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theculturedmarxist · 3 years

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Since the pandemic began, there has been a lot of talk about the supposed lack of scientific information available at the outset, a void which led to our failures to contain the virus. The science has evolved, this line of thinking goes, allowing us to pursue the proper mitigation strategies.

On the one hand, of course, that is true for any event like this. Especially one so dramatic, involving a global pandemic with a novel pathogen. We learn more as events proceed.

On the other hand, that’s not a completely accurate reflection of what happened. A lot of what was known from very early on took months, if not more, to make its way into our public health guidelines. Some are still being debated, to great frustration.

Perhaps one the most striking examples of all this is what happened with what we learned, and refused to learn, from the Diamond Princess cruise ship in February of 2020, a tragic natural experiment if there ever was one. Thousands of people were trapped inside a cruise ship as the disease spread. Besides the tragedy, it allowed us to observe what happened with the coronavirus inside a closed environment, revealing many things that could be harder to discern in a large, open city.

I recently watched the HBO documentary on the cursed cruise ship, which was one of the first big outbreaks with global attention. It was, of course, a tragedy: what started with single reported infection ended with 712 known infections and 14 deaths. When it was ongoing, in early February, it was the biggest outbreak outside of China, accounting for half the known cases.

It all started on February 1st, when the first passenger who had disembarked six days earlier was confirmed to have been infected. By February 10, at least 135 people were confirmed to have been infected in a rapidly growing outbreak despite all the passengers being entirely quarantined in their rooms. Despite the quarantine, 567 of the total 2,666 passengers on the ship eventually tested positive.

The first crucial piece of information needed to contain this disease has been the fact that it transmits from people without symptoms. In the HBO documentary, the ship’s doctor reiterates that by February 9th, he was sure that people without symptoms were infecting others. That fact had already been reported in scientific papers, urgently proclaimed by China’s minister of Health in January of 2020, apparent from multiple epidemiological reports already in the record. But many experts in the Western world found that difficult to believe (a topic I covered before for this newsletter), and we did not act upon this crucial piece of information until much later in the pandemic (I wrote about transmission from people who were not sick, and thus could not know they were infected, in March of 2020 in my first op-ed calling for masks—it was so clear even then that I had no problem convincing the fact-checkers at the New York Times).

Watching the documentary, it also becomes very clear that the disease is airborne. There really is no other reasonable explanation for how 567 passengers confined to their rooms, served food by heavily masked people, would get infected at that scale that quickly. In fact, this airborne transmission was quickly discerned by scientists around the world. One of the architects of Japan’s mitigation strategies, Dr. Oshitani, had told me that this was the case that convinced him that the pathogen was airborne (I had interviewed him for this article on aerosol transmission and ventilation for an article I wrote last July).

But it wasn’t evident just to a select few. Here’s an interview with a BuzzFeed science journalist explaining it in a pretty straightforward way on February 23, 2020:

GARCIA-NAVARRO: Cruise ships, as you wrote, are notorious for spreading illnesses. I have to start by asking, are epidemiologists really surprised that after two weeks, more than 600 people have been infected on one ship alone?

VERGANO: The people we spoke to who've studied this sort of thing in the past aren't surprised at all. And it sort of keyed on the question of, how does this virus behave? And now it's becoming apparent - or it seems apparent - we have to be very careful...

GARCIA-NAVARRO: Right.

VERGANO: ...That it's more like the flu, like influenza A, where airborne transmission earlier in an infection - during the sneezing rather than coughing stage - seems to be a factor here. And that brings into play the question of how this ship was ventilated and, you know, airborne transmission in general.

GARCIA-NAVARRO: Well, let's talk about the ventilation system.

VERGANO: So the people who've studied this - and one of the surprises here was that there actually has been a lot of research looking into this question - say that ventilation systems on cruise ships aren't any good at stopping airborne diseases from spreading, that there've been studies of flu where you have, in a week's time, you know, one patient infecting 40 people. And likewise, the air filters simply aren't designed to screen viruses. After a while, the whole system gets gunked up with it. And just speaking, sneezing, coughing in your ward room - that gets picked up by the air system, you know, and...

GARCIA-NAVARRO: And it doesn't get filtered out and maybe gets passed on.

VERGANO: In the past, that's what's happened. And unless this cruise ship had some kind of impossible-to-have ventilation system, that was going on.

For reference, here’s the contact tracing data on the ship from Japan from February of 2020 which clearly shows that non-close contacts are playing a significant role:

[graph]

The third crucial piece of the puzzle of transmission was determining whether this pathogen behaves like flu (like the H1N1 in 2009), which spreads in a fairly uniform way, or if it was overdispersed, meaning that a few people infect many in clusters. (Here’s an article on that topic I wrote later in 2020).

The overdispersion was harder to discern from Diamond Princess alone. But on that puzzle, too, the early contact-tracing from multiple countries was already clear, that clusters were playing a big role. So clear that here’s the graphic on the role of clusters Japan was already including, in February of 2020, in its documents for contact-tracers:

[img]

And here’s a paper that was published officially by June 30th, but had been available since February of 2020 describing the approach:

[img]

Put all three together: airborne transmission, clusters driving the epidemic, and presymptomatic transmission. Not only do we get a clear and consistent picture of many things that have happened since, we also get the mitigation strategy. Further, all three dimensions support each other: transmission from people not (yet) coughing or sneezing very much argues in favor of aerosol transmission, which explains how large clusters can be driving the epidemic and how transmission in a situation like that ship can occur. And the mitigation and other strategies become clear: pay attention to clusters and ventilation, universal masks, different policies for indoors and outdoors, etc.

But all that happened far away, you might be thinking. We didn’t have examples like that to study here, and there might have been language differences and other barriers. That’s not even really true, as a lot of these papers got published in English as well, but let’s put that aside for a moment. Take a look at the Skagit Valley Choir case in Washington state. Careful, pandemic-aware people showed up at a huge space—distanced, no hugs, hand-sanitizers everywhere—and 53 of them got infected in one evening. They had even propped the door open to avoid knob touching. And yet, this event was not seen as definite evidence of aerosol transmission. It was not even seen as a definite evidence of rare aerosol transmission—a position that would still be wrong, but at least plausible, essentially arguing that happened but it was a one-time thing.

I am not linking to all those who argued against the facts, because focusing on individuals is not correct. But multiple experts insisted for a long time that the infections might have resulted from close contact or fomite transmission during break, or been the result of snack sharing. The CDC report on the Skagit case mentions aerosols as a possibility, but just that: a possibility and emphasizes how fomites and contact were possible as well.

However, as a recent Times article on choir case notes, aerosol scientists had immediately noticed what had happened, and what was actually likely, and what was really a stretch:

If, as the C.D.C. and the World Health Organization were then insisting, the virus was passed mostly through contaminated surfaces, known as fomites, or droplets exhaled from an infected person that would fall within six feet, how and why did so many members of the Skagit Valley Chorale get sick? Could all 53 of them really have touched the same door handle, or orange, or folding chair? Had all of them stood face to face, talking to one another, less than two yards apart? Intuitively, the choristers knew what must have happened: The virus had drifted throughout the room and lingered in the air they breathed.

Eager to make sure others could learn from their experience, Burdick and the chorale leadership readily agreed to interviews. On March 29, an article appeared in The Los Angeles Times that described their rehearsal. One of the millions of readers who saw the story was Jose-Luis Jimenez, an aerosol scientist at the University of Colorado, Boulder. He and nearly 40 of his colleagues were trying to get the W.H.O. to acknowledge that the virus was being transmitted through aerosols — particles that can stay aloft and float considerable distances. (U.S. officials had been playing down this prospect. In late February, the C.D.C. director, Robert Redfield, said the widespread wearing of masks was unnecessary; in early March, the National Institute of Allergy and Infectious Diseases director, Anthony Fauci, said much the same.) Jimenez dashed off a note to the reporter, Richard Read, and described the case as “the clearest example of that potential mode of transmission.” He wanted to investigate. Read connected him with Carolynn Comstock, who provided answers to a long list of questions about where everyone sat and what they touched.

Dr. Jimenez did indeed do the necessary investigation and publish a very good paper, tracing what had happened. I’ve since interviewed, and later collaborated with Dr. Jimenez (on an upcoming paper in The Lancet—it will be out soon) and he’s certainly outspoken (as he should be!) but my experience is that he’s been very open to debate and consideration of all evidence. Here’s how he describes it to the New York Times:

The outbreak also provided crucial evidence for scientists seeking to understand how the virus was being transmitted. In the months that followed, Hamner and Jimenez, along with their respective colleagues, published separate studies of the Skagit Valley case. Hamner’s, which appeared in the C.D.C.’s Morbidity and Mortality Weekly Report last May, noted that “the 2.5-hour singing practice provided several opportunities for droplet and fomite transmission, including members sitting close to one another, sharing snacks and stacking chairs at the end of the practice.” But the notion that those activities caused so many infections, as Jimenez characterized it to me, is “absurd.” He says that that emphasis helped enable the W.H.O. and the C.D.C. to maintain and defend their guidelines. They have since revised them to acknowledge that the virus is transmitted by aerosols — the W.H.O. on July 9, the C.D.C. on Oct. 5. But many scientists, Jimenez included, argue that they still haven’t stressed enough that inhaling aerosols is the dominant mode of infection, which has led entities like schools and public-transportation agencies to put time and money into cleaning regimens that would be better spent on masks and ventilation. “We proved how you get this thing,” Comstock told me. “And it’s so damn frustrating to watch the news and see that they’re ignoring it.”

As I said on Twitter upon reading this article, to imagine fomites playing a major role in such a case—transmission to 90% of the careful, distanced people present in a large space in a single evening—requires contortionist thinking, to put it politely.

[tweet]

And although this may seem hard to believe, contortionist thinking is exactly what we encountered for a long time. Alternative explanations were tossed out: What if the people shared snacks? What if it was the folding chairs? What if, what if, what if? Unlikely, if not downright impossible scenarios kept being raised as reasons for doubt, rather than accepting the evidence that had been screaming at us, not just from one case either but from multiple streams of evidence, all over the world.

Dr. Jimenez had a recent thread on his experiences. Something he said in the thread really struck me:

[tweets]

It’s not a good moment when a prominent scientist—who was, along with others, evidence-based, correct and prescient on a topic of great importance within his expertise—feels the need to look up “gaslighting” because he is lacking the word to otherwise describe his experience.

I realize that there is a lot of focus on misinformation that we recognize: the claims of 5G spreading via vaccines, of many deaths following vaccination, claims that vaccines don’t work at all, or even the idea that vaccines might have caused the death of a 99-year old, already visibly infirm, prominent member of the royal family in the United Kingdom. I understand all that and the role of such misinformation. But as I close the misinformation trifecta series about problems beyond the ones that are “over there,” committed by others, I’d like us not to forget what actually happened in more mainstream and arguably more important circles, and is still influencing how we have been responding—and failing to respond—to this pandemic.

#substack #covid-19 #tufecki zeynep #science #epidemiology #gaslighting

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slimysnaildaddy · 4 years

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Hi! Do you mind explain some more about Tourettes? I got kinda shocked that the percentage of people with coprolalia is so low, I've always herd that it was one of the main symptoms

Sure thing! I actually love talking about it, the more people are informed the less stigma there will be and the better people with Tourette’s Syndrome and other tic disorders will be treated.

The most visible symptom of Tourette’s is what’s known as “tics”. You’ve probably heard of tics as in like a “nervous tic” such as someone tapping their foot. There are many kinds of tics, but they’re usually divided into two categories, and then within those categories, they’re divided again.

A motor tic is a tic based in movement of some sort. Snapping fingers, tapping feet, scrunching one’s face, sticking out one’s tongue, or blinking rapidly are examples of motor tics.

A vocal tic has to do with making noise. Saying something, coughing, whistling, and making a humming noise are good examples.

You can divide both of those into simple tics and complex tics. A simple tic is usually a single basic movement or sound, such as a clap or a single sharp whistle. A complex tic usually involves more than one movement or sound (speaking counts as a complex vocal tic).

Complex tics can also be a combination of motor and vocal. For example, I often jerk my head to the side or throw my head back and make a loud honk that sounds a lot like a goose.

Tourette’s syndrome is one of many tic disorders, but has one of the most specific and complex diagnostic criteria of all of them. When I was diagnosed at 15 (about 6-7 years ago) the criteria were:

Patient must have at least 5 motor tics and at least one vocal tic, consistently over a period of at least one year.

Tics are often somewhat random, but only in that they can happen at seemingly random times (more on that later). Most people have a “set” of tics that they have, unique to them. For example, I jerk my head or clap or slap my chest, sometimes I stomp and I also say things like “I eat worms” and “hot dogs”. Two of my most well known tics that are meme’d to hell and back by my close friends are “I fuck gargoyles” and “Hit or miss, I guess I’m drinkin’ piss”. Both of which are examples of coprolalia.

Coprolalia is a very common stereotype, but as I said in my post only 10% of people with Tourette’s present coprolalia. I think the reason it became so famous is because it’s very shocking and visible, similar to how a lot of blind people in media use white canes or wear an eye covering all the time, while only a relatively small percentage of blind people in real life do those things. I happen to be one of those people with coprolalia, and I do sometimes feel like I’m playing into a stereotype, and it can genuinely be a struggle to be in public spaces or around people who don’t know I have TS when I suddenly bust out saying “I FUCK GARGOYLES” or “EAT SHIT, MOTHERFUCKER”.

Speaking of struggling with tics, there are quite a few tics that can be very painful or otherwise harmful. Like I said, I have a tic where I slap my chest and I usually do it with a lot of force. I also stomp (also with a lot of force) and slap or hit walls (do i need to repeat myself here? anyway my hand is in agony 99% of the time). And I don’t need to tell you that shouting about fucking gargoyles in a King Soopers gets you some weird looks. As a result, a lot of people are ashamed of their tics or feel very negatively towards them, which is one of the main reasons why triggering someone’s tics intentionally is considered a very bad thing to do.

And in regards to triggering tics, this is actually an interesting topic. For a lot of people, it seems that one of the most common ways to trigger a tic is to be reminded of it. Not necessarily directly, but seeing or hearing someone clap on TV will trigger my clapping tic. Yesterday there was a scene on TV where someone was describing how to bait a fishing hook with worms, and I couldn’t stop saying “I eat worms” over and over again until we had to pause the TV until I finished what I was doing and left the room. They can also be triggered/made worse by things like stress or excitement, though I find that doing something very distracting will often leave no room for my brain to tic.

I’ve seen a lot of people describe the feeling of needing to tic (called a premonitory urge) similar to the feeling you get in your sinuses when you need to sneeze or yawn, but in the place the tic will be. I experience that, but I also experience a more mental urge to do my tics (eg “I need to slap this wall exactly 15 times RIGHT NOW OR I WILL ACTUALLY DIE”) As a result, it is often (but not always) possible to tell when a tic is coming and sometimes you can worn people or attempt to hold it in, but...

Holding in tics is comparable to holding in a cough. The longer you hold it in, the more painful it will be, and the worse it will be when you actually let it out. Once a tic starts, you have to sort of... satisfy the tic. If you don’t do it just right or just enough times, you have to do it again. And again. And again. It’s almost impossible to stop until it’s run its course. This leads me to the topic of tic attacks, which I mentioned in my other post.

A tic attack is when someone starts ticcing (yes, that’s the verb, though I do see “ticking” as well) a lot uncontrollably. In my case (bc I have so many tics that involve jerking my body around or holding myself in weird positions), this usually leads to me falling to the floor in a writhing mass while trying not to accidentally bite off my own tongue and maybe screeching a little bit, and usually I’m too occupied with trying to relax to be able to talk. People have told me that it looks like I’m having a seizure, but that’s not the case. For some people, it’s simply a lot of tics at once. Tic attacks are usually (but not always) caused by stress or overstimulation.

Tics aren’t the only symptom of Tourette’s. There’s also attention issues and impulse control issues and emotional control issues as well, and some of the side effects of Tourette’s can be a bit debilitating. I lose energy pretty quickly, but caffeine and lots of sugar can just send me into an attack. I also get a compulsive urge to do shit that’s usually very stupid (”hmmm a stove burner. TIME TO PUT MY FACE ON IT”) but it’s a lot easier to resist than a tic. Stimming is also very common, though this may be partially attributed to the fact that TS is very likely to be seen in people who also are Autistic or have conditions like ADHD.

I hope this is enough information! Let me know if I need to tag stuff.

#serious time #tourettes #actually tourettic #cw mentions of involuntary self-harm #asks

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dovechim · 5 years

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a remedy for mondays 01 (m)

➾ 11.2k

➾ summary: all you wanted was just one day off work. but for that to happen, you need to invent a plausible reason. and then somehow, somewhere along the way, things get out of hand, and now people think you’re having a baby with your co-worker Park Jimin after a one-night stand. confused? join the club.

➾ warnings: impregnation kink (all that jazz, u guys should know by now), brief mention of pregnancy termination, future smut

➾ a/n: this is written purely for fun & i hope you can understand my humour!!! please don’t go having babies just for some time off work. by the time i post this, it will be monday where i live. i hope this brings you all some joy :-)

ps: thank you to @jimlingss, who always hears my crazy ideas out and encourages me to go for them. heck, sometimes she even brings it out of me. idk where i would be without you :”D

You hate this.

The saying goes: work to live, not live to work. But at this rate, you’d rather just not exist at all if you have to continue work at this god.darn.fucking.job.

All around you, people are huddled into their seats, heads bowed below the partition that separates the desks. Frankly, you think this whole open-plan office thing is just bullshit. Who the fuck wants to make eye contact with Jeon Jeongguk when he’s picking his nose in the middle of editing a spreadsheet?

Not you, that’s who.

You sink even lower down in your seat as you continue to stare your screen with a pounding headache. The numerous open windows on your desktop are just mocking you at this point. The morning seems to be crawling by. Usually, you ration out your morning coffee and breakfast to keep you going; so your morning goes a little something like this: arrive 8.30am, check emails, get water from the pantry and fuck about while your bosses aren’t here yet till 9.15am. Reply to some emails till about 9.45am, then sit in a daze till it’s 10am and time for you to drink your morning espresso and nibble at the small bun you bought from the bakery nearby.

This usually gets you to about 11am, only an hour more to go till lunch.

A job in the public service is perceived to be prestigious by most; so you suppose you should be thankful for your job dealing with family policy. But what outsiders don’t realise is that working in a governmental organisation as the utmost bottom rung absolutely sucks. There are so many standard operation procedures for nearly every single fucking thing, even emails to senior management needs to be vetted by someone in a higher position than you. As a result, things get done very slowly and even if they do get through to senior management, it might just get rejected because they decide that it’s not good enough. Then the work comes all the way back to you, and the whole dreary process starts again.

Not to mention your asshole boss. Bae Joohyun. Senior Director. She has a notorious reputation throughout the entire department for being a hell witch from Satan’s posse. In her meetings she demands utter silence from everyone other than the presenter; sneezes and coughs or pen clicks and typing are strictly forbidden.

Technically, she isn’t your direct superior, and you don’t work super closely with her, but she has this mandate that all leave requests for the entire department have to be approved by her. You’ve submitted requests 5 times in the past year, none of which have gone through. As a result you haven’t taken a day off in a good three years since you started working here. You still remember that one time she rejected your medical leave and called you to her desk. You’d been nursing a terrible flu, your complexion washed out and almost falling off your feet. Looking in the mirror that morning had been a complete shock. You thought a zombie was staring back at you.

