#but I’m recovering from a fever and I’m out of breath and I’m gonna post this and lie down instead lmao

[kidovna]

Mike and Will, 1999

[jimmyandthegiraffes]

for the wip ask meme: "WIP sweet revenge" sounds like a more than good bet for being starsky & hutch fic, so i'd love to hear about that! 👀

helloooo tysm!!!! u r correct it is s&h!!

so i actually dont rly know where im going with this fic but it's set in the weeks and months following sweet revenge, based on an idea a friend of mine and i talked about many years ago of hutch getting sick while starsky is recovering. i'm sure it's been done to death haha but i'm a sucker for this shit.

“The world ain’t gonna end because you’re sick for a week, Hutchinson. Not if you’re sick for two weeks, a month.”

“You sure?” Hutch rasps. If he could sound flippant, he would, but he sounds deadly serious.

He also sounds awful, and Starsky tells him so, to his face, bluntly. “You look like crap, and you sound like crap. The world can take it.”

“I’m sorry,” says Hutch. “I didn’t mean to – ” When he tries to sit, Starsky pushes him back down. He’s grateful that Hutch doesn’t resist too much – if it came to a contest of strength, Hutch would still win, even as sick as he is. Starsky’s not up to wrestling, but Hutch has seen enough in the last few months to know the cardinal rule of this game: no engagement Starsky can't match.

There's a lil snippet! The fic focuses on Hutch's feelings of responsibility, and his fears of failure and inadequacy, and Starsky's feelings of frustration and exasperation - mostly good-natured (Hutch is silly).

bonus also from survival WIP which is my other s&h WIP from that list:

When he wakes, he’s not sure that he has. There’s blue sky and it’s fuzzy at the edges. His head throbs and he can feel his heart beating, fast and fevered, in every part of him. There are black spots dancing in his vision, and he blinks hard to try and clear them away, but instead they come into clearer focus. They’re buzzards, far off, high in the warm air-currents. Buzzards. Hutch lies still and tries not to feel fear. Struggling makes the claustrophobia and the heat and the pain and the dust and the thirst crush him downwards, like being buried alive. He breathes, in and out, over and over, and watches the buzzards. They’re a long way off, just specks in the sky, really. Just specks in the sky. He was going to think about death. He was going – Starsky is going to find a dead body. He can’t call anything much to mind. They didn’t know, you don’t know, nobody knows who he is or where he is or what he wants. Help me, I’m going to die here. I’m going to die. The buzzards are black spots, they’re specks in the sky. There were thousands of them. They were living in tents. Sonny is gone. The war is over.

idek what to say abt this, I wrote it I think winter 2021 and I keep trying to find the inspiration to finish it. it's rly just a thinly veiled excuse for me to write in my fave theme - characters who for whatever reason (in hutch's case dehydration and pain) experience a disruption or abstraction (permanent or temporary) in their normal thought patterns, which creates a perfect crucible to explore a scene on a deeper level through a character's distorted viewpoint. smth about looking at something sideways to see it more clearly - when a character is somehow in an altered state it can be easier to tease out interesting threads from them

but anyway i loveeeee the radio thing that hutch is listening to as he's driving at the beginning it rly stuck w me and i wanted to find a way to have it stick in hutch's mind too even if he's not paying attention to it consciously

pick a WIP from this list and send me an ask and I'll post a snippet or share smth about the fic!!

[whump-ghoul]

Whump Month #3 ��Infirmary’

Day 3 of @cirrus-ghoulette's whump month!

Summary: After a small crisis, Marlowe visits the infirmary in hopes of sneaking away with some bandages. However, he wasn’t expecting a certain ghoul to be there. 

Using this day to finish off a chapter of an unposted fic starring my Bishop OC Marlowe!

Tags: Aether/Marlowe / Angst / Original Male Character / Hurt/Comfort

Content Warnings: Depictions of Self Harm / Depression / Burns / Blood - PLEASE DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE UNCOMFORTABLE WITH THIS

For me, this is just a cathartic way of dealing with stuff. 

WC: 1399

The night shift at the infirmary was no fun, that’s what Aether had decided within his first few months of being summoned.

Now, years later, he still despised the long, arduous shift of little meaning or action. Sometimes there’d be the odd drunk sibling arriving after a stunt gone wrong, or to recover from their overindulgence, and even more rarely: a fever that required immediate intervention. 

It had been months since the last event, and since taking over this shift from another sibling who was otherwise ‘incapacitated’, Aether had already gotten through every task his routine allowed. He’d arrive, check any patients left from the day (none), check the supplies (apparently things were going missing), check the order lists, tidy whatever mess was left about and then return to his desk for hours of reading. He was nearly as well-read as Cirrus at this point.

To a degree, he wondered just why he was posted at the infirmary. Though it was likely someone to do with the clergy bothering to learn little of their essences and hobbies. Again, Mountain would have been better suited; he was responsible for a lot of the tinctures and balms and herbal remedies lining the medicine shelves of the small infirmary… though Aether figured it had something to do with the giant's lack of bedside manners and tall build. According to a drugged up Sister of Sin, Aether was far more palatable to wake up to. The memory crinkled his eyes from a smile as he tried to focus on his book; a historical fiction novel he’d ordered from one of those online second-hand stores. Every month or two, himself, Cirrus and Mountain scrolled through endless pages until they found something new to read, as there was only so much entertainment on offer at the Abbey grounds. 

Yet something set him on edge, and had his mind wandering.

Marlowe. 

The exhausted Bishop who smelt of blood, spirits and pain - the man that wore the weight of the world on his shoulder-

-came stumbling through the door, stopping like a deer in the headlights as soon as he saw Aether’s eyes on him. 

His heart rate was dangerously high, his breathing labored and every movement had him wincing in pain. Aether paused behind the check-in-desk-turned-nurse-station.

“Marlowe.” He said blatantly, knowing he had to play this very gently if he didn’t want the man to flee like a spooked cat.

“Uh- hi- hello.” He slurred, caught between eyeing the door and the cabinet where the bandages were kept. He was dressed in plaid pyjama pants, a hoodie and socks. His hands were jammed into the front pocket: the metallic scent of blood wafted from one dark sleeve. He gulped. 

“What can I help you with?” Aether offered, brows pinched in worry. He seemed out of it; a sweat breaking out on his forehead. His papal makeup, not yet removed, had been smudged with what Aether hoped weren’t tears.

“I- I- need- I need- shit.” He ducked his head, obscured by the large hood as he stammered and shifted on his feet. Aether quietly got up and moved towards one of the old beds. 

“Hey, it’s alright. Can you come and sit down? You look like you’re gonna pass out.” 

“M’ no, no It’s s’fine.” He slurred, shaking his head as he stepped against the wall, he nearly lost his footing on the way. At this, the ghoul strode towards him, stopping a short distance away. 

“It’s fine. Sorry, I’m-“ Aether just had enough time to catch him as he listed forward, face ashen. He brought Marlowe to his broad chest, he was awake, but unaware and compliant. The quintessence ghoul couldn’t help but smell the alcohol on his breath. 

“Just breathe through it, Marlowe. C’mere, I’ve got you.” Aether prompted, smoothing his hand down the bishop's bony spine. 

“Come and sit down?” He asked, adding the next with a grin: “It’ll be comfier than passing out on the floor.” 

After a moment of consideration; where he looked to and from the door a few times, Marlowe shrugged off Aether's hand, and shuffled over on socked feet, just about able to remain upright as he perched on the edge of the bed. He was not about to allow himself the luxury of laying down as his heart was still racing; his right leg shaking up and down as he barely suppressed his panic. Wordlessly, Aether pulled a chair over to sit in front of him. 

“I smell blood, Marlowe.” Aether pushed gently, holding a hand out. “Can I see?” 

“It- I can do it myself - I just need some bandages - please.” 

Tears were dripping down his face. He shook as though in the throes of shock, and Aether was concerned he actually was. 

“You know I can’t do that.” Aether pressed gently, placing a stilling hand on the bishop's bouncing knee, though his whole body continued to tremble. 

“Please.” Marlowe’s voice was barely above a whisper; a hint of alcohol on his breath. 

“Hey.” The ghoul responded in an equally-as-small voice. He didn’t continue until Marlowe made fleeting eye contact with him. The poor man was exhausted. 

“You looked after my pack, right?” He said. “Sunny told me you offered to finish their job because they were feeling unwell. You also took a beating for us when those siblings got too harsh with their words. You made Swiss feel better when he was struggling to practice… hell you even passed out after summoning Infernal Essences for the abbey ghouls. You work yourself to the bone; we hardly see you eat or even relax. I’ve only heard pieces of what you went through but you don’t have to do it alone. You don’t have to seek out self destruction, I promise. 

You look out for my pack, so let me look out for you.” 

Aether held his hand out again: “I promise it’s okay.” 

A minute later, Marlowe held his arm out, and the ghoul internally rejoiced. Aether took the skinny appendage in his large hand and carefully pulled away the leather glove Marlowe insisted on wearing. He then pushed the sleeve of his hoodie up. What he saw gave him pause. 

Deep, poorly-healed burn scars covered his arm from the back of his hand, all the way to his upper arm. Pink and pale mottled flesh pulled across muscles and tendons; sections of pale skin broken and separated like dried mud in summer. Along the scar were further cuts. One freely bled beneath a wad of tissue taped to it; cut too deep as other small ones, haphazard in their placement, beaded blood to the surface. White scars lined the mottled flesh, running from the wrist to beyond the bunched sleeve. 

Marlowe didn’t say anything, his drooping eyes cast to a point beyond Aether as he struggled to stay awake. 

Silently, Aether got to work. First pulling a pair of vinyl gloves on, and preparing the bandages he’d need. He carefully peeled away the makeshift plaster from Marlowes skin, noting the disturbing lack of pain registration. He worked as quickly as possible, yet kept his touch gentle. He apologized when Marlowe hissed at the antiseptic wipe and the accompanying butterfly bandages, but offered praise as he passed rolls of bandages over his arm. 

“There.” He hummed, taping down the last of the wraps. His touch lingered, offering a light pulse of quintessence energy to promote healing, yet this only exhausted the Bishop further. 

Throughout the ordeal, his shoulders shook and his chest heaved with the effort of keeping his tears to a minimum. Aether looked at him with sad eyes; reaching up to cup his stubbly chin in his calloused hand. It was a silent plea for Marlowe to open up, but the bishop had desires of further clandestinity. 

“How long?” Aether asked. Marlowe shook his head. Too long, then. 

“No one was supposed to see.” Marlowe rasped, in a voice so petulant and timid. He dipped his head to one side, embarrassed. The quintessence ghoul took that as his queue to pull up the hood and roll down his sleeve, for the first time he was at a loss at what to do.  

“Just… please don’t tell anyone.” He sniffed, and despite his better judgment, Aether knew he had to make a promise. 

“I won’t.” He said sincerely, brushing his thumb across the bishop's cheek. “I promise.”

[polizwrites]

PoliZ’s WIP Update - 25 Oct 2023

Another busy week, but some good progress - I touched 4  fics (2 WIP & 2 new works)  for a total of  2089 words.

On Ao3, I posted: 

Chapter Six of  A Sugar-Coated Pill  - No Powers Sugar Daddy omegaverse  with Alpha!Amputee!Bucky & young!omega!Tony finally getting together for Bucky’s rut.  

On Tumblr I posted: 

 Carving Out Time Together - Avengers Tower one shot with recovering!Bucky and Tony. 

Cutting the Strings - Avengers Tower  one shot with recovering!Bucky and Tony spending time together.  

I have  19 semi-active WIPs  😬 with my  current  deadlines being Halloween Horror Bingo and the Fictober/ Flufftober/ Whumptober prompt challenges that all wrap at the end of the month.

See  below cut for what I’m working on/planning to work on - arranged more or less by bingos/challenges/etc.  As always, feel free to send me   prompts or plot bunnies as well as asks regarding  any of these projects  or any other WIPs I’ve got out there.   Interaction really helps feed the Muse and keep me motivated!

Seek & Destroy Collab

After reading @psychiccatpanda‘s amazing   Morguna and the Green Queen, I  got the itch to explore the Soldier’s POV and talked  Faustie into   collab’ing with me!  We’re working on a new part of the series, and I’ve  contributed about 900 words towards the  2500-ish we have so far.   Going to see if I can squeeze any of my BBB squares into this fic.

Halloween Horror Bingo - [HHB_23] (Ends 31 Oct 2023)

Just signed up for this event, hosted by @halloweenhorrorbingo. After picking three horror films, you get a 3x3 card (with 3 alternates) with prompts based on those films.  Gonna see what I can squeeze in over this last week!  

* B1 - Dealing with Extreme Cold  - seems like a good match with my BBB Cold   and or SVB Last Resort  square along with Whumptober: Thermometer  & Fictober "It's not too late, let's go."

* B2 - Getting Blood Samples  -  this could squish into  the  Werewolf!Tony fic I’m working on, featuring  Howard Stark’s A+ parenting  (and found family).  Currently sitting at  741 words 

* B3 - Dealing with an Extraterrestrial   – I might whip up a drabble with the Avengers  interacting with Rocket and/or Groot.  

Fictober/Flufftober/Whumptober - [FFWtober_23] (Ends 31 Oct 2023)

I’m lumping these three prompt challenges together as I plan on mixing and matching with a goal of using at least four prompts from each list by the end of the month for a total of 12 prompts.  I’m still  behind at only seven  used so far, but will try to get one or two more done before the end of the month! 

* Whumptober Day 2: Thermometer  see  HHB Dealing with Extreme Cold 

* Fictober Day 12: "I'm not saying I didn't like it."  Posted  a short Chapter 2  for   Caught By the Rain and Blinded by the Lightning  last Thursday as a crossover with my  TSB Pairing: Tony/Thor square; it came in at  567 words.

* Whumptober Day 15: Makeshift Bandages | Suppressed Suffering  –  see HHB  There’s something under the bed  above. 

* Fictober Day 20:  “This better be good”  and  Flufftober Day 20:   Combined these prompts with my  TSB  Holiday Fic and  WIB   Pumpkin Oct Adoptable squares and the Flash Fiction Friday prompt  By Candlelight  and  wrote     Carving Out Time Together  -  a bit of  pre-slash Tony & Bucky spending time together  making jack-o-lanterns.   It came in at 870 words and I plan to post this to Ao3 on Friday.   

* Fictober Day 23:   "No, you won't understand, ever." Tweaked the prompt a bit and combined it with my  WIB Unreliable Narrator  and BBB Never the Fall that Kills You squares for  Cutting the Strings  - where Tony intervenes a bit to help recovering!Bucky get some breathing room from Steve.  It came in at  740 words and will post on  Ao3  sometime before the bingos finish.     

* Fictober Day 24:  [melting emoji]  - combine with  TSB  "Get back in bed!"  Tony has a fever and won’t listen to his partner. Maybe throw in a little Whumptober too? 

* Fictober Day 27:   "I don't know if they will accept this."  - This could be a fun combo with TSB  T2 - KINK: Cock-blocking 'bots. 

*Whumptober #29:  Troubled Past Resurfacing | “What happened to me?”  see HHB  Getting Blood Samples above.  

WinterIron Bingo  - [WIB_R1]   (Ends 16 Dec 2023)

I have nineteen  fills completed and two WIPs for this brand-new bingo event that I’m helping mod!  Along with crossfilling against my other bingos,  I’m going to try to combine my B column squares for the Iron Soldier badge (complete a bingo with a single work). – Alpha Tony Stark, “That was not my intention.”, James Rhodes, Alpine loves Tony and Blind date.   (Tony POV remix of A Sugar Coated Pill?)

* N1 - Bucharest –  I think I can fold this into a future chapter of My Love is Vengeance -  where a young!Tony and a recovering!Bucky have been kidnapped by Hydra, who still thinks Bucky is the Soldier.  

* N4 - Unreliable Narrator - see FFWTober Day 23 

* G2 - Eye contact during sex - Posted  Chapter 6 of A Sugar-Coated Pill, last Friday,  where Bucky figures out what making love really means, with Tony’s help. It crossed over with BBB KINK: Gentle Sex and came in at 1177 words

* G4 - AU: College Students – looking to expand Beaten to the Punch with some backstory on Bucky and Tony as science camp counselors to fit with this square - will also cross over with my WFB  Volunteering Together square.  

* O5 - Gentle – use this poem  as inspiration?

* Oct Adoptable - Pumpkin  – see  FFWTober  Day 20.  

Stucky’Verse Bingo Round 1 - [SVB_R1]   (Ends 22 Dec)

Eleven fills, two WIPs and a couple of ideas.

* A1 - Harem - crossover with CABB Secret/Forbidden Relationship - Bucky and shrimpy!Steve are both concubines who love each other more than their lord. I poked at this a little for 71 words.

* A4 - Fairy Tale Curse  - this seems custom-made for a continuation of Beyond the Beast😁  Nothing written yet, other than some Vague Ideas.  

* C3 - FREE -  probably using this for Chapter 2 of   Half of the Flesh and Blood That Makes Me Whole   - a Bucky POV remix of at least the first part of Take What Was Wrong (And Make it Right), which is currently sitting at  52 words.  I’m expecting at least one more chapter, possibly two, depending on how far I want to take the remix.   

* C5 - Last Resort - see HHB Dealing with Extreme Cold 

Bucky Barnes Bingo  - [BBB_R5]   (Ends 10 Jan 2024)

I’ve got  fifteen fills,  four WIPs,   and a couple more Vague ideas.

* B2 - KINK: Seduction Mission - See SWB  Natasha Romanoff above.  

* B5 - Cold - see HHB  Dealing with Extreme Cold

*  U1 - Never the fall that kills you -  See FFWTober Day 23. 

* U3 - Fireplace -  Working on a 1980′s No Powers WinterIron fic set at a ski lodge where Tony’s being wooed by poetry and love letters that Bucky wrote to someone else.   Started poking at this as a crossover with a Love Letters prompt and it’s sitting at 129 words.

* C2 - Yelena Belova–   The plan is to use this prompt in the next chapter of Peresmešnik,  (aka Three Avengers and a Baby), which is currently sitting at 1303 words (600-ish of which are mine).

* C5 - Marriage of Convenience/Pretend Couple -  next chapter of   Lady Natasha’s Consort and Lord Steve’s Companion.    Got a spark of an idea the other day that might get me a bit further on this fic.  

* K3 - Magic -  Aro!Bucky healing with a kiss idea?

* K4 - Accidental villany - the BBB Discord party resulted in a hilarious Mob AU communal story  (mobster!Bucky & clueless!Steve plus Clint&Natasha&Scott shenanigans)   that several of us did/are going to contribute to Rashomon-style.  

Original plan was to squish this fill  into  Somewhere to Turn when I posted it to Ao3 

* Y1 - Gentle Sex – In-progress Chapter 6 of Sugar-Coated Pill- see WIB Eye Contact During Sex.

* Y3 - Alpine  - see WIB Iron Soldier combo.

* Y4 - Forgotten Things -   using this for Chapter 4 of   You Can’t Stop It With a Gun  - it’s sitting at  116 words at the moment.

* Y5 - "This might as well happen"  - see  HHB  Something Under the Bed above.

* May Adopted - Insomnia - finally got this filled with The Dead of Night, which also filled a Flash Fiction Friday prompt [#FFF211 An Old Friend] along with my JBB FREE square. It came in at 317 words and will post to Ao3 before this event ends.

* August Adopted: Take the Shot - sounds like a WinterHawk fic to me… maybe cross over with JBB Touch-starved?  Whumptober/Fictober possibilities as well. 

Tony Stark Bingo Round 7  - [TSB_R7]   (ends 15 Feb)

Fifteen   fills and one WIPs, with a couple of ideas in play.  

* S1 - Galaxy - possibly use in final chapter of   Never More to Go Astray ?  

* S3 - Pairing: Tony/Thor - see Fictober Day 12 above. 

* T2 - KINK: Cock-blocking 'bots - see Fictober Day 27 above

* T3 - A pairing you've never done - @SomeSortofItalianRoast and I are looking at collabing on a  Steve/Tony/Scott fic - possibly throw in a  Flufftober/Fictober prompt?  

* T5 - Shawarma - possible crossover with SAUB Canon Divergence – Battle of New York-related?

* A2 - KINK: Concubine - possible crossover with SAUB Gentle Dom

* A5 - Building your friends - used this for the Tony Stark Bingo Mark VII - September Round Robin - contributed 395 words to the overall fic.    

* R1 - Animal Transformation - DemonPanda shared a fun prompt on the WIB server - Tony as a short-haired werewolf who needs to cuddle his pack members for warmth.  I had a bit of inspiration this morning and wrote 322 words of flashback/backstory.  

* R5 - Doppelganger/Evil Twins -   The Flash Fiction Friday prompt [#FFF214 Broken Mirror] got me at least a good start on the idea I’ve been playing with for this square. I posted NamNori on Tumblr and have a general idea of how I want to build on it to also fill my SAUB AU: Crack square. It’s currently sitting at 360 words.

* K2 - "Get back in bed!"  -  see Fictober Day 24  above

* K4 - Holiday Fic - see FFWTober Day 23 above 

* September Adopted:  Tony/Stephen - see  Flufftober Day 6 above

Stony AUniverse Bingo  [SAUB_R1] (ends 15 Feb)

Another brand-new bingo I’m helping co-mod!   Six fills, three WIPs and several  crossover ideas already!

* S1 - Edging - Filled this with Ringing in the New, where Tony makes a suggestion to improve/change up their love life. It’s a crossover with a Flash Fiction Friday prompt: How Do You Use ‘It’? and came in at 324 words - I will post it to Ao3 before the event is over.

* S2 - AU: Crack - see TSB   Doppelganger/Evil Twins

* S3 - AU: Wings - see SVB FREE square

* S5 - Accidental Baby Acquisition - see BBB Yelena Belova

* T1 - AU: Fantasy -  CoffeeOwl shared a really cool dragon!Steve/indebted!Tony prompt in the ACB Discord server that I may be playing with for this.

* T4 - AU: Canon Divergence - see TSB Shawarma above.

* N2 - Mutual Pining - crossover with CABB Royal Knight?

* N3 - Gentle Dom - see TSB KINK: Concubine above

* Y4 - AU: Soulmates  -  @chrissihr  posted a cool idea about Animated soulmarks, where  only your SM sees your mark move - may try to do something with this!  

Captain (America) Bottom Bingo - Round 2 [CABB] (ends 28 Feb 2024)

I signed up for a 3x3 card for this bingo and have four fills, one WIPs and a couple of crossover ideas.

* A2 - Secret/Forbidden Relationship - see SVB Harem

* B3 - Royal Knight - see SAUB Mutual Pining.

Post July Break Bingo  [JBB_23p] (Ends Apr 2024)

@julybreakbingo is running another event to tide participants over with a 2x3 non-fandom-specific card - still working on  potential crossovers.

