intel-rambling

[intel-rambling]

moving blogs!!

hi everyone! As of today, I will be moving all the content on this blog to my new handle @intelramblings. Reason being: I started this blog as a sideblog attached to my main/personal blog, and I want to be able to interact with posts/people directly from my sickfic blog! This blog may stay up and running for a little bit longer if people still want to find me, but it will no longer be active and I will begin transferring stuff between blogs. Thanks for sticking with me!

[intel-rambling]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Hazbin Hotel (Cartoon) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Alastor & Charlie Magne | Morningstar Characters: Alastor (Hazbin Hotel), Charlie Magne | Morningstar Additional Tags: Anxiety Attacks, Panic Attacks, Anxiety, Anxiety Disorder, Social Anxiety, Self-Doubt, Self-Worth Issues, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Hatred, Fluff and Angst, Soft Charlie Magne | Morningstar, Alastor is Bad at Feelings (Hazbin Hotel), Alastor Has Panic Attacks (Hazbin Hotel), Alastor Has a Mental Breakdown (Hazbin Hotel), he’s learning to be okay with it tho (say thank you Charlie) Series: Part 3 of The Mortifying Ordeal of Being Known Summary:

Alastor can’t help but feel like the eyes of every sinner are on him. His fear that sinners are no longer afraid of him trigger a breakdown in the hotel lobby, but Charlie is there to lend a helping hand and remind him that he is not alone.

[intel-rambling]

Thoughts on Alastor emeto? Sick Alastor? Any head canons?

Well i do happen to write a fanfic which explores a version of sick Alastor, but if we're looking for headcanons:

As an overlord, Alastor doesn't want to show any signs of weakness in case others try to take advantage. Therefore if he realized that he was coming down with something, he'd try to go about his regular routine and pretend he was "perfectly healthy" for as long as he could.

His magic probably drains some of his energy even when he's healthy. But when he's sick? It can knock him out or leaves him feeling weak and nauseous. This does not stop him from using it, either intentionally to keep up the facade or accidentally because he's used to using it for every little thing.

Despite the fur of his demon form, I don't actually imagine that Alastor gets heatsick very often (I mean, he grew up in the south, it's reasonable to assume he'd know how to keep cool in a heatwave). The cold though? oh he cannot handle the cold. Ideal time to knock this man on his ass with an illness or hypothermia.

Tends to refuse other people's offers to take care of him because he doesn't want to owe favors. Does not believe Charlie when she says "the only favor I want from you is that you get better!". He'll eventually relent if he's really feeling shitty.

The first three people that would normally notice if Alastor was sick are Niffty (who wouldn't acknowledge it but would subtly try to care for him), Husk (who'd call him out in private), and Vox (the man's obsessed).

This is just me but I consider Alastor's transatlantic accent to be his version of a "customer service voice" and I think if he's really exhausted/feeling like shit, he'll eventually switch back to his original cajun accent.

I also imagine that Alastor reels back alot of his 1920s slang in front of other people to be properly understood, so that's definitely all coming out when the fever hits.

so yeah, just a few things I can think of~

[intel-rambling]

🧚🏻‍♀️Emeto cheat sheet

Causes of vomiting:

Alcohol (+Flush gene)

Allergic reaction

Anxiety

Appendicitis   

Bulimia

Cancer (+Chemotherapy)

Coffee on empty stomach

Crohn’s Disease

Cycling Vomiting Syndrome

Exhaustion

Extortion (sports) on empty stomach       

Fevers       

Flu

Food intolerances       

Food poisoning (salmonella, E.Coli …)·       

Gallstones       

Gastroenteritis       

Gastrointestinal Obstruction

Gastroparesis    

Hangover

Heat/Heat stroke   

Indigestion

Kidney Infection

Labyrinthitis (ear infection)

Lactose Intolerance

Medication (Antibiotics, opioids)

Ménières Disease

Meningitis       

Migraines/Headaches       

Motion sickness (cars, buses, boats, planes …)       

Norovirus

Overeating       

Pain      

Panic Attacks  

Poison

Pregnancy

Reflux     

Rollercoasters       

Stomach flu

Ulcerative colitis

Ulcers

UTIs

Vertigo

What happens before:

Abdominal pain

Clutching Stomach

Dizziness/Vertigo

Dry Mouth

Dry-heaving

Gagging 

Hand (Back of hand/Palm) to mouth

Heaviness of limbs

Nausea/Queasiness/Feeling sick

Paleness/Ashen, green or grey face

Panic/Fear

Rapid heartbeat

Reacting to stimulants (sight/smell/taste of food e.g)

