#stupid fucking fever spikes

[boojangs]

Stuck here another day. 😭💣💥🔥

[somber-sapphic]

Uuhh can I request a Natasha x Sick!Reader. R is sorta new to the Avengers and doesn't really talk to anyone but Nat, R gets sick on a mission and no one seems to notice except Nat. R tries to take care of themselves back at the compound but can't so Natasha steps in? You can make it romantic or platonic I'm cool with either. Thanks in advance! And if you already have a fic like this my b just ignore 😅

Sickness and Secrets

〖Notes: Hey, sorry this was so late! Also I might accidentally be reusing pictures but its like 2am so I'll care about that later. I hope you enjoy it!〗

〖Summary: Being the newest member of the Avengers you really have no place to take a sick day.〗

〖Word Count: 1.4k〗

〖Pairing: Natasha x Sick Reader

☾Masterlists☽

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

You coughed quietly into your shoulder and cleared your throat, glancing around to see if anyone had noticed. They were all focused on Cap who was yelling about how poorly everyone had done in that last mission. He was particularly focused on “communication” which was definitely pointed at you although he was too polite to say it. Tony wasn’t. Eventually, he’d strengthen the link to you, and you’d be chewed out in front of everyone.

Said mission had been in Russia during the winter and you had not done very well. You’d then try your best to remedy your mistake, which of course made everything worse. You knew that you were sick before the team left, but being so new you couldn’t just say that you wouldn’t be able to go. None of the Avengers would skip a mission for a stupid little cold.

Then that stupid little cold had turned into something bigger. The fever had started the first night in that cold drafty cabin and had spiked by early that morning. Natasha, who you were sharing that tiny room with, had checked on you once when she’d heard your teeth clattering from the shivering. She had tried to order you to tell her, but you had been far too out of it for her words to have mattered.

You couldn’t entirely remember the conversation, but you were like 80% sure that she’d offered you a place in her bed if you couldn’t get warm. That had been a weird offer, but you were tempted to take her up on it. From what you remembered she had kissed your forehead but that was very likely a dream. No way she had actually done that, she barely knew you.

Regardless of your fever, the mission continued. And with it, you gained a chesty cough, aching limbs, and a seemingly permanently runny nose. You had done the best you could, but it admittedly wasn’t very good. You’d forgotten to say anything when you were attacking and apparently had your comms off the whole time so even when people were speaking to you your answers weren’t going through.

You did not do well and now Tony was very much making sure that you knew it. His words were a low buzz in your ears, and it was really all that you could do to keep your eyes trained on him as he paced around yelling at you.

Now everyone was looking between the two of you, a few smirks coming from Clint and Thor who were both amused by your proverbial ass-whooping. Natasha and Cap seemed annoyed while the others were just not listening, too tired to care. It had been a long week and you had screwed it up. All you did was mess up.

Hot tears welled up in your eyes and you stared down at your shoes, sniffling quietly as you tried to keep yourself under control. This wasn’t professional and you needed to keep yourself professional. It would’ve been easier if he wasn’t yelling, but he was, and you were losing control.

“Hey, we get it. Y/n fucked up. She’ll do better next time, let it go.” Natasha snapped, pulling you out of your stupor. You glanced over at her and found her leaning forward defensively with one hand drifting over to your side of the table.

Completely overwhelmed now you shoved the chair back from the table and stumbled out of the conference room, mumbling slurred apologies as you practically ran from the room. You’d made it about halfway to the elevator when your legs gave out and you slammed into the wall, bashing your cheek against the hardwood. It hurt, but not as much as the rest of you.

You let out what was probably the most pathetic sound you’d ever made as you slid down the wall, the stupid tears beginning to fall from your eyes. You were miserable, you wanted nothing more than to crawl into bed and maybe die a little bit. That sounded okay, as long as you didn’t have to feel anything.

You weren’t sure how long you were laying there before you heard muffled footsteps, but you simply didn’t have the energy to look up. It didn’t really matter anyway; you could feel yourself slipping into unconsciousness. It would only be a few more seconds before you faded away completely.

“Let’s get you off the floor Y/n.” Natasha whispered, taking your hands in hers. You tried to listen, you tried to let her pull you to your feet, but you were too weak. You felt her arms slip around you and your feet left the floor, leaving you hanging in the air with only her to support you.

“Try to stay awake, okay?” Her voice was fading fast and as you’d guessed, you were out less than two seconds after she’d hoisted you into her arms. At least you didn’t have to be alone.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

“I’m here, I’m here. It’s okay beautiful, I’m here.” Natasha soothed, pushing your hair back away from your forehead, her eyes full of concern. Her hands, which were typically consumed by acts of violence, were so gentle, her movements so slow and caring. She traced your cheekbone with a thumb, studying your face with a furrowed brow.

“m’sorry, m’so sorry. Go, please go, ‘m fine.” You insisted, shoving her off of you in a blind attempt to scramble away from her. You found yourself pressed up into a corner between your bed and the wall, utterly confused as to how the hell you had gotten into your bedroom or why Natasha was there, but you didn’t like it.

You didn’t want to see her so weak it was humiliating, and you were new. She would tell, she would get you booted from the Avengers. You needed this job, you needed to be here, you’d worked so hard and couldn’t go back to your apartment. Literally, you had been evicted. You had nowhere else to go.

Your panicky breaths quickly turned to a fit of aggressive coughs, you sounded like you’d smoke a pack a day for twenty years. This did nothing to help your anxiety as one of Natasha’s warm hands fell on your back and she took yours with the other, running her thumb across your knuckles.

“Y/n, hey, you’ve gotta breathe. Try for me, okay? Big slow breath.” She encouraged, her voice calm even while you were actively freaking out. You let out a loud sob and tried to pull away, subconsciously still holding tightly to her hand.

With her quiet encouragement, you managed to calm yourself down, turning back into the shivering, feverish husk of a person that you’d become. Your nose was running onto your sleeve, but you were too exhausted to do anything about it, eventually, you’d fall asleep again and it would all go away.

“Come here,” she said softly, lifting one arm as she gestured for you to hug her. You whimpered, lower lip quivering as your body threatened to start crying again.

“It’s okay honey, you don’t need to be alone. When I’m as sick as you are I sometimes make Clint come read to me.” You smiled a little at the thought of that as you inched toward the woman, the idea of Natasha wanting a story read to her sort of amusing. You hadn’t known the woman very long, but it was long enough to know that she wasn’t that type of person.

With very slow, cautious movements you inched into the redhead’s arms, leaning stiffly against her as she pulled you into a loose embrace.

“I can’t give you any more medicine for a few hours, so for now let’s just try to sleep. Does that sound okay?” The highly skilled assassin murmured, pressing a very soft kiss to your damp forehead. You knew that it had to be gross, you were very sweaty, but she didn’t seem to mind. Not out loud at least.

“P-please don’t tell.” You pleaded, that same exhaustion looming again. It was unlikely that you would be able to stay awake for much longer, but you had to make sure that she wouldn’t tell anyone how weak you were. Natasha chuckled quietly and rubbed your upper arm in a comforting way.

“It’s okay dorogaya, your secret’s safe with me.”  Maybe if you were feeling better, you would’ve made her promise a second or third time, but for now, that would do. You barely knew her, but you already trusted Natasha Romanoff with your life.

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[writing-whump]

👋 Hellooo

Sooo I've been thinking about some ideas for part3-something serious as you asked for opinions 🤭 (I actually even Googled for it tbh xd)

And I saw that fever, severe pain and infection related things are quite common after appendectomy. Well, if we consider that Hex's appendix infected and he stayed for a while like that (idk, a day or less?), it's possible that there's still some infection in his body even after the surgery which his shadow cannot heal. In short, I believe it's a good chance for Hector to whine and being grumpy due to really high fever, feeling sick (coughing and shortness of breathing are two other possible complications as I read on google) while Isiah and Arnie are taking care of him..

As I was the one who insists for Isiah&Hector parts I thought I should help 🤭 but I trust and love your imagination, so I'm sure you'll write another great part for them when you have time and energy!

Thank uu!! Take care&Lots of love 💕🤍

-🌸

Thank you for all the ideas & even research! That's so sweet. Hope this lives up to it :3

Appendix part 3

"Can I have some water?"

"Yes," came the immediate reply from Isaiah. Hector was currently draped over his lap, feverish forehead against his brother's stomach.

"But real water. Not that sweet shit you've been feeding me."

Isaiah laughed softly, his stomach muscles vibrating under Hector's ear. "It's a rehydration solution. You can't take more than a few tiny sips to keep it down and this actually helps. The water does not do enough."

Isaiah's voice was still a picture of calm, but Hector thought he was staring to pick up on the difference between real calmness and fake, carefully controlled big brother voice. He talked with authority, the intent to reassure dripping from each syllable.

Hector also noticed Isaiah talked more formally when he did this. The opposite of relaxing, truly.

Isaiah's hand landed on his shoulder. He rubbed little circles on his arm, waiting for Hector to tense up to start lifting him. He always waited for Hector to make the first move, the decision to get up, even if it was just a little twitch to his hands. As if he was scared not to do something Hector wasn't ready for.

It was kind of nice. It made Hector feel like he was in control of what could be controlled. Otherwise he was content to leave the rest to Isaiah. There was something very relieving about it.

It allowed Hector to whine and complain about everything, even though he could hardly come up with anything better himself.

His insides were boiling. Weren't you supposed to be cold with a fever? His clothes were sticking to his skin with sweat.

The cut on his lower right side was radiating pain. There was no comfortable position to be in, it just hurt. He shifted around sometimes just to try it, but every movement just send more spikes of the searing heat up.

Hector took shallow short breaths, as little as he could just to not move his stomach too much. It even still felt bloated, although he couldn't eat for the last two days.

Hector groaned when Isaiah helped him sit up, leaning back against his brother's chest. Isaiah held the glas with a straw to his lips. Hector drank greedily, his throat dry and hot.

Although the liquid was nicely soothing and cold, the sweetness almost made him gag. He held it in, swallowing heavily before almost choking on the next sip.

He coughed, doubling forward. His eyes went black with the pain that clawed at his stomach with the movement.

Isaiah quickly put the glass away, tucking Hector back against himself as his chest heaved with the painful coughs. He murmured something that Hector couldn't understand, carding his cold fingers through Hector's hair.

Hector whined quietly, glad for the contact. At this point it was a shock to him that he wasn't steaming from the way his insides cooked in his skin.

"You are okay, you are okay. Just breathe."

Hector managed a pained scoff. "It fucking hurts. Keep your stupid advice."

On some level he understood he was being mean and whiny and that he probably shouldn't be relying on Isaiah's endless well of patience. But he also couldn't really formulate why it was bad, his brain breaking his sentences in two before they were finished. He was going to figure it out later.

"Just four more hours to go," Isaiah said, but his hand froze in Hector's hair. He turned back towards the door as if hearing a noise Hector wasn't catching.

It was just great, that without his shadow he was basically deaf. Like a damn human.

"Could you hold on for a minute? I need to check something," Isaiah said, looking down at Hector.

"Yeah, yeah. Get out. I need a break from you anyway," Hector said acidly.

Isaiah sighed quietly. He gently maneuvered himself from under Hector without jostling him, easing him down on the pillows.

Hector slumped back against them, stretching his hands. There was a warm spot left after Isaiah.

He rolled a bit away from it, looking for coldness in the sheets. It was soothing for just a bit, the cool part of the pillow and the untouched cover...

Hector opened his eyes. Even his skin hurt. Looking up the ceiling felt nauseating and he felt like he was choking a bit more with every breath. They came hard and short. Hector was too fearful of the pain that would explode if he let himself take a deeper one.

He hated the way his stomach rose and fell so obviously. The round puffiness around it, the way his loose shirt brushed against the gauze on the wound.

He hated everything.

The wounded wolf reached for his shadow on instinct, trying to coax it up ahead of time. He could feel it stirring under his call, like a quiet warm presence at the end of his mind.

That was progress from the numbness from before. But it wasn't enough. It made Hector's chest hitch with a quiet sob at the helplessness.

He balled his hands into the sheets, digging his fingers into the fabric. Trying to find something grounding.

At least Isaiah's calmness, the warmth of his concern at Hector's back, the soothing trust this was just temporary small discomfort and he would be okay...Even just the pathetic way he would pet Hector's hair or rub those little circles onto his shoulder...something soft and pleasant to focus on in the sea of pain made a huge difference.

The weight of not having it suddenly hit him like a brick in the head.

Did he say something again that pissed Isaiah off? This was still such a new territory. It didn't feel natural to be so...so careful around Isaiah. Hector had never done it and he wasn't sure he knew how.

But Isaiah required more sensitive treatment now...why was it again?

Hector felt a wave of guilt and sadness wash over him, but just as it hit he couldn't remember why he felt that way.

There was just a new load of horrible-ness on top of the pain and heat and general ickiness.

"Is-" Was he really going to beg him to come? For real? Wasn't that even more pathetic?

He grid his teeth together, not sure why he felt like crying. He wanted...he didn't know what. To go home? To go away? How would that help?

Everything was so confusing. Why was he in this state again? And more importantly, why was he alone?

"Zaya?" Maybe he would know. Isaiah always knew everything. Especially about what to do next. "Arnie?" Or maybe Arnie. Arnie knew more about emotions than Hector ever could. His younger brother understood what hurt people and what pleased them with a skill of a chessmaster. Hector should ask him...what did he want to ask? It felt important. How could he forget?

He sobbed quietly, chest constricting with panic. The panic made the nausea worse, slimy heaviness pooling in his stomach.

Hector tried lifting himself up on unsteady arms, his mouth dry, but he could feel the goosebumps of nausea climbing up his arms and neck. His teeth throbbed. Oh god, he didn't want to throw up again, it always hurt...

No such luck though, his chest heaved. His stomach rolled, sqeezing and contracting back into itself as he gagged. He manged to drag himself over the rim of the bed, before his arms buckled underneath his own weight.

He dry heaved painfully over the edge, the pain in his wound burning like he was on fire.

That's when the door burst open. Isaiah gave him a shocked look, before his features smoothed out and he climbed up into the bed behind Hector.

One cold hand went to Hector's shoulder to prop him up, the other to his forehead. Isaiah helped him to lean over the edge. A splash of the sweetened water made its way up.

