#sickfic

[makadamialatte]

I am so well fed with the brand new day movie. So many sickfic possibilities. Well damn peter has chronic migraine is how i saw it

[goldenempyrean]

if anyone had baran al-hashimi or pitt requests send them over pretty pls <3

(sickfic only pls)

[bloodynosenatashasupremacist]

reading a sickfic when you’re actually sick is better than medicine

[bellysoupset]

Gossip

"What do you think happened, uh?" Chris whispered, leaning against the other doctor's locker, as Claire put her scrubs shirt on top of the long sleeves she was wearing

Claire shrugged, "exactly what Lois said," she ditched her earrings inside a little box, along with her rings, "family emergency."

"Hmm," Chris huffed, disbelieving, "I don't know... Banks seemed aware, you should ask him."

"I should ask him?" Claire snorted, rolling her eyes, "I should ask him because you are curious? Why don't you ask?"

"Because he hates me and won't tell me," he said as if it was obvious, "you on the other hand, he will tell and then you can tell me."

"Jonah won't tell me," Claire rolled her eyes, amused, "and we really shouldn't be snooping in Wendy's life. Whatever it is, it's clearly private. C'mon, let's get to work."

Chris admired Claire's character, but God it could be annoying. So what if he was curious? It wasn't like it would change anything, he just wanted to know. Marshall had hardly ever missed a day of work and a year ago or something like that, Chris vividly remembered her working so many shifts that Lois had to kick her out of the schedule. So for her to drop off the face of the Earth? Intriguing, to say the least.

Nevertheless, there was nothing to be done. No one he was on speaking terms with knew what had happened, Lois obviously couldn't disclose private information for legal reasons and Banks would rather drink bleach than telling him. What a horrible fate.

He now had two more shifts added to his schedule, much to his annoyance, since Lois had distributed Wendy's hours among the remaining doctors. It made it all seem very... Final.

His boss had said Marshall wasn't fired, nor had she quit, but then why were they giving away her shifts? It was all very suspicious. Chris was on ER duty tonight, which at least kept his mind busy so he wouldn't drive himself insane over the mystery.

He was three hours into it, having just come back from the doctor's lounge after chugging a big mug of coffee, when Chris caught sight of Marjorie, their oldest nurse, struggling with a patient. That didn't normally occur — especially not with Marjorie — but every once in a blue moon, a random man decided he knew better than a licensed professional and acted like a total dickhead. Chris stepped closer.

"Nurse Marjorie, everything alright?"

"Yes, Dr. Lavin," her cheeks were a deep shade of crimson, "I was just telling Mr. Daniels that we cannot let him arbitrarily pick his doctor."

Chris glanced at the man's paper cuff, that had been wrapped around his wrist during trial. Blue, not an emergency, but not something that could be left hours unattended either, like the green cuffs meant. For some reason people thought they could show up to a hospital to see an optometrist? That's what green covered, absolute idiots.

"I'm fine," the patient decided, pushing himself up from the hospital recliner he was stretched on, or rather, attempting to. He was wobbly on his feet, "If Wendy- Dr. Marshall isn't here, I'll just go."

Oh, hell no. There was no way Chris was gonna let this guy walk away now!

"Dr. Marshall?" He voiced, watching as Daniels' head snapped up, "she's not working tonight, but we can take you. You came to the hospital for a reason, what is it?"

The man rolled his eyes, heavy bags under them and chapped lips, he looked pretty miserable, "I'm fine-"

"Lost fluids for over twenty four hours," Marjorie replied, all the more happy to pass the patient to Chris, "vomiting and diarrhea, blood pressure elevated, headache."

Daniels glared at her and Chris grinned, he had all patience in the world to break the spirit of a bitchy patient if needed be.

"Get comfortable Mr. Daniels, you're not going anywhere," he pulled the curtains that separated each cot from the next, giving them a sliver of privacy, "lie back down, please."

