warmblanketwhump

[warmblanketwhump]

Idea for you. Let’s say we have 5 characters living in one household. They’re all very close. A brings an illness into the house. B catches it while taking care of them. Then C joins the party. Then finally D catches it as well, leaving E to take care of all of them. They start to feel ill, but power through. By the time the others have recovered, E’s fever is bad, and now they have to take care of the caretaker.

this flu season, everyone got sick.

First to fall was A, who came home from work with a pale face and a raspy voice and went straight to bed. When E went up to see them, they found them huddled in bed, blearily staring at the wall.

“I don’t feel good,” they whimper.

Next, C’s nagging cough deepened. It had started a tickle in their throat, but soon moved all the way down into their chest. C was the active type—always going for runs and spending time outdoors—so E knew they were in trouble when a short walk from room to room left C breathless, and soon, they were bedridden as well.

Then, B started complaining about feeling chilled.

“Aren’t you guys freezing?” They sat at the dinner table with D and E, a blanket clutched round their shoulders as they stare blankly at the meal they’ve barely touched.

“No?”

B runs their hands up and down their arms, then hugs themselves tightly with a shudder. “I just can’t get warm.”

D and E exchange a look before D rests a hand on B’s shoulder. “I’ll get the thermometer.”

In the span of 36 hours, three of them had become bedridden.

At first, it’s a bit of a joke between them all, D and E commiserating as they move between rooms with cough syrup, tissues, blankets, and tea.

“We should open up our own hospital,” E cracks as they

But that all changes four days in when E comes downstairs to see D at the kitchen table, ashen-faced and clutching a mug of tea in their hands.

“D, you look awful.”

D hugs the mug closer to their chest and shudders, coughing weakly. “I’ll manage. It’s just the sniffles.”

Before D can move away, E’s got a palm to their too-warm forehead and a sinking feeling in their chest. “Off to bed with you, D. You’re the next victim.”

D groans, slumping over with their head on the kitchen table. “E, I can’t just leave you.”

“Yes, you can and you will. You’re feverish and pale as death.”

D pulls the blanket tighter, a sheepish look on their face. “I thought…I thought it wouldn’t get me too.”

“No one thinks it will. Bed. Now.”

So that’s how D winds up the fourth victim of the flu, and despite their protests, they were arguably the worst hit. What they tried to pass off as a quick rest turned into a six-hour nap. they woke that evening with a 104 fever, having sweat through their clothes and bedsheets.

“It’s going to be a long night,” E whispers under their breath.

——————-

Two days later, E’s standing in the kitchen, fighting to keep their eyes open as the coffee brews, when they feel it.

A chill, prickling between their shoulder blades before it washes over their whole body.

No. I’m just overworked and sleep deprived.

Generously, E had slept for a combined 3 or 4 hours over the past two nights. It was partially their own fault. They’d been sleeping on the hallway floor so they could be equally close to everyone, which meant they heard every whimper, every cough, every quiet plea for help.

C had been up all night with a body-wracking cough, and B’s fever had spiked twice, which meant two changes into dry pajamas. A seemed to be through the worst of it, but they were still so weak they had to be helped to the bathroom. D woke at 2 in the morning, wracked with chills so violent that E gave into their pleas and helped them take a bath to warm up. After being dried off, they spent the rest of the night clutching a hot water bottle.

After that ordeal, E hadn’t even gone to bed—they’d just collapsed on D’s carpet, tugged the nearest blanket around themselves, and passed out.

Until they were woken by C’s coughing a couple hours later, and it all began again.

I'll just finish these dishes and then go sit by the fire. It's probably just this cold snap getting to me.

But as they wash dish after dish, E finds that each one becomes harder and harder to lift. Even the effort of standing makes their knees shake, and goosebumps prickle on E’s arms for no reason at all.

No. No. I can’t get sick.

By midmorning, it’s clear that something is very wrong. E’s chilled to the bone, despite being layered in thermals, a thick sweater and multiple pairs of socks. They resist the urge to wrap up in their bathrobe—the others will know something is wrong if they have that many visible layers on.

