#the nausea has made an appearance fun fun

[falloutgirlboy]

ur boy has a job interview today 🎉

[ossiethegreat]

hue makes an appearance again.. if any of yall know me from tiktok and saw my first post about him ily

don’t mind me @toffeebrew @howlsofbloodhounds

Yapping below \/

So initially he didn’t have much of a story because I’m not very creative and I blank out whenever I try to make something original so yeah.

basically, if Color were ever to get error-d, I think he would be on a hike, probably in some random AU that had nice scenery or something. He’s wearing a rain jacket because it was raining at the place he was, and he he just happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time, and Error or some other entity was destroying it or something. As for how he got into the anti void,,, yall can use ur imagination 😭

(That’s the best explanation I can give, kill me)

I was more focused on the actual character than his backstory, so I’ll just explain my ideas of how he would act and such..

I called him Static Hue, or just Hue for short. (It’s a synonym of color I’m very creative guys)

I think whatever caused the error in his code amalgamated the human souls, and kind of made them fuse together, so Hue can never understand what they are saying because they speak over each other all the time. The different traits overlap and he feels mixed emotions all the time, along with intense mood swings and anxiety attacks. His flames also change color at a much faster rate, so people with epilepsy will stay FAR away from him 😭😭😭😭

Fun fact: he’s also blind. The only thing he can actually see is the color of his flames (which change all the time), and it tends to give him headaches and nausea. His grabblings are always out and just attached to his back so he can use them to move around.

As for the strings, they are very hot to the touch and leave burn marks on however he uses them on. They burn himself as well but he doesn’t pay any attention to it.

Hue’s memory is very jumbled, he didn’t necessarily forget about everything, but he doesn’t remember why exactly he does things. He knows he needs to help killer and protect him at all costs, but he isn’t sure why. He knows he hates Nightmare and REALLY wants that guy dead, but he doesn’t know where that hatred came from. And of course he naturally feels safer near the epic trio, and nervous staying in the same places for too long.

hue’s pretty obsessive over Killer for this reason. His need to help killer was multiplied by a gazillion, and he tends to just.. kidnap Killer and take him random places to keep him close. Sometimes he accidentally hurts him, but he doesn’t realize it, the only thing he can think about is keeping him safe and close to himself. On the contrary, he gets super aggressive and defensive at the mention of Nightmare, and if he were to see him face to face he would attack without hesitation. He knows his job is to keep Killer safe and away from Nightmare, and that’s really his only motive. He just doesn’t know where it came from.

Similarly to most errors, he has trouble speaking because of stuttering and glitches. He also can’t form very clear thoughts because the souls are constantly influencing his behavior. He has trouble explaining his thoughts and feelings, he tends to speak more in actions (as in he would crush you to death in a hug to show affection.)

anyway. If anyone wants to add onto this or share thoughts I’d appreciate it..

Here’s some older drawings of him LMAO

[sports-on-sundays]

Can request one where y/n is the sister of a f1 driver ( u can choose) and they find out she is dating either Fermin,pedri,or gavi because she appears at one of the games?!

found us out / Fermín López

Summary: Fermín x Sainz!girlfriend!singer!reader - Things don't blow over well with Carlo Sainz when you're caught dating a Barcelona player.

Warnings: censored cussing, a little bit of Spanish, reader being a singer isn't really important at all- i just made it a fact in order for things to tie in together and made more sense, mention of nausea, this ended up being pretty long

Requested?: Yes.

Author's Note: Boy, what a crossover! As I was reading this request I literally started giggling in excitement to write this because I knew how fun this would be. I think it's clear that this has to be the sister of Carlos, though. Always good when there's a little bit of drama.

You exhale, fiddling with your fingers under the table as you listen to your father and your brother discuss plans.

You wish that exhaling would release not only the carbon dioxide from your body, but also all the unnecessary stress building up in your chest.

The plans they're discussing are for a small party. Of course, it's a little party that you're expected to go to. It is an entire family event. Or so you've heard...

On the surface, having a family gathering surrounded around Real Madrid playing a literal fourth-tier team (Arandina) in the Copa del Rey sounds really lame. And secretly, you do think it's really lame. But the point is looking forward to watching them slaughter the underdogs. Which is fair enough.

Suddenly you interrupt: "Isn't El Derbi next week? Wouldn't that be better for a family get together?" You're sure they've already thought of that, but if there's any possible way you could get out of this, you'd love to find it.

"Haven't you been listening?" your father questions. "Carlos has plans already. He needs to leave Monday morning, and won't be back until Friday. That won't work."

You clench your jaw. No, you weren't listening, because you were stressing out about your plans for that weekend.

You figure if you're going to tell your brother and father, right now is just as good a time as any other time. You sigh and say, "Well, I'm busy on Sunday, actually..."

Both pairs of brown eyes snap to you, and Carlos says, "What do you have going on? And the Madrid game is on Saturday, anyway- shouldn't it be fine?"

Really, why shouldn't it be fine? What lie will you come up with? Because you can't really say what you're busy with on that day. You manage out, "Some friends... we planned weeks ago to go out that day. Have some fun, you know... Sorry. I guess... Would it be fine if... Surely I wouldn't be missed...? The, uh, thing he have planned is... for Sunday night...."

Carlos sighs, leaning back. "Come on, Y/n. You can't cancel? Family over friends, right?"

But you shake your head as you finish your meal. You stand up with your plate, knowing that if you stay any longer, you'll be guilt tripped into doing what they want you to do, despite what you want to do. So you say, "What's done is done. You can still have the party without me." And you walk out of the room.

Hours later, you're laying in bed. You should be sleeping, but instead you're staring up at the ceiling and thinking.

'Family over friends, right?'- Carlos' words from earlier play through your head in the exact tone he had said it. Yeah, family over friends, Carlos. You've been seeing him and the rest of your family on and off frequently for the past month. But the one you really want to see? You haven't seen him in over a month, and you miss him, dearly. You just want to be able to see him. To surprise him.

And you know he misses you, too, by the constant text messages he sends you.

And, with perfect timing, your phone buzzes on your bedside stand next to you. You pick it up right away and smile to yourself when you see it's him. Telling you he can't sleep. Asking if you want to face time.

You don't even respond, and just call him first.

A smile immediately sneaks up on you when you see your boyfriend. His golden brown hair is all messed up, as he's leaning on a soft pillow, and he has a blanket pulled up all the way to his chin. His brown eyes look even deeper in the dim lighting, but they light up when they view you across the phone. "¡Hola, mi corazón!"

Immediately you feel butterflies fly up in your stomach at his little pet name. "Hey, Fermín," you say, much more casually. "How are you doing?"

He shrugs, and his eyes flutter down a little. "I can't sleep... I wanted to hear your pretty voice. And see your pretty face."

You smile softly, but ask in concern, "Why can't you sleep?"

But a cute little grin appears in his face, and he laughs a little. "Because I'm thinking about you."

"Oh!" you chuckle. "I see..."

You continue chatting together softly for who knows how long. But this is what you do. One of you calls and you can't help but just chat for minutes or hours or however long.

You just love the sounds of each other's voices and the sparkle in each other's eyes.

Saturday evening, just as family member are starting to arrive at the house, you walk to the door, pulling your hair into a ponytail, about to walk out. Your brother stops you, saying, "So you are really going?"

You turn, meeting his eyes as you grab your black long coat. "Yeah, I am. I'm sorry, Carlos..." you add when you see the disappointment in his big brown eyes.

He shrugs, and says what he always does: "Alright. Well, just be careful. And have fun. When will you be back?"

You hesitate. This is the very question you didn't want him to ask. "Uh... Probably Monday morning... I'll text you, though."

His eyebrows knit together even further. "Monday morning? I thought you were just having a night with your friends."

"One of them suggested we could stay at her house and spend the following day doing something else," you lie, nearly effortlessly now."

"Why not just come home?"

You sigh at the question. The truth is, you booked a hotel so you could catch Fermín as soon as possible in the morning and spend more time with him, since you'll have to get to Madrid right away again afterwards. You just want to get going. But you know Carlos only asks questions because he cares. Being nine years older than you, he's always been very protective of you. Too protective. But you know it's just because he cares.

He just cares too much, and it makes you angry. It's hard to keep secrets from his honest eyes.

"Because I was invited to hang out more and I haven't seen this friend in a while!" This one is only half a lie.

"Oh..." he slowly nods. "Well... where does this friend live, then? Far enough for you to just stay there, or... I mean, you haven't seen this friend in a while, so I'm assuming they don't live in Madrid?"

"Nothing- er, yeah, we, uh... she lives in, uh, Sigüenza! Yeah, Sigüenza! And, well, you know, she just moved there and there's uh, you know, it's Sigüenza! The cool stuff there, in... Sigüenza..." You've lost it. You're literally pulling sh*t out of thin air now.

And Carlos can tell. "You're lying. Where are you really going?"

"No, no! I am going there! My friend just moved there! There's castles and sh*t she thinks is cool and she wants to show me! And like go around like I think there's a restaurant she likes and... yeah! And then we'd probably just maybe go to a club for an hour or two or something tonight and then go back and hang out at her house!"

Carlos looks thoroughly unsure. "Is it good for you to go to a club...? Be careful..."

"Oh, come on!" You're speaking too quickly. "There'll be a few of us, and we're not stupid! You know that, Carlos! Don't worry about it, we'll be fine! I'm an adult, for God's sake!"

"Well..." he murmurs, "I hope you're not lying to me. I hope you wouldn't do that."

You swallow, but nod, and feel terrible as you say, "Of course I wouldn't. Why would I lie about something like this?"

"I can think of lots of reasons, but I won't get into it." Carlos says with that look of concern still in his eyes. "Well, be careful. I can see you're impatient to go, so I'll let you. Have fun. Te amo, Y/n."

"M-hm!" you say, and rush out the door. You didn't want to be leaving this late, but you figure you'll just have to hope you get there at a reasonable time.

Fermín nods as João (Félix) discussing the upcoming game with him, watching the Portguese man's eyes as he speaks his thoughts. So he catches it when João raises his eyes, looking over Fermín's shoulder.

You grin, bringing your finger to your lips as you walk down the hall towards the two, behind Fermín's back, making eye contact with João. João subtly nods, makes eye contact with Fermín and says, "Nothing. I was just seeing things."

You thoroughly appreciate João's playing along. And his good acting.

"Seeing things?" your sweet boyfriend asks his teammate. You reach Fermín just as he's turning around to look anyway. He he lets out a confused, "Uh- oh!?" noise when you pull him into a hug, before (pretty much) yelling, "Wait, Y/n?!"

You giggle, and nod your thanks to João, who's smiling and practically chuckling himself. He nods and gives a small wave, before turning to saunter away, a smile on his lips. "So, how's my Fermín?" you ask softly.

Your boyfriend hugs you so tight, it slightly hurts, but you don't complain. You're probably hugging him tighter. He's giggling, and starts showering your cheeks with kisses, before exclaiming softly, "Very good, now that you're here! But why are you here, huh? ¡Mi corazón!" He's so adorable about your little surprise arrival. "Why didn't you tell me you were coming?"

"So it could be a surprise! And so I could see you acting all cute and surprised like this!" You grin up at him, your hand on his chest.

"Stop that!" he laughs, touching his nose to yours, holding you close. But then he gets a little more serious. "How long of a drive was it? I'm assuming you were in Madrid?"

"Madrid to Barbastro? It wasn't so bad. I would drive any difference to get to you, though..."

This makes him chuckle and give you those soft little lovey-dovey eyes that you love to see. He strokes your hair as you rub his back a little, before murmuring, "You were staying with your brother? What did you tell him?"

You smile at this question. Fermín- he always thinks deeply about a situation- especially if it's involving you. He always worries and makes sure everything went well with you. He really cares. "Just told him I'm staying with a friend," you chuckle and add, "In Sigüenza!"

"Sigüenza? Have you ever even been there?" He smiles, clearly amused.

"Uh, maybe, like, once. Not sure if he completely believed me, but I got out of there. So that I could come here and see you! Figured a game like this would be better for me to come to. You know, maybe since it'll be such a small stadium, it'll be actually easier for me to just get in and hide in the crowd."

Fermín nods, gently stroking your cheek, looking into your eyes and says, "If you think so." He's just so focused on taking in your presence.

He leans in and kisses your cheek again, when (of course) Ferran Torres turns the corner, slaps Fermín on his back, and says in a teasing voice with a chuckle, "Got to get going, Fermín. Glad you're having a good time with your girlfriend, but-"

"Oh, Ferran!" you snap, pulling away from your boyfriend to glare at the older man. "Would you shut up?! We haven't seen each other in forever. But I guess you wouldn't get how it feels, since clearly you could never pull-"

"Hey, hey!" Fermín laughs, putting a hand on your shoulder. But he's grinning. He loves your spunk. "Leave the poor guy alone. He's right, corazón. I do have to get going now."

Ferran just waves as he walks off, giggling mischievously. You roll your eyes and turn back to Fermín. "So annoying." But you're grinning. You hug him a last time, peck his lips, and murmur, "I'll go to my seat now. I'm excited to watch you do great out there, mi chico guapo."

He grins and says as he starts to turn to walk the way Ferran walked a minute earlier, "You just watch. I'm going to go out there and score a goal. For you. Okay?"

You grin back and nod as you pull on your mask, hat, and sunglasses- hopefully enough to hide your face from cameras. "I'll be watching for it."

He nods, that lovely adorable little smile on his face, waves to you, blows a kiss, and walks away from you.

Adrenaline fills every cell of your body as the ball hits the back of the net. A goal. But not just any goal.

Your Fermín's goal!

Your muscles send you to your feet, and you cheer, clapping your hands together, watching your boyfriend. You're sitting in a seat very close to the pitch, and you know that if he wanted to, Fermín could come over and hug you right now. But he knows he can't. He understands and respects that you can't be being pointed out. It has to stay a secret.

So, instead, he eyes you, with all the joy in the world.

You grin back, nodding at him. You can't help but giggle.

After the game, you return to Fermín's arms immediately, as if there's a magnetic force between you and him. "Hola, mi prícipe azul," you mutter softly with a little chuckle, before squealing and saying, "You did so good! What a goal! You're amazing!"

"Stop..." he murmurs back, but is clearly loving your praise.

You smile and lean up, about to kiss him, when suddenly your phone starts buzzing and ringing in your back pocket. You hesitate, eyes locked with your boyfriend's, before sighing and leaning away. You slip your phone out of your pocket. "Oh..." you stare at the screen. "It's Carlos."

Fermín nods understandingly and leans away. "I'll keep quiet. I know you have to answer it."

You nod, sending him a grateful smile, before leaning against the wall and answering the phone with a bubbly, "¡Eh, Carlos! ¿Cómo te va?" You hope you don't sound so cheery that is sounds like you're faking it. Well, it's not like you're not happy. You are!

Carlos completely ignores your question, cutting right to the chase. "Where are you?"

"Uh...? I'm at my friend's house. In Sigüenza. Why?"

"Really?" Carlos asks slowly. "How far of a drive is it from Barbastro to Sigüenza? Because I doubt it's under fifteen minutes."

You feel your heart drop to your stomach, and you lean more heavily on the wall behind you as your knees start to shake. Fermín sees this and takes a step toward you. He opens his mouth to say something, but you prevent that with simply a shake of your head. You swallow and put on a confused voice as you respond to your brother, "Sorry...?"

"You heard me. Y/n, what the hell? Why the hell did you lie to me? Why the hell are you in Barbastro? Why the hell are you at a Barcelona game, instead of on the sofa next to me right now?"

"Listen-" you cough, nervousness pounding in your head. Your eyes sprout tears, but you wipe them. Fermín- bless his heart- puts a hand on your shoulder, and gives you the eyes that seem to say, Just say the word, and I'll stand up for you.

You give your boyfriend another quick nod before responding into the phone, lies coming to your brain naturally, on the spot, "Listen, Carlos. I'm sorry for not telling you. My friend in Sigüenza I guess is a fan, and she thought it'd be so fun for us to all go to the game together. So, you know, there wasn't much I could argue with when someone buys you a ticket to a football game. You... You know? I'm sorry for lying. I really am. I just didn't tell you because I knew you'd be upset. You know, about me going to FC Barcelona's game instead of staying home with my family and watching Real Madrid's the night before. I really am sorry, Carlos. I hope you'll... forgive me. But... How did you even know I was at the game... Carlos?" You swallow, waiting for the answer. Fermín takes your hand and give it a gentle squeeze.

"The television showed you. Over and over. The commentators were pretty fascinated to see Y/n Sainz at a Barcelona game. Especially the one in Barbastro."

"Oh, f*ck that!" you snap. "My f*cking disguise didn't even work! Why don't they get their stupid cameras out of my life for once! Ugh!" you say angrily. Fermín gently rubs your shoulder, which is at least some ounce of comfort. "So, what? How did you see it, anyway? Have you just been caught red-handed watching a Barcelona game, too?"

"No. I was flipping channels, and there you were. But there's still something that's not making sense." Your eyebrows scrunch together as your grip on Fermín's hand tightens. Was there a hole in your lies that you missed...? Then Carlos asks, "Where were your friends?"

The lump in your throat grows larger. "What do you mean?"

"You were sitting next to some fat old man with a jersey from twenty years ago and a bunch of snotty kids on the other side-" Carlos has never been one to go out of his way to compliment anything associating with football club Barcelona. "-so where were your friend sitting, then?"

It feels as if all the muscles in your body flex at this one. Your mind goes blank, desperately searching for yet another lie to save yourself from telling your older brother the truth. It's like you've dug yourself in a hole that you're desperately trying to climb out of. It feels like you've nearly reached the top-

but your hand just slipped, plummeting you straight back down to the bottom, where you started.

And you break.

Tears stream down your face, and Fermín immediately tries to grab the phone from you, but you pull it away, swallowing as you blubber into the phone, "I don't know, Carlos... Okay... I don't know..."

There's a second or two of silence on the other end, before Carlos says, now in a more tender, less interrogating voice, "Y/n, all I asked is where your friend are. Is everything okay? Are you alright? Y/n, you're worrying me..."

"Please, Carlos... I'm fine... Just... Please..."

"Can you please just tell me the truth?"

