Snz blog | I am don't share any personal identity information about yourself on the internet years old | Inbox is open for prompts both fic and art however they may be delayed due to my bad habit of getting distracted by shiny objects Ko-fi
sickie who is super insecure about being sick and looking and sounding gross x caretaker partner riddled with guilt at being so excited about getting to be the one to look after them in this state
I imagine this leads to constant misunderstandings where sickie assumes caretaker is acting shifty and making excuses to leave the room and flinching every time they sneeze because theyâre put off by sickie, when really theyâre trying to stay collected and not betray that theyâre hopelessly turned on.
Culminating in sickie sneezing unexpectedly and uncovered directly onto caretaker, who gasps at the sudden sensation. The sick character feels so disgusting and guilty, compounded by being exhausted and a bit feverish, that they just break down crying and apologizing for being sick. And the only way caretaker can calm them down is by confessing exactly why they donât find sickie disgusting.
someone who doesnât normally have big sneezes, catches a cold from their partner, which didnât cause them to have big sneezes, and yet the moment this cold takes hold they succumb to the biggest, most violent, forceful sneezes they have ever experienced. thank you.
When someone has a really bad cold or hayfever, and even when they're not sneezing, they look like they're about to. Eyebrows constantly pulling together, eyes narrowed with that vacant look coming and going, pink nostrils flaring/quivering, lips parted, upper lip slightly pulled up, showing a glimpse of teeth... they just look so, so sneezy, even as they go about their day.
And no wonder they look sneezy, their nose and sinuses are prickling and tickling nonstop... sometimes they tip over that tickly threshold and they sneeze. And they sneeze and sneeze. But every time they manage to stop sneezing, they still need to.
Iâve stared at the wall, watched the finale again, processed feelings, and made a decision: that ending went down like a lead balloon for me weâre writing fluff to cope.
An overcast day dawned over a cottage in South Downs where a former demon and a former angel were wrapped up together in a thick comforter to ward of the chill of the early morning air.
Surrounded by warmth both figurative and literal Crowley couldnât remember ever being so content.
If a bit itchy.
He buried his nose in the comforter as his breath hitched hard.
âHehhâĂSHHh! ESHHh! HuhâUSHhuh!â
âSalud.â Came the warm response from behind him and Crowley smiled.
Aziraphale could have used any of the other blessings they knew that, but this was familiar, it was theirs. Everything was from the collection of mismatched mugs in the kitchen to the mini art gallery of statues and books that made up their living room. They were an âusâ and it was wonderful.
âThanks.â
Aziraphale glanced up to the window where drops of rain were beginning to gather.
âI do hope it clears up later the neighbours invited us to watch the meteor shower tonight.â
Crowley hummed in agreement before bringing the blanket up again to catch another fit of sneezes.
âEhhâASHh! ESSUHHh! Huhh..AERSHHUUuh!â
âThough I must say if you keep that up we shanât be going anywhere.â
âYou say that like itâs a bad thing, Angel,â Crowley said, turning over, and cuddled in even closer. All the talking was taking away from his valuable nap time.
and as a prompt just something sweet with my babyboy Crowley, and some protective fussy Aziraphale, maybe a walk through the park!
