#cw: emeto

[sickonthedancefloor]

sicktember: Day 14

Sicktember Prompt: Day 14 - Clean Sheets / Fresh Pajamas Sickie: Yunho Caregiver: Seonghwa, Wooyoung, Yeosang

“And… up,” Yeosang says softly, his hands holding Yunho by the elbows. While the older man is taller, he’s barely stronger than a child at his current state. Roasting with a fever that has been taking days to break, weak with chills and hoarse from a rough cough that’s been plaguing him for past week, Yunho’s been barely able to get out of bed on his own. After his fainting spell earlier, Yeosang had called in Seonghwa for reinforcements, deciding that Yunho’s “I’ll sleep it off” method wasn’t working anymore.

Yunho takes in a deep breath—or tries, and Yeosang can hear a whistle in his wheezing—and feels Wooyoung’s hands gripping his waist for extra support. He stares at his roommate with a sad look.

“You’re okay,” Yeosang encourages. “Come on. Slow steps to the bathroom.”

Yunho doesn’t reply verbally, but Yeosang catches the small nod as they begin to shift towards the bathroom. Yeosang moves backwards but doesn’t worry about hurting himself—they’re going too slow for bumping into a wall or a door to do anything. And with Yunho’s room as clean as it is, they’re not likely to run into anything but his dog-shaped bedside table. Yeosang just continues to encourage him until they make it into the bathroom, where Seonghwa pulls his hands from the water at the tub.

“It’s warm, not too warm but should be comfortable enough,” the oldest member says.

“Thank you,” Yunho grunts. His eyes blink heavily and he sways, but the hands grip his arms a little tighter. Yeosang is practically holding him forward. “I… I’m sorry.”

That has Wooyoung laughing. “Silly. Come on, let’s get you in the tub.”

They make quick work of ridding Yunho of his sweat-soaked pajamas and helping him into the tub, sitting him gently. He shivers, the water not as hot as he’d hoped, but warm enough that it doesn’t make him whine about the temperature. Wooyoung takes over getting the soap and a washcloth, and as Yunho leans on the side and rests his head, he takes over trying to scrub his sweat-salty skin clean. Yeosang and Seonghwa slip away into the bedroom and start cleaning what they can.

Seonghwa wastes no time in stripping the bed of the dirty sheets, recruiting Yeosang to remove the pillow cases. Yeosang grimaces at the wet marks on the pillow, feeling bad. “He’s been sweating so badly…” he mumbles.

“But his fever still keeps coming back,” Seonghwa sighs in response. “If he doesn’t feel even a little better tomorrow, I’m making our manager take him to the doctor.”

“He’s going to complain,” Yeosang answers. He laughs, but he really agrees with his hyung; Yunho hasn’t been getting better and it’s been days. Both of them frown, before scooping up the old bed linen and carrying it to the washing machine.

~*~

Yunho coughs roughly and grimaces when he bumps his chin on the tub. He whines at the sudden pain, and Wooyoung reaches over to rub his chin.

“Oh Yunho… you’re just having a rough night, aren’t you?” Wooyoung tries to comfort him, voice soft and soothing.

Yunho just groans in response, setting his face back down on the tub side, sideways this time. “Bad week. Worst Tuesday.”

“It’s… Thursday.”

That has Yunho lifting his head quickly, surprise taking over his face, but he ends up covering his mouth with one shaky hand as he lets out a few more painful coughs into his hand. Wooyoung rubs his back until he calms down, and when he looks at his hand, covered in sputum and phlegm, he frowns and just sticks his hand into the water to wash it off. Wooyoung pulls his hand over and runs the washcloth over it, before putting his hand back in the water. Sighing, Yunho sets his head back down.

“Oh Yun… You slept most of yesterday, didn’t you?”

“If that’s what we’re calling it,” Yunho grumbles. He could barely rest peacefully, between waking up to kick his blanket off, waking up to cover himself, the nonstop chills, his cough waking him up, and then his most recent nausea and dizziness… It’s been awful. He doesn’t feel like he’s slept in days, but according to Yeosang, he’s just been staying in bed and living off water and crackers.

