#Contagion Stories

[sporkberries]

Remember that time in the 90’s when Tim Drake contracted Ebola

[whiskey-tango-matcha]

A Cup of Tea and Paracetamol pt 3/? (probably 4)

I’m back with part three, finally. Written in a horn-haze, absolutely NEVER reread or beta’d because I’m a moron and refuse to be perceived, even by myself. I’m thinking this is going to have one more short part, but god only knows when I’ll get it done. Could be tomorrow, could be six months from now. That’s just the fun of writing snz p0rn. It’ll be done when the *MOOD IS RIGHT*. 

Part one here, part two here, if ya wanna know what’s going on. 

cw: male, colds, contagion, coughing. 

Enjoy and thank you guys for reading my ridiculous lil fic

When Elijah opened his eyes the morning of the event, he thanked whatever god there may be for small mercies – the mercy in question being his nose.

Yes, he was incredibly stuffed up; yes, his whole face felt swollen with congestion, and yes, his cough sounded completely disgusting. But somehow, against all logic, he no longer had the insatiable tickle that meant near-constant sneezing. He’d be able to speak to the barrage of guests they’d be inundated in a few hours, and Greyson wouldn’t have to have an aneurysm. Thank god.

Elijah peeled himself out of bed and hit the shower while Greyson snored away. It was ungodly early, and they didn’t need to be in the kitchen to get final instructions for at least an hour. He took his time, coughing and blowing his nose, sucking in the steam and mentally preparing himself. Was today going to suck? Most likely. But at least he wasn’t doing it on day one of this fucking cold; that, he literally couldn’t even imagine.

After about twenty minutes, the hot water had begun stinging his skin and Elijah stepped out into the steam-filled bathroom. He brushed his teeth, did his hair, made himself look as normal as he possibly could; he even used his for-emergencies-only concealer to disguise his eye bags and how chapped his  nose was. This was going to work. Everything was going to be -

“HNGSHH-uee!”

Elijah whipped towards the door. Absolutely not. No way in hell. He shook his head, assuming he was hearing things, and threw open the door to see Greyson, head tipped back in what looked to be pre-sneeze torture.

You have got to be fucking kidding me.

“ESSHHHH-ue! Huh…hnn…hehhhEGSTTSHH-ue!”

Elijah pulled a hand down his face in agony. “You ha -,” that same hand flew to his mouth then at the sound of his own voice. Or, rather, the lack of sound.

“Oh, you have got to be fucking kidding me,” Greyson finished Elijah’s sentiment, sniffling. “You have no fucking voice?!”

“App -” Elijah tried again, only for his voice to completely drop off once again. He sunk onto his bed and gave a defeated shrug. Apparently not, he mouthed to Greyson.

“Great,” Greyson said, pacing the room in a panic. “That’s just fucking wonderful. What are we going to – to -” Greyson’s face once again collapsed into a hitching anguish.

“Hhuhh....hehh...HUH – hngggg.” Greyson rubbed his nose viciously, clearly having lost the sneeze. Elijah cringed in sympathy, then grabbed the hotel pad off of his night stand and wrote Greyson a message.

You’re sick.

He showed the message to Greyson, who rolled his eyes. Elijah turned the pad back to himself and scribbled a Sorry.

“I’m not sick, Lij,” Greyson asserted, yanking off his thermal and pulling on a t-shirt and his clean chef’s coat from the closet. Elijah raised an eyebrow and coughed into his sleeve. The silence in the room accentuated Greyson’s liquid sniffles.

“I’m not,” he said again, shoving his feet into his clogs and slamming his ass into the desk chair near their beds. “But you, apparently, have the black plague. How the hell are you going to schmooze the guests if you can’t talk?”

Elijah wasn’t sure if this was meant to be a real question or hypothetical, but he started scribbling on the pad either way. He turned it to show the chef, who groaned aloud.

You’ll have to schmooze. I’ll make the samples.

“Lij,” Greyson said, the panic immediately filling his voice. “I can’t. You said you’d be able to do this no matter what.”

Elijah gave Greyson a look of pure confusion and gestured to his throat. “I said I’d be there no matter what,” he whispered, barely audible. “Couldn’t exactly guarantee the state I’d be in.”

“I’m literally begging on my hands and knees for you to not talk,” Greyson said, his voice raising half an octave. Elijah shrugged and turned back to his notepad.

You can do this, he wrote. Greyson groaned again.

“Well, I don’t have much of a choice, now do I – HNGSTTHHH-ue! Oh thank god, I was waiting on that one.” Elijah gave his friend a pointed look, to which Greyson quickly attempted to cover himself with another, “I’m not sick.”

Elijah held up a hand and mouthed, “Save your breath.” Then, after rubbing his throat, he wrote You’ll need it.

***

“Okay,” Greyson said to the small army of culinary students posted behind their immaculately-decorated booth, “here’s how this is going to go.”

The students stood up taller, and Elijah, who stood between the five of them like a large, out of place goose among ducklings, ducked down and sneezed into his mask. Fucking gross, he thought, rubbing his face with the back of his hand and standing once again. The students gave him a look of pity, and one handed him yet another god-forsaken paper cup of tea.

“Chef,” one of the students said, raising his hand, “are you sure, um, Elijah is going to…make it through service?”

Elijah gave the student the dirtiest look he could muster and the boy reddened and looked down in embarrassment. Greyson sighed.

“Look, I get that this isn’t ideal and I’m sorry that you’re all being exposed to what I assume is the fuckin’ black plague, but unfortunately this is the hand we’ve all been dealt and now we have to… to...hhh...huhhh…” Greyson’s breath hitched for about the hundredth time that morning, and eventually ended in a shaky sigh. “Deal with it,” he finished, stuffily.

The students squirmed. To say they’d been dealt a shit hand would be an understatement.

Greyson ignored the looks from the students and went about showing them all how to put together the nacho, who would stand where, and where their backup product was in the kitchen. “Lij,” he said, “your job is to garnish and make sure everything looks perfect. And to not cough on the food.” The students tittered nervously at that, and Elijah rolled his eyes.

“I’ll do my best,” he whispered, making everyone cringe at the sound of his voice. What I wouldn’t give for some goddamn dayquil about now, he thought, pressing his palm into a swollen eye.

“Alright, guys, event starts in twenty. Go do whatever you need to do to get ready, and we’ll see you back here in fifteen,” Greyson said, and the two older men watched the teenagers scatter before letting out a collective sigh.

“How you holdin’ up?” Greyson asked as Elijah pulled off his mask to blow his nose. The GM gave the chef a pointed, watery look before putting the mask back in place and coughing into it. Greyson couldn’t help but huff out a laugh. “That good, huh?”

Elijah rolled his eyes and whisper-croaked, “It’s not nearly as bad as yesterday. I’ll take anything over the constant -”

“HFSSHHH-oo! NGTSSSHH-uh!” Greyson managed to duck down and catch both sudden sneezes into the crook of his elbow. He sniffled and his breath hitched again, but the elusive third sneeze abandoned him.

“Sneezing,” Elijah finished, handing the chef the tissue box the event contact had pointedly placed on their station an hour before. “Bless.”

“Dunno what you’re talking about,” Greyson growled, taking a tissue and swiping it under his nose. “I’d give my left fuckin’ nut to sneeze about a hundred times, at this point.”

“Mmm,” Elijah hummed, the sound nearly inaudible. “Don’t worry. It’s coming.”

“Fuck off, Lij.”

He hadn’t quite given in and admitted illness yet, but Elijah could feel his friend’s barriers slowly breaking down. This cold had a way of getting you to your breaking point, and hurriedly. Greyson was usually a deny-until-he-passed-out kind of guy, but Elijah knew exactly how annoying this particular illness was, and it basically demanded you loudly complain about it.

