#hyperpyrexia

[theranilord]

• I bet Will put that one up to instincts. Trust his body to tell if there is another person there. Since his mind isn't exactly reliable...

• Bitch is THAT the celebrating point you really wanted to stand on?! Have you heard of Hyperpyrexia?

• I will not feel sympathy for her, quit that shot.

[an-abandoned-sad-weirdo]

CHAPTER 16!

[one-chicago-writer]

Fevered Bonds

Fevered Bonds

Pairing: Connor Rhodes x Halstead!Reader Summary: A severe case of the flu leaves you barely responsive, your fever skyrocketing to dangerous levels. As your condition worsens, Connor struggles to keep you stable at home, torn between respecting your fear of hospitals and the growing dread that he might lose you. Fever-induced delirium, exhaustion, and the slow process of recovery make for a long night—one that neither of you will forget.\

Connor knew something was wrong the second he walked through the door.

The heat inside your apartment was stifling, the air thick and constricting. The thermostat read 80°F, far too high for someone already burning up. A spike of worry cut through him like a knife as he scanned the dimly lit living room, eyes locking onto the couch where you were curled up beneath a pile of sweat-soaked blankets.

You were trembling, body wracked with uncontrollable shivers despite the heat.

“Y/N.”

Kneeling beside you, he pressed the back of his hand to your forehead, only to feel scorching heat radiating off your skin. His pulse jumped. This wasn’t just a fever—it was dangerous.

Your eyelids fluttered weakly, but your gaze didn’t quite focus. Your pupils were sluggish, the usual warmth in your eyes dulled by exhaustion and something far worse—delirium.

“…Jay?”

Connor stilled.

His chest tightened as he watched your eyes flicker past him, unfocused and distant.

You weren’t looking at him… You were looking through him. 

Your fingers twitched against his arm, grasping at something—or someone—who wasn’t there.

“You—you’re hurt,” you mumbled, your raspy voice barely above a whisper. “Jay… you need to sit down. You’re—there’s so much blood—”

Connor exhaled sharply, his throat tightening.

He recognized the signs immediately: delirium from hyperpyrexia. You weren’t just confused—you were trapped in some fever-induced flashback, reliving a memory you couldn’t escape.

“Y/N,” he said firmly, cupping your cheek, his touch gentle but grounding. “It’s Connor. I’m here. You’re sick, but I’ve got you.”

You let out a soft, distressed noise, your body twitching under his hands. Another tremor wracked your frame, and Connor barely suppressed a curse.

Grabbing the thermometer from the coffee table, he slipped it under your tongue, keeping a steadying hand at the nape of your neck when your head lolled slightly. The beep came too soon, and when he pulled it back, his heart dropped into his stomach.

104.7��F.

A fever that high wasn’t just uncomfortable—it was life-threatening. If it climbed much higher, you’d be at risk for seizures, brain damage, organ failure.

“Shit,” he muttered under his breath, already reaching for his bag.

Your pulse was racing beneath his fingers—easily over 120 bpm, a classic sign of systemic inflammatory response syndrome. You were dehydrated, tachycardic, and burning up.

He considered calling an ambulance, but as if sensing his thoughts, your weak fingers curled around his wrist.

“No hospital,” you rasped, voice barely audible.

Connor exhaled sharply through his nose.

He should’ve fought you on it. If this were anyone else—any other patient—he would’ve forced them onto a gurney and straight into the ED. But you weren’t just anyone.

You were you.

And he’d sworn to keep you safe.

“Okay,” he murmured, brushing damp hair from your forehead. “Okay.”

Your fingers twitched again, something close to a thank you.

But another violent shiver stole any chance of a response, your body curling in on itself as your muscles spasmed from the fever.

At that, Connor got up and strode to the hall closet, where he kept a more advanced first aid kit, which included IV kits and medications, since like your brothers, you had a severe tendency to downplay your injuries and illnesses. 

Connor moved swiftly, securing a tourniquet around your arm as he scanned for a vein. The cephalic vein, located just to the side of your bicep tendon, was faint but still visible, though it appeared slightly collapsed. The dehydration was complicating the process, so Connor lightly flicked the area he planned to use, hoping to encourage the vein to dilate and make the insertion easier.

“Stay with me, sweetheart,” he murmured, swabbing the site before uncapping the 18-gauge catheter.

The needle slid in smoothly. A flash of blood return filled the chamber, and Connor advanced the catheter before securing the line. He hooked up the normal saline IV, and put the IV bag on a hook that held a picture of you and him, that he took down temporarily. and opened the roller clamp, watching the fluid start to drip into your system.

Your body twitched at the sudden intake of fluids.

“There we go,” he murmured, keeping his voice steady even as his own pulse refused to cease galloping. “You’re gonna feel so much better soon.”

