Bugtober

"you never drink tea" for the sickfic prompts? :D

Takes place sometime after ep 12 in Russia

1200~ words

～～～

From across the rink, Yuuri scrutinizes the item held in Victor’s hands. The logo of Victor’s favourite cafe is displayed on the front of it, the familiar design revealing it is one of the special filtered tea mugs Victor loves to gush about. While the sight of him clutching a travel mug at morning practice is not an unusual one, seeing it now has Yuuri slowing to a stop on the ice as he gets a better look at his coach.

It’s not that Victor doesn’t like tea. It’s far from an odd occurrence for Victor to bring a thermos with him to stay energized through practice and warm against the chill of the cold winter weather.

Only now there is no chill, as it’s the middle of spring.

“Tired already, Yuuri?” Victor calls, his wide smile conveying the quip about Yuuri’s stamina that he doesn’t voice.

Yuuri narrows his eyes at Victor, paying his comment no mind. “You never drink tea,” he says accusingly.

For a moment, Victor looks like he’s taken off guardーalmost as if he were caught in the actーbut he quickly composes himself. “I do sometimes,” Victor replies simply, taking a sip rather nonchalantly.

“Yeah,” Yuuri says. “When it’s freezing outsideーwhich it’s not right now. Or when you need the caffeine, or when your throat is really bothering you because you’re sick.”

That causes Victor to flinch, and Yuuri knows he’s right.

“It’s nothing,” Victor dismisses with a wave of his hand and a smile practiced to perfection. “I’m just a bit tired. I didn’t sleep too well last night is all.”

Yuuri is well aware of the fact. Victor had been doing nothing but tossing and turning. Yuuri is surprised to hear he got any kind of rest at all.

It’s obvious to Yuuri that Victor is sick. Or at the very least coming down with something. While it’s likely not obvious to anyone else, the signs are all there. It’s not even just the mug of tea, it’s the fact that Victor tried to hide it from Yuuri. He had prepared it and packed it in secrecy, much like he had hid his illness the first time he had been sick in their relationship. Yuuri would have thought that by now that Victor wouldn’t try to do these things on his own.

Yuuri is tempted to advise they cut their practice short, that they go home and Victor rests, but he knows the idea will be shot down the moment he suggests it. Plus, as much as Yuuri hates to admit it, Victor’s condition isn’t bad enough to warrant sentencing him to bedrest. At least not yet.

So instead he settles for letting Victor have his way for a while, and pretends he doesn’t notice when Victor turns away to cough into the crook of his elbow.

Yuuri runs through his routine again and again, until the movements become more natural than breathing. Victor gives his compliments and critiques, each one sounding more tired and strained than the last. Yuuri still doesn’t voice his concern, knowing even now it will fall on deaf ears.

He loses himself in his skating, until the ice feels like it’s moving beneath his feet, as if it were the one dancing for him, rather than the other way around. The sharp slice of his blades echoes in his ears, the crisp and cool rink air fills his lungs with each heavy breath. He pushes himself harder, thoroughly enjoying every minute of it, until thoughts about Victor’s steadily deteriorating condition are all but forgotten.

He comes to a finish in the centre of the ice, breathing hard, feeling confident about a performance well done. He had landed every single jump, even the quad flip, though the landing was a bit shaky which he doubts Victor will let slide. His spins were tight, his step sequence was remarkable as always. Though Victor insists there is always room for improvement, and Yuuri is ready to hear where he should start.

But surprisingly there is no such input from Victor. Only silence. Puzzled, Yuuri turns and looks for his coach and finds him plucking a number of tissues from the plush poodle and blowing his nose into them.

A pang of annoyance surges through Yuuri. Victor just missed a near-perfect run through of his routine. (Even perfect run throughs are near-perfect to Victor.) But then, as Victor emerges from behind the cover of the kleenex, Yuuri feels all of his annoyance melt away into pity.

Even from a distance, Victor’s nose is noticeably red. His eyes (which have yet to notice Yuuri staring) lack the usual sparkle, and there are dark smudges underneath them. Victor sniffles, stuffing the used tissue into the pocket of his jacket, then wraps it more tightly around himself as he visibly shivers. His overall form broadcasts his exhaustion, the tired sigh he releases further proving that point.