Salivia builds up/Mouth waters

Shallow/Rapid breathing

Sour stomach

Stomach cramps

Sweating

Throat tightening

Wanting fresh air

What happens during:

Sound:

Burp/Hiccough

Coughing

Echoing back 

Gagging/Retching/Heaving/Wretching

Gurgling stomach

Rapid breathing

Splattering

Vomit hitting water/receptacle

Sight:

(No) Remnants of previous food

Color (Brown/Depends on previous food) of sick

Liquidly/Chunky/Thick sick

Vomit in corner of mouth

Vomit/Sick/Throw up splattering on floor

Smell:

Acidic

Putrid

Rancid

Sour

Taste:

Acidic

Bitter

Previous food

Sour

Feeling/Misc.:

Back rippling

Burning in mouth/throat/nose

Choking/Feeling like there is no air

Crying

Curling up into themselves/into caretaker

Gagging/Retching/Heaving

Hot vomit/bile/stomach contents

Hyperventilation/Panic

Liquidly/Chunky/Thick sick

Sticky sick on clothing

Stomach contracting/Rolling/Gurgling

Stomach contents sloshing around

Torrent/Wave/Spray/Mouthfuls of sick coming up

Trembling

Vomit gushing/rushing out of mouth (+nose)/up their throat

Vomit seeping through fingers

What happens after:

Being overwhelmed

Blurry vision (from tears)

Changing clothes/Cleaning

Coughing

Cramps

Crying/Sobbing

Cuddling/Soothing

Dehydration

Dizziness/Vertigo

Drinking water

Falling/Slumping forwards against toilet/bucket

Lost/Rough voice/Pain in throat

Medication

Passing out/Fainting

Resting head on toilet seat

Shaking/Trembling

Staying hunched over – not sure if gonna be sick again

Taking Temperature

Wiping away tears/vomit

What the caretaker can do:

Call for help (another caretaker/medical)

Cleaning/Disinfecting

Hold bucket/trash bin/other receptacle

Holding back hair (strands/at the neck)/fringe

Holding sickie upright

Holding sickies hand

Make hot water bottle

Make sickie blow their nose

Make sickie drink to replenish lost fluids

Make sickie lay down (on their side/on caretaker’s lap)

Make sickie take medication/temperature

Make soup

Rubbing circles on back

Rubbing stomach

Soothe sickie (don’t hold it in, you will feel better after …)

Whispering comfort

Wiping away tears/vomit

Other related symptoms:

Abdominal pain/cramps

Bloating

Diarrhea

Dizziness/Vertigo

Fever

Headache/Dehydration headache

Hiccoughs/Burping

Inability to keep anything down

Nausea

Paleness/Grey, green or ashen face

Shaking/Trembling

Possible scenarios:

Bathroom is occupied

Being in public/situation they can’t escape from

Caretaker finding sickie on bathroom floor

Carrying a bucket around wherever sickie goes

Clutching a bucket/bin/plastic bag/toilet so hard their knuckles turn white

Cramps so bad sickie can’t move

Curling up on bathroom floor

Eating something despite knowing they are allergic to it

Eating something without realizing they are allergic to it

Feeling sick all day without relief

Feverish and dizzy

Getting admitted to hospital

Inability to keep anything down

Movie marathon as distraction

Multiple sickies (+ not enough bathrooms)

Rubbing sick tummy

Sick during transport

Throwing up in (empty/full) trash bin

Throwing up in bag

Throwing up in bucket

Throwing up in hand

Throwing up in toilet

Throwing up on blankets

Throwing up on floor

Throwing up on something/someone

Throwing up the medication/pills

Throwing up what they just ate/drank

Unable to leave bathroom

Unable to make it to bathroom

Waking up sick in the middle of the night

If you have any more suggestions, please contact me ��🏼

[intel-rambling]

Ok. Ok. Ok. Hear me out. Sick Lucifer. Alastor helps only because he's forced to by Char Char, Lucifer is being a little bitch about it, sneezing feathers, nonsense. And Alastor is barely helping. Just being mean. Like... leaving the medicine right out of reach of Lucifer, so he has to get up. You know? Alastor just living up to his bitchhood

Alastor likes to bully him when he's being a brat.

