heeheehooho0

[heeheehooho0]

A recently hypothermic character whose core temp is technically back to normal but just cannot seem to actually feel warm enough seeking out every scrap of additional warmth they can- basking in the sun like a cat; curling up practically on top of a radiator or on the hearth nearly in the fireplace; wearing an almost comical amount of layers; padding about the house with a blanket clutched 'round them as a cloak; drinking exclusively hot beverages and cradling the mugs of tea and cocoa and mulled cider tight between their hands; constructing elaborate blanket-nests wherever they're resting; sticking limpet-like to the side of any companion(s) to leech their bodyheat or insistently cuddling any available pets- they turn into a heat-seeking missile whose entire goal is just to feel warm.

[heeheehooho0]

characters on the run

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

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

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

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

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

"we're safe here. i promise."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[heeheehooho0]

Can I just wow over how god damn gorgeous the blood is in DMMd please holy shit

[heeheehooho0]

[heeheehooho0]

Doing this thing on twitter rn (btw my twitter is @hae_meto) where every rt and like equals to an increase in body temp and holy cow were people interested lmao

this dude should already be dead at this point 😫

But here are my doodles for each 0.5 degree increase (~38 degrees c) 🤙

Feeling… a little drowsy…

What’s up with him?

I don’t know. Told me he isn’t feeling good. He’s a little warm.

He’s still feeling like he’s gonna throw up.

Still have something to puke though?

Enjoy👍

[heeheehooho0]

@just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi suggested "possessive whumper"

my instant thought was "marking/branding as property", so here we are!

[heeheehooho0]

Where I Need to Be - part 2

it's been a while since I put out part 1, but here's the conclusion! hope you enjoy :)

While the day has been miserable, Theo’s pretty sure he’s over the hump of whatever illness he has. He hasn’t thrown up since this morning, and his fever’s been under control (mostly) since he’s been able to hold down ibuprofen and water. He’s still got a pounding headache, and his stomach is puffy and tender, but all in all, it’s not as bad as it could be. And he knows how bad it could be.

He’s been in and out of sleep the last few hours, and he’s woken up most recently to a hushed phone conversation happening on the other side of the bedroom door. He’s only getting bits and pieces-

“Kelly, I told you…sick, that’s why…fever…Ok fine…One hour…Ok. Bye.”

Then the door opens, and Seamus is walking in. His smile is strained, but it’s there.

“Hey, love. How are we?” he asks, same gentle voice as always. It’s so different than the one he was using on the phone just a moment ago.

“Not bad,” he says, and for once he's telling the truth. Seamus sits down the edge of the bed, laying his hand on Theo’s forehead.

“You still feel pretty cool. Not cool, but not…not too hot,” he says, and runs his thumb back and forth over his sweat slick skin. They sit in silence for a while before Seamus speaks again. “So. I’m going to ask you something but I need you to be really, really honest. Ok?”

Theo nods. This will have to do with the phone call. Kelly is the artist whose album he’s working on. And who deeply, deeply dislikes Theo. Needless to say, she was not pleased to find out Seamus was missing a day of work to be with Theo, fever of 104 or not.

“There’s a dinner tonight with some people from the label, and Kelly- they want me to go.” There’s an expression on his face that Theo can only describe as shame. It makes sense he’d feel that way, but Theo doesn’t hold it against him. Work is work, they both know that, and some part of Theo was waiting for this conversation to come. And he can't even fully focus because his head is throbbing.

“Ok,” he says, voice shaky. “What did you tell them?”

“I told them I’d have to see about it but it’d only be there for an hour, tops. So be honest, if I was gone for two hours, do you think you’d be ok? Do you feel like it’s getting worse?”

“How big of a deal is it? Contract, or?” He already knows it’s a very big deal or Seamus wouldn’t be asking, but his answer will pretty much depend on it.

“That’s not…” He bites his lip. “It’s not contracted, but if they don’t like what they see…” He trails off before shaking his head. “It’s ok either way. If I stay or go. Just be honest.”

Honestly, he doesn’t want Seamus to leave. Not at all. That said, he doesn’t feel sick enough to justify making him stay. If sleeps for the next few hours, which is likely, there’d be no point in making Seamus stay home.

“Go. I’ll be fine.” A wave of relief seems to wash over Seamus, though the look of guilt doesn’t totally leave.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I’ll be fine for a couple hours.”

