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perfectpaperbluebirds · 3 years ago

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Prompt # 19: Addiction

@sicktember Alternate prompt #4: Stay

Title: Unexpected Developments Part 2

Fandom: Pride and Prejudice

Find Part 1 under prompt # 8. Mr. Darcy is sick in bed and miserable. Elizabeth is trying to look after him, but his bad mood gets the better of him and tempers flare. Will sweetness or stubbornness win out in the end?

Elizabeth Bennett was the only guest at Netherfield who wasn't in bed with a cold. The virus Jane had caught riding to attend luncheon with Caroline had spread around the whole house, but it seemed Eliza was immune. Mr. Darcy had been the last to fall ill, and Lizzie had discovered him sneezing in a corner over a day ago while she remained perfectly healthy. It was fortunate she had discovered him though, for the servants were rushing hither and yon at the beck and call of their ill master and his sister, and poor Mr. Darcy would have been overlooked completely if Lizzie hadn't taken him under her care.

Lizzie, for her part, was glad Jane's cold was much improved from the days prior. Since Jane needed little tending now, she had given Lizzie her blessing to give most of her attention to Mr. Darcy. Mr. Darcy, for his part, was very accustomed to having a houseful of servants to do his bidding, and was little accustomed to being ill, strong and virile as he was. Because of these things, he was not the easiest patient, though he truly tried to make an effort to curb his frustration and not take his misery out on Elizabeth. Her lack of symptoms clearly perturbed him, however.

"How is it you are still in perfect health while I and everyone else are laid up with this beastly chest cold?" he griped that afternoon while Lizzie fussed around, tidying up dishes and rags from his bedside. If Lizzie wasn't accustomed to his voice by now, she would have had trouble understanding him, for his nose was stopped tight with congestion, and his voice raw and weak from coughing, rendering him nigh unintelligible.

She giggled to herself. "Well you see, I believe I've already had this cold, for in the week prior to Jane's arrival here, my father, some of my other sisters and myself caught cold. We were envious of Jane's good luck in not falling ill at the time, but it seems it caught up with her in the end."

"Indeed," Mr. Darcy muttered sourly with a slushy sniffle.

"Oh don't be cross. It isn't so terrible lounging in bed all day, being waited on hand and foot is it?"

"Yet when I find myself miserable in body, I find my mood tends to follow," he groused.

"Hmm." Elizabeth moved to his side, caressing his flushed face gently with the pad of her thumb. "It's just as I thought. You're only irritable like this when your fever is up, and indeed you are overwarm again. Jane's fever wasn't nearly so persistent."

"How fortunate for me," he mumbled to himself. Elizabeth tried to ignore his bad temper as she fetched her basin and rag. She wasn't fond of sarcasm, and his attitude was irking her more than she cared to let on. Tenderly as ever though, she began bathing his face and neck to try to bring down his miserable fever.

The cold water on his face made him gasp slightly, which became a cough, and the coughing only seemed to agitate him more. He usually enjoyed his face being bathed, but today he drew away from the rag.

“Perhaps we should try another method for treating fever, since this does not seem to be effective,” said the sick man. His speech was curt and tense with foul temper.

Elizabeth gave him a long look, trying to keep her own temper under control. “What would you suggest, sir? We have tried willow bark, which made you feel more ill, and you will not have any other poultices,” she said in a measured, warning way.

“There must be something we haven't done yet. I would do anything to rid myself of this beastly cold, that came from *your* sister, I might add! You just said you already had this cold. Think of something else to try!”

Elizabeth flew to her feet, tossing down the rag. “Perhaps you should go plunge yourself into an ice bath! That will surely help the fever, and I’m sure it will do wonders for your coughing and sneezing as well! But you can draw it yourself, and you can see to your own meals and entertainment too. You clearly feel my efforts are inadequate, so you can tend to yourself from now on. I am through with smoothing your insufferable pride and being a target for your bad mood. Good day, sir!”

With a whirl of skirts, she was out the door without a glance behind her. Elizabeth went straight to her room and lay down in the cool and quiet, for she was exhausted and careworn from nursing for a week straight. She fell asleep immediately and didn’t wake for several hours.

She felt much refreshed when she did finally emerge. She first went to look in on Jane, who was overall back to normal, but was getting bored sitting around and eager to go home. On questioning the staff, they learned that Caroline had mostly recovered as well. Mr. Bingley was recovering slower, but getting better all the time. The sisters wished him a speedy recovery by way of the servants, for as soon as he was recovered, they would be able to return home.

After visiting with Jane for some time, Elizabeth desired to find a quiet corner and read. To her chagrin, she realized she had left her book in Mr. Darcy’s room. She did not relish seeing him again so soon after they parted so badly, but she had no choice if she wanted her book back. With a sigh, she made her way to his room with hesitant steps. She knocked softly before entering, which felt odd since she had been coming and going freely for two days prior. His hoarse, weak voice bid her come in.

He was in quite a different state than he had been a few hours before. Where he had previously been fitful and agitated, now he seemed weak and lethargic. Even in the dim light she could see how sweat-matted his hair was, and the dark ring on his pillow. He lifted his head up to see who had entered, and his sleepy eyes flickered with confusion upon seeing her.

“I only came to get my book. I apologize for disturbing you,” she said stiffly, hardly looking at him. She snatched up the volume from the table where it lay and turned to go back out, intending to say nothing else.

“Wait.”

She paused, and turned slightly, her good breeding winning over. “Yes?”

He sat up a bit straighter, coughing weakly as he did so. “I am deeply sorry for how I behaved earlier. My treatment of you was inexcusable after all you’ve done for me these past days--” Here he had to pause to press his handkerchief to his dripping nose before he could continue. Elizabeth waited silently. “I was a beast and feel very much like a fool. Please forgive me,” he managed, mumbling through the damp fabric. His eyes shone earnestly above the hand holding the linen in place.

Her face softened. “I accept your apology, and thank you for it. No one acts quite themself when they’re ill, so I gladly forgive you. I’m sorry too for my part in all of it.”

They shared a tiny smile as he tended to his nose with a thick, gurgling blow, and she knew she was forgiven also. Immediately the tension between them was cleared.

Now that they had made up though, she was reluctant to leave him alone again, for he looked so weak and forlorn and in need of care. However, she was a woman of her word. She spoke as she moved to the door, putting her hand on the knob. “You must rest, Mr. Darcy, so I'll leave you be. I truly apologize for waking you.”

“Miss Elizabeth?”

Once more she turned to meet his eyes.

He held out a shaking hand. “Please… stay.”

She slowly returned to his side. “For what purpose, sir?”

“I… I desire your company… and your aid. You are… a far better caregiver than I, and I was a fool to imply otherwise. It… it won't happen again,” he croaked thickly.

Seeing the effort he was making to be overly polite softened Eliza's heart further. She let him take her hand in his warm grasp, a smile playing around her lips. “If you insist. I will stay.”

He smiled also as he drew her hand toward himself. "Here, let me show you something," he snuffled. He placed her wrist against his neck, just as she had done many times over the past few days. He sighed softly as their skin made contact.

“Your fever has broken,” she murmured happily. “You are cool at last.”

“Yes.”

“How did you do it?” she asked, withdrawing her hand. “Did you plunge yourself into an ice bath after all?”

He stifled a cough before he could speak. “I… tried willow bark again, as you recommended. I felt worse… at first, but I fell asleep to ease the symptoms. When I woke, the fever had left me, and I felt… much clearer in mind. The fever was causing my foul mood, as you insightfully noted.” Yet another long speech, and now his voice was barely audible as he sniffled furiously and trembled with fatigue.

“Yet you seem somewhat worse for wear, for you’re completely exhausted, poor man.”

“This illness has left me weary to my bones, it is true. Yet I could not have slept soundly tonight knowing I had offended you. It would be an understatement to say I was very glad when you returned, though I did not expect or deserve a second chance.” His eyes were getting heavier by the moment, and he yawned almost before he finished speaking, reclining back against his pillows once more.

Elizabeth brushed the sweaty curls from his forehead as his eyes drifted closed, then let her hand rest on his cheek for a moment, reassuring herself that his fever was truly gone. He lazily covered her hand with his, a content smile flickering across his face.

She couldn’t help but smile in response, though he couldn’t see it. “Take some rest, Mr. Darcy. All is forgiven, and I will be here when you wake.” She gently tried to pull her hand away from his face. He quickly interlaced his fingers with hers to prevent this.

“You’ll truly stay?” he murmured sleepily, sniffling.

Leaving her hand on his cheek, she perched on the edge of his bed, so close their hips were almost touching. She saw him smile again as she did so.

“Of course I will,” she murmured back, her eyes never leaving his face as he peacefully drifted to sleep.

#sickfic #sicktember2021 #alt prompt 4 #everyone is hotter with a fever

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calamitykaty · 4 years ago

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In Sickness Part 2

Charlie Gillespie x Reader Word Count: 1037

Requested by anon in which the tables are turned and you are taking care of a sick Charlie. Lots of fluff. No warnings.

**ANON, I hope you’re okay with me taking the liberty to just make your request a part 2.

A week later and Charlie’s prediction that you were going to share your sickness with him had come to fruition.

“Misery loves company, right?” Charlie mocked you before blowing his nose for what he could have sworn was the 8,00th time in the past twenty minutes.

You sucked your bottom lip in trying your best to hold back any laughter at his pathetic state. Charlie never handled being ill very well.

“I love you.” You quipped back at him as you lifted his head so you could sit down and placed his head in your lap. You brushed your fingers through his slightly tangled hair, lightly scratching his scalp as you did so. You could feel his body relaxing at the sensation but it only lasted for a moment before he erupted into a fit of coughs, making you feel extra guilty that you were the one that made him this way,You gently pushed his body up so he was sitting up and rubbed circles into his back until the coughing subsided. You pressed a gentle kiss to the back of his neck.

“Y/N…” Charlie whined and grabbed your wrist as you tried to get up. Your eyes softened as you looked at the boy with admiration. “I want you to hold me” he whined as you walked away. You couldn’t help the smile that took over your face at his plea but you knew he most definitely needed more than just a cuddle.

You shuffled through the kitchen cabinets and pulled out your favorite teal mug before moving to the next cabinet to grab a pack of chamomile teal and some honey. You put the kettle on the stove and moved to the sink where you fished a rag out of the drawer next to the sink and ran it under tap, ringing the extra water out of the rag afterwards.

A squeal from the kettle let you know that the water was ready for the tea. You placed the tea bag into the mug and poured in the water before adding a tablespoon of honey to help sooth Charlie’s sore throat. You grabbed a pack of crackers and the cold medicine from the cupboard before you left the kitchen with the damp rag and warm cup of tea.

When you made it back to the couch, Charlie had laid back down. He looked up at you with sad, puffy eyes. You placed the mug of tea on the coffee table along with the crackers and got on your knees in front of the couch, facing Charlie. You placed a hand on his cheek softly, Charlie turned his head into it and placed a kiss on your palm before turning to look back at you.

“I love you” you said again for the second time and pressed the cool rag to his forehead. Charlie sighed at the relief that it gave him and closed his eyes.

“Y/N?” Charlie’s hoarse voice filled the silence after several minutes.

“Hmmm…” you hummed back in response. Your fingers lightly tracing around the features of his face. Your touch was so light that he could barely feel it.

“Y-you know I’m not actually, like, upset with you about getting me sick, right?” He barely opened his eyes to look at you.

You cocked your head to the side and smiled at the boy “Of course, I know that” you affirmed and nudged him to sit up again before placing the tiny cup filled with the correct dose of medicine into his hands. Charlie stared down at it in disdain.

“Charlie, please...it’ll help, I promise” you pleaded with him.

He reluctantly threw back the medicine, his face screwing into a look of disgust at the cherry flavor. He handed the tiny cup back to you when it was empty and you placed it back on the coffee table before handing him the cup of tea.

He opened his mouth to whine again but shut it when he was met with your pleading eyes. Charlie slowly sipped on the honey and chamomile tea until he couldn’t stomach it anymore and handed the mug back to you. He definitely wasn’t going to admit that the honey coating his throat made him feel a tiny bit better.

You tried to hand him a few crackers but Charlie didn’t budge this time. “Y/N, stop making me ingest things...” he cried out.

You put your hands up in surrender and threw the crackers back onto the coffee table before leaning forward and placing your forehead against his, You both sat like that in silence for a few seconds. You could feel the heat radiating from him and hear the congestion rattling in his chest.

“You’re really hot, Char’” you muttered, a frown tugging at your lips.

“Well, duh. That’s why you date me, right?” Charlie joked, a small laugh escaping his chest before that too erupted into coughs. He winced as his throat felt like it was on fire again from the coughing fit. You reached into the bag of lozenges that was thrown haphazardly onto the floor and grabbed one out of the bag before unwrapping it and popping it into Charlie’s mouth. The cool rush of the minty lozenge quickly coated his throat.

You climbed back onto the couch behind him and pulled him by the shoulders until his back was pressed against you, his head laying on your chest. You gently brushed his hair back from his forehead and drug your pointer finger and middle finger of your right hand across his forehead in lazy circles.

“What’re ya doin, Y/N?” Charlie breathed out just above a whisper, his eyes closed.

You felt your lips curl up into a smile “I don’t really know” you confessed. “My mom used to do this when I was little and didn’t feel well, it was like magic every time...b-but I can stop…” you trailed off, suddenly feeling unsure of yourself. You didn’t really have much experience in taking care of anyone but yourself. Charlie reached his left hand up to his shoulder in search of your hand and intertwined his fingers with yours.

“Don’t stop, it is magic.” Charlie confirmed.

#charlie gillespie #charlie gillespie x reader #charlie gillespie imagine #charlie gillespie one shot #in sickness #jatp #jatp fanfic #j&tp #anon request #one time

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aggedyann · 4 years ago

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Afternoon Cuddles

Ethan and Tim back for the afternoon

“Ehshoo. Hayehdszhoo!” Ethan heard Tim sneeze freely from the couch, watching him fumble to set his phone down and reach for tissues. “Ehhckshoo. Huh-echgzhoo.”

