#tw: illness

[batwynn]

Rest in fury, Radium Girls.

#radium girls #poem #comic #history #radiation poisoning #tw: body horror #tw: illness #tw: death #tw: murder

[halfmoth-halfman]

chamomile kisses

Pairing: Kyle “Gaz” Garrick x GN!Reader Word Count: 1.1k Warnings: illness, guns, fluff Prompt: Taking Care Of Each Other & "Are you wearing my shirt?" Disclaimer: I do not own modern warfare or any of the modern warfare characters. A/N: next up, a little sickfic for @glitterypirateduck’s GazFest 2023 💜

It’s a ritual the two of you have.

When he gets back from a mission, Kyle sends you a text before he has to disappear into a plethora of debriefs, and you spend an entire day getting ready for him to come home.

It’s nothing extravagant, not wanting to overwhelm him after what is usually months of intense action. More often it’s a home-cooked meal, hot shower, and a night spent watching his favorite childhood movies in bed while you tell him about all of the “excitement” of civilian life. It’s simple, but an easy change from the blood and gunfire that always threatens to follow him home. 

It’s something he starts looking forward to the moment he steps onto base. Stress melts from his shoulders when he pictures your smiling face, the feel of your skin, the taste of your lips. It’s hard to keep the smile from his face as you flood his thoughts, and Price has caught him grinning to himself like an idiot on more than one occasion.

Which is why he feels a small, creeping concern when you don’t text him back. He tries not to let it bother him, telling himself you’re just busy getting ready for him. He talks himself through deep breaths the entire drive to the house, assuring himself that you’re perfectly fine and safe.

His heart is gripped with ice when he walks into a completely dark house with you nowhere in sight. He tries to calm himself, taking deep, steadying breaths as he shifts into Sergeant Garrick and searches the ground floor of the house. 

The doors and windows are locked, no signs of a break-in. Your shoes are by the front door, the fridge is fully stocked, and your bag is sitting safely on the counter. 

Panic seizes in his chest, and Kyle reaches under the sink to grab one of the various handguns hidden around the house. He rushes up the stairs two steps at a time, heading straight for the bedroom. 

The bedroom door is cracked, but there’s no light coming from inside. 

Kyle creeps toward the door, reaching out a hand to lightly push the door open. The bedroom is dark, the curtains closed so no light can reach inside. He blinks twice, allowing his eyes to adjust to the darkness as he scans the room. He spots you, a huddled lump on the bed buried beneath a pile of blankets with one of your arms hanging off the side of the bed. 

He hears you breathing, but it’s shallow and hoarse, more wheeze than inhale. There’s no immediate danger, and that thought is enough to lessen the anxiety in his chest. He moves quietly, careful not to disturb you, as he sets his gun on the dresser and toes off his boots before making his way to your side of the bed.

There’s a collection of mugs on your nightstand, interspersed with half-empty bottles of painkillers and cold medicine. Your phone is hanging off the corner, dead to the world just like you. 

Sympathy courses through him, and he leans down to lay a delicate kiss to your cheek before he starts collecting the mugs. He quietly carries them down to the kitchen, leaving them in the sink while he gets to work on making you a fresh mug of chamomile and ginger tea. 

When he finally returns to the bedroom, the light is on and you’re sitting up, one hand cradling your head while the other rubs sleep from your eyes. His eyes rake over your disheveled state, hair a mess, eyes swollen, and a familiar shirt hanging off of one shoulder.

“Are you wearing my shirt?” he laughs softly, watching the way your eyes widen in surprise as your head snaps to him. 

“Ky-le?”

Kyle winces at the rough state of your voice, hurrying to offer you the steaming mug in his hands. You take it with a thankful smile, holding the mug close to your nose to take a deep inhale of its scent. 

Kyle kisses your cheek again, waiting until you’ve taken a sip to begin undressing. He changes into a t-shirt and sweatpants–something more casual, more comfortable, than the jeans and hoodie he’d worn from base–and crawls into bed next to you.

He sits next to you, his side pressing into yours as he runs a soothing hand down your back. You lean into him, resting your head on his shoulder, and he takes the initiative to slide his arm under your knees to pull your legs across his lap. 

Neither of you speaks as you settle against him, eyes sliding shut at the warmth that surrounds you.

“Don’t sleep until you’ve finished that,” Kyle softly chides, tapping on the tilting mug in your hands. You open your eyes with a quiet groan, lifting your head to pout up at him. 

“Is it too hot?” he asks, not letting you answer as he wraps a hand around yours and brings the mug up to his lips to take a testing sip. It’s a little hot, maybe too hot for your throat–

He stumbles as you pull one of your hands away, nearly dropping the mug. Before he can question it, you place your hand on his cheek and turn his face, leaning up to press your lips to his. It’s a brief kiss, but far from chaste as you run your tongue along his tea-soaked lips before pulling away. 

“Much better,” you rasp, a playful, mischievous smirk across your face as you lick the remnants of chamomile and ginger from your lips. 

“Cheeky thing,” Kyle laughs, the hand on your back sliding down to pinch your hip. You’d worry he was annoyed, but he leans in and pecks at your lips two more times before leaning back against the headboard. 

You get comfortable against him, working your way through the tea while you fight back sleep. The tea is almost done when you lose the fight, eyes sliding shut as your head droops against Kyle’s chest. He carefully pries the mug from your hands, setting it aside so it won’t spill.

He’s gentle as he grabs two blankets from your pile, trying not to jostle you as he pulls them over the two of you. You snuggle into the warmth almost immediately, and Kyle feels his heart skip a beat. 

Usually, this is when you’d help him decompress, overload him with stories about boring, everyday stuff to keep his mind from wandering until he falls asleep. But now, with you tucked against his chest sleeping peacefully, Kyle finds himself calmer than ever. It’s amazing how much your mere presence has the ability to soothe him, even sick like this. You don’t have to do anything special–you’ve never had to–for him to be taken with you. 

Having you near, close enough to hold, knowing you’re safe and sound in his arms, is enough for him. 

#gazfest #kyle gaz garrick x reader #kyle garrick x reader #gaz x reader #kyle gaz garrick #kyle garrick #gaz #mw fics #moth writes #tw: illness #tw: guns #private

[thewastes-clangen]

Soooo I got sick...again. Here's moon 3.5, which was supposed to be a mini update but is going to have to serve as a regular update today.

To make up for it, I did add a little lore and our first glimpse of an infected cat. This guy is oddly familiar to Icequill. Also, he's at a relatively early stage of the infection, the first few look a lot worse off than this...

#clangen #plagueclan #warriorcats #warriors #goldenrose #icequill #tigershadow #tw: blood #tw: illness #tw: death #tw: animal death

[cordeliawhohung]

hi, uhm, personal stuff under the cut (:

i'm sure i've joked about this in a post or two, but for those who don't know i have a few chronic illnesses that affect my life in a somewhat moderate sense. i've also been struggling with ptsd for quite a while and due to several circumstances and life stuff haven't really been able to get professional help for it. turns out, a treatment i was receiving (medication) actually ended up helping with my ptsd symptoms in a way, as well as my illness symptoms, which was super great! for the last six months i feel like an actual human being, i started up this blog, and things have been going really well.

however, due to the harshness of the medication, i'm only allowed to be on it for six months. and that period ends soon.

now i'm not really good at like, sharing things about myself and i honestly don't really like to all that often. but i figured it was only fair that i gave you guys a heads up that updates might be coming out slower, or i might not be around as often depending on how my body and brain reacts to not having this stuff in my system anymore. there's also a chance that my updates might actually increase, because my ptsd makes it extremely difficult for me to sleep, and i usually spent most of my time writing when i couldn't sleep. but you get the gist. it's all up in the air and i don't know what's going to happen with me physically and mentally in the coming weeks.

anyway, i love you all dearly (: i'm hoping things go okay with the big change, but on the off chance that they don't, i just ask for kindness and understanding.

#core talks #personal #tw: medication #tw: ptsd #tw: illness

[a-998h]

Hello I saw your Neuvillette story and I got an idea from I, what if the reader is the reincarnation of a child that he loved as his own but passed away at an early age due to sickness.

*Warning: this fic contains mentions of child death, child illness, abandonment, and depressing thoughts!*

By clicking "Keep Reading" you have read and understand these warnings

"The merchant quickly plucks the loveliest rose he can find, and is about to pluck more to create a bouquet only to end up," Neuvillette reads before being cut off.

"Why didn't the merchant just ask for the roses?" The child asks.

Neuvillette smiles and pats the child's head. After finishing the story, Neuvillette packs up and takes the child back to their home.

"Excuse me?" Neuvillette asks.

"Yes, your child has Eleazar sir," the doctor said.

Neuvillette kept his composure as best as he could. But it was hard, especially when the doctors figured out the child had such an advanced case that they only had a year left.

One year later in the summer, the child died and Neuvillette was a mess. He cried and mourned for so long. He knew he would lose you to old age eventually but now... you didn't even make it to a double digit age.

Neuvillette was forced to take today off because Furina said so. He placed a bouquet of Rainbow Roses on the child's grave and took a walk through the streets. He then saw you, a dirty little child in an alleway. When he saw you, he frowned.

"Who could do this to such an innocent thing?" Neuvillette asks out loud.

Neuvillette's first thought was to give you to an orphanage, but something made him not want to. He got you some food and he started to notice you had the same hair color as his original child.

After he adopts you it takes two years for him to realize you were the reincarnation of his original child.

"Papa, can you read me La belle et la Bête?" You asked.

He does a spit take with his tea. His first child's favorite story was La belle et la Bête, they would beg for him to always read it.

He starts to notice other things about you, how you have freckles in places where your past life had scales thanks to Eleazar.

Now he introduces you to Furina and is slightly more worried about your health, he also never takes you to Sumeru in fear that you'll catch Eleazar.

As much as he loves his original child, he never wants you to feel overshadowed by them. He cares about you and his dead child. He never mentions reincarnation because he doesn't want to give you a crisis.

"Je t'aime... mon petit dragon," Neuvillette says, as he cradles you in his arms.

He puts you to bed and makes sure you fall asleep. Kissing your forehead, he leaves you to sleep peacefully as your music box plays.

