the thermometer?”

“You’re freaking out, again, Diego.” Vanya put her hand gently on Diego’s arm but he wriggled away from her grasp. “Klaus doesn’t need you panicking over him, he needs someone to keep him calm.”

“What’s her name again? Vanya? I like her--”

“Do you know how many times I’ve seen Klaus practically knocking on death’s door? You have no idea how quickly things can go to shit with him.”

“Diego, I’m fine!” Klaus whined. “Really, my fever’s gone down a lot since I passed out.”

“Since you what?” Diego’s jaw clenched.

“Diego, remember your breathing--”

“I’m gonna kill him,” he said through gritted teeth, before storming out into the hallway. “Hey, asshole! Looks like you got what you wanted, huh?” his voice carried through the hallway. He sounded scary mad. Vanya scurried off after him.

All of this action was a lot for Klaus. “Diego, don’t you dare touch him!” He whimpered and buried his head in his hands. “Ugh, why did I say anything?” he rasped. “I don’t need a murder on my hands.”

“Hey, uh. Klaus?” He looked up from his hands. Turtleneck lady--Eudora Patch, whatever the fuck her name was-- was still standing there, looking pretty damn confused. “Are you okay?”

Klaus wiped his eyes. “I’m okay, are you?”

Eudora was put off. She was used to people saying that sarcastically or defensively but Klaus seemed to be genuinely asking.

“I’m doing alright. Would you like to accompany me to find Diego?”

Klaus sniffled, “Okay, one sehhhcondhhishyiew-inxgsh’uh! Ihhnxgtchiew! Sndf, okay sorry.”

The pale boy stood up shakily and Eudora put her arm around him as she led him into he hallway. Klaus liked her. She was sweet and caring just like Diego but she knew how to calm him down and when to put him in his place. Klaus wondered why he hadn’t met her before.

They walked over to Luther’s room, following the loud sound of Diego’s voice, and they saw Luther pitched over, sneezing while Diego continued to shout at him.

“Hh’EKSHIEW! HhNXGHT-NXGHT’UH-NXGHTCHIEW!” Luther’s breath was hitching wildly. He was clearly trying to hold his sneezes back but even the stifles were loud.

Diego growled, “Oh, here we go again with the huge ass sneezes. You know, I used to think Klaus was the dramatic one maybe it’s actually you, Luther. Speaking of Klaus he’s in his room trying to get some rest because of the cold that you gave him, but I think something might be keeping him up!”

Luther cried, “Ihhh-I’m not hehhh...I’m not trying t’hahhhHHrENGTSHIEW! IHHHENGT’SHUH!” Tears were streaming down his cheeks. Whether they were from the sneezing or Diego’s tormenting, no one could tell.

“Bless you,” came a soft, hoarse voice from the hallway. “He’s not bothering me, Diego. I promise.”

“I know you’re just saying that, Klaus, he’s making a racket and-”

Eudora cut in, “And he’s sick, Diego. He’s not feeling well. Stop being a bitch and maybe give him as much care as you’re giving Klaus because he’s clearly still feeling shitty. You don’t need to be adding onto that as much as you are right now. How would you feel if someone was treating Klaus like this right now?” Diego didn’t say a word. “That’s what I thought. Luther, how are you feeling, sweetie?”

Luther shrugged. Tears were still falling down his face, meaning that they weren’t just from the sneezes. Allison stroked his back softly and tried to calm him down.

“Can everyone give me and Luther a few minutes alone?” Allison asked. Everyone filed out quickly, Eudora still having her arm wrapped around Klaus as Diego joined to do the same on his other side. “You alright, Luther?”

“I didn’t mean to get Klaus sick, I swear,” Luther sobbed. “I-I didn’t mean to let Ben die either it’s just-everything is my fault and-and I don’t know how to fix it.”

Luther was getting himself so worked up Allison was afraid he would get sick again. She tried explaining that it wasn’t Luther’s fault that Ben died and Ben didn’t blame him for it and that it wasn’t Luther’s fault that Klaus got sick and Klaus knew that. Unfortunately, logic wasn’t really appealing to Luther in his current state. She tried running her hands through his hair and wrapping her arms around him--nothing worked. He was still bawling in her arms.