* A1 - “It’s you. It’s always been you.” - This might fit in with my TSB Doppelgangers/Evil Twins fill NamNori above :: ponders::

* B1 - Ask the neighbor if they know why your apartment is haunted  - I gotta do something with this for Spooky Month - maybe combine with TSB Old Ghosts or something off my HHB card  :: ponders:: 

* B2 - Character’s personality is split into two different beings – I’ve never played with Bucky & the Soldier being two different people, but this seems like the perfect opportunity! Will see what might be a good crossover on BBB or WIB (or even SVB)

*  C1 - Touch Starved – another good fit for a Bucky-centric fic. (Steve or Tony or Clint) possibly crossover with BBB Take the shot?

Steve Rogers Bingo - Round 3 [SRB_R3] (ends  15 Jun 2024)

Got my card and requested a few swaps - need to ponder possible crossovers, especially with SAUB, SBV   & CABB  

* C5 - Exes to Lovers  - crossover with  CABB - "B1 - "All I wanted was for you to be happy."  – Bucky or Tony as the Ex?   SAUB S4 - Arranged Marriage  might be an additional crossover  

D1 - Multiple Submissives -  crossover with  CABB - C3 - Bath/shower sex  and SAUB  Y1 - Pre-Serum Steve Rogers?   

Warm and Fluffy   Bingo  - [WFB]   (no end date)

I got my card from  @warmandfluffybingocards back in February but really haven’t done much with it  - however, I’m picking it back up for some crossover possibilities!

 * O5 - Volunteering Together – see WIB AU: College Students

————

On  other creative fronts:  I am working on a She-Hulk Stuffed With Character figure for a commission and have signed up for the Marvel Trumps Hate event – I’m offering two auctions for up to five characters each!  

If  you’re looking for one of a kind gifts for birthdays or other celebrations, check  out Stuffed With Character    over on Facebook for a full list of my designs (now over 150!).   These soft stuffed figures are  mostly Marvel and monsters, but I have some Star Wars, Star Trek, DC   and Disney figures as well. Plus I love to take custom design   requests  for any fandom!

[theodora3022]

Once upon a (fever) Dream

Relationship: Scaramouche x Reader (Gender neutral)

Summary: Scaramouche is unwell with a fever, it's your responsiblity to take care of your superior. Little did you know, overhearing his fever sleep talk would turn your life upside down.

Author's notes: I'm trying to get back into the writing groove! Scaramouche has been on my mind a lot ever since the lore of the pale flame set was datamined. If you are interested in the theory I based my fic on, one of my dear mutuals made this informative post. This is pretty tame and more of a psychological analysis more than a fic tbh.

I will not take any criticism on the theory.

Warnings: SFW, Character study-ish, abundance of internal monologues, use of swear words, hints of speculation on Scaramouche's backstory/identity, power imbalance, possessive and obsessive behaviour, trust issues(??)

"Another day Feelin' like no one really knows me It's okay At least I'm used to being lonely"

-Jake Daniels "The Show"

Scaramouche is having trouble distinguishing the dream realm and the waking world. Tch, this always happens when he falls ill.

Dreams. Stupid, meaningless things he cannot control. Scaramouche is never a fan of them. Sleeping is just a way to recharge one's energy for the following day, so why is this petty factor even a possibility? Memories mixed with random shit. Fever dreams are even worse, because he cannot force himself to wake up, and they might even allow forbidden information to be exposed.

The Balladeer seldom falls ill. But when he does...he needs some subordinates to look after him. Not that he got any other option.

Unpleasant to work with? Talks way too much? Eh, not that he cares. Scaramouche does not see the need to present himself as likeable. Like is a temporary, fragile concept compared to fear.

There was a time in his long life, he thought he was loved...the love he received turned out to be nothing more than one of his past naive self’s delusions in the end. No, it is meaningless in being nostalgic over that.

Damn this Moronic fever, stirring his mind all messy...

Fear is a better alternative, more secure and firm.

"Sir, it's time for your medicine." You knock, hesitating when there is no granting of entry from his end.

This unfortunate task: taking care of the bedridden harbinger has fallen onto you as of late. Being the newest recruit in his sector, of course, your seniors would throw this troublesome work to a rookie like you.

The optimal approach is: Do what you are supposed to do as a subordinate, sprint through the doorway once you complete your tasks. Being in his room longer than needed will only result in harsh insults. That foul mouth does not seem to know any mercy.

"Sir?" You ask again, mentally preparing yourself for the possible scolding before turning the doorknob. Letting yourself in is not a wise idea, however, this is your obligation. Lord Balladeer would be even more upset if you had brought in the medicine at the right time.

"No...Please don't...I promise I'll be-" Is that, sleep talking? Oh archons, why?

Those facial expressions are not pleasant ones. A nightmare, great.

Is there a way to unhear things? You sure wish there is. Scaramouche's life before his service has always been a popular topic of break time gossip among the Fatui. Some say he is of noble birth from that arrogant attitude, some say he comes from a peasant family, there are even absurd speculation about him being a fisherman before. However, his subordinates know better than to gossip in his presence. No rumours were ever confirmed or denied.

Who knows what he would do if the Harbinger catches you "eavesdropping". The mutterings have quiet down now, but you still have paperwork to attend to after this(that he assigned you).

"How much of that did you hear?" Just when you are contemplating whether to poke the sleeping bear or not, that menacing violet gaze has already fixated at you. Did he sleep talk? Scaramouche is uncertain. Still, it is always better to be safe than to be sorry.

At least he’s awake now, no need to wake him anymore. You said to yourself quietly. “Not much, my lord. I will forget everything as soon as possible. Now, time for your medicine.”

That scent makes Scaramouche’s stomach churns. A pot of dark goo and a plate of sugared plums, just like yesterday and the day prior. Wait, wasn’t he-

“How do I know that you don’t go whisper to your friends?”

Efficiency and resilience. Those are the two essential qualities one must possess if one wishes to remain in Scaramouche’s service. He may be a difficult superior, but his sector gets a relatively decent chunk of field missions, therefore it is easier to move up the ranks for new recruits. Who knows when you would get a promotion if you just deal with financial transactions in banks under Pantalone.

Perhaps it is sight of the oh so mighty man in such a fragile state, you are feeling...braver than usual. “My lord, what do I have to gain from gossiping?” Do you focus on unscrewing the cap of the pot, sounding somewhat amused? That unnoticeable curl did not escape his eyes.

When was the last time a recruit dared to look him straight in the eye like this? Scaramouche has no recollection. That immense headache is not helping either. Whatever, what matters now is making sure you do not go slipping off what you heard to others.

After handing the utensils and the pot to your superior, you head outside, prepared to stand in the hallway until he finishes the pot.

“Did I give you permission to leave?”

Aren’t you curious about what he is hiding? Humans love to pry by nature, right? It’s not the first time he had to dispose of those who know too much after all.

“Do you need anything else, my lord?” Of course, he’s not gonna let you off the bat that easily. What were you thinking? Deep breathes, (y/n). It’s not like he is going to electrocute you in this state.

“I wish to keep this head on my shoulders.” In an organization like the Fatui, new recruits are seen as resources that can be disposed of if needed. No one would blink an eye if you were to die of “accidental” death.

“You say that, but your eyes tell a different story.” Since when does he care about what is going in the minds of his subordinates?

“Sir, you can deal with me once you are fully recovered. Her Majesty, the Tsaritsa needs you in top condition as soon as possible.”

Gulping down the thick porridge, the little man then lied down, trying to sleep the fever away. The sensation of the quilt moving almost made him jump, he thought you had left the room already? What do you think you are doing?

Did you pull the quilt up to his chin? It’s not like he needs that cloth, but...this notion.

He’s so adorable when he’s sleeping. You thought as you walked through the door.

Did you just… tuck him in?? That is what’s that called right? Arranging the covers for someone?

You really should know better than treating your superior like some infant. However, that is not a mocking gesture. Scaramouche supposes he’ll let this one slide.

As the door shuts behind you, you hummed a cheerful melody, trying to not think about what would happen once he’s back on his feet. Hopefully, he will let you live on if you try hard enough to prove your usefulness.

You are reckless. You have no idea what you got yourself into.

He just had the perfect way to make sure his secrets remained in safe hands.

Someone else would take care of your current position. What would that leave you? Hmm, a personal assistant would be fitting for someone as caring as you. Personal, somehow he likes the sound of that already. Scaramouche had loathed the idea of having someone tend to his daily life, complete independence is a goal he always strives to achieve. Now...that idea does not seem that horrible after all. Do you even know how to brew tea? You’ll have to learn if not, and quickly too.

His past must remain a secret until the situation calls for it, that much is certain. Unstable variables should be placed under constant surveillance, and Scaramouche can only rely on himself to guard something as important as this.

(A/N: Thank you for reading this character study fic!! Relogs and comments will be greatly appreciated!)

[groovyzombiellama]

Safe Distance Sir

Title: Safe Distance Sir

Requested? Yes.

Plot: You get sick and Opie takes care of you.

Warnings: A whole bunch of fluff haha

Word count: 1009

---***---

You feel your head pulsating in pain for the hundredth time today. You close your eyes tightly, attempting to massage your forehead in a few different ways you saw online, but nothing seemed to be working. As you stood up to reach the sink to pour yourself a glass of water and take a pill for the pain, the entire kitchen began spinning that you had to sit down and wait for a couple of minutes for it to pass. It was a good thing your Old Man was in church since early in the morning, before you started feeling like the weight of the entire world was crashing down on you. When Opie called to check up on you, and inform you that he was gonna be a bit late, you struggled for a bit not to slur your words due to your brain feeling like it was gonna explode, since you didn’t want him to worry about you, but somehow you managed to convince him that you were fine and that you didn’t mind him coming home late. In fact that worked in your favor, because you could try every remedy you could think of before he came home,

You don’t get colds all that often, and you honestly can’t even remember the last time you were sick, so it was unusual to you that you felt like this. And you hated this feeling, your head feels way too large for your body, youre crushed by a heavy weight and your nose is both too stuffed and too runny. But when you did get sick, you didn’t want to seem weak and have to be taken care of. And yeah, you might have to work on that mentality and let yourself accept help from people, but as a SAMCRO member’s Old Lady, you wanted to appear tough and the most important thing was not worrying your husband. Opie has enough on his plate every single day, he didn’t need you being all snotty and gross. But with how everything was going, you knew that you were gonna come down with a fever. So you made yourself some tea and a somewhat messy blanket fort on the living room couch. Almost every single pillow and blanket Opie and you owned was used in the construction of this fort. And you planned on forbidding your husband from even entering your fort and seeing you like this.

The used tissues were pilling up in the bin you brought with you so you don’t make a mess of your house, and your breath hitched in your throat when you hear the front door opening. Even after three years of being married, Opie’s deep chuckle still managed to cause an entire zoo to erupt in your stomach, and you almost jumped out of your fort to hug your husband and tell him you missed him, but then you remembered the fact that you were sick and that your entire body was aching by now, in protest of the fever. Opie’s footsteps echoed as he got closer to your blanket fort, but he stopped in his tracks when you aimed the thermometer gun at him. “Don’t even dare! Stay at a safe distance sir!“ Again that damn zoo fluttering in your stomach as your husband chuckled once again, wondering how you can be both the most calm, collected and serious person and a childish jokster. Both sides of you woke up his will to protect you from the world either way, but seeing you with a thermometer gun in your hands, a pile of tissues in a bin next to you, looking like Mount Everest, and your figure squished between a bunch of pillows made you look so irresistable to Opie.

He has never wanted to hold you more than he has now, and that’s saying a lot, because he always wants to hold you, day in and day out. His protective instincts kicked in higher than before and he playfully threw one of the pillows, that fell too far away from your fort, but you were too lazy to go retrieve it, your way, before heading to the kitchen, smiling as you groaned at him, still hidden in your fort, to make you his famous chicken soup to help you recover. If you had energy to make all of that, and be on alert to make sure he doesn’t come closer, and get sick himself, Opie figured he didn’t need to take you to the doctor, but still held on to his keys, just in case you felt worse and he had to take you to the hospital. “I’m not gonna get sick Y/N, just let me help you get better.“ The alluring smell of the soup had your attention, but it took a fair bit of convincing to get you to exit your safe space and accept to have your husband feed you.

Just with him being here, you felt a lot better, and he even managed to convince you to dismantle your blanket fort and make a comfotable space on the couch so that you could lay back and he could take care of you, placing wet cloths on your forehead, and checking your temperature every now and a while. Opie found it hard not to smirk as you whined watching him take away all of your pillows and blankets, even though you accepted him doing this. He did everything to make sure you get better soon, even helping you take a quick shower which helped a lot to lower your temperature, and he made sure you ate as much as possible to keep your energy levels up, but also nap enough to let your body protect you the way it knows best. You made sure to shower your husband with hugs and kisses when you started feeling better, thanking him for being there for you and helping you. “I didn’t marry you just for the good times silly. I’m yours and you’re mine in the good and bad, forever.“

---***---

@small-town-wayward-daughter​ It’s finally here! I’m so sorry it took so long to make, I’m awful at time management :D I hope you like it :D

I missed having SOA on my blog, and I still have to finish a Jax fic (the 4th part) but I’ll do it soon, I’ll write it all night if I have to in breaks between sleep, but it’ll be ready to post soon!

[adorethedistance]

READING MY BOYFRIEND’S FANFICTION?? - Owen Joyner x Influencer!Reader

JATP masterlist

Requested: OMGGG!! Could you do a an Owen fic based around his girlfriend being an armature youtuber/social media influencer (shes also an actress and they met on set and have been dating for a while) and it’s “reading/reacting to my boyfriend’s fanfiction” ? You can do whatever you want with the fanfic part it’s just a concept that has been running around in my head for a while. LOVE ALL YOUR WORK!!

Warnings: swearing, allusions to sex, very mild

Words: 1460

A/N: A fic?? From Ace?? Hi. I’m off spring break officially and so my stress has dissipated immensely. School was becoming so much these last two weeks and I thought I’d be stressed or worried, but I’m actually fine? It’s weird lol so I decided I could be productive with my stress-free moment and post a little fic for y’all. I love this prompt, and before any of you writers panic, I’m using my own fics for the fanfictions because I wouldn’t want to put y’all on the spot like that. Also this is my 3000 post! thought that was cool lol

“Do you wanna do the intro?”

“I think I have to do the intro.”

“Okay, go for it.”

“Alright,” Owen sighs out a heavy breath in exaggerated preparation for my (some would say lengthy) intro. “Hello, hi. Yes, okay, this is Y/n Y/l/n vlogs, welcome or welcome back to my channel!” Once Owen finishes his statement I’m so stunned I can’t generate any sort of response other than a slacked jaw semi smile.

“That was not even close. Do you know my intro?”

“I got the first part right!”

“You’ve lost intro privileges,” I turn back to the mess of lights and tripods in front of me and ignore the disaster of an intro Owen offered. “Oh, hello, hi! I am Y/n and this is: Reading My Boyfriend’s Fanfiction!”

“That’s basically what I did.”

“No, it is not! It’s ‘oh, hello, hi. I am ‘name’ and this is: ‘title of video’.”

“You don’t ‘welcome to my channel’?” Owen’s voice has dropped to a hushed volume as he genuinely inquires about the segments of my usual introduction.

“I do not.”

“Don’t use any of this,” he pleads when making direct eye contact with the camera. “Mister Sid. Editing Sid, please don’t embarrass me.” His pleas fall on deaf ears, knowing that I’ll be using the footage in full.

“Anyways. Butchered intro aside, I am Y/n and today I am here with my lovely “So Many Stars” costar and scene partner, Owen Joyner!”

“I’m also your boyfriend.”

“That too,” I give Owen’s pointed comment a soft place to land, “So, yesterday--it was actually like, two weeks ago, I don’t know why I said yesterday--a little while back, I came across a tweet telling me someone had written a fanfic about us-”

“Did you read it?”

“On Wattpad. Of course, I read it. There are only three chapters up right now and they’re all in the 2-3k range so it was a quick read.”

“2-3k?”

“Words,” I reply nonchalantly as I unlock my phone. I bookmarked a few one-shots beforehand for us to read, and I’m slightly cocky about my selections. Owen then responds with an outburst of shock.

“2-3 thousand words is a short read?” I merely give him a blank stare.

“Judging by that reaction, Owen hasn’t read any fanfics in his life.”

“Is that not long to you- That’s what she said.” Owen cuts me off with his own stupid joke and I briefly sigh before answering.

“No, that isn’t long. Baby, I’m here for that 130k slow burn enemies to lovers on AO3 with the ‘only one bed’ and ‘locked in a closet’ tropes.”

“The what?”

“Oh, we have so much to catch you up on.”

__________________________

“So I saved three fics, an angst, a fluff, and a smut. Which do you want to read?”

“Wait, what does that mean?”

“Oh my- okay. Angst is the sad shit, it’s what you read when you need your heartbroken and a good cry. Smut is pretty much in the name, it’s explicit content that will undoubtedly get this video demonetized, but that’s okay because we do have a sponsor. And fluff is the cute moments, domestic and sometimes mundane romance that makes you smile like an idiot and put the device down to screech into a pillow.” Throughout my whole explanation, I can tell Owen was becoming more and more lost, so I opt to give him a few moments to collect his thoughts.

“Let’s start with the fluff just to ease into things.”

“Smart choice. This fic I have saved is called ‘Baby Fever’ and the summary says ‘you and Owen spend a day at the zoo babysitting Baby Shada, and her presence sparks conversation about adding a new presence of your very own’.”

“That sounds so ominous.”

“Here, I’ll read the narration and reader’s POV, and then you’ll read your own dialogue.” Owen nods and leans over my right shoulder to read off of my computer screen.

“You actually start the fic.”

“‘You ready, little one?’” The instantaneous actor mode Owen slips into has me howling with laughter at which he looks at me confused. My gasping for air makes Owen laugh empathetically despite still being unsure as to what’s killing me at the moment.

“Why are you laughing?!” He yells, dramatically shaking my shoulder.

“Just the way you jumped into that, I wasn’t prepared for you to turn on the acting charm. Okay, uhhhh, ‘I bite back a laugh when I hear Owen’s voice coo from the back seat’.”

The two of us go back and forth between reading the narrative, bouts of laughter, commentary on the accuracy of Owen’s character, and we finally manage to finish the 2.5k fic in about forty minutes.

“‘When he looks up from CJ’s tiny body and recognizes the familiar ‘baby fever’ look in my eyes, he smiles and utters a simple-’.”

“‘I told you so.’”

“That was cute! I like the tie-in of having us watching over Baby Shada- or, sorry, you and ‘y/n’ watching over Baby Shada.”

“They wrote me kinda funny, I don’t think I’d ever fabricate a life to make conversation with a stranger due to baby fever.” My jaw drops slightly and before Owen can respond to my reaction, I cry,

“That is such a lie!”

“What?”

“You absolutely would do something like that, are you kidding me?!”

“No, I would not!” Owen punctuates every word with the utmost offense. He has the same look in his eye as when he was proving himself to be the cleanest phantom of the three on the Sunset Drive podcast.

“You literally told the guy at Home Depot yesterday that we were buying plants for our child’s nursery!”

“Okay, that’s different-”

“How is that different? That’s the exact same thing as fanfic you!” Owen’s furrowed brow and dropped jaw are a sight to be seen as he leans away from me, bending at the waist to stare at me with defiance. I raise my eyebrows pointedly as I await a response. Instead of actually producing a response, Owen lunges forward, grabbing my waist in his hands and squeezing gently. The feeling makes me screech and gasp of laughter from surprise and also being ticklish.

“Owen! Owe-STOP, I’m gonna drop my laptop!” I manage to say through my laughter and with one final grab, he releases me from his hold. It takes a minute for my laughter to settle but once I do, the two of us are simply breathing heavy and staring at one another with giddy smiles on our faces. In a moment’s clarity, I turn to look into the camera lens to talk directly to my editor,

“Sid, don’t use any of this. And please don’t cut to this after we finish reading to make it look like- things were happening.”

“Actually, I think you should, Sid. Just cut to right there and make the world think we-”

“OKAY, thanks for watching, bye!” I quickly stop the recording before Owen says something we’re unable to recover from. I hear him laugh gently behind me as I set my laptop down on the coffee table behind the tripod. Coming back to the couch, I move to plop down but before landing successfully on the cushion next to my phone, Owen grabs my body and moves me to sit on top of him.

“You are crazy, you know that?”

“Hmm. Crazy for you, maybe.” His cheesy line makes me scoff but smile nonetheless. I reach my right hand up to caress the side of his face as we sit cheek to cheek.

“Remind me to never film with you again.” The gesture is sweet and the sentiment is not which makes Owen laugh and he presses a soft kiss to my cheek. I lean back into him so my back is pressed flush with his chest as he lazily wraps both arms around me.

“You say that now but you’ll regret it when you wanna do a ‘boyfriend does my makeup’ challenge video.”

“Nah. I’ll just call Charlie to-” Without allowing me to finish my sentence, Owen is digging his fingertips back into the tissue of my sides and I squeal with laughter once more. This time the torment is short-lived and Owen releases me after a sweet, reconciling kiss. “Do you have baby fever now?”

“It was cute and all, but not really, no.”

“That’s too bad,” I stand up from my spot on his lap to grab my computer and hold it to my chest, “I was gonna say we could practice some baby-making.”

And with that, I turned on the balls of my feet, heading for my bedroom when I heard Owen stand up eagerly, quick to follow.

***

Taglist: @caitsymichelle13​ @kaitlyn2907​ @itz-jas​ @crybabyddl​ @kcd15​ @kinda-really-lost​ @calamitykaty​ @morganayennefertyrell@n0wornever​ @dream-a-little-bigger-x​ @mrstodorooki@vicesvsvirturesfanfic @curlybrownhairedboys​ @amazinggracy​ @kaitieskidmore1​ @asdfghjkl-fanfics​ @ghostlygreenbean​ @juliefromaustralia @merceret​ @jemimah-b99​ @ifilwtmfc​ @thesweetestsinner​ @imsydneywalker​ @lovesanimals​ @thebloodthirstyvampress​ @bumbleberry-pie​ @losers-club6​ @tefilovesreading​ @dmcfarland1​@joynerxmercer @kexrtiz​ @talk-on-the-street​ @phantompogues​ @konciousdreamer​ @sunsetcurvej​ @warmnesss0ul​

[perfectpaperbluebirds]

@sicktember #1

Prompt # 1: Fever

Title: Damn Nick Fury

Fandom: Avengers/MCU

To kick Sicktember off, I'm starting with some classic Avengers sickfic. This is actually part of a longer work that I posted many moons ago on AO3. Still one of my favorite whump fics that I've written.

Clint Barton breathed slowly and deeply as he drew back his bow, sighting in his next target. He was so far unnoticed by the cultists they were fighting, perched high in a tree as he was. Below, Natasha was baiting and dodging them with ease, dispatching one every now and then to keep them occupied. Clint's task was to pick them off as she did so.

