#the fever made him loopy

[ask-the-celestial-family]

Lunar, Eclipse has a very bad fever. His fans aren’t working.

Shit. *carefully gets up without waking up Emery* He needs something cold to cool him down then. He'll burn through his circuit board otherwise. *grabs ice packs from the daycare's freezers and goes up to Sun's room. Clipsey? Honey, you have a fever? -Lunar💮

I feel horrible. It's so warm. -Eclipse🧸

I know, Clipsey. These should help, okay? *places ice packs on his joints* -Lunar💮

'S cold. -Eclipse🧸

I know, baby. It'll help. Just breathe through it. I'm sorry I left you alone today. I should have told Jack to send someone else. I didn't remember you'd be sick. -Lunar💮

[theshiftanlibrary]

┈◦•◦❥•◦ | In their ways...

SYNOPSIS: Uh oh! It seems you have fallen ill! Not to worry dear prefect, they will look after you, albeit in their own ways.

CHARACTERS: Riddle Rosehearts; Leona Kingscholar; Azul Ashengrotto; Jamil Viper; Vil Schoenheit; Idia Shroud; Malleus Draconia

TAGS: Fluff; Established Relationships; Hurt/Comfort; Sickfic

He couldn't help his smile. You were just too cute. Few would beg to differ, what with your snotty nose and whistling breaths, but they wouldn't dare defy the Queen. Lest they lose their heads. He probably shouldn't allow you to take him as your personal pillow, after all he had so much to do. But... A rest won't hurt him. And even if it weren't for you, Trey would have forced his rest.

Stupid Ruggie... That soup he gave you should have worked an hour ago. Yet, here he is, still suffering through your little whimpers. The twitching stopped though and so did the tossing and turning. So, small wins for now. He probably should have taken you to the infirmary already, but it's his nap time and he's not going to lose his (favorite) pillow. You were the perfect size for cuddling too, what with your small back fitting perfectly into his chest as his arms cradled you so. Tch... Stupid herbivore, why'd ya have to go and get sick?

The little coughs from the couch pulled at his heartstrings. A strange thing to feel while also simultaneously hooking a poor unfortunate soul into one of his contracts. But his heart still sang whenever he sees you resting on the couch in the VIP room. You were quite sick and loopy when you first plopped down into the couch, so in his benevolence, he draped his coat over your form. Nothing will come bother you here, he'll ensure it.

The chicken soup is taking too long, he muttered to himself. Your skin burnt as hot as the desert sands, which was concerning to say the least. Even Kalim's fevers weren't this bad. What made it worse had been the fact that you came into the Scarabian kitchens with the fluffiest blanket Kalim had gifted you and your frame still shivered through all those layers. He silently thanked the Sevens for giving him the time to look after you too, since Kalim had been at the Light Music Club. He'll dedicate his life to you should you let him.

He couldn't bring himself to scold you. Your bleary eyes and red skin told him all he needed to know. A nasty flu afflicted you and you came to him for help. He's quite flattered. Normally, he'd start applying skin care products while listening to your latest escapades but today he simply tucked you into his bed. After your soft scratchy voice asked him so nicely, how could he refuse? Besides, washers were there for a reason. He left you to rest as he dashed around for flu remedies. At least he would have if it weren't for your whines, begging him to stay for just a little longer.

His hands kept readjusting themselves on your form, making you groan at him as you tightened your grip on his neck. He was sure you could hear his heart beating out of his chest, after all you did nuzzle yourself into his neck and hair. Speaking of his hair, he was also pretty sure you saw the pink glow from under your closed eyelids. His hair never shined so brightly before. But Ortho left him to get some medicine for you, which is cool. KK, GG. But he's gonna get KO'ed if he hears another contented squeak from you.

Your weight had been quite a relief upon his chest. He started to worry when he heard your scratchy voice politely asking him to cuddle you. He obliged, of course. Your form curled itself into a ball as he held onto you to trace every dip and divet he could find with his fingers. Your skin burned hot, indicating your fever. A voice very similar to Lilia's scolded him for not taking you to the infirmary, but he couldn't bring himself to move. After all, humans needed to rest when they're sick, yes?

A/N: Ani not posting Genshin content?! More likely than you think. Anyway, I wrote this when I was sick. So most of what the reader has, I had. Fever, runny nose, the whole works. And can you spot who are my favorites? 👀 And I redid my formatting, if you couldn't tell. what am i saying it's been so long since i posted a fic

[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.

