#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".

[theroadtosomewhere]

Intro/Master Post

Started: 1stSept'24

hello, i'm jules, i write & draw but you'll only see one of those things. i mostly post to ao3 under roadtosomewhere, i also have bird app and butterfly app! i will now self-promo, thankyou <3

on hiatus (27/11/24)

────୨ৎ────BSD

Multi-chapter

Semi-serious plot

Where the Wind Blows -> Chuuya dies (or does he?)

Reciprocity -> skk character study

23 Minutes -> Chuuya activates corruption without Dazai and he has thoughts about it

"Okay is Subjective" -> Sicktember 2023

It's Golden Hour Somewhere Else -> obligatory beast fic (implied)

Chuuya Wants Some Goddamn Peace and Quiet -> 2024 SKK Gift Exchange

Fluff

Soul-> 5+1, entirely fluff (first completed fic my beloved)

You Could've Knocked -> 5+1, skk through the years

Call Me "Ane-san" -> Dazai wants a big sister and doesn't ask

Crutch -> Dazai and Chuuya post 109, Chronic pain Dazai

Just a Little Bit (In Love) -> Dazai pining over Chuuya (and Aya is there too)

Ribbons and Bandages -> christmas collab (bsdc) with Ami here or here!

Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year (And Die Hard is not a Christmas Movie) -> 9k of domestic skk shenanigans

It Is Probable (That I knew Nothing of What I Had Said) -> bsdc Valentines Collection

────୨ৎ────

Oneshots

A Place LIke This -> Chuuya re-emerging into a world post 109

Grief, My Old Friend -> Chuuya grieves

There Was No Peace, Only This -> Dazai's jaw gets broken (projecting)

In The Name of Care -> Atsushi visits comatose Dazai and meets exactly who you’d expect at his bedside

Standing Up Straight -> Chuuya buys Dazai a skirt (part 2 of mobilityaid!Dazai)

────୨ৎ────

Twitter threadfics

MafiaBossChuuya!

You'll Succeed (But You'll Cry)

Should've been Him (But it wasn't)

A New Truce

One Call is One Too Many

One Grave is Enough for Me

Random (that i've posted on ao3, the rest found under my twt pinned)

Fighting for Life

────୨ৎ────

Unposted WIP List:

Five Years Away (I See Us) -> Dazai gets stuck in an ability that shows him a scenario he doesn't know how to accept (Dazai Osamu is Bad at Feelings)

Neon Streetlights to Guide you home -> Dazai discovers at what cost Amenogozen was beaten (Suffering Nakahara Chuuya)

1000 Days Alive -> Who is the Seventh Agency?

────୨ৎ────

offhand comment, if you police other ppl online, kindly~

╭∩╮（￣▽￣）╭∩╮

[sickficideas]

gotta hear me out || sick Akutagawa w/ caretaker Atsushi - chapter 3 of ??

ao3! 4.8/15k - please refer to the tags in the link for content + warnings! sicktember 2024, day 30: past prompt (2022, day 27: sleepless night)

Atsushi can't ignore the lump in his throat. He almost wonders if he's nauseous himself now, but he's pretty certain it's just some weird, anxious feeling that he can't push down.

Is it because he's worried about Akutagawa? Is it the lingering concerns over his lung illness, or a worry that he'll need to be hospitalized? He doesn't know. Maybe it's everything.

He manages to get Akutagawa back to bed after a half hour or so of him laying on the bathroom floor, almost half asleep. He didn't say a word, didn't complain of the taste or tell Atsushi to leave. Atsushi wonders if he's avoiding speaking to quell the nausea, although he's not sure that would work in this situation.

Atsushi finally manages to get a temperature on him, too. He doesn't make him move, he just slides the thermometer under his tongue with little to no reaction from Akutagawa, and it beeps after a few seconds. A hundred and one point one. Not as bad as he was thinking.

“Still nauseous?” Atsushi asks him as he sits down on the bed, the opposite side from where Akutagawa is laying. He's still staring at the ceiling, miraculously still awake despite how exhausted he appears to be.

