Wanting to write a bit more, so I'm taking some requests to help get through the brain fog while I work on some longer pieces. They'll probably be very short, honestly, but here are some fandoms/vibes I'm open or not open to.
I'll write for:
Hannibal
Good Omens
Danny Phantom (as always)
Fullmetal Alchemist Brotherhood
Unfort, that's it for now. I've been busy with classes and work. But, I'm taking a gap, so werk or whatever.
I won't do anything NSFW atm, and I prefer illness prompts to most others. But, I'm happy to look at whatever you've got! Responses might be slow-coming, but I'll get them out.
i feel like we've kind of lost the old sickfic scene. like admittedly i haven't really been in the Fandoms Du Jour for quite a while but even the oc sickfic blogs seem to be few and far between these days yknow
So I've adopted the habit of imagining everyone including myself as their pfp, and on discord I have a ciel pfp so everything I say creates a mental image for me of ciel saying that. So I looked back on my recent messages on discord and these mental images of ciel saying this shit are fucking hilarious
everyone in the group is suffering, so the one who is in peril doesn't know they're going through it more than everyone else. yes, the heat is making them dizzy and nauseous and crampy and headachey, but they're all hot. every time they're asked if they're okay, they complain, but they don't know it's worse than anyone else's distress, and neither does anyone else.
So, I think most people know that if a person actually passes out from blood loss, they're pretty much fucked. BUT the trope of revealing a bleeding wound and then collapsing is super fucking fun.
So I was thinking about ways to keep that trope in without totally sacrificing any degree of realism -- especially if your characters are far from medical treatment and/or don't have modern tech or magic to help them out.
I also think it's fun if the team / caretaker panics because whumpee passed out, assuming they're much closer to death than they already are. Maybe they find whumpee passed out, covered in blood, and assume the worst, only to be hit with an intense wave of relief when they discover whumpee's still breathing (albeit barely).
So, here's a list of reasons for your injured whumpee to pass out that aren't strictly blood loss. (Of course, blood loss absolutely takes a toll on the body and is definitely a compounding factor leading up to the collapse.)
Adrenaline crash. Whumpee is finally out of battle and they're just fucking exhausted. They realize they're finally safe and they just crumple.
Exhaustion. Maybe whumpee has been running or walking for miles, trying to find safety. Their wound has been slowly bleeding the whole time. Eventually, they just can't keep going, and their legs give out. They promise themself they'll only rest for a moment or two, but then their eyes are closing and sleep takes them.
Sight of blood / panic. Whumpee's seen blood before, sure. But not that much. They didn't even know a person could have that much blood. Where the fuck is it even coming from? Oh. Shit. Me. Alternatively, whumpee has been pretty sheltered up to this point, and this is their first time in combat. They've never seen this much death and blood and gore.
Illness. Maybe whumpee's wounds are infected. Maybe they were already sick but had to fight anyways (or maybe they lied to the rest of the team about their health in order to be allowed to fight). The stress of combat plus the injury is too much for their already weakened body.
Poison. Maybe the blade that stabbed them was coated in something nasty. Makes for a fun reveal when the team/caretaker has treated the wound but whumpee is only getting worse. Also provides a fun sense of urgency if whumpee knows they've been poisoned, and needs to make it to the one person they trust / know can treat it. (Do they make it to the door and collapse in caretaker's arms? Do they collapse on the way? Do they not even make it out of their own room?)
(This one is particularly good for assassinations. "I'm not sure which will kill you first: The blood loss or the poison. Unfortunately, I can't stick around to find out.")
Drugs. Maybe whumpee is being hunted for some reason. Someone wants them, and doesn't want them able to fight back. So they've been drugged, tranquilized so they're easy to capture. Maybe they black out and wake up neatly bandaged, flooded with relief, only to realize they're chained to the bed.
OR, maybe they've been found by the team, but they're resisting treatment and have to be drugged for their own good. Are they trying to go out and find their friend/lover? Are they delirious and unable to tell friend from foe? Have they been brainwashed or conditioned to fear their former team?
when you die, all the processes in your body slow down and come to a halt before starting to decay. which means if you were to revive someone from the dead, necromancer-style, you'd potentially have to kickstart their entire system back up from a state of inertia. which means it almost certainly would not be pretty. i'm talking coughing up clots of blood, nauseatingly intense migraines and muscle cramps, and all the sensory overload that would come with firing up the body's engines from frozen cold to fully functioning all guns blazing in the matter of seconds it takes to cast a resurrection spell.
hope you all got your beloved ones some demonic nice flowers (if they're not allergic!) or treated them with homemade sweets (coco cacao brownies are good, i heard)
why not celebrate this day with a nice v-day fic!
