#the fever made him loopy

[bluehoodiewoozi]

Cherry-flavoured

girl dad & husband (in that specific order)!Choi Seungcheol x wife!Reader

Genre: fluff, sickfic

Word Count: 1,400

Warnings: the flu; Seungcheol is down bad for his two girls; reader despises cherry-flavoured medicine

[Domestic AU] When both of his girls fall sick at the same time, Seungcheol is more than happy to take care of them both - no matter how difficult they are.

The kettle had barely finished when Seungcheol heard your voice calling out, “Can I get my tea yet?”

“You don’t even like tea that much,” he scoffed under his breath, careful not to be heard, before responding louder, “Just a moment, honey!”

He waited for a response and it soon came. A sniffling sound. A sneeze. But even then your pout was practically audible in your reply: “I don’t like honey.”

He sighed. The hot steam of the water was making his nose runny even now, a whole three days after his recovery from the flu. Still he carried on, adding spoonfuls of honey into two cups of tea. With the utmost care, he picked out the best looking cookies from the box (one Mingyu had so kindly brought over after hearing of your family’s predicament) and added them to the tray, right beside a small box of flu medicine.

To the sound of sniffles, coughing and whines of suffering, he steadily picked up the tray and began his journey upstairs. The ticklish feel of the cat scurrying past his ankles almost threw him off his balance. Just as he regained it, another fluffy creature practically flew past him – Kkuma stopped on the top step to look back at him, judging him for his slowness – but soon he reached the top of the stairs with a sigh of relief. 

The relief was temporary though because the moment he reached the 2nd floor, he was bombarded with complaints.

“What’s taking you so long, dad?” sounded from the bedroom to the right. It was followed by shuffling, a soft greeting for the cat, and more whining. “You promised to fix my TV!”

He took a moment to wonder when his little girl had started calling him ‘dad’. It sounded so formal and affectionless compared to the nicknames she’d given him in the past. 

But it was clear where his journey would take him next. Cautiously, he made his way to Minah’s bedroom. The door got stuck before he could fit himself through. He resisted the urge to forcefully rest his head against the doorframe. 

“Minah, princess, I told you I’d fix your TV after you clean your room,” he pointed out as he tried to shove the door further open without much success. It was harder to do this with no free hands and even he wasn’t bold enough to try to balance the tray with only one hand. “Where do you even walk?”

“I climb the walls like spiderman.”

His brows furrowed: that sounded an awful lot like talking back! Seungcheol wasn’t entirely sure whether she was just loopy from the fever or if it was time to stop letting the members babysit his daughter.

“Well, what’s daddy supposed to do?” he asked once he finally managed to break into the room. The tray remained mostly dry and he considered that a win. “I can’t climb the walls.”

There was a glint of mischief in his daughter’s eyes. “I’ll clean the room if you fix my TV.”

That was it, Seungcheol decided. He was done having children. If a few days ago he had wondered how to bring up the idea of having a second child with you, the desire now swiftly left as he realised his fate: endless circular arguments that would somehow always end with him folding around his little girl’s finger. 

He placed a cup of steaming tea and half the cookies on her bedside table. When she inevitably reached to take one (for she was only a girl; one with a sweet tooth), he let out a warning noise and handed her a spoonful of cough syrup. “Medicine first, candy second.”

His eight-year-old daughter offered him a look that called him dumb in five languages. The white cat in her lap seemed to match her sentiment. “Cookies aren’t candy, dad.”

“They’re chocolate-chip,” he retorted, already feeling his eyes widening with annoyance, “and chocolate is candy.”

“No, chocolate is chocolate,” she corrected him with a giggle that was soon interrupted by a coughing fit. 

Seungcheol felt himself soften at the sight. His free hand reaching out to brush her hair out of her face as she blew her nose, he patiently waited with the spoon still in his hand. Once she looked at him again, eyes red-rimmed and filled with exhaustion, he offered her a gentle smile. “Your medicine, princess?”

Her hand reached upwards towards the spoon. She hesitated. “Do I have to?”

“Do you want to get better?” he countered, raising a brow.

She groaned and looked up to her ceiling covered in plastic glow-in-the-dark stars. Clearly he hadn’t realised how difficult of a question that was to answer. “But then I’ll have to go back to school.”

“Don’t you want to see your friends?”

Once again he was on the receiving end of that look she had perfected – the one that called him old and dumb and boring. “I chat with them all the time.”

It was time to bring out the big guns – the one thing (a person, really) he hated to speak of but always seemed to get her to do what was needed. He squeezed his eyes shut as he braced himself to say the words: “If you get better, you can see Yongho again.”

The spoon was out of his grasp and in Minah’s mouth before he could open his eyes again. Defeated, he sighed and handed her a cookie in return for the newly empty spoon.

“Will you fix my TV now?” she then had the audacity to ask. 

And Seungcheol couldn’t even say no. 

He nodded and left the room with the tray in his hands, calling over his shoulder, “I’ll get mom her medicine first and then I’ll fix your TV.”

She cheered and he couldn’t help but smile. 

“Seungcheol?” he then heard your voice call. “How long does it take to make tea?”

He entered the room with a chuckle. “There’s only one of me, you know? And someone has to take care of the little one as well.”

“The little one,” you snorted at the nickname. “Honey, she’s eight. She has a boyfriend. You need to come up with a new nickname soon.”

“God, don’t even remind me about the boyfriend,” he groaned as he placed the tray down. “It should be illegal to date before the age of 30.”

Amused, you raised an eyebrow. 

“For her anyway,” he added with a pout. “And she’ll always be my little one.”

“Even when Yongho asks her to prom?” you teased, sitting up just as he made himself comfortable sitting on the bed. “Even on her wedding day?”

He stared at you. Then his eyes narrowed. “You’re just saying things to annoy me, aren’t you?”

“You’re the one that took your sweet time making my tea.” You reached for the cup. “My throat is so scratchy. I hate being sick.”

Golden opportunity. “If you don’t want to be sick, you should take some medicine.”

He couldn’t help but laugh at the venomous glare you sent his way. 

“I think I would rather just succumb to the flu,” you told him and he was sure you meant it. 

But he had vowed to stay with you through sickness and health, and then he had sworn to your mother that he wouldn’t let you be sick when he could help it – really, he had a duty to fulfill here. “You’re setting a bad example for Minah, you know?”

“She’s not even in the same room–”

“MINAH, YOUR MOM’S NOT TAKING HER MEDICINE!” he bellowed right then and there, confident that he would receive a response that would force you to accept your fate. 

Seconds later, a loud – slightly wheezing – yell sounded from the other bedroom, “MOM, YOU CAN’T DO THAT!”

You grimaced under his self-satisfied stare. “Fine, but it better not be the cherry-flavoured one.”

He put extra effort into hiding the label from you as he poured a spoonful of the syrup and handed it to you. “Drink up.”

You did as told. Then glared at him with viciousness he rarely had the pleasure of seeing. “You just had to get the cherry-flavoured syrup, didn’t you? Traitor.”

“I love you too!” He offered an apologetic smile in return, placed a soft kiss to your cheek, and made a swift exit. 

Suddenly fixing Minah’s TV didn’t sound so tedious after all.

Note: I wrote this when my bestie @haoboutyou was sick and then she proceeded to begged me "150 times" to share this with y'all, so here we are, I guess. I hope this brought a bit of joy into someone's day! <3

[gaywineauntsstuff]

the reason I hate the "Tim doesn't trust Dick after Damian/spyral/ric" is because they are besties your honour.

Like there's a post going around that I cannot for the life of me find that says Dick is Tims trusted adult and they are so right fr ong.

Because despite what Fanon believes Dick is a pretty chill guy and people take one look at him and go "let me unload my emotional baggage on you"

There's like a very famous panel (that im too lazy to find or remember the name of the run its in okay don't yell at me) where Tim basically goes "soooo my girlfriends pregnant" and Dick nearly falls off the roof.

Tim is calling Dick for the dumbest shit imaginable to the world ending and so are the rest of the batkids.

so I have taken the Canon that Dick knows if not all but most and generalised it to hell.

-------------------------

Jason has been on a team with like 80% of OG titan members

they're having gossip session

Jason in a war zone dodging bullets with his bat travel mug in his hand: And THEN! Kori and Roy shared this look and you know the look they give you when they're judging you for bat reasons and you're like tell me why you're mad I was raised by a crazy person my normal levels are skewed.

Dick in NYC with a blueberry bagel In one hand, his Turkish coffee in another, just finished meeting up with Donna who gave him THAT exact look: No REALLLLL why are they like that, just tell me which one of the creepy traits I internalised as a child is bothering you.

Jason: omg you get it anyway so I grab the bomb and start playing soccer with it because its round and im bored and starfire takes it away like idk what im doing? bro ive been bombed I know how to work with a bomb..

Dick: hmmm and then what happened

Jason: and then.....

--------------------------

Tim: Dickkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk

Dick: yea Tim

Tim: Kon is being a dick

Dick: oh?

Tim: yeah and its really starting to bother me man

Dick who knows Kon is dead and Tim is either hallucinating or drugged to be more susceptible to manipulation and is already on his way: hmm tell me more babybird whys he upsetting my lil brother

Tim about to tell Dick what is a fever dream bc he contracted pneumonia and is loopy off his ass on painkillers:

---------------------------

steph does this more with babs in the hero scene but its just... so easy and totally gets into the habit of it after Dick is her Batman for a bit and now she uses him as her civilian life therapist

Steph on her way back from campus: and then this bitch looks me up and down and pours her coffee cup down my shirt!

Dick on his way back to blud after decking bruce in the face: hold on hold on hold on she did what??

Steph nodding vigorously even though he can't see her: pulls my whole ass sweater away from my body and pours her peats coffee down my goddamn shirt Dick.

Dick: omg she didnt

Steph still nodding: she DID and then I found out from Jonny who found out from Vivian that someone told her I made out with her boyfriend at Leos house party

Dick who has no idea who any of these people are: wait but you were at Leos for like an hour max last week. we has smoothies after.

StepH: exactly so I had proof that I wasn't there and confronted her and went like. I don't want your crusty ass alt white boy whose favourite 'indie' band is the neighbourhood. I dated Tim fucking Drake the OG crusty ass white boy and I don't do repeats

Dick choking on his coffee:

Steph: anyway we are besties now and planning on getting her boyfriend back because apparently he cheated on her with this drop dead gorgeous girl and im high key a lil complimented she thought we were the same person.

Dick who initially called for casework and is actually so happy one of the people he calls siblings is actually like living a life outside of vigilantism: tell me more

Steph: you sound a little teary

dick: don't worry about it

-------------------------

Damian: Richard

Dick: Damian

Damian: so I might be skipping patrol with father

Dick:? what you love patrol??

Damian: and school

Dick: Dames? what's going on:? is everything okay? you can talk to me

Damian: I am volunteering at a hospital

Dick: kid

Damian: Listen before you sAY anything I know what we do is important but I think I can help in another way and -

Dick had brown parents and was training for the olympics at 8, totally knows what its like to have insane expectations and rebel with a day job: kid kid calm down okay? you wanna be a doctor? is that it?

Damian: well? I dont really know but I just? there has to be another way to help people. besides what we do I mean-

Dick: Alfred left me Thomas waynes journals I initially thought they were to bash your fathers head in when he was being stupid but it seems the old man was looking out for us. Wanna take a stab at your other grandpas legacy when you come over next weekend. I'll tell Bruce we patrolled so you get a few more days off.