The students returned with ten minutes to spare, and the older men assumed their positions. A three hour event, Elijah reasoned with himself. You can do anything for three hours.

With everyone in place and as ready as they could be, the gates opened.

***

“Well done, guys, thanks so much again,” Greyson said for the millionth time as the students waved him and Elijah goodbye. The event had gone as well as it could have, as far as Greyson was concerned. The food was put out, he managed to talk to the guests without sounding like a complete moron, and Elijah hadn’t keeled over in the middle of it.

Though he’d certainly come close.

The GM was currently seated on the ground behind their booth, coughing into his sleeve like it was his job. When he finally emerged, he gave the already-departed students a half hearted wave and ripped off his mask.

“Thangk god that’s over,” Elijah mouthed, his voice not even a whisper at this point. Greyson just smiled and let himself sniffle, finally. “How’re you feeling?” Elijah mouthed,

Greyson barked out a laugh and gave his friend a bemused look. “I really don’t think that’s something you should be asking me,” he said. Elijah raised an eyebrow slowly – did Greyson somehow not recall the last three hours?

Greyson rolled his eyes. Okay, yes, maybe he’d spent the better portion of the event with a tissue in his fist, and maybe it had been a running joke among the guests who came up to their booth that Greyson was allergic to socializing because somehow, the moment he had to speak to someone his breath would hitch uncontrollably but never end in an actual sneeze. Maybe his throat was so sore that he was unsure he’d be able to even drink water this evening, and maybe his nose was threatening to run down his face anytime he wasn’t constantly sniffling. But he was certainly not the truly ill one among the two of them.

When he told his boss this much, Elijah coughed out a laugh. “Grey,” he croaked, “in case you don’t remember, I was you yesterday. I know I sound like complete death,” he tried clearing his throat to no avail, “but I know you feel entirely worse.”

Greyson slumped against the back of the booth and felt his sinuses fill once again. He raised an arm to catch a sneeze that – “huhhh….hnnn....huh, HUHH…hehh. Fugck.” - never actually came. He let out a pathetic, itchy, sticky-feeling cough and sighed.

“I’ve...I mean, I’ve been better,” he grumbled, pushing his hair out of his eyes. Elijah made a satisfied noise in the back of his throat and threw an arm around the chef.

“Sorry again,” he whispered.

“Ndot your – HGSTSHHH-ue! HTSHH! HRRSHHH! Huh-NGSTHHH-ue! Oh, thank fugcking god.” Greyson rubbed his nose across his sleeve in the pure bliss of finally getting to sneeze, and Elijah laughed near-silently.

“I’ll drink to that,” he whispered, nudging the chef out of the booth. “Let’s get out of here.”

[fluffsart]

Sitting on some ocs for apex and I feel like maybe I should start posting them lol

First is Contagion!

[zahri-melitor]

No Man’s Land

I made it back through! As I said before, my last read through was over 15 years ago, so it was a lot of fun seeing what I remembered and what I didn’t. This really is one of the best Batbook events. The departmental level planning and plotting really stands out; there’s only a couple of times events are repeated between titles (most of the duplicates are actually in Azrael, now I think about it; particularly the Azrael-Catwoman storyline. Clearly they understood they couldn’t trust people to read Azrael) and the story flows with very few contradictions/out of order events/obviously skipped bits . The biggest overall ‘wait what?’ timeline issue is ‘how long was Tim actually IN No Man’s Land and how many times did he sneak back in after being rescued’, because the suggestion he was inside for 2-4 weeks before being airlifted out is hilarious given he then proceeded to spend over a month staking out Pettit and got back in for the Christmas Eve summons quite easily.

Highlights from my read: Bruce Wayne (as opposed to Batman) has some really good stories through Cataclysm-Aftershock-Road to NML. I adore when comics take the time to break out what Bruce can do as a Wayne compared to what he can do as Batman, and both are on show here.

Legends of the Dark Knight #125: the conversation here between Jim and Batman is something that’s been building for over 6 years, since Knightfall. And yeah, the payoff is worth it. They both used their words!

Being a big event, we got multiple 'day in a life' comics for outsider PoVs or minor characters, which are one of my favourite things. I'm a huge sucker for an outsider point of view. Lots of ordinary Gothamites just explaining why they stayed and what community means to them (and also that Gotham talks to you when you have bat rabies). I particularly adore the little red headed agent of Oracle's in SoTB #92 who is so EXASPERATED by Clark Kent ruining her stakeout. She's got a job to do! Stop ruining her report!

Among this is also some of THE defining Leslie characterisation in Chronicles #18, of why she's a doctor and her philosophy on care. Now, the way the story used Zsasz to frame it was irritating (please Leslie, O neg is in such short supply I PROMISE you there are half a dozen people in your hospital camp here right now who need it more than Zsasz), but what can you do. "I will provide treatment to everyone" doesn't have to mean "I'm using an invaluable resource on the least deserving/needy person in this hospital" but it does mean "everyone deserves my care and best effort".

Barbara is at her best, here. Not only does this run highlight her skills as an information broker, troubleshooter and dispatcher, but everyone finally starts turning up regularly to the Clocktower to hang out/have meetings! Early 2000s status quo behaviour has been ACHIEVED. The story would not have worked without her.

Just a BUNCH of Gotham Rogues have really good stories here. What Penguin contributes to the city's dynamics is just so very on display as he runs the entire city's black market. Two-Face's trial of Jim Gordon is some iconic storytelling. Ivy is mostly around via her physical absence - she only appears on page for Fruit of the Earth and in the Harley Quinn intro to set up the Harley & Ivy status quo - but she pins a lot of the territory warfare in place via holding Robinson Park, starts her road to redemption, FINALLY gets rid of those terrible 90s tights (ugh I dislike that costume) and honestly probably helped a lot of people survive NML. And uh Black Mask himself doesn't have the greatest storytelling but his HENCHES do. 

Harley finally gets her promotion to the main universe (and her intro doesn't suck). Joker is fine I guess...ok yes I do actually like Endgame and it's solid Joker storytelling, even as shooting Sarah Essen is the most cheap and lazy angst ever (And then! Jim and Bruce are there in front of Joker who is asking to be arrested after he hurts their family! Again! This story has never been told before oh wait it's the 10 year anniversary edition).

Every Bat vigilante (minus Steph) gets a lot of solid character work and stuff to do. Steph's stuck off in her pregnancy arc having Dixon Lectures On Ethics, but does get that Helena team up during Cataclysm at least. We get Cass and David Cain! JPV remains the saddest wet cat in Gotham and the universe causes terrible things to happen to him (seriously how did you end up getting blown up and in worse shape than HELENA for the finale)! Dick confirms he's back in the family full time and will come if Bruce asks! Tim and Dick have adorable sibling adventures together! There’s an entire Dick/Babs hurt/comfort storyline! Tim Having Parents is actually plot relevant and helps end No Man's Land (also his team up with Wally in Keystone is the funniest thing ever. Wally's like 'HOW DID YOU GET MY PHONE NUMBER...oh yeah you asked Dick')! Helena gets masses of page time even as the plot (and Bruce) does her dirty! Even the LANGSTROMS get page time and character changes (that scene where Man-Bat takes Barbara flying is just beautiful).

[tolstayas]

saw napoleon today. silly little movie that pissed me off

[kylejsugarman]

my dad recommended dark harvest to me earlier this week, which was just okay, but he recommended when evil lurks today and i just watched it and i loved it :) shocking, tense, lots of great gore, i actually was engrossed in a contagion/plague-esque plot for once

[variantoutcast]

I really liked the first 3 witcher books and I liked elements in the remaining ones but it has increasingly become a men writing women series as it progresses. Like it's no longer the trappings "she breasted boobily down the stairs" but is fully "lets put a child in a situation where she has to have sex with her captor in order to regain her freedom" (and not portray this for the horror that it is)

[nando161mando]

So, funny story: remember how that Stanford professor described last years' layoffs as a "social contagion" exercise, where CEOs were just doing it because everyone else was doing it?

