#Tw: fever

[in-love-with-writing-whump]

Prompt

Whumpee gets injured out in the field. They come back, trying to play it off as no big deal, but Caretaker can tell something is off, so they send them to the medic.

Whumpee comes back to Caretaker, barely remembering what the medic said. They try to get some work done, but pass out at their desk. Caretaker brings them to bed, concerned.

When Whumpee wakes up freezing with chills and a fever, Caretaker promises to take care of them and has to get medic again.

[lancedoncrimsonwings]

Augusnippets Day 18

Path of Whumperless Whump + Comfort Prompt; "Infection" + "Singing" + "Feverish Caretaking" Part 3

Day 18 of @augusnippets August 2024 Whump writing challenge! (Augusnippets Masterlist)

Characters;

- POV/Caretaker: Gawain - The Green Knight

- Lancelot - The Weeping Monk

(Character Masterlist)

(Ao3 Link)

Wordcount; 752

TWs; feverish caretaking, infection, fever.

Continuation of Day 5 & Day 9

Gawain hummed softly as he tied off the last bandage across Lancelot's back, the source of his fever evident from the troublesome infection raging within several of the lashings there. For the last three days, Lancelot had lain here, battling, Gawain ever at his side.

The fever had yet to break, but Gawain knew it in his heart that it must soon; either Lancelot would succumb to this infection or he would defeat it, and the precipice of which would win out was fast approaching. Lancelot's body shuddered and quaked, the heat pouring off of him had long since caused Gawain to shed his tunic down to his undershirt and even then he still sweat profusely- though not nearly as much as Lancelot, who's drenched skin glinted in the candlelight.

"Come on, Ashman. Are you going to let a little fever beat you?"

Lancelot had fought far worse than this. And yet... Gawain couldn't help the fear that he'd been sick too long now, that it wasn't getting better. The lingering scent of sickness had grown more sinister as of the past day, now more akin to the scent of death, clinging to Lancelot like a malevolent cloud.

"I remember when Nimue was but a young girl," Gawain began, soaking the cloth again and perching on the bed next to him. "She had a fever for three days. 'Twas not long before I left Dewdenn, but I remember how she shook."

Lancelot trembled beneath his touch.

"Lenore would sing to Nimue, you know, as she slept," Gawain wiped Lancelot's brow, watching his heartbeat as it pounded furiously in his neck which alongside his ever laboured breathing had done naught but worsen over time.

"Told me that was a part of the healing, these songs. Lenore taught me them, though I suppose I've never had cause to try before..."

Gawain took a deep breath, willing the Fingers of Airimid to rise to the surface. They came willingly, swarming beneath his skin like they could feel what he was about to do. Carefully, Gawain splayed his hands over Lancelot's chest and shoulder, watching as a vine seemed to creep into Lancelot's skin, a golden leaf shimmering up over the Ashman's collarbone.

"Gang ût, nesso," The words were like invoking a distant memory as he closed his eyes and began to sing. "mid nigun nessiklînon..."

He could feel it like a steady drain of his own strength as the spell began to form. Undeterred, he sung;

"Gang ût, nesso, mid nigun nessiklînon,

Ût fana themo margę an that bên,

Fan themo bêne an that flêsg,

Ût fan themo flêsgke an thia hûd,

Ût fan thera hud an thesa strâla...

...Drohtin, uuerthe sô!"

Again did he sing the verses, over and over, until dawn had begun to break on what was now the start of the fourth day.

"Arawn uuerthe sô." Gawain whispered, falling silent, feeling the fingers of Airimid recede as they settled down once more beneath his skin. He opened his eyes to a wave of exhaustion that washed over him, quite remarkably tired now.

With a glance at Lancelot he could see those harsh lines of discomfort had faded away, his breathing was deep and calm, the vein still throbbed in his neck but his heartbeat had slowed too, strong and steady it beat.

It took Gawain a solid moment to realise what else had changed.

No longer did waves of heat radiate from the Ashman, like the rest of him, it had soothed.

His fever had finally broken.

"Thank Arawn..." Gawain whispered, half to himself, daring to try to stand from the bed now and finding his legs had turned to jelly as he quickly thumped back down into his chair.

"g-Gawain?"

Lancelot's voice was weary and hoarse, and his eyes were bloodshot as he blinked blearily up at him.

"Morning, sleepyhead," Gawain hummed, with an affectionate smile. "Did you have a nice nap?"

Lancelot grimaced, wiping his hand over his face and raising a wry eyebrow towards him.

"...no. No, I did not," came the fairly understandable reply.

"How are you feeling?" Gawain grabbed his own waterskin from the side, passing it over to the Ashman, who was attempting to sit up, Gawain aided him with a steadying hand on his shoulder.