[intel-rambling]

When a character is feeling super sick and shitty but they don't have a fever, so they aren't taking it seriously or resting because to them, they aren't really sick unless there's visible proof. Maybe it comes from when they were growing up, and their family never took their illness seriously unless there was a fever. Maybe they would accuse them of lying to get out of things. So now, they worry if that really is the case. They work themselves to the bone and feel like they're going to collapse, but they aren't really sick unless they have a fever.

Bonus points if they have a partner who cares about their well-being, and as soon as they see them in the state they're in, they immediately make a fuss and insist that they rest. The character somehow feels good, even though they don't want their partner worrying, because someone is finally making it a big deal. It's finally real, it's finally serious.

[intel-rambling]

Sick Prompts 1

Angry sickies: 

1. “I don’t know what the hell is wrong with me… I was fine this morning.” 2. “Leave me alone.” 3. “Don’t touch me again unless you want me to puke on you.” 4. “Can you shut up? My head is killing me.” 5. “I told you I didn’t feel good, and you made me come here anyway.” 6. “This is ridiculous, how are you not sick and I am?”

Sad Sickies:

7. “Please don’t leave me in here alone.” 8. “It hurts so bad… please make it stop.” 9. “I think I need to throw up…” 10. “Is there any Pepto left?” 11. “Can you just sit with me until it’s over?” 12. “My stomach really hurts, I don’t think I can make it tonight…”

In-Denial Sickies:

13. “I don’t get sick.” 14. “I have a stomach of steel.” 15. “It’s not a fever, I’ve been in the sun…” 16. “I’m not going to throw up, for the last time.” 17. “I don’t think it’s food poisoning. We ate the same thing, and I don’t feel bad at all.” 18. “It’s just allergies.” 19. “I don’t get sick on rides/in the car/on boats (specify)”

Tactile Sickies:

20. “Will you rub my back?” 21. “Can you feel my head to see if I have a fever?” 22. “Will you play with my hair?” 23. “I’m freezin’, can we cuddle?”

Don’t Touch Me Sickies

24. “Don’t touch my stomach right now.” 25 “Please stop touching me… I’m so gross.” 26. “You’re making me hot, I can’t sleep…” 27. “Your hands are freezing, don’t touch me.”

Queasy Sickies

28. “I don’t know what I was thinking… I shouldn’t have ordered that.” 29. “Um… I think I need a bin.” 30. “I think I’m going to be sick soon.” 31. “Something’s messing with my stomach.” 32. “My stomach’s bothering me.” 33. “I don’t feel so hot.” 34. “Ugh, I think I should probably get to a bathroom.”

Sniffly Sickies

35. “Can we get actual tissues instead of these paper towels? My nose hurts.” 36. “I can’t breathe.” 37. “I’m freezing and sweating at the same time…” 38. “Please don’t look at me.” 39. “My head’s killing me…” 40. “My throat hurts so bad I can’t even drink water.” 41. “Do you have a cough drop?”

My Fav Drunk Sickies

42. “Um, I think… I think I had too much.” 43. “What was in that? I don’t feel great…” 44. “I think I need’ta sit.” 45. “I need to get out of here, I’m gonna throw up.” 46. “I just need to eat something and I’ll be ok.” 47. “It’s not fun anymore, I’m dizzy…”

Caretakers!

48. “Just relax, you’re going to be fine…” 49. “Calm down, you’re going to make it worse.” 50. “Well, just take care of yourself then, if you don’t want me touching you.” 51. “Do you think you can stomach some water?” 52. “We need to get this fever down.” 53. “Do you want me to rub your back/stomach?” 54. “Don’t cry. Where do you hurt?” 55. “Keep your head in the trashcan until you’re done.” 56. “If you don’t stop soon, we’re going to the ER.” 

[intel-rambling]

*Whump Fever Prompts*

COMMENT YOUR FAVORITE

“I’m freezing.”

“You’re burning up.”

“You feel warm.”

“Your eyes are glassy. Are you sure you feel alright?”

“You’re shivering.”

“I think I might be sick.”

“You’re not thinking clearly right now.”

“He didn’t mean it. He’s not thinking straight.”

“You can’t possibly be thinking of going to work like this.”

“Your shirt is soaked.”

“You really need to keep this Tylenol down.”

“We have to get you some help. Something’s really wrong.”

“My head is burning.”

[intel-rambling]

*Whump Vomit Prompts*

COMMENT YOUR FAVORITE

“Pull over.”

“I think I’m gonna be sick.”

“Are you okay? You don’t look okay.”

“You have to eat something.”

“If you don’t start keeping down water we have to go to the ER.”

“No one is watching. I promise.”

“Hold on. Hold on. Hold on.”

