How it feels to read a really good fic and find the author has dozens more like it
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Sex isn’t the only form of intimacy. Try writing your characters into these intimate scenarios:
Person A placing their hand on Person B's forehead to check if they have a fever
Person A scratching an itch that Person B can't reach
Person A wiping away Person B's tears
Person A rubbing Person B's stomach when they have a stomachache
Person A giving Person B a foot/hand/neck/back massage
Person A drying off Person B after they've had a shower or come in from the rain
Person A gently blowing into Person B's eye to help them get something out of it
Person A lightly brushing Person B's hair out of their eyes
Person A whispering into Person B's ear
Person A and Person B having a deep and vulnerable conversation
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You know what I love? When characters are almost unconscious, but not quite.
Slumped over, a complete ragdoll in the others’ hands, but alert enough to groan softly at different sensations, eyes hooded and glazed, just wide enough to gather a blurry image of their surroundings. Though they’re dizzy and their limbs feel like lead, they gain comfort in the others’ touch, unconsciously leaning into them, eyelids fluttering in hazy relief at the soothing, concerned gestures.
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Spider-Man Master List
I’m almost at the 1-year anniversary of my first Spider-Man sickfic/whumpfic, so I thought I’d make a new master list to see how far I’ve come! All except for fic numbers 1, 31, and 32 are prompts that were sent to me! (Bolded are my favorites!)
1. this one here is my very first and it has Ned slipping up to Stark Tower to talk to Tony bc Peter’s sick and won’t listen to him. Cue Tony doing work like the dad he is
2. this one has Peter sick and trying to hide it from Tony but he fails and Tony takes him back to the tower and to med-bay
3. this one has Peter diving into an icy river during a solo battle because he thought it would be a good idea for a sneak attack. he thought wrong
4. this one has Peter getting stabbed during battle and the Tonester has a device that alerts him when this happens and he has to suit up and go to the rescue
5. this one has Peter rolling up to a meeting even though he’s sick, and he ends up throwing up during the meeting. poor dude
6. this one has Peter telling Tony that he wasn’t hurt from battle but then he falls and surprise surprise-- he did get hurt, much to his and Tony’s surprise
7. this one has Peter having to ask Tony for some ibuprofen, more than once bc Tony’s mind is elsewhere. (Note: this is one of my favorites, and I couldn’t tell you why.)
8. this one has awkward dad Tony not knowing what to do when he finds out Peter is sick after the kid starts crying from being frustrated
9. so this one has Peter staying overnight at Stark Tower and he ends up getting sick and has to go to Tony for help
10. this one right here as Peter getting sick while spending the night with Steve and Bucky for the first time (ft. Stucky)
11. this bad boy right here has Peter taking an unplanned dip in the Hudson and getting really really sick from it-- so much that unofficial dad has to pick him up from school (Note: another favorite)
12. this one has Peter popping one too many ibuprofen pills and Tony thinks the kid’s gotten into drugs
13. this one has Peter stopping by Steve and Bucky’s apartment during a nightly patrol, and whoops, he’s sick-- enough to have Steve and Bucky stepping up like the doting uncles they are
14. this one has Peter acting a little strange and Sam’s like ‘what the hell is wrong with you kid?’ but then he realizes that the kid has a fever
15. this one has Tony and Steve low-key disagreeing on how to take care of a sick Peter
16. this one is a mix up! Peter saves Tony for once instead of Tony saving Peter
17. this one here is a little drabble with Peter getting injured and Tony’s there to dad his way through life like usual
18. this one here has a miserably sick Peter and Ned comes through for ya boy
19. this one is another mix-up! Ned’s sick and Peter forgoes his patrol to help take care of him
20. this one has Peter on a mission despite having a high-key upset stomach
21. this one has Tony giving not good dad advice and advising Peter to push through is ‘small illness’ so he does but it gets worse and Steve finds out and is very much not happy (Note: A favorite!)
22. this one has Peter dipping out of a meeting bc his stomach just isn’t having it, and Steve goes to comfort him
23. this one has stressed Peter crying and it freaks Tony out so he calls Ned for help
24. this one right here has Tony knowing Peter’s sick before Peter does bc Tony’s a good dad and he just knows things
25. this one has Peter patrolling late on an autumn night and he winds up sick and Tony’s like “you didn’t use the heater in your suit because??”
26. this has sick Peter and sick Steve and Bucky’s gotta take care of the 2 idiots (ft. Stucky)
27. this one has Peter passing out at Stark Tower and the only one there to help is Thor
28. this one is another mix-up! Tony’s sick and Peter’s low-key freaking out bc the man is old and needs to stop pushing himself
29. this one has sick Peter being left on the quinjet during a mission and the only person with him is Loki, who ends up having to high-key save Peter’s life (Note: I LITERALLY LOVE THIS ONE!)
30. this one has Tony accidentally hurting Peter during training and he feels guilty and the two have some real talk while Peter’s in med-bay
31. this one is a pre-IW spoiler free drabble of Peter expressing his desire to be an Avenger to Tony-- enough to make Tony promise him he can be one one day
32. this one is a post-IW drabble with spoilers where Tony has a panic attack when Peter’s sick and tells him that he “doesn’t feel so well)
33. this one is Peter and Tony captured and Peter gets sick from a wound that won’t heal and Tony starts to grow desperate to get them out (Note: Another favorite!)
34. this one is a spoilery fic where the events of IW are Tony’s fever dream, and he wakes up freaked out and skypes Peter at like 3 am (Note: I think this one is in my top 3, and it may be my number 1 in my top 3)
35. this one is a spoilery IW fic where Peter wakes up inside the soul stone
36. this one has Peter and Tony at Stark Tower, and Peter tries to tell Tony that he’s sick, but Tony’s distracted and doesn’t listen until Peter passes out
37. this one is just a little drabble where Tony talks to Steve about how much he cares about Peter, not knowing that Peter’s secretly listening
38. this one has Peter trying to deal with being Spider-Man while having chronic pain
39. this one is a spoilery angst-filled post-IW Tony and Peter reunion fic with a lot of crying
40. this one has Peter having to stay behind from a mission to watch Loki but he’s sick and Loki ends up having to take care of him (Note: I ALSO REALLY LOVE THIS ONE!)
41. this one is Captain Dad and Spider-Son where Peter tries to impress cap and messes up a mission and the Daily Bugle posts an article about it
42. this one recounts the times May, MJ, Ned, and Tony all help Peter work through stress from finals in different ways
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“If you need something, just holler. Or cough really loudly if that's easier."
"If you mention food one more time, I swear I will eviscerate you."
“We need to get you into a different shirt. You’ve already sweat through that one.”
“Please just don’t—don’t touch me.”
“What the hell are you doing on the bathroom floor at 3 in the morning?”
“I really can’t eat that right now. It’ll just come right back up.”
“I could probably fry an egg on your forehead. That’s how high your fever is right now.”
“Is that my sweater? I’m going to have to burn that thing now that you’ve contaminated it!”
“I know you’re exhausted, but you need to stay awake right now. I gotta get some medicine in you.”
“Please just sit down. You’re swaying on your feet right now.”
“I feel thoroughly disgusting.”
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CARE TAKING IDEAS
Here are some prompts for scenarios where your characters are taking care of each other:
Person A taking Person B's temperature
Person A cleaning up Person B after they've vomited/bled/peed/pooped on themself
Person A bandaging/stitching up Person B's wounds
Person A steadying Person B as they try to stand/walk
Person A spoon feeding Person B
Person A catching Person B after they've fainted
Person A putting eye drops into Person B's eyes
Person A giving Person B an injection
Person A giving Person B an enema/suppository
Person A giving Person B words of support, praise, and encouragement
NOTE: Remember that some people go through these scenarios every single day. Please be respectful and considerate when including them in your writing.