Then, Allison got an idea.

“Luther, look at me,” She said, tilting his head up. She looked him in the eyes. “I heard a rumor, that you felt better.”

Luther’s eyes lit up blue as she relayed the command. His sobs started to fade away over the course of a few minutes, and Luther fell asleep in her arms.

Allison knew that her statement was vague but she hoped that it would at least do something to help Luther feel more like himself again.

To her delight, it actually seemed to work. Allison tracked his fever every fifteen minutes, watching it descend rapidly each time, until it had finally reached a manageable 100.1°.

Klaus, on the other hand, wasn’t doing so well. In that time, his fever had climbed its way back up to 101.8°, and the fear of seeing dead babies kept from falling asleep again.

Diego stayed with him, checking his fever the same way (he’d bought another thermometer when he was out with Patch), and medicated him appropriately. Eudora kept him from panicking, assuring him repeatedly that his brother was safe.

She kept Klaus entertained with a constant influx of stories about all the times Diego has fucked up at the police academy. Diego remained tight-lipped and closed off throughout all of it; they could all tell there was some weird tension between them. But Klaus and Vanya both still laughed at the stories (although Klaus wouldn’t let himself laugh too hard, his throat hurt too much). They were both really starting to like Eudora.

With Luther’s fever under control, Allison spent about an hour alone with Klaus, while the others were downstairs cooking dinner. Klaus seemed to be pretty coherent and not in any immediate danger. They engaged in lighthearted chatter while she painted his nails, redoing his right hand three times when he sneezed and ruined the job. Allison was exhausted from taking care of her brothers all day. She’d handled it alone when Klaus passed out and when Luther puked his guts out, and she’d had to tend to two high fevers within hours of each other. This quiet moment was very welcome.

That was, until Klaus started whining. About his hair, of all things.

“Please, Allison.” His voice was raspy and breaking. “I can feel my curls getting all sticky and gross!”

“It’s just gonna get more frizzy, Klaus. Believe me, I would know.” She gestured at her own perfect curls.

“Please just let me wash my hair.”

“No one’s gonna see it, Klaus--”

“Dave might see it!” He pushed himself up on his elbows. “Please, I’ll be really quick-”

“No!”

Unfortunately for Allison, using her power was like a drug. If she used it once, she was bound to use it again soon. It was a hard cycle to kick.

“Please?” He pouted. Allison bit down on her lip to keep from yelling; he was really trying her patience.

“Pleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleeeeeeeeease-”

“I heard a rumor,” Allison finally broke, holding Klaus’ face in her hands so he was looking at her., “that you can’t stop sneezing.” Klaus’ eyes flashed bright blue for a second. And then immediately, his breath hitched..

“Hh - Allison, gett off me, I have to snehhh-ih? Hih-etshieww! Hahhnxgtsjuu! Heh-itschiuu!” Allison grinned; it was better than him whining. “Ugh, sorry, it came on so -hih!- suddenly… Heh! Oh fuck- hhHtdSZHiehh! ngk’tshiiu-heh! hhietshieww!” His breath was hitching wildly as he tried desperately not to sneeze. “Oh fuck, I can’t stohhekshieww! exNGTuhh! Ngxt! ehhhTD’shuu! Xngt-eshuu! Hiehh’etshuu! Ugh.”

Allison giggled. “I heard a rumor that you stopped sneezing.”

Her smile faded as she watched Klaus continue to sneeze, even after his eyes flashed blue a second time. He gasped for air in between. Eventually, it died down, but as the space between the sneezes became greater, the wheeze in his breath became more pronounced.

“ohgodicantbreathe-HxtSHiuu. Allison,” he wheezed, voice a strangled whisper. “Can you get my inhaler?”

Allison searched his drawers in a panic, but found nothing. Where the hell was it? The last time she’d seen him use it, it was in the living room.

Allison ran to the door and called down the stairs. “Diego! Get Klaus’ inhaler, quick!”

Diego was rushing upstairs within seconds, dressed in a frilly pink apron, with the inhaler in hand.

