belly-bug-chronicles

[belly-bug-chronicles]

you guys work almost faster than i can draw! here's the second part, the poor boy's so hungry now :33

first part

[belly-bug-chronicles]

thank you all for 1k followers! this is my first ever hunger drive! will you be nice to this boy, or will you bully him? :3

second part

[belly-bug-chronicles]

Sick Prompts 1

Angry sickies: 

1. “I don’t know what the hell is wrong with me… I was fine this morning.” 2. “Leave me alone.” 3. “Don’t touch me again unless you want me to puke on you.” 4. “Can you shut up? My head is killing me.” 5. “I told you I didn’t feel good, and you made me come here anyway.” 6. “This is ridiculous, how are you not sick and I am?”

Sad Sickies:

7. “Please don’t leave me in here alone.” 8. “It hurts so bad… please make it stop.” 9. “I think I need to throw up…” 10. “Is there any Pepto left?” 11. “Can you just sit with me until it’s over?” 12. “My stomach really hurts, I don’t think I can make it tonight…”

In-Denial Sickies:

13. “I don’t get sick.” 14. “I have a stomach of steel.” 15. “It’s not a fever, I’ve been in the sun…” 16. “I’m not going to throw up, for the last time.” 17. “I don’t think it’s food poisoning. We ate the same thing, and I don’t feel bad at all.” 18. “It’s just allergies.” 19. “I don’t get sick on rides/in the car/on boats (specify)”

Tactile Sickies:

20. “Will you rub my back?” 21. “Can you feel my head to see if I have a fever?” 22. “Will you play with my hair?” 23. “I’m freezin’, can we cuddle?”

Don’t Touch Me Sickies

24. “Don’t touch my stomach right now.” 25 “Please stop touching me… I’m so gross.” 26. “You’re making me hot, I can’t sleep…” 27. “Your hands are freezing, don’t touch me.”

Queasy Sickies

28. “I don’t know what I was thinking… I shouldn’t have ordered that.” 29. “Um… I think I need a bin.” 30. “I think I’m going to be sick soon.” 31. “Something’s messing with my stomach.” 32. “My stomach’s bothering me.” 33. “I don’t feel so hot.” 34. “Ugh, I think I should probably get to a bathroom.”

Sniffly Sickies

35. “Can we get actual tissues instead of these paper towels? My nose hurts.” 36. “I can’t breathe.” 37. “I’m freezing and sweating at the same time…” 38. “Please don’t look at me.” 39. “My head’s killing me…” 40. “My throat hurts so bad I can’t even drink water.” 41. “Do you have a cough drop?”

My Fav Drunk Sickies

42. “Um, I think… I think I had too much.” 43. “What was in that? I don’t feel great…” 44. “I think I need’ta sit.” 45. “I need to get out of here, I’m gonna throw up.” 46. “I just need to eat something and I’ll be ok.” 47. “It’s not fun anymore, I’m dizzy…”

Caretakers!

48. “Just relax, you’re going to be fine…” 49. “Calm down, you’re going to make it worse.” 50. “Well, just take care of yourself then, if you don’t want me touching you.” 51. “Do you think you can stomach some water?” 52. “We need to get this fever down.” 53. “Do you want me to rub your back/stomach?” 54. “Don’t cry. Where do you hurt?” 55. “Keep your head in the trashcan until you’re done.” 56. “If you don’t stop soon, we’re going to the ER.” 

[belly-bug-chronicles]

💞 Concerned caregivers dialogue:

1. "He won't tell me what's wrong."

2. "I don't think he's feeling well."

3. "What's up with ____? He keeps disappearing."

4. "Do you think he needs a hospital?"

5. "I've never seen him like this."

6. "Can you pull over? ____ isn't doing too hot back here."

7. "Can you drive us home? ____ is feeling really bad."

8. "Does he seem off to you?"

9. "He says he's dizzy."

10. "Can you help me stand him up?"

11. "Do you think we should wake him up?"

12. "He's been in the bathroom a while. Do you think I should go check on him?"

13. "He can't keep anything down. I don't know what to do."

14. "Does he feel warm to you?"

15. "What flavor of Gatorade does he like? I'll run out and get some."

16. "You need to eat. It won't do ____ any good if you don't keep your strength up."

17. "I know you're worried about him, but I'm starting to worry about you."

18. "When's the last time he ate?"

19. "Hey, I can sit with him. Why don't you go get some air?"

20. "I think his stomach's bothering him."

[belly-bug-chronicles]

[belly-bug-chronicles]

Absolutely love you btw! You are amazing!!!

How about two characters (your choice) are somewhere unfamiliar (vacation, touring, business, dr appointment in a far away city, field trip, anywhere new) and they get separated and character A goes through something traumatic//or gets incredibly sick and when character B finally arrives back to A, A says “Can you just…hug me?” before falling apart completely

I got another request asking for Lex at track nationals so here we go

tws for overwork, injury, blood (coughing up blood)

Track nationals are usually in Sydney, which Lex is familiar with but Soren is not.

Also the incident Lex experiences is one I’ve seen like twice as an emt and experienced myself once when i did track and field

This was supposed to be exciting.

Lex had made it. Lex made it to nationals. Their school started looking to him as their hope of a national medal. This was supposed to be exciting.

But for what felt like the first time in his life, Lex was afraid to compete.

He was afraid of failing them. Afraid of doing poorly compared to the others. He was afraid.

So, he practiced. He spent long nights sprinting on the open track, on their street. Long afternoons working on lengthening his throws, how much he had to force into the pole to get up and over. He was determined to perfect any and all events he did.

Then came the day they left, Soren was driving them. It was only two hours and some time, but it felt like it passed in no time at all.

“Are you excited?” Soren asked.

“Of course I am,” Lex said, but the words came out empty.

Soren rubbed Lex’s shoulder as they pulled into the hotel parking lot, “You’re gonna be amazing.”

The next day was the first day of competition.

Pole vault and shot put were up. Lex managed to do personal bests in both, medalling in pole vault and just barely missing out on third place by only a few inches. The preliminaries for hundred meter dash were a hassle, but Lex came in third overall. And the finals were only slightly better, putting Lex in second and capturing another medal.

Lex didn’t sleep that night. He couldn’t. Everything was buzzing inside him, his muscles were sore from the stress and strength he put into the events. He was afraid of failing and overall everything was going to be just fine.

The next day, high jump was first. Lex didn’t want to think about falling in ninth place. The start was ugly for him, but he spent the time before his next event, discus throw, convincing himself he never was good at high jump anyway, and he had already gotten two medals, missing out on one podium wouldn’t kill him.

