iwritesickfic

[iwritesickfic]

When someone is feverish and dozing somewhere that isn’t necessarily private, so they keep getting roused from their slumber by other people going about their lives in the vicinity. Every now and then someone stops ask them how they’re feeling or take their temperature, to which they respond by rolling over with a groan and drifting back into a restless sleep.

[iwritesickfic]

the weather wizard is coming down with something. everyone can tell; the sky starts to look a bit cloudy despite the official forecast from the tower being clear skies. it gets cloudier as the day goes on, and eventually a new notice comes in the evening, issued to the kingdom, confirming what they already know-- they aren't feeling very well, it might be a touch of a cold, and the skies will be cloudy with possibly some rain over the next few days, as opposed to the scheduled three days of clear weather and preplanned light rain on thursday. they apologize for the inconvienience.

meanwhile in the tower, the wizard feels weighed down, like their head is full of sand. their throat hurts. the only way to handle getting sick is trying to control the symptoms, so the weather is impacted as little as possible. they get in their pajamas and crawl into bed, sniffling, embarassed; they always try very hard not to get sick, and they aren't sure how this bug slipped through their defences. their partner consoles them; everyone catches a cold sometimes, and people understand that. a lot of viruses have been getting passed around in the kingdom lately, and they've been working harder than normal to keep the normal rainy season weather away. the only thing they can do is get some rest.

but the night is rougher than they expected. it's normal for them to cause a couple rainstorms when they're upset or ill, but they wake up in the middle of the night with their throat hurting badly, shivering, the first sneeze of the cold tickling in their nostrils. when they sneeze, lightning strikes and thunder rumbles, so they try to stifle them; but the reflex at all makes the clouds come in denser. their head aches.

the wizard tries to sleep, but they have to juggle the symptoms and end up sleeping poorly. in the morning no sunlight comes in the window; the whole kingdom is cloudy, and they're in the bathroom taking cold medicine, trying to keep off the rain that seems inevitable. indeed it is; their nose is getting stuffy, and it's getting harder to hold back the sneezes. their partner takes their temperature, and to their suprise they're running a little fever. a stream of hot tea and soup follows them going back to bed with a second blanket, propping their head up on pillows to help keep the incoming congestion at bay. the worse they feel, the worse the weather will be, and so they need to keep themselves as comfortable as possible; unfortunately, the stress of catching a cold and sending unpredictable weather on the whole kingdom already has them upset. they take pride in having good control over the weather, but anyone with eyes can see that whatever is happening in the tower, they're feeling worse than they'd hoped.

about lunchtime, later than usual, another forecast goes out: this cold is worse than they originally anticipated, and there might be some storms coming. they don't know when or how bad. they apologize profusely.

meanwhile, they're starting to stuff up. they keep a tissue box and cold medicine close by. their fever isn't changing, but their throat throbs. they never get sick. they're breathing through their mouth by dinnertime.

"How're you feeling?" asks their partner, setting soup on their nightstand.

"Why dodd you jusd loog oudside," says the wizard miserably.

"I can do that already," their partner says. "I'm asking how you're doing, not how the weather is."

"I-- huuETCHOO!" they sneeze. thunder rumbles; a few drops of rain fall. "Drying do geep the raid frob fallig. Snnxxt."

"That still doesn't answer my question," says their partner.

"I'b sigg," they say, irritated. their voice is sounding a little hoarse. they sneeze again; thunder again in the distance; the clouds are grey and heady with everything they're holding back.

"You should just let it fall," their partner says. "They've been pampered with perfect weather for months. a little unpredictability won't hurt anyone."

the weather lets up a little when they sleep, but unfortunately that's getting harder to do. they can't breathe through their nose anymore, their head and throat both hurt, they have chills from the fever, and they just feel lousy, lousier than they usually do when they get sick. they take more cold medicine at 1am and lay there with purple-ringed eyes, sniffling, feeling themselves get worse.

a little before sunrise, the rain starts falling. they're huddled in blankets with their box of tissues in an armchair in the tower, their feet in hot water, trying to breathe. their voice is a rasp and it hurts to talk, so their partner issues the weather report: this cold is worse than they expected, and they're managing their symptoms as best as they can, but there are going to be some bad and unpredictable storms the next few days, as well as clouds and rain.

and the rain does come. the steam from the hot water unstuffs the wizard slightly, but it restuffs and hour later while they're laying in bed, sneezing and shivering, their face pale and their nose red. they're able to take a nap over lunchtime, and even though they're snoring loudly around the congestion and swelling in the tower, the rain almost goes away; but their sleep is troubled, and when they take back up with the feeling of their sinuses pounding on their face and their tonsils and larynx throbbing, they realize their partner was right: storms are coming.