But your fever was still too high.

Connor pushed himself up and strode to the bathroom, twisting the faucet until lukewarm water began filling the tub. He tested the temperature with his wrist, ensuring it wasn’t too cold. Cooling too fast could cause vasoconstriction and worsen the fever response.

Returning to you, he placed the IV bag on your abdomen, and eased his arms under you, picking you up. You whimpered slightly at the change in positions, to which Connor replied, “Shh sweet girl. It's alright. I’ve got you.” He carried you into the bathroom, and gently set you in the water, and set the IV bag up on the shower curtain rod. 

The second your skin touched the water, a weak whimper escaped your lips.

“No—Jay—don’t—”

His grip tightened, steady but gentle.

“You’re safe,” he murmured, running a cool washcloth over your flushed skin. “I’ve got you.”

You let out another quiet sound, eyes still distant—but this time, you finally started to relax.

Minutes stretched on. The room was silent aside from the occasional ragged breath you took, the soft drip of the IV, the steady cadence of Connor’s voice as he whispered reassurances.

Slowly, the fever began to break.

104… 103.5… 102.6°F.

Still high. But it was no longer lethal.

Once he was sure your body had adjusted, he got you out of the tub, wrapped you in your favorite fluffy towel, and carried you into your shared bedroom and sat you on the edge of the bed. Quickly, he went into the closet,and got a pair of running shorts and a t- shirt. Connor helped you into dry clothes and laid you in bed. Your skin was clammy, your body still weak, but your pulse had steadied—no longer erratic, no longer dangerously fast.

Your fingers curled around his wrist, stronger than before.

“’M still here,” you mumbled, voice scratchy but certain.

His chest tightened.

Yeah. You were. And as long as he had anything to say about it, you always would be.

Recovery was slow.

For the next day and a half, Connor barely left your side.

Your fever hovered around 101°F, leaving you exhausted and barely able to keep your eyes open for more than a few minutes at a time. Even when you were awake, your words came out in a haze, fever-induced ramblings that broke his heart every single time.

“Jay, is… is that you?” you murmured weakly, your voice a rough whisper. The fever was still clouding your mind. It wasn’t until you saw the concerned, loving gaze in Connor’s eyes that you fully registered who was there. The next words that came from you weren’t words at all, just a strangled sob of relief that wracked your body and nearly broke him. He held you through it, not knowing how to fix it, but he knew he couldn’t let you go.

Connor forced you to sip electrolyte solutions, fed you small bites of soup even when you weakly protested.

“You haven’t eaten in two days,” he reminded you, his voice soft but firm, not willing to back down.

You scowled at him from beneath the blankets. “Bossy.”

He smirked. “Stubborn.”

It was hard to see you like this. You, normally so strong, so fiercely independent, now depend on him for even the smallest things. It made him feel like the walls were closing in, like the weight of his own concern was suffocating him. 

Eventually, the fever broke entirely. Your temperature finally dropped below 100°F, and the exhaustion that had weighed on you like a lead blanket finally began to lift.

Connor—still hovering, always watching—checked your pulse one last time, fingers lingering over your wrist.

Finally, he let himself relax.

“See?” you murmured, voice still hoarse but teasing. “Told you I’d be fine.”

Connor huffed, shaking his head. “You nearly cooked yourself from the inside out. Forgive me if I don’t find that too terribly funny.”

You sighed, squeezing his hand. “But I had you.”

His gaze softened, and he remembered why he fell head over heels for you in the first place. 

“Yeah,” he murmured, brushing his thumb over your knuckles. “You did.”

And you always would.

As you slept, Connor stayed awake, fearful you might take a turn down the wrong direction. the rhythmic rise and fall of your chest being the only thing keeping him sane. He watched over you, unable to shake the nagging fear that had lodged itself in his chest. But each breath you took, each gentle movement, was a reminder that you were still with him. And that was all that mattered.

TAGLIST:

@Knbubbles, @zoeykaytesmom

[engenever-beaver]

First thing I would like to say:

I think USA have lost right to be casually named "America". That's the name of a whole continent, not some brawny imitation of a country. Especially since #trump destroyed NAFTA, threatens Mexico with military invasion, and Canada with occupation of their territory.

So my proposal is:

1. Refer to USA as "States". Because USA is in constant States of Decay, Mizery and Hyperpyrexia.

2. "Americans", those who live in USA will become "statoids" or some other form of this word.

Having country administratively divided into states isn't that unique, but USA makes such a huge deal out of it.

"Americans" are all the people who live in North AND South America. Hope this reminds statoids, that there are humans South of Texas.

[holybasementdweller]

Hyperpyrexia

Noun hy·​per·​py·​rex·​ia ˌhī-pər-pī-ˈrek-sē-ə 

An exceptionally high fever (as in a particular disease)

Hyperpyrexia is considered a medical emergency -----------------------------------------------

Pathway complete- check Trees pruned- check Archway finished- check Flowers planted- ah. Next on the agenda. 