Discus was, thankfully, a success as always. If Lex prided himself in anything athletically, it was his consistency in discus throw. No matter how bad his other events were, discus never failed him. And it didn’t today either. He grabbed another medal.

He continued through the days of nationals, doing everything he could, taking a few more medals, talking to some others, enjoying his time in Sydney.

His last event was one of his favorites. The 4x400 relay was always his favorite thing. He was always the last because he was the fastest, he could seal gaps between the teams ahead like it was nothing.

But as he’s waiting, something in the back of his mind ignites. Something is wrong today.

He tries to think, quickly, what that something could possibly be.

Maybe it was because his sleeping was messed up. Maybe it was his concern if Soren was okay, afterall Soren had never been to Sydney and never was a fan of being in large groups and he wasnt allowed on the field until the events were over or Lex was getting a medal.

Maybe he was just anxious. This was his last event. One more chance for a medal.

He didn’t think more as the baton was in his band and he bolted off, faster than he’d ever run in his recent memory.

He passed by the other teams with no effort, only briefly glancing behind to see if he had any give. But he refused to take any and just ran harder.

It was when he comes to a stop as he finishes the race that something feels really wrong.

He can’t focus on the fact his bolt dragged them from sixth place to second. Not a bad finish, not at all. The team was happy.

But Lex felt... wrong.

Something was wrong. He felt shaky, suddenly weak and dizzy. His chest hurt, and he realized he had held his breath the whole lap.

But this was strange. He wasn’t sure what was up and he couldn’t see Soren anywhere.

Lex steadied his breathing as much as possible. But it made him cough, his body in a state of short circuiting.

He covered his mouth, tasting something metallic and seeing something red on his palm.

He bit his lip, shaking his head and wiping his hand on his uniform. He’d just be extra careful washing it when they got home.

By time the medals were given, Lex was struggling to catch his breath. He held himself together for the medals, the photos, breaking away as soon as he could as more coughs shook his frame and ripped at his chest, leaving more blood in his hands.

“Holy shit Lex...” Soren said, and Lex had never been more relieved to hear the blonde coming toward him, “That was an amazing sprint, you did... hey... what’s wrong.”

“I... I don’t know...” Lex shook his head, he was panicking and it did nothing for his breathing, “I... I think I need to sit down...”

But sitting down was the nicest way to put it. Lex practically crumbled to the ground, sitting down, coughing more and spitting up more blood in the process.

“Shit...” Soren said, “Ryan come here!”

One of Lex’s teammates came over, “Sup Soren?”

“Can you go get one of the medics?” Soren asked, “I think Lex got hurt on that last leg...”

“Yeah, no problem,” Ryan said.

Lex could feel himself shaking, and he could feel his heart absolutely pounding in his chest, coughing again sending more blood up.

“God... what happened?” Soren said, rubbing Lex’s shoulder protectively.

A medic came over and got to work.

A few brief look overs and before he knew it, Soren was helping Lex to his feet and the medics were leading them to the ambulance.

As he walked, the high of competition all faded, leaving Lex in a strange amount of pain. But he’d already caused enough problems with coughing up blood. So he didn’t speak about any other things he was feeling.

They were talking, Soren and the medic were going over Lex’s health history.

Lex was still struggling to breathe. Without even saying it, Soren said something.

The medic put a mask over Lex’s face and Soren eased him back.

Everything else was a blur. Going to the hospital, the scans, everything.

It brought them to later, where Lex was in the hospital bed, awaiting word on results.

“Can I do anything..?” Soren asked, stroking a hand over Lex’s hair.

Lex sighed, looking at Soren, before looking away.

Soren frowned slightly, looking over Lex.

“Some of your results came back you know,” Soren said, “When were you gonna tell me you had a stress fracture in your ankle?”

“I didn’t know,” Lex said, “Just thought I twisted it funny a bit ago.”

“Doctor also said at least the blood wasn’t cancer or an infection or heart failure,” Soren said, “You’re just here for observation. He thinks its because your heart is naturally slow and you pushed it to be faster even under normal circumstances...”

“I.. I guess,” Lex said softly, shrugging. He wasn’t sure how to respond.

Something was off about Lex. A scared look in his eyes that Soren wasn’t used to seeing. His words were almost disconnected from Lex.

“What’s going on in your head Lexi?” Soren questioned.

“Remember the first night I found out about you...” Lex said, “And you told me you wanted me to stay with you, because you didn’t want to be alone. And you had me just like, lay down with you?”

“Yeah I do,” Soren said, “I’ve never had someone care so much about me...”

“Can... can you just...” Lex looked at him, and Soren’s heart wanted to break at the look of guilt on Lex’s face, “Can you just... hug me?”

“You want physical contact, as reassurance you’ll be okay,” Soren said, easing himself to sit beside Lex and wrapping an arm around him.

Lex curled up into Soren’s side, a few small tears slipping down his cheeks.

He was scared, now more than ever.

But Soren’s here. Soren is right here beside him and even though Lex feels like he should be worried how everything went and is now, yet he cant make himself feel that way.

Instead, he curls up more into Soren’s side, burying his face in his friend’s side and letting the fear and shock from earlier surrender him to more tears.

And all Soren does is hug him closer.

[belly-bug-chronicles]

Ok so I saw a prompt saying 'fingers shaking too much to dial caretakers number' and I wanted to expand on that..... maybe they try to type in someone's number (family member or someone physically close but not so emotional e.g neighbour) but accidentally typed the wrong numbers and end up calling someone else without realising.... this could be a cute friends to lovers moment as they talk as if its mum or smth so get all emotional and wallow in sickness only for said friend they called to feel so bad for them they drive over and take care of them..... I'd love to see you write smth like this <3

ooohh okay so this idea is actually perfect for my @sicktember fic 😍😍😍 (which i am WILDLY behind on) this isn’t exactly what the prompt was, but I hope you enjoy nonetheless! 

sicktember day 2: homesick

A stumbles in out of the rain, barely able to keep themselves upright as they head for the reception desk. Three hotels. Three places they’ve tried, all of them full, and if they have to drive any more after this they just know they’ll end up in an accident. They didn’t even see the name of this place—all they saw was a giant deer atop a rotating neon sign and the word “Hotel” with lights so bright that they can’t look at it straight on. 

The bored teenager at the reception desk snaps their gum as they look up at their phone screen, eying A’s bedraggled form. “Name for the reservation?”

“I…I don’t have one....please…do you have anything-“ A hacking cough cuts them off and they choke on their breath as they wheeze into their elbow.

“We’re full up.” Snap. “Should’ve made a reservation—it’s our busy season.”

“I’m sorry, okay?” A’s voice cracks on the words, and they’re desperately willing themselves not to sob in front of this kid. But they’re just so tired, in desperate need of a place to lay their head and sleep off whatever this sudden, awful illness is. “Can you just check?” 