Damian: you're the best

[greeniegirl23]

"Take Care.." (Sick! Alastor x Reader)

A.K.A Alastor trying to fight being ill.

Also inspired by @degenerativeficdisease latest post. Go check out

https://www.tumblr.com/degenerativeficsdisease/782930143572377600/to-break-a-fever

---------------------------------

"Alastor for the love of fuck, go sit down!!" You yelled at him for almost the hundredth time.

"Never!!" He protested, voice ladened with stuffy sinuses and thick static while he attempted to sit upright at his mahogany desk.

Alastor was stubborn, this much you knew. On a daily basis, it was hard to change his mind about little things. Especially if he didn't agree with them for whatever reason, but you didn't know how truly headstrong he could be until today. When he woke up with a fever of 104.3, (and the only reason you knew that is because you damn there shoved the thermometer down his throat..) refusing to rest but instead, trudge through the illness like an idiot. Which is why you were yelling at him as he attempted to get dressed for the day at the pace of a drunken snail.

You've been trying to get him into bed for the past two hours, but every time he refuted you with some bullshit response. "I don't need rest darling, I survived through the Yellow Fever pandemic--!" He coughed violently. You could literally hear the gross phlegm in his lungs as he hacked like an old smoker before sniffling. "..I'll be fine."

Honestly, he didn't even know how much he believed that at the moment. In Hell, everything was worse, including illness and getting sick. He wouldn't dare tell you, but he knew that you knew that he felt like shit. Every movement was agonizing as he put on his typical attire. Muscles aching with every move, his eyes could barely stay open, he felt delirious really and had resorted to breathing through his mouth because his nostrils were clogged with mucus.

"Yes you will be," You sighed, pressing your fingers tips to your temple in frustration. "But not if you keep going at this rate. Seriously, you look terrible."

He's expression was irritated as he looked at you with puffy eyes and an exhausted face. "I haven't the slightest idea what you mean..."

"Don't be difficult Al."

"But it suits me so well!" He tried to sound upbeat and smarmy as usual until a loud microphone feed back made you jump, heavy static spiking in volume in a row of four.

"Fucking hell! What was that?!"

Alastor rolled his eyes. "Have you never heard a man sneeze before?"

"That was a sneeze?" You replied. "It sounded like mating call of something ungodly.."

His loopy eyes squinted at you. "Never say that again.."

"Only if you get into bed and rest. You cannot go around like this. Especially sneezing like that, you might mesh frequencies and blow up a radio or something."

"I'm afraid my powers don't work like that darling."

"Whatever!" You yelled, grabbing him by his arm and dragging him back towards his plush king sized bed. "I don't care if you still want to work, it can wait."

"But--"

You immediately cut him off by firmly pushing him on to the mattress. Later on when he was better, he vowed he'd get revenge on you for having the audacity to touch him, let alone push him, but at the moment he could care less. Sinking into the mattresses plushness, allowing it to cradle his aching bones from this accursed fever.

He let out a groan of pain? Relief? He had no idea as he allowed the mattress to embrace him.

While he sat there melting in the best and worst way possible, you went over to his dresser and pulled out some of his pajamas, throwing them next to him you told his shadows to help him change while you were going to go downstairs and get some essentials.

As soon as you made it to the lobby. You made sure to inform Charlie that Alastor wasn't doing well today and that whatever work he had to do would be late.

Of course she agreed and told you to take as much time as he needed. After that you went into the kitchen and got started on some soup. You know he was a stinker for flavors and food made from scratch, so you did it the long way and managed to make some very tasty venison, rice, and vegetable soup. With just a bit of Southern kick, it would help with his congestion.

A quick look into the pantry and you got some other things too. A pitcher of ice water, some cold meds, a few of his favorite snacks like coffee pecans and minty-lemon candies he'd gotten from one of Rosie's tea parties last week.

Together with the help of his shadows, you brought the things back to his room only to find him sprawled on the bed like a starfish.

He had moved all his blankets to the foot of the bed, despising them because of the chills that wracked his body. The sheets and his pajamas were already a sweaty mess as he breathed heavily with his night shirt unbuttoned. If it wasn't for the fact that he was such a pain, you might have thought of this moment as cute or even hot.

But no, now wasn't the time for that.

Immediately you moved him aside to set up his pillows behind him, propping him up so you could feed him something before the meds. Foggy with fever, you heard him mumble "No maman.." the exhaustion evident in his voice. "Can't stay home..Gotta be at the station before one."

"Oh Alastor.." You hummed. Pressing a hand on his cheek, hoping that he'd snap into reality. It always made you sad to realize that deep down he was just a boy that made mistakes and missed his mother. The only person who could ever get through to him, who he ever truly loved, and would never see again.

Part of you wondered just how long had Alastor been a showman. Not just as a career or even a hobby, but as a way of life. He was a showman to the hotel, to Charlie, to his friends, hell, even to you sometimes. But you couldn't help but think if he was always a performer, even as a child. Did he put on air for his Mother? Was she the only one who ever knew who he really was?

These questions plagued your mind as you placed a cold rag on his head. He moaned at the relief, had you been in a cartoon, you were pretty sure you'd see steam coming off of his person as he drifted in and out of consciousness.

"Alastor? Alastor wake up." you called for him, shaking his shoulder. As much as you hated to wake, he needed to eat. Almost irritatedly, he blinked his eyes open. "..Darling.?"

"Yeah it's just me." You smiled, genuinely. "Come on and sit up, I made some food for you."

Taking a deep breath as if to prepare himself. Alastor used what little strength he had to prop himself up against the pillows more comfortably. Holding the bowl of soup in your hand, you scooped up a bit with the spoon to feed him. But much to your surprise--really, why are you surprised at him by this point-- Alastor instead took the bowl out of your hands and proceeded to drink from it as if it were a cup. He didn't stop to chew the chunks of meat or veggies, he didn't stop to blow it because it was still hot. Nothing. He quite literally just took it and swallowed it all. Leaving nothing behind except for a few grains of rice in the porcelain.

You blinked once. Twice. Then thrice.

"Alastor why did you?-"

He held up his hand somewhat limply, sniffling. "It's bad enough I have this damn fever and unforsaken chills, but I die twice before I allow you to feed me as if I were a helpless child. Besides, I am rather tired."

Something about what he said sent a stab in your heart. While you kinda understand him wanting to go back to sleep, the thought of him still putting a distance between you and his vulnerability still stung.

Instead of making a big deal out of it. You just placed the bowl back onto the serving tray and poured him a glass of cold water and giving him the meds. "Here, drink this and take these. It should help you feel better soon.."

Same as the soup, Alastor seemed to take the water happily, swallowing both it and the meds in one go. Before scooting back down into bed, still panting but not as much as before. Finally closing his eyes to go back to sleep.

"I'll take this stuff downstairs and leave you be for now." You stated, loud enough for him to hear and give you an ear twitch in response.

His expression was soft as he drifted off, seemingly cozy as he possibly could be in this state. With one arm draped over his stomach while the other laid in the open space of the bed.

Wondering if he knew that he had somewhat hurt your feelings, you had only taken about five steps away from him before a group of shadows had taken away the used dishes, while Alastor's doppelganger snatched you up and placed you right beside him on the bed.

You swore you heard a sleepy chuckle when you shrieked from getting plucked off the floor like a chicken feather, but when you were dropped by his side, you were surprised on how naturally he clung to you.

One leg draped over your body, his arms around your waist, while his head rested snugly on your bosom. There was nothing sexual about this, even calling this intimacy was a stretch, but you couldn't help but allow your heart to beat just a little faster. Swelling with love and adoration for him, something you always had that you thought he never noticed.

"Um Al?"

"Mmn..." Is the sound be made as he nuzzled into you more. Completely at home where he laid.

"I have to--"

"Stay." He mumbled. "You stay.."

You huffed. This asshole knew you couldn't say no to him, not while he was like this or even ever. So like a lady with a pet cat, you accepted your fate and stayed where you were. Allowing Alastor to finally fall completely asleep, with you following behind not too long after. Sleeping soundly in his bed, limbs tangled and hair messy, but it was okay.

Because you both felt right at home.

[ririright]

“Sick Day Serenity”

Clay Beresford x Girlfriend Reader

Clay’s penthouse was unusually quiet—no gentle piano melodies, no soft rustle of pages turning. Just the muffled sound of rain against the tall windows and the faint, congested groan of the man buried beneath a mountain of blankets on the oversized bed.

You peeked around the doorway, your heart squeezing a little at the sight of Clay, who usually looked so polished, now disheveled and vulnerable. His light brown hair was tousled, his cheeks flushed with fever, and his striking cobalt blue eyes were glassy and half-closed. Even his plush, pouty lips were chapped from breathing through his mouth.

“Mmm… don’t—don’t come too close,” he muttered, his voice raspy and thick. “I don’t want you to get sick.”

“Nice try, Mr. CEO,” you teased, stepping in without hesitation. “But I’m not scared of a little cold.”

You set the steaming mug of herbal tea on his bedside table, leaning over to gently press the back of your hand against his forehead. The warmth under your touch was unmistakable. He tried to scowl, but his expression melted the moment your fingers brushed soothingly against his temple.

“I told you… it’s just a minor inconvenience,” he tried to insist, but his voice broke into a small, stuffy cough.

“Mm-hmm. A minor inconvenience that has you shivering under three blankets.” You shook your head, a soft smile playing on your lips. “Just rest, okay? I made you some tea—it should help with your throat.”

Clay watched you with a quiet intensity, his gaze following every movement as you adjusted the blankets, fluffed his pillow, and moved the glass of water within easier reach. Your care was so gentle, so effortless, that he almost forgot the ache in his body.

“Will you stay?” he asked, a touch of that rare, vulnerable tone slipping through.

You leaned over, brushing your fingers lightly through his damp hair. “Of course I will. I’m your personal nurse for the day.”

A small, sleepy smile appeared on his lips. “You’re far too beautiful to be a nurse,” he murmured, his voice soft and a little loopy from the fever.

You chuckled, leaning down to kiss his forehead. “Flattery will get you extra soup.”

His smile widened, and he sighed, sinking further into the warmth of the bed. “Good… I like your soup.”

You settled beside him, your legs tucked up on the bed, a book in your hands but your focus never straying far from him. His breathing eventually slowed, his lashes fluttering against his fever-flushed cheeks as sleep pulled at him. But even half-asleep, his hand found yours beneath the blankets, his fingers weakly intertwining with yours.

“Stay,” he whispered, almost like a dream.

“Always,” you whispered back, leaning your head against the headboard, letting your thumb gently stroke his knuckles.

Hours passed in that quiet comfort—rain pattering against the glass, the room wrapped in a warm, soothing stillness. And even in the haze of fever, even as sleep pulled at him, Clay’s grip on your hand never loosened.

[burningflamescurse]

48 Stitches

Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader

Summary: after being in a Brutal Fight with a Shifter and Rolling down a Steep Hill a Couple Miles, [Name] is left with a Severe Stomach Injury.

TW: Stitches, Painful Injuries, mentions of a Shape shifter, crying, Infections, fevers, soft and Fluffy Dean.

A/N: trying my shot at my first Dean x reader one shot, first time Writing for Dean so Please tell me what you all think!

This Particular Shifter had been Playing games with you and the boys for a while now, four days To be Exact, leaving Dead bodies in its wake as the person it was Impersonating at the moment. Being the Excellent tracker you were known to be, you and the boys had tracked the shifter down to a mountain above a small town. You had all flashed out your weapons out prepared to take out the Supernatural creature. You had Produced your trusty silver blade, while Dean and Sam drew out their guns which were filled with Silver Bullets.

