#for the better part of the afternoon i was achy and had the chills

[froghwon]

.

[taetaemilktea]

Sick in the Soop (Part 1)

Summary: Poor Jimin catches a cold while Bangtan is filming “In the Soop.” Cue some cuddly caretaking and some much needed time to rest.

Sickie: Jimin

Caretaker: Taehyung, mild Hoseok and Namjoon

Word Count: 1570

Author’s Note: Much of this fic is inspired by actual dialogue and clips from “In the Soop”! If you haven’t seen the show and are wondering what clips were used, message me and I can clip/post them! Please look forward to some sickie Tae and caretaker Jimin in part 2!

~~~~~

“hH!—hH’tSHh’iiew!”

Jimin wrapped his FILA jacket more tightly around his shoulders as he let out a shivery sneeze in the evening briskness. He and the group were stationed out by the Bukhan River, enjoying some relaxing time to themselves as they filmed a new series. “In the Soop” came at just the right time. The Bangtan members had been busy with hectic schedules and various promotions, all the while drained at the news of having their world tour postponed.

Jimin would admit to feeling run down by it all, spending a few too many nights awake into the late hours as he and Yoongi worked on prepping their new, soon-to-be-released BE album.

So, he was not too surprised to be feeling a sneezy and sniffly cold coming on. He was quite grateful to have a few days to enjoy some video games, play ping pong against Namjoon, and try out wood carving. Perhaps the relaxation would help him nip this cold in the bud. The group was to return to Seoul after a few days before coming back to the forest, and Jimin wanted to be well before heading back to work.

Until then, Jimin planned to join the 94 liners out under the tent. He had been watching Hoseok and Namjoon chat for some time from his spot inside the house. Jimin’s throat was starting to hurt from all the karaoke he had been doing with Taehyung. The last song had him in a coughing fit with Taehyung patting his back. Jimin had waved off any of Taehyung’s concerns by attributing the coughing to the last set of heartfelt ballads they had sung.

He excused himself as Taehyung cued his next song, telling him he’d see him in the morning. Taehyung waved him off and picked up the microphone.

Time for a nice and peaceful chat, Jimin told himself as he walked out the sliding glass door onto the grassy field. But it was colder than he anticipated. He shivered as the crisp air blew lightly around him, and he jogged over to his friends to sit by the fire. Hobi and Joon were engrossed in deep conversation. They looked up when he sat down, offering him to head towards the house to join them for beer.

“I’ll just sit here and zone out,” Jimin smiled. “I’ll ask for some cold medicine later.”

“Cold medicine?” Hobi’s smile turned to a frown. “Are you feeling sick?”

“I’m not feeling so good,” he admitted. As if to prove his point, he sniffled wetly and scrubbed a finger under his now red nose.

Namjoon began to worry about Jimin.

“Put your hood on, Jimin. Wear your hood.”

Jimin chuckled at his hyung’s orders. “I’ll be fine.”

“Seriously, wear your hood,” Hobi nodded at him too, noting the chilly evening air. “Wearing the hood makes a big difference.”

“I’m obedient,” Jimin complied, pulling his hood over his fluffy black hair and beginning to poke at the fire as they continued their light conversation. They were all beginning to tire, the warmth of the alcohol from dinner setting in. Hobi and Namjoon continued to chat about the weather, noting the fluctuation in temperature. Their weather-related conversation eventually turned into giggles about their plans to play ping pong, already looking forward to the championship game.

Jimin tried to control his sniffles as his nose began to run more. He didn’t want his caring, and sometimes overbearing, friends to worry more than they already were. He was planning to ask the staff members if they had any cold medicine handy, and mentally noted the need to ask for some tissues as well.

He was thankful when Namjoon suggested they play a round of ping pong before bed. It would give him the opportunity to go back towards the house where it was much warmer. He figured that a game of ping pong, combined with the beer, would be a perfect way to send himself off to bed.

-

Taehyung woke up to the bright sun shining into his and Hoseok’s bedroom. Rolling over happily, Taehyung allowed himself to snuggle into his pillows before heading downstairs to gaze upon all of the activities the staff had planned for the group.

He excitedly grabbed his toy boat, slipping his feet into his favorite slides and trekking down to the lake. After a few loops through the shimmering water, Taehyung whipped out his phone. He wanted his fellow 95 liner to join him. He and Jimin had talked throughout the car ride there about their plans to try new activities together.

30 minutes later, and Taehyung had heard no reply. Checking the time, he noticed the group would be getting ready for lunch. He realized just how hungry he was and jogged to the upper house to help out and find Jimin.

-

Still? He was still asleep?? Taehyung peeked into Jimin’s room. Walking in, he stood over Jimin’s bed as his soulmate rolled over and looked up at him with bleary eyes. Taehyung plopped into bed, cuddling up close next to Jimin. Feeling playful, Jimin tickled his sides, causing Taehyung to giggle and curl up. Laughing Taehyung rolled over so that he laid across Jimin’s small form.

“You slept for so long. How are you, Jimin-ah?” Taehyung murmured into his friend’s shoulder with his eyes closed. He paused, frowning when Jimin didn’t answer. He peeked up in confusion—had Jimin fallen asleep again? Nope.

“hH’tsh‘iiew! hH’iKSHh!!” Jimin had been teased by his nose, finally letting out two breathy sneezes while turning away from Taehyung. With Taehyung draped over his body, he had his arms pinned to his side, so he was forced to sneeze away and down towards the floor.

“Sick,” he sniffled.

Taehyung frowned, standing up to get a better look at Jimin. His poor friend had deep bags under his eyes, his nose now beginning to run from the sneezes.

“You look bad,” Taehyung stated, tilting his head to the side as he gazed upon Jimin’s pale complexion.

“Wow, thank you,” Jimin groaned. Taehyung plucked a tissue out of the box on the bedside table and handed it to Jimin who blew his nose with a sigh.

“You’re warm,” Taehyung placed a hand on Jimin’s forehead before sliding under the covers. He wrapped his long arms around Jimin and threw a leg over his small waist.

“You’re an idiot,” Jimin sniffled as Taehyung pulled him in closer.

“Why?”

“You’re going to get sick. You know that.”

“Shut up. You like this—you feel better already. I know you do.”

