#wet sock treatment for fevers

[spiraeaherbs]

The Wet Sock Treatment for Fevers

The Wet Sock Treatment for Fevers

It can be an overwhelming and worrisome situation when your child is sick. It’s definitely not an easy job, especially when we are trying to manage fever. Many of us were raised with the belief that fever is something that should be suppressed and often reach for the over the counter fever reducing medications.  With these in short supply, this actually brings up a beautiful opportunity to ask…

[the-californicationist]

Bone Deep

AO3 Link -- MDNI -- TW: emotional hurt/comfort, make up sex

Your husband, John Price, has fallen into a pattern of behavior that seems to be moving him farther and farther away from you. But, you refuse to play second fiddle for long. 

You were drenched. It had been raining in such a way that made you think the Lord had gone back on his promise. Perhaps the rainbow had been painted just to placate you. Perhaps, you thought as you wrung out your hair on the porch, you would be drowned after all. 

It sure felt that way. Work had mounted up to the point of a fever-pitch. You had three projects due and one to revise. Not to mention, your husband had been home and yet almost fully invisible. 

John Price was back on something like leave, but he was never around. You saw evidence of his presence all over your floor and table and furniture. Socks, dirty plates, dead tablets, scraps of paper with Russian names scribbled on them... He was hunting Makarov in your kitchen and your hallway and your bathroom, and he was leaving that trail of breadcrumbs both literally and figuratively all over your house. 

You’d gone to bed alone for two nights in a row, and as you nearly tumbled over a pair of his sneakers in the foyer, caked in wet mud, you decided that it would not be three. 

“John?” You called out.

There was no reply, but a pale blue light shone under his office door. 

You popped open the latch and saw him hunched over the computer screen. 

“John.”

“Hm?” He responded, but he didn’t turn around. 

“John!”

“What?” He roared, spinning in his chair and glowering at you, shaming you for interrupting him.

“Okay,” you nodded, resigned. 

It would be a cold day in hell before you accepted that tone from anyone. You’d gone in there expecting to have a rational conversation, but your husband had raised his voice to you like you’d been a naughty dog. 

And you were absolutely not going to take that sort of treatment.

You made it to your bedroom in a quick three strides, pulling your overnight bag from under the bed. You shot your best friend, Cana, an SOS text. She lived two hours away, but you didn’t mind. You’d drive all night through the rain if it meant getting out of this prison that you used to call a home. 

Okay, maybe that was a little dramatic, but you had boundaries. Clear ones. And he knew he had crossed them. He just didn’t care. 

You started to pack as you fumed, tossing in a few days worth of clothes, your toiletry bag, the essentials. Then, the bedroom door clanged open, its handle slamming into the railing on the wall. 

“What’s this?” John waved a hand over your bag. 

“When I married you, I married a partner, not a ghost. The only reason I know you’re home is because you leave your fucking laundry for me to finish all over my floor. I’m not going to clean up after you like some maid. Then, you raise your tone at me, disrespecting me? No. When you’re ready to be my husband again, you know my number.”

He scoffed,

“All this bloody drama over some dirty socks?”

You stared at him in a way that told him just how serious you were. The silence between you stretched on for eons, expanding in all directions. You smiled, 

“You know it’s not the socks.”

The look in his eyes said: yes, I know it’s not the socks. But, his pride wouldn’t let him say the quiet part out loud. 

So, you left. 

Starting up the car was hard. Backing out of the driveway was harder. But, every mile you drove simply steeled your resolve. You knew his work was important, but you were important, too. You’d always be his wife, but you needed some space. 

You texted your boss when you made it to Cana’s house; you were taking a few days off. A night of tears and comforting hugs (and strong margaritas) passed, then a morning. Then, a night… and in the middle of it, you saw your phone light up. Despite the million other notifications you received every day, you knew it was him.

John: hey

You: hey

John: can i call

You: one sec

You sneaked out of bed, untangling yourself from Cana’s lanky arms, and lugged your phone out to the front porch. You were about to curl up on her big patio chair when you were stopped in your tracks at the sight of a big black truck idling in the driveway.

You sighed, standing there staring at your husband. He killed the engine and stepped down from the cab. As he approached you, looking up at you from the bottom of the stairs like a wide-eyed disciple, you noticed that his blue irises were ringed in pink, bloodshot and puffy. He hadn’t shaven, and he looked pale. 

But, even though you were still hurt, and even though he looked a little worse for wear, it was hard to ignore the carnal ache in your belly when you watched the muscles bulge and flex in his immense forearms as he crossed his arms in front of himself. The way his chest stretched out his black tee shirt, a tuft of fur peeking out of the crew neckline, the sleeves struggling to contain his round biceps. The way he chewed his full bottom lip when he had something important to say. It was enough to test your resolve.  

“Hey,” you said in a small voice, holding your arms around your body for comfort. 

Suddenly, those sharp eyes focused on you with rapt attention, and he stared right at you, speaking in a low, gravelly purr, trying to keep his voice down,

“I’ve been a proper arse.”

You tried to hold back a smirk. He continued,

“I took advantage of you. I’ve been hunting this fuckin’ bastard for so many years, and I’ve got him cornered. It’s all I can think about. Every night I think if only I was a little quicker, or maybe just bloody braver, I could stop him from killing more innocent people. I let him into our house. Into your life. And I shouldn’t have let my work come between us,” John’s expression softened, and he uncrossed his arms, hooking his thumb into his jeans pocket, “And I’m sorry.”

“Thank you,” you said quietly, still waiting for his next step. Being sorry was only part of it. 

“When you come home tomorrow, it’ll be different. I’m gonna pull my weight again. You have my word that I’ll only work when you work, and when you’re home,” he squared his shoulders, rocking his hips forward, nervous energy coursing through his body, “I’ll be home with you. I promise.”

You nodded, shifting your weight, staring down at your feet. Then, he called your attention with a caught breath and words that hurt you bone deep,

“You are coming home, right?”

You tried your honest best to fight the tears, but your body shuddered through a sob and you gasped in a sharp breath of air. He moved to hold you, to ascend the steps and repent, to be forgiven, but you held up your hand stopping him in his tracks,

“I won’t have you speaking to me like that, John. I won’t…” You thought about your words carefully, “I can’t be treated that way.”

“I understand, love. Believe me,” he chuckled, “I never want you to feel like that again.”

The way he rubbed his thumb across his sternum made your own chest hurt. He tried to approach you again, stepping up the wooden stairs, creaking under his weight, and he angled his chin up as if to kiss you. But, you stepped away, guarding your own heart for just a while longer. 

The hunger in his eyes followed you like smoke from a fire, warming you with its heat. 

“I’ll be home in the morning, John,” you said, turning to go back into the house. 

The next morning, as you packed, you thought about his promise. You hoped that you were heard. Truly heard and not just for a week of good behavior. You deserved to be respected, and you wouldn’t let your relationship with him become so one-sided again. 

When you pulled into your driveway, you expected to be greeted with the same dark, empty house. As you moved to pick your feet up over the usual mess of shoes, you discovered the foyer scrubbed to a high shine, and there was nothing to stumble upon. All the shoes were shoved into their little cubbies, and there wasn’t a dirty sock in sight. The living room was bright, clean, and John was standing in the middle of it, waiting for you. He took your bags, and scooped you up into a long, tight hug. 

You thought he might try to kiss you, but he didn’t. He just held you against him, breathing in and out, not letting go. Your face was buried deep in his chest, and you could smell his aftershave mixing with the strong scent of his cigars, and a slight musk that was all him. You wanted to feel his fur against your cheek. 

Suddenly, he grabbed your chin in his hand, making you face him, and he said in a dark, warm tone, 

“I’m gonna be the me that you need me to be. From now on. I swear it.”

You felt his soft lips touch yours, kissing you chastely, then deeper, chasing your taste, finding your tongue, licking along its length, savoring your mouth like a treat, cherishing every suck and nip and bite. 

“I missed you, John,” you admitted, feeling hot tears staining your cheeks, not realizing you were crying. 

He wiped them from your temples, smearing them into your skin, cradling your head in his hands so carefully as if you were made of glass. 

“I’ve been away. But, I swear, love. I swear, I’m back. I swear…”

His lips met your wet cheek and took your tears with them. 

“I swear…” 

He kissed your neck, holding your head in his huge paw.

“I swear…” 

You ran your hands over his neck, encircling him, tugging at his shirt, needing to feel his skin. He hooked his arms over his head and rucked the shirt off his back, tossing it on the couch. He pulled you into his lap as he sat down, sinking into the cushions, kissing you like you might disappear again. 

“I’m so sorry, love. Please forgive me,” John growled darkly, his deep voice rumbling between kisses. 

“Forgiven,” you said, forcing him to look at you.

Then, he put his forehead to yours and let out a deep sigh, closing his eyes and simply rubbing your back, trailing his hands over your hips, pulling you in closer to him. 

Tentatively, as if testing the waters of a deep well, you rocked your hips against him, seeing if you could get him to take the bait. If you had your husband back, you wanted to seal that promise with more than just a kiss. 

He groaned,

“Mm, I don’t deserve that.”

You repeated the motion, feeling the twitch of his fat cock inside of his jeans, and you narrowed your eyes at him,

“Sex isn’t a reward. It’s our connection, and I need to feel you. I need my captain back.”

He smiled, nuzzling your jaw, peppering your skin with little, chirping kisses, 

“Pretty girl… I missed you so much. What was I thinking?”

You shrugged, playing coy as you slipped off your leggings and set to undoing his buttons, opening the fly of his jeans to see the shock of dark hair and the swollen prize nestled in it, 

“I dunno. Maybe you just needed a reminder?”

As you teased him at your entrance, letting his head play in your wet folds, you began to sink down onto his shaft, spearing yourself onto his length, rocking back and forth with a tantalizing rhythm. 

“Mmngh,” he sighed, his eyes staring, transfixed on where your bodies reconnected. 

Finally, after some effort, his girth was fully sheathed within you, warmed and cradled by your soft heat. You began to lift yourself on your knees up and down, dragging all the way to his rosy head and then sliding all the way back down to those brown curls, enjoying the faces he was making against his will. 

However, he didn’t put up with your performance for long. Before you knew it, you were laying on the couch with your knees on your chest, taking every inch of his cock as deep as it would go. He had a gentle curve that, in this position, rubbed exactly where it needed to, pulling you along from one orgasm to the next like you were a kite, fully at his mercy and high as hell. 

Your mind swam with murky, unintelligible thoughts, and he fucked you harder and harder, pounding himself into you like a machine. Sometimes you forgot his strength… and his stamina. 

You whined a bit, your timbre changing from other-worldly pleasure to mild discomfort, and he picked up on it like a hound. He slowed, inspecting you, looking for the broken pieces. 

“You alright, missus?” He said, kissing you, thrusting shallowly now, checking in with you.

“Can we sit?”

“C’mere.”

John pulled you into his lap and continued his efforts, rocking himself back and forth, holding your body like a toy. Then, he snaked his hand between you, giving your clit something firm to rub against, and you felt the tingles begin to build inside of your belly, a coil tightening, a dam under pressure, a firework ready to burst. 

He was facing you, so you began to kiss him in a slow, supple way, letting your mouth fall open and your lips meet his with the lightest touch. John matched your energy, getting lost in your ritual, sending out the tip of his tongue to play and taste you again. 

He pulled away and licked his fingers before returning them to your folds,

“Mmf-fuck. You are so bloody good.”

“I want you to come in me, baby,” you confessed, resting your forehead on his, trying to catch your breath. 

You saw the surprise dance through his expression. 

“You sure?”

You knew it wasn’t something you allowed very often. You’d been off of your birth control for a few months, trying to give your body a break from the hormones. And even though you weren’t trying for a baby, that was always a dream that you shared. For John, it was the ultimate dream. 

“Yeah, I’m sure,” you nodded, kissing his smiling mouth.

“Oh, fuck me,” he growled darkly, gripping you around your waist, changing the angle to something wholly transcendent. How did he do it? How did he know where your body needed him to be? It was absurd. 

Everything was bright and glittering as you came around him, and you felt yourself squeezing his cock mercilessly, coming down his shaft in hot, thick coatings of creamy slick, unable to stop it from flooding out around him. 

He, too, was erupting. He gasped for air, grunting in loud, animalistic shouts, his whole face contorted into a pleasure-filled rage, pumping you full of his soft, warm cream, frothing it with his rough movements. 

Eventually, he flung his head back, holding you to him in a tight hug, his entire body moving and reacting without his input, fully on instinct. You held him back, clutching him against you like a lifeline.

You thought he would slip out of you once he was down from his high, but he didn’t. He simply held you to him, sweaty and desperate, letting himself soften inside of you. It was as if he didn’t want to leave. 

“Thank you, love,” he kissed you again, shuddering yet powerful. 

“It’s nice to have you home, John,” you smiled, letting his soft laughter warm your heart, basking in it like the sun. 

[ickadori]

++ 𝐇𝐀𝐊𝐀𝐑𝐈

[summary] @thelocalslutof7umblr : Didn't read the manga yet but Hakari seems like the kind of guy to come over twice a week to dick me down after he just spent all of my life savings on gambling

[cws] fem reader -> chubby. unedited.

[an] thank you for the idea!! sorry if you didn’t wanna be tagged :(

“Get out of my apartment, Kinji.” You say as soon as he steps through the door, the key that you had made him (and failed to take back from him on his last visit) held between his fingers. “And give me my key back.”

“This key?” He wags it in the air, heel of his sneaker knocking back into the door so it slams shut. He doesn’t bother locking it, instead swaggering over to where you’re sat on the sofa, gaze stubbornly glued to the television as one of your shows play. “Come give me a kiss and you can have it.”

“Keep it.”

“Tch.” He tosses the key onto the coffee table, toeing his shoes off a second later and leaving him in clean, white socks. “You still mad about last time?” You cut your eyes at him, and he can’t help the amused smirk that curves onto his lips. The last time he had been here, there hadn’t been much talking going on, or rather no intelligible talking, the blissed out babbles that had spilled from your mouth as he pounded away at your sopping cunt hardly counting as words.

Hakari hardly needed an excuse to plug you with his cock —the man was practically ready to go every second of every day, and once he got his hands on that plump, soft body of yours, you were ready to go, too, for as long as he wanted you to— but on this particular day, he had been itching for a loan, that ever present ‘fever’ creeping up on him. He felt lucky that day, lucky as a goddamn leprechaun, and he didn’t need that luck running out on the way to the bank, so he had went with the next closest thing; you.

