#me n my shitty immune system against the world

[sunlit-mess]

D3: Tongues & Teeth

[thinkingoutlouddblog]

Only For You - h.s.

Summary: H is usually pretty in tune with his body, but he’s apparently not very good at picking up when he’s getting sick. 

Word Count: 5k

Warnings: mentions of covid, plus me taking a guess at how covid testing in the US and at events works so sorry for any potential inaccuracies, I mostly used my knowledge of Aus but honestly its described all very generally

A/N: this took longer than I thought it was going to because I started and then got sick a couple days in :/ I’m still sick but she is done! If you have any requests pls send them my way!

Masterlist  ///  Send me an ask!

Harry is never sick.

He was so strict in his fitness and health, his immune system was better than almost anyone’s you knew. You were pretty sure someone could cough directly into his mouth and it would somehow boost his immune system by giving it a chance to exercise. There had to be fifty times over the course of your relationship so far you were sure you were going to pass on whatever illness you had acquired at the time. You always waited patiently for the other shoe to drop, for him to exhibit your exact symptoms and to be awash with guilt at his sickly state, but it never did.

It is such a rare occurrence, in fact, that he can tell you exactly the last time he came down with something. It was August 2019, he was in LA, and he had ended up missing two Fine Line album release related meetings. He remembered it because you had been in New York, tied up in projects of your own. You had pushed your flight up as a surprise to get home and take care of him, but by the time you touched down he had already been on the mend, and was sat in a rescheduled meeting when you opened the door to your shared home.

He could not recall, however, the earliest warning signs of a flu coming on, having experienced them so infrequently.

He dismissed the heavy tired feeling that had settled upon him, certain it was simply the aftereffects of intensive Grammy rehearsals. True to his perfectionist tendencies, he had been tireless in his efforts to make this one of his best performances and had been spending hours practicing a song you were pretty sure he could nail in his sleep. You said nothing of the fact that you thought he perhaps was spending more time than strictly necessary on this, of course, never wanting to undermine his process or invalidate his feelings of being under intense pressure. You just assured him you thought he was amazing and provided opinions and input whenever he asked it of you. He was overworking himself, but he was not deterred until the lights went down after his extremely successful (and extremely sexy, if you did say so yourself) performance.

Two days later, he was sure his hangover had extended over into a second day as he become aware of a dull ache in his head while awaking from his slumber. He groaned, rubbing his face as he rolled towards you, pulling you against his chest. He breathed deeply, cursing himself for drinking so much and sleeping so little only momentarily before thinking, hey, how many times do you win a Grammy? You stirred at his movement, eyes fluttering open only slightly before you shut them again and snuggled deeper into his chest. You sighed in contentment, loving nothing more than the comfortable feeling you can only get waking up in the morning, still on the edge of sleep. It had always been one of your favourite things, and it was only ever made better by waking up in Harry’s arms.

“I hate getting old,” he mutters into your hair, pressing a kiss where his lips had tickled your forehead.

“What?” You laughed at his unsolicited statement.

“Two-day hangovers are supposed to be reserved for after you hit thirty. But clearly, I’m older than I think I am because they have come for me and I am not enjoying it.”

You wriggled up in his embrace, so that you were face to face, giggling at him as you did say. “Oh god, do you think we should start thinking about retiring?”

“You’re supposed to tell me I’m not old!” He tightened his grip on you as he exclaimed in indignation.

“I mean what can I possibly say, H? Two-day hangover? You’ve basically got a foot in the grave,” you jested, but leaned in to peck his cheek at his faux sour expression.

In response, he released his grip on you and rolled away until he was at the very opposite edge of the bed in a big huff. You only laughed harder at his antics. You followed him to his side of the bed, wrapping your arms around him from behind and placing gentle kisses to the side of his neck.

“Darling, have you considered, maybe, just maybe, this two day hangover has nothing to do with the fact that you are getting older and more to do with the fact that you were working yourself to the bone for a month and then partied like the world was ending?” You pressed another lingering kiss to his neck. “Or perhaps like someone who had just won a Grammy?” A smile broke over your face at the memory, a fresh wave of pride washing through you, somehow still managing to leave you buzzing.

“Nope, I refuse to hear that. My youthful body is supposed to be stronger than any party, even an I-just-won-a-Grammy party.” You snorted in his ear, completely unsurprised by his steadfast stubbornness.

“Alright then old man,” you rolled away from him and hopped out of bed.

“Hey,” he called out, both at the jab and your exit from bed.

“Since my big shot Grammy winning, senior citizen boyfriend is still feeling a bit dusty I suppose I’ll bring him a coffee in bed,” you sing out over your shoulder as you make your way to the kitchen, craving the caffeine yourself.

He knew you were making fun of him to highlight how melodramatic you thought he was being. Each comment about him being old was really made to tell him just how young he was and how little you thought he had to worry about.

He sighed, wanting nothing more than to remain motionless in the warm comfy bed but having no choice to get up and make his way to the bathroom before he could enjoy his coffee in bed. (And maybe some lazy morning sex, he was sure that would help relieve some symptoms). His whole body felt heavy as he rolled out of bed, his limbs and shoulders feeling almost as though they were made of lead.

His brow scrunched as he slowly made his way to the toilet to relieve himself. This really was some day two hangover, he thought. I don’t care what y/n thinks, I’m pretty sure this is one of those moments where you realise your prime is coming to an end.

He flinched as the sunlight pouring in through the frosted glass of the bathroom window hit his face, instantly doubling the force of his headache. He grumbled and scrunched his eyes until they were nearly shut, attempting to minimise the light infiltrating his vision. He did his business as quickly as his protesting body would allow.

By the time he had returned to bed and bundled himself back under the covers the kettle had boiled and you were on your way back to your room. You shuffled along slowly, pausing every two steps to stop your nearly full mugs from spilling over the edge. Harry loved to point out the coffee drips that you left along the floor in your shared home so frequently. They were spread far and wide, and in fairness to you, most of the time you didn’t realise you had done it, else you would have wiped it up immediately.

“H?” you called softly, as you looked up from the mugs to see only a Harry sized lump under the doona as evidence that he was even there.

When you received only an, “Mmm?” in response you continued your slow spillage-avoiding pace up to his bed side table, placing the cup down gently.

“Are you feeling okay baby?” you kneeled down beside him, stroking his hair back from his face.

“Jus’ tired,” he muttered, not opening his eyes.

This shocked you somewhat. He’s always been a morning person, and never tended to sleep in two days in a row. The two of you had spent the morning in bed yesterday, having only crawled in in the (not even that) early hours of the morning and spent the rest of the day lazing about the apartment, nursing respective hangovers. Even with complaints of his hangover extending over into a second day, you had expected him to be itching to throw himself back into his routine, not curled up in bed still feeling shitty.

“You can back to sleep,” you assured, even though he seemed to already be halfway there. “Your coffee’s there if you want some.”

You pressed a kiss to his forehead before leaving him to it, closing the door softly on your way out.

Two hours later, Harry stirs once more from his sleep. His throat is dry as a bone, and his once dull headache is now pounding. He lifts his heavy head off the pillow and his eyes fall to his now cold coffee. He reaches over and takes a gulp, hoping to ease the feeling in his throat. Is not uncommon for him to awaken with a dryness to his throat, he often finds a hot coffee is enough to solve the problem, but alas, he is desperate enough to settle for the cold one before him for now. Instead of the relief he is craving, a burst of pain shoots through his throat each time he swallows a mouthful. He coughs as he places the mug back down, unwilling to have another sip.

And oh Jesus, it finally hits him. He’s sick.

All the signs he had shrugged off now became blaringly obvious to him in retrospect. And oh fuck.

Alarm bells go off in his brain as he registers the risk of what exactly this could be. He scrambles for his phone on his bedside table.

Harry: Don’t come upstairs.

You glance down at your phone as you feel the buzz of the notification. You had spent the morning pottering around the house, catching up on little chores the two of you had neglected over the past few days in the Grammy busy-ness and subsequent hangover. Happy with your efforts, you had settled back into having a lazy morning and were watching television on the couch quietly.

“Harry?” you call out in confusion as you read his text, already pausing the TV and standing up, intending to do the exact opposite of following his advice.

