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whumpster-dumpster · 2 months ago
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Another Sickfic Alphabet
Cause why not?
A: Achy
B: Blankets
C: Contagious
D: Delirious
E: Emergency Room
F: Fever
G: Gag Reflex
H: Heating Pad
I: Insomnia
J: Jammies
K: Keel Over
L: Lingering Cough
M: Medicine
N: No Appetite
O: Overworked
P: Pale
Q: Queasy
R: Rash
S: Shivering
T: Tissues
U: Unsteady
V: Vapor Rub
W: Weakness
X: eXpectorant
Y: Yawn
Z: Zonked out
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creative-caramel-coffee · 3 months ago
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Parkers, Pots & Periods 
Summary: Reader is Peter’s sister and is going on a field trip to stark industries, the catch? She’s on her period and has POTS… things go badly and Wanda and Nat step in to take care of you. 
Words: 2324
TW: Periods, Pain, nausea (no puking), POTS, Cramps, Bullying, fainting, name calling, Flash (that’s its own warning), Flashes “nicknames” for peter, field trip trope. 
A/n Hi guys I’m alive! Sorry for disappearing (kinda). My life is chaos incarnate. I accidently got stabbed in the thigh yesterday.  But I stuck an avengers Band-Aid on it and I was fine :D
Somehow the universe decided to screw your over three times today. The first, you had POTS, whilst not a new condition it did make the next two things worse. Second you had a trip to stark towers which meant a lot of standing on a tour and being around your class and knowing the avengers would be lurking nearby. And third, the real icing on the cake … you were on your period as if you had blood to lose as someone with POTS and a low blood volume to start with. 
So that was how you were doing today as you arrived at school. Sure, you had graduated about three years ago but there had been talks that someone had found out Peter’s identity and was planning something, which was how you ended up undercover to be a glorified bodyguard for peter… well a glorified babysitter with homework.  You had been chosen by the team as you were the second youngest next to Peter and as a lesser-known member of the team who was young, you could pass as a high school student without raising suspicions. ‘Yay me.’ You thought sarcastically. Leaving high school was amazing and having to go back to babysit your little brother… not so much. 
You skipped training this morning as you were already feeling quite awful due to your period and your POTS which was always made worse when it was shark week. 
As you arrived at school with Peter, happy dropped you both at the block around the corner and you shouldered your old school backpack and sighed. 
“Let’s get this over with.” You grumbled and peter nodded. Neither of you feeling particularly excited to go on a trip through your own house with classmates who hated you. 
Peter was just as unhappy; flash had been giving him shit all week for his internship and wanted desperately to prove the Parker boy a liar today. When you had found out about the bullying you almost intervened before Peter had a talk with you. He reminded you of what uncle ben had said to you both before he died, and your eyes glossed over as you made the decision to respect his wishes and promise to your late uncle. 
As your shoes slapped the pavement with exaggerated steps and dragging movements, a grin itched your face when Ned began waving to you from across the quad. MJ looked up and gave a single half handed wave cross salute before going back to her sketchbook, her legs kicked up on the picnic table. 
You liked MJ and Ned. They had welcomed you to their group and they knew that you had already graduated but agreed to stay quiet if it meant keeping peter safe. They both knew you and your brothers’ real identities. As the second spider that protected the city aside from your brother and Natasha you had decided to keep your identity quiet until Peter graduated, knowing he would have just as many issues with the press if you were unmasked before he graduated compared to him being unmasked. 
You threw your backpack down and threw your head into your arms, letting out an exaggerated groan. 
“You feelin’ alright bonehead?” MJ said looking up from her sketch. 
You simply grunted before turning your head, still resting on your arms to look at her through a furrowed brow. 
“Shark week.” Was all you said, and MJ nodded before turning to her bag and digging around before fishing out a chocolate bar she threw at your head. Your spider sense kicked in and your hand flew up and caught it. 
“Thanks MJ.” You grunted. 
“Anytime Parker.” She said going back to her sketchbook. You leaned over to glance at the page and snorted. MJ simply suppressed a grin and kept working on the detailed drawing of Flash trapped in a display case at stark towers with a placard that read “Bullied Peter Stark, glass tapping encouraged.” With a drawing of Tony leaning on the display case eating a banana with Nat handing out tomatoes to the rest of the team to throw at flash. Leave it to MJ to make this trip better. 
You thought maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. But curse your Parker luck because that was the moment flash began to storm over. MJ quickly shut her sketchbook as flash stood over Peter.
“Well, well, well. If it isn’t penis Parker. I wasn’t expecting you to show up today. With your big lie going public today I thought you would be too much of a wuss to show up. Prepare to be publicly humiliated Parker. Today is the day your life is torn to shreds.” He said.
“Like the lie about you having a brain flash ‘cuz I think everyone knows that’s fake.” MJ said flicking a few pencil shavings at him. She glared at him, and he glared back before huffing. 
“Whatever idiots. I’ll see you on the bus. Parker don’t forget I would hate for you to miss your public execution.” He spat and headed off to wherever it was Flash lurked between tormenting Peter.
“Petey…” you began. 
“No y/n I’m handling it.” He said shutting you down. 
“Alright. Alright. I’ll leave it alone.” You said while silently wishing a piano to miraculously fall on flash. You desperately wanted to help but you also wanted to respect Peter’s decision especially as you knew his reason was fuelled by a very personal experience that had changed both of you tremendously. 
As the last class before the field trip ended you felt like death warmed over. Your head hurt and your period was only making your POTS worse. As you stood from your chair, you had to hold onto the table as your vision went fuzzy for a second. When your sight cleared Peter shot you a pointed look which you shrugged off and headed for the bus. 
If there was one thing you didn’t miss from high school it was field trips, twenty sweaty teenagers in a bus for who knows how long, most likely with no air conditioning which would only contribute to you feeling worse.  None of that was appealing to you in the slightest. 
As you all filed onto the bus you groaned when you sat down, putting your head in your hands, and taking deep breaths. The cramps had been getting worse all day and they were toeing the line of unbearable. 
MJ sat next to you and kept a close eye on your movements or lack thereof. 
As the bus lurched with the traffic you suppressed any of the wounded animal noises that were trying to escape you.
After what seemed like a torturously long bus trip you felt the bus slow to a stop. Looking outside the logo of stark towers was the first thing your eyes fixed on. 
As everyone filed off the bus you swayed slightly trying to fight off the dizzy lightheaded mess along with the cramping. Life really wasn’t being kind to you. 
With a hand resting around your stomach, you watched Peter sidestep flashes foot and walk inside. 
The building was cool when you entered which made you feel a tiny bit better but still largely awful. 
As the tour guide passed out the lanyards you and Peter hung around in the back. 
“I bet puny Parker won’t even have a lanyard, he’s too poor to be let in.” Flash said nearby and your fist tightened at your side in an attempt to stay there. 
When all the passes were handed out Flash was the first to point out you and Peter didn’t have one. 
“Hey! The Parker’s are missing their badges. We’ll have to leave them behind. Sorry no poor people allowed.” He said with a big grin and Peter looked like a deer in headlights as everyone turned to face the two of you. You just shrugged. 
“Friday?” The tour guide asked. “Has there been a mistake?”
“Ms Parker and Mister Parker do not require badges as they have tier 10 clearance, access is granted to all floors, labs and rooms.” A voice said from the ceiling startling a few people.
“That’s Friday.” The tour guide explained “she’s tony starks AI and she runs the tower.”
“I don’t know how you hacked the system, but you will pay Parker’s.” Flash said sticking a finger in Peter’s face. 
“Whatever flash, you’re just mad that you have level 1 clearance and can’t go in the toilets without permission.”  MJ said as flash stormed off after the group. 