The kid taps away at the computer, raising their eyebrows after a minute or two. “Guess you’re in luck. We’ve got a no-show. So there’s a spot open for you.“

A doesn’t even hear the rest as they slap down a few wrinkled bills, barely listening to the teenager’s instructions about breakfast and checkout times. Somehow their feet carry them the impossible distance up the stairs to their room

It’s a damp, musty old room, bed covered in a plaid comforter, lots of old nature paintings on the wall. It’s cold, too, and A shudders as they flick on the radiator, rubbing the goosebumps away on their arms.

If they were feeling stronger, they’d hop in a hot shower to try and clear their sinuses. But they’re so tired that they only manage to shed their coat and crawl under the covers, clothes and all, clutching the blankets close to their chin.

Objectively, they should be grateful. They’ve got a bed and a roof over their head, and a little place they can rest for the night. But it’s not home. It’s an icy hotel room with thin, scratchy blankets and a too-hard mattress that does nothing to relieve their aching bones. And they’re just so sick…

The tears slip down their nose before they know it. Big, fat tears pouring down their cheeks, soaking the pillow. God, why do they have to be alone for this?

Without thinking, they reach for their phone and try to tap in their roommate’s familiar number with shaky hands. The phone light is so bright against their eyes that they wince and squeeze their eyes shut, willing the stabbing pain to go away as the phone rings once, twice....

“Hello?” 

“B?” A sobs. “B, I’m sorry for calling so late, but I got stuck two hours from home and I don’t feel good, and I just needed to hear a familiar voice—” 

“Um—” 

“And I won’t keep you long but I *sniff* just really don’t want to be alone right now, and I am, and I miss home and I should’ve waited for you to come with me because this sucks—” 

“Who is this?” 

A’s stomach drops. “W-what? B...it’s me...”

“I’m....not B. I’m C.” The caller on the phone nervously clears their throat. 

“Oh....god, I’m so sorry.” A sputters. “I didn’t mean to bother you.” 

“Hey, you’re not—I mean, I know I’m not who you probably wanted to talk to either.” The stranger, C, clears their throat again. “Are you okay?” 

A coughing fit steals away A’s words, and it’s a few moments before they’re able to control their breathing again. “I....I’ll be fine. Seriously, I’m sorry to bother–” 

“You’re not bothering me,” C says quickly. “I mean...you can hang up and talk to whoever you meant to call. But if you...need to talk to someone....well, I’ve always been told I’m a good listener.” 

A readies themselves to hang up, to thank this C for sparing a few minutes in before trying B again. But then it hits them—a fact they’d forgotten in their feverish desperation, and the reason they were alone on this trip in the first place. B’s still out of town on that work trip they’ve been talking about for ages. And even if B is available for a call, the last thing A wants to do is bother them or make them worry just because they’re a little sick and homesick. What could a few minutes talking with a stranger hurt, anyways?

“Well, there’s not much to say,” A begins, clearing their scratchy throat. “Except for the fact that I’m traveling by myself and now I’m....sick. Really sick. And I want to be home, and I’m not.” They cough again for good measure. 

“That...doesn’t sound very good.” 

“Trust me, it’s not.” 

“Do you have anything you can take?” 

“No.” A doesn’t mean to sound pitiful, but it’s just dawned on them that they’ll be stuck in this room for the foreseeable future without any medicine. 

“You sure you’re going to be okay by yourself?” A can hear the note of concern in their new friend’s voice.

“…..I’ll be fine.” A repeats the sentiment again, less sure this time. “Please...can you just talk to me for a bit? Just to keep my mind off...this.” 

C obliges, regaling A with the dinner they had that evening and the show they’re currently watching, narrating what their dog is doing, telling them their plans for the weekend—a trip to a museum and dinner at a restaurant that A knows, which leads them both to the serendipitous discovery that they both live in the same city, and C knows D, a distant acquaintance of B and A. 

After an hour, they realize the sound of C’s voice really has eased them into a calmer state. They’re still sick as hell, but it’s nice to be with someone. 

Unfortunately, they can barely keep their eyes open. “C.....I think you’re about to lose me.”

“Oh shoot—A, you can go to sleep, it’s totally fine. I’m sorry for keeping you up so long—” 

“No...it’s...it’s nice.”

“Look, you don’t have to say yes but...can I call you in the morning? You just said you’re by yourself, and you sound pretty rough, and it’s none of my business but I just want you to know someone’s looking out for you—”

“That...I’d appreciate that.” A swallows the unexpected lump of emotion in their throat, of the kindness of a stranger momentarily blooming in their chest. “Thank you.” 

So they bid the stranger goodnight and hang up, promising that they can check in when they wake up tomorrow morning. And even though they’re feverish and shaky and exhausted and not entirely sure how they’ll make it home, the thought of the stranger’s calm voice anchors them, and they drift off into an uneasy sleep. 

[belly-bug-chronicles]

What about something with a whumpee who falls through ice?

this turned into some kind of winter epic but I hope you enjoy 😂

One minute, A's standing on the frozen lake, waving at B and C back on the shore. The next, they hear a sharp crack—and they're through the ice and underwater.

The cold feels like a thousand knives—so blinding that A can't see or feel, much less figure out which way is up or down. After a few seconds, they gain their bearings, only to feel the horrifying thud of the solid ice above their head.

Their desperate scream is muted as they hit the ice once, twice, three times, to no avail—

get me out get me out get me OUT

Their lungs burn as they fail to hold their breath any longer, and they suck in a mouthful, then another of water, colors swirling and flashing as their pleas for oxygen go unheard—

—until suddenly their fingers punch through to sharp, clean winter air. A sputters and coughs as their lungs fight to expel water, and they whirl around as they try to get their bearings, then seeing B and C waving and shouting something their ears can’t quite parse out.

A frantically claws at the ice at the edge of the hole, a pained sound escaping from their throat as the thin ice breaks every time they try to grab hold. They feel their muscles seizing up, but force themselves to keep kicking, keep fighting. They can't die. Not like this.

But as the minutes drag on, and B & C are nothing more than moving blurs of color on the shore and their limbs begin to stiffen, the fight within them starts dwindling.

Hold on, A. Come on. Hold on. Don't give in.

“A! Grab on!” A rope suddenly appears a few inches from them, and A kicks toward it with all their might. Their fingers are too numb to hold on very tightly, but they manage to wrap it around their wrist several times and give a weak tug.

“P-p-pull!” It’s a choked whimper, but B and C must hear their small voice because they feel the tug against their skin, then feel their numb, burning limbs scraping over the ragged surface of the ice as they’re dragged back to the blessedly solid shoreline.

