fever few

chocolatelovingtmntgirl  asked:

Hey, do you know any good fics with a hurt/sick Yuuri and a worried Viktor and Yurio?

Thank you for these requests! Sick fics are my guilty pleasure… I have a bunch that I think you’ll like!

Sick Yuuri/Victor

The Fundamentals of Caring by braveten, Explicit, 20k
One of my favourite hurt/comfort fics! Yuuri comes down with a nasty cold and Victor tries to take care of him the best that he can. Full of hilariously delusional Yuuri, caring Victor, and ALL THE FLUFF! So cute, definitely recommend!

Breakfast in Bed by glim, Gen, 1.6k
“You have a cold,” Viktor confirms. “And I have breakfast for you.” SO CUTE OMGOMG

Snowglobe by Nostalgia-in-Starlight (UniverseEndingParadox), Teen, 3.2k
So skinny dipping in a rooftop pool in the middle of a Russian winter may not have been the best idea. Sick Victor and caring Yuuri. What’s not to love?

Arrivals by youaremarvelous, Not Rated, 6.7k
Yuuri falls ill shortly after moving to St. Petersburg. With Viktor away on a sponsor meeting, it’s up to the Ice Tiger of Russia to nurse him back to health. Yurio helps Yuuri….OMG I LOVE THIS

re: the common cold by celestialfics, Teen, 1.8k
Even though Viktor is insufferable when he’s sick, Yuuri can never really refuse him. Sick Victor! Thumbs up!

Practice Is Cancelled by Arisprite, Gen, 4.8k
Victor gets a cold, and the Katsuki family is there for him. LOVE!

Medicine by hanatchii, Mature, 1.7k
Yuuri has had an unshakable fever for the past few days and Victor is determined to make him feel better in one way or another. Highly recommend!

Fever Gold by fleurofthecourt, Teen, 3.3k
This cannot be happening. He cannot be sick right now. There’s a crowd around him chattering and cheering in at least seven different languages, and an announcer calling him to the center of the rink. Definetly recommend!

Under the Weather by ProcrastinatingPalindrome, Gen, 1.3k
Victor spends his 28th birthday in bed with the flu while Yuuri fusses over him. Somehow, he doesn’t seem too upset about this. Pure fluff!

Sniffly Morning in Barcelona by Jenny33Wren, Gen, 2.7k
The sniffling started sometime in the middle of the night. Victor had been too hopped up on adrenaline after the day’s events to sleep soundly anyway, and Yuuri’s progressive symphony of sniffles and little strangled coughs meant by the time the sun came up, they had both been silently awake for hours. Cute!

Two Minutes by GooberFeesh, Teen, 1.4k
Even though Yuuri knew it was just a cold and that it could have been much, much worse, it didn’t really eliminate the feeling of dread when Viktor awoke two mornings ago to a sore throat, stuffy nose, and tight chest. Domestic fluff! LOVE!

Insult to Injury by glim, Gen, 8k
Almost a whole week alone with Viktor might not be worth one of them made victim to a sprained ankle and both of them to a winter head cold, but maybe it is worth all that, at least in some small way. Great sick fic!

The lovely Victor sneezing gif is created by @victuri-onice! Check out their blog!

Xhans log) humans are creatures of action addressing "Cabin Fever"

In these past few solar cycles I have witnessed a variety of behaviors from my three human crew mates.

Humans as previously observed are habit driven creatures and prefer a routine with in a 24 section cycle.

How ever to much time in a routine without variation can cause the humans health to deteriorate. They become ill will something called “cabin fever” causing them to go “stir crazy”.

Cabin fever is dangerous it causes the humans perception of potentially hazardous situations to become skewed. It can causes them to act out or become extremely irritable.

I myself have witnessed a human afflicted with “cabin fever” it was my human crew mate ‘John’.

It began with small symptoms. Excessive movement of the extremities. Increased speed while talking. Then it escalated. The human began circling the ship. Stalking the halls. Moving like a predator on the hunt. Many of us became nervous because we had not witnessed this behavior before. Human 'Sara’ mate of human 'John’ said “he’s just pacing it’s fine.”

But it was not fine as the cycles continued to pass human 'John’ became irritable lashing out verbally at the rest of the crew only to apologize moments later and vanish to a different part of the ship.

It was at this point that we approached human crew mates 'Sara’ and 'Carlos’ for an explanation. They explained the sickness known as “cabin fever” and what causes it.

The ship has since been updated with a “game room” containing many puzzles and games that rely on chance. It is unknown currently if this will be enough to prevent “cabin fever” but we are now on the watch for any other cases of this illness.

Written by) Vevanta'cexhan nicknamed “Xhan”

MONSTA X Your Fever

When you have a fever so high you hallucinate.

Shownu – He’d been worried when you we feverish but once you started talking about things that weren’t there he would take you to a doctor. Immediately. If you wouldn’t come willingly he’d pick you up bridal style, over his shoulder or put you on his back, whatever it took. Though Shownu isn’t usually forceful with you at all, he’d want to get you to some help because you were beyond thinking clearly for yourself. He’d realize you were at a point that he could no longer care for you and get you to someone who could help you get better. He wouldn’t panic and just focus on getting you help.