Hector whimpered from the pain, the gag turning into a ruthless cough right after.

"Shhhhh. I'm here, I'm here. You are okay. All good now. Deep breath."

I can't fucking breathe, he wanted to protest, but all that left his lips was a whine and a strangled burp, punctuated by more coughing. His chest hurt, another little note in the cacophony of pain.

Isaiah turned Hector over gently to prop him up against his chest again. It made breathing a little easier. As if he had heard him after all.

Hector closed his eyes. They were burning with the tiny drops of liquid that managed to force their way out.

Isaiah wrapped an arm around his forehead, petting his cheek and then his hair, pushing the sweaty blond curls behind his ear.

"Shhhh. Sorry, bud. I just called the hospital to check over the symptoms. They say the nausea is normal, but we should check you in if the fever doesn't go down soon."

"I'm not going back there," Hector moaned. "Look what they did."

"They helped you. If they didn't operate, your appendix would have burst and killed you. It's not that much harder to kill a wolf than a human," Isaiah said sternly, not leaving room for an argument. "Now try to relax. Your breaths are too shallow, that's why you keep coughing. You need to breathe properly."

"I want to lie down," Hector whined. Even slumped against Isaiah like a toddler and his head spinning, he wanted to lie lower.

"Can't do. Breathe for a bit. Your lungs need more space to stretch out. Sitting up will make it easier."

Isaiah still petted his hair and Hector didn't have enough strength to his pride to dislike it. He leaned more into the touch.

The panicked emptiness from before dissolved at Isaiah's touch and explanation. His chest undone from the knot, he dared to take a bit longer breaths, head clearing out as oxygen refilled his lungs.

"I got a new towel." Arnie stuck his head into the room, whispering like Hector was sleeping. "You think-"

"Yeah," Isaiah said, voice vibrating under Hector. "The fever isn't any better. Not climbing up though."

Hector forced his eyes open so he could brace himself for the cold touch of the water-soaked cotton.

Isaiah unwrapped his arm from Hector's forehead so Arnie could circle the towel around his head instead.

Hector sighed contendly at the coolness. He was starting to see a way out of this by focusing on everything nice that he could feel. Like little beacons of light in the suffocating fog of pain.

Fog was way better than a fire, after all.

He focused his bleary eyes at his youngest brother. The kid had dark circles under his eyes and there was a telling redness to them. With the wet eyeslashes and the shaky way he moved, Hector knew he must have been crying.

Was that why Hector saw so little of him?

The night felt like a week to him and Arnie was absent for most of its days.

"Hey, pipsqueak," Hector said in a rough voice, opening his palm.

Arnie knelt down on the floor, throwing the previous not cold towel at the splash of sick next to him.

He took Hector's hand in both of his, a tiny quiet sob escaping him at the contact.

"It's alright," Hector said. His voice sounded like he gurgled nails before. "Don't cry."

Arnie's breath hitched, but he tried to smile. He pressed his cheek to his own shoulder for a second to wipe it dry. "'m not."

"Did someth'ng happen?" Hector asked, suddenly confused at the possible reason for Arnie's distressed. He thought he understood just a second ago.

Arnie blinked at him, his eyes going to Isaiah in concern. He squeezed Hector's hand. "It's nothing."

"Uhmmm....Liar."

Arnie's giggle was watery. He climbed into the bed beside Hector, curling up against his middle brother's side, the only one of the three that was lying instead of sitting.

Hector made great effort to lift his hand and put it onto the top of Arnie's soft blond head.

Isaiah made a pleased, almost approving noise at the back of his throat, relaxing under Hector's weight.

The oldest wolf adjusted the towel around his forehead, then wrapped his hands snuggly and gently around Hector's waist. Avoiding the injury, but also holding him a bit straighter. Tighter.

"Just three more hours."

Hector nodded, leaning his head back, tucking it under Isaiah's chin.

Cocooned like this by his brothers, he felt like there wasn't that much that could happen anymore.

[veritas-scribblings]

doctor - @jegulus-microfic - words: 1,060

[in-universe: pride and then puddles | occurs before pride]

There are times when James wonders how his life got to this point. Where he’s at St. Mungos in the waiting room while another man is in the emergency ward with his partner and child. To be fair, if James is going to be rational about this (and he really doesn’t think he wants to be rational about it), Barty had been with Regulus and baby Elio when baby Elio had spiked a fever and started vomiting, and had immediately rushed the three of them to the emergency department.

Where James’s rationality stops is when Barty had apparently informed the healers that he is ‘definitely’ baby Elio’s other father. Because Barty is an absolute freak without any concept of boundaries and has decided that if Elio is Regulus’s child, he’s obviously Barty’s child too. It’s like Barty doesn’t comprehend that you can’t just lay claim to another human being. It doesn’t work that way. For fucks sake. If Barty wants a child so badly, he can go and get his own fucking child.

But now, James is stuck in the waiting room being refused entry because, he was curtly informed by the nurses, a child cannot have three parents. Not even a wizarding child.

The nurse at the desk glares at James as he scratches away at a sheet of parchment with a plain white hospital-standard quill. The nurse is a robust man, a little bit squat, the appropriate build for a strong beater, James thinks. James would have tried to strike up a conversation about quidditch, ask the man if he plays, had the man not solidified his role as James ultimate mortal enemy.

For the better part of an hour, he’s been watching James closely, having apparently deemed James a ‘nuisance’ after James had kicked up the world’s biggest stink in the middle of the waiting room.

James had argued and then screamed and insulted the man. He had even sent the man to go and speak with Barty and Regulus and rectify the situation, only for the man to return and inform James that Barty has rectified the situation and both parents are already with baby Elio. James is to patiently sit his arse on the chairs and wait for news.

And then, when the man had decided James wasn’t worth his time and had attempted to attend to another person, James had taken the opportunity to try and quickly make a break for it. Bolt through the doors. Search for his partner and child, and maybe murder Barty.

The man had not at all appreciated this.

So James sits. And he waits. And he makes angry faces at the man at the desk, because his fucking child, his own flesh and blood, is sick. James does not know what is going on. He can’t get any information. He can’t see him and he can’t hold him. He can’t even be with him. And he thinks he might be going out of his mind.

With a huff, James strides over to the man and slams his hands on the desk. Before he can speak, the man says firmly and tiredly, without looking up, ‘No news yet, they’ll let you know.’

‘Potter,’ James says. ‘His surname is Potter. My surname is Potter. He’s my child. For fucks sake, how stupid can you be?!’

‘James?’

James whirls around at the sound of Regulus’s voice. Regulus looks tired and stressed; there are dark patches under his eyes. James wants to rush forwards and sweep Regulus into his arms, but Regulus has turned away to speak quietly to a healer as he approaches. Two steps behind them is Barty. No sign of Elio.

James looks around frantically for baby Elio before finally noticing that Barty is cradling the baby to his chest. ‘Crouch,’ he growls, storming forwards. ‘Give me my—’

‘Sh.’ Barty glances up with a menacing smile. ‘Quiet or you’ll wake him. We just got him to sleep.’ He raises baby Elio a little bit higher to snuggle him. He’s definitely doing this to be a dick, because he knows that James will not punch him in the face if he’s holding James’s child hostage.

‘Give me my fucking baby, Crouch,’ James hisses. When he goes to pluck baby Elio from Barty’s arms, Barty quickly dodges his hands and scurries over to stand next to Regulus.

Sometimes it feels like Barty is an unwelcome squatter in James and Regulus’s relationship.

Look, James gets it. He really does. He’d brought Sirius into the relationship with him, and Regulus had brought Barty into the relationship. And between the two of them, there’s now four of them and that’s a lot of people in a single two-person relationship. The only difference is that while Sirius, for the most part, understands the concept of boundaries and can be reasoned with, Barty has not listened to another human being (besides Regulus and Evan) since he gained an inch of freedom and ran a mile with it.

James drapes his arm around Regulus and pulls him close, trying to keep his attention both on baby Elio and the healer, who is speaking.

‘I’m happy to send him home,’ the healer says, handing Regulus a slip of parchment. ‘Just give him children’s pepper-up potion; the infant range. Two millilitres every 4 hours. Keep his fluids up and monitor his temperature, and if his temperature rises too much again, definitely bring him back in.’ She leans over to peer at Elio, who is still slumbering in Barty’s arms. ‘He’s just being a little dramatic. Aren’t you, little one?’

The healer gives them a smile and a nod before departing.

James immediately tugs Regulus into his arms. ‘What happened? Is everything okay?’

‘Infection,’ Regulus says, relaxing slightly in James’s arms. ‘He was vomiting. A lot. He’s fine now. …I think. When did you get here? You should have come in.’

James blinks at Regulus, because…what? ‘Well, I tried, but…’ he trails off, noting Barty’s smug as fuck expression. Sighing, James doesn’t continue and instead just slowly runs his hand up and down Regulus’s back. He’s tired and stressed. Regulus is tired and stressed. James doesn’t have the energy for a round of verbal sparring with Barty.

And at least he knows that Barty will tear the world apart to protect his child. That’s some sort of consolation, right?

[motleyfam]

Consider: Tim having walking pneumonia. It starts in august, ragweed season, and so when he starts most days with a scratchy throat, sniffles, and some coughing, it’s easy enough to think “allergies.” At first the batfam is Suspicious(tm) bc they know better than to trust Tim at his word in all matters of self care. But there’s no fever, not at first, and while his symptoms don’t really go away, they also don’t get worse. Allergy meds do help his sniffling a bit so - okay! After a few weeks, Tim starts to feel more emotional. It’s so stupid, but he can’t stop himself from tearing up at the smallest compliment or any sign of conflict, even Jason’s affectionate teasing. He guesses he’s just sad right now, especially because everything is so draining. Brushing his teeth, doing homework, even helping out on comms (his FAVORITE) makes him feel all wilted and hollow inside. And then, the night sweats, leaving his sheets horribly damp and chilly. Sometimes it clings to him and soon he can’t seem to shake the cold. He can wear hoodies and blame it on the air conditioning inside, but it’s early September and even the baking heat off Gothams black tar makes him feel shivery. Tim gets snappy with everyone, because he’s so Tired, and so frustrated with being Tired, and for some reason, so Sad!!! One morning not long after, Jason and Dick and Bruce are all getting on each other’s case about, well, a case and Tim bursts into full on sobs at the table. Bruce only has to hold Tim for a moment to sense he’s warm. And then: the thermometer, the throat checking, the hair petting. Nothing horribly high but “uncomfortable enough to really throw you for a loop, huh bud?” If it gets any worse they’ll call Leslie. Meds, cuddles, repeat. But the next night, a slowly climbing fever. Not a spike, but a simmer. Over 8 hours it creeps higher even with meds and at 104 Bruce decides enough is enough (well, only right after Jason emphatically shouts Fuck This). Tim gets high fevers, sure, but something about this feels wrong. So around Leslie comes, with a barrage of tests and a “huh….oh. YUP.” And there it is: atypical pneumonia. Slow to progress, hard to notice. And poor Tim’s body just started to shut down after a while. All that coughing sure makes sense in retrospect. He’ll be fine with some antibiotics and A LOT of rest, as long as the fam can keep their guilt complex under control for 3 seconds around him. Just his luck, right?

Oh I am HIGH KEY considering

[shigayokagayama]

"oh hm i think this chapter might end up being really long based on what i have outlined" i said 12k words ago.

thanks everyone for reading! going to be cutting a bunch of stupid doodles i did with annotations under the cut

handful of doodles i did when i was still just conceptualizing this + hadnt figured out their designs + hadnt figured out how to draw people

speaks for itself

old doodles from a slightly different version of chapter 40 before i realized making terumob a pre established couple BEFORE this moment would make it stronger. they still kind of work but are slightly less funny than they were in the version where this was the moment teru confessed.

drew this shortly after finishing chapter 18, which i wrote WAY out of order from everything else. i think i started it around when i started chapter 5 and finished it around when i was working on chapter 10

toichiro said npc + chapter 27

the first time i saw this post i went "smtwo teru and takenaka" and at some point i just started referring to takenaka as "puzzlemaster". teru and takenakas dynamic was one of my favorite things to write because like. if you build your entire persona off building a false image of yourself youre not gonna be a big fan of someone who can immediately see past that

saw this post and couldnt stop thinking of chapter 35

ok now in the realm of "doodles that started as jokes in dms" me and @teruthecreator were talking about that video where jerma fucks up pancakes in nancy drew and the idea of teru giving toichiro an absolutely dogshit unreadable pancake recipe while hes at claw that he fucks up and burns the building down

ok so this is the beginning of what came to be known as the "double date dimension" or "dinner date dimension". i shared a screencap of me adding the line about ritsu suggesting that he and shou have a double date with whoever asked mob out and the Knowers (a groupchat i started with two of my friends i made as mentally ill as me about this fic) went "this would be the most uncomfortable dinner ever can you imagine" and just kept expanding it until it sort of turned into a sitcom universe version of smtwo. dont be surprised if you see this fanfiction at some point in the future

more from the double date dimension where mob invites ritsu to a halloween party without telling him its a claw company halloween party. teru and mob go in matching costumes as the flying dead pig and the pigeon whos eyes the movie is told from (i snuck in a reference to this bc its too funny to me). takenaka goes as "book accurate frankenstein" because hes too lazy to make a costume. mob gets unbelievably wasted on jungle juice because no one told him the punch was spiked.

another from the double date dimension where they host a white elephant and teru buys a really nice gift specifically for mob and tries to get mob to steal it but mob doesnt really understand the aim of the game and ends up with a boxset of the big bang theory (dubbed) and teru gets so overcome with despair he develops a fever and is unable to speak or move from his spot on the couch as mob puts on big bang theory for him (this is based on a true story)

[novelconcepts]

hi! would you mind doing ❤️ for lottienat? thanks :)

❤️ first kiss / realization

"Do you remember that party at Mari's in tenth grade?" Lottie asks.

It's the first time either of them have spoken in hours. The rain has come on like a fever, trying to wash everything out, and they're hunkered together in the lean-to. Not sleeping. Natalie rarely sleeps anymore.

"Which one?" She tightens her arms around her bent knees, chin resting on bare skin. It's hot these days. She's glad for that.