You have been hesitant at first, having been on the losing end of one his fever’s time and time again, but this was different. He had been blazing, feverish, hot to the touch, and every nerve had been on end as he crowded you against the couch and let his hands help with the talking.

“You feel it, don’t you, baby?” He had rasped against your skin. “I’m hot—on fire, baby. This is the one.” A kiss here, a squeeze there, a compliment there, and you had been dripping, pussy wet and demanding as it sucked him in and held him tight. He spent a while working you up, making you cream around his dick and getting you nice and dumb before he finally dropped the big one—

Let me hold a bit of money, gorgeous. I’ll get it back to you, promise.

He had made sure to ask it right as he ground the tip of his cock against the gummy spot inside of you, and the rest had been history. You had given him the money with a dopey smile and a hole full of cum, and he had lost it all within the first ten minutes of sitting down at the machine.

Ya win some, ya lose some.

“You’re giving me the silent treatment, now?” He drops onto the cushion beside you, legs spreading wide and arms stretching across the back of it as he leans his head back, turning so his gaze falls on you. “I wanna be mad at that, but…” He lets his eyes take you in, teeth sinking into his bottom lip at the sight of you in a tight familiar, no bra in sight as the material stretches across a pair of heavy tits and hugs a soft belly. Your legs are folded up underneath you, the little shorts you wear leaving your thighs bare. “You look too fucking good to be mad at.”

You roll your eyes but otherwise keep your attention on the tv, and Hakari feels his cock fatten up in his boxers as he tugs on a strand of your hair.

“Quit.” You bat his hand away, finally turning to face him, and he acts on impulse, crowding into your space as he smacks a kiss onto your lips. “Kinji!” You reel back, and he closes a hand around the fat of your hip.

“You’re mad at me, I know. ‘M sorry, just can’t help it with you sitting beside me looking this pretty.” He kisses you again, this time longer, and you let him, your lips eventually moving against his own as you kiss him back. He grins into the kiss before pulling back. “I made a bad bet last time, it happens, but you know I’m good for it. I’ll triple it and get you right in no time.”

He pulls you to sit on his lap, your hot little cunt seated right on top of the bulge in his pants, and his hands smooth up your sides as he gently rocks you back and forth on him, head leaned against the back of the sofa as he looks up at you. “So stop being mad and let me make you feel good, ‘kay?” He gropes at a fat breast, fingers hungrily sinking into the flesh before he’s hooking a finger into your top and tugging it down, tongue licking at his lips as he watches them drop free. “Did you miss me?”

“I guess…but I miss my money more, Kinji. That was for my Christmas shopping!” His hand makes quick work for of his sweats and boxers, pushing them down to his thighs while his other hand lifts you up by your ass.

“Aw, you don’t gotta get me a gift, baby. Just looking at you is good enough for me.” The seat of your shorts (no panties, damn) is tugged to the side, and then you’re tugged back down on his lap, cock sliding through your folds as he gets himself nice and with your slick. You gasp, hands grasping at his shoulders.

“I -ah- wasn’t. It was gonna be for my coworkers -shit, Kinji-, for t-the secret santa.”

“Santa, huh?” He guides the tip of his cock to your hole, tongue trapped between his teeth as it catches. “I’m the only Santa you’ve gotta worry about, and I got a present just for you.” His hips buck up, cock pushing in deep, and your tits bounce in his face from the force, a high moan punched from your lungs as your lashes flutter.

He sinks further down into the cushions, feet planted on the floor as his calves flex, hands holding a tit each as he fucks you with wild abandon, sweat beading at his forehead as he bounces you in his lap. “You still mad at me?”

“Mm-nn,” your nails bite through the fabric of his hoodie and leave crescent shaped moons in his bronze skin. “No.” One hand leaves your chest to come up to his mouth, and he swipes his tongue gud against his thumb before he’s mashing it up against your clit and rubbing.

“You love me?”

“Uh-huh,” your head flies back, neck bared. “Yes, Kinji, yes! So much - I love it so much.”

“I said me, dummy, not my cock.” He huffs out a laugh, head inching forward to take a hard, puffy nipple into his mouth. “Mm, missed my sweet girl, too.” He mutters around you, hands smoothing up your back, over soft handles and up to rounded shoulders. He hungrily sucks at your breast, skin heating, sweltering, and cock swelling.

You start spouting off nonsense, pussy squeezing down tight around him, and Hakari holds you by your ass, quickly swapping your positions so you’re laid back against the cushions, your thighs wrapped around his hips as he pistons in and out of you, mouth still latched to your breast.

“Kinji…KinjiKinjiKinjiKinji!” You come with a shout, cunt holding him tight, and he stills inside you, balls drawing up before he’s groaning from deep in his chest, cum coating your walls with slow, drawn out spurts. He releases your breast with a pop, mouth dragging up your skin until his tongue is sliding in your own mouth to rub along side yours.

Your hands smooth against his face, thumbs petting at the skin under his eyes, and he pulls back a bit, pecking at your lips once, twice, and thrice for good measure. You smile, and he chuckles, the sound low and gravelly.

“You still want your key back?”

“No,” you sigh. “But I do want my money back, with interest.”

[whumpster-dumpster]

Hi Red! I hope your day/night is going well! I was wondering, what would be some good ways of trying to lower a whumpee's fever when they live in a less modern setting?

Hey, hope you're having a good day/night too! A few old fashioned home remedies include:

Herbal tea with elderflower, yarrow, white willow bark, Echinacea, lemon and honey, basil, ginger, etc.

Apple cider vinegar soaked cloths on the forehead, stomach, wrapped around the soles of the feet, or in the bathwater

Peppermint, ginger and cinnamon oils warming the circulatory system to better sweat it out

Wet sock treatment: soaking the feet in hot water, then putting on thin socks that have been in cool water

Wet blanket treatment: soaking a sheet in cool-ish water and bundling up in it until it warms

[pentopaper23]

Collection of one shots revolving around Anthony comforting his siblings while they are injured or sick.

TRIGGER WARNING - CANCER AND CANCER TREATMENT.

CHAPTER FIVE - Francesca - IV stands

Francesca was Anthony’s quietest sibling and that was never more apparent then right at this very moment while the nurse hooked her up to her weekly chemo treatment. The pair sat in silence while the nurse inserted the IV and the only show of pain was her hand tightening around his.

At fourteen Francesca has been a health happy teenager, that was until she started to have fevers that kept Anthony up a night sitting by her bedside with a wet cloth in his hand. Her arms and leg became covered in bruises at the slightest touch and her normal flushed and healthy complexion had been become greyish and washed out. She started having nose bleeds and migraines. But what eventually drove them to the hospital was Daphne finding her passed out on the bathroom floor blood coming a cut on her head from hitting on the sink as she fainted.

“It’s leukaemia. Early stages, but it’s still leukaemia.”

Anthony had been standing with Dr James in the hallway when he was told the news and he bit his lip so to not cry in front of the stranger.

“What do we do?” he asked wiping a hand down his face.

“I can’t give you an exact timeframe or information right now, we need to do more tests. But the likely outcome will be chemotherapy. In most cases, for girls in Francesca’s age group it around two years of treatment and another year of monitoring for new cancer cell growth.”

Anthony nodded a small sob escaping his throat. The doctor smiled sadly at him and gestured for them to take a seat.

“Can I be frank my Lord?”

“Of course, yes.”

“This will be marathon not a sprint. Your sister is going to be very unwell for a very long time. I understand that you are the guardian for your siblings, you have seven, yes?” The doctor asked, trying to be as gentle as possible with the man that sat next to her.

“Yes, our parents have both passed” Anthony said nodded but not looking at the doctor.

“It would be my recommendation to hire a live in cancer nurse my Lord. Francesca will at some point need round the clock care and I’m not saying that you we be lacking in your care of her, but it will be a full-time job on top of your current responsibilities. Bathing her, toilet trips, changing of the chemo port and IVs….” The Doctor stopped talking when she noticed that Anthony was now openly crying and struggling to contain his sobs.

“Will she die?” He sobbed out looking at the doctor as if the breath has just been stolen from his lungs. His eyes filled a terror that Dr James was all too familiar with. She had seen it a hundred times form parents and relatives that she had had the same conversation with. But never form some so young and with so much on their shoulders. The story of the Bridgerton family was not unknown in the hospital and delivering this new was one of the hardest she had ever had to do.

“I don’t know,” Doctor James said truthfully, “We have caught it early which is fantastic, but I won’t lie and say that it’s a possibility. Cancer in children is complicated compared to adults, they are smaller, they can’t always communicate what they need or are feeling, and their organs can eventually only take so much. But I will do everything I can see her through this.”

That’s where they were now, two years later and to many chemo appointments to count. Now sixteen Francesca was a shell of the young girl she once was, looking small and fragile in her chemo chair with a green tinge to her face. A scarf was wrapped around her bald head, her face was sunken, and her bones were visible all over her body. She was always cold, so she was currently wearing a jumper that had once been his, she was tucked in under several blankets and had horrid some socks on that Daphne had tried to knit. More often than not one of her brothers needed to carry her from room to room with her nurse following along with her IV stand and school has become a far-off dream. She had recently been having more bad days then good, the treatments for sapping any energy or hunger that she had, and she was very quickly fading away right before her families pained eyes. Sometimes Anthony found himself just sitting by her bed holding her hand and counting the breathes that she took hoping that he would never have to stop counting. Her weak chest would move unevenly up and down, and he hold his own breath when for a second her chest didn’t rise back up fast enough. He had once thought that the pain of losing his parents would be the worst thing that he would ever have to go thought. But watching his sister seemingly die, was something that would haunt him and place scars upon his own soul.

With quick practice Anthony held a bucket under her chin as she vomited up what little food, she had eaten that morning. She started to sob when she finished, gut knotting sobs that Anthony knew all too well. Over the last year he had been her turn a dark corner and was struggling to help her find a way out. Anthony rested her head against his chest and ran a hand over to head.

“I wanna go home” she begged and sobbed into Anthony chest, and it almost broke him. After that first night in hospital Anthony swore that he wouldn’t cry in front of her, choosing instead to cry in his study or behind the locked door of his bathroom when it all became too much, and her suffering reached in and ripped at his heart. Every cry, every scream of pain that he couldn’t take away and every beg from her was something that he carried with him very day. It was dark cloud that took the forms of IV stands, orange filled fucking chemo bags and the endless hospital visits and overnights stays and missed moments.

So many missed moments with her siblings and future moments that she may not see. Moments he may not see. Her graduation, her wedding, her children. These thoughts assaulted him every time he looked at her and could do nothing to help. He was helpless. Useless his mind would whisper in dark moments solitude. When he sat by bed or while he showered and let the water wash away the tears that he could no longer hold in.

“I know my love, just a little longer.” He tried to smooth and looked over to see how much chemo was left in the bag, a little over half empty. Like his sister. Half empty, running fumes and sheer luck.

Francesca was dying and Anthony was utterly helpless.

[snezi]

Caught (Sick) in the Woods - Chapter 3

“Fuck,” Geralt growled, rushing to lift Jaskier’s limp body onto Roach. He grabbed the abandoned bedroll, jumped up onto his horse, and then they were running.

The Witcher hadn’t been one to experience true, raw panic frequently in his long life, but it seemed like every time he did, it was because something had happened to Jaskier. Watching Jaskier’s head bob weakly, as though his neck were a twig, made his blood run cold.

With one hand, Geralt re-adjusted Jaskier slightly, tightening the cloak around him and pulling the bard in closer to his chest. “Come on, Jaskier,” he breathed, urging Roach on ever faster.

The nearest town was a few miles away, and though his loyal horse made quick work of the distance, Geralt felt like it had taken hours for them to arrive.

“Healer! I need a healer!” The Witcher shouted at the first townspeople he came across, worry making him more menacing than usual. They jumped away, giving him a wide berth, but at least pointed him toward a small house at the end of the main street.

The second he was close he leapt from Roach, Jaskier cradled in his arms, and banged on the door. “Please, open up!”

A hunched, middle-aged woman opened the door a crack, but upon seeing the unconscious bard, quickly ushered them in.

“What happened?” she asked, directing Geralt to place Jaskier on an empty straw bed.

“I’m not sure,” the Witcher admitted, frowning hard. “He got sick. He’s had a fever, and he’s been coughing up blood. And wheezing.”

The healer frowned, too, and pressed an ear to the bard’s chest. She then put a hand to Jaskier’s forehead, and paled at the scorching heat. Geralt was pierced through with another wave of worry.

“Sounds like he caught pneumonia. Been out in the rain lately?” Her voice was slightly accusatory.

“Yes,” Geralt admitted.

“Kept walking?” She added.

“Well...yes.”

“For how long?”

“Three...days?”

The glare she shot him made even his toes curl with guilt.

“Honestly, what were you thinking, dragging him about like that?” She scolded the Witcher. “It’s no wonder he’s ill. Stand here, take these wet socks and shoes off him, and give his feet a rub to get the chill out.”

Geralt, appropriately chastised, did as she said while she bustled away, collecting an armful of rags. Jaskier’s feet were ice cold.

“Can you cure him?” Geralt asked quietly.

The healer paused for just a moment, taking in the obvious concern on the Witcher’s face. She sighed. “I can certainly try. Depends on whether or not we can get this fever down.”

That sounded much less certain than Geralt had hoped.

Seeing his alarm, the woman took pity on him. “Just stand to the side, dear, and let me work. Let him know you’re there.”

So Geralt went around to the other side of the bed, kneeling down next to it, and tentatively took Jaskier’s hand.

The woman covered the bard’s face and neck in cold, wet cloths. “He should come to in a moment. I’ll be right back, I’m going to make up some breathing treatments. God knows he’ll need them,” she muttered before hurrying to the next room.

Geralt looked at Jaskier, and felt his stomach twist with guilt and shame. This was his fault. If only he’d been more careful, insisted they stopped and warmed up instead of pushing on through the storm, made sure Jaskier wore a thicker cloak...

He gently squeezed the bard’s hand, bowing his head. “I’m sorry, Jaskier.”

To his shock, his hand was squeezed back, very softly.

“Ger’lt?”

The Witcher’s golden eyes snapped up, meeting Jaskier’s muddled blue ones. The bard was staring at Geralt, looking...worried? He opened his mouth to speak but instead coughed weakly, and then much harder, seemingly trying to cough up his own lungs.

Geralt instantly pulled the man up to a sitting position while he desperately heaved for air, the cool compresses falling to the bed. “It’s alright, Jask,” he murmured, thumping him on the back. He turned away to call toward the next room,  “Healer!”