Nara turned back to the shulker at her side, rummaging through to grab the lily of the valley and cherry blossoms. They were among the last ones to be planted and scattered across the grounds. She paused for a moment. That… there was a tightness in her chest, foreign to just that of her usual anxiety, constricting and choking and terribly horribly wrong-

Nara bent over, wheezing, and a cough violently tore its way out from the space between her ribs and spine. Her chest felt like it was erupting into a wildfire, pain burning its way through, unable to catch her breath was there even air in her lungs something was choking her stuck in there thick and cloying and burning up this hurt this hurt she couldn't fucking breathe-

It could have been seconds, hours, minutes; all you knew was the pain and the tightness and that horrible warm, wet, dripping that spilled out of your throat and right back down your esophagus or into your mouth and over your tongue. Blinking, heaving for breath between gasps of air as you cough harder, you somehow find your way to the ground.

When the fit finally subsides enough for you to take in a shaky breath, you lift a hand to your mouth. You… you know what just happened. You know what that sticky, oozing liquid means. You still have to confirm it. And when you withdraw your hand that is covered in your own blood, your heart sinks. Metaphorically, of course. Your actual heart, your core one? 

It’s failing on you. 

It cannot last that much longer, not like this. 

Your blood vessels and organs are fighting not to collapse.

Breathing is more difficult. There is something in your lungs, but you know what it is. This is all… Wrong. Familiar, and in the most awful way, because this is exactly what you’d been trying to avoid. The nightmares, the memories, the ache that had only grown the past few weeks despite your best attempts to ignore it and argue that it was just in your head.

It wasn’t just in your head. It was real.

Foolish. 

Stupid. 

Of course it would happen, you knew this was a consequence, but you still opened that box. And now the past is back, the past will always haunt you no matter how hard you fight it, because locking it away in that box never healed you. All it did was stave off the consequence for just a little while longer.

They all wanted you to open that box. They ripped apart the last of your conscience keeping it at bay. Now the thing you wanted to keep away has been released, oozing out through the shredded container just like the mess that has been oozing out of all those wounds they tore in your chest that don’t bleed.

And perhaps you could- could have found a way to fix this, before, but it’s too late. They forced your hand but it is open and we are going to deal with this, we will persevere through this, we will not allow them the satisfaction of seeing the toll it takes.

…. That is terribly self destructive.

Laughter. A wave of emotions. Clarity. A lack of emotions. You clench your fists; the blood on your hands squeezes out through your fingers. 

They will not be granted the privilege of seeing how this affects us. They surrendered that right. We will still show them the rest, my dear soldier. We have work to do. They are already paranoid; it won’t be much longer, now, before they make the next connection. 

You give yourself some time to- breathe. Compose yourself. To swallow down the rest of the blood and clean it out from between your teeth, from between your fingers, because you have a proposal to make tonight and you can’t ruin that. You can’t. And you’ve been proposed to, again, as well, and you cannot miss that either. You wouldn’t miss it for anything. Other people might have hurt you, but you know these people won’t. They’ve already fallen for the first part, are following right where you want them to. Be patient. You know patience. They will come to you, fall into that snare of their own making.

They’d wipe the blood off your teeth for you, and you’d let them, but it would ruin the peace and the joy these moments are going to bring. And a little peace and joy would do you all some good, right now. 

…. You still need to revise your guest list. You did already let the one know they are no longer an option, no longer welcome, and let that invite join the ash of the bridge they had burnt. There are a few others you’d like present, though, and who your partners might also want. Plus, the first date is rapidly approaching. And you need to make more headway with your writing. Need to finish up your vows.

Shaking out his wings, Nara heaved his way back up to his feet. He had some more petals to scatter; a small little bridge to make, some more lanterns to hang…. It was almost done. Almost ready. Another smaller coughing fit wracked through his lungs; he was able to stand through it this time, only a few drops of blood in their hands. They wiped it off quickly. Best not to let their blood burn straight through the flowers they’d spent the past hour arranging.

That slow, awful sensation of liquid trickling down their throat was still present. At this rate, Nara knew it was a risk that it… it might not stop. He was running out of time to pull this off. He wasn’t able to reverse the damage now, had no idea if he could even manage to douse the flames. Things were moving, the clock was ticking, they’d already gotten the first few steps in motion and it was working perfectly. So long as he didn’t falter now, they could still pull this off.

A ping from his communicator cut through Nara’s train of thought. There was a barely-present tremor to his hands as he pulled it out of his inventory to check. A grin split across his face at the message.

So they were onto the next step, then.

Do you think they found it, yet?

