#i was sick and now im not but i keep coughing up phlegm

[burgerror]

call me phlegm the way i be coughing that shit up

[lululandd]

mutual;

pairing: simon ‘ghost’ riley x f!reader

word count: 1.3k+

warnings: stalking, drugging

note: i have nothing planned for the rest of the story so please bear with me and maybe go on this adventure together :3 (also on AO3)

summary: “it wasn’t supposed to make you sick, love.” he sighed as he knelt down, “just wanted to make you sleep.”

you woke up in annoyance that night, seeing that it was still dark outside when you opened your eyes. you had went so far as to order carb heavy food for dinner earlier, finishing it off with some medicine to hopefully, finally, at long last, get a good night’s sleep.

and yet here you are, eyes wide open in the dead of night. it had been a rough couple of weeks, your mind running circles and staying alert every night, leaving you irritable and unable to focus or function during the day.

getting some of your senses back as you lie flat on your back—staring at the ceiling contemplating all the good night’s sleep you had before all this happened—you shivered and realised something’s wrong with your body. you felt chilly, and when you touched your arm it felt damp. bile quickly came up the back of your throat when you tried to sit up, your eyes widening as a rush of adrenaline flows through you, giving you enough panic and energy to get out of bed.

making it only to the sink, you thank yourself for even being able to hold it back that long and not hurling everything out on the floor.

bracing yourself on the counter, you start to wonder what you ate that could possib—

click.

what was that?

you hunched lower towards the sink, expelling what looked like the rest of your dinner. the sound of your front door being opened and closed made your mind race and your nausea worse, coughing spit and phlegm into the sink. your hands shook as you turned the tap, all your energy spent on heaving and keeping yourself upright. large beads of sweat rolled down your temple as you watched the water swirl, shuddering as you feel the back of your shirt sticking to your skin.

mentally, you want to fight off the intruder. physically? you’re lucky to even be vertical right now. staring at the running water, you wish and hope it’s just a robber.

you wobbled towards the toilet—your legs felt like it would fold like a cheap umbrella if you stood any longer—and lifted the plastic seat before kneeling in front of it, bracing both sides of the bowl, the coldness from the tiles and the porcelain bringing some relief on your burning skin.

the bathroom door opened wider and something big stepped into the room with you.

“my bag is in the hallway. there’s—“ you dry heaved, “—cash in it. i haven't seen your face.”

“allright?” the man spoke. 

“pl—“ nausea took hold again before you could speak. you chose to just wave and look away. but his footsteps came closer and closer, forcing you to screw your eyes shut to avoid seeing him entirely.

“offended you thought i was here for money.” he drawled, his deep and gruff voice sounding oddly calm. “im worried.”

your whole body jolted, involuntarily opening your eyes and turning your face towards him. through your tear filled eyes you could see a hulking dark shape of a man with a skull printed balaclava for a face.

“please just take the money,” you begged and sniffled, limp hand pointing at the general direction of where your valuables would be on the other side of the wall.

“the food wasn’t supposed to make you sick, love.” he sighed as he knelt down next to you, “just wanted to make you sleep.”

he helped hold your hair up as you threw up pure acid this time, making you cough and sputter harder into the bowl. his other hand holds your forehead, steadying you as you swayed. it brought you a sense of troubled comfort, being helped by a stranger that broke into your home. 

seeing you no longer have anything in your system to force back out, he gently picked you up from the floor. you feebly try to push away from him—like a sickly wet spaghetti trying to push a concrete wall—as he makes his way to your room.

he had put you down on your bed and made his way towards your armoire when you realised something that made your body sit still.

your room was still dark. hell, the whole flat was practically dark. the only other source of true light other than the streetlamps shining through your curtains was from the opened bathroom door. there wasn't any hesitation in his steps when he brought you in. no glancing around or fumbling on his part.

you could only watch him in muted horror as he bent over your armoire, immediately opening the drawer that holds your home clothes. “you’ve been here before.” you half whispered.