"Ugh... Like I pissed off Goliath... and he stomped all over me." Lancelot replied, accepting the water with a grateful smile. He took a deep swig, throat bobbing as he swallowed.

"So, better, then?"

Lancelot chuckled lightly.

"A little."

I sorta ran out of time to edit this one down any further, whoops. What started off this morning as a 75 word idea spiralled quickly...

The song Gawain sings is called "Nesso" by Heilung;

The lyrics are taken from the words of an ancient healing spell from early Medieval Europe that was preserved by the clerics of the Church in a passage called "Contra Vermes" from the 9th Century! The spell itself was originally to draw sickness from a horse, but works well enough for this. Translation as follows;

"Go out worm, with your nine little ones, out from the marrow to the bone, from the bone to the flesh, out from the flesh to the skin, out from the skin (in)to this arrow, Lord make it so" and I added "Arawn make it so" after the Fey Deity Arawn. Thought I'd throw in a little nod back to Gawain and Nimue's relationship in the book and a few moments from the series into this one! Thanks for reading, onto the next!.

[frau-rainyfox]

I love this Paul and Keel moment.

[in-love-with-writing-whump]

Febuwhump 11: Fever

Whumpee sat at their desk, shivering slightly as they scribbled a signature on the page. A droplet of sweat snaked its way down their jaw like molasses as they paused to rub the sleep from their eyes.

The door shutting cracked through their ears like a gunshot. They didn't need to look up to recognize those footsteps. "Hey, Whumpee," Caretaker said, stepping into Whumpee's peripheral vision. "You should get some rest. A said you haven't slept in a couple days, and you've been at this for hours."

The pages warped as they blinked, a dull ache becoming prominent in their head. "These reports aren't going to write themselves, Caretaker. I owe it to their families."

They stared at the page again, the ink all smeared together. "B and C are doing the nightly rounds. D offered to fill out any paperwork. Not like they sleep much anyway, ya know?"

Whumpee nodded, still staring at the page. Caretaker frowned, cocking their head to side, a quizzical look on their face. "Whumpee? You don't look so good." They pressed the back of their hand to Whumpee's forehead. They swore. "Whumpee, you're burning up. You've overworked yourself, and now your body is trying to stop you by making you sick."

They pulled Whumpee from their chair, who grimaced, swaying on their feet as they stood. "Caretaker, the casualty reports-"

"They can wait. They ain't getting any deader," they snapped. They sucked in a breath, placing a hand on Whumpee's back. They looked up at them, something akin to sympathy dancing in their eyes. "I'm sorry, that was mean. But, seriously... You come first."

Caretaker led Whumpee to the couch, where they forced them to sit down, swaddling them with blankets as they squeezed their eyes shut. Everything hurt.

Caretaker sat at the edge of Whumpee's couch, pulling out an old sketchbook and pencil from the office drawers. "Get some rest, Whumpee. You need it."

Whumpee didn't respond as the exhaustion overtook them.

FEBUWHUMP 2023 IS HERE!

the prompts this year were chosen through a suggestion poll and subsequent vote, where over 350 people voted for their favourites. the top 28 make up the core prompts, and a mixture of the next most popular and this blog’s personal favourites have become the alternatives!

i’m so excited to see what you all create with these prompts, and hope they’re inspiring enough to trigger a whole month’s worth of creativity for you! if you have any questions, make sure to check out the blog’s FAQ, or check out the previously asked questions on the blog before sending one of your own!

please note: this year, notifying the blog of completionist status will happen through a google form that will be released closer to the end of febuwhump.

full write-up of prompts and rules under the cut:

Keep reading

[peachsukii]

content // bakugo + reader are married (26/27). talks of children/pregnancy. semi-breeding kink. intoxicated dirty talk.

Imagining that the annual Hero Gala is the perfect place for Bakugo to let loose once a year, celebrating with his colleagues about their success and knocking back endless drinks without hesitation. It's the only time he allows himself to truly let go. It's time to go home when his hands can't stop wandering your form in front of everyone.

You're barely through the door of your home before his hands are hiking up your dress and pressing your back to the door, begging to let him make a mess of you.

"C'mon baby," Bakugo slurs while messily sucking on your exposed collarbone, pressing his groin against your thigh to let you how badly he wants you. "Need'ta taste you...feel you."

Whenever he gets like this, it's all give give give, never take. Bakugo becomes obsessed with pleasuring you, and only you. He doesn't even take himself into account, too love drunk and lust driven to care about his own release. But tonight? Bakugo's got a new agenda in mind, thanks to Mina and Kirishima's talks of starting a family earlier that night. All it took was Mina to casually say, "She'd make such a perfect mom, don't you think?" while gesturing to you across the room.

And goddamn, it consumed him whole.