Another arrow met its mark.The archer sniffled wetly as he reloaded while cold water continued to trickle down the back of his collar. He had made Fury aware a day or so ago that he had a mild cold, as was his duty as an assassin. If he wasn’t at one hundred percent, his commander needed to know. However, Fury had insisted he and Nat take this mission, since no one else was available. The soaking rain they encountered when they arrived was unexpected. However, it turned out the rain had actually made it easier to obtain the objective of this particular mission. Meanwhile though, it was making Clint thoroughly miserable. Compared to other missions it was going quickly, but the five hour stakeout leading up to the current fight had not been pleasant in the continuous downpour, even up in a tree.

Wiping his nose on his shoulder, Cint again loosed an arrow. Only five more cultists to go. Then they could loot the bunker, get the map they needed, and go home. A drip of water hit him right in the eye, and he growled to himself, inwardly cursing Fury. He had started to shiver an hour ago, though he made sure his hands were steady as ever. He couldn’t wait to take a long, hot shower and sleep for at least twelve hours. He only needed to hold out a little longer.

The tickle in his throat had gradually become a low, irritating ache. He coughed softly. The sound did little to make his throat feel better, but it did make the nearest cultist look up at him. Before the man could do anything other than widen his eyes, Clint’s arrow ended him expertly.

Hawkeye sighed wearily. Four more to go.

~~~~~~~~~~

Thirty-six hours later, Clint and Natasha were relaxing on the couch in Avengers Tower. Natasha had her legs tucked up under her and was reading a book while Clint had his head pillowed in her lap with his arm flung over his eyes. Suddenly, his breath hitched warningly. Natasha lifted her arm in a practiced way to give him room to turn and bury his face into a tissue:

"HehyYIIZSHHhoo! hihtESHHHiew!"

She looked down at him with an irritated sound. "That is the third time you've sneezed in as many minutes. I'm making zero progress in this book. You're going to be finding yourself a new pillow in a minute here. Plus I'll kill you if you get me sick."

He sniffled wetly and blew his nose before replacing his head in her lap with a weak cough. "Aww, you would ndever kill mbe, 'Tash. I'mb the only one who puts up with your crap. But I'mb sorry. I can'dt help the sneezing. It's mbaking mbe mbiserable too if that helps."

She sighed in an annoyed way, but couldn't help looking down at him fondly. "You're lucky I know you well enough to understand what you're saying. And you're also lucky that it just so happens to be true that we tolerate each other better than most, so you're safe from assassination for now."

"Blame Fury. This cold wasn't so bad until I had to sid oud id the rain for hours." He sniffled thickly again, barely turning his head away as he followed it up with a cough.

Natasha made a face, swatting his shoulder lightly. "You're gross. Cover your mouth when you cough. And I don't *have* you let you lay here, you know. You have a perfectly comfortable bed only a short elevator ride away."

" 'm cold though. And if I go ubstairs there's ndo one to mbake mbe tea." He swiped at his reddened nose with the tissue, trying to look extra pitiful.

"You're extra whiny when you're sick. Not a good look on you, Hawk." She carded her fingers once through his hair. "And you're just cold because you're a little feverish."

Instead of replying, Clint halfway sat up again and brought a tissue to his nose, breath scissoring and nostrils flaring.

Natasha groaned as Clint once more exploded into a sneezing fit:

"Gihh-ESSHHshuuu! hehKSHHHshuu!" He coughed, then sneezed again: "ERRSHHhuh! Hih'EZSHHyue! --guhhh." Clint miserably rubbed the space between his eyebrows, slowly lowering himself once again to Natasha's lap.

"Apparently my partner has managed to catch the world's sneeziest cold. How did I get so lucky?"

Once again Clint was kept from replying as Natasha's communicator began to ring. She glanced at the screen, then at Clint.

"It's Fury," she warned.

Clint quickly sat up. She answered the device, turning it so they could both see. Fury's single eye met theirs, looking as serious and commanding as ever.

"Good, you're both here. Barton… your nose looks red. How are you feeling?"

"Aboud the sabe I guess. Sneezy."

"And feverish," Natasha said with a warning look at her partner.

"How feverish?"

"Ndot very. One hundred or so," Clint mumbled.

"That's… not ideal. But I don't have any other option… if at all possible, we need you both out in the field again ASAP. We've discovered a small Hydra base, but it's a crucial one. Some of their brainiest goons are posted there, working on something big. From some communication we intercepted, it sounds like their project is almost finished. I need eyes out there immediately. Recon only for now. Think you can handle that?"

The assassins glanced at each other. "We're good to go," said Clint firmly, though the sore-sounding rasp in his voice betrayed him slightly.

"I hope so. Don't disappoint me. I expect you in the air in an hour or less." With that their director ended the call.

Barton and Romanov glanced at each other once more, this time with a weary sigh from Clint before they stood and went to get ready.

~~~~~~~~~~

"Barton! What's your situation?"Natasha's voice crackled over the com.

"Being... chased by three. Heading... to the roof… of the base," Clint gasped around labored breathing.The metal steps made a sharp clanking noise as the archer sprinted up them, nocking an arrow as he went.

"Can you handle them on your own?"

"We'll… see...," he panted, sweat rolling into his eyes. "Backup… would be nice...."

"I'll be there as soon as I can. I've got 4 of my own. Hang in there, Hawk!" The line went dead for the time being.

"I'm gonna … kill Fury…," he mumbled breathlessly as he reached the roof. He darted to the far side of the area and spun around, taking a knee and aiming his bow at the stairway he had just vacated. The sounds of the three Hydra agents sprinting up behind him were unmistakable, but he was as ready as he was going to be.

"This was supposed to be... an easy recon mission, but noooooo…. It's another... full-on assault," he continued to mumble, trying to catch his breath as the shouting on the stairs got louder.

As an extra stroke of bad luck, it was pouring rain here too. Clint flipped the water out of his eyes with a toss of his head, his hair and clothes hanging on him limply. He hadn't stopped shivering since they'd gotten off the jet. His teeth were now chattering and his fingers were blue with cold. His throat was absolutely burning now, raw and inflamed, the pain exacerbated from running. He couldn't suppress a hoarse barking cough just as the first baddie poked his head through the opening. Clint dispatched him immediately, but the two still coming up were not dissuaded.

The second goon got lucky. Clint's hand slipped on the bow a fraction, and the Hydra agent got hit in the shoulder instead of the heart. The archer knew he was in trouble now. With trembling hands, he managed to kill number three with a final arrow, but the one he had wounded, by far the biggest of them all, continued to advance menacingly.

Hand-to-hand combat was evidently imminent. On any other day Clint could have made short work of this, but this miserable, feverish cold had him operating at around fifty percent capacity and falling. Clint pulled out his knives with shaky hands and another rasping cough. When his opponent was a foot away, Clint tried to leap up to get in the first hit. Instead he slipped and staggered, and the Hydra agent's fist, with all of his weight behind it, caught him in the ribs. Clint heard a dull cracking sound as he was flooded with pain, but he couldn't pause. He spun and ducked, trying to avoid the worst of the blows while trying to get in some of his own. At least ⅓ of his opponent's swings met their target though, and in minutes Clint was battered and bruised, barely clinging to consciousness.

He knew he only had enough stamina for one more try. In a split second, while the Hydra agent was off-balance winding up for another swing, Clint leapt once more, and at last his knife met its mark.

As the baddie crumpled to the ground, so did Hawkeye, wheezing weakly, every breath agonizing. He activated his com as his vision threatened to gray out:

"Roof... clear. Good...Nat?"

"All clear down here too. Mission complete. Nice job, Hawk. Let's turn this bunker inside out and go home."

"Mmph."

"You good, Barton?" she asked, concern suddenly in her voice.

"Gonna need... medevac… Won't… make it down… stairs…."