Wonho – He would have been doting on you anyway while you were ill and then if you started hallucinating he’d freak out. He’d be repeating to you over and over that things were ok, but he’d also be trying to calm himself down. He’d try to get you to drink some water and as he did his hand would keep going to your forehead, his gut clenching at how warm you felt. In desperation an idea would come to his mind and he’d haul you to your feet leading you to the bathroom. Too impatient to wait for the tub to fill he’d turn the shower on cold and stand with you under the spray, holding you up and shivering but not wanting to leave you.

Keep reading

Your hands feel like home

Request: Some college au lance and keith, where maybe keith gets like really badly sick (Up to you my friend how) and lance has to force him to stop going to classes/go to the hospital but keith gets so freaking stressed because he must have perfect grades (Klance if you want!!) Thank!!! C:

Summary: When Keith comes down sick, he assumes its nothing and carries on. But as classes and deadlines start to take their toll, it becomes more and more obvious to both Keith and his boyfriend Lance, that this ‘cold’ is anything but normal. How he made it to lectures with full blown pneumonia, he’ll never know, but something he does know is that no matter what, Lance will always be by his side. 

‘Babe, did you get the coffee?’

Keith raised his head, pausing in his feeble attempt to remove his shoes without experiencing a rapid, unplanned introduction to the floor.

‘Huh?’ he called, a small wince seeping through his teeth at the irritable scrape in his throat. He had been feeling ill for days, sluggish and tired, with a growing wet cough that burned his airways and pounded his head like a hammer on an anvil. He knew he had a fever - that morning while Lance had still been sleeping he had snuck into his bathroom and borrowed his thermometer, only find that his temperature had risen to 38.5 degrees. But college was just too busy to take a day off from, and so he had popped a few fever reducers and paracetamol and gotten on with his day.

‘Coffee,’ Lance repeated, sticking his head out of the kitchen door to raise his eyebrows at Keith. ‘you said you were gonna stop by the store on your way here and pick some up. I’m nearly out,’

Keith groaned, leaning his head against the wall, second shoe all but forgotten. ‘Damnit.. I forgot, sorry. Want me to go back out and get some?’ he asked, but every fibre of his body was praying that Lance would say no. Apparently, whatever Gods were looking down on him chose to be kind, and Lance shook his head, at ease.

Keep reading

Escape:  the residency years

Warning:  This isn’t the happiest of chapters.

Special thanks to @joannclelia for her help. And to anon for the ending advice.

“What have ye for lunch then?”  

She turned the phone around to show him her tray.  Pasta, of course.  An orange.  Spinach salad.  Good.  Bottle of water.  Then, just on the edge of her tray…

“Claire.  What was that?”  

She flipped the phone back to her face.  “What was what, darling? You can see I have a very healthy lunch, and I’m sitting down, relaxing while I eat.  With Louise,” she turned the phone towards her companion, a pretty nurse with long brown hair.

“Right there!  Is that a brownie?”  He could hear her giggle, and say shhhh.

Her face was barely straight as she looked him.  “No.  That’s Louise’s, not mine.”

“Non, ce n’est pas le mien!” Jamie heard the indignant voice out of view. 

“Sassenach, I ken ye like the French pastries, but come on.  Ye had a pain au chocolat at breakfast, now this. Last night, some cake.  How about ye not give birth to a diabetic, eh?”  

Claire smiled, and blew him a kiss.  “No pudding at dinner tonight.  Promise.” 

Jamie nodded, pursed his lips, and blew a kiss back.  “Enjoy yer lunch.  I’ll speak wi’ ye later.  Take it easy, okay?”

“I will.” Claire said, as she waved at her screen.

“I love you, mo neighean donn.  Give the bairn a kiss from his Da.” 

“You mean her.”  Claire kissed her fingers and pressed them on her bump. “Love you, too, Jamie,” she said, and disconnected.

When it was time to go back, Claire gathered up her tray, and stood.  

She looked at her chair in confusion.  There was a large mark on her seat. What had she spilled?  

It wasn’t until she heard Louise’s gasp that she realized something was wrong. 

She felt the sticky wetness on her scrubs, but couldn’t really see past her belly.

A moment later she felt the rush of something between her legs.  She could smell the blood.  

Her tray dropped to the floor, bouncing off the end of the table on its way down, shattering everything.  

Far away someone was screaming.

It was her. 

“I just talked to her.  I just talked to her at lunch.  She was fine.  I just saw her.” Jamie kept repeating the same thing.  He sat in one of the chairs in front of her desk, tears in his eyes, bewildered, confused.  

Jenny catapulted into action.  She snapped a finger at her assistant, pointing. The woman already had the phone receiver in her hand.  “I need Ian, here, right now.  For Jamie.  Alec needs to bring the car around right away.  And get a private plane ready to leave for Paris immediately.  Charge the company.”  

“You,” she pointed at Willie, “come with me.”  Willie, who had shown up with Jamie, was pale and panicked.  He stepped into line with her as she strode down the hall.  “We need Jamie’s passport, and -”

“Oh! I have it.  All of Jamie’s travel documents are in his office.” Willie was glad he had that, at least. 

