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bellysoupset · 5 months

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Wendy rolled on the bed, which was still so warm, and let out a chuckle as she heard a groan to her left. It was a little distant, although pretty loud, so she figured Vince was no longer in bed.

Rubbing her eyes, Wendy tugged on Vin's oversized hoodie so it was sitting right on her and got out of the bed, walking to the bathroom. The place was already pretty cramped and it certainly hadn't been made for her 6'4 boyfriend to drape himself on the ground, forehead resting on his forearm, which was sitting on the toilet rim.

"Ho ho ho?" She grinned, leaning against the door, "I'm gonna guess you regret all the wine from yesterday?" Wendy felt a jolt of pleasure as her boyfriend's throat bobbed at the mention of alcohol.

Yesterday had been the 25th and Vince had been delegated to Santa. Not only he had eaten all the cookies that Liv put out, while dressed in satin red and sporting a fake beard, but he had pulled out the performance of his life. Wendy would be lying if she said she didn't have a blast, watching Livia's eyes get the size of saucers as Santa guided her outside to find the pink bike she wanted, with a red ribbon on top.

Then, in return for his hard work at keeping the magic of Christmas alive, Vince had decided he could and should down two bottles of red wine as the night stretched on.

"I never wanna drink again," Vince groaned, pushing himself up and belching over the water, a thin dribble of pink puke falling inside the bowl.

"Really? Bummer, there's a merlot downstairs calling your name," Wendy teased him and Vince gagged at the thought, back curling as he heaved and brought up a bit more vomit.

"You're so mean," he whined, wrapping an arm around his bloated stomach and curling up again. He had sweat through his long sleeved shirt, the ratty fabric glued to his back and clinging to his tummy. Vince had always had a belly, but today he was really channeling in Santa, his tummy rounding out and poking out of the top.

"Yeah, I'm terrible," Wendy rolled her eyes, walking further into the bathroom and crouching down behind him, carefully pulling back Vince's hair and twisting the curls on the sides, so she could use her own hair clip to keep them behind his head, "how long have you been here, honey?"

"Uhm..." Vince groaned, burping again and pressing on his tummy, which let out an upset growl. He breathed frantically, drool dripping down his bottom lip and then heaved once more, a bigger gush of wine smelling vomit hitting the bowl. Wendy cringed, getting up to press the flush and then sitting behind him again.

"Vin?"

"Too long," he groaned, forcefully clearing his throat and spitting in the now clear water, "feels like I've been here forever and I'm still not empty."

"I mean, you did drain two bottles of wine, honey," she chuckled, rubbing his arm, "I hope you realize that's enough to kill a smaller man."

"Maybe it's enough to kill me too, because I feel like I'm dying," Vince whined, rubbing at his forehead, "my head is pounding like hell."

"You're dehydrated," Wendy sighed, getting up and going back to the room, grabbing his bottle of water, "here. Small sips."

"I'm not dehydrated, my belly is all sloshy," Vince scoffed, poking his bloated tummy and Wendy nearly fell flat on her back as his belly immediately sloshed like a waterbed. Her cheeks turned red and she breathed through the hot flash, catching just the last flicker of Vin's cheeky smile.

"You are horrible," she glared at him, "how am I going to explain to your family I'm hard because you're dying, uh?"

"There's no one here," Vince chuckled lightly, but there was no real intent behind his friendly teasing. He was feeling too much like death to engage in any frisky activity and Wendy knew it. She rolled her eyes, poking the bottle he was holding.

"Small sips, I'm gonna go grab some food. Greasy bacon?"

"UrghrkK-" was his answer, a sick belch that had him scrambling for the bowl, some red puke splattering on the lid as he threw himself against the toilet.

She sighed, squeezing his shoulder, "trust me, honey, it'll help. Keep drinking the water, I'll be right back."

Wendy pressed her lips not to laugh as she sauntered downstairs - now wearing pants - and found Sophia draped over the kitchen island, arms wrapped around her stomach. Her parents had allowed the teenager a couple glasses of wine, since Vince was going all out and Soph was about to turn 18, but clearly she regretted it already.

"Morning," Wendy said cheerfully, causing the other girl to glare her way, while Vince's dad looked up from where he was sitting in the little makeshift breakfast nook and smiled.

"Buongiorno, Wendy," he pointed the oven, "I made pancakes and bacon, suit yourself."

"Thank you... Where's Ma?"

"Asleep," Giuseppe smiled fondly, "she overworked herself yesterday, nothing more fair than to let her sleep in."

Wendy agreed, munching on some bacon. Ma had gone all out, she had made Wendy almost feel ashamed of what she called hosting, "everything was gorgeous and delicious."

Vin's dad only smiled in a proud way, as if saying yes-I-know, "where's Vincenzo?"

"Wanna guess?" Wendy chuckled, making up a plate for her sick boyfriend. Giuseppe only chuckled at that.

"He's always been a lightweight," he commented, causing Wendy's eyebrows to jump. She definitely didn't consider two bottles of wine a lightweight, but then again Vin's entire family was as tall as he was, so maybe they just had different standards around here.

Europeans, Wendy thought, laughing to herself, "I'm gonna take these for him..." she circled Sophia, "honey, eat something greasy, it's going to help."

"Don't talk to me," Sophia mumbled, her accent much more prominent than ever before, "g'away."

Giuseppe chuckled at that, gesturing for Wendy to go and not pay his daughter any mind. As she was walking out, she heard the old man tease the teenage girl as he said, "no more wine for you, piccola?"

"Babbooooo!"

Wendy was still giggling as she walked back in the bedroom, holding a plate filled with goodies. Vince was no longer crouched in front of the toilet, but he had shut the door and she could hear the shower running.

She planted the plate down on the bedside table, doing the messy bed and changing out of her clothes into something warmer and more fitting for the day. It was shaping up to be a lazy type of day with them just cuddling in bed for the best half of it, but regardless Wendy didn't want to be in her pajamas in case his parents and sisters came knocking.

Vince's phone buzzed across the room and Wendy glanced at it, but didn't bother getting it, knocking on the door of the bathroom, "are you alright?"

"Peachy!" Vince's voice was still husky as hell, but at least he sounded more like his goofy self. A couple minutes later he stepped out, a towel around his shoulders and sweat pants hanging low on his hips, shoved away from his bloated belly.

Wendy bit down her lip, "hi there," she grinned, tip toeing to kiss him, "I like your outfit."

"Yeah yeah, figures," Vince groaned, but kissed her back, before sluggishly walking to the bed and sitting down. He eyed the plate filled with food with a grimace on his face, paling a little more, "do I have to?"

"Just one bacon?" Wendy suggested, grabbing the towel that was hanging around his shoulders and starting to dry his hair. Vince whined.

"You're gonna make my curls look awful, that's not how you dry curly hair, Wen."

"Oh," she dropped her hands and he rolled his eyes at her, wrapping an arm around her waist and resting his face on her chest, since she was standing between his legs.

"You're comfy..."

"And you're sweet. Eat," she pushed his forehead slightly.

"Uhm," Vince grumbled, gagging around the bacon piece he was trying to eat and muffling a sick burp against Wendy's tummy, "the wine was a horrible idea, a terrible... Disgusting idea," he gagged again, before forcefully swallowing and reaching for his water bottle.

He chugged on the water and once again slumped against her, letting out a sigh as he felt Wendy's delicate fingers running through his damp hair.

"Your phone was buzzing, by the way," Wendy said quietly, clearly just enjoying the makeshift hug. Vince let out a grunt, falling on his back and spreading on the bed to grab his phone in his jacket, hanging on the opposite bed post. He squinted at the screen and then groaned, dropping the phone back on his chest.

"I can't read, my head hurts."

She chuckled, pushing his thigh slightly so she could join him on the bed, taking his phone and resting a hand on Vince's upset belly, rubbing it as she clicked on the notification.

"It's a text from Leo..." Wendy's voice dipped at the end, as she read Leo's words, "uhm... I don't- I don't get it..."

Leo: what is it that I hear about you leaving? As in leaving town? For good??

"What?" Vince yawned, oblivious to Wendy's frown. He had closed his eyes and planted his hand over hers, still resting on his belly, "read it to me, maybe it's a joke?"

"I don't think it's a joke," Wendy pulled her hand back from his grip, getting up from the bed, reading the text again, "he's asking if you're leaving? Leaving town... For good?"

If Wendy had any hopes of this being just a joke, they flew out of the window as Vince visibly flinched, paling at least two shades and quickly sat up on the bed.

"Wen-"

"Vince, what is this?" she raised the phone, shaking it, "why is he saying you're leaving town?"

"I'm not-"

"So Leo is lying?" she could feel her voice raising, just as her heart was starting to race, "Vince, what is he talking about!?"

"Hey," Vince's voice softened up as he got up too, closing the distance between them in two steps, "Wendy, calm down, let's talk this over, c'mere."

"Talk what over!?" she hissed, but allowed him to pull her back to the bed, where they both sat down, "just start talking already, Vince!"

"Lately, I- I've been considering... Moving here. Home, I mean..." he winced as Wendy's eyes widened and she dropped his phone as if it was burning, "closer to my parent-"

"This is why you haven't been sleeping," Wendy concluded, voice suddenly icy cold. She got up, pushing Vin's hands away when he tried keeping her close, "right? This is why you've had these huge dark circles lately and Luke- And Luke knows and if Lucas' knows, this means that Bella...And Jonah know too, that's how Leo knows," she paced the room, "so literally everyone knew you'd be breaking up with me at fucking Christmas and no one told me."

"Bre- WHAT?!" Vince exclaimed, confused, "no, Wendy, what the hell, I'm not breaking up with you! Where did you even- I'm not breaking up, don't even joke about that-"

"I'm not joking," she crossed her arms, ignoring the sudden burn in her eyes and the way her throat was closing up, "if you're not dumping me then what are you doing?"

"I'm not doing- I'm not breaking up with you, that's for sure. I'm... I'm just considering moving here, I was going to talk with you-"

"WHEN!?" She exclaimed suddenly, "when you made up your mind on dumping me!? Meanwhile, you get to have a lovely girlfriend and stay at-"

"There's no scenario where I'm breaking up with you, Wendy! I love you!" Vince got up from the bed, crossing the room again and Wendy took a step back, glaring at him.

"You just said you didn't make up your mind on moving here-"

"Yeah, but I was going to ask- I wanted us to move here together!" He exclaimed and Wendy was so shocked that for a second she stopped feeling like crying.

"You wanted me to move here? To Doveport?" She repeated, numbly, and Vince nodded eagerly.

"We could get a place together and- And my old high school said they'd love having me as- as a teacher..." He stumbled over his words, barely meeting her eyes, as Wendy glared at him, "and I looked into it and the local hospital has a neurology program and-"

"Sounds like you thought this through, alright," Wendy said, coldly, feeling her heart all but crack in her chest, "only forgot to fucking ask me."

Vince looked up, every bit like a wounded puppy, "I didn't- I hadn't made up my mind, I was going to-"

"You're not going to fucking Gone Girl me," Wendy scoffed, starting to move around the room, grabbing the pieces of clothing lying around and throwing it inside her suitcase, "you're out of your damn mind."

"Gone Girl you...?" Vince frowned, following her around, "what are you doing?" he noticed her grabbing her things, "Wendy, stop- What do you mean!?" forcefully, he took the shirt she was clutching on for dear life.

Wendy blinked against the sudden tears, trying to pull the shirt back, before giving up and shoving his chest out of sheer frustration, "did it occur you to ask me if I wanted to move to the middle of fucking nowhere to be close to your family!? No, it didn't! You were very happy going through your options, while using me as a holiday date and free bed and breakfast-" a sob came up and she pressed her knuckles to her lips, trying to bite it down.

