#manflu

[blue-vabis]

Well, i'm not well today...

[rocketxpilot]

WAIT IT GETS FUNNIER

Harry comes in and is horrified to see Lucas so miserably ill and sends him home at once, scolding Ros for being so hard on him.

Ros, Jo, and Ruth just look at each other and roll their eyes. Men are such babies when they're sick.

(Ros may or may not call him later, just to make sure she didn't really accidentally kill him. Lucas informs her that he is not dead, but wishes he was. Ros contemplates throwing the hot soup she brought him in his face.)

It's Random Headcanon Saturday! (tm)

Lucas is one of those people who never get flu shots. He "doesn't believe in them" because "he never gets sick"

Until

His first Christmas back from Russia he gets absolutely FLATTENED by a virulent new strain going around London. Ros makes him come in anyway because a) there's a crisis, his Queen and Country Need Him (tm) and b) he brought this on himself, really.

He endures many rounds of "I told you so" from just about everybody in the building until Ros sends him home because his sniffling is driving her crazy. (also she might feel a little sorry for him. Just a tiny tiny bit. Not that she'll ever admit it.)

[nethhiri]

I’ve been awake since 2am bc my husband starting shitting and throwing up nonstop and then I had to take him to the ER and be stressed about that all day so needless to say I’m exhausted and barely got to do anything that I wanted to do. (He’s fine he just has a virus and got very dehydrated).

[werehounded]

Pink to make the boys wink. 😘

I really need to get my tattoo finished. I love it so much but I’ll love it more when the flora and fauna is coloured and my moons are blacked out!!! So happy I finally will be able to get to my tattoo artist again in my wheelchair soon. It had got bad enough that I couldn’t do the walking to them but now I can just pootle along to see them!!

[russell-crowe]

i went to ireland to visit the lovely @thekenobee last week!! despite getting the irish flu i had a grand time and i couldn't have had better company. dzięki dear deb for the great time. ❤️

[literare-at-ayarn]

i wanna make ships

[modern-inheritance]

yeah yeah i know i know i'll update story masterlist and shorts list later maybe or something. and i'll put Keeper up on AO3 tonight.

[makemegentle]

[courierrsix]

I'm... I'm dying

[birt-art]

I have. A cold. For the first time since last winter and I am UNHAPPY

[mumble-muse]

I'm a sad boi today so I deserve my sad boi treats

[knopperbrister]

I have a URTI of some sort, and I hate it. I do not cope well with this at all.

[sihtricfedaraaahvicius]

Planning to drop this next week! Still working on it. It was supposed to be done already but I had some irl things that kept me from writing 😩

Fatal Obsessions teaser

Sihtric draped his leather jacket over your shoulders, and then covered your face with his spare helmet while you stared at his glossy black motorcycle right beside you. You glanced at his black leather boots as he zipped up his jacket on you, which was way too big for your figure, but he wasn't going to take any risks damaging your beautiful skin.

'Are you in a biker gang or something?' you asked, your voice slightly muffled by the helmet.

Sihtric laughed, then tilted your face up to his by tapping the chin of your helmet.

'No, angel,' he smiled, 'I'm not in a biker gang or something. Not everyone who owns a motorcycle is in a gang, you know?'

'Oh,' you breathed, and felt his warm fingers feather over your throat as he adjusted the chinstrap.

'Disappointed?' his lips tilted up as he raised a brow.

'Surprise is more like it,' you mumbled.

Sihtric chuckled and shook his head lightly before he closed the visor on your helmet. 'You ladies read too many books,' he said, and then swung one leg over his bike and pushed it off its standard. He cocked his head to the empty space behind him as he put on his own helmet. 'Get over here,' he said, and when you were seated he took your hands and placed them on his torso, 'hold on tight, yeah? And if you want me to slow down, give me a few taps.'

'Okay,' you agreed.

'I can't promise I'll slow down though,' Sihtric said as he looked back over his shoulder.

You couldn't see his face as his black helmet hid it from view, but you were sure he was smirking.

'Where are you taking me to?' you asked before he revved the engine so loudly you felt it vibrate through your whole body.

'I haven't decided yet, angel.

Full fic coming soon.

@mrsarnasdelicious @neonhairspray @sihtricsafin @errruvande @penumbrie @lexeirikrleif @diiickbrainn @thatawkwardlittlefangirl @bubblyabs @dixie-elocin @alexagirlie @stupiddarkkside @urmomsgirlfriend1 @gemini-mama @foxyanon @man-i-be-that-pretty-motherfuckr @thenameswinter99 @m-a-s-h-k-a @superblyzanynight @hernakedmuse @ewanmitchellfanatic @lady-targaryens-world @cosmosnkaz @stronger-than-steel @cheesesandwichsanto

[literare-at-ayarn]

i am gonna take another mayor nap, then i might be social. who knows.

[purinfelix]

fever-ish ₊˚⊹ - oscar piastri

pairing: reader x oscar piastri summary: in which your boyfriend gets the flu, but also refuses to admit it w/c: 1.1k

a/n: I can't believe i've been writing fics for so long and it never occurred to me to write a sick fic when it's literally one of my most fav tropes EVER. anyways consider this a piece of propaganda for my oscar piastri no1 manflu sufferer campaign.

