#sicktember 2024 day one

[sicknessbysalem]

Day One: “I’m not hungover, I’m just sick” | Sicktember 2024

i am so excited to be doing sicktember! This is my first time doing this event and i cannot wait to write more this month. i hope you guys enjoy my fics!

@sicktember (i don’t know if we are supposed to tag you… also i couldn’t find a tagging post so if i’m missing a tag please let me know!)

disclaimer: characters originally belonged to @simplysickness but were passed on to me to continue their stories

if you have any requests, questions, comments, concerns, etc., send them my way!

tw for implications of past alcohol abuse, overworking, nausea, fevers, vomiting, slightly overprotective partner behavior as a side effect of second hand trauma

Lex pushed open the door to their apartment, the cool night air clinging to his clothes as he stepped inside. The hallway was dimly lit, the soft glow from the living room spilling over the floor, casting long shadows.

He was exhausted, every muscle in his body aching from the relentless pace of the day. Back-to-back calls had kept him out far longer than he’d expected, and it was only now, as he was finally home, that he realized he hadn’t called or texted Soren to let him know he’d be late.

The thought hit him like a punch to the gut, his stomach twisting with guilt. Soren would be worried—no, more than worried. He knew how much his silence would unsettle Soren, especially given their history. The memory of those dark days, when Lex had turned to alcohol as an escape, still hung between them, a silent shadow that neither of them liked to acknowledge but both were always aware of.

Lex dropped his bag by the door, his movements slow and heavy as he peeled off his jacket, hanging it on the hook with a sigh. He was mentally preparing himself for the conversation that was about to unfold when he heard the soft padding of footsteps coming from the living room.

Soren appeared in the doorway, his expression a mix of relief and something else—something tighter, edged with worry and a hint of anger. His arms were crossed over his chest, his brow furrowed, and the tension in his stance was unmistakable.

“You’re late,” Soren said, his voice steady, but there was an underlying edge to it that Lex couldn’t ignore.

Lex winced, running a hand through his hair, which was still slightly damp from the sweat of the day’s work. “I know, I’m sorry. I got caught up at work—calls just kept coming in, and I lost track of time.”

Soren didn’t respond immediately, his eyes scanning Lex’s face, searching for something. “You didn’t call,” he finally said, the hurt in his voice more evident now.

Lex sighed, the weight of his exhaustion pressing down on him even more heavily. “I know. I should have. I just… I was so caught up in everything, and by the time I thought about it, I was already on my way home.”

Soren’s jaw tightened, and he looked away, his gaze settling on a spot on the floor. “Do you know how worried I was? Not a single word from you, not even a text. I didn’t know if you were okay, if something had happened, or if…” His voice faltered, but he pushed through. “Or if you were out doing something else.”

Lex’s heart sank at the implication, knowing exactly what Soren was referring to. He stepped closer, trying to close the distance between them, but Soren held up a hand, stopping him in his tracks.

“I’m sorry, Soren,” Lex said quietly, his voice filled with regret. “I should have called. Or texted. Honestly, doing either of those things were the last thing on my mind. I usually do text you because they don't let me drive the ambulance. I didn’t mean to make you worry, especially not like that.”

Soren’s eyes finally met Lex’s, and Lex could see the worry there, mingling with the anger. “You can’t just disappear on me like that, Lex. Not after everything we’ve been through. I need to know that you’re okay, that you’re safe. When you don’t call, my mind goes to the worst places.”

Lex swallowed hard, the guilt gnawing at him. He hated that he had caused Soren to doubt him, to fear that he might have slipped back into old habits. Lex also worried that someday he might slip up and go back, but he loved his job now and knew that if he did that, alcohol or otherwise, he'd lose it. And unlike before, this was a job Lex didn't want to lose.

“I know,” he whispered, taking another step forward, this time reaching out to place a hand on Soren’s arm. “I promise, it wasn’t like that. I’ve been clean, you know that. I would never do that to you, to us. Not again.”

Soren’s expression softened slightly, but the tension didn’t fully leave his body. “I want to believe that, Lex. I do. But you need to meet me halfway. You need to tell me when things like this happen so I’m not left here, wondering if… if you’re going to walk through that door or not.”

Lex nodded, his thumb rubbing small circles on Soren’s arm, trying to offer some comfort. “You’re right. I’ll do better. I don’t want you to ever feel like that again. I’m sorry, Soren. I really am.”

For a moment, they stood there in silence, the weight of the day and the conversation hanging between them. Then, Soren let out a long breath, his posture relaxing just a bit as he uncrossed his arms and stepped closer to Lex, letting their foreheads rest against each other.

“I just need you to be honest with me,” Soren murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “Even when things get crazy, just let me know you’re okay.”

“I will,” Lex promised, closing his eyes and savoring the closeness, the reassurance of Soren’s presence. “I will.”

Soren nodded slightly, the tension in his shoulders easing as he leaned into Lex’s touch. “Good. Now, let’s get you out of those work clothes and into something comfortable. You look like you’re about to collapse.”

Lex managed a small, tired smile. “You’re not wrong.”

As they moved together towards the bedroom, Lex felt a flicker of relief. The conversation had been hard, but necessary, and he knew that they were stronger for it. And as he changed into something more comfortable, Soren by his side, he was reminded that no matter how tough things got, they had each other to lean on.

The hours passed in a heavy, dreamless sleep, the kind that comes only after sheer exhaustion has wrung every ounce of energy from the body. Lex had fallen asleep almost immediately after his head hit the pillow, Soren’s steady breathing beside him a comforting reminder that he wasn’t alone. But as the night wore on, the deep sleep that had initially claimed him began to fragment, broken by the creeping discomfort that slowly gnawed at the edges of his consciousness.

Lex stirred, his body feeling unusually warm, a heat that seemed to radiate from his very core. His head throbbed dully, the remnants of a headache that had never fully left him, and as he shifted under the covers, a wave of dizziness rolled over him, making the room spin in the darkness. He swallowed, his throat dry, and noticed the unsettling heaviness in his stomach, a nausea that was steadily building, threatening to push him over the edge.

For a moment, he tried to ignore it, squeezing his eyes shut and willing himself back to sleep. But the discomfort only grew, the heat pressing down on him like a suffocating blanket, the dizziness making it hard to find a position that didn’t make his head swim. Lex groaned softly, trying to adjust the covers, hoping that loosening them would cool him down, but the movement only made the nausea surge, a sickening lurch that sent his stomach twisting.

He felt the bed shift slightly, and in the quiet of the room, Soren’s voice came, soft and laced with concern. “Lex? You okay?”

Lex froze, his breath catching as he realized he must have woken Soren with his restless movements. He hadn’t meant to, but the heat and dizziness were overwhelming, and he couldn’t quite mask the discomfort in his voice as he responded. “I’m fine,” he mumbled, though it was far from convincing.

Soren was already sitting up, the soft rustle of sheets filling the silence as he leaned closer to Lex. “You don’t sound fine. What’s wrong?”

Lex hesitated, his exhaustion making it hard to keep up the usual pretense. The truth was, he felt awful—hot, nauseous, and dizzy, with a headache that was starting to pulse more insistently behind his eyes. It wasn’t the first time he’d felt this way after being overworked, but that didn’t make it any easier to deal with. He ran a hand over his face.

“I just… I don’t feel well,” Lex finally admitted, his voice barely above a whisper, the words slipping out before he could think of a better response.

Soren’s concern deepened, and Lex could feel the shift in his boyfriend’s demeanor, a tenseness that hadn’t been there a moment ago.

“What do you mean, ‘not well’? Are you dizzy? Do you have a headache? Nausea?” Soren’s questions came quickly, each one probing for a clearer picture of what was going on, but Lex could hear the underlying worry in his tone, the fear that something more was at play.

Lex sighed, his hand coming up to rub at his temple, the dull ache there flaring under his touch. “All of it,” he confessed, his voice thick with exhaustion. “I’m dizzy, and my head’s killing me, and I feel like I’m gonna be sick. How... wait, what day is it? Or, was it?”

There was a moment of silence, and Lex didn’t have to look to know that Soren was processing what he’d just said, likely running through all the possible reasons for Lex to be feeling this way. But Lex’s heart sank when he felt Soren’s hand tighten slightly on his arm, his next words tinged with suspicion.

“It's Thursday," Soren said, his voice holding a tone that made Lex anxious. He feared he knew where this was going. "Lex… you didn’t drink tonight, did you?”

The question hung in the air, heavy and loaded, and Lex felt a cold stab of dread in his chest. He knew where Soren’s mind had gone, knew that the symptoms he was describing could easily be mistaken for the aftermath of a night of drinking. But he hadn’t touched a drop of alcohol—he hadn’t in a long time, not since he’d fought his way out of that dark place. Not since he barely saved any fragments of their relationship three years ago. Yet, here was Soren, his concern now tinged with doubt, and it hurt more than Lex wanted to admit.

“Soren, I didn’t—” Lex started, his voice strained, but he couldn’t get the words out before his stomach twisted violently, the nausea that had been simmering finally boiling over. He felt his mouth water, his body giving him no choice but to move, and he scrambled out of bed, the room spinning around him as he staggered towards the bathroom.

The world tilted as he stumbled down the hallway, his vision blurring at the edges as the dizziness hit him full force. Each step felt like wading through thick, unsteady water, his legs shaky beneath him. His skin was clammy, a cold sweat breaking out across his forehead as the nausea surged, threatening to overwhelm him completely.

Lex barely made it to the bathroom before he fell to his knees in front of the toilet, the motion too much for his already overwhelmed senses. He gagged, his body convulsing as he tried to hold back, but it was no use. His stomach heaved, and he vomited, the force of it sending pain shooting through his head and leaving him trembling and breathless.

The retching seemed to go on forever, each wave of nausea more intense than the last, his body rebelling against the exhaustion and stress he’d been pushing through. By the time the worst of it passed, Lex was left slumped against the cold porcelain, his body spent and shaking, his head still pounding with every beat of his heart.

He heard the soft padding of feet behind him and felt Soren’s presence as he knelt beside him, the suspicion in his earlier question replaced with concern. Soren’s hand was gentle as it came to rest on the back of Lex’s neck, fingers brushing through the loose strands of his hair, holding it back and away from his face.

“Lex…” Soren’s voice was quiet, filled with worry and regret, and Lex could feel the tension between them shifting again, the doubt melting away as Soren took in the state Lex was in.

“I didn’t drink,” Lex whispered hoarsely, his voice rough from the effort of being sick. “I swear, Soren… I didn’t. I swear I'm not hungover or drunk, I'm just... sick?”

He retched again, his body convulsing with the effort, each wave of sickness leaving him more drained and disoriented. The pounding in his head was relentless, a brutal rhythm that matched the churning of his stomach. He clutched the edge of the toilet, knuckles white, as he struggled to catch his breath between bouts of vomiting.

Soren was there in an instant, kneeling beside him, his hand moving to Lex’s hair, pulling the loose braid away from his face with practiced ease. “Easy, Lex,” Soren murmured, his voice a quiet comfort in the chaos. “I’ve got you.”

As Soren held Lex’s hair back, his fingers brushed against the nape of Lex’s neck, and he stilled, noticing the heat radiating from his boyfriend’s skin. Soren’s brow furrowed in concern, and he pressed the back of his hand gently to Lex’s forehead, feeling the fever that had clearly set in. The warmth wasn’t just from the exertion of being sick—Lex was running a fever, and it was high.

Lex slumped against the toilet, panting for breath, his skin slick with sweat. The fever had sapped what little strength he had left, leaving him dazed and disoriented. Soren could see it in the way Lex’s eyes struggled to focus, the way his head lolled slightly as if he couldn’t quite keep it up.

“Lex,” Soren said gently, still holding his hair back, “you’re burning up. How long have you been feeling like this?”

Lex blinked slowly, his thoughts sluggish and muddled, as if they were trying to swim through a thick fog. “I… I don’t know,” he mumbled, his voice faint and shaky.

Soren’s concern deepened at Lex’s confusion. “Do you remember how many hours you worked?”

Lex frowned, his brow furrowing in concentration as he tried to piece together the last few days. “I… I lost track,” he admitted, sounding more bewildered than anything else. “I just kept going… Didn’t want to leave anyone hanging.”

Soren’s heart ached at Lex’s words, the exhaustion and confusion in his voice making it clear that this wasn’t just a typical case of overwork. Lex was genuinely sick, and it was more than just the stress of his job catching up to him. The fever, the dizziness, the fact that Lex couldn’t even remember how long he’d been working—it all pointed to something more serious.

Soren gently released Lex’s hair, letting it fall back as he placed a cool hand on Lex’s flushed cheek. "You really have to stop doing this to yourself."

Lex’s eyes flickered with a mix of relief and confusion, his body trembling from the fever and the effort of being sick. “I’m sorry, Soren… I didn’t mean to…”

“Shh,” Soren soothed, his thumb brushing gently across Lex’s cheek. “You don’t need to apologize. I do, actually. And I'm sorry."

Lex shook his head, "No, I know. You have every right to-"

"But I didn't," Soren said, pushing some hair behind Lex's ear again after the strand fell forward. "Let’s just get you back to bed, okay?”

Lex nodded weakly, too worn out to protest, and Soren helped him to his feet, guiding him back towards their bedroom. Each step was slow, deliberate, Soren’s arm wrapped securely around Lex’s waist to keep him steady. Lex leaned heavily on him, his body drained of energy, his mind still struggling to make sense of everything.

When they reached the bed, Soren helped Lex lie down, adjusting the pillows and blankets to make him as comfortable as possible. Lex’s skin was still feverishly warm, and his eyes had a glazed, unfocused look that worried Soren even more. But despite it all, Soren could see the trust in Lex’s eyes, the way he relaxed just a fraction now that he knew Soren believed him.

“Just rest, Lex,” Soren murmured, sitting beside him. Lex felt the way Soren’s hands started gently detangling the knots that formed in his hair, something Soren always did to keep his hands busy when this happened. It was calming. “I’m right here.”

Lex’s eyelids fluttered, and he nodded faintly, the tension in his body easing slightly as he allowed himself to relax into the bed. He was exhausted, his body and mind worn thin, but with Soren by his side, he knew he could finally let go, let the sleep take him, knowing he wasn’t alone in this.

As Lex drifted off, Soren remained by his side, watching over him with a mix of worry and determination. He’d make sure Lex got through this, no matter what. And as the night wore on, Soren’s steady presence became the anchor that kept Lex grounded, the one constant in the storm of sickness that had overtaken him.

[fairyniceyeah]

🌹🤍Day 18: "My body is one big ache"

@sicktember

Summary: Woosung is feverish, queasy and downright miserable. 

CW: emeto, talks of fainting

Sickie: Woosung/Sammy Caretaker: Hajoon/Dylan + Jaehyeong/Jeff + Dojoon/Leo

Woosung woke up shivering and icy cold.

When he opened his burning eyes he found the room bathed in darkness. It must still be pretty early, he supposed. A glance at his phone revealed that it was barely five am.

He still had about two and a half hours until his alarm rang but for some reason he doubted he would be able to go back to sleep. 

His body shivered again, a full jolt going through every nerve. There was no reason for him to be so cold, it was the middle of summer after all. But his body apparently didn’t get the memo. He was so cold.

It didn’t help that he only had the duvet cover on his bed, having abandoned the blanket itself a few nights ago because he had been sweating so much back then. Now he yearned for the exhausting heat that had coated his body in disgusting sweat. 

Not that he wasn’t sweaty now.

