#the first one is from a (rare) sickfic type… thing

[ghosts-and-blue-sweaters]

rain, blood, rivulets, runner, daughter, home, you

Regardless, Wilbur likes to come here a lot. It’s a pretty place, a few minutes walk from Pogtopia; it’s right in the wilderness, no buildings or houses or people around. Just grass, and dirt, and a few tiny flowers, and a lot of trees, and a big blue sky. Well, sometimes blue. Sometimes it’s kinda grey, and cloudy, and other times it cries small cold raindrops that splat into your eyes and make your clothes all damp and uncomfortable.

Wilbur doesn’t care if he gets wet, though. He’ll just come here anyway.

~~~

After several seconds of trying, Wilbur gives up, relaxing once more into this odd state of being. He realizes that his cheek hurts along with his neck, because his face is pressed firmly against this thing. It's probably stopping the blood flow right there.

AND!!!

For a moment, Wilbur's vision goes dark, and it takes several rasping breaths and hard blinks to rid it of black spots. Tommy is bleeding. There's blood on him. His eyes are closed. He's bleeding. He's completely still. He's bleeding. His eyes are closed. He's not moving. There's blood on him. There's blood on Tommy.

~~~

Nothing for rivulets!

~~~

Nothing for runner, either!

~~~

Dang. Nothing for daughter :0

~~~

After a few hours, Niki had stepped back, placed her hands on her hips, and looked around. She quite liked the place, if she was being perfectly honest. It felt cozy, similar to a home. It didn't feel like a company or an enterprise, devoid of emotion. No, it felt real. It felt personal. It felt like hers.

~~~

"You're so dramatic," Phil chokes out, chuckling.

AND!!!

"I'm fine," Wilbur assures, brushing off the hand that Phil didn't even realize had moved towards his son's chest. "I can stand on my own, Phil. You don't have to hold my hand."

~~~

Actually I’m gonna share a whole snippet from a story I genuinely forgot I’d started working on so aksvajdgsksgsh here ya go ⬇️

~~~

"Oh, mate... do you need water?" Phil glances at the table, finding a half-full glass of water just as Wilbur answers, "No."

"Are you hungry?"

Wilbur sighs again. "No. I just- Phil?"

"Yes?" Phil finds himself holding his breath.

Wilbur gazes at him for several seconds, and Phil notes with satisfaction that his eyes are no longer pink. His pupils are the usual rich-brown color that they aught to be.

Wilbur gives a slight shake of his head. "I want to go."

Phil stares. "You- go?"

"I want to get off of this couch. I want to get out of this cabin. I want to go, Phil. I want to-" Wilbur thrusts a hand forward, face twisting. "I want to go far away from this cursed land of snow, and never come back. I want to go outside."

Wilbur ends his rage-filled monologue, staring at his hands laid across his chest. His nostrils flare.

Phil watches him for a moment before dipping his head, beginning to shake with laughter.

Wilbur whips his head around to glare at him. "What?"

"You're so dramatic," Phil chokes out, chuckling.

"Wha- I've been confined in this place for weeks!"

"It's been four days, Wil."

Wilbur's eyes widen. Phil laughs harder.

"Only... only four days?" Wilbur questions, and Phil's laughter starts to subside when he hears how uncertain Wilbur sounds. "It hasn't even been a week? Only four days?"

"Yep." Phil nods. "A fever can really mess with your perception of time, can't it?"

Wilbur nods, at a loss for words. He stares back at his hands.

Phil chews on his lip. "You're feeling better, though. Right?"

"I guess."

Phil reaches forward, resting his palm on Wilbur's head. His son goes very still.

"You don't have a fever anymore. Still a little warm, but you're definitely getting better," Phil says, pulling his hand away. Wilbur relaxes instantly.

Phil feels a stab in his heart.

"Feeling- you said I'm better, right? So I can leave?"

"No."

Wilbur lets out a noise that sounds suspiciously like a whine. "But I'm better! You said so yourself, Phil! I'm doing better, see? Look, I can... I can stay at Tommy's, and he can keep on eye on me! Right?"

"No," Phil repeats, a small smile appearing on his face. "I'm not letting you leave until you've made a full recovery, Wilbur."

"But you said-"

"I said you're getting better. I never said that you were better. You still have a ways to go, mate."

Wilbur groans, letting his head fall onto his pillow in dramatic fashion. He squeezes his eyes shut. "I don't think I can survive like this much longer."

Phil chuckles, but his brow furrows with concern. "You're not going to be like this much longer. A week, at most."

"A week?" Wilbur's eyes snap open, and he cranes his head around to stare at Phil. "No. You're joking. Please tell me you're joking."

Phil opens and closes his mouth. "I mean... I'm not. You had a really bad infection, mate. You can't just heal from that overnight."

Wilbur stares for a couple seconds longer before laying his head back on his pillow, gazing up at the ceiling. He looks haunted—no. He looks scared.

Phil sighs. "It'll be okay, Wil. You'll get through this. Alright? Just trust me on that. You'll be fine."

Wilbur tries to hide it, but Phil can see how his breathing picks up; how his chest rises and falls with increasing speed; how his nostrils flare; how his eyebrows knit together in quick, barely perceptible movements.

Wilbur's starting to panic. And Phil doesn't know why. It's not like he's being held hostage or anything; he's just on bedrest. Nothing more. He's not trapped. He's not stuck. He's not-

Oh.

[jester089]

I’d love some readerxTADC charachter sickfics :)?

Bed ridden

I am back at writing again. At least for now. Requests are still closed until I finish all or at least most of the ones I got while I was gone.

Also you didn't specify if you wanted like fluff. So I just went with what first came to mind. Sick TADC Crew x Sick Reader (Both variants)

Caine (Receiving)

Caine getting sick is rare at best. When he does the whole circus suffers. Even just a cough is awful, every time he coughs the entire area around him stutters and glitches misplacing everything. Because of this whenever he's sick he tends to self isolate not wanting to cause trouble for the others. Now depending on how comfortable he is with you, you'll have varying accessibility. If he's really comfortable you essentially have easy access to any and everything in the circus. This includes his room and office. Sadly their isn't much you can do to help him get better faster, but he really appreciates just having you there. If you really want to help, keep the circus from burning down during his short absence. And give him some handmade soup, the sentimentality and love in it helps him feel better. At least mentally, which speeds up his physical recovery. Do be warned when giving him the soup don't get to close to him. If their is something strong enough to get Caine sick it will most likely kill you.

Caine (Giving)

He as has been mentioned doesn't really understand humans, and by extension their physical ailments. That is why all his adventures are so rough on everyone. Despite that sickness is one of the few things he does understand, only really because their is a digital version of it. Just explain to him that you have a virus (even if it's not) and he'll get the gist. Best at comfort, can and will get you everything you want while your sick. And he doesn't get sick easily so you will get the same amount of attention and affection as before with minimal repercussions at worst. Caine is always loud, and isn't exactly gentle with anyone or thing, so make sure to tell him the things you need to get better. Like quiet, dark, a specific type of food that usually helps. Ask and it's yours, but you have to ask. Or he wont know. Don't ask him to cook for you though, cause I promise you it will either come out burned or so badly seasoned that it isn't even edible. And your recovering body needs meals to get better faster or at all. When you are sick Caine can get a little protective. Usually he trust you and lets you do what you want, you're an adult after all. But when your sick you seem so fragile to him. So no leaving your room, 3 meals if not more a day, more water then your body actually needs, and if he catches you out of bed when you aren't going to the bathroom he can and will force you back. He's a little much and little forceful, but you'll get better faster when he's around. And he'll do his best, he just needs some guidance.

Gangle (Receiving)

A sick Gangle is a sad Gangle. She's pretty pushover-ish usually. But when she's sick she just takes abuse because she already feels awful. So until she's feeling better be prepared to be a live-in maid and a body guard. Sick Gangle is a lot like a wet noodle. Just her mask alone has enough weight to make her fall over when sick so try and keep her in her room and in her bed, for her sake. Do be warned that the chance of Gangle getting you sick is literally 100%. Cuddles make her feel a whole lot better, so she constantly wines at you wanting you to lay with her. And she can and will crawl out of her bed and after you if you deny her to many times. We both know you aren't gonna say no to pathetic sick wet noodle Gangle. She'll wrap around you in a hold so light you can't even feel it and just fall asleep on you. That's how her being sick usually goes. And when you eventually but inevitably get sick she'll take care of you just as you did her.

Gangle (Giving)

I don't even have to say it, but I will. Gangle got you sick. End of story. And she's still recovering from her sickness. So you being sick usually just ends up with you two being bed ridden. But on the bright side it's literal 24/7 cuddles. I mean I doubt she'll let you so much as roll over without her. She's clingy, but you know you love her. And she loves you. Now if you're sick and she isn't she'll do her best to take care of you. She doesn't know how to cook or anything. But she'll make sure you always have water and your bed is clean-ish. And she'll stay with you. If you're sick and stuck in bed then she's stuck in the room you are. Basically if one of you gets sick, both of you get sick. Just a common cold can turn into something so much worse with Gangle. She doesn't try to she just doesn't like being away from you too long, especially when your weak like this. It's gross and not pleasant to live sure. But hey, both of your immune systems get really really strong every time one of you gets sick. And if sharing goopy nasty sick times together isn't love I don't know what is.

Zooble (Receiving)

Zooble strikes me as the kind of person who knows a concerning amount about just about every sickness in existence. Sadly all that knowledge doesn't help her much here. This is a digital sickness, it doesn't exist in the real world. Despite that she can most definitely feel her way through it using what she does know. All you have to do is listen to her, and if it's really bad interpret what her half mumbled ramblings mean. With her help, and your love and care she'll be feeling better in no time. Zooble is short fused and irritable at the best of times. She tries to hold off with you cause she really does care about you. But when her body is what feels like 300* and her brain is fuzzy she can't control what comes out of her mouth. So if she says so hurtful things just try not to hold it against her and talk with her about it when she's feeling better. And I guarantee she didn't mean it. She just feels like she's about to melt. Have you ever been sick while made out of digital plastic? I didn't think so. So try and cut her some slack.

Zooble (Giving)

As aforementioned I feel like Zooble knows a lot about sicknesses. And again that doesn't help much here. But it gives her a really good base to work with. Honestly though being sick with her feels a lot like boot camp. She doesn't let you get up unless you need the bathroom, pills can and will be taken on time, gross but incredibly healthy foods and drinks will be given and she expects you plate to be clean, an overwhelming amount of heat that puts your body through hell, and she doesn't get within 6 feet of you unless it's dropping something off for you in which case she's only close for a moment. It'll be awful, trust me it will. But you will get better so unreasonably quick. With her there you could get over something like the flu in a day, maybe two. And once you are feeling better she softens up a lot. Once you are no longer sick (be her standards) she will be really soft with you. Gentle hand holding and hugs. Sleepy cuddles. Tasty but unhealthy food. Movie nights. And her going out of her way to be verbally nice. She knows that you were already suffering, and she made it worse even if she was helping. So she's going to treat you for a while. Give it like a week and she'll be back to normal. Unless you basically beg her in which it'll last a little longer. Only a little. She can't let her reputation and a cold person be tarnished. And giving someone a gentle forehead kiss in public really tarnishes that.

Kinger (Receiving)

When Kinger is sick all he really wants is to sleep. No matter where he is he'll be out. It is your job my dear Reader to get him to the safety of one of your rooms. Cause out in the open he is an easy target for Jax. Once he is safe and sound in one of your rooms he feels more cozy and will probably wake up. His hands float so you two can still hold hands and do basic affection without risk of you getting sick. Kinger wont never get you sick, I promise you that. He will literally shove you away from him. He has already lost a lot in this place and he isn't going to risking you. So keep some distance while caring for him. For his sake cause it stresses him out a lot when you get to close. Also keep a washcloth on hand, he strikes me as the kind of person who when sick wants a hot body but a cold forehead. Once he's feeling better he will probably ask you to join him in resting, total rainy day vibes despite it never raining in the circus. Just a relaxing, cold, and dark room to chill in. He can and will start crying when you fall asleep with him then and there. You stayed with him this whole time. He's just so happy to have you around and with him.

Kinger (Giving)

Kinger is amazing at comfort, but doesn't really know what he's doing with sicknesses. He's been in the digital circus so long he's actually forgoten how to be a human. He'll do the basics like water and soup but past that he's lost. So he does what he knows and remembers, plus whatever you tell him you need/want. He makes wherever your staying so cozy. If he can't put your body at peace he can at least put your mind at peace. Coldish and dark room, one of his hands linked with yours another rubbing gentle circles into your back. If he sees you having a bad dream he'll gently kiss your forehead or place something cold on it to help. If you ever seem to be in pain he'll just talk, about nothing really. He'll talk so you have something to focus on besides the pain. Spouting random facts about a cool bug he saw that reminded him of you, about Jax's latest "prank", about how much he loves you. And if you really want him to he will join you in bed. He knows he's probably going to get sick because of it. But he just wants you to feel comfortable. He isn't forceful in the least too. If you tell him you need something or that something usually helps he'll trust you. Just for his sake don't do to much cause it will worry him. 10/10. Has no idea what he's doing but he cares so much and it shows.

Ragatha (Receiving)

Ragatha doesn't get sick often. She used to when she first got here. But always putting herself in danger or risk to help others has made her tough in many ways. When she does get sick it's going to hit her hard. All she wants from you is to know you're there, and that you still love her despite this. She wont let you get to close, she's infected and she doesn't want you to be. The best you can do for her is keep distance and keep reassuring her you love her. Just like Caine I don't recommend getting to close because things that can get her sick are a really strong. And for f#$% sake keep Jax away from her. She's a tough one though and will try to get out of bed way to early. It is up to you to keep her in bed and care for her. She can be really stubborn, and this is a case where that is awful to deal with. Just give her love, but from a distance. That's all she wants, all she needs and she'll get better quick. And when she is better she will thank you so many times for taking care of her. Secret between friends this is the ideal time to fluster her. Just a quick kiss on her hand or in between the eyes and she'll turn beet red.

Ragatha (Giving)

She goes full mom when you're sick. Don't get me wrong she's usually the mom friend. But when your sick she is just mom. She'll tuck you in, fluff your pillow, get you water but put some flavoring in it so it goes down easier, exclusively speak to you in a soft voice, brushing a hand or hands through your hair, will full on punch someone if they try something while your sick. You know, typical mom stuff. Ok but actually beware her punches. They hit like a truck. Just like Caine she gets a little, protective. And she babies you. It can be annoying. But it does also help, makes you feel safe and cared for. She's sit by your bed reading you something and fall asleep still in the chair. Her poor back... Do ragdolls have backpain? Can and will keep you in bed a day or two extra just to be sure. She isn't taking any chances. Also she kind of enjoys being able to take care of you like this. Overall pretty good. She helps and makes it a bit easier to get through, but also makes you feel like a child.

Jax (Receiving)

The little s&#$ would without a doubt use you being sick and weak to "prank" you. He took you outside to "Get some fresh air" as he called it then shoved you into the digital lake and walked off not caring if your drowned. When you come back soggy and now inside feeling even worse he'll laugh at you. He's a real d%#$head and you not being able to defend yourself makes it so much more fun for him. I mean why do you think he mainly picks on Gangle. Eventually though he will soften up, a little. He still isn't going to do anything fancy but he'll give you some water and snacks and make sure no one bothers you. Once you start feeling better I can see it going two ways. 1. Softer Jax: Helps you get better and apologizes for the whole lake thing. He'll be a bit nicer for a few days to try and make up for it. He does genuinely feel bad. He's trying to be nicer to you cause he loves you. 2. More cannon Jax: You don't get better for much longer. He put something in the food and water so you don't truly get better. You just start to feel slightly better so you get hopeful before you feel 100x worse. And to make things better he can and will laugh at pathetic sick you.

Jax (Giving)

As you all know I don't think he deserves someone to take care of him while sick. Despite this actual me would probably still take care of him. I'm to caring for my own good. When Jax gets sick he hides it and tries to ignore it, going through his days like normal. Which of course leads even the most basic sicknesses to be awful on him. He'll full on try and fight you when you try and help him. It's going to be hard but try and get him some sleep, and water. It will be really rough. But it is possible. The hardest part by far is getting him in bed, past that it's pretty easy. He fights it till he realizes how comfy his bed is, and how tired he is. After that it's just like taking care of anyone else, besides all the rude comments flung at you. Once he's up and making people's days worse again he wont thank you. And he doesn't now and never will say it. But he does appretiate what you do for him. "I'll take it easy on em..... For a week.... That's definitely too much, they get a day."

Pomni (Receiving)

When Pomni is sick she just collapses, usually on you. The clearest sign that she's feeling awful sickness or not is when she wanders around looking for you. When she finds you she kind of just flops onto you not saying anything. She much like Gangle wants you close while she's sick but wont outright say it. She's more of a rolls out of bed falling onto the floor with a loud thump making you think she broke something. Then when you pick her up worried she just snuggles into you acting like she didn't just fall out of bed face first... She still gets flustered and all being so close to you but when she's sick it doesn't really register. She just likes being near you, and will definitely fall asleep on you. She has so many worries and it always on the verge of another breakdown, but when she's sick she can't think even if she wanted to. All that matters is here and now. And here and now you two are cuddling. So she's happy.

Pomni (Giving)

Oh no. She is going to panic. Bad. "Sicknesses are common in the real world. But what about here! Are you dying?! ARE YOU ABSTRACTING?!" She doesn't know what is truly going on, what's going to happen, or how to help. So just do your best to calm her down and explain it's like a normal sickness, just digital. Once she understands that she calms down, a little. She's still stressed but isn't full on freaking out anymore. And she will start actually helping. She isn't super educated on this subject but she knows basic stuff. With Pomni is when it will feel the most like normal, like real life. Just taking it slow, letting your body do what it needs. Her checking in every now and again to see how your doing. It's nice in a way. Once you start feeling better she's going to start visiting/checking in more. It was hard for her being in a room with you when you can't even make conversation, made her anxiety flare up. But once you can talk regularly or at least close to it again things will return to just about how they were before. She will be ever so slightly more clingy for a few days afterwards though. You're such an anchor for her in this place and she got so used to you. But they you couldn't help her and she had to help you. Made her realize just how much you mean to her, how much you do for her.

(First request back. Hope you enjoyed it. I'm so tired. But I'll try and do another before I go to bed. And for future reference please try to trim out a character or two cause writing all that is a lot. Or at least specify if you want Reader the one sick or the character. Thank you!)

xoxo, Jester

[somber-sapphic]

Hi!!! I rarely request but your writing is so good I could not resist the urge. I love the Carina x Maya x Reader fics you posted, theres not enough writing for the Station 19 universe. I was hoping you could write another one, or even just a Carina x Maya. I feel like because Maya has such a dangerous job, Carina definitely slips into doctor mode every time she gets hurt or sick. Could you write where Maya gets sick with strep throat or something but Carina is unable to get her to Grey Sloan or the E.R (maybe they went on a vacation or there is bad weather) so she decides to examine Maya herself. (P.S. I hope you’re having a good day and if not tomorrow will be better💕💕)

17, 17A,🌸

Sickness At Sea

〖Notes: Alrighty my basement flooded and I think I've got carpal tunnel so lets write some sickfics! (PS, I love this request, I'm so sorry it took me so long to get to it, please feel free to send in another when my asks are open <;3〗

〖Summary: Maya and Carina finally get to go on a vacation. Of course that's the perfect time for Maya's immune system to give out.〗

〖Word Count: 〗

〖Pairing: Carina DeLuca x Sick Maya Bishop〗

☾Masterlists☽

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Maya groaned and stared out the window at the crashing waves caused by the torrential downpour that was ravaging the east coast. She was inwardly cursing Carina for convincing her to come to Maine, especially when they lived so close to the beach in Seattle, but she had decided that they should leave Washington for a bit.