#genshin fanfic #genshin impact x reader #gn reader #genshin impact #genshin x reader #genshin imagines #neuvillette genshin #genshin fontaine #genshin angst #genshin fandom #platonic fanfic #tw: illness #tw death #tw depressing thoughts #tw child death #tw child loss #tw abandonment

[livwritesstuff]

So you know how parents always have that *one* story about a time where their kid scared them beyond this universe — like their kid could be a daredevil and constantly trying their patience but this particular story is the most harrowing, scariest situation they’ve been in. (This may not be universal but I’m hoping I’m explaining it right lol)

What do you think would be Steve and Ed’s stories for each of the girls?

tw: hospitals, illness, car accidents, in general proceed w/caution if sensitive to children sustaining injuries/illnesses

When Moe was about six months old, she got sick – really sick, hospital-trip sick. All Steve really remembers is that one minute her appetite wasn’t what it usually was, and the next her temperature had spiked to 104 and something about her breathing was not normal and they were on their way to the ER.

They'd ended up staying for three days, Steve didn't sleep the entire time, and because it was before Moe's adoption was finalized, they had all kinds of DFS paperwork to fill out in addition to the mountain of documents the hospital had given them. Steve remembers having to coordinate with Ed dropping everything off at the DFS office and thinking for the first time ever in their years of fostering kids how stupid it was that he was expected to focus on following DFS procedure instead of being there for his baby girl.

The scariest moment with Hazel was the time they lost her.

They’d been at the New England Aquarium with all three girls on a Saturday afternoon – ridiculous, in both Steve and Eddie's opinion, and honestly they weren't even able to enjoy outings like these because they’re still in the stage where they spend the entire time anxiously keeping track of the girls (who were having the time of their lives, obviously – that's why they're suffering through it).

So when Steve did a headcount like he usually does every so often and came up with two, his heart flipped over. He checked again, and again only counted two. 

Triple-checks. Two.

In real-time, they hadn't lost sight of Hazel for more than ten seconds, but it was the longest ten seconds Steve had ever lived by a mile, and he’d spent the whole time thinking that it had to be the worst-case for a situation like this because it was Hazel. If Moe or Robbie got separated from them, they would have no problem marching up to the first person in an NEA shirt they could find and demanding help finding their dads. Hazel, though, is quiet and shy and usually stuck to them like glue. She won’t talk to strangers in the best of moments, so there was no chance she’d find it in herself to try during a bad one.

Turns out, Hazel had been so mesmerized by the jellyfish that even after they all moved on to the next display, Hazel just had to turn back to get one more look, and Eddie had his head screwed on tight enough that day to think of checking there first.

Later, Steve reneged on their plan to take the girls to Boston Pride (which would have been in a few weeks) because it had been scary enough losing track of Hazel in an enclosed space where there were only so many places she could wander off to. The idea of it happening in the dead center of the city, with all those crowds of people, with infinite directions for her to go…no chance. They’d try again next year.

Between all three girls, the scariest moment by goddamn lightyears was Robbie.

When Robbie was fifteen – a high school freshman but placed in the senior-level band class – the school took their music classes (band, orchestra, chorus) to Disney World for the performing arts workshops they offer in the spring.

The student-adult ratio on trips like these is pretty terrible and, in Steve's opinion, there is too much unsupervised independent time for a group of high school students.

Way too much.

A few days into the trip, one kid – a senior with a fake ID who Robbie was friends with through band – managed to commandeer a car and convince a group of kids to blow off curfew and secretly explore the city.

Three hours and half a liquor-store’s worth of alcohol later, Steve got a call from one of the chaperones telling him that his fifteen-year-old was unresponsive in a hospital in Florida.

Planning their last family vacation had taken three entire months of planning and indecision and research.

It took less than five minutes for Steve to get flights booked for the next plane bound for Orlando.

“Maybe if she hadn’t gone on the trip in the first place…” Moe trailed off innocently as she watched her dads pack – she's anything but innocent though. Moe had been pissed to all hell that Robbie got to go to Disney World and she didn’t. She’d spent weeks trying to weasel her way onto the trip to no avail, and she’d been sulking the entire four days Robbie had been gone.

“Not another word,” Eddie warned her, his tone icier than perhaps he’s ever heard directed at one of his kids. Moe opens her mouth to retort, but he cuts her off, "So fuckin' serious, Moe. Not the time."

Robbie had been in pretty rough shape when they finally arrived which was horrible to see – especially for Steve, who had always connected the way Robbie was similar to Eddie with the way Eddie almost died, so seeing her unconscious in a hospital bed, light brown curls strewn out over the sterile-white sheets and tangled amongst all kinds of tubes and wires was pretty much a nightmare come to life.

He was actually thankful for Eddie’s threats to find the idiot driving the car and murder him because he seemed pretty serious about it and making sure he didn't do that gave Steve something to focus on other than counting the hours Robbie had been in the hospital all alone.

#not a happy one folks #liv’s steddie dads verse #steddie #steddie dads #steve harrington #eddie munson #tw: illness #tw: car accident #tw: hospital

[sortofanobsession]

could you maybe write a fic where Jamie gets sick at an away game— whether it be anxiety, food poisoning, flu, etc. Maybe he sicks up in the middle of the night and Dani or Sam (I imagine they room together and are best friends) go get Roy and he’s very very sweet in his own Roy way to Jamie and then the next day on the bus Jamie still doesn’t feel good so he snuggles into Roy in the back of the bus?

I literally love your work so much and would absolutely die if you wrote this (plus my birthday is coming up (Jan 25th) so this would be so epic to read then))

Happy Early Birthday, Anon!

Here is worried Roy Kent, sick and confused Jamie, amused Keeley, #1 nurse Phoebe, and well, everyone else. Hope you like it.

A/N: I'm not a medical expert. I have asthma so I know a few things about raspatory issues. But this might not be the most accurate. And it's unbeta read, as usual.

Ted Lasso Masterlist

Ao3

Pairing: RoyJamie

word count: 4k+

Content warning: Illness, pneumonia, fever, coughing, vomiting (from coughing), panic, angst, sleep depravation, fear, swearing/cursing/cussing.

Fever in the Night

Roy Kent growls at the knock that would have woken him up if he had been asleep. He’d been reading and didn’t appreciate being interrupted. 

“Better be fucking dying,” He grumbles as he opens the door. “What?” he snaps at Sam Obisanya. 

“Sorry, Coach,” Sam nervously says. “But it’s Jamie.” 

And that has Roy moving before his tired brain catches up. He almost forgets to grab his room key and phone, but he isn't a fucking idiot, so he grabs them. Sam relaxes a tiny bit that Roy didn't argue or even swear as much as Sam had expected for it being 1 a.m. Roy feels uneasy when he looks up to see Dani Rojas and Jeff Goodman in the hall, both in the open door of the room Sam and Jamie shared. The four players have adjoining rooms. 

“What about Jamie?” Roy finally asks as he follows Sam.

“He's very sick,” a worried Dani Rojas says. Jeff nods. 

“Okay,” Roy says. He was tempted to ask them why the fuck they woke him and not the team’s doctor, but it was about Jamie Tartt. He'd be pissed if they didn't. He cares about Jamie. And he shoves that thought aside because he really shouldn't think like that. And Roy forgets it completely when he gets one look at Jamie. Jamie’s pale. His stupid fucking hair is sweat drenched and sticking to his face. 

“You two, out,” he says to Dani and Jeff by the door. 

“But-” Dani starts, but Roy glares. Jeff was smart enough to be back in his own room already.

“You have a fucking match, with or without Tartt, so fucking sleep. He'll be fucking fine.” 

The coach weighs his options before handing Sam his own room key. “You fucking too.”

“But coach-”

“Not going to fucking repeat it,” he snaps. 

“What about you?”

“Don't fucking argue.”

“Sorry, coach,” Sam says, but he hasn't moved. The room key and his phone gripped right in his hands. 

“I’ll call the physio team, now fucking go.”

Sam nods and silently leaves. Roy sighs once the doors are closed. As tired as he is, his fucking heart is pounding. Something is wrong with Jamie Tartt. And that twists something inside the gaffer. And despite the protest in his knee, he is kneeling down beside Jamie to get a good look at him. He should call the physio team. He needs the team’s doctor. Roy might know more than your average bloke when it comes to health, thanks to his sister, but he's no bloody expert. But he needs a bit more information first. He reaches up and carefully moves the hair out of Jamie's face. 

“Fucking hell,” he says when just his fingertips can feel the heat of a fever. Just to be sure, he places his palm on Jamie's forehead. And he squashes down whatever feeling is stirred up by how the sick striker shivers at the contact but still leans into it. 

“Fucking burning up,” Roy mutters to himself. 

He winces at the pain in his knee as he stands up. He tucks Jamie's blankets tighter around him. The gaffer is scrolling through his contacts to find the one he needs. He flips the light on in the ensuite and talks to the team's doctor as he grabs a flannel and wets it. As he hangs up the phone, he sets the damp cloth on Jamie's forehead. That's when the player’s eyes snap open. Confusion, followed by panic, flashed across the striker’s face. Because in Jamie's mind, if Roy Kent is there, then Jamie is running late for something, and Roy is probably pissed at him. Jamie hates when Roy is pissed at him. Jamie doesn't like disappointing Roy. 

“Easy, Tartt,” Roy says. “Fucking stay put.” Roy puts the fallen flannel back in place. “Try and relax.”

And as anxious as Jamie is, a command from Roy Kent is one that Jamie will follow. 

“Roy?” Jamie manages to ask. And the coach hates how tired, weak, and utterly confused Jamie seems. 

Before Roy can say anything else, a knock at the door makes Jamie flinch. Without thinking, Roy smoothes the younger man’s hair back in an attempt to calm him as he gets up. Roy’s always been better at physical gestures than words. And if that's what was needed to keep Tartt from panicking or hurting himself, well, then that was a no fucking brainer. He was going to fucking do it.

He lets the doctor into the room and silently hovers as the doctor deals with the striker. 

“Any other player showing symptoms?” the doctor asks the gaffer.

“Fuck if I know, Obisanya, Rojas, and Goodman just seemed fucking worried. Are we going to have a fucking team tomorrow?” 

“Guess we will see in the morning,” the doctor says. Roy gets a rundown on what needs to be done for Jamie. The coach leans his head against the cool wood of the door when he closes it behind the doctor. 