Daniels hesitated, looking between the doctor and the nurse, then he jolted with a nauseous hiccup and color drained from his face, making the decision for him.

Automatically, Marjorie pushed an emesis tray into his hands, and Daniels dry heaved over it for a solid minute, but didn't bring up anything other than some saliva and a dribble of bile. His face was pink and lashes clumped together by tears as he attempted to sit up straight, after belching over the slimy mess.

Chris felt a tinge of sympathy, professionalism overriding his inner desire to just interact with this man to extract information. "I got him," he told Marjorie, "can you please prepare him a saline IV? Zofran drip." The woman nodded curtly and rushed away

Daniels let out a groan, an arm wrapped around his stomach, the other hand holding the emesis tray in a shaky hold. "let me take this," Chris unpeeled his fingers from the tray, "lie back down, please."

The patient obeyed and Chris gave the man a minute, watching as he struggled with the nausea. After he settled, Chris moved closer, "I'm going to palpate your stomach, is that alright, Mr. Daniels?"

"Uhm," the man scoffed, "my name is Max."

"Max," not so much a dickhead then, "please roll up your shirt"

Max obliged with an annoyed grunt, "it's really not that bad, I just thought Wendy was here, so might as well-"

"Dr. Marshall took a license," Chris repeated what Lois had said, probably that was shareable information, "I don't know when she'll be back, but you're pretty dehydrated, Max. Let's deal with this n-"

"Wendy took a license?" Max blinked blearily at him.

So clearly this was news to the man. Interesting. Chris shrugged, "as far as I'm aware," he pulled his stethoscope from where it was resting around his neck and gestured for Max to lie flat on the cot, so he could be examined, "are you two friends?"

"Yes," Max volunteered no further information and Chris tsked under his breath, frustrated at the lack of real gossip.

Max obliviousness to the fact Marshall was gone painted two pictures. Either he wasn't as friendly with Marshall as he believed or her departure had been hasty, with no real prep. The second corroborated what Lois had said about a family emergency, but Chris felt like something was iffy about that. Maybe it was fact that this didn't really piece together with how the fellow doctor had been looking like a corpse later, the whole deal with her boyfriend that Chris had more or less puzzled together or maybe it was because he didn't know Marshall had any family.

In the last four years they had worked together, Chris had seen Claire's parents a handful of times, her sister too. He had in passing seen Jonah's now husband, as well as heard gossip about his famous parents, seen his father on TV once as his reality show played in the lounge — which Banks quickly shut down as soon as he found them watching it. Stewart's mother had once come to the hospital for an appendectomy and they still teased the older doctor about how much of a menace the elderly woman had been. Chris' own parents had visited Welton a handful of times, waiting for him on the waiting room as he got off work to take them to dinner. Marshall... He had never seen a soul, except for her boyfriend Tim that one time she had a migraine and he had to come collect her.

It was very weird she'd up and disappear in the middle of the night for a family emergency.

Max squirmed under him, as Chris pressed the stethoscope to the lower left quadrant, auscultating his bowel movements. The upset whining and snarling of the organ probably felt horrendous, but wasn't concerning. The dehydration in the other hand...

"When did the nausea start?"

"Hmmm," Max was pale as a ghost, tugging his shirt back down as soon as Chris was done palpating the quadrants of his stomach to rule out appendicitis or a gall bladder issue, "is today Saturday?"

"Yes," Chris checked his clock, "Saturday, 9 AM."

"Thursday after dinner," the other man shifted suddenly, pressing a hand to his mouth and muffling a thick burp. He looked humiliated by it, Chris sympathized, "thought it was just-" a gulp down, "my normal issues."

Chris frowned, "your normal issues? You have regular stomach issues, Mr- Max?"

A curt nod, Max shuffled on the cot so he wasn't as flat on his back.

"Have you investigated it at all?"

A shrug. Chris barely stopped himself from letting out a frustrated sigh.