You can’t have made it three steps before he’s calling you. The wave of confusion is soon followed by one of extreme worry as you pick up the phone.

“What the fuck is going on?”

“Don’t come up I’m sick,” he spoke hoarsely.

“What do you mean?”

“Darling, it could be covid you can’t come up here,” he was cursing himself on the other end of the line. He should have been paying more attention to what his body was trying to tell him. Shouldn’t have been risking you like this. If he had it, he was sure he had already infected you too and guilt gnawed away at him.

This stops you in your tracks. You hesitate, you do. But ultimately, you know if he has covid, you’re probably already infected. If he does have it, which you are praying he doesn’t because young as he is, healthy as he is, there is always a risk. The worst running through your mind. If the worst were to happen, you would curse yourself until the day you died for not going to him right now.

“It’s not covid,” you tell him firmly.

“Baby-“

“Your tests from before the Grammy’s were negative, and we should be getting more test results back any minute that will be clean too,” you’re on the move again, absolute in your resolution. The both of you, along with all the other attendees of the ceremony, had been tested both before and after. They were meant to text each of you with your results any minute (or call, if they were positive, but that was a possibility you were trying to put aside).

“Even so, we can’t risk it until we get the results.” At the sound of your footsteps on the stairs he spoke your name sternly, halting your steps again.

“Harry,” you countered, matching his tone.

“Please don’t fight me on this. If you’re so sure that the result is going to be negative, and that they’re going to come in any second,” he pauses to cough, lungs and throat protesting with each word he speaks, “then a little while in bed by myself won’t kill me.”

“But-“

“Darling, please. If it is covid, I’ll never forgive myself for not doing everything in my power to try and keep you from getting it too,” the quiet desperation in his voice is the only thing that could break your resolve.

With a long exhale, you turned back down the stairs but kept the phone to your ear.

“Fine,” you huffed, “but only because I was always taught to respect my elders.”

“See that’s the good news,” he half laughed, half coughed at the exhalation of breath, “I’m not an old man with a two-day hangover, just a young man with an unspecified illness.”

“Do you still have your smell and taste?” you asked worriedly.

“I could definitely taste the cold ass coffee I just drank,” he rasped. He paused for a beat, hearing only the rustling of sheets. “And our bed still smells like you,” you heard the smile behind the comment, appreciating his sweet reference to the love he often professes he has for the way you smell.

“Sometimes I feel like it’s nothing you’re putting on, and sometimes I think it’s everything you’re putting on plus just, you. There’s no other smell like it and I wish I could just bottle it up and have it forever. Bloody aphrodisiac,” he had once told you.

“And you’re not running a fever?” You chewed the inside of your lip as you fired questions at him, a bad habit that reared its head when you were worried, stressed or concentrating hard.

On his end of the line, he felt his forehead for warmth. “Umm,” he considered it, “I’m not sure. Probably not.” He was actually pretty sure he had the beginning of one, but he could tell you were freaking out and he didn’t want to worry you any further until he heard for sure.

“I’m going to grab you a thermometer and some cold and flu tablets,” Harry immediately started to protest but you didn’t let him start. “I’ll put a mask on and just leave them outside the door. I’ll grab you some water and something to eat too. I’m not just leaving you sick up there with nothing.”

He sighed into the phone. “I’m not going to win this argument, am I?”

You scoffed. “Of course not, I let you win the last one not more than five minutes ago.”

He sighed once more, and you rolled your eyes at your overdramatic boyfriend. “Fine, but you have to be in and out.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you leaned the phone between your ear and your shoulder as you grabbed what you needed for him.

“I’m not joking, y/n. You have to be quick.”

You bit your tongue, refraining from snapping back. Did he seriously think you were stupid? You knew he didn’t, he was just sick and stressed about the situation, but that didn’t stop the flare of annoyance that burst through your chest. You shook it off, knowing it was misplaced.

“Okay I’m going to put the phone down so I can pop a mask on and run up,” luckily, you had a million masks around the house ready to go.

“Kay,” he muttered, eyes feeling droopy all over again.

You pull your mask on, and with arms full of supplies dashed up the stairs. Once you arrived at the door, you placed down the cold medication, water and thermometer as well as the banana you had snatched off the kitchen counter before turning and running back down the stairs.

As soon as you’re back down the stairs, you’re pulling your mask off and putting the phone back to your ear. You faintly hear the close of your bedroom door, deducing Harry had grabbed everything.

“I’m back,” you acknowledged your presence on the phone.

“Thank you for that, my love.”

Your phone dinged in your ear, indicating a new text message. You pulled it away from your ear to examine the contents of the text.

You breathed a small sigh of relief.

“They just texted me my covid test results, they’re negative.” Everyone had been tested upon their exit of the Grammy afterparty.

There was a pause on the other end of the line. You silently prayed that pause wasn’t caused by him examining another incoming call, suggesting his results were positive and required an actual conversation.

“Mine are negative too,” he exhaled, you could hear the relief in his voice.

“Oh, thank god,” you said, already turning to go back up the stairs, taking them two at a time.

“I thought you were confident I didn’t have it,” he teased.

“Sorry somebody had to put on a brave face for Mr Worry Wart,” you teased right back. You hung up the phone as you reached the top step. Turning to the left and opening the door to your room.

You stride over to the bed wordlessly and climb in on your side, instantly wrapping both arms around him. He relished the embrace. You loved to poke fun at him, but sometimes the humour was just a way for you to mask how you were really feeling about things and deflect. Harry usually doesn’t point it out but he’s always aware of it.

“I love you,” he whispered, voice still croaky.

“I love you, too,” you pressed a chaste kiss to his cheek.

You stayed like that for a moment longer before you swung into action, full nurturing mother bear mode activated.

“Now, have you taken your temperature? Taken some of the cold and flu tablets?”

At the shake of his head you frowned at him. “Come on then. You do that while I go make you a nice hot tea to soothe your throat. And a box of tissues,” you added at the sight of him sneezing practically hard enough to shake the room.

So back down to the kitchen you went for the third time that day, grabbing him both the tea, the tissues and a nice hearty bowl of porridge, figuring it would be gentle on his throat. “Temperature?” you asked as soon as you crossed the threshold of your doorway.

“No fever,” he punctuated with a cough.

You frowned as you watched it happen, his eyes were rimmed red, his nose beginning to run. He sat up in bed as you handed him the bowl of porridge. You placed the tea down so you could also hand him the box of tissues that had been tucked up under your arm.

“Thank you so much for all this, angel. But you don’t have to wait on me hand and foot, I’ve got a cold, I’m not bed bound,” he grabbed my hand and traced the outside of my hand as he spoke.

“I know I don’t have to do it, but I want to do it. My baby’s feeling crappy I just want to do whatever I can to make him feel less so.” Even after all this time of being together, your cheeks flushed slightly at your sappy words. You meant them, of course, but intimacy was still not one of your strong suits. The way you were raised lacked those kinds of affirmations and endearments, and was never modelled practically in your parent’s relationship. It left you both craving it, and feeling uncomfortable when it actually occurred. With both experience and Harry’s help you had gotten better at it, but you still weren’t 100% there yet. He knew one day you would be, though, and he was so proud to see how much progress you had made. Even if you couldn’t always see it.

Hearing those words from you, was just one more indication at how far you’ve come, and it warmed not only his heart, but his whole chest. With his grip on your hand, he gave you a slight tug, encouraging you to lean forward. Just as you had five minutes earlier, he presses a kiss to your cheek, craving your lips but knowing he can’t have them right now.

“You’re too good to me,” he praised as you pulled away reluctantly, giving him space to enjoy his breakfast while it was still warm.

He expected a joking, I know, in response but instead he receives a serious, “There is no such thing as good too to you. You deserve the world.” You don’t break eye contact with him, even as he is too shocked at your response to form one of his own. “But all I got you was this bowl of porridge sorry babe,” you broke the tension, pulling your hand from his.

“Where are you going now?” He pouts at you as you grab the half empty coffee mug and make your way out of the room.

“I’ll be right back, I promise,” you assure him, already planning how else you are going to fuss over him. He has to be well to go to London to start filming his new movie soon, you reason with yourself. But really, you know he could have nothing coming up and you could be the busiest you’ve ever been, and you would still play nurse for him.