Vince let out a little pitiful noise, crouching down slightly, "honey, honey, please don't cry, I never meant to hurt you. There was no decision, I just wanted us to get through the holidays before-"

"Before you gave me the ultimatum that either I move with you or we bre-break up!?" Wendy scoffed, fat tears running down her face, "I feel sss-sostupid, I thought- I thought we were moving in to-together," she was full on shaking now and Vince stepped even closer, attempting to wipe down the tears, only to receive a sharp slap to his hand when he tried touching her face.

"Don't fucking touch me," Wendy scoffed, turning around and zipping up her bag, "I can't believe everyone- Everyone knew, but me. I'm- You're such a fucking asshole."

"No one- I didn't talk with anyone, Wendy. Would you please look at me? Please, just let me explain, Wen..."

"Nothing to explain," she got up, dragging her bag, "you said all that needed to be said-"

"I don't wanna break up," Vince grabbed the back of her coat, and Wendy immediately grabbed his wrist, trying to get him to let go, "I love you, Wendy. I don't want to hurt you, I never meant to hurt you like this... I wanted us to talk this over-"

"Luke has known for weeks," Wendy hissed, squeezing his fingers, frothing at the mouth. She was so devastated, it was turning into anger, boiling in her stomach, "for weeks and it didn't occur you to talk with me. To ask if I- Let go of my jacket! We're done Vince, let go off me!"

"Done?" Vince's grip loosened up and he widened his eyes, "Wendy, please, don't say that. We're not done, couples fight-"

"This isn't a fight," Wendy scoffed, stumbling back as he fully let her go. She straightened up, "you wanted to go then fucking go, but there's no world where I leave my town and my- my life to follow you to this place just because you wanna continue being a momma's boy."

"You're not being fair..." Vince frowned, his own eyes welling up with tears and he followed her into the hallway. The yelling had woken up his mom, who was standing at the threshold of her door, but she didn't say anything.

"I don't have to be fair," Wendy scoffed, continuing to walk and completely ignoring him, "you certainly weren't," she was squeezing the handle of her suitcase with so much force her knuckles were white as she rushed down the stairs, Vin hot in her heels.

"Wendy, please, don't-"

"Don't you ever-" Wendy turned around, furious, tears streaming down all over again and shoving a finger in his naked chest, "dare come close to me again. Ever. You broke my fucking heart, Vince."

"Please stay," he grabbed her hand, pressing it to him, "please. Let's just talk about this."

"ARE YOU NOT LISTENING TO ME!?" this time she screamed out in frustration, causing a scene at the front door, and shoving him back, "never again."

Before he could say anything, which he couldn't because now Vince was full on crying, Wendy turned back around and walked as fast as she could to her car, throwing her suitcase in the backseat and slamming the door, driving off.

#mywriting #sickfic #hangover #hungover #emetophilia #emeto #vince monacelli #wendy marshall #emotional whump #whump

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whump-kia · 2 months

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something I've noticed about writing whump is it's made me far more comfortable in certain aspects of discomfort in my life. for example, I'm extremely emetophobic, but in the small amount of time I've spent in sickfic writing, it's gotten slightly less frightening IRL to me. i used to be scared of large amounts of blood, and now it doesn't bother me. the exploration and understanding of each topic helped me with discomfort. i think that's cool :)

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plushie-kin · 1 year

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Commission fur twitter purson

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discord-emote-customs · 4 months

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Hi! Can I request a Nausea/Chronic Nausea Emoji! Similar to @sleepingcatemojis's Chronic Pain emoji but with blue/green coloring. (Link: https://www.tumblr.com/sleepingcatemojis/695241375328944128/something-for-a-chronic-pain-flare-pls?source=share ) [Not at all asking you to alter that one or anything, i just thought adding an inspo/reference example might help!]

so many versions ............

anyway , here we have nausea/chronic nausea text normal white & brown or red & black with pale ver. & normal flush ver. , then w/ & w/o text ^^

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writing-whump · 10 months

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Leader to equal

Summary: Something is wrong with Isaiah. Matthew wants to find out what. Contains heart problems, emeto and caretaking.

Something was wrong with Isaiah.

Matthew was sure, well, moderately sure, because it was honestly very hard to tell anything about the raven haired wolf.

Isaiah was good at acting consistently. Like he chose a face and stuck with it. Smiley and charming and suspiciously relaxed, like he was laughing at everybody with those sparkly green eyes and easy grin. Too easy for a wolf, stance too lax. No wonder he could move around the city without humans getting the slightest suspicion about his true nature.

Shadow wolves were usually easy to spot. The smell of sulphur, the barely held back aggressivity and tension, like a string a second before snapping painfully. The furrowed eyebrows or generally frowning face and a scary glare and the aura of shadow, burning and death. Yeah, quite easy to spot in a crowd.

But Isaiah fit in, something only the weakest wolves usually did. For him it wasn't a weakness, it was a strength, as Matthew came to understand by following him around.

Why was he following him? He wasn't sure. But Isaiah went to check on him in the morning, and Matthew was irritated by the attention and felt like he was owed some answers and stalking for being woken up and worried about like a helpless pup.

Seriously. Seline and Isaiah were ruining all his good reputation.

So Matthew followed Isaiah around as he went from district to district. Knocking on doors, climbing through windows, resting on verandas of friendly and not quite friendly packs and scary leaders and new groups and known witch clubs. The reactions ranged from enraged but fruitless attacks to resigned frustration to almost amicable acceptance.

Somehow Isaiah always came out of it as the victor. Proving he was the best, that he could look human one moment and raise his shadow the next, that he could put other shadows around him down and shake off the aggression with a shrug and a smile on his way out as if nothing happened.

Matthew stayed silent and followed and wondered if Isaiah's strength wasn't really in the quick absolute shifts between his human and shadow sides. As if they were in harmony instead of tearing at each other with opposite desires. He never saw or even heard of anything like it.

It didn't seem normal. He shouldn't have been surprised that it wasn't.

Because on the third day of following Isaiah around Matthew noticed something weird. His chest was hitching when he spoke. And he was out of breath quickly, after a short walk. Hell, after one visit, Matthew actually saw him disappear around the corner to lean down against the wall. Taking those quick shallow breaths, as if he couldn't get enough air in, with sweat glistening on his temples and upper lip.

Matthew stood there, frozen by shock that maybe his suspicions weren't so misplaced. That switching so easily and swiftly wasn't that easy at all.

The red haired wolf came behind Isaiah. Slowly and hesitantly, letting his weight fall heavily to warn him of his presence. Coming from the back was risky. That's how enemies approached. That's the place no wolf would appreciate anyone coming, if they weren't at least in the same pack.

Isaiah's head flicked towards him, giving Matthew a sideway glance before straightening up and looking away again. He didn't growl or stop him from approaching otherwise, not acknowledging him as a threat. Matthew had to swallow down a bit of disappointment and hurt pride, all the more that his shadow jumped unhappily, wanting to challenge the other wolf that moment to make him take him seriously.

But Matthew didn't want to fight. As weird as that sounded even to him. Something was wrong with Isaiah. It was subtle and small enough and Isaiah was an actor and a face changer enough, but Matthew saw it now.

Isaiah always wore his strength like his perfect black suits. Dressing it up and masking whatever was underneath with impeccable charm and unsettling calm. But just like with any suit, if you wear it too often, it comes undone. The seams start to show. The fabric begins to tear.

Matthew came up to Isaiah so they could get rid of the back tension, crossed his arms on his chest and leaned against the wall. The most relaxing stance he could manage was to wrap himself up in his own anger, containing it.

"So. What the hell is wrong with you?" Matthew meant to start more diplomatically and neutrally but eh. This was not his forte.

Only up this close did Matthew notice the black circles under his eyes. Weird. Werewolves can get hurt or sick, poisoned or angry or straight faced, but not tired.

"Wow. Straight to the point, I see." Isaiah raised one eyebrow at him. "Couldn't you start with a hello?"

Matthew grimaced. "Hello. What the hell is wrong with you?"

Isaiah snickered. "Aww. You are so worried about me you followed me around?"

"Pfff. Worried about you? Nonsense. I just think it's weird- I mean- Whatever stupid shit-" Matthew cut himself off abruptly, realising how unbelievably he sounded.

Isaiah smiled at that, eyes sparkling. "I'm touched, Matthew. Maybe some of my influence is finally coming through!"

"That's why you didn't mind me following? That's so-...so arrogant." Matthew scoffed.

Isaiah actually laughed at that, as if that was a compliment and not a complaint. The laugh got raspy at the end and turned into a cough.

Matthew blinked his eyes in surprise as Isaiah actually leaned forward, coughs wracking through him. His hand came to his chest, massaging the his left side as if it hurt.

This couldn't be normal.

Isaiah looked at him, something tired and sad flickering in his eyes before a smile smoothed over him on command and he straightened. It wouldn't be visible, if Matthew didn't watch out for it. But he held himself tightly now, shoulders stiff and eyes slanted slightly, breaths coming up a little faster than usual. Not over yet. He was still in pain. Maybe the whole time.

Why didn't he raise his shadow to take whatever discomfort he felt? If this was ordinary human sickness or an injury...

Turning here and back again. Like waves in quick succession, fast and swift and unpredictable. Not normal at all. Realisation snapped together in Matthew's mind. The red head narrowed his eyes. Isaiah lifted an eyebrow again, a sardonic look on his face. He was starting to take Matthew's stare as a challenge, showing him how unlikely he thought him to win.

Matthew suppressed the instinct to answer that reaction, biting his lip down hard. They were in the middle of a street. Probably out of sight of Isaiah's last visit to a pack Matthew didn't really care about enough to know by name, but hardly out of earshot.

He could not help Isaiah here even if he wanted to. Which he didn't, of course. He was not obligated to help him. Isaiah wasn't alright, but he was still way stronger and deadlier than Matthew, no matter how evenly their shadows looked.

Matt sighed heavily and then fished out phone out of his pocket. Quickly clicking on the green Bolt app, he found the nearest taxi just 3 minutes away.

"What are you doing?" Isaiah demanded. His voice was still nonchalant, but there was a hint of untypical impatience and exasperation.

"I'm going home. Since it's on the way, you can tag along," Matthew said, looking away angrily. These places weren't remotely close. Did it count as a lie, when they both knew the truth?

Isaiah looked amused again, which as Matthew now realised, was quite a powerful expression of power and control over the situation that obviously wasn't there. Likely more effective than scowling and glaring angrily like a petulant child. Matthew should probably work on it. Then again as masterful as Isaiah's facades are, Matthew preferred a more direct approach. He shoos Isaiah into the summoned taxi. Neither said a thing.

***

Matthew had been in Isaiah's apartment before, though his memories of the place and occasion were hazy. Between his shadow crazed anger outbursts and the way his body tears itself apart because of them, he didn't find it concerning.

He also figured that if Isaiah didn't want to come to his place uninvited, he wouldn't have shown him where he lived. It just wasn’t in Matthew's nature to worry about etiquette.

Matthew trailed behind the black haired wolf inside without a word. Isaiah gave him a puzzled look, but didn't comment, ever the polite one. Must be tiring to have to endure other people's audacity.

Isaiah lived in the centre of the city, high in the building. How he got such a magnificent view of the cityscape and such a great location to be just a few minutes to everywhere, Matthew had no idea. You could simply not find a rent here even if you were willing to pay those immoral prices.

But it was also just like Isaiah to want to be in the centre of things. The closest he could be to all the districts without favours - wolf packs districts with their giant parks along the river and their numerous sport squares; covens with their dancing and art studios and various shrines and gemstone markets, humans with their kindergartens, coffee shops and bakeries, museums and bike trails.