“Where's Sam?” Jamie asks, finally realizing that his roommate’s gone. And that concerns Roy a bit. Jamie is one of his most observant players. On and off the pitch, he tends to keep track of who is around him and where his mates are. He likes knowing where the people he cares about are. He was just noticing Sam’s absence now, which wasn’t a good sign. 

“Sent him off to get some fucking sleep,” Roy says. Several things had been dropped off at the room by either the physio team or hotel staff. Roy had been focused on the doctor and Jamie when it had happened. The gaffer hands the player a bottle of water. Jamie takes it without argument.

“Where?” Jamie glanced at Sam's empty bed. Roy rolls his eyes. 

“My room,” Roy answers, and that seems to surprise Jamie. Before the player can comment on the decision, Roy adds, “Not like I'm fucking using it.” And Roy regrets saying it at the way Jamie gets a sad look on his face. “It's fucking fine, Tartt. My fucking choice.” 

“But-”

“But someone needs to make sure you fucking rest.”

And Jamie hates that because he doesn't want to be a burden to anyone. 

“You don't need to-”

“Already fucking decided,” Roy states. “Just try and fucking sleep.” 

Roy is woken up by violent coughing, and he is out of bed without thinking. Helping raise Phoebe had him trained to be a light sleeper at times like these. Roy follows the sound to the loo. He knocks on the closed door. He didn't know if Jamie had coughed so hard he made himself vomit or vice versa. But from what he could hear, it was painfully obvious one of the two had occurred. The gaffer is glad to find the door unlocked and lets himself in. Jamie tries to argue and kick him out, but he is tired and shaking and can barely move. And that has something in Roy breaking. 

“Not fucking going anywhere, Tartt,” Roy says. As he grabs some water and sits beside Jamie. Jamie accepts the glass if only to rinse his mouth out. Roy can hear the way Jamie's lungs struggle, and that has Roy struggling not to panic. But he manages. He gets Jamie calmed down, cleaned up, and back in bed. Roy ends up texting his sister, who calls him. She asks him if Jamie has been sick recently, but then he remembers what Jamie had told him during training. He'd nearly choked to death at Ola’s over a joke one of the other idiots had told him. And fuck, Jamie couldn't catch a break. His sister tells him it sounds like aspiration pneumonia to her. He should have the doctor double-check, but hopefully, Jamie being a fit footballer will mean he can fight it off without too much trouble. He would need to keep a close eye on him. Hopefully, he wouldn't need to be admitted to hospital. And that had Roy’s blood running cold. A cold and a fucking joke. He sent a message to the physio team and went back to Jamie. 

The only good thing was that pneumonia wasn't inherently contagious. The cold Jamie had before it might be, but it was unlikely to take Sam, Dani, or Jeff out of the game. Jamie wouldn't be leaving the hotel the next morning. Roy really dreaded the idea, but he was already hitting the number on his phone. Keeley would have a lot to say about this at some point. She’d probably see right through him and know he cares more than he should for just being Jamie’s coach. But he needed help, and he knew Jamie trusted Keeley as much as Roy did. 

“Better be good, Roy,” Keeley says. She was clearly annoyed and not a fan of being woken at nearly 4 in the morning. 

“Fucking opposite, it's very fucking bad,” he says, and he sounds it. And she knows if Roy is that upset, it means one of three people was in a bad state. It must be Roy's sister, his niece, or Jamie Tartt. Roy and Jamie might both be her exes, but she knew them well enough to know that they were both idiots in love, just neither of them would admit it. And since it's an away match, it probably meant Jamie was the one having issues. 

“What's wrong? What happened?” She says, all annoyance gone and completely awake. “Is Jamie all right?”

Roy tells her what has happened since Sam knocked on his door. She tells him to keep doing what he's doing. She’ll stay with Jamie during the match. 

“Just let me text Rebecca, and I’ll be there,” Keeley tells him. Roy Kent doesn't argue. 

Roy is an anxious fucking mess throughout the whole match. He does his job. The team does theirs, but everyone feels like there is a gaping hole in the lineup. Even if they physically have a full team, thanks to Roberts. But Isaac had told them to win it for Jamie, and the fucking lads did. That would at least make Jamie feel better about having missed it. Colin Hughes and Dani Rojas had Sky Sports doing replays of goals. And post-game interviews had been more about Tartt than one would think for a game he wasn't in. Roy was just glad he’d had Jamie give Georgie a heads-up that he was sick before he left for the match. The striker listened to his mum as an amused Keeley kicked Roy out of the room. 

The team didn't even ask Roy if he was going out to celebrate the win. The gaffer hadn't even hung back for the bus. He didn't even change his clothes. He let Nathan Shelley to handle the press. He caught a ride back to the hotel, annoyed by the chatty driver, but he was cognizant enough to not verbally eviscerate the guy. He was just doing his job. Tipped the guy well. Not his fault Roy was a shit company. 

“You weren't joking,” Keeley grinned when she opened the door for Roy. Her voice was quiet.

“Said I'd be back after the match,” he stated as he tossed his jacket over a chair in the room. His tone matches hers. “How is he?” 

“Out cold. Whatever the new doctor gave him must be working.” 

Roy hummed. The hotel’s concierge had arranged for a local doctor to treat Jamie so the physio team could focus on the match. And Roy didn't even mind the outrageous fee that was going to cost them. He'd throw all the money he had at it, even though he knew Rebecca Welton would cover it in a heartbeat. She cared deeply for her team these days. And Roy could respect that. He did respect that about his boss. He glanced at the muted TV as Sky Sports blathered on about the game. Roy was glad it was silent. He could ignore the bullshit commentary on his coaching. They won. That's all that fucking mattered. 

“You need to leave?” Roy asked at the way Keeley's phone kept going off. 

“Maybe to take a few calls. Seems the internet is not satisfied with the team's explanation of Jamie's absence.”

“Fuck ‘em,” Roy says as he moves to check on Jamie himself.

“You would say that,” Keeley grins. “But it's my job to answer it. I'm his publicist, after all.”

“Fair,” Roy states, but he doesn't look at her. His eyes are locked on Jamie. He doesn't see the knowing look on Keeley's face. 

“Team should be here soon,” she tells him as she grabs her bag. “Text me if you need me.”

Roy grunts and nods. He finally looks up at her.

“Doctor said he’ll be back up in a few days,” she assures him. “Bus ride might suck, but we'll manage.”

After she leaves, Roy turns off the TV. He was glad he and Sam had switched rooms. He silently changes into more comfortable clothes and pulls a chair up next to the bed. He picks up the book he had been reading. He didn't get very far in his book. He was too distracted by the wheezing sound coming from Jamie. He knew the team was back as the noise level in the hall increased. He was about to go out and tell them all to shut the fuck up when someone beat him to it. There was a quiet knock on the door. 

He opens it to find Nathan Shelley.

“How is he?” the assistant coach asks.

“Sleeping, but it's not fucking great,” he tells him.

“Think he’ll be able to travel?” Nate asks.

“Can't fucking leave him here,” Roy says. 

“That's true, but it won't make him worse, will it?” 

“Not much to fucking do about it.”

Roy had bought Keeley a ticket back so she could meet them when they got back. She complained, but he was ordering her around, but she didn't really mean it. They were both worried about Jamie. And if she could help ease his pain after a long trip, then she would. 

Roy had triple-checked that he had everything packed up for both himself and Jamie. Dani and Jeff had taken their stuff down so Roy could focus on getting Jamie up and moving. No one says anything, but they watch curiously as Roy leads a pale Jamie to the far back of the bus. The players exchanged worried looks. It was going to be a long, tense ride back to Richmond. 

The bus was quiet, as it usually is during these late-night trips, but this was an uneasy silence. The entire bus would go painfully tense every time Jamie coughed. 

They were on the road for half an hour when Roy noticed Jamie was shaking. Roy couldn't imagine how shitty the striker must feel. Fever-induced chill on a fucking crowded bus. 

Jamie's eyes snap to his when Roy feels the ill man’s forehead for what feels like the millionth time. 

“You okay?” Roy asks quietly.

“Cold,” Jamie says. And Roy had already figured that out by the way Jamie not only avoided the cold glass of the window but also the way Jamie sort of chased the warmth of Roy's hand as he pulled away. How Jamie could be burning up but shivering cold had Roy thinking this was a terrible idea. He should have made better arrangements for Jamie. He should have extended their stay at the hotel, no matter the price, and sent the team back without them. Sure, there would be a lot of questions he didn't even want to answer to himself, let alone out loud, but he regrets not doing it. For Jamie's health and safety. Jamie was already wrapped in his usual blanket, a new one Keeley had given him, and Jamie's jacket. But it didn't seem to be enough. 

Roy hummed. 

Jamie's tired eyes watched as Roy dug through the bag he had with him. First, he makes Jamie take more meds. Jamie is vaguely aware of the quiet buzzing alarm on Roy’s phone. As he takes the meds, he sees Roy pull out a jumper from his bag. Roy kept it with him on trips like these in case a hotel or bus had a busted heater, and he needed extra layers. Jamie considers arguing, but he is just too exhausted to actually do it when Roy helps him out of his jacket and into the jumper. Instead of Jamie’s jacket, Roy's much thicker leather jacket, still warm from Roy wearing it, is wrapped around the striker. Jamie almost cries because it's warm and it smells like Roy, and it's overwhelmingly comforting to his fever-muddled mind. Roy must notice the glassy look in Jamie's already bloodshot eyes because without hesitation or protest, even at the odd looks from a few people around them, Roy shifts them both. Roy moves so he can lean against the window with Jamie's back to his chest. One foot on the floor to brace them both. And Jamie manages to get a bit more air than he had bundled up in the window seat. Roy was fucking warm, and Jamie just wanted to curl up in a ball and sleep in his lap, but his lungs hurt, and he could barely breathe as is. Thankfully, the bench at the back of the bus they were on was a bit longer than the normal seats, and Roy could stretch his knee out. They still had nearly 5 hours on the bus. Jamie’s eyelids felt heavy when Roy pulled the blankets back around him. The violent chills finally eased a bit. Jamie didn't know if it was from the meds or how blissfully warm Roy fucking Kent was, but he felt just a tiny bit more human.

“Quit fighting it and fucking sleep, Tartt,” Roy said. Jamie chuckles, but it turns into a wheezing cough that earns concerned luck from the teammates who are sitting nearby. The striker doesn't see the way Roy silently waves them off, too distracted by the way Roy’s arm holds him tight, a hand on his chest to keep him from falling to the floor. Roy's other hand starts rubbing Jamie's back until he can pull an exhausted Jamie back against his chest.