Well everyone get your surprised face ready but it was in fact a coordinated effort by execs, large shareholders and hedge funds to cover up mismanagement and suppress wages:

Did I say funny, I meant awful, typo sorry those keys are right next to each other.

[midnightcrustcat]

oh hell yeah they are walkin in a line

[msclaritea]

Remember that Man-faced male rapist they let into female prison because he claimed to be a woman and promised prison authorities he wouldn't hurt any female inmates, and then predictably raped two female prisoners?

Just in case that story didn't infuriate you enough and leave you scratching your head in righteous indignation, peep this: when his victim was able to find the courage to report her rape, this 6 ft, 220 lb man made a counter accusation of rape and it was deemed CREDIBLE (!!!) by prison officials and worthy of further investigation 😳🤬 The investigation included segregating the victim from the general population, strip-searched, humiliated and treated by officials as if SHE was the predator.

I've always rolled my eyes at the term "woke mind virus" but how else.can you explain how f***ing degenerate and immoral this ideology makes any person or institution that becomes infected by it?

What a perfect example of how this ideology has created an "untouchable class", or "Sacred Caste" of men than this story: Here you have prison officials with brains so scrambled that they would treat rape accusations of a 6 ft, 220 lb rapist as credible just because he claimed to be trans (and as such, must always be believed and whose motives can never be questioned)......and yet there are still idiots who will ask "but WHY would a male predator pretend to be trans just to seek out female victims?"

Like, really? You don't know why? The fact that any man instantly becomes a saint almost incapable of wrongdoing , and whose accusations will always be given the utmost of credibility (no matter how obviously bullshit) isn't enough of a motivation for these creeps?

How the fck did my fellow progressives get so mind-numbingly stupid? How the fck can any person who claims to care about women not see how wrong this is?

FUCK RAPIST Tremaine Carroll

FUCK Gavin Newsom

FUCK Governor Pritzker

FUCK Vice President Kamala Harris

Like I said, I'll vote for President Joe Biden but she can go to hell, for giving into pressure from a group pushing a fraudulent condition on Women, everywhere! Kamala Harris will never be president. NOR Pete Buttigeig, their backdoor option.

[joncronshawauthor]

Dive into the Gripping Post-Apocalyptic Thriller "Black Death Survival" - Read for Free Now!

In a society ravaged by a devastating plague, Liam, Jenna, and their young son Tommy must navigate the dangers of disease, desperation, and a menacing cult known as the Doctors. As the world crumbles around them, they’ll risk everything to stay together and protect what matters most. “Black Death Survival” is a gripping, character-driven thriller that explores the lengths people will go to…

[theres-whump-in-that-nebula]

Ohhhhkay I did not need to see Howard Wolf’s character design ever again even though I designed his look. Bleh! Bleh! [vomits him out of my mouth like I’m a leviathan and he’s a gross morsel of a defector from God the Almighty]

[bioethicists]

there's definitely smth to be said irt the way in which these terms manifest as a form of self-censorship panopticon etc etc but i want to gently suggest that

1) taboos + fears regarding discussions of death + suicide have existed long before tiktok. tiktok's censorship of these terms is related to this cultural taboo, fearmongering over "social contagion" of things like suicide, + sanitizing the platform for advertisers. some of you have forgotten the tumblr era where ppl censored words like rape or incest with asterisks bcuz we feared the mere word may upset or trigger others. tiktok is not manufacturing a taboo; it is responding to one + actually, children are refusing to accept that taboo by using these terms to continue to have conversations about these issues on that platform.

2) "kids are not mature enough to talk about death" is the exact rhetoric that causes this issue. how is that not the same attitude that tiktok employs? do not let your fear of modern social media lead you to conclude that the next generation is inherently more vapid/immature/uninformed!!! children should be discussing these issues + telling them they're "not mature enough" is just a condescending way to ensure they remain fearful of these conversations. reassure them they can use the full words without consequences (then do not impose consequences, including insulting their maturity or intelligence or forbidding them from discussing it) + talk with them about these issues.

3) we can talk about shifting trends in social media or cultural norms among children without talking down to them or excluding them from the conversation. adults were writing their hands about our gay fanfics + trigger warnings + american horror story self harm gifsets 10 years ago. teens have thoughts + agency + you don't have to speculate about how these things affect them because you can simply ask them.

[seaswallovvme]

You are the one I’d come looking for. Over and over and over again

A/N: I am SO sorry for this but I can’t believe I’ve never seen a fanfic like this so I took it upon myself to write it. No beta reading or editing. We die like..nevermind

TW: angst, hurt and comfort, leprosy? No one is dying!!

People had thought her foolish for longer than she could think.

A pretty, young maiden from a good house, wealthy parents with political influence others could only dream of and yet she had chosen to marry a leper.

The king of Jerusalem was well known around nobility for more than just that of course, having won the battle of Montgisard against the Arabs at such young age seemed like a miracle from God above.

Even before that she had been by his side and it was not the fortunes, glory or status that had interested her which would no doubt be beneficial side effects of being married to him.

No young woman in her right mind would have willingly accepted the hand of a man doomed and she could hardly blame them.

Her parents had approved of the marriage as their hands were bound, depending on trade offers and the generosity of the holy land for their own existence.

Even then, when the letter from the court of Jerusalem had arrived they had been worried about the future of their darling girl.

Everyone had been, even nobility from far away and the news of King Baldwins marriage had spread quickly and then the whispering began.

She had never been bothered by the likes of them, faithful to her new husband who treated her with utmost care, she had everything she could have ever asked for and more.

He was a good man, gentle and wise for his age and he was grateful she had accepted his hand in marriage, he would have been a fool to not treat her well.

To him it was more than a political match propagating his strength to the outside kingdoms and his own.

To him this young woman was home, acceptance and love.

Despite all this their marriage was a slightly unusual one.

They had never been able to kiss nor were they able to consummate the marriage in a way deemed proper, the king refusing to risk contagion and his physicians agreed with him.

Despite all this she had never minded the lack of physicality in their marriage all that much.

She cared about him in a way that was beyond desires of the flesh, what they shared came close to holiness.

They talked a lot, shared poems and stories when she would caress his bandaged hands.

She would spend the late evenings in their shared chambers, after a tremendous amount of convincing, finally applying ointments to his sore, blistered skin to help it slow the spreading.

She would caress his bare back with fingers gentle as if she feared he would disappear into thin air, like a vision or a daydream, is she dared touching him too firmly.

In their eyes those sacred moments were almost enough but of course even the fate of the most pure could be harsh more often than not.

It started with a pale rash on her side, right over her ribs.

At first she had been sure it had come from spending too much time in the stables, perhaps she had been bitten by an insect.

Then one night when she had just finished brushing her hair before going to bed she noticed the tingling numbness in her fingers and feet.

It started slowly, like tiny ants crawling over her skin, not painful but the recognition was and she could feel her heart drop.

Though it wasn’t herself she feared for.

Baldwin let his best physicians be called to their shared chambers immediately.

After the three men had taken a look at her, whispering in a foreign language with their eyes drooped with worry and told them how deeply sorry they were the young king wished for his instant death.

He had always had a hard time being kind to himself, never to others but the wave of agony that rolled over him threatened to swallow him whole, burning like a demonic fury.

Her own eyes brimmed with tears and she sat up after the physicians had left, so frightened for her husband who was now sitting on the edge of the bed, his masked face buried in his hands with his shoulders trembling.

There was no use denying that she had caught the disease.

