Send me fic requests!!!
prompt: Could I request another sick T.K. but pushing through the illness during work and maybe passing out? 🥰 your writing is incredible and I always check your page when I log in 😊😊
Carlos had been sick, picking up a small cold from another officer, but TK had insisted at the time that he didn’t care and still wanted to sleep with him, banking on a relatively strong immune system to keep the virus at bay; however, perhaps his immune system’s been compromised due to previous drug intake because he wakes for his shift two days after sleeping with Carlos to a throat that burns with each swallow and a headache that thumps softly against his temples.
Cells at work college!AU
Scarlet opens her eyes and realizes she must have fallen asleep. The blanket she had put over Soave was now covering her and she could hear coughing coming from her bathroom. She stretches and sits up. She gets up and goes to knock on the bathroom door.
“Just a moment,” Soaves rasps out between coughs. Scarlet can hear something being spit out and then the faucet running. When the door opens, Scarlet gasps and puts a hand on Soave’s forehead and then moves it down to the back of his neck. He was burning up.
“What are you doing up?” She asks him guiding him back to the couch.
“I wanted to make some tea and then had to go to the restroom,” he says, voice rasping. He sits down and turns away from Scarlet.
“Hih'ngt….huh….huh'Gnxt…hih'GXnt…ugh excuse me,” he says sniffling. Scarlet hands him some tissues from the box on the table.
“Bless you. How are you feeling?” She asks. He blows his nose softly, blushing.
“Umb…not that bad,” he says, still rubbing his nose against the tissues. Scarlet levels him with as fierce a look as she could manage.
“Soave don’t you lie to me,” she says. He runs the back of his neck with his hand and offers her a sheepish smile.
“Well, maybe I’m a little congested,” he says. Scarlet nods.
“Let me get you some decongestants then,” she says getting up. Soave grabs her hand.
“Don’t, I can do it,” he insists trying to get up. She pushes him gently down onto the couch.
“No, you stay there,” she says walking into the kitchen and grabbing a bottle of cold medicine. She pours him a dose and offers it over. He glares at it for a moment before throwing it back.
“Good job, is there anything else you need?” She asks with a smile, brushing his bangs back.
“Ndo, I’m okay,” he says. She takes a seat beside him again and flips through the TV channels until she finds a nature documentary. They watch quietly until she feels something shifting on the couch. She turns to make sure he’s okay and finds him sliding down the couch onto her shoulder. She smiles and shifts him a little so his head is in her lap. He’s snoring a little from the congestion and even rubs his nose against her leg. She runs her hands through his hair and settles in to let him rest.
Reply: Are you sure it wasn’t John who lost 5 years? Because that might be:
A Desperate Indulgence by LollipopCop (34K, M, Johnlock)
John thinks it’s 2012 after waking up with amnesia, having no memory of Mary. Sherlock, exhausted from years of tension and hiding his love, pretends they got married instead.
If that’s not it, it might be on my Amnesia list.
You Need to Be Home
Requested: I love your writing style and was thinking if you could do one where R is secretly dating scarlett, stubborn, sick at work but refuses to acknowledge her sickness and leave work. R’s work friend who knows about scarlett, calls her to come get her girlfriend or wife and take them home. The work place goes into chaos with THE Scarlett Johansson walks in there. Maybe reader is insisting she’s fine at home until something happens that opens her eyes like damn, i guess i really am sick.
**NO reblogging to non-sickfic/kink blogs.
“You should really go home,” your friend commented, giving you the side eye. You shook your head, choking back a cough.
“I have work to do,” you replied, your voice hoarse. You worked at Buzzfeed, as an executive producer, and you had so many things to get through today. You groaned as you thought about your long list of tasks, which sent you into a coughing fit. After hearing that, your friend left. You presumed that it was because you had annoyed them, but they had actually snuck away to go call your fiancée, Scarlett Johansson.
No one really knew that you two were together, and you both liked it that way. Your good friend knew though, of course. And while she didn’t have Scarlett’s number, you did. And you were too sick to notice that your friend had taken your phone.
An hour later, you were still sitting at your desk, rubbing your throbbing temples, and very out of it. You didn’t notice when everyone at the office started freaking out- whispering, trying not to stare at something, etc. You were much too focused on the tingling that was spreading throughout your sinuses. You grabbed a tissue just as the itch crested.
