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haikyuu-sickfics · 4 years ago

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Vomit warning!

Gah, the pacing of this is so out of wack and rushed, I hope it’s at least readable. Anyways, here’s the mass illness Inarizaki I mentioned

Shinsuke Kita was observant.

This was a known fact by everyone on the Inarizaki volleyball team. A fact reaffirmed time and time again whenever he sent a teammate home for showing even the smallest symptoms of illness or for limping ever so slightly to comfort an injury.

In short, he was known to not be a risk-taker when it came to health and wellness.

So why, pray tell, was he allowing a very visibly unwell Atsumu to remain on court, setting wonky balls and diving seconds too late.

The setter’s lackluster performance went unnoticed by no one- even the coaches were shocked at how this very clearly unwell Atsumu had remained unscolded by Shinsuke for so long.

Though a quick glance at the captain revealed why.

His skin was 5 shades paler than usual, bringing out the light pink flush dusting his cheeks. Perspiration, more than what was normal considering the lowkey practice today, glued his fringe down to his forehead.

Well, that explained a lot, Atsumu’s illness went unnoticed by Shinsuke because the latter appeared to be in a strikingly similar state.

Which was also unusual. One would think Shinsuke would be observant and careful of his own health, considering how involved he was in those departments for others. Though, it’s not too difficult to chalk that up to Shinsuke being so delirious that he didn’t even realize his own poor performance. Then again it could also be that that team was currently at a training camp hours away from Hyogo and not much could be done in terms of going home and resting even if one was sick.

So they let it slide, the coaches not doing anything more than sending cautious glances at the two uneasy boys and telling everyone to not push themselves too hard.

It was unsafe, reckless, and by this point, Aran had had enough of it.

“Kita, you’re not looking too good,” he finally spoke up, voicing the teams concerns.

“Yea you look like shit,” Michinari added, turning his attention away from Ren who was practicing his serves and ignoring Aran’s glare.

Shinsuke blinked. Then once more, his eyes wide and uncharacteristically clueless and fully unaware of the rest of the team stealing quick glances in his direction

“Hmm, what do you mean?” He cocked his head to the side, “is that mean to be an insult?”

“No no!” Aran quickly covered, giving Michinari a side-eye, “You just look like you could use a break, maybe get some water and rest.”

Shinsuke blinked again, now growing mildly aware of the fact that the players on the court were not-so-subtly staring at him.

“Yea, maybe you’re right,” Shinsuke finally admitted, swiping the back of his hand against his moist forehead.

“You too, Atsumu,” coach Kurosu added, calling over to the wobbly setter.

“Hah?!” he exclaimed, “Why me?”

Osamu sent him a look that said ‘are you seriously asking that question, you dense idiot’ to which Atsumu replied with a look that stated ‘yes, yes I am.’

After a second or two of the twins having a silent conversation, Aran took the situation into his own hands and ushered the two visibly sick players out of the gym and off into the room where the team’s futons were set up.

“Alright,” Michinari called out with a clap, “Now that they’re gone I’m the only third-year left, so I’m putting myself in charge.”

“What about me?” Ren interjected with a playful smile on his face, signaling his offense was fake.

Michinari looked over to him and smiled innocently before turning to the rest of the team and giving them various things to work on.

Practice continued relatively normal after that, Michinari called out far more inspirational cheers than usual to make up for the loss of the teams two captains.

Though, his enthusiasm died down drastically within 5 minutes. No one paid much mind to this, them all being too absorbed in their individual practice or worrying about the missing teammates. But Rin, who was well versed in Michinari’s seemingly endless enthusiasm, couldn’t help but to worry.

So he discreetly called out for Michinari’s attention, sending him a questioning face and a thumbs-up as his way of asking whether or not the libero was alright.

Michinari shut a thumbs up back, attempting a smile which only made Rin more nervous. The libero’s eyes were furrowed, giving his eyes a rather sad look. The smile resembled more of a grimace, accompanying his seemingly paler than usual skin.

Rin hurried to his friend, fully intent on taking him to the room where Shinsuke, Atsumu, and Aran were settled.

However, just as Rin was 3 steps away, a desperate voice yelled ‘Akagi-san!’ followed by a hollow thump as a volleyball bounced off Michinari’s chest.

Silence fell upon the gym as everyone’s eyes widened, glued on the now floored libero. No one moved, even Rin forget how to put one leg in front of another as Michinari coughed and gagged helplessly, his knees and the plans of his hands pressed against the hard floor.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, a splash alerted the gym of Michinari’s heaves finally becoming productive. The awful sound powered Rin back up, a new sense of urgency overcoming him as he knelt down beside his friend and brushed his fringe away from his sweaty forehead.

“Bucket! Someone get a bucket!” A coach called out to the team.

“Ok let’s get out of here now,” Rin began, lightly trying to pull Michinari uo.

The latter shook his head, his cheeks puffed out to alert that he was not done yet. His back arched suddenly, his chin tucking slightly into his neck as sick worked it’s way up his throat.

Just as he was about to open his mouth, a second-year forced a bucket under his chin, holding it above the ground as to not soil the bottom with what was already on the ground. Michinari would’ve given them a thankful look, but intense nausea warned him that now was not the time.

Instead, a loud gag brought a thick wave of vomit splashing into the bin, followed by a couple coughs.

“Water?” Hitoshi offered, using his left hand to extend Michinari’s water bottle to him.

Michinari hummed, lifting his head out of the bin to accept the bottle. He then took a mouthful of water in his mouth and swished it around a bit before spitting it back out into the bin.

After a couple seconds of Michinari swishing out his mouth, he looked over to Rin and nodded. The latter nodded back, standing up and helping Michinari to his feet.

They walked out of the gym together, Michinari leaning heavily on Rin and holding the bin near his waist. Their steps were a bit awkward, a result of the height difference, but they made it work.

Across the gym, watching this ordeal with uncharacteristically wide eyes was Osamu. He had been feeling a little off ever since Atsumu had left, but chalked it up to nerves. It wasn’t unusual for Osamu to see Atsumu sick or hurt and feel the same symptoms, his mother called it a twin thing, but the severity of the symptoms were abnormal. And Michinari falling ill only added to the idea that maybe he wasn’t imagining the nausea churning in his gut and the excess saliva in his mouth.

“Are you okay, ‘Samu?” Rintarou asked, his hands shoved in his jacket pocket and voice deadpanned. It wasn’t that he wasn’t concerned for Osamu’s wellbeing, he just didn’t like expressing it.

“Mn-mn,” Osamu hummed in a negatory response, not feeling comfortable enough to open his mouth.

“Ok… um… do you wanna uh step outside or to where the other sick people are?”

Osamu shrugged, bringing a fist up to his mouth to stifle a burp.

“How about outside, I think air would be nice,” Rintarou stated, tugging at his own shirt collar to cool off his uncomfortably hot torso.

Osamu nodded, turning towards the large door to the outside and walking over slowly, Rintarou keeping pace slightly behind. The coaches ignored them, considering what had just happened moments ago, stopping two people from leaving to get air was a bad idea.

They only took two steps into the green grass outside before a loud retch forced its way out of Osamu. Rintarou looked over with wide eyes as Osamu slapped a hand over his mouth.

“You should probably,” he paused to gulp down his own nausea, “just let it out.”

Osamu looked over to Rintarou before nodding and removing the hand from his mouth. Saliva dripped out as Osamu leaned forward and let his mouth fall open.

A couple feet away, Rintarou was beginning to lose the battle with his own stomach. Instead of standing up like Osamu, Rintarou was crouched down, leaning over his knees which were pressed tightly against his chest. The position did nothing to help his nausea, the pressure actually only served to make him feel more sick.

Osamu lost it first, a sharp gag pressed against his stomach and forced out a small wave of vomit. The sound of it sent Rintarou over to edge, a much thicker wave splashing onto the grass between his feet.

“You’re sick too?” Osamu sputtered out before his body had a chance to revolt once more.

“No,” Rintarou commented sarcastically just before another heavy wave forced it’s way out of his mouth.

Osamu quickly turned his head away from Rintarou, seeing his friend get so violently ill didn’t do anything to help his situation.

“Poor Ojiro,” Osamu whispered-- if he and Rintarou were this sick he could only imagine how bad Shinsuke and Atsumu had it.

