Latest Posts by lillcarolyn - Page 4

I want to play

Character A and Character B are on an adventure together. Character A has a streaming cold. Character B gets injured. Despite being terribly sneezy and ill, Character A is totally concerned about Character B and protects them and takes care of them all the while worrying about giving Character B their cold. They finally get to safety, Character B gets bandaged up by Character A, and B finally gets to take care of poor A, who is quite a cold-ridden mess by this point.

This is a super SUPER late birthday fic for @shiveringsickies who’s wonderful and amazing and deserves all the good things in life.

*

The week before finals is, by far, the absolute most stressful event in anyone’s academic career. Add in being a complete perfectionist, and you’re in for an especially rough time.

Shiro is in that boat right now - alternating between pulling all nighters and sleeping for only a couple of hours. By the time Friday rolls around, he’s bone-tired and more than ready to sleep for a year straight. Except, he has to work, and he still feels like he has so much to study that he’s not sure when he’ll be able to actually sleep.

“Dude, you look beat,” Hunk says, raising a brow.

“Yeah…well…it’s finals week,” he mutters, rubbing his eyes sleepily, “why don’t you look like you’re about to fall asleep?”

“My finals finished two days ago…and then I slept for an entire day and a half.”

“How? Finals week doesn’t start until Monday.”

“I’m graduating tomorrow,” he grins.

“Oh right…congrats, man. That’s awesome,” Shiro says, shooting him a weak smile.

Hulk grimaces, “when’s the last time you slept?”

“Uh…I think I’ve been up for thirty two hours.”

“Shiro.”

“I know, I know…I’m pretty sure I’ve only slept about ten hours this week.”

“You need to sleep. Go home.”

“Can’t…I have to work.”

“I’m your boss, did you forget that?” Hunk grins.

“But-”

“-No buts. Seriously, I’ll get someone to cover your shift, we’ll be fine. Everyone is busy studying for finals, I really don’t think there will be many people needing the RA on duty. Go home and sleep.”

“Okay,” Shiro mumbles, “sleep sounds nice.”

“I’ll bet it does. Let me know if you need anything.”

*

When Shiro wakes up, his entire body aches with an intensity that nearly brings tears to his eyes. He feels so aggressively awful that he doesn’t really know…what…to do. He’s freezing, it feels like there’s ice water in his veins, and he can’t stop shivering.

He rolls onto his back, trying to ignore how raw and swollen his throat feels, and how much pressure he feels in his sinuses and behind his eyes. He sniffles, rubbing at his nose as he blinks heavily - he’s not entirely sure what day it is, but he just wants to go back to sleep.

Shiro forces himself out of bed anyways, because if the dizzy, light-headed feeling is anything to go by, he needs to try and eat something. He pulls the blankets around his shoulders and shuffles out into the living room area, muffling a cough into one of the corners of the blanket.

Lance is sitting on the couch, reading one of the books from his literature class when Shiro walks out.

“Are you alright?” Lance frowns, eyebrows furrowing when he takes in Shiro’s appearance.

“Umb…I think I’mb sick,” he rasps, voice weak and thick with congestion.

“Yeah, no shit, Shiro. You’re shivering, come sit down, what do you need?”

“I wandted sombe food…and mbaybe tea. Mby throat is killing mbe,” he grunts, dropping down onto the couch and curling into himself. He readjusts the blanket so that he’s laying underneath it.

“What sounds good?”

“Ndothing really…i’mb dizzy, though.”

“You’ve been living on coffee and energy drinks the last week. You’re probably way dehydrated.”

“Probably,” he mumbles, drawing his knees to his chest as he shivers again.

Lance rests his hand on Shiro’s forehead, “shit…no wonder you’re shivering so much, you’re burning up.”

“Thought so…what day is it?”

“Saturday night.”

“What?”

“Yeah, it’s eight.”

“Are you serious?”

“…Um…yeah? Why would I lie?”

“I wasted the endtire day,” he groans, “I have to study.”

“You have studied - all week - and now you’re sick. You need to get some sleep.”

“I kndow,” Shiro sniffles, “I’mb freezing…cand I have andother blanket?”

“You never admit you’re sick,” Lance frowns, walking over to the other side of the room to grab him another one, “what gives?”

“I feel awful,” he mumbles, pressing his face into the cushions. Lance drapes a blanket over him, which doesn’t seem to help him feel any less cold, and it doesn’t make the shivers abate at all.

“Yeah,” Lance frowns, feeling his cheek, “I want to get a read on your temperature, hold on.”

“Ugh…okay,” he groans.

His phone rings, and it takes a couple of minutes of him trying to figure out what’s buzzing before he realizes it’s his phone. His brain feels sluggish and hazy, and he almost just ignores the call.

But, he figures he probably shouldn’t do that, so he fumbles with it for a few moments before he’s finally able to answer.

“Hello?” He croaks, rubbing at his forehead as he tries not to cough all over his phone.

“Hey, man. You know you’re supposed to be working, right? Keith just called, he said nobody can get ahold of you,” Hunk says.

“I…what?”

“Are you alright?”

“I just woke up, I’mb ndot-”

“Oh shit,” Hunk hisses, “you sound awful. Stay home, don’t worry about your shift, we’ll get it handled.”

“Thanks,” Shiro mumbles, still entirely too confused to understand what just happened.

He scrubs a hand over his face, letting out a stuffy little cough as he hunkers down deeper into the blankets.

God, why is it so cold?

“Okay, here,” Lance says, handing him a thermometer, “stick it underneath your tongue. I’m going to make you some tea.”

“What?”

“Thermometer under your tongue,” Lance repeats, a frown crossing his face, “you okay?”

“Dizzy,” he mumbles, sticking it in his mouth.

When it beeps, Lance takes it from him and walks into the kitchen.

“103.4. Holy shit, dude.”

“I dond’t feel very well.”

“Yeah, no kidding,” Lance hisses, grabbing him some medicine. “You’re going to take this and we’re going to watch a movie until you fall asleep. Sound good?”

“Yeah,” Shiro mumbles sleepily, “sounds good.”

Sicknario

Okay so earlier I got to thinking about subtle sick progression.

A classic caught in the rain scenario:

A gets caught in the rain walking home from work. They are drenched and chilled through when they get home, and B quickly ushers them to the bathroom for a hot shower. A feels worlds better as the hot water chases the chill away, and they spend the rest of the evening with B until they go to sleep.

In the morning, B is pulled from sleep by a few sneezes and a couple of weak coughs from A. B places a hand on A’s thigh. “Are you coming down with something?”

A shrugs. “Probably just a cold.”

Since it’s A’s day off, B tells A to spend the day resting before getting ready for work.

With B gone, A gets up for the day. The first few hours start off okay, with just a few sneezes and a couple of coughs here and there, but as the day progresses, a headache begins to take house across A’s forehead. A decides to take a nap to sleep it off.

Hours later, B comes home and finds A fast asleep. They look on fondly before migrating back to the living room to watch some television before starting dinner.

A is pulled from sleep an hour after B’s return by what feels like ice clinging to their bones. They sit up, sneezing harshly, before shuffling out of the bedroom while struggling against a headache paired with post-sleep disorientation.

A finds B on the couch, and they flop down beside B, curling up against B’s side when B lifts their arm in welcome.

A’s shivering has B growing worried. “Are you cold?”

“Freezing,” A responds, and B brushes cool fingers against A’s heated cheeks with a frown.

“You’re very warm.”

A only replies with a weak cough followed by a groan, and B pulls a blanket from the back of the couch, drapes it over A, and makes a mental note to check A’s temperature and get medicine before the two go to sleep for the night.

"you never drink tea" for the sickfic prompts? :D

Takes place sometime after ep 12 in Russia

1200~ words

～～～

From across the rink, Yuuri scrutinizes the item held in Victor’s hands. The logo of Victor’s favourite cafe is displayed on the front of it, the familiar design revealing it is one of the special filtered tea mugs Victor loves to gush about. While the sight of him clutching a travel mug at morning practice is not an unusual one, seeing it now has Yuuri slowing to a stop on the ice as he gets a better look at his coach.