What you weren’t expecting though was that the Shifter would launch itself at you, causing you both to roll and tumble Down the steep hill of the Mountain going down into the woods, the shifters claws Sunk deep into your belly as you did, practically Shredding the flesh allowing blood to just Pour out. You heard Dean’s worried voice call out for you. “[Name]!”

You grunted as you Struggled with your blade against the shifter’s Brute Strength, the Shifter knocked its Elbow into your jaw Sending you back a few feet into a Tree along with your blade. You narrowly managed to grab your blade and dodge it's claws as it tried to attack you again. You managed to dislocate it’s shoulder but it Pinned you to the ground on your back trying to stab you with your own blade as you tried to push his arm away.

It had managed to Push the Blade slightly into your chest as a Moan of Pain Escaped you before a Single Bullet ran out sending the shifter rolling a few feet away from you as you laid on the Ground fighting for breath as your wounds bled. Dean quickly made his way over to you, Extremely worried. “[Name], oh God.. are you okay?” he asked quietly afraid to even touch your wounds, in fear of hurting you more.

You whimpered Quietly lifting up your shirt slightly, Showing the Cuts and Tears all along your Abdomen, Sam’s Eyes Scrunched up in worry. “That’s not good [Name], you’ll probably need a good amount of Stitches.” he voiced his Concerns. You almost whined at that, both of the boys knew how much you hated stitches. Fortunately you passed out when Sam said that, only hearing Dean’s girlish Scream as you did.

You stirred awake in the Infirmary of the bunker, feeling the soft mattress underneath your back, You had been redressed in one of Dean’s black shirts and a pair of black shorts as to not bother your newly stitched up Stomach. You felt groggy, Sam probably injected you with morphine. You could feel the fuzzy feeling of the drug in your head, it felt good compared to the pain you felt initially.

You heard the door open and your favorite people walked in, Dean, Sam, Castiel and Jack. They all seemed happy to see you awake and alive. A loopy smile made it’s way onto your Pale face you weakly beckoned them in with your hand, barely being able to wave them over.

“[Name], are you alright?” Castiel asked in the same monotone Voice he used for everybody; You smiled slightly, Despite being weakened and Bedridden you were able to pat his hand that had made it’s way onto your Shoulder comfortingly. “I’m okay Cas.” You whispered, letting your hand fall back down to your side.

Dean let a Scoff leave his mouth even as Sam gave him a Scolding look, “Dean.” he scolded, his hand Whacking Dean On his shoulder harshly. “No, Sam. she needs to hear this.” Dean Retorted, Pushing Sam away from him before Roughly Addressing you. “You had to have 48 Stitches just in your Abdomen. Not to mention the seven stitches across the wound on your throat, [Name.]”

Your eyes slightly Narrowed at Dean’s accusing tone, was he really saying that this was all your fault, that you were the reason that you had gotten injured, it was the monster who lunged at you first. “Seriously, you’re blaming me?” You shouted, raising up in the bed as you did. Sam Tried to calm both of you down, before someone got hurt that someone preferably being you.

Jack only stared at you, his eyes conveying such concern and worry for you in this state. “Dean, you must be stupid because I didn’t just attack the Thing Like a Reckless kid! It attacked me!” Your hands gripped the sheets as you spoke, showing every emotion that was Spiraling up inside you. “and let’s not forget, you were the one so convinced that it was a demon so we didn’t come Prepared!” You added, giving him a Reality check.

The room was silent for a moment, now Dean just looked Guilty as he could be for Scolding you. Suddenly Jack spoke up, “You Guys defeated the monster though, right?” Dean nodded as Jack’s smile appeared on his face. “then everything’s okay, because you killed it and now all those innocent people are safe.” he finished.

With Jack being the voice of Reason calming everything and Everyone down you were able to lay back down and Rest a bit. You noticed that Dean was still Looking as Guilty as ever, so you grabbed onto his hand with Such affection. “Hey Dean, I’m okay now. I’m here and i’m not ever leaving you anytime soon.” you soothed.

Dean nodded, lifting your hand up to lay a kiss upon it. “okay. Okay, thanks [Name.]. I love you.” he whispered in such a soft Voice, you returned his loving words with a Kiss to his inner wrist.

And for now you knew that everything was going to be alright as long as you had Dean, and Dean had you.

[hidtired]

A Single Punch

(Daryl Dixon x Reader) Masterlist

The smallest action in a single moment can change everything.

Description: The line up ends with 3 supposed dead members of the group. Sometimes you have to know when to play dead. Even when all else goes to hell.

1.6k words

Warnings (much angst, injury, character death(s), very depressing, typical walking dead shenanigans)[happy ending… eventually]

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

Your POV

You would have gone after Daryl when he rushed out of Alexandria on a revenge mission. If not for the terrible rattle in your lungs. Every breath you took was heard. Sharp and painful. Denise the poor soul told you it sounded like walking pneumonia. Not necessarily deadly but hard to fix with limited resources.

So here you are sitting in your bathroom on the floor with the shower as hot as it could get to open your lungs. Trying desperately not to think about Daryl being reckless and doing only god knew what. A light knocking on the door shaking you from your thoughts.

“Come in.”

The door opened hastily releasing most of the steam out the door. Rick walking in past you to turn the shower off. Rick looked down at you offering a hand up. “We are heading off to hilltop. Something is wrong with Maggie and the baby. I would like for you to get checked out by the doctor there to.” Slowly getting up nodding your head. No use arguing with him when he was probably right.

While walking to the RV you looked to Rick calmly, “Thank you Rick, for being my family.” Rick looked to you with a raised brow and smirk. ‘Your loopy from sickness and meds he thought.’ He helped you in the RV to the back with a struggling Maggie. Maggie took notice on your tired state with pale skin as you did her. Rick putting a hand to Maggie’s shoulder,

“We are leaving in a minute, everything is going to be ok.”

The ride was going smoothly until the RV stopped. You exchanged a glance with Maggie, “Let’s hope we aren’t dead in the water like with Dales RV, really don’t feel like walking.” This made Maggie smile a little thinking about Dale all that time ago. Successfully distracting her for a moment.

This smooth ride turned to a nightmare with saviors popping up over and over again. Leading to you having to walk in the beginning of dusk. Maggie being carried. The whistling stirred your already hard breathing. The headlights causing your head to spin and struggle with balance. You felt like death. You felt warm and cold- a fever you thought. You were dazed but still had the right wits about you to know you were in danger. You felt a tapping on your leg, looking to see Carl on his knees. Catching the hint you followed suit. You couldn’t be bothered and sat on the back of your legs.

“Y/n…”

That what caught you out of your stupor. His voice. Daryl’s voice. You look up to see him. Pale and cover in his own blood. Tears now rimmed at your eyes. The RV door opened to reveal a man with a bat. “Pissing are pants yet?” You looked back to Daryl staring at him from across the line of your family. The slight sound of the whistle of your breathe could be heard. You were hazy struggling to comprehend the conversation going on. The man Negan you think, was walking and had stop in front of you yapping on and on about something like “was I dying of the plague��� and “look like shit my dear.” He waved his hand in front of me.

“She doesn’t have a clue what’s going on does she.” Negan huffed.

Negan was walking between everyone reciting Eenie, Meenie Miny, Moe. ‘He was choosing which one of you to kill.’ You thought. He stopped in front of Abraham. Your breathing was turning faster from fear, there for making it harder for you to breath. “If any body moves-“ your ears are ringing. The first crunch of the bat to his head made you gasp then cough.

“Suck my nuts.”

Your ears ring in your brain watching blow after blow to Abraham. Negan flinging his blood in every direction. Your breathing hard, tears burning in your eyes. You reach a hand to curl to the back of your head. The other hand curling into a ball at your chest. Your clucking the hair so hard in your grip you might pull a chunk. You simply couldn’t inhale.

Negan turns to Rick then brought his eyes to you. “Well shit, looks like are little plague here bout dead.” Daryl watch’s as you try and take a breathe in, tears streaming down his face. You look worse than you did this morning. “I’m a merciful man!” Negan proclaimed, sauntering over to you. “Let me help sweetheart…” You just begin to look up at him catching a glimpse of the bat swing down to you. A crushing pain radiates through you head as you come crashing to the floor. But not just your head but hand as well.

“NOOO!” Daryl speeding toward Negan rocking him with a punch. Daryl getting easily pinned. He sobbed looking at your still body.

You were in pain and frozen like a deer in head lights. Your vision blur and the feeling of blood flowing from somewhere. The hit knocked some air into you and you tried you best to calm it. It was sallow but there. Your vision started to tunnel, blackness taking you into unconsciousness hearing sounds of the sobs of your family.

Daryl POV

In a single moment you were gone. They drag me back to my spot in line but I could only look to her still body. What was the last thing she had even said to me. This asshole killed you and he was blabbing on. He stepped out of line and was going to be joining you, he accepted that. The burning hate looking into Negans eyes. Negan only smiled, “That little plague was yours huh.” He chuckled to himself. “You should be thanking me, poor thing was dying, it was a mercy kill.” He back up a little.

“I don’t know what kind of lying asshole you’ve been dealing with but, I did say you only get one! No expectations.”

Daryl clenched his teeth, he expected his fate and accepted at least your body’s were to be buried together. “Welp, back to it!” But Negan pivoted and hit… Glenn. Sinking he felt like he was sinking. His mouth wide with shock. Glenn started stammering, Negan taunting him. “M-Maggie I’ll f-find you.” Negan winding up to hit him again. Daryl listened to Maggie’s pleas just like how his were he assumed. Hit after hit felt deeper like they should have been the one to be on him. Silents for a moment with Negan catching his breathe from exertion. This didn’t feel real. He had to be dreaming.

“Load him up.” He was being dragged away. He had little fight left in him but he fought against it. Hearing the people around him plea. He looked on to where you lay. His world, was gone and yet he still walked among it. His action then got someone’s else’s world killed. Guilt ate at him. Doors slammed in front of his face back to the darkness he once came, but now pieces missing inside him.

Rick POV

It was silent after the saviors left. Sun rising. Everyone trying to comprehend everything. Rick thought when he was being dragged to the RV with Negan that he was next. His anger at the time was now just fear. It was Maggie first to move toward her dead husband. They all scrambled to help her. She sobbed and still despite it all was still in need of a doctor.

Rick kneel next to her above Glenn. “Let us help please, he was are family to.” She agreed and stumbled into a hug with Carl. Rick looking down toward Glenn, his savior, this man was the reason he was alive and found his family. Rick gasped at the thought, ‘Thank you Rick, for being my family.’ He looked back to you, your body less maimed than the rest. You were here because Rick made you go. Hilltop, Maggie. He turned back to Maggie, “We still need to get you to Hilltop.” he looked to her with a little resolve.

Maggie clearly distraught, “I’ll get there myself, you were out here for me. I can’t let anything else happen. I just can’t.” Before he could even begin to disagree, Sasha spoke up. “I’ll take her. You need to get back to Alexandria.” Maggie agreed adding, “Y-you need to figure out to take them out.” Rick looked at her slowly shaking his head. “They have Daryl.” Rick said, and at mention of Daryl’s name the turned to your body.

Rick bit his lips trying to not break. Everyone started to move to put the bodys in the back of the truck that Sasha and Maggie were taking to Hilltop. Your body being the last, Aaron picking you up in one swoop as everyone help to lay you down into the bed of the truck between Glenn and Abraham. More tears were shed.