[roxygen22]

Any of these fever prompts with timothee pls and thank you 😊

Love you 😘

Link 🔗

https://www.tumblr.com/lawrencespen1777/751448171874533376/whump-fever-prompts-comment-your-favorite-im?source=share

Love you, too, doll! 🥰

Prompt: "You're not thinking clearly right now."

Tether

My fingers carded through Timothee's hair, damp with sweat as he lay unconscious on the hospital bed. The rhythmic beeping of the monitor must have lulled me into a trance-like stupor; I nearly jumped out of my skin when the ER nurse pulled aside the blue curtain.

"Oh, sorry hun. I just need to hang a new bag for his meds."

I nodded and stepped aside so she could do her job. I wondered what drug they were switching to now, seeing as how the doctor wasn't even sure why Timothée's fever had spiked high enough to trigger convulsions.

Flashbacks of my best friend writhing on the couch plagued my mind and seared into my brain. He had been feeling unwell for a couple of days and had to cancel a work trip that he was looking forward to. Knowing he would be bummed, I decided to go visit, bearing his favorite snacks and a couple of movies I thought he'd enjoy from my DVD collection. He hadn't answered my texts, so I figured he was resting. I used the spare key he gave me to let myself in and-

I shuddered and shook my head to clear my thoughts. He was more than just my best friend, no matter how much I tried to convince myself otherwise because he didn't feel the same.

I don't know what I would do if I lost him.

Once the nurse left, I resumed my position by Timothee's side, slowly drifting off as I rested my head on the bed, my hand clinging to his. I thought I was dreaming when I felt his fingers clasp mine. I quickly sat up, blinking and rubbing the sleep from my eyes. I couldn't tell if hours or just minutes had passed.

"Hey," he said through a strained whisper as we locked eyes.

"Oh, Timmy, you're awake!" I lifted and kissed the back of his hand and pressed it to my cheek. "I was so scared."

"How did I get here?" he questioned, looking around as he became more lucid.

"I- I found you. I came to check on you, and...and-" The dam broke, releasing the flood of tears that had been held back by a thin veil of adrenaline. He flipped his hand to gently wipe them away with his thumb.

"You have a knack for always being there when I need you. [Y/N], I- I love you."

"I- you-?" I struggled to form a coherent response as my face contorted in disbelief. I loved him dearly but never thought he saw our friendship as anything more than that.

"[Y/N], I could hear your voice while I was out. I grabbed onto it like a tether. I wanted desperately to come back to you. The thought that I may die without ever telling you how I feel was killing me over and over again. I love you and I want to marry you."

I felt my jaw drop as my words failed me. Time crawled before my neurons fired again. "Timmy, I- I love you, too. So, so much. But I'm afraid you're not thinking clearly right now. How about we talk about this later so you don't say something you regret. Who knows if these meds have made you loopy. They wouldn't tell me anything." I stood and anxiously walked around the bed to look at the IV bag for a clue of how genuine his declarations were.

Timothée shook his head and grabbed my hand again with surprising swiftness for someone who just regained consciousness only a few minutes prior. He nervously rubbed his thumb over my left ring finger. His eyes brimmed with tears, and his voice cracked. "My [cleared throat]- my only regret is not saying it a long time ago. I know it's a little backward to ask you to marry me and then ask you out on a date, but -"

"Ask me again when we aren't in a hospital, and I will say yes to both." I bent down and kissed him gently for the first time, but certainly not the last.

<><><><><>

Masterlist

Tag List:

@croatianprincess @bluizh @jindongdongie @groovy-lady @pmak2002

[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!

[gravity-falls-fanatic89]

November's Naughty and Nice Stories

Day 13: A Little TLC

Stan Pines x Reader fluff

*Does contain language, and some description of throwing up*

Sitting at the counter, staring at the clock, waiting for the day to just wrap up, Stan came up behind you, and scared you back to life.

"Waddaya think you're doin'!?? Loafin' around, gathering flies with that dead stare! Get wor- cough, cough, cough-" he began hacking up a storm, putting his hands on his knees, then trying to compose himself again.

"Uh, Stan, you aren't looking too great. Don't you think you might be getting sick?" you said, looking a little concerned, as his face looked pretty red from all the coughing.

"Ack," he said, clearing phlegm from his throat," I ain't got the time to be sick! I'm Mr. Mystery, and Mr. Mystery --" and he puked on the floor, and you jumped.

"Stan! Holy shit!" And you grabbed plastic bags from the counter, seeing him puke...pink glitter? You shook your head, and dropped in front of him, guiding him to heave in there instead.