Ethan’s own nose burned as he overheard Tim’s sneezing. Forcibly rubbing a hand against his nose, he put the finishing touches on Tim’s tea, and took it to him.

“Bless you.” He set the tea on the coffee table, in case Tim’s sneezing wasn’t done for the moment. He’d done this every couple hours since they’d gotten up, small bursts of four or six sneezes, followed by a small cough, indicating the cold was taking grip.

Tim coughed. “Thanks.” He deposited his used tissue in the paper grocery bag Ethan had set up as a trash bag, knowing between the two of them, they’d need more than the small wastebasket that sat between the couch and chair.

Tim could feel the cold starting to take hold; stuffy nose, headache, sore throat, and he couldn’t seem to get comfortable, although that might be more due to the arm than the cold. The sneezing was picking up, but it was still nothing compared to Ethan’s, who was having his own mini fits on an hourly basis since his morning fit. He looked over at Ethan who had crossed over to the window and was staring wistfully outside.

He heard Ethan sigh, then saw an elbow go up as Ethan smothered a quick “Ahtshoo!”

“Bless you.” He took a good look at Ethan as his boyfriend came back to grab a tissue. He knew he didn’t look as rough as Ethan; mostly just tired which could also be chalked up to adjusting to trying to sleep with his broken arm. Ethan, on the other hand, was sporting a pink-rimmed nose that just looked sore and red, watery eyes behind his glasses that made Tim want to rub his own.

“Thanks. Really hope I’m not starting again.” Ethan flopped down on the couch next to Tim, scrubbing at his nose with the back of his hand. Tim could see a crease appearing across his nose where he had pushed it up so many times this morning. Another sigh.

“Sorry you had to miss your day at the beach with your sister and nieces. I know she doesn’t visit often.”

His sister, Erin, had known immediately from the sound of his voice that he was canceling on the beach. He didn’t lose his consonants with his allergies, but she heard the notes of congestion and sniffling she was all too familiar with and understood. He promised to still join them for dinner that night, and she promised something indoors for tomorrow.

“Sucks to spend a vacation day this way.” He muttered, brushing his usually neat hair out of his eyes. He stared straight ahead at the TV Tim had on, without really seeing it, for a straight minute. “HahChoo!” He curled forward.

“Bless you.” Tim passed over a tissue.

“Thanks. I guess I’m doing this again.” He swiped at his nose, an exasperated look on his face.

At a loss for words, Tim fumbled for his phone and thumbed through it. On a whim, he checked the weather. The winds from the north had brought in the pollen that was presently plaguing Ethan. But they were bringing something else: two to three days of rain and thunder storms, and then everything was supposed to fall back to the way they were before the wind and rain- before Ethan had been miserable.

“Atchoo!” An annoyed sneeze from next to him, and he had to bite his tongue to keep from laughing. His sneezes just sounded like sneezes. Loud, messy and a bit unpredictable, but Ethan’s took on the tone of his mood. It was 1 pm, and Ethan was clearly done with this.

“Bless.” He turned over to Ethan who was carefully blowing his nose. “Hey, babe, look at this.”

Ethan glanced at the phone and glared at him. “I can feel how bad the pollen is, thank you.”

“No,no.” Tim scrolled up. “It’s sup…supp…suppop..” He turned away. “Uhheggzhoo…ehhckshoo! Supposed to rain the next couple days, then the pollen stays down.”

“Hahshoo!” Ethan gave a wet sniffle. “You’re responsible for that one.”

“How do you know you didn’t cause mine?” Tim asked lightly.

Another glare from Ethan.

Tim handed Ethan another tissue before blowing his nose. “Look, E, I’m sorry you’re miserable. I’m sorry your day didn’t go as planned. I’m sorry you’re stuck here with me. I’m sorry that you’re taking care of me, but if you keep this up, today is gonna be a lot worse than it could be.”

Ethan looked up, chastened, twisting his tissue between his fingers. “Sorry,” he mumbled.

“Tell me how you feel. Tell me how I can help.” Tim urged.

“Completely miserable. My ears itch, my eyes and nose are itching and and burning. My nose is sore. My throat is sore…” Ethan looked at him, giving a small smile, before turning away. “HahAhChoo!”

“Bless you. That was a big one, even for you. How can I help?”

“I don’t know. I…don’t…know.”

“I’d default to shower together, but…” Tim glanced at his cast.

This time, Ethan laughed and leaned against Tim who wrapped his unbroken arm around him, moving the tissues closer.

“How about a nap? Then when you wake up, we’ll try a nice cold compress on your eyes, and maybe that sinus rinse bottle you hate but really does help.”

Ethan nodded, burying his head on Tim’s chest. Tim turned his body sideways around Ethan and awkwardly placed the casted arm over him. “Is this better?” He asked, holding him tight.

“Yeah.” Ethan said, softly, with a sniffle.

“Try to warn me if you have to sneeze.” Tim teased.

“‘Kay.” He felt Ethan nod as he wrapped his arms around him.

Tim clutched Ethan tighter; Ethan feeling the roughness of Tim’s cast against his skin. Despite that, Tim’s arms felt nice, comforting, and despite his misery, he was able to fall asleep.

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secretobsessionstuff · 4 years ago

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Hey Max, hope you're doing well! I've got a request for you if you're taking them rn. Really been wishing for a cute fluffy fever fic for my faves Riley and Madix. Either one could be the sickee, I can't decide lol. And maybe the caretaker giving the sickee a bath or helping them shower or something cause that's like my weakness omg.

So this got a bit more intense than pure fluff, but I still think it’s adorable! I actually think it’s one of my favourite fics I have written :)

Even beneath layers of winter clothing, Madix still shivered from head to toe. He felt goosebumps all around his neck, but wrapping his scarf up tighter wasn’t doing anything to relieve the chill he felt in his bones. The soft fabric of the scarf was wet with melting snow on the outside, and damp with mucus on the inside. He sniffled from within the cocoon he made for himself, feeling properly ill.

This late in the afternoon, he could not have guessed how many times he sneezed or coughed throughout the day. In truth, the stuffy feeling in his head and the monstrous fatigue had only set in about an hour ago. He was only just now feeling like he could collapse at any moment. The idea of going back to the lodge and melting in front of the fireplace was beginning to consume his fevered mind.

It was Riley’s idea to put on their heavy winter boots and go walking in the thick forest just outside the ski lodge. At the time, Madix thought it sounded romantic. Now, it felt more like walking through a frozen hellscape.

Through the dense snow, Madix trudged closer to Riley, feeling like he was wading in tar. He was out of breath once he finally caught up to his boyfriend. With his hands on his knees, he bent forward in an effort to stop the world from spinning. God, his head was pounding. It didn’t help that his teeth were chattering so loud that it vibrated in his skull. Riley didn’t notice any of this because he was busy catching snowflakes on his tongue. He looked so happy, like a puppy experiencing snow for the first time. At least Madix thought he looked happy; he could have been wrong. His eyes were burning and tearing up too much to be sure of anything.

“Riley…” Madix said breathlessly. He cleared his throat that felt raw and sore. “Can we go back now? I’m starting to not feel so good.”

“What!” Riley’s gaze snapped away from the sky and landed on Madix. With the hat, the fluffy-rimmed hood, and the suffocating scarf, Riley could barely see his boyfriend’s face. Only a small portion of his red wind-burnt cheeks could be seen. “You don’t feel well?”

Madix swallowed painfully, causing him to grimace while shaking his head. Before he could answer, a wet cough covered his scarf in more sick droplets. When he finished his coughing fit, Riley was next to him and put a gloved hand on his shoulder. With the thick winter coat, he didn’t really feel his touch, but it was the thought that counted. Riley’s eyes – which were essentially all that could be seen with his own winter gear – looked disappointed for a millisecond just as concern took over. Madix cleared his throat again. “I’m sorry it came on really suddenly.”

“No, no, that’s okay.” Riley assured him. “You don’t sound too great either.” He looked around the empty forest that was beginning to darken. The top of the ski lodge was still visible from in between the trees. “I think we’ve got a thirty-minute walk back. Can you handle that?”

“I think so.” Madix swallowed and immediately regretted it because it reminded him just how bad he felt. He took a heavy and difficult step forward.

The boys walked for long while. Well, Riley walked; Madix took one step every hour. The energy needed to lift his foot out of the snow was monumental. It didn’t take long for Riley to be several paces ahead of him. Every minute or so, Riley looked back when he realized that his boyfriend had fallen behind.

“We’re almost there,” he called back. “You good?”

Madix didn’t answer, maybe because he didn’t hear or because he didn’t have the voice to shout back. His head was swimming in what felt like a sea of fallen snow. His aching muscles were about to give out, but on the bright side he wasn’t freezing cold anymore. The scarf was now drenched in sweat that was slowly hardening in the cold. If Madix were lucid enough, he would have known that that was actually bad sign.

He tried calling out to Riley, but another coughing fit seized his body. From the force of the expulsion, he fell forward into the snow.

“Madix!” Riley yelled as he watched his boyfriend crumble. In seconds, he ran back to the fallen boy and dropped to his knees. Riley picked up Madix and held his flushed face in his hands.

“I’m tired,” Madix mumbled against his scarf. “Are we almost home?”

Riley’s heartrate sped up upon hearing that. He didn’t think Madix was feeling this sick, but he knew what Madix meant by home, and they were nowhere near their home. With shaking hands, Riley removed his thick black gloves to pull down Madix’s scarf. His skin was slick with sweat and blotchy. It was easy to feel the fever raging throughout his body as Riley placed his cold bare hand on Madix’s burning cheek.

“Oh fuck…” Riley said more so to himself, as he could feel panic beginning to rise in his chest. He quickly slipped his gloves back on, covered up his boyfriend’s face, and pulled him to his unsteady feet. “Madix, I know you feel like death, but we have to keep walking.”

A small whimper escaped Madix’s mouth. “It’s so far away.”

“No, it’s not,” Riley lied. “Come on, lean on me.”

It felt like an eternity as Riley led his boyfriend back to the lodge. During the entire walk, he supported Madix’s weight. He just kept repeating the same thing. We’re almost there. Just a little bit further, he would say. Riley’s hand felt like it was still tingling from the heat that he found on Madix’s skin. His only thought was that he needed to get his fever down and soon.

Riley could have cried when they finally made it back to the room. The impeding winter coat was quickly thrown off so that he could move more freely. Still in his heavy snow pants, he sat Madix on the bed and began the process of undressing him. The hat came off first, making Madix’s sweat-soaked chocolate brown hair stick up at random angles. Next came the scarf that unravelled like a frozen newspaper.

Once inside the warm interior, Madix slowly came out of his delirious state. He blinked around and realized that Riley was stripping him of his winter gear, piece by piece. “Ry?” He squinted from the harsh light. “What’s going on?”

Riley popped up from the floor, holding one of Madix’s boots in his hand. “Oh, thank God, are you here with me, Mads?”

Madix nodded hesitantly, as if he wasn’t sure himself. He rubbed his eyes. “Did I pass out?”

“No.” Riley yanked the other boot off his foot. “But you were pretty out of it for a while.” He paused in the process of undressing Madix and sat on the bed. He planted the biggest kiss on Madix’s forehead. The heat was ever-present, but at least there was more clarity in his eyes. “You have a wicked fever, love.”

There was no reply. Madix sighed and let his head fall into the crook of Riley’s neck. The scent of snow and deodorant would have filled his nose if he weren’t congested like hell.

With one last kiss, Riley went back to his task. He peeled away Madix’s winter coat and his sweater, to reveal a sweat-soaked shirt underneath. Dark circles rimmed his collar and underarms, and there was a dark patch running down his back. “Oh, babe…” Riley didn’t know what else to say. He didn’t like seeing the evidence of his boyfriend’s misery.

Madix shivered as the layers started coming off. He felt sticky and cold now that the sweat was drying. The worst feeling of all was knowing that he scared Riley to death. He could see it in his boyfriend’s eyes, how terrified he had been.

“Okay,” Riley said once Madix was sitting there in just his underwear. “Now to deal with that fever.”

While running the bath, Riley took the rest of his own gear off, then he led a shivering Madix into the washroom and helped into the bath.

The water was, as expected, a disappointing lukewarm temperature. Madix got in without complain, mostly because he was too tired to put up a fight, but also because Riley was still anxiously staring at him as if waiting for him to slip back into delirium.

Madix couldn’t help but close his eyes as Riley gently washed his body. While keeping his eyes shut, he said, “I’m sorry.”

There was a beat in which Riley didn’t reply, prompting Madix to look at him. He cracked open his still burning eyes, and saw that Riley was crying softly. It hurt worse than any ache he felt, and it burned worse than any fever he had ever experienced. With soapy wet hands, he gently grabbed Riley’s wrist that was unconsciously washing his body.

The silence remained for a moment longer until Riley let out a shaky breath. With his head down and tears dripping into the bathwater, he spoke faintly, “I was so worried.”

The sound of water dripping into the tub was all that could be heard while both boys just sat there. Riley sniffled, wiping the tears from his cheek. Then Madix sniffled. An intense desire came over him to hug Riley as close as he could for as long as he could. Though he still felt disgusting and worn out, he needed a way to tell his boyfriend that he was okay. That he did exactly the right thing. That he never wanted Riley to worry ever again.

He couldn’t think of anything else to say or do, so he just leaned forward and wrapped his arms around Riley’s shoulder, as tight as he could in his weakened state.

Riley hugged back, not caring that his clothes were getting wet from the water dripping off Madix’s arms. He never ever wanted to let go.

#sickfic #fever fic #fever #flu #Madix #Riley #snz #coughing #cold #my ocs #fluff

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fancifulwhump · 5 years ago

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i'm LIVING for your jaskier fics omg!! would you be at all interested in writing a prompt where Jaskier is riding Roach because he's not feeling well, but Geralt doesn't realize how bad the fever really is until he falls off? (if that's not interesting or too specific, I can try again! no pressure to write this!)

anonymous asked: would LOVE to see a sick Jaskier with a cold while they’re traveling, and how Geralt would treat him being feverish and sniffly/how Jaskier would complain lol

AN: absolutely! so sorry this took a hot second, but here you guys go --- hope you enjoy! ;)

The language of Jaskier is above all a loud one... but just as subtle as any beast’s dialect, filled with intricacies and rhythms that Geralt cannot help taking note of the more he listens. It’s really not the same thing, of course. Non-speaking monsters really can’t use their words; they have no way to express how they feel, except by eating you. Jaskier hasn’t tried to do that. Yet. (Sometimes the way he eyes Geralt in the bath leaves him feeling the day’s not far off.)