they start at around dinnertime, when the wizard's fever reaches 101. the clouds darken angrily, and the rain starts to come down hard as the wizard fights the third night of what's turning out to be a massive head cold. they can't sleep, they feel too sick, and so they take pillows and blankets from their bed to the couch in the living room, watching tv and avoiding the weather channels.

the rain comes down beating against the windows that night, but their partner doesn't need to know the weather to know how sick they are. their fever rises to 102 in the early hours of the morning and stays, officially the sickest they've been in years, and they convince them to shuffle back to bed and try to get some more upset sleep. they've started to get a cough, chesty and tight, that causes the wind to stir and rush past their windows.

in the morning, the king sends his well wishes and a doctor their partner requested, who confirms, after taking their temperature, examining their throat and nose, and looking both outside and at the pile of used tissues on the bed that they've caught either a horrible cold or a miserable flu. sleeping medicine and cough syrup is all he can provide other than waiting it out; fluids, rest.

their partner sends out another weather forecast: the wizard is down with something bad, possibly the flu, and it isn't very managable. severe thunderstorms are possible, as well as high winds.

the wizard lays in a feverish daze, their body aching, their head swimming with heaviness, their sinuses pounding. they're propped up staring into the thick drapery around their four poster bed, which has been pulled tight all day-- light makes their head pound harder. whatever bug was ravishing their system, they really DO feel miserable. they take all the medication they can like clockwork every four to six hours, and yet none of it seems to make a dent. they decline any soup for dinner and lay there with a fat blue ice pack pressed to their forehead and sinuses, pressed there by their partner, listening to the storm outside.

the storm outside is as horrible as their cold. their sniffling and sneezing and coughing is constant, and when it stops, they're so ill that the rain keeps coming down just as hard. when they get into a deep, painful hacking fit, the wind outside howls and moans through the kingdom. when they manage to dose off for a bit, exhausted in bed, the thunder seems more distant, and the rain comes down not as hard-- and then they wake up with a thunderous sneeze and it returns again.

in the middle of the night, they're running a fever of 102.4, and their partner runs a warm bath in the clawfoot bathtub in the adjacent bathroom. after some coaxing they manage to get the wizard to undress and sit blearily on the side of the bed, a thick bathrobe wrapped around them, staring into space with half-opened eyes. they slip their feet into slippers and stand slowly, every joint creaking, trudge to the bathtub with their partner and slide in.

"What do you think? Cold or the flu?" their partner asks, after they've been sitting and breathing in the steam for a while.

"...I duddo..." the wizard croaks. lightning flashes in the window as they sneeze again, and thunder rumbles in the dark clouds. "...baybe the flu... snxxxt, guu-huhh..." the wizard looks blearily at the windows with a cough. "...whadd a bess..."

"You can't help it."

"Snnnnxxxtt. Ughhh..." They cough miserably again, and the wind howls. "Baybe dodd," they say. The storm outside is violent and churning, and the change in pressure alone makes their head feel even more like it might burst.

The morning comes with the rain less violent than it was the night before; their fever broke, and they're back in the four poster bed with the curtains pulled tight, asleep in a cocoon of blankets and quilts, tissues stuffed up their flaming nostrils. as much as they want this to be over with, their partner knows this is how they'll stay probably into the next week, and they do-- the storms ease up but the clouds and rainstorms stay for another week, as they battle a sinus infection and a touch of bronchitis.

Please excuse the cloudy skies, the forecast says. I'm still feeling under the weather from whatever knocked me off my feet last week. I appreciate the patience. Sunny skies ahead, hopefully.

[iwritesickfic]

a couple sitting together on the train, one of them clearly under the weather, their nose is noticeably red and chapped, and they've been sniffling the whole journey. their partner has one arm wrapped around their shoulder, holding them close to their side, letting the sickie rest their head on their shoulder, and whenever a tickle arises, the sickie turns their head inwards, towards their partner's neck/shoulder, burying their nose into it, to muffle their sneeze(s). their partner never fails to say bless you, and rubs their hand up and down their arm sympathetically.

[iwritesickfic]

love a good forehead fever check as much as the next gal but like we’re sleeping on so much fever checking potential here

overly warm hands, palms just beginning to sweat

a rapid pulse throbbing under glistening skin

feeling the warmth radiating off of whumpee through a thin t-shirt

even better, cool hands against the overheated skin of a bare, aching back

grabbing whumpee’s forearm and finding the unnatural heat there

a loved whumpee’s legs resting across caretaker’s lap, limbs hot on their thighs

the top of a head, hair damp and scalp burning when caretaker rests their chin on whumpee’s head

the back of a flushed neck, cupped tenderly in a hand

overheated thighs, maybe gripped through loose sweatpants or mostly bare because whumpee felt too hot for anything but shorts

squeezing a shoulder comfortingly and discovering the warmth there

feel free to add on!

