anxiouscaretaker

[anxiouscaretaker]

Yoooooo characters who rush recovery. Passing out because they’re trying to run around the day after a high fever breaksssss 💖

[anxiouscaretaker]

Something about a usually incredibly well put together character showing a crack in their polished facade. dark circles uncovered or too dark to properly be covered. less than perfect hair. a wrinkle in their usually pristine clothes. that one little giveaway something is very, very wrong.

[anxiouscaretaker]

The trope I appreciate very much

[anxiouscaretaker]

characters on the run

always so tired. driving for hours and hours in whatever shitty beater they find or steal, downing caffeine and too many five-hour energy shots pickpocketed from some gas station

sleeping cramped up in some bus or train seat, slumped over in a transit terminal, hoodie pulled up tight in the hopes of not being recognized

nodding off but jerking awake every single time, exhausted but hardwired to be paranoid even with caretaker's gentle touch and quiet reassurances trying to get them to rest

so much time spent running or fighting they eventually just crash. stoic characters slumped and snoozing, trying to keep watch and instead getting some much needed rest

lurching awake in a cold sweat, gasping and trembling, bandages wrapped tight up and down their torso

"we're safe here. i promise."

"it's okay-- it was just a dream, i didn't hear anything..."

shot or stabbed while trying to lose a chase. limping through crowds, desperately acting causal, traces of blood left on everything they touch

collapsing and drawing a scene, strangers asking questions and touching all over. having to slip away from concerned bystanders before actual help (or trouble) arrives

washing off in some shitty public bathroom and leaving behind a horror show of bloodied paper towels and smeared fingers all over porcelain, too out of it and in a rush to actually bother cleaning up

character bleeding out and semiconscious and caretaker doesn't know what to do, has nowhere to go. desperately trying to drag them along as the threat gets closer and closer, or hiding and waiting and begging for them to wake up

when it's too dangerous to go to a hospital. makeshift first aid in the back of some car, breaking into a vet clinic after hours, slumped over in a dank alleyway or dirty bathroom. shaking fingers and dim lighting and nowhere comfortable to recover

all of the places to lie low are sketchy as hell. trap houses, back rooms, dive bars, strip clubs, late night joints where passing acquaintances are somehow okay with shady strangers crashing on their couch. always surrounded by a bad crowd and caught up in seedy shit

wearing the same clothes which get increasingly fucked up. fabric lost to makeshift bandages or tourniquets, blood stains and sweat, the same hoodie passed between characters getting worn and sentimental

long sleeves, oversized clothes, shitty makeup, hoods and sunglasses and hats, anything to hide their identity and all of the bruises and cuts

barely any money to their name. having to choose between filling up on gas or eating, counting remnants of change, stealing food or dine and dashing out of necessity. barely scrapping by and working any job on the low, just oh so easy to take advantage of

getting sick, but it's not like they get a break from running. feverishly wandering around, catching concerned looks from strangers, never getting the chance to rest properly so they just get worse and worse

getting so desperate they eventually call for help. trembling and hunched over in a phone booth, nervously knocking on caretaker's door, so rundown and pitiful of course they wouldn't be turned away, where the fuck have they been?

[anxiouscaretaker]

⋆˚࿔ taking care of a tired lover 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

¹⁾ “i think it’s about time you called it a night, baby.”

²⁾ “you’re going to bed, even if i have to carry you there myself.”

“no, no, forget about it. i’ll take care of it all, you just focus on getting some rest.”

³⁾ coaxing them, half-asleep, through the house to the bedroom with a tender touch and even softer tone

⁴⁾ “if there’s one thing i can promise you, it’s that there’s always going to be work to be done. you might as well face it rested, right?”

⁵⁾ slowly helping them undress and massaging their sore body as you go

⁶⁾ “yawning whilst trying to convince me you’re not tired tends to have the opposite effect.”

⁷⁾ “i know you’re comfortable, but you’re gonna be furious at the both of us tomorrow if i let you spend the night on the couch.”

⁸⁾ letting them collapse against your chest the second they make it through the door after a hellish day

��⁾ “it’s just me now. you don’t have to pretend anymore- just let me take care of you.”

¹⁰⁾ not being able to drag them away from their work, but them conceding to let you stand behind them and rub their stiff shoulders and back as they forge on

¹¹⁾ “try and eat a little for me. you’ll be better off for it.”

¹²⁾ “this is the end of your all-nighters, you hear me?”