"Stan, we need to at least get you upstairs to bed! I'll call Soos in a little bit, but I need you to lean on me, and throw up in the bag if you're gonna do it again!" And you could see his poor face was sweating and pale. You climbed the steps with him, as he kept talking and tried not to gag.

"Oh, babe... Y'know I'm good....I'm Mr. Mys-" he swallowed hard, and glanced at you. "Wow...You're strong....And really cute...I always think that shit, but... I figure....I figure...Blaaaa-" he went into the bag again.

The man was delirious. He is ill, and loopy, and yet, hitting on me. Huh, he's got balls, you thought. No, he's just sick. You pushed the thought out, and got him to his room. You got him plopped on the bed, and talked him through it. You were going to have to get most of that off him, and lay him on his side.

"Stan, I'm going to undress you, and get you down to your underwear or whatever. You need to cool down, and lay on your side after that. You could drown in puke this sick."

"Oooooo...Getting to third base....And you...haven't taken me to....dinner. Whatta naughty....thing."

"Yeah, whatever ya old pervert. Let's get this stuff off you," and you helped him along, like a doll.

The jacket, then dress shirt, then shoes, pants, and finally, after 15 minutes, the girdle. You popped his fez off, and he thankfully didn't vomit during the process. You laid him on his side, and found a bucket from the hallway, and got him a cold wash cloth. He shivered a little, but he had some color back in his face, but was still sweating.

"Alright, Stan, you look a little better, so I'm going downstairs, and I'm going to close up, and let Soos know you are sick, and, I don't know. I'll be right back."

He looked up at you, his eyes misty. "Thank you. Sorry, hon."

Huh, he was being polite, definitely delirious, but hey, a broken clock is right twice a day. "Stan, you're sick. I'm not going to just let you feel like this and be alone, sick as a dog." And you went downstairs.

You made calls to Soos and the local pharmacy, and went to town to grab meds, soup, another blanket, crackers, cat litter for the puke, and ginger ale. You got back, and he was sleeping, but he left a note in terrible handwriting.

Sooooorry I'm an asshole.

Xo. Xo

Stan

You had to laugh a little, the poor guy was just out of it. Probably something going around as the temperature dropped, along with some weird food he ate. You set everything down, got some ice for the ginger ale, then grabbed a blanket and pillow from the next room over, and propped yourself a little ways from him.

"Goodnight Stan...I'm here if you need me."

The next morning...

You woke up before Stan, and crept to him, feeling his head. No fever or sweating now. And he must have got some ginger ale in the night. It was half drank, so he was at least hydrated. He actually did look really sweet sleeping, and not smelling like puke. You snuck out, and called Soos, then made some soup with crackers on the side.

When you went back up, he was at least awake. He was rubbing his head and smiled weakly at you. "Hey, sweetie...."

"Hey Stan, how are you feeling today?"

"A bit better. The old gut just ain't up for handlin' the concoction Mabel left in the summer."

"The WHAT?" you said, confused and peeved.

"Well, I was thirsty, and ran outta Pitt in the fridge, so I may have took a few swigs...." he said nervously, as you pressed your fingers into the bridge of your nose.

"Stan Fucking Pines, that bottle of....I don't even know is...I don't know! You may as well have drank paint thinner! If you weren't so sick still, I'd slap you." And you were very tempted to actually do it.

"Oooooo, didya worry about me?" he said, swatting his eyes at you as you rolled them so far back you almost saw your brain. "You like me a little."

"Stan, you were delirious yesterday," you told him, your cheeks getting pink from his taunting. "I was trying to be nice and all, and there you go-"

"Ya know I remember, right? You're strong and cute. Is it a crime to say that, even if I'm a crook? I just wanted to let you know in case somethin' really was up," as he turned his head to the window.

"Oh. Well, I do like you too, a little more than like, but I still want to slap you."

And he turned and looked back at you with a shit eat grin. "Ooooooo, I might like it, babe."

[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.

[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.

[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!

[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."

[spgothkidsheadcanons]

Goths taking care of s/o when they’re sick

Henrietta:

- MAMA HEN ALERT

- I REPEAT, MAMA HEN ALERT

- She’s all over you, fussing at you whenever you try to do something yourself

- She literally babysits you and makes sure that you have absolutely everything you need

- Medicine? Check

- Water? Check

- That one really good soup you love from the restaurant all the way across town? You bet she’s getting in the car and making the trek to get you that soup

- She loves you and she’ll do anything for you

- Please just let her baby you, it’s in her blood to make sure that you feel good at all times

You were laying face down in your bed, stripped down to a tank top and a pair of shorts to escape the heat from your fever. The covers of your bed covered one half of your body, trying to keep a happy medium between being hot and cold. Henrietta sat in a chair by your bed side, one hand rubbing circles on the exposed skin of your back and the other scrolling through a remedies list on her phone. She had not left your side since you started sniffling last night. When you woke up this morning hacking up your lungs, she jumped out of bed and got you every kind of medicine you might need to get you through the day.