💕wanna be with you everywhere💕
by moonyinpisces, aglaophonos with art from p_lumbum aka me!
HIII I just wanted to say I found myself reading some sickfics and round you on the reblogs and when I hovered my mouse over your profile saw some Good Omens pictures. So I went into your blog and saw that it is one of your fandoms <3 I know the dabble request post was from some time ago but I was wondering if you would like to do one for Crowley and any illness whump prompt you like, maybe throw some fever in there, anything you like :] I hope you're doing well <3
- A lizard with a red beanie 🦎💖
Hi, lizard!! You have NO idea how excited I was when I opened my inbox and saw a prompt. Sorry it took a while, but please, send me more if you want!! It keeps me motivated.
Anyway, here you go! It's very loosely based on a moment I had with my partner recently. Hope you like <3
It was quite a typical day, really. A lovely, domestic day.
It was mid December, and Crowley had set out quite early to meet with his angel. He bundled up to deter the brisk, London chill, sternly told his plants not to even think about dropping leaves from the cold snap, and sauntered out the door to his Bentley.
Aziraphale was already outside and locking the shop when the demon swerved (you could barely call it parking) onto the curb. Crowley slid out of the seat and slammed the door shut, his eyes already trained on the angel. He let out a soft laugh, rounding the car with a smile on his face.
Aziraphale was wearing a lovely tan winter coat, a scarf meticulously tucked into the lapels and fluffed high enough to warm his nose. He wore brown leather gloves, which Crowley noticed as he waved at him with a bright smile. What had Crowley completely amused, however, were the puffy, cream-colored earmuffs displacing his curls.
“Good morning, dear!” Aziraphale beamed, tucking his keys into his pockets.
“Mornin’, angel,” Crowley smiled softly. Aziraphale stepped down off of the front step, walking up to the demon.
“I thought we’d walk today, if you’d like,” Aziraphale said, effectively stopping Crowley in his tracks from opening the passenger door for him. Crowley slid his fingers off of the handle, shrugging.
“Don’t mind it. Sounds lovely.” He held out his elbow. “Coffee first, I assume?” The angel smiled warmly at the offer, and Crowley’s heart fluttered.
“Of course,” he said, looping his arm with Crowley’s. “Will you be warm enough, dear? You’ve barely bundled up.”
Crowley wore his usual turtleneck, and he was donning a stylish, black peacoat over it that certainly wasn’t made to be particularly warm. He had lazily tossed on a skinny, black scarf that didn’t even cover his neck properly, but had, at least, taken the time to slip on a pair of black, leather gloves. Silly to put fashion first, really, seeing as he was more susceptible to the cold than Aziraphale. He, of course, didn’t care.
“Not too worried about it, Angel,” he hummed, guiding them across the street towards ‘Give me Coffee or Give me Death.’ “I’m desperate for an espresso, though.”
—
They spent the better part of the day out. After coffee, Crowley trailed closely after Aziraphale as he stopped to visit some local shops and shopkeepers he had been meaning to catch up with before heading down to the park.
It always amazed Crowley how after 6000 years together, they never ran out of things to talk about. Aziraphale would always come up with something, and it felt easy for Crowley to talk to him. Even if it was just a gentle hum, Aziraphale knew he was listening. And their silences, when they did occur, were comfortable.
Which is why, amidst their short walk in the park, Aziraphale felt a pang of worry when the silence that greeted his last comment was most certainly not comfortable.
“Crowley, dear, did you hear me?”
“Hn, wha?” He pulled his eyes away from the path in front of him. “Sorry, angel. Got a bit distracted. What were you saying?”
“I was– well, I don’t remember. Nevermind that anyway. Are you alright, dear?”
“M’ fine, angel,” he said.