Bae Joohyun had narrowed her eyes at you. “What’s wrong with you that you need to take emergency medical leave, _____?”

“I-it’s this cold, ma’am,” your voice was nasal and stuck in your throat.

Bae Joohyun had rolled her eyes and motioned for you to speak up. “I can’t hear you, stop mumbling for heaven’s sake!”

“I have a cold, ma’am! Has been so for the past three days,” you sniffled and pressed a tissue to your nose.

“A cold?” Bae Joohyun raised an eyebrow sceptically. “You seem fine to me. You look the same as you usually do. Get back to work.”

Sometimes you feel like this company, in all its pro-family views, treats married employees with children better.

The resentment grows inside you as you tap on your keyboard harder and harder, earning you a timid glance from Jeon Jeongguk opposite you. But you ignore him, continuing to type out a reply to someone who somehow failed to read your previous email and continued to ask the exact same questions.

“______?”

You absolutely hate it when someone approaches you from the back in your blind spot and startles you like this. Forcing a smile on your face, you sit up straighter in your chair and turn around. It’s Taehyung from the Baby Bonus Team, and he’s holding a folder with a smile on his face.

“Morning, ______!” He chirps with a sunny expression, and you can barely muster enough energy to greet him back, let alone match his level of enthusiasm on a Monday morning. “Could I just trouble you to update this for me? It’s just our operations manual for the Baby Bonus Team that hasn’t been touched in like… ages. I just need the HR section updated. Is that ok?”

Before you can even reply, Taehyung places a folder on your desk and his email appears on your screen, and he’s off. It’s not a secret that Taehyung loves his job to pieces. He loves children, loves babies, and loves it that he’s doing his part to contribute to the nation’s falling birth rate.

Well, not likethat,since you’re pretty sure he doesn’t have a girlfriend.

But everyone else here seems to love children. Over lunch with your team, all they do is exchange pictures of their children, their friends’ children, or some random baby from Facebook and coo over how chubby and cute they are. You stopped going to lunch with them after Mingyu from Pre-Schools team showed everyone a picture of his niece in a soiled diaper.

Most of your older coworkers who are married with their own families have pictures of their children on their desks. You’re forced to stare at these pictures with the resentment bubbling up inside you as you listen to their latest rant about how your proposal is too skimpy, lacks real research, that email of yours is poorly worded, needs to be recalled etc; so can anyone really blame you when you’re unable to dredge up even the slightest bit of adoration for those grubby faced gremlins?

Clicking open Taehyung’s email and finding the document he attached, you scroll down to the section he mentioned. You realise that he was being modest when he said that it needed an update. The whole fucking section comprises of just a single sentence, and you’ll probably have to write it from scratch.

Sighing through your nose, you click open an internet browser and do a quick google search for the general HR benefits for expecting women and their partners. You also open up the intranet to take a look at your own company’s mandates, which seem to be quite a whole lot more substantial than the general ones (which is only natural since your organisation is so pro-family in its viewpoints). 16 weeks of paid maternity leave, for a start.

Good god. 16 whole weeks? That’s practically 4 months. That’s almost half a year!!!

Obviously you know that having a baby wrecks the mother’s body, and is a major life change; that’s why they need that much leave time. But right now the concept of not having to go to work for that amount of time is simply blowing your mind. Especially since it feels as if you’ve been working non-stop for as long as you can remember.

On top of the 16 weeks is increased medical leave that can be taken any time before the baby is born. Your company is incredibly sympathetic towards pregnant women, which is only natural considering the line of work that you do in family planning. In fact, you know of a few colleagues from the Baby Bonus Team who took almost a whole month of medical leave, spread out, before they had their babies.

Not to mention the actual baby bonus itself.

Curious, you click back to Taehyung’s document and scroll up to the section on Baby Bonus. You scan through and gather that it comprises of a cash gift of $8,000 to $10,000, on top of several other schemes such as a savings account with the amount matched by the government. The total amount of cash receivable just for having one child is listed at the bottom of the page.

You sit back in your chair with a sharp breath. You never realised it was this lucrative to have a baby. Imagine receiving free money from the government, and having all that paid time off. All you need to do is just pop out one (1) baby, and that’s it. You can suck the government dry if you devote the rest of your life to being a baby making machine. See what Bae Joohyun has to say when you slam your maternity leave application on her desk.

The thought makes you smirk triumphantly.

But a moment later, the triumph fades as you remember your very, very single self. Without a boyfriend to knock you up, there’s no way this scheme would work.

Sighing, you shake your head to get rid of all the useless fantasies as you get back to work.

“Hey, _____. Meet our new joiner,” Jeongguk’s voice stirs you from the zoned out state you’re in, frantically typing away.

It’s well after lunch now; somehow the time had flown past while you were working on Taehyung’s document.

You look up to meet Jeongguk’s eyes, and then your gaze shifts to the slightly shorter man beside him. He is wearing a large pair of black glasses that cover nearly half his face; his blonde hair is parted down the middle and neatly slicked back. This man can’t even meet your eyes; he gives you a nervous little smile but his gaze is off, fixed somewhere on your shoulder. His white dress shirt is tucked in neatly to his black dress pants, but he is constantly fidgeting.

“Park Jimin. Welcome to the team, buddy,” Jeongguk slaps Jimin on the shoulder with a grin. “You’re sitting beside me.”

“Welcome, nice to meet you,” you smile and nod at him, but otherwise remain seated. No one can or will distract you from this document. You need to finish this by today, or else you’ll have to bring it home to work on it.

Park Jimin nods shyly as Jeongguk shows him to his seat. With this current arrangement, it means that the three of you are all facing each other in this cluster of desks. Sighing internally, you watch Jimin take his seat and arrange his things, see him glance shyly at you from behind his enormous glasses before his eyes dart away and he hides behind his desktop.

What a weird guy. He hasn’t said a single thing. Whatever. You turn back and resume typing, but then your phone chimes with an email notification.

CONGRATULATIONS!!! YOU HAVE WON MEET AND GREET PASSES TO MEET agust d TOMORROW!!!

Your heart skips a beat and you abandon typing just to open the email. You bid for these meet and greet passes months ago when you bought tickets to see your favourite rapper in concert. No news had resulted in you concluding that you hadn’t won after all, and you were contented with the chance just to see agust d in real life.

But now…

You scroll down to look at the details of the meet and greet.

24 September 2019, from 4pm (please see your specific timeslot on your attached passes)

Each meet and greet session comprises of: an up close, INTIMATE, one on one opportunity to chat and take photos with agust d, lasting for 15 minutes

Your heart sinks as you check the time on your pass. You end work only at 6pm, and when you’d bought the tickets you thought it’d be fine for you to go straight after work since the concert only starts at 7pm. There’s no way you’ll be able to take half day leave to attend the meet and greet. There’s no way Bae Joohyun would let you.

Sitting back in your seat in despair, feeling the angry tears well up in your eyes and the frustration cloud your chest, you don’t notice a pair of meek eyes behind black glasses peek out behind the desktop.

All that’s going through your head is: there has to be a way, there has to be a way.

There’s no way you’re letting these passes go to waste just like that. There’s no way you’re not meeting agust d just because Bae Joohyun has a stick up her ass.

Tuesday morning finds you at Bae Joohyun’s desk with a leave application filled out. You carefully set it on her desk, knowing full well that she comes in at 9.30am on the dot every day.

Rumour has it that she colour codes her outfits based on her mood that day. As you slink back to your desk, you catch a glance of her clad fully in black, striding powerfully into the office in her black pumps.

Your heart sinks as Jeongguk sings out a cheerful good morning to you and Park Jimin, whom you hadn’t even noticed was already at his desk.

“Morning, Jeongguk,” you mutter under your breath. “Morning to you too, Jimin.”

The newcomer does nothing more than nod at you as he ducks back behind his computer. But today you don’t have the bandwidth to wonder about him as you click over to Taehyung’s email about the document from yesterday.

“Hey, aren’t you going to see agust d tonight?” Jeongguk sits up straighter.

“Yeah, why?” Your reply comes clipped, already in a bad mood just from anticipating your rejected leave application.

“I heard the results of the balloting for the meet and greet passes came out yesterday,” Jeongguk’s bright eyes are on your face. “Do you know agust d, Jimin?”

The blonde haired man shrugs as part of his face appears from behind his computer.

“Anyway, I think only like five people got the passes, and as of yesterday night, there are already bidders on the black market willing to pay almost a thousand just for one pass,” Jeongguk continues on.

“Huh, really? Who’d be that crazy to pay that much money?” You muse, looking at your phone.

“Right?” Jeongguk sighs dramatically. You know he’d be extra salty if you told him you won passes to the meet and greet. You’d already made the mistake of letting slip that you managed to get a VIP ticket, and Jeongguk had sulked for an entire week after that. “I mean, what are the chances anyway? If you think about it, those people who won the passes must be die-hard fans, since you can only win one if you managed to get a VIP ticket. Which die-hard fan would sell their hard won passes like that?”

The conversation tapers off as you reply to some emails, but you can’t help but glance back at your phone. A thousand dollars just for a meet and greet pass. That’s just crazy. The amount of money some people are willing to spend… it almost makes you wonder if you could… sell it since you can’t make it anyway…

No. No. You can’t sell agust d’s love just for a thousand dollars. You wouldn’t even sell it for a million dollars. Shame on you.

Hushed whispers suddenly erupt around you, and Jeongguk hisses like a startled cat.

“Shit, SD’s coming! Fuck, I was in the middle of a game,” Jeongguk scrambles to turn off his phone, muttering under his breath that his teammates are going to kick him off the team next time.

You sit straighter in your seat and turn your head towards the aisle. Sure enough, Bae Joohyun is fast approaching like a hurricane bent on destruction. Her face is as black as her outfit.

“Jimin, since you’re new, just copy what I do. Look at your computer and don’t speak unless spoken to,” Jeongguk’s eyes are wide with fear, but he is frantically typing away on his keyboard, turning to glance at the timid man beside him. “Got it? Don’t show any fear, she can scent it like a shark with blood in the water. No matter what you do, don’t make eye contact with her if she isn’t talking to you.”

When Jimin doesn’t respond, Jeongguk glances hurriedly to the younger man. “Did you hear me?!”

“Y-yes.” It’s the first word you’ve heard this man utter, and it is somewhat strangled and you barely catch it over the rising panic that unfolds around you.

“Who d’you think she’s here for?” Jeongguk whispers to you.

“No idea,” you choke out with a closed throat, even though you have a very good idea who she’s here for.

As Bae Joohyun nears your cluster of desks, she slows down. Her eagle eyes scan the floor where all the employees are huddled at their seats, typing away with hunched shoulders. You can feel her gaze land on you, and you close your eyes briefly to say a prayer for mercy.

“______.”

Your name is uttered into the silence, and Jeongguk’s eyes shift just a fraction to glance at you. They are wide with fear. Beside him, Park Jimin’s eyes dart to yours from behind his thick black glasses. But none of them move.

“Y-yes?” You turn in your chair to face Bae Joohyun.

“You applied for emergency half day leave this pm, am I correct?” The witch herself holds up your leave application form. “Seeing as it’s this last minute, it must be urgent. What’s wrong with you this time?”

It’s dead silent. Everyone is pretending to work at their desks, but you know all too well that what they’re really doing is eavesdropping on this conversation. Well, eavesdropping is too generous a term, considering that this conversation is made fully public.

“I… I’m…” You stutter and stumble over your words, struggling to think of a plausible excuse. Some part of you had hoped for a miracle, prayed to the gods eight times last night that Bae Joohyun would be in a merciful mood this morning and grant you the leave without asking.

You glance at Jeongguk, and by now he’s worked everything out silently in his head. His expression says everything. But he doesn’t dare to even look you in the eye.

Instead of him, you realise that another pair of eyes are watching you instead. Park Jimin’s head is tilted to the side, his eyes are observing your mini panic attack without darting away for once.

“Well? What’s wrong with you, I asked,” Bae Joohyun demands.

You can practically hear the clock ticking off the seconds till her patience runs out. Between that and Park Jimin’s persistent stare, your mind just goes blank, and you utter the first words that come to mind.

“I… I’m having morning sickness!”

“What?” Bae Joohyun’s tone is, for the first time, one of shock. “What did you just say?”

Despite Bae Joohyun’s presence, Taehyung from Baby Bonus has turned around in his seat. “Morning sickness? You don’t mean to say you’re…”

Your eyes dart around wildly all over the place in response to what you think Taehyung is implying. God dammit, if not for his fucking comment, you could have diverted it down a less conspicuous path.

“Pregnant?” Namjoon from HR pipes up. “______, are you pregnant? When were you planning on notifying HR?”

Oh god. Things are moving too fast. Slowly, people are turning around in their chairs and inviting themselves into what should be a private conversation between you and Bae Joohyun. Curious looks are directed your way, and you are tongue tied.

“______, I didn’t know you were married! You’ve been keeping it from us this whole time?” Someone from Pre-Schools, you think his name is Seokjin, exclaims in a chiding tone.

“No!” Your voice bursts out from somewhere. It sounds far away to your ears. “No, I’m not married!! I just had a… a… a one night stand.”

Fuck. You’re digging yourself into a deeper hole.

“A one-night stand?” Bae Joohyun narrows her eyes. Somehow you can see that she doesn’t really buy it. She is scanning your face intently, and if there’s even a shred of uncertainty, she will catch it.

“With him!” Pointing at the one person who’s been silent all this time, you can feel the gazes shift from you. You know what they say about a liar. They always have this compulsive need to supplement their lies with arbitrary details.

But it works, and everyone’s attention is now on Park Jimin. You can see his eyes dart around briefly for a moment before they return to yours. But they don’t seem any more panicked or surprised than they usually do. He is as cool and collected as he always is, and he doesn’t say a word, as usual.

“Damn, you and Park Jimin?” It’s Jeongguk who speaks up this time. “Who would have thought? I mean, the guy just started yesterday, that must have been hell of a welcome party you gave him.”

Several giggles and snickers break out in response to his lewd joke.

“Shut up Jeon, that’s not how pregnancy works,” Namjoon rolls his eyes. “They must have met each other months ago. Is this going to be another HR concern though? Inter-departmental relationships?”

Bae Joohyun glances down her nose at you derisively. “I have no wish to know what you do in your free time. But I must ask, Ms _____, that you inform HR immediately of any condition you have that might affect your ability to work.”

The intimidation wrought by Bae Joohyun is replaced by anger at her words. No wish to know about your personal matters, when she was the one who decided it was appropriate to ask why you need to take leave in front of the whole department? What if this was a real situation and you were facing an unplanned pregnancy? Instead of being offered sympathy and support, you’re faced with judgement. This woman is entirely heartless and should not be the head of a pro-family planning division. Not to mention that discussing your leave application publicly is utterly inappropriate. It’s this thought that gives you the courage to speak.

“So can I be approved?” You look her directly in the eye, throwing your shame out the window. What’s done is done. Since the whole department thinks you got knocked up from a one-night stand with a colleague, you might as well use it to your advantage. “For my half day leave. Can it be approved?”

A few beats of silence follow as Bae Joohyun looks cornered for the first time. There is an unspoken pressure even as people turn back to their desks to continue working. If she turns you down in front of everyone like this, she could quite possibly get reported for discrimination against pregnant women. Though it is unspoken, your shoulders relax as you realise you have the upper hand in this situation.

Bae Joohyun takes a deep breath.

“Fine. Approved.”

Wednesday morning, Jeongguk is an eager puppy trailing after you, begging for pictures and a blow by blow account of the concert.

“Just watch my Instagram story or something, I literally have no voice to talk to you right now,” you roll your eyes. Truth be told, your voice isn’t that bad off, but you just want to bask in that post concert afterglow for a moment.

“What was he like in person? Did you pass him my fan letter?” Jeongguk is relentless this morning, and his never ending chatter makes Park Jimin peek out curiously from behind his computer.

When your eyes meet, you freeze on the spot like a deer in the headlights. On Tuesday you left right after Bae Joohyun approved you, seeing as it was almost lunch time anyway. You decided that after winning a war, one rightly deserves to enjoy a stress free, worryless night out before returning to the battlegrounds once more.

But now that you’re here, it is a whole different story. Park Jimin glances at you wordlessly before resuming typing, and the awkwardness is killing you. You feel bad enough that you implicated him in this whole mess, probably ruined his reputation around here and maybe even giving HR a reason to keep a closer eye on him. But regardless, you probably should talk to the man and attempt to explain things, and at the very least, apologise.

“…ask him when his next mixtape is dropping?” Jeongguk is still at it.

“Hey, um, Jimin? If you have a moment this morning, can I speak to you in private?” You lean to the side to attempt to catch a glimpse of Park Jimin.

There is a slight pause before Jimin’s head appears, and he meets your eye for a moment before looking away again. He nods once before turning his head in the direction of an empty meeting room.

“Woah, should you be doing that in your condition, though?” Jeongguk comments with a lewd smirk even as his eyes lower to your mid-section, and you give him a scathing glare in response as you close your laptop.

“Shut up, Jeon. Just for the record, I ripped up and threw your letter in the trash,” you hiss at him, eliciting a horrified gasp as you follow Jimin to the meeting room.

“So, um…” You start off awkwardly once the door is closed.

Park Jimin is twiddling his thumbs, head bowed shyly and he refuses to make eye contact with you. Now that you think of it, his nerd glasses actually suit him quite well, but it’s just a shame that he’s too painfully shy to actually look anyone in the eye. He is quite a good looking guy, but maybe he has issues with his self-esteem is all.

“I wanted to apologise, first of all. And also explain myself,” you take a deep breath. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have dragged you into my mess. It’s just that- I… I just haven’t had a fucking break from Bae Joohyun ever since I started working in this fucking place.”

All the resentment just pours right out, and you’d be ashamed of yourself for using vulgarities at the workplace were it not for Park Jimin finally glancing up at you with a tiny smile on his face.

“I heard the rumours about her. So they’re true.” Jimin’s voice is still a little hesitant, wondering how much he should be gossiping about Bae Joohyun with another co-worker who could so easily rat him out and get him in trouble. But then, seeing as you’ve already managed to implicate him within a day of knowing him, how much dirtier can you do him, really? The thought brings a wry smile to his face once more. But then again, it seems like everyone here is more or less united by their intense dislike for Bae Joohyun. You of all people probably dislike her the most.

“True? What kind of rumours did you hear? And from where?” Intrigued by the man whom you’ve exchanged less than two words with before claiming to have had a one-night stand and a resulting pregnancy with, you lean forward in your seat.

Jimin shrugs. “Glassdoor.”

His response catches you off guard, and you are laughing with your hands over your mouth. “Oh my god. Please tell me you read the one where someone spit in her coffee. That was me.”

Jimin raises an eyebrow. “Really? I thought that was by a 54 year old IT engineer.”

“I can’t be putting my real age and designation on there, can I?” You point out.

“Were you the one who bagged dog shit and hid it in her office?” Jimin has that tiny smile again, and you have to admit it’s sort of cute when he comes out of his shell. He is even more handsome when he smiles, brighter and somewhat infectious.