Lottie gazes out into the dark. "The one where you saved me from Doug."

Natalie remembers. A game of Seven Minutes in Heaven for which Lottie had drawn the short straw. She smiles, zeroing in on the simple stretch of her own mouth against her arm.

"You did not want to make out with Doug."

"So you pushed him out of the way at the last second," Lottie recalls fondly. "And locked yourself in with me instead."

They'd been fifteen. A lifetime ago. Natalie doesn't remember much from that party--she'd been off her ass on something, can't recall what now, but even under the buzz, one thing had been clear. Lottie wasn't into it; Doug was. That would have made for a nasty combo. It hadn't even been a choice, really; just the way things needed to be.

"He was pissed," she says now, and her smile widens to a grin.

"You were my hero." Lottie's looking at her, dark eyes glimmering. "I hadn't even had my first kiss yet. You made sure it wouldn't be with someone gross."

Natalie raises her head, tipping a salute with two fingers. "Just doin' my job."

"It wasn't, though." There's a fire in Lottie's eyes, she realizes. Not the usual zeal. Something simpler. "It wasn't your job, and you did it anyway. Without me even asking."

"Maybe I read your mind," Natalie snips. Wrong thing to say, she realizes a beat later when Lottie's expression folds. She looks skyward again.

"I never thanked you. You gave me the chance to choose something that mattered to me. Or...could matter to me. Later. So. Thanks."

Natalie remembers the way Lottie had hugged herself tight, how they'd just stared at each other for the first full minute in that closet before bursting into laughter. How Lottie had sunk down into a crouch, still giggling, and they'd talked shit about the nasty spiked punch and the cheerleaders who showed up in hideous matching skirts.

It was easy, being with Lottie back then.

Now, it's...

"Who would you have chosen?" she blurts. "If you could have."

Lottie doesn't look at her. Embarrassment radiates off her, adding to the late spring heatwave. "I don't know. I didn't like anybody back then--like that."

"Now?" Natalie can feel her hackles rising. Lottie will say something stupid here, like Travis, or something worse about being married to the fucking woods or some shit. Lottie will say something here to make it all more difficult than it needs to be.

"Now," Lottie says softly, "I wish I'd done more than just laugh."

Natalie turns to her, startled. Lottie's still staring off into the dark. Smiling. Embarrassed.

Pretty.

"Makes you wish time travel was a thing, huh?" It's the best Natalie can think to say. It's so stupid. And, even so, Lottie laughs.

Laughs, and--without another word--kisses Natalie quick. It's a peck, really. Nothing compared to what she's shared with so many others. Just a peck, and she's grinning like an idiot.

She buries her face in her arms again, lost to the rain and to Lottie's gentle delight.

[gentleeclipsey]

Hmmm, I've been listening to music again, I have thoughts about Jackie's fluffy trollish family, fair warning, it's long and things may change:

Ancient family curse, they're all fluffy, every generation or so there's always one that looks familiar to the ancient root ancestor, mostly referred to as Shardback

Shardback is called that because heartstone chunks rooted into her back, she only lived about 10,000 years but it was enough to have a few secret whelps which carried the family line from ancient times to modern times

The Shardback and Blackthroat families hated each other, but Penn, Jack's mom, is half Blackthroat, he's essentially merged the family trees and forced mercy between the two lines

Monsoon is Penn's late sister, now he only has his brother Haverwrath, but he's also got other relatives from his mom, Jack's grandma, that have kids his age, so the Shardback family tree is far from dying out, especially now that Blackthroats are involved

Those cursed, like Jack and her Grandma Jax, all look the same when young but as they age they all become different, new main and coat patterns arise around their mid 450s to 500s

On average they tend to live to about 1000 to 2000, of course there's outliers in every generation, Gran Jax is only about 900 herself so her marks have expressed themselves

Generally speaking a family reunion is the cutest thing to witness because they're a bunch of playful idiots big cats, and most are pettable if you ask nicely, and yes almost all of them purr and get happy taps

I have no idea who sired Penn or Jackie yet, only that Penn loves his stupid fluffy baby and genuinely did not expect her to marry into royalty, he's proud of all of his kids either way and is just happy Jackie will be taken care of if he dies young

While Gran Jax is only 900, Penn is about 600 himself, I believe Jackie to be around 400 to 500, just before she gets her marks, and yes Penn had her young

When born, they have a fever coat, a funky layer of miscolored fluff along the top of their pelts, generally it falls out before they turn 100, but it returns when they're sick for prolonged periods

They greet each other by nuzzling heads, they also peep, chirp, and squeak at each other frequently

The fluffiness is a highly dominant gene, in hundreds if not thousands of generations it hasn't faded and every new child born to the line is fluffy, even if they're a changeling, volcanic troll, sea troll, doesn't matter, they're getting fluff whether they like it or not

Things like scales, horns, and spikes aren't common in the family but they're not rare either, however when present they're usually not too large, for instance Kanjigar's horns may be possible but something like Draal's is highly unlikely, if they do have them it's likely these will show up later in life rather than immediately

Gran Jax should've had a black/grey coat with white marks or white fading, Jackie is hoping her real coat is pretty

All of them get heavier in winter and will grow out their coats, family snow beans are also common

Often they have different pawpads depending on what species sired them, however the heart Jackie has is new, it's likely a new mutation

Sal fucking cries seeing her family because he physically cannot withstand that amount of poof in one room, this idiot king will die because he finds them so fucking cute

I love to imagine in the afterlife Shardback terrorizing the Blackthroat ancestor who's absolutely PISSED the old hag's line finally won into their own, it's like a damn soap opera episode and it's hilarious

That's all I have thank you

Comfort combat, they fuckin invented it

They can have crunchy mews, like a funky or old cat, also, scraggly whiskers when they sleep too hard

[bloodyfeverdreams]

Day 1, 2, 3, 7 13, 15-Bakugou "doesn't get sick"

Trying another whumptober whoo hoo! I got a new job, a great one for the first time in my life lol, and I've got a lot of time to be able to sit down and just write. So I'm gonna try my hardest to finish this whumptober, I've been writing as much as I physically can haha

prompts- swooning, thermometer/delurium, "make it stop", "can you hear me", cold compress, "I'm fine"- fever, passing out, sick Katsuki, todobaku pre, shower scene ;)

Feel free to find this on AO3- https://archiveofourown.org/works/50196034/chapters/126773227

This is a long one, so I'm gonna put it under a cut.

Katsuki had been hot and sweaty all day, which is normally something he encouraged for his quirk to work at its highest potential, but today it just felt wrong. He wasn’t sure why, he always took very good care of his body, but something just wasn’t adding up. It was spring, and the weather was supposed to be very nice, but it felt like he couldn’t cool off no matter what he did. He felt like the sun was projecting pure heat through the window as he sat uncomfortably in class, trying his best to pay attention through one of the worst headaches he’d ever had in his life.

To make matters worse, Katsuki had been assigned fucking Todoroki as a partner for an upcoming hero research paper. He hated group work in the first place, but assigning him goddamn Todoroki (even if Aizawa claimed it was random, he never believed that bullshit, Aizawa lied to them all the time) was just adding insult to injury at this point. But he never shirked from his academic responsibilities, he was going to graduate top of his class, so he still had to actually try on this stupid assignment even though he didn’t want to work with the half-n-half bastard. His headache would just have to wait. The sooner they were done, the less he had to talk to IcyHot.

“We’re finishing this as fast as we fucking can,” Katsuki had hissed at Todoroki, who only stared back blankly. Bastard. “I don’t care if you have plans tonight, I’m coming over to your fucking room and we’re finishing this tonight.”

“Aizawa distinctly said we should not do this in one night.” God, even his voice irritated Katsuki. Everything about the bastard irritated Katsuki, from his stupid hair to his stupid muscles to his stupid blank face that never showed any thought Katsuki could pick up on. Kaminari had teased him over ‘how obsessed you are over Todoroki’ and how it ‘sounds like you liiiike him’ but he shut up when Katsuki pushed him off his chair.

Katsuki rolled his eyes. “He was talking to the idiots who wait until the last minute to do the work.”

Like the idiots he couldn’t help but call friends because… well, he didn’t know what else to call them. They wouldn’t leave him alone, always forced him to participate in their activities, and every time he tried to leave the group chat they’d set up, he’d just be added right back in and chastised lightly as if he’d just made a small mistake. It had been hard to admit, but sometimes, only sometimes, Katsuki enjoyed their company, and even had fun once or twice. He would never admit to it, especially since he didn’t know how to feel about it, and he refused to be laughed at because he was unsure of these new feelings.

“I suppose we’ll find out when we attempt the assignment.” Todoroki said, which only infuriated Katsuki more, which caused his headache to spike. He wanted to argue some more, but having done it in the past proved its inefficiency. Todoroki never fucking reacted to anything he did, even when he was purposefully antagonizing the bastard just to see him make some kind of facial expression.

“Whatever. I’m coming over right after dinner,” and didn’t that sound disgusting, “so be ready.”

Todoroki nodded, and Katsuki almost felt cheated since Todoroki never reacted to anything he said. He’d seen Todoroki make facial expressions for fucking pathetic Deku, Katsuki was way better than him, why didn’t he get those reactions? Katsuki was ridiculously past good enough to get one of those stupid ass smiles or little puffs of laughter. Katsuki deserved that more than Deku ever would.

Getting through the rest of the day had been difficult, but nothing he couldn’t handle. He just had a headache from dealing with everyone’s bullshit, and the day was a fluke of being too hot, and he just had to get through it. Katsuki was the strongest person in this entire class, he could handle anything. It got easier after school when he took off his uniform and could put on a simple tank and shorts. At dinner, he forced himself to have some congee rather than his normal, nutritionally balanced meal, but the thought of food was so unappealing that forcing himself to cook and eat his routine foods almost outweighed his knowledge that he had to eat dinner in the first place.

When he went to put the half he couldn’t finish in the fridge, Kirishima was in the kitchen, burning whatever he was trying to make. Usually Katsuki could tell by smell alone, but this time he couldn’t smell anything but it was obviously burning. Even worse, Katsuki knew how to salvage his dinner and he didn’t have a reason not to tell him.

“Your heat is too high. Take it out now and it’ll only be slightly burnt.” Katsuki grumbled, rolling his eyes both at himself and his idiot best friend. He couldn’t believe he was best friends with someone who could barely function like an independent human being.

“Thanks, bro!” Katsuki had given up on Kirishima calling him ‘bro’, it seemed to be a core aspect of the redhead’s personality. The chipper smile directed at him as Kirishima did as he said kinda made up for it. Making his friends happy wasn’t the worst thing he’s ever done. “Are you done already? Usually you’re in here cooking up a storm, I was surprised not to see you.”

Kirishima then saw the congee in his hands as he put it in his tupperware, and he frowned. “Dude, is that all you had? Aren’t you the one always yelling at us to ‘make better dinners’? Are you okay?”

Katsuki bristled at the question, his pride flaring up in defense. “I have to work with fucking IcyHot on a dumb fucking project I don’t need a partner for, and apparently I can’t have a simple dinner for once without everyone jumping down my throat! The fuck do you think?”

“Okay, okay, sorry, bro.” Kirishima held up his hands in defense. “Just wanted to check in. You haven’t seemed yourself today.”

Katsuki glared at him. “I don’t need you to ‘check in’. Leave me the fuck alone.”

“If you say so, bro.” Kirishima shrugged. “We’re gonna have a smash brothers tournament at Denki’s tonight, you wanna join in?”

“You shits are lucky I can’t destroy you tonight.” Katsuki rolled his eyes. “I’m doing my fucking report, which is what you should be doing. When it’s two nights before it’s due, and you still haven’t done it, don’t come crying to me. I won’t help you.”

He would help them. His friends struggled with schoolwork, and if he was going to be seen with them then they had to live up to his reputation. Unfortunately, they couldn’t do that without his help, and he didn’t like watching his friends struggle and seeing them upset over their grades. That stupid feeling he hated outweighed his annoyance at helping them, so, he didn’t really have a choice if he didn’t want that stupid feeling he got when he saw his friends get upset. He didn’t know how, but somehow his idiots had figured that out, and they still came to him every time, and every time, despite him telling himself that he wouldn’t help them this time, he helped them regardless. They were all the worst and he hated them.

But for now, Katsuki was too busy hating the elevator’s stupidly bright lights to hate his friends anymore. Katsuki leaned against the metal, the coolness of the metal a balm on his overly hot skin. He’d never been so glad that the entirety of Heights Alliance had air conditioning. The day had been way too hot today, Katsuki had always been sensitive to hotter temperatures since he couldn’t cool his body through his sweat like other people did, which is probably why he hadn’t heard anyone else complain about it. But he could take anything, any temperature, any obstacle, because no hero worth their salt would let a thing like a hot day stop them so he refused to let it stop him.

Even though he really didn’t want to be doing this, he’d much prefer to just take a cold shower and go to bed early so the day would finally be over, he still pushed forward and went to Todoroki’s room. He went to just walk in, not like the bastard didn’t know he was coming, but the door was locked. He jiggled the door handle a little violently, clearly seeing the light was on under the door, but it still didn’t open. Katsuki’s eye twitched.

knock. knock.

It was the stiffest knock of his life, but apparently that was enough for Todoroki, who finally opened the door. “You knew I was coming, that was a dick move.”

“So is barging in unannounced.” Todoroki replied, raising an eyebrow. Katsuki’s eye twitched again.

“We should get started since you want to finish tonight.” Todoroki said, and Katsuki just growled, and then just set his stuff down on the tiny ass table Todoroki had. Sometimes, Katsuki had to choose his battles. Most of the time, he chose all battles, but this one he had to let go since he didn’t want his grade to suffer.

“I’m taking this pathetic excuse for a chair since you’re apparently so fine with being on the floor.” Katsuki said, referring to the mat Todoroki slept on. Todoroki didn’t protest, he merely just set the mat next to the thing that couldn’t even be called a desk really since it was too damn small. The room didn’t seem to have much in terms of temperature control, as the elevator had been much cooler. It was probably because Todoroki could regulate his own temperature, so he didn’t need the ac unit to do it for him. That was annoying as fuck.