Atsumu curled into the bucket on his lap, coughing harshly in an effort to clear his throat from the acidic vomit clinging along its edges. Aran rubbed between his shoulder blades, warily eying Shinsuke who was sitting in a chair across the room unnaturally still.

A loud retch from Atsumu and the sound of liquid splashing in the bottom of the bucket stole Aran’s attention before he had a chance to ask if Shinsuke needed a bucket as well.

Atsumu groaned, hugging the plastic bin even closer to himself and coughed up another wave.

Aran winced in sympathy, not knowing what else to do other than continue to rub circles onto Atsumu’s back.

Across the room Shinsuke slowly stood up, his eyes containing their usual wideness and empty stare.

Aran didn’t think much of it.

He should have.

Without noise, Shinsuke leaned forward and opened his mouth. After one silent retch and a back arch, a wave of sick fell onto the floor.

It was so quiet that Aran didn’t even hear, not until Ren and Michinari walked through the door and pointed it out.

Aran groaned, Michinari laughed dryly, Ren whimpered, Atsumu coughed, Shinsuke threw up another wave.

“Rag. I’ll get a rag,” Ren informed, leaving the room.

“How many more?” Aran asked Michinari as the latter sat down.

Michinari shrugged, “Osamu and Rintarou looked kinda shitty but I did just puke on the floor so it’s hard to say.”

Aran nodded. Best situation was they caught whatever was going around early enough to keep it between the current people in the room. Worst situation was everyone got it-- an unlikely situation but one to consider nonetheless.

Ren returned, moist rag, cup of water and bucket in hand, and walked over to Shinsuke.

“Take a seat,” he commanded gently, guiding Shinsuke to a sitting position and handing him a bucket.

Shinsuke’s eyes were glazed with fever, he was far out of it and didn’t seem to be coming back any time soon. Ren set the glass next to him, making sure the latter saw it before walking over to Aran.

“How long has Atsumu been like that?” He asked as Atsumu spit out another wave.

“Why are you talking like I’m not even here?” Atsumu exclaimed with overexaggerated offense.

“You don’t seem to be in a situation to have a conversation,” Ren pointed out.

“How dare y-” a burp cut Atsumu off, forcing him to hang his head over the bucket once more.

Michinari laughed at him before his own nausea spiked and forced him over his bucket once more.

“He threw up in the hall on the way here,” Aran answered Rin’s earlier question, “been like this since. Shinsuke got sick just before you got here.”

Ren let his head fall back.

Today was going to be a long day.

#tw: vomit #tw: emeto #emeto #sickfic #haikyuu sickfic

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dxmedstudent · 5 years ago

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DX update

So you may remember that I’ve been self-isolating for COVID-19 type symptoms. I’ve been looking after confirmed patients (albeit the mildly affected ones who are wardable), so it’s pretty likely this is the real deal, even thuogh it’s too late to test me, now. I’m doing OK - this is not a scary Boris-style update. I just thought since I haven’t spoken much that I should let you all know that I’m doing OK. My symptoms are mostly better - the myalgia and headaches have mostly died down, though they were pretty annoying at their worst. I described it as feeling like an Ent - waking up in the afternoon was a pain because you just didn’t want to get out of bed if it made you feel sore and creaky. I only got up and about because I didn’t want a DVT. The abdominal symptoms are bearable but still nigglingly present. I can’t wait for my tummy to stop feeling achey and upset - but since I have IBS I’m used to that enough that it’s no biggie. I’m not feverish any more. I feel less SOB, though I only felt mildly so at times - like you’re a bit more out of puff than usual. The cough is mostly better, but sometimes it kicks off again pretty annoyingly. I’ve walked out of this without my sense of smell, but that’s likely to come back, eventually. If this is all I have to sacrifice during this pandemic, then I’m lucky. I feel generally less shitty - I was feeling pretty sorry for myself at the beginning of the week but I feel much more myself, now. I’m still probably really tired - I haven’t had a chance to test my stamina since I got ill because all I’m allowed to do is stay in my room. But I have a feeling that when I go back to work I’m going to feel really wiped. What’s it like having likely coronavirus? In my case, like the flu. Shitty, but not life-threateningly so. And yet, the thing they don’t warn you about is how it’ll play on your mind - knowing that you might be one of the unlucky ones to get really sick. And knowing that you have to try your best not to infect anyone. One of my dear friends is also going through it, and the fear is real. The worst thing is that usually when you’re ill people want to come round and make you feel better, but when you’re likely to have coronavirus that’s usually the worst thing that can happen. Unfortunately, you still have all the same instincts to seek love and reassurance that you usually have when you are sick - so you know that you should stay alone, but you might still crave being taken care of, or at least kept company. Because the people we love make us feel better.

Review: 2/10 stars. I would not recommend getting coronavirus. 2 stars because it scores you a few days off work, but you have to stay at home and you’ll probably feel miserable. I’ve been trapped in a flat I’m not fond of (It’s OK but not exactly home) for a week, even though the weather is nice and I’d love to go outside. Though fortunately I’m very well supplied with food and medicine and entertainment. I’ve been talking daily with family, the Guy and my friends, all of whom have done their best to entertain me and make me take care of myself. I’ve been sleeping a lot. A lot. I haven’t really had the energy to do anything but sleep and play games, TBH. When I’ve dragged myself out of bed to video chat with loved ones or take part in activities like playing games, or a virtual pub quiz with his friends, I’ve recuperated by zonking out the rest of the time. I might look quite functional at a distance, but that’s only because I’ve been sleeping almost all the rest of the time. My family call me every day to make sure I’m alive - they see the stories of nurses in their 30s suddenly dying, and it’s very real to them. I feel bad for them - if it was my kid sick with coronavirus I’d probably be scared, too. But I can’t do anything to take the worries away, when none of us know what the long term sequelae might be. I am glad they didn’t tell my relatives until I was much better - I really don’t want my entire extended social circle to think I’m dying, and there’s really no need for everyone to stress over me. My siblings have been encouraging my Animal Crossing obsession. It’s not th only game I’ve been playing in isolation, but it’s something that’s been easy to play even when I feel pretty rotten. It happened to come out at just the right time to make me feel better, and that’s pretty lucky. My friends check in every day - they reminded me that I won our sweepstake on ‘who catches coronavirus first’ - sadly there is no prize unless you count myalgia as a win. We spend the days sharing useful information about coronavirus, but also just trying to keep each other sane. Another of my friends is sick, and she seems to have gone down a bit worse than I have, so I hope she gets well soon. Colleagues are going down in their droves, according to our sickness reporting group, but I don’t know how unwell most of them are. I hope they are doing OK. I haven’t managed to catch up with everyone I care about yet, because messaging gets kind of overwhelming when you don’t feel great. I worry about a lot of people, but I can’t keep up with everyone right now, so I’ve had to take my time and conserve my energy. Still, I’ve been checking in with as many friends as I can, and so far almost everyone is doing OK. I’m hoping to keep connected with as many of them as I can, and already planning things to do with them. The Guy checks up on how I’m feeling daily. He’s much more zen about things, and his approach is always “If I can’t change it, I should try not to stress about it”. Which means he took our separation better than me, at least when I was feeling sick. I think that’s partly because whilst he hopes this may be over shortly, I know it’s going to be a long haul. Though he does have to tell me to take it easy and look after myself every day so I guess he’s not stress free XD I know this must be stressful for him, too but he can’t change the risks I’m facing. That said, he’s more the quiet, practical sort, anyway. So rather than moping, he suggests playing games or watching things together and invites me to whatever he’s doing with his friends - he did before, whenever I was around, but now that everything’s online it’s easier to be there. Now that his friends have transferred to roll20 under the lockdown, he’s invited me to join their DnD campaign because he knows how much I miss DnD - and him. It’s funny how little things can make a big difference, when they are all you have to look forward to. I haven’t been looking forward to my days off, at all because I no longer had stuff to do - but he and I try to book activities on weekend days so it still feels special. My friends are a lot busier than his (because medics) so we haven’t done as much though we talk often, but I’m grateful that his friends have basically adopted me. As a left over from my friendless days I always feel a bit awkward joining a group or making friends but they’ve been very welcoming and that makes me happy because I know it makes him happy. At first I felt like an impostor in all their group chats (guys, have you arrived in a relationship when you’re in nearly all the group chats? I’m pretty sure that’s a milestone or something), but I’m gradually accepting that they genuinely don’t mind me being there. Which is nice. They mean a lot to him, so I respect them and want to be a good friend, and I genuinely like them too.