“19 year old marketing intern? Yep, that was me,” you sigh in contentment as you remember rage writing all those Glassdoor reviews after a particularly bad meeting that one week. You didn’t actually do all of those things, but just imagining it and writing public reviews was enough for you to get your imagined revenge.

“ ‘Hid some dog shit in her office so she can be reminded of how shitty her management style is’,” Jimin recites from memory. “You know, I almost withdrew my application because of that review.”

Jimin’s dead serious tone makes you laugh again. The sound of your laughter fills the empty meeting room, and you have to admit that this is the most relaxed and carefree you’ve felt while working here.

But belatedly you realise that you’ve gone very off topic, so you sober up and attempt to try to get things back on track again. “So anyway, about the um… one-night stand thing. We can just lie low for a while and make up some shit later. Tell them the baby didn’t make it or something.”

Jimin nods thoughtfully, tapping his chin. “Or we can say it was a false positive. Less for you to go through since people would be all over you with pity and sympathy if we said that. I don’t think you’d wanna be pretend to be distraught over an imaginary baby.”

“That’s right, you’re a genius!” You marvel the way he just comes up with these ideas so easily. “How did you know about false positives?”

Jimin only shrugs, pushes his glasses up on his nose a little and he seems to be blushing. “I studied biology as an elective back in university.”

There’s a pause of silence before you look him in the eye again. “I really am sorry, you know. For making you go through all this. I kind of just panicked and didn’t think before speaking.”

But Jimin doesn’t seem to be making as big of a deal of it as you are. “Y’know, it’s fine. It ispretty exciting to be accused of having a one-night stand on my very first day. Aside from that, things can only go up, right?’

It takes you a moment or two to realise that he’s making a joke, delivered in that deadpan way of his that betrays his sweet, innocent face. At your harried expression, Jimin breaks the act and giggles, and you nearly slump over with relief.

“So, I guess we have to act like we’re in a relationship too?” Jimin adds as an afterthought.

“It’s up to you, we don’t really have to make it that obvious,” you shrug as you get up from your seat and push the chair back to its original position. “I’m fine with being an unwed mother for a bit. I wouldn’t wanna trouble you any more than I already have. You don’t have to do anything else for me.”

Jimin is silent as he follows your lead toward the door. When the both of you are almost halfway back to your seats, he stops you with a brief clearing of his throat. “It wouldn’t bother me at all.”

You look back at him for a moment, and he just gives you another one of those shy little smiles as he goes back to his desk. For the rest of the afternoon, you find that you don’t really mind having an open office policy, not if it allows you glimpses of cute Park Jimin in his nerd glasses sitting opposite you.

The ruse goes on without a hitch for at least a few weeks. Here and there you get the odd look of curiosity and perhaps a little judgement from a few of the older ladies who tsk behind your back about you being a single unwed mother, but otherwise, things are better than ever. Just knowing that you have the freedom to take medical leave whenever you feel like it has improved your mood greatly, and the other day Namjoon from HR even came to tell you that you can come into work later if the morning sickness is really bothering you.

Most of all, people are also curious about the relationship between you and Park Jimin. Word has spread that he is the father of your pseudo baby by now, but thankfully no one is tactless enough to outright ask if you and Park Jimin are a couple now. Not even Namjoon from HR.

Monday morning comes, and you drag yourself into work, feeling slightly more worse for wear than usual. Every Monday, you have a progress meeting with your immediate superior that always leaves you in a bad mood after. It’s the same old tirade; getting piled with things that others have no time for, having previously submitted proposals rejected and being asked to redo them.

Today after the meeting, Jimin comes up to you just as you’re downing your fourth cup of coffee before 10am. He has a slightly anxious look on his face, one that’s out of place on his usual calm and composed self.

“Do you have a minute? We need to talk. Now.” Jimin turns immediately and starts walking towards the nearest meeting room, and in spite of yourself, your eyes are drawn to his ass in those pants. It almost makes up for the earful you got from your manager this morning. Almost.

“We’re in trouble,” Jimin says once you close the door to the meeting room. He is seated with his laptop open in front of him.

“What happened? Is it Taehyung from Baby Bonus again? I swear, if he accidentally deleted the whole archive, I’m going to shove a chair up his ass-“

“No, no it’s not about work,” Jimin swallows hard as he types something and turns his laptop to face you. “Over the weekend, someone wrote on my wall. They said- they wrote- just… just see for yourself.”

“Oh my god.” You hand flies to your mouth as horror slams into your gut. “I’ll kill him. I’ll kill that stupid punk with my own two hands. Delete it now!!!”

“That’s not the point,” Jimin’s voice sounds strangled as he directs your attention to the comments. “That’s my Granny. She saw it.”

The full extent of the damage done doesn’t hit you until you read Park JungMin’s comment.

“What was your granny doing up at freaking 5am???” You hiss in anger, poking Jimin’s shoulder.

“I don’t know- she’s an old person! She probably couldn’t sleep!” Jimin snaps back.

“Why didn’t you delete it immediately after you saw it!?” You accuse Jimin, pointing a finger at him. “None of this would have happened if you just deleted the post!!!”

“I only saw it this morning, for your information,” Jimin turns his head away from you and crosses his arms. “Forgive me for having a normal sleep schedule.”

“Fucking Jeon Jeongguk, I’ll kill him, I really will,” you mutter as you start to pace back and forth, already contemplating the numerous ways in which you can torture him.

“What are we going to do?” Jimin’s hands hover nervously over his laptop. “Granny will be so disappointed if she finds out it’s a lie. Maybe we should just come clean.”

You whirl around in indignance. “We can’t do that!!! It’s far too soon, if the truth comes out now, everyone will know I was just faking it. We need to wait at least three months. I researched, that’s the most likely time for a woman to have a miscarriage. Why did you have to add your grandmother on Facebook??”

“Hey-! She just wants updates on my life because she lives all the way in Busan!!” Jimin looks affronted when you mention his granny like that. “And if we’re playing the blame game here, if it weren’t for your concert, none of this would have happened in the first place.”

“That was agust d,” you say simply, as if it explains everything. “And that’s not the point. You have to tell your granny that it’s all a lie and tell her to keep it to herself.”

“But what am I supposed to say?” Jimin whines, his bottom lip jutting out and you swear you almost see him stamp his foot like a toddler throwing a temper tantrum.

“I don’t know, anything! Make something up!” You throw your hands up in exasperation.

“She has a weak heart, she can’t take it,” Jimin insists as he stands up and crosses his arms. “She’ll keel over in shock if I tell her there’s no baby. And she told me she’s already booked on the first flight to Seoul. You have to take responsibility.”

The absurdity of this situation means that you can’t decide if you should laugh or cry. “Well what do you want me to do? I can’t just magic a baby into my stomach like that!”

Jimin stays silent, and the implication dawns on you.

“No way. You’re insane. You can’t possibly mean that we should-“

“She wants you to come over for dinner tomorrow night.” Jimin says finally, his eyes now pleading. “She just wants to meet you. We don’t have to tell her that there’s no baby yet. Please?”

Oh. Well, for a second there, you thought Park Jimin was about to suggest something else entirely.

“It’s just one dinner,” Park Jimin pleads eagerly.

Your head is pounding, and the stress of the entire morning has caught up with you. Everything is too overwhelming, things are moving too fast and you’re too tired to argue with him any longer.

“Fine. Just one dinner. After that, we’re coming clean with Granny.” You fix him with a meaningful stare as his face lights up in glee.

“I promise!” Park Jimin grins as he claps his hands together. “Oh and ______... you might want to go easy on the coffee there. Pregnant women can’t have too much caffeine.”

This is ridiculous.

Just thinking that you could be curled up at home with a nice glass of wine in bed, instead of standing nervously outside some stranger’s house makes you more huffy and annoyed than usual.

Jimin beside you shoots you a look, and you roll your eyes.

“Did you hear me? Or do I have to repeat the entire story of how we met and ended up secretly dating for five months again?” Jimin nudges you in the ribs with his elbow.

“When I said make something up, I didn’t think you were going to become a scriptwriter for Marvel,” you roll your eyes back at him. “I’m just gonna let you do the talking. Ok? If they direct any tricky questions my way, I’ll just pretend I need to puke.”

Jimin sighs a long suffering sigh as he reaches for his keys. He always envisioned the first time he brought a girl home to meet his family as a wholesome affair. He imagined himself to be feeling over the moon, a little nervous but that was to be expected, and most of all, irrevocably in love with the woman standing at his side. Taking a glance at you now, Jimin can’t say this situation is ideal.

But hey, when life gives you lemons, right?

He opens the door and leads the way in, only to be accosted by a hug from his Granny having made it only about five steps in. Her comforting embrace and familiarity makes him relax again, and he hugs her back tightly.

“Granny! I missed you! How was the flight? Does your back hurt? You should have rested more! You should have let me pick you up at the airport,” Jimin says in a chiding tone as he places an arm around her, trying to steer her towards the living room area to take a seat.

But the stubborn old woman refuses with a smile that lights up her entire face when she catches a glimpse of you. “Ah, this must be ______! She looks so pretty! Too good for our little Jimin, I must say. Come in, come in!!! Take a seat and take a load off!!! You must be tired after working the entire day, and with the baby too.”

You can barely keep yourself from wincing when she mentions the baby, but otherwise, Jimin’s Granny is a very pleasant person. She exudes an aura of warmth and you feel at home with her immediately. Her compliments make you soft; and she seems to be incredibly genuine about them too. For the next five minutes, all she does is admire you; how smooth your hands are, how good your complexion is, how smart, kind and gentle you look, and also my oh my our little Park Jimin has managed to snag such a professional for a girlfriend.

“Granny, you’re embarrassing her,” Jimin mutters with a rosy blush spread across his cheeks as he stands beside the old woman. “And me as well.”

“Nonsense,” Granny chides Jimin as she turns to you with a smile that wrinkles at the corners of her mouth. “This is the first time our little Jimin has brought a girl home, you see. We were all worried that he was… you know, batting for the other team, which would be perfectly fine, but…”

“Granny!!!” Jimin actually does stomp his foot and cross his arms. The tips of his ears are red, the blush on his cheeks is prominent. “Granny, I’m hungry. Can we eat?”

It seems like Jimin knows exactly what works on Granny, because she turns around immediately and pats Jimin’s cheek. “Alright, alright puppy. We can eat now. Come, _____, you must be hungry too now that you’re eating for two. I asked Jimin about your favourites, I hope you like them.”

You glance questioningly at Jimin for a moment over Granny’s head as the two of you follow her to the dining table and have a seat opposite each other. While Granny’s warmth is nothing but welcoming, you can’t help but feel a little overwhelmed. This, at least, is not what you were expecting. Granny seems perfectly fine with the notion of you being pregnant with Jimin’s child without getting married first. Perhaps society is shedding its traditionalist viewpoints and you just hadn’t realised it.

“You know dear, when Jimin told me the news, I was so overjoyed,” Granny says with a wistful smile on her face. “It’s one of my wishes to see Jimin happy with a girl he loves. And looking at the two of you now, even if I die tomorrow, I’ll be content.”

“Granny!” Jimin admonishes sharply. “You can’t say that! Your health has been getting better, hasn’t it? Are you taking your medicines? Three times a day, like the doctor said!”

Granny pats her grandson’s hand. “I am, puppy, I am. What does an old woman like me have to live for if her only grandson doesn’t even visit her anymore? At least now I’ll have the baby to look forward to. You’ll let me take care of it for you, won’t you?”

This last part she directs to you, and you glance nervously at Jimin. This is most definitely not what you signed up for when you agreed to this dinner. With every passing second, the guilt just piles higher and higher, till you feel like you might have trouble swallowing your food.

“Mrs… Mrs Park,” you say hesitantly, speaking for the first time since you set foot in this house. Pseudo baby or not, it just wouldn’t do to hurt this kind old woman, especially since she seems so excited and happy to meet you.

“Call me Granny, please,” she says as she pushes an extra bowl of rice towards you. “You should have this too.”

“Oh no,” you say automatically. “I’m watching my weight, so I shouldn’t…”

But it was the wrong thing to say. Granny immediately perks up, sitting straight in her seat, her eagle eyes on you. “Watching your weight, dear? Why would you be doing that now? You should be eating well for the baby! Is it this little punk who’s making comments about your weight?”

Granny seizes hold of Jimin’s ear and pulls, and he whimpers in the midst of spooning a giant bite of rice into his mouth.

“NO!” You blurt out in a panic, seeing your coworker’s face screw up in pain. You have to admit that you’ve been in a number of interesting situations with Park Jimin thus far, but something tells you that this isn’t the worst of it just yet. “No, Granny! I- I take it back. I’ll eat.”

Granny lets out a hmph as she releases Jimin’s ear with a warning glance towards her grandson. As Jimin reaches for a juicy looking sparerib, Granny’s chopsticks dart out and intercept him, causing the piece of meat to fall back onto the plate. She then expertly picks it up with her own chopsticks and drops it on top of your rice with a satisfied smile.

Jimin turns to Granny with a pout on his lips, and when your heart skips a tiny, little beat, you know you’re in trouble.

Somehow, bad news always comes on Monday mornings.

Today it comes in the form of Park Jimin, again, as he drags you into a meeting room the moment you finish your meeting with your manager.

“What is it now?” You hiss at him as he locks the door suspiciously. “Do you really need to do that? You know people think we’re like, fucking in here, don’t you? Thanks to your buddy Jeon Jeongguk.”

“Wait, what?” Jimin does a double take. “No, that doesn’t matter. My parents. They want me to marry you.”

“WHAT?” You screech so loudly that Jimin winces and covers his ears. “Tell them no, for fuck’s sake!”

“They already apparently bought an entire plot of land in the baby’s name,” Jimin goes on adding to the bad news as if he were adding fuel to the fire. “It’s in Baby Park’s name.”

“Oh my god.” Your head swirls and you wobble on your feet, and Jimin reaches out to steady you as if you were actually pregnant. You push his hand away with an irritated glare to remind him that all this is just a ruse. One that you’re beginning to seriously regret having cooked up all those weeks ago.

“What are we going to do?” Jimin sighs as he runs a hand through his hair, taking off his glasses for a moment to rub at his temples.

“We?” You exclaim. “What do you mean, we? Why are you talking as if we’re already married? You need to resolve this situation on your own, buddy. It’s not my fault your family likes to jump the gun!”

“What about you then?” Jimin snaps back with a raised eyebrow. “Look, it’s been two months, almost three, and I don’t see you making any plans to hide a watermelon under your clothes or tell people that it’s all just a scheme you cooked up.”

You gasp indignantly. “I was- I was working up to that! You know, coming up with my cover story, setting the stage, all that!”

Park Jimin crosses his arms in disbelief. “Oh really? So you’re planning on coming clean with everyone and telling them you’re not actually pregnant? Is that why you’ve been taking medical leave every week, running to the bathroom to ‘throw up’ every morning that you’re noton leave?”

“Have you been watching me?”

“A little hard not to, considering you sit right opposite me!”

The two of you are panting and staring hard at each other, both wrapped up in your own anger.

“Look, I’ll forget everything else. Just tell your parents to sell the land or something. The price of land has gone up recently, I’m sure they can still make a valuable profit if they sell now…”

Jimin’s eyebrow twitches. “Sell the land? When they think it’s for their precious grandchild?”

“There. Is. No. Grandchild,” you spit back at him. “Oh my god. We’re just going in circles here. I need to get back to work. My manager already gave me hell this morning, and I don’t need this from you too.”

You leave him in the meeting room and make your way swiftly back your desk, waking your laptop and checking your emails. A few minutes pass before you can fully calm yourself down and reorientate to what needs to be done. First, you redo that spreadsheet, feeling slightly better once you drown out the entire world and just focus on the numbers and cells in front of you. In fact, you forget about this whole terrible mess for a moment or two.

“Hey, _______?” There is a tap on your shoulder, and you turn around to see your manager hovering behind you. She bends down to squint at your screen, “You’re not still redoing the spreadsheet, are you? Our meeting ended an hour ago, you should be done with that by now!”

“I-I’m sorry, something came up, and I…” your voice is weak compared to hers, and vaguely you can see Park Jimin lean over slightly in his seat. “I’m done with it now. I’ll send it over.”

“Good. And get started on the operations manual. I need it all by 5pm today.” Your manager gives you a pat on the back, starts to walk off, and then hesitates. “I know you’re in a rather… delicate situation, but that shouldn’t affect your ability to work. It’s a busy period of time, _____, and I expect nothing but the best from my team. Got it?”

You swallow hard as you try and return her smile. “Got, it, Manager.”

Turning back to your screen, tears are blurring your vision as you attach the document to an email and send it off. You can feel the curious stares of your coworkers all on you, and you feel more self-conscious than ever. Never mind that pretending to be pregnant is all a ruse. It was supposed to make your life better, give you some breathing space, but you feel more suffocated than ever.

You need some air. Now.

Standing up, you grab your phone and dip your head, striding for the exit quickly so that no one catches the expression on your face. Hopefully, they’ll think you need to puke or something, and not pathetically hide in a corner and cry your eyes out. Thankfully, this morning you had the foresight not to apply any eye makeup, so you can rub your eyes as much as you want.

This corner is actually pretty nice. It’s secluded that no one would accidentally wander in and find a hysterically sobbing woman, yet it’s not too far that you can’t make it back to your desk within five minutes if your manager calls. You wipe your face with the back of your sleeve, taking a deep breath and getting ready to go back and face everything once more, when you notice a pair of loafers standing a few steps away.

“Are you okay?” Park Jimin’s voice is familiar. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to… intrude, but you just looked so upset and… she was totally unreasonable. Using that as an excuse to comment on your work ethic. Just unacceptable.”

He is shaking his head with a serious expression on his face, and it makes you laugh suddenly. Jimin looks up in surprise, eyes wide, but then a small smile spreads across his face as well as he tucks his hands into his pockets. It occurs to you that if Park Jimin weren’t here, no one else would have come to check up on you.

“I’m used to it,” you shrug as you check your reflection in your phone screen. “It’s just… I just need to cry once and I’m fine. You weren’t supposed to see this side of me,” you attempt a weak laugh. “You’re only supposed to know the bad bitch side of me.”

“You can still be a bad bitch even if you cry every now and then,” Jimin shrugs as if it’s obvious. “If you’re done crying, can we go for lunch? I’m starving.”

You make Jimin buy you some meat and you wolf it down in front of him as if you really were eating for two. To his benefit, Jimin says nothing and only takes out his wallet when it’s time to pay.

On the way back to the office, feeling decently satisfied and absolutely sure that you have a tiny little food baby (with today’s dress being particularly unforgiving around the midsection), you can’t help but feel a little bit better. Maybe Park Jimin isn’t so bad after all.

“______? Oh my god, ______? Is that you?” A far off voice calls, and you turn back.

And you wish you hadn’t.

Min Yoongi comes striding towards you with a huge grin on his face, waving as if he can’t believe it’s really you.

“Shit shit shit,” you swear under your breath. How much unluckier can this day get?

Jimin looks at you quizzically.

“It’s my bastard ex who cheated on me by getting another girl pregnant,” you whisper to him by way of explanation. “They got married last month but I never responded to their invitation.”

“Oh,” Jimin says, immediately grasping the situation. “I got it. Don’t worry.”