and if you do it i pinky-promise you to make a drawing for it >:3c hehe
- A lizard with a red beanie đŠâ€ïž
Ohhh, ty for this adorable prompt! I hope you enjoy and please know I welcome any small art you might be inspired to create <3 <3
~ ~ ~
âShall we sit?â Aziraphale says and nods towards the park bench. âNow that itâs finally warm enough.âÂ
Crowley gives a shrug, but of course heâll agree. Whatever ability he had to say no to Aziraphale faded decades and years ago. Parks and museums and theatres and quaint tea shops, heâs found himself in all of them no matter how much he knows some part of his demon heart should persuade him to walk away.Â
âI suppose it is,â Crowley says and glances at the sky, then immediately regrets it when his eyes start to tear up despite his sunglasses.Â
âAfter all those days of chilly drizzle.â Aziraphale rests his hand at the small of Crowleyâs back, the touch light and brief, and Crowley feels something like sunlight flash through him.Â
That sensation is light and brief, too, and he knows heâll say yes to sitting in the park until sunset, and then dinner, and thenâ
He pauses mid-thought, first because letting that thought remain unfinished has a deliciousness to it, and second because he can feel the faint prickle behind his eyes that tells him they want to itch and water.Â
Springtime in England takes forever to arrive some years, but when it does, it does with such vengeance. Sun and rain most days, and the pollen. If he focuses his vision just right, Crowley can see how it crowds the air, and how the powdery scent diffuses through it.Â
Crowley squeezes his eyes shut to quell the itch, then shakes his head when Aziraphale makes a noise at him thatâs somehow both curious and worried already. His eyes go soft when Crowley shakes his head again, then sniffles, and Aziraphale looks ready to melt into more gentle touches and sunshine-warm moments.Â
âWe could go back to the bookshop. Oh, I do have a few fine bottles we havenât even thought about opening.â Aziraphale touches Crowleyâs elbow at another sniffle.Â
âYou spend enough t-timeââ Crowley pauses, breathy and uncertain, and this time when he squeezes his eyes shut, he angles away from Aziraphale. âuhhh.. hXTch!âÂ
âOh⊠already?â Aziraphale says, as if he hasnât seen this coming for the past hour or so.Â
Crowley casts him a sidelong glance in reply, not able to say anything with the itch now crowding behind his eyes and sinuses. Heâs going to sneeze again and itâs taking all his willpower to not cascade into a dozen at a time.Â
âhhâGXtchh!â He does let himself sneeze once more, then shudders a little at how very much the tree pollen itches. Not just his sinuses and his eyes, but for a moment, his whole head seems to ring with the desperate urge to sneeze and sneeze.Â
âThere, dear,â Aziraphale murmurs and touches Crowleyâs elbow again, guiding him to sit down. He hesitates a moment before sitting himself and rests his hand on Crowleyâs leg.Â
Something inside Crowley shifts, something well-worn and older than days and decades, and he canât help but sigh a little. He rubs at his nose once, and then again, more firmly, and is about to rub his eyes when he snaps aside.Â
âuhhEISHHâhh! huhhESHâoo!â The sneezes tumble out and Crowley blinks away the itch and tears from his eyes, almost surprised by how good that felt.Â
Aziraphale's hand tightens on Crowleyâs leg and Crowley just leans right into him. Heâll be a mess all evening, if he lets himself, and now he suspects that he will.Â
âI donât know how you still manage to fuss,â Crowley says.Â
âIâm not,â Aziraphale replies. âBut I will,â he adds.Â
We're having feelings...we're going to take some time to think about those feelings...
Spoilers below
Because there is a lot of stuff where you can see where the original six episode length should be and would help a lot of it feel less rushed and where potentially a lot of fic both fix-it and otherwise could live. The ending fits in a lot of ways and is emotionally unsatisfying in the other ways because we essentially end with whole new characters we haven't been following which I hate, but it also gives us essentially a HumanAU quite literally and those can be fun if they weren't we wouldn't write so many ourselves.
It's a lot and I know I'm going to pulling the WIP folder out to deal with it especially one fic that I was hoping to have done before the finale that kind of isn't debunked by it fully so I'm looking forward to diving back into that, and probably doing things with other characters because I missed Gabriel and the Wickber street gang and I want to explore Miracleless!Crowley in all forms and how that even works and ugh!