“Ok. Two hours. Tops.”

He’s asleep before Seamus even walks out the door. But when he wakes up, he realizes that this virus is far from done with him.

His whole body is shaking, sweat pouring off him, his clothes plastered to his skin. His stomach is in knots, and when he opens his mouth to take a gasping breath he immediately heaves up a mouthful of bile. He’s so hot. He’s never been so hot in his life. His chest is tight with it, his breath is shallow.

He knows he needs to get to the bathroom, but the minute he pushes himself up with trembling arms, the world spins, and he vomits again. God, his stomach. He moans and forces himself out of bed, and quickly finds he’s way too weak and dizzy to stand. He nearly faints before catching himself on the bedframe. Somehow, he finds his way to the bathroom and falls hard to his knees before leaning over the toilet and heaving again.

The cold of the tile almost hurts his fevered skin. It feels raw, just like his throat. His chin is sticky with drying vomit, and he peels off his shirt. When his hand goes to touch his cramping middle he can't hold back the whimper that escapes. It's so tender - the touch feels like a stab. He also can feel that he’s very, very bloated. The normally concave expanse of his abs is jutting out from his hips, puffy and aching. The waistband of his shorts presses uncomfortably into the swell, and combined with the pressure of his touch, it makes him retch.

In between heaves he can’t hold his head up, so he slumps against the toilet bowl, forehead on the cold porcelain rim.

Sweat drips from the tip of his nose on the floor below him. His breath is gasping in and out, and he's not sure whether he's shaking with fever or sheer exertion.

“Seamus!” He calls as loudly as his voice will let him, which isn’t very loud at all. It's cracked and thin. In that moment he remembers Seamus isn’t here. The thought wrenches a sob from him.

God, he’s so pathetic. A quivering mess, crying for his boyfriend, vomit on his chin. There are a few minutes of respite where he just sits there trying to catch his breath, chest jumping up and down, praying for relief from the fever and the throbbing in his skull. Praying it’s almost… What time is it? What time did Seamus leave?

Before he can think much harder on it, he’s vomiting again. There's only bile now, nothing else is left in his stomach. But once the bile is gone, it doesn’t stop. It’s wringing him out. He’s dry heaving until he’s too weak to. He’s still dripping sweat. It burns his eyes, stings his chapped lips.

He needs to get his phone. He needs to call Seamus. It has to have been two hours by now - it feels like he’s been in this bathroom for 5. But it can’t have been, because Seamus would be back.

The bedroom. His phone is in the bedroom.

He’s no stranger to being this sick, but it doesn’t make it any easier.

He stumbles back down the hall, having to stop and lean against the wall every few steps when his lightheadedness is too much to handle.

He gets the phone. His hands are shaking so badly he almost drops it. He taps Seamus's perfect, smiling photo. Immediately, he hears his voicemail message - "Hey, it's Seamus. I don't really check my voicemail so just shoot me a text! Thanks." There's a dial tone, and Theo hangs up. He calls again. The phone is sticking to the side of his face. Same thing.

This is a nightmare. It has to be. He looks at the time. It's after 10, Seamus should've been home by 8.

Theo is slumped on the floor, back against the wall, just trying to breathe evenly enough to avoid throwing up any more than he already has. The last bout of vomiting had quelled the nausea slightly, but it's back, despite him still not having anything in his stomach to purge. His mouth is dry and sour but the thought of even rinsing it out makes his stomach churn.

He opens his texts. It takes a long time to type a message. It's riddled with typos but his hands are shaking too badly to do any better. It's something along the lines of "where are you? i need you". Normally he wouldn't be so direct, but he's desperate.

Then the world is spinning, spinning, spinning. And then he’s asleep.

Every extra minute Seamus is sitting at this table he's nervous. But, he reminds himself for the thousandth time, Theo would've called if something was wrong. He's probably asleep. His phone has been silent all night, tucked in the pocket of his coat where it hangs from the back of his chair. He's glanced at it a few times, but nothing's come through.

Still, he promised Theo two hours. It's been four. And even if he leaves now, it'll be four and a half.

He's glad he came though. As much as it would've gone just fine without him, he has way more experience dealing with execs than Kelly does. Zeke even flew in from New York. The meeting started at a restaurant in the city and migrated to some random pub a few doors down after the execs were on their way.