“Oh god, Klaus!” He rushed over and held the inhaler to Klaus’ mouth. “Breathe in-”

Klaus slapped his hand away. “I can - ihh…. ihhhetshiew! I can do it myself,” he gasped out, before taking a puff. Allison and Diego watched with bated breath as Klaus’ breathing started to even out. Allison didn’t realize she’d been holding her own breath until she heard Klaus let out a sigh of relief moments after taking a second puff.

“What the hell happened?” Diego had his arms crossed over his chest. He looked at Allison accusingly.

“I didn’t - he just started sneezing like crazy, and then that happened.” Her hands were in tight fists at her sides, the only sign of her guilt. She was an actress, after all. “I didn’t know-”

“Didn’t know what, that he’d had asthma all our fucking lives?” Diego hissed. “The second you heard his breathing change you should’ve called for me.”

“I’m sorry,” Allison shook her head. “I didn’t mean to-”

“Didn’t mean to what?” Diego spat back at her, coming up way too close for her taste. She backed away.

“Diego!” They whipped their heads to the door. Eudora stood in the doorway dressed in an identical apron to Diego’s, arms crossed and eyebrows raised to the man in question. “What did I tell you?”

She nodded her head towards Klaus, who was sitting up in bed with his fingers pressed to his temples, face scrunched up in pain.

Immediately, Diego shrunk back, shoulders hunching slightly.

“I’m sorry,” he said through gritted teeth.

“Come on, celery still needs chopping. See you two soon!” Diego followed her out of the room. Allison turned back to Klaus and gently put his hands down at his side. She wiped his tears with the back of her hand and stroked his cheek.

“I’m so sorry, Klaus.”

“For what? It’s not your fault I’m sick.” Of course, he didn’t remember. But Allison had still felt the need to say it.

“No, Klaus, it is my fault. I-” she looked at the door, double checking that they were alone. “You’re gonna hate me.” Klaus quirked a brow.

“What do you mean? I could never hate you, Ally.”

“Klaus, I-” she lowered her voice and looked at the floor. “I rumored you to have that sneezing fit.”

“What?” Klaus went silent, dropping his gaze to his hands on his lap. He picked at his fingernails. Finally he looked back up at her after a moment, with a raise brow. “Why, uh… why did you do that?”

Allison gulped. “You kept going on about your hair,” she explained, still unable to meet his eyes. “And I knew it would make you stop.”

“Oh.” He dropped his gaze towards his lap again, shoulders hunching. “That’s-”

“I didn’t think this would happen, I thought it would just be a few sneezes, I totally forgot about your asthma.” Allison explained, cutting him off. Klaus nodded but didn’t look up. “It was stupid, and careless, and I should have stopped it way sooner than I did. I’m so sorry, Klaus.”

“It’s okay, I forgive you” Klaus said softly, finally looking up at her again. The hurt in his eyes was obvious, though he tried to smile through it. He wasn’t so great at masking his emotions when he was sick. It just made Allison feel worse. “I know I can be a lot. I’d probably want to shut me up, too.”

“Klaus, that’s not - I just gave you a fucking asthma attack-”

“Which you didn’t know was going to happen,” Klaus smiled sadly. “I know you’d never try to hurt me-”

“But I did!” Tears were welling up in Allison’s eyes now. “It doesn’t matter what my intention was, I hurt you!”

“Well it wasn’t my intention to ruin your whole day by being a fucking invalid,” Klaus countered. His fists were clenched at his side as hot tears slid down his cheeks. “But here I am, sick as shit, once a-fucking-gain.. I-I never wanted to be such a burden.” He shut his eyes tight, sniffling back the tears. “A-and then I had to be all whiney and dramatic… who wouldn’t want me to shut up?” tears were full-on streaming now, hands pressed tight against his face as he tried to stop himself. “I don’t even know why you’re still here. I would have left me to rot.”

Klaus’ words made Allison feel even more guilty, but she had to take a moment to process them before she said the wrong thing. She was crying even more now, seeing her brother in so much pain. But she new her pain was nothing on how shitty she’d made him feel. She’d already apologized, and she didn’t want to make this about her apologizing, or about begging for his forgiveness. So she made comforting him her objective.

She sat down on Klaus’ bed and scooped him up in her arms, shushing and soothing him. He tensed in her arms, like he wanted her to let go.