“It's just - cramping, right now,” he groans quietly, shifting slightly in his discomfort, eyes screwing shut as the cramps roll through his stomach. He imagines that's because there's nothing left in there for him to throw up, and his stomach is finding other ways to retaliate, but he's hoping the medication will kick in sooner rather than later.

The thunder is getting worse.

Atsushi sees Akutagawa flinch at the sound of it again, and this time he's sure it's a result of the thunder. He's never seen him react at all to loud noises, so this seems out of character for him, but maybe it's just because he's too exhausted to fight it.

Atsushi lays down on the other side of Akutagawa’s bed, with no complaints from the latter. He doesn't want to leave him yet, not until he falls asleep, and he's sure that his nausea is better. At least he knows his fever isn't dangerously high, despite how warm his skin feels and how pink his cheeks are.

He's quiet for a while, trying to ignore the rain, the thunder. He's sure it's not nearly as loud for Akutagawa as it is for him, and Atsushi can usually tune it out, but the silence that he's faced with between the two of them forces him to face the noise.

“Are you scared of thunder?” Atsushi asks him. It slips out when he sees him shiver again. He's not really sure if that's something he should ask out loud, but he stands by it in the end. It's just an innocent question.

“Don't ridicule me,” Akutagawa mumbles quietly, not raising his voice above a whisper, even in the slightest.

“I'm not,” Atsushi tells him, “I am too.”

Akutagawa turns his head just a little to look at him, with an expression Atsushi can't quite place. It's almost like he wants to say something back. Something of understanding, something meaningful maybe, but he turns his head away too quickly for Atsushi to figure him out.

“Of course you are. You're a coward,” Akutagawa huffs out, almost under his breath.

“Always gotta find a way to put it back on me, huh?” Atsushi says to himself, very aware Akutagawa can certainly hear him. “You know you're calling yourself a coward too, then.”

He doesn't have anything to say about that. Atsushi doesn't know if he was aware of that already or not.

They're quiet again, and it's raining a little less, enough that Atsushi can hear Akutagawa’s breathing. It's never sounded good or normal to him, but now it's uneven, a sign he's still in pain. Every now and the he holds his breath, presumably to try to will away the pain from his stomach cramping, but he's not tensing up as much anymore. That's good.

“The cell they kept me in sometimes had this…gated window at the top,” Atsushi starts, sharing the memory with Akutagawa as it comes back to him. Akutagawa doesn't move his head. “I hated thunder, and…it was so clear there when it stormed. It echoed. And it rained in through the window. I had to post myself up in a corner so that I wouldn't get soaked, but…that never lasted long.”

Akutagawa doesn't say anything at first, but Atsushi can tell he's listening. He keeps his gaze forward and at the ceiling.

“That was a punishment,” Akutagawa says, realizing it without Atsushi saying it out loud.

“I think so. Looking back on it,” Atsushi says quietly.

“You're not afraid,” Akutagawa tells him. “It's just the association.”

“Yeah…yeah, maybe you're right,” Atsushi agrees with a quiet sigh. He hadn't thought about it that way before.

“Maybe we are the same, then.”

Atsushi's surprised to hear him say that.

Their conversation seems to end there. Atsushi was hoping he'd be able to get Akutagawa to open up some, but in the end, all he learned was that Akutagawa's fear is just a negative association too. He wonders from what, or where, when - Akutagawa surely wouldn't tell him, but maybe one day, one conversation, they'll get there.

Akutagawa turns over on his side after a while with a quiet, pained groan. He's been okay for the past half hour, at least. Atsushi doesn't think his nausea has gone away completely, but it's definitely not as bad right now.

“Do you think you feel okay?” Atsushi asks, sitting up from where he was in the bed as Akutagawa pulls to covers over his shoulder.

“I'll be fine,” Akutagawa insists. That's no answer to how he's feeling right now, and really, it means nothing at all - but at least his fever isn't terrible, and he's not actively in pain from his stomach. Atsushi hopes this is all a good sign. Maybe he's getting better, and he can actually feel good.

“I'll be in your living room, then,” Atsushi tells him, sliding off of the bed. Akutagawa doesn't reply or make any indication that he's heard him, but Atsushi decides he'll keep the bedroom door cracked open, just in case he gets sick again.