"Would you want us to investigate it? Hopefully we can increase your quality of life."

"Yeah, right," Max snorted in disbelief, rolling his eyes. He looked clammy and judging by the nervous bopping of his Adam's apple, Chris reached behind him to grab another emesis tray, pressing it to the other man's hands.

The blonde let out an offended huff, "not gonna-" a gulp, "hurl."

Uh-huh.

"Keep it anyway," Chris stood up straight, pulling back the privacy curtain, "let's get you settled in our IV room and you can probably sleep it off for a couple of hours while the medicine works its magic. I'll come check on you again before my shift is over, Max."

"Thanks..." He didn't sound thankful at all. Chris waved him off, helping the man get down from the cot and then keeping his hands to himself, no matter how slow of a track Max made as they walked to the other room, where there were several reclining armchairs for patients to lie on, with an IV pole next to each, as well as a companionship chair. Daniels was alone, so that didn't matter.

Marjorie was talking to two other nurses, near an empty chair with a full IV bag attached to it, so Chris decided that was the one she had prepared for Mr. Daniels. Assuming he wasn't gonna get any other information form the man, Chris just watched as they hooked the guy up to the IV and then left him alone for the time being.

Hopefully he'd be in a less cranky, more shareable mood once he wasn't dying from dehydration and nausea.

The rest of his shift went without a hitch. Chris was dead on his feet by the time he was doing the check-up rounds and when he went to check on Max, he found out he had company now.

There was a blonde guy sitting next to him, going through his phone, and it took Chris a couple seconds to remember this was Banks' husband, whom he had examined several weeks back when he had had a panic attack that looked like a heart attack.

The guy looked friendly and sunny, reminded Chris of Emerald and made him wonder what did someone like that want with someone like Jonah Banks. Or Max Daniels, by the way, who still sported a cranky frown.

"Hi Max, how are you feeling?" Chris walked closer, checking the nearly empty IV bag, making sure the tag hadn't changed. The head nurse could've added something to it, although they rarely did that without at least letting the in charge doctor know first.

"Less crap," Max's voice was rough, but now he looked sleepy, rather than sick as a dog. He still was very pale, one arm wrapped protectively around his stomach, "thanks, doc."

"Call me Chris," he answered, mimicking the other guy's previous response and Theo (Theo? Was it Theo?) perked up on his seat.

"Can I take him home?"

"As soon as the IV runs out," Chris nodded, "Max, I'm gonna send you home with a zofran prescription, it should really help with the nausea, as well as a referral if you ever want to get those stomach issues investigated."

"No, thanks," Max scrunched up his nose, "no doctor has been any help when it comes to it."

Theo rolled his eyes, "you were a kid, when you last tried. Now it's different. Thanks Dr. Lavin."

Sweet and polite? How did Banks land that?

"Of course, your prescriptions will be with the discharge papers at the front desk."

Theo smiled brightly at him, nodding in thanks, while Max sulked, staring at a wall to avoid his eyes. Sitting side by side like this, both blonde and lean, it made Chris think they looked like siblings. Maybe that was the connection between Daniels and Marshall, given she was Banks' best friend.

Either way, no one was telling him anything and Chris had to go home with just theories and assumptions.

[fam2000-blog]

This was the first Hazbin Hotel fanfiction I ever wrote, and in honor of it reaching over 100 kudos on AO3, I decided to publish the chapters on Tumblr. Enjoy.

Angel's Spotty Secret Ch. 1

Midnight fell onto Hell. The once lively streets were now deserted, except for the nocturnal sinners lurking in the shadows. The neon lights and fires kept the city well lit. But in a snug corner of Pentagram City, the infamous Hazbin Hotel stood alone amongst the chaos. The lobby was quiet, most of the few residents were sound asleep. The only two still up at this ungodly hour were the cat bartender wiping down the last of his station, and the spider sinner who was resting his head against the bar looking like a kicked puppy. He watched Husk pour another shot of bourbon with his arms dangling off the edge. He looked worse for wear than usual, like all the energy was sucked out of him. Husk silently slid the glass over to Angel, but just as he was about to put away the bottle, Angel grabbed it.