To the contrary — if anything, Jaskier is too verbal. He doesn’t know how to shut up.

Getting used to this took longer than Geralt would have liked. It also demanded considerably more patience than he realized he had. Somehow, staking out a monster’s lair for days in complete silence is bearable... but Sitting through one of Jaskier’s endless rambles is asking too much. Even Witchers can only endure so much.

“Do you ever shut up?” Geralt demanded one day, cutting off the motor-mouthed fool in the middle of another tangent.

Jaskier blinked at him, as though seriously considering the question, then shrugged. “Not a talent of mine, really.”

Miraculously, he did, for a moment. Despite all his instincts screaming to the contrary, Geralt nearly allowed himself to believe his outburst had worked... until Jaskier steppes on a twig, just a bit too loudly, then said, “I was asked the very same thing in bed not too long ago, actually, by this glorious milkmaid — granted, her accent was too thick to make out a word, so she might have been asking me to pass her my ruddy lute, who knows. But she was very enthusiastic —“

And that started him up all over again. Damn the gods.

In spite of it all, Geralt would be lying if he claimed to hate Jaskier’s blathering too much. Sometimes it’s... unique, not being constantly surrounded by silence. He wouldn’t call it nice, not be a long shot, but... it isn’t altogether unpleasant. Jaskier can make for entertaining company in his better moods, and he does keep things interesting. A routine pack of wargs can turn into a colorful job, so long as Jaskier is along to elaborate on it later. Geralt doubts he cuts such a striking figure “swinging his sword to the leaping beast’s belly”, as Jaskier’s latest gig claims, but...

Sometimes, it is nice not to be surrounded by silence. Even if that means putting up with Jaskier’s mouth more than he would like.

Case in point:

“Geralt.” A whine, then a cough, then a passionate sniffle. “Can we slow down? Please? I’ve asked thrice already —“

Four times. Geralt’s been counting.

Gritting his teeth, he urges Roach a bit faster, conscious of the sound of struggling bard trailing a bit behind him. Jaskier makes no effort to be discreet when he moves, so Geralt can hear everything in perfect detail. The crunch of twigs beneath his heavy feet; the strain of his breaths, a bit more labored than they should be, a bit more congested; the way his chest rattles when he launches into another coughing fit. Even with a nasty cold, Jaskier’s loud.

“Just because I can’t catch it,” says Geralt once the latest fit has passed, “doesn't mean you need to cough on me.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry, I’ll be sure to aim my dying gasps towards the wilderness next time.” Backtalk is a talent Jaskier can’t help himself honing, even sick as a dog. His brows, foreword with childish petulance, draw even tighter together as he wraps both arms around himself, hunching in. A shiver courses through him; Geralt distinctly hears the rattle of chattering teeth. The second Jaskier catches his eyes lingering, however, he plays up his misery for the perceived audience, pouting and wiping at his face. Geralt rolls his eyes, looking away.

Geralt understands the patterns of many beasts, but Jaskier’s language was one of the easiest to learn. The Law of Jaskier: as long as he’s talking, he’s fine.

And he hasn’t stopped talking since early this morning. No, not talking — complaining. Gods help him, Jaskier hasn’t stopped complaining.

He still stubbornly follows Geralt out on the road, however; in spite of his red nose and phelmgy cough, Jaskier refuses to be left behind. It wouldn’t be the first time he chose to linger in a particular village which Geralt went on ahead, but Jaskier insisted the last one one didn’t appeal to him — “Everyone looks half-starved there. No wonder, the food tastes like shit. At midnight I half-expect them all to gather into a mob, hunt down the nearest visiting bard, and fry him on a spit. I have just enough meat on my bones, Geralt, but I wouldn’t be tasty —“

That rant devolved into a coughing fit that left Jaskier doubled over on the side of the road for five minutes, gasping and heaving. Geralt actually had to stop and wait for him. By the time Jaskier recovered, raising himself shakily up from his knees on the dirt road, he looked a mess. His face was bright red, tears lingering at the corners of his eyes; his chest still heaved. That was the moment any sensible person would have turned back… but Jaskier simply steeled himself and carried on.

Fool of a bard, Geralt thinks now, listening to Jaskier’s heavy footsteps behind them. He’s lagging, slowing them both down. His scent has picked up something unfamiliar, an edge of sour sweetness that can only be a fever. At least he’s walking on his own… but he’s not walking fast, is the thing, and they have to walk fast if they want to reach the next town before nightfall. As it is, the prospect looks doubtful; Jaskier has slowed them enough already.

“As soon as we find a bed, I’m collapsing in it —“ Jaskier pauses to sniff again, and clear a hoarse throat. “Then not getting out for a year. A year, Geralt. You’ll have to — drag me by my feet or something.”

“Something,” Geralt agrees, his mind flashing to images of swords and steel. Oh, he’d get the damned bard out of bed.

The trail gets rougher as they make their way further into the mountains. Even Geralt stumbles in places, and he’s built for this sort of travel. He’s wearing the boots for it. Jaskier is distinctly neither of these things. As Geralt’s must focus more of his attention on their way forward, he almost misses what’s going on behind him — the harshness of his companion’s breaths growing more and more labored, the way Jaskier’s coughs pick up force and frequency, the times he must stop — physically stop — to sneeze or hack his lungs out. Geralt tries to ignore it. He really does. But the fact that he almost manages, for about fifteen minutes, is what alerts him to a much more alarming fact.

Jaskier has stopped complaining.

As soon as Geralt realizes this, he jerks to a halt on the trail. Roach follows his lead… but Jaskier, his head down, doesn’t notice. Instead, he walks straight into Roach’s backside, nearly toppling off his feet.

“Agh — damn it, Geralt.” Even his indignation sounds listless. “Give a man warning next time, will you?”

“How,” asks Geralt, through gritted teeth, “do you feel?”

Jaskier blinks, appearing to weigh the likelihood that his companion is genuinely concerned or just annoyed. Whatever he decides, he isn’t wrong. Instead of offering an answer, he makes an inarticulate ‘hmm-mmm’, shrugging his shoulders. Geralt’s hard gaze bores into him. Jaskier shrinks under it. After a moment, the pressure grows too much; he breaks. “My head is pounding, to be honest. Feels… dizzy. I don’t know. It’s cold out here.”

“You have a fever,” Geralt observes.

Jaskier raises his eyebrows, then laughs softly, like he’s not surprised. “Right, yep, that makes sense. Figures you know me better than I do…”

He breaks off into another fit of coughing, which leaves his entire body quaking. Geralt has to actually grab his shoulder to steady him, just in case Jaskier should tumble over. As soon as he’s regained some kind of composure, though, Jaskier pulls away.

“I’ll be fine.” This time, there isn’t a trace of whine in his voice; he isn’t scraping the barrel for pity, but being deadly serious. “Not too long to the next village anyways, is it? I can make it.”

Geralt eyes him for a long moment, weighing the likelihood of getting there in a reasonable amount of time with Jaskier lagging behind. It’s not good. They’ve been making poor time as it is, because he’s had to slow his pace for the damned bard, but Geralt would prefer not to camp along the road overnight. (Because he doesn’t feel like sleeping on hard ground; not because Jaskier in his current state needs a warm bath and bed. Absolutely not.)

He sighs through his teeth. “Get on the horse.”

“What?”

Either Jaskier’s fever is high enough that he can no longer comprehend the common tongue, or he really is an idiot. “The horse,” Geralt emphasizes, patting Roach’s hindquarters in preemptive apology. “If you ride her, we may make it to the nearest village before nightfall.”

This is the one and only time Geralt has ever offered his precious horse; Jaskier knows this, as well as he knows this chance will never come around again. Maybe he’s just an opportunist. Maybe the promise of a roof over his head is that tempting. Either way, Jaskier doesn’t weigh his options for long before doing the sensible thing and getting on the damn horse.

Roach whinnies, making her displeasure at the entire situation clear. Jaskier isn’t helping matters, a dead weight on her back. The horse stamps her hooves, shuffling in dismay, but a look from Geralt chastises her. For the moment, getting the bard out of the woods will have to be more important than her dignity.

No, Geralt doesn’t like it either. One look at Jaskier’s face, though — the hollow-eyed pallor, and the distance, as though he’s drifted out to sea already — reminds him why it is necessary.

This time around, they are able to set a much faster pace. Roach keeps up, just as Geralt knew she would, even carrying the burden that is Jaskier. The sick man doesn’t help his case; rather than ride, Jaskier has both arms braces against Roach’s neck, clearly focused on just keeping his balance. There’s a precarious list to his posture which Geralt keeps an eye on, but he doesn’t actually fall; every time it seems like he might, he rights himself, and a new dawn of clarity rises over his face. It lasts only a moment, of course, before fading away… but it’s something.

It isn’t long before the woods begin to thin out. Geralt tracks their location by the trees, and by the hues of purple and gold beginning to blend together on the horizon. They haven’t far to go, and enough time to do it. Unless they run into any roaming monsters on the way…

He takes his eyes off Jaskier, and there’s the mistake. He forgets. When Jaskier was complaining, at least he was present; by airing his grievances he ensured that he could not be ignored. This quiet Jaskier is a foreign one, and Geralt isn’t used to him. So, he makes a mistake. He looks away, and doesn’t look back… until a gruesome thud echoes from behind him.

Geralt stops dead in his tracks. Roach lets out a distressed whinny. Jaskier says nothing at all.

“Fuck!” Geralt hisses, rushing back to the bard’s crumpled body. Face-down in the dirt, Jaskier makes no attempt to pull himself up. When Geralt hauls him upright with both hands on his shoulders, Jaskier groans, head lolling against his own chest.

Mud stains his cheeks, and a bruise is sure to form where he hit the ground hard. Even when Geralt seizes his face, though — and damn it, he’s on fire, worse than Geralt thought — Jaskier proves incapable of focusing. An incoherent murmur passes through parted lips. It does exactly nothing to alleviate Geralt’s minor panic.

“Jaskier! Wake up!” Is he even asleep? Geralt can’t tell. “Say something!”

He means it, and the realization comes as an icy shock — never did he imagine he’d ever miss the bard’s incessant prattling. Yet in the sudden absence of Jaskier’s voice, silence rings louder than ever, and it’s smothering Geralt to death. He should have seen this, should have known, should have realized, damn it —

“Jaskier,” he hisses, hauling his companion to his feet. The full weight of Jaskier’s limp body melts against his own. When Jaskier’s burning forehead falls against Geralt’s shoulder, he shrugs, trying to rouse him… but nothing does the job. Even when Geralt, grumbling furiously, is forced to haul Jaskier back up onto Roach and leap up after him, the fever permits Jaskier to do little more than melt against him. His head lolls, eyes half-open and staring into nothing. Worse than it all, he is completely silent.

For once in his life, Geralt misses the damned bard’s complaining.

#the witcher #sickfic #jaskier #taylortut

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highfunctioningflailgirl · 4 years ago

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Whumptober No.21

The fever swept through the garrison like a wildfire, and, like a fire, they fought it with their bare hands and as much water as they could carry. An endless string of buckets was passed into the infirmary by those who had recovered or not fallen ill. Inside, the carers poured the water into bowls, jugs and kettles. Helping hands coaxed mouthfuls past cracked lips and cooled feverish brows. They washed their sick comrades and laundered sweat-drenched sheets. Heated, the water was used to clean medical instruments or soothe congested lungs with hot steam.

And still, the fever burned through the men.

Doctor Lemay had never washed his hands as much as in the last two weeks. His skin was raw from soap and water, but he’d learned that cleanliness was beneficial during any kind of epidemic, and so far he’d been among the few not having succumbed to the fever yet. Drying his hands on a towel, he let his gaze sweep over the twenty beds they’d crammed into the infirmary. Eighteen of them were occupied on this day, and Lemay had a feeling the worst wasn’t over yet.

No one knew what or who had brought this particularly vicious form of an ague to Paris, but it had infested the city within days. Lemay had reacted quickly, advising the King and his family to leave for their country retreat and not come back until the fever had burnt itself out, and, to his astonishment, the King had listened. Following his hippocratic oath, Lemay had stayed behind to help the afflicted - and found himself in charge of the garrison infirmary when the fever finally swept through the King’s own regiment.

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

D’Artagnan had appeared beside him on shaky legs. Young and strong, his body had fought the invader fiercely and quickly: His fever had broken this very morning, and the rash that had come with it was already fading.

“You can go back to bed, young man,” Doctor Lemay told him sternly. “You’re barely past the worst, and you’re no use to me fainting onto these floorboards.”

As expected, the musketeer opened his mouth to protest: “But I can-”

“You can shut up and lie back down,” Constance Bonacieux’s voice cut him off.

The young woman had been a godsend. Capable, healthy and unafraid, she’d reported for nursing duty as soon as the first musketeers had fallen ill, and she’d been invaluable in their care ever since. Friends with several of the soldiers, she seemed to feel particularly attracted to the young musketeer from Lupiac. When his fever had spiked two days ago, she’d barely left his side, and now that he was recovering, Lemay watched the two of them exchanging passionate glances across the infirmary in spite of the misery surrounding them. The fact that Constance was a married woman appeared to be of minor importance.

“Honestly, Constance,” d’Artagnan insisted. “I’m fine. Fine enough to help the men-”

“Bed.” Constance threw him a glare that brooked no argument. “Now.”

Sighing, d’Artagnan rolled his eyes and wobbled back to his cot where he plopped down with an audible sigh.

Lemay couldn’t suppress a smile. Moments like these were a welcome ray of sunshine in otherwise dark days. They’d lost two musketeers to the fever so far, and at least four of the men in the infirmary were fighting a battle Lemay wasn’t sure they’d win.