I’m looking forward to going back to work. I’m not sure I’m 100% over this - I’m fine from a rules point of view, I’m just not 100% better. But I have to try and see how I get on. I need to be occupied and useful, because otherwise I’m just going to stress and sleep all day and feel mildly guilty about being sick. Which I’ve been told I should not be feeling, but there it is. We’ll see how things go.

#personal #covid-19 journal

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victorineb · 8 years ago

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Adam Raki and the Accidental Nurse

Today is my darling @hotsauce418‘s birthday and the trash possum extraordinaire requested some Spacedogs sickfic. So happy birthday hotty, I hope you enjoy <3<3<3

Also on AO3.

“Fucking cocksucking asshole cab drivers!”

If he looked at it objectively, Nigel would probably allow that there was a reason cab drivers tended not to stop for him. Six foot of glowering, tattooed Romanian was probably enough to make even your most toughened Californian cabbie lock all his doors, let alone the pussies who drove in this hoity-fucking-toity neck of the woods. Objectivity was not, however, one of Nigel’s strong points, so instead he elected to continue growling obscenities at the entire cab-driving profession as he moved down towards the back of the bus he’d been forced to mount in lieu of any other transport options.

“Motherfucking dick hole son of a fucking whore!”

“Could you please refrain from swearing until you have left the bus, please?”

Nigel swung to find the source of the soft but direct complaint, fully anticipating a welcome chance to knock some cheeky fucker’s face in. What he found, instead, was a face he wouldn’t wish to see damaged by his or any other fists for all the money in the world. Bright blue eyes, wide and innocent looking, were set in a pale, smooth-skinned face, and set off by waves of brown hair, just coming loose from the neat, careful shape they had been tamed into. Nigel took in the young man sitting opposite him, the old man clothes and stiff demeanour not remotely dimming his beauty, and immediately decided to switch from offensive to charm offensive.

He grabbed the rail above the kid’s seat and hung off it, leaning down with a smile to say, “My apologies, gorgeous, I didn’t realise I was being so uncouth. I’d hate to think I made you uncomfortable.”

The kid crossed his arms in front of himself, not meeting Nigel’s gaze, and said, “I don’t like loud noises or swearing, they make me uncomfortable. In addition, I have a very bad headache and am not feeling very well, so I would appreciate it if you could wait until you are further away before continuing your tirade. And my name is Adam,” he added. “Please don’t call me gorgeous, it is demonstrably untrue and therefore either you are mocking me, or attempting to use an endearment inappropriate for someone you have just met.”

Nigel blinked, and then gave Adam a slow look up and down. “Darling, I’m not sure what you see when you look in the mirror, but from here you are very evidently the most gorgeous thing in this whole damn state.”

At this, Adam flicked his eyes up to Nigel’s for a fraction of a second before he looked away again. He sighed and said, “I can’t tell if you mean what you say. Normally I would attempt to understand, but I’m really not feeling well enough to do so today. My stop is not far away, would you mind if we don’t talk anymore?”

“I don’t mind darling,” Nigel grinned. He was suddenly very glad to have taken the fucking bus this once, if it meant getting to sit next to this strange, pretty kid for a little while. “But in return, might I sit with you, seems like all the other seats are taken. Promise to keep my trap shut,” he added, holding his hands up as Adam narrowed his eyes. The kid peered at him – or at least, near to him – for another moment, then gave a curt nod of his head, and moved a little to the side to make space for Nigel.

True to his word, Nigel didn’t utter another syllable. He did, however, take advantage of Adam’s resolutely front-facing gaze to look his fill. At first, he simply admired the kid’s trim figure, his long legs and the way his surprisingly broad shoulders tapered into a slim waist. Eventually, though, he lifted his gaze above the kid’s neck and began to get concerned. There was sweat on Adam’s brow, and high colour in his cheeks. He hadn’t been lying when he said he was sick.

“Adam, I know I said I would be quiet, but you don’t look good, darling. Are you going to be ok?” The question drew no response, and Nigel began to get truly worried at the glassy look in Adam’s eyes. He was about to try again when the bus started to slow, and Adam stood jerkily, swaying a little as he gathered his things. Apparently this was his stop. Reluctantly, Nigel stood to let him past, already wondering if he should offer to see the kid home, if that would be unwelcome to this closed off young man. His mind was made up for him, though, when Adam fainted clean into his arms.

“Adam? Adam?” Nigel stared into his face in alarm, instinctively hefting the kid up into his arms.

Adam stirred a little at his name and blinked up at Nigel, who immediately felt a rush of relief. It was short-lived though, as Adam woke only long enough to murmur, “Please, no doctors,” before passing out again.

Nigel looked down at him in dismay, at a complete loss as to what to do with the unconscious young man in his arms. He gave Adam a little shake in desperation, but Adam remained resolutely out of it. Nigel wasn’t exactly one to panic, but right now, suddenly in charge of an unwell young man he didn’t know from… well, from Adam, regardless of how familiar he’d got with his appearance in the last twenty minutes, Nigel would definitely admit to being just the tiniest bit fucking fraught.

The bus driver piping up, “You two getting off or what, I’m on a timetable,” wasn’t helping matters either.

“Gimme a fucking minute,” Nigel barked at her, casting around for help from the other passengers and finding nothing but carefully turned-away faces.

“Buddy, either you and your sweetheart get off, or I’m closing the doors and leaving, what’s it to be?”

Nigel looked down into Adam’s sleeping, flushed face and made his decision.

“We’re getting fucking off, ok?”

“Hallelujah,” came the response, and Nigel barely kept himself from growling at her in response. He hefted Adam again, retrieving the kid’s bag from his shoulder and slinging it over his own, then awkwardly manoeuvred both of them towards the doors. As he passed, the driver asked, “He ok?”

Nigel just glared at her and said, “Giving a fuck included on your fucking schedule, is it?” She looked mildly shamefaced and he threw her a sneer before carrying Adam down to the sidewalk.

Fortunately for Nigel, it was the middle of the day and Adam’s was a quiet residential neighbourhood, so there was no one around to accuse him of mugging the kid. Instead, he was able to lay Adam down on a nearby bench and, with a muttered apology, go through his bag in search of his ID. A couple of minutes and a quick search on his phone told him Adam lived five minutes from the bus stop, in a pleasant looking little house. Nigel took a moment to question what the hell he was doing, then lifted Adam into his arms once more and started walking.

He should take the kid to the hospital, Nigel knew, should drop him safely into a waiting room, make sure he got attended to and then just leave. It shouldn’t matter that the kid had asked him not to, he wasn’t well and it sure as fuck wasn’t Nigel’s job to take care of him. As if Nigel knew how to fucking take care of anyone anyway. He continued to walk, though, Adam settled surprisingly comfortably in his arms, huffing warm breath against his neck and exuding way too much heat for either man’s comfort. Nigel wasn’t sure he could have stopped if someone had told him to, some weird urge inside him telling him to stay with the kid, to make sure he didn’t have to see anyone he didn’t want to, to get him back to his home and pray to every motherfucking deity he didn’t believe in that there was someone there who could take proper care of Adam.

As they neared Adam’s house, Nigel fully expected someone to rush from their front door and ask what the hell he was doing to their nice young neighbour. No one did though, and Nigel found himself stepping up to Adam’s front door wholly unmolested, digging the keys he had retrieved from Adam’s bag out of his pocket, and carrying the kid over the threshold as if they’d just got fucking wed.

“Yeah, this’d be a fucking romantic one for the grandkids,” Nigel muttered as he kicked the door closed behind them and carried Adam straight upstairs, in search of a bedroom. “How did you and Grandpa Adam meet, Papa Nigel? Well, kiddies, I harassed him on a bus, then he fucking passed out and I broke into his house.” Nigel shook his head and gave a sigh of relief as he found the bedroom, clean and neat as a goddamn pin. Nigel carefully laid Adam on top of the sheets, removed his shoes and jacket, laid the comforter from the end of the bed on top of him, and then stopped to wonder what the everloving fuck he was supposed to do now.

