#ugh i hate being late but my immune system doesn’t seem to care

[depression-napping]

I’m so sad 💔 I have been sick this entire week and too tired to draw/post anything original/bake the Vincent cake. And I was looking forward to it for weeks. I hope it’ll be ok if I post stuff late T^T Maybe I will trickle things out until Halloween, if my health is up to it…

Just wanted to add that everyone’s contributions have been lovely ❤️So thank you, everyone who posted ❤️ ( I guess it’s never too late to post Vincent stuff… it’s always Vincent Valentine Week in my head, hehe)

[nereidprinc3ss]

rubber duck

in which reader is sick and spencer takes care of his girl!!

fluff (18+ for nudity) warnings/tags: reader referred to as girl, non-sexual undressing + nudity/intimacy, reader takes bath, spencer doesn't but he is in fact present a/n: heeeeyyy guys.... sorry for not posting for a month... accept this as a token of my gratitude and know that smut is in the works. keep sending requests, might not answer them but you never knoww!!

Spencer gets home around ten PM. Granted, it’s not a completely unreasonable time for someone to be asleep, but for you? A person who’d rather not go to bed at all than wake up before eight in the morning? You being passed out on the couch at this time is definitely abnormal.  

He drops his bag on the coffee table as he approaches, kneeling next to where you’re curled up in the dark room. Part of him doesn’t want to wake you if you’re tired, but he’s mildly concerned. Normally after him being away all week you’ll stay up until he gets home regardless of how late (or early) it is. Ambient light coming in through the window allows him to see the sickly sheen to your skin, and he feels your forehead with the back of his hand. 

“Spence?” you murmur, trying to blink the sleep out of your eyes. His response is equally quiet, wavering slightly. 

“Hey. Are you feeling okay, angel?” 

Even though you decidedly are not, your spirit lifts considerably at the sight of him in front of you. A wave of caramel hair falls over his furrowed brow as he scans your face, looking for signs that something is wrong. You brush it away, hand coming to rest on his cheek. 

“I’m fine. I missed you a lot.” 

Your voice is a paper-thin whisper, giving you away even as you try to downplay your condition. 

“I missed you too, but I’m a little worried. You’re pretty warm.” His eyes dart away from your face and down your body, seeming to notice your attire for the first time. “Did you go to work?” 

“I tried to. But I had to come home at early. I guess I didn’t make it all the way to bed.” 

This seems to worry him even more, if the way his eyes narrow and the line of his mouth tightens is anything to go by.  

“How long have you been asleep?” 

“Well... what time is it?” you ask sheepishly, still disoriented. 

“10:20.” 

“Oh god,” you moan, burying your face into a pillow (which does not make breathing any easier through all the congestion), “I’ve been sleeping for eight hours!” Panic wells in your chest at the ridiculous notion that you somehow lost an entire day to sleep.  "I didn't mean to-"

“Shh, relax, it's fine. Your immune system works a lot more efficiently when you’re asleep. It’s the best thing you can do when you’re sick. Studies show that melatonin may actually be an effective antiviral, and people who sleep seven hours a night are 300% less likely to develop an illness than people who sleep only five hours a night.” 

Despite yourself, you smile into the pillow at his unprompted information dump.

“So... am I... 500% more likely to be better tomorrow?” 

He laughs, running a hand through your hair. 

“I don’t even know where you got that number.” 

“I failed statistics in high school,” you mutter, pushing yourself up onto an elbow. 

“Honey, that’s Algebra.” 

You bury your face in your hand and laugh at your own stupidity- before it devolves into a coughing fit.  

“Ugh, I’m sorry. I know you hate germs,” you say once you’ve managed to get the coughing under control. You look at his face, but there are no signs of disgust or fear. 

“I could never hate your germs. But I am worried about the cough... do you think a bath would help?” 

You mull it over. Part of you wants to rot on the couch forever, but the more rational part knows you should definitely get up and try to take care of yourself. With a helping hand from Spencer you rise, stumbling into his waiting arms like a foal on shaky legs. Immediately you feel fatigued, but he patiently guides you to the bedroom and sits you on the mattress before disappearing into the adjoining bathroom. 

For a few minutes the only sound aside from you catching your breath is the tub filling from the other room. Soon he returns, to find you curled up on the bed and barely conscious once more. 