Wooyoung scoops water from the tub and washes away suds from his back, then over his shoulder. “It’s okay. Let’s just finish the bath, then get you back to bed, with soup and medication this time.”

Yunho sighs. “This is so tiring.” His voice even sounds exhausted. Wooyoung’s sure, especially if he’s been so sick he’s losing track of time. Wooyoung just continues to pour water on his back, rubbing it gently. He can feel Yunho relaxing under his soothing, until Yunho almost falls asleep. His coughing startles him to sit up again, and Wooyoung decides they’ve spent enough time in the tub. He lets out the water from the tub, then uses the detachable showerhead to rinse any remaining soap from Yunho before he calls for Yeosang again.

“I can get up myself,” Yunho grumbles, holding onto the side of the tub.

Yeosang hurries in anyway, to catch Yunho looking awfully green trying to right himself onto his feet. The two help him step out, only for Yunho to pitch forward at the toilet. He yanks the lid up and immediately lets out a mouthful of pale, sludgy vomit. He can hear both of them murmuring soft encouragements, both members easing him to kneel onto the bathroom rug to just throw up again. While he catches his breath, he feels Wooyoung rubbing the towel over his skin, trying to dry him a little bit. He tries to lean forward, but Yeosang pulls him over to lay against his shoulder instead.

“Wasn’t this bad… yesterday,” he mumbles against Yeosang’s shoulder. “I wanted… wanted to get dressed myself.”

“Come on, do you think you’re done?” Wooyoung asks.

Yunho nods. Yeosang helps him up again, slowly this time, and they hand Yunho his own boxers, letting him have the dignity of getting himself dressed. Once he tugs his shirt on, they help him rinse his mouth out with mouthwash, then take him back into his room. Seonghwa’s seated on his computer desk chair, checking the dosage on one of the medication bottles in his hand. Yunho realizes, as the two help tuck him in, that they changed his sheets and had a fresh blanket tossed on top. They have to tug him forward to keep him from laying down right away, which has Seonghwa laughing as he rolls the chair over. Yunho doesn’t complain when he sips the cough syrup, taking relief in the water bottle handed to him afterward. And his eyes droop quickly. As Wooyoung helps Yunho lay down, Yeosang hands Pudeongie into his arms and Seonghwa tugs the blanket up to his shoulders. With a yawn, Yunho settles down easily.

[plushcadavers]

Vent doodles from earlier ft. Twitch

[anythingelsereally014]

and it got me thinking about IV a lot

the whump possibilities with IV

if the character is like me, their vein is hard to find and it takes at least three times for someone to put the needle in there

if they're like me and they're afraid of needles, they'll for sure pass out during that and that's just

💫passing out on top of another illness💫

person's there feeling awful and they decide to give them IV meds just for them to pass out and throw up too and leave the hospital feeling worse than before

(or is that just me?)

[azurem]

Inkmare but I think Nightmare would be kind of 𝓯𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓴𝔂. Like. He'd get disappointed when after a while Ink just doesn't. puke paint. Into A KISS. They're in that level where they're getting gross like an illness that keeps getting worse until you're seeing double and are shaking and the lights are too bright, so cold but they won't give you more blankets because you have a fever. But inkmare. Yes.

[fl4tlines]

I want to see whumpees suffering the aftermath of a night of drinking. It’s so mundane (in my social circle at least) but it’s just so versatile. Bonus points for it maybe being accidental or whumperless. No this has nothing to do with my current raging hangover, not in the slightest. So here’s a list of just some possibilities:

Nausea, vomiting & stomach upset

Headaches

Muscle pain & weakness

Dehydration

Photosensitivity & noise sensitivity

Exhaustion

Strained personal relationships

Irritability, agitation & apathy

Insomnia & hypersomnia

Chest pain

Drastic appetite changes

Heartburn & acid reflux

Low body temperature

Dizziness, spinning vision & vertigo

Intense food cravings

Hangover shakes

Shortness of breath

Hallucinations

Nicotine (or other drug) cravings

Heart palpitations

Waking up drunk

Hangxiety & Sunday Scaries

Vivid dreams & nightmares

Brain fog

Blackouts & memory gaps

Waking up somewhere they didn’t go to sleep

Symptoms persisting for days at a time

[tridentkickflipper123]

beat the living shit

[incognitopolls]

We ask your questions so you don’t have to! Submit your questions to have them posted anonymously as polls.

