#he is like a girlfriend to me

[gay-for-the-snz]

Day 18: "My body is one big ache." (M, flu)

The follow-up of yesterday's prompt, with the now realization of what it is <3 workplace contagion. I love an oblivious bitch that is truly trying his best but not doing a great job at all. The sexy thing about posting all of these out of order as I finish them now is that I can post this one after one that would've come later. 2.3k

Tl;dr: this is part 2 of day 25's prompt! Please read that one first!

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He can't afford to leave the windows open, even though it's hotter than Satan's oven in this apartment--the thermostat says it's eighty-two, even though it's well past sundown and the AC in the corner is working like its life depends on it, but it's tempting to deal with the potential allergy symptoms rather than deal with the fact that he might lose every speck of moisture in his body from sweating like--well. He leaves it there. No need to be crass, really.

He cranes his neck towards the shut window, chewing on the inside of his cheek as he mulls it over, and finally just gets up to go open it. He'll double the Claritin in the morning if he needs to, because being a little sniffly will be well worth being able to sleep tonight.

He's a sore, sweaty mess, but he already took a shower when he got home, and the alarm clock is ticking along threateningly as the time until he has to wake up continues to wile away despite his pleas to hold on just until he can get to sleep. He's exhausted, but it seems like one of those nights where he might have to hope that a melatonin and a Benadryl are going to be the ticket to closing his eyes, and hoping, equally fervently, that he'll be able to shake off the exhaustion come morning.

⁂

He nearly shouts in surprise when the alarm starts blaring, not so much out of surprise, but out of discomfort. Oh, God above, he's so cold. He's shivering so hard it's making his teeth chatter, even underneath the blankets. He shuts off the alarm with a wince, because the simple act of unwrapping an arm to do that feels like it's letting out all of his body heat, and then immediately wraps back up tighter than before. He's ignoring this one--the clock on the dresser, his last line of defense against oversleeping--will be the one he gets up to as the last bastion of hope to make it to work on time if he gets up that millisecond.

The rolled up comforter that he's been using like a body pillow is unfurled and joins the bundle of warmth as he shivers like his life depends on it. Teeth still chattering, he takes a peek at the reported outside temperature--sixty-eight. It's barely cooler than room temperature outside--but, no, he's got the AC on too. It must be colder than that in here?

He's not risking going to shut that off until he absolutely has to, though, because he can't give up the semblance of warmth he's managed to cobble together in the last few minutes. He's going to die. He's going to freeze to death, even.

He sits there, curled up like a babe poorly swaddled, until the alarm across the room starts giving him the warning that if he isn't kicking it into the next gear, he's not gonna make it to work on time. Reluctantly, mournfully, he peels himself out of the covers, and starts getting dressed. Thick socks, long pants, and he'll leave a pair of shorts in his backpack to change into when the day gets blistering and he has to worry about being too hot instead of too cold.

He'd kill for a warm shower--especially because gosh everything still aches--he definitely slept weird and overdid it yesterday, officially--but there isn't a chance of pretending he has enough time. He shoves something into his backpack for lunch--he honestly isn't even sure what the container was, just that it was out of the freezer and that means it must be some form of food he thought fit to hold onto--and is jogging out the door.

"H-huh..." Oh, no no no, not now, please at least get to the landing first--

"hH'GZZHhyue! eEDZZhieww! hEDDZZHH'hue!" He's stock still during the first three, braced against the railing of the stairwell and making a poor attempt at covering into his elbow, but forces himself to keep moving through the remainder of the fit. "yEZZHhue! heEIZZHhieww! 'ZZHhue! H-hh...h-huH--! 'GZZHHYuuee!"

He swipes a hand roughly under his nose, the last few of those uncovered as he tried to balance the death grip on the railing with the death grip on his belongings, leaving no room for anything to muffle into until he could stop and set his bag down. He fishes a couple crumpled napkins from one of his pockets--knowing him, they were probably put to this exact task the last time he wore these jeans, and left to languish eternally in the pocket since then, which is...actually kind of gross, now that he thinks about it. He makes a face and stops halfway through tending to his nose, and just returns them to his pocket to take care of once he gets to work.

He digs the car blanket out of the trunk, throws it around himself like a cape, and cranks the heat as high as it'll go. This is overkill, he knows, but that doesn't actually do anything to help the fact that he feels like hot (cold) garbage, and that he really would like to warm up sometime before next year.

His nose is runny, which is annoying because it's also stuffy, but his hand feels nothing but his backpack when he pats at the seat beside him to feel for the box of tissues. He takes his eyes off the road during a long straightaway for a fraction of a second to look at the passenger seat, and groans in misery when the box really isn't there. He doesn't feel it in the seat behind it, either, which means it's either somewhere on the floorboards, or he tossed it back into the trunk while he was fetching the blanket.