He groaned, realizing that if he wanted to fall back asleep he would need to get up and find the blanket. If he remembered correctly he had put it over his desk chair, right?

Glancing around by the light of his phone he saw that the blanket indeed was only on the other side of the room. He would just need to walk two meters at most and still it seemed an awfully long way. He hoped the warmth was worth it. 

Getting his heavy body in a sitting position was hard enough and he swayed dizzily even as he just sat at the side of the bed. For a moment he just rested his aching head in his hands, feeling how his forehead seemed to be the hottest thing in the room.

It made sense - he wasn’t supposed to be cold in August. If he was running a fever that was a good explanation. But he had no idea where the thermometer was. Did they even have one?

Getting the blanket would have to do. Slowly pushing to his feet so the dizziness wouldn’t overwhelm him was awful. Every part of his body seemed to ache. His head seemed to be full of wool and soupy thoughts. Every limb was heavy. 

He stumbled to the desk chair, nearly falling as he grabbed it to steady himself and it turned away. Crashing into the desk itself was the only thing stopping his fall. His hip bore the brunt of the impact and the throbbing pain brought tears to his eyes. 

Woosung took a deep breath and just held onto the blanket. His only goal was to get back into bed without face-planting on the floor. It didn’t matter to him that the blanket was trailing on the floor; it was less heavy that way. 

He collapsed onto the bed and just haphazardly pulled the blanket on top of himself. It was uncomfortable and tangled, some parts of his body covered and some kissing the cool air. Not that it was much warmer under the blanket.

🌹

Woosung wasn’t sure if he had actually fallen asleep at some point. It seemed like he had dangled in feverish limbo between painful wakefulness and restless sleep for hours. Even if he had been asleep it certainly hadn’t been restful. 

His hand shook as he turned off his alarm. The others would likely get up soon as well, their alarms were programmed for the same time frame. Woosung was pretty sure that Jaehyeong, never somebody who could get up at first try, would have pushed snooze for the third time now. Hajoon, diligent as he was, was probably already showering. Dojoon with all his energy would just jump up the moment his alarm sounded, later than anybody else's and still somehow always the first one ready. Woosung normally enjoyed hitting snooze once and then slowly getting ready. 

That day, however, all he wanted to do was get up and find another member who knew where the thermometer and the meds were. He suspected that out of everybody, Jaehyeong would have some. 

He knew the way down the stairs would suck, he knew that everything would be cold and that he’d feel terrible the whole way.

Maybe Dojoon, whose room was beside Woosung’s on the first floor, would be the easier choice. 

Woosung pushed himself up, nearly falling at the headrush that assaulted him as soon as he changed from horizontal to vertical, wrapped his blanket around his shoulders and only stopped for a moment to put on some fuzzy sucks his eomma had gifted him. He all but fell when he lifted his feet to pull his socks over his freezing toes but leaning against his wardrobes saved him.

He stumbled over to Dojoon’s room and knocked on the door, pushing it open before he could receive an answer. His heart sank when he realized that the room was empty. As if to mock him, he then heard the shower turn on in the bathroom he shared with Dojoon. He was too late.

Desperate for relief and not wanting to continue to suffer alone, Woosung decided to brave the stairs. He clutched at the railing with one hand, the other holding the blanket around his shoulders. It had been a stupid decision to put on the socks - he very nearly slipped on the wooden surface with them a few times. 

🌹

By the time he had made it down half the stairs he was sweating like crazy, panting and his vision was turning spotty. Scared he’d faint and fall down the rest of the steps, he carefully lowered himself into a sitting position, resting his head on between his knees, leaning sideways against the wall.

Woosung had no idea how long he had sat there, freezing and shaking, when he heard a voice asking: “Hyung?”

He lifted his head and tried to focus his blurry vision on whoever had spoken. Jaehyeong?

“Sammy?”, Jaehyeong repeated and then suddenly he yelled: “Hajoon-ah! Dojoon-hyung!”

Woosung winced at the volume but the maknae’s cold hand on his forehead was a welcome relief. When he opened his eyes - when had he closed them? - he found Jaehyeong looking at him with worry in his eyes.

“Hey, hyung”, he said, “how are you feeling?”

“Awful”, Woosung rasped honestly. 

“Hm, you seem to be burning up.”

Right, that was why he had decided to come downstairs in the first place.

“Do we have a thermometer?”, he asked quietly. Jaehyeong’s hand on his face felt heavenly. The maknae looked incredibly worried though.

“What happened?”, Hajoon asked, out of a sudden kneeling beside Jaehyeong. When had he arrived? He was only wearing shorts and no t-shirt, water from his shower dripping down his face and back. Woosung shivered just seeing him.

“I found him like this”, Jaehyong explained, a worried and rushed quality to his voice, “he’s burning up.”

“It’s the middle of summer”, Hajoon said with a frown and reached up to feel Woosung’s forehead as well. He winced as his hand made contact. Woosung pulled away and placed his dizzy head on his knees, Hajoon’s hand uncomfortably warm.

“Summer flues do happen”, Jaehyeong said with a shrug, “why don’t you get him to the couch and I’ll see where we put the thermometer and medication.”

Hajoon nodded and Jaehyeong vanished. 

“Can you get up, hyung?”, Hajoon asked, voice overflowing with concern.

“Help me?”, Woosung asked shakily, already not looking forward to the nearly promised headrush.

Out of a sudden a hot flush took over Woosung, who for the first time that day felt warm. It wasn’t as pleasant as he had hoped, in fact it was mostly the opposite. His throat felt tight and saliva gathered in his mouth. He swallowed, hoping feverishly that it would vanish.

Hajoon didn’t seem to notice his struggle, reaching his hand out to Woosung’s shoulder. Before he could make contact, Woosung felt himself retch. It came on so quickly that all he could do was lean over and spread his legs as a rush of vomit splattered between his feet and onto his legs.

“Well, some warning would have been nice”, Hajoon mumbled with a sigh, holding onto Woosung’s shoulder so he wouldn’t fall over. 

“Sorry, I didn’t…”

Woosung coughed a bit, cursing internally as it caused another wave of stomach contents to come up, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. For a moment all he could do was stare down at the dirty steps below him, his brain too tired to comprehend what had happened. He felt even worse now than he had before puking.

“Hyung, that’s disgusting”, Hajoon whined a bit, pulling his hand from his mouth. “Let’s get a towel. Jeff, go get some towels, stat!”

As if he had been summoned, Jaehyeong nearly immediately appeared holding the thermometer. His eyes widened in shock. “Shit, okay, yeah.”

“Can we go sit on the couch?”, Hajoon asked worriedly, turning his attention back to Woosung. The singer sighed, wrapping his arms around his stomach. He was so tired and the couch was so far away. But staying on the stairs, staring at his stomach contents also didn’t seem to be the greatest idea.

So he nodded, steadying his head with his hands as everything swam around him.

“Dizzy?”, Hajoon guessed. Woosung waved his hand in a vaguely agreeing gesture and held his head still until the vertigo had passed again. 

Hajoon helped him scoot to the other side of the step he was sitting on, so there was less risk of stepping into vomit. He held out his hands and Woosung grasped them, trying to pull himself up with Hajoon’s help. But all his strength seemed to have vanished and he barely got himself more upright before he had to stop.

“Are you going to faint if I lift you?”, Hajoon asked gently, crouching down to look Woosung into the eyes. Concern was written all over his face.

“Maybe”, Woosung admitted, wetting his cracked lips with his tongue. 

“Let’s move down until we’re at the bottom of the stairs, okay?”, Hajoon suggested, resting his hand on Woosung’s knee. “Less risk of us both falling down the stairs if you do.”

🌹

It was humiliating. Scooting down the stairs on his ass, one step at a time like a child. Woosung wanted to cry, and he would have if it wasn’t so exhausting. By the time they reached the bottom, he was ready to just curl up in a shivery ball of pathetic human and stay there.

Jaehyeong came back but Woosung didn’t dare lift his eyes up to him. There was a mumbled conversation between the two younger members but Woosung blended them out. His head was pounding in his skull and his stomach, now that it had started, felt very unsteady still.

“I’m gonna lift you up from the back, okay? My grandmother used to fall a lot, that’s what we used to do”, Jaehyeong said with a sigh, patting Woosung’s knee to get his attention. 

“I’m ill, not old”, Woosung protested half-heartedly, a bit offended. 

“Yeah, but we still would rather that none of us fall”, Jaehyeong replied, “try to let us know before you faint.”

“Hm.”

Jaehyeong hooked his arms below Woosung’s armpits, carefully pulling him to his feet. Hajoon stood by, ready to catch them should one of them lose their balance. They nearly made it into a standing position before Woosung started to see black spots dancing in his vision and he felt himself start to sway.

He didn’t even need to say anything as immediately Hajoon was there, lifting Woosung under his knees and below his back, hefting him up to his chest. His vision went black but Woosung was sure he hadn’t really passed out. He dropped his head on Hajoon’s shoulder and let himself be carried to the couch. 

The cool leather was soothing against his burning skin for just a few seconds before it became uncomfortable. He curled into himself, trying to minimize the space where his sensitive skin touched anything. 

“Hi, hyung. Can you look at me for a moment?”, Hajoon asked gently, brushing back Woosung’s hair back. The older opened his eyes - since when were they burning? - and blinked up at the two Hajoon’s he saw until the left morphed into the right one.

“You’re really out of him, huh? Let me take your temperature.”

Hajoon placed the thermometer under Woosung’s tongue and entangled their fingers while they waited. 

“39.1°C”, the drummer read, “sounds about right.”

🌹

“What’s going on here?”, Dojoon’s voice suddenly called from the steps. “Who’s sick?”

“Sammy”, Hajoon replied loudly, causing Woosung to wince at the sound. A shushed apology followed. 

“Oh, hey”, Dojoon greeted as he rushed to the couch, falling to his knees next to Hajoon and instantly starting to caress Woosung’s hair. “How are you feeling?”

“My body is one big ache”, Woosung mumbled and sighed. It was true. His head and stomach were both hurting in equal measures. His skin was still prickling and uncomfortable everywhere and his muscles were incredibly sore. He just wanted to cry, if he was honest.

“Sammy-ah”, Dojoon cooed, “you’re really not feeling well, huh?”

Woosung shook his head. 

He was so tired too, he noticed when his eyes slid shut. He wanted to sleep so badly, wanted to not feel miserable anymore. 

“Hey, stay awake for a second, okay?”, Hajoon asked tenderly, squeezing his hand. “Do you think you could take some meds?”

Woosung shook his head again. He didn’t think he could keep anything down with the way his stomach was aching. He was sure he would be sick again in the near future but he really hoped he could just sleep.

Dojoon sighed and then stood up. For a moment Woosung thought he was going to leave - and why did that make him want to cry? - but then Dojoon lifted Woosung’s upper body into his lap, letting him curl up there. It helped the aching skin tremendously and the small head massage Dojoon started at his temples felt amazing. He was about to drift off again when a voice spoke up again.

“I’m going to put the bucket here by your head, okay?”, Jaehyeong said. Woosung wasn’t sure when he had returned but he appreciated the gesture. “We’ll call the manager and cancel the schedules. You just rest.”

Woosung sleepily nodded and closed his eyes.

Notes: Big thanks to @sickiecloud who beta-read this and gave me the plot idea in the first place!

Masterlist links: Fairy's Full Masterlist Fairy's Sicktember 2024

[side-shuffling-hyperfixations]

Sicktember Day 18: “My body is one big ache” - Gravity Falls

“Let’s get this party started!” Mabel piped up with feigned morning cheer which couldn’t quite disguise the phlegmy rattling. “Grunkle Ford, if we leave now we’ll get first access to the goodest goods at the fabric store!”

Her smile didn’t reach her eyes, smudged as they were with sleep-deprived shadows; the makeup she’d applied to hide it was slapdash at best.

Dipper stared incredulously. He had heard her coughing raucously all night. Judging by the split-second glance they shared, Stan and Ford must have heard it too from the guest room. How had she even pulled herself together enough to get out of bed? Why did she even try?

Because Mabel was supposed to be the undimmed ray of sunshine; she couldn’t find it in herself to rain on anybody’s parade, even when she had a valid reason. Her reasons had to be motivated by outside sources—which was why Ford offered an apologetic sigh in return.

“That does sound like fun, sweetheart, but I might not be up for it today…” He made a show of rubbing his neck, then his temple. “With the recent changes in the barometric pressure, I didn’t sleep very well last night. Did you?”

“Uh…well…”

Ford didn’t wait for her to force out a lie. “I’m still feeling it this morning, I’m afraid. My body feels like one big ache.” Stan pitched in with a well-timed, sympathetic squeeze to Ford’s shoulder as he smiled halfheartedly. “Would you mind terribly if we relaxed here today? You could show me some more episodes of that pony show you love so much.”

Mabel must have known what he was doing because she had to bite her lip, first against a cough and then against the grateful tears making her eyes glassier. “…Sure. Of course I don’t mind.”

[sickonthedancefloor]

sicktember: Day 14

Sicktember Prompt: Day 14 - Clean Sheets / Fresh Pajamas Sickie: Yunho Caregiver: Seonghwa, Wooyoung, Yeosang

“And… up,” Yeosang says softly, his hands holding Yunho by the elbows. While the older man is taller, he’s barely stronger than a child at his current state. Roasting with a fever that has been taking days to break, weak with chills and hoarse from a rough cough that’s been plaguing him for past week, Yunho’s been barely able to get out of bed on his own. After his fainting spell earlier, Yeosang had called in Seonghwa for reinforcements, deciding that Yunho’s “I’ll sleep it off” method wasn’t working anymore.

Yunho takes in a deep breath—or tries, and Yeosang can hear a whistle in his wheezing—and feels Wooyoung’s hands gripping his waist for extra support. He stares at his roommate with a sad look.

“You’re okay,” Yeosang encourages. “Come on. Slow steps to the bathroom.”

Yunho doesn’t reply verbally, but Yeosang catches the small nod as they begin to shift towards the bathroom. Yeosang moves backwards but doesn’t worry about hurting himself—they’re going too slow for bumping into a wall or a door to do anything. And with Yunho’s room as clean as it is, they’re not likely to run into anything but his dog-shaped bedside table. Yeosang just continues to encourage him until they make it into the bathroom, where Seonghwa pulls his hands from the water at the tub.

“It’s warm, not too warm but should be comfortable enough,” the oldest member says.

“Thank you,” Yunho grunts. His eyes blink heavily and he sways, but the hands grip his arms a little tighter. Yeosang is practically holding him forward. “I… I’m sorry.”

That has Wooyoung laughing. “Silly. Come on, let’s get you in the tub.”

They make quick work of ridding Yunho of his sweat-soaked pajamas and helping him into the tub, sitting him gently. He shivers, the water not as hot as he’d hoped, but warm enough that it doesn’t make him whine about the temperature. Wooyoung takes over getting the soap and a washcloth, and as Yunho leans on the side and rests his head, he takes over trying to scrub his sweat-salty skin clean. Yeosang and Seonghwa slip away into the bedroom and start cleaning what they can.

Seonghwa wastes no time in stripping the bed of the dirty sheets, recruiting Yeosang to remove the pillow cases. Yeosang grimaces at the wet marks on the pillow, feeling bad. “He’s been sweating so badly…” he mumbles.

“But his fever still keeps coming back,” Seonghwa sighs in response. “If he doesn’t feel even a little better tomorrow, I’m making our manager take him to the doctor.”