[whump-card]

Whumpee shows up to work lethargic and crabby. Halfway through the morning they have to run to the bathroom to be sick. The Team teases them lightheartedly.

"Must have been some night out!"

"Had a party and didn't invite us?"

This happens more than once; Whumpee gains a reputation as a party person. They don't deny it.

Little do the Team know, Whumpee's occasional condition has nothing to do with having fun.

[kuurake]

viole gets nightmares. wangnan is an insomniac

[kalashnikovlobotomy]

this ame guy is da bomb! a landmine more accurately.

[sickonthedancefloor]

Sicktember Day 2 - Too much of a good thing / Overindulgence

Sicktember Prompt: Day 2 – Too much of a Good Thing / Overindulgence Fandom: BTS Sickie: Hoseok Caregiver: Yoongi Content: Alcohol use, vomiting

I wanted to crack out at least one last one before the end of the month. Based on Hoseok's Suchwita episode.

It’s wild. Yoongi, way too inebriated for this kind of disaster, stares at his best friend in front of him. Hoseok’s leaning forward, hands on his knees, puking his guts out right in the hallway. And all Yoongi can hear is water. Every loud retch comes with an odd, wet splash, but as he stares at the ground, the floor shifting a little too uncomfortably for his own good, he realizes this is definitely happening. And it doesn’t look good.

After all, his floors are white over here. Were. Were white, white marbled because it made for a really cool floor according to the interior designer. But here? It’s just… purple. And it’s odd, all wet and bora-esque and it smells of stomach bile and wine.

They drank so much wine.

Well, Hoseok drank more wine.

Hoseok vomits another mouthful, and when he looks up, bora staining his designer shirt, dripping down his chin, the younger rapper laughs. Yoongi ends up cracking up over this.

Nothing about this should be funny, but it’s hilarious to the two of them.

“Hyuuuung,” Hoseok squeaks out. He’s a little pale, and not sure where to move. There’d purple on the house slippers he’s borrowing, and Yoongi is so glad he bought a cheap pair last time he ended up at the grocery store. “Hyuuuung, how am I s’posed to move?”

“Why’d you throw up in the hallway?!” Yoongi squeaks out. He can’t stop laughing, but the not-water is dripping down the hall, approaching his own slippers. When it soaks into the fabric, he cringes—of course it’s warm. And nasty.

Oh it smells bad. Yoongi grimaces for a moment, then just gives up and steps right into the middle, just as Hoseok leans forward—and pukes right on his right foot. Yoongi’s at least closer now, so he just rubs Hoseok’s back until he stops.

“Hyung, it stinks,” Hoseok says.

“I’m gonna make you mop my house,” Yoongi answers.

Both of them laugh. Hoseok loves cleaning, it’s not even a real punishment. But he’s catching his breath and feeling better, so Yoongi loops an arm around his waist. Both of them pause—Yoongi’s center of gravity shifts for a moment. He’s too drunk for this. Hoseok’s too drunk to be helpful, but he clings to the shorter one, tiny fingers gripping his shirt. Hoseok uses the bottom of his shirt to wipe his mouth; he’s gonna regret that later, Yoongi’s pretty sure. Hoseok loves this shirt, and it’s gonna be a hard clean. The slippers are gonna get trashed.

“C’mon, Seok-ah, let’s go to the bathroom. You can throw up the rest of the wine in the toilet, yeah?”