“Just try and breathe, Jamie,” Roy's voice is in his ear, sending a shiver down Jamie’s spine. “Let the medicine work. Nothing else matters. Just fucking breathe.”

Jamie whines slightly because all he wants to do is tuck his face in Roy's next and probably cry.

Roy Kent’s heart fucking shattered at the weak noise that Jamie makes, and he can't take it. He wraps his arms as tight around Jamie as he dares with how much the striker is already struggling to breathe. And he plants a kiss on Jamie's temple.

“It's okay, Jamie,” the older man assures. “I've got you.” And that seems to do the trick because Jamie’s hands wrap around Roy's wrist. So the coach adds, “I'm not going anywhere.” And Roy starts quietly telling Jamie about his first time in Newcastle as a kid when he’d been training in Sunderland. His hushed words continue until Jamie is fast asleep against him. 

About halfway through the trip, Coach Beard comes to check on them. He isn't surprised that Jamie is passed out. Nor is he shocked to find Roy Kent wide awake. The gaffer might be exhausted, and on night two, he has no sleep, but he is wide awake. Beard hands him a water bottle. One Roy accepts because he was sort of trapped where he is. 

“You good?” Beard asks. Roy nods because as painfully asleep his leg might be, and as achy his bad knee is, he'd endure it if it meant Jamie slept. Jamie had spent much of the first hour of the trip trying to get comfortable. The fact he had slept long enough for Roy to get sore was good. 

“Fucking fine,” Roy grumbles. 

“You sure?” Nate asks when he appears over Beard’s shoulder. “We could help you-” 

He is cut off by a low growl from Roy. “You fucking wake him, and you’ll be picking your teeth up out the aisle.” 

“Right, yeah, got it,” Nate says before disappearing, presumably back to his seat. Beard just nods and hands him the book Roy had set aside. 

Roy can feel the rattle in Jamie's lungs worsening as the meds wear off, and Jamie starts to wake up. Thankfully, they were only about 45 minutes out from the dog track now. 

Roy gently shushes him as a bump in the road jostles everyone on board, earning a pained whine from the ill man. “It's okay, Jamie,” Roy tells him. “Nearly there, then we can go home and get you in bed.” 

And it's like a knife in Roy's heart that Jamie is too tired and sick to make a snippy comeback or stupid innuendo. Like all the humor and joy was being drained from the player. And Roy hated it. As much as he acted annoyed or put out by Jamie, he fucking adored him. Wouldn't change the man Jamie had grown into for the fucking world.

On the contrary, he'd fucking fight anyone that doubted Jamie. Because Roy Kent was fucking gone on Jamie Tartt. The arrogant prick stole his heart at some point, and Roy hadn't even fucking noticed. His sister and Keeley were never going to let him live this down. And he'd endure it as long as Jamie was okay.

Jamie worried as he watched how Roy had to grip the seats as they exited the bus. Roy is slower than usual. Jamie might be sick, but he knew Roy. He could identify Roy while blindfolded by footsteps alone. The slight limp and the way Roy leans heavily on the railing with each step down makes Jamie’s brows furrow.

“Fucking stop it,” Roy says when his eyes meet Jamie's. 

“Your knee-” 

“Is fucking fantastic. You going to just fucking stand there or what?” 

Keeley's laugh has Jamie looking behind him.

“You two are a sight,” she grins. 

“Did you-”

“Course I did, Roy-o,” she smiles. “Let's get you home, babe,” she says to Jamie, and he is too tired and confused to argue. He nearly panics when he notices Will helping Roy along, but Keeley's warm hand pats Jamie’s chest. “He's okay, just a long ride,” Keeley tells him. “Telling either of you not to worry is a waste, but I can tell you, he doesn't regret it. Now, in you go.” She helps him into Roy’s G-Wagon with little argument. He is surprised when Roy gets in the back beside him, and Keeley gets behind the wheel. Roy doesn't often let others drive his car. But then again, this is Keeley.

“Jamie?” The striker's eyes snap up and he meets Keeley’s in the rearview mirror before Keeley looks away to meet Roy’s. 

“Hmm?”

“She asked if you were fucking hungry,” Roy tells him, and the worried look on Roy's face has a familiar feeling in Jamie's gut returning. 

“I'm knackered more than anything,” Jamie says.

“I get that,” Keeley says. “Be home soon.”

Jamie must fall asleep because the next thing he knows, he's waking up in his own bed, unsure how he got there. He tries to put the pieces together, but he comes up short. 

“Good, you're awake.”

“Phoebe?” Jamie asks because Roy Kent’s niece is in the doorway to his bedroom.

“Hang on, I have to tell my mum.”

“Your mum?” Jamie mutters, but she is gone. So Phoebe and her mum were there. Jamie’s tired brain tries to remember what happened to cause this to happen. 

“Well, your colour's better,” Roy's sister says as she walks in. 

“You're in my house?” 

She nearly laughs at his confused look. Phoebe giggles.

“Well, yeah,” Phoebe says like it's the most obvious fact in the universe. “Uncle Roy let us in.”

“Uncle Roy,” Jamie mutters.

“My brother begrudgingly went to training,” the doctor tells him. She uses a stethoscope to check his breathing. Jamie coughs as she does. “Rough,” she tells him. “But better than it was.”

“Uncle Roy said it was something like popcorn popping while rattling a jar of change, and when you pinch a balloon as it deflated.”

Jamie’s laughs turn into a wheezing coughing fit at the odd description. He startles slightly as a funny mask meets his face, but he looks over at the doctor as she turns on a machine. 

“Yeah, she asked him, and that's how he explained it,” the amused mother said as she looked at her daughter. “Nebulizer,” she taps the machine. “Help get those lungs to open up faster. Make it easier to breathe.” She goes on to tell him how it works. 

“So,” Jamie says despite the mask muffling his speech. “You…have…Babysitting…duty?” 

He doesn't miss the worried look on Phoebe's face as he has to break between each word, but her mum just squeezes her knee, where she sits on the side of Jamie's bed. Phoebe's hands were too busy holding Jamie's hand. And that makes Jamie smile behind the mask. He was always happy to see Phoebe. Sure, this was a weird visit, but he was glad she was there. Being sick was awful. But it was easier when you had people that cared around you. 

“My brother insisted Phoe was the best nurse for the job.” And the smile the girl gave them did wonders to heal Jamie's heart. She was a ball of sunshine. Jamie was still trying to figure out how they got there when he remembered that Keeley had driven Jamie and Roy to Jamie's flat. Roy must have stayed. 

“His knee?” Jamie asks, sure that Roy's sister would know.

“Fine, after he iced it,” she tells him. “Or as fine as it ever is.” She shrugs. “Although if he doesn't start wearing the brace again on bad days, I'm going to kick him in it.”

“That's not very nice, mum,” Phoebe says.

“Neither is your uncle when his knee hurts, so seems fair,” her mum grins. Jamie chuckles. “Medication must be working. We got a laugh that didn't turn into a cough.”

“Yay!” Phoebe cheered, and Jamie smiled. The pair stayed, and Phoebe told him all about the match he had missed. As much as it hurt him to know he had let his team down, the colourful commentary from an 8-year-old made it easier to stomach. 

Roy had let himself in with Jamie’s keys and followed his niece’s laugh to find them all in Jamie's room. His sister turned off the nebulizer. And the icy grip around the gaffer's heart eases slightly at the smile on Jamie's face as the mask was set aside. 

“Uncle Roy's here!” Phoebe announced. 

“How's the best medical team doing?” Roy asks. 

“Great!” Phoebe grins. 

“And the patient?” Roy adds. And Jamie is stunned at the strange dichotomy on the gaffer's face. He looks exhausted. He has bags under his eyes. At the same time, there is a spark in his eyes. A smile on his face as he leans against the door frame. And Jamie feels butterflies when Roy looks at him. It's not the first time he's felt it. He's always craved Roy's attention. Even when they were both playing for Richmond, Jamie would go out of his way to antagonize his captain. Getting to see Roy content with his family was something Jamie always considered special.

“Much better,” Phoebe answers. “He managed to laugh without coughing.” 

“Oh really?” Roy asks with amusement. 

“He had the nebulizer on at the time, but it means we're on the right track,” Roy's sister tells him. “That and his fever finally broke.”

Jamie hadn't even realized that he didn't feel feverish anymore. 

“That's great,” Roy says. The gaffer feels himself relaxed. Jamie was getting better. 

Roy watches as his sister gets up from the chair beside Jamie's bed. She reaches a hand out to Phoebe. “Come on, Phoe, soup-making time,” she says. Phoebe gives both Jamie and Roy a hug as she leaves. Roy can't help but grin at the dopey smile on Jamie's face. 

“Wait, soup making? Do I even have the stuff for that?” Jamie asks, and Roy gets a bit uneasy again. 

“You do now,” Roy says as he moves to take the seat his sister had been in. 

“Since when?” 

And Roy gives him an odd look. 

“Since yesterday.”

“Did Keeley get them before we got back?”

“No,” Roy answers. “Jamie, you've been in and out of it for a couple of days since we got back.”

“What?” And he remembers that Roy's sister had said Roy was at training. They usually had the day off after long travel away matches like that. 

“A couple days?”

“You okay?” Roy asks as Jamie coughs. 

Jamie winces. He felt terrible thinking about how many nights of sleep he had ruined for Roy. 

“You should go home,” Jamie says when he can finally speak again. 

“Already here,” Roy states.

“I know, but…” Jamie starts. “You need sleep.”

“And you need to recover, so here we fucking are,” Roy tells him. 

“I know, but-”

“I can fucking assure you that I will not sleep better in my own fucking bed. Probably worse because no one is here to look after your dumb arse.”

“But my fever broke, and I'm feeling-”

“You just had a coughing fit,” Roy says with a glare.

“But I didn't throw up or pass out, so I’m-”

“Fucking hell,” Roy says, rubbing at his tired eyes. “Fuck it.” A stunned Jamie watches as Roy climbs into bed beside him. “Now will you shut the fuck up and sleep.”

Jamie woke up feeling warmer than he had in a long time. He felt better too. His lungs still felt like crappy, but he didn't care as much. 