Athos was sitting with one of them, gently washing the man’s face and arms while murmuring encouragement to the half-delirious man. The taciturn lieutenant remained a mystery to Lemay, looking at the world from underneath the brim of his hat with cool reserve, but displaying an unexpected amount of compassion for his fellow-soldiers now. Athos had been among the first to catch the disease, and it had hit him badly enough to still look pale and a little lost in his clothes two weeks later, and yet he’d barely allowed himself any rest. His reputation as a ruthless swordsman preceded him as well as his men’s admiration, and Lemay had witnessed his natural leadership at work when he’d reorganized the infirmary with Aramis as soon as he could stand without assistance.

True to their nickname, the Inseparables, he also never strayed far from the bed in the quietest corner of the room where Porthos was sleeping. The big streetfighter had been felled by the fever like a tree, and he’d only turned the corner yesterday. Athos and Aramis had tirelessly cooled him down and dribbled water and medicine into his mouth while also taking care of d’Artagnan and the rest of their comrades. Hardened men, none of them had been ashamed to hide their fear of losing their brother. Lemay had watched them pray, and one of them had always held Porthos’ hand as if they could physically anchor him to this world. They’d fought, fought hard, and they had won.

Not all of these men would be so lucky. Aramis was kneeling by an older musketeer’s bed this very moment, giving him the Last Rites. His dark head sunken in prayer, one hand on the dying man’s forehead, his soldier’s uniform was clashing strikingly with his clerical behaviour. The man was a contradiction in himself. A gifted marksman, he was also a man of faith and a gifted healer. He took life with one hand and saved it with the other. Aramis also had the reputation of being a womanizer, and judging by his dashing appearance and easy charm, Lemay easily believed it.

However, women had played no role in the last two weeks for this man who’d rolled up his sleeves and run himself ragged helping Lemay run the infirmary. He’d nursed Athos through his fever, then Porthos and d’Artagnan while never neglecting his duties for the other patients. His personal arsenal of herbal remedies had proven helpful, his medical knowledge surprising, and Lemay could not remember seeing him sleep.

Lemay’s heart sank when he saw Aramis stop in his prayers, cross himself and gently pull the blanket up over the man’s face. The solemn words “Go with God” drifted to his ears, and the men in the other beds fell silent. One of them started crying, and d’Artagnan went to take the man in his arms.

Aramis stood up and walked over to Lemay.

“Gilbert,” he said somberly, pointing his chin at the deceased. “He was in the regiment for more than fifteen years. Treville will be devastated.”

Constance joined them, looking sad but composed.

“We should give them a few minutes and then move him,” she suggested firmly. “We’ll need the bed.”

Lemay nodded. “I’m afraid so.”

“I’ll wash him and gather his things,” Aramis said, but Lemay frowned when he saw him swaying on his feet.

Constance had noticed as well.

“Aramis?” she asked. “Are you all right?”

The marksman nodded, suppressing a shudder.

“I don’t think you are,” Lemay disagreed and grabbed Aramis by the shoulders. He could feel the man’s body heat through the fabric of his shirt.

“Oh, Aramis…” Constance touched his forehead and pulled her hand back, wincing. “Why didn’t you say something?”

The marksman looked back at her from glazed eyes and shook his head.

“I thought I was only tired. I didn’t notice…”

As if pulled by an invisible string, Athos had appeared at Aramis’ side. He gave his brother one taxing look, then sighed.

“You, my friend, belong in bed.”

He made it sound light, but Lemay saw worry flickering behind the cool veneer. Like the other three, Aramis was a healthy man in his late twenties, never one to stay down for long when ill, but this fever picked its victims according to its own rules. They had a few long days and nights ahead of them until they’d know if Aramis as well would come out on the other side.

For a moment, it looked as if their new patient was going to put up a fight.

“I-...” he started, then broke off when his legs wobbled underneath him. Swiftly, Athos grabbed him around the waist and Constance slipped his arm across her shoulders.

“I’m afraid you’re right,” the marksman continued, bravado flagging. “I’m sorry.”

Lemay wasn’t sure what the musketeer was apologizing for. Falling ill? No longer being able to care for his patients? For worrying his brothers?

These men, the doctor thought in wonder as he watched Aramis being led to a bed and helped into it with tender gestures and uplifting words. They killed without scruple on the battlefield. They knew no fear, and one would think them callous and unfeeling. But here, within the walls of the infirmary, he’d seen the men underneath the armour. He’d seen compassion, care, bravery and love. He’d understood why they didn’t speak of themselves as soldiers. Brothers. These men were brothers.

(Read all of my Whumptober fics on AO3, here)

#whumptober2020 #whumptober #the musketeers #d'artagnan #athos #porthos #aramis #doctor lemay #constance bonacieux #infection #fanfic

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angst-king · 4 years ago

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Misery loves Company pt 2

Ito had become worried as her son had slept all day, it was six thirty now, she was making dinner. All day she’d been having a bad feeling about Eijirou, that what he was going through wouldn’t end well but. She shook this off and reminded herself that Eijirou was tough and that he’d be okay even with this nagging feeling in the pit of her stomach. Even though she knew Eijirou wouldn’t have much of an appetite, he needed to eat something, and soup was better than nothing. Putting some soup into a food thermos which could hold the perfect amount of food she knew Eijirou could stomach, she grabs a spoon and heads up to the teen’s room.

Coming up to his room, she could hear the muffled sound of coughing, thick wet coughing. Knocking on the door, she peers in and is confused as she sees Eijirou on the floor shaking and coughing next to his bed. “Eijirou? Sweetie, are you okay?” She asked as she set down the thermos and spoon onto the nightstand. “M-mom, h-help” Was all his raspy strained vocal cords could get out as he gasped and sputtered. She rushed down to the floor beside him and asked. “What's wrong baby? Why are you on the floor?” She pulled Eijirou close to her and he continued to shake. “S-so much p-pain momma, i-i can’t breathe-” He coughed hard and Ito grabbed the bucket just in time for him to vomit. When he’s able to talk about it he whimpers and grunts. “I-it feels like someone’s sitting on my chest, poking me with a taser and yanking on my bones, while I'm in the freezer section of the store.” This made Ito nervous, she quickly reached to feel Eijirou’s forehead and pulled it away just as fast. He’s burning up! It's like over the hours he’s just gotten worse! His coughing is getting longer and more frequent, and he’s in so much pain that he can hardly move on his own. He looks pale, very pale. Her alarm bells are ringing louder and louder as Eijirou is clinging to her with a weak grip. She can hear him struggling to breath, she can hear his wheezing and congested breaths, he’s panting. What she didn’t know was that while Eijirou was sleeping, he’d had a seizure, which was a reason for why he was so shaky, he also was cold. Well that was the bad fever talking but he felt cold nonetheless. Snatching the thermometer and uncasing it, she asked Eijirou to open his mouth. He's too weak to keep it in his mouth on his own so she has to hold it steady under the boy’s tongue for him. “ 39.4” Her eyes widened as his temperature went up two degrees! She needed to get him to the hospital, she knew he wouldn’t like it but she had to, this wasn’t something they could just let him sleep through.

“Eijirou sweetie, we need to go to the ER. I know you don’t like it but we have to.” She says moving with urgency and purpose, she picks him up and sets him on the bed and grabs what she needs. She knew they were gonna strip him of his pajamas and shoes there so she didn’t even bother to grab him shoes or socks. She grabbed his medical bag, the list of his medications and records, she went into her room and grabbed her phone, purse and keys. She put on shoes before coming back to carry Eijirou who wordlessly agreed to going to the ER. He only nodded when she said they were going to the hospital. His limbs loosely dangling, she did her best to not jostle him around as she took him to the car. Buckling him up she puts his medical bag in the back seat, her purse on the floor of the passenger seat and turns on the house alarm.

She’s impatient as the garage door takes its time opening itself up and she makes it a quick task to get out and close the door without staying in the driveway a second longer. She’s on the road, she’s not speeding but she’d definitely be using the speeding limit range to the fullest. Eijirou is coughing up a storm, luckily there are trash bags for instances like these. Ito was trying to keep calm, trying to keep her adrenaline from making decisions for her. It didn’t help that mid car ride Eijirou had another seizure, she knew how to handle those seeing as there wasn’t much she could do she kept an eye on him as she drove.

When she pulled into the ER parking lot, she swiftly found a spot and parked. Unlocking the car doors she gets out, grabs her purse and Eijirou’s bag from the back before getting Eijirou out of the car. “Come on hun, lets go'' She says trying to hide her worry in her voice even though Eijirou is half conscious. Shutting the door with her foot she is almost running with the boy in her arms. Dashing into the ER the doors open and she calls out “HELP I need help please!” A nurse comes over, all eyes are on them but Ito doesn’t care. “What’s wrong ma’am?” The nurse asked hustling over to her, Ito explained to her “My son has Cystic fibrosis, CIDP, and epilepsy and he’s been having a bit of a flare up for a week and he just got so much worse today. His fever is 102, he’s coughing more than usual, he can’t move there much on his own, and he says it feels like someone is sitting on his chest and pulling on his bones. He’s had two seizures today, and he’s barely alert. The nurse nods and calls for another nurse to grab a gurney. “Okay ma’am, what’s your son’s name and how old is he?” “His name is Kirishima Eijirou, and he’s14.” “Okay- set him on the gurney, we’ll take him to a bay room, follow us.” The gurney arrives and Ito places the boy on that, he’s a bit curled up still coughing and shaking hard. The other nurse takes the lead and pushes Eijirou to the bay area. Ito isn’t far behind the nurse she’d met with as they go down the hallways. The nurses grab a doctor and things get moving. Giving the doctor the run down after he introduces himself to Ito as Dr Shidori, the nurses are hooking Eijirou up to multiple wires, lines, and machines. While this is going on Ito is asked multiple questions about EIjirou like. “How long has he been having a flare up for?” “When did he start going down hill?” “has he eaten or consumed anything during his flare ups” “what medications and treatments is he on?” “Is he allergic to anything?” Ito didn’t have trouble answering their quickly asked questions as the staff moved like a well oiled machine.

Ito felt two different feelings tugging at her, wanting to stay with her son, and needing to leave him. She wanted to stay not knowing whether he’d live or, staying to keep her son calm and to let him know she hadn’t abandoned him but. She felt so out of place though with the rush of people around her, in a way feeling useless, able to do much of anything but stand there and watch and answer questions or give permission. She didn’t really know what to do about this, there were so many emotions running through her, anxiety, hope, hopelessness, sadness. Finally her answer was given to her when the room began to slow down and the doctor began to explain things. They allowed her to sit in the chair next to Eijirou's bedside. “Alright Mrs Kirishima, we’ve got some time to talk.” The doctor started, Ito nodded, brushing back her hair behind her ears. “First things first, Eijirou needs to be hospitalized, from what you’ve told me this isn’t the first time he would be hospitalized. The flare up he is having is proving that one, his stomach isn’t absorbing his food and that means he’s very vitamin, minerals and elementally deficient, which means his immune system is weak also. I’m sure you understand this right?” He asked before continuing, Ito nodded once more so the doctor kept going. “We can not do the same type of monitoring as an inpatient long stay hospital can. You know why and you know that places that you’ve taken Eijirou to before will be able to observe him, do better testing and care for him….Another reason I mention this is because cold and flu season is starting a little earlier than what I’ve expected and it would be safer for him to be admitted they get him all better before hand or see what needs to be done so we’re not just releasing him back out to get tens times worse to the point where it could be too late. We can do some of his breathing treatments and stuff here, but it won't be as efficient. I will have a nurse call in to the local children’s hospital, and they will get things sorted out from there.” Taking in a deep breath, Ito sighed “okay, when do you think he will be transferred?” “I will have a nurse call and will get right back to you with that answer” Ito could understand why the doctor didn’t have an answer for her on the spot and could appreciate his honesty. “Now about Eijirou, his body isn’t receiving or taking on the medications he’s being given and he’s not taking on food either but we will give him supplementary food seeing as first of all he might not have the energy to eat, second it will boost up his sugar wich he needs but for right now he’s getting everything through IVs. We’ve given him fever reducer, epileptic medication, we didn’t have the type that he is on right now but we have one that works for the majority of young patients his age. He’s also getting potassium which is another reason for his trembling, his muscles were so tense from lack of potassium. We gave him a mix of midazolam and vitamin D as well. We’re just here to monitor his condition and give him as much help as possible till he’s transferred.” Ito sighed for what felt like the millionth time, she hated having to have her son be hospitalized in a long stay facility but she knew it was gonna be good for him.

All she could do was nod, when the doctor left them be for the night in the ICU. She contemplated making a phone call, it was about ten pm now, much later and Ito was restless. She didn’t know if she should call Emily or not? The other definitely deserved to know but she didn’t know whether she should call her now. Maybe she should call when she’s got more information so she doesn’t have to call Emily twice? Why wait though? Eijirou just had a medical emergency, he could die tonight! Ito knew she wouldn’t be sleeping any easier if she didn’t at least try to call Emily. Grabbing her phone, she called her wife. She didn’t hope to hard for her wife to pick up. Knowing most of the time it was a varying range of hit or miss, and it was mainly miss.

A little shocked the woman had picked up, she smiles hearing Emily’s voice. “Hi babe, d’you call to say goodnight?” “u-um no actually, we need to talk….it's about Eijirou.” Ito’s voice trails and Emily can hear in her voice this isn’t good news at all. “O-okay, well I’m here, what’s wrong with Eijirou?” The military woman sighs, Ito explains to Emily that their son is getting sicker and is going to be admitted to a long stay hospital for a while to see if they can get him better. When Ito was done Emily spoke softly,“i-I’m sorry you have to go through this with him a-alone babe. I-I wish I could be there I really really do.” you could hear sympathy but also regret. There were many days and nights where Emily contemplated her career path. Why would she join the army when she had a chronically ill son at home!?! Why didn’t she stay to help? Why put all of this on poor Ito who took the job of being a parent and business woman just to go back to her home country and join the military?!