It was only a matter of time, she is playing with fire, others had whispered behind her back when they thought she wasn’t listening.

“Baldwin..” crawling up on the bed right behind him she wrapped her arms around his shoulders.

The gesture that had comforted him even in his worst moments now seemed to shatter his heart even more so.

“I have been so foolish..my beautiful, beautiful angel” he whispered, his voice dying in his throat and when he raised his head his eyes were flooded with tears.

He was trembling as he spoke and she was frightened as he nearly seemed mad with grief.

“You should have never come here..I should have never asked anyone, you, to put themselves in danger for my foolishness. If the Lord wants to punish me so be it but why would he wish to punish you of all people? When it was I who was selfish?”

She only noticed that she too was crying when she tasted the salt on her lips, wiping it with shaking fingers.

“Do not say such things..you are not selfish, nor foolish. It was I who made the decision to accept the offer to marry you with the pain and dangers that I was warned of. And I swear to you that even now I do not regret our vows, a single day or night we spent together”

Reaching out for him he cupped his cheek, a pained smile gracing her features in the soft candle light of his chambers.

“Please do not blame yourself my love. I am not scared of my fate but I am scared of losing you, whether it be to grief or shame. I beg of you, don’t leave me now”

There had never been a moment where Baldwin had to fight against contempt for himself as in this very moment.

He disdained himself for causing her to share his fate when he should have been the one to be level headed, keeping a distance for her own safety when in reality he was the one searching for her warmth like a frightened little boy.

Now there was no use avoiding her, he recognised with bitterness seeping like pus from an open wound.

Now it was too late, the die had been cast but all words of comfort, an apology he could have offered her seemed to be worthless now and he knew this sweet, innocent girl would not hear it.

How wonderfully stubborn she could be sometimes, with too much love to give and headstrong to a point where it was almost unbecoming for a woman but he wouldn’t have it any differently.

“Come now” she murmured, shuffling on the bed to slip underneath the covers.

The silken sheets were cool against her skin and a part of her wondered for how long she would be able to feel them at all.

She pulled him in as she did every night since they had exchanged their vows, his head resting against her shoulder and she caressed his soft hair soothingly.

“The promise of God is not that He will never give us more weight than we want to carry. The promise of God is that He will never put more on us than we can bear.”

Her voice was so soft as she spoke, without a tremor and she was not scared anymore.

Not for herself nor for him, not when God was watching over them, not when her love for him burned stronger than ever and she could feel his heart beating, so alive and warm in his chest.

“Let us not waste the precious time we have..not a second”

This was something the young king could not disagree with and how eager he was for her comfort if that meant to comfort her.

Now he had to be strong for her sake when she needed him now more than ever before, and she was right.

The promise of God is that He will never put more on us than we can bear, no matter how heavy the burden can be in the darkest times.

He shuddered when he felt her gentle fingers sliding the silver mask off his face as she had done many times before but something about it now felt different.

His eyes were wide, still glossy and red, his face scarred severely but she could only see the man she loved more than anyone or anything.

They looked at each other for what felt like hours, the fingers of one hand entwined, the other on each others cheek, stroking over skin, gently brushing a strand of hair behind one’s ear.

She was the one to lean in first and to him the feeling of her soft lips on his, for the first time ever felt like he was being reborn.

The kiss was clumsy with inexperience but it could not have been more raw and honest.

She kissed him like she didn’t care about his disfigured lips and he kissed her like it was the last thing he would ever do.

Both of them kissed like they had been starving for this and now there was nothing left to lose and by the end of the kiss both of them were crying.

A soft sob rose in his chest, fading into a huffed out laugh and he seemed drunk with fondness for her.

She only smiled, wiping his tears as he wiped hers before leaning in again to kiss her warm, soft lips once more with more urgency this time, in disbelief that he would get to experience something like this after all.

Something that made him feel less alone, more like any normal young man instead.

A wave of warmth flooded him when he felt a small, soft hand slip underneath his nightgown, resting on his bare stomach and when he pulled away from the kiss, his cheeks flushed he recognised the desire in her eyes.

Honest and playful as she was and despite his nervously racing heart he gave her the most timid nod.

There was no fear within either of them now, uncertainty perhaps and pain surely, worry about what the future might bring but they had each other after all.

Each other and a life time left to love, however long that might be.

[hailmaryfullofgrace55675]

This is a tempting parallel to draw, but it doesn’t tell a whole or accurate story.

The idea of autogynephilia isn’t just the idea that lesbian trans women transition because they think lesbianism is sexy so they want to be lesbians for sex reasons.

Autogynephilia is part of a larger sexological theory, dreamed up by a specific individual named Ray Blanchard, that there are two types of trans woman: the “homosexual transsexual”, who is male-attracted, and the “non-homosexual transsexual”, who exhibits autogynephilia - a sexual fetish for being a woman that’s also a romantic orientation toward oneself-as-a-woman that’s also a type of fantasy about female embodiment or crossdressing or doing traditionally feminine activities like having sex with men.

The theory of autogynephilia comes loaded with a bunch of other particular and nonsensical ideas, including but not limited to the idea of the “erotic target location error” and “erotic target identity inversion”, the idea that all erotic crossdressing fantasies are fantasies of being the gender one dresses as, and the idea that bisexuality in trans women is attributable to “meta-attraction” in which the women are not actually attracted to men but only to the sense of femininity that sex with men can grant them.

Blanchard and his associates J. Michael Bailey and Anne Lawrence have been responsible for propagating this concept of autogynephilia across numerous academic journals articles and multiple books over the past 34 years, including Lambda Award nominee The Man Who Would Be Queen.

The idea of gay trans men transitioning because they like BL

mostly manifests as the idea that young people who were assigned female at birth are experiencing a form of social contagion or susceptibility to media influence rather than a deep-set paraphilia (the way autogynephilia has traditionally been theorized),

has mostly emerged in a vernacular way inside of trans communities and as an explanation for offspring’s transgenderism by transphobic parents, rather than as a formal sexological concept (Blanchard didn’t pick up the torch on “autohomoeroticism” until something like 2018, well after trans people had been commenting on the idea for years), and

has not had the reach or impact the theory of autogynephilia has had.

It’s not the worst comparison in the world, but assuming 1:1 mirroring between the situation with autogynephilia and the situation with gay-tboys-are-just-doing-it-because-they-read-too-much-yaoi would produce a lot of incorrect assumptions about whichever the thinker is less familiar with.

[whiskey-tango-matcha]

Safe (M, cold)

Well, here I am.

It's been a few months since I've written anything in the Elliot's universe, but recently someone asked for a Mark-centric story, and this behemoth is what ensued. Allow me to preface by saying this: Mark is basically my self-insert. This was a very hard story to write. If it sucks, my apologies, hah.

In this, Mark gets sick from Matt and wants to hide it from Elijah. It is significantly more hurt/comfort-slash-sickfic than snzfic, honestly. It starts fairly benign, fluffy, and silly and gets really intense a few pages in. There's a lot of musing, a lot of being inside Mark's head. Idk. I'm not sure if I love it or hate it. This is the first story I've written on here that has taken me a full week to get down, and that I've written and scrapped multiple scenes. It is very long. I really hope you enjoy it if you read it. I'd love to hear your thoughts, but also understand if it's just too long-winded for people to read. Also, there's a real chance of spelling/grammar errors because I just can't look at this monster of a fic any longer, ha.

Anyway. Onward.

CW: Male snz, illness, coughing, contagion. 6K words (almost exactly)

Safe

“Don’t go near them.”

It’s the first thing that hit his ears as he pushed through the swinging kitchen doors; no ‘hi, Mark,’ no, ‘good morning’, just a barked order with absolutely zero context thrown in. Mark whipped his head in the direction of the stern voice of his boss.