If Crowley was entirely honest, he wasn’t feeling exactly well. If he was quite honest, he hadn’t felt exactly well all day. He just felt wrong enough to notice, but couldn’t quite place it.
Now, he felt achy and exhausted. His head was throbbing, prickling in his jaw and against his forehead. He found it hard to think, his mind foggy and miles away.
“You’re shivering, dear.”
It had started snowing. Crowley was busy staring at the delicate snowflakes collecting in Aziraphale’s curls.
“Am I?”
“Perhaps we should head back to the shop. I can put a fire on, and make you a nice hot toddy.”
Crowley smiled.
“Sounds lovely.”
—
Eleven minutes and 38 seconds later had Crowley feeling significantly worse.
Snow had begun to stick to the ground, and Aziraphale was quite excited about it. They had lapsed into the Medium (capital letter intentional) kind of silence. The kind where Aziraphale would offer musings and comments, and Crowley would occasionally offer acknowledging hums. He was really struggling to do that much now, it seemed, as they continued to tread the familiar path home.
Crowley had begun to feel fuzzy. His face and arms had started to tingle, but not from the cold. It had become even harder to concentrate, and he felt as though everything around him was covered in a layer of thickness that made it hard to hear and see. His head pounded, his body ached, and some sort of acrobatic creature had made a home in his stomach and named itself ‘Queasy.’
Needless to say, he was quite excited to be back at the bookshop so he could promptly sit down.
“Oh, do you mind if we stop, dear?”
Crowley froze, looking towards the Mini Mart Aziraphale was stood in front of.
Damn.
“I’d like to try and make those pastries for us again.” He wasn’t, unfortunately, very good at baking despite how much he loved food. “I’m just missing one thing. Oh! And, they have that lovely Bordeaux.”
“Anything you want, angel,” Crowley said, stamping down the wave of Unwell that fell heavy on his shoulders as he moved to hold the door open. Aziraphale smiled brightly, thanking the demon as they entered.
He was quiet as Aziraphale puttered about, having produced a grocery bag from who knows where, muttering to himself as he looked for the wine he wanted. Crowley stood behind him, reaching over Aziraphale’s shoulder to grab the neck of the Bordeaux and pulled it off the shelf to hold in front of him.
“S’ this what you were looking for, ‘ngel?”
“Oh, yes, dear!” He said, taking the bottle out of the demon's hand. He looked over his shoulder and up towards him. “Thank you– oh my. Are you quite alright?”
He must look as bad as he felt.
Crowley had found a name for that odd, fuzzy, thick and far away feeling. He had been lightheaded. And now, lightheaded had graduated to dizzy. And his lovely new friend ‘Queasy’ seemed to have changed its name to ‘Nausea.’
“M’ fine,” he breathed, the words almost a pant. Even he had to admit that he most certainly did not sound fine. “Wha- uh, what else d’you need?”
“I needed some mo- oh, nevermind that! Are you sure you’re alright? You’ve gone quite pale.” Aziraphale had fully turned around now, wine bottle still in hand.
All the color had drained from Crowley’s face, but a pink flush remained high on his cheeks.
“Yeh,” Crowley swallowed thickly, reaching a hand up to tug at his scarf. “S’ just kinda hot.”
“Hot?” Aziraphale gaped. “Crowley, it’s barely warm in here. It’s still quite cold.”
“Wot!? S’ hot, ‘ngel.” It was practically a whine, because Aziraphale was insane. It was far too hot. In fact, it was boiling.
Crowley yanked his scarf off and started fumbling with his gloves, desperately trying to get them off. Satan, his hands weren’t working– they weren’t doing what he was bloody telling them to!
“Crowley-!” Aziraphale started, haphazardly abandoning the wine back onto the shelf. He wasted no time in reaching for the demon’s hands, peeling the gloves off with ease. “There. Is that better, love?”
Crowley practically whined, already shakily trying to unbutton his coat and shimmy out of it. He couldn’t even get past the first button, his fingers far too stiff and unwilling.
Aziraphale was quick to replace Crowley’s hands with his own, swiftly unbuttoning and sliding the coat off for him. He was far too aware of how heavy Crowley was breathing, so Aziraphale simply dropped the winter garments onto the store floor in favor of grasping Crowley’s shoulders with both hands.
“My dear, please tell me what’s wrong,” Aziraphale pleaded, worry pinching at his brow.