She was already rushing back, two large bowls and a towel in hand. She thrust the empty bowl into Jaskier’s lap. “Spit it out, lad. Can’t let that stuff sit in your lungs.”

Best he could, the bard leaned away from Geralt, but the Witcher still glimpsed the bloody mass he hacked up, and his heart skipped a beat.

The woman took the soiled dish from Jaskier, setting it on the floor, and put the other bowl, full of boiling water, on his lap. He turned toward Geralt, as if to try to speak again, and she quickly threw the towel over his head.

“Don’t talk. Breathe in the steam as deep as you can,” she instructed. “There’s honey mixed in, it will help.”

The fit had made Jaskier woozy, though, and the heat wasn’t doing him any favors; he swayed. He felt Geralt’s strong hands immediately press to his torso, steadying him, and a wave of gratitude washed over him. He took in as big a breath as he dared, pleasantly surprised when the pain in his chest lessened slightly.

Unfortunately, though, the vapor was making his nose run, and that was making it itchy. He crushed a knuckle against it, hard, flushing at the small squelch the action produced.

To the bard’s dismay, Geralt pulled his hand away from his face. “Let it run, that’s what’s supposed to be happening,” the Witcher chastised.

Jaskier tried to protest, to say that wasn’t the problem, but it was too late. His shoulders heaved as he hitched. “Hh-Hih’ H… Help, G-Geralt... Hhh!...”

At the last possible second, the Witcher realized what was wrong and grabbed the pot of boiling water off the bard’s lap just as he snapped forward.

“Heh..hih’tshiew! hih'…Hae'esshiew! Hng-Nngxxt! HnngSSHIEW! Oww... ”

Geralt winced at the bard’s moan. His sneezes sounded wet, painful, and purely exhausting. “What did I tell you,” Geralt growled, putting the bowl back on Jaskier’s lap and passing him a clean cloth, “about stifling?”

“Maybe you shouldn’t have moved my hand!” Jaskier retorted, his voice gravelly. He wiped his nose on the proffered rag.

“Hmm,” was all Geralt could think to reply, and the bard coughed out a laugh.

The healer frowned at them both. She eyed Geralt. “You, don’t get him riled up. And you,” she turned to Jaskier, “keep breathing in the treatment. You’ll need at least four cups of tea and a hot meal in you before I’ll be happy.” She then turned and marched out of the room to get the sustenance.

Jaskier turned to Geralt, only one blue eye visible under the towel, and studied him. The Witcher looked tired, and even more pale than usual, but his golden eyes were achingly soft. The bard tentatively reached out and touched his hand.

“Are you okay, Geralt?”

The Witcher scoffed. Jaskier was practically on his deathbed, and here he was, worrying over him. “Are you trying to get us both in trouble? Just breathe.”

But the bard was insistent. “I mean it. How are you? What were you talking about, earlier?”

Geralt dropped his gaze, staring hard at the bed frame. “I, uh...I wanted to apologize. For getting you sick.”

Jaskier frowned. “You didn’t.”

“Yes, I did. I shouldn’t have pushed you so hard, kept you out in bad weather and everything.” Shame licked at his insides.

Jaskier felt his heart melt, and stretched a shaky hand out to touch Geralt’s cheek. “This isn’t your fault, dearest. And anyway, I’m okay,” he smiled.

The Witcher’s golden eyes flickered up to meet Jaskier’s. “You’re not okay, and it took me way too long to realize.” His voice softened. “I’m sorry, Jask. I’m going to take better care of you.”

The bard’s heart fluttered in his chest at the overwhelming love in Geralt’s gaze. “You don’t have to. I don’t want to trouble you.” He glanced away, his voice very small. “I’m the one who should be sorry, actually. I wasn’t careful. I’m sorry we’re wasting time.”

Geralt growled, and to Jaskier’s surprise, moved in to cradle the bard’s head against his massive chest. “You’re not troubling me, and we’re not wasting time.” Then he added, very softly, “I just want you to get well.”

Jaskier hugged Geralt back, fighting the moisture pooling in the corners of his eyes.

“Honestly, you two are worse than the lovesick teenagers I see,” the healer scolded the pair as she re-entered the room. She fixed Jaskier with a look. “Didn’t I tell you to breathe in the steam before it goes cold?”

“Yes ma’am,” the bard said meekly, leaning back over the dish, but not before he shot Geralt a cheeky wink.

The relief the Witcher felt at the sight almost made him grin. If Jaskier was getting his humor back, he was getting better. And that meant everything would be okay.

[best-dermatologist-vaishali]

Expert Dermatologist in Vaishali: Dr. Megha Modi

Dermatologist in Vaishali - Treats You to Bring Out the Beautiful You!

INTRODUCTION

Discover the best dermatologist in Vaishali for advanced skin treatments like Chemical Peel, Botox, and more at Twachaa Clinic. Visit www.twachaaclinic.com.

There has been an emergence of various dermal problems in the recent times. Thanks to the increase in air pollution, exposure to sun, ozone layer depletion and increase in chemical exposure. All these have added up to produce adverse effects on our skin. There are various other reasons like aging (natural process), pigmentation problems, disorders like acne, moles, birthmarks etc and diseases like diabetes, HIV or hormonal imbalances that affect your outer skin badly.

Sometimes, you have wounds and scars due to some earlier accidents or injuries that leave behind permanent marks. Whatever be the problem, you can easily consult the dermatologist in Vaishali to get the best treatment. Just log onto www.twachaaclinic.com, it is a one-stop destination to get solution to any of your dermal problem.

This dermatologist in Vaishali is giving treatment with new technologies like Chemical Peel, Derma roller, Carbon Peel, IPL for acne, photo facial, Botox, fillers, fractional laser resurfacing and Q-switch (for tattoo removal). Knowledge of common skin related problems is important for early detection and better protection. There are various skin related problems like eczema, dark circles, Rosacea, sunburn and acne. Let’s have a look at some other common dermal problems that you must know about.

Shingles (Herpes Zoster)

It is a viral infection caused by Varicella-Zoster virus (which also causes chickenpox). Red blisters like rashes appear on various parts of your body. These are painful and are accompanied by fever, fatigue and headache. Timely treatment is very essential.

Hives

Also known as chronic urticaria, these are raised, red, itchy spots that occur on the skin. Bug bites or stings are the common causes for it. Normally, they subside and go away in a few hours. But the real problem germinates when they sustain for longer time.

Contact Dermatitis

It happens due to allergy with anything that triggers skin reaction. It can be due to anything, may be from some jewelries, clothes, gloves, shocks, soaps, bleaches or detergents etc. Sometimes, it is little tricky to determine the source of irritation. You may perform test on your skin by suspected object in the supervision of your doctor for identification of the cause of the problem.

Diaper Rash

Skin of small children is very delicate and sensitive. Problem of red rashes on their buttocks, genital area and skin folds is often very common. It happens as many times the soiled and wet diapers are left for long duration. It is very disturbing to small children.

Athlete's Foot Dermatologist in Vaishali

It is a fungal infection caused by dermatophytes fungi. Mostly occurs between the toes of feet, this causes redness and itching. It is a communicable disease that you may contract from common swimming pool, gym or locker room. You should always wear good quality cotton socks. Also, your shoes should have enough breathing-ability. This is necessary as wet skin is very prone to develop this infection.

If you are suffering from any skin problem, just don’t panic or worry; simply log on www.twachaaclinic.com to find out highly specialized and learned dermatologist in Vaishali. Get early treatment with various new methods.

Categories: Dermatologist

Tags: dermatologist in Vaishali, Skin Specialist in Vaishali

[amberwellnessgroup]

Home Hydrotherapy Treatments

It’s that time of year, when we maybe indulge a little more and sleep a little less. This can set you up for lowered immune response to the cold and flus that also circulate this time of year.

Did you know there’s some easy and convenient home therapies that you can do yourself? Most of what you’ll need is already in your home or easily available at our clinic or local pharmacies.

Castor Oil Pack

Castor oil has many beneficial properties. It is anti-inflammatory, promotes circulation, and supports liver function. It’s also known to support hormone metabolism and detoxification. These are some ways to use it. Please do not take castor oil internally.

Apply ⅛ cup to wool flannel. Then place wool flannel over your abdomen and cover with heat and leave on for 30 minutes. You may want to put Syran wrap / towel over the flannel to protect your shirt from castor oil. Once done, put the flannel in a ziplock bag and store in the refrigerator. Do 4 times a week for best results.

Apply to your abdomen and anywhere that is sore and climb in an epsom salts bath. Soak for 30 minutes and then wash off.

Apply to the pelvis or other affected areas and get in a warm shower. Aim the showerhead on the affected area for 3-5 minutes before cleaning off with soap.

Wet Sock Treatment

This is an amazing, easy to do treatment that only requires socks and water. The wet sock treatment helps to decrease congestion by redirecting circulation downward. It also helps support a fever, the body’s #1 immune fighting mechanism. Use at first sign of a cold or onset of a fever.

Start with warm feet, if they’re not warm then do a quick foot soak to warm them up.

Then take a pair of thin cotton socks and get them wet with cold water. Then wring them out and put on warm feet.

Cover with a dry thicker sock, like wool. Then get into bed and sleep. The socks will be dry when you wake up.

To visit more wellness blogs please, click here.

[silverlab101]

Athletes Foot Treatment

Your healthcare provider will ask you about your signs, how lengthy you have had them, and whether or not you may have predisposing components. Your healthcare provider may even visually inspect your feet, as well as other areas of your skin. Acute vesicular athlete’s foot is characterized by the sudden development of painful blisters on the sole or top of the foot. Verywell Health's content is for informational and educational purposes only. Our website is not supposed to be an different to skilled medical recommendation, analysis, or treatment. A definitive prognosis of athlete’s foot is made by acquiring a skin scraping from the vanguard of inflammation.

This also can extend up the side of the foot and be mistaken for eczema or dry skin. Our staff of specialists and employees imagine that informed sufferers are better outfitted to make selections regarding their well being and nicely being. For your private use, we've created an extensive patient library masking an array of instructional matters.

Alternate the sneakers you put on each day, if attainable, to ensure shoes are dry when they're placed on. Free materials to help elevate pores and skin most cancers consciousness Use these professionally produced online infographics, posters, and videos to help others find and prevent skin most cancers. These dermatologists' ideas tell you how athlete's foot treatment to protect your skin. Medical News Today has strict sourcing tips and attracts only from peer-reviewed research, tutorial analysis establishments, and medical journals and associations. You can be taught more about how we ensure our content is accurate and current by studying our editorial coverage. Anyone can get athlete’s foot, nonetheless, regardless of their exercise degree.

This fungus spreads through contact with an contaminated individual or an object or floor they've touched. The fungus that causes athlete’s foot thrives in heat and moist environments. For this reason, it is more simply spread in areas with warm, humid climates or public spaces corresponding to locker rooms, swimming swimming pools or shared showers. Though fungal infections could be treated at residence, it is important to see a physician if pores and skin does not clear up within a number of weeks. Excessive redness, swelling, fever, and drainage could be a sign that a bacterial infection can additionally be occurring.

When fungus grows on the ft, it's known as athlete's foot . It obtained this name as a outcome of it impacts individuals whose ft are usually damp and sweaty, which is often the case with athletes. The infection sometimes goes away after several weeks of treatment, particularly if hygiene practices are followed. However, longer-term medicine might be required for persistent an infection. Wear socks made of natural fabrics or fabrics that dry shortly or wick moisture away from the pores and skin. Also, make positive to change your socks daily and extra typically when your socks get wet.

Neurolysis is a therapeutic procedure used to treat neuromas. During this nonsurgical process, the affected nerve is chemically destroyed through seven weekly injections of ethanol blended with an area athlete's foot treatment anesthetic. Because nerve tissue has an affinity for ethanol, it absorbs the substance, which, after repeated exposure, turns into toxic and destroys the pain-causing nerve.

These fungi can be contracted by sharing the footwear or socks of an contaminated individual. When you're going for a swim at your local YMCA or using the health club locker room, you want to feel protected against sicknesses. One sickness that's particularly prone to those areas is athlete’s foot.

Most delicate circumstances of athlete's foot clear up inside 2 weeks. But treatment can go for a number of weeks or longer if the an infection is more critical or impacts the toenails. Whatever you use, proceed treatment for so lengthy as really helpful, even if the rash seems to be getting higher. Some people often use medicated foot powders and sprays to prevent this from happening. It spreads in damp environments, such as public showers or pool areas.

Topical treatment similar to lotions or gels can normally efficiently get rid of the an infection. Anti-fungal brokers are readily available athlete's foot treatment over-the-counter and are marketed for athlete’s foot. These sometimes comprise clotrimazole, miconazole or tolnaftate.

[pennybells]

Consummation (warning, contains sexual content, occasional bad language)

As you gaze into each others eyes, his arms around your waist, you raise your hand to caress his face. He responds deeply to your touch, and covers your hand with his, closing his eyes. When he opens them again, he kisses your palm tenderly, then places your hand on his chest. His heart is pounding as fast as your own, and you can resist each other no longer. You lean into him, and kiss for the first time. His full red lips are soft and sensuous, and his kiss is intoxicating, flooding your body with raging desire, you have never felt so alive.

When you pull away, you stare into his beautiful face, you can see the lust in his eyes, it matches your own, and in that moment, you realise that you are about to be fucked by a monster. It's all the encouragement you need, and you smash your lips into his. He deepens the kiss and you explore each others mouths with ardour. Without warning, he grabs your hair and pulls your head back exposing your neck. He kisses, licks and gives you a little bite occasionally, and you gasp with pleasure. Lost in your lust, he scoops you up and gently lowers you onto the animal skins and lays down on top of you. He feels so good, and kisses your sweet mouth again, and you run your fingers through his auburn hair, it is so soft, and he seems to like you doing this, moaning into your mouth as he kisses you harder. You wrap your legs around him, and he starts to grind against you. Whatever it is hidden in his pantaloons is huge, hard and screaming to be freed.

As you writhe together in unbridled passion, he traces one gloved hand from your chin to your navel, and slides it under your top, stroking your belly. He grabs the hem with both hands, and you arch your back to allow the garment to slip over your head. For a few seconds he stares at your bra. "This is pretty, cerise coloured lace, it is beautiful against your skin, but now it is coming off."

With the skill of an expert lover, he unhooks the back and slides it down your arms, freeing your breasts. "Oh, what have we here? Toys for Penny to play with!"