“What?” You look at him in panic, seeing the expression on his face and not liking it one bit. “What are you gonna-“

But it’s too late now for any further conversation, since Min Yoongi is now in earshot. He grins again as he looks you up and down. “_____! What a surprise! Do you work around here?”

“Y-yeah, what a surprise too,” you say weakly.

“I haven’t seen you in ages!” Yoongi’s eyes dart to Jimin standing beside you for a moment, before they fall to your midsection. “But might as well. I wanted to congratulate you on the baby, because what a coincidence, right?”

He hands you a beautifully embossed invitation card with the words ‘Baby Shower’ on it, and you can feel your face draining of all colour. You swear under your breath.

“Oh! And this must be… the father-to-be?” Yoongi somehow doesn’t pick up on the escalating horror on your face, because he turns to Jimin and extends a hand of congratulations. “Congrats, man! How’s it feel? Excited to become a dad?”

Jimin sneaks a quick peek at your horrified expression. “Y-yes! Absolutely…. Um, thrilled, we are.”

At Jimin’s confirmation, Yoongi’s face seems to fall a little, and seeing it makes your heart clench in vindication. Serves that cheating little bastard right.

“I didn’t know you were seeing anyone, ______... let alone serious enough to… have a baby and all that,” Yoongi’s voice mellows a little as he directs his gaze back to you. “I thought you didn’t want to have children… for a while, at least.”

You detect a little bit of regret in Yoongi’s voice, and maybe a little bit of something you can’t quite put your finger on right now. In your five-year long relationship with him, Yoongi always made it clear that he wanted to have children as soon as possible. It was one of the major roadblocks in your relationship, and eventually it became the tipping point that drove him into the arms of another woman who was desperate enough to pop out his babies for him.

Wait a minute. It almost sounds as if Min Yoongi is trying to blame you for making him cheat. All of a sudden, you want to show him how you’ve been living all these months. Completely fine and happy without him. Better off, even. You want to make this cheating bastard realise that you’re not pathetic. You open your mouth in indignation, but before you can say anything, you hear Jimin’s voice.

“It all happened so fast, really,” Jimin shrugs as if it’s no big deal. “When I saw her I knew I wanted to spend the rest of my life with her, and you know how life is… We aren’t getting any younger either, so we thought why not try for a baby while we’re at it? She’s perfect for me, and we’re very happy together.”

Jimin does it better than you ever would have been able to. His words are so smooth that even you are convinced that the two of you are in a stable relationship together. Glancing at him, Jimin looks so self-assured and confident that he puts Min Yoongi to shame.

Min Yoongi looks shell shocked. “R-right. Th-that’s really nice, I’m ha-happy for you guys. Congratulations again.”

You have no idea how Jimin is making all of this up, but the look on Min Yoongi’s face is enough. It almost makes up for when you found out about the breakup through the pre-wedding invitations he sent you.

“But we- we haven’t really told anyone yet, so how did you find out?” A frown creases your brow as you mentally run through a list of people who know about this pseudo pregnancy. The whole company, for one. Jimin’s Granny. Jimin’s family. And now Min Yoongi. But the question is, who told Min Yoongi? It’s not like he has any links with Jimin’s family.

“I mean… I saw the bump,” Yoongi scratches the back of his neck as his eyes drop briefly to your waist. “And um… I know you blocked me on social media a while ago. But I just wanted to check in on you and see how you’re doing. And I saw someone post on Jimin’s wall about the baby. So I kind of put two and two together.”

There’s an awkward silence as your hands immediately fold over your waist, your cheeks heating up self-consciously. You can feel Jimin struggle not to burst into laughter beside you, and you surreptitiously elbow him hard in the ribs.

“Anyway, um… I hope you’ll come to the shower,” Yoongi nods at the invitation again. “It’s on Sunday, and feel free to bring Jimin too. I uh… invited your mom too. I mean, it’s just… Your family wanted to know how Yeji and I were getting along with the baby and… we were so close so I figured…”

At this point the humiliation can’t get any worse. So you decide to just cut him off with a formal smile that you hope doesn’t look too forced.

“We’ll be there, Yoongi. See you.”

It’s fine. It’s all fine. Even if Min Yoongi knows, it’s all fine. You can just attend this baby shower, just show your face for about an hour or so and then disappear from his life altogether. And then he won’t even know that you didn’t have a baby.

The very definition of co-workers means that you only see each other on weekdays from 9am to 6pm. But if that’s true, then somehow along the way, you and Jimin had progressed far beyond the point of just being co-workers, to the point that you’re somehow spending half of your weekend with him.

You sigh to yourself as you watch all your friends’ kids run about screaming at the top of your lungs. You’re already beginning to get a headache from all these irritating little gremlins making so much noise. At least you’re not being asked to play with or look after any of the children. Seeing that you and Yoongi had dated for a substantial amount of time, most of the attendees at this baby shower are your mutual friends, and it’s awkward to say the least.

At least you have Park Jimin with you to be your pretend boyfriend slash husband so you won’t seem like the pathetic ex-girlfriend attending her cheater ex-boyfriend’s baby shower for his new wife. So far there haven’t been any difficult questions, just curious looks from your friends whom you haven’t seen in a really long time because you’re just so tied up with work.

“Hey babe, come here! This is really fun,” Jimin shouts to you from one of the game stations, and you have no choice but to stop sulking in the corner like an evil brooding witch.

(One of your friend’s kids had pointed an accusing finger at you the moment you arrived at the shower with a not so thrilled expression on your face.

“Mama, why is the evil witch wearing yellow, mama? Is she here to curse Sleeping Beauty?”)

“This is really fun,” Jimin says again as he pulls the blindfold off with a grin on his face. “Pin the diaper on the baby poo.”

He points to a target board with a questionable looking substance smeared all over the centre of it. The person next in line is blindfolded and trying to pin the diaper in the centre of the board, and there are disappointed yells when he misses.

To his credit, Jimin really does look as if he’s having fun. He’s been the only person to score a point at this game, and he’s acing all the other games: guess the baby food, pin the sperm on the egg, etc etc.

“I’m notpinning the diaper on the baby poo,” you frown at him. Who the hell comes up with these games? “Is there any wine here? God, I need a drink.”

Before you can wander away, Jimin grasps your elbow. “You can’t drink,” he says with a serious, chiding look on his face. “You’re pregnant.”

“No one here knows that, do they?” You roll your eyes at him and sidestep a screaming toddler who is barrelling down the walkway. For someone who was present at the time of conception of this scheme, Park Jimin really is taking this way too seriously.

Jimin sighs and follows you to the beverages table in defeat. If he can’t stop you from drinking, the least he can do is hold up his jacket around you to make sure you don’t get caught. But then, a very rounded, glowing looking pregnant woman suddenly accosts you, and by the look on your face, Jimin surmises that this can only be Yeji, the woman Yoongi cheated on you with.

“Ye-Yeji, you look… um… wonderful!” Your strangled voice gets lost as Yeji envelopes you in a huge hug, forcing you to squeeze up against her bump. “Congratulations!”

The mother-to-be is all smiles, her makeup is perfectly done and there is an ever present glow on her face. She looks like an absolute goddess in her flowy white dress and wavy hair, and its moments like this that remind you that Yoongi left you for someone better.

“I feel wonderful, thank you!” She places a hand on her protruding belly. “Oh, I was just chatting with your mother over here, you haven’t said hi to her have you? She’s been complaining to me that you don’t have time for her anymore!”

Fuck. Your mother. You’ve been avoiding her calls and messages for the past few months, and you give her a weak smile as she comes over with a dark look on her face. It’s not that you’re doing this on purpose, it’s just that the breakup with Yoongi was beyond messy. Everyone’s parents are naturally on their side after a breakup, but somehow your parents remained on Yoongi’s. Every call would be about Yeji’s pregnancy, how their baby room was progressing, how many kicks she felt in a day, all those needless details that only felt like repeated stabs to the heart when you were trying to heal and get on with your life.

“…I’m so glad you could come. When Yoongi told me the news, I was so excited I thought my water was going to break!” Yeji is gesturing excitedly as she gushes to your mother, and you freeze in panic.

She couldn’t have…

“_____, I can’t believe you’re pregnant too!”

Her exclamation has a few of your friends nearby turning around, and a few of them start to clap. Yoongi elbows his way through the crowd, his hair matted with sweat as he pants with exertion.

“Baby, you were supposed to wait for my cue!” He admonishes his wife with a slight frown, but then he kisses her lips when Yeji pouts.

“I’m sorry, I couldn’t wait! It’s all just so exciting, I can’t believe _____ is going to have a baby too! I remember feeling so guilty in my first few months of pregnancy that I could barely sleep…”

“I know, I know, baby,” Yoongi shushes her with a kiss to her forehead. “Anyway, _____ and Jimin, we uh… we prepared something for you. We hope you like it, and uh… _____, I hope it can make up for all the shit I put you through in the past year.”

At this point, you don’t even dare to look at your mother. “Wh-what did you prepare?”

“It’s over there! In front of the photowall,” Yeji claps in excitement. “Go on! Everyone’s waiting!”

Everyone at the party clears a path for you and Jimin to make your way to the colourfully decorated photowall at the front of the party. On the floor in front of it sits a brown cardboard box.

With all eyes on you, you swallow hard and start to make your way to the photowall. Jimin follows behind you, whispering under his breath. “What the fuck is this?”

“Probably another lame party game or something… just play along,” you whisper back, your mind too preoccupied with thinking about how you’re going to explain your pseudo pregnancy to your mother. Knowing her disposition, it’s entirely possible that your father knows about it already, and maybe even your entire extended family, and… oh god-

The moment you step in front of the photowall, someone standing to the side of the box pulls something, and an explosion of balloons and streamers burst from the box. You are quite literally showered in confetti, and when you look up, there are four balloons spelling out the word ‘baby’, and another balloon with ‘congratulations’ on it.

“Congratulations on your baby!!!!” Someone shouts, and people are taking out their phones to take pictures of you and Jimin drenched in confetti. Someone claps, and soon, the entire party is clapping. There are hoots of congratulations, someone proposes a toast, your college friends are almost in tears, your sister is loudly announcing that this should go on Instagram, your mother is half crying and half glowering at you for not telling her sooner, and everyone is talking about you and your non-existent baby.

Beside you, Jimin is equally stunned, but unlike you, he isn’t at a loss for words. He pulls you in close, pretending to pose for the cameras with a jovial smile on his face.

He still has the gall to joke around as he says, “maybe we should have that baby after all.”

In the blink of an eye, things just got very, very out of hand.

Number of people who know about pregnancy

Whole company: (estimated 200 people)

Jimin’s Granny

Jimin’s family

Min Yoongi and wife

Attendees of Yoongi’s baby shower (estimated 50 people)

Your family

Total: 265 people

#bts #bangtan bookclub #bts jimin #bts fics

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agoodsfpage · 3 years

Text

“This is Morgan Winters, Barely Alive on GLNS News!” - Part 1

Hey! Posted this here and on the forum. Those of you who know me there will know this will not be the first time I've posted the first part of a story, promised to deliver more, and then abandoned the project within, like, an hour, but trust me, guys... I'm going to finish this one this time. I can feel it in my bones.

Anyway, something about the concept of a news reporter catching a cold has been weighing on my brain for just the longest time so I bring you this first part, in which our news reporters does *not*, in fact, catch a cold yet.

There is a little bit of sneezing and illness stuff at the end, but this is mostly about setting the scene, establishing some characters. I feel like actually having some kind of plot is a nice minimal standard to achieve with storytelling, but this might be why I'm always too lazy to finish telling them. If I do fail to post the second part of this one, my next story will just be called 'woman with a cold who is sneezing' and will just be about someone, like, going to various places.

With that in mind, do feel free to remind me to pick this up if you actually really want to see where this story (kind of inevitably) ends up going.

And, excuse the poor formatting. It is not my strong suit.

"...and despite facing calls to resign, the counselor has confirmed he'll remain in his post. From GLNS, this is Morgan Winters, back to you Alex."

Morgan yanked the earpiece out from her ear as quickly as she could, and ran a hand through her long black hair.

"How was that?" she asked Derek, from behind the camera, who gave a simple thumbs up in response. "Good," she said. "Now get me out of here. It's fucking freezing, and these old government buildings never seem to have any heating" "We got a taxi waiting for you outside to get you back to the studio" he replied, as he rewound the footage. "Think we're going to end up back in the van, though, if you ask me. Molly just took a phone call from the boss. Suspect she's going to be looking for you any minute now"

Morgan rolled her eyes and sighed. "Of course she is. What now? World's tallest scarecrow just collapsed? Local teen gets tongue frozen to lampost? Or are we going to interview the mayor's husband again, and hope he's sober enough to string together a full sentence this time?"

Derek shrugged. "I don't commission 'em, Morgan, I just film 'em. You'll have to ask her." "I'll have to avoid her, more like. I'm going to the office. I have a mountain of work to catch up on. I don't have time to do some twee interview with Farmer Dan about Potatofest '22, or whatever they want from me." "You do what you want. Taxi's that way, though. Next to the van" Derek replied, smirking, pointing to the east side of the building, and not taking his eyes off of the footage.

Morgan sighed and made her way to the city hall car park. She spied her taxi from across the road and started to walk towards it when she heard her name in an all-too-familiar and all-too-cheerful tone of voice.

"Slow down, Morgan" Molly called out, from behind her. Morgan closed her eyes, silently cursed her luck, and turned around to face Molly, who was dressed in a garnet-red beret, that (in Morgan's humble and, admittedly, uninformed opinion) badly compliment her curly, silver-blonde hair.

"I am so sorry, Molly, I almost forgot to wait for you," she said, forcing herself to smile. "That's alright, I'd just disappeared to make a quick phone call" Molly replied. "From the station," she said after a slightly uncomfortable pause. "Oh, they're always bothering us while we're busy. Well, I best be going, I need to get back to the--" "Could you do me a favor, Morgan?"

Morgan gritted her teeth, her green eyes lightly glazing over as Molly carried on.

"You see," Molly continued barely registering Morgan's expression, "the public health department just got in touch. It's that time of year when colds and such things are going around, you see. So, the department was wondering if we could send a reporter down to a local physician's to do a quick cold and flu safety report"

Morgan shook her head. "No, Molly, no, absolutely not. I told you, I'm done with these... nothing reports. I'm a serious journalist, alright? I have a degree-- two degrees! Two degrees, I have a Bachelors in Communication, and a Masters in Media and Journalism, okay? I should be covering far more serious topics than this. Health- public health isn't even something I know anything about. Can't you ask Alice to do it?" "We did ask Alice to do it!" Molly replied. "And?" "She can't" "Why not?" "Caught a cold."

Morgan rolled her eyes. "Well, what about Steve or Michael? They should be grateful for any work at this point, to be honest" "No, look, the department wants *you*. They've seen you! They think you have a really down-to-earth personality and a great presentation style. Perfect for delivering this kind of message."

Morgan paused. "They asked for me?" "Yes" "...and they think I have a great presentation style?" "Absolutely" "And a down-to-earth personality?" "Yeah, maybe. Anyway, look, if you do this, there's sure to be some more work coming your way. Good work, too. Not these fluff pieces, not these interviews with outraged retirees. You get to do what you want." Morgan really thought about it. "...No more local food and culture festivals?" "No more anything, just pure you." "...Fine. Fuck you, but... fine." Morgan replied. "When do they want me?" Molly looked at her watch and looked back up at Morgan. "Half an hour ago."

--------

It was not often that Morgan got to visit the more affluent side of town. She lived pretty far from here, and the people who did live here were wealthy enough to keep the cameras away from their neighborhood. While she wasn't thrilled about this assignment, she couldn't help but gawp at the mini-mansions, and luxury restaurants that lined the streets.

Still, all the money and lawyers in the world couldn't keep out the common cold. Almost every face she could spot from the van, was adorned with a red nose, or a tissue pressed tightly against it. Morgan shifted uncomfortably in her seat, as she turned her head towards her phone. She was really starting to regret this.

After a short drive, in which Molly had to negotiate with an incredibly congested toll-booth operator, the van pulled up outside the district's medical center. Derek scrambled out of the van to get the equipment ready, while Morgan and Molly went inside to meet the nurse they were going to be interviewing.

"Hey," Morgan said approaching the receptionist at the front desk, who was busy scribbling some notes into a pad. "Morgan Winters, I'm with GLNS news. This is Molly, I was told you both spoke on the phone about an interview?"

The receptionist looked up from her notepad and something instantly struck Morgan about her appearance. The long, wavy red hair, Morgan had already noticed from a distance. The bright blue eyes were distinctive but didn't immediately catch her notice. No, Morgan's attention was right away drawn to the sore, red rim that ran around the woman's nostrils, that was accentuated by the sudden and thick sniffle she gave.

"One moment..." she muttered, barely managing those precious m's and n's that would have lent clarity to what she said. She casually reached over a small PA system on her desk. "Ndurse Halloway? GLNS are here" she muttered, or something to that effect, at least. Some tinny, staticky voice gave a robotic reply, and the receptionist looked back up to Morgan. "Just take a seat with the oh-others... ih-ISHIEW!"

Morgan was grateful that the receptionist was able to grab a tissue. Still, she would have liked it all the more if the receptionist had actually managed to bring it to her nose, some time before letting out the surprising sneeze.

"Ugh... 'scuse mbe" she mumbled, using the barely touched tissue to blow her already sore nose. "Was the last one standing up until I came in this m-mordi-ih...it'SHIEW!" she sneezed again, clearly an aftershock from the previous sneeze, but this time, thankfully, with the tissue ready to catch it.

'Last one standing...' Morgan mentally repeated with a degree of exasperation, before directing Molly to sit beside her in the waiting room.

"We better make this quick, alright? I'm already regretting every second of this..." she whispered to her assistant, as the woman beside her, blew her nose for the fourteenth time. "Why, what's wrong?" she asked "What do you mean, what's wrong? This place is gross. I feel gross. I want to go back to the office, where it's... I mean still gross, but less gross than this" "Oh, hush. Don't worry about it, it's just a quick interview, bit of filming of... doctor-y things, and we can do the V/O back at the studio" "I don't know how you can be so calm about this" Morgan snapped, as the man next to Molly launched into a coughing fit. Molly simply shrugged. "I'm not bothered. I had my flu shot" she said, confidently. "Do flu shots protect against colds?" asked Morgan Molly paused for a moment. "I mean, yeah, of course, they do. They're basically the same thing. Wouldn't be much point in a flu vaccine if you're just going to get a cold anyway, surely!"

Morgan was skeptical, but before she could open her mouth to object, she heard her name called from the reception.

"Ms. Widters?" the receptionist asked, holding a tissue to her nose as she spoke. "Ndurse Halloway will see you both dow..." she managed, before sneezing three more times into the tissue. As she pulled it away, Morgan winced at how sore and red her nose was starting to look. At that point, Morgan realized that there was nothing she could do to protect herself. From the moment she walked into the health center, she was a dead woman walking.

#snz #snz kink

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barnesandco · 4 years

Text

Nikah: April

Story Masterlist

Nikah: noun, Arabic, meaning the contract of marriage.

Bucky marries Peter’s former tutor because her student visa’s about to expire and the government isn’t granting her a green card. Can she find a way to permanent residence by marriage, and if so, will it be at the cost of their hearts?

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: Slight angst, sick Bucky.