“Good.  Now, gather all that up and, listen carefully, ye need to get his art supplies.”  Jenny stopped, and put a hand on Willie’s arm.  “He draws when he’s stressed.  He’ll need the distraction.  Get it all together and give it to Ian.” She pushed him forward, “Now go!”

Willie streaked off to do her bidding.

Jenny had Alec drive at break neck speed to Jamie and Claire’s flat.   She threw what she could into a bag, jeans, tee shirts, a few socks, trainers, jacket. She threw some things in for Claire as well.  Soft sleep pants and a softer sweater.  Toiletries.  Where the hell was his underwear!?!  She opened a top drawer and rummaged around.  

The small gold object caught her eye.  She hadn’t seen it in years. Instinctively, she grabbed it, and slamming the drawer shut, turned to go.  She was in and out of the flat in 15 minutes.  

Ian and Jamie were waiting inside the small terminal when she got there.  Her brother was turning his phone over and over in his large hands.  She put the bag next to his feet in silence.    

When the flight was ready, Jenny walked Jamie to the steps.  Ian handed the steward the bag.    

“Jenny, I-“

“Shhhh, brother.”  She grabbed Jamie around his shoulders and hugged him tight.  His arms gripped her as he buried his face in her neck.  God, he was burrowing in like Wee Jamie after he’s fallen off his bike. She had no words for him.  She would not lie and tell him it would be all right.  Lord only knew what was happening in France.  “Give Claire a hug for me, and tell her I love her.” Jamie nodded against her neck.  She turned quickly and gave him a kiss on his temple.  

Grabbing his hand, she pressed the small oval piece into his palm.  “I found this.  Take it.  Let it give ye strength.”  

Jamie looked at it, eyes wide.

“Go on,” Jenny said.  “Call me as soon as you know something.”

Jamie let go, wiped his eyes with the back of his hand and nodded, looking at the tarmac the whole time.  

He turned towards the plane, but found himself in a hard embrace.  Ian gripped his brother-in-law, and friend tightly.  No words were exchanged. Whatever one needed, the other would give.  They had been through too much together, their bond understood.  Ian was the one person who knew exactly what Jamie was thinking and feeling.  

How life could change in the blink of an eye.

How you could be whole, and happy, feeling right with the world, and then have your heart and mind shattered like the cracks in a windshield after a crash, spreading out in front of you until you can’t see anything of the world at all. Just fragments.  Fractures.  Shattered pieces.  Or worse yet, missing.  

Jamie sat alone on the plane looking out of the window as Scotland disappeared below him.  He still had the token from Jenny in his hand.  He closed his fist around it, hard, and looked out at the clouds surrounding him. He raised his eyes higher, heavenward.  Lord that she may be safe. She and the child.  

It was all over when he arrived.  

He was ushered to a waiting room, and made to sit by himself.  Finally, a small toad-like man entered, and introduced himself as Dr. Raymond.  His first thought was, Claire said ye looked like a frog.  She wasna wrong.  Jamie’s mouth lifted in half a smile as he stood to extend his hand to the doctor.  

Raymond explained that Claire was currently receiving some units of blood to replace what she’d lost.  Once assured Claire would be fine, Jamie had asked about his child.  

The wee man barely came up to the centre of Jamie’s chest, yet his words had the power to knock him backwards, stumbling into a chair.   

His child was mort-nè.  

Still born.  

Jamie felt fragile, paper thin, like velum, that if he moved too fast or spoke to loudly he would tear in half.   

“Your wife suffered a placental abruption.  This is when the placental lining separates from the uterus.  Sometimes the mother does not feel anything, and sometimes she feels, maybe, some pain in the back.  Unfortunately, the infant was not receiving enough oxygen in utero, so….” The doctor paused, then said in his heavy French accent, “I am sorry for your loss, Monsieur.”

Jamie nodded, and swallowed.  His emotions were so raw, he found himself unable to speak.  His thoughts were a tangle, like a net cast out to sea and caught on a rocky shore.  Fear wrapped itself around his gut, making him wonder if this was, somehow, his fault.  

“Can I ask ye a question?” Jamie said.

Dr. Raymond blinked slowly, and nodded once.    

“Is this my fault?  Should I – “ Jamie stopped.  It was difficult to talk of personal things, private things.  

He thought back to the night before she left, how he drove into his wife, hard and fast, angry that she was leaving, desperate to have her knowing he would miss her, with fear in his veins over their impending separation. More like making a point, than making love. He would rather die than to have been the one to cause the tear.

He gathered his courage, began again.  “The last time, when I had, well, sex with my wife…should I have been gentler?  Maybe….maybe been more considerate of her…of her….condition?”  

The physician simply shook his head, and said quite bluntly, “No, Monsieur. That is not the cause.  You are a fine husband.  It is not possible.”  

Absolved of his sin, Jamie sat back in the chair and exhaled.

But that didn’t absolve Claire.  Jamie took a deep breath, then said what was on his mind next, a thought that was eating at him like a corrosive.  