Going outside and having a smoke was looking like a really good option right now.

Except, Adam was still really flushed, and he was making this little snuffling sound in his sleep that was breaking Nigel’s heart, and – after Nigel had a quick look around the house – it was really fucking obvious that there was no one coming home to take care of him. So instead, Nigel took out his phone and asked Google what the fuck you do for someone with a fever.

The first thing, getting the person to rest, Adam had kindly taken care of by passing out. Apparently the loss of consciousness was a bad sign, and Nigel once again contemplated calling an ambulance, before deciding to give it a few hours before making that decision. Adam was breathing comfortably and he seemed peaceful, so Nigel decided he was more asleep than unconscious anyway.

The second thing, getting him into some lightweight clothes, was going to be a bit more challenging. Nigel had certainly given plenty of thought to relieving Adam of his clothing before he’d realised the kid was sick, but his imaginings hadn’t involved him ransacking his drawers for a pair of pyjamas – clearly bought from the same old man store as the rest of his wardrobe – and then manhandling his unconscious, sweat-soaked body into them. They certainly hadn’t involved leaving his underwear on out of respect.

Finally, Nigel got Adam settled again and went in search of ice (for hydration), a washcloth (for cooling), and a back door (for a fucking smoke, for Nigel’s fucking sanity). He found all three, along with a fully-stocked first-aid kit and, after a blissful if abbreviated cigarette, returned upstairs to find that Adam had kicked off the comforter but otherwise looked much the same as he had when Nigel had left him. Nigel replaced the blanket and then sat next to Adam on the bed, placing a bowl of water next to him and beginning to wipe Adam’s face and neck down with it. Nigel felt acutely the strangeness of doing this to a stranger, and tried to remember the last time he had shown an ounce of kindness to another person. He thought of Gabi, and winced, deciding quickly that she had no place in this house. Nor did he, of course, but he was in too far now to leave. Far too far, he thought, as he smoothed Adam’s damp hair back from his forehead.

Nigel jumped when he realised the kid was pressing into his hand, and removed it quickly, only to find blue eyes suddenly peering not quite at him once again.

“You’re from the bus,” Adam croaked, his voice small and weak.

“That’s right, Adam. My name’s Nigel. You weren’t well so I brought you home.” Nigel hoped to God he was managing to sound kind, rather than threatening. He wasn’t sure he remembered how.

“You called me gorgeous,” Adam murmured, and Nigel wondered how awake he actually was.

“Yeah, I fucking did, gorgeous, that’s right.” Nigel slowly reached for Adam’s hand, telegraphing his movements so as not to frighten him. “Listen, darling, I don’t want to trespass further on your space. You got someone I could call to come take care of you?”

Adam closed his eyes and Nigel wondered if he’d passed out again. If he had, he really would have to call the doctor this time. After a moment, though, they fluttered open again and Adam shook his head fractionally. “No, no one. Harlan is still in New York and my father’s in Queens.” He gave a weak little laugh that worried Nigel immensely. “That means he’s dead. Harlan said it was a joke but I don’t understand why it’s funny.”

Nigel’s heart dropped as he realised that Adam had no one. He scrubbed a hand over his eyes and tried to think what to do.

“It’s ok, Nigel, you can go. I can take care of myself. The fever will break and then I will be fine.” Adam’s voice was small, but firm, the same way it had been on the bus, and just as it had then, it decided Nigel at once.

“Don’t hate me, gorgeous, but I’m not gonna take your fucking word for that,” he said. “Think I should stay and check for myself.” Adam shook his head again, but Nigel ignored it. “Now, think you could drink something for me before you go back to sleep? I brought some ice up, it’s better for you than water, so doctor fucking internet tells me.”

Adam just squinted at him some more with those beautiful blues, and then asked, almost a whisper, “Why would you stay?”

Nigel smiled at him, and this time he was almost certain he managed to make it kind. “Because you need me to, gorgeous.”

Finally, Adam raised his eyes to Nigel’s, and Nigel’s breath hitched. Even sick, this boy was truly beautiful, and Nigel couldn’t think of many better ways to spend his time than simply to look at him. Adam just nodded, resigned, and then looked away, towards the glass of ice chips Nigel had brought up.

“Think you could manage a couple?” Nigel asked, and Adam nodded again. Nigel beamed at him – fucking beamed, when had he ever – and grabbed the glass. He helped Adam to sit up a little and then held one of the chips to Adam’s lips, who looked a little reproachful but didn’t make a move to stop him. He managed three of them like this, before his eyelids started to droop again, and Nigel took the glass away.

“One last thing, beautiful, before you sleep. Let me take your temperature?” Nigel had found one of those fancy thermometers in the first-aid kit, the kind that went inside your ear and gave instant readings. Adam acquiesced easily, and Nigel took the reading. 38.8oc, high but not in the danger zone; they could avoid the hospital as long as it didn’t get any higher. Nigel looked back at Adam to give him the good news and found that the kid was already asleep again. He looked angelic to Nigel, flushed pink and with his hair forming into curls around his forehead. He looked like something Nigel wanted to protect.

Nigel woke the next morning with a stiff back and a dull ache everywhere else from spending the night in a chair next to Adam’s bed. He also woke with Adam’s hand clutched tightly in his own, and wondered at himself for getting attached so quickly. It had happened once before, of course, but… no, that wasn’t a thought he needed to have right now. He stood and placed his free hand against Adam’s forehead. No cooler than the day before, Nigel estimated, but no worse, which was good, he supposed.

He tucked the covers more firmly around Adam’s sleeping form, lingering just a little to take in how the early morning sunlight made him glow. Just looking, Nigel thought, fucking looking never goddamn hurt anyone. He spent the next hour finding ways to keep himself busy, taking a shower, having a smoke, snooping through Adam’s stuff (telescope, space books, space models… whole lot of space stuff. Nigel was really hoping he wasn’t one of those fussy nerd types, like on some bad sitcom, but Adam didn’t seem much of either from what he’d seen). Anything to keep himself distracted, because the urge to simply sit by the bed and watch Adam sleep was unsettlingly strong.

Eventually, Nigel deemed that enough time had passed for it to be completely reasonable for him to check in on his patient. He gathered another bowl of water and a clean cloth, along with painkillers and more ice chips, and climbed back up the stairs to Adam. As he set down his supplies, Nigel glanced at Adam’s face and found a blue eye cracked open, observing him closely.

“Hello, gorgeous,” Nigel said.

Adam continued to peer at him for a little while, and then said, “You’re still here,” his voice not much more than a croak.

“That I am, sweetheart.” Nigel perched on the edge of the bed and brushed Adam’s hair out of his eyes. The boy didn’t flinch, but Nigel could see the touch made him tense and he withdrew his hand. “Thought I’d be gone with the morning light?”

Adam’s eyes had followed Nigel’s hand as he drew it back, and he kept them trained on it as he said, “I don’t understand why you are here. You don’t know me, you have no reason to care about me. I don’t like not understanding, please could you explain?”

“Thought maybe if I helped out an angel, I’d get myself a free pass to heaven,” Nigel grinned, tossing a wink Adam’s way for good measure.

Adam just frowned and looked faintly irritated. “I am not an angel, Nigel, angels don’t exist. Nor does heaven, or at least it is a relatively unlikely theory and not a good explanation for your presence in my home.”

Nigel could do nothing but chuckle at the response. The kid wasn’t easy and, dammit, Nigel always liked a challenge.

“Ok, beautiful, but you won’t like it.” Adam just pouted at this, and Nigel was hard-pressed to think that he’d ever seen anything more fucking adorable in his life. “Truth is, Adam, I don’t have a good reason. Not every day that some gorgeous kid falls into my arms, thought I shouldn’t pass up the opportunity.”

“Nigel, I’m not sure at this point if you are in fact capable of being serious,” Adam protested, his voice weak and strained, “but please try.”

Nigel felt a little stab of guilt at teasing the kid when he wasn’t well, and decided to stop being an ass for a minute. “Ok, Adam, I’ll be serious. But first you’re gonna sit up and suck down a couple of these ice chips for me, yeah?”