“Good morning to you, too,” he muttered, making his way towards the office, where Elijah was stationed, seated, but not doing any computer work. “Who and what are we avoiding?” he asked as he entered.

“The chefs,” Elijah said, moving his chair to let the younger manager in to sit. Mark placed his backpack on the ground, tossed his coat over top of Greyson’s on the second office chair. Waited for further explanation that did not come.

“Okay…” he said, sitting beside his boss. “And we’re not going near them because…?” Mark hadn’t even seen Greyson or Matt yet this morning. The avoiding was being done for him, so what was Elijah’s deal?

Elijah hummed a low disapproval – of what, Mark couldn’t guess – and turned towards his computer. “You’ll see,” he said, shaking his mouse and pulling up an order guide. “Just don’t breathe your boyfriend’s breath, okay?”

Mark colored at the implication; it had only been a couple of months since Matt and Mark had been outed to the restaurant, and the floor manager still wasn’t used to their relationship being casually dropped into conversation. While Elijah busied himself with admin work, Mark stood – time to figure out what the fuck Elijah was on about.

You would think that finding chefs in a kitchen would be a relatively banal business; they’re chefs. They’re cooking. Hardly a moving target – but you’d be wrong. Somehow, the second a front of house manager starts looking for a chef, they become a ghost. They haven’t existed for a thousand years – are you sure this restaurant even has a chef? Mark couldn’t help but ponder how the fuck this hundred-square-foot kitchen somehow became a labyrinthian nightmare the second he wanted to find his boyfriend and his boyfriend’s boss; c’mon, he’d checked the walk-in, the back kitchen, even the dock to see if they were smoking, where the fuck were they?

Maybe Elijah had told the two of them to stay away from Mark and the front of house staff before the floor manager arrived, and they were playing a cat-and-mouse style keep-away game that Mark was unaware of. Or maybe they had gone to the store to pick up chicken or some shit. Either way, Mark was done looking. Elijah said don’t go near them, he thought to himself, heading back towards the front of the kitchen, easy enough.

Of course, it was the moment that Mark decided he was done looking that he quite literally bumped into his boyfriend coming through the kitchen doors.

“Oof,” Matt grunted as they collided. Greyson, not even a step behind him, turned their two-person bump into a three-car-pileup that nearly ended in hot coffee being spilled over all of them.

“Christ, Chef, watch where you’re going,” Matt muttered untangling himself from the middle of the pack.

“Mbe watch where I’mb going?” Greyson asked, wiping his coffee-covered hand on his chef’s pants. “The two of you are practically grinding on each other here and I ndeed to watch where I’mb going?”

Mark clocked it in the chef’s voice immediately – oh. That’s what Elijah meant.

But… he had said both of them… right?

Mark’s head shot up from checking to make sure he didn’t have coffee all over his button-down to look Matt directly in the face – ah. Fuck.

“Hh-! Hh’ITSHZH-ue! HRTSHH-ue!” Matt collapsed to the side to sneeze, seemingly in lieu of responding to Greyson’s dig. “Snf. Fuck off, Chef.” There it was.

“Bless you,” Mark said, attempting not to sound accusatory. Matt just nodded.

“Yeah,” he said, rubbing his nose on the back of his hand. “Sorry.”

Before Mark could respond to the unnecessary apology, Elijah’s voice rang out once again from the office. “Mark, I told you to stay away from them!” The GM stood from his desk chair and strode into the kitchen, physically pushing Mark and Matt away from one another. “Six foot distance,” he said, pointing at both of them. “And you,” he said, addressing his counterpart, “didn’t I tell you to go get some tea and sit the fuck down? We have a big night tonight and I need you conscious, please.”

Greyson rolled his eyes and held up his cup. “I was on mby way to sit when the children starting gyrating on each other in the mbiddle of mby kithcen,” he said. “Don’t put this one on mbe.”

Elijah squeezed the bridge of his nose, frustrated. “First of all,” he said, moving towards Greyson and plucking the cup from his hand, “that isn’t tea.”

“The tea we buy is gross,” Greyson whined. “And I’mb ti – hh! Hh...hhuh-ETSHZH-ue! Snrf, fuck.” Greyson took a moment to collect himself, to wipe his nose on his sleeve and cough – a wet, concerning sound – before finishing his sentence. “I’mb tired,” he said, snatching the cup back.

“Which is why I told you to go sit down,” Elijah said, pressing his palms together and accentuating each word with his hands. “And please do not get my front of house manager sick. I beg, Greyson.”

“Talk to him,” Greyson said, thumbing towards Matt. “I’mb ndot the one with my tongue in Mark’s mbouth twenty-four-seven.”

Mark’s face flamed once again, but Matt, either too sick to care or beyond the embarrassment that was a public relationship in the work place, just rolled his eyes.

“Jealous, much?” Matt asked under his breath. Greyson shot daggers with a glance at his sous, and Mark decided it was probably time to step in.

“Listen, how about I go grab the two of you some medicine from down the street, you both take a rest, and then by the time the meds have kicked in, everyone should be good for service.” Mark looked to Elijah for his blessing; his boss was obviously mulling it over, considering. “And this way, I’ll be out of the metaphorical splash zone,” he finished, which finally prompted a nod from Elijah.

“Okay,” his boss said. “Good idea, Mark. You two – come with me.”

The GM led the two chefs back into the dining room to lay in the back booth while Mark let out a sigh. He was happy, of course, to be out of the fight, to have seemingly calmed everyone down, and to have put his boss’s mind at ease.

Unfortunately, he was fairly sure that – despite Elijah’s eased mind – it was already too late for keeping himself away from the newest restaurant pestilence.

***

“Elijah is going to kill me, Matt.”

“Oh, please, he is ndo – ITSZCHH-ue! ndot,” Matt said, swiping the bottle of Dayquil from Mark’s hand and chugging it. “You gonna sit?” he asked, sniffling and patting the milk crate beside him and shivering. Mark sighed.

“I’m not gonna sit, because Elijah is going to kill me even more if he sees me sitting right next to you.”

“I’mb gonna go out on a limb here and say that’s ndot possible,” Matt said, dissolving at the end of his sentence into a chesty cough.

“You’re coughing now, too?” Mark asked, worry about Elijah’s anger usurped very suddenly by concern for his boyfriend. Mark placed a hand to Matt’s head. “Oh, honey.”

“Sorry,” Matt said, not bothering to move Mark’s hand. Mark huffed out a little laugh.

“Don’t apologize for being sick. Please,” he said, moving his hand to cup Matt’s cheek. “Even if Elijah might kill us both.”

Matt smiled, pressed his face harder into Mark’s hand. “You might ndot get sick. You ndever know,” he muttered, eyes closing as Mark held his head up.

“Matt,” Mark laughed, “I mean… I don’t think that’s, uh, possible after last night.” Matt’s eyes blinked open at the mention of it, and a little smile flitted across his lips.

The apartment had been quiet.

“Matt?” Mark called as he stepped inside. “Babe, are you home?”

He strained his ears; the shower was on. Mark had an idea.

He tiptoed across the cold apartment floor, quietly stripping as he went; by the time he got to the bathroom door, he was nude as the day he was born. The bathroom door wasn’t closed all the way, so he pushed inside silently and pulled back the curtain.

A fact about Matt that shocked Mark more than anything was that the man did not get scared. He had yawned through their first haunted house together; he fell asleep during the Terrifier movies, for Christ’s sake. So Mark was unsurprised when, instead of screaming bloody murder the way he would’ve if Matt snuck up on his in the shower, his boyfriend simply turned away from the spray and smiled.

“You’re early,” he murmured, ushering Mark in.

“I came right from the gym,” Mark said, wrapping his arms around the shorter man. “I wanted to see you.”