“Victor?” Yuuri calls, causing Victor to snap his head up.

His cheeks are flushed, which could easily be from embarrassment at the realization he had missed Yuuri’s routine. Though judging by everything else Yuuri has witnessed, he’s willing to bet Victor is running a fever.

Victor’s posture changes in an instant. He straightens up and takes his hands out of his pockets, forcing a smile that Yuuri sees right through.

“Ah, sorry Yuuri. I got a bit distracted for a minute there,” Victor says with a lighthearted laugh, as if that will distract Yuuri from how hoarse his voice sounds. “I’m sure your routine was lovely! Though I wouldn’t be opposed to seeing you do it again. I’m confident you have the stamina.”

Yuuri has had enough. He makes his way over to the boards where Victor is. “Maybe I do, but you don’t.”

Victor blinks, still acting innocent. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“You’re obviously sick,” Yuuri points out.

“It's… just a little cold,” Victor relinquishes, his voice quiet and sheepish. “I can still coach you. I’m fine,” Victor insists, or at least he tries to; his breath catches and he sharply turns away to sneeze before he can finish his sentence.

As Victor groans and reaches for a tissue to blow his nose yet again, Yuuri picks up the mug of tea and hands it to him. Victor accepts without a word, takes a sip, then heaves a sigh as he sets the drink down.

Yuuri takes Victor’s hand in his and runs his finger over where the ring is. It’s covered by his glove, and that is another dead giveaway to Yuuri that Victor is well and truly sick: he never passes up an opportunity to flash their engagement rings. He must really be chilled.

“Come on. Let’s get you home,” Yuuri says.

He expects Victor to argue, to insist he’s okay to keep coaching, despite all evidence pointing to the contrary. But Victor must either be feeling that bad, or perhaps he can’t find it in himself to resist Yuuri’s sweet charms, because he just smiles, adoration written all over his features, and lets Yuuri lead him by the hand to the benches.

～～～

Prompts can be found here!

[ID: a three panel comic. the first panel pictures team snakemouth sleeping peacefully together. kabbu and leif are asleep on either side of the bed, with vi wedged in-between them. leif is sleeping on his side, and has an arm stretched out across his teammates. kabbu is on his back and holds the blanket with one hand. chompy is curled up on top of them all. in the second panel, vi, still fast asleep, rolls over towards kabbu, lifting an arm up high. and in the third panel, she has completely rolled over onto her stomach, smacking kabbu in the face and waking him up in the process. end ID.]

taking a well-deserved nap… or trying to, anyway

Vi

Hey! I may have already asked this (I forgot) but can your write something on whumpee-turned-caretaker? Like whumpee has the flu, and gives it to caretaker, and whumpee takes care of them even though their still sick? How does caretaker react to being comforted and coddled when their usually doing the comforting? Thanks!!

Oh yes! Here you go!

(This...got out of hand. This is one of my favourite tropes too - I did this one a little different style wise than what I usually do, hope you enjoy!)

Day One:

B comes down with something bad, and fast. But they've always been stubborn, and refuse to stay in bed until A and C all but force them. Without B's help, C is busier than normal with chores around the house, so A does most of the caretaking. Which B rejects, of course. Even too weak to sit up without shaking, they struggle to do so whenever A brings them water or medicine, continuing to use there raspy voice out of sheer spite. A tries to be patient. They're not worried yet - B is tough, and they've been through far worse than this. That doesn't mean it doesn't hurt to see their friend ill.

***

Day Two:

Stubborn though they are, B can't deny they're feeling worse than yesterday. No more trying to drag themselves into the kitchen to make their own soup, no more sarcastic remarks whenever they're asked how they feel. This time A and C switch off; with A taking over chores and C spending much of their day at B's side. B's fever worsens as the day goes on, but no matter how much A asks if there's anything they can do, C insists they're handling it. Their protests become steadily more snappish as true worry for B sets in. Outside, it starts to snow.