“couple times, yeah.” he nonchalantly admitted as he rifled through your clothes, grabbing shirts and moving it closer to his face before putting them back and doing it again with another.

you wildly look around the room, wondering if you could outrun him. no, no, not through the door of course, he was closer to it than you are, but the window, yes, the window. that’s closer to you than it is to him. you eyed the window, prepping all the steps you would need to do before you could flung yourself out of it. if you’re fast enough, and quiet enough, you coul—

he straightened his back at that exact moment and turned towards you with one of your favourite shirts in his hands. you saw the peeling glitter font shimmered for a fraction of a second before he dropped it in your lap.

he then turned around and stepped away, giving you what little privacy he could while still keeping you close.

you changed at a sluggish pace, keeping your eye on his back the whole time with the perfectly rational fear that he’ll turn around, catching you mid change; as if you could do anything if he did.

thankfully he didn’t.

being dry felt nice. you’re still shivering a little and you felt like you’ve just swallowed an acorn after running a marathon, but at least you’re dry and no longer cold and sticky. you spent what little freedom you didn’t know you had left to watch his broad back instead of telling him you’re done. now that you have some space and a little energy to think, you wonder if you’ve seen him anywhere before; wracking your brain to try and remember if maybe you recognise his silhouette or imposing shape from somewhere. would paying more attention to your surroundings help? do you need to remember who you’ve seen and where you’ve seen them? where does the line for caution stop and paranoia begins? 

you didn’t even notice him turning around and walking towards you, you gaze empty as you keep thinking about all the little things you should’ve noticed, how big of a mistake it was to not pay attention to large men, how—

a soft touch on your forehead snapped you out of your thoughts, the back of his hand reaching out to feel your temperature. the gesture felt so loving and familiar that you involuntarily closed your eyes, his touch on your scorching skin made the discomfort and ache a little more bearable. 

but relief was cut short by a sharp prick on the side of your neck, your hand flying up towards the source of the pain to catch it but finding nothing.

something thin and shiny on his lowering hand caught your attention as your vision blurred and the edges darken. “wha—”

“don’t fight it.” he cuts you off as you try to speak, his voice commanding you from far away. you could only watch as the gleaming material disappeared into his clothes. 

for the first time that night you voluntarily looked up towards his face, but he pushed you down on the bed and covered your eyes before you could remember anything worthwhile.

it’s getting increasingly harder to stay awake, mumbling something to him you couldn’t even remember as your eyelids get heavier; lashes fluttering onto his palms everytime you blink.

you could feel his breath on the side of your face, but when he spoke to you it sounded faint, as if from even further away.

“sleep well.”

even in your barely conscious state you could hear the smile in his voice.

[m33pl0v3]

I know its suppose to be an annual thing to meet up

But god sake i did not anticipate yall to bring a plus one, isnt it suppose to be just the three of us? What happen?

You shouldve caught on by now i didnt really want to meet up if yall had a plus one its kinda unfair for well..me

Everything feels like what happen 5 years ago.. i clear didnt miss it at all

Im quite sick, i got a cold i keep coughing off a phlegm and my head hurts constantly the past few days, 2nd i havent done any productive work since i excuse myself from school, 3rd the uniforms..they havent even been wash yet

As much as i think i got my shit together i keep going back to the time 5 years ago my lowest point of my life

My simple advice really if you tell someone something about them and they get annoyed frustrated even when you told them that, probably because they already know, theyre PAINFULLY aware you dont have to keep reminding them..its an insecurity theyre already working on it so just...stfu please

Keep it to yourself.

My mind is all over the place right now..all ive been doing is avoiding the things i needed to do for a sense of pleasure even for a little

Frankly i dont feel good

Physically wise and mental wise

I dont wanna go tomorrow i dont wanna see your partners

I dont want any of you in the house..you should just leave

I frankly dont care if your frail body gives up and dies im just worried about the debt we will get into nce you actually die

Im overthinking about our friendship lately but its mainly me and my low self esteem talking

Youre nuisance to me

I feel like a slob

As much as the thought of death sounds inviting i would never forgive myself for dying over something like this, im just exhausted i wanted a rest

Its overwhelming and if one of the people above me cancels or something happen to them i might be a little less worried

Sounds selfish i know, im painfully aware of what i say and type, im completely sane and in control

Thats the tragedy of it

I just wanna draw this feeling away..but im afraid i dont have enough time

I just wish you dissappear, in that way my mind is little quieter than it was right now

I could write a poem an essay even how much i want you dead or out of my existenxe but id be wasting my time

Thats how much i hate you

[leoxxii]

BRO i feel awful 2day

why is this happening to me :(

[roseverdict]

cons of reading a hilarious one-shot while sick:

have to stifle laughter or else it might become a body-wracking coughing fit

please im dying squirtle

pros of reading a hilarious one-shot while sick:

funnie joaks keep me from feeling like shit 24/7

two of the laughter coughing fits wound up with me hacking up phlegm and i can kinda breathe a bit easier now???