#tw: illness #tw: pneumonia #tw: fever #tw: coughing #tw: vomiting #tw: panic #tw: fear #tw: sleep depravation #tw: swearing #tw: cussing #tw: cursing #royjamie #jamie x roy #roy x jamie #roy kent #jamie tartt #prompt fill #ted lasso fic #keeley jones

[favoritebatfam]

I want a fanfic where Bruce Wayne gets cursed with something that will kill him, or he gets sick to the point he might die. I want slow realizations of how much Bruce means to everyone. I want Jason to hear about it from someone else, because he doesn’t talk to Bruce anymore, and for him to arrive at the manor and ask his dad what’s going on. I want Jason breakdown and realize that he still loves his dad after everything and he doesn’t wanna lose him.

I don’t want this angst with just Jason either. I want Tim to be furiously looking for something, anything, that will help Bruce get better. I want Damien to shut down, unable to process what’s going on. I want to Dick come home, and look at his father, while he’s asleep and realize this is just a man. That his Dad isn’t this big scary person that he used to think he was.

I also want angst with the justice league too, as well as a few of the rogues. I want Harley to hear about this and flashback to how many times Bruce has helped her over the years. I want twoface to hear about it, and for them to mourn it together. I want Clark to feel powerless for the first time ever.

You all know, he wouldn’t tell the Justice league on purpose. I’m personally picturing him passing out due to whatever is happening to him during a meeting and after the meeting having a debrief, he tells him everything. I want all of the members of the justice league to look at Batman and see Bruce Wayne.

I want everyone to realize how human Bruce Wayne is, and how easily he could die.

#this is just angst #batman #bruce wayne #dieing Bruce #bruce wayne is a good parent #bruce wayne is human #protective everyone #fanfiction prompt #writing prompt #tw: death #tw: illness

[abibliophobiaa]

I’m getting tired of having to say I am still not feeling well, and I’m trying my best to write when I can, but that time is so limited because the times I feel well are very limited. But I am writing. Just maybe bi-weekly chapters for the time being, because I am writing less than I ever have (and that’s so sad for me because it’s my favorite hobby).

If anyone wants to send any Beyond thoughts or any of my other fic thoughts, or even any Steve or Eddie thoughts I would be happy to chat. Haha I am spending my Sunday resting.

#luna’s thoughts #tw: illness #illness mention

[universitypenguin]

Personal update:

I’m sick right now and I told my mother I was “too tired” to go to the doctor. She came over, took one look at me and drove me to their office, filled out the paperwork, and is now sitting with me in the waiting room.

I am miserable… 😩 but I am also spoiled. 👑

Also, I feel like this is exactly what Lloyd would have done to Princess before they were dating. He definitely would know her allergies and medications.

#alice is sick #tw: sickness #tw: illness #tw sickness #penguin vents #tw illness #alice comments #alice complains #alice rambles

[arecaceae175]

hi! I’m just popping in to say that you’ve inspired me a lot to write my own things, especially making wild autistic >:) your writing always makes me happy to see and i read it over multiple times!

(Also, i end up happy stimming while reading authenticity- it’s amazing and that’s my main inspiration to write)

you can just ignore this! No pressure ^^

This... this is one of the greatest messages I have ever received probably. I am so honored and thankful that you're inspired by my stories. That makes me so so so so happy. I was happy stimming reading this message too hehe :). Thank you so much for sharing that with me.

AND! You inspired me to work on another chapter! So here :D

Summary: Wild feels bad. Sky and Twilight notice before he does. 1788 words, hurt/comfort.

Warnings: mild illness, wild gets close to a meltdown but doesn’t quite have a full blown meltdown, descriptions of overstimulation, descriptions of illness (still mild- just fever and body chills and aches and such)

“Wild?”

Wild flinched. He turned around to the source of the voice and found Sky looking at him with an expression Wild couldn’t figure out. Words didn’t feel like they would work, today, so Wild stared at Sky and waited for him to speak again. 

“We’re about to go. You ready?” Sky asked. 

It took a moment for the words to comprehend, long enough that Sky spoke again.

“Wild?”

Wild looked down at his supplies, neatly packed away in his bag and slate. Was he ready? Everything was packed, camp was broken down, and he had nothing else to do before they moved on for the day. 

Wild looked back up at Sky and nodded. Sky smiled and held out a hand. Wild stared at it.

“I can pull you up, if you want,” Sky said. 

Wild nodded again. His body felt heavy. That would be nice. He pulled his sleeve over his hand so he wouldn’t have to feel skin on skin then grabbed Sky’s outstretched palm. Sky pulled, and Wild found himself on his feet. He swayed slightly, but recovered before Sky noticed. Sky was still smiling at him. Wild tried to smile back. 

“Are you doing okay?” Sky asked. 

Wild nodded. He was fine to walk. He wouldn’t slow down the group. 

“Come on,” Sky said, and nodded his head toward the others. 

Warriors did a headcount, nodded to Time, and then they were on their way. Although Wild usually liked to be in the front of the group, and often ran side to side with Wind and Hyrule to explore along the path, he found himself lagging at the back. It was a struggle to move his legs, and he was trying to focus on keeping up. 

He could hear every step he made. He could hear the clinking of Time’s armor, Warriors’ sword against his shield, the charm on Four’s hat hitting his belt every so often, the bottles tied to Hyrule’s belt clinking together with every step. 

Wild felt the tension in his jaw and shoulders from how hard he was clenching his teeth. 

Today was an important travel day; they couldn’t afford to stop if they were going to make it to the next town in time. They were sent by the resident Zelda. So, Wild pulled up his hood, focused on his feet hitting the smooth dirt of the path, and kept walking. 

It worked for about an hour, Wild thought. He couldn’t be sure. The passing of time felt a little fuzzy. The world was reduced to his focus on his feet and the sounds of his brothers.

The steps were getting harder and the sounds were getting louder. The hood kept his face shaded, thankfully, but as the sun was rising the world was becoming too bright. His clothes were sticking to his skin and making it itch, and the usually comforting weight of his cloak was causing pinpricks of pain across his shoulders and back. 

Loud laughter rang out in front of him. It was too loud. It was too much.

Wild slammed his hands over his ears, screwed his eyes shut, and fell into a crouch. Everything was too much.

Wild rocked back and forth, weight moving from the balls of his feet to his heels. The skin to skin contact of his hands on his ears was hurting . He risked moving his hands to pull his sleeves over them. The few seconds of sound slammed into him as if it was a physical force. Wild slammed his hands back over his ears and shook his head, barely holding back tears. 

“Wild?”

Wild barely heard the voice. He shook his head. Please stop talking to me. 

The voice made more sounds. Wild shook his head again. He didn’t know what they were saying, he just wanted it to stop .  

Wild felt the heat of the sun fade slightly. The voice was repeating the same thing over and over, and Wild tried his best to focus on it. It wouldn’t stop, but maybe it would if he responded. 

“Can you hear me, Wild?” 

Wild nodded. The movement was jerky, but he hoped it would get the point across. There were less sounds, but the voice was still grating on his ears. 

“Good. Can you try opening your eyes?” 

Twilight. The voice was Twilight. If Twilight wanted him to open his eyes it must be important. Twilight would never make him do anything he didn’t need to.

With great effort, Wild pried open one eye. It was darker than he expected. Wild looked around and saw Twilight crouching next to him. Sky’s sailcloth was being held above them, blocking out most of the light. 

“Thanks, Cub,” Twilight said. Wild flinched at the sound of the s . It sent a spike of pain through his ear straight into his brain. 

“Sorry,” Twilight whispered. His voice was low, but it still made Wild uncomfortable. He didn’t want to be listening to a voice at all, right now.

“Can you tell me what’s wrong?” Twilight asked. 

What was wrong? The question felt like it was bouncing around his brain, making his head throb. Wild didn’t know. He felt tears gather in his eyes.

“Okay, that’s fine,” Twilight said, then frowned. “Your face is really flushed and pale. Are you sick?”

Wild’s thoughts stuttered to a halt. Was he sick? 

“Can I check for a fever? I’ll have to put my hand on your forehead,” Twilight said. 

Wild cringed away and shook his head. He didn’t want anything else touching him. 

“Please, cub? Just for a second,” Twilight said. 

Wild didn’t want anything touching him, but even more so, he didn’t want Twilight to be upset with him. If he was sick, he needed to know.

Reluctantly, Wild nodded. He shut his eyes again. Twilight’s clothes rustled as he shuffled closer. 

“Ready? Feeling now,” Twilight said. The back of Twilight’s hand touched Wild’s forehead, and it took every ounce of self control Wild had not to flinch away. 

Twilight gasped. “Wild, you’re burning up.” His hand moved to feel the sides of Wild’s forehead. The unexpected movement was too much. Wild jerked away and fell backwards. 

“Sorry, I’m sorry,” Twilight said. His clothes rustled again. 

“He has a fever. It feels pretty bad,” Twilight said. 

“We’ll stop here, then. Can the rest of you get camp set up?” Time said. 

Wild pressed his hands harder against his ears once everyone started moving. The shadows didn’t change, so whoever was holding the sailcloth must have stayed. 

“Cub, why didn’t you say anything?” Twilight asked. 

Wild felt his heart sink. They were never supposed to hide injuries, and Twilight thought he was hiding being sick. He didn’t know. He wanted the words to come out to tell Twilight he didn’t know, but they wouldn’t come out. The thought of Twilight being mad at him made tears gather in his eyes again, threatening to spill. Wild shook his head. 

“I’m sorry,” Wild choked out. 

“Wait, Twi,” Sky said. “Wild, did you know you were sick?"

Wild shook his head as a few tears leaked down his face. Now that he was aware, he felt awful. His head and joints throbbed, his fever was making him sweat enough for his clothes to stick to his skin but he was cold, too, his throat hurt, his stomach felt uneasy, and he felt the wrong sort of tired. 

Wild felt a blush creep across his cheeks and the tips of his ears. How had he not noticed he was sick? 

Twilight’s clothes made noise again. His voice was closer when he spoke.

“Oh, cub,” Twilight said softly. “It’s okay. We’re going to stop here, okay? Do you want help setting up your bedroll? I remember where the blankets go.”

Wild didn’t think he had enough energy to put together his bed even if he wanted to. He nodded as he slid his bag off his shoulders and handed the Sheikah Slate to Twilight. 

“I’ll set it up for you. Hyrule’s going to come down and try to figure out what you have, okay?” Twilight said. 