None of these are good places for the tissues to be, because they are all equally inaccessible to him, and his nose is threatening to drip onto his shirt now. He's never been fond of allergies, but especially not now, when they seem so intent on making him not miserably but sorely inconvenienced. He rubs a knuckle beneath blushed nostrils, and sniffles as best as he can, because there's really little else he can do at this point.

He coughs, a dry, ticklish thing that reminds him that he must have been snoring last night, because it's faintly sore. Not enough to really be terribly on the forefront of his mind, but enough that, now that he's noticed it, he finds it hard to un-notice it.

He avoids most everyone on his way in, just punches his card and hustles directly to where the board says he'll be working for the morning, and tries to keep his head down. He doesn't want to be the guy who's obviously sniffly, even if it's allergy season--and, really, even if he's often that guy. Mostly because of that, really.

The worst part, in his opinion, about the fact that his nose is running is that it has the potential to get him--

"hH-! 'GZZHhuue! ehH'GZZHHyue!"

--sneezing, from the irritating feeling of moisture collecting along reddened nares.

He more or less is left to his own devices for the first half of the day, which is good, because he's starting to feel worse as the day wears on. He takes his break just sitting tucked between the aisles where no one's likely to spot him, but by lunchtime he knows he won't be able to get away with being left alone. People want to see him, and he will be seen, whether he wants to be or not.

With more than a little trepidation, he skulks into the break room and immediately to his locker--but his presence is clocked instantly.

"There he is, the man of the hour!"

"Yeah, we've been waiting for you. Are you gonna open shit or what?"

"You've--Christ, what happened to you?"

Someone's hand presses to his cheek, and he flinches at the unexpected contact.

"Oh, kid, I could fry an egg on you." Niklas takes him by the shoulder and turns him to look at them more fully. "You're white as a ghost."

Bolormaa lets his chair rock forward, all feet on the floor instead of just back on the back legs. "More than usual--hard to do. Eugh, I can see how sweaty you are from here. You've got long pants on?"

"Bolormaa, go get the Captain--"

Somebody cuts in from the background. "I'll get the heat illness poster--I don't think he looks good."

If he could melt into the spots where the grout's cracked out from between the titles to disappear, he would. Everyone is staring at him. Everyone is prepared to turn this into a whole huge thing. He can't let this happen.

"No no no no--it's not heat exhaustion, I swear--"

"You're sweaty and miserable in long pants in the summer. What else would it be?"

The attention isn't doing anything to lessen his anxiety, but he can feel that he's blushing. "I don't know, but it--unless I could be heat exhausted since yesterday, I don't think it's that--"

"You've been feeling bad since yesterday and didn't see anything?"

"...that's not important. I--"

The Captain enters the room, and the crowd of people who've gotten into his personal space to gawk and fuss and tut all part like the Red Sea. "Elliott."

"Captain."

"Alright, let me take a look at you." He actually put on his readers for this, and presses the back of his hand to his forehead, his cheek, the back of his neck. "Well, you're definitely fevered. It's not heat exhaustion--his skin's not cold, just clammy."

"Thank you."

"So what is it?"

"Er--"

"Everyone, hands off of him. Give him some space." He waits until they've all backed away before continuing. "Let me ask you something, then: Elliott, my boy, when was the last time you got a flu shot?"

If he could blanch, he would. "Uh. Probably October?"

"Hm."

"Captain, I doubt it's the--the flu, it's July for Pete's sake--"

"That doesn't make it impossible, just unlikely, but you're more than capable of beating the odds."

"Captain Addington--"

"My last name isn't going to change my mind. Go home."

"Sir, please--"

"Niklas, drive him home."

"No! No, I'll--I'll take myself--"

"Ohh, feeling a little more compliant all of a sudden, aren't we? Good." He gives him a gentle pat on the shoulder. "You look like you're feeling terrible. You're achey, I take it?"

"I...might be. I don't, uh--I definitely don't feel great. It could be a lot worse, though." He's only being sort of truthful. He's sore down to his bones, and so tired, and his head aches, and his nose is stuffy and running like a tap, and he's so chilly still. That ticklish cough from earlier wants to settle deeper into his lungs, but he's trying to deny it for now. He just wants to get through the rest of the shift, he really does.

"You're taking tomorrow off, too, and if I don't get a phone call and a picture of you looking right as rain, the day after that, too. You're going to be in the thick of it if you aren't already, and you're not doing that here at work. Be a good boy and listen to me, won't you?" Though he phrases it like a question, nothing about his tone makes it sound like he actually means it as one.

