#tw illness

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Summary: Jack Abbot x F!nurse reader. You're sick and you've been hiding it from Jack. When it all catches up to you, you're both forced to process feelings long buried.

A/N: This was requested by the lovely @pear-1206! I'm so sorry it took me so long! I'm getting over Covid and it's left me with such bad brain fog and fatigue, it's insane.

Warnings: Talk of cancer, hospitals, illness, blood

Jack Abbot is a bloodhound. He can sniff out illness or injury before anyone realizes how bad it actually is. He hovers and gives hard stares until care is accepted. He is impossible to hide things from.

You were hiding from him.

You had been feeling terrible for weeks. You could barely keep your eyes open in the middle of the day because you were so exhausted. The pain that would occasionally stab you was less than ideal. You had gone to your GP, hoping they would say it was just a cold or dehydration or something easy. But when you rattled off the symptoms you had been so cleverly hiding from Jack, she had given you a solemn look.

Blood was drawn and sent off and she gave you pamphlets. A caring hand on the shoulder and a promise to call as soon as she had the results concluded the worst doctor’s visit of your life.

inspired by @lilla-flo

I love the concept because it’s so wholesome and cute. also I added Caine into the chess family, because how could I leave out my boy!!

TW ahead. Grief, Parent loss, Infant neglect (incidental but still), child neglect (incidental), childbirth, death, suicidal thoughts, disease

I promise this is mostly fluff. But Queenie does die, and it does affect Kinger.

Also don’t ask me how the babies are conceived between 2 literal chess pieces. It’s up to your imagination and we’ll leave it at that. Thankyou 🙃

The year 2020 in this world saw the rise of a horrifying disease known as abstraction. Abstraction was a degenerative disease that attacked the nervous system. If you were to contract It, there is a high possibility it will never leave you. People did end up beating it and surviving but those were rare cases. It caused countless deaths. It was a plague on the population.

Kinger was beyond terrified when his wife Queenie contracted it. They’d followed the rules to a tee, and still she was suffering. For almost 3 years she battled this horrible disease, with the fear of dying hanging over the family’s heads, she was determined to beat it. By her 4th pregnancy, she was Abstraction free. It was currently dormant in her system. They received the news that they were expecting twins, it was a higher risk than a single baby. They chose to continue the pregnancy and thankfully she delivered once again via C-section 2 healthy baby’s. Now with 5 kids, they were done. Until Queenie became pregnant for a 5th time. An accident, but not a completely unwanted accident. The both of them had always wanted a big family.

And then Queenie got sick after the Abstraction started attacking her system again, during her pregnancy. It was once again considered high risk, and they had a long chat about the options. Queenie was stubborn and determined to see things through. It didn’t feel right to terminate, she'd already survived one high risk and that was with twins. She convinced Kinger and they decided to continue. One of the high risks was the baby being born premature. They’d already gone through this with Gangle and were prepared if it were to happen again.

Everything was going pretty smoothly all things considered. The family was preparing for the new addition, the girls were ecstatic, Jax didn’t want a new baby to take all the attention.

It was a quiet day, Kinger was at work, and the contractions started. Queenie was shocked and terrified because she was almost 10 weeks short of her due date. She called kinger and he hurried home. They got Kinger’s brother Scratch to look after the kids. They headed to the hospital in a panic. Queenie was admitted and taken for a C-section. Their baby boy was delivered and taken to the NICU. Kinger waited patiently to see Queenie.

She didn’t come out. The doctor pulled him aside and told him that she hadn’t made it. Queenie was gone.

The hospital cared for the baby and gave Kinger therapy options. He had a chance to say goodbye to her and broke down sobbing. The baby would have to stay in the NICU for almost 2 months and Kinger would go home. Alone. To his 5 children. To explain that their mum was gone. That their mum wasn’t coming back.

For the moment, Kinger pushed his grief aside to care for his children, explain to them and plan the funeral. Not giving himself this crucial time to grieve led him to experience a breakdown when the baby was discharged. His days felt repetitive and empty. Take Ragatha and Gangle to School. Take Pomni to kindergarten. Care for the twins and the new born. The new born who hadn’t received a name yet. A name was supposed to be decided by both of them, at the hospital while Queenie would be doing skin-to-skin contact. But that didn’t happen and Kinger didn’t know how to move forward with his newborn son.