He lowers himself onto you and kisses one of your nipples, then suddenly pulls back. He is fascinated that it has hardened because of his kiss. He gives the other nipple the same treatment with a little bite that makes you wince, but sends shock waves to your sex. "Eeee he he he heeee," he giggles like a child, a sound that is music to your ears.

He continues his exploration of your body, placing gentle kisses on your belly whilst you stroke his hair. Your need for him is reaching fever pitch. "Penny, I want you naked, but I need you to show me how to get this costume off."

"All in good time my sweet, I haven't finished undressing you yet."

He sits up and removes your shoes and socks, then tickles your feet, making you cackle like a maniac. This makes him laugh too, and you feel like you are two star crossed lovers.

When he stops tickling you, he pulls down your pants, leaving you naked except for your panties.

"You are beautiful, I have waited so long for you, and I am going to make you mine, forever."

With a Devilish glint in his eyes, he removes your panties and lays down on top of you. The feeling of the silver silk of his costume on your naked skin drives you wild. You wrap your arms and legs around him whilst you kiss passionately.

As you caress his body, he sits up and starts to remove his costume. First he undoes the ruff around his neck, slowly, teasing you. Then he reaches behind his waist where there is a secret fastening to remove his belt. He tickles your nose with the pompom and steals a quick kiss. You can see there are hook fastenings behind the pompoms of his jacket, you reach up to undo them, and he stares into your eyes with raging desire as you unhook each one. He slips the jacket off, which reveals another layer of fabric attached to his pantaloons. There is a zip which starts at his neck and stops where the pantaloons begin. You pull the zip down, and he slides the garment down his arms. To your surprise, he suddenly stands up. He towers above you, and he lets the pantaloons fall to the floor and steps out of them. You can now see just how big the bulge in his pants is, and you know instantly that you are about to be pleasured in a way most women could only dream of.

He drops to his knees, and removes the white silk shirt which is the last piece of clothing on his upper body except his white gloves. Slowly and seductively he peels them off, and you realise just how long his fingers are. He cups your breasts in his hands and you close your eyes, his naked skin against yours is the most beautiful feeling, and as you enjoy his caress setting your body on fire, you feel his lips on yours. You run your hands down his back, pulling him closer. When you reach the waist of his pants, you slide your hands inside over his naked buttocks and he moans into your mouth, kissing you harder, his hands stroking every part of your body he can reach, and then he finally settles on your sex. Gently he strokes your pubic hair, and you close your eyes enjoying the eroticism of the moment, then he slides two fingers inside you.

"Ooooh, you are so wet for ol Pennywise."

"Yes Penny, that's what you do to me."

He slides his fingers in and out, whilst he massages your clitoris with his thumb, and you are so close.

"Please Penny, I need you inside me, I want you so much ."

He slowly withdraws his fingers and sits up, his fiery eyes burn into yours, they seem to see into your soul, and as he holds your gaze, he hastily removes his boots and socks, then his pants.

He stands in front of you in nothing more than a pair of white silk briefs, a wicked glint in his eyes. He laughs with a filthy gutteral laugh and you give him an ear splitting smile.

Slowly he removes his briefs and let's them fall to the ground.

He is a sight to behold, his body is as beautiful as his face. Incredibly tall, lean and perfectly toned, with an erection any mortal man would envy.

You stare at him, drinking in his physical beauty. His skin is flawless, and his erection is huge. Completely humanoid in form, but larger, not only in length, more importantly for you in girth. A light dusting of pubic hair as red as the hair on his head adorns his armpits and testicles, and you so want to bury your face in his testicles and take him in your mouth, but that would be a treat for another night, the first time he must be inside you for you two to become one, giving yourself to him completely.

He walks towards you with purpose and drops to his knees, climbing on top of you. Eyes burning with desire, drool dripping from his mouth onto yours, which you lick off and he smothers your mouth with his, fisting your hair. When he pulls away, he buries his face in your neck and holds you tightly. He doesn't move, it is as though his very existence depends on the warmth of your skin and curves of your body.

After a few minutes he starts to caress you, and you do the same to him, feeling the muscles of his back and arms. You are completely intoxicated, his sweet scent, the romantic setting, the sexual chemistry between you, is like nothing you have experienced before. He looks into your eyes, his erection pressed against your thigh.

"Fuck me Pennywise, fuck me hard."

He smiles at you wickedly, and places his enormous member at your entrance, and slides into you with ease.

"Aaaaaaahhhh," you both cry out in unison, overcome by the sensation. He fits you perfectly, stretching you to the max. You are all sensation, every nerve ending on fire. This entity that everyone calls a monster, in Its favourite form of a beautiful clown, who kills your own kind for sustenance, has chosen you to be his mate. This is real, visceral, dangerous, and you love it, and Him.

He starts to move, and it feels divine. He growls into your neck as he nuzzles you, and your hands begin to explore his wonderful body. He likes this, throwing his head back and his eyes rolling back into his skull, breathing through gritted teeth as he loses himself inside you. He kisses you hard, pinning you to the ground as he thrusts into you harder. His cock is so huge that it is almost painful, but this only intensifies your pleasure.

As he quickens the pace he becomes more animalistic, revealing the beast he truly is. The sounds he makes are inhuman, and every now and again he yips and cackles as he loses himself inside you.

Holding him tightly, you know that you cannot hold on much longer. He kisses, licks and bites your neck, then nibbles your earlobe with his buck teeth, and it is your undoing. You cum, harder than you ever have in your life, crying out his name repeatedly as your entire body goes into spasm. You have never felt pleasure like it, and as you come back down to Earth, He finds His release. Throwing his head back whilst pinning you to the ground, his claws digging into the soft flesh of your buttocks, he shoots load after load of his hot seed inside you. It is all you have ever wanted, and at last you feel complete.

He collapses on top of you, burying his face in your neck and breathing hard in your ear. He is completely spent, and as you stroke his back, he starts to shake uncontrollably.

"Hey Penny, are you OK?"

His eyes meet yours, and you notice that his eyes have turned blue, and are full of genuine warmth. He kisses your mouth clumsily with trembling lips.

"Penny, did I just pop your cherry?"

He looks at you with an expression that you can only describe as coy, and you know that he is desperately trying to guard his ego, because you have discovered his secret. The only things that betrayed him were his shaking, and the fact that he was so fascinated by your nipples turning hard from his kiss. You would never have known otherwise, he was the most incredible lover.

"Oh Penny, how lucky am I."

You kiss his forehead, his cheeks and his mouth, and wrap your arms and legs around his beautiful body, cradling him, and eventually his shaking subsides.

Having calmed him, you notice he starts to breathe deeply, and to your complete surprise, he starts to make a noise that you can only describe as purring. It is the sweetest most adorable sound you have ever heard. This demon who eats children and everyone calls an evil monster, has not only given you the best sex of your life, not that you had been promiscuous, but you had enough experience to know the good, the bad and the completely useless, was an incredible lover, and purrs like a cat whilst asleep. He is adorable to you, and no mortal man could ever compare to him.

As you lay there in your post coital bliss, a thought creeps into your mind. You knew he had lived for eons, but he had been a virgin all that time, never having experienced the joys of the flesh. Sleeping most of the time, and waking only to eat. What a pitiful existence, no wonder he was angry all the time.

The thought is almost too painful to bear, and a silent tear rolls down your cheek onto his hair. You kiss his forehead and hold him tightly, as feelings of love for him wash over you, and in your heart you promise he will never be alone again as long as you have breath in your body.

You listen to his contented purring, and the sound of the water in the cistern. He is so heavy, but you have no intention of moving him, you bear his weight gladly, and as you lie there in your euphoric state, sleep finally overcomes you too.

[angst-king]

Misery loves Company pt 2

Ito had become worried as her son had slept all day, it was six thirty now, she was making dinner. All day she’d been having a bad feeling about Eijirou, that what he was going through wouldn’t end well but. She shook this off and reminded herself that Eijirou was tough and that he’d be okay even with this nagging feeling in the pit of her stomach. Even though she knew Eijirou wouldn’t have much of an appetite, he needed to eat something, and soup was better than nothing. Putting some soup into a food thermos which could hold the perfect amount of food she knew Eijirou could stomach, she grabs a spoon and heads up to the teen’s room. 

Coming up to his room, she could hear the muffled sound of coughing, thick wet coughing. Knocking on the door, she peers in and is confused as she sees Eijirou on the floor shaking and coughing next to his bed. “Eijirou? Sweetie, are you okay?” She asked as she set down the thermos and spoon onto the nightstand. “M-mom, h-help” Was all his raspy strained vocal cords could get out as he gasped and sputtered. She rushed down to the floor beside him and asked. “What's wrong baby? Why are you on the floor?” She pulled Eijirou close to her and he continued to shake. “S-so much p-pain momma, i-i can’t breathe-” He coughed hard and Ito grabbed the bucket just in time for him to vomit. When he’s able to talk about it he whimpers and grunts.  “I-it feels like someone’s sitting on my chest, poking me with a taser and yanking on my bones, while I'm in the freezer section of the store.” This made Ito nervous, she quickly reached to feel Eijirou’s forehead and pulled it away just as fast. He’s burning up! It's like over the hours he’s just gotten worse! His coughing is getting longer and more frequent, and he’s in so much pain that he can hardly move on his own. He looks pale, very pale. Her alarm bells are ringing louder and louder as Eijirou is clinging to her with a weak grip. She can hear him struggling to breath, she can hear his wheezing and congested breaths, he’s panting. What she didn’t know was that while Eijirou was sleeping, he’d had a seizure, which was a reason for why he was so shaky, he also was cold. Well that was the bad fever talking but he felt cold nonetheless. Snatching the thermometer and uncasing it, she asked Eijirou to open his mouth. He's too weak to keep it in his mouth on his own so she has to hold it steady under the boy’s tongue for him. “ 39.4” Her eyes widened as his temperature went up two degrees! She needed to get him to the hospital, she knew he wouldn’t like it but she had to, this wasn’t something they could just let him sleep through. 

“Eijirou sweetie, we need to go to the ER. I know you don’t like it but we have to.” She says moving with urgency and purpose, she picks him up and sets him on the bed and grabs what she needs. She knew they were gonna strip him of his pajamas and shoes there so she didn’t even bother to grab him shoes or socks. She grabbed his medical bag, the list of his medications and records, she went into her room and grabbed her phone, purse and keys. She put on shoes before coming back to carry Eijirou who wordlessly agreed to going to the ER. He only nodded when she said they were going to the hospital. His limbs loosely dangling, she did her best to not jostle him around as she took him to the car. Buckling him up she puts his medical bag in the back seat, her purse on the floor of the passenger seat and turns on the house alarm. 

She’s impatient as the garage door takes its time opening itself up and she makes it a quick task to get out and close the door without staying in the driveway a second longer. She’s on the road, she’s not speeding but she’d definitely be using the speeding limit range to the fullest. Eijirou is coughing up a storm, luckily there are trash bags for instances like these. Ito was trying to keep calm, trying to keep her adrenaline from making decisions for her. It didn’t help that mid car ride Eijirou had another seizure, she knew how to handle those seeing as there wasn’t much she could do she kept an eye on him as she drove.

When she pulled into the ER parking lot, she swiftly found a spot and parked. Unlocking the car doors she gets out, grabs her purse and Eijirou’s bag from the back before getting Eijirou out of the car. “Come on hun, lets go'' She says trying to hide her worry in her voice even though Eijirou is half conscious. Shutting the door with her foot she is almost running with the boy in her arms. Dashing into the ER the doors open and she calls out “HELP I need help please!” A nurse comes over, all eyes are on them but Ito doesn’t care. “What’s wrong ma’am?” The nurse asked hustling over to her, Ito explained to her “My son has Cystic fibrosis, CIDP, and epilepsy and he’s been having a bit of a flare up for a week and he just got so much worse today. His fever is 102, he’s coughing more than usual, he can’t move there much on his own, and he says it feels like someone is sitting on his chest and pulling on his bones. He’s had two seizures today, and he’s barely alert. The nurse nods and calls for another nurse to grab a gurney. “Okay ma’am, what’s your son’s name and how old is he?” “His name is Kirishima Eijirou, and he’s14.” “Okay- set him on the gurney, we’ll take him to a bay room, follow us.” The gurney arrives and Ito places the boy on that, he’s a bit curled up still coughing and shaking hard. The other nurse takes the lead and pushes Eijirou to the bay area. Ito isn’t far behind the nurse she’d met with  as they go down the hallways. The nurses grab a doctor and things get moving. Giving the doctor the run down after he introduces himself to Ito as Dr Shidori, the nurses are hooking Eijirou up to multiple wires, lines, and machines. While this is going on Ito is asked multiple questions about EIjirou like. “How long has he been having a flare up for?” “When did he start going down hill?” “has he eaten or consumed anything during his flare ups” “what medications and treatments is he on?” “Is he allergic to anything?” Ito didn’t have trouble answering their quickly asked questions as the staff moved like a well oiled machine. 

Ito felt two different feelings tugging at her, wanting to stay with her son, and needing to leave him. She wanted to stay not knowing whether he’d live or, staying to keep her son calm and to let him know she hadn’t abandoned him but. She felt so out of place though with the rush of people around her, in a way feeling useless, able to do much of anything but stand there and watch and answer questions or give permission. She didn’t really know what to do about this, there were so many emotions running through her, anxiety, hope, hopelessness, sadness. Finally her answer was given to her when the room began to slow down and the doctor began to explain things. They allowed her to sit in the chair next to Eijirou's bedside.  “Alright Mrs Kirishima, we’ve got some time to talk.” The doctor started, Ito nodded, brushing back her hair behind her ears. “First things first, Eijirou needs to be hospitalized, from what you’ve told me this isn’t the first time he would be hospitalized. The flare up he is having is proving that one, his stomach isn’t absorbing his food and that means he’s very vitamin, minerals and elementally deficient, which means his immune system is weak also. I’m sure you understand this right?”  He asked before continuing, Ito nodded once more so the doctor kept going. “We can not do the same type of monitoring as an inpatient long stay hospital can. You know why and you know that places that you’ve taken Eijirou to before will be able to observe him, do better testing and care for him….Another reason I mention this is because cold and flu season is starting a little earlier than what I’ve expected and it would be safer for him to be admitted they get him all better before hand or see what needs to be done so we’re not just releasing him back out to get tens times worse to the point where it could be too late. We can do some of his breathing treatments and stuff here, but it won't be as efficient. I will have a nurse call in to the local children’s hospital, and they will get things sorted out from there.” Taking in a deep breath, Ito sighed “okay, when do you think he will be transferred?” “I will have a nurse call and will get right back to you with that answer”  Ito could understand why the doctor didn’t have an answer for her on the spot and could appreciate his honesty. “Now about Eijirou, his body isn’t receiving or taking on the medications he’s being given and he’s not taking on food either but we will give him supplementary food seeing as first of all he might not have the energy to eat, second it will boost up his sugar wich he needs but for right now he’s getting everything through IVs. We’ve given him fever reducer, epileptic medication,  we didn’t have the type that he is on right now but we have one that works for the majority of young patients his age. He’s also getting potassium which is another reason for his trembling, his muscles were so tense from lack of potassium. We gave him a mix of midazolam and vitamin D as well. We’re just here to monitor his condition and give him as much help as possible till he’s transferred.” Ito sighed for what felt like the millionth time, she hated having to have her son be hospitalized in a long stay facility but she knew it was gonna be good for him. 