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I LOVE the element of guilt in sickfics and whump fics.
Character A is having a bad day and snaps at character B, even though B hasn’t don’t anything to deserve it. B leaves, shaken and upset, and while they’re on their own, something bad happens to them. When A finds out, A runs to see B, panicked out of their mind, wracked with guilt, thinking this is my fault since they never would have left if it wasn’t for me and oh my god how could I have been so cruel to them, they were only trying to help etc...
Character A accuses character B of being dramatic, and brushes off their attempts at saying how ill they’re feeling, or how much their wound hurts, until they get way worse, maybe collapse. And character A is like fUCK THEY’VE BEEN TRYING TO TELL ME ALL DAY AND I IGNORED THEM
Character A is always aloof, or maybe even antagonistic towards character B, but not because they don’t care about character B - they just have trouble expressing their emotions, or are afraid of letting people in. When character A has to take care of character B when B is hurt/ill, B is vulnerable and confused, asking “I didn’t know you cared about me?? To be honest I kind of thought you hated me?” And A is just punched in the chest with the horrible realization that B doesn’t think they care and hjhfhhhh.
A character sometimes gets ignored or brushed aside in their friend group or family. Even though they’ve been showing obvious signs that something was wrong, no-one noticed, and everyone is shocked and horrified when they finally realize.
Similar to that:
A character sees them-self as a burden on their friends or family, so don’t tell anyone what’s wrong with them even as it gets much worse. When the others find out and are like??? Why didn’t you say something??? The character accidentally lets slip their insecurities (something like “i don’t matter”) and the others are just so heartbroken that theyve done something to make them feel like that.
And there’s so many more that i can’t remember right now! It’s just awesome.
Guilty!fics are just the perfect recipe for added whump, mega-comfort and some very emotional conversations!
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prompt: “ Hi! Could you please write a fic where Jaskier tries to help Geralt to find something to eat, and accidentally eats a slightly poisonous fruit before Geralt could stop him, and now he have to deal with the aftermaths?”
Four days in the woods, and their food is growing sparse. Jaskier’s beginning to feel the ill effects of not having eaten anything substantial in two days. He feels weak, exhausted. He can only stand for a few minutes without feeling faint, so he’s stuck to sitting on a fallen log, back leaned against a large tree, while Geralt grows frustrated as his fishing net comes up empty each time.
Jaskier’s eyes drift closed at the rhythmic sound of the net splashing against the small, running stream, but Geralt’s loud groan has his eyes flicking open to see Geralt starting away from their small camp.
“Geralt,” he starts quickly, getting to his feet. The ground tilts beneath his feet, and he leans with it, blindly reaching out to the closest tree for support. His ears are ringing, and Geralt’s footsteps toward him sound muffled. He can see Geralt’s mouth moving, see the faint furrow of his sharp brows, and then Geralt’s in front of him, one strong hand on his shoulder, and sound comes back in a loud wave.
“Jaskier, sit down.”
“Where’re you going?” Jaskier slurs as he’s gently pushed back down onto the log.
“Food,” Geralt grunts out.
Jaskier narrows his eyes and gets to his feet, willing his vision to remain clear despite the pressing urge to chase the dizzy sense spiking through his inner being. “I’ll help,” he presses, doing his best to mimic a tone that leaves no room for argument. He watches the flicks of conflict tug at Geralt’s strong, worn features with a frown. “You are tired and hungry too, you know.”
“Yes,” Geralt agrees, nodding toward the strong grip he’s got on Jaskier’s arm. “But I can stand.”
Jaskier pulls his arm away from Geralt’s grip, pausing to see if he can remain upright, and after a few moments of standing firmly on two feet without tilting toward the ground, he turns a sharp smile toward Geralt.
“As can I.” He crosses his arms. “Now, shall we go search for food?”
“You aren’t going to give this up.” Geralt says this as a statement, but Jaskier still responds with a wide smile.
“Nope.” He starts passed Geralt, ignoring the low grunt from Geralt as he leads the way deeper into the woods.
They search for forty minutes. Jaskier’s not sure how he’s even able to still be conscious right now. Perhaps it’s Geralt’s pressing gaze that seems to follow his every move despite his near constant reassurances that he’s not going to drop dead.
He wanders a little far from Geralt when he spots a bush they haven’t checked yet. As he stumbles closer to it, he can see bright yellow berries littering the green shrub, and hunger pushes past instinct as he gets close enough to pluck a single yellow berry from the tree. His hand is shaking as he looks longingly at the small berry.
“Geralt,” he calls out behind his shoulder. “I’ve found some berries!”
He drops the berry between his teeth and bites into it, sucking on the sweet yet slightly bitter juice that spreads out across his mouth. His focus is solely on chasing his hunger away, so much that he doesn’t hear Geralt shout his name, doesn’t hear the Witcher running toward him until he’s being knocked to the ground with a harsh grunt.
“Geralt, what--” his words fall short when Geralt shoves two fingers into his mouth, and he spits and sputters against the rough pads of fingers swiping across his teeth and tongue until Geralt draws his hand back, a look of fire coating his amber eyes.
“Did you eat it?” Geralt’s voice is far too low yet still frighteningly demanding.
“Of course I ate it!” Jaskier shoves at Geralt’s chest. “What else would I do with it? Play it a lovely tune?”
Jaskier’s pulled roughly to his feet. The grip on his arm is starting to hurt, strong fingers digging deep into his flesh, and then he’s being lead back to their camp. “Geralt,” Jaskier tries, sparing a longing look back to the abandoned berry bush. “What on earth is wrong?”
“It was poisonous.”
Geralt’s growl rings deep within Jaskier’s chest, and his longing for food is replaced by a grip of fear. His knees grow weak, and he allows himself to be pulled harshly back to camp. Once back, he’s shoved onto a log, and Geralt makes to gather clean water.
Jaskier watches, taking mental account to how he feels, which, at the moment, is surprisingly fine. No pain, no dizziness, no hunger...
“Why do I no longer feel hungry?” He asks, more to himself, but Geralt still whips around from the stream with a deep frown.
Jaskier meets the Witcher’s eyes, tries desperately to read what’s never verbally said, but then a burning cramp pierces across his stomach, and he staggers away from the log, one arm curling around his abdomen. He makes it a few steps away before he falls to his knees and vomits, muscles convulsing against waves of nausea that pull at him from all directions.
He doesn’t hear Geralt approach him over the sounds of his own, echoing gags, but he feels an uncharacteristically gentle hand drop onto his back. He tries to focus on Geralt’s hand, on the way Geralt slowly smooths his thumb in rhythmic circles, anything to distract him from the sharp pain ripping across his stomach. He’s shaking from head to toe, yet he feels uncomfortably warm despite the shade from the trees, and his stomach hurts terribly.
He doesn’t mean to whimper Geralt’s name in between burning gags, but he does, and he can feel Geralt’s hand tense against his back for a brief moment. He wants to ask Geralt if he’s going to die, if he will live to see another morning, but his graying vision is answering his unspoken questions. He looks back to Geralt, a single tear slipping down his cheek, then succumbs to the darkness plucking at his mind.
He’s disoriented when he awakes the first time. There’s a bottle being pressed to his lips, and he turns his head away from it. He’s too nauseous. His stomach feels like twisted knots.
“Jaskier, you need to drink something.”
“Mmm, no,” Jaskier mumbles. He tries to curl away from the deep voice. He wants to go back to sleep, to get away from the pain. He wants to dream of ice, anything to cool his overheating body.
For a brief moment, Jaskier thinks that that makes sense; however, sleep is tugging at him, and he doesn’t fight it.