So they take A a glass of water, trying to hide how badly their hands are shaking when they hand it off. A must be thirsty enough they don’t notice as they gulp the glass down, but they frown once they’ve finished.

“E, you’re pretty peaked.”

“Hmm?” E snaps to attention, their focus drifting.

“You just look sorta washed out. Have you been sleeping?”

“I’ve been fine. As much sleep as I can with four patients to take care of,” E snaps. They instantly regret their tone as A flinches, then raises their eyebrows. “Sorry. It’s just…it’s been a lot.”

A props themselves up, wrapping their discarded robe around their shoulders. “E, I promise I’m feeling better. I can sit with D for a while—“

“No way. You couldn’t even walk yesterday.”

“And that was yesterday,” A says, patiently. “Give me an hour. If I don’t feel up to it, I’ll tell you.”

“Fine,” E says, too tired to fight with a suddenly chipper A. “But if you even seem slightly faint, it’s back to bed.”

——————

C is the next patient to raise alarms. Though their hacking cough has rendered them voiceless, they seem to be on the mend—vigorously pointing on things and writing messages on their notepad.

E, you look sick. C stabs the pointed message with their finger for emphasis.

E stifles a groan. “You’re one to talk. Drink your cough medicine.”

C accepts the shot of dark red syrup, but their eyes don’t leave B as they take it.

E meets A in the hallway, and before they can ask, A rattles off a report on B. “Fever’s still holding steady at 101.4. They’re miserable, but they’re not going to die. Gave them a cold washcloth, aspirin, and an extra blanket.”

“That’s….good work, A.”

A rolls their eye. “You’re not the only one who can play nurse.”

D is the final stop—they’re still in the roughest shape, feverish and mumbling incoherently, but A manages to soothe them with a cool hand to the forehead and some soft words. E adds another blanket to D’s bed and forces some more medicine into them, and D’s asleep in three minutes.

All patients accounted for, they leave D to rest. E’s about to tell—no, demand—that A goes back to bed, when a sudden dizzy feeling washes over them, and they grab the doorframe.

“E? You alright?”

“I…..I…” Suddenly, E can’t even form words, they just know they’re freezing, and they’re torn between keeping hold of the wall and wrapping their arms around themselves, get warm get warm get warm, and when they choose neither, their knees buckle and they crumple to the floor.

——————

The first thing E realizes, as A and C help them to sit on their bed, is that their sheets are crisp and clean. When was the last time they’d slept a full night in their bed?

“A, go….go to bed,” E rasps weakly through chattering teeth, huddling on the edge of the bed as A helps them into pajamas. “I’ll manage.”

“E, you can’t even keep your head up. Just let us help you change.”

E shudders weakly as their bare, feverish skin hits the chilly air, and A eases them under the covers, rubbing their back. “There you go. Nice and warm.” E leans into the touch, groaning softly, and they feel a thermometer poke under their tongue.

“103.6.”

E groans, pulling the blankets tighter. “I…I can’t be sick.”

“Hush.” A covers them with another blanket. “You took care of us, now let us take care of you.”

E is too feverish and cold and achy to protest, so they let them.

[warmblanketwhump]

random sickfic/cold whump thought that popped into my head this morning:

whumpees who are freezing either from fever chills or just being cold and end up in bed wearing tons of layers that usually don’t get worn under the covers

like they’re bundled in their bathrobe and wrapped in a separate blanket while still under the blanket, or they’ve somehow put on their winter coat before crawling under the covers because they just want to be warm

anyways pls discuss

[warmblanketwhump]

gentle caretakers who holds whumpee close to their chests, cradles whumpee’s head in their laps, tuck whumpees safely in their arms. murmuring soft shhhs and it’s okays under their breath as they keep pressure on bleeding wounds, as they coax whumpee to stay awake, as they pray the team makes it on time.

whether they stay calm without a sign of worry or tremble with fear at the possibility of losing whumpee, they remain whumpee’s only source of comfort until help can arrive.

