the thing about my fics, the absolute key, is that you have to be willing to suspend your disbelief when i say a character “is hardly sick” and yet is somehow sick over and over again, in everything i write. it doesn’t matter if that “doesn’t make sense logically”. everything resets in each fic. it’s like a multiverse. two contradicting things can and MUST be true at once. this is the Essential Philosophy of a Snz Fic.
Lol every time I say a character is hardly sick it’s just an excuse for me to make them SUPER sick in each fic because “well since it’s so rare for them it’s always terrible!”
Look, I love the overworked-whumpee-who-can't-rest trope as much as the next person, but.
A comes home from their last day of work before their two week long Christmas break.
They're feeling miserable, they already know they're running a raging temperature, and the walk home in the snow didn't help with their chills.
Their partner B is already busy making them dinner, A quietly walks up to them and slumps in their embrace.
"I think the flu that was going around my workplace got me in the end".
B gasps softly and palms their scorching hot forehead.
"I think it did, love. Good thing that you have two weeks to recuperate now".
B leads them to the couch. The lights in the living room are off, except for the fairy lights on the Christmas tree, and a faint light from the fireplace. B tucks A under the duvet, and takes their temperature, grimacing when they see the number.
"Ibuprofen and chill tonight?"
A giggles sleepily. They feel awful, but they know they can rest as much as they need, and B will take care of them, keeping them safe.
They soon fall asleep, lulled by the gentle flicker of the Christmas lights and the crackling of the fire.
normally reserved and guarded whumpee is suddenly desperate for touch with a high fever. they press themselves against every inch of their caretaker they can, burying their face in caretaker's neck, weak arms wrapped as tightly as they can manage around them. caretaker pulls them closer, stroking their sweat damp hair, murmurs reassurances against their burning skin, all as they try to ignore the waves of intense heat rolling off them.
i need to write more pre-modern medicine fics - a cool rag the only thing to bring down a raging fever, a glass thermometer that feels like ice between their lips, curled up near the fire the combat the chills, caretaker at their bedside all night dutifully running said cool cloth over their brow... 👌🏻
I love that relationship dynamic you've set up for Daniel and Sapphire! Sounds like they're both very respectful and intuitive when it comes to each others' needs?
Okay, so how would Daniel typically go about taking care of himself? Would it differ depending on whether he has a full day of things to get done, or a free day to do nothing but stay at home?
It’s a little more like they don’t really know what to do to comfort or support each other? They are very respectful of boundaries surrounding that though, yeah. Intuitive maybe not so much lol.
Daniel’s methods of taking care of himself definitely depends on the circumstances. Honestly, any little excuse he can find to get work done instead of resting is enough to force himself to keep busy, especially in front of other people. Even when he has a “free day” he usually wants to keep busy. If he’s really sick and really needs a break, he basically waits until he conks out at his desk or is on the brink of passing out before he tries to start taking care of himself. The only exception is when he has a stomach flu or food poisoning or is otherwise really sick to his stomach, because vomiting in public is the last thing he wants to do.
So if he can’t walk it off, he’ll sleep it off. He doesn’t really have symptom or illness-specific treatments, it’s a bit of a one-size-fits-all strategy to just lose consciousness and maybe drink a few extra glasses of water until it blows over. Unfortunately, at this point he usually has a high-grade fever which really fucks his sleep up, whether it’s through fever dreams or anxiety or just being too uncomfortable and achy to drift off. He has pharmacophobia too, and can’t bring himself to swallow any pills without immediately bringing them back up, so medication is usually off the table.
Basically, he’s quite bad at taking care of himself both because he hates admitting his unwell and also because he just doesn’t really know how to. It’s a bit of a paradox, because if he’s left alone and doesn’t feel like he has to keep up appearances, he’ll go more easy on himself and try to rest more or sooner. But on the other hand, he a) doesn’t know what the fuck to do and b) will severely misjudge how soon he can start handling more work or getting out there again, and as a result prolong his illness or make it even worse.
Thank you sm for the ask!! I love answering these it’s a lot of fun ❤️❤️❤️
(Yes I will be including a dumb/irrelevant doodle under the cut of every ask every time)
You all know I *love* big time sickfic with raging fevers and super worried caretakers and they're snowed in and it's Very Dramatic... but more gentle sickfic is iconic in its own way.
Because honestly t's great when a whumpee is sick enough to want to stay in bed but not *super* sick, just tired and achy and a little dazed, and they just look so pitifully confused and sad that the caretaker can't help but dote on them.