“I never wanted her to come, ye see.  She…Claire…she doesna do things in half measure, ye ken.  I worried she’d overdo.  So.”  He looked Dr. Raymond straight in the eye, and asked, “Did she?  Did she do too much?  On her feet all hours?  Not stopping, or getting proper rest?” 

Jamie rubbed his hands together, trying to warm them.  He felt ice cold to the marrow of his bones.  “Tell me she rested.  Tell me she took care, that this wasna her fault, either,” he whispered, ashamed, “because I don’t…I don’t want to hate my wife.”  

Dr. Raymond looked at this red man.  The aura around him.  He would fight to the death for the things he loved.  Raymond understood he was fighting now. Fighting for the love that was being consumed by his fear.

“Monsieur Fraser, I can tell you that many times the cause is unknown. Sometimes the placenta does not attach in a place that provides adequate support, and it may not develop appropriately, or it may separate as it grows.” The little man leaned forward in an effort to reassure Jamie, “I can tell you that Dr. Fraser was not reckless or foolish.  Anyone could see that the child in her womb came first.”

The door opened then, and the young nurse he’d seen from Claire’s video called for the doctor. He couldn’t follow all of her rapid French, but when Dr. Raymond jumped up, Jamie instinctively followed.  

He stepped inside the room.  Claire’s room.  A Dhia, she looked so pale.  She was as stark a white as the hospital linens, the dark of her hair like an ink blot on the pillow.  Her arm thin, slack, even though the deep red liquid flowing through the tube in her arm was promising life.  

He understood a few words.  Fever.  Infection.  

Jamie watched in shock as the little man laid his hands on Claire.  Her shoulders, her arms.  Murmuring in French the entire time.  He sent the nurse for another drip, and she scurried out of the room hardly sparing Jamie a glance.  He flinched as the doctor ran his hands over Claire’s breasts, and down her torso, lightly but touching her all the same.  The healer then placed his hands over his wife’s womb, and Claire writhed in pain.  

More blood.  Jesus, God, how could there be so much blood.

And then, his name.

Ripped from Claire.  In pain.  In desperation.  Like a magnet, it drew him.  It was strange, how his name dragged from her remaining strength reverberated in his soul.  He took a step towards her before he’d realized he’d moved, and found himself stopped with a vise grip on his arm.  He turned to find a large woman, Hildegard according to the name tag, telling him, “Vous devez partir, Monsieur.”

When she woke up she was a bit disoriented.  Memory surfaced.  Grief washed over her like a tidal wave.  For a moment she could not breathe.  

Turning her head she saw her 6’4” husband folded into a tiny chair beside her bed.  She had no memory of his arrival. 

He was sketching.  He looked tired, wan, pale.  His eyes darting over his drawing as his big hand moved in strong sure strokes.  

“Do you hate me for it, Jamie?” she whispered, wanting to know.  Her biggest fear, that Jamie would blame her.  What was more pain?  Better to roll it all into one great big ball of grief, and deal with it.

He jumped.  “Didna realize ye were awake, Sassenach.”  Jamie set down his computer.  

Claire relaxed at the use of her nickname.  

“Jamie, I’m so sorry.  So very, very sorry.  I put myself before our family.  This is all my fault.”  

“Shhh, mo neighean donn.  Yer a doctor, ye ken well it’s no’ yer fault.”  Jamie moved his chair closer to her bed, and took one small, weak, long-fingered hand in his two large ones. Tears slipped from her eyes at his gentleness.  

Jamie didn’t have any words.  There was nothing to say.   He couldn’t fix what happened.  He couldn’t change the loss.  He could just share it.  

They sat like that for some time.  Glancing at each other.  Letting their hands speak for them, thumbs stroking, fingers squeezing, softly rubbing.  Jamie’s thumb touched her ring from time to time.  

Finally, Claire spoke.  “I want to see her.”

“My wife,” Jamie stopped.  Cleared his throat.  “My wife wants to see our child.” He stood in front of the nurses’ station, hands clenched into balls at his side, standing as tall as he could.

“Ce n’est pas possible, Monsieur,” said Nurse Hildegarde.  It wasn’t the answer Jamie wanted.  He had been powerless to this point.  This, however, he would control.  

“I didna ask yer permission.  I didna say can she, I said she wants to.  So she doesna have to imagine.”  He willed himself not to raise his voice, to keep his anger in check.  

The young nurse, Louise, looked up at him.  She looked at her superior. Stand-offs like this were rare.  Usually no one questioned Nurse Hildegard. Everyone stopped to look at the large, grieving, red haired man.  Nurse Hildegarde opened her mouth to speak again, but caught sight of the little practitioner behind Monsieur Fraser.

“Soeur Hildegard. Presénter l’enfant à Dr. et M. Fraser.  Vous avez ma permission.”   

Claire was sitting up in bed when he entered the room.  The bundle in his arms was so tiny.  A pink blanket.   As he came nearer she could see the tiny face peeking through.  Sleeping.  No, Claire remembered, not sleeping.  

“Her hair,” Jamie said, smiling sadly, “she’s got my hair.”