"Wanna make you a momma, gorgeous," he mumbles against the shell of your ear as he slides his fingers seamlessly into your panties. Your thighs clench, a soft whine falling from your lips when two fingers slip between your slick covered folds. "Mm, ya like the sound'a that? You're soaked."

Bakugo's laugh is sinister before licking along your jawline and crashing into a heated kiss, whiskey lingering on his tongue. He pulls away, fingers pumping languidly into your pussy, a string of saliva connecting the two of you before whispering against your lips.

"Gonna stuff that pretty cunt'a yours full of my cum an' fuck it into you all night long. Eat it out of ya and fill you up all over again." He stops to lick at your bottom lip, sucking it into his mouth with a loud pop to leave you gasping for breath. "Fuck you so deep that you'll be leakin' cum for weeks."

Holy shit. You could faint on the spot.

"F-fuck Katsuki...bedroom, now."

[spinzolliii]

DISCLAIMER: I HAVE NO CLUE IF THIS IS MEDICALLY ACCURATE

Something that whump writers don’t consider:

IVs feel cold. Can you imagine a room temperature liquid going directly into the bloodstream of someone who’s 97-104 degrees? It’s hellish. You can’t get warm no matter how much external heat you receive.

Imagine a delirious whumpee whimpering and clawing at an IV while being restrained and reassured by Caretaker.

“No no no, that stays in”

“Hey, hey. I know it hurts, but it’ll help you feel better”

Maybe the whumpee’s hallucinating, thinking that they’re being tortured. When Caretaker’s words fail to get through, they have to use gentle touches and singing. Or, if you want to be mean, you can have the Caretaker being forced to restrain Whumpee to prevent them from hurting themselves until they run out of energy and pass out.

[theallblue]

♒ ((Yessss))

High Fever |still accepting|

It was difficult for Sanji to recall the last time that he had been sick enough to keep him from wandering about, was it when he was a young child? Was it after those hungry teeth sunk into his skin? It was true that he didn't recall the following days after that until he managed to wake up inside the room that he had collapsed in. It was that bite that soon became a scar, a scar that became apart of him even though he was determined to keep it hidden. It was best to keep it hidden because it was unknown how the people would react once the truth came out.

Luffy was the one who learned about his secret first though, a secret that easily could have caused him to turn tail because he didn't know how he was going to react. Luffy was his friend though, Luffy was someone that Sanji could trust. That was even before their bond became something more then just friends, he just didn't know what to call their relationship, at first. Not until they were able to discuss their feelings, not until they were both able to admit those words when behind the closed door of the place that was their home.

He was trying his best to hide the illness that lingered over his head, the warmth that stuck to his skin, but it would prove difficult unless he could get Luffy to focus on something else. This probably wasn't the best decision that Sanji had made, but he had managed to talk Luffy into another outing to find things to bring back to their shared home. He thought that it was the best way to distract him from what he was trying to hide again, he didn't want to cause him anymore worry then what he already has. A bad habit that he unfortunately had even before the world decided to end into the chaos that it was now. Besides, it wasn't difficult to see that that familiar itch to get outside these walls was starting to appear again because of how bouncy the other was. He knew that Luffy wanted to do something, anything.

During the walk to a place that might possibly have some good supplies in it, Sanji did his best to reassure Luffy that he was okay. They needed to get inside before any unfriendly faces decided to make an appearance whether they be living or not, it was best not to stay standing on this street for long. The task at hand was important.

While searching among the many shelves that surrounded them, the world suddenly tilted as he failed to catch himself causing the ground to come rushing into his field of vision. The items that had already been gathered clattering across the floor. He couldn't make sense of what happened then everything just faded into darkness.

@erraticoptimism

[its-kinda-snowy]

I don't think Herbert won the knot tying badge in Eagle Scouts :/

a continuation of this post based off of all your amazing comments :3

[mkayswritings]

I know that this is very late, but the first prompt for sicktember 2022 has been posted! I never finish these writing challenges on time anyways xd. I hope you enjoy KinnPorsche fans.

Now to figure out what I am going to tackle next.

[merakiui]

i need to talk about yans with baby fever……. orz maybe they’re overly doting and so lovesick, and seeing you being domestic or caring for children has thrown them into the most frenzied baby fever ever. it’s so bad it borderlines mindless breeding.

or the yans who are a little manipulative, forcing their baby fever onto you even if you protest or don’t want a baby. persuading you with all kinds of things: “accidentally” buying baby clothes and other essentials or leaving parenthood books out or even buying maternity wear for you… randomly bringing up how pretty you’d look all round and full with his child, hoping you’ll warm up to the idea eventually.

or the yans who said they’d never want children, but then that all changes when they finally have you all to themselves and they’ve seen how good you are with kids and suddenly all he wants to do is put you in a mating press and cum inside as much as possible. <3