"No..." you sniff, leaning into Fermín more and more. "I can't, because you'll be mad at me... It will ruin our relationship..." You don't know if you're talking about your relationship with Carlos or your relationship with Fermín.

"This is ruining our relationship! You keeping stuff from me! Y/n, you're my little sister! I don't want anything bad to happen to you! Just tell me what's wrong, and I can help!"

"You're the one making it all wrong. If you'd just leave me alone-"

"No. Y/n, you need to be honest with me right now, okay?"

"No, I don't. I don't, and I f*cking won't." At this, you hang up and fall into Fermín's arms.

He holds you there, close to his chest, before whispering, "I'm sorry..."

You look up slowly, sniffing, and wipe your eyes. It doesn't do much, since your tears are still coming. "For what?" you whisper. "You've done nothing wrong... It's just... Everything is messed up. Nothing went how I wanted it to... Fermín, I'm scared."

His eyes are tender, and he strokes your cheek. "My Y/n... I hate to see you cry. There's nothing to be scared of." He puts his arm around your back and starts leading you down the hall. "If Carlos finds out, Carlos finds out. He loves you, and you know that. I know you've spent all your energy hiding this, but mistakes happen, okay? I'll be by your side, but what's done is done." You nod, wiping up your soaked face with your hands, and let him lead you, until you get to the street. He sighs and murmurs, "F*ck. Missed the bus back to the hotel..."

"Oh..." a wave of guilt washes over you. "Fermín, I'm sorry... Isn't your team worried about you?"

"No, no. Don't worry about it. Either they completely missed my absence, or they got the memo that my girlfriend has just arrived and I might have other plans. Let's hope it's the second one, because that would be just a tad bit too silly if they just flat out forgot about me." There's a teasing tone in his voice, in an attempt to lighten the mood. Make you feel better. "You drove here? Where is your car?"

"Oh... yeah, right..." you sigh. After all the rush and emotions, you completely forgot you had your car here. You glance to Fermín, and catch in his expectant eyes a glint of excitement, too. You smile softly, understanding completely what this is from. You roll your eyes. "And no, Fermín. I didn't pull up in a Ferrari. That would draw too much attention." You can't blame him for being excited. You have driven a Ferrari before, (and many other super sick vehicles) and you know Fermín would love to go for a spin in one (or another of the insane sports cars you've driven.)

Fermín thinks they're cool, and as the daughter of Carlos Sainz Sr. and the sister of Carlos Sainz Jr., you tend to be able to get your hands on some pretty luxurious cars, it just so happens. And it's not like your family (especially your brother) won't jump at the drop of a hat to lend you something like that. You're Carlos's baby sister, and he'd do anything to treat you. So when you take advantage of that, every so often Fermín gets to go for a ride.

And you suppose Carlos has no idea of that.

Yet.

And just like that, you feel nauseous again.

When you arrive at Fermín's hotel room, you immediately both put on pajamas and get into bed. All night, he holds you close, never letting go. You lean your head against his chest, basking in the comfort. He knows it's hard. He understands what you're going through.

"Te amo," he whispers, just as you're drifting off to sleep. You never get a chance to say it back, because you're asleep before you can.

"I'm coming back to Barcelona with you."

"Lo siento, ¿qué?" Fermín asks, his head whipping up from tying the drawstrings of his sweatpants as he exits the hotel bathroom. His light pink lips are slightly parted as he stares at you, eyebrows raised.

"You heard me. I'm coming back to Barcelona with you," you repeat, locking eyes with him.

Fermín crosses the room and slips onto the hotel bed next to you, gently placing his hand on your thigh. "Mi corazón..." he mutters. "Of course I would never complain- I would love it if you came back to Barcelona with me. But don't you think that's not the best idea? Don't you have things to deal with back home in Madrid?"

You hesitate and mutter. "Sure I do. But I'd rather come with you back to Barcelona."

He frowns, nodding. "When are you going to go back to Madrid? And what will you tell your brother?"

Suddenly you snap, slipping out of bed, "I don't care, Fermín! And I don't plan to tell my brother anything! I know he'll call, but he can't make me pick up. I'm sick of him pretending like he's in charge of my life!"

"Y/n, come on. We both know he just cares about you. You know how worried sick he'll be if you randomly cut off communications and don't even tell him what happened to you. You can't do that to him. I know if my sibling did that to me, I'd be worried sick, too, and you and Carlos are very close. And he's much older than you. You know how he thinks of you. You can't do that to your brother," he tries, looking for eye contact. But you continue looking down.

"Fermín, no." You speak quietly, but firmly. "I won't. I'm scared, and I don't want to deal with him right now. And I know you said you'd be by my side, but I know you can't be. You can't possibly come to Madrid with me, and then get back to Barcelona."

Fermín sighs, and takes your chin, forcing you to look him in his eyes. "I understand you want to avoid your brother, but you can't have him worrying like that. It's just not right. He's only so concerned and protective because he cares, Y/n."

Your jaw clenches. You try to look away, but he doesn't let you. You swallow, looking at him, and murmur, realizing there's not much you can do, "Alright. Can we compromise?"

Fermín looks a little surprised at your sudden giving in, but nods. "Maybe. What are you thinking?"

You sigh. "I come back to Barcelona with you, but I still text Carlos. But I tell him I won't call, and if he wants to talk to me, he has to come to Barcelona himself and do it."

Fermín's immediate reaction is to protest with, "You expect him to drive from Madrid to Barcelona? You know how long of a trip that is!"

"Well, too bad, Fermín!" you snap. "It's what I'm willing to do! If he cares enough, he'll drive up. And trust me- he does."

Your boyfriend frowns, considering this, and finally nods. "Okay, then... I guess it's fair enough." And that's that.

You sit between Fermín's legs on the couch, watching the television as you munch on buttered popcorn and Fermín plays with/braids your hair. It's been three weeks since when Barcelona faced off with Barbastro, and since then all you've communicated with your brother is that if he wants to discuss anything with you, he's got to come to Barcelona and do it himself.

Do you miss your older brother? Yes. Yes, you one hundred percent do. Are you scared of your brother's attitude and reaction? Yes. Yes, you one hundred percent are.

As Fermín leans close, now stroking your arm with one hand, your phone buzzes in your lap. You give the bowl of popcorn to your boyfriend and pick up your phone.

You stare in shock at what you read on your phone. Fermín leans over and reads the text from Carlos along with you:

Carlos: I just arrived in Barcelona. I'm hoping we can meet somewhere in the morning, if you're not busy? I've been worrying lots

Fermín's hand gently moves to your waist, and after a few seconds, he whispers, "What will you do, my Y/n?"

"I don't know..." you sigh in hesitation.

"Can I make a suggestion?"

You look up at him from behind, meeting his eyes. You can't help but giggle at each other. He sighs, before turning serious again and saying, "Just send him my address and tell him to be around at 9:00 A.M."

"Fermín!" you snap, as though he's a complete lunatic. "You think we can just do it, just like that?!"

"Sure," he nods, cool headed. "I'm not scared of him, just because he drives cars fast and he's got big muscles. I run fast and... have slightly less big muscles than him." He grins, and you can't help but smile, too, at this. Fermín has a way of making serious things light-hearted. "Anyway, if you do it this way, I'll be there with you. Maybe it'd be easier to show him rather than tell. And I'll do the talking that you're still nervous to do. I will." He looks at you with sincere eyes.

You stare ahead, considering this for a while as Fermín slowly and absentmindedly rubs your thigh. Finally you sigh and mutter, "I guess that's the best thing... It's a shame it has come to this."

Fermín laughs softly, shaking his head, but you don't mind it. "You knew that at some point it would come to this. Y/n, you know this will be fine. It will be. I promise. Your brother loves you too much to do any of the stupid things you're scared of happening."

You frown, but then turn around hug him tightly. "Okay... Fermín." You look him in the eyes. "Okay. I know. It's still nerve-racking, though."

"I know, I know," he responds.

You sigh, take out your phone, and, despite yourself, text him.

Fermín gives your upper thigh a little pat.

You look up and study his handsome, lovely face for a few seconds, before kissing him all over. He lets you, chuckling a little. He always seems to laugh when you show him lots of affection, and you love it.

And before long, the two of you are fast asleep there.

When the doorbell rings at 9:01 A.M., your heart drops to your stomach. You knew it would happen. You prepared yourself. But you still can't help but shiver with nervous.

Fermín is trying making breakfast, and you're sitting at the island in the kitchen. He looks up from the food and is about to speak, but you say before he can, in a hurried tone, "I'll get it. You just stay here and keep making breakfast."

He hesitates for a moment, but then nods. "Alright... Call if you need me. And he's welcome to come in, too."

You nod and then head to the door. You exhale slowly, before opening the door.

Immediately, you're wrapped in a huge bear hug from your strong older brother, and he snaps, "What the hell? Why have you been avoiding me like this?! Are you embarrassed? It's fine! I've thought about it, and if you're dating a Barcelona fan that's fine... As long as he's a good guy, it shouldn't matter that much, right?"

You blink in surprise, leaning back, away from him, and meet his eyes, which are very similar to your own in shape and color. He's not stupid. Clearly he's tried to figure it out. But the concept of me dating an actual player for the club is so ridiculous, he just expects it's some random culer dude? Just this concept makes your heart (which was already in your stomach) seem to fall down to your knees. You swallow and awkwardly smile. If you could speak, you would, but no words whatsoever come to mind, and your mouth feels much too dry to form any words.

"So... I'm assuming this is his flat? Is he here? Can I meet him? What's his name?"

You allow yourself to breathe a little, and swallow. "Yes, this is his flat... And he's here... In the kitchen... You- You can meet him..." You open the door wide for him, and have to try a few times, before your voice finally allows you to call, "Fer- Fermín!"

"Fer...mín? That's his name?" your older brother asks. You nod slowly meeting his eyes again. You can't imagine that Carlos would know who Fermín is... right? It's not like a gives really any of his attention to any football club other than Real Madrid... Perhaps just the name sounds familiar? Well, it's not like Fermín has a super uncommon name or anything...

Your head is starting to hurt from all this overthinking. You swallow. "Yeah, yeah... That's his name."

You watch with dread (which you never though you'd feel at the sight of him) as your boyfriend enters the room. He has a smile on his face, but he's eyebrows are knitted together.

For a moment, the two stand there.

It's strange, for you. Here are (probably) the two people you care about most. The two people you spend the most time with, the two's whose opinions you value the most. Here they are, together. Two who you care about so much, but have always been separate. And you've always kept it that way.

It feels off, to have the two in the same room, right here, in front of you.

Their heights don't differ much, but Fermín's younger, gentler features contrast with Carlos. Fermín has lighter, nicer kept hair, while your brother of course has the same shock of dark hair you have, and right now, it's grown out a bit, curling at his ears.

You stare at the two.

You swallow as something like very vague recognition is reflected on Carlos's face. He says slowly, holding his hand out to shake Fermín's, "Hola... Have we met before...?"

You can't help but shake your head a little. Carlos, not recognizing a first team Barcelona player when he's right in front of him.

Or, pretty much first team, anyway.

A (cute) little nervous crooked smile appears on your boyfriend's face. He sends you a brief little glance with only those chocolate brown eyes, before looking back to Carlos. He shakes his hand as he swallows and says, "Well, you know, I... uh, I actually play for FC Barcelona."

Carlos opens his mouth, shuts it, and opens it again. "Okay..." he says slowly. "That... It makes sense, now... that Y/n was at the game in Barbastro..." he seems to be talking more to himself. He glances to you, and his eyes linger, before shifting back to Fermín and saying, "Fermín... Fermín Gómez...?"

That crooked little smile appears on Fermín's face again. "López."

You watch as your older brother nods, and then looks to you slowly. "Y/n, can I...?" he trails off, glancing to Fermín.

Fermín seems to get the hint that you didn't even pick up and nods, saying, "I'll go finish making breakfast. Carlos and Y/n, you're welcome to just stay here in the living room." He gives a cute little awkward smile, and walks out of the room.

Now you don't want him to go.

But your brother gently takes your wrist and tows you to the couch, forcing your eyes to wander from the doorway that Fermín just left through. You look to Carlos and swallow. Those eyes. So incredibly earnest. "You're not... mad?" you murmur softly.

"Mad? I'm disappointed you hid it from me, and didn't trust me. A part of me doesn't feel right about you dating a Barcelona player, but it's not like the club someone is playing for decides how good of a boyfriend he is, or if he's meant to be with my sister or not. I'm shocked- I was expecting it's a Barcelona fan, not a player. But whatever..." He trails off, swallows, and finishes, "No. No, I'm not mad."

"Oh... Oh, okay... I'm... I'm sorry."

He nods, not looking at you. "I forgive you. I'm sorry, too. There had to have been a reason why you didn't trust me. So I'm sorry."

You say, "I forgive you," though you're not even one hundred percent sure what you're forgiving him for.

If you thought introducing just your older brother to Fermín was just terrible, introducing him to your whole family is like actual hell.

Fermín keeps his arms tightly around your shoulders as you sit on your couch. You feel stiff and rigid as Fermín manages the awkward questions and empty small talk. Your family is always so open, but with Carlos insisting everyone meet Fermín here, it's unnatural.

Why don't they accept him? They accept other people's friends, girlfriends, etc., much easier. Fermín is acting so sweet and polite.. like he always does... What don't they like about him?

Unlike Carlos, do they really care that much about stupid football club rivalries? Gosh, there are plenty of fans of different clubs who get on just fine.

How is Fermín being a player any different?

He's a culer, just like any fan, right? I mean, I don't know what I am. Am I a culer?

Who cares? I'm Fermín López's girlfriend and Carlos Sainz Sr.'s daughter. Think that's enough for one person!

Suddenly you're pulled out of your racing mind when Fermín's hand settles on your waist and he says, "...right, Y/n?"

"Uh, huh?" you ask, looking at Fermín just as he pecks your lips with a little laugh. You blush and murmur, "Gosh, Fermín, not here."

But he pulls you tighter to his side and says with a soft, slightly defiant little smirk, "I'm so happy that you all have accepted me as Y/n's boyfriend, Sainz family." The faces of your family members span from confused to uncomfortable to (only a few of them) genuinely accepting. But Fermín adds with a chuckle, kissing your cheek, "Although, of course, your opinions, or anyone's, about our relationship doesn't matter to me." He meets your eyes with those deep brown ones.

You swallow and nod, getting up the courage in that moment to respond with, "Yeah, Fermín... You know, I think I agree with you..."

[phoneuserhana333]

.°˖✧ part 2/3: neighbor!doctor!abby / neighbor!producer!reader headcanons .°˖✧

tags: NSFW!!!, sick!reader, mention of nausea and illness, hand on throat, cliffhanger, ellie appears.

i acc hate how this part turned out :( i hope it’s somewhat enjoyable, barely proofread</3 sorry :((((

PART1 — PART2 — NSFWHC — N(SFW)HC

• you successfully forced abby into a temporary truce. sort of. falling sick and losing your voice, motivation and strength left you low on groceries and medication. so you opted to sleep through the nauseating headaches and eat oatmeal for breakfast, lunch and dinner. it was bad bad.

• so bad, in fact, that you sought out abby’s help. sure, she was a seemingly pretentious, stuck up ER nurse with a mean streak and a hatred for anything fun, but she had the medical knowledge you desperately needed to get back on your feet. plus, she definitely had pain relief medication lying around her house.

• this lead to a strange deal to form between abby and you; nurse anderson agreed to get food and medicine and deliver it to you until you got better, in exchange for three weeks of peace and quiet. hesitant, but desperate, you agreed. this was a huge win for abby. all she wanted was you to be quiet, after all.

• on the first day of your deal, you didn’t let abby come inside, claiming that you were quarantining and demanding she leaves the tote bags full of groceries outside. you barely managed to pull them into your home and the heaviness made you break a sweat, causing your fever to worsen. you texted abby that you were feeling worse and she managed to convice you to come over tomorrow after work for a check up.

• the day after, a defeated patient greeted abby at the door, avoiding her questioning gaze. she sighed and entered your home with a smaller bag filled with medicine and her briefcase with equipment that her dad gifted her. abby was a keeping her side of the deal to a t, she was determined to get on your good side, hoping you’d tune your partying and constant noisiness down for good.

• upon entering your home, the blonde was stunned. bookshelves, a grand piano, papers everywhere, even a chess board. you were smarter than she gave you credit for. the woman let you lead her to your bedroom where the air was thicker and the blinds were pulled down, hiding a bed full of tissues and forgotten mugs in the dark. fuck, her condition might be worse than i thought, abby thought to herself as she stared at your messy floral sheets, or she’s lazy, which might be even worse.

• abby checked you with the care of someone who has been in the medical field for decades, taking her time with you. your temperature was high and you were shivering, claiming to be cold while burning up. abby telling you to pull your shirt up wasn’t helping your trembling state either.

“take me on a date first, w-why dontcha?”

“sorry, y/n. i don’t date neighborhood brats.”

• you pout, too tired to argue, jumping when you feel the freezing stethoscope abby placed against your bare back.

“ow, ow, ow- abby what the hell?! s’cold!”

“god, you’re such a crybaby! here-“

• abby pulled away and warmed the metal with her hot breath, rolling her eyes as she did. your pitiful appearance was only surface level, a cruel reminder to abby that you weren’t a doe-eyed, helpless girl next door she got to take care of and feed soup, much to her disappointment. her cute little face is hiding a literal devil, abby muses, listening to your irregular heartbeat.

• what abby wasn’t aware of however, was how often she thought of you as cute. it was always- “that cute brat”, “…kind of endearing if she wasn’t so annoying” or even “a handful”, complaining to manny on the phone with her darkened eyes glued to your ass, watching as you rushed past her home to catch a train. abby was getting lost in thought, her brain full of aforementioned handfulls and soft plump skin and maybe even her landing a rough spank on- fuck. no. that was wrong.

• … right?

• you, on the other hand, were wide eyed and choking on words. abby placed her warm hand on the small of your back, forcing you to straighten up. she was moving the chest piece around, occasionally telling you to breathe deeper, in a voice that your hazy mind registered as surprisingly hot.

• what really made your heartbeat skip, was her thumb rubbing your back, tracing the elastic waistband of your pajama pants and then slipping underneath to explore the hidden skin. was abby aware she was doing this?! why weren’t you saying anything?!