Jimin couldn’t argue with him on that. Instead, he nuzzled his head into Taehyung’s shoulder and sighed admittedly in content. Taehyung was warm from being out in the sun with his toy motor boat, and Jimin was chilled. He was trying not to shiver. His sore throat had only worsened over night, causing him to cough lightly.

“Did you take medicine?”

“Last night,” Jimin croaked. “It hasn’t really helped.” The cold medicine only made him drowsy.

“Poor Jiminie.”

“Can you massage my back,” Jimin murmured with his eyes closed. Taehyung sat up, throwing his legs over the side of the bed and getting to work. Jimin sighed happily as Taehyung’s long fingers kneaded into his sore, achy muscles. He’d almost fallen asleep when Hobi walked in, pushing the door open.

“Taehyung-ah, go and get it for me.”

“What?”

“The blowtorch, the one we used last night.”

Obediently, Taehyung left Jimin to help his hyungs cook. He didn’t leave without forgetting to give Jimin’s head a comforting pat. Jimin allowed himself 5 more minutes in bed before forcing himself up to eat lunch. He silently wished that one of the other boys could’ve gone to get what Hobi needed—he had quite enjoyed Taehyung’s massage.

-

The Bangtan members finished a delicious and filling lunch. Tired and under the weather, Jimin aimed to spend his day resting. He had wandered around throughout the afternoon, unable to find something he was interested in. His brain was a bit too foggy to write lyrics with Yoongi. His throat was too sore to sing more karaoke with Tae. His body ached way too much to even attempt boxing with Kookie.

When he found Hobi on the patio, he smiled and sat down in the chair beside him.

“Want to paint with me, Jiminie?”

“I don’t know, I’m not that great at it,” he scrubbed a hand under his nose and coughed into his elbow.

“Me neither,” Hobi giggled, patting Jimin on the back. “But it’s fun. Here, use this.”

Jimin took the other FILA sneaker from Hoseok and smiled, already imagining a beautiful cherry blossom tree on the blank, white space. He spent the rest of the afternoon there, happily conversing with Hobi, who didn’t seem to mind the frequent sneezes or sniffles that much.

By the time he had finished his beautiful masterpiece, the members were ready for a quick dinner and to head home to Seoul. By late afternoon, the group was packed and ready to take off. Despite the increasing congestion and growing aches in his body, Jimin was feeling peaceful and content to have spent his afternoon painting with Hobi and to have some much needed rest. He knew that going back to work would only prolong his sickness, so he yearned for the next few days to pass quickly so he and the boys could return to the forest.

[peaceoutofthepieces]

to the person who asked me for a vds sick fic, I’m so sorry, I deleted your ask instead of answering it! I did a split sobbe/vds sick fic here, if you want to read that, but I’ll also do the flip version here just for you. sorry if there are any mistakes!

~^~

Lucas feels—and surely looks—absolutely pitiful.

He’s spent the past few hours lying in his bed on his stomach with the covers pulled up to his neck, and his spine feels uncomfortably curved, his face squished and numb. He’d spent endless hours before that curled into the fetal position and it hadn’t helped, so he’s trying his luck with this. He’ll stick it out for a few more minutes, at least, until the back of his neck finally responds to the cool, damp cloth and stops sweating or until the cramps in his stomach somewhat subside. The only movement he makes is to change the position of his head—twisting it from one side to the other every time his headache becomes unbearably uncomfortable. He’s sweating and shivering and he wants, more than anything, to curl into a ball and disappear.

Then Jens returns, and he remembers there might be something he wants a little bit more.

He makes the painstaking shift onto his side as Jens climbs onto the bed next to him and instantly presses a hand to his forehead.

“Fuck,” Jens mutters. “Why’s it not working?”

Lucas manages a quiet huff. “Fevers can last for days, Jens.”

“I don’t want you to be sick for days.”

Neither does Lucas, but it isn’t so easily helped. It also isn’t the worst thing in the world. It had felt like it, this morning, when he’d woken up and felt like his body was on fire and his head had been stuffed with dense cotton. He’d thrown up, initially, just once, barely managing to roll out of his bed and stumble to the bathroom before emptying the already-scant contents of his stomach. It was only a few hours later, when Jens had called wondering where he was that things began to look up. In his foggy state Lucas had forgotten they were supposed to meet, and it had only made Jens’s concern more urgent. Lucas was only capable of mumbling a groggy explanation—of whining a complaint—before Jens was rambling to himself about medicine and soup and temperatures and promising he’d be there soon. Lucas hadn’t been capable of a protest; the idea of Jens coming to him had been an instant comfort, and he’d simply agreed and smiled and relaxed as Jens hung up with one last reassurance.

He’s been bustling about all afternoon, bringing Lucas glass after glass of water, getting him a new blanket, laying cool cloths on his neck or his forehead, and being all too lovable for Lucas’s liking.

“Can I get you anything else? Do you want something to eat? I still have the—“

“Soup, yeah, I know,” Lucas laughs, even though it worsens the cramps in his stomach and leaves his chest aching. It doesn’t matter, because Jens obviously notices, and he reaches out to rub Lucas’s shoulder and then down his arm, smiling.

Lucas shifts closer as Jens fixes a lock of his hair, and then further when Jens doesn’t protest, laying his head in his lap and curling an arm over his legs. He waits, for a moment, and then Jens begins carding a hand through his hair and he closes his eyes and sighs. It doesn’t make him feel less sick, not really, but it makes him feel better. Especially when Jens takes the cloth from where Lucas had let it fall and dabs it over his skin, gently cooling him down.

“Do you want a new shirt?” Jens asks, and Lucas cringes. He can almost hear the other’s grimace. He doesn’t want to imagine what he looks or smells like right now. His discomfort at Jens seeing him in this state isn’t as strong as his desire for him to stay, though.

“No. Too much moving.”

Jens snorts. “I could help.”

“Why are you tryin’ to strip me?”

“It would help cool you down,” Jens says, easily, and there are certain moments like these where Lucas decides it’s hate rather than love that makes his blood rush.

There’s another part of him that considers it, but ultimately decides, “No.”

“Okay. So you don’t want to eat. You don’t want to change. You’ve stopped drinking you water—don’t think I haven’t noticed—just because you don’t want to have to pee. So what do you want to do?”