“Of course I’m still here. I could never leave you, not again, Klaus, don’t you dare say anything like that to me ever again. You hear me?” Though her words were stern and commanding, her tone was soft. “You’re not a burden, you could never be a burden.” Klaus shook his head and gave another little sob. Allison responded by petting his hair, something that always seemed to calm him down. “I don’t care what Dad told you. Or what those assholes you used to date told you. n this house, you’re loved and appreciated.”

Klaus nodded and settled into Allison’s touch more and more as his tears slowly died down. After a few moments of uninterrupted crying, he finally spoke up in a shaky voice, “You wanted to shut me up. You yourself said I was being annoying.”

“Yeah, you were!” Allison ruffled his hair. “You’re allowed to be annoying, you’re sick! And you’re my brother, it’s your job. It’s my job to tell you to shut up.” Klaus made a noise that sounded like a laugh, but it came out like more of a snort due to the crying. “The way did it was wrong, though. I just got a little frustrated, cause I’m tired -- not that that’s an excuse. But you have to know that me rumoring you was not about you. It was about me. I was being a tired, whiny little bitch.”

Klaus full-on laughed now, and even though it ended in coughing, Allison was relieved to hear it.

“You are the textbook definition of ‘little bitch,’” he teased. Allison responded by grabbing some tissues and wiping at his eyes. He snatched them away from her and rolled his eyes, sighing dramatically; that’s more like the Klaus she knew.

“I can do it myself!” He blew his nose harshly into the tissues. The crying, ironically, seemed to have helped with the congestion quite a bit. Allison made a face when Klaus blew his nose.

“Yuck.”

“Love you too, sis.” Klaus flashed her a shitty little grin, tossing the used tissues to the side.

Allison ran her hands through Klaus’ hair again. It really was nasty, all matted and sticky.

“How bout I help you wash your hair after dinner, hmm?”

Klaus chuckled. “All of that, and this is the conclusion you come to?”

#tua #klaus hargreeves #luther hargreeves #sick klaus #sick luther #klaus snz #luther snz #luther whump #klaus whump #tua fanfic #umbrella academy

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redlavendertea · 6 years ago

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let’s just fall asleep like this

@sniffle-elf won my 150 followers giveaway, and requested an erasermic fic wherein shota comes home from a mission to find his boyfriend sick with a cold. i ended up writing 1k worth of sappy, domestic fluff, because that was the vibe that was calling my name at the moment. @sniffle-elf, i hope you enjoy your prize!!

commissions | donations

“I listened to your show on the train. Were you sick, or just exhausted?”

Once Shota actually gets a good look at his boyfriend he realizes what a stupid question that is. Mic is slumped on the couch wearing pajama pants with sharks on them and a yellow Violent Femmes t-shirt. He has a tissue shoved up his nose, and another one poking out of his pants pocket. His nose is stoplight red and tinged with peeling skin, and his eyes are bloodshot and black-ringed.

Shota had just been hoping that the flat, scratchy voice that he’d used to narrate the last episode of his weekly radio show would could be eliminated with a nice long nap, but Mic is quite obviously fighting a cold.

“Both,” he rasps, then immediately starts coughing into the crook of his elbow. The fit seems to have irritated his sinuses, because after that his eyes lose focus and his nose begins to twitch. “Sh…shota, you n-need to either…heehhhh…use your q-quirk or…hhahh…plug your ears because I’m going to…hha-AH—”

Not needing any further instructions, Shota activates Erasure to keep Mic from destroying both of their eardrums.

“Eghh’kkCH! Heh’SHHCH!” The sneezes are loud, but since they aren't infused with his Voice quirk, they aren't dangerous. They do sound painful though - and congested. Shota hands Mic a few tissues out of the box on the coffee table, which he takes as soon as he’s done cleaning up the one that fell out of his nose.

Blowing his nose appears to take effort - each attempt triggers a flurry of coughs, and when he’s finished he seems just as stuffed up as he was when he started.

Shota makes a quick stop in his bedroom to change out of his hero uniform and into sweats, then sits down next to Mic and lets him lean against him until he gives up on leaning and just falls into his lap. “Sorry,” Mic rasps as Shota starts rubbing his shoulders. “You just cabe home from a missiod. Snff. I should be the one doing this for you.” “It’s fine. The mission wasn’t that difficult, it was just long. I don’t need anything except to sit on the couch with you.”