While Isaiah got his suit jacket hanging and carefully cleaned out his shoes Matthew looked around properly, trying to pinpoint what exactly made the apartment look rich. The surfaces were so bare and empty every kind of decoration pulled attention. Was it the minimalism? Maybe the furniture was expensive from those unusual shapes, but Matthew really wouldn't be able to tell.

The floor was so pristine white and cold he was just thinking of leaving, when he found Isaiah leaning on the back of the chair behind the dining table. He was bent over his elbows, breathing hard, eyes shut together.

Okay, maybe he would better stay a bit longer.

He shook off his shoes before stepping next to Isaiah. Sweat was clinging to his temples and collar and he also noted the wheezing sound he made with each breath.

"Hey man. What about you sit down?" Matthew suggested. He tentatively put a hand on Isaiah's shoulder. His whole back was shaking with these rattling breaths. This wasn't normal at all and Matthew was starting to have a serious suspicion.

Isaiah didn't answer or look at him, but he made a move away from the chair and let himself be guided to the couch. His hands clawed at his chest, rubbing angrily at the left side.

That's when Matthew noticed Isaiah' shadow. Trembling underneath him, but squished together, taking minimal space. As if Isaiah was afraid it would raise, as if it wanted to but he wouldn't let it.

"Why don't you let your shadow up a little?" He blurted out.

Isaiah leaned back suddenly, wheezing and grimacing, before his eyes focused on Matthew. His usually piercing green eyes were clouded over and dimm.

"I appreciated the concern, Matthew, but I believe you have troubled yourself long enough. I will see you tomorrow."

Oh. That's how you want to play it?

"You are good at changing the subject, that you are," Matthew said drying, crossing his arms and leaning back as well. "But I think I get the problem now. Everyone has to push their shadow down, but you are pushing yours up and down on will so much, it's actually hurting you. The changing states are putting strain on your human heart. You won't let it run wild nor let it rest. And it can't heal the damage it causes when you are making it leave."

Isaiah regarded him coldly. "Thank you for explaining. Next time when I want to hear something I already know, I'll call you immediately."

Matthew's head went back a little, but then he couldn't help the grin spreading on his face. He had never actually seen Isaiah without his trademark smile and smooth voice. But the stare he was giving him now was all steel and irritation. No, Isaiah didn't like it one bit he figured out this weakness.

Isaiah narrowed his eyes at that and straighted up. Even with his hand on his heart and pasty pale, Matthew felt the shift of weight and tension. Isaiah's shadow thickened underneath him, spreading lazily on the floor, engulfing Matthew's own. The pressure rattled him, as his own shadow vibrated with panic and unease. The air was suddenly thin and sticky and the room actually got dark and heavy.

Matthew hissed and moved back from the indignant wolf, pushing as far away from him on the couch as possible. But he wouldn't let his shadow raise. He didn't let himself react at all. Taking a few deep breaths, he lowered his eyes and put his hands in the air.

"Easy, pal. Easy. I don't want to fight you."

"As if you could," Isaiah answered evenly. But the pressure eased as Isaiah's attention dropped away from him.

Matthew's shoulders slumped in relief. He got the message alright. He was no match for Isaiah even in his weakened state. Somehow he may have forgotten who he was dealing with - Isaiah's easy moods and smiles, his comforting presence and his insistent help and perfect exterior... he had forgotten or let himself forgot how powerful and dangerous Isaiah was. That he wasn't ruling the neighbourhood was definitely a question of choice and not of ability. It would be easy for him to gain followers as well - shadow wolves were eager to submit to authority and power so much stronger than their own.

Matthew's own shadow was shaking with excitement at the challenge now, but the icy wave of fear he felt just a minute ago was alive in his much more rational human brain.

That Isaiah had let him this far into his space, accepting the taxi, letting him inside, letting him touch him at all for hell's sake. Felt much more like incredible show of trust, that was much more fragile than he realised.

"You should leave now," Isaiah said tonelessly. Matthew felt compelled to leave immediately, his instincts reacting to the command.

Matt got up, but rocked on his feet, fighting the urge by shoving his balled fists into the pockets on his jeans.

He felt dismissed, like he failed a test of trust and hot shame run through him along with confusion. But Isaiah had let him stay. Let him inside. Let him follow him around long enough to let him figure it out. They might not have been allies, not yet, but Isaiah obviously wanted them to be.

But if they were to be allies, maybe this was not the tone Matthew wanted to set on it. Not this submission and competition bullshit. Not their wolf dynamics and their shadows defining the way.

Matthew took a deep breath and turned back to Isaiah, looking deliberately left and away, hands still deep out of sight in his pockets. Keeping himself as unthreatening as possible.

"You can let your shadow up around me."

Isaiah blinked, startled.

"If this is something you can't solve on your own, why not use me? My shadow is blindly and brainlessly happy about any competition," he put his hands up in the air at that, before Isaiah could intervene, "even if I can't win I concede."

"Look, I know best how a shadow wants to run free," Matt continued. "It wants to stay, once it's drawn. It needs to be let loose and experienced, not shut down. So don't just drive it up for intimidation and cut it off. Go all out. Against me, I don't care."

Isaiah regarded him, poker face on so Matthew had no idea how his offer was resonating. The black haired man raised one eyebrow at him.

Yeah, Matthew knew alright he was pretty much volunteering to get his ass kicked. But hey, it wouldn't do his crazy shadow any bad, it could hardly get worse than it was. And he was willing not to let himself be intimidated. That he could work on. That he would very much like to work on.

"...I'll consider it. But there won't be any shadows running loose today." Isaiah's tone softened a little. "I still think you should leave."

At least this time he said 'I think'. The suggestion defused the command enough that Matthew took it as a good sign.

"So you are opting for all human pain tonight?" He dared to ask. Really really asking for a beating now.

There was a pause. "The damage is temporary. It will be gone by morning."

"In other words, one hell of a night in front of you."

Isaiah pinched the bridge of his nose. One hand sneaked over to his chest again, as if he hoped Matthew wouldn't notice. "Your concern is appreciated, but misplaced and entirely unwelcome."

"Don't 'unwelcome' me," Matthew snapped, eyes narrowing. "You are off your game playing human right now. I might as well stay." Matt was firmly decided now. Isaiah was too vulnerable like this, even if his scary reputation warned off the smart ones, there were plenty of stupid people around who couldn't count to three to realise the true danger of his control. Matt was not going to risk it.

They looked at each other steadily for a few long heartbeats. A proper clash of wills. Matt let his offer stand.

Isaiah frowned and opened his mouth to speak, only for a burp to escape him. He paled even more than he was before, getting a sickly green hue and leaned back against the couch, his free hand digging into the cushions.

Could heart pain cause nausea? Matt never heard of that one but he was probably going to get a front seat in practice.

"Isaiah?" He tried tentatively.

The other wolf squeezed his eyes shut, hand rubbing aggressively at his chest. His cheeks puffed out as another burp rushed out of him. He was trying to muffle them to no avail.

Matt sprang up back to the kitchen, locating an empty and clean trash bag and bringing it over, open and ready. He sat down beside Isaiah, watching as his jaw locked shut as he gulped.

He dared to put a hand on Isaiah's shoulder again. One green eye opened, eyeing him critically. "You should really-hhrrrk-" A hand shot to his mouth.

"Forget it. I'm not leaving you like this," Matthew said resolutely. He pressed Isaiah's shoulder then, feeling as he shivered, as his breath hitched, as he struggled for air.

He was starting not to take his words personally. Matt wasn't a people person, but he was trying and doing everything right as he could in wolf terms. So he figured this wasn't his problem, but something Isaiah was struggling with.

Isaiah swatted his arm away, but another burp turned into a heave and he leaned forward on the couch in panic.

"Playing hard to get are we?" Matthew smiled sarcastically, putting the bag under the other man's chin.

"I don't need-bluurh-you around-"

"You are acting unreasonably. That isn't like you." Matt held the bag with one hand and went to Isaiah's back with the other, patting it gently.

Isaiah wheezed and coughed then his body rocked and a torrent of sick rushed out of his mouth. Matt winced as it hit the bag. Then another wave. And another.

"Okay. You're okay, okay? Shit." What was he supposed to say in a situation like this?

Isaiah pitched forward all of a sudden and Matt quickly put his arm around his chest to stop him from falling. The black haired man's hands actually came up to hold on to Matt's arm for stability as his body arched once more and he spat into the trashcan. Matt balanced the filling bag awkwardly in one hand while he braced the other against Isaiah's weight.

They stayed like that for a few long minutes, heaves wracking Isaiah's body. He actually moaned once but otherwise held himself still. He was a relatively quiet puker, heaves ending in wet coughs between the burps.

The heaving paused. Isaiah spat into the bag last time and Matt helped him lean back. Isaiah was breathing heavily, but there was a hint of relief in his posture. He looked up at Matt, giving him a long stare and shivered.

"Yeah sure, here." Matt grabbed the blanket neatly folded at the corner and wrapped it around Isaiah's trembling shoulders.

Isaiah coughed against his hand and wriggled himself deeper into the blanket. He watched Matt flounder with the bag clumsily to wrap it shut and then get tangled in the second blanket that he threw over Isaiah's lap. His expression was cold and unreadable again, completely shut down into himself.

"Are you sure you still want to stay?" Isaiah asked ironically, voice raspy. A hiccup followed and his cheeks puffed out a little as he rubbed at his chest again.

Matthew sprawled himself back on to the cushions next to him, emotionally spent from this debate. But he managed a weak grin. "Not getting rid of me tonight, pal."

#sickfic #emeto #vomiting #emetophilia #whump #emeto whump #werewolf #whump writing #hurt/comfort #bromance #whump writinge #emeto writing #my writing #werewolf wip #really diving into Matthew's pov #but these are crucial emotional developments #Isaiah

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another-whump-sideblog · 3 months

Note

I’d kill someone to see any form of Jane whump

YES YES YES

I made a new friend today.

I've been avoiding getting close to people for a while. It hurts too much when they die. But being alone hurts too, so really it's just a matter of choosing what's slightly less painful, and today it was making a friend.

He's a scientist. He asks me lots of questions about my powers, and some of them are things I haven't even thought about! I think he wants to figure out how to become immortal himself. It would be nice to not be alone, but I don't think it would be a good idea. I think he's really ungrateful for the fact that he can die, that he has an emergency exit if things get too bad, but I don't try to convince him. If he decides he doesn't want to be immortal, he might decide he doesn't want to talk to me anymore, and he's interesting. I don't want to stop talking to him.

We run lots of tests. I've done most of them before, but he seems to like figuring stuff out on his own instead of trusting my word, which is fair. I show him how if I cut off a limb, some force always pulls it back to where it should go, increasing until my body is whole again. We cut off one of my fingers and lock it in a safe. It takes twenty minutes for the force to increase enough to break through the safe walls.

"Fascinating." He says. I like it when he says that. I like to pretend he thinks I'm interesting and not just my powers.

Eventually, I tell him I think my blood is important to the immortality somehow. Usually the way my healing works is reversing wounds, but I seem to just make more and more blood the moment I need it, no matter how starved or dehydrated my body is. I can't produce new tears if my body doesn't have enough water, but I can always, always produce more blood.

He immediately wants to have a transfusion of my blood. I tell him no, of course. Eventually, he convinces me we could try watering a plant with my blood to see what happens. Plants can't suffer from being immortal, they don't have feelings or thoughts, so I agree.

At first, it doesn't seem to be working. I don't think it will work, but we do have access to infinite amounts of my blood, so we just keep doing more and more. I make sure it only ever goes into the plant, and he has no opportunity to transfuse any into his own body. When I think the plant is more likely to die from being in a pot so filled with liquid than it is to become immortal, we do the daily test, and... it works. He cuts a tiny piece off of one of the leaves, but it never falls. He cuts off a bigger piece, and we can see with even more clarity how it reattaches.