It seemed selfish but this was her dream. Emily from a young age wanted to carry on the legacy of going into the military for her family. She had the dedication and spirit for it and when opportunity struck she took it but. She contemplated her choices. It was a year after Eijirou was born when she started to really contemplate going into the military and was given the chance. Ito and her talked it over numerous nights and Ito supported her the entire way there when the decision was made. Emily knew she’d be leaving her wife and son behind eventually but they didn’t know what she’d be leaving Ito to deal with as Ejirou’s sickness didn’t show up completely until he was six. Emily had left a year before then and when Eijirou was first diagnosed with CF and epilepsy it broke her heart, especially since he would be hospitalized for a long stay for the first time. She knew that for both Ito and Eijirou that being hospitalized and not being able to see the other as frequently as they would’ve before can be a bit traumatic. Still Ito always reassured Emily that she didn’t have to give up on being in the military for them, that they were fine.

Ito could hear the regret in her wife’s voice and spoke gently. “Emi, you have nothing to be sorry for. I know that you always feel bad for leaving me with Eijirou but. We made this decision together, and I don’t ever want you to feel bad about this. This was inevitable once we found out Eijirou was chronically ill and sure things would be a bit easier if you were here but, we’re doing great. I know that you wish you could be here in person to support us but, we feel your support all the way from North america...We love you so much Emi, you’ll be able to facetime him, and who knows, maybe you might be able to see him in person.” “Th-thanks Ito, i-i….I just hope he gets better, or I’ll at least be able to see him soon...I miss you both so much.” her voice cracking at the end Ito could tell her lover was crying. It hurt her to hear the other so upset, and she could understand why the woman felt this way. “Hey babe, I’ll update you when I get more information okay….I love you” “Okay love, I love you too.” They hang up, Ito puts her phone into her purse and gets herself comfortable in the hospital so she could try and get some sleep.

In the morning a nurse came in to check on Eijirou as well as inform Ito about the long stay at the hospital. They discussed the hospital, about how long Eijirou would stay there and who they’d talk to about treatment plans. Truthfully Eijirou’s stay duration would depend on how his body responds to treatment and Ito knew this, this wasn’t new information so luckily the discussion wasn’t very long, Eijirou would be admitted in by tomorrow morning. The day was rather boring, calling her work to tell her about her son being hospitalized as a way of keeping them informed and ready for any random call off days. Since she had the time, she headed home and backed a two week stay bag of clothes and things she knew he could take with him to the hospital.

Conversations with doctors, filling out papers and making sure everyone was on the same page, Eijirou was soon transferred to Tokyo’s children's long stay hospital.

#chronically ill Kirishima #chronically ill BNHA au #no quirks #polyamourus pride

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flowerfan2 · 4 years ago

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Part of You Indefinitely - Ch. 5

David/Patrick, M, 15k so far, A03

Summary: An accident sends Patrick to the hospital and terrifies David. What follows changes their relationship in ways David and Patrick never imagined. A story of love and its challenges.

Chapter 5

The next week is tough. Patrick has PT every weekday morning at the hospital in Elmdale, and while they’re getting better at making the transfer from bed to chair to car to chair to car and back home again, it’s still awkward and tiring. Worse, Patrick doesn’t seem to be getting any better, at least not where his ability to support himself on his legs is concerned. He still goes practically limp when David hauls him up, and David doesn’t know how to raise the subject, even though it’s right there in his arms.

By the time they’re into their second week since Patrick came home, David starts spending a few hours a day out of the house. He has a lot of vendor visits to make, since he had postponed everything that was on the calendar after Patrick’s accident. Patrick seems generally annoyed at him, but David can’t tell if it’s because he doesn’t want David to leave, or he wishes he wouldn’t come back.

Nothing seems to make Patrick happy. David came home one evening to find him messing around with his guitar, and asked if he would play something for him, but Patrick just snapped at him and refused. When David brought home cheese samples from a new vendor, Patrick complained that if they ate that instead of dinner, they were wasting the groceries he had ordered. If David offers to get him a drink, Patrick accuses David of not trusting him to do it himself; if David doesn’t offer, Patrick pouts.

Late Wednesday afternoon David lets himself into the house quietly. Patrick has gotten in the habit of taking long naps after his morning physical therapy sessions, and David doesn’t want to disturb him. But Patrick is wide awake, glaring at David from the couch the minute he walks in.

“I can’t believe you did this,” Patrick says. “It’s my house too, you know. You could have asked me.”

David takes in a deep breath and tries to remain calm. “Asked you about what?”

“Very funny. I hardly needed you to advertise my problems to the whole town. You know how I feel about keeping stuff private, and you did it anyway.”

“Patrick, seriously, what are you talking about?” David can feel Patrick’s anger like a wave, pushing at his chest and making it hard to breathe.

“Our fucking bathroom.”

David goes into the house’s only full bath, and sure, it’s a bit of a mess. But then he pushes aside the shower curtain and sees a handrail has been added to the back wall, three feet of diagonal reminder that Patrick can’t hold himself up. When he turns back towards the door he sees that there’s another handle next to the toilet. They are definitely eyesores in the midst of their black and white vintage subway tile, but he doesn’t think the aesthetics are what Patrick is upset about.

He goes back to the living room, where Patrick proceeds to yell at him some more. David zones out briefly, unable to come up with any response in the face of Patrick’s verbal assault, until his brain manages to catch on one accusation.

“Patrick, I didn’t do this. I had no idea. I didn’t ask for this either.”

“You told Jocelyn to come over to babysit, and then you had Roland come instead.”

David is shaking his head repeatedly. “No, I didn’t. I mean yes, Jocelyn said she would stop by, but I didn’t tell Roland to come.”

“That’s what Roland said.”

“You’re going to take Roland’s word over mine? You think I’m lying to you?”

“He said he texted you. That’s proof. You can’t deny it.”

David fumbles for his phone and shoves it at Patrick. “My phone’s dead. Has been all afternoon.”

Patrick tries in vain to turn it on, and then wheels himself over to the side table and plugs it in. “You said you would support me, and then you do this,” Patrick says bitterly, watching the phone as it slowly comes to life.

It’s incredibly unfair, and David can’t help but point this out. “Okay, one, I didn’t tell Roland to install anything, and I’d appreciate the courtesy of you actually trusting me here.” His voice is rising, and he can’t stop himself. “And two, what if I had asked him to install some safety handrails? It’s a good idea – you’re totally unstable in there, and getting you in and out of the tub is a disaster waiting to happen. I’m glad Roland thought of it – I wish I had thought of it myself!”

“Are you serious?” Patrick asks, his voice dropping low and, if possible, even more furious. “After everything I’ve told you, you want to bolt a reminder to the wall of how inadequate I am – how can you say that?”

“Oh, that’s rich – you haven’t told me anything, how am I supposed to know what you’re thinking?”

“You don’t even try. You don’t give a shit about what I’m going through. You’re just a selfish, spoiled brat.”

David feels like Patrick has gut punched him, and all the air flies out of the room. He stumbles back, shoving open the door and winding up against the car, hunched over and panting furiously. When he can breathe again, he gets in and drives away.

He winds up at the Wobbly Elm, which is a terrible place to try to drown his sorrows. He’s hardly anonymous here, and he instantly spots several people from the town. Before he can sneak out, someone sits down next to him at the bar. He leans his head down on the sticky wood, wishing he could sink into it and disappear.

“You don’t look too good, David Rose,” Ronnie says. At least it’s her and not Bob or Twyla or someone that might try to cheer him up.

“I’m not in the mood to talk, Ronnie.” He can hear how rough his own voice is, whether from crying or yelling, he’s not sure.

“Word is your boy’s having a tough time.”

David huffs out a laugh. “That’s one way to put it.”

“What are you going to do about it?”

David picks up his head and stares at her. “None of your business.”

She shrugs. “Fine. But you two have gone from the town’s sappiest couple to a pair of misery twins, and I don’t give you good odds unless something changes.”

“That’s dark, even for you.”

“No point in sugar-coating it.” Ronnie gets up from the bar and pats David on the shoulder in an uncharacteristic show of affection. “You let me know if you want to talk. You wouldn’t believe the shit Karen and I got up to when we were younger. It’s a miracle the woman still speaks to me.”

“Ronnie,” David says despite himself, as she starts to walk away. “I think I’m losing him.”

She turns around and gives him a long look. “Well, if you’ve noticed, he probably has too. Maybe you better talk with him about it, before things get worse.”

David nurses his glass of wine for a few more minutes. He doesn’t really want to go home, but he realizes that Patrick’s been alone there for almost an hour now, which makes David feel even more awful. He considers calling his dad to see if he could stop by the house and check on him, but that would just make Patrick angrier, and he’s not sure what that would even look like.

On the drive back he makes himself do some yoga breaths, which don’t necessarily calm him down but at least they push back the edge of impending panic that’s he’s been teetering on for the past hour. He’s not even sure what he’s going to say to Patrick.

<i>You’re just a selfish, spoiled brat.</i> There was a time when this might have been a pretty accurate description of David, but it isn’t any longer; it hasn’t been for a long time. And it’s never described the David that Patrick knows.

He and Patrick had their moments before they got married, but overall things have been so good, David was lulled into forgetting how devastating is to have someone you trust betray you. It occurs to him that may have been exactly how Patrick felt when Roland came in to install the handrails – as ridiculous as it seems in hindsight. David still can’t really believe that Patrick would take safety handrails as a betrayal, but it seems to have triggered Patrick in a way David doesn’t understand.

Regardless of the reason, David has never seen Patrick so angry. It was frightening, and hurtful, and David really, really doesn’t like it.

The ironic thing is that the person who is best at making him feel safe is the one who is scaring him.

Back at the house, David scans the kitchen and living room, but Patrick isn’t there. Gingerly, he walks down the hall to their bedroom. The room is dim, and David’s eyes go immediately to Patrick’s wheelchair; his heart skips a beat when he registers that it’s empty. But then he sees a long lump under the covers, and some small part of him relaxes.

Patrick got himself into bed, presumably without help. That’s a huge step. If David didn’t feel so desperately miserable right now, he’d be cheering.

The lump shifts and Patrick lifts his head up. His eyes are red and swollen. “David. You came back.”

“Of course I came back.” David can’t seem to move, though, standing in the doorway with his arms wrapped around his waist. “Um, look, I’m sorry-”

“What? No, David, I’m so sorry. I was horrible to you, I can’t believe I said those things.” Patrick gulps in air, and David sees that he’s crying, maybe has been for a while given how congested his voice sounds. “I was so angry, but it shouldn’t have been at you. What I said wasn’t true. I don’t think that. I don’t know why you put up with me, you’re not selfish at all, I am, I’m awful-”

That’s it, David can’t take it, he rushes across the room and wraps Patrick in his arms. “No, no no no, absolutely not, don’t you dare say that about yourself.” He pulls Patrick close and tucks his head into his neck, stroking his short hair. Patrick is a crying, trembling mess, sweaty and flushed. “You are the least selfish person I know, you are not awful, you’re not.”

“I screamed at you,” Patrick sobs. “I scared you.”

David doesn’t quite know what to say to this, because it’s more or less true. “You didn’t mean to.” He knows that’s true, too, as soon as he says it.

“I never wanted to be that person. I never wanted to hurt you. I’m so sorry, oh my god, David, I’m so sorry.”

David holds Patrick as he cries, heart-wrenching sobs that shake his whole body. He loses track of time, petting Patrick’s head and rubbing his back. “It’s okay, it’s okay,” David murmurs. “I’m here, I’m not going anywhere, it’s okay.” When Patrick finally starts to calm down, David reaches over to the bedside table and grabs a handful of tissues.

“Thank you,” Patrick says, blowing his nose noisily and wiping his face. He’s an ugly crier. David kind of loves that about him.

“So, um, how’d you get out of your chair?”

Patrick sniffs hard, then reaches up with both hands and grabs on to the top of the headboard to demonstrate. “I kind of swung myself over.”

David nods. “Good job.”

Patrick shakes his head. “Nothing about this day is good.”

David can tell Patrick just wants to burrow back under the covers and go to sleep, and he’s so close to letting him off the hook. But sticking their heads in the sand is what has gotten them here, to a place where even taciturn Ronnie Lee is judging them for their failure to communicate.

“We, um, we should really talk.”

Patrick pushes himself up to a sitting position, putting a little distance between himself and David. “I know.”

“I’m worried about you,” David says carefully, watching Patrick out of the corner of his eye. It’s hard to look at him directly and say this. “And, um, I’m worried about us.”

If possible, Patrick’s face goes even whiter, the pink splotches on his skin from crying standing out in stark relief.

“David, what… what are you saying?”

“Patrick, I love you, I love you so much. But we’re both struggling and I don’t know how to fix it.”

Patrick is shaking, and he opens and closes his mouth a few times before sound comes out. “But – but you want to fix it, right?”

“I absolutely do,” David says, biting his lip. “There’s nothing more important to me. But you have to want it too. Even if you’re in a bad place, even if you’re feeling lost, you can’t keep shutting me out. Patrick… I miss you.”

“The old me.”

“You. You’re still you.”

“Hardly.”

“That’s not true, of course you are.”

“You don’t believe that.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You treat me differently. Like I’m going to break. You won’t even touch me.”

David takes this in, trying to understand. “Do you mean sex?” he asks, puzzled.

“Yes, I mean sex,” Patrick says, quiet and sad. “We used to fool around every day, sometimes twice. Now all I get are vaguely reassuring hugs and pats on the shoulder.”

David is stunned, and somewhat offended – hugging Patrick is the best feeling in the world. “You told me you weren’t comfortable doing anything more,” David says slowly. “You were very clear. I was respecting your wishes. I was listening to you.”

“David, I was in the hospital – I said I didn’t want to fool around <i>in the hospital!</i>”

David takes in the appalled look on Patrick’s face, and suddenly he’s laughing like a crazy person, and Patrick is too. When they can breathe again, David takes Patrick’s face in his hands and kisses him hard, Patrick responding just as fiercely, until Patrick has to pull away and gasp for air.