You picked your head up, your hair sticking to your sweaty forehead, throat burning like fire and only being able to semi breathe through one nostril. Turning to look at her, your laid your head back down, your eyes studying her as she intently scrolled on her phone. You smiled at her. The medicine she had given you just a little bit ago had made you loopy, and all you wanted to do was sit there and stare at her.

“Henri, I love you.” you squeaked, voice sore from your multiple coughing fits. She looked to you, giving you a soft smile. “I love you, too.” she responded, looking back to her phone. “No, I really do love you. You’re seeing me at my worst.” you added, closing your eyes as exhaustion started to set into your body. She laughed, rolling her eyes. “Trust me, this isn’t your worst. I was there on your 21st birthday.” she responded, setting her phone down and turning to look at you. You cringed as you remembered how drunk you got that night, barely able to make it inside your home before you tossed your cookies.

Her hand moved from your back, causing you to whine at the loss of her touch. She stood from her chair, making her way to the side of the bed that wasn’t occupied. Henrietta pulled the covers back, sliding into the bed beside you. You waited until she made herself comfortable before you turned on your side and slid closer to her, lazily wrapping an arm around her. She ran her fingers through your hair, smoothing the strands that stuck to your forehead. Your eyes closed, and soon, you were knocked out, holding onto your girlfriend like your life depended on it.

Michael:

- Michael is another baby-er

- If he was on tour, he’d send his parents over to go check on you and make sure you were doing okay

- If he was in the studio, he was immediately driving to you to personally take care of you

- He cuts himself off from the social world just to stay home unbothered, turning his full attention on you

- He’s the kinda guy who, if you ask him for something, instead of stopping for a second and thinking, he’s already on his way to the store

- On foot

- He forgets he has a car if you ask him for something, instead he’s right out the door walking to the closest store

- And don’t be surprised if he comes back with a lot more shit than you needed. He just picks up anything that makes him think of you

Michael’s keyring jingled as he fumbled through them, looking for the house key. He had just got back from the store, stocking up on anything you might have needed to help you get over your temporary illness. Finally finding the key, he jammed it into the lock and opened the door, stepping in and locking the door behind him. He quickly shrugged his jacket off, not bothering to hang it on the coat rack, instead letting it fall to the floor. The only thing on his mind was putting up your ice cream and making his way back to the couch to sit with you.

Michael quietly stepped past you, snickering to himself as he say you laying stiff as a board with a cold washcloth on your head and a sleeping mask to block out the lights. Making his way to the kitchen, he put up anything that needed to put up, grabbing a glass of water and a bag that had a different assortment of medicines. He didn’t know exactly what to get, so he opted to just get everything that he thought would help.

Stepping back into the living room, Michael made his way over to the couch you were laying on. He took notice that you had begun to breathe through your mouth, your nose having gotten stuffier while he was gone. The tall man sat on the edge of the coffee table and placed his hand on your arm, gently rubbing it to show he was there. “Hey, (Y/n). I know you’re sick, but you need to sit up for a second.” he whispered, not wanting to be too loud. You groaned in response, being cut short as another coughing fit racked through your body.

Michael winced as your body finally relaxed, assisting you in sitting up just long enough for you to take the medicine. It was painful to swallow, and you took a minute to recoil from the burn. Tears welped up in your eyes, but you blinked them away. Your boyfriend frowned, reaching his hand out to cup your face. Leaning into his touch, you relished in the fact that his cool hands helped to ease the burning of your cheeks. All too soon, Michael removed his hand and moved to the couch, pulling you to lay against him. He ran his fingers through his hair, humming some random songs until you managed to finally go back to sleep. Kissing the top of your head, he decided to take a nap himself, holding one arm around you.

Pete:

- Remember how I said he doesn’t like when you take care of him when he’s sick?

- Well forget that if you’re sick

- He’s over as soon as you wake up and tell him that you don’t feel good, carrying a few different containers of soup.