“Cuddle,” Lucas mumbles, thoughtlessly, and Jens laughs and doesn’t argue.

He continues petting through Lucas’s hair, scratching at his scalp and soothing the dull ache there. Lucas curls closer, drawing his legs up as he plays with a thread at the pocket of Jens’s sweats. His body feels like lead, his limbs heavy, and still he feels floaty, his head caught in the clouds. Jens’s warmth and gentle touches are the only things keeping him grounded.

“You don’t have to stay.”

It pains Lucas to say it, but he also feels gross and silly and he wants to give Jens the choice, to remind him that Lucas can survive on his own. That he’s managed it plenty of times before.

But he’s relieved when Jens merely scoffs. “Thought you wanted cuddles. And what kind of best friend would I be if I just left you to suffer, huh?”

“A shitty one,” Lucas agrees.

Jens hums. “So there you go. What else would I be doing without you, anyway?”

“Hanging out with the guys like you were supposed to?”

“They’re not you.”

Lucas bites down his smile, but he knows Jens sees it anyway. It’s obvious in how he pokes his cheek, the little accomplished sound that leaves his lips, and for once Lucas can’t fire anything back. He simply doesn’t have the energy. He feels too dizzy, too gone, too lax and content. Even Jens’s description of himself as the ‘best friend’ feels unimportant. Right now, Lucas doesn’t care that that’s all they are. He can’t, when Jens is so lovely. When he’s able to feel, for a few moments, that Jens actually does love him.

Jens trails his fingers out of his hair and across his neck. They dance over Lucas’s jaw, his cheek, his nose, his forehead, smoothing out the creases. Lucas lets his eyes drift shut again and allows it to comfort him. Jens traces over his eyelids, carefully, back down the slope of his nose and then briefly, mistakingly, across the curve of his lips before they hastily retreat back to his hair.

Lucas says, “Aren’t you grossed out?”

“By you? Never,” Jens returns. “You look very cute. With the rosy cheeks, and the sweat, and the matted hair, and I’m pretty sure that’s a vomit stain—“

“Fuck off, I hate you,” Lucas groans, and Jens laughs, petting his hair in apology.

“No, I mean it. Even now you’re annoyingly pretty, you know.”

Lucas stiffens and doesn’t open his eyes. “Shut up.”

“You think I’m lying?”

“I know you’re lying.”

Jens gives a quiet huff of amusement. “Okay. But there’s still nowhere I’d rather be, so.”

That leaves Lucas quiet. The shivers have started to kick in again, and Jens makes a move to fix it before Lucas can even move, carefully drawing the blanket up over his shoulder. Jens gives his neck a light squeeze and then begins to rub his shoulder in an easy, mindless rhythm. It staves off the chills much quicker than Lucas had managed this morning, and he sinks closer to Jens with a grateful sigh.

“What if you get sick?” Lucas asks, after another few moments of quiet.

“Then I’ll be expecting soup.”

Lucas snorts, squeezing Jens’s thigh. “Aren’t you bored?”

“Nope.”

“Jens.”

“Luc.”

“At least go on your phone, or play a movie or something.”

“Oh, do you want to watch a movie?”

Lucas kind of wants to sleep, and it feels like it would be easy under Jens’s ministrations. He wants to lie here for the rest of the day under his careful hands and comforting presence. He wants proper cuddles and maybe, possibly, desperately, a little bit more. He wants Jens.

He doesn’t want Jens to keep watching him—like Lucas knows he is—and focus on how gross and sweaty and pathetic he is.

He hums. “Yeah. Quietly.”

Jens huffs. “Okay. You gonna let me up then?”

“The control is right next to you.”

“No, it’s right next to you.”

Lucas blinks his eyes open to look at the locker next to Jens, and groans when he sees it empty. Jens laughs, and Lucas pinches his thigh, and then rolls painstakingly onto his other side and stretches his arm out for the remote. All his muscles feel achy and stiff, and he can only flop onto his back when he’s retrieved it, closing his eyes until his head stops spinning. When he opens them again, Jens is holding his glass of water above his head. Lucas gives him a withering look, but it slips when Jens sets a hand on his back as he sits up, keeping him steady, and he takes sips from the glass with shaky hands before letting Jens take it from him again. By the time he’s managed to recline himself again, Jens has slunk down the bed to lie with him.

He catches Lucas looking at him and smiles, holding his arm out towards him. Lucas hands him the remote. Jens rolls his eyes as he passes the remote to his other hand and then holds his arm out again.

Understanding sinks in and he hesitantly shifts closer.

Jens slips his arm under his neck and turns on the TV, navigating through it until he finds something worthy of background noise. Lucas stares at the side of his face, closer than he ever sees it when they’re both awake. Jens turns his head and their noses almost brush. Lucas expects him to laugh it off, or shift back, or to pull Lucas in until he rests on his chest instead.

Instead he draws Lucas in closer and presses a kiss to his forehead.

Lucas softens, unconsciously leaning even closer, and Jens gazes at him gently and strokes his cheek and Lucas’s heart thuds.

Jens rests their foreheads together and says, quietly and carefully, “I would right now, if you weren’t sick.”

It takes a few moments for Lucas to understand. Then he lets out a breath. “Oh.”

Jens smiles, amused, and Lucas stares, amazed, and can’t help asking, “So...when I’m not sick…?”

Jens hums, and then he kisses his nose. “If that’s okay with you.”

Lucas nods quickly and then winces at the spike in his headache.

Jens laughs, almost silently, and presses another kiss to Lucas’s forehead before tugging him into his chest and wrapping his arms around him. “Like I told you. Annoyingly cute.”

“And there’s nowhere else you’d rather be,” Lucas reminds him, sleepy, and Jens nuzzles into his curls in agreement.

“No,” Jens agrees. “Nowhere else.”

[marvelous-avengers]

coffee cake

summary: Late night baking. 

pairing: Steve Rogers x reader

warnings: fluff and love, slight angst if you squint

a/n: after a very stressful weak, this was inspired by events that happened at home when my dad pulled out my grandma’s cooking stuff and i decided it would be nice if i had a super soldier to comfort me. enjoy it angels. (i should be sleeping or doing other things but i wrote this because i needed it.)

---

It’s late when he finds you in the kitchen.