A/N: Written under the Arranged/Accidental Marriage trope for @mermaidxatxheart ‘s writing challenge.

Torrential April showers hammer at the proverbial ceiling of their marriage, slip into the cracks between the walls of their home, begin to loosen the foundation they are standing on, one brick at a time.The gray sky is a gloomy canvas framed by their kitchen window, a painting appropriately matching their murky moods.

Bucky’s leaning against the counter, marble top digging into his steel-rod spine, arms crossed like a shield across his chest. Across his heart. She glances up at him through damp eyelashes before turning back to her laptop, pretending to focus on her presentation. The dinner table is a mess, a sea of papers and textbooks broken by a lighthouse of a tea cup.

“You have a cold,” She tells him as his iron stare is interrupted by a wheezing cough.

“This even is important,” He says, ignoring her apparent concern for his well-being.

“So is your health, Bucky.”

“My health or your work?” He retorts sharply, anger rebuilding after a lull in the storm. There’s a fundraiser for providing state-of-the-art prostheses and frames for disabled children, and he and Colonel Rhodes have been invited as special guests for the attention they’ll bring to the cause. This is his first public engagement after his marriage, and people will want to see his wife on his arm. Only, she’s refusing to go.

“Look, I don’t want to fight about this, especially with the condition you’re in, but-”

“Then don’t,” Bucky urges, the plea followed by another sneeze that rattles his lungs in his rib cage. Her eyes soften, letting the evident concern for her sick husband show. With a sigh, she pushes back from the table and puts the cup in the sink before turning to him.

“My PhD defense is two days after the gala,” She argues, and he scoffs, internally regretting the action as it aggravates the scratch in his throat.

“You can’t spare two hours?”

“Why does it matter if I’m not there? It’s your work event, not a personal thing.”

“You’re invited and expected to be there with me as my wife, my partner,” Bucky growls as well as he can, voice hoarse and straining.

“Bucky, this is my future, my life. The conclusion to ten years of studying. I want to go, trust me, I want to be there- but my work…” She tries to explain, tears forming in the corners of her sleep deprived eyes and Bucky wants to answer. Tell her he doesn’t believe her, that she doesn’t care, that he knows he’s just a tool to be used and put away when the job is done. But he still cares, dammit. These kids matter, and unfortunately for them, so does the press coverage. If she isn’t there, the media won’t approve, spinning lies like cotton candy and feeding it to everyone who enjoys that circus, and that could mean disaster for her chances at a green card, and his standing as a “reformed” traitor.

The past two hours of back and forth, the headache-inducing argument, it all swims in his vision and the nausea finally catches up to him and he runs into the bathroom and throws up. Hears running water and looks up to see her holding out a glass of water that he gulps down quickly. She kneels on the pristine tiles beside him and presses a hand to his flaming forehead. Her own wrinkles at the feel of his fever, but he relaxes, as if the tornado hellscape of illness is leaving his body through that point of contact.

“I told you take it easy,” She grumbles, helping him to his feet. Their quarrel is a tangible presence between them, but all fight seems to have left him along with the contents of his stomach. She helps him settle down in bed and is about to go to retrieve some medicine when Bucky’s hand shoots out to grab hers. Looking down, she squeezes it briefly before leaving.

Bucky counts the seconds to her return with bated breath, and she arrives - guardian angel with Advil and water - to sit next to him on the edge of her bed. Supports him with a hand on his back while he takes the medicine, and once he’s finished, looks at him nervously with hands clasped in her lap.

“Is there anything else I can do? Do you need-”

“You can go to the ball with me,” He answers through teeth grit against the fever that isn’t subsiding yet. She looks up.

“We’ll talk about that later,” She says, resolute.

“We will talk about it now, and we’ll keep talkin’ till-” He begins to get up, leaning on his elbows but she gently pushes him down onto the pillow with a soft hand on his chest. Leaning over him, so close he’s sure he can recreate the color of her irises from memory, she answers.

“Get some rest. Please,” She asks, pressing a kiss to his burning forehead. Her plans to let him recover on his own are postponed by the feel of his flaming skin and she pulls back to look at him, worried again. Her temper shifts like the tides, pushing and pulling, water slowly eroding his heart made of stone.

“You’re still burning hot.” Bucky bites back a flirtatious remark, which still pops up in his mind, despite the situation. “I should call a doctor,” She says, and Bucky shakes his head.

“ ‘S okay.”

“It’s not okay. You’re at 102 degrees, at least,” She argues, reaching for her phone and he covers her hand with his.

“It’s a cold, doll. I’ll be fine, trust me,” He reassures, in spite of the shivers racking his body.

“What should I do, then?” Instead of his response, she receives a coughing fit of alarming proportions, the sound grating and scraping at the walls of their room. “I’ll be right back,” She says, leaving before he can stop her, and he can only hope she won’t call anyone.

Five minutes later, she comes back holding a bowl of… honey?

“It’s a remedy my mom would make when I was a kid. Desi cough syrup. Ginger and honey with a bit of cinnamon.” She gauges his response, but Bucky only opens his mouth, allowing her to feed it to him. It doesn’t taste bad, warms and soothes his throat, and he lays back again.

“Better?” She wants to know as she puts the bowl on the bedside table.

“A little. Still cold.”

“Oh.” Her face falls, but she gets up to turn on the thermostat, and lays an extra blanket on him. Bucky doesn’t want her to leave, upset as he is, so he asks her:

“Does this mean you’ll come?” He gets a glare for his efforts from the doorway. She comes back and pulls the blanket tighter around him and sighs heavily, as if to expel the weight of the world from her lungs.

“Not now, Bucky. Rest-”

“Stay. Fine, we won’t talk now, but don’t go. You’re exhausted. You need sleep,” He insists, reaching for her hand as she’s about to leave again, and she mulls it over. Crumpling the neat arrangement of duvet-comforter-blanket, he makes room, and she gets in beside him.

The back of her hand, her knuckles, reach out to run a line across his forehead and then drag down his cheek. “You’re shaking,” She comments, and Bucky no longer knows if it’s due to the fever or the effect she has that makes his heart tremble like a leaf in a hurricane. “Come here,” She says, and to his astonishment, comes closer, wrapping her arms around his shoulders to pull him to her. Her chin rests on the crown of his head while his nose is pressed to her collarbone. Slowly, cautiously, his arms envelope her waist, belting around the base of her spine.

“Is this okay?” He murmurs against her soft skin, feeling her pulse thrum against his lips where they meet. Her barely-there yes is accompanied by her hand on the nape of his neck, running her fingers through the hair there.

Bucky falls asleep in the cloud of his wife’s jasmine perfume, her touch still distant and tense, but he only dreams of a better wedding. A second chance. The kind that she is deserving of, instead of the frail one she received, even if it was at her own insistence.

“You’re eloping?” Sam asks, voice rising to a comical pitch that Bucky didn’t know was possible. He shrugs at his teammate, who stands above him in front of the couch Bucky is lounging on, having burst into his room. Normally, he’d have chewed Sam out for not knocking, but he’s in Peter’s room, hiding from Sam, so he hardly has any right to. Looks like it isn’t much of a hiding place, but then - if Bucky had wanted to actually hide instead of procrastinate this conversation, Sam would have never found him.

Bucky nods, straightening up slightly, and Sam sits down beside him.

“Why, man?” He asks, the line between concerned captain and caring friend blurring.

“She didn’t want to make a big deal about it. Said there wasn’t much point in spendin’ all that money for somethin’ like this, especially because she knows I’d be spendin’ the money,” Bucky answers. It’s true. Peter had almost thrown a tantrum when she had announced that she wouldn’t wear a lehenga, or a wedding outfit of any other sort for that matter. Weddings are a huge deal anywhere, but especially in Pakistan, and she’s her parents’ eldest, the pride and joy of the family. Her marriage would have been celebrated with so much enthusiasm. It would have been an event to remember. But it won’t be.

He knows it’s reasonable, the proper thing to do, but part of him - the 20-year-old Brooklyn romantic - longs for a wedding. A party. A celebration. However, he has come to terms with the fact that there is nothing to celebrate here. Just a temporary arrangement. A favor. They had agreed on a courthouse marriage. Elopement. Simple as that.

Bucky’s eyes open with a great modicum of difficulty to find that he is burning. Everything is on fire, his bed a furnace baking him alive, so much so that it takes torturous moments before he realizes his wife is in his arms. The urge to throw off the blankets and dunk himself in an ice bath is suppressed just long enough for him to look over her head at the alarm clock on the bedside table that reads eleven. They appear to have slept through yesterday afternoon, the whole night, and late into the next morning, and the clouds have parted to reveal sunshine like gold.

The temperature becomes unbearable, and regrettably, he has to move out of her grasp around him, her hand tightening where it’s gripping his bicep.

“Sweetheart,” He says, not wanting to wake her, but having no choice. She shifts, burrows her face into his chest and Bucky’s heart cries. He sighs, running a thumb firmly over her shoulder, leaning down to whisper in her ear.

“Sweetheart.” She hums, the vibrations reverberating through her lips and his sweat-drenched shirt. “Baby, wake up. I gotta go.” She frowns, whimpers, nuzzling into him, and Bucky hates himself for waking her, resting a hand on the side of her neck. “Darlin’ please. I have to go,” He says urgently, and it’s true. He needs the toilet. She jerks back with a gasp, and he smiles at her, trying not to race to the bathroom.

“I’m sorry- I-” “It’s okay, give me a sec,” He says, leaving. When he returns, she’s sitting back against the headboard, and she straightens up to talk to him, adjusting her shirt.

“I- uh, I thought about it, and... well. I’ve been studying for years and years. This is my work, my research, and if I’m not ready now, I don’t think I’ll ever be. What I’m trying to say is- I guess I’ll go to the gala.” She says, getting up and moving to peck his cheek on her way out, still demure and a little stiff, but Bucky thinks: he’s the luckiest damn fool on this side of the galaxy.

Taglist: @suz-123 @mermaidxatxheart @buckyreaderrecs @shield-agent78 @corneliabarnes @readerandcinephileingeneral @stevieboyharrington @notsomellowmushroom @veganfangirl5 @mood-pancakes @lbuck121 @starnight-charmer

#ayesha writes #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky x reader angst #bucky x reader fluff #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes x desi!reader #desi!reader

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yourdeepestfathoms · 4 years

Text

Cross Poison

(She appears briefly BUT read Anne as Courtney!Anne)

owo what’s this? another gift for @the10amongstthese3s?? yeh. I’ve lost all control hghhhfhghg it’s not even their birthday month yet but 🤟🤟 party hard

me: frantically google searches if luna is in fact moon in spanish (good news gang, it is)

also this is the third fic with a Pokemon move for a title. i am very ashamed of my lack of creativity

Word count: 6311

———————

“Catalina...Catalina...Catalina....”

Her eyelids were glued shut; no matter how hard she tried, she just couldn’t open them. Not that she cared- the lights would be too bright, anyway. She had felt like she was going blind the day before from just her nightlight.

“Oh no. She doesn’t look too good.”

“Stay out in the hall if it bothers you, Jane.”

“Will she be okay?”

“Yeah, I think. It’s just a little bug.”

A soft moan breached her chapped lips. The sound grated against her throat like talons of fire- she needed water so badly.

“Catalina? Can you hear me? It’s Anne.”

There’s a cool touch on her hot forehead. Despite herself, she leaned into it, desperate for the coldness.

“Anne, I don’t think she’s going to be waking up anytime soon. She’s out cold.”

“I felt her move.”

“Still. She’s not going to be performing today. She looks...not good.”

That had to be Kitty. Aragon knew not by the voice, which was muffled and far away, but the choice of words.

“Yeah. We should go get someone to take care of her.” There’s a rustling right beside her ear; acrylic nails tap on a phone screen.

“Who are you texting?”

“Joan.”

There was disbelieving sputtered laughter.

“Joan? Are you serious?”

“Yes! She’s close to Catalina and she has a ton of vacation days saved up. I know she’ll take off if I explain the situation.”

“Yeah, and the minute Aragon sneezes she’ll keel over and die.” Kitty snorted. “You know what’s wrong with her. She can barely talk to people without losing her mind.”

There’s nothing wrong with my girl! Aragon thought fiercely. She tried to get up to rain hellfire on Kitty for saying that, but all of her limbs were heavy and weighed her down like ten ton pieces of lead.

“She just has anxiety.” Anne said dismissively.

“Saying whatever she has is anxiety is an understatement. She worries about EVERYTHING.” Kitty said. “Like— I have anxiety, but I know how to pee in public.”

“And yet you faint at the sight of a hatchet. So don’t even start.”

“It’s—!!”

Anne barked something, but Aragon’s hearing was fading out. She moaned again and then she could feel her head flop to the side on what she’s pretty sure is a pillow. Blackness consumed her—but she doesn’t know the difference from everything else she’s been surrounded by.

—

Freezing water cascaded down Aragon’s face, snaking down her neck and seeping into all of her pores. She jolted awake, breathing harshly, and whipped around to the man trying to comfort her.

She should have known. This was why she always tried to take care of herself—because she KNEW Henry would try and slither back into her life. Long ago, she used to comfort herself with that thought, her husband crawling back to her after realizing all of her replacements were horrible and nobody would ever be able to top her, but now it filled her with nothing but sticky dread that fuels her nausea.

She doesn’t want to feel his hands brushing back her sweaty hair, his lips when he kisses her and tells her how she’s still beautiful, his body when he holds her when chills wrack through her. She wouldn’t let that happen again- not ever. So, even with an illness weighing her down, she gathered herself up to her full size and—

Wait a minute.

Her vision may have been edged with blackness and very blurry, but she knew Henry was not as thin as the person on the floor of her bedroom. And definitely didn’t have blonde hair. In fact, he didn’t even have hair at all.

“Joan?” She said—or tried to. Her voice was so raspy and weak that simply saying a name hurt. The water that had been running down her face cleared her nose for a moment, but her sinuses were already pressing back in. Even in her own ears, she could faintly hear how nasally and wobbly her words were.

“Y-yes?” The girl on the floor responded. “I-I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to frighten you! I-I was just trying to...” She glanced over at the bedside table and Aragon saw a bowl of water and a rag sitting on it.

Oh.

“I see,” Aragon blinked. “That makes more sense than...” She shook her head and pain ricochets through it.

“I’m sorry,” Joan said, looking down at the floor. “I—”

“Hush, love.” Aragon said. “It’s alright.”

She threw her legs over the edge of the bed, and that movement alone jarred her weak body horribly. She took in a shaky breath and put her head in her hands, massaging her pounding temples. She heard Joan scramble to her feet in front of her.

“C-Catalina?” She stammered nervously.

“I’m fine.” Argaon grit, and then her stomach churned audibly. She set a hand over it as Joan grimaced. “Actually- Can you hand me that rubbish bin?” She swallowed thickly. “And then give me some privacy?”

Joan’s eyes widened and she nodded frantically. She gave Aragon the trashcan and then walked out, hearing gagging and coughing a moment later.

—

Nerves were crawling and writhing in the pit of Joan’s gut like snakes. She could almost hear them hissing as they slid past each other, making her stomach roil. But she would not spill her guts, especially with Aragon being sick. She was supposed to be taking care of the queen—she couldn’t act like this!

And yet, her anxiety continued to rise. And it definitely didn’t help that there was flour everywhere.

Joan blamed it on the kitchen. It was, at least in part, responsible, being rather cramped because of the large island. One quick turn and smack! An arm-to-flour-bag collision sent the product flying to the floor, landing in a cloud of white powder.

And it was loud, too, making a rather distinct thump that likely resonated throughout the entire house.

And throughout the entire house meant—

The girl jumped from her position across the kitchen, dropping the measuring cups and spoons she had been carrying to squeak nervously. They clattered to the ground, much to her dismay, but she had to deal with it later. Right now, she had to face the door down the upstairs hallway creaking open.

Joan squeaked again and stumbled up the stairs towards Aragon’s room, tripping over her own feet and a pool of flour in the process. She attempted to urge the disoriented queen back into her room, idly brushing off the coating of flour that covered her entire being.

Aragon’s voice is rough and her accent mixes with the words horribly when she starts asking questions: “What happened? What fell? Are you alright?”

“Nothing! Nothing! It’s fine—everything’s fine so, please, um, go back to your room now! Get more rest, you’re still sick!” Joan yelled in response, voice faltering and increasing in pitch as she went.

“It’s only a slight fever, I’m fine. I don’t understand why you are so—”

Joan, not knowing what else to do, screamed. In surprise, Aragon responded with a sharp yelp. They were probably, most likely, definitely causing a disturbance by now. Joan would write five-page apology notes later.

“What’s wrong? What’s going on?” Aragon asked, frantically now, her voice becoming a hoarse whisper due to illness.

“Um, I, um,” Joan felt her lungs seizing up in the way they usually did when she was about to have a panic attack, but she beat the feeling back. She couldn’t lose herself to her anxiety right now, especially with Aragon in much worse shape. “I-I’m dealing with it, d-don’t worry!”

“But what is it, that’s all I’m asking—”

“It is being dealt with!”

There was a brief pause, leaving the house in silence. Then, Aragon sighed, muttered a soft, resigned, “forget it, whatever it is, I don’t want to know,” and turned around to return to her room. Joan scampered back to the kitchen and braced herself against the sink, struggling to breathe for a moment.

She felt utterly pathetic. How could that simple interaction nearly spiral her into full blown panic? She had to get her head on straight!

After taking a few calming breaths like Aragon had taught her, she stepped back and then began cleaning up. She lost about half of the flour in the fall, much to her dismay, because it was a brand new bag. She made a mental note to pay the queens back for it, then moved on.

Once she finished cleaning up, she set everything she needed neatly on the counter. She glanced several times at the recipe she was going off of as she mixed the specific ingredients together, since she wanted this to be perfect. Aragon must have been feeling miserable- she HAD to make something good for her to hopefully cheer her up.

Several dirty dishes, incorrectly measured ingredients, and one incident where her long hair got caught in the mixer later, she has her treat tucked away in the oven to bake. She smiled proudly to herself, then moved onto cleaning up and making some soup on the stove-

-only to remember that she had no idea how to make soup. Even the recipes she looked up seemed way too complicated for her stupid fish brain. She worried over this for a long time before deciding to just make some porridge. Somehow, that is something she’s able to make.

Her mind whirled as she began taking out the necessary ingredients. The usual voices she heard in her head were, for once, not warbling over her, but rather Aragon.

Hot porridge. I’ll make hot porridge. She’ll like that.

Hot porridge will make her throat worse. It hurts right now. Cold porridge will cool it down and soothe it.

Cold porridge would chill her bones and make her fever worse. Hot porridge is softer on the stomach.

Hot porridge burns tongues.

Cold porridge—

“Aaagh, shut up!” Joan cried miserably, clamping her hands over her ears. It took her a moment to realize what she'd done and she looked around the kitchen bashfully, as if she thought someone had materialized nearby and watched her yell at herself.

“You’re fine, Joan,” She whispered. “You’re okay. You can do this. Just like you used to back then. It’s not that hard.” She paused. “Aaand you’re still talking to yourself. Good job.”

She shook her head and wracked her brain to remember what was needed. Water, milk, rice, seasoning. Easy.