Crowley’s head was absolutely spinning, and stars had begun to dot his vision. He worked his jaw, trying to respond to his angel. The words were stuck, sloppy. Everything felt a few seconds behind.
“Um,’ he ground out, trying to blink the stars away. It was damned hard to explain what was going on when he barely knew himself. “Dizzy.” As if to punctuate his success in speaking, his knees decided to buckle beneath him.
Aziraphale gasped, a swear on the tip of his tongue as Crowley slumped forward into his arms. The angel quickly caught him before he could fall any further, lowering them both to the ground.
“Crowley!” he cried, his hands ghosting over the demon. He really didn’t like how pale Crowley had gone, nor how limp he was in his hold.
Crowley groaned quite pathetically, chin bobbing against his chest. His eyelids fluttered as he struggled to keep them open against the harsh fluorescent lights of the shop– the shop which had, apparently, decided to turn into a carousel ride.
Aziraphale slowly laid him back against the shelf they were in front of. He leaned close, lifting a hand to gently cup Crowley’s cheek. Just as soon as it had touched, Aziraphale’s eyes shot wide, a gasp soft on his lips. He slid his hand up to his forehead, brushing against tufts of red hair as he did.
“Oh, my,” he sighed, pulling his hand away. He didn’t miss how Crowley faltered at the loss of contact. “You’re burning up.”
“Wha- huh?” Crowley mumbled, trying again to lift his chin and look at his angel.
“You have a fever, dear,” he murmured. That darling pink on his cheeks wasn’t from the cold, it seemed.
“Ah,” was all Crowley said. It made sense now that he put the pieces together, but he was too hazy to think about it much more than that. He thought that perhaps he had forgotten his brain somewhere in the park, or dropped it along their stroll. All he knew was that he certainly didn’t seem to have it now.
“Why didn’t you tell me you weren’t feeling well?”
“Don’t–” his tongue felt thick. He paused to swallow. “Don’t think I knew.” His stomach climbed into his throat, and he dropped his head again. “Guh,” he said.
Aziraphale sighed and moved his hand to Crowley’s back. He rubbed soft circles there, guiding him just a little farther forward.
“You silly old serpent,” he sighed. “That’s it, there you are, now– head between your knees.”
They stayed that way for a few quiet moments. All they heard was the muted bustling of evening shoppers and the hum of fluorescents around them. Whether by coincidence or by miracle, no one else was shopping for wine that night.
Another moment passed, and Crowley slowly lifted his heavy head. Aziraphale cupped his chin.
“Any better, dear?”
“Ngk.”
“Good. Can you stand, then?”
“... Think ssso.”
Aziraphale hummed approvingly. He picked up the scarf and gloves, tucking them into the grocery bag. Then the coat, which he loosely draped over Crowley's shoulders so as to not overheat him again.
“Let’s get you home, shall we?” He stood, carefully guiding Crowley to his feet. When he swayed, Azirapahle looped his arm around him.
“M’ sssorry, ‘ngel,” he slurred, leaning heavily into Aziraphale’s side.
“Whatever for?”
“All this,” he groaned, feeling ridiculously weak as Aziraphale carefully led them back outside. The cold air hit Crowley’s face, and he sighed– a mix of relief for the cooling of his fevered skin and exasperation at his own damned corporation. “I– ngh. M’ a demon. I sh–”
“Oh, pish posh.”
“Pish posh?” Crowley said, brows raised.
“Yes!” Aziraphale said. “You may be a demon, but you’re not just any demon. You’re my–” His face flushed. “Ahem. Yes, well. There’s nothing wrong with needing a little help from a– a friend. Demon or not. And I can’t help if you're too stubborn to let me, let alone tell me.”
“You don’t have to do anything, angel.”
“I want to,” he huffed. “I want to help you, Crowley. Not to mention, I really doubt you would take care of yourself. Not that you can’t– just that you won’t– I– I just. That is–” Aziraphale sighed, a soft frown on his lips.
They had, at some point, stopped walking. Crowley could just see the bookshop across the street over Aziraphale’s shoulder.
“Please, let me do this for you. Forgot how stubborn you are for one night, even if it feels rather silly.” Aziraphale said. He was looking very intently into Crowley’s eyes. “I’ll take care of you.”