When he wakes the second time, he’s only aware that he feels considerably worse. He’s freezing, yet his clothes are damp and clinging to his skin. It’s uncomfortable, and he cannot stop shaking. He grits his teeth and curls into himself. He hears shifting, and then he feels warmth at his back, warmth wrapping around him, encompassing him, and he leans back into it with a shaking sigh before nodding off.
His eyes open the third time when something surprisingly soft and warm presses against his lips. He parts his lips and frowns at the warm water that rushes down his throat. He coughs and sputters and tries to move away from the hands gripping his shoulders. He cannot see straight, everything is glassy and hazy. The water works with the muted nausea, and he groans against the pain, too weak to say anything.
There’s desperation clinging to the deep voice, and he wants to chase it, but he’s fading. He reaches one hand out, feels a strong hand cup his shaking one, then everything goes black.
He wakes the fourth time to a single, repetitive string being plucked over and over. He pries his eyes open. The sky is a soft, quiet pink that’s warming toward a new day, and he keeps his gaze trailing up until he sees Geralt frowning at his lute and plucking at a string. It takes him a moment to realize his head is resting atop Geralt’s thigh.
At his small movement, Geralt turns his eyes from the lute to Jaskier, and Jaskier, though having to crane his neck to meet Geralt’s eyes, locks a faintly hazy gaze to worried amber eyes.
Jaskier can physically feel the relief bleeding from Geralt’s voice. It coats him like a warm blanket, and his lips curl up into a soft smile. “You may be many things, Geralt of Rivia, but you are no musician.”
“I do not understand how you play this.” Geralt continues plucking at the same string, and Jaskier breathes out a faint laugh.
“Maybe one day I will teach you... when I don’t feel like I’m two moments away from a grave.” Jaskier shifts his gaze back to the sky, listening as Geralt sets down the lute, and when a large hand drops to his forehead, he breathes out a deep sigh at the cool touch.
“You’re through the worst of it.”
“I suppose I should thank you,” Jaskier starts, words pausing at Geralt’s low grunt.
“Thank me when you are back to pestering me like normal.”
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(Hey anon! Love the prompt but I have adapted it to make it a Lance’s Birthday fic!! Hbd to the my fav blue boy!! <33 Here’s a shitty langst fic lmaoo)
When the entire fate of the universe rests upon your shoulders it’s very hard to think of anything else.
There is just too much at stake and as much as Lance has dreamt of being a hero, it requires focus, attention. There is simply no time for anything extra and unnecessary.
But he’s human, of all the Paladins of voltron he is by far the Everyman, he isn’t larger than life in any sense. He allows himself some small extra thing, to keep himself sane. Lance keeps track of the days that goes by. He keeps a calendar, he knows each day, each month. He knows how long they’ve been here.
He knows when it’s his siblings’ birthdays. He knows when Veronica’s turned 21, or when his cousin is having her quinceañera. When those days come he takes a moment to himself to remember, and if he does exist, pray to God to keep said family member safe and happy on their special day.
As Lance checks off his calendar he’s made for himself he realises the days inches further towards his own birthday and it doesn’t really seem to matter. There are things more important than that. He only loved his birthday because of his family, and he did consider of doing something small with his new, surrogate family, but he decided against it. The Voltron team were doing a rather taxing, long mission that had sapped energy out of all of them and he didn’t want to bother anyone. Days of rest were scarce, but valuable. He didn’t dare ruin that. He had decided to keep quiet.
Lance had felt pretty off that whole day. It started off as just a little bit of a sore throat, and he felt a little bit more tired than usual, but everybody was exhausted so he figured it wasn’t anything too serious. He went on with the rest of the day as normal, fighting alien ships and whatnot, and by the end of it Lance felt so incredibly heavy like he could sink down his seat and collapse on the floor. He could barely find the strength to keep himself upright.
He feels so incredibly fatigued, and it seeps through his bones. His throat is horribly sore and his nose is in a constant state of itchiness and he can’t go by five minutes without having to stifle a cough or sneeze. He feels dizzy too, his mind detached from his reality and he doesn’t quite feel he is there. He doesn’t even have the energy to make quips or yell out his usual silly battle cries.
“Great job, team,” Shiro praises as the lions tread back towards the Castle.
“Once we get home, grab a meal, and straight off to bed, we need as much rest as we possibly can. Tomorrow’s another day. We need to be as prepared and equipped for it as possible,” He explains.
“Roger that, Shiro,” Keith nods, his lion following suit.
Lance feels his nose start to burn, his breath catches and he turns himself away from the microphone as to avoid essentially sneezing right into his teammates’ ears. The sneezes are ticklish, quiet, but harsh in a sickly kind of manner.
“Bless you!” Hunk chirps.
He flushes a little at the failure of his plan, but keeps himself composed and clears his throat, sniffling, “Thanks.”
“You okay, Lance?” Keith questions, concern lacing his words.
“M'fine, just something in the air I guess.”
Keith shifts uncomfortably as his lion mounts onto the castle, fully expecting some quip as a response, and possibly a jab at him too, but when it doesn’t come it leaves a strange feeling in his stomach.
Once the Paladins are out of their armour they all beeline towards the common room where everyone flops down onto the couches and groans in exhaustion.
Lance revels in the soft pillowy cushions that is the couch, offering ease to his aching, heavy body. However he is suddenly attacked by a headache, pulsating throughout his head ravaging everything in sight. He hisses in pain, scrunching up his face to brace it, a hand shooting up to try and ease it.
He knows he can’t just leave this thing alone. He’s passed the denial phase, he’s sick and he knows it, and there is zero use in leaving it untreated because there’s no room for slacking or underperforming, not when the universe is at stake.
“Does anyone know if there’s any medicine around here?” He asks hoarsely.
No one replies; and Lance is sure that nobody means anything malicious by it, and as he looks around his thoughts are confirmed because everyone is heaving and panting in exhaustion, too wrapped up in their own exhaustion that they didn’t quite hear him, and if they did they had no energy to reply to him.
Lance bites his tongue then, he doesn’t need to bother anyone. Some sleep was probably enough.
Shiro enters the room then, and as his eyes lay upon the wrecked and fatigued Paladins he can’t help a fond smile, “Alright everybody. We’ve got quite a day, tomorrow. Head off to bed for the night, get some rest and we’ll see you all tomorrow.”
Pidge and Keith nod, hauling their bodies off the couch and dragging themselves towards their bedroom.
“Come on, Lance, get up!” Pidge snaps, gesturing towards the boy who still hadn’t gotten off the couch, still heaving in exhaustion.
“Sorry–just super tired,” He mumbles.
“We all are,” She sighs and gets on her way.
Eventually Lance finds some strength to push himself off the comforts of the couch. He’s sloppy and as he lifts himself off the couch his knees buckle and he’s almost hitting the ground, but his hand quickly grips onto something and holds himself steady. He can’t quite walk in a straight line as the world seems to be spinning around like he’s on some carousel. He drags himself towards his bedroom, exiting the common room.
Hunk is still sitting on the couch, looking rather thoughtful.
“C'mon, Hunk, off to bed.” Shiro chuckles fondly. Hunk smiles softly.
“Uh, actually, Shiro..could I talk to you, for a sec?”
The moment Lance is by himself in the comforts of his own room he completely lets himself go. He lets himself shiver, lets his legs tremble and he lets himself cough, cough so harshly that it’s bending him over and the sheer force of it is just so much he needs to sit down onto his bed, anchor himself onto the edge and bend double. He feels dreadful in every sense of the word.
He rolls underneath his covers to try and rid himself of the cold waves that is making him shiver. But the covers are too warm and he’s being eroded away by hot waves rushing up and down his blood stream. He’s either too hot or too cold and he’s so uncomfortable he can’t help the pathetic whimper that escapes his lips. His skin feels dry; and he has no energy to do his usual skin routine and it sours his mood further. It’s dumb, but something as small as some small self pampering helps Lance unwind and relax.