“Huh-hupshooo!” You caught the desperate sneeze neatly into the tissue, sighing afterwards.
You froze. You’d know that voice anywhere, but what on earth was she doing here? You wiped at your nose and tried to seem not sick as you turned in your chair.
“Thanks. What are you doing here?” You asked.
“You need to be home, so I’m here to take you there,” Scarlett murmured, coming to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. You knew she had an ulterior motive-checking for a fever.
You took a second to finally look at the others in your office, once you realized that they might think it was odd that Scarlett Johansson was here. Yeah, they definitely all looked a little freaked. And many of them had their phones out, taking pictures.
“Guys, can you please not?” You asked. Your coworkers nodded, putting away their phones, embarrassed.
“Gather your things, baby, then let’s go,” Scarlett said.
“I don’t need to go home,” you answered, pouting slightly. You were barely sick, or so you thought.
“Don’t argue with me, Y/N.” You nodded, sniffling thickly and letting out a few light coughs. Her fingers played with your hair as you packed up the things on your desk.
“Here’s your phone,” your friend said, giving it to you. You looked at her confused.
“When did you take my phone?”
“I used it to text Scarlett,” she admitted. You gave her a look.
“Don’t be upset with her,” Scarlett interrupted, rubbing your shoulders lightly.
“I’m fine,” you insisted, zipping up your bag. You stood, saying goodbye to your friend and walking towards the door, your hand tucked into Scarlett’s.
You got into her car, still a little upset that you were even leaving work. She could tell, naturally.
“Baby, I know you think you’re fine, but please, don’t fight this. Just let me take you home and cuddle with you, please?”
You looked over at Scarlett, whose face showed nothing but concern and love. You slowly nodded, letting a small ‘okay’ slip past your lips. She sent you a small smile and tucked a strand of hair behind your ears.
You still didn’t think this was necessary. You barely even felt sick. Sure, you had to constantly stop yourself from launching into a coughing fit, and your nose was so stuffed that you couldn’t breathe out of it, but that was fine. You didn’t really feel that bad. Why was Scarlett even here? Didn’t she have work today?
“Scarlett, don’t you have work today?”
“I took the rest of the day off,” she answered, shrugging. You rolled your eyes and sighed, the movement disrupting the congestion in your nose. You had half a second before you were cupping your hands around your mouth and nose.
“Heh- hetschoo! Hutschioo!”
“Bless you. There’s tissues in the glove compartment.”
You nodded, pulling a few out and blowing your nose. You rested your head back against the headrest, and didn’t even notice that you were falling asleep. A few minutes later, Scarlett looked over, sighing as she saw you asleep.
“Poor baby,” she muttered to herself.
Scarlett woke you up gently as she unbuckled your seatbelt.
“Come on, Y/N, you can sleep once you eat a little something and take some medicine.”
“I don’t need medicine. I’m fine,” you shook your head and allowed her to help you out of the car. Scarlett rolled her eyes, but didn’t say anything as she lead you inside.
“Okay, go change. I’ll heat up something.”
You went to change, and suddenly felt dizzy. Your head just felt so full, and so stuffed up. You had to breathe in and out a few times as the dizziness passed. Maybe you were really that sick. When another dizzy spell hit, you gave in.
“Baby, what’s taking so long? You okay?” Scarlett asked, coming into your shared room. You groaned.
“I think I’m sick,” you admitted quietly, a hand still holding onto the wall for support. She immediately rushed over to you when she saw you, and you leaned on her.
“Dizzy,” you explained. You felt her nod before she half carried you to the bed, setting you down gently.
“I’ll bring the food to you. And medicine,” she insisted.
“Okay,” you replied weakly. A few minutes later, she was back, and you took the medicine, without complaint. And then ate the food while she rubbed your back.
“Thank you, Scarlett,” you whispered, cuddling into her once you had finished your meal.
“Of course. You’re my fiancée. In sickness and health, yeah?”
You chuckled and sighed, growing sleepy. “Yeah.”
SAFE PLACE FOR SICKFIC WRITERS
My group chat Safe Place for Sickfic Writers is an open, friendly space for Sickfic writers to come together, bounce around tropes/ideas, share fandom inspiration and just generally be with like minded people!
If you would like to join, feel free to shoot me a message or an ask!