“He’s going to complain,” Yeosang answers. He laughs, but he really agrees with his hyung; Yunho hasn’t been getting better and it’s been days. Both of them frown, before scooping up the old bed linen and carrying it to the washing machine.

~*~

Yunho coughs roughly and grimaces when he bumps his chin on the tub. He whines at the sudden pain, and Wooyoung reaches over to rub his chin.

“Oh Yunho… you’re just having a rough night, aren’t you?” Wooyoung tries to comfort him, voice soft and soothing.

Yunho just groans in response, setting his face back down on the tub side, sideways this time. “Bad week. Worst Tuesday.”

“It’s… Thursday.”

That has Yunho lifting his head quickly, surprise taking over his face, but he ends up covering his mouth with one shaky hand as he lets out a few more painful coughs into his hand. Wooyoung rubs his back until he calms down, and when he looks at his hand, covered in sputum and phlegm, he frowns and just sticks his hand into the water to wash it off. Wooyoung pulls his hand over and runs the washcloth over it, before putting his hand back in the water. Sighing, Yunho sets his head back down.

“Oh Yun… You slept most of yesterday, didn’t you?”

“If that’s what we’re calling it,” Yunho grumbles. He could barely rest peacefully, between waking up to kick his blanket off, waking up to cover himself, the nonstop chills, his cough waking him up, and then his most recent nausea and dizziness… It’s been awful. He doesn’t feel like he’s slept in days, but according to Yeosang, he’s just been staying in bed and living off water and crackers.

Wooyoung scoops water from the tub and washes away suds from his back, then over his shoulder. “It’s okay. Let’s just finish the bath, then get you back to bed, with soup and medication this time.”

Yunho sighs. “This is so tiring.” His voice even sounds exhausted. Wooyoung’s sure, especially if he’s been so sick he’s losing track of time. Wooyoung just continues to pour water on his back, rubbing it gently. He can feel Yunho relaxing under his soothing, until Yunho almost falls asleep. His coughing startles him to sit up again, and Wooyoung decides they’ve spent enough time in the tub. He lets out the water from the tub, then uses the detachable showerhead to rinse any remaining soap from Yunho before he calls for Yeosang again.

“I can get up myself,” Yunho grumbles, holding onto the side of the tub.

Yeosang hurries in anyway, to catch Yunho looking awfully green trying to right himself onto his feet. The two help him step out, only for Yunho to pitch forward at the toilet. He yanks the lid up and immediately lets out a mouthful of pale, sludgy vomit. He can hear both of them murmuring soft encouragements, both members easing him to kneel onto the bathroom rug to just throw up again. While he catches his breath, he feels Wooyoung rubbing the towel over his skin, trying to dry him a little bit. He tries to lean forward, but Yeosang pulls him over to lay against his shoulder instead.

“Wasn’t this bad… yesterday,” he mumbles against Yeosang’s shoulder. “I wanted… wanted to get dressed myself.”

“Come on, do you think you’re done?” Wooyoung asks.

Yunho nods. Yeosang helps him up again, slowly this time, and they hand Yunho his own boxers, letting him have the dignity of getting himself dressed. Once he tugs his shirt on, they help him rinse his mouth out with mouthwash, then take him back into his room. Seonghwa’s seated on his computer desk chair, checking the dosage on one of the medication bottles in his hand. Yunho realizes, as the two help tuck him in, that they changed his sheets and had a fresh blanket tossed on top. They have to tug him forward to keep him from laying down right away, which has Seonghwa laughing as he rolls the chair over. Yunho doesn’t complain when he sips the cough syrup, taking relief in the water bottle handed to him afterward. And his eyes droop quickly. As Wooyoung helps Yunho lay down, Yeosang hands Pudeongie into his arms and Seonghwa tugs the blanket up to his shoulders. With a yawn, Yunho settles down easily.

[monaisme]

Sicktember: Day 21

This is chapter 2 of the Sicktember fic posted yesterday. You can find it here (along with this once I get this posted over on ao3! 🤭):

https://archiveofourown.org/works/58933525

#21- Anaphylactic Response

It couldn’t have been timed better if they had planned it.

Granted, they’d lost a minute or two trying to convince the uber driver that Peter’s cough was NOT a result of covid, so maybe they hadn’t needed to cut it that close.

Bruce had first noticed that something was off a few minutes into the ride.

Peter began to bounce his leg...

No big deal. Bruce remembered Tony joking that he and Peter could start up a band called AD/HD so the stimming didn’t seem too out of place.

At least the coughing was starting to settle.

The breathing between those coughs, though, “Are you doing okay there, Peter?” Bruce had to ask. “You’re kind of quiet all of a sudden and your breathing seems a little...”

“’m still fine.” Peter forced out, then shifted his focus to the scenery as it passed by.

It was all Bruce could do to not call him out on the obvious lie. Peter was most definitely not fine. What he could do, though, was count down the minutes back to the hotel as Bruce recognized each landmark along the way. Bruce thought it might have helped, as they hit the two minute mark and Peter pulled out his phone, prepared to complete their uber transaction as hastily as possible.

The leg shaking grew more frantic.

 “Peter?” Bruce had to ask again as the vehicle finally pulled under the hotel’s porte-cochere.

Peter just shook his head.

The driver tapped on a screen as he thanked them for using Uber, Peter’s phone pinged, and in a flash, a tip had been given and Peter was bolting out of the vehicle and into the hotel without a word. 

Even struggling, the boy made sure to be kind.

Bruce offered an awkward ‘thank you’ as he fumbled to exit the car to follow Peter, and accidentally leaving their food behind.

“Peter!” Bruce called out as he watched the boy enter to the stairwell. A quick glance as he passed the lobby elevator showed the single elevator car biding its time on the sixth floor, with their room set on the third. Bruce had never been so thankful to Natasha and her insistence that Bruce focus on more than just yoga and meditation as he set off up the stairs behind him. Knowing the urgency, Bruce didn’t call out again, just rushed behind and hoped to catch up if Peter needed him before their destination.

Bruce was only steps behind Peter by the time he’d pushed the third floor stairwell door open with more strength than necessary. Planning ahead, Bruce pulled the room key card from his pocket as Peter patted down his own pocket for his. “I’m here, Peter. I’ve got it.” Bruce announced as he reached past him to the card reader on the door handle and tapped. The green light flashed and Peter was in the room and dashing past the vanity to the bathroom before Bruce could fully enter the room, the door slamming forcefully behind him.

And then the heaving started.

 Bruce had intended to follow, even tried to open the door to get to him, but Peter had managed to throw the lock before it all went to shit. All Bruce could do was lean against the counter outside of the door, silently supportive as he waited for Peter to come out, though the brief silence once he finally was did have Bruce nervous enough to contemplate breaking the door down. “Uh, Peter?” he finally had to call out. “Are you good?”

A weak, “Just a minute,” answered back.

Bruce took that as the cue to get to work, so he hurried into the hotel room proper and pulled back the blankets on Peter’s bed, which was conveniently located closest to the bathroom. Once that was done, he went back to the vanity, hastily lining the cheap plastic ice bucket with the provided plastic bag and filling two of the four disposable cups with tap water. He’d just placed them on the bedside table and brought the garbage can over as a reinforcement when the bathroom door creaked open.

“I am so sorry...” A concerningly pale Peter croaked as he shuffled to his bed and sat cautiously as he clutched his stomach. “I’d really hoped this wouldn’t happen...” Peter winced as he shifted to lie down.

Bruce stood by helpless, wishing that Tony could be here for Peter instead of him, but then Peter’s words sunk in, “Uh, hold on? What does that mean?” What had Bruce missed?

Peter sighed in frustration, “Since the whole, you know,” Peter waved a tired hand over his altered body, “It’s always a wild guess... ‘what is Peter’s body going to do with this new food exposure?’” Peter curled up a bit, “So this is totally my bad. I should’ve been more careful and ordered something I knew... especially when I was away from home. I should’ve...”

“Wait a minute...” Bruce cut him off as he processed that information, “Are you telling me this is an anaphylactic response?”

Peter shrugged, “I am neither confirming nor denying anything.”

“Hang on.” Bruce whipped his cell phone out of his pocket and pulled up his search engine. The look of horror that spread across Bruce’s face made it obvious exactly what he was scrolling through, “I sat beside you in the uber and you didn’t say anything while your symptoms were literally manifesting! You could have died? You could still die? Do you even have an epipen?”

Peter’s eyes drooped with exhaustion. “Nah, it hasn’t gotten that bad any other time. I think my spider DNA helps with that some. And you’re a doctor.” Peter coughed a little, “If something had happened, you’d have made sure I was okay.”

Bruce dropped down onto his own bed and dragged his hands through his hair. “I keep telling you guys—I’m not that kind of doctor” He exhaled loudly, “When are you guys going to believe me?”

Peter chuckled, “Mr. Stark says that you always say that, but he also says you always come through.”

Bruce blushed a little at the compliment, and meant to reply, but Peter kept talking.

“I’m just sorry that I messed up the rest of the weekend. I mean, I can try, but I’m pretty sure I’m gonna be out of commission for most of tomorrow, and you were talkin’ about that lecturer you wanted to go hear and the SI demonstration...” Peter’s voice cracked as he trailed off, then faux-rallied for Bruce’s benefit. “But it’s totally cool if you even want to go alone.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Peter. Here,” Bruce was back up and offering one of the cups of water to Peter and picking up the garbage can. “Wanna give your mouth a rinse? And maybe, if you’re feeling safe, try to take a couple of sips?”

Peter nodded warily, then hesitated at the thought of either sitting back up, or more so, risking actually throwing up in front of a witness.

Bruce saw the hesitation, and understood. “Relax, Peter. As a future Avenger, it is a guarantee that you will have to do this in front of at least one- if not all of us at some point. You may as well get that first time out of the way now... especially if you still have anything in your stomach.” Bruce cringed at the idea. “In fact, I think I’d definitely feel better about it. Getting all of it out, that is...”

He sighed, “How is this my life?”

Bruce just shrugged, “Well, you wanted Dr. Bruce, so here we are.”

 “Ugh.”

“Hey,” Bruce crouched down to look him in the eye. “Let me tell you something that not too many people know—” Bruce made a show of looking over his shoulder for imaginary eavesdroppers. “The Avenger this is happening in front of is also the guy who always loses his pants at the end of the battle.”

“Oof. That sucks.” Peter clutched at his stomach as he laughed. “I thought losing my backpacks all the time was bad.”

“Oh, it sucks alright, but it just goes to show you that you’re not alone when it comes to the less than glamorous stuff. Now, my thought is that you want to drink as much as you can so that we can get this done and over with so you can start feeling better.” Bruce wiggled the water cup in front of him. “Throwing up something is better than throwing up nothing, and I’m right here. Is that okay?”

He eyed the cup like it had just insulted his Aunt May then Peter finally relented, propped himself up a little on one elbow and took the cup in his other hand. “I really am sorry about this. Really.”

“Nope. No apologies. Let’s just get this part done, then I’ll run down to the front desk and see if they have any overpriced painkillers to help take the edge off the stomach cramps, okay?”

Peter shook his head, “Don’t bother,” he took a first, tentative sip. “Painkillers don’t work on me anymore.”

“Wait—what?!” But he was too late.

Peter downed the rest of the water in a few of huge gulps, took a couple of deep breaths, then blanched. “Oh,” Peter slapped a hand over his mouth and belched. “That happened faster than expected.” He jackknifed upright and twisted just in time for Bruce to shove the garbage pail into his hands.

And so began round two.

Between heaves, Peter continued the litany of apologies.

Meanwhile, Bruce’s mind was in a tizzy. He awkwardly patted the kid’s shoulder while muttering soft comforts, “You’re okay, Peter,” or, “It’s almost over, Peter,” while implication after implication of Peter’s spider bite ran through his head. How many secrets did this kid have? There were so many questions—that Bruce would have to get to later on.

“I hate my life,” Peter panted out after a particularly violent sounding heave. “but think I’m—” he dry heaved again, then again, and then breathed for a minute. “Yeah,” he panted. “Done.” He sounded like he’d run a marathon.

“Good—good,” Bruce stood up, wincing as his own knees cracked. He grabbed the second cup of water from the nightstand, and offered Peter a trade, “If you’re sure, wanna give me the can and you can do that rinse now?”

“I’m one million percent sure that my stomach is empty now so...” All concern about appearances was out the window and with a little bit of passing and grabbing, Peter was feeling as refreshed as he was going to be. “Thanks.” Peter handed the cup back to Bruce and tried to get comfortable again.

“That’s enough with the apologies.” Bruce was already feeling bad for him, “I’m sorry that I don’t have anything to help you out with, but—can I—?” He’d just told Peter that he wasn’t a real doctor and now here he was... “Can I just do a quick evaluation?”

Peter stiffened, ready to refuse, but Bruce was figuring out the lay of the land.

 “It would make me feel better...”

Peter blew out a frustrated breath. “Fine.”

“Great!” Bruce jumped to work, “let me just get rid of these,” he placed the mostly full water cup back on the nightstand and then rushed to the hotel room door and placed the garbage can the hallway. A quick call to the front desk for housekeeping made its contents someone else’s problem, but Bruce made a note to leave a big tip when they left, so no guilt.

Peter simply watched from the bed.

Once everything was taken care of, Bruce sidestepped to the vanity and washed his hands before coming back into the room proper. He dragged the wheeled compute chair over to sit between the beds, and then pulled his phone out again. “Um,” Bruce needed to approach this delicately. “Before I do anything more, I do want to call your aunt, if that’s okay?”

Peter immediately opened his mouth to argue but Bruce cut him off before he could start.

“I ask only because you’re sixteen, Peter, and first and foremost, that technically makes you a minor who is in the midst of a medical situation, and believe it or not, I’m really not a doctor. Second, someone should really know what’s going on here in general what with the altered DNA and your aunt makes the most sense. If you think about it, it’s only dumb luck that nothing more catastrophic has happened.”

Peter didn’t seem to know what to do. He’d been through the wringer already tonight and it showed. “I get what you’re saying, but you don’t understand! I can’t tell my aunt,” Peter begged. “I already cause her so many problems, Dr. Banner, and I can’t add another one... I just can’t.”

He exhaled slowly, then caught the slip up. “It’s still Bruce, Peter. You’re fine. And if you don’t want me to call your aunt, then can I at least call Tony?”

Peter muttered, “Do you really have to?”

Bruce didn’t feel out of place grabbing Peter’s hand and giving a squeeze of support. “Yeah, I think it is.”

And so he did.

Bruce put the phone on speaker to put Peter at ease.

Tony answered on the second ring, “Brucie! How are you and my young protégé doing this fine evening? Is the spider-baby all tuckered out from getting his geek on? And what did he think of the SI demo? I had him in mind when I was coordinating with our tech guys. ”

Bruce waited patiently for Tony to come to the end of his greeting. “The convention has been amazing so far, but we, uh, we missed the demo... Yeah. That’s actually why we’re calling,” he cast a quick glance over to Peter, who was looking devastated. Bruce squeezed his hand tight again. “You’re on speaker, Tony. We have a bit of a situation here and I think you need to be in the loop.”

The shift in Tony’s tone was immediate, “Tell me what’s going on, Bruce, and how can I help?”