There was a part of Kinger that blamed Queenie’s death on his son. A tiny part that he pushed away. It was getting harder to function. Neglecting his own needs to tend to his children. This cycle continued. Just him going through the motions. Doing the bare minimum. He fed them, took them to school and put them to bed. It was neglectful to only cater to their needs for survival. He was so tired. Maybe he could just go to sleep and never wake up. So he laid down on his double bed and drifted, he dreamed of his wife. Time moved and his children were left to fend for Ragatha tried her best, but she was only 8 and was supposed to be at school. The normally quiet baby cried and screamed. No one came. Jax was left to his own devices and decided to climb a tree, too thin a branch and the wrong footing and he fell. His knee bulged and any movement made him scream. Ragatha ran around looking for Scratch’s phone number. She called him on the old phone in the kitchen. He rushed over, grabbed the five kids and the baby and rushed to the hospital. Jax ended up needing surgery to repair his knee. Scratch signed off on it after explaining the situation. He returned back to Kinger’s place and spent the rest of the day caring for the hungry, scared kids.

after everyone was tucked in bed or a crib (Jax needed to stay at the hospital) Scratch confronted Kinger. All the buildup over the months caused Kinger to completely breakdown. With the new revelation on Kinger’s fractured mind and his deteriorating physical state, Scratch decided to step in and help Kinger find a place to receive care. Kinger needed up explaining to the children that he was going away for awhile to get some help. Of course the kids immediately thought he was going away forever like mum had. He hurriedly shut that idea down. He kissed them all goodbye, promised he’d call every day and drove away. (He made a quick stop to explain to Jax what was happening)

It took several months, but Kinger did return. He was grieving, but in a much healthier way. He rejoined his family and was determined to make amends. The first step toward acceptance was finally coming up with a name for his son. He named him Caine, and held him close.

Scratch came around more often to help out on particularly heavy grief days. Those became less and less and Kinger was once again finding joy in the little moments.

if you have any questions, send me an ask or write a comment. I’ve got lots to talk about for this AU :D

Tw: illness, flu, cold, sickness.

Sniffles, tissues, blankets and forehead kisses. 🤧🤒

"Aw little one, you feeling icky? Lets get you bundled up. I'll make you some tea. Can you blow your nose for me? Good job baby. Don't you worry about a thing. I got you, I'll take care of you"

Inspired by @kitmother always being the sweetest mother hen to me when I'm sick.

tf141 x jack russel shifter reader

Word Count: 1.3k

Warnings: discrimination, violence, descriptions of illness and injuries, death and violence on the basis of discrimination, implied suicidal thoughts, brief mentions of torture

Summary: you never planned to reveal your identity to your team, however being trapped in a safe house with them for over a week may not allow you to keep your secrets hidden for much longer

A/N: this chapter was originally going to be a lot longer but i decided to split it in two which in theory means the next part will be out very soon... no promises though lol

Series Masterlist | main masterlist

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The feeling of the humvee coming to a stop should bring some feeling of relief. You have been curled in the same position for what feels like the better part of a day and your limbs have been cramping for at least half of that time. However when you hear the rear doors swing open and then shut as both Gaz and Soap make a hasty disembark all you feel is the deep brewing a dread begin to coil in your gut. Back on base, at the mercy of your comrades. Exposed.

The door beside you swings open and Gaz is reaching toward you in an instant, but you don’t see Gaz, all you see is the hoard. Once again you are twenty two, desperate for your rifle, not a form of protection but instead a security that you can control the outcome before others have the chance. But you don’t have your rifle today. 

In truth it’s not your fault, they all should know better. A cornered dog always bites. 

This time when you lunge toward the fingers you don’t miss, teeth in flesh, blood in mouth and a sharp yell echoing from the startled man. The metallic taste is bitter upon your tongue, acidic, and it should make you draw away but instead you just sink your teeth in harder. Screaming. The sound of tearing flesh. A swarm of people. 

A hand pulls at your scruff, tugging you backward, lifting your front paws off the floor. Your bite on the palm releases immediately, focus shifting to ridding yourself of the hold on your neck. A high pitched yowl rips from your throat, ricocheting within the vehicle. The grip on you falters, and that’s all the opportunity you need to wrench free and launch yourself outside, slipping between the two figures by the door. Yelling follows as you sprint across the dirt, pounding footsteps in pursuit that only spur you to run faster. But you know you can’t run forever. You need somewhere to hide, someplace they can’t get to you, and when your eyes land on the broken paneling spanning the base of a nearby building you decide that is your best option. 

It’s a tight squeeze, the splintered wood scratching at your pelt as you force yourself through the small opening, but you do not slow even as it bites into your skin. The space beneath the building is dark, the ground covered with dirt and rock. Pipe work and beams span the area, making for a difficult maze of obstacles for any person to navigate through, but in this form it offers little trouble. The further you scramble, deeper into the abyss, the more the light diminishes until it is almost impossible to see. 