• … why did it feel so good?

• abby pulled your shirt down, packing away her equipment as she started to speak, offering you a final diagnosis (“you’re so dramatic, it’s just a cold”). the blonde was peeking at your shaking form from the corner of her eye, watching you pick up your tissues and mugs, trembling with barely open eyes. it may be just a cold, but you were obviously drained.

“… ugh. lay down, okay? i’ll take these downstairs.”

• abby rolled her eyes and took over cleaning up your cups. she ignored your protests as she walked downstairs to your kitchen to rinse your dirty dishes in the sink and get your dishwasher started. when she looked up, she saw a few photos on the cupboard above the sink, memories of you and your friends.

• on the one in the middle, you were hugging two girls, playfully kissing one on the cheek, caught mid laugh. her gaze softens. you were a good friend. but a horrible neighbor. for a second, abby lets herself get lost in her head, her eyes staring at the polaroids, unblinking.

• the next few days went by quickly with daily visits from abby. you started to get better, taking it easy and trying to cough quietly as to not bother your neighbor. abby was tired; december was coming up and she was unsure of her plans for the holidays. work was becoming more stressful and the ER was full of people- well, more than usual.

• abby stopped visiting as frequently when she noticed you were getting better, instead sending you wave and tell you off for not cleaning snow off your doorway or wearing a jacket she deemed to be too thin.

• until she stopped acknowledging you altogether. abby was purposefully ignoring you and you just couldn’t find out why. you were used to her eyes following you around, guarding you in some way, like some weird nurse-angel. why was she slowly becoming a ghost you could barely catch a glimpse of? had you done something wrong?

• instead of simply confronting abby, you chose to ignore her back, sending cold looks towards her whenever you crossed paths on the sidewalk. abby, on the other hand, would blush, thinking about how she saw you in only your tiny maroon panties a week ago, naked and on display in your window. since then, she couldn’t look at you, scared that you’d somehow find out that you were the reason she’s been moaning at night the past few days. seeing you on the street would make abby shut eyes shut tightly, fighting her mind as it conjured the image of your pussy and your hard nipples hidden by lacy curtains on a cold december night.

• one thing lead to another, and both of you ended up alone on christmas eve. abby swore she was just going to check on you, see if you were alright. the sight of you with puffy eyes and pouty lips, wrapped in a festive blanket made abby feel fuzzy. before she knew it, she invited you over.

• emotions running high and a somewhat romantic candlelit dinner resulted in you falling into abigail anderson’s bed. she fucked you until morning came, overstimulating you into oblivion and not letting you go until she was satisfied. and after that, she made you hot cocoa.

• despite pretending to be nonchalant, you were a goner. abby had wrapped her hand around your neck and reached down your throat to squeeze your heart. you wanted abby to be yours so bad.

• abby, however, was still hesitant to commit to you. you were the best sex she’s ever had in her life, your hot mouth and tight cunt left her aching for days after, running home to you every night after work, but did she like-like you? what if you didn’t like her back? abby was used to being non-committal, so why was she so enamored with the idea of sharing her life with you?

• this inner turmoil didn’t stop abby from eating you out on your counter top, fingerfucking you while taking a bath together, letting you grind against her thigh in her bedroom.

• god, why was everything so intimate all of a sudden? abby ground you harshly on her chiseled leg, moving your hips with force and pulling a nipple, anything just to hear you whine. with your forehead pressed against hers, you whispered “please, abby. need you-“ and she was gone. her pace quickened as she moaned “good girl, goooood girl…” over and over again. you truly were the best girl ever, abby thought, as you rode out your high on her, now wet, leg.

• sex this heavenly landed abby in your house on new years eve, attending one of your infamous (and unexpectedly fun) parties. she met your friends, dina and jesse. and… ellie. she recognized the two women- they were on one of the polaroids in your kitchen, ellie was the girl who’s cheek you were kissing.

• ellie was too close to you for abby’s liking, touching your back and brushing a finger against your lips after you took a shot of tequila. why was she telling you to “take it easy, babe”, why was she calling you babe? abby felt her blood boil as she rolled her eyes at the overly flirty tone ellie used, taking a sip of her favorite wine you made sure to get just for her.

• just when abby thought that it couldn’t get worse, ellie tried to make a move on you.

“so, y/n. any-uh, plans on who you’ll kiss tonight?”

[jerzwriter]

Thank you to @kyra75 for this request from @choicesprompts Flufftober event - prompt: Secret Admirer for Tobias x Casey. It was a lot of fun to write this sweet little story. I'm writing a "sort of" follow-up to this for @snoopdogcone's last prompt request, too! I hope you enjoy it!

Book: Open Heart (Post Series Timeline) Pairing: Tobias Carrick x Casey MacTavish (F!MC) Featuring: Ethan Ramsey Rating: General Words: 1,300 Summary: Casey's got a secret admirer, and Tobias is determined to find out who it is.

A/N: Also participating in @choicesmonthlychallenge Flufftober - Prompts: Warm hugs, handwritten letters.

It started small: a few handwritten notes left on Casey’s desk that eventually progressed to a series of little gifts. First was a tiny stuffed unicorn with huge blue eyes, “Just like yours!” the accompanying note read. The next day, it was a bag of Geysers candy with a big bow and a tiny card that read, “Roses are red, Violets are blue, these candies are sweet, just like you!”   

Casey smiled as she picked it up. Assuming they were from a grateful patient, the lovely gestures made her smile, but Tobias’s antennas were up. “Case, these aren’t thank-you gifts; a patient would let you know who they were from,” he pointed out with a grin. “Someone’s got herself a secret admirer!”

“A secret admirer?” Casey chortled. “Tobias! Be serious. Everyone at Edenbrook knows I’m with you.” She sauntered over to him, straightening the lapels on his labcoat with a little grin. “And while you’re a very secure man and not the jealous type... you can also be a little... unhinged, darling. So, don't worry. No one here is messing with me.”

“Unhinged,” he chuckled, pulling her in for a warm embrace, his voice dropping low. “Only when I’m under the covers with you.”

Ethan walked into the office and let out a groan laced with disgust. “Someday, the two of you won’t work here, and I won’t have to greet each day with a spell of nausea.”

“Maybe?” Casey smiled, “but you would miss us!”

He put on his glasses and turned to her with a blank stare. “Maybe?”

“Hey,” Tobias asked. “What do you make of these gifts Casey’s receiving? You think someone’s got a little crush?”

“It's possible,” Ethan shrugged. “But Casey’s already shown she has questionable taste in suitors when she fell for you... so, I think you’re safe, Carrick.”

Tobias scoffed. “Safe?” he shook his head, glancing at himself in the mirror. “Of course I’m safe! I mean, look at me... and this isn’t even with my abs exposed....”

“Shall I get you the Pepto Bismol?” Casey whispered to Ethan.

“It would be appreciated,” he replied.

“I’m just saying... it's not that I'm jealous. But if someone’s got a crush on my girl. I think we should figure out who it is so the poor fool understands that they don’t have a chance.”

"You think it's Ron from Radiology, don't you," Ethan smirked.

"Mmh, Ron is kind of hot," Casey teased.

Tobias turned to them both, unamused. "Don't you worry, I'll get to the bottom of this!"

But the days kept coming, and the gifts kept coming with them. When a heart-shaped lollipop appeared on her desk, Tobias had enough... he was going to get to the bottom of this. “Alright, this is getting serious. Someone out there has a full-blown crush on you, and it’s time we investigate.”

Casey rolled her eyes. “They’re sweet gestures, babe, but it’s just someone being nice. You’re reading too much into it.”

“You know you’re beautiful, you’re brilliant, and I’m so glad you’re mine... but you’re a little naïve, dear. No one is doing all these things because they're being nice!”  

“Are you getting jealous, love?”

“No!” He insisted. “It’s not jealousy, but someone is leaving gifts for my girl. It’s about time they get the memo that she’s taken. It’s an act of kindness, really. Let them know they should move on to someone else, where they might stand a chance.”

“Yes, dear,” Casey chuckled as Tobias set off to find answers.

He passed Casey’s office frequently that day, enlisting some buddies to also serve as spies. But as the day was dwindling to an end, he was beginning to feel defeated when fate smiled upon him.

He was just finishing his rounds when he spotted Connor, a young patient of Casey’s, marching toward her office with a bouquet of flowers in hand. Casey had taken a liking to the boy, often stopping by his room after her shift to help him with homework or play a video game or two. A smile tugged on Tobias’s lips as he saw the light in the little boy's eyes.

“Hey, buddy!” Tobias smiled, mussing up Connor’s sandy blonde hair. “Are those flowers for Dr. MacTavish?”

Connor nodded with a smile despite his embarrassment. “Yeah…Dr. Casey is so nice, and, um, she’s really pretty, too. And she knows all about baseball and lets me play her playlist during my checkups.”

Tobias chuckled, crouching down to Connor’s level. “I don’t blame you, kiddo. Dr. Casey’s pretty awesome.”

Connor looked over his shoulder, then looked around again to ensure no one could hear him. “Do you know if she’s married?” he whispered.

Tobias’s eyes went wide. “Married? No. I don’t think she’s married. But I do know she’s loved the little gifts you’ve left her. She should be here any moment now. Why don't you deliver this one to her yourself? I’m sure she’d love that.”

“Do you think so?” Connor asked, his eyes wide.

“I do,” Tobias nodded. “Why don’t you sit here and wait.”

Tobias walked to the nurses’ station, pretending to review a folder, but his eyes never lost sight of the adorable little boy sitting on a chair outside of Casey's office.

Connor bit his lip nervously but still managed a smile when he saw Casey approaching her office. Tobias looked on as Connor timidly handed her the flowers, his cheeks turning red.

“Connor! Are these for me?” Casey beamed.

Connor couldn't muster up words, but his face lit up with joy as he nodded. Casey sat on the chair next to Connor and squeezed his little hand. “Are you the one who has been leaving me all the sweet notes and treats?”

The boy just nodded again.

“Well, I have to thank you. You’ve made me smile so many times this week. Thank you for that, Connor. You made me feel very special."

The boy looked up and caught Tobias watching. He smiled and gave the boy a quick thumbs-up.

“Well, you’ve made me smile, too, Dr. Casey. Do you think we could play video games later?”

Casey gave him a little squeeze. “You better believe we will! In fact, why don’t I bring some of the Geysers you gave me? We can share them!”

“Can we?” he said, eyes wide with excitement.

“Of course!”

The boy jumped off Casey’s lap and rushed to his room, his heart pounding with pride as he gave Tobias a high five along the way.

Casey’s heart was full of warmth as she locked eyes with Tobias, gesturing toward her office. As soon as the door was closed, she wrapped her arms around his neck. “So, you solved the mystery, Sherlock. Looks like my admirer is an adorable young man, after all!”

“Yep,” Tobias grinned. “I like him! The kids got great taste. But I don’t have to worry, do I?”

Casey playfully mulled it over before kissing her boyfriend’s cheek. “Luckily for you, younger men aren’t my thing. I like more into old men, like you.”

“Old man,” he growled, pulling Casey flush against him as his lips fell to her neck, leaving a not-so-tender kiss behind. “I’ll show you, old man!”

Casey giggled as she playfully pushed him away. “Well, if I have any other secret admirers, I know who to turn to. But for now, maybe let’s let my pint-sized Romeo keep his little crush.”

“Deal,” Tobias laughed. “But I'm watching him! I mean, the kids got game. If I take him under my wing, he could be a master by the time he's in high school.”

“T,” Casey laughed. “Leave him be! He’s doing just fine on his own, and, besides, the world can only handle one Tobias Carrick.”

“You've got a point,” Tobias grinned. “But if Connor ever needs a pep talk, I’m going to have his back!”

@choicesficwriterscreations @openheartfanfics

[espionn]

HiveWing tribe sheet!

i know i dont talk about silkwings a whole lot in this one, but they're next so you'll hear plenty about them. have fun with my hivewing ideas!

Physical Appearance + Traits:

-HiveWings are the smallest and lightest tribe across the continents, with a distinct appearance resembling insects - specifically bees and wasps, but with some characteristics reminiscent of others. Their colors can range across the whole yellow-to-red spectrum, occasionally even crossing into green. They also can have a wide variety of black markings across their faces and bodies.

-HiveWings are said to be descended directly from Clearsight, crossbred between her and the ancient BeetleWings. It is possible that her foreign genes made some effect - some NightWing traits are visible in their faces, for example - but likely the majority of their adaptations, like the black scales, were caused by natural evolution and not by Clearsight. 

-Some HiveWings are born with an extra ability; this can be any out of a list of options. Some have a stinger, which can be located on their wrist or tail, or beside their claws. Their venom can sometimes just be painful, sometimes induce paralysis, and sometimes cause nausea and lightheadedness. Generally, black stripes across the body indicate the presence of stingers. Some also have fangs that can deliver any of the above forms of venom. A few also have other miscellaneous abilities, like an unpleasant and repelling scent.

-HiveWings have long, straight wings that resemble those of dragonflies or bees, with transparent and delicate membranes between them. Their wings are stiff and cannot be folded like other dragons; instead, they rest them horizontally on their backs. To fly, they vibrate them rapidly, creating a buzzing sound and lifting off the ground. They can fly quickly and with great maneuverability, but it takes a lot of energy.

-They have a generally slim and sharp appearance, with many spines across their bodies and a sharply narrowed underside. 

-The amount of black that HiveWings have across their bodies varies greatly, but the more there is the more desirable they’re considered. Nearly all-black HiveWings are seen as being the closest to Clearsight.

-Most HiveWings have black markings around their eyes, which, like SandWings and SkyWings, are used to mitigate the glaring sun across the flat, dry savanas they inhabit.

Life Cycle:

-HiveWings lay by far the largest clutches of eggs of any dragons, sometimes having more than twenty. However, the responsibility of raising dragonets is not on the parents; they are raised communally by each hive’s nursery. There are records of each family tree and what dragonets were hatched from what parents, but they don’t have any innate connection to their offspring, instead preferring loyalties for the entire hive. During Queen Wasp’s rule, close interpersonal bonds that might distract from the duties of the hives were actually discouraged.

-They develop very quickly, with incubation times of barely over 2 months; once hatched, their venom has not yet come in and they are unable to fly, but they can clumsily walk and understand basic gestures from other HiveWings. 

-Right away, they are extremely socially dependent dragons. HiveWings are hatched without the venom or repellents they might eventually obtain, and as generally small and defenseless dragonets that rely on their hive to protect them. This social dependence doesn’t go away, though. They live their entire lives as a unit with the rest of their tribe. They rarely hold grudges against each other, unless they feel that one of their own is in some way a danger to the rest.

-The education system is very structured and well-regulated; all dragonets are taught the basics of literacy and tribe life, and there are multiple branches of career education they can pursue, from arts to sciences to food preparation to construction and manufacturing. 

-HiveWings grow quickly after hatching, and then so slowly as to be unnoticeable once they’re adults. Their lifespans can vary wildly; depending on genetics, sometimes they can live 100 years or even more, and sometimes they die naturally at 50 or less (shorter than any other dragons). 

Society and Culture:

-HiveWings live in hives, massive structures made from wood-pulp like the nests of paper wasps. These are complex and beautifully designed, with each vertical level designating a different part of the hive. They are built and maintained by construction crews made up largely of SilkWings.

-The hives have a strict sense of authority; the queen has the ultimate power over the tribe, and the heads of each hive make the decisions about their hives. There are other dragons with positions of authority: guards, enforcers, teachers, etc. It is in the nature of HiveWings to act according to their position and not cause disruptions.

-There are varying levels of punishments for different misdemeanors, but because of HiveWings’ extremely social nature, the most severe is solitary confinement. It is considered by some an extremely cruel punishment, and it quickly alters and deteriorates the minds and behaviors of the dragons submitted to it. Usually it is utilized in small amounts; a few days, a few weeks, as a warning. (Sometimes teachers will use a mild version, where a misbehaving student will have to spend some time in an empty room.) It has only been a lifelong sentence in a few rare cases.

-The hive operates in a way completely unique to any other tribe: necessities, like food, shelter and education are provided simply by virtue of being a HiveWing. They are not paid for. The only thing that they need to spend money on is luxuries like sweets, decorations and accessories. (This does not usually apply to SilkWings, who need to pay to build their webs and for any level of higher education. Food is provided in theory, but it is usually not sufficient as it is not prepared with a SilkWing diet in mind. They often have to buy food of their own.)

-HiveWing technology, all-around, is the most advanced of any tribe, from their intricate glass and metalwork to their beautiful and efficient construction work. (Much of it would be impossible without flamesilks, and it is likely that they stole some of their technology, and credit for it, from the SilkWings during the tree wars.)

-Beauty standards for HiveWings tend to vary from hive to hive, and they’re often based on the head of the hive. Jewel hive residents, for instance, love jewelry and bright colors and over-the-top accessories, because that’s how Jewel chooses to look. Other hives like certain colors or body shapes. The only constant is that black scales are desirable.

-HiveWings worship Clearsight, their NightWing ancestor, much like a god; they pray to her, they leave letters and offerings for her, and they look to her as their guiding light. They see the times after she arrived as the only part of history worth telling. Though Pantalan dragons speak their own language, separate from Pyrrhian, they see and use Pyrrhian as a holy language, the language of Clearsight.

-They pride themselves on being non-superstitious, but rumors and hyperbole spread so quickly through the hives that they might as well be.

Diet: Omnivorous. HiveWings eat meat and insects, but also a number of plants. A good amount of their diet, alongside SilkWings, consists of sugar, which they can make into a wide variety of things (including honey). It helps give them enough energy to fly long distances.

[the-blossica-fan]

Greetings!

Yeah i remember that Sonetto and Schneider swap art, probably could find it later.

Yk what would be a funnier combo? Lilya and Vertin swapping, or really anyone swapping with Lilya.

Literally the both of them suffering withdrawal; Vertin suffering in Lilya's body with alcohol withdrawals because ofc shes not drinking, and Lilya in Vertin's suffering picrasma withdrawal because she HATES the stuff probably.

Horropedia and Blonney swapping? Idk anything but the pure chaos in it happening, Jessica would IMMEDIATELY know they have swapped but idk the rest? Up to you!