He shifts and rolls over in discomfort, unable to locate a position that offers some sense of comfort. He’s so tired but he can’t sleep and it’s the worst feeling in the world, he feels so desperate and out of control. He opens his heavy eyes to see his calendar, picking up the pen and crossing off this day and he realises what day tomorrow is.
Lance feels so dumb and so selfish when he feels a pang of sadness as he laments his birthday. How can he be so self indulgent when the survival of the universe hangs in the balance? He’s human, and he desperately wants a day with his family, a day where he can feel alright. But instead here’s here, sick and miserable.
The burning in his head ravages on and spreads towards his nose and he inhales deeply as the tickle spreads like wildfire. He pushes his face into his pillow and lets out two harsh, powerful sneezes, extremely unlike him, they’re never usually this loud, and they make him feel miserable. He lets out a whimper, and in his feverish haze he can sense his loving sister smile softly at him and hear her bless him in that sugary sweet voice of hers.
He can feel his brother’s warm hands massage his shoulders to comfort him, patting him on the back, trying to make him feel better. He can smell his mother’s soup, warm and comforting, heating his soul. He feels so safe, so warm, so loved.
Then he breaks out of his trance, abruptly, rudely, and the cold reality comes seeping back in.
Lance bites back his sob, the sadness and loneliness beginning to spread around his body until it swallows him whole. He count help his tears and sobs as they rush out of the floodgates. He clasps his hand around his mouth to try and stifle the pathetic whimpers as he violently convulses as he cries, his heart longing for his family again, feeling so empty and incomplete.
Lance craves stability again. He craves familiarity because each day that goes on, something changes. He doesn’t deal too well with change, he loves family, the idea of a home he knows he will return to at the end of the day. He likes knowing he belongs.
He coughs harshly, rattling at his chest and he knows his fever is high but he doesn’t have enough energy to ask for help. He wishes someone would just save him, but he knows it doesn’t work like that.
Lance cannot return to his family, but he escapes to a place where he can, in his dreams. As he closes his eyes, still sobbing, he begs whatever higher power out there to take his mind and send him to them, even just for a little while, just to see them again. And when it comes he lets it cover him like a blanket.
“Lance, sweetheart?” His mother calls softly, “Can you wake up, now, please?”
Lance groans, the light hitting his face and causing him to scrunch up his nose, nodding. Eyes still closed, he rubs at his face as he forces himself upright onto his bed. The moment he opens his eyes he jumps in alarm.
“HAPPY BIRTHDAY LANCE!” His entire family yells, bright, warm grins on their faces.
He has no clue how they all managed to fit in to his adequately sized room, but they have. Everyone is here. All his cousins and nieces and siblings and grandparents. All here, and he can feel their love radiating off of them and it warms him to his very core. Initially he feels shock, surprise and his heart races for a few moments but immediately it is replaced by pure joy, his heart touched by the gesture. Tears prick at his eyes and his smile is shaky.
“God, you guys..you didn’t..have to–” Lance manages to say, but it’s hard for him to find words because it’s like he’s on cloud nine. His heart is glowing and he can’t help but hold it, as if trying to contain the magic brewing within him, like he could explode with the euphoria he feels right now.
“Open your presents tío!” His niece shrieks excitedly, grabbing at a sack and emptying its contents onto Lance’s bed.
“Oh god! There are so many!” Lance gasps. His family isn’t wealthy; and the presents he has before him is sparse as compared to a regular person’s amount, but to Lance, it’s a plethora. The fact his family had so little, and were willing to give him so much, forces the brewing tears to spill onto his cheeks.
Veronica laughs and leans in to kiss his cheek affectionately, “Of course, we love you.”
She wipes away his tears, her voice fond, “Now stop crying, you baby.”
Lance chuckles shakily at that. And the next while consists of him opening presents, discovering a new jacket, a sweater his abuela handmade for him, some arts and crafts projects his nieces and nephews made him, a new Star Wars video game, new swimming togs, face creams courtesy of Veronica..and so forth. Until there is one present left; shiny and sparkling, wrapped with so much love and care Lance is instantly drawn to it, like there is some sort of magnetic force drawing them to each other.
Lance senses some tension in the room, and his fingers clumsily untangle the bow that holds the packaging together. He feels their gazes burning holes into him, and he’s nervous.
He slowly, and cautiously unfolds the paper and when his eyes lock upon the sight before him his blood runs cold and his heart freezes.
He can feel his breathing pick up and his hands are shaking violently, he cannot believe his eyes. And he tears come back again, harder this time.
Before him is a Garrison Uniform, neatly folded and squeaky clean, ready to be worn.
“Díos mio..” Lance breathes.
“I..I..I got in?” He chokes.
His mother’s face is completely engulfed by a sunny smile, and she’s began to cry too.
“Sí, hijo, you got in! You did it!” She exclaims joyfully.
“Oh my god, I..I did it!” Lance cries out happily, and immediately his entire family jumps up screaming in joy, charging in for a huge family hug. Lance feels like his suffocating, but he’s never felt so happy in his life.
“You’re going to be among the stars, one day, my boy. Make us proud..”
A gentle shake on the shoulder returns Lance to his harsh reality, and his miserable symptoms kick in almost instantaneously. He becomes aware of his painful, dreadful headache and his feverish body, and he can’t help his violent shivers.
“Lance, buddy, wake up,” Keith says softly.
Lance gets up slowly, his world spinning violently that it makes him feel a little nauseous. He needs to hold on to the frame of his bed to steady his vision, and he looks over to his alarm clock and gasps. He was meant to be awake almost two hours ago!
Keith glances at Lance’s pale face, with dark undereyes and a saturated flushing on his cheeks and nose, “Oh, Lance..”
“Quiznack, I overslept! I’m so sorry–the mission–” Lance kicks the covers off, trying to scramble away but his face scrunches up and he erupts into a ticklish fit of sneezes, each sneeze desperate and sickly sounding. He isn’t able to cover the first few, but manages to cover the incoming ones with the crook of his arm.
“Bless you,” Keith offers but Lance doesn’t stop, he’s still going–until one particularly loud sneeze causes him to bang his face against his elbow. Keith grimaces in sympathy, passing him a tissue for him to continue his fit in, until it eventually subsides.
Once Lance finishes, his eyes are watery and he can’t breathe through his nose, but he still forces himself off the bed and the world tilts and his knees buckle and he’s freefalling, but Keith’s strong arm catches him and hurls him back towards his bed.
Keith’s eyes look sad, “Hey, buddy, maybe it’s better if you stay in bed today..”
“No! I need to go on the–” He coughs, “the mission! We can’t..form voltron otherwise! I can’t..be a burden on this team..”
Lance begins to haul himself out of his bedroom and towards the bridge, much to Keith’s protests. His head pounds and his body feels like it weighs tonnes but he forces himself towards the bridge.
When he makes it he feels like he’s spent years trudging through the desert suffocating beneath the hot Saharan sun.
“I’m sorry I’m late, I didn’t mean to, let’s start the missi–” Lance starts to hack, coughing his lungs out, bent double with the sheer force. He feels horribly light and faint.
“Oh, Lance, buddy..” Hunk whispers softly, his voice dripping with sympathy.
“I can do it, I swear, please let me do it, we gotta..” Lance trails off, looking up to see their concerned faces, worry etched onto each of their features. But once his teary eyes focus he’s able to see beyond them; the bridge beautifully decorated with a “Happy Birthday, Lance!” banner, there’s some smudged black paint in the corner, and there’s some alien craft that is meant to resemble balloons, and a cake.
Lance feels so warm.
And it’s not just because of his fever.