And maybe later their fever spikes making them considerably more miserable, they can't do much more than lie there breathing hard with their eyes half open. But Caretaker for once isn't too concerned, knowing their temperature isn't actually that dangerous and as long as they're kept hydrated they'll be fine. So they sit with Whumpee talking steadily and gently to them while holding a cold compress to their forehead in the hopes that it'll make them feel a little better.
But eventually their fever goes down and they finally roll over and go back to sleep, Caretaker staying by their side with one hand softly stroking their hair. And Whumpee sleeps through most of the rest of the day, only waking up halfway to drink when Caretaker gets them to. They don't need excessive treatment, just a lot of rest.
If requests are open, could you write about a Whumpee that gets really really sick and tries to hide it from Caretaker, but then they pass out and Caretaker feels their forehead and notices that Whumpee is burning up? Whumpee wakes up in bed with a cold cloth on their head and a very concerned Caretaker
sicktember day 17: fainting
@sicktember
“A, are you okay? You look…off.”
A places a hand on their chest in mock shock. “I’m insulted. I always look like this.”
B rolls their eyes. “That’s not what I mean. You’re just oddly quiet, and you look kinda….peaked. What’s up?”
Just…tired, I guess. Nothing out of the ordinary.” They take a sip from their coffee and shrug. B eyes them suspiciously, ignoring the sounds of the coffee shop around them.
Sure, maybe A’s unusually chilled, despite wearing three layers underneath their sweatshirt, plus two pairs of thick socks and a thermal layer under their jeans. Maybe their whole body aches so badly that they can barely sit still on the hard chair without fidgeting, and they’re fighting back a cough with every sip of coffee. But they’re fine. They know they are.
Still, they force themselves to try and make conversation with B. But no matter how hard they try, the edges of their vision are going fuzzy, and it’s harder and harder to sit upright. B’s talking about drama at work, and A’s trying to focus, but it’s suddenly too hot in the room, and they feel like they’re suffocating in their layers.
They need to go to the bathroom. Yes. That’s it.
A pushes away from the table and stands up too fast, head swirling, dizzy but in desperate need to get out of here. “B…I need…”
But they don’t finish their sentence as they crash to the ground and everything goes black.
“A? A, are you with me?”
B’s voice sounds like it’s in a tunnel, and there’s an annoying feeling on their cheek…is B slapping them?
“A, come on. Come back to me.”
More than anything, A wishes that B would leave them alone, and they crack open an eye to tell them just that.
But when they open their eyes, they can’t find the words to reassure B and the nervous barista towering over them. So they settle for something easier.
“I…..ow.”
“Here, let’s get this sweatshirt off of….A, how many layers do you have on??” B’s cold fingers brush at the neck of A’s sweatshirt, and the icy touch makes them shudder.
“….cold.”
“A, you’re burning up.” The cold hand moves to their forehead, cupping their burning skin, and A wants to roll away and curl into a ball. But they can’t, because they can’t seem to move their limbs yet. Everything’s too loud, and too bright, and too hot and cold, so they surrender to the pull of unconsciousness once more.
The next time A resurfaces, they’re back in bed at home, sans most of their layers and covered only in a thin sheet. It’s nowhere near warm enough - but then again, neither were all the layers, which makes absolutely no sense at all. They feel the leaden weight of a cold washcloth in stark contrast to the heat of their feverish forehead. Still, they clutch the sheet closer to their body, craving something to draw warmth in.
As they shift their aching body in bed, they see B slumped in a chair, brows furrowed with worry. As soon as they see A move, they jump from their spot and immediately move to their side.
“How’re you feeling?” B’s voice is a soft whisper, and their hands brush sweat-dampened curls off their forehead, flipping the cloth to the cool side.
Despite being freezing, the cold hand and cloth feel good on their forehead, and A leans closer. “Not….not good.” A shudder ripples through them. “What….what happened?”
“A, you’ve got a temperature of 103.” B’s face looks pained, and they lay a hand on A’s upper arm, rubbing gently. “You were practically cooking in all those layers.”
“I was cold.”
B charges on, barely acknowledging A’s protests. “More than that, why didn’t you tell me you didn’t feel good?”
A shrugs beneath the sheet. “…..don’t know.”
B clicks their tongue, but there’s hardly any malice in it. “Well, next time tell me, so we don’t end up traumatizing another barista.”