The headache that Katsuki had been working very hard to ignore was becoming more and more of a problem as they worked. Katsuki could at least appreciate the monotone right now since it was quiet, and he spoke slowly enough that Katsuki could hear him despite the pounding in his head. A hammer was slamming into his head with every beat of his heart, and it just got worse as they kept going, the material not interesting enough to get past the pain. He would’ve given up and gone to sleep if he didn’t have to do this damn paper with Todoroki. The bastard couldn’t keep a secret for his life so in order to keep his reputation, he had to keep going, even through the worst headache he’d had in a long time. But with every beat of the hammer, he was losing his resolve. It was only his drive not to be weak that kept him going.

“Bakugou? Did you hear what I said?” Todoroki said, startling Katsuki a little.

“Of course I did. I was just thinking.” Katsuki snapped, trying to brush it off, ignoring the fact that he actually hadn’t heard what Todoroki had said. He hoped it wasn’t important.

“Thinking.” Todoroki echoed, but it wasn’t a question or a challenge. It was just a statement.

“That’s what I fucking said.”

“Are you alright, Bakugou?” Todoroki asked, and Katsuki could almost hear a touch of concern in the monotone. It pissed him off, though he wasn’t sure exactly why. “You’ve been strangely quiet today.”

“I’m fine.” Katsuki sneered, a violent threat in his voice.

Todoroki pursed his lips at him, but only continued on with what he was saying. Katsuki struggled to keep focusing on it, Todoroki’s voice was soothing in its quiet volume, but he couldn’t process the words the bastard was actually saying.

Dammit. He couldn’t keep doing this. If he actually turned in the report they were working on now, Katsuki would get the worst grade he’d ever gotten in his life, even though he very much understood the topic. His headache was just too bad, and the room had only gotten steadily hotter as they’d worked, and Katsuki couldn’t take it anymore, his reputation be damned. He’d just blame it on Todoroki not properly cooling his room and sweating him out of it.

“I’m done, I’m going to bed.” Katsuki said, gathering up his stuff as quickly as he could. He was a little uncoordinated in his haste, but he blamed it on the heat. “We’ll just do this tomorrow.”

Todoroki didn’t even show his surprise beyond a raised eyebrow. “I thought you wanted to do this in one night.”

“It’s not my fault your room is like a sauna and your voice is like a fucking icepick in my head!” Katsuki snapped, absolutely done with today. The room was so hot he was starting to get a little dizzy, and standing just made his vision swim for a moment. “How the fuck am I supposed to focus on court cases and legalities when the room is a million degrees and you won’t fucking shut up?”

That seemed to actually surprise Shouto, though it still only showed in his eyes. “Bakugou, my room isn’t hot. And I was only talking since you wouldn’t. You’ve barely said anything tonight.”

Katsuki rolled his eyes, and then had to pinch his nose and shut his eyes when the room blurred, playing it off as annoyance. Dammit, he was so fucking hot. “You wouldn’t notice, you have that stupid temperature thing because of your quirk.”

“I turn on the ac when I have guests, Bakugou.” Todoroki said, and Katsuki scoffed. He was sweating far too much for that to be true. He didn’t doubt that Todoroki was lying, but there was no way the ac was actually on right now. The bastard must’ve just set it to the wrong setting, he wouldn’t be the first in their class to struggle with the thermostat, to his perpetual annoyance.

“Bakugou, I may not be an expert, but you do not look well.” Todoroki said, which only infuriated him more. If he was suddenly going to care about Katsuki, the least he could do was fucking show it. Katsuki knew not everyone wore their emotions on their sleeve, but Todoroki never seemed to have any emotion at all, not even when dealing with Katsuki.

“I’m fine.” Katsuki hissed, parroting what he said earlier, with the same vitriol.

“You clearly are not.” Todoroki said firmly. “I can regulate my own temperature, you’re correct, but I can still feel the temperature around me. My room isn’t hot, and you’re sweating like it’s summer. I think you should see Recovery Girl.”

Katsuki growled an incoherent shout. “I don’t need that old bat, there’s nothing wrong with me beyond suffering from dealing with all you idiots. Fuck off!”

Katsuki turned to leave, but his vision swam so quickly that he had to stop mid-step. His hand came to his eyes, trying to steady himself, forcing himself to push through the heat. But before he could get his body to work, his backpack slipped through his fingers as his vision went black.

“-ugou. Bakugou. Bakugou.” Someone was shaking him, insistence in their voice. He groaned lightly, his eyes fluttering, his head pounding even harder than before. He squinted, and Todoroki then came into focus. He was wearing a look Katsuki had never seen before. It looked almost like worry, but Katsuki couldn’t tell.

He groaned again, and then he felt something blissfully cool against his forehead, easing his headache and the unbearable heat he was trapped in. He sighed, his eyes managing to stay open now. He was in Todoroki’s arms, with Todoroki’s right hand pressed against his forehead. He remembered that Todoroki’s right side was cool, and Katsuki wanted to just sink into him.

“Wha- happen?” Katsuki said, the act of speaking a struggle it had never been before.

“You passed out.” Todoroki said, a frown tugging at his lips. “You have a fever. I’m going to take you to Recovery Girl.”

Todoroki began to push them both upwards, but Katsuki shook his head. “No! No. ‘M fine. Just… just need to sleep it off. ‘M fine.”

“You are not fine, Bakugou.” Todoroki groaned, and Katsuki could’ve sworn he heard concern and frustration in Todoroki’s voice. But that was impossible, Katsuki never got emotion from Todoroki, no matter how hard he tried. “You literally just passed out. You’re sick, Bakugou.”

“I don’t get sick.” Katsuki said, and that was completely true. Katsuki got sick so rarely that he couldn’t even remember the last time. “Be fine. Just need sleep. Don’t need help.”

“You can’t stand on your own.” Todoroki said, deadpan. Katsuki frowned at that, and he opened his mouth again, but Todoroki cut him off. “If you say you’re fine one more time, I’m going to throw you over my shoulder like a sack of potatoes and drag you to Recovery Girl.”

Katsuki pouted at that, and stayed silent for a moment, knowing Todoroki was just as serious with his threats as he was.

“I don’t get sick.” He repeated. “Just need to sleep this off.”

Todoroki pursed his lips again, clearly torn between what to do, before he sighed, obviously coming to a decision. “Fine. I’ll take you to your room, but only for now. I can’t tell if this is just your pride or if this is actually how your body works. If you get worse, I’m taking you to Recovery Girl no matter what you say.”

Katsuki nodded, and went to get up, pushing himself up on noodly arms. He immediately fell back into Todoroki. Thankfully, Todoroki didn’t comment on his weakness, he just wrapped Katsuki’s arm around his shoulder and pushed them both up. With Todoroki’s support, Katsuki could mostly walk, his feet dragging a little as he couldn’t raise his feet off the ground very high.

The elevator ride down to the fourth floor was silent, almost awkward. Katsuki couldn’t find the strength to say anything, but Todoroki didn’t seem to mind the silence. Right now, he just wanted his bed more than anything in the world.

Their next obstacle was Katsuki’s door, as he always locked it when he wasn’t in his room. He couldn’t remember where he put his keys at first, patting down his pockets. Suddenly a hand reached into his back pocket and he yelped a little at the surprise, his reaction was too slow, but he still hated being startled with touch. Had for a long time. Todoroki then handed him his keys, with a sheepish look on his face. “I saw them in your pocket. Thought I’d save you the trouble.”

Katsuki took the keys and opened his door, using the door handle to keep himself up, trying to keep himself upright on his own. Todoroki went to follow him in and Katsuki growled again.

“No one goes in my room.”

“There’s a first time for everything.” Todoroki said, a little snippy, uncaring that he was stepping into Katsuki’s space.

Todoroki turned on the lights, and Katsuki hissed as his headache spiked, unconsciously pressing himself into the nape of Todoroki’s neck. Todoroki immediately turned the light off with a quiet “sorry.” before he started walking again.

Katsuki flopped into bed with all the grace of a newborn giraffe, but his bed was cool (he had special sheets so he wouldn’t overheat as he slept, his parents had designed them for him) and that was all that mattered to him. He rolled onto his side, felt something lift his legs into the bed, and he was out as soon as his head hit the pillow, just barely feeling a cool hand brush his sweaty bangs out of his face.

“- been asleep for a little while… nothing’s changed…”

“- not sure, Todoroki. He really doesn’t get sick that often. I think the last time was over five years ago. Even I don’t really remember.”

He knew that voice. Goddammit, he knew that voice and he went to glare at fucking useless Deku, but he was still squinting in the darkness he’d woken up in, lessening its effect. Todoroki had left the door open a little, the hall lights shining in his room far too brightly for his headache. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been asleep, but his mind wasn’t as fuzzy as before. Still way too fucking hot though.

“You got fucking Deku?” Katsuki growled, refusing to admit that it sounded more like a whine.

“I didn’t know anyone else who would know how your body works when it’s sick.” Todoroki said matter-of-factly, coming back over to Katsuki’s bed. He was mostly forgiven when he put his cool hand back on Katsuki’s burning forehead, getting a soft noise Katsuki didn’t even know he made.

“Well, his parents will know, for sure.” Deku said to Todoroki. Katsuki glared harder. “I can call them, figure out where to go from here.”

Todoroki nodded.

Deku then handed Todoroki a rather big box that Katsuki surprisingly recognized. Auntie Inko knew how injured they got in training, especially since Deku wouldn’t fucking stop constantly breaking all of his bones, and had gifted him the same first aid kit that Deku held in his hands. Actually, it really wasn’t a first aid kit but a mini hospital, with so many things Katsuki didn’t know when he’d ever use some of them. (Seriously, Auntie, when was he gonna need a goddamn stethoscope?) He’d only taken it because his mother would’ve been mad if he made Auntie cry, not that he could handle her tears anyways, and, well… secretly he could appreciate the gesture. He never understood why Auntie continued to try and take care of him even though he really wanted nothing to do with her son, but he supposed that’s just how she was. Deku too, but he was way more annoying about it.

“You should take his temperature, if he’ll let you.” Deku said, still talking to Todoroki and not him. “You’ll have a way better chance with him than I will.”

“Don’t talk about me like I’m not here!” Katsuki shouted, immediately regretting the loudness when he made his own headache worse.

“Sorry, Kacchan.” Katsuki just glared at him, fighting off the wince he’d just given himself. “I- I’ll just go call Uncle Masaru now.”

Deku stepped out of the room, and Todoroki set the kit down onto his nightstand, digging through it with one hand, keeping his right hand on Katsuki’s forehead.

“There are three thermometers in here.” Todoroki stated, seemingly a little overwhelmed by Auntie’s overprotective nature. “And they’re all different.”

Katsuki made a noncommittal noise. Something then pushed gently at his mouth, and he turned his glare to Todoroki.

“I can’t use the other ones, I’ve been cooling you off too much.” Todoroki said, poking him again. “They won’t give accurate results. This is the only one left.”

“I can do it myself.” Katsuki said, trying to move his mouth as little as possible.

Todoroki sighed, definitely sounding frustrated. “Bakugou, will you please just put your damn pride aside for two minutes? I just want to help you. You’re my friend. Let me help you.”

This was the first he’d heard about them being friends, though he supposed he had started paying more attention to Todoroki after their supplemental classes. He hadn’t thought it had been reciprocated though. But even if they were friends now, this was something he couldn’t allow. He wasn’t weak, he didn’t need help, not even Todoroki’s.

Not even if a dark part of him wanted to accept it.

Moving his body was like trying to move through molasses, but he did eventually get his arm out from under the blanket (when did he get a blanket?) and he reached for the thermometer. Todoroki sighed, but gave it to him. This time, the silence was awkward as they waited for the thermometer to beep. He wasn’t sure why this time was so different.

Deku was the one who broke it when he came back in. He still didn’t like anyone in his room, but he didn’t have the strength to blast the fucker out, even if he did have the sweat.

“Uncle said that there’s not much we can do except keep him cool, the illness just has to run its course.” Deku frowned, trying not to talk directly to Todoroki and failing. “And. um. Auntie Mitsuki said, um, not to take any of his, uh, ‘bullshit’. Her words, not mine.”

Todoroki just nodded. Katsuki didn’t know what that meant.

Once the thermometer finally beeped, Todoroki withdrew it without asking permission. Oh, that’s what that meant. Damn hag, and damn Deku. Todoroki took everything too literally, Deku should’ve fucking translated his mother’s stupid words.

“39.27 (102.7)” The monotone was back. Katsuki felt an emotion he didn’t know how to describe, but it wasn’t pleasant. “That’s higher than I was expecting, though unsurprising.”

“Yeah, Uncle said when Kacchan gets sick, he really gets sick.”

Katsuki growled at him again, wanting to yell and blow him up but trying not to be stupid and repeat past mistakes. His head was still throbbing from the earlier shout.

“I-I-I should go, Todoroki.” Deku said, shrinking away from him. “I think I’m just making it worse. He doesn’t want me here.” No. No he didn’t. Especially since he wouldn’t stop talking about him like he wasn’t there in his own fucking room. “Do you want to come with me? I’m sure Kirishima wouldn’t mind looking after him.”

The beat in between Deku’s question and Todoroki’s answer made the emotion he had worse.

“No. I’ll keep him cool for now. It’s no trouble.” Katsuki didn’t know whether that made him happy or annoyed. God, he hated emotions, they were literally the worst. It was so much easier to just be angry all the time.

“Don’t forget to not overuse your quirk, Todoroki. Just let one of us know if you get too cold. We’ll figure something out.”

Todoroki just nodded and Deku very quickly left the room. If Katsuki was more childish like his friends, he would’ve flipped him off as he left. But Deku didn’t deserve what little energy he had, and closing the door until very little light was left was at least the decent thing to do.

“You can leave, IcyHot.” Katsuki grumbled. “I’m-mmph.” Suddenly Todoroki’s cool hand was over his mouth. Katsuki did not like that, he didn’t like anyone touching his face and it had only gotten worse since the-incident-that-shall-not-be-named. He nipped at Todoroki’s hand, and it quickly returned to his forehead, but the message to shut up was loud and clear.

“Stop saying you’re fine.” Todoroki snapped, and Katsuki thought he almost sounded angry. Katsuki didn’t know that Todoroki could even get angry. “Stop lying to me. I don’t care about your stupid pride, and I cannot understand why you won’t let it go for two seconds for your friends. I want to help you but I can’t if you won’t let me. Why won’t you let me? Do you… do you hate me?”