*please note: spfsw is not a space for being with the vomit kink to hang out. Spfsw is focused on the hurt/comfort side of life :)
I unfortunately have no extreme zangst T-T but I do have continued zangst!
Zane may have needed company, but his company hated seeing him like this.
A voice box that glitched so much he could barely talk, and when he could it was a coin flip if it would be anything recognizable.
Fans whirring so loud as to be a constant presence; an incessant hum that refused to let up.
And limbs that would lock up if he tried to move at all – his only option to avoid discomfort and pain was to lay on his cot and stay still.
He made a sorry sight.
I’m your captain
I’m your captain
I’m your captain
But I’m feeling
Steve sits on the closed toilet while James curls around the trash can on the bathroom floor. He’s offered to get up a few times, to get James up on his knees and in the position to empty his gut properly, but to no avail.
“I’m ok,” James pants, looking up at him, a long string of spit dangling from his lip to the depths of the bin. “I just… maybe… one more…”. He breaks into a pained heave, his shoulders jutting forward and his hair sweeping into curtains around his face.
“Ok, alright.” Steve leans down and steadies the bin in James’s grip. He wants to pat his arm, to hold back his hair, but James won’t let him touch him. He’s tried, only to have James go stiff under his touch. “You tell me.”
But James can’t. Either that or he won’t. He’s still hacking up nothing and trembling all over. Steve wants to be patient with him, but it’s almost more than he can take.
“You sure you don’t want to sit up? Try for up here?” He pats the toilet cover between his spread legs.
James shakes his head and moans, then swallows tightly as if he’s ashamed of himself.
“Buck…” Steve hovers his hand over James’s shoulder again, feeling the damp heat coming off him, but still restraining his touch. “Just tell me what’s wrong.” Because it hast to be more than just the fact that he’s being violently ill. They’ve dealt with puke before. But they haven’t dealt with this.
James shakes his head again. Then he spits and mutters, “It’s…” He sighs and breathes through a heave. “Almost like being back…”
James spits up a string of mucous so yellow it practically glows. It clings to his chin, and when he goes in to wipe it, he’s shaking so hard that he misses on the first try.
“Can I?” Steve tries again, taking a piece of toilet paper.
“Alright,” Steve sighs. “Alright.”
“‘S just…” James shivers, and his voice nearly breaks. “Everybody was sick back there. Just, from the water, y’know…?”
“Mm.” Steve nods. He’s heard the stories of soldiers crapping themselves and doubling over on parade.
James hangs his head over the bin again and retches. He goes, if possible, even paler. “Then…then… when I was… was…”
When he was a prisoner of war, he means. Steve won’t make him say it. “Yeah,” he whispers. “I know you were real sick.”
James nods. He sniffs and holds the bin away from himself for a moment. “I just… I can’t. I’m sorry.”
“I’m not gonna hurt you, Buck.” Steve tries not to feel affronted. He knows James doesn’t mean it. He knows he doesn’t mean anything. It should be enough that he’s letting him be in the same room with him when he’s this deliriously sick. But there’s still something missing, the unconditional trust that’s come back in most every other aspect of their relationship. He can hold James when he’s post-seizure and throwing up on the floor, but not now. It makes Steve want to grit his teeth in frustration and wrap James in his arms anyway.
“It’s ok, you know?” he says instead, holding out his hands again. He hopes James will take one of them, maybe pull himself up into a sweaty, shaky hug. But he knows James will take the second meaning. That this, whatever this is, is fine. Which it is. It’s just not what Steve wants.
“I know.” James nods again. He spits again, too. “Thanks.”
Steve can’t help but give a half smile. “Sure, Buck.” He nods at the bin. “You done?”
James bites his lip and slowly shakes his head.
“Ok.” Steve has a feeling he is, but he just doesn’t want to move. Maybe he feels safer that way. Steve can’t exactly judge. “Ok. You tell me when.”
“Ok,” James says softly. “I will.”
Only JK things (3/6)
Summary: Jungkook has a headache and Hobi is there for cuddles.
Jungkooks worst enemy, his weak point. Headaches. He hates them. They always make him feel weak and dizzy. He can’t do anything expect to lay in bed and drink water. And that’s what he does right now.