If Natasha replied, he did not hear her. He let his head fall against the cool, wet metal and let the grayness overtake his vision.

~~~~~~~~~~

48 hours later found Clint lying on a bed in S.H.E.I.L.D. medical with broken ribs and and a confirmed case of pneumonia. He was drifting in and out of consciousness from the drugs they were giving him, but his ears perked up when he heard Natasha arguing with someone nearby.

"He's stable. Not on oxygen. Fever is controlled. He can tolerate oral meds. There's no reason he needs to stay. I promise you, he won't recover while he's here. You need to discharge him home."

The haughty-looking orderly she was speaking with huffed angrily, muttering about shortness of breath and heart rate and changing oxygen requirements.

Clint let himself drift off again to the sound of their voices, trusting his partner to deal with the situation. A cool hand on his cheek awakened him a little while later. He blearily opened his eyes to meet Natasha's, for of course it was she that had roused him.

"We're busting you out of here," she whispered with a little smile. "They're bringing a wheelchair now."

"Thangk god," Clint groaned. "And thangk *you*, 'Tash. You're a lifesaver."

"Eh, you've saved my life plenty of times too. I think we're pretty even."

It took some maneuvering to get a very breathless, battered, and achy Clint out of the bed and into the wheelchair, but they managed it with minimal damage. Once he was settled in the chair, Natasha wheeled him away to their rooms.

Inside Clint's suite, they again had to coordinate getting him from the chair to his bed. Natasha was grateful Clint's pain tolerance was high, because she knew the transfer was far rougher without the assistance of the medical staff. He didn't make a sound throughout the process however, though his face was drawn in pain. As soon as he was settled though, he let out the breath he'd been holding in a rush, which quickly became a nasty coughing fit. He had trouble catching his breath for several moments even after the fit ended. He gasped and wheezed and clutched his ribs, sweaty and reddened and miserable. Natasha could only watch helplessly, stroking his hair to try to help him relax.

"Damn Fury," he croaked weakly when he could finally speak. "This fugcking sucks. "

"Language, please. But I can't argue with you there."

"I'mb gonna kill himb for sending me od thad mission."

"I think he got his just desserts since now his best archer is out of commission for a few months. But at least it seems like the sneezy part of your cold is better."

"You h- had to s- hih- say sumbthing, dih- dn't you?" Clint croaked, gingerly bracing his ribs as his breath scissored and his red nose twitched:

"Gih'tsschh! Ghhnxt'chf! Oh Fugck. Ow! Ow ow ow...." Clint groaned, gritting his teeth, eyes squeezed shut in pain. "Not doing that again."

"Yeah, stifling is probably not wise. Poor sick guy," Natasha murmured, carding his hair with her fingers as they waited for Clint's pain to subside.

After a moment, Clint opened one eye, looking suspicious. " 'Poor sigck guy?' Who are you and what have you done with mby partner?"

Natasha smirked as she sat on the edge of his bed. "Would you prefer I call you a whiny asshole?"

"Yes. Maybe. I dunno," Clint mumbled with a weary sigh and a grimace of pain as he exhaled.

"Well too bad for you, because right now *my* partner is sick and miserable and I plan to baby him at least a little until he's feeling better."

"Guess I'mb nodt complainig," Clint mumbled, stifling a cough, which only made him clutch his ribs in pain. "Hurts whed I cough. Hurts whed I try not to cough. Fugck me."

"Language, seriously. But what can I do to help? You need water, food, drugs, anything?"

"Nodt hungry or thirsty. Too sood for drugs. I just want to sleeb, 'Tash."

"That sounds like a good plan. I'll leave you be then. But I'll be back to check on you soon." She stood up right away, fussing around and tidying up his nightstand area before moving toward the door.

" 'Tash?"

She turned expectantly.

" 'm still cold," he mumbled thickly, looking pale and weary now.

Her face softened affectionately. "Well you're still running a fever, hotshot. You're gonna feel cold."

He groaned pathetically. She moved to his side once more.

"Aww, you're shivering," she murmured, stroking his cheek.

"Told you, I'mb freezing…."

She sighed, looking at him fondly. "Is this you trying to say that you need some extra body heat in bed with you for a while?"

He looked at her pleadingly.

"Okay, okay, no more puppy eyes. I'm coming. But if you get me sick--"

"I know, I know, you'll kill mbe. I'll try ndot to share."

"That's all I ask." She kicked off her shoes and slid into bed beside him, doing her best to jostle around as little as possible. They carefully arranged themselves so that Clint was tucked against Natasha, most of his weight resting against her, while her weight was against the stack of pillows behind them. This position seemed to cause the archer the least pain, and in fact he relaxed against her right away, his breathing deepening.

" I'mb sorry I'mb so warmb. You'll probably swelter," mumbled Clint sleepily.

"It's not the first time I've slept with you when you're running a fever, and I'm sure it won't be the last. As long as you're warm enough."

"Am now," he breathed, nearly asleep.

"Then that's all that matters to me."

[youtuberswithalex]

Period

Summary: Swallowing his panic, he tried his hardest to take a deep breath. He grabbed a wad of toilet paper and wiped, hoping to scurry to his room and get rid of the evidence of any injury before anyone could find out, but it came back soaked in just as much deep, dark blood as before. Tears sprung to his eyes as he let his hyperventilating take over. 

“Daaaaaad!”

(Trans!Virgil; Adoption AU; Romantic Logicality, Paternal Moxiety, Brotherly Prinxiety, Creativitwins)

Warnings: Blood, periods, crying, explanation of the menstrual cycle, brief mention of sex, implied/referenced past child abuse, brief mention of past character death, Remus Antics (brief, non-graphic mention of a gory scene in an old movie)

Word Count: 2316

A/N: So, this has been a fic I’ve wanted to write for 12+ years, a fic that’s transpired fandom after fandom after fandom: an explanation of what a period is, to help others who won’t get/understand an explanation from other sources. I know this gets a little info-dump-y, but I tried to make it understandable. This fic is for you kids who are nervous about getting yours for the first time, like I was, and I hope seeing characters you love going through it, too, can help!

This is also the first fic I’m posting, I guess, of this Adoption AU I’ve had in my head for a while! I’ve got a couple other ideas in mind, including a part 2 to this focusing more on Roman and Virgil, sooo hit me up for some AU questions, if you have any!

-----

It was true that Virgil hadn’t really been feeling well in the past week.

He didn’t know what it was, but everything just felt… off. He didn’t want to socialize with anyone; being around people had been making a fire of rage burn in his chest, and the fact that he didn’t know why just made it ten times worse. He was exhausted to the point of nearly falling asleep in class, and would have slept through his alarms twice and been late if it hadn’t have been for Roman waking him up when he didn’t come for breakfast.

Speaking of, he hadn’t had much of an appetite, and he’d hardly been eating because of it. Even the idea of eating anything had made him feel a little gross. And his stomach had been cramping a lot.

Realistically, Virgil knew this was something he should tell Patton or Logan, but he just couldn’t bring himself to do it. It didn’t matter how many times Roman reassured him that their dads wouldn’t be angry at him for getting sick; until he saw it for himself, he wasn’t going to be able to believe him. So what if Patton was a nurse? So what if Roman and Logan had butted heads dozens of times since Virgil had moved in, and it had never dissolved into a screaming match? That didn’t mean they wouldn’t turn on him, or that he was a good enough kid to avoid getting on their bad side!

Besides, he wasn’t throwing up or running a fever! He was just going to waste their time if he said anything. They had more important things to worry about than him. It’s not like he was dying or anything.

…Or, so he’d thought, until Thursday afternoon when he went to the bathroom and found his underwear covered in blood.

Virgil almost screamed at the sight. As soon as he recovered, he frantically searched his body for any sign of a scrape or scratch that could have left such a mess. There was nothing. Maybe… Maybe it had already healed?

Swallowing his panic, he tried his hardest to take a deep breath. He grabbed a wad of toilet paper and wiped, hoping to scurry to his room and get rid of the evidence of any injury before anyone could find out, but it came back soaked in just as much deep, dark blood as before. Tears sprung to his eyes as he let his hyperventilating take over.

“Daaaaaad!”

Footsteps came rushing to the door faster than he’d ever heard in this household. “Virgil, are you okay?”

He choked back a sob. “I-I’m bleeding…!”

“Okay, it’s going to be okay, kiddo,” Patton soothed. “Can I come in?”

Virgil looked at himself, still on the toilet, and set the wad of toilet paper on the tank. He scrambled to stand and pull his pants up before whimpering out an “Uh-huh”.

Patton calmly came in and shut the door behind him. “Alright, where are you bleeding?”

“I-I don’t know!”

“You don’t know?” he asked with a frown.

“I…” Virgil picked up the toilet paper and showed it to him, lowering his voice to a whisper despite no one else being in there with them. “It was all over my underwear,” he explained. “And when I wiped, I…”

He trailed off as Patton tilted his head to inspect the blood, and then understanding faded onto his face as he looked away in thought. While it was only a few seconds, it felt like an eternity; his stomach started to cramp again, and Virgil found himself trembling.

“I-I haven’t been feeling good this week,” he admitted. “My stomach’s been hurting, and—and all I want to do is sleep, and I didn’t say anything because I didn’t want to bother you guys, and I’m sorry, I should’ve said something, I don’t want to die, I don’t want to be sick, I don’t want to have to go to the hospital, please—!”

Patton shushed him and ran his fingers through Virgil’s hair. “Hey, hey, relax, it’s alright! You’re okay, Virgil. You’re not going to die, trust me. Especially not on my watch.”

He leaned over, put the toilet lid down, and gently pushed Virgil to sit on it before kneeling in front of him. He took a few seconds to chew on his lip in thought.

“Virgil,” he started, “At your old school, did your teachers ever take an afternoon to talk to you guys about puberty?”

Virgil shook his head.

Patton let out a breath and nodded. “I guess they probably think it’s a little too early to talk about it, huh?” he muttered. “Am I allowed to touch your stomach, honey?”

Virgil hesitated, but he nodded after a moment. Patton reached up and placed his hands on Virgil’s lower belly. When he flinched, he used his thumb to rub gentle circles into it.

“Okay, so, in your body, right down here, you have this thing called a uterus,” he softly explained. “When people are pregnant, that’s where the babies grow before—”

“Am I PREGNANT?!”

“No, no, no—!” Patton had to hold back a laugh, taking his hands away to cover his face for just a second before returning them to their original position. “You’re not pregnant, Virgil, don’t—don’t worry about that!”

Virgil snapped his mouth shut, lower lip still trembling. Patton offered him a reassuring smile as he continued.

“Your uterus has these two things connected to it called ovaries.” He used his two index fingers to draw out where they would be. “They hold a bunch of tiny little eggs inside of them that eventually would turn into people—but only under certain circumstances, at certain times, usually involving another person. If you were to get pregnant, you’d know, understand? It’s not going to happen randomly.”

Patton didn’t move on until Virgil nodded.

“Okay. Now, about once a month, one of these two little guys is going to let one of their eggs go,” he said, “and it sticks to the wall of your uterus. And your body goes…”

Patton threw his hands into the air and waved them around. “’Yay! We’re gonna have a baby!’” he cheered in a cartoony voice. Virgil let out a weak snicker. Patton counted it as a win.

“It starts to get ready for this potential baby by building up this lining around the walls, so that it’ll be extra protected from harm. And for a little while, if you… Ah…” Patton’s face turned red. “Do… certain things, with certain people, that egg might get fertilized, and that’s how pregnancy starts.”

“Like… kissing?”

Patton hummed. “No, you’d have to do a little more than that. More, uh… adult stuff.”

Virgil nodded, looking at the floor very seriously. “Taxes.”

It was a fight to keep his laugh in. “R-Right. Taxes.” He cleared his throat and continued. “Um, anyway, if that egg doesn’t get fertilized, your body says, ‘Oh, darn! Well, maybe next time!’, and it gets rid of the egg, and then it gets rid of that lining so it can make a fresh one for the next egg.” He pointed to the bloody toilet paper still gripped tightly in Virgil’s hands. “That’s what that blood is. It’s not a cut, and it’s certainly not an omen of death. It’s just a sign that you’re growing up.”

Virgil stared at the toilet paper for a long moment. “…Am I going to have to do this every month?”

“Well, not at first,” Patton replied, putting his hands on his knees. “This is a brand new feature in your body right now, so it’ll take a bit for it to fall into a real cycle. For a little bit, you might have a couple within a month, or you might not have it for another three after this. But, eventually, yeah, the body will balance itself out.”

“How long is that gonna take?”

“It depends on your body. If it takes a while, or it doesn’t seem like it’s going to balance at all, we can look into some options to help, like birth control or hormone therapy. Modern medicine is a great thing,” he said with a wink. “How about we save that conversation for a little later, though? See how this pans out for now?”

There was a beat, and then Virgil slowly nodded. He shifted and tipped his head away. “What do I do about my underwear?” he whispered.

Patton hummed and sat back, looking up at the ceiling. “Well… I’ll be honest, kiddo, I can talk your ear off about anatomy and the medical side of things, but I don’t have a clue about the products and stuff. How would you feel if I called Remus’s mom and asked her to come explain that stuff to us?”

Virgil wiped at his eyes. “Okay.”

Offering a gentle smile, Patton held his arms open; there was a moment of hesitation, and then Virgil leaned forward and wrapped his smaller arms around him. Patton held him tight and rubbed his back.

“Thank you,” he whimpered.

“Of course, sweetie. That’s what your Pop and I are here for,” he reassured. “And don’t you ever worry about bothering us if you’re not feeling well, okay? We care about you more than whatever silly things we might be working on. We want to take care of you, okay?”

Virgil shuddered in a manner that was suspiciously similar to that of a repressed sob; when he spoke next, his voice was tight and high-pitched. “Okay.”

They sat like this for a moment, with Patton holding his son close, rubbing a hand over his lower back, until he pressed a kiss into his hair and pulled back.

“Alright, Virge, I need to go call Mrs. Drake,” he said. “Is your stomach still hurting? Or anything else, for that matter? I can get you some medicine to help, if you want.”

Virgil nodded, scrubbing his eyes and taking a deep breath.

Patton nodded and climbed to his feet. “Okay. I’ll be back as soon as I can, promise.”

He stepped out of the bathroom, shutting the door behind him and leaving Virgil alone with his thoughts again. He was still shaking, yes, but the terror of thinking he was going to die was settling into the more manageable fear of learning a new routine…

And maybe, a little, the risk of starting to put his trust into someone.

But maybe there wasn’t so much to fear in that one.

Virgil leaned forward and finally dropped the bloody toilet paper into the trash.

----------

The front door slammed open; Logan and Roman both nearly jumped out of their skin from where they sat at the dining room table.

“Virgil, we got your little butt-diapers!”

There was the sound of a light swat, and then the snatching of a plastic bag.

“Stahp, Remus, he’s already having a hard time with it!”

Snickering echoed through the entryway as the two climbed the half-flight of stairs leading to the main floor. As Remus made a beeline to tackle Roman out of his chair, Logan adjusted his posture to be more formal and nodded at Mrs. Drake.

“Good afternoon, Alya,” he called.

“Hi, boys,” she quickly responded. “Are they still in the bathroom?”

“I believe so, yes.”

Mrs. Drake nodded and hurried off just as Roman wrestled Remus off of him. He glanced at the hallway, and then between his twin and his father.

“Wait, what’s going on?”

“Your baby bro’s anus is bleeding for the first time!”

“No, Remus,” Logan scolded. He turned to Roman. “He’s experiencing his first menstrual period. Your father called Mrs. Drake to help teach him the technical aspects of how to best handle it.”

Roman blinked and sat up straight. “Oh! Is he going to be alright?”

“Yeah, Mom brought a bunch of stuff to help,” Remus replied, waving his hand as he plopped into the open seat next to Roman. “Pads, painkillers, heating rice bag sock things, the whole shebang. And a bunch of chocolate and candy and stuff!”

“Ah, good. I’ve seen studies that dark chocolate helps with cramps,” Logan stated.

Remus sighed. “A shame. I was hoping we’d get to see Virgie’s tiny baby rip out of his stomach. Like that scene in Aliens!”

Roman let out a whine and swatted him. “Dude, that’s my little brother!”

“Oh, come on! Your other dad’s a nurse! He could stitch him back up in no time!”

“That is not how nurses work!”

Logan hummed and adjusted his glasses, turning back to the papers he was grading. “Astounding. In less than two minutes, you’ve expressed your ignorance in both anatomy and the careers of the medical field. I suggest you brush up on them both if you truly wish to study in the field of dentistry.”

“Haa, brush up,” Roman laughed.

Logan shot him a glare over the rim of his glasses; Roman and Remus high-fived.

“Do your homework, Roman.”

Roman grinned and turned back to face his homework, but his mind instead floated back to Virgil’s condition. He bit down on his lip and shifted before looking up and tapping his pencil end against the table.

“Seriously… Virgil is going to be okay, right?” he asked.

Logan let out a soft breath. “Your brother is going to be just fine,” he gently reassured. “This is a natural thing for many people who possess uteri. He might be in pain for a little while, but ultimately, he will be alright.”

“My mom deals with it every month, and she’s not dead yet,” Remus pointed out. Then, with his grin fading a bit, he added, “Our mom probably had them, too. She must’ve, if she had us.”

Roman watched him for a long moment, and then he nodded, swallowing the lump that had snuck into his throat.

“Okay,” he whispered. “Okay.”

---------

Second A/N:

Hey, folks-- So, as it turned out, I made a bit of a mistake in explaining this. So sorry about this! Thank you so much to @romanslunchbox​ for pointing this out and correcting me:

“ It isn’t a huge mistake. However, in your fic you stated that the egg gets stuck in the lining of the uterus. But that is only possible with a fertilized egg. An non-fertilized egg dies in the oviducts before it can even reach the uterus. After the egg dies certain hormones are released to start the menstruation about 2 weeks later (how that works is an entire shit show of hormones and stuff). It takes a while for these hormones to be released, so the uterus keeps producing more lining for the egg to get stuck in. When the uterus finally gets the signale that there is no pregnancy, that is when the menstruation starts. “

[littlekatleaf]

The shape that I'm in now

(It's 1 am, I must be posting Roadrat snz fic. This takes place in the same 'verse as 'Buried in a burning flame' and 'My heart as spent as ashes, but takes place before them. Not that it's necessary for the story, just to orient.)

Whatever here that’s left of me Is yours just as it was ~ Hozier, As It Was

Junkrat rolled over, trying to ease the ache in his hip, but it didn’t help. Sheets scratchy on oversensitive skin. Eyes hot, dryer than the fuckin’ desert, nose running like to make up for it. Flipped the pillow, but both sides were already too warm. Everything hurt, from toenails to eyelids. Even his fucking missing limbs hurt, however the hell that worked. What sucked the most, though was the silence. It pulsed against his eardrums, buzzed in his head.

Had told Roadhog to go. No choice about it. Bones’d been aching with impending fever, head felt packed with sand. Knew what was coming and didn’t want Roadhog to see. Didn’t want to be seen. Not when felt like his skin was peeled back, leaving all of his quivering insides bare. Being sick was being vulnerable. In Junkertown being vulnerable meant you was good as dead.

Felt Roadhog watching him from the first handful of sneezes. “Nobody fuckin’ cleans this shithole,” Junkrat had grumbled, trying to play it off. Roadhog said nothing.

Didn’t say a word when Junkrat blamed the spices in the stir fry for the second fit.

Unfortunately the third handful of sneezes seemed to have blown all thoughts from his brain and he was still trying to recover when Roadhog asked, “All right, Rat?”

“‘M fine. If you want to get in my pants just say so.” Might have intended it to sound flirty but it came off pissy.

Roadhog crossed his arms over his chest. “Ain’t like that. You just look…” “Ain’t neither of us winning a beauty pageant, Hog. Mind your business.” Least that time sounded like maybe he could be joking, even with the edge in his voice.

Tried to bite the sneezes back after that. Pinch them off. Smother them in his sleeve. But every single time he felt Roadhog’s eyes on him, watching. Made the hairs raise at his nape and finally he snapped, shouting at Roadhog to get the fuck out and leave him alone.

Roadie had, and he was fine with it. Just perfectly fuckin’ apples, mate. Went to bed, tried to sleep it off. But couldn’t. Now he tossed back the sheets, pushed himself up, buckled on his prosthetics. Make himself tea. Caffeine might dull the headache. Heat’d feel good on his throat.

You wanted to be by yourself... teasing whisper of her voice through the buzzing. You told him to go. You should be happy - here all alone with your disease. Could practically feel her breath at his ear and he swayed for a minute, dizzy. He doesn’t want to be anywhere near you.

“Shows what you know. Roadhog likes it when I sneeze.” Hated how defensive it sounded. Proof that he was only good for one thing.

Perhaps, but this is beyond even his depravity. Look at yourself, Jamison.

Without really meaning to, his gaze flicked over to the mirror that hung above the washbasin, then away again. Not before he’d seen himself though - scarecrow hair, singed in more places than he’d realized, skin and bones, dark circles around his eyes, nose red, lips cracked from breathing through his mouth. Expression going blank as the need to sneeze came over him. “Huh-R’iiishh! Isshew! R’iishew!” Managed to catch them in a tissue at the last minute, but it was a close thing.

Disgusting. And weak. I absolutely cannot fathom why he has not left you behind yet. Ill so often. Missing half your limbs. In need of protection. What kind of man are you?

“Shut it,” he said. Much as hated to admit it, she was right. Knew full well all the ways he was lacking. Rubbed his dripping nose on a handful of tissues.

Perhaps he just enjoys toying with you. Drawing things out before he takes your treasure and returns to the Queen. Her tone is a purr. A predator does love to tease its prey.

“Roadhog ain’t the Queen’s. Not anymore.”

No? He told you that, did he?

“Yes.” Sort of. What had Roadhog said when they met? Freelance? What did that mean? He wouldn’t… would he? If he got pissed off enough? If Junkrat was enough of a pain in the ass? A sudden chill whipped through him and he shivered. Grabbed a windcheater off the hook on the back of the door and yanked it over his head. Roadie’s, he realized as the soft cotton engulfed him. At least he was warm. Tugged the hood up over his head. Maybe that would block out her voice.

Pathetic… The whisper echoed in his ears, then faded - taking his energy with it. Giving up on the tea plan he curled up in a corner of the couch. Pulled in his knees, tugged the windcheater down over him and tried to disappear. Just needed to get smaller. Smaller.

A sneeze jag shook him awake. Took him a second to catch his breath and open his eyes. There was Roadie, holding out a tissue. Didn’t want to take it, but the alternative was worse. And messier. “Thanks,” he said, stuffiness blurring the consonants. Blowing his nose helped, but only a little.

Roadhog didn’t say anything, just turned on his heel and disappeared into the kitchen. Kettle rattled, water hit the basin. Click snap of the flame catching on the stove. Clink of spoon against mug.

Apologize, Jamison. Unless you want to test his patience even further.

Don’t need your input, he said, but only in his head. Always weirded Roadhog out when he answered aloud. Cleared his throat, attempted to pitch his voice loud enough to carry, even though felt like he’d been swallowing sandpaper in his sleep. “Oi, Roadie?”

Nothing. Sighing to himself, Junkrat untangled his limbs, ignoring the shivering. Maybe Roadhog wouldn’t notice. Managed to reach the kitchen this time. Roadhog’s back was turned, head slightly bent over whatever he was doing.

Rat hesitated in the doorway. While his mouth usually moved faster than his brain, at the moment neither seemed to be online. He leaned against the jamb, waiting for inspiration to strike. Instead he sneezed, catching them in his sleeve, then coughing after. “Ugh, fuck. I’ll wash this I swear.”

“...” The skepticism was clear even without words.

“Ain’t gonna forget this time.”

“...”

Junkrat coughed a laugh. “Yeah, you’re right I probably will.” Rubbed the back of his neck where it ached. “Roadie, I’m…” sorry he was going to say but Roadhog turned, offering a steaming mug.

“I know. Drink.”

Couldn’t smell anything through his clogged nose so he sipped warily. Then sighed, relief and gratitude. “Where the hell’d you find Lemsip?”

“Bobby had some.”

“An’ he just gave it to you?” Meds were hard to come by, even stupid shit like cold medicine.

Roadhog shrugged. “He owed me somewhat.”

The steam made his nose run and tickle and he sniffled a little. Which only served to trigger another round of sneezes and he slopped hot liquid over his hand. “Ow, god fucking dammit.”

“Here, let me…” Roadhog reached for his hand, but he stepped back.

“No, it’s fine.”

“Rat. I said let me.”

The darkness of his tone sent a shiver down Rat’s spine. The command in it was as unmistakable as the warmth. Junkrat stopped, pinned, barely breathing. Roadhog wiped his hand, carefully, like the burn could have been serious. Then he laid a palm over Rat’s forehead, fingers pleasantly cool. Junkrat leaned into the touch.

“Really got a fever, don’t you.”

It wasn’t a question, exactly but Junkrat nodded anyway. “Feelin’ shit, to be honest.” A hot flush chased the chills. Had to tell Roadie the truth, but didn’t make it any easier.

“You hurting?”

Rat shrugged, nodded again.

“Come on,��� Roadhog put an arm around him, led him back into the bedroom. “Lie down.”

“Ain’t tired,” he tried. Not quite enough energy to be a proper brat.

“Not planning on sleep. Lie down.”

Junkrat did as he was told, but closed his eyes as the bed dipped and Roadhog sat down beside him. With gentle fingers he disconnected Junkrat’s prosthetics and set them aside. Even though he’d only been wearing them a short time, they’d already rubbed sore spots on his skin. Roadhog knew to avoid those places as he began to massage the muscles in Rat’s forearm, kneading until the knots loosened, then moved on to Rat’s thigh.

As the tension drained away, Rat sighed so deep was almost a groan. “God, that’s good.” Roadhog let go of him, but didn’t move away. There was the soft sound of a jar being opened and a teasing scent of menthol that Rat could smell even through the congestion. Vicks, of course. “For the cough,” he asked, smirking.

“It’ll help,” Roadhog said, but this time Rat knew it was a question. Making sure he was okay with it.

“It will,” Rat agreed. Put him back on easier footing. Hog gave him a little care, he’d get Hog off. Fair and square.

Roadie slid his hands up under the windcheater and goosebumps rose in the wake of his touch. Junkrat’s back arched, “Oh,” he breathed. “It’s so… Itchew! Huh-Itchh! Itchhuh!” Luckily he’d pulled the sleeves over his hand because he covered just with his hand before realizing.

“Bless you,” Roadhog said, without pausing from the massage.

“Th...thank y-Ihchuuh! Ah’tchh! Chh!” The sensations together were almost overwhelming. Felt like he was tingling along every nerve, shivering with both chills and desire, surprised to find himself going hard, even as he kept sneezing.

“You blushing, or is that the fever?” Roadhog’s voice a rumble in his ear and even that made a shudder run through him.

“Both,” he sighed. Nothing he could do about it, body betraying him with every sneeze.