I don't know if I love or hate this ending yet I need time
Imagining a sick character coming up to their friend/partner and, rather than announcing that they're sick, simply leaning against them like a cat. Cue the other's exclamation of "wow, you feel warm," and the sickie mumbling "I know" into their shoulder. Bonus points if they're not usually this touchy feely.
currently being a freak about the words 'nursing a cold'
the image in my mind when i read/hear that is so cute and hot
either 1: someone at a counter top or table/desk of some sort with tissues in one hand and their head resting in the other. They've got some warm drink beside them and the box of tissues not far, wearing an oversized jacket while they try to get work done
or 2: someone laid up in bed/ on the couch, tissue box at their side, poor thing is wrapped up in a blanket. Thermometer either in their mouth or on a coffee table/nightstand. A wad of tissues carefully pressed to their nose, cold medicine, decongestants and vics either on the stand or on their bed. More tissues scattered around their bed
just any sign they're trying to take care of themselves even if they're busy
For Fever feb: 9, 12 or 16 for wat//son? (Or a combo of the three if you feel really inspired?) Whichever version of the sher//lock canon you like the most, i know there's like million adaptations lol
idk what version of sherlock this is, probably closest to the og lol but I hope you like it <3
Sherlock Holmes had spent long years working alone. It had been optimal, efficient, a perfectly adequate way to conduct his investigations. And then John Watson had come along and Sherlock had no need for working alone ever again.
The current case had taken them away from their cozy flat on Baker Street and had them tromping around the rainy hillsides more than an hour outside of London.
Cases so far flung were hardly a normal occurrence, but this particular case had piqued Sherlockâs interest, which had been rather dim as of late.
Sherlock strode down the gravel path, long legs covering more ground than his speed would assume.
Watson wasnât lagging necessarily but he also couldnât stop to admire the tiny flowers that grew out of the cracks in the stone wall along the path either, not if he wanted to keep up with Sherlock both physically and mentally.
âThe clues are aligning, Watson,â Sherlock said, having recounted much of their investigation as they walked so that Watson could review his notes and make sure everything was in order.
âIâm glad to hear it, Holmes,â Watson said, tucking his little notebook safely away as the mist around them grew thicker. Watson wasnât sure if he could really call it a mist at all now, more like being in the middle of a raincloud with the way he could feel cold droplets stinging his face. Holmes, however, seemed unaffected by the weather, same as he had been all week.
Watson envied him, not for the first time, though the reasoning for the envying was not always the same. This week in particular it did tend to revolve around Holmesâ resilience to the damp and the cold. It didnât seem to bother the man at all. Not when they were out in the soup and not when they got back to their rented room.
It seems to roll off Holmeâs back like the proverbial duck. Watson regretfully was stuck feeling damp and clammy and chilled at the end of each day, unable to fully warm himself no matter how long he sat in front of the fire.
He couldnât wait for Holmes to solve the case so that they could return to their own brand of fog, and not this rain thicken wool the pastoral fields seemed determined to be drenched in. He also couldnât wait to hear what the solution to this case was, as his own mind was sluggishly refusing to connect any dots whatsoever.
âAre you listening at all Watson?â Sherlock frowned, stopping to allow his companion to catch up, as Watson had fallen more than a few steps behind.
âOf course, Holmes,â Watson replied and then quickly reversed as Holmes raised an eyebrow at him and glanced pointedly at Watsonâs empty hands. Ah, there had been more notetaking to be done apparently.
âI may have been admiring the stone wall,â Watson countered, somewhat feebly. âItâs very impressive craftsmanship.â
âWeâre not here for walls,â Sherlock said, glancing at the wall anyway, as though it would tell him a secret. âYou must pay attention to the case at hand.â
Watson nodded. âOf course.â He fumbled with his pockets to retrieve his notebook. âPerhaps we could finish our notetaking indoorsâŠâ He could feel the damp seeping into the paper as he tried to turn to a new page.
Holmes huffed a small laugh. âWhen we have access to such invigorating weather?â
Watson grumbled nondistinctly. But he also finally got a fresh page and readied his pen. When no dictating occurred he glanced up to find Holmes regarding him.
âYouâre a bit out of sorts today, Watson,â Holmes observed. âFor a few days, though I had hoped it would have resolved without mention.â
Watson huffed, less humorously than Holmes. âMearly a distaste for the weather, my good man.â
He felt pinned, like a taxidermy butterfly, under Holmesâ sharp gaze.