¹³⁾ “you worked yourself to the bone trying to make sure everyone else was looked after- now let me do the same for you.”

¹⁴⁾ running them a hot bath and letting them decompress whilst you help them bathe

¹⁵⁾ walking in on them asleep at their desk, and arranging a cushion under their head and draping something over them to keep them warm

¹⁶⁾ “after this, you deserve a break. just the two of us out somewhere quiet for a week or two- what do you say, hm?”

¹⁷⁾ managing to negotiate them into a nap on the promise of waking them back up shortly to resume their tasks, and absolutely not following through on it

¹⁸⁾ bringing them food and a painkiller at their desk instead of fruitlessly trying to pull them away

¹⁹⁾ “you always take such good care of me. i’m never not going to jump at the opportunity to return the favour.”

²⁰⁾ kissing away tears of tiredness and frustration

[anxiouscaretaker]

just checking in

inspired by x from @sickfictropes

"C, would you please just check in on them?"

C groans, shutting the cupboard as they prop the phone under their ear. "B, you know how dramatic A is. They're probably zonked out on cold medicine and dead to the world."

"You didn't hear them," B says, voice pleading. "They sounded really rough on the phone."

"Yeah, because they're sick. We've all been sick. A didn't invent the concept." C tries to keep the bite out of their voice. They know A is B's friend, so they tolerate them for B's sake. But A is not someone they particularly care for.

From the moment they'd met a few years ago, they'd been at odds. A's the vivacious life of the party who thinks C's a stick in the mud. C's quiet and reserved, and thinks A's an attention seeker who always pushes things too far. Together, they're oil and water, fire and ice, two polar opposite who just never click.

Most of the time, B serves as the perfect buffer between them. But B's out of town on a work trip for the week—the exact time A had come down with the flu. Apparently, A had been feeling worse over the past few days, and B had been calling and checking in on them. Last night, A had sounded particularly rough—and when B had called them in the morning for their scheduled check-in, A didn't pick up.

So B, out of their mind with worry and unable to do a thing about it, called C.

"C, I know A's not your cup of tea. But they were like...super out of it. And they sounded scared. I think something's really wrong." B's voice wavers, and C feels a twist of guilt in their chest. “Please?”

C squeezes their eyes shut and pinches the bridge of their nose. "And there's no one else that can check on them?"

"There's no one I trust more than you."

C gazes upward with a resigned sigh. Bullseye. B's blind trust and belief in their competency would always win in the end.

"Fine. Send me their address." _________________________________________

An hour later, C's sitting in their car outside A's house—a cozy craftsman in a thickly wooded neighborhood. They glance at the bag next to them, shadowed in the evening twilight. They'd made a stop at the pharmacy for a few essentials—flu medicine, tissues, cough drops, and some herbal tea that C always liked when they were sick—but now all it just felt stupid and over the top.

I don't even like this person.

Yeah, but you're a good person, C. The rebuttal came in B's voice, and C knows it's time to rip the band-aid off.

They head up the front walk, rap, rap, rap on the cherry red door with their knuckles, then wait a few moments on the shady porch. Nothing. The shades are all drawn, and C can't get a glimpse inside.

They're probably asleep. As any sick person should be. And I'm the idiot waking them up.

But they'd promised B that they'd check on A, and they weren't leaving without proof of life. So they kick around in the small rock garden out front until they spot the hollow rock with the spare key (just like B had said), then brace themselves for a truly humiliating encounter.

"Alright, B. If A calls the cops on me for breaking and entering, I'm holding you responsible." With a twist of the key, C opens the door and pushes inside.

The house is quiet, save for the whirr of a small air humidifier in the corner of A's living room. C's been here with B for a few rowdy parties, so it's strange to see the house so devoid of life.

"A? You in here?" C calls through the house, an uneasy feeling they can't name settling in their stomach. They drop the bag at the door and wander the main floor of the house, the only evidence of a sick person being a collection of used mugs scattered across the counter and in the sink. But still, no sign of A.

Like I said. Upstairs. Asleep. C pads up the creaky stairs until to a dim hallway, then peer into a room they assume is A’s bedroom.

In the evening light, C can see a tangled pile of blankets with tissues strewn across the bed. They tentatively pad over, not wanting to wake A, but their caution is unwarranted—A's not there.

C's heart beats faster, every one of B's fears echoing through their mind. "A? You in here?"