At about 11 he goes to the bathroom and grabs his phone as an afterthought. There are absolutely no notifications, which seems strange.

Upon closer examination, he sees it's set to "do not disturb." He definitely did not set it to "do not disturb." He stops in the doorway of the bathroom as he sees the notifications flood in. 6 missed calls. Five unread texts. All from Theo. He has to stop himself from sprinting back to get his coat. He's immediately in panic mode.

Kelly, Zeke and a few other acquaintances from the label look up from their conversation.

"Whoa, what's up?" Zeke asks as Seamus throws on his coat with shaking hands.

"I just - It's an emergency," he manages to say. Zeke furrows his eyebrows but doesn't protest. Kelly huffs.

"Seamus, please. He can take care of himself," she says, and he freezes in place. Zeke looks very confused now.

"Theo?" Zeke interjects, but Seamus doesn't bother responding.

"I told him I'd be home at 8 and it's 11 and he's been trying to call me since 10. I don't know why my phone…" He trails off. He can barely think straight. Kelly crosses her arms and looks at Zeke, whose lips are pressed into a line. "What?"

"Well, we agreed it'd be best if there weren't any distractions," Kelly says. Seamus isn't someone who ever really gets angry, per se, but he's angry right now. Furious. But everyone is staring at him now, and it'll only look unprofessional if he loses his shit. He turns his gaze to Zeke, who looks extremely guilty.

"I didn't know something was wrong, I-" He starts and Seamus clenches his jaw. He starts to stammer out a reply before realizing that every minute he spends here is one minute he's wasting.

"I'll see you guys Monday," he says, trying to keep his voice as even as possible, ignoring the shouts of his name as he leaves.

He tries to call Theo. It rings, but there's no answer. He calls again. Still nothing. He's going about 20 over the speed limit, his knuckles white on the steering wheel. When he walks into the house he doesn't even bother taking off his coat or shoes.

"Theo?" He calls. No answer. He knows logically that Theo's not dead, but the panic in his chest does not seem to know that.

He stops in the doorway of the bedroom. Theo's on the floor, half curled up, shaking like a leaf. Seamus is frozen for a moment before he rushes to him.

Theo's skin is hot - so ungodly fucking hot - and so incredibly pale. Seamus shakes his shoulder lightly, and though Theo moans softly, he doesn't open his eyes.

"Teddy?" Seamus asks, running his hand up and down Theo's arm. Theo's eyelids flutter, and another small sound of pain escapes his chapped lips. Seamus taps his cheek gently. "Teddy, baby."

Theo's eyes finally open, only halfway but enough for Seamus to know he's conscious. When his gaze lands on Seamus's face he lets out a sobbing breath.

"Shh, you're ok," Seamus murmurs, trying to keep his voice steady. He lifts Theo so he's sitting upright, almost all his weight on Seamus. His forehead rests on Seamus's shoulder, his breathing shallow and labored through sobs. He smells like vomit and sweat, and his hands are immediately clinging to Seamus's shirt. "I’m gonna lift you up, alright?"

Theo doesn't reply, but Seamus wasn't necessarily asking for permission.

He maneuvers Theo's limp body so he can pick him up, and tries to ignore the spike of panic when all of his body is pressed against him. He's on fire, trembling, letting out little whimpers of pain at every movement. Theo doesn’t cry like this. Ever. And it’s making Seamus very nervous.

He's glad he works out enough to squat 250, because Theo is only a little over half that. He doesn't bother trying to get his shorts off before placing him in the bathtub, his long legs bent in the small space. Seamus turns on the water and rummages to find the thermometer.

Theo doesn't even make a sound as the cold water hits his skin, and doesn't even seem to notice when Seamus slips the thermometer under his tongue. As the water rises and he waits for the thermometer to do its job, the guilt really starts to set in.

He should've been here. Instead, he was out at a bar, drinking and laughing and assuming everything was fine. He should have noticed his phone was fucked up, he should've left when he said he would. He doesn't know how bad the fever is exactly, but he would wager a guess that it's really fucking bad. Odds are all the vomiting made him dehydrated, which made his fever worse, which made the nausea worse, and around and around until they got here.

He takes one of Theo's limp hands, and with the other, calls Zeke. It's only a ring or two before he picks up.

"What's up?" He asks, and Seamus suddenly feels like he might cry.

"I think I need to take him to A&E." His voice is shaking.

"The-" He cuts Zeke off before he can finish.