Adam nodded, and let Nigel rearrange him without protest, accepting the piece of ice and placing it between his lips. Satisfied, Nigel told him the whole story, that Adam had asked not to be taken to a doctor, that Nigel had carried him home, that it was obvious Adam lived alone and Nigel hadn’t wanted to leave him when he was so unwell. He left out the parts about thinking Adam was the most beautiful person he’d ever clapped eyes on. Bit fucking much to lay on the kid at this point.

Adam seemed to accept this explanation, despite the fact that it didn’t really even make sense to Nigel how they’d ended up here. So Nigel figured he could ask his own question.

“Why didn’t you want a doctor, gorgeous?”

Adam sucked on another ice chip contemplatively and then said, “I don’t like doctors, or hospitals. There are lots of people there, many of whom are loud and aggressive, and there are germs and disease everywhere.”

“Well yeah, it’s where fucking sick people go.”

Adam regarded him coolly and added, “In any case, a low-grade fever does not require a doctor, only rest and hydration.”

Nigel shrugged and asked, “So you won’t go see the doc now if I suggest it, then?”

“I would prefer not to,” Adam confirmed.

“Fucking rest and hydration it is then.”

Adam’s temperature cooled during the day – assisted by a not-at-all fucking awkward bath, during which Nigel had done his best not to see anything he wasn’t meant to, and had still seen enough to turn his attraction into full-blown lust. Adam was beautiful, lithe and perfectly-proportioned, with soft-looking skin and a pretty scattering of freckles. Nigel tried very hard to tell himself he wasn’t doomed when he caught sight of them and didn’t believe himself for a second.

It had gone back up in the evening though, and Adam writhed miserably in his bed as Nigel alternately tried to warm him up and cool him down. Eventually though, he settled, and looked up at Nigel beseechingly, clearly exhausted and drained. “Would you read something to me, Nigel?”

“Like a bedtime story, gorgeous?” Nigel teased, gently. He was beginning to learn that Adam didn’t really respond to sarcasm or irony, but that he was ok with being teased, so long as it wasn’t cruel.

“Yes, but not a story, please. I don’t enjoy stories.” Adam said this with such a straight face that Nigel couldn’t help but laugh a little.

“Alright sweetheart, what would you like then? I saw a lot of space books downstairs. You want me to read about the stars?” Adam nodded, a small smile on his face at Nigel’s suggestion, and Nigel dutifully trooped downstairs, returning with a selection of books from which Adam pulled one with a pink and purple nebula on its cover. Nigel settled himself in the chair by the bed and propped his socked feet up, having checked with Adam that he didn’t mind. He was going to have to do something about his clothes tomorrow; for himself, he could happily have worn the same ones for a third day running, but he didn’t want to fucking smell around Adam. He opened the book and started reading, quickly realising that he wasn’t going to understand a word of it and not caring in the slightest. It was easy to just let the words flow, no understanding needed beyond how to say them, so long as Adam knew what they meant. Before long, both men were asleep, and when Adam’s hand crept out to curl around Nigel’s ankle, neither one was any the wiser.

Adam’s illness continued into a third day, and a fourth after that, and Nigel went nowhere (save for a fucking trek to the fucking grocery store since Adam didn’t seem to have anything in his fridge that Nigel counted as food). Instead he continued to provide cups of tea, and warm (“not too warm, please Nigel”) baths and to read to Adam from whichever book he requested. He had found some clothes in a size close enough to his own to be wearable, and though they were in a style far from his usual, they had the advantage of being clean. When Adam saw him in the neat button down and slacks, he had stared for a moment and then just nodded and said calmly, “they don’t suit you,” before burrowing back down under the covers. Nigel had stood for a moment, unsure quite what to make of that, and then had gone to put his own clothes in the laundry.

Adam slept a lot, and Nigel found ways to occupy himself – watching shitty daytime TV, smoking, calling his associates to make sure they weren’t fucking up in his absence (“What does it matter to you where I fucking am or what I’m fucking doing, nenorocitule? Do as I fucking say or I’ll rip your dick off and use it as a fucking paperweight, got it?”). Mostly, he watched Adam, having admitted that he could blindfold himself and it wouldn’t matter. Adam was etched on the inside of his eyelids, like the afterburn of a blinding light. Might as well enjoy the object of his doomed infatuation while he could.

When Adam was awake, they talked. Nigel had wondered if he would have anything to say to this strange, detached boy with his head in the stars, but conversation flowed between them with unexpected ease.

“You swear a lot. More than anyone I’ve ever met.”

“Sorry about that, angel. Bad habit, years in the making. I can stop, if it bothers you. Try to, anyway.”

“No-o… I don’t think I mind when you do it. When other people swear, it sounds painful to me, like being struck. But yours is more like punctuation. You don’t swear out of anger, it’s simply part of your speech pattern. I enjoy the way you speak, there’s a rhythm to it that’s soothing.”

“Think that’s the first time anybody’s called me fucking soothing, gorgeous.”

“No one has ever called me gorgeous before, so that makes us even.”

“Must all have been fucking blind, beautiful.”

And,

“You ate it yesterday, Adam.”

“I was still feeling very unwell yesterday, it didn’t occur to me to complain.”

“But you’re well enough to do it today?”

“Yes.”

“So you’re telling me you only eat fucking macaroni and cheese?”

“And chicken and broccoli.”

“And you won’t eat the soup I made, from scratch, with ingredients that I trekked back on foot from the fucking grocery store five miles away, because all you have in your fridge is fucking mac and cheese and chicken and broccoli, unless you’re too out of it to know the difference?”

“Yes.”

“Well as long as we’ve got that fucking sorted.”

And,

“Where is your accent from?”

“Fucking Romania.”

“Were you born there?”

“Yeah. Lived there, too, until not so long ago.”

“But now you live here. Why did you leave?”

“Stupidity.”

“Who was stupid?”

“Me. Other fucking people too but, looking back, mostly me.”

“Do you miss it?”

“Not as much as I thought, gorgeous.”

And,

“What’s with all the space stuff?”

“I’m interested in space.”

“No shit, gorgeous. Kind of a smartass, aren’t you?”

“I have above average intelligence, yes.”

“Are you fucking with me right now, Adam?”

“I don’t know what you mean, Nigel.”

“You fucking are, I can see you smiling. Feeling better then, darling?”

“I’m beginning to.”

By the fifth day, though, it was clear that Adam was on the mend. He wasn’t as tired, his temperature was much lower, and he was able to get out of bed for a while, so Nigel could serve him mac and fucking cheese with only minimal complaining. He would likely be well enough to look after himself come tomorrow, Nigel realised, his stomach twisting painfully. There would be no reason for him to stay. No reason to keep waking up to the sunlight making Adam’s skin glow. No reason to listen to him talk about the stars and make it sound like the best story Nigel had ever heard. No reason to sneak smoke breaks only to stamp the cigarette out halfway through so as to get back to Adam quicker.

No reason to stay around the man he knows he’s fallen in love with.

That night Nigel climbed the stairs feeling sick himself. Five days and he couldn’t imagine an evening not spent with his feet on Adam’s bed, reading about some comet or distant galaxy, asking questions just for the sake of listening to Adam talk in that focused, expert, utterly engaged way he had when it came to the stars. Tomorrow he would go home to his empty apartment, where the only books were crappy paperbacks and nobody had anything interesting to say. He ached at the thought of it.

He wouldn’t say a word of it to Adam, though. He’d crashed into the kid’s life without asking, without giving him the chance to say no. And if he knew even part of what Nigel was, no was exactly what he’d say. No, and get out, and stay the fuck away from me. Nigel never wanted to hear those words from Adam’s beautiful mouth, never wanted to see his lovely face twisted in anger and disgust. So he climbed the stairs to the bedroom where Adam was already in bed, took his seat, let Adam choose a book, and, as always, asked his permission to put his feet up, everything exactly the same as the previous nights. Right up until Adam said, “No.”

“No?” Nigel asked, freezing in the act of lifting his feet.

“I don’t want you to put your feet up,” Adam explained.

Nigel felt a bolt of hurt go through him. Was this Adam pulling away already? Trying to put some distance between them so that Nigel would get the picture? The kid was smart, after all, far smarter than Nigel, he would already be thinking about tomorrow and-

“I’d like you to sleep next to me.”

Nigel’s brain froze along with the rest of him this time. He just stared at Adam for a few moments, trying to figure out where the joke was. When he finally remembered that Adam didn’t tell jokes, he made a concerted effort to form enough words to ask, “Could you just repeat that for me, gorgeous?”