[maknaesdancersrappers]

july 21

hello. july 21 is a special day for me and you dont have to read this because its just me venting out my thoughts and emotions as long as i can without word/character limits on any platform.

july 21 is my maternal grandmother’s birthday. when i was born, my mom went abroad often and my dad had the regular 9 to 5 job plus extra hours for commute. so growing up with my sisters who are 5 and 7 years older, our grandparents and aunts took care of us.

im also more fond of my maternal grandmother since my paternal grandmother lived far away and we rarely ever get to see her (usually only during summers and once she stayed with us for awhile) until she passed away from Alzheimer's.

during the long hiatus i took early this year (late december to mid-march?), a lot has happened in my life. my health was put at risk because of the ash fall brought by the volcano eruption (january 12); i had allergies for weeks - i couldnt breathe properly, let alone sleep because of it. it was about to be the second year after graduating college and i have yet to get a job; the pressure from my family - and myself - was so unbearable that i caught myself slipping back to my very, very, very dark thoughts. and the worst thing that happened in those three months: my grandmother passed away. in filipino, grandmother is lola (loh-lah) and i’d like to use that for the rest of this post.

if you ask anyone in their neighborhood, any of our family friends, and relatives, everyone will tell you that her death was sudden. because everyone knows her as the sometimes-funny-sometimes-cranky old lady that owns the convenience store at the corner of the street. she was 96. she was 96 but she refused to get a wheelchair or use a walking stick even though her knees started to hurt after a few steps. she was 96 but didn’t need glasses to read most of the time. she was 96 but didn’t have any maintenance medication. ever since she reached her 90′s, she had gone to the town clinic at least twice because she fell over (from loss of balance) and busted her head. yet she would walk the next day like she doesnt have stitches on her scalp. she hated going to the doctor, she’d always claim that nothing hurts and the only thing she wanted the doctor to fix was her hearing (its as weak as how her eyesight is clear)

i wasnt the only one in the family that got severely affected by the ash fall. my lola also had trouble breathing because of it. she also went to the doctor for it and they only prescribed her antibiotics. please remember this info. this should be around early february

she got a little better but her voice was very hoarse from the phlegm. even before this, lola had little to no appetite and would only eat when someone else is eating (usually if it’s us, her granddaughters). and by little to no appetite, i mean her whole meal would be three spoonfuls of rice and one piece/chunk of whatever the main dish/ulam is. whenever we ask if she had eaten (even though we know she hadnt) she’d always claim that she already has (this eventually became a little joke in our family.) we took this sign as her dementia getting worse (although she was never really diagnosed with it, we had naturally assumed it because she would always repeatedly tell us stories that she insists happened even though some have been debunked and there were times she forgets our names if we havent visited in a while.)

after she gets better from the cough (idk the real diagnosis of it), her legs started to swell and because her routine had been reduced to being bedridden for most of the day, my aunts thought it was just poor circulation. it took two weeks before they brought her back to the town clinic and again, they just prescribed her with some medicine. everything after this is blurry to me until feb 21

my mom, being the eldest, made the decision to bring lola to the hospital. she’s, rightfully, unsatisfied with the town doctor’s diagnosis and prescriptions because lola is in so much pain and her legs were still swollen and its been weeks. i was with her in the emergency room while my mom and aunt did the paper work and the staff ran tests on lola. i’m contacting my sister who was in singapore and we’d video call to entertain lola since she was very adamant - and vocal - that she did not want to be admitted to the hospital bc she was “fine.” goSh she made so many hospital staff laugh because she would always announce whenever she had to fart. after like 2 hours, we move her into a ward and my mom tells me that i’ll have to stay overnight to watch over her. i was very apprehensive of this idea. i honestly did not want to. seeing her in pain was bad enough, but the fact we were in a room with other people and she was crying out loud made me really anxious but it was final. my mom, aunt, and uncle all went back home just to have dinner and they’ll come back since lola’s doctor would be coming by to give the results and for that hour they were gone? i lost it.