- And yes, he had been up almost all morning making those for you

- He will cuddle with you no matter what kind of sick you have

- My mans just loves you a lot, and while he doesn’t want you getting sick from him, he’ll gladly get himself sick trying to take care of you

- Really, you both end up sleeping all day

- He found out the hard way that when you’re sick, you’re clingy, and you’re not letting him go

Pete had just finished warming up some of his uncle’s homemade chicken noodle soup for you in your kitchen. He poured it into a bowl he pulled from your cabinet, grabbing the exact spoon that you prefer using (the little spoons are 🤌🏻🤌🏻), and made his way into your bedroom. Thankfully, you were just dealing with a nasty cold and not the flu, your only major symptoms being a sore throat, sneezing and a cough.

Opening your door, he stepped inside, shutting it behind him. He looked at you sitting up on your bed, picking at your nails as you put your full attention onto some random show that was on the tv. You had definitely gotten over the worst of it, but you still felt bad. Thankfully, Pete’s been there since you came down with the sickness (Oo ah ah ah ah), and he’s been nonstop caring for you. In fact, if it weren’t for him, you probably wouldn’t have been taking your medicine as steadily as he made you.

Walking to the bedside, you finally noticed he had come in, turning your head and smiling at him. Scootching over to give him room, you grabbed the soup from him, allowing him to get into bed beside you before tucking in. You had practically begged him to get his uncle to make his famous soup recipe, and his uncle happily agreed when he heard that that you were feeling sick.

“Dude, if I could marry soup, I’d marry this soup right now.” you mused, happily enjoying the meal. He smiled, amused at your words. “It would go bad in a few days, I think it’s fruitless to marry soup.” he quipped back, looking at you. You sighed, pretending to cry about what he said. The medicine you’ve been taking has made you a little loopy, it didn’t take a fool to see that. “My soup husband. My soupsband.” you mourned over the loss of your pretend marriage. “Gone but never forgotten.” Pete added, causing you to cackle, only for a cough to rack through your frame. Your boyfriend rubbed your back, his heart breaking at the groan of pain you emitted after you settled.

“The only soupsband you’ll ever have is me.” he said nonchalantly, taking your empty bowl and setting it on your nightstand. “Yeah, probably. Oh well. As long as you make me soup and baby me when I’m sick.” you said, leaning on your boyfriend. He wrapped an arm around your shoulders, letting you lean against him as you both laid back. The rest of the day was filled with soup, tv, and the comfort of each other.

[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.

[i-literally-cant-with-this]

WC ::: Less than 900

A/N ::: I'm so damn loopy right now that I can't even read this as thoroughly as it should be read. Sorry. But I'm sure it's because I'm sick and have a growing fever (have I mentioned that enough? No. No, I don't think so.) Also, the counting being off really threw me for a loop. But I implore you, do not look too far into it. You'll end up on the wrong side of the asylum bars (jk).

MDNI under the cut, please!

C/W ::: hanma x f.reader, um, slight bondage (hanma's hands tied behind his chair), riding crop, smacking him around again because I love doing that ok?, language - you know what to do if there are any disasters.

Thank youuu!!!

You sat on your knees on the hard floor between Hanma's legs, your hand slowly skimming up and down the length of his painfully hard cock. The veins made it feel ribbed against your fingers.

Hanma's breathing was getting more ragged by the second, but he couldn't bring himself to care. Not when you were stroking him so perfectly. Not when your lips were moving closer and closer to the tip of his cock, your warm breath ghosting over it with each exhale.

He whimpered into the dimly lit room. "Aht! That was awfully close to a word, Shu-ji! You know the rules. No talking." You squeezed the head of his dick in your hand and ran the nails of your left hand down his right thigh. He hissed at that. You didn't know if it felt too good or too bad.

Quite honestly, you didn't give a shit.

"Do I need to punish you? Again?" You stared up at his eyes, the ones you knew you'd never forget. Not in this lifetime or the next. The ones that were just as dangerous as they were curious.

You didn't even know what it was about him that drew you in like a moth to a flame. It could have been the danger. It could have been his charm. It could have been his cock. It could have been the conversation the two of you had the first night you met.

Whatever it was, you couldn't get enough of it. And you didn't want to.

You leaned forward and licked a stripe up the underside of Hanma's dick, eliciting another whine from him. He wanted to beg for more, but he knew the consequences.

And honestly, the thought of being punished again by you was a little exciting.

You moved your hand up and down his cock faster, your grip tightening just enough to make him feel uncomfortable.

Spitting on it, you smeared the clear blob of saliva and precum and made his cock glisten. Your eyes widened in shock and arousal as he throbbed in your hand. It was so pretty.

You could feel yourself getting wet at the sight of Hanma's cock straining against your hand. Like it was trying to break free of your grasp.