Roadie chuckles. “You do that so well.”

“Wh… Huhitch!... Itch! Ishhew! … what?"

“Lose control.” An answer but also a command as he tugged Rat’s boxers down and slid inside, surprisingly gently.

“Oh…” Words gone. Thoughts gone. Only feeling left. Heat, fever, want, like fire in his blood. Waves of trembling over him. Hog deep inside, moving with a gentle but implacable rhythm, driving him higher, stoking the flames. He clenched his mech hand in the sheets, clung to Hog with his flesh hand, fingers tightening convulsively. And as the flames built so, too, did the need to sneeze. Little panting breath, interrupted by sniffles and teasing hitches.

“Lose it, Rat,” Roadhog said.

“Ah’Rrrishhah! Ushhew! Isshah!” The flames engulfed him, he shook with release. For a long, long moment he could only blink blearily at the ceiling, utterly spent. “Holy shit,” he managed, finally.

At some point Roadie’d gotten a cool washcloth and he wiped it carefully over Rat, washing away sweat and the vaporub. Just when the cold was about to set him shivering, Roadhog pulled a blanket over him, then leaned down and kissed his forehead. “You did good, Rat.”

A burst of warmth flowered in his chest and tears sprang up. Rat blinked them back, scrubbed his face with his hand. “‘M a fucking mess,” he said.

“...”

“I mean, sure we have fun. But look at me.” Waved a hand over himself. “Missing a piece or two. Fuckin’ sick all the time. Maybe we should just… go our own ways.”

“...”

“Got enough of a haul to make up for the fight in the bar. Enough to make this bodyguard gig thing worthwhile. We should maybe quit while we’re ahead.” Before you get tired of me, he didn’t say, but it was there on his tongue.

“Rat.” Clink of buckles as Roadhog took off his mask.

Junkrat resisted the urge to look at him. Didn’t want to read the truth of his feelings in his eyes.

“Look at me.”

He does, for a second, then away again.

“You see the scars. All of them. You think they make me ugly?”

“No!” Surprise had him actually meeting Roadhog’s gaze. Caught, he couldn't look away. “Just part of who ya are.” He reached up and traced one from the corner of Roadie’s eye, curving down and along his jaw. No, the scars had surprised him at first, but never bothered him.

“Need the hogdrogen. The mask. So I’m weak?”

“Course not.” First person to mistake Hog for weak wouldn’t live to regret it.

“This place tried to kill us. In so many ways. But it fucking hasn’t. Don’t let it win, Jamie. Don’t let it.”

Junkrat swallowed hard. Nobody called him that, not for years and years. “I won’t,” he said.

Roadhog lay next to him and Junkrat curled into him. Roadhog pulled him closer, carded his fingers through Rat’s hair. “Sleep, Jamie.”

I’m yours, he thought as he drifted away. Whatever’s left of me.

[teacupfulofstarshine]

you are my dad (boogie woogie woogie)

summary: five times logan accidentally referred to virgil as his dad, and two times he purposefully referred to virgil as his dad

(OR: a birthday fic for the lovely @lovelylogans​ set in her STELLAR gilmore girls au!)

a/n: HAPPY BIRTHDAY ANNALISE!!! if y'all haven't read the sideshire files you're missing out, it's so soft and good and wonderful and i promise you will love it

cw: illness, alcohol, drunkenness (but none of these are angsty, it's all fluff) 

wordcount: 2819

read it on ao3!

(occasion the first: the nineteenth month of logan’s life) 

“You can never tell anyone about this, kid. I’ve never done this in front of anyone and I never will again, you understand me?” Logan, strapped into his portable high chair, stares at Virgil while chewing on his Jupiter teething toy, not saying anything. Virgil assumes that it’s an agreement and slides the hair elastic off of his wrist. 

Carefully, he gathers all of his bangs into one hand and slips the elastic around them, twisting and sliding and twisting again until he has a little unicorn-horn ponytail sticking off his head and a clear line of sight. “Alrighty. What do you want for breakfast, Lo, huh?” 

Logan slobbers on his teething toy and kicks his little bare feet vigorously. He drops the teething toy on his tray and loudly declares, “BA!” 

“Bananas?” Virgil guesses. He’s never been as good at interpreting Logan’s variety of noises as Patton, but Logan waves his little arms and lets out a long string of baby nonsense, so Virgil assumes he must be at least somewhat on the right track. “Okay, kid. You get bananas now, and I’ll make us some chocolate-chip banana pancakes. Deal?” 

Logan slaps his tray and picks up his teething toy again. Virgil pulls open the fridge and carefully fills one of Logan’s sippy cups with apple juice, settling it into the cup holder slot. Logan immediately abandons his toy and begins to nom on the spout to get some juice. 

Virgil slices up bananas and sets a little plate onto Logan’s tray, along with a small plastic kiddie fork. Logan lowers the fork towards the slices of banana with the fierce determination of a child attempting to win a toy from a claw crane game. Virgil huffs out a soft laugh and returns to the kitchen counter. He moves through the motions of pancake batter, throwing in banana slices and chocolate chips, and he’s completely in the kitchen zone. Logan’s happy chewing noises and babbles become a soothing background noise. 

He’s jolted away from his pancake batter abruptly when he hears Logan wail. 

Virgil whirls around, whisk dropping on the floor and splattering pancake batter everywhere. Logan is crying, holding one hand out, and his little pointer finger is red. “Oh, you - did you bite your finger?” 

Logan sniffles and cries, holding his hand out. “Paaaaaaa!” 

Virgil winces. “No, kid, Papa’s not -”

Logan makes grabby hands at Virgil. “Pa! Paaaaa, papapapa, paaaa, paaaa!” 

Virgil freezes. “I - you - am I Papa?” 

“Paaaaaaaa!” 

Virgil carefully takes Logan’s tiny hand, leaning forward and carefully kissing his little red finger in the way he’s seen Patton do millions of times. “There we go, Logan. I - Papa kissed it better, so we’re okay, right?”

Logan sniffles. “Paaa . . .” 

Virgil carefully offers him a disk of banana. “You want some more banana?” Logan wipes at his little eyes, leans forward, and carefully takes the banana chunk in his mouth. “There we go. You’re okay. It’s okay, Logan.” 

*~*~*~*~*

(occasion the second: logan’s junior year of highschool) 

Virgil is really sick of walking into the Sanders house and discovering a sick Sanders (pun very much not intended, thank you, Patton). 

He nudges the front door open, arms laden with takeout containers of meal-prep for the week and bags of groceries to re-stock the kitchen and two cardboard drinks trays full of to-go cups. Patton’s not home, off at some kind of business conference, and he’d promised to take care of Logan. 

(Take care of our kid, Patton had said, and Virgil had been caught so off-guard by the pronoun our that he’d barely remembered to agree.) 

So he has lunches for Logan for every day of the week, groceries so that he can make his own dinners, and a stock of smoothies full of hidden nutrients for study breaks. Virgil kicks the door shut behind him, struggling to not drop any of the things he’s holding. 

“Logan, you wanna come help me with your meals and shit?” 

There’s no immediate answer, which isn’t worrying in and of itself; it is almost 7:30 AM on a Saturday, and Logan is a teenager. Virgil sets the drinks trays and takeout containers on the kitchen, drops the grocery bags on the floor, and goes to lock the door behind him. He hears footsteps behind him. “Sorry if I woke you, but -”

He turns to face Logan and almost drops the keys. Logan is wrapped up like a burrito in his thick quilt, dragging it along the kitchen floor like a cape. His eyes and nose are red, his cheeks are flushed, and his hair looks like Remus’s after a late night of partying. He sways in the doorway. 

“Logan?” Virgil asks, keeping his voice soft. 

“Virgil,” Logan rasps. “I . . . believe that I . . . may be ill.”

“No shit, Sherlock,” Virgil says. Logan blinks at him, once, uncharacteristically slow. 

“Could you please stop the room from spinning? And - and perhaps you could - could do me the favor of - of catching -”

Logan pitches forward, and Virgil lunges to catch him. He feels Logan’s forehead and swears with how hot it is. “Alright, buddy, back into bed with you.”

“Y - you brought me . . . groceries,” Logan manages. “I . . . we have to -”

“You do not have to do anything except get your ass back in bed,” Virgil says. “I’m calling Jean and leaving her in charge for the day, she can handle it. I’m staying here with you.” 

“Y - no, you - go t’ work -”

“Over my dead body, kid. Come on, back to bed.” Logan takes a single step and his knees immediately buckle beneath him. Virgil doesn’t think twice before scooping the Logan burrito up into his arms, shifting so that Logan’s head rests in the curve of his shoulder. “Let’s go.” 

He maneuvers Logan back into bed, tucking him in and taking his temperature. It reads 101.1 - hot enough to warrant concern, but not so hot that he needs hospitalization. Good; Virgil’s had his fill of seeing Sanders boys in the hospital. He soaks a washcloth in ice-cold water, and Logan hisses when he lays it on his forehead, swiftly transitioning from a hiss of pain to a hiss of relief.  

“Stay here, kid. I’ll bring you something to drink in just a second, okay?” 

Logan makes a weak, pained noise from his bed. “Papa?” 

It takes every ounce of self-control Virgil possesses not to bolt or flinch or scream or otherwise negatively react. He knows this is Logan’s fever-addled brain speaking, he knows it doesn’t mean anything. “Yeah?” 

“Papa, I don’ - I don’ feel so good,” Logan whimpers. “Papa, I - I think - I think ‘m sick, Papa.” 

“Yeah,” Virgil says, approaching the bed and gently brushing a hand against Logan’s cheek. “Yeah, you are, kid.” 

“Don’ like it, Papa.” “I know. It’s gonna be okay, Logan.”

“Papa, not - not gonna leave?” Logan sounds so small and fragile, and Virgil remembers the first time a tiny bundle of baby was placed in his arms and the first time he met those vibrant indigo eyes and the first time he knew that he would give anything in his life for this child and his happiness. 

“No, kid. I’m not going anywhere.” 

*~*~*~*~* 

(occasion the third: logan’s senior year of high school) 

“You Sanders men wouldn’t have a proper diet or a proper sleep schedule without me, would you?” Virgil sighs. He’d worked a late shift at the diner today; when Patton had picked up dinner for himself and Logan, Virgil had kissed him quickly and told him not to wait up. 

Now, carefully shutting the door behind him, he’s beginning to think that he should have told Patton to pass the message on to his son. 

It’s nearly midnight, and Logan is slumped across the kitchen table. The table is covered in a mountain of SAT prep books, all of them annotated in Logan’s cramped, increasingly sloppier handwriting. Logan has blue and black pen marks smeared all over his face, his tie is askew, and he’s creating a small puddle of drool as he breathes in and out. 

“Aw, geez,” Virgil sighs. He toes off his shoes and leaves them in the tray, carefully dropping his coat and apron into a heap. Logan makes a soft snuffling noise. “You gotta get sleep, kid. How are you supposed to take an exam if you can barely keep your eyes open, huh?” 

He carefully closes all of the books and piles them up neatly on the table, slides the pen from Logan’s hand and fills up his pencil case, piles the post-it notes in place. It takes some maneuvering, but Virgil finally manages to pick up Logan. He stirs in Virgil’s arms. “Whhmmmm?” 

“Hey, kid,” Virgil murmurs. “We’re getting you to bed, okay?” 

“Need t’study, Papa . . .” 

Virgil’s heart clenches as he carries Logan to his room. “You need to sleep. You won’t pass the exam if you fall asleep in the middle of it, will you?” 

“No, Papa . . .”

“Don’t burn yourself out. Take breaks, let your body recover. Isn’t it you who told me that the brain stores and processes information when you sleep?” 

“Ye, Papa . . .”

Virgil carefully settles Logan on his bed, pulling off his tie and belt and shoes and glasses. “Sorry, Papa,” Logan yawns, eyes still closed. Virgil pulls the folded blanket from the foot of Logan’s bed and tucks it around him. 

“Don’t apologize. Just sleep, okay?” 

Logan is asleep again before Virgil’s even left the room. 

*~*~*~*~*

(occasion the fourth: the aftermath of logan’s twenty-first birthday)

“Who knew my boyfriend was a lightweight?” Roman laughs. His second beer of the night is half-finished in his hand, and there’s a barely-buzzed but very-drunk Logan curled in his lap and lazily kissing his face. Virgil, the designated driver and therefore sober, would be slightly offended that his basically-son is making out with his boyfriend in front of him, but it is Logan’s twenty-first birthday, and they’re all chaste kisses along Roman’s jawline. 

“I wasn’t expecting it, based on the stories Patton’s told me.” 

“Do tell!” Roman says, wiggling his eyebrows. 

“I will not,” Virgil says. “You need good healthy role models in your life, and if I tell you stories about shenanigans you’ll never take Patton seriously again.” 

He finally manages to pile two giggly drunk teenagers into the back of his car and pull away from the remnants of Logan’s party. They’re whispering conspiratorially in the back seat. Virgil turns on his music on a low volume and keeps his eyes on the road. 

It takes Roman approximately seven minutes to finally kiss Logan goodbye and stumble down the driveway to his house. (Logan does not make his job easier by clinging like a starfish and begging for “jus’ one more kiss, please?”) Virgil nods at Isadora when she opens the door, and she offers him a nod in return as she ushers Roman inside. 

“I - I love him,” Logan slurs, yawning and leaning forward so that his head bonks against the driver’s seat. 

“I know.” 

“No, you - I - I love him, Daddy. I love him.” 

Virgil adjusts his rearview mirror and laughs softly. “I know, Logan. I think all of Sideshire knows you love him.” 

“They do?” Logan hums. “Do - d’you think Roman knows I love him, Daddy?” 

“I’m sure Roman knows,” Virgil says. 

“I should tell ‘im more, Daddy.” 

“You can tell him everything you want tomorrow. Right now, we’re going home, and you’re drinking a bottle of water before you go to bed.” 

“The - the human body is seventy-five percent water, Daddy. Ex - except Roman’s body. His is just made of muscle and pretty.” 

Virgil barely manages to contain the laughter bubbling in his throat.

*~*~*~*~*

(occasion the fifth: logan’s sophomore year of college) 

You have: three new voicemail messages! 

First message: Saturday at 1:17 AM 

“Daddy - Daddy, ‘s me, ‘s Logan, an’ I think I’m jus’ a tiiiiiiiny bit drunk? I wanna make a - a - a snack , but not like Roman, cause he’s a snack but I don’t - uuuuuuuum . . . what . . . was I askin’ you? Dunno . . .” 

Second message: Saturday at 1:27 AM

“Daddy, ‘m sorry, got distracted cause - cause Roman is jus’ - jus’ so pretty - but I hada . . . a . . . question! Yeah, that’s the word. I wanna make those muffins you make, the ones with th’jam in the middle, an’ - but I don’ remember the recipe - how - how d’you put the jam in the muffins without cuttin’ ‘em in half? I don’ understand . . . I’ . . . call m’back, kay?” 

Third message: Saturday at 2:48 AM 

“Uh . . . Daddy . . . how d’you get batter stains outta y’r clothes . . .”

(“Virge? You okay?” 

“Logan leaves the weirdest drunk voicemails.”)

*~*~*~*~*

(plus one: the aftermath of logan’s graduation from chilton) 

“You really did that, huh, kid?” Virgil asks. Logan looks at him, mortar slightly askew, eyes bright and happy. He’s holding his diploma, and Virgil reaches over to ruffle his hair. He gently pulls Logan into a hug, and Logan holds on perhaps slightly tighter than normal. Virgil isn’t judging; he’s holding on tightly as well.

“Did what?” Logan asks. “Graduated? Were you expecting me not to?” 

“No, of course I knew you’d do that.” Virgil feels the lump creeping up his throat. “I - I just - aw, hell, Logan -”

“Are you crying?!” Logan asks incredulously.

“No, shut the fuck up,” Virgil hisses reflexively. Logan laughs, and he sounds watery too, so Virgil lets it go. “I just - you - I -” Logan waits patiently while he takes a deep breath and collects his thoughts. “Good speech,” he finally settles on. 

“Oh,” Logan says, voice small. “That.” 

“You - you called me Dad.” 

“That I did.” 

“Was that on purpose?” Virgil asks. He holds his breath a little, not sure what he’ll do if Logan says no. He’s not sure what he’ll do if Logan says -

“Yes,” Logan says. “Of course it was. You may not have contributed to my genetic makeup, but - but you are my dad, Virgil. In every way that truly matters. You and Dad raised me, you kept me fed and healthy, the diner is my second home. You’re my - you’re my dad.” 

Virgil hugs Logan tightly, one hand gently gripping the back of Logan’s hair and the other squeezing around his waist. “You are my son,” he whispers into Logan’s hair. “In every way that matters, you are my son.” 

Logan takes a deep breath, and then, so quietly Virgil almost misses it, he whispers, “Eight, dad.” 

Virgil inhales, shakily, and exhales, “Sixteen, kid.”

*~*~*~*~*

(plus two: the aftermath of virgil asking logan’s permission to propose)

Virgil curls his hands into fists on his jeans, staring very intensely at Logan’s sneakers. “I promise,” he says lowly, “that I’m not trying to intrude on your life. I know how important Patton is to you, I know how important you are to him. And I know it’s archaic and kind of sexist to ask for someone’s hand in marriage as if I’m asking permission for someone’s property, but - but I - you’ve put up with so much instability in your life, with your shitbag of a sperm donor -”

Logan snorts at the reference to Christopher, and Virgil lets the corner of his lip quirk up into a smile before settling back into Serious Mode. “- and I would never want to make you feel like you have to accept me. I’m not trying to marry Patton because I think I have to, or because I think I deserve to marry him, or - or because he owes me something. I want to marry him because - because I’ve spent so long loving him, and so long being loved by him, and we’ve made a home together and a life together and - hell, we’ve raised a kid together - and i just -”

“I’m sure this is all just one big insurance scam,” Logan jokes. Virgil wheezes, and Logan reaches out to take his hand. 

“Virgil.” He pauses, and then, “Dad.” 

Virgil’s head jerks up, and Logan smiles softly at him. “I know that you would never propose if you weren’t completely serious. I appreciate you coming to make sure that I would be alright with this marriage, because I know someone asking you this question if you were in my shoes would help to ease your anxiety about the transition.”

“That was . . . very emotionally astute.” 

Logan smirks. “I know.”

“Brat,” Virgil laughs. He blinks, and suddenly his face is wet. 

“I appreciate this,” Logan repeats, “but Roman and I have literally been planning your marriage since we met. You do not need to worry about my opinion in this matter. If it will ease your mind, though, yes, Dad, you have my blessing to propose to Papa.” 

“You haven’t called him Papa in years,” Virgil says. 

“I haven’t had another parent to call ‘Dad’ in years, either.” 

Virgil couldn’t stop himself from hugging Logan if he tried. “Eight,” he says, and Logan hugs him tightly. 

“Sixteen, Dad.” 

[irwinkitten]

quarantine and chill | poly!lashton

notes: so as some of you may know, i got hit with covid-19. i’d kept socials updated with my symptoms and how i was dealing with it but i’ve been quite on the aftermath of what i went through. so i did what i do best, i wrote. similar with teulu, i decided to write it out in the form of a fic. a lot of what happens is what i’ve had to struggle through with regards to recovery and what i’m still struggling with. there is a lot that i haven’t really talked about with it either, however i got the main points down and just wrote. if i was feeling better, i’d probably have shifted it to an oc but this felt much too personal to do. i was debating on whether or not this was going to be posted. at first i wasn’t, then i wasn’t sure. i finally decided to because i enjoy writing and i enjoy giving people something to read, something to enjoy. i also decided on poly!lashton mostly because of the interview on one of the instagram lives where ash said he cooks and i think it was with @sexgodashton​ where were talking about how ashton would mother hen you when you’re sick lmao and then i got daydreamy because i’ve been dealing with the whole situation alone and it’s difficult when your loved ones (both friends and family) are too far away and unable to be with you. i’m rambling at this point but yeah, tldr; this is really personal on how i recovered from that godforsaken virus. warnings: talks of dying, depression, sickness word count: 9k (oops)

donate to my ko-fi here

-

When you’d come home from closing up the store, it had been an almost nightmarish day for you. It felt surreal that the store was closing until further notice and you had no idea when you were going to even be back in your job again.

What frustrated you was the fact that you hadn’t been able to book a flight out to LA before the travel bans kicked in, leaving you to be self-isolating in your apartment for the duration of the lockdown, alone.

Luke and Ashton had both voiced their complaints, but no amount of money being thrown at the problem wasn’t getting you back to LA with them.

 “How are you feeling?” Ashton asked over facetime whilst you tidied up. The simplicity of living in communal housing meant that you only had two rooms to tidy and keep clean. Luke and Ashton loved it for the fact that it afforded the three of you some privacy away from prying eyes of the media because you were tight-lipped about where you lived.

“Tired. I’ve cried a lot and I’m missing the both of you.” You admitted quietly as Luke popped into the screen, his head resting on Ashton’s shoulder. His lips wore a tired smile, one that you could match.

“We’re missing you too, love.” Luke’s voice was comforting. You finally settled down on the couch, your body sinking into the cushions and sighed.

“You know you don’t have to worry right? Ash and I are gonna help you.” The reassurance from Luke made your lips twitch up.

“I know. I’m just frustrated. They should have made this decision well over a week ago.” 

Neither of them could say much against that. You’d told the company bosses that you were at risk, you’d warned them that the store wouldn’t pull in enough money to warrant staying open for the week.

But they’d simply said that they were following government guidelines. It had been nothing but frustration for the three of you.

“Are you both home finally?” Your question was much quieter and Ashton grimaced. 

“Because I have a cough, they’ve organised us to be quarantined since we’re together. They’ve done the tests but I don’t think it’s anything, I think it’s just allergies playing up since I’ve been sneezing non stop.” Ashton explained and you sighed.

“Irony at its finest.” You received sad smiles in return from your boys.

“I’ve got some last minute paperwork to finish up and send off since I couldn’t do so at the shop. How about I call you both tomorrow?” Luke pouted and you giggled at the expression, your heart lifting that little bit.

“Fine but next time I’m hogging the phone.” Luke muttered and you laughed before blowing them both a kiss.

“Love you both, I’ll talk to you tomorrow.” 

The paperwork was easy to finish off and left you a few hours to shower and change whilst tidying up around. 

When you crawled into bed, you checked your phone to see a photo of the two of them snuggled up together, Ashton practically smothering Luke. You sent them one back of you with the bear they’d gotten you, sprayed in their cologne. 

When you woke up the next day, there was only a slight difference, your blocked nose making you groan. 

“Fucking allergies.” Was muttered as you made your way to the bathroom, waving to one of your neighbours who was just leaving the kitchen.

You’d decided to stock up on food, making quick work of the short walk. It was nice to be able to still move about in the fresh air at least, offering a small, yet nervous smile at the cashier as you paid for your shopping, packed it in your bag and made your way home.

Before you even realised it, you’d settled on the couch and fallen asleep, wrapped up in your fluffy blanket, eyes heavy as you set an alarm. 

You slept through the alarm and when you next woke up, there were three missed facetimes from Luke. You called him back immediately.

“There’s the love of our lives.” Luke crowed when he answered, making you laugh. It was followed by a cough which made Luke pause, his eyes studying the screen. “Said love of our lives doesn’t look too well.” The concern was evident and you rolled your eyes.

“It’s probably allergies and my body finally relaxing from the last three weeks of stress.” Luke didn’t look convinced but you managed to switch the conversation. “Did you find out the results of Ashton’s test?” 

“Yeah, he came up negative. Since we’ve been quarantined for what, three weeks now? We’ll probably be on the next essential flight back home. But that won’t be for another week from what they’ve said. We both agreed to hang back long enough to let other people go ahead.” You frowned at that.

“But baby, you guys need to be back for the launch.” He shook his head.

“Ash was quite forceful with management on this one. There isn't going to be any kind of physical launch so we’re cleared to be delayed, just as long as we have a good wifi connection for the weekend for the various streams.” You sighed but understood their concerns. 

“How is our no longer sick drummer boy?” You finally asked and as if he was waiting for the question, he all but piled himself on top of Luke, a muffled whine escaping as he tried to shove Ashton off him.

You laughed.

“Behave children otherwise no rewards.” You teased them, making the two of them laugh as they settled themselves  down on the sofa they were on.

The conversation was easy between the three of you as they both excitedly discussed the possible plans they had for the album release, relying on them being home on time to do so.

“It wouldn’t do well to be still in the air when we do the release party, but knowing our luck...” Ashton trailed off, making you snort.

“Knowing our luck, that’s what would happen.” You grinned and he rolled his eyes.

“Probably.” 

The three of you talked until you were dropping off, and despite voicing their concerns, you waved them off, pointing out that you always got like this during allergy season. Ashton didn’t argue the point, but Luke still frowned in concern.

“We love you, sunshine. Get some decent rest please.” He’d pleaded with you and you gave them both a gentle smile in return, hoping that it was at least semi-reassuring.

“I’ll be fine, but I’ll go to bed. Love you two.” 

“Love you more.” Came the unified response before the call dropped and you settled back asleep.

Part of you knew that you should’ve realised that they had every right to be concerned when you woke up the following morning.

Your entire body was aching. And what concerned you most was the tightness across your chest coupled with the pain radiating across your body.

When you checked your temperature, you felt your stomach sink at the fact that your fever had crept up and was alarmingly high. So you called the helpline, putting the phone on speaker whilst you waited to get through, sending a text to the group chat you had with your boyfriends.

‘Woke up with fever and body hurts. Struggling to breath too so checking in with the helpline to see what i need to do. Don’t know if I’m gonna be up for calling later bc I wanna sleep.’ 

You felt bad but you could already feel the drowsiness pull at your body. 

When you got through and described your symptoms, the lady on the other end advised you to self-isolate and upon the symptoms getting worse, to call the emergency services.

You relayed the information back to Luke and Ashton before falling asleep after taking some medication, trying to desperately ignore how much your body ached as you slept.

The first few days, it felt like you’d been run over with a truck repeatedly, but what concerned you was the pain that was radiating from your kidneys. Both Luke and Ashton knew of your previous history with kidney failure and both had been urging you to go into the hospital, but you’d couldn’t help but feel that it wasn’t that bad.

By day four, both of your boyfriends were worried because you’d mentioned to them that you were unable to breath properly. It was late at night, but with the pain reaching an overwhelming point, you knew it was pointless to argue. Even your friends had been urging you to contact the helpline once more.

You’d been on hold for over an hour as the pain got worse. You were struggling to focus and it was everything you could do to try and breathe through the agony that was radiating through your body, so you cut off from the hold music and contacted the emergency services. 

This time fear started to settle into your stomach as you answered the questions posed to you, trying to get across that it wasn’t a block of flats but a shared home.

The operator understood and urged you to get help from your neighbours to at least let the crew into the building. You were nervous enough about standing up by yourself but you managed.

When you stood from your bed, the walk to the door, even though it was five steps away, the agony that shot up your legs had you stumbling into the door. 