lola started talking/praying out loud, asking god why she was in so much pain, asking what she had done to deserve this; and i didn’t know what to do but hold her hand and kiss her head. i couldn’t even show her i was crying. when my mom got back, i told her i cant do it and she eventually convinced my other sister to join me, who cancelled her plans for the next day. that night, i did not and could not fall asleep. after a few hours, her doctor finally came by and dropped a bomb on us. he was kind enough to talk to my mom and aunt behind the curtains in the softest voice ever while i helped the nurse with lola, but i could hear him crystal clear.

cancer of the liver. 

they even momentarily walked back to lola to touch her stomach and stepped back out. i almost thought i misheard, but my mom and aunt’s expressions were too grim that it basically confirmed it. later on, my mom finally told me and explained that the antibiotics she had been taking weeks ago were too strong for her because of her lifestyle and diet. there were tumors in her liver and surgery wouldn’t do anything. i dont remember what i did aside from sketching on the journal i brought, but until i got home at 10am the next day, i did not sleep a wink.

feb 22. when i woke up at 2PM, i was told that they had lola discharged from the hospital. there was nothing we could do but try to ease the pain to the best of our abilities and wait. starting that day, i went over to lola’s house to help out with feeding her, giving her medicine, and just trying to keep her happy by randomly smiling at her when i see her looking around or dancing to no music.

feb 24. these were the early weeks of covid - ph hadn’t had a case yet, i believe, but travel restrictions were being implemented. my sister in singapore was doing everything to make sure she could come home because we don’t know when, but we know lola was leaving soon. of all the things our mom told her not to do, she cried at the entrance of the embassy and by the grace of god, someone took pity and listened to her (bc she was denied entry since she had a small cough) and she was able book a flight at midnight and be home in 4 hours. that afternoon, when i arrived at lola’s house, that was the very first time i stood at the doorway to greet her like i usually did and she didn’t smile. not even the corners of her lips moved. she was in that much pain that she couldn’t even greet me back like she always did, which was to smile and nod her head. that night, we all decided to sleepover there (with the exception of my dad since he had to feed our dogs at home). i take my usual seat in the living room and i notice a white dress that i remember (from photos) being lola’s 50th anniversary wedding gown and without being told, i know it was what she was going to wear for the very last time.

feb 25. being notoriously a late sleeper, i was about to go to sleep at 2AM when i hear lola groaning and whining out loud. when i checked her, her stubborn lil ass was trying to get out of bed alone!!! so i obviously panic and try to wake up anyone by exclaiming that lola had to go to the bathroom - she’s been wearing adult diapers for weeks now but refuses to go in them and is adamant about bringing her to the bathroom so she could relieve herself - so me, and the same aunt and uncle from the hospital, assisted her into this modified chair so she could pee and the only thing i could do was hold her hand, like always. after that, my uncle said he’d watch over her and lie down beside her on the bed so in case she needs to go again, he can take care of it himself. after falling asleep, i heard a few hours later that my sister from SG arrived. when i woke up later on, my sisters and i presented ourselves to lola bc its been so long since she last saw us complete, and this time she was able to give us a small nod of acknowledgement. i realized that none of my uncles and aunts went to work that day, thinking it was just so we could be complete since my sister was home. but then i overhear them making plans to have a priest come over for the sacrament of anointing of the sick - which based on my last and only experience (my grandfather/lolo), this must be the day. during the session, a few of my aunts and an uncle cried. my sisters cried, too, but i forced myself not to. when the priest left, i don’t know how long, but suddenly, she was gone. i didn’t know how to react. this was the second time i’ve seen someone pass away before my very eyes. everyone was crying out for forgiveness, kissing lola’s head, but i couldn’t move one bit. i was finally crying, but i couldn’t move at all.