Holmes took a step closer and reached out then, too quickly for Watson to even flinch, and laid his hand upon Watsonâs brow. âAs I suspected,â he said after a moment.
âWhat could you possibly have suspected?â Watson frowned, still too stunned to think about moving out from Holmesâ touch.
âYouâre fevered.â
Watson huffed again. âRidiculous.â He still didnât move from under Holmesâ touch, which now pressed against his cheek. âI am a doctor you know, I think I would be well aware of being unwell.â
âSometimes the best of us are blind to personal hardships,â Holmes replied, finally pulling his hand back. âYouâve been irritable and chilled. I had assumed it was simply the change in location putting you off, but it seems that thereâs a more biological failing.â
Watson puffed up. âThere is no biological failing.â
âNow now, Watson, no need to get worked up.â He placed a hand on Watsonâs shoulder. âIts obvious that youâve been having trouble keeping up with the logistics of this case and now we have a reason for it.â
Watson gaped at him. âIâve been keeping up perfectly well!â He knew this was a lie but blast it if Holmes was going to insult him like this.
âMy dear Watson,â Sherlock said, patiently and indulgently. âIâm afraid youâre simply of no use to me in your current state. I must insist that you head back to our lodgings and take a rest.â
âYouâre sending me away? When weâre so close?â How could Holmes deny him the conclusion of the case? For a simple raised temperature that Watson wasnât fully convinced he even had.
âFor your own well being, since you seem disinclined to care for yourself.â Holmes gave his shoulder a pat. âThere will be plenty of other cases. Once youâre well again.â
âYou need me,â Watson insisted.
Holmes turned from him then, not cruelly but with an air of gentle finality. âIâve solved plenty of cases on my own.â
Then he took off down the path again, leaving Watson to stare after him.
Watson supposed he could just hurry to catch up, pretend like the entire conversation hadnât happened, ignore Holmesâ diagnosis, and ignore Holmes possibly ignoring him, or worse, finding someone to escort him forcefully back to their room like a disobedient child.
He shivered, feeling the fog close around him, damp and unyielding. It felt as though it reached straight through and wrapped around his bones. A small part of him whispered that perhaps Holmes was correct, that his chills and malaise and irritation at this perplexing case was due to an unacknowledged ailment.
There was nothing to be done about it now, except head back to their room. Holmes had dismissed him. Found him useless. And perhaps he was.
Watson dragged himself back to the small cottage they were renting the room. Along the way his quiet resignation at being discarded had turned into a somewhat reluctant acceptance of possible illness. WIth each step he felt himself grow heavier, like the damp was filling him up inside. He shivered as he opened the door and nodded to their host, making an excuse about having a bit of a break while Holmes went adventuring.
He heaved himself up the stairs, each more difficult than the last, until he reached the top and then sighed at the expanse of hallway to reach their room. It seemed as though the distance grew each time they retired.
Watson finally made it through the door and started to peel his clothing before he even fully shut it behind him. He draped his clothes around the room so that they could fully dry and stood trembling in front of the fire. He considered that perhaps this wasnât the actions of a well man, but he had no way of proving it. He hadnât thought to bring his medical kit with him on this excursion. Something heâll remember for next time.
Holmes had mentioned having a rest. Bed. He could have a small lie down. Just until he was warm again. And then he could go back to Holmes. That would certainly be enough time for the other man to realize how essential Watson now was to him.
Watson slipped under the covers, curling into a tight ball at how cool they were against his still damp skin. Just a small lie down.
He tried to settle. To rest as he was instructed.
Like a child. Sent to bed without his supper for failing to live up to expectations.
Watson pressed his face against the pillow. The pillow was warm. He turned, flipping to his other side, but the pillow was warm against this cheek as well. He turned the pillow over. Just as warm.
He couldnât find a comfortable spot. His mind whirled. Replaying Holmes walking away from him over and over. He still trembled, but he was also too warm, too consumed with the thought of Holmes on his own.