Before splitting into different cars, Rick goes to Maggie hugging her before she gets in the passenger seat. The rest follow to say there goodbyes for now and hope for the baby to be well.

Looking into the side mirror he look back to seeing puddles of blood and a walker kneeling down to it. Looking forward to not break from the sight and think about those he lost he make eye contact with Michonne. Then he started to drive.

??? POV

Sasha was driving to Hilltop periodically looking towards Maggie. Her mission. Maggie had tears from pain a lost going down her face. The silence was cut with a slap to the back window of the truck. A bloody hand smearing down the glass. The girls turn to each other. You must have turned, head not completely crushed like the others. Maggie sniffled, “Pull over, I don’t want her eating them.”

They both circled the back to put you down. Hearing the grumbling noise coming from you. The tailgate fell with a loud bang. Sasha climbing up knife in hand. When they heard it.

“I can’t, please it hurts.” Slurred and rough. You were alive.

Part 2

Feedback welcomed and requests open! Also little disclaimer I’m really dyslexic so any help with grammar or spelling would be great!

[shieldofiron]

Vecnavision: Interstitial

Two years ago I wrote Vecnavision 3D in a semi haze, lurking in this fandom. It's half fever dream, and the first fic I ever started for this fandom. Two years since it's release, and with Vecnavision: Game Over likely to be written after S5 comes out... enjoy a return to my favorite boys.

Also on AO3 Here

"Come on, come on," Steve urges, yanking at Billy's shirt.

"Someone's antsy," Billy murmurs, dragging another unhurried kiss along Steve's adam's apple.

"Billy, we're supposed to be watching the gate," Steve breaks off with a gasp and a moan, arching his back. "We can't fool around all night."

"We can. And we should. That thing hasn't made a peep in over a month," Billy kisses Steve's jaw. "Relax."

"This is how horror movies start," Steve whimpers. He's staring up into the dark, because there's no streetlamps out here by lover's lake. He's gotten much too used to fumbling around in the back of the beemer like this, but something feels different about tonight.

Billy laughs deep in his throat. "Well if the hooked hand killer is gonna come after us for slutting it up... we might as well slut it up, right?"

Steve hesitates quietly. Fear trips down his spine, but lust along with it.

"You gettin' scared because it's Halloween, Harrington?" Billy asks, leaning back and smiling. He's got his thighs bracketing Steve's hips, and Steve can feel more than see him, feel the way Billy tightens his thighs a little, rolling his hips in tight circles. "Don't worry. I'll protect you."

"They say that in the horror movies too," Steve's grumble turns into a choked sound as Billy grinds down, the rough denim of Steve's jeans scraping against the head of his cock.

Steve pants, hips grinding into the space between Billy's hips.

"You're a menace." Steve bites out. "Oh, Billy, G-God... I... I don't have lube..."

"Hmmm... I guess I'll just have to get you off like this, like the slut that you are," Billy whispers, stealing his hands under Steve's sweater. "You mad we got put on duty now?"

"N-no," Steve admits. "Fuck Billy... just... please... quickly..."

He thinks he can hear something outside but he doesn't want to look. They'd taken up the offer to watch the gate tonight and to be honest Steve had been kind of hoping something like this might happen. If Hopper thought it was suspicious that they agreed to watch the gate together, he kept it close to his vest, because he and Murray were a few miles away watching the road gate.

"I... I love you, Billy, please quickly..."

Billy grinds up against Steve's cock again, sending sparks down Steve's spine. Billy makes a quiet noise, working against Steve with single minded purpose. Steve can hear the sound of Billy's family video vest swishing in the dark and he nearly wants to pout. He wishes they were home and naked and free. But at the same time he couldn't get out of this car for a million dollars.

"I love you too, Steve. Slowly. Don't get too worked up, right?" Billy growls.

Steve's chest warms from the inside out. He's still getting used to it. Not the sex, of course. Not the love either. But hearing that Billy loves him. Billy's not shy about it either, not when they're alone.

"Oh, you don't get too worked up," Steve shoots back, but he can't hide the fondness in his voice.

"Great comeback."

"Shut up," Steve slides his hand along Billy's arms, groping in the dark for one of Billy's hands. He can't seem to pry the other off of the curve of Billy's hip, feeling the roll and twist of muscles under the surface. Billy gasps, hips grinding without finesse. He knits their fingers together, tugging Billy back down for another kiss.

In the dark, he can still find Billy's lips. He could find Billy's lips anywhere. Their tongues tangle and Steve groans, digging his nails into Billy's hip. Billy's hips jerk and he must come, because he bites Steve's hip and

Steve tears away. "I wanna... I..."

Billy giggles, a little loopy, and the sound warms Steve's heart, "God, you're so hot."

He kisses Steve's nose. "Come."

Steve can't exactly come on command like that, it takes a few swirls of Billy's hips and he's groaning into the kiss.

"I love you," Steve shook his head, still coming down from the pulses of pleasure rocking down his spine. "You sadist."

Billy kisses him in reply, "Just distracting you from being a scaredy cat."

"I'm not-" Steve breaks off when the wind whistles against the car. He can't see Billy but he swears he can hear Billy smile. "We should-"

"We should snuggle a little, batman. You trying to sneak out on me?" Billy's joking, but there's a hit of insecurity there.

Steve sneaks up for a kiss. "You know you're the only one I love."

Billy smiles against Steve's list. "Alright boy scout."

"We can cuddle on the hood of the car." Steve whispers earnestly.

"Alright. Twist my arm."

Steve squirms. "I wish we had fresh clothes."

"Come on. We'll be home before you know it." He rolls off of Steve, his vest swishing.

Steve squirms still in his jeans, tugging at the waistband to try and relieve the over sensitivity. He grabs the flashlights and walkie from the front seat, while Billy grabs the blanket that had fallen down the backseat and tosses it over his shoulder.

Steve opens the passenger side door and steps out onto the wet dirt.

"Did it rain?"

"No? I don't think so. Unless you count your underwear, Pretty Boy."

Steve rolls his eyes, snapping on the flashlight. There's mud next to the car. Not exactly front page news. But it's like... really wet.

"I swear, the clearing wasn't wet like this," Steve frowns. "I would have noticed if the car was driving on mud."

Billy pops his head out. "You worried about your paint job?"

Steve ignores him, pointing the flashlight down into the dirt. Maybe it was a good thing that they hadn't gotten out of their jeans. The water looked nasty as hell.

He followed the trail of mud, down down.

"Oh shit," Billy whispers, scrambling out of the car next to him.

There's... like track marks coming out of the lake. Wet marks, like something has been dredged out of the bottom. It doesn't look like it was a boat or something.

"It's..."

"Footprints," Billy finishes for Steve.

Human footprints. Well. Human-like.

Steve whips around, looking around the clearing. He can't see anything but the car and the clearing, the trees that are always there.

"You think I'm a scaredy cat now?" Steve whispers.

But when he turns back to Billy, Billy's too pale looking. eyes darting around the clearing.

Steve wraps his arms around Billy's waist, pulling him tighter. He did promise cuddles. Steve might need them even more than Billy.

He flips the walkie once in his hand and then hits talk. "Road team, any changes? We need backup, at the lake. Code Red."

[blackenedsnow]

art the clown catching a cold headcanons? :)

(i just wonder what a sick art would be like)

art the clown getting sick ; headcanons

WARNING: Sickness

PAIRING: None, just Art lol :b

NOTE: This is such a cute/funny idea, thank you for sending it! <3 Hope it’s as you imagined lol, because a sick Art is a cursed Art.

Art getting sick is like watching a nightmare rot in real-time.

His normally unsettling pallor gets worse, somehow, his skin turning a sort of clammy gray.

Art’s sneezes could literally be weaponized.

He doesn’t cover his mouth, and the spray of it is as deliberate as everything else he does.

Gross doesn’t even begin to cover it.

Art is the type to refuse any sort of rest.

Even with his temperature rising, he’s out there wreaking havoc, staggering and laughing as if the fever has only made him more deranged.

The guy would be stumbling, unsteady on his feet, with that loopy, fevered grin still plastered across his face, and yet he’s still chasing down his unfortunate victims.

If anything, the delirium makes him more unpredictable, a clown completely lost to fever dreams.

Picture him looming ominously over someone, only to get wracked with a hacking, guttural cough that doubles him over.

Silently, duh.

But the second it’s over, he’s back to tormenting his prey, the gleam in his eyes even sharper now, as if he’s enjoying this sick twist to his routine.

Art doesn’t go for any human remedies.

Instead, he gets experimental with his “self-care.”

Cough syrup? More like the strange, thick fluids he collects from unknown sources.

Even as it clearly doesn’t help his cold at all.

Art’s fever brings out a strange creativity.

He’s less coordinated, more manicy.

The fever only feeds his madness; it’s like he’s slipping in and out of reality, his sense of self mingling with the darkness of his fever dreams.

When Art finally starts getting over his cold, it’s eerie how quickly he seems to bounce back.

One day he’s coughing, sneezing, leaving messy trails; the next, he’s back to his silent, deadly self as if nothing happened.

It’s like he willed the sickness out of him, refusing to be slowed down for long.

[questionableratatouille00]

𝕺𝖚𝖙 𝖔𝖋 𝕿𝖎𝖒𝖊

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Fem!Reader

Summary: Whenever Steve was sick before the serum, you were there for him. But all these decades later, he finds just how much time he wasted back then.

Note: This is my submission for day one (drugging/sick/poisoned) of @ailesswhumptober! Does this count as whump? Probably not! Either way, I really wanted to be able to put something out, so here we are!

Warnings: Sickness, technically main character death (??), mention of medicine.

---------------------------------------------

ʙʀᴏᴏᴋʟʏɴ, 1930ꜱ

“For fuck’s sake, Steve. You’re sick. Now sit your ass down.” Bucky sighed, rubbing his hand over his face. The three of you, you, Bucky, and Steve, had been a trio since practically birth. You’d helped each other through a lot. Bucky always had his sights set on some beautiful lady, and your sights were set on Steve. You know, if he’d notice it. 

“‘M not sick.” Steve slurred out, and you resisted the urge to laugh. His fever was high, and the pain medication only amplified the effects.

“Steve, you’re burning up and shivering at the same time. Just..at least sit on the couch.” You attempted to bargain with him. “Please? For me?”

“Fine.” He grumbled, plopping down on the couch. You glanced at Bucky, who was looking at you. Bucky shrugged slightly, not sure what to do. 

“Thanks. Buck’s gonna go get you some soup, okay?” You sat down next to your smaller friend as Bucky walked a few steps away to the kitchen.

“M’kay.” Steve yawned. 

“Are you feeling better? At least, compared to earlier?”

He nodded, still a bit loopy. Bucky came back with a bowl of soup, setting it down on the coffee table. “Eat up, punk.”

After he finished eating, you walked him to his bed, hoping that he wouldn't resist. And he didn’t, opting to quietly lay down. You sat on the edge of the bed, staring into his beautiful blue eyes.

“Stay?” He asked quietly, his small and ice-cold fingers finding their way to yours. 

“Course I will, Steve.” Rubbing circles into the back of his hand with your thumbs, you let out a sigh. “I always will.” 

He smiled at that. “I like you a lot, Y/n.” 

“I like you too. A lot.” 

He drifted off to sleep, his hand tucked in yours.

------------------------

ɴᴇᴡ ʏᴏʀᴋ ᴄɪᴛʏ, 2016

Steve’s eyes drifted away from his notebook at the faint sound of sneezing. A younger couple, maybe in their early twenties, walked hand-in-hand down the street. A woman and a man, the man significantly smaller than the woman. Steve noticed the way he looked at her, eyes filled with love and admiration. Her eyes were bright and excited, and she looked at him every so often as she talked about something. 