[warmblanketwhump]

two characters cuddling on the couch watching TV. despite the calmness of their surroundings, the show playing on the screen like normal as if nothing were wrong, they're both tense as brick walls. one is sick as a dog, wrapped in blankets, waiting for it to be over, and the other is worried out of their mind about how high that fever keeps getting, ready to load into the car and book it to the nearest hospital at the drop of a hat if need be. the tension only fades when the shivers of the ill one slowly die off, indicating the fever breaking after a hard battle won, the sickness finally leaving them so they can rest properly

[warmblanketwhump]

a whumpee who can’t move, it hurts too badly, and they just lie there moaning while caretaker tries desperately to comfort them.

bonus points if whumpee’s noises of pain are so weak, barely audible… leading caretaker to worry even more.

bonus bonus points if whumpee is using whatever molecule of strength they have left to feebly grasp caretaker’s sleeve / wrist / fingers.

[warmblanketwhump]

hey everyone! still kicking over here—just have a busy summer atm and working on getting my personal life in order and back on track. hope to be writing on here again soon! 👋🏻

[warmblanketwhump]

Caretaker hadn't seen whumpee in years. Their hand trembled as they were about to enter whumpees hospital room.

What if whunpee didn't recognize them? What if so much time had passed whunpee wouldn't care they came?

Caretaker painted a smile and cautiously approached whumpee on the bed, who had their knees barricading their chest.

Whumpees eyes were wide and alart, but their face was blank as they looked at them.

That's when caretaker realized whumpee didn't remember them at all.

They didn't remember anything.

[warmblanketwhump]

The final stages of healing, when a character is mostly recovered from their injuries, and the bandages are removed for the last time, or the stitches can come out, or the support of the sling be discarded, or the splint is unwrapped from the no-longer broken limb, or they can manage a step without crutches- the newly-healed site of the injury still a little tender, a little delicate, not yet able to stand up to the same level of rigourous use as before, but no longer actively injured or needing protective dressings or support- despite fragile new scar tissue, or being a little weaker or wasted, or being held more stiffly than before, or continuing to favour a particular side; the last removal of bandages or support being both the signifier of recovery's progress and a bit anxiously vulnerable to be without.

[warmblanketwhump]

Whumpees shivering in the rain

[warmblanketwhump]

oh but that woozy little sway they do after getting hit a little too hard, sitting upright just enough, leaning over like their head is too heavy for their body, clinging to consciousness as tight as they can. kneeling down in front of them, grabbing their shoulders to steady them. "easy, hey, look at me. you're alright."

[warmblanketwhump]

a typically animated, bubbly character simply nodding and obeying when another points out that they’re ailing and should go rest

[warmblanketwhump]

anyone else prefer whump without a whumper?? just me??

i mean like. there’s a whumpee and a caretaker + the rest of the team (if there is one). but no whumper

like. instead of the whump coming from a whumper, it comes from natural causes instead. so like sickness, weather (think whump involving hypothermia, heat exhaustion, getting sick from the rain, etc), events (like getting injured from let’s say a building collapse or breaking a bone or something like that)

THAT’S the kind of whump that really gets me going. no torture tropes, nothing like that. idk i just feel very much alone on this one, so i think it’d be neat if there were others out there who feel this way too

[warmblanketwhump]

this or that - whump tropes (36)

[warmblanketwhump]

In regards to that previous post about whump bloodlust. If I may also submit the idea of Comfort Aggression. For when the usual levels of comfort just aren’t cutting it anymore, and what you really need is someone to aggressively and wholeheartedly comfort the hell out of somebody.

Yes, hugs are great, but what you need that character to get is a bone crushing hug. They need to be hugged so tight their muscular system gives up fighting against the pressure and they turn into a puddle. They need to have a cry that is so cathartic the world shakes away and crumbles beneath their feet. They need to be so rocked to the core by somebody’s outburst of love that they can’t even comprehend it, that they can’t even stand. They crumple into a ball on the floor under the sheer weight and the permanency of the love that’s being forced onto them.