By ‘right back’ he assumed you meant in half an hour, because his mug and bowl are both empty by the time you return, and he is nearly drifting back off to sleep. He is still somewhat upright, but slumped back into his pillow, head lolling to the side slightly, directed towards the door almost as though is watching and waiting for you. While still conscious, his blinks are becoming slower and slower, reminiscent of a baby. You coo at his adorable sleepy state, the moment tugs at your chest so strongly it is almost physically painful. Sometimes, the magnitude of your love for him nearly sweeps you off your feet. You just feel so damn lucky to have these wonderfully domestic moments with him. To see him like this, to be his person that gets to take care of him. While he is a rockstar and you get to do all sorts of crazy things with him that most people dream of (like for instance, watching him perform at and accept a Grammy), you love doing everyday life with him.

“It’s not quite sleep time yet, baby,” you spoke gently, hoping not to startle him too much.

He peeled his eyes open and pouted at you once more. “Why not?”

“Because it’s nice, long, hot, steaming shower time,” his frown deepened, clearly not wanting to move. “I promise you, you’ll feel so much better afterwards.”

“You promise?” He refused to wipe the pout from his face, really stepping into being babied.

“I promise, now up you get,” you offered him both hands to help him up.

“Fine,” he groaned as he took your hands, and you pulled him up.

As soon as he was upright, he wrapped both arms around you and held you tight. He allowed himself a few short seconds before pulling away, not wanting to get you sick too. Even if it wasn’t covid, he still wanted his love well.

You shepherded him into the bathroom, where he winced once more at the brighter lighting. His eyes were always more sensitive to light when he had the flu. You turned the shower on for him while he got undressed, before turning to pull the blinds closed without him breathing a single word of complaint. His heart swelled with love for you for the hundredth time that day. To be loved by you was to be seen. He didn’t need to use his voice to be understood (though that communication obviously had its place).

“Take your time baby, let the steam help get all the bad stuff out,” you gave him a little smile before leaving, closing the door behind you to allow the steam to build up within the space.

Harry let out a sigh as he stepped into the stream of hot steaming water. You were right as ever, the steam helped clear him out somewhat, and even just feeling clean helped him to feel better already. He relished the heat and the soothing feeling of the water, massaging his scalp with shampoo as he began to wash up from head to toe.

He had no idea how much time had passed by the time he reluctantly turned the shower off and stepped into a big fluffy towel. He was much quicker in drying himself than he had been in the rest of his shower routine, eager to rug up in a jumper and some sweats (and some of those thick soft socks you bought him for winter).

He swung the en suite door open, contemplating where he left his comfy winter clothes last when he stops at the sight before him.

You’re putting the last pillowcase on, having changed the sheets completely. His breakfast dishes are cleared, replaced with a hot steaming bowl of vegetable soup and his bottle of water. You’ve dug the humidifier out of the cupboard as well and you’ve got it all set up and running for him. The book he was currently reading was picked up from its previous place on the living room coffee table and waiting for him on your pillow. The exact clothes he was about to grab were sitting at the edge of the bed, laid out ready for him.

“You’re an actual angel, ya know that?” He shakes his head in disbelief. He has no idea what he did in a past life to get so lucky. The success of the music, he can go to bed each night feeling like he has done a lot to earn. He’s worked hard for a long time, and while he accredited a good portion of it all to luck, he knew he wasn’t talentless or undeserving. With you, however, he had simply won the lottery. You weren’t a perfect person, but you were his perfect person. He would spend the rest of his life doing everything in his power to feel deserving of you.

“Only for you,” you say softly.

He strides over to you, holding his towel to keep it from falling as he went. He presses a kiss to your forehead and mutters an, “I love you so much.”

“I love you more,” you peer up at him. “Now get those on,” you gesture towards his clothes, “before your soup gets cold.”

“Where did the soup come from?” He asks as starts to shrug his towel off and pull his clothes on.

“Where did you think I went earlier?” you referenced your half hour long disappearance, having been downstairs chopping up and preparing vegetables to go into the homemade soup.

“Oh, angel,” he breathed, “you really are the best.”

“Oh stop. Don’t act like all of this is not exactly what you do every time I’m sick. Which is far more often than you are, I might add.” You weren’t wrong, he did baby you just as much if not more.

“You’re still the best,” he refused to relent.

“Yeah, yeah,” you end the conversation, not being able to handle too many compliments.

He lets it slide, knowing he could compliment you further and ask you to really hear what he was saying, because he meant it with his entire being. But you were doing so much for him, and he really was tired so he didn’t bombard you with more praise than you desired.

Once he was dressed, he hopped back under the covers and sat up with his soup. He didn’t have the appetite to finish it, but he knew as much of it as he could handle would do him some good.

You jumped into the shower yourself, wanting to feel as clean as the sheets did when you got into bed with him. By the time you were out of the shower and into your own pair of fresh comfy clothes, Harry had finished most of the bowl of soup and had set the remainder aside.

“Thank you so much, angel,” your cheeks tinted pink at the purposeful repetition of that particular pet name.

“Don’t mention it,” you crawled under the covers with him, picking up his book from your pillow. “Now, where were you up to?”

“Hmm?” he questioned.

“In your book, where were you up to?”

“Why?”

“So, I can read it to you, obviously.”

“Is that obvious?”

“Yes.”

“And why do you think I’m suddenly incapable of reading it myself?” He questioned, even though he was practically preening internally at the thought of your sweet voice reading his novel aloud to him. It was a beautiful novel, filled with rich descriptions and he just knew it would sound lovely rolling off your tongue, but you had already done so much for him today it was hardly for of him to let you offer this without giving you an out.

“I don’t think you’re incapable, I just know your eyes hurt when you’re sick and I can imagine it makes it hard to focus on the words. Plus, I always fancied a career in audiobooks,” you actually really wanted to do this for him, not viewing it as an inconvenience at all. In fact, you would probably find yourself disappointed if he told you he would rather read it himself.

“Are you sure? You really don’t have to,” he looked you in the eyes, gauging your expression.

“I want to,” you promised.

“About page 150, you might have to read the first sentence to check.”

So, you began reading, until his eyes grew heavier and his eyes drooped. Slowly but surely, he drifted off into the realm of peaceful deep sleep.

Not before, of course, he muttered, more than half asleep, “I can’t wait to marry the shit out of you.”

[quidfree]

can you Please write the scene with bakugou's piercing SGDHEFEH the concept is too funny to me !!!

anon you’re lucky 報復性熬夜 is a concept i am firmly attached to so here i am at 1 am rattling this off instead of getting my beauty sleep. please excuse the standard of writing as a result

by the second day, katsuki is seriously considering agreeing to todoroki’s earlier and ambiguously sincere proposal that they play i spy.

he doesn’t know what it is about this particular job that’s so unbearable. no, scratch that- of course he knows what’s unbearable; it’s sat right next to him on a too-small chair in their too-small room staring impassively out of a too-small window. but he’s been thrown into so much shit with icyhot you’d think he’d developed some kind of immunity by now, the way vaccines microdose you on viruses so you can resist the real thing. call katsuki an antivaxxer, he guesses, because he has overdosed on todoroki ever since he met the asshole and he’s still not ready for how far up the wall he’s driving him when they’re stuck together for two straight days without a breather or any contact with the outside world.

cards on the table: stake-outs aren’t his thing. he does them just fine, fuck you very much, but he doesn’t like ‘em. why would he? they’re some ungodly blend of extremely boring and extremely tense, where nothing happens right up until way too long into it and then everything goes to shit unprompted. it’s rare he ever gets called in on jobs like this- people tend to assume he lacks the temperament for it, for one, and for another he’s too useful to lock away for days on end. it’s only because their suspected target is so insanely volatile and dangerous that it’s the two of them waiting for her to show her ugly face- no one else is even allowed in the perimeter. which is fucking fine, but he just wishes the cops would get their shit together for once and actually have the proof ready by the time they call the pros in so he doesn’t have to wait before he goes in guns blazing. instead they talked some bullshit about how critical of a stage this was and blah blah fifteen years of (obviously mediocre) work had gone into setting this trap, etc etc. the point is that it’s led to katsuki stuck in the world’s most disgusting little apartment, staring out of a splintered window for two-going-on-three days with no one but the world’s most annoying prodigy to keep him company. the place is such a dump they’re sleeping on mats in sleeping bags. it’s like fucking UA summer camp, and at this point he’d take the kidnapping over the waiting.