A day of errands and naps, plus a late dinner of reheated soup has you tired and wired all at the same time. Achy body but itching hands.

Tools and ingredients scatter the kitchen island. Old fashioned tools and vintage recipes with faded edges, crisp and timed handwriting that spawns memories from younger years of wooden tables and benches, a white creaky oven door, smiles and wrinkled lips pressed to temples.

It stirs something in Steve’s chest as he leans against the doorway.

You’re oblivious to his soft gaze, you’re even softer, as he watches you measure out ingredients. Your hands are delicate yet deliberate–taking care while getting the job done. He’s almost mesmerized, watching you work through the kitchen in your t-shirt and sleep shorts.

It’s been a hard week for you. Between some family drama, trouble at work and moving in together, the stress leading up to everything made you physically ill and that was hard for him to see. Too many cooks in the kitchen, too many things to get rid of and so little time to move, to actually get anything done. 

So today had been spent in bed, then a couple errands, some soup and Nailed It! on Netflix filled the afternoon.

“Hi babe.”

Ah, he’s been caught.

He smiles gently, blue with specks of green and gold going even softer as he reaches you at the counter, lips pressing to your forehead. You’re mixing the paste-like mixture in the bowl and Steve takes in the rest of the pieces of the recipe and grabs a round container from the marble island.

“Sour cream? In cake?”

The edges of your lips turn up and there’s his happy girl. “Just wait.” His other hand goes to your back, fingers skimming underneath the edge of your shirt as he rubs the skin there. “Will you butter the pan, please?”

With a final squeeze to your skin, he does as he’s asked. You take the final cups of flour, the baking soda and sour cream and add them to your bowl, mixing until homogenous. You grab a jar of brown something crumbly and measure some out, mixing it with another bit of something and a dash of another something.

“My grandma used to make this cake only for special occasions,” you say as you gingerly start to layer the batter and other mixture into the prepared pan. “She made it for birthdays, primarily. She’d come over and this was our birthday cake. It’s special.”

The way you talk about her, so open and freely, so reverently, sparks a memory in the deep caverns of his mind. Gentle hands, worn from work and care, brushing back soft tufts of blond, mixing soup on the stove made from anything they could salvage, one more spoonful for himself than her. A delicate, beautiful smile on her face, always. Would you like some more, Steven? Have you had enough? A time when there was never always enough to go around, but children came first. They always came first, even if there was nothing. 

It sends an ache through his heart, to think of this, of memories and time long passed. How families who had nothing still gave and gave, still cared for their children and found ways to do so. He knows it’s ingrained in your soul, from mother and father to grandmother, who, like his own parents, came from a country seeking a better life, who came from nothing, but somehow gave their children everything that they could. 

It’s better now–the world is, at least–in some ways, with technology and agriculture. He thinks of the good things, of warm summer days and your neighbor’s children giggling and laughing, of you, pressed carefully in his arms, content and happy as you sleep. It warms his heart, soothes the dull icy chill forever present in a man out of time. 

He only wishes that the soft mother of his memories was able to see him today. Home. Loved. Happy. 

A few final taps of the pan against the counter and it slides easily into the warm oven. You set a timer on the microwave. He watches as you immediately start to clean up, gathering dirty dishes and utensils and putting sugar and flour and vanilla away. You take great care in washing the tools of your masterpiece, placing them carefully in the dishrack once they’re deemed clean. 

“She didn’t have much growing up, and neither did my dad, so they were always sure to try and give their children better lives than we had. They always gave us extra when we asked, offered more to us first even if they hadn’t finished.” Another metal and rounded measuring cup, one that looks familiar to him, is placed to dry. “They always took care of us first. And this cake was always our treat. It tied my whole family together.”

Family. The root of your love, your being and your soul. Your kindness, your selflessness, your loving and bold personality that he loves so much. Obviously it runs in the family. 

Part of him wants to offer to help, but the other part of him, the practiced and loving part, knows that this is yours. Your way to deal with the relieved stress, the anxious part of you that continues to worry after things are complete. Your family traditions, special memories, your heart and soul buried and bursting in your being.

So he lets you be. But once you dry your hands on the towel and the counter is wiped clean, he slides his arms around your waist and pulls you close, pink lips pressing to the crown of your head. You sigh, winding your own around him and nestle safely into his embrace. Calloused hands rub up and down your back, and you squeeze him.

You pull away enough to gaze up at him, eyes cloudy and dazed, filled with emotion. He cups your face with one hand, pressing a kiss to your forehead. Your eyes are closed when he pulls away again, and he releases a chuckle before he finally kisses your lips.

It’s so soft, so patient in the quiet of the kitchen, his thumb caressing your cheek as your lips move together. He tests the waters, the tip of his tongue slipping between yours, and your hands tighten on the back of his shirt. The hand on your waist tightens and as one of yours grasps onto longer strands of golden and sandy hair, you feel the counter against your back and Steve’s built body pressing against yours. You relish in the feeling, of the love and safety surrounding you–

Steve’s thumb grazes the underside of your breast and your back arches in response. He smiles and you only pull on his shirt, the urgency to have him closerclosercloser.

The kisses eventually slow and the timer shows an obscene amount of time spent wrapped up in each other. But neither of you mind. Besides, Steve likes to be selfish with you. Especially, like this.

Because it’s needed. In times of stress and destress, the sanctuary of tight arms and warm love is a welcome home. Home. Love.

When he pulls away, the blue of his eyes is blown out by the pupil and he’s flushed, beautifully so, spread across his cheeks to his ears. You smile and tug gently on his ear lobe, but Steve just kisses your wrist, lips swollen and plump and oh so delicious.

He kisses you right there, in the kitchen, until the timer runs out.