And it needs to spill out of the person that loves them like a torrent, like an avalanche, like an act of nature so powerful they don’t even have a chance of reeling it back in anymore. They need to be equally helpless, equally in need, as equally overwrought with the need to provide comfort as the other person is desperate to receive it

[warmblanketwhump]

Two characters who in the past have borne animosity for each other end up undergoing a traumatic situation together where they have to rely on each other for survival and when they're ultimately rescued their entire dynamic has shifted- now they're rabidly protective of each other, unable to be separated, drawing comfort from each other, with a bond nobody else can fully comprehend.

[warmblanketwhump]

after

cw: brief description of illness-related weight loss and a near-death illness experience

“Where’s B?” A hangs their coat on the hook and kicks off their work boots, moving closer to stand by the stove.

“In bed. Wanted to rest before dinner.” C’s bent over the table, a spread of papers and documents covering the surface.

“Let me guess. They tried to do too much today and wore themselves out.”

“What do you think?” C looks up from the desk, glasses perched on their nose. “I found them dead on their feet in the kitchen, blanket wrapped around their shoulders, trying to do the dishes. Had to practically carry them upstairs.”

It’s not a suprise, but it still makes A’s heart squeeze a bit. A few weeks ago, B had caught a bad cold which turned to pneumonia. For two weeks it had been touch and go, and though B had made it through the worst of the illness had passed, it had still left B weak, gaunt, and pale.

They weren’t bedridden any more, but they tired easily. The dark bruises still painted the skin under their eyes, and they were frequently chilled by the drafty winter air. A could tell they were so much thinner than they used to be, and they shuffled around like it hurt to move.

Yet still, B pushed themselves to do things, and A hated it.

“I’ll go up and check on them, see how they are.”

“Be gentle. You know they don’t like it when you tell them what they ought not to be doing,” C warned.

“Then they ought not to do it,” A called over their shoulders as they headed upstairs.

—————

B’s just waking up when they see A gazing at them from the door, a haunted look on their face.

“Don’t look at me like that.” B shrinks into the covers like a turtle retreating to its shell as A enters the bedroom.

“Like what?” A crosses the room to stir the fire in the stove.

“Like I’ll vanish if the breeze blows too hard.”

“B, you’re hardly more than skin and bones—I think I get to be concerned.”

B reflexively wraps their arms around their midsection, trying not to wince at being able to feel each rib. For weeks, they’d been so nauseous and delirious that all they could manage was a few sips of broth at a time. They were already lean to begin with—now, they could count bones they didn’t realize they had. Everything about them felt frail, shaky, insubstantial—so incredibly weak. They could hardly stand to catch glimpses of themselves in the mirror.

B stiffens as a shiver wracks their body—they can’t seem to stop shivering these days, a side effect of having no insulation and the persistent, low-grade fever the doctor said could remain for months afterward.

“Cold?”

B tugs the blanket tighter, willing it to warm their chilled body. “I’ll manage.”

A slowly closes in on B’s bed and takes a seat on the edge, putting a hand on B’s shoulder. B hates the feeling of someone so solid, warm, vital against their own frail body—a reminder of what they’re not. “I know the doctor said not to worry.”

“I’m getting better,” B insists.

“Yes, you are. But the keyword is getting better. And it’s going to take so much longer if you don’t pace yourself.”

B flinches at the words as if A hit them. “I know what I need.”

“I don’t know if you do—��

“See, I knew this would happen.” B’s voice cracks on the words. “You can’t just let me be. You have to tell me what I’m doing wrong, when you don’t know the first thing about what it means to lose your ability to do anything.”

“Because you won’t stop.” A’s voice is tight. “You push yourself and act like nothing happened, like you didn’t almost die—“

“You think I don’t know that?” B’s voice elevates. “You think I don’t feel the effects of what it did to me?”