day one wasn’t so bad, right up until he realized there would be a day two. day two is bad from start to finish. they’re supposed to take turns on watch but there’s fuck all else to do except sit on their phones, and katsuki can only quote tweet so much dumb shit before he gets bored. he can’t talk to anyone outside because of confidentiality bullshit, and there’s no point checking work shit when he can’t do anything from where they are. so it’s either silently watching the warehouse or talking to todoroki, and todoroki is a fucking terrible conversationalist.

the thing with icyhot is this: katsuki doesn’t hate him, okay. like, he hates him, but also not really. they’re, at a push, maybe, sort of, friends. verging on close ones. not that he’d say so, but after the amount of dramatic self-sacrifices and final stands against a joint enemy they’ve endured he can’t really muster the energy to argue otherwise. todoroki’s tolerable, sort of maybe. usually katsuki borderline likes working with him, because if nothing else he’s good at what he does, and they know each other too well to be anything but in sync in the field. if they were doing almost anything else he’d be relieved at the choice of pairing.

they are not, however, doing anything else, and todoroki still fucking sucks at talking like a normal person. when he’d woken katsuki up for his shift of night-watch he’d loomed over him ominously like a fucking ghoul and said, voice belying no humor: “do you think plants can feel pain?”

there’s fucking nothing to talk about. anything interesting is essentially vetoed because it’d inevitably distract them from the whole intent observation thing, and katsuki hates small talk on a normal day but especially when todoroki’s doing his ‘alien attempting earth dialect’ bit and asking him about weather or the tokyo transportation system or whatever. so they just sit in semi-silence and occasionally go on very stupid tangents katsuki is glad no one can witness and remain overall bored out of their fucking skulls.

by day three they’ve already exhausted i spy and also the alphabet game and hangman, and katsuki draws the line at tic-tac-toe. todoroki looks implacable as always but his eye has started twitching a little. katsuki tries to think of literally anything that could plausibly take up their time and not take their eyes off the window, comes up short. twister is not a good idea even ignoring their lack of a board. shop talk is so very tempting, but he’s not losing this villain and wasting two days’ suffering because they get carried away on some long-winded discussion, so that’s not an option either.

“how’s your ear?” todoroki says, and at first katsuki thinks he’s really fucking lost it if he’s started asking after the wellbeing of his individual body parts, but then he remembers the last time they saw each other katsuki was throwing himself into the path of some jackass with a trumpeting quirk who nearly blew out his eardrum, so he guesses half ‘n half’s not entirely insane yet. he shrugs, shifts in his chair.

“fine. couldn’t hear shit from it for like three straight days, though. and my balance was fucked.”

“it hasn’t scarred at all.”

“yeah. lame place for a scar,” katsuki says, flexing his fingers absently. they’re all of them more roughed up than they were at UA, but talent and good healers have kept him mostly intact, give or take a few big nasties like the time he got gutted in first year or his near loss of an eye around graduation. privately he suspects genetics have dealt him a good hand, what with his gene donor’s perfect skin, but then todoroki doesn’t have that excuse and he’s not scarred anywhere ugly except the obvious, though katsuki could point blind to most of the nasties he’s accumulated under his suit.

not that he thinks about what’s under todoroki’s suit. god, he needs to get out of here.

“i don’t know,” todoroki is saying now, thoughtful. “a lot of people have ear-scars, no? from piercings.”

“that’s different,” katsuki says, immediately contrarian, even as he thinks about it. by the warehouse a truck stalls, but then moves on, lessening his momentary excitement. “most people don’t let that shit heal. unless you’re a moron there’s no point getting a hole jabbed through your ear if you’re not sure you want it.”

“would you?” todoroki asks, mildly curious, and taps his ear where katsuki can see him in the window’s reflection. “get a piercing, i mean.”

“what’s it to you?”

todoroki rolls his eyes at him like he’s being pointlessly difficult, which he maybe is a little. “i don’t know. i think it would suit you.”

“yeah?” katsuki sniffs, mollified and trying not to show it. it’s always a mistake to let icyhot know when his obvious ploys are working. “been thinking about it?”

“i can hardly sleep at night for thinking about it,” todoroki deadpans, which makes katsuki scowl and stomp down on the extremely unwarranted flush crawling up his neck in response.

“fuck off. i guess i’d do like one or two.”

“really? you always say no to tattoos.”

“that’s different. i don’t trust some asshole to draw a fucking infinity sign on my knee or whatever. sticking a hole through an ear is hard to fuck up, and you barely register it after. if you get a shitty tattoo you have to think about it all the time.”

“if it’s easy then why don’t you have any?” todoroki asks, but he sounds genuinely curious more than like he’s trying to catch him out, so katsuki thinks about it honestly.

“don’t have the time. ‘s not like i can really afford to pencil in an afternoon to the nearest parlor or whatever just for that.”

“i read you can pierce your ears with a needle.”

“i guess i haven’t fucking thought about it that much, then,” katsuki grumbles, forever irked by todoroki’s smart mouth. problem solver his ass. the guy goes around making problems for everyone.

they sit in silence for a beat, watching the breeze rattle the wooden planks barricading a window opposite them, and then he thinks needle, and does some very quick mental arithmetics to reach the conclusion that todoroki is probably also landing on, judging by the way he blinks when katsuki briefly glances his way. 

he thinks about the job, and how close he’d come to throttling todoroki during i spy, and the great dawning nothingness ahead of them for fuck knows how long still. at the very worst, they have to start moving with a needle in his ear. 

“pass me your medikit.”

todoroki does, but when katsuki unzips the pack he shifts. “it’d be easier if i did it.”

“it’s not rocket science,” katsuki mutters, considering the needle critically before glancing back out of the window. “'s not like i give a shit about precise location.”

“i’m just saying i wouldn’t have to go in blind. and you can keep watch while i do it.”

“or you can keep watch while i do. same shit.”

todoroki only shakes his head, because unlike some people who shall not be named he is not so incredibly psychosexually attached to offering help where it isn’t wanted. “fine.”

katsuki eyes the window, squints at his ear. tissue’s the best bet- he thinks he could probably manage cartilage fine, but on the off chance they have to drop everything and run he doesn’t want to accidentally snap a bone and start the fight inconvenienced. lobe it is.

“wait,” todoroki says, just when he’s focused, and then reaches over without removing his gaze from the window to press two fingers to the needle, tip going blisteringly red-hot before he releases it. cauterised. their kit’s sterilised anyway, but katsuki grunts his begrudging thanks, repositions himself. 

“wait,” todoroki says again, and this time katsuki can’t help but turn to glare at him where he’s still watchfully staring outside.

“fucking what, icyhot?”

“two seconds,” todoroki promises, gaze flickering his way for half a second with something like self-effacing amusement before he turns his eyes dutifully away and reaches his other arm around to pinch his ear, which flares cold so quickly katsuki hisses even as his cheeks heat. fucking weirdo.

“could’ve just said,” he mutters, ignoring his not at all jumpy pulse to refocus on the task at hand as todoroki does that obnoxious lip-twitch thing that means he’s smiling internally. 

physics dictates that he keep his wrist at an angle if he wants the needle to come out right, so he does, braces and jabs. it goes so easy he almost doubts his own success, not even the slightest twinge of pain ensuing. he twists for good measure, removes the needle, watches tiny beads of blood emerge from the piercing. 

well, that was anticlimactic, katsuki thinks, retrieving an anti-bacterial wipe for the needle, and then pauses, staring at the window.

“motherfucker.”

“what?”

“what the fuck am i supposed to put through this?”

todoroki’s mismatched eyes go gratifyingly wide in the window, and for one spectacularly braindead moment two of the world’s most outstanding pro-heroes stare at one another in a shitty broken window with equal amounts of retroactive dismay. 