Without warning, you took Hanma's cock into your mouth and sucked him down to the base. You didn't know how you were able to take him all in, but you were determined to do it.

His reaction was the most rich sound you've ever heard. He groaned and growled from deep in his gut and it erupted so violently. "FUCK!!! FUCKY/NFUCK!!!"

"Oh, Shu. Now I have to start all over." You gave him a fake little pout and got up to tighten the restraints on his wrists. "Poor baby boy."

He knew he was in trouble now. He'd broken the rules, and you weren't going to let him off easy.

"Shuji, I think you need to be taught a lesson." You walked back over to the bedside table and pulled out a riding crop.

Hanma's eyes widened in disbelief. He couldn't believe his bad luck.

"Count for me, baby. Every time I hit you, I want you to count. Start at zero." You smirked, and the look on your face was nothing short of pure evil. "And if you mess up, we start all ... over ... again." You tapped the underside of his chin with the crop to really drive your point home to him.

Hanma nodded in understanding, a grin spreading across his face. You were both going to have fun with this.

The first hit of the crop came down hard on his thighs, leaving a red mark behind. He gasped and counted.

"One."

The second hit landed on his stomach, making him wince. "Did I or did I not tell you to start at zero? Hanma? I think I did, pretty."

"Fff-zee-roh." He exhaled heavily and rolled his head around, stretching his neck.

The third hit was on his nipple, and he nearly buckled under the pain.

"T-two-mmm!"

You leaned in and whispered in his ear. "Good boy. You're doing so well." You placed a soft kiss on his cheek and rubbed your hand up and down his arm. "I'm so proud of you, baby. Keep going."

The fourth hit was on the other nipple, and he almost broke down in tears. But he didn't. He held himself together and kept counting.

"Th-thr-three." Oh he whined so nicely for you after that one.

The fifth hit was on the underside of his dick, and it was enough to make him come right then and there. He didn't, though. He was determined to please you.

"F-fo-er-uh."

The sixth hit was on his balls, and he lost it. He came all over your chest and his thighs, his whole body shaking from the intensity.

"Fi-hi-ive-huh." He sat in the chair, twitching all over from cumming so hard.

You smiled down at him. You leaned in and kissed him softly on the lips, running your fingers through his hair. "That's my good boy. You did so well for me."

Hanma was still panting from his orgasm, but he was still able to whisper out one last thing before he gave up: "Thank you, mommy. I love you."

You couldn't help but smile at that.

Taglist ::: @sugawhaaa (Tysm for the inspo for this with your audio post), @katkitkats @kazutora-kurokawa @arlerts-angel @darkstarlight82 @viburnt

[artsy-hobbitses]

So for all the TTB couples: who said I love you first?

.... Shit this about to get lengthy.

HoundxMirage: Mirage, mid-war while he’s tending to a Hound who’s becoming delirious from a badly-infected wound and a fever on the field and they have to wait for backup to come get them. Hound tells him to go after they somehow narrowly manage to escape a Decepticon patrol, he’s deadweight at this point, just leave him. Mirage tells him to stop being an idiot, and tries to keep Hound awake (Don't sleep, please don't sleep, you might not wake up, they're almost here) by talking about the first time they met and how this situation mirrors the time Hound braved Decepticon prison camps to find him after the Autobots faced of against the Cons for the first time to free their incarcerate comrades. And how shocked Mirage was to see him there, because Mirage wasn't expecting anyone to come. And Hound asks what he said then, and Mirage repeats his memory of the moment to Hound; That Mirage himself had told Hound to leave before they catch them both, he's just deadweight at this point, and Hound told him to stop being silly, he knows the Bots have their misgivings, but he trusts you, and he's not leaving a friend behind. And Mirage admits how trite that was, but how earnest and sincere Hound made it sound. How profound it was to have someone understand for once that his work requires him to wear masks, to put on airs, and Hound trusted him all the same for it. And how silly it felt in the moment to love Hound for something as mundane and simple as that. By that time, help finally gets to them and Mirage can breathe again, and he figures that Hound (who sleeps for several days recovering) might have forgotten about it, it's a silly notion, he must think the same. But when Hound properly wakes up, the first thing he asks Mirage, who's reading by his bedside, is if it was true. What Mirage had said about loving him. And Mirage is silent for a while, before deciding to throw away the mask of propriety, because Hound is one of the few who have seen him without it, and Hound has ALWAYS been open with him, and he won't give Hound any less than that deserved honesty. Yes, he loves you, he loved you in that fleeting moment, and he's loved you ever since, and he's tired of pretending what he feels is anything less than that... but he understands completely if you don't feel the same way. And Hound laughs weakly because he could never have imagined someone like Mirage--a gentleman, talented, and beautiful, but also braver than anyone gives him credit for and with a conviction to do good that so few have despite his privilege--could fall in love with him, some ex-military farm boy Wulver from Shetland, and he'd been content for the longest time to love Mirage in silence (Plants Mirage's favorite flowers/produce, always volunteers to model Mirage's new works, cares for Mirage's pets personally when Mirage is away on a mission, makes sure no one in his presence badmouths Mirage for literally doing what it is the Bot leadership enlisted him for in the first place). Hound's still a little loopy at this point, but asserts that since they're puttin' all cards on the table now, he loves you too, Merry, and god ain't they gonna be a sight at those fancy parties you're going to have to attend with a Plus One. Mirage laughs and kisses his forehead, and says that if they get kicked out, he'd see that as a plus point. He doesn't let go of Hound's hand as Hound drifts off again, and falls asleep next to him (Ratchet allows it for one night).

