#currently i have the flu so that's not great

[cochinitapibil]

hi 🐿️

[eepyjay]

wougg

[akindplace]

The thing about romanticizing the tortured artist trope is that it takes very serious health conditions, physical, mental, and emotional ones, and it turns it into a very empty aesthetic made for consumption. It takes a life story, and it turns it into a punch line, an easy way out to explain a lifelong struggle while having no regard for the person who actually lived it.

It’s a way of simplifying something so complex as a whole life story, take away the good parts, the artist’s talent, and atribute years and year of studying and practicing their craft to an illness. As if it makes people feel better that maybe they aren’t geniuses but at least they aren’t “insane”.

Artists are constantly working to the bone to get people to see and understand their art, to change the current status quo, to perfect their craft. The most important thing is not how an artist died. It’s the life they lived, the work they’ve left behind, their mark on the world. Reducing people to a tragedy is not a way of appreciating their genius: their art is.

No one is a genius because of their illness, their trauma, their suffering, but because they studied and worked hard to develop the aptitude they were born with. Talent is not a miracle, it’s a lifelong effort.

This stereotype is extremely harmful to people who are currently struggling with those health problems, and it should not be used to “give pain a meaning”, because there is always so much more to someone’s life than suffering, and there is always so much more to your own life than romanticizing your own struggles and those of others.

Pain is meant to be worked through, not fed. And when you feed yourself the myth that an artist was brilliant because they were sick, you are erasing a big part of their life to try and make sense of yours. But you won’t find true meaning in life if you’re only feeding your sorrow instead of maybe, just maybe, doing what those artists did and work through it with your own art.

A lot of them did not have any access to healthcare because their conditions were unknown, but they did what they could to keep going. Their deaths don’t mean they gave up in a big tragic ending, and reducing them to that means you’re erasing everything they did to keep going, every fight, every effort they put into their own health and into their life’s work.

I love impressionist art ever since I was in elementary school, my favorite artist being Vincent Van Gogh. I was first introduced to his story as a man who had a mental illness and died a tragic death, while struggling financially and never being recognized properly during his lifetime.

But you see, Vincent Van Gogh had his brother Theo, who kept all the letters his older brother sent him, and sent his brother words of admiration, support, and unconditional love in his own.

He helped Vincent financially so he could pursue his paiting career. He saw the talent in his own brother even when others might’ve not. The period when Vincent was doing a little better with his health was actually when he was most prolific in his painting, which shuts down the idea that someone must be on the gutter and on the deepest pain and sickness to produce great art.

Most people in really poor health have a hard time managing daily life, and they probably won’t miraculously produce their best work yet while they in extreme suffering (I dare you to make the greatest work of art you’re capable of while you’re down with the flu, now imagine being in constant physical, mental and emotional distress and people think you can just make just about anything). Great art takes a lot of work. Genius and suffering don’t go hand in hand, and it reductive to explain away talent by an illness, as if any effort artists put into their craft was meaningless.

Theo named his own son after his brother, and after Vicent died, he still wanted to make his work known, and after his own death, his wife Johanna kept working on Theo’s mission besides her own political activism. She published the letters between the two brothers, and her own son helped in making Van Gogh’s work even more well known. Even though he was just a baby when his uncle died, he kept his memory alive by founding a world famous museum in his name.

Vincent Van Gogh was able to keep working because he was helped by his own family, financially, emocionally, and was given every encouragement so he could go on with his own career. He painted more when he got medical help, even though in his own time he would have had access to much simpler treatments, since the understanding of illnesses has largely changed in the last centuries.

Healthcare, support, compassion and understanding go a long way, and that’s why it’s important to keep pushing society to be more inclusive to people with illnesses - so they will get the help they need, so they won’t leave earlier than they should.

Vincent Van Gogh’s name is not well known just because of his own efforts, but also by the efforts of those who loved him and kept his name alive long after he was gone. He is not famous because he was a tortured artist. He is famous because those who loved him tried to help him in the ways they could, even after he was gone. His fame is not the result of his death, but of his life’s work and the work of those around him.

Love made him known. Support allowed him to keep working. Getting some help even at a time people did not understand his condition well enough meant he could paint more.

Van Gogh was only human, and he felt such a broad spectrum of emotions and lived through so many things, just as we all do. Behind those paintings, there is a person, a story, and so much hard work, and none of that can be reduced to the romanticized ideal of a tragic death of a tortured man.

It is not about his pain, his suffering, his death, you see. It’s about his life. And it’s about the life of those who loved him. He was able to do what he loved because he was loved, and that is the reason is remembered to this day.

I will end this long post with one of his most famous quotes:

“There is nothing more truly artistic than to love people.”

[fox-bright]

My covid post from last year is going around again, as I sit here debating how and what to write about HPAI H5N1.

I'm tired.

Things to know:

HPAI H5N1, Highly Pathogenic Avian Influenza H5N1, is so far wildly lethal when humans get it. Somewhere between 53% and 56% of the humans who have been found to have it have died.

Those people mainly got it from interacting with sick birds. A couple have gotten it from interacting with sick mammals. The one of those that's most important to US news right now is a worker at a milk cow farm who got sick very recently. That worker's only symptom before getting on antiviral medication was pinkeye.

(Keep your cats indoors; cats are getting it from sick birds. Don't have bird feeders this year. Do NOT interact with wild birds that are acting strangely; do not poke at dead wild birds.)

Humans are not yet giving it to humans. There are one or two cases where they might have done, in the last few years; those cases guttered out quickly, to the great good luck of our species, and did not spread.

Human-to-human transmission is the big concern.

We are not in any immediate danger of H2H transmission. When we're in immediate danger, you'll know.

When the flip happens, we will go from not being in immediate danger to being in immediate danger, very rapidly. This could happen this month, or in five months, or in five years, and we don't know when.

By the time we are in immediate danger, it is too late to do the greater bulk of your preparation.

So it's time to prepare now. This time we have is a blessing. We should not squander it. What would you have done differently in September, 2019, if you knew what was coming? Do that.

With some differences; a) flu can pass by fomite--that is, a sick person touches a doorknob, you touch a doorknob, you rub your face, you get sick--so you actually do need cleaning chemicals for this one. b) This one gets in through the eyeballs pretty easily in its current shape, so eye protection should be prepped for adding to masking in public spaces. c) this one is gonna call for fever reducers and we know how hard they were to get when covid hit; stock up. And stock up on pet food if you can keep it from going bad, because pet food gets its protein from cow and bird meat; there will be shortages.

With a lot of similarities; the flu is airborne so don't stop masking, if we have a proper lockdown this time you're going to wish you had flour and rice and canned fruit so keep stock of all your staples. If you have a nice big freezer, now is the time to get beef and chicken before the prices shoot to the ceiling. I'm also stocking up on powdered milk and powdered eggs for baking with.

We have made a lot, a LOT of mistakes with how we've handled covid. But one thing we didn't do wrong was all of the community-building in the early days. Think about what worked then, and what didn't really work. Now is the time to make sure community bonds are strong. As always, as in ANY potential disaster, there are two most-important questions?

Who can protect and support you?

Who can you support and protect?

Plan accordingly.

[bratzforchris]

can you do one where chris has a gf who gets psychogenic fevers? thank you!

Masking

Summary: Autistic masking takes a lot out of you and leads to you running a psychogenic fever, but luckily for you, Chris is always right by your side to help you<3

Pairing: Chris x neurodivergentfem!reader

Warnings: Mentions of masking, autistic meltdown

Word Count: 1.5k

A/N: Thank you for the request! I actually experience psychogenic fevers myself (related to masking and burnout), so this was a very self-indulgent request :) For those of you that don't know, psychogenic fevers are stress related and psychosomatic. You can read this article for more info<3 Hate/ableism/etc will be blocked and deleted ♡ Enjoy!!

There were very few parts, if any, of your relationship with Chris that you didn’t like. Everything was absolutely perfect. Your boyfriend spoiled you rotten, taking great care to make sure you were okay physically, mentally, and emotionally, and always made sure to both accommodate and help you accommodate your disability. Chris never made you feel wrong, bad, or different for the way your brain worked. Quite the opposite, actually. However, there were things that even he couldn’t control for you. 

Like today, for example. The morning had started off rather rocky, with Matt unintentionally finishing off the milk before you’d had your bowl of cereal. Frosted Flakes was one of your safe foods, and not being able to have them, along with getting out of your routine, had left you teary-eyed and anxious. The middle triplet had apologized profusely, and although you forgave him immediately, it still put you out of whack. Then, instead of your usual afternoon snuggle and stim time with Chris, you’d both been running around the house getting ready for the movie premiere the trio had been invited to this evening. 

All of those events had led you to now, standing off in the corner of the ballroom that had been used for the afterparty, nursing a sweating glass of Sprite. You adored being Chris’ girlfriend, but sometimes all the things you had to attend as a plus one became exhausting, especially when you had to mask around all the people you didn’t know. You’d been suppressing your stimming all evening, as well as small talking with a variety of people without Chris by your side, and it was beginning to wear on you. You shivered, setting your drink down on a nearby tray and rubbing your arms, both as a stim and to warm yourself up. You supposed it was the thin, silky slip dress you had on, but for some reason you felt awfully cold. 

In the wake of trying to warm yourself up, you hadn’t even noticed Chris appear by your side. “Hey ma,” he smiled, sipping his own drink. “I’ve barely seen you all night.”

You hummed softly, still trying to warm yourself up. “Is your jacket in the car?” You asked softly, wincing at the ache in your joints. 

Chris studied you for a moment, assessing your quiet voice and shaking frame. “Are you okay? You’re not looking too good…” After being with you for nearly two years, your boyfriend could practically read you like a book, always being in tune with your moods and feelings. He also knew that you experienced psychogenic fevers, and that the lack of routine, as well as masking around a large group, probably wasn’t doing you any favors. 

“I’m cold,” You mumbled. “I feel like I’m getting the flu or something but I don’t have a stuffy nose or anything.” 

Had you been able to think more clearly, you would’ve realized that you were currently going through what was unfortunately a pretty common experience for you. You had started experiencing psychogenic fevers in high school, once the stress, combined with being neurodivergent, kicked in. They were usually low grade fevers and body aches that would come on during the night due to stress and anxiety and then be gone by the next morning, but they made you feel awful nonetheless.

Chris ran his thumb across your cheek softly, noting how you leaned into his touch like he was the last source of warmth on earth. “D’ya wanna go home, ma?” he asked gently. “You’ve got a fever, babe.”

You looked up at your boyfriend as tears collected on your lash line. “Oh…I guess I should’ve realized…” You mumbled, the thought of why you were feeling terrible finally kicking in. “We don’t have to go, though. I’ll be alright. Enjoy the party.” You tried to smile, but it didn’t quite reach your eyes. 

“Sweetheart, there’s no way I’m gonna let you just sit here all stressed and burning up. This party’s shit, anyway. Stay here, ‘kay? I’m gonna go get Matt and Nick.”

You felt your heart swell as you watched Chris walk away. Despite his assurance, you knew how much your boyfriend loved parties, and the fact that he was willingly leaving one for you made you want to cry. You curled into yourself as much as possible on the small couch next to you while you waited for the triplets. All you wanted at this point was a hot bath and for Chris to hold you. 

⊹ ࣪ ˖

The next thing you knew, Chris was gently shaking your shoulder, brushing your bangs off your forehead. “Ma, come on, honey. We’re going home.”