“Still can’t really breathe through my nose,” Patrick coughs, and David bursts into laughter again, handing him another tissue.

*****

The next morning David wakes up with Patrick curled around him, warm against his back. For a minute he doesn’t remember Patrick’s accident, it’s just a normal morning in bed with his very favorite person.

“David?”

“Hmm?”

“We have to get up soon.”

Reality seeps in, this new world where David no longer has the luxury of demanding to be left alone until ten a.m., where Patrick is more dependent upon him than anyone has ever been before.

“Okay.” He starts to move towards the edge of the bed, but Patrick tightens the arm around his chest, and he stops, realizing that this is the first time in a long time that Patrick has held him like this. “Um, everything okay?”

“I love when you hold me,” Patrick says, barely audible. “You do it all the time, like it’s the most natural thing in the world for you to want to touch me. You make me feel safe. I should never have said….” He takes a deep breath. “I’d… I’d be so sad if you stopped hugging me. Don’t stop, okay?”

David rolls over and takes Patrick into his arms, pulling him tight against his chest, and wrapping a leg over his thigh. “I won’t. I love it too.” David’s heart is so full, he feels like it might overflow. “I love you.”

“Thank you for making this happen for us,” Patrick whispers, and David hums in response, their catch phrase making him smile as it always does.

“Always.”

#schitt's creek #schitt's creek fic #David Rose #Patrick Brewer

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ak47stylegirl · 4 years ago

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Okay compared to the last couple of nights, last night wasn’t actually that bad. Was it good? No way in hell, it was horrible! But it was better in the sense that I got 3 hours of sleep, instead of a half an hour like Wednesday.

I had definitely pushed myself too far with eating dinner, because around 11 o’clock I threw up again but this time i admit was a lot worse. I ended completely emptying my stomach, and well...there were moments where I was stuck dry heaving, stuck in that horrible stage of sitting by the toilet, feeling so horribly nauseous but unable to throw up. In those moments, I’m conflicted to admit that I ended up triggering my gag reflex and making myself vomit, just wanting to get it over with! 😫

I’m still coming to turns with that, making myself vomit definitely is not something I’m comfortable with, nor is it a thing I want to do again. But to my sick tired brain last night, it was better to just get it over with than to sit in agony, head over a toilet bowl for ages waiting for my stomach to put me out of my misery.

Anyway after that, my stomach was just too upset to sleep, so I ended up reading fic for a while. Tippy recommended I read Corby’s works, and ‘tumble turn’ is a really good fic. As is the follow-up fic ‘caught in the rip’ that I read this morning.

Tippy definitely helped me through the night and I'm so grateful she was there will to chat. I decided to try sleeping after finishing reading, and thankfully I was able to fall asleep but that didn’t last.

I woke up at around 2:30am, feeling horribly sniffly and blocked up. My sinuses were starting to ache and throb again 🥺 which made getting back to sleep very hard as my entire face was basically felt swollen, puffy and sore. My sinuses and nose being just so heavy with congestion,😫😭

The second time I fell asleep, around 3:30am, which was honestly more like my body making me pass out, fed up with the lack of sleep, I was able to sleep until about 4:49am. I wasn’t able to fall back to sleep after that and just ended up talking with Tippy.

And well that bring me to now, where I am just so exhausted, laying in bed as my sinuses throb and I try not to cough up a lung, which I am failing at by the way 🥺😭

I still don’t have my meds as my money hasn’t gone in yet but It should be soon hopefully. I think it’s a bit redundant to say that this is a stay in bed kind of day as well. I’m still feeling as unwell as ever, and the fact that I need to go out later today isn’t something I’m looking forward to 😫🥺

@misssquidtracy @godsliltippy

#thunderfam sos #flu #sinuse infection #illness

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thewatermelloncat · 4 years ago

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The Bond of First Mates

Summary: Smee looks out for Harry while he’s sick working aboard his father’s ship.

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Harry almost stumbles into the wall as he leans the broom he’d been holding against it. He is lucky he’s the only one in the hold, there is no way he could blame his lack of footing on the swaying tide, the water is flat.

With aching muscles, he reaches down to pick up the dust tray and tips it out the porthole. His headache spikes as he taps it on the side of the frame to get most of the dust off it before bringing it back through the window. After slowly turning around, he leans his back against the wall and slides down to the floor.

He’s so tired.

Above him he can hear his father’s crew working about the deck, lowering sails and fixing floorboards. They’re hard at work and he knows he should be too but he’ll just give himself time to rest for a few seconds, and then he’ll get back into it.

His peace alone doesn’t last as long as he’d hoped, the echo of boots clomping down the hallway towards him sounding soon after he shut his eyes. As the steps come closer, he slowly moves to sit up straight, getting ready to push himself back up to his feet. Though at the sight of his sister he sighs and leans back again, “just give me a minute.”

Harriet huffs and loops both her thumbs behind her belt, “I can give you more than a minute if you’d stop being so stubborn.”

“It’s not your minute to give.”

Harriet scowls at him, but it isn’t his fault that he’s right. She isn’t in control of their father’s ship. On her own vessel Harry would have been sent straight back to bed before the day had even begun.

“There’re plenty of people on the crew, you won’t be missed.”

“I won’t be, but he’ll know if I’m gone” Harry’s voice stutters out at the end into a short fit of chesty coughs, which he does his best to muffle into the crook of his arm. When he gets his breath back, he lowers his arm and uses it to prop his head up against his legs. His hand feels cold against his skin and he closes his eyes in both exhaustion and the inevitability he is developing a fever.

“Why don’t you just let yourself pass out? You look like you’re almost there” Harriet means to tease him but her tone comes out far more sympathetic than she means for it to.

He weakly shakes his head, opening his eyes to look at her.

“Harry, come on” she begs for him to give in.

He only shakes his head again before turning to the side to clear his throat into his fist, then pushes himself up off the floor.

Harriet closes her eyes in exasperation as he moves to retrieve the broom off the wall before making his way up to the deck. “Harry, just – please” she begs as she follows behind him.

“Day’s almost done, Harriet” he tells her with a slight edge to his voice.

“The day is done when the work is done. You know that!”

“Best keep working then” Harry concludes as he steps up onto the deck.

“That’s your solution? You’re being an arsehole, Harry!” the raising of her voice draws a few eyes as she steps onto the deck behind him, including those of Mr Smee.

“I’m just doing what I’ve been told, last time I checked that wasn’t being an arsehole” Harry says, pointing the end of the broom at her before beginning to sweep the deck. At his words most of the crew get back to work, the two siblings fighting wasn’t an uncommon occurrence.

“And while I’m being helpful, what are you supposed to be doing? Because I can sure as hell bet you that it’s not following me around.”

Harry made the mistake of putting too much passion into his last sentence and it sets him off coughing again. Shielding the deep sounds that rumble out of his chest into his arm, his other hand gripping the handle of the broom for stability. Eyes from around the crew are drawn back to him, even with them being villains there is no doubt in their minds that he is to ill for work. And it is this sentiment that has Smee abandoning his tasks at the sail and making his way over to him.

“That’s quite a cough you’ve got going there, lad.”

As exhausted as he is, Harry only nods to him before resuming sweeping at the boards of the deck.

“I think it’s time you turned in. Give the broom to your sister.” At the reigning first mate’s words Harriet visibly relaxes, holding her hand out for the broom in waiting.

Though Harry remains holding onto it. “But dad…”

“Your father has gone off to the market” Smee tells him. “As first mate the ship is currently under my control. You are familiar with that rule from your own crew, yes?”

Harry nods well aware of the fact, though he still looks hesitant and doesn’t make a move to leave.

Knowing why Smee tells him, “you’ve already shown your quality in lasting as long as you have. It’s high time you got some rest.” He offers him a fond smile before turning to Harriet, “see to it that he gets there, love.”

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Harriet had looked visibly sad when she’d had to wake Harry, letting him know that their father wanted to see him in his Captain’s quarters. He’d barely had the energy to shove his feet in his boots and pull his coat back on, feeling worse than he had before he’d gone to sleep.

His body shakes, but not in fear, as he stands in front of his father trying to explain why he had been missing from the working crew when he had returned to the ship.

“… as first mate he is permitted to make decisions on your behalf when you are absent” Harry says of Smee who stands by the doorway. He is envious of his position, much rather preferring to be in the place of first mate on his own ship.

“And why were you to not return after I arrived back?” his father asks him.

He doesn’t have time to answer that he didn’t know he had come back, seeing he was asleep, before an itch in his nose overwhelms him. With a heavy intake of breath, he pivots away from his father at his desk into his elbow. “Kt��CHhh… ihht'SHHhih…… ih’tCHH.”

It takes him a few moments in his tired state to regain his place. He sniffles forcefully into his sleeve, not caring about bad manners, before beginning “I was unaware of y” – he cuts himself off as his father interrupts.

“Speak clearly, boy!”

Harry closes his eyes in misery as he sniffles again, grimacing slightly as he swallows back congestion that had impaired his voice. “This is as clear as I can get it” Harry tells him, his voice still sounding garbled through congestion. Though the effort of trying to announciate his words puts pressure on his throat and has him muffling coughs into his arm.

“Cap’n, if I may” Smee cuts in, stepping forward even before Harry had gotten his breath back. “The young lad is clearly unwell. I thought it was in the best interest of the crew to have him return to bed, lest we risk an epidemic. I was hoping you would think the same.”

The Captain hums in consideration seeming to agree with his first mate, “yes, I see that. Very well.”

Next to him Harry feels Smee relax at his Captain’s agreeance.

“Though the lost work shall not go unpaid” Hook says to his son. “You will take up four extra shifts at the shop as soon as you are recovered, no later.”

Harry nods to show he understands.

His father being one for dramatics makes a show of stacking papers on his desk although he never wrote on any of them, “dismissed!”

Harry nods his head to his father as a sign of politeness before walking out the door Smee holds open for him.

As he sets off down the hallway, he releases another bought of coughs into his elbow as he walks, pitching forward slightly. He turns around when he feels a hand on his arm.

“I’m sorry my dear boy. I hoped better for you” the older man’s eyes are sad.

Harry shakes his head at his expression, trying to muster up as much of a smile as he can give him. “Thank you” he dismisses his statement. “It’s the best I could have hoped for.”

#disney descendants #disney descendants fanfiction #harry hook #harry hook fanfiction #harriet hook #mr smee #captain hook #sick #sick!Harry

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xmxisxforxmaybe · 5 years ago

Text

A Little TLC

Summary: Short and fluffy piece about mortal Ahkmenrah’s first cold--all he really needs is a little TLC.

After a long day at work there was little more that you looked forward to than relaxing with your newly mortal boyfriend. It had been a little over six months since Ahkmenrah had shown up at your apartment in the middle of the day and gifted you with the news of his restored life.

Knowing Ahk was yours for as long as you would have him, and you knew that would be for a lifetime, renewed your spirit. There was nothing more you enjoyed than seeing the world through his eyes—every innovation of modern life was fascinating for Ahk, and he never tired of learning about his new world.

He also never tired of showing his appreciation for you. Ahkmenrah was loving, affectionate, and endlessly interested in every facet that made up the woman you were. In short, it was difficult to believe he was truly yours, but day after day, when you returned home to him, he was waiting, a smile on his face.

Normally, when you got home from work, Ahk was practicing his reading. He had carved out a routine for himself, and in the fall, he was going to start university. Despite his fluent speech, reading in English was something that was taking longer than Ahkmenrah thought necessary. He worked tirelessly to develop his reading ability, and you were happy to help, listening to him read aloud, helping him as he sounded out new words and quietly explaining why some letter combinations in English made such drastically different sounds when put together.

At times, he grew frustrated and started muttering in ancient Egyptian; you caught a few phrases that you were sure meant “buried alive” or “eaten by scarabs.”

When you arrived home today, the apartment was uncharacteristically silent. You tossed your keys on the entryway table as you kicked off your shoes and glanced around before walking back to the bedroom.

Your brows furrowed with concern as you took in the sight of Ahkmenrah, fully clothed in his ancient Egyptian garb, crown included, lying on your bed as still as a statue with his arms crossed over his chest while his hands clutched his crook and flail.

“Uh, Ahkmenrah?”

He didn’t move, not even a twitch. At that, your heart began to speed up, your mind filling with questions, wondering if this were some sort of aftereffect of the tablet.

“Ahk!” you said as you rushed to the bed and clutched his shoulder, your eyes raking over his form and noticing his somewhat ragged breathing.

His blue-green eyes opened slowly, but your breathing remained unsteady, your heart still quickening its pace in your chest as you filled with anxiety.

“What’s going on?”

Ahk’s tongue poked out as he wetted his dry lips, his voice replying in a harsh whisper, “I am doomed.”

“Is it the tablet? Is there someone I can get to help? Holy fuck, Ahk! What should I do?” you said, your voice rising with panic.

“A plague has taken hold of me, Y/N. I haven’t long before I am gone from this world.”

“What?” you asked, tears of fear filling your eyes.

“My head, it pounds. My breath, it is short and ragged. I have lost all sense of smell, and my nose is leaking and tender.”

You could hear the ringing in your ears as the room filled with silence and you plopped onto the edge of the bed.

“Oh my god,” you breathed in a whoosh of exasperation.

“Yes. That is what I do now. I wait, and I try not to curse the gods before Osiris comes to collect my soul. But, Y/N! How could they give me such a short time with you?” Ahkmenrah looked at you, his sick eyes full of love and of quiet desperation. . . that was until you laughed at him.

Ahkmenrah’s expression changed, comically slow. His eyes filled with hurt, and his cheeks flushed as he looked away and said, “I had not realized our time together meant so little to you.”

“Ahk,” you said struggling to stifle your giggles. “You have a cold. You aren’t dying.”

“I do not feel cold,” Ahkmenrah said with a dismissive tone. “Please. Leave me to await my fate now I feel even more certain of death since my heart is broken.”

You steadied your expression and turned his face toward you.

“I did not give you permission to touch me, woman.”

You sighed and placed your hand on his forehead. It felt normal, and you lightly tapped your finger along his forehead and under his eyes.