“Happy birthday, pal,” Hunk smiles sweetly.
His eyes water, “Y..you guys..”
“Happy birthday, Lance..uh..and I’m sorry about the smudge, that was..kind of my fault,” Shiro admits bashfully.
“No..i..it’s perfect,” He whispers.
“..And we didn’t have time to get you a proper present, but we found these little gems and we hope this is a little something until we get something better,” Pidge explains as she places a bracelet into his hands; the brace is silver and there are seven little gems, five gems with the same colour of their lions, and one pink one for Allura, and an orange one for Coran.
Lance’s lip begins to wobble, joy warming his heart and he feels like he’s glowing, twinkling and sparkling.
“And I made you some garlic knots..I tried my hardest to replicate some Cuban spices but you can only get so close with alien ingredients,” Hunk offers, gesturing towards a large plate.
Lance’s face crumples and he begins to sob, incredibly moved, his heavy soul feeling much lighter, a new light igniting within him bringing warmth to the coldness that had started to spread throughout him.
Keith puts an arm around him and lets him cry into his shoulder, “Shh..hey, pal, why are you crying?”
“I’m just..so happy. I don’t deserve you guys..I..made a promise to my mother that I’d make her proud, and I feel so dumb for being tired when there are important missions to do..and yet you guys are still..so nice to me,” He sobs.
“Lance, you’re sick. That’s okay. You can take a rest. And look, I don’t know your mother–but we’re all very proud of you. I’m very proud of you. So I’m so sure she would feel the same,” Keith reassures, a little bit awkward, but just as caring as he brushes his hand through Lance’s hair.
One by one everyone on the team joins in the hug, and each time Lance feels a little bit more while. A little less alone. He can finally feel at home; it’s not quite what he’s grown to know, but maybe it’s just as good. It will do.
“We love you, Lance, all of us,” Hunk whispers lovingly.
And Lance feels it.
He’ll uphold his promise to his mother. He does lives with the stars, these friends who shine just as bright as the stars, and somehow, he’s one of them. Shining just as bright, with their love.
He belongs right here.
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WORDS TO USE INSTEAD OF: SICK
Do you ever find yourself over-using the word “sick” to describe characters in your writing? Try using these words/phrases instead:
under the weather
not (/doing/feeling) so hot
coming down with something
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Whump Prompt #96
A feverish whumpee found sobbing on the floor, tangled in sheets, unable to get away. Between sobs, gasps, and whimpers, the caretaker pieces together that the whumpee thought they were being tied up by their tangled blankets and they hate being tied up, they can’t move, and they can behave, and they want the caretaker, where is the caretaker? Please, they’re so sorry, they just want their friend to come back. Whatever they did, they’re sorry
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proud of you
Prompt: I AM DISTRAUGHT. I JUST saw infinity war and I unblocked a lot of tags and if you have the time can you just make it better. Like the movie already felt like a fever dream. God, let Loki and Peter and T'Challa and everyone else be okay. Let Tony is just lying in bed still sick, fighting back tears as he skypes Peter just to hear his hyper but alive voice talk about his patrol and Tony tells Peter he's so proud of him. Im sorry, it's like midnight and I AM NOT FEELING SO GOOD AGHS!
Tony’s mind is a broken car on a speedway, pulled off to the side while every other car zips around him at full speed. He wants to catch up to them, but he’s hurt, weak, and for once, he’s unable to stop what’s happening, whatever that may be-- their demise at a simple snap of two fingers, he presumes.
He’s watched Strange, Quill, and the other guardians disintegrate right before his eyes, turning to ash and fluttering away before his mind can properly react, and now he and Peter are alone--
“Mr. Stark, I don’t feel so good.”
Every crevice of Tony’s body ices over, leaving him numb, mind going dark and blank. He turns slowly, and Peter is pale, his eyes wide, frightened, a color of pain clouding over them.
Tony catches him when he falls to his knees, and he wraps his arms around the boy, as if he can physically keep Peter whole, keep his body there, but Peter’s shaking, panicking, and his body is too warm against Tony’s chest.
“Mr. Stark, please. Please. I don’t want to go. I don’t want to go.”
Peter’s words are desperate, and his fingers are digging into Tony’s skin. Tony focuses on the weight of them, the warm pressure, until there’s nothing left, until he’s hugging himself.
Tears spill from his eyes as his fingers curl into fists. He slams them down onto the rough terrain, and a scream rips up his throat.
Tony shoots up, a scream physically jerking his body awake. He’s shaking from head to toe, his bed rattling beneath him, and his chest is heaving as he blinks back lingering remnants from the nightmare that felt so real. He can still see the ashes blowing away, still feel the heat of disintegrating bodies.
“Sir? Should I call for Dr. Banner? Your temperature is elevated to 104.6 degrees Fahrenheit.”
Tony shakes his head, knowing that FRIDAY can see his response. He swings his legs over the bed and stumbles toward his desk across the room on buckling legs. The floor underneath him is swaying as if he’s skimming the waves of an ocean, and FRIDAY pleas with him to get back to bed, but he can’t.
“Sir, you really shouldn’t--”
“What time is it?” Tony interrupts, voice a gravelly rasp that hurts. He flops down into his desk chair, one trembling hand shaking the mouse to wake his computer.
“It’s 3:07 AM, Sir.”
Late, Tony thinks, but he has to try. He just has to.
He pulls up Skype and clicks on Peter’s name, prompting a video call with a shaking cursor.
The ringing goes on for two minutes before there’s an answer, and after a few stuttered glitches, Peter’s face comes into view, hair sticking up in every direction, eyes bleary, half-lidded, a yawn slipping past his lips. Yet, he’s alive, he’s whole, and Tony sighs quietly, eyes burning with a warning of tears.
“Hey--” is all Tony manages out before sharp coughs grate up his throat, forcing him to turn away and hack into the crook of his arm for an endless minute. When he turns back to the computer, Peter’s alert, concerned.
“Mr. Stark, are you alright? Should I come over there? Have you talked with Bruce?” He looks past Tony to the empty room. “FRIDAY, what’s wrong with him?”
“--fine,” Tony finishes around a few weaker coughs that sneak past his lips. “I’m fine.”
“You don’t sound fine.”
For a moment, Tony only stares at Peter, mind wandering back to the dream, or rather, to the nightmare that took so much away from him. He shifts his gaze down with a heavy breath.
“How are your patrols going?”
“What? They’re going fine. Mr. Stark, what’s going on?”
Tony brings his gaze up, eyes burning once more. “Tell me about them.”
“About my patrols?”
“At 3:15 in the morning?”
A sigh slips past Tony’s lips, catching against a few grating coughs. “Yes, kid. Just tell me about them. I want to hear how the friendly, neighborhood Spider-Man is doing.”
Peter tilts his head, and Tony knows that narrow gaze is one of silent study, but after a few moments, Peter leans forward, face going bright as a smile plays at his lips.
“Well, I’m sure you heard on the news about the unnamed hero who stopped an armed robbery in the mall on 5th avenue.” He pauses, smile going wide. “That was me!”
Tony smiles himself, and he nods for Peter to continue, and Peter does.
For almost an hour, Peter describes his patrols in great detail, everything from what he ate at lunch before a patrol, to how many shots were fired at him during another.
Tony’s chest swells with heated pride, and when Peter takes a moment to sip his water, Tony clears his throat, pulling the boy’s attention toward him.
“Yeah, Mr. Stark?”
“I’m proud of you.”
Peter’s eyes grow impossibly wide, and he leans closer to the monitor. “Really? Does that mean I can become an avenger?”
Flashes of Tony’s dream strike across his mind like a weak jolt of lightening. He shakes his head and leans back in his chair. “Don’t rush things. Just keep telling me about this car chase for now.”