“... I really didn’t realize.” Crowley looked as though he had been scolded and then kicked for good measure. Aziraphale softened completely.
“I know, dear.” They started walking again.
A few agonizingly slow, yet surprisingly quick moments had passed before they found themselves at the bookshop’s front door.
“Right,” Aziraphale said, keeping one hand firm on Crowley's waist as he fished his keys from his pocket with the other. “I think it’s about time we get you inside, don’t you?”
Crowley said nothing, his mind still miles away. He was staring at Aziraphale, he realized slowly, and had to force his aching eyes to close. Aziraphale frowned, softly pushing the door open and guiding the demon inside.
“You really don’t feel well, do you, dear?” Aziraphale said, helping Crowley to sit on the loveseat. He pulled the coat from Crowley’s shoulders, draping it on the nearby armchair.
“I–” He was about to go on, say that he was fine, because, really, this wasn’t the worst he’d felt. But, the words died as Aziraphale reached up and gently slid Crowley’s sunglasses off of his nose. He looked into his eyes, his fingers lingering against Crowley’s cheek. As it often did, it made Crowley forget everything.
“... No. Not really.”
Aziraphale sighed, that darling frown still ever present on his lips.
“That won’t do.”
“Suppose not,” Crowley smiled.
Aziraphale straightened back up, taking off his own winter garments.
“Alright. What do you say we get you changed and all wrapped up with a nice cup of tea?”
“Maybe some wine and–”
“I think not.”
Crowley couldn’t help but laugh, even if it came with a dull ache in his chest. He smiled fondly, finally allowing himself to surrender to his corporation. He slumped back into the cushions, letting out a graceful ‘ngk’ to accompany it. He looked up at his angel.
Heeeeeeeyyyyyyy! So it’s Swaggerbishie month right now! I didn’t actually have any plans to participate, but I ended up doodling some of the prompts after work as a de-stressor
Anyways, here’s the prompts I managed to finish:
1) Role Swap
2) College (set in mechanic AU if they end up together)
3) Wounds
4) Dogs (mechanic AU designs)
5&6) Soulmates (where your first touch leaves a mark)
7) Space (set in mechanic AU if they end up together wherein they live in different cities)
8) Apologies
Probably won’t do any other prompts so I’m posting them all together
a gentle “you don’t look well ..” trailing off into a “woah, hey, hey-“ as they lurch forward to steady, or perhaps catch, a most definitely sick character.
prim and proper dignified characters pale, sickly, weak on their feet. unbuttoning their collar, sweat-soaked hair, unsure footing and fluttery breaths. muttering a hesitant, "I don't... feel well."
Called the doctor’s office today just to be told the doctor called in sick, which has me thinking all sorts of thoughts about a sick doctor character…
• Doesn’t feel like they can call in because people have been waiting for months to see them and there’s no spaces for reschedules
• The fluorescent lighting is just awful for their headache, and the glow of their laptop screen hurts too
• Writing their patient a work excuse note and feeling jealous because all they want to do is for someone to tell them it’s okay to be in bed, too
• The patient keeps talking on and on, and the doctor’s eyelids are so heavy they can barely keep track of the long winded story. Eventually the patient says, “Are you even listening to me?”
• Having trouble hearing through their stethoscope because their own raspy breathing is too loud
• Breaking into the little packet of smelling salts they have in each room just to feel more awake
• A coworker’s cologne is setting them off and they can’t stop sneezing/coughing, which embarrassingly can be heard throughout all the halls of the clinic. Maybe one of their patients even comments that at least they’re not as poorly off as whoever it was choking up a lung in the hallway just now, assuming it was another patient
• Saying “excuse me” mid-exam to throw up, maybe because they saw/smelled something that usually they’re great at keeping face during (like a wound dressing change) but today it puts them over the edge
• Scolding a patient or coworker for not getting their flu shot only to realize mid-sentence that they somehow forgot their own
• Was going to call off but then learned everybody else did, too, and they’re not going to leave the whole clinic screwed
• The coworker who they may or may not have a thing for fussing over them, feeling their forehead, covering them so they can lie down in an exam room for just fifteen minutes
• When asking a patient to describe their own symptoms, they accidentally end up speaking about themselves: “For example, does it feel like someone made you swallow hot coals?”