[wendydarlingfics]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Stranger Things (TV 2016) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Steve Harrington/Nancy Wheeler, Robin Buckley & Steve Harrington Characters: Steve Harrington, Nancy Wheeler, Robin Buckley Additional Tags: Canon Compliant, Post-Season/Series 04, Sickfic, Sick Character, Sick Steve Harrington, Minor Jonathan Byers/Nancy Wheeler, Break Up, Slice of Life, Late Night Conversations, Conversations, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Pre-Relationship, Angst, Angst and Feels, Sicktember, Sicktember 2024 Summary: Steve is sick and for some reason Robin thinks it's okay to just call Nancy to come and take care of him even though he's been avoiding her since their conversation in the Upside Down

Wrote this for @sicktember Day One prompt.

[baubeautyandthegeek]

Mission: Critical - Ilsa Faust/Susan McAlester

A/N: Day 18 bonus fic for @sicktember

Susan had been almost drowned and definitely more than a little bitten by the time Ilsa hits the water, swimming swiftly enough to catch the shark’s eye and draw it away from Susan before stabbing the missed shot directly into the shark’s eye, barely missing a snatch of teeth as she turned to make her way back to Susan, grasping the woman close even as she heaves herself up out of the water, pulling her up and away even as the shark explodes, sheltering her before radioing for her friends. “Where the fuck are you?” “Down here.” Julia’s voice rises first and Ilsa allows a moment of thanks to cross her thoughts even as she gathers Susan and scurries away, leaving two men staring behind her even as she steps onto the boat, setting Susan down as the boat turns. “Can you save her?” Susan is silent under Julia’s touch even as Julia works, Ilsa keeping watchful eyes locked on the woman she hopes she’s saved. Three years apart has not stopped her loving Susan, if anything it’s made the urge to keep her safe worse. She’s still by her side when Susan finally stirs three hours later, tucked safely into a bed in a safehouse, hidden from the world. “My body is one big ache…” “Well, if you will fight, wrestle actually, a killer shark…” “Lisa?” “Hello Susie…” Ilsa’s smile is soft. “It’s Ilsa… actually. My name is Ilsa…” “Ilsa… then you should know…. It’s Susan…” “Susan…” Susan’s eyes open searching for her and she moves closer still, covering Susan’s hand with her own, taking in the copper-brown hair that’s shorter than it used to be, the suntanned freckles they have now matching even as Susan’s free hand comes to her cheek, then tugs into copper-gold hair, pulling her down. She allows it, going willingly into the kiss. “Ilsa…” It sounds different, Ilsa thinks, on Susan’s lips, her soft accent playing on her name in a way that makes it sound like a prayer, a promise, not a curse. “Susan…” “You came back…” “I promised I would…” “When I needed you most…” Susan’s smile is small, a little shy and Ilsa smiles, leaning to kiss her again. “I’ve missed you.”

[criminal-mids]

#7 - Hoodie

Prompt: Borrowed Hoodie 

Sickie: Garcia

Caretaker: Morgan 

Word Count: 1,411

“Hah? What? Since when!?”

Garcia can’t believe it. She swears she hadn’t heard a word of this until now, and she usually keeps a tab on office renovation schedules because she knows the noise bothers Reid.

“Listen, lady, we’re just the repair guys, it’s not our fault your bosses didn’t tell you. Take it up with them. We still have our job to do. Feel free to work somewhere else.”

“Some- this is my place!” Garcia tries not to shriek, but she can’t help it when they’re shoving her oh-so-carefully painted minifigures aside for their dusty work bags. She rolls her chair over just in time to prevent an elf from being crushed and scoops the rest of her plastic children into her skirt, just to be safe.

“And the aircon is old and falling apart, it's an OSHA violation waiting to happen. If you wanna be in here when it causes a spark, be my guest.”

“UGH!”

The repair only takes a half hour, and truthfully, she is grateful, grumble as she may. A fire or even too much smoke could kill her hard drives.

The real problem is when they finish.

“Um, could you turn the heat up a bit, please?” Even through her chattering teeth, she tries to be kind to the repairmen. She knows how hard they work.

“Sorry, ma’am, not yet. We’re still workin’ out some kinks. The HVAC’s been updated and we’re still trying to patch in the new system and the old system together. As I said before, other parts of the building will be warmer, but hey, you’re welcome to remain in your fortress of solitude if you want.”

She suppresses the urge to roll her eyes.

‘Can’t they see I’ve got a complicated setup?’

But, she shows no outward aggression. She’s not really that upset, just cold. “It’s fine. Thank you for your help. Could you at least tell me when it’ll be fixed?”

“Sometime in the next few days.”

She can tell that’s as good as she’s getting so she nods and waves as they head out.

Instead, she directs her ire towards the faulty machine itself.

“If I could hack you I would, but you're older than me, so you're safe . . . for now.” She holds up the minuscule screwdriver from her glasses repair kit as she glares at the aircon.

- She was being dramatic before, but she really is well and chilled now.

‘Ugh. Isn’t this just Bonita?’

“I’m a California girl, I wasn't meant for the cold.” She whines to her screens.

‘If I catch a cold, I’ll really be annoyed. And everyone knows my brain goes to complete mush when I’m sick. I’m useless. I can’t afford to be out of commission, not when the team seems busier than ever. Maybe I should move outside. I can always come back in here real quick if I need more computing power. The team’s still on the jet, so I’ve got some time to compile files.’

-

“Garcia, we need a list of all homicides involving victims with cuspids removed. Go back at least 10 years. We think this may be our unsubs signature.” Hotch’s voice is firm, but calm, as usual.

“You got it, cap’”

‘All those records, I’ll need my office for that, ah, oh well.’

She hurries back to her little corner of Quantico, opening the door to find that it has, somehow, gotten colder.

Still, she sits down and gets to work.

-

Just as she hits send and gets up to retreat to the land of warmth, her screen dings.

It’s Rossi this time.

“What can I do for ya, Italian amor?” Penelope finds it hard to keep a cheery tone with the cold blasting at her, making her lips quiver, but she hopes she manages.

Her effort is wasted because Rossi ignores the quip, pressing straight to business. Another request that requires her big screens.

“All these records are from the way back when before our good friend the internet. They’re unorganised at best. Combining through all of them will take a while, I’ll pull as many as I can, and send them to you as I get them.”

“Good.”

He hangs up. She sits back down, huffing.

“Potential OSHA violation? This is an OSHA violation right here!” She mutters, pulling her cardigan around herself. 

‘If I’d known I’d be working in Antarctica today I would’ve worn a jumper.’

Nevertheless, she begins.

—

Her hands are freezing, her fingers stiff and every click of the keyboard takes conscious effort. Okay, maybe she’s being dramatic, but she’s a California girl! Can you blame her?

Just when she thinks she’s done, more files under the search parameters come up. It’s unusually demoralising.

‘If only I had a jumper or something. Note to self, pack extra clothes for future emergencies. . . . Wait, emergencies! That's it!’

She springs up, with newly formed determination, and heads out to the bullpen.

She has a destination in mind, but as she draws closer, doubt creeps in.

‘I hope he won’t mind. Is this creepy? No, it’ll be fine, I’ll wear it, then put it right back like nothing ever happened at all. That’s what I’ll do.’

She reassures herself as she approaches Morgan’s desk. Everyone has two go bags, just in case they don’t have time to wash one set of clothes before departing again.

Garcia knows that in this bag she’ll most likely find one of Morgan’s many grey or black hoodies. And she’s right.

It’s right on top. She takes it gingerly, slipping it on, careful not to disturb her hair ornaments. It’s warm and soft.

With the extra layer, her office feels almost normal. 

Her typing speed quickens again until she’s at normal capacity. Rossi gets the data within the next 15 minutes.

She sighs, happy with her work.

And, now that she takes time to notice it, ‘This hoodie does smell nice.’

She catches herself, then remembers she’s alone and takes another deep sniff. Morgan’s detergent has a pleasant smell that reminds her of him. Yeah, this was a good decision.

—

“Give us the best you got, pumpkin.” Morgan teases

“Oh, that’s for your ears only, handsome.” 

“I know. I’m going to transfer to video call, so you better be decent.”

“Never.” She teases with a theatrically breathy sigh.

The video chat opens revealing the team gathered around a desk, and maps in front of them.

“So Garcia, what did you find on-”

Prentiss cuts Reid off, “Wait, is that Morgan’s hoodie?”

Penelope blanches. “Wh-hat?” After a second of hesitation, she looks down, hoping by some miracle that all she’ll find is her cardigan and dress, but she already knows. She can still smell the detergent. “Oh, I- they were fixing the aircon in my office and it’s colder than the Fortress of Solitude in here so I just . . . I honestly don’t know what I was thinking! I wasn’t, I was just really cold! I can take it off. Let me just . . .” She fumbles with the hoodie, starting to pull it over her head.

“Slow down, baby girl. You look even cuter when you’re in my clothes, and I can’t have you catching a cold now can I, hmm?”

Penelope makes a noise somewhere between a squeak and squeal. “ . . . okay.”

Rossi clears his throat loudly, “Now, tell us what you found, we’re running out of time to find Kate.”

“Yes, at your service.” Still shaken, but with a new warmth in her chest, she continues.

—

“Baby girl, you in here?” Morgan’s familiar warm timbre drifts in from the door over the audio of an RPG game.

“Yes.” She blushes fiercely.

“I talked to Max and he said the system would be back to normal by tomorrow.”

“Oh, thank god. . . . I guess I should give this back to you then.” The end of the sentence is noticeably less enthusiastic than the beginning.

“Well, I was actually thinking you should keep it. Gotta mark my territory, don’t I?”

Penelope giggles, getting up to hug him.

He smells even nicer in person . . . like home, sometimes more so than the dozens of candles that fill her flat.

“Yeah.” then softer, “I’d wear a collar for you, Derek Morgan, you know that.”

“Tempting, but that can wait till tomorrow, it’s late, and even girl geniuses need their sleep.”

What a day, huh? And tomorrow she could come back to a warm office. Gideon was right, like he always said, life really is about the small things.

[sicktember]

Friends and Followers,

After four incredible years of creativity and camaraderie, we have made the difficult decision to make 2024 our final Sicktember event. 

During that time, we have poured our hearts into organizing and running this event. We've been amazed by the talent and passion you all have displayed. However, our lives have grown busier with families and jobs. And the amount of day-to-day stress we’re being asked to handle has increased. These everyday factors add up, making it increasingly difficult to dedicate the time and energy required to make this event the best it can be.

We want to express our deepest gratitude to each of you for your participation, enthusiasm, and involvement over the years. Your creative contributions have been the core of this event, and we are so proud of what we've accomplished together. Sicktember would have never existed without you!

While this will end our journey as organizers, we encourage everyone to keep writing, drawing, sharing, and uplifting one another. 

Thank you for your understanding and ongoing support. This blog will remain active through October 7th to complete content promotion submissions. After that, we will offer you one last small parting gift, a short list of our favorite unused prompts, before stepping back from this blog.

We look forward to your hard work coming to fruition in September.  Let's make this final year our best one yet! 

Warmly,

@yes-i-am-happyaspie and @obsessionoftheday

[whumpsday]

Sep-Oct 2024 Whump Events

autumn is approaching! 🍂 here's a long one, since october is the big month for creation events, and september has a lot going on this year too! so much to choose from!

i've also made a post detailing upcoming g/t events here on my g/t blog. you can check that out if you wanna do something for that community!

September events starting this month:

🔤 Alphabet of Whump (@alphabetofwhump), prompts here, a 26-day whump event

🧸 Sicktember (@sicktember), prompts here, a 30-day sickfic event (this is its last year)

💀 Whumptember (@whumptember), prompts here, a 30-day whump event

🎶Seven Songs of Suffering (@snakebites-and-ink), prompts here, a 1-week whump event taking place the second week of September

🐉 HTTYD Whump Week (@httyd-whump-week), prompts here, a 1-week HTTYD fandom whump event

😱 Horrortember (@horrortember), prompts here, a 30-day horror event

Single-day September celebrations:

🎊 International Whump Day is September 12th. Celebrate however you like!

💬 Comment Day is September 15th, info here: @comment-day. Leave some nice comments on your favorite creations! (Not whump specific)

October events starting next month:

🎃 Whumptober (@whumptober), prompts here, a 31-day whump event. this is also the most-participated-in whump event of the year, often attracting people outside the whump community.

🌩️ Voltober (@voltober), prompts coming soon, a 31-day whump event

💧 Angstober (@angstober), prompts here, a 31-day angst event

🔮 31 Days of Horror (@31-daysofhorror), prompts potentially coming soon, a 31-day horror event

📼 Halloween Horror Bingo (@halloweenhorrorbingo), signups coming soon, a horror bingo-prompt event

🫀Goretober is a flexible gore event where people traditionally create their own prompt lists. If you don't want to make your own, there are many floating around in the Goretober tag already. Here's a few: one / two / three / four

📵 AI-less* Whumptober (@aiIesswhumptober), prompts here, a 31-day whump event

*Note to clear up any confusion brought on by the name: Neither Whumptober event includes or promotes the use of AI-generated works, the latter event is just more intense about it. Whumptober's AI policy is "We will not reblog or promote any works we know to be generative AI-created" and AILWT's AI policy is "No AI content of any kind is allowed".

[sickficideas]

if time is a healer || atsushi sickfic w/ dazai

ao3! 6.8k + trade for @thankshermin <3 - please refer to the tags in the link for content + warnings! sicktember 2024, day 12: "you're not fine, you're throwing up/coughing up a lung"

Dazai wasn't expecting to see Akutagawa drenched in sea water, too.

“Decided to go for a swim?”

Akutagawa has never thought that Dazai's jokes were very funny, and recently, he's started to ignore them entirely. He doesn't even roll his eyes, he just stares, waiting for him to acknowledge the unconscious form that he's protectively knelt in front of.

The breeze at the Port always feels nice. Dazai often forgets to take advantage of the nice parts of Yokohama. He always ends up down here when he actually needs to do something. Right now, he doesn't actually have any time to sit around and take any sights - Atsushi is unconscious and soaking wet in front of Akutagawa, who is visibly confused by Dazai's lack of urgency.

“He passed out after he coughed out the water. And he's been unresponsive since,” Akutagawa tells him. This must have happened after he first called Dazai about twenty minutes ago. All Dazai knows is that a confrontation with their enemy landed them in the water, and Akutagawa requested Dazai come get Atsushi, who was underwater for much longer than what was safe. The unconscious bit is new. “I'm sure there's water in his lungs.”

“Hm. And you jumped after him?” Dazai observes, arms crossed over his chest as he looks over Atsushi. He's not too terribly off. His color looks okay and his expression is relaxed, at least right now, but he'll certainly take him to Yosano to get looked at.

“I'm fine. Take your subordinate home,” Akutagawa huffs as he stands up, a little unsteady on his feet.

Akutagawa's clothes and hair are still visibly damp. He's not entirely sure he can take his word for it. He's never demonstrated great swimming skills either, and he would definitely do much worse in Atsushi's situation than Atsushi himself.

Dazai kneels down and lays the back of his hand on Atsushi's cheek. His eyes twitch and flutter open, glazed over and not even remotely with him. He's warm. Dazai isn't sure, but he almost thinks he may have been running a fever before this happened.

“Did he hit his head?” Dazai asks. This reaction doesn't quite match what he already knows about the situation. He shouldn't be this out.

“I don't know,” Akutagawa mumbles. He sounds nervous. “There was too much going on in the last few minutes.”

“I'm sure I taught you better than to get overwhelmed,” Dazai says, nonchalant, taking note of the tiny bit of subconscious guilt in Akutagawa's tone.

“Don't talk to me like that,” Akutagawa growls, turning his body away, towards the ocean before he coughs a few times into his hand. Dazai cringes at the way his chest rattles with each cough. He knows he generally doesn't do well breathing in the air down here at the port, between the sea air and the various port-related fumes, but rescuing another drowning person certainly didn't help. “I'm leaving. Don't let him die, I need his life to end by my hands.”