Grand displays of emotion were hard for him. Grand displays of emotion coming from Todoroki were another beast entirely. Katsuki had no idea how to respond to this, and if he wasn’t sick, he wouldn’t have responded to it beyond anger. But right now, with a fever he could no longer deny, his mind didn’t immediately go to the rage he used to shield him from emotions he didn’t like. It just took much energy that he didn’t have, and he hated himself for his weakness.

“No.” Was Katsuki’s response, and it was a lot more awkward than he’d wanted it to be.

“Then why won’t you stop lying to me?” Todoroki said, looking just as uncomfortable as Katsuki was. But apparently, not uncomfortable enough to shut up and let this go. “I thought you respected me, at least a little.”

Shit. Katsuki did not like letting people know when he respected them. They never responded in  a way that Katsuki liked or could handle, either acting all smug about it or like it was obvious that they deserved it. Both reactions drove Katsuki up the wall.

Thinking about this was too hard, even with the soothing coolness Todoroki was projecting. He didn’t do emotions, and everything he was feeling right now just made him even uncomfortable in his skin. He’d take the fever and headache over this any day.

“I didn’t lie to you, I’m fine by myself.” Katsuki said. “I can take care of myself.”

“Except you won’t.” Todoroki snapped again and Katsuki internally cursed at his mother for putting this idea into Todoroki’s stupid head. “Taking care of yourself would’ve been canceling our plans, or going to see Recovery Girl. You refused to do either. That’s not taking care of yourself. You couldn’t even admit to me that you weren’t feeling well after you literally passed out in my arms. You’re lucky I was there to catch you, what if you weren’t with me? What if it happened when you’d stepped into the hall and I hadn’t followed you? You might’ve gotten a concussion or worse. If you don’t hate me, then why can’t you let me care about you?”

Katsuki unconsciously curled a little into himself, his quills puffing up, ready to lash out at any moment. His head hurt, and even with the frosty air Todoroki was creating he was on fire, he just couldn’t deal with this right now. Being sick for the first time in years was already way too much for him, he’d never felt so shitty in his life, and having fucking Todoroki of all people see him this weak made him so uncomfortable he didn’t have a word for it. Katsuki didn’t understand why Todoroki was so upset, and thinking about it hurt his head too much. He didn’t even have an answer for Todoroki. He didn’t have an answer when his friends asked him the same question after they were fed up with his insistence on independence and refusing to accept their help. He’d learned the hard way that sometimes he had to depend on other people, but that hadn’t made it any easier to deal with. So he’d rather just not deal with it at all.

After a fair amount of silence, Todoroki just sighed, sounding resigned. This was the most emotion Katsuki had seen out of Todoroki since he’d met the bastard. Katsuki thought that was very rude, and he should’ve gotten this a lot earlier. Though, he could do without the annoyance and anger. “You should get some sleep, Bakugou.”

Well, now he was purposefully not gonna do that, even though he was exhausted. Once spite was activated there was no stopping it. “Don’t tell me what to do.”

“Then stop being an idiot.” Todoroki hissed.

Katsuki glared at Todoroki but it didn’t matter since Todoroki still wasn’t looking at him, only straight ahead.

“Don’t fucking insult me.”

“I’ll do whatever I want, thanks.” Todoroki said, matching his energy. “Since that’s all you do, I get to do it too.”

“Oh fuck you!” Katsuki snapped, absolutely done with this stupid bastard, throwing his own words in his face was the last straw. “Get the fuck out of my room! Leave me the fuck alone!”

It was quiet for a minute.

“Fine.”

Todoroki ripped his hand away from Katsuki’s forehead and stood sharply. He walked out without another word, and Katsuki expected the door to slam and prepared himself for it. But Todoroki caught it just before it did, and he closed the door quietly behind him.

Katsuki stared at the door for a moment, almost in disbelief. Todoroki never got angry, let alone to this extreme. He thought even Deku hadn’t seen that before, the damn nerd would’ve said something. Even though Katsuki liked antagonizing Todoroki, liked seeing if he could get the bastard to show emotion, even if it was negative emotions, this didn’t… this didn’t make him feel good. The emotion he hadn’t been able to describe twisted in his gut, making his chest hurt in a way that it never had before. He wanted to get Todoroki riled up, it’s why he talked to him the way he did, the way he purposely tried to push the bastard’s buttons, that was his end goal. He wanted to see Todoroki show some sort of emotion, any sort of emotion.

So why did that make him feel so shitty?

Getting what he wanted never made him feel bad in the past. It was a point of pride for him that he basically always got what he wanted, that he’d earned what he’d wanted. Katsuki was always so sure of himself, he always knew what he wanted, and he did everything he could to get it.

Was this… actually what he wanted? Somehow, he didn’t think so. Which never happened, Katsuki always knew what he wanted, and he never regretted anything. (Well, he regretted a few things but he never let himself think about them so that was basically the same thing.) But the more the silence of the room echoed in his ears, the more he regretted saying any of those things, and not just because he’d lost the hand that had been keeping his headache at a somewhat manageable level. The icepick in his head only seemed to make his actions seem worse, and Katsuki did not like that. Even though he knew he was an asshole with no filter, and no intent on getting one, this felt like he’d gone too far. He’d gone too far a couple of times in his life, and this felt worse than all of them.

With the door closed, heat was starting to build up in his room, and the blanket that he still didn’t know how he got was kicked around to his legs. His hand flopped around to his nightstand, opening the drawer and grabbing the remote for his ac unit. He turned it down several degrees, and didn’t have the energy to put it back. His hand just fell to his bed, and his eyes closed on their own accord. Even though he’d wanted to stay up to spite Todoroki, despite the fact that he couldn’t remember why anymore, his body just started to shut down on its own. At least sleep would be a reprieve from the overwhelming pain in his chest and his head, so he surrendered to the thick haze of sleep and hoped he’d wake up without this agony.

Blood. Blood and screams and death and fear. Katsuki spun around, lost and scared, wanting to run but unsure of where he could run to. Screams rang in his ears from all directions, each one different yet full of the same agony. Each one echoed their pain into his heart, overwhelming him with emotions he couldn’t handle. Unable to take anymore, his legs took off running without thinking, his chest heaving as the torturous screams pierced his chest.

He skidded to a stop as an image flashed in his mind, his own scream blending into the background. Deku’s body was still crackling with energy, his green lightning dying as Deku lay still. His arms and legs were both black, bent in horrific ways, and Katsuki’s stomach lurched as his gaze finally landed on Deku’s chest. His ribs had pierced through his skin, his chest cavity a mess of blood and bone, surprise still written on Deku’s lax face, his green eyes dull and lifeless. Again, Katsuki’s legs took off without his consent, tears streaming down Katsuki’s face as nausea built in his stomach.

His arms flailed as he slipped on something wet and sticky, crashing into some sort of small building. Looking up, Katsuki screamed again, seeing Kirishima spread eagle across the top, his head hanging down, his neck brutally slit open, dripping blood into the fiery red hair he was so famous for. Katsuki slipped again in his haste to get up, realizing with a sickening jolt that he was slipping on Kirishima’s blood.

“Make it stop.” Katsuki sobbed. “Make it stop.”

He finally got up again, only to freeze in place. In front of him was Ashido, lying in a heap, her neck bone protruding from her skin as her head twisted the other way. As more and more tears spilled down his cheeks, he turned and turned and turned. Jirou, her own earphones wrapped around her red, raw neck. Sero hanging from his own tape, his limp hands still stuck from trying to free himself. Kaminari’s head soaked, water still dripping from his motionless mouth. His world began to spin, and he crashed to the ground, curling into a ball.

“Make it stop.” Katsuki covered his ears and shut his eyes, trying to block it all out. “Please, make it stop.”

The world went silent.

Katsuki warily opened his eyes. Vast ground filled only with empty space. He was too scared to try and speak, terrified that the death and screams and blood would come back. No matter where he looked, all he found was emptiness until he came across Todoroki, laying on the ground too, facing away from him.

He crawled over hesitantly, his mouth moving to speak Todoroki’s name but his vocal cords refused to make any noise. Katsuki’s hand hovered over Todoroki’s body for a moment, not seeing anything on his red side. Maybe he was just unconscious? His hand finally landed on Todoroki’s arm, frowning as it was cool. No, no, his red was his fire side, he should’ve been warm. His hand jerked as he pulled it back, causing Todoroki to roll over.

Katsuki screamed again, his voice laden with agony as Todoroki’s head lolled to the side. His white side had completely disappeared, charred to ash, his skin covered in burns matching the scar on his face. He cowered away, his hands dragging him away from Todoroki’s dead body. He slipped again, curling back into a ball, sobbing.

Everyone he had ever cared about was gone, and Katsuki was alone. Emptiness beat in his ears, the silence louder than any of the screams had been. His sobs echoed across the vastness, his breath the only other sound. He longed for his friends, wanted someone to still be with him, to tell him that everything was going to be okay. That he would have more than himself to keep him company, to make him smile just a little, to make him let out a breathy laugh. To watch with amusement as they did something stupid, being far too noticeable when he was socially awkward with his stupid confused face, silently sitting with him when they knew he wanted company but couldn’t take any more noise. Grabbing him in one arm hugs, ruffling his hair and dodging when he swatted at them, squishing him when they were all crammed together in too small of a space to fit all of them. He wanted that back, he wanted them back so badly, he’d do anything.

“Anything, huh?” The back of his neck burned, and he was lifted off the ground. He writhed in the grip, sludge rising from the ground to latch onto his body, forcing him into submission.

“No, no, please, stop!” Katsuki wailed, the sludge only growing stronger, binding his body in muck. The heat on the back of his neck increased, and another hand forced his head forward, his eyes only able to focus on Todoroki’s lifeless body. “Not like this, not like this!”

“Aw, I thought you said ‘anything’.” The voice taunted. “Don’t you love them? Wouldn’t you do anything for them? You know we have an offer for you, you remember our last one.”

“Can’t.” Katsuki wanted to shake his head, but the grip was too strong. “Won’t betray them.”

“Then die with them.”

Katsuki couldn’t move, his entire body now encased in the sludge, could barely talk as the goo began to tease at going in his mouth and down his throat. 

“Not again.” Katsuki gasped, feeling the horrid taste of the sludge as it crept slowly, maliciously, into his mouth. “Please not again.”

A mocking laugh, and then the sludge forced itself down his throat, cutting off his air. Katsuki panicked, writhing with great strength, but useless, so uselessly. The world spun one last time as he grew dizzy from hypoxia, and he fell into darkness with taunting laughter echoing around him.

Katsuki jolted up in bed, a silent scream on his lips. His eyes rolled at the heat of his room, just as dizzy as he was in his fever induced nightmare, practically seeing the waves of heat energy radiating from his furniture, his walls. He had to cool down. If he didn’t cool down, he thought he was going to die, his body melting into his bed.

His room had a shower. The door was right there. He just had to get there, the water could cool him down. He pushed himself up, his arms too shaky to hold him for long. Maneuvering his body was like trying to walk straight in a gyroscope. He stepped forward with his left foot, shaking as he stood, desperately trying to go forward. His right foot was next, but it was still tangled up in the blanket of unknown origin. He tried to pull it free, but another strong bout of dizziness sent him tumbling to the floor.

The world faded in and out as he lay on the floor, his arms trying to push himself up, but he crashed back down every time. He just didn’t have the strength to get up, the attempts draining what little he had until he just gave up. His vision flickered in and out, his sweat soaking into his carpet, his heart carrying agony all over his body, igniting each nerve with a bonfire, his head pounding like a thunderstorm’s rage.

“Sorry to disturb you…”

“Eh, no worries, Todoroki. If Bakubro needs me, then I’m there, no matter what.”

Even though the door was closed, Katsuki could still hear the voices through it. The dorm walls carried sound better than any speaker.

His door quietly creaked open, driving another spike of pain into his head. “Bakugou? Hey man, are you- oh shit!”

Light blinded him for a moment, before he felt a cold arm heave him up, cradling him in iciness. He whimpered, the sudden shock of frigidity making him wince. A warmer hand came to his forehead before jerking back with a hiss.

“He’s burning up.” Kirishima gasped, cursing again.

“Kirishima, get Recovery Girl.” Todoroki ordered, taking charge of the situation. “I’m gonna try to cool him down.”

Kirishima nodded, his face set in his ‘serious mode’. His best friend should’ve been a comfort, but seeing Kirishima’s frown and furrowed brow just made him a little scared. Kirishima was one of the smiliest people he’d ever met, and Katsuki always told him that his face would get stuck like that. It was always laughed off, bringing out that same smile, which always made Katsuki roll his eyes. But he still liked seeing it, and when it was missing, Katsuki didn’t like it, not one bit.

“Don’t use your quirk, use his shower.” Kirishima said, standing. “Anything lower than room temperature is too cold, you’ll send him into shock.”

Todoroki just nodded, and Katsuki wondered if he’d already known that, or if his temperature regulation thing kept him from getting fevers. Kirishima bolted out the door, his steps thudding down the hall then the stairs.

Another arm came to his knees, and he was lifted into the air. His vision swirled again, able to tell he was moving but unable to process anything else. His legs were gently placed on the ground, but then the sound of a massive waterfall assaulted him and he turned back into the soft, wintry physique. But then he was pulled away from it, and he didn’t know whether that felt good or bad. The waterfall then disappeared, and he saw that Todoroki had switched the tap to shower.

The arm came back to his knees, and another dizzying bit of motion finished with water pelting at him, as he was pressed against something that didn’t feel hot or cold. Even though the water droplets were needle-sharp, they were cool, and Katsuki sank into it, feeling the water soothe the bonfire under his skin. He wasn’t sure how long he was under the spray before his mind finally cleared enough to focus on his surroundings. Katsuki was laying against Todoroki, who was holding him up by his waist, in Katsuki’s shower. Katsuki decided to be embarrassed about this later, when he didn’t feel so shitty and when Todoroki wasn’t keeping him from drowning in his own shower.

“‘roki?” Katsuki groaned, his voice weak and quiet. But thankfully Todoroki still heard him.

“Yes, Bakugou?”