***

Day Three:

B's coughing keeps both of them up. A knows, lying awake in their bed, that C is still with them, comforting them and caring for them, and guilt eats away at them. In the morning, C has dark shadows under their eyes and A's concerns about them only earn them a glare or two. They take over work around the house again, feeling like a caged animal as they go back and forth through the rooms, hearing B's cough and C's gentle murmurs of response. The snow that's climbed almost up to the windows doesn't help. In the evening, they catch C starting to nod off at B's bedside, and offer to take a shift looking after them. To their surprise, C relents, giving A a rare squeeze on the shoulder before they go. After an hour of sitting at B's side, trying to ease their raging fever, A is all but exhausted. B falls asleep eventually, and soon A can't help but follow curled up in their chair.

***

Day Four:

It hits C. They don't want to admit it, but overnight they're too sick to get out of bed, let alone tend to B. They try to anyway, but A refuses to let them. A spends the day taking care of both B and C, as well as dealing with the regular household chores. It's snowing again, making the little house feel like an icebox no matter how much wood they throw on the fire. And the woodpile itself is getting low, but when A digs themselves outside to chop more wood, the snow only piles up behind them and leaves them panicking for a minute - almost unable to get back inside. With the wood they lock themselves in, not daring to set foot out into the storm again. It takes a long time for life to come back into their stiff and frozen limbs. They're up late into the night before they're finally able to sleep themselves.

***

Day Five:

A drags themselves out of bed. They work themselves to the bone - their one solace being that none of their patients are hungry, and neither are they. Nevertheless, there's plenty of work to do even without preparing food. All the while the snow continues to build up outside. B is feeling better, but is still too weak to be out of bed for very long, and A won't allow them to get worse again. C sleeps through most of the day, and when they're awake they're miserable, no matter how much they try to hide it. They ask A for nothing, but it only worries A how much their normally sharp manner is gone. And how feeble their voice is when they do manage to speak. Despite their own sickness and exhaustion, C convinces A to go to bed early. By the time they make it to their room their head is swimming with tiredness, and no matter how much water they drink they can't seem to get rid of the dryness in their throat.

***

Day Six:

All day A feels like they can barely stay awake, like they never woke up in the first place. Their head spins and the floor rocks gently under them, as if they stand on the deck of a ship. No matter how many sweaters they pull over their head, they can't seem to get warm. B tries to get up and help them, but can do little more than shuffle tiredly around the house and A doesn't want them overexerting themselves. C is still exhausted and weak, and gives A instructions on how to be cared for even from their own sickbed. A carries them out no matter what, even when their own bones feel like they might crumble if they take another step. The whole world looks and feels like they're watching it from inside a fishbowl full of water, and though it pains them they have to ask C to repeat their instructions several times before they fully understand.

***

Day Seven:

All night A lies freezing and aching in their bed, unable to sleep for even a minute. In the morning they have to force themselves to get up, their head pounding and eyes sore in the too-bright light. A cough gnaws at their chest. But they have to take care of the others. To their surprise C is out of bed too, they're shaky on their feet but insist on helping out with some of the chores. B spends the day resting. Halfway through the day A finds themselves no longer able to stand, their knees suddenly turning to water and giving out under them. By the time they hit the floor, they've only just understood what's happening. In less than a minute a familiar figure is my their side, looking anxiously down at them. C, their eyes still ringed with exhaustion. A can't seem to form words. But C understands without any, helping them back to their feet with a gentle word and a steady hand on their back. On trembling legs and with their vision blurring they're hardly able to make it to their room. They do, though, C at their side the whole time. They're shaking all over by the time they're in bed, and when C tucks their blankets around their shoulders a wave of humiliating weakness overwhelms them and they start to cry uncontrollably. All those days of taking care of their friends without fail, hardly tiring, and now they're sick too. C shushes them, brushing the hair back from their face until their tears slow. They're so hot and so cold and their skin hurts, and they can't believe they're finally falling apart. Don't B and C still need them? Shouldn't they still be fighting? But they can't fight anymore. All the strength has gone out of them. They can't do anything more now than lie where they are and allow C to speak softly to them, the waves of their voice carrying them away into soft darkness.