“Right, right,” Dazai says, scoping Atsushi up into his arms. Atsushi whines curling up against Dazai's chest like he's shaking some warmth. “Take care of yourself.”

Akutagawa scoffs, only briefly turning to get a look at Atsushi's unconscious form one last time before walking off, fairly quickly disappearing from Dazai's view.

“I don't need you to ruin your lungs too, so hang in there for me, Atsushi,” Dazai tells him gently, heading off to the edge of the park, where Kunikida is waiting for him to take Atsushi back to the Agency. It's not a long walk at all, but they had no idea of Atsushi's conditions and decided not to waste any time.

As Dazai approaches Kunikida's illegally parked car, half on the park's outer sidewalk, Kunikida rounds the car and opens the passenger door for Dazai to lay Atsushi on. He thinks he's going to make a comment on Atsushi's saltwater-soaked clothes getting into his cloth seats, but there's deep concern written all over his face.

“Shit,” Kunikida says, teeth grit as Dazai carefully lays him down. “He doesn't look good.”

Atsushi whines when Dazai lays the buckle across his lap. Hopefully he's not injured, but anything physical would be taken care of soon enough by his ability.

“He'll be alright. Let's just get him back,” Dazai says as he shuts the door and climbs in the backseat.

Kunikida gets them there within minutes with a shoddy parking job, telling Dazai just how worried about his coworker he is. They waste no time getting Atsushi out of the car and through the building's front doors, Kunikida going ahead to open the elevator doors.

“You with me, Atsushi?” Dazai asks him, concerned with how he's still half-unconscious, and Atsushi gives him no indication that he can hear him. He's just huffing out hot and uncomfortable breaths.

“Dammit,” Kunikida mumbles, opening the Agency's office door and then subsequently the infirmary door, where Yosano eagerly waits with her hands crossed over her chest, concerned eyes scanning over Atsushi as soon as he's in her line of sight.

“Let me get some things together for him,” Yosano says, heels clicking as she makes her way over to a cabinet. Kunikida signals Dazai over to a cot he's prepared for Atsushi, covered in a few towels.

“Go fix your parking job,” Dazai tells Kunikida after gently laying Atsushi on the cot, brushing some of his damp hair from his face.

“I can't believe the ex-Mafia is telling me to adjust my parking,” Kunikida huffs, taking his keys from his pocket. He bites his lip, looking over Atsushi, clearly hesitant to leave him.

“I'm a law-abiding citizen, mister detective,” Dazai teases, before meeting Kunikida's concerned gaze. “I'll take care of him.”

“I know you will,” Kunikida says, slowly making his way toward the infirmary door, “let me know if either of you need anything.”

“Thank you, mom,” Yosano says from where she's shifting some things around on a tray near her desk.

“Not you too,” Kunikida groans, “one Dazai is enough.”

Yosano giggles as Kunikida leaves, and she makes her way over to Atsushi's cot. She lays a tray over on the stand beside her chair, effortlessly preparing her stethoscope to examine Atsushi. Dazai doesn't need to be told, he unbuttons Atsushi's damp shirt and sits him up the best he can. Yosano gives a silent thank you before she presses the ice-cold stethoscope to Atsushi's chest, and sliding it under his shirt to listen through his back, too.

“Has he coughed up any water?” Yosano says, clicking her tongue, evidently not happy about what she's hearing.

“That's what I was told,” Dazai answers as she pulls her stethoscope away and swings it back over her neck. Dazai slowly lowers Atsushi back down. Atsushi groans quietly, a pained noise, his eyes screwing shut in tandem.

“I'll need to ultrasound his lungs. I can't remember where I put the damn thing,” Yosano says with a sigh, “it doesn't sound like he's cleared it. I'm worried about -”

“Pulmonary edema,” Dazai says just as she does, agreeing before she can even finish the thought.

“Right,” she says, “good guess.”

“Not my first rodeo, doctor,” Dazai teases. He's suffered from the same thing more than once, and she's well aware of that.

“Next time, I'll give you my license,” Yosamo teases back as she stands up, “I have some gowns we can dress him in, I really don't want him to be in those soaked clothes with the fever I suspect he's running.”

Dazai thought the same thing. He lays the back of his hand against Atsushi's cheek, still as warm as before. He remembers oral thermometers being in the drawer beside the bed. He takes one out and takes Atsushi's jaw to gently part his lips and slide the thermometer under his tongue. He whines quietly, weakly coughing before Dazai slides it back out for the reading.

“One hundred even,” Dazai says as Yosano makes it back.

“He must've already been running a temperature,” Yosano says. She lays the gowns at the edge of the bed, and Dazai starts to peel off his shirt, tie, dropping it off to the side of the cot, much more wet than he was expecting. Atsushi is vocally against all of this even half-concious, whining and whimpering, but quiets down a little as Yosano dabs at his damp skin with a fresh towel before covering him with a gown, and quickly, he's fully undressed and wearing her clinic's gowns.

Atsushi seems a little more awake now with the movement, eyes fluttering but now, evidently focused on worsening nausea. He grunts and wraps an arm around his stomach, barely managing to prop himself up before he gags and chokes up a watery mixture of salt water and bile. Dazai lays a hand between his shoulder blades and rubs circles as Atsushi coughs and sputters, only throwing up a mouthful or so more of what's in his stomach before his arms give out on him and he collapses back onto the bed.

“Looks like you swallowed quite a bit of water, huh,” Dazai says, brushing over the hair that's stuck to his face from the sweat. He's too delirious to answer, he just groans and lays a hand back over his stomach. Dazai decides to carefully lift him and move him to the neighboring cot, being that the other is now soaked with vomit and salt water-dampened towels.

Atsushi's eyes fall just again with no energy to do much else, his eyes twitching from discomfort. Dazai rubs his arm with a sigh.

“It's good that he's getting it up,” Yosano says, “but this confirms my concerns about his lungs.”

“Go find your ultrasound machine. I'll get the rest of his vitals,” Dazai tells her. She looks surprised that he's offering, but shrugs and heads off to her supply closet.

Dazai takes a sheet of note paper from the drawer and writes down Atsushi's temperature, taking note of the frequency of his respirations, rolling over the blood pressure monitor and wrapping it around Atsushi's too-warm upper arm to get a reading. All slightly concerning measurements, but nothing that would currently land him in a hospital. He takes a stethoscope off of the hook to read his heart rate too. Atsushi whines at the cold touch as Dazai slides it under his gown.

Steady. A little fast, but within normal range. He writes it down.

He jumps a little at the sound of what sounds like several books and miscellaneous other objects falling in Yosano’s office. He thinks Atsushi’s okay by himself for long enough for him to at least make sure Yosano hasn’t buried herself.

He peers into her office where she frustratingly gathers a stack of medical journal collections and sets them on the shelf with a huff. There’s several others strewn across the already-overcrowded floor. Yosano has never had incredible organization skills, but it seems to work out for her, at least.

He feels a shiver run down his spine, remembering a similar state of chaos from Mori’s medical office, before he became the Port Mafia’s boss.

“Use that height of yours to get that down for me, before the whole cabinet falls,” she groans, gesturing to the ultrasound machine tucked into a high shelf, evidently previously surrounded by books. He puts the pieces together and gathers she must have tried to get on her adjacent desk to reach it.

Unfortunately for her, Dazai very easily slides the equipment out of the shelf and sets it down on her desk. She shoots him a very annoyed, definitely jealous look before she opens it, slides open a drawer on her desk to look for a password, he’s guessing.

“Seems like you should invest in a ladder,” he teases, and she just huffs again.

“I don’t need two Kunikidas, thank you,” she groans, typing in the password to open the software. Dazai hears a pained whimper from the infirmary room, and he’s quick to head back to the cot, not wanting Atsushi alone for too long when he’s so out of it.

Atsushi whines and twists his body without much strength behind his movement, clearly uncomfortable but not conscious enough to do much about it - Dazai sees saliva drip from the corner of his mouth. He must still be nauseous, but he has a feeling Yosano won’t be able to provide him any medication for that, since they’ll want him to cough up any water in his system. The nausea will help him do that.

Dazai sits on the stool beside him and pushes his hair out of his face, which has plastered to his forehead and stuck up in all sorts of directions from the dampness.

“Dazai…?” Atsushi mumbles, his voice wobbly, eyes having so much trouble focusing on the figure in front of him. It’s becoming painfully clear that he has a head injury, his fever isn't nearly high enough right now to be causing this kind of confusion. He thinks his healing abilities will take care of that soon enough, but they’ve learned in the last that it takes him much, much longer for him to heal from anything illness-related.

“You alright there, Atsushi?” Dazai asks, observing how he’s become much more visibly nauseous, and before Dazai can move fast enough to get the trash bin under his chin, Atsushi has already propped himself up and gagged unproductively over the floor. Nothing more than the clear saliva pooling in his mouth comes up.

Dazai takes the opportunity to pick up the trash bin from behind him and hold it up to Atsushi, whose arm wobbles under the pressure of holding his head over the edge of the bed. He breathes heavy, the bag rustling with the movement.

“Throw up if you need to, alright? Coughing’s good too,” Dazai tells him, sneaking his free hand onto Atsushi’s shoulder to give him some comfort. Atsushi has a lot of anxiety around being sick, and vomiting especially - Dazai’s hoping that he’s a little too out of it to realize how sick he’s feeling, but he’s holding onto some of it, subconsciously. Dazai watches his eyes screw shut even tighter. “Don’t hold it in, Atsushi. You’ll make it worse.”

Dazai rubs his shoulder with a little sigh, thinking for a second it’s going to be a lot harder to get him to stop fighting the nausea than he realized, but just a few seconds after the thought crossed his mind, he hears the water hit the bag rather forcefully, followed by a round of several wet coughs that bring up quite a bit of saltwater as well.

Atsushi’s breaths start to pick up pace before he gags again, just spitting up a thin stream of water that time. He doesn’t have much control over the coughs and gags that follow, but it seems like he’s brought up all he can for right now.

“That’s good. You did good,” he tells him gently, gently guiding him to lay back against the pillows as Dazai lowers the trash bin. Atsushi groans quietly, wrapping his arms around his middle. He’s sure that Atsushi is still wildly uncomfortable.

“Did he throw up?” Yosano asks, sliding the ultrasound machine over on the opposite side of the cot on a wheeled cart.

Dazai nods. “He coughed up quite a bit of water too.”

Yosano begins the process of the ultrasound. She slides up Atsushi’s gown, which he resists to some degree, but Dazai lays a firm hand on his shoulder to keep him in place. He’s pretty out of the loop on what’s going on, sure, but they did to do this.

The lubricant gel she has to use for the probe makes Atsushi shiver rather violently. Dazai watches the hairs on his arms stand. He imagines he’s more sensitive to the cold gel than normal because of this fever he’s running. 

She finds out exactly what she needs too - there’s already inflammation in his lungs, which makes it very possible that he’s developing pneumonia. But with Atsushi, it’s impossible to tell what his ability will assist him in healing, and what he’s on his own for - so unfortunately for him, all they can really do is wait and find out.

Dazai opts to stay with Atsushi, realizing this may be a several-hour long ordeal, and he’s not sure he wants to task Yosano with dealing with this by herself, with the mountain of other things she has to do - but, really, he just doesn’t want Atsushi unattended while he’s like this.

The hours pass, slowly, quietly and without much incident. Dazai sneaks out briefly to take a book from his locker that he’s been meaning to read, but never finds himself with time to actually crack it open. Atsushi’s fast asleep for a while, and Yosano stays tucked away in her office as Atsushi sleeps to get her work done.

It’s just about an hour before the Agency closes when Yosano comes by to check Atsushi over herself, this time. She sits on a stool on the other side of the cot, pressing her stethoscope up to his chest. She pauses for a second, still listening, but reaches over to hand Dazai the thermometer, silently asking him to check Atsushi’s temperature.

He miscalculates how far it is, and just gently grasps the space right in front of her hand before he realizes that she’s holding it a bit further back than he can tell, and he slides it from her hand.

Dazai’s been blind in his right eye for several years now, but the depth perception is something he’ll never really get over, no matter how long it’s been, and especially when he’s caught off guard like this. Yosano gives him a suspicious look as she lifts her head, and she’s making Dazai nervous enough that he’s just staring back at her with an awkward smile, still holding the thermometer.

“Sorry, sorry. Terrible depth perception,” Dazai says with a nervous laugh, but he realizes too late that he's already said too much. He started to reach over to put the thermometer under Atsushi’s tongue, but Yosano interjects.

“Is it because of your right eye?” Yosano asks suddenly, tilting her head. “I've noticed you have trouble seeing out of it.”

Dazai has never said anything about that eye to her before. He thought he was pretty okay at hiding his vision problems - he's never had to address it before, but Yosano makes him so nervous that he slipped up and said something he shouldn’t have.

It’s not a problem, really, if anyone finds out. He can get by perfectly fine, it’s nothing more than an inconvenience at this point in his life, and he can certainly lie his way around what happened, just like he does with everything else.

“Has it always been that way? Or is it an old injury?”

But for some reason, he can’t open his mouth to spit out the lie he was going to tell Yosano. The moment she asks that, he feels a shiver shoot up his spine, suddenly overcome with nausea. What happened to his right eye is something he still hasn’t quite attempted to work through, mentally, and he can’t do it in front of Yosano.

Even though he knows that she knows Mori just as well as he does.

Whatever face he makes is enough to get her to ease up.

“I'm sorry,” is all she says. She lowers her head, busying herself with checking the rest of his vitals as Dazai slides the thermometer under Atsushi’s tongue, and they’re in silence again.

Dazai silently shows her the thermometer reading once it beeps without even checking it himself, because there’s a throbbing pain behind his blind eye that he can’t ignore. He’s trying not to think about it, but the more he tries to trick himself into thinking of something else, the more he feels it.

Mori’s new favorite tool, digging around his eye socket when he was just fourteen, with no anesthesia or even any mild sedating medication, under the promise that it would lead to a very quick and painless suicide. That was one of many in a series of promises by Mori to assist him in ending his life, only to leave him suffering more than he was the day before.

Yosano disappears from view. He hears her ask a question that he doesn’t understand but nods to anyway, and suddenly, the lights come off.

He holds a palm up to his eye, pressing against it in some hope that this strange phantom pain he’s feeling will disappear. He hasn’t felt this in such a long time. He thinks Chuuya would scold him for not using the opportunity to talk about things like he always says he should, he just can’t bring himself to do it.

It’s worse, for some reason, because he knows Yosano suffered under him to. It’s not comforting to know that. He doesn’t want to put images of him in her mind, because he wouldn’t want that from her, either.

He feels awfully dizzy. He’s considering lying down on the empty cot, at least until the feeling subsides, but Atsushi shifts, and Dazai realizes he’s been too distracted to notice that Atsushi is trying to get up. He’s not sure where Yosano went - it’s still dark and the orange light coming in through the windows from the sunset is starting to dim.

“Stay down, Atsushi,” Dazai tells him gently. He almost reaches a hand out to lay on his chest and make sure he doesn't get up, but he doesn't need to. Atsushi hardly has the strength to hold his head up, and he collapses back onto the pillows with a shaky sigh from the exertion.

“Where's…Akutagawa?” Atsushi murmurs all feverishly, eyes darting around the room. He doesn't seem to recognize entirely where he is.