forever loves:

@sweetboybucky @evanstarff @barnesrogersvstheworld @tropicalcap @buckyofthemyscira @bucky-at-bedtime @kentuckybarnes @shurisneakers @jaamesbbarnes @sgtjbuccky @buckysbeardliness anyone else i forgot but i love you all

[orbemnews]

Women Report Worse Side Effects After a Covid Vaccine On the morning that Shelly Kendeffy received her second dose of the Moderna Covid-19 vaccine, she felt fine. By afternoon, she noticed a sore arm and body aches, and by evening, it felt like the flu. “My teeth were chattering, but I was sweating — like soaked, but frozen,” said Ms. Kendeffy, 44, a medical technician in State College, Pa. The next day, she went to work and surveyed her colleagues — eight men and seven women — about their vaccine experiences. Six of the women had body aches, chills and fatigue. The one woman who didn’t have flu symptoms was up much of the night vomiting. The eight men gave drastically different reports. One had mild arm pain, a headache and body aches. Two described mild fatigue and a bit of achiness. One got a headache. And four had no symptoms at all. “I work with some very tough women,” Ms. Kendeffy said. But “clearly, us women suffered a severity of the side effects.” She felt better after 24 hours, and is thrilled she got the vaccine. “I wouldn’t change a thing, because it sure beats the alternative,” she said. “But I also didn’t know what to expect.” The differences Ms. Kendeffy observed among her co-workers are playing out across the country. In a study published last month, researchers from the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention analyzed safety data from the first 13.7 million Covid-19 vaccine doses given to Americans. Among the side effects reported to the agency, 79.1 percent came from women, even though only 61.2 percent of the vaccines had been administered to women. Nearly all of the rare anaphylactic reactions to Covid-19 vaccines have occurred among women, too. C.D.C. researchers reported that all 19 of the individuals who had experienced such a reaction to the Moderna vaccine have been female, and that women made up 44 of the 47 who have had anaphylactic reactions to the Pfizer vaccine. “I am not at all surprised,” said Sabra Klein, a microbiologist and immunologist at the Johns Hopkins Bloomberg School of Public Health. “This sex difference is completely consistent with past reports of other vaccines.” In a 2013 study, scientists with the C.D.C. and other institutions found that four times as many women as men between the ages of 20 and 59 reported allergic reactions after receiving the 2009 pandemic flu vaccine, even though more men than women got those shots. Another study found that between 1990 and 2016, women accounted for 80 percent of all adult anaphylactic reactions to vaccines. In general, women “have more reactions to a variety of vaccines,” said Julianne Gee, a medical officer in the C.D.C.’s Immunization Safety Office. That includes influenza vaccines given to adults, as well as some given in infancy, such as the hepatitis B and measles, mumps and rubella (M.M.R.) vaccines. The news isn’t all bad for women, though. Side effects are usually mild and short-lived. And these physical reactions are a sign that a vaccine is working — that “you are mounting a very robust immune response, and you will likely be protected as a result,” Dr. Klein said. But why do these sex differences happen? Part of the answer could be behavioral. It’s possible that women are more likely than men to report side effects even when their symptoms are the same, said Rosemary Morgan, an international health researcher at the Johns Hopkins Bloomberg School of Public Health. There’s no vaccine-specific research to support this claim, but men are less likely than women to see doctors when they are sick, so they may also be less likely to report side effects, she said. Still, there’s no question that biology plays an important role. “The female immune response is distinct, in many ways, from the male immune response,” said Eleanor Fish, an immunologist at the University of Toronto. Research has shown that, compared with their male counterparts, women and girls produce more — sometimes twice as many — infection-fighting antibodies in response to the vaccines for influenza, M.M.R., yellow fever, rabies, and hepatitis A and B. They often mount stronger responses from immune fighters called T cells, too, Ms. Gee noted. These differences are often most robust among younger adults, which “suggests a biological effect, possibly associated with reproductive hormones,” she said. Sex hormones including estrogen, progesterone and testosterone can bind to the surface of immune cells and influence how they work. Exposure to estrogen causes immune cells to produce more antibodies in response to the flu vaccine, for example. And testosterone, Dr. Klein said, “is kind of beautifully immunosuppressive.” The flu vaccine tends to be less protective in men with lots of testosterone compared with men with less of the sex hormone. Among other things, testosterone suppresses the body’s production of immune chemicals known as cytokines. Genetic differences between men and women may also influence immunity. Many immune-related genes are on the X chromosome, of which women have two copies and men have only one. Historically, immunologists believed that only one X chromosome in women was turned on, and that the other was inactivated. But research now shows that 15 percent of genes escape this inactivation and are more highly expressed in women. These robust immune responses help to explain why 80 percent of autoimmune diseases afflict women. “Women have greater immunity, whether it’s to ourselves, whether it’s to a vaccine antigen, whether it’s to a virus,” Dr. Klein said. The size of a vaccine dose may also be important. Studies have shown that women absorb and metabolize drugs differently than men do, often needing lower doses for the same effect. But until the 1990s, drug and vaccine clinical trials largely excluded women. “The drug dosages that are recommended are historically based on clinical trials that involve male participants,” Dr. Morgan said. Clinical trials today do include women. But in the trials for the new Covid vaccines, side effects were not sufficiently separated and analyzed by sex, Dr. Klein said. And they did not test whether lower doses might be just as effective for women but cause fewer side effects. Until they do, Dr. Klein said, health care providers should talk to women about vaccine side effects so they are not scared by them. “I think that there is value to preparing women that they may experience more adverse reactions,” she said. “That is normal, and likely reflective of their immune system working.” Source link Orbem News #Covid #effects #Report #side #Vaccine #Women #Worse

[arplis]

Arplis - News: “Hang on to your hat, toots.” — my life, the last few weeks

(Starting with this update.) We’ve officially transitioned mini to school and she loves it. We were pleasantly surprised at how smoothly it all went. The only hiccup so far has been figuring out pick up in the afternoon. For the first few days, I dropped her off and picked her up alone because she had such odd hours (i.e., one hour from 10:05-11:05 one day, then two hours from 9:30 to 11:30 the next day, etc.) and it would have been impossible for Mr. Magpie to handle either end given his work schedule. I would usually just post up in a nearby coffee shop and get some work done, but it was a pretty disruptive week, especially coordinating breastfeeding around it. Then we transitioned to more of the expected routine: Mr. Magpie drops her off in the mornings on his way to work. I had intended to have our nanny pick her up in the afternoons so I could stay home with micro for breastfeeding purposes, and so after I felt we had the morning routine down pat, I decided to bring our nanny with me to pick mini up so I could show her the ropes and pass the baton. When mini saw our nanny first (before seeing me), she dissolved into tears. I had given her a heads up that our nanny would be there, too, but I think she was upset that I wasn’t the first face she saw (the best part of my day has been seeing her beaming face when I arrive at the door — “there’s my mama!” she shrieks). The school had warned us about this, noting that kids can be very thrown off by disruptions to routine, and encouraging us to stay consistent with who drops off and who picks up. Now I know why. Mini was apoplectic and close to impossible to maneuver home (i.e., refusing stroller, refusing to walk, laying down on the subway floor — oh.my.GOD). After