3 days. from learning about the real problem with lola, it only took 3 days for it to take her away from us. not even a week, or a month. the only bright side to this was that she’s finally relieved of all the pain that’s been causing her suffering. 3 days of knowing her time was very, very short, but it was still a shock when she finally left. 

for the longest time, lola’s goal was to reach the age of 100 because apparently our government will reward her with 100,000 pesos (like 2k usd) for doing so. she wanted to reach 100 because she wanted to leave us with some inheritance haha. and everyone believed she could do it. no one doubted her. until this happened. maybe its just me, but i feel foolish... completely stupid and ignorant for knowing deep down in my heart that she would reach 100 that losing her 3 years prior her goal hurt me more than ever. 

it’s been 5 months but remembering her death still makes me cry. i have dreams (and you all know im a lucid dreamer) where she’s still alive and we’re talking about how she beat cancer at 96 in just a few months, but then i’ll remember that she didn’t and the dream in front of me just shatters and i’ll wake up empty and crying. i have never felt so much regret after she passed bc all she wanted was to see me graduate and it was up to me to show her that i got my first job and give her a portion of my first salary, but i couldn’t even do that. i waited too long and now its too late. her ideal type for me was a rich atenean boy who could drive 😂 and i still couldn’t give her that bc im so anti-men. there was a time i was so scared to go back to lola’s house bc she called me out during dinner - “baket ka malungkot/why are you sad?” - when all i was doing was browsing through my phone, scarily enough going through another “episode”, and the last person i’d ever want to know about my possible depression was her. of all my suicidal episodes, i’ve always resolved them by thinking of her - that i will continue living because i wanted to see her smile. because i wanted to see her happy.

i miss her so much. i wish i had been a better granddaughter to her. the small things i’ve done for her were never enough. in the past 5 months, i’ve only dreamt about her twice (actually being with her) and both times made the day so hard to function. i havent moved on and i dont know if im the only one. i dont know if i’ll ever move on. she would have been 97 today. whenever she forgets my name, i’ll tell her i have the same birthday as her and she’ll remember me. she’ll say “ahhh rosean! july 10!”

if someone read through this, im sorry you had to go through that mess. but thank you for hearing me out. no, i’ll thank you the way my lola would thank people, verbatim:

thank you very much from the bottom of my heart.

[felinehypocritical]

what abt like... a rly fluffy sickfic with richie and bill, like richie gets a cold and bill has to take care of him and deal with him sneezing and coughing but still trying to do the Voices even tho his voice is wrecked and making them 10x worse (im a sucker for rly heavy fluff I apologize)

ask and ye shall receive, anon.

Bill pushed the door open hesitantly, padding into the Tozier household with a quiet unknown to the family living in it. He heard Maggie Tozier, from the kitchen, yelling at the television in a manner that he found vaguely frightening.

“Finish him! Finish the son of a- oh, hello, William!” Maggie looked up from the television she was watching, her stylish hair and apron-dress completely offsetting her boorish nature. “Are you here to see Richie?”

“Yuh-yes, Mrs. Tuh-T-Tozier.” Bill looked up with a disarming smile, catching the mother off guard. She’d never seen a thirteen year old boy with even half as much charisma as her son, and this boy surely beat Richard out by a mile. “He d-d-didn’t come to schoo-ool today. I-is he oh-okay?”

The woman looked on in the concern of one who has to listen to a stutterer– it was such a shame, she thought, that such a bright and handsome young boy such as Bill to be cursed with such a thing. He wouldn’t ever get his ideas out with that mouth. “Yes, dear. But I’m afraid he’s-”

Bill was already bounding up the stairs, and he didn’t hear the rest of that sentence. He pushed to door open hurriedly to his friend’s room, dashing in and looking around.

“Ruh-Richie?” He called hesitantly, before his short friend made himself known.

“I’m right here, dingus!” Richie said in a scratchy, very not Richie voice. Bill swung his head around and quickly saw Richie, narrowing his eyes. Richie looked very pallid– well, more pallid than usual- and his black hair popped against his sickly skin. ‘Because that’s what he is,’ Bill realized quickly. ‘The dumbass got sick.’ He smirked.”What, Bill, you wanna take a picture?”

Bill shook his head, only sitting on the side of his bed and looking at Richie with a cocktail of pity and exasperation. “Richie, y-you wet,” he teased. “Wh-who got you sick?”