Claire raised her arms for the baby, and Jamie gently handed her their child as if handling fragile glass.  There was that awkward bobble of a new dad not sure what he’s doing to a new mom too eager to hold her baby.  They both chuckled at that.  Jamie sat on the edge of the bed, his arm around his wife, the other under her arms that held the baby.  They stayed like that, silently, as Claire unwrapped parts of their bairn, counting ten fingers, and ten toes. Stroking the luminescent skin.  She chuckled at the tiny ears, which stuck out a bit, like Jamie’s.  He nudged her in understanding, chuffed.  So beautiful.

And then Claire began to sing.

When Nurse Louise came in an hour later she was moved by the tableau before her.  Her friend, Claire, rocking slowly, humming.  Jamie, her husband, sitting stoic beside her.  Neither taking their eyes from their child.  

She approached the bed. 

“Ma Chere, Claire.  Il est temps.”

When Louise left the room closing the door behind her, Claire thoroughly and completely went to pieces.  

Jamie held his wife across his lap.  

And did the same.

Sitting on the private plane to go home Claire looked out the window at the terminal traffic.  Everyone so busy, oblivious to the people they were shuttling on to planes, the bags they were loading, the lives they were moving along. Jamie sat beside her, holding her hand.  They spoke little.  She still couldn’t believe they were alone on this plane.  Jamie insisted.  He said he’d had enough of strangers.  

“I don’t want to forget her face,” Claire whispered, head back, curls pressed against the head rest.  “I’m afraid I’ll forget her face.”

Jamie let go of her hand.  “I ken it may be strange.  I’m sorry if it bothers ye. But I had to,” he said, quietly, apologetically.  He fumbled in his pocket.  “For Jenny.  For my sister.  She would want to see, ye ken.  She’s all I’ve got for family, other than you, Claire.”

There, on his phone screen, looking as if she was sleeping peacefully, was Faith Elizabeth Fraser. 

One year later

They walked slowly through the cemetery.  Jamie’s hands deep in his pockets, as he did when he was nervous.  Claire’s arms were crossed in front of her, as she did when she was nervous, a bouquet of tulips gripped in her hand.  They walked as if they really didn’t want to arrive at their destination, lost in their own thoughts, steps hesitant.  

It was the first time they would visit her grave.  One year to the day when she passed.  

“She should be over here.”  Jamie hung back and let Claire step up first.
Claire’s gasp was audible from where he stood.  She dropped to her knees, and laid a hand reverently on the stone.  A stone.  She hadn’t expected a stone.  They hadn’t ordered one.  She expected a simple marker, not this beautiful, pale pink granite slab. 

Jamie crouched beside her.  He cleared his throat.  “A Da can only give what he can to his bairn.  I’m an artist.  So.  I gave her a resting place, wit’ her name and our names, and placed her in the care of her grandparents.  Yers and mine.”  He brushed a leaf off the corner of the stone.  “And I left a bit of Scotland wi’ her.”

She traced the tiny gold medal imbeded in the stone under Faith’s name. “What is this?”

“It’s St. Andrew,” Jamie said.  “My father used to carry the medal around in his pocket. It would remind him to pray, to ask for intercession when he needed it. It became mine.  Jenny gave it to me when I left for France.  When I ordered the stone I gave it to them, along with the design.”  

They stayed for a long time, holding hands, lost in their own thoughts.  
Jamie stood, and pulled his wife to her feet.  Wrapping his arms around her shoulders he buried his face in her sweet smelling curls.  The sun shone warm on their faces, as Jamie swayed from side to side.

“So.  Now would be a good time to tell me something, Claire Fraser,” he said, next to her ear.  “Anything ye like.”  

Claire butted backwards and hit her husband in the crotch.  He let out a soft “oof” and laughed.

“I have nothing to say, James Fraser,” she said, in her haughtiest tone.   

“Hmpf,” Jamie made a Scottish noise, and turned Claire around to face him. “Yer sure, then?”  

Claire stood on tiptoes and kissed her husband full on the lips. “Five days is not a long time, you know that.”

“Aye, but yer never late.”  He grinned at her.  “It’s fine, Sassenach.  I’ll wait. Besides,” he said softly, “I have you.  And faith.”  

‘Poor, Baby.’ - Harry Styles Imagine

Originally posted by 50stylesofharrold

He was not up to it, since the morning arose, he was not up to anything, he woke up just feeling the worse, but he told himself he was fine, that he was just tired from the constant stress of releasing the fourth album for the band. He played it off, taking a warm hot shower, and getting dress. She did the normal like every morning, wake up, join Harry in the shower, and shower sex, but today was different. She walked in, wrapping her arms around his waist, kissing his shoulder blades, and giving him a hug from behind. Though, he did not respond to it.

She was confused, Harry would usually turn around, giving her a kiss, screwing the main reason of shower and devote his time to her, but today that did not happen. He did turn around looking at her, but the classic Harry Styles’ smirk was not there, his eyes showed weariness and he had a frown. (Y/N) pulled his hair up, and quickly placed it in a bun, watching him, giving him a empathic look, and rubbing his arms, pulling him into a hug, which he took gracefully.