They were both dressed in their cold weather clothing, scarves and gloves and hats and jackets. Steve smiled softly, imagining you like that. 

The man coughed, more of a wheezing, painful sound. Steve winced. He didn’t have to imagine himself like that. He could remember it clearly, the struggle to breathe, his throat feeling like it had been clawed by a raccoon. 

He missed you. He misses you every day. He was lucky to have Bucky back, and he was grateful. But that didn’t stop him from wanting you. Your kind smile, your gentle gaze. The way you made him feel less…less. 

But you weren’t coming back. He was sure of it. Hell, he’d found your gravestone. You’d died unmarried, with no children. You’d become a nurse at a children’s hospital, which he'd found out from Natasha searching for information about you online.

Steve felt a pang of sorrow as he watched the couple walk farther down the street. With them, it felt like his past and everything he knew was walking away too. He wished he’d had more time to spend with you, to tell you how he’d really felt about you back then. He yearned for you, to be able to take back all of those times where he could’ve kissed you, yet didn’t. Before he knew it, he’d run out of time to spend with you. He couldn’t replace you. Not with Sharon, or Natasha, or Sam, or even Peggy. In a world full of people, people who idolized and adored him, people who dedicated their lives to collecting his trading cards, he still felt alone. 

He truly was a man out of time.

[fonulyn]

@kreonweek Day 5: Betrayal

“J-jack?” Leon’s voice almost gave out even with the one single word, his breaths wheezing as if he couldn’t get enough air into his lungs. He tried to sit up, but that only resulted in him weakly coughing until he was wheezing even worse, unable to even properly focus his eyes anymore. “Jack?” he repeated, his voice small and confused. “What’s happening to me?”

It was a testament of how weak he was that he didn’t try to fight. He didn’t try to argue, not like he had when they’d met hours ago on that walkway and let their knives do the talking. The fire he always carried in him was gone from his eyes as he tried to search for Krauser’s gaze with his own. He wasn’t looking for his weapons, he wasn’t looking for a way out, he was looking for comfort and reassurance.

Krauser almost panicked. This wasn’t how things were supposed to go. Leon was supposed to wake up and yell at him, argue with him until they were both hoarse, and then finally they could get to the bottom of things. He could finally show Leon what awaited on the other side, what kind of freedom could be bought when they severed their ties to the government. He could set them both free. He could set them both free, free to live together whatever way they chose to.

When Leon blindly reached out for him, Krauser didn’t even think. He shifted closer, let Leon grab a hold of his shirt, and placed his hand back on Leon’s shoulder in what he hoped was a placating gesture. He met Leon’s eyes straight, swallowing back his own hurt, just to pretend everything was fine. “You’re just a little loopy, Leon,” he said. “You’ll be fine.”

Krauser reached for the canteen, holding it up for Leon to drink from it, even though most of the water spilled and ended up on Leon’s face and his shirt. It seemed to help a little, at least, but Leon still could barely get air into his lungs. His chest was rising and falling laboriously, and every breath sounded like his there was something horribly wrong. He was sweating, his cheeks flushed with fever, and he was clearly barely aware of what was going on.

This made no fucking sense. None of this made sense. Leon was healthy and fit, he had no allergies, he should’ve gotten up like nothing had happened after the drugs cleared his system. Which should’ve happened already. Why the fuck did he look like he was dying?

Krauser searched the room with his gaze, trying to figure out what to do to help, until his eyes landed on the dart gun he’d used earlier.

Then it hit him. The tranquilizer dart. He’d gotten it from Saddler, who had told him to deal with the nuisance and to make sure the American agent wouldn’t make things difficult for them any longer. Use this, he’d said, with that ever present ominous smile that creeped Krauser the fuck out, use this and he will not fight you. And like an idiot, Krauser had assumed it would mean it’d sedate Leon, had assumed it would—no.

That couldn’t be. Saddler didn’t know Krauser worked with Wesker. He didn’t know Krauser was double crossing him. Why would he—?

Somehow he’d found out. Krauser knew he should inform Wesker about the new development as soon as possible. He should tell him they were compromised.

Yet Krauser just sat there, holding Leon’s hand, wishing with everything in him that he was wrong.

[mochimoee]

Sanemi x Reader | Stubbornness

A/N: Back with another Sanemi oneshot! I'm still new to writing, but I think I'm getting the hang of it! I hope you enjoy! ♡~

Word count: 500

~♡ Dividers by: cafekitsune ♡~

"Jeez Sanemi. You're burning up" You had just put your hand on his forehead to see if he had a fever. You had noticed he's been acting strange and loopy all day. He'd stumble around, his speech would be slightly slurred and overall you could just tell something was wrong. You'd ask him about it all day, and all you'd get as a response was "I'm fine, damnit!"

He had finally let his guard down long enough for you to feel his forehead. "The hell are you doing" "I'm checking to see if you have a fever and it's obvious you do!" He gently pushed your hand away. "I said I'm fine!" Just as soon as he said that he stumbled and you quickly moved to catch him. "Sanemi, you're burning up and your face is as red as a cherry. You need a cold bath." He groaned in protest and tried to walk away only to stumble again. You grabbed his arm and started leading him to the bathroom. "You're taking a cold bath and that's final. Tomorrow we'll head to the butterfly mansion to see Shinobu, but until then we need to get your fever under control."

He sighed and finally caved. He hated for you to see him like this. He's the one who's supposed to look after you, not the other way around. It made him feel weak and useless. He knew you'd never think of him that way, but he still hates that he has to depend on you when he should be able to handle it on his own. He especially hates that he got sick in the first place. He's fought countless demons, put his life on the line numerous times, yet a mere fever feels like it's about to take him out.

The two of you finally made it to the bathroom. You filled the tub with cold water and helped Sanemi remove his clothes. He then got into the tub and fully submerged himself in the water. You grabbed a rag to dip into the water and lay across his forehead. "Better?" You asked while slightly smiling. "Mmm" He mumbled in response. "You should stop being so stubborn all the time. It won't kill you to accept a bit of help every once in a while you know." He looked up at you briefly. He knew it was true. It was just hard for him to accept it.

You sat there with him until his fever had died down a bit. You then helped him out of the tub and went to get some clean clothes for him to change into. After he had dried himself off and changed, you both had gone to the bedroom to call it a night. You had made sure to keep a bowl of cold water and a rag nearby in case his fever came back.

"Thank you" "Hmm?" You had turned to look at him a bit confused. "I said thank you. For helping me" You smiled and laid beside him in bed. "No need to thank me, love" you planted a kiss on his forehead "I'll always be here to help you. Even if you think you don't need it." He smiled and chuckled. Maybe he didn't need to always act so tough. He knew you loved him, and he knew you didn't think of him the way he told himself you did. At the end of the day it's nice for him to know that he also has someone he can depend on when in need.

[lockpickingliar]

Munchausen's Proxy

April is the Cruelest Month: Day Four

Falling from a high place-|-Hunted-|-Fever-|- “I’m scared” (Bonus: Whumper Turned Caretaker) Loopyv3rse: To Be Raised By Despair—Mikan caring for him when sick Loopy is open for asks.

CW: medical abuse, manipulation and despair of a young child

Everything was hot and cold at the same time. The room was dark, but somehow it still managed to spin and Kokichi groaned and tossed in bed. His stomach twisted and his pajamas were sticky, his hair sticking to his sweaty forehead. Tears streaked flushed, feverish cheeks as he turned again, desperate to find a comfortable position. His wrist itched, but he couldn't scratch it. He got in trouble the last time he tried.

The door clicked open, letting in a stream of light from the hall.

"Kokichi?" came the soft, shy voice. Kokichi immediately stilled as his heart stuttered in his chest.

It was Nee-nee.

She wheeled a small cart into the room, clicking on a soft lamp on the nightstand to illuminate the room. Kokichi whined pathetically as she peered down at him with an unknowable something in her eyes. He wasn't sure why, but something was different about his Nee-nee whenever Kokichi was sick. Or rather, whenever she was taking care of him.

Something like a cat peering down at a helpless mouse.

She smiled sweetly, brushing Kokichi's damp bangs from his face. "Oh me, oh my, has that pesky fever still not broken?"

"It's sticky, Nee-nee," he croaked, tears pricking his eyes. "Make it stop..."

He couldn't tell if her smile changed or if it was the fever playing tricks on him.

"Don't worry, dearest," she tutted, turning to fiddle with whatever was on her little cart. "I'm sure some fluids will help."

Kokichi's stomach rolled at the sight of the IV bag. No, no, he didn't like the fluids! Anything but that, he'd even take Teru-nii's soup at this point. He didn't like how the cloudy contents of that bag made him feel.

She seemed unfazed however, hanging the bag up on the stand affixed to her baby brother's bed as he cowered under the covers.

"Kokichi, I need to attach this—" She tried to peek under the blankets to get to the IV port taped to Kokichi's wrist, but he snatched it away, hugging it to his chest.

"Don' wanna, Nee-nee! Feels icky!"

Her momentarily surprised expression melded into another smile. A different one. Kokichi shivered.

That was the bad smile.

"Silly boy," she cooed with a saccharine sigh. "The fluids are what will help you not feel icky anymore!"

For the first time in his life, Kokichi doubted his Nee-nee.

She must have known, because her smile finally fell, leaving an eerily blank stare in its wake.

"Kokichi, you know that you're sick, right?"

Kokichi whimpered.

"You need someone to take care of you. To tend to your fever."

Her tone was so distant. Was she talking to him, or at him?

"You can't do anything like this. You're so small, so ill, completely helpless..."

She took a shuddering, breathy sigh.

"Who better than the Ultimate Nurse to care for you? " she drawled, her gaze sliding off to the side in a daze. "Your Nee-nee, right? Do you not trust me, Kokichi?"

Kokichi's chest tightened. His head hurt. He was dizzy. He wanted it to stop.

Nee-nee knew best, right?

"I-I trust you, Nee-nee," Kokichi stammered. "I just...!"

He eyed the bag warily.

"I'm scared..."

Her smile returned, and she held out her hand for his. "I know, Koko. Let Nee-nee make the scary sickies go away..."

Kokichi stared at her hand, then looked up at her again. A sweet, reassuring smile graced her features, but that... thing in her eyes remained. Kokichi didn't know what it was. It made his skin crawl, but...

Nee-nee knew best.

He gingerly turned over his arm, and she deftly took it in her chilly hands, turning it over to attach the IV to the port. Kokichi buried his face in his pillow, preparing for the burning sensation that would inevitably creep up his arm and through the rest of his body as the fluids entered his veins.

[roonotrue]

Cult of the Lamb: Redemption Chapter #4

TW: Depiction of painkilling herbs being eaten- aka one loopy-as-hell cat.

Realizations - Narinder

Narinder is not a poet. Not a writer, or a master of words.

So it is no surprise that Lamb's confession stunned him into silence.

"And I wanted you to care so much, but you didn't."

How is he supposed to care if he didn't fucking know? That's not fair of them to hold that against him. It's not fair for them to act like some heartbroken beau that he led on, and then tossed aside.

And then they had the audacity to leave before he could even find a way to respond.

He supposes a part of him is relieved they're not kneeling in front of him anymore while he's trying to sort through his thoughts.

They cared about him. What does that even mean? In the context of a god and a follower?

He thinks he knows exactly what Lamb means, but he'll be damned if he just assumes...