“I don’ feel so good.” Katsuki said, looking up at Todoroki. He must’ve looked like a drowned cat, his hair soaked and stuck to his forehead, his clothes soaked to the skin, his skin showing through his white tank top, Katsuki didn’t think he’d ever looked so pathetic in his life.

“No shit.” Todoroki muttered grumpily. “You couldn’t have said that a few hours ago?”

Katsuki ducked his head a little, his cheeks were already flushed but the pink got a little stronger. “Couldn’t. Can’t be weak. Specially not in front of you.”

That made Todoroki pause, and then meet his eye again. “Me?”

Katsuki nodded shakily.

“Why?” Todoroki breathed, the shower louder than both of their voices.

“Because… you’re so strong.” Katsuki mumbled, the fever that still raged within him loosening his tongue. If he were coherent, he’d rather be caught dead than saying shit like this, but he was still so hot and the water felt so good and his mind felt so worn thin that he just kept talking. “Noticed the first day I saw you. Never met anyone like you. Stronger than me. Pissed me off.”

Todoroki scoffed. “Of course it would.” a sigh. “But why would that mean you can’t be ‘weak’ around me?”

“Weakness doesn’t get notice. ‘N like that. Wanted notice.”

There was another beat of silence. Katsuki turned his head into Todoroki’s cooler side, using him as an ice pack for his still aching head.

“Are you saying that you thought I wouldn’t notice you if I thought you were weak?” Todoroki murmured, his voice low and uncertain.

His body was starting to get wracked with tremors, but he managed a nod through it. He couldn’t tell if he was shivering or shaking, just feeling his body vibrate, and the bonfire inside him was starting to win the battle against the water. His body went limp as the fire began to consume him, his eyes rolling around in his head.

“I, I… Bakugou? Bakugou, what’s wrong? Bakugou!” Todoroki’s voice jumped in emotion, in worry, but Katsuki could no longer differentiate the emotions. Todoroki was little more than a red and white blur now, Katsuki’s world spinning faster than a top, black spots dotting his vision, growing larger with each rotation. His mind lost all sense of reality, darkness swirling around him like a maelstrom. Voices again rang in his ears, but he couldn’t distinguish one from another.

“-hear me? Bakugou, can you hear me?”

“He was talking a minute ago, but…”

“-unresponsive -get him to the infirmary- covery girl can- hurry…”

Someone grabbed his arms, hauling him into the air, and the sudden movement had him blacking out entirely, falling into the black hole the maelstrom had created.

~~

Consciousness was murky, muddying his perception into something unintelligible as he slipped in and out of the darkness always on the edge of his mind. He wasn’t sure how long it took for his mind to clear, but the longer time went on, he sluggishly began to become more aware of his surroundings. He discovered new pain in his hand, but the agony in his head had subsided a great deal, though it wasn’t entirely gone. He was laying on something familiar but uncomfortable, his body propped up against it. To his immense relief, he found that he wasn’t on fire for the first time in what felt like days. 

Dazedly, he opened his eyes, immediately squinting at the bright overhead lights. It took him a minute to adjust, but the light didn’t increase his headache much, so he managed easily enough. White walls came into focus, along with cool, white sheets on the bed he couldn’t remember getting in, with a light blue canvas on his chest. He pulled lightly at it, confused, and pulled his hand up to his vision. No wonder it hurt, there was an IV stabbed through his hand, drawing out a noise of discomfort. He felt like he hadn’t slept in years, his mind struggling to keep up with the world around him.

Footsteps had his head immediately turning, his instincts sharper than any discombobulation, and he made another discovery, movement didn’t make him dizzy anymore. But that didn’t answer the question of what had happened, but the old woman walking towards him at least contributed to it. He knew this room, this was the infirmary, but he couldn’t remember how he got here.

“Ah, young Bakugou, I was wondering when you’d come back to us.” The old bat said, sounding far too cheerful.

He frowned at her, trying and failing to process her words in time as Recovery Girl walked up to his bed. His head still swam in uncertainty, cognizance lagging out like one of his friends’ video games. She stood on one of her little step-stools, coming up to his level, patting his hand gently before putting something uncomfortable in his ear. He groaned, attempting to turn away, but she cupped his cheek, gently but firmly keeping him in place.

“Keep still, it’s alright.” Her voice was as gentle as her hand, but that didn’t soothe him much. “Just a few seconds more.”

A quiet beeping and she kept her word. “38.44 (101.2). Much better, considering you came in at 40.5 (104.9). Any higher and you might’ve had permanent brain damage.”

Oh shit. That was bad. That was very bad. A brief flash of fear ran up his spine, a spike of anxiety panging in his stomach.

“Wha’ happ’n?” Katsuki asked, his voice hoarse from disuse.

“A stress fever.” She replied, handing him a little paper cup of water. His hand was shaking a little as he took it, but he kept her help to a minimum. “Unsurprising, considering the amount of stress you all are under, you especially. Normally, they’re not an issue, and they fade rather quickly, but you’re a special case. As you know, your sweat can’t cool you down like most people so you’re easily affected by fevers. Since you didn’t come to me, or do anything to reduce it, your fever just worsened and worsened until your body couldn’t take it anymore. You’re very lucky that Todoroki and Kirishima found you when they did.”

Jumbled memories came to the forefront of his mind, of Kirishima’s voice in his room, a hand on his forehead, of Todoroki carrying him, holding him as they lay in the shower. Fuck, that was embarrassing, and the chastising Recovery Girl was giving just made him feel even worse.

“Didn’t notice.” He said, needing to defend himself, his pride leaving him unable to do anything less. After all, it wasn’t like he’d done this on purpose. He may hate being in this damn room, but he wasn’t stupid enough to not seek medical help when he was seriously sick. He just honestly hadn’t noticed something was wrong until it was too late. He’d dealt with plenty of hot and uncomfortable days before so he thought yesterday had been no different. “Not til af’r dinner. Don’t get sick.”

“Yes, young Midoriya said that.” Recovery Girl sighed. “As did your parents when I called them. They said since they’re currently in Madrid, they’d do their best, but the flight home is rather long, even without layovers. Hopefully, by the time they do get here, you’ll be fever free.”

Well, his day just got a lot worse. Katsuki hated it when his parents had to pick him up from school. He didn’t need his parents to come and fuss over him, he wasn’t a baby.

His unhappiness must’ve shown on his face, since Recovery Girl just tutted at him. “Give them a break, you gave them quite a scare. You’ve gotten very good at that.”

Katsuki huffed, definitely not pouting.

“Really, I should’ve expected something like this to happen.” She muttered. He cocked his head in confusion. “It’s been a week since I’ve had one of you in here, and if someone from 1A isn’t in here, something is very wrong.”

He had to admit, that seemed like solid logic. He was classmates with the biggest dumbasses he’d ever met, and they were all klutzy and accident prone, and that was off the battlefield.

“Speaking of your classmates,” ah hell, what do those idiots want now? “when you’re feeling up to it, you’ll have plenty of visitors.”

Oh fuck no, he was not doing that. His classmates were so emotional, crying and pitying and all sorts of terrible shit he hated being around. He got uncomfortable when one of his friends was upset, he couldn’t take the whole class. Leaving before Recovery Girl said he could sounded like a much better option. He’d rather get yelled at than deal with all of his dumbasses.

“Try to get out of this bed and I’ll sedate you.” Recovery Girl said bluntly. Katsuki deflated, miserably becoming resigned to his fate. Obviously, this was just going to be one of the shittiest days of his life and he couldn’t do anything about it.

“I’ll keep them from overwhelming you.” She said sympathetically, patting his hand again, and that was at least something. Normally, he would’ve snapped that he didn’t need her pity, but he could tell it wasn’t pity. He didn’t quite know what it was, but anything was better than pity. “But for right now, you should get some sleep. Let your body’s natural processes heal you. I’d much rather have your body heal itself, I don’t like how high a dosage of fever reducer I have to give you to help you fight this. I want to take you off that as soon as I can.”

Ah, that explained the IV, and why his mind wasn’t working right. He’d seen his idiot friends on too much cold medicine before, he’d just never experienced it himself until now. It was a lot more disconcerting than he would’ve thought. Next time, he’d have to watch more closely when one of his idiots got sick, this fucking sucked.

Sleep did sound like a fantastic idea, though. Keeping up with this conversation was taking far too much energy than it should’ve, and Katsuki was just fucking done. Even better, if he slept the rest of the day away, he could avoid all of the extras and idiots who wanted to ‘visit’ him and annoy him with their presence. The medication was no doubt keeping his spite under control, as when Recovery Girl stepped down to do other shit he didn’t give a fuck about, he could just close his eyes and let the exhaustion that been on the edge of his mind since he woke up take him without much resistance.

[catalogercas]

Whumptober 2023 Day 2 Prompt:

Not Enough Rain to Wash the Sins Out of this House

"I'll call out your name, but you won't call back."

Thermometer | Delirium | "They don't care about you."

Jamie winces against the tangled memory from the middle of the night, where his dad and Roy were both real and both there.

Keeley and Roy's whispers are a low buzz in the background of their bedroom as Jamie pinches his brow against the throbbing in his temple. His head feels like it's been stuffed with cotton, too heavy to lift from his pillow, and he can't keep his eyes open so he just listens to Roy rehash what he'd sort of hoped was a particularly vivid bad dream.

Because he hates how he has to carry this with him. Can't escape it. No matter how much he wants to.

Stupid trauma.

"The fucking muppet was trying to get ready for training at 2 in the morning," Roy says. "He was spiking a fever and fucking out of it."

"So why do you look like you want to commit murder then?" Keeley asks. "You know you can't murder a fever, yeah?"

"He...," Roy grunts then continues, "I haven't seen that petrified fucking look in his eyes since fucking Wembley. He was completely delirious, Keeley, fucking apologizing for taking too long to get ready and for almost face planting into his dresser. Took me ten minutes to get him to calm down enough to realize that fucking piece of shit wasn't here before I could get him to down some Paractemol."

"Oh," Keeley says with a sharp gasp. "That fucking bastard, messing with our boyfriend when he's not even here!"

And Keeley's right.

That's what he hates the most. That his dad doesn't even have to show up to make things worse. He's already done enough for a lifetime.

Jamie winces against the tangled memory from the middle of the night, where his dad and Roy were both real and both there.

He'd startled awake to the the open threat of his dad standing in front of him with an empty, broken beer bottle in hand, waving it towards his rear as he told him to hurry up and get his kit on, and Jamie was trying, he was, trying to so he could maybe avoid the sharp cut of jagged glass against his skin. But his limbs were heavy, and he just couldn't get them to cooperate.

Then there was Roy's voice cutting through it repeating that it was okay, that it was just him, and that he was safe while Jamie tried to make him understand that he had to get ready, couldn't disappoint his old man more than he already had, could he, until he'd finally slumped against Roy in complete exhaustion, sobbing until Roy gently led him back to bed and gave him medicine before pulling him in close and wrapping his arms so tight around him he felt like he couldn't get loose. Which he'd really needed. It grounded him. Made him feel safe. Like nothing but being wrapped in Roy Kent's arms could.

The weight of Roy's arms and Keeley's soft snores from the other side of the bed, where she'd somehow slept like the dead through his entire breakdown, had lulled him back to sleep.

"We're sure I can't go up to Manchester and have at the bastard?" Roy asks.

"You're no good to me and Jamie, or Phoebe, if you're in prison, Roy," Keeley says, like she always does.

"Well if it weren't for that, it'd be fucking worth it," Roy mutters, like he always does.

"Mmm," Jamie hums. He has mixed feelings about it. Always has, probably always will, but he feels terrible enough as it is and doesn't want them to keep going on about his dad.

Keeley reaches over for him, "Didn't know you were awake, love. How do you feel?"

"Like shit," Jamie says. "Can't even get me eyes open."

"Oh you poor thing," Keeley says as she rubs at his back. "Anything we can do?"

"Stay with me? And, er, don't talk about murdering me dad right now, even if he deserves it? Still me dad. 'S complicated," Jamie slurs drowsily.

"Of course," Keeley says, squeezing his shoulders.

"Right, then," Roy says, "I'm getting the thermometer. It's got to be lower now than it was last night, but, you twat, I almost took you to the E.R."

"Not the twat here," Jamie says, "fever's the twat."

[somber-sapphic]

Flu in the FBI

〘Prompt 7 (day 8, oops)- "You're a jerk when you're sick.〙

〘Notes- Yeah, I was going to post this yesterday but I only finished it a few minutes ago. I'm probably just going to write as I have time for now, but I'll do my best to keep up with this month! Excuse the title, it's bad. Also for the editing, it doesn't exist :,)〙

〘Summary- Morgan really can't take a hint.〙

〘Word Count- 1.2k〙

〘Pairing- JJ x Sick Emily (CM)〙

〚Main Masterlist〛⌶〚Sicktember Masterlist〛

“Come on Prentiss, just a quick game!” Morgan teased, throwing a sugar packet at the brunette’s head. Emily didn’t even look up to register the “attack”, she just continued to power through her paperwork with gritted teeth.

The game he was talking about was a version of basketball in which they would try to throw as many sugar packets into a paper cup as they could in a minute. The loser usually had to take a portion of the winner’s paperwork. It was something they often did to lighten the mood of their dreary workplace.

Normally, the former Interpol agent would’ve taken him up on the challenge, but she didn’t have the energy. The slight cold she’d felt developing on the second day of the case had turned into a full-on bout of the flu, and it was kicking her ass.

Another packet of sugar smacked her on the head, but she ignored it, focusing instead on making sure her letters were even slightly recognizable. Her hands had grown progressively shakier throughout the last few hours, turning her already messy handwriting into chicken scratch.

“Not tonight, Morgan.” Emily croaked, stifling a sneeze. She was secretive about it, in fact someone who didn’t know her well wouldn’t have noticed. Reid, who was standing slightly to the side of her, only knew that she had sneezed because of the quick tensing in her shoulders and the slight bob of her head. The woman had mastered the art of being discreet.

“What, scared you’ll lose?” Derek taunted, a gloating edge to his voice. Had he been paying attention he would’ve seen the reddening around Emily’s nostrils, the glassy tint to her typically sharp brown eyes, and the ghastly pale shade of her skin. Most of the color in her face was coming from the red spots on her cheeks that had come with the spike in her fever.

