#cold cw

[selfshippingquotes]

F/O: I'm cold.

S/I: Here, take my jacket.

(Later that day)

S/I: I'm cold.

F/O, all nice and cozy in S/I's jacket: I can't control the weather, S/I.

[shapeshiftersandfire]

on this cold winter’s night.

prompt: shaking and shivering (bthb) / warm (gthb) fandom: scary stories to tell in the dark characters: sarah bellows, verna bellows au: project verna warnings: mentioned child abuse, cold

The ragged, worn blanket isn’t enough to keep Sarah warm. She pulls it tighter around herself, curls tighter, and tries to keep herself warm, but it’s not use. The cold of the basement saps any ounce of warmth she can muster. At this point she should be used to it, having spent many a cold night in this dark little room. But something about tonight’s cold is different. Harsher. The thin blanket her family gave her, or rather, allowed her, isn’t enough to keep the cold out. Layering is equally useless; a second blanket is only a small bit heavier than the first. Sarah feels the warmth return to her body for a moment, and then it’s gone.

Every moment she can’t get warm is a moment her extremities hurt a little bit more.

“Aunt Verna,” she whimpers to a dark, empty room. “Aunt Verna…”

How desperately she wants to be upstairs, curled up in her aunt’s arms, safe and warm and loved, instead of being down here, cold and lonely and forgotten.

Sarah sniffs and chokes out a sob. “Aunt Verna…” She’s cold, she’s so cold, all she wants is for someone to take her upstairs, or at the very least give her another, heavier blanket.

Suddenly the light goes on. Sarah curls tighter under her blanket. Is it morning already? Had she really been up all night? Time passes differently down here than it does upstairs, she wouldn’t be surprised. She looks up as the door swings open, expecting to see her brothers or her mother, but instead it’s Aunt Verna.

“Aunt Verna,” Sarah whimpers. She hides herself further under the blankets, if only to hide her shivering. “Aunt Verna, I’m cold.”

“Oh, Sarah.” Verna rushes to Sarah’s side; Sarah shivers violently. She rests a hand on Sarah’s cheek. “Oh, baby girl, you’re freezing!”

Sarah’s teeth chatter too hard for her to speak properly. “I-I wanna c-come upstairs, Aunt Verna.”

“Yep.” Verna wastes no time in pulling Sarah from her little bed and guiding her up from her basement room. Sarah huddles against Verna for warmth; she can barely feel the stone floor underneath her. “I’m going to have a nice long chat with your family about you sleeping down there on nights like this.” Sarah’s not sure what Verna says after that, it’s all mumbled, and angrily so. She doesn’t try to listen too hard, she’s too tired and too cold for that. Instead, she tucks her hands underneath her arms and tries to focus on putting one foot in front of the other, trying not to trip as the floor goes from stone to unpolished wood to polished wood to rug to polished wood again.

Sarah expects the air on this level of the house to be warmer, steadily warm instead of what feels like a residual warmth, that of a fire put out hours ago. But she’s so frozen she hardly notices the change in temperature.

Verna guides her into the main room, where Sarah blearily makes out the remnants of a fire that had been put out earlier in the night. Thinking of the heat it gives off somehow serves to make her colder instead. How nice it would be to sleep in front of it…

But she’d rather be on a soft mattress than the hard wood floor.

“Do you want to sit in front of the fire?” Verna holds her tighter, holds her a little more upright.

Sarah shakes her head. She’s cold and she’s tired, all she wants to do is sleep. “Jus’ wanna go t’ bed,” she mumbles, and leans heavier into Verna’s shoulder. She wants to cry, but she’s so cold she’s sure her tears are going to freeze before she can shed them.

“Alright, sweetheart.” Verna holds her closer, guides her up the stairs until Sarah’s legs give out—she’s too cold to walk, her feet hurt, she just wants to lay down. Her aunt scoops her up and carries her the rest of the way up the stairs, only setting her down long enough to open door, then picks her up again and kicks the door shut behind her.

Verna wastes no time getting Sarah warm. She sets Sarah on the bed, and Sarah watches as Verna digs through her clothes for something. Up here, the rooms are much warmer, comfortably warm, but the cold has settled so deeply in Sarah’s bones that she doesn’t notice it. She lays on the bed, curled as tightly as she can, and shivers. Her fingers hurt. Her feet hurt. Her nose is frozen and runny, but her hands are too cold for her to untuck them from under her arms to wipe it. She buries her nose in the pillow, closes her eyes. It smells like Verna and it’s infinitely thicker and softer than the old thin one she has down in her room.