You sleepily blinked open your eyes, realizing you had fallen asleep in the time it had taken for Chris to find Matt and Nick. “Oh…I didn’t realize I had fallen asleep.”

Chris smiled softly, while Nick looked on worriedly. “Matt’s getting the car.” he explained at your confusion to only seeing two-thirds of the triplets. 

Your boyfriend helped you up gently, leading you by the arm towards the exit while Nick shielded you from onlookers’ eyes protectively. Had Chris had his choice, he would’ve carried you, but he didn’t want to completely embarrass you, nor did he want photos of you not feeling well circling around social media. You shivered when the three of you stepped out into the cool night air, whimpering softly. 

Chris helped you into the car, where Matt was idling at the curb. You immediately grabbed his hoodie from the front seat, pulling it over your shaking frame. “I’m cold.” You whispered. 

Your boyfriend caressed you in a tight hug as well as he could with his own seatbelt, holding you close so that you could feel his body heat as Matt sped home. By the time the car had pulled up outside of your shared LA home, you were practically asleep, your aches and pains making you miserable. Chris gently shuffled you inside, leading you upstairs to the bedroom.

“Do you want a hot shower, ma?” he asked you softly, helping you remove your earrings and necklaces. 

You shook your head, feeling too fatigued to do much else other than cuddle under the covers. Chris seemed to understand, continuing to help you undress with a soft smile on his face. In his eyes, you always looked like a goddess, no matter how sick or tired you felt. You sighed softly once you were dressed in a much more comfortable outfit that consisted of one of your boyfriend’s soft, big shirts and some cozy pajama pants. 

The brunette kissed your forehead with a soft ‘be right back’ as you snuggled up under your soft duvet. You laid across Chris’ pillow while you waited, breathing in his soft, boyish scent. Before you knew it, your boyfriend returned with a handful of medical supplies in one arm and a warm, wet rag in the other. Chris used the washcloth to gently remove your makeup, pressing kisses to your fevered skin as he did so. 

“Do you know what brought this on?” Chris whispered gently, sitting beside you. 

He had a pretty good idea of what had brought on this stress-induced fever, but he wanted to give you a chance to voice your feelings first. You rolled over, sniffling softly and pressing your face into his thigh as you tried to voice your concerns. Despite being home and in bed, you still felt the stress of being out of your routine and masking wearing on you. 

“Not right now? I’m too tired…” You mumbled, a sniffle escaping you. 

“Okay, ma. That’s okay. Let’s take your temperature, okay?” Chris gently grabbed the thermometer off the nightstand, gently sticking it under your tongue while he caressed your cheek. “100.3 (37.9 C). Not too bad, but enough to make you pretty miserable, huh?”

You just nodded sadly as Chris passed you some Tylenol and a water bottle. You downed the medicine quickly, shuddering at the bitter taste in your mouth. Your boyfriend easily helped you lay back down, pulling you into his chest as he spooned you. Instead of focusing on the pain you felt, you snuggled into Chris, realizing that this was the routine you had been craving all day. 

You and Chris would always spoon at night before you went to bed, talking about everything and nothing while huddled up under the weighted blanket that had been placed on the bed at your request. Tonight, Chris didn’t pressure you to speak. Instead, he mumbled little things about how strong and beautiful you were, how he hoped you felt better soon, and how much he adored you while he traced little shapes onto the soft skin of your arm. 

Despite your pain, you felt yourself becoming less tense. You knew your fever probably wouldn’t go away until tomorrow morning, and that you would need lots of routine and special interest time to get yourself back to fully normal, but for now, you enjoyed the brunette's soft hold, relishing the way it made your body feel perfectly aligned after a day of overwhelm. 

It was much easier for you to fall asleep than you had anticipated, the combination of Chris’ snuggles and the medicine working its magic lulling you to sleep. By the time you woke up the next morning, your temperature was back to normal and you made sure to shower your lovely boyfriend with affection for what a great nurse he had been. 

tags ♡: @jake-and-johnnies-slut @chrissfavwh3re @suyqa @chrissturnswife @mbsbaby @herxysc-blog @lovingchrissposts @caffeinatedscorpio @spencereidenthusiast @crazychrisl0v3r @sturnioloxlver @whicked-hazlatwhore @blahbel668 @sturncakez @junnniiieee07 @biggesthat3r @sturniolowhore @patscorner @julesgrl @0strawberrysorbet0 @strombolilovr @matt444nixi @remussbitch @devthepoet1221 @mattyblover07 @loisnotaa @mollyquinnxoxo @graysturns @pepsicolapussy333 @ginswife @emmagirouard @athaliahxoxo @bitchydragonparadise @ilydeaky @soggyslugg169 @m00n-0n-paws @books0fever @stingerayyy2 @sunsetsturniolos @mimi-luvzyu @raysmayhem-72 @faygo-frog @oobleoob @billsslutt @aemrsy

note ♡: if you'd like to be added to my taglist, click here <3

[gdbatbitch]

TL;DR Please, please. I’m at the absolute end of my rope and can use all the help I can get. Also, just putting out there for those that prefer alternates: my PayPal is dextra.hoffman@gmail.com, Venmo is @Dextra-Hoffman, and CashApp is $DextraDawn. Thanks y’all.

I wish I had the spoons to talk about how horrible I have been feeling the last few weeks in real time. Especially the last 3 weeks. You don’t realize how much one little gland will mess up your entire existence until it’s defective or gone. I’ve been without my thyroid for 10 months now. And I’m still suffering the repercussions of it. 

My biggest issue is my TSH levels. I’ve had to have dosage adjustments twice since January, and each time it results in weeks of adjustment time, and a good portion of that, I’ve been completely laid out because of being unable to function. The symptoms can vary, but generally involve massive fatigue, nausea, hot flashes and cold spells/sweats that I’m not able to control and barely able to combat, dehydration, weakness, and just having that feeling you get with a high fever and a flu where you feel half in and half out of reality and not sure if you’re actually alive or you’re a ghost. 

Also because these hormones think they’re that special, they also affect my mental health by spiking my adrenaline levels and triggering my anxiety. My anxiety alone can shut me down for days. It’s been well documented. So the physical symptoms would trigger my anxiety. I have a really high pain tolerance, but sickness not so much. And I have never felt sicker in my life than I have in the last month. So not only was I feeling like I was dying, I was terrified the entire time.

I’ve not gone into great detail about it openly because it was so scary, and I know when I’m in panic mode I can’t really trust my own mind to determine the seriousness of a situation. So I kept it quiet, at least quiet for me. 

Of course, all of this has completely destroyed my plans of getting back to work and out of this poverty rut I’ve been in for months. I had a job lined up, but the start date was right in the middle of my being incapacitated. I tried to work with the company to push back my start date, but that didn’t happen. I’m in the midst of interviewing for a job that would be absolutely perfect, but I’m still waiting for next steps on their part. Aside from those, as anyone currently seeking a job will tell you, it’s abysmal out there. I’ve applied for over a hundred jobs in the last 4 months and I’ve barely gotten any responses. 

I’ve been asked if I’m going to be doing art commissions, and if I were more capable, sure. I’d be silly not to try. But I’ve not been anything close to capable for weeks. I’ve only been back to 100% for a few days now, and even that has been sketchy. So I’m putting a pin in that for now, at least until I can knock out a sketch or two to knock the rust off. 

I was hoping to be done with fundraising, it’s so nerve-racking. But right now, my survival is in peril. I just submitted a request for what will be my last unemployment payout. It wasn’t much, but it was barely keeping me afloat. After that, I’m kinda screwed unless I can figure something out. 

I still haven’t made rent for August, my car payment is late, I’ve got bills up to my ears and I’m just worried that I’m not going to have those things very very soon if I can’t keep up. If I can at least hit the goal on the fundraiser, that can keep me going until I can get back to work (fingers crossed). 

I’ve been struggling with asking for help for a while now because I feel like I’ve been holding my hat out for far too long, but I don’t really have a choice anymore. I’ve also been struggling with a lot of internalized ableism as well because I know I’m disabled and shouldn’t push myself as hard as I do. But that’s a rant for another time.

Please, please. I’m at the absolute end of my rope and can use all the help I can get. Also, just putting out there for those that prefer alternates: my PayPal is dextra.hoffman@gmail.com, Venmo is @Dextra-Hoffman, and CashApp is $DextraDawn. Thanks y’all.

[ozzgin]

Greetings! How you doing today/tonight?

This is not a request or anything

Hopefully you're doing fine, cuz I'm not, I have a shitty cold rn and I just finished 5 tissue roll papers in just a few hours

Anyway this ain't about me, just wanted to see how you were doing since I've been a bit inactive with tumblr with the past few days

Have a great day/night :3

-🎧anon

Aww, sorry to hear that. We’re definitely entering cold/flu season. Mid-October I’ve gotten ill with some virus, no idea what it was, but I had no other symptoms other than terribly swollen sinuses. Which, in turn, pressed on my tooth nerves, so I had massive tooth pain for days. Never dealt with anything like that before and it sounds downright ridiculous, turns out it’s an actual thing. Start taking immunity supplements and avoid visibly sick people!

I know you said it’s not a request, but I couldn’t help the thought of “How would the Baki characters take care of you?” So I did write some short headcanons after all. For you and anyone else currently bedridden. :)

Baki Characters x Sick! Reader

Featuring Baki and Jack Hanma, Kaiou Retsu, Katsumi Orochi and Pickle. And a reader that’s battling a cold!

Baki Hanma

There are two stages of Baki’s involvement. Once you’re not answering his calls he will be at your front door, worried and considering ways to break in. That’s when he hears the muffled coughing and sneezing through the walls and figures it out: You’re sick. He’ll return with a bag of supplies and offer to stay at your place until you feel better. His help consists of quick Google searches, because he’s never had anyone doting on him and consequently has no idea how to care for someone in such situations.

Second and final stage is him getting sick from you. You’ll wake up in the middle of the night to see him trying to hold back his cough, at first denying his poor health until you touch his forehead and it’s burning. The bad news is that you’re both bedridden. Baki is beyond embarrassed, attempting to justify himself and explaining it has never happened before. Eventually one of his or your friends will show up and pay the occasional visit to play nurse. At least you’re not suffering alone. You’re not sure if it’s an actual saying, but you’re tempted to believe colds go away faster in good company.

Jack Hanma

You don’t want to interfere with Jack’s routine, so once you wake up with the familiar sore muscles, you decide to quietly recover from home. Jack notices your absence and while he does not want to be nonchalant and potentially impose on your personal troubles, he can’t help the curiosity. In fact, he spends the whole training time wondering why you’ve skipped your usual visits. So when you hear a knock on the door you don’t think twice about opening it. Probably your food delivery. Only when you notice Jack’s massive frame blocking any outside view, you gasp in surprise.

“Oh. You seem to be ill.” Is all he states before turning on his heels and leaving. You stand there baffled and eventually return to your warm bed. Just as you cozy up, there’s another knock and you groan, throwing the blankets off of you. This better be the hot soup you ordered. Except it’s Jack again, holding not only your delivery, but also multiple other bags with groceries peeking out. “Y-you’re back?” You mumble. “Well, can’t do much empty handed. Here’s your order, but I got some extra things to help with your cold”, he states as he invites himself in.