As their trembling body meets the cold black rock of the shore, they’re consumed with the terror of what just happened. But when they take a breath to sob, they’re choked by more coughing as their body fights to rid their lungs of the frigid lake water.

B rips off their coat and wraps it around A’s quaking body, hoisting them up in their arms, gently stroking their rapidly freezing hair from their forehead. “Shhh…you’re okay. You’re okay. We’ll warm you up in no time.”

A can’t still their clattering teeth or their gasping breaths enough to respond.

————————

An hour later, A’s still violently shivering despite being wrapped in a blanket, their feet submerged in a steaming bucket of warm water, seated in the chair closest to the fire. They cinch the blanket tighter with cold, aching fingers, pulling it up over their ears and nose. The fire is banked high and crackling, but it does little to displace the bone-deep chill in their core or quiet their rattling teeth.

The first minutes after the rescue were hazy—first jostling and numb as B carried them and sprinted back to the cabin, then cold and dark, and murmuring voices, and frozen clothes peeled away and replaced with warm, dry ones on their ice-cold skin. Slowly, the colored blobs gave way to the forms of their frantic friends, wool blankets, muttered curses and sparks that turned to a healthy flame.

If only warmth would come.

The thought of getting warm was all-consuming for A as they shiver with cold chills. The bucket of hot water was somehow painfully hot and just not warm enough. The blanket around their shoulders was too thin, and they could still feel the icy water on their skin. The fire should be bigger. But none of the thoughts can make it out of their clattering jaw with any semblance of order.

However, as if B heard their thoughts, A feels them gently drape a second blanket around their shoulder, then feels their hands sweep up and down their back to generate warmth.

C watches them from the other side of the hearth, poking at the fire to stir the flames, eyeing A with concern. “How are you feeling?"

An honest answer bubbles up in their mind. I thought I would die down there.

Instead, they force out a weak “J-just c-c-cold,” before coughs steal their voice again. And though not their first thought, it is true. They weakly rub their arms with shaky hands, desperate to try and help B generate a spark of heat. “I c-can’t g-get warm.”

At that, B leaves and then returns to the fire with something wrapped in towels, handing it to A. “Here. This will take the edge off a bit more. You've had quite a chill.”

A clutches the warm bundle closer to their body, desperate for the warmth to permeate their core. “Th-th-thanks.” Another round of coughing burns in their chest, the lake water still unyielding. They feel B’s hand on their shoulder, rubbing gently, and they look up to see B’s concerned frown as their hand traces up to their damp hair.

“We shouldn’t leave your head wet. Don’t want you getting sick.”

A doesn’t have the energy to explain that they just spent a substantial amount of time in a freezing lake, which pretty much negated the benefits of keeping their head warm by now. But they don’t mind the feeling of B gently toweling the melting water droplets out of their hair, and they lean into the soft touch long after their hair is dried.

A figures they must look pitifully cold, because B continues to run their fingers through their hair, and C, who usually avoids most physical touch, hugs A close to them on their other side, helping them sip from the cup of tea since their hands are too shaky to hold it.

Three hours later, A’s still deathly pale, but they can manage an intelligible sentence, and their hands are still enough to curl around another mug of tea, and they’d managed to eat a little soup for dinner. What their friends can’t see is the ice that clings to A’s bones, the superficial heat unable to thaw the chill that had gripped their core. They're out of the danger zone, but they're still just....cold.

Between the exhausting hours of shivering and the events of the day, it's no surprise when their head starts bobbing, and their eyelids start feeling like they’re weighted. They’re not sure when the transition from waking to sleeping happens—they only feel someone gently lifting their bundled form off the couch to take back to their bedroom. B leaves and returns with two more blankets, draping each of them in turn over A and tugging them up to their chin. “You just rest now,” B whispers, gently smoothing down A’s hair before.

Despite the warm layers, A just can’t chase the cold out of their achy bones. Chills crawl across their skin, and they clutch the pouch of hot water closer, trying to envision themselves sinking into a hot spring, or sunning themselves in a field on a hot summer day.

A strange childhood memory resurfaces in a dream—of swimming in a frigid lake too long on a hot summer’s day and emerging blue-lipped and chilled through, of a relative wrapping them in a dry blanket and holding them close in the warm sun.

The memory is full of comfort and they long to re-enter it—but the memory frosts at the edges, and they slip out of the dream-relative’s arms and are plunged back into the lake. The lake freezes over and washes over their ankles, knees, waists as the cold seeps back in, unrelenting, unreleasing, coming from the inside out.

The black water rushes up to their neck now, but A's frozen in place, unable to move or even scream as the water closes over their head—

—and suddenly they're awake, coughing up a lung, unable to take a full breath. Somehow, they’re colder under the blankets than they were in the lake, like the lake had stolen their fire and left them an icy, empty shell. At the same time, they feel sweat prickle on the back of their next, chilling in the cold air, and as A struggles to draw in a full breath, they get the sensation that something is very, very wrong.

The rest of the night consists of hours of restless tossing and turning, sweating and shaking, trying to stifle the relentless coughs. They wake in the early blue dawn feeling chilled and congested, chest heavy like an iron bar is resting across them. A draws the blankets closer and rubs their arms, trying to generate a little warmth in their achy bones. Everything hurts—even the joints in their fingers and toes, and there's a violent cough that burns in their rib cage every time it seizes their lungs.

The fireplace. That's warm.

The thought of heat propels A to jerk to an upright position. As the blankets tumble off their shoulders, the wintry air sends a sudden, violent chill throughout their whole body, rattling their teeth so hard they're scared they chipped a tooth. Bad idea. They scramble for the top quilt, fumbling as they wrap the precious layer back around themselves and dive back under the covers.

But it’s not warm enough—nothing is warm enough. They hug their knees to their chest and huddle under the blankets, too wracked with shudders to embark on the trek to the fireplace, too exhausted to move, chest burning, and so, so scared.

They don’t know how long they lay there, trembling and coughing, alone. They only feel the hand rest on their shoulder, then move up to their forehead to push away the damp hair, a whispered curse floating out into the air that they can see.

Why can I see words?

Why is my hair still damp?

B's face enters their field of vision, their cool hand on A's forehead.

Why is B cold?

Amid the thoughts, A hears pounding footsteps. They barely register that B is gone before B is back, dragging a half-awake C with them.

"B? What's wrong?" C’s voice is hazy from sleep, and A sees them rub the sleep away from their eyes.

"A's caught a bad chill from the cold water. And they're burning up."

"My....my chest...." A gasps out.

C comes closer, leaning against A’s chest to listen more intently to the rattling sound that comes every time A breathes, then lays the back of their hand against A's cheek. When their face is visible again, it's painted with ridges of concern.