[wiredaughter]

Outbreak

××

allison cameron×robert chase ☆ zombie apocalypse ☆ 1008 words ☆ ao3

@augustwritingchallenge day 4: zombie apocalypse @aug-kissed week 1: blow a kiss

Doctor Allison Cameron squints at the whiteboard in House's office. Extending ecchymosis, low grade fever, rash. It doesn't entirely seem like a case but House is, if to be believed, consulting with the federal government; which makes it a case. Of course, he's not around to explain why the patient is at PPTH instead of some blacksite if that's the truth. She exits the room, it's not her job to know why anymore.

The ER pulls her from her job trajectory considerations easily, there seems to have been a highway wreck involving at least six vehicles and she spends the morning up to her elbows on life altering injuries and advanced life support. She doesn't think about the diagnostics team again until she chats with Foreman in the lift to the cafeteria and learns the patient went after a phlebotomist with teeth and nails, making House wonder whether they should add aggressiveness to the list or the patient is just a bit of a prick.

She thinks about it, vaguely, during her lunch with Chase but ultimately doesn't bring it up until they're walking back to their respective stations. Good choice too, going by his general disinterest in the matter.

‘It's irregular, is all, to have the patient here, don't you think?

There's resignation mixed with admiration in the look her boyfriend gives her, and a hint of selfdeprecation in his smile. ‘How is a government consult meant to compel me more than a gun to his head, again?’

Cameron shrugs, stops to kiss him quickly. ‘It just seemed interesting. I’ll see you later.’

As she walks away, she turns in time to see him blowing her a kiss. Yes, her life's changed ever since resigning from the diagnostics department and it hasn't always been easy, but she's excited to let someone in again. Doesn't mean everything's got to change, she thinks, back in House’s office, this time with most of the team assembled. There's more symptoms now, hyperpyrexia, necrosis, erythrocytosis, battle sign. Transmissible = BITES is underlined several times. They've quarantined the floor the patient is being held in, and have anyone who's been in direct contact with him in isolation.

���Polycythemia vera,’ she suggests, more to get the ball rolling than as a real answer, being that she hasn't seen the patient at all.

‘No hypertension,’ Kutner objects. ‘It's dropping steadily, actually.’

‘How's his spleen?’

‘We're waiting on the test, but palpation suggested no abnormalities.’

‘How about a different neoplasm. Essential thrombocythaemia?’ Thirteen checks the file. ‘Plateletes were high too.’

‘It could fit, but there's no cyanosis…’

She trails off when House looks ready to rule on it, but the door opens before he can, to reveal a harassed looking Chase, still on OR scrubs holding his pager up. ‘You can't page me, House, you're not my boss.’

Instead of answering, House raises a brow as he feels for something on his desk. On cue, Chase's pager goes off. Cameron exchanges a look with Foreman, who looks ready to go back to the differential. Following their cue, Chase looks at the board, almost involuntarily, frowns at what's written there. ‘If you have to page me, can it be for something other than Resident Evil roleplay?’

‘That's your diagnosis?’ House sounds exasperated. ‘Our patient is a zombie?’

‘It's how it always starts, the outbreak. Fever, necrosis, head trauma… Biting.’

‘Thank you, for illustrating exactly why I fired you.’

Chase gives Cameron a look that questions her willingness to listen to this before setting his pager down on House's desk and making for the door. Later, she mouths, and he gives a short nod before exiting. He's back before anyone can comment, wide eyed oh shit expression replacing his previous eyeroll in progress. ‘Tell me Taub is in on the joke?’

‘He went in for an NCV, I told you there's no jo-'

House's words get drowned by gunfire. Cameron moves to where Chase stands, pulling him out of the most direct line from the door to House, guessing whatever this is it's probably House-related. Again. The uniformed men that barge in after a blood splattered Taub don't shoot at anyone, though. The leader pulls down his mask.

‘Doctor House?’ It's not really a question, as he continues speaking directly at him without giving him the chance to direct his attention anywhere else. ‘Your assistance is required on site now, until the situation is handled. This your team?’

House nods, eyes burning holes through Chase’s head like he's jinxed him somehow. The man, who still hasn't introduced himself, talks into his comm to coordinate an extraction as his men exit. Cameron takes the chance to peek out the door, to see twitching, bloodied bodies strewn across the floor. She steps back, horrified, to take Chase's hand. The words zombie outbreak play on her head in his voice.

‘So,’ House leans forward on his cane, holding Chase’s pager up looking entirely too satisfied for someone who just dismissed what seems to be the working theory. ‘In the team, or out?'

Chase squeezes her hand, gives House an unimpressed look and snatches it back. ‘Unless you know someone else with over sixty hours in Deadly Silence, in.’

‘I have 100% completion in Deadly Silence’ Cameron lets her calf slide against Chase's in the chopper after an incredibly short briefing by phone, her words made private by the noise around them.