Oh, I don't like that at all. I don't like the look on his face when it finally works, I don't like that my blood has the potential to hurt people so badly.

I have to convince him not to try eating the plant by reminding him that it's too big to eat all at once and that something inside you trying to reattach to something outside you can only have negative consequences.

He lights the plant on fire, and it burns endlessly. That's pretty cool, but I'm worried the fumes will hurt someone, so while he's asleep I put it out and bring it into my void. I've never been able to do that with something living before, but I guess since I can go in my void it makes sense that something so made of me can go in there too.

He's furious, but there's not much he can do. He can't even land a blow on me, with my ability to teleport.

He's not a very nice person. I like that, I think. It won't hurt so bad when he dies, and I still get some company for the next few decades.

A few weeks later, he drinks a vial of some kind of poison in front of me and says that it'll be my fault if he dies because I don't give him a transfusion of my blood.

"You fucking idiot." I tell him. "Did you not notice that the pieces we cut off the plant before it became immortal never grew back?? Even if I was willing to make you immortal, chances are you'd be immortal and constantly experiencing the effects of being poisoned."

He's already looking sick, so I don't think he faked drinking it.

"I can help you if you want. I'll give you some charcoal, or a more specific antidote if you tell me what that was." I'm trying to sound unbothered, but I really thought I'd get a few more decades out of this guy...

"I'll fight you the whole way." He says. "And if you manage to save me, I'll just do it again until you make me immortal."

And then he collapses and vomits all over himself.

"I was just a tool to you this whole time..." I knew that, and he was just a tool to me too, so why does seeing him curled up on the floor in pain hurt? Why do I want to fix it even though I know he'll just keep trying anyway?

I should just leave. He's a nasty person trying to manipulate me using a suicide attempt and he deserves to die alone. But I don't leave.

I sit beside him and stroke his hair and tell him that I will miss him, that he was my only friend for a while, that I wish he could've been smart enough not to do this, not to seek out immortality.

I tell him all about how much immortality sucks as he dies. I tell him how lucky he is, how he'd be in this much pain forever if he was immortal. I tell him about all the people I've loved and watched die, I tell him about the loneliness and the boredom of being immortal, I tell him about how I've used poisons like that on myself before just to feel something for a few minutes. Forty-five minutes after he drinks the poison, his heart stops beating.

I go into my void and cry.

#ask #thank you so much for the ask!!#eatyourdamnpears #jane's pets #minor whump #debatably #can only really emotionally whump Jane for obvious reasons #emotional whump #suicidal ideation tw #self harm tw #emeto tw #suicide tw #poison tw #including some LORE because I don't think Liam'll ever find out about some of this stuff in the main series #so it's not really a spoiler #she's only a couple centuries old at this point #I try to make her perspective distinctly inhuman while also being childlike so I hope that comes through

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trashytummiez · 2 years

Text

A Painfully "Exotic" Shake

So @fungusfangs made an incredibly cute little sequence yesterday with Fatgum and Tamaki that involved Tamaki drinking a really horrible protein shake full of all manner of various meats to store him with extra abilities. It was so funny I had to make a fuller fic for it especially since it got me back on my 'maki bend~ >////<

"Here ya go! Down the hatch kid~" Fatgum insisted in his jovial way upon handing Tamaki a very peculiar looking protein shake.

The elf-eared boy shifted anxiously when he looked down at the thick bubbling drink. "S-So much...?!" Tamaki asked in a way that almost sounded like a nervous whimper. "...It's so heavy..."

"Ya so best t'try and drink it fast so ya don't notice the taste...or texture..." Fatgum insisted with a beaming smile and a heroic thumbs up.

Tamaki nervously sniffed at the rather sizable shake in his hands. If that wasn't enough to make him cringe the gurgling erupting from the beverage definitely was.

"...W-What's even in here...?" Tamaki asked in a soft but exasperated way.

Fatgum's beaming smile gave way to a flat expression.

"...Uhhh...s-sensei? What's in this drink...?" Tamaki repeated.

Fatgum may have been Japanese but the deafening silence clearly screamed 'pleading the fifth'.

"Sensei?! What is in this?!?" Tamaki nervously yelled out now visibly shaking adorably with fear at what Fatgum was asking him to ingest.

"...Dragonfruit!" Fatgum insisted with a terribly unconvincing smile.

"Dragonfruit doesn't burble like that!!" Tamaki fearfully shouted back.

Oh god it was churning. Was what Fatgum wanted Tamaki to drink even meant for human consumption?!

"Y-You'll be fine! Honest!" Fatgum insisted. "It's...uh...a turbo recipe!"

"That isn't a thing!!"

"Fer a kid with a quirk that involves eatin'? S-Sure it does! It's...y'know...fer yer quirk! We wanted t'jam pack as many animals into a single protein source as possible so-"

"-You made an exotic animal smoothie?!??!" Tamaki all but shrieked with wide-teary eyes of horror.

"...Well it...kinda sounds bad when ya word it like that..." Fatgum admitted sheepishly.

The pro hero sighed in defeat when he saw Tamaki trembling in that fearful way of his at the mere thought of touching a "drink" like that.

"...Alright maybe I got carried away," Fatgum admitted a little more sincerely. "Thing is kid...we dunno how this showdown's gonna go tomorrow. It's all on the line and I just wanna make sure yer as prepared as can be fer what lies ahead. But even I wouldn't touch that shake with a twelve foot stick of taffy..."

Tamaki's shaking steadily leveled out while his fearful expression softened. He knew the truth to Fatgum's words. What they were up against tomorrow~there was no guarantee any of them would survive. Something like the liquid abomination in his hands may have come in very handy in a pinch if it gave him access to a whole slew of different abilities.

So he stiffened his back~undid his vest so only his tight long sleeved spandex shirt remained then took a deep and steady breath.

"Uh kid? What're ya-"

Fatgum's face once again drew blank when to his utter shock and horror Tamaki raised the big thick cup with both hands and actually started chugging it down.

Tamaki clenched his eyes shut and didn't want to think about the horrible chunky concoction flowing down his gullet. He just wanted to get it all in as fast as humanly possible.

The elf eared boy chugged so hard that Fatgum could hear his throat squelching with each disgustingly wet and loud gulp Tamaki gave.

He wasn't stopping either.

For as timid and anxious as Tamaki was the boy was one of the biggest eaters Fatgum knew besides himself and Kirishima. Tamaki could not only eat a whole heck of a lot but he could consume it incredibly fast.

Fatgum himself fought back a gag when he saw the purple horror dribble down from the sides of Tamaki's mouth. He was chugging so much so fast that the godless concoction was starting to spill down onto his spandex.

With Tamaki's vest undone his lean tummy was extenuated by how tightly the spandex wrapped around his body. But because of how big and how heavy the "shake" was Tamaki's stomach started to bulge out a little beneath his spandex. There was a curve to the front of his tummy that was beginning to grow a little rounded the more he downed his protein shake without stopping.

Tamaki breathed heavily through his tiny nostrils but didn't think about how nasty it tasted or how it felt rushing down his throat. He just had to get it in his belly and be done with it. So he just chugged and chugged to where he was tearing up. So much air was filling his tummy all at once and breathing was starting to hurt. But he was almost done. He just had to finish a little bit more.

Fatgum was watching on edge like he was watching a horror movie on the verge of a really bad jumpscare.

He wasn't joking when he said Tamaki was the strongest of any of the heroes.

Anyone who could chug something that dreadful the way Tamaki was had might not even the all time greats could top.

One hand fell to his tummy and gently rubbed it while he drank what remained of the "shake". God he felt so full already. Tamaki could eat so much more than what this terrible shake had to offer but it just felt so weighty and from a liquid slurry it just sat heavier in his increasingly rounder belly than a buffet worth of food.

Every gulp Tamaki gave was audible and painfully thick sounding. His thin athletic throat continued to throb and pulsate as more and more of the sickening mixture poured into him. He was trying desperately not to think about how terrible it all tasted and the uncomfortable thickness of the texture that Fatgum warned him about. But it was getting harder.

To Fatgum amazement and horror though~the boy managed to chug every last drop of that monstrosity down.

Tamaki groggily dropped the sizable plastic cup onto the floor and stepped back with a sickly groan. His belly subtly jiggled with each step he took~the concoction sloshing inside of him noisily. Tamaki's mouth was stained with that disgusting purple substance~some of it dripping down his chin messily. Both of his hands slowly ran up and down his painfully heavy tummy to try and settle it down while it gurgled so loudly and painfully that even Fatgum cringed at the sound.

"...Uhhh...k-kid...? You okay there...?" Fatgum asked nervously.

Tamaki looked too dazed and out of it to tell if he even heard what Fatgum asked him. But then the gurgling in his tummy grew so aggressive that Fatgum could actually see it ripple slightly against his stretched out spandex. Tamaki's face grew green as he quickly covered his mouth.

Frantically Fatgum rushed to his young sidekick's aide quickly rubbing his back tenderly to try and settle his body down. "Ah crap. Yer okay yer okay," he repeated with a cringe to his own rounded face expecting the worst.

A thick gurgle rose up Tamaki's throat and puffed out his cheeks. Fatgum looked away not wanting to see what was to come after Tamaki's hand got blown back from his mouth. To his relief and surprise though Tamaki didn't throw up violently.

Nope. Instead Tamaki let out a gigantic burp~louder and harder than anything Fatgum had ever heard from the boy in their many eating sessions. All that air Tamaki took in from drinking in one go without stopping had built up a painful pressure pocket desperately in need of expulsion. So much had been built up that the monstrous eructation shy anxious Tamaki was uncontrollably releasing lasted an unheard of ten seconds!

"Holy crap kid! That had t'be a record!" Fatgum praised in awe.

Tamaki just groaned after and wiped his mouth clean. "...Unnnf...that tasted terrible..." he mumbled groggily. Then Tamaki gave a deep hiccup that made his belly bounce and slosh which in turn only made him burp again and cover his mouth with a groggy blush.

"C'mon. Let's sit fer a bit while that...uh...'shake' settles yeah?" Fatgum insisted.

Tamaki nodded with a soft pained huff and gently patted his tummy.

Fatgum let Tamaki lean against his huge blubbery body for support while cradling his full bloated tummy with one hand while the two made their way to the seats. They were careful not to move too fast and upset Tamaki's tummy any more than it already was. But due to how heavy the concoction was even the subtlest of motions made everything simmering inside of Tamaki slosh around noisily and churn aggressively.

Partway in Tamaki stopped walking and held a fist up to his mouth to give an incredibly thick and meaty closed mouth burp that he seemed barely able to hold in. Then an even longer one rolled out of him and stretched for almost four seconds straight. Tamaki huffed in a sickly way and hunched over to clutch his mildly curvy thighs~his pooching tummy sagged down when he did. He could feel another big one brewing in his belly. His throat hitched with a deep breath and eventually Tamaki let out another huge burp that Fatgum could see rippled Tamaki's sagging tummy when it expelled out of him so intensely.

"...Heh. Gonna give Red Riot some real competition after this fight is over ain'tcha!" Fatgum said with an almost convincing smile while he gently patted Tamaki's back with his meaty palm.

Tamaki couldn't hold back a little moan of pained relief but only the subtlest bit. He tried to stifle a sharp hiccup that left him groaning and stood back up cradling his tummy. He continued to lean against Fatgum occasionally hiccuping into the round pro-heroes blubber until the two reached a couch to sit on. Tamaki was pulled towards Fatgum just due to the whole couch sinking until the giant heroes massive blubbery frame.

Fatgum very gently put his hand on Tamaki's belly. With how large Fatgum was his hand covered the entirety of that soft curved out bloat. He only needed to move his meaty palm just slightly around to rub into Tamaki's troubled tummy.