Atsushi lays down on the couch and stares at the ceiling.

There's a particularly loud crash of thunder then and there and he flinches so hard that he almost falls off. He groans to himself, taking a pillow and using it to cover his ears. He won't be able to sleep like this. He wonders if Akutagawa will be able to.

He feels his phone buzz in his pocket. He realizes he hasn't checked in with Dazai yet, and that's probably him now. This is typically the time of night where he gets bored and starts bothering everyone who's still awake.

He's surprised to see that Dazai's followed up, really, but the wording of his question embarrasses him. His cheeks heat up, realizing he's stayed the night at Akutagawa’s place and not told anyone at the Agency. And of course, Dazai is the only one who knows.

Atsushi's holding his breath, sending those texts. He's always going to be too anxious about getting in trouble, even though Dazai's never been the type to reprimand him over things.

Atsushi sighs. Good on Dazai for taking care of that for him. Kyoka worries about him a lot, he would hate to have disappeared on her without a word. He's sure Dazai fed her some excuse for Atsushi's absence, but he's not sure Kyoka would believe it.

Atsushi sighs to himself. Where does he even begin?

Dazai's suspicions were confirmed, Akutagawa is in fact, not well - he's very sick, actually. He tries to line up everything in his head. Fever, but not horribly high. Headache. Sensitivity to light and sound. Vomiting, of course, and unbearable nausea that makes him gag and retch regardless of how little is left in his stomach. Pretty bad stomach pain. He's coughing, too, but it's hard to say if that's worse or the same he normally deals with from his illness, but it definitely doesn't sound good. He fainted, too, and Atsushi has no idea why exactly, but there's several factors contributing to that. He hasn't eaten in three days, so it's been at least that long since he got sick.

It's probably a stomach flu. He needs IV fluids for sure. Some sort of injectable medication for his nausea would help him be able to eat something. He needs a doctor. Atsushi has reached the end of the line for what he can do here, but Akutagawa is a wanted criminal. He can't take him anywhere without him being arrested.

And he wonders if he should even care about that. Akutagawa is a criminal. He’s killed people. Just because he hasn’t since he made his promise doesn’t mean he’s absolved from that.

But for some reason, Atsushi doesn’t even consider it an option.

He's sure Dazai would know what do to, but should he involve him?

He decides to sneak into a little coat closet right at the front door of Akutagawa’s place, so that his voice won’t wake him, and calls Dazai before waiting for a reply. He couches down in the curner of the tiny closet, not much bigger than the closet he sleeps in, the coats hanging above draping over him. He imagines Akutagawa would find this sight ridiculous.

It rings a few times, and for a moment he worries Dazai won’t pick up, but he seems to change his mind at the last second.

“Atsushiii. Bad time. I'm super busy,” Dazai tells him with a little sigh.

Atsushi considers apologizing, except, it’s three in the morning. “What would you even be busy with?”

“I'm watching American reality TV. It's very important,” Dazai insists. He’s either teasing him or lightening the mood, sure, but Atsushi is too stressed about this situation to bite.

“What should I do if it gets worse?” Atsushi asks him, deciding to ignore the comment altogether. Dazai knows the mafia better than anyone. He's sure he could point him in the right direction as far as treatment goes, or at least get someone else in the picture here. Atsushi can only do so much.

“You said he's got a stomach flu? Throwing up?” Dazai asks.

“Yeah, but…it's a lot of things. He’s in a lot of pain, I think. And he passed out earlier. And he's not just throwing up either, he can't keep anything down. He won't try any medicine. Or water,” Atsushi sighs to himself, biting the inside of his cheek, trying to keep his voice quiet, “and he's got this deep wound on his shoulder too. Definitely infected.”

Dazai just sighs, pausing before he continues their conversion. “It's never just one thing with him. And his sister isn't home?”

“No, he said she's been gone for a while working,” Atsushi says. Atsushi has only met her one time. He doesn’t have any idea of how close they are, he just knows they live together.