Watson twisted under the covers and then stared at the ceiling.
Eventually, he dozed off. He must have, for he jolted awake at the creak of the door. âHolmes?â he mumbled.
âAh, afraid not, sir,â a manâs voice cut through Watsonâs personal fog.
Watson raised up on his elbow, squinting at the timid intruder. A local they had met on the first day, very willing to help.
âMr. Holmes sent me to make sure you were resting. He regrets he couldnât come himself.â The man peers at Watson. âAre you resting sir?â
âI was.â Watson scrubbed a hand across his face with a clipped sigh. It would do no good to be cross with this man. âHas Mr. Holmes finished his investigation?â
The man twisted his hand in his hands. âNot yet, but it feels as though he is close. He said that if you asked to tell you not to worry, to continue your rest, heâll return when heâs finished.â
Watson nodded. âI see. Where is he now?â
âMrs. Bursburyâs home, sir.â
âWell,â Watson sniffed sharply. âYouâve done your errand.â
The man, feeling the cold dismissal for what it was, slipped quickly out the door, shutting it softly.
The Burnsbury home wasnât too far. A mere few minutes walk.
Watson threw back the covers and sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. The room tilted before settling. Watson chose to ignore that. He also chose to ignore the way his legs felt made of jelly before he forced them to surely take his weight.
He was a grown man. Partnered with another grown man. There was no reason to be put away like a frothing pony.
Watson dressed with only a few minor incidences of lightheadedness. He had rested, he told himself, a quiet mantra that kept him from giving into the exhausting that threatened to fall over him.
The trip downstairs was easier than the trip up and the success buoyed Watsonâs resolve to finish the case with Holmes, whether Holmes wanted him there or not.
It, perhaps, took more than a mere few minutes for Watson to make his way to the Burnsbury home. But he made it. Wheezing, a bit short of breath, sweat dotting his forehead while chills raced down his spine.
He stopped at the gate, adjusting himself to make sure he was presentable. He readied himself to knock (lightly so as to not disrupt any resolutions) when the door opened, revealing Holmes saying his goodbyes to the local authorities.
âWe could have never solved it without you, Mr Holmes,â the local constable said as Holmes made his way outside.
âIâm sure you would have eventually discovered the true culprit," Holmes assured the man, solicitously.
Watson deflated. Holmes had solved the case without him. With no need for him. Perhaps even hindered by Watson and his inability to not become fevered and chilled by a change in the weather.
He turned to make his way back. He was meant to be resting after all.
âWatson?â Holmesâ voice rang out and within moments a hand was gripping Watsonâs shoulder, turning him. âGoodness man, what are you doing here?â
Holmes sounded so worried. Watson blinked at him dumbly. âIâŠâ He stopped. Sighed. âI thought perhaps you would need me after all.â It sounded so silly now.
Holmes placed a hand across Watsonâs forehead again, and then down his cheek, and finally cupped around the nape of his neck.
âI wonât lie, Watson, I believe it would have been much easier with you by my side.â He then wrapped an arm around Watsonâs shoulder, guiding him down the lane. âI missed your steady presence quite acutely.â
âOh,â Watson said.
Holmes held him steady as they walked, taking more of Watsonâs weight as they went. âI used to do all my cases alone,â Holmes continued, much like he was musing to himself out loud, working through unfamiliar thoughts. âAnd I thought, perhaps, with you indisposed, I would fall back into the habit without a stumble.â
Watson kept his eyes on the ground, not trusting his feet. Yet he also kept his ears on Holmes.
âBut I found myself turning to your empty space time and time again.â Holmes was quiet for a moment. âI apologize for not noticing you were unwell earlier. So that we could take a day, get you well, and we could finish the case together.â
Watson wasnât sure what to say. âI didnât notice either,â he landed on, though that doesnât feel entirely correct to say.
âWeâll have to be more watchful in the future,â Holmes answered.