Kaiou Retsu

You know Retsu will be worried about you, so you try your best to mask the symptoms over the phone. “That’s a stuffed nose. Are you sick?” He immediately points out. Uh oh. You fumble with some excuses and he promptly hangs up. Have you upset him? You’re starting to feel bad. He’s never dropped out of a conversation like this before. You try to call back several times until you’re distracted by the sound of your doorbell. You’re not in the mood for visitors. You continue your attempts to reach Retsu as you approach the door and open it. “I suspected as much.” Your head snaps up hearing the familiar voice.

Before you can say anything, you’re casually lifted up and brought to your bed. As if he’s been doing it his entire life, the Kenpo master tucks you in and pulls out an apron from his bag. “I’ll check what ingredients you already have in your pantry and go buy the rest. Before that, I’ll make you a tea. Any preferences?” You open your mouth to speak, but he’s already walking away, describing the best choice of drink for the common cold. Really, the best thing you can do right now is to rest and leave everything else to him.

Katsumi Orochi

Usually, Katsumi will avoid using the spare key you’ve given him. On the other hand, he was supposed to pick you up for your regular date night and you haven’t answered his persistent knocking, so you leave him little choice. He quietly apologizes for the intrusion as he unlocks the door and tiptoes his way in. The lights are off and he’s becoming increasingly anxious, almost sprinting to your bedroom. He stops in his tracks once he sees you buried under the blankets, passed out and sweaty from an obvious cold.

Ah. Well, that makes sense. He smiles to himself and gently pats your forehead to make sure it’s nothing serious, then sneaks out of the room. You wake up hours later, groggy and sore. It suddenly occurs to you that you’ve slept through your date and jolt up, nearly collapsing in the process. You erratically search for your phone and call Katsumi to apologize. Simultaneously you hear his ringtone nearby, so you limp outside, confused. As you reach the kitchen, a pleasant smell invades your nostrils. Katsumi turns to look at you. “You’re awake! I made something to help with your cold. I’ll bring it to your bed, so you can go back and rest. We can’t skip our romantic dinner.” He chuckles after the last statement.

Pickle

Pickle has been ill at least once in his life, so he can quickly guess that your coughing and runny nose is not something that’s supposed to happen on the regular. Although, if he’s honest, he has no idea what he should do. He’d deal with his sickness by just sleeping it out, or downright ignoring it. Seeing you like this, however, fills him with an overwhelming desire to help you. He does love you, after all. Witnessing your suffering isn’t something he does with ease.

He manages to gesture the situation to Baki, who follows him back to your place and proceeds to do the first aid he’d sporadically learned over the years. A rather clumsy attempt, but it’s better than nothing. Once Pickle has observed the steps, he swiftly shoos the young boy away. All he needed was a little bit of demonstration, some brief instruction on the modern ways. Everything else will be done by him. It’s only proper that the actual care is performed by your partner. You’re a little afraid of the potential outcome to this experiment. Especially once you hear the loud rattles coming from the kitchen. Don’t worry, it’s all made with love.

*My partner has insisted that I include Yuujirou Hanma just to say that he’d tenderly piss on you. I compromised on a footnote.

[oneknightstand-if]

Fencing Club Route is a Go!

Update 2: Chapter 1 Part 3 - Fencing Club Route

Don't feel like playing polo? Join the fencing club instead!

Play the Updated Beta Test

(Since there were bugs reported throughout Chapter 1 & 2, your current saves are probably going to reset to the beginning of each section of the game)

*If you're getting error messages or the fencing club route isn't showing up properly for you (after you refreshed and restarted the game), you'll need to clear your cache. More details found here.*

Additional Word Count (Sans Code): 120,000+ Additional Word Count (With Code): 155,000+ New Total Word Count (Sans Code): 614,000+ New Total Word Count (With Code): 833,000+ Average Playthrough: ~60,000 words

Note: You can view the game code on my site the same way you do on Dashingdon just add /scenes to the end of the URL.

Next Update

Merlin's Guide to Minor Enemies

A bucketload of owed texts & e-mails to the MC

Decisions of great import... just where are you sleeping in that motorhome?

A̴ ̴C̴o̶m̴p̷l̷e̵t̷e̴l̴y̵ ̶N̴o̷r̸m̴a̶l̵ ̵G̴a̴s̸ ̶S̵t̵a̷t̷i̶o̷n̸ ̵S̴t̸o̷p̷

Take part in your first multi-user spell! (Potentially depending on the length of the gas station stop?)

Meet the next Harbinger - RO #4 (Potentially depending on the length of the gas station stop?)

Link to New Polls on the Update (Which don't auto close in a week like the Tumblr ones)

Also...

I'm currently coming down with something (Covid test says not that, so maybe just the flu?) so I'll be taking a bit of a break after this.

More (Fiddly) Info on the Update Behind the Spoiler Cut...

The Update Also Includes...

Calmly letting Merlin into your apartment after escaping the monster-under-the-bed no longer removes the mute flag

Fixed Adrian literally calling the MC as "MC" in the pub

Fixed expresso back to espresso AGAIN *stares at it*

Fixed the phil_status 2 bug AGAIN (Somehow I must've reverted a bunch of bug fixes in Chapter 1)

Fixed bug where MC's name permanently changes to their pseudonym if the player tried to back out of the renaming screen

Fixed the "On second thought, let me try a different fake first name…" option so it only asks the player to change their fake first name (as originally intended)

Fixed some dialogue with Adrian depending upon your clothing choices in the polo club branch

Fixed the Adrian text messaging bug. Again. Hopefully third time is the charm.

Fixed bug where your current job being your dream employment wasn't triggering the positive job attitude flavor text

Fixed bug where the mute flag was being toggled off when interacting with Adrian regarding your fancy outfit before the polo club meeting

Choice where Lucid Dreamer MC talks to Modern Arthur about Merlin's dreamwalking advice is now set to toggle only when the MC speaks to Merlin in the Camelot dream sequence

Fixed bug with the user's input option for Business Casual outfit

User's choice option for Business Casual & Business Suit now toggles pants or skirt variable

Fixed bug with the Cracking text effect in darkmode

All piercings & scars now available in one choice during customization.

Fixed bug (AGAIN!) when Lucky MC fails the luck check to escape the bed monster

Added reactions to Camelot-affiliated names belonging to inanimate objects.

Fixed *set ag2 2 -1 bug in Camelot dream sequence (I wonder how that didn't trigger QuickTest)

A Bit More Info on the Update Mechanics

The decision on which club you join is one of the first questions in Chapter 1, so players will have to restart from pretty early on. However the fencing club flavor text will continue to run throughout the rest of the game (including in the Camelot dream sequence with the Courtyard branch for the Lucid Dreamer MC).

Otherwise this current update does not progress the game further into Chapter 2.

Also Part 2....

We lost power to part of the house (thankfully not including my computer), and while I'm usually the one who deals with the circuit breakers, since I'm currently sick I asked my mother to do it this one time. She turned the power off to the entire house. 🥲 The uninterruptible power source did nothing and now my computer and the microwave are bugging out. I'm just going to lie down now.

[theidiotwhowritesthings]

I have covid (for the first time ever wtf) and I’m feeling sick and pathetic. Just thinkin’ bout how I have to take care of myself and I hate it. How do you think sugar daddy Joel would take care of our sugar baby reader without spending any money if she got Covid or the flu??

I need some fluff to get me thru. PS I love u and your writing so flipping much.

Sugar Daddy!Joel Miller x F!Reader

Word Count: 1.1k

Warnings: mentions of illness, reader can eat chicken noodle soup, reader has hair that can be brushed away from her face

Timeline: this does not fit into the current TCOY story line and is just a separate drabble in the same universe!

[a/n: first of all, OH NO. I know how bad COVID sucks. (fun fact I've had it on five separate occasions, I basically collect a new round of it every time a new strain runs through our hospital). Please please please make sure you stay hydrated above all else! Obviously I don't know your medical history, but the best general advice is to not get dehydrated. Your body needs fluids to fight the good battle. second, I love YOU and I know this isn't much and it's not that great b/c I threw it together in fifteen minutes but I hope it makes you feel a little better, my love💜]

TCOY DRABBLE:

HOMEMADE IS BETTER THAN STORE BOUGHT

"happiness is homemade."

“Baby girl, I need you to sit up for me.” Joel hummed.

You were buried in the thick comforter of his bed feeling absolutely miserable. The cold had come on suddenly. A small cough, more irritating than anything else, spiraled into full body aches, a splitting migraine, and congestion so bad that it felt like your head was filled with concrete. Joel’s heavy hand brushed aside the hair matted to your forehead with dried sweat. Your fever was lingering last Joel checked, but the Nyquil he forced you to take with a bottle of water earlier was helping some.

Joel murmured your name once more and you just moaned in response. You felt the bed dip with his weight and his hand dragged up and down your back. The motion brought with it a comfort on par with medication itself. 

“You think you can eat somethin', sugar?” Joel asked.

“Maybe later.” You mumbled. “Sleepy.”

“That’s probably the Nyquil.” Joel replied. “I sent Riley to pick up some stuff from the store.”

You felt Joel lean over and his lips brushed against your temple. You shook your head, “You’re gonna get sick. I should quarantine alone.” You buried yourself deeper into his bed. With your nose stuffed like it was, you couldn’t smell his sheets and that bothered you more than it probably should’ve. “Don’t you have that meeting today too?”

“If you think I’m leavin' you like this, sugar, then that fever’s got you delusional.” Joel snorted. You felt the covers you had bundled yourself in begin to untangle and a whine that could only be described as pathetic slipped your lips. Before you knew it though, Joel was under the thick comforter with you and you felt yourself get pulled into his warm chest. “C’mon, baby girl. Sleep it off.”

You snuggled closer into his grip and focused on the random patterns he was rubbing on your shoulder with his hand. As a human, this was obviously not the first time you had gotten sick, but something about this time felt different. With Joel’s thick arms wrapped around you it dawned on you that it was him. The last time you were sick you were forced to take care of yourself and work through it. Having your sugar daddy around made you needy as all hell it seemed, but the comfort Joel immediately showed you had you melting against his chest.

“When I wake up, can I have soup?” You blurted the words out, half asleep.

Before sleep took you completely, you heard Joel’s deep chuckle, felt it rumble against you, “Sugar, you can have anythin' you want.”

When you woke up, you did feel marginally better. Joel was no longer in bed with you and you slowly sat up to rub at your face. You craved a hot shower to wash off the sweat and open your sinuses a bit more. A groan left your lips, still feeling crummy, and you began to climb out of bed.

“Whoa, whoa, pump the brakes.” Joel called out. He came into the room holding a tray and you chuckled at the sight of him. He set the tray down on the nightstand to usher you back into bed. “Where do you think you’re goin'?”

You gave him a tired smile, “Shower. I feel icky.”

“Icky?” Joel asked and you nodded. He chuckled and leaned forward to press his lips on your forehead again. He sat back and rubbed a hand against your leg. “Think you can stomach somethin' first?” You nodded again and Joel grabbed the tray. It looked like a bowl of chicken noodle soup, but not the kind that came out of a can of Campbell’s. “Here we go.”

You tilted your head, “Where’d you buy the soup?”

“Didn’t.” Joel grinned. “Made it.”

“You made it??”

“Uh huh.” It was honestly adorable how proud he looked of it. “Homemade is better than store bought, right? Gets you better quicker.”

You laughed, “I’m not so sure about the science behind that.”