It’s not that Victor doesn’t like tea. It’s far from an odd occurrence for Victor to bring a thermos with him to stay energized through practice and warm against the chill of the cold winter weather.

Only now there is no chill, as it’s the middle of spring.

“Tired already, Yuuri?” Victor calls, his wide smile conveying the quip about Yuuri’s stamina that he doesn’t voice.

Yuuri narrows his eyes at Victor, paying his comment no mind. “You never drink tea,” he says accusingly.

For a moment, Victor looks like he’s taken off guardーalmost as if he were caught in the actーbut he quickly composes himself. “I do sometimes,” Victor replies simply, taking a sip rather nonchalantly.

“Yeah,” Yuuri says. “When it’s freezing outsideーwhich it’s not right now. Or when you need the caffeine, or when your throat is really bothering you because you’re sick.”

That causes Victor to flinch, and Yuuri knows he’s right.

“It’s nothing,” Victor dismisses with a wave of his hand and a smile practiced to perfection. “I’m just a bit tired. I didn’t sleep too well last night is all.”

Yuuri is well aware of the fact. Victor had been doing nothing but tossing and turning. Yuuri is surprised to hear he got any kind of rest at all.

It’s obvious to Yuuri that Victor is sick. Or at the very least coming down with something. While it’s likely not obvious to anyone else, the signs are all there. It’s not even just the mug of tea, it’s the fact that Victor tried to hide it from Yuuri. He had prepared it and packed it in secrecy, much like he had hid his illness the first time he had been sick in their relationship. Yuuri would have thought that by now that Victor wouldn’t try to do these things on his own.

Yuuri is tempted to advise they cut their practice short, that they go home and Victor rests, but he knows the idea will be shot down the moment he suggests it. Plus, as much as Yuuri hates to admit it, Victor’s condition isn’t bad enough to warrant sentencing him to bedrest. At least not yet.

So instead he settles for letting Victor have his way for a while, and pretends he doesn’t notice when Victor turns away to cough into the crook of his elbow.

Yuuri runs through his routine again and again, until the movements become more natural than breathing. Victor gives his compliments and critiques, each one sounding more tired and strained than the last. Yuuri still doesn’t voice his concern, knowing even now it will fall on deaf ears.

He loses himself in his skating, until the ice feels like it’s moving beneath his feet, as if it were the one dancing for him, rather than the other way around. The sharp slice of his blades echoes in his ears, the crisp and cool rink air fills his lungs with each heavy breath. He pushes himself harder, thoroughly enjoying every minute of it, until thoughts about Victor’s steadily deteriorating condition are all but forgotten.

He comes to a finish in the centre of the ice, breathing hard, feeling confident about a performance well done. He had landed every single jump, even the quad flip, though the landing was a bit shaky which he doubts Victor will let slide. His spins were tight, his step sequence was remarkable as always. Though Victor insists there is always room for improvement, and Yuuri is ready to hear where he should start.

But surprisingly there is no such input from Victor. Only silence. Puzzled, Yuuri turns and looks for his coach and finds him plucking a number of tissues from the plush poodle and blowing his nose into them.

A pang of annoyance surges through Yuuri. Victor just missed a near-perfect run through of his routine. (Even perfect run throughs are near-perfect to Victor.) But then, as Victor emerges from behind the cover of the kleenex, Yuuri feels all of his annoyance melt away into pity.

Even from a distance, Victor’s nose is noticeably red. His eyes (which have yet to notice Yuuri staring) lack the usual sparkle, and there are dark smudges underneath them. Victor sniffles, stuffing the used tissue into the pocket of his jacket, then wraps it more tightly around himself as he visibly shivers. His overall form broadcasts his exhaustion, the tired sigh he releases further proving that point.

“Victor?” Yuuri calls, causing Victor to snap his head up.

His cheeks are flushed, which could easily be from embarrassment at the realization he had missed Yuuri’s routine. Though judging by everything else Yuuri has witnessed, he’s willing to bet Victor is running a fever.

Victor’s posture changes in an instant. He straightens up and takes his hands out of his pockets, forcing a smile that Yuuri sees right through.

“Ah, sorry Yuuri. I got a bit distracted for a minute there,” Victor says with a lighthearted laugh, as if that will distract Yuuri from how hoarse his voice sounds. “I’m sure your routine was lovely! Though I wouldn’t be opposed to seeing you do it again. I’m confident you have the stamina.”

Yuuri has had enough. He makes his way over to the boards where Victor is. “Maybe I do, but you don’t.”

Victor blinks, still acting innocent. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“You’re obviously sick,” Yuuri points out.

“It's… just a little cold,” Victor relinquishes, his voice quiet and sheepish. “I can still coach you. I’m fine,” Victor insists, or at least he tries to; his breath catches and he sharply turns away to sneeze before he can finish his sentence.

As Victor groans and reaches for a tissue to blow his nose yet again, Yuuri picks up the mug of tea and hands it to him. Victor accepts without a word, takes a sip, then heaves a sigh as he sets the drink down.

Yuuri takes Victor’s hand in his and runs his finger over where the ring is. It’s covered by his glove, and that is another dead giveaway to Yuuri that Victor is well and truly sick: he never passes up an opportunity to flash their engagement rings. He must really be chilled.

“Come on. Let’s get you home,” Yuuri says.

He expects Victor to argue, to insist he’s okay to keep coaching, despite all evidence pointing to the contrary. But Victor must either be feeling that bad, or perhaps he can’t find it in himself to resist Yuuri’s sweet charms, because he just smiles, adoration written all over his features, and lets Yuuri lead him by the hand to the benches.

～～～

Prompts can be found here!

A has a cold and is so congested that they’re struggling to fall asleep. Eventually, they manage to pass out, too exhausted to stay awake any longer, but they keep sniffling and coughing in their sleep, keeping B awake. So B gently slips a cough drop between their lips, and when A wakes up, they realize what B has done for them during the night and thanks them with mentohol flavoured kisses.

I know I said I was taking a break from tumblr and I AM but  I… couldn’t stop thinking about this post !! There’s no angst in this and it’s really sappy! It’s always really sappy.

But anyways take this.

Lance felt a little guilty about leaving Keith home alone with such a bad cold, but it had been necessary. It was just a soup and supply run, but Lance didn’t miss the frown on Keith’s face when he said he had to get up, didn’t miss the soft sigh just before he closed the bedroom door. He hadn’t looked back on purpose.

Keep reading

Coughing, temp taking and "Hold me" for Victuuri :)

Sorry this took like 3000 years to do! I hope you like it!

～～～

(Caretaker’s pov)

“It’s okay, Victor. Just try and breathe. This will be over soon,” Yuuri tries to console the sick man next to him, an arm wrapped supportively around his back.

Victor doesn’t respond to Yuuri’s words, only continues to cough, a breathtaking fit that has Yuuri wincining with the intensity of it. Victor’s cough had come with his cold, both hitting him a couple of days ago. Victor’s fever had gradually gotten worse, and his coughs started sounding wetter and deeper, leaving him breathless and exhausted by the time his fits are over.

Victor hasn’t accepted much of the food Yuuri has offered, and with the force of Victor’s coughing, Yuuri is reluctant to force him to eat in case he ends up bringing it back up. Victor has hardly even been able to sleep, woken up by the incessant fits. Yuuri wakes with him every time, slinging his arm around Victor’s too-warm body and hauling him upright so he can breathe better.

Coughs pour and pour from Victor’s lips as they sit on the bed, and after a particularly rough sounding one, he finally catches his breath. With a shaky exhale, he lowers the tissue he had been holding against his mouth and tiredly tosses it in the direction of the waste bin. It doesn’t make it in, but there are more important things to worry about. Like Victor, who is leaning onーor more accurately, slumping overーYuuri’s shoulder.

Yuuri feels the rise and fall of Victor’s chest as he takes panting, shallow breaths. His skin burns where it makes contact with Yuuri. Yuuri kisses his head and caresses his cheek, not missing the shiver that runs through Victor’s body as he does so.