You always give me the best stuff to put my brain to work, I love this!!

Allow me to use my beloved overworked brain for this.

Lilya in Vertin's body would not be able to hold onto the primal need to eat Picrasma Candy. Her mouth feels empty and waters taste like some sugary substance (I believe this happens when you eat too much sugar), her (Vertin's) body NEEDS Picrasma, but oh Lord Lilya is NOT eating that shit.

Drinking Vodka has a wrong reaction as well, she ends up on the floor 5 seconds before throwing up. She can't drink, nor does she want to eat Picrasma, she's in mental pain.

Meanwhile, Vertin can't eat Picrasma candy because of not drinking alcoholic beverages. Lilya's body is used to a certain quantity of alcohol, so even if she drinks something light, her (Lilya's) body NEEDS vodka, and Vertin is not Lilya and it tastes like shit so she's having terrible withdrawal symptoms.

She can't even nap it out nor concentrate on her work, her body demands alcohol and the nausea is way too much. She had to drink way too much low alcohol drink in order to get it to hold on for a while. She was drunk.

Horropedia and Blonney, my Lord...

Blonney HATES it. She feels so sweaty and she can't see shit every time she takes off his glasses. She definitely took off that sweater and wore something more comfortable on his skin, she's also complaining so much about his skin. He sleeps well, that's for sure, but my Lord is he greasy. He eats junk and she eats healthy.

Horropedia Is definitely more curious on this change from an investigative perspective. Blonney's chest is big so... He's experiencing the pain of women with big breasts and he doesn't like it

"Blondie, how can you live with this?! This is, really painful. I can't lie on my stomach!"

"Could you PLEASE stop mentioning this?"

They have so many troubles regarding each other's bodies but that's because of the gender of each person, and Horropedia's lack of skin care which Blonney will fix. Horropedia doesn't hate the body but he definitely wasn't made for it.

And Blonney is such a lesbian she can't hold onto this body any longer.

Jessica definitely has a dilemma. She loves Blonney and the softness of her body... Blonney's body is Horropedia. What is she going to do?! She throws a couple punches at Horropedia though

"Oh, finally, you don't smell like sweat and dust!"

"Hey! How dare you? I don't smell like that!"

"You're right, it's worse."

She definitely hangs out with Blonney more but, in her mind, she's probably like "I miss Blonney's soft body 😞", but she's not hugging Horropedia.

Mmmm, as for a couple extra body swaps... Matilda and J.

Matilda would be so proud in J's body, definitely happier to be taller and presuming her (his) muscles. She also loves his style so she's not changing anything.

J is quite in pain. He is now small and in the body of a silly girl, he has fun being small and the fact Matilda is pretty strong even with her body type fascinates him. He's working out in her body to have some muscles since Matilda had a lot of work and doesn't exercise outside of work.

"Hah, I can finally understand why you never appear in photos. You're so small you can't even see the camera"

"Consider your next words carefully! The great Matilda is in care of YOUR body and isn't afraid to damage it!"

And maybe Isolde and Marcus! You would think it's Isolde and Kakania, oh Lord no I'm not THAT cruel 😞

Marcus can't breathe in Isolde's body, she still wears corsets, and they're very, very tight. Marcus is actually pretty worried for her safety but it seems she's used it, meanwhile Marcus is suffering. Yeah Isolde's lungs are used to it, but Marcus' brain is not and Lord does it hurt to breathe. She did take Hoffman's coat from Isolde and ended up wearing it over Isolde's nightgown as the only clothing that's comfortable for her.

Isolde didn't find any issue with Marcus' body, not like she has any complaints to make. Without the coat, it just feels so comfortable and calming. She feels like she could be peaceful forever. She can't sing and can't hear the ghost's voices so she's quite peaceful. Drinking tea by the window, equally as gloomy as ever but you can feel more comfortable.

Oh, by the way, Marcus is having a fistfight with Heinrich's ghost while she's in Isolde's body.

[sicknessbysalem]

can you do a fic where meadow has a stomach flu and ends up having really bad diarrhea and vomiting. Maybe she has to run off stage but she ends up having an accident and gets comforted by one of her coworkers, an significant other or a friend because of how sick she is

tw for emeto, fever, scat (in conjunction with emeto), stomach virus

fun fact: novak is connected to meadow! well, by a few degrees separation but you know its fine

Friday nights were always the busiest at Whiskey Creek Tavern. Meadow knew that. Arizona and Allie had taught her that. Even April taught her that.

Meadow loved Friday nights though. She really did. The energy in the tavern was always bright and energetic, and for being what it was, most of the people who came in were very respectful and there were rarely belligerent drunks and disrespectful patrons. 

Meadow also loved the energy of Friday nights to perform. She loved Friday nights. Most Friday nights anyway. She was, however, worried about tonight. 

It started this morning, when she woke up with her stomach in knots. Tea didn't help, in fact it made her stomach worse. About an hour before Meadow was supposed to leave for work, she found herself in the bathroom, shaky and queasy as she brushed her teeth. 

Her stomach turned. She stood over the toilet, spitting. She didn't vomit, she felt like she needed to. Or needed something, anything. 

Her lower stomach cramped. She had to sit down on the toilet. A violent spell of diarrhea left her shaking even worse. 

She was late. Fifteen minutes, actually. April didn't mind though. Maybe she knew Meadow wasn't feeling well

As the afternoon stretched into evening, the tavern came alive. There were people, ordering food and ordering drinks. Local musicians took turns on the stage. They played originals, did covers, kept the crowd engaged. At one point, someone turned on a football game. Meadow caught a few moments, smiling as she recognized the quarterback of one of the teams. 

Number 17. Landon. Her brother. 

She waited tables, cleaned them, and for a bit thought maybe, just maybe, she could forget she was even feeling questionable in the first place. 

But then after leaning over to clean a table, her floral corset seemingly digging into her stomach, Meadow had to excuse herself to the bathroom. More diarrhea, she had to grab the bathroom trash bin to heave, though it was all dry. It took her a good ten minutes to get herself back in order. 

As Meadow composed herself in the bathroom, trying to push past the waves of nausea and discomfort, she couldn't shake the worry that Landon would notice something was wrong. She took a deep breath, splashing cool water on her face to quell the queasiness.

When she returned to the bar, she spotted Landon sitting at a table near the stage, surrounded by friends and fans. His presence brought a mix of pride and anxiety to Meadow's heart. She wanted to greet him with a smile, to show him that she was fine, but the persistent ache in her stomach made it challenging to mask her discomfort.

Her and Landon didn't see each other much. He was always busy, raining and leading his team and traveling for games. He had his life, he had his friends. As did Meadow. 

Meadow forced herself to focus on her tasks, refilling glasses and taking orders with a practiced ease. The evening wore on, the lively atmosphere of the bar contrasting with the turmoil inside Meadow. She stole glances at Landon whenever she could, a mix of admiration and apprehension swirling in her mind.

At one point, Landon caught her eye and waved her over. Meadow plastered on a smile, ignoring the twinge of nausea that threatened to resurface.

"Hey sis, great to see you!" Landon greeted her with a warm hug as Meadow tried not to flinch at the pressure on her stomach. "How's it going?"

"Hey Landon, good to see you too!" Meadow replied, mustering all her strength to appear cheerful. "Just another busy night at the bar."

"That corset really brings out your eyes," A blond guy with long hair said to her.

"Novak, dude," Landon said, "That is literally one of the gayest things I've heard you say."

"My girlfriend is a figure skater," Novak said, "She's trained me in observing aesthetics. And my mom is an artist, so again, aesthetics."

"The fact you know the word 'aesthetic' and can use it correctly does not help your case bud," Landon said. 

Landon glanced at her, his keen eyes narrowing slightly. "You sure you're okay? You look a little pale."

Meadow forced a laugh, brushing off his concern. "Oh, you know me, always working too hard. I'm fine, really."

But as she turned to attend to other customers, the discomfort in her stomach intensified. She struggled to maintain her composure, the urge to rush to the bathroom becoming harder to ignore.

After a particularly long wait at the bar, Meadow excused herself under the guise of checking on something in the back. She hurried to the bathroom, her steps unsteady as she fought the urge to be sick again.

As she leaned over the sink, trying to calm her racing heart, she heard a knock on the door.

"Meadow, are you okay in there?" Landon's voice carried concern through the door.

Meadow took a deep breath, trying to steady herself before responding. "Yeah, just... not feeling my best tonight. I'll be out in a minute."

She splashed more water on her face, hoping to hide the strain in her voice when she emerged from the bathroom. But as she returned to the bar, she knew that keeping up the facade of wellness was becoming increasingly difficult.

As Meadow tried to focus on her tasks, the discomfort in her stomach escalated. She couldn't shake off the feeling of nausea, and every movement felt like a struggle. Despite her best efforts to push through, she knew that something was wrong.

When it was time for her to perform on stage, Meadow summoned all her strength and determination. She took a deep breath, strumming her guitar and starting her set. But as the first notes escaped her lips, a wave of dizziness hit her like a freight train.

She stumbled mid-song, the room spinning around her as she struggled to perform. She never struggled to perform. Not like this.

"I'm so sorry," Meadow managed to gasp, her voice strained with effort. "I need... I need to go."

Houston, another musician who often performed at the bar, stepped in seamlessly, taking over the stage as Meadow hurried towards the bathroom.

But Meadow didn't make it far. The combination of nausea, dizziness, and weakness overwhelmed her. She covered her mouth, but liquid spurted out from behind her hand, on the wall.

Someone cursed. Meadow felt someone's hands on her. She wanted to punch, to fight, something. She didn't trust people putting their hands on her. But she saw him.

Blond hair. He was tall. His hair was long. Well, past his shoulders she supposed, longer than she usually saw. The guy from the table. Noah? Nick? Meadow couldn't remember.

"Meadow, what happened? Are you okay?" He asked, his voice filled with genuine worry.

Meadow could barely speak, her body wracked with spasms of nausea and pain. She stumbled towards the bathroom with his support, but before she could reach the relative privacy of the restroom, she doubled over, unable to hold back any longer.

"Okay, here, in there," He had said, "I'm going to get Landon for you, you probably trust him more than me."

Meadow stumbled into the bathroom. She needed to get to the toilet. She was going to vomit. She'd been feeling it all day and now it was happening. 

Her corset felt like it was clawing her gut, she gagged. Her stomach seized. A thick wave of vomit splattered into the toilet. She felt her hair sticking to her face. Her stomach lurched again. She felt something. Her stomach pulled, and as embarrassing as it was, she felt something in her pants she wore under her skirt.

In a panic, she pulled everything down. She pulled off the pants, but the skirt stayed in her lap. If someone came in the last thing she wanted was to be naked. 

Meadow's breaths came in ragged gasps as she leaned over the toilet, her body trembling with the force of the sickness. The bout of diarrhea had only exacerbated her already unsettled stomach, and now she was faced with a messy and humiliating situation.

Desperation fueled her actions as she tried to manage the chaos erupting within her body. With her corset digging into her abdomen and her hair clinging to her sweaty forehead, Meadow's mind raced with thoughts of how to handle the situation discreetly.

As another wave of nausea hit her, Meadow's instincts kicked in. She used her skirt as a makeshift catch for her vomit, the fabric quickly becoming stained and soaked with the mess. She grimaced, the embarrassment of the situation washing over her.

She felt more vomit rushing up her throat, but that time she was able to grab the trash can. She was such a mess, she knew she was. It was a humiliating and agonizing experience as Meadow was sick from both ends, her body wracked with the violent upheaval of whatever had been ailing her all evening. 

-

"Landon, hey," Novak said, looking over his shoulder and back to Landon, "The girl with the flowers in her hair…"

"Yeah, Meadow," Landon said, "My sister. She just left the stage-"

"She's sick," Novak said, "Like, really sick."

"What do you mean she's-"

"Like Sacramento," Novak said, "She looked and sounded every bit as bad as I was in Sacramento."

"Wait but you were like, dying," Landon said.

"Yeah, swear you threw up half your body weight," Henry said, "Not to mention, you know, everything el-"

Landon smacked Henry upside the head.

"I'm well aware," Novak said, "And thoroughly traumatized. But, seriously. Your sister seems real sick."

"I'm the last person that should help her. I love her but she's closer to the Dixon's," Landon said, "I'll grab Arizona. Thanks."

Landon got up, going to hunt down Arizona. 

Landon's heart raced with worry as Novak's words sank in. He had seen Novak battle through illness before, and if Novak was comparing Meadow's condition to that experience in Sacramento, it was serious.

"Henry, keep an eye out for her," Landon instructed, his voice tight with concern. "Novak, you okay?"

Novak nodded, but the concern in his eyes mirrored Landon's own worry. "I'll be fine. Just... keep an eye on her, okay?"

Landon nodded, already planning his next steps. He knew Meadow well enough to sense when something was seriously wrong, and Novak's comparison to Sacramento had set off all his alarms.

He hurried through the crowded bar, weaving between tables and patrons, until he spotted Arizona chatting with a group of regulars near the entrance. Arizona was like a sister to Meadow, always looking out for her and offering support in times of need.

"Arizona, I need your help," Landon said, his urgency evident in his tone as he approached her.

Arizona's smile faltered as she registered the seriousness in Landon's expression. "What's wrong? Is it Meadow?"

Landon sighed, "I don't know. Novak said he saw her go into the bathroom and says she's really sick, so."

"Yeah, her leaving the stage like that was concerning," Arizona said. 

Together, Landon and Arizona made their way to the bathroom where Novak had last seen Meadow. The bar's bustling ambiance seemed to fade into the background as they focused on reaching Meadow as quickly as possible.

When they arrived at the bathroom, Landon knocked gently on the door. "Meadow, it's Landon and Arizona. Can we come in?"

There was a moment of silence before Meadow's weak voice replied, "Yeah, come in."

"Just wait here," Arizona said, "Just in case."

Landon nodded.

"Meadow, sugar, what's going on?" Arizona's voice was tinged with concern, her Appalachian dialect adding a comforting familiarity to her words.

Meadow took a deep breath, trying to steady herself despite the churning in her stomach. "I don't rightly know, Arizona. Woke up this mornin' feelin' like a hound dog's chew toy. Thought I could make it through the day, but seems like my insides had other plans."

Arizona's brow furrowed with worry as she glanced at Landon, who stood nearby with a concerned expression. "You been sick all day?"

Meadow nodded weakly. "Couldn't keep anythin' down since this mornin'. Tried teas, crackers, even that ginger ale trick folks swear by. Nothin' seemed to settle my stomach."

Landon frowned, his worry deepening. "Maybe we should get you to a doctor, Meadow. This sounds serious."

Meadow shook her head adamantly, her stubborn streak shining through despite her discomfort. "No hospitals, Landon. Ain't nothin' they can do for a stomach virus 'cept tell ya to rest and hydrate."

Arizona placed a comforting hand on Meadow's shoulder. "She's right, Landon. Sometimes these things just gotta run their course. You wanna take her home and look after her?"

"Yeah," Landon nodded, "I'll get her, don't worry."

[portraitoftheoddity]

Don't Drink The Paint Water

Ok, the title is a little misleading since a lot of the paint I'm gonna talk about in this post would have been tempera or oil, and not water-based acrylic, so there would be no paint water. But as someone who worked in acrylic and definitely accidentally drank their paint water more than once, the warning is what rings in my mind every time I think of this topic.

Art is great for the soul. Art supplies, however, are not always great for the body.

Humans love smearing ourselves and our stuff with pretty colors made of shit that will kill us. Lead facepaint in Queen Elizabeth's court; Arsenic Green Wallpaper in Victorian parlors; uranium in glassware and wristwatches. And of course, all kinds of heavy metals in paints.

I talked in my post about Caravaggio about how a lot of his balls-to-the-wall batshit insane behavior may have been a result of chronic poisoning from his paints. Many artists through that whole era of history suffered from lead poisoning, to the point that "Painter's Colic" was a term for the intestinal constipation caused by chronic lead poisoning.

Now let's talk about that a little, and the various toxins that some of your favorite historical painters may have had in their systems from the creation and application of their paints...

White Paint: Lead

Lead white has been used as far back at the 4th century B.C.E. by the ancient Egyptians, Greeks, and Romans, and was THE white pigment in western art up through the nineteenth century (and also appeared in works from China and Japan). It's important to note that through much of history, you didn't just go to the store and buy a tube of paint -- you made your own by grinding up pigment and adding it to a medium such as oil. To make lead white paint, artists would grind a block of lead into powder, releasing toxic dust particles into the air. The pigment's popularity largely stemmed from how thick and opaque it was, allowing for dense applications of radiant, warm white.

Lead poisoning resultantly affected a great many artists who worked extensively with lead white paint, with gastrointestinal, neuromuscular, and neurological symptoms. Chronic lead poisoning resulted in abdominal pain, nausea and constipation, as well as neuromuscular issues such as tremor, loss of coordination and numbness. Neurologically, sufferers could experience loss of short-term memory or concentration, depression, fatigue, headaches, stupor, slurred speech, and difficulty with emotional regulation, which may have contributed to the enduring stereotype of artists as erratic tortured geniuses.

Lead white would eventually be replaced by zinc white and titanium white.

Vermilion Paint: Cinnabar (Mercury-Sulfide)

Cinnabar is a form of mercury sulfide (HgS) that can range in color from bright scarlet to brick-red. It is the most common source ore for refining elemental mercury-- and from both its mined form and creation via synthetic alchemy was used to create a range of red 'vermilion' pigments. Cinnabar was used decoratively dating back to antiquity due to its color, appearing in fine craftsmanship and artworks ranging from China to South America, and was the primary source of red pigment in European painting from the Renaissance to the 20th century.

And of course; it came with the fun fun experience of mercury poisoning! While ingesting cinnabar isn't nearly as toxic as other forms of mercury since the chemical composition is less reactive, cutting and grinding cinnabar to create paint pigment would lead to inhalation of particles, and the more it was ground, the brighter the red it would produce. Plus, heating cinnabar would result in the release of highly toxic mercury vapor which would damage the lungs. Long term cinnabar use would lead to renal failure, and likely other symptoms of mercury poisoning such as damage to the brain and nervous system.