“No, no. When I googled the recipe it definitely said this would get you better faster.” Joel teased.

You picked up the spoon and carefully blew the heat away before bringing it to your lips. The first thing you tasted was salt. A lot of salt. Too much salt. You coughed in response and tried not to twist your face to reveal the reaction. You cleared your throat and smiled, “Yum.”

Joel furrowed his brow, “What’s wrong? No good?”

“No. It’s⏤ It’s good.” You said quickly. “It’s… I like the, uh, the…” 

Joel grabbed the spoon from your fingers to take a sip himself and he immediately spluttered with a cough and groan, “What the fuck is that?” Your lips twitched up into another smile. “That tastes awful. Jesus Christ. Gimme that.”

He took the tray from you and set it on the nightstand again away from you. You set a hand on the side of your face while watching his face crumple into a grumpy look of annoyance. You shook your head, “What did it taste like as you were making it?”

“What do you mean?”

“You know. While you were making it did it taste okay?” You clarified. Joel narrowed his eyes at you in thought and you tilted your head. “…Did you taste it while making it?”

“You’re supposed to eat it while you make it??”

You laughed, “Not eat. Just taste.”

“Shit.” Joel scoffed. “I ate some of the chicken and it was good.” You reached out and cupped his face. He looked annoyed with himself, but at your touch the grumpy demeanor morphed into a soft look of concern and disappointment. Joel sighed and turned his head to press a kiss to your palm before leaning into your touch again. “I’m so sorry, sugar. Just wanted to do somethin' nice for you myself rather than just buy…”

You shook your head, “This was nice. I loved it.”

“There is no way you loved that soup. It was just salt, damn it.”

“No, but I love that you tried.” You replied. “It’s the effort that counts.”

“That’s just what people say when they fuck up.” He grumbled.

You leaned forward and kissed the tip of his nose, “You said the homemade version would make me feel better, and this has definitely made me feel better, daddy.”

Joel wrapped his hand around the back of your neck and stared softly for a moment before his smile returned. “You missed my lips, sugar.”

“I already told you. I’m icky.”

“Don’t care. Still want you.”

“You are already pushing your luck.” You scoffed in amusement. “You are gonna end up sick.”

Joel pulled you closer, and even at full strength you’d never be capable of refusing this man. He paused with his lips just barely touching yours. “I’ll risk it.” Joel’s lips sealed against yours tenderly. A soft kiss of comfort rather than of passion. A wordless act of reassurance that he was there. Joel’s tongue just barely brushed against yours before he leaned back and left you wanting more. He hummed, “You taste like salt.”

“Yeah, gee, I wonder whose fault that is.”

[sparda-ly]

Hello! Can I request some DMC fluff, please? Like Dante and Vergil got sick somehow (idk, must be demon flu) and reader now has to take care of them. Separately, of course. I'd imagine Vergil is the type to try to power through it and fail miserably, lmao. While Dante eats up allll the attention his S/O gives him. It's up to you though :) Thanks and have a great day!

SICK! DANTE, VERGIL WITH A S/O WHO TAKES CARE OF THEM

UNSPECIFIED GENDER OF READER!

note: hey there ;) first dmc request, hope it's ok!

warnings: suggestive comment from dante

DANTE

dante probably got sick from his weird hobby of eating pizza naked on his balcony every morning

it doesn't matter if it's winter, summer, autumn, or spring - dante will not start his day without it

thinking he is immortal and invincible from getting any sickness, he unfortunately got proven wrong

and is currently laying in bed in the most dramatic way possible, having a wet cloth pressed to his forehead by lovely reader who keeps fussing over him

dante being dramatic is an understandment

however, dante while being sick is another type of drama queen

clinging to the reader and whining about the smallest things possible

"my head hurts so much honey please"

"i have such a bad tummy ache"

"love please don't leave me i might die here from this disease please"

one day he straight up sat on your leg not allowing you to go to the kitchen to wash dishes, acting like a child

you of course couldn't refuse and just agreed to this fate, getting cuddled to death by this himbo of a man

and dante absolutely loves this attention

"baby, i could name a few things you could help me with" ;)

and even five days after he returns to being a healthy man, he still whines about how bad he feels and oh so amazing reader you need to take care of him, or he will painfully die

the only thing stopping him is the tragic looks of bills to play, nearly staring at him menacingly from his desk

oh yeah, and also, vergil

his loving brother looking straight through his white lies, demanding him to stop lying and get his ass to work while rolling his eyes

VERGIL

vergil will never admit he is sick.

never.

even while practically fainting trying to get to the bathroom with wobbly legs

he still isn't sick, no, of course vergil

at the beginning, he will refuse your attention - saying the strangest excuses known to humanity such as

"a wild dog bit me"

"it's probably my devil trigger acting up"

"i have a penis infection"

the reader just stands there ??? confused as to how this is relevant to being ill

but you stay silent and walk to the bathroom with the intention of washing clothes

however when you return, vergil is already passed out on floor with litreally 40° celsius

but don't get him wrong, vergil still isn't sick

while pampering around him, constantly bringing him food, medicine, drink or anything to please him, he lays like a grumpy cats and just accepts this

vergil will learn to actually like this new side of you, although he does hate feeling useless and weak.

therefore, he will return to work as soon as possible, so don't get so comfortable fussing around your lovely boyfriend

[blessedbyapollo]

Nico was certain that a lifetime of prison would be worth it if he could just murder whoever lived above him. Unfortunately, that would mean he wouldn’t graduate on time, so it seemed he was doomed to eternal suffering.

The first month of fall semester, everything had been fine. There was no noise next to or above him. Life was great. Now, however, Nico was stuck hearing the people who lived above him fuck at 3 am, something that he previously did not know could carry through floors. Most of the time, he tackled this by going down the hall to sleep in Jason’s room on his soft rug. It was fluffy and cozy, and Jason regularly vacuumed so he knew there was no freshman flu embedded in the fibers.

It was coming up on months of those assholes’ reign of terror. Nico had come to terms with the fact that slapping the ceiling in hopes that they would hear it was not, in fact, as effective as he thought it would be. 3am be damned: this time he was going to tell them to shut the fuck up once and for all.

Percy was Nico’s in to the third floor. He was technically not allowed to be up there - he didn’t have a key (as far as anyone was concerned) so it was not his place to enter. Truly, he didn’t use the totally-not-key that Percy had given him unless it was an absolute emergency.

It was an absolute emergency.

Based on the positioning of where he knew the bathroom was on each floor, Nico knew exactly which door to knock on. He just hoped that whatever was going on before had started to cool off as he approached the overly-decorated door.

He paused a moment. Did he really want to see what was happening here? Did he really need to talk to them, or could he just go the classic “tell my RA and pretend they solved the problem” route? He observed the name tags stuck to the door that read “Will,” “Leo,” and “Travis.” They were shaped like Amongus characters. Nico hated it deeply. He knocked.

He heard a muffled “What’s up?,”but before he could answer he was stopped with a hand suddenly smacking the doorframe next to him, which totally did not make him jump. When he looked up, what he saw totally did not make him blush.

The guy next to him was, to put it bluntly, hot, but not in a way that Nico believed any sane person should find as attractive as he did. He was wearing a truly atrocious shirt: a Storm Trooper covered in Christmas lights that said “Merry Sithmas.” Underneath that gray shirt was…another gray shirt, yet long sleeved and just close enough to the color of the graphic tee that it looked weird. His shaggy blonde curls were a mess, but were, in what appeared to be his most redeeming physical factor, an absolutely radiant gold color. His blue eyes were fixed on Nico far too calmly for someone who he had clearly never met before.

Nico was a goner. A goner for a nerd in a bad shirt who definitely lived in that sex dungeon he was coming to take down.

Instead of revealing this, he said, suavely: “Are you Will, Leo, or Travis?”

Mystery nerd finally startled at that.

“How did you know my name?” He fervently whispered. Nico raised an eyebrow and pointed to the name tags on the door.

“It’s right there, genius. And that doesn’t answer my question.” The guy seemed to relax a bit at that.

“Oh thank god, for a second I thought you might have been the campus stalker that Travis won’t shut up about.” Ok, so not Travis. “I’m Will.” He finally said, eyes wide. Nico nodded in acknowledgement.

“Hello, Will. Do you happen to know which one of your roommates is currently in there?” Will pulled out his phone and furrowed his brow. He seemed to be checking the time, which Nico found strange considering it was obviously Too Fucking Late.

“I’m not convinced it’s Leo, but I’m also not convinced it ISN’T Leo. He usually stays out late working, but not this late.”

“Well then where were you this late?”

“Working.” Will said, grinning widely. His two front teeth were slightly crooked and his whole face lit up when he smiled. Goner. “Either way, what does it matter to you?”

“Whoever it is in there is getting up to some, uh, stuff that I can hear all the way on the floor below.” Nico said, shoving his hands in the pockets of his pajama pants. Did they have dinosaurs on them? Yes. Were they any more embarrassing than gray-on-gray Star Wars apparel? Absolutely not.

“Oh, I doubt it’s Leo then.”

“That’s all you have to say? No explanation for how someone, apparently ‘Travis’, can defy all laws and be heard THROUGH the floor?” Nico’s hands were fully out of the pockets then. Will shrugged, then looked down in what appeared to be genuine apology.

“I’m sorry about that, uh-“ He looked up in question.

“Nico.”

“Nico. I’m sorry, then, Nico, truly. It sucks to be up this late, especially in the middle of the week and especially against your will.” Damnit. That was genuine too. “But, hey, if it makes you feel any better, I doubt that Travis is like, actually doing it in there. He’s probably just playing a game.”

“WHAT?” Nico asked incredulously. He had clearly heard something else happening.

“Yeah, no, Travis doesn’t have people over very often, and when he does he at least leaves a sock on the door. Um, anyway,” Will continued quickly at the look on Nico’s face. “He makes way incriminating noises when he plays video games. Look, I can prove it.” Will reached for the door at the exact same time Nico shielded his eyes. When he removed his hands, he saw….

…Nothing. Genuinely nothing. Just some guy sitting on a ratty - was that a dog bed? - playing some kind of game.

“Ugh fuck me!” He screamed, pounding his fists on the floor. Nico wasn’t sure if it relieved him or not to know that he had heard the exact same thing and assumed the worst context. But, this was definitely his culprit, and he was definitely alone.

“Travis!” Will said, in a tone far bossier than he had greeted Nico with. “Dude, shut up! You’re being way too loud!” Travis looked up at Will with a quirked eyebrow.

“Says literally who, William?” Will, who was clearly excited to prove himself right, jumped a bit and pointed directly at Nico. He waved at them both tiredly.

“Wait. Shit. Who is that?”

“Nico.”

“I’m Nico.”

“Hi Nico. Where are you from?” Travis had switched off the TV at that point.

“The second floor of this building.”

“Ah shit are you-“

“Room 220.” They said in unison. Will looked completely lost.

“How did you know what room he was in?” Will said in the same whisper-yell from earlier.

“Dude. We’re room 322. The floors are two rooms off, so he’s right below us.” Travis reclined further on the - yep, it was definitely a dog bed.

“Okay literally how was I supposed to know that. How do YOU know that?” Nico noticed that Will made wild hand gestures when he talked, and they had begun to accelerate. He figured it was time to step in.

“It truly does not matter at all how or why or when you all figured this out, I’m just here to tell you to shut the fuck up.”

“Oh.” Travis said.