“I’d like it if you slept next to me tonight. There’s plenty of room, you wouldn’t be uncomfortable.”

Oh, so Adam was feeling bad for him having to spend so many nights sleeping in a fucking chair. That made sense. Nigel could work with that.

“I can just go sleep on the couch, darling, you don’t have to share your bed to save my back.”

Adam frowned and flicked his eyes towards Nigel’s for a second. “I’m not making myself clear, am I? Sometimes it’s difficult for me to explain my meaning.” He began playing with the edge of his blanket, beginning to look distressed.

Nigel leaned across and put his hand on Adam’s, saying gently, “It’s ok, sweetheart, I’m not going anywhere. You take your time and keep going until I understand, ok?”

And then, instead of saying anything else, Adam just leaned in and kissed Nigel softly on the lips. Just a press, and no more, and it was the sweetest thing Nigel had ever felt. He nearly fucking whimpered when Adam pulled away again, looking adorably nervous and biting his lower lip in a way that made Nigel want to pull him back and take over.

“I want you to sleep with me, so that you can hold me, because I like you. And because you will go away tomorrow and I might never see you again, and I didn’t want never to have kissed you. I don’t know if that’s ok but I just…”

He trailed off, and Nigel gaped at him for a second before pressing him down to the bed and covering him in more kisses. “Sweet boy, gorgeous thing, I wanted to kiss you the second I clapped eyes on you, didn’t you know that?”

“No,” Adam said, panting the words between kisses, “you didn’t say.”

“Well, I guess that’s fucking true.” Nigel pulled back far enough to look at Adam properly. “Adam, let me make this perfectly fucking clear, the only reason I would leave is if you asked me to.”

Adam smiled at this, the first time he’d smiled fully at Nigel, and Nigel couldn’t help but kiss him again. Again and again. And when he was done (for the fucking moment) he curled both of them together beneath the sheets, Nigel’s chest pressed firm to Adam’s back, their legs entwined, and drifted off to sleep imagining that he would never let Adam go to sleep without kissing him ever again.

It wasn’t until about four in the morning when Nigel woke, still with Adam tucked against him, and asked himself what the fuck he was doing. He was a thug, a criminal, a killer. He had no business being with a sweet kid like Adam. He might have left the truly bad parts of his life behind in Bucharest, but he was still ready and able to kick a few heads in when they needed kicking. He still carried a gun to work. He still could put Adam in danger just by being in his life.

Besides that, Nigel knew there was something off about Adam, something different in the way he perceived the world. He was a creature of habit and routine; he’d had something close to a meltdown on their third day together, when he was well enough to know that his meal and sleep times had been disturbed, and had only settled when he’d extracted a promise from Nigel to follow his schedule from then on. How would someone like that cope with Nigel in his life, who came home at all hours, who ate leftover takeout for breakfast and hadn’t had a regular bedtime even when he was a kid?

Nigel buried his face in Adam’s hair and breathed in the clean, warm scent of him. He wanted this forever, wanted nothing more than this boy in his arms, breathing calmly and making soft little noises in his sleep. He’d take just the rest of this night, though; he could have that, no harm done, except maybe to his heart. He’d make Adam understand it was for the best, somehow.

The next time Nigel woke, it was to Adam gently brushing his fingers through his hair, pushing it off his forehead with a feather-light touch. Nigel cracked open his eyes and gazed up at his angel, bathed in the morning’s glow, and tried to fix the image in his mind, wanting to be able to remember Adam this way. If he could just keep this memory to draw on, maybe it would be enough, maybe it would ease the pain he knew leaving Adam behind would cause.

Adam caught his eye and, realising Nigel was awake, smiled down at him contentedly. “You did this to me very often while I was sick. It felt good, so I thought you might enjoy it too,” he said.

“I do, gorgeous, it feels very good.” Nigel leaned into the touch and tried to memorise it too.

“Also it means I can detect that you are running a temperature and likely have contracted the same virus I had,” Adam continued, matter-of-factly.

“What?” Nigel asked, suddenly wide awake. He took stock of his body and realised that, fucking fuck, he was indeed feeling hot and sweaty, and his head was definitely aching in a way that usually indicated he’d hit the vodka too hard the night before. He pushed back the covers and made to get up, only to have Adam gently push him back down.

“Why are you getting up?” he asked, frowning.

Nigel tried again to rise, but the room swayed around him and he had to give up. He looked back at Adam, who was wearing a confused expression, a little crease appearing between his brows. Nigel reached up to smooth it away, and smiled gently at the kid. “I should go home while I can, gorgeous. Just let me get my shit together and then-”

“O-oh, no, you can’t go home. You took care of me when I was unwell, and now I will take care of you. I can’t take care of you if you go home. Unless I come with you but that seems like an unnecessary effort when we are both here already.”

“Gorgeous, you can’t take care of me,” Nigel sighed.

“Why? It’s Friday, so my employer told me not to bother coming in. That means I have three days to look after you, by which point you should be past the worst of the symptoms. Then you can still go home if you wish, though in fact I think you should stay here.”

“Until I’m all better?”

“Yes, but I actually meant permanently.”

Nigel could only gape stupidly at Adam for a good minute, as Adam straightened the covers around him, seemingly content to wait for Nigel’s response.

“Adam?” Nigel said, slowly.

“Yes, Nigel?”

“Did you just ask me to move in with you?”

“Yes, Nigel.”

Nigel was reasonably certain that he wasn’t running enough of a fever to be hallucinating, so he had to conclude that the beautiful boy currently methodically plumping his pillow had gone insane, and said so.

“Though I am not neurotypical, Nigel, I am perfectly sane.”

“We’ve known each other for six days, gorgeous, and you were fucking unconscious for most of them. You can’t ask someone to move in with you after six days.”

Adam looked at him, confused again. “But I don’t want you to leave. You said you would only leave if I asked you to, but when I think about you leaving, it hurts. So I want you to stay.”

It took everything Nigel had not to pull Adam down and kiss him and just say yes. Instead he said, “Sweetheart, even if it wasn’t far too soon to be asking, I’m not the sort of person you want in your life. I’m… I’m not a good person, Adam. I’m a very fucking bad, bad person, in fact.”

Adam finished fussing with the bedsheets and got up from the bed himself, gathering the discarded mugs and glasses from his nightstand. “I don’t think that’s true, Nigel.”

Nigel sighed and scrubbed a hand across his face. “Believe it, angel. I’ve done things that would scare you. That would make you stop liking me real fucking quick if you knew about them.”

Adam stopped straightening the room and turned back to the bed. “I’m aware that you make your living doing something not strictly legal, if that’s what you’re worried about. You are not quiet when you talk on the phone.” Nigel opened his mouth to protest but Adam held up a hand to stop him and continued. “And in any case, it doesn’t matter to me how you are with other people, or what you do for work. What matters to me is that you have been kind and patient with me, that you cared for me when you didn’t have to, and that you have been in my home for six days without making me feel uncomfortable or distressed. In fact having you here has made me happy, which is very rare for me. So I would like you to stay. Please.”

Nigel watched Adam give this speech, much as someone else might have read out a shopping list. It wasn’t impassioned, or desperate, it was a simple laying out of facts. Adam wanted Nigel to stay, so he had asked him to. Adam knew exactly what Nigel was, and he didn’t care. Adam was a fucking angel and Nigel was a bad, bad man.

But, Nigel considered, being a bad man didn’t mean he was a stupid one.

“Tell you what, gorgeous, I’ll move in with you, on one condition.”

Adam’s bright blue eyes seemed to light up with Nigel’s words and he smiled, wide and happy. “What is it, Nigel?”

Nigel grinned at him in return and flipped the sheets back in invitation. “That you put down all that shit and get back into fucking bed with me so I can show you just how happy you make me.”

Adam bit his lip and shook his head, but there was a gleam in his eye that Nigel found impossibly appealing. “But you’re unwell, Nigel, I don’t want you to strain yourself.”

“Darling, unless you want to be responsible for me dragging my feverish ass out of this bed, you’d better come over here because there’s no way I’m going another second without kissing you fucking silly,” Nigel growled.

And as Adam slid into bed next to him and let Nigel gather him up to be kissed, Nigel considered that, fever or no fever, he couldn’t remember ever feeling better in his entire fucking life.