“um,” todoroki says, or as close to ‘um’ as todoroki will ever say. katsuki wishes dearly he was still of an age where he could throw him through a wall. then his eyes focus elsewhere, sharpening with what could pass as professional focus but is mostly naked relief. “um.”

um in-fucking-deed. by the warehouse, a door has just opened a sliver.

“you owe me a fucking earring,” katsuki declares, but so fast it lacks any aggression, already halfway out the window by the time he finishes speaking, atrophied limbs reviving with an ecstatic chemical burn as fresh air hits their faces. 

god. if he ever gets stuck on stake-out duty again he’s sleeping by himself under a parked car or some shit. 

they make disgustingly quick work of the fight, in the end, days of pent-up frustration and skull-numbing boredom leaving them so bursting with power that it’s almost embarrassing for the villain, but when the first kow-towing police officer reaches them full of praise and suggestion that they handle another job he has queued up they chorus a ‘no’ so violent the guy actually jumps. 

todoroki’s not so bad, katsuki thinks fondly, watching his face slide into frigid blankness with absolutely no idea of how shitless he’s scaring the officers around them. it’s almost enough to make him forget to kick his ass for the enormously shitty banter he’d had to endure vis-a-vis his still-bleeding ear throughout the entire tragically short fight.

almost. not quite. who even knew there was a ‘gay ear’?

[thirsttrapholland]

What Happens in the On-Call Room

Requested?    Yes  

By: anonymous

Pairing: Doctor!Tom x Doctor!Reader

Anonymous said to thirsttrapholland:

hello love! wondering if doc!tom interested you, like idk he fucks her in the toilet or smthn and he gets paged for surgery idk

Warning(s): Smut, adult language, Dr. Holland making you swoon, I think that’s about it.

Word Count: 2050

A/N: Alright y’all, I don’t know jack about doctors or the inner workings of hospitals except for what I learned from Grey’s, Scrubs and the occasional episodes of General Hospital I used to watch with my grandma after school,lol. So, if I got any details or lingo wrong, please forgive me.

Changed it up just a little bit anon. I hope you like it.   Feedback is always appreciated.

You had promised yourself that you would never fulfill the cliché of overworked, stressed out and sleep deprived doctors that had neither the time nor energy to maintain real relationships and instead took sexual solace in a colleague they might not even like or barely knew just to stave off boredom, loneliness and to feel something at least akin to a real human connection.

And yet, just like something out of a particularly shitty and depraved episode of Grey’s Anatomy, there you were on the lumpy sofa in the on-call room being fucked senseless by Dr. Thomas Holland.

You had been stretched out on the sofa trying to recall from the abnormal psych class you’d taken as an undergrad, just how many hours a person could go without sleep before they started to hallucinate.

You were over halfway through your second 12-hour shift of the week and despite how bone tired and weary you were, sleep seemed to be eluding you.  You had just started to drift off for the first time in you couldn’t remember how long, when the door to the on-call room banged open and you heard someone walk in. You opened your eyes to find the infamous Tom Holland standing over you.

Dr. Holland was known all around the hospital for three things.

Number one, was his impeccable bedside manner.  He really had a way with people.  He was both incredibly charming and had a soothing presence.  He possessed an innate ability to calm even the most terrified patient or family member. He never talked down to his patients but explained exactly what would take place during their surgeries in a way that they could understand and patiently answered all their questions.  Most of the hospital staff was convinced that most of his patients were at least half in love with him by the time they were released.

 Secondly, he was the youngest and most arrogant cardiothoracic surgeon on the staff and that was really saying something.  Most surgeons were at least a little bit arrogant by nature; it was hard not to be when you were responsible for people’s lives.  Probably a little hard not to develop an outsize ego when you literally held other people’s hearts in your hands on a regular basis.

Even you yourself weren’t immune to having your head up your own ass on occasion; so, the fact that his cockiness stood out in a building full of doctors really kind of said it all.  He was very good at what he did and wasn’t about to let anybody forget it.

And finally, it wasn’t just patients who were taken in by his charming bedside manner.  If all the talk around the halls was to be believed, Tom had a cut a swath through the hospital, counting nurses, fellow doctors and maybe even an administrator or two among his conquests.  He never really dated anybody; it was more just random hook ups.

Of course, hospitals were worse than the average high school cafeteria when it came to being a breeding ground for rumors, so who even knew how much of the gossip was true.  Dr. Holland had been the attending on a couple of your intakes and there had been a few moments that if you squinted hard enough, he might have been flirting with you but for the most part he was always professional.

Which is not to say that you were immune to his charms; not at all.   Tom was handsome and that was just a fact.  Big brown eyes, thick wavy dark brown hair, killer cheekbones, a ridiculous jawline and the kind of smile that could literally light up a room.  The kind of soft, gentle voice that could probably talk you into damn near anything if he wanted to. So, if people really were queuing up to be next in line, you got it.

In fact, if you were being honest with yourself, you knew that if he ever made a move on you or if an opportunity presented itself, there was a very high chance that you would say yes.  You just weren’t going to go out of your way to be the latest notch on his bedpost.

You gave up on the notion of getting any sleep as you swung your feet off the sofa to make room for Tom to sit down.  “What are you doing here?”  His casual street attire, a plain black t-shirt and a pair of faded jeans, was a tip off that he was no longer on the clock.  “Didn’t your shift end a couple of hours ago?”    

“It did but the patient I operated on earlier should be coming around sometime soon and I promised her I’d be here when she woke up.”

As many physical assets as Dr. Holland had, you thought that perhaps the most attractive thing about him was just how much he genuinely cared about his patients.  

It wasn’t an uncommon occurrence to pass by a patient’s room and see Tom sitting on the edge of their bed, regaling them with some ridiculous story, sneaking them an extra pudding cup from the cafeteria or simply just holding a hand.  

You could tell from the dark circles under his eyes just how tired he was. He should have been at home in his own bed, but he’d promised a patient that he would be here, so here he was.

“You look dead on your feet.  It’s really nice of you to wait for your patient to wake up.”

“Well, I promised.”  His face lit up with a wicked grin.  “Besides, I’ve got the next two days off.”

“Oh screw you, Holland.”  Time off was a rare and precious commodity and your next day off seemed a lifetime away.  You couldn’t even pretend not to be jealous.

Tom let out a chuckle as he flopped down next to you on the sofa.  “Sorry if I woke you up.”

“Don’t worry about it. The chances of me actually falling asleep were fairly slim anyway.”  You leaned your head against the back of the sofa.  “I’m just gonna rest my eyes for a few minutes though.”

“You don’t mind if I sit here with you, do you?” Tom asked.

“Of course not.”  You stifled a yawn with your hand as your eyes once again slid shut.

You awoke with a start.  You were slightly disoriented as your brain made the transition from sleeping to being fully conscious.  Your surroundings suddenly came into focus and you remembered that you were in the on-call room.  

What you were having more trouble comprehending was why there was an arm around your shoulders and whose warm solid chest your head was resting against.   You slowly sat up and looked up into the face of the person you’d been using as a pillow.

Tom grinned down at you.  “You’re awake.”

“I don’t even remember falling asleep.”

“You were out like a light about two seconds after you claimed you were just ‘resting your eyes’.  Next thing I knew your head had lolled over onto my shoulder.

“This is so embarrassing.”  Of all the people to fall asleep and probably drool on.  “Why didn’t you move me?”

Tom reached out and stroked a stray strand of hair off your forehead.  “I didn’t mind.”  It was such a simple gesture but it stirred something inside of you that you couldn’t explain.

You could blame sleep deprivation.  You could blame the fact that you hadn’t even been on a decent date, let alone had sex in far longer than you wanted to think about.  You could even blame the fact that you kind of, lowkey had a crush on him.

Whatever the reason, a switch had been flipped in your brain and suddenly, having Dr. Thomas Holland on top of you, inside of you seemed like the best idea in the world.  The lusty gaze in his dark eyes let you know that he had reached a similar conclusion.

Tom tore off his own t-shirt before making quick work of your clothes, as he pulled off your underwear and scrub bottoms and tossed them onto the floor.  He fished a condom out of his pocket and handed it to you before hurriedly shoving his jeans and boxer briefs down to his knees.