“So true.” Will said.

“Sorry man.” Travis again.

“Also, and not that I care, but where is your third roommate at 3am?” They both exchanged suspicious looks.

“Probably with Jason Grace. Do you know him? He lives on the second floor.” Nico gaped at them. HIS Jason? His wonderful soft rug angel?

“I do know Jason, actually. I sleep on his rug whenever you buffoons are too loud, which is literally at least two nights a week at this point.” Nico almost regretted his tone when he saw Will’s shoulders fall again ever so slightly. He clearly felt bad about it, even though, from what Nico gathered, he was not the main perpetrator.

Travis, on the other hand, looked…offended? “You SLEEP on a RUG? Dude, I’m so sorry! Jason’s rug is probably gross as fuck, too!” Will made an “amen” gesture to that, his eyes still slightly downcast.

“Do not diss that rug. That rug is the best thing in my life right now.”

“That’s sad.”

“It’s comfy. And you make sex noises when you play video games.” Travis put his hand over his heart.

“He got you, man. We’ve told you this for WEEKS!” Will’s beautiful grin was back. He snapped his fingers on the word “weeks” for absolutely no reason. If anything, it just made the whole situation louder.

Travis, who had just started to look guilty for the first time, reeled again. “Okay, well, in my defense, you said you’d ask Cecil to go into Connor’s room and smack the floor to see if we could hear it and you literally never did. So. That’s on you.”

Will turned to Nico with his mouth open and palms out, like some kind of dehydrated fish. God he was hot.

“Connor is literally YOUR brother, you dillweed! Also, I’m never in this room. Like. Ever. So if anything that’s Leo’s job.”

“My what?” Said a voice behind Nico. It didn’t take much even in his absolutely braindead state for him to deduce that it was Leo.

“Will thinks you’re not pulling your room-weight.” Travis said, now just fully laying across the dog bed.

Will put his head against the wall in exasperation. “I did not even kind of say that.” He told the corner. Leo reached his arm fully around Nico to pat Will’s shoulder. It took more self restraint than Nico cared to admit to not smack his arm out of the way.

“I believe you, comrade.” Leo said in a shitty Russian accent. Then, regularly: “I frankly don’t give a shit what you were talking about as long as I can go to bed right now.”

“Ugh yeah. You and me both.” Will said, turning to Nico. He didn’t break eye contact with him as he said. “Also, Leo, this is Nico.” Leo clapped his hands louder than Nico needed to hear at any given point. He pointed directly at Nico.

“RUG DUDE! JASON’S FRIEND! Why are you here?” Nico felt a bit honored that his rug was finally getting the recognition it deserved.

“Ask them.” He said.

“We’re way too loud.”

“YOU’RE way too loud, Travis.”

“I’ll believe anything that comes out of Will’s mouth. Travis, shut the fuck up.”

“Why him? What has Will ever done to earn so much trust?”

“He made me soup.” And then, simultaneously: “I made him soup.”

“I can respect that.” Nico said. Will opened his mouth to go on what would likely be a Long One, but Nico, to his great surprise, put a hand on his shoulder. “Look, all I needed to do was say that you’re being too loud. I don’t care who, or why, but just please be more conscious. I’m sure you all have finals too, so let me get some goddamn sleep. Cool?”

Will gave him a sheepish thumbs up, arm slightly stiff under Nico’s hand. He quickly withdrew it. Travis nodded shamefully, and Leo threw a two finger salute his way. “Great. I’ll see at least one of you around Jason’s room apparently.”

As Nico shut the door and shuffled his way down the hallway in his clunky shower shoes, the sounds of muffled arguing following close behind. He couldn’t help but hope he ran into that group some other time. Except maybe without Travis. Or Leo…

Yep. Goner.

[javierpena-inatacvest]

Soup for Breakfast

Summary: Javi comes home to find that you caught the flu from your class at school, and wants to help you feel better.

Word count: 1.7K

Warnings: FLUFF. This is literally just pure fluff, as Javier Peña lives in my mind rent free as the biggest softie alive. Mentions of food/eating, mentions of death (but in a really wholesome way), reader being sick

Paring: Javier Peña x f!reader (no use of Y/N, reader is an elementary school teacher)

This can be read as a stand alone, or as a part of the Never Too Late Series!

A/N: I wrote this when I had COVID because I am convinced that if you told Javi that you were sick, he would literally go to the ends of the earth to help you feel better.

“Hey hermosa, I’m home.” Javi set his keys down on the entryway table and shed his dark gray suit jacket, flopping it over the edge of the kitchen counter. 

Silence. 

“Hermosa?” He questioned again, concern beginning to creep in his voice. 

Since you had started the school year, Javi came home every day looking forward to the image of you sitting at the kitchen table, projects and papers from your 3rd grade class spread across the oak surface. You’d smile and give him a big kiss, ready to share whatever crazy antics your class was up to that day. But when he stepped through the doorway, he noticed the usual construction paper, notebooks and crayons, but the seat where you always were was empty. 

“Hey baby, it’s me!” He tried one more time, hoping that you were in a room further down the hall and hadn’t heard him. No response. The silence sent Javi into fight or flight, now picking up his speed as he looked into other rooms to find them all empty. He paced back to the living room, trying to keep his composure, his past experience with missing persons not boding well for his current state. Taking a few more deep breaths before doing anything irrational, Javi went to sit down on the couch, until he heard a small grunt underneath him. 

“Please don’t sit on me.” You grumbled, nestled under a large pile of blankets.

“Hermosa, Jesus Christ, you scared the shit out of me.” Javi shot up, breathing heavily, placing his hand on his chest. You rolled over, shifting around in your blanket heap, head peeking out to look at Javi. “Baby, are you okay? What’s wrong?” Panic still lingering in his words, now realizing you were laying in a near lifeless heap on the couch. 

“No, I feel great. Isn’t this what everyone does when they feel good? Roll themselves into a giant blanket pile?” Your remark oozing with sarcasm and a hoarseness in your voice. “The flu has been going around my classroom and I think I got it.” You groaned, your body aching as you shifted yourself further out of your fabric cocoon. “You’d think by this point I’d have the immune system of a steel truck, but these kids are just never ending germ factories.” 

Javi quietly chuckled to himself as he knelt next to you, sweeping your hair out of your face and kissing your forehead. As he got closer, he could feel the heat radiating off you, your breaths heavy and labored as you fought to keep your eyelids open. He grazed the back of his large hand against your hairline, his deep brown puppy dog eyes growing more and more concerned.

 “Cariño, you look awful.” 

“Way to make a girl feel good.” 

“No, baby, that’s not what I meant, I-” he tried to quickly rebuttal. 

“Javi, I’m just joking. I know I look like a Gremlin someone just pulled out of a garbage can.” You both quietly laughed before you let out a deep cough, only adding to the effect of your disheveled state. “I started feeling gross this afternoon while the kids were at Art and Gym, so I already made sub plans for the rest of the week, just in case.” 

Javi leaned back down to kiss your head once again, knowing you really must have felt awful if you were willing to admit the fact you couldn’t fight your way through your sickness so you didn’t need to find a substitute teacher for your class. “Okay, hermosa. I think that’s a good idea.” He sat up to peek his head over the couch, starting at your kitchen. “Give me one second, okay?” 

You nodded, already back to being half asleep. Javi began rummaging through the fridge and cabinets, looking for any food that you would 1- eat, and 2- help you feel better. Grimacing at the low stock of items, he began frantically scribbling down a grocery list full of supplies. 

“Hey baby?” Javi had made his way back to the couch, squatting down next to you as he handed you a glass of water. 

“Mhmmmmhh?” You moaned, outstretching an almost limp arm to take the glass, sitting up as you took a few sips. 

“I’m gonna go to the grocery store to get some things. I promise I’ll be right back. Are you gonna be okay while I’m gone?” 

“Well I wasn’t planning on going very far anytime soon, I think I’ll be alright.” You half smiled at him, handing him back the now empty glass. 

“Okay. I love you.” He kissed you on the top of your head, his nose nestled in your hair before he pulled away, frantically gathering his keys and shutting the door behind him. 

“Love you too.” You mumbled, half coherent as you burrowed back down into your blankets. 

When Javi got to the store, he was a man on a mission. You would have thought someone had told him Pablo Escobar was inside at the rate he was moving through the aisles. Completely disregarding the list he had thrown together at the house, Javi had a shopping cart of supplies full enough to tend to the entirety of your 3rd grade class. The thought of seeing you sick and in pain absolutely wrecked him, wanting to do anything he could to help you feel better. He was so desperate, in fact, at one point while in the pharmacy section, he had thrown in a box of bandaids, just in case. 

When he returned back to the house, he was relieved to find you at least sitting in a semi-upright position watching TV, laughing to yourself at the ridiculous amount of groceries he had just set down on the kitchen counter. 

“I didn’t know we were planning on running a hospital out of our home.” You giggled as Javi unbagged the items. 

“I just wanted to make sure you had whatever you needed. I may have gone a little overboard.” He replied sheepishly as he continued to unpack a bag full of snacks. 

“It’s okay, it’s sweet. Thanks Dr. Peña.” 

“Of course.” He finished putting everything in its place before coming back over to you. “Here, drink this.” He passed another cup over to you. 

“Wow, you even got me the red Gatorade? You hate the red kind! You really do love me.” A soft smile crept across your face as you took a small sip. 

“Well I’m not the one who looks like they’re on their deathbed, Hermosa.” It took every ounce of strength in you to give him a playful shove. “I’m gonna make you some soup, okay?” 

“You didn’t need to go all the way to the store for soup, we have soup here.” You rolled your eyes, knowing how much it physically pained Javi to watch you eat Campbell's canned soup after having a taste of one of his mom’s recipes not too long ago. 

“I can already hear mi mamá yelling at me from the grave if I let you eat that shit, especially when you’re sick. I’m making you Caldo de Pollo so she doesn’t come back to haunt me. Had it every time I was sick. Swear it makes you feel better.” Your  heart was warming at the idea of Javi making one of his late mother’s recipes, thankful that Javi’s dad had given you some of them from her cookbook. 

“Thank you, Javi. You’re the best. I’d kiss your sweet face but I’m guessing you don’t want my germs.” 

“A quick one won’t hurt anyone, doctor’s orders.” He winked before planting a soft peck on your lips. 

As he got up, he went over to your entertainment center under the TV, pulling out 2 different VHS tapes. “Which one?” 

“You can’t pit two Harrison Ford classics against each other! Hmmmm, I do love Indiana Jones, but I think Star Wars is gonna have to be the winner today. 

“I had a feeling.” He smiled as he popped in the tape, the theme music blasting as he got to work in the kitchen. 

Javi had to admit, he wasn’t a terrible chef. It wasn’t until he met you that he actually felt a need to cook. In Colombia, he was either eating out or stealing whatever leftovers Steve and Connie had, and once he came home, his dad cooked, insisting he wanted to keep his wife’s habit alive and well, even after she was gone. After Javi had chopped up all of the vegetables, he tossed them into the pot to let them simmer with the already bubbling chicken and rice. Once the soup was done, he filled a bowl practically to the brim, bringing it over to you, only to be greeted by the sweet sounds of your soft snores, muffled under the blanket draped across your face. He laughed quietly to himself before putting your soup on the end table of the couch and shuffling himself underneath your blanket mountain so your head rested against his thigh as a pillow. He stroked the ends of your hair between his fingers in one hand, the other, rubbing up and down your back in soft, gentle circles. 