"B, get the fire going."

"C, what's wro—"

"B, now." C's tone sends another chill down A's spine. "And get some water boiling, and those herbs from the pantry."

C's voice is so firm that B doesn't question it again, and scurries off to the main room.

Despite B not receiving an answer, A has to know. In their weak, cough-roughened voice, they rasp out two words: “What's.....happening?"

C gives a small smile, meant to comfort, which only confuses A's feverish brain further. "After your little swim yesterday, you’ve come down with a bout of winter fever."

Winter fever. The words alone send an ice pick through their heart. Winter fever makes its way through their village every year during the coldest months, stealing breath and warmth and life from too many to count. It can strike after a bad chill, or getting one’s feet wet, or even if you don’t warm yourself enough by the fire.

“Am…am I gonna die?”

"Shhhh....you'll be fine. I've helped many a relative through winter fever, and you're going to be no exception.”

A nods, still scared, but anchored by C’s confident voice.

Ten minutes later. A is plopped in front of a fire that's even bigger than yesterday, a pot of water giving off steam that casts a cloudy haze in the main sitting room. They’re nested in two warm blankets, hot water bottles at their feet and on their stomach to try and combat the constant fever chills.

C slowly peels away the layers of B’s blankets and pajamas over their upper body, exposing the skin of their chest to the cool air of the room. A grits their teeth to hide the chill that threatens to tear through them as they feel the goosebumps prickle over their whole body, squeezing their eyes shut at the painfully strange sensation.

Then, a pleasant warm feeling spreads across their chest, and A opens their eyes to see C laying a steaming towel soaked in some type of herb-scented mixture. It’s strong and pungent and not particularly good-smelling, but A instantly feels some of the tightness in their chest ease at the warmth and the medicinal scent.

“Old family remedy. It’ll ease the pain a bit and get you breathing better to get your lungs fighting again.” C nods toward B, who’s refilling a bubbling pot over the fire. “The steam will help, too.���

A coughs weakly, a sharp, rattling sound that makes both B and C tense. “Wish…wish I’d never gone on that lake,” they say, bottom lip trembling. On top of feeling awful, they’ve trapped B and C into caring for them. “Now you’re stuck helping me.”

“Hey, hey, none of that.” C’s at their side, carefully thumbing away the tear that’s slipping down their cheek. “You’d do the same for any of us. Who knows, I’ll probably break a leg hunting, or B will accidentally poison themselves with some root they think is edible.”

A tries to laugh, but a cough steals away their breath. “M’sorry for crying. The past couple days…”

“They’ve been rough, I know, love. I know.” C’s hand cups around A’s cheek, then drapes down to squeeze their shoulder. “But we’re with you. You don’t have to do this by yourself, okay?”

A nods readily, not trusting themselves to speak.

C nods back, glancing back at the fire. “It’s time to change the cloth—don’t want you getting chilled.”

A’s too tired to do more than just track C with their eyes as they move to the fire, get a new cloth, and swap out the cooling one with the gentlest of movements all while keeping A nested in blankets. They’re still feverish and achy and so tired, but the fear is evaporating as quickly as the steam from the pot over the fire.

I’m not alone.

[belly-bug-chronicles]

Caretaking/Hurt/Comfort Gestures

- Carrying them

- Cuddling them

- Singing to them

- Massaging them

- Taking their pulse

- Cupping their face

- Rubbing their back

- Spoon-feeding them

- Adjusting the blankets

- Rocking them to sleep

- Giving them a towel bath

- Thumbing away their tears

- Calming them from nightmares

- Laying a palm on their forehead

- Murmuring softly or hushing them

- Running a hand through their hair

- Lifting their drinking glass to their lips

- Brushing knuckles against their cheek

- Squeezing or kissing their nearest hand

- Keeping a bedside vigil so they aren’t alone

[belly-bug-chronicles]

By any chance can you do prompts on a neglected sickie?

@sicktember 2023 day 1 - hopelessly bad at self care

A's hand fumbles with the amber bottle as they try to read the medicine's handwritten instructions—does that say to take every 3 hours? or every 8?

Their vision swims, and they feel themselves sway and tilt against the pantry wall. They've been standing for too long again, the weightless feeling in their body signaling that they need to lay down immediately. But they also can't bear another minute without some measure of relief, even if they know the home remedy will only make a slight dent in their symptoms.

A coughs and pulls the blanket tighter around their shoulders with a shiver. They're not sure what hit them. Last night, they were feeling a bit off, unable to get warm by the fire and battling a scratchy throat that wouldn't go away no matter how much tea they drank. This morning, they'd awoken burning with fever, body wracked with aches and chills, and an agonizingly sore throat.

It's awful timing, since B was away on their annual trip and wouldn't be home for three weeks. Meaning that A was now solely responsible for both keeping their homestead afloat and themselves alive.

A usually relishes in the fact that they live several miles from the nearest village or neighbor—no extra noise, no nosy neighbors or intruders, sweeping vistas and tall pine trees to hide amongst. But now, the lonely days stretch out ahead of them, with no help in sight, and A can't help but whimper a little at the thought.

Come on, A thinks to themselves. You can do this. Just take things slow.

Glacial would be a better word to describe their movements. After slipping two capsules under their tongue, they move along the wall, stumbling forward until they fall back onto their bed and scramble to pull the blankets close around their body. They just needed a few minutes to try and warm up while they made a mental list of what they needed to do.

Feed the animals.

Change their straw.

Repair the barn door.

Bring in extra wood.

Sweep the floors.

Make some sort of excuse for dinner.

The thought of doing all that made A's body ache. But they had no choice. It was what they had to do.

They just needed a minute to rest...

The minutes in bed flash by, and suddenly A realizes that they've been in bed for far longer than they anticipated. A glance at their pocket watch reveals that it's mid-afternoon, and they silently curse themselves for letting the day get away from them. It would already take them ages to get everything done, and they'd lost so much precious daylight during their accidental nap.

Ignoring the pounding in their head, they stumble towards the coat rack and wrap themselves in their winter jacket and a thick scarf. It's only a mild fall day outside, the breeze crisp under a cloudy sky, but the cool air sinks through all the layers prickles goosebumps on their feverish skin and makes their teeth rattle.

A blinks and realizes they're somehow in the barn, with no memory of walking there. Before them lie the bags of feed, too heavy to lift like usual, so A's reduced to transporting feed in half-full buckets to the waiting animals, over, and over, and over, because that's all they can carry. In their feverish delirium, they swear that even the pigs are looking at them sideways, wondering what they're doing out in the barn in their state.