Mic replies with a sneeze, which he just barely manages to catch in a tissue.

“Did you go to work today?” asks Shota, clapping his hand to Mic’s forehead. It’s worryingly warm. Knowing Mic, he’s taken no time off whatsoever to contend with his cold. He already knows that he hosted his Friday night radio show. It’s Monday evening now, and the likelihood that he’s spent the whole weekend doing everything except rest, and then spent all of Monday teaching is high.

Mic has a tendency to run at full speed until he collapses, because there’s always something that needs doing in one of his three jobs, and he thinks that Monster Energy is a suitable substitute for sleep. In addition to his tissues, he’s also surrounded by student essays and notes for next week’s show, which implies that he’s been working.

Mic surprises Shota by telling him between coughs that he skipped teaching for the day.

“You don’t seem to be getting much rest, though - you're still working.” “I can’t fall too far behind, you kdow that. But I had to stay home…I feel horrible…I don’t think I could focus on teachidg—hhghhSKK!” He catches that one with his elbow, then reaches vaguely for the tissue box before Shota grabs it for him. This time, his nose issues a high-pitched squeak as he tries to clear it. “I’b too tired to avoid activating my quirk when I sneeze, and I’b ndot trying to deafen the students—ashhIEW! Snff. Ugh. Thanks for erasing that.” “It’s mainly for my own benefit - I’d rather have dry eyes than have my ears bleed.” “Yeah, but it’s still nice of you—hgh-SHH!” Mic groans, slings his arm across his eyes. “That one made my head hurt…” “I’m sorry.” Shota leans over and kisses Mic on the forehead, then sits up and starts smoothing his hair. “Were you sneezing this much while you were doing your show?” “A little, but I was only just startidg to cobe down with this then - it got bad toward the end though. I had to cut a whole monologue I’d planned so I could have a sneezing fit off-mic. SNNFF. Ugh, sorry, that was gross.” Mic cups a hand over his nose, which has begun to drip. He blows his nose again, then whimpers at the pain. “My throat is so sore…” he says. “I’ll make you some tea in a few minutes,” says Shota. “I’m sorry you're not feeling well.”

“It’s not your—hhEHHH’KCHH! ASHIEW!” Those sneezes are piercing - Mic has been relying on Shota to keep his quirk at bay, and Shota had neglected his duty. It takes a moment for his ears to stop ringing, but when then do he notices that Mic is sitting up and flailing in frantic apology.

“Not your fault either,” says Shota.

“N-no, that one was. Snff. I can control my own quirk, I just wasn’t doing it out of laziness. Snff.”

“Not laziness - you just told me you were too tired to do it. You’re sick, and I’m perfectly capable of doing this for you. I spaced out for a moment, which is my mistake, not yours.”

Mic is too busy coughing to reply, so Shota starts rubbing circles on his shuddering chest until he gets his breath. They shift so that Shota is laying on the couch and Mic is laying on top of him, and both of them are covered in the cat-patterned throw blanket that had been hanging over the couch’s back.

Though Shota had originally intended to make Mic some tea and order some dinner for the two of them, his boyfriend’s face is now pressed against his chest, and his congested, labored breathing is starting to slow down.

“I’b falling asleep but I don’t want to…” Mic mumbles. “I still have work to do, and I really did want to do sobething for you when you came back. I should at least stay awake for more than five bid…bidutes…hhhnSHH!” That last sneeze explodes into a tissue that Shota grabs just in time to catch it. Hero reflexes come in handy for more than one reason.

“It’s okay,” says Shota, kissing the top of Mic’s head. “You can do the work later, and I don’t need anything except for you to take care of yourself. I’m tired too, so let’s just fall asleep like this.”

After the used tissue onto the pile on the coffee table, Mic nods his agreement.

#sickfic #sneeze fic #natto fics #er/aser/mic #congestion #sneezing #fever #coughing

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ladyginoza · 6 years ago

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I saw your reply to another anon about how to keep your nose from becoming irritated during a cold and I wonder if you have any other tips. I noticed you worked all week with your cold while I can barely get out of bed. With your pic you just posted, you seem to have gotten rid of that cold really fast. Next time I get a cold, I'll try it.