[iwritesickfic]

Other Stuff that can happen in "stagnant" whump fics

So I've been thinking about something and wanted to share it as an open conversation. A lot of the time my writing block when writing whump or sickfic comes from like...what can actually happen in the course of the story. Especially since my stuff tends towards the longer side (I'm a chronic overwriter), it's hard to keep things...interesting I guess? And I find my writing suffers when my Tales Of Woe don't have much structure to them.

(I say this as someone who writes primarily sickfic, or recovery-based stories that are caretaker/whumpee focused, with little or no whumper involvement, so that's what I'll be focused on here. Certainly if you're writing something like a character being held in captivity and tortured/attempting escape/encountering other prisoners/being searched for, you've already got plenty going on and probably don't have this issue at all.)

So I've made a list of Stuff That Can Happen during your whump/sick fic. If you would like. Of course, there will always be a market for stories that are mostly the same level of suffering and nothing else is really the focus, but if you do find you struggle with this like I do, this list might be for you.

Character arcs/Internal/social shifts:

1 caretaker, their relationship to the whumpee strengthens

1 caretaker, they find themselves growing apart from the whumpee

2 or more caretakers, there are complicated dynamics between all of them + the whumpee that shift around

Eg; there's a whumpee and 3 others, Caretaker A forms a closer relationship with Whumpee throughout the story, Caretaker B *was* close with them before but finds their place now "usurped" by A, Caretaker C tries to keep the peace between them while also helping out Whumpee

A caretaker realizes they're better at Caretaking than they'd thought

A caretaker realizes they're not as good at Caretaking as they'd thought

Whumpee realizes they have romantic feelings for Caretaker (or vice versa)

Whumpee discovers they only like Caretaker as a friend (or vice versa)

Whumpee learns to trust Caretaker (s)

Caretaker (s) learn to trust Whumpee

There was a previous misunderstanding (about their feelings for one another, their loyalties, an action taken from one of them etc.) between Whumpee and Caretaker (or between more than one caretaker) that gradually gets resolved

A misunderstanding occurs within the story that builds and is then resolved

One caretaker has to convince another to be honest with Whumpee about this misunderstanding (or has to convince Whumpee to be honest with Caretaker)

Someone unexpected arrives at the scene; whether that be a rival, a friend or family member of the whumpee, a potential other caretaker, or Whumper

Perhaps this is a relief for the caretaker, who needs a break

Or it's a stranger who causes tension in the situation

Maybe the caretaker knows this person is coming and is stressed out waiting for them

Physical/symptomatic shifts:

Whumpee is found injured and unconscious, and wakes up being cared for - their wounds later become infected, leading to a much longer recovery

Whumpee's condition quickly worsens

Whumpee steadily becomes delirious

Whumpee is feverish and goes from feeling freezing cold to boiling

Whumpee feverishly tries to stumble out of bed and into a different room (searching for Caretaker? trying to find a warmer spot?), and are found before, as, or after they collapse

Adding illness to injury: Whumpee is dealing with an injury, only to get sick, or sick only to also become hypothermic, they have heatstroke and then get hurt etc. Compounding whump.

Environmental shifts:

A caretaker could leave temporarily out of necessity, leaving whumpee and/or other caretaker(s) worried about them until they return

The weather changes (worsens? gets better? worsens and then gets better? gets better and then worsens?)

The characters have to shift locations for some reason

An important resource is run out of

Something necessary is destroyed or partially destroyed

A doctor/medic needs to be called

Somebody else becomes sick, injured, or lands in some other danger

Whumpee's newest symptom requires a different type of medicine than what they've been taking up until now, possibly one the caretaker doesn't have

The characters are in an intense situation (in hiding, in a warzone, on the run, trying to escape a natural disaster etc.) and the stakes suddenly become much higher due to something related to this

Maybe there's a flood and the waters have reached their safe spot

Maybe whumpee is some enemy they're sheltering in secret and members of their team/army/etc. come searching for them

There's lots more I could add and I'm not sure if this is explained in the best way, but there you have it.

[iwritesickfic]

concept: before the holidays, Seamus and Theo have been super busy with barely any time to see each other. They have two weeks scheduled to spend just together to relax and celebrate, but right as their time together starts, someone feels the self getting sick. They try to hide it and let it blow over on its own to not ruin the holiday, but obviously we know what happens next

[iwritesickfic]

Classic, simple, and cozy: loving couple gets snowed in, one has a terrible cold, and the other dotes on them.

(this will also be the plot of the holiday fic no 2 that I plan to write. 😏)

[iwritesickfic]

H/C ask 4, 14, and 20, for whichever OC you'd like to answer for 🖤

Thanks anon! I'll be answering for Theo - you can read all my fics starring him here.