“The Port Mafia has an infirmary he could go to,” Dazai says, sounding exasperated this time, “and he knows that. I'd say take him, but he won't let you do that and you can't enter the building anyway. You might be better off just dropping him at an extraction point.”

Atsushi bites his lip. “I don’t…I don’t think I can do that, Dazai.”

Dazai’s quiet for a second. “I’ll see what I can do. Just give me some time to figure it out, there’s not a lot of people I can call at three in the morning.”

“Okay…yeah, that makes sense,” Atsushi says, pulling his knees into his chest, hoping that something can get figured out sooner rather than later.

“I'm gonna get back to my very important thing now,” Dazai announces. “I'll let you know if anyone bites.”

“Okay, yeah, sure,” he says, and he hears Dazai start a goodbye, but Atsushi can't get Akutagawa’s earlier words out of his head. His claims that Dazai doesn't care about him, beyond his ability.

Is that true?

“Dazai?” he starts, just before Dazai hangs up, he thinks, blurting it out without thinking it through.

“Yes?” Dazai replies curiously.

Atsushi isn't even sure how he would word the question. Even if he was, he couldn't guarantee any honesty on Dazai's part. Dazai is always so cryptic and mysterious with his wording, intentionally or not, it's doubtful Atsushi would get a straight answer out of him, even if he would tell the truth.

Why does he want to know? Is it just to dispel his own discomfort about the idea that Dazai only views Akutagawa as a tool?

Atsushi has never felt that Dazai feels that way towards himself, so it's jarring to hear that from another person, but Dazai has never given him any reason to believe the thinks any differently of Akutagawa than what he described.

He bites his lip.

“Nothing,” he says, deciding that in the end, it isn't worth it. He doesn't know a thing about their relationship, really, beyond their connection in the Port Mafia.

He doesn't want it to stay a mystery, but it's not his place to pry.

“Night night, Atsushi,” he tells him.

“Good night,” Atsushi says back, defeated, and the line goes dead.

So now, he's sitting by himself in Akutagawa’s coat closet, stuck with his own over-complicated thoughts about all of this. He’s not sure how to feel, what to think, but he realizes in the end, this is between Dazai and Akutagawa. Atsushi has barely known either of them for a few months, whereas the two of them have much more history, things Atsushi doesn’t even know the first thing about.

He isn’t sure how much time passes at first. He’s just sat in the corner of the closet, knees at his chest for a while, trying to sort through all the information in his head, before he decides it’s giving him a headache to keep thinking about it, especially with the minimal sleep he’s had.

All of the thoughts quickly dissolve when he hears sounds he doesn’t recognize coming from Akutagawa’s room.

He scrambles to get out of the closet and run towards the bedroom, because whatever it is, it’s not good. It sounds like an altercation, which he feels like is nearly impossible. He would have heard if someone got inside.

There’s stab marks in the door, Atsushi realizes, because he reaches forward to turn the doorhandle. His heart drops into his stomach, but the answer comes quickly to him when he finds himself dodging shards of fabric slicing through the door.

He’s using Rashomon, but Atsushi doesn’t have any idea why he would be doing that. Maybe he realizes that Atsushi is at the door and he’s trying to get him to stay out, but Atsushi noticed the stab marks before he got there.

Atsushi manages to open the door without getting stabbed, thankfully.

Akutagawa is barely propped up over the side of the bed, retching into the bin on the floor, choking up thin stream of vomit that his stomach seems to be forcing up regardless of whether or not there's anything left. Atsushi feels horrible. He didn't seem to be this nauseous before he forced him to eat, and now he must feel a hundred times worse than before. The medication he took only helped him long enough to fall asleep, which is better than nothing, but now he’s cearly worse.

Atsushi just crawls into his bed next to him and rubs his back, because it's all he can do other than feel guilty. He doesn’t see any sign that he’ll attack him, at least not right now. Akutagawa gags a few times over the bin, not able to bring up much more than spit, but his stomach seems to be trying so hard to make him sick that he gags anyway. A little burp he manages brings a wad of spit and bile with it.

He groans quietly through his stomach rolling through one painful cramp after another. He imagines it hurts a lot more now with his stomach being so empty.