You licked your hand and pumped his cock a few times with your spit slicked palm before tearing the condom wrapper open with your teeth and rolling it smoothly down over his hardness.

Tom peppered kisses down your neck and across your exposed collarbones as he settled his slender hips between your open thighs and teased your clit with his cock; tapping against the swollen nub and making you squirm beneath him.  You gasped and dug your short blunt fingernails into the firm flesh of his lightly freckled shoulders as he finally slid inside your already slick walls.  He slowly pulled halfway out before thrusting back in and bottoming out.

You pulled his bottom lip between your teeth before sucking his tongue into your mouth, the two of you exchanging wet sloppy kisses as you tangled your fingers in his soft hair and pulled; the way he moaned against your lips let you know how much he liked it.

You wrapped your legs around his waist; your ankles crossed behind his back, locking him in place as he moved deep inside you.  

Tom buried his forehead against the crook of your neck as he took one of your hands in his and held it above your head; your fingers intertwined with his.  

You could feel him twitching inside of you and knew he was close.  You brought your free hand down between the two of you and started to rub your clit.  Tom’s strokes came harder and faster until all the tension that had been building in your body exploded; the fluttering and clenching of your wet inner walls spurring him right behind you into his own release.

The spasms in your body had barely subsided when you were brought out of your post coital bliss by the hospital’s blaring PA system.

“Dr. Holland, please report to 445-C.  Dr. Holland, you’re needed in 445-C.”

The loud announcement was like a splash of cold water to the face, bringing you back to your senses as your stomach dropped with the realization of what you had just done.

You’d just had sex with a colleague that in all honesty, you barely even knew.

You’d just had sex with a colleague that you barely even knew while you were at work and on duty.

You’d just had sex with a colleague that you barely even knew, while you were at work and on duty in a room with an unlocked door that anyone could have walked into at any time.

One quick glance at Tom’s face let you know that he was coming to the same realization.  He stood up and dropped the cum filled condom into the trash can before he hastily pulled up his boxers and jeans.  “That should be my patient, I need to go.”  He grabbed your scrubs and underwear off the floor and handed them to you.

Overcome with a sudden wave of modesty, you waited until he turned his back to put his shirt back on before you shimmied into your underwear.  You couldn’t help it  as you thought to yourself, ‘Is that it? Wham, bam and not even a thank you, ma’am?’

You were just about to step into your scrub bottoms when Tom turned back to you.  “What time are you off?”

You regarded him with a slightly suspicious expression on your face before answering.  “Two a.m. Why?”

“I was just wondering if you might like to grab a cup of coffee with me.”  When you didn’t answer right away, Tom raked his hand through his hair and shook his head. “Okay, that was really stupid. Last thing you probably want at two o’clock in the morning is a cup of coffee.”

You had never known Dr. Tom Holland to be anything less than confident so to see him like this, nervously asking you out for a cup of coffee, it was kind of endearing.

“Yes.”

He looked up, a grin growing across his face.  “Yes?”

“Yes, I’d love to get a cup of coffee with you.”

“Okay then.  Meet you back here in a few hours?”

“Sure, it’s a date.”  You instantly regretted the words as soon as they were out of your mouth. You didn’t want him to think you were trying to make this more than what it was.  You were wishing you could take the words back into your mouth when Tom flashed his beautiful smile at you.

“Yeah.  It’s a date.”

[kabhi-haath-pakad-k-tu-mera]

The Circle Of Life

Death doesn't seem so imposing when you know that you're dying—when you realised it a long time ago. Harry's journey as he deals with Cancer. Haphne. IWSC Final entry. Hogwarts JP.

————

Written for the International Wizarding Schools Championship.

Round: Finals!!!

Theme: Dittany, which means healing. The theme is shown here as Harry trying his best to recover from cancer.

Year: Year 7

School: Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

Prompts: Potions (object) [additional]

Emerald (colour) [additional]

St. Mungo's (setting) [main]

Special Rule and Link: The special rule here is used by Showing 'birth'.

Warnings: Cancer, Major character death, mentions of infertility.

A/N: In this fic, Harry and Daphne are 80, and their children 40-44 years of age. The three children Harry and Daphne have are called Sothis, Jacob, and Lily.

————

14th January 2060

8:35 p.m.

Diary,

Death doesn't seem so imposing when you know that you're dying—when you realised it a long time ago. It's funny, really. We know we're all dying but rarely does it ever truly sink in. But in my case, I've had the pleasure of having realised this way back at the age of seventeen. I hadn't thought I'd get out of the Forbidden Forest alive again, especially if I were meant to die in the end, and so I had submitted to my sentence. I was as surprised as anyone at my continued living, I assure you, and with the amount of downright stupid things I've done in my lifetime—fighting Voldemort some five different times, riding thestrals, wandering into acromantula nests, and then contemplating becoming an auror before Daphne talked me out of it—I've already outlived my expectations, so I don't think it bothers me too much that death has come to claim me now. 

Daphne and Hermione would both glare at me for saying that probably, and Sothis, Jacob, and Lily would frown. Acquiring blood cancer does not necessarily mean death, especially since it's a muggle disease, but at the age of 80, I have my doubts. Wizards might not be as affected by muggle ailments, but this is cancer. It's been nearly ten days since I've written to you, as you might have noticed, and that was because of the numerous tests they conducted and reconducted at St. Mungo's. I've had to quit teaching at Hogwarts because of this accursed illness. Those of my family who haven't had much exposure to the muggle world didn't realise just how serious cancer was, and they were rather unconcerned—it's a muggle disease, wizards always recover from muggle diseases—but Hermione knew exactly what it was, and how serious, and she passed this information to both Ron and Daphne—even when I begged her not to—who told others. So now, everyone is extra polite around me, and extra careful. I hate how everyone looks at me like I might shatter at any moment. Even Malfoy's started acting differently again, and it's just so frustrating!

I just want everyone to get back to normal.

Harry James Potter

————

8th February 2060

8:15 p.m.

Diary,

My health has gotten worse instead of better. Last week, I began coughing violently and realised that I was coughing blood. My body hurt. I also had a temperature and felt dizzy. Daphy took me to St. Mungo's as soon as she saw my pitiful state. I was kept there for a whole day while the healers ran tests and took samples. While the wizarding world doesn't use injections, their methods of extracting blood hurt just as much. The healers only let Daphy see me during around dinnertime after they thought me stable enough. Daphy was by my side the entire night after that, holding my hand, helping me eat, and then finally settling me down for the night. I hadn't seen her that tired in a long time, diary, and it was … unsettling. I wonder if I'm being too selfish in not really caring if this cursed disease takes me down. Daphne would be shattered. 

Hermione and Ron were there at the hospital before I woke up the next day, considerably late and still feeling pretty shitty. The two of them and Daphne were talking to a healer, and none of them had realised I was awake. I could only catch a few phrases of their conversation—flu, immune system, careful—but the grim expressions on their faces told me that whatever it was, it wasn't good. The healers sent me home with instructions to take some fifty odd potions every eight hours and to exercise regularly, but not so much that I overexert myself. 

I was too tired the next three days to pick up a pen to write, let alone go for a walk. But yesterday, after Daphy and I got back from the walk she had coaxed me into going for, we came home to a pleasant surprise in the form of Lily and Sebastian. Lily has always been big on surprises, but the one she gave us yesterday was the best surprise I have gotten in a long time. They're expecting their first child in July! After a number of failed tries, Lily and Sebastian had both given up on trying to have children, but that right there was proof that miracles do happen. Daphne was so happy, she had tears in her eyes. So did I. For a moment there, I think all of us present in the room were a little misty-eyed. It took a little effort to digest that bit of news, happy as it was because our sweet little witch had grown so old so fast. Wasn't it just yesterday that I had first held her in my arms? She was finally going to be a mother now! I am happy as can be, of course, but I wonder if I'll be able to live long enough to see my grandchild in this life. 

I really hope I do.

Harry James Potter

————

18th March 2060

8:00 p.m.

Diary,

I don't think I'd be able to stand a single more piteous look directed toward me, even if my situation is miserable. I feel tired all the time now, even though I've been taking all my potions on time and have done all the exercises that the healers had told me to do. My body still hurts sometimes, and I feel utterly useless. The healers in St. Mungo's still take samples of my blood to see if my condition is getting any better.