4. Do you have a favorite fic for this character?

This is probably my favorite - Theo's been sick a lot that winter and Seamus tries to cheer him up. I love writing their flirty banter :)

14. How is their mental health, generally?

Theo is a very repressed person and for that reason he can be very self destructive. There was a turning point where he decided he needed therapy and though he still struggles it's less so than before.

20. Anything else?

He went to Julliard and dropped out in his second year. He was studying classical piano!

[iwritesickfic]

20 BLORBO/OC WHUMP/ H/C ASKS

What appeals to you about this character?

What's your least favorite aspect of this character?

What's your favorite canon moment with this character?

Do you have a favorite fic for this character?

What's your favorite whump trope to use for this character and why?

Whose relationship with this character is your favorite, shipping or otherwise?

Whose relationship with this character is your least favorite?

Describe your ideal whump scenario for this character.

Do you have headcanons for this character, if they're not an OC?

What would devastate them the most, emotionally speaking?

If it's not a spoiler, what's the worst thing that's ever happened to them?

How do they act when sick/injured? Is it obvious or do they hide it well?

What are their coping mechanisms, good and bad?

How is their mental health, generally speaking?

Who do you like to see hurting them, if anyone?

Who do you like to see caring for them, if anyone?

What do they do to self-soothe when they're not feeling well?

Are they good at taking care of themselves or do they need help?

Do they have old scars, physical or otherwise?

Anything else you'd like to share about them I haven't asked?

[iwritesickfic]

prompt: depressed feverish Leo post-his dad passing away, pre-Ari breakup

I am so, so, so late answering this prompt! My brain has just not wanted anything to do with writing my OCs for the last six months or so, but it seems to have switched back on finally. Thank you for the prompt, it's such a good one! There will be a part two of this coming soon <3 Leo Montelione was not having a good time. It was hot, the third week of a miserable August heat wave that made the New York City air like breathing soup. It was three months since they buried Salvatore at St. Michael's in Queens and Leo has never missed a Sunday visit. Today though, he woke up exhausted, with a strange burning feeling in his throat and sinuses, and a pounding headache. It was Sunday, and he had Sunday things to do, so he dragged himself out of bed around noon and got on the train. This was the only thing other than work that he'd reliably been able to get himself out of bed for all summer.

It was overcast, even more humid than usual, and the air in the graveyard was still. Leo sat cross legged in the dry grass next to the flat granite marker. It was a double headstone. Montelione across the top, Maria Paola 1946-1988 on the left, Antonio Salvatore 1944-1999 on the right. He had been coming with his dad every Sunday for years, though they had fallen off towards the end when it was harder for his dad to travel. The last time they came together had been in March, the first nice day of spring.

"Leonardo," his father had said, regarding the stone with the blank space under his own name, "Promise you will visit and keep the stone nice for your mother."

And so Leo still came every Sunday without fail. Ari always offered to come with him, but he went alone because he didn't know what to do with Ari there. It felt useless to try and explain what these visits were for, and his boyfriend would certainly find it strange to watch him sit there for hours, unmoving. That's all he did: sit there. He didn't cry, he didn't talk to them, he just sat and stared at the granite slab. It was better to do it alone. It seemed better to do most things alone lately. He didn't want to be observed or perceived, he just wanted to rot alone in his grief.

How could Ari understand when he went to his parents' for dinner every week, talked to his mom every day, and spent two weeks every summer with them in their cabin upstate?

The air was growing steadily heavier as he sat there that afternoon, and when thunder rolled overhead, Leo decided it was probably time to go. He swayed for a moment getting to his feet, his head swimming and little black dots sparking in the edges of his vision.

"Mmph," he grunted a little as the dizziness cleared and he got his bearings. Maybe it was too hot to be out here for so long with this headache. He hadn't had any breakfast either, or lunch, and it was closing in on five o'clock.

Leo walked among the stone angels and crosses, headstones simple and ornate alike. He started to feel lightheaded again and stopped to rest on a bench for a moment. His arms and legs felt heavy when he got up again, his whole body feeling weighed down while his head threatened dizzy weightlessness every time he moved it. It wasn't that unusual though, he had felt so heavy for so long now, limbs leaden with grief. The dull pounding behind his eyes had become sharper and clearer, piercing the gray nothingness that was going on in his head with an arc of pain.

Leo got up and continued on to the exit of the cemetery green, walking a block away to wait for the bus. There was no shelter at the stop, and no trees nearby either, so when the thunder rolled again and the heavens opened, there was no respite from the torrential summer downpour. The water felt good though, refreshing. Leo turned his face up, eyes closed, letting the rain wash him clean.