All she could do was nod, when the doctor left them be for the night in the ICU. She contemplated making a phone call, it was about ten pm now, much later and Ito was restless. She didn’t know if she should call Emily or not? The other definitely deserved to know but she didn’t know whether she should call her now. Maybe she should call when she’s got more information so she doesn’t have to call Emily twice? Why wait though? Eijirou just had a medical emergency, he could die tonight! Ito knew she wouldn’t be sleeping any easier if she didn’t at least try to call Emily. Grabbing her phone, she called her wife. She didn’t hope to  hard for her wife to pick up. Knowing most of the time it was a varying range of hit or miss, and it was mainly miss.

A little shocked the woman had picked up, she smiles hearing Emily’s voice. “Hi babe, d’you call to say goodnight?” “u-um no actually, we need to talk….it's about Eijirou.” Ito’s voice trails and Emily can hear in her voice this isn’t good news at all. “O-okay, well I’m here, what’s wrong with Eijirou?” The military woman sighs, Ito explains to Emily that their son is getting sicker and is going to be admitted to a long stay hospital for a while to see if they can get him better. When Ito was done Emily spoke softly,“i-I’m sorry you have to go through this with him a-alone babe. I-I wish I could be there I really really do.” you could hear sympathy but also regret. There were many days and nights where Emily contemplated her career path. Why would she join the army when she had a chronically ill son at home!?! Why didn’t she stay to help? Why put all of this on poor Ito who took the job of being a parent and business woman just to go back to her home country and join the military?! 

It seemed selfish but this was her dream. Emily from a young age wanted to carry on the legacy of going into the military for her family. She had the dedication and spirit for it and when opportunity struck she took it but. She contemplated her choices. It was a year after Eijirou was born when she started to really contemplate going into the military and was given the chance. Ito and her talked it over numerous nights and Ito supported her the entire way there when the decision was made. Emily knew she’d be leaving her wife and son behind eventually but they didn’t know what she’d be leaving Ito to deal with as Ejirou’s sickness didn’t show up completely until he was six. Emily had left a year before then and when Eijirou was first diagnosed with CF and epilepsy it broke her heart, especially since he would be hospitalized for a long stay for the first time. She knew that for both Ito and Eijirou that being hospitalized and not being able to see the other as frequently as they would’ve before can be a bit traumatic. Still Ito always reassured Emily that she didn’t have to give up on being in the military for them, that they were fine.

Ito could hear the regret in her wife’s voice and spoke gently. “Emi, you have nothing to be sorry for. I know that you always feel bad for leaving me with Eijirou but. We made this decision together, and I don’t ever want you to feel bad about this. This was inevitable once we found out Eijirou was chronically ill and sure things would be a bit easier if you were here but, we’re doing great. I know that you wish you could be here in person to support us but, we feel your support all the way from North america...We love you so much Emi, you’ll be able to facetime him, and who knows, maybe you might be able to see him in person.” “Th-thanks Ito, i-i….I just hope he gets better, or I’ll at least be able to see him soon...I miss you both so much.” her voice cracking at the end Ito could tell her lover was crying. It hurt her to hear the other so upset, and she could understand why the woman felt this way. “Hey babe, I’ll update you when I get more information okay….I love you” “Okay love, I love you too.” They hang up, Ito puts her phone into her purse and gets herself comfortable in the hospital so she could try and get some sleep.

In the morning a nurse came in to check on Eijirou as well as inform Ito about the long stay at the hospital. They discussed the hospital, about how long Eijirou would stay there and who they’d talk to about treatment plans. Truthfully Eijirou’s stay duration would depend on how his body responds to treatment and Ito knew this, this wasn’t new information so luckily the discussion wasn’t very long, Eijirou would be admitted in by tomorrow morning. The day was rather boring, calling her work to tell her about her son being hospitalized as a way of keeping them informed and ready for any random call off days. Since she had the time, she headed home and backed a two week stay bag of clothes and things she knew he could take with him to the hospital. 

Conversations with doctors, filling out papers and making sure everyone was on the same page, Eijirou was soon transferred to Tokyo’s children's long stay hospital.

[typefive]

Headcanon for the Arcana main six when they’re sick because I have a cold and I feel shitty and writing something dumb will make me feel better.

Asra - 

Rarely gets sick, so it’s always a surprise to him when he does.

He already naps like six times a day so how could you even tell.

Like, is he drinking more tea because his throat hurts or because he's just in one of his lapsang moods??

Low-key ignores that he’s feeling shitty and doesn’t say anything to anyone until you mention having to leave the house or do something productive and he’s like, “Yeah, we should........” and then starts CRYING SUDDENLY

And he doesn’t even know what’s wrong he just feels terrible and he’s shivery and his joints hurt and... :’(

He’s so relieved when you cancel your plans and make the executive decision that everyone should stay home and rest.

After that he’s low-maintenance but very clingy and just wants to cuddle on the couch and watch cartoons read books all day.

Nadia -  

Handles being sick like she handles everything else... gracefully.

A countess does not catch a cold, my darling.

Sick? No, dear, she’s simply... Thinking. With her eyes closed.

Denies it until she really starts to feel horrible and then politely retreats to her bedroom to save face more than anything.

Is very selective about who she lets take care of her but definitely sends out for the finest and best cold treatments money can buy.

Apologizes for “looking a mess” after you enter, even though her hair  is still perfect and her nose just is a little red.

Probably still tries to run the country from bed bc honestly

Refuses your help for the most part but thanks you from the bottom of her heart for being so sweet as to offer.

Eyes the shelves full of neti pots... but will never be that desperate sorry Julian

Julian -

Refuses to rest when he’s starting to get sick, if anything doubles down on working too hard because HA HA he’s not going to let some puny cold get in his way!

And then oh look he’s running a bad fever and you have to haul his stupid, delirious ass off to bed while he continues to weakly insist that he’s fine.

Definitely whines about the dramatic irony of it all.

When he’s finally too sick to get out of bed, the regret kicks in.

Tries to refuse your help at first because no no please he can feed himself you don’t need to worry on his account.

But he secretly obviously feels extremely guilty that you have to take care of him and worries that you’ll get sick too and then it will be all his fault for being so [insert self-deprecating adjective].

But after some insistent nagging (”JULIAN GET BACK TO BED”) and maybe a reminder that you love him more than you’re afraid of a cold, he finally gives in and lets you take care of him.

And then he is a good quiet bb

Just lets you feed him soup and pet his hair and is absurdly appreciative that someone would be nice to him in his lowest hour

Portia -

Much like Julian, tries to power through her cold because she has work to do and momma didn’t raise no punk.

But once someone tells her to take a sick day she’s actually really good at taking care of herself because she knows that her health is important!

You go to make sure she’s okay and she’s already curled up in bed with Pepi and a cheesy romance and/or detective novel just chillin’ through her cold.

But I bet she also knows all of these weird home remedies like layering wet socks on your feet for a fever or drinking baking soda water to beat out her cold. (Thanks Mazelinka)

It’s hard to tell if they work but hey, if it helps her feel better, you guess it’s fine??

Also she has the immune system of a large and powerful horse so she’s better before you know it.

Muriel -

"Are you okay? You look pale.” “................. I’m fine.”

Two days later you find him passed out in the woods or something

Trying to drag him to a bed is a Monumental Effort so it might be easier to just leave him on the floor and bring the pillows and blankets to him.

He doesn’t talk much when he’s healthy and so is DEAD SILENT when he’s sick.

But he seems like the type to mumble deliriously at the height of his fever about his parents or his deep deep guilt or something.

It’s actually really worrying for a minute when he doesn’t even have the strength to fend you off when you’re trying to take care of him.

But it’s ok, this mountain man sleeps for like two straight days and then gets up REALLY HUNGRY but otherwise like nothing happened.

You know he’d be so good at taking care of the few people in his friend circle, though... Would never leave their side... Murieeel my booooy

Lucio -

Well there was that one time he caught the plague.

Which didn’t go poorly for anyone, so. He’s probably really cool with it.

I’M KIDDING Lucio is a fucking menace.

People die when he gets a cold.

Your kink better be babying people because that’s the only thing that will stop his incessant, childish whining.

Just... the yelling.

The constant yelling.

Honestly the best you can do is load him up with NyQuil, lock him in his room, and hope that he wears himself out before he decides to give his cold to every other human in the palace out of bitter resentment for people who Aren’t Suffering.

BONUS ROUND

Goatboi Ghost Lucio -

He would be pretty funny with a cold, though, right

Trying to haunt your ass and then, like, sneezing

Honestly this level of sitcom idiocy is exactly what I want

Faust -

Can’t get sick because magic snake but could you imagine her with a little thermometer in her mouth tho... ;w;

[yehet-me-up]

Slippery When Wet

Pairing: Wonho/Shin Hoseok x reader (female)

Word Count: 2,339

Rating: (M) for language and explicit sex

Part 4 of the Monsta X Kinks series: public/shower sex 💦 

The smell of chlorine permeates the space, reaching you where you’re seated in the first row of the stands. No one around you comes close to your level of enthusiasm. Your friends with you cover their ears, laughing in amusement as you scream and wave your sign above your head.

But hey, if their boyfriends were the number one ranked swimmer in the state in three events at the moment, they’d be yelling their heads off too.

Wonho takes his place on the starting block, wiping his goggles with his thumbs before securing them over his eyes. He turns as you call out another encouragement, giving you a wide grin and a thumbs up before bending down to get in position.

The crowd quiets for a moment until the starting signal goes off and the swimmers dive into the water. Then the noise picks back up to a fever pitch. This meet is the qualifying event for the national championships and getting into the top three is crucial to keeping his spot in the rankings.

He’s been on edge for days, training like crazy. You’ve had to remind him constantly to make sure he eats and sleeps. But God, his drive is attractive. The way that he pushes himself to be the best is one of the things you love about him.

You scream out encouragements as the swimmers approach the 100 meter mark. He’s behind the leader by an arm’s length coming into the second flip turn. He’s getting distracted by looking at the competition, you think, shaking your head.

You always tell him that he should just focus on his own lane, to not worry about the swimmers next to him. But he just gives you a lopsided grin, telling you that seeing his competition pushes him to swim faster.

His pace picks up, his arms blurring as he digs them into the water rapidly. He’s got the perfect body for the butterfly, his strong shoulders and thighs usually leave his competition in his wake. He’s broken the state record in the 100, 200, and 400 meters, but going into the national championships the competition is steep.

You drop your sign to your feet as they come into the final length of the pool. He’s still behind the leader, some freshman upstart from a small liberal arts college you’ve never heard of.

Your eyes dart back and forth between Wonho and his challenger, cupping your hands around your mouth as you cheer him on. He makes progress, but it’s not quite enough. His hand reaches the wall milliseconds after his rival.

Second place. You’re thrilled. He’s going to nationals, and with the brutal pace the challenger set you know they’ve got to be the first and second seed going to the championships. Your friends jump to their feet and hug you as the crowd cheers.

You want to catch Wonho’s eyes but he doesn’t look in your direction. He rips the goggles off his head and ducks under the water. You know he’s already beating himself up. When he resurfaces he swims over to hold onto the lane divider. He shakes the hand of the winner, giving him a respectful nod of his head and what you can assume are words of congratulations.

When the winner turns to shake the hand of the man in the other lane Wonho heaves himself out of the pool and stalks over to his towel. He grabs it harshly in his hand and heads straight to the locker room.

You sigh, knowing he’s going to be in a mood tonight. The rest of the meet goes quickly, the freestyle relays finishing up with no delays. As the aquatic center empties, Wonho still hasn’t come out. You wave off your friends’ offers to wait for you, saying you’re fine and that you’re going to wait for him.

You make your way onto the deck, scrolling through Instagram as you wait. Twenty minutes after the last event ends, there’s still no sign of him. The stands are empty of fans and only a handful swimmers are standing around on the deck, chatting. You frown, wondering what could be keeping him.

A minute later his teammate Minhyuk comes out, dressed in street clothes, slinging his duffle bag across his shoulders.

“Hey Minhyuk, have you seen Wonho?” you ask him.

He gives you a nod and sticks his thumb out, pointing back to the locker rooms. His mouth tilts up in a rueful grin. “He’s in the showers, drowning his sorrows. He’s the only one still in there, if you want to go and get him.”

“Thanks,” you reply, patting his shoulder as you walk past him into the locker room.

You can hear the shower going in the back and peek your head around the corner. He’s there, just as Minhyuk said. His hand against the tile, his head dipped down underneath the flow of water. You sigh and set your purse on a nearby sink. You slip off your shoes and socks and set them on the floor before walking into the shower room.

He turns to look at you as you approach and you give him a reassuring smile. He sighs and lifts his head out of the water. “I know. I know. You’re going to say all sorts of sweet things and tell me how amazing I am. I just wanted to mope for a bit first,” he says with a wry grin.

You come up and pull him into your arms, not minding the water that seeps into your clothes from his wet body. He drops his head to your shoulder and you run a hand through his hair, massaging his neck. 

“How about I make you feel better in a different way, then?” you say in his ear in a teasing voice.

He turns his head against your neck and gives it a hot, open-mouthed kiss that sends a shock of desire to your core. “Hmm, what did you have in mind?”

You put your hands on his shoulders, pushing him back slightly into the spray of water. Giving him a seductive look through your lashes, you run your hand down his toned chest. You step up to him, kissing his weak spot beneath his ear before trailing kisses down his chest. You giggle as the water starts soaking your hair, your clothes.