They don't say so to my face, but I'm only getting worse. It is clear by the looks they direct towards me, in how Ron and Hermione both always say goodbye to me at the end of the day as if it were their last goodbye, in how Daphne strokes my cheek at night when we’re both in bed and tells me to stay strong for her. I wish they'd just tell me, so I don't have to go through everything pretending to be blissfully unaware.

Sothis and Jacob came to see me today. I hadn't seen them since my birthday last year. Sothis lives in America now with his family and practices as a curse breaker while Jacob has been wandering around the world with Lorcan Lovegood. They were upset when they'd been told of my cancer, of course, but today I truly saw how much my sickness really affected my family. If I had been my old self, I would not have wanted them to see me like this, but times have changed. At least I'm not in St. Mungo's because I wasn't able to fight a common cold. 

I really do want to get better.

Harry James Potter

————

21st May 2060

8:40 p.m.

Diary,

Things have begun to look up for me now, and I feel I've gotten a little better for the past few weeks. I don't feel as tired anymore, and Daphy does not have to force me to get out of the house. Daphy could not be happier about this. I've begun working on a book to keep me occupied. This was Hermione's idea—to write a book on Defence Against the Dark Arts from my experience as a professor and what I learnt when I was still studying for it. That I have fought the supreme leader of the dark is an added bonus. I think the one single perk of being sick is that the children come to see me more often. The others came around too, recently—the Weasleys, Neville, Luna. It felt nice to see them all after so long, but it felt a little disconcerting that this might be the last time we saw each other. I suppose that was the reason they made the visit in the first place, to see me again while they still could. 

In other news, I am in the news again. The Daily Prophet found out about my illness somehow, and it was all anyone talked about for the last week. Daphy and Hermione both blew up over the staff of St. Mungo's because no one else would ever leak any information to the Prophet of all people. Astoria, who works there, is having the board conduct an entire investigation to find the gossip. 

Lily had her first contraction while she was here with us. It was a false alarm, the baby is due in the second week of August, but it felt strange and surreal. Everyone was excited though, Lily especially, even if she complained non-stop about her backache. Things are looking up, finally, and everyone, the healers included, think that I'm going to get better quite soon. 

I hope I do.

Harry James Potter

————

5th July 2060

8:40 p.m.

Diary,

While my health had been stable enough for the past two months and was inching towards recovery, it has now gotten worse again. The healers think that I've been exposed to an infection which my body is not able to fight off. The incessant pain, the omnipresent tiredness have both returned with assorted bottles of potions that taste like sewer water. 

I was kept at St. Mungo's for a week, and the healers were still reluctant to let me go home because apparently, my immune system has become so compromised that even the mildest of bacteria or virus could be the cause of my death. It wasn't until Hermione had reasoned with them that I was more likely to be exposed to pathogens—whatever those were—in a hospital than back home that they let me go. I've been told in no uncertain terms to take all my potions on time and to get plenty of rest. The worst part is that I am to avoid the outdoors completely, so no more walks or anything. Daphne looked defeated  yet determined.

When they thought I wasn't listening, they also told Daphne and Hermione to keep the visitors to a minimum, so people coming to see me is also out of the question now, although Lily did come here the other day, so I guess the kids are allowed. 

I had thought I was getting better, but now … they don't say it to my face, but their pitiful expressions make it clear that my days now are numbered. I hope I get to see my youngest grandchild before I die, though. They aren't here yet, but I love them already.

Harry James Potter

————

31st July 2060

8:45 p.m.

Diary,

It's my birthday today, but so much has changed since last year. I was teaching at Hogwarts happily. People weren't scared of sneezing around me. I was cancer free. But most importantly, I didn't have a new grandson who looked exactly like me. His eyes are the same emerald green as mine, and he has a small tuft of jet-black hair, although I really hope he has better luck with it than I have had. 

From what Daphy tells me, Lily had been visiting when her water broke. I don't know the exact details of what happened since I had been in St. Mungo's since the past week, but everyone panicked except Daphne, who had gone home for a while to shower and eat after leaving me in Hermione's care. She calmly called for a mediwitch from St. Mungo's and made preparations to transport Lily to the hospital for the delivery. 

The baby was two weeks early, but still very healthy. He had curious green eyes, and the memory of how he looked at me with interest when I first held him is still fresh in my mind. I did finally get to meet my grandchild—Lily's first child—and I couldn't possibly be happier. If I were to die now, after I've seen my grandchild, I'd die happy. My princess had finally started a family of her own, and the baby looks just like me. He's a tiny and beautiful baby, and I am so proud. Lily and Sebastian are both beaming. They named him after me and Sebastian's father—Harry Alex Grahams.

I love him.

Harry James Potter

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Daphne closed the diary shut on the morning of August the 2nd with tears rolling down her eyes. She put it beside her on the padded carpet she was sitting on and drew her knees closer to her. Harry had to go, leave, just as Lily's first child was born, just as he had turned Eighty-One. It was painfully sad. Lily had cried through the last night, and it had taken Daphne all she had in her to not join her in it and to comfort her instead. She took in a deep breath. Harry was right, though. The child was beautiful and looked painfully like him. At least she knew that he had died painlessly in his sleep. Happy. Content. His suffering had ended, and he had had the joy of holding his grandson in his arms. He had been happy. That was all that mattered

[cries4spiderman]

Okay so I'm tired of the vaccination arguement. Seriously people its literally helping your body build an immunity to a virus that once left people scared out of their minds. Polio, in the 40s and 50s had people so scared they closed down swimming pools, employees at theaters told people not to sit so close to people so they wouldn't get infected.

I did an entire research paper on this for my college class on why you should vaccinate your children and how it is beneficial to them and to society as a whole. Especially those that rely on hard immunity to protect them. I went into what BS miconceptions that makes people believe vaccines are bad.

Here's my paper. I know it's shitty. But the facts are there.

Measles.  Mumps. Rubella.  MMR. I’m sure we’ve all heard these words before.  We’ve all heard the doctors, the CDC, and the healthcare officials talk about how important these vaccinations are.  We’ve heard the information on how important vaccinations are, enough to be able to recite them forwards and backward in our sleep.  However, as important as these vaccinations are, people are still choosing to forgo giving them to their kids. One mother learned the hard way what happens when people who are not vaccinated for MMR and expose a child that is too young to yet receive said vaccination.  This mom, whose name and location were not disclosed, had her neighbor watch her child while she went to work. Emily, the child, was eight months old when she began to get sick: “She was so sick for a while and I’d never seen anything like it. So I took her to the doctor. . .”  the mom explains (Getty. n. pag.). After the mom took Emily to the hospital, she took a turn for the worst. Emily had contracted Measles Encephalitis, a life-threatening complication of measles. Encephalitis is inflammation of the brain and can cause seizures. Emily died due to her condition a little over a week later.  The mom, understandably heartbroken over the loss of her child, was on Facebook in the weeks following her daughter’s death, tring to make sense of the situation. This is how Emily’s mom found out that the neighbor, who had watched Emily while she was at work, had not vaccinated her child with the MMR vaccine. The neighbor posted pictures of her child to Facebook and stated that he was fine; Emily’s mom was furious stating, “My kid is dead because she made that choice!”  Emily’s mom confronted her neighbor face to face; her neighbor finally admitted that her child had been sick when Emily was over, but that she did not think much of it. Emily’s mom went on to say, “Please vaccinate your kids, so other moms like me don’t have to watch their baby die” (Getty. n. pag.). This is a perfect example of why parents should make the decision to vaccinate.

No matter how many doctors and studies prove that vaccinations are safe and effective, people believe the many misconceptions about them that aren’t true; this perpetuates the trend of not vaccinating their children.  This decision not to vaccinate, causes or leads to an outsized effect that could cause a myriad of problems for not only the individual who isn’t vaccinated, but for the rest of society as well. Therefore, the parents that do choose to vaccinate their children, will not only benefit them but the rest of society.  The most effective way to continue to make our world safer to live in is to make the decision to vaccinate.