that incident, I chatted with her teacher and we decided that I should continue to handle pick-ups for the next few weeks before introducing our nanny into the mix — just too much change for that little one. Besides, I hadn’t anticipated it, but our little pocket of thirty minutes on our way home is nearly always the highlight of my day. I love hearing about her day, smothering her with kisses, holding her little willing hand as we walk towards the subway stop. And so this whole transition to school has been relatively smooth all things considered but still quite a change for everyone. Routines in the morning are planned down to a millisecond and I’m busy getting that little one fed, toileted, dressed, brushed, and out the door by 8 a.m. Gone are the leisurely mornings nursing micro in bed! And then — oh! The apartment is deafeningly silent in mini’s absence. She is a whirling dervish at home, flitting from activity to activity in constant chatter and singsong. I have found myself straining to hear her on multiple occasions, my heart in my throat. Changes all — most of them welcome, some of them…skeptically accepted. Meanwhile, the apartment hunt continued. We saw at least fifteen units all up and down the West side of Manhattan, a few spots on the UES, and one in DUMBO. It was exhausting, in large part owing to the underhandedness of the broker situation. There are so many misrepresentations in listings — “3 bedrooms!” is often “2 bedrooms but you can split the second to make a third with a partition” or “2 bedrooms plus a closet with a questionable window that could be a nursery” or “2 bedrooms plus a dangerous loft where no child should ever sleep.” And then there are things like “washer and dryer in unit!” — only you arrive and find you will be responsible for purchasing the washer/dryer, though there is a hook-up available. And “available immediately!” only you arrive with your baby in a carrier and your toddler wrangling out of your grip and find yourself in a construction zone, sawdust coating our lungs and electric saws buzzing inches from our faces (i.e., decidedly not available immediately). There’s this shadiness, and then there’s the fact that the NY rental market moves at the speed of light — aka a frenetic pace ill-suited towards families with small children and lots of moving parts. New places are listed daily and are often gone within a day or two, and you are meant to move in within a week — and if you aren’t planning to move in immediately, you’ll probably be passed up as an applicant for the unit because brokers don’t want to sit on a vacant unit. They’ll just wait another day or two for someone willing to move in sooner. I mean, can you imagine?! It’s too much pressure! How can you expect a family to find a place and move within a week?! At any rate, after seeing fifteen places, we put in an application on a unit with about a month left on our current lease and were passed up because the landlord’s broker pulled a weird stunt on us, using our application offer (rent is almost always negotiable in NY) to go back to another applicant that had been interested in the apartment to get them to counter with an earlier lease start date and a slightly higher rent offer. The brokers hadn’t made this information known to us, of course (we would have happily matched the offer), and had instead more or less counseled us to submit the offer we did (“I’ll encourage the landlord to accept it,” stated the broker — grrr) to push the other couple to sign immediately. And so we suddenly found ourselves back at square one, with no apartment lined up and the clock ticking. When we heard the news, it took every ounce of my personal resolve to avoid bursting into tears. I had loved the unit, but more than that — I had loved the idea of being done with the search and able to move forward with next steps. The night we found out, I woke up at 3 a.m. shivering uncontrollably — my teeth were actually chattering! — and aching all over. A few hours later, I woke up and had sweated through my clothes. It went on like this — sweats, chills, achiness, splitting headache — for several days. I eventually went to see the doctor who confirmed I had picked up some kind of virus but I’m convinced that my shock and stress level at discovering we had no apartment with less than four weeks to go had triggered it, or left me in such a state of weakness that any old virus could have shut me down. I somehow managed to muscle through last week, sick as a dog, visiting a new battery of listings all over the place. We also had a bizarrely busy social schedule (we’re normally homebodies), with two receptions and a cocktail hour we hosted — and then there was mini’s meltdown owing to the nanny’s pick up at school right smack dab in the middle. During that epic tantrum, I’d had to carry mini by her arms up the subway stairs while I also had micro strapped to me in the carrier. She had turned into a jellyfish and would.not.climb.the.stairs and also would.not.let.the.nanny.come.near.her. I had no choice, after attempting to reason with her and cajole her for about five minutes while no-nonsense, in-a-rush New Yorkers trampled us at the foot of the steps, but to pick her up by her arms and carry her up the steps in front of me, like a noodle. That debacle led me to pull a muscle in my abdomen which in turn made breathing hurt for a couple of days — though at the time, I wasn’t sure if the pain in my side was related to the virus or something more serious, and so the doctor ran a gamut of tests, had me x-rayed, etc. (It all turned out clear — just a strained muscle from trying to carry forty-five pounds of children up the stairs in the most awkward maneuver known to womankind. Go figure.) Somewhere along the way, micro picked up whatever virus I had and suddenly my world was literally collapsing on itself. There were a few nights where I was up with poor micro every hour of the night. It got so bad that I had to ask Mr. Magpie to split shifts with me, but even then it was impossible to sneak in a stretch of sleep because we are all about two feet from one another. The baby was running a fever and battling an upset stomach and so we were covered in baby vomit, shivering/sweating together, and mind-numbingly exhausted. And did I mention that while I believe I hold or can reach a sense of perspective in most parenting-related matters, when it comes to ill children, I lose my bearings?! I worry myself sick, wondering if I’m overlooking a symptom and what I believe to be a run-of-the-mill cold is actually something more nefarious. I clutch them in my arms and cry over them. It is physically painful for me to see my babies unwell. Then, on Friday, I woke with the worst migraine I have ever had in my life. I could not see straight. I could barely walk. Turning my head to the left or right was shockingly painful. I was so sensitive to light that I had to stay in my bedroom with the blinds drawn. I could not rally myself to put on clothes and pick up mini from school — I had to call Mr. Magpie and ask him to leave work early to get her. On top of it all, micro was scheduled to be Baptized two days later and I had my parents coming into town, with fabulous dinner plans to boot. I was defeated. That was the lowpoint. The lowpoint of this year (fingers crossed), and in fact the last two years — since the last botched and stressful move, come to think of it. But as quickly as everything had spiraled out of control, it all came back into focus. We found another — better! — apartment, this one a “classic prewar six” in Manhattan terms. (A classic prewar six refers to an apartment configuration with six rooms — three bedrooms (one smaller, typically referred to as a “maid’s room,” perfect for a nursery), living room, kitchen, formal dining room — in a building constructed before WWII, and therefore likely to be rife with traditional charm. You won’t find open concept floor plans with a classic 6, which Mr. Magpie and I rather like. These buildings also tend to be very well-constructed — i.e., “they just don’t make them like that anymore.”) When we went uptown to sign the lease, the broker walked us through the unit and something inside me relaxed. I could instantly see the wonderful life we would have there, with much more space, a dedicated nursery for micro, a larger kitchen, and a bedroom for mini that is large enough to accommodate all of her toys, her activity table, her dollhouse, and all the other bulky items that currently reside in our living area. I’m sure her toys will still find their way into our living room, but no longer will it be their primary home, praise God. A