As you kneel down onto the floor you run your hands down to the edge of his swim trunks. You look up at him from your position and start easing them down his thighs. His dick pops out, bobbing against his stomach and more than ready for your attention.

He groans and looks around, making sure there’s no one around before turning back to you with a wicked grin. You lean forward and grab his cock in one hand as your other comes to his hip to steady yourself. You tease him at first, running your tongue around the head as you stroke his shaft. He lets out a breathy moan, his hand finding the back of your head, fingers tangling in your hair.

When you finally take him in your mouth he bucks into you involuntarily, hissing in pleasure. You hollow your cheeks and suck, following the motion with your hand, lightly squeezing. You look up to watch him as you move. His blissed out expression is so erotic that you’re rapidly getting wet in a way that has nothing to do with the water coating your legs.

After a few minutes of alternating sucking and licking him, he’s a moaning mess; holding onto the wall for support with his eyes closed. You pull him deep into your mouth, gagging for a moment as he hits the back of your throat. At the same time you slide your hand between his legs, teasing and gently tugging on his balls. He shudders and a stream of incomprehensible curses fall from his lips.

“Fuck, I need to be inside you, princess,” he groans, tugging up on your hair lightly.

You’re only too eager to comply. When you stand up he slides his hands to your shirt, quickly removing the damp material. In a rush you tug off your wet shorts and panties and unclasp your bra. He fully removes his suit and throws it behind him.

As soon as you’re both naked he pushes you gently against the wall, his hands sliding over your wet body. His lips fervently find yours, the water pouring down on you both makes them slick. He pulls back for a moment, eyeing the wall and you.

“I want to pick you up, but the last thing I want to do is slip and drop you,” he says with a chuckle.

You purse your lips, thinking. After a beat you raise your eyebrows to him and turn around, leaning your upper body against the wall. Your hands come to either side to support you and you stick your ass out to him. Looking over your shoulder at him, you bite your lip around a smile.

He smirks and comes up behind you, bending down to kiss your shoulder. One hand firmly grasps your hip. The other runs down your ass to your slit, dipping in to make sure you’re wet and ready. You gasp as he slides his finger in and out a few times. Satisfied, he pulls his finger out and positions himself at your entrance.

He moves his other hand to your hip and pulls you slowly onto him. You rest your head against the slick tile, moaning as he stretches you out. After a beat he pulls out before slamming back into you, your bodies slapping together as wet skin meets wet skin. He sets a steady pace, thrusting into you deeply from behind.

He runs a hand up your slick back before wrapping his hand around your hair, pulling your head gently back. Your hands flex on the wall, the motion of your breasts against the cool tiles drawing your nipples to aching points.

“Hold on baby,” he huffs out in between thrusts and you brace your arms more fully on the wall.

His other hand leaves your hip and moves around to stroke one of your breasts. You push off further so he can have full access. He massages slowly for a moment before brushing the nipple, moving his thumb back and forth. You choke out a whimper, your head involuntarily pulling against his grip on your hair. The tug sends a delicious wave of harsh pleasure down your spine.

His hand moves to your other breast to give it the same treatment. This time he pinches down on the nipple and you clench your inner muscles in response, a ragged moan leaving your lips. He grunts behind you, swearing at the added friction against his thrusts.

He moves his hand down your stomach to your core and begins swirling his fingers in loose circles around your clit. He picks up the pace, pulling out and slamming roughly into you. You scream, high-pitched and needy, and then laugh a moment later. You cover your mouth with one hand, hoping you didn’t draw too much attention.

“That’s my baby, always a screamer,” he says affectionately in between pants.

The fingers he’s using to massage your clit become more focused, sweeping insistently back and forth over the aching nub. Well beyond caring, you cry out with every thrust, feeling ready to burst.

He gives an extra tug to your hair, pulling your body flush against his, your back pressing against his wet chest. His lips find your neck, his tongue licking up the moisture gathered there.

“Come for me, princess. You have to go first,” he says in your ear. 

His hand leaves your hair, binding itself across your chest to hold you firmly against him. You come in a rush, gasping. He keeps up his pace, frantically thrusting into you to draw the sensation out. You grab his arm with both hands to steady yourself as your orgasm leaves you weak in the knees.

When you can focus, you turn in his arms and drop to your knees again. He rests a hand against the wall, groaning as you take him into your mouth once more. He reaches his free hand to the back of your head to hold you steady as he fucks your mouth.

You hollow your cheeks and moan against him in your mouth, the vibration making him hiss in pleasure. He comes a moment later, filling your mouth. You swallow several times and then pull back, letting the water clean him off.

You stand up and lean against the wall, his forehead coming to rest on your shoulder as you catch your breaths. After a minute he lifts his head and moves his hand to cup your jaw, planting a tender kiss on your lips.

You both look at your clothes scattered around on the wet floor and laugh. He reaches over and turns off the water and you shiver in the absence of the warm spray.

He picks up his trunks and walks over to his bag, reaching in and rummaging around. He pulls out two towels and brings one over to you. You dry off quickly and bend to pick up your wet clothes, giving him a sassy look. He laughs and grabs an extra shirt and pair of shorts for you.

“Are you feeling better?” you ask while you both get dressed. “You’re amazing, you know. I’m proud of you no matter what.”

He slings his bag over his shoulder and comes over to wrap an arm around your waist as you head toward the doors. He leans down and kisses the top of your head. 

“I know, baby. I’m so lucky to have you,” he says. “I might have to lose more often, though, if this is how you’re going to cheer me up.”

You scoff and bump him with your hip, laughing as you head through the doors together.

[bellarkevalentines]

Bellarke Secret Valentine 2018

For @whyclarke, from your valentine.

Summary: Clarke gets an infection while on patrol with Bellamy. Her recovery will depends on Abby, a Trikru healer and sheer luck.

Tags: Canon AU, Hurt/Comfort, Worried!Bellamy

Word Count: 7399

A/N: Dear @whyclarke, I hope this meets with your approval. It doesn’t have as much Bellarke hurt/comfort as I wanted as this fic grew out of control. Unfortunately I’m terrible at keeping to a word count. I have no medical training so please forgive any mistakes on that end.

“Hurry up. I wanna get home before they start serving dinner.” Bellamy looked back up the trail at her.

“You must be hungry if you’re craving that slop.” Clarke shook her head, grimacing.

“That and you know how your mom gets when we’re late,” he smirked.

She sighed and blew a strand of hair out of her face. “Well if we hadn’t started rationing radios we’d be able to check in and let them know we’re not dead or dying. So they’ll just have to suffer in suspense until we get back.”

They ambled down what had once been an old deer path but was now considerably wider since it became part of the perimeter walk around Arkadia. This of course also meant there was less vegetation and undergrowth to absorb water during the spring rains, turning the trail into sludge and in some places, small ponds.

The pair skirted several of these water hazards, unwilling to test their depths as they checked the trap lines. Thanks to the weather they didn’t have much luck. Rabbits and squirrels were starvation food and obviously would be barely enough to feed the both of them let alone the entire camp. But it was better than nothing so Clarke and Bellamy dutifully collected them, reset the traps and left with what better qualified as snacks bumping on their backs.

At the beginning of Patrol they would trade stories and laugh at what they used to find normal. But as time passed they grew quiet, scanned the woods for movement and kept their guns at the ready. Encounters were unlikely but on occasion Azgeda liked to make incursions towards the border which kept everyone on their toes.

Today was no different apart from the light drizzle that had started, pattering down below the canopy and reducing visibility. The duo exchanged a look as an oncoming storm boomed somewhere beyond them, echoing off the distant hills. As they neared the river, digging their boots into the hill for traction, a curtain of rain advanced towards them.

Their standard issue clothing was another victim that had fallen to rationing in that it wasn’t waterproof. Unwilling to endure being soaked through on the walk back to camp they ducked under a large conifer for shelter.

Bellamy leaned up against the trunk and pushed his back into the wood for a moment, tilting his neck to the side to loosen the twinge in his shoulder. A bad fall a few weeks ago had left him sore and sporting a bruise that covered half his back. Clarke stood beside him, eyes on the opposite river bank. The bridge was miles away which made this a perfect place to cross away from prying eyes.

Ten minutes later with no sign of the rain letting up they didn’t have much choice but to continue. As they pushed off from the tree, Clarke stumbled into him and mumbled an apology as she tucked wet strands of hair out of her eyes. He cocked a brow but she brushed off his concern.

“Just a little tired. Come on. The sooner we get back, the sooner you can chow down on whatever brown goop they’ve serving in the Mess.”

Thunder cracked all around them now as they traveled into the storm.  Rain poured down and soaked them to their skin, seeping past layers meant to keep them warm. Two hours later both had started to shiver.

Bellamy had taken to carrying the squirrels in one hand instead of letting their tails stream water down his back and trickle into his boots. His hair dripped in his eyes and forced him to slick it back from his face. Clarke meanwhile had fallen behind. The sucking sludge of the trail had forced her off into the bushes for ease of travel. Every so often he’d have to wait for her to catch up which only gave him time to remember how hungry he was, his stomach an empty pit carving into his gut.

As she came to stand beside him he looked over. Her cheeks were flushed bright red despite the steady walking pace he’d set and she’d fallen further behind every time he turned back to check on her.

“We should take a break.”

Her brow knit together as she frowned, breathing heavily. “What happened to ‘we’re in a hurry’?”

He shrugged. “It’s not like dinner’s going anywhere.”

“I know but I’d rather get out of the rain and not just duck under a tree for a few minutes.” She leaned over and squeezed water out of her hair, hand shaking.

“You sure?”

“Yes I’m sure Bell I-”

She started coughing; long hacks turned into wheezes as she fought to catch her breath. He put a hand to her shoulder as she doubled over panting, eyes watering.

“We’re taking a break.”

She shuffled off his hand. “I’m fine. Air just, went down the wrong pipe,” she croaked.

Instead of listening he grabbed hold of her arm and pushed her towards a fallen tree. “Sit.”

He set aside her rabbits and gun to crouch down in front of her knees. Two fingers to her wrist failed to detect a pulse. She smirked as he searched for her radial artery, frowning in frustration.

“I guess now when they ask why we’re late I can blame you?”

Again he was silent and put a hand to her forehead. But there was no way of telling whether she had a fever thanks to the chill of the rain pouring down on them. So instead he cupped her cheek. She pulled away until fingers came up to envelop her shoulder and hold her steady.

“What are you-”

“Are you feeling alright?” He used his thumb to pull down her lid to reveal a bloodshot and glassy eye.

She huffed and dug the tip of her boot into the muck. “Yeah never better. Why?”

Her fingers wrapped around his wrist to stop the impromptu examination. That’s when he noticed the large red welt on her hand.

“When did you get this?”

“Get what?”

“This.” He held her hand in front of her face. The webbing between her finger and thumb inflamed with what looked like a tiny puncture wound.

“I don’t know,” she shrugged.

Without a word he grabbed both her gun and the squirrels, throwing them over his shoulder. “We have to get back to camp. Now.”

She sighed and looked up at him, blinking through the rain. “It might be nothing.”

“Or it could be why you had trouble breathing back there. Come on.” He stomped his feet, trying to work some warmth back into them.

She was about to stand when with no warning and little fanfare, she turned to lean over the log and emptied her stomach, spewing breakfast into the bushes. As she wiped her mouth and the world tilted back into place, she felt his hand on her shoulder. His voice was distant as her ears filled with a loud buzz.

It took several minutes for her to compose herself enough to continue and even then her vision swayed for a moment. A glut of dizziness and nausea washed over her as she slowly walked towards him until they were abreast. Under his supervision they continued at a slower pace in silence. Every step jarred her gut and he would occasionally check that she was still upright and moving. Tired and feeling gross, Clarke simply huddled into her collar as rain dripped from her hair down her neck to soak her clothes.

Why hadn’t she noticed the bite? Normally she catalogued any injury or illness, large or small and started treatment as soon as she could. Experience had taught her how unforgiving Earth was and yet she wouldn’t even have known if Bellamy hadn’t pointed it out. Maybe it was the fact that her hand felt numb. But was that from the bite or the cold? Without finding shelter and warming up she had no way of knowing so instead she just wiggled her fingers to little effect.

There was no measure of time as the sky was already dark with clouds and she had no inkling of how close they were to camp. There was only the endless trail in front of them so she concentrated on walking and not falling over. Every so often she would stop mid-stride and just breathe or at least try to. The wheeze didn’t reappear but her ears started ringing. As she tried to regain her equilibrium she held out her hands for balance. Thankfully sinking a few inches into the muck anchored her pretty well but it made gaining momentum again a colossal task. Every time it happened she took that much longer to recover as she leaned forward and swung her arms around to wrench herself free.

One time in particular she found herself in a massive puddle, stuck and sinking. After observing her struggle for a minute Bellamy stepped in and offered his hand. Grateful and tired she took it and he pulled. They stirred up mud and water sloshed over the top of her boots as they made no progress.

“Those might be a lost cause.”

Panting she tried to picture walking home in her socks, her boots left behind to stand on their own in the puddle. A giggle escaped her lips as a wheeze before she looked up at him, eyes distant and shiny before all the light went out of them. Her shoulders drooped and her head fell back as gravity pulled her to the ground. If not for his quick reflexes she would have landed in the puddle.

“Clarke?”

She was cradled in his arms, hands wrapped around her back, leaving him stuck, bent over straddling her limp body. She was still breathing but when he called her name again she didn’t respond. So instead he ducked down and slowly tilted her over his shoulder. His frozen fingers reached down for the laces on her boots and hooked a finger into a loop. It was a slow process but he extracted her feet, carried her to a clear spot and gently laid her down, hands moving to cradle her head. He laid his hands on either side of her face, her skin overwarm under his palms.

“C’mon Clarke. I’m not the doctor here.”

But he was alone with his thoughts as rain dripped down her flushed face. She didn’t respond when he shook her shoulders or pinched her arm. He watched and waited, eyes flicking from her face to her chest and back. When she started to wheeze again he knew he couldn’t wait.

“Crap.”

It was then that he threw the food onto the trail, pulled her to her feet and onto his back. Without a second thought he started running towards camp. His legs were liquid fire by the time he reached the perimeter, throat raw and heart beating like a loud drum. He stumbled to a knee as he slipped on the wet grass with Clarke’s weight pushing him into the ground.

A guard approached, gun half-raised, eyes narrowed as he left his post and approached them, rain obscuring the figures splayed before him.

“Go get Abby!”

The man looked askance at him before he recognized Blake and stiffened his posture.  