The two didn’t get time off together often so two weeks paid vacation at the same time was huge. So huge that her Italian girlfriend insisted that she and Maya had to see the East Coast. The blonde had argued that they could go somewhere a few hours’ drive rather than a seven-hour plane ride, but Carina had made it seem too good to refuse.

And it had been. The first week was wonderful. They’d spent time walking along the beach in the cool October weather and explored the nearby town, doing the regular touristy things. They’d found the restaurant with the best reviews and had the first proper date night in a long time, complete with fancy wine and even a violinist to serenade them.

Then the storm started. It was nice for the first day, it was relaxing. Then one day turned into two. And two into three. And how they were sitting in their beautiful house on the beach with the sea raging in front of them. There would be no walking on the sand, there would be no exploring the quiet town, there would be no anything.

The rain was coming down in sheets and Carina had been running around the house yelling in Italian about the damage and how they couldn’t stay there if the storm continued. Maya was starting to agree, it wasn’t entirely safe to be this close to the sand and she was beginning to worry that the beach would wash out.

“Car, it’ll be okay. I’ve seen beaches in Seattle handle worse than this.” The blonde croaked, wincing as the words grated against her throat. Carina, who was pacing around typing away furiously on her phone stopped and whipped around, her brow furrowing as she hyper-focused on a new target: Maya.

“What is wrong with your voice? Are you sick? Tell me your symptoms.” She had switched from panicking about the storm and settled right into her doctor persona. The firefighter rolled her eyes, trying not to wince at the action. She was finding herself wanting to let Carina do her job, but her pride was far more important than her wish for assistance.

The woman had been feeling more and more weary as the week went on, but she had chalked it up to all of the things they had been doing, refusing to admit that they hadn’t been doing anything particularly strenuous. Now, after two days of doing just about nothing, she was sort of out of excuses. She was tired, her throat was killing her, her body ached, and she couldn’t deny the presence of a fever bubbling under her skin.

“It’s nothing, I’m fine. Sit, take a breath. I made coffee, you need some.” Maya said softly, lowering her voice to try to ease the pain in her throat. It didn’t help. The level of her voice didn’t matter, it was the act of simply breathing that caused her discomfort.

Carina hmphed unhappily but went to grab herself a mug, pouring what her girlfriend considered to be way too much creamer into the dark liquid, followed by what could be considered enough sugar to feed an entire town.

“How can you drink it so sweet?” She joked, trying to put a little humor into her voice as thunder clapped loudly over the small town. The EMT jumped, frightened by the suddenness of the loud sound. A blush crept across her cheeks as she glanced over at Carina, who had a concerned expression on her face.

Her brow was furrowed, and her lips pursed, looking wholly unhappy with the situation. The rain pattered down on the roof, a nearly deafening sound. It probably would’ve been relaxing if not for the sick feeling that was growing in Maya and Carina’s nerves beginning to fray.

This was supposed to be a vacation and the OBGYN really didn’t want to beat around the bush right now. She wanted to treat the woman she loved so that they could have her feeling better as soon as possible.

She wasn’t interested in playing Maya’s “embrace the pain” game and couldn’t help but feel a little guilty for even thinking that way. It wasn’t the blonde’s fault that she was so hard on herself, but it certainly didn’t make Carina’s job of taking care of her any easier.

The moment she sat down she felt Maya curl up against her, moving so smoothly that she may not have noticed if not for the way she was shivering, her muscular body trembling like a leaf. The brunette squeezed her eyes shut and sighed, pressing her head into the woman’s hair.

“You are sick Maya. Just tell me what’s wrong.” She murmured, moving so that she could hold the woman a little bit closer. Maya nestled close, humming her unhappiness as she felt tears fill her fever-clouded eyes. She really didn’t want to be crying, it was barely 8 in the morning, it was too early to be crying. Especially over a silly little sore throat.

“Bambina, please. Don’t make me play urm…twenty questions.” Carina said gently, tilting Maya’s head up so that she could look into her beautiful green orbs. The blonde blinked quickly as she held back tears, her lower lip beginning to quiver. She hadn’t realized just how bad she felt until her girlfriend had brought it up, but now it was all that she could think about.

“It hurts.” She whimpered, her voice small and full of humiliation. She hated every part of this, admitting weakness was hard enough but it was even worse that this was happening while they were on vacation. Sure, that meant she had time to recover, but she was supposed to be spending quality time with the woman she loved, not sleeping while the brunette fed her medicine. That was no fun for anyone.

“What hurts Maya?” The doctor prodded, needing far more information than what she was being given. Maya just shrugged and pulled the throw around her shoulders as she continued to stare out the large glass windows, watching as the waves ravaged the sandy shore.

“Okay, how about we switch out that coffee for tea, yeah?” The idea of swallowing anything (even her own saliva) made the woman want to cry. At this point, she didn’t even care. She sniffled back tears and tried to hide her face, embarrassed to be crying over something so trivial. She came across people every day who were in far more dire positions handling their pain or fear with so much more grace.

“I-I can’t. My throat just hurts too much.” Maya rasped, hot tears spilling down her cheeks. Her shoulders began to heave as she cried, the action just serving to hurt her throat even more. That in turn made her cry harder, which just repeated itself in a vicious cycle.

“Hey, hey, hey. I’m here. Just tell me what’s wrong amore. Let me help.” Carina pleaded, feeling so utterly helpless. She hated when her girlfriend got sick, she hated not being able to do anything as a person she loved so much suffered in silence.

“I can’t, I don’t know! M-my throat hurts! It, it shouldn’t!” The blonde spat, her words barely comprehensible through her sobs. The Italian woman put her coffee on the small table and took Maya’s hands in hers, forcing the ill firefighter to meet her eyes.

“Maya, take a deep breath. I can help you, but you need to let me. I’m a doctor, I take care of people for a living. Let me help.” she asserted, raising her eyebrows as she tried to get through to her sweet, sick girlfriend. The blonde’s lower lip was still quivering, but she managed to quiet her sobs as she matched Carina’s slow breathing.

“Good. Now, can you let me give you an exam? I will be quick.” After a few moments, Maya nodded, her breath still hitching as she tried to calm down. Maybe she was overreacting, but she had such a hard time with the out-of-control feeling that came with being sick. She would rather be put in a blazing fire than be physically incapacitated and need to rely on others for help.

True to her word, Carina’s exam took barely five minutes. She had raced to the bedroom to get her medical bag and then began to look Maya over, starting with what she figured was wrong. She looked at the back of the blonde’s throat, sighing when she saw those familiar white splotches that she’d seen all too many times.

“And a temperature of 102 degrees Fahrenheit. Which is…too high. Stupid imperial system.” She said that last part under her breath as she mentally tried to convert the imperial temperature to the metric system that she had grown up with.

Her distaste over the different systems of measuring made Maya smile a little as she leaned back against the cushions of the couch, shivering a little.

“What’s the verdict, Doc?” She teased, getting a frown out of her girlfriend. She may have felt terrible but the cute look on Carina’s face was worth the forced humor.

“We won’t know for sure until we get a culture, but I believe you have Streptococcus. The weather is too bad to go to the Urgent Care, but we will go as soon as the rain stops, okay? For now, it's Tylenol, soup, and rest.” The brunette said, sounding fully like the doctor that she was. Maya smiled a bit from where she was laying, closing her eyes as she curled back against the comfortable sofa.

“Can rest happen first?” She mumbled; the tears having taken a lot out of her. Carina made a sound in the back of her throat as she thought it over, weighing the best option here. Technically she should have Maya take the medicine to get the fever down, but it was very hard to say ‘no’ to the woman in front of her.

“I suppose. Would you rather go back to bed?” The blonde shook her head as she lay down, taking up the ample space on the couch.

“You gotta join me. ‘s the rules.” She mumbled, her voice slurring with exhaustion. Carina chuckled quietly and climbed back onto the couch, slipping her thermometer and stethoscope back into what Maya annoyingly called her “doctor bag”. She wasn’t wrong to call it that, but it irked the brunette to no end for reasons she simply could not explain.

She pushed the bag aside and lay down against Maya, wrapping an arm around her waist. She settled in, pulling a bit of the blanket up over herself, resigning that she would probably get this illness. Strep was incredibly contagious and she refused to be away from the woman she loved.

Any time they could spend together was worth a week of antibiotics.

〖Join My Taglist!〗@lovelyy-moonlight, @bloomingflowersthings, @lots-of-pockets, @asiangmrchk13, @scrambled-brain-eggs, @juststuckhereforever, @chairhere, @goldenempyrean

[an-abandoned-sad-weirdo]

❗Empty and/or disturbing blogs will be blocked❗

(I think you know what I mean by "disturbing")

Hi everyone, I'm Cress Lee | 18 | she/her.

I love Greek Mythology, working with acrylic, reading, writing, organizing my bookshelves, cryptology, story telling, baking, Taylor Swift's music, Katty Perry's music, etc.

I enjoy the shows: STH, TOH, GF, The Big Bang Theory (it's a treasure, I love it), The Ghost & Molly Mcgee, etc.

My top favorite movies; " Cruella ", " Spirited ", " The Nutcracker & The Four Realms ", " The Greatest Showman ", and literally any Spiderman movie ever (except for " Venom ", the poster was scary enough, I didn’t need *cough*want*cough* to watch it *acts tough, but can't handle horror movies*).

I do not like: The Knuckles Series (It's... distasteful, to say the least), Radiosilence (It's the worst, I hate it with all my heart and soul. Nobody deserves radiosilence, it's torture), fanfictions that includes incest, little kids (I hate little kids, as well as kids who aren't little, they're just so annoying, I can’t stand it. I am so not parent material), the taste of caramel, lip-sticks (how do you people eat and drink with it on???), sunlight (and no, I'm not a vampire, I just don't like it, vitamin D is literally the only thing keeping me from an A+ blood test), and tumblr bots (they're the embodiment of evil) etc.

I'm not exactly new in tumblr but this account is only about a year old.

I love STH in any and every way but my favorite is, and will always be, Sonadow.

Which is what this tumblr blog's mostly about.

I also have an Ao3 account with the same name.

Most of my works are about " Sonic the Hedgehog All Media Types ".

Short, but as frequent as possible chapters are my motto.

Seriously, I'm terrible at writing long chapters.

Anyway, here's a complete list of my works on Ao3;

✅: Complete,

☑️: Almost complete (less than 3 chapters left),

▶️:On going,

⏯️:On going with slow updates,

⏸️:On hiatus,

❌:Extremely rare updates

🟧: Mature, 🟨:Teen, 🟩:General Audiences

(Word Count); 0️⃣: <2K, 1️⃣: 2K < X < 5K, 2️⃣: 5K < X < 10K, 3️⃣: 10K < X < 15K, 4️⃣: 15K < X < 20K, 5️⃣: 20K < X

My very first series called: " What It Means To Be A Family "

It had two complete parts so far, but then I decided to re-write the series, all over again, FOR THE THIRD TIME!!!

So here we are;

Part 1:(✅🟨4️⃣) Becoming A Family Isn't Easy - Act 1 (Original Version)

Part 2:(✅🟨4️⃣) Becoming A Family Isn't Easy - Act 2 (Original Version)

Part 3:(❌🟨) Becoming A Family Isn't Easy - Act 1 (Re-written)

Please read the notes. PLEASE.

And another one, called: " You Matter "

Part 1:(✅🟨2️⃣) Sonic's Purgatory

Part 2:(✅🟧3️⃣) It All Began On A Field Of Violets

Part 3:(⏯️🟨) Rotten Lemons (8/?)

Part 4: ( In Process )

Part 5: ( In Process )

And other than that, I have a tiny fanfiction (Sonic Prime) named " I'll Listen " (✅🟨1️⃣). It's a sickfic.

And also " Calming Down A Hurt Soul " (✅🟧5️⃣) too. (Video Games & IDW Comics) It's basicly a Sonadow Hurt/Comfort fic that has recently taken a dark turn.

And an even tinier vent fic called, "On The Verge" (✅🟨1️⃣).

And, "Dark & Alone (but not for long)" (⏸️🟧), a fic on Sonic Forces. My take on what happened during those six months.

And my latest vent fic, "The Emotional Beast" (✅🟨0️⃣) on Sonic as a werehog.

And, "(Not)Unexpected of You" (▶️🟨), It's gonna be a wild ride, so take cover guys!

I'd be delighted if you took a peek.

Well, that's all for now.

Thanks.

🥰🥰🥰

[kunikinnie]

a/n: eyyo i'm finally back! still recovering from covid but i'm well enough to write again yay also my brain the entire time was like... sickfic! write a fookin sickfic! but exes so yeah am i really fine already?? lol i'm still delusional

care package

A loud knock disrupted your shallow slumber. Knowing fully well who stood behind your door, you sluggishly made your way to it in order to conserve your remaining energy.

"Here to deliver your daily care package!"

Dazai carried two large paper bags on either hand. As you stepped aside, he quickly entered your apartment and placed them on the table.

"I'm glad you can at least walk around. Everyone's worried that you're actually bedridden or something."

"I told you already. You're all overreacting-" You were interrupted by a coughing fit, and before you could say anything Dazai grabbed a glass of water from your kitchen.

You took a few gulps and expelled some of the phlegm on tissues at hand. "Thanks. Sorry that was a bit embarrassing."

"It's nothing to be embarrased about." Your companion's eyes were dripping with concern. It wasn't rare for him to be serious like this yet it still threw you off when he was. "Just call any of us if you ever need anything. Seriously. Everyone's so worried about you especially-"

He caught himself before the name slipped, and fortunately the mild curiosity in your eyes was far less than what he had anticipated.

"Anyway... how are your tastebuds?"

"Thankfully, they're working fine. Well, at least for now."

"That's perfect! We got you some delicious food right here-"

The plastic containers were yet to be opened but you could already smell the flavors seeping out. The moment the lids popped off your mouth began to water.

"Thank you for the meal!"

Your big appetite surprised the two of you. The first few spoonfuls were quick - only now did you realize how little you ate in the past few hours - and they instantly warmed your aching body. As you finally slowed down, your tongue finally discerened the comforting, almost familiar flavors.

"...where did you get this?"

"Oh, you know. Probably the new restaurant down the street? Not really sure since they're the ones who packed it and I'm just the one who brought it."

You simply nodded in reply - not a single word escaped your lips. Dazai could tell your eyes were watery, but he wasn't sure if it had anything to do with the food or if your nasal congestion was just getting to you.

Nevertheless, he was glad to see you somehow comforted.

---

Another long day yields another long sigh. The moment Kunikida's body hit the bed the exhaustion immediately made itself known. Fortunately, only checking his phone for any unread messages was the only thing left to accomplish.

"I hope there's nothing to-"

He immediately sat up the moment he saw your name in the notifications.

Thank you for the food :) Delicious as always

His heart almost stopped. It was such a strange mix of joy and trepidation to have received a message like that from you - something he'd been hoping for yet something he'd dreaded at the same time.

Did Dazai tell you?

He'd specifically told him not to tell you since he was afraid of what you'd say.

I don't need him to tell me about someone's cooking I've eaten dozens of times yk

He smiled softly at that. His cooking skills are one of the things Kunikida was proud of and something he was more than happy to use for you frequently. Helping you every now and then wasn't entirely out of the question, even now after he'd left those days behind him long ago.

...but who was he kidding? Those days are far from left behind. In fact, if it were appropriate Kunikida himself would have visited you today instead of Dazai.

The typing and erasing of his reply to you reflected the inner turmoil in his mind and heart. It's been clear for some time to him that he had still loved you deeply and wanted to get back together with you, but it's been difficult taking that first step.

Get lots of rest. Hope to see you back in the office soon.

He wanted to slap himself for sounding much colder than he intended. It felt like his wee little step forward had been reset by a whole leap backwards. What the heck was he going to do after thi-

Can I repay you sometime when I get better?

Sometimes he feels like an idiot for letting himself get his hopes up so easily like this. But maybe this time, something could be gained from a little dreaming and moment of boldness.

[therenlover]

Heartsick (A James Patrick March/Reader Oneshot)

Synopsis: When you fall ill, James is given a forceful awakening about how he’s been neglecting your needs and what he must do to prevent harm from befalling you again

Tags: Fluff, Sickfic, Cuddling, Marriage Proposal

Rating: 16+

Warnings: Language, Potentially Triggering Mentions of the Reader Being Ill for a Long Time/Almost Dying of an Unnamed Illness, Planning Your Own Death

Word Count: 3700~

This was crossposted to my AO3 under the same title!

---------------

James Patrick March considered himself a fairly patient man. He had to be, in his line of work. Some things didn’t deserve his patience, like lazy workers or angry hotel guests, but when it came to things that did matter, he was willing to go to extremes. Murder, for example, deserved his patience. Once upon a time, the Countess did too. Yes, patience was a rare virtue Mr. March had possessed all his life.

When it came to you, though, he found his patience running short.

You had been a revelation all your own when you first walked through the doors of the Hotel Cortez with not even a suitcase to your name, radiating purity with every shallow breath. James had been excited to find you in some dark corner of the hotel and rip the life from your body. That is until you found his little nook at the Blue Parrot Lounge and seduced him with your charming personality and sweet smile. From that moment on the Countess didn’t matter anymore. The whole world was just him, you, and all of the deliciously naughty ways he wanted to debauch you.

James had insisted on moving you into your own suite on the seventh floor that very night, just a few short hallways away from his own, and given every luxury he could offer. He was nothing if not a gentleman. It just wouldn’t be right to move the one he intended to court directly into his bedroom, especially while he was still married to his previous wide. Despite the distance, things between the two of you went swimmingly. Even the murder, which James initially worried could drive you apart, was now a delightful shared activity when you chose to grace him with your presence during a kill.

That’s where the problems started.

Mr. March was a man stuck in his own time. That’s why, after 5 splendid years with you at his side, you still weren’t moved into room 78. This also meant your suite was a place he wouldn’t enter unless he was invited. Sure, you had a healthy sex life, but the Countess still had the March family engagement ring tucked away somewhere. He wouldn’t move you into his quarters or impose himself on yours until the two of you were at the very least engaged. The plans for his and the Countess’ divorce were moving, albeit slowly, when you stopped opening the door for James.

The first day he thought perhaps you were simply elsewhere, but after a week of nothing, he began to get angry. It was one thing to deny him your company, but to ignore him while he made a fool of himself banging on your door? That was a punishable offense in the March family playbook. So, he decided if you wanted to play hard to get, he would too. In his mind, James could practically envision you rushing back into his arms once you got over whatever was souring your mood. It wouldn’t be long until the whole nasty affair was behind the both of you once and for all, right?

Wrong.

A month since he last dined with you, James sat at his table in the Blue Parrot lounge alone nursing the remains of his 4th glass of scotch.

Liz was slow to walk out from her place behind the bar. “You want another?” she asked, holding out a crystal decanter, “or should I fish out the absinthe fountain a little early this year,”

“No, no I do believe I’ve had quite enough. Besides, it’s not as if I can actually get drunk anymore,” he huffed. Whether it was the drinks or his growing rage, Mr. March found his collar feeling a bit tighter. He reached up to pull at his cravat but paused when thinking about the ghastly wound it hid. In the end, he let his hand return to its place on his glass.

“Suit yourself,” Liz quickly returned the decanter to its place and began polishing glasses.

Somewhere in the distance, Iris picked up a phone and began to take an order for room service. James had an epiphany.

“Liz!” he shouted, getting her attention, “has Y/N been ordering much room service lately?”