“Mmmm,” Matt hummed, pressing himself into Mark’s arms. “That’s nice, baby.”

They stood that way for a few minutes, until Mark tipped Matt’s chin up towards his face. “I wanted to see you,” he said, pressing his lips onto Matt’s neck, “but I also wanted to… do things. With you.”

Matt’s breath caught in the back of his throat. “Yeah?” he asked, voice low. “Like what?”

Mark stood back to his full height, and pushed Matt against the shower wall. “Let me show you.”

“Fair enough,” Matt said now, lifting his head. “But, I mbean, are you feeling okay right ndow?”

He was, for the moment. But, Matt had seemed alright last night, and clearly he’d already been on the trajectory towards ill – despite that fact that he had been very good at hiding it. Whatever he and his boss had picked up was certainly quick to come on.

“I’m fine, baby, don’t worry about me,” Mark said, rummaging through the drug store bag to hand Matt, who’d fallen into another paroxysm of coughing, the Robitussin. “I’m more worried about you than anything.”

Matt snapped the top off and chugged this medicine as well, seemingly without any concern about mixing two medications. “Babe, it’ll be fine. I kndow Elijah is worried about getting through the weekend, but it’s ndot like any of us haven’t worked with a cold before.” He shrugged then, handed Mark the medicine, and stood. Mark stood as well, and once again cupped Matt’s hot face – this time with both hands.

“Please just take it a little bit easy tonight, okay?” Mark said. “I know Greyson is sick, too, but don’t try to do too much. We don’t need another moment like a few months ago.”

“And to think I’d just forgotten about that,” Matt said, going on tiptoe to kiss his boyfriend. “I’ll be okay.” Mark kissed him back, a little longer than was maybe necessary; long enough that neither of them heard the back door open until it was too late.

“Mark, what the fuck are you doing?”

Oh, fuck.

Elijah.

***

By the end of the night, Greyson and Matt were shadows of their former selves.

“Hh-! Hhhuh… hhNGTSHH-ue! HRTSHH! ETSZCH-ue! Fuuuck mbe,” Greyson muttered as he wrenched into the sleeve of his hoodie – chef coats had been abandoned about an hour into service, when both he and Matt started shivering hard enough to fuck up the plating on more than half the dishes – for the millionth time that night. He attempted to clear his throat, prompting a flurry of congested coughs.

Behind him, Matt was sitting on the cold, industrial kitchen ground, head between his knees. “I’mb gonna pass out, I just kndow I am.”

“Don’t fuckigg pass out,” Greyson growled, pulling his sous to his feet. “You ndeed to get your blood mboving, you gotta stand up. Idiot.”

The two of them, bickering and sneezing in near-unison by the pass, had captivated the attention of both front of house managers, who had turned away from their computer work to watch the mess unfold.

“Hope you like what you see,” Elijah said, finally. “Because that’s gonna be you tomorrow.”

Behind his boss’s back, Mark rolled his eyes. “Boss, I’m fine. I don’t feel sick at all, trust me, I’m going to be okay.” It was mostly true; he’d sneezed a few more times today than was normal for him, yes. And he was a little tired – no more than usual, surely. The rawness in the back of his throat was easily ignored with huge gulps of water. He was fine.

“Mmm,” Elijah said, swinging his chair around to look the younger man in the eye, “sure. Whatever you say, Mark; just remember, if you look even close to how bad Matt does tonight, you’re off the floor. And I mean off the floor until you return to normal. A cold is one thing; whatever these two have is entirely another. Understood?”

Mark swallowed around his burgeoning sore throat; off the floor. Off the floor didn’t mean relegated to busywork behind the scenes; it meant sent home. Being sent home meant days without a backup manager to help Elijah on the floor, and no one to help on the floor meant Elijah would realize there was a gap in their team. A gap in management. Mark had been the only floor manager in all the years Elliot’s had been open; Elijah had mentioned a few times that maybe they should hire another person, someone to cover if both Mark and Elijah couldn’t come in, but Mark had been vehemently against it. Elijah couldn’t hire another manager, because if he did, he’d see how truly unqualified Mark had been for his position all this time. Once he saw how unqualified he was, he’d be out on his ass. No job, no money… no second family. No place he truly belonged.

Mark’s face flushed, and he cast his eyes towards the floor. “Yes, boss,” he said. “I understand.”

“Good,” Elijah said, nodding. “Now, go collect your boyfriend and take him to bed.”

***

The first time Mark was sick while working at Elliot’s was well over a year into his tenure.

Elijah had regarded Mark with concern, clocking him as unwell the second he sat in the office. “You don’t look well,” he said. “Are you feeling okay?”

Mark’s face had flushed, embarrassed; not getting sick for over a year working front of house was honestly a feat of accomplishment in the restaurant industry, but he still felt guilty for coming down with something, despite its inevitability. He shrugged, an attempt at playing it cool.

“I’mb okay, boss,” Mark croaked. “Just a cold.”

Elijah nodded slowly. “Are you sure it’s just a cold? You feel okay to work?”

Mark raised an eyebrow, confused. Did he look that unwell? “I mbean… yeah?” he said, rubbing his nose with the back of his hand. “Why?”

“Well,” Elijah said, opening a drawer and pulling out cold medicine, along with a small bag that looked like it could’ve come from his mother’s medicine cabinet. “A cold, we can work with.”

The GM explained to him, then, that there were marked differences between the front of house cold, and the back of house cold. “You’ve seen Greyson sick at work a dozen times,” Elijah said, passing Mark a cup full of pills and a water bottle. “Right?”

“Sure,” Mark said, swallowing the pills around a painfully sore throat. “It’s ndot like he’s hiding it.”

“Right. Right,” Elijah said, popping open a stick that looked like – was that concealer? “The chefs, the cooks – they don’t have to hide anything. Us, though? No one wants to be served soup by someone with a stuffy nose. We all get the same shit, but only they’re allowed to look like shit.” He dabbed the concealer under Mark’s eyes, used an expert finger to blend it into his skin. “That’s the industry for you.”

“Are you… putting makeup on mbe?” Mark asked, laughing a bit.

“Sure am,” Elijah said. “A little concealer goes a long way in this profession, Mark. Concealer, and enough meds to tranquilize an elephant.” His boss closed the little concealer pen, put the medicine and makeup away. “I want you on the floor, but I want you to look… alive.” Elijah shut the drawer, shrugged. “Let me know if you start feeling really shitty. Otherwise? Come to the back to blow your nose, and feel free to help yourself to whatever you want in here.”

Mark blinked, a little confused, but grateful for the advice. Elijah seemed… almost fatherly, like this, and he could feel embarrassing tears welling in his eyes at this, the smallest gesture of being cared for. Mark looked down, cleared his throat. “Uh… okay, boss. Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it,” Elijah said, patting Mark’s knee. “We’ve gotta take care of each other in this hell hole of an industry, y’know?”

Mark couldn’t look up. The thought of his boss seeing him cry was entirely too much for him to handle. “Right,” he whispered. “Right.”

***

The hardest part of hiding an illness, Mark knew from experience, was speaking.

Putting on makeup and looking like a human instead of a corpse? Easy. He’d learned how to apply concealer so it didn’t look like he was in drag – just enough that in the dim lighting of the restaurant you couldn’t tell if those were dark circles or shadows. He’d learned if you added a tiny bit of blush to your cheeks, no one noticed that your nose was also red, and he’d figured out the hard way that there was never a world in which he needed eyeliner, even if it made his eyes look less bloodshot.

He always dressed immaculately when he wasn’t feeling well; extra-crisp button down, sport coat, his expensive Ray Ban glasses, not the cheapos from Zenni he usually donned. Mark shined his shoes the second he felt a tickle in his throat, broke out the cuff links if he suddenly sneezed more than thrice in a row. He’d been trained well by Elijah to hide the visual cues of any oncoming malady.