"The ER."

"Ok, ok. Uh…" Zeke trails off, clearly flustered. The background noise of the bar softens and a door closes. Seamus cuts in again.

"Do we have anyone here who could come give an IV?" In New York, Theo has people who'll come to wherever he is and give him the basics without having to go to the actual hospital, but Seamus has no idea what's at their disposal in Ireland. He kicks himself for not thinking to find out before now.

"Uh, I can check. I'll call around. Maybe. Is he-"

"I might be able to get it- get the fever down, but he's really dehydrated, so…" Seamus trails off. "You have people here, right?"

"I mean, yeah. In theory. It's just-"

"Just find out what's faster. I can drive him to A&- the ER, or someone can come here. Either way, just find out what's quicker, ok?"

"Ok. I'll call you back in a few, just hang tight." He doesn't hang up just yet. "And I'm sorry, I never would've let Kelly have your phone if I knew what was going on."

"Well she shouldn't have my phone anyway."

"Right."

"Yeah. Just call me back when you know, ok?"

"Ok, hang tight."

The line goes dead and Seamus checks his watch before taking the thermometer out of Theo's mouth. 40.5. He stares at the reading for longer than he needs to, feeling the panic in his chest spike.

Theo’s eyelids are fluttering now, and the hand Seamus is holding tightens around his.

“Oh my God…” Theo breathes out, his voice ragged and thin. “Fuck.”

“You’re ok, you’re ok,” Seamus says, and dips his hand in the cool water before laying it on Theo’s forehead. A towel or washcloth would work better, but he can’t make himself move from this spot.

“Shay, I…” he murmurs, before trailing off, “I had the worst nightmare.”

“Don’t worry, I’ve got you,” he says back gently, wiping Theo’s chin. It’s taking so much effort to maintain this facade of calm, but he knows if he starts to freak out, it’ll only make things worse.

“I…In my dream…I kept calling you and calling you,” he mumbles, and Seamus is immediately sick to his stomach with guilt. “But you wouldn’t answer. And I was alone.”

It takes everything in him to speak around the lump in his throat.

"I'm here now," is all he manages to choke out. He can't bring himself to lie outright. He'll need to come clean eventually, but not now when Theo's still half delirious. "You've had your appendix out, right?"

Theo nods.

"Burst. In college.” Despite the cold water, Theo doesn't seem to be getting any cooler. He's not even shivering.

He's gathering Theo's hair into a little bun when Zeke calls him back.

“What did they say?” He asks, and Zeke sighs.

“They have people in Dublin, but they wouldn't be able to make it to you until tomorrow morning. I could call you a car but I think it'd just be faster for you to drive him in. If you feel like that's what he needs.”

It's a horrible drive. Then a horrible night.

When they drive home the next morning, Theo's still running a fever, but it's not as bad as it was. The insides of his arms and the backs of his hands are bruised - he was so dehydrated they had to jab him about ten times to find a vein for the IV.

He's able to walk inside from the car, which is a major improvement, but he collapses on the couch as soon as he walks in.

“I'm gonna make some tea, alright?” Seamus asks, carefully stroking some of his hair back from his face. Theo just nods, closing his eyes.

As he makes the tea, he knows he needs to tell him. Not today. No, he’ll wait, he thinks, and tries to convince himself it's for Theo’s benefit. He doesn't quite manage.

[heeheehooho0]

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.”

[heeheehooho0]

the vomiterrrrr

@symphonyuntethered I don’t know if u still want to be tagged but,

[heeheehooho0]

part 1... lil guy gets the stomach flu.... i havent gotten it completely written out but it should be. one more part. maybe. part 2!

@untetheredsymphony you asked to be tagged if i posted again so. uhm.

[heeheehooho0]

Hello~ it’s been a while! hope everyone’s doing well!🤍 here’s some doodles~

(Btw If you gave me an ask or messaged me, I’m sorry for not replying 🥲 I try to be more responsive but im a little overwhelmed atm 😔)

[heeheehooho0]

Love the concept of Bad Thing that provides protection from Even Worse Thing. This villan has dibs on killing me someday, so they’re not going to let anyone else do it. Person has a permanent illness that’s super hostile to any other type of infection. Lawful evil tyrant absolutely PISSED at chaotic evil invader killing their subjects. Person has been cursed by the gods but the curse supersedes all other hexes and magical ills. This shit absolutely charges my batteries.