A manages a breathy laugh. “That poor kid.”
B laughs too, but the light dies in their eyes and their face grows serious. “But really. Tell me next time, okay? I promise I won’t be overbearing but…that was really scary today.” They swallow hard, and A feels a ping of guilt in their chest.
“…..sorry.” It’s all their feverish brain can manage, thought they know they owe B more.
But the weak apology seems to soften something in B, who gently rubs their covered shoulder. “You never finished your drink at the cafe. How does some tea sound?”
A nods with as much enthusiasm as they can muster, desperate for something to soothe their sore throat. B smiles and flips the washcloth again, smoothing the sheet over A.
“You rest for a bit more. I’ll be back in 10.”
This time, A obliges and closes their eyes because they choose to, knowing that B will return in no time at all.
If requests are open, could you write about a Whumpee that gets really really sick and tries to hide it from Caretaker, but then they pass out and Caretaker feels their forehead and notices that Whumpee is burning up? Whumpee wakes up in bed with a cold cloth on their head and a very concerned Caretaker
sicktember day 17: fainting
@sicktember
“A, are you okay? You look…off.”
A places a hand on their chest in mock shock. “I’m insulted. I always look like this.”
B rolls their eyes. “That’s not what I mean. You’re just oddly quiet, and you look kinda….peaked. What’s up?”
Just…tired, I guess. Nothing out of the ordinary.” They take a sip from their coffee and shrug. B eyes them suspiciously, ignoring the sounds of the coffee shop around them.
Sure, maybe A’s unusually chilled, despite wearing three layers underneath their sweatshirt, plus two pairs of thick socks and a thermal layer under their jeans. Maybe their whole body aches so badly that they can barely sit still on the hard chair without fidgeting, and they’re fighting back a cough with every sip of coffee. But they’re fine. They know they are.
Still, they force themselves to try and make conversation with B. But no matter how hard they try, the edges of their vision are going fuzzy, and it’s harder and harder to sit upright. B’s talking about drama at work, and A’s trying to focus, but it’s suddenly too hot in the room, and they feel like they’re suffocating in their layers.
They need to go to the bathroom. Yes. That’s it.
A pushes away from the table and stands up too fast, head swirling, dizzy but in desperate need to get out of here. “B…I need…”
But they don’t finish their sentence as they crash to the ground and everything goes black.
“A? A, are you with me?”
B’s voice sounds like it’s in a tunnel, and there’s an annoying feeling on their cheek…is B slapping them?
“A, come on. Come back to me.”
More than anything, A wishes that B would leave them alone, and they crack open an eye to tell them just that.
But when they open their eyes, they can’t find the words to reassure B and the nervous barista towering over them. So they settle for something easier.
“I…..ow.”
“Here, let’s get this sweatshirt off of….A, how many layers do you have on??” B’s cold fingers brush at the neck of A’s sweatshirt, and the icy touch makes them shudder.
“….cold.”
“A, you’re burning up.” The cold hand moves to their forehead, cupping their burning skin, and A wants to roll away and curl into a ball. But they can’t, because they can’t seem to move their limbs yet. Everything’s too loud, and too bright, and too hot and cold, so they surrender to the pull of unconsciousness once more.
The next time A resurfaces, they’re back in bed at home, sans most of their layers and covered only in a thin sheet. It’s nowhere near warm enough - but then again, neither were all the layers, which makes absolutely no sense at all. They feel the leaden weight of a cold washcloth in stark contrast to the heat of their feverish forehead. Still, they clutch the sheet closer to their body, craving something to draw warmth in.
As they shift their aching body in bed, they see B slumped in a chair, brows furrowed with worry. As soon as they see A move, they jump from their spot and immediately move to their side.
“How’re you feeling?” B’s voice is a soft whisper, and their hands brush sweat-dampened curls off their forehead, flipping the cloth to the cool side.
Despite being freezing, the cold hand and cloth feel good on their forehead, and A leans closer. “Not….not good.” A shudder ripples through them. “What….what happened?”
“A, you’ve got a temperature of 103.” B’s face looks pained, and they lay a hand on A’s upper arm, rubbing gently. “You were practically cooking in all those layers.”
“I was cold.”
B charges on, barely acknowledging A’s protests. “More than that, why didn’t you tell me you didn’t feel good?”
A shrugs beneath the sheet. “…..don’t know.”
B clicks their tongue, but there’s hardly any malice in it. “Well, next time tell me, so we don’t end up traumatizing another barista.”