Atsushi wonders if he's not completely conscious right now, because he hasn’t reacted to his presence at all.

“Akutagawa, are you -”

Atsushi feels the fabric of Akutagawa’s sweater wrap around his throat, and another pierce through his shoulder.

It happens too quickly for him to react properly. He screams out from the pain and all he can do is slow down how quickly he's choking him by attempting to pull back the fabric with his transformed tiger arms.

“Akutagawa, it's - let…go - !” he manages to choke out. He doesn't understand at all where this is coming from. He's well aware Akutagawa doesn't want him here, but he's literally trying to kill him right now. Atsushi can't breathe.

In a last-ditch effort, Atsushi throws himself forward, arms stretched out either the intention of throwing Akutagawa off of the bed, and it works. He loses his balance and his focus, the fabric coming loose, and Atsushi nearly chokes when he can finally breathe again.

It's a really strange use of his ability. He thinks if he wanted to knock Atsushi out, he would throw him against the wall, stab him somewhere vital, and not slowly choke him out like he was just doing. It makes him think it wasn’t intentional, or even, that it was amature.

“You can't do that,” Atsushi tells him desperately, scrambling to get off the the bed at his side, his tiger appearance still maintained. His shoulder screams from the pain of being stabbed. Atsushi’s never had a good pain tolerance, and he’s thankful to be able to heal himself with some time, but it’s still unbelievably painful.

Akuatagwa’s on his side, trying to get himself off of the ground, breathing heavy and coughing over the floor. His eyes are wild, he’s covered in sweat and he looks a thousand times worse than before.

“Are you - are you hurt?” Atsushi asks, concerned that he’s pulled a muscle of dislocated something because he’s stiff and can’t sit himself up properly, but the sound of Atsushi’s voice sets something off in him and the fabric from his sweater shoots over at Atsushi, followed by a look of terror on Akuatgawa’s face that he’s never, ever seen before. His wide, fearful eyes against his ghostly pale face are almost painful to look at.

This time, Atsushi was prepared to be attacked, and he pins Akutagawa back down to the ground, his tiger arms against both of Akuatgawa’s upper arms. Akutagawa barely tries to struggle against him, but he doesn’t need to, Rashomon simply starts to wrap itself around Atsushi’s neck again, his chest, and drilling another hole into the arm on the same side of his injured shoulder.

“Akutagawa - stop! It’s me, dammit - !” he cries out, trying desperately to ignore the pain he’s causing him through grit teeth, but he doesn’t loose the gaze he has locked with Akutagawa. He doesn’t know what’s going on with him, but something’s not right with his eyes. Atsushi doesn’t think he’s all there right now.

“Let go,” Atsushi begs, trying not to choke with how his throat is being squeezed, “please, I’m just - I just want to help you.”

“Where…” he breathes out, sounding like he doesn’t have enough air in his lungs to speak properly but still trying to sound angry “where is she?”

“What?” Atsushi starts, feeling the grip around his neck loosen up just enough for him to be able to breathe and speak, but he stays fully aware that Akutagawa can simply decapitate him at any time. “Where is who?”

“My sister,” he manages, and any sign of anger had completely melted into fear. “She’s - she’s gone.”

What is he talking about?

Atsushi hasn't seen him with a cell phone this entire time, there's no way he suddenly received information that way. And what does he mean gone? She's not dead, is she? There’s no way.

“Hey - Akutagawa, hey,” Atsushi says, his tiger paws melting away and leaving just his hands gripping Akutagawa’s shoulders and keeping him pinned against the ground. He tries to steer clear of where he knows that injury is. He's shaking. Atsushi can't tell if it's because he feels cold or he's afraid, but his skin is burning, he can feel that much easier now with just his hands.. His fever's up. “What do you mean?”

“I can't…I don't know where she is,” he tells her, his voice quiet. “It's been days.”

“You said she was out working, remember?” Atsushi tells him, but that only leaves Akutagawa looking more confused. That doesn't make sense. Akutagawa is the one who told him that she was working. He didn't seem bothered at all by the fact that he hasn't heard from her, so Atsushi assumed it was a regular thing. Why is he so worried all of a sudden?