‘Your government is actually bioengineering zombies and your move is proving my expendability?’ He holds his chest in an exaggerated fashion, pressing their knees together.

‘Competition breeds progress.’ Her tone is too affectionate for her words to have any meaning.

Chase leans in, like he's going to kiss her but thinks better of it, considering their surroundings and the ongoing ‘situation’ that spans half the continental states if the information hasn't changed since they took off. Instead, he settles for an air-kiss. Not her, not now. She pulls him by his improbable tie, locking their lips for what might be the last time if the zombies are really at the gates.

[inscrutable-shadow]

Whumptober 2023 Day 2 - Take Two and Call Me in the Morning

@whumptober-archive

No. 2: “I’ll call out your name, but you won’t call back.”

Thermometer | Delirium | “They don’t care about you.”

contains: swearing and a generally pissed-off pseudo-supervillain

also available on ao3!

“Are we done here?” I feel like shit. I don’t really want to sit here being poked and prodded for God knows how long.

“Doctor Discontent,” or Doc Disco as he’s more commonly called around here, spins around in the office chair. “Absolutely not. Hellraiser herself comes into my office complaining of a mysterious malady, and you expect me to send her home with two pills and a glass of water?”

I sigh. “Are you even a real doctor? I just wanted cold medicine or someshit.”

“Have you ever gotten a cold before?” I notice how he doesn’t answer whether or not he’s a real doctor.

“You mean… since the Nova? No. You said I’m too hot for it.” My natural body temperature’s pretty high now, usually somewhere around a hundred and six. Doc Disco says it’s a miracle my brain doesn’t fry, but it’s also a “miracle” that I can melt steel with my breath, so I don’t put a lot of stock in that.

He smiles mischievously and I recoil a bit, feeling like an experiment. “So, when you present with a cough and malaise, what I would usually consider a mundane rhinovirus and treat with rest, I’m duty-bound to investigate. Let’s start with your temperature, why don’t we? Won’t hurt a bit.”

Whether or not the thermometer’ll hurt is the least of my worries, but I don’t really have a choice if I want anything for this. I can’t keep coughing all the time, I haven’t been able to control the temperature at all and I’ve already melted a full set of tableware. I already spend most of my time on edge trying to make sure I don’t burn everything around me. I can’t fucking function like this. Plus, I’m tired and I can’t even smoke.

Doc puts the metal end of the thermometer in my mouth and I just try to concentrate on not coughing at it. I think he can tell I’m holding my breath. He raises an eyebrow but doesn’t say anything about it. Instead, he lets out a low whistle. “You haven’t been experiencing any muscle cramps or nausea by any chance?” I would shake my head no, but it makes my headache worse. “Pupillary response is normal, at least. Your internal temperature is one fourteen point six. Even for you, I’d consider that hyperpyrexia. And yet, you seem to be, well, not no worse for wear, but not seizing on my floor, at least.”

I blink at him. “And… that’s a good thing, right? That I’m not… seizing? Are you gonna help me or not?” I don’t really enjoy hearing that I should be dying.

“Of course I’ll help, but I need to identify the problem first.” He pulls one of those long cotton swabs out of a drawer and puts new gloves on. “We’ll do some cultures and I’ll put you on an antipyretic. How’s that sound?”

Uh, yeah, no. “If you stick that thing down my throat, I’m gonna cough on you.” I’m basically an oven right now: at best, it’ll blister, and at worst, I’ll set him on fire. Falcon’ll kill me if “Doctor Discontent” isn’t ready to fight “Fist of Justice” (yeah, I know) tomorrow night. Besides, as much as he weirds me out, he doesn’t really deserve a second-degree burn.

Doc frowns. “Ah. Well, could you try to hold it back?”

“Whatever happened to ‘germs can’t live in my body because it’s too hot’? It’s not like the Nova did anything to them. What’s the point in cultures?” I’m trying really hard not to cough anyway. It’s not going well.

He wags a finger. “Not true, actually. Several types of beneficial bacteria are perfectly comfortable in your usual body temperature range. Otherwise, we would have had to work out an alternate solution for your digestive health. It’s entirely possible that an extremophile version of a common rhinovirus or streptococci may have taken up residence in your mucosa! It’d be a delight to study it.” I hate it when he talks like that. “Here, why don’t you have a dose of core suppressant and we’ll try after that?”

Not gonna work. “I’ve been chugging the shit like water. Won’t bring my temp down even a little.” Most of the suppressant in the building probably goes to me for one reason or another. Perks of being Hellraiser, I guess.

Doc’s brow furrows again. “I think I’ve talked to you about the consequences of overconsumption. It’s possible you provided an opening for this to happen. If you need more than sixteen ounces in four hours, you need to report for a discharge or come see me, understand?”