“Oh, sweetheart,” he sighs, gathering you up in his arms and helping you to your feet once more. “You really don’t feel good, huh?” 

You shake your head, allowing yourself to be carefully herded into the bathroom. Spencer moves to sit on the edge of the steaming tub, pulling you forward gently by your belt loops. Deftly he begins to undo your jeans as you fumble with the buttons on your shirt. 

“I feel like I’m dying,” you groan. He glances up at you.

“I wish you would have told me you were sick. I would have come home earlier.”  

“I thought about it,” you admit sheepishly, “but I figured better I be sick and alone than more people potentially end up dead because I’m too needy.” 

Your boyfriend sighs, resting his hands on your hips as he looks up at you with a mix of earnestness and admonishment.  

“At least tell me next time. I don’t like the idea of you here all alone without anyone knowing you’re ill.” His fingers press gently into your flesh to emphasize his point. “Okay?” 

“Okay,” you agree softly, without hesitation. Spencer’s expression softens too, and he leans forward to press a kiss to your sternum. 

“In,” he directs after you wiggle out of your jeans, getting out of the way and helping you into the water. He watches as you carefully submerge yourself, a little tense as if he’s ready to jump into action at any second. “Is it too warm? I tried not to make it too hot because your body temperature is al-” 

“It’s perfect,” you reassure, sinking further in. Steam billows up around you and you sniff. “Lavender?” 

Spencer nods, settling on the floor next to you. 

“And mint. I’m surprised you can actually smell it.” 

Normally you’d tease him for his fussing, but the minty steam really does seem to be helping you breathe a bit easier. After only a few minutes, you feel noticeably better. 

“Will you read to me?” you ask dropping your head to your shoulder to look at him. 

He’s leaning against the wall and monitoring you with a contented look on his face. At the suggestion his eyebrows raise. 

“Of course. What do you want to hear?” 

“Fairytales. But only the super gory ones. The more disturbing the better.” 

“What? No Jane Austen?” 

“Ugh, no. I need to hear about terrible things happening to beautiful princesses so I can feel seen.” 

A small smirk graces his lips as he regards you, eyes sparkling with humor and thinly veiled affection. 

“You are utterly ridiculous.” 

“You have to be nice to me when I’m sick,” you whine, slinking lower into the bubbles. Spencer hums in sympathy, running his hand through the water to check the temperature before trailing his knuckles over your arm. 

“My poor sick girl,” he teases. You huff indignantly, attempting to hide the way his words make you melt into the bathwater. 

“Just get the book, Spencer.” 

“Yes ma’am.” He kisses your forehead (covertly gauging your fever, you’re sure) before pushing off the ground. You watch him leave, heart overflowing with adoration even though you still feel sick. Maybe it’s the bath that’s helping, or maybe it’s just his presence.  

A minute later he returns to his post beside you bearing Grimm’s Fairytales and a tall glass of water, which he tells you to drink all of before he starts reading. Regardless of how unwell you feel, you find the energy to make sarcastic comments about the characters’ intelligence and the implausibility of the plot (it’s a fairytale, Spencer reminds you) but soon the soothing cadence of his voice enthralls you. The illustrations and the story capture your imagination as you rest your head and arms on the side of the tub. 

More time has gone by than you realize when you begin to shiver in the now lukewarm water. Spencer notices, finally setting the book down. 

“Ready to get out?” 

You nod and he helps you step out of the tub, pulling you close and wrapping you with a fluffy towel. Absolutely no heed is given to the state of his own clothing as your wet skin soaks his shirt, or his own health as he breathes in your air. 

“I’m gonna get you sick, Spence,” you say anxiously, making a feeble attempt to pull away. Spencer doesn’t even begin to allow it, holding you even tighter. The honesty of his words is reflected in his eyes as he looks down at you adoringly. 

“I can live with the idea of spending a few days at home together.” 

You lean into him further, too tired to hold much of your own weight up. 

“I can’t believe you have to intentionally get sick to get time off work.” 

“You’re definitely worth it.” He kisses the top of your head and rubs your back for a moment.  

“And to think,” you muse, the words muffled by his shirt, "when we first met, you wouldn’t even shake my hand.” 