Tamaki sighed heavily while Fatgum managed a small more genuine smirk. "Heh. Betcha wish this was Lemillion showin' yer gut some love huh."

The elf eared boy blushed heavily at that comment but given the circumstances all he could do was nod and groan. He couldn't help but long for his boyfriends hands on his tummy rubbing it up and down and kneading into all the right spots that only Mirio knew how to rub. Or the way his finger would tease across Tamaki's oh so sensitive belly button. Mirio always knew how to just make Tamaki's tummy feel better under any circumstances. And with the risks they were all about to face he longed for the comfort of his boyfriend now more than ever.

Tamaki's thoughts were interrupted when his stomach gurgled a thick strained sounding gurgle. It was like his insides were choking on the monstrosity now digesting inside of the boys innards. Slowly Tamaki could feel the properties of those various meats and whatever else Fatgum just fed him beginning to be absorbed. He was going to need a full rundown of what it was he just drank~but only after he digested.

Hearing now when his tummy was so heavy and sickly was only a guarantee that he'd immediately puke it all back up.

"Yer gonna be fine kid," Fatgum insisted sincerely. "I got no clue how tomorrow's gonna play out. But I ain't worried 'bout you one bit. You've always been strongest of the strong...and uh...given the extra firepower yer gonna be packin'...I almost feel sorry for those poor evil bastards yer gonna plow through..."

Tamaki huffed when an especially thick and unpleasant churning sound bellowed from his belly. Fatgum could actually feel Tamaki's tummy jostle beneath his palm from the force of it. He once again brought a fist to his mouth and let rip a really loud closed mouth burp that ballooned his cheeks out~it was impressive that he could even hold that one in like that given how hard it rushed up.

The boy blew the gas off to the side with a blush and looked on. Despite the pain in his belly there was something else eating at him. "...I don't want anyone else to die," he muttered quietly. "...I wanna graduate so I can spend more time with Mirio. I wanna see Red Riot graduate too so all of us can go out to a buffet together and celebrate..."

Tamaki huffed and slumped forward again while his stomach gurgled deeply.

"Uh...maybe don't mention food right now kid," Fatgum said with a half-hearted chuckle.

Tamaki nodded in acknowledgement. But then he turned his head away from Fatgum and seemed to wipe his eyes.

Fatgum's expression softened. He took his hand off of Tamaki's tummy and wrapped his hand around Tamaki's sides pulling him close to Fatgum's huge blubbery body like a big brother giving his baby brother a one armed hug.

"We're gonna win this thing kid. I promise ya that. And when we do? All of us. We're goin' to any sushi boat'uh yer choosin'. All you can eat. Sound good?" Fatgum asked and lightly thumped Tamaki on the back.

Or at least he thought it was light.

Because that thump was enough to dislodge a sizable pocket of gas which rushed up Tamaki's throat~causing the boy to let out a massive echoing burp that rattled out of him so hard Fatgum could even feel the springs of the couch vibrate.

It left him panting and blushing but also blinking with surprise at the unexpected action.

Fatgum was left blinking much the same way.

Then the two shared a confused chuckle that eventually just turned into both mentor and student laughing aloud.

"I'll take that as a 'yes' then!" Fatgum joked.

Tamaki giggled and wiped his eyes again but this time from laughter.

The two of them sighed while Fatgum continued to gently rub Tamaki's back. Tamaki's tummy seemed a little deflated and the gurgling while still noisy wasn't as aggressive or painful as it had been earlier.

Still. One thought crept into his mind.

"...So seriously sensei...what was in that shake..."

#kink fic #tamaki #fatgum #tummyache #liquid bloat #nausea #emeto #burps #closed mouth burps #hiccups #tummy rub #platonic #fluff #emotion #mha spoilers

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letters-from-the-4077 · 13 days

Text

3x11: Adam's Ribs

Dear Dad,

Remember that flu season back in ’32? When it felt like you were gone every night jumping to every single household with a kid in it because everyone all got sick all at once? And how it was after mom died but you decided that I was old enough to stay home alone, only for you to come back on that Tuesday to find me throwing up my guts all over the floor?

Good times. Terrible times, actually, but despite my pacifistic tendencies, I’d fucking kill to go through that again than the fresh hell that is my current hell. I nearly wrote you this letter from the latrines, which is terrible on multiple levels, especially considering I was actually looking forward to write to you this time.

I’ve said before that one of these days I’m finally going to snap, and even though I’m still in one piece, I’m not convinced that it’s an uncracked one. Eleven days. Eleven straight days of liver of fish, making our own damn never ending season of seafood up in Maine truly dwarf in size. Eleven straight days and I’m half convinced that each subsequent day was just the previous one’s leftovers! The fact that they’re serving us kidney at all blows my fucking mind, and over a week and a half of it for every meal has me half convinced that I’ve dreamt it all up.

They don’t tell you about how every grueling day feels like a dream, same motions, same food, same jokes, just different supporting actors underneath my scalpel.

On the seventh day God rested, and on the eleventh day Hawkeye Pierce fucking cracked. Like I said, there’s only so many days where a man can eat liver of fish. Trap and I made this ridiculous plan—honestly, dad, I didn’t think about it working or not. I just needed something to break up the monotony. Anything. ANYTHING.

You know the place in Chicago I told you about however many years ago? The one that had the best barbequed ribs in the entire country? Couldn’t remember the name at first, but it’s Adam’s Ribs.

Adam’s Goddamn Ribs.

A couple of pulled strings and a hell of a lot of favors somehow managed to bring us back to Chicago. Or I guess Chicago to us. It doesn’t matter- the only thing that mattered is that we somehow fucking managed to get Adam’s Ribs in the worst corner of all of Korea and Igor cooked them up and hell dad, they were the best damn things I think I’ve ever smelled in my life.

Course, ambulances poured in the second I had my hands on them, but it made for a hell of an OR session. That’s how they should be teaching speed for MASH surgeons. Nevermind the live rounds and constant shelling, just put the idea of tantalizing, edible food on a stick right above a surgeon and you’d get the fastest cutters in the West. East.

But, oh father, I know what you’re thinking now: why the reminder of the great flu season of 1932 when so far the only thing your dear child has spoken about has been spare ribs from the great state of Illinois?

Here’s where the story gets good. And by good, I mean fucking terrible.

Great OR session, by the way. Took out enough shrapnel out of intestines to build a full new bomb, and not a single patient lost. Igor reheated the ribs for me and Trap and we had what could only be described as the greatest midnight snack in the history of the entire war. Or not just in the war, but in the history of the entire world. We headed back to our bunks more full than after a Thanksgiving spread, and not even Frank’s sniveling could change a thing.

That is before a solid and conscience five minutes had passed.

Five minutes. Five lousy minutes of euphoria that just nearly made me forget about the terrible place that I’d been forced into. And then I spent the next hour and a half, throwing up every single bit of edible food. Made the worst flu pale in comparison, I’ll tell you that much. Couldn’t even make it to the latrine the first time, and I think I scared the wits outta Trapper since it probably sounded like I was vomiting up my organs right outside his side of the tent.

He’s a good man, Trap. Picked me up off the ground like you would’ve and helped me stumble to the latrines where I could continue throwing up every bit of goodness that I had managed to make for myself in this camp. Practically held my hair back like I was his girl, believe it or not.

I’m writing this letter from post-op, you know. Trap’s got himself convinced that I managed to get food poisoning from the long trip that the ribs made in order to get from us. Not sure how he’s reached that conclusion given that he has exactly zero symptoms, but hell, I’m not volunteering any other explanations to him.

Between you and me, I think I’ve become a bit of a cuckoo, if you can read between the lines there.

I mean, what sane person would practically stage a mutiny just to get food from a specific restaurant that he couldn’t even remember the name of in the first place? If Henry was just 2% more done with my shit, he could’ve gotten me in real trouble. Hell, if Henry was any other CO, I’d probably be on trial with a death sentence looming over my head for the shit I pulled just to get the first real food I’d have since stepping foot on that plane.

All that just to throw it up a few minutes later. I may not have snapped quite yet, but I’m cracking, dad.

I hope next flu season is kind to you up there.

Love, Hawkeye

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#mash #M*A*S*H #mash 3x11 #3x11 #3x11 adam's ribs #mash fics #emeto #emeto tw #links to be updated as i write more fics #me after watching an episode that could only be described as a monumental win for hawkeye: yes but what if no #jumping between where i'm at (the nearly end of the show) and season 3 is like emotional whiplash #but hell if he's not already beginning to crack this early on. i think this episode was the first time where i like #truly understood the height of his mania

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secretobsessionstuff · 2 years

Note

I love your works SO MUCH! They literally make my entire week. Madix and Dakota are my favorite characters.

I was wondering could you write one where Madix has an anxiety or panic attack in front of Dakota and he has to help him because Riley isn't there ( for some reason he isn't available). With 9,46,67,98 sickiee list and 8,34,68 caretaker list. You can change or exclude any prompts if you feel like they don't fit with the way you want to write this. All I ask for is that Dakota is the caretaker and Riley isn't there or shows up briefly near the end. (I love Riley too, I just want to see what it would happen if he wasn't there during the attack).

Dude seeing your icon and name in my notifications makes my entire week! It's so nice to see people who follow my ocs like you do 💙

The prompts I used from the Sickee list are:

9. “Please go away. I don’t want you to see me like this.”

46. “I think I might throw up.”

67. "I-I can't do this anymore."

98. "I can't get my hands to stop shaking."

And from the Caretaker list (I didn't use #68):

8. "Talk to me. What's going on?"

34. "You don't need to be embarrassed. It's just me."

Content Warning: Panic attack, depression, anxiety, graphic descriptions of vomiting!!

------------------------

On the fourteenth day of Madix’ official mental health leave, Dakota took it upon himself to visit his friend. He showed up at Madix’s door, carrying a Tupperware container of mac and cheese, a bag of chips, and homemade brownies. The brownies were Blair-made.

Madix groaned when he heard the doorbell ring. It took him a second to detangle himself from his bed. Actually, it took him more than a second—closer to a full minute—to finally emerge from his dark cave.

Since being on forced-leave from work, he’d taken to sleeping in the spare bedroom that used to be Riley’s room before they began sharing a bed. At first, Madix hid in his usual room, but he felt bad that Riley kept coming home to a messy room. More often than not, Riley’ side of the bed was taken up with food wrappers, a dead laptop, and was without a sheet because the stupid corners wouldn’t stay tucked in.

Now Madix had moved himself to the spare room, telling himself that he was being considerate to his boyfriend. Somehow the room turned into a den of dirty clothes and dirty dishes. It smelled liked sweat, forgotten food, and morning breath. The bedsheets and pillowcases were perpetually damp—either from tears of sweat, or even a spilled beverage. Whenever Madix thought about cleaning, a weight in his chest pinned him to the bed as if lead lined his lungs. He had so much time on his hands, but time was useless without the motivation to do something with it.

Riley tried to help; he really did. But he still had school and work. He cleaned as much as he could; he stayed up with Madix, talking about how he could help; he drove Madix to his therapy sessions. But it was hard when all Madix wanted to do was hide away from the world.

“I can’t have a panic attack if I’m sleeping,” he told Riley once when he missed his appointment with Dr. Marlow.

To Madix, it seemed inevitable that any change to this depressing routine (or lack of routine) would overwhelm his mind and bring back that sense of doom.

That’s why he kept telling Dakota not to visit him. Every text was the same: I just want to be alone. Sorry.

Eventually Dakota had had enough. That was why he was currently standing in Madix’s doorway, wearing a stern expression. An expression that said I’m coming in whether you want me to or not.

“What are you doing here?” Madix asked when he opened the door. He wore the same sweatpants and shirt from the last few days (and nights). Sometimes it surprised him that the floor to his bedroom was piled with clothes, even though he never seemed to change.