“Whatever, doc. Let’s just get this over with.” Fuck me. I just want to go to bed. If Doc ever finds out how much suppressant I use, he’s gonna flip his shit.

I take a deep breath and open my mouth for the swab. Maybe if I just stay extra relaxed, I won’t cough. Maybe. I’ve never really had a reason to cultivate a poor gag reflex. My tongue has other uses, if you get what I mean. My throat tightens around the scratchiness of the cotton and it takes everything I have not to breathe in or out. Every second is hell, but eventually, the swab is pulled out. Doc has just enough time to get out of the blast radius before the explosion comes.

The choking, hacking coughs I’m about used to at this point. I didn’t mean to start super-heating anything else, though. I’m too busy worrying about trying to breathe again to care that jets of plasma aren’t just coming from my nose, but also circling my chest and legs just like they would if I were performing. I distantly hear “Fen, please!” (he never calls me that, nobody does except Portent, it’s always just ‘Hellraiser’) before, moments later, I’m drenched in fire extinguisher foam.

I wipe the soapy stuff out of my eyes. “Get what you wanted?”

“Uh, yes. I’ll… run these. That’s… I can see why you were concerned.”

Nobody in this place ever fucking listens to me. “Yeah. Hope I didn’t get you with any of that. Tried to control it, but you know how it is.”

Doc sets the fire extinguisher down on his desk and puts a hand on his hip. “No, I’m just fine. Can’t say the same for my examination bench.” Oof. Yeah, that shit’s melted. It’s gonna have my assprint in it forever now. Not even my clothes got spared, even though they’re special heat resistant fabric designed to withstand me. I actually like this hoodie, and now it’s full of holes. Shouldn’t have expected so much out of it, I guess. These aren’t my performance wear so they’re not rated for temperatures hot enough to warp steel.

“Fuck me. Guess that’s my collateral budget.”

Doc frowns and rummages in a cabinet for a minute before handing me a pill bottle. “Why don’t you take this cough suppressant while I figure out if it’s viral or bacterial? Prevent any more… incidents.” Fucking finally.

taglist: @athenswrites

[cherrari]

i hope you get better 😭 idk a 106.7/41.5C fever would be an instant admission here for hyperpyrexia and treatment of the underlying cause

this is literally my 3rd time having covid 🤣🤣🤣😂😂😂 and yes i did get the booster

[trueandfiction]

Definition of thermic fever

{“word”:”thermic fever”,”results”:[{“definition”:”sudden prostration due to exposure to the sun or excessive heat”,”partOfSpeech”:”noun”,”synonyms”:[“insolation”,”siriasis”,”sunstroke”],”typeOf”:[“heat hyperpyrexia”,”heatstroke”]}],”pronunciation”:{“all”:”‘u03b8u025crmu026ak_’fivu0259r”},”audio”:””}

[burpenterprisejournal]

HIC UP'S "FUCHSIA FEVER" RELEASE PARTY

2024/07/24 HIC UP KAFFE MATTHEWS MAURICE LOUCA DJ MAZEN KERBAJ 90 Mil Berlin - DE

HIC UP releases their first album "Fuchsia Fever on Al Maslakh and has the pleasure to host two other great sets and a fantastic DJ set. Wednesday July, 24 - Doors 20h 90 Mil - Berlin Holzmarktstrasse 19-23 - Berlin

evening program

1. Kaffe Matthews (Electronics)

2. Maurice Louca (Guitar + Electronics)

3. Hic Up: Marina Cyrino (flutes) Tony Elieh (Bass, Electronics) JD Zazie (Turntables, CDj's) Matthias Koole (Guitar, No-input)

4. DJ Set: Mazen Kerbaj

[sciencelabtech]

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Drug Interactions

MOA Inhibitors

MAOI antidepressants, as well as a metabolite of furazolidone, slow amphetamine metabolism. This slowing potentiates amphetamines, increasing their effect on the release of norepinephrine and other monoamines from adrenergic nerve endings; this can cause headaches and other signs of hypertensive crisis. A variety of neurological toxic effects and malignant hyperpyrexia can occur, sometimes with fatal results.

Abuse, Misuse, and Addiction

Dextroamphetamine sulfate has a high potential for abuse and misuse. The use of dextroamphetamine sulfate exposes individuals to the risks of abuse and misuse, which can lead to the development of a substance use disorder, including addiction. Amphetamine sulfate can be diverted for non-medical use into illicit channels or distribution (see DRUG ABUSE and DEPENDENCE). Misuse and abuse of CNS stimulants, including dextroamphetamine sulfate, can result in overdose and death (see OVERDOSAGE), and this risk is increased with higher doses or unapproved methods of administration, such as snorting or injection.