“You know, but you won’t give yourself the chance to—“

“To hell with what you think you know. It didn’t happen to you—it happened to me!” B jackknifes to a sitting position, unable to hold themselves back.

“And I had to watch it happen!” A’s voice raises a degree, and they shoot off the bed, pacing before whirling back to face B. “You have no idea what it was like to see you half-mad with fever, thrashing about while we held you down and tried to cool you down while you screamed, or to hold you in my arms while you shook and you sobbed because you were so cold, or to hear you fight for every breath and beg the heavens for you to take just one more, all while being terrified you wouldn’t.”

The words hit B square in the chest. They thought you would die. A’s eyes are glassy, and B doesn’t know what to say, how to respond to something like that, and they take a deep breath to center themselves—

—only to be cut off as a coughing fit wracks their frame. They cough so long they see stars, but then they feel it—the warm, solid hand they hate so much on their back, rubbing soothing circles.

They couldn’t shake off the hand if they tried.

After it ends, B slumps back into the nest of pillows, breathing hard, chest aching from the exertion. “I hate this.”

“I know.” A’s whisper is soft. And it should make B mad, A thinking they know anything, but it doesn’t.

They sit in silence for several minutes, the anger fizzling out of both of them.

“Were you really that scared?” B says, when their breath stabilizes enough to speak.

“Yes.” A’s voice is quieter still, and B can catch the glint of the unshed tears in their eyes.

They’re quiet for much longer, and A speaks again.

“I just….I see you, and I just want to make everything okay for you and I can’t,” A says, voice cracking, a tear slipping out that’s quickly wiped away with a sleeve.

“That’s not your job, A. I’m not how I used to be, and I don’t know how to go back or if I even can,” B says, staring at the ceiling. “I can barely catch my breath, I’m always freezing, I look like a skeleton, and I can’t do anything without being exhausted. And it doesn’t make it better when you’re hovering over me, telling me I can’t do things when I already know.”

“I know.” A heaves a sigh. “And I’m sorry. I made it about me and my stuff instead of caring about you and I….I haven’t handled this well. None of it.”

“No, you haven’t.” B can’t stop the snarky retort that sneaks off their lips, and A’s mouth twitches with the faintest of smiles.

“Just…please. Know that we don’t expect you to be up and at it all of a sudden. Or ever. You don’t have to push yourself for our sakes.”

B sighs. “I know. And I’m sorry, scaring you like that.”

A takes in a shaky breath, and for the first time in the dim evening light, B can see that A’s a little rougher around the edges too—sleepless shadows under their eyes, hair that’s mussed and out of place, and a thousand -yard stare that wasn’t there before B got sick.

“Are you okay, A?”

A pauses for a moment. “Sleeping has been…hard. We were up most nights with you, C and I, for a long time, and even when you started getting better…” A shakes their head, as if to clear the cobwebs. “It’s like my body’s always trying to stay alert, in case you…in case something happens.”

B can’t even make a joke about that.

“Sometimes I’ll just…sit at your door and make sure you’re still breathing.”

“Okay, that’s weird.” B chucks a pillow at A, trying to shatter the heaviness around what A just confessed. To their credit, A yelps, and when B laughs, A smiles.

“But also sweet. And a little unhinged. Maybe both.” B says, propping themselves up on their elbows. “So what do you say if we both just give ourselves some time?”

A nods. “Some time.”

“Good.” B slumps down. “Now, that conversation took all the energy reserves I was saving for dinner, so I need another nap. You planning to take one with me, or are you going to watch me in my sleep again?”

“I think I can handle a nap,” A says, allowing themselves to tip over onto the covers.

When dinner time comes, it’s C who finds the pair fast asleep and curled into one another, A’s hand on B’s chest as they breathe the deep, even breaths of sleep.

[warmblanketwhump]

writing fanfiction is just fingers clenching over a keyboard as you ferally mutter i just want this little guy to be held, damn it and proceeding to hurt said little guy (gn) for about 10k words before you actually give them their hug