The outdoor chores are done in a haze, edges of A's vision blurred by their pain and fever, body shaking from head to toe. By the time they get to the last animal, the only thing A wants to do is go back inside, sit by the fire, and sleep—forget changing the hay or making repairs There's more to do, of course, always more to do, but they just can't. It's not even a matter of desire—A's calculating how much energy they've spent out here and how much they need to get back inside, and the numbers just won't add up to one that keeps them upright for longer than 10 minutes.

The last animal to feed is their beloved horse. A's feet drag as they pull the bucket toward the trough, leaning on the side of the stall as they haphazardly dump the contents in. As they attempt to stand back up, another wave of dizziness hits them, and they stumble and fall against their horse's shoulder.

The horse, to their credit, doesn't startle. In fact, they turn toward A, nuzzling their soft nose into A's shoulder. A lets their feverish forehead rest against their horse's shiny coat, trying to steady their breathing and hold themselves together, willing themselves not to cry. And the horse lets them, breath ruffling their hair, as if to say I know. I'm here. Take your time. After a few moments, A's reoriented enough to stand up. The barn door would have to wait, and so would the fresh hay—they just don't have it in them today. So they stumble out of the barn and back out into the yard.

The sky is already darkening as A makes their way back to their cabin, through the door. After shedding their coat and wrapping themselves in a flannel blanket, they collapse in the chair, the soft colors of the firelit room blurring in their vision. The chores had been too much, far too much, and now they're trembling with cold, thoroughly chilled and somehow achier than they were this morning. They hug their arms close to their body and rub at them weakly, praying that the warmth of the fire will even slightly revive them.

A craves soup, or even just a hot broth to ease their throat pain and warm them up, but the entire idea of standing up to get ingredients is an impossible task. There's half a loaf of bread left in the breadbox on the table, and A settles for tearing off a corner. The cold, coarse bread is painful against their throat, and they swallow and wince. They know they need food, they know, but it just hurts. Everything hurts.

What would B do, if they were here to care for A? A pushes away the ache at the thought of how much they miss B, trying to sort through to find the essentials. Medicine, A had managed. Rest? Well, who could rest when there was work to be done? Tea? Ah, there was something they could manage. Boiling water was as passive a task as you could get. They just needed to build up the dying fire—

The fire. A's eyes flit to the empty wood box, and their heart sinks as they recall one of their chores for the day. Fill the wood box.

For the first time that day, a tear slips down A's cheek. It wasn't enough that they were aching, exhausted, wrung out. Now, unless they gathered wood, any notion of heat to help them fight through a night of feverish chills evaporated before their eyes.

No. I can't be cold all night. I can't. The thought of a sleepless night shivering in bed awakes something in A, and they stand back up almost reflexively, swaying like a great tree in a storm, stumbling towards the door, not even grabbing their coat as the fever addles their mind.

Just a few logs. Even a few will help you be warmer tonight.

But as they step out into the dark, cold night, the woodpile stretches and warps in their vision—first it's 10 paces away, then 100, then right in front of them, then 10 paces back. A blinks once, twice, and before they can even cry out, they collapse to the ground in a boneless heap, swept away into unconsciousness.

______________________________________

When A wakes, they don't realize where they are at first. They're aware of a strange heat across their midsection, and an unfamiliar ceiling above their head. As the room comes into focus, there's a stranger tending an enormous fire in a great stone fireplace, their back turned to A.

Where....where am I? Blinking twice, they stare down at the pile of quilts they're buried under. The top one is the patchwork one from their old bed, but everything else is so strange—none of this makes sense—

"Ah, good. You're awake." The shadowed figure rises from their place by the fire, a soft smile on their face as they sit on the edge of A's bed, placing a cool hand against A's forehead. Despite the cold that still clung to their bones, A relished the feeling against their burning skin. "Had me worried for a spell." The puzzle pieces click into place—this is C, their neighbor from down the road. But how...how did C know?

"Wh-what....how'd I...." A can't get the words out.

"Your horse ran up my road, nearly scared me half to death. I figured he must've jumped a pen or slipped past the gate."

The gate. In A's feverish delirium, they must've forgotten to close the gate, and the horse had gotten out.

C rises from A's bedside, walking over to a stove where a small pot bubbled. "When I came to bring him back, there wasn't any smoke coming out of your chimney. Came around back, and there you were, sprawled out in your yard like a rag doll." C shakes their head, stirring the pot with a wooden spoon. "Burning up something awful, and shaking like a leaf, too."

Heat floods A's cheeks at the thought of being found in such a state. Yet they can't push away the sheer relief of being found, of no longer being paralyzed on the cold, hard dirt. But even now, they feel the deep cold in their bones, and they shudder and reflexively curl toward the heat source—a hot water bottle, they realize.

"I'd've kept you at your own house in your own bed, but I didn't know where you kept any of your goods—and I didn't want to have to leave you there all by your lonesome anyways. So I wrapped you up and brought you back here. I'll take care of your animals, of course, but you can stay here until you're better, which will be a few days out, I'm afraid."

C stops stirring and pours something into a clay mug, and brings it back over to A's bedside. "It's my mother's old broth remedy. Not sure how much it really cures, but it helps to warm the bones and ease the aches a bit."

A feels the lump in their throat rise—it was too much, needing C to take care of them. And yet they were so, so tired, and so, so grateful that they were. Despite being surrounded by comfort, they could tell their illness was worse, the chills rippling through their body like icy water was being poured over their limbs. No doubt accelerated by my multiple excursions outdoors. A eyes the mug, and feels their eyes well up again—can I even manage to hold the weight of it—

As if C can hear their feverish thoughts, they curl an arm behind A's shoulders and ease them up on the fluffy down pillows, then cradle A's head as they tilt the mug towards their lips. "Easy now. Just a couple sips to start."

The broth is just short of heaven—simple, yet with hints of lemon and herbs and some other spice they can't identify. And so, so warm.

A manages to drink nearly the entire mug's worth, but the effort saps all their remaining strength, and they slump back into the pillows, eyes too heavy to stay open.

They should say thank you. They should say anything to communicate their gratitude to what C's done for them, how scared they were. They force their eyes open to try and express everything that's swirling around in their head, but all that comes out is a whimper—and hot tears that suddenly pour down their cheeks, unchecked.

"Hey, hey now. You're alright. Just rest now, you're in good hands."

A feels a hand course through their damp curls, and it's as if all the tension melted out of their body, and they sink down, deep into the sleep of someone who knows in their soul, that they're safe.

[belly-bug-chronicles]

I wish~

[belly-bug-chronicles]

i am just so weak for terms of endearment from a caretaker. like i know how cliché it is but oh my god it does something to me??

examples include but are not at all limited to:

“bless you, angel.”

“honey, you sound awful.”