“You’re fever hasn’t gone down at all…” Yuuri says, frowning. “I’m sorry you’re so sick.”

Sorry is an understatement. Victor has been miserable the entirety of this cold. He doesn’t seem like himself, and Yuuri just wants him well. Whenever Yuuri meets his eyes, they’re dull and glassy with fever, rather than that usual sparkling and stunning shade of blue. Whenever he kisses Victor, it’s on his burning forehead to asses the temperature, rather than on that heart-shaped mouth Yuuri loves so much and aches to see.

“Is there anything I can get you? Anything I can do that will help you feel better?” Yuuri offers.

The answer he gets in response is a weakly whimpered “hold me,” as Victor trembles against him. Without another word, Yuuri does. He holds Victor tight, rubbing his back and whispering soothing words of comfort until his eyes droop with exhaustion and sleep takes him once more.

～～～

(Sickie’s pov)

Yuuri is saying something to Victor, but the only thought that registers on his mind right now is the pain of the coughs scraping his abused throat. His lungs burn with the effort, his skin burns with fever, and his eyes burn from lack of sleep.

Yuuri has his arm around Victor, keeping him upright as he holds a tissue in front of his mouth and tries to eject the fluid from his lungs. Victor knows he’ll get over this cold faster if he does, but trying to do so is painful, to say the least. Still, he squeezes his eyes shut and lets the coughs tear up his throat.

After what feels like an eternity, the fit ends and Victor is at last able to breathe. He takes in short and rapid inhales, desperately trying to prevent another fit before it has a chance to start. The used tissue is tiredly tossed at the trash bin.

Victor is heavily weakened from the virus, sleep deprived, and on top of that these seemingly endless fits leave him panting and low on oxygen. He hardly even realizes he’s collapsed against Yuuri until an arm is gently rubbing his back and Yuuri is placing a kiss on top of Victor’s aching head which is resting on Yuuri’s shoulder.

Now that the latest fit is over and the haze of pain is (mostly) gone, Victor becomes more aware of his situation. He feels the sweltering heat his body is giving off, made no better by Yuuri so close to him. Despite the heat though, he has no desire to let go. Victor needs Yuuri close, needs the comfort that comes from the contact, no matter how hot and miserable he currently is.

He’s sure he looks even worse than he feels. Heavy bags are stamped under his eyes, weighing them down and begging him rest. A persistent headache pulses agonizingly in his skull. His high fever is noticeable in the bright red branded on his cheeks, bringing out the paleness of his complexion. Victor can feel it all, and he’s sure Yuuri can see it too.

And yet, Yuuri has stayed by his side, despite the mess he is. Yuuri has been so loving, getting Victor whatever he needs, taking such good care of himーeven on the odd occasions Victor’s fevered brain causes him to snap irritably at his caretaker. (He regrets it immediately after, more than once breaking down into tearful apologies.)

Yuuri has been nothing but kind, keeping Victor upright and easing the pressure on his chest, running his cool fingers through Victor’s messy and greasy hair as the coughs are pushed past his chapped lips.

Yuuri has been completely compassionate. Like now, as he caresses Victor’s cheek with his cool fingers, expresses his sympathy at Victor’s misery and asks if there’s anything he can do for him.

Victor whimpers out a feeble “hold me”, and just as soon as the plea leaves his mouth, Yuuri is tightening his arms around Victor as he embraces him. The heat is a bit much, but it’s bearable for the blissful feeling that is Yuuri once again petting his hair and whispering sweetly and softly until Victor is eventually eased back to sleep.

～～～

This was written for the two pov’s drabble challenge which can be found here!

I Missed You

Summary: A sick Victor meets Yuuri at the airport. Some fluff ensues.

1800~ words

Continuar lendo

You know what doesn’t get enough attention?

Sleepy sneezes.

Where you can hear the “sleepy snuggly noises” the person makes, in between sneezes. It’s so freaking cute!

Okay, that is all.

I love when sickie shows small signs that they’re frustrated about being sick.

Like, a light groan after a sneeze. A sharp string of curses when fever chills pick up again. A deep sigh as they massage their pounding forehead.

“oh your poor thing” is such a versatile statement and it makes me melt in any situation

feeling for a fever and their forehead is really warm? “oh you poor thing, you have a fever”

they just sneezed and it sounded miserable/tired/wet? “oh you poor thing, need any tissues?”

or, even better, they just got finished with a coughing fit but they have to sneeze a few times “oh you poor thing, you must feel misreable/you must be really sick”

i just 💕💕

I love when characters have tells when they’re sick. Like specific tells unique to them, like one character has really messy hair when they’re not feeling well. Another wears one certain t-shirt because it’s the most comfortable thing they own. Another falls asleep at exactly 8:00 every night when they’re getting a cold. Another is more enthusiastic and energized and everyone noticed because it’s the exact opposite of anyone else when they’re sick.

Whump prompt

Imagine within a group or family there’s “The Annoying One™”. There’s been a cold or flu circling the group or family so everyone’s relatively cranky. And this character’s been feeling rather shitty for a bit but they’re like “you’re just complaining about nothing. It’s just a little cold. You don’t see so-and-so complaining about it.” So they stop talking about it, trying to ignore new symptoms that keep sprouting.

Imagine that character waking up to see a bunch of worried faces and everyone’s speaking in a really gentle tone and bathing their face in cool water etc. and they get super suspicious and confused.

Turns out “The Annoying One™” had developed pneumonia from their “harmless” cold and everyone’s super guilty about waving off their complaints.

i love those lingering symptoms after a cold. like, the person’s still congested and it’s just enough to numb out their consonants and make it obvious they’ve been sick. they might still be a little washed-out looking and tired, dozing off in the middle of the day; they don’t have their energy back yet. more frequent breaks and the occasional cough, not having much of an appetite because food still doesn’t taste quite right - just little things that tell people that they’re not at 100%. 

it’s the little sick things..

Inspired by an anon earlier: we’ll start with that

- when you make sickie laugh, and the laugh sounds like a half cough/half laugh 

- the small huff of frustration when sickie takes their jacket off, only to have to put it back on because the chills are back

- the worried look you give sickie when you spot them feeling their cheek with the back of their hand

- the wince when sickie has to use a rough paper towel on their nose because they are out of tissues 

- the whimpered “ow” sickie mutters after a rough coughing fit

- the tug of a shirt collar when sickie is suddenly feeling too hot 

- the hunched over posture when sickie’s stomach hurts 

- the jacket pockets filled with cough drops

- the shaky sigh when sickie enters school/work as if trying to mentally prepare for the day despite feeling horrible

- sickie sleeping with their head pillowed on their arms on their desk

- the concerned look only you give to sickie on the subway while everyone else grimaces at the coughing and sneezing 

- the defeated sigh when sickie realizes they left their umbrella home and it’s raining 

Yooooo. Here’s the third and final part (Part one can be found here, Part two can be found here).  Honestly there was less Shiro whump in this than I had planned, oops.  Sorry.  Please let me know what you think, and also please send me prompts or asks or anything, I really wanna make more friends on here XD

Shiro was…well, if we were being honest, Shiro wasn’t doing too hot. Lance was asleep next to him, and had moved so he was lying with his head in Shiro’s lap, and his legs in Keith’s.

Keith was on his phone, his tongue poking out of his mouth as he concentrated on whatever game he was playing.  

Shiro closed his eyes, grimacing at the throbbing in his head.

“Hey, Keith?” “Hmm?” Keith mumbled absentmindedly.   “Lance is out for the night, I think I’m going to go back to my place…sleep in an actual bed.” Keith looked at him, panic stricken.  “You’re leaving? Why-why-why are you leaving? you don’t need to go anywhere!” Shiro sighed.  “Keith, I need to sleep in an actual bed.  You’ll be okay on your own.” “What if he wakes up?” He was barely concealing his annoyance now. “Keith.” “Okay, okay. Um…what do I do with him?” Shiro sighed again. “He can have more medicine at eleven.  If he wakes up again, give him some then.  If he stays asleep, leave him be.” “Can I call you if I need something.” “You won’t.” “But if I do?” Shiro rubbed his eyes tiredly. “Fine.  Yes.  But I think you’ll be fine.”