Richie coughed loudly, a crackling, wet sound that made Bill cringe, and tried out his Toodles the Butler Voice. “Well, just a little old chap down the way, wasn’t it? Or maybe a hun, mmyes? Per’aps it was you, my good man. By God, it WAS you! Someone arrest this man! I say! He’s gotten me, a man of ‘igh esteem, dreadfully, ‘orribly si-” he was cut off by another round of coughs, and Bill drew him into his chest. Richie immediately nestled closer upon contact, burrowing until he was practically flat against his friend. Bill grimaced at the tought of getting Richie-sick on his new shirt, and pounded on Richie’s back.  “It was that bitch Taylor Sullivan,” he admitted. “I was playing ball with him and he dared me to eat the rest of his popsicle, so I did, but I guess he had the flu, because now I’ve, y’know, got it.”

Bill snorted, getting up and looking with a critical eye at Richie. His short, thin body was covered in a Muppets t-shirt that was much too big– so big, in fact, that he’d keep it well into adulthood and it would still hang on him. But especially now, with the hem reaching his scabbed knees, he looked immeasurably small. He was also wearing a pair of gym shorts, but they were only visible when he writhed and squirmed under the pressure of his coughing fits. And yet, in spite of the phlegm and sickness and sneezing, Richie’s lively curly black hair still fanned out in a halo behind his head and his smile was still wide and bright. Bill thought in that moment, in a gross, Richie way, that he looked lovely, laid out on his wrinkled covers with his tousled hair and pink cheeks. The illusion was broken when he opened his mouth.

“Bill,” he said, drawing it out in a grainy, shrill noise. “I want soup.”

“So g-get some sou-oup,” Bill said, amiably enough.

Richie pouted and shook his head. “No, no– soup from YOU.”

“I’m n-nuh-not fetching you suh-soup, Rich.”

He fell back on his bed, gagging and pretending to choke dramatically. “Yes you will! You because I’m dying! Do you want me to die? Don’t you LOVE me?”

Bill shook his head. “Sometimes I’m not so sure…”

Except he was. He loved Richie with all his heart and soul, just as he loved the Losers, but… Different. The way he knew Ben loved Beverly, but less… Mushy. He was thirteen, after all, and mushy things such as romance didn’t exactly cross his mind, especially when in the question of his best GUY friend. Bu he couldn’t deny how he felt. And, after all, he always reasoned. If no one knows, does it really matter? No. And certainly, nobody knew.

Richie sat up. “Oh, you love me, you tricksy Billy goat, you.”

“S-stop calling me Buh-b-buh-hilly goat.”

“Stop being so stubborn and get me some soup.”

They stared a eachother for a moment, Bill’s face set and irritated, Richie’s smug and defiant, before Richie sighed dramatically. “FINE, I guess. Your loss, I would have let you feed me.”

“Oh, b-boy,” Bill replied. “I shuh-sure am mih-hissing out.”

“Indeed you are, mushmouth…” Richie looked Bill up and down, seemingly with approval, before continuing: “come up here and cuddle me.”

Bill jumped back. “N-no way! Y-you’re sick!”

“That, true, that’s true.” Richie pretended to be in deep contemplation, touching his hands to his nose before pointing them at Bill. “So… get up here, or…?”

Bill sighed, knowing there was only one way to stop him from whining more.

He climbed up to Richie, flipping him over, before sliding in behind him and wrapping an arm around his waist. He threaded the other hand through Richie’s hair, smiling slightly at the interested sound he made before starting to brush it out. The snarls caught between his fingers, but Richie didn’t seem to mind. Bill felt happy, content, carefree… Until Richie started to cough. He began to convulse, as usually happens with strong coughs, and his whole body moved Bill’s as well. He arched his back away from Bill in an attempt to get free, and Bill thumped on his back until he stopped.

“B-Buh-Better?” Bill asked, looking concernedly at Richie. Was he okay? What was wrong with this kid?

Richie coughed one last time, before looking at Bill seductively from beneath his eyelids and tried out a sultry, Jessica Rabbit like voice that just sounded like RIchie talking through a mouthful of gravel and syrup. “Now that you’re here, sweets.”

Bill pushed him off, laughing slightly and turning the other way. Richie quickly flopped over, hugging the taller boy tight and making Bill grin wider at the feeling of Richie’s arms and legs snake around him and hold tight. Richie might be an idiot… but he was a sick idiot.

Bill’s sick idiot.