Peter’s quiet for a moment, silent consideration colors his face, but he falls against his own desk chair and starts going on about the car chase.
Tony listens quietly, relief pulling a heavy weight from his shoulders as he watches Peter’s arms wave about wildly in the small computer screen.
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sick!peter irondad mess because i have to soothe myself like a tiny baby
Tony looks up from the holoscreens he's going over, finding one Peter Parker standing in the doorway to his lab, looking exceedingly pale and more than a little sweaty. And Tony can tell that from where he’s sitting, which is a pretty good distance away.
He’s on his feet at once, crossing the room to Peter’s side. “Hey, kid. You alright?”
Peter shakes his head, and Tony notices how glassy his eyes are. “I, um. I’m - “
“He’s running a fever of 103.4 degrees, boss.”
“Jesus - thanks, FRI. Kid, hey - c’mon, let’s get you to a med bay and get you sat down, huh? What the hell are you doing here - ?”
“I was just finishing up my patrol, and I - oh,” Peter groans suddenly, leaning over a bit.
“Pete?” Tony asks.
He doesn’t get an answer. Instead, he gets Spider-Man puking all over the floor, including all over Tony’s bare feet. The kid immediately looks up at him, tears in his eyes and spit dripping down his chin.
“I’m sorry,” he croaks, then leans over and vomits again.
“Hey, don’t be sorry,” Tony says, trying not to lose his own lunch over the smell and feeling of upchuck between his toes. “C’mon, let's walk, okay?”
It takes a while - Peter's a little slow going and very much so still queasy - but they finally manage to get downstairs, and Tony lays Peter back on an exam table, wincing at the pallid sheen to the boy's skin. He does a quick scan with FRIDAY’s help, and is relieved when he finds nothing serious going on.
“Just a little flu,” he says quietly, smoothing Peter’s hair back from his forehead. “You’re okay.”
“I’m sorry,” Peter repeats, his cheeks flushed. “I’m sorry I came here.”
“Stop apologizing,” Tony says, his voice soft. God, he was garbage at this kind of thing. “Here, let’s - get you out of your suit, and into bed.”
He takes Peter back upstairs and to a guest bedroom, leaving him in privacy to change into some old clothes of Tony's he could sleep in. He panics once he’s alone - what's he supposed to do for the rest of the night? Stay awake and make sure the kid didn’t die?
Before he knows it, his phone is in his hand, and he’s texting the only other person that he thinks could help with this.
Hey, Stranger Things. You still make house calls? TS
I’m not an MD, Stark. SS
And that's a poor euphemism, even for you. SS
It’s not for me, Steph. The kid’s here, and he's sick as a dog. I need help. TS
He got here and threw up twice, and he's got a pretty high fever. TS
I’ll be right there. SS
Tony sighs in relief yet again, slipping his phone into his back pocket as he goes up to check on Peter.
“No puke this time, I hope?” He asks as he opens the door.
Peter is in the bed, tucked under the covers, and looking absolutely miserable. He shakes his head no, still looking a little green around the gills.
“Good,” Tony says, coming to check his forehead. Yeah, definitely still warm.
“We'd best get some fluids in him,” Stephen says as soon as he arrives, giving Peter a once over. Peter groans and covers his face with his hands.
“You called Doctor Strange?” he asks Tony, embarrassed.
“Yeah, you hear the first part of his name?”
Stephen rolls his eyes. “Tony…” He crosses the room to where Peter is, smoothing his shaking hand over his forehead and tutting softly. “A little warm. How’re you feeling, Peter?"
“Like I got hit by a bus,” Peter answers weakly.
Stephen nods, looking in his eyes. “Mm, okay. Looks like you’ve got the flu. We’re going to give you plenty to drink and just let you rest up, okay?”
Peter nods. “‘Kay.”
Tony smiles a bit. “Atta boy," he says softly, coming over to fix his hair again. “What do you want? You want that - blue Gatorade? I’ve got a whole fridge of the stuff for when you come over.”
Peter nods again, smiling just slightly. “Yeah. Thanks, Dad.”
All three people in the room freeze.
Peter looks like he might puke again.
“I’ll get that Gatorade, huh?” Stephen offers, heading out of the room.
Peter speaks first. “Mr. Stark, I - “
Tony holds up a hand, shaking his head. “S’alright, kid. No worries.”
Peter sinks back under the covers, closing his eyes.
Tony clears his throat. “Hey, on the bright side, with your metabolism, you'll be over this in no time. Nice and easy. Just gotta feel gross for a bit.”
Peter nods again. “Yeah.”
The silence is thick and heavy until Stephen gets back, helping Peter sit up and coaxing a bit of Gatorade into him. “We’ll try some dry toast later,” he suggests, one hand moving to rub Peter’s back out of sheer habit. “Just fluids for now.”
Peter closes his eyes again, and Stephen eases him back down to the mattress. He turns to Tony, keeping his voice low. “I’ll be out in the living room,” he assures, brushing his lips against Tony’s cheek in passing.
Tony stays until he knows Peter’s asleep. He comes to the head of the bed, leans over, and kisses his forehead ever so gently.
“Love you, Pete. Feel better.”
When the door closes quietly behind him, Peter opens his eyes, smiling tiredly.
“Love you, too, Dad.”
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RANDOM DIALOGUE IDEAS #8
Feel free to use any of these dialogue ideas in your writing. Be creative with the context!
"I can't sleep"
"I couldn't find it"
"make a wish"
"I've got this"
"watch where you're going"
"you won't get away with this"
"I can't go"
"good for you"
"look behind you"
"turn it off"
"I'm not interested"
"this might hurt a bit"
"I like you"
"give it back"
"I'm sorry I said that"
"I wasn't paying attention"
"you poor thing"
"something's not right"
"you know how I feel about you"
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Whump Prompt #83
A caretaker off handedly mentioning that their sick friend is “burning up”
The whumpee flinching and crying, begging not to be burned, swearing that they’re not sick, they’re not a burden, please don’t burn them, please don't get the torch, they’re sorry, they’ll be good, they can take care of themselves, they don’t need the torch, they don’t want to be burned, they-
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“Prompt: Hi hi! Remember me? It's my birthday today so I was wondering if I could be selfish and ask for a fic? I'm such a sucker for sick!peter, could you maybe do something where Pete's at the tower and tries telling Tony he doesn't feel well but Tony doesn't listen and when Peter suddenly falls unconscious Tony's like 'oh shit' and panics, cue a guilty Tony caring for a sick Peter~ if not that's fine! <33 and just thank you, for being such a lovely person with a lovely blog! ^^
Happy Birthday @warmth-and-comfort!!
“Mr. Stark?” Peter calls out to Tony as the two walk down a long, bare hall in the tower, with Tony a few steps ahead, absorbed in the news article he’s got pulled up on his tablet.
Peter’s head feels as if it’s being ripped into two, and each echoing step drives burning nails into his brain, ones that heat up and burst into small, hot shards that scatter all over. He’s sweating; his shirt is clinging to his damp skin like an uncomfortable second layer of skin, yet he can’t stop shaking. He’s got his arms crossed, but it’s not enough. He wants to curl into a bed with a million blankets, and maybe something hot to drink, anything to sooth the pain coating his throat, pain that came with full body aches within hours.
“I really don’t feel good.” Peter manages out, and Tony hears him, sort of, but he’s just gotten to the point in his article that describes what was found among the debris from a freak attack on an office building, so he only waves his hand with a low grunt.
“Yeah, okay, kid,” Tony only offers, and Peter’s shoulders slump, only for a moment, only until a chill sweeps up his spine and has him hissing through his teeth as he wraps his arms tighter around himself.