And yet, it still took her three tries to make a simple pot of porridge. First she poured too much seasoning, then she burned herself on the stove and dropped the bowl she was holding, and finally, she somehow managed to turn the food into a gross goop that would only succeed in making Aragon even sicker. After finally getting it right, she sunk to the ground with a woeful noise, wallowing in her own shame.

Pathetic, pathetic, pathetic- Her mind screamed. Can’t even make a simple meal? What an embarrassment.

She whimpered softly, feeling a panic attack rise in her chest, but she stamped it back down. She would not lose herself. She couldn’t.

Think about rain, She thought over and over again. Think about rain, think about rain, think about rain...

There was a crash of thunder- actual thunder. Joan jumped backwards, slamming her body up against the oven and staring with wide eyes as a downpour of rain suddenly came down against the glass back door. She scrambled for her phone, wondering if the queens did something to protect the glass from a storm, and then realized how stupid that was. She put her phone down as a blush blazed over her cheeks.

Stupid, Her thoughts hissed. Can’t you do anything right? Use some common sense.

She tried to think about rain again, but the peaceful drizzle she usually calmed herself with has turned into a raging storm within her head. Lightning slashed the mindscape as thunder rolled through her eardrums. Cracks appeared everywhere, jagged and fang-shaped when they split open like oozing wounds. She wondered if her cranium was being destroyed as the internal storm veered into a baby hurricane.

There’s a loud beep. It lanced through the tsunami and Joan’s eyes snapped open.

She’s on the floor, curled in a fetal position, clutching at her head. She rose slowly, feeling embarrassed.

Pathetic, pathetic, pathetic, pathetic, pathetic- Her mind roared, but she did her best to ignore it as she took the cake out of the oven.

It’s an effort that takes a lot longer than it should, but when she finishes icing the cake, Joan has a brief moment of pride. She was satisfied with the result as she fawned over how pretty it was, even if it was thin and slightly deformed in shape, and the golden-orange frosting was gooey and haphazardly spread across the surface.

Joan cut a generous sized piece for Aragon, grabbed a fork and a plastic bag, and practically bounced up to Aragon’s room, the cake balanced precariously on the plate held behind her back. She was barely able to stop herself from chiming out loud when she saw the queen’s form upon entering.

Aragon was lying on her back, one hand resting over her stomach, the other drooped listlessly at her side. Her eyes were scrunched shut and her mouth was open slightly to breathe- her nose must be too stuffed to get air that way. Beads of sweat clustered together on her forehead. She doesn’t stir when Joan walks in.

“Catalina?” Joan called out softly. She stepped closer. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed vomit in the waste bin. She winced. “Catalina?”

Aragon’s body shuddered in a way that sent jolts of anxiety crackling through Joan’s entire being. She moaned softly, then her eyelids peeled back and she stared blankly up at the ceiling.

“Catalina?” Joan said again, this time much quieter. She edged towards the door slightly, expecting the queen to snap at her for waking her up. But instead, Aragon’s head rolled over the pillow to face her and she smiled weakly.

“Hello, little luna,” She croaked, her voice rough with illness. She sounded worse than she did earlier. “Were you baking?”

Joan blinked. “Ah… You…”

“Smelled it?” Aragon chuckled a little. “Barely,” She snuffled through her stuffy nose then made a very unqueenly face that caused a giggle to bubble up from Joan. “But it’s enough.”

She fell into silence as Joan sat on the edge of the bed, then slowly pushed herself up into a sitting position. She winced as she did so, even letting out a soft gasp of pain, and one of her hands shot to her stomach. Joan nearly dropped the cake reaching for the trashcan, but Aragon stopped her with a dismissive wave of her other hand.

“I’m alright, dear,” She said. “Just some cramps.” She leaned back against the pile of pillows against her headboard, breathing out softly through her mouth.

Joan quickly regained herself from her flash of panic. She pulled the cake out from behind her back and presented it to Aragon, beaming.

“Look! I worked really hard on this! Maybe it’ll cheer you up!” Joan nearly glowed with satisfaction. Aragon gingerly took the plate from her.

“Ah,” Aragon said. “Thank you.” She stared down at the plate as if it were holding a human heart rather than a sweet treat.

Joan continued to give her a look, one of adoration and anticipation, and Aragon has the choice to either swallow down her hopeless devotion to her daughter figure or swallow down the cake in front of her on an upset stomach, risking further nausea...or worse. She cast an uneasy glance to the trash can, but Joan doesn’t notice it through her eyeball-scorchingly bright radiation of bliss and pride.

“I’m sick, you know.” Aragon stated. Joan nodded, about to respond when Aragon continues, “So I can’t… really eat this right now.”

The realization appeared to dawn on Joan rather painfully, and in seconds the girl has apologies spilling from her mouth like a waterfall. Aragon can’t even get a word in edgewise to stop the torrent of despair coming from Joan, who seemed to think that she’s ruined everything— “I’m so sorry, how rude of me, I should’ve known better, oh Catherine, I’m sorry—”

“Joan!”

Joan flinched away, nearly teetering off the bed. Hot shame poured down her throat and set her insides ablaze. At the same time, icy cold dread shoved its way in and the two conflicting emotions clamored for space inside of her until she felt like she was going to be sick.

“Joan.” Aragon said again, clearing her throat. She reached out and gently touched Joan’s cheek; her hand was shaking with exhausted tremors. “Think about rain, baby. You’ve got this.”

Joan closed her eyes. She imagined collapsing all her thoughts about nearly worsening Aragon’s sickness into dozens of raindrops and whisking them into a background storm. It works—for now. She opens her eyes again and Aragon is smiling at her, despite the tiredness and pain very obviously glinting in her eyes.

Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, PLEASE just let me sleep, Joan imagined her thoughts crying. You nearly poisoned me with your blasted cake! The least you can do is let me rest!

Joan put that into a raindrop, too, although it was a little harder to shove inside. The tone the internal voice spoke with sounded exactly like Aragon’s- what if she had said that out loud? What if she was upset with Joan? What if she wanted her to leave?

“Raindrops, baby,” Aragon murmured, caressing Joan’s cheek. Her shaking fingers press into the coolness of Joan’s skin, like she was hoping to lower her fever with the touch alone.

Raindrops, Joan repeated in her head, and she shoved the Aragon-mimicking thoughts into one of the shimmering droplets falling from her internal rainstorm.

“Good girl,” Aragon said breathily. Despite having to take a moment to breathe through a wave of dizziness and blink away the black spots that come with it, she’s still able to recognize the way Joan’s face would relax when she successfully blocks out her anxiety. “Good girl...”

Every worried thought suddenly exploded out of their raindrop, splattering icy water throughout Joan’s brain, but she could hardly care because Aragon is tipping over and she has to rush to catch her. Her hands grappling the queen’s forearms seemed to be enough to jar her awake, because her eyes snapped open and she sat up quickly.

“Catherine?” Joan said worriedly. “Are you okay? Can you hear me? Should I call someone? An ambulance?”

Lightning cracked in her internal rainstorm, illuminating a puddle upon the mindscape that she always tried very hard to keep covered. There were three, actually- one wreathed in thorny vines around the edges with brilliant emerald flowers sprouting from the snarls, one with pinkish-green snapdragons lurking around the perimeter, and one that has soft white petals floating upon the surface. As beautiful as they may have been, she dreaded having their contents bubble out of the pools—and that’s exactly what was happening with the third puddle.

Images flashed behind her eyelids- a sickroom, stained sheets, a fretting king and a writhing, gasping queen.

“I’m alright,” Aragon’s voice surfaced through the clamor of noise resonating through her skull. She seemed to be too busy recovering from her near-blackout to notice Joan’s rising anxiety.

“That’s good.” Joan said distantly. The sickroom again, blood oozing down a bedside, half of a placenta sprawled out of a dark red abyss of torn flesh and blood and inflamed vaginal tissue. “I’m...I’m glad.”

She turned stiffly to the edge of the bed, and at first she thought she was moving to vomit in the trash can, but then she reached for the plastic bag she brought in with her.

Oh yeah, She thought. How could I forget? Stupid.

“What’s that?” Aragon asked after clearing her throat again. Her voice was slimy with mucus, but she was still doing her best to hold herself like a regal queen.

“Oh, just some medicine.” Joan pulled out a bottle filled with some kind of dark pink liquid. Aragon squinted at it and curled her nose. “I went shopping before I came over.”

“What is it exactly?” Aragon asked.

“Something that will help you.” Joan informed. “I also got ginger shots, throat coat, Ibuprofen, Motrin, Mucinex-”

“Are you trying to overdose me or something?”

A blush lit up on Joan’s cheeks and Aragon chuckled lightly. She gently touched the girl’s hand; hers is still shaking.

“I’m joking, baby.”

Joan smiled thinly, then unscrewed the lid of the bottle she’s holding and filled the cap up with the thick liquid. She looked at it, smelled it once, and was glad she’s not the one about to drink it.

“That’s probably enough, right?” She looked at the queen.

It was a big lid. A little over the stated amount wouldn’t be that bad, right? The more Aragon takes the better it’ll work! Probably.

“You’re the caretaker.” Aragon said.

Joan inspected the medicine-filled cap for another moment before handing it to Aragon. The queen stared at it like it’s poison. Joan giggled softly.

“Just...take it like a shot!” Joan encouraged her.

“Bold words from someone who has never taken a shot before,” Aragon said, earning a ruffled look from Joan. She flashed a smile at the girl, then punched her nose shut, tipped her head back, and downed the liquid as fast as she could. Almost instantly, she made an ungodly sound similar to that of a cat coughing up a hairball. Joan dissolved into giggles.

“Oh Lord,” Aragon said bitterly. She snatched the water bottle sitting on her nightstand and took a big sip.

“Hang on, there’s more.” Joan said before Aragon could get too comfortable with feeling like she was done.

It probably wasn’t good to take all that medicine on an empty stomach, but Aragon still wasn’t up to eat much, even when Joan told her she also made some porridge. She just shook her head and laid back down after taking several pills and shots of foul-tasting liquids.

Upon peeling herself out of the room, Joan was met with a rush of worry and fear that nearly caused her to spill the trash can she told Aragon she was going to clean out for her. She gripped the edges tightly and trekked into the kitchen, trying not to succumb to her nervousness, but it was so hard with every possible bad situation shoving its way in. Soon, several endings to this sickness were laid out to her- the least alarming one was Aragon recovering, but being deaf for life due to her high fever, but the others were much, much worse: Aragon seizing in the bed, foaming at the mouth; Aragon being dead the next time she checks up on her; Aragon being brain dead because her fever fried her brain; Aragon spewing blood and vomit from her mouth because Joan accidentally overdosed her; the other queens looming over Joan, their faces twisted with hatred and disgust, while Maria and Cathy wail over Aragon’s horribly pale corpse in the background; Joan being shunned and hated and called a killer for the rest of her life.

Then, she blinked and they’re gone, disappearing into the mist of her internal rainstorm and she doesn’t even try to scramble after them. Even if she wanted to, it’s almost impossible for her to pull thoughts back out of the storm once they’ve drifted inside.

She takes to washing the dishes she dirtied from making the porridge, and it took a lot of time because she knew that Jane was sort of a neat freak and would kill her if she left a smudge of rice on one of her pots. Doing the chore eased her mind slightly, got her away from thinking about every worst-case scenario, but she can feel them lurking in the back of her head, waiting.

The storm outside the house hissed. The backyard was turning into a small lake, swelling and churning and eroding the ground into a stew of mud and weeds. Joan walked over to the back door and stared out at the pouring rain. Weather like this reminded her of reincarnation, which was rather strange because she was the only one who didn’t come back when it was raining.

Aragon and Anne had told her about it a few months after everyone was settled. The queens came back first, all on the same day, all during a terrible storm with “thunder so loud it could chip bones”, as Anne had stated, and they all met the same day at the chapel Jane was buried at. Soon after, they got the huge house in ways they still couldn’t really understand, and then, four months later, the ladies in waiting appeared, although they came back in two day intervals. Maria on Monday, Maggie on Wednesday, Bessie on Friday, and then Joan on Sunday. However, they said the storm cleared up the day of Joan’s reincarnation, making them think that nobody else would appear. But that night was one of the brightest they’ve ever seen, and she showed up in their backyard, underneath the glowing moon. Completely naked, too. That part always made Joan very flustered, but she liked the way Anne and Aragon would laugh when she would-

Aragon.

A sudden gush of adrenaline sent Joan careening up the stairs and to Aragon’s bedroom. She nearly kicked the door off its hinges, but she couldn’t care because Aragon-

-was perfectly safe in her bed?

Joan blinked. As much as she loved seeing that the queen was okay, she couldn’t understand the sight. Was she hallucinating? Why did she have such a bad gut feeling all of a sudden?

She waited by the door, thinking that maybe something might happen, but nothing did. Nothing bad, at least. Aragon stirred at one point and sneezed in her sleep, which nearly made Joan fling herself at her and give her CPR (as if that would help even if she WAS dying, anyway—she didn’t know how to give CPR correctly at all).

Her nerves were on fire. Alarm bells were ringing in her ears, screaming, “GO! GO! SHE’S DYING! HURRY! YOU HAVE TO HURRY OR SHE’LL DIE!”

Cleves had once asked her how she managed to be so anxious all the time, and, at the time, she didn’t have an answer. But now she did: she didn’t manage it. Being this nervous was exhausting. And she hated it, but she didn’t know how to turn her brain off or quiet her flurry of worried thoughts that poured through her brain every second of every day.

The pet cat, Tea Cake, strolled by and meowed at Joan. She swore even IT was judging her nervousness. She sighed and finally left the room, despite her brain crying, “NO! NO! GO BACK! SHE’LL DIE!”

She collapsed down onto the couch and put her head in her hands. When she glanced up, she saw that the time displayed on the TV cable box read: 12:04. It was a double show day today, so she probably had another good four or five hours before the queens got back. If she could just keep Aragon alive until they took over, then it wouldn’t be her fault if she died!

She squeezed her temples against her palms. How could she ever think like that? Besides, she would find a way to blame herself, anyway. Just like-

A whimper bubbled to Joan’s lips, which turned into a sob. Suddenly, there’s tears running down her cheeks and she doesn’t really know why, but she does know that she hates them and they make her persistent headache worse.

She cried alone on the couch for a while, at some point flopping over to bury herself against the back cushions in a fetal position. She was planning on just crying herself into a pathetic puddle, but then her phone rang and she had no choice but to pick it up. The caller idea said that it was Jane, and usually her heart would leap in joy to see that her queen was calling her, but, right now, simply seeing her name said spirals of bad, bad things coiling through her brain.

“Hello?” She said in her best not-having-an-anxiety-attack voice.

“Hey,” Jane replied coolly. She sounded nonchalant, but Joan has become good at detecting the annoyance that would edge her voice whenever she talked to her. Even on a phone call, the stinging irritation was bristled around her words like needle-sharp thorns. “I’m just calling to check up on Catalina. How is she?”

Ironically, it was the one afraid of illness doing this. Perhaps it’s to make up for her not being able to physically comfort her fellow queen.

“Okay,” Joan answered. She struggled to keep her voice steady, but she knew it was wobbling treacherously. “She’s- she’s, ah— she’s sleeping. Right now. S-she’s sleeping.”

“I see.” Jane said. Then, she paused. “Are you alright?”

A whirl of new thoughts filled Joan’s head: Jane cares, Jane doesn’t care, Jane is worried about her, Jane is going to tell the others about how pathetic she is and they’ll all laugh at her, Jane knows.

“I-I’m f-ine.” Her voice cracked horribly and fresh tears ran down her cheeks. She has the art of crying silently mastered, but she knows Jane can still hear her sharp breaths and hiccups and whimpers. The fact that the queen isn’t saying anything makes her feel even worse. Scenarios shove their way into her brain faster: Jane putting her on speaker so everyone in the theater could hear her break down, Jane hanging up on her so she doesn’t have to listen to her sniffle and weep like a baby, Jane laughing at her.

“Listen to me,” Jane spoke up. Her voice is firm and hard, but Joan swore she could hear softness seep through the thorns edging her words. “I’m the calmest voice you hear. Use me as your anchor. I’ll keep talking until you calm down.”

Joan was nearly startled into calming down. Was Jane...trying to comfort her?

“Remember that you are safe. Look around you.”

Joan sank to her knees on the hardwood floor. Her chest ached with the weight of her guilt and anguish, which are mixing together awfully inside of her. She whimpered softly.

“You’re okay. We’re okay. Catalina is okay. The cat is okay. Anna’s dogs are, regrettably, okay.”

“Wh-why regrettably?” Joan stammered, sniffling.

“Ah, so you are listening.” Jane said. Joan thinks she may be tipping her head. “Keep listening. I know you can do that, Joan. You’re a very smart girl.”

Jane thinks I’m smart, Joan thought dizzily. And then, those thoughts spiral downwards, That doesn’t make sense. Jane is dead. I know Jane is dead. I saw her— I was— I felt her blood.

Joan closed her eyes and remembered the way she tried to help Jane after she gave birth to Edward. She had tried so hard to stop the bleeding, but there was just too much blood and it wouldn’t stop coming out and the smell was so bad and everything was yelling and Jane wouldn’t stop screaming.

“-my voice.” Jane was saying, a little more frantic. “Don’t let yourself fall in.”

But it was too late. The petal-strewn puddle in Joan’s mindscape frothed over its own edges until every bad thing she tried so desperately to hide within its depths came pouring out: Nurses shoving through the sickroom, midwives clamoring in a panic, blood and birthing fluids and placenta and sweat and tears, a tiny baby soaked in blood- They all flooded her mind with full force.

“Joan? Joan?” Jane called loudly. “Joan, are you there? What’s going on?”

Joan doesn’t answer. She simply dropped her phone, curled into a ball on the floor, and cried.

An unknown amount of time passes. It’s nearly two o’clock when Joan looked up, though. Immediately, a headache crashed into her head like a sledgehammer. Sweat glided down her body, but it felt more like blood to her.

She had to check on Aragon, but she couldn’t bear to see the queen while she was sick. She was too afraid of possibly seeing her as a corpse, so she just half staggered, half crawled to the downstairs bathroom, stripped off her clothing, and stumbled into the shower to scrub off the feeling of blood coating every inch of her skin.

Leaving her to suffer, Her mind hissed. Good job.

———

“Alright, that’s it—”

Aragon had been laying in her bed for what felt like hours, and she couldn’t take it anymore. She threw her legs over the edge and hauled herself out, which nearly landed her face-first on the floor when she put pressure on her numb legs, but she managed to grapple onto the door frame and steady herself. After a moment of breathing, she’s able to start walking.

Joan isn’t anywhere in sight when she finally makes it down the staircase, but she can faintly hear Cleves’ shower running. She chuckled, wondering how her nervous little moon conjured up the courage to use someone else’s bathroom, but was proud of her nonetheless.

She poured herself a bowl of porridge and sat down at the couch to eat. She hadn’t realized how hungry she was until that moment; it was good to eat, especially something so light and easy on her stomach.

Somewhere down the hallway, she hears the shower sputter to a halt. A few minutes later, Joan trudged out, dressed in the same bumblebee T-shirt and sweat pants as she was in earlier. Her hair is still soaked, though, and she had a distant look in her dull grey eyes.