He tries to look back and pinpoint the moments that could give him some kind of hint, or insight into what they mean. Moments that he somehow missed the first time around.

But looking back, all of his memories feel hazy.

Like a terrible, violent fever dream of being so angry, in pain, waiting... Then the betrayal. Every time they try and think back on moments with the Lamb they are greeted by that moment.

When they refused to give the Red Crown back, and instead chose to raise their blade to him.

And every time he is reminded of that moment, he is filled with this cold, dead weight in his chest that he wants to call rage but he knows it's something different.

Hurt.

And hurt made him angry.

Why did it hurt so much? Because he let himself become fond of the wretched beast, he tells himself. He grew attached, even though he knew exactly how things were meant to end.

But they didn't end that way, did they? And now here he is. Alone.

Looking down at his bandages, he can still feel the cooling, refreshing sensation of the medical salve, easing the soreness of his wounds. It didn't help at all with the cramping in his muscles, or aching in his bones, causing the horrible shaking throughout his limbs.

But a feeling that trumps the cramping, or the cooling of the medicine are the traces... The traces of Lamb's touch linger all over his body. His arms, around his ankles, his back and torso. Everywhere he tries to focus his attention he feels them.

Such light, careful care, embedded all over him deeper than the injuries left by his chains.

It had made him forget how angry he was, and say things he shouldn't have... Feel things he shouldn't have.

Things like that horrible fondness, that make him want to hear Lamb's laughter again. That makes him want to hold them in his hand, and hope that they're bold enough to duck under his veil again so he can see them better...

They were so close to him, and when they pulled away, he grabbed them. Not wanting to lose the feeling. The momentary peace that being so close to someone after so long brings. Even if that person is them. The one who...

Who makes him so hurt and so angry every time he thinks about them. About what they did, or what they're doing now. Being so kind, and so damn sincere that he wants to believe them, but he can't.

He can't trust them, he or be fond of them, and he certainly can't care about them, because they took everything from him. His power. His divinity. His dignity.

The only thing they left him with is his life, and he's still 50/50 on whether that's worse.

His torso has yet to be bandaged. The lamb left so quickly, that he can only assume they are going to get this 'Miki' person to do the stitches and finish wrapping him up.

He doubts it will be the last time he sees Lamb while he's... 'Unwell' like this. So he needs to figure out what to say when they do come face to face again.

Does he need to say something? Does he want to say something? Should he confront them about the unfairness of this situation? Or just let it go and pretend it never happened?

Narinder has already come to terms with the fact that he's stuck accepting their help and afterward being stuck as a mere follower- he'll be damned before he has to do any pathetic chores or menial tasks though.

Now, though... He's conflicted. He had planned to ignore Lamb after he was healed and didn't need their assistance anymore... But he wants answers. He wants to know what Lamb means when they say they care, and why their admission confuses him so much.

Makes him want to clarify things.

Tell them that he might not have... Cared in the same way he thinks they mean, but that he had... Preferred them to... Past vessels?

Fates, he feels like a fool.

If he wasn't in so much pain, he'd throw himself back onto the bed and bury his head under the pillows to try and block out all these thoughts and feelings.

"Um... Hello? Narinder, sir? May I come in?"

He's still leaning over the bed, glaring daggers at the empty ground where Lamb had been when the clear-toned voice interrupts his inner conflict.

"Come in." He sighs, and the fennec fox's head pops through the curtains, looking around before stepping inside.

The light from outside has turned a deep orange and pinkish tone. The sun is setting.

She's holding a small wooden box of well-organized metal tools and supplies, and she strides up to him, holding her silence, and focused gaze as kneels behind him, and examines his back.

Narinder wants to whirl around and hiss at her to back the fuck up, but he doesn't have the physical energy or pain tolerance to do so.

"I'm guessing you're Miki?" He sighs, giving up on doing anything but sitting down and just dealing with whatever he's handed.

"Yes. I take care of most medical-related issues around camp. The Lamb was right, these do need stitches, a lot. I imagine it's just as bad in the front. Are these scars anything to worry about?" She points at the two identical scars running just below his pecs, and he shakes his head.

"No. I've had those since before all this. Top surgery scars, I don't think any of you followers know what that is..." He sighs, and she shrugs.

"We have top surgery, it's just not as... Safe. As it could be. I'm working on making it safer. We can talk more about it later because I do have questions regarding where your surgery was done and by whom, but for now..." She pauses to meet his gaze and holds up the curved needle in her hand.

"This is going to take a while so settle in and lay down on your stomach. I can offer you some herbs to numb the pain, but they'll make you very tired, and kind of loopy. It's up to you if you want them though." She steps back to give him space to move.

Lamb clearly didn't tell her that he can't move very well without help, and he isn't about to admit it.

So he settles for trying to force his body to move through the pain.

His back is the worst of it, digging a deep growl out of his throat as he tries to twist himself around, onto the bed on his stomach, without moving the blanket off of him and giving the poor follower an eyeful.

"Do you need assistance? I understand that you can't move very well, but I wanted to see it for myself to analyze. Can you describe the kind of pain you are experiencing?" Ah, so she does know.

"It's a cramping. So bad that I can't stop shaking, or get my limbs to do what I want. My back and legs are the worst." He explains as she places a slightly too firm grasp on his shoulders and mildly manhandles him to lay on his back.

Giving her a full view of his injuries.

"Hmm. I have dealt with a few similar cases in people who haven't moved for long periods, usually only a few months, but years... Well, I'll tell you now, it's not an easy fix. Do you want the herbs? They won't take effect immediately, but it will make everything less painful, stitches and cramping. They'll also probably put you to sleep for the rest of the night." She talks slightly faster and far more monotone than he expected for someone who follows Lamb.

Something about the lack of emotion in her voice creates a professional air in the whole shelter. An air that makes him feel far safer than he's felt in his entire time being here.

"I'll take them. How do I get rid of the cramping?" He asks as he hears her shuffling around the supplies.

She moves around and he turns his head to look at her as she holds out a small leaf-bound bundle, he swallows it quickly as the bitter taste nearly makes him gag.

"I don't want you to push yourself too much because of your outward injuries, but the only real way to help regain your strength and control over your limbs is to exercise and stretch them. Water therapy would be best, but submerging your stitches isn't an option." She explains, her hands poking and prodding at his back, pulling painfully at some of the deeper wounds.

Far less gentle than Lamb had been.

"Watch it." He hisses, in pain, and then lets his curiosity win. "And what's water therapy?"

"Swimming, essentially. A gentler alternative to normal physical therapy. Either way, you'll need someone to oversee it, myself ideally, but I can train the Lamb to aid you instead if you are not comfortable with my presence." He only hums in response.

His body doesn't hurt as much, and as she said, he's becoming drowsy. His eyelids are heavy, and the shaking in his arms is subsided. He hardly even feels the sharp piercing as it follows a horizontal path around his waist.

He's half asleep when it stops and moves up around his left shoulder blade. Then right. Then the same monotone voice asks him to turn over so she can 'evaluate the damage'.

He would think that the newfound lack of agony coursing through his bones would make it much easier. Instead, the fatigue pulls him down and makes his whole body turn to dead weight. She's talking again, and he peeks his eyes open but quickly decides that whatever it is, isn't as important as sleep.

So he closes them again.

~~~

"You've done well vessel. Soon enough, my chains will be broken, thanks to your ruthless efficiency." He's staring at them, as they sit in his hand, only a few inches from his face.

They're awfully silent this visit. Usually, they break into a ramble about the crusade they had just died during, or the way things around the cult are going. And Narinder would listen. Their voice is soothing. Easing the burning tension in his body the moment they arrive, and look up at him with that radiant smile, so overjoyed to see him again.

~~~

He opens his eyes when there are small hands- the fennec fox's hands trying to lift him to roll him over. He can't recall her name... Miku? Mimi? Something like that. She curses under her breath.

He tries to aid her in her weak attempts, even though his mind is hazy. But he must have done something right because now he's on his back, and the piercing is on his stomach now so he closes his eyes again.

 ~~~

He likes this one. This vessel. A small, innocent-looking Lamb, with all the fire and maliciousness of a thousand suns, scorching all who stand against them. Yet when they stand before him, they are soft-spoken. They laugh a lot, usually at something he does or says.

He doesn't know what's so funny, but the sound is like music, so he doesn't question it.

Others, like Ratau, were weak, but not just that, they were so... Boring. They didn't speak much, didn't respond well, and only ever bowed to him before being sent back to the overworld. 

~~~

When he opens his eyes again it's to the sound of Lamb's voice.

"Narinder, I'm just gonna help hold you up while Miki wraps the bandage around you- oof! Okay- this, uh, this works. I guess." Their laughter is nervous, hesitant, and not the carefree one he would much rather grace his ears.

He is leaning forward, his head resting against them. They don't smell like blood, or death like he expects now that they are the God of Death. No, they smell like they always have. Like wildflowers, and fresh air after rain.

They're warm, and he bunts his head against the side of their face, before burying it into their neck, shutting his eyes again.

~~~

"What troubles you, my vessel? You have not spoken, by now Aym and Baal are ready to kick you out themselves." He chuckles, as he looks down at the mentioned twins, who side-eye glance at each other and shrug in agreement to the statement.

His dear Lamb looks up with startled eyes, and he can't help but chuckle. They must not have realized how obvious they were being...

"Nothing! Really it's nothing, well, not nothing, nothing, just... I want to tell you something, but it's hard to... Word. And I don't think that right now is the best time..." They ramble now.

Perhaps he shouldn't have said anything...

~~~

He opens his eyes this time because Lamb laughs again. A good laugh at something the small fox said. Soft, but sincere, and he can feel it reverberate through their chest. He wraps his arms up and around them to pull him closer and they become stiff as a board.

He doesn't care though, as his hands rest at their waist, and a deep rumbling is sounding from somewhere... Is it coming from him? Is he purring? He hasn't purred in a long time, and it's hard to recognize the sound.

He shoves his face into his Lamb's soft wool as he closes his eyes for what's hopefully the final time...

~~~

"Silence, Lamb, you need not speak of it if you wish not to. I only wish to know, so that I might ease the worries off of your face. I much prefer your smile." He raises his other hand to lift his Lamb's chin carefully with the tip of his clawed pointer finger.

They smile as they meet his eyes, but it is still nervous, and unsure. They glance away from him, their eyes darting around the afterlife, refusing to meet his gaze.

"I... Appreciate that, but I think I'll save what's on my mind for later. How about after I've gotten you out of these chains? Deal?"  They now look a bit more energetic, as they jump up, and duck down, and before he has time to process it...

There they are. Underneath his veil, peering up into his blood-soaked eyes. Smiling, without a care in the world, as if what they've just done isn't enough to get them massacred by any other God in their right mind.

They lean against his nose, and he is suddenly hyper-aware of the fact that they smell like wildflowers and fresh air after rain. Such a refreshing... Lively scent. As if they aren't working for the God of Death, but rather frolicking fields with a God of Life.

They rest their arms on his snout and blink up at him, tilting their head ever so slightly in curiosity when he remains still in stunned silence.

They then laugh when he laughs, and he wants them to stay right there for as long as it might take for him to grow sick of their presence. But he's not sure when that might be. A century or two? Maybe three if they don't run out of things to talk about too quickly.

But alas. There are still Bishops to defeat, a cult to maintain, and chains to be broken.

Perhaps before he has them kneel to sacrifice themselves to him, he can ask them what it is they had planned on saying.

"Deal."