[in-tua-deep]

Responsible Luther prompt/concept I can't get off my mind: Luther taking care of sick Five and Klaus (one of them got the other sick?) and ends up catching it from them but acts like he's fine/denies it and won't stop obsessing over them and then he ends up getting worse from overworking himself and then they return the love and take care of him

okay okay okay the way i have decided to interpret Luther’s powers are strength/durability combo because getting slammed by a chandelier and then just casually walked it off ?? and he came back from the moon with seemingly no real ill effects?

so what i’m saying is Luther does not get sick often. never. his siblings get taken out by the flu when they’re kids and Luther doesn’t quite lord it over the rest of the family but he certainly prances around with an extra spring in his step while his siblings with stuffy noses glare at him with murder in their eyes

so when Luther does get sick it hits hard

but that’s okay because by the time the virus sneaks its way past Luther’s considerably fortified immune system it’s well after the rest of the family has already gotten through with the others so there’s that at least so for a few snotty terrible weeks it’s everyone else who is sick while Luther plays nursemaid

so it’s actually Vanya who gets sick first, caught from someone in the orchestra who came to practice while contagious. Vanya gets sick, and the family collectively comes to the agreement that someone needs to be there to get her some soup and tissues and stuff while she rests. 

Diego is elected to be the One. Mainly because, as Luther points out, Five is a child, Luther has work, and Klaus would just end up bringing it home and infecting everyone. Diego protests that he doesn’t want to get sick either, Luther challenges him about his whole body-is-a-temple nonsense and says that if Diego is really the picture of health then surely his body can fight off a little cold long enough for Vanya to be feeling better. But, Luther supposes that he can take care of Vanya if Diego is really afraid of - 

and of course Diego takes the bait because despite everything Luther and Diego still have their dumb little rivalry going on. Though, admittedly, it’s much more lighthearted these days since Luther stopped being their dad’s loyal dog and finally bit the hand that abused them

except Diego’s immune system doesn’t even last a whole day (probably because someone from the gym already infected him and not because of Vanya) and he’s just completely flat out and dead. tbh luther’s all for leaving them to sweat it out in Vanya’s apartment but Five and Klaus insist on being family and Allison gives him a disapproving look over the phone somehow so Vanya and Diego end up on the couches gently dying

“I am not responsible if you get sick.” Luther says, crossing his arms and staring down his whole family. “I am not responsible for this disaster in the making. And if you get sick I am not looking after you.”

“You say that.” Klaus says, grinning where he’s dabbing at Diego’s forehead with a washcloth far too enthusiastically to actually be of any use (and just enough to be entirely a nuisance). “But we all know you totally will.”

and Klaus is absolutely right

and look Klaus’s immune system isn’t great, and Five’s isn’t that much better since being somewhat scarce on food isn’t great for general development and health (actually food scarcity during formative years/pre or during pubescence can really fuck u up just check out some research on people surviving famines and the later effects) so yeah they’re both out for the count after a little while

so it’s Luther who ends up grudgingly making soup (and maybe burning it just a little) and making sure all his idiot siblings get plenty of fluids and rest

(Five is a miserable sick because he’s even more spacey and prone to mixing up his timeline and is way more prone to panic attacks and flashbacks and Klaus is equally miserable because he has,, pretty much the same problems tbh)

(Diego is a whiney sick who complains bitterly and Vanya is a responsible sick who is the one who makes everyone tea even though she’s still all gross and stuffed up)

it’s miserable but they all manage to pull through it despite the fact that someone is murdered on at least half a dozen different occasions (Diego is almost smothered with a pillow on the first day because he wouldn’t shut up about the achey feeling he had all over, to name but one occasion) and everyone is getting over it 

and that’s when Luther feels the tickle at the back of his throat. He ignores it, of course, because it’s nothing. It’s nothing. This was old news, his siblings getting sick and him being just fine. It’s normal.

So he steadfastly ignores when that tickle turns into an actual sore throat. He probably just yelled at Diego too loudly or something. He ignores it when he wakes up aching all over. 

It’s a little more difficult to ignore when that sore throat and achey feeling turn into the snottiest nose in existence, if Luther does say so himself. It seems like one of his nostrils has decided it’s new job is to turn into the niagara falls of snot. 