“It’s the exhaustion. You need to sleep.”

“I can’t. Please don’t make me.”

“Breathe through it. We’re almost home.”

“There’s nothing left in your stomach. There can’t be.”

“I’ve never seen them this sick.”

“I’ve got your hair. Don’t worry about it.”

“Make this stop. Please.”

[intel-rambling]

hello!! I found your account from ao3 :D if you're still taking requests, would you be willing to write a hurt comfort sickfic with niffty and alastor? it can be platonic or shippy, either is good, I just really love their relationship and would love to see what you'd do with them!!

Omg hello from ao3! This fic takes place several days after Extermination Day, so Alastor is dealing with the giant cut he got from his battle with Adam. I hope you enjoy!!

Edit: you can also read it on ao3 here!

-

Tending to one’s own wounds was, Alastor decided, far more difficult than he’d been led to believe. Nothing had ever led him to believe that dealing with an injury brought about by angelic weapons would be a walk in the park, but he certainly hadn’t expected it to be this uncomfortable.

He sat on his bed, surrounded by stained bandages, and attempted to re-dress his wounds himself; the problem was that having a large gash across his chest severely limited his range of motions, or at least it limited the ones that didn’t give him pain so severe he’d nearly thrown up twice in the last hour.

It didn’t help that the source of the injury was heavily hindering his ability to regenerate—the recovery from an angelic steel inflicted wound was slow, painstakingly so, and the bone-deep chills combined with the throbbing behind his eyes weren’t doing him any favors in attempting to do any kind of self-care. It was times like these he really wished he hadn’t been so insistent on staying at the hotel instead of Rosie’s to not raise suspicion, but he wasn’t about to admit defeat and call her without first running himself ragged. Alastor was nothing if not prideful as the ring of Hell he resided in.

A series of quick, frantic knocks sounded at his door, and Alastor cursed to himself when he realized he’d have to come up with some excuse to send whoever was standing in the hallway away from his quarters. He threw on his discarded shirt and haphazardly buttoned it up, grimacing at the stabbing pain the simple motions triggered across his chest, and gingerly stepped across his room to receive the wretched visitor.

To his surprise, it was Niffty standing primly at his door. She blinked up at him eagerly. “Hi, sir!” she chirped. “Charlie wanted me to let you know that we’ll be having a bonding activity later tonight. We’re making friendship bracelets!”

Alastor sighed wearily. He’d been alternating between isolating himself and staying at Rosie’s for medical care for the last few days, and it seemed the others at the hotel were growing suspicious of his absence, but he really didn’t have the mind or energy to entertain the princess’s bubbling energy at the moment. “Thank you, Niffty, but please tell the princess that—“

“Oh my goodness, your shirt needs to be washed right away, sir!” Niffty scurried between Alastor’s legs to dig under one of his cabinets without giving him time to think about what she’d just said. Alastor, brows furrowed in confusion, looked down at his dress shirt to find a deep crimson stain blooming across his chest. Well, that was certainly concerning.

Niffty emerged from the cabinets with some combination of chemicals that Alastor did not remember stashing there; Niffty must have hidden them there without his knowledge, which was a concern he had no intention of addressing in this moment. This moment was the inevitable one in which someone in the hotel had discovered his injury; the fact that it was Niffty of all people that had been the first to know was a whole other can of worms Alastor didn’t even want to think about.

“Take off your shirt. Right now.”

Alastor blinked at the boldness of her statement and gently shut his bedroom door. “Would you at least mind sparing me some dignity and allowing me to unclothe in private?” he asked, laughter evident in his tone.

Niffty planted her chemicals on the floor with a frown and crossed her arms. “That stain on your chest is fresh—the longer we wait to wash it out, the more it’s likely to stain!” she huffed. “I can tend to whatever cut you’re hiding under there, too. You’re not very good at keeping secrets.”

“I’m plenty capable of tending to myself, dear,” Alastor said smoothly, but he still obliged in her request to clean his shirt and began shakily unbuttoning the damned thing to hand to her. There was no point in trying to worm his way out of this; Niffty knew, and there was no trying to undo the past and make her unsee the giant blood stain across his chest.

Niffty took the soiled shirt and zipped off to dunk it under running water in Alastor’s bathroom. “Sir, you’ve never been good at tending to yourself,” she called over the sound of the faucet. “You need someone to help you care for that wound! We may be dead, but angelic infection might still double-kill you!”