It took another ten minutes for the bus to come, and then it was only a few stops to the train. It was cold on the bus, and even colder when he got on the train, the air conditioner cranked up to compensate for the miserable heat outside. Leo had a long ride back to his apartment and he sat in a seat in the corner, arms wrapped around himself, trying not to visibly shiver. His teeth were chattering by the time he got off the F at Delancey, and the occasional lightheadedness from earlier in the day had turned into a constant dizziness. His head was swimming and he clung to the wet stair railing as he mounted the subway steps and made his way to his apartment.

He had thought that maybe, maybe Ari would be there when he got home, doing something in the kitchen or watching the game on TV, maybe. But when he walked into his empty apartment he remembered that they'd had a fight the night before. Well, not a fight exactly, but he hadn't wanted to go out with their friends and Ari had and they had sniped at each other a little. It wasn't like Ari lived with him anyway, but he had a key and he was there a lot.

Leo stumbled into his room and stripped, throwing his wet clothes into the tub. He pulled on a sweatshirt and boxers and got in bed, under the thin summer sheet, still shivering, hugging his pillow miserably. It smelled like Ari, but Ari wasn't here. Eventually, the shivering subsided a little and he fell into a troubled sleep, dreaming that he opened the medicine cabinet and found an entire apartment behind it where his parents were living on without him. He could see them there, going about their lives, but he couldn't make them hear or notice him.

Leo woke up drenched in sweat and trembling. Sitting up took a monumental effort. It was dark out. Without his glasses he couldn't really read his alarm clock but he thought it said 1:00. No Ari still. He stumbled to the bathroom to pee and splash water on his face. The chills were starting again by the time he made it back to bed. He threw off the sweat damp hoodie and pulled on Ari's college sweatshirt, curling up again.

The burning in his nose and throat had developed into constant pain and a nose that wouldn't stop dripping, clear liquid running down his top lip. Sleep didn't come easily. He tossed and turned. Everything hurt, his head, his throat, his body, and he started to develop a cough, dry and irritating, that felt like it was scraping against his sore throat.

Sometime before dawn, he stumbled out to the kitchen for water, sitting on the linoleum floor and drinking straight from the glass bottle he kept in the fridge. He thought about making caponata with his dad in this kitchen, and about his mother teaching him to bake, the way spilled flour would make a cloud like smoke when he tried to sweep it up. It was hot, and the room was swimming in front of him. It seemed he could see every memory the kitchen contained for him all at once. Tilting further and further to the side as he got dizzier, his face finally made contact with the cool tiles and he shut his eyes. Cooking in the kitchen. Plain linguine with a little butter and parmesan, the only thing his dad would eat. That green vinyl chair at Beth Israel and the beeping sound of the heart monitors. Studying to the sound of his dad's wrenching, horrible cough. Hospital bed in the center of their living room. Dean Martin on the record player, the soft afternoon light on his dad's gray face. The graveside. Ari's hand on his shoulder. Ari's voice. Ari's face swimming blurrily into view.

"Leo? Leo? Wake up, baby. Please wake up."

Leo blinked dry eyelids and frowned. "What?" was all he managed, his voice a croak. His headache was piercing and he was shivering again. "What's wrong?"

"You're fucking burning up is what's wrong," Ari said, "And you're lying on the kitchen floor without your AC on when it's 90 degrees out, numb nuts."

Leo tried to push himself up but he was so sore and so tired. He collapsed back on the tile instead, closing his eyes again until Ari shoved his hands under his arms and hauled him up to a standing position, half carrying him over to the couch. Ari peeled the hoodie off of him and turned on the air conditioner and fan. He coughed harshly as the cool air blew over him, his skin rippling with painful goosebumps while he shivered. Leo heard someone moving around and taking his sweatshirt, but he didn't really know what was going on and he couldn't keep his eyes open. Was Ari here? He opened his eyes for a moment and only saw his living room. Maybe it was his dad, not Ari. He couldn't remember why he felt so bad. "It's cold," he whimpered, curling into a ball. He hoped he didn't have to go to school today. Maybe his dad would let him stay home. "It's not cold," came the response. Then there something hard and metallic in his mouth. "Under your tongue," the voice instructed. It sounded like Ari and his dad all at once. His teeth chattered around the thing in his mouth. "I don't wanna go to school, I don't feel good," he mumbled.

"Well I don't think you have to worry about that. Don't talk, okay? Just let it register." A hand held his mouth closed around the...thing. He couldn't remember the word just now, the hotness measurer. He could barely breathe through his nose and he started to feel a little panicky, but then there was a loud beeping and some swearing.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled as something cold was draped over his forehead and shoved under his arms. So cold. Why was it so cold? He shivered harder. "Stop it, it h-h-hurts," he stammered. He couldn't get them off though, the cold wet things. He cried a little and shivered, no longer even aware of his surroundings. Bits of nightmare and dream, vague impressions of Ari's voice, of his dad's voice, pain, strong hands, images of gravestones, heart monitors, waiting room chairs, nausea, and he couldn't make sense of any of it, but at least he knew someone was there with him.