They keep walking, down hall after hall, turning corner after corner, making a steady pace to a lab Peter’s not been to before. And the whole time, he’s growing warmer and warmer, nothing compared to the heat rolling from his face, but enough to have him tugging at his shirt collar as puffs of hot air slip past his lips. It’s starting to become too much: his head, the heat clinging to his limbs, the pain in his throat. His vision starts to waver, and before he can call out to Tony, everything goes black.
The thump from behind has Tony coming to a stop with a frown, and he finally pulls his eyes from his tablet and looks behind him to see Peter lying on the floor. Panic settles in his veins, bringing with it a coat of ice, but he tries to keep a level head.
“If you wanted a break, why didn’t you just say? No need to be dramatic.”
He allows five seconds for a reply before he closes the distance between the two and drops to his knees. “Hey, Pete? Peter?” He clamps one hand to Peter’s shoulder and pulls until he can see Peter’s flushed face pinched in... pain? Discomfort? Tony’s not sure because all he’s fully aware of is the heat pushing through the thin fabric of Peter’s shirt.
“I believe he has Strep Throat, sir.”
“Shit,” Tony curses quickly as he lifts Peter with unsettling ease and starts in the opposite direction toward the tower’s medical bay, making it in half the time it was taking to get to the lab because of the light, listless, burning form in his arms.
He gets Peter onto a bed then follows FRIDAY’s careful instructions on how to set up the appropriate IVs. It takes FRIDAY’s guidance plus a phone call to Bruce until he’s got the right medicine pumping into Peter’s arm through a thin IV.
He grabs an extra blanket, just in case, and retrieves a cool wash cloth to drape over the kid’s burning forehead. He takes two minutes to find a pitcher and a glass, filling both up with water to leave on the bedside table, and it’s only then that he allows himself to slump into a chair he’s got pulled up to Peter’s bedside, watching and waiting until, after two hours, Peter stirs.
He’s confused, tired; his body feels far too heavy, and his throat’s on fire. He blinks slowly, frowning at the familiar ceiling, one he’s seen far too many times, and dragging a half-lidded gaze to see Tony looking at him with an unreadable expression.
“Mr. Stark?” Talking hurts, more than Peter thought it would, but he does so anyway. “What’s up?”
“What’s up?” Tony repeats with a breath of a laugh as he rakes one hand through his hair. “What’s up is that you have strep throat, and I ignored you when you told me you didn’t feel well.”
“Yes, kid. Strep. And you passed out because I didn’t pay attention.” His tone’s uncharacteristically soft, so much that Peter frowns.
“It’s okay, Mr. Stark. I know the news of that attack is important.”
“And you’re not?” Tony spits out sharply before he takes a deep breath to cool his heated head. “What I mean is you’re important too. And I should have done something sooner.” He leans over and pops a straw into the glass of water before he holds it out to Peter, who sips from it greedily, the chill of the water easing the gravelly burn.
“In that case,” Peter starts when Tony pulls the glass away. “You suck, Mr. Stark.”
Tony holds Peter’s snarky gaze for a long moment before he breaks away with a huff and a smile.
“I’ll allow that sass from you, just this once.”
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Right as rain seems to fit Fox well
Out of all his brothers, Cody worries over Fox the most.
Obi-Wan had found this curious when he mentioned it. “I thought you would worry over Rex more, all things considered.”
Cody nursed his herbal tea. “Yeah, but I only worry over Rex when he’s in combat. Fox has the nasty habit of running himself into the ground while on leave.”
Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow.
“It’s like all the concentrated stubbornness and tendencies to overwork themselves of every single medic you have ever met times ten.”
Obi-Wan splutters on his tea. “Oh my, that truly is a source of worry.”
So perhaps that is why when Obi-Wan literally bumps into a set of familiar red and white armor on his way to the Temple he stops.
“I’m so sorry, Commander. Are you alright?” He’s projecting calm, comfort, and courtesy. The man is under enough stress already.
“I’m fine,” Fox assures him right before he drops like a marionette with their strings cut.
Obi-Wan looks around a tad bit frantically. “Oh dear, that’s not good.”
Obi-Wan can’t help thinking, did I break him?
His next thought is: when in doubt, call Threepwood.
Obi-Wan hefts the commander over his shoulder and notes he is far lighter than his fellow clones. Obi-Wan has carried enough off the battlefield to know what Fox should weigh in his gear.
Now that he has picked up the commander, he has no clue where to go. He decides to continue on his way to the temple and hopes he doesn’t look too odd. Mace catches sight of him and immediately steers him to the Halls of Healing.
“I’m comming Thorn, Thire, and Hound. I warned him that if he didn’t start taking better care of himself I was going to have to take drastic measures.”
“I called Threepwood.” Obi-Wan offers helpfully.
Mace sighs. “I think I already know what he’s going to find.”
Here is what Threepwood finds: dehydration, malnutrition, extremely elevated cortisol levels, and bags under Fox’s eyes as dark as Maul’s tattoos.
Here is what the Jedi and medics want to do: keep Fox on bed rest for a week.
But the other commanders inform them Fox has seven meetings to attend today that are nonnegotiable as well as guard duty with the Chancellor.
Then the Force hits Obi-Wan over the head so suddenly with an idea so brilliant and so very Anakin that he almost laughs.
“You said he just has to show up? Not even say anything?”
Obi-Wan grins. “I’ll just wear his armor then.”
And that is how Obi-Wan ends up being one of two troopers present when Palpatine monologues to Fives. All over an open comm to Shaak Ti.
Needless to say Order 66 never happens.
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QUESTION IDEAS #5
Here is some more question-based dialogue to include in your writing. (Be creative and use these in any context you desire)
"Do I look okay?"
"Is it broken?"
"You don't really mean that, do you?"
"Can you remember anything?"
"Does this make it any better?"
"Can you move?"
"Why are you staring at me?"
"What's the matter?"
"Have you seen this before?"
"Is there anything I can do to help?"
"Did you do all of this yourself?"
"Are you sure this is safe?"
"Who do you choose?"
"Do you mind if I have a look?"
"Are you sure you want to do this?"
"How do I turn this thing off?"
"What if I mess up?"
"Whose ass do I need to kick?"
"What's the difference?"
"Does someone need a hug?"
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campfire in the snow (chilumi)
hey friends back again with that fanfic writing :^)
this is my headcannon that childe absolutely suffers during the colder winter months as a hydro user (based on this post here) so SOMEONE’s gotta take care of him
in other words, a chilumi...chilumine? lumichilde? CHILDE X LUMINE sick fic !!!
thanks for reading as always <3
“campfire in the snow”
Lumine glanced at Childe, watching him sniffle miserably as they walked through the woods towards Mondstadt.
The sky was overcast, giving the land the hazy gray glow of winter, and the chilly temperature felt stiff against shivering bodies—their coats only warming them slightly. Their shoes crunched in the snow from last night’s snowstorm; the promise of another snowfall hung in the air.
“Are you sick?” Lumine asked.
Childe gave a weak smile. “Of course not. In top shape as always.” Then, AHCHOO! Another sneeze.
Paimon popped up in front of the Harbinger’s face, staring directly at his red nose. “You don’t sound so good to me. Paimon thinks you’re sick!”
“Hate to say it, but I definitely agree with Paimon,” Lumine said, ignoring the guide’s flailing arms of anger. “I think we need to get you somewhere warm.”
The orange haired man playfully scoffed. “All I need to do is speak with the Grand Master of the Knights. Easiest mission of my—sniff—life.”
The traveler stopped in her tracks, and took off her own scarf, holding it out for Childe. “Then at least take this. I think you need this more than me.”
He looked at the scarf, eyes almost glazing over from yearning. He shook his head. “I’d never take something from a lady in need.”
Lumine almost threw the scarf at him. “I’m not in need.”
“And she’s not a lady; have you seen her eat?”