Wild shook his head. He didn’t want to answer any more questions. Everything felt bad, and trying to figure out what exactly felt bad sounded like an impossible task. 

“Wild-”

Wild shook his head harder, ignoring the way it increased the throbbing pain. He brought one hand up and sloppily signed no more questions.

Twilight hesitated. 

Please, Wild signed. He pried one eye open and made the motion again. 

Twilight sighed, and looked at something outside the confines of the sailcloth. 

“Okay. If you don’t feel any better tomorrow, we’ll have to. We need to make sure you’ll be okay,” Twilight said. 

“Wild, you’ll be fine, I’m sure of it,” Sky said. “It’s probably just a quick thing, Twi. I get them all the time.”

“Okay, okay, you’re right,” Twilight said. 

The voices were starting to hurt again. Wild curled tighter in on himself. 

Before he knew it, he heard the shuffling of fabric again. 

“Your bed’s ready,” Sky whispered. 

Wild peeled open his eyes and saw Twilight putting the finishing touches on his pile of blankets. Four, Legend, Wind, and Warriors were setting up the camp. The fire was close to Wild’s bed, but the rest of their things were farther away. Wild appreciated it; the less noise, the better, if he wanted to be able to sleep. 

He looked at the bed and willed his body to move. It really wasn’t that far away, but it felt like miles. 

“Need any help?” Time asked softly. 

Wild blinked. He didn’t know how to answer that. 

“How about you just try standing?” Sky asked. 

Wild nodded. Standing. He could stand. That was much easier than figuring out the steps to the complicated task of getting into his bed. 

Wild stood. He swayed slightly and heard blood rushing, but he stood. 

Sky moved the sailcloth out of the way, and Wild flinched at the bright sun. He pulled his hood down and closed the eye closest to the sun. 

“Now we can walk to the bed,” Twilight said. 

Wild nodded and moved his aching limbs towards his blankets. When he got there, he pulled the blankets down and settled into the bed himself in his usual spot. Brenda the Second was waiting on his pillow. He hugged Brenda the Second against his chest and pulled his softest blanket up over his mouth ro rub on the skin beneath his nose. 

“Get some rest, cub. We’ll handle dinner and make sure you get some fluids once you wake up,” Twilight said. 

Wild didn’t respond. He was already closing his eyes and drifting off to sleep.

#authenticity #linked universe #lu wild #lu twilight #lu sky #ace writes #tw: #illness #fever #tw illness #tw: illness

[batwynn]

Happy Disability Pride month. Everything takes time. Sometimes that means the rest of your life.

#disability #disability pride month #chronic illness #mental health #comic #personal comic #tw: chronic illness #Tw: illness #long post

[halfmoth-halfman]

fear of the water (i.)

Spider-verse/Subnautica Crossover Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x GN!Spider!Reader Word Count: 3.7k Warnings: animal cruelty, animal injury, it's a water planet and the fish are very sick and wild, disease, illness, blood, body horror, tentacles (kinda) A/N: this is going to be two parts because i got caught up playing subnautica while doing "research" for this LMAO (ii.)

It starts with a fish.

A single, blue-hued fish no bigger than his fist with a small yellow beak and two massive yellow eyes to match.

One minute he’s talking to Lyla, trying to determine why his watch has been showing him encrypted messages, and the next, the lab is illuminated in orange, and a wet plop echoes across the room.

Miguel stares as the fish slaps against the polished floor. It stares back at him with its large, blinking eye as its pointed tailfin worms against the ground. Thin tube-like organs stretch its body, one from the top of its head and one from the bottom. Three holes run along the side of its small body in place of gills. The water that drips from its slimy, scaleless skin is almost clear and glistens light blue under the lights.

“Should we help it?” Lyla asks, materializing next to the fish to poke at the tube-like organ on the fish’s head.

Miguel looks up, dark eyes searching for the portal that allowed this fish in here. There’s nothing there, no sign of where this fish came from.

“Set up a tank for it,” Miguel says, eyes dropping back down to the struggling fish. Lyla nods, giving the fish one last look before disappearing. Miguel watches it wrestle against the ground for two long seconds before carefully sliding a hand under it and picking it up. It’s cold to the touch but seems to calm as the warmth from his hands sink into its body.

The struggling stops, and, for a moment, Miguel thinks the fish has finally died in his hands.

The fish blinks, the bright yellow of its eye flashing a bright, sickly green as it snaps its head to the right and sinks its beak into the meat of Miguel’s palm.

It’s no more than a light pinch, not even enough to tear his skin, but it startles him enough that he almost drops it. The fish lets go, settling back down into his hands.

“Got a tank!” He turns back to his desk, Lyla beaming at him from where she sits on the edge of a desktop aquarium filled with water. Miguel hums his thanks, dropping the fish into the tank.

It sinks directly to the bottom of the tank, landing on the glass with a dull thud.

It sits there for ten seconds before it blinks, the holes in its body flexing as they filter in water. The fish springs to life, shooting through the water to explore its new environment.

“What’re we gonna name him?” Lyla asks, swirling her hand on the water's surface. The fish follows along, trying to nudge at her hand.

“You pick,” Miguel says non-committally, thumb running across the small, dented bite on his hand. “I need to run some tests.”

That night, he dreams only of water.

Unable to move, he stands on a beach made of pale sand and trees with bulbous fruit that glows at night. He’s forced to look out over an endless ocean of pitch-black waves crashing over each other as a giant red moon circles the star-littered sky.

Fish leap out of the water in front of him, splashing in the pitch-black depths and staring back at him with big eyes of bioluminescent yellow.

A sense of calmness washes over him, a strange, unfamiliar feeling of peace.

It does not last long.

The sound of hundreds of rocks grinding together echoes behind him, the fish darting back beneath the water and scattering. He can’t turn, limbs refusing his commands, and he’s forced to listen to the low electric hum that buzzes into his bones.

A horn blows once. Twice.

A flock of strange birds fly overhead, desperate to escape it.

He hears the buzz again, like something powering up, before the heat of a titanic explosion blasts against his back. It feels as if his eardrums burst with the blast as the sky rains metal and bodies.

Miguel is forced to watch a spaceship bigger than buildings crash into the water and slowly sink into its inky depth until nothing remains but floating debris, destroyed life pods, and not a survivor in sight.

The waves still, and the water before him bubbles and bubbles and bubbles.

Fish rise to the surface in droves, unmoving and covered in glowing green pustules that pop and bleed into the water.

There’s a wailing from the water, something screaming in fear and desperation and heartbreak. It grows louder and louder until the ground beneath him quakes so violently it sends him face-first into the sickly green water.

He wakes before he hits the ground, limbs unusually stiff with the taste of iron on his tongue as sweat drips from his body.

He heads straight to the lab, not bothering to get dressed, and finds the fish waiting, staring at him with those bright, yellow eyes.

The fish is alien; that much is clear.

It’s not from any universe known to him, Lyla, or Margo. They poke and prod at the thing, trying not to comment on how it seems to want them to. Tests are run over and over and over.

Everything comes back inconclusive.

Miguel follows this routine for a week. The fish plagues his days while the dreams haunt his nights. With each passing day, he feels worse, limbs growing heavier, brain throbbing against his skull at all hours. The lack of answers frustrates him to oblivion. The mystery of this stupid fish vexes him in ways he wouldn’t have considered.

He doesn’t know what to make of it, his brain and body running ragged by the week’s end.

If he could get the flu, Miguel would’ve thought that’s what he had when he awoke in the middle of the night exactly eight days after the fish landed on his doorstep.

He stumbles from his bed, body screaming in protest as fever burns through him. His vision blurs, a swirl of greens, blues, and purples, and his mind is flooded with images of those deep, dark waters.

The fish. He has to see the fish.

Miguel staggers to his lab, half-dressed and nearly delusional. He thinks he hears Lyla’s voice in the distance, but he doesn’t see her anywhere, mind focused only on getting to the fish.

The door to his lab slides open, and the fish floats in the center of the tank, staring right at him.

Anger and frustration take over as Miguel forces himself to his desk, shoving his hand into the tank to grab onto the unmoving fish. He yanks it from the water, ready to throw it with all of his strength.

“ꜱᴛᴏᴘ.”

His body tenses, eyes darting around the room for the source of the voice.

“ᴡʜᴀᴛ...ꜱᴇᴇᴋ...”

The voice echoes all around him, echoing in and outside of his mind.

“ᴡᴀɴᴛ...ʜᴇʟᴘ.”

It sounds like it’s coming from…

Miguel stares down at the fish in his iron grip. It gazes back unblinking, tinges of green swirling around its massive eyes.

“...ʏᴏᴜ.”

The fish’s skin erupts, dozens of glowing green pustules rising from its slimy flesh and bursting onto Miguel’s. It burns like acid eating away at his skin, and Miguel screams, dropping the fish back into the tank.

His arm twitches and bends involuntarily, the bright green mucus-like liquid sliding up his arm and sinking into his muscles. His legs collapse beneath him as he scrubs furiously at his arm, desperately trying to stop the trail of green climbing up to his shoulders.

The fish shoots around the tank, slamming itself into the glass.

The infection reaches Miguel’s neck. Like ice stabbing into his veins, it drags up his neck and wraps around his vocal cords. The pain keeps sound from escaping as he lets out a silent scream.

The fish crushes its beak against the bottom of the tank. Dim, yellow blood drifts from its beak as it turns and slams its right eye against the glass.

Miguel can feel it climbing up his neck and into his jaw. He tastes it in the back of his throat, bile and iron.

The fish’s eye swells shut, a green blister forming on its eyelid almost instantly, growing and growing until it ruptures.

Miguel feels it pressing against his eyes as if they’re about to burst from his skull. He squeezes his eyes shut, and his vision is flooded with swirls of blue of purple.

Glass shatters in front of him, and Miguel peels his eyes open to find the tank on the floor. The fish lays before him, half-melted into a pile of bright green goo.

A spiral of purple crosses his vision and whirls to form the vague outline of a person.

“ʏᴏᴜ ᴍᴜꜱᴛ...ꜱʟᴇᴇᴘ ɴᴏᴡ.”

The voice reverberates inside his head, the person reaches toward him, and the world fades around him.

He’s on the beach again.

The waters crash around him, sliding up the sand to caress his bare feet.