As the tour progressed you were feeling worse and worse, all this walking was making the cramps worse, and all the standing was aggregating your POTS. Your vision had been spotty for a while now and your legs hurt. Your midsection was cramping something awful, and you saw no end in sight. 
As the group was shown to the museum floor you did your best to stay rooted to your body as your head felt like it was floating away. 
“Y/n/n you should really go home. If you sneak off upstairs, I’ll cover for you.” Peter said and MJ nodded. 
“I know your white girl, but you’re not meant to be that white… ever.” MJ said and you shot her a small glare with did nothing to deter her. 
“Can’t I have to stay with Peter.” You said swallowing down the nausea you had begun to feel. 
“I can look out for myself.” He said in a soft tone. But you shook your head which was a terrible idea as you swayed, having to lean on the wall the stay upright. 
“Right, that’s enough….” Peter begun but your hearing was fading as Peter seemed to keep talking. 
As your hearing and vision began to drift away Peter began softly alerting Friday to the situation, as he requested Wanda of Natasha to come and get you.
As he saw a flash of red hair down the hall, his spider sense flared, and he was just in time to catch you as your body finally gave up and went slack. 
Natasha seemed to arrive almost at the same time you passed out into Peter’s arms. 
The group had moved on and it seemed they were none to wiser to the avenger’s presence. 
Peter looked panicked for a second as he held you up. 
“I’ve got her Pete.” Natasha said as she picked you up effortlessly into a bridal carry.  “Go catch up with your group Wanda and I will look after her. Don’t worry.” 
“Alright. Text me updates.” He said and Natasha nodded dutifully before carrying you to the elevator.
When she arrived back on your floor that you shared with the two redheads, you shifted in her arms, letting out a small whimper. 
Natasha walked over to the door to her room, opening it to see Wanda already having everything set up for a movie day. 
“Oh my god is she ok? I know Peter said it was bad but … is she out?” Wanda said coming over and fussing. 
“She passed out as I got there. She must be feeling terrible.” Nat said as she set you down on the bed gently. Wanda came and sat next to you as Nat changed into some comfy clothes and took to your other side. 
Wanda’s hands carding through your hair was the first thing you registered when you came to.
“Nat, I think she’s coming around.” Wanda said softly. 
You let out a small, wounded noise as you tucked your knees to your chest in an attempt to stave off the relentless cramps. 
“Shhh y/n/n it’s ok. Natty and I have you baby. You’re alright.” Wanda said softly.
You whimpered again and shifted to clutch your midsection.
“Cramps?” Wanda asked knowingly still playing with your hair.
“Mmm.” You said softly. 
Before you knew it a hot pack was being slid onto your stomach and your muscles went lax as Wanda pulled you into her lap.
You opened an eye and saw her smiling down at you. 
“Hello sweet girl. How are you feeling.” She said gently.
“Bad.” You hummed.
“Chocolate?” Natasha said as she offered you an already unwrapped chocolate bar. Not bothering to use your hands you began eating it while Nat still held it. Making her smile softly in amusement as she fed you the chocolate. 
“Oh my god, I left Peter!” You said scrambling to sit up but Wanda kept you pinned. 
“It’s alright baby. Fridays watching him and you’re in no condition to be doing anything other than cuddling and watching movies with us. Ok?” Wanda said. She could see the gears turning behind your eyes and gently turned your chin to look at her. 
“Okay sweet girl?” She said again. 
“Okay.” You said softly. 
“Excellent. Now you pick the first movie.” Wanda said as Natasha returned with popcorn despite you not having seen her leave. 
As the day went on you began to feel better. Between the salty popcorn Wanda was feeding you and the blue electrolyte drinks that were stocked in Natasha’s mini fridge you began to feel less terrible. 
The girls had everything you needed, from a warm heat pack to chocolate to cuddles. You eventually drifted off feeling warm and only slightly in pain. Knowing you were safe with them. 
@barbarasstar @charlie56 @vlynes @lovelyy-moonlight
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sicktember · 1 year ago
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Official Sicktember 2023 Prompt List!
[Faqs Post]
[How to Submit Content Post]
[2023 Sicktember Collection on AO3]
[2023 Content Promotion Changes]
** Please remember to read the FAQs before asking event related questions**
[text version of the prompt list below the cut]
Prompts:
1. Hopelessly Bad at Self-Care
2. Quest for a Cure
3. "What happened to your phenomenal immune system, huh?"
4. Hiding an Illness
5. Preventative Measures (Not Taken)
6. Sick and Injured
7. “You’re a Jerk When You’re Sick”
8. Persistent Fever
9. White Coat Syndrome
10. “The only place we’re going is to the pharmacy”
11. Beginner’s Guide to Faking Sick
12. Old Wives Tale
13. Anxious Stomach
14. ‘‘I shouldn’t be worried about you, but for some reason I am’’
15. Sick in an Inconvenient Place
16. Consulting the Internet/Web MD
17. Magical Remedy/Healing Potion
18. “Wear Your Coat, You’ll Catch a Cold”
19. Curled Up With a Pet
20. Cramping Pain
21. "But if you stay, you'll get sick too"
22. Terms of Endearment/Nicknames
23. Coughing Fit
24. “Did you just sneeze?”
25. Confused/Disoriented
26. Pink Eye/Conjunctivitis
27. Uncooperative Patient
28. “I should have stayed home”
29. Side Effects/Adverse Reaction
30. Patient 0
Alts.
“I Could Really Use a Hug Right About Now”
Fuzzy Socks
Pounding Headache
Forehead Kisses
“I’m so sorry”
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feelingpoorly · 6 months ago
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Ok so I can’t take credit for this one because my minx of an SO randomly dropped this on me and left me all flustered but:
Caretaker realising their partner isn’t feeling well when they kiss them and taste Pepto…
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danafeelingsick · 1 year ago
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having soft thoughts of a sickie feeling guilty about puking up all the food caretaker made for them with so much love and care:
sickie having to maintain appearances, even as their poor stomach revolts agaisnt the heavy meal sitting inside it
sickie who can't help but grimace at the sight/smell/texture of the food, which makes caretaker think they might've messed it up
sickie clutching/hugging their middle as they try their hardest not to puke, thinking of the smile caretaker had on as they watched them eat, thinking they finally were starting to recover
sickie who has a hand clasped over their mouth, holding it tight to keep the food in no matter what, even to the protests of caretaker who's trying to tell them to just let it out, don't try to hold it
sickie who ends up losing the barely digested food over the blankets, sobbing apologies to a caretaker who's more worried about their well-being than anything else
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pixelatedraindrops · 1 year ago
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One thing to keep in mind about me...
If I ever have a favorite character:
They WILL end up like this
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in my head
CONSTANTLY
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sickficideas · 9 months ago
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any hcs for alastor?? he's my favorite but i haven't watched it since the pilot
here's some more continued off the last ask !! and omg anon if you enjoyed the pilot you should totally pick up the show 💖💖
- he's so rarely injured but I think when he is, he's very sensitive to the pain and considerably weakened but still very Smile Through The Pain lol
- he's not often made nauseous by things but overly processed foods do the trick lol he absolutely Hates smelling that shit
- super noisy when he's sick. a constant low static buzz but also he's groaning and moaning and grumbling the whoooole time
- his hearing is very sensitive when he's not feeling well and he'll go as far as covering his ears when it's too much
- if he's ever truly very sick or injured and not much is helping him heal or get better, Charlie know now she can enlist Rosie's help, seeing how much Alastor trusts her...and Rosie Alwaysss knows what to do <3
- going off a point on the last ask...Alastor with a high fever mistaking his caretakers for his mother...it's namely Charlie and Angel Dust, and they realize too that during these times Alastor doesn’t understand where he is, and they think he might believe he's back on earth. Talking about New Orleans or his radio show...and interestingly enough, Husk is the only one he names correctly...Angel Dust is very suspicious about this and ends up finding out they knew each other for a while when they were alive 😔😭
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vvvoxal · 2 months ago
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8 for vox?