“you’re running a fever, sweetheart.”

“love? can i get you anything?”

“i’m sorry you feel so awful, baby…”

like. it’s so. soft??? i know it’s fucking corny but i just melt over it

[belly-bug-chronicles]

[Oops…]

[belly-bug-chronicles]

What about something with a whumpee who falls through ice?

this turned into some kind of winter epic but I hope you enjoy 😂

One minute, A's standing on the frozen lake, waving at B and C back on the shore. The next, they hear a sharp crack—and they're through the ice and underwater.

The cold feels like a thousand knives—so blinding that A can't see or feel, much less figure out which way is up or down. After a few seconds, they gain their bearings, only to feel the horrifying thud of the solid ice above their head.

Their desperate scream is muted as they hit the ice once, twice, three times, to no avail—

get me out get me out get me OUT

Their lungs burn as they fail to hold their breath any longer, and they suck in a mouthful, then another of water, colors swirling and flashing as their pleas for oxygen go unheard—

—until suddenly their fingers punch through to sharp, clean winter air. A sputters and coughs as their lungs fight to expel water, and they whirl around as they try to get their bearings, then seeing B and C waving and shouting something their ears can’t quite parse out.

A frantically claws at the ice at the edge of the hole, a pained sound escaping from their throat as the thin ice breaks every time they try to grab hold. They feel their muscles seizing up, but force themselves to keep kicking, keep fighting. They can't die. Not like this.

But as the minutes drag on, and B & C are nothing more than moving blurs of color on the shore and their limbs begin to stiffen, the fight within them starts dwindling.

Hold on, A. Come on. Hold on. Don't give in.

“A! Grab on!” A rope suddenly appears a few inches from them, and A kicks toward it with all their might. Their fingers are too numb to hold on very tightly, but they manage to wrap it around their wrist several times and give a weak tug.

“P-p-pull!” It’s a choked whimper, but B and C must hear their small voice because they feel the tug against their skin, then feel their numb, burning limbs scraping over the ragged surface of the ice as they’re dragged back to the blessedly solid shoreline.

As their trembling body meets the cold black rock of the shore, they’re consumed with the terror of what just happened. But when they take a breath to sob, they’re choked by more coughing as their body fights to rid their lungs of the frigid lake water.

B rips off their coat and wraps it around A’s quaking body, hoisting them up in their arms, gently stroking their rapidly freezing hair from their forehead. “Shhh…you’re okay. You’re okay. We’ll warm you up in no time.”

A can’t still their clattering teeth or their gasping breaths enough to respond.

————————

An hour later, A’s still violently shivering despite being wrapped in a blanket, their feet submerged in a steaming bucket of warm water, seated in the chair closest to the fire. They cinch the blanket tighter with cold, aching fingers, pulling it up over their ears and nose. The fire is banked high and crackling, but it does little to displace the bone-deep chill in their core or quiet their rattling teeth.

The first minutes after the rescue were hazy—first jostling and numb as B carried them and sprinted back to the cabin, then cold and dark, and murmuring voices, and frozen clothes peeled away and replaced with warm, dry ones on their ice-cold skin. Slowly, the colored blobs gave way to the forms of their frantic friends, wool blankets, muttered curses and sparks that turned to a healthy flame.

If only warmth would come.

The thought of getting warm was all-consuming for A as they shiver with cold chills. The bucket of hot water was somehow painfully hot and just not warm enough. The blanket around their shoulders was too thin, and they could still feel the icy water on their skin. The fire should be bigger. But none of the thoughts can make it out of their clattering jaw with any semblance of order.

However, as if B heard their thoughts, A feels them gently drape a second blanket around their shoulder, then feels their hands sweep up and down their back to generate warmth.

C watches them from the other side of the hearth, poking at the fire to stir the flames, eyeing A with concern. “How are you feeling?"

An honest answer bubbles up in their mind. I thought I would die down there.

Instead, they force out a weak “J-just c-c-cold,” before coughs steal their voice again. And though not their first thought, it is true. They weakly rub their arms with shaky hands, desperate to try and help B generate a spark of heat. “I c-can’t g-get warm.”

At that, B leaves and then returns to the fire with something wrapped in towels, handing it to A. “Here. This will take the edge off a bit more. You've had quite a chill.”

A clutches the warm bundle closer to their body, desperate for the warmth to permeate their core. “Th-th-thanks.” Another round of coughing burns in their chest, the lake water still unyielding. They feel B’s hand on their shoulder, rubbing gently, and they look up to see B’s concerned frown as their hand traces up to their damp hair.

“We shouldn’t leave your head wet. Don’t want you getting sick.”

A doesn’t have the energy to explain that they just spent a substantial amount of time in a freezing lake, which pretty much negated the benefits of keeping their head warm by now. But they don’t mind the feeling of B gently toweling the melting water droplets out of their hair, and they lean into the soft touch long after their hair is dried.

A figures they must look pitifully cold, because B continues to run their fingers through their hair, and C, who usually avoids most physical touch, hugs A close to them on their other side, helping them sip from the cup of tea since their hands are too shaky to hold it.

Three hours later, A’s still deathly pale, but they can manage an intelligible sentence, and their hands are still enough to curl around another mug of tea, and they’d managed to eat a little soup for dinner. What their friends can’t see is the ice that clings to A’s bones, the superficial heat unable to thaw the chill that had gripped their core. They're out of the danger zone, but they're still just....cold.

Between the exhausting hours of shivering and the events of the day, it's no surprise when their head starts bobbing, and their eyelids start feeling like they’re weighted. They’re not sure when the transition from waking to sleeping happens—they only feel someone gently lifting their bundled form off the couch to take back to their bedroom. B leaves and returns with two more blankets, draping each of them in turn over A and tugging them up to their chin. “You just rest now,” B whispers, gently smoothing down A’s hair before.

Despite the warm layers, A just can’t chase the cold out of their achy bones. Chills crawl across their skin, and they clutch the pouch of hot water closer, trying to envision themselves sinking into a hot spring, or sunning themselves in a field on a hot summer day.

A strange childhood memory resurfaces in a dream—of swimming in a frigid lake too long on a hot summer’s day and emerging blue-lipped and chilled through, of a relative wrapping them in a dry blanket and holding them close in the warm sun.

The memory is full of comfort and they long to re-enter it—but the memory frosts at the edges, and they slip out of the dream-relative’s arms and are plunged back into the lake. The lake freezes over and washes over their ankles, knees, waists as the cold seeps back in, unrelenting, unreleasing, coming from the inside out.