“Alright there, baby?” She said, pulling away. He nodded, turning around grabbing the soap from the bench.

“Just tired.” He told her, she nodded understandably. (Y/N) went to her business with washing herself, and he did too. But he was still not up to it, he ignored the feelings and continued his morning routine.

Keep reading

tessawing  asked:

OK, but now I need T'Challa and Shuri's reactions to You, PLEASE

Well, Tony has shown he’s a very good panther mom and when T’Calla finds an orphaned panther (the penalty for poaching them is death but that doesn’t stop people sometimes when it comes to traditional medicine back then) it only takes a few minutes of discussion before they send him to Tony.

They don’t know know that Tony is bedridden with fever. But Butterfingers isn’t allowed on the bed while he’s sick since she’s so big, and this new panther is so small, and Tony hasn’t gotten cuddled in so long, that Bucky gently sets the panther up against Tony’s side.

Tony opens his eyes at the weight, peers at the panther from under his lashes. He smiles a little, whispers, voice raspy, ”Hey, you.”

The fever lasts for a few more days, but every time Bruce rouses him to drink some broth or take some medicine and the panther’s there he says ‘hey, you.’

Why do you send me these panthers when you know that I’m awful at names???? Steve and Bucky named Peter otherwise he might be named Chipmunk why are you making these panthers suffer

“HE NAMED IT ‘YOU!’” Shuri shouts, and then laughs so hard she cries.

T’Challa manages not to cry as he laughs but only by the skin of his teeth.

You don’t have to say ‘I love you’ to say ‘I love you’
MP100 Valentines Week


Day 8; Confessions or first kiss

pairing: terumob

Story tag


Teruki’s bag is waiting for him outside his front door when he gets home, a small bundle of fresh wildflowers nestled carefully on top – and as he comes closer, he can feel the powerful impression of Shigeo’s affection as clearly as if Shigeo is standing right next to him, wrapping the sentiment around his shoulders like a borrowed coat.

“Oh,” he whispers for absolutely no one to hear, handling the flowers as carefully as spun glass; breathless with a feeling too heavy for him to hold on his own, and too precious for him to put down. “He’s always two steps ahead of me.”

It’s more of a comfort than anything else, and Teruki crouches right there in the outer hall even though his muscles ache and even his eyes are sore, digging his phone out of his bag to send Shigeo a text that says Thank you. 

And then, before he can rethink it, because Shigeo deserves better than a second-rate coward, Teruki sends another text right after the first that says Can I see you tomorrow?

The flowers go in a glass of water by the window, his dirty clothes in the hamper – and Teruki should shower, at the very least wash his face or do something with his hair, but he’s too tired to do more than climb into a pair of pajamas and fall into bed. His body is exhausted and his head hurts. There’s an unnatural heat curling under his skin that probably should worry him, and a jittery feeling keeping him on the wrong side of consciousness, keeping his fingers curled around his phone.

It’s almost ten o’clock on a school night, but the reply he’s waiting for comes after a few minutes: 


Teruki rolls over, pinning the phone to his chest in the cradle of his hands, and laughs breathlessly. He’ll make things right – he will. He can’t make a whole field of flowers bloom for Shigeo, but he can make a gesture of his own, one just as beautiful, he knows he can. It’ll be the most romantic thing in the world, because anything less than that wouldn’t be enough to convey even a fraction of these impossible feelings.

He falls asleep riding the backs of bright and brilliant ideas, and sleeps straight through his alarm in the morning.

Keep reading

in the antechambers of dawn
the fluke of morning fog 
             over the dark harbor 

the summer woods sticky
with sweetbriar

studded with the sleeping
bells of dew

vetch underfoot, fever few ,
lost in the trove of
               morning shadows

sylphs come from their
blush-dusk of otherworld,

some luminous names rising
the moth-blue of oblivion

the great soul, the forgetmenot
the bloodroots burrowing
           the earth

midday comes with its criticisms
and abundance

, abyss of black insects

the sky of thatch and tar
a thousand gold hands

so dreams the susurrus of sea
and those who might sigh for her  

Erwin’s fever had broken a few hours before but the nightmares still persisted, and Levi was spurred​ awake as Erwin called out. Levi blinked the sleep out of his eyes and sat up straight, leaning forward in his chair.

“Papa,” Erwin called again, his voice somehow younger and more innocent.

Levi continued to sit there, his gaze fixed on Erwin’s sleeping face (determined not to see the place where his left arm had once been), noting the evident lines of distress.


Erwin reached out now, searching with his hand.

“Papa …?”

Levi’s stiff muscles ached as he reached out and took Erwin’s hand.

“I’m here,” he said quietly. “It’s okay, Erwin; I’m here.”

Erwin squeezed his hand tight and after a few seconds the distress on his face was replaced by calm and his body relaxed once more into the mattress.

Levi moved his chair a little closer to the Erwin, and resumed his watch.