“What does it look like I’m doing?” Dakota replied, already squeezing passed his friend into the house. “We always watch New Girl at your place. You have the bigger TV. I think we’re on episode 8 now.”

“Didn’t you get my texts?”

“Nope.” Dakota popped the P to that word as he set the food down on the counter.

Despite his comment about the TV, he went straight to Madix’s room. When he found the usual room clean, he nodded in understanding and went to the spare bedroom.

“I know what you’re doing, Kota,” Madix said, following Dakota down the hall.

Dakota ignored this and pushed open the door to the spare room. He whistled at the sight of it. “Where do you keep the garbage bags?”

“In the kitchen. Under the sink.” Dakota was on the move before Madix could finish his sentence. Again, he had to jog to keep up with the boy. “Dakota, please stop. Just listen—”

“No, you listen.” Dakota spun around and approached his friend. “We’re going to clean up your room. And I do mean we. You can’t leave it up to Riley when he gets home every night. Then we’ll eat some mac and cheese and watch New Girl. And maybe later I’ll take you outside for some goddamn vitamin D. You look like spoiled milk.” The lines on Dakota’s face stayed soft even as he spoke with a hard voice. He stared at Madix long enough to see his words sink in. He was so close to his friend that he could see the pools of darkness under his eyes. Dakota crinkled his nose. “Add a shower to that list. You smell like spoiled milk too.”

Madix found himself backed up against the wall in the hall. All that sounded pretty nice if he thought about it. A clean room. Fresh air. A shower.

But it was all too much.

Lately he lost all control over his mind. The smallest things sent him spiraling. Or nothing at all. Sometimes the anxiety stole his voice. Sometimes it came when he was surrounded by friends. Sometimes the panic stopped his from doing his job properly. He couldn’t control when those feelings would surface, and it scared the living shit out of him. He used to pride himself on being composed and emotionally stable. And now he couldn’t even see his best friend without worrying about the anxiety that dominated his life recently.

“I can’t,” he breathed out. It came out as a raspy whisper as he slid his back down the wall. “I-I can't do this anymore.” He drew his knees up to his chest.

“What can’t you do?” Dakota said softly. He lowered himself to the floor and put a steady hand on Madix’s knee. “Talk to me.”

“This.” Madix gestured to nothing. But to him he gestured to everything. The words to describe This were not coming, so he simply put his head in his hands. “I’m sorry. I don’t know how to tell you.”

“Hey, hey,” Dakota said, trying to deescalate the situation that he felt responsible for creating. “That’s okay. You don’t need to explain anything. I just thought having a clean room would help.”

“It would—” Madix felt his mind working faster that his mouth. There was so much he wanted to say. Dakota was right about it all. A clean room would help. Sunshine on his face would help. “I want to do it all, but…” He removed his hands from his face so Dakota could see he was being genuine. The electricity in his blood made his fingers tremble; just another reminder that his body wasn’t in his control. “Ugh God, I can't get my hands to stop shaking.”

“Okay,” Dakota said, calmly grabbing Madix’s hands in his larger ones. They were indeed shaking. “Okay. I didn’t mean to overwhelm you. Take a deep breath and when you’re ready I’ll help you.”

Madix forced himself to take a deep breath before the anxiety got any worse. “I don’t want it to happen again. It scares me.”

“It would scare me too,” Dakota said simply. Riley had told him enough about Madix’s panic attacks to know that they were debilitating. He had to calm Madix down before it hit him full force. “Just keep breathing like you are.”

“I’m so fucking selfish, Dakota.” Madix said, his voice shaking. “You’re right. Riley’s been doing everything for me.”

“First of all, you’re not being selfish. You’re allowed to need help, and I’m sure Riley is grateful when you take his help. Second of all, now is not the time for this. Put all that out of your mind.”

“I can’t.”

“Yes, you can. Think of something else.” Dakota scoured his mind for something that could distract Madix. “Like, try to name all the planets in the solar system. Or say all the lines from Pirates of the Caribbean. God knows you watch that movie more than enough.”

“Fine. Okay.”

The two of them sat on the floor in the hallway. Madix’s chest rose and feel rapidly. The distraction wasn’t helping. The weight in his chest dropped to his belly, making him feel nauseous and dizzy. Sure, his bi panic came back when he thought about Will Turner and Elizabeth Swann, but the mentally ill panic was still there. Not as fun as bi panic.

Dakota dared to break the silence after a moment, worried by the pallor in Madix’s cheeks. He was pretty sure the expression on Madix’s face was not from imagining his favourite movie. “What are you thinking about?”

“I think I might throw up,” Madix said quickly and simply.

“Hmm…that wasn’t one of my suggestions.”

And then Madix lurched forward, gagging into the hand that he slapped over his mouth. He stood up shakily and ran to the bathroom. Luckily, he wasn’t far. He only had to stumble a few feet before retching over the toilet.

By this point, Dakota was feeling terrible. Not in the same way Madix was, but still terrible. He only wanted to help by coming over, but it seemed he was making things worse.

“Oh, Mads. I’m sorry,” he said, kneeling by his friend. He put his hand in between Madix’s shoulder blades, feeling his muscles spasm with every heave.

A torrent of vomit splattered into the bowl, making Dakota wince. Tears and snot streamed down Madix’s face. The boy belched up another wave just as a sob got caught in his throat. Madix moaned and squeezed his eyes tightly.

Dakota’s hand on his back was an odd sensation. Dakota had seen him throw up plenty of times, but never in such a state. It had only ever been Riley who saw him like this, so it was weird to have his friend here instead. Like a shoe that didn’t fit quite right, Dakota’s hand felt far too large on his back. Still the pressure was comforting. While Riley’s hand was smaller and less uncertain, Dakota’s was heavy, never absent.

Madix could feel his limbs trembling, threatening to buckle. Each sob racked his chest with a tight ache. The ache didn’t come from throwing up; it came from the fact that his grasp on himself was slipping. He burped up another wave of sick before finally being able to say anything.

“Please go away,” he choked out. “I don’t want you to see me like this.”

Dakota frowned. It wasn’t like Madix to say such a thing, especially not with him. “You don't need to be embarrassed. It's just me.”

“I’m not embarrassed. It’s just—you don’t need to do this. You don’t need to stay.”

“But I want to stay. I want to help. When will you realize that?”

Madix sniffled. He could think of nothing to say. He was in a foreign land here. Riley was always with him when things got this way, but never so enthusiastically. Dakota’s determination was comforting in a way that only he could be. Madix suddenly felt the intense desire to rest his head on his friend’s shoulder.

So that’s what he did. He knew that Dakota could feel him shaking against his body, but he didn’t care. “Thank you. I’m sorry you have to deal with this. I’m being gross and whiny and I’m sorry.” His voice and body trembled as if he had just come from a blizzard and Dakota was trying to warm him up.

“Shh, shh,” Dakota said as he hugged Madix, rubbing his hand down his friend’s back. “I know you’re used to Riley being here. You’re used to tiptoeing around him because this stuff bothers him. But it doesn’t bother me.”

“It makes me so damn sick, Dakota,” Madix said, sniffling against the strong body that held him. “Every time, I get shaky and nauseous. Riley is always there, but sometimes I wish he weren’t. It just means I have to worry about whatever the hell is going on in my messed-up brain and Riley.”

“That sounds exhausting.”

That one sentence made Madix deflate. That’s exactly what it was. With three simple words, Dakota got it entirely. All of a sudden, Madix let out a deep exhale as his limbs got heavy. The only reason he stayed upright was because Dakota held onto him.

Eventually, Dakota pulled back from the hug. He looked at Madix for a second, seeing a multitudinous of emotions in the tears that wet his cheeks.

Madix dragged a hand across his face. He felt like a squeezed-out sponge. “Please don’t tell Riley what I told you.”

“I won’t, but this is something you should be talking about in therapy.”

“I will…now that I’m finally able to put it into words.” Madix shivered for real this time, getting a chill from the cold sweat drying on his skin. He could feel his heart rate coming down and knew that he was likely to crash in the next few minutes. “You’ll stick around?”

“Hell yes!” Dakota exclaimed. “Episode 8, like I said. You don’t have to do any cleaning if that feels too overwhelming right now.”

Madix nodded. “Please don’t feel guilty about any of this. I’m grateful you came over.”

Dakota laughed and shook his head, but not because anything was funny. “You really can’t turn off, can you? ‘Don’t tell Riley’, ‘Don’t feel guilty’. Man, you need a break from people.”

“You have no idea.”

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nervousqueasiness · 1 year

Text

✨Welcome ✨

(please read)

this is my second account that'll be revolved around comfort/hurt , emeto fanfics reblogs (fictional) and prompts, angst, and even whump (mostly emeto related shit) while my other account will mostly be angst, and fluff fanfictions, fanart, fanfictions, & prompts (with the occasional incorrect quotes and reblogs) and just multifandom related shit in general

Other account:

Delicioussaltynutz (🅱️utteredtoast)

So please , if this type of fanfiction content makes you uncomfortable or triggers your emetophobia, please don't interact with this page, also I'm still growing confidence in this type of stuff so please respect my wishes and don't interact if you're not into this kind of stuff

⚠️⚠️ BOTS DNI⚠️⚠️

#tw emetophobia #emetophilia #sicknario #emeto tw #introduction #pinned bios #pinned down #pinned message #content warning #heads up #emotional whump

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bellysoupset · 9 months

Note

Oh my gosh that story with Jonah and Leo was SO GOOD - would you ever consider a part 2 with Leo and Jonah talking about what he was saying???

- 💋

You guys really should stop indulging my angsty self. We'll end up killing this boy.

This is a continuation of this fic: Feverish Leo has a nightmare and overshares his past with Jonah. - Which happened before Sicily!

Warning for the f- slur and mentions of past child abuse, thread carefully.

---------

JD let out a pitiful meow as Leo stopped her from escaping and squeezed her to his chest, kissing the top of her head. Jon snorted, noticing the cat staring at him, as if begging him to help her run away.

"Sorry, little miss, I guess you're stuck," he whispered darkly, crawling back in the bed with a bottle of Gatorade, "bottom's up, Leo."

The blonde coughed weakly against his fist and took the bottle from him, taking a small sip and grimacing when it hit his irritated throat. He gulped down a couple more sips then handed Jonah the bottle back, slumping against the pillows and letting out a soft burp.

JD burrowed against his stomach, starting to make biscuits and Leo opened a smile, running a shaky hand over her fur, "her belly rubs are better than yours."

"Yeah but hers don't come with a get-well-soon blowjob," Jonah deadpanned, rolling his eyes and moving closer so he could push a strand of hair out of Leo's eyes. His hair was much longer than usual and Jon loved it, he knew Leo wasn't cutting it entirely for his benefit too.

"What exactly did I tell you last night?" Leo sighed, turning slightly so he could meet Jon's worried eyes, "you have that freaked out look on your face."

Jonah cringed. He thought he had his usual bitch face on, but clearly Leo was getting better at reading him.

"Not too much," he reassured him, fiddling with a strand of golden hair, "don't worry-"

"I'm not worried," Leo shrugged, sounding exhausted. His voice was basically gone, he had spent the better part of the night coughing, once the fever broke, "I don't mind you knowing, Jon."

Jonah sighed, pulling his hand back, "you thought you were back home... And I think you thought I was your dad? You kept saying you'd stay out of my way and behave, so if you could stay home instead of going to school..."

"Sounds very on brand with dad," Leo snorted, without any humor, "he hated when I stayed home instead of going to school."

"Even sick?"

"Especially sick," Leo scoffed, "and give him my germs? Please."

Jonah bit on his lip, angrily munching over the words he wanted to call the man, "your father was a piece of work."

Leo let out a chuckle and slid down the bed just a little bit, continuing to pet JD, "he was complicated."