But when Hoseok takes one step forward, he clamps a hand over his mouth. Yoongi hurries him down the hall into the bathroom, and Hoseok just pukes on the floor in there. At least it’s a wet bath. He lets Hoseok squat near the drain and just moves to the shower, turning on the shower head. He’s immediately blasted in the face by cold water, and with a scream he stumbles out, half soaked. Hoseok squeaks when the cold water hits his slippers, and Yoongi has to brave the spray to aim it down and turn it warmer. By the time he gets it warmer, Hoseok’s settled on the ground, and he’s cracking up.

And before he knows it, Yoongi’s cracking up too.

[wisteriasymphony]

weird intrusive thoughts romance isnt dead but maybe we should kill it

[vxmitboy]

Finally posting this, enjoy hungover me puking!

[snzyspencer]

[tridentkickflipper123]

[doumidas-whumps]

a particularly hot august afternoon

Port weeds the yard.

cw: heat exhaustion, pet whump, small warning for emeto

solitaire masterlist

---

“Port.”

He plunged his spade into the earth, feeling for the roots.

“Port!”

Porter shut his eyes. Let the frustration pass. Deep breath. “What is it, Sonny?” he asked in his most even voice. This was probably the third time Sonny had called to him, standing cautiously in the doorway like there was an invisible wall preventing him from stepping into the sun. There might as well be.

“You should really get inside. The thermostat says 98.”

“I’ll come in once I finish.”

“At least grab a drink of water?”

“I’m alright,” Port dismissed. “I had some earlier.”

Port was no longer looking in Sonny’s direction. He only heard the door shut.

He tore the dandelion out of the ground and threw it with the others, mud still clinging to its spindly roots. Port tugged at the glove on his hand, adjusting it. Damn thing didn’t fit right, with his missing finger and all. The flopping rubber drove him crazy.

He wiped at his brow with the back of his forearm, hand occupied with the spade. Didn’t help much, considering every inch of skin was just as moist with sweat. Probably just rubbed grit around.

Mr. Oz had told him to get rid of the weeds, so that was what he was doing— and by God would he get all of them. He’d scorch them off the face of the Earth if he could, but in lieu of that, he’d dig each one up one-by-one like any normal person. 

It was really, really hot out. The Texas sun was unforgiving, prickling the back of his neck. A slick layer of sweat had long since formed under his collar. His shirt stuck to his back. His socks were soaked inside his shoes.

He stood to make for the next patch of dandelions when the world seemed to turn around him. He blinked for a moment, trying to be rid of the spinning. His head pulsed, and his tongue was sticking to the roof of his mouth. The idea of a cold drink sounded real appealing, now.

I’ll get this next patch, then I’ll take a break, he decided. He knelt by the flowers and carved around each one, ripping them up and throwing them onto the pile. Their yellow heads flopped haphazardly on the ground.

He heard Sonny call again just as he pulled up the last one.

“I know, I’m coming,” said Port.

He stood, clumsily, legs like jelly. He let the spade fall from his fingers, burrowing upright into the soft dirt. He would get it later. He took an unsteady step, feeling uncomfortably aware of how precarious it was to keep balance on two feet. His head swam at the motion. He could see Sonny’s relieved face through the black spots in his vision. He made to step over the pile of dandelions—

He needed to sit down.

His legs folded under him, settling into a kneeling position almost as familiar as breathing. He was on the ground, he was safe, he

He was

He was squinting into the sun when something eclipsed his vision. Sonny’s tan face, his furrowed brow. His mouth was moving, voice like it was underwater. “Christ, are you okay?” Sonny asked, frantic. “You need to get inside, now.”

“I am,” he mumbled.

“Get up!” The sun was back in Port’s eyes and Sonny was tugging at his arm. The idea of standing was too intimidating, and his stomach was flipping over itself, so Port decided to crawl on his hands and knees towards the front door, far beyond caring about the cleanliness of his ratty jeans.

“Whatever gets you inside, man,” Sonny said above him. He went ahead of Port, nudging the door open for him. Port crawled onto the doormat, onto the hardwood, and all the way to the kitchen.