Liz shrugged. “Only once a day for the past month. Why do you ask?”

“I find myself in a bit of a predicament. You see, Y/N began ignoring me about a month ago. I’ve been giving her a taste of her own medicine for quite some time now, and yet she has made no attempts to seek me out. Do you think, perhaps, there could be something wrong?”

The energy in the room began to still.

“Wait, Y/N hasn’t told you?”

“Told me what?”

The dirty glasses were abandoned as Liz let out a humorless laugh.

“Damn you, woman!” James rose with a shout, slamming his glass down on the table, “what is she hiding!?”

“She’s sick,”

James’ heart would have stopped if it were still beating. He sat down again, bewildered. “What?”

“She’s sick. Fever, puking, tremors; the whole shebang,” As she spoke, Liz came back to the table and sat down on the plush booth across from him.

“But it’s been a month! Influenza shouldn’t last that long…”

“Well, it’s definitely not the flu, I can tell you that. Last time I brought down her dinner she nearly choked on her toast. She was so weak that I had to sit there feeding her soup because she couldn’t lift up the spoon long enough to feed herself,”

It was as if James’ whole world had come collapsing down on him all at once. Mortified, he let his head drop into his hands. “Why didn’t she inform me? Am I that pathetic a lover that she would rather suffer in silence than tell me she was ill?”

“Well, to her credit, you don’t exactly look like the most comforting type. When did she move in again?”

“Almost five years ago, it’ll be the anniversary of her first entering the Cortez on the 20th,”

“And how many times in the past five years have you, I don’t know, cuddled with Y/N,”

“You insolent-”

Liz lifted her arms, offering up a white flag. “I’m just asking a question,”

James opened his mouth to offer up a rebuttal but found he had no way to defend himself.

It was true that his relationship with Y/N tended to fluctuate between chaste and lecherous at the drop of a hat. Once they had made love, it was the only habit for him to leave her in bed and return to whatever was keeping him busy at the moment. Post-coital intimacy was simply something he had never experienced or needed. Unfortunately, seeing that the only time he spent with Y/N outside of their trysts were formal meetings or dinners, there had been no time for gentility or softness between just the two of them. If ghosts could blanch, he would have.

Noticing his sudden shift in mood, Liz rose, backing off. “Now, usually I like to stay out of your business, but because your little relationship makes Y/N happy I’ll give you some advice. Go down to the kitchen, have Ms. Evers heat some broth, and give Y/N her dinner personally, maybe even give her some extra attention as a little treat. That should fix the bulk of your issues. Got it?”

He was never one to take orders, but surprisingly James nodded. He stood quickly, smoothing his suit. “Thank you for your advice, Ms. Taylor, but I must depart. My paramour needs me,”

She nodded. “Any time,” James began to hurry down the stairs, but suddenly Liz shouted. “Wait a second,”

James paused. “Yes?”

“Only the living get sick, Mr. March. Maybe, after five years, it’s time for Y/N to extend her stay at the Cortez... permanently. Just something to think about,”

He gave her a sharp nod before disappearing down the stairs to the kitchen. 15 minutes later he was waiting outside your door with a rolling cart in hard. He had already been stalling there for 5 minutes when he finally, with a deep, steadying breath, unlocked the door.

The room was dark and silent, almost like a tomb.

Your voice rang out like a bell as James pushed the cart forward. “Iris?” you called weakly, “is that you?”

“No, darling,” he responded, closing the door behind him. Slowly, he bent down at turned on a small lamp. “You won’t need Iris to bring you your dinner any longer,”

“James,” You whispered, half reverent and half shocked.

He was far too taken aback by the severity of your condition to form an immediate response.

You were curled up in bed, folded in on yourself as you wheezed for breath. As Liz had mentioned your body was weak and wracked with near-constant tremors while you tried your best to prop yourself up on the headboard. James had to abandon the cart with your dinner on it in favor of rushing over and helping you sit up. As he took in your gaunt face, his heart broke.

Your soft voice snapped him from his thoughts.

“Am I dead?”

James shook his head. “No my love, not yet,”

Tears began to spill from your eyes. “I thought you’d left me, James. I thought I was going to have to rot in this awful, dark room for eternity, that maybe ‘cause I died while I was sick my ghost was too damn weak to get up,” As you spoke, you tried to grip the back of his suit, but found you were far too weak to actually hold the fabric. Your inability to even do the simplest of tasks only made you cry harder.

Mr. March was quick to pull out his handkerchief and wipe your eyes. “Oh, my dearest, that couldn’t be farther from the truth, but none of that matters now. I cannot apologize enough for my abhorrent behavior as of late,”

“Will you stay?” your words were laced with desperation, “just for a little bit?”

“Of course, my dearest. I think you’ll find it very difficult to get rid of me from now on. Besides, I couldn’t leave my beloved paramour without doing what it is that I set out to do,”

“Which is?”

James stood and quickly returned with the room service cart. As he removed the silver tray-topper, you found he had brought you a bowl of soup, a small plate of crackers, and a tall glass of ice water.

“I intend to make sure you are well-fed and taken care of,”

“James, you don’t-” you tried to argue, but he cut you off.

“Nonsense! There is, unfortunately, no way to sugar coat this, but I will try my best,” he whispered as he sat on the edge of the bed beside you, “I have neglected you, darling, not just for the past month when I found my pride and ego keeping me away from you, but also for the past five years. I ignored your needs out of a false sense of propriety by bending to rules that are long dead and considered inconsequential. For that, I fear I may never forgive myself. Things will be different from now on, though. I hope to win back your heart properly now that I have realized the severity of my mistakes. Would you…” he paused, gulping, “would you be willing to humor me?”

You offered him a soft smile. “Oh, my beloved Mr. March, there’s no need. My heart has always been yours,”

Your words soothed him, and he offered you one of his debonair grins, the kind where his little mustache scrunched before his lips parted that never failed to sweep you off your feet.

“Now where were we!” he exclaimed.

“Dinner,” you responded.

“Ah, yes! Soup!” He was quick to get a spoonful of the warm broth and bring it to your lips. “You needn’t worry, my sweetling, I watched Ms. Evers prepare this herself. Nothing but the best for you,”

It was easy to accept the spoon into your mouth. Something inside of you knew that James would be taking care of you from now on.

The rest of dinner passed in relative silence, but you didn’t mind, far too tired to take part in any meaningful conversation. Instead, you simply enjoyed the attention. James had never been shy about his affection, but that affection always tended to come in the form of gifts or sex instead of close, intimate touch. It hadn’t bothered you enough to tell him. You always just assumed he didn’t enjoy that kind of love. Now that you’d had a taste, though, of his gentle yet constant affection, you knew you could never get enough.

Too soon the bowl was empty.

James stood, returning to the door with the cart as you relaxed and rolled onto your side. “When will you be back?”

He chuckled, opening the door. “Did you think you could be rid of me so soon, darling?” The cart was quickly pushed out into the hallway as James turned back towards you.

Your face flushed. “I just assumed…”

“Assumptions, assumptions,” he tutted, “It hurts that you have such little faith in me, but I admit I haven’t given you much reason to. As I said, things will be different now,” James perched himself on the edge of the bed with a smile as he untied his shoes and slipped them off.

“What are you doing?”

“Taking off my shoes, darling, so I can join you in bed,”

Your heart skipped a beat. You had been imagining the first time James would actually stay in your bed to cuddle since the beginning of your relationship, but it had been years since you had given any thought to that silly fantasy. Could it really be happening?

Apparently, your surprise was evident on your face because Mr. March paused once both his shoes were settled neatly on the floor. “Is something wrong, my dearest?”

“Nothing, darling, nothing at all,” you were quick to explain, “we’ve just never done this before,”

James smirked like a predator who had just found his prey. “Such an innocent gesture from such a naughty little minx. I don’t recall you being so… flustered the night we met when I took you up to my suite and-”

“James!”

“Alright! Alright, my love, no more vulgarity from me until you’re fully healed and back on your feet. Well, hypothetically on your feet,” he emphasized his words with a dirty wink. Then he crawled into bed beside you as if he belonged there, scootching over until he was resting pressed against your side. You slotted into place, with your face resting in his neck and your leg thrown haphazardly across his hips as if you were made to fit his body. Holding James was like coming home.

You let out a soft, pleased sound at just how good it felt to be held.

James took this as positive feedback. As he settled in, he began running his fingers through your bedhead, combing through the loosest of the knots. Sensing something strange, he paused to put his hand on your forehead. It was uncomfortably hot. “You’re still feverish. Do you need anything? A cold compress? A wet washcloth? Some water?”

It was funny to hear him fussing over you, but it also warmed the deepest parts of your heart.

You made a negative huff against his neck. “No! You’d better not move. Your skin feels too good. It’s nice… cold. The only thing I could possibly want right now is for you to dim the lights and take your damn shirt off so you can cool more of me off,”

“I would, darling, believe me, but there’s just the small issue of the wound on my neck,”

“James,” you glared up at him, “I have literally ripped a dying man’s dick off in front of you. We have dinner with Jeffery Dahmer on your birthday every year, where I have to eat my salad as he zombifies whatever poor sap wandered into Sally’s clutches across the table. Hell, just a few months ago we fucked in that bathtub filled with some businessman’s blood. Your neck is just another part of you, James, it doesn’t bother me. Shirt. Off.”

“Have I ever told you that I adore when you take charge?”

You grinned as he undid his cravat and the top few buttons of his dress shirt. “Once or twice,” The thrill only lasted a moment, though, because before he finished unbuttoning his shirt he pulled away from your arms and got off the bed. A high-pitched whine escaped from your lips. “I thought you said you were staying?”

“I may be a ghost, dear heart, but my clothes can’t just disappear,” Always one for the dramatics, he shed his shirt and suit jacket to the floor with gusto. The sight of his bare torso made your heart beat faster. You had to remind yourself that you were sick and it would probably kill you to go for even a gentle round with Mr. March. Ah, but what a way to die…

James dimmed the lamp before returning, undoing his pants, and stripping down to his boxers. “Is this better for you darling?”

You nodded and reached your trembling arms out to your lover. “Much. Now come back to bed. You have five years’ worth of cuddling to make up for Mr. March, and I don’t intend on letting you wheedle your way out of even a second of it,”

He gave you a gentle smile as he found his way beneath the covers again. “I wouldn’t dream of it,”

Your face quickly found its way back into the crook of James’ neck. It was inhumanly cool, easing the constant burn of your fever and soothing your sore skin. The slit across his throat truly didn’t bother you. As you said, it was just another part of him for you to love, nothing more than a cosmetic imperfection.

Nuzzling closer, you took a deep inhale of his intoxicating scent. Perhaps it was the cologne he wore at the time of his death or even just what he naturally smelled like, but his pulse point radiated notes of sage and bergamot. God, how you loved him.

The pair of you were quiet for a moment with only the sound of your ragged breathing breaking through the air, but something urged you to speak your mind.

“You know, James, when you walked into my room tonight I assumed you were here to kill me,”

He chuckled. “I can’t say I didn’t think about it, my pearl,”

“Of course you did…” you went silent for a moment, “I wouldn’t have minded. This sickness is hell. I’m wasting away by the day and the pain never stops. I don’t mind dying, not when it means I get to spend the rest of time here in the hotel with you, but I don’t want to go out like somebody normal. My death needs to be special… I want to be the crowning glory of your murders, the most fantastic piece of art you’ve ever created,”

Pressing a chaste kiss to the top of your hair, James sighed. “Perhaps it’s selfish of me, but the moment I thought of you, wasting away in the darkness and succumbing to some common germ, I knew I couldn’t kill you. Not yet. I refuse to have my bride accompany me through eternity bearing a constant reminder of my failure,”

Your breath hitched. “Bride?”

Slowly, his hand made its way to your throat. There was no threat in it, he wasn’t using even an ounce of pressure. It was more of a gentle reminder of his presence; a physical conduit of his passion.

“Yes, bride. I don’t mind if you can only become Mrs. March posthumously, though I would prefer to wed you alive and enjoy your last moments of warmth in the throes of carnal delight on our wedding bed, it all depends on where your illness takes you next. Until then I will be glued to your side. No more harm will come to you. I shall nurse you back to health with my own hand so that you glow with life long after your death. Yes, Y/N, your death will come, but not until I have done my best to atone for my mistakes in your life,”

“Was that a proposal?” You gazed up at James with wide, misty eyes.

He huffed out a laugh. “I suppose it was, and a poor one at that! To think I stalled for years in the hopes of finding the perfect moment to present you with my mother’s ring only to pop the question in bed with no ring in sight. I do hope you’ll say yes. I’d be rather crushed if you rejected me after all this time,”

You nodded, small tears escaping as you pressed your face into his soft skin. “Of course I’ll marry you, you idiot. I would’ve married you if you were the poorest man in the world and proposed with a ring-pop,”

“Then it’s settled. You shall be my wife as soon as you are well enough for me to fuck you again! I quite hate that Will Drake, but I believe he’s our best, quickest option if we wish to get you a dress commissioned. I have a few ideas drawn up already waiting in my office… perhaps I should call Ms. Evers and have her take them to him,”

“Shhhh,” you smiled into his neck, pressing a kiss to his collarbone, “we can figure out the details later. For right now, though, your fiancée is sick and she needs some TLC. What are you gonna do about it, Mr. March,”

He growled. “Well, I suppose ravishing you is off the table. Hmmm... what to do to my darling girl to make her feel better?” With a gentle nudge, he tilted your head up and pressed a sweet kiss to your lips.

“That’s a start,”

-------

a/n: I hope you liked it! I’m really leaning towards writing a second part of this where the reader actually dies, so let me know if you’re interested. Also, my requests are open if you want to see any of Evan’s other characters! 

Please don’t post my work to other sites, thank you <3

[julies-butterflies]

Kiss prompt 25 with boggie (and maybe hinting toward Sickfic cause you know I love when these boys suffer 👀👀)?

50 types of kiss prompts  //   accepting!!  ( for jukebox, willex, reggielukejulie, boggie )

25.   Wet kisses after finding refuge from the rain.

                         ( read on ao3 here! )

It says a lot about the current state of his life (and friend group) that when Bobby wakes in the dark to the soft echo of someone rummaging around in the loft, his first thought is not “someone broke in”, but “which one is it?”

Slowly, he pushes himself upright. While he doesn’t remember dozing off in the garage, the evidence is all around him. His back is stiff from dozing on the couch in an awkward position; his calculus textbook is still wide open on the table, the equations he only half-finished sitting next to it. Here’s Bobby’s first clue  ---  someone picked up his pencil, and made a few hasty, scribbled corrections in the margins, solving one of the problems he wasn’t able to get.

He’s also sure the blanket covering him now was folded on the other end of the couch before he passed out... and, leading from the doorway, a glistening trail of footsteps have tracked their way across the garage floor, leaving puddles along the way.

He sighs between his teeth, forcing himself to his feet. The trail leads across the floor, straight to the loft ladder. From the still-audible sounds coming from above  ---  not drowned out by the rain outside, which batters the windows and drums on the roof like the roar of a mosh pit  ---  the intruder hasn’t noticed he’s been noticed. Bobby takes care to keep quiet, ascending the ladder slowly. When he pokes his head through the floor, he has to squint to discern shadows through the dim light.

Sure enough --- there’s a dark figure burrowing around amid piles of junk. He’s wrestling with an old quilt buried at the bottom of one of the trunks, and losing. Even from a distance, Bobby can see the dark hair slicked against his temples, the water streaming from his sodden flannel to drench the wooden boards beneath him. He trembles in his damp clothes, shaky movements fueled by restless energy. No doubt, he didn’t realize how much noise he was making.

Bobby leans forward on his elbows, and rests his face against one palm. “For a second, I thought we had racoons. But racoons don’t usually stop to help with homework.”

The rustling stops cold. It’s a minute before Reggie turns; when he meets Bobby’s gaze, he looks like a kid with his hand caught in the cookie jar.

“I, uhh ---” He huffs, then shrugs, sending off a hail of raindrops. “Figured since I was already breaking and entering, may as well pay you back somehow.”

“You know you don’t have to, Reggie.” Bobby folds his arms, balancing his chin on top of them both; his foot scuffs idly at the nearest ladder rung. This is far from the first time one of the guys has shown up at Bobby’s garage unannounced; since he never leaves the door locked anymore, it can hardly be called breaking and entering. There’s a makeshift bed up in the loft, and spare clothes in a duffel bag downstairs. They’re always welcome when they need it.

“Yeah...” The word comes out hoarse; Reggie has to clear his throat, ducking his face back into the shadows. “I know.”

A part of Bobby wants to ask  ---  but there’s no point, when he already knows the answer. When it’s Luke, it’s his mother; when it’s Alex, it’s his atmosphere; when it’s Reggie, the world is just too loud. I like how quiet it is here, he admitted once. It feels like a home. (A home, not his home  — there’s a big difference.)

So, instead of asking, he just shakes his head. “You could’ve called me. Or Alex. We’d have come to pick you up, instead of —”

“Alex hates driving on a good day. You want him to go out at night? In the middle of a rainstorm? All the way down to the beach, just to pick me up?”

There’s an edge of real frustration in his voice; and it’s Reggie, so that’s worrying, but Bobby’s own temper can’t help responding in kind. “Well, it’s better than you on your bike, freezing to death! Reg, you’re almost blue.”

For some reason, Reggie chuckles at that, ducking his head again. His sense of humor is as crooked as a wire hanger. Bobby’s learned not to question it, or try to follow the strange routes his mind goes down. With Reggie, it’s enough to just be along for the ride.

No matter how he got here, Bobby reminds himself, the important thing is, Reggie's here. He made it here, where he knows he’s always welcome… and there’ll be time to tear into him for his dumbass choices another day. Tonight, only three things are important: Reggie’s here, Reggie’s safe, and Reggie needs to get dry.

“You’re not sleeping in the loft,” Bobby declares, glancing around the dimly lit ceiling room. Aside from the cobwebs, it’s drafty and leaky up here; Reggie will catch a chill in a second, if he somehow hasn’t already. When Reggie opens his mouth to protest, Bobby just shakes his head, nodding downstairs. “The couch is more comfortable. Grab a blanket, okay? And go through what we’ve got — you gotta change out of those wet clothes.”

For just a second, a smile flickers over Reggie’s face — there one minute, gone the next. He doesn’t say anything, only nods… but Bobby reads his relief clear as day, and his gratitude.

It’s enough.

(No, it’s not — but he can’t change his friends’ shitty lives, he can’t protect them from the world, so it has to be enough.)

Bobby slips back downstairs, and busies himself making the couch comfortable. It pulls out easily into a bed; there are pillows tucked behind it for rainy days just like this one. He folds the blanket that had been tossed over him, and clears some of his papers off the table, just to chase away the clutter. By the time the loft ladder creaks, a few minutes later, the couch is as cozy as it will ever get.

Bobby turns, and almost sighs in relief at the sight of Reggie — in dry clothes, a grey t-shirt and dark sweatpants that hug his bony hips. Bobby never likes to think about how thin Reggie is… but when it’s presented to him like this, so intimately, there’s no way to ignore it. (Home cooked meals, he suspects, are as rare in the Peters household as a trip to Disneyworld; no wonder Reggie inhales any food they put in front of him.) He still looks pale, skin paper white and washed out in the gloom. Though he’s run fingers through his hair, it’s still wild, flyaway hairs clinging to his brow. He hasn’t completely stopped shivering, either, but at least he’s settled down. 

“Here,” Bobby says, nodding to the couch. He can’t help cursing himself; clearly, his bedside manner deserves awards.