Pulling it open, despite your neighbour’s door being six feet away, you knew you weren’t going to be able to stumble that far. The pain was steadily getting worse and tears started falling down your cheeks.

“Can someone help?” You finally got out, gasping for a breath once the words were out. Your neighbour was quick to open the door and knew something was wrong.

“What’s happened, are you okay?” 

“Can’t breathe. Called medics, but need someone to let them in.” You gasped out and he nodded, taking a step closer.

“Lets sit you down and I’ll get one of the others to go and wait for them.” The firm grip on your arms supported you, your own hands grasping his arms to keep you from falling as he slowly walked you back to the edge of your bed, setting you down gently.

The pain receded slightly.

“I’m gonna prop the door open and get one of the others to come and give me a hand, is that okay?” And you could only nod tearfully as you tried to take in slow breaths, despite the pain that was radiating from your chest.

With the door propped open, you could hear him banging on the other doors, calling for help and explaining the situation. The hallway wasn’t very long but their voices carried down to you as you tried, and failed, to calm down.

And then the medics were there, pulling the blanket from your shoulders despite how cold you were feeling.

“It’s because of the fever, your body is already warm, you won’t be helping yourself with the blankets.” 

They asked various questions and you tried to answer in the gasping breaths, but then the pain shot up and it felt like you couldn’t breathe.

“Okay, we’re getting you to the hospital.” 

You could barely move, but between the medic and your neighbour, they managed to get the things you needed and help you down the stairs. It took much longer, but you knew that rushing wasn’t going to help and the pain was pushing close to hitting 10 for you. 

Once in the ambulance, you had a cannula inserted, laughing breathlessly between your tears at the first failed attempt and the second attempt to find a vein. 

When you reached the hospital, waiting to hear where you needed to be taken, you finally got out your phone, the morphine hindering your ability to focus, hitting the audio button instead to send a voice note to your now worried boyfriends.

“At the hospital. Been given some morphine but still hurts. Missing you and love you lots.” You could barely keep your eyes open, the words slurring together. The medic gave you a kind smile.

“Partner?” You nodded, the motion making you feel nauseous. 

“Need to drive to the other side, they’ve got a specific ward set up.” You heard and realised belatedly that the driver must have turned up. The drive was short and finally you were helped from the vehicle into a waiting wheelchair. You were too tired to protest and you knew it would be quicker for you to get situated.

You could hear them talking, explaining your medical history and the symptoms you were displaying. Part of your mind was listening but the other part of your mind was wondering how Ashton and Luke were. 

You missed them.

Once in a room, the nurses took over and did some more tests. Eventually you were left alone, your fever creeping higher despite the fact that you felt so cold. You were tired, but the pain that was radiating from your kidneys and joints, it was enough to keep you awake, unable to relax to sleep. 

Your phone was going off every few minutes, various people messaging you, making sure that you were okay. The only ones you were really replying to were Luke and Ashton, but even then it was sparse. 

It didn’t stop them from worrying.

When the doctor on shift came into your bare room, it took every effort to focus on her words.

“We’ve taken some bloods to help rule out any other possibilities, despite displaying symptoms of the virus. When we have the first results of your bloods back, we’ll be moving you onto one of the wards, so it should be another hour or so.” 

You nodded your head, eyes heavy as you let out a tired sigh.

“Any idea of how long I’ll be here for?” Despite the mask in place, you could see her cheeks lifting up into what you assumed was a smile.

“Less than 24 hours, I’d assume. Try to get some rest, another nurse will be taking some obs in about an hour, before you need to be moved hopefully.” You nodded tiredly, curling up on your side. It seemed to be the only relief you could find.

You drifted in and out, the stark quietness of your room so different to the usual noises you had of cars passing by or Ashton and Luke’s steady breathing.

 When the nurse came back in, you were beyond exhausted. You felt nauseous and the pain wasn’t receding. 

“We’re going to be moving you instead, they’ll do all the obs that they need once you’re settled in the room. I’m just waiting on the porters.” You nodded tiredly as she unplugged your phone charger and placed your bag at the bottom of the bed.

You kept your face turned into the pillow, the lights hurting your eyes. 

“Sensitive to the light?” Came a kind voice, you could only let out a muffled noise of agreement. When you were wheeled into the room, the light was dimmed down and you felt more relaxed. 

Glancing at the time you hadn’t realised it’d been so long. The numbers read 7am and you could feel your body shaking, your mind taking a minute to catch up with the fact that you were cold.

The next few hours were difficult. You went from being too hot to freezing cold, the pain creeping up as you tried to curl in on yourself to warm up. Even with additional blankets, you were still shaking, teeth chattering when you tried to talk.

When they took the second round of bloods, you didn’t offer any argument, simply holding out your arm for them to take the blood from. Things were getting hazy and you couldn’t focus on the nurse as he spoke to you about what was going to happen. 

You knew some of it was tiredness. Despite the mini naps you were having, you hadn’t slept solidly in nearly 48 hours. 

“We’re going to be coming in to do the test in a moment.” You found yourself confused as a different nurse explained what was going to happen and she took her time to make sure you understood each part. 

Once it was done, your cough having flared up after having the swab hit the back of your throat you noticed that you had missed calls.

‘How did I not hear them?’ You thought to yourself, confused. You clicked on the notification and realised it was Luke that had been calling.

“Hi angel, we were just checking in.” His voice seemed to set off the tears, unable to understand why you were so tearful. But he heard the sniffle. 

“Sweetheart, I’m so sorry you’re dealing with this. You know we’re here for you.” 

“I just wanna be home with you two.” You choked out, a cough escaping, the motion making you feel sick. 

“I know angel, what have the doctors said?” You tried to steady your breathing so you wouldn’t set your coughing off again. 

“Two weeks self quarantine.” You finally got out, wiping a few stray tears away. You heard the two of them sigh in unison. 

“Maybe we could—”

“Ash no. If they are sick with the virus, it’s likely to just pass between the three of us.” Luke interrupted and you had to hold back the sob. 

“I’m scared.” You finally admitted quietly and tried to stop the sob that was crawling up your throat. You knew that if you’d started, you were most likely not going to stop. 

“Baby.” Ashton whispered and you sucked in a deep breath, determined not to ask the question. 

“Lu’s right. It’d just pass between the three of us. I should have maybe another week of symptoms.” Your voice was quiet but they heard you. 

“We’re not going home.” Luke’s voice finally filtered through. “Not with you being in hospital and not with you being so sick. We’re staying in a hotel till your symptoms die down and then we’re gonna come and look after you.” 

You couldn’t even argue with them. They were both as stubborn as mules and having them would make the recovery easier with some help. 

“How are you gonna get here?” You finally gasped out. 

“We’ve got a rented car. We extended it the day you got sick.” You felt your heart warm at their words.

“Okay.” You finally muttered. 

Eventually you were discharged with medication for the fever and a reminder to keep your fluid intake up at least. 

The journey back was exhausting. 

The medic was kind enough to chat to you about your job, about Luke and Ashton. He didn’t bat an eyelash when you mentioned them both. He was quick to help you figure out where the turning was, especially in the dark. And he helped you to the door of the building. 

Just the journey up the stairs was tiring, and your neighbours heard you arrive, the three of them checking that you were okay. 

“Until my breathing gets worse, I can self manage at home. However, I need rest and my body currently feels like I’ve been run over multiple times.” 

One of them checked about collecting your food shop the following morning and you smiled in return before getting into your bedroom and collapsing on the bed. 

You made sure that your phone charger was plugged in before sending a text to Luke and Ashton saying you were home. It was barely another five minutes before you fell into a fitful sleep. 

The following day you were woken to a knock on your door, but you could barely move. Sleep had been scarce and your joints felt so heavy. 

“Don’t try and get up! Just letting you know that I’m off to get your shopping! I should be back in an hour or so.” Your neighbour called through the door and you felt a little bit of relief flood you at that. 

“Thanks!” You called back before coughing, twisting sharply to the side where the bowl lay, your body aching when the coughing stopped.

You’d had the bowl lay there since the night before you’d gone into hospital, terrified that the coughing would lead you to throwing up. You weren’t good with vomit at the best of times but this was another level. 

Collapsing onto your back, taking in slow deep breaths as you tried to calm your heart down, you took a few moments before taking some meds, pulling the covers off your body to help you cool down. This was the one thing about fever that wasn’t fun for you.

You ended up napping on and off, unable to pay attention to your phone at the various texts coming through from concerned friends before there was another knock on the door which jolted you awake, despite feeling disorientated.

“I’m leaving the bags just outside your doors! Give me a couple of minutes and I’ll have them all up.” You didn’t reply as you heard the hallway door shut, and instead slowly moved to collect one of the face masks you’d been given, slipping it on with ease before grabbing disinfectant wipes. 

You ignored the dizziness that caught you off guard, taking a steadying breath as you waited, leaning heavily against the door.

“Right, they’re all there for you chicken!” Your neighbours voice was more distant and you hesitantly opened the door. He was standing halfway down the hallway, a kind smile on his face.

“How are you feeling today?” The concern was genuine and you could only shrug.

“A lot of pain. Not sleeping well.” You got out breathlessly. He frowned.

“Well if you need anything, you’ve got my number now, so just give me a text, especially if you need any drinks. You take care of yourself now.” You lifted your hand in acknowledgement before propping open the living room door and heading in there where your fridge sat.

When the food was put away, you were half staggering the few steps back to your bed, barely getting your mask off and on your desk before you half collapsed on your bed.

Glancing at your phone there was a missed call from Ashton.

“Hi love, you weren’t responding so we figured to call you.” His voice was hesitant when you’d accepted the call.

“Everything hurts Ash.” You finally sobbed, your body protesting the movement, but in that moment you couldn’t care. You missed them both and with the combined pain, it didn’t help.

“Baby.” Luke’s voice was soft and you knew they were worried, but you were too far gone to understand their worries. You just wanted them.

“Want you both, and can’t even have that because of this fucking virus.” You got out a cough ending the sentence as you tried to catch your breath and not choke.

“Calming breaths sweetheart. You’re okay.” Ashton soothed immediately and you tried to follow his instructions. But everything hurt. There was a sharp pain in your chest, coupled with the pain in your lower back as well as the joint aches. It practically burned you.

“Do you think you can manage a shower later, love? It might help.” Luke’s voice was hesitant once you were calm enough and you took in a deep breath.

“Maybe.” You got out, your voice quieter and they knew you were tired.

“Rest for a bit angel, see if you can try and get a few hours at least.” Ashton encouraged and you could feel the heaviness wash over you as you settled down.

“Love you both.” You tiredly got out before you let yourself sink into sleep, taking a slow deep breath as you did.

You didn’t hear their returned words or them cutting the call, you’d fallen asleep easily and your body relaxed just a little bit as you slept.

When you next woke up, it was dark. Making sure that you were at least drinking, you had another glass of juice followed by some water before pulling yourself up to take a shower. You texted them both and your best friend to let them know you’d slept some and you were about to attempt a shower.

It was slow going, trying to keep yourself upright, but the steam helped clear your sinuses, making sure you got every part of you with the scrubber before just standing under the shower, your hands pressed into the cold tiles to keep you upright. 

It’d been thirty minutes by the time you’d returned to your room, feeling more tired than when you’d first woken, so you took the opportunity to try and get more sleep. 

That was when the coughing became so violent at two in the morning that you felt like you were practically choking on air, unable to catch a breath until you’d rolled onto your side and something cleared enough for you to take a gasping breath, your heart racing so fast that you had to call your best friend to calm down.

It became frightening as days began to pass and you could barely recall them, your mind confused and muddled with exhaustion mixed in with the hunger that was plaguing you. But when you’d eaten, your body had rejected the food immediately so you didn’t try again. 

By day ten, you were struggling. You’d cried far too much and your body felt like lead. You knew that both Luke and Ashton were concerned at this point, knowing that this was the point where either you’d start to get better or it could get worse.

Two days later, between fitful nap and gasping breaths after a coughing fit, your phone went off.

It was Ashton.

“Baby?” You got out tiredly, keeping measured breaths as you sat up slowly.

“Take a look outside your bedroom window.” You frowned, moving to the otherside of the room, leaning enough to peer out of your open window before a sob escaped.

They both stood there, arms laden with bags. Both were looking up at you.

“Reckon you can come let us in angel? Lu and I are gonna commandeer your living room ‘till you’re better.” It took everything in you not to go racing down the stairs. You knew it would set you back further so you took hesitant breaths before looking back to your phone then you heard a voice in the hallway.

You were quick enough to catch your neighbour as he was heading back to his room.

“You alright there petal?” His voice was concerned and you held your hand up indicating you needed a moment to catch your breath. He waited patiently.

“My, my partners, they’re downstairs with some shopping and taking over my living room till I’m better. Could you let them in for me please?” You were hesitant in asking, but the pleading eyes you had seemed to have his shoulders wilt as he took a step forward.

“I take it they’re gonna be self-isolating for the two weeks they need to?” You nodded. 

“I’ve got to wait seven days after my fever stops as it is before I can even be in the same room as them. I know that they’re worried and being so far hasn’t really helped.” He smiled kindly.

“Got you, petal. Get back in and I’ll go get them for you.” 

You could hear their voices get closer and it took everything in you not to throw yourself out of the room at them. You didn’t want them to get sick.

“Delivered safely petal, feel better soon.” Your neighbour called and you tried not to let out a sob.

“Hi angel.” It took everything in you not to open the door. You had to clench your hands into a fist, head resting on the door.

“I don’t know what’s harder. You both being away, or you being so close but I can’t even see you.” You let out a choked cough and Luke let out a soothing noise.

“Well we’ve got you some good wifi now, and we’re here for you angel. We’ve got a couple of streams and you best be watching when we go live.” You let out a breathless giggle. They were there.

The first few days were the hardest. They’d leave cartons of juice and bottles of water outside your door. It finally added to fruit when you managed to keep an orange down.

Watching them do the streams from your living room was strange, but it seemed to settle your anxiety that they were so close. You could see it was being brought up about their shared change of scenery which prompted them to explain after you’d texted Ashton and told him that it was okay for them to know about your situation.

“So our partner, well they got pretty sick at the start of last week. We were already stuck in the UK at this point, so we just extended it so that we’d be with them when they got better. None of us handle being sick alone very well.” This made the other three laugh. You grinned.

“I think that extends to the rest of the band too.” Luke piped up, making the other two complain loudly. You giggled before coughing violently.

“Oops. As you can probably hear, it got real bad and real close by the end of last week. It’s why we were so distracted on the live because we were so worried. When they told us that they’d slept for a solid six hours last night, we made the drive back to theirs, shopping in tow to help look after them. We can’t see them, and Luke and I are stuck on the couch for the next two weeks at least, but we couldn’t just fly out and leave them alone.” 

Ashton’s explanation had well wishes pouring in for you and it warmed your heart to see that there were fans that cared. 

Part of you wished you could at least be watching them, or better yet, be cuddled up with them, to hell with the stream. But you knew they were trying to keep the focus on the album. You’d already had texts from the others to check in with you and you took your time to reply to them and settle down, your eyes heavy as you snuggled under the covers.

It was nice to watch them, seeing the ease in the way they joked about. You knew they worried but it was obvious to anyone who saw them when you’d gone into hospital that the tension that was sat on the both of them was both obvious and heartbreaking. 

You could see the shadows under Luke’s eyes and you wondered if they traded the nights between each other to make sure they wouldn’t miss an update or a call. 

You tried to squash down the guilt instant that reared up. They were doing this because they cared. There was nothing in it for them, apart from the possibility of you getting better. But you knew they expected nothing back. 

Your eyes were tired and you took in the time. It was creeping closer to midnight so you closed off the stream and texted the chat to let them both know you were going to sleep. Had you stayed on the stream a few moments longer, you’d have seen Ashton’s face relax as a gentle smile crept onto his lips, causing the two that were still stateside to tease him. 

The following morning was better in some way but also worse. Your cough wasn’t easing up but your fever seemed to have broken in the night. 

You weren’t overheating but you weren’t cold either. You took a few moments to move your limbs and regretted it almost instantly. But you knew that if your fever stayed down, it would be a further week until you weren’t contagious. 

Part of you wanted to practically sing in joy, but as you took in the early morning, you decided against that, knowing your men would be fast asleep still. 

Slowly you got yourself up, collecting your shower stuff before making your way down the hallway to the shower. The warm water felt almost luxurious on your skin as you took care in washing your hair, still leaning against the cold tiles to keep yourself upright, your legs trembling as you did so. 

It took the same amount of time as the previous shower, but once you were clean, you knew it made a small amount of difference as you stumbled back to your room, crawling under the covers to take a well deserved nap. 

You missed the text from Luke asking if you were awake. 

Now that you seemed to be stomaching food, Ashton kept it simple with dry toast, not willing to push your body too far. And you agreed with his judgement after he’d placed it in front of your door and you waited for the other door to close before you opened yours. 

“Love you.” You felt your heart melt as he spoke through the door. 

“Love you too Ash. Thank you.” You returned quietly before stepping back into your room. It was getting harder to stay in, especially when your cuddle monsters of boyfriends were just in the next room. 

It hurt. 

They FaceTimed with you to keep you company, both of them making a strong effort to not only keep you company but to also stop you from giving into temptation to just join them. 

Ashton was practically insistent on that. 

You knew by the time that you would be allowed to have them back in your room, their own self isolation would be over. 

It didn’t fail to amuse you how Ashton started cooking once you started being able to stomach more than dry toast. It took a few goes but he kept it plain enough to not make your stomach complain but changed it up so you didn’t get bored of it. 

What made it even better were the small notes of affection they left for you on the tray which held your food. You had them pinned up to your cork board without a second though, the small pieces of heaven from them only making it feel that much cosier. 

Something to ward away the bad days in the future. 

Luke snuck you some of your favourite snacks, even after the scolding Ashton gave him when he tried sneaking you a chocolate bar. 

It’d made you giggle and they’d both paused to hear it. 

It was a sound they hadn’t heard in nearly a month and it made their hearts soar. 

Despite the pain you were in, it felt like you could at least breathe with the both of them with you. Even if you couldn’t see them. 

By day nine after your fever had broken, you were beginning to feel semi human once more. You still had issues with exhaustion and light sensitivity, but you certainly felt more better than you had done in weeks. 

Luke had given up on waiting. 

“Ash, they said a week after the fever went down, they’d no longer be contagious. This is killing me.” You’d chosen to curl up on the side that was proclaimed as Luke’s side. 

Your heart was feeling heavy again. 

“I mean. We’re what? A week and a half?” Ashton’s voice was hesitant. You missed the mutter in return before the door opened and there was a knock on your door. 

Luke stuck his head in and you wanted to cry. 

“Reckon you can put up with some self care cuddles?” You simply nodded your head and shuffled into the middle of the bed. Luke wasted no time, his arms wrapped around you and you could feel every part of you seemingly shaking. 

Ashton followed a few minutes later and your memory seemed to fail you in that moment. You could barely remember the last six weeks, but the feeling of comfort was something entirely different as they held you. 

That was when you began to sob in earnest because you’d missed them. And they knew it. 

When you’d calmed down, part of you felt torn because you wanted to hold them both, not let go and just lay there. But they didn’t protest when you’d snuggle up to one, legs tangled and arms wrapped around tight and eventually switch to the other. 

If anything, it amused them both. 

As the day got later, Ashton untangled himself, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. Luke was your current cuddle buddy of choice. 

Turning your head, your confusion must have shown because Ashton smiled gently. 

“We need to keep up with the meals, love. I’m gonna make some soup for all of us, how does that sound?” You hummed in agreement. 

“It’s allowed I guess. But you gotta come back.” And he chuckled, leaning over to kiss your forehead, doing the same to Luke before disappearing out of your room. 

“You realise that he’s going to mother hen you to death, right?” Luke teased and you shrugged. 

“He’s here. You both are. That’s more than enough for me.” You murmured softly. Luke held you that little bit tighter.

“You up for a shower sweetheart?” You hesitated, your mind drifting back to the previous two times you showered. The hesitation must have been obvious because Luke pressed a kiss to the top of your head, not willing to push you.

“Will you, will you help? It’ll be a tight fit but, I struggled the last two times.” You finally admitted to him and he smiled. 

“C’mon. We can let the chef know as we pass him.” You giggled at his words, allowing him to help you out of the bed and making your way slowly across the room. Luke didn’t push, but he kept his arms available and easy for you to grab if you needed him.

You’d made it to the kitchen before you relied on him a bit more, your joints achy and your legs shaking. 

“Gonna get this one showered and clean.” Luke called into the kitchen where Ashton was cooking. He glanced back and grinned at you both before turning back to the food and you two carried on. 

Luke was nothing but patient with you as you climbed into the shower, his tall body fitting into the rest of the space. He was gentle as he helped you and it took the pressure off you, focusing on keeping yourself upright as his hands started working the shampoo into your hair.

You’d forgotten how well he massaged your scalp when washing your hair, and you only protested when he rinsed it out, making him laugh.

“I forgot how nice your head massages were.” You groaned as he worked the conditioner in. You carefully washed your body with the shower gel, cleaning Luke’s body whilst you were at it. 

He tried to stop you but you gave him pleading eyes and he relented easily. Using the time whilst your hair was soaking in the conditioner to wash his own hair quickly whilst you cleaned his body.

And then his fingers were back in your hair, cleaning out the conditioner and you had to stop yourself from leaning into him.

Once you were clean and dried off, dressed and the towels over Luke’s shoulder, you could feel yourself begin to flag again, leaning heavily on Luke for the short trip back to your room.

“I’ve got you sweet.” He murmured as you passed the kitchen. Ashton was talking with one of your neighbours who gave you a small wave but didn’t stop you to talk. Part of you felt guilty, but the larger part felt relieved because you were almost certain once you’d eaten something, you were going to be asleep.

Once you were back in your bedroom, you scooted so that your back was resting against the headboard whilst Luke let the towels hang so that they could dry and put everything back in its place. He understood your need for everything in its own place, whilst Ashton understood, but still sometimes made a small game of moving things to see if you’d notice.

Luke could see that you were too tired to even be playful.

When Ashton returned, he frowned for a moment before resting the first bowl on your lap, spoon already in the bowl.

“Don’t worry about eating it all. Just try to eat something for us.” He encouraged gently, handing Luke his own bowl before heading back to retrieve his own.

You were slow and methodical before your stomach protested and you left the spoon in the bowl, your head resting on Luke’s shoulder.

“M’ready for sleep.” You muttered and he hummed in acknowledgement. He’d long since finished his bowl, as had Ashton.

“You alright with Ash for a bit, love? Since he cooked, I’ll clean.” Luke murmured and you just nodded before shuffling till you were laid down. Ashton followed and you snuggled into him. 

You barely heard his murmured “sleep well” before you were fast asleep.

It was the first night that you’d slept for eight hours and it felt almost refreshing, especially after having the shower the previous night.

You were still nestled into Ashton’s side, Luke’s arm was slung over you both, his hand resting on Ashton’s stomach. You felt very safe between your men and you were so grateful that they were with you in that moment.

It was another hour before either of them stirred, but you’d been resting in that hour, not really awake but not asleep either. Luke was first to move, pressing a kiss to your shoulder as he moved off the bed.

“Morning, love. How are you feeling today?” He murmured as he stretched. You shifted onto your back and gave an experimental test of your joints. They weren’t so bad and your cough had eased up that your chest no longer hurt if there was the occasional cough.

“Better, I think. It’s only a dull ache, the kind I get when you two put me through the paces at the gym.” You admitted softly and Luke grinned as Ashton stretched out, almost like a cat before turning on his side to face you.

“Nice to hear that, angel. And good morning.” You grinned at him and kissed him gently before glancing at the time. 

“What are we doing today?” You asked quietly as Luke continued to stretch out his muscles. Part of you felt bad for them both to be stuck inside with you, but you were much too selfish to let that bad feeling linger. 