Akutagawa's eyes are wild. Atsushi can't process everything he's seeing. He's worried, confused, scared, Atsushi's never once seen him act like this, he's almost mirroring his emotions. But he can't when Akutagawa feels this way.

He looks like a child, almost.

“You know she can fend for herself, don't you? I've seen her hold her own. She's pretty good,” Atsushi tries to convince him. He’s only ever seen Gin a handful of times, but he knows she’s a very skilled assassin. He’s not sure where all of this worry suddenly came from. He doesn’t know much abou their relationship at all, but Akutagawa doesn’t seem like the type to worry this much about anyone.

The eyes he's staring into don't look like Akutagawa's eyes. They're brighter, but full of fear, confusion.

He thinks he might be reliving an old memory through a nightmare. Atsushi's done it before. Poor Kyoka is always subjected to it, but he never imagined that Akutagawa suffers from this sort of thing, too. He always sounds so put together when he's talking about his past, like he has it all figured out.

Atsushi realizes that he doesn't really know the first thing about what Akutagawa went through.

“Come on, I’m gonna help you back to your bed,” Atsushi tells him quietly.

The blood from the open wounds drips onto the floor and Akutagawa’s arm. He watches his eyes follow the drip up to where he’s currently causing the injury, and as soon as he notices it, he releases his ability completely. Atsushi doesn’t waste any time, he shifts himself to be able to scoop Akutagawa up off of the floor without much incident, to lay him back on his bed, but he sits himself up and scoots away from Atsushi, still not entirely convinced he’s safe, it seems.

Atsushi doesn’t know what to do. Kyoka usually comes out of her episodes of this fairly quickly, but she also isn’t prone to attempting to kill Atsushi. Akutagawa is.

“I think you had a bad dream,” Atsushi says to him, sitting at the edge of the bed, only a foot or so away from Akutagawa. He isn’t very happy about that, his eyes darting around at each muscle of Atsushi’s the moves like he’s fully expecting him to launch forward and attack him. He’s holding his breath.

Atsushi scoots himself onto the bed so that he’s sitting across from him, and the movement makes the injuries of his shoulder sting, healing slower than usual because of how little sleep he’s had. He hisses through his teeth, trying to not make it too obvious, but Akutagawa catches on.

Akutagawa’s eyes are fixed on the blood staining Atsushi’s shirt, and the red is slowing down as the wound slowly starts to close.

“It’s fine,” Atsushi tells him, laying a hand over the spot on his shoulder, which definitely feels worse, “I can heal myself, remember? I’m more worried about you.”

Akutagawa drops his gaze a little, his attention turning away from him, anything other than Atsushi. Atsushi doesn’t think he can leave him alone again. He’s worried about his safety. He doesn’t know if he thinks someone’s after him or what’s going on there, but he can’t be by himself right now.

He moves closer, trying to test the waters and make sure Akutagawa trusts him enough right now to be near him. He doesn’t know if he doesn’t recognize him, but he know he wouldn’t hurt Atsushi if he’s okay enough to trust him.

He’s only inches away from him, and Akutagawa’s eyes are wide with confusion, but he doesn’t back up, and doesn’t try attacking him again. It’s a good sign, and Atsushi can’t afford to lose that progress.

“Hey,” Atsushi murmurs, without thinking, laying his forehead against Akutagawa’s and gently placing a hand on his cheek.

To his shock, Akutagawa does not immediately decapitate him.

“You're safe, okay? And, I don't know where your sister is, but I know she's safe too.”

His eyes are shining with tears, hardly able to breathe properly with how he's worked himself up, confused but comforted by Atsushi's words. Atsushi’s really worried about how hot his skin is, and he’s fairly certain his fever going up had played a huge role in what’s just happened with him.

But they’re making progress, at least.

“You think you can lay back down?” Atsushi asks. He needs him to calm down, rest, not feel so worked up.

Akutagawa just nods, letting Atsushi guide him back down. He’s curled tight in on himself, still not a hundred percent trusting but better than nothing. Atsushi rests a hand against his cheek, hoping maybe it was just the angle that made his skin feel so hot, but it really is that way. He moves it to his forehead to double check, but it doesn’t change.