Shiro slipped out from under Lance.  Luckily he didn’t even stir, and just stretched out even more.  The moment Shiro was standing up, black spots clouded his vision, and he nearly pitched forward. He caught himself at the last minute on the back of the couch.  

Keith narrowed his eyes.  “Stand much?” Shiro shot him a flat look. “Very funny.  Alright, I’m gonna go.  Let Lance know I’ll be here around nine.” He shot him a thumbs up.  “Will do.”

Shiro made it back to his apartment a lot slower than usual.  It was only a five minute drive, but because he was so sleepy and felt so out of it, it took him fifteen.  He didn’t really remember the drive, but he didn’t crash so it must have been somewhat okay.

Once he was inside, he nearly collapsed on the couch that was too short for his six foot frame to stretch out on.  He didn’t care, though.  He was far too tired to make it another six feet to his bedroom.  

Despite his exhaustion, Shiro didn’t sleep that night. Then again, he never slept when he felt shitty, and man, did he feel shitty.

His entire body was aching, and he was sure the achiness was exacerbated by the couch he had to curl up on to fit.  It felt smaller, somehow.  By that point, he was too tired, and had no energy to get up, so he resigned to staying on the tiny uncomfortable couch.  He tossed and turned the entire night, and eventually tumbled to the floor, where he landed with a dull thud, and low groan of pain. His head was throbbing much worse now, and Shiro wasn’t sure if he had smacked it on the ground when he landed, or if the act of falling just angered it.  

Lance woke up the next morning, and rubbed a hand over his face.  He felt better for the first time in days, but he was nowhere near one hundred percent.  None of his symptoms were gone completely, except maybe the fever (which got rid of his achiness).  They were all just less severe.

“Oh good.  You’re awake.” Lance inhaled sharply and rubbed his eyes as he looked at Keith, who was leaning back against the wall next to the doorway to the kitchen.  “What time is it?” He mumbled sleepily. “Just past eight. Shiro said he’d be here around nine.” “Shiro?” He mumbled, his brain muddled from sleep.  “What? I thought he was here.” “He wanted to go sleep in his bed or something, I don’t know.” Keith shrugged.  “How are you feeling?” “Uh…better, I guess.” He rasped. “I finally don’t feel like death.” Keith cracked a smile. “Well that’s an improvement. You should go get ready. Shiro should be here soon.”

And he was, thirty minutes later.  Lance had thrown on a pair of sweats, a ratty t-shirt, and a zip up hoodie, not caring how shitty he looked, because he still felt shitty and couldn’t bring himself to care.  He was lying down on the couch when there was a weak rapping on the door.  Lance pushed himself off the couch, trudged to the door and threw it open.

“Hey Shir-oh.  Dude, are you alright? You look like hell.” “Yeah, just tired.” Shiro muttered, shooting him a weak, tired smile. “Just tired?” Lance said, quirking a brow at him.   “I had a hard time sleeping last night.” Shiro shrugged.  “Anyways, are you ready to go get this done?” Lance nodded slowly, narrowing his eyes at Shiro.  “Yeah, but if you’re not feeling great, maybe you should take a day and just rest.” Shiro rolled his eyes (which felt so heavy and hurt so bad). “Let’s just go.” “But are you-” “-I’m fine, Lance.  How are you feeling?” “Better.”

*

By lunch time, Shiro was definitely sick. He locked himself in his classroom, using the ‘I really want to get this all cleaned and organized without distractions’ excuse.  In reality, he was huddled underneath his desk, barely conscious and shivering.  He was freezing, but his skin was slick with sweat, and his shirt was sticking to him uncomfortably. He definitely had a fever now, and he told himself he just needed a fifteen minute cat nap, and he’d be okay after waking up.

The congestion finally hit him thirty minutes after he got to his classroom, as did the awful sore throat that felt like he had been gargling knives anytime he spoke or swallowed.  

“Hey, Shiro?” Lance rasped, knocking on the door.  Shiro shot up into a sitting position, and then groaned in pain as the throbbing in his temples increased. “Hold on.” He croaked weakly.  He pushed himself to his feet, and walked on legs that felt like jello to his door. He opened it, coughing into his fist.   “You ARE sick!” Lance cried, pointing an accusing finger at the larger man. “I’m f-” He turned from Lance, pinching his nose as he stifled what must have been ten sneezes in quick succession.  The fit left him panting, and his eyes watering as he coughed lightly.   “You are not. Shiro, come on.” Shiro sniffled, turning around and walking to the tissue box on his desk.  “Landce, I’mb finde…allergies, or sombething.” “You don’t have allergies, you idiot.  Come on, let’s leave.” Shiro blew his nose, and then wiped under it with the tissue and tossed it in the trash can.  “I don’t need to.” “You’ve been here for almost four hours, and your classroom isn’t any closer to being clean than it was when we got here.” Shiro sniffled weakly in response.  “Go back to your classroom.” “No.  I’m not going back to my classroom.” Lance spat, throwing his hands in the air.  “Will you just QUIT the tough guy act? I know how shitty you feel, I’ve been there for the last five days. Now stop it, let’s go home, you need to sleep. We can come back tomorrow if you’re really that desperate to get your classroom clean.

Either Lance was a hell of a lot more persuasive than he thought he was, or he really didn’t feel well.  Either way, Shiro nodded in agreement, visibly deflating as his eyelids drooped and he swayed on his feet.  

Lance wrapped an arm around his waist.  “Alright, big guy.  Please don’t pass out on me, just get to the car.”

Shiro was a solid wall of muscle, with broad shoulders and a barrel chest.  Lance, on the other hand, was the complete opposite.  He was much shorter - a good five inches - and was small and wiry.  If Shiro collapsed, he would definitely take Lance down with him and Lance would probably die.  

Lance managed to get him to the car.  He’s not sure how, because Shiro was very unsteady, and very out of it (but he did it).

He pulled his phone out of his pocket, watching as Shiro clambered into the front passengers seat of the car.  

“Keith, I need a favor.” “Yes?” Keith asked, sounding distracted. He was most likely writing the manuscript of his latest novel.  Usually Lance didn’t bother him too much while he was working, but he needed him. “Dude, I need your focus.” “What is it?” “You need to come get us.” “What? Why?” “Shiro’s sick.  He’s really out of it and in no condition to be driving us home.” “Can’t you drive?” “I’m exhausted.  I feel like shit, man.  Can you please just come?” Keith sighed.  “Yeah, okay.”

*

Lance was better by the next morning. He still had some lingering effects from the flu, but he was better. Shiro, on the other hand, was worse, and had what seemed to be the flu/head cold from hell. It was all in his sinuses and head.  The coughing had gone away completely, and instead, there was an annoying, almost constant buzzing feeling in his sinuses.  He was sneezing what felt like every fifteen seconds.  He had already gone through a box and a half of tissues, and was laid up on the sofa, despite how (weakly) adamant he was that he was FINE.

“His fever’s pushing one hundred and three.” Lance groaned, staring at the thermometer.  “Go get some washcloths. We’ve gotta get it down.” “Yeah, okay.  You know, I never signed on as caretaker for you guys.” Lance rolled his eyes.  “Okay, well you didn’t do shit because you don’t know how to take care of someone.  Stop complaining and go get the washcloths.” “Yeah, whatever.”

Shiro sniffled, going into another weak sneezing fit.  His sneezes sounded exhausted at this point, and like they were clawing their way out of his throat. He sounded miserable, and Lance felt awful for getting him sick.  

“Shiro?” Lance asked anxiously.   He sniffled.  “What?” “Sorry you’re sick.” Shiro just shrugged listlessly, his eyelids drooping.  They snapped open when he sneezed again, and he moaned in discomfort and annoyance.  “I’mb really sick of sndeezindg.” “I think we have some decongestants.  Let me go check on that.” Shiro nodded, closing his eyes again.  