The Maknae of BTS woke up sensing an already massive headache. He curled up in his blanket again and squeezed his eyes shut. To his luck it was their day off so he could do that without worrying. That meant he could fully concentrate on the pulsing ache in his head and that’s what he did the last hours. He already drank some water but sadly it didn’t helped at all. If anything it made him nauseous.
Jungkook groaned softly as he turned on his side and curled up again. His head was pulsing and it felt like someone is stabbing him. Or as if his head would explode at any minute. He wouldn’t even be surprised if that happens. He just wished he could fall back asleep. At least none of his Hyungs were interrupting his misery. At least he thought so.
However in the next minute someone opened his door, turned the light on and with that Jungkook only moaned and squeezed his eyes shut.
“Good Morning~” sang Hoseok.
Jungkook only groaned in response. He loves his Hyungs. He loves Hoseok. He loves his sunny personality. He really does but right in his moment he just wished to be alone.
“It’s time to wake up, Bunny!” the older one said as he walked up to the younger.
By that all Jungkok did is groan in pain. The light gutted his eyes and just that tiny noise made the ache even more painful.
As Hoseok stood in front of the maknae he noticed the pale face and how his eyes were squeezed shut. Clearly somethingwas wrong with the younger. So the older took crouched down in front of the bed and rested his hand on the younger hand.
„What is wrong, bunny?“ he asked as he caressed Jungkooks hair.
„ m have a headache..” Jungkook said as he closed his eyes.
Hoseok hummed in response, stood up and left the room. Of course that made Jungkook feel hurt. He would never admit it put he was in pain and he wanted comfort. He didn’t liked that his Hyung just left. The young man couldn’t think straight and teared up a bit. This was unfair. Why couldn’t his Hyung just comfort him?
As the younger was overthinking he didn’t noticed that Hoseok came back with a glass of water and some pain killers. The older sat down on the edge of Jungkooks bed and stroke his hair to get his attention.
“Come take these, they make you feel better, yeah?” Hoseok said.
Carefully Jungkook sat up a bit and took the pills. As soon as he swallowed them he laid back down again. Maybe now he can fall asleep.
Hoseok smiles down at the maknae and without asking he pulled the blankets up a bit. First Jungkook looked confused at him but as Hoseok slipped under the blanket and laid down beside the younger he understood.
Immediately Jungkook cuddled up to his Hyung. His head on his chest and an arm wrapped around the olders waist. Hoseok wrapped one arm around the younger shoulder and smiled.
“Now try to sleep. Hyung will stay by your side.” Hoseok said softly and kissed the maknae head.
“Love you, Hyungie”
“I love you too, Bunny”
A/n: it’s not good and really short, I’m sorry. I just don’t have the right mind to write at the moment.
Some anon recommended for me to write a sick fic over this break, and since apparently today is something called Six Sentence Sunday, here’s the beginning (which is way more than six sentences shh) to show that I am, in fact, a writer.
There were four things in life that Sally Spears really hated.
One, swamps. They had to exist, and she knew that fact, for she understood basic ecology (unlike some people). But, being in them? That was another beast in itself. Everything just got everywhere.
Two, mirrors. She was never quite sure if her hatred was because of her mother’s preaching about body issues, or her one childhood friend’s obsession with mirror-centric horror stories, but Sally always felt the chills whenever she looked into the mirror. In fact, she didn’t have a single one in the open in her apartment. One came with the apartment, in the bathroom, but Sally almost immediately put it in the back of a closet…
prompt: Idk if you’re taking prompts and I’ve literally never done this before, but I think you’re great! I’ve been looking for witcher fics online, specifically jaskier whump, and I’ve noticed there’s nothing about paralysis, maybe you could do something where jaskier eats a poisonous plant and gets paralysed (temporary)or maybe even infected with some poison or something then geralt has to carry him around and take care of him? You don’t have to if u don’t want to lol ☺️
Love this! Nice and fresh idea! (Also, I’ve never written paralysis before, and I’m not a doctor, so bear with me, lol)
Brief mentions of the no no berry fic! Also, while this fic is a stand-alone prompt, it’s also falling in line with my “a witcher in need, perhaps it’s destiny” series on ao3 where Jaskier and Geralt are navigating through their complicated relationship.
Jaskier should have learned, he should have etched the lesson of his previous mistake to heart, but hunger’s a devil that toys with his mind and grabs at his stomach. It warps his surroundings, his vision growing too large and round to too small and curved, blurry images. Hunger has him feeling faint, walking across a rope bridge swaying over a canyon, and it brings forth hot desperation that he voices to Geralt over and over.