Atsushi needs to get something to help his fever go down. A washcloth or something, at least for some relief. He must feel miserable like this.

So he slides himself off of the bed, but he feels something pull on his sleeve before he manages to stand up. He thinks he’s caught it on something, but when he turns his head, he realizes it’s Akutagawa.

“Don't leave,” he begs, his grip on Atsushi's sleeve so weak it hardly holds. His eyes are bright from his fever against his red cheeks, and he doesn’t look so afraid anymore, but it’s still there. That look.

Atsushi feels like his heart is being squeezed. He's never, ever seen him like this before. He almost seems like a completely different person.

“I just wanna get you something cold for your forehead,” he tells him. “You're really hot.”

“Please…come back,” he breathes out quietly, his eyes falling shut, and his grip loosening completely.

“I will. Promise, okay?” Atsushi tells him, biting the inside of his lip.

He’s fast. He takes a bowl from his kitchen and fills it with cold water, with a washcloth or two to rotate on his forehead and keep him cool. He’s faced with the dozen stab marks in the door and decides he’ll need to address that later.

Atsushi leaves the washcloths and water on the nightstand, because Akutagawa is curled onto his side and shaking, not close enough for Atsushi to reach him.

Atsushi climbs into the bed beside him, a hand on his shoulder, not sure if he’s cold or if this is something else, but he doesn’t attack him, not even attempt. He's still breathing really hard, almost panicking but not quite.

“Hey,” Atsushi tells him, worried he’s about to be faced with a similar situation, but Akutagawa doesn’t move to hurt him, his arms just tighten around the pillow in his arms.

He coughs and dry heaves a few times, unproductively. Nothing comes up but the saliva that pools in his mouth. Atsushi moves to pick up the trash bin from the floor, expecting him to vomit again, but that seems to be the last of it right now, at least as far as productively vomiting goes.

Atsushi takes one of the cooled washcloths and wrings out the majority of the water. He lays a hand on his shoulder to try to get him to lay on his back, and surprisingly, he obeys. Atsushi’s gentle, careful, laying the washcloth over his forehead.

Akuatagwa shivers at first, but a few seconds in, he relaxes enough to close his eyes.

Atsushi thinks he’s got it under control, for now. Despite his blood soaked shirt, the splatters of blood on the corners of the bed sheets and the floor, the stab marks in Akutagawa’s door - those are things he can revisit.

He watches Akutagawa closely until he falls asleep. He won’t leave him this time.

[vonpharma]

Fandom: 逆転裁判 | Gyakuten Saiban | Ace Attorney Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Ayasato Mayoi | Maya Fey/Karuma Mei | Franziska von Karma Characters: Karuma Mei | Franziska von Karma, Ayasato Mayoi | Maya Fey Additional Tags: Sickfic, Hurt/Comfort, Sicktember, Sicktember 2024, Developing Relationship, Established Relationship, Sick Maya Fey, Post-Gyakuten Saiban 123 | Phoenix Wright Trilogy, No Sequel Trilogy Spoilers, Author Projecting onto Franziska von Karma, i literally cannot be bothered to look up what part we're on, trump just got elected for a second term let me post my fanfic and go, No Beta - Prosecutor Miles Edgeworth Chooses Death, i nearly typed no prosecutor beta miles edgeworth chooses death, rating is just for maya being horny

Summary:

There are no ladies for her to so gallantly slay beasts in the name of. She prosecutes, then, but the itch never quite scratches itself—something about it isn’t hands on enough, grand enough, explosive enough. She never feels there in her calloused palms the lives she saves, avenges, fights for. Here, though—walking her sick girlfriend to the bathroom, one feverish arm thrown across her shoulders, her own nervously trembling digits cradling Maya’s waist… this feels like the closest she’s ever come. Forward movement, that soft love she’d always heard tell of, burning in her chest and across her face all the same.

Written for Sicktember 2024 Day 18: "My Body is One Big Ache."

for @pictureswithboxes <3

[READ ON AO3!]

[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

[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

[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