“Paimon only tells the truth!”
“Thank you, really, but it’s just a little reaction to the colder weather. No big deal,” Childe assured, walking past Lumine’s offering.
“What’s his problem?” she muttered, as he walked ahead. She heard him coughing in the distance. Why won’t he just take it?
“He doesn’t seem so threatening now, does he?” Paimon said. “Paimon’s never seen him so weak…”
“Weak…,” Lumine echoed.
Childe was a member of the Fatui. A Harbinger. A deadly fighter. Someone who used a bow despite it being his weakest weapon.
He would never accept help like this, not when it made him feel weak.
Lumine groaned in frustration. Stupid, stupid man. She continued on the path, picking up her pace to try and catch up to him.
Except he was nowhere to be seen. The cold set into her body a little more.
“Childe?” she called out. She ran down the path, eyes scanning every inch of the snowy road and fields. Then—
“Lumine, look!” Paimon shouted, speeding over to Childe’s body laying in the snow.
The blonde traveler quickly scrambled to his side, flipping him over so his face wasn’t buried in the snow. He was drained of color, and his body felt ice cold. There was barely air leaving his nose.
“Childe!” she called, shaking him. Wake up; please, wake up!
He didn’t move. Lumine cursed.
“What should we do?” Paimon asked frantically.
Lumine took a deep breath in, then took off her own coat and scarf, placing it on Childe’s shoulders. She shuddered as the winter air nipped at her skin.
“Now you’re gonna freeze to death!”
“It’s okay, Paimon,” she said, beginning to pick up the unconscious man. “We need to find somewhere to stop and start a fire.”
Paimon nodded worriedly, trying to (unsuccessfully) help Lumine shoulder Childe. The traveler eventually had his arm slung across her shoulders, and her arm gripped his waist.
The three shuffled down the path, searching for any sort of shelter or firewood. As time went on, Lumine felt colder and colder, her whole body beginning to ache under the weight of Childe. Every so often, she would call out his name, hoping to hear a response, but there was nothing.
As she crested the top of the hill, she spotted a tiny cabin at the base. Her ragged breath became concentrated as she mustered up the last of her energy to drag Childe there.
“Almost...there…,” she strained out. No response.
“Come on! You can do it!” Paimon cheered, though her scared expression betrayed her positivity.
Lumine was mere feet away from the door when she heard a familiar high pitched and distorted laughter ring out behind her.
An Abyss Mage!
She turned to see it prancing around in its bubble, icicles swirling around it.
Great, a Cryo Mage at that.
She set Childe down gently, then drew her sword. The blade shook in her hand, her teeth chattering. And she still felt winded. But I have to protect us.
“Try to wake him up,” she told Paimon. The tiny fairy nodded and started tapping his shoulder.
Lumine charged the mage. Her blade scraped against the frozen barrier. She slashed frantically, making miniscule scratches. Around her, icicles fell as the mage chanted spell after spell. It took all of her will to continuously dodge the attacks. Charging enough energy, she unleashed a Palm Vortex. The shield cracked considerably.
I can do this. She leapt at the mage, striking a few times, then casted a Gust Surge. The bubble crackled. A few more hits and the shield will be down. Then, it’ll be a piece of cake.
She started concentrating, trying to summon another Palm Vortex, when an icicle came unexpectedly from the side, slamming into her. She crumpled to the ground.
Nononono. She tried to get up, arms shaking, fighting the exhaustion in her body.
The sinister laughter drew closer as the mage floated towards her. It raised its staff, ready to deliver the finishing blow.
Lumine looked past the mage.
There stood Childe, hunched over, gripping his side, but standing. She almost cried out in relief.
The mage made noises of anger, blinking away, then reappearing closer to Childe.
The Harbinger raised his hand, droplets forming from his palm.
No, Childe wait—! His Hydro elements didn’t stand a chance in this battle.
The beginnings of his spear formed. But then, the water quickly crystallized, turning into shards of ice, and dropping to the ground. Childe winced painfully.
Lumine jumped up on her feet, her energy renewed, and raced towards the mage.
The mage raised its staff again, forming a huge icicle above Childe. He wouldn’t have enough time to move, especially in his condition. The shard started falling.
“Childe!” Lumine screamed.
He closed his eyes. The mask sitting atop his head began to glow. It crackled with purple electricity, and spiraled out, creating a barrier. The large icicle shattered on impact. The mage shrieked in confusion.
Lumine took the distraction, and destroyed the Abyss Mage’s shield, then stabbed its critical point: right through its head. It vanished into the air.
“Good job...traveler…,” Childe said between heavy breaths. His voice sounded distorted, his eyes and expression darker than before. The electro-shield came down, and Lumine watched as he fell to his knees, before rushing over, and catching him before he fell down completely.
She felt his forehead on her bare shoulder. “You’re burning up,” she whispered.
He laughed weakly, before descending into coughs. “I hate to say it, but I think you were right,” he murmured.
She saw Paimon opening the door to the cabin. “Okay, c’mon, we only have a little bit to go, then we can rest.” She felt him nod.
When the three finally got into the cabin, Lumine laid Childe down, folding their scarves to make a pillow, and covering him with their coats. Paimon helped carry some pieces of wood to her, and soon a small fire was started. The guide disappeared back into her world to let Lumine rest.
Lumine finally let out a sigh of relief. She looked over Childe, making sure he didn’t have any injuries she didn’t notice before. Her eyes fell on his mask, the mask that created the electro-shield earlier.
Two elements? That shouldn’t be possible. Was he different, like her? Not of this world? There was certainly something dark about the mask, lurking beneath the surface.
She reached for the mask. Childe’s hand weakly sprung up, catching her before she could touch it. His eyes were still closed.
“Now, now, we don’t touch things that aren’t ours—isn’t that right, girlie?” he teased quietly. His voice was hoarse, strained.
“Even on the verge of death, you love teasing me,” Lumine responded. He still hadn’t let go of her wrist. “And anyways, I dragged you all the way here. You could at least tell me what that thing is.”
He opened his eyes, narrowly. “Sorry, sweetheart, Fatui secret.” Lumine tried pulling her wrist away, but he held onto it, then shifted it so he was holding her hand. “Thank you, Lumine.”
She blushed. “I couldn’t just leave you out there to die.” She looked at their intertwined hands. “Why did you take this mission anyways? You know it’s dangerous during the Cryo months for a Hydro user like you.”
There was a long pause of silence. She almost thought he had fallen asleep.
“It was for Mondstadt,” he finally replied. “I knew you would be here.”
She was feeling warm. Too warm. Is it the fire? Am I getting sick too?
“You should get some sleep. You’ll feel better when you wake up,” she said, completely avoiding what he said. He nodded and closed his eyes, a faint smile on his lips.
Lumine observed his sleeping face, how harmless he seemed right now. None of his antics. None of the mystery surrounding him. None of that lurking darkness. Just a sick, lonely boy. A sick, lonely boy completely vulnerable to the world.
She started to get up, maybe to go cook some stew for him, but to her surprise, Childe held tightly to her hand.
“Stay,” he said, hazily. His eyelids were fluttering, like he was struggling to open them.
“...Okay.” Tired herself, she laid down next to him, tucking herself under the coats as well, glad for the warmth.
He pulled her closer, letting go of her hand, and instead wrapped his arms around her waist, tucking his head under her chin, like he was listening to her heartbeat—a heartbeat that was surely beating way too fast right now. This sickness is making him delusional…
She was about to start protesting when he started speaking.
“No one ever stays,” Childe whispered. It had been no louder than a small leaf rustling in the nighttime wind; Lumine might not have heard it if she wasn’t listening. Her heart broke a little.
She wrapped her arms tightly around him. You’re not alone.
“I’m here,” she whispered back. “I’m right here.”
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