The climb to their room didnât seem nearly as arduous this time. Not with Holmes at Watsonâs side, keeping him steady.
Holmes continued his firm support once they were in their room. He helped Watson out of his clothing and found sleepwear for him, which was more than what Watson had done for himself. And then he guided Watson to bed, somehow managing to make Watsonâs body relax into the mattress when hours before it had seemed impossible.
âHave you eaten?â Holmes asked softly, perching on the edge of the bed, ready to pop back up at a moment's notice of Watson needing something.
Watson shook his head. Truthfully he didnât feel like eating, but Holmes had a look about him. Intense, with perhaps a hint of desperation.
âYou donât have to do anything, Holmes,â Watson attempted to assure him. âYou told me to rest, so thatâs all I need right now.â
Holmes looked wounded, as though Watson had struck him. Though he did try to cover the reaction up. He glanced around the room instead of looking at Watson.
âI would like to,â he said, voice thick. âI wanted to ever since I sent you off on your own. If the resolution of the case hadnât been time sensitiveâŠâ
He trailed off. âPlease, Watson. Allow me to care for you. As I should have.â He looked at Watson then and the naked hope in his eyes prohibited Watson from saying anything but âof courseâ.
Holmes relaxed then, fussing with the blankets and pressing his hand against Watsonâs forehead once more. âDo you need another blanket? You were shivering while outside.â
Watson shook his head. âNot now,â he said, allowing a slight smile to settle across his lips. âPerhaps later, when it gets cooler outside.â
Holmes nods. âThe fire will be kept up then, as well,â he mused. âIâm going to get you something to eat. And a cool cloth for your forehead.â
He wouldnât have guessed that this was how the day would end, but now he wouldnât have it any other way if all the upset would lead to Holmesâ full attention and care. Such an odd and novel thing that Watson would have never even hoped to be the focus of.
They stay for another three days, making sure, on Holmesâ insistence, that Watson was more than recovered before traveling.
Alright so I don't know if this is still a thing since the person putting this together's account is deactivated, but I figured I'd still post this. Just to spread around bit of holiday cheer.
@vibing-lizard-nose I'm your Secret Santa, I hope this fic is all that you dreamed of and more! Merry Christmas!!!
~
Lightning flashed outside, lighting up the dim bookshop with light as rain pelted against the glass, like the weather was a beast trying to claw its way inside.
A perfect night to curl up with a good book and a cup of cocoa.
Thatâs what Aziraphale thought at least, but he couldnât help but occasionally glance at the window anxiously. A certain demon occupying his thoughts.
He tried to squash the nervous feelings, attempting to focus on his book.
That lasted all a minute before he heard the front door to his shop swing open, the bell above it tinkling softly.
âIâm sorry, Iâm afraid weâre closed,â Aziraphale said, despite knowing who an unlikely guest at this hour meant. He was ashamed at the flutter of anticipation in his chest.
âItâs just me, Angel!â Crowley called out as he heard the demons' smooth footsteps as he sauntered to the backroom.
âAh, there you are, Angel.â He still said, acting as if he didnât know exactly where his angel was tucked away. He was carrying a bottle of red wine, and with a snap of his fingers, a pair of glasses appeared on Aziraphale's side table.
Aziraphale couldnât help the flutter he felt in his chest at the gesture.
âLong day, I take it?â The Angel questions as he lazily watches the demon pour a generous amount of liquid into each glass.
âYou have no idea,â Crowley grumbled, without elaboration, draping himself across Aziraphaleâs couch with a deep sigh.
Aziraphale frowned. He couldnât put his finger on it, but something soundedâŠoff about Crowleyâs voice.
He blamed it on nerves, taking a languid sip of his wine.
The two of them didnât talk much, but the angel found that he didnât mind. Happy to just enjoy each other's company, besides, he was sure things would change once the demon had a couple of glasses in him.
Azirphale let his eyes skim over the pages in his book, so deeply focused that he almost missed the small gasp from his companion.Â
He lifted his gaze, sure that Crowley was preparing himself for a long-winded speech of all the complaints of his day.