Once the damp washcloths were on his forehead, and the medicine had kicked in, he was finally drowsy enough to fall asleep.  Which he did, and it was the most restful sleep he’d had in the past week.

As my first post on this hellsite...

I invite you to think about cold symptoms that wake the sickie up. 

Congestion so bad that the effort to breathe jerks them out of a sound sleep, making them shift positions with a quiet, thick sniffle that lets almost no air in and does nothing for the stuffiness.

Wet coughs that crackle in their chests and leave them gasping and fumbling for the water glass they left there for just such an occasion, spluttering a bit because they can’t stop coughing long enough to actually take a proper sip.

Sneezing. Maybe that’s not what woke them up, but now that they’re awake, they can’t stop. Slow building fits that make their breath shiver, and they agonize over every moment that the next sneeze doesn’t come. When it finally stops, they’re more exhausted than they were before, and can barely summon the energy to swipe the cuff of their sleep shirt against their nose before rolling over to try and sleep before this all happens again.

Fevers that turn their dreams sour and make them shake with chills, or feel so hot that their immediate thought is to fling all the sweat-dampened covers off. And maybe crawl out of those disgusting pyjamas that were fresh from the wash when they put them on three hours ago. Their head spins, and the world swims in and out of focus when they peer blearily around to make sure that the lurking danger from their nightmare isn’t actually hiding in the corner of their room.

Think about those cold symptoms that you just can’t sleep through.

It’s Okay to Not Be Okay

I was craving a sickie having trouble taking medicine and my mind whispered something to me about a stubborn sickie refusing medicine which then turned into this Victuuri angst with Victor as a snappy sickie.

The two have a fight, but they work it out because they love and understand each other and I cannot get enough of their love ♡

1800~ words

Continuar lendo

When someone really feverish/congested just does that really warming smile but their eyes are half lidded and they look so damn tired with bags under their eyes, and their breathing is dirty rattly and wheezy out their mouth but the SMILE IS JUST

So I know I have a thousand prompts to fill, and I apologize to all of you who’ve sent me a request forever ago.  I fully intend on working on them once I’m on winter break (in about three weeks).  Anyways, here’s a prompt fill for anon, I hope you don’t mind a college AU and that you feel better soon <3

*

It starts with a sneeze - it’s a scratchy, just barely congested sneeze that signals the beginning of a cold.  It’s the kind of sneeze that tears Allura’s attention from her textbook to her husband who’s been lying on the couch with a blanket, watching Netflix through half-lidded eyes for the last two hours.  

“Bless you…you okay?”

He sniffles, shivering lightly as he shrugs.  He’s not - he’s felt awful all day - but those five words feel like they’ll take too much effort to get out, so he resigns to just shrugging with the hope she’ll pick up on it and come sit with him.  

Allura stands up from the table and walks over to where he’s laying, presses a cool hand to his forehead and then purses her lips.  

She flips her hand over so that she can run the back of her fingers up and down his cheek, “you seem warm…but not worryingly so.”

His breath hitches and he turns his head to muffle not one, not two, but three sneezes into the sleeve of his sweatshirt.  

“Mmmngh…Allura,” he rasps, voice shredded and congested beyond belief.

“No wonder you’ve been so off lately.  You sound awful, want some tea?”

“No…I just want to go to bed,” he whispers, rubbing at his throat with a grimace.

“Medicine and water first,” she says, leaning down to kiss his forehead.  

Shiro rubs at his nose, and then ducks his head into the blanket with a sharp sneeze that makes his head throb.  He sniffles, and pushes himself into a sitting position with a yawn before he pads into the kitchen, over to where Allura is rummaging through their stash of medication.

“I don’t need medicine,” he croaks, wrapping his arms around her and resting his chin on the top of her head, “I’m fine.”

“Shiro, you sound miserable.”

He sniffles pitifully, and twists away from her to sneeze twice into his shoulder.  

“See? You need sleep, and you won’t be able to if you’re sneezing all night.”

“Sleep is for the weak.”

She rolls her eyes, “not sleeping is what got you into this mess. Go lie down, I’ll be there in a minute.”

He opens his mouth to say something, but the buzzing in his sinuses distract him, and he stumbles backwards and slams into the counter as he goes into a sneezing fit.  

After the fifth sneeze, he groans and wipes at his nose with a miserable, stuffy sniffle, and Allura quirks a brow, “you are a hazard, go lie down before you hurt yourself.”

He groans and slides to the floor, holding his head in his hands, “give mbe a mbindute…dizzy.”

She crouches in front of him, and puts a hand on his cheek.  She frowns and flips her hand to feel his forehead, “I think I know why…your fever spiked…how the hell? You didn’t seem nearly this warm a few minutes ago.”

He groans and blinks rapidly, trying to clear the dots that are clouding his vision,  “I wandt to go to bed.”

“Do you think you’re going to pass out, or are you okay to move?”

“I’mb okehh…heh…Nngtsh! In’gsTCH! *snff*”

“Bless you,” she frowns, helping him stand up.

*

Three days later, Shiro and Allura are in bed. Shiro’s been awake for hours, and he already knows that he’s not getting up today, again.  Everything is aching, and he feels too tired to move, let alone get out of bed and go to work.  He already texted his boss that he wasn’t making it in, and then he promptly tossed his phone onto the ground, because the light was agitating his headache.  

Part of him is tempted to wake Allura up, because he’s miserably stuffy and has been muffling coughs and sneezes for the better part of the last three hours.  It’s only about six, though, and she was exhausted when she fell asleep, and he doesn’t want to bother her.  

“Ihh…ihhtchiew! *snff*”

Shiro’s watery eyes snap to his wife’s sleeping form, and when she starts coughing, he puts a hand on her back.

“Allura?” He rasps, “baby, are you okay?”

She groans and flips around so she can bury her face in his chest, “m’tired.”

“Yeah, mbe too,” he croaks, but looks down and strokes her hair, “I cand feel how warmb you are through mby shirt…I think you have a fever.”

She groans, “everything kinda hurts.”

“Sambe here…you sound awful, by the way.”

She coughs again, shivering as she presses closer to Shiro.

“I feel awful.”

“I’mb sorry, Allura,” he groans, “this is all mby fault.”

“Don’t blame yourself…it was going to happen sooner or later.”

He sniffles, “‘kay…wannda mbove to the couch?”

~

“Shiro, we need to call someone,” she rasps, voice shot from all the coughing.

“I kndow,” he groans, muffling another scratchy and congested sneeze into his shoulder.  

Allura coughs miserably, slumping into Shiro even more than before.  She pulls the blankets up to her chin, and pulls her knees to her chest.  Shiro’s head drops back, and he stares up at the ceiling, sniffling incessantly.  Although it seems his fever had gone away for now, he still felt exhausted.  He wraps his arm around her shoulders as she coughs, and stretches his legs out to rest on the coffee table.  

Shiro had managed to make them tea before collapsing onto the couch in exhaustion.  He was spent, and the short walk from the bedroom to the couch had exhausted Allura beyond belief.  Allura is fading fast and needs medicine, and his head is so stuffy and he’s so fuzzy, he knows he needs medicine, too.  

“Call Lance,” she croaks, “or Hunk…I really don’t feel well, Shiro.”

“I kndow,” he sniffles, “we’ll get you feeling better, I prombise.”

She’s half asleep when he dials Lance’s number, so he balances the phone between his ear and shoulder so he can rub her back with one hand and play with her hair with the other.

“Hey, Shiro, what’s up?”

He sniffles, “would you mbind doing us a f-feh…heh…Hih’ihGNXT!”

The phone falls to his lap, and Allura jerks awake as he mutters a string of curses.  

“Wha-?”

“Sorry, hondey,” he mutters stuffily, sniffling miserably.  He raises the phone back to his ear with a grimace, “Landce?”

“Are you dying? You sound like hell.”

“We’re both sick, guh *snff* would you mbind doing us a favor?”

“Yeah, sure.  What do you need?”

“Umb…just…we’re too tired to get up, but Allura ndeeds mbedicinde, and we ndeed tissues and stuff, could you combe and help us?”

“Shit, you guys are too sick to get up?”