"...yes, sir." He accepts the bottle of water someone hands to him, and digs the tissues from his pocket to swipe at his nose, nostrils already threatening to chafe from the attention he's been paying them. "I'm, uhmb--" He clears his throat, tries to sniffle to clear his voice a little. "I'm sorry."

"It happens--you'll have to excuse me if I seem abrupt, but I'm an old man, and I'm not interested in catching what you've got, and I'm sure no one else is either. Go sit down until you're ready to go, but I'm retiring to my office."

He hangs his head as he slumps into one of the chairs to gather himself for a minute. Someone gently takes his lunch and tucks it back into the locker for him, and someone else rattles a bottle of Tylenol in his direction, slips a pair of them into his palm when he reflexively extends it.

"Something to bring the fever down," she murmurs.

"Thanks." He snuffles, and someone else nudges a box of tissues against his arm to bid him to take them so he can blow his nose. He can feel the prickle of irritation deep in his sinuses from the action, and it makes him instinctively wrinkle his nose against the feeling.

"Hh..." He straightens up slightly, taking a couple of the tissues in preparation. "hHDT'ZZHhue! eEZZHhyuue!"

He shudders into a pair of them, and they seem to sap the last bit of resistance he had left to even pretend like this may be something else.

Bolormaa scoots his chair close to him, so they're sitting nearly shoulder to shoulder. "Hey. How you feeling?"

"Like my whole body is one big ache."

"Aww, come on, I'm sure it's not that bad." He doesn't touch him like he usually would, and that's enough to tell him that he's really obviously sick enough that nobody's willing to risk catching whatever he's got. "Are you sure you don't want a ride home?"

"No, I'm fine. I drove here, I'll drive home. It's--possibly--the flu, not a death sentence. I'll be okay, I promise." He nudges their knees together in lieu of a hug, and grabs his backpack from his locker. "I'll, uh...see you guys in a few days."

"Feel better, dude."

"One of us will check on you, I promise."

[massiveladycat]

leo shouldve learned how to cope with his trauma and his need for validation instead of rick slapping a girlfriend on him and calling it a day. in this essay i will-

[dicipher]

Alt routes aside:

[mochii-derogatory]

toxic yaoi is so back. these guys are SOOO fucked up !!! They're crazy!!!!

[quirkle2]

a labor of love about milk. there are other things too i guess

[bluenettetheclown]

So I have now played swsh and the raileon brainrot has taken hold of me.

Original and text under the cut

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Text:

Flygonenjoyer (raihan_official): Ah yes. Me. My boyfriend. And his fully evolved five foot tall charizard. (4:20 pm . Jun 9 20XX. Chatwitter for Rotom)

-

Original meme:

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Laios's three Boy Best Friends. And yes, they hate him.

[dayurno]

sometimes i’m sooooo blown away by the fact that kevin is so smart……. like yes he is the fox with the highest grades despite being also the fox with the tightest training schedule and yes he canonically gets called an obsessive genius and yes the extra content explicitly says he is both very smart and very willing to teach people. but really i am thinking about kevin playing reporters like fiddles, jean calling kevin too good of a liar to ever let anything slip, kevin going up to andrew post-game and wordlessly helping cover up the fact andrew is off his medicine by pretending andrew’s racquet had broken (and then proceeding to discreetly crush it in his hand when the foxes gather around andrew), kevin living a lifetime of walking on the edge of riko’s knife, kevin hiding french, hiding thea, kevin spotting potential from a mile away, kevin who even riko thought was brilliant and sharp-tongued. yeah……..!

[azukisprouts]

asajksjdjkksjdkk DEAD PLATE

Full painting under the cut!

I am. so normal about these three.

[yuwuta]

JJK OLYMPICS OHHH YOURE A GENIUS

head spinning w sooooooo many athlete aus rn….. 

satoru honestly isn’t half as cocky as the media makes him out to be but he could be because you bring up world champion men’s freestyle swim times and it’s his name on the scoreboard ten times before someone else shows up. he’s faster than himself by fifteen seconds all around, he’s earned a bit of cockiness. mentioned in the last post that whenever he’s at a competition and he finishes a race, he looks at the camera and signs a little infinity sign and then blows a kiss to you. some bitter old coach always calls him out on it, and gets him fined for unsportsmanlike conduct, and he’s happy to pay the fees if it means getting a message home to you, but eventually you two come up with a new code; and at his next race, he places gold, turns to the camera, crosses his middle finger over his pointer finger and smiles. when he’s in his post-race interview, he makes sure to explain that he does it for you with the widest smile on his face.