[iwritesickfic]

@whumpgifathon | Day 2: "Fever"

My New Boss Is Goofy, 1x05, Aigo Kinjou

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one of my absolute FAVORITE snz moments in a film; his congested voice is just so-

[iwritesickfic]

someone standing in the kitchen dressed in button up striped pajamas and fuzzy slippers and a bathrobe with a comforter from their bed pulled around their shoulders, a scarf around their neck, breathing through their mouth and sniffling as they read the instructions on a bottle of severe cold and flu relief nasal spray; they're currently on day 2 or 3 of some kind of bug, and they've been spending all their time between their bed and the couch, trying to get some rest between miserable violent sneezing fits that pull them back awake and make their sinuses pound with pressure. they lick their chapped lips, prime the nasal spray, and put it up their left nostril.

it disturbs their nose hairs in their swollen canals, and they almost feel the start of a sneeze; but it dissapears, thankfully. they let out a little stuffed sigh and pull down the trigger on the nasal spray, sniffling the best they can through the snot at the same time, but before they can even remove the applicator a sneeze comes barreling out as their sick, red nostrils violently reject the medication. they sneeze again, and again, and again, the sneezes blasting through their already swollen, tired passagways and proelling snot all over the counter. they sniffle and start into another heavy, aching fit, then another, and their sinuses and head feel like they're going to explode, pounding and aching. still sniffling and sneezing violently they fumble around in the fridge until they find a cold pack to press to their head miserably, which they do between the sneezing, which continues on and on so badly it draws the attention of their partner.

"Sounds like that nasal spray isn't gonna work," they say sympathetically, rubbing their back. Another explosive sneezing fit barely covered, their poor nose spasming wildly; then they stop, let out a phglemy cough and a sniffle, and press the cold pack back to their sinuses with a stuffy groan.

"Babe," they say in a rough, husky voice, rendered gravelly from the constant sneezing, "I thigg I deed do lay bagg dowd for a bidd...by head is godda bursd..." and then their pink-rimmed eyelids flutter again as another fit comes barreling out, one after another.

[iwritesickfic]

someone shuffling slowly around the house in pajamas, slippers, and a fluffy bathrobe with the hood pulled up, their lips parted to breathe around the congestion, a full box of tissues under one arm, their voice low, stuffed, and gravelly. they usually wear contacts but today have on their glasses, and their eyes are droopy, watery, and ringed purple; they clearly didn’t sleep well last night. their nose is red and a little perpetually wet around the nostrils. and they’re sitting at the table trying to breathe in steam from a pot of boiling water. or answering the door. or they’re at the corner store or doctors office with a coat thrown over it all because they’re too sick to care what they look like. they’re at the stage in their bad cold/flu where they feel like they’re moving through molasses with cement in their head. they’re quiet and don’t talk much but their coughing, sneezing, and sniffling is loud. or they’re walking around with tissues stuffed up their nostrils just to try and catch a break. they clearly feel disgusting and exhausted and just want to be in bed or listlessly on the couch. their body is battling it hard and they can’t even breathe or speak right, forget sleeping.

[iwritesickfic]

here are the snezcanons questions for your OCs!!!! or your fav characters whatever!!!! sneezecanons!!! whatever you call em, ive got em!!!!!!!!!

How DO they sneeze?! (Possible details incl. general sound, volume, frequency, build-up, covering method(s), if they ever deviate from the pattern, and so on.)

Allergies? Other sensitivities? Under what circumstances do they usually experience them? How do they deal with it?

When they get sick, do they talk about it a lot or try to hide it?

What are they like with germs? (Their own and others’.)

Do they have a general routine or anything special that they do when they aren’t feeling well?

Feelings/habits surrounding medicine? What about doctors?

Do they have any obvious/visible tells when they’re unwell? If yes, do they know about these tells themselves?

What do they find more irritating, a bad cough or a frequently recurring urge to sneeze?

How do they respond to other people sneezing? (This is the blesscanons question.)

How do they respond to someone blessing them? (The other blesscanons question.)

Do they have abilities that change at all when they’re feeling off? What about other things, like reflexes, energy, and mood?

Are they good at taking care of people?

Good at being cared for?

What is their limit? How bad does it have to get for them to take a day off and stay home?

Do they tend to always catch the same type of cold, or do the symptoms vary each time?

How often do they get sick?

Do they tend to run fevers? How do they take their temperature?

Least favorite thing about being sick?