~~~

He wakes one final time when he's being carefully laid back onto the mattress and a soft voice is mumbling. His Lamb's voice.

Something about changing the bed sheets in the morning, and the current ones being bloodied.

"Lamb..." His voice is so quiet, it's a miracle he can even hear himself.

He has a tight hold on their fleece.

"Yes, Narinder?" Their voice is wobbly, and he tries to force his eyes open.

He wants to see them, but he's so tired.

"You planned to confess... After I was freed... How could I not see that you..." How could he not realize that they loved him?

Was he so oblivious? He could have read their mind at any time, but he didn't... He could have seen their feelings. He could have also seen their betrayal coming, but somehow, this is less important than their feelings.

"I... You're all loopy, Nari, go to sleep, and I'll bring you breakfast in the morning." They pry his hand off of their fleece, and he lets them, with a soft hum.

"Nari? I like that..." Nari. His siblings used to call him that when he was still very small, but stopped when he got older.

When he got the Red Crown.

"Hm. I'll call you it more often than if you promise not to try and kill me when you're less high." They stand up and pull one of the blankets up over him, and then they're walking away.

No. Stay.

Please stay.

His brain screams, but his mouth can't keep up, and the fog in his mind is so heavy and his limbs are so heavy and his heart is so heavy, and everything is just so damn heavy...

His heavy thoughts fill with thoughts of Lamb. His Lamb. Who smells like wildflowers and fresh air after rain. His Lamb. Who he was once so fond of, but now can't bring himself to feel such fondness without it reside beside pain. And anger. And distrust.

And they are in pain, angry, and distrustful too.

So how do either of them fix it?

~~~

When he wakes up he is alone, and his head is still hazy, and his body is in agony.

Stiff, and sore, his torso is immovable, a dull throbbing making him groan in pain. His arms and legs hurt just the same but aren't as bad as they were.

Maybe he's just too focused on his torso to care about the tremors as they start racking his arms again. Or, maybe it's the haunting realization of his own drug-induced actions last night that really keeps him frozen in his place, eyes wide, staring at the ceiling.

He didn't know he could be so... Touchy. When tired. But the smell of them is still swirling around in his mind, and it makes it hard to focus on anything else he did.

He doesn't remember all of it, not clearly anyway, from having been in and out of consciousness. But he remembers the moment Lamb arrived. When they laughed. When he leaned forward onto them. When he shoved his head into the wool on their neck. When he started purring so deeply he could feel it vibrating his whole body...

The room is cleared of all medical supplies, and the nightstand is cleaned off.

He's not exactly sure what time it is, or how long he's been asleep, but he knows, from the light slowly brightening around the edges of the window and doorway curtains that it's close to morning.

And that Lamb promised to bring him breakfast. So he needs to get his thoughts in order quickly.

He still needs to confront Lamb about their sudden admission to him. Then about that day... That distinct memory replaying in his mind helped him connect the dots even in his herb-induced state.

Lamb had wanted to confess to him after they freed him, and he...

Guilt is still a foreign emotion to him. He used to feel it in small amounts when he was a child and would get into spats with Leshy, or Heket and say something he didn't mean.

The worst time was during a thunderstorm that he had gotten caught in on his way back to the temple. He doesn't remember where he was returning from or when the first strike of thunder sent him running out of his own damn skin, but he does remember hiding.

Hiding, terrified in the small hollow of an old tree trunk. The mud soaking around his feet, and the bottom of his robe. When Shamura found him he was so afraid he hadn't wanted to get out from under the trunk, and when his older sibling reached in to grab him, he'd just... Lashed out.

His claws hooked on Shamura's forearm damn good, and he knew he drew blood when they tried to pull away and his claws yanked out of the skin it was caught on.

He felt the wave of guilt hit him harder than the fear and strike as quickly as the lightning of the storm around him.

And no matter how many times he apologized, or how many times Shamura tried to assure him it was alright, he was haunted by the feeling.

The guilt. That made his heart sink like lead in water every time he saw the paper-thin scars on Shamura's arm.

But all those times happened long ago before he was even given the Red Crown. Since then, this degree of guilt has snuck up on him twice. Both because of Lamb.

When he had snapped at them the other and they rushed out of the room on the verge of tears, and then now.

Feeling this overwhelming guilt because of this horrible realization that the entire time he had been waiting for the day they would sacrifice their life to him...

They were waiting to tell him that they were in love with him.

He wonders how they felt in that moment. The second he asked them to kneel, did they feel the same sinking dread in their chest that he felt when they chose not to?

Did they feel the same horrible dread when they marched to their death earlier that year, standing before his kin as they prepared to kill the final lamb?

If so then it truly confirms the thought that's been plaguing him for the last hour.

He's no better than them. Hell, he might be worse. At least they didn't trick any of the lambs they were slaughtering into trusting them. Or become selectively blind when said lamb fell in love with them.

Speaking of the new God of Death...

The moment that they knock on his door and step through the curtain with a soft, sad smile, and a warm breakfast in their hands he realizes something that makes all of his other realizations that much more horrid...

He never would have asked them to kneel, if he had known they loved him.

Maybe I even would have...

"Morning, Nari. I brought another mixed meal, everything is bland and seasonless, but there's a bit more variety. I'm also going to get started on those upgrades for your shelter. Nothing perfect, but function for now." They sit on the bed next to him, and he's glad to find that he can sit up a little easier on his own, without as much pain as before.

At least in his arms. His torso is irritated and sore as shit. Lamb moves to grip his arm and help him, and he bites his own tongue to stop from purring at the touch.

The herbs clearly haven't worn off completely just yet...

Looking them in the eye there are a million things he wants to say but what comes out isn't exactly what he's expecting.

"I'm sorry."

A simple two words as Lamb sits beside him to help him eat, just like they've done the day before. They freeze in place, staring at him with widened eyes, and he stares back.

As stunned as he is, he's surprised to find that he doesn't regret the words.

He's not sure that his own anger has subsided. Hell, looking at them now, glancing at the Red Crown on their head that was once his... He can still feel the flickering flames of frustration, and the much stronger flame of humiliation and embarrassment.

But neither are as strong as they once were. The raging wildfire has died down, turning to something more... Tired.

He just wants all this pain to stop, and to be able to move freely again.

He wants to be free.

It's all he thinks he wants anymore. Before the desire for freedom lived closely beside his desperation for revenge.

To destroy the other Bishops. His family. Make them pay for locking him up in the first place.

At some point... Maybe after the thousand-year mark, or maybe two thousand years, freedom became his main priority.

Revenge became an... Added bonus.

And now? It's all he's been thinking about- thoughts of Lamb not counting.

Wanting so desperately for the pain to subside so that he can once again see the world outside of this shelter.

And all the anger still buried inside is just a footnote in comparison to that desire.

So when he looks into the Lamb's eyes and sees their confusion, he doesn't have it in him to take the words back or snap at them.

He can't forgive them, at least not now. Perhaps not ever. But he knows he's tired of being mad. Tired of lashing out every time they reach out to help, and then feeling guilty an instant later.

And he is Sorry.

Sorry that he didn't know. Sorry that he never gave them a chance to tell him. Sorry, that...

In the end, he really wasn't any better than his siblings. Maybe he still isn't. He's not sure anymore.

What he is sure of, is that even if he's still angry, they have a right to be angry too, and yet...

They're helping him anyway. Caring for his wounds, feeding him, helping him move, and upgrading his shelter so he doesn't have to leave if he doesn't want to, and can just spend the rest of his immortal life locked indoors...

And all he's doing is complaining, snapping at them, and making them cry.

Even his shitty siblings, if they were here, would agree that that's not fair.

"You're... Sorry?" They repeat, head tilting, unsure, and stiff as a board.

"Yeah." He wants to lean forward towards them again but resists, grabbing the blankets below him just to keep himself anchored in place.

"I'm still angry at you. So... So angry. I hate that you spared me. I hate how pathetic, weak, and humiliated I feel. I hate that you're the one that's made me feel this way... But I... I recognize that you're angry too and that what I did was not... I shouldn't have... Fuck, I don't know..." He sighs, lifting a hand to drag down his face, and pausing to think of his next words carefully.

At this point he's glaring down at his remaining hand as his claws dig into the blanket, refusing to look back up at Lamb.

"I don't know that I regret what I did, but I regret that I hurt you when I did it. I regret that I didn't know because if I did... I'm not sure things would have played out the way they did. But we can't change that now, so I'm sorry. Sorry, that I was, and that I have been, ignorant." He finishes his botched apology.

It's not elegant. Not exactly what he wants to say either, but it will have to do, because now his head hurts.

He just wants them to respond already, but glancing up, the deep frown and contemplating look on their face tells him their gonna need a minute.

A long. Long minute.

"You're wrong..." They breathe, the words a whisper in the silent room.

His eyes dart to theirs, but they carefully avoid his questioning gaze.

"Do you remember much of last night? When you were talking to me before I left?" They ask, setting the bowl on the bed beside them, and bringing their hands into their lap, twiddling their thumbs.

I remember I didn't want you to leave...

"I remembered the day you ducked under my veil. The action distracted me from the conversation, but I remembered it last night. That day... You were planning to tell me that you... Cared." He doesn't dare say the real word. Not out loud. "Weren't you?"

"I was. I had this silly idea that... That after you were freed, I would confess, and you would accept, and I would show you the camp and everything I've built for... For you. And that maybe we could... I don't know. It's stupid, thinking about it now." They stand up and move around the bed towards the window.

Still avoiding his eyes, as they follow their movements with far too much interest.

Lifting a hand, with a single finger he cracks open the curtain just slightly, letting the morning light peek inside, as they look out.

"But then... Everything happened... You were right when you called me weak. When you were defeated, and I had the choice to spare or kill you, I was weak. I couldn't bring myself to do it, because a part of me still hoped that if I spared you, you would..." They let out a shaky sigh, and finally turn to look at him.

A pleading look in their eyes, begging him to understand so they wouldn't have to say it out loud.

"Oh." A dim response. But what the hell else could he say?

"Yeah. Oh." They give a dry laugh, and move back, sitting on the edge of the bed, before sliding down onto the floor.

They rest their hands over their eyes.

"But you're wrong about me being angry at you. I'm angry at myself, and every time I look at you I'm just... Miserable. Sad that nothing happened the way I wanted it to, and now here we are. You're wounded and in pain, and I'm so conflicted and confused about this." They motion up to the Red Crown.

"I mean, I'm a god now. I never planned on that! I've been leading this cult with the expectation that you'd take over once I freed you, but instead, I'm going to be their leader for who knows how long! And I can't even get half of them to stop wanting to eat their own shit!" Their voice rises the more they rant, and he snorts at the last part.

"Yeah, well, followers aren't as smart as they used to be. Back when The Old Faith was at its best, Shamura had a strong school system in place, and Kallamar was an expert in medicine and hygiene, sharing his knowledge with his most devout so that they could spread the word of what is and isn't good for you. Such as eating shit." He comments, a small smile gracing his face.

"But that was... A long time ago. Since my imprisonment, the Bishop's wounds, and the genocide of the lambs, everything has deteriorated. Now those who remain are just trying to survive. No shepherd to guide them." Another realization, he notes as he speaks.

"You are the only god remaining now, Lamb. The only one that can create so much as a semblance of society, so that they no longer have to struggle. So that they can actually enjoy life before their bodies wither, and they have to surrender their souls to you. The new God of Death." He sits up and tosses his mildly aching legs over the side of the bed.

Moving as slow as he can for his torso's sake, and relying solely on what little arm strength he has, and a bit on gravity, he pushes himself down onto the floor. Next to Lamb. The blanket is dragged down with him.

"Well, that really makes me feel better." They grumble, looking at him and his tail involuntarily brushes against their arm, an attempt at comfort.

"I'm not trying to make you feel better-" Liar. "Just telling the truth."

"... I've been leading them long enough to know what I need to do, I just don't know how. Some of my more valued followers like Noon, and Miki are trying to help, but neither of them knows much about the divine aspect of it, like shepherding souls, maintaining the afterlife, etc..." They lift a hand up, grabbing the crown of their head and bringing it down in front of them to examine.

"I do." He blurts, not fully thinking about how much it sounds like an offer.

They too jump, head darting to look at him.

"You'll help me?" They ask, disbelief heavy in their voice.

"Maybe. If your cult doesn't fall apart before I can breathe without pain, then maybe- and that's a very strong maybe. I'll consider giving you some pointers on how to be a proper God of Death. A way to earn your forgiveness, since I doubt my words mean much to you." He subconsciously moves his tail again, brushing it along the side of their face.

When he sees it, he quickly grabs the offending part and pins it to the ground. He's grateful when Lamb chooses not to mention it, only glancing at the now pinned tail with a soft giggle.

A giggle that makes his fur stand on end in a fluttering feeling he can't even begin to identify.

Embarrassment. That's what he's going to call it. Embarrassment.

"They do mean something, Narinder... I know it took a lot for you to say them, so thank you, for apologizing..." Their smile drops, and they turn their gaze away.

"But?" He can feel it coming from a mile away.

"But I think it's going to take a lot more to fix things than an apology. I'm still not even confident that when you get better you won't just try to attack me and get the crown back then..." They're right to be paranoid about that.

He's thought about it. A lot.

Is still kind of thinking about it.

"Right. Well, I don't plan on doing that right now, we'll see about later though." He can't help but smirk at the small glare they send his way.

"I guess I can live with that. And for the record, I'm sorry too. Not for choosing not to die, but that you feel weak and humiliated because of me. But you should know, Narinder, that you are not pathetic. You're strong, and I beat you by a hair, and now, here you are, dealing with a pain that no normal mortal alive could tolerate... You're..." They pause, meeting his eyes for a long moment.

There's something there. Something akin to adoration- much like the kind they used to wear on their face when they looked up at him when he was a god.

It makes his fur stand on end again in embarrassment.

Embarrassment that's all it is.

He has to break eye contact, turning to look at the window, and flinching when light hits his eyes. The small opening Lamb made earlier still bleeding light into the room.

They notice his flinch.

"Oh, right, your eyes. Sorry." They stand up, quickly, moving a single step forward to close the curtain properly.

"It's fine." He hadn't even realized how close they'd been. It was just so natural. Being so close to them...

It felt strangely right.

Now though, with the distance between them, the spell is broken. Even they seem to realize it.

"Right well, I do have a lot to do today so... Why don't I switch your bedsheets, get you back in bed, get you fed, and then work on those shelter upgrades, hmm?" There is a newfound pep in their step.

And in a second they're bouncing across the room with an energy that does not match the conversation they've been having for the last half-an-hour.

A mask. One that they put on so easily it's almost frightening.

But he doesn't complain. He's gone through enough emotions to last him a week, and right now, he just wants to eat and go back to sleep.

Of course, Lamb isn't going to make it that easy.

"Sooo, about last night, was it the herbs that made you all cuddly or am I just that adorable?" They look back at him with a teasing smile that could light up the darkest of nights.

"Shut the fuck up-!!"