Dazai almost wants to laugh. A few months ago that question would've been asked out of fear, but Atsushi sounds concerned, despite how terribly he's feeling himself. 

“He's fine. Don't worry about him,” Dazai assures him with a half smile. Sure, he can’t confirm that, but he hopes that at this point in his life, Akutagawa would speak up and take care of himself.

The irony is lost on him, though.

“Dazai,” Atsushi breathes out, for some reason, not at all comforted by those words. He takes in a few deeper breaths, like it’s hard for him to get the air that he’s looking for. His eyes are locked on Dazai. “He…he jumped in after me. I'm just…his lungs, I'm…”

“I'll call and check on him. Worry about yourself right now,” Dazai tells him, trying to ignore how his stomach sinks with that information. He hadn't considered that. Akutagawa seemed perfectly fine when he saw him with Atsushi - soaking wet, sure, but he was conscious and communicative. Dazai doesn’t have to worry about Atsushi, most of the time, with his healing abilities and all - but Akutagawa has none of that.

Surely that’s why Atsushi is concerned, too.

He takes his phone out, and decides he’ll step over to the counter to make the call, not wanting to bother Atsushi with the static of a phone call or any voices raised above a whisper or quiet tone. His eyes follow him, but not long enough for Dazai to pull up his contacts list. Atsushi’s eyes fall shut, screwed shut tight like he’s in pain, but then relax.

“Akutagawa's that Port Mafia kid?” Yosano chimes in, scaring Dazai, not enough to make him flinch but enough to lift his head. She’s in the doorway of her office, backlit by the honey-colored light, evidently listening to his conversation with Atsushi.

“That's him,” Dazai says, leaning against the counter. “They were working together this morning.”

Yosano nods, remembering the briefing she was given before Atsushi arrived in the infirmary.

“You knew him, didn't you? Before you joined us,” she asks. Quietly.

“He was my subordinate,” Dazai answers, turning to face her just a bit more. Yosano's come into contact with him once before, he’s sure. Most of the Armed Detective Agency members were familiar enough with Akutagawa to know him by name, by the time Dazai joined.

Just as Dazai finds Akutagawa’s contact to call him, Yosano’s brow furrows and opens her mouth to say something, but Dazai turns away when the line clicks.

Akutagawa always answers a little too quickly.

“Bite the dust yet?” he says. Maybe a bit of an insensitive joke, considering Akutagawa’s condition. He’s distracted for a moment, peering out the window. The sky’s starting to look rather dark, even for the evening. The orange meets with black clouds overhead.

“What do you want?” he answers with an annoyed huff.

“Your boyfriend wanted me to make sure you're okay,” Dazai taunts, deciding that's probably a joke that Akutagawa can't ignore.

“Dazai -”

“I think he has every right to be concerned with how terrible your lungs are. And he's bordering on pneumonia over here,” Dazai tells him with an exasperated sigh. He’s sure Akutagawa doesn’t care about any of that, but Akutagawa doesn't say anything for long enough for Dazai to realize he's not sure how to react to that information.

“Is he - ” he pauses. “Surely he’ll be fine.”

Hm. Interesting.

“He'll be fine,” Dazai says. Despite Atsushi’s current condition, he certainly will be fine - those Tiger healing abilities will always pull him through. “Go see your doctor. The last thing your useless lungs need is another bout of pneumonia.”

“I don't answer to you,” Akutagawa grumbles, but a few coughs that he didn’t seem to expect betray his biting tone.

“Want me to tell Chuuya? ‘Cause you know exactly that he'll hound you to your grave about it.”

Akutagawa groans. “I’m hanging up. Your voice is giving me a headache.”

Dazai wants to make a joke in return, but Akutagawa truly does hang up the phone. Dazai’s a little more than surprised. But he’s certainly more surprised that little Akutagawa has the capacity to worry about someone other than his sister. And his enemy, no less.

He smiles to himself, but suddenly, the sharp pain in his eye returns.

“Dazai,” Yosano says with a huff, still standing in the doorway with her brow knotted together, “does that happen often?”

Dazai blinks. He’s not sure how she could possibly know that his eye is causing him any pain, so he wonders if maybe she’s asking about something else. Yosano is a detective, but she’s not a mind-reader by any means. “Calling my former subordinate? Well, unfortunately -”

“No, Dazai. Your eye,” she clarifies, her eyes fixed on that eye specifically. It does feel wet, now that he’s thinking about it. But he doesn’t think a tear has slipped out. The tips of his fingers graze over it, the motion causing a sharp pain there, but when he pulls his hand back, he sees blood.

“Oh,” Dazai says,  “well…it used to. Happen often.”

“I don’t mean to stop on your toes. But I’d prefer if you let me have a look at it,” Yosano says, but she doesn’t move from her spot in the doorway. Dazai squints trying to look at her, the bright light proving to be far too much for his sensitive eye at the moment. He’s nauseous at the idea of another doctor proding around at his eye.

Dazai wants to tell her no. He wants to say it’s fine, he’s been dealing with chronic paina nd random bouts of bleeding there for years, it’s just slowed down a lot since joining the Agency. He’s not worried about it.

But he thinks that she’s concerned because she knew Mori just as well as he did.

“If you have to,” he says as casually as he can muster, smiling awkwardly to break the tension. “But no needles or anything.”

“I don’t need needles to examine your eye. Go sit down in my office chair and I’ll find my ophthalmoscope,” she says, heading for some drawers on the opposite side of him.

Dazai awkwardly shifts around beside trudging into her office, sitting down in a chair that probably needs replacing. At least that way he doesn’t feel like he’s in a sterile doctor’s office. He’s just in Yosano’s work office. Her desk is littered with piles of unfinished paperwork, little trinkets and broken tools she’s working on fixing.

She walks in, adjusting the head of the opthalmoscope before looking at Dazai. She turns back to take some gauze from the counter and reaches to carefully dab at Dazai’s eye, to wipe off some of the blood.

“Is it painful?” Yosano asks.

Dazai was hoping she wouldn’t ask, but at this point, there’s no reason to lie to her. “Very.”

She peers through the opthalmascope after reaching back to turn off the office light. He knows the drill, he just stares forward, tries not to move, and at this point, he’s trying to make sure he doesn’t throw up. Yosano is nothing like Mori, but at the same time, she’s exactly like him.

“Hey,” she says, lowering the scope and looking at him with a very concerned gaze. “Breathe, okay? I’m not going to hurt you. I’m just looking.”

Dazai didn’t realize he was being that see-through just now.

He doesn’t say anything, he just does what she’s asked - breathes, something he forgot to do moments ago. He takes in a long, deep breath, holds it, and lets it out. He has to force himself to breathe out each time, or else he just ends up holding his breath and feeling worse.

It’s over, soon enough.

“You really can’t see from that eye,” she says, like she’s surprised to be able to confirm her theory, lowering the scope. “I’m not sure why it’s bleeding though. It might be a good idea for you to have it checked by an eye doctor.”

He smiles back awkwardly, with absolutely zero intention of following through on that. Yosano turns back to switch the lights back on, but all of it at once it too much. He shrinks away, his eyes forcing themselves shut, just the one throbbing through an intense stabbing pain.

Yosano shuts the light off as soon as she seems to register that his reaction is out of pain, and she disappears for a moment before coming back with something in her hand. The light coming off helped the pain subside rather quickly.

“Are you completely blind there? Or can you still see shapes, register lights?” Yosano asks.

“The second part,” Dazai answers, and Yosano presents him with a medical eyepatch.

“Put this on for a while. That way the light isn’t too much, and it might be a good idea to keep it covered while it’s bleeding like that,” Yosano suggests, and Dazai takes it. He’s certainly no stranger to these. The idea of putting it on isn’t something he;s thrilled about, but she’s right. It might help for a while.

So he puts it on.

He thanks her, quietly, before he wanders back to Atsushi’s cot, where the latter is thankfully fast asleep, but not looking much better.

Kunikida pokes his head in to ask how Atsushi’s holding up, to pass on the message to his very concerned colleagues. Dazai assures him that Atsushi will he just fine, he just needs someone to stay with him while he’s not feeling well, because he can’t handle it alone. Kunikida says that Kyoka offered to sit with him in place of Dazai, but Dazai insists that Kyoka getting sleep is more important.

The sun eventually sets completely as their coworkers file out of the building, leaving it eerily quiet. Yosano turns on the radio to fill the silence, just calming instrumental in her office, and she stays there, not coming out aside from peeking at Atsushi. The silence is long gone as wind starts to pick up around the building, whistling through the screened windows. He’s sure there’s a storm coming.

Eventually, Atsushi’s eyes flutter open.

Dazai doesn’t bother him with conversation right out of his sleep. He’s sure he’s confused and frazzled with that fever he’s been running, one that has Yosano concerned that he isn’t healing himself like they had hoped. She said she would give him until midnight before she would decide if he needed to be hospitalized.

Dazai hopes that’s not the outcome. Atsushi would handle that just as well as Dazai would.

“Dazai,” Atsushi murmurs feverishly with a pained groan, an arms over his middle, his eyes heavy with exhaustion, “I don't feel good.”

“I know, Atsushi,” Dazai tells him, reaching forward and patting his hair. “Wish we could make it go by faster for you.”

He's met with vague memories of himself being fever-riddled in the shipping container he used to call home, through the aftermath of some hurricaine that had not treated Yokohama kindly. He's sure he had pneumonia then too, but he was so sick he can hardly remember being treated after. He just remembers then fifteen-year-old Akutagawa showing up with Chuuya in tow, finding him drenched in sweat and coughing so much that it was making him vomit. He’s not sure how either of them ever found out he was so sick.

He remembers asking them to leave him. He felt so awful that he would have rather his body completed the process of killing him, which he was so certain would have been the outcome had no one found him. He begged both of them, over and over, to make it stop. To end it faster.

“I wish I could make it be over faster,” Chuuya has mumbled at some point. Then, Dazai had assumed Chuuya was making a remark to assist him with suicide, but he realizes now that Chuuya just wanted his suffering to end. He wanted him to feel better.

He’s not sure why Chuuya would have ever wanted that for him, but he feels that way about Atsushi. Atsushi at least deserves to feel better.

Dazai hears the thunder start to roll overhead, confirming his suspicions of a storm. Thankfully it’s not nearly as loud in the Armed Detective Agency’s building as it would be in their dorms, but they can still hear the thunder very well.

“I wanna go home…” Atsushi murmurs quietly, laying on his side, defeated with a quiet huff. He shifts uncomfortably, shivers.

“You can't yet, Atsushi. You've gotta stay here for a little longer,” Dazai tells him kindly, brushing his hair out of his glassy, fevered eyes. “We can’t let you go anywhere in this storm, anyway.”

He shivers at the sound of the thunder, curling up like a scared dog. Dazai half smiles, taking the end of the sheet and bringing it up to cover his shoulders, so he’s a little more secure.

“I didn't ever realize that you were scared of thunder,” Dazai says with a fond smile.

“I'm not scared,” Atsushi murmurs with a harsh shiver, “I just…I just don't like it…”

Dazai almost laughs. He’s heard those exact words from Akutagawa, years ago. He understands their negative associations. Akutagawa’s past living on the streets never gave him a good memory with a storm, and he’s sure Atsushi’s in the same boat, where he was trapped in the orphanage for most of the time, all by himself.

“You’re safe in here,” Dazai assures him, his tone that of a teacher trying to comfort a kindergarten student, making a little more teasing than he intended, but he hopes Atsushi knows that he means it. Dazai’s still trying to learn that too, but they are safe here, in the Agency.

Atsushi barely makes it over the side of the cot to vomit.

Dazai rubs his shoulder gently, telling him it’s fine and not to worry. It’s still just water, of course, there’s nothing else in his system. Yosano peeks out at the sound of the commotion, and gets to work with setting up IV fluids for him.

Atsushi breathes heavy over the side of the cot for a few minutes, visibly nauseous but without much energy to do anything other than gag miserably. Dazai doesn’t take his hand off of him. He must feel terrible right now, being so visibly sick isn’t something he shows willingly a lot of the time. Dazai tucks the longer pieces of his hair out of his face when he gags and coughs, bringing up nothing more than spit and water.

“Any better?” Dazai asks when Atsushi trunks himself onto his back, to which the latter shakes his head, closing his eyes. He looks terrible. Dazai reaches forward to adjust his hair, it’s stuck to his forehead in all sorts of directions.

“I wanna go home,” he says again through a quiet burp, visibly distressed, “’m fine…”

“You’re not fine, Atsushi. You’re still throwing up,” Dazai tells him, rubbing his shoulder. “Just let us take care of you for a little while longer.”

Yosano takes Atsushi’s hand and starts to place an IV as gently and quickly as she can. Dazai busies himself with distracting Atsushi, who is already starting to drift back into a sleep, unbothered what Yosano is doing for the most part - Dazai is more bothered than Atsushi is, up until the needle part is over. Dazai holds Atsushi’s free hand.

Yosano is gentle in the way that she finishes up the job, with adjusting everything, placing the tape. Her hands are quick and efficient, but not oblivious to the feelings of the person that she works on. Very unlike Mori, who never cared much if he was hurting a patient more than he should have been. That’s comforting, at least.

“Mori used to talk about you,” Dazai says.

She looks up. Dazai always has a hard time telling what she's thinking. She must have learned that from Mori, because Dazai has heard it’s very difficult to tell what he’s thinking, too.

“Never by name, but…I put the pieces together,” he says, rubbing circles into Atsushi’s hand with his thumb, thinking maybe it’s more soothing for him than it is for sleeping Atsushi. “The way you wrap bandages, give injections…”

“I've thought the same of the way you do things,” she says quietly. “I'm sorry you had to suffer with him for so long.”

“I'm here now,” Dazai shrugs. He has to be nonchalant about it, any other way makes him feel like he’s losing his mind, but he’s grateful to be here now. “And so are you.”

Yosano smiles back at him.

…

The next morning, Dazai feels himself wake up with the morning light spilling in through the windows. He doesn’t remember falling asleep, but he has his book in his lap, and he’s on the cot beside Atsushi.

And Atsushi’s still there, looking like he’s starting to wake up, too.

Dazai stretches his limbs out, surprised by the feeling that he’s gotten a fairly good rest. And Atsushi is still here - that means he’s improving, at least, and Yosano decided he didn’t need to be hospitalized. He moves to the chair where he was before beside Atsushi. His eyes are blinking open, slowly, carefully.

Dazai reaches forward to lay the back of his hand on Atsushi’s cheek, and he’s still feeling a little warm, but not nearly as hot as before. That’s good. He probably just needs a few more hours of rest and he’ll be good as new.

Atsushi groans, eyes screwing shut for a moment, wrapping his arms around his middle.

“Everything okay?” Dazai asks him.

“Nauseous,” Atsushi murmurs quietly.

“Hmm. The antibiotics,” Dazai says with a nod. He says Yosano adding quite a bit to his IV, and he’s sure it’s helped his condition, but the side effects are never fun to deal with. “I’m sure Yosano can add something for your nausea if you’re still feeling sick.”

“Did you ever call Akutagawa?”

Dazai’s surprised to hear him ask for a follow-up, when he’s clearly still not feeling well. He’s still out of it, too, he’s just saying what’s on his mind.

“I did. What he does is his own choice, though,” Dazai says with a half-smile. “He’s never listened to me.”

Not that I ever gave him good examples to follow.