“Yeah…we tried, but-”

“-I’ll be there in a few. Try not to die until then.”

“Thanks, Landce.”

“Of course. See you soon.”

Shiro hangs up the phone, drowsiness hitting him like a brick wall as he feels himself beginning to drift off.

The last thing he remembers is Allura coughing and the door opening, and then, nothing.

Go Home

I’m back with more snide restaurant coworker bullshit. No plot, just vibes - I used 3 different prompt posts in this, this one, this one, and this one, which are all just *chefs kiss*. Unbetad, unedited, just a big pile of garbage I threw together and shamelessly present unto you all. Hope you guys enjoy :)

In case you didn’t read my first story posted here, Elijah is a restaurant owner/General Manager and Greyson is a chef. That’s all you really need to follow along lmao. 

Go Home

“Greyson. Go home.”

Greyson’s head snapped up and his eyes locked with his boss’s as Elijah breezed out of the office and into the kitchen. “Why would I go home?”

“You’re sick. You have a cold.”

Greyson let his jaw fall open in mock aghast, put down his knife and placed a hand on his chest as if he needs to center himself after such an indoctrination. “I do not. How dare you. Why would you say that?”

Elijah rolled his eyes at the chef’s theatrics and placed his phone and laptop on the prep table where Greyson was working. “I say it because I’ve been here not even three minutes and the only things I’ve heard out of your mouth are sneezes and coughs.” He picked his things back up and poked the chef in the chest. “Go home.”

“That’s not even true, we just had a full conversa- HFTSHH-uhh!” Greyson caught the sneeze in an elbow, hastily brought to his face at the last moment. Elijah bleated out a laugh as he pushed through the kitchen doors and into the server’s station. “Bad timing!” Greyson called behind him.

“Go home!”

***

Greyson wasn’t about to just go home.

It was January, which meant it was painfully slow in the restaurant, but that didn’t mean he had nothing to do. They had a few big events coming up, and his team was only just recovering from some nasty bug that had taken them down one by one through the busy holidays. The guys needed the support of their chef, and Greyson certainly wasn’t one to take a sick day when his team needed him – especially when he wasn’t even sick.

“Huhh…huhETSHH-ue! Fuck me,” Greyson said, turning away from his prep station to sneeze into his shoulder for what felt like the millionth time that day. He walked to the sink nearest to him, pulled out a paper towel, and wiped his nose before washing his hands. He definitely wasn’t sick, but whatever was making him sneeze like it was his job was really starting to piss him off.

There were still several hours til service began, so Greyson decided to work on some new menu recon while he had a few moments of down time. The mushroom risotto dish he’d spent some time on still wasn’t quite there yet, but he’d tasted it so many times it had turned to mush in his mouth. Greyson scooped the less-than-perfect dish into a deli container and went out in search of his boss.

He knocked on the open office door at the front of the kitchen, where Elijah was seated and working on a schedule. Greyson scooped a bit of risotto onto a spoon and held it out. “Hey, boss, can you give this a taste?”

“I most certainly cannot,” Elijah said, not looking away from his work. Greyson couldn’t help but laugh.

“Uh…any particular reason why?”

Elijah raised his eyebrows and lolled his head to the side to look at the chef. “Two reasons, actually. One, you aren’t supposed to be here, so I’m ignoring you. And two -”

“Onesec – HGSTHH-ue! HRSHH-uh! Shit, sorry, ’scuse me, go on,” Greyson rubbed his nose on his shoulder and Elijah gave him a look of revulsion.

“Two,” he continued, pointedly placing a box of tissues at the end of the desk, facing Greyson, “I’m not eating off of your spoon because, as I have said, you are sick.”

Greyson rolled his eyes and held the spoon closer to Elijah’s face. “C’mon, man, I need some feedback.” He sniffled, trying not to sound pathetic. “Please?”

“If I try it, will you go home?”

“Probably not.”

Huffing exasperatedly, Elijah grabbed a fork off of the plate that had held his lunch earlier and stuck it pointedly into the deli container Greyson was holding. He took a bite while looking into Greyson’s red-rimmed eyes. “More parmesan,” he said, putting the fork back on the used plate beside him. “And too much truffle oil. Now go home.”

Greyson smiled and grabbed a tissue from the box Elijah had placed before him. “Thanks, boss,” he said, shoving the tissue in his pants pocket. “Can always count on y-yuhh…HGTSHH-uhh! Snf. Coundt ond you,” he finished, stuffily. Elijah glanced at the chef, eyebrows raised as if to say, you ready to admit defeat yet? Greyson just shrugged.

“I’ll take sombe claritin,” Greyson said lamely, pulling the tissue back out of his pocket and wiping his nose. “I’mb ndot sick.”

Elijah looked back at his computer. “Whatever you say, Grey.”

***

Whoever the fuck had given him this shit was about to feel his wrath.

…not that he was sick or anything.

It was four pm and the cooks were all sitting at the back of the kitchen eating staff meal before the restaurant opened. Alternatively, Greyson was crouched on hands and knees in his office, cursing under his breath while he searched for the ibuprofen he and Elijah kept in one of these drawers.

He figured it was most likely his sous chef, Matt who was the culprit. Kid couldn’t cover his mouth if you forced him with a gun to his head, and he’d been so sick on New Year’s that Greyson forced him to go to urgent care at the end of the night. Fucking Matt. Didn’t he know better than to come to work si -

“HuhETSHHue! GTSHH-uh! HRRSTCHH-oo! Fuck.”

Greyson abandoned his search for ibuprofen in lieu of the rapidly depleting tissue box on the desk. He pulled himself back into his desk chair and reached for the box -

Only to see Elijah holding it hostage at the entrance to their office.

“You’re not going to eat?” Elijah asked. Greyson, whose nose had begun running in earnest post-sneezing, gave a lame eye roll from behind his hand.

“Ndot hungry. Give mbe the tissues, please.”

“Oh, these?” Elijah asked, holding up the box theatrically. “Why ever would you need these? I mean, you’re so clearly well and spry. Healthy as a horse as they say.”

“Dude, just give them to mbe. Shouldn’t you be in pre-shift?”

“I was coming to get you for pre-shift, you bozo,” Elijah said, tossing the tissues at Greyson. “But now I’m beginning to question if the servers would even be able to understand what you’re saying.”

Greyson gratefully blew his nose facing away from Elijah and tossed the tissues in the trash. “Fuck directly off, Lij,” he said, the words punctuated with a hoarse cough. “I’m coming. Give me two minutes.”

“I’ll give you two days, how about that?” Elijah said, turning to leave the kitchen. “Go. Home.”

Greyson stood, reinvigorated by fury. “Fuck. Off,” he said in the same cadence as his boss. “I’m fine.”

Elijah threw his arms up in defeat and held the swinging door open for the chef. “C’mon, then,” he said, gesturing Greyson towards the dining room. “Let’s go infect my entire staff.”

***

An hour into service, Greyson felt his phone buzz. Twice.

It wasn’t a busy service – people were out of money post-holiday it seemed – so Greyson was working on menu ideas and scheduling in the office while Matt held down the line and his cooks did some deep cleaning. Or, he was attempting to do scheduling between bouts of -

“Huhhh…HGTSSHH-ue! HRRSHH! HPTSSH-oo!”

“Bless, Chef,” Matt called to him from the line. Greyson flipped him the bird and pulled his once-again-vibrating phone from his pocket. Who the fuck was blowing him up? Everyone he knew was here.

Greyson wiped under his nose with a tissue and unlocked his phone. Eight new messages – all from Elijah. Jesus Christ. Was his boss really that lazy that he couldn’t walk the twenty steps from the dining room to the kitchen?

Greyson opened their text thread and immediately rolled his eyes.

5:21PM

Bless you.

Bless you.

5:46PM

Bless you.

You know everyone out here can hear you.

5:59PM

Bless you.

Bless you.

6:12PM

Bless.

Ok, seriously you sound like fuckin shit.

Greyson felt his face go hot as he typed out and sent his response.

6:15PM

Fuck off, Lij.