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she's gonna do it even if he says no
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writing-whump · 2 months ago
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Seawater
Everyone falling apart on vacation? More likely than you think. Some angsting Hector drinking a lot of seawater on accident.
Hector could not remember when was the last time he was this pissed.
It didn't even have a proper reason. He was on vacation, for Shadow's sake, he had no work, no wolves to get into fights with, no incompetent subordinates to yell at.
What the hell was wrong?
Maybe it was because he suddenly had so much free time. Leaving him alone with his thoughts, letting him observe things he didn't want to think about.
Like what was up with that damn kid? Why was Isaiah so insistent on helping him? It might not have seen like it, Isaiah could be very subtle and unobtrusive. But Hector could see it, damn it all.
This was Isaiah's version of fussing. Quiet watchful gaze, the way he was always turning to have Rip on sight,...the way he was advising him.
Isaiah never watched Hector's trainings like that since they were little. He never gave him tips or told him what to improve.
Hector begged him to spar with him once he became executioner. Even more so once he became the Executioner.
Like how could you have a walking genius talent powerhouse at home and not get any training yourself? How incapable did you have to be for your big brother to ignore you like that?
How unworthy was Hector in his eyes?
On some level, he knew it was stupid. Isaiah didn't train with him cause he was training with father and father messed him up and god knows what Isaiah didn't want to show him.
That's what sparring was for wolves. Communication. A dialogue between fists, a meeting of souls. Time, when all barriers and polite conventions fell off, when wolves could throw their best at each other. There was honesty in that intensity, baring of everything weak and wrecked and rotten to wash it all away in the intensity. Cleanse up, shed the old fur and start anew.
Because it didn't matter what you fucked up during a fight with someone you trusted. Because they were helping you to get better. Because Hector couldn't read expressions and he messed up everything emotional—but he could read a damn fight.
Hector could tell from the way a person held himself how confident someone was, from the drop of shoulders what hurt, from the turn of the feet where the strike would come. How someone thought, what they hid, what they cared about.
Isaiah refusing to fight him took years of his life when he was a teenager. Although he now had an explanation, the resentment lingered.
The vacation, this training, should have been a chance. A start over. Hector wanted to get involved because Isaiah was there, because he wanted to get them to fight together.
He should have known he couldn't enforce them being okay with each other. Of course not.
At first, Hector was hoping it was the heart recovery thing. That he should simply take that into consideration....did Isaiah think Hector was blind?! Not like he would go all out and kill him, if Isaiah happened to stumble or needed to go easy.
Hector would know if he saw. If he just had a chance to fucking see.
But there was nothing to see. Isaiah stayed in the back. Guarded, cold, distant. Not revealing a damn thing, like he still needed to put up a front for Hector.
The last drop was when their morning session was finished—Rip taking a swim to shake off the rest of the adrenaline—and Isaiah turned to Matthew. For a workout.
Sparring after an injury was always a sensitive matter. Hector had experience with his own and with others after injuries, rolled down shadows, his own damn car accident and operation. Isaiah getting into training after something as intrusive as a heart surgery counted as a pretty big deal.
But of all people it was Matthew that Isaiah turned to. Of fucking course.
So Hector didn't watch.
He turned on his heel and stormed out. His shadow was growling with anger and hurt and he needed to get the hell away from the source and prying eyes.
There was a clawing sensation around his ribs and his throat was too tight. His shadow was coiling around him with emotion he didn't want to identify. Anger came easier for wolves when they were hurt. Feelings were easier to deal with that way.
He needed to get the hell out. Get himself off all their hands. Probably did a favour to all of them.
...
Unfortunately for Hector, the day was in full course. It was too crowded to find a secluded spot and too hot to do much of anything away from water.
Hector needed something fast and violent that would take him far away. Let him escape from his thoughts and shadow...
The water scooters in the middle of the beach after the seaport. Oh yes.
Hector didn't even ask for the price, pushing a bunch of Bulgarian levs into the guy's hands. He was shaking with excitement. This was like a motorbike, but with even less rules to follow on the open sea.
He didn't have a motorbike, because how would he be driving Arnie around? Didn't mean he couldn't stop to admire them at every chance he got.
It was a great weather for the scooter. Windy and with lots of big waves that made the scooter jump under his hands. Hector tensed up, adjusting to the movement, almost standing up. Jump. Then lower again. Like riding a horse.
The speed was great, the sea darkening around him as he sped away from the beach. The shore was getting smaller along all his problems and crazy jealousies.
Jealousy, he could work with. It was his defining feeling these days. He was jealous that Isaiah got a girlfriend before they reconciled and now everything had to happen through her or with her. She was always closer, and everyone would expect her to be closer than he was or Arnie was and it was so not fair.
He didn't have that time of undivided attention and he already had to share him with her.
Then there was Matthew. Isaiah's oh so loyal troublesome second. He wasn't that special. Hector fought with Matt before and okay, he was strong and his shadow was annoyingly large—if Hector was in a good mood, he might admit it was adequate for an Executioner's right hand—
But it still angered him. What did Matthew have that Hector didn't?
Heck, what did Isaiah have, anyway? Spit on family legacy, said no thanks to inheriting an empire, left them both behind to lead an unobtrusive life with two other people in some kind of self-exiled hiding...
Why did it still irk Hector so much? So now he was the head of the Wolfsons, he was the first in line after Uncle Grayson, he was—
Hector was getting everything without a fight. For free. It never felt like he deserved it. Isaiah never let him prove his strength, that he was capable of taking over. No, Hector got simply stuck with the leftovers Isaiah didn't want.
If he had the opportunity, if he had been granted the possibility to win it over from Isaiah—the leadership, the mastery of the pack, the responsibility—it would have been fine. He would have been able to take over with pride and satisfaction.
But no. He was handed it down like a pair of washed-out jeans.
To hell with it, he was jealous even of the attention Rip was getting, and that was the lowest of the low. Lost dirty little street rat. What bussiness did it have walking among them?
Why did Isaiah feel any sympathy for that thing? Why, why, why?
He sped up the scooter, the engine roaring beneath him in protest, but complying. Hector liked when things complied. When his orders were followed, expectations fulfilled.
He wasn't wrong that often. He wasn't a damn loser, he was a winner.
Hector abruptly stopped in the middle of the sea wasteland. There was no shore in sight from either direction. Just the churning angry sea, reflecting his mood.
He leaned his forehead against the steering modem, taking short shallow breaths like he was running.
There was something Isaiah felt for that thing. Some kind of connection or understanding or whatever it was.
And Hector hated it. He hated that Isaiah, the strongest and coolest wolf he knew, understood what some-beaten-down-traumatised-almost-mad welp was feeling.
His oldest brother had no bussiness relating to street strays and lost causes.
His mind kept coming back to the training sessions they did together as children. Back when things were so uncomplicated. When it was just them having fun. They fought all the time as pups.
Heck, a 10 years old Isaiah couldn't take a stroll to the kitchen without getting jumped by 8 years old Hector. They would roll on the floor, shadows searing while toddle Arnie was clapping his hands in their mother's arms like it was a show made for him.
They would laugh until their stomachs hurt and throats were dry.
Hector hissed through his teeth, squeezing his eyes shut. He was acting like a child, wishing for the past like that.
But those were his only reference points left. The last time he could rely on knowing what was going on. When everything was okay.
Nothing was okay now. And worst about it was that Hector didn't know what happened when. He didn't know what hurt Isaiah the most, what bothered him, what he should be careful about.