#spacedogs fic #spacedogs #adam and nigel #my fic #hannibal #happy birthday #hotsauce418

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blookmallow · 8 years ago

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ok that post got 4 notes and 4 notes is more interest than i ever get on writing things so im gonna impulse post this before i talk myself out of it :’)

if anyone’s willing to give any kind of input on this id appreciate it a bunch but its like. a REALLY early draft

CONTEXT: this is a messy unfinished bit of a scene for the dracula adaptation im working on. its currently written in shitty script format bc i havent written it out fully yet

EVERYTHING is in concept stages and subject to change, a lot

but currently in my version what’s goin on here is, renfield was a patient at a hospital (not seward’s yet, another one - im going to later explain how he ends up at seward’s asylum) and was always Unwell but was mostly pretty harmless. tended to escape and wander a lot though so they went to great lengths to teach him to stay put

there was an accident that resulted in a fire, and most of the hospital was destroyed. a lot of patients didn’t make it out. the property was abandoned. renfield was never found and was presumed dead

but he wasn’t. he survived, and the “you are not allowed to leave you have to stay” rule got so ingrained in his head that even though he’s alone and the place is destroyed and abandoned he still thinks he has to stay

he survived on rats and whatever human remains he came across too in his delirious state, and has now completely lost his mind

count dracula intends to purchase the property for his own uses, under the guise of intending to fix it up and reopen it in an act of charity - and discovers renfield there. this is that

[Renfield, docile, weak and delirious from pain and hunger – he is like a sick kitten, obediently and limply allowing Dracula to move him, to lift him- to carry him. He is barely aware of his surroundings- barely alive, at all.]

[Dracula lays him down on what was once an operating table – there are still stains of blood from long ago. On another table, however, is something much fresher. A newly-dead corpse, still frozen as if in shock. Most of the blood has already been drained. But not all. He is busy with his needles and tubes for a moment, and then approaches Renfield again.]

[Renfield gives a loud cry when the needle is injected into a vein in his arm, and there is something briefly fierce and combative in him; he is reminded of something by this needle. Something he doesn’t like. but he falls back again, too sore and emaciated to struggle.]

D: Lay back. If you struggle so, you will die.

R: What are you doing to me? [he is tired, accepting it, defeated, but not afraid. He is dying already. Whatever is being done to him now can hardly be so much worse.]

D: I give you the blood. [he motions to the freshly-dead corpse from which he is extracting blood into Renfield’s veins] The blood will give you life. If you are so lucky. If not, you die here. [He shrugs slightly, and gives him a stern look.] Do not be ungrateful that I offer you this chance.

R: [his eyes brighten a little, fascinated by this new knowledge, repeating it over and over to himself as if he is testing the way it feels on his tongue] Life… the blood gives the life… blood-life-life-blood… blood… blood is life… the blood is…

D: Keep still. [shoves him back down]

[Renfield watches him intently, slowly regaining a little bit more mental clarity. He watches the blood travelling through the pipes, whispering to himself about the life drawn from the dead that creeps through plastic veins into his slowly fading heart – he knows he is dying]

(research note: were blood transfusion pipes made of plastic in this time period?? when was plastic invented. what did they do blood transfusions with. check details)

R: …what is your name?

[Dracula ignores him.]

R: …Your name. …Your name, what is it, what is your name? What do they call you? What is it? Please… please tell it to me. Whisper it. Please. Your name.

D: [without looking at him] …I am… Count Dracula.

R: [enraptured] Dracula. [He seems almost to shiver as the word passes from his lips. He repeats it to himself, enunciating every sound carefully.] Dracula… Dracula. [He smiles, closing his eyes. Already in his mind he has decided this Dracula will be his new Master. He now trusts his every touch.]

D: …What… is yours?

R: [eyes snap open wide, and he takes a breath as if to eagerly give the answer, but-…] … [He hesitates, looking around oddly, as if he is just now realizing he’s forgotten. He looks momentarily afraid. Slowly, a wide smile spreads across his face as his features light up.]

[He remembers.]

R: Renfield.

[He looks ecstatically up at Dracula, terribly proud of himself.] Renfield! RENFIELD. [He suddenly shrieks the name, as if echoing something he has heard before- he’s imitating someone. Someone angry.]

R: RENFIELD, RENFIELD, NO, DON’T TOUCH THAT! DON’T TOUCH IT DON’T YOU THINK OF IT! RENFIELD, COME BACK, RENFIELD, STAY HERE! WHAT HAVE YOU DONE NOW?

[Dracula stares at him- not afraid, just perhaps mildly unsettled. He doesn’t stop his work, though.]

R: [Grinning, panting] [Turns to look at Dracula again] That’s what they called me. That was it. That was my name. Renfield. …They called me… Renfield.

[note: He doesn’t remember his first name anymore. He probably never will. Dracula never asks.] [Maybe Mina will ask him later. He won’t remember, though.]

D: …Renfield. [He sounds vaguely amused, smiling as if remembering a joke he has with only himself.] …Go to sleep, now, Renfield. [He waves a hand over his face. The effect is instantaneous; Renfield’s eyes close immediately.]

#dracula tag

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clareyfray · 8 years ago

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PLEASE READ: INVISIBLE ILLNESSES/CHRONIC PAIN

I want to talk to you all about Chronic Pain,

"Chronic pain is pain or discomfort that troubles a person all of the time or on and off for more than three months. Shockingly 89% of people living with chronic pain have avoided discussing it with family and friends so as not to bore them or seem annoying. According to a recent European survey, about one in four felt that colleagues, employers and doctors were unsympathetic to their pain or did not think it was a problem." - Credit

I suffer from Chronic pain. I have two spinal diseases amongst a handful of other little problems. I too avoid the subject of discussing it with anyone and I also feel like I'm going to annoy people by talking about it.The problem with Chronic pain is that it's INVISIBLE and people only seem to understand an illness/problem if they can physically see it.

When I use my disability holder for parking, the amount of dirty looks I get because I'm not always in a wheelchair. They presume I'm ok because I can walk and that's a stigma I wish didn't exist but it does.Even though I'm living with this persistent pain (to put it mildly) I am made to feel ashamed and that I should 'shut up and get on with life'. What these people don't understand is chronic pain varies, at least for me. Some days it's a dull, but very real, throbbing pain. Other days it's sharp and it feels like a knife is stabbing me in the back over and over again. But if I'm not at home in bed people think "Well she's obviously faking it" or "She's over exaggerating that". When in actual fact it's taken me days (literally) to summon the energy to even get out of bed.

I don't want to live life bound to a bed, even if it means more pain. Sometimes I use a wheelchair, sometimes I use a little push trolly, sometimes I use nothing at all, but no matter what I use (or don't) I'm still in pain. Sometimes, people ask me what it's like to have chronic pain, what it feels like. Depending on the day my answer changes, sometimes it's like stepping on a lego, over and over. Other times it's like someone is punching in the back. Some other times it's not like anything at all and it's a pain you can't describe.

The point I'm trying to get across is when you see someone park in a disabled space and get out without a chair think of people with invisible illnesses like chronic pain. Not every disability requires you to use a chair. Please think before you give dirty looks or tut at me as I get out the car.

I'm tired of living in silence about it and shutting up. I'm tired of the looks. I'm tired of the harsh words and I'm tired of the pain.I will not just 'Shut up" any longer.

Please reblog/like, spread this, it’s so important.

EXTRA:

A list of things people often say to people with chronic pain that you should actually NEVER say. @List copied from independent

But you look so well: Just because someone has chronic pain doesn’t mean that they look unwell. So while it might take more thought, such as pacing themselves, resting and taking pain medication, it’s not impossible to look good even when they are in pain.

Do you still have pain? Having pain for an extended period of time does not dilute the intensity of it.

You depend too much on your medication: While more people have experienced some pain, it is mostly transitory and they will not be able to comprehend what someone with chronic persistent pain is going through. This can lead to an attitude that people who have pain every day are too dependent on pain relief medication, when it is often essential for them. In fact, 40% of patients are not satisfied with the management of their pain4 so more needs to be done to help them manage their pain.