“HTSHHH-uhhh. Godammit.”

Greyson pulled the last tissue out of the box and blew his nose. So maybe he was kind of sick. A little bit. Nothing he couldn’t handle. He was a grown man for God’s sake, he couldn’t deal with a little cold at work?

The chef rubbed a hand down his face and used all his willpower not to groan. A little cold. A few hours left of work. A slow evening. If anyone could handle it, it was him.

***

Greyson was fairly sure he’d never been more miserable in his entire life.

It was ten pm, and the last table had finally cleared the building; not that Greyson would’ve known it. The chef was holed up in the employee bathroom, finally taking a minute to himself to blow his nose and wash his hands. What was supposed to have been a quiet night had suddenly picked up around seven – and with it, so did his cold.

He wasn’t sure how it worked out this way, but the moment five tickets printed at the same time on the line, Greyson felt the first whisper of a fever slither up his neck and make itself home behind both of his eyes. The tickets had continued to print, much to his chagrin, and after a few moments Matt had turned to his boss with panic in his eyes and frantically called, “Chef?!”

Greyson did what he was trained to; he pulled it together and hopped on the line to help his guys. He cooked and shouted orders and garnished and sent food out. He remade steaks when they came back overcooked, and he apologized when he yelled at his grill cook, who was new and clearly petrified. He ignored the massive headache blooming in his temples, and his cooks ignored the near-constant volley of sneezes he smothered into the inside collar of his chef coat. It was a rough one. Ticket times weren’t what they should’ve been, and he definitely screamed at his cooks more times than they deserved.

But it was over. And now, hours later, he stumbled out of the employee bathroom and into the office and slammed his ass into the chair, fully and completely spent. To his left, he felt Elijah’s hand firmly place itself on his shoulder.

“You killed it tonight. Truly,” Elijah said, his voice low. “We’re lucky to have you.”

Greyson looked at his boss, defeated. “I was an ass,” he said, his voice congested and hoarse. “I’m a dick. I yelled at Juan, and it wasn’t even his fault. Ticket times were trash. I wasn’t on top of it the way I should’ve been and I – huh…HUGTSSH-uhh! HUHESHHHOO!” Greyson swiped angrily under his nose and pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. “And I have a fuckigg cold.”

Elijah sat silently for a moment, and Greyson figured he was getting ready to gloat or make some sort of snide comment about how he knew Greyson was sick, and Greyson was an idiot for being there at all, but instead he heard his boss get up and leave the office. Greyson looked up from his hands after a few minutes of silence to see Elijah standing over him with a new box of tissues and a bottle of whiskey.

“I know,” he said, sitting down and pushing both of his peace offerings towards Greyson. “But you did it anyway. And that’s badass.”

Greyson had to swallow the lump in his throat before he could look his boss in the eye again. “You’re a kndow-it-all prick,” he said, taking a tissue and unscrewing the whiskey cap. He took a swig, and blew his nose, unsure what else to say.

“I’m aware,” Elijah replied. “But I’m right.”

Greyson looked at his boss and managed a smile. “I thindk…I mbay have to call out tomorrow.”

Elijah couldn’t help but laugh. “Grey,” he said, “if I see your ass in this building anytime before the weekend, I’ll send you home in a bodybag.”

This time, it was Greyson’s turn to laugh. “Honestly…body bag doesn’t sound too bad at this poindt.”

Elijah smiled and pushed the whiskey towards the chef once more. “Get yourself nice and drunk, chef. I’ll drive you home.”

Bugtober Day 30: Nightmare

he needs a hug

Wasps in Bug Fables

While the yellow jackets controlled by the Wasp King represent a significant portion of the antagonistic force, they're not the only wasps in Bugaria. After a couple separate conversations about wasps, I thought I'd round them all up and display the variety to be found.

First off, let's get the ones you fight out of the way. These are the ones under Hoaxe's mind-control via their antennae. Fuff, while a hornet, is also a eusocial species and compelled to serve.

Next up, we have the members of the nest who aren't under the Wasp King's control. -Queen Vanessa II stated she was protected from Hoaxe's fire thanks to the brooch, but as far as I recall, it isn't explicitly said that she'd have been under his influence without the brooch either. Maybe as Queen, she's immune to mind control. -Then there's Jayde who is protected from control thanks to the crystal necklace Vanessa gifted her at some point in the past. She acts controlled around other wasps so that she doesn't get singled out and locked up. -A few yellow jackets aren't able to be controlled thanks to broken or bent antennae. I only have Voi pictured here, but there's also the one that got imprisoned because they didn't cotton on and pretend.

Then we have some solitary species of wasps who, while not outright stated in the game, likely wouldn't be receptive to mind control, especially not at range, since they wouldn't have the genetic inclination to follow a queen or be part of a hive mind.

So, who does that leave? Reeves and Zasp, the two wasps that we know have been accepted as explorers. -Reeves' species isn't specified past "wasp" in the Wiki. He's a paler yellow than the yellow jackets, and I believe the orange under his scarf? cloak? are his wings, so whatever he is, he's probably not related to the nest. I would suggest that he's an orange spider wasp, but his body is yellow and he doesn't have enough black, so idk! He's probably a solitary wasp, whatever he is. -And then Zasp, our beloved. Paper wasps in general are eusocial like most other wasps of the vespidae family. I would argue that his antennae are bent that way more for character design than to show they're "broken," so I suppose, he'd be susceptible to the Wasp King's influence. Maybe his dedication to Mothiva is too strong lol. Maybe he's just never in range/in Hoaxe's attention enough to become a thrall. Or maybe the explorer permit that I assume he carries protects him. The permits have crystals in them, and we know a crystal is what protects Jayde...

Anyway, that's all the wasps! Thanks for coming to my Ted Talk.

Oh, editing to add, in case someone isn't aware- the Wasp King himself isn't actually a wasp! He's a thick-headed fly that mimics a wasp.

phantom limb

I find it absolutely hilarious that they went through all the effort of making and getting approved as a team SOLELY so they could enjoy the books in the library. Gen and Eri are out there running around Bugaria doing things and being mostly helpful, but these two are an exploration team that explores books for personal gain. I assume it's personal, anyway, since they never mention researching for the purposes of helping anyone or digging up obscure historical info. Alas, they're more of a slacker team than Team Slacker.

But seriously, shouldn't there be some regulations or requirements or something? Like, how are they contributing to the Association or the Ant Kingdom?? I don't like that the library is limited to explorers (and i think resident ants too), but I feel like these two shouldn't be vetted as explorers if they're just reading and not doing any explorer duties.

yin continues to be an enigma of the most annoying kind. i genuinely wish she hadn't been included in the game [from a worldbuilding perspective] because she's such a special case for things that weren't clearly defined within the game to begin with. the worldbuilding of this game is frustratingly lax in a lot of basic areas and going "here's a super special rare never before seen thing that's happening" when we don't even know what the regular cases are is annoying and muddles things severely.

do most bugs need a special spot to complete metamorphosis? why did yin need a special spot? how did maki figure out there was a the special spot that might work for yin? how did yin get stunted like that to begin with? how did she not become feral or unawakened or whatever the term is when she wasn't around and nurtured by other awakened bugs during her Very Long vulnerable state of being a caterpillar? [this question applies to Hoaxe as well btw, though without the long larval stage...presumably. we don't actually know with him] how did she survive so long? how does she have magic? why does she have magic? was it something she always had or did she get magic from eclosing in that special place in the grasslands? i have so many questions, y'all

to be clear, I like yin as a character i think she has a neat design and balances team maki [from a fight perspective] and i have enjoyed thinking about her dynamic post-game with maki and kina. ... but that was under the impression that she was a child/early teen or smth, and idk something feels weird about her actually being an adult. like, things still work for what ive thought about, but the tone has shifted and it makes it weird now? why couldn't there have been a throwaway line clarifying that yin is not a kid? how were we supposed to know she'd spent That Many Years as a caterpillar? todd is not a caterpillar but is still a child, and he's not the only one, so there's established precedent for non-larval moths to be children. yin's special case once again rears its head!

bad cold stuffy talk

"I have a bad cold id by dose ad it's baki'g be s'deeze so buch. I'b so stuffed up ad I cad't stop s'diffli'dg ad I deed to blow by dose so badly. ah-ah-uh-CHOOOO! sdf. excuse be. could you please had be sobe tissues?"