I guess I can do that :)

So here’s to how I deal with a cold.

The moment I feel the first symptoms of a cold, I don’t wait until it becomes worst. I got get myself cold medication and start taking them immediately.

Step 1 - Cold Medication

Tylenol Cold & Flu is what I go for. I got for the 24hr convenience pack so I have daytime tablets and nighttime tablets.

What I love about this is that I don’t get any aftertaste like cold syrups and the find it is much better.

The Daytime tablets help to control fever, nasal congestion, dry cough and the various aches and pain that cold give you. The daytime allows you to go on with your day. When I have a cold, I take two in the morning which is 6h00 am and I take two more around 11h00-11h30 and I’m fine until I get home and I can take the nighttime tablets. Every time I would take cold medicine, I’d have to take more within two hours and it barely did anything to ease any of my symptoms and the taste just made me more sick.

The Nighttime tablets help to control the same things as the daytime tablet but it also helps with runny nose and helps you fall asleep so you can sleep with a cold and not have to get up every 5-6 minutes to blow your nose. The nighttime tablets are a gift from god when you’re cold leaves you tired and you just want to sleep. The nighttime tablets will give you just that.

Step 2 - Cold Aid

Everything is always better in combinations. Some uses dehumidifiers when they have a cold and they do help people but I can’t use them. The added humidity makes me choke and it just makes my symptoms worst.

One cold aid I use is HydraSense Gentle Mist. For a cold, I recommend only using the gentle mist and not the ones that give a harsher spray. It will do more harm than good. And, I know it is tempting but don’t choose the one with eucalyptus. Although it makes sense to use that one, only use it if you have a sinus infection.For a simple cold, the gentle mist will work just as well.

HydraSense helps to clear up your nasal canals so you end up blowing your nose less often. It also helps to open up your nose when it becomes congested so you can breathe.

I love using HydraSense when I wake up in the morning and then when I come home from work. I use it again after I showered and one last time before going to bed.

Using HydraSense helps to prevent Sinus Infections since the mucus is able to come out from your sinuses. Also, by using HydraSense, you also help the mucus to come out which means you end up swallowing less of it which in time usually leads to bronchitis or pneumonia.

The last thing you want is bacteria to linger into your mucus and grow and then it turns into an infection.

Another cold aid I use is Vicks Vaporub. I absolutely love this ointment to death. It helps to ease coughs and nasal congestion but I have a preference. I love the one with lavender in it and I will explain why later.

I use vicks vaporub in a few ways. If you’re like me, you can’t sleep with socks on but putting vicks under your feet helps when you have a cold. Why it helps? I don’t know but it does so what I do, after I took my shower I put vicks vaporub under my feet and put my socks back on and although I don’t go to bed right away I can already feel it working. I can breath better and since the vicks I prefer to use as Lavender in it, the scent is calming and is a great way to start when preparing to go to bed. ~P.S, vicks also makes your feet super soft so if you so happen to have cracked heels and simply terrible feet, use vicks. You’ll thank me later.

When you go to bed, you can remove your socks. It’s not going to mess your sheets since most of the vicks got absorbed into your feet and your socks so you’ll be good.

I also put vicks on my chest and neck and when I mean chest, I mean near my collarbone. I wouldn’t put vicks on my boobs. Not like you’d need to anyhow but for the guys, no need to put vicks on your man boobs. Just around your collarbone and neck will suffice. Don’t forget that your boobs have sensitive glands and vicks vaporub will get absorbed into your skin so you don’t want it to be absorbed in your boobs when sensitive glands are located so yes that means don’t put it under your underarms. It won’t help to stock hair growth and yes I’ve heard people suggest that to others. Don’t do it.

And lastly once you’ve used your HydraSense before bed and all. Put a thin layer of vicks vaporub on your nose where it is reddish and apply a thin layer on your lips. Don’t put vicks inside of your nostrils no matter how tempting it might seem. Just don’t do it.

Step 3 - Bedroom Temperature

This should be a given but some people still don’t know this but you should sleep in a cool room and not a warm room. When you have a cold, it is often tempting to raise the temperature but that is a terrible move and will only disrupt your sleep.