“I wish…wish he’d ask for help,” Atsushi murmurs, fighting his own exhaustion as he stares at the ceiling and tries desperately to keep himself awake. “He doesn’t have to…to do everything alone…”

“You’re right. He doesn’t,” Dazai tells him. Advice Dazai could surely use himself. “Go back to sleep, Atsushi. You’ve got some more resting to do before you’re back to yourself.”

Atsushi doesn’t need to be told twice. Even if he wants to stay awake, his eyes betray him, and he starts to fall asleep again.

Dazai supposes he has some lessons to learn after all.

[shion-yu]

Sicktember 2024 Masterpost

Completed! :D

Day 1: "I'm not hungover, I'm just sick." (Cliff, Phoenix)

Day 2: Overindulgence (Alex, Ryo)

Day 3: Campus Crud (Cliff, Elliot)

Day 4: “Great, I got a cold for my birthday.” (Alex, Shu)

Day 5: Rogue Organ (Cliff, Elliot)

Day 6: Dizziness/Vertigo (Cliff, Elliot)

Day 7: Borrowed Hoodie (Alex, Ryo)

Day 8: Hospital Bed (alt) (Cliff, Elliot)

Day 9: Overdramatic Patient (Alex, Ryo)

Day 10: The Sniffles (Alex, Ryo, Cliff, Elliot)

Day 11: Medieval Treatment (Rey, Felix)

Day 12: “You’re not fine, you’re throwing up.” (Cliff, Elliot)

Day 13: Mononucleosis (Shu, Mathias)

Day 14: Clean Sheets/Fresh Pajamas (Cliff, Elliot)

Day 15: “Who decided soup is sick people food?” (Al, Theo)

Day 16: Toxin/Poison (Rey, Felix)

Day 17: Brain Fog (Cliff, Shu)

Day 18: My body is one big ache (Cliff, Elliot)

Day 19: “I didn’t mean to wake you up.” (alt) (Cliff, Elliot)

Day 20: Medication Bribery (Al, Theo)

Day 21: Anaphylactic Response (Cliff, Elliot)

Day 22: "You didn't use my cup, did you?" (Elliot, Alex)

Day 23: Under a Spell (Julian, Shu, RATED M)

Day 24: Tales from the Waiting Room (Cliff, Elliot)

Day 25: Summer Flu (Shu, Alex)

Day 26: Cardiac Arrest (Shu, Alex)

Day 27: This is non negotiable (Alex, Ryo)

Day 28: Pulling a Ferris Bueller (Rey, Felix)

Day 29: Sick on a Road Trip (Al, Theo)

Day 30: Contagion

[darkstar225]

@woso-fan13 Updated Masterlist

Updated: 04 January 2024

I have no clue why I did this, I just love this writer sm and wish I could check everything in one place since I keep re-reading the fics lol

PS: If the writer wants me to delete the post and send it to you so you'll post it, feel free to message me! I just love the fics and felt like doing this :D

It didn't fit everything so check out @woso-fan13 for the other masterlist with the rest S2

Sicktember 2023

Number 1: Hopelessly Bad at Self-Care

Number 2: Quest For A Cure

Number 3: “What Happened To Your Phenomenal Immune System, Huh?”

Number 4: Hiding an Illness

Number 5: Preventative Measures (Not Taken)

Number 6: Sick & Injured

Number 7: “You’re A Jerk When You’re Sick”

Number 8: Persistent Fever

Number 9: White Coat Syndrome

Number 10: “The Only Place We’re Going Is To The Pharmacy”

Number 11: Beginner’s Guide To Faking Sick

Number 12: Home Remedy/Old Wives Tale

Number 13: Anxious Stomach

Number 14: “I shouldn’t be worried about you, but for some reason I am.”

Number 15: Sick in an Inconvenient Place

Number 16: Consulting the Internet/Web MD

Number 17: Magical Remedy/ Healing Potion

Number 18: “Wear Your Coat, You’ll Catch a Cold”

Number 19: Curled Up With a Pet

Number 20: Cramping Pain

Number 21: “But if you stay, you’ll get sick too.”

Number 22: Terms of Endearment/Nicknames

Number 23: Coughing Fit

Number 24: “Did you just sneeze?”

Number 25: Confused/Disoriented

Number 26: Forehead Kisses

Number 27: Uncooperative Patient

Number 28: “I should have stayed home”

Number 29: Side Effects/Adverse Reaction

Number 30: Patient 0

WHUMPTOBER 2023

Number 1: “But now this room is spinning while I’m trying just to fill in all the gaps.”

Number 2: “I’ll call out your name, but you won’t call back.”

Number 3: “Like crying out in empty rooms; with no-one there except the moon.”

Number 4: “I see the danger, It’s written there in your eyes.”

Number 5: “You better pray I don’t get up this time around.”

Number 6: “Do or die, you’ll never make me; Because the world will never take my heart.”

Number 7: “I paced around for hours on empty; I jumped at the slightest of sounds.”

Number 8: “I’ve got soul, but I’m not a soldier.”

Number 9: “Learning everything ain’t what it seems, that’s the thing about these days.”

Number 10: “Can’t you see that you’re lost without me?”

Number 11: “All the lights going dark and my hope’s destroyed.”

Number 12: “I haven’t slept in days but who’s counting?”

Number 13: “It comes and goes like the strength in your bones.”

Number 14: “Feed me poison, fill me ‘till I drown.”

Number 15: “I don’t need you to help me, I can handle things myself.”

Number 16: “Would you lie with me and just forget the world?”

Number 17: “You’re the lump in my throat and the knot in my chest.”

Number 18: “I tend to deflect when I’m feeling threatened.”

Number 19: “I’ll take one final step, all you have to do is make me.”

Number 20: “People don’t change people, time does.”

Number 21: “See the chains around my feet.”

Number 22: “They never saw us coming, ‘til they hit the floor.

Number 23: “It’s gonna get me by the end of the night.”

Number 24: “I’ve got a head full of chemicals; mouth full of ridicule.”

Number 25: “You’re not delivering a perfect body to the grave.”

Number 26: “Sometimes I get so tired; I don’t even know myself.”

Number 27: “You drew stars around my scars; But now I’m bleeding.”

Number 28: “We might not make it to the morning; so go on and tell me now.”

Number 29: “I only sink deeper the deeper I think.”

Number 30: “It’s okay, just to say, ‘I’m not okay’.”

Number 31: “I thought that I was getting better.”

Comfortember 2023

Safe

Sweater Weather

Leaves Changing

Warmth

Treehouse

Notes

Sick/Illness

Grief/Mourning

Aftermath

Sadness

Comfort Show/Movie

Dreams

Baking

Late Night Phone Calls

Plushies

Coffee/Tea Break

Heirloom

Cuddles

Loved Ones

Shopping

Relapse

Cry

Anxiety

Blankets

Rain

Friends

Soup

Flashbacks

Sleepover

The New Normal

[maybeitsalivescribbles]

Hero x Villain Masterlist

Recurring Characters:

These Two Dorks Masterlist (mostly fluff but angst looms on the horizon, hurt/comfort)

Vampire Hero Masterlist (black comedy, affectionate whump parody, lots of torture attempts/mentions even if that rarely turns out the way the torturer planned)

1-Word Prompt Masterlist: Marvel as I turn one random word into a bunch of H/V prompts. Plus, it's short for once.

Others:

Reverse chronological order. (prompt) indicates when the original idea is from someone else.

Augusnippets 2024: Want something short to read? Check this collection of lil’ snippets. Reporters having complicated relationships with Heroes, Supervillain giving great advice and heroes offering presents to foes, friends and families, it’s all in there.

Poll Prompt 1: Civilian is trapped in a strangely nice room. Meanwhile, Supervillain has a bit of a crisis.

The Fakers: Three heroes in a small town despair: there's no villain around. What can they do?

A taste of revenge: Supervillain doesn’t really mind the three young heroes who keep coming after him, until the fateful day everyone goes for ice cream. (ask)

Through the mirror : What’s the thing to do after having an epic fight with the local Villainess ? Drinking a couple of beers with her, of course. It’s only polite.

Crash Meeting (prompt): Detective tries to bring down Villain. They don’t succeed, but what they’ve just discovered might be even more important.

Jack-in-a-box Surprise: A bunch of civilians are stuck in the room with a villain taking the form of their worst fears. Good luck with that.

Pounding Headache (sicktember): Thief has a bad day. The burglary didn’t turn well, Villain turned on them, what better moment for a migraine to begin?

Gilded Cage (prompt): Villain has Hero trapped in a ghastly – wait actually, it’s a pretty cool apartment. That’s a trick, right?

Who dies, who lives (prompt): You’ve always been a fan of Superhero, and you don’t take too well that they’ve just been killed. Where’s your partner anyway?

To make a right (prompt): A gritty detective informs his unlikely friend and unanimously beloved superhero Sunblade that distasteful things were made in his name.

Mind-Melting (prompt) part 1 and 2: Hero has a lot to do between an amnesic Supervillain, an emo teen Sidekick, and a cat. One of them is much more powerful than the others. One of my first posts here so the style is, ah, certainly made of words.

Detective x Thief

Cold Case (for sicktember): A detective gets hired to find a stolen painting. Unfortunately, he catches a cold before catching the culprits.

Cold Meeting (prompt): This detective really wishes this client would leave him in peace. He might have secrets of his own.

*

And now for something mildly different:

Whump/Horror Masterlist.

Fantasy Masterlist

[monaisme]

Sicktember: Day 1

#1- “I’m not hungover. I’m just sick.” (Or vice versa)

“Mr. Parker,” Dr. Zhang intoned as Peter tried- and failed- to sneak into his class four minutes past its 8:30am start time. The man had obviously taken in Peter’s haggard appearance, because he continued, “While I can appreciate that this is relatively early for a Monday morning class, and we are approaching the end of term, can you please explain to me why you think it is appropriate to slink into my class hungover?”

Peter tried to process exactly what he’d meant, then hiked his backpack over his aching shoulders, wishing he was back at the apartment rather than here. “I’m sorry, sir?” He was confused. “I don’t understand.”

“That is precisely my point.” Apparently Dr. Zhang had reached an end, “How do you, or any of you, for that matter,” The professor waggled a finger at everyone one of the other students in the lecture hall, “expect to succeed in Principles and Applications of Genetic Engineering for Biotechnology and Neuroscience if you continue to not take it and its requirements seriously?!”

“But—” Peter tried to stop him... to explain, but the man was on a roll.

“Yes, the parties and socializing are enjoyable—even I remember what it was like to be young and stupid!—But now is the time to decide how seriously you are going to take your education!” He pointed to his syllabus, framed and hung on the wall beside the smart board. “You must commit! Exams are only weeks away. Can any one of you honestly say that you’re fully prepared?”    

The students stayed silent as they watched their professor’s face grow more and more red, all of them refusing to become a part of the unscripted drama.

“Very well, then. What about you, Mr. Parker?” He turned his frustration back to its original target. “In your current state, do you think you’d be ready to pass this class if I handed you your final exam right now?”

Professor Zhang finally stopped for a breath.

Peter cleared away the tickle in his throat. “Uh, sir?” he felt that he’d caught up enough to what he’d been raving about to finally get a word in, “I’m not hungover. I’m just sick.”

Even feeling as fuzzy-headed as Peter was, he could see the righteous indignation evaporate and the embarrassment creep in as Dr. Zhang deflated and he realized his error. He heaved an audible sigh, pinched the bridge of his nose, and dropped his head, “Very well. Grab a mask from my desk and take your seat, Mr. Parker... and please make a greater effort to arrive on time for class going forward.”

Peter ignored the whispers coming from the rest of the students. He simply mumbled a, “yessir,” and shuffled to the man’s desk to pluck a mask from the box sat on its corner, put it on, and then finally made his way to the empty seat that was furthest away from the rest of his classmates.

This was going to be a long day.

/-/-/

It was as Peter was packing up his notes and textbook at the end of his third class of the day that he realized that he’d hit a wall and needed to be done. His throat was aching, his head was pounding, and he was fairly certain he was developing a fever, which was strange because when that usually happened, it was almost a guarantee that—

‘Thunderstruck’ blared from the phone Peter was positive he’d silenced before his first class had finally started for the day, but it didn’t even matter. What Tony wanted, Tony got, and Tony wanted to talk to Peter. He sagged in defeat, sighed, and pulled his phone from his pocket, propping it awkwardly against his shoulder as he accepted the call. “Hey, Tony,” he rasped.

“Yikes! You’ll have to forgive me for what I’m about to say, but I was just talking to Morgan and you know that once the ‘dad vibe’ starts flowin, it’s all but over, so.” Tony paused, then, “In light of how amazing you sound, the rock factory called and they want their gravel back.” Tony teased lightheartedly, then sobered. “And now that I’ve gotten that out of the way, I’m guessing you’ve noticed your biometrics are a little wonky, huh? And I’m hoping that means that I don’t have to fight to convince you to call it a day?”

“Oh, no convincing necessary.” Peter ground out painfully as he zipped up his backpack, and shifted the phone from his shoulder to his hand as he exited the room and ducked into an out of the way nook. “I noticed, and yeah, I think I’m gonna head back to the apartment. I’ve just gotta catch the TA for my next class to get the reading assignment before I go home and hunker down with this thing.”

Tony didn’t say anything for a moment, but Peter could hear the sound of traffic in the background and realized that the man was driving, “While that sounds like a solid start to your plan, kid, can I make it better for you? Perhaps by offering you a car ride home?”

Peter tried to chuckle, whimpered at the pain in his throat instead, and soldiered on with the conversation, “I’m not sure if you’re aware, Tony, but MIT is not exactly in Manhattan. Do we need to do the whole google maps thing for you?”

“Hilarious, kid, don’t even joke about google—you know that Stark Industries offers the superior product.”

“I do,” Peter nodded, even though Tony couldn’t see. “Doesn’t change the fact that you’re not exactly in my neighbourhood.”

“But what if I told you I was in town for the next couple of days for meetings and I’d planned on surprising my favourite spider-baby today with a big ol’ midday hug and lunch at my favourite diner before he’d gotten all diseased and festering?”

“Now who’s being funny?” Yeah, the drive and the hug sounded amazing, but idea of eating was about as appealing as the idea of lingering in the overcrowded hallway any longer than he had to, so he ignored that altogether, “But, uh, are you sure about the ride to the apartment?” Peter had to ask. “I’d hate it if you got sick because of me...”

“Pfft. Kid, if I can survive Morgan’s preschool and kindergarten years, I think I can manage driving you home and getting you sorted for the rest of the day—or at least until one of your buddies gets home to tag in— or kicks me out, if it’s MJ, whichever comes first.”

The idea had Peter almost weeping with relief. “That sounds great,” Newly motivated, Peter made his way toward the building exit, “Where do you want me to meet you after I find my TA?”

Tony went quiet again, then, “I’ll be on Amherst in about twenty minutes. Does that give you enough time to get things done?”

Peter calculated how long he’d need to find Anne in the next building over and to get what he’d need for what he guessed was going to be the next few days. It would be cutting it close, but Tony knew the area and could loop back if worse came to worst, “Yeah, I think I can do it.” He stepped out into the cold early December air. “I’ll see you soon.”

/-/-/

“Yeesh! Kid! What the heck are you doing?!” Tony called out as a still face-masked Peter jumped into the front seat of the car. “Your aunt would murder you dead if she saw you without a coat!”

Peter didn’t reply, only tossed his backpack onto the floor, pulled up his hoodie hood and tighten the strings as he shivered. “I am young and I am invincible.”

Tony put a hand to the part of Peter’s forehead not covered up and winced in sympathy, “I think the word you’re actually looking for is ‘idiotic.’”