“You’re sick, Luth.” Five tells him over breakfast, looking very judgey. 

“No I’m not.” Luther denies thickly. 

Five and Klaus share a look that Luther steadfastly ignores even exists.

Of course it’s much more difficult to ignore when he’s hacking up a lung and spitting phlegm into the sink. 

“If you say anything I will disown you both.” He swears to the two individuals lurking in the door to the kitchen. 

“My lips are sealed.” Klaus says, loudly, miming zipping his lips shut and throwing away the key. Of course, the effect is ruined by the fact that he immediately opens his mouth back up again. “Not a word shall be spoken about the fact that you are undoubtedly, woefully, ridiculously sick and in denial about this sad, sad fact.”

Luther would absolutely punch Klaus if there wasn’t more than one of him, and the fact that he might hit Five if he missed. Which, given the general stuffed up feeling of his head was not only likely but probable. 

“You could just let us take care of you.” Five drawls, looking incredibly unimpressed. Even more so than normal, which was quite the feat considering that Five was the only siblings left still coming off the tail end of his own sickness. Pale and a tiny bit shakey with a hand firmly planted on Mr. Pennycrumb’s head to take comfort in the dog’s steadfast loyalty. 

“I’m not sick.” Luther denies again, begrudgingly taking the tissue that Klaus offeres with knowing eyes. 

“He’s hopeless.” Klaus tells Five sympathetically. He pats Luther’s shoulder just a little bit condescendingly as he does so, which Luther would smack his hand off but he’s just a tiny bit dizzy right now, thank you. 

“You know.” Five drawls again, “Vanya brought around all those disney movies that Klaus has been yelling about catching up on. I was thinking maybe we could start on them?”

Luther absolutely does not trust the glint behind Five’s eye, but he can’t actually think of a good reason to say no. So he just nods and blows his nose noisily into the tissue with a mildly miserable expression.

And if Luther falls asleep before the movie even really begins, and if Klaus and Five gently drape a blanket across him and turn the volume down several degrees to watch over him. Well, that’s neither here nor there.

If Luther wakes up in the middle of the night to the opening menu of WALL-E, with Klaus leaning back against the couch with his head tilted back and snoring like a skinny lawnmower and Five and Mr. Pennycrumb spooning on the floor - well Luther might try and deny the warm feeling in his chest even as it ached from his sickness but he does his best to commit the soft and admittedly domestic scene to memory.

They never got to do this, as kids that is. They would sneak into one another’s rooms under the cover of night and offer what comfort they could, yes. But always watchful and vigilant and careful of the eyes of their father coming to punish them for their kindness and compassion. They were weapons. Tools. And tools were not meant to be soft. 

Hate sweeps over Luther with a suddenness that steals his breath away and brings tears to his eyes. Because Five is sprawled out, and Klaus is snoring, and Mr. Pennycrumb is twitching as he dreams of chasing cars and other such things. They’re all relaxed and carefree, and Luther just needs to take a second to realize that it took twenty-nine years for the Hargreeves children to be able to let down their walls for even an instant.

They could have had this, they should have had this, all along. They should have been able to fall asleep on the sofa watching disney movies, staying up late and cracking jokes and laughing as loud as they want without the fear of their father swooping in and stealing it out from under them. 

Five shifts a little in his sleep, and Luther realizes that his fists are clenched too tightly in the blanket he doesn’t remember falling asleep under. He unclenches and allows the wrinkled fabric to fall from his grasp, face softening at his littlest brother. He’s so small when he sleeps. It’s not the first time Luther has thought that, and it won’t be the last. But each time it takes Luther’s breath away.

(Or it would, if said breath hadn’t already been stolen by the congestion in his sinuses, ugh.)

Luther lays back down and closes his eyes, not quite willing to take himself off to bed and leave these doofuses by themselves. So he closes his eyes, and thinks of sheep.

He already knows his family will be there in the morning. 

[raideo]

ugh- when I heard people talking about domestic bettas being sickly I didn’t rly believe it cuz I’d always heard they were pretty robust fish-

but like after having 4 of them I get it

Every single one of my fish have had problems.  Flynn died from bloating- (I only fed him two pellets at a time at the most and I tried feeding him a pea when I noticed he was bloated but it was too late when I caught it and he couldn’t even eat it at that point, he was so sick and in pain.)

