Jan 30, 2025
sonadow doodle day 30: sick
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sonadow doodle day 30: sick
ooc: he sick 💔💔💔💔
TW for cartoonish vomit
sick boy still so pretty
Okay but- how about Mr. Livesey but sick? How do you imagine him in a situation like that? lol
Everyone will take their turns in taking care of their beloved doctor, even thought Livesey asked them to not visit him so much because he doesn't want to spread the germs. Did they listen to him...
🥺
Writing Except From Today
P.S. this drabble contains a hint about Nat's past!
The boy curled up under the bushes shifted a little, the rustle of sticks and decaying leaves and dirt underneath him, and Nat dropped into an easy crouch, resting her elbows on her thighs and tilting her head.
Her braid slipped down towards her right shoulder, and more than a few strands of brown hair hung over her eyes.
“C’mon, kiddo,” She said, not bothering to keep her voice to a whisper. "Time to get up and moving."
No one else in this neighborhood was up - and it wasn’t a great neighborhood, so even if anyone did get up they were fairly safe here. Everyone kept to themselves, and most of them understood why Nat did what she did.
The pets were unobtrusive - they came and went and kept to themselves - and so the neighbors pretended they didn’t see a thing. In return, Nat pretended she didn’t know what most of them were up to. It was a good enough system to get by.
"Hnnnnh, can't," the boy whispered.
She could see him a little better now. Black sweatpants and an oversized sweatshirt - the rescue uniform, she thought with warmly affectionate dry humor, they all came out of captivity craving comfortable loose things that didn't show any skin. Black curly hair - or maybe dark brown, he was shadowed under the leaves so it wasn't clear. Eyes closed, long dark eyelashes, clammy pale skin with a sheen of sweat across his forehead…
And a lot of blood staining the front of his sweatshirt. A lot of blood.
Nat's eyebrows raised, shocked. Rescues turned up in all sorts of shape, but they rarely showed up still bleeding.
The boy was curled up around some kind of dark green bag, clutching onto it, and when he shifted hearing her voice, Nat watched his fingers close even more tightly around the rough canvas fabric.
"'m sorry," the boy whispered, in a voice surprisingly deep for his delicate looks. Clearly a Romantic, she thought, but this one looked like he'd been stabbed. "Think I'm… s-sick… please, just st-stay with me, Mr. Owen, please..."
Nat swallowed, reached out to lay a hand across his forehead. Mr. Owen. Must be the owner's name.
She didn't crinkle her nose or pull back at the sticky sweat, only took in the heat that seemed to be boiling just under the surface.
"I think you're more than sick, sweetheart," she said, low and soft. Not threatening, not cajoling, just a calming, even tone.
"Jack..." He managed the word, drawn out too long, taking one syllable and turning it into two, to three.
Maybe another pet from the same home? Bonded pairs that got split up never did well...
Stop it, Nat chided herself. 'Bonded pair' is company language. You mean the ones that are friends, that care for each other.
She glanced over her shoulder back towards the house. Krista stood on the front steps, biting her thumbnail, watching them with wide eyes.
"Krista, love," Nat called. "Can you go grab Jake and Trev? We'll have to carry this one." Krista nodded quickly - the rescues mostly obeyed any order thoughtlessly until they were further along in recovery - and ducked back inside.
Nat turned back to the boy, only to jump when she realized his eyes were open. Wide blue eyes, a little glassy, barely seeing her.
Even with his chalky pale skin, even with the sweat that seemed to coat him like dew, even with the blood...
"Jesus Christ, you're gorgeous," she said softly. "I could swear I've seen you somewhere before..."
where is john walton