From somewhere in the house, C hears a cough.

C darts from their room and freezes in the hall.

Another small cough, and a whimper.

Closer, then. C traces the sound to a room which they can only assume is the bathroom. It's dark in there, but C cautiously creeps in and fumbles in the darkness, trying to find a light. In the shuffle, their foot hits something soft the moment they find the light switch.

They flick on the light, and there, curled on the bathroom floor, is A.

A flinches at the light and throws a hand over their eyes with a yelp. Their other hand clutches a spilled bottle of medicine, sticky red syrup in a sickening red puddle on the white tile. There's a towel pulled half over A's trembling body like a makeshift blanket. More shocking, though, is how dreadful A looks. Face devoid of color, shaking all over with chills, hair plastered to their forehead with sweat. The room has faint sickly scent, and A’s body is contorted oddly, like they fell down that way and didn’t have the strength to move an inch.

And when A finally sees that it's C, they whisper one quiet plea.

Help me.

“A, what the hell—“ C drops to their knees and slips their cool hand over A’s forehead. “You’re burning up.”

In response, A shudders and pulls the towel tighter. “F-f-freezing.”

Even in delirium, A had to contradict them. But there’s no time to dwell on that. C hauls them out of the pool of cough syrup and props them up against the tub, then makes a mental list of everything they need to do.

Clean clothes. Clean up the bathroom. Take their temperature. Medicine.

“Water,” A croaks, breaking C’s frantic thoughts as they slump back down to the floor. C sees their dry, cracked lips, and winces at the thought of how long it's been since A's had fluids.

“Hang on, bud. You’re okay.” C brushes a trembling hand through A’s hair, and their soft, soothing voice feels like the polar opposite of the adrenaline coursing through C’s body.

The next few minutes are a blur. C runs downstairs to grab a glass, then has to hold A's lolling head up so they can drink without choking. After A gulps down the whole glass, C fetches clean clothes from A's room, then tries to clean up the mess of cough syrup on both A and the floor before peeling the sweat-drenched clothes from A's shaking frame.

Once A's warmly dressed in clean flannel pants, a dry thermal shirt, and a cotton pullover, C hoists A up and carries them back to their room and to their bed. Easing them under the covers, they tuck their shivering frame under one, two, three blankets. It’s probably too many, but A’s teeth are audibly chattering and C has no idea how long they’d been curled up on the cold bathroom tile while suffering with chills.

“A, I need you to tell me how you feel.”

“Bad.”

“No, specifics. You’ve clearly got a fever, what else?”

“Head hurts. Throat hurts. Bones hurt. Cold.” A shudders and pulls the blankets tighter. “So cold. All cold.” They cough once, twice into their blankets, and it’s deep and rattling. C doesn’t have to ask if that hurts, too.

“What was the last thing you took?”

“Don’t….don’t know. Ran out….yesterday.”

“Wait…but the cough syrup…”

“Flu stuff’s gone. Cough syrup was…last resort."

C winces—no wonder A feels wretched.

"Well, you need proper medicine, pronto." C gets up to go find a thermometer and grab their bag of supplies they’d dropped downstairs, but they feel a clammy hand curl around their wrist.

“Stop leaving,” A rasps.

“A, I gotta go get—“

“You….are the first person I’ve seen…in 72 hours. Please do not go.” A’s desperation to cling to C, of all people, would be funny if their eyes weren’t glassy with unshed tears. The poor thing looks terrified.

C doesn't know what to do in this moment of unexpected vulnerability, so they shift to sit at A’s bedside. A’s trembling hand is still clinging to their wrist, their breath coming in short, shallow wheezes.

“What…happened?” The question is a stupid one that they’re not sure A can answer in this state, but it’s the only natural icebreaker C can think of after finding someone sprawled on the floor.

A shrugs. “Kinda….fuzzy. Medicine ran out last night”—they gesture weakly to an empty plastic bottle of flu medicine on the nighstand—“and then it hurt. All night.”

“This morning....bad. Got desperate." A half shrugs, and their thousand-yard stare cracks something in C. "Then jus’ remember….standing…walking…then the ground. Couldn’t move.” A’s voice cracks a little on the last word. “Then….you.”

In their head, C pieces together a timeline that has a feverish, terrified A lying on the floor for hours, and it makes their stomach do a little flip.

“Why….you?” A eyes C warily.

“Oh.” C scratches the back of their head awkwardly. “You didn’t pick up when B called in the morning. So they called me.”