“Does any of this hurt or feel uncomfortable?”

Ahkmenrah refused to answer you, his eyes fixed firmly on the ceiling over your shoulder.

You sighed and reached under his neck, feeling his lymph nodes and when you prodded along the swollen glands on the right side of his neck, he made a small noise.

“Your lymph nodes are swollen, your head is full of congestion, I am betting your throat is sore, but you don’t have a fever. It’s a common cold.”

“Common—how dare you, Y/N? I am not . . . common.”

“That you certainly are not. Who knew you got so sassy when you got sick? I shouldn’t be surprised, though. You’re such a princess.”

Ahkmenrah unclenched his crook and fail and tried to sit up in bed, but you pushed him back down.

“I’m teasing you,” you said through another giggle.

“I feel terrible, Y/N. This is no laughing matter,” Ahkmenrah said, his voice a nasal whine of misery.

“Oh, my love, I know you do,” you said, your heart aching for what he must have put himself through this afternoon.

You bent to press a kiss to his brow, careful not to disturb his crown.

“Didn’t they have colds in ancient Egypt?”

“A king never gets sick!”

“Well, king, you’re sick now.”

Ahk groaned.

“How long will I feel like this?”

“A few days. But you know what?”

“What?” Ahk asked, his eyes closed and his lips turned down in a pout.

“All you need is a little TLC. And some chicken noodle soup.”

“T…L…C?” he asked, puzzling over the acronym.

“Tender, loving, care,” you said, punctuating each word with a kiss to his brow, his right cheek, and then his left.

“So you do love me? And would have been devastated if it were death that had come for me instead of this . . . cold?”

“I can’t imagine living a single day without you, Ahkmenrah. In fact, I refuse to imagine it because my heart would shatter.”

“Truly?”

“Truly, my king. But if you ever call me “woman” again. . .”

Ahkmenrah looked sheepish.

“I misspoke, my queen. Forgive me—"

Ahk’s apology was cut short by a violent coughing fit, his crown bouncing off as he sat up and covered his mouth.

“Oh, gods. Please take me,” Ahkmenrah whined as he collapsed back onto his pillow with enough force to bounce his crown off the bed and onto the hardwood floor with a clang.

You hid your smile as you said, “Come on. Let’s get you out of these clothes and into a hot bath. The steam will help loosen up some of that congestion.”

“I am too weak.”

“What if I get in with you? Rub your shoulders? Massage your scalp?”

Ahkmenrah opened one eye.

“I supposed I can manage the journey.”

You bit your lips together to stop your grin.

“Rest. And this queen will prepare his lordship’s bath.”

“Y/N?” Ahkmenrah said softly, his eyes watching as you made your way to the bedroom door.

“Yeah?”

“I love you.”

“Not as much as I love you.”

Ahkmenrah’s smile couldn’t be suppressed this time, even by the dastardly cold that had claimed him, its brilliance filling your soul with happiness as you shook your head and made your way to fill the tub.

#Ahkmenrah #ahkmenrah imagine #ahkmenrah x reader #female reader #natm ahkmenrah #rami malek #rami malek character

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hawksmagnolia · 5 years ago

Text

In times of sickness we all need a hero.

Darcy is sick so Clint, Nat and Sam send her a hero to save the day.

A/N: Based on the prompt: “What do you mean you’re sick? You’re my partner in crime!”

Warning: Fluff, bathtime snuggles, sweet Bucky

“What do you mean you’re sick?! You’re my partner in crime! Who else is going to encourage me to do dumb shit?”

Darcy sniffled through the phone. “Clint, you’re perfectly capable in doing dumb shit all on your own.”

Clint considered this. “Well, yeah. But it’s not as much fun without you. Plus who is going to warn me when Nat is coming? Wilson sucks at being the look out. He gets distracted.”

“Sam gets flirted with. You get distracted. You’re the walking, talking poster child for ADHD. You’re like one of those monkeys who ate all the cocaine at that drug lord’s house down in Miami. Although you’d probably be calmer on coke, pretty sure it’s just like super Adderall.”

“Ha ha. Very funny.”

She sniffed again. “I’m going back to laying on my couch in misery and watching Hallmark Christmas movies until I feel better. Stay out of Tony’s expensive espresso or you’ll die and we won’t know because you’ll be twitching for another 48 hours.”

“Spoilsport. Call me if you need anything.” Clint made kissy noises into the phone and hung up.

Clint looked over at Sam and Nat. Natasha looked bemused and Sam looked annoyed. Which was his normal state around Clint.

“I do NOT get distracted.” Sam grumbled.

“You do get flirted with a lot though.” Natasha pinched his cheek and he batted her hand away.

“What about me?!” Cried Clint and Natasha kissed him on his pouting lips. “I threaten to kill people who flirt with you.” Clint smiled fondly at her.

“Now what?” Sam eyed Clint suspiciously. “I know you’re up to something but since we have Nat here I feel much safer.”

Clint cut his eyes at Sam. “You feel safer with her? She’s an assassin!”

Nat thumped Clint on the back of the head. “So are you. Give me your phone. He won’t expect you to be capable of this kind of manipulation.”

Clint looked hurt and Nat kissed him again as she took the phone from his hands. “We all know the stupid is an act.” She held the phone to his face to unlock it and then began to type on the screen. Clint leaned over to watch her and a smile blossomed on the archer’s face.

“Oh Nat. When you’re good…you’re good.” He plucked the phone from her fingers and held the screen for Sam to read.

“Damn girl. You almost sound like Clint in that text. Except it has proper spelling and grammar.”

“Not many schools in the carnival life.” Clint shrugged. “Doesn’t affect my aim. Find bad guy, shoot bad guy. The end.”

“Will you two idiots shut up? I’m setting the trap, let’s see if he takes the bait.” She pressed ‘send’ on the text and then spun around in her chair to watch the monitor screen of the gym where their mark, also known as James Buchanan Barnes, was working out.

Clint pulled out a box of caramel popcorn and kicked his feet up onto the desk where Natasha immediately shoved them off.

“Really Barton? Popcorn?”

He held out the box to Sam. “Want some?”

“I’m not sure why I’m still surprised by anything you do.”

Natasha shushed them as she saw Bucky glance at his watch before re-stacking his weights and going to his bag to get his phone.

“Hook, line and sinker.” Natasha smiled smugly as they watched Bucky pack up his bag and jog out of the gym.

——————————

Darcy laid on her couch in a pile of blankets as she wallowed in self pity. She felt awful, with a congested head and fever. Everything ached. Downfall of living with so many super people? None of them got sick but somehow they managed to bring home many, many germs to those of the non-super people variety. She coughed and considered calling Clint back so she could whine and then guilt him into bringing her food. She had food here but it was not food she wanted.

She had just picked up her phone when there was a knock at her door. She looked back at it before pressing her phone screen to unlock the door.

When the door opened Darcy desperately wished she had died and this was now heaven. Because that was preferable to the reality of the super hot super soldier actually seeing her looking like a hot mess.

And, dear gods of thunder, he looked super hot. His hair was damp and loose around his face and he was dressed like he’d just left the gym. His tank top showed off every single defined muscle of his arms and was just clingy enough to give a hint of those abs while his shorts rode low on his hips. He was also looking at her oddly. Which is when she realized she was not only staring, but staring with her mouth wide open. She snapped her jaw shut and felt her face burn with something other than fever.

“Darcy? You okay?”

“Um. Yeah. Peachy.” She tried to flash a smile but ended up coughing again. She heard a thump on her table and then a broad, warm hand was rubbing her back.

“Jesus. You’re burning up.”

She waved a limp hand at him. “I’m not quite dead yet.”

“Clint said you were sick and asked me to check on you. So I brought that egg drop soup you like since you can’t get me sick.” He pointed to brown paper bag on her tiny kitchen table.

She peered up at him. “How do you know what soup I like?”

Bucky smiled at her. “You order it every single night we get Chinese.”

“Oh. Oh!” She yelped as Bucky reached over the back of the couch and scooped her into his arms. She hissed as his prosthetic pressed against her fevered skin.

“We gotta get you cooled down Doll.” He carried her with ease into her bathroom. She was suddenly very, very grateful that she’d actually put her laundry down the chute earlier instead of leaving it in a pile on the floor. Keeping her cradled in his arms, he sat on the edge of the oversized tub and turned the tap on.

“What are you doing?” Darcy’s voice was a little muffled from being buried into his chest. She peeked up at his face.

“Told you. Getting you cooled down.” He kicked off his sneakers and reached down to peel off his socks.

“But why are you getting…less clothing-ish?”

Bucky laughed as he checked the water. “I’m getting in with you. I can watch your temperature with my arm easier than any other way.”

Darcy squeaked. “In with me?!”

He laughed again and kissed the top of her head which sent little tingles all the way to her toes. “I promise your dignity is safe with me. I’ll keep my shorts on.”

“What if I don’t want my dignity to be safe?” Darcy mumbled and Bucky chuckled.

Bucky turned the water off and shifted her again as he yanked his tank top over his head. Darcy tried very hard not to stare but she was 1000% sure she failed.

He stood, her still cradled in his arms and against that gloriously naked chest, and stepped into the tub. He sat, putting her between his legs with her back against his chest. She shivered a bit and he wrapped his arms around her.

“Sorry doll. But this-“ He plucked at her tank top. “has got to go.”

Darcy felt herself blush, she wore nothing under it, but Bucky leaned forward and whispered in her ear. “You have absolutely nothing to be embarrassed about. You’re gorgeous and should know that.” His lips grazed her ear as he slid his prosthetic hand over her stomach and lifted her shirt with his other. Once the soaked fabric was tossed aside he settled her back against him. His thumb slowly traced a circle on her abdomen while he used the other to run through her hair. Darcy practically purred as his fingers slid across her scalp.

“How long have you been like this?” His voice rumbled against her back.

“Mmm…I don’t know. A couple days? What day is it?”

“Have you been miserable the whole time? Why didn’t you call someone?”

“Clint and Nat have been checking on me. Steve came by too and dropped off some Gatorade and cold medicine. Sometimes you super people forget that not all of us have magic immune systems. Normally I’d have Thor bring me Asgardian medicine but he’s off in space doing space things.”

He pulled her a little closer and she snuggled into him. The water felt amazing on her skin and Bucky was warm enough to ward off the chill of the water and her fever finally breaking.

“Next time call me. I’ll come stay with you.”

Darcy craned her neck to look up at him. “Don’t you have world saving to do though? I’m pretty sure that’s way more important than babysitting me.”

Bucky pressed a kiss to her forehead. “I’ll decide what’s important.”

“Does this mean I’m important?”

“I don’t go climbing in bathtubs with just anyone.”

She sighed dramatically. “Of course you pick now to do it.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow at her. “You sayin’ you want to do it again?” His Brooklyn drawl crept into his voice.

“Only if you want to. But, I’d be either dead or a complete idiot to say no. Please know if I am asked about this later I will blame fever.”

“Then we will make a habit of this…especially when you’re better.” He flashed a wicked grin at her that made the heat she felt throughout her body have nothing to do with her illness. “But until then, out we go. I don’t want you gettin’ too cold.” He slipped from behind her and out of the tub, reaching to grab a towel. Darcy swallowed hard at the sight of his ass in water soaked clingy shorts. She crossed her arms over her chest self consciously.

“You done lookin’?”

“Um…no? I mean, I can lie and say yes but no. I’m not.”

Bucky smiled and held out his hand and Darcy slowly stood on unsteady legs as she attempted to keep her chest covered. Gently he wrapped her in a towel and sat her on the side of the tub before wrapping one around his waist. Grabbing the wet fabric of his shorts, he pulled them down his legs and tossed them aside.

Darcy gaped at him. Her brain shorted out and the only noise to escape her mouth was a wheezy gasp.

Bucky pretended not to notice as he grabbed another towel and tenderly began to dry the ends of her hair that had fallen into the water. She closed her eyes as he ran his fingers through her tangled curls until was able to braid it out of her face.

“Where did you learn to braid?”

Bucky was pulling a hair tie from around his wrist and he paused. “My sister. She was constantly running around with wild hair but she’d let me brush and braid it at night after her bath.” He secured her braid and stood. “Out of your wet stuff. I’ll be back in a minute, going to try and find you dry clothes.” He disappeared into her bedroom.

She heard him moving around in her bedroom. The idea of James Buchanan Barnes going into her underwear drawer was enough to make her yelp. He stuck his head back into the bathroom.

“You okay?”

“I..I can find dry clothes.”

He searched her face for a moment and then slowly nodded. “I’ll clean up in here.”

Darcy wobbled her way into her bedroom and stopped in surprise. Her bed had been carefully spread up with the quit and sheets pulled back so she could climb in. A bottle of Gatorade sat on her bedside- it wasn’t her normal flavor so she wondered if it was from him. She pulled on another tank top (this one with a built in bra) and dry boy shorts, kicking her wet ones aside. She was sitting on the edge of her bed attempting to get a pair of shorts up her legs when he came in still just wearing a towel around his waist. Without being asked, he knelt at her feet and slid them up for her. His fingers grazed over her bare flesh and it broke out into chill bumps.

“Into bed with you.” He gestured and she crawled up towards her pillows. He sat on the edge and pulled the blankets up.

“Are you leaving?” She whispered.

“Do you want me to?”

She shook her head.

“I’m going to put your soup up and grab dry stuff for me. I’ll be right back.” He kissed her forehead again and padded barefoot out of her room.

Darcy closed her eyes for just a second, she wasn’t asleep, just resting her eyes. She opened them again when her bed shifted. Bucky sat there in another tank top and shorts. His hair was scraped back from his face and the light from the bathroom cast shadows across his face.

“Hey. You good?”

Darcy nodded sleepily and he went to stand up but she grabbed his hand. “Stay.”

“I ain’t leavin’ doll. Just going to lay on the couch.”

She shook her head. “No. Stay here.”

Bucky’s eyes widened slightly. “In bed? With you?”

She nodded.

“You sure?”

She nodded again. He carefully went to the other side and slid under the covers behind her. Darcy sighed when she felt his body pressed against hers, her legs tangling with his. He tucked her head under his chin and wrapped his arms around her waist.