It’s all in your head: Around 30% of people living with persistent pain feel that no one believes how much pain they are experiencing.4 We all have a friend or family member who has a propensity to moan, whether it’s not getting a good night’s sleep or contracting the man-flu. However, chronic pain is real and while it certainly can have knock-on psychological effects, it IS PHYSICAL.

Have you seen a psychiatrist? People with chronic pain are likely to have tried everything to get better and seen everyone they can. Making them feel they are not trying hard enough and making them feel like it’s ‘all in their head’ may be hurtful.

It’s just a matter of time: Most of those living with chronic pain have no concrete diagnosis or what they have is not curable, so telling them to have blind faith and just wait it out will only add to their frustration.

You should learn to live with it: When we are having a bad day, usually all we want is a sympathetic ear. People with chronic pain need to be heard and understood so listen to them and don’t brush it off with a potentially dismissive statement.

You should get out more: No one wants to be housebound but the reality is many people with chronic pain may have difficulty driving, walking and sitting, even social events can be too much.

You should feel better by now: Everyone wants to feel better and sometimes, with hard work, people with chronic pain do feel better. For some, they have to learn new ways to manage their pain but it’s not easy and they need your support, not judgement.

Everyone has pain: Chronic pain cannot be seen or measured and often there is no cure. So try not to compare or belittle any one else's pain and if someone is managing their pain well, it doesn’t mean it isn’t there.

26% of people with chronic pain admitted to regularly avoiding talking about their pain with loved ones. If you live with chronic pain, don’t suffer in silence

#invisible illness #invisible illnesses #chronic pain #illness #sick #ill #important #my edit #text post

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apexart-journal · 7 years ago

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Radha Gomaty in NYC Day 14 part 2

Snapshots of Consciousness.

i love this term .

i encountered it first in a book gifted to me by a friend called I AM THAT -a the transcription of the dialogues by Maurice Frydman of a great Indian mystic Nisargadatta Maharaj or NM for short .NM had barely studied to 4th grade and successfully an a small chain of 8 tobacco shops till the call came , he met his Master and underwent a fundamental transformation spontaeneously becoming one himself .

Snapshots of consciousness.

These are nothing but the procession of the NOW moments when being kind of glows up at its radiant best into experience that the Consciousness captures in their utter lucidity then and there and stores away into its endless annals.

It is different from what in general parlance is referred to as a Memory; In the sense ,memory is a construct of many such moments strung together and thereby shaped by various narrative threads that Mind brings in .

So memory and such snapshots moments are not the same

I have been wondering if i could put some down here...

But since this is a journal , a mandatory one at that and I am positioned as this traveller from a different culture ,a different physical and geographical clime ,that slight self consciousness does tend to crystallize an element of memory as well, seeded around such single snapshot moments in the saturation of sensations while journeying.

April 21st Earth day ;Walk at East River Park .

i have to look for a foot bridge that for the life of me i am unable to locate and curiously , none i ask seem to know either .That way my experience with New Yorkers has been very human and altogether quite nice .

People stop and actually take their earphones out of their ears and stop to answer your queries which for me is like ...Wow!

it doesn't matter that few walk on or choose not to hear you out .

But thats OK.

There is always the next person you could ask.The world is a busy place.

Finally a young man points out the central route in the bridge that is raised above the rest ,there are only walkers ,runners ,skateboarders and speed cyclists.

”Thats the foot bridge right at the centre of the bridge , raised in level from the vehicular traffic “he said and i thought - wow!what a concept !

it was exhilarating going higher and higher seeing the river slowly rise to view, the charming old fashioned red brick high rises ... Suddenly i am flying ... and a smile from inside bursts into bloom in a slow spread across my face that my dimples almost ache .I can feel my heart opening out with the sky .It’s for one long slowed down honeyed instant as in a reverie as i share the smooth dream-like momentum of the cyclists with their pointy helmets but sans their serious and often grim faces .Physical ease and totally controlled bouyant agility has always been part of my favorite dream vocabulary. In that state when i walk i dont just walk.

I flow.

i fly .

But somehow i began to feel i am perhaps on the wrong track as directions go, if i have to find an old firehouse at the end of a foot bridge leading to the bank of the river .However while i looked i saw the river was petty much now almost beneath my feet .

My hunch was right and guided by a cyclist with better sense I turned right back round , neither flowed nor flew but plodded like anyone else effortfully finding my way to destination ,quite royally off the punctuality mark by now a full 15 mts!

There i saw a soul as lost as i as the group had walked away by the time she had got here 10 mts before me and no one was answering her calls either.

While Patricia is chatting away about herself to me she is joined by her friend Emma,an avid runner who has caught sight of her at a distance and walks in to join us.Both friends request me to shoot a pic of them together against the flowers of spring which i happily do .

Emma happens to have a connect with india that soon led to the topic of her interest -meditation and Yoga. On being asked I added my two pennies to her interests and concerns .As a mark of our gratitude for the conversation , we shoot a selfie together for the road as i leave finding the long way back to the subway station .

I was walking down a long fairly quiet road with a wide sidewalk of dirt when i felt a leg of my spectacles fall away on to the ground swinging to one side of my face.

oh no!

i bend to look for the screw that had come loose but to no avail!

i was mildly dismayed because they were a brand new pair of spectacles i had spent a good deal of money on just a couple of days before I started .in fact just two days ago at the Brooklyn museum where i also happened to be quite unwell , a leg had already dropped off and the resourceful and exceptionally friendly young woman at the reception dug out a small drawing pin with a ball shaped small round black head upon my request for an improvised fix up session. I managed to bend and insert it in place of the lost screw.

Even that had seemed like small miracle then and i was so grateful. Now i had gone and lost it again ...oh!

But here pops up the snapshot- suddenly a tiny golden colored metal safety pin slightly glued up because obviously it has been part of some form of ornamentation jumps to view.

Its role was to keep something in place on the dress or hat or hairband or whatever and was now lying on the dirt upon a sidewalk under a huge bridge in an avenue of flowering trees where people take their dogs out freely to poo, at the precise moment when my spectacles collapsed from my face with one of its legs losing that minuscule screw that keeps it in its place, coming loose and disappearing!

You see , the fact is I am simply good for nothing without my glasses on . Like... i can’t read a thing !

So finding a tiny golden safety pin that still works though all glued up in nowhere and at the exact precise moment i lost a leg of my specs was like further affirmation that HE is very much there and with a zany sense of humor at that!

(why HE ?and not a SHE or an IT ...Oh!that’s simple. Being SHE is still quite part of my experience as of now and having a groovy HE around now wouldn't harm me one bit ! )

Thats when i realized yet another fact -Hey ! the leg fitted in with the drawing pin was still intact and this was the other one that had come loose too !

Now ain’t that grand !

I’m in New York now with truly iconic deconstructed/reconstructed eyewear - a pair of unique red rimmed spectacles whose legs are each fixed with one,a black ball headed drawing pin on one side bent into a u shaped loop with the sharp end jutting upward like a micro antenna into space as if to catch the voices of the voiceless on Earth &intelligent alien civilisations in the Heavens .And,two, a tiny golden safety pin whose location for falling off from whatever was its last functional post seems to have happened with a preordained purpose ,pre orchestrated right to the micro-moment when the other good leg of my spectacles chooses to come off with a precision that simply astounds.

Simply put ,someone ,who while choosing to remain maddeningly hidden, still loves me one hell of a lot with a rocking sense of humor and a penchant for springing shocks & surprises with equal impunity .

You are so close sometimes that i can almost feel you - Secret Lover ...You who has watched over many a tear and then each time stirred to life a smile on my face creating rainbows while even letting me occasionally , the blind woman who sees only with her fingers ,touch that hidden Prism from where You work Your Rainbow making Magic.

I am shooting a bough all abloom for a friend back home who I think loves flowers when You shows up again ... this time with a sudden cool breath of strong breeze that begins to ruffle the flowers with a secret caressing playfulness. i burst into a peal of laughter looking from under tree up at the blueness of the sky through the gaps between the whiteness of the flowers .

My eyes are dancing as I whisper to you “I’m switching to video since you won’t let me photograph...so what are you going to do about that?”.

“Go ahead ...do it!”

i can sense the play-along approval as i tape and the breeze ends as suddenly as it began .

Love: shutter / aperture / lens .

Snapshots of Consciousness.

#Radha Gomaty #inbound from south eroor

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