He let the end credits of the movie roll before turning off the TV and carefully unwrapping you from your blankets, scooping you up to carry you back to bed. As he laid you down, gently tucking you in under the covers, he heard you mumble something. 

“What was that, Hermosa?” Javi’s voice just above a whisper.

“I never ate your soup.” You muttered, eyes still closed, words barely coherent. 

“It’s okay. Go back to sleep, baby. You need to rest.” He sat on the edge of your bed next to you, planting a soft kiss on the top of your head. 

“Can I have it for breakfast tomorrow?” You grumbled, as you turned over on your pillow. 

Javi laughed to himself. “Of course hermosa. Nos vamos por la mañana con tu sopa. Espero que te sientas mejor pronto. Te amo con todo mí corazon, Osita.” (I’ll see you in the morning with your soup. I hope you feel better soon. I love you with my whole heart, little bear.) 

If you would have asked Javier Peña all those years ago if he would have ever made someone soup for breakfast, he would have laughed in your face. But now? Now, he would make a million bowls of soup for breakfast, if it meant he got to spend it with you. 

[bellysoupset]

Vince sick with the flu at Wendy's birthday

Vince knew he was bound to catch the bug after being so terribly exposed, he had just been counting on the fact he had gotten the stomach flu back in the end of January and hoping this meant he was immune.

No such luck.

Not only he had definitely caught the bug, judging by how upset and gurgly his belly felt, but he had caught it on Wendy's birthday. He wanted to cry.

"Are you alright?" His father asked, looking up from the dishes he was doing when Vince groaned, tugging at the roots of his hair.

"I think I caught the stomach bug that's going around the school," he answered and Giuseppe frowned, drying his hands on the dishcloth and walking closer.

His palm was cold against Vince's forehead, all soft thanks to age, "you're a little warm, piccolino," he hadn't called Vin that since his son had outgrown him.

"That's just great," Vince sighed, leaning slightly on his dad's touch. He wanted nothing more than to go upstairs and crawl up into his childhood bed, let his family fuss over him, but instead he had to hit the road. There was no way he was going to miss Wen's birthday.

They had already talked the night before, video called at midnight so he could wish her happy birthday, and texted in the morning, Wendy sending excited updates about everything.

Her parents had sent her a huge breakfast basket with flowers and she had gotten a bunch of chocolate from patients, which Wendy was over the moon about as it was her first time getting gits from patients.

She was going to have lunch with Bella, Jonah, Barbie and Megan and then the party was going to be at night, at a rooftop and Vince knew for a fact that Jon had gotten fireworks for her as a surprise.

"I have to get going," Vin forced himself to pull back and stand up. As soon as he stood up, he felt all sorts of woozy, so Vin grabbed the wall behind him and breathed through his mouth until the slight vertigo faded away.

Giuseppe's silver eyebrows were up, blue eyes scanning him, "you're planning on driving like this? No, you're not."

"Babbo, I can't not go," Vince sighed, "I'm gonna drive slow, I promise. And text you as soon as I get there."

His father didn't look one bit pleased, "at least take some medicine before you go..." he mumbled, looking nervous about the prospect.

Although the old man looked fearful, he did let Vin go, without telling Ma about the fact he was sick, something Vince was very grateful for. There was no way his mother was going to be this cool about him getting in the motorcycle when feeling that woozy.

By the time Vince entered the big city, he was freezing. It was only partially due to the fever, it was the last day of February, so it wasn't exactly warm to begin with.

He had the key to Wen's apartment and she, thankfully, still wasn't home, so Vince headed straight to the bathroom. His reflection was a sight, his skin had gone from its usual light olive tone straight into green territory, all pale and with dark circles around his eyes. His lips were devoid of color and his hair had flattened down around his head, clinging to his clammy skin.

"Looking handsome," Vince grumbled, planting his hands on the sink and taking a steadying breath as his stomach gurgled uncomfortably. The nausea was taking its sweet pace building and currently he was covered in goosebumps, his mouth feeling sticky and sweet.

Vin stumbled into the shower area and turned up the hot water, hoping to wash away the look of sickness. He had very little energy, so he just stood under the stream, letting the water do most of the work.

He washed his hair and then gagged when the scent of conditioner hit his nose, making him rush to wash it off. It was to no avail, and Vince leaned over the drain, retching softly until a thin stream of watery puke came up.

It brought no relief whatsoever, but his stomach's muscles relaxed, leaving him still just as nauseated and unable to barf. Vince groaned, washing away the evidence and his face all over again.

Once he stepped out of the bathroom, with Wen's large lilac towel wrapped around his waist, Vince opened a smile as he saw Wen had left an outfit picked out on top of the bed.

He put on the boxers and the social pants and was sitting on the edge of the bed, struggling to tie his social shoes since the position squeezed his tummy, when Wendy opened the bedroom door.

"Oh hi..." she sounded all breathless and Vince didn't have to force a smile. His girlfriend stood at the doorway of her bedroom, with her hair in rollers and a pink robe.

"Hi birthday girl," Vince grinned, "c'mere-" he got up to kiss her and Wendy's whole face turned pink as she promptly wrapped her arms around his neck, getting on her tippy toes.

They stumbled back inside the bedroom and Vince bit down a groan as he felt Wendy climb his lap, still kissing him fiercely. He moved his face, planting a kiss on her neck and squeezing her on a hug.

"I missed you," Vince whispered, planting a kiss on her shoulder, pushing her robe out of the way, "I missed you so much."

Wendy let out a pleased sigh, pulling back and running her fingers through his humid hair, "I missed you too," she pressed her forehead to his, "I almost wish we could just stay in bed."

Vince snorted at that, patting her ass so she'd get off his lap, "no, you don't, you'd never miss your own party."

She blushed as he read her so easily, then climbed off of him, "I'm just gonna take a quick shower, can't get the hair wet. Are you almost done?"

Almost, he just really needed to throw up first, Vince thought, but kept his happy smile on.

"Yeah, pretty much. Take your time, though," he kissed her temple and swatted her ass, "I'm gonna go get your gift."

"My gift?" Wendy's voice went up at least two notes as she smiled and Vince rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, your gift," he steered her to the bathroom, "c'mon, you don't wanna be late."

He had left Wendy's gift in his backpack and Vince went to the living room to retrieve it, while buttoning up his shirt. She had picked a deep red button up, her favorite color on him.

Vince sat on the couch as he heard the shower running, allowing his mask to slip and wrapping an arm around his stomach. Even though he had left his belt quite lose and not yet tucked in the shirt, he already felt like he was being squeezed by it all.

His intestines were gurgling something fierce and when Vin pressed on his warm, sensitive belly, he felt a burp sneak up his throat. Airy and with no sound, but turning wet at the end. Vin snapped his mouth shut, swallowing back the urge to gag.

He felt another shudder run up his spine and Vince pressed his eyes closed, valiantly fighting a cramp- Then he heard the bathroom door open and immediately pulled himself together, pushing everything out of his mind and getting up.

Wendy was already in her shapewear, pulling out a deep magenta dress from her closet. She had removed her hair from the rollers and they fell around her heart shaped face like old Hollywood waves.

"You look great," Vince smiled, leaning against the bedroom's doorway, "you look gorgeous."

Wendy opened a big smile, then she caught a glimpse of the simple black box in his hands and raised her eyebrows, "what is it?"

"Turn around," Vince stepped closer, holding the large square box. He was quite nervous about it, actually. It hadn't been cheap, but it was nowhere near what a girl like her was used to. He knew Wendy was the Harry Winston and Cartier sort, so he was really nervous about buying her jewelry.

Vince put the necklace around her neck and planted a kiss on top of her head as she looked at her reflection in the closet mirror, "what do you think?"

It was a simple white gold necklace, with a flower pendant made of four rubies and the center a topaz.

Wendy didn't say a thing, leaning in to inspect it and Vince cringed, feeling a whole new layer of nausea wash over him.

"I know it's no Tiffany's or whatever, but-"

"I love it," she interrupted him, glaring at him in the mirror, "it's stunning."

Vince's cheeks burned and he fidgeted uncomfortably, as Wendy smoothed the necklace against her collarbones and opened a pleased smile.

"I really love it, Vin," she turned around to hug him by the waist and tilted her head back, opening a blinding smile, "thank you."

"You're not just saying that? Because its from a local jewelry shop, so you can definitely exchang-"

"I love it," she shook her head, squeezing him, "and it matches my dress."

Vince let out a scoff, biting down a burp as Wendy's head pressed to his upset stomach. He gulped down, keeping a hand in the middle of her naked back and breathing through the queasiness.

There was no way he was going to make it through the night without puking, Vin thought, as Wendy moved in his arms and planted a kiss to his tummy, pulling back.

"I'm just gonna do my make up and we can go," she said happily, putting on her heels and Vince forced a smile.

"Alright, I'm gonna wait in the living room."

The party was in the same rooftop Vince remembered being for Jonah's birthday, when Wendy had gotten sick due to a migraine. It was ironic she had picked it, given how horrible he was feeling.

Vince was practically wincing as Wendy intertwined their fingers together and pulled him as she checked with the staff everything was alright.

He was bouncing a leg nervously up and down and Wen let out a chuckle as she noticed that, "it's just our friends," she misinterpreted his nervousness, grabbing a champagne flute and pushing it in his hands, "you have nothing to be nervous about."

Vince offered her a strained smile, but that wasn't exactly true. Wendy was a social butterfly and he knew for a fact it was not a party just for Jonah, Luke, Bell and Leo. Half the hospital would be there, as well as all the girls she knew from yoga and from other courses. Barbie, Megan, whom Vince had met before, but they still made him nervous. Other people he had no idea how Wendy got acquainted with.

He wanted to die as the place started to fill up and his head continued to swim. Vince couldn't pay attention to anything that was being said, but thankfully his participation in small talk was all but optional.

He was feeling clammy all over as the little canapes started to circulate on top of trays.

Wendy squeezed his arm, "are you hungry?" she tilted her head to look at him and Vin promptly shook his head, almost stumbling back as it made the room spin.

Just the mere thought of putting anything in his stomach made more sickness splash up and he gulped down, "No-" his voice came out all hoarse and Vince cleared his throat, "no, I'm just warm. I'm gonna go outside for some air, okay?"

Wendy pouted slightly, "are you alright...?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine," Vince squeezed her hand in his, "talk with your friends, I'm just gonna get some air and I'll be back," he promised and she opened a bright smile, turning around and squealing as she caught sight of Jonah entering the room.

Vince turned around and bolted.

It was not lost on him that once upon a time he had found Wendy hunched over the same rail. He pressed his tummy to the iron rail and forced up a sick burp, but nothing came up with it.

Vince groaned, squeezing the metal and feeling like he was about to collapse. His legs were shaking and he couldn't stop swallowing down, his mouth pooling with saliva.

Another burp snuck up on him and Vin whimpered, feeling his eyes sting. He hated this, he wanted to be having fun with Wendy, not almost ruining her party.

A hand came to rest on his back and Vince shuddered, knowing who it was without even looking back, "fucking kill me, Luke."

"What's wrong?" Luke's voice was impossibly soft and Vince tipped to the side, leaning against his best friend's chest. He was freezing, he wanted all warmth he could get.

"Stomach flu..." Vince groaned as his stomach flipped again, "gonna be sick..."