Vermilion would eventually be replaced with the less-toxic cadmium red.

Naples Yellow Paint: Lead + Antimony

Here's a two-for-one poisoning deal! Naples yellow -- a saturated, thick yellow that could range from pinkish orange to an almost green lemon-yellow -- is derived from lead antimonate. Inorganic and synthetically created, the pigment itself dates back to ancient Egypt and Mesopotamia, making it one of the oldest synthetic pigments (it was predated by the Egyptians' use of the yellow pigment 'Orpiment' which was made with arsenic, for even more fun!) It was first referred to as Naples Yellow in the 17th century, and became particularly popular in European painting from the mid 1700s to mid 1800s, used by artists such as Délacroix, Jacques-Louis David, and Goya.

In addition to the joys of lead as discussed above, Antimony can cause vomiting, headache, dizziness, and sleeplessness, with effects similar to arsenic poisoning.

While there were a number of holdout artists who continued to use Naples Yellow up to the 20th century, Naples Yellow was largely replaced by Chrome Yellow and Cadmium Yellow by the late 19th century.

--

These are just a few of the more popular culprits in western art history -- and not counting fabric dyes such as Scheele's Green which experienced brief and deadly popularity in the Victorian era (made with Arsenic), or Uranium Yellow pigment used in ceramics and glass, which... I think you can guess where the problem with that lay.

All of which is to say, Art Was Hazardous, and a lot of artists through history quite literally died for the dyes, sacrificing their health, sanity, and years off their lives, knowingly or not, for the colors in their masterworks.

[p-artsypants]

Paint it Black (19) Defaulting

Ao3 | FF.net

Everyone, Bruce included, had expected Robin to continue to improve after the antidote was administered. No one thought he’d be right back up and ready to go, but they hoped there would be an improvement. 

Instead, there was a sharp decline. 

Within a few days, Robin went from optimistic about his new future, to nearly bedridden and quiet.

“Robin?” Starfire checked on him for the fourth time that day, hoping this time he’d get up and eat dinner with them. 

“Star…” he croaked. 

She sat at his bedside and pet his hair. “Are you the same or worse from earlier today?” 

“Worse,” he cringed. “It’s like my blood is on fire.” 

“I am to ask if you have a headache or weakness.” 

“Yes, both. And nausea. Could you bring me some water?” 

“Absolutely,” she leaned in and kissed his forehead. 

“Sorry, I was looking forward to spending time with you.” 

“Your apologies are not necessary. You are still recovering, and we have plenty of time to catch up.” 

Robin closed his eyes and let out a long sigh. “I suppose you’re right.” 

“I shall return momentarily with your water.” She patted his leg and returned to the common room. 

“So?” Batman asked, immediately. 

“It is as you have said. He appeared to be sweating quite fiercely, though he has several layers of blankets on. And he said he has a headache and muscle weakness, as well as nausea.” 

“I could pretty confidently diagnose him with opioid withdrawal,” Bruce frowned. “It’s not surprising since he’s been taking some everyday for a few months. You can’t quit that crap cold turkey.” 

“Is poultry also addictive?” Starfire asked. 

“It means quitting without weaning off. I can get about a month’s supply of medical fentanyl from some contacts at the local Wayne Tech branch. Robin’s not going to like having to take it, but if we time it right, we should be able to wean him off gradually. Then he won’t need it.” 

“That is an excellent plan! I shall be the one to explain it to him. He should accept it better from me.” 

“That’s what I thought too.” 

—

Beast Boy couldn’t sleep. He was tired, yes, but there was a tingling in the back of his head he couldn’t ignore. A feeling or an instinct that something was wrong. It had to be his animalistic sense. Then again, that little alarm had gone off a few times since Batman and Alfred came to visit. They were both up and about at night and made just enough noise that his advanced hearing could pick it up, even in sleep. 

But that instinct had settled down in the last week, finally getting used to their scents and sounds. 

But this was different. Something new, but somehow familiar. 

Would it hurt to check? If the coast was clear, he could very well pass it off as an effect of the upcoming full moon and go back to sleep. 

He got out of bed and moved into the hall, careful to be quiet and not awake the others. No reason to bother them over nothing. 

Last thing he needed was Raven making fun of him for literally crying wolf. 

His floor was clear, and was the floor below, where the gym was. But the floor after that, where Cyborg’s room was, was where the feeling intensified. 

Beast Boy morphed into a dog to sniff around in the dark. Something smelled like BO and pizza grease, but not like his room. 

As he rounded the corner, he was suddenly engulfed by a glowing orange orb, suspending him off the ground. He quickly morphed into a gorilla, and then attempted an elephant, but couldn’t actually become big enough. The material of the orb was solid. 

“What’d I tell ya?” Gizmo smirked, while holding a strange looking weapon, presumably what shot the orb. “Green Bean would smell your toe jam and pull the alarm on us.” 

“Fine, remind me to pay up when we’re done,” said Mammoth. 

“The Hive?! What—? How?!” Beast Boy yelled, but his voice was severely muted in his prison. 

Gizmo, Mammoth, See-More, Kyd Wykkyd, and Private Hive were all just casually standing in the hall, like they owned the place. 

“I promised to behave the first time I came to visit,” said Gizmo. “I didn’t make any promises the second time. Tin Man might be busy in the upcoming weeks writing some new passcodes…since I stole them all.” 

Beast Boy banged his fists on his cage. It felt like electrified jelly, and absorbed every hit he gave it. 

Gizmo then turned to his team, laser focused. “Alright, Raven’s going to be our next problem. She might be able to sense auras or souls or whatever, so we need to get her next. Kyd Wykkyd, you have that binding spell?” 

He nodded. 

“Good. Get her to the Ops room on the top floor, and we’ll get her bubbled.” 

Again, he nodded, and phased through the floor. 

“Mammoth, you’ve got Starfire. Mad Mod was able to hold her for a while with these Xenothium cuffs. Bring her upstairs when you’ve got her.” 

He cracked his knuckles. “I’m on it.” 

“See-More, you’re going to take Barf Boy up to the ops room while I take care of Cyborg.” He held up a flash drive. “This code will give us control over him until his battery drains.” 

See-More engulfed the already trapped Beast Boy in his beams. 

“Private, you’re responsible for crazy Robin.” 

“What do I capture him with, sir?” 

Gizmo shrugged. “If you can lure him up to us, I’ll bubble him, but he’s mostly not going to be a problem. He’s totally banana pants loony.” 

Beast Boy bit his lip. Robin was back, but as of bedtime, he was still resting in his room. No doubt, they’d find out soon enough. 

But, even at a quarter of his strength, surely Robin could defeat Private Hive…right? 

And if Robin couldn’t handle them, there was always Plan B. 

Batman. 

That is, assuming they didn’t get the drop on him as well. 

At the moment, Beast Boy didn’t really have any options except to wait and watch and wish he had been smart enough to grab his communicator when he went to investigate. 

He should really think about gluing that thing to his hand or something. 

See-More brought him up to the ops room, and released the ball to float about a foot off the ground. No running or pushing would move it. 

“Cool place. Never seen it from the inside,” he wandered around the still darkened room to find a light and helped himself to some snacks. 

“What are you creeps planning?” Beast Boy asked, nostrils flaring. 

See-More scoffed. “Like you could begin to understand.” 

Only a moment later, the Ops room door opened and Gizmo entered with Cyborg in tow. Cyborg’s steps were more robotic and clunky, and his human eye was closed in sleep. 

“Cy! Hey Cy! Wake up man!” 

“Don’t bother, Barf Brains. He’s trapped in his sleep cycle. As far as he knows, he’s dreaming of his stupid car and eating disgusting food.” 

A black portal opened from the ceiling before Raven fell, bound by the wrists and ankles with a white aura to the floor. The white aura also appeared as a mask over her nose and lips. Kyd Wykkyd appeared, giving Gizmo a thumbs up. 

“That’s three down,” Gizmo smirked as he shot his containment orb at Raven. “Just waiting on the alien…and technically crazy Robin, but I’m not worried about him.”

Raven, just wearing her leotard, rolled around to sit up and look at Beast Boy. 

“Yeah, they got me first. Are you okay? Can you breathe?”

She nodded. 

“Gizmo hacked Cyborg somehow, and has him under control. Let’s hope Starfire’s a light sleeper.” 

Raven gestured her head, silently asking about the others in the tower. 

“Not a clue. I’m calling it Plan B. If you know what I mean.” 

She rolled her eyes, but ultimately nodded in understanding. 

Then there came a boom from somewhere below, shaking the tower. 

“And…that would be Star,” Beast Boy smirked. 

“Kyd Wykkyd, See-More, go back him up,” Gizmo demanded, throwing See-More the strange gun. “I’ll watch these bozos. Not that they’re going anywhere.” 

“This is going to hurt, isn’t it?” See-More asked as they left. 

“I’ll ask again,” Beast Boy snarled. “What are you creeps up to?” 

“Nunya business, Butts for Brains.” 

“I think it is our business, considering you broke into our house!” 

“Big talk from you dweebs. I hear someone in this tower is actually a thief. Some heroes you are.” 

Beast Boy didn’t have an answer for that. He simply looked over to Raven again.  

She shrugged back. 

“Thief of what?” 

“Not sayin’, just something that doesn’t belong to you.” 

Beast Boy remembered the strange white doll again, though he couldn’t believe that was what Gizmo was talking about. 

After all, that wasn’t stolen, it was abandoned. 

Or maybe not. 

“Sir, Gizmo, Sir!” Private Hive arrived, a body clad in plaid pajamas over his shoulder. “There was no one in Robin’s designated room, but I found this old man in the room next door.” 

“Unhand me, you brute!” Alfred shouted from his awkward position. 

Beast Boy gasped and shouted, “Let go of our grandpa!” 

“Your grandpa?” Gizmo smirked. “I would have thought that any family of yours would also be green.” 

As Private Hive brought Alfred over to where Raven and Beast Boy were being held, Gizmo looted through the drawers in the kitchen until he found a roll of duct tape. “Here. Tie him up with this. Doubt the old man is any kind of threat.” 

Private Hive taped his wrists and ankles and left him on the floor between Raven and Beast Boy. 

“You okay, Alfred?” 

“I’m mostly fine. A little more bruised than I would like.”  

“They’re trying to catch Starfire right now. No sign of Robin, it sounds like.” 

“Miss Starfire is quite strong. They have their work cut out for them.” 

They waited more time in silence, anxiously waiting for any sign of a battle, while Gizmo impatiently rooted around the ops room. 

Maybe ten minutes later, the other Hive members returned with Starfire bubbled. Mammoth was bleeding from the nose and a cut above his eye. Starfire wore a tank top and shorts, though one strap on her tank was ripped. She was dazed and sprawled out in the bubble as they plopped her down by Beast Boy. 

“Star?” He asked, concerned. 

She clenched her eyes shut a few times, trying to focus. “Beast…Boy…?” 

“You’re okay. They’ve got us captured in these bubbles. Raven’s gagged and they infected Cyborg with a virus, so he’s out of commission. And they found Alfred.” 

Starfire just laid on her stomach, and pounded a cuffed fist against the orange surface. “I should have fought harder.” 

“Please, Miss Starfire, don’t be so hard on yourself. This was a surprise attack.”

“And I went easy on ya,” Mammoth mocked, wiping his face with a dish towel. “Next time, you won’t be getting up.” 

Starfire leapt to her feet and began wailing on the orb. Her attacks made the bubble shake violently, but it didn’t break. “THUS VAR Y’KEEM!” She shouted in her native tongue. 

“Ohh I’m so scared.” Mammoth rolled his eyes. “What’s next, Pipsqueak?” 

Gizmo gave him an annoyed look, but ignored the nickname. “We find the target. We have 24 hours before these bubbles wear down. I wanna be long gone before then. Crazy Robin is in the tower somewhere, but we outnumber, outpower, and out-sanity him. Call for backup if you see him.” 

Mammoth stuck a finger in his ear. “What are we looking for again? Some weird doll?”

Gizmo scoffed. “Nice work, Fart Face. Whatever. Yeah, all white doll, made of cloth.” 

Beast Boy let out a squeak that was muted by the prison. 

“Alright, spread out!” 

Kyd Wykkyd disappeared through the floor, but before the others could leave, the lights went out. The Hive members went still. 

“He’s here,” said Gizmo, converting his backpack into its spider form. “Get ready for something weird and stupid.” 

Instead, the main doors opened, and a cloud of smoke rolled in, making them all cough and choke. 

“What the—?” Gizmo exclaimed, but before he could finish, a grapple line wrapped around him and yanked him off his feet. 

A Batarang cut through the air and hit See-More right in the eye, making him fall to his knees and cry out in pain. 

Private Hive took out his shield and ran into the smoke, ready to fight. 

While the sounds of Private Hive getting the crap beaten out of him filled the silence, Mammoth ran at Alfred, swept him off the ground and put him into a painful headlock. “Give up now, or I snap the old man like a twig!” 

Private Hive gave a final ‘oof!’ as the wind was knocked out of him. 

Mammoth squeezed, and Alfred let out a painful gasp. 

There was silence, and then Batman flourished his cape and cleared the smoke. He stood in the doorway, watching intensely. 

“One more move, and Grandpa’s toast.”  

Batman noticed the bead of sweat that traveled down Mammoth’s forehead, but more importantly, the color draining from Alfred’s face. 

It just wasn’t a risk he was willing to take. 

Batman sighed and put his hands up. 

“Stand over by the others.” 

Batman did as directed, never showing what he was thinking. 

With Alfred still in a headlock, Mammoth recovered the bubble gun from the floor, and shot Batman. Then he dropped Alfred harshly on the ground. “You came in handy, gramps.” 

Alfred coughed and choked. “I hope you rot, you thug.” 

Mammoth kicked him once before going over to Gizmo and attempting to untangle him. 

Private Hive got his wind back and pathetically barked. “You never said Batman was involved! I never signed up to deal with Batman!” 

“Aw shut up, I didn’t know he was in town.” Gizmo finished untangling himself and dusted his arms off. “See-More, you good?”

The teen in question just sniveled, presumably not ‘good’. 

“Fine. Mammoth, Private, join Wykydd in the search. I’ll look in here and keep an eye on the hostages and See-More. You all have your radios?”

“Hostages?” Beast Boy barked. 

“Oh, did I offend you? What would you prefer? Prisoners? Captives? Losers?” 

 As the team split up, Batman opened the computer on his gauntlet. “Alright, what do you know?” 

“Oh, um…Gizmo’s kind of a returning pain in the neck. We actually…recruited him to help on the case. He’s the one that recovered the files from the SD card from Robin. Sounds like he hacked our system the last time he was here.” 

“Hm.” 

“Mammoth let it slip that they’re looking for some white doll that was allegedly stolen.” He shouted over to where Gizmo was. “Even though we don’t steal!” 

“Not according to our sources!” Gizmo chirped back. 

“And who are these sources?” Batman demanded. 

“Not telling, Bat Barf!” 

“Charming child, isn’t he?” Alfred quipped. 

Batman scanned the bubble prison, trying to find a weakness. “These cages are made out of an electrified aerogel, composed of silicon and amber. We could dissolve it if we had turpentine and toluene.” 

“Oh good. I assume you have those in your utility belt?” Alfred asked, sarcastically. 

“Gizmo said they’ll weaken in 24 hours. So we won’t die here at least…” 

“And no one has mentioned Robin?”

“Private Hive said he wasn’t in his room.” 

Batman shifted his jaw. “Then we might not be totally out of luck.”

“But he could not possibly take out the Hive on his own. He is far too weak right now!” Starfire protested. 

“He probably couldn’t win if they teamed up, but if he picked them off one by one…” 

Gizmo seemed to overhear that much from his spot across the room, and called out on his radio. “Keep on your toes for Robin. Don’t let him pick you off!” 

“I’m in his room right now, sir. Someone was here not too long ago.” 

Before Gizmo could respond, there was a long beep that was emitted from the ceiling. Then, music started playing, an acoustic guitar. 

“Intercom system activated.” Cyborg said, in an emotionless voice. 

“Intercom? Since when did we have an intercom?”   

When you were here before…couldn’t look you in the eye…

“Alright, who’s messing with the radio, huh?” Gizmo yelled into his com. 

You’re just like an angel…your skin makes me cry.

Beast Boy shuttered. “This is ‘Creep’ by Radiohead.” 

“Could that mean…?” Starfire whimpered. 

You float like a feather…in this beautiful world.

“That antidote didn’t work.” 

I wish I was special…yes so very special.

“Mayday! Mayday!” Private Hive’s panicked whisper over the com. “Crazy Robin spotted! He’s pissed! And I think he has a gun!” 

“Where are you?” Gizmo asked. 

“I’m in the trophy room. I’m hiding behind a corner.” 

“Why the heck are you hiding!? Get out there soldier! He doesn’t have superpowers! And don’t let his weird intimidation tactic get to you.” 

But I’m a creep…I’m a weirdo…what the hell am I doing here? I don’t belong here…

There was silence on the other end for a while, before Private Hive came back on, screaming. “Help me! He’s going to kill me! Ahh! Make it stop!!” 

Mammoth responded. “Private, I’m coming to back you up!” 

Gizmo scoffed at the radio. “You can’t find good help these days. Maybe we’ll go with the Hive Four until Billy’s out of jail.” 

I don’t care if it hurts…I wanna have control…I want a perfect body. I want a perfect soul.

“Did Private say he had a gun?” Beast Boy asked. “Where did he get a gun?”

“I hope he’s mistaken,” Batman sneered. “Or else this is going to get messy.” 

I want you to notice…when I’m not around…you’re so very special…

It was faint, because the tower walls were so insulated, but there was a definitive ‘pop pop’ somewhere in the tower. 

“Shit.” 

I wish I was special.

“Private! Status!” Gizmo shouted. 

There was no answer. 

“I’m closing in on his location,” said Mammoth. “There’s no one here but—-ough!” 

“I’m making the call, get out of there!” 

Mammoth’s radio must have fallen while being turned on, as the sounds from the room were clearly heard. Fists connecting, Mammoth’s cries of pain, and someone singing along with the radio. 

But I’m a creep…I’m a weirdo…what the hell am I doing here? I don’t belong here.

“Hold…still…you little…!” 