Do they have any weird beliefs or superstitions about illness? (e.g. the rain thing, or going outside with wet hair…)

[iwritesickfic]

So this past week I've had an ear infection combined with a sore throat and a fever. It's probably been over a decade since my last ear infection but they come with some serious wump potential. This made me think of Theo having to perform with a sore ear and any other list of symptoms you'd like.

hey there! thanks for the prompt ❤️ hope you enjoy!! :)

“You don’t have to do this,” Seamus says for what feels like the thousandth time. Theo sighs, slumping deeper into his chair.

“Stop saying that,” he mumbles. It’s not that Seamus is wrong - it’s the opposite. And the more he says it the more Theo wants to agree with him. This is the perfect storm for him to call off a performance. He has a double ear infection. His head is killing him. He’s at a festival in the middle of the desert and he’s running a 101 fever.

Still, people are going to be so fucking mad at him if he bails. This is his first performance in over a year, and he knows that people bought tickets and flew out here just to see him. The festival would be livid, even though there’s a clause in the contract exactly for this situation.

“You want some ice?” Seamus asks, and Theo nods, even though it hurts. Seamus is back in only a few moments with a bag of ice wrapped in a damp towel, and Theo gasps as he presses it to the tender, throbbing space behind his jaw. “Too much?”

Theo shakes his head and takes the ice, holding it under his ear with his trembling hand. He feels like he can hardly breathe.

Seamus’s fingers begin to work through his damp hair, gathering it into a small bun. He’s especially careful around Theo’s ears, his hands moving slowly and deliberately. He ties the bun loosely, then kisses the nape of his neck.

“God, I wanna fucking die,” Theo mumbles, and Seamus slides a water bottle into his hands. He doesn't need to be told, just starts taking small sips. The heat is making him nauseous and each mouthful feels heavy in his stomach.

“It'll be ok,” Seamus says softly. He kisses him again, this time on his temple, and even though it sends a shock of pain through his pounding head he doesn't mind. If there weren’t so many people watching and if it wasn’t so hot, he might have pulled him closer and buried his face in Seamus’s throat and let himself cry. But there are, and it is, so he lets Seamus walk away.

His set starts in only 45 minutes. They're already doing the changeover, stage hands hurrying back and forth with cables and guitars and mics. He can hear the crowd that's gathered. He's a headliner, he can't back out. He just can't.

Seamus comes back with some food, which Theo doesn't eat. He chokes down some ibuprofen and drinks some electrolyte thing Seamus managed to find, but he doesn't feel any better. The fact he's shivering now doesn't bode well, his body cloaked in a cold sweat. His hair is wet, and his tank top is clinging to his chest. And though they haven't spoken a word to him, someone dressed suspiciously like a medic is loitering around at a middle distance.

At least Seamus has stopped telling him he doesn't have to do it.

It's only a few minutes before the set is supposed to start when he decides he'd better finally put in his in-ears. He's standing in the walkway between the makeshift green room and stage side, staring at the two small devices in his palm. He feels weak standing up - dizzy and disoriented. He's trying to work up the courage to actually put the monitors in when Seamus comes up beside him.

He rests his hand lightly on Theo's upper back, and he doesn't need to say anything for Theo to know what he's asking.

“I'll be fine,” he mumbles, even though he can feel his heartbeat in his ears, and the throbbing is enough to make his knees weak. His tongue feels heavy in his mouth, and it's making him slur his words. His ears are ringing.

“I know you will,” Seamus whispers back, and Theo chokes out a laugh.

“I'm not…I'm not fine right now. But I'll be fine.” He's staring at the in-ears. Seamus follows his gaze.

“Do you want-”

“No, no, I…” Theo trails off, quickly bringing one up to his right ear. He hesitates a moment before starting to put it in. Immediately, there's a burst of white hot pain that lances down his neck and all the way through his head. He presses past it, but it only gets worse. He makes a sound between a gasp and a cry, and the next thing he registers is Seamus’s voice.

“Shh, shh, you're alright,” Seamus whispers. “Here, baby, sit down.”

He's shaking all over, and it feels like there's a knife through his eardrum. His breath is short, and he's fighting to keep from actually whimpering.

He feels himself being lowered into a chair, and he can't tell whether it's tears on his cheeks or sweat. The pain is enough to send his stomach into his throat, and he can't get enough air to make it go away. He hopes no one heard Seamus call him baby. He only calls him that when he’s too sick to think straight. Theo doesn't even like being kissed in public, so the intimacy of Seamus calling him “baby” is something he doesn't want anyone bearing witness too.

His fingers are shaking so hard he can barely take the small earpiece out, and though it sends another jolt of pain through his head, he feels immediate relief when it's out. The world is spinning violently though, and he can barely keep his eyes open.

“We need a monitor. On stage monitor,” he hears Seamus say, and then there's a mess of people talking.