“Not exactly how I expected our first time in bed to go.”

“What?!”

Bucky laughed. “Sweetheart, I’ve wanted to do this for months.”

“I’m sorry. I must be delirious. I could have sworn you said you’ve been wanting to get into my bed for months.”

“Well, me into yours or you into mine. I ain’t picky.”

Darcy shifted and then rolled to face him. Her eyes roved over his face and she traced the angle of his jaw with her fingertips. “So, why the hell haven’t you done something before now?”

Bucky shrugged a little. “Figured you weren’t interested.”

“Are you high? How would I not be interested in you? Have you seen yourself?”

“I’ve got…baggage.”

“So does everyone. But you also have lots of muscles, pretty eyes and a great smile. And you’re a good person. You’re here, in my bed, making sure I don’t die.”

“You’re not going to die from a cold.”

“I might. This is why you have to stay. To protect my life. It’s very important to my health that you stay.”

“Well, if it’s that important then I’ll stay.” He pressed his lips to her forehead and left them there. His warm breath slid over her skin and she pressed a little closer. “You keep that up and I’m makin’ no promises about your dignity being safe with me.”

Darcy picked up his arm and draped it over her side where he curled his fingers against her skin.

“What if I say I’m feeling much better? Like I’m almost cured?”

“I’ll still be here when you’re actually well.”

“But..!”

Bucky cut her off by pressing his lips to hers and when she gasped and opened her mouth, his tongue slid over her lips deepening the kiss.

When he broke off from her, she looked a little dazed. “You’re really good at that.”

He gently kissed her again. “I’m really good at a lot of things. But for now, you need to rest.”

“Promise you’ll show me?”

“Hell yes.”

——————

“Told you it would work.” Clint tiled the box of popcorn to dump the crumbs into his mouth. “Wasn’t expecting him to go wandering the halls in a towel though.”

Sam nodded slowly. “I have to admit Barton, I’m actually kind of impressed.”

Natasha tapped her fingernail against her lips. “I think this is exactly the push they needed. Bravo Clint.”

Clint shrugged nonchalantly. “I’m a genius sometimes. Can we go eat now? I’m starving.”

“You just killed an entire box of Cracker Jacks. How the hell are you still hungry?”

“It takes a lot of food to power my big brain.”

“Come on Sam, let’s go feed him before he starts drinking coffee again on top of pre sugar. I don’t want to have to get him out of a tree again.”

“That was ONE TIME. And I could have gotten out. Eventually. I was almost out of my belt when Wanda got to me.”

“You were almost out of your pants and you damn near scandalized the poor girl.”

“Shut up Wilson. Food time. FEED ME SEYMOUR.”

Natasha, who had stood up, leaned over and kissed Clint. “If you shut up, I’ll buy a pizza just for you.”

“Deal.”

@the-ss-horniest-book-club @eurynome827 @cchellacat @daughterofsteven @sevans-is-my-weakness @sallycanwait68 @nano--raptor @buckys-broody-muffin @godofplumsandthunder @book-dragon-13 @fuckyeahdarcylewis @fuckyeahwintershock

#HBC #Wintershock #Bucky Barnes #Darcy Lewis

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rainbow-sides · 6 years ago

Text

Skipping School

Summary: Roman gets sick on a day he's supposed to drive his little brother to school. Logan has an...interesting solution.

Pairing: platonic Logince

Word count: 1,357

Warnings: illness, food mention

Notes: Written for a prompt from anonymous! Also, if you want to get told when I upload a fic, follow and turn on notifs for @rainbow-sides-fics. I'm posting on mobile bc I'm lazy so I hope the read-more works, apologies if it doesn't.

______________________________

The clock was ticking down dangerously close to 7:50, and Roman hadn't even emerged from his room yet. Logan had finished his toast already and was completely ready to be driven to school. He would be really angry if his brother made him late to school by deciding to sleep in on the day that their mom was out of state visiting her sister. Tapping his foot impatiently, Logan watched the clock for another minute before springing up, pushing his backpack away on the table, and heading down the short hallway towards Roman's bedroom.

"Are you awake yet?" he demanded, rapping his knuckles curtly against the closed door.

For a moment, there was no answer. Then a groan came from inside. "What?"

"It's almost 7:45!" Logan cried. "You have to drive me to school!"

"Oh my god, how did I sleep through my alarm?!" Roman sounded distraught. "Shit! I'm sorry."

Well, that can't be right. Roman never apologized for inconveniencing his little brother. "I'm coming in," Logan announced, and opened the door.

Roman had sat up in bed, his hair tousled and his eyes very bleary. "I'm sorry," he said again. His voice was hoarse. "I--" A sudden, harsh cough escaped him and he wheezed, trying to breathe. "I'm just not feeling very glittery today," he managed.

Logan wrinkled his nose. "Are you sick?" he asked bluntly. "I'm not getting in a car with you if you're sick. The last thing I need is to be the person who spreads the plague to every kid at school."

"I'll get up and...and put a mask on, or something." Roman coughed again. "And I'll wash my hands, I promise. I don't have the plague, nerd."

"Hm." Logan tilted his head. "Lay back down and go back to sleep."

"How will you get to school?" protested Roman.

Logan was grabbing Roman's phone off his bedside table and unlocking it with the password he had seen him use yesterday. "I won't." The number for the middle school office was saved in his contacts, and Logan pressed the call button.

"Hey--what do you think you're doing?"

In a far too convincing hoarse and congested voice, Logan said, "Ms. Katie? This is Logan Sanders, I think I have to stay home today. No, my mom is out of town...and my brother and I both came down with a cold. I don't want to get anyone else sick...well, I can ask her to call, but she's in California and probably won't be awake for a few more hours. Alright, I'll do that. Thanks." He coughed a few times for good measure before hanging up.

Roman was staring at him. "What."

Suddenly, Logan felt pretty uncomfortable. He hadn't considered that Roman would be mad. Though he was sure their mom would be understanding, skipping school was a bad thing to do. "What?" he replied defensively.

"First of all--" Roman broke off, another coughing fit seizing him. This time, he couldn't seem to get it under control, so Logan ran and got him a glass of water.

"Here," he said.

"Thanks," Roman rasped after having a drink. "First of all, I should be mad, but I'm just impressed by your acting skills. Didn't know you had it in you, Lo."

"Hmph."

Roman put the glass down. "Secondly, are you sure you're okay with this? You're usually so nerdy about your perfect attendance."

"I've already missed a few days this year when I got the stomach flu, so it's not a big deal. And nothing important is happening today. It's just a boring Friday." Logan shrugged. "Besides, I could very well already have whatever you have and I'm just not symptomatic yet. But I could still spread the virus, so it's safer to stay home anyway."

"You're logicking your way into skipping school, Lo." Through his misery about his illness, a hint of a smile broke onto his face. "I'm so proud."

"Shut up," Logan muttered. "Go back to sleep. I'll just work on schoolwork from home and maybe make some soup or something."

"You're so sweeeeet," Roman teased. He grabbed a tissue from his bedside table and sneezed into it. "Ugh."

Logan backed out of the room. "I'll call the high school too and tell them you won't be there today. Don't breathe on me." He shut the door and left Roman to rest, taking advantage of the quiet house to get some math homework done and put on a pot of the chicken noodle soup that their mom would usually be making if either of them were sick. Occasionally, he would hear Roman coughing, but left him alone for most of the morning.

Logan did end up calling their mom when he knew she would be awake and explaining the situation--she assured him that although he shouldn't have lied to the office, he did the right thing in staying home and she would call the school and back him up on his story this one time. She told him to take care of himself, and Roman, and then had to hang up to help her sister with something.

At a little bit after noon, Roman started coughing again after being quiet for a few hours. This particular coughing fit was a bad one. Logan filled a mug with mostly broth from the simmering soup and went to check on him. "Roman?"

"Uh-huh?" Roman didn't stop hacking up his lungs as he answered.

Carefully, Logan entered the room. "Here, have this." He gave Roman the mug.

A blanket was wrapped tightly around Roman's shoulders. His eyes were watery, his nose red. Without saying anything, he took a few sips. He stared straight ahead, seeming quite unhappy.

This is uncomfortable. Logan didn't like having to navigate the icky world of emotions, and Roman looked very emotional. "Are you al--"

"I wish Mom was here." Suddenly, Roman sounded very young. He was seventeen to Logan's twelve, and Logan often had to remind himself that for all Roman's brash attitude, he was still a kid, too. "I just…" He sniffled, his lip trembling as he clutched the warm mug.

"Would you like to call her?" Logan suggested hesitantly.

Roman shook his head. "N-no. I'm fine."

Logan shifted back and forth on his feet. "Can I do anything?" he offered, unsure.

"No, I'm fine, I just…"

"Roman?"

"I just wish Mom was here, okay?" snapped Roman. "'cause I'm pathetic. One stupid cold and I'm crying for my mommy."

"I…" Logan took a step back. "Don't get angry."

"I'm not fu--I'm not angry!" Roman growled. "Go away, okay?"

Logan took a deep breath and held his ground. "I obviously cannot bring Mom home from California immediately, and I understand that it is difficult to be ill when she isn't here to help. But I am doing my best. Do not take your frustration out on me."

Slowly, Roman sat back. "Right. Sorry."

"That must be a record, you apologizing to me twice in one day," Logan said dryly.

Roman half-smiled and didn't reply as he drank more of the soup.

"Anyway, I finished my algebra homework for the next week and a half, so I decided it would be alright to take a break. Would you like to watch something with me?"

"Sure," Roman said. He glanced at his little brother. "You can put on one of those space documentaries you like. I'm too sleepy and out of it to appreciate any shows I'd pick, anyway."

Recognizing the gesture as a peace offering that meant more than any apology, Logan nodded. "Come out to the living room when you're ready. I'll make sure that there are plenty of blankets out for you. And I'll put on some water for lemon and honey tea."

"Gross," Roman said half-heartedly.

"It will help with your cough," Logan insisted.

"I know, I know." There was a brief pause. "Okay, I'll be out in a minute."

Logan nodded. "I'll wait for you," he said, and went out into the living room to pick something to watch that Roman wouldn't hate. He would try, at least. His brother had absolutely no taste.

#platonic logince #logan sanders #roman sanders #skipping school #my writing

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yoga4ullc · 4 years ago

Text

My Covid Journey

This commentary is in no way meant to take Covid lightly, but I handle uncomfortable situations with a bit of humor (thanks dad for my weird sense of humor).

Day one of the onset of symptoms, it was a Friday, I had taught several yoga classes the day before and felt fine. I cleaned house and went grocery shopping that morning, was looking forward to a free afternoon and going out for a drink that evening. You know what they say about making plans! That afternoon started feeling like I was coming down with a head cold, a lot of congestion, so decided it was best to stay home.

Day two my ‘head cold’ continued to get worse. Couldn’t believe with social distancing and wearing a mask everywhere that I could catch a cold…WTH? The congestion and headache were getting out of control. I started using nasal spray like an addict going for a line of cocaine!

On day two my husband started showing symptoms as well.

Day three was the doozy! Today I started running a fever and felt like I had been hit by a truck, not just any old truck, but a huge dump truck filled with garbage. If anyone had asked, I would have said just go ahead and put me out of my misery.

By day four (Monday) I was feeling better, still very congested but at least I wasn’t begging for blessed release. And of course this is when I lost my sense of taste and smell, oh Covid you are a wicked bitch!

The next few days went on about the same, not getting better, but thankfully not getting worse.

During this time I couldn’t read a book or sit at the computer, both made me sick, so I think we have watched half the movies on Netflix, Amazon, and Hulu.

On Wednesday we went and got a Covid test, although by now I already knew the answer. Now if you haven’t had a Covid test it is an adventure in itself. First the Med clinic had their thermostat set at 82, I wondered if they were trying to cook the virus from me. Then the special treat of having a long Qtip

inserted up my nostrils to my 3rd eye. I must admit I handled it much better than my husband (at least it wasn’t a needle)! I wish I had been in a better frame of mind and I would have recorded my husband’s reaction to his test, could have provided chuckles for so many. Even as sick as I felt, I couldn’t stop laughing (there goes that weird sense of humor again).

Thursday we got the results and of course they were positive. Now I continued to feel about the same, not better, not worse. So the ‘bitch’ as she is now known in our household, decided to throw a little something extra my way. I can’t breathe due to the congestion, headache, no taste or smell, absolutely no energy, so what could be next you ask???? Now I have developed a rash all over my back and slowly creeping around to my belly. Oh she is a wily little bitch, with her own warped sense of humor.

Now I make it to Friday, exactly a week with this uninvited guest in my home and body. What can she do to mark this special anniversary but bring my fever back. I spent Friday flat on my back, too sick to even want to watch television. Friday night was spent with chills and sweat, I felt like I was being plagued by menopausal symptoms non-stop.

Finally Saturday I started feeling a bit more normal. No more fever, less nasal spray, my taste and smell have almost returned to normal, and my rash has turned into a lot of little scabs (yes, it’s as attractive as it sounds). I am a little sad that most women I spoke with talked about their huge weight loss on this less than desirable diet. I started out losing 5 pounds almost immediately, but that’s where it stopped. The ‘bitch’ was not going to let me get anything good from this experience.

It is now Sunday, I’m feeling pretty good, although I’m afraid to even say it out loud, that the ‘bitch’ may decide to deliver another special treat. I still don’t have much energy but as you can read I am able to sit at my computer for short periods again. This virus is really strange as it delivers different symptoms to different people. My husband and I developed symptoms within a day of one another, yet we experienced very different symptoms.

I don’t wish this on anyone, as it has not been a fun journey. But I am grateful that we stayed out of the hospital and seem to be on the mend. So grateful for my daughter who lives nearby and kept us stocked on Gatorade, thermometers, bread and Nyquil, and for my mentee and friend who made a special delivery of soup broth and fresh squeezed orange juice!

As long as the ‘bitch’ doesn’t decide to rear her ugly little head again, I hope to be back teaching soon.

Namaste~

#covidjourney covidbitch baddiet

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