“Uh oh! Sounds like someone’s full of regretti, upsetti, and spaghetti!” 

“You…crazy son of a…” 

“Hey! There will be no goddamn swearing!” 

She’s…running out the door.

There was another loud ‘pop pop’ before silence. 

“Kyd Wykkyd? You still out there?” Gizmo asked with palpable fear in his voice. 

“If you let us out of here, we might be able to call him off,” Batman offered. “We might be able to save your friends.” 

“Like I believe you!” 

She’s run…run…run…

Gizmo sank to his knees in the common room, as there was nothing but silence over the radio, and only a warning over the speakers. 

Run! Run!

“Screw this! I’m getting out of here! Sorry See-More!” And Gizmo booked it out of the room. 

Whatever makes you happy…whatever you want…you’re so very special…

No one knew what to say. Was this considered a win? At what cost? 

Batman hung his head, shaking it in disgust. 

I wish I was special.

Starfire sobbed. “Why didn’t it work?” 

“What?” Asked Beast Boy. 

“The antidote! It was supposed to cure him!” 

“I’d like to know too,” Batman growled. “Because either the antidote was faulty, or he got dosed with his poison somehow.” 

“But he hasn’t left the tower in days,” said Beast Boy. 

“So…who got in?” 

But I’m a creep…I’m a weirdo…what the hell am I doing here? I don’t belong here…

The door to the ops room opened once again, and Black, wearing his ratty jeans and trench coat, stood in the doorway, gun in hand. “I don’t belong here!” He sang with the radio. “Sorry guys, looks like I made a widdle mess!” 

“Get us out of here, now!” Batman roared. 

“Damn, okay.” Black grumbled. “God forbid there’s any gratitude around here.” He left the room, and when he returned, he had Gizmo by the collar, his arms bound to his body by a grapple line. 

“Scuzz munching, brain barfing psycho.” 

“Turn off the orbs,” Black demanded. 

“I ain’t doing squat!” 

Black pointed his gun at his head. “I really think you ought to,” he sang.

“Okay okay!” Gizmo relented. “Jesus Christ.” 

Once he had a hand free, Gizmo simply tapped a button on his suit and the orbs popped. 

Beast Boy worked on setting Raven free from her binding spell while Batman picked the locks to Starfire’s cuffs. 

Once Raven was free, she disappeared into the floor, off in search of the injured villains. 

“You better fix Cy too!” Beast Boy shouted at Gizmo. 

“Ugh yeah yeah. Man, this is turning out to be a major failure.” 

While Starfire was free to help Alfred, Batman went to Black and held out his hand. “You really shouldn’t have that. Why don’t you give it to me?” 

Black screwed up his lips. “What if I need it?” 

“You don’t.” 

Cyborg let out a yawn and a stretch. “Good morn—hold up. Gizmo?” 

“The twerp hacked you, my man!” Beast Boy shouted.

“Several of our adversaries intruded upon our home,” Starfire elaborated. 

“Aww man…and I slept through all that? And now I bet I have to reset all the codes, huh?” 

Gizmo shrugged. “Don’t know. Don’t care. I’m all done. You gonna take me to the police or what?” 

Batman begrudgingly allowed Black to keep the weapon, for now, and approached Gizmo. “We’ll take a little ride in the Batmobile in a minute, but first, I want a word.” He grabbed Gizmo by the shirt and dragged him out of the room. 

“I can walk you know!” 

Soon after, Raven returned. “I couldn’t find Kyd Wykkyd. Private Hive is stable, but injured. Mammoth was in the worst condition, but if he gets to a hospital soon, he’ll survive.” 

The group collectively looked at Black. 

“Uh, you’re welcome?!” He sassed. 

Mostly, they were just wondering how he was here and not Robin, but no one was sure how to ask the question. Black wasn’t supposed to know that they tried to get rid of him. 

Distantly, the group could hear Gizmo screaming as he fell off the tower, but no one minded much. 

“What did those knuckleheads break in here for?” Cyborg asked, playing catch up. 

“It’s the D-O-L-L again,” said Beast Boy. “I think that’s why Batman is interrogating Gizmo.” 

See-More still laid on the floor, in pain due to his broken eye. He spoke up, sniveling. “Joker offered a position as his apprentice if someone brought that thing to him.” He worked on taking his helmet off. “Jynx and I had weird vibes about the situation. It's one thing to be a big time villain, but that guy is not stable.” 

“So why did you join the mission?” Raven asked, kneeling to look at his eye. 

“Curiosity. I wasn’t going to accept the position, but I thought it’d be a good experience.” 

“Yeah, I bet ‘I ran a job for the Joker’ looks great on a villain resumé,” Beast Boy chuckled. 

“You joke, but we literally had lessons on it from the guidance counselor at the Hive Academy.” 

“That’s wild.” 

“As it is, I doubt I’ll be doing anything evil for a while, if I haven’t gone blind from this.”

“Well, make sure you make an appointment with your evil optometrist, and you’ll probably be fine,” Raven concluded her exam. “As it stands, we’ll probably need a few ambulances.” 

“My question still stands,” said Beast Boy, walking up to Black. “Where did you get the gun?” 

He tucked it away in his waistband. “I’ve had it the whole time.” 

“Bull shit!” 

“I’m serious. If you go back, it’s mentioned in chapter 6.” 

“What are you talking about?!” Beast Boy became frustrated. “You almost killed people today! Robin never used guns, and knew exactly where to hit people to knock them out without killing them. You—…” He shook his head and walked over to the couch. “I thought this was over.” 

“Wow,” said Black. “You all are nothing but a bunch of ungrateful brats. Here I thought I’d get a bunch of ‘atta boy’s for rescuing all of you. But nnnoooOOOOoooOoooo. You’re all like ‘people could have died’ and ‘I’m scared for my own life because you have a gun and you’re crazy’.” 

Frightening how no one had said the second part aloud. 

“Black,” Starfire began, resting her hands on his shoulders. “We are grateful that you saved us. We knew you could do it, and knew you were our only chance. We’re just…concerned about your methods.” 

Black looked at Starfire, tilting his head to the side. He glanced away, furrowing his brows, like he was listening to something. 

Then he backed away from her. “Glad to know one person is grateful.” 

A moment later, Batman returned with a pale and shaking Gizmo. “I have a location.” 

“Good,” stated Cyborg, from the computer. “Where are we headed?”

“Tomorrow night,” Batman clarified. “They have a meeting. I’m going to be there instead. The rest of you are going to watch Black.” 

“Uh…tomorrow is Halloween,” Beast Boy piped up. “With all the kids trick or treating, Robin likes to have us all on patrol.”

Black perked up.

“Right,” Batman sighed, forgetting the date. 

“Sir, could we not put him in the containment unit for the night? I would be more than capable to look after him.” 

“That will have to work. In the meantime, we should clean this mess up.” 

—-

After all of that, Beast Boy returned to his room, totally pooped. He hadn’t even done any fighting, but the adrenaline of it all kept him wired. 

But as soon as he laid down, he got a whiff of an unfamiliar smell. He morphed into a bloodhound and started sniffing around. Someone had been in his room. 

When it all clicked, he transformed back into a boy and ran to tell the others. 

The doll was gone.

[caspersickfanfics]

A very late submission for @monthofsick day 8: Loud or Silent

Prompt List | AO3 | Ask | Rules

Warnings: Vomiting, implied emetophobia, teenage sickie (17 y.o)

A/N:

I don't really know what kind of audience there is for Blue Lock and what the overlap with the emeto community looks like, but reading that manga brought me back to my Haikyuu days so quickly. Writing this was kind of nostalgic - so even if no one reads it, I did quite enjoy going back to my sports-anime comfort zone of sorts while making it!

Whenever Bachira wakes up with his mouth sewn shut, he knows that the day is not going to be a fun one. On days like this, his mom would normally make him hot chocolate and a pillow fort. She’d let him stay home from school and use her paints and canvases to communicate if he chose. If he didn't, they'd just sit together, and it would help. These days were always difficult, but with his mom around, he could get through them with a handful of crying spells, a few naps, and the reminder that it would be over soon enough.

He’d really hoped this wouldn’t happen while at Blue Lock. The air in the facility feels more choking than ever and, for the first time, Bachira wonders if he’s made a mistake, staying here. His mom, when she’d found out about his decision, had been supportive. She always had believed in him fully. But days like this… Bachira isn’t sure that he’s ready to face them on his own yet. There’s no hot chocolate here. And to make it all worse, he's not sure he could stomach it if there was.

He chokes down a tasteless breakfast without a word. His friends appear to be concerned about him to various degrees, but that’s the thing about days like this… Bachira doesn’t have words. Even if he did, he doesn’t have a voice. He can't explain it to them, as much as he wants to. The attention just makes him feel uncomfortable and guilty for his ineptitude. Once everyone else has left the cafe, Isagi waits for Bachira to finish his food, quiet, as though he can somehow sense what Bachira needs.

They start towards the gym for warmups and conditioning together, but the thought of weights and running makes Bachira start to sweat. He peels off as they pass the bathroom. Isagi frowns, but only asks if he’s alright. When Bachira nods, he’s relieved that his friend doesn’t push it.

Minutes later, Bachira has locked himself in a tiny stall, breathing slowly and fighting tears. He feels horrendously sick, and equally lonely. With each wave of nausea comes a jolting fear. He squeezes his eyes shut, as if he could make the whole world disappear, himself included, by doing so. Instead, time continues to crawl along, and Bachira feels no better. When he begins to shake, the queasy feeling peaks, and he knows he’s fighting a losing battle. 

Burping over the toilet bowl, puffs of rancid air fill his mouth. The sour taste has him retching, quietly. Eventually the air builds and brings with it something awful: hot, watery vomit interspersed with semi-solid chunks, the taste rotten and turning his stomach even more. He manages to wrangle some control over his body, flushes the toilet, and leans back, but tears stream down his cheeks. The nausea hasn’t left and the lingering smell doesn’t help. He’s trembling, arms across his midsection, hands clutching at his elbows. He hates that he’s gone and gotten sick at Blue Lock. It has to be the worst place for this to happen - it’s cold, oppressive, and unforgiving. Bachira tries and fails not to think about how this will put him out of commission, and will most likely spell the end of some of best friendships he’s ever made. It weighs heavy on his heart, at odds with an underlying need to be home; really, he just wants his mom. He jumps at a click - the door to the bathroom opening - and holds his breath.

“Bachira?” It’s Isagi.

Bachira whimpers. He can’t help it. His stomach is bubbling back up again. He muffles a belch into his hand and hears a soft knock against his stall.

“Hey.” Isagi sounds… calm. “We all thought something seemed off, earlier. Do you want me to keep you company?” Calm, patient, and reassuring. Bachira has found a wonderful friend. He should feel happy. Instead, he feels weak and not at all like the athletic partner he needs to be for Isagi. He's ashamed; but he also doesn’t want to be alone. His monster disappears on days like this. His mom is hours away. He doesn’t want to be alone.

He lets Isagi in. Bachira keeps his face towards the ground, both out of shame and an attempt to manage the dizziness of standing. It doesn’t help - at least, not enough to keep his body upright. His legs give out and Isagi catches him under the armpits.

“Woah,” he murmurs. “Careful.”

Bachira says nothing, limp in Isagi’s arms. Tears continue to wet his cheeks.

“You must be feeling awful.” There’s a hand to Bachira’s forehead. Despite wanting to be better than this, to be strong, for Isagi, the comforting gesture softens Bachira further. “Have you thrown up?”

A mortified nod. Isagi makes a sympathetic noise, squeezing Bachira’s shoulder. “Hey, it’s okay. We’ll get through this.” Bachira’s hazy mind latches onto the wording - we’ll get through this. He’s not alone. The thought brings fresh tears to his eyes. Isagi’s here. “We should get you back to bed, though.”

As if in direct response to his lifted hopes, Bachira’s stomach is suddenly in his throat again. He whirls around, opens his mouth, and tries not to sound too pitiful as vile liquid pours out of it. This time, Bachira is helpless - his tenuous control over his body entirely lost. Without his consent, his stomach clenches, again and again, sending more and more burning sick rushing up his throat, filling the toilet bowl with messy splashes.

Stunned, Isagi stands behind his sick friend for a moment before moving closer to pull his hair out of the way. He’s glad now that Chigiri had insisted on barging into Ego’s office to demand that he give Bachira at least a day off. It’s clear that the other boy is very, very ill.  It explains how quiet he’d been throughout the morning. Isagi wishes he could do more than rub his friend’s back, but knows that they just need to wait it out for now. It doesn’t make his heart hurt any less, standing there as Bachira empties himself out. For as loud as he normally is, right now, he's worryingly quiet even while spilling his guts, making only muted, choked noises and occasional hiccups. As if he’s wanting to hide.

“You’re okay, Bachira,” Isagi says. “Ego is fine with you resting today, by the way.”

The sick boy’s breath catches momentarily, shock disrupting even his relentless stomach, before he lurches forward with another retch. Isagi hums.

“It surprised me, too. Not sure what Chigiri said to him, but I’m sure he’ll have a story to share once you’re feeling better.”

By now, Bachira is panting over the toilet, bile and spit dripping from his lips. The heaving has nearly stopped, although every once in a while his whole body tenses, shudders, and forces out another mouthful of bile. Isagi can’t imagine that the stench and general discomfort of the tile floor is helping any, so he flushes the toilet and eases Bachira away from it. The sick boy doesn’t resist, leaning into Isagi’s touch. His face is red and blotchy, his hair sweaty.

“Hey,” Isagi smiles when their eyes meet. “You’re doing so well.”

That’s all it takes to get an armful of Bachira. Isagi feels his sweatshirt dampen with tears, and pets his friend’s head until his shoulders stop shaking. Still, neither of them let go until Isagi realizes that it’s probably safe enough to move at this point.

“Do you feel okay enough to go back to the dorms?” Bachira freezes at the suggestion, his grip on Isagi’s clothes tightening. Isagi takes a guess at the cause of his hesitation. “I’ll stay with you. If Ego’s giving you a day off, he can give me one, too.”

There’s a pause, a sniffle, and then a nod. Isagi melts. Bachira is just as cute when he’s quiet as he is when he’s shouting and energetic. He only wishes he were feeling better. One day, they’ll have to have a fun day off. They can spend it together and maybe with some of their other friends, relaxing. But for today, they’ll be okay. They’ll get through this together, too.

–––

Send asks here!

[bella-rose29]

episode 4 commentary - Sweet Dreams

warnings: swearing, once again barely any of this is proper commentary it's just me calling everyone pretty and simping over their hands and arms, SPOILERS FOR THE SHOW AND BOOKS, when I have multiple of the same letter in a row (so like AAAAA) I have to press the key every single time (fun) so... idk why it's a warning but I felt like you just needed to know how excited I got

that's a funky headboard

omg I want her jumper

LOCKWOOD WITH THE ALICE IN WONDERLAND REFERENCE

that toast would have scared the shit out of me too Lucy dw

angry

concerned bbs

"we were not 'rescued'" and "stuck up mediocrities" will forever be iconic

"he lacks respect"

this whole scene always makes me laugh tbh

so many good quotes

"you take the lie, and you take Kipps' face and put them together--"

"and you just wanna watch him... die"

"please tell me there's tea" mood AND THEN HE'S THE ONE MAKING TEA

concerned bbs again

"you're just not rude enough to her, George"

the way he appears round that door 😭

FUCK OFF JOPLIN

hand

I will not be discussing the sound I made at lockwood sat in the chair after passing on the business card

Georgie no

spiky shoes

my dried mango I'm eating is so good

"pre-pleb?"

lockwood's so pretty omg

so is lucy

hmmmmmmmmmm lockwood

^^^

why does his mouth not move

also why was that hot

rainy taxi

hand

George looks so excited talking about the black market I love him

hand

George I love you

lockwood could your ego get any bigger (but also hehehe)

"proper honest blokes, real salt of the earth"

"you've never even spoken to them"

*pause* "yeah well they're a bit scary"

"go write a poem about it!" George you beautiful human being

showman speech! showman speech!

hand

BOBBY I CANT HEAR ANYTHING BUT BESHPOKELY NOW

"you will have my undivided attention" gbsgsukrhgosuruhgksh I would melt and then evaporate when he smiled

"no backbone this generation!"

"I am not filling out more forms" mood

he's so pretttyyyyyyyyy

NOT THE CAMERA SPINNING AROUND LIKE THE BONE GLASS

woo they have chains now!

lockwood is so angry

"it knows you're there" oh very comforting

bzzzzzzzzzzzz

JOPLIN GO AWAY

omg Lucy nooo

hehehe it's her bestie

touching locklyle moment of: "Luce, what's going on? are you okay?"

*George in the background* "WhERe'S mY LiGht?"

bestieeee

yeah well don't open it

"stand by" lockwood honey she's not in any state of mind to deal with this

Georgie nooooo

idk if it's a thing but the fact that lockwood was the only seemingly unaffected??? Lucy obviously has Listening, and George can do some of the Touch stuff, so does that mean they're more susceptible to psychic emotions? George had the nausea and Lucy had the headache and all the rest of it but lockwood was fine? idk

"all someone had to do was apply themselves!" iconic

DON'T FEEL EXCITED BITCH

GEORGIE NOOO

whoops

bit dusty now

BADASS BITCH MOMENTTTTTTT

THROW THAT RAPIER!!!!

heavily breathing lockwood 👀

hehehe bestieeee

already trying to get out lolllllll

oh no the boys are fighting :(

"you'd never bollock her like this would you"

tired-of-this-lockwood is one of my favourites I think

"iS iT tALkInG tO yOu nOw?"

oops

don't talk about the room

"clinically insane-" "really FUCKING powerful" I love them

"you gave her a free pass just 'cause you like the way she looks at you" ok 1) DUDE SAID THAT WITH LUCY IN THE ROOM I LOVE HIM and 2) honestly I am lockwood bc I too would give her a free pass if Lucy looked at me like 😍 (or even if she just looked at me tbh)

"I don't know what you're talking about" "yeah sure" I AM GEORGE IN THIS SITUATION

boy's angry

"why, 'cause you can't handle being my Tom Rotwell?" OOOO WHAT A BLOW TO THE EGO

THE MICROEXPRESSSIONS S SIESR0[HORUSHGOSRUHGOA CAMERON CHAPMAN THE MAN YOU AREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

sorry can you tell I love that bit

aw Georgie nooo

lanky boy

I WANNA GIVE HIM A HUGGGG :((((

Georgie noooo

IS THAT MARY WATSON

is that a FQD I see?

hehehe he's so silly

"he was a massive prick to me just now" he deserved that

awkward teens hehehe

SJRHGIUSRHGOURHSOUGHSEORIGJORS THIS SCENENEEEEEEE

TENDING TO WOUNDSSSSSSSSSSDSDIUSGHESIUHGOSUR H

"the real reason you might be here is to shine it on somebody else" AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

WHY AM I TEARING UP (I think it's the hormones actually)

HE IS SO BAD AT NOT LOOKING AT HER LIPS (me too)

his smileeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee

WHY AM I CRYING

WTF

HE LOOKED AT HER LIPS AGAIN

NOW THEY'RE TENDERLY HOLDING HANDS

NOT THE PINKY FINGER

NOT HIM LOOKING AT HER LIPS FOR THE THIRD TIME

omg the awkwardness after they sat in silence staring at each other and holding hands

ok but the fact they cut to george's room but showed it through the mirror on his wardrobe???????? omggggg deep analysis of when mirrors are used here we come

he's so pretty

peekaboo

not the biscuit 😭

"do not cross" *crosses*

he looks like a guilty child

he sounds like one too

"absolutely by the book" sure...