The higher you raise the temperature, the dryer you make your room and the lack of humidity will be a real bitch. The ideal temperature in your bedroom should be between 60°F and 67°F.

When I have a cold, I lower my bedroom to 60°F instead of my normal temperature of 65°F. This allows my body to drift far better into sleep and I don’t wake up in sweats which then makes it worst when you have a cold.

Step 4 - Food

Food is the most important part to recovery and the first thing people think of when they have a cold is chicken noodle soup. Although chicken noodle soup is good for you, it won’t cure your cold. The only thing that chicken noodle soup will do is help to loosen up mucus and that is it.

What you want to do is fill up on vitamins from vegetables and fruits. When you have a cold, you should eat mostly vegetables/fruits and meats such as chicken and fish. You don’t want to eat pork and no it’s not because of religion. Pork tends to be a dry meat and the last thing you need is something dry to irritate your already irritated throat. And besides, chicken and fish will give you the nutrients that you need way more than pork when it comes to colds.

When I have a cold, I try to eat my vegetables raw as much as possible since this is the state they hold most vitamins.

Speaking of vitamins, I recommend taking a vitamin C and D supplement. You can get chewable vitamines that contain both C & D in the same bottle. These vitamines together will help your system to fight off the cold virus.

Make sure you keep yourself hydrated and here is where your chicken broth should come in handy. Drinking chicken broth throughout the day will help a lot and you want to replace all the liquid that your body is getting rid of and yes mucus as disgusting as it might be is still liquid that needs to be replaced. So keeping yourself hydrated is key to help shake off a cold much faster.

My chicken broth I drink is chicken broth mixed in with turmeric and crack pepper. Turmeric has antibiotic properties and also helps with inflammation which helps a lot when you have a cold.

Step 5 - Rest

It might seem like a no brainer but rest is very important when fighting off a cold. In my case, I only work behind a desk answering calls so it’s not demanding physically which is the only reason why I didn’t call in sick. For people that work physically for a living, sometimes it is best to take a sick day to get some rest.

And that’s about it. I hope that helps.

#Anonymous

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softsnz · 6 years ago

Text

Carry On One [1k]

A/N: This is my first fic here, featuring Simon Snow and a very kinky Baz from Carry On by Rainbow Rowell

Baz pressed his fist to his nose, trying to hold back a sneeze yet again. He’d just wanted to smell nice- was that too much to ask? Although he couldn’t get sick (luckily, his body was incapable of hosting germs), his allergies could give him a hell of a ride. He sacrificed all the time saved from his lack of physical illness to his wired immune system. It assumed everything was a threat. One of the downsides of having as sensitive of a nose as he had was that anything could (and would) set it off. Other than animals and pollens, which his undead body recognized as natural companions of decay- a whole lot sent him into sneezing fits. He’d learned to keep his room dust-free, take antihistamines before interacting with the heavily-perfumed Agatha, and to smell any shampoo or cologne before he bought it. Unfortunately, he’d forgotten that Simon didn’t adhere to the last rule on that list.

Baz had been in the shower about a half hour before and, upon realizing his shower gel had run out, had borrowed some of Simon’s. Baz wasn’t as cautious with soaps as with other products, because the damned stuff was meant to rinse off. The average bloke would be done smelling his soap after he’d exited the shower. But Simon was Simon, so of course he’d ended up with a bottle of ridiculously-packaged, heavily-scented crap from some multi-million, macho-man brand that, Baz had found, set his nose on fire. It easily substituted as a full-on cologne, even well after the shower, but he didn’t realize that until it was too late. Thankfully, Simon wasn’t home to witness the mishap in-the-moment, but he’d showed up before the aftermath was taken care of. He’d just walked in the door to a fully-clothed, groomed, and dry roommate, who’d, upon Simon’s arrival, tossed a tissue into the bin suspiciously fast.

Baz did not want Simon seeing this ridiculous reaction of his, it’d be mortifying for a million reasons. Simon found a way to poke fun at just about anything, Baz didn’t doubt he could find a way to taunt him for an allergic reaction. Although Simon’s teasing didn’t tend to be genuinely mean, Baz did not want to hear it about anything related to sneezing. Hearing about the s-word was uncomfortable in general. He cherished his inability to blush at times like these. Of course, hearing anyone talk about your uncommon, secret kink without their knowledge of it being so isn’t fun, but hearing your roommate, sworn enemy, and crush talk about it, much less, tease you about it, was just about as bad as things can get.