[jontheketeld]

that's that thing Denzel has for his malignant hyperpyrexia.

hey @floppythepony , now you can see what i'm talking about.

1,000 days in celebration of the memories like this

[macgyvermedical]

hi!! how would being out in the cold (snowing, but not heavily) effect someone with a respiratory infection? would they still get a fever? would the cold prevent a high fever? would the infection slow down or speed up?

Generally, environmental cold probably wouldn’t prevent/”cure” a fever.

We humans have a thermostat in our brain that recognizes our body temperature. Normally speaking, it is set at 98.6F/37C*. The body uses a variety of mechanisms to help maintain this temperature, such as shivering to raise temperature if it gets too low, and sweating to lower it when it gets too high. While the body is generally very good at this, keeping it within a degree of normal, environmental heat and cold can, in certain circumstances, overwhelm it’s abilities, leading to hypothermia (from environmental cold) or heat stroke (from environmental heat).

When we have a fever, the brain-thermostat’s “set” temperature increases, and it understands this new value as normal. Instead of trying to maintain a temperature of 37C, it begins to maintain one that is at some new, higher value (though to actually “count” as a fever, this set-point temp must be 38C or above). No matter what the temperature outside the body, the brain is still aiming for this temperature.

If the cold was overwhelming enough to force this temperature down, you might see the fever drop, but the body would be treating that drop like hypothermia- shivering, bundling up, and trying to increase the temp back to it’s fever set point. This is one of the reasons why it’s not effective to treat a fever by putting the patient in ice water**.

So to answer your question, yes, they would still have a fever, and it likely wouldn’t change the ultimate temperature of it unless the cold was extreme enough to cause hypothermia.

As for whether the infection would “slow down or speed up”, I’m not sure exactly what that means, but stress from the low environmental temperature and maintaining a higher body temperature though it could rob the body of calories needed to fight the infection, which could reasonably result in the patient being sick for longer.

*Recent evidence has suggested it may be up to a degree lower than this

**Unless the patient will die without immediate intervention. But it would be crazy exceedingly rare for true fevers to get this high (the brain is in complete control of temperature with a fever, and generally wouldn’t jack it up so high as to hurt itself). Life-threateningly high temps are more common with environmental heat stroke, or hyperpyrexia from drug use/brain damage.

[healthenerg-blog]

Causes for hyperpyrexia-

If the patient has sepsis( severe blood infection).

If there is a sudden intracranial hemorrhage.

And can also be a result of heat stroke.

Also caused due to severe viral or fungal or bacterial infections.

[sanest-bsd-delegate]

hello! I hope you are having an amazing day <333 if not troublesome, can I request Dazai, Chuuya and Ranpo taking care of a sick s/o? also if not alr taken, can I be 🌺 anon ? *\(^o^)/*

Sneeze for good luck

Headcanon: where your boyfriend takes care of your sick self ft Dazai, Chuuya, Ranpo Masterlist Please look at the request rules in masterlist before requesting. Tysm anon for the request! Hope this doesn't disappoint you :) do request more if you wish!!

Dazai:

Both of you are sick. But here's the catch, You are physical sick and he is mentally sick.

How did you get sick if you ask me? Some stupid Idea arose inside your brain to eat ice in winters.

Guess who's sick and sneezing? YOU

My guy just came back from work to see his Belladonna sneezing and coughing 

He would totally make fun of your situation

“Why belladonna,” he would say, audibly gasping “ couldn't you wait for me? We both could have had a ice eating challenge”

But nevertheless, he will just smile a little seeing you sneeze.

He will cling on you. Even if you are high on fever.

"Dazai, get away I am sick" "Well! that makes a perfect scenario to die of hyperpyrexia"

BRO!?? LIKE THE VOCAB HE WILL USE??

"Y/N my sweet belladonna, drink this, acetaminophen, it will help with your fever" "How do you even know this?"

"Drink it" "No" BRO DRINK IT YOU ARE SICK!

He will give you a lot of cuddles, which may result in something

"I didn't even recover well and you are high on fever"

Nevertheless you had to call Kunikida to bring medicines and food for you both.

Chuuya:

Well, for once we know how rich he is.

He will suggest you take to the best doctors to cure your sickness. But....you just want your boyfriend's care tbh.

What's the sickness you say? Well, you decided it was fun to overdrink one of his most expensive wines along with expired chips  just because you won against puny teenagers in Roblox Piggy.

Bro was angry at first, but we all know how much of a sweetheart he is, so he just sighed and forgave you well maybe he just might have stopped buying you Roblox for another month

He would go on a panik  mode, whenever you puck in the bathroom

If you own majestic long hair, He would be the one holding it as you vomit.

“Maybe I shouldn't have drank that much” “Maybe you should start learning the art of common sense.”

We all know he would deny not being in the same room as you, but in the end you and him will be in the bed, cuddling together.