"I've had a bad cold for two weeks dow a'd I thi'dk—hhdjisschewww!—I thi'dk I'b catchi'g adother ode."

"AH-CHOO! I'b so sorry, I did't bead to s'deeze od you. I have a bad cold a'd I—ACHOO!—I haved't beed able to stop s'deezi'g all week. AHAHCHOO! Sorry... I hope I did't give you by cold."

"I had to walk hobe last dight a'd it was raidi'dg a'd I did't have ad ub'brella. I got so cold a'd wet a'd by dose was ruddi'dg so buch. By the tibe I got hobe I was shiveri'g a'd by dose was bright pi'dk a'd I was s'deezi'g like crazy. I could'dt stop s'deezi'g all dight a'd dow I have a really stuffy dose a'd it wod't go away. I thi'dk I caught a bad cold frob bei'g id the rai'd."

"I'b—ADJCHOO!—I'b cobi'g—AHD'JHISH-CHOO!—I thi'dk I'b cobi'g dowd withAHGK-CHOO! with a bad AHHTCHOO! AHGKT-CHOO! with a bad cold. AACHOO! AHHPTCHOO! AH-AAH-AAAHH–AAHPTSSSCHOO!"

Todo lo que se haga con el corazón, tiene sentido

O Olho da Deusa/Deus - arte indígena muito conhecida só que na sua forma com fios de lã. Um amuleto lindo que normalmente confeccionamos para pedir algo simples aos deuses como esperança, felicidade, prosperidade, amor e etc. Faço esse amuleto nas cores prata, preto,vermelho,lilás, azul ou verde…só por encomenda falando comigo por mensagem privada!🍃💚

*feito com fio colorido de alumínio.

#dhyngetal #olhodedeus #olhodadeusa #wicca #arteindigena #amuleto https://www.instagram.com/p/B4Ar3Dnhty2/?igshid=1qkoj9gmn6dx5

Sicktember Day 2

Homesick

Fandom: -

Characters: Florian and Celia

Illness: Common cold, Fever

Warning: -

A little bit of context for a better understanding (bc I just jumped straight into action lol): Florian was invited to a neighboring kingdom for diplomatic purposes, and in his escort he brought Celia with himself and now she's providing comfort for him while they're far away from home. The prince and Celia are pretty comfortable with each other at this point but still maintaining their obligatory distance.

-

’I just… I want to go home. Everyone is so loud and irritating here and there are always so many problems with everything. And my head hasn’t stopped pounding since two days ago.’

Celia quietly sighed as Florian leaned back and rested his head on the top of the armchair. He was exhausted and this whole room was just uncomfortable and hot, he wished to be back in his own chamber and own bed. It was selfish of him, he knew that well and he felt bad about his thoughts but couldn’t help with the helplessness and homesickness that was clinging onto his chest. Celia’s cold hand on his forehead was what brought him back to reality. The maid was looking at him with a pitiful sadness and Florian’s stomach jumped into a knot at the look in her eyes. He never liked it if somebody was looking at him like this, it made him feel weak and useless like he wasn’t good enough for his title. And the emotional state he was in right now, clearly wasn’t helping his clouded mind.

‘You’re burning up.’

‘What?’

‘You’re running a fever, Your Highness. I believe you’re sick.’

‘No, that can’t be.’ Florian quickly shooed away Celia’s hand, but only realized how hot his head actually felt when the maid’s cool fingers weren’t pressing on his skin anymore. Maybe even his head started hurting a bit more. ‘I can’t get sick right now.’

He was trying to convince himself that it wasn’t right, he was just tired and maybe that has messed with his temperature, but the scratching feeling in his lungs that made him want to cough was clearly protesting against his idea.

‘I’m sorry Your Highness, your body must have gotten tired because of the traveling and caught a cold.’

Celia was still looking at him that way. She was pitying him. He didn’t need anyone’s pity, especially not a maid’s!

‘Stop looking at me like that!’

Florian’s voice was harsh and rough and Celia quickly turned her head away. She was familiar with higher ranking people yelling at her, but it was the first time Florian raised his voice at her and it caught her off guard. She let her feelings show too much and she must not let this accident happen again.

‘I’m sorry Your Highness, please forgive me.’

Her voice was weaker than she had intended and Celia was cursing herself for that. She needs to get herself together, this behavior wasn’t suited for the crown prince’s nursing maid.

‘No, no I’m sorry Celia…’ it only took a moment for Florian to realize how he just acted with her, who was only trying to help him, and immediately felt terrible. ‘I didn’t mean to yell at you like that, it was very rude of me, you didn’t do anything. You don’t have to ask for forgiveness. I’m just…so tired, I’m sorry…’

Tears were forming in the prince’s eyes and he quickly pulled a hand in front of his face but Celia gasped when she saw the tears running down Florian’s face.

‘Oh no, it’s alright, I’m not angry or anything! Please don’t cry Your Highness, everything’s fine.’

‘I’m sorry, I don’t know why am I like this… You shouldn’t see me like this…’ the prince’s voice was trembling and Celia not minding the young man’s status, pulled him close. Florian hasn’t protested, just laid into her hug.

‘I’m the very person who should see you like this.’ Celia’s soothing words filled the air with some kind of comfort. ‘And you’re feverish, it’s normal to experience mood swings, I know you haven’t meant it.’

‘I don’t want to get sick…’

‘I know, but I’m here to help and you’ll feel better soon enough.’

‘But what will they say…?’

Those always-watching and unpredictable gazes felt like burning irons on his skin. Normally he’d know how to deal with them, but right now he was so tired and lost and buried under all those problems without a clear solution. He really just wanted to go back home and hide under his blankets where he could comfortably rest for a few days without everyone questioning him. But even if he set off right now, it’d take two weeks to get home and he had to admit, he was in no way in any shape, or form fit for a road so long. The only thing he had closest to home was Celia right now.

‘For the next two days there won’t be any meetings.’ answered Celia after a little thinking, while gently rubbing Florian’s back. The prince wasn’t sure when was it okay to let go, but he sure didn’t want to yet. ‘The noblemen are going for a hunt and you can kindly decline to go with them, saying that you’re honored, but hunting isn’t your favorite way of passing the time and you must manage some matters regarding a few diplomatic decisions that need your attention. And while they are out and you’re seemingly busy with work, we’ll nurse you back to health in no time.’

‘That sounds actually… quite manageable. But I’m sure they will comment on me missing out on the hunt.’

‘We can’t make anyone happy, but I’m sure they’ll understand you have work.’

‘Hm.’

‘So, how about it Your Highness? I can send someone out immediately if you want to.’

Florian was quiet for a little, trying to think through the plan and find some weak points in it, but his mind wasn’t working properly anymore, too fogged to do any of its work.

‘Yes, alright… This one will do it… And nobody will know how I…?’

‘Nobody. I promise.’

‘Thank you, Celia…’

‘Of course.’ Celia smiled at him as she gently pulled away from him and Florian let her go with a shaking breath but found her fingers on his face again before having a chance to step away. She was carefully placing her palm on the prince’s cheeks, tapping the hot skin with her fingertips and discreetly whipping away some of his dried up tears. Florian closed his eyes and haven’t even flinched when Celia’s soft lips made contact with his forehead and rested there for a few seconds to feel his temperature. Even her breath felt nice and cool and for a fragment of a second, Florian was no crown prince, just a sick boy in a loving hold.

‘Please get comfortable and go to bed, Your Highness. I’ll bring some water and tea for you and make someone inform the noblemen. You’ll have to sweat this one out.’

Florian just nodded and threw his clothes on the ground as Celia quickly left and climbed to bed with aching muscles. He wasn’t even sure how he had the energy for this day when the only thing he was able to do now is to hide under the heavy blankets shivering and waiting for his maid to finally return back to him.