It’s enough that she starts to drift off, shaken out of her almost-slumber by the bed shifting under Verna’s weight and a warm hand around her ankle. Sarah bolts upright, clumsily, barely making it to her elbows. “Don’ touch—” and then any cold in the air is locked out by the heavy fabric Verna slips over her foot.

“It’s okay, sweetheart,” Verna says, and holds up another piece of dark fabric, the match to the one on Sarah’s foot. “It’s the heaviest pair of winter socks I’ve got.”

Sarah mumbles indiscriminately, shifting herself around so she can watch as Verna slip the other one on. It only takes a moment, but it feels like it takes longer and all she wants to do is sleep. Why is Aunt Verna still fiddling with that damn sock? She pulls her foot away from Verna. Get off and let me sleep.

“Alright.” The bed shifts again as Verna stands; already Sarah’s feet don’t feel as frozen; some feeling is starting to return, or so she thinks; it’s hard to tell when they hurt so much.

Then the blankets are pulled out from underneath her. Sarah cringes with a whimper, raising her head as Verna pulls them away, and curls in on herself with a distressed whine—All I want to do is sleep. Why can’t I just sleep?—and then they’re over her again, heavier and thicker than any of her blankets downstairs.

“There you go, sweetheart,” Verna says, gently rubbing Sarah’s shoulder. “Feel better?”

Sarah all but melts into the warmth; she feels her extremities beginning to thaw out. Her fingers and toes are still sore, but at least she can feel them now. She nods.

She’s half asleep as the covers and the mattress shift again, and this time there’s another person in the bed with her, pulling her close and wrapping her in their arms. Sarah blinks sleepily and finds herself looking into Aunt Verna’s dress. She pushes her nose into Verna’s shoulder, wriggling closer. Verna’s hug tightens.

“Oh, my little Sarah.” Verna kisses the top of her head, holds her closer still. “I love you, sweetheart.”

“I love you, too, Aunt Verna,” she whispers, and wiggles one more time before she’s settled and comfortable enough.

It’s the warmest she’s been on a winter night in a long, long time.

[lozenger8]

Stiles has linked his hands around Scott’s shoulder, is holding his core tight as he can to lessen some of Scott’s load. Scott’s hand is like a brand against his knee, his arm a comforting support beneath his legs. Scott’s other arm is just under Stiles’ shoulder-blades, his thumb rubbing gentle circles at the curve of bone there. Stiles’ nose is running and his head’s swimming and his muscles ache all over. 

Scott gazes down at him, brown eyes warm and soft. Stiles stares back; thinks he could get lost in their depths if given half the chance.

“It’s okay. I got you. You’ll be tucked up in bed soon, safe and sound.”

“It’s just a cold,” Stiles snuffles back. 

“Want me to set you down again?”

Stiles clings tighter. “No. Not even a little.”

Scott presses a kiss against his damp forehead. As they’ve been talking he’s climbed a couple stairs. “Then pipe down and let me take care of you.”

Stiles sighs as best as his seizing chest allows and rubs his head into Scott’s shoulder. He enjoys the sensation of being wrapped around Scott -- his to hold and protect. He isn’t nearly as embarrassed as he initially claimed, being carried bridal-style by Scott. 

When he’s placed carefully on his bed, he blinks up at Scott and holds his hands out, makes little grabby motions. “I won’t keep you all day, but think you could sit with me for a bit?” he asks through his blocked nose and raspy throat. 

“Of course,” Scott says, lying next to Stiles, pressing against his side. He strokes one hand up Stiles’ arm, delicate and soothing. “This better?”

“It’s so good,” Stiles says. He presses a wet kiss to Scott’s jaw. “You’re my best friend.”

“Yeah I am.”

“And also my very sexy boyfriend.”

“That too.”

“And I don’t tell you enough how much I love you.”

“You tell me almost every day.”

“I still want you to know I love you the most.”

Scott smiles, caresses Stiles’ cheek as he reaches for a tissue. “You have a gigantic snot bubble coming from your left nostril, and somehow this is still one of the most romantic moments of my life.”

[roughentumble]

so i deffo have a cold *throws self off cliff*

its veeeeerrrrryyyy tiny at the moment, a little tickle in my throat, a tiny drippy nose, a little upset tummy, but. im soooooo not in the mood to be sick. im the opposite of in the mood to be sick. so im trying to do stuff thats good for you while yr sick, getting lots of rest, i drank a whole bottle of pomegranate juice and i ate a pomegranate fruit leather thing, im drinking also other kinds of juice((watered down. my throat will kill me if i drink anything not watered down)), my mom made me some REALLY good bacon this morning after i slept in, i have a box of tissues. everything is great. i mean, everything sucks cause im kinda sick, but,