Miguel stares out over the endless ocean, but something’s different this time. Sunlight reflects off the calm waters, a soft breeze blows against his hair, and small grains of sand drift into his face. He grimaces, turning to roll onto his back.

A palm-like tree with round fruit rests over him, and a bird covered in white feathers edged in black stares down at him.

Is this…another dream?

The bird caws—a sound similar to a gull, but higher pitched—spreading its wings wide to reveal a glowing green undercarriage. The bird takes off; its wings connect the bend to its body as it flaps through the air like a manta ray swims in the ocean.

Miguel pushes himself to sit up, groaning at the ache in his body. His body…

He startles—flashes of the half-melted fish crossing his mind—looking over his skin for any signs of the bright green infection that had spread up his arm.

He looks fine, only a small dent where the fish had bitten him. He leans back in the sand, taking in his surroundings.

The sand is almost soft beneath him, the breeze carrying the faintest scent of salt. If he closed his eyes, he could picture himself on a regular beach back home.

Something squeaks beside him, and Miguel nearly jumps when he opens his eyes to find a flat, blue eyeball on four pointed limbs skittering toward him. Instincts take over as the creature leaps, small mandibles aiming for him, and he lands a solid punch to its front left leg. The creature shrieks when it lands, skittering away with a noticeable limp.

Not a dream, then.

Miguel watches the creature run up the beach, heading toward the mountain in the center of the island he’s on, where it disappears into a cave twice as tall as him.

The cave could be a good shelter if more of those things aren’t inside.

He’ll need to find something for food and a way to make a fire.

“Lyla,” he calls, but no one answers. It dawns on him that he’s actually stuck here, on this strange island, in only a pair of sweatpants and a shirt.

To the right, the beach ends at a large formation of rocks, and to the left, it disappears into a steep drop-off into the ocean.

The only way he can go is forward, so that’s what he does.

The cave leads deep into the mountain. Thankfully there are plenty of holes in the mountainside to let light in and allow him to see. He finds more of those cave crawlers, but they give him a wide berth after he kicks the first two into the cave walls.

He doesn’t know where he’s going or what he’s meant to be looking for until he trips over it.

It’s warm but hard enough to nearly break his foot when he stumbles on it: a black cable inscribed with symbols that ebb with glowing green symbols. Half of it is buried in the rocky ground, but it’s wide enough that he’d have a hard time fitting his arms around it.

The cable runs along the mountain floor, trailing up a small hill and leading back outside. Miguel follows it, focusing more on the symbols than what lies ahead.

Momentarily blinded by the sunlight, he shields his eyes, waiting for them to adjust.

When the spots in his vision finally clear, his jaw nearly drops at the sight before him.

The ocean stretches out before him, never-ending and glittering black. On the right, the burnt-out carcass of a massive spaceship sits above the surface, still smoldering as the waves lap at its exterior. On the left, the cable runs to a large cubic tower made of the same material, an arch at its base glowing with a green so bright it’s hard to look at.

Miguel’s vision swims with blue and purple before that same silhouette takes form again.

“ᴄᴏᴍᴇ ʜᴇʀᴇ, ᴛᴏ ᴍᴇ,” the voice in his head speaks, something in his chest pulling him toward the tower.

“Who are you?” he asks, swatting at the silhouette. His hand passes through, and the figure disperses into the air. Miguel scoffs. Of course, they’d disappear instead of giving him answers.

Left with no other choice, he carefully follows the mountain path down to where a metal bridge leads from the beach to the tower. With the same strange symbols carved into the bridge, Miguel cautiously sets one foot on its surface.

It hums to life, the symbols glowing green beneath his foot. It’s oddly warm, much like the sun-warmed sands of the beach. Nothing else happens, though, and it’s enough for him to decide it’s safe to cross.

The bridge hums as he makes his way across. The arch swirls with green semi-transparent energy, and something on the other side calls to him.

Miguel reaches a hand forward, a brief moment of hesitance before he commits and steps through.

The world around him twists and distorts, a distant wailing vibrating across his ears. His limbs grow too heavy, his mind slipping into a limbo of pain and peace.

There’s a moment where Miguel thinks this may be the end.

But as soon as it comes, it stops, and Miguel is left standing in a pitch-black room on the edge of a glowing blue pool.

He steps back, and the entire room pulses with glowing green symbols before fading into darkness. He looks to the pool, a sudden tightness in his chest followed by the absolute yearning to jump in.

“—ᴛᴏ ᴍᴇ,” the voice calls, and he doesn’t know if the echo in the room is in his head.

He listens to its beckoning, one deep breath before diving into the luminous water.

A mistake, he soon realizes.

His muscles tense as soon as he hits the water, locking in place as he slowly sinks down to a platform suspended by chains. He’s in some kind of large chamber, one that looks similar to a well-decorated aquarium. He catches glimpses of schools of fish swimming below the platform as he sinks to it, along with various colorful and glowing flora.

He lands on the platform feet first, something keeping him standing as he struggles against its invisible hold.

He needs to get out. He needs to swim to the surface.

Miguel’s lungs constrict painfully.

He needs air.

A deep groan echoes across the chamber, and Miguel feels the water shift around him, nearly pulling him off his feet.

He’s not alone here.

Something else is in this chamber with him.

Something big.

A dark, spindly limb slithers onto the platform and up the chain to his right. It’s halfway up the chain when a second limb begins curling around the chain to his left. Two more move up onto the platform and anchor themselves on either side of him. Far too big to wrap around his arms, they settle atop his shoulders to keep him anchored in one spot.

Brilliant purple lights flash down the dark skin of these limbs, beautiful swirling patterns that almost distract from the way Miguel’s lungs scream at him.

Skin swirling with flashing purple lights, a creature rises onto the platform before him.

You look human-ish, standing on two legs with two arms and hands clasped in front of you. You’re wearing a black suit that clings to your body and covers every inch of your skin except your hands and feet. What Miguel can see of your skin glows with purple veins that match the blinking patterns of the limbs on his shoulders. He notices they connect to your back, as do the two wrapped around the chains, keeping you hovering just above the platform.

You stare at him, blinking with all four of your glowing purple eyes, head tilted almost curiously.

You glide forward, and Miguel takes note of the other four limbs stretching from your back and draping over the platform's edge. One of them wiggles, twitching slightly before he feels a sharp pinch to the back of his neck.

He inhales, lungs burning as they fill with water. His body feels as if it’s on fire, nerves vibrating as his fingers and toes begin to turn purple.

You blink, at the pain disappears. Limbs loose and back in his control, Miguel chokes and lifts a hand to his neck. He inhales again, and the burn is slight as his lungs adjust and his body changes.

You give him a moment to adjust, watching the realization dawn on him as he inhales and exhales again with ease.

When he finally meets your gaze, your eyes widen, purple lights dancing across your long limbs.

“You are not what I expected,” your voice echoes in his head, clear as day.

“Who are you?” he asks in his mind, harsher than he means to, but not used to the sudden mental connection.

“I am what you seek,” you answer.

“What?” he scoffs.

“Many have tried, and all have failed,” you continue. Miguel narrows his eyes. Your voice sounds…strained like you’re purposely pitching it lower.

“Are you gonna start making sense or—”

“Others came here once,” you muse, looking at the chambers around you solemnly.

“Did you kidnap them too?”

“They built—what?” You stutter, voice losing its low pitch as you turn to him in surprise. “Kidnap? I didn’t kidnap you.”

“No? What would you call it?” Miguel rolls his eyes, frowning down at one of the arms on his shoulder. He shrugs it off, and it slithers to your side.

“No? You came here,” you say, confusion laced in your voice.

“After you left me stranded on the beach,” he scoffs.

“That’s not—” The other limb slides from his shoulder as you glide away from him, picking at the purple veins in your palms. Your brows knit together, eyes focused on the ground. You drift back and forth as if pacing, your voice soft like your words are only meant for you to hear, “You called to me. That’s how I found you, because of the connection, the infect—.”

You stop, turning swiftly to him.

“Where did you come from?”

Miguel takes a step back as you rush forward.

“Shouldn’t you know? You brought me here after your fish melted,” he frowns.

“My fish?” One of your extra limbs reaches up to rub at the side of your temple. He lets you think, watching your face intently. You pick at your palms, wincing when you break skin. The lights on your body flash green before returning to their normal purple, and you both look down to watch yellow blood drift up from your palm. Your eyes widen, slowly lifting to meet his gaze with a worry that sets him on edge.

“How long ago were you infected?” Your voice is soft, almost pitying, and somehow that makes him angrier.

“Infected?” Miguel asks, making no attempt to hide his irritation. You turn your palm upwards, slowly holding it out to him. He can see that small cut in your skin, or rather, the neon green blister that’s taken its place.

“The others brought it here,” you murmur. “They came looking for a cure, but…it didn’t work. They…did something—something unforgivable—and in the following conflict, the virus got out. Everything from here to beyond the Crater was ravaged.”

He doesn’t understand most of what you’re saying, but there’s a sense of loss in your voice that he finds a small part of himself empathizing with.

“I’ve been trying to fix it,” you murmur, looking at him wide-eyed. “But the virus limits my reach to those who carry it.”

You catch the tensing of his jaw and the quick glance down at his hand. You reach for him, slowly and carefully, like one would approach a wild animal. You grab his hand with your unmarked one, lifting it so you can examine his palm.

It’s small, but there’s no mistaking the green edges of the dent in his palm, glowing brighter beneath the water.

“How long ago was this?” you ask, thumb gently grazing the green mark.

“A week,” Miguel answers tightly, pulling his hand out of your grasp.

Your glowing gaze meets his dark one, “Then you don’t have much time left.” You turn your back to him, revealing the bare expanse of your back and the masses of green veins and blisters that gather around where your extra limbs attach. You head toward the edge of the platform. “Come. It’ll be easier to explain…not here.”

He doesn’t move, crossing his arms over his chest. “You can’t take me back home and explain there?”

You stop just at the platform's edge, extra limbs unwinding themselves from the chains as you look at him over your shoulder.

“No one can leave until a cure is found,” you speak, calm and distant. “I cannot change what they’ve put into place. You either follow me or die here. Your choice.”

Miguel lets your words sink in, eyes falling to the bite on his hand. He looks back up at you with a reluctant sigh and gives you a single nod.

You nod, turning back and diving off the edge of the platform, disappearing into the chamber below.