[heeheehooho0]

My piece for the @whump-art-exchange for @heeheehooho0 with their amazing characters Minmin and Rinnie. Your boys are precious and I hope I did them justice!

[heeheehooho0]

my @whump-art-exchange for @whumpinthepot !! shes trying her best.... i think.........

[heeheehooho0]

Resources For Writing Sketchy Topics

Medicine

A Study In Physical Injury

Comas

Medical Facts And Tips For Your Writing Needs

Broken Bones

Burns

Unconsciousness & Head Trauma

Blood Loss

Stab Wounds

Pain & Shock

All About Mechanical Injuries (Injuries Caused By Violence)

Writing Specific Characters

Portraying a kleptomaniac.

Playing a character with cancer.

How to portray a power driven character.

Playing the manipulative character.

Portraying a character with borderline personality disorder.

Playing a character with Orthorexia Nervosa.

Writing a character who lost someone important.

Playing the bullies.

Portraying the drug dealer.

Playing a rebellious character.

How to portray a sociopath.

How to write characters with PTSD.

Playing characters with memory loss.

Playing a pyromaniac.

How to write a mute character.

How to write a character with an OCD.

How to play a stoner.

Playing a character with an eating disorder.

Portraying a character who is anti-social.

Portraying a character who is depressed.

How to portray someone with dyslexia.

How to portray a character with bipolar disorder.

Portraying a character with severe depression.

How to play a serial killer.

Writing insane characters.

Playing a character under the influence of marijuana.

Tips on writing a drug addict.

How to write a character with HPD.

Writing a character with Nymphomania.

Writing a character with schizophrenia.

Writing a character with Dissociative Identity Disorder.

Writing a character with depression.

Writing a character who suffers from night terrors.

Writing a character with paranoid personality disorder.

How to play a victim of rape.

How to play a mentally ill/insane character.

Writing a character who self-harms.

Writing a character who is high on amphetamines.

How to play the stalker.

How to portray a character high on cocaine.

Playing a character with ADHD.

How to play a sexual assault victim.

Writing a compulsive gambler.

Playing a character who is faking a disorder.

Playing a prisoner.

Portraying an emotionally detached character.

How to play a character with social anxiety.

Portraying a character who is high.

Portraying characters who have secrets.

Portraying a recovering alcoholic.

Portraying a sex addict.

How to play someone creepy.

Portraying sexually/emotionally abused characters.

Playing a character under the influence of drugs.

Playing a character who struggles with Bulimia.

Illegal Activity

Examining Mob Mentality

How Street Gangs Work

Domestic Abuse

Torture

Assault

Murder

Terrorism

Internet Fraud

Cyberwarfare

Computer Viruses

Corporate Crime

Political Corruption

Drug Trafficking

Human Trafficking

Sex Trafficking

Illegal Immigration

Contemporary Slavery 

Black Market Prices & Profits

AK-47 prices on the black market

Bribes

Computer Hackers and Online Fraud

Contract Killing

Exotic Animals

Fake Diplomas

Fake ID Cards, Passports and Other Identity Documents

Human Smuggling Fees

Human Traffickers Prices

Kidney and Organ Trafficking Prices

Prostitution Prices

Cocaine Prices

Ecstasy Pills Prices

Heroin Prices

Marijuana Prices

Meth Prices

Earnings From Illegal Jobs

Countries In Order Of Largest To Smallest Risk

Forensics

arson

Asphyxia

Blood Analysis

Book Review

Cause & Manner of Death

Chemistry/Physics

Computers/Cell Phones/Electronics

Cool & Odd-Mostly Odd

Corpse Identification

Corpse Location

Crime and Science Radio

crime lab

Crime Scene

Cults and Religions

DNA

Document Examination

Fingerprints/Patterned Evidence

Firearms Analysis

Forensic Anthropology

Forensic Art

Forensic Dentistry

Forensic History

Forensic Psychiatry

General Forensics

Guest Blogger

High Tech Forensics

Interesting Cases

Interesting Places

Interviews

Medical History

Medical Issues

Misc

Multiple Murderers

On This Day

Poisons & Drugs

Police Procedure

Q&A

serial killers

Space Program

Stupid Criminals

Theft

Time of Death

Toxicology

Trauma

[heeheehooho0]

[heeheehooho0]

im the vomiter