Reggie isn’t bothered. He just steps forward, that ghost of a smile back on his lips. “Thanks,” he murmurs, and says nothing more. When Bobby steps aside for him, he settles on the couch, tucking the blanket  around him. Immediately, like a leaf tossed into a windstorm, he starts shivering again. Bobby grimaces.

“So, when you catch pneumonia, is the plan to just ride it out, or…?”

Reggie glances up at him. His expression steals the words from Bobby’s mouth. There are dark circles under his eyes, standing out all the more in his pale face; his lower lip is bitten raw, flushed and sore, and hands fiddle restlessly in his lap.

“Bobby,” he mutters, and something in his voice is… desolate. So absolutely freaking tired... drained and defeated... so wrong for a person like Reggie, who is made of enthusiasm. He’s the bubble of soda in a glass, the dancing blaze of a sparkler, the crackle of a firework, the lilt of a bass line. Reggie is alive in living color… and tonight, the rain has washed it all away.

Something in Bobby’s stomach twists. His heart rattles against the cage of his ribs. Impulse spikes within him, and he doesn’t realize what he’s doing until he has already settled onto the couch at Reggie’s side, and opened his arms wide.

“Okay. Bring it in.”

Reggie’s eyes widen. Touching isn’t Bobby’s thing. It’s Luke’s, sure, and even Alex’s. They’re both all about that casual affection, with too much love to be contained. Bobby shows his affection in quieter ways — a steadying hand, a late night drive, paying for take-out when he knows his friends’ pockets are light. He’s never been sure how to handle all the touching which comes with the package, with the Sunset Curve boys; he’s never known how to start.

Tonight, though, Reggie’s here, and he needs it. So, just for tonight, Bobby is officially a hugger.

“Come on,” Bobby encourages; and that’s all the prodding Reggie needs to gently tuck himself against his friend’s chest.

He doesn’t expect how well Reggie fits there, like a puzzle piece naturally slotting into place. He knocks the breath from his lungs without trying; even as long arms come to wrap around his chest, and a damp head ticks against his collarbone, it takes Bobby a minute to adjust. Yes, he asked for this — he reminds himself of that, as his own arms come up to wrap Reggie in an embrace — but Reggie’s so much better at it, and he’s not sure where to go from here.

“Bobby,” Reggie mutters into his chest. “You have to relax a little, otherwise how’m I supposed to?” He tilts his head up. “I’m the half-frozen one here, but you’re like hugging a scarecrow.”

Bobby snorts. Reggie looks up a little more. His eyes shine dark in the dim studio light as his brows furrow. “Do you not want me to —“

Bobby hushes him with a shake of his head, and pulls Reggie closer, tucking the blanket around them both. Slowly, he leans back against the couch. It seems like the thing to do to relax — and Reggie agrees, if the soft noise of contentment he makes is any clue. He’s still shivering a bit against Bobby’s chest; his voice carries an ominous rasp, and whenever he breathes out, it sounds unsteady. Bobby brushes against his bare arm, and is immediately struck by how cold Reggie still is; even holding him like this, the chill begins to seep into his own skin.

Bobby will soak up every ounce of it, if it means Reggie can be comfortable again.

So, he pulls Reggie close, rubbing a hand up and down his back in broad, earnest circles. He breathes out against the crown of Reggie’s head, hot and repetitive; a few times, he even rocks him, just to get the blood flowing back through his limbs. Reggie doesn’t protest. He barely even moves. It takes a while for their legs to tangle together under the blankets. His arms tuck under Bobby’s; his ear comes to rest over his heart. Slowly, his entire body curves into Bobby’s own, ravenous for any ounce of heat a warmer form can provide.

Even as he does this, he seems to melt, and Bobby knows — just knows — this is the first chance he’s had to really relax in days.

“Exhale, Reg,” he murmurs without meaning to. When Reggie stirs against him, meeting his gaze with furrowed brows, Bobby is suddenly relieved he’s never been able to blush. (Compared to Reggie, who could gauge the weather by the color in his cheeks.)

Still locked into his gaze, Reggie breathes out, in one long gust. It chills Bobby’s jaw.

“You’re so cold,” he mutters.

“Not anymore,” answers Reggie. “Not with you.”

He’s left a damp patch against the front of Bobby’s shirt, and his hair’s still wet. As Bobby watches, a droplet trails its way down his temple, stopping just as it reaches his ear. Before Bobby can think twice, he brushes it away with one gentle hand… and allows his fingers to linger over Reggie’s jaw a second too long before pulling away.

Reggie isn’t staring into Bobby’s eyes anymore. He’s hypnotized by his lips.

And well, Bobby reasons, there’s no better way to warm him up.

That's his justification for not feeling like a horrible person, when he leans in and captures Reggie’s lips with his own.

There’s nothing forceful about it, nothing demanding; the last thing Bobby wants is to take, only to give what little warmth he can. Yet as Reggie stays frozen against him for a moment too long, an icicle of dread pierces Bobby’s chest. He’s just begun to pull away, an apology already on the tip of his tongue, when Reggie suddenly catches him by the back of the neck with one icy hand, pulling him back down.

Bobby’s breath catches; Reggie catches him. For a minute, it’s all either of them can do to be near each other, moving with and against each others’ mouths in slow, earnest rhythm.

Heat? Oh, no — heat isn’t a problem anymore.

When they finally pull back, Reggie’s lips are flushed, his cheeks bright red — there it is, Bobby thinks, with a flash of victory. His breath is heavy against Bobby’s chest, but there’s a smile on his lips all the same.

“I mean,” he says, and pauses for a breathless chuckle, “yeah, sure, that works too.”

Just as Bobby begins to smile, Reggie suddenly jerks forward. His laugh turns into a gasp — and then he’s coughing hard against Bobby’s collar, entire body heaving with it. It’s all Bobby can do to steady him, keeping one hand on his shoulders as he struggles to catch his breath, until the worst of it has passed.

“Damn it,” he mutters, once Reggie has gone limp again. “You’re totally gonna get me sick.”

“I’ll try not to,” Reggie offers generously against his collarbone.

“No, you won’t,” Bobby replies, knowing it’s probably too late already — and also, that he doesn’t really care, so long as he can keep Reggie warm and dry through the night.

When Reggie lifts his head to smile at him, Bobby brushes the rain out of his hair, and grins right back.

[theghostnugget]

The Yusuhi sickfic nobody asked for but me

Yusuke drank two glasses of water when he woke up in the morning, fairly certain the tickle in his throat was from dehydration. By the end of first period, he was pretty sure he was coming down with something and by lunch he could barely see straight. Luckily, he stumbled into Keiko before he did something embarrassing like faint in the middle of the hallway. Her concerned brown eyes were all he could focus on as her words flowed over him. He vaguely registered that they were walking, mostly because his legs were like cooked noodles.

“Heeeyyyy, Kuwabara…” When did Kuwabara get here? He got more concerned looks from Keiko and Kuwabara so he tried to smile but his face wouldn’t cooperate.

He was getting a piggy-back ride when he tuned back into reality again. How long had it been since he got one of those? It must have been when he was little. He could hear Kuwabara talking so he figured that was who was carrying him, but his head hurt too much to open his eyes and check. He hid his eyes from the light that was breaking through his eyelids and slipped out again.

He was sweating like crazy. It’s what woke him up. He was wrapped up in blankets in his bed. He groaned, trying to escape from his cocoon with limbs that wouldn’t cooperate despite the fact that his brain was feeling much clearer than before. After a minute of struggling in vain, he heard a cruel laugh and froze. He looked over to see Hiei standing by the bed so quickly that his head spun, and he had to close his eyes again. “Ugh, what are you doing here?” He was fairly certain Hiei wouldn’t kill him for the bad attitude after their little jaunt to kill the Saint Beasts… Unless he did… but no, he was pretty sure he was safe. He’d feel safer if his arms didn’t feel all fuzzy numb and useless.

“I came to see if what the fox said was true.” Hiei said, sounding as bored as he usually did when he wasn’t pissed. “The mighty Spirit Detective struck down by a fever. It’s rather pathetic.”

“Makes it even more pathetic that you lost to me, then, huh?” Yusuke cracked an eye open to watch anger twist the fire demon’s features into a glare.

“Maybe I’ll rectify that now.” He said, reaching for his sword in its sheath. Yusuke just laughed.

“Yeah right. And give up the shot to kill me in a fair fight?”

“You think I care about fair?”

“Yep.” Yusuke said, emphasizing the p. He finally got one of his arms out of the top of his cocoon and he let out a little cheer. Hiei’s lips twitched and for a split-second Yusuke almost thought he seemed amused. Not amused in a “watching you fail is hilarious” type way like usual but in an… affection way? Yusuke decided to blame that thought on his fever and move on. “Besides, you like me too much for that.” He said as he pulled off the wet washcloth that someone (most likely Keiko) had put on his forehead. He must have been out for a while cause it was almost totally dry.

Hiei huffed and rolled his eyes, never returning them to Yusuke. “Keep thinking that.” He snapped. Yusuke looked close at his face and was delighted to see that he was blushing. Somehow, he hadn’t thought Hiei capable of blushing. Of being embarrassed. It started to recolor all of his previous interactions with him. That was a thought for another time, though. “Once I’ve fulfilled my responsibilities to Spirit World, you’ll think differently.”

Yusuke couldn’t help smiling, and he was glad Hiei still couldn’t look at him because it only would have pissed him off. “Do those responsibilities extend to getting me a glass of water before I die of dehydration.” He asked hopefully.

Hiei snorted. Yusuke figured that was probably a no which meant he’d have to fight the rest of the way out of his blankety prison until Hiei reached into his cloak, dug around for a few seconds, and pulled out a flask. Yusuke stared at it with wide eyes, for some reason unable to process the idea that Hiei had pockets on the inside of his cloak. Why that felt so earth-shattering, Yusuke didn’t know. It just did. He stared for so long that Hiei snapped. “I didn’t poison it, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

Yusuke shook himself and reached out for the flask. “That’s not what I was thinking.” He almost cried when the cool water soothed his aching throat. He assumed he would finish the flask before he was satisfied, but it kept coming no matter how much he drank. He finally had to stop drinking when he felt the water sloshing in his stomach. His throat felt a little better as he handed the flask back to Hiei who was staring at him rather intensely. He only broke his focus for a moment to put his flask back before the molten hot gaze was back on Yusuke who was settling back into a comfortable position.

It was a look Yusuke had never seen on Hiei’s face before and one he had trouble identifying. It wasn’t angry or bored or annoyed or embarrassed (because from his limited experiences with Hiei he’d noticed that Hiei could never quite make eye contact when he was embarrassed) … If Yusuke didn’t know better, he might actually think it was concern.

He pushed that thought away for another time closed his eyes. “I feel like death.” He pouted.

“Well, no matter how bad you feel, know that you look worse.” Yusuke opened his eyes and saw Hiei smirking.

“Yeah, thanks for that.” Yusuke said dryly.

“Anytime”

Yusuke laughed. They simmered in a rare moment of friendly silence before Yusuke yawned. That strangely intense look came back, cutting through the casual atmosphere.

“Sleep.” It would have been sweet if it hadn’t sounded so much like an order. Yusuke didn’t know why he felt touched anyways.

“You gonna stay?” He asked as he closed his eyes, immediately feeling sleep clawing at him.

“Someone has to make sure you don’t let yourself get killed because you’re too weak to fight off a cold.”

Yusuke grinned. “You like me.”

“I don’t ‘like’ anyone.” He snapped and Yusuke’s grin grew. “It would be a pain to have to work with a new Spirit Detective. You’re a moron, but you’re not nearly as irritating as I thought you were when we first fought.”

“I think there was a compliment hidden somewhere in those insults.”

“You’re imagining things. Now sleep.”

Yusuke was too tired not to follow that order a second time. He drifted off knowing there was a short, grumpy fire demon watching over him.

[emotionalcello-makefanfics]

Chapters: 2/? Fandom: Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics), Red Robin (Comics), Batman - All Media Types Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Tim Drake/Jason Todd Characters: Tim Drake, Jason Todd, Tamara Fox, Some OC for cuteness Additional Tags: Angst, Fluff and Angst, Sickfic, Tim Drake is Not Robin, Tim Drake is Not Red Robin, Jason Todd is Red Hood, Tim Drake Needs a Hug, Jason Todd Needs A Hug, Crying, so much crying, Love Confessions, Cheesy, God it's so cheesy, Cringe, So sweet so cheesy so angsty that you'll cringe, Tim Drake-centric, some Jason POV tho, A wild X-men appereance, I know they're not the same universe but I'm running out of character and running out of creativity, So yeah X-men characters and vaugly their mansion/orphanage too, Bruce Wayne Bashing, Some things that I don't put down bcs it'll be a spoiler, Smoking, Implied/Referenced Sex, POV from a cat????, The Clichést Cliché that ever Cliché, Cliche Summary:

They meet again on a rooftop after ten years. They're different now, and things are not the same. It's all too late. Chapter 1 sneakpeek

“Don’t jump.”

Sighing exasperatedly, Tim puts down his cigarette-clutching fingers and drags his eyes to the source of the voice. His gelled-back hair loses its hold and a strand of ear-length bangs falls to his vision.

Sadly, without seeing him and just from the voice, Tim knows exactly who this person is. One of the Bat franchise, and it just had to be the Red Hood variation, fucking great. Out of all time, it has to be tonight. The world is playing a joke on him.

Tim is sitting hunched on the rooftop’s edge, wishing he’d have some peace and quiet for once, and of course one of these pestering bats just has to bug him at the worst time. Yet, it’s actually pretty rare for Red Hood to patrol Gotham lately, and Tim curses up a storm in his mind. Out of all the days, it just has to be fucking tonight.

No, Tim is not having it.

“This man has too much to do tomorrow to jump.” Tim looks away, getting a light from his suit.

One hand lighting another one of his death stick, and the other unbuttoning his suit and loosens his tie. After a puff and two, Tim drags in and keeps the smoke in, letting his nerves uncoil. Seems like it doesn’t work that well when the big bad shadow of a vigilante doesn’t move from the corner of his eyes.

“I’m not jumping, go away, I can’t deal with you tonight,” Tim says as he sighs the smoke away to the red polluted sky, thinking the man must be deaf or just not convinced. Maybe the latter, the bats are famous for their tact after all. People say they’re purely human. Seeing Red hood’s physique, maybe this one becomes meta-human at some point.

Tim looks the other way so the vigilante is completely out of his vision, to make a point that he’s not having this conversation. He looks to the city, engulfed by the red sky. It’s bright since this building is at the heart of the city, where the higher caste of Gothamites live and prosper. You can see the border around the bright side of the city where the lights stop dead and darkness begins. The poor side of the city. The gap is ghastly, it’s what makes Gotham what it is.

Tim is not surprised but highly disappointed when he hears shuffling instead, and when he looks at where the tall brick wall of a man, he already sits down next to him. Red Hood keeps a respectable distance though, at least he has that much of a tact.

Red Hood hooks his fingers inside his helmet, does some finger shimmy, and the red shiny mask helmet is off. His face is still covered by a domino mask, his hair looks damp, and his gloved hands rake his jet black hair back. Curls bounce to his forehead, sighing a fog, the only indication that the weather is reaching the end of the year. In turn, Tim felt his cleanly shaved nape chilled.

From inside the leather jacket, the vigilante digs to look for something, and that’s when Tim realized he’s been looking at the cuts on Red Hood’s exposed forearms from the folded sleeves. Very thick and muscled forearms. This guy either lifts all day or a meta-human, not that Tim cares anymore.

“Got a light?” Red says, plush lips smirking.

Tim sighs, guess he has company today. He digs into his suit and throws him his lighter. The masked man inspects it and Tim rolls his eyes. The lighter is a metal one that you flip, and on it engraved ‘From my heart with love, that this one lasts longer, Tam.’

“A sweetheart of yours?” Says the man, the second sentence he speaks, and Tim doesn’t recognize the voice. Deep, gravely, the typical voice of someone that smokes.

Red Hood extends his hand to give back the lighter to Tim instead of throwing it, must’ve thought it’s special.

“Kind of,” Tim says, receiving the lighter.

Red Hood drags in, keeps the smoke in, “Why kind of?” and sighs.

“Never established the relationship.”

“Commitment issues?”

Tim quirks an eyebrow at the man, sitting just as hunched as him. There’s a pillar beside Tim, and he lays his back there, thinking whether or not he should engage in this conversation. Eh, why not right? It’s not like it’s confidential information, and Tim is just so tired of caring about social politics.

“I was too late,” Tim says. It’s not as painful to say now, but lately, Tim has been numb. He’s been numb for years. Tim’s gay, or so he thought. When he began to really love her, she’s gone from him.

“Girl got another guy?” Red Hood teases.

“Girl got dead,” Tim deadpans. The smile dropped from the vigilante’s mouth, and if only he can see his eyes, panic would look funny on the all-powerful Bat. But, no, Tim can see his tell by the tapping hands.

“Ah fuck, sorry.”

Tim chuckles at the spectacle of an awkward vigilante. Maybe this night won’t be so bad after all.

“Relax, I’m not too sad about it now, it was years ago.”

It’s hard to predict Red’s expression with that domino mask that takes his cheekbones and half his forehead, but Tim’s pretty sure the twist on that mouth means his opinion of Tim isn’t good. Well, not that Tim cares.

“How did she die?”

“Wrong place, wrong time,” Tim put the filter on his lips and drags in as deep as he can. Too deep, and Tim coughs hard, once and twice that his vision blurs. Her face comes to vision, the morbidity of her expression tips Tim’s nerves off balance. Tim quickly takes another deep drag, “She was in the Joker’s way.”

At the name, Red Hood snaps his face at Tim. Slowly, languidly, Tim looks back. The vigilante clenched jaw and balled fists look like he’s about to kill somebody. Tim knows that a few years ago Red Hood kidnapped Joker, didn’t kill him, and just vanished before popping up again to have a vendetta against Batman. What a load of drama those bunch.

This also means that Tim knows exactly who this person is. Suddenly the voice registers, the familiar jaw, the soft fucking tone.

He blames it on the nicotine that his heart is calmer than he’d like, his mind still not on overdrive, still plagued with Tam’s face as she died in front of him. He’d breathe smoke instead of oxygen if he could. God he wished he’d breathe smoke from now on. Why does it have to be today? One grace from the universe is that Tim -for some reason- feels amused instead of dread.

“You look like you’re about to kill somebody, Red,” Tim says, can’t help the ease and sass in his voice. Tim lays back hunched, crosses his legs. “I thought you let go of your vendetta against the Joker.”

“Where do you hear that bullshit?” Redhood snaps and Tim can’t help but let go another chuckle.

“People talk, words get around,” Tim says.

“Then they’re far off the truth,” Red hisses before dragging in his cig.

“Yet the Joker still roams.”

“Ain’t my call.”

“Is it the big bat daddy calls?”

Red Hood splutters at the name and Tim smirks evilly at the reaction. “Ew, don’t call him that!”

“I can call that higher-than-thou furry hero wannabe anything I want,” Tim spits bitterly, looking out to the city. Sometimes when he’s really lucky, he’ll catch one of the bats twirling in the sky, and now one of ‘em is sitting beside him, but sadly it’s not the most shocking knowledge he has today. “One of these days it’s going to be my turn.”

“What?”

“Dying in the collision of mad men’s evil master plan you refuse to get rid of.”

“Ck, I don’t like what you’re insinuating.”

“Sorry then, I don’t mean to insinuate anything. This is me telling you loud and clear that you’re all cowards for not killing these maniacs that kill us like ants when you have the power to stop them.” Tim’s voice is even and chill, it did not raise a tone, but it reduces the bulk of a man beside him to still. “Some of us rooted for you when you caught the Joker, and your reputation gives us high hopes that it’ll be the last of him. Then he showed up again.” Tim feels the lighter in his pocket burn, “Then Tam died.”