“Geralt, I’m famished,” Jaskier whines, voice dragging out each word as slow as his heavy footfalls, and Geralt, who’s been keeping a considerately slow pace only a few steps ahead of him, stops, turning with a tender frown that brings a furrow to his brow.
“I know,” he mutters softly, and Jaskier shuffles up to his side, groaning lowly deep within his throat when Geralt places a large hand to the small of his back. He pulls his focus to the steady warmth that radiates a hint of power through touch alone.
“We’ll stop soon,” Geralt reassures, eyes struggling to move from Jaskier’s thin, pale complexion to the forest surrounding them, to the tall, towering trees that hide the danger that doesn’t wish to be seen. “This spot isn’t safe.” He slides his hand up from Jaskier’s back to his shoulder, squeezing it tightly. “Do you think you can manage a little while more?”
Jaskier nods, the small tilt of his head bringing with it an unwanted bout of dizziness that has one hand curling around his stomach while the other blindly reaches for Geralt’s tunic, fingers clutching at the fabric, and Geralt’s growls his name, concern colored in his gruff tone.
“Jaskier,” his hand tightens around Jaskier’s shoulder, keeping him grounded. “Maybe you should ride Roach…”
“And suffer a head injury when I topple off of her?” Jaskier questions, swallowing around a dull ache of nausea. He breathes through his swimming vision until it steadies where he can bring a weary gaze toward Roach. “I don’t think so.” He’s slow to bring his eyes to Geralt’s narrow ones, and they speak silently for an endless moment, faded, tired blue eyes trying to hold their own against burning amber ones.
“If you’re sure,” Geralt finally says, and he starts forward, keeping closer to Jaskier, walking only two steps ahead of him, and he listens only to the staggering footsteps behind him, making sure they continue, looking back when they falter, until they reach a small clearing that he deems will have to be safe enough since he’s not sure how much longer Jaskier can remain upright. He’s quick to get Roach settled, and he only stops briefly before leaving in search of food to stare hard at Jaskier, who’s standing in the middle of the clearing, eyes distant, heavy, and glued to a tree.
“Jaskier?” Geralt starts toward him, one hand reaching out to him. “Why don’t you sit down?” He snakes an arm around Jaskier’s waist, guiding him to a tree he can lean against. “I won’t be gone long,” he promises, and Jaskier’s struggling to focus, only seeing Geralt’s lips moving.
He watches Geralt almost run into the forest, and he then he’s alone, and his hunger talks to him, a familiar dark voice in his ear, one that’s previously urged him to eat a poisonous berry. He tries to shake it away, but it’s louder than the wind around him, louder than the birds above him, and he moves to his feet without control, eyes falling to a bush a few steps across from him.
There are deep purple leaves littering the bush, but in his eyes, he sees plump, juicy grapes, and he stumbles to the bush, heavy bricks at his feet. He plucks one from the bush, and brings it to his lips, hesitating only for a moment as the blurred memories of cramps, dehydration, and a burning fever run through his mind, but then the voice is in his ear again, and he drops the leaf into his mouth.
Slowly, he chews the leaf, entire body rigid and on edge, but the leaf is faintly sweet, definitely no grape but still fighting off his hunger effectively. He plucks another, and another, crunching through a handful, lips curling into a smile with each one.
After his seventh one, he’s satisfied for now, able to wait for the meat Geralt will bring back. He turns on his heel, takes two steps back toward the tree he’s been leaning on, and then stops when icy tingles burn up and down his arms and legs. He shakes his arms out, hops from foot to foot, but the tingling grows until it suddenly fades to a piercing numbness that has his knees shaking. He tries to lift one hand but finds that he can’t, and then his knees give out and he crumples to the ground, arms and legs twisted abnormally.
Attention Protigal Son Fandom!
If you are interested in any whumph related Malcom fanfics, I will gladly begging writing for the Prodigal Son fandom. I will likely still continue most of my VLD series and fics, but I’d also like to start to branch out to other fandoms.
One I had come to love recently is Fox’s Prodigal Son.
I would love to do a Malcolm-centric sickfic with a caring and supportive team. Let me know if that’s something anyone would be interested in reading.