~~~

Fun fact: Miki is based on one of my favorite followers from my first-ever game, a game that my little cousin ended up deleting when I let him play on my Switch. That's the real betrayal here. I still haven't forgiven that 11-year-old punk.

I'm thinking about making an 'introduction to the featured and background OC's post.' What do y'all think?

[oblivionsdream]

Apologies if you've been asked this before, but I'm currently high as a kite on flu meds and loopy with a fever, and it made me wonder who is the more dramatic patient out of Sir Augustine and Jester? Is it nice and predictably our Jester? Or does Sir Augustine get the man flu and break his stoicism because FUCK ME, FEVERS SUCK ASS!

Also, who is the better caretaker of the two/how would they look after each other? Loopily yours, Maybe a Walrus? I'm not sure at the moment 😵‍💫

Oh nooo! I hope you feel better soon!

To be honest Jester would be very predictably the worst one. He would be absolutely dramatic about the entire thing and the neediest bastard in the world. Partly just for the attention and then also because he genuinely feels bad. A small cold and he’s acting like he’s dying. 😂

Augustine would be the type to try and claim he’s not sick even if he was on the verge of keeling over. He would keep denying it until someone forced him into bed before finally relenting and just being the most pathetic patient because he now feels so utterly bad because he refused to rest prior.

I think Augustine would be the better caretaker. He would actually be incredible tender and considerate and would just steadfastly do what he could. Jester would mean well and do his best but would also be way too high strung about it like “Sorry sorry. Didn’t mean to wake you. Again. Just wanted to make sure you hadn’t died!” He would be a bit overbearing about it because he’s just concerned.

Feel better soon Walrus!

[rubykgrant]

I finally just read the general plot of Mouthwashing, and most of the nerd-osmosis I absorbed from what people post about it matched pretty well, HOWEVER... now that I know what actually happens, I will share this assumption I made based on I guess the vibe of random things I saw with context my brain made up; I could tell that Curly had a Bad Time. I could also tell that everybody collectively hated Jimmy. I could tell this was was a weird sci-fi story, with some psychological horror going, etc. I thought that the events of the story (which I only saw in bits and pieces) were being told in a NOT linear way, perhaps a combination of characters going a little loopy with cabin fever in space/head i juries from the crash causing them to incorrectly remember what happened/what they are doing AND some wacky sci-fi time travel nonsense. So. I thought Curly WAS Jimmy, meaning yes- Jimmy was the horrible a-hole who hurt his crewmates and caused them to crash, after which he had a Bad Time and got all messed up, and the crewmates just... started treating him like a different guy, but he's still proverbially "haunting the narrative" because they all imagine "Jimmy" is still around, causing problems and trying to sabotage them, but that's just them kinda lashing out at each other and hallucinating a Jimmy that keeps hurting them (and maybe with wacky sci-fi nonsense, it really is a... whatever, "temporal clone of Jimmy's subconscious that took form after going through a black hole" something-something-BS). It all seemed to fit the themes with guilt, survival, and surreal thinking. I can't stress enough that this was NOT a "fan-theory" or an AU, this was just an assumption from having very little information but getting that "confused narrator" sci-fi vibe from everything

[sunny-mercya]

Hey, Brother do you still believe in one another?

13. Osaka Trip - Fever Migraine

Heiji Hattori x Male Reader | Plantonic! Shinichi Kudo x Brother Reader

Fandom -> Detective Conan/Case Closed

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Words like violence Break the silence

Come crashing in into my little world

Can't you understand oh my little boy

Pleasures remain So does the pain

You wished to be deaf—wanting, if you weren't chained, to stab repeatedly something into your eardrums and making them bleed—never wanting to hear your own voice—the banshee like screams of horror and pain which came ripping, like a claw, through your throat—ever again.

The sounds of skin slapping against skin, his fawning breath with his heavy breathing and grunts down your face—next to your ear—and your own disgusting shameful moans—which are mixed with the cries and screams of begging him to stop—just stop—and the breathless gaps of whimpering in between—are an cursed reminding melody in your mind.

Blood—your blood, so crimson and rich in colour—which, now dried and sticky on your skin, leaked—beside the white sperm, out from your below and leaving a puddle to lay in behind.

Daiki wasn't gentle (and never would be) like Heiji—whenever you both had sex, when that certain magnetic pull came over the both of you and bringing forth a passionate lust—no, Daiki was mercilessly and brutal.

Daiki had rammed, without warning and any preparations, inside you and with such a force it got you bleeding—but he didn't stopped, thrusting even deeper into you that you thought........what did you thought?

Ever since Daiki had you locked up—in sense of being bound, chained, to an room you couldn't escape out form—your head feels like a constant static, buzzing with way too loud sounds of crashing and hissing—a chalkboard scratching in your brain it was.

Consciousness comes and goes from you—barely awake during most times to really gather a proper sense of thoughts and neither aware of the surroundings—stuck in a dreamless—sometimes haunting—limbo of surrealism with its absurdity of illusion and loss for the reality you should feel to be in.

Minds so full of a daze, you believed first you're shitfaced drunk—only having come close to it, during a Disco night with Sachiko—and that's why you could barely remember in gathering your own thoughts.

But even so, if that would be the case, then why is this loopy feeling—which spins your head like a carousel around—still present?

A pressuring pain hammers in the back of your head and echoing through your skull—and even with this loopy feeling, you knew a Migraine was coming.

Migraines either coming in a hurricane full force or slow crawling towards you—whichever way it was, the immense pressuring pain—which could make you black out sometimes—was always the same and without any sort of painkillers or ice cold baths to help reduce it, the pain was unbearable to even consider to be awake at all.

Sometimes it got so bad—when your ears starts to feel clouded up with cotton, a shiver down your spine and the sensation of numb tingling through your body—you had the urge to vomit and cruel up.

And although knowing how awful your migraines are, you rather take this suffering—than the pain Daiki inflicts you with.

Daiki says it's love and you beg to differ—this is anything but certainly not love, because what he does to you is a twisted thing of humanity rottenness.

~~~

Unlocking your chains, Daiki hoisted you up and carried you into the bathroom downstairs. Sure, whenever he does it—quite frequently as Daiki likes, what he always would say without being asked, his dear husband nicely clean after rounds of endless love making—you could made a run for it, but with how loopy and tired you felt, it wouldn't be far.

»I know, I know, dear. You having a headache, but I'm here and got what you need.« hushed Daiki after he draws a bath—with too much bubbles in it and a strong fragrance smell—and sats you in.

Pouring a cup of water—the temperatures way too hot for your liking, skin melting it feels—over you and tilting your head back, Daiki shows the bright orange pill which he holds up.

»See? And I'll give it to you, if you giving me, your perfect husband, a kiss~« to prove his point, Daiki places the pill in between his lips.

Staring blankly at Daiki, you weighed this generous offer out—Daiki wasn't really a kind person and when he does such small gestures of kindness to you, it always end up with another stab of pain afterwards.

Kissing Daiki on your own—and not having his lips being forced on yours—would feel as if you really had cheated on Heiji now—it's already bad enough that you, unwillingly, slept with Daiki and this alone makes you ashamed enough and guilt ridden—and you couldn't do that to him.

Would Heiji even still want to be together with you, when you eventually break free from this starting of hell? Probably not.

»Oh?« was all Daiki said and in a flash of seconds, forced you underwater.

Your legs kicked up, splashing water everywhere. Mouth agape in a gaps of shock, letting the water inflate your lungs.

There's definitely a difference between trying to drown yourself and getting drowned by someone else—and the latter sparked more fear in you—as it resurfaced back the memory of when you were a child and accidentally slipping into a park pond, which also makes you hesitate to swim and step into water ever since.

Back at the surface, above the water, you coughed and coughed—getting the water out your lungs.

You wonder, if you somehow managed to kill yourself while being here—it wouldn't be too much of a disappointment for the others.

Every now and then I get a little bit tired of listening to the sound of my tears

Every now and then I get a little bit nervous that the best of all the years have gone by

Once upon a time I was in Love

Now I'm only falling apart

Total Eclipse of the heart