“Leave the bottle,” he croaked.

Husk just shrugged and walked to the other side of the bar. Angel held the bottle by the neck, but instead of pouring another drink, he placed it against his aching head, enjoying the cold glass dulling his pain.

“You know, the kitchen has ice. And aspirin,” Husk pointed out in his usual grumpy tone.

“Yeah, but I can get drunk while I’m here,” Angel rebutted before taking a swig of the bourbon. Unfortunately, the drink scraped against his raw throat, resulting in a painful coughing fit. Once the fit ended, he slumped back against the table. Fortunately, the alcohol’s fuzzy feeling soon kicked in, soothing his sore body.

“Barely got thrown around, and I feel like shit,” Angel groaned.

Husk raised a red furry eyebrow while mindlessly cleaning a glass. “For once, I don't think you can blame Valentino for this one.”

Angel slowly turned his head enough to glare with one eye. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying you looked like an alcohol-poisoned corpse pulled out of a river this morning.”

Angel immediately burst into laughter. “Said by the guy whose piss smells like-” he was cut off by a sudden stabbing in his skull. Angel slowly crumpled back onto his seat, clutching his head. “Fuck it, I don’t have the energy to argue.”

That got Husk to stop cleaning. He had gotten so used to these back and forth insults that Angel giving up was too strange to ignore.

Angel was too busy drowning in booze and self-loathing to notice Husk’s concern. He stared at his distorted reflection in the now-empty glass. He groaned at the sight of the dark circles hanging under his eyes. He would have passed out then and there if his stuffy nose wasn't keeping him awake.

A loud bang startled him out of his stupor. In front of him was Husk holding up a metal bucket full of ice cubes and a semi-clean dishrag.

“Last call for drinks. Might as well use this ice instead of letting it melt,” Husk said.

Angel’s eyes sparkled at the cold fog wafting off the bucket. Angel traded the bourbon for the ice bucket and then started making his way to the stairs. As his foot was placed on the first step, he looked back at Husk who was returning the bottle to the shelf.

“Thanks, Husk.”

“No problem,” Husk said.

Angel began the long journey to his room. He had been looking forward to his bed all day. Although, getting to it was easier said than done. Every step felt like he was walking through mud, and the hallway seemed to stretch for miles. The thing that kept him going was the thought of curling up under his covers and resting on dozens of pillows. Eventually, he made it to his room after what felt like an eternity.

Angel’s dimly lit room was flooded with light as he opened the door. Fat Nuggets stirred in his bed, his glowing eyes staring up at his owner. Angel didn't pay the pig any mind and collapsed onto his bed, the bucket making a loud thud next to him. Angel used his two arms dangling off the edge to clumsily tie the cloth into a makeshift bindle full of ice cubes. The spider demon almost cried for joy at the ice on his burning forehead. There was a light ringing in his ears as he stared at the ceiling with the ice pack partially covering his vision. He reached over to his nightstand where a box of tissues stood, and gave his nose a hardy blow until he was sure all the congestion was out. He was so tired, he didn't bother to throw out the crumpled wad of fabric and simply let it fall beside him. The pink LED lights all over his room started to become fuzzy. Before he knew it, he was fast asleep. Fat Nuggets returned to his bed, both of them sinking further into their cushions.