This is WAY late and I apologize for that anon but I’m here now so!! enjoy!!
Warnings: This is a sickfic so lots of sicky stuff (cough, sneezing, fever actually happen; nausea mentioned), sleep-deprivation (Remy’s a double-threat), minor self-deprecation from both Logan and Remy for different reasons, Logan calling Remy names but in a worried loving way
“Whether or not you are willing to accept it does not alter the state of your condition.”
“Yeah. And my condition is completely amazing and awesome. Not sick.”
Logan frowned when this rather cocky pronunciation was followed by a round of rough coughing from his boyfriend. “Attempting to ignore your illness will only worsen it. Something it seems you have already done. How long have you been sick?”
“Never.” Remy replied, too confidentially given he looked ready to collapse if a light breeze blew against him. He coughed again, wincing a bit before he added defensively, “Though I might have gotten a bad headache on Monday.”
“Monday?!” Logan repeated, giving up his pretense of only being vaguely annoyed. “You’ve been suffering with this for four days?! With, what, your average seven hours of sleep each night?”
“…Seven might be a little high.”
On crying himself to sleep
Imagine the pressure building behind his eyes, his nose getting stuffy, his throat feeling full. In the lonely night he has no distractions from his thoughts. Everything hurts as much as it wants to, and he can’t stop the first tears as they fall.
Imagine him choking on forceful sobs and wiping at hot tears with his wrists. His thin frame shakes with the force, as though he’s about to fall apart.
Imagine him wrapped up in his bedding, hiding himself from the world, whimpering and crying, desperately wishing someone would come and soothe him, to tell him it was going to be alright, that he didn’t deserve this. In his heart he feels he does.
Imagine him all alone in his dark room, wailing from the pain, hopeless, the loss and heartache too much to bear.
Imagine him catching himself in the mirror, nose red and raw, eyes watery and irritated, hair sticking to his face stained with tears.
Imagine his exhaustion as his voice gives out, his head pounds, his vision is blurry. Thin, shaking hands wrap around his pillow. The room is silent. The night is clear and moonless. No one is around to help, or care.
He offers a few more weak sobs, unable to breathe from his stuffy nose. His eyes sting with more tears. His heart aches in his chest. He succumbs to dreamless sleep, praying he won’t have to face the morning.
The Maps Between Us-Chapter 17
The children laughed as Hiccup chased them up the hill.
“I’m gonna beat you, Pappa!” Shouted Zephyr.
“I’m gonna win!” yelled Nuffink, stumbling along behind his sister. “I’m a night fury!”
Hiccup chuckled. “I’m catching up!” He pushed his hands deeper into his pockets and carried on walking.
He’d taken the kids to the beach after school so Astrid could rest. She had a stomach bug- or maybe it was morning sickness. She was about twelve weeks pregnant now, and they were going to Guernsey the next day for her dating scan. The thought of seeing their baby on the monitor for the first time made Hiccup want to whoop with joy. They would tell Zephyr and Nuffink over the weekend, and neither Hiccup nor Astrid could wait. Giddy in their excitement, they were acting like teenagers again. Hiccup treasured the nights they lay awake whispering to each other under the covers about a future with three Haddock children, with three pairs of muddy boots and three little ones crawling into their bed every morning. They couldn’t wait to do the baby years all over again.
“Kids! Shoes off before you go in the house, please!” Shouted Hiccup as the children reached the front gate. When he caught up with them they were sat on the doorstep brushing sand off their clothes. Zephyr had fetched a small bucket of water from the outside tap and was encouraging Nuffink to dip his feet in.
“It’s freezing, Zeph!”
“No it’s not!” Said Zephyr. She plunged both feet into the water, which Hiccup could only assume was bitterly cold. “See, it’s fine.” She pulled out her feet, which were now white, and gestured towards the bucket. “You need to wash the sand off, Nuff. Mamma’ll kill us!”
“It’s alright.” Said Hiccup, kneeling down next to Nuffink. “C’mere, if I brush the sand off your feet really well it’ll be fine.”
Zephyr laughed. “Mamma’s gonna kill you!” She sang.
Hiccup rolled his eyes. “She’s not gonna kill me. When was the last time you heard me and Mamma fighting, hey?”
“You don’t fight.” Said Zephyr.
“See, we solve all our disagreements through calm, reasonable disc-”
“But Mamma sometimes gives you the death stare.” Said Zephyr.