“Tell her it’s Clarke!”

Bellamy tried to pull her back into his arms but his limbs wouldn’t cooperate. So instead he gave her what shelter he could from the rain. Soon enough Abby came bursting through the gate, trailed by a handful of Med Bay staff.

“What happened?” She bent down in front of her daughter, eyes making a quick assessment as her fingers sought a pulse. When she looked up to Bellamy she noticed the dazed look in his eyes, the slight tremor in his shoulders.

“I don’t know but she’s having trouble breathing. I think she was bit by something.” He held up her hand to make sure Abby saw the welt.

A nurse knelt down next to him to lift Clarke out of his arms. The man had a determined look on his face, bushy blonde brows frowning as he curled his hands under her torso. For a moment Bellamy’s fingers tightened around her arms before Abby laid a hand on him.

“We need to get her inside to make sure she’s all right.”

He nodded silently and watched as her limp form was carried through the gates. Abby offered a hand and helped pull him to his feet. The streets of Arkadia were empty thanks to the rain which was handy for Bellamy whose gait had started to weave slightly. Fortunately for everyone things had been quiet so Med Bay was close to empty. Abby hurried to get Clarke hooked up to a variety of machines while Bellamy rested against a wall.

One nurse drew a vial of blood while another brought Clarke’s vitals up. Abby asked for something called “Dexa” and prepped a shot. They moved quickly amongst each other in quiet tones, occasionally conferring in groups. All the while Clarke lay motionless among them.

Bellamy watched it all, ignorant of their actions but unwilling to leave. At least, not until he got the all clear from Abby. Shifting his weight he tried to find a more comfortable position, having slumped against a section of wall with a generous amount of riveting. As he settled back a hand on his shoulder jolted him from his position and he practically fell over. A nervous-looking guard with a crooked collar was trying to relieve him of his gun per the rules set out when Abby had officially opened the Med Bay. Checking the safety he handed it over, grateful to be rid of the extra weight but the motion pulled at his back. He tried to ignore the ache as a nurse covered Clarke in a blanket despite the sweat on her brow.

Twenty minutes passed in relative silence during which time he slowly folded in on himself, relying on the wall to hold him up. The steady beeping of the machines flattened out into a thin hum at the back of his brain and pulled his chin down to his chest.

After making some final adjustments to the drip she put Clarke on, Abby looked up to see Bellamy, arms folded, eyes closed, practically slumped against the wall, his brow pinched. She couldn’t help the quiet smile that came to her lips. A gentle shake soon roused him and this close she could see the bloodshot eyes and feel a tremor through his wet clothes.

“You should rest.”

“Is she all right?” He wiped at his eyes, fighting the urge to yawn even as his jaw threatened to bend unnaturally.

“She’s resting.”

He frowned and stood up from the wall, one whole shoulder all pins and needles. “That’s not an answer.”

“There’s nothing more we can do for her now,” Abby sighed. “Until we know what exactly bit her we can’t start proper treatment. Ideally we’d need more symptoms to surface to narrow down the possible suspects. So why don’t you go change, get some rest and come back in the morning.”

Instead Bellamy just looked over her shoulder to Clarke, unable to discern what the machines were saying apart from that she was still alive. When he made no move to leave Abby put on her best mom face.

“Do I need to sedate you?”

Bellamy paused. “No.”

“Then leave before I decide you do. I promise you she’s not going anywhere.”

He reluctantly left after she practically had to push him out the door. Exhausted, starving and cold he dragged himself over to the Mess for something hot. What he got was a long line up and a loud group from Agriculture in front of him. By the time he got to the front he was able to finagle a cup of soup from cook despite his lack of ration card. He burnt his tongue and throat as he sipped the bland concoction, leaning against the entrance.

He dumped out the rest of the “soup” on the ground and set the cup on the nearest tray. Ducking into the rain he double-timed it back to the cupboard that served as a bedroom and quickly shucked off his clothes into a soggy pile in the corner, muffling his pained groan as he pulled off his shirt and jacket. He made a face at the heap of wet clothes before hanging them up. The value of water hadn’t changed much on the ground and he didn’t have enough rations to justify cleaning clothes that were only muddy.  

Wearing the only other clothes he owned he walked back into Med Bay.

Abby looked up from the chart she was reading. “So you do want to be sedated.”

Instead of responding he knelt down and started untying his boots.

“It’s not a busy night. You have other beds free and if you need mine I’ll use a chair.” He dumped his boots by the bed next to Clarke’s and sat down.

She crossed her arms and raised a brow. “Your bed?”

He shrugged. “I could use a night’s sleep. But I’m not leaving her.”

He sat back in the bed and wrapped himself in the same regulation blanket Clarke was currently swathed in, coarse and scratchy against his bare skin. He tucked the pillow under his head and tried to sleep. Best he could guess it was near sunset which meant Abby would be off shift in a few hours. By then he would hopefully be awake enough to keep watch. He yawned, shivering as he tried to keep his weight off the bad shoulder.

As his eyes slipped closed he found himself back in the forest. This time he was following Clarke. It was raining but he barely noticed. He held out his hand and the droplets fell right through his fingers which explained why he wasn’t cold. The sky above was pitch black without moon or cloud or stars. And yet the trees, the trail, Clarke, all were visible.

“Clarke!” He jogged towards her but wasn’t able to close the distance. She was always ahead of him, no matter if he ran or not. So he stopped and so did she. He walked a step, she walked a step. Every action was mirrored; a jump to the left, crouched, lying down on the ground. A twig chucked at her arm had no effect; neither did a pebble. For a long while he sat against a tree, trying to figure out how he could approach, her face hidden behind her hair.

After digging a rut into the trail with his boot heel he stood, faced away from her and walked. A glance over his shoulder revealed she was following, her head turned to look behind her. A side step off the trail had him keeping an eye out behind him for obstacles. And it wasn’t until he saw a large tree behind Clarke that he started backing up. Soon enough she backed into it and he bumped into her. His hand reached behind him to grab her arm and hold onto her. He whipped around only to nearly lose his grip.

Her eyes, nose and mouth dripped with blood. Her gaze was unfocused, as if she was staring past him instead of at him.

“Clarke?”

He took hold of her shoulders and tried to sit her down. She had no reaction when prompted. Blood spilled onto her shirt in dark splotches. Then her hands started to shake and her head tilted back; tremors migrated up into her body, mouth wide, eyes unseeing. Something screamed behind him, so loud he flinched and let go of her.

Her knees gave way and she fell to the ground, limbs locked, fists clenched, choking. He knelt, grabbed a handful of jacket to pull her to her side. She coughed, followed by a shuddering wheezy inhale, repeating over and over. Blood pooled on the ground, a thread of spit lead up to her lip.

She blindly reached out to grab at his shirt, nails digging into his skin as she yanked him close. He could see her lips moving but heard nothing. As he bent closer he could hear a rasping whisper. Ichor bubbled in her mouth. She gave a stuttered gasp and then was still. Eyes wide open but empty.

“No!”

He grabbed hold of her shoulders. Her head lolled to the side, blonde hair spilling onto his hand. Then her body disintegrated into dust, blown about by a cold breeze that turned into him. Blinded and choking he tried to escape the cloud only to collapse on the forest floor.

His eyes snapped open and he found himself staring up at the corrugated ceiling of Med Bay. Heart pounding he wiped the drool from his mouth and turned to the bed next to him. Clarke was there, still asleep and not dust.

He pulled an arm over his eyes and huffed out a long-held breath. He let time quiet his heart, thumping in his ears, against his chest. As he sat up, the ache in his back twinged and forced him to bite back several colourful swears. Breathing through his teeth he leaned down to struggle with his boots.

Soon enough he walked over to her, uncertain of her condition. Sweat beaded her brow, her face still flushed but her breathing even. A glance at her hand revealed the bite wound had crusted over but now had several subdermal black tendrils spreading out from it up towards her wrist. His eyes widened as he pushed up her sleeve, following the veins up her arm. They disappeared past her elbow.

He approached the closest nurse who looked haggard with stray wisps of hair having escaped her tightly pinched hair. She couldn’t provide any more information than what was on the monitors. Clarke’s temperature was slightly elevated but her blood pressure was steady.

“Is Abby still on shift?”

“Should be. Maybe try the Mess?”

With a glance over his shoulder to ensure the monitors were still in the green he stumbled outside where he had to shade his eyes. Clearly he’d slept longer than expected as a cloudless sky let the sun beat down on him and his tired visage. A trip to the Mess told him he’d missed breakfast and lunch. There was no sign of Abby but he was able to snag a bun from an abandoned tray. He had to stuff it in his pocket and book it when one of the guards turned his way though. The paltry meal was stale but hunger receded as he shuffled over to Housing and found she wasn’t home. Border Security claimed she hadn’t left Arkadia and no one had seen her since yesterday. He scratched at the five o’clock shadow on his chin and did the only other thing he could and swung back to Med Bay and Clarke.

He could only hope Abby was back when he walked inside and stopped dead. Clarke’s bed had a quarantine tent set up around it. Plastic sheeting sealed from floor to ceiling with a double barrier entry and two guards set on either side. There was no sign of Abby but he could make out bright orange figures inside the barrier. It was like staring through a greasy window.

He turned to the closest guard. “What happened?”

“They put up a tent.”

Bellamy rubbed a hand over his face. “I can see that. Do you know where Dr. Griffin is?”

The man shrugged. “I just started shift and I haven’t seen her so…no.”

Bellamy grit his teeth at the indifference. One question to a short nurse with crow’s feet restocking gauze gave him his answer. He found her staring at a pile of papers in what had once been a supply closet, yawning. She looked up at the noise, saw him and held up her hands in placation at the man who was equal bits nervous and angry with a five o’clock shadow and drooping shoulders.

“I know and it’s just a precaution.”

“Why?”

“She developed more symptoms overnight, some of which prompted me to declare a quarantine zone for her protection and ours.”

He had a sinking feeling he knew what she meant. “What kind of symptoms?”

“Something from the bite got into her circulatory system. She started to have trouble breathing this morning and when I gave her another shot of Dexa she started coughing up blood. So far I have two nurses in isolation due to exposure and I’ve sent for a Trikru healer. The blood and tissue samples are due back from the lab in a few hours so hopefully I’ll have a better idea of what I’m dealing with but until then all we can do is wait.”

He nodded absently, his eyes on the ground, unfocused.

“Is she awake?”

Abby shook her head. “She’s been out since you brought her in and it’s probably better if she stays that way.”

Somehow he found his way back to the “tent”. Two nurses transitioned through the plastic barriers, each decontaminating the other. They brought a sour chemical odour with them as they stepped out of the tent. Both slipped out of their bright orange suits and started consulting over the monitors.

Bellamy stood next to the plastic sheeting, unable to make out her blurry form. If he stayed he wouldn’t be of any use but all the same he wanted to. Unfortunately he had training in about forty minutes so he hovered for as long as he could, eyes flicking between the tent and the screens before the guards kicked him out for loitering.

The rest of the afternoon was spent in something of a daze as he went through the motions but wasn’t exactly present. This earned him a bruised cheek when he failed to dodge a punch. It was sore enough that he had to chew on the other side of his mouth at dinner before hurrying back to Med Bay.

The entrance was blocked however, by a large Grounder contingent, mostly warriors standing outside, as if they expected Arkadia to turn on them. Many had no love for Skaikru so he was forced to push his way through. More were inside, still armed, trading glares with the guards stationed at Clarke’s bedside. Indra stood next to Abby, speaking in low tones. He was only able to catch the tail end of their conversation.

“…anything but we will try. This is Varn.”

An old woman with a giant collar of woven leather and shells appeared from between two tall men and shuffled forward. Her gait was uneven and her shoulders stooped. She stopped next to the quarantine tent.

“You can take this down?” Indra looked at Abby.

“It’s meant to protect everyone in case she’s contagious. Standard procedure has anyone going inside suited up. I don’t suppose that’s going to work here though.” She looked down at Varn who was trying to peer through the plastic.

Indra raised a brow at the Skaikru jargon. “To help Clarke she must be able to see Clarke. Remove this,” she frowned at the plastic, “so she might help you.”

“We’re trying to keep anyone else from getting sick.”

“We will be fine. Send your people out if you worry for them.”

Torn between following protocol and taking what help she could find, Abby ushered the nurses out the front door but made no move to follow. Neither did Bellamy. Worst case scenario they would get sick and have to disinfect everything. She only hoped it wouldn’t come to that. She moved to pull down the tent and found the tape stronger than she imagined.

Bellamy silently walked up and started on the opposite side. They struggled for several minutes alone while the Grounders waited silently. As he gathered the sheeting in his arms he looked down to the bed. Her cheeks were still red, her lips chapped, her clothes caked in mud. One look at her arm revealed just how far the infection had progressed. Her shirt had been cut away for easier access and all the veins in her arm were black, tendrils spreading up to her shoulder. The other arm by comparison was clear.

Varn shuffled her way up behind Abby, shells clacking as came to stand beside the bed. She softly picked up Clarke’s arm, holding the dead weight in her wrinkled hands. Her fingers follow the veins; long nails traced a path up the skin before she turned the hand over the hand and brushed her thumb on the inflamed welt. She poked her finger inside Clarke’s ear, pried open her mouth and pulled down her lids to peer at her eyes. All of this was accompanied by unintelligible muttering. The only other sounds were Clark’s vitals on-screen and the creak of leather as Grounders shifted their feet.

“Jogots-wey,” Varn croaked out and patted Clarke’s arm as she laid it back down. A smile creased her face.

“I, I don’t – what is that?” Abby turned to Indra.

“It is a fly that drinks blood. Those bitten usually fall ill, see things, lose their memory. Many die.”

“Is there a cure?”

Bellamy’s eyes flicked down to Clarke.

“No. But she may yet live. Varn has seen others through this. She and her guards will stay.”

Indra turned to leave, taking all but two Grounders and Varn was looking around at all the machines and wrinkling her face in distaste.

“Jackson? Could you take Varn and see what rooms we have available?”

Abby turned back to Clarke and pinched the blanket between her fingers to pull it up over the infection before hearing a small strong voice behind her.

“I will stay here.”

Abby turned to see Varn smile up at her, milky blue eyes and all.  Her guards stood to the side, more akin to statues although their eyes scanned the room from side to side and floor to ceiling.

“Oh. I’m sorry. We don’t have bedrooms here. Jackson can take you to Housing where you can rest and show you the Mess if you’re hungry.”