Tim pumps his lung full of smokes, keeping it in there so that the clawing gloom will die before it takes roots.

“I almost did kill him, Batman stopped me,” the gravel voice says lowly.

Tim feels himself stiffens, now that’s something he doesn’t know. His eyes scan the hunched vigilante, trying to find any sign of a lie, there’s none.

“Shit,” Tim curses, sighing up smoke and quickly takes a deep drag in. “Fuck Batman.”

For the first time, Tim hears Red chuckle, “Yeah, fuck him.”

“Still your family though, right?” Tim says, earning what he thinks is a glare, who would fucking know with that mask. “Why else would you stay in his line?”

Red Hood looks away, not answering.

“Guess I understand. Proving something to someone.”

Red scoffs, “Would you?”

“You know who I am.”

“Yeah, not your story.”

Tim scoffs at the obvious lie, “Look it up. I have better things to do than telling you my backstory that’s a google search away.”

Tim Drake. Son of the CEOs of Drake Industries. Running smoothly since ever he becomes the COO. Yada yada, young and successful, yada yada, has the reputation to chew out the reporters and a resting bitch face, all that shit. Tim doesn’t have the best bedside manners, but when it comes to business, Tim gets things done, and his business partners know to swallow their pride for a potential too stupid to missed just because Tim has fangs.

“I dunno, you’re pretty mysterious in the eye of the media,” Red says.

“Because they’re nosy pricks and not worth my time when they’re asking me about rumors of my flings.”

“They’re not true?”

“What the fuck are you? Does TMZ sent you?”

“Good point, never mind.”

They let the quiet settle in, and Tim isn’t too bothered by the company so much. The red amber eats to his filter. Tim puts out the light and puts the bud back inside the pack while he gets another one. He looks down at his light, which reminded him of Tam. Damn, she was such a good assistant, she’s also his best friend but a damn better assistant. Tim doesn’t let himself think about it.

He lights another, and puffs.

“Shouldn’t you be patroling?” Tim says before he can stop himself.

“Nah, not here to patrol, just some errands.”

“Don’t mind me. I’m not jumping.”

“No, I know that,” Red says, tone softer that Tim narrows his eyes at him.

“Lonely?” Tim teases, putting the filter in his lips while locking eyes to the pair of white lenses.

Red shrugs, “Just wanna kill time with someone that doesn’t wear one of these,” he says, tapping to his domino mask.

Tim hums imagining himself with his family, “Yeah, me too, I’d take a vigilante franchise over family dinner anytime.”

“Aww,” Red surprisingly coos, making Tim flustered.

“Don’t get it twisted, my family sets a pretty low bar for good company.”

“I can say the same, Timmy.”

Tim flinches, “I didn’t say you can call me Timmy.”

“What about friends then?” Red follows up, ignoring him.

“Joker killed my only best friend. Oh god, stop making that face, everyone I know got someone they know killed by the Joker, or Bane, or.... shit just those freaks.”

“Doesn’t make me feel better.”

“I don’t care what you feel.”

“I’m wounded,” Red says in that joking ‘boo-hoo’ voice but it was the last thing to snap Tim’s patience completely. He hates this casual conversation as if nothing happened.

“I’m not jumping, and I know you’re not here just to talk to some random civilian. You know who I am, so say what you wanna say and go,” Tim inhales deeply after the low-toned rant, only to be met with another silence.

They stay quiet for a few whiles again. Smoking the tension away. After Tim’s cig burns halfway, his nerves calmed down. Then he realizes that Red is looking at him. Staring.

“What?” Tim says, sighing smoke.

“Would you kill Joker if you could?”

“In a heartbeat.”

“Killing someone isn’t as easy as it sounds, especially if you did it before.”

“You underestimate my anger then.”

Red Hood goes still for what Tim is insinuating. His phone vibrates in his pocket. Tim gets it and his new assistant reminds him of a flight in an hour and he needs to be ready in half. Tim puts out his cig and pockets it.

As he stands up, he looks down at Red Hood, really looks at him. It reminded Tim of the time has passed. It’s been so long.

“Nothing to say?” Tim asks, he has an underlying tone of ‘last chance.’

“Thanks for the light.”

Tim clenches his jaw and breaths slowly. What did he expect? “You caught me at a bad time but it’s good to meet you again, Jason.”

When Tim walks away, his elbow is grabbed and he’s spun to face Jason in all his bulk. Looming over him with his height.

“You know who I am?” Red says with a threat in his voice that makes Tim wants to laugh.

“Are you really that surprised? Or did you forget me when you fucking died?” Tim smiles bitterly.

Moments passed, eyes on each other, chest to chest. The last time he sees Jason, Tim was staring at these white lenses too, and Jason was still as tall as him. At this close, Tim sees tiny tears that heal pale than the rest of his tan skin, bulked up body looming over him that used to be similar to his. For anyone, Tim had two best friends, Robin and Jason Wayne-Todd, he had known the two are the same. Seems like Jason doesn’t.

Doesn’t matter now. Everything said and done. Too late.

“Say your goodbyes now,” Tim says, because why else would his childhood friend pops back again after a decade of not saying anything after he returned to life. Tim doesn’t realize it’ll hurt this bad though. Missing Tam doesn’t hurt this bad.

Perhaps it was because the scar never healed right, but he still thinks of Jason like a big chunk of him that’s been torn away forcefully, even now.

“I’m sorry,” Jason finally says, low and guilty, as he should be, but it irks Tim to no end.

“I lost you, and when you’re back you didn’t tell me,” Tim says, his voice cracks and he curses it to hell. Red Hood’s been around for years, and Jason never came to Tim to say he’s alive.  “If you have nothing else to say, let go of me.”

“I didn’t know that you knew.”

“What?”

“I didn’t know you know I was Robin... Did you know... everyone?”

Tim rolls his eyes, “Yes.” Gloved hands still on his elbow, and white lenses not letting him go. The non-challant face he wears slips off as if oil just slicked between the mask and his skin. His heart picks up a beat. There are layers between their skin, Jason’s thick gloves and Tim’s three-piece suit, but it feels warmer. Burning.

“Damn,” Jason curses under his breath.

It’s just a little thing, but Jason’s silence following that is a nother prick to Tim’s skin.

“Is that all?” Tim dismissed, pulling his arm away, but Jason only holds tighter.

“I didn’t know, okay?” Jason pushes, “And you’re a civilian, you’re not supposed to know Jason Todd is back to the land of the living.”

“A civilian,” Tim mutters under his breath. That’s all he is to Jason? All this time. His chest hurts, Tim knows this is because of Jason’s words instead of anything else. “Get away from me.”

“I’ll see you again,” Jason says before letting go.

Before Tim can say don’t bother, the man puts on his red helmet and grapples away. For a moment Tim can see the shadow of red yellow green flying away.

[youtuberswithalex]

Keep It Hidden

Summary:  Virgil caught his least favorite illness of them all (if one could have such a thing)—the stomach flu. The last thing he wants is for the others to find out. (Pre-Accepting Anxiety)

A/N: This is the sickfic that I wrote for an anon last week that got WAY out of hand and ended up as a five-page fic-- I hope you enjoy!!

Warnings: detailed depiction of vomiting, sickness, mentioned Unsympathetic Dark Sides, cursing

Word count: 1,878

---

Virgil had known this day would come eventually, but now that it was actually here, it sucked.

Getting sick was far from a rare occurrence for him. When Thomas got a little too nervous, or got jumpscared one too many times in a day, Virgil’s immune system would go to shit and he’d be left as some sort of feverish mess. He’d had what felt like every type of illness under the sun over the years—colds, flus, sinus infections, ear infections, chicken pox, and so, so many more.

His normal routine was to lay on the couch and watch cartoons until whatever bug he had this time passed. He’d cover his head with blankets whenever Remus ran by, screaming about butts, and he’d hiss at Deceit until he got the message that he wanted to be alone. And with the other guy, he’d…

Well. Virgil didn’t want to think about what he’d had to do to get him away.

It wasn’t a fun system, but it got him better way faster than if he stayed cooped up in his bedroom, for some reason. He liked to think it had something to do with the cartoons, or maybe just being away from the germs that got him sick in the first place.

And then the Dark Sides kicked him out, and he got stuck with the Light Sides that despised him, and he’d caught his least favorite illness of them all (if one could have such a thing)—the stomach flu.

And it sucked.

For the last six hours, Virgil had been curled up on the bathroom floor, throwing up what felt like everything he’d ever eaten in the last three years until there was nothing but bile. Every gag and retch at this point felt like someone was trying for force a rock up his esophagus. Between cycles, he would lay down and press his throbbing head against the cool tiles below, but it never lasted long before being sideways took its toll on his stomach and he was retching over the toilet again.

The only thing he could be grateful for was that it had started in the early hours of the morning. The last thing he wanted was for the Lights to see him like this. But he knew his luck was running out, and he needed to get back to his room before—

“Anxiety!” Bam, bam, bam! “Hurry up in there! I need to make myself beautiful for the day!”

Virgil choked back a groan, pushing himself off the floor as he glared at the door. “It’s a bathroom, Princey, not a miracle store,” he snapped.

He heard Roman gasp. “How dare you! I got a full ten hours of beauty sleep last night; I just need to touch myself up!”

His eyes fluttered shut at the mention of sleep, but he did his best to stay awake enough to make his voice sound normal. “Have you tried 24?”

Another noise of offense sailed through the door, followed by footsteps storming away. As soon as Virgil heard them going down the stairs, he moved as quickly as he could handle to get up and clean the bathroom. He then rushed down the hall to get to his bedroom, shutting the door just as Patton was coming up.

Legs trembling, Virgil slid down the door and breathed as evenly as he could.

Knock, knock. “Anxiety?”

This time, he didn’t hold his groan. “What?”

“Breakfast is almost ready!” Patton said. “I made some eggs, and Logan’s making his special waffles! You do not want to miss out on this!”

Just the thought of food made him wish he’d never left the bathroom. He squeezed his stomach. “I’m not hungry. Eat without me.”

There was a pause. “Are you sure? You shouldn’t skip meals like this, kiddo…”

“Positive.” Virgil’s stomach twisted again, and he swallowed thickly, panic welling up inside him “Leave me alone.”

“But Anxiety—”

“Go away!”

A moment passed, and then Patton let out a breath. “Okay,” he softly said. “Just… Please come down for lunch, at least?”

“I’m not making any promises,” Virgil grunted. He carefully pushed himself to his feet, and as footsteps slowly disappeared down the hall, he slowly lowered himself back into bed.

Bundling himself up in as many blankets as he could, Virgil shut his eyes and forced himself to try to get some sleep.

---

He was awoken a few hours later by another knock on the door. “Anxiety?”

Virgil sat straight up, looking towards the source of the sound as his brain struggled to differentiate reality and his fever dream. “Whu… Huh?”

“Patton has asked me to notify you that lunch is ready,” Logan stated. “He was very adamant that you attend, and I can’t say I feel much different. Skipping meals, especially breakfast, is extremely unhealthy.”

Scrubbing at his eyes, Virgil let out a moan. “I’ll be down in a minute…,” he muttered.

“Excellent. I will see you momentarily.”

“Mm-hm…”

Virgil hardly heard the footsteps walk away as he leaned forward, burying his face in his hands. It was so nice and warm here in bed… So easy to fall back asleep…

---

The next time he woke up, it was to a sharp twist in his stomach.

His eyes shot open to see a dim room and an orange sky; he remembered with a start what he’d last been doing, and would have let out a curse had he not been breathing heavily, trying to force the nausea away as soon as he could. He balled up his fist and held it in front of his trembling mouth. He did not want to be sick again.

His body, however, seemed to have other plans.

Virgil shuffled out of bed and towards the door as fast as he could. He wrapped a loose arm around his stomach as soon as he was on his feet. Knowing the others were probably around, he did his best to be silent opening his door.

Another door opened down the hall. Virgil looked over in time to make eye contact with Roman as he stepped into the hall.

They glared.

“Well, it looks like someone was projecting this morning,” Roman sneered.

Virgil huffed out a shaky breath before stumbling towards the bathroom. “Shut up, Princey,” he wheezed.

“Oh, so you can dish it out, but you can’t take it, huh?”

He shut the door and dropped to his knees in front of the toilet.

“Real mature, Sir Ector de Morbid!”

Virgil retched.

The first heave took out any bile remaining in his stomach from that morning, and then all he could do was dry heave until his body decided to stop. His abs ached like there was no tomorrow; his lungs burned as he struggled to get air between cycles. Snot and tears dribbled down his face and landed in the water below.

“Uh… Patton?” Roman’s voice yelled from outside.

An agonizing minute or two later, the door burst open, and a gasp echoed between the tiled walls.

“Oh, Anxiety…!”

One hand rested between his shoulder blades while another slipped into his hair, each rubbing soothing circles. Virgil tried to shake them off, but with his head still in the toilet, found it very hard to do so.

(Not that he really wanted to, anyway—it was… strangely comforting.)

When his stomach finally gave him the chance to breathe, Virgil slumped against the seat and panted. His head spun like the tilt-a-whirl at the county fair, and his eyelids felt as heavy as the ride itself. It would be so easy to just… take a little nap…

The hands removed themselves from his body, and Virgil had to choke back a whine. They weren’t gone for long, though; a second later, they rested on his shoulders and sat him up before carefully settling him back against the tub.

He cracked his eyes open to watch as Patton rested a hand on his forehead. Behind him, Logan was filling a paper cup with water at the sink. Roman hovered in the hall just outside the door.

“I didn’t…” Virgil tried to swallow. “Di’n mean to miss lunch,” he breathed.

“Shh, it’s okay, Anxiety,” Patton whispered. “You’re running a bit of a fever… Why didn’t you tell us you weren’t feeling well?”

Virgil whined. “Didn’t wanna.”

Logan crouched and held out the water. “Drink this. You need to stay hydrated.”

Virgil tried to take it, but his hands were trembling so much that he nearly dropped it as soon as he had to support its weight; Logan and Patton were quick to catch it and help guide it to his lips, where he practically began to pour it down his throat.

“Easy, easy…”

They pulled back after a moment, and Virgil drooped, leaning his head against the wall. He let out a moan and wrapped his arms around his stomach. Patton placed a hand on his shoulder and rubbed little circles with his thumb before looking at Logan.

“What do you think it is?” he asked.

Logan inspected Virgil’s face with a frown. “Well, it appears his symptoms include vomiting, nausea, stomach cramps, and a fever, so I suspect it’s—”

“Stomach flu,” Virgil mumbled.

“Viral gastroenteritis, yes.”

Roman leaned against the doorway. “Were you ill this morning?”

Virgil shut his eyes. “Uh-huh.”

“Is that why you were taking so long in the bathroom?”

“Uh-huh.”

Patton looked at him. “When did this start up, kiddo?”

He swallowed thickly, then let out a whimper when a cramp rolled through his stomach again. “Woke up at like… 1:30…?”

“Oh, Anxiety…” Patton pressed his hand to his cheek and frowned. “Why don’t we set you up on the couch for tonight? I know you don’t like staying outside your room for too long, but I really want to keep an eye on you until you’re feeling better. We can watch whatever you want, if you’re up for it.”

Virgil opened his eyes to look at Patton; the father figure offered a gentle smile, despite his brow still being furrowed. His eyes flicked to Logan, who had a similar concerned gaze, and then to Roman, who refused to look his way. A pit settled in his stomach as he looked back to Patton.

“Is it gonna bother anyone if I’m out there…?” he whispered.

Patton shook his head. “No, honey. It’s okay. You’re allowed to be in the living room, sick or not. Okay?”

Tears threatened to form in Virgil’s eyes, but he forced them back. He sniffled and wiped at his nose.

“…Can we watch Billy and Mandy?”

-----

A few minutes later, Virgil lay on the couch, head in Patton’s lap, washrag on his forehead, and a blanket wrapped tight around his shivering body. A garbage can sat just in front of him, and the Grimm Adventures of Billy and Mandy played on the TV. Logan and Roman sat on the other side of the couch.

Patton was running his fingers through Virgil’s sweaty hair. Virgil tried to keep watching the show, but his eyes kept fluttering shut. Eventually, Patton leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead.

“Go to sleep, Anxiety,” he whispered. “It’s okay. You’re safe.”

He was too tired to say no.

[renlimotroll]

Everything’s alright (when you’re with me)

Warnings: Personification/ Imagination/ Out of Character

Summary: Five times Siruko-san took care of others, and one time they took care of him

AU where Bintroll are living together! Siruko SickFic since our lovely Bintroll leader tweeted yesterday that he was sick :(

A/N: Hello, Ren here! 🌻 I’ve been stressed again, and at this point I think people are purposely pissing me off so I could produce something good out of it. Sigh. Just a warning, there might be a Mintosu-Siruko moment there, but it really is platonic, I swear. Enjoy!

This story is dedicated to Rin-chan. Rin-chan, I hope you feel better!

(Story continues below)

I

“For goodness' sake Minben-san! Just get in the car! We have a dentist appointment in 15 minutes!” Siruko shouted. “No way! I told you I don’t need it! I”m f—-” “See! You can barely even speak! If it was hard to understand you before, now I have ZERO idea of what you’re saying! Get in the car!” “I want to play!” Mintosu whined. “Get in--” Siruko’s eyes narrowed threateningly, his tone taking a dangerous note.  “--the car.” Mintosu gulped and obeyed. Siruko-san rarely got angry, but when he did, no one won against him. It was a rule in the house never to make him really angry... The guy’s patience was very long and he was so kind, so making him angry means you’ve really pushed all his buttons. It was an impressive feat to make Siruko angry, but unless you want people hating you and shoving pointy things at your throat, no one made Siruko angry. Everyone loves Siruko-san and would die for him. You’d have to be a really horrible person to make Siruko-san angry.

After the dentist appointment, Siruko was driving them home. Mintosu was clutching his swollen cheeks, rambling meaninglessly again. He was high on anaesthesia. “I’m cooking rice porridge for you, then you’re sleeping. Does it still hurt?” “Yadaaa, it tassstesss wike cawvvoard, A dun wanna eat Hakowtarow…” Mintosu complained. Siruko rolled his eyes and sighed.

Later, as he was cooking, he found out that Minben-san was trying to turn on his PC. “What are you doing?! Are you nuts?! You are not streaming! What if you get an infection??” “But I wanna APEX..” “And I wanna play Lost Ark but here I am taking care of you!” If Minben-san was already a pain-in-the-ass when he was healthy, he was ten times more difficult when he’s in pain or sick. Siruko prayed to all gods to give him more patience, and pulled out the plug of Min-san’s PC. The berseker streamer sulked.

Much later, Minben-san comes down with a fever as expected. Siruko stayed up all night, wiping his forehead with a damp cloth, making sure he rested well. He gave him his pain medicine and water. He felt sorry for the guy, knowing how wisdom tooth extractions are painful. “Siruko-san…” “Nani?” “Thank you…” A small smile formed at the purple head’s lips. “You’re welcome.” “Are you gonna leave?”  Even though this man is stubborn as heck, he can be quite clingy when sick. Siruko-san thought it was cute. “Of course not. Sleep, Minben-san, I’ll be here.” He brushed the man’s sweaty hair and kissed it innocently, small smile staying on his face.