megumi nepotism baby but not in the same sport. toji was a multi gold medalist back in his heyday for shooting, so it’s not really a surprise to anybody that megumi has scary good aim, but he takes to archery instead of shooting. actually the idea of megumi being an emo little kid and throwing rocks at a tree when his dad pissed him off his hilarious, and even funnier is toji watching him, slightly amused and a little scared because megumi is maybe six and hitting the exact same spot every single time. he grows to be very blase about it—it’s more of a release/hobby for him that he happens to be really good at, and well, now good enough to earn a few olympic medals. megumi is not a fan of having his dad ruffle his hair on international television after he’s won, but he supposes it can’t be helped.

i don’t know where to put yuuta…. tennis…. tempting….. him in his little white shorts…. little grunts after he serves…. cries….. a complete 180 in his personality when he’s playing vs doing anything else. so charming and sweet and kinda shy when he’s being interviewed, and the second he steps on the court his eyes are so cold it’s scary…. need him… extremely nerdy about his rackets, and shoes, and clothes, and rambles to you about aerodynamics and posture and torque whenever you ask him to teach you, and you always have to shutup him up with a kiss and remind him that yeah you sort of want to learn to play tennis for him, but mostly you came bc he looks hot doing it. once he got asked in an interview if he ever thinks about you while he’s playing and his response was very concise, “no, never. it would be a big distraction,” and did not realize the implications of his heavily televised words. 

also…. not to make this post 40% yuuta but we could pull from canon a bit and make his sport fencing. he doesn’t excel because he’s the strongest, it’s because he’s learned to treat the sword as an extension of himself and a good strategist… also because i like the image of him pulling the helmet/mask off and shaking his hair out………..

don’t even know where to put yuuji…. volleyball? basketball? track and field??? the irony of him easily being the most athletic but canonically does not want to play sports 😭 but i can see him playing a sport because someone scouts him and it turns out to be a way to make steady money to support himself and his grandpa :( by the time he’s qualified and made it to the olympics, wasuke is doing much better (thanks to yuuji having landed some preemptive sponsorships and being able to afford better medical care), but not so well enough that he can travel across the world to watch yuuji play. wasuke tells you that you should travel and be with yuuji, but yuuji is so touched by the idea that you would stay with his grandpa and be by his side when he’s away :(( he wins gold, of course, and he doesn’t even wait until the closing ceremony—which, he’d mentioned in all of his interviews, so nobody can be too upset. he’s on record saying, “i’m excited to play, but i’m even happier to be going home. my girlfriend and my grandpa are watching me and i miss them!” several times— he’s on the first flight home with flowers, and tears in his eyes. puts his gold medal on his grandpa’s neck as a thank you, and spends probably thirty minutes straight hugging you and kissing you and honestly don’t put it past him to propose now that he’s got nike ambassador money 

nanami started judo as a way to relieve the stress of his overbearing job, and someone at the gym/training center notices he seems to be a natural despite being a beginner. he starts to draw a crowd, which annoys him at first because the point of judo was discipline and release from having to deal with too many people at his office job, but nanami supposes he can’t be too mad when you introduce yourself as a talent scout and offer him professional training. there’s irony in him accepting your offer, because it was definitely not based in professionalism at all… quitting his job as a salaryman to become a professional athlete in his mid-twenties was not on his bingo chart, but if it means he will have met you, then so be it. you’re with him all the way, through his training, competitions, world championships, qualifiers, all the way until he’s on the podium. you’re the first to congratulate him, but he interjects by telling you he’s quitting. you ask him why—he just won at the olympics for crying out loud, but nanami just shakes his head, puts down his flowers and his medal so his hands are free to hold your face and tell you, “it would be unethical to kiss my manager, so i am quitting.” (later, when everything is said and done, and you two are cuddling, you mention to him that he could just hire a new manager, and not quit his new career, to which he blushes because yeah… that’s probably more rational, but rational was not in his train of thought at the time)

[localemofreak]

Jason: “he’s a vessel for satan!”

The so called- vessel for satan:

[littlebitofdnd]

Sandra-Lynn and Sklonda are having a "What Do We Do About Kristen" phone call as we speak

[technically-human]

You, the one I left behind

[fischiee]

the best part of rvb is when they refer to tex by he/him pronouns for like 2 episodes and church just rolls with it

[spitinsideme]

yoy all get little doodles lf bimbo ragatha ... get to knkw more about her i guess

[tamaharu]

i love that yjh is a generic sword anime protag boy. isekai mc. black haired love interest in a rofan whos only good characteristic is his face. i love when his image is stolen and used in sexy alpha man jokes. i love that hes one of the first characters you see when you google black haired anime boy. he has a heart bigger than any other and he looks like an airbrushed ai generation of hot anime guy. its awesome.