friend of mine recently said that “a cluttered house is a cluttered mind,” and I think this, too, is why this stretch of the last few weeks has been so overwhelming. We are busting out of this apartment as micro grows and has new needs and more clothing and bigger diapers and all that jazz. Micro and I both overcame our ailments (for the most part) around the same time and managed to enjoy his Baptism feeling more like ourselves. (I wore the dress mentioned here.) We had a beautiful morning with friends and family, enjoying brunch after his Christening smooshed in like sardines around a small table at Cafe Luxembourg, whose boisterous environment matched the general ebullience of the moment. I looked around the table at one point and thought how lucky I am, and how insignificant all my travails of the previous week were in the grand scheme. I mean, let me be real: everything is horrible when you feel sick, and everything is doubly horrible when you feel sick and are caring for an ill infant while going on four months of sleeplessness. And moving is stressful, full-stop. But there we were, closer to the other side, with the happiest occasion in front of me. A happy and newly healthy baby, welcomed into the Church, the presence of my loved ones, the promise of a new, more spacious beginning on the Upper West Side. And on we go… What’s happening with you? Post Scripts. +What are your most memorable golden moments/golden hours? Brunch after micro’s Baptism is up there. +OK, mini would die and go to heaven with this. +A perfect Christmas dress for a little lady. +Expect some more home decor related posts soon, as we need to purchase a number of pieces of furniture. I am already eyeing a couple of rugs, and Horchow has such a great selection (on sale) — love this for mini’s room, or maybe this. Although I’ve been chastened — probably not good to have a light colored rug in a toddler’s room. May need to explore darker/more patterned styles. +I love this oversized houndstooth scarf. +So excited we’re closing in on sweater weather. +Likely my next headband acquisition. +I like this slim hamper for micro’s nursery… +I’m a copycat. +I ordered one of these tags for mini’s stroller, which we store at the school during the day since Mr. Magpie drops her off and I pick her up. It’s perfect! I was impressed with the quality and speed of design/shipping. Going to order some more for her bags. A cute add-on to a gift for a little one, too. +I love these for keeping my phone free of fingerprints. +A good dupe for those Paris Texas snakeskin boots that are all over the place. +A fun tee. +A great dish to display fruit/citrus on your counter. The post Lately… appeared first on The Fashion Magpie. #Parenting #NewYork #Musings #NewYorkLife #Parenthood

Arplis - News source https://arplis.com/blogs/news/hang-on-to-your-hat-toots-my-life-the-last-few-weeks

[christinthechronicallyill]

Letters of the Chronically Ill

To the friends of the ill

You’re important to me.

I live for the hours where I am with you, laughing about all the crazy adventures you have been on that week and for the moments where we talk about all things of your heart and what makes it come alive and thrive. I love hearing about the awkward party that you went to, the time your mum sucked the cats tail up the hoover and when you slipped down the hill on the way to college and ended up with a long brown skid mark. Tell me about how you walked for miles with your dog, how your partied into the early hours of the morning and how you had to wake up at 5:30 to catch a train to London for the day. I love hearing about your outings and gatherings with people- because I know that you are happy and enjoying life and that is all I want for you. To be happy, to know you’re loved and that you are going to be great. I will tell you all that is interesting in my life, so I’ll probably talk about my dog and her weird and wonderful tendencies, my brilliant reenactment of an elderly lady on a daily basis (pill popping and all) and how I am still heroically making it to most of my classes and the awkward moments when they ask how I’m doing and where my class work is (fairly sure my dog ate it?) Please don’t feel guilty when you are full of stories and I don’t have as many, I love to listen and when I do have stories, they are all the more precious to me because they are less. I also ask that you remember that I am still always here for you in whatever situation good or bad. I may not be able to physically be around but I am always a text or a phone call away and will always respond as soon as I can- you mean so much to me and I love and appreciate you greatly. I know sometimes you feel guilty talking to me about what is going on in your life; I'm not sure why as your issues aren't any less significant. I will always listen and offer advice and attention where I can, and will hug you tightly (or give you a clip round the ear) when I next see you. My life is difficult but it is still good. What you are struggling with isn’t less significant or not as important. It’s not the situation but how you feel in the situation. I won’t always get it right, but I will always try and keep an open mind and not allow how I am feeling on that day to effect us.

I spend a lot of time at home, which makes me very grateful for the technology that we have because I can still be connected through social media with you and see what you’re up to. For me, this can both be a blessing and a burden. I enjoy the mindless scrolling because it requires little focus and minimal energy and yet fills time that I seem to have. It’s good because I can ‘like’ and ‘comment’ on all your beautiful pictures and meme shares and meaningful statuses to my hearts content and I know that you see that and we remain connected through that. However; I often get jealous of you being well, not that I would ever wish that you were ill for a moment , but more that I wish I was well enough to be with you. When I see you with our other friends, laughing and sharing with one another the incredible outing you just had, I feel lonely and miss being able to be with you all. It is upsetting when I can imagine the wonderful time you are all having and I become focused on the fact that I was absent and that nobody seemed to notice or care. I know this isn't true. This is in my head and I am not sharing this to make you feel guilty because ultimately I love to see you loving and living life to the fullness that you are and embracing friendships and growing stronger together, I am sharing it so that you know that this is an area that I need to embrace and learn to have a more positive attitude towards and I am working on it and I hope that I learn this so that I have no ill feeling towards you. Social media also enables me to share what I get up to, and I post most things that I do when I do see someone or when I do something because I want people to see that I am still living a life and that it is a good life with good people- and I am thankful you are one of those good people in my life.But my primary reason for sharing those things is because I want a record of my adventures, something I can easily go through and see all the incredible moments and people I have in my life when I begin to feel down heartened about where I am at the moment. I don’t post lots of photos so for likes, but so that I have a record of what I have been up to and that I can share it with you and you be a part of it, even if you weren’t there. Other technology I am thankful for is the television as part of CFS is that I struggle to concentrate on things for long periods of time, so TV requires minimal concentration and passes the time when I am resting my body. I am not lazy, if I was able to be out when I am on the sofa, more often than not I would whole heartedly choose to be out but I need to rest and I am learning not to feel guilty when I am resting. For some people, chilling in front of the television all day sounds like a dream, but please don’t make comments like that to me because for me- it’s not how I would like to be living as where you dream of that I dream of adventure and for the days I can spend a whole day out with friends instead of a mere couple of hours. This is one comment that people sometimes make that is difficult for me to respond to as I am lucky that I don’t have a busy schedule, but being involuntarily idle is stressful in itself for me. Please don’t judge me for having to spend lots of time at home doing mindless activities- it is dull and exceedingly lonely but it does make me all the more grateful when I am well enough to be out and being with you.