II

When Siruko-san passed by Jiraichan’s door, he heard some groaning. He dashed inside and didn’t even knock. “Jiraichan, are you okay?!” He saw the man in a fetal position, curled up on his bed, clutching his stomach in pain. Siruko-san hurried to his side, worriedly checking. “You have a stomachache?” “Un..” “What did you eat?” “I... I think I ate too much oysters yesterday.” Siruko shook his head disapprovingly. He warned the pink guy to be careful last night, when he went out with Quartetchi and Ichihachi-kun. Jiraichan likes eating out, and despite being the smallest in Bintroll, he might have the biggest appetite among them.  “Hang on, I’ll get some medicine.”  “Siruko-saaan… I feel…” Immediately Siruko grabbed the trash bin, barely making it as Jiraichan puked his guts out. He rubbed the guy’s back soothingly, holding back his hair as the guy heaved his insides out. “I’ll get some water.”

When he came back, he found Jiraichan listless on the bed, clutching weakly the big teddy bear Quartet gave him. Siruko helped him sit up, forcing him to drink water and the medicine. He also tried to make him eat the broth he warmed. "Yada Siruko-san… I’ll just vomit it…” “You have to Jiraichan, it’s better to have something to puke, plus you haven’t eaten anything all day. Please?” Siruko used his pien eyes, which was effective every time. Soon, after 6 spoonfuls, he let Jiraichan go to sleep, running his fingers through Jiraichan’s hair the way he knew Jiraichan liked. “Get well soon,” He whispered, kissing Jiraichan’s hair, not minding that Jiraichan hadn’t showered and probably smelled like puke. “Love you Siruko-san,” Jiraichan replied sleepily, surprising Siruko-san, because he thought the pink guy was asleep. That earned a soft smile on his lips, humming a lullaby so the pink fairy can rest.

III

Ichihachi was in-charge of dinner tonight, and he felt like making mapo tofu. He already went to the grocery to buy the ingredients and was now in the kitchen preparing everything. Siruko-chan dropped by with a grin, “Need any help?” “Sure! Thanks!” Siruko went to grate the ginger as Ichihachi got the knife to slice the leeks.

“AH!” Siruko looked up instantly, startled at the sound of pain. Blood was dripping from Ichihachi’s finger as the man stood there in shock. Siruko quickly grabbed a towel and Ichihachi’s hand, placing it under the running water in the sink. Ichihachi grimaced and whimpered in pain. The purple head tried squeezing the blood out a little, making Ichihachi wince.

After a few seconds, Siruko washed it with soap and dried it gently. He fetched the first-aid kit and took out the bandage, wrapping the finger with as much care as he can. “Thank goodness it wasn’t deep enough that you’d need stitches.” Siruko commented, making Ichihachi a little pale. After he was done, Siruko placed a soft peck on the wound, making Ichihachi’s face red. “Thanks Siruko-chan,” he mumbled, clearing his throat out of embarrassment. “No problem! Why don’t you let me handle the slicing part and you can just make the sauce.” Ichihachi nodded in agreement, his ears still red from what Siruko did for him. Siruko continued slicing the leeks, a playful smile on his lips.

IV

A knock on his door was heard, and Quartet groaned. With heavy footsteps, he trudged his way over, opening it to find Siruko-san. “Hey, are you okay? You haven’t been out there for a while, and usually it’s me or Minben-san you guys have to drag out of the room.” “I’m fine, just busy working.” Quartet answered, massaging his temples. Siruko didn’t fail to notice that. “Hmm… well, don’t forget to eat, okay?” “Sure.”

Hours passed, and Quartet didn’t notice his stomach complaining. He had a deadline to finish, and he needed to meet it so that he can finally play with the guys and shoot for a video. Someone knocked on his door again, and Quartet sighed, hoping he didn’t look that annoyed. “Tada!” Siruko-san was there, holding a tray of what looks like pasta. It did smell delicious, and his stomach rumbled on sight. Quartet rubbed his neck sheepishly. “Thanks, Siruko-san,” he mumbled, taking the tray from him. Siruko followed him inside his room, picking up the pieces of clothes Quartetchi had always meant to put to the hamper. “Once you’re done with work, you should totally rest. You’re having a bad migraine, Quartetchi.” He did? Quartet-san didn’t notice. He gobbled up the food quickly in his hunger. Siruko scolded him to slow down. “Here, I grabbed some medicine. Drink it and rest, okay?” “But–” “The video can wait, Quartetchi.” Siruko pointedly remarked. “Rest, or you’ll make Ichihachi-kun and Jiraichan worry. Do you really want them coming over here and fussing over you?” Quartet made a face. Nope, he loves them, but the two combined would make his migraine worse. Siruko-san was good at blackmailing. “Fine. I promise.” “Yeah, like I’ll believe you. Take the medicine, I’ll stay here until you finish working.” Siruko pulled out his Switch from his pocket and settled on the yankee’s futon. Quartet sighed, he’s too tired to argue and just let him be. He took the pill and washed it down with the juice, then started typing again.

A few hours later, he felt himself being gently shook. “Quartetchi, Quartetchi,” Only one person called him that. The gray head blinked a few times to clear his vision to see Siruko-san standing over him. “You fell asleep for a couple hours, actually. Sorry, I wanted to let you sleep in more but I know you need to finish that deadline.” Eh? He fell asleep? Oh, there was a blanket on his shoulders. “Thanks, Siruko-san,” he smiled gratefully, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. He did feel better, and his head didn’t feel like it was being chainsaw-ed open anymore. Siruko-san was right, he needed rest. But Quartet’s still thankful he woke him up to finish his work. The man really thinks of everything. “I’ll sleep too. Good luck with your project.” Siruko returned Quartet’s smile and dropped a small kiss on the top of his head. Quartet blushed, but he immediately felt loads better. Yosh, he was going to kill this presentation. Siruko left the room and closed the door silently, the gentle smile still on his lips.

V

“You don’t need to do this Niisan, I can take care of myself.” Siruko fluffed the pillow while his younger brother stood behind him. Hakotaro's arm was in a cast; he fell down the stairs and his arm received the consequence. Thankfully it wasn’t the arm he used to draw, but it was still an inconvenience. Siruko himself rushed to the hospital after learning the news, worried sick about his brother.

Thankfully, it didn’t need surgery. Hakotaro had to be in a cast for a couple of weeks though, and his Niisan was, of course, fussing over him more than usual. Hakotaro was usually the one mother-henning his older brother, so he wasn’t used to this. Being a worrywart apparently runs in the family, as Siruko was perfectly capable of displaying at the moment. “I know you can, but once in a while, let your Niisan take care of you.” Hakotaro flustered, but let him be. When Niisan sets his mind on something, he’s unstoppable. Siruko may be bad at taking care of himself, but his Niisan is really good at taking care of others.

Hakotaro let himself be tucked into bed and took the pain relievers his Niisan gave him. Siruko sat down beside him, lips turned up wistfully. “Remember when we were kids and you got sick that one time? You never get sick so we all got worried.” Hakotaro snorted playfully. “I do. You cried that time.” “I didn’t!” Siruko mock-scowled. He then started to brush Hakotaro’s hair, humming softly. Hakotaro closed his eyes, feeling like a child again, safe and comfortable with his Niisan promising to protect him. “Thanks Niisan.” “Hmmmm. Get well soon, my baby brother.” He felt a warm kiss on his forehead, and Hakotaro sighed contentedly. “Love you.” ”Love you too.” Siruko continued humming and stroking his brother’s blonde hair until he was sure he was asleep. The smile on his face was fond.

+1

“Dakara… I’m not… ACHOOO!” Siruko sneezed like his soul left his body. His brother handed him a handkerchief to wipe his nose. “-- sick. I'm not sick." The rest of the Bintroll members around the dining table looked at each other in concern, then everyone stood up and moved. Siruko whipped his head back and forth wondering what they were doing all of a sudden, but that movement made him dizzier and he felt like throwing up. “Hai hai, get up Siruko-san.” Mintosu gently but firmly lifted him out of his chair, hands on his shoulder steering him towards his room. “Minben-san,” Siruko sniffled. “I’m not sick.” “Of course you’re not, who told you you’re sick…” Mintosu opened the door then fluffed his pillows and bed. He successfully manhandled Siruko towards the bed, Siruko’s protests and struggles too weak to be even considered as protests and struggles. "You totally don’t look like you’ve been run over by a truck, your eyes aren’t bloodshot red, you’re not sniffing every second, and you don’t feel as if you’re burning in hell right now.” Mintosu tucked him in perfectly. He took a quick peck on the purple head’s forehead, and yep, he didn’t need a thermometer to know that the purple head was burning up real bad. “You’re totally not sick.” “I need to… check the replies and comments…” “I can totally do that, you know,” Quartet came in with a thermometer discreetly tucked in his pockets. He roamed around the room, secretly pocketing Siruko-san’s Switch and cellphone. He would have to look around later for other gadgets Siruko might possess, because if Siruko-san finds those, he’s never gonna rest. “Want me to write you a report?” He snickered. A few moments later, Jiraichan and Ichihachi came in, the latter carrying a bowl of what seems like soup. “Here Siruko-chan, eat this. It’ll make you feel better.”  “But I’m not—” “Yep, you’re not sick.” Ichihachi nodded seriously. “But I made this, won’t you eat it?” No one can really say no to Ichihachi’s persuasion, and Siruko is helpless. He can’t really taste the soup, but the warmth is making his stomach settle. “Siruko-san.” “Nani?” He turned to Jiraichan. “Gomen, can you open your mouth?” “Wh-aaaaii!!” Jiraichan quickly shoved a pill in, covering Siruko’s mouth until the poor guy was forced to swallow the pill. When Jiraichan let him go, he was coughing and hacking his lungs out. “Sorrryyy,” Jiraichan smiled cutely, turning on his charm. Siruko glared at him weakly, choking from the pill. “I told you guys, I’m not…” “Hai hai, you’re not sick, we get it.” Hakotaro came in, Mintosu opening the door for him. He was carrying a small wash basin with a damp cloth on it. “You’re not sick, and we’re not taking care of you.” Hakotaro placed the damp cloth on his brother’s sweaty forehead. “You guys don’t have to do this.” Siruko whispered weakly. “Yeah, and you totally didn’t have to take care of me when I broke my arm, but you did.” Hakotaro placed a kiss on his arm shyly. “You didn’t have to stay as I worked just to make sure my migraine doesn’t get worse.” Quartet kissed his temple. “You didn’t have to bandage my sliced finger. Really, it wasn’t even that bad.” Ichihachi kissed the back of his hand. “You didn’t have to watch me throw up but you rubbed my back and I really liked that.” Jiraichan was about to kiss his stomach, but Quartet stopped him. Jiraichan sighed and kissed Siruko’s cheek. “And you didn’t have to take me to the dentist, force-feed me my pain meds, and put up with my stubborn, difficult ass, but you did.” Mintosu smirked, then suddenly he swooped in and kissed Siruko’s lips chastely in a second. “So no, we don’t have to take care of you, but we want to.” Hakotaro declared. “Because you always take care of us.” Siruko felt like crying, and maybe a few tears did escape. He never realized it, but now he feels so loved and appreciated. He chuckled softly, a warm smile on his lips. “Thanks minna. Love you all.” “We love you too,” they replied softly. Siruko closed his eyes, feeling warm and safe with his family beside him.

Owari!

A/N: Hope you guys like it! This is unedited, so there might be errors, gomen. Please take care of yourselves minna, and make sure to not overwork yourselves like me and Siruko-san! Siruko-san please get well soon T^T Have a nice day! 🌻

[salamanderskin]

Sunshine (a M0llym4uk sickfic)

This is something of a gift for @just-a-nervous-bean for their wonderful artwork of Mollymauk, which can be found here and here Spellings stolen from the ever-talented @dodecahedral ‘s fic here because I couldn’t get them out of my head.

Modern AU where Molly is in the circus and Caleb is researching at the University, they are in a new-ish relationship together. No need to know the chars really. They’re soft boyfriends and Molly is miserable when he’s sick. That’s all. 

Mollymauk is, predictably, late. 

Caleb Widogast expects this. That’s why he planned a date for the cafe in the museum where he is working anyway, a place he is always happy to sit and read. The cafe is a pleasant break after the dusty hush of the archives; huge windows let in what is left of the wintery daylight from outside, illuminating the white walls and low, modern furniture. There is space for Caleb’s laptop and a stack of books beside his coffee cup. If he had his boyfriend and his cat here, the scene would be perfect-

That’s when Mollymauk arrives. The museum attracts members of enough different species that his being a tiefling with curled horns is not unusual. What draws attention is his artistic attire; He is wearing that ridiculous coat which doesn’t fasten high enough, a shirt cut in a deep v-neck to show tattooed flesh and a roguish grin. Flurries of snow have settled in his hair and he shakes his head like a dog before coming to sit beside Caleb.

“Hallo, looks like you got caught in the snow.” Caleb rises to hug his boyfriend and kiss him on his cheek.The tiefling’s lavender skin is ice-cold under his lips.

“Little bit.” Mollymauk sniffs and shivers as he sheds his coat, prompting Caleb to pass him a handful of napkins which he uses to first dry his face and then blow his nose. As he does so, Caleb gathers up his papers into his backpack and readies himself for a jaunt around the museum before closing time. 

It is lovely just to spend time together, to talk and question and wonder about the exhibits. This thing between them is still so new; he is still learning Molly’s tastes and interests and delightfully surprised by the tiefling’s breadth of knowledge. Caleb enjoys hearing Molly name plants and animals or the types of dye used in textiles, notices Molly light up for a particular colour or design. He also notices Molly sounds sniffly. 

If any other person in the world was sniffling like that around Caleb, he would be shooting them a look fierce enough to kill a man while wishing to die himself. When it’s Molly, he doesn’t like it, but it doesn’t make him want to crawl out of his skin. This must be love.

He watches Molly from the other end of the gallery. The tiefling is more colourful and appealing than the oil paintings he stands in front of. Not just his flamboyantly colourful trousers or the glitter of jewellery on his horns and the tattoos on his skin, but the lithe grace of his movements. Mollymauk tilts his head like a peacock to examine a detail, his slender fingers clenching with desire for the rough surface he has been firmly told not to touch. Framed by dun-coloured still-lifes, Molly is vibrantly animated, enchantingly alive; never more so than when he sneezes so suddenly that it causes him to stumble. 

“--aah'YZSSHH-iew!!”

The sound is sharp enough to spark aggressive echoes from the high ceiling and make several patrons, including Caleb himself, jump and turn their heads. 

“Sorry!” Molly stage-whispers and swipes a thumb under his nose with another wet sniffle. 

Caleb feels a burst of amusement at how each sneeze makes Molly’s tail lash wildly, putting a few fragile exhibits in danger. It happens a few times while they are hidden in the low light of the illuminated manuscripts that hold particular interest for Caleb, and again between the cases of iridescent butterflies whose colours make Molly clutch his heart and plan a dozen more tattoos. Caleb is resting against Molly’s arm for that last one, so he feels the tiefling yank himself away and stagger double. His hands don’t quite make it to his face and so clench helplessly in the air. He looks quite undone by the force of it and it takes him a minute to sniffle himself back to composure. 

“Gesundheit!” Caleb tucks a hand round Molly’s waist for an affectionate squeeze. “You sound like you’re catching a cold?”  

“Pffff.” Molly spreads his hands in a shrug,seeming to take in his lavender skin, his extravagant clothing and the sheer assuredness of his stance, as if he is too fabulous to possibly get sick. 

So Caleb puts it out of his mind. 

……………………..

Caleb’s phone buzzes him awake on Saturday morning. 

It’s the weekend, no archive for him today and no shifts at the University Library either. A rare free day. Caleb stretches his legs and hears a questioning -mrrp- from the cat at the end of his bed. He needs coffee and he needs to pee, but he could pretend he doesn’t and stay under the covers for at least another half an hour. That sounds really good.  

His phone buzzes again.

M.T -- You free today? Come over?

Caleb -- Thought you had rehearsal?

In fact Caleb was certain. He has an infallible memory for details like this, even more so when they concern his access to a delightfully attractive partner like Mollymauk.

M.T-- Cancelled. Yasha is away all wknd im lonely :(:(

Cancelling is unusual but stranger things have happened. This is a lovely surprise. He takes a moment to recalibrate his idea of the day and then rises from bed. Frumpkin follows, winding dangerously between his ankles. A glance out of the window reveals more flurrying snow but it will be no match for his old overcoat, his heaviest boots and thick scarf. His own roommate, Nott, is out at work, but he leaves the heating on for Frumpkin and heads out into the wilds. 

“Hello darling!” Molly gives him a big smile when he opens the door, but doesn’t swoop in and kiss him, which is unusual. 

The heating is cranked up high, which is unusual too.

He follows Molly up the stairs to their first floor apartment. This is still relatively new territory to Caleb, but welcoming. His boyfriend’s housemate Yasha, often absent, has filled all available window sills with houseplants to which Molly has added candles, crystals and new-age nicknacks of all stripes. It smells faintly of weed, sage and cooking. Molly ushers him into the living room where there is one unusual addition- what he knows to be Molly’s duvet is draped over the sofa in front of an open laptop showing a paused TV show. 

“Can I get you a glass of water, tea, gin, milk, prosecco or anything else?” Molly suggests. His voice sounds wrecked and thick. 

“Whatever you’re having. Molly are--” Caleb tries to get a closer look at him but he darts to the kitchen and putters almost aggressively with the kettle.

“Schatz,you sound-” He tries again.

“Tea, then. Lemon-ginger, redbush, green, green with passionfruit, chai or normal?”

“No preference.” Caleb actually has to put a hand on the tiefling’s back to calm his businesslike cheerfulness. “Come here-” He manages to get a grip on Molly’s shoulder and through leverage more than strength is able to turn the tiefling to face him. Molly is a good two inches taller, not counting his horns, but he slouches obligingly against the counter to put them face to face. Locks of his silken hair fall over his down-turned brow and Caleb pushes them behind his ear with a practiced, tender touch. 

“What’s the matter, hm? You’re being a little… erratic.”

“And I’m usually so predictable. Boring, even.” His boyfriend laughs, showing sharp white eyeteeth.

There it is again, though, that rasp on his voice. It sounds like it hurts him to talk. And something else, too. Thick violet lashes flutter and his ruby eyes squint closed as Molly shifts to soft, panting breaths through his mouth. Caleb is caught as off-guard when the tiefling shoves him gently to one side and sneezes hard. 

"Heh-IZSSCHH--iew!

It knocks him double, hands cringing weakly towards his face but not reaching in time to make any kind of cover. Before Caleb can comment, Molly takes a shaky step back and sneezes again and then a third time, retreating away towards the back wall and punctuating each with a heartfelt, “Fuck.” “Gesundheit.” Caleb offers. Molly straightens and gives him a cringing, apologetic look. His eyes are watering something fierce and Caleb thinks he can see how ticklish his nose is, even from five feet away. The poor thing is blushed to a deep violet and he can see his nostrils flaring uncertainty. Molly hovers his hands tentatively in front of his face for a moment… lowers them… raises them quickly and draws a ragged “aaah-”  before - “YZSSHH-iew!! Fuck.”

Caleb doesn’t quite know how to react and defaults to standing still, hands clenched uselessly at his side and desperately wishing he had his cat to keep them busy. “Hold on... “ Molly groans and scrambles out of the room with his hands still cupped guiltily over his face. Caleb tracks the sound of feet along the corridor of the bathroom. A door slam, toilet paper yanked from the roll and a thick nose blow followed by running water. Little husking coughs and soft thumps like Molly tapping is on his chest with a fist to ease it. So that explains the weirdness. Mollymauk sounds miserably sick. That’s all. That’s good, on the scale of things. That Caleb can deal with. 

He finishes preparing the tea as he waits for his boyfriend to return, carries both cups to the sofa and makes himself comfortable. 

When Mollymauk returns he has added a hoodie over his outfit and is carrying a half-empty toilet roll in one hand. 