Isaiah would take his hits and insults and shrug them away...and then get a freaking heart attack at 25, cause he was so fine and dandy.
And even if Hector wanted to help now, he didn't know what or how to do it. Which made it worse than worst, because he felt like he should know. His own flesh and blood should not need to explain to him what hurt, what bothered him.
But Hector didn't notice when it started. He just knew when the fights stopped. All those years Isaiah was keeping them in the dark, Hector spend trying to get them back. Making it all worse, naturally.
He turned the scooter around, relying on sense of direction as he sped up again. The salty air was whipping at his face and hair. Losing himself in that speed and those jumps was the release he needed.
His shadow trailed behind him like a parachure, melting with the waves.
Hector chased the biggest waves down. Hop and jump, hop and jump, enjoying the way his stomach flipped each time. It actually felt like flying.
The scooter gave another warning growl and then jerked in his hands. Right when he was climbing a wave again. Hector lost his balance, tumbling over into the sea.
Hitting the water wasn’t a problem—he’d taken worse spills in his life—but the surprise and force of the impact left him disoriented. He instinctively opened his mouth to breathe, but instead of air, a rush of seawater flooded into his lungs and stomach. Coughing and sputtering, he flailed in the water, trying to get his bearings.
It took all his crisis training to force himself to stop. His lungs and throat were burning from the salt and the giant waves were rolling over his head. He let himself be carried with the flow, diving with the wave to free himself of its power. He could dive under the next one and then figure out the right way to swim back up to the scooter.
He managed to climb back up. The air burned in his nostrils but he managed to get to the seat before he brust into a coughing fit, bending over.
The seawater was sitting heavily in his stomach. It felt uncomfortably full, like he just for from a double portioned lunch instead of not eating since breakfast. His lungs and throat were still burning and his eyed were watering against the sunlight.
Yeah, time to go back.
...
"Where the hell did you disappear to?" Matthew asked, materializing on the steps to his room. Hector groaned internally, tightening his grip on the railing.
Getting back from the beach had been a challenge. The seawater in his stomach kept churning and swirling. He had to fight intense nausea rolling through him. He felt like he was still on the sea.
"For real," Matthew continued, "my back's still a bit messed up from the sunburn and Isaiah didn't want me to feel left out and then you bolt on us for no reason. Petty much?"
Hector wanted to snarl at him. The red wolf was currently the main obstacle between him and the safety of the bathroom. Alas, he was too scared it would come out as a whine instead, so he kept his mouth shut.
"Zaya's home?" He ended up saying instead.
"The necessary lunchtime sun lockdown, yeah."
There was a beat of silence. It was only Matthew's stare that reminded Hector he should probably say something. The blonde wolf took the last step to their floor. Few more meters to the door felt like an impossible chasm to cross.
His stomach rumbled, loud and angry. It felt like a damn fish got caught between his stomach walls and was currently fighting its way out.
Matthew frowned at Hector's hunched position. "You don't look so good. Don't tell me you got heat stroke too?"
"I'm n't th't d'mb," Hector managed. His stomach cramped hard, a spasm going all the way from under his ribs to his lower belly. His mouth was overflowing with saliva and yet he felt thirsty. The room was getting blurry on he edges, his head at the risk of floating away.
Matthew didn't seem to get the hint that Hector wanted to be left alone, cause he stepped closer instead. His movements were still stiff under the shirt he was wearing. Hector could always read movements better than damn faces.
"You gonna fall over? Come on, I can-"
Hector shook Matt's hand off like a viper, swaying dangerously. He grabbed at the railing from the staircase again, swallowing. The nausea got worse with each new piercing cramp, and he closed his eyes to keep standing.
Every inch of his body focused on staying upright and not spilling his guts right there on the stairs. He felt Matthew’s eyes on him, the silence heavy and uncomfortable between them. Another wave of nausea churned in his stomach, threatening to overpower his self-control.
“I’m fine,” Hector forced out, though he could barely hear his own voice over the sound of blood rushing in his ears.
“Yeah, sure.” Matthew’s tone was sharp, but there was something else there. Worry, maybe? Hector didn’t care. He just needed to get to the damn bathroom.
Matthew stepped closer again. “If you’re about to pass out—”
“I said leave me alone.” The words came out harsher than he intended, raw and jagged, and his hands clenched around the railing like it was the only thing keeping him anchored.
The sudden burst of anger threw him off balance. He lurched sideways, barely catching himself on the wall. His stomach twisted violently, and before he could stop it, Hector doubled over, retching as giant gush of water covered the tiles.
The bitter taste of salt filled his mouth as he gasped for air, bile burning his throat. His knees buckled, and he sank to the ground, hands trembling.
“Shit, Hector…” Matthew’s voice was closer now, but Hector couldn’t bring himself to respond. His body was too busy rebelling against him.
Matthew knelt down beside him, his sunburn forgotten. “Come on, man. Let’s get you inside.”
Hector barely registered the words, too exhausted to resist as Matthew hauled him to his feet, steadying him with a firm grip. "You need to sit down. Something's wrong here. I'm calling Zaya."
"No," Hector rasped. Speaking hurt too, like his throat was covered in glass shards. "I can handle myself. Just-just get me inside. Arnie'll-" Another bubbly burp interrupted him and Hector doubled over. "Arnie's enough."
Matthew didn't look convinced, chewing at his bottom lip, but moved obediently towards Hector's room. "Okay, okay."
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sacredwrath · 5 months ago
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P3. Fight it
Torture for information, taunting, beating with crowbar, broken bones, begging, serious leg injury, nausea, passing out from pain, vauge death wish
Morgan strides into the cell, a familiar duffle bag in hand. He drops it on the floor with a loud clunk.
"You're making me miss my lunch break."
Jesse groans, trying to hide their face, not wanting him to see their tears.
"Oh Jesse, you look distraught." He crouches next to them, lifting their head with a hand in their hair. "Were you crying?" He grins, "and here I was worrying I'd been too optimistic!" He leans in conspiratorially "My bosses think I've been going easy on you." He drops their head to the floor, standing and brushing off his pants. "Maybe I have. It's not common I let a prisoner last over a month." He moves to the bag and rummages through it. "Honestly Jesse, I like you."
They roll their eyes. "Clearly."
"It's true! I like watching you fight it." He turns to them, crowbar in hand.
Jesse's whole body tenses, every fiber of them attuned to the new weapon. Morgan never uses anything like this. Canes, whips, knives, fists, boots, but this won't just injure, it will destroy. Their breath comes in ragged gasps, they can't seem to get enough air.
"Adrian-" they gasp, using his first name
They push themself up on their good arm and try to scoot away, but Morgan's boot lands on the chain around their neck, holding them in place.
"Oh no you don't." He croons. Nausea rolls over them, and they are suddenly glad they haven't been fed in god knows how long.
"Adrian, please-"
"I mean look at you," He purrs, cutting them off with a look. “You're trying so hard to hold yourself together, but you're not that naive. You know how this'll end." He takes a slow step forward. "You know your crew can't go up against AQUA. Even if they could, its not worth it for you. I think deep down you've always known they aren't coming. Thats why you tried so hard to escape at first, despite the punishments. But now, you're finally starting to get it. Its written all over your face.”
Jesse doesn't have the energy to deny it.
“And you're still fighting, fighting the inevitable. I like watching you fight. Believe it or not, even this job gets repetitive after enough time. You're not unique per say, more just…” a wolfish grin spreads across his face, “adorable.”
"I bet you say that to all your prisoners." Jesse snaps back. "You're just playing with me. Trying to make me feel… hopeless, like I've already lost."
“Haven't you though?” he muses
“This is just another sick mind game. You want me to feel like- like its not worth fighting back... You're just- just- just playing with me.”