So, Baz was sitting stiffly on his bed, lusting for the box of tissues on his night stand. Usually, he’d greet Simon with some casual and biting remark, but today, he couldn’t- all of his effort was being put into trying to keep a straight face and ignore the persuasive prickling in his nose.

“What?”

Baz blinked, returning his attention to the world around him. Snow was staring him down with those worried puppy-dog eyes, the ones he dawned when he feared Baz was up to something. Baz scoffed at those eyes a lot.

“What’re you looking at?” Simon said, wiry eyebrows furrowed.

“Nothing,” Baz said dismissively before looking away.

Simon rolled his eyes as he turned away and began to unload his backpack.

Baz began to rummage through his pack as well, eventually choosing a simple piece of work, easy to direct only half his focus to while the other half was focused on not having a sneezing fit.

Baz couldn’t exactly excuse himself to go for a walk, it was past Watford curfew, all students had to be in their dorms. The Mage had been cracking down on rules and regulations lately, considering the humdrum and the chosen one just about ready to explode.

Baz, cross-legged on his bed and vacantly scribbled answers onto his paper, pausing every so often to squeeze his eyes shut and press his tongue to the roof of his mouth, attempting to will away the intense tickle invading his sinuses. It didn’t take long for his nose to start running rather heavily. He looked to Simon who was sat at his desk, peacefully typing away on his laptop with his back to Baz, headphones in, faint music leaking out into the room. Relieved that his roommate couldn’t hear him, Baz sniffled and scrunched up his nose, pressing a tissue to it, pinching as gently as he could. It didn’t help the tickle at all, only caused it to spike. His eyes shut as he weakly fanned a hand in front of his face, a last-ditch effort to quell the inevitable. Simon would hear him if he launched into a fit, but he probably wouldn’t register one sneeze if it was stifled well. Done very, very-

“H’ishew! T-T’shu! Hitxx! H-huh…,”

Carefully.

Baz froze and watched Simon for any signs of recognition, but he didn’t seem to notice. Baz sometimes forgot others didn’t have as sharp of senses as he did, and he didn’t know exactly what volumes humans could and could not hear. Maybe he’d overestimated Simon’s ability for once. Baz wasn’t relieved for long, though. His pissed-off immune system wasn’t done with him yet.

“Fu-huuh… fuck,” he whispered under his breath as the itch, once again, overtook him. “Ih-…! Ishoo, tchoo, t’chxx! H’ichx! H’atchxew!”

Simon, as far as Baz could tell, still hadn’t caught on. If he had, he wasn’t acknowledging it. What was he going to say to a vampire? ‘Bless you?’

“Hih-eshhu-!”

Baz couldn’t hold back anymore. The stifling had irritated his nose twofold. His eyes were teary, and the need to sneeze was undeniable.

He slid off of his bed and in the bathroom, shutting the door as gently as he could. He turned the shower on as background noise, hopefully that’d help a bit. It’d also give him an excuse to occupy the bathroom for a while, unbothered.

“Hih-hiheshh! T’eshu…! … ah—atchxx! T’hishew, hishew!”

He panted a bit, sniffing hard and grabbing a generous amount of toilet paper to blow his nose on. He winced at the sound- his nose was both terribly congested and leaking onto his lip.

“Hih-… huhishu!”

Baz pressed the toilet paper to his nose, perching on the toilet to wait for the next round to grip him.

His stomach dropped as a soft knock sounded on the door.

“Baz? Are you alright?”

Baz sniffed miserably and took a deep breath, “yes, I’m ah-…. Alright,”

“You don’t sound very ‘alright,’” Simon said skeptically.

“I am. I’ve just got… um, allergies,” Baz winced at the sound of his own congested voice.

“God, to what?” Simon said, his tone a mix of amusement and nearly empathetic concern.

“Nearly everything,” Baz mumbled, more to himself than to Snow, “T’chx! God…” Baz sniffed cautiously. He seemed to be nearly done. He’d be stuck with a sniffle for a while, but he was nearly done sneezing.

#c/arry o/n #my fics

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