BOBBYYYYYYYY

heavily breathing lockwood hmmmmmmm

I'm sorry I can't take bobby Vernon seriously bc I just think of bobby (who isn't that small) and I laugh

I've had to pause it which is a problem bc it's gonna take me a while to get through this 😭

he's so smug omg 😭

"there you go, sir" with as much smugness as possible

screeching like a parrot at bobby's laugh

I actually can't stop laughing this is ridiculous

"yes, I do, actually" YOU SHOW THEM GEORGIE

"you sure you do?" "I know who that man is"

"this better be good Karim" *immediately aims his attack at bobby*

"they'll be glad of the work, but this is Phoenician" I AM A PROUD BESTIE JUST LIKE LOCKWOOD AND LUCY ARE IN THAT MOMENT

"bobby, just a hunch. something I read in a book, if you remember those" I LOVE HIM YOUR HONOUR

he's having so much fun being smarter than bobby Vernon and I love it

"thank you bobby, you've been a wonderful assistant"

*gets a shot of just him concluding his point like the DIs in death in paradise while looking awesome*

"shut up karim" "you thought it was a brewer!" ah, rivalry

lockwood looks so thin (like thinner than he normally does) he kinda looked like a cartoon I won't lie

barnes is so done

"shall we get hotdogs"

he's so smug

stop calling him irrelevant bestie

lucy's "oh for god's sake" in the background is me

"Quill Kipps, the walking appendix" ok 1) honey go to bed and 2) why was the way he said that kinda 👀🤭

lockwood seriously go to bed, your brain is clearly not functioning properly

"three less amateurs stumbling around" um kipps if you're going to insult them could you at least say fewer? (I'm a pedant just like lockwood)

"what the hell is he doing" "whatever the hell he wants" hehehe

[ethereousdelirious]

FINALLY managed to write something for my special little sensitive crybaby princess OC. I'm trying to get back into the swing of writing.

There are a few context things I'd like to explain, so bear with meeee

(He has the flu in this. There's mentions of nausea at the end, but nothing happens with it)

Some Context (this is optional so just scroll down to the bolded text if you want to skip):

I've written about these characters before, but I've changed the world and plot of the novel they're supposed to be in, so if you remember anything about that world, just flush it.

Since this is essentially fanfiction of a story that doesn't exist yet, here are some things you're supposed to know about the characters: All of them are in their mid-20s. Hewitt and Sterling are close friends and have recently met Gilles, who had to move out of his family home after they all moved back to France without him (long story). Or fantasy France. I haven't decided if this fic takes place in the "real" word, so to speak, or a fantasy/alternate world. I'll use real world terms for now to make it easier. Gilles is Black and originally from France. Hewitt is white and British. Sterling is extremely mixed race and American.

You'll see Hewitt making vampire jokes at Gilles and referring to Sterling as "Adonis," which are both references to inside jokes woth the characters that I'm not gonna bother to explain because it doesn't matter

Sterling uses Celsius measurements when he's trying to be courteous to his European friends and Fahrenheit when he's alone or distracted.

Okay das all I think

Story starts here

Gilles’ belongings sat in a disordered pile on the cobblestones, dwarfed by the narrow three-story house looming behind them. He swallowed, throat stinging. This was it.

Sterling bumped him a little on his way to the front door, murmuring his apology. Gilles scarcely heard. Even that light touch had made him flinch, sent goosebumps all up and down his arm. His heart pounded. This was really it.

God, he didn't know these people. What if they killed him in his sleep?

“Gilles?” Hewitt bumped him with his hip. That, too, hurt more than it should have, made him shudder. “Are you waiting for an invitation?”

Gilles shook himself and forced a smile. These were his friends. New friends, yes. But friends. “It's only polite, you know.”

“Fine, but just know I have garlic hanging on all the walls.” Hewitt grinned and beckoned Gilles to follow him over the threshold. “Come inside! Oh, but grab a box or Adonis will yell at us.”

“Have I ever yelled at you?” Sterling asked, appearing in the doorway. “Gilles, don't listen to him. I'll need you to help me with the furniture anyway, since Heaven knows Hewitt won't be able to.”

Gilles nodded, following Sterling to his dresser. The glossy wood gleamed in the late summer sun, and the beveled edges dug into Gilles’ palms.

“Well,” Hewitt said, “have fun carrying that up two flights of stairs.”

“There's still plenty of work for you to do,” Sterling said, nodding at the various boxes surrounding them. “But being a distraction is not among them. Ready, Gilles?”

“Ah—” Gilles swallowed and his throat stung again. Worse, this time. “Yes.”

His muscles protested the weight of the dresser at once. Every discomfort, which had felt so insignificant not 30 minutes ago, magnified itself as he shuffled across the living room.

That wasn't right.

He and Sterling had carried this out of his house— out of the house with no problems. It wasn't even that heavy. So why were his legs shaking? Why couldn't he breathe? They were still on flat ground.

“Coming up on the stairs,” Gilles said breathlessly, steering Sterling toward them.

Sterling gave him a quizzical look, his dark eyes narrowing. “Are you alright?” he asked. “Need a break?”

“I— N-no, I…” Gilles shook his head and had to stop talking to focus on ascending the stairs. His knees bumped the edges of the dresser and the sharp pain rippled outward along his skin. “I'm fine.” The words burned in his throat.

“Al‐right.” Sterling furrowed his brow and hefted the dresser.

He seemed to be doing a lot better than Gilles was, despite the obvious effort. His breathing, though heavy, remained steady as they bypassed the landing and continued up the stairs, and he was remarkably steady on his feet. He seemed to have the layout of the house memorized, oftentimes turning before Gilles could even give him an instruction.

Not that Gilles was good for much at the moment. Pain pooled in his palms. The dresser might as well have sliced them open, though the only liquid on him was sweat. It ran down his temples, down his back.

“It's here on the left,” Sterling said, though there was no need. The doorway to the right clearly led outside, and the only other option was to go left.

Dutifully, Gilles shuffled into the vacant bedroom, and then the dresser slipped from his hands and thudded onto the carpet. His whole body shook, his thighs tensing and releasing in minute spasms. He clung to the side of the dresser, staring at the silver dots glittering across the beige carpeting.

“Gilles?” Sterling sounded like he was back at the bottom of the stairs. But that couldn't be right. Maybe it was just… his breathing…. He was breathing so hard his chest hurt, and it was loud. “Gilles?”

He went down slowly, eyes open, and the room tilted in a sickening whirl of white and beige, and the ceiling light seared his eyes.

Somebody had a hard grip on his ankles, shoving the leather of his low-cut boots hard into the tendons.

Gilles’ throat hurt.

He stared at the ceiling light and his breath came back to him.

“Gilles? Are you with me?” Sterling asked.

Gilles lifted his head. Sterling… Sterling was holding his feet up by the heels, staring at him with clinical concern.

Heat flooded Gilles’ face. “What are you doing?”

Sterling let go of him and sat back on his heels. “Facilitating blood flow to your brain.” He cocked his head as Gilles sat up, staring at him. “Do you faint often?”

“N-no.” Gilles squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. It hurt to talk. “I've never fainted before.” A wave of chills rolled over his skin and he shivered, wrapping his arms around himself. How embarrassing. He must have looked like such a fool, overexerting himself like that.

Not that it should have been so difficult. What was wrong with him?

“Er, Gilles. You're shaking.”

“I'm sorry,” Gilles croaked, the words burning like acid in his throat.

“What— No, It's 28 degrees and you're shaking.” Sterling leaned forward and hesitated. “May I?”

Gilles blinked at him, tears pricking his eyes. “28 degrees?”

“Oh—” Sterling huffed and planted his hand on Gilles’ forehead. “You're sweating. That's good. How's your head?”

Gilles' breath caught in his throat. He flinched away from Sterling and coughed into his shoulder, all his muscles complaining at the motion.

“Never mind.” Sterling sat back again.

Oh. Gilles shivered and tried to sit up, but couldn't tear his arms away from his chest. “I'm so sorry,” he croaked, clawing at his collar. “I didn't know— I can—” What? There was nothing he could do. He was sick, and all his worldly belongings were sitting in the street. “I, I can— I can still—” He moved to stand up, forcing his arms down despite the painful chills running through him. Another coughing fit nearly knocked him down again, and he clung to his dresser, legs wobbling.

“Gilles, relax.” Sterling stood and, not asking permission this time, caught him under the arm. “Can you manage the stairs?”

“Y-yes…” He would manage the stairs. He'd have to be half-dead before he'd let anyone carry him.

Hewitt's puzzled expression melted into one of alarm. “What happened?” he asked, rushing forward, then darting out of the way like he'd changed his mind.

Gilles couldn't help but wince in anticipation of his humiliating episode repeated.

But Sterling remained silent as he guided Gilles to the couch, only speaking once Gilles was seated. “Gilles’ come down with something,” he said, calm as ever. “The flu, I think.”

“Really?” Hewitt peered at him like a child, blue eyes gleaming like marbles. “But you helped us move all that furniture onto the wagon.”

Gilles shrugged. If he’d been sore then, he hadn't thought much of it. It was a lot of heavy lifting, and he’d already been for a run that morning. But the reminder sent a spike of nausea through him, and a chill that had nothing to do with his fever. “I'm terribly sorry,” he said, squeezing himself in a vain attempt to ward off the cold. “Really, I just need a moment, and then I can—”

“You're crazy,” Hewitt said bluntly.

Sterling nodded like that settled something and leaned over to open the blinds, revealing the street and all Gilles’ boxes. “Hewitt, make sure nobody gets any funny ideas, will you? I've got some phone calls to make.”

“This is a very safe area,” Hewitt said once Sterling had gone. “No one will get any ‘funny ideas.’”

“Oh,” Gilles said faintly. Words and meanings were rapidly becoming two distinct entities. His body ached with the cold and all he could really do was shiver and think about how badly this all hurt.

“I do wish he'd been a bit more bossy, though.” Hewitt sighed and shoved his hands in his pockets. “I never get sick, and Sterling really never gets sick, so I'm not sure what to do. Do you want to lie down?”

Gilles freed a hand and pressed it to his forehead. This was too much. He needed a blanket and he couldn't just borrow one, nor could he bear the idea of asking Hewitt to search through his boxes until he found one. So he'd have to get up. And find one of his pillowcases while he was at it, because he couldn't bring himself to subject his locs to the tweed throw pillows surrounding him on the couch.

Nothing for it.

Gilles got up.

It was the hardest thing he'd ever done.

His knees didn't want to work and his muscles ached.

But he was standing.

“Oh!” Hewitt stepped back to give him some space. “Look, you really don't have to worry—”

“I just need a few things,” Gilles muttered, and made for the door.

Hewitt followed him. “I could get them for you! Unless they're… secrets? I suppose? Do you have a lot of things you don't want me to see?”

The summer sun engulfed Gilles, soothing some of the pain from the chills. Cobblestones burned under his knees as he fumbled with a random box, his hands shaking.

“Why don't you just let me help you?” Hewitt asked. “I promise, I only judge people I don't like.” He stepped forward and opened the box for Gilles, revealing stacks of folded shirts.

“I just…” Gilles fell back on his heels, head hanging. This was a mess. He was embarrassing himself. “You and Sterling have done so m-much for me…” He stifled a few coughs into his elbow, tears burning in his eyes. He'd taken and taken, accepted their kindness with nothing but a few paltry words of gratitude, and now here he was, taking again. It was terribly rude.

“Well, look,” Hewitt said, “you can repay us by not worrying us sick, alright? Just sit back and tell me what you're looking for. And let me know if there's anything you don't want me to touch.”

This, at last, was too much. Gilles nodded, but the tears pooling in his eyes finally spilled over and he couldn't speak except to choke out an apology in French that Hewitt wouldn't have been able to understand anyway.

“Don't cry!” Hewitt's fingertips touched down on Gilles’ back. “I'm sorry! What did I say?”

“I'm sorry,” Gilles said breathlessly, coughing. “I'm not usually so—” He broke off, falling into another fit of coughing.

“Sick,” Hewitt finished for him, moving his hand to rest on the back of Gilles’ neck. “You're burning up.”

Gilles shook his head. “I'm c-cold.”

“Well, have you got anything in here?”

“Um…” Gilles blinked away tears. Did he? “Maybe?”

“Let’s have a look.” Hewitt wasted no time, pawing through Gilles’ shirt with total disregard for how carefully he'd folded them. “There's a lot of green in here.”

Gilles wiped his face. “It's my favorite color.”

“Yes, I can tell.” Hewitt continued digging through the box, until he finally produced the gray sweatshirt Gilles wore running on cold mornings. “How about this?”

Gilles nodded and took it, only remembering to thank Hewitt after it was halfway over his chest. The sunlight was nice on his skin but really couldn't help with the bone-deep chills running through him.

“Anything else?” Hewitt asked, his gaze darting down Gilles’ body in short, jagged lines.

Gilles pulled his locs free of the sweatshirt’s collar and nodded. He was still freezing, but… the cobblestones were warm and the street was quiet and…

Hewitt snapped his fingers. “Don't fall asleep!”

“Sorry…” Gilles ran his hands down his face and tried to rally. “Ah… Something. Silk or satin. A shirt, or one of my pillowcases.” He blinked slowly, his vision blurring a little. “Please.”

“Well, you've got a silk shirt in here, but—”

“S'fine.” Slowly, Gilles reached out for it. Even that small motion took twice as much effort as it should have. How was he going to get back inside? He curled his fingers around the fabric and stared at it.

“I think you need to lie down,” Hewitt said hesitantly. “You don't seem… Can you stand?”

Gilles shook his head.

The world softened to a dreamy blur as Hewitt manhandled Gilles inside. The effort of moving was almost enough to make him feel warm, but… Well, he wouldn't notice either way soon.

The couch was the only thing in the living room, the satin was the only thing on his skin. He lowered himself, aiming the shirt toward one of the throw pillows.

Sound came in little gentle washes of awareness and a bitter chill in his chest.

“Sterling!”

“Yes, good to see you, but please keep it down.”

Thudding and murmurs and footfalls.

“He's still out?”

“I don't think he's feeling well at all. Earlier, I mean—”

“He's shivering.”

Unfamiliar voices. The rush of the sink.

“Last one, I think.”

“Oh, good.”

Gilles awoke in sunset colors, curled on his side under a thick blanket. His dry throat burned and his chest spasmed with sharp, deep coughs.

Water.

He sat up, already breathing heavily, his vision narrow and vivid. The kitchen wasn't all that far, but… It might as well have been miles.

“Don't get up,” said a voice.

Gilles flinched and turned and found Sterling seated in an armchair with a book in his lap.

“Unless you need the bathroom,” Sterling continued.

“N…” Gilles started, but his voice cracked and he started to cough again, eyes streaming. His ribs already ached with the strain and now his head pounded with each forceful exhale.

Sterling got up without a word and sat beside him, holding a glass of water up for Gilles to take.

He seized it and drained it as soon as his body would let him, and fell against the back of the couch with his chest heaving. “I'm sorry,” he panted, staring at the ceiling as his face burned. “Th-thank you, Sterling. Forgive me.”

“You have nothing to apologize for,” Sterling said. “You're our friend and we're happy to help you. Now.” He stood up and set the empty glass on the coffee table, where it must have been resting before. “I'd like to take your temperature, and it would be good if you would eat something.”

Gilles occupied himself getting back under the blanket. It was one of his own, thank god, and he'd managed to work it into a tangle.

“You're still cold?” Sterling asked. He moved as though to press a hand to Gilles’ forehead and stopped abruptly. “Here.” He held out his hands. Gilles passed him the blanket and Sterling shook it out, then tucked Gilles in like a child.

“Thank you,” Gilles mumbled, looking down. His own weakness was terribly embarrassing, but the way Sterling looked after him was so matter-of-fact, so natural. How could he resent it? “Why are you doing this?”

“Just as I said.” Sterling looked at him, his brown eyes nearly black in the low light. “You're my friend.”

“Yes, but…” Gilles shut his mouth. This was all extremely rushed, this… this intimacy. This kindness. “You don't know me.”

“I will,” Sterling said. “Is it bothering you? I can go.”

“No.” Gilles pulled the blanket up, unable to meet Sterling's eyes.

“Good. Maybe I take your temperature now?”

Gilles kept his gaze fixed on Sterling's hands, their pale brown looking ghostly in the light that filtered in through the blinds. This connection, however sudden, was perfectly real. If Sterling meant him harm, he'd had a dozen opportunities to deal it.

“I supposed I haven't been entirely honest,” Sterling said, lifting a glass thermometer to Gilles’ lips. Gilles opened his mouth. “There is a reason I like you so much.” Sterling angled the thermometer in, slid it carefully over Gilles’ teeth. “It's because Hewitt likes you. I don't think you know how rare that is.”