Morgan grins. "Hey, of course I am!" He pauses, and all the mock humor drains from him in an instant. "doesn't mean it's not true though. Can you stand on your own or do you need my help?"
For an instant Jesse is frozen. Rarely does his interrogator let the playful mask fall, he sounds dead. In desperate fear Jesse tries to shove themself up, but they don't have the strength. Their limbs tremble violently and the floor spins back up to smack their face. Morgan drags them up by the collar.
"Give me your wrists."
Their legs are shaking so bad it's hard to stay upright, but they don't want to make it any worse. They hold out their hands.
"Good '' Morgan takes their wrists and almost gently maneuvers them up till they reach the cuffs hanging from the ceiling. "Good," he says again, wiping the tears from their cheeks. "I was hoping I wouldn't have to do anything truly nasty to you, but my bosses aren't patient." He sounds almost apologetic, Jesse feels more tears slipping down their cheeks. "Unfortunately, they aren't here with us, can't see you're already crumbling." He pauses and then, more harshly, “So I have to reassure them."
He goes for their right shin first, breaking the bone with the first blow. For a blessed second, the unnatural snap is worse than the pain, but then, like thunder after a lightning strike, it rolls in. Jesse screams, flailing against the chains, trying desperately to escape. The crowbar falls again, slamming deep into the muscle of their thigh. And again and again, their shin, thigh, hip, each blow building on the agony of the last. Its too much, they cant take it. They scream uselessly, voice cracking with the strain.
The next blow impacts the side of their knee, dislodging something important. They see the knee buckle sideways. Screams falter as their body tries to hurl up the contents of its stomach, but it holds nothing but bile and sobs.
Distinct agonies blur into one undefinable, torturous mass as they lose track of the blows. The world blurs, thick black nothingness creeping in around their edges. With the blackness comes numbness and they wish the void would swallow them. As long as it doesn't hurt.
They snap back to consiousness, where were they? bringing with it the pain and terror they'd briefly escaped. They're screaming again before their eyes fly open. The man stands in front of them splattered in red, like some bizarre piece of modern art. He slaps them again, banishing the last remnants of oblivion.
"Please!" They wail, "stop, please stop please!"
He steps close enough for them to feel his spittle when he yells "Tell me where your base is!"
They sob, unable to find words through the pain. Their mind is in chaos, each thought unraveling faster than it can form.
"Please stop, please stop, please-."
"Where. Is. Your. Base." Morgan cuts off their incoherent begging, speaking slowly, carefully enunciating each word.
Nothing but whimpers make it past their lips
"Then what the hell makes you think I'd stop?" He grabs their leg and twists. This time the pain follows them into blackness.
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Tag list :) @whumpacabra
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whumpster-dumpster · 1 year ago
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Hey Red! I was wondering if you had any dialouge prompts for a rude caretaker with a sick whumpee? Preferably a whumpee who's nauseous/throwing up?
"Sip this slowly. Hey, what did I just say?!"
"I bet you're a lot of fun on rollercoasters."
"Aw, geez, look what a mess you're making!"
"I told you not to eat so fast. Did you listen? Nope!"
"We're going to run out of paper towels at this rate."
"With that gag reflex, I'm surprised you can ever eat."
"What, you think I magically have barf bags on hand?"
"I hope you don't expect me to be the one to clean that up."
"Think your delicate stomach can handle some itty bitty crackers?"
"I'm not just gonna sit here listening to you retch; I'll be outside. Let me know when you're done."
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serickswrites · 8 days ago
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Lonely Place of Longing XIV
Master list link here (includes chapter links, character bios, and summary)
Warnings: nausea, threat of death, threat of harm, captivity, manipulation, betrayal, kidnapping, emotional abuse
Halle checked her pack twice as she sat in the helicopter. She hated this type of flight. It made her nauseous. The last two helicopter flights she took, Dylan had sat next to her and rubbed circles on her back. It had been the only thing kept her from throwing up.
Now, just the thought of Dylan coming near her made her nauseous. She was glad that Dylan had teleported ahead with a handful of the team, including Thomas, to stake out a rendezvous point, leaving the rest of the team to travel to the site six hours away via helicopter. It was going to be a long night.
Halle was proud of herself, she made it the entire flight without vomiting. As she carefully climbed out of the helicopter, taking care to keep her head down to brace against the gusts of air blown her way by the other helicopter that touched down a few hundred yards form her, Halle looked around. Thomas had wasted no time setting up several tents as a command post.
“You’re over here,” Thomas said as he saw Halle hoist her huge pack higher on her back. “You’ll share with the other medic.”
Halle nodded. She didn’t mind sharing. It was the others that didn’t want to share with Dylan. Halle barely wanted to share with Dylan. But if she could, then the others could, too.
She did another cursory glance to see where the weapon in question was. Dylan sat on a rock on the edge of camp, staring out into the darkness. He didn’t acknowledge the bustle of the team moving around him. He just sat there, arms folded across his chest, staring out into the dark.
“He’s not helping set up anything? All of this could be done in a matter of moments if you let him.” Halle had never seen Dylan set up a Tectus camp before. Dylan was always relegated to sitting and watching. It always seemed so wasteful.
Thomas shook his head. “He needs to conserve his energy. Owen is going to take everything he has.”
Dylan suddenly rose and stretched his long, lanky body. Halle could see he was uncuffed. See he was at his most dangerous. How did anyone trust Dylan? Didn’t they know Dylan was monstrous both inside and out?
“We should get moving, Thomas,” Dylan called loudly. “Owen’s status has not changed. We should capitalize on this.”
“Stay here, Halle. You, the other medic, and four team members will remain here. We will radio if we need aid.”
“Yes, Thomas.” Halle tapped the radio on her belt. “I’m just a call away.”
Halle watched as Dylan hurried off into the dark silently. It was eerie how silent he could be. The rest of the team that followed made some sound, though they were quiet. But Dylan was truly silent.
She had grown accustomed to waiting on missions. More often than not, Dylan didn’t need healing on the front line. He was usually able to make it back to base camp or even wait until they all returned to Tectus before he needed to be healed. Halle regretted not bringing her book with her. She had declined to join the others in the command tent for a poker game, opting instead to inventory all the supplies she had packed and the other healer had packed. She was sure that she would need some of these tools at some point, there was no way she wouldn’t. Owen was the second most powerful living weapon. It was not a question of if, but of how many people would need to be healed.
“Aren’t you a precious little mouse,” a deep voice came from the edge of her tent. “I shall take great joy in eating you.”
Halle whirled around to see a tall, lean man standing at the edge of her tent. He had dark hair, but the same icy blue eyes as Dylan.
“Owen,” Halle whispered. This was not good.
Owen smiled. “Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Halle. I can see why Dylan is interested in you. He always liked small, precious things.”
“He will find you,” Halle said as she pressed their radio to the open channel, broadcasting everything in hearing range to Thomas.
“That’s what I’m counting on, little mouse.” Owen stalked closer as Halle tried to step back. He was close enough that Halle could see how deep the scar on his right cheek was. “That’s exactly what I’m counting on.”
Halle didn’t even have time to scream as Owen’s fingers closed around her wrist and her world suddenly went dark. She could only hope that someone would stop Owen before he ravaged the others.
***
Dylan squinted through the dark. He had been tracking Owen in the dark when suddenly the trail had gone cold. Owen was silent in his head. Where are you? Why hide? You have been wanting this.
Dylan froze as he heard Thomas’s radio crackle to life. No. How could I have been so stupid? This was all to lure me away. “We need to hurry back.”
“No shit,” Thomas said as he turned around.
“We can still save her,” Dylan said as he held out his hand. “I can get us much closer faster. We still have a chance.”