"Okay, think you can make it inside? To the bathroom?" Luke squeezed his nape, rolling his thumb in a comforting manner. Vin took in a deep breath.

"Don't-" he gulped down as a gag interrupted him, "don't want Wendy to see me-"

"Buddy, the chances of her seeing you here are way higher," Luke squeezed him a little tighter, "lean on me, okay? We're gonna speed walk."

"M'kay," Vince slumped almost completely and heard Lucas let out a little huff at his weight, but he didn't let go. He was so dizzy, he didn't actually see a thing as they moved back inside the restaurant area, only heard the noise escalate and then get low once more, as Luke pushed him inside the bathroom.

Vince stumbled, bracing against the sink and Lucas let out a sigh, "c'mere," he wrapped an arm around Vin's chest, steering him towards the toilet and Vince immediately fell to his knees, leaning over the bowl and panting.

His stomach hurt with how much it was churning and finally he let out a weak gag and felt everything he had eaten since morning rush up his throat.

Vince groaned as the sheer amount seemed to suffocate him, coughing and groaning as it stung his nose. He spat in the bowl, blindly reaching to flush it, but his arms were too shaky and that almost caused his chin to hit the porcelain, wasn't it for Luke wrapping an arm around his chest.

"I got you, I got you," Lucas reassured him, before flushing the toilet, "done?"

"Nu-uh," Vince gagged, spitting once again. He had never felt so nauseous in his life, what the hell was this bug?

"Jesus, dude..." Luke groaned when Vince let out another gurgly burp, which quickly morphed into a violent heave and even more puke rushed up and splattered in the bowl.

Lucas moved so he was crouching practically next to him, planting a hand on Vince's forehead and keeping him from taking a dive in the toilet as the heaves continued to rock him. He cringed as he could feel the crazy heat under his palm, it was shocking Vince had been able to play off as healthy for so long with a fever like this.

"Okay, okay, big breath," Luke rubbed his back as Vin let out a whimper and swayed on the spot, bracing against the stall wall and causing the entire thich plastic structure that separated the cubicles to tremble.

"Fuck," Vince breathed out, squeezing his eyes and massaging his chest. His hands were trembling and tears had run down his cheek, he also looked terribly pale, "this isn't a stomach bug, it's some plague."

"It looks like it, yeah," Lucas flushed the toilet again, grabbing a bunch of toilet paper and passing it to Vince, "you good?"

"For now..." Vince wiped his mouth, blowing his nose, "but my stomach is still churning and I feel like I'm gonna shit my pants."

Luke wrinkled his nose in distaste, getting up from the floor, "you need to go home-"

"I can't go to Wendy's, it's her birthday," Vince whined, "I'm not gonna ruin her night-"

"No, you're coming to my place," Luke rolled his eyes, "can you just sit there and not die? I'm gonna let Bell know-"

"Oh god, Bella-" Vince groaned, curling up as much as he could in the small space and Lucas let out a sigh.

"Just don't die, alright? I'll see if she can go home with Wen and you come with me- Don't die," then he turned around and ran out of the bathroom.

Vince sighed, leaning his head back against the hard plastic and trying to find any strength to get up and wash his face. He hated himself for going anywhere close Daniels last week.

There was a gurgle through his stomach and Vince squeezed his belly, breaking in cold sweat. He let out a sickly little burp, getting on all fours and struggling force himself up, swaying so much he nearly smashed his head against the stall wall.

Vince fell down on the toilet, tugging on his social pants and clumsily reaching for the door and locking it, before managing to push down his pants just in time for the runs to hit him.

He wrapped both arms around his tummy, pressing his eyes closed and sniffling pitifully. The cramps were killing him and to make matters worse he was starting to feel nauseous all over again, the curled up position forcing up sickly little burps.

Vince gulped down, breathing slowly through his mouth as the woozy sensation only seemed to get worse. Then there was a knock on the door and his head snapped up, colorful little spots dancing on the corner of his sight.

"Occupied!"

"Vin, it's me," Luke said and he could've cried. In fact, judging by the way his throat was hurting and he could feel his eyes burning, he was pretty sure he was.

"Gimme- Give me a minute..." he groaned, "just wait."

"Okay, yeah, no problem," Lucas said hurriedly and Vince assumed he probably could hear the pleading in his voice, since he didn't fight him.

Vince wiped the cold sweat from his brow once again, taking slow measured breaths as he cleaned up and then got out of the stall, stumbling to the sink in order to wash his hands and his face.

He looked dreadful. Vince made a little pray that Wendy was across the rooftop and didn't get a glimpse at him, because he looked pretty close to a corpse.

He dried the cold water from his face, before all but collapsing against the bathroom's main door, pressing his forehead to it, "Luke."

"Yeah?" Lucas' voice was very clear, as if he was glued to the door and Vince thanked his stars for that.

"I think I'm gonna faint..." his lips felt numb, this wasn't good. The second the weak words made out of his mouth, the door opened. Just in time, because Vince's knees buckled and Luca caught him by the armpits, letting out a grunt as he almost went down with Vin.

"Christ, Vin-" Luke's hand pushed his hair back, patting his cheek, "hey man, I need you to help me here or I'm gonna drag your ass to the hospital."

Vince shook his head, angrily forcing his eyes open and trying to think through the fog, "Wendy-"

He jumped as there was a loud noise, followed by squeals, just outside the private hallway that led to the bathrooms. Luke stiffened his hold around him, only to let out a nervous chuckle.

"It's Jon's fireworks. We should go."

"Uhmm," Vince nodded, grabbing on Luke's arm, "I'm gonna hurl on you."

"I know," Lucas forced him up, voice all strained, "but outside of here, deal?"

"Deal," Vince almost chuckled, pressing his feverish forehead to Luke's shoulder and allowing him to rush them out of the fancy restaurant.

[leveragehunters]

I was going through my great grandfather's memoirs (born 3 March 1880) and came across this part, which feels eerily similar to our current times:

Our biggest handicap was the Spanish Flu epidemic of 1918. With men off sick we were lucky to have 50 staff. Some would come back and more would go off. I was off two weeks myself. There were many deaths in the city.   The war was over and the men were returning from France. We were working a fifty hour week. With the men returning, the trend was to repress wages and frown on a reduction of working hours. My responsibility had been increased so as I was next to the superintendent. This was fine, except my wages were the same as the day I started. They said, "You are doing a good job, but with the men returning that is all we can pay you." There was general upset. The returned men were dissatisfied with the wages offered, not only with our company and the warehouse business, but with what was being offered in general.

He then goes on to explain how they met with the Trade and Labour Council to form a union and present their demands (which were union recognition, basic wage of $180.00 a month, an eight hour day in a year's time, and a two year contract), but it all went to hell because of spies reporting back to the bosses and scabs who refused to honour the strike.

After the second day they flooded back like sheep. At Ashdown the travellers and buyers worked the warehouse without interruption of service. The strike was a washout. I was out of a job!

The night before the strike was scheduled to start the bosses even resorted to the closest they had to social media 105 years ago.

The Evening paper carried an advertisement, by all companies concerned, advising that all employees absent from work for three days, would be discharged.

(The memoirs are 180 typed pages, so I may post more bits as they catch my eye)

[winchesterwild78]

Hunters and Secrets pt 3

Master List

Characters: Dean Winchester x Reader (dating), Sam Winchester x Reader (friends), Eileen

Warnings: fluff, mentions of hunts, pregnancy

A/N: Last part of this short story. I hope you like it.  Things are just so crazy right now in my head, I needed to write. I truly appreciate all of your love and support with my writing. 

This is a short series I’m working on. Does not follow the Supernatural storyline. Inner dialogue in italics. This is a work of fiction, not a reflection of real life. No disrespect to anyone. 

This is my own work, please do not take it or copy it without my permission. I wrote it fast and edited it fast. Please overlook any errors. 

Minors DNI 18+

*Time Jump 9 months*

You stood at the mirror and cradled your pregnant belly. Your son was growing quickly and Dean couldn’t be more proud he was going to be a father. Dean came up behind you and snaked his arms around you, holding you and your belly. “Hey sweetheart, how are you two feeling today?” “We’re good, Dean. My back hurts, but that’s to be expected at 7 months pregnant.” You smiled. 

Dean kissed your cheek. “Come on baby, let’s get you sitting down and I’ll bring you something to eat. Sam and Eileen are coming later today for dinner.” “Oh, that’s great. I can’t wait to catch up with her and see how the wedding planning is going.”

“Yeah, I can’t believe my baby brother is getting married.” Dean smiled softly. “Well, you better believe it. It’s only fair he gets to live happily ever after, you’re married and we’re having a baby.” “Yeah, sweetheart. We are finally getting our apple pie life.” Dean hugged you and kissed your lips softly. 

“Well, with a monster on the side.” You chuckled. Dean laughed his deep, hearty laugh. The one where his smile went to his eyes, you saw his teeth, and his head tilted back. You always loved seeing him laugh. 

*about 8 months ago*

You got pregnant not long after you and Dean got married. It wasn’t planned, but you both got drunk off your ass after a hunt one night and one thing led to another and a few weeks later you found out you were pregnant. At first you were terrified to tell Dean. He thought you were sick with the flu. You called Eileen in a panic when Dean and Sam went on a hunt and you stayed home. She came over with 3 different brands of pregnancy tests and she held your hand while waiting for the results. 

Since she and Sam got together the two of you became close. When the lines, plus sign and word “pregnant” all popped up you gasped and she was quick to pull you into a hug. You both cried and then reality set in. You had to tell Dean you were pregnant. 

When the guys came back from the hunt Dean knew something was wrong by the look on your face. Sam and Eileen excused themselves to the kitchen and you and Dean went to your room. 

You and Dean sat on the bed. Dean took your hand, “What’s wrong sweetheart?” He looked worried. “Dean, I’m…um…pregnant” you said barely auditable. Dean’s eyes went wide, “You’re pregnant?!” You pulled your hands back and fidgeted nervously. Looking down, you bit your lip. Dean lifted your chin gently with his fingers. “Sweetheart, look at me, please.” You looked at Dean and you didn’t see anger or regret in his eyes, you saw love and excitement. “Yes, I’m pregnant.”

Dean smiled and pulled you into his arms. “We’re having a baby. Wow! I have a beautiful wife and now I’m going to be a dad.” “You’re not mad?” You bit your lip. “Mad?! Why would I be mad? I’m over the moon.” He pulled you in for a soft kiss. 

*current day*

Eileen and Sam had come over to the bunker for dinner. Sam decided to move in with Eileen to give you and Dean, and the baby space. He felt it was time for the two of you to finally be alone. They lived not far from the bunker and were there more than away, so having them over wasn’t anything new. Since you were pregnant you no longer went on hunts with them. Eileen would go in your place while you stayed at home and did the research from there. 

You were sitting at the table in the library with your hand resting on your growing belly. You could feel the baby kick and you smiled. Dean looked over and watched your shirt move as his son moved and wiggled inside your belly. Sam noticed Dean watching you and leaned over. “So, how are you liking the apple pie life?” Dean smiled at Sam “Not bad, Sammy. Not bad at all. I still can’t believe I’m going to be a dad.” 

Sam placed his hand on Dean’s shoulder, “you deserve this, you deserve to be happy.” Dean smiled and nodded. The conversations flowed effortlessly as the night wore on. It was getting late, so Dean insisted Sam and Eileen stay in Sam’s old room. 