My bettas rn are doing OK but they all have issues.  Reap’s is probably doing the best, since his fins are FINALLY growing back after he had a bad case of fin rot (I believe he contracted it after nipping at his fins) He’s much more alert and quick to get his food which is good.  He’s a dragonscale with long fins (well he HAD long fins) and I recently found out that long finned bettas often bite their fins because they are weighing them down and making it difficult for them to move.

My doubletail, Andy, also bites his fins and I cannot get him to stop... I took out a lot of his decor so he can move around the tank easier, gave him catappa leaves, raised the temp, started feeding him more to try and get some more weight on him to help him carry the extra finnage and added aquarium salt and he’s still doing it. It just pains me that these animals are so prone to this because they are bred for aesthetics.

Meanwhile, Cosmo, who was getting better from his tumors, has taken a turn for the worse and he has 3 prominent ones now-  I love him so much and it hurts me so much seeing them getting worse- he seems to get around fine and he’s still as active as ever but I imagine they HAVE to be causing him some discomfort-they are rather large at this point and I haven’t the slightest idea what to do- my lfs that I trust says they could be from a virus since he had them before and they cleared up a bit- and maybe his immune system is just really stressed from battling it-  he suggested feeding him a diet with garlic additive in it, and rather than buy a new food I just got some concentrated fish-grade garlic to soak his food in.  It doesn’t seem to be helping and I’m scared one day soon I’m going to have to make a tough decision.  I’ve also started mixing some aquarium salt in his tank.

As much as I love domestic bettas to pieces Idk if I can bear to go through this again tbh...

if anyone has any advice it’d be welcome.  My ammonia, and nitrites are always at 0 and the highest my nitrates ever get is like 5ppm, im diligent about testing my water.  Cosmo is in a 3.7g, Reaps and Andy are in (separate of course) 5.2 gallons and all are heated (about 78-82) and filtered with a sponge filter.  I haven’t been posting pics of my babies cuz I don’t want to draw tumblr hate for my sick fish despite my best efforts/research to take proper care of them.  I’m not claiming I’m perfect but I try to do what’s right for them.

[braincoins]

Title: Space Cold Fandom: “Voltron: Legendary Defender” Summary: Shiro doesn't handle being sick well, but fortunately Allura knows how to handle Shiro. (NOT THAT WAY, YOU PERVS) Ships: Shallura Warnings: unsettling description of very nasty medicine Author’s Notes: This was one of my submissions for @shallurazine - the one that they declined to publish, so I can share it all with you! I know a couple people down sick with colds, so it seemed a good time to share. (1,146 words - also on AO3)

           “You shouldn’t be here,” he groaned. “It’s not safe.”

           Allura stopped in the doorway with her tray and frowned at Shiro. “You have a minor viral infection of the upper respiratory tract, Shiro.”

           “I have the space cold,” he corrected her.

           “Must you all put ‘space’ in front of everything?” she asked.

           “I got it from Lance, so it’s a space cold,” he insisted.

           “You got it from all of the paladins, which is actually why I’m here.” She brought the tray in and set it next to him on his bunk. “You took such good care of all of them when they were sick; it’s time someone took care of you.”

           “No, no, no,” he insisted. “I need to be quarantined. Especially from you.”

           She tilted her head. “What do you mean?”

           “Who knows what this will do to an alien biology?”

           She frowned. “’Alien biology’?”

           He squeezed his eyes shut. “I don’t mean… that’s not… it’s just…”

           She patted his shoulder. “Just remember that you’re the alien out here. And you’re no good to the universe if you’re sick. So, I brought some medicine, food, and water for you.”

           “Just let me die,” he croaked, rolling onto his side away from her.

           She rolled her eyes. “Oh, so it’s not just Altean males who are whiny when they’re sick. Good to know. Though Alteans have extremely healthy and robust immune systems,” she informed him. “A minor rhinovirus is nothing to us. I am not going to catch your ‘space cold’.”

           He rolled back over to look at her. “Promise?”

           She snorted. “Yes, I promise. Now sit up. You need nutrition and hydration, and if you’re not going to be reasonable, I will stick you in a cryo-replenisher for a few hours.”