Alastor simply laughed lightly at her comment and sat back onto his mattress, wincing at the stabbing pain radiating across his entire torso. She was right, he wasn’t very good at taking care of his own needs. This was, of course, the first time he’d been severely injured in this manner since his death, and even then he’d woken up in Hell without needing to worry about the aftercare; the only traces of the mangy canine culprits who’d desecrated his living body had been the shimmering scars littered across his demon form.

Niffty popped back out of the bathroom, fresh medical supplies in hand, and crawled up onto Alastor’s bed. She sat right next to him, then carefully blotted a warm, moist cloth against the stitched-up skin. It stung hard and the pressure from the soft cloth radiated pain that he swore he could feel in every individual nerve ending. Alastor clenched his jaw against the sensation.

“What’s my prognosis, Nurse Niffty?” Alastor managed through clenched teeth.

Niffty pursed her lips and furrowed her brow. “Your stitches are coming undone,” she said matter-of-factly. “Did Rosie do them for you?”

Alastor stared at Niffty as she continued blotting his wound, then looked away when her face seemed to be swirling in a nauseating manner. “She did,” he said, trying and failing to keep the surprise and pain out of his voice. “How on earth did you know she did them?”

“You’ve been at her place so much recently,” Niffty replied easily. “And you wouldn’t trust anyone else to get close enough to stitch you up like this.”

Alastor hummed in acknowledgment, then hissed when the cloth made contact with his skin again. Niffty’s eye was so concentrated on the wound that she didn’t even notice his reaction, and the gentleness with which she was approaching the injury was astounding. Niffty was much more observant than he gave her credit for, he decided, although at times he was convinced her observational skills evaded even her own detection at times. She was certainly a demon full of secrets as much as she was full of bug-killing instincts.

Niffty traded the wet cloth for a dry one and carefully patted down the stitched skin, then quickly but carefully wrapped fresh bandages around Alastor’s chest and shoulder to anchor the fabric in place. Alastor had to bite back several groans of pain at the changing sensations of pressure throughout the process.

“All done!” Niffty chirped, then immediately grabbed the soiled cloths and bandages from Alastor’s previous attempt at tending to himself to dispose of them elsewhere. Alastor looked down at the new bandages across his chest, then gingerly touched the edges with trembling fingers. They were much neater than anything he could’ve managed, and they were almost as neat as Rosie’s were. He’d have to find a way to thank Niffty for her efforts, perhaps with a new dagger or some frames for her bug collection.

A small, cool hand made contact with his cheek, and Alastor turned to find Niffty standing next to him on his bed. When had Niffty come back into the room?

“You have a fever,�� she stated plainly.

“Do I?” Alastor mumbled. Perhaps that would explain why he felt so cold despite being in literal Hell.

Niffty nodded very seriously. “You should get some rest. We can take you to Rosie’s tomorrow so she can fix your stitches!”

Alastor grinned fondly at Niffty. She was a shockingly attentive caretaker, although her eye had seemingly started flickering between his face and a bug in the corner of his room. She helped him ease himself to a laying position and pulled a blanket over his figure, then immediately ran to stab the critter as soon as his head hit the pillow.

“Caught one!” she chittered, brandishing the skewered cockroach mere inches from Alastor’s face.

“Oh, and what a marvelous specimen you’ve caught, dear,” Alastor chuckled. He gritted his teeth when the throbbing sensation around his wound seemed to match the throbbing in his head. “I’d say that’s a record for the most impressive roach caught within these walls.”

Niffty smiled proudly and cradled her knife, bug still attached, close to her chest. The bug’s legs were still flailing wildly, signaling that it was in fact still alive, but Niffty didn’t seem to pay much mind to it. “I’ll tell Charlie you won’t be down for friendship bracelets. I hope you feel better in the morning, sir!” With that final statement, she was hurrying herself out the door.

Alastor let his eyes slip shut and draped his forearm over his eyes. The skin of his face was overly warm against the cooled skin of his arm, so perhaps Niffty was correct in identifying the fever; that would have to be something he’d address to Rosie, if he was well enough to stand in the morning. For now, he’d simply let himself rest with the rekindled knowledge that Niffty was far more capable than he’d previously given her credit for.

[intel-rambling]

Stardew Fic for Shane (aka babey). Hope y'all enjoy.

You've been living here in Pelican Town for roughly a year now. Long enough for people to know you're just a little bit strange, yet endearingly so. You're the first to get to the bottom of the mines, talk with the mysterious beings of the town, and even rebuilt the community center. With the help of the Jumino spirits, of course.