“Shit. B.” A’s hand rakes over their face and flops down on the covers, and C instinctively wants to tuck it back under the blankets. “Was s’posed to call back…” A glances at their bare wrist for a watch that isn’t there, then squints at the wall clock. “Numbers…don’ work right.”

“That’d be your fever.”

“Forgot to…the numbers are all….mushy.”

“Ohhkay, A. Shhhh.” C palms their forehead again and winces at the heat. “I need to take your temp and get you medicine.”

“Don’t leave.”

“It’ll take 30 seconds. promise. Here.” C slides their watch off their wrist and puts it in A’s hand. “Count to 30.” They severely doubt A can, but they’re hoping the watch’s novelty is enough to distract their fever-addled mind.

C sprints back to the front door and grabs the bag, then jogs back to A’s room. A’s intently staring at the watch, like it’s an object of reverence, and jumps when C gently touches their arm.

"C'mon, you. Let's get you drugged up."

———————————

After establishing a 103-degree fever, ingesting a cocktail of OTC drugs, and downing both a glass of cold water and some hot tea, A's zonked out—in bed, this time, under C’s watchful eye, covered with a fourth blanket that a pitiful, shivering A had conned C into giving them.

C didn't really know what to do after that. They've done their job. They've checked in on A, and done what they could. For B, they tried to tell themselves. But they couldn't just leave A alone in this state. So they find a spot on the other side of A's bed on top of the covers, and just…wait.

And despite trying to distract themselves with a book from A's side table, they can't stop looking at A.

They're curled up on their right side facing C, blankets pulled up to their chin. C can see the dark shadows under their eyes, their ghost-pale pallor, the occasional shiver that ripples through them. Gone is the brash bravado and the easy charm that’s always grated at C’s simpler sensibilities.

They look so young.

In their sleep, A whimpers once, twice, and C immediately puts a hand on their forehead, shushing them. A blinks awake with a start, breathing heavily before their eyes catch on C.

"You're still here,” they rasp.

"I am." C smiles.

A heaves a sigh of relief. “Dreamed…I was alone again. But you’re here.” Their red-rimmed eyes are so wide and genuinely grateful that C can barely stand to look at them.

So they swallow the lump in their throat and force a smile again. “C’mon. In this state, you can't be trusted on your own."

A grins sleepily at that—then, lets their eyes fall closed and nestles closer to C.

“Glad you’re here.”

A drifts off again. C lets their head tilt back against the headboard, fingers lazily tracing through A’s hair.

B’s never gonna let me hear the end of this, C thinks with a wry smile.

[anxiouscaretaker]

when the character makes the most pathetic, heartbreaking sound after being disturbed - they got moved and it made their injury hurt, or maybe they're just so exhausted and they're trying to communicate "please let me rest" - yeah. yeah. more of that.

[anxiouscaretaker]

In honor of my not feeling good:

Some Signs of having a Fever (and you might not know it)

Feeling cold even when the temperature is warm or you are buried in blankets

Chills that come and go

Headache (very common, particularly behind the eyes)

Mild to moderate nausea

Feeling like your body is really hot and your extremities are cold

Racing or thudding heart

Changes in breathing, faster and shallower usually but sometimes the opposite

Cold sweating

Fatigue

Wandering or incoherent thoughts or severe brain fog

Achy joints

Weakness

Feeling sick when you drink something cold or if room temp water feels cold

Noticing your eyes water a lot

A hot, sticky feeling in the back of the throat

Getting dizzy all of a sudden or experiencing vertigo when moving

Your eyes physically hurt

extra crackly joints.

Restlessness

Just. Odd behavior in general. Maybe you got the sudden urge to call someone you haven’t talked to in years. Maybe you just feel like laying on the floor for no apparent reason. Maybe you get the idea that the wall might taste good. Goes along with wandering and incoherent thoughts.

Sudden anxiety that compels you to find other people. Anyone’s company is better than none and you can’t explain why. The idea of being by yourself is suddenly unpleasant. I refer to this as the Puppy Response.

Alternatively a compulsion to hide and bunker down away from everyone else. I call this the Cat Response.

What I call Panic or Manic Circling where you’re a specific kind of restless that’s compelling you to find somewhere to be but you don’t know where “it” wants you to go or why, so you just kinda go in circles hoping the answer jumps out at you.

