fever + comfort = ❤️

Yeah yeah "graphic design is my passion 🐸" I was trying to make a tool to explain how I have problem deciding where a fic should fall on this arbitrary "sense of danger scale" and I think I accidentally defined some words in a way that will be useful for me in the future.

So I think that a whumpy fic can be defined by its ratio of hurt to comfort, but that doesn't mean that a whump fic contains 0 comfort. If someone has been disemboweled in the mountains with no communication and no medical supplies, their friend can be rocking them and singing to them and wiping their damp forehead, but the ratio of hurt to comfort is still going to be greatly skewed because that's a mortal or near-mortal wound.

Likewise, a fic where a character gets a papercut can still enter into "whumpy/whump-lite territory" if it's really bothering them and no one cares, because the comfort level of 0 skews the ratio.

There's also a matter of delving. A high-ratio (which is to say, fluffy) fic can still be a satisfying sickfic if the author delves into the symptoms (which imho is usually what differentiates a satisfying vanilla fic from a disappointing one)

ANYWAY

What if we plot along two axes?

We can assign each scenario a “hurt” value and a “comfort” value on a scale of 1-5, plot it on the graph, and then categorize it into one of four quadrants:

Low Hurt/Low Comfort

Low Hurt/High Comfort

High Hurt/High Comfort

High Hurt/Low Comfort

This solves the ratio-skewing issue.

Example plots:

knowing something’s wrong because they’ve got goosebumps in a hot bath or shower (bonus points if they get extra chilled afterwards from their wet hair)

feeling achy and shivery hours after coming in from the cold rain, unable to get warm

curled up on the couch under a blanket, asking the caretaker to turn up the heat

hugging themselves and huddling near a space heater because they’re chilled down to their bones

someone covered in blankets, but they just can’t stop their teeth from chattering

sweat-speckled foreheads poking out from under a mountain of quilts

rubbing away the goosebumps that prickle on their arms and legs

shuffling around the house with a blanket tugged around their shoulders to keep them warm

being layered in warm pajamas, a sweatshirt, thick socks, a bathrobe, two blankets, and still shivering

crawling back in bed in the middle of the day because it’s the only place they can get warm

watching tv with a blanket pulled over their head so only their face is poking out.

in the summer - shivering in the AC, wearing sweats when everyone else is in shorts and t-shirts, covering up with a blanket on a hot day

in the winter - curling up near a crackling fire to chase away the deep, teeth-rattling shakes, battling both the wintry chill outside and the internal chill in their bones.

getting violent shivers just from shifting to a cold spot in the bed

“I just can’t get warm.”

clutching a hot water bottle to their chest, desperate for the heat to sink in and warm them

shaking hands wrapping around a mug of tea or a bowl of soup, teeth clattering against the rim when they try to take a sip

sitting up in bed with a blanket clutched around their trembling shoulders while the caretaker takes their temperature

weakly asking for someone to hold them or lay with them in bed because they’re just freezing

their friend cuddling with them in bed, rubbing their back to warm them up

Whumpee is so cold that they're not even shivering anymore. Their body is too weak for that. They just drop unconscious, their breathing shallow, their pulse dropping, lying on the floor of a mighty snowstorm.

They are miraculously found by Caretaker, and they get immediately taken to safety. Their body is freezing cold despite being completely enveloped by blankets, and it takes the most painful time for Caretaker to see an improvement in their condition.

B’s in the middle of cooking dinner. They quickly glance over everything on the stove: Yes, it looks okay to leave simmering for a few minutes. Luckily, everything they need is right at hand: One cupboard door for a bottle of painkillers, quietly shaken out; another for a tall glass, filled with water at the sink.

“Here.“ Quiet, tipping the pills into A’s palm and then following it up with the water. A groans in relief. “Want me to turn the lights down?“

“Fuck, could you?“ A breathes it like they’re too far gone to have thought to ask. They press the cool glass against their temple, still hunched forward, curling in on themself like that will protect them against the pain.

B lets their fingers brush over the back of A’s hand, and then goes to turn down the lights. Checks on supper. Eight minutes before the timer goes off. They’ll have to keep an eye on that. Get to the kitchen to turn it off before it starts to beep. With the time they’ve got, though, they come back to A and let their hands settle on their shoulders. Maybe they perch on the back of the couch; maybe they stand behind it, pressing in close. Either way, they start in with a gentle shoulder massage, going deeper when A, slurred, asks for more.

“You okay?” B finally asks, still keeping their voice low. It’s obvious what the answer is, but they know from experience that A just needs some space to tell them what’s going on on their own. Trying to rush it will just shut them down.

“Just a tension headache.” Eyes scrunched shut. “Work sucked.”

“Mmm?” Leaving space, again.

A scrubs their eyes with the heel of their hand and it all comes tumbling out, everything that had gone wrong at work, “and I just couldn’t take it today, I don’t know why, I didn’t even have a headache then,“ and “the drive home was hell, I could barely keep my eyes on the road“ and “I just wanted to get home. To you.”

Maybe that’s a new confession, slipping out in a moment of vulnerability, or maybe it’s a familiar expression of long-standing care. Either way, B just lets them talk, and keeps up the massage, moving onto their neck, their scalp, and then down to their collarbone, encouraging them to sit up, to lean back against the back of the couch, to let their shoulders come down and back. One eye on the stove, and it’s time to get up, to do the next step in cooking, to keep the food from burning and the timer from going off. B eases off of the massage and pulls A in for a hug, arms wrapped around their shoulders from behind; gentle, gentle.