“I will stay here.” She shuffled over to the bed Bellamy had been using and clambered onto it, her short legs wiggling around as she struggled to right herself. Settled, she spread out her clothes and turned to watch Clarke.

Abby waved Jackson off. “Make sure that you note bed four is occupied.”

Bellamy dragged a chair over and sat down, one eye on Clarke, one eye on Varn. It wasn’t long before the noise of the machines and the murmurings of nurses pulling him into that half sleep before rest.  

An alarm shrieked in his ear and he bolted off the chair in surprise, hand going to where his gun usually was. Heart pounding he relaxed when he realized where he was. Next to him Clarke’s eyes were wide open as she struggled to breathe, the monitors behind her blaring an alarming red. Three nurses crowd past him to check vitals and loom over her.

Abby pushed what he presumed was another shot of Dexa and nervously stroked her daughter’s hair as the minutes passed and her vitals descended back into safe levels.  

Clarke was panting. Her chest hurt and her hand was numb. She recognized Med Bay but couldn’t remember most of the last day. There was a hazy recollection of walking but it could easily have been a dream. When she tried to sit up her arm wouldn’t cooperate, acting more as dead weight than anything. That’s when she looked down to see her arm was covered in black veins traveling up from her wrist.

“What…?”

Her mom put a steadying hand on her shoulder. “You’ve got an infection from an insect bite. Bellamy brought you in last night.”

She looked over to see him standing next to her bed, wearing stubble and a frown.

“You look terrible.”

He gave her a wry smile. “I’m not the only one.” He fidgeted with the cuff of his jacket while she got a proper checkup. “I’ve got Patrol soon but I’ll come back before night shift starts, see if I can sneak you a sweet roll.” He looked sidelong at Abby who shook her head at the mention of contraband.

“Well you tried.” Clarke waited until her mom turned away before she held up two fingers.

He ducked his head to keep from grinning. “I’m glad you’re awake.” He gave one last glance to Varn who hadn’t wavered in her attention on Wanheda.

Clarke watched him walk off before she looked down to her arm and tried to wiggle her fingers. Abby filled her in on the events occurring after she’d passed out but truly she was only half-listening. Her brain felt fuzzy which she assumed was a side-effect of the drug she was on but her arm also itched like a slow-boiling pot. The feeling was insistent and growing louder by the minute. At one point she sat on her hand to keep from tearing into her skin. She pressed her head back into her pillow, looking for a sensation that would overwhelm the sting. This held for several minutes until she slowly reached over and pressed her nails into her arm in search of relief. But the half-moon marks did little if anything so she slowly scratched four parallel lines up her skin and sighed.

“Don’t scratch Clarke.” Abby looked up from her screen.

“Can you give me something besides the drip then?” She croaked out, lips cracked, tongue dry.

“Normally I would but we don’t know how you’ll react with the infection. I should be getting test results back soon. Can you hold on until then?”

“Sure.” She rolled over and closed her eyes, knowing that sleep was unlikely. All the noises around her blurred into a cacophony: voices, footsteps, electronics.

“Here.” Someone poked her shoulder she and turned over to see a Grounder woman staring back at her, holding a twig in her hand. “Chew.”

“You must be Varn.”

“Yes. Chew.” She poked Clarke with the twig before trying to put it in her good hand.

Brow raised, she gently took the gift.

“For your itch.”

“Oh.” Clarke watched as the woman settled back onto her bed, placed her hands on her stomach and closed her eyes. A look down at the twig in hand wasn’t very reassuring. She took a tentative bite and fought the urge to make a face at the taste, which she imagined was something like dirt but drier. It at least gave her something to focus on and she found the more she chewed, the less she felt like her arm was going to melt off.

“Something in the bark maybe?” She murmured to herself.

Varn cleared her throat to catch Abby’s attention before nodding at Clarke. “You should bleed her.”

Clarke frowned, twig in mouth. “Whar?”

The woman pulled a long thin knife off her belt and rolled the hilt in her fingers, the blade reflecting off the overhead lights. Abby stepped between the beds, mouth a thin line.

“What exactly are you proposing?”

“Bleed her weak and the bite goes weak.”

Abby looked askance at the knife and bit her tongue. The practice of bloodletting had gone out of style hundreds of years ago and was now considered a pseudoscience.

“I thought Indra said there was no cure.”

Varn crossed her arms as shells clacked against her collar and sat up as tall as she could. “I have saved five this way.”

“And how many did you bleed?”

“Many.”

Abby fought to keep from making a face at the mortality rate. “We’re hoping to have better results with our tests.”

Varn shrugged. “If you are a healer you must heal.”

“Yes, well. That’s the plan. I think we’ll pass on the knife.”

“Wanheda?” Varn leaned back to look at Clarke who at least had the sense to look apologetic.

“I’m sorry but I agree with my mom.”

Varn quirked a brow. “You want to live? You must bleed.”

Clarke took the blunt assessment in stride. Soon after she fell back asleep and her dreams were plagued with shadows that crawled across her eyes and burrowed into her brain. As the hours ticked by her temperature slowly rose. When her core crested 100, Abby laid a cool compress on her forehead.

The lab results for the blood and tissue samples had been unsatisfactory. They confirmed Clarke had a viral infection introduced into her bloodstream but since the vector wasn’t in their database they had no pathology to draw upon. She could only run through their remaining store of antiviral medication and test the samples against each one. Indra’s words came back to her as she watched her daughter sleep with an elevated heartbeat.

When she woke sometime after dinner the black veins had reached her throat. She was dizzy lying down and coughed until she was hoarse, fighting for breath and then rolled over, pushed the mass of bodies away from her and vomited straight onto the floor. She used a sleeve to wipe her mouth and made a face at the sour bile on her tongue as a pair of nurses came to clean the mess up.

Another shot of Dexa left her already bruised arm sore but at least she still had feeling on that side. An uncomfortable theory had lodged itself in her brain so she marked how long it took for her blood pressure to go down. Each shot stretched out her recovery time longer and longer. This instance was nearly twenty seven minutes, an absolute eternity. Worse still her mom wouldn’t look her in the eye. But the crease in her brow grew with every test that came back. It was a look Clarke knew too well.

“M-om?”

Abby looked up and pasted a smile on her face. “It’s okay. I’ve got half a dozen more to run. We’ll find something.”

Forty minutes later Clarke had started feeling twinges in her chest. The pain was intermittent but sharp. Abby had given her an oral anti-inflammatory but she had thrown it up less than ten minutes later. While she stared up at the hazy fluorescents the nurses had changed out sweat-soaked sheets.

Abby watched as her only child descended into the infection, her body losing the fight in her half-conscious state. And as the last of the antivirals failed to have any effect on the infected blood, she approached Varn and sighed.

“If we’re doing this we’re following standard medical procedure.” Abby held out her hand for the knife. “You can have it back after I disinfect it.”

“You wish me to bleed Wanheda?”

Abby nodded, crow’s feet at her eyes. “I have no experience with bloodletting.”

As they prepped the knife and Clarke’s arm, Varn closed her eyes and began murmuring under her breath. The IV drip was removed and Jackson and Abby exchanged an apprehensive look as the woman took back her knife and held the cold metal against Clarke’s skin. She’d just made the incision when Bellamy walked in.

His eyes widened at the sight of Varn holding a knife in one hand and Clarke’s arm in the other, blood streaming from a long cut into a bowl. He dropped the sweet rolls he was carrying.

“What the hell are you doing!”

He lunged towards the bed before Varn’s guards stepped in to block his path. Each grabbed an arm and wrestled him to the floor, face meeting cold metal. He tried to twist, kicking what he could reach as they bent his arms behind him.  

“Stop! Bellamy stop it’s all right!”

Abby knelt and laid a hand on his shoulder. With a word from Varn he was released. He stood, glaring at the women before he was roughly pulled aside.

“I let her do this because she might be able to help Clarke.”

“So you’re okay with this?” He waved a hand at the bowl of Clarke’s blood, grimacing.

“No but it’s the fastest option we have. None of the antivirals worked and because we have no background on the virus or vector we don’t have an effective treatment plan. I don’t have time for more tests and she’s getting worse. Every Dexa shot takes longer to regulate her breathing and she can’t keep anything down. If I had the right equipment I’d put her in an induced coma and lower her body temperature. But I can only work with what I have and I’m willing to try anything at this point because if the infection reaches her heart there won’t be anything we can do.”

He blinked at the information. Before he’d left for Patrol she’d seemed fine. Snarky even. He made to walk over when Abby grabbed his arm.

“Promise me you won’t attack the only healer who might be able to treat her?”

“Fine.”

He pushed past her and over to where Clarke’s arm was being bandaged. He could see the black veins creeping up past her collarbone.

“Did it work?” He looked over at the old woman who was cleaning off her knife. The blood bowl had disappeared.

“The bite is always fast. She will not linger if she falls. We will know by morning.” She waddled out of the Med Bay, followed quickly by her guards, presumably to find the Mess.

He took the chair from this morning and sat, back to the wall next to her bandaged arm.

“Hey Clarke.”

She made no reply. Her breathing was wheezy and shallow, a rhythmic sound to accompany the low buzzing of the lights. Sweat beaded her forehead, cheeks bright red against a pale face as she shivered under the pile of blankets cocooning her in the bed.

He watched Abby watch Clarke and saw the shift change for the nurses. An hour passed and then two but she didn’t wake. Finally he took hold of her hand, his thumb rubbing circles into her skin.

“I can’t do this without you.” He held tight and simply waited.

As the night ticked by he felt his head grow heavy and nodded off sometime after midnight. When he woke it took a moment to remember where he was. His neck hurt, his mouth was dry and sleep had crusted over his eyes. When he turned to the bed it was empty. For a moment he froze. Ice shot down his back and he imagined the worst. He shot to his feet only to find her standing at the entrance, door wide open to outside.

She was still pale and covered in a sheen of sweat. Her bandaged hand laid heavy on the door. He walked up beside her and softly touched her shoulder.

“Hey.”

She didn’t acknowledge his presence or touch. Instead he had to turn her and squeeze a shoulder. But she simply stared through him. It was only after she blinked several times before recognition flared in her eyes.

“Bellamy. What are you doing here?”

She stepped closer and swayed, nearly falling until she latched onto his jacket with her good arm. Above them the sky had started to brighten, light blue and pale orange against a smear of clouds.

He reached out to cup her cheek, brushing his thumb over her skin. “Waiting for you to come back to me.”

[inexorababe]

This Is A Post About Psychogenic Fevers.

Keywords: emotional fever, fever of unknown origin, psychogenic fever, stress-induced hyperthermia, stress, human.

The National Center for Biotechnology Information (NCBI) defines a psychogenic fever as a "stress-related, paychosomatic disease especially seen in young women.

Some patients develop extremely high core body temperature (Tc) (up to 41 C) when they are exposed to emotional events, whereas others show persistent low-grade high Tc (37 – 38 C) during situations of chronic stress."

Unfortunately with psychogenic fevers patients tend to be treatment resistant. Finding out what's causing the underlying stress could be a crucial part in managing symptoms over time.

Some popular at-home rememdies featured in the article above include:

Taking a bath in lukewarm water.

Brew a cup of yarrow or elderflower tea.

Eat spicy foods or sprinkle cayenne pepper on your food to promote rapid blood circulation.

Soak your socks and wear them to bed damp.

Wet a sheet and wrap yourself inside of it to lower your body temp (proceed with caution as lowering your body temperature too quickly is not recommended by doctors & physicians).

Drink 8 to 12 glasses of water a day or enough to make your urine pale.

Orange juice and other fruit juices high in Vitamin C assists your immune system in fighting off infection.

Cold grapes provide hydration and a soothing treat.

All the links provided were used in the making of this post today. Check out my blog and follow me for more information about mental health topics and physiology.

[slightlyrebelliouswriter23]

🌜 + Fine Line kdsjjskdjjjs you knew i would ask this ma'am, you know me. *puppy eyes* please???? 🥺 ILY

skdjsksjsskdjsk TESS HOW DID I KNOW 😂🙌 sorry i was so late with this but ask and you shall receive my love 🥰❤️ even if it's 84 years later

Chapter Rating: M  |  Read Chapter 1 here  |  Chapter 2 Snippet 2 here

Fine Line | Chapter 2 Snippet

When Cardan leaves the kitchen, my thighs are pressed so tightly together, I could throttle a man. Maybe I’d like to throttle him.

Yeah, that’ll be it.

It takes me a full minute to collect myself. I am dredged in such loathing. My face is steeped in it.

I hear him start the shower and I want to scream. Everything he does makes me want to scream, but especially this. I don’t need to imagine him in more states of undress than I already have at this young hour of the day.

It doesn’t help that he looks deviously fuckable in the morning. Grey joggers, fitted black tee. Hair so unkempt I am almost given to the compulsion of raking my fingers through it.

Maybe he always looks this way. I’m not sure. I never paid his appearance much attention until he had his wretched beautiful mouth wrapped around a strawberry like the very last thing it was was a strawberry. And then I wanted that mouth everywhere; on me, a fever hot on my skin, on other things pink and wet.

Fuck.

I should know better than to continue down that train of thought.

The fucking prick thinks he can just waltz in here and stare at me like… that. And say those… things. All these weeks he’s been walking around this miserable flat like a zombie, making me suffer in the woe he absolutely wreaks of. And now he chooses to fight back?

It wasn’t like his usual retaliations either: The silent treatment, passive-aggressive notes he leaves taped to the fridge. He prefers his missives and I prefer to annoy the living shit out of him. If I decide I want to be particularly stubborn and ignore his feeble attempts at making peace, only then does he resort to a rebuttal even half-interesting--yelling.

I don’t usually let it escalate to that point, but sometimes the temptation is too good. Sometimes I do it for spite.

We’ve only had three shouting matches in my brief time here. It’s a better track record than when I was living at Madoc’s with my sisters, but that’s not saying much. One of those three ill-fated times, Cardan was belligerently drunk. I’m not entirely sure he even remembers it.

All three rows were catastrophic, though. They ended in broken things and the neighbours popping round to make sure everything was okay. That was the most humiliating part, I think.

This time, however, Cardan was different. Usually, I am able to see the anger simmering just underneath the surface. Whatever shit he just pulled, it was something far more resolved--collected. Two words I am sure are antonyms for my lousy flatmate.

I can’t quite place my unease, but I learned from a very young age the dangers of men who are able to hold their anger in silence. And it is undeniable that he was angry.

☽☽☽☽☽

Thank you so much for the ask, Tess!! And for helping me celebrate 1k 🥰❤️

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