Your eyes were getting heavy so Dean helped you up. You hugged Sam and Eileen, “Good night guys, I’ll see you all in the morning.” You looked at Dean with heavy eyes, “You coming to bed soon?” “Yeah, sweetheart, I’ll be there soon.” He kissed your lips softly. “Good night, Dean, I love you.” “Me too, sweetheart.”

“Me too” that was as close to "I love you as you were going to get from Dean. Still after all this time, marriage and now having a baby he couldn’t say it. You sighed and walked to your room. You got ready for bed, brushing your teeth, changing your clothes, and trying to make yourself comfortable. You felt off tonight, more tired than usual. Maybe it was staying up later or being on your feet more today. Whatever it was, you were exhausted. 

Your eyes slowly closed and you dreamed the most vivid dreams of past hunts with Sam and Dean. You dreamed about hunting vampires, werewolves, djinn, and putting angry spirits to rest. The dreams played more like memories. You’d hunted all these things before so it made sense to relive it through dreams. Something just felt off. 

When Dean came to bed he saw how restless you were. Moaning in your sleep, face contorted in almost pain or anguish. When he saw you breathing heavily and tears streaming from your closed eyes, he decided to wake you up. “Hey, sweetheart, wake up. You’re okay. It’s just a dream.” Your eyes flung open and at the sight of your husband you sobbed into his shirt. “Shhh, it’s okay, sweetheart. You’re safe, it was just a dream.” He held you and rubbed your back. “Oh Dean, it was awful. We were on hunt after hunt and I couldn’t keep up with you guys. Then I was attacked and you couldn’t save me.”

“You’re safe, baby. I’ll always save you and our son.” Dean placed his hand on your belly. Dean held you tight as you both fell asleep. You don’t remember dreaming the rest of the night, but you could feel his arms around you in a protective hug. 

The next morning the four of you were awake early. Sam and Eileen were on their way to help a friend of hers with a case. You could tell Dean really wanted to go. “Dean, why don’t you go. It sounds like it’s a quick case and it’s not that far away. We (you rubbed your belly) will be just fine.” You kissed his lips. “You sure, darlin?” You shook your head yes. 

Dean went to pack a bag and get his stuff. Sam put his hand on your shoulder, “You know, this means so much to him.” You looked puzzled, “What does?” “You two being married, you pregnant and he can still hunt. It’s in his blood to protect. You’ve given him a renewed sense of purpose.” “Thanks Sam. That means a lot.”

Dean came back to the war room and dropped his bags by the table. He helped you stand so he could hug you. Dean wrapped his arms around you and held you tight. He could feel his son kicking in your belly and he beamed with pride. You looked up at Dean 

“Please be careful and come home safe to us.” You pulled him into a kiss. Dean pulled back hesitantly, “I gotta go, baby. I’ll be home soon.” He grabbed his bags, Sam and Eileen hugged you and the three of them left. Leaving you standing in the bunker by yourself. 

You tried to busy yourself with any and everything you could think of. First you cleaned the kitchen, the bathrooms, your bedroom, and the library. Then you started organizing books in the library. When your back started to hurt you went to the “Dean Cave” and laid on the couch, watching tv. 

You quickly fell asleep and again had a restless sleep. Your dreams were plagued with visions of monsters, Sam and Dean being too late to save you, or you being too late to save them. The dream that woke you up with a scream was by far the worst. 

Sam, Dean and you were hunting a Djinn and Dean was taken. You were desperate to find him and save him, but Sam didn’t seem to listen or understand that Dean was in danger. Sam kept saying over and over that Dean was getting food and would be back soon, that you worried too much. “Dammit Sam! Something is wrong, Dean is missing.” You cried, begging him to help you. Over and over “Please Sam, help me….help me”. 

The sound of your scream woke you up and then your phone rang. You tried to steady your breath before you answered it. Looking at the caller ID you saw it was Dean. “Hello” your voice was shaky. “Hey, sweetheart, you okay?” “Um, yeah just another bad dream.” “Oh I’m sorry, well maybe it’s the pregnancy causing such vivid dreams.” “Yeah, maybe. I’ll ask the doctor when I see them next. When are you coming home?” “I’ll be there tomorrow. I just wanted to make sure you were okay.” “Yeah, just missing you. I love you, Dean. Hurry home.” “I will get some rest.”

You slowly got up and started to walk towards the kitchen. You were hungry. Walking in the kitchen you still felt like something was off. Something didn’t feel right. You weren’t sure if it was just you being alone or if it was something with the pregnancy. You made a quick sandwich, grabbed an apple and sat at the table. 

You ate your food and as you got up you felt really dizzy. Oooh I guess I got up too fast. Slowly walking over to the sink you placed your plate down. You called your doctor to talk to them about your feelings and dreams you’d been having over the past few days. She assured you it was perfectly normal and everything was going to be okay. “Just rest” she told you, “Your body is growing another human. It takes a lot out of you.” You thanked her and hung up. 

A few hours later you were feeling worse. More than exhaustion, it was like your whole body ached. Maybe you were coming down with something. You heard the bunker door open and Dean announce his presence. As you walked toward the war room you felt even worse. Dean saw you and ran over to you. “Hey, Y/N. Are you okay? You look like you’re feeling horrible.” “Yeah, I’m not feeling the best. My doctor said it’s normal, but it doesn’t feel normal. Something’s wrong Dean.” 

“Okay, I’ll call the doctor and let them know.” Dean said as he helped you towards the bedroom. “You lay down and I’ll call them.” “Dean, wait.” “Yeah, sweetheart, what is it?” “I love you, Dean, more than anything.” “I love you too, Y/N.”

Your eyes went wide. Something isn’t right, Dean doesn’t say that. You tried to get out of the bed and Dean stopped you. “What are you doing?” “You’re not my Dean, he doesn’t say that. Who the hell are you?!” You screamed with tears in your eyes. Dean crossed the room, “Sweetheart it is me. I thought it was time I said it to you.” You shook your head, “No! Something’s not right..something’s not right…” You collapsed in his arms.

The room went dark, but you could hear Dean and Sam. “Sammy! Get the hell over here. She’s hurt.” You heard Dean yell. You felt cold and your body ached so bad. “Come on, stay with me baby. Don’t leave me.” You felt his lips gently kiss your head. “Dean, I got it, we need to get her to the hospital.” 

Your eyes started to flutter open, looking around you realized you weren’t in the bunker. What?! This didn’t make sense, where were you? “Dean…where….am…I?” “Shh, I’ve got you sweetheart, just hold on. I love you so much, Y/N.” You smiled softly, “My Dean doesn’t say that, but I love you too.” “Dammit, Sammy. Help me! She’s lost too much blood. I can’t lose her!” “Dean..I’m so cold.” “I know, baby. We’re gonna get you out of here and to the hospital. Just hang on. We got him, we got the Djinn.”

Everything started to click into place. Sam, Dean and you were on a hunt. Hunting a Djinn. You had been captured, and nothing was real. You and Dean married, the baby, every deep desire was a sick twisted game the Djinn used to drain you dry. 

Your eyes filled with tears as you looked up at Dean. You slowly touched his face, “I love you Dean Winchester, now and forever.” Your eyes closed one last time and everything went dark.

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[cafeacademia]

𝐋𝐚𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐬

𝐌𝐚𝐭𝐭 𝐌𝐮𝐫𝐝𝐨𝐜𝐤 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 | 𝐒𝐞𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐚𝐮 𝐚𝐬 𝐂𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐬

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚����𝐲: After the success of the blind accessible chess board you bought for Matt a few months ago, you've since moved in with him and noticed that he could really benefit from a braille label maker. And maybe, Matt has a little too much fun with it.

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭: Light fluff, some sexual banter but honestly nothing that bad. Matt has a moment of chaos with his new braille label maker.

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: Approx 710

𝐌𝐲 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬 | 𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞: Hello!! This fic is connected to Chess! Feel free to read that first, but it's not a big deal if you don't. It's been quite a while since I've posted anything. In any case, I hope I've picked Matt back up well, sorry if he feels a bit off, I'm also currently in bed with a flu so please excuse any silly mistakes! I appreciate the support so much, if you'd like to reblog/comment, it is always appreciated but not at all necessary, thank you for reading my fics! Please let me know if you'd like to be removed from my old taglist! I may refresh this, idk yet. Anyway, enjoy!

Matt should be used to this by now. You, unlike anyone he’d known thus far, had a tendency to find as many blind accessible solutions for him as possible. He insisted he could do fine by himself, of which you did not doubt for one second and you respected wholeheartedly. The aim wasn’t to remove his freedom to do it alone, or to make it feel like he couldn’t do things without your help, but it was more to make life easier. The truth was, Matt seemed to enjoy letting you guide him, even if he could do it himself. And after the pure joy and excitement he had displayed from you finding him a blind accessible chessboard a few months prior, you had been on a search to make life as easy as possible for Matt in the comfort of his own home.

It hadn’t taken long after you became friends, before you were even dating to notice that for Matt, things having a specific place to sit was very important for him to be able to tell where they were and what was what. But the problem was, that even with his best efforts, it was too easy for things to get a little mixed up, especially in the kitchen and especially after you moved in with him. It wasn’t just his things anymore, they were accompanied by your things too and that made it harder for Matt to tell quickly what was what.

Which is why, as you came home one afternoon with Matt and several bags of food shopping, you had to suppress the squeal of excitement at the sight of a brown package inside of the mailbox.

“What did you order, sweetheart?” Matt asked, setting down the bags of food on the kitchen floor. “A little surprise.” You replied, prying it open with great difficulty. “For me?” “For you.” You confirmed, watching as his cocky little smirk appeared on his lips. “Ooh for me.” “It’s not lingerie Matthew.” You quipped, snorting as your boyfriend gasped and brought his hand to his chest in false disappointment. “Then what is it?” He asked, sidling up to you. “It’s a– ah hold on,” you grappled with the packaging before finally wrangling it free and plopped the device into his hands. “Ta da! A braille label maker, so we don’t get our stuff mixed up ever again.” You grinned up at him, waiting for his reaction.

Matt held it in his hands for a moment, feeling the different edges and textures, a smile growing on his lips as he turned to face you. He didn’t ask how it worked, nor did you feel you had to explain, because after a few moments of turning it over in his hands and exploring the shape of the dial, the feel of the braille letters and the pointer on the label maker, Matt knew exactly how to use it.

His smile, soft and sweet, turned into a devilish grin as he turned the dial and squeezed the trigger to indent the label tape until he successfully pulled free the label, peeled off the sticky back and stuck it to your boob. Matt had labelled you “girlfriend” and giggled far too much about it before getting genuinely quite excited to label his cereal and coffee and face wash and just about everything he could think of that did or did not need a label to be identified.

As his joyful chaos ensued, you sat back watching him with his new label maker, going from pure chaos and labelling everything down to the dog, to the two of you carefully labelling all of your groceries before putting them all away in the cupboards and the fridge. And when all of the bags were empty and everything was sufficiently labelled, Matt pulled you close.

“You’re way too sweet to me.” He spoke softly, pressing gentle kisses to your forehead. “Way too good to be mine.” Matt kissed you, lips soft against yours, his touch warm and gentle and sweet until– something cold and sticky was pressed against your neck and you couldn’t help but snort out a laugh. Feeling over the little braille label, you giggled before being captured in a kiss that mirrored the word exactly. Mine.

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