Miguel steps up to the edge, peering into the darkness below to see your bioluminescent limbs carrying you along the chamber floor like a glowing spider. He takes a deep breath, letting the water filter through his lungs, before stepping off the platform.

#miguel o'hara x reader #miguel x reader #miguel o'hara #across the spiderverse #atsv #spiderverse fics #moth writes #tw: animal cruelty #tw: animal injury #tw: disease #tw: illness

[princesssarisa]

I like it when people with medical knowledge analyze fictional characters' illnesses to try to diagnose them in a realistic way.

I just found a short article about La Bohéme which argued that Mimí probably has pulmonary heart disease as a complication of her tuberculosis, and that this explains her constantly cold hands, since the latter isn't a symptom of TB alone. It pointed out that Henri Murger's original book never describes Mimí's hands as cold, but that Luigi Illica, one of the opera's two librettists, was good friends with actress Eleanora Duse, who had chronic TB and probably had that heart complication too (although unlike Mimí, she lived into her 60s) , so he probably wrote from his experience with her.

Here's another example involving a different complication of the same disease: I also read a piece on Les Misérables arguing that Fantine (in the novel, not the musical) probably dies of Rasmussen's aneurysm, a rare TB complication. When Javert bursts into her room to arrest Valjean and reveals that Cosette isn't there and that Valjean will never bring her because he's going back to prison, the brutal shock would naturally speed up Fantine's heart rate, and this presumably causes an aneurysm in her lung artery to rupture.

(Personally, I think this same rare aneurysm probably also kills Satine in Moulin Rouge! – how else to explain her sudden collapse and death when she was still well enough to perform and sing onstage?)

I know that some people think this medical talk is disgusting and would rather view these sickly characters in purely poetic terms: e.g. that Mimí's cold hands just represent her frailty, her poverty, and her fading life force, and that Fantine's death needs no more explanation than "She's too ill and weak to bear the shock." But I like being able to ground these stories in a little realism.

#fiction #fictional characters #tw: medical #tw: illness #tw: death #tuberculosis #essays #analysis #la boheme #les miserables #moulin rouge

[vaijuiin]

The Last of What We Once Were

Possible Trigger Warnings: Grief, Death, and Illness.

Summary: Two old estranged friends meet up to talk about their youth, love, and those who were beautiful and wonderful.

#my writing #interactive fiction #itch.io #tw: grief #tw: death #tw: illness #twine game #if game

[a-998h]

When You're Gone

@sunnysolaria requested this idea.

Tw: reader death, illness, and angst

*I'm not responsible if you ignore the trigger warnings*

(Included characters: Venti, Zhongli, Ei, Nahida, Itto, Wander, Diluc, Cyno, Xiao, Neuvillette, and Xianyun)

They thought gods couldn't get sick. You had come down with an illness. At first they thought you would pass it and get back to normal, but you seemed to get worse. All the best healers from every nation tried to help you, but it didn't work. You sepnt the last week, in pain and coughing. It hurt them, and they were hurt even more when you started to cough up blood. No one wanted you to die, yet they couldn't do anything to make you feel better. Eventually, you had succumb to your illness.

Venti

His tears are hidden

On the outside, he's the same old Venti but on the inside he is crying

A constant visitor to the shrine in Mondstadt, always with a bouquet of Calla Lillies and Snapdragons

Keeps a piece of your jewelry with him

His drinking becomes a lot worseIt's not fun for him anymore, it's a way to make the pain of your death go away

He's lost so many friends, and now he's lost you, his creator

Writes songs dedicated to you, to handle his emotions in a better way than drinking

Whenever he over drinks, he hears your voice scold him

Looks for anyone or anything that could be your second reincarnation

Your festival is celebrated with more energy, only to help the people deal with the lose of you

Your shrines become more decorated in order to make your soul feel at home

Candles are lit in order to guide you home to Mondstadt

on windy days he swears your voce can be heard on the wind

Zhongli

Silence

He avoids you grave

Not because he doesn't care, but he just can't handle it

He lost his wife, and many of his other friends during the archon war

Your young age made him think you would have a little more time

But he feels upset for being wrong

Is one of the main people in charge of the preparations for your funeral

Once your funeral ends, he visits the Liyue shrine with flowers and your favorite food

He cries, you were his grandchild and now you're gone

He shuts himself away in order to process his emotions

Once his emotions are handled, he tries to help others mourn in a healthy way

Walks through Liyue Harbor to reminisce on the memories he shared with you

He swears he can hear your voice whenever he walks past your favorite places

The day you died, people relase lanterns to guide your soul to Celestia

Ei

She cries

She lost her friends and sister, now you

Beats herself up over not making a puppet for your soul like she did for herself

If she wasn't leaving the Plane of Euthymia then, she wasn't leaving now

Stills creates a doll version of you, to have some part of you with her

Leaves sakura blossoms in the local shrine

She starts to reconsider her stop in the pursuit of eternity

She now tries to have a better connection with those close to her

Your death taught her something

Walks around Inazuma to your favorite spots

Sometimes, she swears your voice is heard by the puppet and herself in the Plane of Euthymia

Dolls of you become popular

She holds the doll of you close to her heart

Fireworks are lit to light your souls way home

She can still hear you aspirations and dreams and she wants to make them come true

Nahida

Remember how she cried when erasing everyones memories of Rukkhadevata?

Yeah, she's crying

You were a dear friend to her

She would visit you in your dreams to make you feel better

Plans a funeral in Sumeru for you

Vists your shrine every chance she gets

Talks to your resting place like you're still alive

She holds her other friends closer now

Pushes for more studying of medicine, so no one else suffers like she is

Cherishes the time she spend with you in your dreams

The hoildays about you are celebrated with an air of grief

Incense and flowers are placed on a path to lead your soul to Sumeru

Her walks through Sumeru causes her to get teary eyed

During the Sabzeruz festival she swears she sees brief flashes of your presence at the different stalls and games

Furina

Tears

Locks herself in her room to mourn

You were a best friend to her, and now your gone

Makes laws saying that no one can name an animal or other person after you

Makes your birthday a nation wide holiday in Fontaine

A botanical garden in the Court of Fontaine is created to honor your love of flowers

The funeral takes 6 days and every citizen is in mourning

She makes your favorite sweets and shares them with Neuvillette to make both of them feel better

She and Neuvillette grieve together and get closer to each other more then they already are

During walks with Neuvillette in new garden, she swears your laugh will grace her ears

Itto

In tears

He was so close to you

In you last days , he spent time with you as much as possible

The gang is worried about him

He stops his beetle fighting and the games he loved to play with you

Once he makes it half way through the stages of grief he holds onto the card he gave you

The denial stage hits him hard, and then the anger stage hits him harder

He is an emotional mess

Shinobu tries to help him through his emotions

Gets closer to the friends he has so he can feel better

Once he gets his emotions in order, he becomes even more passionate about the games you both would play together

Sometimes during intense games, he swears he hears you chering loudly for him

Wanderer

While he doesn't show outside emotions, on the inside he is a wreck

Hates everyone and everything

The anger stage of grief hits him hard

He now spends most of his time with Nahida

Holds onto any gifts you've given him over the years

He would have shut done if it weren't for Nahida

He visits every shrine of yours he can find

Leaves small offerings

Buys things he know you would have liked

Tries to hide the fact that he is in mourning

When he travels down roads alone, he can sometimes hear your jokes and he can't hep but sigh

Diluc

His emotions are... fucked up

He has already lost his father and now he's lost someone he saw as a little sibling

It was his job to protect you, and he failed

Knows he couldn't protect you from illness, but he could have made you suffer less

Would visit you wentever he could when he wasn't working

Wold give you gifts to make you feel a bit better

Would use that money of his to find the best doctors for you

Visits your shrine during his off hours

Honors you by being a better Darkknight Hero for Mondstadt

Might try and talk to Kaeya in good faith if only to say he tried for you

Sometimes, he hears you tell him to take a break and if he doesn't he'll work himself into an early grave

Cyno

Also silent

He also saw you as a little sibling

It shakes him a bit

He's supposed to be strong, and yet he wasn't strong enough to get you help

Upset at the doctors that they couldn't find a cure for you

Gets even more blood thristy

Your death breaks his heart

Everyone notices he's upset, especially Tighnari

Visits your shrine and promises to protect the others in honor

On his walks through the desert, especially at night, he hears your laughter behind him and it's bittersweet to him

Xiao

Leaves the room

He's seen his friends die and now he lost his sibling

He and Zhongli cry together over your death

He shuts himself off from everyone even more than he already does

Would light a lantern for your soul

Visits your favorite places with Zhongli

Holds your favorite plushie close

Cuddles the plushie close at night

Visits the shrine every evening with flowers

He is a bit mad a Baizhu for not helping you get better

Gets closer to Verr Goblet and Yanxiao

Goes to your burial site with Almond Tofu to feel like he's eating with you again

When he's on the balcony of Wangshu Inn, he feels you hear his arm, and your voice telling him to smile and take care of his friends

Neuvillette

Fontaine is getting weeks of rain

You were one of his grandbabies

He saw you as full of life like Furina, and now you're dead

He tries to drown himself in work to avoid coping

Enjoy's Furina's plan for a garden to honor you

Once Furina makes him cope in a healthy manner, he walks through the garden

Often sits to enjoy the silence some days

Like to reminisce over the time you two spent together

Makes laws about you and legacy

Makes sure the garden is properly upkept

No longer tries to drown himself in work, on purpose

Sometimes hears your voice and feels your presence on the bench he likes to sit at in the garden

Cries only with Furina in private

Xianyun

Shocked

By now she saw you as one of her children

She thought you were an immortal and your death ruins that

Upset that you were unable to be healed by doctors

Makes toys you would have loved

Ganyu has to keep her wraith in check

Takes walks around the mountains to clear her head

Once stable, she cries

Visits your grave to leave the flowers you love

Keeps some of your old jewlery

Keeps your old jewelry in a special box in her abode

Helps Ganyu and Shenhu mourn in health ways, and vice versa

Honors you in her work

Sometimes hears you voice on the winds at night

#genshin fanfic #cult au #sagau #creator!reader #sagau lore #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin imagines #angst #genshin angst #tw death #If you ignore trigger warnings I'm not responsible #tw: illness #remember trigger warnings are a courtesy #if you don't read trigger warnings i'm not liabel