“I’m gonna do some exercises and then Ash is probably gonna do his own. And then a movie day for the rest of the day?” He posed the question and you paused before nodding your head. It sounded good to you and it meant you had some individual time with each of them.

The morning passed by easily. They did their exercises and showered before returning to your room that Luke had playfully dubbed ‘The Den’. Ashton had laughed at that as he went to set up in the living room for another live, but this time Luke was staying with you. They’d been trading off which had bothered you first, but then Ashton explained their reason.

“We don’t really want to leave you alone. Not that you can’t take care of yourself,” he hastily added on upon seeing your look of outrage, “but being so far away whilst you were so ill, it kinda scared us. We don’t want to leave you by yourself yet. It’s more to ease our own anxieties.” And you relaxed before shoving any negative thoughts to the back of your mind.

Luke was napping when your phone went off-Ashton was still on the live-and you answered the No Caller ID hesitantly. 

It was the hospital that you were at, a nurse confirming who you were before she’d go any further. It took a few moments before she got to the point of the phone call.

“So we’re calling you about the various tests. I’m assuming that you know you were confirmed with COVID-19, correct?”

“Yeah, about two days after the test, someone called to let me know.” You responded hesitantly. You wondered what this was about.

“And how are you feeling?” You were confused.

“I mean, I’m coming up to two weeks of no fever and starting to feel a lot better. I’m just more exhausted but I suspect that’s because of what my body went through.” You explained quietly and you heard her hum in agreement. Luke shifted beside you and you noticed that he was  awake, only because his hand had started to drift up and down your spine.

“That’s good to hear. What I’m calling about is that you’d said your kidneys had been hurting upon admittance, correct?” 

“Yes.” You were worried now.

“So when we looked at the numbers, we noticed that they’d started dropping. Not drastically enough for us to have you in intensive care, but that was why we moved you to the ward. It was as a precaution.” You felt your heart race at her words.

“They’d started failing again, hadn’t they?” You whispered and she sighed.

“Yes. However, because the numbers were back on the rise when we took your second blood test, we felt that we could discharge you safely. Had they dropped further, you’d have been admitted to intensive care. The only reason why you weren’t told immediately was because we didn’t want you to panic or go into further distress which could’ve made it much more worse.” 

It hit you like a ton of bricks what she was saying. 

“Is there anything I need to worry about?” You finally choked out, your hands trembling.

“At this time, no. When things ease up, we will request you get another test just to confirm you’re clear of the virus. Otherwise for now, just rest up and feel better soon.” 

“Thank you.” You got out, ending the call. Luke took the phone from your trembling hands and he sat up, pulling you onto his lap, his arms around you.

“What happened, love?” You were trying to take in slow deep breaths to stop the panic attack, knowing that it wouldn’t help you.

“They’ve just told me, when I went into hospital, my kidneys were failing.” You whispered and his arms tightened around you tighten enough that he understood the implications.

You’d told them both of the previous two times when you’d been so ill that your kidneys had started failing and as a result you’d been on death's door. 

You didn’t realise you were hyperventilating until Luke began to rub his hands up and down your arms to try and distract you, but your mind was too focused on the fact that you’d escaped death, again.

“Ashton!” Luke called loudly, a tinge of panic in his own voice.

Ashton practically crashed through into your door and his face was ashen as he took in your state, a look of relief followed by concern filling his features. He clambered onto the bed, his hands cupping your face gently. When you didn’t flinch away, he ducked his head to catch your eyes.

“Slow deep breaths sweetheart. We’ve got you.” It took you a while before you could finally focus on Luke’s hands which were still rubbing your arms gently.

“How’s your sense of smell?” Ashton teased as he noted that you were fighting to keep your breathing under control.

“Smell you and Luke, favourite smell.” You muttered and he grinned. You closed your eyes for a moment, leaning into his touch and he let his thumb brush across your cheeks in comfort.

“What happened?” Despite the question being directed at you, you knew that Ashton was also asking Luke.

“A nurse from the hospital phoned I think. They explained about the blood tests they’d run. Apparently their kidneys were failing when they’d gone in, but not enough to alarm the hospital staff or get them rushed to intensive care.” His voice was calm and you needed that. 

You knew that Ashton understood what he wasn’t saying, but also you weren’t too sure if you could voice it properly without crying.

“Come here sweetheart.” Ashton’s tone brokered no arguments and you moved so that you were cradled in his lap, his back resting against the headboard. Luke was nestled as close as possible.

“Part of me knew something was wrong, but, not that.” You whispered finally. Ashton made a soothing sound as you let your head rest on his shoulder, face pressed into his neck.

“It’s one thing to guess, it’s another thing to be told, love. You’re allowed to cry because it’s a frightening thing to be told.” His voice was one of reason and you finally let it out, allowing them both to comfort you as you processed what had been said.

He wasn’t wrong. It was one thing to guess, but to be told that your kidneys had started failing once more, it was frightening.

Neither of them moved away from you as you got it off your chest. You couldn’t pin how long had passed until you finally took a steadying breath, lifting your head from Ashton’s neck. Luke was first to move, his thumb wiping the tear tracks and you gave him a weak smile.

It dawned on you then that Ashton had been on a live.

“Ash, I’m sorry.” You finally whispered and he gave you a confused look.

“What are you sorry for? You’ve got nothing to be sorry for.” He murmured, pressing a kiss to your temple.

“The live you were doing...” You trailed off and he shrugged.

“They’ll get over it. You’re more important and we’re doing more radio interviews on the live so it doesn’t matter.” He muttered and you didn’t push, relaxing in his hold. Luke glanced at the clock and gave you a gentle smile.

“My turn to make lunch. Nothing cooked unfortunately, but I make a damn good sandwich.” He teased playfully which made you giggle, a sigh escaping your lips as he left after giving you both gentle kisses.

“Just think, tomorrow we can take you out for a short walk.” 

“Freedom.” You muttered deadpan, making him laugh as his lips found yours.

“Even for half an hour, it’ll help. Home stretch now.” You mustered up a smile for him before stretching your legs out and he moved with you, his arms not quite leaving your body.

“Am I not allowed to lie down?” You queried and he shook his head, a playful grin on his lips as he pulled you flush against his body, his lips finding your neck.

“No, all mine to have and feast on.” The cackle like laugh that he let off had you giggling as he blew a raspberry on your skin. This earned a squeal from you, laughing as he rocked you back and forth. “No one can take you from me!” 

You were still laughing when Luke returned with three plates, an amused grin on his lips as he raised an eyebrow.

“Save me Lu! Ash is gonna feast on me!” You shrieked again as he blew another raspberry into your neck, the ticklish sensation making you laugh as he held you tightly. 

Luke set the plates down before climbing on the bed, his lips curving into a smirk, making you pause.

“Can I feast with you Ash?” And you groaned as Ashton laughed as Luke straddled the both of you, his body causing the three of you to fall back onto the bed, effectively trapping you between the two of them as Luke left gentle kisses along your neck and you held back your moan, knowing that if he started to pull at the skin you were a goner.

Pulling back, he had a cheeky grin on his lips and you groaned as Ashton laughed.

“You two are the worst. Let me eat, you monsters!” You cried out playfully, making them both laugh as Luke shifted himself off you to get the plates once more and Ashton loosened his hold on your waist.

The rest of the day passed quietly, Ashton had apologised for having to ditch and the three of you settled watching movies long into the early hours of the morning.

Despite the lack of sleep, you were still up early excited that you were finally allowed to go for a walk today, and both of them laughed at your excitement.

Once you were dressed, they followed your lead and got ready. And then you were out of the building and the fresh air felt glorious, even if there was a spattering of rain. You didn’t care.

You led them both to a small pathway that led to the river that ran through the town, the edge of the river filled with cherry blossom trees. Both of them were taking as many photos as they could and you couldn’t hide your smile if you tried. 

Ashton managed to get a nice selfie of the three of you under one of the trees and before long, you realised that the half an hour had gone by and you were beginning to struggle, your legs becoming a little bit shaky. 

But it didn’t deter from the fact that you’d been able to go out for a walk and enjoy it. Both Luke and Ashton could see the immediate difference.

“We’ll go out every day and stay an extra five minutes longer. Build you up. How does that sound?” Ashton asked as you walked up the driveway, arm in arm with the both of them.

“That sounds good. Onwards and upwards from here and I am so going to kick your butts at Mario Kart now.”  

Their laughter rang around the empty drive as you reached the building and you felt much more positive with them by your sides.

-

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[sohotthateveryonedied]

Just the Same

Summary:

“You’re sick.”

“You’re ugly.”

“Why didn’t you tell anyone you weren’t feeling well?”

“I’m fine.” Jason closes his eyes. “Just a little tired.”

“Uh-huh. And that’s why you have a fever?”

Read it here on AO3!

Bruce has a very simple plan for tonight, alright? He’s going to grab a quick post-patrol snack from the kitchen, then he’s going to take a shower, and then he will go promptly to bed. He’s tired. It’s been a long day. He just wants to sleep. (You absolute fool, the goblin in his brain screeches at him, because the goddamn Batman cannot get a goddamn break or else the world will literally split in two.) Fatefully, Bruce passes the den’s open doorway while half of his mind is preoccupied with sending Dick a goodnight text, and he happens to glance into the room. That’s when he stops in his tracks. Even more fatefully, Alfred is coming down the hall in Bruce’s direction, carrying a tray with a single cup of tea on it. “Alfred?” “Yes, Master Bruce?” “Were you aware that Jason was home?” Alfred looks over at where Jason is asleep on the den sofa, still in his leather jacket and boots. He doesn’t look remotely surprised by the sight. Then again, is Alfred ever surprised? “Master Jason got in while you were on patrol. I offered to make him dinner, but he said he wasn’t hungry.” Then there’s that classic Alfred Pennyworth eyebrow crease. “When he wakes up, do inform him that one does not forgo the need for nutrition when one has been dipped in a Lazarus Pit.” “I’ll be sure to do that.” “Now, if you will excuse me.” Alfred walks off with his perfectly level tray, on a perilous journey to Damian’s room. Bruce envies him. At least Alfred gets to go to sleep after Damian gets his nighttime tea. Bruce enters the den carefully, without a sound. God knows Jason hardly sleeps through the night without interruption as it is. Now, at least, he looks peaceful enough. So much time has passed since his last haircut that his hair curls against his temple, plastered with sweat. He must have come here straight from Red Hood business. At least he didn’t get blood on the couch this time. Quietly, Bruce pulls the knitted throw blanket from where it’s draped over the back of the sofa and lays it over Jason, tucking it in close when he catches a shiver rattling Jason’s teeth. Now that he’s paying attention, he can see that Jason’s cheeks are flushed as well. His mouth is locked in a grimace, even in sleep. Bruce presses the back of his hand against Jason’s forehead and clicks his tongue. Definitely a fever. Jason’s eyebrows wrinkle at the touch. His eyes crack open and take a moment to land on Bruce, sitting on the edge of the couch by Jason’s torso. It says a lot that he doesn’t go into battle mode as soon as he registers an unfamiliar presence in the room. “Mmph. Go away.” “You’re sick.” “You’re ugly.” “Why didn’t you tell anyone you weren’t feeling well?” “I’m fine.” Jason closes his eyes. “Just a little tired.” “Uh-huh. And that’s why you have a fever?” “Why don’t you mind your fucking—” Jason tumbles into a coughing fit, wet and hacking. “I’ll be right back,” Bruce tells him with a parting pat on the knee. His knees creak as he stands, heading for the bathroom down the hall. He digs through the medicine cabinet until he finds the thermometer, one of many that Alfred keeps in every bathroom in the house. He grabs a bottle of Tylenol as well. Bruce goes back to the couch and reclaims his spot next to Jason, who has stopped coughing by now, but his breathing is heavy. Bruce touches the thermometer to Jason’s temple, ignoring his weak swats. It reads out a hundred and one degrees. “When did you start feeling sick?” Jason grunts and rolls onto his side, curling in on himself. “Dunno. Yesterday, I guess.” Bruce frowns. Of course Jason would ignore any achy feelings for as long as possible. None of Bruce’s kids have a single self-preserving bone in their bodies. “Tell me your symptoms.” “Being a fucking snack.” “Jason.” Jason coughs. “Leave me alone, old man.” “Does your throat hurt?” “Yeah, so quit trying to make me talk.” “Any nausea?” Jason buries his face into a throw pillow. “You’re fuckin’ exhausting, you know that?” He sighs. “Not since last night. I’m freezing, lethargic, and my head is killing me. Happy?” Bruce hums. “It’s probably the flu.” “Yeah, no shit.” Jason closes his eyes. “Now will you leave me alone? You’re making my headache worse.” Bruce twists open the Tylenol cap and shakes out a couple of tablets into his palm. “Here.” He holds them out to Jason. Jason opens one eye, looks at the pills, and closes it again. “No.” “Jason—” “No. Don’t like pills.” Bruce can’t say he didn’t expect as much. Still, it does Jason no favors to continuously refuse any sort of medication, choosing to tough out the pain for as long as he can. It all ties back to his mother’s drug addiction, a disease which Jason watched slowly kill her over years and years. It makes sense that he’d grow up with an unwavering aversion to drugs. When Jason was a small tot, Bruce and Alfred spent what probably accumulated to hours of cajoling, trying to talk Jason into taking even the lightest painkillers. Lidocaine and numbing solutions were fine, but anything resembling a narcotic was out—and still is, apparently. It makes Bruce wonder how Jason reacted to the Lazarus Pit and its euphoria-inducing waters—part of the whole “magical healing” process. Maybe he was too out of his mind at the time to form a solid thought, much less remember his childhood trauma. This is one fight Bruce chooses not to get into, so he recaps the Tylenol and sets it aside. Miraculously, Jason is already asleep again. That’s fine with Bruce; it’s better his son sleeps this flu off than wastes his energy arguing. Trying not to jostle him too much, Bruce takes off Jason’s boots and leaves them on the carpet. He grabs the TV remote and settles in on the couch with Jason’s feet in his lap, pulling up a nature documentary on hyenas that he and Damian haven’t had the chance to finish yet. Looks like he’ll be catching up on his sleep tomorrow night. Right now, Jason needs him (despite how fervently he’ll protest as much). Honestly, this whole situation brings Bruce back to the old days. After moving into the manor, it took over six months for Jason to completely recover from the years of malnutrition he suffered on the streets. His weight was far too low for a boy his age, even more scrawny than Tim. Alfred provided Jason with plenty of vitamin supplements and extra servings at dinner to bulk him up, but his immune system was shoddy at best no matter how much weight he gained. During his Robin era it was illness after illness, from the common cold to a whammying case of pneumonia. This is the first time Jason has been sick in Bruce’s presence since his death, though. Bruce is learning about the eating habits of hyenas when Tim comes in from the kitchen with a cup of peppermint tea, despite having supposedly gone to bed three hours ago. He stands there in the doorway for a moment, looks owlishly at Jason, then at Bruce, then back to Jason. He grins. “No,” Bruce says. “You don’t even know what I was going to do!” “I know you, and the answer is no.” “Jeez, Bruce. I’m not gonna kill him.” Tim attempts to cross his arms, forgetting that he’s holding hot tea, and hisses when it scalds his arm. “The hand-in-warm-water trick’s never hurt anyone,” he mutters. “Go back upstairs. You’ll get sick.” Tim wrinkles his nose. “This is prejudice against people without spleens, you know. I could sue your ass.” “Sue me from upstairs where I can comfortably know that you won’t die from the flu.” Tim rolls his eyes, but he goes. Bruce hears him stomp up the stairs, getting quieter and quieter until the footsteps are gone entirely. Bruce shakes his head. How did he ever think that having four boys would be a good idea? He questions his younger self’s judgement every day. For the next three hours, Jason sleeps in fits and starts. He never stays awake longer than five minutes at a time, drinking water when Bruce prods him to and grudgingly letting Bruce check his temperature for any spikes. Bruce learns quite a bit about hyenas in the meantime, until the documentary ends and a new one about sea otters begins. In between the hazy bouts of wakefulness, Jason tosses restlessly in the throes of nightmare after nightmare. Beads of sweat roll down his forehead. In the back of his mind Bruce wonders, is this just the fever talking or are nightmares a nightly villain for Jason? The latter would come as no shock, but that doesn’t mean he likes the idea. Bruce runs his fingers through Jason’s sweaty curls, a reflection of years ago when he would do the same thing any time Jason had a nightmare during his youth. Jason has been cheated out of peaceful nights from the beginning. Of course, back then there wasn’t a white streak splitting the darkness of his onyx hair—a reminder of the pit water swimming in Jason’s blood. Bruce moves a lock of hair off Jason’s forehead, gentle as a moth. Jason’s eyes fly open and he jerks away from the touch, a gasp ripping up his throat. Bruce doesn’t move. He gives Jason a moment to regain his bearings, stilling the hand in Jason’s hair. Green irises lock on Bruce, frenzied. “Where?” he croaks. “The manor.” Jason takes a deep breath in, clenching his jaw. “Okay.” He lets it out. “Okay.” Bruce grabs the water bottle he’s kept on the coffee table. “Here,” he says, moving his hand down to Jason’s back and prodding a shoulder blade. “Sit up.” “Fuck you.” It comes out half groan, the illness-wrought exhaustion catching back up with Jason. “You need to hydrate.” “Double fuck you.” Bruce shrugs. “Drink half of this or I’ll call Alfred and have him convince you. Your choice.” Jason rolls his eyes and snatches the bottle. Bruce will take that as a victory. Jason sits up with enormous effort, groaning at the aches in his body until he’s upright next to Bruce. He drinks the water, wincing when it hits his sore throat. “What were you dreaming about?” Bruce ventures to ask. Jason lowers the bottle to narrow his eyes at Bruce like he’s the biggest idiot in this room. “Shut up.” The annoying part is that Bruce genuinely has no idea what Jason’s nightmare could have been about. His childhood? His death? His resurrection? Any of the traumatic things that could have happened afterward, ones that Bruce wasn’t there for? There is such a disconnect between the two of them now. He should count it a blessing that they have moments like this, though Bruce would greatly prefer spending time with Jason while he isn’t sick and miserable. But Bruce will take it, nonetheless. Jason drains a sufficient amount of water, only to lurch forward in another coughing fit as soon as he gets in a breath. “Christ,” he rasps, eyes watering. “Just fucking shoot me already, will ya?” Bruce rubs his back. “I could tranq you, if you really think it would help. But I can’t guarantee that one of your brothers won’t take advantage of that and draw mustaches on your face while I’m not looking.” “Har, har. You’re a fucking comedian now.” Jason’s voice is coarse as gravel, scraping up his vocal cords. “Want some tea? It’ll help soothe your throat.” “Later. Just wanna...sleep for now.” In spite of everything he stands for, Jason tips his head to rest it on Bruce’s shoulder. Whether it was intentional or he’s just so disoriented from the fever that he has no idea he’s even doing it, Bruce won’t take the gesture for granted. Jason is shivering, so Bruce pulls the blanket tighter around his shoulders where it slackened during his sleep. Then, in a riskier maneuver, he puts his arm around Jason and pulls him in close like he did so many times when Jason was a lot shorter and a lot less jagged around the edges. Bcuce still loves him just the same. Jason leans into Bruce’s warmth instinctively, but he warns, “Tell anyone about this and I’ll shatter your clavicle.” “Mm-hm.” “I mean it. You’ll need a goddamn orthopedic surgeon to fix you up if you breathe a word of this to anyone.” “I believe you.” It must be a good enough answer because Jason closes his eyes, relaxing in Bruce’s hold. “The only reason I’m gonna say this is ‘cause my brain is melting,” Jason says, “but...thanks. For being here.” He yawns. “Being sick alone fuckin’ sucks.” “I hear you.” “And keep Tim away from me, ‘kay? I don’t trust the little snot not to pull something.” Bruce snorts and unpauses the otter movie. “Go to sleep, Jay.”

[bluekat12345]

The Sun and Moon Shall Be Our Guides: Chapter 28

First Chapter: https://bluekat12345.tumblr.com/post/624227138892152832/the-sun-and-moon-shall-be-our-guides-chapter-1

Previous Chapter: https://bluekat12345.tumblr.com/post/660258994510872576/the-sun-and-moon-shall-be-our-guides-chapter-27

Next Chapter: https://bluekat12345.tumblr.com/post/666814906988969984/the-sun-and-moon-shall-be-our-guides-chapter-29

Eugene quietly gulped as he stood outside his father’s bedroom door. Fear bubbled up inside him as he just stood in front of the door. He knew he said that he would finally go see his father, but he hadn’t realized that it would be so hard. He figured he would have some difficulty, given his father was still in a very weak state, but he hadn’t realized it would be this hard.

“Eugene, its okay.” Rapunzel’s gentle voice told him as he felt her gently take his hand. “I’ll be by your side the whole time. You don’t have to do this alone.”

Eugene gave her a week smile. “I know. Thank you. Just give me a moment.”

Then the prince took a deep breath, which did help calm him a bit. Not a lot, but a bit.

He gently cracked open the door, and saw King Edmund, still resting in the bed, still looking as weak and pale as he did since Eugene returned from Corona. There was a rag on his forehead that looked fresh and wet, one of the maids must’ve come by and given it to him earlier.

His anxiety began to build up again. At that moment, he wanted nothing more than to just close the doors and try to forget seeing his father like that. But he knew he couldn’t do that.

Hesitantly, he opened the doors some more so he and Rapunzel could enter the room. Quietly, they walked to the Edmund’s side, with Eugene next to the bed and Rapunzel slightly behind him.

At that moment, all Eugene could do was just stare at his father, his voice seemed to be caught in throat.

“Breathe, Eugene.” He heard Rapunzel’s voice gently instructed. It wasn’t until he was taking deep breaths did the prince realize he had been holding his breath the whole time.

“Sorry.” Eugene said to her. “I just...I don’t know what I want to say anymore.”

Rapunzel put a hand on his shoulder. “Just breathe and relax. And remember, you are not alone.”

Eugene nodded at her before turning his attention back to his father. Once his steadied his breathing, he tried to speak. “Um...Hello. I...thought you should now that the black rocks aren’t causing trouble in the kingdom anymore. Well, that’s mostly because Cass ending up taking to moonstone, which apparently allowed her to get rid of the stones, which is good! But we don’t know where she is, but we’re gonna find her!”

Then King Edmund let out a quiet groan, interrupting Eugene’s rambling. Eugene felt his anxiety rise up again, then he remembered the cold rag resting on his father’s forehead. He gently took the rag and began to gently brush it against the king’s face and head, wiping away any sweat the prince saw or just to cool the king down in case he had a fever.

That managed to calm the weak king down, which also calmed Eugene a bit. He looked at his father a few moments longer before continuing.

“Dad, I know things between us haven’t been great. For probably a long time.” Eugene said as he continued to rub the cloth against his father’s face. “But I want to say that, I’m sorry. I am so sorry about what I said before I left. I know you and I don’t see eye to eye, I admit that I haven’t exactly done anything to try to fix that, but I swear I didn’t mean when I said I wished you weren’t my father.”

Eugene felt his eyes water up again, but he continued to speak. “I want to you know that if-when you recover, I will do everything I can to make it up to you, to prove to you how sorry I am and how proud I am to have you as my father.”

Then Eugene cried again, Eugene carefully put the rag back on his father’s forehead and moved away a bit, so he wouldn’t get tears on Edmund or the bed.

He felt a familiar pair of arms wrap around him. Eugene allowed Rapunzel to hug him as he cried, not caring if she saw his ugly crying face this time.

Once he had calmed enough, he wiped away any remaining tears and turned to Rapunzel. He smiled at her. “Thank you for being here with me. If there’s anything I can do for you.”

“You don’t owe me anything, Eugene.” Rapunzel said with a smile. “I simply did what anyone and should do. You are welcome though.”

Eugene’s smile grew. “I mean it, though. Ever since meeting you, I’ve felt more hopeful, that things are actually getting better.”

Rapunzel felt herself blush. “I’ve felt the same since meeting you.” she quietly confessed.

Then Eugene gently took her hand in his and smiled at her, his eyes seemed to shine as their eyes locked. “Meeting you has been one of the best things to happen to me, Rapunzel. I-”

But before the prince could finish his sentence, the doors had opened and in came Quirin and a maid. Quirin and the maid looked surprised as they looked at the two of them.

“Um...The maid is here to check on the King.” Quirin awkwardly stated.

The pair pulled away from each other and nodded, quickly exiting the room as the maid went to Edmund’s side.

“I see you came to see your father.” Quirin stated, uncertain what to say.

“I did.” Eugene said, also a bit awkward. “Rapunzel came with me, for support, is that okay?”

Quirin shrugged. “No, no, its fine, I mean, there’s no reason for her not to.”

“Great!” Eugene said quickly. “So, I’m...uh...gonna go clean myself up. And then we can all meet up for breakfast?”

Quirin didn’t say anything that time, but he did nod before walking, at a rather fast pace.

The Prince and Princess were left alone, the awkwardness still there.

“So, I’ll se you at breakfast?” Eugene asked her.

“Sure.” She nodded. Then she remembered what she wanted to do earlier “Actually, I was hoping I could write a letter to home.”

The Prince nodded at her. “Sure, I’ll show you where it is.”

Meanwhile, back in Corona, things were quiet, but there was a sense of tension that made people uneasy, especially within the castle.

Since Rapunzel had left, with the flower, the King had been very angry. Angry at the guards for not doing their jobs properly. Angry at Rapunzel for taking the flower and leaving, even after he ordered her not to. Especially angry at his wife for conspiring against him. How could she do that? Didn’t she realize the dangers she had put their child in by allowing Rapunzel to go?!

But if he were being completely honest with himself, he was angry at himself. Not only had he failed to protect his daughter, but he had caused her to resent him, to abandon him.

Why couldn’t Rapunzel understand, why couldn’t any of them understand that he was trying to protect his family?!

He would do anything for them, he would send armies to protect them and fight wars for them! The only reason he hadn’t sent one to get Rapunzel back from the Dark Kingdom was because he needed to focus his resources on repairing damages and healing those injured from those weird black rocks. And deep down, he knew that no one would support him, not his guards, not the citizens, and especially not his wife.