 “I said no.” She snapped back, her words more clipped despite the congestion. Her patience for his antics was wearing thin and she had no energy for his lighthearted teasing. Deep down the BAU agent knew that her friend meant no harm, but this illness had her short tempered and miserable. As soon as she had completed her work she planned to drive home and sleep until she was free of this illness.

“Nah, I get it. You don’t want to make a fool out of yourself in front of Spencer. Don’t worry princess, I don’t think he cares.” It may have been his own exhaustion not letting him notice Emily’s poor mood, but it didn’t matter. He had pushed her over the edge, and she wasn’t going to hold back.

“Morgan. I said no. I do not want to play your stupid game; I want to finish my fucking work and then I want to go home. What part of that isn’t clear to you?” She slammed her hands onto her desk and glared at him, trying to muster the scariest look she could. It was hard to look menacing with a runny nose, but Emily pulled it off.

The tall man stood there in shock, not having expected such a strong reaction. His confusion turned to worry as he finally realized just how sick his coworker was, but that quickly shifted to frustration. He was annoyed with himself for not noticing and annoyed with Emily for her tone. Sure, he had deserved it, but no one liked to be talked to like that.

“You’re a jerk when you’re sick.” He grumbled, walking back to his own desk.

“Oh, I’mthe jerk? You were throwing shit at my head!” Oops. He hadn’t meant for her to hear that. Emily was fuming and, more embarrassingly, felt like she was about to start crying. The stern words of her mother rang in her head, demanding that she keep her emotions in check. She could cry when she got back to her apartment.

“Hey, what’s going on over here?” JJ asked, appearing out of seemingly nowhere. Apparently the two had been louder than they realized, they had attracted a crowd. Garcia had emerged from her Bat Cave and even Hotch was hovering by the door to his office, surveying his troops.

Rossi was probably deep into his glass of Whiskey by now and couldn’t care less about the happenings of his team as long as they weren’t actively trying to kill each other.

“Nothing.” Emily whispered, sitting back down at her desk. If JJ got involved, she was going to coddle Emily and that, while a tempting idea, wouldn’t let Emily get her work done.

Unlike the others, JJ wasn’t about to let this go. She could see that not only was her girlfriend sick, but she was much sicker than she was letting on. The blonde had noticed it first when Emily had fallen asleep on the plane, but she was secretly hopeful that it was just the lack of rest during the case.

Now it was clear that it wasn’t simple tiredness, her beautiful lover was sick. JJ sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose, trying to keep her frustration at bay. She could already tell that Morgan felt bad, but in the short run that didn’t really matter. For now, she needed to get Emily home and get the fever under control.

“Alright. Em, pack your stuff. And one of you,” She jabbed her finger at Morgan and Reid, “is finishing her work. I’ll pay you back later.” The media liaison was not looking for an argument, she had said that they were doing Emily’s paperwork so they would be doing Emily’s paperwork.

“Jayje, I’m fine. I’m almost done anyway.” The brunette protested weakly, no fight behind her words. There was a very good chance that she would be dragged home, and she’d realized that she would be more than okay with that.

“Shush, you look awful,” JJ’s face softened as she looked down at the slightly pathetic woman and she reached out to stroke her cheek. It wasn’t often they showed affection in the workplace.

Even though their relationship had been approved by Hotch, the rest of the team hadn’t been told about it. Being profilers, they had probably figured it out, but no one would say anything until the two felt comfortable.

“Let’s go hun, I’ll make sure Hotch knows.” She said gently, holding out a hand Emily. The brunette hesitated for only half a second before taking JJ’s soft hand and standing with her purse over her shoulder.

With their fingers tangled together, the two women walked toward the exit and entered the elevator. As soon as the two were alone Emily dropped her head onto her girlfriend’s shoulder and coughed painfully into her hand. It sounded like she had been suppressing the fit for a while, and just let it run its course as her body shook from the force.

“Oh sweetheart. Why didn’t you say anything?” She murmured, brushing her lips across Emily’s hot temple. The brunette radiating heat and shivering simultaneously. JJ was itching to get her ill girlfriend home and into a warm bed.

“We were working.” Emily sighed, her voice raw and gravely. She shifted closer to the blonde, beginning to fall asleep standing up and JJ couldn’t help but smile. The woman she loved may be a workaholic, but at least she listened when told to. Well, to JJ anyway.

〖Join My Taglist!〗 @lots-of-pockets @bloomingflowersthings @lovelyy-moonlight @scrambled-brain-eggs @juststuckhereforever @chairhere @iliketozoneout @villaneve4life @goldenempyrean

[talentforlying]

@4ger: you're not well enough to go anywhere. — PEARL STARTERS

' bollocks you say. I'M FINE. ' his head is throbbing, the rapid gallop of his spooked-horse-heart pulsing beneath his fingers as he pinches the sweat-slick bridge of his nose and tries to stop the world around him from spinning away. the spindly corners of his toy house totem dig into the meat of his palm, reassuringly solid, the photograph inside rustling softly as he tilts it; for a queasy moment, he doubts its certainty, almost does something stupid and asks eames to check it for him before rational thought reasserts itself with a swift kick.

he's never been the best about splitting dream from reality — even without twenty extra degrees spiking his temperature to dizzying fever heights and cooking his brain inside his skull. ( the newcastle projections have always seen to that. )

scarred fingertips squeeze harder against the inside curve of his orbitals until the swimming afterimages of that lovely thought blur into haze, cracking one red-rimmed eye open to scowl at the other forger. ' don't be a prick, eames. s'my job, and i'm gonna see it through. ' it's just a matter of professional pride, innit? not like he dreads what he'll see when he's too fucking still to STAY AWAKE. ' you gonna stand there and play nursemaid, or give me a lift? '

[my-little-wraithlings]

Woe for Tomorrow Excerpt

Fandom: Army of Darkness/Evil Dead the Game

General fic synopsis: Desperate not to lose his newly returned friends, Ash makes a deal with his own personal devil in order to get everyone a rest. After all, how awful can one night with his demonic double really be?

Word Count: 1149

Rating: High Teen/Low Mature (nothing super NSFW)

~Z~

The ache in his eyes was almost enough to make him believe that this was all just a fever dream. So much had happened in just a few days. Death and fear made the world around him reek. Ash hated it. Hated it all. The exhaustion felt like it was grinding his very bones to dust. Muscles, tight from combat, eased now that he could feel the cool sheets against his bare skin. Soft and smooth. Lulling his mind to believe the lies in his head. 

The lies that said he  was fine and home and that there was no longer anything to worry about. Lies that told him that his beloved was the weight sitting at the edge of the bed. That he’d turn and see her beautiful face. Soft lines framed by flaxen hair and a shimmering silver necklace locking their love between them.

But that’s all they were. Lies. 

He was not here with his love.

He was here, in a bed that wasn’t his. Feeling stupid and dirty and honestly a little scared. Alone in his own mind. A cage round his weary soul. The memory of his love’s beautiful voice tainted by the besmirch of a demon’s delight. Every muscle aching, screaming, sobbing for a rest. Why wouldn’t they ever let him rest? Why were they torturing him? What had he ever done to these damned bastards?

He was so fucking tired.

He had never asked to be “The Hero From The Sky”.

Ash’s eyes shut. Clenched so tight it made the cut skin of his face ache and pinch. His arms circled the pillow between them. Tightening as he buried his face deep into the firm softness. The scent of lavender filled his senses. Thick and sweet. It made his head spin. Made his heart ache as his stomach roiled.

He loved the smell of lavender. It always made his heart flutter. A little rush of something happy along his skin. Like a lover trailing a flower over his arm before pressing a kiss to his lips. Linda used to wear it on dates once she’d found out his fondness for it. But now…

Now it only made him sad.

God, it made his chest burn. Like bloody claws dragging through flesh and bone. Down, down, deep to his very heart. Like his ribs being ripped asunder and his core laying exposed to buzzards.

It made his eyes sting, made them water. This pillow smelled sweet of lavender shampoo. But where was the head of hair that spread that scent to a well-loved pillowcase? Was she safe? Was she even alive? Had her soul been swallowed up like all the rest? Did she know that some nobody stranger was getting fucked in her abandoned bed?

Ash’s gut twisted, turned, and tied into a knot. Head shifting down as he pressed his face harder into the cushion. Pushed until his nose hurt from being pressed flat and the wall of thick cotton made it hard to breathe. Some small, twisted, beaten down part of him almost wished it’d fill his mouth. Smother the soft vibrations that welled up in his throat.

Bitter cold. A shock of chill and sting of pain just above his shoulder blade.

A swear on his breath, Ash’s head jerked up from the suffocating prison of the pillow. The jolt of pain felt like tiny spikes on his nerves. His hands fisted in the pillow. Teeth gritting as he felt the pain trail. He slowly realized what the sensation was. Fingers, cold to the very bone, trailing along wounded paths on his bare back. Lines of healing flesh left uncared for.

“The hell’re you doing?” Ash asked. Voice snapping with a bite. He tried to jerk away as he turned his head but the motion didn’t work. 

“I was curious.” Evil Ash replied. His voice, much deeper than Ash’s own, seemed to rumble in the quiet room. 

“Well… Get un-curious.” There was a press of a hand on his shoulder blade. His double’s demonic strength kept him pinned with little effort. A frustrated grunt caught in his throat as resistance seeped away. Ash flopped back down, facedown in the pillow once more.

“I was curious about the scars we both share.” Evil Ash said. Continuing the conversation even as Ash tried to lose himself once more. “I can’t see my own.”

“Who the hell cares what they look like?” Ash grunted. There was a shift in weight on the bed. A rush of cold over Ash’s skin as he felt the other straddle his legs. Ash hissed loudly, baring his gritted teeth as Evil Ash’s hand trailed down his back. Fingers trailing the path of semi-healed whip wounds until the revenant’s hands came to rest on Ash’s flanks.

“It has been two weeks since your freedom from those chains. They aren’t healed yet.” Evil Ash stated matter of factly.

“Yeah. And they ain’t gonna heal if you don’t get your grubby, undead mitts off’a them.”

“I was simply checking for your well-being.” Evil Ash replied with a scoff to his voice.

“Oh, how generous of you, General Dickwad.”

“I just want you to be comfortable.” Evil Ash said. His grip on Ash’s flanks tightening slightly. Dipping his head, he pressed his mouth to Ash’s back. Tongue dipping out past bare teeth and ruined flesh to drag over the worst of the wounds. The surprise gurgle of confused sounds choking off in Ash’s throat made the revenant’s undead heart do an odd flip.

“The fuck are you doing now?! Quit that!” One of Ash’s arms jerked back, elbowing his twin as hard as the angle would allow. It did little to nothing to topple or shove the other away. “And since when do any of you care how I’m feeling, or what’s best for me?”

“Don’t confuse me with the others, Ash.” Evil Ash’s voice was a deep rumble in his throat. He held his companion still and repeated the action. The taste of infection tangy on his tongue. “I came from your body, Ash. I am equal parts you as I am Kandarian demon. I’ll do as I wish when it comes to you.”

Evil Ash’s tongue lifts from Ash’s back. The sensation is replaced by a cool pressure between Ash’s shoulder blades. There’s a soft rumble as strands of hair brush along the skin of Ash’s back. His double’s forehead is pressed to his back in a strangely intimate gesture Ash is trying desperately not to think about. He can feel the other’s cool breath as the monster begins to speak. “And right now, I wish us to feel something, a connection, that those others will never have.” Cool, chilling hands slid down Ash’s sides to slip under him. Jagged claws scraping soft trails along Ash’s strong chest. “No others will ever have what you and I share, Ash.”

~Z~Excerpt End~Z~

[yourlostearring]

last week i fucked up my back on a dumb carnival ride from like 1982 and it came to a head yesterday when it became hard to get around and eventually caused me to spike a stupid oopid fever while i was in the office of all things, i was going to go over my girlfriend’s place after and thought i should cancel but she insisted i come over anyway and literally spent the whole night doing everything she could think of to make me feel better. she’d alternate my ice pack every time it got too warm and held a cool rag to my head and neck so it wouldn’t slip off and rubbed my head for hours as i drifted in and out of sleep and even helped me into a cool shower when i was scared to stand up but knew it would help, and every single time i thanked her for being so sweet and apologized every 5 minutes for being so lame all she had to say was “i love you”. now im headed to my parents’ house to help sort through my mom’s pictures for her memorial coming up and i told my sister i might be a little out of it because my fever went down (thank god) but i still have this pounding headache and without even asking she offered to run out and get me medicine and asked if there’s anything else i need. idk i just feel really lucky, despite everything, to be loved.

[wolfiery]

#13 for the siken asks!!