The black water rushes up to their neck now, but A's frozen in place, unable to move or even scream as the water closes over their head—

—and suddenly they're awake, coughing up a lung, unable to take a full breath. Somehow, they’re colder under the blankets than they were in the lake, like the lake had stolen their fire and left them an icy, empty shell. At the same time, they feel sweat prickle on the back of their next, chilling in the cold air, and as A struggles to draw in a full breath, they get the sensation that something is very, very wrong.

The rest of the night consists of hours of restless tossing and turning, sweating and shaking, trying to stifle the relentless coughs. They wake in the early blue dawn feeling chilled and congested, chest heavy like an iron bar is resting across them. A draws the blankets closer and rubs their arms, trying to generate a little warmth in their achy bones. Everything hurts—even the joints in their fingers and toes, and there's a violent cough that burns in their rib cage every time it seizes their lungs.

The fireplace. That's warm.

The thought of heat propels A to jerk to an upright position. As the blankets tumble off their shoulders, the wintry air sends a sudden, violent chill throughout their whole body, rattling their teeth so hard they're scared they chipped a tooth. Bad idea. They scramble for the top quilt, fumbling as they wrap the precious layer back around themselves and dive back under the covers.

But it’s not warm enough—nothing is warm enough. They hug their knees to their chest and huddle under the blankets, too wracked with shudders to embark on the trek to the fireplace, too exhausted to move, chest burning, and so, so scared.

They don’t know how long they lay there, trembling and coughing, alone. They only feel the hand rest on their shoulder, then move up to their forehead to push away the damp hair, a whispered curse floating out into the air that they can see.

Why can I see words?

Why is my hair still damp?

B's face enters their field of vision, their cool hand on A's forehead.

Why is B cold?

Amid the thoughts, A hears pounding footsteps. They barely register that B is gone before B is back, dragging a half-awake C with them.

"B? What's wrong?" C’s voice is hazy from sleep, and A sees them rub the sleep away from their eyes.

"A's caught a bad chill from the cold water. And they're burning up."

"My....my chest...." A gasps out.

C comes closer, leaning against A’s chest to listen more intently to the rattling sound that comes every time A breathes, then lays the back of their hand against A's cheek. When their face is visible again, it's painted with ridges of concern.

"B, get the fire going."

"C, what's wro—"

"B, now." C's tone sends another chill down A's spine. "And get some water boiling, and those herbs from the pantry."

C's voice is so firm that B doesn't question it again, and scurries off to the main room.

Despite B not receiving an answer, A has to know. In their weak, cough-roughened voice, they rasp out two words: “What's.....happening?"

C gives a small smile, meant to comfort, which only confuses A's feverish brain further. "After your little swim yesterday, you’ve come down with a bout of winter fever."

Winter fever. The words alone send an ice pick through their heart. Winter fever makes its way through their village every year during the coldest months, stealing breath and warmth and life from too many to count. It can strike after a bad chill, or getting one’s feet wet, or even if you don’t warm yourself enough by the fire.

“Am…am I gonna die?”

"Shhhh....you'll be fine. I've helped many a relative through winter fever, and you're going to be no exception.”

A nods, still scared, but anchored by C’s confident voice.

Ten minutes later. A is plopped in front of a fire that's even bigger than yesterday, a pot of water giving off steam that casts a cloudy haze in the main sitting room. They’re nested in two warm blankets, hot water bottles at their feet and on their stomach to try and combat the constant fever chills.

C slowly peels away the layers of B’s blankets and pajamas over their upper body, exposing the skin of their chest to the cool air of the room. A grits their teeth to hide the chill that threatens to tear through them as they feel the goosebumps prickle over their whole body, squeezing their eyes shut at the painfully strange sensation.

Then, a pleasant warm feeling spreads across their chest, and A opens their eyes to see C laying a steaming towel soaked in some type of herb-scented mixture. It’s strong and pungent and not particularly good-smelling, but A instantly feels some of the tightness in their chest ease at the warmth and the medicinal scent.

“Old family remedy. It’ll ease the pain a bit and get you breathing better to get your lungs fighting again.” C nods toward B, who’s refilling a bubbling pot over the fire. “The steam will help, too.”

A coughs weakly, a sharp, rattling sound that makes both B and C tense. “Wish…wish I’d never gone on that lake,” they say, bottom lip trembling. On top of feeling awful, they’ve trapped B and C into caring for them. “Now you’re stuck helping me.”

“Hey, hey, none of that.” C’s at their side, carefully thumbing away the tear that’s slipping down their cheek. “You’d do the same for any of us. Who knows, I’ll probably break a leg hunting, or B will accidentally poison themselves with some root they think is edible.”

A tries to laugh, but a cough steals away their breath. “M’sorry for crying. The past couple days…”

“They’ve been rough, I know, love. I know.” C’s hand cups around A’s cheek, then drapes down to squeeze their shoulder. “But we’re with you. You don’t have to do this by yourself, okay?”

A nods readily, not trusting themselves to speak.

C nods back, glancing back at the fire. “It’s time to change the cloth—don’t want you getting chilled.”

A’s too tired to do more than just track C with their eyes as they move to the fire, get a new cloth, and swap out the cooling one with the gentlest of movements all while keeping A nested in blankets. They’re still feverish and achy and so tired, but the fear is evaporating as quickly as the steam from the pot over the fire.

I’m not alone.

[belly-bug-chronicles]

I love this idea so much!❤️

Powers that hurt

telekinesis that gives the user a massive headache 

super strength that leaves them with sore muscles for days after use

pyrokinesis that gives a horrible burning sensation, felt even though there’s no physical evidence of it.

cryokinesis that chills them to the bones, leaving them with a desperate need to get someplace warm after every battle

heightened senses that mean the character is in a near-constant state of sensory overload

flight powers mean they have altitude related illness every time they go just a little to high a little to fast

aquakinesis that means that it’s harder to drown them but not impossible, that means they feel horrible when the humidity is too low

geokinesis that makes them terrified to be off the ground, whether they’re being carried or in a plane or flying in any way, they just hate it

[belly-bug-chronicles]

A Dinner For 7000

"Porridge!" I said trying to stop the baby dragon from licking me. I had gotten quite a rude awakening from him. "I was going to sleep in today." I said disappointed.

"Good morning sleepy head." Amir said as he walked in with Fits Roy. Immediately Porridge ran over to his brother. "Good morning." I said with a yawn. We shared a quick kiss as I quickly got out of bed to get ready.

"Rupert! We only have ten minutes to eat breakfast!" "Coming!" I said rushing down the stairs. I sat at the table and tried my best not to choke while I shoved as much food into my mouth as possible.

"Your highnesses." Lord Chamberlin said. "We must continue the preparations for the banquet tonight." "We're coming!" Amir said.

[belly-bug-chronicles]

Happy Birthday to me!🥳

Another year older and another year that I fail to post