But by far, the strangest choice you've made was falling for the grumpy, moody drunk who first showed his affections for you by cramming a whole-ass pizza into your mailbox. All the same, you saw something in him. You saw the hurting inner child who just needed to know he didn't need to be ashamed, that there were people who loved and supported him. He still had some trouble opening up, but slowly, you were helping him learn to feel safe. True, the other residents could never understand your ultimate choice, but they could appreciate it. After all, Shane did seem much happier with you. He even quit drinking, and every other week went into the city to talk to a therapist. Things were going well...

But the day you find him asleep on the bathroom floor, the thick stench of vomit hanging in the air, a familiar fear creeps into your stomach... Your mind flashes back to finding him on a cliff, drinking away his inhibitions, trying to work up the nerve to jump. Had he fallen off the wagon? He was doing so well... You start practicing in your head what to say to him. Relay that you aren't angry, that you still love him. That you're just disappointed, because you know he can do better.

However, you're both relieved and confused when you come closer, and the smell of alcohol doesn't seem to be anywhere on him. Okay, so he's not drunk... You reach up and feel his cheek with the back of your hand. Oh... Now it makes sense. His skin is clammy and sweaty. You can hear his teeth chatter as his stomach squelches and roils. Shane was doing better (quitting that awful job at Joja and coming to live with you helped), but he was still learning how to take care of himself. You didn't put it past him to eat something bad and give himself a case of terrible indigestion in the process. 

Your warm touch brings him around. He opens his bleary eyes with a moan, a few lingering tears sliding off of his cheek. "Unngh... Babe?" 

A sigh of relief escapes you. At least he's somewhat aware. "I'm here, Shane..." Your hand moves from his forehead to cup his stubbled cheek. "How long have you been here?"

"Don't know," he admits, shuddering as another noisy gas bubble churns its way through his system when you help him sit up. "Just woke up, maybe an hour ago? Came in here, and I-" He was cut off by a small, strained burp, covering his mouth with a fist. You brace yourself for action, but thankfully, it seems to be just a burp. "Ahhh... Sorry." He blushed. "M-my belly's not really happy with me right now..." 

"Let's get you into bed, ok?" You figure he'll be more comfortable there. Pulling his arm over your shoulder, you make sure to move slowly as you stand him up. 

As you make it from the bathroom, his hand comes up to absently rub his bloated tummy to try and ease whatever's going on in there. His brow pinched as another squealing gurgle pushed his intestines around. "O-oh, Yoba..." 

"I know, babe. I know it hurts..." You pause a moment, letting him regain his composure. When he nods, you take baby steps with him down the hall. Making it to the bedroom without incident, you help him stagger to the bed. It breaks your heart the way he curls up on his side, arms around his noisy gut. His shirt is tight around his bloated middle, still churning with whatever wants out. "I'll be back, okay? I'm just gonna grab a few things."

He nodded, though you're not sure if he really heard you. Not that you could be upset with him for it; he was probably focused more on the immense pain in his belly. 

You come back up with a bucket, along with a clean rag, a few bottles of water, and some mint candies. You remember Carol telling you that mint helps a bad tummy. Tentatively, you sit beside him and rub your knuckles against his scratchy cheek again. "You awake?"

"Can't sleep with a demon inside me," he half-jokes.

"Aww, sweet potato... Can I help?"

At your question, he blushes a little. His voice is barely above a mumble. "C-could you... Maybe you could just rub my belly...?" He avoids your line of sight for it.

You smile sympathetically. "Of course. C'mere." Positioning yourself against the headboard, you encourage him to sit up and lay against your shoulder. Rubbing your hands together to warm them up, you lift his shirt a bit and tenderly press your fingertips into his angry tummy. He closes his eyes with a contented sigh, letting his head fall back. One hand works the front of his achy belly, while the other rubs the side in up and down motions. Another gurgle stirs around in his digestive system, telling you that something is moving. Another burp escapes him before he can stifle it, though he at least manages to turn away from you. "S'cuse me," he mutters, still embarrassed, but looking a little more relieved at the room it made for his stomach.

You can still feel his intestines shifting around, quite noisy as they did. "Can you remember what you ate?"

"Urm..." He turns away again and burps into his fist. "Oysters. They... They tasted a little off, I think. But I was so hungry..." 

Food poisoning. Somehow, you're not surprised... But if it gets worse, you resolve to take him to Harvey.

He lets out another little belch, this one airy and choked off. 

"Shane?" You pause your ministrations, watching the color drain from his face.