SideswipexStongarm: Sideswipe, during a sparring session of all things because OF COURSE THESE TWO WOULD. It would be while Sunny is still absent but after he and Strongarm have established that they Have Feelings for each other, but haven't said the words yet. Strongarm's recovering from an injury and needs the practice because she feels useless and is about get cabin fever and claw at the drywall if she's passed over for field work again. Sideswipe calls her stubborn, she's be like "hell yeah where'd you think THAT rubbed off from, Red?" and he's like "lol touche" and goes with it. He trounces her at every turn though, cause he's got his mojo back and has, with his house arrest, had time to learn a couple of new things, but she's unfocused and frustrated and it's actually clear that he's not giving it is 100% and is careful to avoid aggravating her still-healing injuries. When the slip-up seemingly happens and he immediately drops everything to check on her, she takes the chance to take him down and calls him out for falling for the oldest trick in the book as they're both lying on the floor, and he, without missing a beat says "yeah well, you know what they say about people doing stupid shit when they're in love." Record-screech, and a flat "what" from Strongarm as he repeats it again and she punches him in the arm because DUDE WHERE THE HELL DID THAT COME FROM and he just cackles because really, REALLY ?? HEY REMEMBER LIKE, THAT ONE TIME WE WERE ON THE BEACH AND YOU WERE LIKE "HEY YOU THINK I'D PUT ALL THIS GODDAMN EFFORT INTO THIS ZUPPA INGLESE FOR SOME CHUMP I DIDN'T CARE ABOUT", babe it's 3am and he could be in bed but no, he's here bruised and sweaty and prepping for a flying kidney dish from Ratchet when the doc finds out, and you really think he'd risk Ratchet's wrath for someone he didn't love? You really think you get to give him a reason to keep looking forward to another day and be the reason he doesn't feel like half a person anymore without him being stupidly twitterpatted over all 5'6 of you?

Strongarm's got her face in her hands --she'd self-immolate if she went any redder---and bemoans with a small laugh that he's got AWFUL timing---"I love you" in the middle of a sparring session ffs, where's the ROMANCE? THE ROSE PETALS AND CANDLE LIGHT? HARLEQUIN LIED TO HER. Sideswipe's howling at the revelation that YOU USED TO READ THAT STUFF??? but he's got a gleam in his eyes as he turns over so he's half on top of her and offers to say it again, under the right circumstances this time. She turns the tables on him again, gives him the kind of kiss that has him as flushed and gasping for air as she is, and tells him she still can't believe he's got her this messed up over him, but they've also still got three hours before dawn, so they should definitely take his little redo somewhere more y'know, comfortable (Let's just say they find a more pleasurable way to burn off her excess energy).