With the thermometer in his mouth, Gilles could only look at Sterling curiously. Hewitt had only ever been friendly to him. Albeit his bit about vampires had been an unusual way to break the ice, but Gilles could take a joke.

Sterling settled back into his armchair, bracing his elbows on his knees. “He was making fun of you that day. He didn't expect you to get the joke, much less continue it.”

Silence stretched out between them for a long moment. Gilles muffled a few coughs behind his closed lips, tensing to keep the thermometer in place without shattering it.

For some reason, Sterling laughed and sat up. “No, of course that wouldn't offend you,” he said warmly. “Hewitt is a wonderful judge of character, but his criteria are a bit unorthodox. I'm glad you aren't offended.”

This was more words than Sterling had ever strung together before. It had to be some kind of record.

Gilles sighed through his nose and slumped against the couch cushions. His body heat had finally caught up to him again, but even the thought of letting the blanket slip was enough to make him tense up. His eyes wandered around the living room, though not much had changed since his arrival that morning. The same floral prints hung on the walls, the same furniture filled out the expanse of flooring that transitioned into the kitchen. Only the minutiae had changed, little things Sterling had brought. A glass of water and a pitcher stood on the coffee table beside a small stack of handkerchiefs. And on the couch, Gilles’ silk shirt had been replaced with a proper pillow in a black satin pillowcase. He smiled a little, tracing the lines of his initials on the corner. GB, in wobbly yellow embroidery floss. Adéle had been so uncharacteristically shy when she’d shown him.

“I hope you don't mind,” Sterling said. “Hewitt mentioned you'd been looking for your pillowcases.”

Gilles shook his head, checked himself, then nodded. That was no good; that didn't mean anything. He smiled instead, wearily.

Sterling got up. “Let's take a look at your temperature.”

“Mm.” Gilles took the thermometer out of his mouth and squinted at it. He'd never gotten the hang of translating numbers to English and his head was far too fuzzy to really apply himself to it. He passed the thermometer over to Sterling rather than speak.

“39.4,” Sterling said. He pressed his tongue beneath his lower lip, brow furrowing. “I suppose that's alright as long as you stay hydrated. And lucid.” He raised an eyebrow. “Are you lucid?”

“Yes,” Gilles said, and couldn't keep himself from adding, “unfortunately.” Speaking hurt his throat, but the pitcher on the table seemed… inert. Unsatisfactory.

For some reason, this made Sterling relax. “I was afraid you might be too stoic for your own good,” he said, and poured Gilles another glass of water. “What do you want to eat? Anything you want, I'll get it.”

Gilles looked at the water on the table. He'd have to get out of the blanket to pick it up, and it would be cold. And it would sit in his stomach, just sit there. Anything would. “I’m… not particularly hungry.” A few coughs forced their way up his throat.

“I know you're not,” Sterling said patiently, pushing the glass closer to Gilles. “You have a fever of 103. But I also know you haven't eaten since this morning. Just tell me what you think you can stomach.”

If Sterling knew what a particular torture this was, he didn't seem to care. Gilles only just resisted the urge to hide his face in his blanket. “I don't know… Coffee.”

“What else?”

“Nothing,” Gilles moaned, giving into his childish desire to not be seen. He tucked his head under the blanket and buried his face in his hands. Every instinct screamed at him to raise his head and apologize like an adult. Sterling was only trying to help, and he did need to eat.

“Can you be convinced?” Sterling asked after a beat.

“What?” Gilles raised his head. Sterling was looking at him with the same patient concern as always, no trace of annoyance in his face or posture.

“Can you be convinced?” Sterling asked. “Or would you like me to leave you alone?”

Gilles just stared at him. Thoughts came fast and shallow. Sterling… leaving? Not hungry. Shaking.

“You did tell me you were lucid,” Sterling reminded him, but with a small smile. Teasing.

“I know… I just— I can't really think.”

“That's the opposite of lucid.”

“I'm sorry.” Gilles closed his eyes. “I'm not trying to be difficult.”

“It's alright.” Sterling was quiet for a moment, shifting in his armchair. “What about hot chocolate?”

Well, it was better than anything Gilles could come up with. He opened his eyes, staring at Sterling's hands where they rested in his lap. “That would be fine.” God, he was like a prince sitting here, forcing Sterling to dote on him.

Of course, Sterling didn't see it that way. He only nodded and got up. “Good.”

—

Hewitt came in around the time that the taste of chocolate started to go sour on Gilles’ tongue. At least the warm liquid had warded off the worst of his chills, but, as he'd feared earlier, his stomach didn't appreciate the intrusion.

He kept hold of the mug, letting it warm his hands, and looked up at the sound of the door opening.

“Did you miss me?” Hewitt asked, flopping down in the armchair beside Sterling.

“Terribly,” Sterling said, but he kept his eyes on Gilles.

“Oh, yes, of course.” Gilles forced a wobbly smile to his lips and shifted, bending forward a little to try to control the nausea building in his belly. “Where were you?”

“Seeing Adonis’ friends home,” Hewitt said airily. “You slept right through their visit, you know.”

Gilles frowned. He had heard voices, hadn't he? The memories came murky and cold, disturbed by the pressure in his stomach.

“They helped move your things upstairs,” Hewitt continued.

Gilles ran his teeth over his bottom lip. “Please thank them for me…” He shifted again. The nausea was building, but slowly. He just couldn't… Couldn't get comfortable; it pushed on him. Hunching over had only helped for so long, but straightening up didn't really help either.

“We made your bed, if you'd like to go to sleep,” Sterling said after a pause.

They'd both been eyeing Gilles with varying degrees of concern and suspicion; their eyes burned on his skin.

Bed… That would be good. If only he could manage the trip up the stairs. His stomach wouldn't like it. Even just sitting up was nearly unbearable.

“Maybe… maybe in a moment.” Gilles shifted yet again and laced his hands over his stomach.

“You're terribly shy, you know,” Hewitt said. “If you tell us what's wrong, we can help. And you needn't be embarrassed. I told you, we never get sick. Looking after you is a bit of a novelty, to be honest.”

“Hewitt,” Sterling hissed.

They kept saying that, that there was no need to be embarrassed. Something in Gilles just couldn't believe it. All his ailments seemed so childlike, something he should have outgrown.

“Or you can keep your secrets,” Hewitt said. “But we didn't find anything particularly scandalous while we were looking for your bedding—”

“Hewitt.”

Gilles would have smiled if his stomach wasn't bothering him so much. The pressure seemed to have reached a peak, but he wasn't getting used to it at all, just stuck with the sensation of a hearthstone lodged firmly in his abdomen. Instinct took him and he doubled over, both arms wrapped around himself. “Sorry; I'm alright,” he said to ward off any words of concern. “I just… need a m-moment.”

“Now what's wrong with you?” Hewitt asked. “Are you dizzy?”

“It's really nothing. I get like this somet—” Gilles cut himself off with a hard swallow— “s-sometimes when I have a fever. My…” He bit his lip and released it. Why couldn't he just be normal? Why was this happening? “My stomach's a bit upset.”

“That can happen,” Sterling said. “Do you need to be sick?”

“I'd rather not.”

“But do you n—”

“No, Sterling.” Gilles grit his teeth and swallowed again, squeezing his eyes shut. “I'm sorry.”

“Sh, it's alright.”

“Do you ever get angry?”

“Oh, he does,” Hewitt chimed in. “Probably won't ever get angry at you, though.”

“Mm…” Who were these people? Gilles’ head spun, thoughts aimless and shallow. He might as well have been falling, picking up speed with every passing second. “I think I need to stay here,” he said. “I… I'll lie down properly in a moment, if— if you could just…” Words failed him then, and a terrible coughing fit jarred his ribs and his stomach, rattled his head.

“Yes,” Sterling said. His clothing raised against the fabric of the armchair as he stood. “We won't go far. Call us when you need us.”

Gilles didn't say a word.

[angstyaches]

omg 👁️ for shayne and charlie who walked in on elliot and felix getting frisky at the aldridge halloween party pleasee (i know this isn’t whump/sick fic at all but it would be SO fun to read!)🍄

It's not Halloween-y at all, but hopefully this is similar to what you were imagining!

CW: kissing, partial undress, embarrassment, nausea.

___

“Sorry.” 

Shayne bristled with surprise to hear his boyfriend apologising as they made a slow amble towards the downstairs bathroom. Poor Charlie was almost doubled over, floored by a migraine that had come on out of nowhere.  

Shayne gently squeezed Charlie’s hands. “Don’t be sorry, idiot.” 

A light hum. Charlie glanced towards him. “Sorry.” 

“Shut the fuck up,” Shayne gently chided, reaching for the door handle and ushering for Charlie to go ahead of him. He’d said the nausea wasn’t urgent, but considering how the headache had crept up out of nowhere, and the fact that he’d had a few drinks too, they’d decided to be prepared, just in case – 

“W-wait,” Charlie mumbled, staggering to a stop in the doorway, “what the fuck?” 

“What?” Shayne pushed on the door, leaning to the side to see around Charlie’s shoulder. He heard the soft squeaking of colliding lips and a low, controlled groan, but he was already too late to stop himself from looking.

The light was already on inside, and Shayne caught sight of a flash of pale, bare skin by the sink. His brain just about registered that Elliott’s hand was keeping Felix’s shirt from falling back down over his slender back, and that was enough to send him turning back to the hallway with a groan. 

Charlie half-turned, too, his movements sluggish.

“Oh!” Elliott's voice trembled with a laugh, almost drowning out Felix's startled whimper. “Shit... Any chance you can choose a different bathroom?"

Shayne ground his teeth and wheeled around. To his relief, Elliott and Felix had peeled themselves apart, and Felix was sheepishly tugging his shirt down over his torso.

“Charlie doesn’t feel well."

Felix's eyes widened as he took in Charlie's hunched, listless appearance. “Oh! Oh, gosh, sorry, bud...” 

In an attempt to dismiss Felix's apology, Charlie hummed wordlessly and gave a gentle shake of his head.

Meanwhile, Shayne was shaking his own head in disbelief, staring at his cousins. “Get the fuck out.” 

“Right, right, we’re going,” Elliott promised, grabbing Felix by the hand. He dipped his head face low as he walked, very clearly hiding a smirk, and Felix skulked along behind, and at least had the manners to look guilty. 

“Sorry,” Felix whispered again, and while he usually appreciated his cousin's soft-spoken manner, Shayne saw a flash of red. 

“Seven bedrooms,” he growled, turning to glare at the two of them as they slipped into the hallway. “This house has seven fucking bedrooms.” 

[messenger-of-stupidity]

One word.

Wendigos.

Okay thank you for coming to my TED TALK

HAHAHAHAHHA YEAH RIGHT 

I have more about wendigos because I have a problem. No yall dont get to know what the problem is. That’s a secret for the winner of the hunt

pleasesendhelpihaventsleptfor27hours

FIVE FUN FACTS ABOUT WENDIGOS WITH MESSENGER!

1) It has Native American origin. Specifically the Native American tribes that spoke Algonquin (A dialect of Ojibwa spoken by the Algonquins. Which, if you didn’t know, are the Indigenous people living in Canada along the Ottawa River and its tributaries and westward to the north of Lake Superior.) The other tribes that had the wendigo in their folklore are the Saulteaux, the Cree, the Ojibwe, the Naskapi,  and the Innu (if I remember the last two right. Like I said, getting really sleep deprived and this is from memory. But I need to get it out of my brain and on here because I have the aforementioned problem.)

2) It has several names! They all are like some variation of Wendigo though. But the names are; Windigo, Witigo, Witiko, and Wee-Tee-Go. All of these roughly translate to “the evil spirit that devours mankind.”

3) As with most folklore, depending on the legend, the appearance of the Wendigo changes. But some describe the wendigo as an emaciated figure with ashen flesh. Others describe it as a giant creature up to 15 feet (4.5 metres) tall or as a beast that grows larger the more it eats. It may have sunken or glowing eyes and sharp yellowed fangs and claws. There are some that say it’s may appear as a monster with some human characteristics or as a spirit who has possessed a human being and made them monstrous. 3a) The Algonquian legend describes it as: “a giant with a heart of ice; sometimes, it is thought to be entirely made of ice. Its body is skeletal and deformed, with missing lips and toes.”  3b) The Ojibwa describe it as: “It was a large creature, as tall as a tree, with a lipless mouth and jagged teeth. Its breath was a strange hiss, its footprints full of blood, and it ate any man, woman, or child who ventured into its territory. And those were the lucky ones. Sometimes, the Wendigo chose to possess a person instead, and then the luckless individual became a Wendigo himself, hunting down those he had once loved and feasting upon their flesh.”

4) I know what you’re thinking. Wow Messenger! How does a wendigo possess a human? Going back to that whole “spirit that devours mankind” thing, keep that in your mind along with possession. Now, a wendigo is historically associated with cannibalism, murder, insatiable greed, and cultural taboos against such behaviors. Those kind of things might devour your humanity, and if you exhibit such behaviors, you must be possessed by a wendigo! Although they are called the Flesheaters of the Forest for a reason soooo.. devouring is in the literal sense as well.

5) A legit medical condition borrowed the name Wendigo! It’s called Wendigo psychosis. Some psychiatrists consider it a syndrome that creates an intense craving for human flesh and a fear of becoming a cannibal. Ironically, this psychosis occurs in people living around the Great Lakes of Canada and the United States. Wendigo psychosis usually develops in the winter in individuals isolated by heavy snow for long periods. The initial symptoms are poor appetite, nausea, and vomiting. Subsequently, the individual develops a delusion of being transformed into a Wendigo monster. People who have Wendigo psychosis increasingly see others around them as being edible. At the same time, they have an exaggerated fear of becoming cannibals.The most common response when a person showed signs of Wendigo psychosis was a curing attempt by traditional native healers. In past cases, if these attempts failed and the possessed person began to threaten those around them or to act violently or anti-socially, they were executed. There have been reports regarding this psychosis dating back hundreds of years (as far back as 1661).

[fanaroff]

Fun fact about ADHD with this I found out due to an incident that landed me in the hospital: we are naturally very low on B12 vitamins and it can actually make our memories worse. It can also lead to neurological problems. We have a genetic lack of the stuff. I had a severe deficiency of it that left me loosing an entire 8 days. Started taking it and WOO BOY I can remember what I had for dinner yesterday. Had a conversation recently where I only forgot one word.

If you’re ADHD and craving chicken constantly and can’t handle other meats or feel sick after red meat/IBS symptoms: get B12. Chicken has it. You need it. Vegan alternatives are bananas, blueberries, oranges, some mushrooms, and beetroot. Several water flavorings you can find that have B12 on it and are usually organically sourced. The water is easier for me as I don’t have to remember to take a pill every morning. You need a lot of B12 on the daily so it’s hard to overdose on the vitamin.

B12 is important for breaking down proteins. If you don’t have it, those proteins bind to your nerves and can cause nerve damage and brain damage in later stages. I do not have constant access to a psychiatrist for my ADHD management so I did not find this out until it landed me in the hospital. I lost 8 days total of memory (of which ADHD drink hoard in my bed turned out to save my life as I couldn’t move. All I know is that I was found and we have no idea what happened during those 8 days outside of me not being able to move much for a while and that I kept myself barely hydrated enough not to die from dehydration) and developed numbness in one foot. All because I lacked B12. (I’m better now dw, but recovering from it has been far longer than it took for it to ravage my brain once I hit the point of no return. Recovery process for any vitamin deficiency that causes injury and illness averages at 6 months.)

B12 deficiency has also been linked to worsening mental states and can actually cause neurotypical people to act like Karens and develop narcissistic tendencies. Especially if it’s sudden and out of nowhere.

Short version to say: keep yourself safe and healthy. Figure out if your memory issues are from a vitamin deficiency that affects neurodivergents the most or if it’s from your own brand of brain spiciness. B12 isn’t the only vitamin that can do all this. I’m just stating from my own personal experience and being told B12 is most likely for neurodivergents.

I’ll add links and resources a little later in the replies/edit/reblog this when it’s not 2am in the morning. I am not a doctor just spreading my knowledge due to what happened to me and stating what to keep an eye out for as it appeared in me.

There are four stages. I made it to Stage 3. It can take years or months to reach this point.

Symptoms can include:

-Memory loss

-Brain fog/ forgetfulness

-Confusion

-New audio processing issues (like being able to hear something fine but you can’t understand what is being said. A friend described it as “dyslexia but for hearing” and I feel it fits.)

-Inability to continue thought or topic

-IBS-like symptoms when eating protein rich foods

-Migraines and headaches (mine were behind my eyes)

-Trouble walking (chronic clumsiness)

-Nausea

-Increased heart rate

-Depression

-Sudden change in mental state

-Mental impairment

-Permanent neurological damage

-Nerve damage

-Fibromyalgia-like symptoms (especially if your doc says “it’s like fibromyalgia but you’re not testing positive for it.” This was a direct quote for me.)

-Numbness in toes and fingers

-Tinnitus

-Joint pain

-Insomnia

-“Visible” heartbeat between your thumb and forefinger, may move your thumb in time to your heartbeat (left hand)

-Hypo/hyperthyroid-like symptoms (especially if you have the symptoms but do not test positive for it.)

-Overheat easily (mine included little to no sweat but no blocked pores or dehydration)

-Worsening vision

-AFAB: Ovarian cysts/worsening cramps/new fainting spells/loss of libido

-AFAB: Endometriosis is not confirmed to be linked officially but I’m mentioning here because it developed for me during the stages I had

-AMAB: Loss of libido/erectyle dysfunction/testicular discomfort/one doc mentioned taint cramps when they were discussing how B12 can affect people with me and I want to let you know that one sent me for a loop

This isn’t all of them, and you may not have all of them, but they’re major tells for it /more can develop over time and ones that are common for neurodivergent people. Especially if they’re in tandem with each other. The noticeable symptoms started out as the similarities to hypothyroidism for me then went into fibromyalgia-like. I thought the memory loss stuff was normal for ADHD but not the level it actually was. Hope this helps!

the curse of adhd:

i will remember with absolute clarity, when the thought strikes me that i have a text to send someone, that this is the fourth time in three days i've attempted to send this specific text

i will forget, in the time it takes me to pick up my phone, that i picked it up intending to send a text