Dang it, Jefferson! I’m a physicist, not a doctor! I mean, I am a doctor, but I’m not that kind of a doctor. I have a doctorate, it’s not the same thing. You can’t help people with a doctorate. You just sit there and you’re useless!
YOU FOUND YOURSELF awake still, into the late depths of the night. You sniffled lightly, and wrapped one of the many blankets crowding your bed tighter around your shivering body. With a harsh pounding against your skull, a sore throat, and despite the high temperatures gracing the summer season and the warmth spreading across your skin, a series of cold shivers - you were once again reminded of the sickness that had burdened your day (and now night too, apparently).
It took no genius to figure out you’d gotten incredibly sick. It also took no genius to figure out that you probably looked as rough as you felt. But that didn’t stop you from opening the cocoon of covers for your hand to slip out and blindly reaching for your phone on your bedside table through the inky shadows of the night, a grouchy groan slipping from your lips as you grasped the expensive object between your fingers and swiped to unlock.
You didn’t make an attempt to contain the string of croaky, expletive syllables that sounded with a painful sting under your breath as the glaring screen illuminated the dark room and brought burning tears to your squinting eyes, your mood decreasing more and more into the depths of brooding and dispiritedness as the minutes ticked further into the warm night.
Mildly unconscious of your actions, your thumbs pressed against your boyfriend’s name in your contacts and brought the phone up to the shell of your ear - listening to the repetitive dial tone with the ghost of a weak smile on your chapped lips, waiting patiently until the opposing side picked up. A few moments later, he did, and a muffled ruffling was heard as you softly called out his name, “Li?”
“(Y/N)?” The comfort of Liam’s voice travelled through the speaker and reached your ears in hushed whispers. Without realising it, the press of a crestfallen weight, that had pushed harshly against your chest prior, lifted, and you already found yourself feeling slightly better.
Your head tilted to the side, your weary eyes peering over the clocked perched on the bedside cabinet, identifying the hands on the face to read half one in morning. With that acknowledgement, a burst of guilt swept through your fatigued being, “O-Oh, shit, Liam - I’m sorry, I didn’t realise it was so late-”
“Hey, hey,” He interrupted softly, and your rushed words fell to a faded silence, “What’s going on, baby? You sound sick - are you sick?”
The silence went on and on, so long that she began to grow afraid once more, but she was afraid for him now, not for herself. She found his massive shoulder with her hand. “He was no true knight,” she whispered to him. The Hound threw back his head and roared. Sansa stumbled back, away from him, but he caught her arm. “No,” he growled at her, “no, little bird, he was no true knight.”
Sansa Stark | A Game of Thrones (George R.R. Martin)
“When we feed off other weirdos like us, it don’t hurt them, but normal people…it can go very very wrong”
but they fed off Amanda and she was fine, or she at least started having the physic dreams so WHAT IS SHE?! WAS SHE PHYSIC BEFORE SHE MET THEM? DID THEY GIVE HER THE PHYSIC POWERS? CAN THEY CONTROL WHETHER OR NOT THEIR FEEDING CAN HARM HUMANS? I DON’T KNOW ANYTHING!