• They’re moving so slowly that it’s putting the whole schedule behind, and the coworkers are getting annoyed because everything ultimately relies on their pace
• A kid who is being too noisy, or crying, or won’t stop misbehaving, and the doctor just has no patience for it today and gets so overstimulated
• Sneaking into an exam room to self-conciously take their own vitals, maybe to convince themself that it’s not that bad, and finding numbers that make them feel even worse
• Losing their voice and feeling so pathetic and useless because of it, having to rely on other people to communicate for them
• They/their hands are shaking so much that they’re having trouble accurately performing an exam/procedure. Or even more humiliating, the patient notices and requests someone else perform the task because they’re uncomfortable
• The patient asking, “Uh, are you okay Doc? You look like maybe you should be the one up here.”
• Their staff teasing them and calling them like they're the next patient to be seen
• Running themself a bag of fluids in a storage closet or with the bag shoved in their pocket as they keep working because they're so dehydrated but won't leave
• Getting caught in an awkward position with all their limbs everywhere because they're trying to take their own manual blood pressure (yes, it's possible) or listen to their own heart/lungs
• Someone ribbing on them saying they're just trying to drum up business with their cold. Maybe they're feeling so oversensitive that it makes them feel all guilty and cry
• Coworkers threatening to call a rapid response on their ass if they don't sit down and go home
• Getting yelled at for being incompetent by a superior who doesn't realize they're that ill - or maybe the superior does and just doesn't care
• Going to hand a sneezing patient a tissue only to sneeze violently into it themself
• Getting rained on on their way into the office, and they keep meaning to change their clothes or at least drink the to go cup of tea they brought but it’s so insanely busy the second they step inside that they never get the chance to do so
• Feeling so fucked when a patient is so blatantly contagious walks into their exam room
• Performing a vision exam only to realize they can't read the lines themself because they're so woozy
• Coming into a clinic they’re covering for another doc where nobody knows them in plain clothes and being mistaken for a patient or getting a “Please put on a mask” the second they walk in - they didn’t know they looked/sounded THAT bad
• Having such bad chills that they literally can’t get their words out or hide it; asking why it’s so goddamn cold in clinic and then realizing nobody else thinks it’s that cold
• Convinced they don’t need antibiotics to kick this because it’s probably viral and they have a complex about antibiotic overuse, only to find out that they really should’ve taken them
• Staff secretly calling the patients for the rest of the day to see if they can come earlier/reschedule so they can get their poor doc home sooner
• Getting on their knee to a pediatric patient’s level and finding it hard to get back up because they’re so dizzy
• A usually patient doc snapping at everybody who tiptoes around them and knows better than to comment on the crappy charts
• Their mentor doc shows up and when they ask what’s the occasion, being told “I’m here to take over for you” because it’s the only way they’ll go home, knowing someone else they trust is there to take over
• Grabbing an emesis basin off a patient table or from another employee’s hands in the hall who might be offended until they realize oh, wow you need that more than me
• Diagnosing themself with appendicitis but figuring if they finish this shift, it probably won’t burst before the end of it
• Telling patients to mask, maybe pretending it’s clinic policy but really it’s because there’s no way they’re not contagious
• When the whumpee is vomiting and hunched over the toilet, but uses one hand to point to the whumper, or to direct the whumper to get something that they need.
• When the whumpee is coughing so hard to the point of a gag reflex, that eventually leads to vomiting.
• When the whumpee vomits into their hands, cause prior they were already covering their mouth.
• When the whumpee throws up mid-sentence, like they were trying to keep talking or explaining whatever it was before they got sick.
• When a whumpee is trying to speak, but then just keeps gagging in between words.
• When a whumpee thinks they are done vomiting, but their body says otherwise and they continue puking…
• When the nausea builds for a long time. The dry swallowing, gulping, breaking into a cold sweat, and then finally hits hard.
→ Bonus for audible stomach gurgling.
• When the whumpee apologizes between heaves and retches.
→ “I’m sorry, I can’t-ugh-’m sorry…”
• When they’re feverish and confused, and don’t even realize they’re sick until they’re throwing up.
• When the whumpee gags just at the smell of food or something nearby, showing how raw their stomach is.