A manages a breathy laugh. “That poor kid.”
B laughs too, but the light dies in their eyes and their face grows serious. “But really. Tell me next time, okay? I promise I won’t be overbearing but…that was really scary today.” They swallow hard, and A feels a ping of guilt in their chest.
“…..sorry.” It’s all their feverish brain can manage, thought they know they owe B more.
But the weak apology seems to soften something in B, who gently rubs their covered shoulder. “You never finished your drink at the cafe. How does some tea sound?”
A nods with as much enthusiasm as they can muster, desperate for something to soothe their sore throat. B smiles and flips the washcloth again, smoothing the sheet over A.
“You rest for a bit more. I’ll be back in 10.”
This time, A obliges and closes their eyes because they choose to, knowing that B will return in no time at all.
Something that’s not talked about enough - fever fatigue!?
I can’t articulate it so someone pls help but when their fever makes them feel so shitty that all they can do is just lie there??
Like everything just hurts and their body feels heavy and their head is fuzzy and it’s not that they don’t want to do anything, there’s just no energy whatsoever?!
Can't stop thinking about the fact that when you have a fever your heart beats faster. Imagine somebody cuddling their sick sweetheart and being able to judge when their fever is getting worse because their heart is beating so much quicker 🥺
a sick little thing waking up from a fever nap, sitting up and panting to get any air. their poor lil heart is going so fast, and they just cant seem to find their caretaker...oh, here come the tears...
(This is my very first post on actual writing advice so lets see how it' goes)
If mild:
-Everything is heightened and just a little too much. Sounds are too loud, physical sensation is too intense, emotions are stronger than they would be normally
-So feel free to have them be angry or frightened or tearful in a way that seems OOC, and feel free at this stage to have them acknowledge that and be embarrassed or confused by it
-Pain and discomfort take precedence over trying to understand the details of what someone is saying to them
-Bad dreams. Or just bizarre, unsettling dreams that leave them shaking and sweating
-Feeling overwhelmed even at very simple things, enlarging things that shouldn't be a big deal
-Minor forgetfulness, they ask caretaker a question and five minutes later have to ask again because they can't remember, forgetting what day/month it is
-Just a little more lonely and clingy
-Racing thoughts, restlessness, unable to concentrate on one thing at a time
-Lowered inhibitions
-Alternatively, they might be more suspicious or anxious than normal, even around those they know they can trust
-Have them trail off sometimes or lose track of what they were talking about, prompting the caretaker to need to get their attention again
-They might say things they don't mean to because they're not as focused on outcomes and only really aware of the present
-Everything just looks and feels a little off, even if they're aware of where they are and who they're with it might feel weirdly ~wrong~ in a way they can't describe
-Gets distressed easily
If it's severe:
- From the whumpee's pov:
-(whumpee's pov and caretaker's might be VASTLY different here)
-Absolutely nothing makes sense, other characters can say perfectly normal things and the whumpee either doesn't get it at all, or misinterprets it, or doesn't recognize who's talking etc.
- Interpretation of the world around them reduced to senses, sometimes garbled ones
- I.e. they feel cold, their head hurts, there's a voice but they don't know who it belongs to, they feel dizzy, but they have little to no understanding of what's physically going on around them
-Partial sentences and lots of ellipses to give the ~vibe~ of someone whose thoughts are not complete and who is experiencing lapses in time or memory
-Throw all continuity out the window. Their friend is there one sentence and then the next it's a different person altogether, they're saying they feel hot but the narration says they're shivering, consistency doesn't matter one bit here
-Blend what are very clearly dreams with things that are less clear, describe a scenario that the reader can tell isn't actually happening and then add in things that are super normal and could very well be happening but the whumpee can't tell the difference
-From the caretaker's POV:
-Either this state is very visible to the caretaker or it isn't at all, (which is why switching POVs can be fun)
-If it's visible, whumpee will likely be talking nonsense or almost nonsense, mention how hard it is to maintain a conversation with them, or how patient the caretaker has to be when answering the same questions again and again
-If invisible, they might just appear groggy and half asleep, it's hard to wake them up and they never really seem fully conscious
-They might vastly misunderstand something the caretaker says and be more confused or frightened because of it, which in turn confuses the caretaker because they don't understand what the problem is
-Probably slipping in and out of consciousness
***I am not a medical professional, this is for writing use ONLY, based on techniques I've seen work well, my own techniques, as well as other research
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