He would make sure you intake stomach friendly food and check your temperature once in a while.

He even takes off work for a week just to heal you back up.

“Chuuya hug me” “No your sick” “🥺🥺”

Dw, you made sure he hugs you (that is you not letting him go by hugging him from the back.)

Ranpo:

I don't even know where to start. But it did end with him being independent for the first time.

It was like you were a single mother of an ADHD kid, and you happened to be sick.

“Y/N Why are you sick?” Like sir how would anyone even reply to that?

“Y/N!! I am hungry!”  “Take the chips from the cabinet Ranpo”

When he opens his majestic ‘closed glued most of the time’ eyes, he in fact sees you are sick. 

Baby boy just hugs you and apologies for disturbing you.

Look at him! He tried to cook Candies?

Yeah he didn't risk cooking after that.

“Y/N, don't worry you will be fine! These coughs and sneeze are for good luck ^-^” “Yeah” Coughs x♾️ 

You had to force him to buy medicines at the pharmacy, because well, no one will be awake at the middle of 2am when you are cosplaying as Akutagawa

“Mr. Pharmacy guy, Can I get those Vicks candies?” “You mean these cough drops?” “Yes”  “I am not paid enough to handle these teenagers”

He anyways Naruto runs back home to find you asleep. (Guess you really didn't depend on him huh?)

Well you did get a lot of headpats from Ranpo, but we all know he would just maintain a distance from you knowing you are asleep.

Anon: can I be 🌺 anon ? Absolutely! Glad to have you on board as the first emoji anon 💗

[wiredaughter]

@tropetember #14: monstrous

Selfpreservation

implied relationship ☆ abraham sapien × ofc ☆ witch ofc ☆ idk if he's a monster and i had more culture shock ideas but well. the pills are starting 2 kick in

Skipping rope, quality backtalk, infiltration. All things that come easier when you're not burning at exactly 41.3 degrees. Still, if I wasn't nearing hyperpyrexia I wouldn't need to infiltrate the medbay after being excused from physical conditioning when I managed to annoy the trainer enough he didn't care how convinced he was I was just trying to skive.

Whatever. I make it to the NSAID drawer but my vision's too blurry to read the dosage. I cough, hot, and take my bureau jacket off for the first time while technically on duty since I earned it. My shirt follows suit and then the fever hallucinations kick in. Or not. I might have imagined the click of the door, but if it's really opening and it's really him that's consistent with my intel. Fuck.

'Ssssapien.' I slur his name, take a step back.

'What are you doing?'

He sounds concerned, and of course he would. Been stalking me, hasn't he. This place is too cagey not to notice, and it's great to have confirmation but I'm not in the... what's the word. What am I doing here? I'm trying to slink back to my room so I can eat this entire box of candy and hope it cools me off before shutting my kidney function to double zero. And Sapien, my caring liaison, is an obstacle. I widen my stance, eyes burning, hands shaking as I unfold my knife.

'Out of my way.'

He advances, lips moving but I don't know what he's saying. I sway on my feet, stab out in a motion that misses him by either a palm or five, hit the floor.

Wet. I'm wet. And hot. I blink, trying to focus my vision, just in time to see him add another block of something to the water around me. Ice, just like I'm a cocktail. My head is pounding, but clearer as I glance around me.

'Why am I in your old tank?'

The look he gives me says I look just as bad as I feel. 'Your CT was normal. Thiroid and bloodwork too.' He comes closer to sit next to me. 'I'm trying to bring down your fever while they find what caused it.'

I move to the side, splashing water into the floor as I lean in his shoulder. Cold. I knew it would be cold and it's a blessing in this circumstances. He's kind enough not to comment.

'It's the blood spells.' I rasp out after a while. 'Blood is heat and I've been overexhausing mine.'

He chitters at that, presses an icepack on my forehead. It's him who got me the books and it probably follows he feels guilty. Not that I wouldn't have given it a shot by my lonesome given the chance. The one thing I like more than staying out of trouble is power, after all. In a close number three and in spite of myself, however, is a certain amphibian man. If my indisposition is already news I've got nothing to hide, I tell myself as I heroically pull myself off his skin to look at him and pull on his hand. 'Get in here.'

He gives a look around. We're alone, but he's always mindful to keep a professional head, where I'm always looking for a reprimand, in Liz's words. In the end, my febrile expression must convince him and he joins me in the tank he slept on in out last location. When I press myself to his chest closer than it'd be comfortable in a regular situation, the instinct is more selfpreservation than arousal. He's so cold.

My fever melts the ice around us like the polar ice caps, but his temperature regulation is amazing, and it keeps me cool enough to keep me from passing out. His heartbeat is slow and calming. He wraps his arms around me and, when some whitecoats come to take me in for more tests, he carries me upstairs.