[goosewizard]

i know coming back right is kinda a silly idea but im thinking about it.

what if ranboo came back, and they came back right?

not physically, of course. god, he looks a decade older and has the exhaustion to match. their skin is marred, mostly scar tissue now, from the explosion, from sam, from the endless ocean of limbo, from crying. tubbo hates that they match now. he’s skinnier, too, as if death took everything but the skin and bones of him. they look more monstrous. theres a new streak of white in his hair. it reminds tubbo of wilbur. it reminds tommy of himself.

but he’s just as kind, he still holds their son with tenderness and sings songs of old to him. he still brushes tubbos hair away with a feather-light touch. they still help techno with the dogs. he still visits tommy. they still grow pink tulips.

their memory is... better. ranboo still loses his house keys and forgets where he was going or what they ate for lunch, but they have every scar on tommy memorized, he knows tubbo like the back of their hand, can recite historical events like a textbook, will never lose track of an important date again.

its all they had in limbo. he didnt want to forget for good.

he's still scared, if they're being honest. scared that their sacrifice was for nothing. scared that his family will be destroyed again and again for the sick pleasure of some fucking guy. scared that he'll be used again. scared that they'll hurt the people they care about again. but for now they're okay, they have a team and a family and a second chance.

ranboo comes back and theyre okay, honestly. they move into the mansion with his husband and child. he thanks techno again and again for saving his son. for saving him. techno doesnt accept the thanks, he should've done more. he talks with tommy about limbo, and about grief. they visit their own graves and they grieve. for one another, for themselves. it washes over them in waves. tubbo still waits for the other shoe to drop, for his husband or himself to turn into a maniac and blow the server to bits, but it doesnt come. it won't come. its not the same, it cant be, but its good for the first time in a long time.

maybe the other shoe doesn’t have to drop. maybe sometimes people can come back and maybe they can be okay.

[in-love-with-writing-whump]

Prompt

Whumpee, who has been working endlessly with little to no sleep, starts to feel super sick- fever, chills, sore throat. But they still keep working, ignoring their need foe rest.

When Caretaker witnesses them passing out, they take care of Whumpee.

[lancedoncrimsonwings]

Augusnippets Day 9

Path of Whumperless Whump Prompt: "overheating"

Day 9 of @augusnippets August 2024 Whump writing challenge! (Augusnippets Masterlist)

Characters:

- POV/Whumpee: Lancelot - The Weeping Monk

(Character Masterlist)

(Ao3 Link)

Wordcount; 228

TWs; Hallucinations, Fever dreams, fire/burning alive, POV character is religious.

Direct Continuation/Alternate POV of Day 5

Fire.

Somewhere above his sweatslicked body, cloth after sopping wet cloth was tirelessly wiped across a feverish brow, pulse pounding neck, bare panting chest. Icy water dripped over hot, bruised skin. A familiar, soothing voice echoed in a distance too far away for him to reach it before it faded beneath the sound of snarling flames.

He was on fire.

These were the fires of hell that lapped at his flesh, devouring it. An inferno that flowed into his lungs as he dragged in each breath, scorching him. Embers dripped across his cheeks and set his markings alight, smouldering them.

He was on fire and it was going to burn him alive.

He opened his mouth to scream but naught sounded save for a crackling roar echoing in his ears. His body thrashed helplessly against the surging flames, writhing in agony desperate to escape them but they were everywhere, everywhere and the panic siezed his frenzied heart, he couldn't breathe, he couldn't breathe, he couldn't--

He was on fire and could do nothing at all but give in, blazing ferociously into the night.

Starved of air, his mind shattered away from his ailing body, succumbing into the depths of Hell, letting it claim him. He was but a single flickering light burning in the darkness.

What would be left of him when he went out?

Naught but Ash.

Continued on Day 18

Lancelot's horrible no good very bad day continues. I actually came up with this idea as part of the feverish caretaking prompt, then decided it worked better split!

I tried to link back to the previous snippet though. Some "fun" fever and delirium induced dreams for our poor boy... At least Gawain is still there to help him through it, even if Lancelot isn't necessarily aware of it.

[frau-rainyfox]

[sarathrwizard]

I Care. Chapter 4 (Part 2/2) (Rottmnt comic)

Leo dreams of the accident from earlier that day. But his dream shortly started to twist into a world of lies. A nightmare he has never faced before! Trapped by his own mind, he can't let go of what's in front of him to realize it's not real. But with the help of his brother, he is able to break free from the nightmares clutches!

Next Part:

Previous Part:

:0

[spinzolliii]

God, I love sickfics that cut between a Whumpee’s current illness, and illnesses they’ve had in the past. Before, being sick was traumatic and lonely. Maybe they were neglected or even ostracized for their illness. In the present day, they don’t know how to handle being loved.