Jon didn't think there was anything complicated about the man being a cunt. He trailed a hand over Leo's arm, up and down, "did he... Did he abuse you?" the words were whispered, he couldn't bring himself to say them out loud, "I- I asked you to remove your shirt and you freaked out..."

Leo flinched, then opened and closed his mouth twice before saying, "no, he didn't," he wasn't lying, but it wasn't all of it. Still, he shut his mouth and avoided Jonah's gaze, focusing on their kitten who was playfully rolling onto her back on his stomach, little spotted belly open for him to rub.

"Leo?"

"He was just..." he shrugged, "he was weird and he scared me. He fucking terrified me," Leo looked up, "I don't know if it was some form of homophobia, because he always knew I was gay, he made it very fucking clear he knew it with the name calling, but he just... I didn't like undressing around him. Or being near him, to be quite honest. But he didn't abuse me like that."

"Like that?" Jonah repeated, voice a whip. He had never felt so heartbroken or murderous.

Leo shrugged again, "well, there was the name calling. You'd the surprised how many slurs there are other than faggot," he smiled without any happiness, tickling JD's belly, "then there was the beatings. It didn't happen often, only when he was really wasted, but towards the end..." he shuddered and Jonah moved away from the bed, getting up.

He couldn't sit still, too angry, and Leo looked up, concerned.

"Jon?"

"I'm fine," he waved him off, pacing the room, "...Was he like that before your mom left?"

Leo frowned, confused "I don't know, baby, I don't really remember anything from back then. I was too young and trauma..." he touched his temple lightly, "kinda fucks with your memory. My whole childhood is a little bit of a blur."

Jonah ran a hand through his hair, tugging at the tight curls' roots, "when- When did she leave again?"

"I was ten," Leo answered and then the next question Jon was going to ask, "and seventeen when he passed away."

"Suicide, right?" Jon sat back down, near his knee and JD meowed, jumping to his lap. Leo nodded, quietly seeming to be thinking over everything.

"Hung himself in the living room," he said in a hesitant voice, clearly scared he was freaking Jonah even more.

Jon squeezed their cat, causing her to meow and try to bite his fingers "that's why..." his mouth was dry, "another day, you mentioned a fan... That's why...?"

"Yeah," Leo shuddered and curled up on his side since JD was no longer sitting on him, watching Jon, "what are you thinking?"

"I'm thinking that I hate him," Jonah answered honestly, "and I hate the fact that you still have all these scars, I wish - I know it's silly, but I wish I had met you earlier, I wish I could've helped."

Leo smiled sadly, "I wish I had met you earlier too, babe," he sighed, coughing again, "I don't hate him... I'm pretty sure he had the same chronic depression I have-"

"Being depressed doesn't cause people to abuse little kids, Leo," Jon said sternly, "sucks for him, but this justifies nothing."

Leo nodded, wincing "yeah, I know... But I can't help thinking it if he wasn't so severely depressed, things would've been different. He wouldn't have drunk all the time, for starters."

"He'd still be a fucking asshole," Jonah scoffed, leaning in and planting a kiss on his boyfriend's forehead, lingering there, "I'm happy you moved here and that... And that we found each other... And that you told me all that."

Leo melted under the kiss, tugging on his sweater and causing Jonah to crumple on him into an awkward hug. JD let out a yelp and jumped away from between them, offended.

"Doesn't this scare you?" Leo whispered, voice muffled by Jonah's sweater, "I know it's a lot, the- the past, yeah, but also now-"

"Nothing about you scares me," Jonah hugged him a little bit tighter, "we all have baggage, Leo," he pulled back to look him in the eye and met Leo's feverish gaze, blue eyes searching his face as if Jonah was going to pull back and say gotcha, "I want to help you carry yours too."

Leo let out a little scoff, pulling back with a smile, "since when you're so good at communicating?"

"Please," Jonah rolled his eyes in a playful manner, pressing his forehead to Leo's, "you're so feverish, you're delusional."

#😎 anon #no emeto #mywriting #leo wagner #whump #emotional hurt/comfort #fever

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absentmoon · 1 year

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i earned thirteen dollars today before the heat made me nauseated and i had to go inside BUT on the upside im supposed to be visiting a nutritionist soon and im reaaaally hoping itll help me with my chronic illness issues:)

#daisy.txt #emeto #i have a really hard time with malnourishment and im pretty sure irs bc i have the all the time disease #i get sick when im too emotional like girl i need food i will die

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destructix · 1 year

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whenever i think abt a character i like way too much for too long and say i feel like im gonna throw up im literally serious

#*feels intense emotion* oh no #emeto cw #<- jic? it's not exactly like that it's more like #my throat feels tight and i just go WOUAAGHH for two hours #anyways. HAIBARAAAAAA #when i draw smth i care about a lot it's like that too #talk tag

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danafeelingsick · 1 year

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REMEMBER

[Spoilers for episodes 24 and 25 of Trigun 1998] In which Vash the Stampede remembers how much it costs to save a life.

ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢ SPOILERS!, mentions of past wounds, panic attack, PTSD, hallucinations, descriptive mentions of anxiety, mentions of fainting, nausea, vomiting, crying, whump, a bit of fluff, comfort.

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ 3,9k~

Meryl Stryfe stopped short of slicing her finger and looked up from the cutting board. It could've been her imagination, it wouldn't be the first time, but just now, she could've sworn she had heard his voice.

She hesitated for a second, held her breath, then peeked over her shoulder. In the bed against the wall, a pale man was laying under blankets, wrapped in yellowed bandages, what could be seen of his skin had too many scars to count. He moved, to her relief and his blue eyes slowly opened.

“Rem…”, he mumbled and it almost sounded like a child calling out to his mother.

Meryl didn't recognize it, but that wasn't the first time she had heard it.

The old bed creaked as the man pulled himself up, a short whimper escaped as the humanoid typhoon became acquainted with his new wounds. She saw from the tail of her eye when he winced and clutched his middle, and quickly, less carefully, finished slicing the carrot that she had been squeezing unknowingly.

“Oh, you're awake”, Meryl acknowledged, but her voice betrayed her calm demeanor. She threw the freshly diced vegetables inside the boiling pot and gave it a hasty stir before turning fully around.

Vash had been gazing emptily into the palm of his hand, his pupils detached from the whites of his eyes. She saw his throat bob as he swallowed, the motion brought up his shoulders, like there was a bad taste in his mouth.

“You must be hungry, I'm fixing some soup for you, it will be ready in a minute”, the woman informed in an attempt to draw his attention, but he didn't respond. The man seemed to not even notice her, even as she walked up to him, and stopped by the side of his bed.

His body stiffed, he had heard her, but he looked like he was frozen in place. Something within Meryl kept telling her to be careful, something that had seen what he really was. Vash wasn't going to hurt her, she told herself, he wouldn't hurt anyone.

“How are you feeling?”, the small woman asked, shifting her weight. Inches away from him, she could tell his breathing was labored like he was struggling to keep a rhythm. “You've been… asleep for ten days straight now.”

That seemed to earn some reaction out of him, he slowly turned his head to the side, giving her a hollow look, like he couldn't recognize her. His blue eyes were cloudy at first there was no light behind them, but slowly they widened.

“W-Where are we…?”, the blonde questioned, and if Meryl had been a few steps away, she wouldn't have heard him. His voice was barely over a whisper.

“A small town not too far from LR”, she tells him, but her words didn't seem like they meant anything to him. Vash continued to stare forward, beyond her.

She saw him swallow again, closing his eyes briefly when his expression soured. His hand, his real one, came to rest over his stomach, while his prosthetic arm hung limply from his bicep like he had forgotten he even had it.

Meryl leaned in his direction, just enough to be in his peripheral, so she could peer into his face. His eyes were sunken in, she noticed, his cheeks hollow, his lips chapped. The gunman looked famished, but at the same time, he looked like he could throw up any second. She could feel the question trapped in her gullet, refusing to come up, but she had to ask.

“How much… Do you remember?”

His chest hitched, and there was a hiccup in between breaths, like a small gasp. That was his answer, then silence.

A moment of quiet passed by the two, quiet tainted by the bubbling water inside the pot, and the wind blowing outside the window, rustling the curtains. And the man's shallow breathing that growing faster.

“Vash?”, she called, and it might've been something in her voice that snapped him out of it. His eyes widened as she had never seen before, and his lips parted but only ragged breaths came out.

Wordlessly, the man folded over his lap and buried his face into the palm of his hand, letting out a choking sound, akin to a sob still halfway stuck in his throat. Meryl reached out, ready to — the woman wasn't sure what she intended to do, but seeing him break down like that had her wanting nothing more than to hold him. She didn't have the chance, however, a sudden sizzle made her snap into position and she looked to the side to find her soup boiling over and spilling out of the cooking pot.

“Just a moment!”

The insurance agent made the trip from the bed to the stove in record time, damage control was one of her strong suits, after all, but she couldn't say the same about her cooking. A faint smell of burnt vegetables wafted from the boiling pot, but it was subtle enough to be salvageable, at least she hoped.

“Ahaha… I think it burned a little. You don't mind, right?”, she joked, looking over her shoulder as she poured some of the soup. Vash hadn't moved an inch since she had left.

Sighing, Meryl returned to the bed, a steaming bowl in her hands, which she left on the nightstand to cool.

At that moment, Vash the Stampede looked nothing like the rumors would describe him. The man was shaking visibly, Meryl took notice, but with the scent of burnt food still lingering, she couldn't close the window.

The insurance agent carefully took a seat at the edge of the bed, in front of the man, and readied herself to ask if he wanted more blankets. In that tone, she could already hear in her head, one who was trying to please, offering a cup of coffee at her office to a client. She realized she had been sitting like that, stiff, both hands over her thighs like she wanted to show she was at his disposal, but to what end? He had never looked at her like that, like someone who could help him.

“Vash…”, she wanted to help. “Please, talk to me.”

Another sound, like an abrupt hiccup he managed to swallow, followed by a sharp inhale. Meryl heard him swallow, fill and empty his lungs a few times, before eventually, after what felt like ages, he spoke.

“I… remember everything”, he murmured, he sounded so close to crying. It sounded so fragile like he would break into sobs at any moment.

That would've been a relief, that would've told her some part of the Vash she knew was still there, somewhere within that husk. Meryl opened her mouth but found no words. Vash finally raised his eyes from his palm, looking at her through the cracks of his fingers.

“I've done something terrible…”, he muttered, sustaining her gaze for the first time, it was almost like he needed to say it to her, out loud. It was a confession. “I… took someone's life..”

“You… had to”, the words simply fell out of Meryl's mouth before she had the chance to regret it.

Vash raised his head, and his hand remained in the air, bent like a claw. She could see the tears pooling in his blue eyes, his expression was bitter with something she couldn't quite place. Was it disgust? Bewilderment. He opened his mouth, taking short raggedy breaths before he tried to speak.

“How can you say that? No one should— ”, he had to stop and swallow before he tried to speak, his voice was coming from the bottom of his throat now, heavy with guilt. “No one should die like this… I didn't have the right…”

Vash hunched forward and clutched his chest, his expression pinned in pain. He was struggling to breathe, it was his lungs were caving in, and his heart trashing against his ribs. The bandages were tightening around his sternum, he could feel them, constricting his breathing.

“I promised her… I promised Rem…”

Meryl could barely understand what he had said, but the panic in his eyes, before he clenched them shut, was enough. Vash froze, his whole body going painfully stiff, struggling to draw air through gritted teeth.

“Vash…”, she called again, extending a hand that carefully came to rest on his shoulder.

She barely touched him before he winced, pulling away from her in a startle the two shared. For a second it felt like a hot iron pressed to his skin. He saw Meryl dragging herself back, both of her hands over her thighs where he could see them. The gunman did the same, retreating into the mound of pillows behind him. His prosthetic arm followed the motion limply, he couldn't move it, and he couldn't even feel it hanging from the amputated end. No, all he could feel was the weight of his loaded gun in his grasp.