Peter hugged himself for warmth. “Shh. Be nice to me. I’m sick,” he insisted as he tried to get comfortable.

“I’m not sure how much ‘nicer’ I can get?” Tony pulled away from the curb, ignoring the honks of the cars behind him and wound his way through traffic. He looked over to his son-in-all-but-blood. “Though I do feel obligated to say that I’m not sure I can make the fact that you look like death warmed over sound any nicer either?” He pressed the button to turn on Peter’s seat warmer and adjusted the vent to help the kid out.

Peter glared. “Ugh. Don’t even. I mean- I knew something was coming on this morning, but I can usually fight it off pretty quick.”

“Maybe it’s something going around campus?” Tony asked.

“Not that I can tell- classes are still full enough.” Peter shook his head as he answered, then stopped. “I wonder if—” While it shouldn’t have been possible, Peter paled even further. “Aww, man. I wonder if I caught something from that guy I had to perform CPR on when we were all home for Thanksgiving?”

“Oof. It could explain things.” Tony thought for a second, “You’d think we’d have found a way to work around the whole mask thing by now, though, huh? But no! That’s not a now problem,” he shook off the distraction. “Did you want me to follow up and see if I can access his medical records from after he was admitted to hospital? See what the deal was?”

“Yeah,” Peter relaxed and melted into his now warmed seat. “At least I won’t need to worry that I’ve caught the plague or something.”  

“Anything for you, kid—FRIDAY? Can you jump on that?”

“Of course, Boss,” the AI echoed through the car, “Though it would seem New York Department of Health is currently reconfiguring some systems and have implemented additional security features. There will be delay while I navigate—with apologies.”

“All good,” Tony replied, then glanced over, “So did you still want to head to the apartment or should we head to the tower and get you checked out by your favourite doctor? Especially if you’re worried about it.”

Peter glared back, “Don’t promise to take me to my own bed and then try to take it back, mister.”

Tony only caught a glimpse of his death stare, but chuckled nonetheless. “Alright then, no need to tell me twice, but if it gets any worse...”

“I’ll say something, Tony. I promise.”

Satisfied, Tony nodded, and the car grew quiet, staying that way until Peter’s apartment block came into view.

“Home again, home again, jiggety-jig.” Tony sang to himself as he pulled into one of the visitor parking spots. “Okay, Pete,” he unbuckled his seat belt then shifted to face a very dozy Peter. “Let’s get you upstairs. You can take a quick shower, and while you do that, I’ll set up the couch for a movie marathon to end all movie marathons and double check the grocery situation just in case you need any soup or the like. Sound good?”

Peter barely shrugged. “Sure,” he mumbled then unbuckled his own seatbelt with some effort.

“Perfect!” Tony exited the car with a spring in his step, “Let’s get this party started.” He walked around to the passenger side door and took the backpack from a struggling Peter. “And if I forget to say this later,” Tony wrapped a supportive arm around Peter’s shoulder and guided him to the apartment entrance, “Thank you so much for getting sick today. Pepper had me attending a meeting with Accounting, if you can believe it!”

Peter snorted, “I’m glad I could be of some use to you.” He winced as he spoke.

“Zoinks, kid! I wasn’t sure it could happen, but I think you’re sounding worse! Let’s get you upstairs.”  

“Agreed,” Peter whispered, not even trying to pretend.

“And no texting anyone that I’m taking care of you, either.” Tony demanded as they arrived at the elevator, “They’ll skip class and come rushing to your aid like the Scooby gang that you all are—don’t tell MJ I said that.” The elevator door opened and they stepped in, Tony pressing the button for the sixth floor. “All joking aside, now that you’re all grown up, I don’t get to take care of my first kid all that often and, you know—”

Peter sighed. “I know... Pepper will send reinforcements and make you go back to your meetings?”

Tony chuckled, “And Pepper will absolutely make me head back to my meetings.”

@sicktember

[aswallowssong]

Sicktember 2024 #7: Borrowed Hoodie

The idea for this was, literally, "Aaron’s hoodie being passed around like a healing balm." It was @themetaphorgirl's prompt, and I love her for it, because if there's anything I love, it's when the person that's usually the whumpee becomes the caretaker, even in the short form. Honorable mention comment goes to @fragolinaa, who said, and I quote: "Alex calling him Aaron is the equivalent of showing a glock"

Spencer

“I’m tired,” Spencer mumbled against Aaron’s side. It was Friday night, and they were at another one of Derek’s football games. Aaron knew the rules of football against his will, having been Derek’s roommate the year before, but it seemed that no matter how many times he tried to explain them to Spencer, it wasn’t sticking.

That, or Spencer couldn’t get over why a sport about passing and running had to be so violent. He didn’t like it when they tackled one another, which was every play, and he really didn’t like it when Derek got tackled. 

“I know, Bug,” Aaron said gently, pulling Spencer closer to him as his eyes stayed locked on the field. It was getting colder as the season went on, and Spencer was shivering, so some extra snuggles were in order.

“I wanna go home,” Spencer whined, flopping down so his head could lay in Aaron’s lap. 

Aaron ruffled his hair. “I know, Bug,” he echoed. “The game’s almost over. I told Derek we’d try to stay for the whole thing. There’s four minutes left.”

“That could take a million years,” Spencer mumbled, and when Aaron’s hand paused against Spencer’s scalp, he noticed how warm his ‘little brother’ felt. 

His mouth tugged down into a frown, and he looked over at Alex, but she wasn’t watching them. She was buried in her book, her back against James’ side while he watched with rapt attention. James liked to give Derek specific praise after his games – something he said that Ned always did for him – and while it was sweet, it made him oblivious to the world for the two hours they were on the bleachers.

“Bug?”

“Mhm?”

“Are you feeling okay?”

Spencer nestled further into Aaron’s lap, the tip of his thumb between his teeth. “Mm. ‘m cold.”

Aaron sighed. Spencer ran mystery fevers all the time, and they usually found out the cause later in the night, or the next day. Some cold, or flu, or worse, a stomach bug that reared its ugly head and made them all stressed out for a week, and usually got Aaron sick, too, in the process.

He thought for a second before stripping off his hoodie, and then laying it over Spencer like a blanket. Spencer sighed in relief, snuggling into it and balling his fists in the soft, blue fabric.

“That help?” Aaron asked, and Spencer nodded sleepily, closing his eyes as he turned his face into Aaron’s stomach. 

“Uh huh. Thanks, Bubba.” __________

Alex

They’d been fighting about it for five entire minutes.

“Birdy, come on.”

“I’m fine, Aaron. Leave me alone.”

Aaron, not Bubba. I really must have done it this time.

“I won’t,” Aaron said, moving to try to stop her as she marched down the sidewalk. “You’ve been trying to dodge us all day, I barely caught you now, and I had to ask Penelope for your work schedule.”

“How did Penelope get my work schedule?”

Aaron gestured vaguely, moving again so he was in front of his pseudo-twin. “Penelope could find the president’s schedule if she wanted to.”

Alex rolled her eyes, not moving to push back the hair that was blocking some of her face from his view. She always pulled her hair away from her face, she’d said once that it was a sensory nightmare, but she didn’t have a headband or a clip pulling it back, and it wasn’t in a ponytail or a braid like she usually did.

“Are you mad at me? Is this about Spencer? Because if you’re mad at me, you shouldn’t be avoiding everyone, just tell me what I did.”

Alex huffed, pushing past him again. “I’m not mad at you, you’re reading into it.”

Aaron raised an eyebrow, but then used his lank to his advantage, stepping in front of her again. He put his hands on her shoulders, stopping her in place, and bent a little to look her in the face.

“Birdy, please, come on. Spencer’s worried, he doesn’t know why you’re avoiding him.” When he said it he knew it was a low blow, but he was starting to feel anxiety like bubbles popping in his chest. “I told him I’d make sure you were at dinner.”

Alex looked up at him after a second, some of her face still blocked by her hair,, and if looks could kill, he would have been six feet under.

“Let go of me, Aaron.”

“Alex–”

“I have homework to do. I’ve got too many things–”

Her words cut off as she shuddered under his hands, goosebumps erupting on her arms as she shivered in weather that was already too warm for him to be wearing his hoodie in the first place.

“Woah,” he said reflexively, “Are you… cold?”

She shook her head quickly and shivered again, before tucking her face away from him, and he didn’t even think as he reached out and gently grabbed her chin, turning her head so he could actually see her face.

When he did, everything clicked into place.

“Holy shit, Alex, you look awful.”

She frowned, and to his horror, her lower lip started trembling. “Stop, Aaron–”

“No way, Bird,” he said, the popping of anxiety in his chest going from slow moving bubbles to sparks like fireworks. “No wonder you’ve been a ghost today, you should be in bed, not running around trying to dodge us.”

“I’m fine,” she tried to say, but it was painfully obvious she wasn’t, and Aaron took a second to breathe before he was rubbing his hands up and down her arms, trying to help somehow. He was good at taking care of Spencer, but Spencer was ten.

Plus, Alex was usually the one taking care of him, and Spencer, so how was he supposed to do anything to help her?

“We should… find James. I’ll text James. He can meet us back at my room, and he’ll know what to do.”

She started to protest, but as she shivered harshly again, all of the fight seemed to go out of her. Her eyes started to fill with tears, and she nodded slowly. 

“Okay.”

He thought for a second before unzipping his hoodie, and he helped her thread her arms through the sleeves before zipping it for her. It hung like a dress down to the middle of her thighs, but she didn’t seem to notice, or felt too awful to care.

After a moment she leaned against him, wrapping her arms around his torso and burying her face in the fabric of his shirt. 

“Thanks, Bubba.”

“Of course,” he said automatically. “Of course, Birdy.”

“Love you.”

“I love you, too.” __________

Haley

“You don’t have to do this, Ari. It’s sweet, but you’re gonna–”

“Hay, James said you probably should be with someone to watch your fever. It’s fine, I don’t care about getting sick. I care about you.”

Haley sat next to him on the bench outside of Roosevelt house, her head laying against his arm as he tried to coax her into following him back to Lincoln house. He’d thought she was acting weird at dinner, and by the time she’d finally admitted to him that she wasn’t feeling all that great, Alex and James had taken Spencer back with them and the others, granting them enough privacy for him to convince her to let him help.

She’d fought going to the nurse harder than he thought she would, but he’d been able to convince her to on the thermometer in his backpack, normally reserved for Spencer. After that he’d called James, and she’d already gone inside and grabbed a tote bag with the things she thought she might need.

When she’d gone in she’d been wearing his hoodie, which he’d given her even after she’d protested that she was going to get germs on it, and he’d fully scoffed. Odds were he was going to get sick anyway. When she’d come out with her bag and was still wearing it, he’d told the bees in his stomach to knock it the fuck off.

“Harper just…” she turned and muffled a cough into her elbow, but he finished the thought for her. “Is the worst?”

She laughed and shook her head, clearing her throat before speaking again.

“She just gets really freaked out about getting sick and missing class, and missing cheer. It’s like, she would rather die.”

“That’s a little dramatic,” Aaron said simply, rubbing Haley’s back. She’d started shivering again, and it was making him anxious. “People get sick all the time. Spencer and I get sick all the time. You’ve got like, a cold virus or something, and it’ll go away.”

Haley turned and raised a weak eyebrow at him. “A cold virus, or something?”

“I don’t want to be a doctor,” he said simply. “I want to be a lawyer.”

“A man with ambition,” she said, teasing him, but he could tell her heart wasn’t in it. She was more miserable than she was letting on. “I like that.”

“And I like you feeling well,” he said, standing up and offering her his hand. “Come on, Haley. It’s alright, I promise.”

She looked up at him, glassy eyed and fever flushed, and sniffled quietly before taking his hand and letting him help her up. He grabbed her bag, even though she protested, and couldn’t help but feel a swell of fondness at the fact that his hoodie dwarfed her, the sleeve pooling around their connected hands while the other completely covered her hand. He nodded towards it, giving her a shy smile.

“When JJ’s cardigans do that to Spencer’s hands, she calls it ‘Sweater Paws,’ like he’s a kitten.”

“Are you calling me a baby?” She said, but she laughed listlessly, so he knew she wasn’t serious.

“It’s cute,” he said, trying and failing to not blush like a moron.

“Well, maybe I should wear your jackets more often. Not just because I’m so cold.”

“You’re hot.”

“Wow. Forward.”

“I mean–!” He blushed darker, fumbling for the right words. “You know what I meant! You have a fever!”

“I know, I shouldn’t be giving you a hard time,” she said, leaning her head against his arm as they walked. “Thanks for letting me stay. I feel silly about it.”

“You don’t have to thank me,” he said, squeezing her hand. “I already said it, I don’t care about getting sick. I care about you.” ___________

James

James was raising an eyebrow at him, though it looked misplaced on his pale yet darkly flushed face.

“Your hoodie won’t fit me.”

“Try me,” Aaron said, holding it out to him. “Or do I need to help you put it on?”

James grumbled, taking it from him. “This is silly.”

“You’re the one that tried to hide in a study room to finish homework instead of calling your dad and telling him to pick you up in the first place.”

“I didn’t know Penelope had tagged us.”

“Well,” Aaron said, “Yeah, the ethics on that are sketchy. But how else was Alex supposed to find you when you didn’t show up after classes let out? And then no one could find you for two hours until Penny finally ratted on herself!”

He hadn’t meant to get a little loud, and only noticed when James winced and rubbed at his temples, but James was usually their rock. The fact that he’d been the one to go MIA hadn’t sat right, and he’d been fighting off the anxiety ever since.

“I didn’t mean to worry everyone,” James said quietly. He’d pulled Aaron’s hoodie on, which had stopped the fever chills a little bit, and had fit, which Aaron had known it would. It was just baggy enough in the shoulders to fit James’ broader ones. “I wanted the opposite.”

“Well you got the not-opposite,” Aaron said, way too flustered to think of a good retort. Instead he stared at James longer than was appropriate, and was startled when someone honked their car horn.

“Shit,” he said at the same time that James said, “Stars,” like they were in a southern sitcom.

“Jeff, cut it out!”

Ned was walking up to them, concern etched onto his face, while Jeff, his best friend and bakery partner, was sitting in the driver’s seat of the van, sheepishly waving and mouthing “sorry.”

Aaron liked Ned. Ned was a good dad.

“Mini, why in the world would you have stayed here feeling bad when you know I would’a come to get you right quick had you called? Alex sounded worried out of her mind.”

“That’s just Alex,” James said, but Aaron watched him quickly wilt as he laid eyes on his dad. “It’s not that bad.”

“He’s got a fever over a hundred n’ one,” Aaron said, his accent strengthening the second he heard Ned talk. “He’s full’a crap.”

Ned nodded at Aaron, ruffling his hair before he grabbed James’ backpack off the ground. “Thanks, Bubba. Charlie’s anxious to get him back. Mama’s worried.”

He said it in James’ direction, but didn’t take his eyes off Aaron, and it made him feel warm inside.

James got up to walk with him back to the car, mumbling a thanks to Aaron, but was half way there when he turned around.

“Oh, Aaron, this is your hoodie.” He started moving sluggishly to take it off, but Aaron shook his head. 

“It’s fine. I’m not worried about it.”

“Didn’t your brother pick it for you, though? It’s important.”

Aaron nodded, taking a beat before shrugging. “It is. A, um. A different brother needs it right now.”

He watched as James’ face went from confused to thoughtful, a small and sheepish smile crossing his face before he nodded, turned, and followed Ned to the car.