***

Day ?:

They don't know how long they lie there, slipping in and out of a feverish sleep. Soon they're hot again, and have to toss away the blankets smothering them. They dream of scratching claws and flapping wings, of a scorching sun followed by icy cold water that drowns them. When they wake up they're gasping for air and freezing cold, drenched in sweat and shivering violently in their blankets. A hand brushes against their cheek and their teeth chatter so hard they're afraid they might break. C's voice shushes them gently, soothing words just at their edge of hearing. Another blanket is pulled over them, and something bitter slipped between their lips on a spoon. A thin, disturbed sleep takes them once again. When they next wake, their fever dreams dissipating in a mist, they think they're seeing ghosts at first. But after they flinch away from them, the smoky grey figures turn into something recognizable - the tired and worried faces of both B and C at their bedside. They try to sit up but the bed under them rocks and their arms turn to jelly, and soon two pairs of hands are pushing them back down to their pillow. Right away they try to protest, feeble words coming from them about how the other two are still recovering and should be careful, how they'll be all right, they just need a bit of rest, how it's their job to take care of everyone else - not the other way around. It's not long at all until they talk themselves into exhaustion. Embarrassing, unstoppable tears run from the corners of their eyes, knowing they've lost. B cracks a weak joke that would make them smile if they weren't so miserable. C lays a tender hand on their cheek, telling them they've done enough. More than enough. Telling them B an C are more than grateful, and couldn't have asked for better care. It's A's turn, now.

I love when sickie shows small signs that they’re frustrated about being sick.

Like, a light groan after a sneeze. A sharp string of curses when fever chills pick up again. A deep sigh as they massage their pounding forehead.

So uh, I might've started writing a fic. Vi ventures her way down to the ant kingdom, what sort of wacky characters will she come across?

Dream Ask Game

Where do your dreams take place?

What do you think about before you go to sleep?

Has your dream ever predicted the future?

What do you do when you lucid dream?

Do you have a recurring dream?

What does your neighborhood look like in your dreams?

What is the earliest dream you can remember?

What is the worst dream you can remember?

What is the best dream you can remember?

What is the weirdest dream you can remember?

Have you ever dreamt the same dream as someone else?

Who is with you in your dreams?

Have you ever communicated with the dead in your dreams?

Have you ever received a spiritual message in your dreams?

What, in retrospect, should have tipped you off that you were dreaming?

One of these days I’ll draw a proper bug fables comic, these are super scribbly but I figured i’d post them! 

That Iconic Aesthetic when a character is both feverish and super congested so they get that hazy look where their eyes are not even half lidded like, ¾ lidded but they’re definitely awake, just too groggy and gross to be attentive.

Someone with a bunch of energy and a lot to do succumbing to a cold slowly as their activity burns on. Be it a party, photoshoot, etc, any public event with a few people and obligations for the sick person in question. 

They’re buzzing around, trying to conversate with everyone they’re supposed to, keeping an eye on time-sensitive issues and all the while not noticing a vague… icky feeling outside of chalking it up as jitters. 

Mid-conversation they’re interrupted by a burst of dry coughing and hear a faint scratchiness in their voice. 

“Are you okay?” “Yeah, don’t mind me, just a tickle in my throat, now where were we?” 

They continue, the cough only getting more and more obtrusive until they break off from everyone else to have uninterrupted coughing fits that leave their hair damp with sweat and their cheeks rosy. They feel a little sluggish now and they step slower. 

They’re back to zipping about, their throat sore and scratchy, and they’re on an energy high, getting as much done as they can, trying to squeeze out a positive expression as they get uncomfortable. 

Then they start sneezing, wet, harsh sneezes shielded by a cloth napkin, fashionable pocket square, or a tissue, and suddenly they feel lethargic and achy, and they just want to go home, feeling feverish shivers crawl up their spine as they stagger over to their partner near the car. 

“You all burnt out?” “I suppose- Ah’tschiew! Ah… A-Ah’tschiew!- ‘Scuse me… *sniffle*” “ You sound like you’ve come down with something,”  “More like something dragged me down with it, uch- AH’TSCHIEW!”  “Well then, it’s home and then into bed so you can rest,”