When he got to the sink he reached up and grabbed the edge of the counter to hoist himself up. He realized how sore he was. Everything ached, beginning with his stiff fingers. His muscles pulled tight as he stood. Leaning heavily against the counter, he cranked the handle of the faucet and stuck his head under without a second thought. 

It sort of felt like he was being waterboarded, but the water was blissfully cool as he drank from it. He gulped as much as he could before too much water ran into his nose and he had to come out for air, coughing. The water sloshed and settled uncomfortably inside of him. His stomach clenched.

He doubled back over the sink and threw it all up. It was entirely liquid. He spit into the basin. 

Port jumped as something wet touched the back of neck, below his collar. He turned and realized it was Sonny, who had given him a soaked paper towel. It dripped down the back of his shirt along with the water off his hair.

Sonny disappeared for a second to pull a chair over. He put it behind Port.

“Sit down,” he said.

Port sat. He breathed heavily, head low, as he watched water drip off the hair hanging in front of his eyes. He realized he was still wearing his gardening gloves and slowly peeled them off.

He saw Sonny turn the faucet on to wash the sick down the drain and felt the back of the chair shift minutely as Sonny braced himself against it. “What in the actual hell is wrong with you?” 

“Wh… What do you mean?” Speaking was a chore. He let the gloves drop to the floor. The tile was already littered with mud and water.

“It’s a hundred degrees out there, man!”

Port blinked water out of his eyes. A drop broke and ran down the bridge of his nose. “He told me to get rid of the weeds.”

“So you’ll do whatever he says, even if it kills you?”

“I guess so.” 

Sonny had nothing to say to that.

Port was feeling slightly revitalized by the coolness on his neck. “That’s what we’re here for. To do what he says.”

“Yeah, well. You can’t do what he says passed out in the dirt, now can ya?”

Port pushed away the wet hair plastered to his forehead. “Could I get some water?”

“I’ll fill a glass. You don’t feel like you’re gonna hurl again, do you? Or... or seize, or anything?”

“No, no.” He took the glass gratefully. “Thank you.” He sipped from it, slower this time. It was delicious.

“You look like you’ve got some color back,” Sonny commented.

Port felt something tickle on his arm. He thought it was more water, until he felt it tickle more persistently. He looked down and realized a snail was crawling down his bicep. He put his finger in front of it, coaxing it to climb on.

He lifted the tiny snail for Sonny to see. “Look. I brought a snail in.” 

Sonny’s eyes brightened. “Can I hold it?”

Port deposited the snail onto Sonny’s open palm. 

“Snails are cute,” Sonny said.

“They’re little bastards, is what they are. They like to eat holes in the tomato plants.”

Sonny seemed scandalized at this. “It’s just the ecosystem,” he defended.

“It’s—“ Port had a realization. “You… you went outside.” Their master had forbidden him from stepping out of the house, and yet…

Sonny rubbed at the back of his neck. “Yeah. Under shitty circumstances.” He fidgeted with his shirt. “I don’t know. I just didn’t think about it. You won’t tell him, right?”

“Of course not,” Port assured.

“My socks…” Sonny lifted his foot to look at the bottom of it. Soil and mulch had turned the white sock to brown. “He’ll know I went out.”

“Change them and he’ll have no idea,” Port said. “You know he doesn’t touch the laundry. Just don’t track that on the carpet.”

“I feel like he’ll know somehow.” Sonny ran a hand through his hair, halfway tugging at it. “What if he has cameras out there? Oh, God. I’m gonna freak out.”

Port repressed a sigh and rubbed at his face. “Don’t freak out. Pet the snail if it makes you feel better.” 

Sonny shot him a well-worn dirty look. “Are you trying to be funny?”

“I’m completely serious.”

Sonny kept the sour look on his face. “I’m gonna put this thing outside. On your tomato plant.”

“Please, don’t.” He watched Sonny march off towards the foyer, hoping he was joking. Port released a breath and allowed his head to rest on the back of the chair. Like a baby, he could barely support it. He stared at the popcorn ceiling, weak and dizzy. 

Those damn dandelions were still in the yard.

---

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