“I’m not letting you waste your powers on that,” Thomas said coldly. “We can make it back soon anyway. You are only to use your powers to track and kill Owen. Besides, the longer you take to track Owen, the longer you spend outside Tectus. And the longer you are free.”
Dylan's heart thundered in his chest. “You were never going to set me free, were you.” How could I have been so blind? I am so stupid. I have led everyone to their deaths. I am vile. I am weak. How could I have believed any promises you made?
“No,” Thomas said with a smirk. “But you knew that. But we will let Halle go. So long as you deliver Owen’s head on a silver platter to the Authority. Halle will get to live and you will continue to be our instrument.”
“I could destroy all of you.” I will end Samuel. I will end all of you if Halle dies. My life is nothing without her. She made me feel alive for the first time in a century. She needs to live. I will end you.
“But you won’t. Because Halle will die if you do. Face it, Dylan, your life ended when you became a living weapon. Don’t let Halle die because of the choices you made, too.”
Dylan stopped moving forward. I will make you a new deal. I will do as you order. But you will let Halle go, no matter what. “The terms of our agreement have changed. I will destroy Owen, but then Halle goes free. I make no guarantees for your safety, or anyone’s safety. But Halle will go free.”
“We have a deal,” Thomas said grimly. “I only expect you to end Owen. That’s it.”
Dylan turned back to where he had been headed—to Owen’s compound. It is to be war between us, Owen. I will rain hell down upon you. You will regret taking Halle. You will regret harming her. And you will regret the day you broke free.
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fluffy-sickfics-art · 1 year ago
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pretty guys with arm muscles throwing up >>
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feelingpoorly · 6 months ago
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What about a sickie who gets nauseous when they’re hungry…
They’ve felt kinda iffy and nauseous all day but have just assumed their blood sugar was low and they just needed to eat something to settle their stomach. So they keep eating little snacks and things to try and make themselves feel better, but it’s not working.
What they didn’t realise is that this time, they were not in fact hungry, but sick.
Their fever addled brain was too slow to catch on and now they’re nauseous and pukey with way more food inside them to bring up then they should have.
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hayaku14 · 1 year ago
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nothing more tragically hilarious than kaito excitedly taking shinichi out to a surprise date only for it to be at tropical land
213 notes · View notes
angstyaches · 2 months ago
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The Hexagon: Aftermath, Part One
Hexagon Parts 1 - 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5
This is a long one (4,000+). It's a lot of general recovery stuff, with a bit of rare Charlie/Ryan interaction.
Also, please note that I am in no way a medical professional (and neither is Ryan).
CW: effects of hunger/exhaustion/dehydration, passing out, slightly medical setting, injury (burns), nausea, mention of emeto, anxiety, refeeding, mention of blood drinking, stomach noises, embarrassment/awkwardness, demonic possession, fear for CT's wellbeing.
___
The last stretch of the car ride felt like the longest, and yet Charlie felt stuck in a daze. He couldn’t sleep anymore, no matter how badly he wanted to. What mental energy he had, he was channeling into not crying, not throwing up, not panicking over the sickening fear he felt, that he would suddenly be flung from a dream and back into the forest. Into the hexagon. 
He must have drawn a loud, shaky breath or something, because Shayne tilted his head to try to look at him. 
“You okay?” 
Charli nodded. “I’m...” 
Whatever the end of that sentence was supposed to be, it didn’t make it to his lips. He wasn’t even sure why that was, exactly. He just wanted his bed. He wanted his parents. He wanted to be alone with Shayne so they could cry and process everything at their own speed. 
He most certainly did not want to see Ryan Aldridge waiting in the driveway as Elliott pulled up to the townhouse.
There was no delicate way of putting it; Charlie had never stopped finding Ryan abjectly terrifying. He liked to think he’d done a decent job of acclimatising to a world that consisted of demons, demon eaters, witches, shifters, and vampires, but the most ancient vampire he’d ever met still send tendrils of cold through his body. She never smiled. She never looked angry. She never made any sudden movements. And she had never transitioned away from calling him Mr. Waters. Then again, he’d always been too terrified to ask her to call him anything else, so maybe that one was on him. 
In his fragile state, she was probably the last person he wanted to see right now. 
She was standing in the driveway of the townhouse, holding a black parasol to shield her face from the sun. She was wearing a crisp white pantsuit that washed out her unnaturally pale skin even more. For a woman trying so hard to block out UV rays, she looked like she should have come with her own light sensitivity warning. 
Elliott pulled up the handbrake and whipped off his sunglasses. The engine rumbled down to silence, finishing off with a whine from the air conditioning. Ingrid had been reminding Trevor to get that checked out for months. 
“Oh, god.” Charlie’s breath caught in his throat. “I-I need to tell my car where his dad is.” 
“You... mean your dad where –?” 
“My dad where his c-car is.” 
“Charlie,” Shayne muttered. “I’m sure they’re far more worried about you than the fucking car.” 
Charlie blinked, the movement happening far too slowly. The way Ryan Aldridge would blink. Probably. The thought of his parents worrying about him, unable to contact him, put a surge of panic right into the centre of his chest cavity. The way his mother’s face, her entire being, had collapsed inwards on that night three years ago, when he’d told them what he – 
Charlie jumped. The door next to him had been opened. Switching to autopilot, he slid out of the back seat and promptly forgot how to use his legs. 
Somebody – Shayne? Elliott? Ryan? – grabbed him, to keep him from sagging to the ground. Maybe CT had managed to pull themself together and levitate him. 
CT? he whispered internally, and a cold wave of black swarmed his vision. It seeped into his every thought, his memories of the past few days, flashes of childhood visits to the sea. Bubbles of pressure pushed up against his lungs, inside and out. 
Lights exploded in the darkness. His stomach heaved. 
His mind stretched on and on, and Charlie followed it, until he could feel the demon submerged in that same smothering darkness. They weren’t reaching back towards him. 
Still, Charlie took some semblance of relief in feeling the low, thrumming pressure of them. 
Come back to me, Charlie pleaded. When you’re ready. 
___ 
When he opened his eyes, he was on his back, but not in a pile of pine needles. Not on the concrete driveway in front of the townhouse, either. A white ceiling enclosed the room, where he’d half-expected to see drifting treetops through a purple gloss. 
Charlie savoured it for a few seconds. He had missed being inside. The older he got, the more sure he became that he had been put on this earth to be inside, to be cosy and warm and in soft lighting. 
The lighting here was not soft, though, and Charlie’s eyes protested as he tried to have a look around. 
Some kind of thin, narrow bed was stretched out beneath him, as though he had fallen asleep on an examining table. He could feel that his hoodie and Converse were gone, but his damp, three-day-old jeans and t-shirt still clung to his skin. Nausea rolled over him in cold waves, and he realised he was sweating. Was it always this warm when there was no natural breeze blowing through? 
With the glow of gratitude fading fast, Charlie turned his head. It felt like trying to shove his face through quicksand, but it was worth it. 
A few feet away, a leather chair sat across from the front of a massive, light oak desk. Shayne was standing behind the chair, resting his weight against its back. He was looking down, his eyelids heavy, and was attempting to wrap something around his hand. 
Elliott stood at the other side of the room, by the door, arms crossed, looking off into the middle distance. His aviators hung from the front of his shirt. 
Ryan had shed her parasol and one layer of her white suit. She was organising medical equipment on a plastic trolley. Her wavy white hair had been scraped back into a bulldog clip to keep it from falling into her face. Charlie hadn’t thought it was possible for the woman to look even more severe, but now he missed the softening curls that normally framed her face. 
He didn’t recognise the room, but he assumed it was Ryan office. Shayne had mentioned it to him several times in the past. Aside from books, the only decorations were a couple of deer skulls mounted on stands, and a square wall clock that, Charlie realised as soon as he noticed it, ticked obnoxiously in the quiet. And the walls, the carpet, the bookshelves, almost everything was clean and white. 