There are many misconceptions about vaccines that parents believe that cause them  not to vaccinate their children, thus, putting their children and society at risk. For example, one substantial misconception is that vaccines bombard our bodies with antigens.  Antigens are the toxins, or foreign bodies, that induce an immune response in the body (Klein. n. pag.). In reality, vaccines contain a low number of antigens. This small exposure introduces our immune system to the antigen, thus allowing our body to recognize the disease in the future to fight it off.  Furthermore, some parents also believe that vaccines, especially vaccines that require multiple doses, overload our body’s immune system (Klein n. pag.). However, this couldn’t be farther from the truth; vaccines contain a fraction of the “germs” that a child is exposed to in a regular day. According to Dr. Paul Offit, an infectious disease specialist, young children are more than capable of handling the challenges of vaccines and the amount of “germs” they may have (Brody n. pag.).  Another fallacy parents believe is that vaccines actually have the parts of a virus contained in it. This also is not true. Vaccines do not contain the actual virus; instead, they only contain an imitation of the virus. This imitation does not cause an illness to occur, it only allows the immune system to recognize the infection and in the future help the body attack it (“Making the Vaccine decision” n. pag.). In addition, some parents criticize the number of vaccines that can be administered to young children.  The reason for giving vaccinations at a young age is that children’s immune systems are most vulnerable and any immunity that the child may have inherited from the mother has worn off (Brody, n. pag.). Everyday there are more advances in the medical system that result in more studies and advances being done to further ensure the safety of vaccines. Doctors, Scientists, and healthcare professionals carefully evaluate all the available information about the vaccine to determine whether or not it is safe to distribute to children or not (“What are the reasons to vaccinate my baby” n. pag.).  Since vaccinations are only given to children after a lengthy and extremely careful review, vaccines are exceedingly safe to give to your child. Yes, getting vaccines can be a momentarily uncomfortable (painful) experience; no ones likes to see their child in pain; however this negative is completely overshadowed by the advantages of vaccinating. Overall, these misconceptions that parents believe about vaccinations will only continue to put their children and the rest of society at risk for severe health consequences and even death.

What could a continuing drop in vaccination rates could mean for the well-being of society as a whole?  The more unvaccinated people there are will allow these viruses to mutate thus causing those that were vaccinated with the original virus susceptible to complications and possibly death.  The more parents that choose not to vaccinate their kids, they not only put their own children at risk for diseases but put the rest of society at risk. Most people that don’t vaccinate their children expect that they will be protected by herd immunity (Brody n. pag.).  Herd immunity is the resistance to the spread of a disease within a population if a sufficiently high proportion of individuals are immune to the disease through vaccination. For example, in order for unvaccinated people to be protected from measles, 19 out of every 20 people need to be vaccinated in order for herd immunity to be effective (“Herd Immunity: How does it work?” n. pag.).   That’s 95 percent of the population that needs to be vaccinated in order for herd immunity to effectively work with the MMR vaccine. If parents continue to make this decision to skip vaccinations, diseases and viruses like measles could mutate. If those viruses mutate, it could cause the vaccinations that people have received to no longer protect them from these devastating viruses, causing viruses like measles virus to once again become something straight from our nightmares.  More than that, vaccines not only protect children but other people who might not be able to receive the vaccination, whether it be because they are allergic to a component in the vaccinate or because have cancer or SCIDS (Severely combined immunodeficiency syndrome). These people rely heavily on the herding effect of those that have already been vaccinated from these horrific viruses. As stated previously, herd immunity is when a large percentage of the population is vaccinated from a certain virus, thereby providing the unvaccinated a form of protection.  In addition, some might ask if the disease is no longer as common as it once was, is there really a reason to continue to get vaccinated? Japan once asked this same question about pertussis, or whooping cough; in 1974, Japan had a vaccination program with nearly 80 percent of children vaccinated, and that year only 343 cases were reported. By 1976, only 10 percent of children were vaccinated after a rumor had begun that the vaccination was no longer needed. In 1979, a colossal epidemic happened: 13,000 cases of pertussis were reported and resulted in 41 deaths.  In 1981, vaccination rates were on the rise and the number of reported pertussis cases fell (“Why immunize” n. pag.). This very question that Japan asked and learned their answer the hard way, it is still important to continue vaccinating for a lesser known virus so it doesn’t mutate. All in all, if vaccine rates continue to drop, there could be catastrophic consequences.

If parents continue to perpetuate these fallacies and mistaken beliefs about vaccinations and continue to choose not to vaccinate their kids, society will be put at risk for viruses that could mutate and cause more devastating effects to our overall health and longevity.  People need to continue to get vaccinated to ensure our survival.

Vaccinations will be more profitable to them and society than choosing not to vaccinate and leaving them unprotected to the horrors that these viruses cause.  Vaccinations help children fight off diseases that would otherwise wreak havoc throughout their bodies. Due to medical advances, there are more vaccinations available than ever before; these vaccinations can save your child’s life, and that’s not an exaggeration.  Take for example, the vaccinations that protect children against viruses like smallpox, measles, whooping cough, polio, and many more. Smallpox, described as one of the deadliest viruses known to mankind due to how highly contagious it is, wreaked havoc on thousands of people’s bodies until 1980 when the virus was eradicated.  This virus caused many epidemics at numerous points in history: the earliest written record of smallpox being written in the fourth century in China (“Smallpox” n. pag.). Smallpox causes a rash that first appears on the face and arms, and leaves mild to severe scars that last a lifetime. In the 20th century alone, an estimated 300 million died from smallpox.  This startling number caused the World Health Organization to come together and make a program to rid the world of this horrible virus. Smallpox is the only virus on the planet that has been completely eradicated (“Smallpox” n. pag.). If society can reverse this trend of declining vaccination rates, the world could see the eradication of various other diseases and viruses such as Polio.  Polio or poliomyelitis, is a virus that attacks the nervous system and can cause paralysis. While Polio isn’t as well known in the United States as it used to be, this horrifying virus left nearly 60,000 children infected, with thousands becoming paralyzed, and caused more than 3,000 deaths (Beaubien. n. pag.). For most of the children that were infected with Polio, their paralysis was temporary, and for other it was permanent.  For those whose muscles around the lungs were affected had to spend weeks in an iron lung, a machine that used negative air pressure to assist them with their breathing. In Polio’s peak in the United States, rows upon rows of iron lungs could be found in hospitals. Today more and more hospitals are getting rid of them due to a vaccine that was released in 1955 that helped stop the rise of this virus. 24 years later, due to the widespread vaccination effort, Polio was eliminated from the United States.  Today, there are three known people left still using an iron lung to deal with the after-effects of the Polio virus. Measles, is another highly contagious virus has almost been eradicated due to the vaccinations. However, this entirely preventable virus is on the rise again due to the decline of the number of children receiving this vaccination. Measles, also called rubeola, is a virus that causes tiny white spots with bluish-white centers on a red background found inside the mouth on the cheek (“Measles” n. pag.).  Someone can be infected with measles and not present (show) any symptoms until 10 to 14 days later! That's a ridiculous amount of people and surfaces to come into contact with and infect other people with measles all before a child presents with the symptoms. Measles also causes many complications that can be life-threatening such as encephalitis (swelling of the brain) which can cause seizures, hallucinations, confusion, and loss of sensation (“Measles” n. pag.). Another major advantage of vaccinations is cost savings, getting a vaccine is exponentially less expensive than hospital bills, lost wages, and the short and long time disabilities that can be the result of these vaccine-preventable diseases.  All in all, to improve the wellbeing of our society as a whole, it is beneficial to have children vaccinated.

In summary, vaccinating your kids will greatly benefit them and the rest of society by allowing them to live healthier, longer lives.  While most misconceptions about vaccines have been debunked, people allow these misconceptions to help them make the decision to not vaccinate, thus allowing the risk of causing an outsized effect that could last a lifetime.  The parents that do make the vaccine decision, help benefit not only their children but the rest of society. Vaccines helped end smallpox, and if vaccines rates can get on the rise again, we could completely eradicate other deadly diseases and continue to make our planet a healthier one to live in.  If we want to leave these nightmarish viruses as a thing of the past, parents should continue to vaccinate their children to ensure their overall health and longevity and to ensure the survival of our society as a whole.