The gunman looked from Meryl's frightened expression to his empty hand, he needed to be sure the warmth of lead on his fingers wasn't real. The smell of gunpowder wasn't real. The ringing in his ears. The blinding sun. The spray of blood.

Meryl's voice was lost somewhere within the buzzing, he raised his eyes to her, but all that was before him was the limp form of a man. A man he had shot in the head.

Vash the Stampede was holding his arm outstretched in front of him, his finger locked on the trigger, still squeezing it. His aim was impeccable, it was a clean shot. And the man fell to the side, didn't make a sound, like a puppet who had the string of its spine severed.

And her beautiful voice was still echoing in his head, and becoming drowned out by the ringing.

It was flashing before his eyes now, that wicked smile, the blood and brain splattered on the rocks, and all of his victims on the ground like discarded toys. His stomach turned. The humanoid typhoon curled into himself, trying to make himself as small as he could, but that did nothing. Closing his eyes did nothing, clawing at his chest did nothing except pull on the wound dressing wrapped around him, only making it tighter.

He needed to breathe, no matter what he was, but he couldn't focus. There wasn't enough air to fill his lungs, it felt like there would never be enough. He kept pulling for air, reaching for his neck, his chest compressing further and further, unable to expand.

Meryl was calling his name, that much he could tell, her voice was the only thing he knew at that moment. Vash tried to focus on it, on the meaning of her words and not the garbled noise he was translating it to be.

“Breath”, she ordered. “Breath slowly. That's it, try to breathe.”

Breathe? Wasn't he doing that already? Every human needed to breathe to survive, he was trying to, at least.

Vash opened his mouth and gasped, an awful strangled sound heaping out of him. It felt like someone had stabbed him through the chest, and the skin had swallowed the blade whole. He clawed, trying to pluck it out, tugging at the bandages, but realized after not long that… he had been stabbed in the past, he had been shot, he had been beaten, and that sort of pain was nothing like what he was going through.

The blonde tried again, but instead of pulling in the air, he gagged. The noise was wet, of his tongue clicking and his gullet convulsing as his stomach lurched.

Vash retched over his lap and over the white blankets. His torso followed the movement in an arch, his shoulders heaving painfully, his abdomen clenching in a way that made the bandages only slightly loose. Mercifully enough, nothing came out of his mouth apart from a thin thread of saliva.

That seemed to alleviate the tightness in his throat but only for a moment, just enough for him to gasp and gag one more time. His stomach clenched under the tight bandages, sending a nauseating wave of pain prickling across his abdomen. He retched again, the sound was rough, louder than the one before.

He was going to vomit, burning nausea swirled at the pit of his stomach, but he was sure there was nothing there to vomit. Still, he wasn't going to take the chance, the metallic taste at the root of his tongue spelled a very possibility. Pressing his lips tight, he tossed the covers aside and flung his legs over the edge, burying his head between them as another loud retch pried itself from his mouth.

“Vash!” The bed jostled as Meryl hurried to be by his side, her hands floating above his shoulders, afraid to touch him again.

The man heaved, letting out a stifled gag, and a trickle of dense saliva escaped his lips, landing between his feet. His stomach lurched, sending bile bubbling at the back of his throat, and another heave brought the sizzling acid to his tongue.

Vash swiveled dangerously close to the floor, knotted hair hanging over his eyes. Beads of sweat dripped off his nose, set loose by the incessant heaving. He couldn't tell what he was looking at anymore, he could feel the hardwood floor below his feet, but he was there again.

The wind was dead, and the scent of gunpowder hung in the air. Vash stood over a dead body, thinking of what excuses he was going to give to another one.

“EeUUrrRGh!” A loud retch tore out of his throat, making him lose all control of his heaving stomach. He couldn't hold back the bubbling liquid surging up his throat, he barely managed to move his feet before the spurt of watery vomit splashed sharply on the floor.

The humanoid typhoon whimpered, staring in disbelief at the splatter of bright yellow bile, infiltrating the wooden tiles. Salty tears pricked his eyes as the pungent smell hooked to his nostrils, the taste festering in his tongue.

He continued to dry-heave, even after spitting out his stomach lining, it showed no signs of stopping. Black dots danced before his eyes, leaving him terribly dizzy, the struggle to breathe could be blamed for it. He swiveled forth, his hand going numb.

The bed creaked as Meryl leaned forward, looking at him wide-eyed. A curtain of sweat-matted hair separated his face from hers, but even without looking she could tell. Vash started slipping forward, his knees giving out under him.

The woman's intuition had been right on point, and she leaped to grab him by the shoulder. She was afraid he would flinch, that her touch somehow would hurt him, but to her relief, he didn't. He latched onto her arm, fisting the fabric of her shawl in a way he could easily tear it. She would've said something about it if his shivering wasn't a bigger concern, he was shaking so violently she could barely hold onto him.

“It's okay… It's okay… I've got you”, Meryl said gently, her voice shaky, but sincere. “I won't let you fall…”

Vash let out a strange wet noise as a response, a mix between a sob and a harsh gag he couldn't contain. He tried lowering himself, slumping over Meryl's arm across his chest and pulling on her clothes as he threw his weight down. Whether intentional or not, she couldn't tell, but as carefully as she could, she helped him lean forward, over the side of the bed and the puddle of watery vomit.

A painfully loud retch tore out of his throat, in between gasps, quickly followed by another one. Meryl could feel each one against her, the way the dry heaving seemed to echo inside his chest, and how violently his abdomen was contorting, trying to squeeze everything out of it, even its own stomach linings.

It was harsh to watch, she had never seen someone get so sick, but then again, she had never seen someone's arm blossom into a cannon either.

“You're okay…”, she whispered tenderly, gently placing a palm on the middle of his back, between the shoulder blades.

His skin was coarse, the small patch that wasn't covered by yellowed bandages, the result of scars piling up, each healed at different paces. To say she was drawn to them wasn't the right sentiment, but it described it well, she couldn't help but wonder if he remembered each of them, and who had caused it. If any of them held any meaning if not all if they had been worth the suffering of acquiring them. Were they all for nothing now?

She wished she could do something about them… it was an abstract sentiment, one she couldn't quite place in words.

Meryl softly dragged her palm down his back, following the curve of his spine, then up again, coming to rest at the nape of his neck, before she repeated. Her touch made him shiver, distracting him for a moment, from the swirling panic at the pit of his stomach. He tried to hold back a gag and choked.

“It's alright”, she encouraged him, rubbing his back as he worked through a fit of coughing. He hadn't stopped shivering, his chest hitching with aborted gags.

The blonde heaved heavily, the noise turning garbled at the end as a thin gush of bile surged up his throat. He would've turned his head if he could, vomiting so miserably in front of Meryl was already bad enough, but from the force of the spell, he couldn't miss her shoes with a few splatters. She flinched, moving her foot away, that's how he knew she knew, but none said a word at first. Both were sure the other couldn't.

It was brighter in color, Meryl noticed with a deep frown, a stark contrast of bright yellow and a sickly almost greenish-yellow as it joined the puddle. It was pure bile from what she could see, his stomach was well empty as he hadn't eaten anything in several days. She could only imagine how taxing that had to be in his throat.

Vash heaved again, within her arms, yanking on her clothes when the motion sent him tipping forward, she was barely able to hold him. Despite the harshness of the noise and the toll it took on his already bruised body, he only managed to come up with a small trickle of sizzling acid. It dribbled almost lazily from his lips, joining the overflow of saliva.

“What have I done…”, his lips opened and closed, but only murmur made it out of them. Meryl leaned in closer to hear what he had said, shaking her head when she finally did. “I'm… sorry…”

“You don't have to apologize. It's just a bit of vomit”, she responded, glancing at her shoes, specks of bile covering them. Vash shook his head weakly, his eyes wide as he stared at the floor. What was he seeing? She had a clue, but didn't raise her voice. “Vash… It's okay… I'll just clean it up and–”

“I– I… did something horrible… I can never go back…”, he mumbled, and by the way his breathing had picked up the pace, she could tell he was spiraling again.

“What are you saying?” she questioned, realizing she had been rubbing his back in that same slow tender way. Her hand stopped, but still held onto him, still feeling his chest hitch under her.

“I… I…”, he started, words dribbling out of his lips in between heavy drags, that quickly turned into sobbing. She saw as his face crumpled, and at last, he started to cry. “Rem… I'm so sorry Rem…”

There that name was again. Meryl didn't know exactly what to say, or what to do in a situation like this. The man she had been searching for several months, that walking disaster, was sobbing within her arms.

“Shhh…”, it was all she could think of saying, tenderly shushing him while patting his back. She had seen him cry, and while it wasn't a pretty sight, it had never been this bad.

Meryl lost count of how long she spent holding him, but when he finally raised his head, his breathing somewhat paced, his tears had already dried out.

An apology was hanging from the tip of his tongue, as well as bile and drool, but he couldn't bring himself to say it. His lips were trembling, his eyes moist, and his face drenched in a cold sweat. The blonde just shook his head, trying to resist the urge to gag again. It felt like there was a hole through his abdomen, nothing there for him to puke except the organ itself.

The blonde let out a pained groan as he slowly straightened himself, his prosthetic hand hovering under his mouth. He could still feel the organ burning with pain and hunger, empty, the bandages leaving him feeling suffocated.

Meryl guided him up, her eyes huge with worry and back into bed, in a way she knew he wasn't at risk of falling if she left his side.

“Rest, okay?”, she said to which Vash gave a weak nod in response. “It's all alright now.”

His face was a mess of puke and snot, at that point, she was only worried about him. Meryl got up to her feet and walked to the other side of the room, producing a clean cloth out of folded pile. Vash closed his eyes as he heard her walk about the room, only opening them when he felt the mattress sink under her.

“Let me…”, Meryl gingerly brought the cloth to his mouth, excusing herself before she patted it gently to his mouth. When he didn't immediately flinch, she thought of it as an improvement.

Vash tried to stand still as she wiped the corners of his mouth, struggling not to gag, breathing slowly and carefully. He was dizzy, that horrible ache in his gut distracting him from anything, clouding his judgment, as in an instant, he found himself leaning further into Meryl's touch. He blinked and suddenly her hand was firmly bracing his forehead.

The woman let out a startled noise, calling him by the name as he started slipping forward. She cupped his cheek with the other hand, holding his face up to hers, his blue eyes were glossy still, but he seemed much more at ease now.

“You're not going to pass out, are you?”, she asked, her voice still shaky from the surprise.

“Don't think so…”, he replied but didn't sound so sure. Her hands were soft and so pleasantly warm against his clammy skin, he needed it, he could give in sleep for another week right then and there.

“Good… That's good…”, she said, but it sounded like she was saying it to herself. “If you feel anything, you should let me know.”

For a moment, the two simply stared at each other, but looking at her, all Vash could remember was what he had done, and what would've happened if he hadn't.

“Meryl…”, that had been the first time he had said her name in a while. “I'm…–”

“Shhh…”, she pressed the cloth to his lips. “Don't apologize, I know….”

She didn't know. Vash had an inkling no human would ever comprehend his situation, but Meryl seemed like the only person he could confide in now. If she knew more about him, would she run? Would she think of him as a monster? He wasn't sure, but his heart told him it was worth finding out.

She reminded him so much of her.

#emeto #emetophilia #vomiting #tw vomit #tw emeto #trigun sickfic #tri/gun 1998 #trigun emeto #va/sh the stam/pede #me/ryl stry/fe #vash needs a hug #vash gets a hug!#hurt and comfort #emotional hurt/comfort #my writing #dana//writing #dana//emeto fic

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