"I d-don't feel so good," he stammered out, voice thick with nausea. 

You act fast, swiping up the bucket from the side of the bed. Switching your positions, you bring him to his knees and help him lean over the plastic container. You're long since used to this from his mornings of hangovers in the past. You just hope it doesn't hurt him as badly.

He keeps a white-knuckle grip on the sides of the basin, his stomach cramping and gurgling. "Ohhhh..."

"I know, cupcake," you soothe, bracing his forehead to help him stay steady. When he takes in a shaky breath, you know it's coming. His breath hitches at the end and he gags hard, belching up a torrent of sick. Violent splashes hit the bottom of the bucket as his stomach puts in overtime to get it out. This is much worse than when he'd get sick from drinking. At least then, he'd just puke and get it over with, likely feel better after. Here, you could already see him gearing up for round two, shaking and sweating all over. 

"It hurts...!"

"I know it does, baby, I know..." You keep his bangs out of the splash zone as another wave of bile joins the rest of the mess in the bucket, your free hand steadying the container. "Oh honey, I know that's gotta hurt... Just get that nastiness out." The third heave isn't as hard, but maybe it's because he's getting tired. You feel an ache in your chest as he's only able to let out a pitiful whine, before getting sick a fourth and fifth time. "I know, pumpkin. I know... Just get it up. That's it, good job... Good job."

"Guh..." He finally gets a moment to breathe, keeping his eyes shut so he doesn't have to see the mess. His tongue felt like it was coated in fuzz. "I think... I think I'm finished." He spit into the bucket one final time.

You set it aside for now, taking one of the bottles of water to give him a few sips. "Slowly. Just to get the taste out." 

He nodded, doing as instructed. He didn't feel so confident about putting anything in his system just yet, but he wanted that acrid sensation off of his tongue... 

With that out of the way, you work on cleaning his face off. With the same water bottle, you dampen the clean rag and gently wipe it over his face. You wince as you realize that somehow, he'd managed to get it in his eyebrows. Once he was cleaned up, you reward him with a kiss to the cheek. "My poor baby..."

He leaned into you, taking slow, deep breaths. He looks ready to fall asleep. Or pass out. Whichever one brings him some kind of comfort...

Once you're sure his stomach has settled for now, you stand up and take the sick bucket. "Ok. I'm gonna rinse this out. I'll be right back."

He nods absently, indicating that he at least got the gist of what you were telling him. You head back down the hall, dumping out and flushing the mess in the toilet, then rinsing the residue out in the tub.

Unfortunately, Shane's stomach can't keep it in for long. You're in the middle of disinfecting the bucket, when he staggers in, sweat pouring down his face. You look back, alarmed at the sight. One hand grips the sink, the other arm around his gurgling, cramping belly. "Shane?"

"Babe, you gotta move." His voice is strained as another cramp rips through. His knees buckle. 

"Shane, what's wrong?"

"I don't-" his knees buckle together, both arms wrapped around his tummy. "I really can't hold it...! Please, I don't want you to see this!" His voice is filled with panic, and he goes absolutely stiff.

You get the message. You manage to slip past him, letting him quickly shuffle to the toilet as you close the door behind him, just as he's able to pull his pants off. At least one less thing for him to worry about... You wait outside to make sure he doesn't pass out on the toilet. A few seconds pass before you hear him groan in pain, just as what sounds like a bucket of water dumped into the toilet. Worried, you knock. "Shane? You okay in there?"

Another bout of diarrhea violently exits his rear. You can tell he's crying by how he sounds when he speaks. "It feels like my insides are falling out of me..."

"I know, baby... Do you want me to co-"

"No, please don't..." Another choked sob leaves him. "I'm sorry, I... I don't want you to have to see me this way..."

"I don't care about that! I just want to help you feel better. I don't want you to hurt anymore..."

Silence met you from the other side, causing your chest to seize with fear. 

"Shane?"

A few more seconds pass, before you hear the toilet flush. The water in the sink runs for a moment for him to wash his hands, before the door knob turns. He's an absolute wreck when you see him. He's pale as a baby sheep, drenched in sweat, deep violet bangs clinging wetly to his forehead.

"Oh, Shane..." You open your arms to hold him, letting him tumble into your arms. He sniffles, frustrated and exhausted as you stroke his sweaty hair. 

"It hurts so bad," he whispers hoarsley into your shoulder.

This was the first time you'd ever seen him so vulnerable. Honestly, it scares you just a little. "I know it does..." You gently guide him back to bed, bringing him to lay on his side. It's easier for his achy belly and his sore backside in this position. You lay down behind him, pressing a kiss to the back of his neck. "I'm gonna be right here with you, okay?"