The next time Angel opened his eyes, the room was just as dark as it was when he passed out, but now, his head was soaking wet. Angel, still in a drowsy state, grabbed his phone after almost knocking it off the nightstand. The bright screen assaulted his eyes as he read that it was 12 in the afternoon. As he sat up, the rag from last night fell onto his lap with a wet plop. The melted ice had turned the rag into a soggy mess. Too tired to care, he ignored it in favor of getting a quick stretch. Angel sighed in relief as he popped his joints and his muscles. Angel sat on the edge of his bed with his long legs scrunched up, assessing his current state. There was still plenty of congestion in his nose, but his headache had died down. As he walked out of bed, his foot banged into the bucket, making a sloshing sound. Angel grabbed the bucket by its handle and brought it with him to the adjacent bathroom. He scratched lightly at his cheek as he turned the lights on. The bathroom was painted in many neutral colors, which made the apple patterns on the walls pop out.

After dumping the water in the tub, Angel stood in front of the sink. He turned the lever until clear water flowed out of the nozzle. He took a cupful of water and splashed his face, his fur immediately becoming more soaked. Angel ran his fingers through the wet hairs, relishing the cold feeling on his warm face. Suddenly, he felt a bump, and then another, and more as he continued to feel his skin. A quick look in the mirror made his eyes widen; there were dozens of red spots all over his face.

[rubbathetum]

I found cute Japanese emeto rp audios but u gotta promise me u won’t be weird to the uploader.

Ok?

Ok.

[livvy-kitty1208]

Fanfic Sneak Peak:❤️💙👀👀

Dewey continued to retch and gag into the bin, his body trembling and his face flushed from the effort. After each heave, he would take a shaky breath, only to be hit with another wave of nausea. He weakly leaned back against the headboard, panting and exhausted. "I-I... think... I'm d-done..." he managed to gasp out between shaky breaths. Dewey then realised he made a mess of the bed and his emotions started to get the better of him. He was overwhelmed by the constant nausea and discomfort, as well as the feeling of being completely vulnerable and reliant on others. And now him being sick on the bed. He was scared, and helpless. Tears welled up in Dewey’s eyes as he struggled to keep his emotions in check.

Huey’s expression softened as soon as he noticed that Dewey was trying to hold back his tears, and his heart ached at the sight. He knew that his little brother was in immense emotional pain and distress, and the mess he had made of the bed was just the tip of the iceberg. He pulled Dewey into a gentle hug, feeling his brother's small frame shaking with withheld tears. "Hey Hey Hey… shhhh…It's okay, Dew," he whispered softly, his voice filled with love and empathy, rubbing Dewey’s back as gently as he could. "It was an accident little bro, it happened so fast that you couldn’t control it so it wasn’t on you alright?"

Dewey took a deep shuddering breath, his body still shaking with emotion. He sniffled and buried his face in Huey's shoulder, his eyes still welling up with tears. "I just-I just feel so weak and useless," he mumbled softly, his voice choked with emotion. "I can't even keep food down, I'm just vomiting constantly. And now I've made a mess of the bed and you have to clean it all up. I feel like such a burden."

Huey's heart ached even more at Dewey's words, hearing the pain and self-blame in his little brother's voice. He pulled Dewey even closer, holding him tightly in his arms. "Hey, hey... don't say that," he whispered softly, his voice filled with reassurance. "You're not useless, and you're not a burden. This isn't your fault, you're just really sick and your body is having a hard time right now. But you're not a burden. You're my little brother, and I'm taking care of you because I love you, okay?"

Dewey's body shook with loud and heartbreaking sobs as he buried his face in Huey's shoulder, feeling utterly miserable and overwhelmed with everything that had happened. The endless vomiting, the weakness, the mess of the bed, the overwhelming emotions. It was all too much and Dewey's walls snapped. He let out a choked cry, tears streaming down his face as he clung tightly to his older brother. “I-I-I can’t take this anymore!! I CAN’T HUEY!!! ALL THIS WAITING AROUND WHILE IM STUCK IN THIS BED! HOW LONG IS THIS ENOUGH UNTIL I CAN ADVENTURE AGAIN?!! I…DON’T WANT TO…BE THE ONE WHO MISSES OUT!!” He sobbed, his words filled with desperation and pain.