“The deadly nadder death stare.” Said Nuffink.
Hiccup sighed. “Okay. Calm, reasonable discussion and Mamma’s death stare. Come on, its nearly time for dinner.”
In the kitchen Astrid was filling up a hot water bottle. She smiled when the children burst through the door, shouting about the kite they’d flown on the beach.
“Pappa bought it for us from Ruffnut’s shop!” Said Nuffink.
“It has a dragon on it!” Squealed Zephyr.
“It sounds wonderful.” Said Astrid. She sat down at the kitchen table and pinned the hot water bottle between her shoulder and the chair, resting her head back against the wall. “You’ll have to show it to me later.”
“Are you tired, Mamma?” Asked Zephyr.
“Yeah, Babe. But I’ll feel better tomorrow.”
“Don’t worry, Mamma. I’ll help Pappa cook dinner.”
“I want to help too!” Clamoured Nuffink.
Hiccup laughed. “Okay. Zephyr, you can chop the vegetables.” He passed her a small knife. “Very carefully.” She nodded. “And Nuffink, you can measure out the pasta. We need three hundred grams.”
Half an hour later dinner was almost ready. Hiccup asked Nuffink to set the table and began dishing up pasta carbonara.
“Mamma?” Said Nuffink.
Hiccup was distracted. He was trying to prepare the salad whilst listening to Zephyr, who was talking in full flow about the dance competition she and Fanta had won at school. He almost missed what Nuffink said next.
“Mamma looks like a ghost!” Gasped Nuffink. He giggled.
Hiccup looked up. Astrid was sat bolt upright in her chair, her face absolutely drained of colour. She was gripping the edge of the table, her jaw clenched tight. Hiccup had never moved so fast in his life. He reached Astrid and crouched down in front of her. “You okay, Babe?”
Astrid blinked. Her hand flew to her middle and she lurched forwards with a strangled cry.
“Zephyr,” Said Hiccup, trying to keep his voice calm. “Pass me the washing up bowl.” Nuffink was still giggling. Zephyr skidded across the kitchen with the bowl. Hiccup placed it in Astrid’s lap. She’d gone even paler, if that were possible. “Astrid?” He asked. She said nothing. “Okay, Astrid. Okay.” Hiccup wrapped his arm across Astrid’s back, unsure what to do. He wondered whether this merited a phone call to Sark’s only doctor. She’d been okay five minutes ago. “Astrid?” He asked.
She sat up and looked at Hiccup, her eyes clear and dark with pain. “Hiccup.” She breathed.
She swallowed and blinked again. “I need to lie down. Help me to bed.”
Thor, she must be ill, thought Hiccup. He wasn’t sure he’d heard Astrid actually ask for help, well, ever. He set the washing up bowl on the table- hopefully she wouldn’t need it- and hauled her to her feet. “Okay?” He asked. Astrid nodded.
Zephyr and Nuffink watched anxiously as their parents headed for the stairs. Nuffink was tugging at his braids. “Is Mamma okay?” He asked.
“She’s got tummy ache, Nuff,” said Zephyr, holding Nuffink’s shoulder as he tried to run to Astrid. “She’s okay. Pappa will look after her.”
Hiccup was trying to decide whether to take Astrid upstairs or to the sofa. Her grip on his shoulder was fierce and she was getting stronger with each step. He could feel her tugging on him, leading him, trying to walk without him. Bed; he decided. He’d take her to bed. She’d feel better after some sleep. She’d feel better-
Astrid’s legs buckled.
Her hand released Hiccup’s shirt and her arm slipped from his neck. She hit the floor like a rag doll, her head smashing against the tiles. Hiccup heard himself cry out, heard her name echo off the kitchen walls, but it wasn’t enough. He couldn’t break her fall. She lay still and silent, motionless by the door.
In the hours that followed, Hiccup would replay that moment over and over again. He would feel her falling away from him, hear the crack of skull on stone. He would see her lying in a scrawny heap, hear Zephyr reassuring Nuffink that “this happens to grown up ladies sometimes”. He would remember his heart beat thundering in his throat as he rolled Astrid onto her side, and he would ask himself why he didn’t catch her. In the hours that followed, he would wonder whether catching her would have made a difference. He would try to believe the doctors when they said it would have made no difference at all.