German poet, orientalist, and polyglot Friedrich Rückert (1788-1866) wrote a series of more than 400 of these Kindertotenlieder (Songs on the Death of Children) after two of his own children, among them his only daughter, died within two weeks from scarlet fever. A few of these poems were later set to music by Gustav Mahler. Many of them resemble oriental poetic forms; this one follows the layout of the persian Ghasel. This is because besides being a poet, Rückert was also one of the founders of oriental studies in Germany. Apart from German, Rückert knew the amazing number of 44 languages, including such diverse as Swedish, Italian, Arabic, Telugu, and Hawaiian.

Going to target Jer-Bear with this one!

New Jersey blizzards aren’t too uncommon, but despite that, they are a nuisance in every shape and form. The wind outside whips snow around into a frightening slant that covers every surface almost instantly. It’s blinding, freezing, and incredibly dangerous.

So, of course Jeremy is sneaking out the front door to dare the ten-minute walk to Michael’s house.

Keep reading

Always and Forever

REQUESTED BY ANON: Hi! I have a request if you like it? “Have you been eating?” For either Winchester brother or both maybe. It could be that the reader has become depressed and withdrawn so they are concerned about her and ask or maybe they are concerned about a relapse with an eating disorder.. really whatever you come up with!

Originally posted by slightdownpour

Sam and Dean Winchester are both seated in the kitchen of the Bunker, both of them sipping on their coffee. Exhausted from a long night of endless research, they finally decided it was time to take a quick brake before returning to it later.

“I wish (Y/N) was there to help us” Dean sighed “you and her make the best research team ever and I could go get a freakin’ drink”.

“I wish she was there too” Sam agreed “but she isn’t feeling well”.

Dean nods in agreement while taking another sip of his drink.

“I wanted to talk to you about that” Dean started with a serious tone “I don’t know for you, but I feel that she is coming back to old habits”.

Sam sighs, looking down at his dark drink. He remembers this old ‘habit’ you had not even two years ago. It had been hard on all of you three Winchesters, you were depressed from the job and stopped eating. There was no reason, you were just not hungry. You were dehydrated and the boys had to bring you to the hospital where you got the help you needed.

“I say we talk to her” Sam finally said after a few seconds “we know how we can help her now. Let’s do it before it’s too late”.

“Let’s bring her something to eat at the same time” Dean said getting up “she hasn’t come out of her room since yesterday”.


Armed with food and two water bottles (keeping one for later because the boys knows that you are not going to come out of your room soon) they knock at your door. You grunt as a respond. Sam opens the doors and enters, followed by his oldest brother.

“Hey, we brought you some soup, since you’re not feeling well, we thought maybe a soup and water could help” Sam said walking to your bed.

He turns on your lamp, seeing you finally curled into bed, hidden under your pillows and your covers.

Dean sets everything on your nightstand to sit down beside you. He checks your forehead, just to make sure that you are not sick, but everything looks fine to him. He is almost disappointed that you aren’t, he would have preferred dealing with a fever for a few days instead of a depressed teenager for maybe a few months.

“Want to eat something?”

“Not hungry” you mumbled “go away”.

“Nop, not going anywhere till you eat at least half of this soup and drink this water” Dean said sitting on your bed.

“No” you whined your voice breaking.

“Hey, Sammy, can you –“

“Sure” Sam nods.

He turns around and gets out of the room, leaving the door half open to spy on his sibling.

“Come on kid” Dean sighs passing a hand in your hair “can you eat?”

“Not hungry”.


You don’t answer, instead you grip your covers tightly closing your eyes tight.

“There has to be a reason”.

“I don’t know” you honestly answered “I’m just not hungry”.

“Is it the same as last time?”

You shake your head, you do not want to admit that you a depressed and you feel as weak as the last time. You do not want your brothers to think that you are weak.

“Okay, kid, you need to talk to me, or Sammy if you want” Dean said “you know that it is important, right? You promised last time”.

Oh, you remember last time. You had broken down, sobbing on your brothers arms, where he made you promise to talk when you don’t feel good.

“I did” you confirmed “but…”

You stop talking, looking down at the food and then up at your oldest brother who looks more concerned than angry. You would have thought that he would be angry because you do not want to do what you are asked for.

Dean has always acted a little more like John Winchester. He tells you what to do, but the difference is that you do not call Dean ‘sir’ (sometimes as a joke).

“But?” Dean encourages you to continue.

“But it feels like if I wanna eat, it’s all gonna get out anyway”.


“I… just… I feel down”.

“We’ve noticed” Dean said “and we are here to help”.

Sam suddenly comes barging in the room with a huge smile on his face.

“Why don’t we travel?” He suggested “wherever you want (Y/N), we go and take a break from hunting, we all know how hunting brings you down”.

“Really?” You asked, tears in your eyes.

You sit up on your bed and stare at your brothers.

“But you eat first, than we can talk about it” Dean said pointing at the bowl of soup.

You nod and start eating, already feeling a lot better knowing that you can go travel. One of your biggest dream is to travel everywhere in the world.

“Thanks guys, I’m sorry”.

“It’s okay, kiddo” Sam assured “we always have our downs. But you have to –“

“Always Keep Fighting” you finished.

Always and forever.