Of course it would be, Charlie thought, squinting his eyes to fight off the pulsing headache. 
This was where Shayne had first been medically assessed by Ryan, and where he had finally managed to tell them the truth about Madelyn and his eating issues. It felt a little bit bizarre that Charlie now had his own story to tell about this room. The time they got trapped in the forest and had to be rescued by Elliott. 
Except... They hadn’t been rescued by Elliott, had they? Someone had taken down the wards and allowed them to escape. 
Shayne had never quite explained that one, Charlie realised. Only now did that make Charlie feel a bit uneasy. 
As though he had been thinking the same thing, Shayne’s eyes swiveled anxiously upwards. His gaze softened, though, when he realised that Charlie was awake. He lurched away from the leather chair. 
“Hey, love.” 
“Hey,” Charlie breathed. 
Shayne closed the distance, his wrapped hand gently – messily – pushing Charlie’s hair back from his eyes. Charlie closed his eyes and groaned softly as his forehead was kissed. 
“Are you okay?”  
Before Charlie could respond, Ryan turned towards them. A stethoscope hung from her neck. If she was surprised at Charlie’s departure into consciousness, her face had no intention of showing it. 
“As I have said, Mr. Waters is dehydrated. His body has entered a state of adaptive ketosis. I will continue to monitor his vitals while he rests and is gradually reintroduced to food and fluids.” 
At the mention of food, Charlie felt a strange ripple go through the walls of his stomach. It had to be hunger, and yet there was the slightest tinge of acid in the back of his throat, as though he might be sick as soon as he tried to swallow anything. 
Shayne rolled his eyes, his eyelashes fluttering uneasily. His grip on Charlie’s hand was weak. “Are you okay, love?” he asked again. 
Charlie nodded, though he felt a stuttering echo of that panicked feeling in his chest. Nausea twisted in his stomach, heightened by the white lights. The absence of CT’s voice panged, not just in his head but throughout his body.  
He shifted on his back. 
“Want to sit up?” Shayne asked. 
Charlie nodded again.  
As he moved, he found a drip connected to his arm. His own right hand had also been bandaged, all the way up to the tips of his fingers, where he’d touched the wards and blistered his skin. His movement unsettled a large, white basin that had been lying next to him. Shayne reached out to steady it before it could fall off the – he was literally lying on an examining table.  
Was it normal for Elder vampires to own examining tables? 
A smell suddenly wafted towards Charlie, conjuring up memories of various kitchens throughout his teenage years, all of them different, and yet the hearty aroma of his dad’s chicken casserole was the same in each one. After this, maybe he would study remotely for a few weeks, spend some time with his parents, if they were happy to have him. Maybe ask his dad to teach him his casserole recipe. 
After hearing what Ryan had said about a gradual introduction to food, he had a feeling that what he was smelling now was more likely to be some kind of broth. After almost three days, though, he’d take what he was given. 
“My... my parents.” Stars blinked in and out of his vision as he tried to focus on not letting his head sway back and forth. He mustn’t have done a great job, because Shayne’s bandaged hand came to rest against his cheek, and Charlie inadvertently leaned into it. He rubbed at his eyes, and found tears had gathered there. 
“Miss McDonagh has been tasked with informing Ingrid and Trevor Waters of the situation.” Ryan glanced at her silver watch. The clock face rested on the inside of her wrist. “I should expect she will be speaking with them presently.” 
“Miss McDonagh?” Elliott scoffed. Charlie had almost forgotten he was there. “Odd thing to call your lover, but alright.” 
Ryan ignored him. So did Charlie. He looked at Shayne. “Is that...?” 
“Lucy,” Shayne nodded. 
Charlie exhaled. He didn’t exactly trust this counsellor, who he’d never met, but he trusted Shayne. He swallowed, his throat feeling like grit. 
“Is... she here, at the townhouse?” Shayne was looking at Ryan as she worked. “Does that mean Nancy’s back, too?” 
Ryan pushed the trolley a little closer. The chicken broth smell became stronger. 
“Um.” Shayne reached across himself and held his waist. The gauze on his right hand was already unraveling. “Ryan?” 
“Shayne.” She dismissed him with a calm, fluid shake of her head. “Since you will not allow me to examine you, there is currently no need for you for you to be present.” 
“Wait.” Charlie’s stomach lurched, both at the prospect of being left alone with Ryan, and at what she’d said. He tried to catch Shayne’s eye. “You wouldn’t let her check on you?” 
Shayne scowled. He looked down and rubbed his thumb against Charlie’s wrist, sending tingles across his skin. “I’m fine. You’re the one who collapsed in the driveway. And threw up on your shoes.” 
“I –” Charlie grimaced. He couldn’t remember throwing up, but with the way his tummy had felt after the flat Coke, and the way he felt now, it definitely sounded like something that could have happened. That would explain the basin, too. 
It also spoke volumes that he didn’t even worry about his Converse being ruined. 
“I want to stay with Charlie. I can be useful –” 
“Elliott?” Nothing shifted in Ryan’s expression, and yet Shayne sucked in a breath as though he were being told off. “Would you terribly mind relieving me of this one?” 
As he peeled himself away from the far wall, Elliott looked just as surprised to be summoned as Shayne looked betrayed.  
Ryan picked up a deep, heavy mug from the trolley. Her fingers splayed delicately as she turned to pass it to Elliott. Charlie watched it go and felt his heart drop; rationally, he knew there would be more, and he would never take food away from Shayne, but Charlie’s stomach was starting to cramp up impatiently. It felt less like hunger and more like a burning anxiety over being so empty for so long. 
Ryan took a few more things from the trolley and thrust them towards Elliott. He wrapped a fist around the mug handle, but still managed to make it look precarious. He tucked everything else under his armpit so he could plant a hand on Shayne’s shoulder. 
“Come on.” 
“Really?” Shayne snarled at him. 
“Really.” Elliott directed him towards the door. “Charlie’s in good hands, and those hands will be even better if you’re not in here being a nuisance.” 
“See you later, lovely,” Charlie half-smiled. He hated feeling so helpless to do anything else about the worried look on Shayne’s face. He didn’t realise how pathetic he must have looked, keeping his eyes trained on Shayne’s back, until Elliott had finished herding him out of the room, until the door clicked shut behind them. 
And then, for the first time in his life, he was alone with a vampire. 
“Are you in any pain?” 
Charlie jumped. “I-I’m sorry, what?” 
“Are you in any pain?”  
Was it his imagination, or had she spoken more slowly when she’d repeated herself? Was she being sarcastic? Pointing out that he was a lowly, pathetic human, while she was an all-knowing Elder vampire? Was this a power play? 
“Mr. Waters?” 
Charlie flinched again, his heart stuttering. 
“I apologise for instructing Shayne to leave. I realise how that might be... uncomfortable for you.” 
Guilt seeped into Charlie’s gut. Was it that obvious? 
“In your condition, it is best for both of you to be in calm, quiet environments.” 
“Right. He needs to rest, too,” he said quietly. That was what she was getting at, right? That she was focused on tending to Charlie, but that she also cared for Shayne? She had protected him from Madelyn for this long, after all, and while Shayne was still a walking sack of issues, his mental and physical health had both improved a lot since living with her. 
That’s what you would tell me, isn’t it, CT? You’d be telling me to get over my stupid hang-ups and do what’s best in the moment? 
“Are you in any pain, Mr. Waters?” 
Charlie took a deep breath and nodded. “My hand. My stomach. My head, the... the lights are hurting my eyes.” 
“My apologies again.” Ryan walked stiffly to the door and twisted a dimmer switch. The lights softened all at once, and although his head still ached, the buzzing pressure in Charlie’s eyes eased. He didn’t have to squint anymore. 