Hiding how he really felt came even more naturally; he’d been practicing that since childhood. Complaining wasn’t in his nature, or had maybe been stamped out entirely at some point – either way, Mark could be actively passing out, unable to breathe, coughing so hard he couldn’t form a sentence, and he wouldn’t even mention it. Of course, he’d been sent home from work for being ill before, but never once had he chosen to go. Even the thought of saying ‘I’m sick’ made him dizzy with unease. You need to work through that in therapy, Matt had said to him multiple times, and he knew it was true, but it was also helpful. In this industry, admitting defeat was akin to admitting you sucked at your job.

The voice, though? That was always what gave him away. No matter how much medicine he took, he could always hear the rasp that overtook his voice immediately. His m’s and n’s turned to rounded shadows of their former selves even if he blew his nose every five minutes. His timbre lowered considerably, to the point that when Matt first saw him sick he asked how it felt to be able to do a perfect Johnny Cash, but only when he felt like shit. It was a problem, but Mark was a pretty quiet guy in general. If he was quieter than usual, usually no one was the wiser.

That’s what he hoped – that his boss would be none the wiser – as he dressed in his perfectly-tailored suit that morning, stifling sneeze after painful sneeze into handfuls of tissue all the while. Just don’t talk, he thought as he dotted Maybeline under his eyes. No one has to know.

Of course, not talking was a bit… difficult when his boss was around. “Good morning,” Elijah called to Mark as he buzzed through the kitchen, trying to make his way into the dining room without having to make small talk. Dammit. Mark stopped, begrudgingly, and nodded at his boss, who raised both eyebrows at the younger manager’s outfit choice. “Is there an event tonight I’ve forgotten?”

Mark shook his head, straightened his tie. “Just felt like dressing up,” he said, tactfully avoiding words with too many nasal letters. “How’re you, boss?”

“I’m well,” Elijah said, pointedly. He patted the empty chair next to him, prompting Mark to sit; don’t let him get a good look at you, a voice in Mark’s head chastised. Don’t get taken off the floor. “Greyson’s not coming in till three, if you want to do your preshift report in here today.”

“That’s okay,” Mark said. “I like the dining roomb.” Fuck.

Elijah cocked his head to the side, but didn’t mention Mark’s voice. “How’s Matt feeling?” he asked, another pointed question.

“He’s okay – a little better. Said he’d be here at four.” Mark patted himself on the back for maneuvering around any pesky m’s or n’s that time. Elijah nodded slowly.

“Glad to hear it,” Elijah said, standing. The younger manager was several inches taller than his boss, but Elijah was still able to look him fairly closely in the eye. Once again, one word rattled around in Mark’s head: fuck. “How are you feeling?”

Mark allowed a smile to form on his rapidly-chapping lips. “Good, boss. Ready to work,” he said simply. God, he needed to clear his throat. And more than that, he really, really needed to blow his nose.

Elijah nodded. “Alright,” he said, apparently placated. “Go ahead, then.”

“Thanks, boss,” Mark said, stepping out of the office doorway and pushing through the swinging kitchen doors before Elijah could say anything else. He’d made it through the first test, somehow. Just in time, too, he thought, making a beeline towards the bathroom. Because I really fucking need to -

“NTSHH!” Mark stifled a near-silent sneeze into his wrist as he yanked open the guest bathroom door. Finally, locked in the bathroom alone, he allowed himself to be as disgusting, as sick as he really was.

“Hhuh -! Hh- ETZSCH-ue! HRRSHH-ue! Huh… hh’RRSHH-ue!” Mark collapsed in on himself, scrambling to collect a handful of tissues so he wouldn’t ruin the sleeve of his suit. He blew his nose as thoroughly as he could – not that it made any difference, he was still stuffed up to the gills. A pathetic little cough escaped his lungs, prompting another tickle in his sinuses. “HUHTTSCHH-ue!”

Shut up, shut up, shut up, he chastised himself, blowing his nose again. He’s going to fucking hear you.

He waited a moment or two to see if Elijah would push through the door – he didn’t – before sitting fully clothed on the toilet and pulling out his phone.

11:56AM

Mark

what is this, the fucking plague?

Almost immediately, Matt texted back.

11:57AM Matt

o shit, did we get you already? baby im so sorry. u shouldve told me u weren’t feeling good last night u couldve stayed over

11:57AM Mark

not your fault. and I’m ok, just trying to avoid Elijah, he’s gonna be so pissed.

11:59AM

Matt

omfg he’ll get over it. its not like someone in that restaurant isnt sick every other week

Mark sighed, his lungs crackling at the effort. Matt was right; someone was almost always sick at Elliot’s, that was the way of things in this industry. They all shared drinks, they worked in close quarters, it was bound to happen. This was less about the illness itself – of course he’d been sick at work before, who hadn’t? - and more about the look he knew he’d see on Elijah’s face when he’d finally have to crack. He’d gone directly against his boss’s orders, had put his job and the restaurant second to his baser desires. That’s no way to get ahead in this world, his dad’s voice bellowed from the base of his brain. Mark shuddered; he wasn’t sure he’d be able to face Elijah’s look of pure disappointment. He wasn’t sure he had it in him.

Slipping his phone into his pocket, Mark stood and washed his hands. He took an inventory of his face in the mirror – eye bags poorly covered by drugstore makeup, his nose raw and red, his mouth slightly open to allow him to breathe – and realized how truly awful he looked. Was there even a chance that Elijah didn’t know he was sick? Doubtful, his dad’s voice muttered.

You have to just try, another voice in his head pleaded. Just push through, you know how to push through. You’ve done it a million times before. He doesn’t have to know.

That voice, Mark knew, was delusional – a child’s gnawing plea to be accepted, to not get in trouble, to not be thought of as a burden – but he knew that sometimes you had to be delusional, had to listen to the saddest, smallest part of yourself to get through a day. He pulled his phone back out before leaving the bathroom.

12:04PM

Mark

just please don’t say anything to Elijah when you get here, ok? I’m fine, I promise. its honestly probably just in my head, it’s probably nothing so just don’t say anything. see u soon.

Pathetic, his dad’s voice spat, and Mark knew the voice was right. But that was nothing new, nothing to dwell on; he’d always been pathetic. Mark switched off his phone then, not wanting to be comforted by his boyfriend, and stepped onto the floor.

***

“Mark,” Matt said, reaching up to touch the front of house manager’s forehead, “you really need to go.”

Mark pulled away before Matt could touch him, though not by choice. “HRRSHH-uhh! Hh-! HhNTZSHH-ue! Snrrf. Leave mbe alone.”

Matt’s hand recoiled at the ice in his boyfriend’s voice, obviously hurt. Normally, Mark would’ve nearly fallen to his knees at the thought of hurting Matt’s feelings, but today, with the cold from hell progressing quicker than he ever could’ve anticipated, he couldn’t even find it in himself to apologize. Obviously he needed to go, but that would mean admitting to illness; it would mean begin taken off the floor until god-knows-when. It would mean Elijah replacing him.

No. He wasn’t about to go.

“Honey,” Matt said carefully, touching Mark’s hand across the expo board, “I’mb sure Elijah would understand. It’s a slow ndight, he already sent Greyson back home. What are you trying to prove?”

Of course, Matt was right; last night’s crazy shift was in stark contrast to this evening’s steady pace. There were hardly twenty more covers for the evening, and yes, even Greyson had admitted defeat and slunk out right at six p.m., in a fevered haze. The only reason Matt was still here was because his fever had broken this morning and, despite the lingering cough and stuffy nose, he was clearly feeling better. Good enough, even, to have gone behind Mark’s back and talked to Elijah.