Bizarre emotional states. Maybe you’re extra moody, or you’re ugly crying for no obvious reason. Maybe you’re unusually elated or happy, (that one’s always sus to me) or get upset over absolutely nothing. Maybe a depression spiral hits you out of nowhere and won’t quit.

Perhaps it’s because I have OCD too(brand spanking new diagnosis), but I find that compulsive comfort behaviors are suddenly much more frustrating or nitpicky when I have a fever or don’t feel good in general.

Now all of these can happen independently of a fever and for lots of other reasons, but I have found that if more than like three are happening all at the same time, I should check my temperature.

I have an unusual quirk (though it’s not really odd for ADHD or autistics, much less AuDHD) in that my body is absolutely terrible at telling me something is wrong and tends to find the weirdest ways of expressing that.

I have, for the record, checked my temperature when I had like 9 of these all coinciding and I actually really felt like I had a fever, and have a temp of a whole whopping 99.5. (Like now) I have also checked my temperature when I only had 3, all the emotional ones, and my temperature was 104.2. For some reason the higher my fever gets the less able to feel it I become, so I’ve learned to do a self check of these symptoms often.

I feel like these may be useful for anyone writing a sick character and wondering how they could possibly not know they’re feverish, especially very feverish. Plus it’s interesting to see if other people experience these odd things.

[anxiouscaretaker]

The lasting effects of bloodloss that leave a character feeling generally weak, washed-out, shivery, and chilled for days or weeks into their recovery as their body slowly replenishes the vital strength it's lost- they're healing, the wound is mending, but they still feel faded and dull and like too little butter spread over too much toast.

[anxiouscaretaker]

hello, whump writer. i officially grant you permission to write unrealistic whump. yes I know there are posts everywhere telling you that you can't write it that way. yes I know some people just prefer realistic whump. yes I know you want to please everyone. however please consider: I don't care, and write what you want to write. i love you.

[anxiouscaretaker]

[anxiouscaretaker]

loving the thought of painkillers making a character loopy... they've been hurting for so long and it's finally going away, being replaced by a pleasant buzzing feeling through their whole body, and it just feels so good that their brain gets a little silly about it.

with inhibitions lowered, this is a good time for them to say something unusually sappy to their friend or love interest, or perhaps confess to a dark secret they've desperately kept locked away... or finally break down, unable to hold their emotions back any longer

[anxiouscaretaker]

iron deficient whumpees... that's it send post

[anxiouscaretaker]

Stuff I love seeing in tired characters (whump/writing ideas)

-Being so tired they're barely cohesive but force themselves to stay awake for the sake of whatever they're doing

-Mumbled or slurred words, snapping when they don't mean to

-Holding back on rest so much it only becomes apparent when another character sees them and it dawns on them they are *not* okay

-Falling asleep mid sentence

-Staying in the same clothes for days, hair disheveled and messy

-Downing coffee or energy drinks as they're the only thing that keeps them from passing out on the spot

-Falling asleep slumped over their work at a table or desk and waking to find a blanket over their shoulders from a worried caretaker

-Finally looking in a mirror and being startled by their own haggard appearance

(Will probably make more of these, but feel free to add!!)

[anxiouscaretaker]

Do you ever just get blood thirsty for blorbo?

I don't have any coherent thoughts of how I want to whump him at the moment. I just need to shake him in my mouth like a chew toy.

[anxiouscaretaker]

hello whump community, today I put forward for your consideration:

that horrible unwell feeling you get when you're sleep deprived. headaches, stomach aches, feeling cold and disoriented

that's all

[anxiouscaretaker]

A gets sick while away at a cabin with friends, and they’re battling a fever.

their bed has ample quilts and blankets, but their bedroom itself is quite chilly, as there’s no central heating. They toss and turn, in and out of sleep, feverish brain wound too tightly to truly rest. around 4am is when A really starts getting desperate—they just want to get comfortable, and they can’t.

so they wrap up in a thick blanket and shuffle to the main room. Their shaking hands prop up the logs and fuel in the fireplace like B showed them. It takes three strikes of matches before A can hold one steadily enough to light the crumpled piece of paper.

The fire catches, and A sits back and wraps up tighter in their blanket, hands rubbing up and down their arms. The great room seems even colder now, but they’re far too weak to go back to their bedroom, and someone has to watch the fire.

a few hours later, their friends find them curled up and half-asleep on the cold stone hearth next to the dying embers, their fever markedly worse.