“Thank you.” 
She crossed the room again, dipping behind her large desk. As he watched her, Charlie now realised that she had a fridge in the back corner. The door was clear glass, and inside, what looked like tiny bottles of wine sat on a wire shelf. 
Charlie felt his stomach gurgle as he realised that those probably weren’t tiny bottles of wine. He looked away as Ryan reach inside, towards a lower shelf that was blocked from his view anyway. 
“I would like to take your blood pressure now that you are awake.” 
Charlie nodded stiffly, gaze glued to the floor. He glanced to the side, holding perfectly still, as Ryan wheeled over a blood pressure monitor – seriously, who had a blood pressure monitor ready to go at a moment’s notice? – and strapped the reader around his upper arm. He tried to control his breathing as the machine tightened. Would his anxiety mess up the results of this? 
Ryan was suddenly standing directly in front of him, staring down her nose. There was an uncapped bottle of water in her hand. 
“Oh...” Charlie stammered and took the bottle. The condensation immediately started to seep into his bandage, so he passed it into his left hand. “Thank you.” 
“Do not drink too quickly. Your digestive tract will not be capable of processing it yet.” 
Charlie nodded, trying not to think of that quarter-bottle of Coke and how it was now splattered across the Aldridges’ driveway along with his stomach acid. He lifted the bottle to his mouth and swished it lightly. He barely let his lips get wet, despite the clawing dryness in his throat. 
Ryan moved back to his side and unstrapped the blood pressure monitor. Charlie squeezed in a couple more miniscule sips of water, but found himself taking a little more each time. Ryan didn’t share the readings with him. Good. Too much bodily data could make Charlie feel squeamish, and between the hunger-nausea and the chilled cabinet full of what he could only assume was actual human blood, he didn’t need anything else stirring up his stomach. His water was only just starting to settle in, and it would be a shame to lose it all again. 
Ryan unhooked the stethoscope from around her neck. “Please lift your shirt at the back.” 
Charlie fumbled it a bit, with his gauzed hand and his water bottle, but was grateful that Ryan didn’t try to lift it herself. He winced as she pressed the metal chest piece to the centre of his back. 
“Breathe in.” 
Charlie did. He fought the urge to let the breath stutter back out prematurely as water and bile clogged his throat. 
“And out.” 
She asked him to do this several times before moving the stethoscope to his chest. The thought of her listening to the pumping of his heart made Charlie tremble. Was she picturing sucking the blood from his veins like straws? Would she tell him she needed a blood sample for medical reasons, stick him with a needle, and drain him dry before he even realised what was happening? 
Grrrrrroar. 
Charlie’s eyes widened, his hand clenching around his water bottle. By the sounds of it, his stomach was only just becoming aware of its newly-acquired contents. His eyes flicked towards Ryan’s face as she continued listening to his heart. If he had heard his own tummy rumbling, then she had heard it with her vampiric hearing and had most definitely heard it through the stethoscope. Her face didn’t give her away. She hadn’t even flinched, despite how horrifically loud it must have been. She continued listening to his heartbeat, and then swiftly turned, removing her earpieces, to write down the result. 
Something in Charlie’s chest suddenly unclenched. This whole time, he’d thought of Ryan as nothing but a vampire, whereas he should have been thinking of her as a... Well, maybe not a doctor, as he wasn’t sure she had any actual qualifications, but certainly a caregiver.  
She removed the chest piece and stood off to the side again. Charlie allowed himself a couple more sips of water, laying a hand on his stomach to ward off any uneasiness. He could feel his belly churning, but no cramping, which had to be a good sign. 
“You may cover yourself, Mr. Waters.” 
“Charlie,” Charlie said softly. He tugged his t-shirt back into place. 
“Next, I will give you a cup of light broth. It is important that you do not consume it too hastily, or –” 
“I-I know. It could make me sick.” 
Ryan gave a curt nod as she turned towards her trolley. Charlie flushed a little at himself for interrupting, but he was a teacher’s pet at heart and knew deep down he’d never let go of that need to seem like he was paying attention, participating, understanding the assignment.  
He was also dying to get his hands on something warm and nourishing. His mouth, now that he had the barest amount of fluids in his body, watered as he watched Ryan pick up a mug of broth. 
“Is there anything else in particular that is concerning you?” She paused as she handed him the mug, easing the bottle of water from his hand so he could hold it steady. She capped the bottle and turned to leave it on the trolley. 
It took Charlie a minute to answer her question. Maybe two or three. He gently sipped on the broth, and even though he knew he had to take his time, he struggled to keep himself from drinking it any faster. He wondered if he could feel the broth literally warming his insides as it slipped down his throat, or if the relief of finally feeling safe was only just setting into his body. 
He tentatively felt for CT, but still felt no energy coming back from them. 
Charlie lowered the mug to his lap. The light flavour of the broth stuck to his tongue and he fought to swallow it down as tears pricked his eyes. 
“I can’t talk to Charlie Too.”  
Ryan had busied herself with tidying up her equipment as he’d been drinking. She was standing behind her desk, sliding a beige folder onto a shelf filled with other, disturbingly similar, beige folders. 
“That’s what we call the demon that I –” 
“I am aware.” Ryan smoothly turned her head. “Perhaps this is the reason for Shayne’s questions regarding Nancy’s time of arrival. She has limited knowledge on the topic of demons, but regardless is the greatest source of knowledge at our disposal.” 
“Oh.” Charlie’s heart fluttered. “Maybe. I-I assumed he wanted to ask her if she knew anything about the trap.” 
It may have been Charlie’s imagination, but Ryan’s chin seemed to lower slightly, her eyes sharpening. He almost choked on nothing as fear spiked in his gut. 
“Not – not that we thought she set it,” Charlie sputtered. “Just –” 
There was a sharp knock at the door. Without waiting for a response, someone hurried into the room. 
She was pale and a little curvy, with cotton-candy pink hair tied in two low, messy pigtails. Her shoulders were hunched, and she kept a hold of the door handle. Her other hand hovered over her chin as she cast her eyes about the room. 
“H-hi, Ryan, I...” She grimaced as she caught Charlie’s eye. “Hi. Charlie?” 
Charlie nodded. “Lucy?” 
Her grimace widened. “Hi. So, your mother and father are fine. I explained the situation, and they’re coming to get you tomorrow. I assured them that you’re in great hands.” 
Charlie swallowed over the urge to belch, trying not to let his anxiety show on his face. Tomorrow felt too far away. Separated from Shayne and frozen out by CT, all he wanted was to see his parents’ faces. “Thank you.” 
“I would also like to schedule a meeting between the two of you,” Ryan cut in. She folded her arms. Her gaze swiveled from Lucy to Charlie. “A debriefing following your ordeal. Tomorrow morning, once you have had some rest.” 
Charlie tried to nod, to be a good student and show that he understood the value of Ryan’s suggestion. He flinched as another bubble of pressure rose up through his chest, muffling the burp with the back of his hand. 
“T-tomorrow morning, you said, Ryan?” Lucy said slowly. She took a step back, still clutching the door handle. 
“We will finalise the details later.” 
“Okay. Well, it’s – uh, been nice to meet you, Charlie. I’ll – I’ll just...” Lucy pointed with her thumb before backing out of the room, pulling the door shut with her. 
Alarm grew in Charlie’s mind; he hadn’t expected a qualified counsellor to slink about, acting like an embarrassed teenager. Charlie very much hoped she hadn’t been like this when she’d been on the phone with his parents. 
Doesn’t really matter, he thought to himself as he took a sip from his mug. And to CT, he thought, Everything’s going to be okay. 
He had to believe hard enough for both of them now.
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