“You did catch a cold.” Caleb manages to make it a comfort and a question and an accusation all in one. 

Under the force of his voice, Molly raises his hands in defeat and retreats to sit on the sofa beside Caleb, then collapses into a full-body slump with his head tilted against the cushions and his eyes closed, as though if he can’t see his boyfriend then he can’t be seen either. 

“I’m sorry, darling.” He mumbles. 

“Whatever for?”

The tiefling rolls his face away and buries his face into the sofa cushions with a pitiful little cough. “Not warning you I was sick before you came over. And I kissed you yesterday even though my throat was getting sore. I just- really wanted to see you today, so I thought I could just not tell you. You can go now.”

Caleb actually laughs. Molly can be so melodramatic when he wants to be. He scoots closer to the miserable hunch of tiefling and places an affectionate hand on his shoulder, rubbing soothing circles through the thick sweater. Molly begins to uncurl, uncertainly, an exotic flower inching towards the warmth of the human’s gaze.

“What makes you think I wouldn’t want to come over?” Caleb queries.

Molly shrugs. “I’m disgusting. And you’re-” A handwave at Caleb’s physical form,

“I am a fragile waif of a wizard who could be knocked over by a stiff breeze. What is your point?”

“If I get you sick you’ll get behind on your research paper. I know you can’t afford not to work right now and I-” he swallows in exaggerated dread as he reaches the crux of argument.  “-aaaand Nott will kill me.” 

They both share a moment to imagine Caleb’s roommate and best friend coming after Molly like a feral whirlwind. 

“Okay, so that is a fair point.” Caleb concedes. “Nott doesn’t have to know. The rest, however, is nonsense. Now look at me, schatz, and let me see how you’re doing.”

He dips a hand to Molly’s chin and tilts his head to get a better view. Molly does look pale, which given his exotic lavender colouring means that his cheeks are more of a washed-out lilac, in contrast to a darker blush where he has been scrubbing at his poor nose. There is a general, unwell cast to his features and a thick, congested sound to his breathing. Caleb doesn’t find it disgusting at all, if anything it makes him feel soft and fond. He plants a kiss to the tiefling’s forehead and reaches to the side of his neck to feel for his glands.

“Owww…” Mollymauk whines, predictably, and tries to duck away.

“Sore, then?” Caleb notes. “How’s your throat?”

“Sore as well.” Molly snuffles thickly then turns and blows his nose into some more toilet tissue. 

“Poor sweetheart, you got it bad, didn’t you?” 

“Maybe.” He says meekly. 

A soft, pathetic snuffle and Mollymauk finally gives up on keeping any space between them. He snuggles up into Caleb’s arms and lays his head shamelessly against his boyfriend’s shoulder, nestling in for warmth. His tail slips between their nested calves, anchoring them. 

“Have you had any medicine?” Caleb asks. 

Molly nods. “I had some, but it didn’t seem to be working so I had some more…” He shrugs in the direction of a bottle and a sticky teaspoon on the sideboard. 

“Okay, that’s good. No wonder you were a little loopy when I came in. Why don’t you drink your tea while it’s hot?”

They both sip tea in silence for a few minutes. Molly draws his duvet up over them both and tugs it up to his chin. The moment is interrupted by a few quick panting breaths and a chaotic- “ --aah'YZSSHH-iew!” of a sneeze that thrusts him forward, whole body shuddering.

He straightens groggily, as though it took a lot of him. “So no romantic outing today?”

“Absolutely not. Only romantic couch cuddles and possibly you having a nap. Do you think you could sleep for a bit?”

“Not if I keep- keep  --'YZZSSChieww! Fuck.”

“Gesundheit!” 

Molly keeps his head down and groans.

“So. Sleep, yes?” Caleb tries to be businesslike, which is difficult with a ridiculously purple and obviously miserable tiefling moping beside him. “Do you feel like going back to bed or staying here on the couch?”

Molly considers, head tilted. “I can’t just go to bed in the middle of the day?” 

“Of course you can, you do it all the time. You are the queen of naps.” 

Molly wavers, sniff-sniffing damply and shivering where he sits.

Caleb stands and offers both hands to haul him to his feet, as if his slight frame could be any actual assistance to his more athletic partner.

“Come, schatz, let me take you to bed. You can have a nap or watch TV and I will sit beside you and read, then make you something nice and hot for lunch. Yes?”

Molly accepts the symbolic gesture and follows him meekly up the stairs. He pauses on the threshold with a look of sudden dread-

“My room is-” 

Too late, Caleb has opened the door. Molly’s room looks as though the wardrobe department of his entire circus troupe has exploded out of the closet, where it is mixed with empty cans, bags, shoes and new-age nonsense. Caleb, who has never had enough possessions to cover the floor of a room, just rolls his eyes, more impressed than offended. The overall effect is not unwelcoming; the air is scented with musky nagchampa and the light through the fabric and fairy-lights pinned over the window is diffuse and gentle. Endearingly, there is a distinct, Mollymauk sized dip in the centre of the mattress. Extra blankets and pillows are arranged to make a nest. 

“I don’t mind. It smells nice.” 

“Thagks. I feel so accepted.” Molly jokes but his partner just nods.

“You should. I told you I do not mind if you are a little messy around the edges. Everyone is, if you look close enough. Now, lie down.” 

In a few moments they have retrieved the duvet from downstairs and settled beside each other on the bed with Molly’s horned head cradled carefully in his human’s lap. They have enough practice at this that Caleb can pet his back with one hand while reading his book with the other. It’s not as easy as it could be, however, because Molly keeps shifting and sniffling and scrubbing his nose itchily against Caleb’s upper thigh. 

“That is a little distracting, love, is that the effect you intended?” Caleb can’t keep the warmth out of his voice. 

Disappointingly, Molly shakes his head. “Not really, sorry. Ugh, I feel s- -s-ohh- fuck- ” his voice cracks and wavers up the octave. He clearly needs to sneeze again, badly. His expression is congested and miserable, too overwhelmed by the sensation to talk. 

“Sneezy?” Caleb suggests.

Molly nods, shakes his head like a dog with water in it’s ears, gives an unhappy little groan. The irritation is obvious in the hazy cast of his eyes, the uncertain waver to the corner of his lip. 

“So sneezy.” Caleb teases, fondly. “Look like you caught this cold right in your nose.” 

He reaches to give the offending organ a gentle pet, fingertips tweaking the fine purple tip. Molly responds with an almost comically deep inhale and a wounded look before executing a declarative sneeze over the side of the bed. 

"... --aah'YZSSHH-iew!

“Gesundh-”

“ah-YIIZSSHHww!” 

Caleb’s book is long abandoned by this point. His attention is fully commanded by his beloved tiefling who is trapped in a seemingly unbreakable cycle of chest-swelling gasp-- head tilt back-- hard punctuating sneeze into his steepled hands-- swear- -gasp again. 

It does wind down eventually, following a few particularly vicious, three-syllable- 

“ahh- IIZSSCHH-iEW!” 

“Fuck… tired…” He finishes.

“Impressive. Poor liebling.” Caleb sighs and hands him a pack of tissues from his own pocket. “I’ve never seen you like this..”

Mollymauk shugs. “I don’t often get sick, it’s the-” a gesture that takes in all his inhuman glory. “Thank fuck. Guess I’m making up for it. I feel like balls.”

“I am not surprised.” Caleb waits until Molly has blown his nose to the best of his ability, then scoots closer again. “Now, what can I do for you?”

“Nothing… I’m just going to have a crappy weekend…” Molly sighs dramatically, running his hands through his hair. “When I said practice was cancelled, I cancelled on them cause I felt too rough. I’m going to get so behind on learning my new act…”

“Stop whining, it doesn’t suit you.” Caleb shakes his head, reaching to settle the teifling’s curls back into place where he has mussed them up. “Shan’t.” Oh yes, he’d forgotten that Molly is a brat. 

“Then maybe I should go and leave you to your misery?” Caleb makes as though to rise, but predictably as clockwork his partner gives a whimper of loss and reaches for him.

“No- stay with me-?” His ruby eyes are big and pleading, tears actually beginning to rise. Gods, Molly feels completely pathetic right now. Luckily, Caleb cannot resist him even like this and gives in at once, his point made.

“Ah, very well, but I will have no more whimpering. I know you feel very poorly, schatz, but just let me help you.” “Okay.” Molly snuffles into his sleeve and nods.

“First I think you could have some more tea, and we could even put a shot of whiskey in it. Then I really want you to try and sleep. What if I don’t even read? You could have my full attention, yes?” He sweetens the command with a tender hand rubbing over his boyfriend’s temples and down the sides of his nose. Molly softens at once, practically purring.

In no time at all they are rearranged on the bed with a steaming cup of tea. Caleb leans up against the headboard and spreads his legs, tapping his chest to indicate that Molly should settle between them. It takes a little shuffling to settle the tiefing’s horned head against his chest, but he feels Molly relax into the embrace at once. 

His partner is a soothing weight, anchoring him in the present as Molly always does. 

He finds he does not mind the snuffly breaths and little coughs smothered against his chest; the intimacy of the moment is more than worth it. 

“This is nice.” 

“See, if your head is elevated, you won’t have so much congestion when you sleep.” He explains.

“That’s really smart,” the tiefling murmurs sleepily. “I always said you were a genius.”

A moment of calm. The winter sun comes out from behind the clouds and a ray of light slips through a gap in the hangings to drape over the bed. The crystals on the windowsill dance with minute rainbows. He feels Molly smile. “Sunshine.” He says sleepily.

“That’s me.” Caleb agrees. “Just rest, Mollymauk. I’ve got you.” 

And he does, he does. Even with Molly like this, it’s better than books and museum dates and circus shows. It is better than anything Caleb can think of. 

[overthelillies]

fic recs for my friends

yeah okay so most/all of these are davekat im sorry!! arranged in no particular order also some of them are second person I Am Sorry.

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//basically dave grapples with his internalized homophobia, etc. very good

turntechGodhead is offline (36,999 words)

//I’ve already ranted to you guys enough about this you know what it’s abt it’s SO FREAKING GOOD

A Ten Step Plan For Wooing Karkat Vantas, Featuring A Multitude Of Illustrations By Your Esteemed Authors, As Well As Tips For The Aforementioned Wooing (11,261 words)

Kanaya, because she's a saint, makes you a list.

The list is entitled "A Ten Step Plan For Wooing Karkat Vantas" and features a multitude of illustrations in purple pen.

"So we're doing this," you say. Your mouth threatens to twitch into something dangerously smile-shaped.

"Yes," says Kanaya. "We are making this happen."

"Hell yes."

//dave n karkat! they go on a date. stuff happens. it’s really good

Catching Colds on a Rock in the Middle of Space (15,887)

Rose catches a bad cold and it slowly spreads to the rest of the meteor crew. None of them are particularly good at admitting they're sick, let alone looking after themselves, but at least they're decent at caring for each other.

//rosemary and davekat! VERY sweet

Dave’s Girl (2,527 words)

The thing is no one knew anything more about "Kitty" other than her delicious cooking (Dave obviously doesn't want to share – ever) but the guys are more or less already in love with her. Drew insists she's probably this blond bombshell with big, blue eyes, all curves with legs that go on forever and a great rack... Practically everyone in the team has their own opinion.

//this is so funny and also im a sucker for these kinds of tropes so it’s great

Songs Made on the Meteor (27,762 words)

Dave makes music and they fall in love.

//on my to-read list! it looks good

Looks Just Like The Sun (12,231 words)

“Holy shit,” you whisper. Dave joins you at the window.

There are no stars left in the sky. Nothing but blackness and a faint soap bubble sheen.

“Is that a dream bubble?” Dave says.

And then it swallows you.

//okay. does this have explicit sex? yes. does it have a very explicit image? yes. HOWEVER (hear me out here) I firmly believe that if you whizz pass those parts, this is a very good fic with great characterization and fun banter. send tweet

aight happy reading

[yfere]

Shipping Calculus! Live Updates from C2E59

Wow, so coming off of a lean week, we get a lot of uh, punch, to the shipping totals. Wow. Wowie. Masterpost here. 

This week debuts our new Cockblocking Points program, which fills—or rather prevents from being filled—a hole in the shipping calculations up till now.

+20 to Fjord/Caduceus as Caduceus proves once again what a fantastic Charisma Partner he makes with Fjord as they work together in perfect sync to bring the giants to their side. Featuring 1) Fjord draping his arm around Caduceus (!!!) and 2) Caduceus initiating Fjord’s favorite “I work for Fjord” roleplay (!!!!!!!!!). Besides that, muchos complimentos on both sides, even if Caduceus’ pleasure with Fjord taking his side and saying “You’re usually the voice of caution” conveniently ignores how Fjord’s reckless actions rarely ever line up with what his cautious mouth says. Fjord making goopy eyes when Caduceus admits of his altruistic plans that he can “be on the soft end of things” and making something perilously close to a romantic declaration when he says, “I trust your heart, Caduceus. It’s in a good place.” And lest it be forgotten, Caduceus fucking saving Fjord’s life from Mosquito Man. Keep that cleric close, Fjord! Romance him if that’s what it takes!

+15 to Caduceus/Every Single NPC. As per usual, Caduceus’ classic fairy tale princess sweetness  and Common Courtesy earns the implicit trust of everyone within a ten mile radius—all the giants like him, and only him, absolutely no one else.

+4 to Beau/Sensing Bullshit as she is the only person who picks up on and seems concerned about how Caduceus seems to think this mountain clearing quest is related to his personal quest for……no discernible reason. Are we concerned about the vagueness? No? All right then. Something is off about that dude, even if he’s not secretly plotting to murder the M9 in the mountain caves.  

-2 to Yeza/Nott as Nott entertains about five billion separate fears over the eventual demise of her marriage and beats herself up over having locked the poor man (who just got out of prison btw) in a hotel room and ditched him. Point loss ameliorated as Caleb musters All The Powers of Friendship to lift her spirits with a firm hand, telling her sure, she might be a bit of an adventure addict, but he is as sure as he can be that Yeza truly loves her now and always, that he, Caleb, is glad that she’s here, and that thinking in the macro she can do whatever she likes with no guilt because she is Good, and they are all doing Good together (a moving speech also earning +6 to Caleb/Hopebringer) 

+0 to Jester/Caleb. Pluses: Caleb giving Jester a risque locket, claiming it’s magical and “gives you access to balloon porn” just to make her smile. Caleb’s absolute faith in Jester’s swoleness in thinking she can absolutely just crack a chest open like a nutcracker who needs finesse? Jester thinking of Caleb first when she thinks of who needs healing #ItPaysToBeADamselInDistress. Unfortunately, all these points are flushed down the drain when Caleb coldly exiles Jester from the Tiny Hut when she gets the runs. She couldn’t have stayed inside, but you could have been nicer about it—she’s already suffering! 

+0 to Jester/Yasha On the one hand, it was very cute of Yasha to try to share her favorite food with Jester while risking the ire of the giants, very cute of Jester to try to bond with Yasha over this excellent tasting land food. But all point gains were forcibly expelled once Jester got the runs. The universe punishes those who tread too close to the Yasha ship.

+2 to Nott/Jester The word around the lab is that secretly Jester just wants to be a Knight In Shining Armor, which is why one of the most effective ways to gain points with her is to a) buy her shiny armor and b) allow her to protect you as a true KISA would. Today featuring: 1) Jester channeling her inner Aladdin with a “Do you trust me?” and Romantic Proffering of a Hand to Nott before whisking her away to the top of a tower, and 2) Jester hoisting Nott up by the waist so Nott can more efficiently murder their enemies.

+3 to Caleb/Cat Shaped Creatures as he debuts another sexy cat paw spell to dramatically tear down a gate for his grand Cat Person entrance to the battlefield. Was sadly prevented from showing off the full murdering capabilities of the cat paw, however. Points taken away for covering Frumpkin in mud For Stealth, which pisses Frumpkin off.

+1 to Jester/Soorna as Jester awkwardly tries to flirt Soorna into friendliness,petting her and complimenting her bald head which looks “really nice and stuff”

+20 to Fjord/Detective Work as Fjord’s investigation yields 1) exactly the kind of humiliating material they need to absolutely destroy the foreman, and 2) A fuck ton of healing potions! Including a greater! Very sexy cool of him, as Jester very perceptively notes. Unfortunately hasn’t started investigating for a riftmaking device—yet

+1 to Fjord/Caleb as once more their tag-teaming over Detective Work yields amazing (and this time, saucy!) results. Fjord supporting Caleb’s hopeful plan to bring the giants along with them and leave them to die in the mountain if things take a turn for the worse. Their minds—they think alike.

-3 to The Mighty Nein/Boxes as neither Nott, Yasha, nor Jester (on her first try) were able to open the box with the Humiliation Material—it takes some creative artistry from Jester to manage it.

+20 to Beau/Jester as Beau proves that true love is there for you in sickness and in health, being the only one of the Mighty Nein to sit with Jester through her spider-meat induced illness, holding her hair out of her face, dealing gently and uncomplainingly with frankly an incredible amount of grossness which automatically makes Beau a shipping hero and a hero in all future beaujester sickfic. The pair of them getting equally psyched up about the pornographic Humiliation Material, with Beau requesting a dramatic reading of the letter from Jester (Caleb sucks at voices anyway). Beau also continuing to embody the shipping spirit of Molly by invoking the Slap/Punch of Love to return her love interest back to consciousness. Not even an Attempted Cockblocking from Nott insisting Beau is an enemy manages to put a damper on the moment. A+ UnStraight Out of Fanfic Material.

+23 to Fjord/Jester as, although Fjord rolls his eyes and tells Jester to leave the moorbounders for once, earning a death threat from our dear cleric, he cleverly forestalls massive point loss by bringing up the “L” word. Cute, mischievous, also kind of horrible on the flirting front (as evidenced by annoyed head shake from our dear cleric) because you need to jive with Jester’s love of animals if you want any chance at a long-term relationship. However, the moorbounder conversation earns all the points, with Fjord and Jester having a lovely disagreement over which of them should get the healing potion because they love each other so much (fuck the rest of the M9, potential love interests Caleb and Beau included). Fjord trying and failing to pretend that he cares about animals, misidentifying the type of creature Yarnball is two times and asking adorably dumb questions about her in an attempt to Bond With The Jester. He’s right though—he is being disarming. Minor point loss for the awkwardness nearly giving me the spins, and +2 to Caleb/Cockblocking for his pornographic jewelry gift thoroughly ruining Fjord’s moment with Jester. +10 to Mosquito Man/Cockblocking for preventing Jester from Knight in Shining Armor-ing Fjord with a lollipop to Mosquito Man skull, and making her pass out instead. Fainting Maiden is the wrong archetype!

+1 to Caleb/Fjord/Jester as Jester nags Caleb into telling her whether the balloon porn necklace is magical, and Fjord gets increasingly cute at her in his attempts to get her to settle down and leave poor Caleb in peace to translate. The thought was lovely but unnecessary—Caleb can tune all you motherfuckers out whenever he so desires.