#13: i said kiss me here and here and here and you did. em, a special treat for you!!! (also on ao3) https://archiveofourown.org/works/44068785

steddie, hurt and fluff, canon au (2.9k)

~~~

   There’s a heat wave in Hawkins, a vicious temperature spike in the air that’s made its way into Steve’s hair, now falling flatter than usual since not even Farah Fawcett hairspray could withstand the agony of a hundred degrees. Women in the supermarkets have flocked to the freezer section for relief, the gas station attendant spent more time yelling at any customer parked at the pumps too long (he normally never cared about people lingering, but the hot air must have gotten to him).

And Steve…Steve’s spent the majority of his summer in the Munson trailer.

And fuck, isn’t that an experience he never thought he’d have. Like hand-on-his-heart never.

Because Dustin was weeping on the radio to his girlfriend next to him at Eddie’s funeral in March.

And at the time, he stood with a hand on the kid’s shoulder — even if he thinks it didn’t do fuck-all for anything. Steve felt wildly unsettled with his blubbering tears in a way he couldn’t explain, too numbed to take them in. Didn’t know what to say... Wasn’t sure anything he said would have actually helped.

But Dustin's ugly crying and Wayne’s bowed head, Robin’s hard stare at the cemetery grass made it so fucking real that it didn’t feel like it.

It seemed like something out of a fever dream — there wasn’t a body, not even much of an attendance that seemed rather un-fucking-deserving considering Eddie died too young, too good to save a town that hated him and still considered him to blame for Chrissy’s murder. But his name’s been cleared already and Hopper’s handled Jason and the rest of those assholes in his no-nonsense way that was usually effective. Steve hoped it was enough, but nothing felt like enough then, he felt empty and hollow.

He hadn’t know Eddie for long, but he saw a spark about him, a courage that the Hellfire Club master never seemed to see in himself. So it didn’t matter how long he’d known Eddie because they’d gone through all of that together, and god dammit, Steve just wanted the chance.

And then the radio crackled in Dustin’s hands and Susie’s singing of a lullaby broke away, splitting the moment of guilty silence in half and startling all of them.

And by some fucking shred of luck, some absurd sign from the universe — Eddie’s voice came over the speaker like a gun against his ribcage, an offbeat, strained ‘Hello?’ but still so clearly Eddie.

Dustin had gotten so excited, calling back for a response that Steve held his hand up then, protesting, “Now wait, we don’t know anything —”

“Shut up, Steve,” Dustin said furiously, and even Wayne had rushed over to his side to listen to his walkie-talkie for the chance to hear his nephew-like-a-son’s voice, but nothing came.

The only one on his side was Robin, because she’s fucking awesome and wiser than a room of three boys of different generations. She leaned forward, gently told Dustin that they were gonna do everything they could to figure out if Eddie was alive but that they first needed to consider if it was also a trap. Susie had gotten back on the radio by then, calmed him down with a few sickeningly sweet words.

So she said it better than Steve could, so what? At least someone had the ability to speak at all, because Steve’s heart was pounding in his ears trying to listen to his own stupid advice, trying not to get his hopes up and failing. Because all he heard was Eddie and Eddie is alive.

After what seemed like a blur, like dream after dream in succession — and Steve had already been to the Upside Down, derailing from what happened, so he wasn’t sure what it said about his perception of reality then — they’d confirmed Eddie was alive through Eleven, pulled him out (where he was suspended in the unreality phantom concept of time or whatever Dustin had said) and rushed him to the ER, still bleeding from the bat bites.

And maybe it’s still a little bizarre to his own ears, because it’s the end of August and the absurdity of it never disappears. Steve’s spent his summer in Eddie’s trailer — used to hanging out, getting high, used to Eddie screaming a song until he and Robin were curled on the floor laughing, or wading through a haze of smoke during sunset.

One time, the kids had knocked on Eddie’s trailer while the three of them were smoking a joint and they’d all panicked, rushed to put it out. Eddie ran to the bathroom and grabbed some god-awful cologne and started spraying it everywhere they’d breathed. Then, he opened the door with an announcing drama that Steve shouldn’t have found so damn charming, but he was too stoned to do anything but grin innocently at the teens — and then Robin started gagging beside him from onslaught of scent, covering her face.

Dustin’s face was not amused, instead scrunched into a look of exasperation, throwing his hands up, “Is every adult I know a pothead now?”

“That cologne is sickening,” Eleven said blankly, her face pulled in sympathy to Robin’s plight.

“Honestly, Eddie, wearing that could be considered nostril assault,” Max winced, her wheelchair creaking against the gravel of the trailer park. She was still on her road to recovery and had only gotten out a month ago then, still needing time and physical therapy to get her there.

But Steve grinned at the offended and emphasized glare of Eddie, watched his curls swing over his shoulder the same time he swung his head. “It’s Wayne’s, asshat.”

“Is no one going to focus on the fact that all of our responsible friends have succumbed to a life of fiendry?”

“I don’t think that’s a word — is that a word?” Robin asked doubtfully, meeting his eyes. Steve shrugged, raised his eyebrows to convey, Do I look like the one you should ask?

“Well, it should be!” Dustin says furiously, face getting red.

“If it’s made up,” Eddie twirled his fingers while talking and Steve stared at the rings adorning them. “doesn’t that mean it can mean whatever a word wants to? So can it really bad to live a life of ‘fiendry’?”

He waggles his eyebrows at all of them after his question, thrilled to propose any thoughts that could instill chaos and perplexed faces.

“But fiend is still connotatively bad…” Dustin begins rattling off, moving Eddie’s arm as they all start spilling into the trailer.

Steve looks at Lucas and the girls with a slight smirk, cause it’s obvious now that Dustin’s already entirely forgotten about catching them. He and Lucas boost Max up until she brushes them off with an ‘I got it from here’ and rolls herself the rest of the way into Eddie’s cramped living room.

So Steve’s had a summer of friends and memories that don’t really feel possible, but feel good, and he wonders if he’ll ever actually wake up.

But it’s a little agonizing now, not so much a fairytale but a delirium. The fan’s on full blast but only seems to be blowing the warm air back at him. He’s given up on modesty a while ago, shirtless and unpleasantly sticky. Even Max willingly wanted to go to the hospital today for her check up because of the good air-conditioning.

“This is fucking brutal,” Eddie groans from the wooden chair; it creaks when he leans forward, rests his elbows on his thighs before jumping back. “Fuck! Even my elbows are sweating, Harrington. This is fucking ridiculous, elbows aren’t supposed to sweat.”

“Don’t ask me,” Steve whines, closing his eyes in the muggy air, “Too hot to think.” He cards his fingers through his hair, it flattens even more, totally ruined and leaves a residue of hairspray and sweat on his fingers.

“Pretty sure I didn’t,” Eddie grumbles and Steve can’t even remember now how he got here, laying back on the couch. He just knows it feels like a given that he would be here these days.

Steve squints with one eye open towards the weight of Eddie’s pensive stare that’s increasing with intensity. It’s freaky enough that Steve sits up suddenly, unreasonably self-conscious and alarmed. In the back of his head he tries to remember if Wayne’s at the start or the end of his shift and then wonders why that even matters right now.

But Eddie looks at Steve like he’s an enigma, like he’s keeping Eddie from something, a drink of water in a desert that he’s refusing to share or a way out of this heat. And it’s not any less insane, less feverish then that Eddie reads him like an open book, and bluntly asks the question Steve hoped he never would: “Why are you really here all the damn time?”

So this is reality. When it crashes down on you, when the fever sways from languid to sharp, and Steve is swallowing what feels like trailer park gravel mixed with broken bottles, distantly wondering how the fuck Eddie can survive in a black t-shirt even in a trailer that’s baking in the sun, and trying not to fall apart at a simple question. Easier said than done.

But it’s more than that. Eddie’s face softens, his eyes sympathizing with Steve’s incapability to speak, doesn’t rush him, like Steve’s weaknesses are just fucking human and not an imposing force that he hates about himself.

“Don’t ask why yet, please,” he begs him, but hopes that Eddie will get it, put the clues together with that brain of his.

Steve breathes in relief when Eddie does, looks at looks at him with a lightswitch in his eyes.

“What are you here for?” Eddie tilts his head inquiringly, curiously. He inches the wooden chair closer, it squeaks aggressively against the tile floor. It should feel harrowing, but it doesn’t. Keeps Steve focused, grounded, right here and now. Eddie’s lips are pursed and his brown eyes have that glint to them that drives him a little crazy. It’s pretty fucking cute.

He shakes his head in answer to Eddie’s question — it’s the wrong one, but he wants him to keep going. Bends his knees off the couch and sits up for real, hopes Eddie gets closer.

Steve never used to want to kiss a dude before, but a lot of things happen when someone learns about Hawkins’ secrets or makes the mistakes he’s made. Watching Eddie Munson laying in a hospital bed when Steve thought he was dead four days beforehand, when he thought he’d missed out on something he couldn’t really voice - well, it changed a few things.

And now…a whole fucking summer, in Eddie’s space, vicinity, whatever - it smelled like cigarettes and pot, yeah, but it also reminded him of pine trees whenever they shared a quick hug, whenever he scoped the bat tattoos on his forearms that Eddie now made a mockery of, whenever Eddie would team up with him and not fall to Dustin’s effective briberies, christ.

“Who are you here for?” Eddie’s trying not to sound pleased and it makes Steve’s breath a little shaky when he exhales.

“You,” he says with a bravado that doesn’t feel right but it’s something and apparently he’s left any of his smooth moves in the dirt with King Steve, because the goddamn heat wave’s left him loose-lipped and tongue-tied. “Definitely you.”

“Is that so?” Eddie’s holding back a smile, nodding his head, pressing his tongue in cheek like he’s supposed to be thinking but it just looks stupidly obscene, makes Steve think about other things entirely. Brain-addled heat. This is so stupid. A black t-shirt in a hundred degrees is also stupid. Eddie could die again.

“You should take your shirt off.” Steve states very matter-of-factly before he really realizes it, before he feels just a little hotter, a little more wracked and nervous. Eddie doesn’t stand up, he hops up, like he’s fucking thrilled that Steve asked.

“I gotta say, I didn’t think King Steve would be so forward — thought you would need a little more than hook, line, and sinker. A little more convincing than whatever eye sex just happened in the last two seconds.”

“What?” Steve says, trying to wrap his head around whatever the fuck Eddie was saying while faced with tattoos he hadn’t seen before, extending and wrapping all around the worst parts of his scarred torso. It was the opposite of the Upside Down.

It was Hawkins doused with finely drawn flowers, life springing from every corner, grass between the sidewalks. Whoever had done it had used the scars as an advantage, the trees looking ridged and real, even if Steve knew what was there before, had seen it in nightmares after pulling Eddie out with the rest of the gang.

“Oh, do you like it?” Eddie asks, twisting his neck to get a better look at his own tattoo. And the necklaces dangle on his chest, his black shorts hang low on his hip but Steve’s eyes are selfishly drawn to the trail of black hair, wondering if it would feel as soft as it looked.

“Yeah. And it’s Steve, just Steve,” he grunts, feels rather fucking useless at with his brain at the moment. He’s not sure if Eddie was only stringing him along or not, or if he’s been sucked into some dream experiment in the past day and a half. He should call Robin, just to check. She’d be the first to know if he’d really lost his mind. But he’s survived worse than blushing at Eddie’s flirting and Steve would be a fucking liar if he said he hasn’t been thinking about it.

“So you really like it then?” Eddie comes closer to the couch and Steve can’t really read him, or figure out what’s going on in his head. He’s only got that look like he’s trying to figure Steve out so maybe they’re in circles.

“Look, I —” Shit. Shit, what’s next? What does he say that doesn’t sound like bullshit? Steve doesn’t think he even wants to go down that road either. “I’d like it more if you just kissed me already.”

“Oh, I know you would,” Eddie grins then, and it’s unfair actually, when he leans closer, brackets Steve so he was forced to lean back against the couch. It’s not the best couch either, kind of digs against his shoulders, but Steve thinks he wouldn’t care if his shoulders were in the tile floor right now.

Eddie tilts his chin while Steve holds his breath, suddenly doesn’t know what to do with his clammy hands. He keeps looking over Steve’s face, eyes dragging over his lips that he tries not to bite from the sudden attention.

“Well?” Because screw patience, Eddie’s being an idiot the longer he tries to figure Steve out. “Kiss me.”

Eddie sighs but it sounds like a release and bends easily to press his mouth to Steve’s, tongue begging for entrance in a way that punches all the breath out of him. Steve sinks in the couch even when Eddie presses closer, even when he’s pretty sure oxygen is running low on the planet today, because he’s light-headed fast when Eddie breaks from the kiss, coaxes him lower against the couch. Steve goes willingly just to pull back and stare at the hard edges of his collar bones, his waist and the offending jeans.

“Kiss me again,” Steve demands, hand grabbing at Eddie’s shoulder. Eddie falls forward, knee knocking Steve’s leg half off the couch in the little space there was. “You’re sweaty…and warm,” Steve half-heartedly complains, but still a little thrilled to be touching Eddie, kissing him.

“You’re not exactly at your coolest either, Steve.”

Steve laughs at that, well aware of how stupid Eddie makes him, but the pun is too fucking awful to take seriously.

Still, Eddie does it then. Kisses him again. And he forgets to groan or make fun of anything, his neck now on the thinly cushioned armrest, Eddie’s chest clinging to his own almost uncomfortably but still somehow fucking fantastic, making Steve feel like he’s catching on fire in slow time.

And then Eddie leans back again, pushing himself up with a hand, but his curls fall in front of his face, flushed even though he’s trying to act casual with his heavy-breathing.

“Can I ask why yet?” His eyes stare down into Steve’s and there’s no shortage of answers, but Steve doesn’t know how to come up with one.

“I like you,” he finally says, shrugging a little bit, hoping that Eddie would just…go with it, let him be here, now, like this. They could figure out later, couldn’t they?

“Well...Shit, I wasn't really expecting that,” Eddie smiles nervously, but his eyes twinkle under the bangs that were sticking to his forehead. “Do you want me to kiss you again?” Eddie asks him, but it means a little more than that. Steve hopes it does.

“Yeah,” he nods, feeling the smile come over his face, his confidence growing like the sunflower in Eddie’s tattoo, teasing, “Anywhere, anytime.”

Eddie’s eyebrows shoot up at the proposition, but he does.

He kisses Steve on the lips again with a hunger, making Steve whimper when he bites on his bottom lip, pressing at the sting with his tongue. He takes Steve apart with a tug of his hair, makes his limbs feel like jelly, makes it feel like he’s burning him up for anyone else and kissing his heart at the same time. Flicks at the metal button of his jeans. He keeps kissing Steve and Steve doesn't have to ask him again.

On the hottest night of the summer in Hawkins, Steve spends the night (and definitely fucking showers) in the Munson trailer.

[thewingedwolf]

my period has changed a lot over my lifetime and i find it really annoying. when i was a kid, i used to get insane cramps and nausea, like i would go home because i was just dry heaving in class all day bad. i would sometimes spike fevers as well. and my period was alllll over the place, it was really inconsistent and i think that caused some the cyst problems i used to have.

but i honestly kind of miss it bc i can take medicine for cramps, i learned how to work around the nausea and ease it, i just kept pads with me in case i got it randomly, etc. now i get spotting the week before and i fucjing. HATE IT omg it’s so annoying to just have like a lil bit of blood and i’m like oh okay it’s starting NOPE. annoying as fuck. and starting a few years ago, the hormonal mood swingy shit is waaaaay worse, but i get ANGRY. my GOD i would take weeping over vibrating with rage for something SO STUPID any day of the week 😭😭 and SWELLING like half my torso swells now????? WHAT THE SHIT IS THAT.

anyways i hate periods.