"Hey Osc, you don't look too good."

"Well good morning to you too my beautiful girlfriend," he shoots back instantly, feigning an insulted tone.

"No, I'm being serious." You shuffle to sit up in bed, furrowing your brows as the morning light trickles in through your window and onto your boyfriend's pale face. Gently sweeping his messy hair away from his forehead, you press the back of your hand to it and find it surprisingly warm.

"Babe wake up, you feel like you've got a fever," you urge, trying to shake him awake but he only pushes your hand away sleepily and tosses over, grumbling something about needing more sleep. You sigh in defeat, figuring it would probably do him some good to get some rest and instead slip out of bed quietly to get ready.

It's only about an hour later when you're in the kitchen fixing up your breakfast, that your concern returns. You barely hear the sound of his shuffling feet since you're turned around and busied with the hissing coffee machine.

"Morning," he mumbles sleepily, though his familiar morning raspiness is replaced by a painful-sounding soreness. Whipping around you can't help but feel endeared by how cute he looks, flushed cheeks and bed hair.

"Morning to you too," you laugh, setting down a cup of tea for him on the counter as you sip your coffee.

"Mmf, no time for breakfast, got to get ready for work." You pause, but he's already halfway to the bathroom.

"Oscar," you say, your tone firm, "there is no way you're going to work today baby."

"What? Why not?"

You're not sure if he can see you considering his eyes are only half-open, but the irony of him standing there, stifling a sniffle, is enough for you.

"You've got the flu idiot," you huff, and he looks at you like you're the crazy one.

"No, I don't."

"Sure, and you're also not swaying side to side and semi-delirious right now, hm?" You're trying to toe the line between teasing and soothing, not sure how much bullying he can take in this state - even if it is out of love. You pad your way over to where he's standing, grovelling silently.

"I'm fine, I need to go in," he sighs stubbornly as you intertwine one hand with his, the other coming up to cup his pale, warm face. For the first time that morning, he opens his eyes fully and all it takes is one pleading look from you for him to give in.

"Fine," he mumbles, and he bends slightly to get a kiss from you, confused when you pull away. "Morning breath?"

"You're literally sick," you laugh, shaking your head before giving him a soft peck on his cheek and sending him back to bed.

You decide to take the day off as well, despite your boyfriend's protests that he "can look after himself just fine". Given the morning's events, you aren't going to take any risks, plus there was no way in hell you were going to give up the opportunity to witness the rare event that was your boyfriend under the influence of fever delirium. You figured he'd be pretty low maintenance anyway, after all, it was Oscar, and you'd have most of the day free to do your own thing.

The truth couldn't have been further from the opposite. It was only midday and you had already had to force your half-awake boyfriend back into bed more times than you could count. On top of that, you had not been prepared for the flu to transform him into the pickiest patient on earth - refusing to take any medicine or even a spoonful of the chicken soup you had tried your best to whip up.

Still though, you persisted, and after what seemed like hours you finally managed to get him back into bed for the last time, where he lay curled up. You had been dabbing a cold towel across his forehead for a couple of minutes, and it seemed to have soothed him enough to cause him to doze off. Gazing down at him fondly, you tucked a stray strand of hair behind his ear and brought your hand down to caress his cheek. You watched as he leaned into your touch and let out a soft hum of comfort.

Setting the towel on the side table, you moved from where you were perched on the edge of the bed, figuring you should probably leave him to rest while he could. Before you could though, you felt a hand wrap around your wrist. Turning to see your boyfriend looking at you through half-lidded eyes you couldn't help but let out a low laugh.

"Where are you going?" he whined.

"You need to rest Oscar, I'll just be in the living room."

"No, please."

"Hm? What is it, do you want more soup or another cup of tea?"

"No, I want you to stay here," he sighed, grip tightening around your wrist as he made weak attempts to pull you into bed with him. You began to protest, but the sight of your boyfriend curled up and close to shivering won you over before you could.

Pulling back the covers and sitting up against the headboard, you guided his head to lie on your chest. Slowly, you ran your fingers through his hair in an attempt to soothe him back to sleep. After a couple minutes of silence, you had thought it had done the trick until he piped up again.

"I'm sorry for making you do all this." Oscar's voice was tiny, quiet, confessional and it made your heart hurt.

"Oh baby, you're not making me do anything."

"But with the medicine, all the tissues, and you even made me soup." His voice raised and you thought for a minute he might start crying.

"It's a small price to pay to make sure you're alright, need I remind you that I love you?" you laugh, trying to make light of the situation. A sick Oscar was one thing, but a crying one was a complete other you were unprepared for. Untangling your hand from the strands of his hair you moved it to rub a slow, comforting circle on his back as he lay his head back onto your chest.

"Love you too," was the last thing he mumbled before his breathing slowed, symbolising to you that he had finally fallen asleep. Sure, you could've gotten up but at that point, you were far too comfortable underneath the heat-radiating mass that was your feverish boyfriend. Plus the things he had said still rang in your head and, even if they had been little more than delirious ramblings, and even if he woke up tomorrow with no memory of ever saying them - you felt lucky for even hearing them at all.