+5 to Beau/Listening because despite claiming not to be listening in on your conversation, she can definitely repeat back word for word everything that was said. Not sure that this is what Dairon had in mind, but…

+19 to Caleb/Caduceus “What about that Caduceus though??” Caleb asks with the same “Wowie wowwow” tone he used while charmed by a succubus a few days previously. This man, absolutely starstruck by Caduceus’ ability to be such a sweetheart he can win over complete enemies to their side (bonus if he did it with dick jokes, Attempted Cockblocking from Nott and Beau notwithstanding), all while Caleb was busy thinking of the most efficient way to murder em all. Staring at Caduceus, stunned over his everything, agreeing to his plan because That’s What Caduceus Wants To Do. Caleb doing That Thing He Does where he aggressively bosses someone into being the Leader, because Caleb is not the Leader, he just Commands everyone to listen to the Real Leader—this week snatching the title away from Fjord who has hoarded the privilege previously, and bestowing it on Caduceus, all “we will all look to you,” at him. Saying “you can’t argue with results” which is as good as a love confession from Mr. McPractical, Need-Goals-Met. Caleb finding an excellent excuse to get handsy by picking the firbolg to grab onto while scouting through Frumpkin. Not to mention, Caleb and Caduceus finding a surprisingly compatible decision-making balance between Caleb’s Cutthroat “We Can Always Murder Our Allies If We Need To” pragmatism and Caduceus’ Sweet But Not Overly Invested “Everyone Can Win Here” diplomacy. These two definitely like each other’s opinions and decisions a hell of a lot….

+40 to Soorna/Revenge as despite being a druid she manages a HDYWTDT on her demonic foe Without! Casting! A! Single! Spell! It’s… hot.

+10 to Sam Riegel/His watch as it attempts to save him from a heart attack. Honestly.......same.

[kayluh1915]

Questions for Fanfic Authors.

I answered these like... five years ago or so, but because the 6th anniversary of my first ever posted fanfic is coming up, so I thought I’d do this again just to see how far I’ve come over the years. It’s always nice to look back to see just how much you’ve changed and grown as a person.

Enjoy this completely useless information!

Stuck it under the cut because I don’t want to take up your dash space! <3

1. Describe yourself how you would describe a character you’re introducing. The young woman was shorter than average with long, curly brunette hair and eyes that matched the color of warm sea water . Although plus sized, she was healthy and stout especially in her legs where her muscles were the most defined. She was indeed a beautiful young woman.

2. Is there any specific ritual you go through while/before/after your writing? Eh, not really. I usually just get an idea and run with to see where it goes. If I think it’s worth exploring, I’ll properly plan or whatever needs to be done to flesh it out. At most, I listen to some ambiance to keep my ADHD occupied.

3. What Is Your ABSOLUTE FAVORITE kind of fic to write? As some of you already know, my guilty pleasures are mpreg, sickfics, and angst. My newest one is A/B/O, but I’m very picky about how it’s written and I have yet to write anything with it (hint hint, wink wink). I also enjoy writing smut, but I don’t normally post it.

4. Are there any other fic writers you admire? If so, who and why? I have a few, but they’re all spread out between different fandoms.

5. How many words can you write if you sit down and concentrate intensely for an hour? It depends. It’s rare for me to be able to focus that long unless I’m in a hyper-focus. I think my record is around 3,000 or so.

6. First fic/pairing you wrote for? I first wrote for the Ianthony fandom and my first story was a Oneshot I called “Polar Bear Swimming.” My first multi-chaptered fic was also for the Ianthony fandom and it’s called “Miracle.” Both are almost six-years-old and I don’t recommend reading them if you want to keep your eyesight, but they’re still up if you’re a daredevil. Just read at your own risk.

7. Inspiration, Time, Or Motivation? Choose Two. Inspiration is usually never that big of an issue for me, so definitely time and motivation.

8. Why do you choose to write? It’s an escape from reality... and it’s just really fun to pair people together. It most likely will never happen in real life, but it sure is fun as hell to make it happen in works of fiction. I also can’t draw worth crap, so words had to do.

9. Do you have plans to write anything other than Fanfiction? I might at some point. I wanted to have a book published not fanfic related by the time I was 21, but I’m 24 now and it hasn’t happened yet. Maybe one day, but for now I’m pretty content with writing fanfic.

10. What inspires you the most? Anything can be inspiration for me.

11. Weirdest thing you’ve ever written/thought about writing?  Most of the things I write and think about are pretty normal for shippers, but the non-trans mpreg and A/B/O is definitely weird to the average person so probably that.

12. Fic(s) that you wished you had written better. EVERYTHING on my Wattpad. Everything over there absolutely reeks of new shipper and first time writer, but I keep it up just as a reminder of how much I have improved over the years. If you check it out, please do so at your own risk.

13. Favorite fic from another author? I have different ones spread through different fandoms, so I guess I’ll just name one from each fandom I’ve participated in. Some of these are old, but they’re still great!

Ianthony: Brilliant Blood, Beautiful Bones by @holmessexual-subtext. In fact, all of their works are just wonderful. Love you, Patricia! <3

Rhink: The Murmur of Yearning by @its-mike-kapufty. A wonderful writer/beta and an even better person. Hope you’re doing well, sweetie! <3

Victuuri: The Shadows On My Wall Don't Sleep

Danvin: The Robin to your Batman (the Louis Lane to your Superman)

Reylo: Baby, It's Just Biology

Freewood: Life is Good

14.Your favorite side pairings to put in? I tend to not use side pairings, but when I do it’s usually taken from real life couples.

15. Your guilty writing pleasure? Same as number three.

16.Do you have structured ideas of how your story is supposed to go, or make it up as you write? Normally, when I get an idea, I just throw it out on a word document. There’s no structure to it, it’s literal brain splatter. If I think it’s worth writing, I’ll then flesh it out to make it coherent. I used to do this only for my chaptered stories, but I now do this with my oneshots as well.

17. Would you describe yourself as a fast writer? Eh, it depends. Sometimes if I’m hyper-focused, I can usually type things out pretty fast, but more often than not, it takes a while.

18. How old were you when you first started writing? I wrote my first story on Microsoft Word 2003 when I was eight or nine-years-old. It was called The Little Ice Skater and it was just a poor retelling of the Disney movie Ice Princess and it was typed with caps lock on because I thought it looked cool.

19: Why did you start writing? I HATED reading stories because there would always be something about them that I wanted to change, so I guess my little 4th grade self just got tired of it and started making her own.

20. Four sentences from a work that you’re most proud of.

He’d known for years that Dan loved him no matter what, but what about his friends and coworkers? Would they have looked at him differently? Or would he even have any friends left at all? The answer seemed obvious now, but at the time he had been so unsure.

From my most recent in-progress fic Don’t Be Afraid of Who You Are for the Danvin fandom. It does contain trans-mpreg (shocker, i know) so if you wanna give it a chance, please be aware of that.

[flyswhumpcenter]

Earth Never Stops - Part 1 - Oreburgh Mines

Summary: Oreburgh Mine is Sinnoh’s only remaining source of coal and, as such, serves as its main source of electricity alongside Flowey Meadows’ countless wind turbines. It contains enough resources for years to come, but what may be more interesting to the casual tourist visiting the region is the presence of fossils in its rocks, waiting to be discovered between two coats of black ore. As such, it requires constant functioning and there has to be someone to manage the miners, right? Well, it works until the main gear fails: the foreman is, after all, only human.

Length: 2.5K words

Notes: Someone will have to smack my head into oblivion so I don't write that kind of shit ever again. I'm sorry for this, even if I know I'll probably continue to write it beyond reason. Let's hope this isn't the new Symphonie Cacophonie lmao The OCs are cameos of my PDV characters Luc Parillot (Luke) and Timothée "Tim" Ethan (Timothy).Huge thanks to Magnetism and their Auraverse, whose Roark's been an inspiration for my own interpretation of the character. http://archiveofourown.org/works/10698855 It's some good stuff so please check it out, it's worth a read much more than what you're about to read because it has more plot than, essentially, "mine sickfic".I have to expose some headcanons and stuff which count in this story: -I headcanon the Nurse Joy who appears in this as a "doctor" because she can also diagnose humans. Such a famous mine would have at least a bit of security, wouldn't it? -I know Machop is used for mining in the games, but I also added Geodude because it's literally a punching rock who can learn Rock Smash. -I don't know what a foreman does in a mine despite living in the north of France and having seen mine history here and there. Turns out having once visited a terril and Roubaix's La Piscine museum isn't enough to make you versatile in mining history and functioning. Hell, I even had to Google what a foreman was because I'm that terrible.Writing got me thinking: can you get OOC a character who doesn't have much dialogue in their original material?

AO3 version available here!

Oreburgh Mine is Sinnoh’s only remaining source of coal and, as such, serves as its main source of electricity alongside Flowey Meadows’ countless wind turbines. It contains enough resources for years to come, but what may be more interesting to the casual tourist visiting the region is the presence of fossils in its rocks, waiting to be discovered between two coats of black ore.

As such, it requires constant functioning and there has to be someone to manage the miners, right? The role goes to the foreman, who is always up. In any case, there’s a substitute, but he’s usually not in Oreburgh City since the foremen seems to have an iron health. Someone working in the mines would joke that their previous foreman eventually became Canalave City’s Iron-type Gym Leader.

The following and current foreman is the youngest they’ve had yet. Byron used to bring his son to the mine from time to time since the latter was a child, and some of the eldest miners remembered seeing a newly born Roark, twenty years before. It was like he was born with a pickaxe in his hands, and he was already excavating fossils when he was in elementary school. What was once a tease of Byron, “your son is gonna replace you before we know it”, became reality when the foreman left Oreburgh City for Canalave City, called by the League themselves to take care of its Gym after its previous Leader had retired.

Nobody was really surprised when the boy, the eighteen-year-old boy mind you, was picked by Byron as his successor. It was as if they had always been around Roark, and it had “only” been a bit more than a decade, but the transition felt natural. It didn’t mean he didn’t remain in the shadow his father, foreman for twenty years before him, to whom the miners were all attached, and some considered him their own father, in some way.

The foreman sub’s been missing for the twenty-fifth week in a row. “Where in the hell could he be?” isn’t a real question in the mines anymore: it’s more of a private joke. A question nobody really cares for the answer, and usually it’s replaced by the latest, funniest place to put in a conversation. Last time, it was someone’s ass. Maybe comedy isn’t their forte, but as long as it makes the other miners laugh, it’s all right.

Today, Luke is asking the question to Tim, who simply replies “In Canalave’s Gym, right where Former Boss lost to a ten-year old girl and her Gastrodon”. Tim then shots a look in their current foreman’s direction, only to notice he doesn’t even cringe at the teasing of his own dad.

“Boss,” Tim calls out, “you heard me? Your dad lost to a Gastrodon of everything. How ridiculous is that?”

“Oh, right,” the foreman responds with delay, “that’s right. Gastrodon. Canalave Gym.” He forces a snicker out of his mouth.

“How’s the Gym going?” Luke asks. It’s been ages since he’s taken a break in the Gym. Last time, he got to see a blonde-haired girl beat the Gym with a Turtwig and a Starmie of everything.

“It’s going… well I guess. I broke my latest lose streak yesterday…”

Luke and Tim look at each other. The former shots another look at Roark while the second one orders their Machops to work a bit on their own for now. Once they both thumb up each other, they get closer just so they can speak about stuff their foreman shouldn’t hear them talking about.

“There’s something wrong about the boss,” Luke tells him in a whisper. “He’s quieter than usual.”

“He may just be tired,” Tim replies, almost shrugging off Luke’s worried expression. “The boy’s also a Gym Leader and whatnot.”

“I could have sworn he was usually the first one to make jokes about how busy his life is. He doesn’t even bother with our jokes today!”

“Your dad instincts are playing again. This isn’t your daughter we’re speaking about, it’s the boss. Byron’s blood runs in his veins, he’s fine.”

Tim still looks at their foreman. His own face doesn’t seem as confident in his beliefs as before.

“On second thought, the boss looks a bit weird. He’s a bit slow too.”

“Right? The sub’s not here though, so he can’t entirely leave us without having another foreman to make sure it’s secure.”

“I don’t want to interrupt you on purpose, but I think he’s looking this way. Let’s go back to work and discuss that after lunch.”

While he mines, Tim stumbles upon what looks like a fossil, a weird one of that. He swears he has never seen such a fossil before, despite having worked there for twenty years. His scientist of a husband walks behind him.

“Mark,” he calls him out, “come check out that fossil. I don’t think I’ve seen one like that before.”

The scientist walks to the rock and examines it carefully with his gloves and glasses.

“It’s a Helix Fossil. They’re usually found in Kanto, but there are some in the Underground. It’s very rare to see such a big one in a mine.”

“What about we tell the boss? I’m sure he’s going to lost it in front of it!”

“I’ll let you get him then.”

That’s what Tim does. He goes the fastest he can to his foreman, who’s in another part altogether of the mine, probably making sure the Machops trained to dig alone do their job correctly and safely. He swears he can hear some pants and maybe some coughing echoing between the rocky walls. Finding him and his red hard hat isn’t difficult, and it doesn’t take long for the miner to join his “boss”.

“Boss, Boss, I found something incredible! Come check it out!” he screams in the mine, getting the attention of Pokémons around him.

“What is it…?” a weak voice replies to him, as the foreman turns towards him. His helmet isn’t put on correctly, which is weird for someone as cautious as him on security for everyone inside the mine.

“I found a very rare fossil according to Mark. I thought I should at least tell you so you can check it out later.”

“Works for me… Oh, if you’re here, can you check out on the other miners for me a bit? Tell them I’ll check up on them once I’m done here…”

“Sure thing, Boss.”

“Thank you…”

Tim finally gets what Luke meant earlier. He would ask him if he was alright, or something alike, but he has a job to do and the boss probably doesn’t like to be bothered with such questions. He’s probably just tired and focused on whatever he’s doing. He’s a bit hesitant to get to his previous working spot, but he still makes his way there.

Suddenly, he feels something grapping his pants. He looks at what could possibly be clutching his leg: a Geodude. Wait, this can’t be a wild Geodude, there isn’t any wild Pokémon left in that zone of the mine. The fluorescent band it has around its left arm immediately tells him it belongs to the boss. It seems to cry for help.

Tim lowers to the rock Pokémon’s level.

“What is it, big guy?” he asks it.

Geodude points to the back of this section of the mine with its other arm, its face void of its usual anger, replaced with worry. What can it possibly be worried for? This doesn’t reassure the miner at all.

“You want me to follow you there?”

The Rock-type Pokémon jumps around a bit as it lets go of his pants before starting to make his way to where they both come from. Tim decides to follow: there may be someone trapped under rocks that fell, or there may be an Aron they need to take care of.

He decides to run back there instead of walking, as he’s afraid someone got jeopardized. On the way there, he recognizes the specially-trained Machops looking a bit panicked, just like the Geodude he’s following. This doesn’t sit well within him: the only person he’s seen there for a while is Roark. If their foreman has found death between rocks, they’re pretty much fucked for the remaining century. They’ll probably all get fired too. He doesn’t realize he’s crossing fingers.

The Geodude, unfortunately, brings him where he spoke to his boss barely minutes ago. The lack of light, which he finds weird because it was lit just fine before, makes it so he has to turn on his own helmet’s headlight. He can hear the usual sound of pants, something entirely ordinary in itself, aside form the fact he’s never heard these pants in particular. This can’t be good at all.

The miner stops right in his track as the Geodude goes next to the person lying on the floor of the mine. This can’t be possible. He must be in some kind of weird dream, and he has to find a way to wake up. He still runs to the lying body, just like the Pokémon before him.

“Boss?!” he yells as he kneels next to the other man. “Hey, Boss, this isn’t time to sleep! You gotta wake up, this is a mine!”

Tim puts a hand on his shoulder and shakes it off in an attempt to wake the guy up, to no success. He just knows he’s alive: he can hear his breathing, which sounds ragged if not difficult.

“What the fuck do I do…?” Tim says to himself, truly wondering what he can do with an unconscious Roark, the latter’s pickaxe and excavation kit, a Geodude and five autonomous Machops around him. The pickaxe and the kit can wait, really. The Pokémons, a bit less. He just hopes the only idea he has will work…

His foot hits a lone Pokéball which rolls until he grabs it. He finds five of them near it, all marked with a special sticker representing the Coal Badge on them.

“Geodude, come back,” he says as he points the ball towards the Pokémon in question, successfully calling him back. He’s surprised that even worked.

“Guys, you too, come back,” he then says as he points each ball to the Machop group, once again ending in pure success. He puts away the balls in the bag near him before taking it and putting it over his shoulder.

It’s with a pained look and an ache in his heart that he takes his foreman in his arms. He feels incredibly light for a miner: it may be him who is pretty strong, or the boy being a lightweight when he’s unconscious, or just both at the same time. He’ll ask for the guys to get the pickaxe and kit later: for now, there’s something more urgent than recovering some mining tools, no matter how important they are to Roark.

It takes a bit of time, and Tim feels like he’s carrying a statue made out of glass when, clearly, he shouldn’t. He braces himself for everybody else’s reaction: he just hopes it’s not too bad, otherwise they’ll have issues, and nobody wants to cause a coal lack in the entire region, not to mention none of them want harm to their foreman for Arceus’s sake!

He gets to remember it’s noon and lunch time when he reaches his usual zone of work, which is next to the entrance, so not many people are around. The less, the better. However, the nearest infirmary-like area he knows of is already outside of the mines: he has to walk past everyone else to bring their boss where someone can say what exactly happened to him.

Luke spots him from the entrance and runs to him, his own face filled with anything but joy.

“What happened to him?!” he screams, eyes fixated on the carried one.

“I don’t know… I was telling him about the fossil discovery I had made, but as I left his Geodude grabbed my leg and made me follow it, and when I arrived he was already knocked out…” Tim replies. “We don’t have time to waste, I have to bring him somewhere.”

“Wait a second. I need to check something…”

Luke rises the foreman’s helmet a little and puts his naked hand first on his forehead, then on the other man’s one, before almost cringing in a hiss.

“That’s what I thought. He’s running one hell of a fever man.”

“A fever?! He’s been sick all that time?! Quick, we have to run to the infirmary! Inform the others please!”

“Roger that.”

Tim isn’t walking at the speed of a Dunsparce now: no, he’s fucking running for someone else’s life to their infirmary, hoping there’s their usual doctor there. He can trust Dr Taylor to be there, right? She’s always there for them, she’ll be there for Roark too. That’s one unusual case for them all, and he hopes his hardest it’ll be alright.

Honestly, he’s afraid shitless when he kicks the door to knock, his hands obviously unavailable to do so. The pink-haired woman opens the door and she looks like she’s going to scold the hell out of him for kicking the door.

“Hello, Timothy. Why makes you behave like a Growlithe all of a…” she starts to tell him before her voice comes to a halt.

As soon as she sees his face then lowers her eyes, her face takes a sharp turn.

“Oh goodness… Put him on the bed,” she reacts as her thumb points to the inside, “I’ll see what’s wrong.”

He executes her orders and, soon enough, they’re both in the room, looking over the third person in the bed. After taking off the red helmet, he lets her examine his boss, more anxious than he’s been in ages, as she silently works on him.

“What does he have, doctor?” Tim asks.

“It seems like exhaustion and overwork has caught to him,” she replies in a much calmer voice. “He should be all right as long as he rests for a few days.”

“But…”

“Before you say it,” Dr Joy replies in a sadder tone, “I know Mr Roark has a very busy life and probably can’t afford many break days, especially since the summer rush is about to start. However, I can’t let him work when he overworked himself to illness like this.”

“Then, what can we do?”

“We’ll have to see that as soon as possible. I’ll have to call the substitute foreman by myself to justify his suddenly needed presence… Please go take your break, Timothy. Just tell the other miners about the situation, will you?”

“Sure thing. See ya later, Dr Joy.”

“See you.”

Tim can’t shake the situation off his head as he walks to his friends and workmates, lost in thoughts, hoping someone finds a solution real fast unless they all want to get in some serious troubles. The less they see the director of Fuego Inc, the better, especially when Roark isn’t here to discuss the matter with his own boss.

He sits next to Mark and unpacks his lunch as he summarizes the situation, a work already started by Luke. The summery air of early June around them all feels heavy, all of a sudden.