I know that when I see you, our time is short but that isn’t because I don’t enjoy your company or that I have grown bored of our conversations. I am tired constantly and where socialising for you may not require much energy, it requires all of mine to walk and chat and laugh and concentrate on the conversation so I don’t miss bits- and I want you to know that you do have my full attention. I can’t always make it out to be with you, but I love it when you come to me so that I don’t have to use up energy travelling or waiting around. But if I can come out I will arrange to be out with you because that’s always more lovely to be out in the world, enjoying creation and life with you.

You are kind and considerate and try and help me in the best ways that you can, even if sometimes they are not the most helpful of ways. One of the things that can be difficult is for you to fully understand how I am feeling because, thank God, you aren’t struggling with it. I ask that you please don’t tell me about how to manage my illness or how if I change my diet I will be magically healed, or how theres new cures with lotions and things. Some of these things may or may not improve my symptoms, but they won’t make me better. Tell me how you’re praying or thinking of me, how you’re there if I need to talk or that you’ll drive me home if I’m too tired to get the bus. Tell me that I’m not my illness and that you know there’s a light at the end of the tunnel. It’s often difficult for you to know what CFS is because it is personal to the individual and is a description diagnosis; there isn’t a test that you can take to easily confirm it, which is why the diagnosis process is so long. Here are a couple of explanations that people have said to me that have resonated and will hopefully clear the air a little with what is actually wrong with me 1) Imagine you have had a long day at work which leaves you physically, emotionally and spiritually tired. Then imagine that when you wake up from a full night of sleep, you still have that overhanging tiredness and your body has all the aches and pains it gets when you catch a cold or the flu. 2) When you go to sleep, you recharge your batteries and then have a full bar of energy to use throughout the day. When I sleep, my batteries charge very little or not at all so I have to use my energy wisely. 3) Fatigue is different to tiredness. Tiredness goes away, fatigue clings onto you and drags down your physical and emotional capabilities. 4) It’s like having an old lady inside the body of a teenager/young adult. You can’t race around like a loon and need naps on a regular basis. Personally, I am lucky and grateful that compared to many who suffer from CFS/ME I do not suffer severely. I go out several times during the week, I am still able to study at college (part-time student) and I do odd job around the house. I do the same things that you do but on a much smaller scale. My symptoms include: • Fatigue • Achy and painful muscles (typically thighs, legs, backs of shoulders and back) • Difficulty concentrating for long times • Difficulty sleeping • Dizzy spells • Difficulty controlling body temperature On a good day, I will wake up with mild aches in my muscles and despite feeling drained and exhausted, I am able to get myself ready and be out for a morning/afternoon/evening with a couple of rest breaks in between activity. On a bad day, I will be exceedingly achy and will have to take painkillers to try and numb it slightly. I will take a long time to get ready as it will require most of my energy and I shall get downstairs and have to spend the day on the sofa doing very little. Most of my days are in between and make me thankful when I am having a bad day where I need to rest, that I’ve had a good days and that there are more to come. I may or may not ever recover completely from this- it is a permanent illness and is disabling in its own right but I don’t view myself as having a disability, I just take a little longer to complete a lot of activities. I hope that your opinion of me stays to how I was when I was ‘well’(or how it was before the CFS became publicly noticeable) and that you don’t give me any label to do with my illness but label me as a friend, a colleague, a mate, a partner, child of God or however you view me. I haven’t shared these details for sympathy because that isn’t particularly helpful, but I so desperately want to be honest and not have to hide my pain when I’m not having a brilliant day and I hope you will continue to love and support me, as you always have.

I’ve thought long and hard about ways that are helpful for me so here are a couple of ideas if you’re struggling with the right things to say or do, if you want to support but there is never any pressure for you to! Please remember that I don’t expect anything as you don’t expect anything from me but these are just some useful things I have found and appreciate greatly. Drop me a message every once in a while; ask how I am. I may be truthful or I may cover up how I am feeling but having someone check up on you is a reminder that you are loved and cared for and is deeply appreciated in its simplest form. Don’t be offended if I suddenly have to cancel our plans, I would love to be there but I will be having a bad day and it will frustrate me that I will have let you down. Please continue to invite me to stuff though, even if you don’t think I will be able to make it- I will often make it a priority to be at and even the invite is appreciated enough. Please be considerate if I have to leave early, I am not being rude or ungrateful I just need to go and rest so that I can see you again soon. Give me hugs and cuddles when I see you and be an ear if I need to just have a little cry or a laugh or am in need of some advice, as you have always done and as I will continue to do for you. Come and see me if you can, come alone or with a couple of others (please be sensitive not to overwhelm) and we can have times of friendship and fellowship. Skype or FaceTime works too! Encourage me to stay hopeful and to focus on the joy around me. Pray for me- if you’re a prayer: pray for healing; the restoration of my body, for the day I can be well again, for Gods strength and energy to fill me each day, for wisdom to know when to rest and when to work and for a continuous heart of compassion and love towards people. Pray for my family and friends who support me and that God blesses them and grows them into even more of the beautiful people that they are already. Thank God for me and for our friendship- as I do daily.

I love you dearly and you remain in my prayers and thoughts constantly.