“Hello, little luna,” Aragon cooed over at her. She didn’t know if it was her fever making her delirious or if the girl’s touch starved aura was rubbing off on her or even if it was from her dreams of being with her daughter again, but she’s been itching to hold Joan in her arms. “You took a shower, I see. I’m not THAT contagious, you know.” She winked with a laugh, but Joan doesn’t react. She didn’t even look up at her. Aragon frowned. “Joan?”

Aragon set her bowl of porridge down after one more bite and walked over to where Joan had stopped in the living room. She’s clenching fistfuls of her shirt so tightly her knuckles were turning white. Something was wrong.

“Joan,” Aragon gently touched her shoulder, but even that is enough to make her jolt back. “Hey, sweetie, it’s okay. It’s just me. It’s Catalina.”

Joan looked up at her with wide eyes and there’s something in her gaze that she’s seen in Maria’s before, but much, much worse.

“Joan,” Aragon took her hands. “Think about the rain, baby.”

Joan’s eyes shut tightly and a strangled sob escaped her lips. She shook her head, making a miserable keening noise that sent cracks through Aragon’s heart.

“Think of the mist and wind and distant thunder,” Aragon continued softly, stroking Joan’s knuckles with her thumbs. “The fog and lightning and rainbows.”

“I-I can’t-“ Joan gasped. She shook her head. “I can’t. Y-you— You’re—sick— not okay— just like—”

Suddenly, it dawns on Aragon.

“Oh, Joan,” She murmured. “Oh, baby.” She cupped the girl’s tear stained cheeks. “You’re worried that I may end up like Jane, don’t you?”

With a feeble whimper, Joan nodded and then sobbed again.

“My poor girl,” Aragon guided Joan over to the couch and pulled her into a tight hug. Joan clung to her instantly, burying her face into her chest and clearly not even caring if she may catch whatever the queen has. “You have a lot of pent up anxiety over that, huh?”

Another nod, this one much weaker. Joan’s entire body is now wracked with weeping. Aragon holds her tightly, afraid she may fall apart if she didn’t. She stroked her soaking wet hair and rocked her back and forth.

“It’s going to be okay, honey,” Aragon whispered. “I’m okay, I promise. I’m alright. Nothing is going to happen to me.”

Joan, surprisingly, doesn’t argue against that claim. With a frown, Aragon realized it’s probably because she doesn’t have the energy to.

Joan cried for a long time, and all Aragon could do was hold her and wait until she’s well enough to talk to. However, when the sobs do eventually die down, Joan was already far gone in unconsciousness. She looked peaceful, at least, with her head resting atop Aragon’s chest. The queen closed her own eyes, feeling her illness take control over her once again. She, too, fell asleep, but awoke some time later to someone standing over her. She jumped back, instinctively holding the girl in her arms tighter.

“Sorry,” Jane said. “How are you feeling?”

“A little better,” Aragon answered. She was surprised that Jane was standing so close to her.

Jane nodded. She glanced down at Joan and expression became something that Aragon couldn’t really discern. She pursed her lips.

“Is she okay?” She finally asked quietly.

Aragon blinked, then looked down at Joan. “She...went through some stuff earlier.” She said. “She was pretty freaked out. Had an anxiety attack. She’s been asleep since.”

The flat line set on Jane’s mouth turned into a frown. She extended a hand and gently touched Joan’s head, then pulled back.

“I see.” She whispered. So many emotions were flashing in her eyes. “Well.” She turned away. “Take care of her. Oh— and yourself.”

Aragon watched her walk to the staircase and disappear upstairs, then looked down at Joan in her arms. She pulled the girl closer.

“Will do,” She said, long after Jane was gone.

#im love you duck mama 💕💕#six the musical #six the musical fanfiction #six the musical fanfic #six fanfic #six fanfiction #catherine of aragon #anne boleyn #jane seymour #joan on the keys #katherine howard #anna of cleves #catherine parr #mamagon #cross poison

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healthtips4world · 3 years

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What is coronavirus? Symptoms and causes, Managements and treatment, Prevention.

In this article, we will know about coronavirus tips and tricks. Coronavirus started from the wahan city, China which causes severe respiratory illness including death, and has since spread worldwide. The best preventive measures include wearing a mask, wash hands several times, keep a distance, avoid sick people. The coronavirus identified in 2019, SARS-CoV-2.

Coronavirus tips and tricks(Save your knowledge).

- Covid -19 is a disease caused by SARS-CoV-2, it is started in 2019. - The coronavirus can be spread from person to person. - Prevention involves physical distancing, mask, hand washes much more time don’t touch face area. How it spread? The virus is spread and affect through droplets and virus particles released into the air when a person coughs, breathe, talk, laugh or sneezes. Larger droplets may fall to the ground in a few seconds, but tiny particles can linger in the air and accumulate indoor places with poor ventilation. That's why mask-wearing, hand washing much more time, and maintain distance with other coronaviruses. How did coronavirus start? Coronavirus starts on Dec 1, 2019, in Wahan city, China. Now the new coronavirus name SARS-CoV-2. That could cause illness in human beings. Today coronavirus evolved to cause pandemic disease. Now Covid-19 time period is 14 days. The virus is less affected in some people and less affected in some people, it's depending on the open person's immune system. The study continues how and why the virus evolved to cause pandemics.

Coronavirus symptoms

- Throat pain - Headache - Fever - Cough - Muscle or body pain - Diarheea - Runny nose - Breathing difficulty - Loss test and smell Some of the people are asymptomatic, some less infected. In some cases they are highly infected, they have heart failure, kidney failure, nervous system problems, lung damage, or mostly death. It causes much more health. difficulties. coronavirus tips and tricks(Coronavirus prevention) - Wash your hand much more time Use soap and hand wash to wash your hand for at least 20 seconds. Wash your hand in running water. Wash your hand to your wrist, fingernails, under fingers. You can also use 60% alcohol-based hand sanitizer when you don’t use hand wash or soap. Also, wash your hand with boiling water. wash hands before prepare food and eat and touch any outsider thing. Wash your hands before or after you touch your eyes, nose, mouth. So that you save yourself from coronavirus.

Proper hand wash steps-

- Wet hands with water - Apply soap - Rub hands palm to palm - Rub back of each hand with the palm of others the hand with fingerlaced - Rub palm to palm - Rub with backs of fingers to opposing palms with fingers interlocked - Rub each wrist with opposite hands - Rinse hands with water - Dry thoroughly

Avoid touching your face

The new coronavirus SARS-CoV-2 can live on surfaces for up to 72 hours. You can get the virus on your hands if you touch a surface like these electric board, phone, door handle, laptop. Avoid touching any part of your face including mouth, nose, eyes, head.

Practice good respiratory hygiene

That means covering your mouth and nose with your bent elbow or tissue when you cough or sneeze. Then dispose of the used tissue immediately since the droplets spread the virus. Because SARS-Co-2 is found in a high amount in the nose and mouth. It can also land on hard surfaces and stay there for up to 3 days. Wash your hand carefully after you sneeze or cough. Take physical distancing Don’t go to gathering places unnecessarily, which means stay home and work. If you go for must necessary then keep a distance of 6 feet from other people. Also, avoid being in busy eating areas. Don’t do handshake and hugging. Avoid going to any event, religious place, park, yoga center, bar, restaurant beach, etc. Wear a mask Face masks are one tool utilized for preventing the spread of disease coronavirus tips and tricks. They may also be called dental, isolation, laser, medical, procedure, or surgical masks everyone wears a cloth face mask in a public setting where physical distancing may be difficult, such as in a hospital. Clean your hands before you put your mask on, as well as before and after you take it off, and after you touch it at any time. Make sure it covers both your nose and mouth. We also use a homemade mask made from an old t-shirt. A mask shouldn’t be worn by a child under 2 years old, a person who has trouble breathing, or a person. Stay active Exercise is really good for health. On the pandemic day, we do many types of exercise. We do yoga to develop breathing and good blood circulation. Even in small spaces, walking around can help you active. Meditation and deep breaths can help you remain calm. You also dancing to active yourself. Clean surfaces Use alcohol-based disinfectants to clean hard surfaces in your home, office - Countertops - Furniture - Door handles Also clean your phone, tablet, laptop much more time in a day. Use white vinegar or hydrogen peroxide solution for general cleaning in between disinfecting surfaces. Coronavirus tips and tricks(Healthy food for immunity booster) If you have a healthy immune system, your body can safe from any disease, even the novel coronavirus. There are some vitamins and foods which you can inculcate in your diet to have a strong immune system. - Turmeric –The spice turmeric is known for its anti-oxidant and anti-inflammatory properties. Curcumin present in turmeric is a very potent agent and aids in the healing of wounds and infections. This is the reason, it is often suggested to have turmeric milk. - Vitamins –Among all kinds of vitamins, vitamins and Vitamin D play a major role in strengthening ones Another way we should have more citrus fruits and vegetables like Amla, Lemon, Orange also eggs, yolks. - Zinc-It is another nutrient that helps your immune system and metabolism function. An individual can either take Zinc supplements or include them in their diet through chickpeas, cashews, pumpkin seeds, etc. - Garlic-Garlic has the compound known as allicin, Allicin is a compound that is thought to fight viruses and boost immunity. It is informed when a clove of garlic is either crushed, chopped and chewed. You can also take two cloves of garlic and consume them with warm water every day or make it a part of your daily meal by adding it to soups and dot stews for added flavor. - Yogurt-in yogurt probiotic is the main. It aids good bacteria in our body. According to research published in the NCBI probiotic consumption also appears to be a feasible way to decrease the incidence of RTIs in children. If you have a sore throat regardless of the cause, yogurt might worsen it but for better immunity, you need probiotics so you can resort to supplements. - Cinnamon- Cinnamon may also protect the body against viral infections. You can simply soak a cinnamon stick in water overnight and drink it the next morning. Wash fresh groceries - Wash all fresh groceries under running water before preparing or eating. Do not use soap, detergent, to wash fruits and vegetables. Wash meat and fish much more time and eat. Self-quarantine if not comfortable If u have any symptoms then stay at home until you recover. Avoid sitting, sleeping, or eating with your family ones even if you live in the same home. Wear a mask and wash your hand as much as possible and go to the hospital and test yourself. Read the full article

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xxx-cat-xxx · 5 years

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Peter Parker and Bruce Banner’s Guide on How To Make Iron Man Sleep

For @sallyidss. Happy Birthday, Sally! This is about 1% hurt and 99% comfort, or in other words, pure fluff and chicken soup. I hope you enjoy it and I hope you have a wonderful day!

Thanks to @whumphoarder for beta reading and to @maikkuax for the video game reference.

____________________

Peter wakes up to a dazzling amount of texts on Saturday morning.

One is from Tony, sent at 3am, telling him that Bruce is sick and might not be able to help Peter with his biology project today as they had planned, but he is still welcome to drop by the tower.

Then there’s another one from Tony three hours later asking him whether he could pick up some soup while on the way; one from Bruce at 8am, telling him that Tony is sick too, but ‘he won’t admit it so just try to somehow get him to rest once you come over’; and then one more from Tony telling him to ignore whatever Bruce just told him.

Peter grins to himself while reading the texts - he can almost hear his favourite superhero couple bantering and fussing over each other. Then he gets up for breakfast with May and a shower before heading down to the corner grocery store. He gets soup (chicken for Tony and vegetable for Bruce), as well as some of the Fairtrade chocolate bars that Bruce buys for ideological reasons and Tony eats en masse because he’s got a secret sweet tooth. Peter stuffs the groceries into his school bag along with his laptop and makes his way to the tower.

Tony definitely looks under the weather when he opens the door; pale and with a very clown-like red nose that is dripping constantly.

“Hey kid, thanks for the delivery,” he jokes with a raspy voice. He takes the bag and mimics shutting the door in Peter’s face before smirking and opening it fully to let his unamused mentee in.

“Very funny, Mr. Stark.” Peter removes his shoes and jacket and then stops, frowning. Through the hallway, he can see that the bed in the master bedroom has been demolished into what looks like a heap of firewood. “Uhm, what happened to your bed?”

“Well…” Tony interrupts himself to cough harshly into his elbow. “So, uh, we had a bit of an exciting night. Not in the fun way, unfortunately…” he trails off. “Anyway, Bruce went back to sleep after breakfast, but I thought we could head to the lab and start working on the chameleon fabric you suggested for your suit.”

Peter is sure that working in the lab is the opposite of what Tony should be doing just now - his mentor looks even more tired than usual and the slightly glassy quality to his eyes suggests that he is running a fever - but Peter also knows that saying this out loud will only be counterproductive.

“What if we watch a movie instead?” he suggests.

“I’m not watching a movie at eleven in the morning,” Tony protests. “We have the whole day in front of us - time to build, invent, change the world..." He flaps his hand. "All that jazz."

“Okay, okay…” Peter thinks for a second before an idea hits him. “But before we start with the suit, I do need your help with something else.”

“Now what?”

“So, Ned and I have this gaming commentary channel on YouTube where we livestream playing “The Witcher 3”? And it’s going pretty well, but Ned says he needs help developing his stage persona, you know, talking in a way that is interesting and keeps your audience engaged? So, he thought that you might give us some advice because you’ve got a ton of experience with speaking in public and all that?”

(It’s not entirely a lie - Ned and Peter have joked about getting Tony involved in order to increase their viewership, but he is pretty sure that Ned would be mortified upon hearing that Peter actually suggested it to the billionaire.)

“Wait, you and Ned are making videos of you killing virtual trolls while talking about it? And people actually watch that?”

“That’s...another way of putting it.”

“Sounds like a gigantic waste of time.” Tony scrunches up his nose. “Either I play the game myself, or I spend my downtime watching something interesting.”

“Hey! Our last one has more than 3000 hits!” Peter defends.

“People have too much free time. Including you.” Tony points his finger at Peter before quickly covering his mouth to contain a sneeze. “But I suppose I can take a look if you really want me to…”

Peter grins. Stage one: complete.

They settle on the couch in the living room. Tony can’t suppress a small sigh when he leans against the cushions. He massages the bridge of his nose in a way that makes it clear to Peter he must be nursing a headache.

“Hit me, kid,” he orders.

“Okay, but before we start, you need to know a few things...” Peter launches into a long-winded explanation of the game’s storyline with more than a few unnecessary details of the characters’ backgrounds. He pretends to concentrate on the screen where he walks Tony through different tutorials, but out of the corner of his eye he sees his mentor slowly sinking deeper and deeper into couch.

“...and then they bring Uma to the witcher school of Kaer Morhen,” Peter goes on as Tony tiredly attempts to follow along, his blinks growing longer and longer each time, “where Yennefer removes his curse and transforms him into Avallac'h...”

When Peter can’t think of anything else to babble about, he starts playing their most recent video. Tony sits up a little straighter and rubs a hand over his face to concentrate. But at about the two minute mark, he stops the screen with a wave of his hand.

“So, not to be rude, but that was kind of painful, Tony declares. “You guys literally started with a 45 second explanation of why you prefer the old controller design to the new one. No wonder you’re putting people to sleep.”

Peter frowns a bit. “I mean, we weren’t that bad…” he defends. “And the new ones do kind of suck.”

“Sure, kid,” Tony huffs. He shifts position on the sofa with a sigh. “Alright, listen. It’s obvious that you two are knowledgeable about this game, but if you want to engage your audience, you’ve gotta try to establish your credentials in a way that’s still interesting and relatable. For instance, I once started a TED Talk by describing how I hacked NASA during an MIT frat party so that I could send a rocket to draw a dick over San Francisco. ”

Peter snorts at that admission.

“See? Exactly,” Tony points out. “That’s the kind of reaction you want your audience to have - that’s called a hook, kid.”

The longer they watch, the more Tony seems to be melting into the couch. His comments become less and less frequent, and at some point he leans his head back against the pillow, barely looking at the screen anymore. By the third video, Peter can see his mentor’s eyelids fluttering shut.

He waits for a few minutes and then pauses the screen, just to see Tony’s eyes fly open again. “I’m listening!” he assures.

“Yeah, I know.” Peter hides a smirk. “Just, uhm, relax a bit.”

“I see what you’re trying to do here, kid. I’m not stupid,” Tony protests nasally, stifling another sneeze, but he doesn’t make any move to get up from the couch.

Peter starts the video again, knowing that the battle has been won. Five minutes later, Tony is asleep.

Peter watches a few more videos on his own (now that he pays attention, he realises that most of Tony’s suggestions, despite being sarcastic, are actually in line with what the popular streamers do) before FRIDAY informs him that Bruce has woken up.

He finds the scientist in the kitchen, making tea.

“Hey Dr. Banner,” Peter greets. “How are you?”

“Hey Peter.” Bruce gives him a warm and slightly sleepy smile. His voice is a bit hoarse. “I’m fine. Is Tony asleep?”

“Yep,” Peter declares proudly. “Used my hypnotically soothing voice. And obscure video game lore."

Bruce heaves out a sigh. “Finally, thank god. I had, uhm… kind of an incident last night and I don’t think he slept at all after that.”

Peter thinks back to the broken bed frame and chooses not to comment.

“Do you want some tea?” Bruce asks.

“No, thanks. I’m okay.”

Bruce takes out a box of cookies instead and hands a few to Peter. “So, what was this thing you wanted me to look at with you?”

“Oh, it’s just a bio project,” Peter says with a shrug. “But we can do it some other time, when you’re feeling better.”

“I’m okay...” Peter gives him a suspicious look and Bruce’s smile deepens. “No need for that - I’m not Tony, I would tell you if I wasn’t up for it. But I am actually feeling much better after sleeping and I wouldn’t mind some distraction.”

“Okay, well then...”

Peter likes Bruce a lot. It took him a while to get close to him because Bruce is not a person who easily lets people in, but now whenever Peter visits the tower, he looks forward to seeing the scientist almost as much as he does to seeing Tony.

Tony is brilliant, energetic, and funny, and he constantly encourages Peter to think deeper, work harder, do better - to improve himself. Which is a fun challenge, but it can also be quite exhausting at times. Working with Bruce is the exact opposite. He makes Peter feel calm, slows him down when he overthinks, and makes it clear that mistakes are something that happen to everyone and nothing Peter should be too concerned about. While spending time with Tony is the equivalent of a rollercoaster ride, being with Bruce feels more like a calm day at the beach, and Peter has realised that he needs both from time to time.

They move to Bruce’s study (since Bruce doesn’t allow food in his lab and they don’t actually need to do any experiments for Peter’s project) with Peter’s laptop, biscuits, and several bars of Fairtrade chocolate.

Tony wakes up with the blurry images of a nightmare still on the rims of his consciousness. He feels cold, achy, and slightly out of breath. It takes him a few disoriented moments to realise that his face is mostly buried into a couch pillow, blocking his mouth and nose. He frees himself and sits up stiffly, wiping at his slightly damp cheeks. His nose is dripping annoyingly and he isn’t sure whether that’s only because of the cold.

“FRIDAY?” he prompts nasally.

“It is 1:17pm on Saturday afternoon. Dr. Banner and Mr. Parker are working in the study room. Everyone is safe and well, boss.”

“Okay. Thanks, FRI.” Tony takes another few moments to ground himself before getting up from the sofa, rather unsteadily. His body seems to have tripled in weight and his head feels like an overfilled balloon that’s ready to burst. He kind of wants to fall back onto the couch and go to sleep again, but at the same time he definitely doesn’t want to revisit the dreams he just had.