“Frederic, breakfast is ready, whenever you want to join.” Arianna said to him that morning. She had come to the castle archives, where he started to spend more and more of his time. It was the one place he could escape from everything that was going on at the moment.

“Have the servants bring my breakfast here.” Frederic stated, not looking up from the various documents and letters at his desk.

“Again?” The Queen asked. “Dear, don’t you think its time to come out from hiding in here?”

King Frederic scoffed. “Oh, now you care about how I’m doing?”

Arianna was not pleased with his tone. “Don’t be ridiculous, Frederic. I love you, I’ll always care.”

“You have a funny way of showing it.” Frederic commented.

“Frederic!” Arianna scolded. “I know you’re still mad about Rapunzel leaving, but that doesn’t mean I’ll let you talk to me like that.”

Frederic glared at his wife and stood from his desk. “Forgive me, but how can I not be mad at you, since you not only helped her leave, but also gave her the Sundrop?”

“What was I supposed to do? Let her do it by herself and allow her to get hurt or worse?” Arianna asked. “You and I both know that if I hadn’t, she still would’ve done everything she could to leave and would try to take the flower with her, even if it means hurting herself in the progress.”

“She wouldn’t have had the chance.” The King countered. “I would’ve have the guards stationed all over. Then she would still be here, safe and secure.”

Arianna glared at him. “Have you ever considered that you ‘protecting’ her was doing more harm than good?” Before Frederic could reply she continued. “Keeping her locked inside the castle of the time like a cage bird, you’d have to be oblivious not to see how much it saddened her.”

“I was just-” King Frederic tried to defend.

But Queen Arianna didn’t give him the chance. “Rapunzel is a free-spirited, she dreams of traveling, meeting new people, seeing the world, and you’ve done everything in your power to try and crush those dreams for her.

“I don’t want to lose her!” Frederic shouted at her, his voice breaking. “I had almost lost you both before she was even born, and now, because I used the Sundrop to heal you, Rapunzel could be paying the price for my actions.”

He slunk back into his chair, resting his arms on the desk, and laying his head in his hands. He was too drained, physically and emotionally, to continue arguing or even continue being angry.

The he felt a pair of hands rest on his shoulders, looking up, he saw Arianna looking at him, with a look of gentleness, love, and sympathy he hadn’t seen in a while.

“I know you’re scared, Frederic. So am I.” Arianna admitted. “But we need to trust Rapunzel. And we can’t keep her locked away all her life, it isn’t fair to her.”

Frederic sighed. “I know. But I just want to keep her safe.”

The pair were silent for a moment, quietly taking comfort in each other. Then a messenger entered the archive. and in his hands, was a black bird.

“Your Majesty. This bird crashed into the window.” The messenger announced. “It had a note tied to its ankle. Its seems to be from the Dark Kingdom.”

The messenger then took the letter and gave it to King Frederic. Then the bird flew out of the messenger’s hands, only to crash by the nearby window. Cringing at the bird, Arianna cracked open a window and allowed the bird to leave.

“Thank you.” Frederic said to the messenger. “Leave us.” The messenger bowed at the them and left the archive. The King presented the letter to Arianna. “Its from Rapunzel.”

The Queen’s eyes grew wide. “From Rapunzel? What does it say?”

Frederic opened the letter and started to read.

“Dear Mom and Dad, I just wanted to let you know that I am okay and things are doing okay enough in the Dark Kingdom. The Black Rocks are gone in the Dark Kingdom and I hope they are no longer in Corona either, but I’m not sure how long that will last, so stay on guard. I will be staying a little longer to help them rebuild and to take care of other business. Love Rapunzel. P.S: Dad, if you’re readying this, I want to let you know that I am sorry for what I said before I left. I don’t hate you I’m starting to understand why you did what you did. I love you very much and I’m sorry for leaving. I hope someday, you’ll understand why I’m doing all of this.”

It wasn’t until after Frederic finished reading that he realized he had been crying, as he noticed something wet fall down his face and little droplets of tears stain the letter.

He felt Arianna wrap her arms around him and hold him close to her.

“She’s going to be okay.” She whispered as she hugged him. “We just have to trust her.”

“I’ll try.” He mumbled. He tried to relax in his wife’s embrace. He still worried for his daughter and wanted nothing more than to have her back here with them. But he was going to trust her judgement and allow her to do this.

“Mother? Can I ask you something?” Cassandra asked her mother.

The pair had stopped to rest for a moment, as Gothel had complained that so much walking was starting to hurt her ankles.

Gothel stared at her daughter for a moment before replying. “I suppose. What is it?”

“Do you know how Dad’s doing?” Cass asked.

Gothel rolled her eyes. “How am I suppose to know that, Cassandra?”

The young woman flinched at her mother’s tone. “I...I was wondering if you had gone to check on him before we left. He wasn’t hurt, was he?”

Gothel sighed. “I don’t know, dear, but I’m sure he’s fine. If he managed to survive after trying to get ride of the opal himself, I’m sure he’ll survive you almost destroying the castle with the rocks.”

“I didn’t do that on purpose.” Cass defended, getting a bit angry at the accusation.

“Watch your tone, young lady.” Gothel scolded with a glare. “You will not talk to your mother like that.”

“Sorry, mother.” Cassandra quickly apologized,

“Good.” Gothel said. Then she gave her daughter a waterskin. “Now, be a dear and refill this. Its running low on water.”

Cass nodded. “Of course, mother.” Then she walked towards a stream that was admittedly not as close to where they were resting as she would’ve liked it to be, but it was nothing she couldn’t handle.

“Are you really going to let her treat you like that?” The Enchanted Girl asked as she floated in front of Cassandra.

Startled, Cass almost dropped the waterskin. “Why can’t you ever announce yourself when you pop up out of nowhere?” She asked, annoyed.

The Enchanted Girl didn’t answer her question, but she did speak some more. “I know you’re smarter than this, Cassandra. Surely you should see your mother is manipulating you.”

Now you’re starting to sound like Eugene.” Cassandra snapped. “That is not what’s happening.”

“Is it?” The Ghost girl asked, raising a brow. “The way she talked to you, the way she accused you of trying to hurt your father, and the why she stopped you from defending yourself from her. She is gaslighting you to keep you under her thumb.”

Cassandra didn’t say anything, she just did her best to fill the waterskin and ignore the girl.

“And she makes you do menial tasks for her to earn her ���forgiveness’.” The Enchanted Girl continued. “Why does she make you fetch water when she is perfectly capable of doing it herself?

“Because I-” Then Cassandra stopped herself before she finished her sentence. The Enchanted Girl just stared at her, challenging her to finish what she would say, as if she knew whatever the Dark Princess would say would only prove her point. “I don’t need to answer to you.”

“I know you don’t.” The Ghostly Girl said, her voice and facial expression becoming gentle. “And you don’t have to answer to her either. After everything she put you through, you don’t owe her anything. However, she owes you. A lot more than you think.”

“What do you mean?” The Princess asked.

“For starters, she owes you an explanation. Or two.” The Girl answered. “She hasn’t even told you where you’re going, for starters.”

Cass though for a moment. And she couldn’t deny that she was right. They had been traveling for a while, but her mother still hadn’t told her anything. Not where they were going or how going there would help her learn to control the powers of the moonstone.

“And the other explanation?” Cass hesitantly asked.

“Why, after so many years of ignoring you in favor of your brother, a child that is not even her own, that she is finally acknowledging your potential.” The Enchanted Girl said. “But I suppose that can wait another time.”

“CASSANDRA!” Gothel’s voice shouted, interrupting their conversation. “What is taking you so long?!”

Turning away from the Enchanted Girl, Cassandra turned to the direction her mother’s voice came from to reply. “Just finishing up, mother!”

But when Cassandra returned her gaze to where the Enchanted Girl was, she saw that the girl was gone. Back to wherever she keeps coming from, The Dark Princess figured. As she went back to her mother, she thought over what the girl had told her. While she still wasn’t sure what to think, she at least admitted to herself that not everything she said was wrong.

[more-miserables]

I was trying to keep a steady-ish posting schedule but that hasn’t happened. I’m flakey as hell now I don’t have teachers and deadlines. I don’t know if any of you guys still remember or care about my pair of whumpees, but I was randomly inspired tonight. Hope you enjoy this anyway.

Tagging: @albino-whumpee @cubeswhump @liliability

Warnings for dehumanizing language, institutionalized slavery, boxboy universe, implications of past self-harm, implied and obvious abuse, implications of drugging, very brief implication of an eating disorder, panic attacks, lots of messed up stuff, you guys know.

Yates never seemed to get completely better after his illness. He stopped coughing, his fever went away, but he stayed very pale, and Ginger could hear how crackly his breathing was at night. His nerves didn’t seem to recover either. Yates’s hands shook now whenever Stanley gave him a task, and he became clumsy and jumpy, forever dropping things. Stanley stopped being so soft with him and started yelling, which just made things worse. Yates was a bundle of stress.

He cried bitterly every night, cradled in Ginger’s arms. “I’m a failure,” he sobbed. “I keep messing up. I don’t know what’s wrong.”

“It’s not you, it’s never been you. You’re just tired, that’s all it is,” Ginger insisted over and over, but Yates couldn’t seem to hear him.

Seeing Yates looking so pale and miserable all the time made Ginger burn with fury. He didn’t care about the pain in his head now; he was frequently spitting in Ivy and Stanley’s food, arguing back, slamming doors, doing anything he could to draw their attention away from Yates. He was disciplined over and over, in new and creative ways, until he was black and blue all over, but it was worth it to keep Yates safe.

The first time he swore at Ivy he was chained up in the garden all night, completely naked. Ginger drew his bare knees up to his chest and held them tight, shivering. English winter nights could grow cold enough to kill, especially when a person had no protection; maybe that’s what Ivy wanted.

Maybe that’s what Ginger wanted too.

“Ginger?”

Ginger jumped, his head snapping up off his knees. Yates was standing beside him, pale and anxious, carrying a blanket.

“What’re you doing here? How’d you get out of the room?” Ginger asked.

“Window,” Yates whispered, cuddling up beside Ginger and wrapping the blanket around them both. “I couldn’t just leave you out here. Give me your hands, I’ll warm them.”

“You’ll get into trouble if they catch us,” Ginger said, linking his fingers with Yates’s.

“I couldn’t leave you,” Yates repeated firmly. He clasped Ginger’s freezing hands between his own, rubbing them hard.

Ginger smiled weakly. Maybe he didn’t want to die just yet.

It was hard to hang onto that feeling during the day, even so. Ivy found fault with everything he did now, and Stanley was equally brutal with Yates. Ginger’s headache was constant, but he refused to lie down and take it. He argued, yelled, swore and spat like a wildcat, allowing Yates to creep around relatively unnoticed.

Ivy had taken to standing in the kitchen while Ginger cooked, peering over his shoulder and critiquing every single thing he did, even the most basic things like pouring water. Each correction carried its own insult.

“Stir that syrup, it’s sticking to the bottom of the pan! Are you blind as well as stupid?”

“I thought icing cakes was your speciality? Seems you only specialise in failure.”

“You’re too heavy-handed with that whisking. I don’t know why we ever bought you. You’re such a disappointment.”

Ginger knew Ivy was just trying to wind him up - but it was working. He felt like he was boiling along with the syrup. It was so unfair to be stuck making wonderful desserts for two people who told him he was stupid and useless and disappointing - and he couldn’t even spit in the food with Ivy hovering.

Ginger held his tongue, presenting Ivy with the finished cake. It was baked beautifully despite Ivy’s complaints, with pin-neat icing flowers and swirls, the buttercream smooth as silk. It was perfect - but Ivy sniffed scornfully. She gripped the plate and slowly pushed it off the counter, watching it fall face down on the floor with a depressing splat.

“Make another one,” she commanded, then turned on her heel to walk away.

Ginger felt like someone had ignited a bomb in his chest. He burned all over with rage. Without thinking, he grabbed hold of the egg box, took one out and pelted it with all his force at Ivy. The egg hit her squarely in the back of her head, splattering yolk down her back and in her hair. The force of the blow sent her staggering forward with a scream. She peered over her shoulder, looking bewildered. For a second.

Ivy’s face flushed a deep red, and she rushed at Ginger, gripping fistfuls of his red hair and slamming him against the kitchen counter. “How dare you!” she screamed, shaking him so violently he felt she’d yank out clumps of his scalp too. “I won’t stand for this. You’ll learn if I have to beat you till you piss blood!”

“Get off me!” Ginger yelled back. He tried kicking out at Ivy, but he was weak and undernourished, and Ivy was a big, strong lady. He couldn’t wriggle free.

“Give me your hand!” Ivy commanded. Ginger didn’t, so she took hold of his left wrist herself, dragging him over to the cooker. “I’m going to teach you a lesson you’ll never forget. You’ll be able to look at your hand every day after this and remember what happens to disobedient little pets.”

She swept the dirty saucepans away with a flick of her arm. The hob was still on, glowing bright red with heat. Ginger renewed his efforts to break free, but Ivy hung on grimly, battering him about the head with her free hand.

“Remember this,” she snapped, and pressed Ginger’s palm firmly against the hob.

The scream Ginger let out echoed through the whole house. It was barely human, like the howl of a dying animal in a trap. Ivy held his hand down for a good three seconds, though it felt like a lifetime to Ginger. He arched his fingertips, trying his hardest to escape the blinding heat, but Ivy had her hand pressing down on the back of his own, so Ginger’s palm couldn’t be spared.

When she finally let him go, Ginger collapsed in a heap on the floor, whimpering. He cradled the burned hand to his chest. It was bright red and already starting to blister. The kitchen was filled with a sickly sweet, burning smell, and he gulped in horror when he realised he was smelling his own cooked flesh. He couldn’t stop the tears this time, though he hated Ivy seeing how much she’d hurt him.

Ivy laughed heartlessly. “I told you so,” she said. She crouched down in front of him, her voice soft, menacing. “You’ll never win. You’ll learn to do as you’re told if it kills me - or if it kills you.” Then she stalked out the room, leaving Ginger sobbing on the floor.

Yates was horrified when he saw Ginger’s hand that night. He’d heard the scream, but Stanley hadn’t allowed him to go investigate. Ginger told him the whole story, whispering because his crying had left his voice raw and painful. He couldn’t remember how long he’d cried; it must’ve been hours. His hand was still so painful he couldn’t move it. His fingertips were mostly spared, though they were raw and red, but his palm was screaming and covered all over with throbbing blisters. He couldn’t even make a fist anymore.

“Ivy did this?” Ginger had never seen Yates look so angry. “That’s horrible! Oh, you must be hurting so badly. How could she?” He took hold of Ginger’s hand. “You poor thing... Here, I’ll help you. I’ll fix it.”

They sat up well into the night while Yates cleaned, treated and bandaged Ginger’s palm as best he could with the limited supplies. He didn’t have anything stronger than pharmacy painkillers and it barely touched Ginger’s agony. Before the burn was even properly dressed, Ginger had been begging Yates to stop for almost an hour. He was howling again, light-headed with pain.

“Stop, stop, please...” he moaned.

“I’m almost done, I promise,” Yates whispered. He saw Ginger starting to wobble and quickly pulled him close, right onto his own lap. Ginger was bigger and heavier so Yates must’ve been very squashed, but he didn’t complain. “Put your head on my shoulder. I don’t want you fainting. Your eyes keep losing focus.”

Ginger let his head fall on Yates’s shoulder with a thump, biting his shirt hard when the treatment continued and the pain returned with a vengeance. He managed not to faint, but the agony combined with his sobbing made him retch. He thumped Yates’s shoulder weakly with his good hand. “Le’ me up,” he gasped. “‘M gonna puke.”

“No, you stay there,” Yates said firmly. “I don’t care if you’re sick. Do whatever you need to. Vomit, bite my shirt, bite me if you need to. It’s alright.”

So Ginger stayed, and when he did bring up bile and spit all down Yates’s back and across their mattress, Yates didn’t even flinch. Ginger felt a soft hand rubbing up and down his back, a gentle voice shushing him when he groaned.

“I know, I’m sorry, but we need to make sure it’s treated properly,” Yates said, his own face crumpling whenever Ginger whimpered. “I’ll change your bandages every day, but it’s going to take a while before this heals. How’re you going to do any cooking and cleaning?”

“I’ll have to, won’t I?” Ginger sighed wearily. “Never mind that now. I don’t even care about the mess. Let’s just get some sleep, please.”

The next day was exceptionally difficult for Ginger. He supposed that was what Ivy had wanted. His bandages were cumbersome and clumsy, and the pain was still so terrible he couldn’t put any weight on the afflicted hand. Ivy made sure to give him every possible job that required two hands, eventually resorting to ordering him to move heavy furniture across the room and back with no real purpose other than to cause him pain. Several times Ginger’s knees buckled from the agony, his vision becoming dark and fuzzy at the edges, but Ivy’s shrill voice would always drag him back to reality. He vomited again three times before noon.

Ivy elbowed Ginger out of the way when he prepared Stanley’s lunch tray, piling it with half a dozen plates, cups, cutlery, even a teapot. She smirked, handing it to Ginger. “Be careful, it’s heavy!” she said in a falsely bright voice. “Hold it with both hands.”

Ginger couldn’t. It wasn’t even about defiance anymore, he really truly couldn’t. He was almost sobbing with the pain already, shifting the majority of the tray’s weight to his right hand. He couldn’t take this anymore. He wanted to run far away, across fields and over pavements and through cities. He wanted to lock himself away with Yates and never see another person again. He wanted to cut his own hand off to stop the pain. He wanted so many things and none of them were allowed.

Stanley’s door was closed. Ginger tried nudging it with his foot, but it didn’t budge. He didn’t know how he was supposed to get the door open with just one working hand. He knocked, but Stanley just barked at him to come in already and stop hovering outside. Ginger sighed, juggling the tray and trying to hold it just for a second with his left hand as he grasped for the door handle with his right.

Sharp pain surged all the way up his left arm in an instant. He stumbled through the doorway with a yelp, dropping the tray with a terrible clatter. Food splashed all across the linoleum and crockery shattered into shards of glass like glittering stars. Stanley and Yates gawped as Ginger landed on his knees on the bedroom floor, crouched in the midst of the mess.

“You stupid, clumsy idiot!” Stanley roared, his face flushing scarlet. He grabbed his walking stick and raised it to swing.

“Oh please, sir! It’s not Ginger’s fault,” Yates gasped frantically. “He’s hurt his hand, sir. He shouldn’t really be working at all. Please don’t hit him! He’s being so brave and-”

“Shut up, will you! You’re getting far too mouthy. Ginger’s a bad influence. You shouldn’t question me, boy.” Stanley paused, walking stick still raised like he was about to conduct an orchestra. He suddenly smirked, holding it out to Yates. “Okay. I won’t hit him.”

Yates took the stick gingerly. “R-really, sir?”

“Am I not a man of my word? You, Ginger!” he barked.

Ginger raised his head, glaring through his curtain of red hair.

“Hold out your hand!”

Ginger did as he was told.

“No, not your right hand. The one with the wound,” Stanley said, still smiling. Ginger did so, far more reluctantly. Stanley turned to Yates. “I won’t hit him. So you’ll have to do it for me. That’s what you’ve been trained to do, correct? So whack him six times on that hand with my walking stick. And don’t you dare hold back or I’ll double the punishment.”

Yates stared at Stanley, mouth gaping. “But... but he’s so badly hurt, sir.”

“That’s no concern of mine. Get to it.” He paused. “At once!”

Yates glanced at Ginger, helpless and terrified. Ginger tried to smile at him. It’s okay, he mouthed. He wanted to comfort him, but Yates’s eyes filled with tears - bad tears, that’s what they’d been taught. He’d never seen Yates cry properly.

“No,” Yates said quietly, his voice wobbling. He put the stick back in its usual place by Stanley’s bed.

“What?” Stanley snapped. “What’re you waiting for? Do as you’re told, boy!”

“I won’t,” Yates said. He blinked, and two fat tears ran down his face. “I’m not going to hit him, especially when he’s hurt.”

Stanley trembled with rage. He grabbed his stick and aimed a swipe at Yates instead, and Ginger hurried to his feet to drag Yates out of reach. Stanley shakily swung his legs out of bed, leaning heavily on the stick, practically frothing at the mouth.

“You disobedient little swine!” he yelled, pointing mutinously at Yates. “You’re more loyal to him than me, the man who feeds and clothes you and lets you live under his roof. All Ginger ever does is hold you back! How dare you! You’re not to answer to Yates any longer. I don’t want you attached to my name. You’re not worthy of it. You’re nothing.”

Yates was sobbing in earnest. “I’m sorry, sir, but I can’t hurt Ginger like that. I’m still loyal, I promise, I can still be Yates, I-”

“Shut up!” Stanley screamed. He turned to Ginger, crimson in the face and breathing heavily. “And you! You were a mistake right from the start. You’re the cause of all this!”

“What the hell is going on up here? What’s all the noise?” Ivy demanded, rushing into the crowded bedroom too. “Oh for God’s sake, look at the mess on the floor! And what’s your idiot blubbering about, Stanley?”

Stanley wasn’t listening. “Get him out of here!” he boomed, pointing at Ginger. He sounded so fierce that Ivy did as she was told at once, grabbing a fistful of Ginger’s hair and yanking him out the door.

“You just wait!” Stanley continued, staggering out into the hall and yelling down the stairs as Ivy pulled Ginger away. He was exceptionally wobbly without his wheelchair, supporting himself on his stick and the wall. “I’ll turn you out of my house without a care. You’ll die like a dog in the gutter, you’ll see. I won’t have you two together anymore. You’re getting in the way of Yates’s work. You need to be separated!” He wavered precariously, eyes wild.

Ginger felt sudden panic, raw and sharp. “You can’t split us up! We’re a pair!” he yelled.

“I can do whatever I want with you. You’re mine,” Stanley said triumphantly. “And you’ll do as I say, and be out of here by-“

Stanley was cut off by a sudden cacophony of bumps and thumps, then eerie, still silence. Ivy, almost back at the kitchen with Ginger in tow, quickly hauled him back to the bottom of the stairs.

They stopped short. Stanley was lying crumpled in a heap on the floor, one leg bent at an unnatural angle, head twisted uncomfortably and staring at the ceiling. There were shallow, rasping gasps coming from low in his chest. His eyes swivelled round frantically, the only part of his body still able to move freely.

Ivy started screaming. Ginger’s mouth fell open, but he didn’t make a sound. He looked up - and saw Yates standing there at the top of the stairs, face ghostly pale, eyes wide, outstretched arms shaking, like he couldn’t believe what he’d just done.

There wasn’t time to think. They couldn’t let Ivy recover from the shock. Ginger dashed up the stairs, grabbed hold of Yates and rushed him down past Stanley’s crumpled body, along the corridor and out the door. They ran like rats despite the hard pavement cutting their bare feet. They ran even though they had no idea where to go next.

[krreader]

I've had mild symptoms. A tempeture, and cough really. I was in quarantine for 2 weeks and then I had to do another test. I was so glad though since I couldn't go anywhere, I got a lot of my online classes done!!!

I just wanted to post all of these, because you all helped me more than I can say. I was so scared and confused at first, but hearing all your stories made me feel so much better. If any of you is testing positive in the future, save this post and read through it, all these lovely people are a massive help!!!!!!

anonymous asked: my best friend tested positive but they didn’t call her same as you and she payed a little more for a better test and it came out negative. Could be a false positive!

@nendere asked: tips from my friend who's a front line nurse now. You need a lot of hot liquid and nutritious food. But not coffee, that's dehydrating. Keep yourself warm. After 7-15 days your symptoms can disappear if you're taking it lightly. If you have a cough, don't lie down, lay on your side or sit. relax your muscles. stay in a good ventilated room. if you throat starts to hurt, eat a teaspoon of honey. You should not leave the house for a month,for a month you still have the virus and can infect others.

anonymous asked:  I’m sorry to hear you got Covid! When it happened to my dad, he actually got really sick. The doctor had him and my whole family quarantine for 14 days and then retest. We all tested too, but luckily were negative, but still had to quarantine. When he finally got a negative test, we were all good to unquarantine. Depending how sick you are tho, take longer if you need it/are able to! Bc my dad really needed longer to recoup than the 14 days and he had side effects for a while.

anonymous asked:  Girl dont worry and dont stress yourself my aunt and cousin had it but now they dont anymore drink a lote of water vitamin C and zinc trust everyday do that try to stay a little active like if u live alone do some cleaning to keep u moving if u live in an area thats a little empty just wear ur mask and go for a walk far away from people dont just stay in bed when my aunt had it she said she didnt feel anything she just couldnt smell or taste anything at all like she’ll eat a spoonfull of mustard and not feel a thing. But trust vitaminC zinc water are the key and dont stress aver it its gonna pass i promise we love you Hey im the anon who talked about the vitamin c and zinc also if you have some lemons try to make a lemon juice its also really good

anonymous asked:  Omg I hope you’re doing ok and will continue to do so. My mom got COVID a few months back, she had to do 14 days of quarantine or until she had two negative tests in a row. But that’s in Denmark, I’m not sure how Germany handles things😥

anonymous asked: Omg, I hope you get better :( As long as I know you have to stay at home at least for 2 weeks, but idk how true this info is, I live in 3rd world lmao Take care bby 💕

@softyoongistuff asked:  Hi! First of all I hope you get well really soon. I have had people in my family who got thise virus. While the virus is deadly, it nothing that young blood can't fight. I am sure you'll get well soon. As for the stay at home thing, quarantine yourself for at least 14 days. Drink lots of immunity booster tea, which includes a pinch of tea, ginger, lemon, and black pepper. Drink this at least 3 times a day, you can add a bit of sugar to it. While its not medically approved? its really affecting in boosting the immunity, as proven according to ayurveda. Take steams. Eat healthy. Do a bit of exercise and deep breathing. Practice some yoga, like pranayam. Record your temperature too. Hope this helps.✊🏼

anonymous asked:  Hey Michelle! I’m sorry that you got covid but I’ve been there too (actually, this is my first week after recovering) I’d recommend for you to take paracetamol if you got fever for more than 1 day! Stay at home, rest and be careful with back pains, that can mean something is not right on your lungs! Also, try to take showers only at daytime and to not drink anything cold. What I learnef from this is that those little things can affect and get it worst! Be careful and please, keep us updated! It’s gonna be fine :)💖💖