           He sat up immediately and she smiled as if he hadn’t been acting like a baby all this time. She also kept her eyes on his face, trying to ignore that he was shirtless. This man is ill and in need of medical attention, not ogling. She handed him a water packet.

           “Here. Drink. This has plenty of electrolytes for you.” He accepted it without protest and did as instructed. “I’m glad to see you’ve stopped being childish.”

           “I hate being sick,” he grumbled. “It feels like my body doesn’t fit right.” He shifted uneasily in his bunk before sipping some more.

           She put her hand to his forehead. “You’re still hot. Feverish, I mean,” she clarified quickly, pulling her hand away again. “But with adequate nutrition and rest, you should be fine. Here.” She handed him a cup. “Drink this. Give me the packet – yes, good – and drink this instead.”

           He sniffed at it and scrunched his face up. “Ugh. Let me guess: it’s healthy.”

           “It’s medicine,” she told him. “And you’re going to drink it.”

           “How much of it?”

           “ALL of it.”

           He groaned. “Tell me I can chase it with the water.”

           “Yes, but you’d be better off following it up with food.”

           “Fine, just so long as the taste of this stuff isn’t in my mouth forever.”

           “You don’t even know what it tastes like!”

           “I know what it smells like!”

           “Drink. It,” she insisted.

           He took a steeling breath and started chugging it. She had to admit, that was the best way to go about it. The medicine was potent but also disgustingly-textured (like runny mucus) and foul-tasting (like toxic waste that had been steeped in urine then left to ferment). He drained the cup and then gagged.

           She handed over the bowl of food goo and, for a second, she thought he was going to just drop his face into it. But he did pick up the spork to start shoveling food in, likely in hopes of drowning out the medicine.

           She patted his shoulder. “See? You’ll be better in no time.”

           He stopped eating to give her a long, hard stare. She just smiled at him, and he swallowed his goo and reached for the packet again.

           “I’m starting to feel like the cure is worse than the illness.”

           “Well, that’s how you know it’ll work.”

           “Altean medicine is going to be the death of me. Can I rethink going into the pod for a bit?”

           “Too late. Now we have to wait and see how your body handles the medicine.”

           He gulped some water down and then looked at her with a tired smile. “I do appreciate your coming to nurse me. I know I’m not the best patient.” He looked down at his food goo as she thought, Shiro: Master of Understatement. “I’m used to always giving everything my all, and I can’t right now, and it’s frustrating. I can barely do average right now, if even that. I want to just sleep until I wake up well again.”

           “Well, it’s good that you’re getting rest and not trying to push yourself through this. And thank you for finally being reasonable. I’m glad to be able to do something for you, for a change.”

           “’For a change’?” he asked. “You’re always helping us.”

           “Well, I meant… something just for you.” She hoped she wasn’t blushing and rather feared she was. “You do a lot around here, for me, for all of us, for the universe. We need you healthy, and I’m pleased to be able to help with that.”

           He smiled warmly at her, and she couldn’t help smiling back. She laid a hand over one of his, and his smile widened. She looked into his dark eyes and brushed his cheek with her fingertips. He licked his lips and shook his head a little. “Allura, you shouldn’t…”

           “If you don’t want me to…”

           “I don’t want you to get sick,” he protested.

          “I won’t get sick,” she told him, just before she pressed her lips to his. Even if he could protest at that point, he no longer seemed inclined to.

             Coran was mixing up the necessary medicine (or rather, running the machine that mixed it). “I just don’t understand how she caught it in the first place,” he said as Shiro assembled a tray of food and water.

          “Maybe Altean immune systems aren’t as ‘robust’ as you two thought,” Shiro pointed out evenly. He was, more or less, back to normal, and as he and the other paladins had already been through this ‘space cold’, he had volunteered to tend to the princess. “It has been ten thousand years since your bodies last had to fight anything off. Tech isn’t the only thing that advances, after all.”

          “Hm, good point.” He took the mug and set it on the tray for Shiro. “There you are. Now make sure she drinks the whole thing. She’s likely to put up a fuss about it; she always did hate taking her medicine.”

          Shiro grinned. “I’ll see to it she drinks every last drop; I promise.”