“Matt told me,” Elijah had cornered him right before preshift started, in the back server station while everyone else ate family meal. Mark felt his stomach sink. Fucking Matt, he thought, clearing his throat to address his boss in the most normal voice he could muster.

“Told you what?” he asked, straightening his tie. Elijah gave the younger manager a knowing look.

“You don’t look like you feel well, Mark,” he said, obviously trying a different tactic. This time, Mark’s stomach knotted; he felt, for a moment, like a little kid, wanting to fall to the ground in front of his mommy and just allow himself to be comforted. He thought for a fleeting moment of how good it would feel to just admit it; I’m sick, he would say, if he were a normal fucking person, I want to go to bed.

Instead, Mark shook his head. “I don’t kndow what Matt told you, but he doesn’t kndow what he talking about,” he managed, his voice cutting out only once. “I’mb fine.”

Elijah sighed. “Mark, listen, I know I was an asshole yesterday -”

“Boss,” Mark cut Elijah off. “Please. I’mb okay. Just please, let mbe work.”

He’d walked away then, hadn’t let Elijah say whatever it was he wanted to say, and had avoided Matt as well as he could throughout service. Now, mid-shift, when all the cooks and servers were side-eyeing them from he expo board, was not the time to hash this out.

“I’mb ndot trying to prove anything, Matt,” Mark said now, grabbing two plates from the window. “Just stay out of mby business. What table?”

Matt bit his cheek, peaked at the chit. “Please don’t be mbad,” he said, voice quiet. Mark prickled; he couldn’t help it. He was mad. He’d asked one stupid thing of Matt, and now here he was, career in trouble, embarrassed in front of both of their staffs, and once again gearing up for another painful -

“HTTSHH-ue! God, fugck,” Mark swore, ducking expertly away from the plates he was holding. He sucked in through his nose hard enough to make himself dizzy, and looked back at Matt. “What table, Chef?” he asked, pointedly. Matt winced.

“Thirty-three,” he said finally. Mark nodded.

“Great. Thangks.” He turned on his heels and pushed out the kitchen doors.

***

Before it happened, Mark found himself thinking exactly what his boyfriend was moaning the night previous: I’m gonna pass out, I know I am.

The only difference was, Mark was correct.

He’d been feeling shittier and shittier as the night went on. It began with spells of dizziness that came anytime he moved his head too fast, then moved on to an ache in his chest every time he coughed. A cold is one thing, he remembered Elijah saying the night previous. Whatever they have is entirely something else.

Elijah the prophet.

He kept pushing through. Plate after plate came out of the kitchen on his aching arms; he shook drinks while coughing into his shoulder, and sniffled his way through seating guests. Mark could feel Elijah’s eyes on him, though his boss refused to speak to him throughout the shift. I’ll show him, his fever-addled mind kept saying. I can do this. I’m fine.

It wasn’t until the last table had sat that his body well and truly told him he’d had enough. Mark was seeing stars when he grabbed a filet and swordfish, and once again he ignored it. He ignored the room swimming before him as he pushed out of the kitchen. He ignored the sway in his step.

“Shit, Mark!” was the last thing he heard, standing in the middle of the dining room with hot plates in each of his hands. There was no way to tell who said it – Elijah? Matt? – but it didn’t really matter, because before he could respond, his vision became a tiny pinkprick, his knees buckled, and the lights went out.

***

When the world came back into focus, he had somehow teleported into his bed.

At first, Mark tried desperately to get up; he’d fallen in the middle of the restaurant, that he unfortunately remembered immediately. There had been people around, guests watching, and he immediately felt his face flame with embarrassment. Oh, Elijah is going to kill me.

That was when he realized he was no longer in the restaurant. Mark placed a hand over an aching eye; was it all a dream? He looked down – no, it couldn’t be. He was still in his tailored suit, the tie and ciff links missing, but otherwise dressed to the nines.

“Whoa there, kid,” a familiar voice came from the doorway. “Go ahead and lie back down.”

Mark blearily glanced towards the voice. There, just outside his bedroom, stood Elijah, a steaming cup in one hand and a thermometer in the other. Fuck.

“Shit, Elijah, I’mb so sorry I ca – HTSHH-ue! HRRSHH-ue! Fuck, ’scuse mbe,” Mark, any facade of health finally washed away, used his expensive suit jacket to wipe his nose. Elijah glided across the small room and sat on the foot of the bed, handing the younger man the cup. Tea.

“Save your breath,” Elijah said. “You already apologized about a hundred times at the restaurant.”

He had? Mark gave Elijah a confused look, and sat back on the pillows behind him. He hadn’t even realized he’d come to at the restaurant at all.

“Mmhmm,” Elijah said, nodding. “To me. To Matt. To the guests. To the EMTs. I would think you’d be apologized out.”

EMTs? Mark cringed; as if he hadn’t been embarrassed enough. He wanted to ask, but at the same time he figured it was probably better that he didn’t remember. Small mercies, he thought.

“Lij,” Mark croaked, taking a sip of the tea, “I really amb… sorry. I mbean, I can’t imagine how mbuch I embarrassed you. Thangk you for bringing mbe home… I understand if you can’t…let mbe, uh. Work there. Anymore.”

Mark, destroyed by fever, and aches, and what was probably some sort of bronchitis-sinus-infection super-fucking-hybrid, couldn’t help but let the angry, ashamed tears fall as he said it. Matt wasn’t here, which most likely meant he was out both a boyfriend and a job. You fucking idiot. You stupid, fucking idiot, how dumb could you -

Elijah broke through the screaming in his head – he took Mark’s arms in his hands, placed his cup on the side table, and pulled him in for a hug. “Mark,” his boss said, “you really had us worried.” He pulled the younger manager back, concern painted on his face. “Of course you aren’t fired, I don’t know why you’d think that of me,” he said, a moment so raw that Mark felt like he’d been sucker-punched. “You should’ve just told me you were so sick. So you could go and rest. I would’ve even let Matt go with you.” Elijah patted his knee then, and handed Mark back the mug. “It’s just a restaurant, Mark. You’re more important than service.”

Mark felt his eyes well up once again. Had anyone ever told him he was worth more than the work he did? He wasn’t sure. He wasn’t sure, and that felt like an even harder gut-punch.

“I just…” he managed, wiping beneath his eyes. “I just didn’t wandt you to replace mbe. I’mb sorry for letting Mbatt get mbe sick.”

At this, Elijah actually laughed. “Mark,” he said, “you’re young. You’re in love; it comes with the territory. I was annoyed because Greyson and Matt are constantly getting everyone in that restaurant sick. I wasn’t trying to attack you.” He smiled then, a small and slightly sad smile. “I’m sorry if that’s how to came off.”

Mark didn’t know what to say; he felt awful, like he’d been hit by a semi, and he just wanted to sleep. See Matt. Apologize for being a dick. And sleep.

“Is Mbatt mad at mbe?” he croaked, pulling his legs into his chest. This time, Elijah actually laughed.

“I don’t think Matt knows how to be mad at you,” he said. “He’s just closing up the line; he was actually the one who brought you back here, but you were racked out so I said I’d come keep an eye on you till he got back.” Elijah shrugged, gave a little knowing smile. “He’ll be back soon. Okay? We don’t have to talk any more about this now. Just… try to sleep.” He patted Mark’s shoulder; a fatherly gesture from a man who claimed to know nothing about being a parent. “I’ll call Matt.”

Finally, finally, Mark conceded. He wanted to thank Elijah, or maybe apologize again, but he couldn’t make his mouth form words. Instead, he just nodded, grateful, and sank back into his pillow. He felt his eyes close, and allowed himself, for once, to let someone else take care of him.

He knew, maybe for the first time in his life, that he was safe.