Then he feels hands on his knees, and he opens his eyes to see Seamus crouched in front of him, looking how he always looks when Theo’s like this. Worried, worry poorly hidden by a small smile. Seeing his face tears a sob from Theo’s throat, and he's almost immediately wracked with them, chest shuddering and heaving.

Seamus immediately pulls him into his arms, his chest so solid and steady compared to Theo’s tense, trembling body.

“Oh, baby…” Seamus says, and Theo presses himself fully into Seamus's arms. “You're gonna be alright.”

Theo can barely get words out between sobs. Seamus's hand is on the back of Theo’s head, holding him against his neck.

“I can't, I can't do this,” he chokes, and he feels Seamus sigh.

“You don't have to.”

“No, I-” he's gasping for breath between sobs. “I-”

“Breathe. Just breathe.”

He tries, but he feels like he can't force his lungs to draw in anything more than a gasp at a time. His head hurts so badly he's sure he's about to pass out. He's about to vomit.

He feels someone touch his back, grabbing his shoulder to pull him away.

“Get the fuck off me,” he chokes out.

“Hey, hey. It's alright,” Seamus whispers, but Theo would rather die than have the entire crew see him like this. “I'm sorry, I…can we just have some privacy, please?” Seamus asks, and there's more muffled talking. “I'm so sorry. He’s…I know.” The talking seems to fade, and Seamus rubs his back. “You're ok. Just relax.”

He sits there for what feels like a long time, trying to catch his breath. The pain in his head doesn't get any better, but he's at least able to calm himself down enough to not feel like he's about to pass out.

Eventually, Seamus gets him back up into the chair and slowly, the crew begins to appear again, though they're pointedly trying not to look directly at him.

The medic that he'd suspected was for him walks over with her duffel bag and smiles at him as she starts to unpack her things.

“Do you mind?” she asks, stopping short with her gloved hand hovering over his arm, and he feels a wave of shame.

“No, go ahead. I'm sorry, if I…I promise I'm not, like, an asshole celebrity or something,” he says, and she laughs. Her whole demeanor seems to lighten as wipes the back of his hand with an alcohol pad.

“No worries at all. I know you're probably in a lot of pain.”

“No, I…I'm sorry,” he says again, and winces as a needle enters the back of his hand. He turns his head so he doesn't have to see, and his gaze lands on Seamus, who's talking with Zeke and a few people dressed in black and wearing headsets and holding clipboards. Stage managers, producers, festival staff… He wonders idly if Seamus is negotiating a cancellation.

Part of him would be pissed - it should be his own choice if he performs or not - but another, much larger part would be immensely grateful. He shudders as he feels the cold liquid of the IV snaking up his arm.

“What's in that?” He asks.

“Just saline. You're pretty dehydrated.”

Seamus starts to walk over and Theo feels another wave of nausea crash over him.

“What's going on?” he asks, and Seamus fiddles with the laminated pass around his neck.

“So they agreed it's within contract if you need to back out, but if you…” Seamus adjusts the sunglasses pushed up in his hair and sighs, “If you really want to, what we can do is basically get you an on stage monitor so you don't have to wear the in-ears. And they can get you a stool so you don't have to stand the whole time.”

Theo nods before remembering that moving his head even a tiny bit makes the pain in his ears worsen.

“I...um…” He mumbles. The throbbing in his ears is almost unbearable. Even as the medic runs a thermometer over his forehead he feels the pain worsen. He's so exhausted, he's so sick. “I can't,” he finally says and Seamus nods, expression not changing at all. The backs of his fingertips brush Theo's temple.

“Sure?” he asks.

“Yes,” Theo says, voice soft. He feels a dizzying mix of relief, guilt, and anxiety pressing on his chest as soon as he says it. Even so, he knows he can't. If he tries to go out there…

Seamus sighs and squeezes his shoulder.

“Ok.”

[iwritesickfic]

“You’re shivering”

When Seamus gets home that night, he's surprised to hear the TV on in the living room. Theo was supposed to leave for London this morning, but when Seamus walks into the living room, he's slumped on the couch, a blanket pulled tight around his shoulders, cheeks flushed.

Seamus sets his tote down on a chair and walks over. Theo gives him a weak little smile.

"Hey," he says, voice hoarse and thready. Seamus sits carefully beside him, and rests his palm on his forehead. He's burning up, but Seamus can still feel the way he's trembling.

"Hey," he says back, "What happened?"

Theo rolls his eyes weakly and leans his head into Seamus's palm.

"I'm extremely fucking sick is what," he mumbles. Seamus clicks his tongue.

"Mm. You're shivering."

Theo scoffs, eyes fluttering closed.

"I'm very aware," he mumbles back.

Seamus continues to stroke his hair, and Theo leans into him.

"Could you use some help with that?" he asks, and Theo's eyes open just a little.

"Yes. Please."