He nodded, too exhausted to be embarrassed anymore. He's glad to have you here. Just the thought of being sick and alone like this scares him. He hoped you knew that without telling you. He could barely form a sentence for the moment. He can barely keep his eyes open.

Seeing this, you drag the blanket over him and up to his shoulders, kissing him again on the back of his head. "I'll be right here, muffin... Just get some sleep."

He nodded again, wincing at the residual cramps that still bubbled up from time to time. Taking your hand, he brought it back to his belly. "Please rub," he croaked. You gladly oblige, tenderly pressing your fingertips into his abused intestines. You're sure to be gentle, trying to help him fall asleep. Now and again, his breath hitches as another cramp hits. Thankfully, you feel his breath even out instead of reaching for the bucket. 

But when he wakes up an hour later, you find yourself helping him back to the toilet. It's going to be a long night...

[intel-rambling]

There’s something about a whumpee just sitting down. Not fainting, necessarily. Maybe they’re just about to faint, and they quietly just kneel on the ground at a time and place that doesn’t make sense. They don’t even have the capacity or willingness to articulate why they need to abruptly stop and sit. Maybe they’re catatonic while the others look at them.

Maybe a caretaker can see the dull, vacant look in their eyes and immediately senses that something is seriously wrong. Maybe the fainting comes just a few moments later.

[intel-rambling]

The long build up. The small burps. The spitting. The kneeling in front of the toilet. The waiting. The fruitless gags. The dry heaving.

The nausea, oh the nausea.

[intel-rambling]

This is your psa that not all of your writing has to be medically accurate

No, you shouldn't put alcohol on that wound. But it'd be a lot more fun to read and write if you did. So go ahead, and don't feel bad for doing so.

Bring your character back from the brink of death, give them injuries they shouldn't survive. Miracles do happen, after all. You're not a bad writer for not writing like a med student.

[intel-rambling]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Hazbin Hotel (Cartoon) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Alastor & Lucifer Magne | Morningstar Characters: Alastor (Hazbin Hotel), Lucifer Magne | Morningstar Additional Tags: Panic Attacks, Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Anxiety Disorder, Alastor is Bad at Feelings (Hazbin Hotel), Lucifer Magne | Morningstar is Bad at Feelings, Alastor Has Trichotillomania (Hazbin Hotel), listen I wasn’t all that on board with this dynamic until I started writing it, now I’m eating platonic radioapple up like pie, Rivals to General Nuisances, Alastor Has Feelings (Hazbin Hotel), Alastor Has a Mental Breakdown (Hazbin Hotel), Emotional Hurt/Comfort Series: Part 2 of The Anxiety of the Radio Demon Summary:

“Fancy seeing you still around, Alastor,” Lucifer called. Alastor made no indication that he’d even noticed his presence, and Lucifer pursed his lips in annoyance. “Hey jackass, are you ignoring me? What are you—”

Lucifer cut himself short. Now that he was closer, it was incredibly apparent why the taller man was unresponsive. Alastor’s back was pressed against the wall; one hand was shakily gripping his staff and nearly driving it into the floor and the other was clutching at the front of his shirt. He was hyperventilating, breaths coming in high-pitched wheezes and far too quickly to be normal, and he was crying, tears streaming down his face at an alarming rate.

-

In which Alastor has a panic attack in the middle of the hallway, and Lucifer doesn’t know what to do except teleport them both into his bedroom.

[intel-rambling]

a character who doesn't know they're about to pass out becaue they've never done it before. rather than saying "I feel faint" or something, they say "I feel a little weird." they only sit because another character points out that they look pale and tells them to sit or lie down.

[intel-rambling]

Body Aches Sickfic Prompts🤒😫:

1: Constantly clinging to caretaker because everything hurts, they're miserable, and they don't know what to do with themselves.

2: Crying any time something cold touches their sensitive body.

3: Being extra sensitive to bumping into things, or to rough touch.

4: Just straight up inconsolable crying because they feel bad all over and they're just fed up.

5: Cuddling with caretaker in a warm shower/bath.

6: Being fed pain meds by caretaker.

7: Whining while getting a massage from caretaker, because even the lightest touch hurts.

8: Curled up in bed, not wanting to move and swaddled in blankets.

9: Being super uncomfortable on a car ride because every bump is painful.

10: Making a bed for themselves in whatever the warmest room in the house happens to be.