“Lie down,“ B murmurs. “I’ll let you know when dinner’s done.“

“Yeah, okay.” Pliant, letting themself be guided down. B glances at the timer again, and comes around the front of the couch. Down to A’s level. Their eyes can’t hide their concern. 

“Hey.“ Quiet, hand still moving on their shoulder, their upper arm. Palm coming up to caress their jaw. “You sure this is just a tension headache? You feel pretty warm.“

A shrugs– “I think so”– and shivers a little, and sighs. “I dunno. Maybe not.“

Returning for 2026!

Feveruary is a sickfic event with a closer focus on comfort and caretaking!

Hello guys! After a busy year, Feveruary has been taken over solely by myself (as Somber is taking a well deserved break) so I appreciate everyone’s patience and understanding at the lack of clarity of this year’s event.

That being said, I can’t wait to see what great things are written this year, we had an amazing year last year and I hope this continues. Hopefully these prompts live up to the expectations, I know many people have been waiting a while for them. As always, the ask box is open for any questions!

Prompt Text Version Below!

dry cough will cause:

headaches

throat pain

sternum pain

back pain

rib pain

it will make the following actions hurt:

coughing (obviously)

laughing

bending over

deep breaths

suppressing the cough

if your whumpee has had a shoulder injury, either past or present, their shoulder WILL HURT WITH EACH COUGH.

Stumbling because they’re lightheaded

Shivering/wrapped in a blanket/hugging a heat pack

Burning up/sweating/taking a cold shower

Drinking tea/hot chocolate

Eating soup

Curling up on the bathroom floor

Drinking ginger ale/eating soda crackers to calm their stomach

Panting because their chest/nose is congested

Puffy red eyes

Painful and persistent cough

Throbbing headache

Swigging cough syrup out of the bottle to get through the day

Stomach cramps

General confusion/inability to focus

Fever dreams/floating in and out of restless sleep

They’re relatively compliant cause they have very little energy

They’re 100% exhausted constantly

Aches and pains throughout the body

I'm thinking like, catching the flu and actually getting sick over the course of the few hours they're there

So they're fine at the beginning, cheerful, eating and drinking and chatting...

And then they start to feel really run down, really fast

Zoning out on the couch, suddenly exhausted. Other characters think they could be drunk/high, but soon realize they're completely sober and just really out of it from a rising fever

Lights looking too bright, the rest of the room looking too dim. Weird halos around lamps, the TV screen.

Someone falling asleep curled up on the sofa, found and given a blanket by another party goer who thinks it's adorable at first -- only to realize they're a bit too warm

Maybe they had to get all the way across town to reach their friend's house, and now it's either late enough that buses aren't running, or they don't have money for a cab, or they drove but they're in no state to do so now, or maybe their friends are just worried enough about them that sending them home alone at all isn't something they're comfortable with...so the easiest solution is to just let them spend the night

Taking someone's temperature in a bathroom late at night with only a night light on, the sounds of the party still audible outside the door

›› refuse to admit they’re sick while literally swaying on their feet (“I’m fine.” immediately crashes into the couch and doesn’t get up for 2 hours)

›› that stubborn little forehead crease when they’re trying to pretend they’re not in pain but they definitely are

›› saying “I’m not cold” while shivering like a leaf and glaring at the blanket you’re offering like it insulted their honor

›› wearing like… 3 hoodies. and a beanie. and a blanket cape. looking like a lump of denial with a nose

›› flinching when they cough too hard, like it surprised them and they feel a little betrayed by their own body

›› that specific exhausted way of blinking, slow and confused, like their brain is buffering every time you ask a question

›› apologizing for being sick. like their immune system personally offended you. like they should’ve scheduled it better

›› getting clingy in that low-energy, wordless way. like reaching for your sleeve or sitting closer without saying anything

›› drinking tea like it’s a punishment. making a face after every sip but still doing it because someone made it for them

›› trying to pretend they’re still useful. doing tasks badly. insisting on helping and then immediately sitting down like “okay I need a nap now”

›› using exactly zero words to communicate for three days. just grunting and side-eyes and one finger raised when they need something

›› being deeply offended by how gross they feel. muttering “I hate this” every few minutes like their own mucus is their nemesis

›› standing up too fast and doing the classic “whoa. gravity’s intense today” stagger

›› texting you things like “bring soup. i am dying. goodbye” but then surviving anyway, unfortunately for the drama

›› finally accepting help after pretending they didn’t need it, and getting weirdly quiet when someone tucks the blanket around them just right

disclaimer: this takes place in pre-you-know-what times - if you’re actually sick, do not do what B does here. alright, on to the suffering :)

Back when B booked their flight, the 4 am boarding time and 2 layovers seemed like a great exchange for saving a few hundred dollars while flying across the country. But now, with a head that feels like it was stuffed with cotton, a gate change that forced their leadened body to trek across the entire airport, and an additional 3-hour delay before their final 4-hour flight, they were beginning to question their penny-pinching ways.

In a nearby terminal, a fussy infant screamed, and it took everything for B not to scream back at them: I hate it here too! Their nerves were frayed, their whole body ached to the bone, and their head felt like it was in a vise grip.

It hadn’t felt this bad this morning - heck, they wouldn’t have left if they’d felt this bad - but the changing cabin pressure and constant temperature shifts from hot, stuffy terminals to icy planes were wreaking havoc on their poor, rapidly sickening body. They’d been up for 18 hours. And now, they had no choice but to ride it out and power through the last leg. They hug the paper cup of tea they’d grabbed at a nearby cafe close to their chest, trying to hold back their frustrated tears.

They just wanted to be home.