WindbladexStarscream: The question isn’t who said “I love you” first, it’s how many times these morons decided to say it post-war in their native languages thinking they were being slick before one of them (Windblade) eventually decides to let the game end and explain that hey, listen, you know she’s picked up plenty of Italian since you moved in with her right? And you’re at 499 “Ti Amos” right now so how about you make number 500 special and tell her to her face right now how you really feel? And he’s cackling because he’s Still Starscream and HAH 499! HE PEGGED YOU AT 495 AISHITERUS HE WINS THIS ROUND until Windblade nearly pisses herself laughing (“YOU WERE KEEPING TRACK?!” “YOU WERE KEEPING TRACK?!!”) and shuts him up with a kiss and is all OH MY GOD YOU’RE IMPOSSIBLE NEVER CHANGE BUT JUST SAY THE WORDS ALREADY and he does! In English that is! And repeats it three more times interspaced with kisses, because he doesn’t want her to forget this moment. And he thinks he's got her, being suave and heartfelt about it and all, until she asks him, apropos of nothing, if he wants to see the prize he won for those 500 "I love yous" and he's a blustery, squawking mess when she pulls out an engagement ring. By now they've become domestically comfortable friends with benefits, but a part of him still thinks she sees him just as that---a fun fling of a best friend. This is wonderful and all, but she couldn't POSSIBLY want like, an actual married life with him right? The FIRST DELEGATE HERSELF officially, PUBLICLY attached to a feral ex-con gremlin with a rep sheet? And Windblade is all are you kidding? Yes, she ABSOLUTELY wants the world to know that you're hers and there's nothing any of them can do about it, not any more. So how about you stay, and find out if we can reach the 1 million ILY mark together? Starscream can't say no---he has stake in the game now oh man, he wants to see which one of them can get there first, he wants to be there for every milestone, and he concedes that she's won this one. She's won this one, and he's genuinely never been happier that she got him good.

RavagexLaserbeak: Ravage, near end-war when they were caught in Shockwave’s Positive Reinforcement prison and were fed visions of an alternate universe type situation where they’re Completely Normal (Full Human), and Laserbeak is far more entranced with the elaborate illusion of freedom and acceptance than he is (as she looks more ‘monstrous’ /non-human than he does—and cannot pass in society). She finds it very hard to leave this simulation and he hears her insecurities front and centre now, the ones she always hides behind a cheerfully nihilistic grin of “I’m cool! It doesn’t bother me at all!” (Narrator voice: It bothered her deeply), while she’s kind of a snotty mess after she interacts with some of simulated humans/children who don’t sneer at her, don’t pull away from her touch, don’t look at her like she’s a freak because she KNOWS it’s not real she knows it’s too good to be real she knows but is it really so bad to want this for herself? For them? And Ravage tells her that some days when things get really hard out there, it’s that he wants this for her that he continues to fight on. Because he loves her, in a fleeting and dehumanising world where every mission could be theirs last and they were all they had for years; he’s always loved her, and she deserves a world like this, a real world like this, and it’s going to be hard but they’ll get there together. And it snaps her out of it. Because it’s so hard and it’s UNFAIR and CRUEL that they should HAVE to fight so hard to just be seen as worthy of personhood… but Soundwave fights for them, and Ravage fights for her, and to give that real love up for something fake and easy is something she won’t do. Ravage loves her, and she will fight to love him AND herself in an imperfect, but real world, through heartache and joy both.

Dratchet: Drift. Drift already knows he definitely sees Ratchet more than a friend, and Ratchet himself is struggling with that revelation for himself, but they try to keep it professional up until near to the end of the war, when Unicron becomes a massive threat and Drift is picked by by Onyx Prime to become their champion/conduit. Now, Drift can see spirits, and lives with a one-foot-in-the-living one-foot-in-the-grave mentality ever since he survived a neath-death experience which gave him that ability, and Onyx choosing to momentarily fuse with him gives him Psychopomp abilities that allow him to 'dance between the curtain' of life and death. However, this is all very unsettling for Ratchet, who's always 'fought death' as a doctor, and he's gets upset when he tries to touch Drift before Drift goes off for a mission to rally the souls of Sentinel Prime's dead men, and his hands go right through Drift. And he hates this. He hates that Drift is like a ghost now, that they're not on the same plane. He hates that he can't help Drift if something happens there, that Drift is going where he can't follow. And he doesn't want to lose Drift for a third time. But Drift tells Ratchet that there won't be a third time, because he's been dancing with Death his entire life so much so that he might as well be the embodiment of it---all the close calls, all the lives he took, all the souls he's attempted to help find peace in atonement---but every time he steps too close to the edge of the abyss, it's always been Ratchet who'd given him back his will to live and who'd shown him the value of a life when he'd become almost desensitized to it. And he'll do just that. Live. Death's call for him to take that final step and wear its mantle may be strong, but he'll fight to live and fight to come back to you because he loves you, Ronan Chase--the literal embodiment of Life and what it means to fight for it, in his eyes--and Death can wait a little longer, because his last dance will be with you. He manages to focus and phase himself back whole so he can kiss the knuckles of Ratchet's hands--these hands which saved him more times than he can count--before Ratchet pulls him in for a proper kiss and holds him to his word, because we have a lot to talk about, so come home to him when you're done.