The sounds that had been following you are long gone now, unable to pursue you any further which allows you enough reassurance to finally still. It is only then that you notice the shakiness to your limbs, the tremble that travels across your body. Your lungs burn, chest heaving with each shallow breath you draw in. As the adrenaline withers and your heart slows all you are left with is exhaustion, unable to go on even if you wanted to. You fall heavily to the rough ground, legs extended as you lay on your side. Just a small rest, enough to recover, then you can think clearly. Sleep comes for you fast and unforgiving. 

You wake to the cool press of dirt against your cheek, dust filling your nose when you inhale sharply causing you to cough and wretch. Your head collides sharply with the wooden beam above you as you push yourself upright, vision spotting as your hand moves to cradle your now pounding skull. It takes a few moments to realise where you are, for the memories of hours prior to come flooding in all at once. Your throat is dry and scratchy, mouth parched after breathing in the dust for however long you have been down here. There’s a sharp pain in your back that flares each time you twist your torso and the taste of old blood in your mouth. 

It’s hard to move, limbs knocking with pipes and stones as you try to navigate toward the sliver of light you can see in the distance. The process is slow and tedious, often finding yourself coming to spaces too narrow to squeeze through and having to backtrack to find an alternate route. Getting in seemed like such an easy feat, you don’t understand why getting out suddenly poses such a problem. 

You find yourself breathing a small sigh of relief when the way out finally becomes clear in your line of sight, the same broken paneling you had slipped through earlier. However something seems wrong, the hole looks entirely too small to get through now. Your fingers trace along the gap, pulling at the wood to try and widen the opening, hoping the wood is loose enough to pry off. A sharp his leaves your mouth as a splinter lodges its way into your palm, and as you press the stinging skin against your teeth to try and pull the piece loose you finally realise why getting out is suddenly such a difficulty. Fingers. You have fingers. A quick glance down at your own body affirms the situation, you shifted back in your sleep. 

Your skin is covered with dirt, small scrapes covering your knees and shins from crawling over the rough ground and worst of all is your distinct lack of clothes. Two weeks ago if you had been told you would wake up cold, dirty and naked in a small dark space you would assume you had been taken captive, instead you just lay in the hole of your own making. With a growl of frustration you punch at the wood, dislodging a few planks. Not that it does you any good, even with space to crawl out you have no intention of stepping out into the open with your current appearance. 

You sink backward, leaning against one of the upright support beams with a sigh, tucking your knees to your chest. If the team wasn’t angry with you before you have no doubt they would be now, how the hell are you supposed to go back to them in this state. The sound of footsteps approaching pulls you from your thoughts, a shadow passing over the hole blocking the light from entering. Instinctively you curl in on yourself, drawing your legs closer in an attempt to stay hidden but the effort proves futile.

“Tha’ you sergeant?” Soap’s voice echoes toward you. 

There’s no use denying it, the man only needs to crouch down to be able to confirm his suspicion. You clear your throat lightly, voice coming out in a croak, “I’m here.”

The man is squatting down to get a better look at you in an instant, shifting to the side to allow some light through in order to make out your figure better in the dark. His eyes sweep over what you can only assume is a very rough view, a flutter of discomfort growing in your stomach at his scrutinisation.

 “Ya’ shifted back,” he says, tone laced with surprise.

“Yeah,” you tighten your arms around your legs, trying to shield yourself the best you can. After a few quiet moments you murmur out a soft request, voice cracking as you do, “could you get me some clothes please.”

Soap stares at you for a tense second, the churning in your gut only increasing until finally he offers a stiff nod. He stands quickly, disappearing from sight. You can hear his brisk footsteps fade away until finally they disappear completely and you are left hoping that he does indeed come back with only the clothes and not the entirety of the 141 on his heels. 

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"I hate this body." Hearing you speak that, Pierrot looks at you in confusion. Concern was also evident in his demeanor.

"My dear, may I know why?" He asks, wanting to understand and help in anyway he can. The red clown knows that simply telling you you're perfect will not fix the issue at least.

"It feels like it's dying, all the time... it hurts, im tired of being constantly sick, constantly in pain. I hate it." You replied, looking back at him with a weary gaze. Dark circles under your eyes, your skin tone paler than usual under the influence of illness once again.

It was the second time in two weeks, getting sick again.

"I know my dear, and if I could take away your pain... I would. Is there any way I could help, even if its something small?" Pierrot gently cupped your cheeks, looking down at you.

"Just stay with me... please?"

"Of course my dear, I'm not going anywhere."