TAGS : @rosie-winchester @evyiione@jamric

Want to be tagged? Send me an ASK!

thehouseofthebrave  asked:

Ahaha. Totally worth a shot. I'll leave the other AUs alone, too. Since I tried to cheat, what about smol!Shiro tries to help Hunk or Pidge who caught a cold. Or tiny Shiro could get sick. Someone is sick and Shiro is small and involved.

:3 now this I can absolutely do

The knock on the door wakes Hunk from a half-drowse.

“Hunk?” Lance calls from the other side of the door. “You awake in there?”

“Yes,” Hunk groans, blinking awake in the low lights of his bunk. What started as a simple case of the sniffles devolved into a low-grade fever that’s kept him in bed for most of this afternoon. He’s sore, aching and not entirely up for much company.

He can handle Lance, though.

“Great,” Lance announces, “We’re coming in.”

“We?” Hunk croaks, mildly alarmed. The word’s barely passed his lips when the door swishes open, spilling in the brighter light from the hall.

Hunk stares. Shiro beams up at him from behind Lance’s knee, grinning wide. Lance is grinning too, standing in Hunk’s doorway with a tray in his hands. A steaming bowl rests on the tray, complete with a spoon and two glasses of liquid (one orange, one clear).

“We brought you supper!” Shiro announces proudly.

Hunk’s brain short circuits in full alarm.

“Uh?” he manages.

“Easy there, it’s your recipe,” Lance explains. He kicks at the base of Hunk’s bunk; a shelf slides out of the upper wall, the perfect height for a side table. Lance deposits the tray on it neatly, swiveling it around so it’s firmly in Hunk’s lap. “We just reheated it.”

“I picked the juice,” Shiro says, peeking up at Hunk. “Lance wanted to just give you boring water.”

“Water’s good for people when they’re sick,” Lance says. “Need help sitting up?”

“No,” Hunk manages, levering himself up on his elbows. Lance grabs the pillows and readjusts them; Hunk leans back gratefully, shaking just a little. His muscles are sore and weak. Fevers suck. “You guys shouldn’t be here. I could be contagious, I don’t want you to get this.”

“We’ll be fine,” Lance says. He bends to scoop Hunk’s fallen datapad off the floor, setting it also onto the new shelf next to a second ‘pad Lance must’ve brought himself. “Besides, someone thought you could use a space heater.”

“Everything’s in space,” Shiro giggles. He’s already clambering right up onto the bed, surprisingly agile for still only having one arm and a stump. Lance reaches to steady him but Shiro needs no such help, gaining access to the mattress and pressing right up against Hunk’s side. His little body is pleasantly warm, especially compared to the shivers that have been wracking Hunk’s frame since the fever took hold a few hours ago.

“You guys,” Hunk croaks, touched.

“Shhh,” Shiro says, solemnly patting Hunk’s arm. He tucks his little feet under the topmost blanket; Hunk doesn’t have it in him to mind at all. “Sick people don’t talk. Lance brought stories.”

“Did you now?” Hunk asks, chastised and amused.

“You heard the doctor,” Lance says, grinning as he settles down on the mattress, too. “Scoot over, big guy. Shiro’s going to read to us while you eat.”

“No, you are,” Shiro says, contentedly, and snuggles into Hunk’s side so Lance can begin.

Craft and Creations: Magical Herb Wreath for Yule (Christmas)

Sailing passed Samhain, we have now entered the word of insistent Christmas music and Christmas decorations. However, since their isn’t an official Wiccan/Pagan holiday for Thanksgiving, celebrating it is a personal choice. I have put up an altar decoration post for Thanksgiving called the “Gratitude Ritual.” Just a few suggestion on what you may place on an altar for this time of month. 

This do it yourself craft is simple, and if you use herbs for magical purposes (as many of us do) a welcome addition to any Yule altar or grace your doors.

What You’ll Need:

  • Freshly cut herbs (if not available dried/fake herbs should be fine)
  • Wreath Wire Frame (available at most art and craft stores)
  • Optional: Florist Wire, Ribbon, Hot Glue Gun


Use the wired frame as a base, and the florist wire (If you choose to use it) to anchor your herbs into place. Finish it off with a bit of ribbon and any other piece of magical item you wish.

Types of Herbs Used in Specific Wreaths:

Healing: apple blossom, lavender, barley, comfrey, eucalyptus, fennel, chamomile, golden-seal, borage, fever-few, horehound, lady’s mantel, allspice, olive, rosemary, rue, sandalwood, wintergreen, or peppermint.

Protection: aloe vera, hysson, asofetida, mandrake, heather, holly, mugwort, onion, wood betony, valerian, sandalwood, snapdragon, fleabane, mustard, garlic, foxglove, dill, or mistletoe. 

Prosperity: bay leaf, basil, chamomile, clover, cinquefoil, tonka bean, buckeye, myrtle, apple, sunflower, or pennyroyal.

Love: allspice, apple blossom, bleeding heart, catnip, lavender, periwinkle, peppermint, tulip, violet, daffodil, clove, yarrow, marjoram, basil, fig, valerian, or endive. 

Originally posted by butteryplanet

Blessed Yule