Instead, he ventures into the study where he finds his partner, who is sporting an adorable bedhead, together with his mentee enthusiastically modelling a DNA strand on a laptop screen.

“Coffee?” Tony asks hoarsely.

“Good afternoon to you too, Tony,” Bruce smirks and nods towards a pot sitting on the table. Tony pours himself a mug and downs it in one go, marvelling at how much better it makes his throat feel immediately.

Feeling slightly more human and ready to deal with the actual world, he leans over Bruce’s shoulder and nuzzles his head against his partner’s ear. “How you feeling, green bean?”

“I’m much better. Sleeping helped a lot, actually.” Tony gives him a critical once-over and seems to accept that. “Peter is doing an impressive job with his project, by the way,” Bruce adds.

Peter blushes at the compliment. “It’s not me - Dr. Banner is helping me a lot!”

“I’m really just sitting here and watching you work,” Bruce dismisses before addressing Tony again. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m”—Tony’s voice breaks in the middle of the sentence and he has to clear his throat before continuing—“I’m good.”

“Mm-hmm.” Bruce raises an eyebrow. “FRIDAY, what’s his temperature at?”

“100.2 degrees, Dr. Banner.”

“Thanks.” He turns to Tony, who is coughing again. There seems to be a brick stuck inside his chest and it feels like he can’t take a full breath at all. Bruce gives him a concerned look. “This sounds painful.”

“‘S okay,” Tony dismisses.

“Maybe you should try using the inhaler -”

“Stop mother-henning, Bruce,” he grumbles with a glance at Peter, who is very clearly trying to act as if he isn’t listening to every word, but the pain in Tony’s chest is suddenly replaced by a surge of warmth upon realising Bruce’s worry about him. The scientist seems to understand and just squeezes Tony’s hand before turning back to the screen.

Tony pours himself another cup of coffee and grabs a slice of toast as well as two of the chocolate bars before settling into the chair across from the two of them, munching away and watching them work. Seeing them together leaves him with an annoyingly sappy feeling. Bruce, usually rather shy, is much more self-confident around the kid and visibly happy about Peter’s genuine interest in everything scientific. He is also a much more patient teacher than Tony ever manages to be, which seems to be putting Peter at ease.

After finishing his food, Tony debates moving to his own lab to get some actual work done, but he is so, so tired, and everything kind of hurts. Standing up seems like a lot of effort. So instead, he crosses his arms on the table and rests his head on top of them, closing his eyes for just a moment.

He listens to Peter and Bruce when their conversation shifts from Peter’s project, to May’s new vegan disaster recipe, to the idea of using Peter’s webs in order to create a hammock that can hold the Hulk. Tony smiles into his sleeves, imagining Hulk chilling at the beach between two palm trees, swinging to and fro, to and fro, to and...

“Hey.” Bruce rests his palms lightly on Tony’s shoulder.

He jerks upright. “Wasn’t asleep.”

“What, I would never think that,” Bruce says with a smirk.

Tony rubs his tired eyes and then his aching forehead. “Where’s Peter?”

“He went to heat up the soup for all of us.”

“Hmm.” Tony grabs Bruce’s hands and presses them against his overly warm cheeks, enjoying the cooling feeling they provide.

“Did you have a nightmare earlier?” Bruce asks, his hand now moving up to cup Tony’s forehead. “You seemed kind of out of it.”

“Yeah,” Tony admits, leaning into the touch. “I don’t remember what it was about, though.”

Bruce hums and presses a light kiss to the top of Tony’s head. “Fever dreams are awful. But at least you didn’t break any furniture upon waking up.”

Tony, sensing the guilt below the light tone, only huffs. “I’d been wanting to get a new bed anyway for a while now. Did you know there are self-making ones now? And levitating mattresses? Or we could go for one of those free-swinging beds, to match Hulk’s upcoming hammock.”

Bruce smiles and shakes his head. “A normal one would do, Tony. Or we could try something different. Did you know that sleeping on the ground is actually quite good for your back?”

Tony snorts. “Yeah, no. I’m a billionaire, Brucie, we’re not sleeping on the ground because our bed is broken. Levitating one it is.”

Peter comes back with the steaming soup, which does wonders for Tony’s raw throat. At Bruce’s advice, he takes some Advil that muffles his headache a little and remembers the times a few years ago when he would be sick with only JARVIS as his company, feeling a little chilled and very lucky.

In the end, Tony does agree to watching TV, but mostly because Bruce admits to still not feeling up for anything more demanding (which Peter suspects is not entirely true, but he definitely won’t call him out). They let Peter pick, who of course goes for the newest Orville episode, and settle on the huge living room couch with a steaming mug of tea (Bruce), a packet of chocolate (Tony) and another helping of soup (Peter).

Peter notices after a while that Bruce is gently massaging Tony’s head, playing with his hair. Tony seems to be sort of melting into the touch, his head leaning against Bruce’s shoulder, eyes almost closed. He looks old, but not frighteningly so - more in a serene way that makes Peter want to capture the moment on film.

In the years he’s known him, Peter has rarely seen Tony anything but buzzing with energy, jumping to and fro between ideas and lab tables. The only person who is able to slow him down and occasionally get him to take a break without having to outright trick him into it seems to be Bruce. And as sorry as Peter is to see both of them sick, it’s also heartwarming to observe how they are taking care of each other.

Peter knows that most people his age find the idea of spending a lazy movie Saturday with their family kind of boring, but something in him loves the idea of settling down like this. Maybe it’s the fact that it reminds him of how it used to be with Ben and May, or that the time he spends as Spider-Man is already adventurous enough, or the sheer thrill of seeing Iron Man and the Hulk’s alter ego in their pyjamas on the couch, nuzzled up against each other.

But whatever it is, there’s nowhere else Peter would rather be.

____________________

If you liked this, make sure to check out @twentyghosts‘ beautiful fic Cold, Comfort with a similar setting that inspired me to write this one.

All my fics

Taglist: @toomuchtoread33 @yepokokfine

@badthingshappenbingo This is my fill for the ‘Common Cold’ square.

#sick tony stark #science bros #science boyfriends #irondad #sickfic #tony stark #bruce banner #peter parker #chocolate #common cold #fanfic #it was so hard to find a title for this

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yourdreamscenarios · 5 years

Text

When you get a pneumonia

∙ Requested ♡ ∙ Word count: 3,026

∙ A/N: Hi everybody! How are you all? I’m back with another scenario from our lovely Jungkook. I hope you’ll enjoy...

What have you all been up to these days? I’ve been busy with work, as always. I also adopted a kitten a few days ago, she’s so lovely. Yet, I’ve got my hands full on her. Are you a dog or a cat person? I have both, so I’m not quite sure...

“Good job everyone! Keep up the hard work and we will slay next weeks performance!” Amanda said, a huge grin covering her face as you all made your way back towards the dressing room. It had been a long and exhausting day, but after all you felt satisfied by how everything had gone by. You had been working towards these promotions for months and now that they were finally happening everything seemed so surreal. Your new album had dropped a few weeks ago and the plan was to promote it until the award shows which started next week. After all you did want your fans to be aware of your new songs before you’d go and perform them on huge shows like that. But things were looking good. You’d practiced and performed non stop for the last few days, always trying to improve yourselves. And the public loved it. Your album had entered the world with a loud bang and seemed to have taken over the entire country. Everyone seemed to be talking about it and things couldn’t have been more successful. It was as if you were all on cloud nine, celebrating the fact that for once everything seemed to be going according to plan. It seemed like these promotions were going to be the best you’d ever had in the history of your bands existence.

“Did you see the audience? They were losing their minds! They already knew the entire lyrics to our songs.” Elena jittered beside you, and you smiled, glad to find her this happy. Yesterday, when she’d visited you inside of your hotel room, she’d still been worried that everything might go wrong. That your luck might end and things would go down hill from now on. But even her worried had faded after today’s concert. Taking a sip from the water bottle inside of your head you realized you were more thirty than you’d realized and emptied it in almost one go. Licking your lips you bowed towards the staff standing in the halls, who’d come to congratulate you. You frowned when you felt a slap against the shoulder and looked beside you to see who was responsible. Jessica shot you a bright smile and threw her arm around your shoulders as you walked on. “Why are you so quiet? Aren’t you happy?” She asked, and you stopped the need you felt to roll your eyes at her silly comment. Of course you were happy. But you were also tired, and you needed a hot tea and a warm bath to finish the night. You knew your friends would want to go on and celebrate this great night some more, but you simply couldn’t find the energy for it.

You’d been having a cold since the start of last week. It had started with sneezing, a runny nose. But soon you’d gotten a soar throat and your almonds had swollen until they were twice their normal size. You hadn’t felt like doing much during the past few days but you’d still committed yourself to practice and work hard just like the rest of your members. Because you definitely weren’t letting them down because of a stupid cold. “Of course I’m happy.” You squeaked, your voice tired of straining it all day. It was a miracle you had been able to hit the right notes while singing, and you hadn’t sounded off key. But you knew that for the rest of the night you’d have to spare your voice if you wanted to be able to use it again tomorrow. You screwed the lid back onto your now empty water bottle and threw it in the trash as soon as you entered the dressing room. The couch was calling out for you and you didn’t fight it but walked straight towards it. Dropping down on the soft pillows you finally allowed your sore muscles to relax. Yet your peace didn’t last long as a terrible cough rattled through you. You didn’t need to see the look on everyone’s faces inside of the room to know that it sounded disgusting. You’d expected things to get better over the days, but instead it seemed to have become worse.

Your throat was so raw it almost felt as if it was bleeding on the inside. Every time you breathed you could feel your lungs expand inside of your chest, as if in protest. Your head felt too big to fit on your neck, but somehow it hadn’t fallen off yet. You were surprised you had been able to make it through the week. And even though you knew it would have been wise to go see a doctor but you just simply didn’t have the time. Perhaps it was an idea to make work of that, now that you’d have a few days off. “Are you sure you’re okay? You look a bit pale.” Amber said, concern coloring her voice as she sat down beside you. Looking up at her your smiled reassuringly, not wanting to ruin her perfect night. They all deserve to be happy, and your cold was your own problem to worry about. “I’ll be fine, just a bit tired.” You said, reaching for your cardigan which you had gotten rid of right before starting your performance. You were always chilly these days, so you took a cardigan with you everywhere you went. Even now, after you’d been sweating throughout your performance, you felt the chill settle on top of your skin.

“You’re not planning on driving home like this are you? You should just come with us.” Amber suggested, eying you suspiciously while you were wrestling to get your arm into your sleeve. You definitely understood her concern, but it wasn’t something you hadn’t thought about before. Hugging your jacket close to you, you shot her a little smile. “Jungkook is picking me up.” You explained, remembering the way your boyfriend had practically begged to pick you up from work. He surely was just as worried as your friends, and just like them he wasn’t easily soothed. This seemed to relief some of them, knowing you weren’t going home by yourself and there was someone near to take care of you, just in case. “I don’t understand how on earth you can wear that cardigan, it’s so hot in here I’m melting.” Jessica said, and you shot her a look. She was trying to be dramatic, but you weren’t going to let her get to you. You no longer had the energy to listen to her pointing things out to you. “I’m cold, you know I always am.” You reminded her, which was the truth. You were always cold, even in the hot weather during summer. You were just one of those people who never warmed up. Jungkook aways had to be prepared to lend you his jacket and you always had to take scarves and coats everywhere, just to be sure.

Before you knew what was going on Elena had sneaked up from behind you, and her hand was resting on your forehead. You jumped back from her touch, which seemed to be even colder than the temperature inside of the room. “Jesus __________, you’re burning up. You’ve got a fever.” She scolded, and you quickly lifted your hand to your own forehand to check that statement. Yet, you didn’t seem to feel the same she did. Yes you were hot, but you’d just been running across a stage for almost two hours. It wasn’t strange that you were sweating or that you were feeling warm. “You’re overreacting, I’m fine.” You repeated, getting kind of annoyed by their overprotectiveness. You’d be fine after a good night of sleep. You just needed some rest, afterwards you’d be just fine. As soon as you got home you’d take a nice shower and then you’d get to bed and curl underneath the sheets. You’d feel much better when you’d wake up tomorrow and you knew you didn’t have any workouts waiting for you. You’d just enjoy your free day at home, cuddle with your boyfriend if you felt better. The last thing you wanted was to infect him.

“I think you should let someone check up on you, just to be sure.” Amanda continued and you ignored her as your eyes darted around the room to look for something to drink. The more you tried to explain to them that you didn’t need anything the more they would baby you. You’d always been the one to look out for, as the youngest of the group. Finding a bunch of water bottles piled together you pushed yourself up from the sofa, feeling your muscles protest heavily. You reached the water just in time, feeling another cough overtake you. It definitely didn’t sound like an innocent cold, yet that didn’t mean others were supposed to make such a fuss about it. “I’ll go to the doctor tomorrow, I’m tired, I just want to go home.” You pressed on, hoping they would finally let it go. The euphoric atmosphere that had been present in the room because of your great performance seemed to have disappeared over the past ten minutes. Now there seemed to be a loaded tension inside of the room, like a bomb waiting to explode. They all had an opinion, it was resting on the tip of their tongs. They simply weren’t saying it out loud. You really needed Jungkook here, perhaps he would choose your side.

Twisting the water bottle you took a few big gulps, hoping the water would sooth your sore throat. Instead the fluid seemed to drop inside of your stomach like a rock. A nauseous feeling washed over you, almost knocking you over. You could feel the last bit of adrenaline leave your body after the performance and it was as if your body had simply decided to shut down in the process. Looking for some support you reached towards the wall, leaning against it. You couldn’t remember it being this hot inside of the room. Somehow you desired to rip every piece of fabric off of you. In the blink of an eye you had gone from freezing to burning up inside. It was as if a fire had started inside of you. Catching your breath made you feel as if you were running a marathon. Every gulp seemed to be coming too slow, no matter how hard you tried. It was as if your lungs had collapsed and with the little you knew about anatomy, even you knew that was’t good. Your body needed oxygen in order to survive, and as to right now you could tell you weren’t getting enough. Black spots danced in front of your eyes while your legs seemed to give in, pulling you towards the ground.

When you finally woke up you felt as if you had been asleep for weeks. It was as if someone had hit you in the head with something big and heavy. Your head felt as if it were about to split in half. A bright ceiling met your view and you had to blink your eyes against the sterile look. Small beeps came from somewhere around you and you could feel the roughness of an uncomfortable blanket underneath your fingertips. Shifting your eyes felt like an explosion was happening inside of your head, but you pushed through until you were able to gaze around the room. You were able to hold back your displeased groan just in time when you noticed something moving beside you. Startled you turning your head in the direction the sound came from and noticed a woman in white clothing fidgeting with the pole standing behind your bed. Several bags with fluids which had names you could impossible understand hung down from it, connected with small see through cables which ended in an infusion inside of your right hand. Perhaps you should be happy you hadn’t been awake when they’d punctured you to get that one in, since that might have been enough to make sure you would have collapsed.

“Oh, how lovely. You’re awake. How are you feeling darling?” The woman smiled down on you, her eyes friendly and caring. Yet her hands didn’t pause for a single second, blindly changing one bag of fluid for the next. Noticing your stare she pointed at the recent one. “I’m just giving you your antibiotics. The doctor will be with you soon. Why don’t you rest some more dear.” She patted your arm before exciting the room, probably off to the next patient in the room next to yours. The thought that you were in a building surrounded by people going through rough times made you shiver. Taking in your surroundings your mind spun back towards what she’d been saying. Why were they giving you antibiotics? Guild crackled inside of you, wondering if you’d pushed yourself too far, if you’d only worried the people around you even more while you’d been trying to act like everything was fine. Surely you had been more miserable than you had pretended to be, yet you’d never expected to end up in a hospital for it. Sighing deeply your eyes rested on the bump you’d missed on the other side of the room.

Right there, popped up on a small wooden chair, was your boyfriend. Eyes firmly closed, the back of his head pressed against the wall while his arms crossed over his chest, he looked as if he was having the most uncomfortable time sleeping ever. Yet, he’d managed it anyway. Staring at him you could tell that he’d been in a rush getting here from wherever he had been. He was still in his sweats, a casual black t-shirt and vest clinging his body. He looked as if he’d rushed straight out of practice to get to you. You sighed, thinking about how stupid you were. All of this could have been prevented if you’d just allowed the people around you to take care of you. But you’d been stubborn and you’d denied the fact that anything was wrong to begin with. You resisted the urge you felt to cough when you felt a tickle inside of the back of your throat. Yet, you could only fight it for so long before your lungs begged to let out the air you’d been holding. Bringing your hand in front of your mouth you coughed just as badly as you’d done before you’d blanked out earlier. When you were done you once again felt exhausted. It was as if your body was putting all its energy in trying to get rid of all the bad things inside of you.

��You should have told me you were this sick.” You flinched, and stared and Jungkook only to find him staring back at you, his position unchanged. His voice sounded like the one of a teacher scolding his student for not completing their homework. His eyes were drilling into you as he looked at you, until you felt like you had no choice but to look away. You knew exactly how he felt. It was the same way you always felt when he pushed himself too far, when he did more than his body was able to take. You felt terrible, knowing you’d made him feel the same way. “I didn’t know…” You croaked right before your voice left you, your words barely more than a whisper. Without saying anything he pushed himself up from his tiny chair, moving slowly, as if he had been sitting there for a very long time. Carefully he poured you a glass of water on the nightstand before sitting down on the edge of the bed. Clumsily you drank a few sips of the water, which helped little to soothed your throat but at least made you feel a bit better. The silence weighed down on the two of you as Jungkook slowly put the glass back on the nightstand.

“You have a pneumonia. You had a serious fever. It will take quite some time and antibiotics before you’ll be back on track.” He explained after a while, and the news caused your heart to weigh heavy inside of your chest. All that hard work, for nothing. “But, the Golden disk awards…” You started, but instantly stilled when you spotted Jungkook’s cold stare. It had been a while since you’d seen him this angry, since you’d seen him this out of line. Yet, he seemed to try his best not to snap at you when he spoke. “I don’t give a damn about that stupid show, and neither should you. This is serious ____________. You’re sick, really sick. You could have died from this.” Worry glistered inside of his eyes as he brushed his hand through his hair, tugging at the strands. Instantly your thoughts about the concert disappeared as you looked at him. You felt terrible for worrying him. Reaching out your hand you used it to hold onto his, making sure not to pull at the cable running down on your right arm.

“I’m sorry.” You muttered softly, waiting until he looked at you to squeeze his fingers inside of yours. He sighed, but nodded anyway before returning the pressure of your hand. Smiling softly at him you waited until the corners of his lips tugged upwards ever so slightly before patting the spot next to you. Realizing laying beside you was probably a much more comfortable position than he’d had on his wooden chair he carefully spread out beside you, his head propped up on his hand. “You shouldn’t scare me like that. Now it seems like I’m going to have to take care of you for the next few weeks.” He muttered, grabbing your free hand and bringing it towards his lips to peck it. Indeed, the fact that you would miss the concerts which still had to come sucked, just like that fact that you’d ruined everything that was perfect about your comeback. But at least you’d have more time to spend with your boyfriend these upcoming weeks, and what could be any better than that?

∙ BTS Masterlist ♡ ∙ Masterlist ♡

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