 âIhhHK-!hnNGKSSHHh!!â
âGoodness, bless you!â Aziraphaled said, wincing as he recognized the consequences of his words almost immediately as Crowleyâs nose scrunched up.
âHhh⊠Aâahuhh-angelâ hHHRRZZSCHHHâHUE!! HhNgktsCHHâIHHWw! HhdtsHHIHww!!â
Crowley snapped forward, barely covering, a true testament to how tipsy he was already feeling, only managing to half stifle the last one. He snuffled thickly, knuckling his nose roughly.
At least the angel had managed to resist the urge to bless Crowley this time, at least.
Azirphale stared at him, considering for the first time tonight that the lack of conversation this evening might not entirely be due to a bad day.
âPardon my asking, but are you feeling alright, love?â He asked, face heating up as he took note that heâd reflexively added a bit of endearment on the end of his question.
âIâm fine, itâs just been a fucking shit day.â Crowley snuffled, voice flooding with congestion as he realized thatâs why the demonâs voice sounded off to him earlier.
Aziraphale continued to stare at Crowley, noticing something else.
âGood Hevanâs Crowley, youâre soaking wet!â He exclaimed, leaping to his feet to find a towel or something to dry the sopping wet demon lounging on his couch.
âYeah, soâŠitâs just a bit of water.â The demon said with a bit of tilt to his head, like he didnât understand why it was such a big deal, âIf youâre worried about the upholstery, I can always get you a new one.â
âDamn the upholstery, Crowley, you must be chilled to the bone, no wonder you're sneezing.â Azirphale cursed, snapping his fingers, and in the blink of an eye, Crowley was wearing tartan colored pajamas.
âDonât you think this is a bit overkill, Angel?â Crowley snorted, regretting the actions as his nose scrunched up, his nostrils fluttering.
âHIHâZSHHHâssshhh-uhâ
âIâm afraid you may have answered that question for me, love.â Aziraphale chuckled, a matching blanket appearing in the blink of an eye as he draped it over Crowley. Not missing the way, the demon nuzzled underneath it.
âNow I believe you were about to tell me about this miserable day of yours?â Azirphale asked, settling back into his chair, book long forgotten.
âUgh, it was fucking dreadful!â Crowley growled.
Azirphale smiled, watching the demon launch into an animated explanation of his work day. He couldnât imagine a better way to spend a rainy day.
Feveruary is a sickfic event with a closer focus on comfort and caretaking!
Hello guys! After a busy year, Feveruary has been taken over solely by myself (as Somber is taking a well deserved break) so I appreciate everyoneâs patience and understanding at the lack of clarity of this yearâs event.
That being said, I canât wait to see what great things are written this year, we had an amazing year last year and I hope this continues. Hopefully these prompts live up to the expectations, I know many people have been waiting a while for them. As always, the ask box is open for any questions!
Prompt Text Version Below!
1. "Don't get too close."
2. "You're going to get yourself hurt."
3. Migraine
4. Whiny Sickie
5. "I told you to wear something warm!"
6. Flu Shot
7. "Did you seriously think I wouldn't notice?"
8. Sharing Blankets
9. Unlikely Caretaker
10. "You can't catch it... Probably... Maybe."
11. "We better get you cleaned up before (blank) sees you like this."
12. Sent Home From Work
13. "Are you alright to drive like this?"
14. "I'd kiss you right now if you weren't contagious"
15. "I don't think I've ever seen you ill before."
16. Sneaking Out of Bed
17. Bad Timing
18. "You're not being needy. You're being human."
19. Refusing Medicine
20. Cancelled Plans
21. "Don't lie to me. You're pale, you're sweating, and you can barely stand."
22. Ear-Infection
23. "Jeez, if that's your bedside manner, I'd rather take my chances on my own."
24. Contagious
25. "It's just a cold."
26. Pharmacy Run
27. "I don't think that's exactly hygienic."
28. "Your boss called..."
